Chapter 9

Dean had his gun out and pointed at Wakeen in one fluid well-practiced motion.

The sheriff was almost as quick to react, but hesitated in pulling his own gun. “What the hell is going on, Dean?”

“I was just about to ask you the same question,” Dean shifted the gun to cover Landry. “Are you in on this, too?”

“In on what?” Landry demanded, his face turning red.

“You know what!” Dean ground out-not liking one bit that he was played for a fool.

“The only thing I know, kid, is that you need to put that canon away before I put your ass under my jail.”

“Dean,” Sam’s hand came up and rested on his brother’s shoulder, “put the gun down. I don’t think we’re in any danger here.”

The older Winchester shot him an incredulous look. “Just because you’re spidey sense isn’t tingling, Super Freak, doesn’t mean there’s not baddies in the vicinity.”

“Trust your brother’s judgment, Mountain Lion. His intuition serves him well.”

“Cut the crap, Obi-wan,” Dean stepped closer to Wakeen, “I’m not backing down until you tell me what the hell you are.”

Wakeen shrugged. “I assure you that I’m as human as you or your brother.” He glanced down at his blanket-covered legs. “Just a little lacking in the appendage area.”

“Would somebody please tell me what the hell is going on.” Landry glared at Dean. “And put that damn gun down, you hardheaded sonuvabitch. I’ve known Wakeen my whole life. He ain’t no monster.”

“He’s not a saint either. Wakeen here has been a little more mobile lately than he’d like to let on. He attacked my brother and me at the Rest Inn and at the Jalepeno.”

Wakeen sighed, and looked at Buck. “Your young friends think that we have met before-twice, maybe three times, I believe. Sometimes I can’t remember.”

“That’s crazy,” Landry defended the old man. He looked at Dean. “Wakeen lost his legs in a car accident about two years ago. I was there on the scene. Trust me-he ain’t lying about it.”

Sam ignored the second staring duel of the night between his brother and the sheriff and stepped from around Dean, closer to Wakeen. “What did you mean when you said that you can’t always remember?”

“The projections some times happen in my sleep. In those instances, I am not always sure what is a dream and what is a journey.”

“Astral projection?” Sam asked, only to hear his brother sigh in frustration.

“Yes,” Wakeen nodded.

Dean looked away from the sheriff at the old man’s admission and lowered his gun-seeing as how his brother was now smack dab in his line of fire. Stupid, trusting… “You suggesting your free-floating conscious accosted me and my brother?”

Wakeen‘s brown eyes met and held Dean‘s cold gaze. “I am telling you that I have never personally met you or your brother.”

“You don’t sound the same.” Sam looked at his brother . “His voice is different-the dialect, the way he arranges words. It’s not the same, Dean.” The hunter glanced back at the old man. “ He feels different.”

Dean shook his head at his brother’s empathic mumbo jumbo but slid his gun into the back of his jeans. “Sam-astral projections aren’t corporeal.” The older hunter wrapped his hand around Sam’s wrist and lifted it slightly, giving Wakeen an accusing glare. “And the last time I checked they didn’t cause electrical burns either.”

“If it were a simple spirit journey that would be true. But this is something entirely different.”

“How?” Sam gently pulled away from his brother.

“There are ways that a spirit can possess another’s body and use it to their benefit.” Wakeen glanced from Sam to his brother. “Geronimo was a great shaman. He is powerful even now.”

“Oh boy,” Landry groaned and took a seat in the chair closest to him.

“So, you want us to believe that the Geronimo went all body snatchers on you so that he could attack my brother-twice.” Not to mention what he did to my car.

Wakeen looked sympathetically at Sam. “You must have a wealth of patience, young man.” He’d taught high school and college for many years and he’d encountered every kind of attitude around. Dean wasn’t going to be easy.

Sam shot his brother a reprimanding look, before nodding his agreement. “Why does Geronimo need another form to astral project if he kept his abilities in death?”

“He doesn’t need me to project- he needs me as more of a cloak of sorts.”

“You’re his stealth shield?” Dean asked glibly.

“This just keeps getting better,” Landry grumbled, running a hand over his face.

“Dean,” Sam warned again, fed up with his brother’s inability to listen to Wakeen without his usual sarcastic comments.

