A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. I am slowly catching up on my review replies. I am still using more of my computer time to get chapters out. Once again, happy birthday to TraSan, I hope you like this last installment. I think I've covered everything now!

Gallows Gallus

Chapter Three

And Your Chicken Army, Too

Dean ran three red lights, nearly crashed into a minivan full of teenagers and barely missed a dog lumbering in the road as he raced behind the ambulance. The fact the sirens were blaring drove his panic up another notch. Not sure how many notches I have left. When the ambulance suddenly turned, Dean almost passed the turn, but managed to just make it. He pulled the car into the closest spot and ran into the emergency room.

The woman at the front desk stopped him and handed him a clipboard with forms on it. Dean sighed and leaned against the wall to fill them out, keeping his eye on the door that led back into the ER. He took the forms back and handed the woman the insurance card he thought would work—at least until they were gone. She pointed him towards the waiting room.

"But…" Dean said.

"Sir, if you'll just wait, the doctor will be right out."

"But…"

"Sir, please," she said firmly. "You need to wait for the doctor."

"Fine," Dean growled and paced into the waiting room, moving around the edge of the room, unconsciously checking the doors for possible escape routes, making note of the people sitting there, taking in the chapel with its basin of holy water outside. He tracked the coffeemaker down by the sour smell coming from one corner of the room, made himself a cup and started pacing around the room again. Dean lost track of the number of times he walked around the room, stopped to check with the nurse about Sam's condition and refilled his coffee cup. He was pretty sure the coffee-sludge was beginning to make a hole in his stomach when the doors finally opened and a tall woman in scrubs walked towards him.

"How's my brother?" He pounced before she could say anything.

"I'm Dr. Reid. Your brother, he's…" Her eyes tracked away from him.

"He's what?" Calm, stay calm, punching doctors has never gotten you anything before.

"It's not good," she said with an odd look in her eye.

"What does that mean? Is his throat still swelling?"

"Yes, but that's not the major problem."

"It's not?" Dean asked. "Then what is it?"

"I thought, at first, we were dealing with the results of an injury, but…"

"But?"

"If I didn't know better, I would swear there was still a cord wrapped around his neck. You can see the indentation, and it's getting worse."

"What?"

"I have no explanation for it."

"Can I see him?" Dean said, aware that the panic was up another notch. Had another one, good. How many more, though?

"Yes, you should. I don't know…" She turned to lead him to the back, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "If this keeps up there will be nothing we can do, the damage will be too severe, it's like he's being hanged before my eyes."

Dean swallowed and followed her through the doors, she led the way to a room at the far corner of the ER. He stepped in and stopped. Oh, god, Sammy. Taking a deep breath he walked to the bed and put his hand down on Sam's arm.

"If you look here," the doctor said, pointing at Sam's throat. "You can see what I mean."

Dean looked down, the red line that had been on Sam's throat was now dark purple. He reached out and gently ran a finger over Sam's neck. He could feel the indentation of the cord that was choking his brother to death. "How long does he have?" Dean asked.

"Not long, unless we can stop whatever is happening."

"Okay, you keep him going. I'll be back." Dean leaned close to Sam and dropped his voice to a near whisper, hoping his brother would hear him. "I'm going after Gonzo, Sammy, just hang on till I get back." He straightened. "I'll be checking in, to see how he is."

"Have them page me directly. Where are you going?" Dr. Reid asked with a frown.

"To stop this," Dean said, patting Sam's arm and walking towards the door.

"How?"

"Playing chicken."

Dean pulled up at the storage less than fifteen minutes later. As fast as he'd driven behind the ambulance, he'd doubled the speed on the way back. He called Myrna as he drove, she gave him a code to get through the gate and wished him the best of luck. Yeah, 'cause I'm always so freaking lucky. He stopped in front of the large building and got out. He thought he saw something move across the roof, slipping behind the lighted "storage" sign. Great. Dean opened the trunk and stood looking in for a moment before grabbing the shotgun and his machete. He didn't know how much good the gun would do, it hadn't seemed to bother the chicken man earlier, but it might slow him down a little.

He eased the door open, trying to be as quiet as possible and was rewarded with a loud squeak. Just freaking great. The light switch was just inside the door, he reached in and turned it on. A sickly glow lit the hallway. Dean walked in and looked down the corridor before opening the door that led upstairs. He flipped on the light, again the lights were dim, far dimmer than he remembered. With a deep breath, he headed up the stairs, the ancient wood creaking under his feet.

