Chapter 3
Dean jumped through the screen door and made the perky redhead jump. "Where's Flintstein?"
She yelped, but meekly pointed towards his offices.
Dean ran through the doors and startled a young couple speaking to the Doctor. "Doc you gotta come!"
"Wuh…uhh…" The man fumbled for a proper response.
The young couple had gone politely quiet and was watching the scene unfold with curious expressions. "I gotta talk to ya, NOW!" Dean finished and gestured back towards the lobby.
Flintstein removed himself from the couple with an offhanded excuse. "What's this about?"
Dean was walking at a rapid pace towards the car, which was still humming by the front entrance. "My brother!"
"What?" Flintstein's disbelieving bark was interrupted the second he saw Sam on the front seat.
The young man was sitting, pale-faced and stoic. Staring straight at nothing. "It happened while we were driving over."
"What happened?" Flintstein kneeled next to Sam as Dean opened the door. The dark hunter slowly turned his head to look at the doctor, but with no emotional signs of recognition.
"Hi doc." His voice was flat.
Flintstein looked in shock back at Dean before turning back to Sam. "Someone took his soul." Dean offered with anger pouring from every word.
"That's impossible," The doctor muttered.
"And yet it happened," Dean reached in and pulled his brother out. Sam obliged him without a flinch. "And you're gonna fix it."
Dr. Flintstein watched in bafflement as Dean maneuvered his near catatonic brother back through the entrance. "How? I-" Flintstein hovered anxiously around the two as all three of them passed by the curious secretary.
"Doctor?"
"It's fine, Claudia. Please explain to the Rushmore's that I'm sorry, but something has come up. They're in my office." He gently guided Dean and Sam through the back entrance to the soul chamber. "Please put him here." He asked Dean and gestured to a chair.
Dean maneuvered his brother down, eyes scouring every inch of his face over and over, searching for something he'd recognize.
"What happened?"
"Doesn't matter. All you need to know is that Sam's soul is gone," again, he silently added.
"It wasn't his soul, Mr.- Dean." Flintstein agitatedly turned on the large machine.
"Well it was in him when it got yanked out!"
"Dean," Sam quietly inquired.
"Hey, buddy. How you feelin'?" He leaned down to eyelevel.
"Same. Like before." He sighed. "A little bored."
Dean's breath left him in a horrible rush.
"What you're saying is impossible. It's not humanly possible to rip a soul from the body unless they have one of these," He gestured to the machine.
"Well for argument's sake, let's say he does."
"He can't, it's patented-"
"DOCTOR!" The doctor flinched. "It happened! Fix it."
"I-"
Suddenly Sam collapsed into convulsions. His back arched over the backrest and his arms flailed to the sides. Only Dean's steady grip on his shoulders kept him from falling to the floor.
"Oh god," Flintstein whispered in shocked awe.
"Help him!"
The doctor moved over and shone a penlight into Sam's eyes. One after the other. Dean silently fumed. "His body is reacting to the shock. There's nothing I can do-"
"What?"
"Yet . . ." Flintstein finished uncertainly. "I can't implant a new soul until his core-temperature rises."
"Why not?"
"It could cause a heart attack. I could give him some Phenytoin Sodium, but. . . uhh. . ." He ran a hand through his sweaty, white hair. Or what was left of it.
"What? What's that? Give it to him," Dean muttered from his brother's side.
Flintstein flinched. "Right." He yanked open a drawer and filled a small syringe. Tapping the needle, he moved and injected a few milligrams directly into Sam's veins. Slowly Sam's struggles stilled. His head lolled back and his mouth dropped open.
Dean reached up and cradled the back of his head. His eyes were searching his face for any signs of pain. When he found none, he sighed.
"How can someone just rip out-" Flintstein stopped himself. "That was someone's soul." He said emphatically.
Dean sighed and spotted a cot against a wall. "You mind?" He pointed to it.
"No. Of course." Flintstein watched the strong, young man shuffle his brother to the cot and deposit him gently on the white sheet. "What happened to him?"
"No offense, but I already told you all I'm gonna say."
"No-" He waved a hand distractedly without taking his eyes from Sam. "Before. Before you came here. Why didn't he have a soul to begin with?"
Dean stared at the doctor, considering what explanation to give. He finally settled for his version of the truth. "Someone took it."
"This Crowley you mentioned last time?"
Dean's eyes zeroed in. He was surprised the doctor remembered the name and mentally berated himself for letting it slip. He nodded, unwilling to give any more explanation.
