11
Sheriff McClary took comprehensive photographs of Dean's injuries as evidence. Dean hated every moment of it, and was sorely tempted to strike a few smart-ass poses to alleviate his own tense discomfort. But he felt he was on thin ice, and he had to remind himself that this was better than having his mugshots taken, and they were lucky to be leaving at will, rather than in a paddywagon to a jail cell. In the end he sucked it up and behaved. Happily that was all that was required of him before he was allowed to disappear. The sheriff would have preferred that they go immediately, but he understood Dean's need to fulfill his promise to help Maggie through the trying process of burying her brother.
He and Sam stood outside the hospital, awaiting Maggie. They walked like two slow-moving, battered and stiff old codgers and they couldn't help but laugh at each other, and themselves. And in retrospect, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. Daniel's timing in both cases had been impeccable.
"Man, I wish we could hit the road right now." Dean mused. McClary still had his keys to the Impala. He felt dangerously stranded.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, me too. But we need this closure as much as she does. Without the salt and burn, this whole thing would have been pointless. Any idea when that can happen?"
"They'll release his body to the funeral home right after the autopsy, probably the day after tomorrow. Until then we just need to lay low and relax. I'm gonna pick up something to drink tonight, fair warning. I just wanna forget these past few days for a while."
"I hear you." Sam agreed.
"By the way, dumbass...where'd you hide my meds? I coulda used them a few times, you know?"
Sam hadn't realized that Dean had been without during the times he needed them. The realization struck him with horror. "Oh shit, Dean—I thought you knew...they were in my other jacket! Aw man, I'm so sorry!" he stammered. All the miserable imagery of his brother's pain flooded to him, he felt absolutely awful.
Dean softened. "Relax, Sam. You were a little busy at the time. I was probably better off anyway. I needed to stay sharp. Besides, I did have a half of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Slept like a baby for hours with my face on the table while I waited for you." he grinned.
Sam returned his smile, sheepishly. But he still felt terrible.
Dean recognized her truck and waved. It wasn't quite a full extended-cab so Sam had to origami his lanky frame into the space. Dean had of course, claimed the front passenger seat. He leaned over and gave her an awkward hug. "Sorry, I'm still a little stiff. I promise to be way more limber later." he grimaced. It was supposed to be a smile.
"You'd better. You have to earn your keep, you know!" she teased.
Sam pretended not to hear, looking intently out the window. "Maggie, I really don't mind staying at the motel. I don't want to…crowd you two." he offered.
She sighed with exasperation. "Sam, you are coming to my house, and I don't want to hear anymore about it. And what crowding? I have two spare bedrooms and a sofabed, so don't worry. Even with Ivan there I'm wandering around listening to echoes."
"Um...Ivan?" Sam wondered.
"Oh, that's right, you haven't met him. He lives with me. He'll no doubt introduce himself when we get there."
Dean snorted. Sam thought it was a little weird.
They stopped at the motel and the brothers cleared out their belongings and stowed them in the back. And in a quick trip they were parked at her house. As she found her key and unlocked, Dean wisely stepped to the side of the door, remembering the previous greetings. This time as Maggie opened the door, it was Sam on the receiving end of Ivan's jovial welcome. As Sam sat on his butt, pushing the big feet off and trying to avoid the rough and slobbery tongue, Maggie performed introductions.
"Sam—Ivan. Ivan—Sam." She called him off as he groaned and laughed, rising to his feet. Dean smirked. She showed Sam to a guest room on the first floor, and Dean to the other upstairs. He pouted as she helped carry his gear in. "Don't panic...it's just for show. A girl has to guard her reputation you know." she winked.
He sat down on the bed, and when she was in range he nabbed her around the waist and pulled her on top of him. It worked a lot better in his imagination, but in reality he bit back a yelp and broke into a sweat.
She kissed him and he gamely tried to ignore the hurt. "No...that ain't gonna work." he groaned, pushing her off.
She settled beside him for a moment, running her fingers through his hair as he closed his eyes. "Relax. We have lots of time...we'll figure something out later." she whispered into his ear.
He opened his eyes and cocked an eyebrow approvingly.
"I'd better see if Sam needs anything." she said, getting up. "Oh, when do you want to get the two cars?"
He reluctantly pushed himself back up. "As soon as we can, except I still don't have my keys yet."
