A/N: this fic's set murkily in the time between discovering Meg's a demon and their main confrontation with Azazel in season 1. With Will's timeline added in haphazardly offset. What I've done with Will's future is derived from one of Philip Pullman's later additions, known as "Lantern Slides". I should mention that this is a gen fic, with no Wincest intended.
The thing I most craved to see in a His Dark Materials crossover was a crossing of the people as well as the daemons. I wanted to see Will and/or Lyra (though the latter seemed too much to ask for, unless she was meeting Chrestomanci - plot bunny? or, a sequel where she meets a demon on the park bench?) meet up with characters awesomely. As usual, my want for it was what spurred me to write it.
Revised 24/8/10 to add a demon scene and make a few minor corrections based on Rhea Silverkeys' suggestions.
White Rabbit
Again, Will, later: the sense his hand and mind had learned together as the point of the knife searched among the tiniest particles of the air, the sense of feeling without touching, of knowing without spoiling, of apprehending without calculating. He never lost it. When he was a medical student, he had to pretend to make a wrong diagnosis occasionally: his success was in danger of looking supernatural. Once he was qualified, it became safer to go straight to the right answer. And then began the lifelong process of learning to explain it. - Philip Pullman
"So this is the one?" Sam asked as they pulled up on the street. The house was nice enough – nicer than anything he remembered living in – but the paint was chipped, the lawn sallow and overgrown. He wondered if it was lived in at all.
Dean nodded.
It was a typical Texan evening, sun blaring in the sky, iced tea on porches, children running through sprinklers. Sam wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and wished the Impala had air-conditioning. He cast a dirty look at his brother, first for being the impediment to getting it installed, second for skipping a step and wiping his sweat off with the sleeve of his cheap suit.
One day, it'd be nice if they could help out a tailor or clothes shop owner, someone who just might be grateful enough to provide them with suits that weren't made out of something similar to insulation. Until then, they'd have to suffer in silence. No point talking about what you can't change, that was what Dad would say about it.
Sam skimmed their case file again as Dean surveyed the house intently. There'd been a number of demonic omens in the area lately, and when they'd plotted them out, it led them to the local hospital. Some of the patients had been reported having unusual fits by a Dr. Parry. Sam could read between the lines, and he thought Dr. Parry knew a lot more than he let on.
"For a doc, that ain't much of a place," said Dean, breaking the silence.
"He's just a resident," replied Sam. "I knew people who were going into med school. They said–" He remembered every other time he'd mentioned his college life to Dean. He stopped.
But Dean could be sharp when he wanted to be – he'd been the one bringing home report cards full of "if only you would apply yourself" – and he scowled at Sam until Sam felt stupid for dissembling.
"Yeah?" said Dean, and he had that touchy tone in his voice now. Sam sighed. He reached out and pushed at his brother, though it felt a little unnatural to cross the distance right now.
"Basically, you work so many hours that you might as well be paid pennies."
"Sounds like what we do. 'Cept for the gettin' paid part." Dean's attention went back to the house, the street, so he missed Sam's frown. Sam didn't want to be part of this 'we', have hunting be something they were doing, present tense, continuing ad infinitum. No use to remind Dean of that now, though. It'd only get him in a mood and screw up their rhythm on the case.
"I think I saw movement in there," said Dean. He opened the car door and swung himself out with enthusiasm. "C'mon. Let's check it out."
Sam tagged after him reluctantly, eyes flicking to each side of the narrow crescent. The last thing he wanted to do was get spotted creeping around by some overcurious neighbour, get the real cops called on them.
They were making their way up the driveway when a man approached, faster than would usually be necessary on a street like this. His groceries, forgotten, rolled onto the sidewalk.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
Two things Sam noticed about him first: his accent (English) and his demeanour (hunter). Yup, that suspicion was pure distilled hunter, like the ones his Dad had visited sometimes, all wards and trip lines and spotlights. He had the same search pattern, kept looking to the sides of them as if he expected something to pop up from behind. He was mad in the same way, too, fuming as if some past hurt had come back to haunt him, the kind he was armed for ten ways to Sunday. Sam shrunk back from it a little. That kind of righteous hunter's anger had never been directed towards him, not yet; good thing, too, the way Dad & Dean went on about some creatures. He didn't know how to take it.
