Down in the Underground Chapter 5
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CHAPTER 5
Dean had tipped over several piles in the bedroom with no luck. He pulled open the closet door though and smiled. The spacious walk in held a desk that was almost neat in comparison. Looking over the papers lying out, he frowned. They were spreadsheets mapping tourism in the Pendleton Underground over the last ten years. Sifting through them showed a steady decline until a few months ago. That graph had a newspaper clipping attached about a woman claiming to have been attacked by spirits in the tunnels. The numbers got better. In fact, there were quite a few article clippings attached to various graphs, all of which coincided with a boost in tourism.
"Hank. I'm starting to get a bad feeling about you." Dean muttered. He pulled open the top drawer and cursed. "You idiot." In the drawer was a stack of research on witchcraft and cursed objects along with several books and a necklace of chicken feet in the bottom drawer. "You've been a naughty boy, Hank." He gathered all of it up in a neat stack to take back to the motel.
A sound caught his attention. "Sammy?" He thought it might have been his voice. Dean tucked the pile under one arm and went back out to the hall. "Sam?" The sound of something toppling came from downstairs and Dean ran, taking the stairs two and three and a time.
"Sam! Where are you?" Dean shouted. He ran into the kitchen and saw a collapsed pile of magazines still settling against what had to be the cellar door.
"Dean!" Sam's voice spurred him on.
"I'm comin' Sammy!" Dean set the pile of research aside and hastily dug out the door. He could hear Sam grunting and he called Dean's name again, more frantically. "Son of a bitch!" Dean threw and kicked the avalanche of magazines away from the door and ripped it open. "Sam!"
"Dean! Hurry!"
Dean all but leaped down the stairs and hit the bottom in time to see his brother being dragged to a hole in the cellar floor by some unseen force. He ran and grabbed Sam's scrabbling arms. "Hang on!" Dean pulled against whatever what was tugging at Sam's legs. "What the hell is it?"
"I dunno! Ahh!" Sam cried out as something cold slithered up his legs. "Ghost!"
Dean nodded. He reached back with one hand and pulled his big knife free. He stabbed it into the floor up to the hilt. "Hold on to it!" Dean ordered. Sam got one hand on the hilt and then the other. "Don't let go!" Sam nodded, pale and Dean charged back upstairs to the kitchen. He ransacked the cabinets by the stove, shouting in victory when he came up with a container of salt.
He ran back downstairs, sliding the last few steps. Sam was down to one hand on the knife hilt as Dean ran to the edge of the hole. He popped open the container and flung salt down below and over Sam's legs. Sam shouted in surprise at the sudden release.
"Ok, come on." Dean wrapped an arm around his chest and pulled him away. He jumped back up and quickly poured a circle around the open trap door before going back to his panting brother. "You ok?"
"Am now." Sam nodded, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. "Did you see what had me?"
"No. Wasn't visible." Dean scowled at the dark, wet stains on Sam's thigh. "Ok, we're going. Not sure you have any stitches left to pop at this point." He went and pulled his knife free before helping Sam to his feet.
"Hank's up to something." Sam said wearily as they climbed the stairs.
"You aint kidding." Dean took most of his weight and in the kitchen pointed out the stack of research. "You can go through that while I patch you up."
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"It's a cursed object." Sam pronounced, setting aside the journal he'd dug out of the pile of Hank's research. Reading it had kept his mind off Dean helping to peel blood soaked denim from his thigh, unwrapping red bandages, removing and replacing torn sutures. Dean handed him a bottle of purple Gatorade.
"Drink it." Dean ordered. "You've lost too much blood." Sam's hand shook as he raised the bottle and swallowed half of it. Dean tossed the used bandages in the trash and sat on the bed, pulling the journal over. "Cursed object?"
"Yeah. Real dark stuff." Sam set the bottle aside and tried unsuccessfully to find a comfortable spot for his aching leg. "It's some sort of idol imbued with the power to energize spirits."
"It's a fraggin' battery?" Dean stared up, surprised.
"Yeah. Gives them more juice. Turns a weak ghost into a damn poltergeist." Sam dropped his head back. "We need to know where he put it."
"Ok. I'm gonna go have a chat with Captain Stupid at the hospital. You're staying here." Dean pulled the blanket up over Sam's legs, raising a brow when he didn't get a protest. "Man you must feel like crap."
"Pretty much." Sam nodded, eyes still closed. "Not sure I could stand right now if I wanted to."
"I'll be back soon." Dean laid a shotgun loaded with rock salt beside him. "Sam?" He was already asleep. Dean brushed a hand under his bangs across his forehead and frowned. There was a fever brewing there. He lifted the blanket and then the edge of the bandage on Sam's thigh and cussed; angry red lines were beginning to appear. He patted the blankets back into place, resolved to make it a quick trip and left.
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Pendleton General Hospital still hadn't grown on him. Dean went to the Nurse's station wanting to be anywhere else. "Hi. What room is Hank Gaffney in?" He asked the Nurse. She smiled and checked the computer.
"Family or friend?" She raised her brows at him.
