Going Through the Motions - Chapter 7

[postfallen]

   Title: Going Through the Motions
    Author: postfallen
    Genre: Gen
   Spoilers: Takes place immediately following My Bloody Valentine. Ye have been warned.
   Summary: Dean is making himself ill keeping Sam out of the demonic radar. Things take a rapid downslide after that.
  A/N: LJ is new to me. So if I'm doing something wrong, please forgive my ignorance. Let me know, and I will correct it.  Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.



Sam has to admit, Jen is good at rolling with the punches. She does seem to be watching them closely but he can’t say he blames her. She did just get in a car with three strange men, after all, two of them having pinned her to a wall and accusing her of being a demon only a few short minutes ago. He feels bad for how forceful he was, how he’d jumped to the worst conclusion without a second thought. It’s become a knee-jerk reaction now, and he hates it. Just like how he hates that he still can’t help but wonder how she can seem so accepting of everything that just went down. She isn’t asking questions, or looking all that shocked, for that matter. She’s just…quiet. It’s a little odd.

He turns his head and Jen meets his eye. He offers a reassuring smile. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he says. “I’m sure your brother is still safe.” Out of his peripheral he sees Dean giving him a sharp glance. Both brothers know Sam is lying; they both strongly doubt Tate is safe. If Jen was followed it was from the apartment building, which means she’s simultaneously given away her brother’s location and led those doppelgangers straight to their motel room door.

During the drive, Castiel had shed some light on what exactly doppelgangers are.

“Doppelganger,” he told them, “meaning ‘double-goer’ in German, but they are called many other things as well. They’re considered ill omens, harbingers of bad luck, and the moral inversion of the actual person it is doubling. “

“So that explains why these things are playing good kids gone bad,” Dean mused. “Because they are the bad version.”

“A reverse carbon copy,” Sam agreed.

“And those tokens Sam ganked,” Dean said slowly, thinking out loud. “The inscriptions on them, Cas, you said that they’re like a summoning spell, tailor-made for each victim. That’s why they have specific names on them.”

“That’s what I believe,” the angel answered solemnly. “They must act like a homing signal for the doppelganger.”

Now, as Sam mulls over what Cas had told them, he remembers how silently Jen had sat and listened. Again, there had been no questions on her part. It’s now definitely very odd. In fact, the more Sam thinks about what Jen’s told them, the less he believes her. Namely, he doesn’t see how she and Tate could have managed to avoid whomever or whatever is controlling the doppelgangers, since they have her brother’s doppelganger and through it must also know about Jen. From there it would only be a simple matter of tracking her and Tate down, which wouldn’t have been difficult. He doesn’t squelch his feelings of suspicion, this time. He glances at Dean, who is driving like a bat out of hell. He can tell by how his older brother is clenching his jaw that he’s thinking along those same lines. Something is up, and whatever it is, it’s probably a trap.
Sam clears his throat, tries to break the eerie silence. “So, Jen,” he tries. “How old are you?”
Jen meets Sam’s eye directly when she answers. “Twenty two,” she replies. Then she snorts. “Actually, today is my birthday. Great, huh?”

Sam grimaces ruefully and shakes his head. “Ouch,” he says.

“Looks like it’s going to be a milestone, anyway,” Dean remarks. He raises his arm to his mouth and coughs deeply. When he’s done, Sam reaches into the glove box and pulls out a bottle of water he’s got wisely stashed away. He loosens the cap and wordlessly passes it to his brother, who accepts it. He takes a long swallow and chuckles dryly. “On the bright side, Sam, looks like we can definitely rule out any spirit, which means no grave digging for you.”

Sam stares at his brother, aghast. He can’t believe Dean just said that in front of a civilian. He risks a look at Jen, but she doesn’t even seem the slightest bit bothered by any mention of spirits and illegal - not to mention creepy - activities such as digging up dead bodies. “Dean,” he hisses, throwing a pointed look towards the backseat.

Dean looks in the rearview mirror, then back at Sam. “What?” he asks, clearly not getting his younger brother’s point.

Sam suddenly understands how sick Dean is. It’s the fever; he doesn’t even realize he said it out loud. 
Shit really does roll downhill. Things have officially gone from bad to worse.

