Episode Seven: Golgotha

By Kittsbud

Part Two

“You’re killing him, can’t you see that?” Dean tossed down his weapon and pointed desperately to where Sam lay shaking on the floor. If he couldn’t force the spirit back the old fashioned way, then maybe he could try a little reasoning "Sammy style."

Sam was convinced Ismay wasn’t here to cause harm, so maybe he would see reason if Dean could just get the kid to focus on him instead of Sam, just for a second.

Matthew wavered, not wanting to let go, not yet. He looked up from Sam’s prone form and stared deep into Dean’s eyes, pleading with the elder brother to let him finish.

Dean shook his head. “Let him go!” he demanded, his voice quivering with pent-up rage at the eleven-year old's spirit.

Ismay let his eyelids flutter closed, sensing the torment he was putting the Winchesters through. It hadn’t been his intention. He hadn’t wanted to hurt, or anger anyone. With a wan smile he backed up, his iridescent outline fading into the corridor wall as quickly as it had come.

The instant Ismay vanished Dean put his attention back to Sam, quickly kneeling at his side, all other thoughts forgotten.

The younger Winchester still lay on the linoleum, gasping for breath now that he had been freed from his mental prison. He looked paler than Dean had ever seen him- even after one of his normal visions.

“Can you stand?” Dean queried, already guessing his brother couldn’t.

Sam shook his head and the action disoriented him more, flashing images filling his confused mind until he wanted to yell out in frustration and agony. He panted, pushing away his brother’s hand until the nightmare began to abate.

Once Sam’s breathing steadied, Dean hooked a hand under his arm and gently pulled him to his feet, taking almost all of Sam’s weight as he guided him to the chair at the nurse’s station.

Sam dropped down heavily on the padded seat and let his head hang low, holding either side of his temple with his fingertips to try to alleviate the weight he still felt pressing on his skull.

“What the hell did that kid do to you, Sammy? You scared the crap outta me!” Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved his brother was still in the land of the living, or annoyed that Sam had let the kid control him.

“Maybe now someone will believe me?” The young nurse who up until now had been forgotten slipped a hand to Sam’s neck and felt his racing pulse. He still appeared disoriented and confused, and his eyes were glazed and unfocused. “You should get checked out by a doctor,” she concluded, concern filling her voice.

Sam swallowed hard and finally managed to look up, brushing away both Dean’s and the nurse’s fears. “I’m okay, just a little dizzy.”

“A little dizzy? Sammy, you look like a case for a freakin’ reaper!” Dean turned, picked up the shotgun from where he’d dropped it and began to pace, running a hand through his hair as he tried to piece things together. “Rock salt was useless! What the hell is this thing, little brother?”

“I saw something, Dean, something weird.” Sam glanced at the nurse who was now gaping at them both as if they were delusional. She’d seen the kid’s ghost, but had no clue who they were or why they’d be prowling the hospital corridors at gone midnight.

“No kidding it was weird. This whole scenario is weird!” Dean looked into Sam’s still glassy eyes and his voice softened. “You think the kid somehow forced the vision?”

Sam nodded, wishing he had a bottle of Tylenol handy for his exploding cranium. “I’m pretty sure of it. The thing is I just don’t understand what he was trying to show me. It was a building, some kind of ancient motel right out of a Psycho movie.” He inhaled, thinking of how lucid the imagery had been while the kid had been in control. “All I know is what I foresaw through Ismay was the realest, most intense vision I’ve ever been through.”

Dean stopped pacing and stood in front of Sam, scrutinizing him to make sure he was recovering from his ordeal. Satisfied, he let the conversation continue.“So, the kid triggered what you saw, but why an abandoned motel room if he died here at the hospital? It doesn’t make sense.”

When Sam shook his head, indicating he didn’t know, the worried brother looked to the still hovering and very frightened nurse. Her nametag read Susan Riley, and he recalled she’d been the one to insist Ismay’s ghost was real back at the bar. “I think we should get you back to the motel and retire gracefully,” he offered sympathetically to Sam, hoping the nurse would back him up.

