Forged by Fire 5/?
Title: Forged by Fire
Author: mlebayre
Genre: General
Characters/Pairings: No Pairings, Dean and Sam, some other folks.
Rating: R
Spoilers: This is an AU. I've taken canon and events from all seasons, but they are more references than spoilers.
Notes: In this verse Sam never dies, so Dean never makes his deal.
Summary: Apparent mistaken identity lands Sam in prison, leaving Dean on the outside struggling to free his brother. Prison isn't a good place for a hunter especially when not all the inmates are human. Locked in a cage, Sam clings to the edge of sanity and discovers Abaddon has a fan. Next in the Two Souls Verse.
Series: Two Souls Verse
Disclaimer: Not ours,just borrowing from Kripke.
Many thanks to sendintheklowns who was my winning bidder at Kazcon 2009. She asked for another fic in the Two Souls Verse and Sam in prison. What a great idea! Thank you to my wonderful betas, Anickamarie and deej1957. Amazing art by thruterryseyes and the incredible vid is by kumaproogey thank you so much to both of you! Thank you silverruffian for all her help with research.
This chapter is for digitalwave who is feeling a bit under the weather this week. Hope it cheers you up!
Dean held his hands at his sides, fingers twitching as if he was waiting to draw on the outlaw coming down the street. On second thought, Forge figured maybe that’s what Dean was doing. He’d come within a hair’s breadth of frisking him for weapons before they went into the prison since he couldn’t rely on his sense of smell. Even dressed as a priest Dean’s clothes reeked of flash powder and gun oil.
Forge seriously considered turning Dean simply so they could go at each other on even ground. Despite the fact Forge had come to help, help Dean had asked for, they were still tap dancing around each other and almost at odds.
It was stress from knowing where Sam was and not being able to help him, Forge knew that.
They waited in the same prisoner meeting room as before for Sam to be brought in. When the kid arrived he looked worse than he had the day before, something Forge wouldn’t have thought possible. His head swiveled around and he watched as the guards stepped through the door, the clank of the lock loud. Drawing in a deep breath, Sam went right for Dean who stood in the middle of the room. He didn’t even seem to notice Forge was there at all.
Stumbling across the room, wincing as the ankle shackles caught, probably biting and ripping skin, Sam grabbed Dean’s arms, face nothing but sheer panic. Sucking in air he literally spit words out between rapid breaths. “He’s here. Dean, he’s here.”
Frowning, Dean’s gaze slipped to Forge for a split second before resting on his brother again. Gripping Sam by his elbows, and holding him so he was forced to look only at Dean, he asked, “Who, Sammy?”
“Ab-abad-a-abaddon. There’s a man here, he knew my name and that I was the only survivor. H-he said Abaddon was waiting for me.”
Dean’s face sank as hurt and confusion crossed over his features. “Sam,” he said very slowly, voice low and gentle, “we’ve been over this, a lot. Sammy, buddy, Abaddon is dead. We saw them die, all of them, the McCreedy brothers and Redding.”
Shaking his head furiously, Sam’s hair flapped in all sorts of odd directions. “This g-guy, We-weasel, he’s g-got a wall full of news clippings about the killings, he knew my name and Abad-d-don’s. Dean, how would he know? H-he’s here, he is.” Sam got one hand up, gripping the front of Dean’s shirt in his fist.
Licking his lips, Dean squeezed one of Sam’s arms and nodded. “Okay, Sammy, we’re going to figure all this out. I promise.” He slid one hand to Sam’s shoulder and guided him to the table. “First we need to get you somewhere safe until we can get you out. I need you to listen and concentrate. Okay?”
Sam nodded, eased into a chair, looking up at Dean, eyes locked on his brother. Forge could literally smell the terror radiating from Sam. His heart went out to the young man. He’d expected it to take a while longer before the breakdown started, but Sam was so far out of his element and combined with the fact he and Dean were accustomed to open roads and more freedom than most people it made sense this would happen quite quickly.
“Dean, listen to me, please?”
