Big squishy hugs to Jenjoremy for the fab beta job and to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all your help.
I missed some familiar name in my inbox this week. Hope you're all okay and enjoying the story still.
Chapter Eight
Sam was helping Ellen fill the shelves for a day's trade while Dean was watching the program on the laptop. Sam was absorbed in the simple work, relishing the familiarity of it. He used to do this when he was a kid, staying at The Roadhouse. It had tapered off as he became more involved in the hunt until, when John died, he stopped altogether. He was enjoying it though, working in unison with Ellen, and his attention was only pulled from the task when his phone buzzed on the counter.
He checked the caller ID and smiled as he answered, "Hey, Jo." Whereas once she would only call when she had need, she'd call now just to talk. Sam thought she was still trying to get used him being back and the ability to make those calls hadn't yet lost the novelty.
"Hey," she replied. "You busy?"
"Nope, just bottling up. What's going on?"
"It's this hunt. I'm all out of ideas, Sam."
Ellen looked up and mouthed, "She okay?"
Sam nodded and returned to the call. "What do you have?"
"Two bodies so far. One a young woman and the other a middle-aged man."
"Cause of death?"
She scoffed. "Cardiac arrest."
The old ME favorite. If you can't find a cause of death, you call it cardiac arrest and all's good. "Do you need us to come?" Sam asked.
There was a pause, and Sam could clearly imagine Jo chewing her lip as she considered. She was established enough as a hunter now that she wasn't going to be embarrassed asking them to come help, but at the same time she wouldn't want to pull them in unnecessarily. "If you can," she said eventually.
"We can, no problem. Where are you?"
"Just outside Columbia, Missouri."
"Okay," Sam said. "We'll be there this afternoon."
"Great. Thanks, Sam."
"No worries." They exchanged goodbyes and Sam set the phone down on the counter again. Ellen stood opposite, her arms folded across her chest and her expression stern.
"What's the deal?" she asked.
"No idea," Sam admitted. "She's got two 'cardiac arrests' and I don't know what else. We're going to go see if we can help dig something up." He looked at Dean. "That okay?"
"Sure," Dean said. "I'll grab our stuff." He walked through to the back.
Sam followed him into the hall and stopped by Ash's door. He rapped on the wood, and when he heard a groan, he called through the wood. "Ash, Dean and I are heading out of town for a while. Keep an eye on the program, okay? If anything shows up, call us straight away."
"Yeah, man, no problem," Ash's sleepy voice replied.
Sam walked back into the bar and looked at Ellen. "I'm going to call Cas, ask him to come hang for a while, okay?"
"I don't need a babysitter, Sam," she said.
"I know," Sam said quickly. "But you'll need someone to keep an eye on the program when you guys are busy. He knows how it works now, right?"
Ellen frowned but nodded. She could see through Sam's excuse easily, as she knew him too well. He wanted her safe though. He didn't think Michael would come back, but he'd feel better if someone else was there to play backup.
"Keep the sigils fresh," he added as Dean came back into the room.
"And don't be afraid to use them," Dean put in.
"I won't," Ellen said patiently. "And you boys take care of each other and Jo. I want you all back here as soon as you're done, understand?"
"Understood," Sam said. "Don't worry, Ellen. We'll be careful."
"You better," she said. She patted Sam's hand where it lay on the counter and looked into his eyes. "You just better."
Jo met them at a small restaurant called Cathy's Creations. It was more of a bakery with a tearoom attached, but they sold sandwiches, cake, and—much to Dean's delight and Sam's amusement—freshly baked pie. They exchanged news and caught up on what they had been doing apart, Jo demanding reassurance that her mother was really okay after Michael's visit, and then got down to business.
"I didn't actually come here looking for a hunt," Jo began. "The first man who died was an old college friend's, Macy's, father. I came when I heard, just planning to be here to support her, and that's when the hinky started. The guy was healthy as a horse, a runner, healthy eater. One morning the housekeeper went in as always and found him dead in his bed."
"And they're calling it cardiac arrest?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, but he didn't have any risk factors at all," Jo said bitterly.
"How can they get away with that in this day and age?" Dean asked. "It's insane."
"It's human," Sam said. "They don't want to delve too deep in case they find something they don't want to know." He shrugged. "Ignorance is bliss, I guess."
"And the second death?" Sam asked.
"That's when I realized something was really going on. Young girl home from college for summer break. I don't know as much about her, as I haven't been able to see the family yet. She died two days ago. Again, they just said cardiac arrest was the cause of death."
"What do we do then?" Dean asked.
