This chapter will be set in season 5. Forgive me for any timeline issues, because I can't quite remember which episodes have which conflict between Sam and Dean and also whether or not Cas has grace. I'll get better, I promise. I just need to rewatch everything.
It was dusk when the Impala rolled into the small, snow-covered town in Maine. The sky was alight with pink hues but slowly fading to night, and the pine trees were frosted with a layer of fresh snow from the morning before. Only the streetlights provided illumination because there weren't any neon signs or lit up shops.
"I'll go check in," Dean said, shutting the engine off once they had parked by a dark, feeble-looking motel. Sam waited in the car for him, swiveling his head around to look back at what was "downtown". There was one pub, it appeared, but nothing more.
"Room 103," Dean said, reaching into the backseat to grab his bag. They unlocked the door and stepped into the motel room, which was gray in appearance with two brown blanketed beds.
"I need to get to the coroner's office at seven tomorrow morning," Sam said briefly, setting his bag down. "I requested yesterday to examine the bodies. While I'm there, you can go check out the first vic's family. I already talked with them and they're willing to meet at 7:30 for breakfast at the diner."
"Lovely. You know I love those early morning appointments," Dean said, sighing a bit dramatically, and falling into bed. "Why is Maine so cold?"
"There's more snow expected tomorrow," Sam told him. "You can wear your long johns."
"Shut up."
Sam went into the bathroom and put toothpaste on his toothbrush, then emerged while brushing his teeth.
"So, I'm thinking it's a witch, but we need to check the crime scenes for hex bags first," he said, his words muffled by the toothbrush. "Three young men found dead from shock?"
"Definitely witchy."
"Yeah. I mean, as far as I know, they didn't have any other wounds."
"Well, let's go kill some witch tomorrow," Dean said, pulling tin foil out of his bag, "after a night's sleep and a burger." He unwrapped the tin foil and Sam wrinkled his nose.
"Dude. That's from lunch."
"So? Lunch was only five hours ago."
"So, that burger has been sitting in your bag for five hours. The meat is spoiled now," Sam said patiently, as though speaking to a child. Dean shrugged, the burger in his left hand, then sniffed it.
"There's no mold. It smells fine," he protested. "If it smelled rotten, obviously I wouldn't eat it-"
"Bacterial contamination can manifest before two hours have passed for unrefrigerated food," Sam said, and quickly took the burger out of Dean's hand to throw it away.
"What are you, a cooking geek now?" Deak asked, reaching into his bag for a bag of pretzels instead.
"It's common sense."
"Whatever."
"Alright. Meet me back here at 8:30," Sam said, climbing out of the Impala. "Try to get the vic's family to let you into their house so you can search for the hex bag."
"Yeah. Go have fun with the dead bodies," Dean said, grinning as he pressed on the gas and left Sam by the coroner's office.
Sam went inside, presenting his badge to the secretary. She was young and pretty, with rich dark hair.
"Agent Chaucer," he said quickly. "Scheduled to meet a Dr. Finne in the morgue?"
"Let me see your badge," the girl said, holding out her hand to take it. Sam brushed her hand giving it to her. She analyzed it, before smiling at Sam. "Continue down the passage. Would you like me to take your jacket for you?"
"Thanks," Sam said, obliging and then continuing down to the morgue.
"Hello. I'm Agent Chaucer. We were scheduled to meet this morning?" Sam asked, shaking the pathologist's hand. "Do you mind letting me take a look at the bodies?"
"Sure thing. I'm Dr. Finne," the doctor answered. He was old and had a distended stomach, and his hair was almost shockingly white. "First vic is Rodney Hampton. Twenty-seven years old, died from shock - nothing else."
"What kind of shock?" Sam asked, examining the body.
"As far as I can tell, psychogenic shock," the coroner said, raising his eyebrows. "There weren't any flesh wounds. But the symptoms were that of hypovolemic shock."
Sam met his eyes, bewildered. "How was it fatal, if there weren't any wounds?"
"Beats me. Experienced all symptoms of shock, but there were three things wrong about it. First, there seemed to be no cause of the shock, for any of the victims. Second, none of them should have died from it. And third - it took five hours for them to die. Never seen anything like it."
Sam looked away from the corpse. "Five hours? As in, the symptoms began and five hours later they were dead?"
"Yes, sir. Prolonged shock that shouldn't have been fatal but was. I'm thinking of labeling it as a new disease - it's baffling."
"Alright. Thank you very much, Dr. Finne. If anyone else comes in here, or experiences this weird shock, let me know, okay?" Sam handed his number to the pathologist and left, pulling out his phone to text Dean.
The vics died of a sort of hybrid of shock. I'm going to check the second vic's family. Meet you at the motel later.
With that, he continued down the street to where the second family lived, according to Dr. Finne.
"Tell me, Mrs. Hampton - did Rodney say what he was feeling before he died?" Dean asked, leaning forward.
