Chapter 7
“So- what element?” Reese was digging in a large oak trunk, the upper
half of his body practically swallowed by it.
Dean didn’t acknowledge the question. He was still staring at the walls of the old man’s room. It was like walking into a space that had been inhabited by his own father- on a long term basis. Damn unnerving-is what it was.
Newspaper clippings of unexplained deaths and drawings of bizarre creatures covered every inch of the place. The post-it notes were even there too-hand-written, unorganized thoughts scrawled on them.
Dean could understand where the diagnosis of Schizophrenia had come from. Funny he’d never really considered that his own father could have been declared a walking poster child for the mentally ill if things had worked out differently. Where would that have left me and Sam?
Paintings of demonic things hung on one side of the room and another canvas sat on an easel-half finished. They were disturbing, but striking in detail and some of them Dean even recognized as accurate renditions. Any of them could have made an awesome album cover.
“Young Winchester?” Reese snapped his fingers in front of Dean and the kid finally looked at him. “I asked you what element your brother is? I know Reverend Kaplan was Spirit and that crazy Kinkade with his wacky weathervanes was Air…so,”
Dean swallowed hard. “Fire.”
“Is he a fireman?”
“No.”
“He’s not one those pyromaniacs-is he. I met a couple of those in the institution.” Reese looked at Dean over the rim of his bifocals. “Young people seem to like to burn things these days.”
Dean sighed. How in the hell could he explain why Sam was connected to fire when he didn't understand it himself. “My brother was involved in two deaths-that were…unexplainable. Our mother and his girlfriend. They both died in horrible fires and Sam was there.”
“But he survived-unscathed both times?”
“I got him out.”
Reese didn‘t miss the fierce look in the young man‘s green gaze. This one would put up a fight. “So, the Fire knows him. They are…familiars.”
“I don’t know.” I sure the hell hope not. “ I just know that fire or something in the fire has tried to destroy my family twice.”
Reese furrowed his brow-and then snapped his fingers again. “I knew I recognized the name.” He stood as quickly as any seventy year old that Dean had seen and went to a far corner where he stared for a moment. “It was a fire back in the 80’s-when your mother died? Right?”
“Yeah,” Dean answered warily as he also stood -going to where the man was now standing.
“I figured that was a damn demon.” Reese distractedly twirled one end of his mustache and jabbed another finger at a yellowing clipping. “Nasty bastards.” He pushed his glasses back up on his nose. “There‘s been similar ones since then-you know.”
Dean did know-his dad had investigated most of them. And then there was Jessica. But how the hell did Mathers know?
He was amazed to find himself looking at a copy of the same aged article that he’d read in his father’s journal countless times. How could this old man have spotted something so obscure? So-seemingly normal? He must have researched every AP posting in nearly every paper. “You’ve been busy.”
Reese chuckled, but it was filled more with mirth than humor. “The news is in my blood, boy. Besides-had me lots of time on my hands where I’ve been.” He gestured to his life’s work taped on the walls. “Kept me from losing my fucking marbles while I was locked up in the loony bin.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” What did you say to someone who had lived their own personal version of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?. “Sorry.”
Reese shrugged and waved the sentiment away as if his ordeal had been nothing. “It wasn’t that bad. I’ve learned a lot.” He smiled and motioned Dean to his computer desk. “Even made me a nice little nest egg.”
Reese picked up a hard-cover book with a picture of a vampire on it. Dean had seen it before. It was by one of the authors that his dad liked. He could never understand how the man liked to read fictional stories about something he lived and breathed everyday.
“Do you consult with the guy?”
Reese laughed . “I am the guy.” He stacked the book with countless other titles and then leaned closer to the young hunter and lowered his voice. “Remington Marley is me. Now that‘s just between us- you hear?”
Dean nodded, not sure if the old man was being straight with him, and not having the inclination or the time to talk about it any further. “Do you still have that research that you did on your wife’s death?”
