Sick Days - Chapter 6
Title: Sick Days
Summary: Dean's obsession with apparently random medical deaths mirrored from his past lands him and Sam in the middle of a deadly epidemic.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Up to and including 'Born Under a Bad Sign'
Word Count: 3,822 for this part
Author's Note: Takes place in 2007 post 'Born Under a Bad Sign' with flashbacks to 1987. Many thanks to Amberdreams for the wonderful editing assistance. Master post can be found here.
~~~
Continued from Chapter 5
If it was possible, Sam’s frown deepened as he shifted the Impala into park. The fact that Dean had let him drive was verification enough that his brother wasn’t up to a hunt. Add to that the fact that he couldn’t remember the last stupid wisecrack Dean had made and being here was about the dumbest thing they could be doing right now.
The only reason he had even agreed to this was because Sam was willing to bet good money that they were going to find a whole lot of nothing here. If he really thought there was a chance of anything being here Dean would be back at the motel tied to a chair.
He was only here checking this abandoned building because this was important to Dean. Even if his brother was a serious pain in the ass some of the time, or more like most of the time, he was still his brother. And Sam was worried about him. If he could finally prove to Dean that there was nothing here then hopefully he would be able to get his brother to stay put in a bed until he shook this stomach flu or whatever it was.
When he looked over to Dean he realized that his brother was out cold slumped against the passenger side door. That explained the lack of chatter. Given that this place was only a ten minute drive from the motel it was a little scary that Dean had managed to fall asleep that fast. But that wasn’t the only thing that caught him off guard.
As he looked at his brother he suddenly realized how long it had been since he’d seen Dean actually look at peace. Sam shut off the car’s rumbling engine intent on watching his brother sleep, but the comfort of seeing his features so relaxed vanished as the silence let him hear Dean’s wheezing breaths. There was nothing right about that.
As much as he didn’t like the idea of just leaving Dean out here in the car, he liked the thought of dragging him inside even less. He might be 99.9% sure this place was empty, but he wasn’t interested in taking any chances. He could prove to Dean just how empty it was after he checked it out for himself.
Slowly he began to push open the car door, but there was nothing quiet about this steel boat of car that Dean was so obsessed with. The groaning of the door opening inevitably woke Dean. With a sigh Sam settled back into the driver’s seat.
“I’m ready,” Dean insisted groggily even though his bleary eyes were obviously still out of focus.
His brother was trying to get up and moving before he even remembered what was going on. Sam reached out to stop him, but Dean’s own hand clutched his chest first in apparent anticipation of the pain to come. Sam grimaced in sympathy as he listened to ragged cough that wouldn’t let up.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean panted as he finally collapsed back against the car door.
Whether or not spirits had anything to do with it, people in this town were getting sick and they were dying. Dean had been fine before they had arrived here and there was no way Sam was going to take a chance that this wasn’t just a cold like Dean stubbornly swore it was. Without saying a word, Sam turned the key in the ignition and was blasted with sharp glare from Dean.
“We’re here aren’t we?” Dean asked after he finally caught his breath.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he replied without even bothering to look back at Dean.
“Like hell you are.” Dean gripped Sam’s hand the moment he put it on the clutch. “It’s nothing.”
“This 'nothing' of yours sounds way too much like pneumonia and if it is and you ignore it, it could kill you.”
“Over reacting just a bit here aren’t you, Sammy? I get a little cough and you’re signing my death certificate,” Dean grumbled.
It was Sam’s turn to glare as he watched Dean twist open a bottle that looked far too close to empty considering that it was new this afternoon.
“You’re going to OD on that stuff.”
“If it’ll knock out this migraine, I say bring it on.”
“It’s cough syrup, Dean,” Sam shot back with annoyance. “It’s not going to cure your headache and it’s obviously not working for the cough either.”
Dean hesitated for a moment before apparently not being able to come up with a valid argument. He defiantly slammed the bottle into the glovebox. “Killjoy. When my eyes explode out of their sockets - that’s on you. Just cut the engine, will you?”
Sam squinted at Dean’s hand as it moved back up from the glovebox. They were parked on the side of the lot and there weren’t many lights out here. It was hard to make out much, but he was sure he saw a darkened smear on Dean’s hand that hadn’t been there when they parked.
“Is that blood?”
“Where?” Dean looked outside the car window before following Sam’s eyes to his own hand. “Looks like it,” he replied as he wiped his hand on his jeans.