Mrs. Hampton sniffed slightly. "Yes. And… the w-worst part is, we ignored him… we didn't take him seriously. He… he said that he was cold, and I told him to p-put on a sweater. That was all. I should have asked more, I should have-"
"Ma'am, there's nothing that you could have done," Dean said reassuringly. "Don't blame yourself, you couldn't have known."
A tear trickled out of Mrs. Hampton's eye. "But he was so ashen. It was only when he got dizzy that I… bothered to actually take a look at him. But it was too late."
"We drove to the hospital," Mr. Hampton added. "He… died on the way there."
"I'm very sorry for your loss," Dean said. "I very much appreciate you talking to me. We're going to find out what happened, I promise you."
"Thank you, Agent," Mr. Hampton said, shaking his hand. Dean smiled sympathetically while standing, then left, pulling out his phone to read a text from Sam. That only left the third vic's family.
"Hey," Sam said, coming into the motel room after having walked the short distance from the third vic's home back downtown. "When'd you get back?"
"Only five minutes ago," Dean said. "What'd you find?"
"Everything points to a witch still. The vics died of five hour long shock. No wounds at all on them."
"Yeah. The first and third vic were apparently really popular in town, and described as friendly and warm - at least, until they started dropping with clammy skin."
"Same for the second vic," Sam confirmed. He moved to the other side of the room, adjusting the thermostat. "It's only going to get colder now that the snow's coming down."
"So, what now? Research?" Dean asked, a bit of a scowl on his face for the expected answer.
"Yeah. I'll check the town's history and see if there's anything unnatural," Sam said, pulling his laptop out.
"Well, that leaves me to do research with the locals," Dean said, chuckling to himself as he grabbed his regular clothes and went to the bathroom to change out of the fed suit. "I'll get the juicy local gossip."
"Go to the pub," Sam suggested.
"Where else would I go?" came his brother's voice from the bathroom. "Sammy, the pub is where I belong. I'll talk to some hot chicks, maybe gank a witch… who knows?"
"Yeah, well, we need money, so you should try to win some pool games," Sam said, glancing at their thin wallet.
"On it, Sammy," Dean said, coming out of the bathroom with his flannel and tee on. He left and the sound of the Impala coming to life roared through the air before fading into the background of the town's ambience.
Sam continued to search for local lore and history, but there was sparing information about the small Maine town. The room's temperature felt cooler from the snow falling gently outside, and he turned the heat up more, burying himself under the blankets comfortably.
There was absolutely nothing on the town. The three deaths from shock were the only deaths in the town's history that were remotely strange.
The air in the motel room was getting dry from the pumping of the heater yet Sam didn't feel up to turning it down. Instead, he continued to ransack articles from years ago and recent news on any other activity that could signify a witch, or even a coven.
He hadn't realized two and a half hours had passed until Dean returned with a fistful of money and alcohol on his breath.
"It's a sauna in here," he noted.
"Sorry. I didn't feel like turning it down," Sam said, then paused. "Keep it on, actually."
"You're kidding, right?" Dean asked. "You've got to be kidding."
"It's snowing, Dean! It's… cold!" Sam pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed, then realized he'd stood too quickly. A wave of vertigo rushed to his head and he swayed slightly. "You're actually hot?"
"Yeah," Dean said, confused. He strode over to Sam to press his hand to his forehead.
"Dude!" Sam said, flapping Dean's hand away. "I'm fine!"
"Not when we're in a town where men your age are magically dropping dead of shock," Dean said seriously. Sam relented at that.
"Yeah. You're clammy," Dean said, turning around quickly. "Search for hex bags. If it's a witch, there's got to be a hex bag."
Sam shakily moved forward, feeling bone cold inside now that he had left his bed. Dean was rummaging under the mattress, wildly tossing items left and right. Sam joined him, stripping the blankets off of his bed.
"Where could that bitch have put it?" Dean growled, frustrated, turning to the end table. "I'll check the car."
Sam moved to follow, but Dean put out his hand. "No way. Stay in here, and stay warm. I'll search it quickly." He left Sam standing, shivering, in the hall.
It was then that he felt it, in his pocket. A small lump in his pocket. He reached in, fumbling, and pulled out a hex bag.
The secretary, at the morgue. She'd taken his jacket when he went inside.
Sam staggered over to the door and opened it. A gust of wintry wind mixed with a profusion of sharp, stinging snowflakes swept into his face, making him blink rapidly.
"Dean!" he called out, and he wasn't sure why it was so important to tell his brother that he'd found the hex bag - surely Dean would return to the motel room in a matter of minutes, anyway - yet he called out for his brother, who was somewhere in the mess of falling snow across the parking lot.
The motel door was difficult to shut against the wind, and he had to tug hard. The wind knocked him sideways and he fell into the snow of the parking lot.
This was a stupid decision. Dean would be angry with him for walking out into the blizzard with shock symptoms. Sam struggled to his feet, and saw Dean's form running over.
"Sam, what the hell are you doing?!"