She took the elder brother’s cue, even though she still didn’t know who they were. “Your friend’s right. You really should get some rest. You look like hell.” As an afterthought she questioned, “Who are you? Who are you really?”

Sam shot a glance to Dean and then softly answered. “We’re the good guys.”

Somehow, the response did little to quell the nurse’s fears. While the two men before her could head on out for a shower and a soft bed, she had a night shift to finish. Right now, that didn’t sound too appealing after what she’d seen Matthew’s spirit do to Sam.

Dean noted the young woman's expression change and realized why. As he gently pulled Sam’s still unsteady body to his feet, he smiled at the nurse, and for once there was no roguish glint to his eyes. “Why don’t you call security after we’re gone? Tell them you thought you saw a prowler on the wing. They’ll probably leave someone with you for the rest of your shift.”

“Thanks, I just might.” Susan let her gaze probe the now empty corridor where Ismay had materialized and then looked back as Dean helped Sam through the wings emergency exit. She had no idea why, but she trusted the strangers were here to help, and some inner part of her expected to see them again.

* * * *

Dean eased Sam’s arm from around his neck and propped his brother up against the Impala while he unlocked the doors. Normally, he had the unhealthy habit of leaving the Chevy open, but after Valerie Harper’s threat he wasn’t taking any chances.

“You okay, Sammy?” he asked, watching his sibling for any signs of a relapse while he slid the key in the lock.

Sam nodded. He looked tired, but some color had at last returned to his cheeks. “I’ll be fine…once…” Sam paused mid-sentence as his eyes became fixated on something in the adjacent thicket.

Dean’s eyes followed his brother’s gaze to the underbrush and he flinched back in surprise. “Crap!” The kid was back, beckoning just like before, and once again he seemed interested only in Sam. For once in his life, Dean panicked, not for himself, but for his brother. How the hell do I stop this thing?

Sam sensed the psychic connection too; his mind suddenly jarred from reality back to that nether place Ismay wanted him to see. This time, Sam welcomed the illusion instead of trying to fight it, knowing it would be less painful in the end.

The pictures came in an almost kaleidoscopic jumble, colors and shapes spinning and twisting until they formed coherent scenes in his mind.

Sam clutched at his head again, feeling like he was being subjected to some Vulcan mind meld that his physical body wasn’t capable of handling. The pressure forced him to his knees, and he crumpled into a breathless heap as the pictures came thick and fast to his subconscious.

The motel from earlier surfaced amid the mishmash of images, its rotting walls and decaying structure calling to the young hunter like a screaming E.M.F. meter.

Sam tried to concentrate despite the pain, and the vision sharpened, zooming in to allow him to see more. Now, he appeared inside the cobweb-filled, rat-infested building and he sensed he was not alone.

In the corner of the room stood a makeshift table adorned with strange, hellish symbols- some he easily recognized. Sam squinted, even though the physical action had no real bearing on his "dream." The act clarified the illusion further, and he realized he was actually looking at an altar, not unlike the one Meg Masters had used.

Splashes of dried blood spattered the table’s surface, along with several rotting human organs that had been torn roughly from unsuspecting victims’ bodies.

As he watched like some ghostly fly-on-the-wall, a figure began to emerge from the gloom. It was a man, his features hidden by lack of daylight. From what Sam could see, he guessed the stranger was about Dean’s height, but more muscular. In his left hand the man gripped something tightly, and when he turned Sam noted the item was in fact a rusted blade, corroded with years of misuse.

The shadowy figure moved forwards towards a couch, his fingers flexing over the hilt of his weapon in eager anticipation of what was to come next. The motion rippled his scarred flesh, making a tiny but intricate tattoo on the back of his hand seemingly come alive with the movement.

Even though Sam didn’t have full view of the room, he sensed that someone lay beyond where he could see, a terrified girl bound and gagged, lying helplessly on the shredded, ancient sofa.