“You’re a complete idiot, you know that?” Dean looked clueless so Sam continued, “You’re coughing up blood and you don’t think you need to see a doctor?”
“I’m not coughing up blood. Even if I was it’s not like it would be a first. It’s just my nose. Come on. I want to get this over with.”
“If there’s really something in there - we’re screwed. You’re not up to this.”
“The only thing I’m not up to his listening to anymore of your bitching.”
“You really think you can watch my back like this? You can’t even breath right.”
“I don’t need to breath easy to pull a damn trigger.”
“Right. Because I really like the thought of you shooting a gun around me when you can’t even see straight. Right now the only thing you’re likely to blow off is your own foot.”
“Thanks for that cheery vote of confidence, Little Mary Sunshine. You’re worried. I get it. Objection noted, but I’m...” Dean couldn’t get it out before another cough hit him.
“You’re fine,” Sam finished for him. “Yeah. I can tell.”
“Just one more word about this and I swear to god I’m going to clock you one.” It might have sounded like a more viable threat if Dean had been able to deliver it without sniffling. He wiped his sleeve under his nose before leaning back in the seat. “Then I’m going to shoot myself.”
“That’s real funny, Dean. Keep this up and I might shoot you.”
“Take your best shot,” Dean replied as he closed his eyes and rubbed his sinuses. “Man, I wish this was just some demon smashing my skull in with a baseball bat.”
Sam just shook his head. “Right. Remind me not to get you a genie for your birthday.”
“Shut up. Are we doing this or not?”
“We’re not doing this. Not until you tell me why’s this case is worth risking your life over.”
“Can the Dr. Phil crap. I risk my sorry life on every damn case we go on. Same as you. I’m going in. If you want to wait out here, that’s fine by me.”
Before he could say anything further Dean was out of the car and raiding the trunk for weapons. Dean didn’t wait for Sam before heading towards the abandoned building. Sam didn’t exactly have any choice but to follow him even if this was a monumentally stupid plan. In fact, as far as he knew, Dean didn’t even have a plan and Sam’s only plan was to show him that he was wrong. Suddenly Sam was praying that he was right on this one.
He easily scrambled over the old chain link security fence after his brother. When he caught up to Dean his brother was too obviously trying to look as if he wasn’t winded and that it didn’t hurt just to breath.
"So what’s your theory here?” Sam asked.
“Already told you. Like a hundred times,” Dean replied as he kept walking without so much as glancing to Sam.
“I know, but no matter how many times you say it, it still doesn’t make sense.”
“The deaths happening in town now match the deaths that happened here before they shut this place down and every ten years after that. What part of that isn’t clear, College Boy?”
“The deaths match what exactly? They housed sick people here and if you look hard enough you could match them up to anything. I know. I was the one that spent the day digging through the records. You haven’t even seen them.”
“I don’t need to see them. I just know.”
“Because you’re the psychic one now.”
“And you’re a dick. What’s your point?” He sent a glare towards Sam, but his shoulders slumped as he continued towards the building. “I saw copies of the records when Dad was here. That’s how I know.”
“Yeah, about that...you said you’re getting this from Dad’s journal, but if Dad came here to deal with these spirits then why are they still here?”
“Because Dad didn’t find anything. He said the place was clean.”
“Since when are you out to prove Dad wrong?”
“This isn’t about proving anything. I know Dad was wrong about this. If I would’ve just been more like you and stood up to him...made him listen the first time around twenty two fathers and sons would still be living their lives.”
“More like me?”
Sam was glad Dean wasn’t looking at him because he knew he had shock plastered all over his face. He didn’t think he would have ever heard those words come out of Dean’s mouth. But he didn’t have time to focus on them because suddenly Dean’s hardheadedness about this case was starting to make a whole lot of sense. Back in the hotel room his brother had talked like he was the one killing these people because he thought he was.
“Whatever you think this is. It’s not your fault and you know I hate to say this, but maybe Dad was right, Dean. You’re sick. It doesn’t mean that some dark entity is behind it. Like you said yourself, sometimes a cold is just a cold.”
“Except when it’s not. The victims were all seeing spirits before they died. I’m not seeing diddly-squat. Catching on yet?”
“The adults didn’t see anything.”
“They didn’t admit to seeing anything,” Dean corrected. “I don’t know...maybe adults can’t see this thing. Maybe the kids see the spirits instead even if they’re not the ones it’s going after. How am I supposed to know?”