“It’s alright,” the old man assured him. “It is in a leader’s nature to be protective and distrusting.” Wakeen nodded to the couch near him. “Come and sit.” When Dean didn’t move and Sam looked reluctant to leave his side, Wakeen added, “You’re brother looks like he could fall over at any time.”

That did the trick. Dean practically escorted Sam to the couch.

“Who is Geronimo hiding from?” the younger Winchester asked as soon as he was sitting.

“Jebidiah Monroe.”

“Who?” the sheriff asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

It was Dean who answered him. “The creepy old shutterbug who runs the photo shop in town-better known as your resident soul collector.”

“Right. Of course. ” Buck sighed, leaning back in the chair once more and closing his eyes. He was starting to feel one hell of headache coming on.

“So you figured out who the Crow was?” Wakeen was hoping that they were putting things together quickly. The time to act was at hand.

Dean frowned. “You’re friend Geronimo could have just filled us in-you know?”

“I have no control over what he does or does not say or do. I do not know the limits on what he can convey.”

“You could have contacted us,” Sam pointed out.

Wakeen ran a hand over his long silver hair and sighed. “In the beginning, I only knew you would be coming because of a dream. In it I saw a Mountain Lion being led by the White Wolf. I have a vague memory of your faces from the projections, but did not know how to reach you. And then there was the attack at the inn, and Geronimo feared that you would fall into the Crow’s trap… ”

“Which we did,” Dean pointed out, angrily. “Which brings me to the big question,” he pinned the old man with a hard stare. “Why-why is all this happening? And how the hell do we stop it?”

“I can tell you what I know.” Wakeen crossed his arms over his chest and launched into lecture mode. “Not long after my accident, I went on a vision quest. I had performed the ritual countless times but never had I encountered anything like I did that night.” He looked at Dean and then to Sam. “At first, I believed I was being visited by an ancestor, one of my grandfathers.” He smiled. “Honestly, it scared the hell out of me. But then the white wolf appeared and I heard a voice in my head. It was Geronimo.”

“You didn’t see him? Just the Wolf?” Sam raised a brow. “And it talked to you?”

“The Wolf didn’t speak. It is Geronimo’s power animal-a spiritual creature that appears on a spirit journey of the soul. Most humans have them, but in some…” Wakeen glanced at Dean, “…they are more dominant.”

“The mountain lion,” Sam glanced at his brother, with a hint of amusement, “that’s Dean’s spirit animal?”

“I don’t have a spirit animal!” Dean glared at his brother. “I don’t even like cats.”

Wakeen looked at the older Winchester. “The lion is a representation of dignity, power and leadership. It is more than likely the reason Geronimo recognized you and sought you out. Like it’s cousins the jaguar and panther, it is often sentinel to those in it’s kinship or tribe-sacrificing anything for their safety and prosperity.” The old Indian nodded to Sam. “In many cultures the lion is the protector of the sacred fire.”

Dean rolled his eyes, not comfortable with the whole idea of having a big kitty padding around after him. “Could we just focus here- get back to Geronimo.”

The old man grinned at Dean‘s discomfort. “Geronimo told me that he was trapped and asked that I help him.” Wakeen sighed, and motioned to the chair he was sitting in. “I myself, was feeling very trapped at the time-trapped in my own, aging, damaged body- so I swore that I would.”

“How?” Sam asked. “How did he expect you to help him?”

“Geronimo told me of the soul collector and the fact that he had managed to keep him here on this plane-never allowing him to return to our ancestors-never to reunite with his family. He said that a time was coming when it could be changed-a time when more people would suffer his fate.”

“The recent deaths,” Dean glanced at his brother. “Did he tell you how to stop them?”

“No. His words were hard to follow, and when I emerged- I didn’t remember everything.” Wakeen looked at Dean. “Dealing with another realm is not always black and white, but I felt an urgency-a calling- to comply. Perhaps it was a way to help myself heal-but I felt useful again.”

“So-what did you do?”

Wakeen smiled at Sam. “I called someone who knew more about the supposed curse.”

“Reese Mathers?” Dean offered, and Landry spoke for the first time, although the words were mumbled under his breath.

