Bumf*ck, Nowhere - Part Nine
Master Post
Part Nine
“Brefvrest,” Sam greeted cheerily when he reached the top step with two Styrofoam cups of coffee balanced precariously in one hand, a grocery bag in the other and a bakery bag clenched between his teeth. He spit the bag out into Ryan’s waiting hands. The older Schmidt boy quickly opened the bag, stuck his nose in, took a deep breath and reemerged looking like he was in pastry heaven.
“Breakfast,” Sam repeated with a smile. “I’ve got coffee and chocolate milk to drink,” He handed the coffee off to Dean, then reached into the paper grocery bag and pulled out a half gallon of chocolate milk and cups. “I’ve got rolls and Cookie Crisp cereal.” Grinning wide, he presented the box of cereal to Tim, but it was quickly swiped away by Dean.
“Cookie Crisp?! Oh my God, I haven’t had Cookie Crisp since…I can’t even remember how long.”
Dean tore into the box and brought a handful of the cereal to his mouth, crunching and groaning loudly around the mouthful. Sam snatched the box back from his brother and handed it off to Carrie.
“Use the extra cups like bowls. You’ll have to eat it dry cuz I wasn’t thinking and forgot to grab any spoons or white milk.”
“That’s okay, we eat dry cereal all the time,” Carrie assured. “Mom’s on disability and milk’s expensive.” She poured a cup of cereal and a cup of milk for each boy and directed them to sit on the large braided floor rug which they did without argument. She joined them a moment later with her own breakfast, and the family-minus-one ate in tension-filled silence.
Dean was perched on the corner of the bed, making his way through first one, and then a second, glazed donut. He brought his coffee cup to his lips and took tentative sips, stopping when he recognized the pensive look on his brother’s features.
“What’s up?”
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” Sam answered under his breath, “about Mark Heiser.”
“What about him?” Dean asked, equally as quiet, because there was no use getting the kids more involved than they already were.
“He’s twenty-three- my age - with a demon on his tail.”
“Yeah, well, bad shit happens to good people all the time, Sammy. You know that.”
“I know, but I just can’t help but wonder: what if he’s like me? What if he’s another one of Yellow Eyes’s Special Children, like Max or Andy?”
Dean took a bite of his donut and chewed thoughtfully before saying, “I’m listening.”
“It’s something he said in that article, he just knew something bad was going to happen. Neither one of us believe in coincidences, so the fact that he just happened to be in the right place at the right time to save that kid…it doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Me neither, but if this is about Yellow Eyes, why aren’t you bent in half with one of your visions?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because it sent a second-rate demon to do its work?” Sam offered.
“Shyeah,” Dean scoffed, “did a bang-up job on this one, didn’t it? Burned down the wrong damn house, I’m surprised it didn’t go after the wrong Heiser.”
“Heiser?”
The boys turned to find Carrie standing nearly on top of them, looking pale and shaken.
“Which Heiser?”
“Keep your voice down,” Dean instructed, snagging her by the elbow and pulling her in to complete their circle. She sat down on the bed with her hand clasped over her mouth to hide her trembling.
Dean leaned into her, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder and asked, “Joe and Renee Heiser; do you know them?”
Carried nodded, her bobbing head picking up speed as the information settled in. “It’s a small town, Dean. Everybody knows everybody. Mrs. Heiser was Ryan’s teacher last year in school.”
“Duh,” Sam said smacking his forehead, “Why didn’t we think of that? Carrie? Do you know where the Heisers moved to?”
“Of course.” Her eyes bounced back and forth from one Winchester to the other as they and shared a brief but significant look between them.
“We’re gonna need that address,” Dean announced a second later.
***
It was Saturday, the day before Christmas Eve, and Dean had his hands full with two boys and a bar full of customers.
He’d sent Sam and Carrie off at nine, giving her strict instructions to drop Sam off and then go directly to work for her scheduled shift.
“Whatever you do, don’t give anyone the impression that there’s anything wrong, okay? You do your job and then you hightail it to Pauley’s afterward, you understand? Don’t stop to talk to any of your friends; don’t answer any phone calls unless it’s from Sammy or me. Am I clear?”
“Yessir,” she’d responded automatically, and he smiled fondly at her.
Since Dean had the lunch shift at the bar, the brothers had decided that Sam would go to the Heisers’ under the guise of being an insurance adjuster. So, he’d suited up and Carrie had driven him to the new house, letting him off half a block away, and then she’d continued to the grocery store for work.