“Oh yes, yes- we were searching for that now weren’t we.” Reese made his way back over to the trunk and Dean pushed away all the strange thoughts swirling in his head. Sam would never believe this.
The old guy delved back into the trunk. “I never could figure out who was behind it. But I knew that the thing that killed my Livie and those others wasn’t connected to some conjured up toxic leak-god damn government cover-ups.”
“So you blamed the Devil?” Dean wasn’t sure if the man was a little warped, or had one big set of brass ones.
Reese stopped what he was doing and shot Dean a puzzled look. “Well, he seemed the most likely candidate. Nothing stirs the blood like a good old fight against the Devil. This is a very religious town after all. And, I found it better than coming out and laying it all on some Indian spirit.” Reese continued his search . “Then once this started happening again- I contacted anyone and everyone I thought would listen. I told them that the victims would be chosen by their connection to an elemental power.”
“Let me guess-they thought you were crazy?” Go figure.
“Yep, thought I was off my meds.”
“Reese-do you remember if your wife had her picture made anytime close to when she died?”
Reese stared at him for a moment. “You asked Ellie that question.”
The hunter nodded. “I think it’s important.”
The old man thoughtfully stroked his short beard. “Now that you mention it, her and my daughter, Rosie-they had their photograph taken at the fair in town.” He smiled and Dean could tell by the far off gaze in his eyes that he was seeing his family as they had once been. “They were all dolled up like motion picture stars. A man from out in California had a little booth set up.” Reese shook his head-clearing the obviously bitter sweet memory from his mind. “I sent it with Rosie when they took her away.”
“Did all the deaths take place near the time of the fair?” It was starting to come together. Dean had an idea he knew exactly who that man from California had been. Monroe.
“They did. The last time, the deaths weren’t spread out like they have been this go-around.”
“What made you suspicious in the first place-back when your wife died?”
“Well I can tell you it wasn’t Schizophrenia-that’s for damn sure.”
Reese mumbled something else unintelligible under his breath and pushed himself up from the floor to rest on the edge of his bed.
“For one thing, Olivia hadn’t been near Canyon Lake since the dead of summer. She became ill in late September. And Frank Malone was a crop duster. The only water he came in contact with that I knew of was what he sprayed on crops.”
“So, I started researching the town and its history, and that’s when I found the mention of the deaths back in 1905. There were other reasons too…”, the old man stopped leafing through the file he was holding and eyed Dean, “…the biggest being the visit old Geronimo paid me.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, “You talked to Geronimo?”
Reese twisted his mustache pensively. “I’m not sure if it was actually Geronimo, but with the whole legend that surrounded the town-it made sense to me. It didn’t much look like the pictures I’d seen-but it was an Indian and he warned me that there would be others to die and he was right. He also told me that he was trapped here on this plane by an enemy of great power and that it was his enemy that had taken my wife.”
“Did you tell people that you had talked to Geronimo?”
Reese smirked. “Auditory and visual hallucinations are some of the first symptoms of my disorder. Hindsight is 20/20-you know.”
Dean grinned. “Did you see a honkin’ big white wolf too?”
The old man shook his head. “Wolves aren’t indigenous to Arizona, young Winchester.”
The hunter rolled his eyes, wondering if the man was somehow channeling the Winchester DNA. “Well did this spirit call his enemy the Crow? Did he refer to him as a Soul Collector?”
“He did,” Reese nodded enthusiastically. “You’ve seen him too, my boy-haven‘t you?”
“Yeah. My brother and I both have.”
Reese clasped a hand to his lips and took a shuddering breath. Suddenly his blue eyes filled. “I knew I wasn’t hallucinating, but it is damn nice to hear someone else confirm it.”
Dean glanced around the room again, feeling uncomfortable with yet another emotional display. He suddenly missed his brother more than he could explain. “Did he tell you anything else?”
The old man seemed to think for a moment. “Just that the Soul Collector would need two more elements-Earth and Fire, and if he got them, then no one could change his fate for many moons.” Reese shook his head. “I didn’t know enough about all this stuff then,” he motioned around the room, “and I’d just lost my wife. I was consumed by grief, I guess. Maybe I did think I was going crazy. I’m not sure.”
