In The Mouth Of The Rat
By: Tidia, December 2007
Disclaimer:
Supernatural is owned by Kripke. Thank you to Ridley C. James for
creating The Brotherhood Universe
SnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsN
Chapter 6/9
Dean noticed Caleb's odd look. Dean moved his head, noticing he was in
the backseat. "Sonofabitch. I think she drove the Impala!"
Caleb exhaled sharply. "Dude, that is the least of what she did."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked as he placed his arm over his eyes. The
light was too bright. His arm felt weird against his eyes. The skin
soft and mushy, he lifted his arm to get a better look. It wasn't his
arm. Pale, spotted with large brown spots, and the skin seemed to be
hanging slightly. He looked at his hand, and saw the same result.
"Damien? What the hell?" Dean tried to get up, but Caleb placed a firm
hand on his chest.
Dean grimaced at the additional weight on his chest, and Caleb released
it.
"What do you remember?"
"I was having the time of my life. Karma Sutra, Playboy or whatever,
what that girl could do. . ." Dean recalled something else. "Dude, did
you watch?" He swore he had seen Caleb in the room. He hoped he was
mistaken. That was awkward.
Reaves shook his head. "No, I ahhh walked in. . .looking for you. .
.doesn't matter though. . ."
"Doesn't matter? Talk about an invasion of privacy, I mean. . ." Dean
paused to catch his breath.
"I didn't see anything 'cause I passed out, but Deuce she did something
to you." Caleb rubbed his forehead. "You're not lookin' so good."
"Whaddya mean?" Dean felt tired, achy and sore. Carefully he glanced
down, and saw that all his parts were still there.
"Dean, remember that guy Jason?" Caleb looked directly in Dean's eyes.
It was unnerving for the younger hunter. "Yeah."
Caleb bit his lip. "You look like his older brother."
"What the?" Dean pushed himself up with effort, and looked in the
rearview mirror. "I. . ." he stuttered. He didn't recognize himself,
the wizened features, skin drooping around his jaw lines, marks on his
face, and sagging eyelids. His hair had thinned out and was completely
white.
"Deuce, we'll fix this. I promise. I'll figure it out and you'll be
back to your old. . .I mean younger self."
Dean brought up a shaky hand to his face, feeling the wrinkles through
his finger tips. His skin felt paper thin.
Caleb cocked his head to the side. "You sorta look like your dad. Don't
think that's a good thing." Reaves smirked.
"Pfff," Dean responded. Dad wasn't eighty, but Dean appreciated the
levity. "Nah, Sam does."
"I guess." The psychic rested his mouth against his fisted hand.
Dean shivered even though the car was stuffy. His stomach contracted,
and he placed a hand around his abdomen. Reaves missed the motion, but
Dean could not stifle the groan. "Damien, I'm not feeling so hot." It
was an understatement. He felt like he was being split in half.
Caleb dropped his hand away from his mouth, and awkwardly reached out
to Dean in between the seats. "Whoa, okay, easy. Let's get you outta of
the car and into the house."
Dean nodded and closed his eyes. He felt Caleb's hands leave him, heard
the backdoor open, and his friend's hands again providing assistance.
Dean allowed Caleb to pull him out of the car. He leaned against the
hot Impala, and saw how his clothes were barely staying on his frame.
His pants held up by his hip bones and belt on the last notch. His
chest felt concave and hollow. He took in a sharp intake of breath, and
his breathing was thrown off.
Caleb applied a firm grip on his shoulder. "Hey, hey, stay with me
here. It's gonna be okay, Deuce. You hear me?"
Dean forced himself to slowly exhale from his nose to regain his
composure. He took a step forward with Caleb's arm looped under for
support.
In halting tempo they shuffled up the stairs, and then up another
flight to the bedrooms. Exhausted, Dean collapsed into the mattress
into yesterday morning's rumpled sheets.
The bed dipped, Caleb pulled off his boots, and they thumped to the
wood floor. Dean wasn't comfortable in his current position, wasn't
comfortable in his bony body. There was no layer between him and the
mattress. He opened his eyes, and saw Caleb's worried look.
"I don’t think aging all at once is a good idea." Dean looked at his
hands, couldn’t get over the spots and how the fine scars of old hunts
were more pronounced.
Caleb's mouth tightened into a fine line. "Deuce, we need to call
someone." Reaves leaned forward towards his knees, avoiding eye
contact. "Your Dad?
Dean struggled to push himself up onto his elbows. "You're nuts—he'll
ream you a new one."
Caleb snorted. He stood up, found the pillows and placed them against
the headboard. He then assisted Dean so he was leaning against them.
