Part Four

Dean woke to find he had slept most of the day and it was now twilight. Walsh was gone. Sam was still asleep, head turned away from him, shaggy hair matted. That would be fun to comb out later.

Something smelled good, and Dean sniffed in appreciation. Figuring Sam would be out for awhile yet, Dean followed his nose to the kitchen and almost dropped to his knees in worship when he saw homemade caramel rolls being pulled out of the oven.

"You bake too?"

Looking over his shoulder, Walsh grinned. "When I need to think. There's coffee. Help yourself and get me a cup while you're at it."

"That I can do."

Pulling down a couple of cups located on the shelves above the coffeemaker, Dean filled them. Walsh had the rolls off their pan, piled on a dish and placed on the table by the time Dean came with the coffee.

"Help yourself." Walsh handed him a smaller plate. Dean needed no further urging. Knowing he was going to burn either his fingers or his mouth did not stop him from diving in.

Homemade caramel rolls.

And he was hungry. Hungry for something that wasn't fast food, or diner food, or bought from a convenience store.

Hungry for a lot of things in retrospect, but right now that caramel roll gave Dean a little something besides a full stomach...

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Elliot sipped his coffee and watched with a certain amount of amusement as his guest burned his tongue, but moaned in absolute delight as he chewed.

"Dude, if this healing gig of yours gets old, open a bakery." Dean licked caramel off his thumb.

Elliot laughed. "It was a consideration at one point in my life." Hazel eyes snapped over to look at him.

"What happened?"

"This happened. Sometimes our professions find us. I suspect you know something about that."

"Suppose I do, but I think you are underestimating what good caramel rolls could do for society." Dean took another bite. "Seriously, you could cure the world's ills with these."

Laughing again, Elliot took a bite and admitted that his efforts had turned out very well.

"Didn't take with Sam, did it?"

The blunt question startled Elliot, and he suspected that he should get used to them.

"I couldn't get in. Tried every trick I knew and could only do surface level work. Couldn't get deep down where it's needed." Grimacing, he remembered the dark oily feel of it.

"He doesn't have much time."

"No, he doesn't. Especially if I can't figure out what the blockage is. You have any insights on that?"

And he watched as Dean's face closed off, leaving a hollowed out expression. Elliot gave Dean credit. He didn't turn away from him, met his gaze, but Elliot bet he wouldn't get the answer he was looking for.

Dean proved him wrong.

For the next hour, in a soft even tone, Dean told him of John Winchester's death and the months that followed.

-------

Elliot sat in stunned silence. Dean stared down at his coffee cup.

That was all out there. Elliot wasn't sure if he was grateful or regretful to know the truth about things that went bump in the night. Rising, he went to the cupboard, pulled out a bottle of brandy, and poured them both a generous helping.

Dean's eyebrows went up. "Thought when you said something stronger, you meant the coffee."

"That was before you told me all this."

"Taking this pretty good if all you need is a pull of brandy." Dean smirked. "Or are you just humoring the crazy man?"

Sighing, Elliot slid back into his chair. "Do you know how often I've been accused of being stark ravers? Most folks find it easier to create their own rational for the unexplainable rather than accept a situation as divine or evil."

"Here, here." Dean raised his cup in salute. "Is that what happened to your front lawn?"

"The Landrys happened to my front lawn." Elliot shifted back into his chair. "It was one of those cases I knew I couldn't help. Marisa Landry was done with this life. Quite frankly, she was a woman who was done with her husband. Will Landry is one of the biggest pain in the arses this world has known, and the easiest, simplest way for her to leave him was to die."

"That's harsh."

"You don't know the man, but I'm sure you've met his ilk. Self-righteous to a fault. His is the only correct way, even when proved differently. Absolute surety in his faith in God, his own honor, and his morals."

"A crazy bastard."

Leaning forward, Elliot refilled his cup and Dean's. "That would cover it."

"How'd he end up at your doorstep?"

"Desperation is the only thing that comes to mind. For all his faults, he did love his wife in the way he could love anything." Elliot winced at a memory. "I tried, but nothing happened. She didn't want it. She might have said the right things, but she didn't want to be healed."

"That sucks."

"It does."

"They done with you?"

"Can only hope. There are two sons just as angry as their father. The local sheriff, Ron Davis, is a good friend to them, and a decent man. Out of respect for him, I didn't press charges, but did insist on a restraining order in the hopes it would deter them. I've my doubts."

"Suppose it's easy to blame you."

"It's a reaction I'm used to. Torching my porch, however, is not."

Dean shook his head. "Dealing with the supernatural is easier."

"I'll bow to your knowledge in that respect."

"Knowledge I have." The dry tone revealed that wealth of experience.

From across the table, Elliot studied Dean. He saw the brash, confident man that he was allowed to see. Looking deeper, he saw the brother who was worried, tired, and worn to the bone.

"I don't think Sam is a case of subconsciously letting himself go." Winchester's head came up and the hazel eyes were sharp and penetrating. Another facet revealed. "You never did believe that. Why?"

