A/N: Hey, wow it's been awhile, huh? So, this is just a little story about nothing particular, but my muse wanted me to write it, so … here it is. I own nothing and I'm sorry for all the grammar/spelling mistakes. The only warning I can give for this is: language and gross stuff. Ya know, the usual from me. *grins*
The morgue was cold, which was a damn good relief from the oppressive heat that had been hanging out around this town all three days that they'd been here.
Thank fuck for a diner with awesome coffee, awesome pancakes and an awesome rack on the blond waitress, otherwise Dean would have already packed up, shoved everything and his brother into the car and drove away with the car's tail spinning. But as it was, the diner and an actually pretty decent motel room decoration - nothing says 'this room kinda rocks' more than a strip of music notes stretching around the four walls - was what kept him here and still sane. But he was starting to feel it - the itch to get in the car, wrap his hands around the steering wheel, turn the music way up and drive, drive, drive. Yeah, that itch was getting mighty persistent the longer they hadn't cracked this case open, dealt with it and send the whatever did it packing to Purgatory. They really needed to solve this case, really did, because one more night sweating buckets would do him in, he just knew it.
A man could only get hydrated so much - the rack-staring was just a perk - but he really couldn't spend all his time at that diner. He was already getting some strange looks from the patrons and well, strange looks in towns like these could spell trouble with a capital 't' and they really couldn't afford that.
Besides, he was pretty sure he wouldn't get any, as the finger belonging to the rack had a wedding ring on it.
Oh well. Another town, a different town, somewhere along the way, sometime soon hopefully and maybe he'd get lucky there. Although, if not, then he'd seriously need to look harder at himself, because the dry spell had been going on for a while now and if he didn't know better, he'd think that he was still wearing odor de Purgatory that was driving all the chicks away.
He sighed. Just his luck.
"Dude get your ass here."
Sam ... was another story altogether. It had all been fun and games until it stopped being all fun and games and now his brother was coughing up his lungs every once in a while and bleeding into paper napkins, trying to be sneaky about it, but fuck the brat, of course he would notice. He changed the kid's diapers, of course he noticed everything. Sam couldn't hide anything from him and it was kind of insulting that the kid even tried. What. A. Bitch.
But ... all being said and done, his brother was sick and in pain and hell if he wouldn't do everything in his power to make all that Sam was going through easier on the kid. He just needed to keep his eyes open and mouth running and keep his little brother from turning into a river of blood and sweat. His brother was strong, such a tough son of a bitch, but even gladiators needed a minute of respite. And he was there and always would be there to help Sam get more than just a minute.
"Comin'." He hissed, trying to be quiet. It might be redundant, that, ya know, in a room full of dead people, but one never knew where any live ones were hiding. No need to be caught.
Everything was so sterile around him; it made his skin crawl. He wouldn't say that he was a dirty guy, he washed and cleaned and cut his nails and toenails and his nose hair, but there was a thing called 'way too freaking shiny clean' and this was it. Purgatory had been nasty, dirty and filled with noise, filled with really bad body odor and really sticky sticking ... stuff, so seeing something be so spotlessly clean and smelling like a gallon of disinfectant had been spilled all over the place, well, it was something to get used to, 's all. Something to get used to again, because he was back now and this ... this was his life. Cemeteries, morgues, warehouses and his Baby. And the bunker, of course, let's not forget the Batcave, which was still something he really couldn't wrap his head around.
Legacies.
Just ... pile of weird on pile of weird and he almost thought that he had his weirdness all in check, but no, the bunker came out of nowhere and added even more weird on a very large pile of weird. At least it was safe. And his bed had a memory foam mattress.
Bless 'em Men of Letters.
"Anytime today, dude, c'mon we're wasting time."
He wasn't entirely sure why they had to sneak into the morgue after hours, in the dead of the night, like seriously dead of the night, because this town went goodbye, goodnight and see ya later at around eight in the evening. It was as if everyone just crawled into their coffins, closed the lid and went to sleep until morning. Only the diner was open 24/7 which lowered the creep factor of the town for a smidge. Like a really tiny smidge.
So yeah, why they couldn't have gone to check the latest victim in the office hours, well only Sam knew that and he would not ask his brother. The last time he asked something his brother snapped at him that he stinks and that he should hurry up. And no one talked to him like that, ever, not even Sam - okay, yes Sam - so point a) he didn't want a repeat of that and b) he maybe was still kinda sulking about it. But he wouldn't risk more questions because his brother could be an ass when he was hurting and had the weight of the world on his shoulders. But then again, wouldn't everybody be an ass and have the right to be like that in a situation like that?