Wakeen shot the sheriff a scolding look and Dean imagined it was a well-practiced one from his time in front of the chalkboard. “Reese told me a great deal of things. He is knowledgeable-although a little eccentric.”

Eccentric, my ass. “Yeah, I talked with him earlier.”

“He gave me a name of a man who could possibly help,” Wakeen continued , thoughtfully. “A man I believe you both know. John Winchester.”

“What?” Sam and Dean spoke at the same time, mimicking each other’s thoughts.

Wakeen smiled. “He sent you to help me. Yes?”

“You talked with our dad?” Sam shared a look with Dean. “When? Where?”

Dean was still struggling with the fact that Reese knew their father and forgot to mention it. It did however explain how he had known about the fire that took their mother and all the other things that he’d told Dean about the witchcraft involved.

“He came here-after my quest. I called him and he came. Just like that. He spent some time in the town and with Reese. John researched the scant information that I had and put it together with what Reese had compiled over the years. Your father discovered Monroe’s identity and told me when the killings would most likely occur again. He said that the pattern was a fifty year cycle.”

Dean nodded-that sounded like their dad. The man was a genius at pulling together patterns. He and Sam were a lot alike in that way. “And then what? He left?”

“He could not find any signs of Monroe’s or Geronimo’s presence. He said that it was likely that they would not return to New Hope until the anniversary and promised that he would come back when I needed him. We kept in touch over the last couple of years and I called him as soon as I realized what was going on with the new deaths.”

Dean shot Sam a look. “And he e-mailed us.”

“I knew he had sent you, when I saw the white wolf again, although I was unsure of why you had not come to see me.”

“We didn’t know anything about you, Wakeen. Our dad…”

“Is mysterious,” Dean interrupted, “to say the least.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his dad’s journal. “Do you recognize this?”

Wakeen nodded. “Your father took notes on what I told him. He wrote down the prophecy.”

“Prophecy?” What the hell?

“The one Geronimo told to me.”

“You might have mentioned that in the beginning.”

“Do you often read the end of a story before the beginning chapter?” Wakeen asked and Dean shook his head at the man’s obvious enjoyment of this whole unfolding of the mystery.

I bet you and Dad got along really great. Dean flipped through the pages of his father’s journal until he came to the unknown writing. He turned the book around so that Wakeen could see it. “You mean this? You know what it says?”

“Yes.” Wakeen took the book from Dean and read the words in English.

“Half a man made a deal sealed by death,

And in penance five souls will be taken to shield her health.

An offer of blood to trap a mortal enemy by hate,

When only a sacrifice of love will change their fate.”

“What does it mean?” Sheriff Landry was leaning forward again, peering anxiously at Wakeen. Buck hated to admit it, but the whole thing had his interest up.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean- you don’t know?” Dean stood angrily, taking the book back from Wakeen. “I thought you had Geronimo on the psychic hotline?”

“Your father and I worked through some of it, Mountain Lion, but he said he would figure the rest out later-before it was too late.”

“People have died!” Dean practically yelled. “It’s already too late.” How could John have been so careless? What was he thinking sending them here practically blind? Did he know about the elements? Did he even consider Sam might be in jeopardy? The man never did anything without a damn good reason.

“Dean,” Sam said softly “It’s not his fault.”

Was his brother talking about Wakeen or John? “Then who’s fault is it, Sammy? You’re sick.” Dean motioned angrily to the darkened window across from them. “And in case you haven’t noticed-your time is running out.”

“Losing your cool isn’t going to help anything, Ace.”

Dean looked at the sheriff as if he had slapped him. Only one man called him Ace-and that man wasn't high on Dean's list of favorite people at the moment. The idea of their father sending Sam knowingly into danger and Dean being his unknowing accomplice was too much to swallow. “What did you say?”

Buck raised a brow, confused that the kid was now looking at him with murder in his eyes. “I said that yelling at Wakeen wasn’t going to save your brother’s life.”

Sam stood in time to catch Dean’s arm before he could go after Landry. It wasn’t the Sheriff he was angry at. The lawman had innocently struck a match to a powder keg.

“I’ll kill you,” Dean spat under his breath and lunged for the bigger man.

Buck stood slowly, not looking too concerned-only puzzled by the kid’s intense reaction.