Dean was unfazed – maybe he saw a kindred spirit in the other man – pulling out his ID and nudging Sam to do the same.
"Agents Malcolm and Angus."
Sam had wondered what names he was going to go for this time. For once, he kind of liked Dean's choice. The Jones brothers – how much more anonymous could one sound than that?
The man grabbed at both badges and scrutinised them carefully. Sam held his breath. For a moment while they pocketed them again, he thought they were in the clear.
Then, the man whipped out a cell phone, still glowering at them. "Fine," he said, voice tinged with mistrust. "I'll ring up and see what they're on about this time."
This time? Sam's eyes widened. Dean must've been just as surprised, he could tell from the way his posture shifted, but he was prepared yet again.
"Actually, if you'll check this card," Dean said, handing over something that had surfaced mysteriously from his pocket, "the number should direct you right to our supervisor, save you waiting on the line."
Dean had business cards? Sam was impressed. The other man was not. He tossed the card back to Dean in one practiced flick with barely a glance.
"I'll take my chances with the boards, thanks," he said drily.
"Actually," Sam burst out with all the pompousness he could muster, "our mission is too confidential to inquire about with Head Office."
Too confidential? said Dean's raised eyebrow, and the man, who after all this checking surely must be Dr. Parry, seemed to agree. He lowered his phone.
"Who are you really?" he asked. He moved closer once, closer again. His hands were not empty, fiddling with something behind his back. Sam could tell he was very ready to go through with whatever he was intending.
Sam gave him the once-over, different this time now that he was a threat. He wasn't tall, not even in the way Sam pretended Dean wasn't, but he was built broader than either of them, and that flare of fury burning in him could give him the advantage if he struck before they anticipated it.
"I told you. We're–"
He cut Dean off and stepped back, hands raised. "I'm Sam. He's Dean." At the sound of his name, Dean grumbled. "We're… private investigators who are looking into what's been going on at the– ah!"
Struck by a vision, he buckled at the knees and fell, clutching his splitting head. He was faintly aware of being held up on either side.
The hospital. Another patient. The other person wasn't visible – the patient smiled – her eyes turned black.
Strong fingers massaged his temples until his head cleared. When his vision stopped swimming, he could see the man in front of him, dark eyes filled with concern, although the suspicion had only sharpened, if anything. Dean, clumsily tender, clapped a hand to his back that threatened to send him to the ground again.
There was a tense instant as he and the man stared at each other, as the man seemed to go through an internal debate. While they waited, Dean somehow managed to wedge his shoulder past Sam's; he must've seen the man's misgivings, too. Sam pushed him aside, not happy to be shielded like that. About time Dean learnt he wasn't 'Sammy' anymore.
"I'm Dr. Parry," the man said finally, "Will." Sam extended his left hand to shake, but Will held out his right, forcing Sam to switch.
Will shook each of their hands, a quick, powerful squeeze that Sam could still feel a minute later when he flexed his hand. "I think you'd better come in."
But when they got to the door, Will said, "Wait out here," and went inside on his own. Sam was puzzled at the unnecessary delay, but it gave him a chance to discuss the situation with Dean.
Dean hit him lightly. "Dude, you okay?"
"I'm fine," said Sam, for what felt like the twentieth time, so Dean only hit him harder.
"What were you thinking giving up our names and everything like that? Now he thinks we're liars."
"We are liars."
"Yeah, but he doesn't have to–"
The creaking open of the front door interrupted Dean, although there was still a screen door between them and the house. On the other side of it was a pale woman, trembling slightly, with frazzled gray hair. The erratic slide of her eyes past them made Sam look twice, made him aware that something was not quite right with her. Will had his arm around her, and it was clear from both the resemblance and the solicitude he showed her that she was his mother or grandmother, Sam couldn't tell which. Will glared intently at them.
