A/N: Sorry the update was a little slow on this one. And I will have updates on In Darkness and Book of the Dead very soon. Real life has been a little insane. But I wanted to post something today to celebrate a little before I drank myself into a birthday celebration haze!
De Miraculis Sui Temporis
Chapter Four
When John pulled up at the motel, the first thing he noticed was the Lotus parked in front of their door, and next to it, Bobby's car. He stepped wearily from his truck. He'd questioned both "werewolves" with little success. John suspected a spell of some kind. They both reported seeing someone walking down the trail right before they found a body. They both said that as they looked at the body they "knew" they'd done it. John sighed, at a loss. Then, on the way back, most of downtown was closed off—the police were chasing a "monster." John joined the hunt and even caught a glimpse of the thing, child-size with horns sprouting from its head. And what the hell does all that mean?
"Boys, I'm back," he called as he opened the door. John had learned the hard way that surprising his eldest was not a good idea.
"Hey," Dean answered him. "We're in the bedroom." John tossed his things on the table and walked down the hallway.
"The Pied Piper?" Sam said, his voice sounded odd to John.
"You've asked me that five times, Sam. Yeah. The Pied Piper," Bobby replied.
"It's what he told me on the phone," Dean added, smiling at John as he entered the room.
"John." Bobby stood. "I was telling the boys that I think it's the Pied Piper. Everything fits."
"Everything except the two werewolves and the kid with horns," John said. He looked at Sam, his son was propped up on the bed, the IV hooked up and a cup of coffee on the bedside table. He could tell Sam was in pain, there was a tightness around his mouth and his skin was paler that usual. Dean was perched on the bed beside his brother. "How're you doing?"
"I'm okay, dad," Sam said, the odd note in his voice.
"What's wrong?" John frowned at Dean.
"My tongue's swelling," Sam said quietly.
"How long has that been going on?" John demanded, glaring at Dean.
"About an hour, no more, sir," Dean answered defensively.
"What did you say about werewolves?" Bobby asked.
"What?" John looked at the other hunter. He wondered if Bobby broke in because he sensed what he termed "a Winchester moment," which, according to Bobby, involved shouting, gestures, slamming of doors and occasional breakage of dishes and furniture. John rolled his neck to relieve the tension. "Yeah. There are two people claiming to be werewolves."
"Two?" Bobby said.
"In broad daylight?" Dean added. "Moon phase is a little wrong, isn't it?"
"And—here's the best part—they claim they are still in their wolf form, only their fur is on the inside." John scrubbed his hands across his face. Sam doesn't look good. How do I stop this Mary?
"They said what?" Dean laughed.
"That their fur was in the inside. They both said they saw someone walking on the path ahead of them. Then, on the way back, I ended up helping the cops chase a kid with horns."
"Werewolves with inside-out fur and kids with horns?" Bobby muttered. "What's this got to do with the plague affecting the children?"
"I don't know. It seems like too big of a coincidence to not be related somehow," John said.
"Dean?" Sam said quietly.
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Can you get my book bag?"
"Sure." Dean stood. "Be right back."
John looked at Bobby. "You got any ideas?"
"I thought it was the Pied Piper."
"The Pied Piper, Bobby?" John growled, raising his eyebrows.
"It all fit, John, the age range and all. You know as well as I do that he was probably a demon," Bobby growled back.
"I know, but nothing else fits." John watched as Dean dropped Sam's bag on the bed and Sam dug through it, pulled out several books and started flipping through them. "If it were just the kids, but…"
"I know." Bobby frowned. "Werewolves? Are you sure, John?"
"I'm sure they're not werewolves, but they're convinced they are."
"Did you hear them talking the other night, Dean? About the nurse who claimed she was seduced by a devil?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, Amy, the day nurse from the second floor," Dean answered.
"What are you two talking about?" John snapped, looking at Sam. Dean unconsciously moved so he was a little in front of his brother.
"Just a sec, dad" Sam mumbled, still turning pages. A book dropped off his lap. Dean grabbed it and shifted so he could hold the books while Sam flipped through them.
"Sam? What's up?" Bobby looked at John, then over at the boys. John shrugged, and ran his hands through his hair with a sigh.
"Werewolves with their fur on the inside?" Sam flipped another page. "Child with horns?" He reached for another book. Dean handed it to him and held it open. "Gimme another minute, okay?" Sam looked up at John and smiled. "Dean, can you get the book off the desk?"
Dean got up and walked to the small desk in the corner of the room. "Which one, Sammy?"
"The one by Sabine Baring Gould," Sam said, still flipping through pages.
"Sam? What's going on?" John asked, keeping his voice carefully calm. Dean looked up at him and frowned.
