Lies Become Truth - Chapter 9
Title: Lies Become Truth
Summary: An attack by a gang of demons freshly freed from hell, leaves Dean unable to lie, at the top of FBI’s most wanted list and soon forced into an experimental psyche program. Meanwhile Sam and Bobby are left to unravel the full extent of the demons’ plans.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, violence, suggestive scenarios and implied M/M non-con.
Spoilers: Up to Season 3, 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'
Word Count: 6,689 for this part
Author's Note: This story is set early Season 3 post ‘The Magnificent Seven’ and assumes that Sam and Dean had their anti-demon possession tattoos by that point. Master post can be found here.
~~~
Continued from Chapter 8
Henricksen leaned heavily over the table, reading the papers once more. He had flipped through them half a dozen times already. It was just paperwork to seal the deal, it shouldn’t even matter what the endless pages of fine print read, but between the suspicious wording and after listening to an hour of rebuttal from Fassler, it was just enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth. Agitatedly he tapped his pen against the table.
“Is there a problem, Agent Henricksen?”
Glancing up, he was met with the weasely grin that didn’t seem to leave Doctor Worten’s face. That smug smirk was really starting to get on Henricksen’s nerves. Everything about the doctor was. Everyone in this place was just plain out of their minds. It was all the more reason to sign the papers so that he could wash his hands of Dean and get the hell out of dodge. He still had another Winchester to hunt down. There was just the annoying little fact that not a single provision in the document was legal for an institute on American soil, let alone one in the middle of Jersey.
It was all written in legal fashion, heavily laden with ‘shall’ and ‘therein’ and everyone’s ass covered by miles of red tape. Everything about it was right except for what it said. Whoever had written up this paperwork hadn’t even bothered to read the Constitution. It was a ballsy document to actually print on paper and all the legal language in the world wasn’t going to make it hold up in a court of law.
“You tell me,” Henricksen replied as he rose to his full height and glared suspiciously at Wroten. “What is all this?”
“As I said earlier, this is merely part of the transfer protocol.”
“Yeah. Right. And I’m the tooth fairy. Transfer paperwork I get. This...” Henricksen grabbed the oversized packet of papers and waved it at Wroten. “This I don’t get. How about you tell me what’s really going on here? Your own damn paperwork says I’m not authorized to sign it.”
The forms said that the prisoner was being admitted into a voluntary government rehabilitation program. The only possibly true statement there was that it was a government program. The thing they were currently holding in custody wasn’t volunteering for anything and everyone already knew there was no rehabilitating Dean Winchester.
“We have authorized you as a signer.”
“I might not have a fancy PhD, but I can read. There’s two choices here,” Henricksen replied as he slapped the papers back down on the table. He turned them to face Worten and pointed to the signature spaces. “The ‘patient’ or someone with his power of attorney.” Henricksen’s eyes shot up to meet the doctor’s. “Do I look like his mother?”
“As you are already aware, the subject’s only surviving family is his fugitive brother who is at the same time unreachable and without the legal capacity to make this decision.”
“So there’s no signer. You want to tell me why I’m holding a pen?”
“You were the lead on the case.” Worten reached over and flipped the page. “As it states here, our oversight committee allows five signers to overrule the voluntary admittance requirement for someone in Mr. Winchester’s special circumstance.”
As many times as Henricksen had flipped through the papers he hadn’t honestly seen that section. It was printed on the backside of the paper when no other portion of the document was double sided. He couldn’t help but think that it was purposefully hidden there.
After skimming through the verbiage his expression only became more skeptical. One of the signature slots was for the patient’s psych evaluator. She’d stormed out of here after making it clear to the world that she opposed every part of this. That woman was as gullible as they came about Dean Winchester, but he had to grudgingly admit that she had made valid legal arguments.
“You’re crazier than the Winchesters if you think hell isn’t freezing over before Fassler is going to sign this thing.”
“Doctor Fassler has given notice of her retirement. I have been assigned as Mr. Winchester’s new evaluator.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Henricksen muttered to himself. He glanced down at the form once more before shooting another look at Worten. “And who’s playing the part of his make-believe lawyer?”
“May I remind you that your own Deputy Director Steven Groves has already signed this document? I fail to see the issue. You were the one so adamantly pushing for the lock to be thrown away.”
“I’m all over locking Dean’s crazy ass up. In prison. This isn’t prison,” Henricksen replied with a stabbing finger to the paperwork. “I have no damn clue what this is.” He turned the document back so that he could flip through the pages before he began to read, “’The citizen shall henceforth become government property’? You got me authorizing surgery, medication, testing...this is paperwork for a guinea pig not an inmate.”
“Mr. Winchester is not an inmate, you said it yourself, Agent Henricksen - he is not even human. He’s a monster.”
“Don’t you dare say he’s one of those demons he’s been spouting off about. Dean Winchester is a murdering crazy, deranged whacko, but he’s still just as human as the rest of us.”
This insane doctor even had him defending that thing. If he could find fault with this then there was no way it wouldn’t be scrutinized to the point of dismissal if anyone else got a hold of this packet of paperwork.
“I’ve been to hell and back chasing this freak. No way am I letting him skate out on a technicality,” Henricksen continued. “We do this straight and we get him put away for real.”
“If we do this, he will be gone - for real. He disappears and no one else gets hurt. There won’t be any questions. There’s no one aside from a couple of wanted fugitives to miss him.”
Henricksen’s eyes narrowed. “I sign this and Dean Winchester no longer exists?”
“For all intensive legal purposes, yes.”
“Even if I did buy that, you can’t seriously think I’m stupid enough to believe that I’m under legal authority to co-sign this death certificate.”
“I assure you that you are.”
“This guy’s still alive, right?”
“Biologically speaking.”
“You know what? You’re twice as many worlds of crazy as he is. You doctors want to play god, knock yourselves out, but you’re gonna have to get that warden in here to sign.”
With annoyance, Henricksen realized that the conceited smile never did leave the doctor’s face. “If you truly believe that there is another viable alternative for dealing with Mr. Winchester, by all means, do not sign the documents. However, Agent Henricksen, I think you realize as well as I that this is the safest option for dealing with a sociopath of this caliber.”
~~~
Dean jerked, struggling against glimpses of images he didn’t understand. Vivid flashes like memories, but clearer, and they weren’t his own. Girls being held down, begging, struggling beneath him. He tried to escape the gruesome snippets of mutilated bodies, of people being ripped apart with his own hands. The victims pleaded desperately to be saved not by him, but from him. He saw Bobby screaming as he sliced the blade across the man’s blooded skin.
When he began to surface it felt like he was returning from a different world, or at least another life. He wasn’t sure which one was real. The one he was waking into hurt like a royal son of a bitch, but at least it was his pain and not someone else’s.
Every aching nerve in his body reawakened at once. He couldn’t move his arms or legs right and it smelled like he was sleeping in an outhouse. With a pained moan, he tried to turn away from the annoying sensation that had originally awoken him. Slowly he realized that someone was shaking his arm with a growing persistence.
“Seriously, Sam,” he grumbled. “Knock it the hell off.”
“Yo, Hero, I ain’t your Sammy. Get your ass up, bitch or I’m eating your breakfast.”
He blinked his dry eyes, but didn’t quite open them. His hand went up to rub his face, but was stopped short by the sharp snap of the chains around his raw wrists. Suddenly his startled eyes flew open. He uncurled himself and shot up on the bunk, just avoiding hitting his head as he scrambled further back on the dirty mattress and away from the large hand on him.
For a split second he looked with feral eyes between the two strange men starting down at him. He was visually searching for anything he could use as a weapon until he registered that the men weren’t guards.
“Damn, man, you sleep like the dead,” James remarked.
“Not usually.” Dean winced as he readjusted his position. Slowly he moved his aching body back to the edge of the bed, giving his pounding heart a second to slow before he looked back up at his cellmates. “What’s going on?”
“Pedro brought you back some chow from the mess hall.”
“The guards came? I didn’t hear anything.”
