AN: Reunited and it feels so good the author sang, offkey but happy. Yup, Lappy the laptop and I are back together. Woohoo!
This chapter has enough bad language in it to earn the T rating, just FYI.
Janice has been and always shall be my beta. (Okay, yes, I'm badly misquoting a movie and she doesn't always and forever have to do her wonderful beta work for me, but the sentiment remains the same.) Big thank you to her!
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Mervin Tillman had been told a few times in his life that he "looked like a Mervin," which he was well aware wasn't a compliment. He was skinny except for a small, incongruous pot belly. Aging hadn't helped him, either. His narrow shoulders were stooped prematurely and his combover wasn't fooling anyone. His horn-rimmed glasses did nothing to disguise pale eyes and a weak chin. He was fully cognizant that his personality matched the picture, too. He wasn't funny or witty or even particularly nice. (Hey, he couldn't help it that most people were assholes.) But he was a lot smarter than people assumed. He worked at the hospital coordinating payments and insurance details, but that was far from the extent of his intelligence. Not even close. If he weren't so scared of, well, everything, he could have done big things. At least, he liked to think so.
Though he'd heard the car pull up and the engine switch off, Mervin still jumped when the door opened noisily. He wiped sweaty hands on his pants, his fingernails picked ragged just from the short time he'd been waiting. In direct contrast, the three twenty-something-year-olds who came in were laughing and talking. "Hey, Merv, what the hell's gotcha spooked?" asked one as the door clanged shut behind him, leaving the bare room gloomy, the only light coming from thin shafts of sunlight shining through gaps in the walls here and there.
"Yeah, what's the deal?" asked a second, flipping on a lighter as if there was something to see in the empty space.
"Will you keep your voices down?" Mervin demanded, nerves making him bold. Well, bolder than he normally was anyway.
"There's nobody close enough to hear a damn thing 'cept rats," drawled the man who hadn't spoken yet. Like his companions, he was dressed in well-worn jeans and a t-shirt that was damp at the collar and under the arms, an equally worn baseball cap on his head. The men, all first cousins, made up the third generation of Dekker Demolition and were the ones who did most of the physical work for the company. "We coulda been at the bar already, so this better fuckin' be worth our time, Merv." There wasn't quite a threat there, but even if Mervin hadn't already been aware of the subtle hierarchy of the three, it would have been clear that the speaker, Billy, was the one in charge. And Bruce and Scottie were more than willing sycophants.
They were odd companions for Mervin who was a meek, middle-aged, white-collar loner, but when they'd done some work at the hospital a few years prior, he'd recognized something in them, some disaffection perhaps, and he'd struck up a conversation. And they must have seen something in him, too, because they didn't react to someone different in their usual manner (which was blatant mockery). Though they didn't see each other much, when a local drunk had beaten up Mervin, wrongly blaming him for Medicaid's refusal to pay for a small surgery, the same drunk had himself been beaten nearly to death the next night.
Nobody had ever stood up for Merv before. Also, the complete disregard for the law struck a cord with him, and he'd decided to pass something along that he'd grown too cowardly to use himself.
"I saw the purple lightning," he said, his voice quavering with a combination of fear and indignation. "I know you summoned something. I told you to start slow, and once you were going to do something major, make sure you do it somewhere else."
"Chill," said Bruce, spitting wetly onto the floor of the empty dollar store where they stood. It was slated for demolition, which was why they knew nobody would be there. "We went way out in the swamp to call some dumb-ass owl thing, and it didn't even work."
"Did too, shitface," argued Scottie childishly, and Merv thought they might devolve to trading blows any minute. It was a common occurrence between the two.
"We'll find it," Billy interrupted, stopping the nascent fight. "So, we called something. What's the big deal?" he asked Mervin, lighting an unfiltered cigarette.
"The big deal is that people saw all that lightning and stuff and now there are Hunters here. I saw them. One's in the hospital injured, so I'm betting they already sent back whatever you summoned." Mervin only kept from tacking you moron onto the end of the sentence from a near lifetime of being too cowardly to speak his mind. He wracked his memory for the name of what they'd summoned. Even though he'd been too scared to use the book again after the trouble he'd run into several years earlier didn't mean he never looked at it. "We need to get out of here before they figure out who called the stolas demon. And I mean now! I told you how dangerous Hunters are, and you screwed up and got their attention!" He fingered an old scar on his collarbone absently.