"Let him finish," Dean said, his voice calm but John could hear anger simmering under the calm. He listens to me, he obeys me, unless it has to do with Sam. Then, well then, it's Sam first. I might have drilled that into his head a little too thoroughly.
"What are you looking for, Sam?" John asked. Dean's frown deepened.
"All this sounds familiar," Sam said without taking his eyes off the books. He turned another page. "Dean, look at this." He pointed to something in the large book. Dean looked down, skimming his finger over the page.
"Huh." Dean picked up another book. "Why do you have all these?"
"Boys?" John asked.
"It's for a report I'm doing on the Middle Ages." Sam reached for another book.
"And you remembered this? You're such a geek." Dean moved closer to his brother so he could look at the book Sam had in his hands.
"Boys?" John said again.
"Yeah, sorta." Sam sighed, his face paled a little. "Dean?" he whispered.
"Sorta? What do you mean?" Dean was frowning. John watched as his eldest slipped an arm behind Sam and shifted him so he was leaning on Dean. "Better?"
"Yeah, thanks, Dean." He smiled at his brother. "I remembered it, but it didn't make sense, you know?"
"Boys? Hello?" John raised his voice a little. He glanced at Bobby, the other hunter shrugged.
"What didn't?" Dean asked.
"Well, everything. Until Bobby brought up the Pied Piper and dad mentioned the werewolves."
"Boys?" John increased the volume of the question again.
"It's like we're not here," Bobby said with a smile.
"And all that makes sense?" Dean looked at his brother.
"Yeah, all the parts do, Dean. Especially when you throw in Amy-the-nurse." Sam pushed the books away.
"Especially with Amy?" Dean asked. "How, Sam?"
"Boys?"
"It's all here," Sam said.
"What is?" Dean asked.
"BOYS!" John shouted, his sons looked up at him. "What's going on?" Dean frowned at him.
"Well…" Sam hesitated, looking at Dean.
"Go ahead, Sammy." Dean smiled.
"What do you mean it's all here, Sam?" Bobby asked.
"The Pied Piper, werewolves, a child with horns, a woman seduced by a 'devil'. It's all here." Sam pointed at a book. "It was the werewolves that got me thinking."
"Why?" John said.
"Well, when you said the werewolves claimed their fur was on the inside. Listen to this." Sam reached for a book. When he picked it up, it dropped out of his hand. John looked at Sam, his sons hands were shaking. "I need something," Sam said quietly.
"Sure." Dean opened the bottle of pain pills and handed two to Sam, then held the cup of coffee so Sam could drink.
"Thanks," Sam said.
"Listen to what?" Bobby's face reflected concern.
"Oh, here. It's from Baring Gould, he's talking about a series of attacks in the sixteenth century. They caught the man who claimed to have done it."
"What does that have to do with this?" John demanded, his temper fraying.
"The man claimed that he was a werewolf and the only difference between himself and a real wolf was his hair grew inward." Sam emphasized the last two words.
"What?" Bobby and John said together.
"There's more. All the rest of it is tied together, too. All of it." Sam's head dropped against Dean's shoulder.
"Sammy?" Dean said quietly.
"I'm okay," Sam said with a sigh.
"How does it fit?" Bobby asked gently.
"It's all in the same book," Sam said.
"Sam?" John growled. "Just tell us, damn it."
"I did. I am." Sam paused to take a shaky breath. "It's all in a book called Concerning the Wonders of His Times by Jobus Fincelius. It was written in the sixteenth century and lists the Pied Piper, the inside-out werewolf, the child with horns and the woman seduced by a devil."
"Really?" John looked at his son.
"Yeah, dad, really." Sam tried to lift his head, it looked like he was struggling, but couldn't manage.
"Good job, Sam," Bobby said.
"Do you think it means something?" John glanced at Bobby.
"I don't know, John, but you just said it couldn't be a coincidence. It must all fit together, somehow."
"What if…" Sam stopped.
"What?" Dean asked his brother.
"What if it's Fincelius?" Sam said.
"You mean the guy who wrote the book?" Dean frowned. "Why?"
"Chaos?" Bobby said.
"And maybe he wanted to brag about it," John added.
"I remember something from Nostradamus…" Bobby trailed off. "I think Sam's right."
"Do you think it's a demon?" Dean said.
"What about the man both 'werewolves' saw on the trail? Could that be what we're looking for? Could that be him?" John said with certainty.
"Yeah, I bet it was," Bobby agreed.
"I'm going to be sick," Sam said suddenly. Dean quickly slid the stop down on the IV, pulled the bag off the wall and swung his brother into his arms. He ran out of the room with Sam.
