A Womb of His Own - 18/21
Masterpost
They didn’t have a chance to summon Death. A few minutes after they left the restaurant, they both got a text message from Rufus that read Shouldn’t he be at the family reunion? with a picture of Samuel. When Dean called him to find out what was up, Rufus reported that he working a case in Chester, Pennsylvania, that involved thirty-five people who had mysteriously come back from the dead - and the Campbells had turned up there, too. The case was probably something the Winchesters needed to know about, but more importantly Dean saw his chance to take care of some unfinished business with Samuel.
“Change of plans,” he told Sam as he hooked a U-turn across a wide intersection. “I’m gonna make good on my promise to kill him.”
“Dean, we only have a few days until they pull the plug on Brian.”
“Rufus just told me there are thirty-five people back from the dead. You don’t think that’s something we need to look into?”
“What?” Sam asked, but he was already messing around with his phone and computer, probably trying to get information.
They drove late into the night in a tense and miserable ride. Sam scrunched up against the window, using his jacket as a pillow, and every time he woke up, Dean encouraged him to drink a protein shake - until Sam announced he was going to throw up if he had any more. Dean was suffering the worst stomach pains he could remember having in a long time. He couldn’t tell if he needed to take a dump or fart or just stick a pin in his belly and let it pop like a balloon, but if his stomach ever settled, he was going to swear off red meat for the rest of his life.
“Come on, dude,” Sam snapped after a silent but deadly one, “roll down your window.”
He thumped on his chest with a fist, as if that would somehow stop the bile rising up. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”
“You’re not having a heart attack.”
“Feels like it,” he gasped.
“You eat too much salt, and you don’t drink enough water,” Sam said in that superior I went to college and you didn’t tone. “It’s just heartburn.”
“I don’t know why they call heart-burn. It’s like my whole chest is on fire.”
“It’s all in your head.” Sam rummaged around the glovebox and managed to find an old half-roll of Tums. They’d probably been in there since Dad drove the car. “Every time you think your back hurts or you crave some weird food, just remind yourself that you’re acting like a pregnant woman.”
Dean popped two of the Tums into his mouth. “Tastes like chalk.”
Sam shifted around in his seat some more. “If you see a gas station, I want coffee.”
“Caffeine’s not good for you. You should sleep.”
Sam glared. “I’m not a pregnant woman either, Dean. I want coffee.”
“What is with you tonight?” Dean couldn’t help asking. “No joie de vie.”
“It’s vivre,” Sam corrected, “and you’re not exactly on cloud nine either.”
“I feel like shit. What’s your excuse?”
“We were supposed to be taking a break.” It was a rare skill to be so brawny and still be able to pull of pissy.
“I don’t like leaving messes behind. We gotta take care of Samuel.”
“And now we’re leaving a mess behind with Brian.”
“Yeah, well, first of all, there are people dying, so I don’t think you really want to sit this one out. And, second, you don’t even remember what happened with Samuel, so you think you could just trust me when I say that there’s a reason we need to go deal with him? You do not want him running around loose, Sam. Believe me.”
“Maybe he’s soulless, too,” Sam mused. He and Dean looked at each other in alarm as they realized it was a genuine possibility. “Did you have him checked?”
Dean remembered his hypothesis that an old bottom could get soul knocked up. Then he shook his head because that was wrong for so many reasons. “Yeah, right after we found out about you, Cas said his soul was fine.”
“The same Cas who’s been lying to us for months about Crowley? Why is he doing this?”
“I don’t know why he’s doing anything anymore,” Dean said. “But I do know this. When we get to Chester, everybody’s going to do a lot of explaining, or they’re going to be staring down my gun.”
Reports indicated that the thirty-five were all acting shady and ruthless and pretty much like Sam had in the soulless days. The good people of Chester didn’t seem to understand what was going on. Their reactions ranged from welcoming back their loved ones with open arms to holding a séance on the bank of the Delaware River to try to get rid of the “spirits.”
As they drove down Morton Avenue to their rendezvous with Rufus, Dean spotted a blond-haired woman in tweed with glasses falling down her nose. In the crook of one elbow was a notebook, but the other hand held a sign that read: Not the natural order! Your punishment will come! She glared at Dean as the Impala rolled past.
“What’s up with Religious Right over there?” Dean wondered, but Sam was asleep. He nudged his shoulder. “Hey, am I turning left or right?”
They turned left down a side street. At first glance everything looked normal, like any other suburban neighborhood. But soon Dean pointed out that all the windows were open - every single one of them, and then Sam corrected him: they were all blown out. Sam also noticed there weren’t any birds or squirrels or any signs of life at all really.
Before they could decide what it meant, a swarm of people came out of nowhere and rushed toward the car. Dean hit the brakes, but when they started pounding furiously on the hood and windows, Sam yelled at him to drive. Dean laid a hand on the horn and gunned it. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he was just imagining the thumping and the crunching.