Once on the second floor, he glanced down the hall towards the room where Sam had been attacked. The door was still partially open, something glinting just inside. The chickens are watching me, can it get any better?

"Won't catch me," a voice cackled, the sound bouncing around the empty building.

"Oh, yes I will," Dean said, turning in the direction of the sound. A door at the opposite end of the hall was swinging a little on its hinges. He walked towards it, aware of a scratching sound behind him. When he turned, he heard a scuffling noise, but nothing was behind him. "Come out and play Gonzo."

Laughter filled the corridor. "Won't catch me," the voice repeated.

The scratching was getting closer. Dean froze and the scratching stopped. He took a step. Scratch. Another step. Scratch. He spun around and caught a glimpse of something with red feathers disappearing under a door. Something suddenly closed around his ankle and yanked him off his feet. The chickens were on him the next second. Dean threw a hand over his eyes and tried to push himself up. The chickens increased their attack, he brought the gun up and blasted blindly into the mass of bodies. They scattered. He jumped up and turned in time to see a figure disappear through the door at the end of the hall. He followed, slamming the door behind him. Several chickens hit the door with a dull thud.

It was pitch black. Dean fished his flashlight out of his pocket. Flicking it on, he tried to get an idea of how big the room was, it echoed like it was large, even though he could see the far wall was only about thirty feet from the door. Turning the beam towards the ceiling, he understood why the place sounded so big. The ceiling opened to the next floor, a ladder built of… "Oh, that's just gross," he said aloud, walking to the carefully stacked collection of bones.

"Won't catch me."

Something slammed into Dean's back, nearly driving him to his knees. He managed to stay on his feet and tried to gauge where the voice was coming from. "Come on, Gonzo, I just want to play."

"I don't want to."

Dean heard it coming that time, and ducked as something whizzed over his head and shattered against the wall. He turned and fired in the direction the missile had come from, the flash lit the room up for a second and he got the impression of a collection of bodies, piles of feathers and a large table against one wall.

"Nice try, you missed." The voice came from the other side of the room.

"I'm done playing," Dean said, walking towards the table. It was covered with an assortment of items that led Dean to think it was an altar of some kind. He put his foot against it. "Table's going over, Gonzo."

"No!" The voice came from right beside Dean, he looked over, the chicken man stood there, illuminated in the beam of the flashlight. He was small, less than five feet, with an oddly shaped head, pointed teeth glinted from his mouth and his hands had long nails that looked like claws.

"Dude, you're fugly.," Dean said, swinging the machete. The flashlight clattered to the ground as he swung. He caught the goblin in the wrist, the hand dropping to the floor. "One down."

"No, not yet," Gonzo said, he reached down and the hand slid across the floor and re-attached to his arm.

"Oh, come on, that's not fair," Dean said to the universe at large. He raised the shotgun with his left hand and fired. It caught the goblin in the chest and provided enough of a distraction to allow him to connect with chicken man again, cleaving the head from the body. The trunk dropped to the floor, but before Dean could react, the head started inching back towards the body. "Oh hell no." Dean kicked the head across the room and swung the machete again and again. "I wonder if that's strategically dismembered enough?" he asked, looking at the pile of body parts. Taking a deep breath, he called the hospital and asked about Sam.

"He's not improving," Dr. Reid said, coming on the line a few seconds later.

"He's not?" Dean walked over and kicked the altar over. "What about now?"

"No," the doctor said, sounding confused.

"But, the altar and Gonzo… Wait, the chickens! I'll call back," he broke the connection and ran to the door. He opened it. "Shit."

The hall was full of chickens, scratching claws against the floor, black eyes turned to stare at him. He reached in his pocket, grabbed some shells and reloaded the shotgun. Dean fired into the army of chickens, several blasted apart in an explosion of feathers and saw dust. This isn't going to work. Dean looked desperately around, about five feet from where he stood a large cart sat against the wall. He took a deep breath and made a dash for the rusted metal cart. When he reached it, he swung it around and shoved it into the group of chickens. They parted before the cart, he raced down the hall, aware the army was regrouping behind him.