“You were out like my mama after an all night bender, but them bastards came alright. They told us you couldn’t go to the mess hall,” James replied. “Guards thought they’d get you alone, but I told them where they could shove their batons. I hung with you while Pedro brought back the goods.”
Despite the throbbing of his head, Dean furrowed his brow as he looked between the two men. “Why would you do that for me?”
“I told you I had your back, man, and you said they hadn’t fed you. We take care of our own.”
“I couldn’t do nothing about their nasty ass cooking though,” Pedro apologized as he dug into his pockets. “Tastes like crap, might even be crap, but it’s kinda food, yah? The sausage was okay, but I ate it.”
James smacked Pedro solidly on the back of the head. “Damn, Pedro, I seen elephants at the zoo smaller than you. With your fat back you couldn’t skip one meal?”
“Hey! You lay off me, Jimmy Boy. I gotta keep up my fine form, the ladies are waiting. ‘Sides, Hero slept on my bed.”
“Yeah...thanks for that,” Dean cut in. “I don’t think I could’ve handled the floor,” he admitted with a tender touch to his ribs.
“Es nada. I’m moving out anyway,” Pedro shrugged dismissively.
If Dean had any sense he would have been disgusted by the smuggled, squashed paper towel wrapped food that Pedro was digging out of his grungy pockets, but his stomach was in full out hunger pangs. Hell, right now he probably would have just eaten the napkins. He didn’t even bother to pick off the bits of cheap paper towel that flaked off and stuck to the rubbery scrambled eggs as he peeled them away from the napkin.
“You ain’t bleeding inside or nothing are you? ‘Cause I can get someone from the infirmary down here,” James said as he looked him over.
“No point,” Dean replied before he finished swallowing his first mouthful of cold eggs.
“If you got other needs, Pedro, he’s got this nurse over there and she’s got this damn fine ass. Ask him real nice and he might share.”
“No I won’t.”
“You’re cheating on her anyway, man,” James countered.
“No I ain’t. It’s an open relationship.”
“Then she’s open to...what’s up with you? Hero?”
Dean brought his eyes back into focus and looked up, surprised as he realized that James was talking to him. “What?”
“You okay, man? Looked like you were checking out on us.”
“No...” Dean shook his head, a smirk touching his lips despite the sadness in his eyes. “You two just sound like brothers.”
The two men looked incredulously at each other and Dean chuckled to himself. What he wouldn’t give to get in one last stupid, petty argument with Sam. The grim expression set back over his features and his eyes focused in on Pedro.
“So this stuff with my brother...”
“I’m all over it like white on rice,” Pedro assured him. “I get a hold of Sammy, make him buy me dinner...”
“Dude! This is my brother we’re talking about. I don’t want you dating him. You go ahead and make him buy you a cheeseburger, pie and beer for me, but that’s it. You so much as think about touching him and you’re a dead man. I just want you to tell him what I said and give him the amulet.”
“Hey, you’re the one that called it the engagement ring.”
“Look, I had a crappy night...I’ve had a lot of crappy nights. I got this thing going on, I can’t lie and I said a bunch of stuff...he’ll know what it means. He’ll know I sent you.”
“I still don’t get what kind of brothers you two are.”
“We’re blood…more than that. He’s all I got, all I’ve ever had. I just need him to be okay when I’m gone.”
James gave him an approving nod. “You’re a good brother, man.”
“I tried. Too bad I screwed it all up...oh crap,” Dean grumbled as he saw Henricksen and a couple of guards walking down the cellblock.
Dean shoveled the rest of his food down and quickly swallowed before the guards could think to take it away from him. If last night was any indicator, he’d be seeing those eggs again, but at least he had something heading towards his stomach for now.
“On your feet,” one of the guards barked at him as they approached the cell door.
Without making a verbal reply, Dean tried to comply, but hadn’t realized just how stiff he was. Before he could make another attempt around the cuffs, James was at his side, giving him the leverage he needed to get his feet under him. Dean met the man’s eyes in silent gratitude and with the realization that it was probably the closest thing to a friendly face he was ever going to see again.
He glanced back to Pedro. “Like white on rice,” the heavy man assured him almost under his breath.
Dean nodded before shuffling to the front of the cell and turning his attention to Henricksen while purposefully avoiding the eyes of the guards. “If it isn’t Chief Deputy Samuel Gerard, which it isn’t....”
“So you’re Dr. Richard Kimble now?” Henricksen asked.
“That’s what I wanted to say, but I can’t actually say that so thanks.”
One of the guards stepped forward and looked behind Dean towards James and Pedro. “Back it up boys,” the guard said.
A moment later the cell door slid open. Dean remained standing where he was until the guard motioned for him to move. Briefly it wasn’t the guards that Dean’s distrustful eyes settled on. Henricksen had tilted his head and was looking way too closely at him. He held the man’s stare, trying to sort out what he saw in the agent’s eyes.
“You still going to tell me you don’t deserve to be locked up?” Henricksen asked.
The tone was off compared to anything he’d heard from Henricksen before, it almost sounded like a legitimate question. Dean didn’t know why the guy was asking. He didn’t care either. It wasn’t like it mattered what he thought he deserved. He was going to get what he got.
“I’ve done plenty of stuff, but not like you think. I’m not the monster.” Curiosity got the better of him and he quirked a questioning brow to the agent. “Does it matter?”
“Not anymore. If you’re doing this for your brother, I guess you’re just an acceptable casualty.”
“I think so.”
“You honestly have no damn clue how deep the crap you’re standing in is, do you?”
Dean shrugged as they made the slow walk down the corridor. “I thought something smelled funny...but I think it’s this uniform,” Dean replied with a crinkle of his nose, ignoring the twinge of pain that went through the muscles of his swollen face.
He finally risked an insubordinate glare towards one of the guards that he was all too intimately familiar with. It didn’t matter whether or not he behaved. Either way they’d still stick it to him. He was too tired to fight physically, but his mouth still worked...sort of and he wasn't going to just follow along like the perfect little soldier after what these guys had done to him.
“These guys wanted to make sure I was squeaky clean, but couldn’t manage to find a clean suit to stuff me in,” Dean shot towards the guards.
“You keep your damn mouth shut unless you want another shower,” the guard replied, roughly snatching the baggy collar of Dean’s uniform and shoving him towards the wall.
Dean braced for the painful impact that never came. He opened his eyes to see that Henricksen had stepped in the way.
“You two can get a room later,” Henricksen interrupted with an annoyed edge to his tone. He didn’t have that look of amusement that the warden had. The agent’s glare narrowed on the guard. “Just try and pretend to be a professional for the next two minutes.”
Dean let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as the guard released him and took a step back. The guard’s annoyed glare was now on Henricksen who was again looking at Dean.
“I have to say, I’m impressed,” Henricksen said. “I didn’t think I’d be doing a transfer this morning, but you’re still alive despite your own stupidity. You really are a cockroach aren’t you?”
“I’m not sure about the rest of you, but I’m human.”
Henricksen paused for a moment, before leaning towards him. “You’re not as slick as you think. I can see straight through you. You're nothing without your brother. Face it Dean, you're scared.”
“You’re right and I’m freakin’ terrified.” That was the truth, but he flashed a dark grin despite it. “But I made my choice. There's nothing for me to do but hold on until the ride comes to a complete stop. Whatever you were hoping to get out of me about Sam, you can just forget. This’ll all be nothing but a funny little joke when I’m burning in the pit, so do your worst, but don’t expect me to lay around and cry about it.”
“If I were you, I would. You have officially reached the end of the line. The ride’s over and there aren’t words for how many ways you’re screwed.”
~~~
Bobby impatiently looked up from the stack of old books opened in front of him as Sam set the phone aside. If it were Dean that he was staring at he would already know how the call had gone just by looking at him, that and the boy would be running his mouth about it good or bad. Sam he’d always found harder to read.
Without even realizing it, Sam was far better at disguising what he was feeling than his older brother was. Dean tried and failed to hide what was going on in his head, but Sam, he’d just go get so lost in thought that it was a hell of a thing to make out where the kid’s mind was. Knowing that just made Bobby all the more concerned for Sam.
