for Cathy for her birthday
Everything to Everyone 2
K Hanna Korossy
For a college boy, he was a nice kid.
Bruno pointed him to one of the plastic chairs on the porch, and the kid sat down. Eyes sincere, manner polite, hair a little long, but not down to his shoulders like so many teens' today. Clothes decent. Why his girls couldn't bring home a boy like this one, Bruno didn't know.
"So, Mr. Markinson. Could you tell me what you saw that night?"
Bruno shifted in the chair, which creaked ominously under his weight. "I don't know that I can tell ya more than what I told the reporters already. But I guess you college kids don't read many newspapers, huh?"
The boy leaned in. "Actually, I've read all the articles. The problem is, none of them said exactly what you saw in the park, just something about disturbances and a wild animal?"
Marge had told him to stop talking about that "nonsense," but the kid looked really interested, and this was for education, right? Bruno shrugged. "Well…it was dark, you understand. I'm not exactly sure what I saw, honestly. But…it had red eyes, I'm sure of that. And when it saw me, it…stood up."
The kid's eyebrows rose; he was already impressed. "Like…sat up like a dog?"
"No, I mean stood, like on its back two feet. Looked a lot like a wolf until then, although where a wolf came from in downtown Columbus…"
The kid's cell phone rang but he silenced it without even looking. Really good manners. He gave nodded earnestly. "And then, when it saw you, did it do anything else?"
"Sorta…growled at me. Scared me a little, tell you the truth. Especially when I saw…the body. They said it was a young woman, but didn't look like one by the time I saw her."
"That must've been awful." The kid's eyes filled with emotion; probably the worst he'd ever seen was a hurt animal in the road.
Bruno reassured him, "It wasn't so bad, kid—I been to Vietnam, worked for a few years as a cop after. There are some ugly things out there, won't lie to you, but you get used to it."
The kid nodded wholeheartedly.
"But, uh, I'm sure they'll catch this thing, whatever it was, soon," Bruno quickly added.
"I'm sure they will, Mr. Markinson." He consulted his notebook, a small spiral-bound he'd probably gotten the idea of from Clark Kent or something, and said, "Just one more question. Did the…creature seemed to be intelligent at all?"
Bruno frowned. "What? Kid, you've read too many comic books. It was probably just some weird wolf or something. Animals aren't people-smart. Next thing, you'll be asking if it's a werewolf."
The boy gave him a wan smile. Busted. "Right. You're right. I just…uh, thank you for your time, Mr. Markinson. This will help a lot."
"Sure, son. Any time I can help you college kids, you just let me know. Margie's a heck of a cook, too, if you're lonely for a home-cooked meal."
He could see the longing in the kid's face, knew he'd pegged him this time. Those college kids were always missing home. "Thank you, sir," he said, nodding politely and moving down the steps with that long-legged gait. The kid was skinny, but Bruno had to look up at him. His mama probably made him eat all his vegetables when he was little.
"Oh, uh, kid?" Bruno called after the boy. "What's your name again? I wanna keep an eye out for your piece."
"Sam. Sam Page."
"Huh," Bruno said, grinning. "Good name for a reporter."
That small smile again; the kid was on the shy side. "Yes, sir." And he turned away.
Bruno watched him go down the walk, pulling out his phone and listening to his message. The young man suddenly straightened as he reached the curb, and…well, for a second there, Bruno could have sworn he looked like a soldier: something about the way he moved, the way he stood.
Yeah, right. Probably the closest the kid had ever come to a weapon was a squirt gun.
Shaking his head, Bruno headed inside to see what Marge had cooked up for dinner.
00000
"He…fell. He just—crash, the window broke out, and he fell. Right in front of me! A second later and he might've hit me!"
The cop was making calm down motions, and if he didn't stop soon, Rose was going to hit him with her purse. He should calm down—he hadn't almost had a guy fall on him! And…lie there on the sidewalk all bloody. She hadn't been able to make herself walk away, and had finally spread her sweater over him while she waited for the ambulance, but she was never getting the blood out. And she wasn't even going to think about HIV or hepatitis or anything.