Sam considered, rubbing absentmindedly at his jaw. "I want to talk to these people, your friend, the housekeeper, and if we can, the girl's friends or family. I want to see if the health thing was an anomaly and if there's anything linking them apart from their deaths."
"Feds?" Dean asked.
Sam's mouth pressed into a thin line. He thought Feds were a shaky excuse for something like this, but then again they'd gone in weaker before. They were more likely to get the information as feds than reporters. "Feds," he said reluctantly. "We'll go by the morgue as investigating the deaths as suspicious because of the timeline between the two. Maybe some poison or chemical."
That actually wasn't such an unlikely thing given that two people in the same town had died the same way. It may not be a supernatural threat at all. He understood Jo wanting to treat it as a case, as then she could help her friend, but you don't always find what you want in life.
"Great," Jo said. "We ready to head out then?"
Sam saw Dean eyeing his plate of half-finished pecan pie longingly and he smiled, "In a few. It's not going to make a difference if we're a little slow, and Dean's not finished his dessert."
Dean smiled gratefully and Jo laughed as he picked up his fork and went to town on the pie. It was the little things like this that Sam could do for his brother that showed the difference these days to the man he had been once. There was a time in which Sam would have been out the door before Jo could even finish her question. He wasn't such an asshole anymore.
They booked into the same motel as Jo and changed into their fed suits. Jo was going back to see her friend who was in the middle of planning her father's funeral.
Though he had spent his life steeped in death, Sam had never been to a regular funeral. All the people he knew who had died had been hunters, and their funerals were flames and remembrance with alcohol, much like his own memorial had been, minus the flames.
He hadn't thought much on what would come after his death other than his revelation that Dean would have a good life eventually. He wouldn't have expected that it would take the people he loved a year to hold a funeral of sorts though. He wished he could have been back a day earlier so they wouldn't have had to do it at all.
"You okay?" Dean asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Sam looked at his brother, really looked at him, and saw the brightness of his eyes, the smile hovering beneath his concerned question, and said. "I'm fine."
He knew the lightness in Dean wasn't because they were on a case, working to save someone; it was because they were together, looking into a future that wasn't all death. It was college and work, and a different kind of saving. Though it would not be the end of hunting. Sam could never turn his back on it after the life he had led. He thought he could balance both. The deal he'd made with his father in the djinn world would work for him—summers and breaks dedicated to the hunt and the rest of the time he would live for himself. He would make it work.
He stepped in front of the mirror and adjusted his tie, still not quite accustomed to the lack of his scar. His reflection smiled as he took in his unmarred skin. Gabriel had done him a favor there he'd never imagined. Satisfied he looked the part, he tucked his fed badge in his pocket and asked Dean, "You ready?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah."
They went out to the Impala and Sam tossed Dean the keys. Though Sam appreciated the car for what it really was to them—never just a car—he knew Dean liked to drive it more than him. Dean was making up for the years he didn't have the opportunity.
He grinned as he caught the keys and slid in behind the wheel. Sam climbed in and closed the door. "The morgue is at the hospital," he said.
Dean nodded and pulled out of the lot. Sam had checked the location of the hospital and PD when they'd got to the motel, as they always did. Little said shady fed better than asking for directions.
As Dean drove them through town, Sam sent off a quick text to Ellen to check in with her, keeping it casual: Met with Jo. All okay. How are you?
The reply came fast and he could imagine the eye roll that accompanied the response: Busy. Castiel is as much help as a chocolate teapot. Next time set me up with a babysitter who can pour a beer.
Sam snickered and read the message to Dean who grinned. "Do you think she really has him working the taps?"
"No way. I'll bet any money Cas is standing at the bar, staring at the program like he's on a recharge cycle."
Dean laughed. "Poor Ellen. Gotta say, I feel better knowing that he's there though. I know Gabriel says Michael won't come back, but I'm not completely reassured.
"Me either," Sam said.
They fell into thoughtful silence until Dean pulled them to a stop in the parking lot of the hospital where they climbed out and smoothed the creases of their suits and made for the door.
As Sam had come to expect now, the morgue was located in the basement. He wondered if it was a throwback to the days when being below ground was the best way to keep things cool or if it was because people didn't want death on display in their hospitals. He thought probably the latter. You didn't need reassurance the morgue was close when you were coming in for your appendix.
They made their way down in the elevator and then along a white painted corridor to double doors. Sam cleared his throat, slapped on a professional smile and pushed the door open.
There was a young man behind a desk inside, and he looked up interestedly as they entered. Sam guessed there weren't many visitors here that weren't deceased or pushing a gurney.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked politely. He was young and Sam thought perhaps he was a college student doing some work for the summer.
