The Other Son: Chapter Four
Title: The Other Son
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Four: HUNT
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'.
A/N: AU. This is difficult to summarize fully without also spoiling fully.
Summary: A vision incites Sam to leave his father's side and head to Fitchburg. Without any clear notion as to what he is hunting, and no supernatural signs in the town of any kind as far as he can tell, Sam begins with what little he does know. But it doesn't take long before Sam begins to wonder if there might just be more than one mystery to be uncovered.
chapter four | HUNT
“What exactly are we looking for?” They were seated beside each other, their shoulders brushing, Dean idly flipping through some of the larger books Sam had asked the librarian to bring over, and Sam going through old newspapers via the computer. Sophia had work at the diner, followed by baby-sitting, but had promised that if they hadn’t killed the shtriga by the time she was set-free from the Willson’s house (apparently the home of three rather obnoxious children) she would phone Dean and meet-up with them. Dean had promised to postpone the ass kicking as long as possible in her honour.
“There have been instances like this in other towns,” Sam explained as he scrolled passed pages. “In all of the cases, dozens of kids would get sick, languish and then just die. It’s just getting started here.”
Dean frowned and pushed the book he’d been looking at away. “Well, then doesn’t that mean that whoever this - shtriga-thing - is masquerading as would be new to town?”
“Maybe,” Sam said, thinking it over. “But not necessarily. They don’t need to eat so frequently, they stockpile.”
“Charming.” For a moment, Dean simply sat there, leaning back in his chair, staring-up at the ceiling as he tilted back. “Does that mean that someone could be married to this thing?”
“I hadn’t considered that,” Sam said, taking a moment to let that disturbing thought live. He shuddered.
“For the sake of our own sanity, let’s pretend we’re looking for someone single.”
“Yeah, that’s what - half of the population of Fitchburg?”
“Dude, it’s a small town, most of the community is married,” Dean defended, dropping his chair back to the floor.
“It’s still too general.”
“Got a better idea, Genius?” Dean bumped his shoulder against Sam’s, who jostled him back until a passing librarian cleared her throat. “Sorry, Gertrude,” Dean muttered. Sam snickered at him and received a glare for his effort. “Well, how are we gonna kill it?”
“Could we focus on one thing at a time? We don’t even know who it is we’re trying to kill, exactly.”
“Well, this bites.” They’d been in the library since eleven o’clock, and it was well-passed lunchtime. Sam was already come to learn that Dean was unable to sit still for any length of time. “I’m gonna go get some coffee. I’ll smuggle something in for you.”
“Dean - wait,” Sam said, but Dean was already well enroot to the front door. Sam went back to work and twenty minutes later Dean returned with two large coffees. “You’re not supposed to bring those in here.”
“Relax,” Dean said. “Gerty loves me.” He handed one Styrofoam cup to Sam and settled back in his chair. “So was thinking. We already know where the shtriga is gonna hit next, why do we even have to know who it is? Let’s pop the sucker and see whoever doesn’t show-up to church on Sunday.”
Sam looked at the man for a moment and then shook his head. “Yeah. Uh … that would work. But I already figured it out. It’s Dr. Heidekker - I found a picture of him in the paper from 1893.”
“Wow, that dude’s old.”
“He’s also one of the GPs at the hospital. The one I spoke with about the kids, actually. It’s the perfect cover, I should have thought of it before.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Small town like this and you don’t know the man?” Sam asked, wondering if that was significant or not.
“I don’t mean to pop this little bubble of yours, Man, but I’m not exactly Mr. Popular.”
“So I noticed,” Sam muttered.
“What I’m saying is, he never came ‘round the Wy at all, I never met the man. My dad never met the man, so I don’t know who he is.”
“Your dad?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “He owns the Wyvern.” He looked over at Sam. “What, you think I popped out of a tree or something? Fully formed?”
“Well, that would certainly be something if you did.”
Dean snorted. “So, we know who, and we know what. Have you figured-out how to kill it?”
“I’m gonna call a friend of mine, he might know.”
…………………………………..
“Sam,” Bobby said. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Not quite, Bobby,” Sam said. “It would help if I knew how to kill it.”
“Don’t be a smartass, now.” There was a pause and then Bobby sighed. “Consecrated iron. Buck shots. You have to catch it when it’s feeding or else it won’t do you much good. And you’ve got to get close to it.”
“Thanks, Bobby.”
“I know how you feel about this, Sam,” Bobby said. “I’m telling you how to kill this thing because I think you’re old enough to make your own decisions and your daddy needs to learn that. But you be prepared for the shit to hit the fan when you talk to him.”
“Believe me,” Sam said. “I know. Anyway, thanks for your help.” Bobby dismissed the thanks and wished him luck and Sam flipped his cell closed, turning to go back into his motel room where Dean was waiting with two large bags full of Chinese take-out.
“Don’t touch the wantons,” Dean said, snapping his chopsticks in warning when Sam peered into one of the bags.
“Uh, okay.”
“I love wantons,” Dean said, setting the carton he’d been munching on aside and rifling through the other bag and removing another box - presumably filled with wantons. “Did you find-out what we need?”
“Consecrated iron rounds,” Sam said. “And we have to shoot it when it’s feeding.”
“Huh,” Dean said, looking thoughtful as he chewed. “So, one of us hides under Michael’s blankets and when the thing comes in, we bust its ass.”
“I don’t think that will work,” Sam said, pacing to the bed. “Way to hog the bed, you jerk.”
“Yeah, that’s it, bitch and moan, Princess.” But Dean shifted over some, and Sam settled down with the other large soggy paper bag of steaming Chinese food boxes. “What do you mean it won’t work?”
“I mean, the shtriga has to get close enough to feed - that’s the only time it’s vulnerable. And if it has to get that close, it will know it’s not Michael in that bed.”
“So what? Won’t it just want something to munch on?”
“Shtriga’s aren’t unintelligent,” Sam retorted. “It’s gotta be Michael in that bed. The only problem is, how the hell are we gonna handle that?”
“Wait, hold it. You want to use Michael as bait? I know that kid. He’s like my own brother.”
