Frail, Chapter3
xxxx
"What do we do?" she asked.
There'd been no answer to Jo's question.
Carefully, Dean extricated himself from Jo's grasp and went to the coffee pot, bringing it back to the table. He refilled mugs and then went to the sink, rinsing it out, replacing it on the burner.
"We'll think of something, Jo." He said it softly, making it a promise. "We'll figure it out."
She nodded, her smile uncertain, even as she tried to encourage him.
"I know we will," she said.
Luke stood abruptly.
"I'm going to bed." His gaze lingered on his wife before he looked at Sam and Dean. "Good night, boys."
"'Night," they both said.
Jo's eyes followed her husband out of the kitchen. She sat in silence a little longer before she, too, stood.
"See y'all in the morning."
Dean and Sam nodded.
xxxx
"I want to know what's going on." Michael stood in the doorway, a pissed-off look on his face.
Sam's eyes went to Dean, who turned slowly to the younger man.
"You're going to have to ask your aunt," he said, grabbing a stack of t-shirts out of the laundry basket Sam had brought in.
"I'm not a kid. I have a right to know."
Dean shot Sam a glance as he dropped the shirts in a drawer. Sam shrugged. You know what I think, but it's your call.
"It's not up to me. If your parents say it's OK, I'll tell you, otherwise…"
"That's bullshit, and you know it!" Michael said hotly.
Both Sam and Dean raised their eyebrows. Sam opened his mouth to say he didn't think they were allowed to say, "bullshit," but Dean cut him off.
"It's not bullshit." Dean turned his back on the teenager as he tossed the laundry basket at the closet.
"I'm an adult! I…"
"If you want to be treated like an adult, Michael, act like one." Dean's tone, clipped and cool, stopped the boy mid-sentence.
"If you have a question, go ask your aunt and uncle, but don't expect me to tell you what's their business just because you're having a temper tantrum."
Michael's mouth shut on a snap. He turned on his heel and walked out of the bedroom.
Sam sat quietly on the bed while Dean opened and closed dresser drawers with a viciousness that made his younger brother smile a little.
"So," Sam said.
Dean turned to him, lips drawn into a tight line.
"How is it you didn't strangle me when I was going through that phase?" he asked conversationally.
The sharp planes of Dean's face smoothed out. He closed the last of the drawers and dropped down next to Sam on the bed.
"I actually suggested drowning you a couple of times." He turned to look at Sam. "But you know Dad. All, 'How's he going to learn, if he's dead, Dean?'"
Sam laughed out loud, and Dean grinned in response. The fact that it had probably been Dad who'd been ready to kill him, and Dean his savior, was not lost on Sam.
xxxx
The shower was running when Jo entered the bedroom. Biting her lip, she considered the closed door. To enter or not to enter; that was the question.
Ultimately, she decided "not" was the better answer, choosing instead to get changed and turn down the bed. As the water continued to run, Jo pulled on her robe and went down the hall to brush her teeth and grab a load of laundry from the boys' bathroom. When she returned, Luke was out, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey." She sat down next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. He put an arm around her, drawing her into a warm embrace.
"What do you think?" he said into her hair.
"I don't know," she answered. "But I believe them."
"Yeah." He sighed. "Me, too." That was the problem.
They sat for a long moment.
"I don't know what to do," he admitted softly.
Jo felt the tears sting behind her eyes. "I don't either," she whispered.
Luke tightened his grip on her, pulling her into his lap, and she laughed shakily as she shifted awkwardly, trying to get comfortable.
"We're too old for this."
A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, and she pressed herself against him, relaxing into the strength of him.
"Never," he said. He kissed her cheek and rested his face briefly in the bend of her neck.
He raised his head slightly, and the words of a prayer whispered against her ear; she pressed her cheek to his, closing her eyes.
"Aunt Jo?" Michael's voice – insistent, but surprisingly, not obviously enraged – broke the moment.
Luke sighed again, shaking his head.
"Come in," he called.
Jo was sliding off her husband's lap onto the bed when Michael entered the room. Thrown by the evidence of intimacy between his aunt and his uncle, Michael faltered.
"Ummm," he stuttered. "I…"
"Cut it out," Luke said impatiently. "Do you think I'd've told you to come in if you were interrupting anything?" Now he was grinning evilly at his nephew.
Michael's face registered both disgust and horror as he glared at his uncle.
"Luke, for heaven's sake!" Jo said, exasperated. "Don't…"
"Alright, alright," Luke capitulated.