It took all of Sam’s strength to hold his brother back. “Dean-stop it! He didn’t know this would happen. He wouldn’t do that.”

Sam wasn’t talking about Landry and they both understood that.

“I’ll kill him,” Dean said again, struggling against his brother’s hold, unable to see through the red haze that had enveloped his senses. All he wanted to do was strike out at someone-someone who wasn’t there, but Landry would do.

Ace. God, when had he come to loathe that name? He was sure that it was sometime between pulling Sam from his burning apartment and watching him slip away the past two days. And his father's failure to appear in Kansas didn't cast the nickname in the same endearing light that it had once been held.

“Stop!” Sam felt his energy fading. “I can’t …do…this…”

The change in his brother’s voice had the darkness quickly subsiding, and Dean turned around in time to catch him before his legs gave way.

“Sammy?” Dean eased him down on the couch.

“I’ll get him something to drink,” Wakeen offered turning his chair and starting for the kitchen. “Come help me, Buck. We’ll find something for his fever also.”

When they were gone, Dean looked at the younger hunter. “You okay?”

“Dean-Dad wouldn’t have sent us here if he knew,” Sam winced as his body came into contact with the cushions of the couch-it’s softness feeling more like stone against his aching body. “You know that-right?” Sam thought a lot of things about his father, but he knew that he valued them-they were all he had left of his wife. He’d witnessed the measures the man would go to when his sons were in danger. He wasn’t sure if it was because he hated to lose at anything or because he loved them so damn much-Sam hoped it was the latter.

“I know,” Dean sat beside his brother and held the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead. “I’m just freakin’ pissed.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “And-you’re damn hot.”

Sam forced a grin. “Glad you finally admitted it.”

“Don’t, Sam.”

“Dean…”

Dean glared at him. “Don’t Dean me, either! You’re dying.” His voice softened. “We may have some of the parts of this fucking puzzle but I have no idea how to put them together. And if you hadn’t noticed by now we’re missing the most important piece.” How to save you, Sam.

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“How? How are we going to do it?”

“By starting with what we do know.” Sam‘s dark eyes burned with intensity. “The witch has to be the key. She‘s what we need to focus on.”

Before Dean could reply Landry pushed Wakeen back into the room and then took his seat back. He had two beers, one he sat down in front of Dean-like a peace offering and the older Winchester gave him a small smile of thanks.

The old man was holding a steaming mug which he handed to Sam.

“Drink this, young man. It will help with some of the symptoms.”

Dean caught his brother‘s hand before he could bring the cup to his lips, ignoring the frustrated glare Sam shot him. The older hunter looked at Wakeen. “What is it?”

“Ginseng, bark of the mulberry tree, chamomile-other things.” Wakeen smiled, patiently. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe. It will not hurt him.”

Dean let go and Sam took a drink of the concoction, wincing at the bitter taste. “Thanks.” I think.

The old man laughed. “It tastes bad, but it will ease some of your suffering.”

“What do know about this virus?” Dean looked from Wakeen to his brother. “Did you and Dad talk about that?”

“Your father wanted to know what I knew about Soul Loss,” the old man rolled himself to a small book shelf and retrieved a notebook. “John believed that the victims back in the 50‘s had been a victim of it.”

“What is it?” Landry asked.

Wakeen opened the book and flipped through a few pages, before looking back up at his captive audience. “The soul is the eternal, immaterial and spiritual dimension of an organism. Many cultures believe that the soul is divided into three parts: the Neschamah, the Ruach, and the Nephesch-each of these playing very important and specific roles in shaping the being in which they reside. The Neschamah is the free soul-the one that can travel and leave the body-as in astral projection.”

“It’s also the spirit form,” Sam added, thoughtfully. “The part that can become trapped after death as what most people call a ghost”

The teacher nodded enthusiastically. “It is the most powerful and yet most vulnerable. If something happens to it-the person’s body and other parts of his soul are weakened. Physical symptoms of disease can manifest and often lead to death.”

“If there’s three parts of the soul-do you think that’s why it takes three days for the virus or whatever it is to run it’s course?” Dean asked.

“Your father believed so. Monroe captures the Neschamah and then the rest happens naturally as if it were a typical illness.”

“But how does he capture a soul?” Sheriff Landry asked.