Dean snorted. "Sam doesn't do easy. That would be easy."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Just am."

Taking another swallow of coffee, Elliot smiled behind the cup's rim. In speaking of recent events in the Winchesters' lives, Dean revealed his hesitation in anything divine. Yet, he had an unwavering faith in Sam. Figuring it was best not to voice that observation, Elliot tucked that information away.

Having faith like that in another was a blessing all its own.

Glancing toward the hallway, Dean stood up. "You want the dishes in the sink?"

"That'd be fine. Thank you."

"Think I should be thanking you." Dean went to the sink and looked over his shoulder. "Appreciate what you're doing."

"I haven't done anything yet."

Dean gave a soft laugh. "Yeah, you have. I'm going to check on Sam."

And with that, Dean left Elliot musing over his ramped up coffee.

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Dean entered the bedroom as Sam was coming around.

"Hey, how you doin'?"

"Feel like crap," Sam's voice was hoarse. Dean poured some water, and his stomach clenched as he watched Sam struggle to sit up and fail.

"Hang on."

Sliding an arm under Sam's shoulders, Dean eased him up enough to drink. Sam was dead weight and bony to the touch. Knowing how it would affect his brother if the water spilled, Dean held the glass to Sam's mouth making certain not to tip too fast.

Falling back, Sam let out a frustrated groan.

Giving his brother's shoulder a comforting pat, Dean set the glass aside.

"Don't think your healer can do anything for me." Sam gave a hint of a smile.

"You just hold on. We're just getting started." He closed his eyes in fond remembrance. "And you haven't tried his caramel rolls yet. The guy's a baking genius."

"Dean-"

"No."

"What? You going to fight off the reaper for me?"

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Dude, you saying I can't?"

A startled look came to Sam's pale face, and he grinned. A full-fledged Sammy grin. "Sorry, don't know what I was thinking."

"You remember that. We'll work out the rest."

"Okay." He blinked. "Just so tired."

"Need a Vicodin?"

"Nah, good for now."

"Go ahead and sleep."

And Sam did. Having sensed Walsh's presence earlier, Dean looked to the doorway.

"He's not taking the pain meds, because he's slipping. Pain at least keeps him here." Walsh kept his eyes on Sam.

Seeing the hesitant expression on Walsh's face, Dean's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Whatever we need to do, it has to be tonight."

Dean clenched his jaw as his insides gave a twist. "You got something in mind?"

"After you left, it occurred to me that you said ghosts are repelled by salt. Salt is a natural purifier."

"We've used saline."

"I think we need to try it stronger."

Dean stared at the healer in disbelief. "You'd pour salt on an open wound like that?"

Walsh looked uneasy, but not like he was letting go of the idea. "Often times the simple solution is the answer. I've nothing else and this could work."

"If it doesn't kill him!" Dean hissed.

"Shock is a risk. A huge one." Walsh took a deep breath and let it out. "Dean, we're out of options. He's going to die if we do nothing. My usual bag of tricks isn't enough for him. I need to try something from yours."

Dean wanted to hate the guy. Wanted to argue. Wanted to call him a quack.

And didn't. Couldn't.

"Dean…"

Horrified, Dean looked down at his now awake brother.

"You do it."

"Sam-"

"Do it." The voice was weak, but the stubborn glare wasn't.

"Sonofabitch."

"Do it now."

Needing to turn away, Dean ended up looking at Walsh. The healer didn't appear any more excited about the salt plan than he did. Dean wouldn't have trusted him if he did.

A slap on his thigh brought his attention back to Sam.

"It'll be okay," Sam said before falling asleep.

"Way to inspire confidence." Dean turned back to Walsh. "We've got the Sammy seal of approval."

"I'll get what we need."

"Perfect."

Dean wondered if he was going to throw up.

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Studying the salt container in his hand, Elliot was well aware this was a desperate gamble. Sam was weak and that kind of pain could send him into shock... and if he let himself think about this too much, he was going to lose that knowing that had hit him when he thought of the salt in the first place. Like many times before when he would bake or just let his mind drift, the answer would come to him.

The saltshaker was the source of this particular knowing.

Pouring it in an open wound…

What was he thinking?

No. This was right. Felt right. Follow your instincts. Don't let reason dictate. Don't let the Landry incident shake your convictions.

However, he could commiserate with the very ill look that had come over Dean's face at Sam's 'do it' demand.

Elliot would hold onto the belief that the very stubborn resilient Winchesters could and would pull this off.

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Dean hoped that Sam would be out for this. Seems his little brother had a different idea about that.

Not surprising.

Sam was fighting sleep. Fighting it hard. He'd open his eyes wide, stare, try to hold it, and just drop off. A minute later he'd start the whole process over again.

"Dammit, Sam. Go to sleep. Not like you need to be awake for this."

"Yeah, I do."

"Never the easy way," Dean said, which earned him a faint smile.

Walsh entered with the salt container in hand. Swallowing hard, Dean slid the blanket away from Sam's leg.