"Miss—"
"Ms. Riley. Rose Riley. I'm telling you—"
"Right, Ms. Riley. And you've never seen him before?"
"Didn't I just say that? He just fell out of the building and landed in front of me. First time I ever laid eyes on him." And he hadn't been hard on her eyes, either, even with the blood pooling under his head. Long lashes, a light sprinkle of freckles across his nose, strong chin. Just last week, she'd been complaining to Natalie about good men not just falling from the sky, and here he was! But…the blood… She rubbed her hand against her jeans, flinching at the glimpse of him as the cop's partner slid to one side while checking him over. The ambulance was still a distant wail—weren't those things supposed to come fast? "Is he going to be all right?" she asked in a smaller voice. Because he did have a nice face.
"I'm sure he will, ma'am," the cop soothed her, and Rose rolled her eyes. Just because she was shook up didn't mean he had to patronize her.
"Well, you won't mind if I look for myself," she said tartly, and stepped around him, going back to her knees beside the guy, carefully avoiding the scary puddle of blood.
He was awake, she realized with surprise. Not very: his eyes—a pretty chocolate brown—looked out of focus, like he couldn't quite see her. Still, he was feeling around for something, and, slightly hesitating, she took his hand.
He frowned at her. "S-sam…? Where's Sam?"
"Who?" she asked blankly, then glanced up at the building. But it looked as dead as it always did, albeit with a busted window now.
His head rolled in the blood, smearing it on his blond hair. "Sam…poltergeist…can't let him…" He tried to lift his head, but the oh-so-helpful cop next to Rose held him down. The guy became more agitated, and Rose couldn't blame him. "Sam! 'S got…yellow eyes…can't let him…'s not possessed."
"Uh…yeah. Sure," Rose agreed slowly. Yellow eyes and poltergeists? He had to be crazy out of his head. "You want me to try to find Sam for you?"
She wasn't even sure why she offered, but the look he suddenly gave her made her lose her doubts. Whoever this Sam was, the guy wanted him bad. Lover, maybe? That would just be her luck, a good-looking gay guy falling out of the window at her feet. She sighed and patted down his pockets, feeling the definite shape of a cell phone in one.
"Miss—" the cop next to her began.
"It's Ms.," she snapped. "And I'll give it back." It was an older model of the phone she had, actually, and it wasn't hard to scroll down and find "Sam." Unfortunately, Sam only had voice mail. "This is Rose Riley. Your, uh, friend wanted me to call you. He had an accident and he's not looking so good, so just, uh, call back, all right? I'm sure whoever has his phone will tell you where to go." She probably shouldn't have even left her name, but oh well. There was nothing on the phone that gave her mystery guy's name, so Rose gave up and slid it back into his pocket.
She'd just sat back on her heels when it rang. With a huff, she pulled it back out. The cop gave her the fish-eye, and she gave it right back to him.
"Hello?"
"Is this, uh, Rose? You just called me—Is Dean all right?"
Dean, huh? "I don't think so," she said doubtfully, watching as he tried to get up again, only to slump back to the ground, still agitatedly muttering. His back arched a little, boot scraping the ground. "He fell out of a window and he's bleeding, and he keeps talking crazy, about, I don't know, poltergeists and weird eyes and stuff. I guess he hit his head."
"Where are you?" Sam sounded rushed, choked with emotion. Oh, yeah, so gay. "Did you see anything in the building, any flickering lights, hear any strange sounds?"
Great, he was a looney, too. "You're joking, right? There's nothing in that place besides sagging floors and cobwebs. Your friend fell out of a window—he's kinda scrambled. What's your excuse?"
A surprised pause. "You're sure? You're safe where you are?"
"I am, but I don't know about Dean. You comin' after him or what?"
"Yeah, I just, uh… What's the nearest hospital?"
She had to think a minute. "Ohio State?" She saw the cop nod. "Ohio State," she repeated more certainly.
"Thank you. Great. Just…tell Dean I'm coming, all right?"
"Yeah, okay." She snapped the phone shut with a wrinkle of the nose and bent over Dean to slip it into his pocket. "Sam's coming," she told him.
He was definitely more out of it than in now, eyes shut, but he wasn't giving up. One hand flexed open and shut on the cement. "Can't let it get to…Sammy," he whispered.