"We're with the FBI," Sam said. "We're looking into the deaths of Mr. Ian Cleave and Miss Haley Sutcliffe."
His eyes bugged slightly at the mention of FBI, and Sam's suspicions he was temping were reinforced. He got to his feet and said, "I'll get Doctor Goldman."
He walked through a second set of doors and Sam heard muffled voices inside before a middle-aged man came out, smile in place and hand extended.
"I hear we have a federal visit," he said. "Pleasure to meet you gentlemen. I am Alan Goldman."
Sam held up his badge. "Agent Page. We would like to talk to you about the Cleave and Sutcliffe deaths."
He gave the badge a perfunctory glance and nodded genially. "Come on through."
They followed him through the doors into a large room with three stainless steel tables with drains beneath and a bank of steel door refrigerators against one wall. He closed the door carefully behind him and said in a low voice, "Chris is a good boy, eager to learn, but he can talk like no one's business and I don't want everyone at the Eight Ball Bar knowing why you fellas are here." He frowned slightly. "I have to admit, though, I am a little confused. Why are you here?"
"Tell the truth, I'm not too sure," Sam said with a deprecating smile. "We come where we're sent, as I'm sure you can understand. Someone in the chain of command wants these deaths checked over." He lowered his voice slightly. "I think there is suspicion about the nature of these 'natural' deaths. We were asked to ensure a comprehensive tox screen has been carried out."
Doctor Goldman looked curious. "You think this could be murder? Some kind of terrorist plot perhaps?"
Sam shook his head—he didn't want a theory of terrorism taking over the town. It would cause needless panic. "I don't think terrorism is a threat here. If it was, someone much more experienced and important would have been assigned the case. I think we're just dotting some i's and crossing some t's here."
Dean took over for him. "Has there been a full tox screen carried out?"
"Actually, there has," he said. "I ran it all because of the nature of these deaths, but there was nothing tagged as abnormal. As far as I can tell, these people were perfectly healthy until the moment of their deaths."
"Is there any similarities between them?" Dean asked. "Outside of the fact they're dead?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "There is, but it's a little unusual."
Sam's attention tautened. "Yes?"
"I think it's easier to show you than tell you." He walked to the bank of refrigerators and checked the tag on one of the doors. He pulled it open and eased out a tray bearing a sheet-covered body. "Here," he said, drawing back the sheet covering the face. The body was that of the second victim, Haley Sutcliffe. She had curly red hair and pale skin. She would have been pretty, Sam thought, if not for the contorted way her features were twisted. He had seen a lot of bodies, and he was used to the peaceful look they usually wore. This girl was not peaceful. She looked… terrified.
"That's…"
"Strange, yes," the doctor said. "The very nature of death and the lax muscles usually mean the deceased are left looking what people choose to see as peaceful, but Haley here, as you can see, seems to have been extremely afraid."
"Terrified," Dean breathed.
"Yes," he agreed. "I have never seen anything like it, nor have any of my fellows I've reached out to."
"Is it possible to be scared to death?" Dean asked.
"Yes. It is exceptionally rare, but it's possible. I am sure you have felt the sensation of your heart stopping when confronted with something exceptionally stressful; that's a side effect of the adrenaline released. It's possible that the body doesn't deal with that adrenaline properly. That stress can kill."
Sam frowned down at the girl, her young face so twisted with fear. It seemed tragic and wrong that someone so young could be stuck down by something like this. It backed up the supernatural element though. It was a case.
"Thank you for your time," Sam said. "If you could just provide up with a copy of the autopsy reports, we can leave you in peace."
"Of course. Speak to Chris and he will arrange that for you." He hesitated and then said, "Look, gentlemen, these are the strangest deaths I have ever come across in my career. If you discover what happened, will you tell me?"
"Absolutely," Sam lied. "I will make sure you're fully apprised of any discoveries we make."
"Thank you," he said gratefully. "I wish you the best of luck gentlemen. I have a feeling you're going to need it."
Sam thought he was right.
By the time they finished at the hospital, it was too late to do anything but head back to the motel with takeout. They sat at the table eating their Chinese food while Jo sat cross-legged on Sam's bed with a carton of noodles in her hand, discussing what they'd seen at the morgue.
"Scared to death?" she asked.
"Yeah, it was…" Dean trailed off.
"Horrible," Sam finished for him. "That poor girl."
Jo shuddered. "And Macy's dad was the same?"
"Apparently so."
"What kind of monster can do that though?" she asked.
Sam sighed. "That's the problem. I think it could be one of pretty much any. Think of all the things we've seen on a hunt before, and think of how scary they'd be to a civilian. Hell, it could even be a vengeful spirit feeling extra cruel."