“Well, I can’t think of what else to do, okay? I’m sorry that it sounds so cruel, but he won’t be hurt. I’m a good shot. It would be coming for him anyway.” He watched as Dean rose from the bed to pace restlessly around the room. He waited a moment before prompting, “Dean?”
“Okay,” Dean said. “Okay, let me talk to him.”
“What are you going to say?” But Dean was already heading towards the door. “Dean, hold-up!”
……………………………….
Up to that point, Sam had only seen Dean interact with adults, and he always seemed to keep a part of him separate, held-back and kept safe. When Dean spoke to Michael it was with complete honesty, and no boundaries between them. Sam had seen Michael around and he’d been nothing more than a prickly kid that was just beginning that descent into that awkward and irritating phase of growing-up that Sam found far from endearing. With Dean, Michael shed the attitude, meeting the older man halfway.
“Well, who’s he?” Michael asked, jerking his head towards where Sam was awkwardly standing off to the side.
“That’s Sam. He’s gonna help kill this thing,” Dean explained.
“So … you’re gonna shoot it?”
“That’s the plan.”
Michael leaned forward, like he didn’t want Sam to hear and asked, “Is he a good shot?”
Dean turned around and raised an eyebrow at Sam. “I’m a real good shot, don’t worry,” Sam assured the boy.
“And you’re going to be there, right?” Michael asked, this time to Dean.
“We’ll be in the next room,” Dean said. “And when it shows-up, we’ll come in and kill it.”
“Okay,” Michael said. “Okay, I’ll do it. If there’s a chance that it could help Asher …” Dean clapped Michael on the shoulder and nodded. “So … what should I do?”
“Nothing,” Sam said. “Just take it easy. We’ll set-up the stuff we need to be ready for tonight.”
“What, act natural?” Michael asked, sarcasm evident in his tone. Dean snorted and tossed a look back at Sam.
“Help us out,” Dean offered. The motel entrance was filled with a cheerful chirruping tune and Sam raised an amused eyebrow when the sound prompted Dean to start cursing and pull his cell phone from his pocket. “Goddammit!” he said into the phone. “Shows what you know, that’s the way I always answer my phone,” he said after a moment. “Especially when you go and reprogram my damned ring tones!” Another pause and Dean looked skyward. “What do you mean, ‘pick-you up?’ You’re the one with the car, you come to us! - We’re at the motel … Which one? The only one in town!” He flipped the cell closed without further comment and gave a long-suffering look as Michael and Sam both laughed at him.
“Sophia’s on the way, I take it?” Sam asked. Dean muttered something under his breath. Sam smirked as Dean turned towards the door, falling into step beside the man. “Was that Britney Spears?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean answered. “Michael, you coming?”
………………………………….
Sophia found them sitting in the room that shared a wall with Michael’s bedroom. They were surrounded by little white cartons of greasy food, Dean well into a story about a drunken client at the Wyvern, using his chopsticks to help narrate the story while Sam laughed and attempted to set-up some kind of surveillance equipment, and Michael quietly attempted to mimic Dean’s grip on the chopsticks.
“Which one is this?” she asked as she dropped her bag on the bed and sat on the floor by Dean’s feet. “Is this Andrew’s drunken dart-board massacre?”
“Naw, it’s Reverend Tom’s tango with the swordfish my dad has in the restaurant.”
“Oh, damn. I love that one,” she said.
“We should probably be focussing,” Sam said. “It’s getting late.”
“We’ve still gotta hook this up in Mike’s room,” Dean said, gesturing to the video-camera they’d picked-up from town. Sam was getting up to follow when his phone rang and he didn’t need to look at the display to know who it was. “Sophia,” Dean said, gesturing for her to sit by the computer. “Tell me when it’s right, okay?”
“You’ve gotta explain exactly what we’re doing when you get back, okay?” she asked.
“You bet,” Dean said. “Come on, Michael. Time for bed.” It didn’t sit right with Sam, but he didn’t have the time to think on it as he headed outside of the room to answer the call.
“Dad,” he said.
“Sammy. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s going great. I’m at the motel.”
“I’ll be there in a day,” John said. “You stay safe, alright? I don’t want you getting hurt by this thing.”
“I won’t, dad,” Sam said, and not for the first time wondered why his father was so concerned about the shtriga. He wondered about what Bobby had told him, about his dad having faced it before.
“Good,” John said, his voice gruff.
Sam swallowed down his hesitancy and opened his mouth, prepared to ask the question but the dial tone cut him off. “You really need to stop doing that,” Sam muttered before pocketing his cell and returning to the room where Sophia was waiting. She was wearing the earpiece and apparently listening as Dean explained the plan and positioned the video camera.
“I can’t fire a gun,” she said.
“Well then, sit there and try not to get shot by one,” Dean’s disembodied voice ordered.
“Ha, ha.”
“How’s it going?” Sam asked, taking the chair to Sophia’s left.
“Lookin’ good,” she said. “You know you’re both crazy?”
“Yeah, pretty aware,” Sam said.
“Oh, good. Okay. Just checking.” They watched as Dean settled on the bed and went-through the plan again with Michael, preparing the boy for what was coming. Sam was taken with the tone of Dean’s voice, the concern and care that he was showing when up to that point Sam had seen only a cool and controlled exterior. Even when Dean was facing-off against older and stronger men, outnumbered, he hadn’t shown any fear, had appeared completely nonchalant.
“This is the part where you comment on how good he is with kids, and I tell you some secret about his history and we share a completely heart-felt moment,” Sophia whispered, leaning over slightly as if sharing a secret.
Sam laughed lightly and cast a doubtful look at her. “Why would we do that?”
“Well, you like him, don’t you?”
Sam looked away, pretending to focus on the camera-setup, which had already been arranged. “He’s certainly something.”
“He’s more than something,” Sophia said. “You think he’s sexy,” she sing-songed quietly. “You want to ki-iss him, hug him and squi-ish him.”
“Squish him?”
She shrugged. “It rhymed better.”
“What rhymed?” Dean asked as he came into the room.
“We were talking about Jack Johnson lyrics,” Sophia answered without missing a beat.