“I will, Sammy. But first we need to talk about our plan. We’ve only got twenty minutes.” Dean gently loosened Sam’s hand from his clothes and sat in the chair opposite him. He reached across the table and took firm hold of Sam’s wrists, right above where the shackles rested. Sam’s fingers twitched much like Dean’s had a half hour ago. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and watched Dean with wide eyes.
How anyone could even remotely think this kid was some sort of cold-hearted murderer was beyond Forge. That was a question they needed to answer, one of many.
“Sam, listen to me. We,” Dean nodded at Forge, “came up with a plan. The other prisoners here think you’re a kid killer. Forge can arrange to have you kept in solitary. That’ll keep you away from the other inmates and you’ll get food and water. Carter and Forge thought of it, they know a whole lot more about prisons than we do.”
Sam swallowed and looked from Dean to Forge and back again. When something banged outside the door and there were voices Sam jerked around and looked at the door for a few seconds before turning back to them. Forge could see the realization set in even before he spoke the words. “I’ll be alone? In a little room, a cage?” His face paled and the haunted quality his eyes took on made a shiver ripple down Forge’s spine. He watched Sam’s face change as the kid buried fear and confusion then bucked himself up to do as Dean asked.
Dean let go of Sam long enough to wipe one hand over his face, looked down at the table then back up. “Yes.”
One tight nod. “O-okay,” Sam barely whispered. “He, Weasel, he knew my name. He called me Sam. He told me he has been here since the prison opened, and that Abaddon was waiting for me, so was he, to finish what was started.” Drawing in a shaking breath, Sam blurted out, “He knew my name. How would he know those things if it wasn’t him?”
“I don’t know, Sam. But the McCreedys and Redding are dead. You know that. And in solitary this Weasel guy won’t be able to get to you.”
“Then how did he know?” Sam looked dubious. Forge wasn’t sure what Sam believed.
Forge planted both hands on the table and stood up. “That is something we’ll find out. I promise you, Sam. But first things first. We get you safe from the other inmates and we get you out. Then we’ll deal with Abaddon, or whoever.”
“Two minutes.” One of the guards shouted through the door, banging on it, making Sam nearly fall off the chair he jumped so hard.
Prisons were bad enough when you belonged in one, but for someone who wasn’t a criminal or very street savvy they were confusing and beyond dangerous. Forge was really feeling the need to simply kill someone. Maybe he’d start with that idiot assistant warden. He’d spent hours already trying to figure out why Sam’s fingerprints didn’t prove who he wasn’t, or how these people thought Sam was a thirty-seven year old man.
Now this new development, someone Forge never heard of knowing all about the case involving the McCreedys and Mike Redding. Forge decided he might very well spend the rest of his life-which could be a considerable number of years-cleaning up the mess left by those killers.
“Sam, are you okay with this?” Dean laid one hand on his brother’s arm, drawing Sam’s attention back to him.
Biting down on his lower lip, Sam nodded. “Not like I have a choice.”
“Of course you do, just not much of one. We’re going to have to trust Carter and Forge on this I think.”
Sam nodded. “You don’t believe me,” he said very softly.
Dean drew in a deep breath, gaze shifting to Forge for a split second before he looked Sam in the eye. “I believe in you and that we can both get through this. I believe there is something seriously wrong going on here and we’re gonna figure out what.”
That seemed to be the correct answer. Sam slumped a bit in his chair, shoulders and back relaxing. Walking out and away from Sam was absolute agony for Forge, he could only imagine the depth of torture it was for Dean. Once they left the visitation room, and reluctantly left Sam with the guards, they headed for the administration offices. Dean cast a few looks back over his shoulder at his brother as they walked farther and farther from him.
When they reached Michaels’s office, Dean exploded through the door, slamming both hands flat on the top of Michaels’s desk, and leaning over he snarled out, “That man is being abused here.”
Forge stood back and watched. He hadn’t coached Dean at all, but the man sure seemed to have some instinct that allowed him to handle these situations and react accordingly and in the exact way that got results. Angry priests tended to throw people off guard, especially when they cleared six foot and were built like a bouncer with the attitude to boot.
Michaels stood and looked Dean up and down coolly, but he didn’t move away from the other side of his desk. Even as a priest Dean was damn imposing. “What would you like me to do, Father?”