He didn't know what to do or even where to start. They could be going up against pretty much any creature they'd tangled with before. Anything they'd hunted was a suspect.
"What are we going to do?" Jo asked.
Sam rallied for some plan, even something small they could start with. He wanted to reassure her that they weren't powerless, that her friend's father wouldn't go unavenged. There was also the fact the monster could be preparing to attack again even now. Just because there had been a week's space between the first two deaths, it didn't mean there would be again.
Thankfully, Dean came in with an answer for him. "We do what we planned to do originally. We go to the family and friends next, see if we can come up with anything from them. There might have been something mentioned before the death, or some other sign even."
Jo looked reassured. "Okay then. I'll take Macy and you guys see if you can get anything out of Haley's family." She dropped her fork in the carton and rose smoothly to her feet. "I'm going to call Mom and check in and then crash."
Sam nodded. "Sleep well."
She smiled a strange, secret smile and then did something Sam wasn't expecting. She pressed a kiss to his hair as she passed and patted his shoulder.
As the door clicked closed behind her, Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean. "That's weird."
Dean laughed softly, a mere breath of amusement. "She's missed you, Sam; we all did. You were gone much longer than a year, and not just for me."
Sam shifted uncomfortably. He was aware that he had spent the years since his father's death dragging himself back to being a somewhat decent person again, and he knew it had been hard for his family to deal with. He only hoped the way he was now made up for a little of what they had missed.
The air stank of sulfur and it chilled Sam to the bone. He was running, racing away from the threat he knew was hot on his heels. He never ran fast enough, though, and there was nowhere to really escape to. He reached the bars and his fingers curled around them. They were too narrow for him to reach out of. No more than his fingertips could have freedom now. It wasn't enough. While some part of him knew that he was there for a reason, he had made the choice to do this to himself, he was still so desperate. He hadn't known—no human could conceive of it—what was going to happen to him. There were no words for the feeling of Lucifer's cold hands on him. The blade cutting into him, flensing flesh from his bones, hands delving among his organs, pulling them out of his body one by one and presenting them to Sam for examination. And the voice that whispered to him, "You chose this, Sam. You dragged me back here. You deserve your punishment. You know that, don't you?" That was almost worse.
He heard footsteps behind him and within his dream, Sam cried out, making barely a sound in the real world as adrenaline flooded him.
Beside him, his brother slept peacefully.
Sam was sleeping when Dean woke the next morning. He didn't look peaceful though. His brow was creased and an occasional moan slipped from him. He didn't wake as Dean started moving around the room either, which was unusual. As Dean's name slipped from his lips, Dean decided enough was enough. Knowing better than to wake him from a nightmare with touch, he stood at the end of the bed and called Sam's name loudly. "Wake up!" he said firmly.
Though he hadn't touched him, Sam still woke with a jerk and reached for his gun.
"It's okay," Dean said quickly, raising his hands. "It's just me, Sammy."
Sam blinked at him and slowly lowered his gun. "Dean?"
"Yeah. Who were you expecting?"
Sam shook his head. "Nothing. I mean, no one. I'm okay."
"And yet I really doubt it," Dean said.
Sam pushed back the bedclothes and sat on the edge of the bed, raking a hand over his face. "Just had a rough night is all," he said tiredly. "It's the case."
Dean wasn't feeling comfortable with the sheer magnitude of their task—finding a creature to kill—so he accepted Sam's excuse and grabbed his duffel from the floor at the end of his bed. "I'll get dressed and then go get us some coffee."
"Thanks, Dean," Sam said, getting to his feet and staggering to the bathroom. "I'll clean up."
Dean dressed quickly and took the keycard from the table. The cool morning air felt good against his face. It chased the last of his sleepiness from him. He set off down the street towards the bakery they'd visited the day before. It was a popular place, and he got on the end of the queue that wound away from the counter. The only people talking were the server and customers placing orders. When it was Dean's turn, he flashed the young server a smile and ordered three coffees and pastries. A few minutes later he was walking back to the motel with a carrier of coffees in his hand and a bag of sweet smelling danishes.
He knocked on Jo's room as he passed and called, "Breakfast."
Sam was showered and dressed when he got into the room and looked more awake than he had been when Dean left. He grabbed one of the coffees though and pulled off the lid to drink it faster.
"I got food, too," Dean said.
Sam held up a hand. "No thanks."
There was a knock at the door then and Dean opened it to let Jo in. She looked the complete opposite to Sam—bright eyed and ready to get to work. She dived on the sack of pastries and moaned happily as she took a bite. "Thanks, Dean," she said around a mouthful.