He didn't have to be able to make out Billy's face to know the guy wasn't convinced. "Slow down, old man. No need to lose your shit. How do you know you saw Hunters? And if you did, what makes you think they'll figure out what's going on?" he asked, again cutting off the knee-jerk angry remarks from his much dumber friends.
Mervin wasn't immune to the condescension but was too incensed to back down. "I heard them talking about stuff only Hunters know about. And they always figure it out," he snapped, still rubbing the same spot. "One found me before and he exorcised all the creatures I summoned and shot me. Almost killed me." The guy had been merciless, cutting his own bullet out from where it had lodged just above Mervin's collarbone, an ache that still made appearances all these years later. He'd told Merv he'd let him bleed out on the floor if he didn't reveal the location of his altar. Then he'd burned everything – including Merv's house – and dumped him in front of the hospital with a warning that if he had to come back to stop Mervin again, he'd do it with a bullet to the brain.
Mervin had never really understood the second part of the book, explaining how to control the summoned monsters, but the Hunter had said some crazy spell and thrown some weeds around, and all of his beautiful monsters had disappeared. Merv had figured that he'd sent them back to Hell -- that's what happened in movies, right?
"It's only luck that the book I gave you was in my car and didn't get destroyed." He shivered, hard. He'd wanted the younger men to use the spells in the book to do some of his dirty work and take care of a few people he hated in exchange for giving them possession of the book, but he was very much regretting trusting them now. "I don't care what you guys do, but I'm leaving town." He had no doubts that they'd give him up in a heartbeat if they were caught.
Billy dropped his cigarette butt and stomped it out. "I'm just not that scared of a couple pussy Hunters, 'specially if one of 'em's hurt. In fact, if you're right, I kinda think they owe us somethin', given as they sent our pet away before we could have any fun." The men flanking him chuckled, sensing an opportunity for violence. "Think we might find that guy and encourage him to get us our little pet back."
"You're insane," Mervin squeaked, aware that he was acting like the 'scared little mouse' his high school bullies had always called him. He didn't care. The only time he'd been brave in his life had been once he'd opened that cursed book. He'd done small spells at first, but each little success had made him more confident and hungrier for more power. It had been like a drug – the more he did spells and summonings, the more he needed. People had died at his command (which he should feel guilty about, but really didn't; they all been jerks), and that had drawn the Hunter, putting an end to it all. Now it seemed his heirs apparent had, in their hubris, caught the attention of Hunters, too. "The hurt kid isn't alone, you know. He's –"
"A kid?" Scottie interrupted with a snicker. "You don't think we can handle one fuckin' kid?"
Mervin grabbed the little hair he had left with both hands. These idiots were going to get him killed. Hunters were terrifying. Remorseless. He'd gotten only a quick look at the one who'd talked about holy water and that was enough for him to know it was someone he never wanted to tangle with. "You know what? Do what you want. I'm getting out of town."
"Don' worry, Merv," Billy said as the older man headed for the side door, not wanting to be seen with the three others. "We'll lay low. You get out of town so you're more comfortable."
One of the others – Mervin didn't turn to see which – snickered. The oof that followed probably meant he'd been slugged.
"I'll call you when I'm sure it's safe," Billy continued with more kindness than Mervin had ever heard him use. It made him nervous (well, more nervous), but he wasn't about to turn back to question him.
"Yeah, fine," he said. "Just – stay away from the Hunters, okay?"
"Of course we will," Billy said, still sounding oddly nice. "We wouldn't dream of upsettin' things. What'd you say the kid's name is?"
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
John could tell Dean was going out of his mind with the waiting, and not just by the way he paced back and forth across the small room. John wasn't much better off, but he was sitting still and keeping it off his face as much as he could, hoping it would help Dean stay calmer. This was one of many things he hated about hospitals – they separated you from your family and didn't tell you anything while you waited and waited and waited. Dawn, the nurse who'd apparently been assigned to them, was doing her best, but she was busy with patients, too, and Sam was on the top floor while they were still on the first floor, so she didn't have first-hand information, just what was relayed over the phone.
Finally, she came back with a smile on her face. "Good news!" she reported. "Both of your bloodwork came back normal – no elevated white blood cells or other signs of infection, so you don't have to stay stuck in the room. I'm still waiting to hear back about what Sam's cultures show, so you can't see him yet –" She knew by now what they were going to ask. "– but the doctor is very pleased that he's already responding to the treatment. His temperature is already going down and he's sleeping now, which means they're doing a good job of controlling any pain he has. Those heavy-duty antibiotics will keep him pretty sleepy, too, so even if you could see him, you'd just be watching him snore. If you want something to eat, now would be a good time to get it, because I'm guessing it will be about half an hour before I get another update."