"Right, uh-huh. Well, listen, you take care of yourself, okay?" Rose stood and glared at the cop, who backed off. Good. She hesitated, looking at the guy—Dean—a moment longer, then shrugged and started down the street. Marty was gonna kill her for being this late, but, hey, she'd been trying to help. It was a real shame all the good ones were either crazy or gay. Figured she'd stumble over a pair that was both. She just hoped this Sam would come down and see his friend before leaving on his trip to la-la-land.
00000
He hated hospital calls, but they were part of the job. At least this time they weren't there for an OD or a sexual assault. Those got pretty ugly. No, this was just your average guy falling out of a window. Jeremy wasn't even sure how to code that one.
Tru was off talking to a nurse—one of the few perks of hospital calls—when the guy rushed into the room. Out of breath, clearly scared: family member, Jeremy guessed, probably just got the call. He gravitated a little closer in case this was the guy they were looking for.
"I'm Sam Page—I'm looking for my brother, Dean? He was in an accident and they said he might be brought here."
Yup. Jeremy moved up next to the guy, catching Tru's eye as he did, and Truman said his good-byes and came over to join him. Page noticed them, giving them a quick, unexpectedly hard glance, then his attention was back on Millie.
"He must've just come in—he's not in the log yet," Millie was saying. "They're probably checking him out in the ER, if you'd like to have a seat and wait for news."
"Actually, uh, could I go in and see him? They said he hit his head and was confused. Please, I just…I need to see him."
Well, he seemed sincere enough. Jeremy could see Millie melt a little, and she was no pushover. "I'll see what I can find out for you, all right? Just have a seat for a minute."
Page's mouth pulled up—he didn't like that—but he obeyed, giving Jeremy and Tru another glance before he pushed away from the counter. A few long aimless strides, then he sank down into the nearest chair. Straight in Millie's line of sight, Jeremy noticed.
Now was as good a time as any. He stepped forward, careful not to block the guy's view of the front counter, and nodded disarmingly. "Sir? I'm Officer Wade, this is Officer Truman. We were the ones who responded to your brother's scene."
Page tensed up a little as they got close, but that wasn't abnormal considering the situation. He got to his feet. "You were there? With Dean? Is he all right? This woman, Rose, she didn't tell me very much…"
Jeremy hid his wince. Oh, yes, Ms. Riley. "They said he was stable and conscious when they brought him in, but he fell two stories and has a head injury. Mr. Page, do you know any reason why your brother would have been in a vacant building?"
"What? Uh, no, we're actually new in town—I don't even know where any vacant buildings are. Was anybody else hurt?"
Interesting question. "Not that we can tell, sir. It's just…that building's been deserted about two months now, and they'd started stripping the interior. It's dangerously unstable inside—your brother probably stepped on a weak spot or something and slammed against the window as he fell. We didn't find anyone else present. Do you know what Dean was doing today?"
The guy's demeanor suddenly shifted. It was subtle, but Jeremy hadn't been a cop nine years without picking up cues like that. From worried and looking for answers, Page was suddenly cautious. "No, I don't. He just said he was going to check out some things in town. I figured he'd seen a store he wanted to stop by or something."
"I see. And can I ask why you two are in Columbus?"
The chin lifted, jaw tightening. "Dean and I, we're on kind of a road trip. We just decided to stop here for a few days, see some sights."
"In Columbus, Ohio," Tru said disbelievingly.
"Topiary Garden," Page said without missing a beat. "Dean loves gardens." Totally seriously.
Jeremy didn't believe that one for a second.
But there was no law against falling out of a building and bashing your head in. Sure, there was probably a trespassing and property damage violation in there somewhere, but considering the guy was in the ER, that seemed a little extreme. These two were definitely hiding something, though, and Jeremy was looking up the Page brothers as soon as he got back to the station.
"Mr. Page?" Millie called from behind them, and Page instantly turned. "You can go back now. Room three."
Well, that was that. "Thank you for your time, sir," Jeremy said quickly, because it didn't look like anything was going to keep Page from leaving, interview or not. "Good luck to you and your brother," he added politely. The guy nodded and took off, but not without giving them one more weird look before he went.