There were times when he just couldn't help messing with the teenaged boys he'd married into. Michael, in particular, had brought out the worst in him the last several weeks. The honeymoon was over and everything had become a battle—whether it was a change in Tommy's bedtime or a simple political statement or an assumption about the way Jo did things. Nothing Luke did met with Michael's approval. And as sure as Michael was that he knew best, he was equally sure that Luke did not. It frustrated Luke and made him ornery.
Being replaced as "man of the house" had been a harder adjustment for the kid than Luke or Jo had anticipated.
"What do you want, Michael?" Luke moved to his side of the bed and climbed in.
"I want…" The tone of his voice was one that always elicited an immediate bristling reaction from Luke.
But Michael stopped, took a deep breath, and started over again.
"I want to know what's wrong. I want to know why Dean and Sam are suddenly here." He paused. Took another deep breath. "Please."
Luke watched the boy steadily, and he could see, under the impatience, the very real worry that was making Michael so determined. Luke glanced at his wife.
Jo said softly, "Everything's fine, honey. Nothing…"
"Aunt Jo!" It was a groan of frustration. "I'm not…"
"There's nothing…"
"Josie." Luke's quiet voice caught both their attentions. His eyes were still on Michael. "He should know."
Michael blinked.
"Luke…"
"Honey, he's 18. He's old enough to know."
Jo's eyes went from her husband to her nephew.
Michael stood silent, pale and still, but resolute. He had the look of his father and for a moment Jo's breath caught at the memory—her brother, fists clenched, face defiant, struggling to declare his own manhood to parents who would not hear.
Jo's eyes returned to Luke, and she nodded, unable to quell the fear in her heart. When, she wondered with an ache, did he become this man?
"Alright."
xxxx
"Hey."
Dean looked up from the magazine he was thumbing through to see Michael standing uncertainly in the doorway. He grunted an acknowledgement and returned his attention to the article he'd been skimming.
"I talked to Aunt Jo and Luke," the boy said hesitantly.
Now Dean's eyes came back to Michael.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah." He paused for a moment. "They said you had a dream. Or something. About Mom. That she might be in danger." His voice cracked into boyishness at the last.
Dean set the magazine to the side, watching the kid.
"Yeah," Dean admitted. "Maybe."
Michael took a step into the room.
"Do you believe in all that?" he asked. "Like, demons and visions and stuff?"
A movement behind Michael distracted Dean, and Sam eased past the younger man who was halfway blocking the doorway. Sam eyed Michael curiously as he sidestepped him before he looked at his brother.
"Luke and Jo told him."
Sam nodded, hair still damp from the shower.
There was an uneasy silence as Sam put his stuff away and got settled.
"Do you?" Michael asked it again.
"Yeah, I do," said Dean truthfully.
Michael turned to Sam, and the younger Winchester nodded.
"And you have visions?" he asked. Sam looked to Dean before he nodded again.
"Yeah."
There was another long pause while Michael thought.
"Do you believe in it?" Dean asked quietly. He was curious generally.
Michael raised his eyes from the spot on the floor that he'd been studying.
"Yeah. I do." His eyes were troubled. "Like as an idea, you know?"
He was quiet for a minute.
"I mean, the Bible talks about it, doesn't it? Jesus cast out demons." His voice was uncertain—not about the truth of what he was saying, but in discussing it with Dean and Sam. "And some of the apostles had visions."
Dean was startled, though he wasn't sure exactly why. He knew the family was religious; he just wouldn't necessarily have thought that demons and dreams would be a part of that theology.
Sam was watching Michael closely. "Yes. Jesus did cast out demons. And the apostles did, too, some. That's where the Catholic ritual for exorcism comes from." Sam crinkled his forehead. "I think you're right about the visions, too, although I'm not exactly sure."
Dean was quiet, willing to let Sam take the lead on any theological discussion with the kid.
Michael nodded slowly, still processing.
"I guess I always believed, you know, theoretically, because, well, because it's in the Bible." He looked self-consciously at the brothers. "It's kind of disconcerting, though, to start having a conversation about it in terms of hey, demons set people on fire and one may be after your mom. Dean had a vision about it." He laughed somewhat uneasily, his voice unsteady, and his eyes were frightened behind the slightly nervous smile.
Sam nodded, sympathetic. "Yeah. Sorry about that."
Michael shook his head. "It's not your fault. I mean…" He broke off suddenly, eyes widening.