“Oh, ew,” Dean said, making a face, then paused, “Now I want banana pancakes…”
“Is there ever a moment when you’re not hungry?”
“Not really,” Dean said. They settled-in the watch the green-tinged video screen, Sam and Dean both holding guns.
“Are you gonna be okay with that?” Sam asked, wanting to know how things would play when the shtriga came.
“I’m a natural,” Dean said with complete confidence, and no small amount of pride. “When my dad put me behind the bar, he said I should know how to handle a gun - in case I ever needed one - and he took me out to the range. I was hitting damned near perfect right from the start, and I only improved from there.”
“He likes to brag,” Sophia whispered, receiving a teasing shove from Dean for her trouble.
“What about you?” Dean asked. “Should I be worried about you shootin’ off your foot?”
“Please,” Sam retorted. “I’ve been playing with guns since I was nine.”
“Well, that sounds like a healthy childhood,” Dean muttered. Sam glared and would have retorted until he realized that he was in complete agreement with the statement. He bit his lip and tried to ignore Dean’s knowing look.
“You’ve gotta stop reading my mind,” Sam said.
“I’m not reading your mind,” Dean defended. “I don’t ‘read minds’.”
“Would you both focus?” Sophia demanded. “We have a problem! What are you guys doing to distract Cheryl?”
“What?” Dean said at the same moment Sam said, “Who’s Cheryl?”
“Michael’s aunt Cheryl?” Sophia said. “Who is currently minding the motel? Who is within earshot of the gunfire and will likely freak-out?”
“You mean you didn’t see that one coming?” Dean asked dryly of Sam.
“Didn’t you?” Sam retorted.
“Yeah, I thought as much,” she muttered. “I’ll go distract Cheryl, you boys play with your guns.”
“What are you gonna do?” Dean asked.
“I have no idea. How loud are those things gonna be?”
“Pretty loud,” Sam and Dean chorused.
“Okay, so she’s gotta be out of the main building at least. Man, you don’t make this simple.” She got-up from her chair and then glommed onto Dean, who squawked and swatted at her. She planted a kiss on the top of his hair and then ruffled it up. “Okay, Baby Duck, don’t shoot your eye out.”
“Baby Duck?” Sam questioned with a barely contained smirked when Sophia had left.
“I hate her,” Dean answered. “So much.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Sam said.
They were not certain when the shtriga attacked, and so Michael had been in bed by dusk, and Sam and Dean had nothing much to do but sit-tight and keep an eye on the monitor. Sophia had been gone for over two hours and Dean was getting restless. Michael, although he had been certain that it would never happen, drifted-off to sleep and Sam and Dean were left watching a perfectly quiet room.
Sam was good on stakeouts. The adrenaline kept him wary and alert, and he had a natural ability to sit calmly - long quiet hours were still boring, though, and even if it wasn’t the best of times, he had a lot of questions for the man sitting beside him. “You were pretty vague about your abilities.”
“Not much to tell,” Dean said.
“It didn’t seem that way,” Sam prompted.
“Look, Sam, I already told you.”
“Well, tell me again. This time with more detail. You mentioned psychometry?”
“Psycho-what?”
“That you’d pick-up things from objects, that’s the technical term.”
“I don’t give a damn about the technical term,” Dean said. “There isn’t anything ‘technical’ about it. All I know is I touch things and get weird images in my head - I don’t need a label for it.” There was a tense quiet and Dean sighed. “Look, I don’t like talking about it. Not much good has come from any of it, okay? Sophia says I’m empathetic, like to an extreme or something - I dunno. I get images from objects, I pick-up feelings from other people - sometimes images, and I get visions, too.”
“Wow, that’s a lot,” Sam said, recalling how he had felt when his visions had begun - that had been scary and overwhelming. Dean had a lot more to adjust to, Sam couldn’t even imagine. “How did you manage?”
“I tried to hide it,” Dean said, like it was the dumbest question he’d heard.
“How’d that work?”
“The entire town calls me a freak, and you’re asking how it worked?”
“Good point.”
“There’s no way to hide the fact that if I’m not focussing on keeping people out, and someone touches me and they’re emotional, that I get completely swamped, okay? I dropped an entire bin full of dirty dishes because Mrs. Ellis pinched my bum when I bussed tables at Rosemary’s. So I was a spazz, clearly. But when I collapsed in the middle of the friggin’ road because of a vision and literally couldn’t move, which of course drew the attention of Fitchburg’s concerned citizens and prompted them to touch me to see if I was alright? Yeah, that’s when I became a freak.”
“My dad’s terrified of my abilities,” Sam confided. “I used to try and keep them quiet, because I knew how it freaked him out, but my visions - they show me people getting hurt, and I couldn’t ignore it. I have a friend; she’s a psychic, who helped me adjust to it, and my dad too. Now sometimes we track whatever I see, but I can always tell - something about my ability … I dunno, it’s the only time I see him really worried, is when I tell him I’ve had another vision.”
“My dad’s okay,” Dean said. “I think he pretends I’m epileptic or something and it makes it easier for him. Either way, he doesn’t run when I go down.” They lapsed into silence again, this time companionable.
“So all that stuff you said about hunting … you picked-that up just from my touching you?” Dean nodded offhandedly. “What else did you pick-up?” Dean flashed a devil’s smile and waggled his eyebrows. “What? Tell me.”
“No way, I’m planning to blackmail you later,” Dean said, but then apparently couldn’t resist a tease, “So, you think I have a nice ass?”
“Wha-“ Sam gaped, not sure what to say, whether it was safer to lie and deny it all or own-up to the thought having crossed his mind more than once.
“Yours isn’t bad either,” Dean said nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair. Which of course shut Sam right-up, and no longer knew what to say at all, he focussed on keeping his mouth closed so as to preventing himself from gibbering. Suddenly his mind was filled with possibilities and it was definitely not the right time for it.