"I have them. The sheriff gave them to me to pass on. Can you manage to drive?"
He nodded, and got up. Now was best. He hated being separated from his baby.
Sam joined them and they left to retrieve the vehicles. The first stop was the hospital. Dean reluctantly agreed to leave Sam to drive it back. The next stop was the camp. Neither of them cared to see that damned place again, but it was only a quick visit to the parking lot where the popcan sat sadly waiting.
"Oooh! Cool wheels!" Maggie pestered. Dean gave her a look and arranged himself carefully on its hard little patio stone of a seat. He started it up and followed her back into town, stopping to pick up some refreshments on the way. When it was safely returned to the lot, he rejoined her in the truck.
He sighed wearily. "Maggie...I need to warn you, I really need to get stupid tonight. You don't mind, do you? I promise to pass out before I get really annoying."
She smiled in sympathy. "Want company?"
"Hey, the more the merrier. Sam's kind of a cheap date." he snorted. "You'd think he would have managed to boost his capacity at college. The guy's a giant, but he never lasts past five or six beers."
She laughed. "Well, I could use some stupid myself. First one up tomorrow makes the coffee."
"Deal." he smiled.
When they returned to her house, Ivan was nowhere to be seen. Dean went to check in with Sam, and quickly called Maggie into the room. She stood in the doorway, trying to stifle her amusement. Sam lay fast asleep, his arm draped over an equally contented and snoring Irish wolfhound. She disappeared, returning with her camera. After taking some priceless shots they gently shut the door.
"Man, that guy really needs a woman." Dean said, shaking his head.
Maggie laughed. "I'm going to run you a tub, ok? I'll put some lunch together while you soak away some of that hurt."
"God, yeah…thanks." he said gratefully. He sat on the couch, elevating his bandaged arm along the back, as it had been throbbing mercilessly. He checked his watch, it was past noon, he could have a drink now without looking too much like he had a problem. But he had the sense to realize it would look tacky to drink straight out of the bottle. He got up and asked for a glass.
"How about some aspirin too?" she asked, handing him one.
He shook his head. "Nah...this'll do me fine."
Maggie went up to turn the tap off. She had made sure it wasn't too shockingly hot, but warm enough to be a comfort. She called down to him that it was ready. "Do you need help undressing?" she asked.
He gave her a pleased little look. "Oh yeah, it's kinda hard to do it...what with the arm and everything else."
She rolled her eyes and tossed a towel at him. "Smarten-up, you. " But she helped him anyway. "Now shut up and get in that tub. Call me when you need to dress." He hung his head and obeyed as she left and closed the door behind her.
He submerged himself slowly. It was exquisitely good and bad at the same time. He groaned as the hot water intensified all his pains, but the soothing effect won over quickly. It beat a skeezy motel shower hands down. He drained the glass he'd carried in and sighed with contentment. Every now and then, Winchesterville was a decent place.
Sam was up.
"Nice nap?" Maggie asked, with a sly smile.
"Uh…yeah, great, actually." he answered sheepishly, scratching the back of his head self consciously. She giggled, carried her camera over and scrolled her digital shots for him. He blushed with embarrassment. "Hey...he came up on his own, I didn't ask him to. And besides... he was nice and warm." he protested.
He helped Maggie put the lunch together. Forty five minutes had passed, but Dean still hadn't called down.
Maggie had begun to worry. "I'll check on him, Sam." She knocked on the bathroom door and entered. "Dean, you ok..?"
He startled at her voice, realizing he'd dozed off. "Yeah...just trapped by the cold water. I'll come down in a minute. Would you mind throwing me something clean out of my bag in here?"
She left, selected some clothing, and returned. She knew he was playing up the helpless bit, but she dried his shivering form off, rewrapped his frightfully tender-looking middle and got him dressed. "Your arm bandage got wet. Come down and I'll redo it. Lunch is ready anyway, and Sam's waiting."
Downstairs, he sat obediently as Maggie stripped off the damp and pink tinged covering from his forearm, wincing as she carefully un-stuck the last layer from his wound. She carefully patted it dry and applied a new wrapping. When she had finished, she sat back and looked at him with shiny eyes.
"No, Maggie...this is nothing, really." he assured softly.
"Liar." she whispered.
Dean knew there was more to her ministrations. She had to make this better, in a way that she wasn't able to for her brother. It soothed her psyche to mend him now.
