Chapter 7: Of metamorphoses and liabilities

After their brief conversation earlier that day, both brothers had retreated back into themselves. Dean was researching, calling other hunters to cross-reference, while Sam tried to help, but mostly just sat there, too tired to think clearly. Now that Dean was back, he was almost brave enough to give in to the lure of sleep. Almost.

A few hours later they were back at Sally's diner for lunch. Sam hadn't eaten here since Dean had walked out on him. He was tired. He was lost.

Sally seemed to notice things weren't going so well between them, and she left them mostly alone, speaking softly and carefully when she asked them if everything was going alright and if she could bring them something else. Sam mostly just shook his head and stared at the table-top. Dean gave her big bright smiles that she didn't buy, his eyes tired and restless, nervous.

Sitting here in Sally's diner in Jirka, Louisiana, with his brother sitting across the table, their feet barely touching whenever one of them shifted, Sam had never felt more alone. If he leant forward, he'd be able to grab Dean's arm, pull him towards him and hide inside his brother's safe arms. Home. But even though his brother was so close to him, the distance between them had never been greater. Not even when he'd run away to Stanford.

He wanted to break down and cry, wanted his brother to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be alright. But that was never going to happen. Not only would it be lies, nothing would ever be all right again, Dean and he were also too much at odds right now for his brother to comfort him. They were both exhausted, reeling from their father's death.

He didn't think he could do this much longer.

He watched his brother push his sausages around on his plate, the sickly sweet smell of ketchup assaulting him. He took a deep breath through his mouth. Dean didn't look up to him as he pushed his fries into the ketchup-lake on his plate, nibbled on one for a moment.

"You've got some ketchup on your chin," Sam's voice was barely louder than a whisper. For a moment, he didn't think Dean had heard him. Then, Dean's hand came up to his face to brush over his chin. The red spot stayed untouched and both brothers frowned, Dean staring at his hand, Sam staring at his face.

"Are you trying to be funny here, Sam?" Dean sighed, "Trying to lighten up the mood? 'cause seriously… save it."

The little red spot on Dean's chin grew bigger, as if alive. The roaring in his ears blocked out the words Dean was still speaking. Like a blister, the spot burst open, revealing red flesh, curling over at the sides as it was pulled open, growing bigger and bigger. It reached Dean's still moving lips and sound returned with a bang, leaving Sam breathless.

"… -lly Sam, I think you should-"

A glass fell to the ground at the counter, shattering over the tiles in a rainbow of noise. A man burst out laughing, deep and throaty. A small child was wailing in its seat, demanding ice-cream. The couple behind him was fighting over whether or not they should tell her husband about the affair.

The flesh from Dean's face was being further pulled back, revealing his bony nose and the muscles in his cheeks.

Sam gripped the table with both hands, hanging on for dear life. He could feel the blood drain from his own face as he watched Dean's horrifying metamorphosis. His left eye spasmed as his headache spiked. He should get some water in him. Dehydration caused hallucinations.

His hand shot out towards where he knew his glass was, knocking it over in the process. Dean jumped up with a startled curse as his water ran over the table like an ever-growing puddle of blood. The diner fell silent and he could hear the water dripping off the table and onto the checkered tiles.

He was so tired.

There wasn't much left of Dean's face, and Sam felt dizzy at the sight. Something warm trickled out of his nose and over his mouth and something seemed to change in Dean's face. His brother was suddenly in his face, grabbing his chin with one hand and his shoulder with the other.

"Geez, Sam," Dean breathed, grabbing some napkins and pressing them against Sam's bleeding nose. He almost gently tipped Sam's head slightly backwards. The glaring lights above Dean's head blinded him, making him feel lightheaded and dizzy. His eyes fluttered close and he was glad he could escape the view. For a moment, he wished he were blind.

"Shit! Sam?" Dean's grip tightened painfully, "Stay with me, okay?"

His brother tossed some money on the table and hauled him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed. He guided him out of the diner by his elbow, his other hand firmly holding the napkins under his brother's nose, pushing him down into the passenger's seat of the Impala, the souls of his shoes tiredly leaning on the concrete.

"Sam…" Dean muttered and he opened his eyes, because he sounded so close and hopeless. His face was back to normal and he breathed out in relief. Dean's hand was resting on his forehead, frowning.

Maybe it were visions after all. He sure felt as if he'd just been hit by one. The headaches and dizziness had always been symptoms. But he didn't understand what it was the visions were trying to tell him then. None of it made sense. Was he supposed to save Dean? Was something going on with Dean?

"When was the last time you slept?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged. His hand came up to his face and cold, numb fingers took over the bloody napkins. He rested his head against the seat, staring up at his brother. Dean was staring back at him, an empty look on his face.

