Against the Clock 4/13 (Gen, PG-13, Dean, Sam, Casefic)
Against the Clock
by Swanseajill
Chapter 4
Sam watched Dean surreptitiously until he was sure his brother was asleep. Not that he was overly worried. Dean probably just had a touch of the flu. It was just that ever since Nebraska, he’d been hyper alert to any sign that might signal that Dean was sick. It was stupid and irrational, but he couldn’t help it. He still had nightmares about Dean in that hospital bed, so ill and weak, joking about daytime TV. He never wanted to see his brother like that again. Ever.
He pushed away the unhappy memories, took a quick shower, then settled at the small desk and powered up his laptop. He was tired, but still wound tight from the tension the text message had spawned and that still lurked beneath the surface, ready to strike again at the smallest provocation.
He searched for information on the murders and read every article he could find, but nothing gave him much more information than they already had. He made a mental note to suggest a visit to the local library the following morning to check the news stories more thoroughly.
One article did rouse his curiosity. In an editorial for a publication called Colorado Enquirer: The Naked Truth, the author claimed that the FBI had covered up certain details about the murders. There was no hint as to the nature of the details. He made a note to follow it up, although judging from some of the other articles in the same edition - including one that contained veiled hints that the state governor might be an alien in disguise - the author was clearly a raving conspiracy theorist with nothing concrete to back up his claims.
He yawned and checked his watch. One a.m. He stretched his back, wincing when a bone cracked loudly in his neck. Time to turn in and get some sleep.
Before shutting the laptop down it occurred to him to take a quick look at the current local newspaper headlines. It was likely there’d be a mention of the previous murders. He pulled up the site for the San Juan County newspaper and found the killings were indeed front-page material, but the article contained nothing but speculation about a serial killer on the loose and a warning for citizens to be vigilant.
He glanced at other news, and another headline captured his attention: “Recent outbreak of flu-like virus claims four lives in Gunnison County.” He opened the article with a vague sense of unease.
“The flu-like virus, which originated in the northern part of the state, has moved southwards, yesterday claiming four lives in Gunnison County, all elderly residents of a nursing home in the small town of Windsor.
“A spokesperson for the board of health said today, ‘This virus is particularly virulent. Symptoms develop quickly and include some or all of the following: severe headache, nausea, sore throat, muscular pain, dizziness and a high fever.’ He went on to urge citizens not to panic. ‘The virus is contagious but so far is spreading slowly and is not life threatening for most people. If you develop symptoms, the best advice is to drink plenty of water and get total bed rest for two to three days. However, the elderly and anyone with a weakened immune system could be in danger of suffering complications. If you fall into this category, contact your doctor immediately should you become aware of any of the above symptoms.’”
The chupacabra hunt had been in Gunnison County.
Sam looked worriedly at Dean, running through a mental checklist of the symptoms mentioned in the article.
Headache? Check.
Nausea? That would account for Dean’s refusal to eat the pizza. Check.
Sore throat? Several times earlier he’d seen Dean wince and seem to have difficulty swallowing. Check.
Muscular pain? Dean had clearly been in some discomfort earlier. Check.
Dizziness? Sam had noticed, but chosen not to comment on, the way Dean had swayed and almost keeled over when he entered the room earlier. Check.
Fever? Sam padded across to the bed and risked getting his throat slit ear to ear by gently laying a hand on Dean’s forehead. Dean muttered something and turned his head. He was hot. Too hot. Fever? Check.
Crap.
Trust Dean to have every symptom in the book.
Sam’s gut twisted in anxiety. He knew Dean’s heart had been fully healed - a specialist had assured them that there was no evidence of damage. Yet he still worried that the reaper might have done something in the later attack on Dean - the attack he was sure his brother hadn’t resisted as fully as he should have. That would explain why he’d been susceptible to this virus and was possibly in danger of suffering complications, as the article had warned.
Sam decided not to take any chances. Somehow, he’d convince Dean to stay in bed and rest the next day. He’d solve the case on his own, if he had to, but he wasn’t going to risk losing his brother again.
A quick rummage through the first-aid box revealed that they were low on supplies of painkillers of any kind.