Of course, just because his mouth was closed didn’t stop Sam was continuously glancing over to check Dean’s expression, to see if he had been serious, and then just to see if he was real. Dean, for his part, seemed entirely casual, until he leaned forward and pointed. “Hey, check it out.” Sam turned his focus from Dean to the monitor where what looked at first glance to be a tree-branch was moving by Michael’s window. Michael was awake and watching it as well, and Dean was already getting-up from his chair. “We should go.”
“No, wait,” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s arm, eyes still focussed on the screen. “It’s gotta get close enough to feed.”
“How close?”
“Pretty damn close,” Sam said. The shtriga had opened the window and was drifting further into the room, it’s dark cloak obscuring it from view so that it appeared only as a dark smudge on the screen.
When the smudge had reached Michael’s bedside Dean cocked his gun. “Now?”
The shtriga had opened its mouth and a glow was obscuring what was happening. “Now,” Sam said. “Go, go!” They ran from the room, Dean kicking the door in, although it hadn’t been locked, and calling for Michael to get beneath the bed. The both of them started firing as soon as Michael was clear, watching as the cloaked figure jerked as the bullets struck home, until finally it dropped to the floor between the bed and the wall, unmoving.
It was Sam’s vision. The rocket ship bedspread being one of the finally pieces he had seen. But there was still one thing that hadn’t happened. “Michael,” Dean said. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Just stay there for a sec.”
“Dean, stay behind me,” Sam said, reaching out and dragging the shorter man so he was behind him. “Stay right there,” he ordered.
“Dude, I’m not a kid,” Dean protested, but kept in place as Sam crossed the room cautiously to check the body. Maybe that part of the vision had been what might have happened if Sam hadn’t come? Maybe he’d finally succeeded in preventing something from happening altogether, because there the shtriga was, lying still and pumped full of consecrated iron, just like Bobby had told him to do. And yeah, Dean was as good a shot as he’d purported to be.
But it didn’t feel right. There was something in the air that had the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck standing on end, and he couldn’t quite believe that it had all ended so easily. There was a hiss like water dropping onto a heated metal, and then Sam was flying through the air, bouncing off the far wall and then sprawled on the floor, winded and completely addled.
There were sounds in the room, a kind of choked scream - low and deep - and Sam thought ‘Dean’, but couldn’t make himself move. He heard footsteps and a woman’s voice, and finally - finally! - his head cleared enough for Sam to make-out the shtriga - bent-over Dean with his hands holding the man’s mouth open and a white-blue glow lighting the room. Sophia had picked-up the gun Dean had apparently dropped and fired two shots, but she didn’t know how to use the weapon. Sam moved quickly, raising the gun and firing three quick shots. This time when the shtriga went-down little globes of light came zooming-up out of its mouth. Sam rolled into a crouch then stood, stepping forward to finish the rest of the clip, emptying it into the dying form of the shtriga.
“Is he okay?” Sam asked.
“I think I shot that thing in the ass,” Sophia answered, clearly in shock. She was still holding the gun, but her eyes were focussed entirely on Dean. Dean, who wasn’t moving.
“Sophia,” Sam said, moving towards her. “Is Dean okay?”
“I dunno,” she said, dropping the gun and crouching beside her friend. “Oh Jesus, Sam. What does that do? What does that do?”
“What does what do?” he asked, crouching opposite her by Dean’s body.
“It touched him, it touched his skin,” she explained. “What does that do to a psychic?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said honestly. “Look, get Michael, see if he’s okay.” She nodded and crawled over to coax Michael out from under the bed. “Dean,” Sam whispered. “Come on, Man. Wake-up.”
“Dean!” Michael screamed upon seeing the man unmoving.
“Yup,” Dean said, clearly groggy, his eyes barely cracked open “M’okay.”
“Holy shit, you sonofabitch!” Sophia said. “You scared me to death!”
Dean sat-up a little, his skin pale and his eyes glazed as if he had a fever. “Why are you yelling at me, then?”
“I shot a demon in the ass for you!” she said.
“Well, next time, aim for its head.” Sam laughed a little and helped Dean sit-up, Sophia’s words still echoing through him. What had it been like for Dean when the shtriga had touched him? Clearly, something more had happened, because Dean was barely masking his pain.
“You need an aspirin?” Sam asked quietly.
“I need an elephant tranquilizer,” Dean muttered. “I’ll be fine, just need to get warm.”
“Okay, come on,” Sam said, helping the other man stand, despite the fact that Dean was already trying to push him off. “Would you stop squirming and let me help you, or else I’m going to have to throw you over my shoulder.”
“Now’s not the time to go all caveman on me,” Dean teased half-heartedly, his voice rough.
“Hey, can you two save your flirting for later?” Sophia asked.
“Yeah, we should - uh - find a restaurant or something,” Sam said.
“Forget the restaurant, let’s use Joanna’s kitchen. I dunno about you, but I’m not up to seeing people right now,” Sophia said. “Is that okay, Michael?”
“Sure, just …” Michael paused and then looked sheepishly up at them. “Can I not sleep here tonight?” his eyes drifted over to where the shtriga was lying in a still-smoking heap by his bed.
“Don’t worry, Hon,” Sophia said, rubbing Michael’s back comfortingly. “Sam will clean that up.”
“Me? Why?”
“You’re the one who killed it. Well, if you ask me, it was a bit of an overkill but …”
“I wanted to make sure it was dead!”
“Ladies, please!” Dean cut in. “My head is pounding and I’m freezing cold. Can you postpone your catfight?” He got two glares in return, and one grin from Michael, who was all too eager to get the hell away from the smoking creature on the floor. Dean tried to stagger towards the door but was unsteady - two steps and one near fall, and he was practically bowled-over as Sam, Sophia, and Michael all moved to help him. “Jesus, back-off a little, would ya? I’m not an invalid.” He tolerated Sam’s around his waist, and even deigned to lean on the man, but he waved both Sophia and Michael ahead of them. “What did you tell Cheryl, anyway? Why the hell were you gone so long?”
“Honestly?” Sophia asked. “You don’t want to know.”
“Well, now that you put it that way, I kinda do,” Dean shot back.
“I’ll never te-ell,” she sing-songed as she draped an arm on Michael’s shoulders and led the way to the kitchen area.