"He's fading faster than the other kids, Bobby. They didn't start having symptoms like this until the very end," John said.
"Like what, John?"
"I didn't tell Dean, but I suspect he knows. The other children started vomiting blood about ten hours before they died." John put his head in his hands as the sounds of Sam being ill drifted into the room.
"We'll find this thing and kill it, John. We'll save your boys." Bobby put a hand on his shoulder.
"What?" John snapped, looking at Bobby.
"You're worried about what Dean might do, I know. I am, too." Bobby shook him gently.
"Dad?" Dean said from the door.
"What? Where's Sam?"
"He wanted a minute. I can hear him." Dean leaned against the doorframe. John could see the weariness and grief in his son's stance. "What are we going to do?"
"Hunt this thing," John said. "Now."
"Dad, you have to stay. Sammy's…" Dean looked away, swallowing. "He's not…No, not an option." The last was said under his breath. "You need to stay."
"I have to hunt it!"
"Dad, Sammy's… You need to stay." Dean clenched his hands.
"If we kill this thing, we can save your brother, Dean," John nearly shouted.
"You don't know that!" Dean shouted back.
"It's a good guess, though," Bobby said, stepping between them. "Let me go."
"You'll need help, Bobby." I can't just sit here and watch Sam die. Not when I could do something. Mary? Mary, is this the wrong thing? Should I stay? He locked eyes with his son, feeling the heat of Dean's anger simmer between them. Please, please understand, Dean. John could see his son's jaw working. Dean was grinding his teeth. He might hit me. He has once before in a similar situation. John braced himself.
"Dean?" the call was barely audible.
"Coming, Sammy." Dean turned away. He was back a minute later, his brother in his arms. Sam was white and trembling. Dean laid him gently in the bed and pulled the covers over him. "I'll get you something to drink, then we can watch some TV."
"Yeah." Sam sighed. "Can I have something to cover the taste of the blood, Dean? Maybe chocolate milk, extra chocolate-y?" Sam said with a sly smile.
"Yeah, sure. Will you be okay?" Dean put his hand in Sam's forehead.
"If you hurry," Sam said, trying to lift his head from the pillows. Dean grabbed another, lifted Sam and tucked the pillow behind Sam's back. "Thanks."
"I'll be right back, Sammy." Dean brushed past John without a word. John turned to follow him down the hall.
"Maybe you should stay," Bobby said, laying a hand on his arm.
"I have to hunt this thing, Bobby. If something happened to Sam…"
"I'll find it, John."
"I can't sit here and wait. I can't. I have to help, somehow." John felt the words starting to catch in his throat. "How could I…" How could I face you, Mary, if I let our baby die and did nothing?
Bobby met his eyes, searching, then nodded. "Okay, let's go. The sooner we go, the sooner…"
"It dies." John finished.
XXX
Dean stalked down the hall, resisting the urge to punch his father, the wall, the hall window, the door into the kitchen. Punching walls is just not that smart. He grabbed Sam's favorite glass out of the dish rack—an old "Star Wars" promo cup Dean had found in a thrift store. He got the chocolate and milk out, then stopped. Is milk really a good idea? It's what he asked for. Dean filled the glass and added more chocolate than usual, then stirred it. "Dad," he acknowledged his father presence in the doorway.
"We're going to hunt this thing," John said quietly. "We'll find it, Dean."
"You'll try," Dean said bitterly. "Sammy needs you here."
"Sam needs to live. This is the only way to make sure of that."
"You don't know if that will save him." Dean turned to face his father. Bobby was standing behind him.
"It's the best we've got." John stepped into the kitchen. "He's dying, Dean."
"Sammy dying is not an option, dad." Dean looked at his father. How can you not understand that?
"The only way to stop Sam dying is to stop this thing. You should understand that, Dean." John growled. "We need to hunt it—now that we know who it is."
"You know because of Sammy." Dean could feel his hands shaking. He's leaving. Sammy's…And he's leaving to hunt. A deep simmering anger was bubbling against his heart. He rarely acknowledged it, rarely even admitted it was there. Occasionally it caught him, blinding him with a helpless rage that he was unable to express. "You need to stay,"
"We'll be back soon, Dean." His father walked out of the kitchen. Dean was right behind him. He grabbed John and pulled him around. "I need to go." His eyes begged Dean to understand.
"You need to stay." Dean ground his teeth together, unwilling to give way.
"I need to hunt this thing, to kill it. I have to. I can't let your brother die like this. Last time… Dean… It can't be like last time."
"Last time?" Bobby asked.
"A year ago," Dean grated out. "Sammy… "
"What happened? You never mentioned it," Bobby looked from Dean to John.