Sam sighed. He waited beside a gnarly old shrub that had grown up over a boarded up window and watched Dean work the padlock sealing the building. “Are you even listening to yourself? Every time something doesn’t fit your theory you change the facts.”
Dean stopped and turned to Sam. He looked him dead in the eyes with all the intensity his exhausted body could muster. “I’m not changing the facts - I’m just trying to figure out what they are. This is real. People are really dying. Why can’t you just trust me?”
He paced away from Dean and ran his hand through his hair as he tried to think. “I do trust you. More than anything. You know that. But you’re sick and you want there to be something here so bad...maybe there is something and maybe there’s not. I just don’t think you’re...”
“What?” Dean challenged.
“Nothing.”
Sam really didn’t want to fight with him now, but his brother had been so coiled up for a fight since they’d got here that he didn’t feel like there was anything he could say that wouldn’t just rile his brother up more. And apparently he was right because suddenly Dean was in his face.
“Come on. I want to hear this. Tell me what I’m not.”
But just as suddenly Dean jerked away. He leaned heavily against the door as he clutched his ribcage against another wracking cough. When he stood upright again he waved Sam off.
“Better yet don’t,” Dean told him. “You know what? Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you, Dad or anyone else thinks about this. I’m not letting anyone else die so if this saving lives crap is getting in the way of your beauty sleep go back to the car. Go back to the motel. Go to Tahiti. I don’t care. I don’t get your problem with this case.”
“And I don’t get why you’re looking for a case where there isn’t one.”
“That kid, Jimmy, and the others...they saw something and they died thinking no one believed them. With everyone thinking they were crazy. Well, I believe them!”
The intense sincerity in Dean’s tone stopped the objection on the tip of Sam’s tongue. For a moment he watched Dean try to catch his breath as he let the unlocked padlock hit against the door. His brother looked like he wanted to say something else and Sam was afraid that if he said anything Dean wouldn’t continue.
“I believe them because you saw something too. And so did I.”
Sam just stared at Dean. He didn’t remember having ever been here let alone having seen anything when he was. But Dean was older and for better or worse, he’d always had the better memory. Sam was honestly glad to have forgotten a lot of things. Maybe it wasn’t his memory. Maybe he had just tried to forget.
“We saw something when Dad was here last?”
It was reluctant, but Dean nodded. All the fire that had been keeping Dean running seemed to suddenly be gone. His brother lowered himself down onto the front step of the building and set his shotgun down next to him.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Sam asked as he sat down next to Dean.
“Tell you what? Do you think I just had you running around town to keep you out of my hair? I really don’t know what’s going on. My head is ready to explode with how hard I’ve been trying to remember and no matter what I try - I can’t. I’m useless here, Sam.”
Sam furrowed his brow as he watched the worry and frustration that Dean had obviously been struggling to hide this whole time swell to the surface. His brother looked desperate and he wanted to help, but he didn’t understand what Dean was trying to tell him.
“Remember what? What are you trying to remember, Dean?”
“I don’t know. I remember coming to town. We were only supposed to be here a night, but Dad vanished. It was more like a week and then you told me about some ghost kid and I came here.”
“To look for the ghost by yourself?”
“To look for Dad. I thought he was dead, but I had to take care of you. I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do. I had to find him.”
Sam was done wanting to kill Dean. Now it was probably just a good thing that Dad was already dead. Only Dean could construe Dad abandoning them for some stupid hunt as something that was his responsibility.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because I think these people are dying because of me.”
“The people that are sick? That’s just crazy, Dean.”
“Don’t ask me why. I can remember how I felt but I can’t remember what happened. I mean, I remember coming here and seeing these spirits. Seeing Dad. But then there’s just this hole and I know it’s something important.”
“It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”
“This is something bad, Sam. Real bad. I can feel it in my bones. I saw these things because I hunted them down, but you were the one they showed themselves to. If this is something about you...Dad almost died here.”
“That’s why you wouldn’t tell me what was going on. You thought this thing was going to come after me.”
“I just got this feeling that I screwed up bad and Dad...he was sure I did. I remember that clear as day.”
The moon had peaked out from the clouds just enough for Sam to see the disdain in Dean’s eyes as he stared out towards the woods that surrounded them. He knew that loathing Dean was feeling wasn’t for Dad like it should be. Like everything else, Dean was taking this on himself.
Sam had to make a conscious effort to loosen his white-knuckle grip on the cement steps before Dean saw it. Biting his tongue was killing him, but any window of getting Dean to talk was always short.
