Chapter 10
The silence in his wake was deafening. Paul was gone, and so was the girl. It left the three of them to deal with the aftermath.
David, accustomed only the denouement of these things, was shocked by the experience, and sharply mourning his inability to save her. He stood, hugging his arms close, and torturing himself with endless I-should-haves.
Sam was more seasoned; he had recovered from the moment, and was supporting Dean, who had grown limp against his hold. Sam lowered him to the carpet gently. He kept the towel in place, and urged his brother to relax. "He's gone, Dean. Iris is gone. There's nothing we can do now."
Dean stared at him, blinking hard. Sam was a blurred shape, and growing ever more amorphous as he felt his grip on the world abandon him. He remembered the other victims. "The owners-" he whispered, pointing near where they lay.
Sam looked to David, who glanced up and caught sight of the unfortunate couple. David moved toward them, and he spent several minutes with them before he shook his head. "They're dead." he said. They bore the marks of feeding, but thank god, they had not suffered as Iris had. He pulled a sheet off the nearest bed and covered them, and he stood up, still reeling. "What should we do?"
Sam slipped his arms beneath Dean where he lay. He lifted him with some difficulty, and when he was able to steady himself with his weight, he answered. "We need to get the hell out of here, David; out of this room, out of this motel. Shit's gonna hit the fan, with all the blood and the bodies. We'll find someplace quieter."
David surveyed the room. It was a gory testament to the carnage, and impossible to explain to the law. He nodded. He gathered up anything that was theirs, and held the door open. Dean tried, but couldn't support himself, and he cursed quietly. Sam shushed him. "Easy; just stay still, I've got you. We'll get out to the car, ok? Then I'll clear us out of our unit and we'll put some miles between us and this mess."
He nodded wearily, and let himself be hauled out into the rain.
Sam quickly vacated their own room and packed their things into the trunk of the Impala. He wiped away any prints for good measure, and drove away from horrors of that place. David followed in his rental. After some quiet travel they located a safer refuge. This time, in a rare stroke of luck, they found a place where a separate cabin was available, and it was as close to perfect as they could hope under the circumstances. They were well past any reasonable check in time, but the night manager kindly let them in anyway. Sam had gotten Dean in without any unwanted attention, and he laid him out on a bed. All three were stumbling with exhaustion, after the strain and the late hour. And Dean was clearly suffering from his violent altercation with Johan.
When their gear had been brought in and they had settled, David switched into physician mode. He checked everything he could with Dean, he'd changed the dressings on the burns, and re-stitched the torn punctures at his throat. When he'd finished, he sat back, tired and shell-shocked. "You'll be ok, eventually.." he assured Dean half-heartedly. "I think you hardly lost any blood this time. I wish I had more plasma to give you, but at the moment, I don't. Your heart-rate is alright. You'll still be feeling weak...that'll be with you for a while. But my professional opinion is that you're a tough and stubborn SOB that'll survive this just fine."
Dean nodded. He thanked him wryly for the assessment, and sighed. "Ok then. So how 'bout you, Doctor Bowman? How are you making out after all this shit?"
David looked up, and met his eyes. He was battling extreme exhaustion, and so many other things. "Me..? How am I making out?"
"Yeah, genius, what's your own diagnosis here?"
David was too tired to spar. "Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? You're pummelled, but will rebound. Sam is beat, but it's all par for the course. A girl is dead, partly because I couldn't save her. Oh, and she's been taken away by a bloody vampire... Two hapless old motel-keepers are lying in rigor on the floor of the last place I was staying, where landscapes are painted on the walls in blood. Lemme see...anything else?"
Dean leaned against his latest headboard. "No..that about covers it." he said quietly. "I hear you. And David, maybe this is too little, too late, but...thanks, for saving my ass."
David nodded in silence. He drew a deep breath and sighed. "I wish I could have done as much for the girl... God, I am so damned tired. I can't begin... How about we all crash for a while? Sam, I know you're as tired as I am, And Dean...you'll certainly benefit from some sleep."
No one offered any argument. There were two beds, and a roll-away. Dean had already been laid out on the one bed, and Sam claimed the rollaway. David simply dropped on to the third option. As he lay there, appreciating the lumpy comfort of it, he offered Dean some options for relief. "I have some things with me, Dean, for the pain. -Don't shake your head, for christ's sake, I'm not blind!" he griped.