"Oh, crap. Your mom… I… I'm so sorry! I didn't… I wasn't …"
"Dude," Dean spoke over Michael's stuttering, "it's OK. Really."
"I…" The kid actually had tears in his eyes he was so mortified.
Dean got up and crossed the room.
"Michael. Relax." He patted the boy uncomfortably on the shoulder. "It's OK."
Hanging his head and struggling to get himself under control, Michael swallowed.
"I'm sorry," he said again quietly.
And Dean knew it wasn't just for the careless comment about moms and fire, but also for the outburst and maybe even for his fear.
"Hey. Finding out that demons are really real entitles you to a freak out."
Dean held up a finger. "But just one," he said with mock seriousness as he led the boy further into the room.
Michael laughed unsteadily. "Got it," he said.
"How're you liking being a grown-up so far?" Sam asked with a wry smile.
Michael sank down on Dean's bed.
"Pretty much sucks."
Dean and Sam exchanged glances.
"Sometimes, yeah," Sam agreed.
There was another moment of silence as Dean decided what to say.
"Look, Michael. Yes, demons are real, but I'm not sure one's after Jo, OK? My dream was probably just a nightmare. I've never had any kind of vision before, and I don't know why it would start now, OK? But we just couldn't take the chance. Do you understand that?"
Michael nodded. "Yeah."
Dean started collecting his things in preparation for his own shower.
"What do we do?" Michael asked, unconsciously echoing his aunt.
Dean sighed.
He still didn't know.
xxxx
Over the next several days, Dean and Sam did what they could to come up with a plan for dealing with the possibility of the demon showing up at Jo's. Sam researched what he could on the Internet, and even ventured into a couple of nearby towns to check out the local libraries. He'd gotten nowhere. Because really there'd been no place to go. There hadn't even been a place to start. There were no changes in weather patterns, no mutilated cows, no flickering lights. Nothing.
They'd considered calling their dad for the Colt, but both Sam and Dean knew that without a solid lead, their father wouldn't consider risking the last bullet.
Added to that was the fact that Dean hadn't had another dream since they'd arrived. He was about ready to call his nightmare what it had been—a dream. Except that he hadn't been able to make himself say the words out loud and get on the road again. The what if was too big.
"Are y'all going to stay with us from now on?" Tommy asked. He was holding a towel ring as steadily as he could while Dean twisted the screws into place in the repaired drywall behind it.
What possesses people to let their kids swing from every hook and rack in motel rooms? Dean wondered in exasperation.
"What?"
"Are you and Sam moving here?"
"No, buddy, we're not. Just visiting." He gave a final hard turn to the screw.
"Oh." Disappointment. "Why are you here now?"
Dean looked at the boy next to him. "We missed you guys," he said simply. There was always truth in that statement.
"Really?" Tommy was pleased.
"Well. Not so much you," Dean teased. "But, you know, everyone else."
Tommy rolled his eyes.
"Whatever."
The tone and the look were Sam's. Exactly.
Dean chose to ignore him.
"OK, I think that's got it." Dean pulled down on the ring, testing his workmanship. It didn't budge. Tommy reached out and gave a tug as well. Getting a tighter grip, he held on and raised his feet.
"Hey!" Dean snagged him around the waist. "Dude, you break it, you buy it."
Tommy hung in Dean's grasp, one hand still on the towel ring. "I was making sure it works!"
"It works if it holds a towel," Dean drawled. "Not a monkey like you. Let go."
Tommy released, and Dean swung him away, dropping him out of reach of temptation.
Dean went down on one knee, picking up the tools and materials he'd used to repair the wall. He tossed them at a large metal box a couple of feet away.
"I get to do the mini-vac!" Tommy jumped at the little the hand vacuum.
"Knock yourself out."
Locking the toolbox, Dean waited for Tommy to finish.
"Got it?"
"Yep."
Together they left the room, crossing the parking lot toward the lobby.
"How much longer are y'all going to be here?"
Dean shrugged. "Couple more days, I think."
"'kay."
Dean put a hand briefly on Tommy's shoulder and the boy turned, flashing him a quick smile. He thrust the vacuum into Dean's hand.
"See ya!" And he was off, sprinting around the corner toward the house.
Shaking his head, Dean juggled the box and the small appliance as he reached for the door into the lobby. Jo greeted him from behind the desk.
"What happened to your assistant?" she asked.
"I let him off early."
"Riiiiight," she said.
With a grin, he walked past her into the old kitchen, setting his stuff down just inside the door.