“What the hell was that?” Sam asked.
“Zombies? Do we have a zombie problem here? Call Rufus!”
Sam pulled out his cell and had a terse conversation. “Change of plans. Turn left at the light.”
“It’s red.”
“Run it.”
Sam guided them through a deserted part of town, but they had to detour five blocks to avoid what looked like an entire forest fallen down. Finally, they arrived at a warehouse that had seen better days. As they climbed out, Sam explained, “Rufus said those weren’t the zombies back there. Those were the humans trying to get away from them.”
“They’re not zombies.”
They turned around to see Samuel standing in the open doorway of the warehouse.
“Then what are they?” Sam asked.
“People who got pulled back, like us.”
“If they’re terrorizing - or, you know, eating - people, then we have to take care of them,” Dean said.
“Just because something comes back doesn’t mean it’s evil,” Samuel argued.
Sam started to say, “I came back -”
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean ordered quietly. He took a protective step in front of him.
Samuel smiled, like the whole exchange was amusing him. “But nobody killed us, Sam, and now look.”
That was all the encouragement Dean needed. He pulled his gun out of his belt and aimed it at Samuel’s forehead. “Time to change that.”
“Hold on,” Sam urged.
“I said I’d kill him!”
“Just a second.” Sam’s voice was probably the only thing that kept Dean from firing. That, and the fact that Samuel didn’t even flinch.
“Give me one good reason, Sam,” Dean said without turning his eyes away from Samuel. “He sold us out. He knew about you for an entire year. He knew Crowley never intended to help us. Give me one reason why he doesn’t deserve to go back where he came from.”
Sam tugged on his arm. “Because you didn’t kill me.”
From behind Samuel came the sound of boots on cement, and then Rufus’s unmistakable voice calling, “You might want to hold off on that, unless you want to attract every soulless thing in a ten-mile radius. Or you could at least come inside before you do it.”
Samuel turned around, clearly pissed at Rufus. Dean withdrew his weapon, letting Sam and Samuel pass in front before he reluctantly followed them inside.
As Rufus led them past the loading dock and down an aisle filled to the ceiling with boxes, Samuel had the gall to suggest, “Don’t you think maybe it’s not me you’re so angry at? Maybe you want to take it out on me because Sam’s giving you a hard time?”
“Sam’s not giving me a hard time,” Dean was quick to say. Then he mentally kicked himself because it was none of Samuel’s business.
“Through here,” Rufus instructed. They passed through a set of swinging doors and into a well-lit room with a refrigerator and microwave, a sink and counter, and rows of tables and chairs. The break room.
“Why are you all holed up in here?” Sam asked as he took a seat next to Gwen Campbell.
Gwen tapped her thumb on the manila folder her palm was covering protectively. She looked at Samuel. “Is it all right?”
She had been the one sort of normal, sort of reasonable part of team Campbell, and Dean felt betrayed seeing her there, as Samuel’s right-hand man, after everything Samuel had done to them. “I thought you always spoke your mind,” he sneered.
“Yeah, and right now I’m thinking you’re an asshole,” she shot back.
“Children, children, not helpful.” Rufus straddled one of the chairs backward and pried the folder from Gwen. Then he slid it toward Sam and Dean and opened it. “Here’s what we got so far. Thirty-five back from the dead. At least four murders attributed to them. More raping and robbing. Half the town’s holed up in churches, praying to Jesus or Allah or Moses, I don’t know, and the other half’s skipped out for Mexico. And the other half are rounding up the pitchforks and torches.”
“That’s three halves,” Dean couldn’t help pointing out.
“We’re hoping you can offer some help by way of the halo patrol. See if Columbo knows where they came from and how to get ’em back there.”
“That’s a no-go on the angel front,” Dean reported grimly. He chanced a glance at Samuel and Gwen. “I’ll explain later.”
“These people who came back - they’re not zombies?” Sam repeated like it didn’t make any sense - which was fine, because it didn’t make any sense to Dean either.
“No,” Samuel said emphatically. “No pasty skin, no chowing on intestines. They’re like us. Whatever brought us back must have brought them back, too.”
“We still don’t know what brought us back,” Sam reminded them.
“Okay, but why? I mean, bringing Sam back, okay, call it an act of God or whatever,” Dean thought aloud. “He dies for Lucifer, he gets to come back, that makes sense. But who are these people? I’m not saying Sam’s more important than anybody else -” he actually was - “but what’s the significance? Are all they all just so great they deserve another shot?”
Rufus nodded and shoved the file folder in his direction. “That’s what we were wondering, too. So Gwen here did some digging. We’ve got one accountant, three school teachers, a car salesman - they’re all walks of life. Nothing in common that stands out.”