"This is Mrs. Parry, my mother. Mum, this is Sam and Dean," he said, as if he were introducing her to football buddies from down the street. Sam felt Dean droop beside him at being mentioned second. Well, that's what he got for not deciding to tell the truth.
"They're not here for my–" She swivelled her head from side to side and made her son bend down to whisper something to him. Will replied in a low, comforting murmur.
Sam bowed his head, letting them have their privacy. To his utter mortification, Dean would not stop staring. He prodded him.
Mrs. Parry shrunk back into Will's arm. "They look nice," she said doubtfully, "but big. Very big."
"That's what they say about me, Mum," replied Will, "except for the nice part."
The corners of her thin mouth curved up in a smile that made her look years younger, and she nodded. That must have been the signal. Will whispered something in her ear and squeezed her shoulder. When she had meandered deep into the house, he unlocked the screen door and held it ajar for them.
"Come in," he said.
Will thought it was a good start that he was making them uncomfortable. They had come to question him, but he might have more questions for them, after all. He brought in soft drinks for them and eyed their daemons.
They had been hard to watch separately out there with their daemons clustered so close. He still couldn't tell whose was whose. They'd been armed, he could tell. He wondered what they were investigating, to need that. Posing as officers! Even Lyra would never have gone that far.
All right, he supposed she would have, once she got old enough. Maybe she did now. Maybe there'd be some way he'd hear about it, in two days...
He wouldn't have let them in if he'd seen any sign of malice in them. They might be operating under false pretences, but their daemons had been gentle when Kirjava had first strolled up to them, not another golden monkey.
As they sat, the dog daemon sidled up next to the sofa. The room was small, the furniture in it crammed together to fit. With the rest of them folded into place, there was no space for the antelope; she was too big for it. She hung back, ill at ease, unable to move.
Kirjava leapt into his arms and bared her teeth to them.
"I think the impala is the blond one's, Dean's," she said, "and the greyhound is Sam's."
He nodded, though one might have expected the larger one to be Sam's. Now that they were more than an inch from each other, he could see the black stuff that had been strangling the patient's daemons in straggly patches on the greyhound's fur. It mirrored the sense of wrong he had felt coming from Sam the second he touched him.
The two on the couch roused themselves and, without looking at each other, Sam started with the questions. So they'd done this before. He didn't know if it was better or worse that they weren't amateurs.
Sam let Dean take over, and the greyhound roamed the room, sniffing at pictures and envelopes. Will was impressed. They couldn't see their daemons, he could tell by the way they looked at his arms, but they could use them nonetheless. Kirjava bristled in Will's lap until he unclasped her, and she leapt off the chair to knock down the other daemon. Sam ducked his head and went for his Coke.
Will interrupted Dean's meaningless queries about hospital ambience:
"I'll tell you what happened that was important, if you tell me why you're interested."
They both took a swig of their drinks that time.
Will sighed. In this world, anything out of the ordinary took so long for people to get around to describing. He didn't have time for this. He needed to pack. His meeting with Lyra was in two days.
"Is it because he–" Will nodded his head at Sam– "has the same thing trying to affect him?"
The greyhound barked; the impala nearly hit the ceiling. Will winced over her close shave. He really must have startled Dean for his daemon to start leaping. The nice thing about majoring in zoology was that it gave you the ability to read daemons better. Master seeing them, and anything after that was the easy part.
Anticipating their leap to their feet, he rose slowly to meet them and stared them down. "You may as well tell me everything."
"Where'd you hear that?" asked Dean as they sank back into their seats, not taking their eyes off each other. The shock had roughened his voice, made his words less articulated.
Sam was trembling. His daemon came over and laid her head on his lap. Dean unclenched his hand and reached out and brushed it against her and Sam calmed.
Will's jaw dropped. For a moment he was too stunned to speak. Even those who couldn't see daemons unconsciously avoided contact with other people's.
"How do you two know each other?" he asked. This was no mere work relationship.
"I said," Dean growled, "'Where'd you hear that?'"
