Burning Memories Chapters 1 - 4

[dizzojay.livejournal.com]

BURNING MEMORIES

A routine hunt for a poltergeist turns very, very bad for the boys.

Rating: T
Genre: Hurt Comfort
Word Count: approx 8,500

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural, I just borrow it to play with.

 

 

A kaleidoscope of images, a deafening cacophony of sound …

… The hunt; the poltergeist; the fire; the heat … chaos … panic …

Sam shifted unconsciously in the chair beside his brother's hospital bed; a pained cramp in his stiff back jolted him into momentary wakefulness.

He managed a brief, disorientated scan of the unlit room before his heavy eyes fluttered closed and his nodding head dragged him back into his haunted sleep.

… The flames; roaring, leaping, burning … Dean stumbling out of the burning house … the child in Dean's arms … thick, choking smoke … the screaming; the sirens … Dean's shirt burning … the child crying; her toy rabbit …

Sam jolted awake again.

He scrubbed a heavily bandaged hand across his weary face.

Realising that any attempt at sleep was going to be a lost cause, he stood up leaned into a long and satisfying stretch, glancing across at the sleeping figure in the bed before slipping out into the corridor in search of coffee.

Xxxxx

A few moments later, Sam crept back into the room, a cup of rancid lukewarm vending machine coffee in his hand.

"Where'shmine?" The whispered voice was barely audible, but the mischievous smirk was there, unmistakeable even in the gloom of the unlit room.

"Dean", Sam leaned over the bed, smiling at the glassy, unfocussed eyes gazing up at him. He rested his palm against Dean's head; "you should be asleep; why are you awake bro'?"

"Cos' I ain't 'shleep, genius!" Heavy sedation slurred Dean's speech and Sam smiled at the sound - just like Dean had sounded after that disastrous experiment with the Icelandic potato vodka – only without the projectile vomiting he observed gratefully.

"Is it hurting?" Sam cast an eye over the expanse of gauze taped across Dean's right shoulder and side. "Should I call the nurse?"

… Dean's shirt is burning – he's on fire … screams … Dean is SCREAMING … Dean never screams …

He was answered by breathy silence, as his brother once again succumbed to the drag of the heavy sedative which had been pumping through his veins in various quantities since they had arrived at the hospital.

Sam took time to listen to the soothing sound of his brother's soft breathing; it sounded like sweet music compared to how it had sounded when he was brought into ER. The sound had terrified Sam; ragged, grotesque wheezes, punctuated by violent coughing and breathless gasps. Smoke inhalation; that's what the doctor had said. He'd talked about possible burns to the respiratory system, that's why Dean had almost stopped breathing.

... Dean's soot-blackened face ... don't close your eyes ...

A ventilator had helped his brother along in those first desperate hours. Dean had been kept unconscious until it had been removed a few hours ago, but those in the know had decided that Dean could still benefit from a little R & R and were keeping his IV topped up with the good stuff for a little while longer. This had the result of making Dean's infrequent moments of wakefulness both brief and entertaining.

Sam looked down at the decrepit chair where he had spent the best part of the last 48 hours. It seemed to creak just under the weight of his gaze. His long, muscular frame wasn't designed for long periods of time doubled up in a chair, especially one which seemed to have been expertly designed to be as uncomfortable as possible; he flexed his protesting back again with a groan and glanced enviously at his dozing brother. A nice big dose of morphine please … ice and a slice ...

Satisfied that Dean was settled and comfortable, Sam reluctantly returned to the dreaded chair. He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. He'd done that with every single cup; each one as vile and bitter as the last. He didn't even know why he bought the stuff; Sam briefly remembered reading something about the addiction with smoking being about holding something between your fingers; "perhaps it's the same with sad coffee addicts", he mused, "they need to be holding a cup of something, even if it tastes like rats pee!".

Watching Dean's still form in the bed, Sam's eye settled on the object nestled in the crook of his brother's arm, cradled tightly against his uninjured side, and he smiled, allowing the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of his brother's chest to gradually lull him back into a fitful, neck-breaking, chair-hating sleep.

xxxxx

 

The call had come one overcast morning last week. Sam remembered it well for the fact that it was so utterly forgettable.