“But you wrote that article? You linked the deaths with the curse?”
“I did at that. After the last victim, a fireman from Bowie, died. I couldn‘t just sit by and see everything brushed away-as if those people and my Olivia meant nothing.” Reese sighed. “I was grasping at straws really and it cost me dearly. I only wish I had known more or that someone would have paid more attention.”
“Maybe you knew more than you realized at the time.”
Reese sighed. “Maybe- but if I‘d tried harder I might have found the thing that killed my Olivia and then maybe none of this would be happening again. Those people wouldn't have died. Ellie wouldn't have lost her Cal and your brother wouldn't be sick.”
Dean wondered if John felt the same way about what had happened to Sam. Above all else, John Winchester loved his sons-even if he stunk at being a dad sometimes.
Either way, the hunter could understand the old man’s guilt, but Reese was just as much of a victim as any of those that had died. “My father is the smartest, most skilled hunter of these things that I have ever known and he has searched over twenty years for the monster that killed my mother and has never found more than smoke and shadows.”
Reese frowned. “Where is he now? Is he with your brother?”
“I don’t know where he is. But, I know he‘s still hunting.” He’ll never quit hunting.
Reese nodded, realizing what Dean was saying in his round-a-bout way. “At least he didn’t get himself committed, young Winchester.”
Dean shrugged. “He’s not a bestselling author, or artist either.”
Reese accepted that with a slight smile. “Well, since your Daddy’s not around, maybe I can help you save your brother, and we can clip that old Crow‘s wings once and for all.”
Dean shook his head. “I say we just blow him out of the fucking sky-send him back to hell where he belongs.”
Reese laughed. “I like your style, pup.” He handed Dean a file. “Now look through that while I grab my journal. It’ll be able to fill the gaps in my swiss-cheesed memory. I know I wrote down ever account from those months in there.”
Dean sighed. A journal, too. Sam was going to be so freakin’ pissed that he missed this.
Sam was so freakin’ pissed. It had been over an hour and Dean still wasn’t back and Dr. Hayes was really starting to get on his nerves. Not only had he taken way more blood than Sam thought necessary, but he’d had him run through as many diagnostic machines as possible, which did little for his aching head. And the man still hadn’t let go of the idea that the youngest Winchester should submit to treatment. At least he’d let Sam have his clothes back.
“Sam-it is imperative that we start a round of antibiotics to strengthen your immune system and an IV to replenish fluids that you have lost.” The doctor motioned to the bed. “At least take a moment to rest. You have a temperature and it’s obvious you’re in a fair amount of pain.”
“I didn‘t think doctors like to give out antibiotics these days?”
Dr. Hayes hugged his ever present clipboard and frowned at the young man. “This is an unusual circumstance. I‘d rather be safe than sorry.”
Sam shook his head and instantly regretted it. He winced. “Look-I appreciate your concern, but my brother will be here any time now.” He can take care of me. Sam continued to pace beside of the bed in the small room that they had brought him to. “We’ll be leaving as soon as he gets here.”
“That may not be possible.”
Sam turned towards the door as a large man in a dark suit entered the room with two male nurses. He looked at Hayes. “What’s going on?”
The look the physician shot Sam was unnervingly full of guilt. “Son- I told you that the tests were inconclusive-just like your Uncle and the others. Agent Hill thinks it would be a good idea if we kept you here under observation.”
“I’m not you’re son.” The young hunter felt himself tense-not sure what he should expect. “And just how long do you expect to keep me here?”
“Until you get well…or,” the doctor stopped and glanced to the fed with an unsure look.
“Or until I die.” Sam shook his head. “You’re not keeping me here.” No fucking way.