Yeah, Jeremy stared thoughtfully after him. Definitely something fishy about that one.
00000
Millie called to say the patient's brother was coming, and although it wasn't how Deborah would've chosen to do this, it would suffice. She just made sure she was out in the hall to meet him before he went in and saw the patient.
He looked younger than she expected, which surprised her considering how insistent Millie said he'd been. Deborah had been expecting a protective older brother. But that would probably make it easier for him to accept what she had to say, and he looked intelligent enough to understand. She relaxed a little, waited for him.
"Mr. Page?"
"Yes?" He stopped immediately, giving her his full attention.
Even better. "I'm Doctor George. I'm the one taking care of your brother." She always phrased it that way, made it clear that what she was doing was for the patient's good.
"Doctor. How is he? They said he had a head injury?" His eyes flicked past her for a moment. "Can I see him?"
She swallowed a sigh: always such impatience, wanting to charge in without knowing all the facts. "In a minute, Mr. Page. I just wanted to explain a few things."
He shifted, at least trying to listen. This would go just fine.
"When Mr. Page—"
"Dean."
"Dean," she allowed, "came in, he was extremely disoriented…combative. He seemed to be very concerned about demons and poltergeists, obviously delusional things like that."
The brother licked his lips, looking past her again. "Yeah, uh, Dean's into horror movies big time. I guess he just got a little confused."
"This was more than a little confused, Mr. Page," she said soberly. "Delusions like this can be extremely dangerous—there was a concern for the staff's safety. Now, we don't know how much of this was caused by the head injury and how much was a preexisting condition or some sort of psychotic break triggered by the accident—"
"Dean's not crazy," the brother said angrily, stiffening and staring her in the eye.
"Of course not," she reassured him. "We consider these treatable, temporary conditions. But in the meantime—"
She saw it then, something dangerous gleam in his eye. The same madness she'd seen in her patient, and Deborah faltered as he cut in, voice low. "What? What did you do?"
She pulled herself up to her full height, even if it was about a foot less than his. "Mr. Page, we can't sedate your brother yet, not until we know the extent of his head injury, but the delusion was becoming too dangerous—"
"What. Did. You. Do?" he asked, with the deceptive calm of the dangerously irrational.
She glanced down the hall, wishing one of the interns was in sight. Then again, what did she really have to be afraid of here in the hospital, with so many people around? And she was getting really tired of being interrupted and questioned at every turn. "We have him in restraints. You can see him, of course, but he'll have to remain restrained until—"
He spared her one icy look and then was already pushing past her into the cubicle.
Deborah's temper flared. She turned and marched in right after him. "Sir, I have to insist—"
The patient was still in his clothes; they'd x-rayed and examined him to confirm the head trauma was the only injury that needed treatment, and he'd been too wild for them to effectively strip. Admitting must not have done a thorough enough job of at least searching him, however. To Deborah's dismay, he'd gotten a small knife from somewhere and was awkwardly halfway through the binding on his left wrist. Unfortunately, whether through lack of skill or his impaired condition, Page had also managed to cut himself along with the padded binding, and blood stained the tan material. The brother was already loosening the buckle over the damaged wrist, talking low to the patient, who was lying panting and unusually docile, eyes closed but turned toward him.
Deborah flattened her lips. "His wrist will be seen to right away, but then I'm afraid we'll have to replace the restraints and you'll have to leave, Mr. Page. Your brother is in no condition to be released, and cuts on his wrist could also be an attempt at self-harm. We'll have to do a complete evaluation before he can go anywhere."
He looked up at her then, and she took an involuntary step back at the look in his eyes. "I'm taking my brother out of here in five minutes. I want his records before I go, and your neurologist's assessment. If Dean has to have further medical care, I'll take him to another hospital. But he is not staying here."
She moved up to the bed, full of indignation. "Who are you to—?"
"Do you really want to find out?" he asked too quietly.
Deborah felt herself pale. They were in the central core of the hospital. People all around. And she suddenly felt very alone. "Fine," she said, scornful, hoping her voice didn't quaver. "I'll get the paperwork."