Sam instantly tried to pull back from the vision, some internal gag reflex telling him to get the hell out before he was forced to witness the evil atrocity that was to come next.

Still, the young hunter remained spellbound, a hostage in his own vision, held fast by Ismay’s ethereal energy.

The stranger in the vision reached the couch and kneeled until he was almost out of view, but even without being visible Sam knew what he was doing. Guttural slashing noises followed by a wry chuckle made Sam wish he could pass out and be free from the scene. Blood sprayed from the dying girl’s chest like a fountain of red, and had this been a movie the camera lens would have been clouded with the thick viscous liquid.

Sam immediately felt nauseous, despite having been witness to similar acts in the past. Somehow, seeing it this way knotted his stomach in a thousand new ways. Can I stop this? Maybe there’s a chance it hasn’t happened yet! But Sam knew differently.

As the sacrificed teenager drew her last ragged breath, her slayer stood tall, grinning like some feral thing over her lifeless body. In his calloused right hand he held her still warm heart, strings of torn sinew still hanging from it where he had literally gouged it from her chest.

Blood dribbled from the freshly removed organ, spattering the floor with a new stain of red in the dust.

The killer noted the dripping sound and recalled he had a further task to do this day. With a grunt, he moved slowly towards the altar, almost afraid of what he was about to do.

The altar was a thing to be revered, a thing to be afraid of, for it summoned the dark one, and today the master would be paying them a very important visit.

“C’mon, Sammy, wake up!” Sam felt his brother’s prodding before he managed to open his bleary eyes and realize the vision was over. He blinked, trying to reassert his grip on the real world, but found he was still too light-headed to move.

Dean took the lack of response as a bad sign and hovered, unsure whether to tug his brother up from the floor or shoot at Ismay’s still floating form just for the hell of it.

In the end, he chose a combination of both. “What do you want with my brother you freaky Sonofabitch?” As he yelled out the question, he gently dragged Sam’s arm over his shoulder and tried to haul him inside the Impala.

Sam fought his big brother’s move, despite the fact that his leg muscles had turned to Jell-O. He had to see what Ismay’s spirit was doing. There was more to understand if only he could force his straining body to undergo one last vision.

Dean guessed what Sam was thinking. “No, Sammy! Get in the damn car, or I’ll punch you out if I have to!” The flicker of fear in his eyes and the almost panicked expression told Sam his brother meant every word.

Sam still turned as his weight slumped against the Chevy, the thick fog that his mind had been enveloped by making it a struggle to focus on Ismay one last time.

The throbbing, partially transparent shape of the boy shook its head. Even though Sam had seen so much, he still didn’t understand what Matthew Ismay was trying to tell him, and time was running out.

Dean left Sam’s trembling side and yanked open the Impala’s trunk. He grabbed the nearest twelve gauge he knew was loaded and spun around, already settling his aim on the boy. Maybe rock salt was useless, but he couldn’t just stand by and watch while some supernatural creature sucked the life out of his brother.

Ismay shook his head again, and for the first time he let his drained façade look to Dean. There was no hate, no anger, only a deep-seated loneliness and fear that the elder Winchester would remember for a long time. The kid was pleading with him for life, just like he had pleaded with his demon-possessed father back in Missouri.

Dean cringed, his brow crinkling as purposefully repressed images flashed back in his mind from the cabin. Dad! Dad, don’t you let it kill me. His finger hovered over the shotgun’s trigger, but he didn’t pull back, there was no need. The kid’s frail body was slowly dissipating, and as Ismay vanished, he held out a hand one last time, begging for some unknown mercy. A fresh red glob of blood slid from his nose and ebbed onto his lip and he was gone.

Dean allowed the shotgun to lower in his grasp, his heart pounding as adrenalin surged through his veins. “Sammy?” Now that Ismay was gone, his attention lay on one thing only.

Sam groaned at the sound of his brother’s worried voice, and as Dean jogged to the passenger side of the Impala, Sam finally allowed the night’s events to consume him. He felt his knees slowly buckle, and was thankful when Dean’s strong arms were there to save him from hitting the concrete yet again.