"There's an extra," he said, taking his own.
Jo swallowed and said, "Not hungry, Sam?"
"No," he said, then changed the subject. "You spoken to your Mom yet?"
"Yeah. She said she's fine; Castiel is fine, too, even though he's a crappy conversationalist. Bobby's coming by later, and if she finds out we arranged that, she'll kick our asses."
"Nothing to do with me," Sam said.
"Nor me," Dean said. "I guess Bobby just wants to check in himself."
Jo licked her lips as she finished the last of her breakfast and picked up her coffee. "I've called Macy and she's expecting me to come by this morning. You guys arranged your visit?"
Sam shook his head. "We'll go in unannounced. It tends to make people a little more open when they've not had time to stress over why you're coming by."
For a moment, Dean thought about cautioning Sam to go easy on the victim's family but he quickly stopped himself. This wasn't the Sam of before, the one who needed to be guided sometimes to treat people gently. It was just that his tiredness seemed to have put him in a dour mood, the kind of mood he used to be in all the time.
Dean ate his breakfast in thoughtful silence and watched as Sam drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down. He flipped open the file they'd got from the morgue detailing the autopsies and the victims' family contacts. "Hayley's folks are on the other side of town," he said.
"Let me change into my suit and we'll head out," Dean said.
Sam nodded idly and pushed the file away. "Okay," he said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand over his face again. As he sighed, Dean took in the sight and mulled over how tired his brother looked. He wondered what exactly had been in that nightmare to make him look like that.
The Sutcliffes' home was a nice two-story with freshly painted trim and two recent model cars on the driveway along with an older Nissan Sam guessed had been Haley's.
Dean took the lead at the door, introducing them and explaining why they were there. The first thing Sam noticed about both of Haley's parents was that their grief was like a shadow over them. He could relate; he'd felt loss like theirs more than once in his life.
They were led in the living room and Sam looked at the pictures of their family on the mantelpiece. It was sad to see the girl they'd first seen in the morgue surrounded by her parents and younger siblings, happy and alive.
Mrs. Sutcliffe noticed where his attention was and she choked a sob. "That's our Haley."
"We're sorry for your loss," Sam said and Dean nodded his agreement.
"Thank you," Mr. Sutcliffe said. "I don't really understand why you're here, though. Haley's death was…" He looked uncomfortable.
"Stephen, no," Mrs. Sutcliffe said quietly.
"I'm sorry, June, but they should know."
Sam leaned forward slightly. "Do you know something about the circumstances of your daughter's death?"
Mr. Sutcliffe seemed to brace himself. "It was not natural."
For a moment, Sam thought he meant he knew it was supernatural in origin, but Mrs. Sutcliffe spoke angrily. "No! I will not let you do this!"
Her husband shot her an apologetic look and then went on. "Haley wasn't in her right mind when she died. She was… influenced."
"By?" Sam asked.
"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted. "I just know that she was not herself. She fell in with a bad crowd, and before we knew it she was taking that stuff."
"Drugs?" Dean asked.
Mrs. Sutcliffe sucked in a sharp breath, but Mr. Sutcliffe nodded. "Yes. It happened fast. She made those friends and then within weeks she was changed. A week after that, she was dead."
"How do you know it was drugs?" Sam asked.
"Because she was so different. Hyperactive. Paranoid. Scared."
Sam's eyebrows pinched together at the word scared. She certainly had been at the moment of her death. "Do you know what she was taking?" Sam asked.
"Some kind of pill," Mr. Sutcliffe replied. "My youngest daughter, Olivia, saw her taking one."
Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. There had been no evidence of drugs in the toxicology screen but there were some drugs, poisons and chemicals that left the system faster than others.
"Do you mind if I look around her room?" he asked.
Mrs. Sutcliffe just cried harder into her tissue but her husband nodded. "Go ahead. It's the first room at the top of the stairs."
Sam stood and walked out of the room and up the stairs. Haley's bedroom door was closed, and when he opened it and went in, he caught the faint scent of perfume. It was sad that only a matter of days ago the girl who had lived here had used this place as a sanctuary but was now in a morgue fridge.
He looked around, wondering where to start. He made for the dresser, and taking a deep breath, he opened it and rooted through the make-up and hair combs for something that would indicate drugs. He still wasn't convinced that drugs had played a part in the death, but he needed to make sure as much as he could.
"What are you doing?" a voice asked behind him.
He turned a saw a young girl. He guessed she was around eight or nine, and she looked a lot like her older sister.
"Olivia?" he asked.
The girl nodded.
