Chapter 9

The ocean surf crashed in the distance-the sound of it deceptively soothing.

Sam could feel the sun beating down on his bare shoulders, and sweat dripped from his long hair into his eyes-stinging and blurring his vision.

His hands hurt-felt raw as if he’d scraped the skin from his palms. He wanted to lift them to get a better look at what was causing his agony, but something kept him from moving.

Instead, he mentally took stock of the rest of his body. He was laying on something hard, jagged and rough-rocks, and his arms ached as if they were under a great strain.

With an anguishing effort, Sam lifted his head, felt the cool wind rush over his flushed face, and saw the great body of blue water below him.

Below him? He knew this place.

Sam shook his pounding head-not willing to believe what he was seeing-what he was reliving.

If he was in California- back at Topstone Ridge- then that meant…

Sam looked down and terror consumed him-driving out the vague realization that he was once again caught in a nightmare.

About twenty feet below him, a body swung precariously from a rope-bouncing against the sheer cliff facing.

Dean!

Sam tightened his grip on the rope he was desperately clinging to-the rough fibers biting into his already torn skin.

He could feel his muscles shaking as his body slid across the sand and pebbles. His lanky fifteen year old form unable to bear his brother's heavier dead weight for much longer.

They weren't suppose to be climbing on the cliffs-not suppose to be exploring the caves.

But since when did larger than life, nineteen year old Dean Winchester consider the rules when it came to a good hunt.

Sam fought back a wave of panic as he realized that he was losing his battle with gravity. He could feel his brother slipping from him.

“Let go, Sammy.”

Thank God . John was there- just like he remembered. His father had shown up just in the knick of time. “Dad-help me,” Sam ground out through clinched teeth. “Dean's hurt. He's going to fall.”

Sam felt his father's cool hand on his sun-baked skin. “Let him go, son. You have to let go.”

What? “No!” Sam didn't understand. His dad was suppose to grab the rope-help him pull Dean from the clutches of death. That's how it had happened. They’d saved him-together.

But there was no helping hand this time- no comforting words of encouragement.

Everything was wrong. “Let go, Sam. Now!”

His father was pulling him back away from the ledge.

At first his hope soared and he thought John was gaining leverage, but then the older hunter’s hands were on his-prying them from around the rope. No.

Sam's fingers were already slick with his own blood and his father was stronger. “Listen to me, Sam.” John’s deep voice was so steady, his breath warm against Sam's cheek. “This is the only way, kiddo. Trust me.”

One of Sam’s hand was free, now clasped in his father's grip. Sam felt his brother slide farther away from him. “No! Please-Dad. Don't let him go.”

He felt part of himself tear away as his other hand was finally pulled from the rope and his brother disappeared in the rocky surf below. Sam felt it the moment he was gone. The pain was unlike anything he’d known. It was what he’d always feared. He was being consumed by the fire.

“No!” he howled, rolling onto his back and squeezing his eyes shut against the glaring sun and the biting flames. He couldn’t face his father's repentant gaze. Or the lack thereof. “Dean!”

“Look at me, Sam.” John's voice was like a knife stabbing through his skull-his rough hands like hot pokers searing his skin. “Sammy, look at me! Sam!”

“Sam?” Dean had slowed the car as soon as his brother began to struggle against the seat belt. They weren't far from the center of town and the sheriff's office. It was already after 3:00, but Dean couldn't bear the desperate sound of Sam's pleas for their father.

He pulled the car to the side of the road and leaned over to shake his brother awake.

“Sam-open your eyes, damn it. Look at me.” God he was burning up. “Sammy.” He shook his brother harder, alarmed at how hot his skin was. “Wake up.”

Finally, Sam's eyes snapped open and he gasped. “Oh, God.”

“Hey,” Dean put a restraining hand on his chest, keeping him in the seat, “you okay?”

Sam turned his head-seeking out his brother and visibly sank back against the seat in relief.

“Another nightmare?”

Sam nodded- not yet trusting his voice. The dream was so real-the events so similar to what had really happened when they lived in Delray for that short vacation their father had earnestly promised them. It had all been the same-all except for the ending.