“I thought I could do this,” Dean told him. “I came here and I thought if I looked around town, if I came back to this place. Then I’d remember, but I don’t. I don’t remember what’s so god damn important. I don’t remember why I have to be here. I just know that I do.”
With as tied up in this thing as Dean was Sam knew there was going to be no talking him out of it, but it was hard for him to think about any case right now. Sitting so close to Dean he could feel his brother trembling beside him. He realized that Dean had wrapped himself inside of this jacket again.
Despite the objection he knew he’d receive Sam put his hand to Dean’s forehead. He was burning up. For all he knew Dean was half delirious right now. Dean might be wracking his brain trying to remember something that wasn’t even there.
Dean slapped Sam’s hand. “Dude, stop feeling me up. Are you even listening to me?”
“Yeah, I’m listening. So what do you want to do?”
“I want to go inside and see if the bitch I remember is working her mojo same as before. If I’m right, then we can stop this here and now.”
“And if we don’t find anything you’ll let me take you to the hospital.”
“We’ll see,” Dean replied as he pushed himself to his feet.
“No. This is non negotiable.” Sam stood and stared at Dean whose expression was stubbornly set. It was going to take a lot more than common sense to get through to his brother. “You know that nurse said she really liked you.”
“Now you’re just screwing with me...” Sam just raised his brows suggestively and Dean caved. “Deal. Doesn’t matter anyway. I’m always right.”
~~~
Outside the Krobath Sanitarium - Green Bay, Oregon - 1987
It had taken some searching, but Dean had finally found a weak point in the fence. His small hands dug a little deeper into the mud before he scooted around and kicked at it with his shoes. Quickly he realized his mistake as he pulled his muck-covered shoes out of the hole.
He didn’t like the feeling of the mud slipping over the edge into his shoes, but the bigger problem was how he was going to get this cleaned up so Dad didn’t notice. The clothes he could deal with but if he trashed his only pair of shoes Dad was going to kill him.
He supposed it really didn’t matter. Dad was going to kill him anyway. Dean shouldn’t be here and he knew it. He should be back at the motel watching Sammy, but he’d made sure that Sammy would be safe there. It was Dad that he was worried about right now.
It had been days since they’d seen him and he’d never let them run out of food before. Something had to be wrong and if Dad was in trouble then he had to find him. He knew that he was supposed to call Pastor Jim. Dad had endlessly drilled that into his head, but Pastor Jim wasn’t here. What could he really do to help find Dad?
Between Dad having stopped by this creepy old building on the way into town and Sammy having seen a ghost here, it was the best place Dean could think to look for Dad. Crawling on his belly, Dean squirmed beneath the chain link fence. He bit his lip as the bottom edge of the chain link dug into his back and caught the top of his jeans.
Squiggling around just a bit more he finally popped out on the inside of the security fence. Shinning his small flashlight at his shirt he grimaced as he realized there was no way he was going to get it clean. It didn’t really matter how mad Dad was about it, just as long as he found him.
Moving quickly towards the front of the building, he hid down next to the bushes and looked around to make sure that no one was watching him. When he was satisfied that he was alone, he scrambled out of the bushes and reached for the doorknob, but of course it was locked.
Dad could make any door open, but Dean hadn’t quite figured out how he did yet. He did know something that would work though. Returning to the bush, he searched around the landscaping until he found a rock. The first one he found would more than do the job, but it was too heavy for him to really pick up, let alone throw.
Going for a smaller, but still heavy one, Dean lifted his chosen rock and threw it into the front window. He stayed low for a minute as he waited to see if anyone reacted to the shattering glass, but no one came.
Peeling off his mud-covered shirt, he climbed up into the shrub and leaned towards the broken window. With the shirt wrapped around his arm he punched out the sharp shards that remained on the bottom edge of the window. He then laid the shirt over the ledge before pulling himself from the shrub and through the window.
He hit the floor rolling, just managing to avoid the worst of the broken glass. When he was back on his feet he walked back over the glass and pulled his shirt from the window. He shook the shards of glass out of it before slipping the gross shirt back on. It was wet enough now that it wasn’t helping with the cold chill in the air like he’d hoped it would.
A shiver ran through him. He pulled a .45 from the waistband of his jeans and fumbled to hold it along with the dim flashlight. Dad always made it look easy, but the loaded pistol was heavy in his little hands. Cautiously he moved into the darkness of the recently closed sanitarium.