Keeping Sam upright with one arm, Dean wrenched open the Chevy’s door with his free hand and let his brother slide in ungracefully onto the leather. It was such an unusual sight it scared the elder hunter more than he would ever let Sam know.

Somehow, he was always the one to get hurt on a gig. He was the fighter, the brawn, the dependable foot soldier who took all the knocks and bruises. He was the pawn while Sammy was the king, the "wise man" to be protected.

Sure Sam got tossed around his fair share, but he never seemed to be the one put in a life threatening situation like this- not until now. Dean huffed as he slid behind the Impala’s wheel and looked over to his brother.

Sam sat groggily with his head resting on the glass of the side window, his eyes still hazy from his ordeal. He was exhausted to the point of collapse, and every now and then a breath caught in his chest as if he were still seeing something he wasn’t ready to share.

Dean didn’t like seeing Sam this way, and he’d be damned if he was going to let some punk kid ghost keep up the torture, whether Sam wanted it or not.

* * * *

Cheap Motel
Outskirts of Neenah, Wisconsin
02.23a.m.

Dean carefully wrapped the chunks of ice he’d collected into a towel, creating a makeshift ice pack. He sauntered over to the edge of his brother’s bed, offering up the pain-relieving item silently. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk to Sammy yet, not when he knew his younger sibling was still hell bent on seeing what Ismay had to tell.

The ghostly kid was slowly killing Sam, and still Sam wouldn’t let it go. Maybe that was what angered Dean more- Sam had quietly stolen his stubborn streak and was riding it like a bucking bronco.

“Sam, you have to keep away from that hospital until we can figure this thing out. No way is that kid a tulpa, and I’ll be damned if I’ve ever seen anything else that can do those things.” Dean perched himself on the end of the bed and stared at his hands without really focusing on them. He daren’t look at Sam, not yet, because Sam was about to argue his point, and it would surely escalate into a full-blown brotherly squabble.

Sam wanted the truth. Dean wanted Sam safe. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like the two things would ever go together.

“Dean, if I can just finish the vision I know I’ll understand. There’s more to see.” Sam screwed his eyes shut and winced as he held the icy towel to his still pulsing brow. When the cooling sensation did little to staunch the pain, he leaned back, resting against the pillows Dean had propped behind him.

“Don’t you see if you keep having these visions or whatever you call them, it’s gonna kill you?” Dean bounced up from the bed and confronted his brother accusingly. “Hell, for all we know this freakin’ kid could just be another trick by the damn demon.” He shot a hand in the air and wagged it dismissively. “Your priest friend and the note? Maybe they’re all part of it too. The demon tricked us once, ten to one I’m betting it just might be trying another set up.”

“Dean,” Sam appealed, his own voice rising as he defended his actions. “Won’t you give me some credit? I’m telling you I know this is real. The kid might be physically hurting me by forcing me to see things, but he’s not the bad guy in the equation.”

Dean spun around. Sam just wasn’t seeing what was happening with a clear mind. “Sam, hello, remember Missouri? I’m sure the whole truck thing was real then too. You gotta realize the demon can mess with your head.”

Sam crossed his arms triumphantly. “Then you have nothing to worry about,” he concluded testily. “If it’s the demon, we know it doesn’t want me dead, so I can finish this thing and you can stop playing mother hen.”

“We don’t know anything about what the demon wants, Sammy. Demons lie their asses off and you know it.” Dean felt like getting his brother’s collar and shaking some sense into him, but right now Sam looked too weak to even consider it. He exhaled in frustration and headed for the motel room door in a huff. “You’re not going back to that hospital if it means I have to glue your ass to the Chevy seat,” he announced as he slammed the door behind him.

Sam cringed as the door crashed closed sending new spikes of pain through his skull. “Yeah, well you never were any good with Superglue!” He yelled after his brother as he recalled a certain incident with a beer bottle. “And I’m always the early riser…” he muttered knowingly under his breath.

* * * *

Public Library, Neenah, Wisconsin
The next day
10:56a.m.