"I think I got the last of those repairs taken care of." He joined her at the front.
"Thank you so much for doing that," she said. "It's amazing how fast things pile up."
"I figure it's the least I could do." He picked up one of the stacks of credit card printouts she had laid out in front of her and began to shuffle through them, putting them in order.
"Dean."
He sighed, casting an unreadable look her way.
"Honey, I can't say that I wish you'd been right…," she smiled at him. "But having you and Sam here has been a real treat. I'm glad for that."
"I wish we could have come without freaking you guys out."
She moved her shoulders slightly.
"Eventually, Michael will start sleeping through the night again."
The stricken look on Dean's face startled her.
"Oh, Dean. Honey, I'm kidding! He's fine. Nothing has ever disturbed that boy's sleep."
She touched him lightly on the sleeve. "We'll all be fine."
"Where's Luke?" he asked, changing the subject. "I thought he was going to be here this afternoon."
Jo sighed. "Yeah. That was the plan." She made a couple of notes on one of the receipts. "But he got another call out to the Potters' place." She gave Dean a dry look. "One of the perks of being married to the sheriff."
Dean frowned. "Wasn't that where he was the day we got here?"
Jo nodded.
"Weird."
Dean had met both Candace and Gene Potter, and it surprised him that they were having trouble that would involve the law. They'd seemed like a nice enough couple to him.
"They've been having some problems, financial and otherwise. Makes for a lot of stress on a marriage."
"Too bad."
"Yeah, it is."
xxxx
Luke hadn't been home for dinner. Again.
After they'd eaten, Jake pulled out the box of X-Files DVDs they'd been working their way through over the last several days. On Saturday when Jo had been distracted by the wedding of a friend in another town, they'd managed to watch almost 10 episodes of season two. Jo had returned home after being gone and found all five boys in the exact same places in front of the television they'd been when she and Luke had left at 9 o'clock that morning.
She'd been less than pleased.
"Did you even feed them?" she'd asked Dean with exasperation.
"Well, yeah," he'd said, blinking up at her from where he was stretched out on the floor. He turned to Sam. "We did, right, Sammy?" He couldn't remember what, though.
"Ummm. Yeah. Pizza?"
"There's an empty half-gallon of Blue Bell in here," Luke called from the kitchen.
"And ice cream?" Dean ventured.
She'd growled at him. Actually growled. And then stomped out of the room.
Grinning sheepishly after her, Dean shrugged, exchanged oops grimaces with Sam, and returned his attention to the television.
They'd been restricted in the number of episodes they were allowed to watch each day since then.
"What's next?" Dean asked as Jake pulled a disc out of its slot.
"Humbug, I think?" he said, looking at Michael for confirmation, tossing him the flier that outlined each of the episodes and their order.
"Yeah."
"Excellent."
After Humbug, Jo sent Tommy to bed and they watched The Calusari and had started on F. Emasculata when there was a knock at the door.
"I'll get it."
Sam was up getting a drink and made a detour, padding on bare feet to the front door, Coke can in hand.
"Matt?" The young deputy was standing on the front porch, face pale.
"I need to talk to Jo, Sam." His voice was hoarse, and it looked to Sam for a moment like he swayed.
Reaching out to steady the other man, Sam pulled Matt into the house, taking in his disheveled appearance and shattered expression. Sam felt his stomach clench in dread.
"I'll get her. Come in." Gently he steered the shaken man into the entryhall.
"Jo!" Sam called, looking desperately toward the back of the house.
The tone of his brother's voice had Dean off the couch, trailing after Jo.
"Matt…" When she saw him, Jo faltered. Dean reached for her elbow, suddenly recognizing, along with Jo, the full import of Matt's presence.
"Jo, I'm so sorry."
The sound of Jo's sharp in-drawn breath was like a punch in Dean's gut.
No.
"Matt." Her lips shaped his name, but no sound came, the single word an attempt to ward off the truth of what the young deputy was trying to tell her.
No.
"Aunt Jo?" Jake.
"Matt?" Michael.
Dean's gaze went to Sam, wide-eyed and stricken, and then to the two younger boys on the threshold into the foyer. Dean looked at Jo, hoping for guidance, but she was focused on Matt, shock and denial dazing her.
He cleared his throat.
"Sam, why don't you take Jake back into the kitchen while Jo talks to Matt?" Dean said, voice gruff in an attempt to control it.
Numbly, Sam nodded, and took half a step toward Jacob.
"Yeah. Come on, Jake." Sam moved to herd the boy out of the room and out of earshot.