"Thank you," John said gruffly before Dean could demand the poor lady magically make things move faster. She smiled and hustled back out again. "I'll get something from the vending machine for us," he said when she'd gone, knowing Dean wouldn't want to move an inch just in case more news came. He was used to operating on very little sleep, but coffee and some calories would help him stay alert. Dean just nodded, his jaw still tight.
John grabbed his phone off the rolling table and went out of the room without another word. There was nothing that would make Dean happy until he was able to see his brother with his own eyes, but hopefully he'd eat something. With any luck, the vending machine would have those little deep fried "pies" that gas stations often carried and Dean loved so much.
Behind the large desk that sat at the junction where John needed to turn to get to the lobby, a man in working clothes was leaning in close to talk into the ear of the flustered woman there, either his proximity or words making her blush deeply. Dawn gave them a stern look as she hurried past but didn't say anything about the stranger being in a clearly employees-only area.
"Bill- y," the girl all but squealed when the man turned them so his body was blocking her view of the computer screen.
"I almost forgot to tell you," the man said as John walked past, "I ran into Mervin Tillman outside as I was comin' in. Literally he plowed right into me."
"He's so odd," she answered breathlessly.
"Yeah, and this is weirder yet. He's going out of town for some kind of emergency. The dude was running like he was freaked out. Anyway, he asked if I'd let someone know he had to go for a coupla days."
John didn't look back, but he could feel the man watching him and it made his scalp prickle even though the guy was probably just making sure he was out of earshot before whispering more sweet nothings into his assignation's ear. The man's words stuck with John, though, because someone running away from the hospital like that right after they'd arrived seemed suspicious. He was contemplating if he was just being paranoid because he was so tired and worried or if there really was a potential issue when he arrived in the lobby. He had to pass a wall that proclaimed Meet Our Friendly Staff! and was covered in headshots with the matching names beneath them. He stopped dead, his mind registering the one that said M. Tillman. The picture looked familiar, and it only took him a second to place the weak-chinned mien looking apathetically out of the picture. It was the man who'd been in the parking garage of the hospital, lurking in the shadows. John had only noted him to evaluate him as a threat, focused on getting his younger son help as fast as possible.
So, whoever this Tillman was, he'd seen them in the garage and was now heading out of town like a bat out of hell. That was definitely suspicious behavior.
John's thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He pulled it out and answered. "Yeah?"
"John? Why are you on Dean's phone?" came a familiar, crotchety voice.
"Singer? Guess I grabbed Dean's phone by mistake." He had been there when Dean had left a message for the other Hunter telling him briefly what had happened to Sam. John had to admit, he occasionally felt a little defensive by how close his boys were to Bobby, but most of the time he just appreciated having someone around they could trust...though that didn't mean he and Bobby always got along. "Sounds like Sam's gonna be okay, but we haven't seen him yet."
"That's good," said Bobby, the king of understatement, as if John couldn't read the relief in his voice. "Listen, I called for somethin' else, too. Dean mentioned you're in Baker, and I knew it sounded familiar. I did a hunt there once – found a witch who was summonin' things from the –"
"– Ars Goetia," John finished, more pieces of the puzzle slotting into space.
"Yeah. I torched the guy's stuff and put the fear of Bobby into 'im. He was such a wuss I figured that was the end of it. I mean, I gave him a flesh wound and the guy was whining about how he was gonna die. I didn't think he'd dare try anything again, but now I'm wonderin'."
John smiled grimly. "Guy named Tillman?"
"That's the one. You need a hand? How bad's Sam hurt?"
"He got a good scratch and it got infected. One of those fast spreading things. But he's on the antibiotics he needs," John answered, knowing the other man would worry. He didn't want help, though. He was looking forward to meeting up with this Tillman. He didn't castigate Bobby for letting the guy go. He could hear the guilt in Bobby's voice, and even if he wanted to be angry with him, he knew witches were tricky to deal with because they were human. You didn't want to kill them if you didn't have to, and it was rarely possible to convince the authorities that they'd done something wrong. John didn't really blame the other Hunter because this decision was coming back to bite them in the ass. No, he blamed the witch. "You don't have to come. I'll get him." He hung up, nodding to himself as he loaded up on anything that looked decent from the vending machine. He hurried back to the room and left everything with Dean.