“He’s important to this detective’s case and to finding bodies that need proper burial so their families can have closure. It’s your job to be sure your prisoners are safe, isn’t it?”
Michaels laughed outright at that. “It might be my job on paper. What is really my job is keeping these scum sucking creeps away from good people. I’m not standing in the way of Belmont being extradited.”
Forge saw how Dean’s hands bunched into fists at the mention of Belmont’s name. He sort of pitied Belmont if Dean Winchester ever got his hands on him.
“He’s covered in cuts and bruises,” Dean snapped.
“I repeat, Father, what do you want me to do?”
Stepping forward, Forge put one hand on Dean’s arm and nudged him back a step and away from the desk. “How about seclusion?” He gave Dean a sidelong glance, quite pleased. They did the good cop-bad cop thing pretty well and they hadn’t even rehearsed.
“What?” Michaels sort of sputtered over the word. “He hasn’t done anything to warrant that.”
“He’s a disruption to your prison. Other inmates are after him. Eventually he’s either going to lose his cool and fight back or worse he’s going to find some friends, his own kind. Either way you’re going to have war on your hands. Separating the problem out makes sense. We’ll have him out of here in a week or so and I’m sure when he goes to trial he’ll get a death sentence. What do you care if it’s this state or in South Dakota? Isn’t the goal the same?”
Michaels crossed his arms over his chest and drew in and released a few deep breaths. “Okay.” He nodded. “It makes sense, okay, I’ll arrange it. Get that damn extradition.”
“How long?” Dean bit out.
Gaze sliding from Forge to Dean and hardening, Michaels shrugged. “Within twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four hours? Why can’t you-”
Forge’s fingers clamping down on Dean’s arm stopped him mid-sentence. He smiled politely at Michaels. “That’ll be fine. Thank you. Father, we should be going now.” Holding his other arm out, he waved at the office door and turned Dean, guiding him out.
Dean stopped after a few feet. Despite Forge trying to move him along he weighed anchor and stuck where he was. Turning back to Michaels, Dean drew in a deep breath, kept his voice even. “You let him die before we get the information we need and you’re no better than he is.”
Forge was sure he heard the: and you’ll answer to me that Dean didn’t say but thought quite clearly.
Giving Dean a shove, Forge got him out the door before Michaels could respond. He leaned over and hissed in Dean’s ear as the office door shut behind them, “You’re not helping.”
Dean jerked free and stalked a few paces ahead not saying a word until they were outside and next to their car. The finger twitching was back and Forge braced himself for a solid punch to the jaw. Whirling around to face Forge, Dean spat out, “He said it would take a day! Another damn day!”
“What did you expect, Dean, they’d run and get Sam and tuck him away in solitary right then and there?”
“Yes! No! I don’t know.” Dean backed up and slumped against the car. “He won’t survive another day,” he whispered.
“Dean,” Forge said, stepping forward and putting one hand on his shoulder. “Sam’s done okay so far. He’s kept his cool, not challenged anyone and that’s the important thing.”
“Yeah, well Sam isn’t going to keep his cool forever. He’s way past his limit now, I can tell that just by looking at him.”
Running one hand through his hair, Forge sighed. “He said it could take up to twenty-four hours, not that it would take that long. He’s yanking our chain.”
“Why?” Dean looked at the prison, not Forge.
“Control freak I suppose. We go with the plan. Dean, it’s all we have right now.”
Dean shoved off the car and stepped to the side so Forge could unlock it. “Abaddon is a mid-level demon. A fire demon,” he said when Forge had the car in gear and was driving toward the road.
“I thought if you knew a demon’s name you controlled it.”
Snorting, Dean shook his head. “The demon has to say the name itself. I know dozens of demon’s names, maybe hundreds.”
“So, what’s mid-level? They what, have bosses?” Forge asked.
“Hey, I don’t make this stuff up, I just report it. Demons have a hierarchy. And, they specialize, fire, plague, general chaos, you name it. Sam and I always thought the McCreedy brothers took the name because Abaddon is a fire demon.”
“Could one demon do this?” Forge glanced over at Dean when they stopped at a traffic light, not looking away from the other man until he had to put the car in motion again.