Sam felt the bile creep up the back of his throat and he fumbled to get his seat belt undone.

Dean must have realized his urgency because he unfastened it for him and then leaned across to push his door open.

Sam was shaking and spent before he finished throwing up what meager contents he had left in his stomach from the previous night, and his brother's worried gaze was on him as soon as he leaned back in the seat. Dean handed him a bottle of water he‘d dug out of the backseat floorboard. “I'd ask if you were okay, but that would be a ridiculous question.”

Sam forced a half grin and sipped the cool liquid. His voice was rough as it ground against his raw throat. “Never stopped you before.”

Dean raked both hands through his hair. “You going to tell me what's going on with you, Sammy?”

“I'm dying from a mysterious curse, Dean. Where have you been?”

The older hunter shook his head at his brother's sick humor-not amused that he was turning the tables. “You know what I mean.” He stared at the pale face he could read like the back of his hand. “The nightmares haven't been this bad since Jess. Then that whole incident at the photo shop this morning-that wasn't just a headache.”

“You a psychic now?”

“Cut the crap, Sammy.”

Sam sighed, and rubbed his aching head-so frustrated with the constant pounding and mental fuzziness. “Well…you see, big brother- I have this ESP thing going on.”

Dean shook his head. “I've noticed,” he replied flatly.

Sam glanced out the window-seeing the small town of New Hope in the distance. “I've been dreaming about you- all right,” He looked at Dean, anger making his glassy eyes even brighter, “about your death.”

“Okay.”

“What do you mean-okay?” Sam pushed himself up in the seat, sloshing water out of the bottle in the process. “Do you remember Jess? And Kansas?”

“Easy on the leather,” Dean swiped at the spill, avoiding his brother’s gaze.

“Did you hear what I said, Dean?” Sam coughed, and finished off the bottle before tossing it in the floorboard.

Dean lifted his gaze and frowned. “I heard you.” When his brother continued to look at him in his typical puppy dog fashion-made a hundred times more potent by the feverish glaze-Dean forced a cocky grin. “But I’m still not convinced you’re the real deal. When you get your own show, or a spot on Montel, then I’ll be concerned.”

“You are such an ass.” Sam rubbed at his weary eyes, trying to clear his blurry vision.

Dean laughed and gave his neck a quick squeeze, “Yeah-but you love me.”

Sam bit his lip, trying to keep a hold on his emotions that were on one hell of a rollercoaster ride. “I do.”

His brother flinched, and Sam had to think hard to remember when exactly the last time the L-word had been used. It was one of the few four-letter words that the Winchester men didn’t toss around lightly.

Dean leaned back in his own seat, physically distancing himself. But he kept his eyes locked on Sam, and finally nodded. “It’s a mutual admiration.”

Sam laughed. “God-we’re so screwed up.”

“Repressed,” Dean smiled, “Dr. Marilyn would say that we were repressed.”

“Among other things.”

“Speak for yourself-she liked me.”

“Right.”

“Really-older chicks can’t resist me.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re every woman’s dream, man-so sensitive and open.”

Dean smirked at him and finally started the car. “Well if this little episode of the Shining is over- I’d like to get to Sheriff Taylor’s before he heads off to Aunt Bee’s for some supper.”

The younger Winchester slid his seatbelt back on. “I can’t wait.”

Dean put the car in gear and started to pull back onto the road but Sam’s hand on his arm stopped him. “What’s wrong?”

Sam swallowed, wincing slightly at the pain it caused. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything for you, buttercup.”

Sam ignored yet another attempt at glibness. “Promise me that you won’t do anything crazy.”

Dean merely raised a brow.

“No matter what happens-I need to know that you won’t get yourself killed trying to save me. This is going to take us working together-using our intellect-not some vigilante-gung ho, G.I. Joe heroics.”

“Gotcha- no G.I. Joe stuff.” Dean raised his hand, “Scout’s honor.”

“Dean,” Sam growled. “You weren’t a Scout.”