He knew what little pain he could see on the surface was just the tip of the iceberg and right now he could see worlds of hurt in those eyes. Sam was big on people talking out their feelings. It drove Bobby up the wall and he knew it did the same to Dean, but Sam meant well. The kid was just the analytical sort and was stuck on thinking any problem could be talked out. Bobby supposed it was healthier than Dean’s take that any problem could be solved with a loaded pistol, but when it came to himself, at a certain point, Sam shut down and was about as tight-lipped as they came.
Even with the thoughtful mask Sam was wearing, it didn’t take great powers of perception to tell that Sam was weary beyond words and it wasn’t only because the boy hadn’t slept the last couple of nights. Sam and Dean couldn’t be more different, but they were basically two parts of the same person. Bobby knew for a fact that Dean couldn’t hold it together without Sam and he was starting to wonder if long term Sam would really be able to hold on without Dean.
“Well?” Bobby finally asked when he had decided that Sam had been quiet long enough. “Do they got him?”
Sam ran a frustrated hand through his mess of hair. At least that answered Bobby’s question of what kind of news to expect. "Dean wasn't taken to either of the state's maximum security prisons."
"It's the FBI. They could've moved him anywhere."
It was a hollow assurance, but it was the best Bobby could come up with at the moment. Sam obviously wasn't buying a word of it. The boy just shook his head.
"No extradition would have gone through overnight. He has to still be here somewhere."
Sam sighed tiredly, but Bobby could tell by watching the kid that it wasn’t the sound of resignation, just determination settling in. The boy was nothing if not doggedly persistent. Just like his damn father. A second later Sam was back on the phone. Bobby watched the boy with concern for a few moments longer before returning to his notes.
They had already gotten a call back about the lab test on the syringe the demons had used on Dean. There was nothing but traces of saline to be found in it and Sam's frustration had steadily been rising since then. Bobby knew that the boy had wanted some firm answers, but the fact was that it was far more likely that the syringe had just been a carrying agent for something mystical that would never show up on any lab test.
Nothing about any of this was sitting right, but Bobby’s concern for Dean was momentarily replaced by the need to throttle Sam as he heard who the kid was introducing himself as for his next phone call.
“This is Special Agent Johnson,” Sam said, his eyes innocently avoiding the razor glare Bobby was sending him.
The FBI would know where Dean was all right, but they were also looking for Sam. The chances of them recognizing the boy from a thirty second phone call was far from likely, but they didn’t have the room to be taking idiotic risks.
“I’m just trying to finish up some paperwork here on the fugitive Dean Winchester,” Sam told the federal agents that were trying to hunt him down. “Uh yeah...paperwork sure is a bitch…I just need his current location. You’re sure? Could you get me the number...great. Yeah, you too. Thanks.”
“You stupid idget!” Bobby started in as soon as Sam had ended the call. “I thought we agreed no good would come of you joining Dean.” Bobby might as well be talking to himself because by the distant look in the boy’s eyes, Sam sure as hell wasn’t listening.
“They took him to county. Camden.”
Bobby straightened in his chair, a disbelieving look crossing his face. He pulled up his cap to scratch his fingers through his hair before turning back to Sam. “Let me get this straight...the FBI hauled their number one most wanted back across the state just so they could toss him in county?” Bobby shook his head to himself. “There ain’t nothing right about that.”
“I know, but maybe we can catch him there.” Sam glanced down to the number he had scrolled down a minute ago and dialed again. “Hi, this is Officer Cowan. Checking in about one of your prisoners, Dean Winchester. My authorization? Uh...” Sam flashed a confused look to Bobby who held his hand out to take the phone from Sam. “Just a second, I’m going to turn you over to my supervisor.”
“This is Captain Malley,” Bobby said gruffly as soon as he had the phone to his ear. “We’re straightening out some records on this case and we don’t have all day to do it.”
“Sir, I’m sorry, we don’t appear to have you in our records,” the woman on the other end of the phone replied after a moment.
“Then you need to straighten your records too. Sounds like an internal problem. I’m new to the position and I got a lot of cleaning up to do. I just need the prisoner status.”
“The Winchester case is closed.”
Bobby fell silent for a moment as he digested her answer. “How could the case be closed?”
A sickly feeling was already building in Bobby and Sam’s anxious eyes weren’t helping a damn thing.
“Dean Winchester died in custody last night.”
The woman sounded bored and Bobby wanted to tell her just what kind of young man she was disregarding. The only reason he kept his mouth shut was because he felt like he’d just been stabbed in the gut. He could scarcely draw in air enough to breathe, let alone to shout. As numbness flooded over him he only barely managed to keep the phone in his grip.
He hadn’t realized how long he had fallen silent until he saw that Sam was moving in and the woman on the other end of the line was trying to get his attention. “Sir, was there something else you needed?” the woman asked.
“You’re sure you’re looking at the records for Dean Winchester?” he asked, struggling to force his tone to remain professional.
He couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes, but even without directly looking at Sam he could see the boy already shaking his head in denial.
“Yes, sir. Dean Winchester died last night after a fight in his cell. Time of death was 10:34 PM. Would you like me to fax your office a copy of the death certificate?”
Bobby didn’t reply. He couldn’t have if he’d had to. After a moment he hung up and numbly tossed the phone aside. There’d be no service done by putting off the inevitable of facing the boy whose frantic eyes were locked on him. Sam already knew. It was written plainly across the kid’s agonized face.
“It happened last night. Sam...I’m sorry. Your brother, he’s...”
“No.” Sam shot up in his chair before Bobby could finish his sentence. “No...they’re lying.”
“Kid, they got no reason to.”
“Then they’re just wrong. Dean...not like this, Bobby.”
Without even meaning to, Sam was pleading with him to make it better. There was nothing Bobby wouldn’t have given to make life bearable for both of these boys, but as Sam’s shoulders slumped Bobby knew that Sam realized as well as him that there was no making this better. Bobby’s heart twisted all the more painfully as the boy became the picture of defeat. Sam slumped down on the closest bed and moved his hands up to hold his head, using those long bangs of his to cover his eyes.
They remained in painful silence with only the sound of their unsteady breaths and the occasional slamming of doors elsewhere in the building. He could hear the traffic from the street and knew that no one else in this world had a damn clue what had just been lost. Leaving his chair behind, Bobby walked over to the window, back to the room.
“How...how’d it happen?” the boy behind him eventually asked with a frighteningly quiet, almost calculated tone.
Bobby couldn’t force the words to come and just let the cold silence continue to hang in the air. This never should have happened. The boys were just supposed to check out some omens, keep their noses clean and call for help if things got rough. Then he was supposed to protect them. Instead Dean was dead. That the boy was gone was devastating enough, but that humans had beaten him to death was more than Bobby could bear.
It took every scrap of self-control Bobby possessed to just stand there with his fists clenched. He had half a mind to load up on shells and clean out that whole damn jailhouse himself. All the lives in their combined wouldn't amount to the one that had been lost, but it would be too little too late. He only wished he was surprised that this had happened, but honestly he wasn’t, which just made him feel all the more responsible.
Dean had been running just short of suicidal since he’d cut his deal. With what Sam had said about his last conversation with his brother and the fact that Dean hadn’t been able to stop running his mouth it had maybe just been inevitable. And that was why he should’ve been there. They never should’ve left that boy alone. It was just one of a hundred other self-blaming thoughts that were no doubt running through Sam’s head too.
“Bobby, I need to know.” The kid’s voice almost cracked that time. Bobby couldn’t look back at him, but Sam was owed his answer. “Was he shot trying to escape?”
He considered lying, and saying yes, knowing that it was the best option Sam could come up with under the circumstances. But he’d hesitated too long and Sam no doubt knew that it hadn’t been anything so glorified.
“They jumped him in a cell...” Sam filled in, the words barely audible. “Who did it?”