"Hello, Olivia," he said. "I'm Sam. I'm looking for… clues, to find out what happened to Haley."
Olivia shifted from foot to foot. "You're looking for her magic pills?"
"Why do you call them that?" Sam asked.
"She told me. They kept away the nightmares. They're in her special box in the closet."
Sam crossed the room and pulled open the closet. There was a stack of shoeboxes on the floor, but one looked as though it had been pulled out and put away roughly. He took it out and carried it over to the bed, Olivia's eyes fixed on his every move. He took off the lid and saw, among a journal, a corsage and a dozen other things that would have mattered to a young girl, a bottle of pills. He checked the label and saw they were marked with the brand name No-Doz. He was familiar with them from use years ago; high school and hunting had made them necessary sometimes. He uncapped them and tipped a few into his palm. They were indented with the brand name. Unless drug dealers were becoming extremely clever, he thought they were the real thing.
"Haley had nightmares?" he asked Olivia.
She nodded slowly. "Real scary ones. She said the pills helped."
If nightmares were the problem, not sleeping would help for sure. Extreme lack of restful sleep would also explain the paranoia and hyperactivity. Sam had pulled enough all-nighter streaks to understand how that felt.
"Thank you, Olivia," he said. "This will really help me."
"Are you going to tell my Mom and Dad?" she asked worriedly.
"Do you want me to?"
"No, they're sad about Haley. They'll be mad if they find out."
"Then I won't tell them," Sam said.
She looked relieved and Sam smiled. "Thank you," he said again and made for the stairs.
"Drugs," Jo said thoughtfully. "That'd could be it, I guess. They do all kinds of things to your body."
"What about your friend's dad?" Dean asked. "Any sign of drugs in his life?"
Jo shook her head. "I've only spoken to Macy, and she hasn't mentioned anything like it, though I doubt she'd know anything about it if there was. She and her dad weren't all that close. She got her own place when she finished college on the other side of the state. She came back to deal with the funeral."
"I don't think it was drugs," Sam said, not for the first time.
Dean tried hard to remove any sign of sympathy from his face as he looked at Sam. He understood it. Sam was obviously affected by the death of the young girl. He seemed to have connected with her as a person more than he usually allowed himself to do, perhaps because he'd been in the house, seen the family's grief, the photographs, her bedroom. He didn't seem to want it to be drugs. He had found caffeine pills, but Dean would have bet there was something else in that room that he'd missed. He'd been through college and seen the drug culture there and in his work. He'd even shared a dorm room with a drug dealer. Sam saw monsters where Dean saw drugs in this case.
The truth was the changes in behavior in Haley could be easily explained by drugs, as could the cardiac arrest, and if the supply of whatever they had taken was tainted, the cardiac arrest would make even more sense. Though what they were supposed to do about a drug chain he didn't know. As well as they played the part, they weren't feds.
Sam seemed to see the sympathy in Dean's eyes anyway, and he scowled and turned away to address Jo. "Do you know anything about Cleave's friends or job?"
"He was some kind of city dealer for this company Cohen and Cline," she said. "Not sure exactly what he did. I just know it was a big job that paid well enough for his big-ass house and Macy's convertible. Why?
"If Macy doesn't know much about her dad, we need to find people that do. I'll go into the city and see what I can find out."
Dean rose to his feet. "I'll come with you."
"It's okay," Sam said, not angrily but with a definite hint of coldness in his tone. ""I can handle it."
He put on his jacket, cinched his tie up and grabbed the keys before pulling open the door and walking outside. After a moment, Dean heard the Impala's engine coming to life and pulling away.
"What was that about?" Jo asked.
Dean sighed. "He doesn't want it to be drugs. The girl that died was a sweet thing, and she looked so awful in the morgue. I think he needs it to be something supernatural so he has something to kill. That's the world that makes the most sense to Sam—hunting. He's not so good when there's nothing he can do to fix it."
Jo nodded. "I get that. He was always like that before. I didn't think it would be like that now though. He seems so different since he got back. I thought he was changed."
"He is," Dean said. "More than I ever thought possible, but he still has all those years as a hunter to shape him." He thought of a college application and how different things were going to be soon. Would Sam be satisfied with a life that tested him in a different way? Could he still be happy?
The offices of Cohen and Cline were in a high-rise building in the middle of the city. Sam was a little nervous about pulling the fed act somewhere like this, but he didn't know another way to make people talk to him as he knew little to nothing about Ian Cleave and so couldn't pull the part of a grieving family member or friend. In hindsight, he should have gotten some more information from Jo about him before he left, but he'd been uncomfortable in that room with Dean's sympathy. He was sure Dean was the one who was wrong. He knew drugs; he had been addicted to the world's worst imaginable substance, and he didn't believe that girl was like him.