"Wait!" The boy sidestepped Sam, jerking his arm out of reach. "What's going on? Aunt Jo?" The adults were all scared and he wasn't sure why, and that frightened Jake more than anything else ever had.
Michael stood quietly, eyes intent on his aunt. His face had taken on the pallor of Jo's, and he stepped forward, taking her hand in his.
"Aunt Jo," he said gently.
It was the quiet that got her attention and she turned to her oldest nephew, meeting his eyes.
"It's OK," she whispered. "It's OK, Sam. Jake should stay." She closed her eyes, holding tight to the young hand that held hers so surely. "You should all stay."
When she turned back to Matt, her eyes were clear, a tenuous sheen of control covering the devastation she would deal with later.
"Where is he?"
Dean put an arm around Jake and pulled the boy to his side. The contact stilled Jake, but against his ribs, Dean could feel the hammering of the boy's heart.
"He's at St. David's," Matt said brokenly. "Dr. Jones said you needed to be there as soon as possible. He was in the ER when I left, but the doc said they're going to have to make decisions about surgery…"
"Surgery?" Jo's question interrupted Matt's frantic outburst. "He's alive?"
Matt looked at her uncomprehendingly and then around the room at the stunned faces that circled him.
"Yes," he said slowly, understanding dawning. "Oh my God."
Jo started to cry and laugh at the same time, a slightly hysterical edge to the sound. "You said, 'I'm sorry,' and I…" She put her hands up to her face.
Dean felt the relief weaken his knees abruptly and he pulled Jake into a full hug, holding on fiercely to keep from falling.
"He's OK?" Jake's incredulous question was asked into Dean's shoulder and Dean met Sam's eyes over the younger boy's head, watching Sam slowly sink to the floor of the entryhall, a hand coming up to cover his eyes.
Dear God.
As soon as he could stand on his own again, Dean was going to beat the ever-living crap out of Sheriff's Deputy Matthew Xavier Rodriguez.
Matt was almost incoherent in his efforts to apologize. "Jo, I'm sorry. I just… He's not dead. But it's bad. It's really bad." His voice broke. "Things went so wrong and I…" He came to a full stop. "We have to get the hospital, Jo. We have to go. Now."
The urgency in Matt's plea finally penetrated the family's giddiness of relief that Luke wasn't actually dead. He'd reached out for Jo's arm and it looked like, in his distress, the young man was going to drag Jo out the door with him.
Releasing Jake, Dean stepped quickly between Matt and Jo. He took the deputy by the shoulders, giving enough of a shake to startle the man out of the single-mindedness that seemed to have driven everything out of his head but getting Jo to Luke.
"Matt, we're coming." Dean said it gently, but firmly. He looked at Jo and the boys. "I'll drive."
Jo nodded, reaching for her purse and keys on the table by the door. Michael and Jake surged forward, as well, Sam scrambling to his feet.
"Tommy," Jo said suddenly. She looked at Dean, an unfamiliar uncertain expression on her face. "Should we wake him up? I don't want him to…"
"I'll stay," Sam said, taking the decision out of her hands.
Dean nodded, grabbing his jacket off one of the hooks in the wall, holding out a hand to Jo for the keys.
"Let's go."
Sam stood to the side while everyone poured out of the house and down the steps. Matt got into the sheriff's cruiser while the others climbed into Jo's battered Suburban. As he held the door for Jo, Dean turned to look at his brother standing tall and slender in the porchlight. In the shadows, Sam's features were barely visible, but Dean could still read the worry and fear clearly on his face.
Be careful.
Dean nodded, his eyes meeting Sam's.
Sam held up a hand as Dean slammed Jo's door and bolted for the driver's side.
When he could no longer see the taillights, Sam turned and went back into the house, closing the door softly behind him.
xxxx
Dean hated hospitals. Hated the smell of antiseptic, the incessant humming of machines, the memories—too many—of pain and helplessness. Leaning against the wall, watching Jo with Luke, Dean added another item to his ever expanding list: "Hospitals: Why I Hate Them."
Jo sat, dazed and pale, holding Luke's hand, eyes desperately on his face.
"I don't understand," she whispered, addressing not her husband, but the man beside her, the man who had married them only months ago.
"I don't understand," she said brokenly, eyes lost as they went to the pastor and then to Dean.
Why?
Jo adrift—questioning—made the ground under Dean feel suddenly uneven.