“Nothing,” he says to the elder Winchester. “Just get us there in one piece, without crashing.” He makes a strongly worded mental note to himself that he will be driving from this point on. The last thing they need is Dean passing out behind the wheel, and the first thing Dean needs is a doctor. However, Sam is dismally starting to realize that what Dean needs may be the last thing he gets. He feels like things are spiraling out of control all of a sudden.

Dean has a sour look on his face. “Dude, don’t insult me,” he says. “No way am I crashing my car.”
Sam just sighs loudly and pats discreetly at his gun and his knife, tucked hidden under the waistband of his jeans, feels their reassuring bulk under his shirt and jacket.

Listens to Dean coughing.

*       *       *       *       *      *       *

When the Impala rolls to a stop in front of the apartment building, Jen points to the top floor. “We’re in the corner apartment,” she says. “Number 710.” She looks at Dean with contrition. “Elevator’s been broken for the last couple of days.”

“That’s terrific,” Dean deadpans as they climb out of the car. Once on the street he turns away and starts to cough so hard he bends at the waist. It gets so bad Sam springs forward, afraid he’s going to pass out before he gets the chance to take a breath again.

“Hey. Hey, Dean,” he says quietly, rubbing and patting between his brother’s shoulder blades. “Just slow it down. Nice and easy breathing.” Sam tries to sound calm but in reality he’s flat out disturbed by how hot Dean feels, even through his clothes and despite the fact it’s evening and bordering on chilly. He feels even warmer than before, and the sound of his coughing is so painful it makes Sam wince. “God, you’re a mess, man.”

Dean recovers enough to give Sam a glare. “Awesome way to say you care, Sam,” he says, and sidesteps away from the hand Sam has on his back. “Get off me.”

The elder Winchester turns and follows Jen up the stairs leading to the door of the building, leaving his brother and Castiel behind. The angel and the hunter fall into step beside each other.

“I’m worried about your brother,” Cas says softly.

“That makes two of us,” Sam agrees in hushed tones. “He’s really sick.”

“I’m not just talking about that,” the angel replies, and then falls silent. Up ahead, Dean has stopped and half turns to face Sam and Cas. He locks eyes with Sam immediately, flicks a quick look upwards before turning around to resume walking. Sam quickly follows his gaze up to track where Dean had been indicating and sees a curtain rustle on a third floor window. The younger Winchester glances briefly at Cas and sees the angel has also noticed that they are being watched.

Jen is turning her key in the door to the building when Sam and Castiel catch up. The lobby is empty, and she gestures to a door adjacent to the elevator, which is brandishing an “out of order” sign. “This way,” she says hurriedly, obviously anxious to get to her brother.

They make it to the second floor before they hear footsteps coming down from the floor above them. Sam tenses, ready. But Jen clearly isn’t concerned, even quickens her pace to meet the approaching person. As they round the flight of steps that separates them Sam can see the figure is a woman in her mid forties. The woman looks happy to see Jen, but trepidation registers on her face when she sees the three men in her company. Her gaze rests on Sam a fraction of a second longer than Dean or Cas; it’s clear that she recognizes him from earlier.

“Linda,” Jen says, a relieved smile on her face. “It’s okay. They’ve come to help.” Linda nods warily, looking from face to face. Dean tries to give her a nod, but he’s too busy smothering his coughing into his arm as best he can. Sam can hear how winded he is after only two flights of stairs, how shallow and loud his breathing is.

“Has there been anything…?” Jen asks. Linda shakes her head and speaks in hushed tones.

“Nothing that I’ve seen,” the woman tells her. She brings a hand to her face to tuck away a strand of hair and Sam can see that she’s obviously a nervous nail-biter and has had more than her fair share of stress recently. Her nails have been chewed down to almost nothing. “But please, Jen, be careful,” Linda urges, embracing the younger woman briefly.

Castiel reaches out and touches Linda gently on the arm. “I think it would be best if you went back to your apartment and locked the door,” he says in his quietly compelling way, holding the woman fast with his eyes as he gazes intently at her.  The angel exerts an aura of power that is undeniable, and Sam can almost tell the exact moment when the woman’s breath catches in her throat before she turns and does exactly what he’s suggested she do.

By the fourth flight of stairs, Dean is lagging. Sam slows his pace in response and lets Cas move ahead to keep Jen covered. He walks alongside his brother, and drops his voice. “Dean? Are you going to make it?”