Will glared at Dean; Dean glared back. Usually, Will could get another person to cede to him in an argument – if that was what this was becoming – but right now, he didn't think Dean would. In the spirit of expediency, he answered him first.
"I didn't," said Will. "I've travelled enough to know more than most, see more than most. That's what I saw."
"How?" said Sam. He sat stock-still, pale. Dean shifted closer, bracing him.
"You tell me your unbelievable story and I'll tell you mine."
"You're a doctor," said Dean, eyes narrowed, focus back. "How do we know you're not just trying to get us committed?"
"I want this case solved as much as you do."
"I doubt that," Sam muttered.
A spark of anger stirred in Will. "These are my patients who are being affected. They're already unwell, and whatever this is isn't helping."
He held their gaze.
Kirjava rubbed against his legs. He dropped his hand to trail it against her.
"It's not your fault, Will," she said.
Maybe not, but he had to do something about it. And he couldn't do much if these recalcitrant fools weren't willing to let him know what to do.
The daemons of the other two butted noses in a silent scuffle as their people locked eyes. Dean looked away first, and the impala bowed down her head.
"We're brothers," said Sam.
Will nodded. It made sense. There was no resemblance, but there was a physical language between them, between their daemons, that spoke of a tight, long-forged bond.
"You believe in ghosts?" asked Dean.
At first, Will couldn't even file his experiences into that neat little term, 'ghosts'. He thought of Spectres, of the translucent non-corporeality of angels. How ephemeral yet eternal a dead soul could be, all based on choices.
"Something like that," he said.
Dean grinned. "Good. It'll make it easier."
Kirjava bounded onto the table and fixed them with a gimlet eye. They might not be able to see it, but they felt it, all right. They took another moment before plying their words on Will again.
"Ghosts are real," said Sam. He leaned forward after that pronouncement, trying to gauge Will's reaction. Dean was concentrating, hard, on the doily on the table. Will gestured for Sam to go on; he'd seen too much for this to surprise him. "Ghosts and other supernatural creatures–"
"Every evil son of a bitch you can think of," Dean added, lifting his head. He was starting to sound interested in the conversation. "Demons worst of all."
Will blinked. "Can you spell that for me?"
Kirjava's fur was on end.
"Spell it?"
"I went through school in England before university. Humour me."
"D-E-M-O-N-S," Sam recited right away at breakneck speed, cutting in before Dean had fully taken a breath to speak. The impala rubbed its muzzle on Dean's shoulder.
"At least they're not talking about me," said Kirjava. Will buried a hand in her fur and scratched behind her ears.
"I know," he murmured. They'd be no better than Lyra's Gobblers if they were. He raised his voice to address the brothers. "Are those the black things that come and strangle people's souls?"
Then, Sam said, "Christo. Who are you?"
"I told you," said Will, "I can see things." Telling them about daemons-with-an-a and other worlds would detract from the problems at hand.
"Really? How old are you?"
"Twenty-six. Does it matter? Was the black thing the demon?"
Yet another Significant Look passed between them. Will wanted to scream. Instead, he threw himself off the sofa and paced with frenetic energy.
"Then he's not one of the special kids," said Dean.
"But he could be psychic," Sam said. "He might still have powers."
The problem with these investigators was that they wanted to solve mystery upon mystery, and Will had only the scope to deal with one. None of this was worth getting into right now. Kirjava let out a bloodcurdling yowl that relieved some of their feelings; he glowered at Sam and Dean until they returned to the topic at hand.
"Yeah, sounds like a demon," answered Dean. He finished his drink and started in on Sam's without a second to lose.
"You say it was strangling them?" asked Sam. "That's not usual behaviour. Usually it goes down their throats."
Damn, he would have to clarify after all.
"It wasn't the people themselves. I can see their... totem animals, so to speak. That's who was affected."
"'Totem animal'?" Kirjava repeated scornfully. She stuck her tail straight up in the air and sauntered out of the room. Will reached out a hand, silently appealing to her to stay, but she wouldn't turn around. Oh, he'd done it now.