Dean meanwhile bundled up Ryan and Tim and together they made their way to the bar. Under normal circumstances, the half mile to Paul’s would be a piece of cake; flat terrain and well-laid sidewalks to lead the way, but that day a cold, moist wind had settled in, blowing uncharacteristically from the north and bringing with it, thick, wet flurries that stung the skin like ice.
Dean’s leather jacket was little protection against this kind of weather, and when they were about two blocks away yet, he gave in. He grabbed Tim up into his arms, snatched Ryan by the hand, and they sprinted the rest of the way.
“Wowza!” he exclaimed, bursting through the front door. Paul looked up from the bar where he was filling out a purchase order, and raised an eyebrow as the crew bustled into the building. Dean shook off the snow and peeled out of his jacket, hanging it up on a wall hook, and then turned to help Tim out of his coat and snow pants. The boys tromped in their snow boots across the room and clambered up into the bar stools beside Paul and leaned in to see what he was up to.
“Babysitting Dean?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m gonna need to talk to you about that,” Dean flicked his eyes to the back room, indicating that he didn’t want to talk in front of the kids.
Paul nodded his understanding. “You boys eat breakfast yet?” he asked.
“Yup,” Tim answered happily. “Sammy got us chocolate milk and cookies!”
“Cookie Crisp,” Dean corrected.
Paul reached under the counter and produced a paper cup of crayons of all colors, lengths and conditions, as well as a Hot Wheels coloring book that looked to be about twenty years old. Ryan was quick to grab onto the book; pouring through it until he found two pages side-by-side on which he and Tim could both color at the same time. Kid sure had his big brother duty down pat, Dean noted with a smile.
“Will you boys be okay here? I need to talk to Paul for a second.”
“Sure,” they replied in unison.
Dean followed Paul into the kitchen where the bartender turned on the pot-filler faucet and filled the sink for dishes.
“Grab me those dirty pans over there, will ya kid?” he asked. Dean gathered the morning skillets and brought them to the sink, letting them slide beneath the soapy water. Then he turned and leaned back against the wall, watching out of the corner of his eye as Paul scoured away the cooked on egg and sausage left after the morning’s breakfast. “Well?” Paul said, rinsing the suds off of the first pan. “You wanted to talk, so let’s talk. What’s going on? What’s got you playing mommy all of a sudden to two boys who’ve already got one?”
“They’re in trouble, Paul,” Dean answered soberly, “their mom and sister too.” He looked up from beneath his long, dark lashes; watching closely for the bartender’ response.
“What kind of trouble? Bad trouble?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, so we take this to the authorities.”
Dean shook his head. “The cops can’t help them.”
“But you can?” Paul looked him up and down, skeptically, and beneath his gaze, Dean shifted uncomfortably. Then, as if to erase any doubt, Dean stood up a little straighter, raised his chin, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Yes,” he answered, “Sam and I are the only ones who can help.”
Concern washed over Paul’s face and he shook his head in disappointment. “Just what the Hell are you wrapped up in, Dean?”
“More than you want to know.”
***
“Thank you.” Sam smiled, graciously accepting the cup of coffee Renee Heiser poured for him. She topped off her own cup as well as her husband’s, and then took a seat at the table beside him.
The Heisers were the typical Midwestern family. Two kids; Mark was in college, his sister, Jenna, was still in high school, and both of them honor students. Two working parents: Jim was the manager of the local Co-op, and Renee, they had already learned, was a school teacher in the elementary. Jim and Renee had been high school sweethearts and had recently celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. One dog: Fiercely protective but very lovable, Eddie, their 8-year-old Black Lab was seated beside Sam with his head resting heavily on Sam’s thigh. He nosed at Sam’s hand until Sam continued his rhythmic petting of the dog’s broad head.
“So you really think this might have been arson?” Renee asked, her shaking fingers causing the cup to jitter nervously against the saucer.
“It’s too early to tell, ma’am. The state investigators are running the tests, but all leading indicators are pointing towards it.”
Sam was talking out his ass, of course, but he did it so very well. He had one of those faces - albeit a young one - that made people fall all over themselves to trust and believe him. Dean often rolled his eyes and made fun of Sam for the kicked puppy look he did so well, but Sam knew that Dean genuinely appreciated the fact that his younger brother was so good with people. Dean was a man of action, and when he opened his mouth, he tended to be brutally honest and a tad bit scary.
Jim laid his hand over his wife’s; stilling her movement and helping to calm her nerves. “Are we suspects?” he asked, upfront.
“Truthfully? I don’t want to scare you; however, we suspect that this may have been a professional job. It appears as though your house may have been targeted.”
“Who would want to target us?”