Dean throws daggers at his brother, glaring indignantly. “Yes, Sam,” he spits. “I can walk up some friggin’ stairs! Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Don’t start with that, either,” the elder Winchester mutters, rubbing his forehead before dropping his hand to cover his mouth while he coughs.

“Start with what, Dean?”

Dean sighs. “That thing you do where first you go beyond making your point that you’re worried about something, then you start acting like I need my hand held, then you begin with your damn psychotherapy. Just save it, Sam, I’m-“ Suddenly Dean goes down like a sack of potatoes. Sam isn’t sure which Winchester is more surprised.

“Dean!” Sam’s down on one knee beside his brother, who is already trying to stand back up again. “Hey, just take it easy for a second.” His brother is so dazed that Sam barely has to exert any force when he moves Dean to sit propped against the wall. Sam quickly checks the elder Winchester’s pulse, rests the back of his hand against Dean’s cheek before he can object.

“You’re burning up. This is really bad, Dean.” Sam drags a hand through his hair distractedly. Dean’s breathing like he’s forgotten how, all gasps and wheezes. “Maybe I should take you to the hospital-“ but Dean is already shaking his head.

“Sammy, listen,” the elder Winchester says. “I know you’re worried. I get it, I do. And I’m a little concerned here, myself,” he attempts a rueful grin, but he’s shivering too hard to pull it off successfully and grimaces instead. “But right now I think it’s best if we start thinking like there’s a good chance the door to this building will come busting open any minute now with more of those things. We have to keep moving until this is done. So let’s just finish this hunt as quick as we can, okay?” He licks his lips. “Watch my back?”

Sam scrubs a hand over his face. Exhales a long breath out his nose. Checks the scream that is threatening to erupt. Another thing that Sam hates lately is how Dean seems to need to ask that question these days.

Above all, though, what he hates the most is that he’s responsible for Dean losing his confidence in his little brother in the first place. He knows that Dean’s been working on building that trust back ever since they started hunting together again, but the very fact that he has to try stabs the younger Winchester straight through the gut. It’s enough to break his heart. Again. He takes a steadying breath and looks his brother straight in the eye.

“Of course I’ve got your back, Dean.” I hope you know how much I mean that.

Dean swallows, nods. He’s finally managed to get his breathing back under control. “Okay,” he says. He pushes himself up onto his feet and the brothers catch up to Cas and Jen.

Upon arriving on the seventh floor, the company is greeted with the normal sounds of apartment living. Televisions, laughter, and music commingle in the hallway. Jen takes them down to the end to the last door, the number 710 nailed to it. She knocks and waits, then knocks again: two taps, then three.

After a moment’s silence, the deadbolt turns and the door opens to reveal Tate Burke on the other side. Like Jen, he is short. He also has dark hair like his sister. He freezes slightly when he sees the Winchesters and Cas, but doesn’t seem too surprised to see them.

“You talk to them?” he asks hesitantly, opens the door a little wider.

“They say they can help,” Jen answers as she steps through. The brothers and the angel follow suit and Tate backs up to give them all room.

“Hi, Tate,” Sam tries his best to sound reassuring. “We’ve, uh, we’ve kind of been looking for you. I’m Sam, this is my brother, Dean, and this is Cas.” Tate’s eyes slide over Sam’s shoulder, and the younger Winchester suddenly knows that the teenager is looking back to the closed door. Which no one checked when they stepped through it.

He knows right then and there they’ve made a terrible mistake.

The sound of a gun cocks behind him.

“Walk ahead, slowly, into the living room,” a voice growls. “Hands up and don’t turn around until I tell you to. Jen, Tate, go on ahead and turn on a lamp, then move away.” A pause, then the voice resumes in a lower tone. “If any of you makes the slightest move towards either of them, I swear to God…”

“Don’t you think we would have already, if we were going to?” Dean sounds impatient but he falls in line behind Sam and Cas as they move down the hall. Tate and Jen have already turned on a light as instructed and are standing in the kitchen on the other side of the small apartment. Sam catches Jen’s eye, and she holds his stare for a moment before she looks away and puts her arm around her younger brother’s shoulders protectively. For his part, Tate is staring wide-eyed at the brothers and the angel.

“So I take it you must be Miles?” Sam asks.

“Turn around, slowly.” The voice responds.

The Winchesters and the angel exchange quick glances, but otherwise turn around without argument.

