disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable.
A/N: I've only recently just begun watching Supernatural. I know, I know...but let's face it. I hate horror. The first season was tough to get through. But then...the series turned magical.
I have been playing with this idea for a while and it just didn't want to leave me alone. I'm not calling it a cross over because there isn't a big following for the series it's a crossover with.
For those of you wondering if my other stories will be updated...we shall see. I'm a cultural anthropologist and had to go off and do fieldwork for a year or so, and then got invited back when I got back, and then I wound up being a site assistant with an archaeology dig, and managing some sites myself. I'm really hoping the muse stays firmly put with this story, but career comes first, yeah?
So without further ado, I present a certain very nostalgic girl detective (not Nancy Drew) crossover.
Chapter 1:
The Summerhouse Incident
THEN…...
John Winchester groaned silently at the sound of whimpering in the back seat of the Impala. If he knew Sammy, the youngster was feeling hot, cranky, and probably crampy. They had stopped to have dinner at a small out of the way joint back in White Plains, NY and Sammy hadn't been feeling very well then, and had just poked at his dinner, sniffling. He'd been unusually quiet the last couple of days, too. John had caught Dean giving Sammy a couple of Tylenol that morning, but hadn't said anything then. He regretted that now.
"Okay there, Tiger?"
Dean had beaten John to it. The older teen had twisted in the front passenger seat to look at his little brother and assess the situation.
"No," came the whimpered reply. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
John raised an eyebrow and exchanged a concerned look with Dean. For Sammy to admit he was feeling lousy at this age meant it was bad. Ahead he saw a road sign. 10 miles to Sleepyside. John had worked a werewolf case there years back for a hunter named Jim Frayne when Sammy was still in diapers, and had kept in touch with the family off and on. Maybe Jim could let them hole up there. Sammy needed a bed, and probably needed a toilet, not the back seat of the Impala and a bush on the side of the road.
"Dad, pull over!" It was Dean. John glanced in the rearview mirror and slammed on the brakes at the sight of Sammy's face, pale and sweaty with red rimmed eyes, the kid breathing heavily with his lips clamped together. Shit. He knew that look. Dean threw open his door and dove for the back door, catching Sammy as the younger Winchester half tumbled out, his body wracked with heaves in the waning sunlight. The Queen Anne's lace and euphorbia on the side of the road wavered in a slight breeze, and a robin pecked hopefully at the bright red berries of a honeysuckle in the hedge. If John wasn't mistaken, he smelled an apple tree not too far off, for the scent of rotting apples was strong on the breeze.
Sammy whimpered again, coughing and gagging as he tried to clean himself up. John caught sight of red in the mess on the side of the road. Yep, that did it. The thirteen year old wasn't doing much more travelling tonight. As soon as Dean had Sammy bundled back into the car and had settled into the back seat with him, John took off with a squeal of rubber. If he recalled correctly, there was a shortcut to Jim's place just up ahead. It was an old seasonal use highway, and wouldn't do Sammy's stomach any favors at all, but it would shave a good six miles off the trip to Sleepyside.
"Dad, we need to hurry." He didn't miss the panic in Dean's voice, or that Sammy was clutching at his stomach and making the clamped lips face again.
"I know, Dean. We'll take a shortcut. I worked a case here a few years ago. Remember Jim Frayne?"
"The dude with the creepy snake infested mansion? Yeah."
"Let's see if we can hole up there for a few days while Sammy gets better."
"Good. No hospitals." The snakes were the least of their worries right now.
"Nope, not yet. No hospitals." He would see how Sammy was in the morning before making that decision.
They drove in silence for a mile or so, John swearing under his breath as the Impala bottomed out a few times on the rough road and Sammy whimpering louder each time. He was startled when Dean shrieked. His sons simply didn't shriek.
"DAD!"
John automatically glanced in the rearview mirror to check on Sammy. But no, the kid had finally fallen into something resembling sleep. Dean was staring at the side of the road up ahead, squinting in the blinding light of the setting sun.
John followed his gaze. A pale blue Subaru sat on the side of the dirt road, the front left tire at such an angle that meant the driver had hit one of those potholes that had torn up the undercarriage of the Impala with a cringingly loud scrape of metal on boulders. There was a man waving him down.
The man's arms waved frantically. As they got closer, John recognized him as Jim Frayne. His once titan hair was now peppered with white, his temples totally streaked white, and his beard had certainly seen better days. Something of the war and being a POW still lingered in Jim's eyes and stature after all these years.