She wiped her eyes and got up to put the lunch fixings on a tray, deciding to serve it there in the livingroom. As she fussed in the kitchen, Dean made sure she didn't see him refill his glass liberally and toss it down. Damn thing really did hurt.
The trio ate in silence.
"That was great, Maggie, thanks." Sam said, picking up the leavings and clearing it away. Dean grunted his ditto, his mouth still full.
"No problem. Listen, I need to abandon you guys for a bit. Ivan has to have a walk." She rose to collect his leash as he suddenly appeared, wagging expectantly at the mention of his name.
"Hey...would it be ok if I took him?" Sam asked. "I wouldn't mind getting some fresh air myself."
She looked him over, deciding he was more than strong enough to handle him. "Sure...thanks. I'll get you some poop bags, they're pretty serious about that around here. I think it's unofficially called the Ivan Bylaw." She handed the necessities to him and directed him to a nearby park. He waved as he was towed out the door.
"He'll be gone for at least a half hour..." she said innocently, sitting down beside Dean. She whispered into his ear, "Are you feeling… better?"
His eyes took on a distinctive sparkle.
Sam returned after his Ivan work-out to a quiet house. He wasn't naive, he retreated to his bedroom with the dog until he heard signs of life from above. Good thing he'd picked up a few second hand books. He could immerse himself in reading while Dean was otherwise occupied. He had a few deep conversations with Ivan. He was a good listener. He rarely offered an opinion, instead he listening intently, cocking his head and offering a lick of support from time to time. An almost perfect companion.
When the couple finally decided to return to the world, they all ordered Chinese and played poker and 99 and drank. The evening passed quickly in a blur of inept gambling, cheesy philosophy, outlandish stories and some teary remembrances. It was all wonderfully, perfectly stupid...and exactly everyone desperately needed.
Maggie really liked Sam. He was so different from his brother, but equally interesting. She lamented that she had no single friend or sister to introduce him to. But then again, he did have Ivan...who was devoted to this new companion, never leaving his side. Maggie had never seen him connect with another person so quickly or completely, it was eerie. But Ivan always responded to a gentle soul. And Sam sucked at money games. If she was serious, she could have easily made up her lost tips twice-over in one evening.
Dean, on the other hand was a savvy card player. He never seemed to miss an opportunity to fleece his lesser qualified companions. Par-for-the-course...he was used to such means to fund their unusual and less than fiscally rewarding lifestyle.
Finally, well past midnight, they called it quits. Sam was losing even more than he should be, but Dean was starting to approach him in losses, which was a clear sign to put the cards away. Maggie had been the consistent winner towards the end of the evening, she hardly missed the tips.
Sam rose officiously. "Sorry, kiddies...I'm so done. See you tomorrow." He left to weave a circuitous route to his room as Maggie and Dean snickered and Ivan following faithfully.
Dean gave Maggie the look, but she just burst out laughing. He couldn't open his eyelids past half-way. Neither was nearly sober enough. She guided him, stumbling, to his own room. Once she had him tucked in, she gently stroked and massaged his bruised back. That would have been a sure-fire tool in her arsenal under normal conditions, but he only twitched and shuddered in discomfort. Her gentle touch couldn't undo the effects of his last few days. She sighed sadly, drawing up his bedcovers and tucking him in. She kissed his cheek as he smiled.
Sam was the first awake, and as such, he was the designated coffee brewer. Small victory. At least he could brew it at his own preferred strength instead of the poisonous and bitter opacity that Dean preferred. Ivan nosed him pointedly. "Ok, dog—just a minute." he promised. Once the machine was perking, he found the leash and a few baggies, and gave Ivan his wish.
The air, so early still, was fresh and sharp. Once the big wolfhound was on his trek he was quite reasonable, his pulling minimal. Sam breathed in the morning oxygen, reveling in the invigorating effect. He picked up the pace, allowing Ivan to cantor along as he jogged. Times like these kept him moving forward. He felt stifled, penned, by the struggles of the distraught dead. He needed to feel the life around him, the reasons to keep struggling forward. He'd witnessed so many unfulfilled and angry spirits...he needed to draw every atom of meaning and reason from each living moment. After all...you never knew what the hell was coming.
Dean had a blissfully comfortable sleep. He hardly felt any of his hurts, his rest completely devoid of distressed thought.