The man holding the gun steps forward and then freezes. His eyes widen and he slowly lowers the weapon. He takes another step and the light from the lamp illuminates his face.

“I don’t believe it,” he says. “Dean? Sam? Is that you?” He squints at them like he really can’t believe it.

Dean, however, can. The elder Winchester breaks into a slow grin. The tension visibly drains out of him. “I’ll be damned,” he says. “Harris? What’s it been, fifteen, sixteen years?”

“Eighteen,” Harris corrects him. He tucks his gun away and steps forward to clasp Dean on the shoulder warmly, who returns the gesture. “But Sam’s right. It’s Miles now.”

Sam is pretty sure his jaw is on the floor. Dean looks over at him and his grin gets a little wider. “Sam,” he says. “You don’t remember?”

Sam doesn’t remember.

Harris (Miles?) chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh, it’s okay, Dean. He was just a squirt the last time I saw your brother. Sam Winchester. You grew up tall, kid.”

The younger Winchester still finds himself at a loss, so Dean helps jog his memory.

“Remember when you were eight and we stayed at Bobby’s for that week while Dad took off to hunt a pair of poltergeists in Jackson? And he busted his leg when that stairwell collapsed under him? Harris joined him on the hunt and drove him back to Bobby’s, since he couldn’t.” Dean claps Harris on the back again. “Son of a bitch,” he says and shakes his head. “Eighteen years.”

Sam’s memories click into place. He remembers looking out Bobby’s window when he could hear the roar of the approaching Impala as it entered the junkyard. He remembers seeing that Dad wasn’t alone in the car when it got near enough to tell, and that he wasn’t behind the wheel. Harris looks older than how he remembers him, of course. His pale blonde hair has thinned significantly, and there are deep lines around the corners of his eyes. But still, here he is. A piece of his Dad’s past, of his life. Sam swallows the lump in his throat and steps forward, extending his hand.

“Nick Harris, right? Or, was?”

“Was,” the man agrees, taking Sam’s hand and pumping it enthusiastically. “I’ve been Miles Stanley for seventeen years now. I almost forget who Nick is. That was…a lifetime ago,” he shakes his head, mouth pursed in a tight line.

The rest of it comes back to Sam in a rush. He remembers when, some six months after the poltergeist hunt, John came back from the bar in a drunken, melancholy stupor, sitting in front of the television in that crappy rented room while thirteen year old Dean steers his little brother aside and speaks in hushed tones.

“Leave Dad alone right now,” he had told Sam. “He’s had some bad news.”

“What, Dean?”

“Remember Nick? The man who brought Dad back after the hunt in Jackson after he got busted up? His son died today.”

“How?”

“The hunt, Sammy. He was killed in a hunt they went on together.”

“How old was he?”

“I don’t know, Sam. Sixteen? Seventeen? Does it matter?”

“Why did Nick let him come on the hunt?”

“Geez, Sammy. Enough questions. He let his kid come along with him because he was old enough to decide for himself what he wanted to do. People die. It’s sad, but it happens.”

Sam feels his face darken at the memory. Sometimes you die -more than once, even- but you come back, anyway. And you don’t get to decide which one it is, whether you do or you don’t. It’s sad, but it happens.

*       *       *       *       *       *      *

The introduction between Cas and Miles is quick. The angel and the brothers are ushered to the couches. “Please, sit,” Miles tells them. “We’re safe here.” He sits opposite them, and motions for Jen and Tate to come join. “It’s okay,” he says. “Dean and Sam are sons of an old friend of mine.” He turns somber eyes to the Winchesters. “I’m still in touch with some people, and I was sorry to hear about your father,” he tells them. “He was a good man.”

Dean clears his throat. “Thanks…Miles,” he says, obviously fumbling with the different name. Miles notices the slip but smiles it off. “So this is where you’ve been all this time? Dad never heard from you again since, since…” he trails off, unsure how to proceed. Thankfully, the awkward lapse is disguised by an outburst of coughing.

“Since Riley?” Miles finishes, surreptitiously watching Dean as he struggles to get control of the fit. “Yeah, that’s about right. I wasn’t handling it well, you know. So I retired from the job, pointed to a city on the map, ended up doing janitorial work, and here I am.” He pauses. “That’s the abridged version, anyway. And things were good this whole time, until this all starts up. This doppelganger business.”