He introduced himself to the young woman at the reception desk and she asked him to take a seat while she announced his arrival. It was all very different to the way he usually did things. He figured he should probably try to get used to it. He would—hopefully—be a part of this different world soon.
"They're ready to see you now, Agent," the receptionist said. "The elevators are across the lobby and they will take you to the seventh floor where someone is waiting for you."
Sam murmured his thanks and made his way over to the elevator. As he rode the car upwards, he wondered at his lack of foresight in not bringing Dean with him to run this blag. He was the professional one. Sam was the killer in the family. His regret only increased as the doors opened on the seventh floor and a man in an expensive looking suit met him with a hand outstretched and a neutral expression. "Agent Page?"
"Yes," Sam said, shaking his hand.
"Callahan Cohen," he said. "How can I help you?"
"I'm investigating Ian Cleave's death and I wanted to know about his last few days."
"I thought he died from a heart attack."
"A cardiac arrest," Sam corrected. "And we're looking into the circumstances a little closer."
Cohen's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"I'm afraid that's classified," Sam said smoothly.
"Well, I'm not sure what I can tell you. He was a good worker, successful, had everything to live for, so if you're thinking suicide, don't."
"We're not," Sam assured him. "Just trying to get to the heart of the situation, is all. Did you notice any strange behavior in the weeks or days leading up to his death?"
He looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure."
"I think you would know," Sam said.
"Well, there was the sleep thing," he said. "A few days before his death we were downtown, celebrating a colleague's promotion. I noticed Ian wasn't himself; he seemed distracted, a little jumpy. As the night wore on, we all drank more, but Ian didn't relax with it the way he usually did. I took him to the side and we had a talk."
Sam stayed silent for a moment, waiting to see if he would go on unprompted, but he didn't, so he said, "What did you talk about?"
"Sleep," he said, sounding embarrassed. "Ian was saying how it seemed a colossal waste to lose so many productive hours a day to sleep. How he wished he didn't have to. It seemed to really bother him."
"Did he mention nightmares?" Sam asked shrewdly.
"No, not at all," Cohen said. "That's not really the kind of thing we'd talk about."
Sam nodded. "And after that night, did he seem changed at all?"
"In a way. He became a little erratic. He seemed really tired, like no sleep for days kind of tired. Next thing I hear, he's dead."
Sam had heard enough to know he was right—there was something supernatural at play. "One more thing," he said, knowing Dean was going to ask so he had to. "Was there any evidence of Mr. Cleave taking drugs?"
Cohen looked uncomfortable. "I don't know…"
"I think you do," Sam said.
"Well, I did see him taking a pill, but it was just one of those sleep suppressants— the ones you get at Walgreens—Stay Awake."
"Can you be sure that's what it was?" Sam asked.
"I saw the bottle," he said, "and the pill—little yellow thing. I'm pretty sure that's what it was."
"Thank you," Sam said. "I've heard all I need to hear."
He turned to leave but Cohen called after him. "Hey, do you think it was the pill that killed him?"
"No," Sam said. "I am sure drugs had nothing to do with his death."
Now he just had to convince Dean of that.
He was running through the maze that surrounded the cage, trying to outrace the footsteps behind him. He knew when he was caught—it was always when not if—he was going to suffer for this, but he had to run. It was the dance they did. Lucifer would pretend not to notice Sam slipping away, and he would allow him time to run and build up hope that this would be the time he would really escape. That he would get out of the cage.
The footsteps drew closer and Sam cried out, "No!"
"Yes," a voice called back to him, echoing. "Oh yes, Sam."
"Sleep," Jo said.
Sam had just finished filling them in on his visit to Cleave's office the day before, pointing out the link between the two victims—they didn't want to sleep.
"Nightmares, I'm thinking," Sam said. "These people were afraid to sleep."
Dean was embarrassed. He should have trusted his brother's instincts instead of deciding it was drugs and being done with it. "Sammy, I'm sorry. I should have…"
Sam held a hand up. "It doesn't matter. It's not about who was right and who was wrong. It's about finding what killed them and stopping it."
"You got any idea what it is?" Jo asked.
"Only half a dozen," Sam said. "Baku, Mara, Satori, Oni, Hag… They all interfere with dreams and sleep. I don't know where to start." He raked a hand over his face. "If we just knew more about what they dreamed about…" He trailed off.
"What?" Dean asked.
"Haley kept a journal. I saw it in her room. She might have written something in there about what she was dreaming."