Agent Hill stepped closer to him. “Mr. Davis, you’re obviously sick and have had connections to a deceased victim involved in a Center for Disease Control investigation. We need your cooperation in this matter.” The guy’s voice was calm, but Sam didn’t miss the hard edge that belied the definition of cooperation. “I have the authority to insist that you stay.”
“I haven’t been in contact with my uncle or anyone else who died.” Lying had a way of coming back and biting you in the ass.
“None of the other victims had physical contact either. We need to look into other possibilities.”
“Other possibilities?” Sam was beginning to feel as if he were trapped in a very bad X-files episode. He was sure that if they weren’t in an oxygen rich environment that Agent Hill would be brandishing a cigarette and leering at him through a veil of smoke.
The doctor had slipped up next to the hunter unnoticed and now put a firm hand on his shoulder. “This won’t hurt, Sam. We just want to put you under and do a simple exploratory procedure.”
“What?” Sam pulled away from the man-stumbling into a table full of shiny instruments. Funny-he hadn’t noticed that before.
“You’re the first person we’ve reached before the virus or contagion was rampant in their system.”
“I don’t care. You don’t even know what you’re dealing with!.” Sam knew he could take out the doctor and probably the two orderlies, but the agent might offer a challenge-especially considering Sam wasn’t in top form. But he was willing to try. “I’m not going to be your guinea pig.”
He made a move towards the door, and was instantly besieged by the bulky men in white coats. Sam was able to fight them off and to stagger for the door again only to receive a perfectly placed fist from Agent Hill that took him to his knees. Sam could have sworn the man was grinning as he threw the sucker punch. Obviously the prick had watched one too many crime dramas.
“Damn it!” He heard Dr. Hayes shout through his half-conscious state. “This kid is a patient-not a prisoner.”
The techs were beside Sam now-lifting him off the floor and placing him on the bed. It took a moment for the shock of being hit to wear off, but when it did, Sam began to struggle again. “Let me go!”
Dean heard his brother's strained voice as soon as he stepped into the ICU ward. “Let me up! I don't want to be sedated. Get off!”
He quickened his pace and was more than a little thrown by the scene that greeted him when he plowed through the doorway. Dean could see several people gathered around a bed that was partially concealed by a curtain. Dr. Hayes was there as well as several nurses and a man in a black suit-that Dean assumed was probably the CDC agent that the doctor had mentioned. Fucking great! “What the hell is going on?”
Sam pulled away from one of the male nurses holding onto his arm, and struggled to sit up. He looked instantly relieved when he saw his brother. “Dean!”
“Sam?” Dean didn’t like the look of fear in his brother’s eyes, or the large red mark on the side of his face. “Are you alright?”
“They won’t let me out of here.” Sam suddenly sounded like a little boy ratting out the playground bully. “They think they’re going to do some kind of procedure.”
“I don’t think so.” Dean stepped farther into the room.
“Your brother needs to be admitted to the hospital.” Cheap suit dude turned to face the older hunter. “We think he may have the same thing that killed your uncle and the other people from New Hope.”
“Back off.” Dean ignored the agent and stepped up to the table and pointed a finger at the man still holding on to his brother. “My brother agreed to the tests. He never said he'd be admitted.”
“He's distressed,” Dr. Hayes explained, but nodded to the man to do as Dean demanded. “An extremely high temperature can cloud ones judgment.”
Dean took hold of Sam’s chin and turned his head so he could get a look at the quickly darkening bruise that was going to leave one hell of a shiner. “Can it also cause a black eye?”
“Your brother was out of control. Delusional.”Hill explained in a cocky, matter-of-fact tone.
The older Winchester let go of Sam and raised his brow. “You did this, shit for brains?”
“Mr. Davis, as I’ve tried to explain-Sam is not thinking clearly.” Dr. Hayes was trying his best to prevent further mayhem in his medical facility. “His life and the lives of countless others could be at stake.”
Dean glared at the physician. And your claim to fame-just around the corner. “I'm his next of kin, Doctor, and I have complete control of my faculties. My brother isn't staying here.”
“That's not your choice to make.”