“So you already knew what these things were?” Sam queries.

Miles nods. “I’ve seen them before, on a hunt in Georgia about twenty five years ago. But it wasn’t like how this is now; there wasn’t anyone controlling them. ”

Out of nowhere, Tate suddenly pipes up. “Are you guys hunters, too?” he asks, and Dean arches an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he answers. He shoots Miles a quizzical look.

The ex hunter raises his hands in defence. “Trust me, it wasn’t my intention to let that cat out of the bag,” he explains. “But it’s a small apartment, and I may have held onto some souvenirs of my former life. I haven’t had house guests in a while, you know.”

“So that much is true? Jen and Tate have been hiding here?” Sam questions. He doesn’t mean to, but he flicks a glance at Jen and it may have been a tad on the incriminating side, because her cheeks redden slightly and she glances down.

Miles is sharp. He notices the silent exchange and moves to ease the tension. “It was my idea,” he begins. “I knew she’d be a good lure, and that chances were pretty good that she’d get back here safely either way. Tate’s who they ultimately want, after all.”

Dean looks incredulous. “Pretty good…either way?” he echoes Miles, trying to keep the judgment out of his voice. “You used her as bait?”

Jen flares to life without warning.

“I wanted to do it,” she interrupts, eyes flashing. “We had to know if you were one of those things.”

“They know that I was following Patterson,” Miles continues calmly. “The night I tailed him to the Burke’s house, what really happened is that I went after him. But this body is old and out of practice, and I can’t jump fences anymore like I used to. The bastard got away, but not before he managed to get a look at my face. They’ll be after me as much as they are Tate. Jen was the safest bet to bring you here, see if you were one of them or not, maybe get some answers out of you if you were.”

Sam feels embarrassed with himself for begrudging the dishonesty on Jen’s part. He already knew he was being a little irrational, but now it really hits home that she is just an innocent victim of circumstance, and she’s trying to keep it together. Of course she’s frightened. It must have been terrible for her to sit so calmly in the Impala on the drive here. To let herself be caught by them back at the motel.

“That was very brave of you, Jen,” he says with sincerity. She seems slightly mollified by it.

“Thanks,” she says before she rises and walks into the kitchen. She grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it from the tap. She comes back in and places it on the coffee table in front of Dean, within his reach. “Anyone for coffee? I’m not going to sleep anytime soon.” She heads back into the kitchen and starts to make a pot.

Tate remains where he’s sitting, eyeing up their visitors with a mix of curiosity and excitement. “Tell me what it’s like,” he says eagerly. “What kind of stuff have you hunted? How do you do it?”

Sam laughs nervously. “I don’t know how much Miles has told you, Tate,” he says hesitantly, exchanging looks with his brother and Cas. Dean’s face is unreadable, and the angel doesn’t look like he’s planning on interceding.

The teenager frowns. “Nothing. He won’t tell me anything,” he complains.

“And that’s how it’s going to stay for now,” Dean interjects firmly. He takes the glass of water and drinks. When he puts it back, Sam can see how badly his hand is trembling.

Miles sees it, too. This time, he says something.

“Dean, are you all right?” he asks warily. “Not to intrude where it’s none of my business, but you look terrible.”

“Everyone seems to love pointing that out to me every five minutes,” the elder Winchester grumbles, dragging a hand over his face wearily. “Don’t worry about it, instead maybe we should be concerned with how safe we really are here. Maybe we should start thinking about where to go next.”

“I told you, this is as safe as it’s going to get for us for the time being,” Miles assures him.

Cas nods in affirmation. “He’s right. I don’t feel anything…I don’t think there is anything to worry about at the moment.”

Miles nods, satisfied. “I still have a couple tricks up my sleeve. I learned how to put together an interesting spell bag while hunting a coven of witches.” He motions to Tate and Jen, and the siblings reach under their collars and withdraw small pouches tied around their necks with leather cords. He pulls one out from under his clothing also. “It makes you psychically invisible to any supernatural being. They can’t track you unless they can actually see you, because they can’t sense your energies. Jen here has to keep the appearance of going about her daily routines so as not to cause suspicion, so I keep an eye on her, make sure she isn’t being followed.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Turns out, I’m still a damn good tracker. Haven’t had my cover blown yet.”

Dean chuckles. “You can take the man out of the hunt, but you can’t take the hunter out of the man.”