"I don't know," Sam whispered. Dean sighed, rubbed a hand over his face.

"Get in the car," he finally said, getting into the driver's seat and starting the engine. Sam tiredly pulled his legs in the car with him and closed his door with a bang. He could feel Dean flinch next to him. He closed his eyes for a brief second, trying to escape reality.

The next thing he knew, Dean was shaking him awake. He blinked blearily, glancing at his brother, who'd already exited the car and was walking towards their motel room. Sam followed with lead in his shoes.

"Get some sleep," Dean said gruffly, sitting down at the little table and opening several case-files. Sam could see pictures of dead women and swallowed.

"Seriously, Sam," Dean repeated, pointing towards the bed, "You need to sleep. You're a liability if you let yourself get this exhausted."

Liability.

That was really all Sam could hear and it bounced around his skull over and over again.

You're a liability.

I hate you, Sam… and if you don't save dad…

If you don't save dad…

Sam stumbled towards the bed and sank down heavily. He stared at his brother with tears in his eyes, brushing them away angrily.

"Sam!" Dean snapped, annoyed, "sleep!"

He nodded slowly, resting his head on his pillow and pulling his knees to his chest. He was afraid to close his eyes, afraid to dream again, but the pull of sleep was too strong and he lost the fight within seconds. He was so tired he barely realized he dreamt. Dean and dad were there and they were mad at him, but it didn't really sink in.

He woke with a start and the lingering feeling of a nightmare, without the memory of it. He pushed himself into a sitting position and glanced at his brother, still perched over the stack of open case-files. He felt better rested than he'd done in weeks. He was still tired, but it wasn't as bone-deep anymore. His headache had all but disappeared, only a faint pounding left behind his temple. His upset stomach had somewhat settled and for the first time in days, he almost felt human again.

His brother looked up at him and motioned for him to come closer. He rubbed his hand in his eyes and let himself fall into the chair next to Dean.

"How long was I out?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse. Dean shot him a glance as he cleared his throat.

"Few hours," he answered in a voice that implied not long enough, and pointed to the files, "While you were napping… I think I found something."

Sam frowned, not seeing the link Dean had made. Dean shook his head.

"Look at these files, Sam," Dean said, "What do they all have in common?"

He squinted his eyes, really wanted to see what Dean had seen. But in all honesty, he had barely had the energy to really look into the case, and his brain had been so muddy, so tampered with guilt and exhaustion that he didn't remember much of what he'd read and looked up. This was entirely Dean's case, he realized with a guilty jolt, "I don't know."

"C'mon Sam," Dean pushed, exasperated, shoving the open files towards his brother, "Just look. Look at their medical files… look at their pictures…"

"I don't…" Sam started again. Dean interrupted him with a loud sigh and snagged the pictures back, laying them next to each other for a clear view.

"Look at their boobs, Sam," he said, sounding mildly annoyed. Sam's eyes snapped to his brother, uncertain if he'd really heard Dean say that, or if he was hearing things again.

"Is this really the best time to look at dead women's breasts?" he asked softly, carefully. Dean sighed again and Sam cringed slightly.

"They all have breast implants," Dean said, pointing at their pictures, "And they all had their surgery in the same clinic. Don't you think that's worth checking out?"

Sam blinked at his brother's words, "They all had their breast enlargement at the same clinic? How did we not notice this any sooner? How many doctors work there?"

He knew why he hadn't noticed it sooner. But Dean should have noticed.

Dean seemed to think the same thing, took Sam's words as an assault and became defensive, yanking the picture Sam had been holding out of his hands, "Not all files mentioned they've had boob jobs. I didn't know, didn't notice until yesterday ago. Then I still had to look up where they've had them. It could have been coincidence."

It should have been coincidence. It could still be.

"You think the surgeons did it?" Sam asked quietly. Dean shrugged.

"There's one head surgeon, three assistants, a receptionist and I don't know how many patients," Dean answered, "and that's without the possibility that it could be something outside the clinic, something that just holes up in the neighborhood. It could be that the clinic is just its hunting ground. It's not necessarily someone from within their network."

"But it could be."

"Yes, it could be," Dean answered, "We need to research some more. But I think it's worth paying the clinic a visit. Maybe someone's seen something suspicious."

"Maybe someone will step forward as the killer," Sam said. Dean frowned and didn't laugh at his little joke. Neither did Sam. It had been a bad joke. He was still tired.

"It's too late now," Dean said, "but tomorrow morning, we're checking it out."