“The hell it’s not.”
“This is an official CDC matter now.” The agent looked calmly at the nurse who was holding a fully loaded syringe at the ready. “Sedate him.”
“No!” Sam struggled and Dean felt himself lose what little composure that he had left.
The agent didn't know what hit him as Dean landed a quick blow to his mid-section and then followed up with one to his face-that laid him out flat. “No one hits my brother,” he bit out shaking his throbbing hand.
When it was obvious that Agent Hill wasn’t getting up anytime soon, Dean spun and shoved Dr. Hayes back. “Get the hell away from him.”
Hayes held up his hands and nodded to his staff. “Let the boy go.” Apparently the agent’s defeat was cause enough for the medical team to retreat.
Sam quickly slid from the table and stepped over the unconscious Hill. “'Bout damn time you showed up,” he growled, angrily.
Dean backed out of the room and rushed to catch up to his brother, who was wasting no time in getting the hell out of there. He shook his head, and pushed open the fire escape for him. “What is it with you and fucking deranged doctors, Sammy?”
Sam glared at him. “Shut-up, Dean.”
“Seriously-are you okay?”
“I’d been better if my big brother hadn’t convinced me to stay and have tests taken by Dr. Freako.”
“Yeah, well, I’d be a whole hell of a lot better right now if my baby brother hadn’t convinced me to have our picture taken by the Crypt Keeper-but who’s pointing fingers?”
The younger Winchester didn’t acknowledge the dig nor did he stop until they were out of the stairwell and across the lobby of the ER. He pushed through the outside doors, surprised no one tried to stop them, and kept moving until he’d reached the Impala that Dean had thankfully parked illegally in a fire zone. How ironic.
“Dean?” Sam braced himself against the car and tried to catch his breath from the sprint.
The older Winchester caught up to him, and glanced over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed. “Sam?”
The younger hunter raised his eyes to meet his brother’s gaze. “Don’t ever leave me again.”
Dean got the feeling his brother wasn’t just referring to the whole hospital scene. “Sure thing, little brother.”
“And Dean?”
“Sam?”
“I’m going to pass out now.” And he did.
Dean caught him and they both sunk to the ground before the older hunter could stop their momentum. “Sam!”
Luckily Dean hit first-his knees taking the brunt of the rough asphalt landing. He managed to cradle Sam’s upper body against his chest, although his brother’s long legs tangled in an uncomfortable-looking angle.
“Sammy?” he tried again, but the younger man didn’t stir. Damn it.
Dean could feel his chest rise and fall and his soft breath was warm against his fingers that he had resting against his brother’s face. Thank God. They still had a whole day to figure this out. Sam was going to pull through.
He sighed wearily. But what the hell was he suppose to do now? For a moment, he wondered if he should take his brother back to the hospital-quickly realizing that wasn’t an option. There was no cure for Sam- that the medical community could offer anyway.
No-he had to get his brother up and in the car. They had to meet with Sheriff Landry and then go to Wakeen’s where the former teacher would tell them what was written in John’s journal. And then, along with what Dean had learned from Reese, and what the brother’s had already put together- the Winchester’s would kick some ass and Sam would be fine. Just fine. But first he had to get them off the fucking pavement.
Dean took a deep breath and tightened his hold on his brother. He closed his eyes for only a moment, resting his chin atop Sam’s hair-and wished not for the first time that John would just call him. The hunter had left their father three messages -the first one right after Dean had known in his gut that Sam was an unwilling part in whatever they were investigating. But he had heard nothing back-not like he’d really expected it. Not like Kansas. Bastard.
Anger gave him a renewed since of purpose. “Come on, Sammy,” Dean opened his eyes and found the strength to maneuver himself and his brother up from the unforgiving ground. He leaned Sam up against the car and managed to keep a hold of him and open the passenger‘s door. “We’ll take care of it ourselves. Just like always. Just the two of us.”
Dean and Sam Winchester-against the fucking world.
Onto Chapter 8
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