Dean opened the door to the room where Sam had been attacked. In the corner farthest from the door, on a small tray covered with a bunch of things, a single black candle was burning. Suspended above the tray was an effigy, hanging from a cord wrapped around its neck. Dean sprinted across the room, kicking several chickens out of his way as he went. He cut the figure down and sliced the cord from its neck.

The chickens apparently decided enough was enough.

Something hit him from behind with the force of a car. He slammed into the floor as the chickens began ripping at his hair and exposed flesh. Several of them managed to get under him and he was flipped over. The next instant, the chickens had their wings in his mouth, clawed feet pressing on his windpipe. Dean started to see stars. He was trying to draw air into his lungs, trying to get the chickens off him. One hand, flailing over his head, trying to pull the chickens away from his eyes caught the leg of the tray. Dean wrapped his hand around it and shoved it over. He heard it fall, glass shattering against the floor. The candle went out. The lights in the hallway suddenly grew brighter and Dean realized the chickens had stopped moving.

He sat up, the stuffed fowl falling from his body. Dean spit feathers out of his mouth and dragged out his phone. He was rubbing his throat as the call was connected. "My brother?"

"I don't know what happened."

"Doctor?"

"Whatever was choking him is gone, he's improving."

"Thank god," Dean said, letting his head, the rush of relief nearly undoing him. "I'll be there in about half an hour."

"I'm having your brother moved to a room for the night, we're going to leave him on the vent, just in case, until morning. Maybe it would be…"

"No, I promised him I'd never leave him alone in a hospital. I have no intention of breaking that promise now," Dean rasped out, his throat was really starting to ache. Stupid dead chickens.

"Come to the ER and ask for me, I'll take you to his room," Dr. Reid said.

"Thanks." Dean broke the connection and stood. The stuffed chickens were scattered around the room, stiff and unmoving. Just to make sure, he kicked one, watching with satisfaction as it slammed into the wall. He walked down the hall into the chicken man's lair. The pile of body parts was gone, in its place a pile of bones and feathers. "Caught you," Dean said to the pile and headed to the Impala. When he slid into the drives seat, he let his head rest against the cool wheel for a minute. An ache had appeared behind his eyes sometime between the motel and hospital and it was suddenly getting worse, pounding through his head in time with his pulse. I think I hate chickens. With a sigh, he pulled out and headed towards the hospital.

By the time he reached the parking lot for the ER, his head felt like it was getting ready to explode, his nose felt stuffed up. Dust. I hate dust too, and chickens and Gonzo. Sorry, Kermit, but I hate Gonzo. He got out and walked towards the doors, they opened in front of him, the warm rush of air making his head even worse. He stumbled to the triage desk, the nurse looked up at him and frowned.

"Dr. Reid," he gasped, then blinked, there were suddenly two nurses in front of him. And neither one hot. The room was moving around him in a slow circle. He blinked again.

"Sir, maybe you should…"

"Dr. Reid," he repeated. The room was spinning faster, the three nurses came around the desk and put a hand on him. The whirlwind around him was black at the edges, he felt his knees give way and there was a flurry of activity. He closed his eyes, hoping it would stop the spinning and help ease his headache.

When he was ready to open his eyes again, Dean realized he was lying down, there was something beeping over his head and the medicinal smell of oxygen was coming through something under his nose. What the hell? He opened his eyes and looked at the tile ceiling in confusion. Huh. There was the pinch of an IV in his elbow and something that pulled like stitches at the back of his neck. He lifted a hand and felt the bandage on his neck. Huh, weird.

A little more awareness made its way into his brain. Sam! Dean sat up too fast, the room did a little summersault then settled down. His brother was in the bed next to him. The tube was gone, an oxygen mask in its place. Dean sighed in relief and reached for the nurse call button. No one came, so he poked it again.

"I'm glad you're up," Dr. Reid said walking into the room. "I'm going off duty and I was hoping you'd be up before I left."

"How's Sam?" Dean asked, surprised at how raspy his voice sounded.

"He's improving. The anti-inflammatory has dealt with the residual swelling. He should be off the oxygen mask later this morning. I want to keep him here tonight, too, just for observation. That kind of injury can lead to severe swelling hours after the injury."

"I know," Dean said, swallowing.

"I want to keep you, too. I figured if he was here, you wouldn't fight me."