The elder man smiles broadly. “Exactly.” He turns to the angel. “So what you’re saying is you can sense these things? Are you a psychic?”

The angel shakes his head. “No, but it seems that I’m attuned to their presence when they are nearby. Both times I’ve encountered them I’ve felt something…strange.”

Miles raises an eyebrow. “Both? You mean the doppelgangers attacked you before the hotel, too?”

Sam shakes his head. “No, the first encounter wasn’t malicious. It was Dean’s doppelganger, and it appeared to Cas in Minnesota. It gave him a newspaper article about Tate’s disappearance.” Tate’s face slackens in surprise and he jumps up. In the kitchen, Jen has stopped pouring water into the coffee machine to listen better.

“Really?” Tate asks. “You’re serious?”

“ ‘Fraid so,” Dean says. But the teenager doesn’t look dismayed to hear it. He turns to Cas.

“You mean, Dean’s doppelganger came to you to tell you about me? That is so cool!”

“No, kid, it’s not,” Dean says, his voice raw and scratchy. “It means that your little escape has really networked through the channels and who knows how many of these things are out there looking for you, whether they’re being controlled or not. You know something that ordinary people shouldn’t know, and that makes you a potential threat to them. That’s a big problem.” He can barely get the last sentence out before he breaks off into another coughing spell. Sam puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder to steady him as he curls forward. He’s baking hot. The coughing sounds terrible, and it doesn’t seem like Dean’s getting any air at all. Suddenly, he slumps forward without warning and Sam has to keep him from falling forward off the couch. The coughing has stopped, but that’s because Dean appears to have blacked out. The younger Winchester exchanges a worried look with Cas over the top of his brother’s back.

“Dean? Dean, can you hear me?” He pulls his brother back up to a sitting position. Dean blinks and tries to shake the fog off. When he gets his bearings he shrugs off Sam’s hands.

“Yeah, Sam. I can hear you,” he says and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes and sits forward. “Just dizzy. Gimme a sec.” He takes a shuddery breath, wheezing.

Miles looks at Sam sharply. “When did Dean get sick?” he asks, the urgent edge to his tone unmistakable.

Sam is unsettled by Miles’ sudden intensity. “He started getting bad not that long ago,” he admits. “The first time Cas called Dean to tell him about Minnesota he was already getting sick. It’s been snowballing ever since.”

“I’m in the room,” Dean sighs. “You don’t have to go over my head to ask questions about me.”

Miles doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets up and crosses the room to a bookshelf. He grabs an undecorated, leather bound book and thumbs through the pages. When he finds what he’s looking for he comes back and hands the open book to Sam, who begins to read. His expression darkens and he shows it to Cas. Dean is back to rubbing his eyes as if they were trying to push their way out of his skull and misses the exchange. The angel reads.

“What’s it say?” Tate asks. He squints at the pages, but the book is written in Latin. Jen is back to standing beside her brother, and she is also clearly waiting to hear about what Miles has just shown them.

“Bad news, is what it says,” Miles says. He turns to Tate and his sister. “I told you that when your own doppelganger appears before you it’s a sign of bad things to come in your future.”

By now Dean has looked up, waiting for Miles to finish.

The elder man continues. “But when you see someone else’s? That portends something bad for the person the doppelganger is doubling.”

“Like an illness,” Cas says, eyes scanning the text. Dean snorts dismissively.

Tate mulls over the information. “So, was his doppelganger warning Cas about Dean getting sick, or did it make Dean sick by appearing to him?”

“I don’t think it matters,” Sam says. He looks over at his brother. “Either way, it’s bad.”

Dean looks like he wants to tell Sam to shut up, but instead he raises his arm to his face and coughs.

Miles turns to Sam and Cas, discreetly giving Dean time to recover himself. “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but I’m glad you’re here, nonetheless. I could use the help. We have a plan.” He looks over his shoulder at Jen and Tate. “These kids already know what’s going on. They’re as much a part of this as the rest of us.” He says the words as though he has to justify himself before he can continue.

“If we want to stop this and hopefully save those kids that were taken, we have to stop the person or thing behind this. We have to get to the source. And we need them to show us where. And that’s exactly why we’re going to let them take Jen.”

Chapter 8:
http://postfallen.livejournal.com/2382.html#cutid1