It was softer, and his body reveled in the sensation. The cramping in
his muscles eased. "Your Dad?" Dean asked his friend. Mac was a better
choice than John.
The psychic's eyebrows rose. "You want a lecture on STDs?"
Caleb had a point. In addition, Mackland was a doctor and would try
medical intervention before going after the women at The Dollhouse.
"Bobby?"
"Yeah, but he's with your Dad. That's a no go."
Dean rubbed his head. He had momentarily forgotten that his dad had
gone to help the other hunter. He tried to think of other hunters, and
the names that came to mind were poor choices, ill trusted.
"Jim?" Caleb asked.
Dean shook his head. "No man, he already thinks I'm a fuck up who gets
bitten by a trinket box." He recalled waking up in New York City with
the pastor and other worried faces staring at him. "It was
embarrassing."
Caleb squeezed his arm. "It's gotta be Jim." The psychic waited for
Dean to accept the decision.
Dean rolled his eyes, but gave a nod. He would live through another
round of embarrassment.
Caleb grinned. "Look old man, rest up, and I'll get this figured out."
"Old man?" Dean snorted, then coughed. His body felt incredibly weak,
and yet he felt a tingling sensation he knew he shouldn’t give in to.
"You got white hair." Caleb tugged at his own dark locks.
"It's distinguishing." He placed a hand on his head, feeling the wispy
pieces. He then felt a stabbing pain. He was ignoring the calling and
paying a price for it.
"How about I bring you some painkillers? Help you rest up."
Dean exhaled through his mouth. "That might be a good idea." He looked
up at his friend. "You should knock me out."
"What aren't you telling me, Deuce? 'cause half-truths, and omissions
are not working out well for us these days." Caleb narrowed his eyes.
Dean knew he was being read by the psychic, but stated what he was
feeling. "I want to go back. She's calling me." It was Airlea's voice,
making promises to him. She would make him stronger, able to do
anything if only he would return to her when he felt better. It was
tempting.
"You know she wants you so she can finish the job." Caleb sat down on
the bed. Dean flinched under the scrutiny. Reaves looked away. "Damnit.
I said we didn't have enough information. But. . ."
Dean knew Caleb's muttering was more self-directed. He was nervous with
the responsibility. Caleb raked a hand through his hair. "You need a
distraction."
"Morphine would be good." Dean stated. The drug would render him
unconscious or too sleepy to want to act on the intentions being
planted in his mind.
"I have to go and get it." Caleb agreed. He stood up again, glancing
around the room. "Gotta be a radio station you like here."
Dean hid his smile by placing a hand over his mouth. Caleb didn't want
to leave him, even to go to get his medical kit. The music would
provide some entertainment and company.
Reaves rolled through the stations until a recognizable hard rock tune
was found. "I'll be right back."
Dean listened to the song, and drifted on the guitar licks. He closed
his eyes, and then fell asleep.
--------------------------------------------
Caleb was unsure about the morphine. It was a potent drug, and not
supposed to be used on men who aged 60 years overnight. He also didn't
know if it would quell Dean's mind.
But, it was a moot point. When he returned he found Dean asleep, softly
snoring and body curled towards the radio. Reaves crept away, leaving
the door slightly ajar in case Dean needed him and called out.
The psychic pulled out his cell phone, leaned against the door frame of
his bedroom and then slid down, and sat on the floor. They needed
reinforcements.
The real reason he couldn’t call John was he refused to tell the man he
could be losing another son. He dialed Jim's phone number from memory.
Three rings later the pastor answered the phone with a warm hello.
"Jim, I'm sorry to bother you, but I, we, need your help." Caleb
lightly knocked the back of his head against the door frame. It seemed
like so many of his conversations lately were beginning with apologies.
"Caleb, what's the matter? Are you
still with John and Dean?"
"John's with Bobby." Caleb leaned forward, almost resting his head on
his bended knees. "Dean and I are working a job. Jim, Dean needs you.
She did something to him."
"What did she do, Caleb. I need as
much information as possible if I can figure out how to help you. And
who is she?"
Reaves realized his brain and mouth had skipped ahead. "We're here in
Florida. I had a lead on those on these women that are involved in the
disappearance and death of some men. Then Dean went off with this girl,
and I wasn't careful enough, and she did something to him, Jim. Dean
looks like he's about eighty."
"Eighty?"
"Jim, I'm sorry. This is my fault." There wasn't more Caleb could say.
He felt responsible. He was the one who started this hunt. He should
have gone to help Bobby so John would still be here.
"Somehow, my boy, I think there is
more to it. Tell me where you are."
"So, you're coming right?" Caleb needed the reassurance. He was an
adult, had long been one, but he needed someone else to shoulder the
responsibility and find a solution he was unable to see.