He looked at his brother's back where he was hunched over a body cooling on the table and quickened his pace, because he didn't want Sam to do this all on his own. They hadn't turned on their flashlights, leaving the artificial green-white light to lead their way, because even if this town had been run over by some sort of reverse vampires - probably not - who packed up their children and tuck them to bed at eight sharp, there was still a possibility that someone could spot the light and come looking. Or call the sheriff. Who was actually a pretty decent guy who knew his shit. Who knew?
He'd been in a morgue plenty of times, but the sight of all those medieval torture devices, erm, autopsy erm instruments still made him cringe. God, even in death people torture people. That was just ...
He knew he'd never have to go through this, not if he died first. Sam would ... Sam would ... he didn't know what Sam would do, because his baby brother was all kinds of a freak and there were so many options on what his brother would do. Because he had done many things already, but a proper hunter's burial. So, perhaps, if Sam was crossing things of a list or something, a hunter's burial was next in line. But if Sam would die first, then ... no, he ... no, just no. There would be no death going on on his watch damn it.
"Dude stop growling and come over here, I think I found something."
Growling? Awesome, now his brother was calling him a dog too. What a day.
He adjusted his shirt, the collar of the plaid soaking wet. They seriously needed to get away from this heat, drive up north, try the mountains of Montana, or Colorado. Maybe even go as far as Alaska to cool down their skin. Snow sounded perfect right now.
-:-
"So, what did you find?"
He knew he sort of sneaked up on his brother and all that, but the way Sam jumped made him smile. His brother was so easy sometimes, but these days he was just too ... fragile ... to make fun of or scare the crap out of him. For all he knew, Sam could get an aneurysm and die. Fuck.
He stepped to the other side of the table and looked at Sam. Bloodshed eyes, check. Sweat on face, check. Pale skin, check. Hair in a mess, check. Stubble, check. Flaring nostrils, check. Mouth in a thin, angry line, check. Oh.
"What?"
"Don't sneak up on me like that you idiot."
"Sorry."
He swallowed down any snarky comments, insults and his pride and just apologized. Sam didn't need a stroke on top of whatever the trials were doing to him.
He didn't need any extra stress or anything. What he needed was sleep and tons of it. What he needed was food and tons of it. What he needed was his mother not to die when he'd been six months old. What he needed was a normal, apple pie life.
His brother didn't deserve all of this.
Sneaking into morgues at one in the morning in a creepy, really creepy little town to get his fingers all over some whoah, really wickedly slashed, half naked guy. He didn't deserve all this. No one did.
"Those are some really deep wounds, man."
"Yeah, yeah they are. Some of them go straight through him, like he was impaled."
"Well, 'kay then. Got your eyeful, can we go now?" He was starting to feel like he had ants crawling all over his body, nerves screaming at him to just get the hell out of the room. He saw what needed to be seen, his brother's brain got enough info to research what the hell was going on in this town and yeah, they needed to go. Now. But as usual, he didn't get what he wanted. He never got what he wanted; not even that slice of pie Sam owed him for like years now. The brat. Cake ain't pie, Sam should know that, he was old enough.
He sneezed. Not cool, very much not cool, which was confirmed by Sam looking at him with that 'are you serious' look and his mouth in a thin line. So, obviously Sam wasn't impressed with sneezing and well, to be honest, he wasn't either, because they couldn't afford him getting down with something right now. They didn't have the time to be sick, no time for a common cold or worse, a flu. That would put a major dent in their plans of saving people. And hunting things. And closing Hell. A flu could lay a guy down for a week and that was seven days of people dying and monsters living and Hell being open and they just couldn't afford that. Well ... maybe it was just a sneeze. The dust and weird smelling chemicals in the room, and all that.
He didn't answer to his brother's look, just wiped his nose in his sleeve. Which apparently grossed Sam out enough to scrunch up his nose and point goes to Dean for making his little brother be grossed out. Job well done. Now he had snot on his sleeve, but hey, got baby brother to do something else with his face than just have it be in a look of constant pain.
"So," he looked back down to the body, "he got munched on?"
Sam looked down as well: "Looks like."
"Got any ideas?"
'cause he had to ask. Had to know how close they were in figuring out the answer to the 'what the fuck was going on in this town' question that had been bugging them ever since his Baby drove past the sign declaring the name of the town and population number.
"No, nothing."
Well that sucked. It'd be another long night in a town where lights go out at eight and they both feel awkward as hell leaving the motel light on way past three in the morning. They shouldn't feel like that, because fuck people and what they thought of them, but ... still, it did look unnatural for their motel light to be the only, literally the only - Dean checked one night when he went on a stroll down main street - light in town.