“I don’t know and it don’t matter.” Finally Bobby turned back to look at Sam whose head was still bowed to hide his eyes. “Knowing ain’t gonna bring your brother back.”
Sam’s eyes had darkened by the time the boy’ raised his head. Bobby knew that look all too well. He’d seen it in Dean’s eyes scarcely two weeks earlier. “Where’s his body?”
Bobby shook his head. “So help me, if you even think it...”
“Where is my brother, Bobby?” Sam demanded.
It was damn eerie how much of John Winchester laced the sharp tone of the punctuated words. All the same, the kid had another thing coming if he thought angry words were going to be enough to make him back down. The boy was a mere shadow of the rage his old man had possessed and Bobby had kicked John's ass on more than a couple of occasions. That was to say nothing of the fact that Sam wasn’t the only one that had just gotten his gut ripped out.
Bobby had already made the mistake of letting this happen once. He sure as hell wasn’t going to stand by and watch it happen again. Sam had already stood and taken a few steps towards Bobby. Without warning Bobby moved in to close the distance, grabbing the boy’s shirt in his fists. Sam barely looked fazed, already lost somewhere far from this trashy motel room. Bobby shook him hard to try to pull him back.
“Dean is dead! You can’t just go and bring him back.”
Sam slapped his arms away. Bobby bit back a hiss of pain as the boy connected hard with his bandaged forearm. For a moment Sam’s moisture rimmed eyes widened in silent apology, but the boy was on too much of a tear for it to bring him down as many notches as Bobby needed him to come.
“I died and he brought me back,” Sam fired back a moment later. “He was willing to go to hell for me - I owe him everything!”
“Of course you do, he was your brother. Damn you Winchesters! Just where do you get off thinking you’re above the laws of nature? Someone dies, they’re supposed to stay dead!”
He realized the mistake in his words too late. Resignation settled over Sam’s eyes and the boy shoved pass him. Without a word Sam returned to the table, grabbed his phone and computer and stuffed them in his duffel bag.
“Your really think I’m gonna let you throw yourself down the pit after your brother?”
Bobby could see the coiled tension in Sam’s rigid shoulders, but the boy made no verbal reply. Instead Sam just tried to move back pass him. Bobby was already solidly positioned between Sam and the short hallway to the door. This time grabbed a firm hold of the boy’s arm.
He looked up to meet the stubborn eyes that glared down on him. Suddenly he was keenly aware of just how big the kid had grown over the years. Sam might have the height advantage, but Bobby would take him down if it came to that. He’d be damned himself before he watched another Winchester go off and sell his soul.
~~~
The hollow feeling inside him hurt so bad that Sam barely even registered that it was Bobby he was staring down. It was just someone in the way of saving his brother. He had promised that he would get Dean out of this, that he wouldn’t let him die alone in a prison cell or let him go to hell. Now he was being told that he'd failed on every account. He couldn't live with that.
“Let me go,” Sam warned as he felt Bobby’s grip tighten onto his bicep.
“Kid, you ain’t thinking straight. What’re you gonna do? March straight into hell and demand your brother back?”
“If that’s what it takes. I’m going to fix this.”
“There ain’t no fixing this!”
Sam couldn’t accept that. There was no way that he could believe that his brother was just gone. Until he was holding a lifeless body Dean was still out there and when he was holding that body he would find a way to put his brother back into it because his brother had done that for him.
Dean had given everything for him and never even realized that his life had counted for anything. There was so much about his brother that he had just learned in the last forty-eight hours and he had already hated himself enough for not having known. He was going to get Dean back and make this all right.
“We don’t even know if he’s really...I’m going to the coroners.”
“Like hell you are, boy. You think the FBI just up and stopped looking for you?”
Sam was actually hopping that this was a trap. That the FBI had set this up to draw him out was the last hope that he had. In that scenario he could pretend that Dean was fine and the FBI just wanted him to think that his brother was dead. He’d happily hand himself over just to hear that this was nothing more than some kind of sick joke.
“We’ll look for him,” Bobby continued, “we’ll find out for sure, but Sam...”
“Don’t say it, Bobby. Not yet. I’m not giving up on him just because some stranger on a telephone told me to.”
“Fair enough, but no running off. We do this together, you hear?”
Before he could answer, one of Sam’s other phone began to ring. It was a backup that they only ever used for emergencies and that one time Dean had considered the need for a beer run an emergency. Bobby released him and Sam threw his bag down on the bed. He tossed items out onto the bed and dug the vibrating phone out of the bottom of the bag. As he held the phone he shot an uncertain glance towards Bobby.
“Who has that number?” Bobby asked.
“Just Dean. He must’ve given it to Henricksen before....”
Sam refused to say it. He glanced at the number, which he didn’t recognize before unsteadily putting the phone to his ear. His free hand wiped his cheeks dry of the tears he hadn’t even realized had fallen, were still falling. He steeled himself for whoever might be on the other line.
“Sammy?”
His breath caught in his throat. Even though the voice was wrong, he was so desperate to hear Dean that for a moment he let himself believe that was who had spoken the annoying nickname he was never going to gripe about again. There was no way he could answer, too afraid to confirm that it wasn’t his brother.
“Bitch, you damn lucky you answered.” His brow creased at the unfamiliar deep voice with a heavy Hispanic accent. “I thought I’d have to spend weeks hunting your sasquatch ass and let me tell you, you’d be buying me way more than a cheeseburger, pie and beer if you know what I mean.”
Sammy, bitch, sasquatch, cheeseburger, pie and beer. Sam held desperately to each word that made him think so much of Dean he thought his flipping stomach was going to betray him.
“Who is this?”
The man on the other end of the line was unfazed by Sam’s threatening tone. “Hero’s canton mate,” came the easy reply. “I got something for you. Where you hiding?”
Bobby was watching Sam, silently demanding an explanation but Sam didn’t have one to give, not yet. “Canton...who’s Hero?” Sam asked.
“He’s some loco mother. Pretty little thing fights like a rabid pit bull and says he’s you’re brother. Has some star ink on his chest. You with him or not?”
Sam latched on to the scrap of hope that he so desperately needed. A pretty crazed pit bull named Hero. Dean would kill the guy if he’d heard himself described like that, but Sam instantly recognized the visual as a match for his brother. He could only assume that the ‘star ink’ was referring to Dean’s demon protection tattoo.
“You’ve seen Dean?” Sam shot a hopeful look to Bobby. “When?”
“Dean, yeah, that’s him. Guards and some black pendejo in a suit took him off just before I got gated out this morning. Hero called him Deputy Gerard, that’s the one that took him.”
“This morning?”
The relief came so hard and fast it almost hurt. Bobby had told him that Dean died last night. Either the woman from county had been lying or this guy on the phone now was. Given his options, Sam was siding with the guy on the phone being the truthful one. He was all the more convinced of that when he stopped to consider the name of the agent that the man said had taken Dean.
"Gerard...the US Marshall from The Fugitive?” A smile came to Sam’s lips. This really was Dean they were talking about.
“You ask too many questions. I like Hero better. He’s crazy, but he don’t ask no questions. I ain’t supposed to be talking to you on the phone. Gotta drink some holy water or something first...anyone ever tell you your brother's crazy?"
"It's come up," Sam replied. He barely even knew what he was saying, still lost in a haze of cautious relief.
"I don't care," the man replied. "He's good people. I’m in Camden and I'm hungry. You come get me. I don’t got no car, but I do got this funky necklace thing.”
“Necklace...is it an amulet?”
“It’s just a face with some horns. Hero said it wasn’t really gold, but I don’t know...looks kinda real to me. It’s supposed to be your engagement ring.”
Sam’s brow furrowed for a moment before he squeezed his eyes closed. Whoever this guy was Dean had given him his amulet and had told him about the conversation they’d had the other night. It was solid confirmation not only that this guy had been with Dean but that he wasn't going to like what the man had to say. There was only one reason Dean would have passed on that necklace. Like it or not, the guy on the other end of the line was the closest thing to a lead on his brother. The guy was someone telling him that Dean was still alive and that there was still time to fix this.