Sam started to speak up, but ended up coughing instead. Dean put a hand on his arm and answered for him. “People have always thought certain objects could capture souls or parts of souls-like mirrors or cameras and photographs.”

Wakeen sighed. “Soul sickness. My ancestors feared having their photographs taken. Even now some of the elders on the reservation will not allow it.”

“So-Monroe takes pictures of people with a camera and captures their Nitsasomething?” Buck still looked baffled.

Sam cleared his throat, wincing at the pain it caused. “The camera is probably a power object.” When the sheriff’s brow wrinkled, the hunter added, “a regular object that’s been enchanted, by a spell or curse.”

“Lovely.” Landry took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “Do you know what that’s going to sound like in an evidence log?”

Wakeen flipped through the book again and pointed at a page. “Your father believed that a very powerful witch or sorcerer had cast a spell for Monroe using what he called- contagious magic.”

“Half a man made a deal sealed by death,” Dean repeated the first line of the prophecy. "It could definitely be talking about our favorite photographer."

Sam took another drink of the tea and nodded. “Monroe lost his family-that would have left him less of a person-half a man.” Grief could strip a person down to the barest of elements.

“Hatred stole his heart,” Wakeen agreed, “left him vulnerable to dark forces.”

“He watched his father be killed by Geronimo-held him while he died,” Sam said, remembering the first vision he’d had. A shudder ran through him. “It wasn’t a pleasant death.”

It was Dean’s turn to look confused. “How do you know that?”

“I saw it,” he confessed, guiltily.

“Damn it, Sam,” Dean growled.

Landry decided to break in before another brotherly disagreement could take place. “What about the second line? In penance, five souls will be taken to shield her health. It says her-is that the witch?”

“Dellacrois?” Sam offered. “It’s talking about what she got from the deal.”

Dean nodded. “Penance is an act of absolution. It was what Monroe had to do for her.”

“Take the souls,” his brother agreed hoarsely. “But why couldn’t she do that herself if she was so powerful, and why would she even want them?”

“A shaman can trap souls only if they can leave the material world, because a soul is not bound by constraints of this realm,” Wakeen explained. “Trying to take a soul as a mortal form would be like trying to catch rain with a sieve.”

“So the old witch, Dellacrois, hired a phantom hit man?” Dean shook his head.

“Or created one.” Sam sighed, not believing that he had part of the puzzle in his grasp all along. “She killed Monroe. That’s why it was a deal sealed by death. She killed him in the apothecary shop.”

“More telepathic Tivo?” Dean queried, without much heat-but hating the fact that his brother still felt the need to hide things from him.

Sam ignored him. “She didn’t murder him-he sacrificed his life for his revenge,” Sam suddenly felt sick to his stomach. The story was sounding way too familiar. “An offer of blood to trap an enemy by hate.”

“He let her take his life-for what-a payback?” Landry shook his head, unable to comprehend the ramifications of what that could mean. “What good was that going to do him if he was dead?”

“He probably knew that Geronimo was near death also. Monroe hadn’t been able to get revenge in life, so he made a deal to trap both of them here- until he could find a way to reach him.”

“Kind of like when you broke my Nintendo?”

Sam frowned at his brother. “Did not.”

“Yes you did. After Dad grounded you from playing it-the control mysteriously ended up broken.” When his brother started to protest, Dean held up a hand to cut him off. “If Monroe couldn’t rest in peace-then he’d be damned if Geronimo would get to either.”

Sam was beginning to understand all too well, even though he could have done without the analogy. It had been Dean‘s fault he‘d gotten grounded in the first place, after all. “A dark spell that powerful would require the shedding of blood on a big level.” As would the counter spell.

“What kind of damn spell was she casting?” Buck demanded.

“Two spells,” Dean replied and Wakeen nodded.

“She would have cast one for Monroe to keep Geronimo’s spirit until he could seek his revenge-probably by using the contagious magic that Dad mentioned -and another for herself.”

“A spell to shield her health.” Sam looked at Dean, “Shield her health from what? Sickness?”

“From Death.” Dean rubbed at his eyes. “Fuck-she was hiding from death.”

“What?”

“Think about it Sammy. What’s one thing that no one can escape-even if they are powerful.”