Sam just had to perk up, all academic interest. Will mentally groaned. Any other time, this would be fine, maybe even enjoyable.
Fortunately, Dean was ready to cut to the chase. He shook his head in amazement.
"Kooky. So what happened when you realised something was up?"
"Their eyes went black, too, and they knew who I was." For a moment, Will was disquieted and could not continue.
"That's normal," said Sam. "Unpleasant, but normal."
"One of their goddamn mind tricks," Dean said. "What did they say?"
"If you don't mind, that is," Sam hastened to add. He snatched his drink back.
Will did mind, but he thought it might help.
"They said it would never be over, that there was a place they were taking the dead where they turned them into what I saw before me."
"Um, yeah," said Dean, gawking at him as if he was dim. "It's called Hell. Demons and Hell go together like mac & cheese, you know?"
"You never believed in Hell?" said Sam. His eyes were wide with either sympathy or more disbelief at his daftness, Will couldn't decide which.
But he couldn't describe to them how in seeing one world of the dead, he had assumed no others. Nor could he tell them what a blow it had been to hear that even with all their work, there was someone out there perverting the afterlife.
He felt like the white rabbit, unable to stop, parroting "No time! No time!" to himself as he plummeted deeper and deeper down the hole. Alice had always reminded him of Lyra, a little.
"So what did you do then?" asked Dean once he ran out of things on the table to look at. Sam frowned at him.
"I was supposed to be prepping the patients for surgery," Will began to explain, "so I had syringes and IV bags laid out." He frowned. "The first time, it was just a feeling. I filled one of the needles from the IV bag of saline and injected it in the patient. Then, black smoke shot out her mouth and unwrapped itself from her d–totem animal."
The pitying expressions cleared right off their faces.
"Yeah, salt is pretty much the thing to use," said Sam. "I thought you didn't know about ghosts or demons."
Will shrugged. "Sometimes I just know what to do about things." They dealt with ghosts; there was no harm in telling them about his overdeveloped instincts.
The greyhound dodged behind the loveseat and tussled with the impala once more as the brothers had another silent conference.
"You're not going to tell us why, are you?" Sam asked.
"I'm not entirely certain myself," said Will. He supposed that, like Lyra's grace with the alethiometer, he had received a certain amount of grace himself from being the bearer of the Subtle Knife... but it was nothing anyone could prove.
He wished Kirjava was in here, helping him find the words to say. Without her, he wasn't doing so well.
Dean drummed his fingers on his knee. "Well, have you seen any with yellow eyes?"
Will shook his head.
"Good. He's the evillest bastard of them all, and that's saying something."
"Did they ever say why they came?" Sam asked warily.
"Never got that far," said Will. He was lucky to have figured things out as fast as he had. The demons hadn't been able to affect his left arm – the Knife at work again? – but he'd been pinned to the wall shortly into his first encounter. "How do you stop them?"
Dean's face lit up as he started to explain. Will thought some of his measures might be worth implementing around the house. Could you contract out for something like that? With his residency, he wouldn't have time to do it himself. The white rabbit once more.
Sam slumped, bored, and the greyhound started prowling the room again. Will gritted his teeth, not liking it, but how could you tell someone to keep their consciousness out of your things?
Luckily, his pager chose that moment to buzz. He moved to the back of the room to call the hospital, staring at the dog until she cleared out.
"Yes?"
After a few confused transfers on the other end, he managed to reach Nancy, the nurse helping with the patient who'd gone into decline because of that damn demon attack.
"Dr. Gupta needs you in surgery," she said. "We're prepping Lopez."
"What?" said Will. He paced. "There's no way he's ready. He needs more time."
As he spun on his heel, he caught sight of Sam and Dean, who were making no signs to hide their eavesdropping. He stalked out of the room, though he didn't dare close the door on them. They'd be peeking under the carpet next.
"Isn't there any way we can delay the surgery?" he asked. He'd felt that wrongness on Mr. Lopez even after he'd sent the demon away, and he had a feeling it wouldn't mix well with surgery. Maybe it would be gone by now. The only thing to do would be to check. Gupta was fast, though; she'd probably be cutting into Lopez by the time Will was still scrubbing in. Delay was their best tactic.