Summary: An attack by a gang of demons freshly freed from hell, leaves Dean unable to lie, at the top of FBI’s most wanted list and soon forced into an experimental psyche program. Meanwhile Sam and Bobby are left to unravel the full extent of the demons’ plans.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, violence, suggestive scenarios and implied M/M non-con.
Spoilers: Up to Season 3, 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'
Word Count: 6,689 for this part
Author's Note: This story is set early Season 3 post ‘The Magnificent Seven’ and assumes that Sam and Dean had their anti-demon possession tattoos by that point. Master post can be found here.
~~~
Continued from Chapter 8
Henricksen leaned heavily over the table, reading the papers once more. He had flipped through them half a dozen times already. It was just paperwork to seal the deal, it shouldn’t even matter what the endless pages of fine print read, but between the suspicious wording and after listening to an hour of rebuttal from Fassler, it was just enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth. Agitatedly he tapped his pen against the table.
“Is there a problem, Agent Henricksen?”
Glancing up, he was met with the weasely grin that didn’t seem to leave Doctor Worten’s face. That smug smirk was really starting to get on Henricksen’s nerves. Everything about the doctor was. Everyone in this place was just plain out of their minds. It was all the more reason to sign the papers so that he could wash his hands of Dean and get the hell out of dodge. He still had another Winchester to hunt down. There was just the annoying little fact that not a single provision in the document was legal for an institute on American soil, let alone one in the middle of Jersey.
It was all written in legal fashion, heavily laden with ‘shall’ and ‘therein’ and everyone’s ass covered by miles of red tape. Everything about it was right except for what it said. Whoever had written up this paperwork hadn’t even bothered to read the Constitution. It was a ballsy document to actually print on paper and all the legal language in the world wasn’t going to make it hold up in a court of law.
“You tell me,” Henricksen replied as he rose to his full height and glared suspiciously at Wroten. “What is all this?”
“As I said earlier, this is merely part of the transfer protocol.”
“Yeah. Right. And I’m the tooth fairy. Transfer paperwork I get. This...” Henricksen grabbed the oversized packet of papers and waved it at Wroten. “This I don’t get. How about you tell me what’s really going on here? Your own damn paperwork says I’m not authorized to sign it.”
The forms said that the prisoner was being admitted into a voluntary government rehabilitation program. The only possibly true statement there was that it was a government program. The thing they were currently holding in custody wasn’t volunteering for anything and everyone already knew there was no rehabilitating Dean Winchester.
“We have authorized you as a signer.”
“I might not have a fancy PhD, but I can read. There’s two choices here,” Henricksen replied as he slapped the papers back down on the table. He turned them to face Worten and pointed to the signature spaces. “The ‘patient’ or someone with his power of attorney.” Henricksen’s eyes shot up to meet the doctor’s. “Do I look like his mother?”
“As you are already aware, the subject’s only surviving family is his fugitive brother who is at the same time unreachable and without the legal capacity to make this decision.”
“So there’s no signer. You want to tell me why I’m holding a pen?”
“You were the lead on the case.” Worten reached over and flipped the page. “As it states here, our oversight committee allows five signers to overrule the voluntary admittance requirement for someone in Mr. Winchester’s special circumstance.”
As many times as Henricksen had flipped through the papers he hadn’t honestly seen that section. It was printed on the backside of the paper when no other portion of the document was double sided. He couldn’t help but think that it was purposefully hidden there.
After skimming through the verbiage his expression only became more skeptical. One of the signature slots was for the patient’s psych evaluator. She’d stormed out of here after making it clear to the world that she opposed every part of this. That woman was as gullible as they came about Dean Winchester, but he had to grudgingly admit that she had made valid legal arguments.
“You’re crazier than the Winchesters if you think hell isn’t freezing over before Fassler is going to sign this thing.”
“Doctor Fassler has given notice of her retirement. I have been assigned as Mr. Winchester’s new evaluator.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Henricksen muttered to himself. He glanced down at the form once more before shooting another look at Worten. “And who’s playing the part of his make-believe lawyer?”
“May I remind you that your own Deputy Director Steven Groves has already signed this document? I fail to see the issue. You were the one so adamantly pushing for the lock to be thrown away.”
“I’m all over locking Dean’s crazy ass up. In prison. This isn’t prison,” Henricksen replied with a stabbing finger to the paperwork. “I have no damn clue what this is.” He turned the document back so that he could flip through the pages before he began to read, “’The citizen shall henceforth become government property’? You got me authorizing surgery, medication, testing...this is paperwork for a guinea pig not an inmate.”
“Mr. Winchester is not an inmate, you said it yourself, Agent Henricksen - he is not even human. He’s a monster.”
“Don’t you dare say he’s one of those demons he’s been spouting off about. Dean Winchester is a murdering crazy, deranged whacko, but he’s still just as human as the rest of us.”
This insane doctor even had him defending that thing. If he could find fault with this then there was no way it wouldn’t be scrutinized to the point of dismissal if anyone else got a hold of this packet of paperwork.
“I’ve been to hell and back chasing this freak. No way am I letting him skate out on a technicality,” Henricksen continued. “We do this straight and we get him put away for real.”
“If we do this, he will be gone - for real. He disappears and no one else gets hurt. There won’t be any questions. There’s no one aside from a couple of wanted fugitives to miss him.”
Henricksen’s eyes narrowed. “I sign this and Dean Winchester no longer exists?”
“For all intensive legal purposes, yes.”
“Even if I did buy that, you can’t seriously think I’m stupid enough to believe that I’m under legal authority to co-sign this death certificate.”
“I assure you that you are.”
“This guy’s still alive, right?”
“Biologically speaking.”
“You know what? You’re twice as many worlds of crazy as he is. You doctors want to play god, knock yourselves out, but you’re gonna have to get that warden in here to sign.”
With annoyance, Henricksen realized that the conceited smile never did leave the doctor’s face. “If you truly believe that there is another viable alternative for dealing with Mr. Winchester, by all means, do not sign the documents. However, Agent Henricksen, I think you realize as well as I that this is the safest option for dealing with a sociopath of this caliber.”
~~~
Dean jerked, struggling against glimpses of images he didn’t understand. Vivid flashes like memories, but clearer, and they weren’t his own. Girls being held down, begging, struggling beneath him. He tried to escape the gruesome snippets of mutilated bodies, of people being ripped apart with his own hands. The victims pleaded desperately to be saved not by him, but from him. He saw Bobby screaming as he sliced the blade across the man’s blooded skin.
When he began to surface it felt like he was returning from a different world, or at least another life. He wasn’t sure which one was real. The one he was waking into hurt like a royal son of a bitch, but at least it was his pain and not someone else’s.
Every aching nerve in his body reawakened at once. He couldn’t move his arms or legs right and it smelled like he was sleeping in an outhouse. With a pained moan, he tried to turn away from the annoying sensation that had originally awoken him. Slowly he realized that someone was shaking his arm with a growing persistence.
“Seriously, Sam,” he grumbled. “Knock it the hell off.”
“Yo, Hero, I ain’t your Sammy. Get your ass up, bitch or I’m eating your breakfast.”
He blinked his dry eyes, but didn’t quite open them. His hand went up to rub his face, but was stopped short by the sharp snap of the chains around his raw wrists. Suddenly his startled eyes flew open. He uncurled himself and shot up on the bunk, just avoiding hitting his head as he scrambled further back on the dirty mattress and away from the large hand on him.
For a split second he looked with feral eyes between the two strange men starting down at him. He was visually searching for anything he could use as a weapon until he registered that the men weren’t guards.
“Damn, man, you sleep like the dead,” James remarked.
“Not usually.” Dean winced as he readjusted his position. Slowly he moved his aching body back to the edge of the bed, giving his pounding heart a second to slow before he looked back up at his cellmates. “What’s going on?”
“Pedro brought you back some chow from the mess hall.”
“The guards came? I didn’t hear anything.”