Sam peered across at his brother and noted Dean was watching him vigilantly. In fact, Sam was sure Dean hadn’t slept at all the previous night just to make sure he was okay and didn’t try escaping back to the hospital.

Sam decided this overly protective side of his brother could be completely annoying- even if he tended to be exactly the same when Dean was in danger.

“You don’t need to follow me like a bodyguard. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.” Sam looked to his brother and then took a seat at the library computer. It was a brand new machine and he guessed it couldn’t have been installed more than a few weeks ago.

“Bodyguard?” Dean quipped, looking over Sam’s shoulder as he began to search.“Hell, I’m thinking of having a satellite tracking system embedded in your ass. A lot less time consuming than following your geeky butt all over town.”

Sam frowned, his brow knitting with concentration as he worked and chatted at the same time. “Hmmn, interesting…”

“Really?” Dean smirked playfully. “I was thinking it might be kinda painful, but I guess whatever rocks your boat…”

“Dean! I meant the archive info.” Sam tapped the reports on the screen with his forefinger. “There’s plenty here about the fire, but I can’t seem to access anything far enough back to check on the kid’s parents.”

“That’s because that information hasn’t been loaded onto the system yet, Sonny.” Sam glanced up first and was greeted by a forty-something librarian who looked like she’d feasted on cakes and chocolate for most of her life. She smiled offhandedly and gestured back to the "real" archives. “As you can see, we’re doing a full upgrade of the library’s filing system. Until the tech boys finish up, anything past ten years old is hard copy only.”

Dean put a hand to his head as if he’d suddenly and inexplicably been attacked by their young ghost friend. Wading through newspapers and archives was so not his thing. A thought struck him and his mood instantly changed. Research was not his gig, but if he could leave Sam to dig into the paperwork maybe he could go find some real answers before his brother was seriously hurt.

“How about you wade through this stuff, and I’ll go ask our favourite nurse a few more questions about spirit boy?” He wiggled an eyebrow mischievously.

“You mean why don’t I do the work while you go try your latest chat up line on Val?” Sam knew there was more to his brother’s reasoning, but he didn’t voice it. “Just make sure you park the Impala legally,” he joked, “or you might just find it compacted into an ashtray.”

“Hey, that chick loves my ass. She’s just playing hard to get.” Dean tugged the Impala keys swiftly from his pocket and his lips curled into a cheeky smile.

“It’s not your ass I’m bothered about, Dean, it’s the Impala’s,” Sam chuckled as his brother made a hasty retreat from the library, leaving him to sift through piles of musty records.

* * * *

Dean ambled back on to the west wing and hoped Val was once again on duty. Somehow he doubted he’d be able to get her home address as easily as he’d gotten the hospitals from Nick. Val was one shrewd lady.

“Back to try a new ruse?” Dean looked to the nurse’s station, and finding it empty spun around to the sound of the slightly irked voice. Val Harper stood before him with several manila folders under her arm, her left brow raised questioningly. “What kind of masquerade is it going to be today? Kids’ entertainer? Clown?”

Dean made a face that suggested the latter idea was pretty repulsive. He’d had an aversion to clowns since seeing Tim Curry in ‘It.’ Just because he hunted the undead didn’t mean he couldn’t be superstitious about anything. “Sweetheart, I don’t do clowns.”

“Yeah, well you should,” Val countered with a chuckle. “I have a feeling you’ve got all the right qualifications.” She walked over to her desk and dropped down the folders she held. Satisfied they’d be safe until she could file them, she turned back to Dean. “So, how’s your friend? Susan told me he looked like a guy about to have an aneurysm last night.” She crossed her arms, waiting expectantly for answers.

“He’d be doing a whole lot better if that kid’s ghost hadn’t latched onto him like a damn limpet.” Dean’s cocky façade melted as he thought of Sam. Flirting with Val just wasn’t a priority while his brother was still in danger. “Look, I know you think we’re a couple of freaks, but we need to know every last detail about this spook if we’re gonna can its butt.”