He was humbled and uneasy that she would let him see her this way—vulnerable and hurting—when he'd watched her, gentle and sure, with Michael and Jacob just moments before. She trusted him with her weakness, and he found himself overwhelmed by that responsibility and a fear that somehow he would fail.
"I don't understand either," Rich Hart said softly, his voice as unsteady as Jo's own.
They'd all three sat in stunned and uncomprehending silence as the doctors had given their grim prognosis. A shotgun blast full in the chest had inflicted a massive amount of damage that the surgeons had done their best to repair, but they weren't optimistic.
You need to prepare yourselves, they'd said. Call the rest of the family. Make arrangements. We know it's hard, they'd said, not knowing at all.
Dean had held one of Jo's hands, Rich the other, all of them nodding numbly along with the doctors as they delivered blow after blow of bad news. After the doctors were finished, the three went into the waiting room and talked to the boys, Jo steady and hopeful as she'd held them, rubbing their backs, telling them she loved them, that Luke loved them, that everything was going to be OK.
It was only when she'd seen Luke that she'd faltered, undone by the reality in front of her.
Rich moved the hand that had been holding hers to her shoulder as he put an arm around her. And Jo, biting her lip, turned into his arm as she cried.
Watching Jo crumble, Dean felt all the helplessness he'd been repressing since Matt had arrived at the house rise out of the pit of his stomach and lurch into his throat, threatening to strangle him. He couldn't be here. He was going to hit someone or break down himself, and neither of those was an acceptable option. Not here. Not now.
He had to get out.
Jaw clenched and eyes bright with unwanted tears, Dean looked at the pastor and with a movement of his head indicated that he was leaving. The man nodded, his expression almost unbearably understanding as he met Dean's devastated gaze.
"I'll be here," he said silently.
And Dean fled.
He got down the hall and into a stairwell before he lost it, punching the door as it swung shut behind him.
"Shit!" he yelped, shaking out the initial numbness in his knuckles, waiting for the burn and the pain that he knew from experience would follow.
"Shitshitshitshit," he whispered, cradling his now throbbing hand against his chest as he leaned against the wall, dropping into a crouch. Bending over, he pressed his flushed face against his knees, struggling to regain some degree of control.
He drew in several shuddering breaths, feeling his heart begin to slow as he let his mind go blank. Get a grip, he told himself fiercely. Just. Get… a… grip.
Finally, Dean raised his head and lowered his butt the rest of the way to the floor. Crossing his legs Indian style in front of him, he let his head fall back sharply against the wall behind him.
Ow.
Again.
Ow.
The deliberate discomfort in his head distracted him from the ache in his hand—sharp—the one in his chest—dull—and helped clear the panic from his racing mind.
He sat still for a long time, trying to formulate a plan of action. There was part of him that suspected that just being there for Jo might be what would help her most, but the thought of being caught in the room with her grief, trapped by his own helplessness was more than he thought he could handle right now.
He bumped his head back against the wall again.
I need…
Bump.
I need to call Sam.
The door into the stairwell began to open, and Dean cursed under his breath, wiping a quick hand over his eyes as he got to his feet.
"Dean?"
"Matt," he said, surprised to see the younger man.
"How is he?"
Dean swallowed. He couldn't make the words come out, so he just shook his head.
Matt closed his eyes. "Damn," he whispered.
Dean cleared his throat.
"What happened out there, Matt?"
The deputy came the rest of the way into the stairwell, letting the door close behind him. He looked at Dean tiredly as he put a shoulder against the wall not far from Dean.
"I don't know, man," he said. "I mean, I know. But it just doesn't make any sense."
"It was Potter?"
Matt sighed.
"Yeah. Another call from Candy. Gene was wild, out of control, breaking things. Luke and I have been on half a dozen of those calls with them over the last few months, and we were concerned that the situation seemed to be escalating. But we've never been able to get Candace to press charges or even leave. Just go stay with her mom."
Matt took a deep breath, leaning his head against the wall.
"They've never had that kind of problem before and it was like she just couldn't get her head around the fact that he'd changed. Hell. We couldn't our heads around it. Not really. Kept giving him the benefit of the doubt, hoping he go back to being normal. Like she did."
His voice broke, and he was quiet for a long moment.
"So, today, we get out there and before we were even out of the car, we can hear the screaming and yelling inside. Worse than anything before. Weird. Violent. It was giving me the creeps and I could tell that Luke was kind of freaked out too, you know? He gets all still and quiet when he's spooked, you know, thinking hard?" He looked at Dean for affirmation.
