Purposes Mistook
Summary: Sam and Dean finish a hunt only to find there was a witness to the showdown, a witness who makes a demand of his own…
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Okey dokey… We're off to the morgue…
Chapter Four
Sam straightened his tie as he and Dean walked into the hospital side by side. Sam hated changing in gas station bathrooms. He always felt rumpled and a little grimy afterwards.
They stopped at the first desk they came to and asked for the morgue. When the woman raised her eyebrows, they each flashed an FBI badge and the woman went nearly bug-eyed.
"You're here about the shooting? Trudy said…" The woman cleared her throat nervously. "Do you know what happened?"
"We're not at liberty to talk about the case at this time," Sam answered formally, barely registering how easy it was these days to pull on the dour FBI persona. Dean wasn't having any trouble either. He was still glowering, annoyed at having his sleep interrupted.
"The morgue is down the hall." She pointed. "Take the first left, then the third right."
"Thank you," Sam said and they headed down the hall. "What exactly are we planning to do?"
"I plan on setting his sorry ass on fire, sooner rather than later," Dean said grouchily. "I don't care what he thinks he needs to do, I don't care what he wants, I don't care if he's pissed off, or Little Mary Freakin' Sunshine. We don't have time for this."
Sam just nodded. The deal was breathing down their necks, so close now Sam could almost feel it. The coming deadline put a new perspective on every last minute of the day, on every second spent on something that wasn't a solution to the impending disaster.
"And on top of that," Dean continued ranting, "the guy just ticks me off in general. Making you whack him? You don't do that to someone else, stranger or not. You don't put that on somebody else's shoulders just because you can't do it yourself."
Sam cast a sidelong look at his brother. You don't do that. You don't lay that kinda crap on your kids. Their dad had made a deal to save Dean at least partially because someone had to be around to take care of Sam when he went bad. Sam couldn't help but wonder if their dad had doubted he could do it, but believed his number one soldier who always followed orders would. Sam wasn't the only one their father had used to his own ends.
Dean frowned. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Quit lookin' at me like that." Dean stopped suddenly and turned to face him. "I saw what that guy did to you. I saw your face, Sam," he said, misunderstanding Sam's hesitation. "If he wasn't already dead, I could kill him myself for what he did." Just as quickly as Dean had stopped, he turned and resumed his determined steps toward the morgue leaving Sam nearly open-mouthed in his wake. "As a matter of fact, since he's only mostly dead, I might still get my wish. Move it, Agent Johnson," Dean said, not bothering to look back.
Sam just shook his head and followed. His head was hurting like a jackhammer had been at it and Dean's attitude, though typical, never ceased to surprise Sam. His over-protective bloodthirstiness was almost… comforting… in a Dean-like way.
They stopped outside the oversized door labeled Morgue and looked around. There was no attendant in sight, but this was a small rural hospital. They probably just locked the place up.
"No cops," Dean murmured.
"Probably still at the scene trying to figure out what happened," Sam replied.
"Still… this is probably the first murder they've had in years." Dean eyes snapped up to Sam worriedly. "Not that…"
"It's ok," Sam said, though his mouth was suddenly dry. "I know what happened, man."
Sam doubted he would ever forget it. He could still feel the man's finger sliding over his, forcing the trigger back, still feel the gun recoil, see the stunned look on the man's face as he realized that his idiotic plan had worked and he was about to die. Sam had been used to kill someone. Again. The pathetic thing was that when Meg had used him to kill Steve Wandell, that had at least made a sick sort of sense. She had used him to kill a soldier. Wandell would have known that he was in the middle of a war and that if nothing else he was fighting, and dying, on the side of right.
Joshua Calvert had died for… what? A house? Some money? Sam supposed if he was being generous he could say he'd died for his wife, but Sam was pretty sure that was a truckload of crap. You protected your loved ones through hard times by living through them at their side. Dean was being forced to leave. Calvert had chosen to leave his wife alone. Though in a way, by making the deal, Dean had made the same decision. His exit was just delayed by a year, a prolonged suicide.
Dean sighed loudly. "Dude, if you don't quit working everything back around to bein' pissed at me, I'm gonna go find another motel and let you deal with this."
"How do you know I'm mad?" Sam asked. Dean wasn't even looking at him.
"Cause you're boring a hole in the back of my head you're looking at me so hard." Dean turned around and smirked. "That and I can hear you grinding your teeth at twenty paces. It had that distinctive Dean is an idiot ring to it."
Dean wasn't an idiot. He was the sacrificial lamb a demon had taken in order to save Sam. The demons had to have jumped at the chance. Sam was the Chosen One, after all. He had to be in play to lead the Army of Evil. They'd get their future leader back where he was supposed to be and they'd get Dean wrapped up like a Christmas package under the tree just waiting to be opened.