“Is that what you do? Some kind of ghost-busting duo?” Val looked slightly bemused. “Susan said you shot at the kid with salt?” She wanted to laugh, but smothered the urge, just managing to smile instead. “I have to tell you I think the Bill Murray movie was much more entertaining. There are no such thing as real ghosts,” she said flatly. “What people think they see? I think they’re just echoes from the past. Fingerprints left behind that we sometimes see but can’t interact with.”

Dean cocked his head and cringed. Val was a non-believer and he doubted he would sway her viewpoint anytime soon. Something had made her bitter, of that he was sure, but digging into her past right now wasn’t why he was here. Maybe he could do that after the gig was over, if he could just get her to drop the hardball attitude.

“You don’t have to believe. Just tell me what you know about Ismay’s parents. It could be vital.” Dean kept his tone serious, hoping the nurse would at least humor him enough to give up any information she might have.

It appeared to work. Val sighed and sat back on the edge of her desk. “I told you most of what I know already.” She thought back to when the kid had been admitted, trying to recall any facts the orphanage staff might have let slip. “I think someone said Matthew’s parents died in a house fire when he was a baby. Something about the blaze starting in his room, too. If it hadn’t been for a neighbor the poor kid would have burned right on up with his parents.”

“The kid’s room burned first?” Dean didn’t know whether to be excited or panic. It looked like Sam was right about Ismay. Maybe that was why he could reach out from beyond the grave to others of his kind. Maybe, just maybe that’s why he’d died mysteriously. Maybe the kid was murdered after all because of his gifts!

Val nodded. “Well, that’s what I was told. Of course, I don’t really see how it could have and him survive. You know how stories snowball…”

“Yeah,” Dean leaned past Val and grabbed a pen and paper from her desk. He quickly jotted down his cell number. “Not this time, though.” He offered up the paper. “Call me if you remember anymore. My brother’s life just might depend on it.”

“Your brother?”

Dean didn’t answer. He was already jogging out of the wing and back to the Impala. Ismay was no ordinary ghost, of that he was now sure. That meant the rules of engagement were different too, but they’d already learned that the hard way. Sammy’s not safe anywhere…

* * * *

Public Library, Neenah, Wisconsin
12:56p.m.

Sam exited the library and glanced down at his watch. Dean should have been back from the hospital by now, and that probably meant he had gotten sidetracked with one very good-looking blonde nurse.

Sam shook his head but couldn’t blame his brother. It was just the way Dean was made. He slid a hand into his pocket and tugged out his cell, intending to give the flirt a call, but then noted there was no signal. “Typical…”

Sam stuffed the dead phone back into its resting place and looked around for somewhere to sit until a certain black Impala resurfaced. Across the road on the adjacent sidewalk was a small wooden bench. It was the perfect place to deliberate what he’d discovered while waiting, and so he took several long strides over to it and flopped down.

The archives hadn’t really proved to be very helpful. In fact, all the information he’d discovered was mostly about the fire at the orphanage. There was some small reference to an earlier fire, however, and it was that that had intrigued Sam.

Now, more than ever, he was convinced Matthew Ismay had been special. Even in death they shared a bond.

Why would he show me the motel room and the altar? Is he trying to help me find the demon? Part of Sam hoped that was the answer. Ever since the demon had admitted it had "plans" for the gifted kids, he’d known one day he would have to fight it again. After what the vile thing had done to his mom, Jess, and all the others out there, Sam would welcome the battle.

Even thinking about his visions and the demon made Sam’s head begin to throb again, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. When the sensation refused to go away, he realized the cause was more than a few tainted memories.

Sam looked up, knowing what he would see even though it was theoretically improbable.

Matthew Ismay’s flickering presence awaited his gaze, even though it was a bright, sunny day with people milling to a fro across the sidewalk. Ghosts might not usually manifest in daylight like this, but Ismay was relentless. He held out a hand, urging Sam to join him on some journey to a different plane, and this time, Sam accepted the risk willingly…

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