"Dean, you stay here and make sure your brother's alright. I got a lead to follow up on," he said briskly.
"What?" Dean stood and stared at him in surprise. "You're leaving?"
"There's nothing I can do here, and Sam is stable. You're the one he'll want here, anyway. I got a lead on the guy who summoned the stolas." John spoke firmly as he swapped out the phones so he had his own again. He hated leaving, but he didn't want to chance letting a witch get away with hurting Sam.
"Yeah, okay," Dean said slowly. "I'll let you know when I hear more info."
John clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a long look, hoping it conveyed his many different feelings: regret that he had to leave, hunger for vengeance on Sam's behalf, trust that Dean would handle things at the hospital. "I'll be back as soon as I can, son," was all he said, then he hurried out. A piece of his heart stayed behind, but he had gotten used to that pain a long time ago.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Billy's phone rang and he answered it quickly. Most people in town didn't mess with him, but he didn't want anyone hearing the call, finding him, and questioning what he was doing in a back stairway of the hospital.
"It happened just like you said, Billy," Scottie reported. "The big guy came out of the hospital and got in an old black Impala and took off."
"Did he turn east or west?" Billy asked. He didn't expect the Hunter to go to the cops, which would require him to head east, but it was possible that Mousy Mervin was wrong about everything and this was just some ordinary (if intimidating) tourist.
"Uh...left," stammered Scottie. He might be both family and a lifelong pal of Billy's, but he was dumber than a bag of hammers and sometimes Billy wanted to kick him in the face just to see if it would shake a few more brain cells loose. Fortunately, Scottie was an artist with his fists or a knife, a sadist, and utterly loyal to Billy, all of which made him useful. And between the low intellect and a hair-trigger temper, he was very easy to manipulate. Bruce was just enough brighter and less deliberately cruel to be a little harder to deal with, but he was also bigger and stronger, and just as loyal as Scottie, so it all worked out.
"That's west, dipshit," he muttered. West could mean the Hunter was heading out toward the highway or to whatever motel he was staying in, or some other place Billy hadn't considered. It didn't matter, he supposed, as long as the guy stayed gone. "He took the bait. Wonder what he'll do if he catches good ol' Merv," Billy laughed. "Alright, meet me in the back staircase and try not to let anyone see you."
Soon, all three men were in the staircase together, Bruce having retrieved some items Billy wanted.
"The kid's on the top floor, and in the room way on this end," he reported. "There's hardly anybody up there, so we can get in, piece of cake. Kid'll probably piss himself and tell us whatever we want to know once he sees these babies." Billy caressed the barrel of the Glock that had been one of the things Bruce had fetched. "But if not, you can mess him up a little."
Scottie grinned and Bruce nodded. "If they did send our monster, uh, away, he can tell us how to get it back, right?" asked the latter. He'd been the most disappointed when they didn't find their acquisition right away. He had grand plans for it, all of which ended with him incredibly rich and surrounded by beautiful women trying to curry his favor. "And you're sure about where he is?"
"Yeah, he can and will tell us how to get it back," Billy snapped. He hated being questioned. "And, yes. I got a look at the hospital computer. Stupid broad had no idea." Tracy, who worked the desk during the day, had had a crush on Billy since high school. Distracting her had been ridiculously easy, and good for his ego, too. His bad mood passed like a breeze as he switched his thoughts to what was to come. Violence and intimidation always cheered him up. "Let's go."
They made their way all the way up to the top, seventh floor of the hospital. The hospital was never at capacity, and the entire sixth floor was empty of patients, the separation designed to help keep the most contagious far away from everyone else. There couldn't be more than a handful of people up there, and nobody would wander in by accident, which would make things easier.
They reached their destination fairly quickly, and Billy opened the door just enough to peek out. The hallway was nearly deserted. The only person in sight, a middle-aged woman wearing scrubs, was near the far end of the hall. As Billy watched, she stepped into a patient room. He gestured toward his crew and led them into room 707, across from the empty nurses' desk. He couldn't help but smile at what they found, because scaring people was one of his favorite pasttimes.. A teenager lay sleeping on the bed, an IV in each arm. His right leg was propped up. He looked young and pale and helpless.