“You were out like my mama after an all night bender, but them bastards came alright. They told us you couldn’t go to the mess hall,” James replied. “Guards thought they’d get you alone, but I told them where they could shove their batons. I hung with you while Pedro brought back the goods.”
Despite the throbbing of his head, Dean furrowed his brow as he looked between the two men. “Why would you do that for me?”
“I told you I had your back, man, and you said they hadn’t fed you. We take care of our own.”
“I couldn’t do nothing about their nasty ass cooking though,” Pedro apologized as he dug into his pockets. “Tastes like crap, might even be crap, but it’s kinda food, yah? The sausage was okay, but I ate it.”
James smacked Pedro solidly on the back of the head. “Damn, Pedro, I seen elephants at the zoo smaller than you. With your fat back you couldn’t skip one meal?”
“Hey! You lay off me, Jimmy Boy. I gotta keep up my fine form, the ladies are waiting. ‘Sides, Hero slept on my bed.”
“Yeah...thanks for that,” Dean cut in. “I don’t think I could’ve handled the floor,” he admitted with a tender touch to his ribs.
“Es nada. I’m moving out anyway,” Pedro shrugged dismissively.
If Dean had any sense he would have been disgusted by the smuggled, squashed paper towel wrapped food that Pedro was digging out of his grungy pockets, but his stomach was in full out hunger pangs. Hell, right now he probably would have just eaten the napkins. He didn’t even bother to pick off the bits of cheap paper towel that flaked off and stuck to the rubbery scrambled eggs as he peeled them away from the napkin.
“You ain’t bleeding inside or nothing are you? ‘Cause I can get someone from the infirmary down here,” James said as he looked him over.
“No point,” Dean replied before he finished swallowing his first mouthful of cold eggs.
“If you got other needs, Pedro, he’s got this nurse over there and she’s got this damn fine ass. Ask him real nice and he might share.”
“No I won’t.”
“You’re cheating on her anyway, man,” James countered.
“No I ain’t. It’s an open relationship.”
“Then she’s open to...what’s up with you? Hero?”
Dean brought his eyes back into focus and looked up, surprised as he realized that James was talking to him. “What?”
“You okay, man? Looked like you were checking out on us.”
“No...” Dean shook his head, a smirk touching his lips despite the sadness in his eyes. “You two just sound like brothers.”
The two men looked incredulously at each other and Dean chuckled to himself. What he wouldn’t give to get in one last stupid, petty argument with Sam. The grim expression set back over his features and his eyes focused in on Pedro.
“So this stuff with my brother...”
“I’m all over it like white on rice,” Pedro assured him. “I get a hold of Sammy, make him buy me dinner...”
“Dude! This is my brother we’re talking about. I don’t want you dating him. You go ahead and make him buy you a cheeseburger, pie and beer for me, but that’s it. You so much as think about touching him and you’re a dead man. I just want you to tell him what I said and give him the amulet.”
“Hey, you’re the one that called it the engagement ring.”
“Look, I had a crappy night...I’ve had a lot of crappy nights. I got this thing going on, I can’t lie and I said a bunch of stuff...he’ll know what it means. He’ll know I sent you.”
“I still don’t get what kind of brothers you two are.”
“We’re blood…more than that. He’s all I got, all I’ve ever had. I just need him to be okay when I’m gone.”
James gave him an approving nod. “You’re a good brother, man.”
“I tried. Too bad I screwed it all up...oh crap,” Dean grumbled as he saw Henricksen and a couple of guards walking down the cellblock.
Dean shoveled the rest of his food down and quickly swallowed before the guards could think to take it away from him. If last night was any indicator, he’d be seeing those eggs again, but at least he had something heading towards his stomach for now.
“On your feet,” one of the guards barked at him as they approached the cell door.
Without making a verbal reply, Dean tried to comply, but hadn’t realized just how stiff he was. Before he could make another attempt around the cuffs, James was at his side, giving him the leverage he needed to get his feet under him. Dean met the man’s eyes in silent gratitude and with the realization that it was probably the closest thing to a friendly face he was ever going to see again.
He glanced back to Pedro. “Like white on rice,” the heavy man assured him almost under his breath.
Dean nodded before shuffling to the front of the cell and turning his attention to Henricksen while purposefully avoiding the eyes of the guards. “If it isn’t Chief Deputy Samuel Gerard, which it isn’t....”
“So you’re Dr. Richard Kimble now?” Henricksen asked.
“That’s what I wanted to say, but I can’t actually say that so thanks.”
One of the guards stepped forward and looked behind Dean towards James and Pedro. “Back it up boys,” the guard said.
A moment later the cell door slid open. Dean remained standing where he was until the guard motioned for him to move. Briefly it wasn’t the guards that Dean’s distrustful eyes settled on. Henricksen had tilted his head and was looking way too closely at him. He held the man’s stare, trying to sort out what he saw in the agent’s eyes.
“You still going to tell me you don’t deserve to be locked up?” Henricksen asked.
The tone was off compared to anything he’d heard from Henricksen before, it almost sounded like a legitimate question. Dean didn’t know why the guy was asking. He didn’t care either. It wasn’t like it mattered what he thought he deserved. He was going to get what he got.
“I’ve done plenty of stuff, but not like you think. I’m not the monster.” Curiosity got the better of him and he quirked a questioning brow to the agent. “Does it matter?”
“Not anymore. If you’re doing this for your brother, I guess you’re just an acceptable casualty.”
“I think so.”
“You honestly have no damn clue how deep the crap you’re standing in is, do you?”
Dean shrugged as they made the slow walk down the corridor. “I thought something smelled funny...but I think it’s this uniform,” Dean replied with a crinkle of his nose, ignoring the twinge of pain that went through the muscles of his swollen face.
He finally risked an insubordinate glare towards one of the guards that he was all too intimately familiar with. It didn’t matter whether or not he behaved. Either way they’d still stick it to him. He was too tired to fight physically, but his mouth still worked...sort of and he wasn't going to just follow along like the perfect little soldier after what these guys had done to him.
“These guys wanted to make sure I was squeaky clean, but couldn’t manage to find a clean suit to stuff me in,” Dean shot towards the guards.
“You keep your damn mouth shut unless you want another shower,” the guard replied, roughly snatching the baggy collar of Dean’s uniform and shoving him towards the wall.
Dean braced for the painful impact that never came. He opened his eyes to see that Henricksen had stepped in the way.
“You two can get a room later,” Henricksen interrupted with an annoyed edge to his tone. He didn’t have that look of amusement that the warden had. The agent’s glare narrowed on the guard. “Just try and pretend to be a professional for the next two minutes.”
Dean let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as the guard released him and took a step back. The guard’s annoyed glare was now on Henricksen who was again looking at Dean.
“I have to say, I’m impressed,” Henricksen said. “I didn’t think I’d be doing a transfer this morning, but you’re still alive despite your own stupidity. You really are a cockroach aren’t you?”
“I’m not sure about the rest of you, but I’m human.”
Henricksen paused for a moment, before leaning towards him. “You’re not as slick as you think. I can see straight through you. You're nothing without your brother. Face it Dean, you're scared.”
“You’re right and I’m freakin’ terrified.” That was the truth, but he flashed a dark grin despite it. “But I made my choice. There's nothing for me to do but hold on until the ride comes to a complete stop. Whatever you were hoping to get out of me about Sam, you can just forget. This’ll all be nothing but a funny little joke when I’m burning in the pit, so do your worst, but don’t expect me to lay around and cry about it.”
“If I were you, I would. You have officially reached the end of the line. The ride’s over and there aren’t words for how many ways you’re screwed.”
~~~
Bobby impatiently looked up from the stack of old books opened in front of him as Sam set the phone aside. If it were Dean that he was staring at he would already know how the call had gone just by looking at him, that and the boy would be running his mouth about it good or bad. Sam he’d always found harder to read.
Without even realizing it, Sam was far better at disguising what he was feeling than his older brother was. Dean tried and failed to hide what was going on in his head, but Sam, he’d just go get so lost in thought that it was a hell of a thing to make out where the kid’s mind was. Knowing that just made Bobby all the more concerned for Sam.