<< END CHAPTER >>
[MASTER POST]
Smart Diets
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Four: HUNT
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'.
A/N: AU. This is difficult to summarize fully without also spoiling fully.
Summary: A vision incites Sam to leave his father's side and head to Fitchburg. Without any clear notion as to what he is hunting, and no supernatural signs in the town of any kind as far as he can tell, Sam begins with what little he does know. But it doesn't take long before Sam begins to wonder if there might just be more than one mystery to be uncovered.
chapter four | HUNT
“What exactly are we looking for?” They were seated beside each other, their shoulders brushing, Dean idly flipping through some of the larger books Sam had asked the librarian to bring over, and Sam going through old newspapers via the computer. Sophia had work at the diner, followed by baby-sitting, but had promised that if they hadn’t killed the shtriga by the time she was set-free from the Willson’s house (apparently the home of three rather obnoxious children) she would phone Dean and meet-up with them. Dean had promised to postpone the ass kicking as long as possible in her honour.
“There have been instances like this in other towns,” Sam explained as he scrolled passed pages. “In all of the cases, dozens of kids would get sick, languish and then just die. It’s just getting started here.”
Dean frowned and pushed the book he’d been looking at away. “Well, then doesn’t that mean that whoever this - shtriga-thing - is masquerading as would be new to town?”
“Maybe,” Sam said, thinking it over. “But not necessarily. They don’t need to eat so frequently, they stockpile.”
“Charming.” For a moment, Dean simply sat there, leaning back in his chair, staring-up at the ceiling as he tilted back. “Does that mean that someone could be married to this thing?”
“I hadn’t considered that,” Sam said, taking a moment to let that disturbing thought live. He shuddered.
“For the sake of our own sanity, let’s pretend we’re looking for someone single.”
“Yeah, that’s what - half of the population of Fitchburg?”
“Dude, it’s a small town, most of the community is married,” Dean defended, dropping his chair back to the floor.
“It’s still too general.”
“Got a better idea, Genius?” Dean bumped his shoulder against Sam’s, who jostled him back until a passing librarian cleared her throat. “Sorry, Gertrude,” Dean muttered. Sam snickered at him and received a glare for his effort. “Well, how are we gonna kill it?”
“Could we focus on one thing at a time? We don’t even know who it is we’re trying to kill, exactly.”
“Well, this bites.” They’d been in the library since eleven o’clock, and it was well-passed lunchtime. Sam was already come to learn that Dean was unable to sit still for any length of time. “I’m gonna go get some coffee. I’ll smuggle something in for you.”
“Dean - wait,” Sam said, but Dean was already well enroot to the front door. Sam went back to work and twenty minutes later Dean returned with two large coffees. “You’re not supposed to bring those in here.”
“Relax,” Dean said. “Gerty loves me.” He handed one Styrofoam cup to Sam and settled back in his chair. “So was thinking. We already know where the shtriga is gonna hit next, why do we even have to know who it is? Let’s pop the sucker and see whoever doesn’t show-up to church on Sunday.”
Sam looked at the man for a moment and then shook his head. “Yeah. Uh … that would work. But I already figured it out. It’s Dr. Heidekker - I found a picture of him in the paper from 1893.”
“Wow, that dude’s old.”
“He’s also one of the GPs at the hospital. The one I spoke with about the kids, actually. It’s the perfect cover, I should have thought of it before.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Small town like this and you don’t know the man?” Sam asked, wondering if that was significant or not.
“I don’t mean to pop this little bubble of yours, Man, but I’m not exactly Mr. Popular.”
“So I noticed,” Sam muttered.
“What I’m saying is, he never came ‘round the Wy at all, I never met the man. My dad never met the man, so I don’t know who he is.”
“Your dad?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “He owns the Wyvern.” He looked over at Sam. “What, you think I popped out of a tree or something? Fully formed?”
“Well, that would certainly be something if you did.”
Dean snorted. “So, we know who, and we know what. Have you figured-out how to kill it?”
“I’m gonna call a friend of mine, he might know.”
…………………………………..
“Sam,” Bobby said. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Not quite, Bobby,” Sam said. “It would help if I knew how to kill it.”
“Don’t be a smartass, now.” There was a pause and then Bobby sighed. “Consecrated iron. Buck shots. You have to catch it when it’s feeding or else it won’t do you much good. And you’ve got to get close to it.”
“Thanks, Bobby.”
“I know how you feel about this, Sam,” Bobby said. “I’m telling you how to kill this thing because I think you’re old enough to make your own decisions and your daddy needs to learn that. But you be prepared for the shit to hit the fan when you talk to him.”
“Believe me,” Sam said. “I know. Anyway, thanks for your help.” Bobby dismissed the thanks and wished him luck and Sam flipped his cell closed, turning to go back into his motel room where Dean was waiting with two large bags full of Chinese take-out.
“Don’t touch the wantons,” Dean said, snapping his chopsticks in warning when Sam peered into one of the bags.
“Uh, okay.”
“I love wantons,” Dean said, setting the carton he’d been munching on aside and rifling through the other bag and removing another box - presumably filled with wantons. “Did you find-out what we need?”
“Consecrated iron rounds,” Sam said. “And we have to shoot it when it’s feeding.”
“Huh,” Dean said, looking thoughtful as he chewed. “So, one of us hides under Michael’s blankets and when the thing comes in, we bust its ass.”
“I don’t think that will work,” Sam said, pacing to the bed. “Way to hog the bed, you jerk.”
“Yeah, that’s it, bitch and moan, Princess.” But Dean shifted over some, and Sam settled down with the other large soggy paper bag of steaming Chinese food boxes. “What do you mean it won’t work?”
“I mean, the shtriga has to get close enough to feed - that’s the only time it’s vulnerable. And if it has to get that close, it will know it’s not Michael in that bed.”
“So what? Won’t it just want something to munch on?”
“Shtriga’s aren’t unintelligent,” Sam retorted. “It’s gotta be Michael in that bed. The only problem is, how the hell are we gonna handle that?”
“Wait, hold it. You want to use Michael as bait? I know that kid. He’s like my own brother.”