“Well, there is one thing,” Gwen corrected. “The dates of their deaths. All within the last two weeks.”
“Those trees,” Dean said, really just thinking aloud. He’d seen trees fall over before - because of floods and tornadoes. And because of one thing he had been personally involved in. “Anybody know when that happened?”
“We almost got stuck by a bunch of downed branches,” Sam explained to the others. “What’re you thinking?”
“I’m thinking the last time I saw that many trees all down in one place, I was pushing up from the ground in the middle of them.”
“So,” Samuel said with a stupid smile that Dean really wanted to wipe off his face, preferably with his fist, “does that mean you’re ready to go in on this with us? We could use the help.”
“We are not your help. Because unlike you, when we figure out that something’s not right, we try to fix it.”
“Sam,” Rufus said firmly, “take Dean for a walk.”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“Dean,” Sam said, pulling on his elbow, “it’s fine.”
He let Sam push him back out the swinging doors. They moved down the corridor, away from the storage area and toward the restrooms. “What is wrong with you?” he asked.
“Maybe it’s worth working with him. He’s the only other person we know who came back from the dead okay.”
“He’s not okay, Sam!”
“Yeah, you’re right - just, I meant, he’s not snacking on people.”
“You don’t remember what he did. I do.”
“I know. I’m not saying don’t. I’m saying not yet.” Sam put a hand on Dean’s chest to stop him from rushing back inside, but then he slid his hand up to his shoulder and squeezed. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, Yeah? You trust me?
Dean nodded. “But I’m not going back in there without protection.”
“Fair enough. What’d you have in mind?”
Dean smiled slowly. “Just because we can’t trust Cas doesn’t mean we have to lose touch with all the angels, right?”
As they walked back in the room, Rufus sized them up. “Everybody’s blood pressure out of the red zone now?” Dean nodded. He still wanted to kill Samuel, but for the moment he could probably get through a conversation with him.
“So, like I was saying, whatever pulled Sam up and me down raised the dead here, too,” Samuel continued. “The theory is that their souls got left behind intentionally. What we don’t know is why. Either it’s a plan to get us to wipe each other out, or there’s something going on with the souls in heaven and hell.”
Something about the conversation he’d had with Death over a hot dog itched at the back of Dean’s mind.
“All right, but what you haven’t told me is how you know that,” Rufus said, stroking his chin.
“You don’t know half the things I know,” Samuel taunted. “Until recently, you and your buddy didn’t know about us.” He gestured at Gwen, who had taken a position at his side in case there was any confusion about her loyalty.
“You talking about Bobby? That’s between him and the two Tweedles. I don’t expect these boys to tell me anything…except that you’re the kind of person who’d throw your own kin to hungry ghouls. I think I know enough.” Dean and Sam came forward, flanking him.
“You what?” Gwen asked Samuel.
“Dean lied,” Samuel said dismissively. “Sam, you look different.”
“I got my soul back,” Sam told him defiantly. “No thanks to you.”
“How’s yours doing?” Dean asked. He clapped his hands together. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t have one.”
“What?” Gwen squawked.
“What’re you talking about?” Samuel griped.
“Yeah, Dean,” Rufus said slowly, “what are you talking about?”
The doors swung open, and Balthazar strutted in right on cue. “He’s talking off the cuff again, as usual. Of course, there’s one way to figure out if anything he’s saying is true.” He stopped in front of Samuel. “Assuming, of course, you don’t mind me getting up close and personal?”
Samuel didn’t even have a chance to ask what that meant before Balthazar stuck his fist inside him. Samuel’s knees gave, and Gwen had to hold him up. He screamed in agony as the fisting seemed to go on and on.
“Uh, Balthazar?” Sam prompted.
“Right, sorry.” He withdrew his hand and patted Samuel consolingly on the shoulder. “Got a little carried away.”
“What’s the news?” Dean demanded.
“Like the Aral Sea.”
Dean looked to Sam for a translation. “Empty,” his brother murmured.
“Were you expecting something different?”
“Cas lied to us,” Dean said to no one in particular. Yeah, they’d thought so, but it felt different to have the actual evidence staring him the face. Cas had lied about Samuel’s soul, and he’d lied about killing Crowley. Conclusion: Cas was working with Crowley, and Sam and Samuel were at the center of whatever it was they were doing. “I’m gonna rip his wings off.”
“Cas?” Balthazar repeated. “You didn’t tell me this little operation had anything to do with Cas.”
“Does that matter?” Sam asked him.
“Only if I intend to prevent a good smiting.” Balthazar rubbed his hands together. “Can I offer you a suggestion? Forget this case, get out of town, and take yourselves on a nice vacation. Sam, be glad you’ve got those two souls. Go enjoy life. I’m sure you look dashing in a bathing suit.”
Balthazar flew away before they could ask him any questions.
Gwen put her hands on her hips. “Two souls?"
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