Trouble with a Capital W
Chapter One
Sam was getting used to feeling feathers beneath him when he woke up. Apparently, the wings being invisible talent only worked when he was conscious. Sam and Agent Smith were staying at a hotel nearby, along with a few other FBI agents. There was a knock on his door. As it opened, he recognized the red-haired nurse named Maria Jones, the woman Chuck was trying to avoid. Sam wondered just who Maria was.
"Morning," Sam said. His wings vanished.
Maria smiled. "You don't have to hide them from me."
He looked slightly embarrassed. "I'd rather look normal."
She nodded. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Fine, I guess."
"No hallucinating?"
Sam shook his head.
"No headaches?"
"No, ma'am," he replied.
"Good." Maria was carrying an iPad. She entered some notes on a screen with a pen. "So, are you hungry for breakfast?"
Sam nodded. "Can I get some coffee?"
"Yes, but I would suggest avoiding food since you have a CAT scan today."
He sighed. "Okay."
Maria nodded. "Your CAT scan is scheduled for 10:00 and the people from the FBI still want to interview you. After that, once you get your medication, you're free to check out and eat whatever you like. But, I should tell you, leaving by the front door might not be the best option. There are a bunch of reporters camping out downstairs."
"Thanks for the warning."
She nodded. "You're not the first celebrity we've had. There are some back entrances. I can get security to show you."
"Good. Thanks."
She nodded and left.
Sam's cell phone rang. He picked it up. "Hello?"
"Hey bro, how's it going?" Dean asked.
"Dean. Good, I guess. I can't wait to get out of here."
"Right. Uh, I've got good news and bad news," Dean said.
"What's the bad news?" Sam asked.
"The bad news is, we're still partners. The good news is, the FBI is making us legit."
"What?" Sam nearly dropped the cell phone in disbelief.
"Yeah, they want us to consult for them on all cases pertaining to the Leviathans and other supernatural beings."
"Seriously?" the younger Winchester brother asked.
"Sam, I am holding in my hand our real FBI ID's," Dean said.
"No way," he said.
"Yes way," Dean replied.
"I'm dreaming."
"No, you're not."
Sam sighed. "What's the catch?"
"The only catch is, we have to follow protocol and go through some training and uh, that's really about it." Someone said something in the background. "Oh, and stay out of trouble," Dean added.
"Trouble is our middle name. We're screwed."
Dean laughed. "I'll be there when I can."
"What'd he say?" Agent Smith asked as Dean hung up the phone.
"He says he'll try to stay out of trouble."
"Uh huh," the agent skeptically replied.
"Come on," Dean said with a grin. "Let's go grab some grub."
He realized that the main reason the government was letting them off the hook was because putting them in the FBI would make it easier to keep tabs on them. It would also be easier for the government to control Sam, which Dean was worried about. They were incredibly naïve if they thought they could control a guy who could both summon and manipulate hellfire at will, and also had some angelic powers to boot. Dean figured the government didn't entirely believe the stories he'd told them about the apocalypse. Still, it was a legitimate job, and it would make Sam happy.
As he and Agent Smith headed to the café downstairs, a camera was stuck in Dean's face.
"Hey, give a guy a break okay?" he said. "I just got up. I haven't even had my coffee yet."
"How's your brother doing?" the reporter asked.
"Fine, fine. Leave me alone, please?" he inquired.
"We hear you're working with the FBI now. Is that true?"
Dean held up his real FBI ID. "Here, happy? Now go away."
"How does it feel to be legit?" the reporter pressed.
"Great. Please go away so I can drink my coffee, or else I'll sic my bro on you. 'Kay, thanks, bye." Dean turned abruptly and followed Agent Smith to a table.
"Well, aren't we Mr. Grumpy Pants this morning," said the reporter.
Dean ignored him and held up the menu. "Can I punch him?"
"Not legally," said Agent Smith, who was suppressing a grin.
Dean sighed. It was going to be a very long morning.