“Well, I can’t think of what else to do, okay? I’m sorry that it sounds so cruel, but he won’t be hurt. I’m a good shot. It would be coming for him anyway.” He watched as Dean rose from the bed to pace restlessly around the room. He waited a moment before prompting, “Dean?”
“Okay,” Dean said. “Okay, let me talk to him.”
“What are you going to say?” But Dean was already heading towards the door. “Dean, hold-up!”
……………………………….
Up to that point, Sam had only seen Dean interact with adults, and he always seemed to keep a part of him separate, held-back and kept safe. When Dean spoke to Michael it was with complete honesty, and no boundaries between them. Sam had seen Michael around and he’d been nothing more than a prickly kid that was just beginning that descent into that awkward and irritating phase of growing-up that Sam found far from endearing. With Dean, Michael shed the attitude, meeting the older man halfway.
“Well, who’s he?” Michael asked, jerking his head towards where Sam was awkwardly standing off to the side.
“That’s Sam. He’s gonna help kill this thing,” Dean explained.
“So … you’re gonna shoot it?”
“That’s the plan.”
Michael leaned forward, like he didn’t want Sam to hear and asked, “Is he a good shot?”
Dean turned around and raised an eyebrow at Sam. “I’m a real good shot, don’t worry,” Sam assured the boy.
“And you’re going to be there, right?” Michael asked, this time to Dean.
“We’ll be in the next room,” Dean said. “And when it shows-up, we’ll come in and kill it.”
“Okay,” Michael said. “Okay, I’ll do it. If there’s a chance that it could help Asher …” Dean clapped Michael on the shoulder and nodded. “So … what should I do?”
“Nothing,” Sam said. “Just take it easy. We’ll set-up the stuff we need to be ready for tonight.”
“What, act natural?” Michael asked, sarcasm evident in his tone. Dean snorted and tossed a look back at Sam.
“Help us out,” Dean offered. The motel entrance was filled with a cheerful chirruping tune and Sam raised an amused eyebrow when the sound prompted Dean to start cursing and pull his cell phone from his pocket. “Goddammit!” he said into the phone. “Shows what you know, that’s the way I always answer my phone,” he said after a moment. “Especially when you go and reprogram my damned ring tones!” Another pause and Dean looked skyward. “What do you mean, ‘pick-you up?’ You’re the one with the car, you come to us! - We’re at the motel … Which one? The only one in town!” He flipped the cell closed without further comment and gave a long-suffering look as Michael and Sam both laughed at him.
“Sophia’s on the way, I take it?” Sam asked. Dean muttered something under his breath. Sam smirked as Dean turned towards the door, falling into step beside the man. “Was that Britney Spears?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean answered. “Michael, you coming?”
………………………………….
Sophia found them sitting in the room that shared a wall with Michael’s bedroom. They were surrounded by little white cartons of greasy food, Dean well into a story about a drunken client at the Wyvern, using his chopsticks to help narrate the story while Sam laughed and attempted to set-up some kind of surveillance equipment, and Michael quietly attempted to mimic Dean’s grip on the chopsticks.
“Which one is this?” she asked as she dropped her bag on the bed and sat on the floor by Dean’s feet. “Is this Andrew’s drunken dart-board massacre?”
“Naw, it’s Reverend Tom’s tango with the swordfish my dad has in the restaurant.”
“Oh, damn. I love that one,” she said.
“We should probably be focussing,” Sam said. “It’s getting late.”
“We’ve still gotta hook this up in Mike’s room,” Dean said, gesturing to the video-camera they’d picked-up from town. Sam was getting up to follow when his phone rang and he didn’t need to look at the display to know who it was. “Sophia,” Dean said, gesturing for her to sit by the computer. “Tell me when it’s right, okay?”
“You’ve gotta explain exactly what we’re doing when you get back, okay?” she asked.
“You bet,” Dean said. “Come on, Michael. Time for bed.” It didn’t sit right with Sam, but he didn’t have the time to think on it as he headed outside of the room to answer the call.
“Dad,” he said.
“Sammy. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s going great. I’m at the motel.”
“I’ll be there in a day,” John said. “You stay safe, alright? I don’t want you getting hurt by this thing.”
“I won’t, dad,” Sam said, and not for the first time wondered why his father was so concerned about the shtriga. He wondered about what Bobby had told him, about his dad having faced it before.
“Good,” John said, his voice gruff.
Sam swallowed down his hesitancy and opened his mouth, prepared to ask the question but the dial tone cut him off. “You really need to stop doing that,” Sam muttered before pocketing his cell and returning to the room where Sophia was waiting. She was wearing the earpiece and apparently listening as Dean explained the plan and positioned the video camera.
“I can’t fire a gun,” she said.
“Well then, sit there and try not to get shot by one,” Dean’s disembodied voice ordered.
“Ha, ha.”
“How’s it going?” Sam asked, taking the chair to Sophia’s left.
“Lookin’ good,” she said. “You know you’re both crazy?”
“Yeah, pretty aware,” Sam said.
“Oh, good. Okay. Just checking.” They watched as Dean settled on the bed and went-through the plan again with Michael, preparing the boy for what was coming. Sam was taken with the tone of Dean’s voice, the concern and care that he was showing when up to that point Sam had seen only a cool and controlled exterior. Even when Dean was facing-off against older and stronger men, outnumbered, he hadn’t shown any fear, had appeared completely nonchalant.
“This is the part where you comment on how good he is with kids, and I tell you some secret about his history and we share a completely heart-felt moment,” Sophia whispered, leaning over slightly as if sharing a secret.
Sam laughed lightly and cast a doubtful look at her. “Why would we do that?”
“Well, you like him, don’t you?”
Sam looked away, pretending to focus on the camera-setup, which had already been arranged. “He’s certainly something.”
“He’s more than something,” Sophia said. “You think he’s sexy,” she sing-songed quietly. “You want to ki-iss him, hug him and squi-ish him.”
“Squish him?”
She shrugged. “It rhymed better.”
“What rhymed?” Dean asked as he came into the room.
“We were talking about Jack Johnson lyrics,” Sophia answered without missing a beat.