Dean didn't know that he'd ever seen Luke afraid, but he could imagine that would be the man's reaction. Calmness. Control. Dean nodded.
"We're hearing all this commotion in the trailer, things crashing around, Candy screaming bloody murder, Gene yelling. Luke tells me to grab the shotgun and he heads for the door, but he'd only gotten a couple of steps when we heard a gun go off. And suddenly there's no more screaming."
It took the young deputy awhile before he could go on, and Dean gave him the time, recognizing the connection the man had to all the parties involved in this evening's tragedy.
"We just froze. I… I just stood there, like a damn fool, not knowing what to do. But, Luke snapped out of it quick, told me to call for back up and he started back toward the trailer. He had his gun out and I think he was going to try to get to the side of the trailer, find a window or something, but before he got there, the door opened."
Matt had started to pant lightly as the story progressed, moving closer to the attack on Luke.
"It was like… You know how people say things were in slow motion? It was like that… It was … Gene was there on the steps, the gun coming up, and Luke trying to stop. And then…"
Matt broke off, and Dean let him collect himself for a moment.
"What happened after?" Dean asked quietly. "After Luke was shot?"
The deputy pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes.
"Gene ran off, got in his truck. I don't… I was calling dispatch, trying to keep Luke from bleeding out. I…"
Dean nodded, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder. They stood for awhile in silence again, before Dean asked, "What do you think happened?"
The younger man shook his head, a hand coming up to rub at his eyes.
"Drugs, we think. We found a lab out back in one of the sheds. Crystal meth. But, even so, I… There was something… Off. Weird. I don't know. The whole place made my skin crawl."
The look he sent Dean was apologetic and a little embarrassed.
"Maybe I'm just not used to that kind of thing – drugs and murder. We're a hick town, I know that. But it just felt … wrong."
He gave a short bark of laughter.
"Hell, it is wrong. Maybe that was all it was. I…"
Matt broke off his ramble again. Gave a heaving sigh.
"I'm sorry, man, I just…"
Dean put his hand on Matt's shoulder again, gave a squeeze.
"Don't. It's OK."
There was another long moment of quiet.
"Listen, Matt. I need to get back."
He paused, suddenly remembering. "Crap. And I haven't called Sam."
Matt pushed away from the wall.
"Yeah."
"If we can help…"
The man smiled tightly.
"Thanks. I need to get back myself. Just wanted to check in."
They parted outside Luke's door. Matt stepped inside for a couple of minutes, shaking Dean's hand on the way out.
When Dean entered, Rich said something in Jo's ear, moving away from her and toward the door.
"Are you going to be OK with her for awhile?" he asked Dean as he approached. "I thought I might go out in the waiting room…"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Of course. I'm sorry about earlier, I just…"
The older man patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, son. You're here now. And we don't want to overwhelm her with our hovering probably."
Dean settled himself in the chair next to Jo, taking her hand in his.
"Hey," he said softly.
Her eyes came to his. "Hey." Her fingers tightened on his slightly. "Thank you."
He moved his head involuntarily, rejecting the idea that she had anything to thank him for, but she'd already turned back to Luke, her other hand clasping his.
"What time is it?" she asked suddenly.
Dean looked at his watch. "A little after 5am."
"Have you checked in with Sam?"
Dean winced. He'd forgotten again.
"No, I'll call him right now, if you want me to."
She shook her head, trying to think.
"Why don't you just go ahead and take Michael and Jacob home? They've been up here all night. I should have thought of that earlier, poor things."
"They'll want to see Luke, Jo," he said gently. They'd wanted to after Jo had talked to them earlier, but she'd put them off, wanting to see Luke herself before she agreed to the boys visiting.
"I don't want to scare them," she said, voice breaking.
"Jo, they need to see him. They're going to feel cheated and angry if you deny them this." He was trying to be as gentle as he could with her, but he knew that Michael and Jacob deserved to see their uncle.
She closed her eyes, tears escaping down her cheeks.
"You're right," she said finally. "Just give me a minute. I don't want them to see me like this."
"Take your time."
After a couple of minutes, she got herself under control and with a tremulous smile, she sent Dean out to collect they boys.
When Dean entered the waiting room, he was amazed at the number of people there. It took him a minute to spot the two kids he was looking for because there were so many there with their parents, and everyone had started to their feet when he walked in.
"I…"
"Dean!" Michael and Jacob forced themselves to the front, a path clearing and then closing behind as people surged forward for news.