"Me, why? What happened?"

"You have a mild concussion, I stitched the worst of the slashes, I'm not sure I want to know where they came from. Mostly it's for observation, to make sure the reaction doesn't set in again."

"Reaction?"

"You have a severe allergy to chicken feathers, did you know that? We found several lodged in your throat, you inhaled enough to set off the reaction."

"No. I knew there was a reason I hated chickens," Dean said with a smile. "If it's just for observation can I get the IV out?"

"Sure." She turned off the oxygen and pulled his IV. "Take it easy, though."

"I'm not going anywhere, well, I need coffee, but after that, no where."

"Call the kitchen, they'll bring coffee—it's not too bad," she said with a smile. "I'll be back to check on you tonight."

"Thanks." Dean waited until she left before calling food services. He ordered coffee and food, then got out of bed, dropping down into the chair beside Sam. His brother had dark smudges under his eyes and the purple bruise on his throat was swollen, looking like he had the cord under his flesh. Dean ran a gentle hand over Sam's neck, checking to make sure it was just a bruise and nothing more sinister. Once he was sure, he put his hand on Sam's arm and leaned back in the chair, and flipped on the TV.

While he was eating, the nurse cam in and replaced Sam's oxygen mask with just a little tube. One more good sign. Dean sipped his coffee and watched as she worked, checking monitors and adjusting the drip on Sam's IV. Dean smiled at her as she left, then checked on Sam himself. "This was a little too close, Sammy," he said as he settled back into the chair. He flipped around a little on the TV before finding Forbidden Planet on the local PBS station. He was asleep before Anne Francis' "nude" swimming scene.

"Dean?" the soft whisper woke him as quickly as a shout.

"Sammy?" Dean sat up and looked over at his brother. Sam was awake, blinking in the sunlight coming through the window. He got up, sat on the edge of Sam's bed and pulled his brother up in a tight hug, Sam returned it. "Thought I lost you there for a minute, Sammy," Dean said. He let Sam go, and put his hand on his brother's chest. Sam covered it with his. "How do you feel?"

"My throat hurts," Sam whispered. "What happened?"

"Gonzo did the voodoo thing to you."

"What?"

"I foiled his plans."

"What?"

"Heard that on the TV the other day, liked it."

"And you've been saving it, haven't you?" Sam whispered with a grin.

"Oh hell yeah."

"Are you okay, Dean?" Sam was frowning in concern.

"Of course."

"You're in a hospital gown."

"Yeah, I was covered with chicken feathers, they wouldn't let me stay until I changed clothes."

"And the bandage on your neck?"

"Chicken scratches, nothing serious."

"Dean?" Sam's frown deepened.

"Okay, it's a couple of stitches, no big deal."

"You let them stitch you up?" Sam asked, his eyebrows climbing into his hair.

"Yeah." Dean tried the nonchalant shrug. 'Cause that always fools Sammy. Yep. His brother looked at him. Dean cleared his throat and looked out the window. Sam was quiet. "Okay, fine. Stop that." Sam grinned at him. "I might have sort of passed out a little."

"You might have sort of passed out a little? Dean?"

"I guess I have an allergy to chicken feathers."

"The dead stuffed chickens did a number on you, too?" Sam was laughing at him, the laugh turned into a cough.

"Shut up, Sammy." Dean chuckled. "After they let you out, want to stop and get some fried chicken? Exact a little revenge?"

"Dean…"

"Oh wait, or is it revenge, like chicken salad, is best served cold?"

"Bite me, Dean."

"No, Sammy, bite the chickens."

"Jerk," Sam said with a grin, tightening his hand on Dean's and meeting his eyes. He knows how close it was.

"Bitch," Dean said. "Okay, chick flick is over, let's order some lunch and watch a little TV, whatcha think?"

"Sounds good."

"I get to pick," Dean said, grabbing the remote.

"Fine, I think I'll sleep a little more anyway."

"Okay, Sammy." Dean stayed with his hand on Sam's chest until his brother dropped back to sleep. He waited a moment longer, then shifted to the chair. Dean put his hand back on Sam's arm, needing the contact. We can order a little food later, maybe I'll nap a little too. He turned the sound down on the TV and closed his eyes, letting the sound of Sam's even breathing carry him into sleep.

The End