"Of course. I have to help my boys.
Stay strong my boy, stay strong."
----------------------------------------
Dean blinked awake. It was light outside, although the blinds had been
closed; Florida sun still was able to shine through, giving the bedroom
a softening glow. It was later in the day, but Dean didn't know how
much later. He assessed his body, as fragments of their current job
filtered through his mind and he recalled the toll it had taken on him.
He felt lighter, not emotionally, but bodily. He could feel every
thread of sinuous muscle. It seemed as if every past injury was
haunting him with an ache or pain. If this was what old age was going
to bring him, it was better his job led to a shorter life span.
Dean had slept against the propped pillows. He grinned when he saw
Caleb had pulled in a chair from another room. A bottle, the same vodka
one from earlier was by his feet. Caleb had hidden from his demons, but
the house, and watching over Dean was taking its toll on the other
hunter's psyche. The psychic was slumped, one arm resting in his lap,
the other hanging almost touching the floor.
"Hitting the bottle again?" Dean asked in a normal tone, knowing it
would rouse his friend.
Caleb straightened in his chair, and coughed. "What?" It came out
gravelly and he cleared his throat.
Dean pointed to the bottle on the floor, and grimaced when he saw his
bony arm. He hid it under the sheet.
Reaves picked up the bottle and placed it on the bureau. "I got booze,
drugs," he gestured to the medical kit, "and rock and roll."
"What about the sex?" Dean continued to play along in normal mode.
Caleb snorted. "I think you know it's overrated." Reaves stood up so he
was looming above the other hunter. "How ya feeling?"
"Better, I think." It was an honest answer. He had nothing to compare
this particular situation with.
Caleb lowered the radio.
Dean shivered as he saw the shimmering form of Airlea before him, the
same image of her stepping out of the inky water. She was calling to
him, making it so tempting to reach out to her. He resisted, but
noticed his hand twisting the sheet. "I still hear her." He wondered if
this would pass. Jason hadn't mentioned this part of his transformation.
"You want some morphine?" Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go
back to sleep? When you wake up Jim will be here."
Dean swallowed. It was tempting, but he wanted to fight this, ride it
out. "Nah, not yet, just talk to me, man." Dean licked his lips to find
a topic of conversation. "Dude, how are you feeling?"
Reaves snorted. "Deuce, I'm not the one who aged sixty years overnight."
Dean shook his head. The other hunter had aged a few years overnight.
"You are the one who got sick-twice-every time we were in The
Dollhouse." Dean loosened his hold on the sheet and pointed a finger at
Caleb. "You couldn't seal the deal. You figure that out yet?"
Reaves sat down on the edge of the bed. "Sure, because I had plenty of
time in between getting your ass inside here and watching over you to
think about myself. Deuce, don't you know- it's all about you." Caleb
grinned.
Dean had to laugh, somehow with Caleb around he became the center of
attention, but it was not a place he was familiar within his own family
dynamics. "Well, start thinking. You're going to have to come up
against them, and barfing on them isn’t going to work." And Dean didn't
include himself, didn’t know if he would win against Airlea in his
current condition.
"When Jim get here, we'll get it all figured out." Caleb sat up again.
"You want something to eat? Oatmeal? Prune juice?"
"Very funny."
"I thought so." Caleb fidgeted. "Seriously, you haven’t eaten anything.
I'll go fix you something."
Dean didn't reply, and his friend took that as an affirmative answer,
or it was Caleb's belief that food was what Dean needed.
"Hey wait." Dean didn't want Caleb to leave. There was a murmuring
calling to him, becoming clearer. The talking was keeping it at bay.
And he still had something important to discuss. "Don't think about
calling Sam." Dean looked away. "Even if I'm dying. . ."
Caleb's eyes blazed. "Stop."
Dean glanced up again. "I'm serious."
"I'm not making that asinine promise." Reaves stomped forward in one
determined stride. "So what, make Sam feel guilty? That's not you, man."
Suddenly, Dean was confused. He had reasons for not wanting to tell Sam
of his predicament. He didn't want to be pathetic or broken in front of
Sam who always saw Dean at his weakest. He didn't want those reasons
questioned. "Yeah…No"
"That's being spiteful and cruel."
Dean winced at the truth. "Maybe." And he felt his temper rising at
having to provide justification. "But, he didn't even stick around the
hospital in New Mexico." Dean reminded Caleb. "It's not like I haven’t
called him, feel like a dog kicked to the curb." He felt spent, and
when Reaves sighed Dean waved him away.
Caleb backed out of the room, stopping first at the radio and putting
the volume up again. Dean closed his eyes, hoping the next time he woke
up it would all be a bad dream.
SnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsN
Home
Uploaded
by Majs