"Friend I guess. I was with him in the tunnel." Dean said. When her face colored over with sympathy he turned on the charm. "It was just awful finding him like that. I wanted to check on him, you know?" Dean leaned in and gave her his best puppy eyes. "Wanna make sure he's ok."
"Oh sweetie of course." The Nurse looked smitten, brown eyes damp with understanding. "He's on the second floor. Room 201."
"Thanks darlin'." Dean took her hand, dropped a kiss on her knuckles and left her cradling her hand with a small smile. "Still got it." He said to himself as he punched the elevator button.
He found the room easily and stuck his head in Gaffney's door, finding him dozing. Dean shut the door behind him, locked it and went to the bed. "Wake up, sunshine." Dean thumped his shoulder and grinned as bleary, blue eyes shot open. "There you are."
"Wha…who are you?" Hank Gaffney stuttered. Something about the tall man and the piercing green eyes staring down at him made him nervous.
"I'm the guy who's gonna clean up your mess." Dean leaned over him. "So why don't you tell me all about the cursed object you hid in the underground to juice the ghosts and drive up business."
"I don't…" Hank started but Dean held up a hand, cutting him off and plucked the call button off the bed, out of reach.
"Don't give me any crap, Hank. My kid brother's down with a bullet wound in his leg because of you." Dean growled. "My patience aint the best right now. Talk."
Hank clearly saw the barely repressed violence in the man's face and caved. "I'm sorry. I swear. No one was supposed to die!"
Dean rolled his eyes as a tear slipped down Hank's face. "Then why didn't you stop it?"
"I've tried." Hank protested. "I've tried to get the damn thing back but they wont let me! The ghosts, they've tried to kill me." He covered his face with his hands. "She lied to me and…and oh god I think she killed that woman to keep the magic working!"
"Wait. Who lied to you?" Dean was confused now.
"The W…witch." Hank replied.
"Hold on. I saw all your research." Dean glared at him. "You did all this."
"No! All I did was put it where she told me too!" Hank raised his hands in submission. "She made it. I wouldn't even know how."
"Dammit. Alright. What's her name?" Dean demanded.
"You've got to stop it!" Hank pleaded. "Please!"
"We will but you have to give her up first." Dean crossed his arms and waited. Hank seemed to think about it and finally he nodded.
"Okay. She's killing people. She has to be stopped. Liz. Her name is Liz." He said softly. "I didn't even know she was…you know, a Witch until she came to me."
"Liz the tour guide Liz?" Dean asked and a wave of cold washed over him when Hank nodded. She'd had her hands all over Sam.
"She told me never to tell but…but…" Hank paled.
"What?" Dean asked. Hank's eyes flew wide, his hands reached up to scrabble at his throat. "Son of a bitch!" It was a hex. Liz must have covered her bases. Dean searched Hank and found nothing. He dove for the closet and his clothes while the last of the Gaffney's turned blue and slowly went still. "Come on!" Dean tore his clothes from the closet and found a small bag, out of place and tied with twine tucked in the bottom of Hank's shoe.
Dean ran to the little bathroom and dropped it in the sink. He took out his zippo and set fire to it. Hank was too still. Dean unlocked the door and yelled for help, stepping back as nurses and orderlies swarmed the room.
"Sorry, Hank." Dean said softly and slipped away. He took out his phone and dialed Sam as he waited for the elevator. "Come on, Sam. Be there." It went to voicemail. "Sam it's Liz! She's the witch. She made the cursed object and I think she just killed Gaffney. Stay away from her." He growled when the elevator failed to appear and ran to the stairs, dialing his brother again.
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Sam jerked awake at the sound of knocking. Someone was at the door. He felt too hot and was covered in a fevered sweat. He forced his tired body to move, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and nearly passed out at the hot pain radiating from his left thigh.
"Crap." He gasped. Sam dragged his sweats from the foot of the bed and pulled them on. "Hang on!" He called and stood. He swayed dangerously and wobbled out to the door. "Who is it?"
"Sam? It's Liz." Her cheerful voice greeted him and he opened the door. "You didn't look so good earlier so I brought some…" She took him in, bare chest and fever flushed skin. "Oh my…are you ok?" She didn't wait for an answer. She pushed in, setting a covered container aside and took his arms.
"I'm ok." Sam said hurriedly though he let her push him to the couch.
"No you're not. Sit." Liz gently pushed him down. "God, you're burning up." She sat beside him and put a hand to his forehead, tipping his head back to her shoulder. Sam knew he should get her to leave, stand up, do anything but her cool hand felt so good against his fevered skin.
"This should never have happened, you know." Liz murmured in his ear. "If you'd only spent that first night with me, I'd have cleared the ghost poison from your system and you'd have liked it too. I promise." Sam jerked under her hand but she knew he was helpless now. Her hand on his forehead holding him in place with magic. "It's so much more difficult at this stage." She put her lips against his ear and breathed in the scent of him. "I really do like you, you know and after three centuries I don't say that very often anymore." Sam jerked again. "I think we need to go somewhere more…intimate." She said as Sam's cell phone began ringing on the nightstand.
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