Dean nodded slowly and wiped one hand over his mouth. “They can manipulate. Possess people and make them see or feel what the demon wants. Some practiced black arts-magic-as humans and still have skills. Abaddon, the actual demon, might be mid-level but it’s old-ancient-who knows what skills it has.”
“Would Sam know this, about this demon?”
“Yeah,” Dean rasped out.
Forge had to make it clear, for himself. “So, what he was saying about this Weasel guy being Abaddon, it’s irrational?”
“He didn’t say that man was possessed. He said he was Abaddon, so yeah, I’d say so. If he thought Abaddon was possessing this Weasel guy, that’s totally different. He would have said that. Sam’s losing it big time, isn’t he?”
Swallowing hard, Forge had no idea what to say that wasn’t going to make Dean feel worse other than a lame, “I don’t know.” As he drove he chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to put pieces together that didn’t want to fit.
They finished the short ride in silence. Once inside Dean’s motel room, Forge sat at the small table. “Let’s think this through. The single most frightening thing to ever happen to Sam was when he was held hostage by the McCreedys who called themselves Abaddon, which is the name of an actual fire demon. When you two were in prison before you were together, and you were together in Del Villar’s compound. When Sam was kidnapped he was alone and locked up. He’s alone now. So, I’m wondering if his mind is dredging that all back up because if that was more terrifying than this and he survived that, he’ll get through this too.”
“Then how could the Weasel person know Sam’s name and about the killings, particularly Sam’s part in the killings?” Dean walked to the other side of the room, leaning on the dresser.
“There are only two answers. Either he really is Abaddon and that demon really was connected with the McCreedys or it’s all in Sam’s mind.”
“I need to find out. I told Sam I believed in him and I wasn’t lying. I want to have something to give to him. He’ll need it when he gets out. I’m going to figure out who this Weasel guy is, if he exists and how he fits in and find him. I have to do this for Sam.”
“How are you going to find a man whose face you’ve never seen?” Dean fished something out of his pocket and held it out. Forge squinted at it. “You’ve had that all this time?”
Dean nodded and put the syringe cap back into his pocket. “I found my kid brother after he was kidnapped from a parking lot using nothing but a syringe cap as my biggest clue. I’ll work this like any other case. Find out about the land, research the prison and guys named Weasel.”
“Weasel is sort of a common prison name,” Forge pointed out.
“Can you get me pictures of the inside of the prison, the inmates? Sam said this Weasel guy was in a cell, so he’d have been there longer, right?”
Forge nodded.
“Okay, if he’s real, he’s in there. I’ll find him. That’ll help Sam get better when he’s out. I know my brother, it’ll help.”
“Yeah, sure, give me a few hours; I can get something for you.” Forge stood and crossed the room to the door. Resting his hand on the doorknob he turned back to look at Dean. “You stay here, in this room.”
“I’ve got a lot of work to do, I will. Promise.”
Stepping clear of the room and fishing out his cell phone, Forge didn’t doubt they’d find Weasel, if the man existed. Dean Winchester had skills, a scary lot of them, especially where his kid brother was concerned.
An hour later, armed with a stack of photos printed off at the motel office, Forge was back in Dean’s room. “Any of these help? What did you find out?”
Dean sighed. “The prison was built in the mid eighteen-nineties. Nothing really out of the ordinary for a prison happened there.” He was shuffling through the stack of photos, stopping midway through, pulling one closer to his face, frowning. “Crap.”
“What?”
“I know this guy.” Dean tapped against the paper. Forge leaned over and looked down at a man working the food line. He was slight, older, wire rimmed glasses sitting on a beak of a nose and sparse hair.
“Huh?” Forge followed Dean across the room to the table where he had his laptop sitting.
“Here.” Dean pointed to the laptop screen. They both leaned in.
“Holeeee shit,” Forge exhaled. “That can’t be right.” The caption under the picture informed them the group of men seated on a bench in what looked like an exercise yard were the first inmates, eighteen-ninety-eight.
“Crap!” Dean snarled. “That’s the same guy.” Clicking on the picture they both sucked in a harsh breath when the names of the inmates in the picture enlarged enough to read them. “Crap! Look at his name. Ephraim ‘The Weasel’ McCreedy.”