"I found the hex bag. In my jacket," Sam said weakly, and the wind howled again, sending him sideways. Dean steadied him, leading him back to the motel.
"You're a moron."
Sam could feel his teeth chattering. "I had to tell you where it was."
They got inside of the warm motel room and Dean slammed the door before taking the hex bag out of Sam's hands and destroying it swiftly. "When did you start feeling cold?" he demanded. "When I left?"
"About then."
"Alright. Assuming that destroying the hex bag isn't reversing what's already done, we have less than two hours to gank her."
"She's the… secretary. Young woman at the morgue." Sam sank onto the bed. "Let's go."
"You're staying here. I'll get her," Dean said. "Stay warm. Lay down and keep your feet elevated. Don't pass out. I'll be as quick as I can." With that, he left.
"Hello. I'm Agent…" Dean had forgotten his chosen alias and quickly said the first thing that came to mind. "I'm Agent Castiel. May I speak with the secretary?"
"You're talking to him," the young man said behind the counter. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Yes. I'm looking for another secretary. Her shift was earlier today, I think? Young woman?"
"Oh, Jan?" the young man said, his brow furrowed. "She's… she's just left. Fled, or something. She'd moved here recently, and when I came in for my shift she was packing the stuff from her desk and saying goodbye. I got the sense that she wasn't returning."
Dean swore. "Did she say where she was going?"
"No, she left over an hour ago. Took a taxi to the airport, I think. Very mysterious."
She'd taken an airplane. Dean closed his eyes hopelessly. There was no way he could catch up to her in time. Instead, he'd have to bring Sam to the hospital and hope for the best.
"Thanks," Dean said briefly, and drove back to the motel.
Sam was lying in the bed, his skin pale and lacking any flush of color.
"Dean?" he said softly when Dean came in.
"Yeah, I'm here. We're going to the hospital."
"What?" Sam's eyes fluttered open. "No… no hospital. I'll be fine."
"Come on, man, let's go."
"No, Dean-" Sam's eyes were wide now, his pupils dilated. He sat up, his torso rocking slightly from the apparent dizziness. Dean took the chance to grab his wrist and feel for his pulse. Too quick.
"Dean… it's really cold."
"I know," Dean said, shrugging his jacket off to put it around Sam's shoulders. "You're in shock, dude. Not good. We need to get you-"
"No, no hospital," Sam repeated, shaking his head rapidly. His eyes darted from Dean to the door, his face turning a sickly pallor. "Dean, everything's spinning."
Dean felt his forehead again, and cursed to find that it was cold and slicked with sweat. Sam subconsciously leaned into his touch. That wasn't a good sign; Normal Sam wouldn't even let him touch his forehead.
"Hey, it's going to be okay," Dean said gently, instinct now kicking in. His father had taught him basic first aid, and one of the first rules when dealing with shock - even if it was a weird, witchcraft version of shock caused by a hex bag - was to make sure that the person was calm. "Sam, look at me. You're okay." His little brother was breathing rapidly and shallowly. "Breathe in, breathe out. Slower. Take it easy."
Sam shuddered, his eyes closing. His breaths shortened.
"Sam, you need to breathe. Come on, you know how to breathe." Dean laughed shakily despite the situation. "I don't have to remind you how to breathe properly, do I?"
Sam made eye contact with Dean briefly before he stared blankly up, no longer shivering.
"Hey! Sam, come on, we're going to the hospital."
There was no response.
"Sammy!" Dean pleaded, holding his brother's cold, clammy hand. "Sammy, I'm here - please, no-"
The sound of fluttering wings interrupted the heavy air of the motel room. Dean jumped, glancing backward. "Cas!"
"Hello, Dean. I heard you mention my name. I apologize for my lack of punctuality, but your tone did not seem to be urgent."
"I'm Agent… Castiel." He'd mentioned Cas in the morgue.
Dean stood up quickly, not bothering to wipe the moisture from his eyes. "Save him, Cas, he's dying - there was a witch, and a hex bag - he's in shock, Cas, please-"
The angel eyed Sam. "He appears to be in grave danger," he confirmed, and reached out with two fingers to Sam's forehead. A warm glow encompassed the room.
Sam gasped suddenly and flew upward. "Cas?" he asked, blinking. "What are you doing here?"
"Answering Dean," Cas said. He nodded to them. "Stay in touch." With another fluttering of wings, he was gone.
"You alright?" Dean asked hesitantly. "You're warm enough? Breathing fine?"
"I think so," Sam said, running a hand through his hair. "What happened to the witch?"
"Lost her," Dean growled. "I swear, if she ever comes across us again I'll stab her so many times that she'll look like a pincushion."
"I don't think that's necessary, Dean," Sam said, but he smiled at his brother's unwavering protective nature nevertheless.
That's all. A bit of Cas, a bit of witchcraft.
Reviews, favorites, and follows all would really make me smile, and I would greatly appreciate all of the support! :)
