Chapter 25

Felix hovered behind Morgan. "One of these days, I should have you teach me how these machines work," he said.

"Why would I do that, Leo?" Morgan asked, giving him an amused look over his shoulder. "If I go telling you how to manage computers on your own, what will you need me for?"

"I have other uses for you," Felix said, but he knew that Morgan would not last much longer. With his golden hair and blue eyes, he was still very appealing, and the freckles added a touch of innocence to his countenance, an innocence that Felix doubted he had ever possessed. Nevertheless, he was growing tiresomely jealous. He made a good blind for Felix's activities, but his kills were becoming more obvious. Sooner or later, the constabulary would make a more intensive search, and it would be as well to have cut the association before that time.

"Looks like your boy toy is dead, Felix," Morgan said. "Interesting. Looks like he's been declared dead twice."

"Trust me, he's emphatically not dead."

"Not according to the police, but that's what he looks like, right?" A picture appeared on the screen of Dean holding one of the placards the police used to identify their prisoners when photographing them. He looked cocky and humorous.

"That's him," Felix replied.

"Then the law thinks he's dead, which means that getting them to look for him would be something of a struggle."

"I want to know everything there is to know about him," Felix said. "Something happened today that I must have an explanation for."

"Why didn't you just ask him?" Morgan asked.

"Because he was in no condition to answer questions." Felix tapped his assistant sharply on the back of the head. "Just find out what I want to know."

"Well, he has a record a mile long, stretching back to adolescence," Morgan said. "Grave robbery, murder, trespassing, impersonation of law enforcement, credit card fraud. Hell, this guy is a peach! I can see why you want him."

"Your judgment wasn't requested, Morgan, merely your help."

"Look, Leo, what's going on? You've never kept a guy that I'm aware of."

"What about you?"

Morgan shook his head. "You did not keep me, we have a partnership." Leo refrained from rolling his eyes. "Besides, do you really think this guy will be willing to work with you?"

"Once I have him under proper control, he'll do whatever I want."

"Yeah, but that's not the same thing as what we have."

"No, it's not," Felix said with a smile. "Regardless, Dean is not like the others, and you have the clues to just what he is in front of you."

"What do you mean?" Morgan said, squinting at the screen dubiously.

"Grave robbery – do you remember how I told you to deal with ghosts?"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Salt and burn the bones," he said as if by rote.

"How do you suppose you get to the bones?"

Morgan shrugged. "Go out to the graveyard and . . ." He trailed off, his eyes widening.

"Yes, and graveyards are often on private land, so you might be found trespassing, and to get the information about the ghosts' history, you might have to ask questions that people don't want to answer, so you pretend to be law enforcement."

"Credit card fraud?"

Felix smiled. "It's not a well paying engagement," he said. "There have been hunters for as long people have been aware of powers beyond the natural."

"So, this guy would hunt you down and kill you if he had the option."

"That is undoubtedly why he's in town," Felix said. "And I have to admit to some amusement about that. He claims to have killed witches in the past."

"How likely do you think that really is?" Morgan asked.

"It's entirely possible – a young witch might not have the wherewithal to stand up a determined team of hunters, and I suspect the brother works with him."

"Samuel Winchester?" Morgan asked, and Felix nodded, watching as his servant plugged the brother's name into a new search window. He knew more about the workings of computers than he let Morgan realize, and he had other means of finding out information, means that didn't always include magic. Much the same results came up on the computer search, similar crimes, but Sam was only dead once, not twice.

"It's as I thought. They work together, and one of them, or perhaps one of the women living with them, has a rudimentary knowledge of spellcraft, which is why I'm shielded from observing him in the apartment."

"Couldn't you break through that?" Morgan asked.

"Easily, but it would have noticeable effects on the one who cast it, and possibly on the walls where the spell was laid. I do not want to tip my hand so soon."

"You've done everything but fuck the guy," Morgan said, and Felix's mouth pursed at his crass manner of expressing himself. "Haven't you? How soon are you going 'tip your hand' or whatever you want to call it?"

"I am enjoying the chase," Felix said. His mouth curved in a predatory smile. "All the more now that I know the rabbit is chasing me."