Dean still refused, fearing the sedative effects under the circumstances. "Maybe later.." Instead, he turned to Sam. "Sam, you know where my stuff is?"
Sam got up. He knew what Dean needed. "Yeah..hang on." He found their gear, and rummaged through Dean's. He returned with a bottle, and he handed it to his brother.
Dean accepted it with a weary nod of thanks. He held on to it for a moment as his hand shook uncontrollably. It was so heavy, he almost dropped it.
"Here-" David said. He grasped the half-full bottle, and went into the bathroom, returning with a paper-wrapped glass. He unwrapped it and poured it full. "My prescription." he said simply.
Dean took it from him, and downed it. He then saluted his friend. "Good meds, thanks." he said softly.
David smiled wearily. "Consider it an open prescription." he added. "For all of us."
The cheap scotch was raw and strong. They all had at least one too many. And they fell asleep, finally. Each wanted to purge the events from their minds, for a while at least. They needed the separation.
When the light of morning pierced their consciousness, it was unwelcome and intrusive. It was Sam who awoke first. He sat up, bleary and feeling bruised. He looked over the other two where they lay in the thin, cool light. David was on his back, snoring softly, glasses discarded on the table, grey eyes closed and obscured by his tousled hair. Ellen was always after him to get it cut, but it was his little defiance. Hen-pecked men took their victories where they could.
And Dean was on his side, fetally tight and shivering, his wounded arms pulled close to his body. Sam pulled the blanket back over his shoulders, then took his chances and reached out and touched his forehead. It was hot, and damp with sweat. He got up then, unhappily accustomed to this. He pulled out the courtesy coffee-maker, and he filled it with water and added the packet of cheap, coarse grounds. When it was well under way, he turned back to his brother.
"Dean..?" he prodded softly.
"hmm?"
"You ok? You feel kinda hot."
Dean swallowed dryly. "A little.." he acknowledged. "It's ok."
Sam sighed. He patted Dean's shoulder slightly, almost for his own reassurance. He turned back to the coffee-maker, waiting impatiently for it to complete its cycle. When it beeped, he sought out some mugs from the small cupboard and poured. The scent of it roused David, and Sam handed him some steaming solace. He nodded toward his brother and said quietly, "He's running hot, David."
David glanced over. He watched Dean as he lay, still curled beneath the blankets. He took the mug meant for Dean and sat at his bedside. "Hey...Got a coffee here for you, good and hot.."
Dean opened his eyes and shook his head. "Thanks, maybe later. I'd take some cold water, though."
Dean lived on coffee. It was significant that he would refuse it. David set it aside and felt his forehead.
"Get lost." Dean growled.
David ignored his surly demand, and he took his wrist and felt his pulse. He wasn't pleased by what he saw. He decided something was in order to combat any rising infection. Dean's near exsanguination had robbed him of the ability to fight infection, and his burns had been exposed to rough treatment, and the result was predictable. "Well.." he said, "Short of sticking a thermometer in your yap, I'd say you're running a fever. We'd better nip this in the bud." He got up and searched his bag for the appropriate pills, and he handed two of them to Dean.
"Are these going to slow me up or anything? I can't afford it, not with him coming out tonight."
"Just take them." David sighed. "They're just antibiotics. And you'd better let me have a look at you. If you expect to be in any state to deal with things later, you have to let me make sure we keep everything under control."
He knew David was right. Despite their new location, he knew Paul would have little trouble finding them. They were all tense about the next appearance of the vampire, and it was Dean's responsibility to stay as healthy as he could in preparation. He couldn't bear it if either of them were compromised through his own weakness. Iris was already dead because of it... He leaned back and let David unwrap his arms first.
David frowned as he examined him. The right arm in particular was reddened and swollen. Dean flinched and swore at his gentle touch. David checked the burn on his stomach next, but it was in an acceptable state, considering. He cleaned and rewrapped all three, and noted Dean's sweaty pallor as he finished.
"So?" Dean grunted. "Need your bone saw yet?"
"Not so far." David assured. He stood then, stretched, and stifled a yawn. "But I think we all need some breakfast, I know I sure do. I'm going to stick my head under the tap and then maybe go out to get something for us all. Figure out anything else you need while I'm in the can, ok?" He made his way to the tiny bathroom and shut the door.