"Is everything OK? What…?" Anxious faces—familiar and unfamiliar—surrounded him and Dean took an involuntary step back, blinking.
"Jo wants the boys to come back and see Luke and then I'm going to take them home to get some rest."
He addressed the entire crowd without really knowing why, but then stopped, not sure what else to say.
Rich was suddenly beside him, drawing Michael and Jacob apart, separating them from the people around them.
"That's probably a good idea for the rest of us, too," Rich said, addressing everyone in the room.
He turned to Dean.
"Y'all go on back," he said shepherding them away from the crowd.
The boys had started down the hall, and Rich said for Dean alone, "I'll stay here until someone can relieve me. We'll watch out for her until you boys get back."
Dean nodded, again not sure what to say.
xxxx
Sam startled out of a restless sleep and lay still for a moment trying to get his bearings. He was stretched out on the couch in the family room, head crammed into a corner, feet hanging off the edge. Stretching out the crick in his neck, he looked at his watch.
4:27
Sitting up, he reached for his phone on the coffee table. He couldn't imagine that he would have slept through a call, but…
Nothing.
He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a minute. Why hadn't Dean called? He flipped open his phone and his thumb hovered uncertainly over the speed dial for Dean's cell.
If it was bad news, Dean would have called. No news was good news, right?
Dean was probably busy helping Jo and the boys deal with the all the crap that goes along with an emergency. He didn't need Sam calling and demanding to be kept up-to-date when there were more important things going on.
Sam closed the phone. He'd wait until Dean had time to call.
Still in his bare feet, Sam mounted the stairs. The door to the boys' room was closed, and Sam pushed it open slightly, listening for sounds within. When he didn't hear anything, he went in, stepping carefully over shadowed objects on the floor until he got to the bunk beds that Jake and Tommy shared.
Tommy was curled tightly under the covers of the bottom bunk, just the top of his blond head showing above the blankets. The rag monkey Tommy denied he slept with any more had slipped between the bed and the wall and Sam ducked his head under the top bunk, reaching for the tattered animal. It was easy enough to rescue, and Sam tucked it close to Tommy's side so that the boy would see it if he woke and missed its presence. Running a light hand over Tommy's hair, Sam backed away from the bed and out of the room.
When he got downstairs, Sam grabbed all the discarded plates and glasses out of the television room, taking them into the kitchen. Working steadily, Sam got the dishes cleared and in the dishwasher before he wiped down all the counters and the tabletop. Still restless, he decided that he could get a load of wash started as well, and so headed to grab his and Dean's dirty clothes before he collected everyone else's upstairs.
Sam had just gathered all the boys' laundry from their bathroom when a loud banging on the front door startled him. He stopped where he was, momentarily frozen by the unexpected noise. The rapping didn't pause, becoming increasingly insistent, and Sam cursed under his breath as he ran for the door.
"Who is that?"
Tommy's voice, sleepy, but curious came from behind his bedroom door.
"No one. Go back to sleep," Sam called as he made for the stairs. He was suddenly worried about who might be at the door and with what kind of news. "I mean it, Tommy. Stay in bed."
Sam ground his teeth as he heard small feet hit the hardwood floor, and the creak of the bedroom door as it opened.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Sam was aware of Tommy behind him, the boy pausing on the landing, peering after him. By the time he got to the front door, Sam was prepared to berate his brother or one of the boys for waking up Tommy, but underneath there was a gnawing fear that this might be someone with news he wasn't going to want to hear.
When he opened the door, Sam was confronted by a vaguely familiar face.
"Gene?" Uncertainty.
Fist raised in the motion of knocking, Gene Potter stood on the front porch. Confused by the man's sudden appearance, Sam didn't initially take notice of the low-frequency buzzing that had started right behind his eyes. But the vibrations increased quickly in their intensity and Sam blinked, finally fully taking in the man before him.
Gene Potter, eyes black as night, mouth twisted in a grimace that might have been rage or could have been terror was shaking so violently that his skin looked like it was undulating in waves over his bones.
Sam had only a second to take all this in before the man's arm slashed forward, fist opening, fingers splaying, pointing directly at Sam.
In the same moment that Sam felt a shattering blow to his chest, his head exploded in a bright light of pain, the psychic shockwave lifting him off his feet and flinging him across the entryhall, slamming him against the doorjamb into the family room.
Around the agony in head, Sam heard Tommy's scream of terror, the crack of bones broken, and the dull thud of his head connecting with the lintel before his world went black.
xxxx