“Nothing can protect you from death,” Sam murmured, it all finally making sense. “The pentagram-that‘s what Geronimo meant.”

“A pentagram?” the sheriff asked. “Like a pendant-the five pointed star thing?”

“A pentagram is a sign of protection. It’s been used for centuries by witches, by religious factions.”

“The five points of a pentagram represent the four elements surmounted by the quintessence-the Spirit.” Wakeen explained further. “It is a very powerful tool to those who know how to use it.”

“But not powerful enough to stop death?” Landry couldn’t wrap his mind around it all.

“Not unless it was one fucking revved-up pentagram.” Dean met and held Sam’s mortified gaze, both of them figuring it out at the same time. “Dellacrois was one smart, evil bitch. Witches make their own tools, because they‘re more powerful that way.”

Sam felt dizzy as if the room had started spinning and even the tea wasn’t doing a good job of quelling his nausea. “Five elements-five souls.” Oh, shit. “The souls make a living pentagram-that‘s why Monroe chose them for their connections to the elements. All these deaths are part of one huge protection spell.”

“So you think this witch offered Monroe the ability to trap Geronimo here if he collected souls for her to shield her from death?” Landry didn’t have to be a damn ghost buster to understand the depth of what they were saying-the ramifications of such a thing.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean swallowed hard. “But he had to die in the process.”

“And she gets to be immortal?” Sam was still reeling from the idea that someone could create a pentagram from human souls.

“Sweet deal for her, huh?”

“So, you’re saying that some 150 year-old lady is out there walking around my town? That‘s fucking unbelievable.”

Dean ignored the sheriff. “Every fifty years he must have to renew his debt or else the spell would be broken.”

“But that would mean I’m the last element. And we have no idea how to stop what’s happening to me. If we don‘t do it now-it‘ll be another fifty years before anyone can stop her.”

Dean looked at Wakeen. He‘d be damned if they didn‘t stop her. “The rest of the prophecy-it talks about a sacrifice of love changing their fates?”

Wakeen nodded. “I can not tell you what that sacrifice would be.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Sam shot his brother a look. “What if we release Geronimo?”

Dean shook his head. “That may not change the spell for the souls. It just knocks Monroe out of his part of the whole sick arrangement.”

“That would definitely piss Monroe off. He might not collect.”

“That does make sense, but the die has already been cast,” Wakeen looked sympathetically at the brothers. “Your free soul has already been captured, Sam. Now the witch must only wait for the final point in the pentagram-and she will be protected for another fifty years. While you-will not be so lucky.”

Dean looked at the clock. It was after seven. “What time did Monroe take our picture?”

Sam frowned and rubbed at his eyes. “Around eleven.”

“That just leaves us about sixteen hours.”

“No matter what-we should free Geronimo.” Sam couldn’t explain it-but he knew it was important that they release the legendary Indian.

Dean stood up. “I’m going back to the photo shop. If we can find Monroe-then maybe we can find the witch. You were right before, Sammy, when you said she was the key.”

“You can’t go alone,” Sam stood, but swayed once he was on his feet.

“Easy.” Dean reached out to steady him.

The younger Winchester shook his head. “I don’t feel right.”

“It is the tea,” Wakeen spoke up. “It has sedative properties.”

“You drugged me?” Sam asked anxiously. He couldn’t be sleeping on the job- especially with the visions he'd had about his brother.

Dean frowned at the old man, not liking the way he casually left that ingredient out, but understanding that sleep would be the best thing for his brother. “Sam-you need to rest. I wouldn’t have taken you with me anyway.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Dean. That’s not how the team thing works.”

“It is when half the team has one fucking foot in the grave.”

“Oh, so you’re Dad now-doing what you feel is best, no matter what anyone else wants. Giving me orders?”

“For crying out loud, Sam…”

“Boys!” Buck stood up. If he’d had a whistle he would have called for a time out. “How about I go check out the photo shop?”

Dean glanced at the sheriff and shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Monroe isn’t some typical bad guy.”

“I really don’t expect him to be there,” Wakeen spoke up. “His part of the deal will be complete. Now he will be focused on Geronimo. Watching and waiting for his next chance to take his soul.”

