25

After several very difficult days, Dean had begun to tolerate the drug a little better. His persistent headache had subsided, and the fever was waning. His laboured and raw breathing was settling down, proving that despite it's negative impact, the drug was doing its job and clearing the infection out. He was able to participate in short periods of conversation, even if his answers were curt and uninspired. Sam was relieved to see him gaining against the odds. One particular morning, he brought the subject of Father Elliot up. They hadn't seen the old priest in several days. "You remember him, from the church, right? The church that Johan turned up in?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. He was here, a few times. He had some things going on, that he wanted to talk about."

Sam was pleased. "Yeah, he said he wanted to talk with you. Dean...do you think you'd be up to it if I called him? He's really concerned about how you're doing."

Dean shrugged after a moment. "Yeah, sure. Call him. He had some questions, about Johan and crap...I can help him, if he still wants."

Sam smiled inwardly. The 'help' would be two-way. He went through his wallet, locating the number. He dialed, and it rang and rang. "I guess he's at the mission." he figured. "I'll call there."

He called the alternate number, and another voice answered. Sam identified himself, and the one called Lucas answered.

"Oh...oh you're with the man who-" Lucas stopped. wary of saying more. "Um.. I got some real bad news. Father Elliot passed away on Tuesday. He had a stroke."

Sam stammered condolences, aware that his brother was listening. "Was it, I mean, did this happen out of the blue..?" he asked, fearing the response.

Lucas replied sadly. "Nothing unexpected, unfortunately. Old age, and hard work, they finally caught up... I'm sorry, but I can't help you right now. Got some arrangements to make..."

Sam thanked him. He told Lucas that he would call later, and that the poor, late priest's efforts had been very, very appreciated. Lucas appreciated hearing it.

Dean had watched Sam as the conversation played out. He knew immediately that something was wrong. "What?!" he demanded. "What happened?"

Sam was dry-mouthed. He was in shock that the old man had passed. He swallowed hard and answered. "The priest..Fr. Elliot. He's gone, Dean. He had a massive stroke, totally natural. Lucas said...he said it was inevitable, he said there was a family history... They're in the middle of making arrangements."

Dean stared at him, his face a mask of frozen emotion. "You're sure it was normal?! Nothing got to him, no demons, no-

Sam shook his head. "Lucas, his assistant-he said it was something they'd all expected eventually...lifestyle, family history... They're arranging his funeral and stuff right now. Poor bastard actually sounded like he was upset over them not looking in on you.."

Dean turned away, shaken. Fr. Elliot was gone, a man he'd felt comfortable in confiding the sordid tale of the most recent details of his convoluted life. He was dead and gone. No one was left to function as his confessor, his un-biased sounding board. Nobody was left to listen.

Dean felt the dry cotton of his mouth try to choke him. He croaked a response. "Are they sure it was natural? Nothing else, nothing from...nothing unusual?!"

Sam put a hand on his arm. "Dean...this sucks, but it was natural. People die, good and bad. And old men give it up to what they have going on, you know? Lucas said Fr. Elliot had a history of this kind of thing. Dean-he was old, really old. He was working well past the requirement. He died like he was meant to. It had nothing to do with you."

Dean blinked, as Sam spoke. Finally he nodded slightly. "Yeah. He was counting down, I get that. He was working through his golden years..."

Sam nodded. "He died with a peaceful look, Dean. Lucas said so. It was nothing you or I involved him in."

Dean stared at the wall, barely acknowledging Sam's voice. Silence reigned for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"He was what, pushing eighty..?" Dean whispered finally.

Sam wasn't sure. "Maybe, I don't know."

Dean kept staring at the distance. "He was pretty spry. Pretty happy, before I showed up..."

Sam snapped to. "Happy? Maybe, maybe not, we can't guess. But it was Johan that threw the wrench into the works, Dean-not you."

The bitterness welled up in Dean, choking him. "Johan wouldn't have been part of his experience if it weren't for me. I went to that damned church. I should have stayed home that day, I should have sucked it up and... Christ, I brought that sonofabitch into his world."

Sam's heart tightened. "Dean, you couldn't have predicted this. Lucas said Fr. Elliot had a family history of this kind of thing. It was a matter of time."

Dean stayed silent. The wall rose, Sam's words failed to penetrate anymore. The priest, who'd forged a good life helping the hopeless, had come across Dean Winchester, and he had died as a result. Clearly Dean's acquaintance had stressed him, or shocked his world. Elliot would be here today if it hadn't been for the malignant Winchester touch.

Sam tried, over and over, but it was useless. He saw the set of Dean's jaw, the grim refusal of his efforts. Dean had been gaining slowly with the meds, despite the effects. He had been coming back to them, incrementally. He'd thought it was on a positive path now. But with this new information, and its effects, they were back to square one.

David was watching the effects like a hawk, as was Dennis. Both were pleased at the result, the infection was being beaten back, and the side-effects had lessened significantly. But David knew Dean, and his listless disinterest was something that kept him up at night. Twenty days of treatment were required, and eight had passed. Technically, it was on the path to successs. But David watched helplessly as Sam tried and tried to keep Dean involved and participating in the present. But his efforts were failing. Dean was still experiencing nightmares, and he was clearly feeling a heavy weight of guilt. His body was being forced to shrug off the invasive blastmycosis, but his mind had it's own agenda.

At the second week, Sam was growing more and more distraught. He alone knew the signs, the most subtle differences in Dean's manner. David tried to calm him, assuring him that his recovery was imminent. San tried to humour him, but he knew otherwise.