"How?" Flintstein looked aghast, uncomprehending and beyond confused. His hand ruffled the white fluff on his head, making it prickle out like wisps of white kitten-fur. "Does he have his own machine, or-"
"I really don't know." Another truth Dean was disgruntled about. He really had no idea how it worked. Could Crowley even take a soul that hadn't officially been sold to him? Surely he couldn't just walk around, yanking people's souls out whenever he felt like it?
Flintstein sighed and took a seat in Sam's abandoned chair. His back sagged and his arms fell over the armrests. "I just don't know anymore."
Great, Dean thought, now he decides to grow a conscience. "Well we just fix my brother and call it even, whatta ya say?"
"Hm?" The doctor was staring into blank space. "Yes, sure- wait. What?"
"Well the way I see it, you promised us a soul," Dean spread his arms. "I don't see one."
Flintstein stuttered. "Do you have any idea what my deal with you two has already cost me?" He seemed mortified, but Dean couldn't really care less.
"Look, doctor," he sneered. "My brother's ass is on the line because of you-"
"No. No, this is not my fault. I have nothing to do with any third party." Flintstein argued passionately. "You owe me a soul and I would think an honorable man such as yourself would uphold that promise," He was nearing a full-fledged panic.
"I'm not your goddamn personal charity organization." Dean hissed. On the cot his brother stirred. "My brother needs a soul and you've got a whole fuckin' storage full of 'em." He pointed to the vault where he knew the souls were stored.
"I can't just hand you over another one-"
Dean took two long steps forward till he was staring down at the befuddled doctor. "My brother is in this mess because of you and by god, you're gonna help him, or I swear. . ." He let the threat hang in the air.
What little personal pride or courage Flintstein possessed puffed out of him in a deep exhale. "I- I can't-"
"You can and you will!" Dean demanded without backing down.
"Dean?" Sam muttered from the cot. He sat up, oddly conscious and observant. "What're you doing?"
"Sam, butt out!"
"I will not just hand over another innocent soul for you to lose." Flintstein argued.
Dean had to give him a little credit. For his lanky size he didn't intimidate as easily as one might've thought.
"Dean," Sam's voice was back to its former sardonic glory and Dean could've screamed then and there. "We tried it your way. That didn't work. I feel fine. Let's just go, huh?" It wasn't much of a question really. If Sam left Dean knew he'd have no choice but to follow. As if to prove Dean's point he rolled off the cot and shrugged his shoulders. "God that feels good," He leaned his head back and exhaled deeply.
Dean could feel his hope dropping. This had been their last real resort. There was only one other option and Dean didn't think either brother would survive if they chose to pursue that. "Sam. . ." His argument was sapped before he even knew what to say. "I'm not leaving without a soul." It was stubborn, but it was all he had left. When hope fled, when logic failed, he'd still have his stubborn-streak. It was a safe harbor in the shit-storm that was their lives.
Sam sighed, sounding distinctly bored. "Dean, I feel fine-"
"You're NOT fine, Sam!" He whirled on him. "You like a freakin' zombie and the scary part is that you don't even see it."
"I'm calling the police," Flintstein suddenly decided. He was out the door before Dean could fully register what had happened.
"Fuck!"
"Well that's just great. Just what we need. More bad publicity."
"That's not funny, Sam." Dean's voice was cut in stone and anyone with a soul would've known to back off and cut their losses.
"It is a little," Sam instead argued with a slight smirk.
Dean sighed. His mind was whirling with possible options. Hell, he was half considering the idea of taking Flintstein hostage and forcing him to give Sam a new soul. It was better than the alternative. "We just gotta get him back here before he makes that damn call-"
"Dean, it's over. Let's just get outta here." Sam gestured to the door casually. The thought of prison didn't even scare him anymore, Dean realized. "C'mon," Sam coaxed and smirked again.
This was all a damn joke to him. Nothing registered.
His tall brother decided he didn't like waiting around and left the office, leaving Dean behind. He didn't really care if his brother followed or not, but knew he would. Dean always followed. The car was where they left her and Sam slipped in without a backwards glance. He counted down from thirty and smirked when Dean exited the building in a slight rush. He was glancing around, scouting for police cruisers, Sam knew.
He smirked when his brother slid in behind the wheel. "Nice of you to drop by,"
Dean swallowed convulsively. He sported a look of utter desperation and somewhere, deep within himself, Sam recognized it as an expression of extreme sorrow. He just couldn't find it in him to care. The car peeled away from the curb and joined the melee of the Big Apple just as sirens squealed in from the distance.
Neither man ever spoke of Dr. Flintstein again.
8