Chapter 6
Author: mlebayre
Genre: General
Characters/Pairings: No Pairings, Dean and Sam, some other folks.
Rating: R
Spoilers: This is an AU. I've taken canon and events from all seasons, but they are more references than spoilers.
Notes: In this verse Sam never dies, so Dean never makes his deal.
Summary: Apparent mistaken identity lands Sam in prison, leaving Dean on the outside struggling to free his brother. Prison isn't a good place for a hunter especially when not all the inmates are human. Locked in a cage, Sam clings to the edge of sanity and discovers Abaddon has a fan. Next in the Two Souls Verse.
Series: Two Souls Verse
Disclaimer: Not ours,just borrowing from Kripke.
Many thanks to sendintheklowns who was my winning bidder at Kazcon 2009. She asked for another fic in the Two Souls Verse and Sam in prison. What a great idea! Thank you to my wonderful betas, Anickamarie and deej1957. Amazing art by thruterryseyes and the incredible vid is by kumaproogey thank you so much to both of you! Thank you silverruffian for all her help with research.
This chapter is for digitalwave who is feeling a bit under the weather this week. Hope it cheers you up!
Dean held his hands at his sides, fingers twitching as if he was waiting to draw on the outlaw coming down the street. On second thought, Forge figured maybe that’s what Dean was doing. He’d come within a hair’s breadth of frisking him for weapons before they went into the prison since he couldn’t rely on his sense of smell. Even dressed as a priest Dean’s clothes reeked of flash powder and gun oil.
Forge seriously considered turning Dean simply so they could go at each other on even ground. Despite the fact Forge had come to help, help Dean had asked for, they were still tap dancing around each other and almost at odds.
It was stress from knowing where Sam was and not being able to help him, Forge knew that.
They waited in the same prisoner meeting room as before for Sam to be brought in. When the kid arrived he looked worse than he had the day before, something Forge wouldn’t have thought possible. His head swiveled around and he watched as the guards stepped through the door, the clank of the lock loud. Drawing in a deep breath, Sam went right for Dean who stood in the middle of the room. He didn’t even seem to notice Forge was there at all.
Stumbling across the room, wincing as the ankle shackles caught, probably biting and ripping skin, Sam grabbed Dean’s arms, face nothing but sheer panic. Sucking in air he literally spit words out between rapid breaths. “He’s here. Dean, he’s here.”
Frowning, Dean’s gaze slipped to Forge for a split second before resting on his brother again. Gripping Sam by his elbows, and holding him so he was forced to look only at Dean, he asked, “Who, Sammy?”
“Ab-abad-a-abaddon. There’s a man here, he knew my name and that I was the only survivor. H-he said Abaddon was waiting for me.”
Dean’s face sank as hurt and confusion crossed over his features. “Sam,” he said very slowly, voice low and gentle, “we’ve been over this, a lot. Sammy, buddy, Abaddon is dead. We saw them die, all of them, the McCreedy brothers and Redding.”
Shaking his head furiously, Sam’s hair flapped in all sorts of odd directions. “This g-guy, We-weasel, he’s g-got a wall full of news clippings about the killings, he knew my name and Abad-d-don’s. Dean, how would he know? H-he’s here, he is.” Sam got one hand up, gripping the front of Dean’s shirt in his fist.
Licking his lips, Dean squeezed one of Sam’s arms and nodded. “Okay, Sammy, we’re going to figure all this out. I promise.” He slid one hand to Sam’s shoulder and guided him to the table. “First we need to get you somewhere safe until we can get you out. I need you to listen and concentrate. Okay?”
Sam nodded, eased into a chair, looking up at Dean, eyes locked on his brother. Forge could literally smell the terror radiating from Sam. His heart went out to the young man. He’d expected it to take a while longer before the breakdown started, but Sam was so far out of his element and combined with the fact he and Dean were accustomed to open roads and more freedom than most people it made sense this would happen quite quickly.
“Dean, listen to me, please?”
“I will, Sammy. But first we need to talk about our plan. We’ve only got twenty minutes.” Dean gently loosened Sam’s hand from his clothes and sat in the chair opposite him. He reached across the table and took firm hold of Sam’s wrists, right above where the shackles rested. Sam’s fingers twitched much like Dean’s had a half hour ago. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and watched Dean with wide eyes.