Continue to Chapter 7
Summary: Dean's obsession with apparently random medical deaths mirrored from his past lands him and Sam in the middle of a deadly epidemic.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Up to and including 'Born Under a Bad Sign'
Word Count: 3,822 for this part
Author's Note: Takes place in 2007 post 'Born Under a Bad Sign' with flashbacks to 1987. Many thanks to Amberdreams for the wonderful editing assistance. Master post can be found here.
~~~
Continued from Chapter 5
If it was possible, Sam’s frown deepened as he shifted the Impala into park. The fact that Dean had let him drive was verification enough that his brother wasn’t up to a hunt. Add to that the fact that he couldn’t remember the last stupid wisecrack Dean had made and being here was about the dumbest thing they could be doing right now.
The only reason he had even agreed to this was because Sam was willing to bet good money that they were going to find a whole lot of nothing here. If he really thought there was a chance of anything being here Dean would be back at the motel tied to a chair.
He was only here checking this abandoned building because this was important to Dean. Even if his brother was a serious pain in the ass some of the time, or more like most of the time, he was still his brother. And Sam was worried about him. If he could finally prove to Dean that there was nothing here then hopefully he would be able to get his brother to stay put in a bed until he shook this stomach flu or whatever it was.
When he looked over to Dean he realized that his brother was out cold slumped against the passenger side door. That explained the lack of chatter. Given that this place was only a ten minute drive from the motel it was a little scary that Dean had managed to fall asleep that fast. But that wasn’t the only thing that caught him off guard.
As he looked at his brother he suddenly realized how long it had been since he’d seen Dean actually look at peace. Sam shut off the car’s rumbling engine intent on watching his brother sleep, but the comfort of seeing his features so relaxed vanished as the silence let him hear Dean’s wheezing breaths. There was nothing right about that.
As much as he didn’t like the idea of just leaving Dean out here in the car, he liked the thought of dragging him inside even less. He might be 99.9% sure this place was empty, but he wasn’t interested in taking any chances. He could prove to Dean just how empty it was after he checked it out for himself.
Slowly he began to push open the car door, but there was nothing quiet about this steel boat of car that Dean was so obsessed with. The groaning of the door opening inevitably woke Dean. With a sigh Sam settled back into the driver’s seat.
“I’m ready,” Dean insisted groggily even though his bleary eyes were obviously still out of focus.
His brother was trying to get up and moving before he even remembered what was going on. Sam reached out to stop him, but Dean’s own hand clutched his chest first in apparent anticipation of the pain to come. Sam grimaced in sympathy as he listened to ragged cough that wouldn’t let up.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean panted as he finally collapsed back against the car door.
Whether or not spirits had anything to do with it, people in this town were getting sick and they were dying. Dean had been fine before they had arrived here and there was no way Sam was going to take a chance that this wasn’t just a cold like Dean stubbornly swore it was. Without saying a word, Sam turned the key in the ignition and was blasted with sharp glare from Dean.
“We’re here aren’t we?” Dean asked after he finally caught his breath.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he replied without even bothering to look back at Dean.
“Like hell you are.” Dean gripped Sam’s hand the moment he put it on the clutch. “It’s nothing.”
“This 'nothing' of yours sounds way too much like pneumonia and if it is and you ignore it, it could kill you.”
“Over reacting just a bit here aren’t you, Sammy? I get a little cough and you’re signing my death certificate,” Dean grumbled.
It was Sam’s turn to glare as he watched Dean twist open a bottle that looked far too close to empty considering that it was new this afternoon.
“You’re going to OD on that stuff.”
“If it’ll knock out this migraine, I say bring it on.”
“It’s cough syrup, Dean,” Sam shot back with annoyance. “It’s not going to cure your headache and it’s obviously not working for the cough either.”
Dean hesitated for a moment before apparently not being able to come up with a valid argument. He defiantly slammed the bottle into the glovebox. “Killjoy. When my eyes explode out of their sockets - that’s on you. Just cut the engine, will you?”
Sam squinted at Dean’s hand as it moved back up from the glovebox. They were parked on the side of the lot and there weren’t many lights out here. It was hard to make out much, but he was sure he saw a darkened smear on Dean’s hand that hadn’t been there when they parked.
“Is that blood?”
“Where?” Dean looked outside the car window before following Sam’s eyes to his own hand. “Looks like it,” he replied as he wiped his hand on his jeans.