They Winchesters were sitting in a depressingly grubby diner of Dean's choosing on some bleak, godforsaken stretch of road, somewhere between the back of beyond and the ass end of nowhere.

It looked like the sort of place that proudly boasts it has no cockroaches, but doesn't go on to tell you that's only because they were all eaten by the rats. Sam's appetite had run away screaming and remained cowering in the Impala at the sight of the place.

Fidgeting glumly with his mug of coffee, which he had only agreed to have due to the fact that there was boiling water involved, Sam sat trying to find a spot on the table where his forearms didn't stick and queasily watched Dean put away a whole sausage in two bites.

He took the phone call as a good excuse to step outside. Somehow, away from the fetid, cholesterol-soaked atmosphere inside the diner, Sam didn't feel so inclined to hold his breath; he inhaled a deep breath of clean air before picking up.

The voice on the other end of the line was Bobby's.

Xxxxx

By the time Sam reluctantly ventured back into downtown upchuck central, Dean had finished his breakfast and was enthusiastically mopping his plate with a slice of bread.

"Job?" he asked economically, briefly glancing up from his plate-cleaning labours.

"Maybe - that was Bobby," Sam explained, watching in awe as Dean crammed the whole slice in his mouth.

"… and?" Dean mumbled round the mass of chewed bread.

Sam paled at the sight. The only time he'd seen that much dough in one place before was in a pizza oven; "he's had a call from an old friend."

"Yeah?" Dean looked around for more bread; a momentary panic flashed through Sam's mind when he thought Dean, on finding no bread, might actually pick his plate up and lick it clean.

"Yeah", said Sam hesitantly, "this old friend has a neice who seems to be having problems.

Dean looked up "Bobby's old friend's neice?" He shook his head, "so not tenuous at all then?"

"Sounds like it might be our sort of gig!" Sam stated, looking up in amazement as a smiling waitress bought a stack of pancakes over to his beaming brother.

Sam continued, "Strange noises, furniture moving, doors slamming, apparently her six year old daughter fell down the stairs last week. Swears blind someone - something pushed her!"

Any meaningful response was noticeably absent.

Sam sat back with a sigh of resignation. He knew that he could never complete for his brother's attention with a stack of pancakes and a jug of maple syrup.

Xxxxx

Dean leaned back in his chair and patted his very full belly with a satisfied groan. "Dude, that was awesome!" he grinned.

"Dean ..." Sam began.

"Sammy, you should eat more." Dean announced, "It ain't healthy, a guy your size eatin' as little as you do."

Sam stared, "What?" His mouth worked silently for a brief moment, "I eat fine Dean!"

"You ain't had nothin' this morning!" Dean pointed at sam's empty coffee mug accusingly, "You sure you ain't comin' down with somethin'?"

"I'm fine Dean ... can we keep to the point?"

"Why ain't you had breakfast then ... you're not goin' anorexic on me, are you?"

"No!" Sam sighed, "I'm fine; I'll have something when we find a place that doesn't offer a free dose of botulism with every order."

Dean glanced warily at his clean plate, "Quit bein' such a friggin' old woman Sam; nothin' wrong with this place!"

Sam grinned, "sure, I hear the amoebic dysentery is very good this time of year!"

Dean glanced down, patting his stomach again, not so much in satisfaction this time but apprehension.

When he appeared content that he wasn't about to explode, he glanced back up to Sam; "So, what were you sayin' about this job?"

"Bobby's old ..." Sam began

"Yeah, yeah, I get it - six degrees of separation an' all that; get to the good bit Sammy!" Dean picked up his empty mug and made an exagerrated gesture of looking into it and turnng it upside down. Sam pointedly refused to take the hint. Sighing when he realised a refill wasn't forthcoming, Dean continued. "Where is it?"

"That's why Bobby called us," Sam laid a map out on the table. "It's a town called Featherstone, only about three hours away. Possible poltergeist manifestation"

Dean gave one more last lingering look at his empty mug before reluctantly giving in to defeat. "C'mon then, bitch!" He slapped twenty bucks on the table and strode out of the diner, leaving Sam stumbling behind him irritably wrestling with the unfolded map.

xxxxx

 

Dean pulled out of the car park, with a gravelly skid and the brothers found themselves on the open road again.