After Dean had been in the bathroom for nearly an hour, Sam began to worry, because he hadn't turned off the shower the whole time. The water had to be ice cold by now, so either he was using the white noise to conceal something from Sam, or he was scrubbing his skin off in freezing cold water. Either way, Sam wasn't playing that game.

He walked to the door and knocked. "Dean?" he called, but there was no answer. "Dean!" He thought he heard a muffled response, but it didn't satisfy him. He started to open the door but found it locked. He pulled a pocket knife out of his pocket and forced the cheap lock without difficulty. Opening the door, he stepped inside. "Dean?"

The room was so humid that some of Dean's photographs were wrinkling, and it was chill, which told Sam that there was definitely no hot water left. The water was still going full bore, however, and he could see Dean behind the translucent shower curtain. He appeared to be scrubbing his back. Sam pulled the curtain aside. Icy water splashed off Dean and hit Sam instead of the curtain.

"Dean?" Sam said, but his brother didn't seem to hear him, and there red patches all over his torso, some of which had been scrubbed raw. Sam bent down and turned off the water.

That got Dean's attention. He jerked away from Sam in some kind of instinctive reaction. He slipped on the floor of the tub and started to go down. Sam lunged forward to try and catch him, but he slipped right through Sam's hands and smacked his head on the soap ledge before landing on his back in the tub. Sam blinked in alarm at the blood that thinned as it mixed with water on the soap ledge. "Dean? Dean!" He went down on his knees and checked Dean's pulse. It wasn't weak, but it also wasn't regular. Sam grabbed his phone and dialed three digits.

"911 Operator, what is your emergency?"

"My brother fell, he hit his head in the bathtub and now he's unconscious and bleeding."

"Can you confirm your address?" she asked. He repeated the address to her. "Please stay on the line. Paramedics are on the way."

"Right, good." He bent over Dean, who wasn't coming to. Dean had been hit in the head many times, but he usually came to pretty quickly.

"How old is your brother, sir?"

"Thirty," Dean said. "Almost thirty-one. Can I get him out of the tub, at least?"

"It would be best not to move him." Sam shook his head. He knew she'd say that, they always did. He grabbed one of the towels and draped it over him because he was shaking slightly. "Sir, the paramedics should be there shortly. Is there anything they need to know about how to get to you?"

"One second." Sam got up and strode out to the door. Taking the phone away from his face, he turned upwards and bellowed at the top of his voice. "Ellen!" A moment later, he heard feet on the stairs. "I'll have someone outside waiting for them," he said to the operator as he went back into the bathroom. He bent down and pulled Dean's eyes open. This really didn't look good.

He heard Ellen coming into the room behind him. "What's wrong – son of a bitch!"

"Can you go downstairs?" Sam asked. "I called an ambulance, and someone has to show them where to come."

"Sure, Sam, whatever you need."

He heard Ellen leave, but then he felt Jo come up beside him. "Are you sure you want to –"

"I'm sure," Sam said over the top of her.

"He'll be pissed as hell," she added.

"He can be pissed. I just . . . he's really not himself right now."

The voice on the phone spoke again. "Now, in the meantime, sir, do whatever you can to keep him warm."

"I put a towel over him – a dry towel. The tub is just really cold."

"Can you hear the sirens yet?"

Sam listened and shook his head. "Not yet . . . wait . . ." He raised his head at the distant wailing. "Yes, I think I can hear them."

"Stay with me on the phone until they're actually in the room with you." The rest of the conversation passed in a blur. He stepped back when two people in blue uniforms came in. They bustled around, strapping Dean into a neck brace and onto a backboard. He knew it was just in case, but he found it alarming nevertheless. He peppered the paramedics with questions that they didn't answer.

Before long, he was climbing into the ambulance beside Dean and the paramedics. Ellen babbled something at him, but he didn't really listen. He was too focused on trying to understand what the paramedics were saying and answering their questions. Their patient's name was Dean. Sam was his brother. He'd fallen in the shower. No, he hadn't been there very long because Sam had been in the room when he fell and so had been able to call immediately. No, no alcohol. Sam added a mental proviso of that I know of. No drugs. He couldn't imagine Dean taking drugs these days.

They reached the hospital and rushed Dean straight in, leaving Sam out in the waiting room with the paperwork. And his imagination. And the memory of Dean going into another emergency room wearing a brace like that and coming out in a coma.