And Maggie...well, she cried herself to sleep. But it was a good cry, not filled with uncertainty and fear...but just the purest sadness and relief. It was the closure she sought and needed.
The rest of the day followed suit. Dog walking. Meals. Closed bedroom doors and more dog walking. And good natured gambling.
Everyone was ignoring the unpleasant tasks of the following day.
Everyone sought the aspirin that morning.
Sam and Maggie had predictable hangovers. Dean had a bit of that plus the requisite body aches. His stitched forearm was vexing him, throbbing constantly. The tender, white skin of the underside of his arm wasn't used to the abuse that was frequently heaped on the rest of his body.
This was the day. Daniel William's remains were going to be released from the tangle of official red tape, and hopefully he would continue on his journey toward peace. Dean had promised to facilitate that goal. They waited expectantly for the call. When it came, Dean took over. Dean had the experience in dealing with confused and reluctant drones. It was still fairly fresh for Sam. And Maggie had no experience at all, and she was grateful for it.
So it fell to the elder brother to address the whole salt issue with the reluctant funeral home representative. He was very insistent, convincing them that the presence of salt at cremation was an important and valuable aspect of the family's beliefs. They finally agreed. Dean would apply it himself just before the incinerating process was begun, tthere would be no question then. Maggie and Sam were to wait in the lounge at the facility. Simple enough.
He addressed Maggie. "Well, it's all arranged. They can do the cremation process this afternoon. I'll watch over it so I can be sure it happens as it needs to, ok? Sam will be there with you, in the reception lounge, if you want to be present for it. When it's all over, and they have his ashes prepared, we can bury them, or scatter them wherever you think is most appropriate. Are you ok with this?"
She nodded. "Yeah….and thanks, Dean, for helping me with this. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."
"C'mere.." he said, enfolding her again in his arms. She loved when he did that.
Sam kept things practical. "What time are we supposed to go to the funeral home?"
"Uh...three, he said. We should probably head out in about forty five minutes. They're willing to let us be there so we can do the salt, but they won't wait for us. I guess they have a few lined up to toast today."
Sam was appalled by that last bit of insensitivity, but Dean knew Maggie well enough to predict that she'd laugh at that. And he was right, although she gave him a gentled elbow to the ribs anyway.
Maggie felt the day needed to be marked in some way, to be dedicated to Daniel. "Would you guys mind if I bored you with some family photo albums.?" she asked tentatively. "I want to show you who Danny was….and what he meant to us. I think it would be fitting."
They both assured her that they'd love to, and for the next while they sat in the livingroom, poring over the books while Maggie described the context of each picture. In the end they had a pretty good sense of who this young man was. And they too felt the loss. Maggie spoke with such reverence and love...it was beautiful and achingly sad. She closed the last book and they all sat in silence. She put her head on Dean's shoulder as tears slid down her cheeks. The brothers just stared at the floor.
But she gathered herself, wiped her eyes dry and smoothed her hair. "Well...I guess we should head out. I'll just take Ivan out for a quick pee in the yard, then I'll be ready."
Sam relieved her of that duty. While he was out there, Dean hugged Maggie. "You ok…?"
"Yeah…think so."
"Good. Let's take my car, ok?" He steered her out to the waiting Impala. Sam joined them and they drove off to attend to the grim task.
Despite the discussion, despite the pre-arrangements, Dean still had to argue to do the salt. The staff were very proprietary about how things were done. It pissed him off to no end, he had an emotional friend desperately awaiting the conclusion of this tragedy and it was imperative to complete the task for the sake of Daniel's tortured spirit. But here he was, arguing with some closed-minded, rule-obsessed moron who was spouting greeting-card condolences and rulebook requirements. The idiot had no concept of the importance of it all.
Impatient, and frustrated, Dean was ready to deck the little weasel. But finally he was allowed into the processing area.
The human body in death was no shock to him, regardless of its state. He really had pretty much seen it all. Danny's remains had been stripped of any jewelry and other metal or foreign material. And he was young in death, so there was no issue with dental work, or artificial joint replacements. Those were all problematic to the successful completion of the process. It was just young Daniel and his cardboard box.
Dean had to admit that it was all a bit fascinating. The more he learned, the better he felt about choosing such an end for himself, should it ever be necessary. He'd dug up enough dank and mouldering corpses in his day, and simple burial held no appeal for him. He shook off his morbid thoughts and waited for the go-ahead to open Daniel's box and apply the salt.