“Okay,” Dean sighed. “I promise I won’t do anything stupid.”

Sam let go of his brother and pulled his hand back to his side of the car. “Good.” He looked back at his brother as they pulled onto the road. “By the way-how was your meeting with Reese Mathers? ”

Dean shot his brother another wicked grin. “Sort of like falling down the rabbit hole and going to a bizarre tea party-only the Mad Hatter was John Winchester give or take a couple of decades.”

Sam frowned. “I see.”

“No you don’t,” Dean floored the accelerator, “but you will, Sammy. When this is all over, we owe Reese Mathers a piece of the best caramel apple tortilla in five states.”

“You are some piece of work, kid.” Buck Landry made his way around his desk and glared at the young man who’d just waltzed into his office like he owned it.

“Thanks,” Dean shot Sam a curious look, but held out he two arrows from their attack that he’d brought to Buck. “These are the deadly artifacts I was telling you about.” He motioned to Sam-who was leaning against the wall. “This is my associate, Sam.”

“That it?” Buck took the arrows but continued to glare at Dean.

“Sorry we’re late?” Dean offered with a winning grin on his face. “Traffic was a bitch.”

Buck shook his head. “Oh, don’t worry about it-you’re right on time. Saved me the trouble of sending a posse out for your asses.”

“You small town folk take time real literal like don’t you?”

“Us small town folk don’t take to lying-that’s for sure.”

“I’m not sure I’m following you here, Buck.”

“Well-Dean, I’ll make it short and sweet. You see, I just received a call from an Agent Hill over at the hospital. It seems that two boys-fitting your descriptions by the way-are wanted for obstruction of justice.” He pointed at Dean, and his face reddened. “And you, Mr. hotshot reporter, are wanted for assaulting a federal officer.”

“He was trying to hold Sam against his will,” Dean shot back, and gestured to Sam’s face. Buck wasn‘t the only one losing his cool. “What about police brutality? The fucker punched my brother-what the hell was I suppose to do?”

“Brother?” Buck shook his head, but some of the anger faded from his features. “I thought he was your associate?”

“Yeah-and I thought this was a friendly little town?”

“Look, Sheriff,” Sam finally pushed away from the wall and stepped in between the other two men, “we’re only trying to help.”

“I thought you were trying to get a story? You boys aren’t reporters. I called Denver.”

“No, we’re not reporters.”

“Then who the hell are you and what do you have to do with what’s going on in my town?”

“There’s no time to explain all that,” Dean bit out. “You told me that you’d take us to see the teacher-the one who could tell us about these arrows and what’s written in our Dad’s journal.”

“Well I told Agent Hill that I’d put you in jail and bring your brother here back to the hospital.”

Dean stepped in front of Sam. “Over my dead body.”

“Don’t tempt me, kid.”

“Look,” Sam tried again. “I’m not going back to that hospital. If you won’t help us, just tell us where the old man lives. We’ll do it on our own.” Just like always.

“I don’t know, kid.” Buck hitched his hands on his hips. “ I’m no doctor-but you sure look like you need to be in a hospital.”

“That’s because he’s the last victim.” Sam and Buck both looked at Dean in surprise. “The last element.”

Sam continued to look at his brother, but the sheriff rolled his eyes to the ceiling and threw out his hands in a frustrated gesture. “You’ve been talking to old Reese Mathers.”

“So?”

“So-the old guy’s crazy, kid. He spent most of the last fifty years of his life in a mental institution. People around these parts are half afraid of him.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s crazy.” Again John Winchester entered his son’s mind-unbidden and unwelcome.

Buck stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What does it mean? That he liked the cafeteria food at the asylum or maybe he was on a really long undercover assignment. You know how crazy those reporter types are.”

“Or maybe he was right all those years ago.”

“About the Devil stealing his wife’s soul?” Sheriff Landry sighed. “Come on, son, surely you’re too old for ghost stories. You don’t believe those people died because of a curse?”

“I think it was more of a spell than a curse-a spell cast by a really powerful witch.”

The older man looked from Dean to Sam-who was back to hugging the wall. “You willing to bet your own brother’s life on that shit?”