"This town gives me the creeps, man, we have to figure this out and I'm not above running then."
Sam's only reply was a nod, but Dean knew they were on the same page here.
"Good, now let's go."
The step he took was halted midair because a sharp tug on his arm stopped his momentum and he would've fallen right on his ass, if he hadn't grabbed the edge of the table.
"Fuckin' Christ, Sam."
He didn't even mean to cuss like that, but whoah, the hell? There were really, really strong fingers wrapped around his forearm like a vice and: "Dude, the hell?" went unanswered from Sam, because his brother was staring down at the body, whose hand just shot up and gripped Dean's arm.
"Dean..."
His name was spoken in awe, he could tell that much, and yeah ... he was feeling the awe too. And he might've peed himself a little bit too, but Sam needn't know that, because holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit. Awe turned into a near heart attack, because holy shit. And then his heart calmed down and all of this just became a huge annoyance to him. Funny how emotions could turn from a to b to c in a span of a second when you've seen things in this world, things that would've send most people into a nut house. But for him it went from awe to stroke to annoyance. Swell.
He sighed and looked down at the peaceful expression on the dead guy's face.
He whispered: "We gonna have a problem here, buddy? 'cause I have salt and a lighter and 'm not afraid to use it."
"I don't think he can hear you."
"Gee, ya think?" He really wanted to roll his eyes at Sam, but the kid'd been through enough and the fingers were seriously starting to cut off his circulation.
"Well ..." Whatever Sam meant to say was cut off by door opening and then slamming closed in the hallway. The main door.
"Someone's coming."
"Gee, ya think Sam? What gave you that clue?"
"Stop fooling around."
"Yes Sam, because I'm having a ball here, I'm seriously having the time of my life."
They could hear heavy footsteps coming their way, the heels of the security guard's shoes tap-tap-taping on the linoleum floor. For a second they both thought the guard would go check the other rooms first, but no such luck as the tap-tap-taps were getting closer and closer.
"'s coming here, shit, c'mon, c'mon, just ... just cut it off!"
That was panic. That was some serious panic right there, because there was no knowing what the guard would do to them if he found them here. They could, of course, go with the FBI excuse, but this town was crazy odd and perhaps sneaky FBI agents would get snuffed out like a candle. No one would know.
"What?"
"Cut the damn hand off Sam, come on!"
He watched as Sam reached for the bone saw on the nearby cart and started sawing through the dead guy's wrist with such ferocity Dean though he would puke. Skin, flesh, bone, it all cracked and parted under the sharp saw and Sam was really going at it. A natural, his brother was. He was kind of, in a really twisted way, proud of his baby brother. The kid was going at that hand as if it personally insulted him, sawing through the wrist until it detached from the rest of the arm.
"'m gonna be sick."
"Dude, that's nasty."
Yes, yes it was nasty, but: "Dude, I've got a hand hanging from my arm, let's not talk about gross here."
They've done gross and nasty before, but strangely there was a difference between burning a rotting corpse and having a rotting corpse's body part hanging from one of your body parts.
"Larry, did you leave the light on again?"
They both froze at the sound of the voice, the only thing moving in the whole room was the guy's hand hanging off of Dean's arm. Swinging left and right. He looked into Sam's eyes and blinked. They were gonna be in deep shit if anyone found them here.
"Yeah, Lucy said she'll only be gone half an hour, she went to get a snack and then she'll do the autopsy."
"Well, 'kay then."
The voices moved further from the door, and what was wrong with this damn town? Beside the heat? No one did autopsy at one am, not even workaholics. Right?
"Dude."
"Dude."
Well, at least he and Sam were on the same page again, 'cause what else was there to say? They've been doing this their whole lives and not even once had they encountered anything like, he looked down at the swinging hand, this.
They both held each other's gaze, even when Sam slowly put the bone saw back on the cart. And then they, by some unconscious agreement, rounded the table, fingers of the hand still firmly locked around his forearm and seriously this wasn't even in the top ten of what the fuck moments for him. That should be really, really sad, but most of all, it was just really, really comforting. Because if they made it out of the top ten what the fuck moments, then they for sure would get out of this one too. Right?
Right.
They walked towards the swinging doors, leaving the body with the claw marks and now sans one hand to lay on the table. They got their information and the less contact they had with the people in this town the better.
They didn't need to talk to 'Lucy the coroner' now, which was great.
They leaned over to look through the glass but there was no one in the hallway.
"Clear?"
"Yeah."
Sam's whisper moved them into the hallway towards the back door. The security guards must've gone back to the break room or something because there wasn't a living soul anywhere.
"We clear?"
"Clear."
