A/N: I don't know what I was thinking when I said I could finish this this weekend :-/ I'm having enough trouble figuring out what's going to happen next! So hope you like this chapter!
I wrote that a little while ago, before decided to STOP WORKING. So this shoulda been posted before, and I'm sorry for the delay. Enjoy!
Sam came back into the room, happy to see Dean sitting up, even if he did look awful. "Bobby's on his way," Sam told him, seeing the look of relief cross Dean's face.
"How come?" Dean asked, his teeth chattering.
Sam just stared at him. "Why do you think, Dean? Maybe cause we're in over our heads and you," he said, looking pointedly at his brother, "are in no condition to hunt right now."
"I'm fine," Dean insisted pathetically, though he didn't even seem to be trying to hide the fact that he felt miserable anymore.
Sam softened his voice. "Sure you are. Why don't you try to sleep some more? Bobby said he's at least a half day's drive away."
"All I do is sleep," Dean groused. "Aren't you tired?"
Sam shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. I'll sleep when this case is done. And when we're far away from Leeds Point."
"What...are you gonna do...now?" Dean was shaking harder and the words were coming out in harsh gasps. Sam got up, pulling the blankets around Dean's shoulders, trying to push him to lie down but Dean refused to give in.
Sam sighed in frustration. "I'm going to look at Jenkins' journal, see if I can decipher any of it."
Dean nodded jerkily, pushing himself up against the head board. "I wanna help." The look on Dean's face made it clear he was determined to be of use, and Sam knew arguing with him would be futile.
"Here," Sam said, bringing over some of the library books. "Why don't you research the history a little more? Maybe you'll see something I missed."
"Kay," Dean answered, opening one of the books and hunching over it, the comforter still draped around his shoulders making the scene look that much more pathetic. "Sam?"
"Yeah Dean?" Sam asked as sat down at the table.
Dean looked like he was about to say something but he stopped. "Just...don't leave?"
"Where do you think I'm gonna go, man?" Sam asked, confused. He saw a look of embarrassment cross Dean's face.
"Just don't go outside anymore. Not without weapons at least."
Sam nodded in understanding – Jenkins' death had clearly rattled his brother. "Don't worry, man. I'm not intending on going anywhere until Bobby gets here."
Dean seemed satisfied with that answer and he returned to the book Sam had given him.
Dean looked over at Sam after he had cursed for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last hour. "Not having any luck?"
Sam sighed. "If you thought Dad wrote like Yoda..." he trailed off. "I can't figure out what this journal means at all. You find anything?"
"Maybe." Sam looked up at that.
"Yeah?"
"You said that according to Bobby the person controlling the Devil has to have something that belongs to it, right? Or have some sort of connection?" Sam nodded and Dean continued. "Do you think the same goes for the exorcism?"
Sam paused, thinking. "It would make sense. After all, Bobby said it wasn't like any exorcism we've ever heard of before. Why? Does it say something in there about that?"
Dean bent forward closer to the book, squinting his eyes to focus the words. "Uhh," he started, but stopped suddenly, putting a hand to his forehead and closing his eyes tightly. He broke out into a cold sweat, shaking with chills.
Sam got up quickly, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Dean?" Sam asked. He knelt down by the bed, taking Dean's hand and gently pulling it away from his face to get a look at him. "Hey," he said when he could look his brother in the eyes. "Dean, c'mon man. Talk to me. What's wrong?"
Dean let out a cry of pain and bent forward, reaching out to grasp Sam's arm. "My head," he moaned. Sam squeezed his shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. This time Dean didn't resist as Sam pushed him to lie down and he immediately curled in on himself, moaning again. "S..a..m," he panted, the tightness of his voice conveying the pain he was in.
"Just breathe, Dean," Sam instructed, wishing there was something more he could do.
"The exorcism," he started, pausing as another jolt of pain shot through him. Sam had to lean closer to hear him. "Blood – he was...blood," he spit out in agony.
"What do you mean?" Sam didn't want Dean to speak anymore than was necessary but he wasn't sure where his brother was going with this.
"He was...Mother Leeds'...brother. The Devil's uncle."
"Bloodline," Sam said in realization. Dean closed his eyes, satisfied that his brother understood what he was getting at. Sam looked at him, concerned. "Nice job, bro." Dean didn't answer, trying too hard to breathe through the stabbing pain in his head. Sam quickly got up, grabbing the painkillers that Jo had given Dean for his shoulder. Of course, Dean had refused to take them before, even when the bullet wound was still fresh. He shook out two of the pills, gently shaking Dean to get him to open his eyes.
"What's that?" Dean mumbled quietly.
"Painkillers." Sam cracked open a water bottle, holding it up for Dean to take. Dean stubbornly shook his head.
"No, Sam. Need to be alert."