"So talk to me Sammy" he glanced at his brother, "what's the job?"

"Bobby says he wants to get this sorted soon as possible, but he's in the middle of a job over a day away. This poor woman's at her wits end. She's been complaining of problems she can't explain, started about three months ago; strange noises, flickering lights, doors slamming, cold spots, there's been a couple of unexplained fires and floods in the house - this is one seriously malicious spirit." he turned to Dean, "she's got a six year old daughter. Lost her husband to a long illness about two years ago".

Dean pondered for a moment, "tragic event, screwed up emotions, traumatised kid … classic poltergeist environment."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Bobby thinks they're in danger."

xxxxx

A half-hour passed and it dawned on Sam that his brother had been unusually quiet.

He glanced across, "you okay dude?"

"Yeah", Dean answered softly, "Yeah, 'm okay."

Sam watched him as he drove, his eyes staring unblinkingly at the road ahead.

"You sure?"

"Kid lost her father when she was four". Dean stated flatly.

Sam took in a deep breath and nodded; the connection hadn't occurred to him.

Dean turned to him, "poor kid don't need this crap; she's been through enough." He took a deep breath, "You tell Bobby we're on our way and we're gonna waste this creepy sonofabitch - whatever it takes, this skank is gone."

xxxxx

The boys sat in the Impala across the road from the house while Sam checked a few facts about the area on his laptop. Dean, acting more on instinct, wanted to take a look and get a 'feel' for the place. The house was old but very well maintained; Dean hated it on sight.

"So, is Bobby's friend a hunter?" asked Dean.

"Not as far as I know", Sam replied, "but he knows what Bobby does - apparently knew Bobby from long before the business with his wife, they go way back; childhood friends."

"So, does this woman know what she's got on her hands?"

"Don't know" Sam sighed, "Poor woman probably just thinks she's got serious plumbing and electrical issues or possums in the roof or something!"

Sam reflected, under any other circumstances, the words 'woman' and 'plumbing issues' used in the same sentence would have had Dean sniggering like a schoolboy. In this case, however, Sam recognised the set of Dean's jaw; that look had 'this sonofabitch is history' written all over it.

Xxxxx

Their visit to the house posing as history students from the local college gleaned some interesting information; a few good leads which Sam was just bursting to get digging into.

At first, the house owner had been nervous, reluctant to let them in, but had warmed up immensely when they dropped Bobby Singer's name into the conversation.

"Rescued her uncle from a cougar attack, huh?" Dean laughed uproariously at the thought of Bobby, the all-action hero wrestling cougars.

Xxxxx

"So what we got?" Dean spoke up as they made their way back to the motel.

Sam sighed, "I'm not sure; she says the house used to belong to the governor of the local jail, and he died in a fire in the house two hundred years ago." He looked across at Dean, "but I don't think that's our guy; there's no way that house is two hundred years old".

"Perhaps she got confused?" Dean speculated, "perhaps she means one hundred years?"

Sam nodded wearily; "maybe!"

"All I know", said Dean, "is that place is seriously wrong. "I didn't need the EMF meter - the evil in that place is so thick, you can almost grab a handful of it". He shuddered, "Seriously, dude, it's making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up just thinking about it!"

Sam nodded and the brothers settled into a comfortable silence.

"That kid - Maisie - she liked you!" Sam broke the silence, turning to Dean with a smile.

"Dude, all chicks dig me - even the potted versions!"

Sam shook his head, smiling, "no dude, she really took to you - even Alison commented on it."

"Alison, eh?" Dean glanced at Sam with a wry grin, "Don't think I didn't see you eyeing her up, you dirty little ram."

"Can we keep our minds out of the gutter?" Sam shook his head with a laugh.

"You started it!"

The brothers sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the purr of the Impala's engine.

"Dean, did you hear what Alison was saying about Maisie and how she won't be without her toy rabbit, how it goes everywhere with her?"