For the second time that hour, John Winchester brought the Impala to a screeching stop.
"Jim?" he started, getting out of the car.
Jim ran to the car, slamming his hands onto the hood. "It's Nellie. We were in the summerhouse. She was bitten by a copperhead."
Subconsciously John registered Dean's shocked look, and that the teen was shifting Sammy so that there was more room in the back seat.
John followed Jim to the other car, wrenching open the passenger door to see Eleanor Frayne slumped against the seat belt. There was a tourniquet on her leg.
He could recognize that ashy pallor anywhere, but he checked for a pulse to be sure. John looked up at Jim and shook his head somberly.
"She's gone. I'm sorry."
Jim broke down and sobbed.
-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-
John pulled into the hospital ER parking lot, his heart heavy, knowing it was just a matter of seconds before Dean opened his mouth. Sure enough…...
"Dad, you promised."
Dean glared at him accusingly.
Jim was slumped in the front seat. He hadn't spoken a word since John had managed to find a house with a working phone and call for an ambulance to come get Nell. They had found out which hospital and then John had driven to a different one. Sammy looked worse and Jim needed someone right now. John hated himself and knew it would be a long time before Dean forgave him.
"Don't argue. Get your brother inside."
"But, Dad-"
"NOW!" John roared. "I need to help Jim."
"And ignore us," Dean muttered under his breath. "The story of our life." But he still followed orders, accepting the fake insurance card and a wad of cash from John, and hoisting Sammy from the back seat.
"Call me when he's ready to come home."
Dean rolled his eyes, but got Sammy inside.
John turned back to Jim. The older man still hadn't moved. John shifted the Impala into Drive.
It was going to be a long night.
-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-
Dean hated hospitals. He wrestled doors and his brother's dead weight. A blonde nurse quickly came to help him.
He hated the fact that Dad had just dumped them off. Again.
He hated the heavy weight of his sick little brother in his arms.
Most of all, he hated when his dad was right.
The sight of blood in the vomit from Sammy earlier on the side of the road wasn't a good sign, but from the way Jim had been acting he needed help more than Sammy did. Help Dean couldn't give, but that his dad could. Dean shot the nurse a grateful look as the older woman helped him get Sammy settled into one of those hard, universal ER chairs.
"Thanks," Dean muttered. He fussed over Sammy, then looked up when the woman was back with a clipboard and the inevitable paperwork. Dean wordlessly handed her the fake insurance card. He hadn't bothered to look at the name on the card this time.
"What's your name, sweetie?" she asked. Her eyes were kind. She reminded him of Mom.
No. Don't go there.
"Don't call me that," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm Dean. This is Sam."
"Where are your parents?" she asked gently, watching as she filled out the forms.
There that flare of anger was again. "Mom's dead. Dad had to help a friend." Stick to the truth as much as possible. John had already drilled it into them that the best lies and the best aliases were based in truth.
Sammy shifted and turned white again, and he clutched at his stomach and at Dean at the same time.
"Oh, dear," the woman said, and she somehow made a basin appear for Sammy just in time.
There was more blood in the vomit this time. Dean grabbed that mental abrasiveness he seemed to rely on these days for strength, and didn't let go.
The woman patted him on the shoulder before she left again, in more of a hurry this time. He knew she meant it to be comforting.
But….
It wasn't Mom.
Sammy sobbed and whimpered into Dean's shoulder.
As much as Dean wanted her back—still, after all these years—he was that figure now.
And so Dean retreated under his abrasive mask, adopting a sullen look as he hovered and watched Sammy being attended to by the people the woman had brought, occasionally swatting them away because he could do it better when his brother was so sick, until she touched his shoulder.
She gently held her hand on his shoulder as they took Sammy into another room. "Stay here, Mr. Dolenz. It will be okay."
Dolenz. That must have been the name on the insurance this time. When Dad talked about Mom, which was rare, he sometimes talked about listening to The Monkees with her.
"Let's go sit someplace private. The doctors will tell us when your brother is okay. Sound good?"
Dean wordlessly nodded and let her lead him to a quiet office with a stack of manila folders on the desk by the computer. He grimaced at the decor as she opened the door. Pale pink and pale blue stripes on a pale yellow background, with a wallpaper accent that had teddy bears in rocking chairs, balloons, and clowns.
He hated clowns.
He hated balloons.
He hated teddy bears and he hated rocking chairs.
He hated pediatrics wards.
He slumped against the corner and crossed his arms, glaring sullenly and daring her to speak again.