"And this is alert? How do you expect to help me when you're in so much pain?" Sam asked. He knew it was a low blow, but Dean wasn't being rational. He could see Dean still wasn't going to relent. "Just one, then," Sam compromised. "We're not going anywhere until Bobby gets here anyway."
Sam could see the conflict warring on Dean's face. Finally he nodded, reaching out his hand. "Good," Sam said when he saw him swallow it. "Try and rest. I'm not going anywhere."
Two hours later, Sam was getting closer to understanding Jenkins' strange way of writing. The old man clearly didn't want anyone else to be able to read his journal and had obscured all of his entries by using some sort of cryptogram. Each seemingly random letter stood for one specific letter in the alphabet, but Sam could only determine the code by using trial and error. Once he figured out the code, though, Sam would be able to see what Jenkins knew about the creepy town of Leeds Point.
Dean had been pretty quiet in the other bed, the painkiller taking the edge off the headache that had dropped him earlier, allowing him to get some much-needed rest. Sam hoped he would sleep straight through until Bobby came, but he knew Dean had an unusually – and annoyingly – high tolerance for pain meds. Chances were he'd be up in another hour or two.
"C'mon Jenkins," Sam whispered to himself. "What did you know?" Sam was matching up the letters in the code with the ones in Jenkins' journal, but it was a tedious job. He could see that Jenkins had suspicions about nearly every town member – and not all of them were relevant to the Jersey Devil. Some of the people were listed for merely giving him dirty looks, a fact which dampened Sam's hopes that this would be the key to the whole case. Maybe he really was just a crazy, paranoid old man.
Sam had deciphered close to ten pages of the journal, coming up with nothing more than baseless accusations. It wasn't until he was half-way through deciphering the eleventh page that Sam realized the work hadn't been in vain. This page wasn't like the rest –it was filled with with dozens of notes and annotations. The crude sketches which filled the margins made the journal eerily reminiscent of his father's own.
Sam's attention immediately fell to the one name which was circled and underlined several times, located right in the center of the page. Samuel Shrouds. Why did that name seem so familiar? Sam went over to his brother's bed, grabbing the book Dean had discarded on the floor. He rifled through the book, searching for the page about the 1740 exorcism of the Devil.
Bingo, Sam thought when he examined the page. He returned to the journal, working as fast as he could to decode the rest of the entry. Unlike the previous pages, this time Jenkins' suspicions seemed to be backed by irrefutable proof. He had clearly been investigating the Jersey Devil long before the killings began again just a few months ago. "Jesus," Sam murmured when he'd finished reading the page. Shit Dean, Sam thought, looking over at his brother who was now shifting restlessly, mumbling in his sleep. You were right.
Sam was about to call Bobby to tell him what he'd found when a piercing cry broke the silence of the room. Dean startled awake, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and slowly pulling himself into a sitting position. "Sam?" he asked, confused.
"Dean," Sam said, getting up and grabbing the bag of weapons that was on the floor.
"What was that?" Dean was more aware now, though Sam could tell the painkillers hadn't completely worn off yet. Sam watched as Dean tried to get up, and he hurried to his brother when it was clear Dean was too dizzy to stand on his own.
"I don't know," Sam answered, pushing Dean to sit on the bed. He took out one of the guns and handed it to Dean, taking another for himself. The scream echoed off the mountains again, followed by a resounding boom. Thunder, Sam thought, just as he heard the rain pounding down on the roof.
"Sam," Dean insisted, anxious, "that didn't sound like the Jersey Devil."
Sam shook his head. He'd been thinking the same thing – someone was in danger. "No, it didn't," he agreed.
Dean tried to stand again. "We gotta go out there, Sam – someone's in trouble. Devil's gonna kill again."
"Dean, sit." Sam was both happy and worried when Dean complied. "You can't go, Dean. You can barely stand." Dean shook his head vigorously, about to protest, but Sam cut him off. "No, listen. If you go out there, you're done, man. If the Jersey Devil is out there, he will finish you off. And we still don't know how to kill him."
Dean knew Sam was making sense, but he didn't want to give in yet. "We can't just let it kill another person, Sam."
Sam shook his head, thinking. "No, we can't. I'll go."
"No, Sam. Not alone."
"We don't really have a choice, Dean. Just let me check it out – make sure whoever is screaming is okay. I'll be ten minutes, tops."
"Sam," Dean insisted, "please?"
That almost broke Sam right there, but he shook his head, resolute. "Ten minutes, Dean. I'll be fine." Sam gave Dean one last look, grabbing the duffel bag and opening the door. The wind was fierce, pulling the door from his grasp and banging it against the motel room. Rain poured down in unrelenting sheets, making it impossible for Sam to see more than a few feet in front of him.
"Sam!" he heard Dean yell from inside the room, obviously pissed. Just ten minutes, Sam thought as he braced himself, stepping out into the downpour and heading in the direction of the screams.
Stupid, reckless Sam...bwahaha! Please review if you want to find out what happens next!