“You’re a complete idiot, you know that?” Dean looked clueless so Sam continued, “You’re coughing up blood and you don’t think you need to see a doctor?”
“I’m not coughing up blood. Even if I was it’s not like it would be a first. It’s just my nose. Come on. I want to get this over with.”
“If there’s really something in there - we’re screwed. You’re not up to this.”
“The only thing I’m not up to his listening to anymore of your bitching.”
“You really think you can watch my back like this? You can’t even breath right.”
“I don’t need to breath easy to pull a damn trigger.”
“Right. Because I really like the thought of you shooting a gun around me when you can’t even see straight. Right now the only thing you’re likely to blow off is your own foot.”
“Thanks for that cheery vote of confidence, Little Mary Sunshine. You’re worried. I get it. Objection noted, but I’m...” Dean couldn’t get it out before another cough hit him.
“You’re fine,” Sam finished for him. “Yeah. I can tell.”
“Just one more word about this and I swear to god I’m going to clock you one.” It might have sounded like a more viable threat if Dean had been able to deliver it without sniffling. He wiped his sleeve under his nose before leaning back in the seat. “Then I’m going to shoot myself.”
“That’s real funny, Dean. Keep this up and I might shoot you.”
“Take your best shot,” Dean replied as he closed his eyes and rubbed his sinuses. “Man, I wish this was just some demon smashing my skull in with a baseball bat.”
Sam just shook his head. “Right. Remind me not to get you a genie for your birthday.”
“Shut up. Are we doing this or not?”
“We’re not doing this. Not until you tell me why’s this case is worth risking your life over.”
“Can the Dr. Phil crap. I risk my sorry life on every damn case we go on. Same as you. I’m going in. If you want to wait out here, that’s fine by me.”
Before he could say anything further Dean was out of the car and raiding the trunk for weapons. Dean didn’t wait for Sam before heading towards the abandoned building. Sam didn’t exactly have any choice but to follow him even if this was a monumentally stupid plan. In fact, as far as he knew, Dean didn’t even have a plan and Sam’s only plan was to show him that he was wrong. Suddenly Sam was praying that he was right on this one.
He easily scrambled over the old chain link security fence after his brother. When he caught up to Dean his brother was too obviously trying to look as if he wasn’t winded and that it didn’t hurt just to breath.
"So what’s your theory here?” Sam asked.
“Already told you. Like a hundred times,” Dean replied as he kept walking without so much as glancing to Sam.
“I know, but no matter how many times you say it, it still doesn’t make sense.”
“The deaths happening in town now match the deaths that happened here before they shut this place down and every ten years after that. What part of that isn’t clear, College Boy?”
“The deaths match what exactly? They housed sick people here and if you look hard enough you could match them up to anything. I know. I was the one that spent the day digging through the records. You haven’t even seen them.”
“I don’t need to see them. I just know.”
“Because you’re the psychic one now.”
“And you’re a dick. What’s your point?” He sent a glare towards Sam, but his shoulders slumped as he continued towards the building. “I saw copies of the records when Dad was here. That’s how I know.”
“Yeah, about that...you said you’re getting this from Dad’s journal, but if Dad came here to deal with these spirits then why are they still here?”
“Because Dad didn’t find anything. He said the place was clean.”
“Since when are you out to prove Dad wrong?”
“This isn’t about proving anything. I know Dad was wrong about this. If I would’ve just been more like you and stood up to him...made him listen the first time around twenty two fathers and sons would still be living their lives.”
“More like me?”
Sam was glad Dean wasn’t looking at him because he knew he had shock plastered all over his face. He didn’t think he would have ever heard those words come out of Dean’s mouth. But he didn’t have time to focus on them because suddenly Dean’s hardheadedness about this case was starting to make a whole lot of sense. Back in the hotel room his brother had talked like he was the one killing these people because he thought he was.
“Whatever you think this is. It’s not your fault and you know I hate to say this, but maybe Dad was right, Dean. You’re sick. It doesn’t mean that some dark entity is behind it. Like you said yourself, sometimes a cold is just a cold.”
“Except when it’s not. The victims were all seeing spirits before they died. I’m not seeing diddly-squat. Catching on yet?”
“The adults didn’t see anything.”
“They didn’t admit to seeing anything,” Dean corrected. “I don’t know...maybe adults can’t see this thing. Maybe the kids see the spirits instead even if they’re not the ones it’s going after. How am I supposed to know?”