Sam considered his options. They could do a run to a pharmacy tomorrow, but it would save time to do it now. He was tired, but it wouldn’t take long, and he could do with some fresh air after sitting cramped up over the laptop.
He scribbled a note for Dean and left it propped up against the clock on the bedside table. Reassured by the sound of Dean’s soft snoring, he shrugged on his jacket and quietly left the room, then headed toward the motel office.
The night clerk gave him instructions to the nearest store, a few miles back toward town. He drove the short distance with the window cracked a little so the fresh air would help him stay alert.
As he pulled into the parking lot, he was surprised to see a couple of dozen cars parked there. Maybe shopping in the middle of the night was a popular pastime in this town. He took a space near the store entrance and killed the engine.
The sudden silence was welcome. He blew out a long breath, sat back and closed his eyes, allowing himself the space to think through the events of the day.
Dean was right. Sam hated to admit it but damn him, Dean was right. He was so caught up in anger toward his father that he wasn’t giving this case a fair hearing.
Ever since Nebraska, Sam’s anger toward his father had been simmering, always on the edge of bursting forth in a tirade of recrimination. Now the selfish, cold-hearted son of a bitch had proved he was alive and kicking and, as usual, didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone except his own agenda.
Sam knew Dean was affected by Dad’s silence, too. He could tell Dean was hurt. Oh, Dean would never admit it. He’d never say anything that would imply criticism of their oh-so-perfect father. That more than anything made Sam mad, because Dean deserved so much more. Dad’s right-hand man since he was four years old, he’d done everything his father had ever asked of him, and how had he been rewarded? He’d been dumped like an unnecessary burden and left to come to his own conclusions about Dad’s continued absence.
But Dean was right about the case. Sam knew his opinion was colored by his desire to prove Dad wrong, to prove to Dean that Dad could make mistakes. And that wasn’t fair to Dean or to the innocent person who could become the next victim in less than twenty-four hours. If this was supernatural, he and Dean were the only hope that person had.
He ran a hand through his hair. If Dean was as sick as Sam feared he was, solving this case might just fall to him. He resolved to go over all the facts again, this time with a more open mind.
He went into the store, picked up everything he needed and spent longer than he’d have liked chatting with the pharmacist, an elderly lady who expressed concern when he explained that his brother was sick.
“You can’t mess around with this virus,” she said earnestly. “It’s a nasty one, however much the authorities are trying to play it down. My brother who lives up north, he’s a tough old bird. Never had a day’s sickness in his life. He was in bed for five whole days before he shook it off.” She looked at him sternly and wagged her finger. “You make sure your brother drinks lots of fluids and gets the rest he needs, you hear?”
Sam assured her that he’d take her advice to heart and hurried back to the Impala, anxious now to get back to check on Dean, his mind running through various strategies to keep Dean off his feet.
He opened the passenger door, dumped the bag down on the seat, and walked back around to the driver’s side. As he was putting the key in the lock a voice right behind him said, “Hi there.”
Startled, he turned quickly and came face to face with a smiling man standing less than a foot away.
“Sorry, did I startle you?” the man said.
Somewhat relieved to recognize the newcomer from earlier that day, Sam smiled back. “Just a little.”
“Can’t sleep?”
Sam shrugged, not sure he wanted to share his business with an almost total stranger. “Less crowds this time of night.”
The man nodded. “I don’t sleep too well - insomnia. I often come out at night, do some shopping, drive around. It’s quiet, peaceful.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you made any progress in your investigations?”
“We have some theories,” Sam lied. “Nothing concrete enough to share, though. But we’re working on it.”
The man nodded again. “Well, I wish you luck. It would help to know what really happened. I’ll let you get on with it. You’ll let me know if you come up with anything?”
Sam smiled. “Of course. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Sam turned back to the car. The hairs on his neck prickled with sudden unease when he didn’t hear the sound of footsteps walking away. Then he felt a tiny prick in his neck.
“What the-” He half turned, but his legs buckled, and he felt giddy and disoriented. He started to fall, and arms locked around his waist, holding him upright. He twisted his body desperately and lashed out wildly, hand closing around his assailant’s neck. He heard a grunt, felt something snap and then nothing.
Chapter 5
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3