A couple of hours later, Sam laid beneath the CAT scanner and looking up at all the blinking lights. It was all doctors' orders, of course. Having frequent migraines and hallucinations (although those were tied to traumatic circumstances) were considered a big red flag of the medical variety. He also had a sneaking suspicion that the doctor wanted to find out what made him tick, which wasn't going to happen.
"All right," said the doctor. "Steady."
Sam heard a humming sound as the CAT scanner did its thing. It took a few minutes.
"I'm Dr. Connors. You are no longer experiencing hallucinations, correct?"
Sam nodded.
"What about the migraines?" the doctor asked.
"They come and go," Sam answered.
"Do you have any other side effects?" the doctor asked.
"Just the migraines and nose bleeds, but they get pretty bad sometimes."
"How bad do they get?"
Sam shrugged. "They're bad enough to wind up here."
"Does that happen often?" Dr. Connors asked.
"No. I'd say once every couple of months, but it's been happening more recently. I think I know why," Sam said.
Dr. Connors nodded. "Why?"
"You'll think I'm crazy."
The doctor gave him a scrutinizing look. "For a guy with wings who can control fire, I'd say crazy is relative. Tell me."
"Look, it's pretty obvious that I'm not exactly human anymore," Sam replied. "What's left of my human side isn't adapting very well."
"Do you ever lose control of your abilities?"
Sam hesitated. The last thing he wanted was for people to think he was some kind of a threat. "I've never been able to consciously use my healing ability. It's only ever happened when I was having a migraine."
Doctor Connors asked, "What about other abilities?"
Sam remained tight-lipped. He wasn't going to mention the lightning thing.
"I can understand why you're nervous. Look, I'm not going to go to the press. There's this thing called HIPAA. I'm sure you've heard of it," the doctor said.
"I was Pre-Law at Stanford before all of this craziness started. I know about HIPAA," Sam pointed out.
"And you don't trust anyone."
"Dean."
"Your brother," Doctor Connors replied.
"Yes. He's about the only one."
"At some point, you're going to have to trust someone else. If you have another migraine and wind up in another hospital somewhere because you lost consciousness, what are you going to do?"
Sam shrugged. "I'll figure it out. I always do."
The doctor nodded. "You have a lot of extra brain activity in areas that usually aren't active, such as the epiphysis cerebri, but that may be normal in your case. I want you to come back if the headaches get worse. Let us know if the prescription isn't working. We can always try something else."
"I will."
"Good. Sam…if you need help, don't be afraid to come back. You don't have to deal with this alone."
"I'm not alone, Doc. Believe me," Sam said. "Can I get up?"
"You're free to go. There's an FBI agent waiting for you upstairs."
In the meantime, Dean was in the hotel room with Agent Smith watching the news. "And in other news, Senator Norm Gardner has been rising in the polls, and is now a solid second. Senator Rob Samuelson is still firmly in first place. Reed Payne has stepped out of the race."
Suddenly, a breaking news alert flashed across the screen: "Remains that have been genetically identified as Dick Roman's washed up on a New York beach several days ago. There is no sign of the extraterrestrial which had taken over his body on Air Force One. The government does not think it survived the crash."
"Is that what they're calling Leviathans now?" Dean wondered aloud.
"Yep," Agent Smith replied. "That is the official explanation. The government is afraid the truth would panic people."
"We should go over and check on Sam. If they found Roman's body, that Leviathan has to be out there," Dean said.
"The video from the plane went viral, remember? We all saw your brother freeze that thing and smash it into tiny pieces. How could it have survived that plus the plane crash?"
"Leviathans are very hard to kill, Agent Smith. There's a reason they're at the top of the food chain. Sam probably just pissed it off."
Agent Smith shook his head. "I hope you're wrong. Come on." He stood up and grabbed his suit jacket and sunglasses.
"I want sunglasses," Dean said.
Agent Smith laughed. "We'll make a real agent out of you yet, Winchester."
To be continued.