He knew what little pain he could see on the surface was just the tip of the iceberg and right now he could see worlds of hurt in those eyes. Sam was big on people talking out their feelings. It drove Bobby up the wall and he knew it did the same to Dean, but Sam meant well. The kid was just the analytical sort and was stuck on thinking any problem could be talked out. Bobby supposed it was healthier than Dean’s take that any problem could be solved with a loaded pistol, but when it came to himself, at a certain point, Sam shut down and was about as tight-lipped as they came.
Even with the thoughtful mask Sam was wearing, it didn’t take great powers of perception to tell that Sam was weary beyond words and it wasn’t only because the boy hadn’t slept the last couple of nights. Sam and Dean couldn’t be more different, but they were basically two parts of the same person. Bobby knew for a fact that Dean couldn’t hold it together without Sam and he was starting to wonder if long term Sam would really be able to hold on without Dean.
“Well?” Bobby finally asked when he had decided that Sam had been quiet long enough. “Do they got him?”
Sam ran a frustrated hand through his mess of hair. At least that answered Bobby’s question of what kind of news to expect. "Dean wasn't taken to either of the state's maximum security prisons."
"It's the FBI. They could've moved him anywhere."
It was a hollow assurance, but it was the best Bobby could come up with at the moment. Sam obviously wasn't buying a word of it. The boy just shook his head.
"No extradition would have gone through overnight. He has to still be here somewhere."
Sam sighed tiredly, but Bobby could tell by watching the kid that it wasn’t the sound of resignation, just determination settling in. The boy was nothing if not doggedly persistent. Just like his damn father. A second later Sam was back on the phone. Bobby watched the boy with concern for a few moments longer before returning to his notes.
They had already gotten a call back about the lab test on the syringe the demons had used on Dean. There was nothing but traces of saline to be found in it and Sam's frustration had steadily been rising since then. Bobby knew that the boy had wanted some firm answers, but the fact was that it was far more likely that the syringe had just been a carrying agent for something mystical that would never show up on any lab test.
Nothing about any of this was sitting right, but Bobby’s concern for Dean was momentarily replaced by the need to throttle Sam as he heard who the kid was introducing himself as for his next phone call.
“This is Special Agent Johnson,” Sam said, his eyes innocently avoiding the razor glare Bobby was sending him.
The FBI would know where Dean was all right, but they were also looking for Sam. The chances of them recognizing the boy from a thirty second phone call was far from likely, but they didn’t have the room to be taking idiotic risks.
“I’m just trying to finish up some paperwork here on the fugitive Dean Winchester,” Sam told the federal agents that were trying to hunt him down. “Uh yeah...paperwork sure is a bitch…I just need his current location. You’re sure? Could you get me the number...great. Yeah, you too. Thanks.”
“You stupid idget!” Bobby started in as soon as Sam had ended the call. “I thought we agreed no good would come of you joining Dean.” Bobby might as well be talking to himself because by the distant look in the boy’s eyes, Sam sure as hell wasn’t listening.
“They took him to county. Camden.”
Bobby straightened in his chair, a disbelieving look crossing his face. He pulled up his cap to scratch his fingers through his hair before turning back to Sam. “Let me get this straight...the FBI hauled their number one most wanted back across the state just so they could toss him in county?” Bobby shook his head to himself. “There ain’t nothing right about that.”
“I know, but maybe we can catch him there.” Sam glanced down to the number he had scrolled down a minute ago and dialed again. “Hi, this is Officer Cowan. Checking in about one of your prisoners, Dean Winchester. My authorization? Uh...” Sam flashed a confused look to Bobby who held his hand out to take the phone from Sam. “Just a second, I’m going to turn you over to my supervisor.”
“This is Captain Malley,” Bobby said gruffly as soon as he had the phone to his ear. “We’re straightening out some records on this case and we don’t have all day to do it.”
“Sir, I’m sorry, we don’t appear to have you in our records,” the woman on the other end of the phone replied after a moment.
“Then you need to straighten your records too. Sounds like an internal problem. I’m new to the position and I got a lot of cleaning up to do. I just need the prisoner status.”
“The Winchester case is closed.”
Bobby fell silent for a moment as he digested her answer. “How could the case be closed?”
A sickly feeling was already building in Bobby and Sam’s anxious eyes weren’t helping a damn thing.
“Dean Winchester died in custody last night.”
The woman sounded bored and Bobby wanted to tell her just what kind of young man she was disregarding. The only reason he kept his mouth shut was because he felt like he’d just been stabbed in the gut. He could scarcely draw in air enough to breathe, let alone to shout. As numbness flooded over him he only barely managed to keep the phone in his grip.
He hadn’t realized how long he had fallen silent until he saw that Sam was moving in and the woman on the other end of the line was trying to get his attention. “Sir, was there something else you needed?” the woman asked.
“You’re sure you’re looking at the records for Dean Winchester?” he asked, struggling to force his tone to remain professional.
He couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes, but even without directly looking at Sam he could see the boy already shaking his head in denial.
“Yes, sir. Dean Winchester died last night after a fight in his cell. Time of death was 10:34 PM. Would you like me to fax your office a copy of the death certificate?”
Bobby didn’t reply. He couldn’t have if he’d had to. After a moment he hung up and numbly tossed the phone aside. There’d be no service done by putting off the inevitable of facing the boy whose frantic eyes were locked on him. Sam already knew. It was written plainly across the kid’s agonized face.
“It happened last night. Sam...I’m sorry. Your brother, he’s...”
“No.” Sam shot up in his chair before Bobby could finish his sentence. “No...they’re lying.”
“Kid, they got no reason to.”
“Then they’re just wrong. Dean...not like this, Bobby.”
Without even meaning to, Sam was pleading with him to make it better. There was nothing Bobby wouldn’t have given to make life bearable for both of these boys, but as Sam’s shoulders slumped Bobby knew that Sam realized as well as him that there was no making this better. Bobby’s heart twisted all the more painfully as the boy became the picture of defeat. Sam slumped down on the closest bed and moved his hands up to hold his head, using those long bangs of his to cover his eyes.
They remained in painful silence with only the sound of their unsteady breaths and the occasional slamming of doors elsewhere in the building. He could hear the traffic from the street and knew that no one else in this world had a damn clue what had just been lost. Leaving his chair behind, Bobby walked over to the window, back to the room.
“How...how’d it happen?” the boy behind him eventually asked with a frighteningly quiet, almost calculated tone.
Bobby couldn’t force the words to come and just let the cold silence continue to hang in the air. This never should have happened. The boys were just supposed to check out some omens, keep their noses clean and call for help if things got rough. Then he was supposed to protect them. Instead Dean was dead. That the boy was gone was devastating enough, but that humans had beaten him to death was more than Bobby could bear.
It took every scrap of self-control Bobby possessed to just stand there with his fists clenched. He had half a mind to load up on shells and clean out that whole damn jailhouse himself. All the lives in their combined wouldn't amount to the one that had been lost, but it would be too little too late. He only wished he was surprised that this had happened, but honestly he wasn’t, which just made him feel all the more responsible.
Dean had been running just short of suicidal since he’d cut his deal. With what Sam had said about his last conversation with his brother and the fact that Dean hadn’t been able to stop running his mouth it had maybe just been inevitable. And that was why he should’ve been there. They never should’ve left that boy alone. It was just one of a hundred other self-blaming thoughts that were no doubt running through Sam’s head too.
“Bobby, I need to know.” The kid’s voice almost cracked that time. Bobby couldn’t look back at him, but Sam was owed his answer. “Was he shot trying to escape?”
He considered lying, and saying yes, knowing that it was the best option Sam could come up with under the circumstances. But he’d hesitated too long and Sam no doubt knew that it hadn’t been anything so glorified.
“They jumped him in a cell...” Sam filled in, the words barely audible. “Who did it?”