“No, Mrs. Heiser, not you. Your son.”
“Mark?” Renee chirped; growing even more frightened. “Why?”
“I told you! I told you and you wouldn’t listen.”
All three turned to see Mark Heiser standing in the doorway.
“Mark,” his father hissed, “now is not the time.” Jim rose from the table. He crossed to his son and tugged him into the room, but Mark, who was taller and stronger than his father, pulled out of his grasp. He folded his hands over the back of the chair at the head of the table and glowered down the people sitting there.
“If not now, when?” Mark’s voice was low, even and deadly serious, and he held everyone’s complete attention. “Our home, Dad - the house that Jenna and I grew up in - is gone. Maybe now you’ll believe me when I say something bad is coming.”
“Wait,” Sam interrupted, “You knew this was going to happen? How exactly?”
“I know a lot of things,” Mark said, turning accusing eyes on Sam, “for example, I know you’re not who you say you are.”
He straightened, crossed his arms triumphantly and waited for Sam to deny it, but Sam didn’t plan to.
“You’re right,” Sam said, sitting back and crossing his arms as well, “but if you already know that, then you also know that I’m here to help.”
Mark frowned. “How? How can you help me? You don’t know what I’ve been going through. You don’t know -”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mark. I do know. Because I’m just like you.”
It took a few seconds, but Sam’s words slowly sank into Mark and he slumped into the seat in a haze of relief and disbelief.
“You are?” Mark closed his hands around his mouth, steepling his fingers like prayer hands, and then he took a long, raged breath and fixed his eyes on Sam. “So, I’m not crazy?”
Sam smiled and shook his head.
“‘Just like you?’” Jim Heiser piped up, looking from one to the other, “What does he mean by that? What do you mean by that?”
“But it doesn’t matter,” Mark continued, ignoring his father’s questions, “I’ve seen what he’s capable of doing, and you can’t stop him.”
“Who?” his father asked, “What are you talking about?”
“The man with the yellow eyes, Dad,” Mark snapped, “I told you, and you wouldn’t believe me, but he’s real.”
“Have you seen him?” Sam asked. “Like, in the flesh?”
Mark shook his head, answering no.
“Well I have.” Sam looked from one member of the family to the next, finally landing on a very pale, nervous looking Renee Heiser. “And I’m guessing you have too, Mrs. Heiser,” he said when her hands flew up to cover the squeak that left her mouth.
***
“Have you been drinking?” Paul asked sternly.
Dean rolled his eyes and his jaw clenched in irritation. He’d broken the Winchester cardinal rule and opened up to Paul about everything; their life as hunters, the ghosts and demons and all the things that go bump in the night. He’d told Paul about the kids’ situation and what their plan was to help them get their mother back from the demon’s grasp, and all he’d gotten in return was: Have you been drinking?
“Should’ve known better,” Dean grumbled. He pushed passed Paul and went to leave the privacy of the kitchen, but was pulled up short when Paul’s hand wrapped around Dean’s arm.
“What are you gettin’ so upset about?”
“Because…” Dean whirled around on the bartender, “because, you’re making some big fuckin’ joke out of this, when I’m being dead serious. I should’ve known better than to go involving a…a civilian,” he hissed.
“Why are you involving me?”
“Because, I trust you,” Dean blurted out before he’d had a chance to truly think it over, “I don’t know why, but I do. I trust you. Hell, maybe Sam was right?” Dean deflated thinking about how, only two days ago, Sam had accused him of finding a ‘pseudo-Dad’ in Paul, and maybe to some degree, Sam was right, but it wasn’t just about being a soldier and taking orders. Dean looked through the doorway into the main room of the bar where the boys were still happily coloring.
Ryan had an arm wrapped protectively around the shoulders of his little brother. He leaned in, pointed at something on the coloring page, smiled and said something encouraging to Tim which made the little boy’s face light up with glee. Then, as if he felt Dean’s gaze upon him, Ryan looked up and his smile melted away. Left in its place was a look that mirror Dean’s own; apprehension and the need for reassurance; the same look Dean had been giving Paul since they’d first met.
The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked up and he gave Ryan a subtle wink. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to have Ryan sitting up a little straighter, and pasting a confident smile across his young face.
“Maybe Sam was right about what, Dean?”
“Nothing.” Dean shook his head and stepped back into the kitchen. “Look, believe me, don’t believe me; that’s you’re prerogative, but these kids are in real danger, and Sam and I could use an extra hand.”
Searching Dean’s face for answers, Paul took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Fine,” he said with a shake of his head. “What do you need me to do?”
---
Part Ten