"I don't know, Sam," Jo said. "That's pretty shady, reading a dead girl's journal."
Sam looked sad. "I know it's not exactly stand-up guy behavior, but she is dead, Jo, and who knows who will be next."
She nodded slowly. "I know."
"Besides," Sam said with a forced smile. "It's not like I'm reading your pink sparkle journal."
"First of all, I was thirteen. Second, how do you even know about that?" she asked.
He rolled his eyes. "Because you writing in it at the table in the corner with your arm covering the page wasn't exactly the most covert thing in the world." He softened. "I never did read it."
Jo smiled. "Good. It would only have upset you, reading about my pain in the ass big brother."
"I'd have been heartbroken," Sam said solemnly and then they both laughed.
Dean felt a pang at this shared history they had that he wasn't there for. He'd missed out on Sam's teenage years because he'd been left behind.
"Okay then," he said. "We've got two laptops and a library on offer. Who's taking what?"
"I'll go to the library," Sam said.
Dean nodded. "Okay then. I'll get to work online."
Sam stood and grabbed his jacket. As he passed Jo, he ruffled her hair, making her duck and laugh.
When the door closed behind him, Jo said, "He's in a better mood."
"Yeah," Dean said. "I think it's the case. He has something to fight now." He frowned. "He didn't have a good night though. He was still out when I woke up and he was having a nightmare."
"Nightmare!" Jo said sharply.
Dean shook his head. "I'm sure it's nothing Jo. It's not the first time, and people have nightmares all the time. Sam's got plenty in his head to disturb his sleep. Don't worry, okay?"
"Okay," Jo said, seeming reassured. "Let's get to work then."
Dean pulled the laptop around to him and flipped it open. He pulled up a search engine and typed in the first monster Sam had mentioned: Baku.
The footsteps were coming closer now, faster, and Sam knew he was going to be caught. His heart raced, seeming to want to escape its fate of being removed almost as much as Sam wanted to avoid Lucifer. He couldn't go back on the rack. He couldn't feel those cold hands touching him, pulling him apart piece by piece, without losing his mind. He was terrified.
"Sam," a voice called behind him, and it took everything Sam had not to beg to be spared. There was no begging though. It did no good. It just shredded his little remaining self-respect.
"I'm here," Lucifer said, and Sam felt his cool breath on the back of his neck. Hands reached around him, gripping and chilling his chest, right over his heart, and Sam knew what was coming. Scared and desperate, he cried out, "No!"
"Yes," Lucifer replied gleefully. "Oh yes, Sam. I have the most wonderful treat in store for you today. Are you ready?"
Fingers scrabbled at his chest, pushing through skin, flesh and bone to the prize beneath. A hand curled around his heart, and he could feel it beating frantically, desperately trying to serve Sam. It was no good, though; Lucifer was too strong, too determined.
His heart was plucked out and held up to Sam's eyes, and he felt himself falling boneless to the floor.
His last disconnected thought was that this was never how it happened. How could he be dying when he was already dead?
Sam eyes flew open and he lurched to his feet. On the bed beside his, Dean slept, his brow creased and his mouth downturned.
Though Sam could feel chest rising and falling, the room was silent. He couldn't even hear his own heartbeat. Something was very wrong.
A throat was cleared and Sam's eyes shot to the corner where a woman stood. She had brown hair that settled on her shoulders. Though she looked Sam's age, there was such weight in her gaze that Sam thought she was many years older than her looks. She was perhaps even endless.
"Hello again, Sam," she said.
"Who are you?"
She sighed heavily and muttered, "Every time." She straightened her shoulders. "Okay. Let's simplify this. Turn around Sam. Look at yourself."
Sam frowned. "What?"
"Just look at the bed."
A sense of foreboding settling over him, Sam turned slowly and looked down at the bed. He was lying there on his back. There was more terribly wrong than the fact he was there and standing at the same time, and though Sam knew what was happening, his mind rebelled against him.
"My name is Tessa," the woman said behind him.
Sam didn't turn. He was fixated on his own face on the bed, his frozen, terrified face.
So… Come on. Are you really surprised it went this way? It is one of my stories after all.
True fact: not since my early one-shots have I set out planning to kill Sam in a story. I didn't even want to kill him at the end of Brother's Keeper—there was just no other way to deal with Lucifer other than the direction I took in Picking Up The Pieces and I didn't want to repeat myself. What tends to happen is that I will be writing and an idea will come—how to make the scene/hunt/fight more personal and therefore interesting, and it inevitably means death. This one was just supposed to be about nightmares—Gredelina1 was so proud of me for not killing anyone in the story—and then this happened.
Wait till you see what comes next.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx
