Trust Is Everything - Chapter 2
"Death appar…way Sam…acting…ven…it…" He rolled his head but the fluctuating voice didn't go away, his head ached and he was hot, so very hot. His skin felt as if it would burst into flames at any minute. Kicking at a heavy smothering cloth, he tried to find some cool air. Instead, the motion sent a burst of agonizing pain through his stomach. Nausea rolled in strong waves and he gagged when vomit filled his throat.
"Oh god, Sam!" Dean cried out, dropping his cell phone as he rushed to the bed. He rolled him over onto his side while simultaneously shoving a trash can under the kid's face. Holding Sam's sweat soaked forehead and rubbing his back gently, he waited for the heaving to subside. When his brother seemed to be through trying to turn his stomach inside out, Dean held a glass of water to his lips, "here rinse your mouth out. No Sammy," he said pulling the glass away as the shivering mass of little brother tried to gulp the liquid down, "you'll make yourself sick again." Blinking blearily up into worried green eyes, Sam whined like a kicked puppy. Dean sighed, "Sam just rinse your mouth out then you can have a few small sips. Okay?"
The sick man exhaled noisily and Dean took that as a sign of acquiescence. Setting the glass aside, Dean eased him back down onto the damp sheets. The older man wished he could change the sheets along with Sam's sweat soaked t-shirt and boxers but he knew the motel manager would definitely call the cops this time if he heard Sam screaming again. The 'catching ones privates in a zipper' excuse only worked so many times. Rubbing his hand over his face in frustration, he reached out and grabbed more ice cubes out of the bucket, wrapped them in damp hand towels and placed them in Sam's armpits and under his knees. His brother groaned and arched his back slightly as Dean gently placed another ice cube stuffed towel on his abdomen. Sam slowly sank back down onto the bed passing out as the cold lessened the burning pain. Running fingers through his brother's wet hair Dean placed a thermometer in Sam's ear and waited for the beep. "Shit…105.1°F." Placing a cold compress on the unconscious man's forehead, he couldn't stop from thinking 'This is all my fault…I shouldn't have left him alone'. Growling Dean pushed the unproductive thought from his mind, walked over and snagged his cell phone from the floor. "Bobby?"
"Still here Dean. How's Sam doin'?"
"Not good. His temperature's gone up two degrees in the last hour and a half." He reached over and rotated the laptop so the keyboard was facing him, hitting the enter key the last page he'd been reading came up on the screen. "I'm about ready to drag him to the hospital."
"There isn't anything the doctors can do for him, you know that."
"Yeah I know," he sighed, "I can see it now, I tell them Sam is reacting to spirit inflicted, invisible gunshot wounds and they shove both him and me into adjoining rubber rooms faster than you can say 'delusional psychosis'."
"Dean…" admonished Bobby.
Dean sat down and clicked onto another page. "Bobby there's nothing in Dad's journal and I haven't found anything on the 'net that's even close..." He could hear Bobby flipping pages in the background.
"Just start at the beginning, you said the autopsy reports on the deaths in the sixties listed heart failure, positional asphyxia and ligature strangulation as the causes of death."
"Yep, Sam dug further and it turns out the same coroner did all those autopsies. In his unreleased notes, he wrote how perplexed he was by the first four deaths and how he was going to report them as 'inconclusive' but the local sheriff insisted on a cause of death so he obliged. Even the present-day coroner who performed Sean's and Ian's autopsies wrote in his notes 'he wouldn't have been surprised if the Jacobson cousins had gotten up and walked out of his morgue'. Janine Thibodaux was a different story, she was found with a broken neck below a shattered third story window." Turning the page in the notebook, he squinted to make out the words in Sam's cramped handwriting. "The latest two deaths really piqued Sammy's interest," Dean glanced back at his little brother, rubbing his eyes he turned back to the notebook, "they called 911...separately. Sophia Bicek reported she'd been stabbed in the chest and Brett Ulmer said he'd been beaten repeatedly with a baseball bat and was coughing up blood."
"And no corresponding wounds, blood or murder weapons were found right?"
"Right and one other thing, all the victims were blood related…in one way or another."
"Blood related? Blood relatives…blood relatives…that sounds…you said Sam claimed you shot him?" The thudding of books hitting the floor came through the phone loud and clear. "Now where is that tome?" he said in an exasperated tone.
"Yeah he did."
"You two first thought this was a death apparition - what made you think that?"
"The guy was murdered by his wife."
"Are you sure they were married?"
"Am I sure? Of course I'm sure, I speak fluent Ukrainian and early twentieth century marriage certificates are just a keystroke away."
"Don't be an ass Dean."
He let out a grunt of frustration, "I'm sorry Bobby."
"If these spirits are what I think they are those two weren't married; they were related, first cousins possibly but more than likely siblings."
"Brother and sister? Gross…uh, hold on." Bobby heard Sam groaning in the background. "Sammy you're okay, you're okay," Dean spoke soothingly to the restless man. He doubted Sam could understand him, his half-opened eyes were fever glazed and unfocused. He wiped his kid brother's face with the now warm cloth, soaked it in ice water and placed it back on Sam's forehead. The hazel eyes closed and he muttered a few unintelligible words before resettling into an uneasy sleep. Dean checked the ice bundles under Sam's arms and knees before glancing at the bundle on his stomach. Deciding not to cause the kid any unnecessary pain he sat back down at the table. "He's getting worse Bobby."
In a worried tone Bobby continued, "this type of spirit only goes after blood relatives Dean and once they have their hooks in you…"
"What. Do. I. Need. To. Do?" Dean growled at his old friend.
"Write this down." The older Winchester huffed in the background. "Damnit boy! The spell work to save your brother's life is very specific and the ritual to disperse these spirits is even more complicated. So are you ready or not?"
"Go."