He didn't even bother to acknowledge her, already bent over his brother again.
She could call Security. Have the younger Page thrown out and the older one sedated, head injury be damned. But sooner or later, she'd have to go home, and she lived alone. And she had no doubt these insane, dangerous brothers were quite capable of tracking her down and showing up on her doorstep, probably thinking she was a demon that needed to be killed or something. No thanks. Let the older one lapse into a coma and die, for all she cared: she wasn't risking her neck to treat the delusional. Good riddance.
But she hurried her step back to the nurses' station, remembering those frighteningly cold eyes.
00000
Nothing made sense, and it was freaking the heck out of him.
There'd been a poltergeist, he was pretty sure of that. Or at least the flickering, skittering-scratching warning signs in the building he'd been walking past. Then…a blinding burst of pain, and confusion. The unshakeable fear Sam was in danger, only increasing the longer his brother was absent. Maybe the Demon, and a flash of yellow eyes.
And then yelling and needles and too-bright lights, and something got the drop on him and held him down and bound him.
He still had his knife, though, and Sammy needed him. It took far too much effort, but Dean got his blade out and worked to get himself free. Trying to stave off mounting panic that he'd be too late, trying to sort out the confusion of stimuli, trying to think just one clear thought through the rhythmic shockwaves in his head.
And then it came: Sam.
He didn't believe it at first, clenched tight against a new threat as his knife was taken away and his hand was stilled. It was a trick, trying to keep him from Sam. Dean gritted his teeth and wrenched harder, cursing whatever it was that was pressing his forehead, his wrist, that was keeping him there against his will, away from his one responsibility in life.
Talking to him, low and reassuringly.
"Dean, hey, come on, just calm down, all right? I'm here now—everything's under control."
It was Sam's voice. Even the throbbing of his skull couldn't disguise that.
"Bet your head feels like it's about to explode, huh? Yeah. Just take it slow, okay, nice and easy."
Fingertips rubbed his temple just above where his face felt hot and swollen, where he couldn't even get his eye to open. Impossibly smoothing away some of the pain. Dean swallowed and quit moving, struggling to pay attention.
"Got yourself into some trouble, huh, big brother? Man, can't leave you alone for a moment, can I?"
Amusement. Gentle affection. An old joke between them, usually directed at Sam. Who else would know that, would sound like that?
"I know it's confusing right now, but trust me, Dean, everything's fine. I'm just gonna get you out of here, all right? Go find someplace dark and quiet and safe. That sound good?"
The bindings on his arms were gone, and someone was fumbling with the one on his leg. It made him feel a little less helpless, but…everything was fine? How could that be with the lights and the noise and the yellow eyes?
"Hey, try to relax, let me do this. The demons and poltergeists are gone—it's just you and me here now. Dean? You hear me?"
Dean licked his lips, risked the question. "Sammy?"
"Yeah, bro, I'm here. You want anything?"
"S'okay?" Hating the way his voice sounded small and slurred, but he'd been friggin' tied up and Sam hadn't been there and his head hurt, and there was just too much wrong with that picture to believe it was all peachy again.
His chest was lightly rubbed, and Dean breathed a little easier; something that touchy-feely had to be Sam. "We're good. Just busted yourself up a little taking a swan dive out of a window. Not one of your smoother moves, dude. It wasn't a poltergeist, Dean, just an old building. Everyone's safe, I promise."
Dean tried to make himself relax. His other leg was freed, and competent, gentle hands turned him onto his side. He pulled his knees up halfway to his chest, tucked his stinging wrist close to him. The tension on his aching face had eased with the change of position, and he didn't feel so vulnerable or trapped. Even if he was curled like some kind of pathetic housecat around his little brother, now sitting on the edge of the mattress. But Sam could take that up with him after Dean sorted out what was what. Right now, he just had to know Sam was there, and Dean could feel his muscles loosen, the panic in his gut disperse at the certainty.
"Don't go to sleep yet, man—we're leaving soon. Gotta go find your baby, right?"
He snorted softly. Screw that; he was tired. And his baby was right there.
Dean drifted off to the comfortable sound of Sam fussing, and the living, breathing, warm assurance beside him that everything was all right.
The End