Legacy Part 8
Sam's shocked when Castiel starts groaning and holding his ears as though trying to block out noise. No one else in the room hears anything.
Both Sam and Henry are feeling pulled in several directions, all of them disruptions of the quiet research they were doing before the angel materialized a small crowd into their library. In one direction, Dean is slumped on the floor, blood dripping from his head and an obviously broken arm cradled against his chest. There's a young bearded guy standing next to a giant – a Golem - and then there's the distressed angel, head ducked down so dark messy hair is all they can see.
The moment of hesitation is filled with half articulated groans from Castiel. "No. Naomi. Stop. No. I can't. No, I…" And then the angel turns toward Sam, urgently thrusting a red leather ledger at him and half-whispering the words quickly. "I must go. I'm being recalled to heaven."
Then Castiel is gone, and Sam rushes to his brother's side.
"Medical kit!" Sam snaps at Henry, who rushes into the infirmary they found when the two who were left behind explored the bunker.
"Who did this to you?" Sam asks as he checks his brother's pupils for concussion and starts helping Dean remove his torn and bloody suit jacket, tie, and white dress shirt.
"Uh, oh." Aaron mutters to the Golem who pushes the small man behind him.
"The giant." Dean admits in a tired voice. "But – wait!" He reaches to stop his brother who is whirling to confront the newcomers. "I don't think. No! He's not the enemy. It was accidental. Kinda. Cas just zapped us here because we were under attack from another group."
"The Thule." The Golem pronounces in a stern rumble. "Nazi Necromancers."
Henry rushes back into the room bringing a large white metal case with a large red cross on its side and a basin of water with some white hand towels. As he joins Sam next to Dean, the dark-haired man opens the kit and starts rummaging through the supplies, gently pushing Sam to the side, as he starts to clean and bandage the gash on Dean's head. "Go figure this out, Sam. I've trained in First Aid," Henry says. "I'll look after your brother."
Sam rises slowly and paces back to the table. He picks up the red ledger before holding his hand out to the empty chair in front of the table. "Please. Sit down." Aaron sits, the Golem standing silently behind him bulging arms folded across his chest.
Eventually things become clearer. Aaron tells the story of his grandfather, Rabbi Isaac Bass, and of the Judah Initiative. He tells how the Golem was left to him when he grandfather died, and how little he knows about how to control it.
Sam figures the Thule will be searching for Dean, Aaron and the Golem, but that they should be safe in the bunker. He also says Henry will help Aaron learn what he needs to learn about controlling the Golem.
"The boy must take control." The Golem roars before he begins to speak in Hebrew. Henry calls out a word and the giant falls silent again.
"How did…" Aaron begins.
"I can teach you, but all I did was tell him to be quiet." Henry says, as he finishes up splinting Dean's arm.
Henry leads a white-faced Dean to the table, seeing his loss of pallor as a sign the pain has become too much. He drapes a jacket over Dean's shoulder because his arm has been immobilized and taped in place across his chest. Without his shirt, the partially healed scratches and bite from the Hell Hound stand out starkly against his pale skin.
The Winchester patriarch leaves for a moment, but comes back quickly with a glass of orange juice and two pain pills which he makes Dean take. "Your brother needs a doctor, Sam. The head will be fine, but his arm is broken." Henry lifts the ledger from in front of Sam and begins to page through it, but his next question has to do with the missing angel.
"Do any of you know who this Naomi is?" Henry asks. Sam shakes his head and looks pointedly at Dean, who tries to shrug.
"I don't know, but that was weird, Cas popping off like that." Dean offers.
"Without even trying to heal you." Sam adds darkly.
Henry nods. "Well, I think Aaron and I will look into this book, see how it connects to the Thule, try to find out who Naomi is, and learn what we can about Golems while your brother takes you to a doctor. If that's okay with you?" Henry asks of the young stranger. "I think you'll be safer here."
Aaron looks around, curiosity getting the better of him. "I guess I could use some help."
"Yes." Intones the Golem. "The boy must be trained. If the Judah Initiative is no more, he can learn from the Men of Letters."
Sam shoves his chestnut hair back as he thinks, but he agrees, except he's pretty sure that his best bet is to get Dean back to his military unit. He's not sure how Colonel Smith is going to take Dean's medical leave resulting in a fresh injury, but he suspects it'll complicate things for them both. Sam leaves Dean sitting in the chair a while longer while he checks to make sure Henry and Aaron will have a phone, food, money, and transportation after he and Dean leave.
Plans are made for safety measures, and they all agree that perhaps a military unit might be the best counter measure for the Thule.
Dean, woozy from pain meds, blinks owlishly at Henry and Aaron. "Don't mess with the demon in the dungeon." Aaron stares at him open mouthed.
Henry pats Dean gently on the shoulder and reassures him. "We'll be strictly research."
Then Sam bustles Dean into the Impala, buckling him safely in and covering his sleepy brother with a blanket before the three hour trip.