How anyone could even remotely think this kid was some sort of cold-hearted murderer was beyond Forge. That was a question they needed to answer, one of many.
“Sam, listen to me. We,” Dean nodded at Forge, “came up with a plan. The other prisoners here think you’re a kid killer. Forge can arrange to have you kept in solitary. That’ll keep you away from the other inmates and you’ll get food and water. Carter and Forge thought of it, they know a whole lot more about prisons than we do.”
Sam swallowed and looked from Dean to Forge and back again. When something banged outside the door and there were voices Sam jerked around and looked at the door for a few seconds before turning back to them. Forge could see the realization set in even before he spoke the words. “I’ll be alone? In a little room, a cage?” His face paled and the haunted quality his eyes took on made a shiver ripple down Forge’s spine. He watched Sam’s face change as the kid buried fear and confusion then bucked himself up to do as Dean asked.
Dean let go of Sam long enough to wipe one hand over his face, looked down at the table then back up. “Yes.”
One tight nod. “O-okay,” Sam barely whispered. “He, Weasel, he knew my name. He called me Sam. He told me he has been here since the prison opened, and that Abaddon was waiting for me, so was he, to finish what was started.” Drawing in a shaking breath, Sam blurted out, “He knew my name. How would he know those things if it wasn’t him?”
“I don’t know, Sam. But the McCreedys and Redding are dead. You know that. And in solitary this Weasel guy won’t be able to get to you.”
“Then how did he know?” Sam looked dubious. Forge wasn’t sure what Sam believed.
Forge planted both hands on the table and stood up. “That is something we’ll find out. I promise you, Sam. But first things first. We get you safe from the other inmates and we get you out. Then we’ll deal with Abaddon, or whoever.”
“Two minutes.” One of the guards shouted through the door, banging on it, making Sam nearly fall off the chair he jumped so hard.
Prisons were bad enough when you belonged in one, but for someone who wasn’t a criminal or very street savvy they were confusing and beyond dangerous. Forge was really feeling the need to simply kill someone. Maybe he’d start with that idiot assistant warden. He’d spent hours already trying to figure out why Sam’s fingerprints didn’t prove who he wasn’t, or how these people thought Sam was a thirty-seven year old man.
Now this new development, someone Forge never heard of knowing all about the case involving the McCreedys and Mike Redding. Forge decided he might very well spend the rest of his life-which could be a considerable number of years-cleaning up the mess left by those killers.
“Sam, are you okay with this?” Dean laid one hand on his brother’s arm, drawing Sam’s attention back to him.
Biting down on his lower lip, Sam nodded. “Not like I have a choice.”
“Of course you do, just not much of one. We’re going to have to trust Carter and Forge on this I think.”
Sam nodded. “You don’t believe me,” he said very softly.
Dean drew in a deep breath, gaze shifting to Forge for a split second before he looked Sam in the eye. “I believe in you and that we can both get through this. I believe there is something seriously wrong going on here and we’re gonna figure out what.”
That seemed to be the correct answer. Sam slumped a bit in his chair, shoulders and back relaxing. Walking out and away from Sam was absolute agony for Forge, he could only imagine the depth of torture it was for Dean. Once they left the visitation room, and reluctantly left Sam with the guards, they headed for the administration offices. Dean cast a few looks back over his shoulder at his brother as they walked farther and farther from him.
When they reached Michaels’s office, Dean exploded through the door, slamming both hands flat on the top of Michaels’s desk, and leaning over he snarled out, “That man is being abused here.”
Forge stood back and watched. He hadn’t coached Dean at all, but the man sure seemed to have some instinct that allowed him to handle these situations and react accordingly and in the exact way that got results. Angry priests tended to throw people off guard, especially when they cleared six foot and were built like a bouncer with the attitude to boot.
Michaels stood and looked Dean up and down coolly, but he didn’t move away from the other side of his desk. Even as a priest Dean was damn imposing. “What would you like me to do, Father?”
“He’s important to this detective’s case and to finding bodies that need proper burial so their families can have closure. It’s your job to be sure your prisoners are safe, isn’t it?”