Will sighed. The prospect of time to prepare for his holiday was looking less and less certain.
"Check his vitals," they heard coming loudly from the hallway, then furious muttering. "But if his O2-sat's..."
Dean tuned Will out. Sheesh, he'd really thought being a doctor would be more glamorous. You didn't hear all those longass strings of numbers and letters on Dr. Sexy. He surveyed the room for anything more interesting.
Sam nudged him. "Check it out," he said, gesturing at a photo on the high table thing behind the couch. It was a younger Will – maybe at Sam's age – with snowy backdrop and triumphant pose and a... polar bear? Dean did a double take.
That was pretty kickass. Sure, the bear must've been tranqed to the hilt, but better than having some awful rug, animal's bewildered head still attached. Those things were a waste. Probably haunted besides.
Seeing the picture just cemented his discomfort with Will, though. A dude who'd get up close and personal with a polar bear (not that Dean wouldn't) was a dude who was willing to fight. He had an injury on his left hand that spoke of a knifing, and he'd already been ready to throw down out front. If not for the presence of his mother, Dean wouldn't have been okay with coming in the house. Not to hide behind a mom, of course, but because until that point, Will had been so infuriated that Dean'd expected to be shanked the moment they stepped through the door anyway.
That wasn't the only thing that made him uneasy, though. Will had been seeing things they couldn't the entire time. Touching them, too, if his unpredictable hand gestures were any indication. The guy looked like Dr. Evil pretending Mr. Bigglesworth still had fur.
Dean didn't like unpredictable. Or evil, for that matter.
He leaned over and peeked at Sam's prissily-handwritten notes. The case seemed straightforward, sure, but Will was so weird in what he knew and what he could do that Dean was wondering if he wasn't a case himself. He put forward the theory to Sam in a low whisper.
As usual, Sam was a doofus who thought people shat sunshine.
"He can help us, Dean," Sam said earnestly, doing that thing where he made his face look like a cartoon. "If he doesn't have powers and can sense things about demons, maybe we can too."
Dean growled. He wasn't thrilled with how Will had just pinpointed Sam like that. Was it the powers that had clued him in? He'd been the one to touch Sam's head during the vision; maybe it had shown him something, too? Dean'd never had that come up for him. Then again, he didn't have a ghost cat. Though it'd be kinda cool. Got rid of all the arguments Dad had used against Sam getting a pet, and Sam was a total cat lady.
"What was your vision, anyway?" Dean asked, and Sam filled him in. Nothing Dean couldn't have predicted himself, although knowing that someone else at the hospital might be exposed to a demon made him uneasy. They had to get there soon and solve the problem.
By the sounds of the phone conversation out in the hallway, they might get their chance sooner than later. Whether Will wanted to or not, Dean was making damn sure they were coming with him. Knowing their luck, if they waited they'd find Will performing summoning rituals by the time they got there.
Dean didn't want to trust him until he provided a better explanation for what he'd been up to that had him so wise to, yet ignorant of, the supernatural. Not knowing about Hell, pfft.
Mrs. Parry drifted into the room from its side entrance, which probably connected to the dining room. Without thinking about it, Dean got to his feet.
Her gaze was clearer, more focused since when they'd met her. Dean guessed she didn't take her meds 'til Will came home. She jumped a little upon seeing them.
"Is Will–" She turned her head towards the hallway and rolled her eyes. "Oh, once he's on the phone for work he's on for an hour! Do you boys know what happened to the groceries? "
Dean smiled a little at being called a boy, but as she asked the rest of her question he felt a quick flash of guilt. "Sidewalk," he said. "Sorry, ma'am, we were horsing around and distracted Will. If you want, I can get them for you."
"Oh, thank you." She reached out tentatively and patted him on the arm. It was kind of nice.
He used the opportunity to scout out more of the house. There was this freaky yellow tree in the backyard, though it smelt awesome, but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary. They'd probably just brought it over from England or something.