It was another sleepless night for Sam. Though he'd fallen asleep at a certain point, he'd woken up screaming less than an hour later. He wondered if maybe there was a drug that would give him dreamless sleep. He was so tired of the nightmares.

"You look awful," Dean said in the morning, after which they both shut up until they pulled up in front of the clinic. They parked at the far end of the parking lot, and Sam looked worriedly at the thick grey clouds covering the sky. The clinic was a blue house, not small, but not large either, with white widows and red flowers under the window sills. There were large trees surrounding the building, rustling in the wind. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dean make a face.

"Hi there!" the man behind the counter greeted them as they entered the building, "Can I help you?"

The man was in his late twenties, maybe Dean's age, wearing a thick pair of glasses and a name-tag that read 'Andrew'. His hair was short and brown and for a moment, Sam was surprised that they'd put a guy like him behind the counter of a plastic surgeon and not a young, beautiful goddess with long blond hair, big blue eyes and lips as red as the flowers under the window-sills. But maybe a woman like that would make the other patients feel uncomfortable with their own appearance.

But wasn't that sort of the point of a plastic surgeon?

"We'd like to see Doctor Charles Fuller?" Dean hesitated on the name, peaking at his papers.

"Do you have an appointment?" Andrew asked. Dean shook his head and took out his CDC badge, holding it up for Andrew to see it.

"Oh," the man's face fell slightly and he looked a little confused, "Of course Doctor Chase, I'll see what I can do."

He got up from behind his desk and knocked on the door to his left, before disappearing through it. He stayed gone for a few minutes, giving Dean and Sam the chance to look around in the waiting room. There was a woman with large burn marks covering half of her face, and he understood why she would want to visit a plastic surgeon. A man with a crooked nose was looking at them curiously. The girl next to him had wrapped her arms protectively around her breasts, maybe afraid that people would laugh at them if she didn't hide them. A man was talking to a small child in his lap, who had a big birthmark covering its neck and disappearing into its shirt. An expressionless woman, looking like a wax figure, was reading a book.

"Doctor Fuller is ready to see you now," Andrew came back and sat himself behind his desk, looking around the waiting room to make sure everyone was comfortable.

"Thanks, Andy," Dean said. The man scowled slightly, and Sam could swear he could hear him mutter 'It's Andrew'. That almost made him smile.

A middle-aged man was sitting behind a large wooden desk. His graying hair was combed back and his eyes were kind, yet professional. There were large medical posters against the walls that left the brothers feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"How can I help you boys?" Doctor Fuller asked.

"I'm Dean, this is my partner Sam," Dean said, "we work for the CDC and we're investigating the recent deaths of about 30 women."

"Yes," Doctor Fuller nodded, "I read about that in the paper. Please, have a seat."

"We found a few interesting things, Doctor Fuller," Dean said suggestively. The doctor held up his hand.

"Charlie," he interrupted.

"Charlie," Dean repeated, "Well, as I was saying, we found a few interesting things."

"Such as?" Charlie asked friendly.

"All victims were patients of yours."

Charlie paled visibly, gripping his desk with one hand. His mouth fell open and for a second he stared at the brothers, as if he didn't comprehend what they were saying.

"What?" he finally asked, "That's… how is that possible?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Dean said.

"God," Charlie sank back in his chair and brushed a hand through his hair, messing it up, "This is horrible. Are you certain they're my patients? I mean… not just one or two of my patients… but all of them?"

"I'm afraid so," Dean seemed a little uncertain as he pulled out the list of names and shoved them towards Charlie.

Charlie grabbed it with two hands, crumping the piece of paper in the process, "Yes…" he breathed, "Yes, they're all patients here."

He clasped his hands over his face.

"Whatever you need," he said solemnly, when he'd recomposed himself, "You name it, I'll help you with it. I don't understand how this is possible."

"Did you perform the surgery on all these women?" Dean asked. Charlie went over the list again, shaking his head.

"No," he answered, "At least half of these were done by my assistants. I was always present, though."

"Can you give me their names and phone numbers and addresses, so we can contact them?"

"Of my assistants? Of course," he grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something down, "Lisa is scheduled for this afternoon, so if you want to question her, you can come back later today. Janice and Tom are on duty tomorrow. Or I can just call them in, tell them they have to come right now."

Dean glanced at his brother and frowned a little, "No, it's fine. We'll come back later today. Maybe tomorrow. Thanks for your help and time."

"Of course," Charlie nodded and offered his hand. They both shook it, "I hope you'll find a way to stop it. I also hope to God they haven't gotten the infection here. I'll need to tell Andrew to re-sterilize the entire OK. Maybe buy in some new things. No, I need to call the hospital, ask them if they have a spare OK. I can't perform surgeries in here if it's here they got infected. I'll also take samples of my materials, send them to the lab to have them examined to see if the bacteria really comes from my practice."