“I don’t know and it don’t matter.” Finally Bobby turned back to look at Sam whose head was still bowed to hide his eyes. “Knowing ain’t gonna bring your brother back.”
Sam’s eyes had darkened by the time the boy’ raised his head. Bobby knew that look all too well. He’d seen it in Dean’s eyes scarcely two weeks earlier. “Where’s his body?”
Bobby shook his head. “So help me, if you even think it...”
“Where is my brother, Bobby?” Sam demanded.
It was damn eerie how much of John Winchester laced the sharp tone of the punctuated words. All the same, the kid had another thing coming if he thought angry words were going to be enough to make him back down. The boy was a mere shadow of the rage his old man had possessed and Bobby had kicked John's ass on more than a couple of occasions. That was to say nothing of the fact that Sam wasn’t the only one that had just gotten his gut ripped out.
Bobby had already made the mistake of letting this happen once. He sure as hell wasn’t going to stand by and watch it happen again. Sam had already stood and taken a few steps towards Bobby. Without warning Bobby moved in to close the distance, grabbing the boy’s shirt in his fists. Sam barely looked fazed, already lost somewhere far from this trashy motel room. Bobby shook him hard to try to pull him back.
“Dean is dead! You can’t just go and bring him back.”
Sam slapped his arms away. Bobby bit back a hiss of pain as the boy connected hard with his bandaged forearm. For a moment Sam’s moisture rimmed eyes widened in silent apology, but the boy was on too much of a tear for it to bring him down as many notches as Bobby needed him to come.
“I died and he brought me back,” Sam fired back a moment later. “He was willing to go to hell for me - I owe him everything!”
“Of course you do, he was your brother. Damn you Winchesters! Just where do you get off thinking you’re above the laws of nature? Someone dies, they’re supposed to stay dead!”
He realized the mistake in his words too late. Resignation settled over Sam’s eyes and the boy shoved pass him. Without a word Sam returned to the table, grabbed his phone and computer and stuffed them in his duffel bag.
“Your really think I’m gonna let you throw yourself down the pit after your brother?”
Bobby could see the coiled tension in Sam’s rigid shoulders, but the boy made no verbal reply. Instead Sam just tried to move back pass him. Bobby was already solidly positioned between Sam and the short hallway to the door. This time grabbed a firm hold of the boy’s arm.
He looked up to meet the stubborn eyes that glared down on him. Suddenly he was keenly aware of just how big the kid had grown over the years. Sam might have the height advantage, but Bobby would take him down if it came to that. He’d be damned himself before he watched another Winchester go off and sell his soul.
~~~
The hollow feeling inside him hurt so bad that Sam barely even registered that it was Bobby he was staring down. It was just someone in the way of saving his brother. He had promised that he would get Dean out of this, that he wouldn’t let him die alone in a prison cell or let him go to hell. Now he was being told that he'd failed on every account. He couldn't live with that.
“Let me go,” Sam warned as he felt Bobby’s grip tighten onto his bicep.
“Kid, you ain’t thinking straight. What’re you gonna do? March straight into hell and demand your brother back?”
“If that’s what it takes. I’m going to fix this.”
“There ain’t no fixing this!”
Sam couldn’t accept that. There was no way that he could believe that his brother was just gone. Until he was holding a lifeless body Dean was still out there and when he was holding that body he would find a way to put his brother back into it because his brother had done that for him.
Dean had given everything for him and never even realized that his life had counted for anything. There was so much about his brother that he had just learned in the last forty-eight hours and he had already hated himself enough for not having known. He was going to get Dean back and make this all right.
“We don’t even know if he’s really...I’m going to the coroners.”
“Like hell you are, boy. You think the FBI just up and stopped looking for you?”
Sam was actually hopping that this was a trap. That the FBI had set this up to draw him out was the last hope that he had. In that scenario he could pretend that Dean was fine and the FBI just wanted him to think that his brother was dead. He’d happily hand himself over just to hear that this was nothing more than some kind of sick joke.
“We’ll look for him,” Bobby continued, “we’ll find out for sure, but Sam...”
“Don’t say it, Bobby. Not yet. I’m not giving up on him just because some stranger on a telephone told me to.”
“Fair enough, but no running off. We do this together, you hear?”
Before he could answer, one of Sam’s other phone began to ring. It was a backup that they only ever used for emergencies and that one time Dean had considered the need for a beer run an emergency. Bobby released him and Sam threw his bag down on the bed. He tossed items out onto the bed and dug the vibrating phone out of the bottom of the bag. As he held the phone he shot an uncertain glance towards Bobby.
“Who has that number?” Bobby asked.
“Just Dean. He must’ve given it to Henricksen before....”
Sam refused to say it. He glanced at the number, which he didn’t recognize before unsteadily putting the phone to his ear. His free hand wiped his cheeks dry of the tears he hadn’t even realized had fallen, were still falling. He steeled himself for whoever might be on the other line.
“Sammy?”
His breath caught in his throat. Even though the voice was wrong, he was so desperate to hear Dean that for a moment he let himself believe that was who had spoken the annoying nickname he was never going to gripe about again. There was no way he could answer, too afraid to confirm that it wasn’t his brother.
“Bitch, you damn lucky you answered.” His brow creased at the unfamiliar deep voice with a heavy Hispanic accent. “I thought I’d have to spend weeks hunting your sasquatch ass and let me tell you, you’d be buying me way more than a cheeseburger, pie and beer if you know what I mean.”
Sammy, bitch, sasquatch, cheeseburger, pie and beer. Sam held desperately to each word that made him think so much of Dean he thought his flipping stomach was going to betray him.
“Who is this?”
The man on the other end of the line was unfazed by Sam’s threatening tone. “Hero’s canton mate,” came the easy reply. “I got something for you. Where you hiding?”
Bobby was watching Sam, silently demanding an explanation but Sam didn’t have one to give, not yet. “Canton...who’s Hero?” Sam asked.
“He’s some loco mother. Pretty little thing fights like a rabid pit bull and says he’s you’re brother. Has some star ink on his chest. You with him or not?”
Sam latched on to the scrap of hope that he so desperately needed. A pretty crazed pit bull named Hero. Dean would kill the guy if he’d heard himself described like that, but Sam instantly recognized the visual as a match for his brother. He could only assume that the ‘star ink’ was referring to Dean’s demon protection tattoo.
“You’ve seen Dean?” Sam shot a hopeful look to Bobby. “When?”
“Dean, yeah, that’s him. Guards and some black pendejo in a suit took him off just before I got gated out this morning. Hero called him Deputy Gerard, that’s the one that took him.”
“This morning?”
The relief came so hard and fast it almost hurt. Bobby had told him that Dean died last night. Either the woman from county had been lying or this guy on the phone now was. Given his options, Sam was siding with the guy on the phone being the truthful one. He was all the more convinced of that when he stopped to consider the name of the agent that the man said had taken Dean.
"Gerard...the US Marshall from The Fugitive?” A smile came to Sam’s lips. This really was Dean they were talking about.
“You ask too many questions. I like Hero better. He’s crazy, but he don’t ask no questions. I ain’t supposed to be talking to you on the phone. Gotta drink some holy water or something first...anyone ever tell you your brother's crazy?"
"It's come up," Sam replied. He barely even knew what he was saying, still lost in a haze of cautious relief.
"I don't care," the man replied. "He's good people. I’m in Camden and I'm hungry. You come get me. I don’t got no car, but I do got this funky necklace thing.”
“Necklace...is it an amulet?”
“It’s just a face with some horns. Hero said it wasn’t really gold, but I don’t know...looks kinda real to me. It’s supposed to be your engagement ring.”
Sam’s brow furrowed for a moment before he squeezed his eyes closed. Whoever this guy was Dean had given him his amulet and had told him about the conversation they’d had the other night. It was solid confirmation not only that this guy had been with Dean but that he wasn't going to like what the man had to say. There was only one reason Dean would have passed on that necklace. Like it or not, the guy on the other end of the line was the closest thing to a lead on his brother. The guy was someone telling him that Dean was still alive and that there was still time to fix this.