When he got back, after, Sam was grinning the kind of smug grin developed through years of being a brat.
"What?" he said. Might as well get it over with.
"Nothing," said Sam. "It's just–you looked about five just then. You really don't know how to interact with a woman you don't want to sleep with, do you?"
Something about what Sam was saying made Dean uncomfortable. God, Mrs. Parry was Mom's age! What would've been Mom's age.
"Shut up," he said, elbowing Sam in the side. "'Sides, I don't see you with a chocolate bar." He brandished his reward in Sam's face before ripping the wrapper open and chowing down. "Mmm." He chewed loudly, making smacking sounds, just to bother his brother.
It worked. Sam wrinkled his nose and said, "Gross, Dean." He was just too easy sometimes.
Will came back into the room, a storm cloud of emotion, and Dean gulped hard to get rid of the rest of his snack. Looked like they might have to fight to get in on the hospital gig.
But Will said, "I have an important case. You lot came in as CDC workers?"
Sam nodded, and Dean buried his head in his hands. Jeez, if nothing else the doctor could just get 'em charged.
"I booked you an exam room. Once you find your demon, you can deal with it in there."
Dean's head shot up.
Easier said than done, but more than most gave them. Was it a trap? "Thanks, I guess."
Will set his jaw. "I want that thing out of the hospital. If you can't do that, don't even bother coming."
Well, that was just insulting. "Course we can do it! This is our job, dammit."
"Good luck, then."
Dean had wondered if Will had even had a vehicle, but he turned out to be parked in the street. The heat had made them careless, pulling into the driveway just to avoid that extra bit of time outside. Maybe Sammy was right about air-conditioning. No need to tell him that, though.
Ultimately, Sam's vision was what led them to find the demon, who'd forced its way into a hysterectomy patient just waking up from anaesthetic. They coaxed her into a chair, though the woman was probably in no shape to be sitting up, and steered her into the room before the demon could fully control her body.
"What have we here?" said the demon. "Parry's too good to take care of things himself these days, is he? You're a fumbling bunch of two-bit lackeys compared to him. He's the one who has what we need."
"Would a two-bit lackey know how to do this?" Dean said as he injected the saline needle into the patient's arm. For once, he tried to be gentle, thinking of the poor woman the demon was wearing. Sam opened the book and started the exorcism.
Dean felt a chill go through him as he tried to place the demon. It didn't know who they were, so at least it wasn't that bitch Meg, thank goodness for small favours. But other demons being up and about were signs of something bad on the horizon.
Least it wasn't interested in them – fine, in Sam. What could it be after Will for? Dean knew finding out from a demon was only asking for trouble; Sam, too, was straining to keep from asking. It'd been hard enough not getting anything out of Will.
The demon seemed to sense their questions. Its eyes shot open, black once again.
"He's done things even you'd never imagine," it hissed. It began to thrash, and Dean tried to hold it down. "Hell is rising, and the only way to stop a threat like him is to take him out first."
His arms felt wet suddenly. When he looked down, the patient's white hospital gown was seeping red across the middle.
He stopped, forgetting to breathe, as the memory of other cuts like that took over. The demon wrenched free from his grasp and punched him hard enough to send him sprawling across the room.
"Dean!" Sam said, rushing towards him to help him up. Dean shook him off.
"Get rid of it," he yelled. "She doesn't have much time!"
But Sam had seen up close once what Dean had seen out of the corner of his eye twice. As he turned towards the possessed patient, he dropped the book and stood there just staring at it.
Good thing Dad wasn't here to see them freeze like this.
Now that he'd snapped out of it, he could allow Sam a moment to put himself back together. He pounced towards the book, starting at the last line he remembered from Sam, and gabbled at a breakneck pace. Finally, the woman's head snapped back and a cloud of black smoke came hurling out. She fell limp.
Dean rushed to her to stanch the bleeding. If they weren't in a hospital, he'd say she was a goner. Even now, her odds weren't great.
"Stay with me," he said to her. "Come on."
Sam had leapt back into action, jamming the red emergency button over and over.
"Why aren't they coming?" he cried.