"Thank you," Dean repeated, more sincerely this time. Both brothers stood and the three of them exited the doctor's examination room.

"Andrew," they heard Charlie say, "Cancel all my appointments for today. It's an emergency."

Sam pulled the door closed behind them and he could feel the doctor's worried stare through the glass. It had started raining while they were inside, and Dean held his hands over his head in an attempt to keep his hair dry. Sam stood frozen as he saw the drops land on his hand.

Blood.

For a moment, he thought he had another nosebleed, but when he looked up and around, he realized that it was everywhere, covering the other cars and the clinic and even his brother. He swallowed loudly, pinching his own arm.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, looking over his shoulder, dripping wet already, "Hurry up, it's freaking pouring!"

Sam couldn't move, stared at his brother with large, scared eyes.

"C'mon, Sam!" Dean shouted, running back to him, "What's wrong with you?"

His brother grabbed his arm and pulled him in motion. Sam moaned as pain flared behind his eyes, and he grabbed his head, stumbling forward.

"Sam?" Dean asked tentatively. Blood was running over his face, soaking his clothes. He felt dizzy with pain, as a blinding light sliced through his skull and he fell forward, gripping Dean's arm to stay upright. It was slick with blood and he quickly pulled away again, once again bringing his hands to his face, trying to hide from the world. He could hear Dean talking to him, but he couldn't make out the words.

He froze when he saw a man standing next to the impala, watching them. His brain went in overdrive and he could feel his body convulse. Dean was freaking out next to him.

Dad. Dad was there, watching them.

His knees gave out and his body thumped lifelessly against the wet concrete. Blood was swirling around him, bubbling. Alive.

Dean was shaking him, screaming his name. It was like a scene from a horror movie.

"Dad," he whimpered. Dean lost all color in his face and let go of him, staring down at his little brother on the floor. There was a wild look in his eyes, like a caged animal.

"Dad isn't here," he whispered venomously, "Thanks to you."

Sam closed his eyes, the continuous stream of rain hiding the tears that were welling in his eyes. His eyes snapped open again when Dean's hands closed around his biceps, yanking him up in a sitting position, before hauling him to his feet.

"Everyone's staring at you," he hissed, "Stop making such a scene out of yourself."

Dean's grip on his biceps was painful as he led his brother to the car, pushing him in the passenger's seat. Sam watched as Dean stood next to the car for a moment, taking deep breaths, nervously rubbing his hand up and down his face. He noticed Dean's hands were shaking.

They'd been driving for a few minutes when Dean finally broke the silence without looking at his brother.

"What did you see?"

"Wha-?" Sam was confused at his brother's question.

"Your vision," Dean impatiently snapped his fingers, "What did you see?"

Sam turned his head away from his brother, mumbling "It wasn't a vision." At least, he didn't think so.

"Then… what was it?" Dean asked after another moment of silence.

"I'm just… tired," Sam heard the exasperation in his own voice, was ashamed of it, "I haven't been sleeping very well… I'm just so… exhausted…"

And stressed out, he wanted to add. But he didn't, afraid that Dean would see it as a personal attack. Which maybe, in all honesty, it was. Because as much as he was suffering from the fact that it was his fault their father was dead, Dean's behavior didn't help him recover from it. In contrary.

He rested his head against the window and watched the now normal, yet heavy rain. The atmosphere was heavy, tension in every breath they took. For a moment, Sam wondered if things would ever go back to normal. If Dean would ever forgive him for what he'd done.

"Are you up to go to the morgue?" Dean asked, hesitantly, "Or would you rather go back to the motel and rest up?"

Sam hesitated, before answering "Morgue."

When they entered the morgue, a new body was just being rolled in.

"Isn't that Joy?" Sam whispered and when Dean didn't seem to remember, he quickly added, "You talked to her husband. Jared, I think… cried at the end of your interview."

"Oh, yeah… Yeah, I think that might be her."

They watched as the doctor started the autopsy, and Dean got a sickly green color when the doctor sawed her head open, revealing her brain. It looked normal, no yellow slime. But then again, they hadn't expected there to be yellow slime. They knew this wasn't the work of a Ceesje. When Dean suggested they take a look at her implants, the doctor cut her breasts open and pulled the implant out. He examined it, before dumping it in Dean's hands. Dean turned even greener.

"I see nothing wrong with it," the doctor said, poking the jelly substance in Dean's hands, "There's a little leakage here, but that happens every now and then. It's one of the risks of breast implants."