"Whoa," Dean said suddenly. "Dude, your face is gonna stick like that. You think I want that to be the last thing I see?"
"That's not funny," Sam said angrily.
Dean's face became stony. "No, it's not. None of this is funny. So focus, will ya? Dead guy? Showed up at the motel and we want to send him off ASAP?"
"Right." Sam nodded and quickly wished he hadn't. Stupid werewolf had used a flashlight to try and take him out. A mag-light was surprisingly solid.
"You ok?" Dean asked, his voice suddenly gentler. Sam doubted he was just asking about his head.
"Yeah." Sam rubbed his eyes wearily.
"Don't barf," Dean suggested. "Ruins the FBI vibe. Try and look like you've got a stick up your butt."
Sam let his hand fall back to his side and glared.
Dean grinned. "See? You've got it already." He turned back and pushed on the door, surprised when it swung open easily. "Not locked."
Sam and Dean walked into the morgue, the sounds of the hospital immediately hushed as the heavy door closed behind them. They rounded the corner of a cement block wall meant to keep prying eyes from seeing anything they shouldn't to find a woman sitting on a stool, her back to them. A man wearing hospital scrubs stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, awkwardly trying to comfort the woman who was crying quietly. In front of them was a table with a body bag sitting atop it.
Dean coughed to get their attention and the man immediately whipped around. "You shouldn't be in here."
Sam and Dean both produced their badges again. "If that is Mrs. Calvert, I seriously doubt she is supposed to be here either before the coroner is finished," Dean replied.
The man shifted uncomfortably. "We haven't touched anything. Bert let me borrow his key so she could… So we…"
The woman stood and turned toward them, wiping her tear-stained face. She was wearing nurse's scrubs and a hospital ID. "I was working upstairs when they brought him in," she said tiredly. "I… I just wanted to sit with him… for a bit, before…" Mrs. Calvert's face crumbled as she once again dissolved into tears. The man standing beside her put his arm around her and she turned toward him, hiding her face against his chest. The man hugged her close and simply let her cry.
Sam felt light-headed, completely unsure what to say in the face of the woman's grief. He knew what it was like to have a loved one taken so abruptly. He knew what it felt like to have violence rip them away and to feel so unbelievably helpless in its wake.
This, however, was beyond different. Sam had been the instrument of this disaster. If they hadn't been there… If they'd managed to corner the werewolf earlier… If they'd been faster to leave or if he'd gotten the gun away, aimed away… Something.
Mrs. Calvert seemed to gather herself and eased away from her companion.
"We're very sorry for your loss," Sam said, feeling like he was strangling. Dean didn't touch him, but moved fractionally closer to his side, a tacit show of support.
"Thank you," she managed to whisper.
"Come on, Trudy. Let me take you home," the man said quietly.
"And you are?" Dean asked.
"Dr. Will Standish. I work in the ER," the man replied, but he was barely paying them any attention. He still had one arm around Mrs. Calvert and all of his attention was for her.
Sam and Dean shared a look. Dr. Standish seemed awfully close for a man who wasn't her husband.
Apparently they weren't the only ones who thought so. The ghost appeared directly in front of the couple flickering wildly. Mrs. Calvert gasped while her companion simply stood frozen in place.
"Get back!" Sam shouted.
The ghost lashed out and Will went flying, crashing into the metal table behind him where the body was still lying. The ghost disappeared and then reappeared, standing over the stunned man who had fallen to the floor. Dean pulled his sawed-off shotgun out of the case he'd been carrying and fired. The ghost dissolved in a cloud of rock salt.
"What… what was that?" Mrs. Calvert asked, looking like she was about to pass out.
"You two need to leave." Dean stepped forward and took the woman by her arm. Sam did the same for Dr. Standish helping him off the floor and then pulling him toward the door.
"But… what…" Standish was still half-stunned from the blow he'd taken, but he was coming around quickly. "That looked like Josh!"
"There's no time to explain!" Dean snapped. He momentarily let go of Mrs. Calvert so that he could open the door. He tugged, but it didn't open. "Does this door lock automatically?" Dean asked, trying again and putting all of his weight into it.
"No," Standish said, fumbling in his pocket for the key. "Here, let me."
Dean stepped back and faced the room, keeping an eye out while reloading from the shells he'd squirreled away in his suit coat. "Hurry."
Standish turned the key, a huge ancient-looking thing and then pulled on the door. Which didn't budge. Sam stepped forward and they both pulled on it. Nothing.
"We're locked in," Sam said unnecessarily as he and the other man stepped back.
Sam and Dean shared a glance. This was so not good.
"Everyone, get behind me," Dean ordered as he brought his shotgun up, sweeping it left and right to cover the room. "First person that sees Josh, yell boo."
More soon… maybe…