"We lost Sam," John said quietly. Dean could see fear in his father's eyes—remembered emotion and fear for what was happening.
"Lost? What do you mean, lost?" Bobby was shocked.
"Yeah. Dean found him, I found the thing. It was close, even after we had him safe."
"Yeah," Dean echoed, remembering the silent vigil beside his brother's bed, listening to the beep of the heart monitor, watching his father slowly crumble before his eyes. The anger drained out of him. "Go, dad, kill this thing. If it can save Sammy, it's worth it." He laid a hand on his father's shoulder and gave him a little shake. "I'll keep him safe till you kill it."
"Thank you, son," John said softly, putting his hand over Dean's for a moment.
"We'll call when we can," Bobby said, grabbing his bag off the chair, and opening the door. "John? Where do we start?"
"The trail where the werewolves were." John met Dean's eyes, then turned away. "Let's go."
Dean closed the door behind them. He heard his father's truck roar to life and tear out of the parking lot. Dean leaned against the door for a minute, his heart pounding his hands shaking. No, I need to keep it together for Sammy. I can…If…No, Sammy's not dying. He walked with weary steps back to the kitchen to grab the glass of chocolate milk for his brother.
"Dean?"
"Coming, Sammy." Dean headed quickly down the hallway. "I had to get the kids off to work," Dean said with a grin as he entered the room. Sam grinned back. It was a private joke, it always made Sam smile. "Here's your extra chocolate-y milk." Dean sat on the bed and held the glass so Sam could sip. He's having a hard time. This is going faster than the other kids. Oh, god, no.
"Thanks, Dean." Sam smiled. "Can you…"
"What?"
"Can you turn on the TV? I couldn't press hard… I couldn't make the remote work, maybe the batteries are bad?"
Dean grabbed the remote and opened the back, then put it back together. He punched the button and the TV came on. He's trying to make it easier on me. He knew he couldn't push the buttons. Ah, Sammy. "Yep, batteries are going bad. I might have to change them soon."
"Depending on how much flipping you do," Sam said quietly. His voice sounded odd as he tried to speak with his swollen tongue.
"I'm a trained hunter, Sammy. A good show might sneak by us if I don't hunt it down." Dean walked around the bed and sat down beside Sam. He slid his hand behind Sam and pulled his brother up against his shoulder, so he could support Sam.
"Thanks. I was having a hard time staying upright."
"Yeah." Dean swallowed, willing the tears away. "Dad and Bobby will find Fincelius, they'll kill him."
"I know they will, Dean. Maybe not in time for me."
"No, Sammy, in plenty of time." Dean tightened the arm on his brother's shoulders.
"I don' think so. I'm dying." Sam sighed. "Thank you for my day, Dean."
"We'll take the car and go see Ziggy again tomorrow."
"Dean." Sam slowly raised a hand and put it on Dean's chest. "I know I'm in bad shape. Charlie Firkins started vomiting blood a few hours before he died. Even if dad kills Fincelius, it still might be too late. I don't have much time."
"Sammy…"
"And we don't even know if that will stop this. We're not sure."
"Then I'll stop it, Sammy. I'm not going to lose you." Listen to me, little brother. I won't let you go.
"You can't stop this, Dean. You can't stop death."
"Watch me."
"I can't walk, my tongue's swelling, I…" Sam said reasonably.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Do that logical thing you do, Sammy. It drives me nuts." He pulled Sam closer.
"Yeah, I know. And I always win." Sam chuckled softly. The laugh ending in a coughing fit. Dean held Sam while he hacked, then gently wiped the blood off Sam's face.
"You're not going to win this one, Sammy."
"I think I will." Sam's voice faded to almost nothing.
"Nope," Dean said, hearing the desperation in his voice. He knew Sam heard it. The hand was back on his chest, fisting in his t-shirt. He wrapped his other arm around Sam and held his brother willing some of his strength into Sam. I won't let you go, Sam. I won't.
Sam's hand relaxed.
"Sammy?" Dean shifted so he could look at his brother. Sam's eyes were closed, his face waxen.
"Can't… Dean…"
Dean picked up Sam's hand and pressed it against his chest, holding it over his heart, somehow hoping the beating of his own would help Sam. "Hang on, Sammy. Please."
"I'll…" Sam took a shuddering breath, "try."
"Please, Sammy."
"Yeah."
Dean let his cheek rest on top of Sam's head. "I'm here. I won't let you go." Dean felt the tension leave his brother. Sam's head was a dead weight on his shoulder. "Sammy?" he whispered.
Oh, Sam, no. Please, no.
To Be Continued