They had pre-fired the kiln. All was in readiness. He got his nod, and he opened his salt tin and lifted Danny's lid. He tried to recall the pictures he'd seen so recently...the smiling face, the easy, kind expression. The figure lying there in front of him was a ruin, hardly the image he wanted to remember. He held the lid up, feeling the heat radiating off the fire-brick lining of the chamber. "Ok kid...this is it. You got your revenge, you earned it. Time to sprout some wings and move on. " he said, softly. And he held the open salt tin over the container.
The air temperature suddenly plummeted. The change was instantly felt over the heat that had been present mere moments ago. Dean was keenly aware of it, he knew the significance. Daniel was present.
And Daniel had other ideas. The confused and angry spirit couldn't comprehend that this man was there to help him. It felt only the threat to its existence. Daniel struck back-
Dean knew he had to continue, but he had no chance to start to pour the salt. He was suddenly struck by a wave of dizziness. He staggered back , feeling his chest tighten. -sh—shit- He found himself struggling to catch his breath, and his heart began to pound rapidly. He put his hand to his chest, it felt like a panic attack. But it didn't subside, it worsened. The rapid beating became irregular, weak beats were followed by over-compensating hard strokes. He began to feel faint, chilled by a sheen of sweat, as blackness hovered at the corners of his vision. His hands were suddenly nerveless, the salt tin slipped from his grasp.
"Get her-" he gasped to the technician. "…Maggie Williams, get her in here…now!" He slumped against the side of the kiln, his knees refusing to support him, as the horrified and panic-stricken employee snapped out of it and hastened out to the lounge.
The technician burst into the peaceful room-shouting urgently over the gentle chamber music that played so soothingly. "Who's Maggie Williams? I need her! Now!"
Sam and Maggie leapt to attention and followed the man back to the crematorium. They were met by a frightening scene. The room was icy, filled with a nebulous mist. Dean lay on the floor, panting and clutching his shirt, his eyes were wide with panic. The salt tin was cast aside, its contents spilling out onto the polished concrete.
Sam rushed to him immediately.
"Danny—" Dean managed, clutching Sam's shirt. "He's killing me...tell her to make him stop!" The struggle overwhelmed him, his eyes fluttered, his hand dropped loosely and he passed out.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, shaking him. "Dean!"
He didn't stir.. Sam turned to Maggie in desperation, "Maggie, talk to him! Talk to Daniel! Make it stop!"
She stared at them, bewildered and terrified. But the image of Dean, laid out and so terribly still, galvanized her to action. "Daniel! Danny!" she cried, tearfully addressing the formless mist. "Please! Please stop this...don't do this! Jessup hurt him too, just like you! Just look at him!"
Sam pounded on his brother's chest. He raised his head, looking to her, frantic— "It's not working! He's still got no pulse!" The mist was solidifying, gaining form in front of her.
"No, Danny!" she screamed tearfully, dropping to her knees, beseeching. "Please, he's trying to help you! Stop this! It's me, it's Margaret! Please Danny, don't hurt him, leave this place...for me!"
She saw him then. His form materialized in front of her. He wore an angry, hurt expression, but as he stared at her, it was replaced by one of confusion, and then tenderness. He smiled, and spoke soundlessly, and reached a transparent hand towards her, brushing her face.
The mist dissipated then.
Dean instantly drew a deep and tortured breath. Sam halted his CPR, his fingertips pressed against the artery in his brother's neck. He felt the blood course through strongly again. His heartbeat returned, strong and regular. Tears streamed from the outside of Dean's eyes as he felt the crushing chest pain lift as his heart returned to normal rhythm. He was sure, for several agonizing moments, that he was finished, literally feeling his life slip away. He looked up into Sam's intense and shining eyes, and turned to see Maggie stumble towards him.
"Sam..." he whispered hoarsely, "Do the salt, finish it!"
Maggie dropped to his side, sobbing and near hysteria. She lifted his head, kissing his deathly pale cheek. "Oh thank god!" she said, over and over.
Sam picked up the salt tin, lifted the top of the box and emptied it over Daniel's body.
"Do it now!" he barked to the bewildered technician. "Finish the cremation!"
The man nodded. He pushed the container into the kiln and shut and locked the door. He switched up the firing process. The salt and burn had finally begun. It was over.