After a particularly grim visit, Sam retreated to the gardens outside the hospital. He paced, back and forth, trying to dredge up an answer. Dean was a shadow of the brother he knew and relied on. He was beaten, ground down, and Sam had explored every avenue to reverse the direction in which Dean was sinking, but at the moment he had no bloody idea how to steer a reversal. He finally settled on a hard wooden bench. Day-lilies surrounded him, their bright orange optimism having no effect. He sagged in dejected misery, covering his head with his arms, and giving in to tears. He shuddered, rocking, wracked with emotion, sobbing hard in the silent and lonely garden, until he was wrung out. No answers came in his hour of need. Nobody answered his prayers. Not yet.

Deliverance can come unexpectedly. Sometimes we see and know it. Other times, it creeps from shadowed corners of our lives, hardly recognizable, but powerful in it's thrust. A few days later, Sam intercepted a call on his brother's phone. He'd been holding it, ever since Dean was in the hospital. It rang unexpectedly-few knew how to contact Dean directly, it was always un-nerving when someone other than one of the brothers or Bobby was calling. But he scrutinized the number, realizing it was foreign to him. For a moment. he thought he'd let it ring on. But he answered it, fearing the voice and its implications, at the other end.

The voice was a soft and musical female tone. "Dean? Dean honey, is that you?"

Sam wracked his brain, she sounded so damned familiar. "No, it's his brother, Sam."

"Oh Sam, I'm so glad you picked up. It's Missouri, you remember me?"

He almost smiled at her question. "Sure, of course, Missouri. Uh, how are you? What can I do for -

She didn't wait for him to finish the banalities. "Where's your brother, is he alright?"

He was shocked silent for a moment. "Why are you asking?"

He could hear her fussing, she made a small gasp of dismay. "Oh Sam, he isn't, is he? Talk to me!"

Her direct questioning caught him off guard. "Missouri, now's not a good time-

"Don't you dare dismiss me, boy!" she rebuked. "I didn't ask for this bother! And I'm not as young as I used to be, I'm seventy four years old, I need my rest! Now you tell me what is happening there!"

Her tone was urgent and strained. He knew she had a sixth sense. She was an enigmatic mystery, a woman with deep connections to their father, and one who possessed strange qualities, and he knew he didn't know the half of them. "He's sick, Missouri. We had a hunt, he got hurt. Why are you calling?"

He could hear her, murmuring, almost arguing with herself. She sounded distracted and confused. He was almost ready to dismiss her as drunk or addled. "I'm sorry, Sam...It's this damned noise! It doesn't give me a moment's peace."

He didn't know what to make of that so he ignored it. He was tense and tired and worried, and his patience was thin. "Missouri, please-what do you want?"

"Well what I want is hardly the question! I need to talk with your brother. Lord, Samuel, I can't begin to tell you about these last few days...I get no rest at all. All I can see is that damned red man, and hear that little tinkling.. "

He didn't need her riddles at that time. "What does this have to do with Dean?"

"Well I don't know. Sam, all I can tell you is that something or someone is anxious on the other side, and it has to do with your brother. I just have to see him. Where are you?"

It had been a hard few days, he was tired and wrung out. He wanted more than anything to dissuade her. "Look, I really think that maybe you should wait, Missouri. He's really not doing so well.."

"Oh dear...oh dear..." she said quietly. Her words trailed off and he couldn't understand the rest.

"I'm sorry? I didn't hear that-" he said.

"Nevermind, honey. But tell me how to find you. It's important, Samuel. I wouldn't be calling after him if it wasn't. You know that well enough, boy."

He knew that was likely true. She had always been a little hard on Dean, he'd seen it himself when they'd met before. He wasn't sure why. He relented and gave her directions. She thanked him then, and again she drifted in the conversation, as if she was trying to deal with other, equally insistent parties, in a sort of conference call. He asked her again to repeat her words.

"Oh, it's so...strange. They wake me, he's so urgent, so...persistent. But I can't get it all, he's just out of reach. Sam, I have to ask you this...is there something there, making a noise...a wind-chime, or..oh I don't know, a music box, or a...a chime clock, ? Anything like that?"

He thought she was losing it. "No. Nothing...why?"

She sighed, and it was heavy with weary confusion. "It's just the sound, it's been vexing me since the start, it never stops. Like little bells..." He waited for more. A moment later, she came back to their conversation. "It doesn't matter. So he's in this number then, at Atlanta General?"

"Uh, yeah, for now."

"Well that's fine. I'll see you shortly." She hung up then, and he was left perplexed.

He returned to Dean's room. Dean was asleep. David was there, checking all the monitors. The doc looked up.

"We're getting a visitor. " Sam finally said.

David looked at him quizzically, noting Sam's strange tone. "Got any more than that little enigma?!"

Sam paused for a moment. "She's a family friend. Connected to Dad, more than we'll ever know. For some reason, she knows that Dean's sick, and it's affecting her some how."

David squinted at Sam. "Connected..? Like how?"

Sam shrugged. "Missouri is a medium. Dad knew her from way back. She...I dunno-senses things, I'm not sure what that means, exactly. But right now she's got a burr under her saddle, and it involves Dean. She demanded that we let her come out."

David blinked. Every day with the Winchesters was a new and discomfiting eye-opener. "What..?"

Sam almost laughed. "Jesus, David. I'm not God...I don't have any answers. All I know is that a very intense old woman is demanding we include her right now. Her timing sucks, I get that. But she feels something, or she knows it, I don't know. But what I do know is, Dad trusted her sense. If she has something in her head, we should probably accommodate it."

David had long-since learned to accept things he didn't understand. He knew he was a novice, and the Winchesters were well entrenched in these things. And he too, knew that Dean was losing his tether on life. He simply accepted what Sam said. "When will she be here..?"

"Soon. She's bussing it. She'll be here by tomorrow."