"Peter …" Dean corrected his brother.

"OK, Peter!" Sam laughed, "Kinda cute how it's been her comforter through all the bad times; watching her father decline and die, then though all the confusion and sadness afterwards; she's always got the rab - sorry, Peter - to give her comfort and security".

Dean spoke without taking his eyes off the road, "Kids deal in different ways, Sammy, they're a lot tougher than people give them credit for."

A few more moments of silence passed.

"Sammy, you're starin' at me!"

Sam shook his head absently, "Uh, sorry dude!" He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Hey Dean, did you … you know, when it happened .. Did you …?"

"Did I what?"

"Well, you know, like Maisie, did you have …"

"Are you askin' if I had a comforter when Mom died?"

"Uh, yeah - I guess I am!".

Dean sighed, and was silent for a moment; Sam could see the wheels in his head turning; there was some flippant, smartass comment brewing here, Sam just sensed it.

"Yeah I suppose I did."

Sam jolted in his seat; ok, that was unexpected!

"Only I never had a nice, fluffy purple rabbit like Maisie; oh no, my life could never be that pleasant! No, I had to make do with your heavy, wet ass!"

Sam swallowed weakly and turned abruptly back to stare out of the windscreen.

"Oh look, there's the motel!"

xxxxx

 

A long day of laborious research, staring at a laptop screen and schlepping round museums and libraries followed as both brothers set out to find as much about the house as possible. It proved to be an easier task than either of them hoped due to the fact that the erstwhile Jail Governor, a Mr Roderick Archer, appeared to have significant links with the house, and be something of an infamous local legend at the same time; the Winchesters soon found themselves drowning under the weight of facts, theories, dates and stories about him.

It was well into the small hours when the pieces all finally fell into place. Sam had wished at that point that he could just lie down and rest his tired, aching eyes; but as the awful reality came to light, he realised he had never felt less like sleeping in his life.

xxxxx

Dean, obviously not as stimulated by the research as Sam, had dozed off on his bed, a copy of the Featherstone Tribune spread out across his chest. He suddenly found himself being roughly shaken awake by an agitated brother.

"H-hey, steady on, dude!" He blinked vacantly until his eyes focussed on his brother's distressed face.

"Dean, we gotta go." Sam's eyes were glazed in fear.

Dean abruptly sat up, "What's goin' on?"

"Alison and Maisie are in danger - real bad danger; we've gotta go now."

"Dude, it's two o'clock I the morning", Dean muttered blearily, "They're gonna love us if we turn up hammerin' on their door in the middle of the night!"

"Dean, listen to me!" Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders, "If we don't go there now, there's a very good chance they won't be around in the morning to love us or otherwise!"

Dean knew that look; his brother was beyond scared. He slid off the bed, and grabbed his jacket "C'mon then dude" he grumbled over a yawn.

Xxxxx

"So, you gonna tell me what this midnight dash is all about?" Dean turned to Sam who was fidgetting like a frog on a hotplate.

Sam took a deep breath; "Our friend, Mr Archer; he didn't live in the house where Alison lives; he lived in one on the same site before that."

"Uh-huh!" Dean acknowledged, really not sure where this was going.

"Archer's house burnt down with him in it exactly two hundred years ago. He burned to death in the fire Dean."

"Exactly two hundred years ago?" Dean's head whipped round to face Sam, "how exactly?"

"Tonight exactly", Sam responded.

"Dean, our guy had a reputation for being a tyrant; well, a complete psycho in fact! He hung and flogged more prisoners than the rest of the state combined. During his tenure more prisoners died than in the whole period after his retirement in 1810 up until the Jail closed in the 1930s." Sam took a deep breath and continued before Dean could speak up. "Shortly after he retired, a couple of prisoners escaped from the jail; they set about making his life hell in some kind of revenge-driven vendetta; they attacked him and his house, setting fires, poisoning the water supply, killing their animals; you name it, they did it; they terrified the old man and his wife almost to the point of insanity. They persecuted him for three months, and then one night, they burnt the house to the ground. He and his wife died in the fire".