“I can still check,” Landry looked at Dean. “Maybe he left something behind. I’ll look into Dellacrois also. If there was an unsolved murder, we should have information on it.”

“It happened back in 1905. I really don’t think it will register in VICAP.”

Buck ignored the sarcasm. “I have hand-written logs. Tons of them dating back to the middle 1800’s. My family has been the law in these parts for generations.”

Dean relented. What choice did he have? “You’ll call us as soon as you know something?”

“I ain’t going to go up against some freakin’ spirit by myself-if that’s what you’re worried about, kid.”

“I’ll stay with Sam until you call.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Make up your mind. Do you want me to stay or go?” Dean asked, angrily.

Sam bit his lip to keep from saying anything he’d regret. The room swam in and out of focus as feelings betrayed him and his eyes filled. Right now-all he wanted was for the fucking room to stop spinning. “I want this all to be over,” he said softly.

Dean felt his own eyes sting and cursed his brother’s ability to go right for his jugular. He bit the inside of his jaw to refocus his pain, and looked at Wakeen. “Is there a place he can rest for a while?”

Wakeen pointed towards a small hallway. “Through there. I’ll make you both some soup. I’m sure you have not eaten in a while.”

Dean nodded. “That would be good.” He glanced at Landry. “In the trunk of my car there’s a shot gun with salt rounds.” He tossed him the keys. Just ignore everything else illegal. “Take it with you-just in case. It won’t kill Monroe, but it will slow him down.”

The sheriff nodded. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

“We owe you.”

“This is my town-I’d say we owe you and your brother.”

Dean didn’t reply, but merely took a miserable looking Sam by the arm and led him through the hallway to a small bedroom in the back.

“I’m not a child,” Sam said petulantly, as Dean attempted to help him take off his jacket.

“Could have fooled me.”

Sam glared at him, but didn’t complain when Dean helped him onto the bed and began removing his shoes. Honestly, if he’d leaned over to do it himself, he’d probably be laying on the floor. “We need to figure out how Dellacrois is holding Geronimo, Dean.”

“Well, we can do that just as easy in here as were doing out there.”

“What if Dellacrois isn’t here?”

“She’d probably have to return here to renew the protection. I don’t think it would work any other way.”

Dean grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the iron bed and draped it over Sam-ignoring the miserable look his brother shot him.

“I’m not going to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Dean sat on the edge of the bed. “You probably need to eat something anyway.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care.”

A faint smile played at the corner of Sam’s mouth. “This all seems familiar.”

“That’s because every time you got sick when you were little, I got stuck playing nursemaid to your cranky ass.”

“I hate being sick.”

“Yeah, well trust me, it’s not a picnic from this side of the bed pan either, bro.”

“I’m sorry what I said about you being like Dad.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah- Dad would have just knocked you out long before now. Handcuffed you to the bed-and had me sit on you until he got back.”

Sam watched Dean fuss with the blanket again. His brother looked worse than he did. Guilt was a hard cross to bare. “This isn’t your fault-you know.”

Dean looked everywhere but at his brother. Finally he sighed, and rubbed at his tired eyes. “Yeah, I know.” I know you think that, little brother-but I know the truth. He glanced up at Sam. “Do you think Dad will show up?”

Sam’s heart gave a little start. His brother sounded so un-Dean in that moment. So helpless. Like in Kansas. It was painful. “I don’t know. If he said he would-then I’m guessing he does.”

The older Winchester shook his head. “Yeah-Dad takes his word seriously.”

Sam forced a smile. “For a top notch conman and hustler, he’s damn loyal.”

The tactic worked and Dean grinned again-a look of pride entering his green eyes and overshadowing the doubt that Sam couldn’t stand. “Yeah-he’s a real Renaissance kind of guy, isn‘t he.”

Sam nodded. Dean needed to keep faith in something-to retain some sort of innocence-it didn‘t matter if their father deserved his blind loyalty or not. Sam wanted it for Dean.

“He’d be able to figure out what kind of hold Dellacrois had on our Indian friend.”

"The contagious magic means he thought that Monroe had something that was bound to Geronimo- something powerful."

Dean nodded. "Yeah- but what?"

"A lot of times in black magic hair or finger nail clippings are used," Sam mused around a yawn. "Or articles of clothing or jewelry -like with a voodoo doll."