Dean glanced at his brother, who steadily held his gaze. “It’s the only chance he has.”

Buck took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. Damn, stubborn fools. “I must be crazy as Mathers,” he mumbled under his breath. “Say this is something unnatural-what makes you think that you can stop it?”

“We’ve had experience with these things.”

“Of course you have.”

“Look,” Sam spoke up weakly, “this is what we do. If you’re not going to help us, at least tell us where to find the old man and let us do our job.”

The sheriff ran a hand over his mouth. “This isn’t some kind of game.” He looked at Dean. “People in my town have died. People that I have sworn my life to protect.”

Dean could respect that. He had sworn his life to protect Sam. He stepped closer to Landry-his sheer will and attitude making up for the inches he was lacking on the man. “My brother’s life is at stake. I don’t take anything more seriously than that.”

They continued to glare at each other for a long tense moment and just when Sam was sure that they were going to take ten paces and draw down on one another-the sheriff broke eye contact.

“God damn, ghost busters roll into my town and make me look like a two bit…”

Sam lost the last of the clipped tirade as the big man stormed across the room to his desk where he grabbed a shotgun, his hat and his keys.

His brother tensed and Sam didn’t miss the fact that Dean’s hand twitched. He sent a quick, desperate prayer out that Dean had left his gun in the car, but Buck merely stormed back past them-calling over his shoulder as he went out the door. “Get a move on, boys. We’re burning daylight.”

Dean shot Sam a puzzled look. “Did we just get deputized?”

The younger Winchester shrugged. “Looks that way.”

Dean stepped over and took his brother by the arm. “Think he’ll give me a silver star?”

Sam shook his head as they slowly made their way out of the office. “I don’t think you’d want to hear where he’d tell you to stick it.”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned. “about damn time I met a cop I actually liked.”

“Yeah-miracles never cease.”

It would be a miracle if they made it to Wakeen‘s in one piece.

Sam sighed and tried not to think about the fact they were driving at breakneck speed on an unfamiliar road and his brother seemed hell bent for leather. Why did the police always seem to think that speed limits didn’t apply to them?

To make matters worse, Dean kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as he followed the Sheriff along the short cut leading out of New Hope like it was amateur night at the Daytona speedway. Sam wasn’t sure who was more scared him-or Dean.

Dean couldn’t believe how bad his brother looked.

He was pale and the older hunter could see him shivering from his side of the car, even in the fading light of the day.

“I'm not dead yet.” Sam said, without turning to face the concerned look he knew was plastered on his older brother's face.

“I just don't want you to barf in my car.” Dean turned his gaze back to the road, mentally kicking himself for not willing to accept how sick Sam was before.

This time Sam did look at him. “I appreciate the concern.”

“Yeah, well I'd appreciate it if you didn't pass out anymore on this hunt. I'm tired of carrying you.”

Sam grinned. “You can admit that your worried, you know.”

Dean shot him a quick look. “Worried? Why would I be worried? Four people are dead, I'm wanted for assaulting a federal officer, and you're looking like an extra for a Rob Zombie flick.”

Dean hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand in frustration as break lights once again flashed in front of him, “Not to mention that fucking Bat Masterson needs to learn how to drive and this freakin' Indian had to live a hundred miles out of town.”

“Native American is the politically correct term,” Sam pointed out, and wasn't disappointed when his brother gave him the patented Winchester glare.

“So I’ve heard.”

Dean had to suddenly swerve to miss a crater masquerading, as a pothole and Sam couldn't quite stop his sharp intake of breath as pain flared behind his eyes. “Damn it,” he hissed- bringing his hand to his eyes and letting his head rest against the window again.

“Sorry,” Dean swallowed hard, catching himself before he reached a hand out to Sam. “Just try and breathe through it.”

Sam raised his hand enough to open one eye and give his brother a 'you've got to be shitting me' look.

Dean shrugged. “It worked when I was on that plane.”

“You didn't have a brass band playing in your head,” Sam growled, but took his brother‘s suggestion all the same.