"Three months?" Dean asked warily

"Three months!" Sam confirmed

"The poltergeist has been persecuting Alison for three months." Now Dean was as wide awake as Sam.

"The activity has been getting progressively more severe ..." Sam added.

"And the two hundredth anniversary of the fire is tonight." Dean hesitated, "Sam, this isn't some random poltergeist manifestation", he turned to Sam in wide-eyed horror, "this is a countdown."

Sam nodded in agreement, "just for the record, Alison's house is about 70 years old; some of the stones from the demolition of the old jail were used to build it."

Dean felt his stomach lurch; he slammed his foot hard on the accelerator and the Impala's powerful growl turned into a roar.

Xxxxx

Both Winchesters gaped in horror when they saw a pall of smoke as the Impala turned into the isolated drive up to the house. Sam had his mobile phone out calling the fire department before the Impala had even skidded to a halt.

Vivid orange flames were pouring out of two broken upstairs windows, and thick, acrid smoke engulfed the top half of the house. Already the heat and roar of the flames was overwhelming.

The brothers leapt out of the Impala and ran towards the burning house, they were met by Alison trying to fight her way into the house, screaming hysterically.

Sam grabbed her, and pulled her away from the burning house, "Alison!" he said urgently, "you're OK, I've got you."

She turned to him, her soot stained face streaked with tears, and fought violently against his grip; "Maisie" she screamed, barely audible over the chaos, "Maisie's in there."

Those words were the only prompt Dean needed. He shrugged his thick leather jacket off and slung it over his head in the manner of a hood, and without even a glance towards Sam and Alison, he dashed blindly into the house, ignoring Sam's frantic cry of "Dean, NO!"

"We got out" she cried, her voice punctuated by choking coughs, "we got out; then just as my back was turned, she ran back in to get that damn rabbit." She broke down in Sam's arms, "I tried to go in after her but I lost her in the smoke".

Sam bit back desperate tears; "Dean's in there now," he reassured her firmly, "if anyone can get Maisie out; trust me, he will!"

Sam looked over the top of Alison's head into the burning house, the thundering roar of the fire, crackling and whistling like a living swarm, the billowing, choking smoke, flying, drifting embers lighting up the night sky like some twisted, hellish firework display. In the distance he heard the faint wail of a siren, and thanked God silently that help was on it's way. Help for Maisie; help for Dean.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to follow Dean into the house, to find his brother and drag him out to safety, but he knew what Dean would expect; Alison needed protection so that's what Sam had to do. He held the stricken woman tightly and closed his eyes, trying not to think of his brother and that little girl in that terrible inferno …

Xxxxx

tbc in next post ...
 

Comments

[borgmama1of5.livejournal.com]

You have a talent for making the physical descriptions of the action very visceral and real, and I've already complimented you other times on your dialog :)

But is there more after this? It feels like it needs a little more about Maisie's rescue. Am I missing a link?

[dizzojay.livejournal.com]

Hi there, yes there is more, but LJ started doing funny things, it wouldn't let me post the whole thing, said it was too large and then when I tried to post the remaining chapters seperately, they disappeared!

Missing chapters are all up now!

Glad you enjoyed, always nice to hear from you.
x

[(Anonymous)]

This is so exciting! But it looks like all of your links go to the same chapter?

[dizzojay.livejournal.com]

Hey there, thanks for posting, and glad you're enjoying.
I've checked the cuts, and as far as I can see, they all start at the top of the appropriate chapters, but LJ is doing strange things at the moment, it's taken me about five attempts to post this story in it's entirety!

I will keep an eye on any other posts I make.

Thanks for stopping by and reading
x

[thruterryseyes.livejournal.com]

I was about to say the same thing....

[dizzojay.livejournal.com]

Hey there, thanks for posting.
As far as I can see, the cuts start at the top of the chapters they refer to, but LJ is doing strange things at the moment, it's taken me about five attempts to post this story complete!

I will keep an eye on any other posts I make.

Thanks for reading
x

[thruterryseyes.livejournal.com]

LJ is inherently evil....

[dizzojay.livejournal.com]

I'm inclined to agree. It was making me say all sorts of naughty words last night ...