"My name is Helen Belden. I have some toddlers at home. They all hate this office, too. The clowns, right?" She gave a wry smile.
Nope. Not going there.
"Why are you here alone?"
Dean shrugged. Something in her eyes told him he could trust Helen, but he still kept the answer as curt and basic as he could. "When Sammy got sick Dad decided to take the shortcut to Sleepyside to an old friend he thought could help."
"Who is your dad's friend?"
"Jim Frayne." He needed to sound more sullen, he thought.
Helen's eyes twinkled. "He and his wife are our neighbors. I'm sure Nell would be delighted to have two boys running around again. She's been a huge help with the kids at home." She caught the look on Dean's face. "Dean? What's wrong?"
He whispered, "She was bitten by a copperhead."
Helen gasped and her hand flew to her mouth before she caught herself. "Oh, Jim," she breathed. "You found them on the seasonal shortcut, didn't you?"
Dean nodded. He hated himself for giving away that much.
"And that's where your dad is. He's with Jim."
Dean nodded again. "She didn't make it." He'd been hunting with Dad long enough that he knew when his dad knew someone wasn't going to live.
Helen's shocked look made him cringe. There, he'd gone and made someone else's life miserable. Again. The story of his life. He regretted even opening his mouth to tell her his name.
"Your father is a good man."
"No, he's not," Dean spat. "He dumped us here. He promised no hospitals!"
Helen gently grasped his shoulders. He couldn't help himself. He met her eyes, daring her, but all that was there was kindness and motherliness. The same look he remembered Mom giving him when he was bad, but she still loved him and needed to talk to him about his behavior. "Dean," she said gently, "your father had a choice. Help a sick son, or help a man who had just lost his wife. You said your mother died. Your dad knows the kind of grief Jim is facing right now. He knows that he can't help Sammy, but you can, and from what I saw out there, you're very good at helping your brother. Your father trusts you to help your brother right now, while he helps his friend."
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He wouldn't look at her. He wouldn't! She's not Mom!
A knock on the door made them both look up.
"Ah, Dr. Ferris," Helen greeted.
Dr. Ferris was another gentle-eyed woman, but her hair was as dark as Helen's was blonde. Dean glared at the stethoscope dangling heavily in the doctor's coat pocket and didn't say anything.
"Thank you, Helen. You're Dean Dolenz?" Dr. Ferris asked.
Dean nodded.
"You're brother's asking for you," she began.
"Where is he? Can I go see him? When can he come home?" Dean couldn't help himself. The questions poured from him and left Helen smiling.
"Sam is resting comfortably. I do want to keep him for a few days for IV fluids and to run some tests."
"Can I go see him?" Dean pressed.
"He's in the pediatrics ICU," Dr. Ferris started, and Dean rounded on her.
"ICU? He was just throwing up!"
"We're concerned that he is throwing up significant amounts of blood. We need to find out why."
Dean balled his hand into a fist and punched the wall. Drywall. He left a dent. He stared at the dent and the plaster dust on his knuckles, and the fresh blood that welled from a new cut. That damned yellow paint was in there, too. Helen tsked and reached for a pair of plastic gloves on a wall commodity of basic medical supplies that Dean hadn't noticed before. He kept his hand fisted, and jammed both into his pockets. Helen put the box of gloves back on the counter, the contents untouched.
She sighed, exchanging a look with Dr. Ferris. Dr. Ferris nodded slightly.
Helen grasped Dean's shoulders again.
"Tell you what," she said. "You let me patch that hand up, and you eat something, and then you can go see your brother."
He was doing a lot of glaring at people who didn't deserve it. He glared anyway.
"No," he said. "I want to see my brother. Now."
-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-
NOW…
"Whoa! Earth to Dean!"
The shout from Sammy made Dean jump. He cursed and jerked the wheel of the Impala, sending their old car skidding back out of the oncoming traffic lane.
"What was that all about?" Sam demanded. Dean shot a glance at the younger man, narrowing his eyes at the way the five o'clock shadow on Sam's cheeks making his eyes seem sunken.
"Remember when you were in the hospital with an ulcer? You would have been thirteen or so?"
"Um. Not really."
"Well, it happened right when one of Dad's friends lost his wife. Copperhead. He helped him and we stayed with the guy's neighbors after you got out of the hospital."
"Oh, that. Yeah. Their name was Belden, wasn't it? With us around they had five kids to look after."
Dean pointed at the next street sign. Sleepyside-on-Hudson, NY: 2 miles. "Want to swing by and say hi?"