“Oh, ew,” Dean said, making a face, then paused, “Now I want banana pancakes…”
“Is there ever a moment when you’re not hungry?”
“Not really,” Dean said. They settled-in the watch the green-tinged video screen, Sam and Dean both holding guns.
“Are you gonna be okay with that?” Sam asked, wanting to know how things would play when the shtriga came.
“I’m a natural,” Dean said with complete confidence, and no small amount of pride. “When my dad put me behind the bar, he said I should know how to handle a gun - in case I ever needed one - and he took me out to the range. I was hitting damned near perfect right from the start, and I only improved from there.”
“He likes to brag,” Sophia whispered, receiving a teasing shove from Dean for her trouble.
“What about you?” Dean asked. “Should I be worried about you shootin’ off your foot?”
“Please,” Sam retorted. “I’ve been playing with guns since I was nine.”
“Well, that sounds like a healthy childhood,” Dean muttered. Sam glared and would have retorted until he realized that he was in complete agreement with the statement. He bit his lip and tried to ignore Dean’s knowing look.
“You’ve gotta stop reading my mind,” Sam said.
“I’m not reading your mind,” Dean defended. “I don’t ‘read minds’.”
“Would you both focus?” Sophia demanded. “We have a problem! What are you guys doing to distract Cheryl?”
“What?” Dean said at the same moment Sam said, “Who’s Cheryl?”
“Michael’s aunt Cheryl?” Sophia said. “Who is currently minding the motel? Who is within earshot of the gunfire and will likely freak-out?”
“You mean you didn’t see that one coming?” Dean asked dryly of Sam.
“Didn’t you?” Sam retorted.
“Yeah, I thought as much,” she muttered. “I’ll go distract Cheryl, you boys play with your guns.”
“What are you gonna do?” Dean asked.
“I have no idea. How loud are those things gonna be?”
“Pretty loud,” Sam and Dean chorused.
“Okay, so she’s gotta be out of the main building at least. Man, you don’t make this simple.” She got-up from her chair and then glommed onto Dean, who squawked and swatted at her. She planted a kiss on the top of his hair and then ruffled it up. “Okay, Baby Duck, don’t shoot your eye out.”
“Baby Duck?” Sam questioned with a barely contained smirked when Sophia had left.
“I hate her,” Dean answered. “So much.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Sam said.
They were not certain when the shtriga attacked, and so Michael had been in bed by dusk, and Sam and Dean had nothing much to do but sit-tight and keep an eye on the monitor. Sophia had been gone for over two hours and Dean was getting restless. Michael, although he had been certain that it would never happen, drifted-off to sleep and Sam and Dean were left watching a perfectly quiet room.
Sam was good on stakeouts. The adrenaline kept him wary and alert, and he had a natural ability to sit calmly - long quiet hours were still boring, though, and even if it wasn’t the best of times, he had a lot of questions for the man sitting beside him. “You were pretty vague about your abilities.”
“Not much to tell,” Dean said.
“It didn’t seem that way,” Sam prompted.
“Look, Sam, I already told you.”
“Well, tell me again. This time with more detail. You mentioned psychometry?”
“Psycho-what?”
“That you’d pick-up things from objects, that’s the technical term.”
“I don’t give a damn about the technical term,” Dean said. “There isn’t anything ‘technical’ about it. All I know is I touch things and get weird images in my head - I don’t need a label for it.” There was a tense quiet and Dean sighed. “Look, I don’t like talking about it. Not much good has come from any of it, okay? Sophia says I’m empathetic, like to an extreme or something - I dunno. I get images from objects, I pick-up feelings from other people - sometimes images, and I get visions, too.”
“Wow, that’s a lot,” Sam said, recalling how he had felt when his visions had begun - that had been scary and overwhelming. Dean had a lot more to adjust to, Sam couldn’t even imagine. “How did you manage?”
“I tried to hide it,” Dean said, like it was the dumbest question he’d heard.
“How’d that work?”
“The entire town calls me a freak, and you’re asking how it worked?”
“Good point.”
“There’s no way to hide the fact that if I’m not focussing on keeping people out, and someone touches me and they’re emotional, that I get completely swamped, okay? I dropped an entire bin full of dirty dishes because Mrs. Ellis pinched my bum when I bussed tables at Rosemary’s. So I was a spazz, clearly. But when I collapsed in the middle of the friggin’ road because of a vision and literally couldn’t move, which of course drew the attention of Fitchburg’s concerned citizens and prompted them to touch me to see if I was alright? Yeah, that’s when I became a freak.”
“My dad’s terrified of my abilities,” Sam confided. “I used to try and keep them quiet, because I knew how it freaked him out, but my visions - they show me people getting hurt, and I couldn’t ignore it. I have a friend; she’s a psychic, who helped me adjust to it, and my dad too. Now sometimes we track whatever I see, but I can always tell - something about my ability … I dunno, it’s the only time I see him really worried, is when I tell him I’ve had another vision.”
“My dad’s okay,” Dean said. “I think he pretends I’m epileptic or something and it makes it easier for him. Either way, he doesn’t run when I go down.” They lapsed into silence again, this time companionable.
“So all that stuff you said about hunting … you picked-that up just from my touching you?” Dean nodded offhandedly. “What else did you pick-up?” Dean flashed a devil’s smile and waggled his eyebrows. “What? Tell me.”
“No way, I’m planning to blackmail you later,” Dean said, but then apparently couldn’t resist a tease, “So, you think I have a nice ass?”
“Wha-“ Sam gaped, not sure what to say, whether it was safer to lie and deny it all or own-up to the thought having crossed his mind more than once.
“Yours isn’t bad either,” Dean said nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair. Which of course shut Sam right-up, and no longer knew what to say at all, he focussed on keeping his mouth closed so as to preventing himself from gibbering. Suddenly his mind was filled with possibilities and it was definitely not the right time for it.