Bruce pulled the room door shut and locked it as Scottie and Billy took up positions on each side of the bed, guns in clear sight. Billy grinned and lazily pointed his weapon at the kid as the latter jerked awake at the sound of the door lock turning.
"Mornin'," Billy drawled. "We need to talk, Sam."
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AN: Is that...a cliffie? And are you really surprised?
lovespnsam: Oh, thank you! What a lovely thing to say! I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
sfaulkenberry: Aw, gracias! I love to write, so I'm afraid my prolificness (prolificicity? proliferation? lol) is mostly selfish. I'm just grateful that people read what I put out there. Even when I write about a giant owl-thing. Why am I not surprised that you immediately knew the calf was going to be an issue? Glad you liked Sam and John in unison – I'm sure they were both very surprised, since neither seemed to realize how alike they could be.
Timelady66: Ooh, you're right! Crossbows...hmmm...plot bunnies flying every direction. In fact, you make me want to write a fic with the three guys hunting together since I already separated them. And yes, I have a plot idea for that already. I can't help myself. You are so sweet, by the way.
bagelcat1: The queen of great whumpage? Awesome! I'll take it! So happy you're reading and that you like Teenchesters. Good call on the calf injury being more than it seemed. Naturally, nothing ever is as easy for the Winchesters as the hunt initially seemed.
Jenjoremy: Right? Sam should know better than to even think something like 'that was easy.' I have been reunited with lappy the laptop (sometimes randomly called Dr. Bunsen Honeydew) despite how much it frustrates me at times. Makes me a lot less crabby too! Sorry for already separating all the Winchesters, but I already have an idea for a hunt with all three working together percolating in my brain, thanks to you and another reader who said how much you like the three working together.
muffinroo: I adore preseries too! I watched the pilot to inspire myself to write young Winchesters. LOL about a story where technology betrays Sam. (Oh, man. So many plot bunnies. Y'all need to stop having such good ideas!) You're right on about Winchester luck...hehe.
Christine: You're right on, naturally! Of course it couldn't be a simple injury, right? And no hunt could go so well. hehe
Jane: Thank you! I hope you're doing well and healing fast. I'm sure the hand makes it tough to type, and we all know how life can get in the way. I'm so happy you liked the end of the last story. Often the ends of the stories are my favorite parts because that's where you find the most schmoop. You're right about Sam's injury...it's never simple, is it? Glad you like preseries, too. I used to worry that I wrote early season and preseries too much, but the positive feedback made me feel better about it. Everything is pretty much back to normal in my life now, thank you. It's nice to be writing on my familiar laptop, and so so so much faster than what I was dealing with.
Trucklady53: I love to find little known monsters and cryptids! I didn't make up the stolas, though I made it an infernal creature instead of a demon. I'm so glad you liked it. Definitely seeing some of the consequences of the injury Sam got. And Sam's in the hospital getting good care but...
Guest: Thank you!
Colby's girl: Right? They really should know better by now. I try to show different sides of John – I think he's a very complicated character. I appreciate your kind words.
Kathy: That scene was great fun to write and imagine – Sam and John being dragged behind the owl thing and Dean getting to take it out. It's so fun to try to think of how Dean would mangle certain words. I literally repeat them to myself out loud until I think of something. I'm so happy to have you reading and know that you love youngchesters!
Chiiva: A hunt can't ever just be done and easy, right? It was kind of fun to start right in the middle of things. And, yeah, I'm much meaner to Sam than anyone else, though I'm not ruling out whumpage for anyone else.
Guest: Thanks! I hope you keep liking it!
GrayWolf84: That's because you are very smart! If I were still cranky, hearing from you would have fixed it. Thank you so much for dropping such a lovely comment. Happy birthday! Even though I'm late saying it, I hope it was fabulous. Life is very copacetic now and order has been restored. LOL. It's always nice to have people ask how you're doing. Writing is my happy place and I'm glad to be back at it.
Natylop: I would love to thank you in Spanish, but my knowledge of it is sorely lacking. :-) I tried very hard to get the gist of your words without looking them up, but I got stuck in the middle and had to cheat with Google translate. I'm thrilled to get your comment and am so grateful for your very kind words. Thank you!
stedan: Thank you for reading and sorry to hear that life's been so challenging! That sounds like so so much work. Yup, another weirdo monster for my collection. It is so much fun to find new and strange cryptids and legends I'd never heard of. (I also take ideas for monsters that I've never written about!) I'm so glad you liked the way it started. And here's yet another cliffie.