Sam sighed. He waited beside a gnarly old shrub that had grown up over a boarded up window and watched Dean work the padlock sealing the building. “Are you even listening to yourself? Every time something doesn’t fit your theory you change the facts.”
Dean stopped and turned to Sam. He looked him dead in the eyes with all the intensity his exhausted body could muster. “I’m not changing the facts - I’m just trying to figure out what they are. This is real. People are really dying. Why can’t you just trust me?”
He paced away from Dean and ran his hand through his hair as he tried to think. “I do trust you. More than anything. You know that. But you’re sick and you want there to be something here so bad...maybe there is something and maybe there’s not. I just don’t think you’re...”
“What?” Dean challenged.
“Nothing.”
Sam really didn’t want to fight with him now, but his brother had been so coiled up for a fight since they’d got here that he didn’t feel like there was anything he could say that wouldn’t just rile his brother up more. And apparently he was right because suddenly Dean was in his face.
“Come on. I want to hear this. Tell me what I’m not.”
But just as suddenly Dean jerked away. He leaned heavily against the door as he clutched his ribcage against another wracking cough. When he stood upright again he waved Sam off.
“Better yet don’t,” Dean told him. “You know what? Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you, Dad or anyone else thinks about this. I’m not letting anyone else die so if this saving lives crap is getting in the way of your beauty sleep go back to the car. Go back to the motel. Go to Tahiti. I don’t care. I don’t get your problem with this case.”
“And I don’t get why you’re looking for a case where there isn’t one.”
“That kid, Jimmy, and the others...they saw something and they died thinking no one believed them. With everyone thinking they were crazy. Well, I believe them!”
The intense sincerity in Dean’s tone stopped the objection on the tip of Sam’s tongue. For a moment he watched Dean try to catch his breath as he let the unlocked padlock hit against the door. His brother looked like he wanted to say something else and Sam was afraid that if he said anything Dean wouldn’t continue.
“I believe them because you saw something too. And so did I.”
Sam just stared at Dean. He didn’t remember having ever been here let alone having seen anything when he was. But Dean was older and for better or worse, he’d always had the better memory. Sam was honestly glad to have forgotten a lot of things. Maybe it wasn’t his memory. Maybe he had just tried to forget.
“We saw something when Dad was here last?”
It was reluctant, but Dean nodded. All the fire that had been keeping Dean running seemed to suddenly be gone. His brother lowered himself down onto the front step of the building and set his shotgun down next to him.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Sam asked as he sat down next to Dean.
“Tell you what? Do you think I just had you running around town to keep you out of my hair? I really don’t know what’s going on. My head is ready to explode with how hard I’ve been trying to remember and no matter what I try - I can’t. I’m useless here, Sam.”
Sam furrowed his brow as he watched the worry and frustration that Dean had obviously been struggling to hide this whole time swell to the surface. His brother looked desperate and he wanted to help, but he didn’t understand what Dean was trying to tell him.
“Remember what? What are you trying to remember, Dean?”
“I don’t know. I remember coming to town. We were only supposed to be here a night, but Dad vanished. It was more like a week and then you told me about some ghost kid and I came here.”
“To look for the ghost by yourself?”
“To look for Dad. I thought he was dead, but I had to take care of you. I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do. I had to find him.”
Sam was done wanting to kill Dean. Now it was probably just a good thing that Dad was already dead. Only Dean could construe Dad abandoning them for some stupid hunt as something that was his responsibility.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because I think these people are dying because of me.”
“The people that are sick? That’s just crazy, Dean.”
“Don’t ask me why. I can remember how I felt but I can’t remember what happened. I mean, I remember coming here and seeing these spirits. Seeing Dad. But then there’s just this hole and I know it’s something important.”
“It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”
“This is something bad, Sam. Real bad. I can feel it in my bones. I saw these things because I hunted them down, but you were the one they showed themselves to. If this is something about you...Dad almost died here.”
“That’s why you wouldn’t tell me what was going on. You thought this thing was going to come after me.”
“I just got this feeling that I screwed up bad and Dad...he was sure I did. I remember that clear as day.”
The moon had peaked out from the clouds just enough for Sam to see the disdain in Dean’s eyes as he stared out towards the woods that surrounded them. He knew that loathing Dean was feeling wasn’t for Dad like it should be. Like everything else, Dean was taking this on himself.
Sam had to make a conscious effort to loosen his white-knuckle grip on the cement steps before Dean saw it. Biting his tongue was killing him, but any window of getting Dean to talk was always short.