Of course, just because his mouth was closed didn’t stop Sam was continuously glancing over to check Dean’s expression, to see if he had been serious, and then just to see if he was real. Dean, for his part, seemed entirely casual, until he leaned forward and pointed. “Hey, check it out.” Sam turned his focus from Dean to the monitor where what looked at first glance to be a tree-branch was moving by Michael’s window. Michael was awake and watching it as well, and Dean was already getting-up from his chair. “We should go.”
“No, wait,” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s arm, eyes still focussed on the screen. “It’s gotta get close enough to feed.”
“How close?”
“Pretty damn close,” Sam said. The shtriga had opened the window and was drifting further into the room, it’s dark cloak obscuring it from view so that it appeared only as a dark smudge on the screen.
When the smudge had reached Michael’s bedside Dean cocked his gun. “Now?”
The shtriga had opened its mouth and a glow was obscuring what was happening. “Now,” Sam said. “Go, go!” They ran from the room, Dean kicking the door in, although it hadn’t been locked, and calling for Michael to get beneath the bed. The both of them started firing as soon as Michael was clear, watching as the cloaked figure jerked as the bullets struck home, until finally it dropped to the floor between the bed and the wall, unmoving.
It was Sam’s vision. The rocket ship bedspread being one of the finally pieces he had seen. But there was still one thing that hadn’t happened. “Michael,” Dean said. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Just stay there for a sec.”
“Dean, stay behind me,” Sam said, reaching out and dragging the shorter man so he was behind him. “Stay right there,” he ordered.
“Dude, I’m not a kid,” Dean protested, but kept in place as Sam crossed the room cautiously to check the body. Maybe that part of the vision had been what might have happened if Sam hadn’t come? Maybe he’d finally succeeded in preventing something from happening altogether, because there the shtriga was, lying still and pumped full of consecrated iron, just like Bobby had told him to do. And yeah, Dean was as good a shot as he’d purported to be.
But it didn’t feel right. There was something in the air that had the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck standing on end, and he couldn’t quite believe that it had all ended so easily. There was a hiss like water dropping onto a heated metal, and then Sam was flying through the air, bouncing off the far wall and then sprawled on the floor, winded and completely addled.
There were sounds in the room, a kind of choked scream - low and deep - and Sam thought ‘Dean’, but couldn’t make himself move. He heard footsteps and a woman’s voice, and finally - finally! - his head cleared enough for Sam to make-out the shtriga - bent-over Dean with his hands holding the man’s mouth open and a white-blue glow lighting the room. Sophia had picked-up the gun Dean had apparently dropped and fired two shots, but she didn’t know how to use the weapon. Sam moved quickly, raising the gun and firing three quick shots. This time when the shtriga went-down little globes of light came zooming-up out of its mouth. Sam rolled into a crouch then stood, stepping forward to finish the rest of the clip, emptying it into the dying form of the shtriga.
“Is he okay?” Sam asked.
“I think I shot that thing in the ass,” Sophia answered, clearly in shock. She was still holding the gun, but her eyes were focussed entirely on Dean. Dean, who wasn’t moving.
“Sophia,” Sam said, moving towards her. “Is Dean okay?”
“I dunno,” she said, dropping the gun and crouching beside her friend. “Oh Jesus, Sam. What does that do? What does that do?”
“What does what do?” he asked, crouching opposite her by Dean’s body.
“It touched him, it touched his skin,” she explained. “What does that do to a psychic?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said honestly. “Look, get Michael, see if he’s okay.” She nodded and crawled over to coax Michael out from under the bed. “Dean,” Sam whispered. “Come on, Man. Wake-up.”
“Dean!” Michael screamed upon seeing the man unmoving.
“Yup,” Dean said, clearly groggy, his eyes barely cracked open “M’okay.”
“Holy shit, you sonofabitch!” Sophia said. “You scared me to death!”
Dean sat-up a little, his skin pale and his eyes glazed as if he had a fever. “Why are you yelling at me, then?”
“I shot a demon in the ass for you!” she said.
“Well, next time, aim for its head.” Sam laughed a little and helped Dean sit-up, Sophia’s words still echoing through him. What had it been like for Dean when the shtriga had touched him? Clearly, something more had happened, because Dean was barely masking his pain.
“You need an aspirin?” Sam asked quietly.
“I need an elephant tranquilizer,” Dean muttered. “I’ll be fine, just need to get warm.”
“Okay, come on,” Sam said, helping the other man stand, despite the fact that Dean was already trying to push him off. “Would you stop squirming and let me help you, or else I’m going to have to throw you over my shoulder.”
“Now’s not the time to go all caveman on me,” Dean teased half-heartedly, his voice rough.
“Hey, can you two save your flirting for later?” Sophia asked.
“Yeah, we should - uh - find a restaurant or something,” Sam said.
“Forget the restaurant, let’s use Joanna’s kitchen. I dunno about you, but I’m not up to seeing people right now,” Sophia said. “Is that okay, Michael?”
“Sure, just …” Michael paused and then looked sheepishly up at them. “Can I not sleep here tonight?” his eyes drifted over to where the shtriga was lying in a still-smoking heap by his bed.
“Don’t worry, Hon,” Sophia said, rubbing Michael’s back comfortingly. “Sam will clean that up.”
“Me? Why?”
“You’re the one who killed it. Well, if you ask me, it was a bit of an overkill but …”
“I wanted to make sure it was dead!”
“Ladies, please!” Dean cut in. “My head is pounding and I’m freezing cold. Can you postpone your catfight?” He got two glares in return, and one grin from Michael, who was all too eager to get the hell away from the smoking creature on the floor. Dean tried to stagger towards the door but was unsteady - two steps and one near fall, and he was practically bowled-over as Sam, Sophia, and Michael all moved to help him. “Jesus, back-off a little, would ya? I’m not an invalid.” He tolerated Sam’s around his waist, and even deigned to lean on the man, but he waved both Sophia and Michael ahead of them. “What did you tell Cheryl, anyway? Why the hell were you gone so long?”
“Honestly?” Sophia asked. “You don’t want to know.”
“Well, now that you put it that way, I kinda do,” Dean shot back.
“I’ll never te-ell,” she sing-songed as she draped an arm on Michael’s shoulders and led the way to the kitchen area.
<< END CHAPTER >>
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