Michaels laughed outright at that. “It might be my job on paper. What is really my job is keeping these scum sucking creeps away from good people. I’m not standing in the way of Belmont being extradited.”
Forge saw how Dean’s hands bunched into fists at the mention of Belmont’s name. He sort of pitied Belmont if Dean Winchester ever got his hands on him.
“He’s covered in cuts and bruises,” Dean snapped.
“I repeat, Father, what do you want me to do?”
Stepping forward, Forge put one hand on Dean’s arm and nudged him back a step and away from the desk. “How about seclusion?” He gave Dean a sidelong glance, quite pleased. They did the good cop-bad cop thing pretty well and they hadn’t even rehearsed.
“What?” Michaels sort of sputtered over the word. “He hasn’t done anything to warrant that.”
“He’s a disruption to your prison. Other inmates are after him. Eventually he’s either going to lose his cool and fight back or worse he’s going to find some friends, his own kind. Either way you’re going to have war on your hands. Separating the problem out makes sense. We’ll have him out of here in a week or so and I’m sure when he goes to trial he’ll get a death sentence. What do you care if it’s this state or in South Dakota? Isn’t the goal the same?”
Michaels crossed his arms over his chest and drew in and released a few deep breaths. “Okay.” He nodded. “It makes sense, okay, I’ll arrange it. Get that damn extradition.”
“How long?” Dean bit out.
Gaze sliding from Forge to Dean and hardening, Michaels shrugged. “Within twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four hours? Why can’t you-”
Forge’s fingers clamping down on Dean’s arm stopped him mid-sentence. He smiled politely at Michaels. “That’ll be fine. Thank you. Father, we should be going now.” Holding his other arm out, he waved at the office door and turned Dean, guiding him out.
Dean stopped after a few feet. Despite Forge trying to move him along he weighed anchor and stuck where he was. Turning back to Michaels, Dean drew in a deep breath, kept his voice even. “You let him die before we get the information we need and you’re no better than he is.”
Forge was sure he heard the: and you’ll answer to me that Dean didn’t say but thought quite clearly.
Giving Dean a shove, Forge got him out the door before Michaels could respond. He leaned over and hissed in Dean’s ear as the office door shut behind them, “You’re not helping.”
Dean jerked free and stalked a few paces ahead not saying a word until they were outside and next to their car. The finger twitching was back and Forge braced himself for a solid punch to the jaw. Whirling around to face Forge, Dean spat out, “He said it would take a day! Another damn day!”
“What did you expect, Dean, they’d run and get Sam and tuck him away in solitary right then and there?”
“Yes! No! I don’t know.” Dean backed up and slumped against the car. “He won’t survive another day,” he whispered.
“Dean,” Forge said, stepping forward and putting one hand on his shoulder. “Sam’s done okay so far. He’s kept his cool, not challenged anyone and that’s the important thing.”
“Yeah, well Sam isn’t going to keep his cool forever. He’s way past his limit now, I can tell that just by looking at him.”
Running one hand through his hair, Forge sighed. “He said it could take up to twenty-four hours, not that it would take that long. He’s yanking our chain.”
“Why?” Dean looked at the prison, not Forge.
“Control freak I suppose. We go with the plan. Dean, it’s all we have right now.”
Dean shoved off the car and stepped to the side so Forge could unlock it. “Abaddon is a mid-level demon. A fire demon,” he said when Forge had the car in gear and was driving toward the road.
“I thought if you knew a demon’s name you controlled it.”
Snorting, Dean shook his head. “The demon has to say the name itself. I know dozens of demon’s names, maybe hundreds.”
“So, what’s mid-level? They what, have bosses?” Forge asked.
“Hey, I don’t make this stuff up, I just report it. Demons have a hierarchy. And, they specialize, fire, plague, general chaos, you name it. Sam and I always thought the McCreedy brothers took the name because Abaddon is a fire demon.”
“Could one demon do this?” Forge glanced over at Dean when they stopped at a traffic light, not looking away from the other man until he had to put the car in motion again.