Sam watched from the corner of his eye as the doc left, and Dean visibly sank back into the stack of pillows behind him and shut his eyes. He hated seeing it, and he silently railed against their circumstance. Dean needed days, maybe weeks, to recover from the ordeal he'd experienced. Instead, he was feigning strength because the damned drama wasn't yet finished. Paul would return tonight, and he would demand Dean's utmost effort to hunt down and kill Johan. And Dean was so deeply consumed by guilt over the whole thing. Sam knew he would stop at nothing to pay what he felt was his debt. Well.. he vowed. Not on my watch. He couldn't stop the vampire from coming, but he could sure as hell step in and take Dean's place if things got tricky. He'd done as much for Sam on countless occasions.
David left on his quest. When he was gone, Sam reheated Dean's coffee and took the opportunity to try to sound him out about it all. He sat down, and cleared his throat.
"Aw great, here we go." Dean growled irritably.
"Don't do that, Dean! Just listen to me for a minute.."
Dean took the cup. "Fine, Dr. Feelgood. Go ahead; ask me how I'm doing."
Sam sighed. "I'm not going to do that; all I'd get is bullshit anyway, as usual. I just want you to know that Iris's death wasn't your fault. I know right now you don't believe me, but it was something that just happened. She targeted you, remember? She set this thing in motion, and it spiralled out of her control. We tried to stop it, Dean. None of us counted on something like Johan."
Dean frowned, his expression pained and bitter. "Are you done? 'Cause you got it wrong, Sam. Iris didn't start this, I did. I killed her brother. And now she's dead too, and I'm still breathing. Does that sound like justice to you?!"
"Dean-"
"Just leave me alone, Sam. I'm tired. I don't want to rehash this crap right now just so you can feel all warm and fuzzy!"
Sam relented. He didn't take his brother's harshness to heart, he'd expected as much. He got up and took advantage of the bathroom being free, and soon Dean heard the shower start. Dean pushed the mug away, the smell of the coffee was turning his stomach. He pulled the thin blanket over his ears, feeling both hot and cold. He was bone-achingly tired. He wished Sam hadn't brought it up. His eyes pricked, and he rubbed at them angrily. He couldn't get the image out of his head...he had her moving, they were almost at the door. A few minutes more, and the outcome might have been a happier one. He swore bitterly. He felt like shit, more than he cared to admit. Whatever Paul had planned for him tonight, he hardly felt up to it. He hoped the bastard came up with some brilliant revelation during his beauty sleep, because they had squat otherwise. He just wanted this thing to be over.
David returned with a wealth of healthy food, and an armload of six-packs. He didn't have the stomach for grease-laden fast food at that time, opting instead for meals that he could heat in the microwave. He set about making something filling and hot, and when it was ready, he made sure his patient ate something, which was a battle. He didn't like how Dean looked, but he knew he couldn't do much about it until the whole thing was resolved. He called Ellen once, needing a little comfort and reassurance, but it wasn't her strong suit. He spent some time talking quietly with Sam while Dean slept. It didn't ease his worry. He was terrified of the coming night. He'd been witness to Paul's parting words, and he didn't know what to expect, but he was sure it would be a trial. He just hoped they all survived it.
They spent the last precious daylight hours nervously. Poker cost David the usual small fortune. The television offered an hour or two of mindless distraction. Sam buried himself in his computer. And Dean slept fitfully. The down-time was sorely needed, it afforded him a brief chance to regenerate a little. Sam and David, knowing they would be awake all night, tried to catch some shut-eye as well. They had varying degrees of success. When the sun finally disappeared below the treed horizon, David took a deep breath and thought out loud. "I guess we'll be on soon.."
Sam was standing at the window, peering out into the gathering darkness. He turned, and nodded. He saw David's fear. And he knew that the doc could be counted on regardless. He wanted to put him at ease, tell him it would all be fine in the end. But he couldn't, and David would see right through it if he tried. "Yeah..." he said. "We ought to see Paul pretty soon. I hope he has some sort of plan or something, otherwise I don't know what the hell he expects from us. Christ, Johan must be long gone by now."
They woke Dean. He was silent and sullen until he'd had a good strong coffee. But once infused, he gathered himself to play his role. He noted the time, and sat up carefully. "Any word, or anything yet?"