It felt like an hour, but it had to be less than a minute before staff came bursting through the door. In the hubbub, he and Sam managed to escape with minimal questioning.
Once they ditched the bloody scrubs, pointedly not talking about what had happened in there, Sam mentioned that they should probably talk to Will again.
Dean thought about it. The doctor hadn't steered them wrong like he'd worried, that was something. Main thing to keep in mind, not warning someone that demons were interested in them, no matter how that person acted, was just plain cruel. Will could probably take care of himself – even the demon'd seemed pretty sure of that – but he'd need to know something was after him.
They flashed their fake passes and followed the suggestions of confused nurses until they finally located him. He was watching over that Lopez guy, the one he'd spazzed about on the phone.
"Did it work?" he said as soon as they came in.
"For now," said Sam. He and Dean exchanged troubled looks. "They seem to want something from you."
"And they want to kill you," added Dean.
"Dean!"
Will brushed right by the threat, though.
"An actual object, or information?" he asked.
That was suspiciously specific. Dean considered going back to his house to search, but he remembered Mrs. Parry. She'd been scared before, he could tell, and they couldn't do that to her again, no matter what Will was hiding. There'd be no point in asking the closed-mouthed bastard himself about it, of course.
Sam shook his head. "Demons are never real clear on what they want."
"Part of what makes 'them so loveable," Dean said.
"Great," said Will. "Anything I should do to prepare?"
"It would probably be best if I could e-mail you a list," Sam said.
Will grimaced. "That much to do?" He pulled out a business card and handed it to Sam.
"Wait," said Dean. "Uh... got a piece of paper?"
Digging into his lab coat, Will retrieved and handed over a prescription pad. Dean pulled out a pen and started scribbling their contact information on it.
He chuckled. "Between this lab coat and my prescription right here, I feel like a real doctor right now."
Sam huffed. "Like anyone would mistake you for one."
Clearly, he was just jealous.
"Here." Dean handed over their details to Will. "Anything comes up–"
"Or if you ever decide to explain how you knew all those things," interrupted Sam, who might've been taking the lack of explanation even worse than Dean, "just let us know."
Will glanced at the paper. "Huh. I grew up in a town called Winchester."
"Hey, Sammy, hear that?" said Dean. "They named a town after us."
Sam finally cracked a smile – bitch must've woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, but Dean didn't blame him. They said their goodbyes and went out to the parking lot joking and laughing. Dean looked up at the hospital before getting into the car. Will was by the window of his patient's room. He waved, and Dean waved back.
Seeing him like that, all the way up there with a conked-out patient, Dean felt sorry for him. He would have to deal with this new threat in his life all alone, while he had Sam with him, at least for now. There had been a number of cases that Dean had handled on his own, but it was nothing compared to hunting with someone you knew and trusted.
"You ever consider hunting alone?" he asked Sam. "Like, at Stanford?"
"I never had to," said Sam. He looked over. "There was a surprising lack of supernatural activity in Palo Alto. You know anything about that?"
"Better ask Dad when we find him." Dad needed the brownie points with Sam.
Sam took a while to answer Dean's question, so long that Dean thought he'd forgotten.
"You know," Sam said, "it's bad enough hunting with you. I don't think I could handle hunting alone."
"Course you could," Dean said automatically, but he heard what Sam was saying. "Yeah, same here."
There was silence in the car for a while.
"I hope Will's okay," said Sam. "We should've asked him what he saw about me."
"Sure," Dean lied. He forced a smile.
They didn't have to wait long to find out about Will. He called them later in the week, although there was so much noise on the other side of the line that Dean couldn't place him.
"Where are you?" Dean asked, hoping he wasn't being held as bait for something more sinister.
"Airport," said Will. Dean shuddered; his first thought hadn't been too far off. "It's the only time I've had free since we met."
"What do you want?"
"Do you believe in other worlds?"
Dean thought about that really trippy time he'd seen a rainforest through a fence in Indiana and draped their only towel over it.
"Something like that," he said.
"Good. It'll make it easier."
END