Dean nodded slowly and wiped one hand over his mouth. “They can manipulate. Possess people and make them see or feel what the demon wants. Some practiced black arts-magic-as humans and still have skills. Abaddon, the actual demon, might be mid-level but it’s old-ancient-who knows what skills it has.”
“Would Sam know this, about this demon?”
“Yeah,” Dean rasped out.
Forge had to make it clear, for himself. “So, what he was saying about this Weasel guy being Abaddon, it’s irrational?”
“He didn’t say that man was possessed. He said he was Abaddon, so yeah, I’d say so. If he thought Abaddon was possessing this Weasel guy, that’s totally different. He would have said that. Sam’s losing it big time, isn’t he?”
Swallowing hard, Forge had no idea what to say that wasn’t going to make Dean feel worse other than a lame, “I don’t know.” As he drove he chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to put pieces together that didn’t want to fit.
They finished the short ride in silence. Once inside Dean’s motel room, Forge sat at the small table. “Let’s think this through. The single most frightening thing to ever happen to Sam was when he was held hostage by the McCreedys who called themselves Abaddon, which is the name of an actual fire demon. When you two were in prison before you were together, and you were together in Del Villar’s compound. When Sam was kidnapped he was alone and locked up. He’s alone now. So, I’m wondering if his mind is dredging that all back up because if that was more terrifying than this and he survived that, he’ll get through this too.”
“Then how could the Weasel person know Sam’s name and about the killings, particularly Sam’s part in the killings?” Dean walked to the other side of the room, leaning on the dresser.
“There are only two answers. Either he really is Abaddon and that demon really was connected with the McCreedys or it’s all in Sam’s mind.”
“I need to find out. I told Sam I believed in him and I wasn’t lying. I want to have something to give to him. He’ll need it when he gets out. I’m going to figure out who this Weasel guy is, if he exists and how he fits in and find him. I have to do this for Sam.”
“How are you going to find a man whose face you’ve never seen?” Dean fished something out of his pocket and held it out. Forge squinted at it. “You’ve had that all this time?”
Dean nodded and put the syringe cap back into his pocket. “I found my kid brother after he was kidnapped from a parking lot using nothing but a syringe cap as my biggest clue. I’ll work this like any other case. Find out about the land, research the prison and guys named Weasel.”
“Weasel is sort of a common prison name,” Forge pointed out.
“Can you get me pictures of the inside of the prison, the inmates? Sam said this Weasel guy was in a cell, so he’d have been there longer, right?”
Forge nodded.
“Okay, if he’s real, he’s in there. I’ll find him. That’ll help Sam get better when he’s out. I know my brother, it’ll help.”
“Yeah, sure, give me a few hours; I can get something for you.” Forge stood and crossed the room to the door. Resting his hand on the doorknob he turned back to look at Dean. “You stay here, in this room.”
“I’ve got a lot of work to do, I will. Promise.”
Stepping clear of the room and fishing out his cell phone, Forge didn’t doubt they’d find Weasel, if the man existed. Dean Winchester had skills, a scary lot of them, especially where his kid brother was concerned.
An hour later, armed with a stack of photos printed off at the motel office, Forge was back in Dean’s room. “Any of these help? What did you find out?”
Dean sighed. “The prison was built in the mid eighteen-nineties. Nothing really out of the ordinary for a prison happened there.” He was shuffling through the stack of photos, stopping midway through, pulling one closer to his face, frowning. “Crap.”
“What?”
“I know this guy.” Dean tapped against the paper. Forge leaned over and looked down at a man working the food line. He was slight, older, wire rimmed glasses sitting on a beak of a nose and sparse hair.
“Huh?” Forge followed Dean across the room to the table where he had his laptop sitting.
“Here.” Dean pointed to the laptop screen. They both leaned in.
“Holeeee shit,” Forge exhaled. “That can’t be right.” The caption under the picture informed them the group of men seated on a bench in what looked like an exercise yard were the first inmates, eighteen-ninety-eight.
“Crap!” Dean snarled. “That’s the same guy.” Clicking on the picture they both sucked in a harsh breath when the names of the inmates in the picture enlarged enough to read them. “Crap! Look at his name. Ephraim ‘The Weasel’ McCreedy.”
Chapter 6