Sam shook his head. "Not yet. But it's only been a few-"
His words were interrupted by a knock at the door. The trio exchanged glances, and Sam opened it. The manager stood there, smiling. "Hi there, gentlemen. I got a call from a friend of yours; said his name was Paul. He asked me to give you this message." He handed over a slip of paper. Sam stared at it, and thanked him. When he was gone, he fielded their question.
"Looks like GPS coordinates. Our vamp's gone high-tech. All it says is go to this place, and his name."
"How the hell did he know where we are?" Dean wondered pointlessly. He'd half hoped that their change of location might have afforded a reprieve, but he wasn't surprised that it hadn't.
David reached for the note. "I have a unit in the rental. I can punch it in, it should show us the way."
It was a bit of a relief that it hadn't been Paul himself. "So we have the where at least..." Dean mused. "I guess we'll get the why when we get there, wherever the hell it is. Pack up, we might as well get this over with."
They followed David, who negotiated the directions dictated by the GPS, and arrived at the place. They parked at the edge of a field, and the three got out, scanning the moonlit terrain with wary scrutiny. It looked like some sort of old homestead, long abandoned. A cluster of foundations sat on the crest of a gentle rise, surrounded by an overgrowth of lilac and honeysuckle. They caught a twinkle of dim light. Dean looked to the doc for some assurance that it was right.
"This is where he wants to meet.." he confirmed. A rusted farm-gate was ajar, and Sam pushed it wider and motioned the others to follow. The new spring growth was already dewy with the night's drop in temperature; spider webs caught silvery droplets all throughout the grasses. A path was disturbed through the soft fresh pasture, defined by recent footsteps. It led to the lilacs, and they found him there.
Paul sat on the ground, his back against an ancient and twisted lilac trunk. He'd brought a kerosene lantern; it hissed where it hung in the branches. In front of him; painstakingly chopped out of the stony and root-choked ground, was an apparent grave. As they approached, the vampire raised his head and nodded a silent greeting. They stood at the edge of the hole, across from him. A cloth-wrapped body lay at the bottom. Iris. There was no earth covering her shroud yet. A handful of purple flowers was scattered on top of her. Slight plumes of mist rose from the fresh, damp soil. The air was heavy with the fragrant perfume of the lilacs, at the peak of their flowering. It was strong; almost sickeningly sweet, like apples that fermented on the ground after falling from the branch, overripe and verging on spoiling. Soon the florets would turn brown, their scent would fade, and the bushes would spend the rest of the season blended with the rest of the unremarkable greenery.
Silence reigned for a while. No one knew quite what to say.
Paul finally spoke. His voice was flat and tired, and he stared down into the darkness of the pit in front of them. "I couldn't cover her." he said. He raised his head and looked through them, staring at some distant place. "The ground is so...damp, and black. It stinks of decay. She would have hated it."
Dean leaned heavily against his brother. He knew he had a short window in which he would be useful, he could already feel himself tiring. The dismal scene was suffocating; he had to move on. "You left the note, and now we're here. What do you want me to do now?"
Paul turned his eyes to rest on Dean. He stared at him for a moment before answering. "You owe me a dead vampire."
Sam answered before Dean could, his impatience rising. "We already know that. Where is he? Have you located Johan?"
Paul frowned at him, but said nothing. He held something in his fingers, it flashed and caught the moonlight as he played with it absently. Silver. It was Iris's bracelet. He turned back to Dean, and spoke in a dull and dejected tone. "Johan..." he sighed. "Johan is wherever he wants to be. He is three steps ahead of me, a hundred ahead of such as you. We will never find him. He will go on for another eternity, despite us all. He'll torture and kill, and he will grow ever stronger, laughing at us all the while. None of us; not you, not me, nor those who come long after, will ever stop him."
The finality of his statement left them confused and uneasy. "Then why did you bring me here?" Dean asked. "If you think hunting Johan is pointless, then what do you want?"
Paul answered after a time. "You owe me a dead vampire." he repeated quietly.
Dean rubbed his eyes. "So you said. And then you told us it was impossible."
Paul was frustratingly slow to speak. When he did answer, it was not what they'd expected.
"Not Johan. Me. I want you to kill me."