Dean rolled his eyes-knowing that his brother was going to bring that upagain. The smirk on his face was evidence that his brother was enjoying the fact that he once again got to bring up the ill-fated New Orleans gig. "Yeah-classic contagious magic."

"They used your necklace." Sam pointed the protection pendant he'd given his brother when they were younger.

Dean nodded, something nagging at the back of his mind. He suddenly stuck his hand in his jacket pocket and withdrew two black beads. "Damn," he breathed, staring down at the shinystones. "I almost forgot about these."

Sam raised up on one elbow to get a better look at what his brother had. "Where you get those?"

"At the inn, after our first encounter with Geronimo. And then at the homestead-before I saw the wolf."

"Geronimo was wearing a necklace made of beads like that both times we saw him as Wakeen."

"But I didn't see one on the old man. Did you?"

Sam shook his head. "It couldhave been a psychic projection- part of Geronimo's power- like the wolf."

"Maybe he was giving us a clue of some sorts."

"If Monroe somehow got a hold of Geronimo's necklace and if it was something important to him then..."

Dean finished his thoughts. " Dellacrois would have been able to use it to bind them together."

"Dad always said simple magic is the best- contagious magic is as basic as it gets. That's why burning of the bones is so effective."

"Could work the same way-if we can find the necklace-then we can free Geronimo."

Sam blinked- fighting the effects of the tea. "Maybe it's with Monroe."

Dean frowned. "That makes a sick kind of sense. He took a part of Geronimo to the grave with him."

"We just need tofind where he's buried."

"I think I know." Dean couldn't believe he hadn't thought it more important before. "The root cellar. Being buried where his hate all started would only add fuel to the fire."

"The root cellar where you fell?"

"Where the wolf put me," Dean corrected and then added, "the place where Monroe hid as a kid."

"Geronimo was trying to help us," Sam tried to sit up. "We should head over there. See if we can find it..."

Dean put a restraining hand on his brother's chest. "You're not in any shape to go anywhere, Sammy."

"But, Dean...,"

"No."

"You can't go alone." No damn way.

"I'm not going anywhere." When Sam finally relented and rested back against the pillows once more Dean removed his hand. "I'll call Landry and see if he can get us some man power."

Sam raised a brow. "I bet Morry would be willing to go on a ghost hunt."

Dean snorted. "If we tell him he can bronze the bones- then mabye."

The younger Winchester smiled but was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. "Promise me you're not going to wait until I'm out of it and take off?"

"I've never lied to you, Sam."

Sam seemed to accept that as an oath, and let his eyes flutter again before suddenly opening them once more, "And Dean-I’m sorry about not telling you about the visions. Really…”

“Don’t sweat it, Sammy. I don’t exactly make it easy for you when you do try to tell me about your freaky side.”

Sam forced his eyes open once more at that admission. “Are we having one of those Lifetime original moments?”

“No,” Dean answered, quickly. “So, don’t even think about trying to tell me how much you care about me again, because I will knock your ass out.”

Sam laughed lightly, his eyes drifting shut again. “Too late -I think Wakeen beat you to it.”

Dean didn’t reply and in only moments his brother’s breathing evened out and the lines of pain on his face relaxed some. Dean put a hand on his forehead, frustrated that the fever was still raging. It was amazing that Sam was still coherent.

He let his fingers run through Sam’s hair, something he hadn’t done since his kid brother was-well-a kid. Things had been so much easier then.

Dean had complained about it, but if the truth was known, their Dad hadn’t made him take care of Sam when Sam was sick or hurt. He hadn’t even had to suggest it. Dean had simply needed to do it- like climbing into his baby brother's crib every night to watch over him.

It had been an instinct. Second nature.

A willing sacrifice.

The words echoed in his mind and Dean blinked-looking around the room to see if perhaps Wakeen had entered unnoticed.

But he was alone.

With Sam.

Dean indulged himself and pushed more damp locks from Sam’s face before finally relenting the contact and getting up from the bed. He went to the window and looked out at the now star-filled sky.

The last line of the prophecy floated through his mind, and he let his head rest against the cool glass pane.

“I’ll do anything to save you, little brother. Whatever it fucking takes.”

Onto Chapter 10

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