“I thought I could do this,” Dean told him. “I came here and I thought if I looked around town, if I came back to this place. Then I’d remember, but I don’t. I don’t remember what’s so god damn important. I don’t remember why I have to be here. I just know that I do.”
With as tied up in this thing as Dean was Sam knew there was going to be no talking him out of it, but it was hard for him to think about any case right now. Sitting so close to Dean he could feel his brother trembling beside him. He realized that Dean had wrapped himself inside of this jacket again.
Despite the objection he knew he’d receive Sam put his hand to Dean’s forehead. He was burning up. For all he knew Dean was half delirious right now. Dean might be wracking his brain trying to remember something that wasn’t even there.
Dean slapped Sam’s hand. “Dude, stop feeling me up. Are you even listening to me?”
“Yeah, I’m listening. So what do you want to do?”
“I want to go inside and see if the bitch I remember is working her mojo same as before. If I’m right, then we can stop this here and now.”
“And if we don’t find anything you’ll let me take you to the hospital.”
“We’ll see,” Dean replied as he pushed himself to his feet.
“No. This is non negotiable.” Sam stood and stared at Dean whose expression was stubbornly set. It was going to take a lot more than common sense to get through to his brother. “You know that nurse said she really liked you.”
“Now you’re just screwing with me...” Sam just raised his brows suggestively and Dean caved. “Deal. Doesn’t matter anyway. I’m always right.”
~~~
Outside the Krobath Sanitarium - Green Bay, Oregon - 1987
It had taken some searching, but Dean had finally found a weak point in the fence. His small hands dug a little deeper into the mud before he scooted around and kicked at it with his shoes. Quickly he realized his mistake as he pulled his muck-covered shoes out of the hole.
He didn’t like the feeling of the mud slipping over the edge into his shoes, but the bigger problem was how he was going to get this cleaned up so Dad didn’t notice. The clothes he could deal with but if he trashed his only pair of shoes Dad was going to kill him.
He supposed it really didn’t matter. Dad was going to kill him anyway. Dean shouldn’t be here and he knew it. He should be back at the motel watching Sammy, but he’d made sure that Sammy would be safe there. It was Dad that he was worried about right now.
It had been days since they’d seen him and he’d never let them run out of food before. Something had to be wrong and if Dad was in trouble then he had to find him. He knew that he was supposed to call Pastor Jim. Dad had endlessly drilled that into his head, but Pastor Jim wasn’t here. What could he really do to help find Dad?
Between Dad having stopped by this creepy old building on the way into town and Sammy having seen a ghost here, it was the best place Dean could think to look for Dad. Crawling on his belly, Dean squirmed beneath the chain link fence. He bit his lip as the bottom edge of the chain link dug into his back and caught the top of his jeans.
Squiggling around just a bit more he finally popped out on the inside of the security fence. Shinning his small flashlight at his shirt he grimaced as he realized there was no way he was going to get it clean. It didn’t really matter how mad Dad was about it, just as long as he found him.
Moving quickly towards the front of the building, he hid down next to the bushes and looked around to make sure that no one was watching him. When he was satisfied that he was alone, he scrambled out of the bushes and reached for the doorknob, but of course it was locked.
Dad could make any door open, but Dean hadn’t quite figured out how he did yet. He did know something that would work though. Returning to the bush, he searched around the landscaping until he found a rock. The first one he found would more than do the job, but it was too heavy for him to really pick up, let alone throw.
Going for a smaller, but still heavy one, Dean lifted his chosen rock and threw it into the front window. He stayed low for a minute as he waited to see if anyone reacted to the shattering glass, but no one came.
Peeling off his mud-covered shirt, he climbed up into the shrub and leaned towards the broken window. With the shirt wrapped around his arm he punched out the sharp shards that remained on the bottom edge of the window. He then laid the shirt over the ledge before pulling himself from the shrub and through the window.
He hit the floor rolling, just managing to avoid the worst of the broken glass. When he was back on his feet he walked back over the glass and pulled his shirt from the window. He shook the shards of glass out of it before slipping the gross shirt back on. It was wet enough now that it wasn’t helping with the cold chill in the air like he’d hoped it would.
A shiver ran through him. He pulled a .45 from the waistband of his jeans and fumbled to hold it along with the dim flashlight. Dad always made it look easy, but the loaded pistol was heavy in his little hands. Cautiously he moved into the darkness of the recently closed sanitarium.
Continue to Chapter 7