They looked for bite- and scratch marks, for obvious and less obvious bruising that shouldn't be there, for discolorations and any other clue that could lead them to the monster they were hunting, but they found nothing. By the time the doctor left them alone with the body safely tucked in one of the drawers, the brothers were close to despair.

"What if this isn't supernatural at all?" Sam voiced, "What if this is indeed some freak infection. People get sick, Dean. They get sick and they die. That's just part of being human."

Dean shook his head, "No," he said gruffly, "I have a feeling about this one. Plus, the bodies have disappeared. Corpses don't just disappear without a trace."

"So… we wait and see?" Sam pointed to the drawers, "Maybe we can find out where the bodies have gone to?"

Dean nodded and it wasn't before long that both brothers were sitting just out of sight of the body-drawers, waiting for something to happen. Sometimes, a doctor or nurse would walk by them and give them odd looks, but no one said a word.

After a few hours, by the time the sun was starting to set, a strange sound could be heard. Sam was dozing in his chair, woken up by a soft scraping sound. At first, he thought he'd imagined it, but then it sounded again and Dean sat up straighter, intently staring through the glass doors.

Nothing happened.

The scraping sounded again, louder this time, and longer. There was a faint banging and a sigh.

And then the drawer opened, inch per inch. Long fingers curled around the cold metal, polished nails ticking against it. Slowly, the drawer was pushed further open and after the fingers followed a hand, then an arm and finally the upper body of what was once Joy Jenner.

She looked around, as if in a daze and stumbled out of the drawer, falling flat on her face.

She didn't get up for a few minutes. Then, she slowly and shakily pushed herself into a sitting position and back onto her feet. She shuffled towards the door, bumping into one of the equipment carts, sending several scalpels and other things flying.

She didn't even look up from that.

"Zombie?" Dean mouthed. Sam shrugged. She didn't seem to notice them as she shuffled past them and they silently followed her. They had just rounded the third corner, when Sam realized that disaster was about to happen.

And it had nothing to do with Zombie-Joy.

Jess was standing in the middle of the hallway, waving it him and he froze. Not now, he pleaded. He placed a hand on the wall to keep himself from falling when he stumbled, and pulled it back with a gasp. Blood was running down the walls, already flooding the floor. Dean and Joy didn't seem to notice, but Sam did.

The blood was already at his ankles when he noticed it was falling from the ceiling as well. The moment it touched his face, he gagged. His headache blinded him and he was dizzy, sick even. He was afraid to look up, afraid to see who would be pinned against the ceiling, there for him to watch them die. Over and over again. But he had to know, even though he didn't want to. He was terrified, squeezing his eyes closed as he raised his face towards the ceiling. He opened his eyes.

There was no one.

He almost laughed in relief, except for the fact that blood was still raining down on him, threatening to drown him. He stumbled forward, intent on not letting Dean know what was going on inside his head. But he didn't make it very far. He was shaking and his head was screaming at him. He pulled his hair and fell against the still bleeding walls, blood spurting out of his own nose. He was so dizzy.

He wanted to cry out for his brother, wanted him to rush over to him and hold him in his arms, make the nightmares go away. He wanted it so bad he almost cried.

Another gulf of pain sliced through his head and he saw white. His legs were made of jelly, barely holding him up. He could hear his own painful gasps and the fast thumping of his heart in his ears. Unable to see, he felt so lost and alone. And he was so cold, he couldn't stop shivering. Another knife was slammed into his brain and he lost sense of which way was up.

"Dean," he cried pathetically. Somewhere along the lines, he knew he was falling. Then, he knew no more.

And he welcomed it.

I'm a day late, I'm so sorry! Life's been crazy!

So, I visited New Orleans last week with my dad. A-MA-ZING! I had such a good time! And the weather was amazing as well :D One of the best trips EVER! ^^

I also had surgery last tuesday, which was less amazing.. Nothing too bad, don't worry :) the stitches will be removed tomorrow and hopefully it won't scar too much, because it's in the middle of my face, between my upper lip and my nose. SCARFACE :o

I went to Walibi on Saturday, which used to be Walibi, then Six Flags, but is now called Walibi again ;) confusing :o But I had a great time, screaming and laughing and more screaming ;) I went with one of my best friends from high school, whom I hadn't seen in over a year.. But the friendship was still just as perfect as I remember it being :)

So yes, I'm late, but to make it up to you guys, the chapter is almost twice as long as usual :D There was so much I wanted to write, and there were a few points where I thought of stopping the chapter and continuing next week, but I knew that then the chapter next week would be super-short, because where we ended now is where I wanted the chapter all along... if I'm still making sense ;)

Okay, I'm done rambling now ;)

Love,

- Lune x