The older Winchester‘s hands tightened on the wheel until he was white knuckled. “Better?” Why couldn’t this all be over? Why did this shit always happen to Sam?

“Yeah.” Sam kept his eyes closed, but the lines of pain on his face had seemed to soften some.

Brake lights flashed again and Landry took a sharp right-turning onto a dirt lot in front a large wooded area. “Looks like we're here.” Finally.

“Good.” Sam opened his eyes and leaned forward. “I didn't know which was going to kill me first, this bug or your driving.”

Dean shook his head and got out of the car. He waited to see if he needed to go around and help Sam, but his pigheaded brother made it out on his own.

“We'll have to walk from here.” Buck had exited his car and made it back to the two Winchesters. “It's not very far.”

Dean frowned. “You said that about the drive, too.”

The sheriff sighed. “Damn-you city boys take time quite literally-don’t ya?”

“I was born in Kansas.” Dean moved past the man, and took Sam's arm, despite the annoyed look the younger man shot him. “I've never lived in a city longer than a few weeks. So maybe it's just that you country hicks can't tell your ass from a hole in the ground.”

“He always this friendly?” Landry asked Sam as he rushed to keep up with the two.

“You should see him before he has his morning coffee.”

“Less talking- more walking.” Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder and nodded towards the sheriff. “We've got a Native American to see.”

Thankfully, Landry hadn't been wrong about the short trail that led into the woods and then opened up to reveal a small wooden cabin. Still- Sam was breathing hard and nearly out on his feet before they reached their destination.

“You okay?” Dean let go of his brother and hesitated in stepping away, until Sam nodded.

“Just winded.”

“Right.” Dean looked at the sheriff. “You waiting for an invitation?”

Buck sighed at the younger man's attitude, but knocked on the door just the same. “It's not like I have a warrant or anything. He may not even want to talk with us.”

“Oh, he's going to talk to us.” Dean could feel the cold metal of the gun that he'd slipped into the back of his jeans pressing into his back. “One way or another.”

The lawman knocked again. “Wakeen- it's me. Sheriff Landry.”

Dean looked at the door and strained to hear any sound of movement from inside the dwelling. “What's taking so long?”

“The man's in a wheel chair-give him some time, kid.”

Dean didn't feel like it was necessary to point out that time was one thing that they had little of, so he let a look of irritation suffice. It was already dark and dawn would bring the third day of Sam’s illness. And in this case- third time wasn’t charmed.

Finally, just before Dean decided that kicking the door in was an appropriate solution to his anxiety- the door opened and a soft light fell over the three men waiting on the sagging wooden porch.

Despite the warm glow coming from within the house, it was still pretty dark inside and even after Dean squinted, he couldn't make out the person who had motioned them in.

Landry stepped over the threshold, removing his hat, as he had to duck to keep from hitting his head on the low entranceway. Sam and Dean followed.

The cabin was more spacious than it had appeared from the outside. The floors were wooden, and several braided rugs of different colors were scattered about.

One wall was stone and held a massive mantle and fireplace, where a warm fire was crackling. It was providing the only light.

Furnishings were sparse, but everything seemed tidy. The smell of tobacco and coffee was strong in the air, and something else wafted in from a room off to the side, that had Dean's stomach reminding him that he and his brother hadn't eaten in a while.

“We're sorry to drop by so late, Wakeen. But we were hoping you could help us.”

A wheel chair slowly rolled into view from behind the door, and dancing patterns of light from the fire cast the old man's face in an array of orange and gold tones.

Sam's harsh intake of breath reached Dean's ears at the same moment that the features registered with his memory.

“What the hell…” Dean nearly knocked Sam over as he took a defensive step back and pushed his kid brother behind him.

Although being hunched in a wheelchair and wrapped tightly in a woven blanket made Wakeen appear fragile and harmless- he was in fact the same man who'd accosted Dean and Sam at the Rest Inn their first night in town and then again in front of the diner.

The old man looked at Dean and smiled. “Welcome, Mountain Lion. I was expecting you."

Onto Chapter 9

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