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Colonel Smith sat behind his desk, face turning red while he tries to maintain an impassive expression. Dean stands before him, mostly in uniform but with his sleeve cut off on his left arm, fluorescent green cast hanging out. He was explaining the story he and Sam had agreed on, as modified from the truth as it was, but with enough truth that the Mossberg Armory could take over the investigation.
"We were just checking it out, Sir, didn't intend to engage. But, uh,"
"But you forgot you were – A – supposed to be resting, and –B- no longer a civilian hunter." Smith's voice grows louder. "You belong to the U.S. Government now. And it's bad enough that you went hunting when you were told to be recuperating. But you say you weren't alone? I expected better of your brother. Now, you tell me, how the Hell am I supposed to send this team out into the field without its leader for the next six weeks while you heal?"
Dean bounces nervously on his feet. He hates getting chewed out, hates worse that Smith has a point. Dean knew he was supposed to be resting. He'd just gotten bored at the bunker, but he and Sam have decided Henry, the Men of Letters, the bunker, Abaddon, the Golem and Aaron were all staying their secret. Neither of them trusts Smith with the information. He realizes he just let his mind wander, and curses the effects painkillers have on him when he realizes Smith is sitting there eyeing him.
"Mossberg. You need to take this more seriously." Smith growls out.
"Yes. Sir. I am, really. I'm just." Dean throws up his one arm. "It's the pain meds sir. Just a couple days and I'll get off them. They make me fuzzy. And – I won't take six weeks to heal. I'll take this cast off in just a couple…"
Smith cuts him off. "You will do no such thing! As a matter of fact…" He stops and walks over to open the office door and stick his head out. "Get Jimenez in here. And get the captain's brother too." He yells.
Then Smith points to his two burly aides, Heckler and Koch. "You two, get in here too."
Dean groans internally. When he first tangled with Smith these same two guys were his henchmen. Back then, their names had been Johnson and Johnson. He knows that he's not up to a fight with them with his side still sore, and recently re-bruised, and one broken arm. He looks around warily as they file into the room to stand behind him.
Smith sits back in his chair and snaps out an order. "Eyes front, Mossberg!"
Being left standing at attention in front of your superior officer's desk is pretty standard punishment, and Dean endures it. The back of his neck crawls from needing to face forward when the two big guys stand behind him. Before too long, he hears the door open again and footsteps let Dean know more people have joined them in the office, which doesn't feel big enough now with six grown men in it.
Ernesto Jimenez, the team's Navy medic, comes to attention, salutes, and reports to the Colonel. Sam shuffles over next to his brother, trying to catch Dean's eye.
"Jimenez." Barks Smith. "I am putting your captain's medical orders in your charge. You are to make sure he follows every single bit of aftercare that the doctor has written down. I don't care how you do it. You just make sure he does the physical therapy, takes his meds, and makes all of his follow up appointments."
Dean can't stay silent. "With all due respect, Sir, I do not need Jimenez to babysit me."
Smith stands and leans across the desk practically hissing. "Obviously, Mossberg, you do." The old soldier straightens up and turns back to Jimenez. "I am going to hold you personally responsible for Captain Mossberg's recovery."
Dean blinks. He realizes that while he might try to circumvent Smith's orders and risk consequences for himself, he won't risk getting his unit medic in hot water. Dean's glare leaves just a glimpse of angry green eyes focused on Smith, who smirks in response.
Smith dismisses Jimenez, telling him to get with the base doctor to find out specifics. "Your charge will be out shortly."
Waiting until the enlisted man leaves, Smith motions Sam over to the visitor's chair. Sam glances at Dean before he makes his way over.
"So were you bored too, Mister Mossberg?" Smith drawls out.
Sam shrugs slightly. "We didn't mean to engage them, Colonel. We were a little bored and the research was pretty incredible. A group of former Nazi necromancers? That's unusual even for us." Sam will continue to stick to their cover story, but he's hoping to pique the Colonel's interest.
Smith's eyes narrow as he takes in Sam. It's easy to forget how big he is, and since he normally stays behind with the research team, Smith realizes it has been easy to forget that he and his brother have worked together as a team for ten years of field exercises.
"Are you wanting to see this through?" Smith asks almost nonchalantly. "Because I'm in need of a team leader temporarily since you and your brother decided to become amateur sleuths in your time off."
Dean starts to interrupt, but Smith holds his finger up. "I'm not talking to you numbskull. I asked your brother a question. Don't make me gag you." Dean's teeth click together audibly as he brings himself back to attention, mouth drawn tightly closed. Both brothers know that Smith is a man of his word and won't hesitate to have his aides forcibly keep Dean quiet.
Sam tilts his head to one side. "Let me understand. Are you asking me to take the leadership role in taking the team into the field after these necromancers while my brother recuperates?"
Smith nods. "That's the gist of it."
Even knowing that Dean will eventually have a fit about it, the idea appeals to Sam. It's not that he doesn't like researching, but sometimes, especially lately, he thinks being the team left behind is more difficult. His nerves are always frayed worrying about Dean. All of that flickers through his brain before he says, "I'll do it."