The all clear moved them outside into the damn oppressive heat and he could feel as sweat started to run down his spine. This was ridiculous. It was little after one in the morning and it was still as hot as a furnace.
"Feels like this town is sitting over a stove, man."
"Yeah, 's weird."
There was sweat breaking out on his brother's skin where the shirt didn't cover it, running down Sam's temples in big, fat drops. It did nothing for Sam's complexion which was pale and sweaty to begin with. He even thought that he saw Sam sway for a tiny moment the heat obviously hitting his little brother hard. Sam needed food and needed some sleep, but those weren't the things Sam would get very soon. Or want. Sam was a stubborn creature, he should know, he raised the kid himself and no matter how much he would force food and sleep down Sam's gullet, the kid wouldn't want it. Not before he'd either solve this case or collapse.
The Trials were … they were the right thing to do, right?
-:-
The sight of his Baby was like a beacon of light after seeing only darkness for centuries and he all but ran - manly speed walked - towards her, the small stub of the hand around his forearm swinging in the air, but that didn't stop him from opening the door, getting the key in the ignition, starting the car and getting the fuck away from the building as fast as he could. If Sam hadn't been keeping up, he'd drive off without his brother. Well not really, but it came close to that. This whole place was giving him the creeps and he didn't want to stay there a minute longer.
"Well that was..." There were no words to describe what that was. No words. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and tried to ignore the hand hanging off his forearm, unbalancing his left hand. The grip was damn strong. He could drive one handed of course, but it was best to keep his left hand on the wheel and keep an eye on the hand. One never knew in his line of business - there was a strong possibility that the hand would come alive and start crawling further up. Or down. Yes, keeping an eye on it was the smart thing to do. Even if it was both disgusting and disturbing. At least the guy didn't have any weird skin diseases; like zits or boils. There were some freckles there at the back of his hand and Jesus, eyes on the road, Dean.
"There's something really weird going on in this town, Dean, it's like ..."
"Yeah I know, we gotta be careful man, all right," he chanced a look his brother's way, "gotta be smart about this, okay?"
Sam looked horrible in the light of the passing street lights.
I see light at the end of this tunnel.
God but at what cost?
"Yeah, yeah of course."
"Okay, all right. First we'll get this fucking hand off me and then lock ourselves in the room and and, I don't know ... do stuff."
"Do stuff? You mean I'll research and you'll watch TV?
"Dude, don't insult me. I research."
"Yeah, what's on TV."
"Pfft, you're on TV."
"Nice."
"Shut up."
This was familiar territory; getting his brother all riled up and giving him a reason to smile a bit even if at the cost of making himself look like a fool. Done it before, would do it whenever Sam would need it. If he couldn't take away the pain Sam was going through with the trials, then he would feed the kid, make him smile and knock him out in order for Sam to get some sleep. He'd do it. Watch him.
"Look at the bright side."
"What's that?"
What bright side could this possibly have? He had a hand of a dead guy hanging off his arm, the grip not getting any weaker and they were stuck in a town that was just not normal, even by their standards. And his brother was looking like death warmed over and he personally knew death and Death didn't really look as bad as Sam did right now.
What bright side?
"At least it's not dripping blood."
"Shut up." He growled but smirked on the inside, because maybe Sam wasn't that bad off, if he could still find the energy to piss him off.
-:-
Getting the hand off of his arm was actually easier than he thought it would be. Cutting away the thumb with bold cutters and baaam, the hand fell off of him as if it had never been there.
He raised up his sleeve and yeah, just as he expected there was a ring of fingers around his forearm, impressions of a crazy tight grip that would take some time to disappear. But what was all this compared to what his brother was going through? Nothing. It was nothing.
"Think we can keep it?"
"What?"
"You know, like in the Addams family."
Sam huffed. "You're a moron."
"No, 'm not, because I know what's going on here."
"You do?"
"Say 'm the smartest guy you ever met and I'll share."
"You five?"
"Say it."
"Not when you're still waving that hand around like that 'm not."
Perhaps pointing the hand of the dead guy – minus a thumb - at his little brother wasn't the smartest move judging by the way Sam's whole face scrunched up like he just bathed in sour milk.
"You're a moron," the sigh that followed meant nothing good would come out of Sam's mouth and Dean was right, "and that's part of a dead guy and we should ... give it back to him somehow. Before it really becomes alive and tries to choke us in our sleep."
"You're no fun."
The eye roll was patented Sam Winchester and it made him smirk. He'd make his baby brother smile, because smiling is good for the soul. Or so he'd been told.
"I hate witches."
"Me too."
It wasn't weird that ruled the town, it was good old fear.
The End