Dean Winchester wanted to howl as Sam's blade pierced his shoulder, impaling him to his own car's trunk, but somehow, he didn't. Whether it was defiance and sheer willpower, or shock, even he wasn't really sure. He had fully expected Garland to finish him in one blow, why he hadn't remained a mystery- not that that particular mystery was high in his priorities right now.
The only thing on Dean's mind was then pain in his shoulder, and the garish sensation of metal rubbing on flesh and sinew.
Garland smirked at the ghost hunter's obvious discomfort. "Don't worry, just as soon as I've prepared a few things, you'll meet your maker." He grinned again. "Or maybe not…"
Dean watched helplessly as the mechanic sauntered to one of the nearby scrap cars and opened the trunk. He began tugging out sections of wood, and a cloth bag stained with old blood. Once he had all the items, he began to lock the wooden pieces together until a shape began to form- an altar.
Dean looked away and winced, gritting his teeth as he tried to pull the knife from his body with his good hand, and failing. The weapon was embedded into the Impala's metal and wasn't about to budge. "Let Sam tell me this thing is ancient and rotten again and I'll…" He yanked again, trying to use anger to give him more strength, but the pain was just too much.
He remained pinned to the trunk, panting, and time was running out.
"Dean!" The muffled sound of his brother's voice filled his ears, and Dean thought he was already hallucinating from shock. "What the…"
"Dean!" The yelp came again, this time accompanied by a banging on the trunk under his body. Dean felt the pressure of Sam's thumps through the metal.
"Dude, calm down already." Dean gathered himself and tried to sound a lot healthier than he was feeling. "I need you to find my penlight and then whack on the thing sticking thru the trunk with my tire iron. Okay?"
There was silence. Dean wasn't even sure if Sam's voice had been real, but then as he watched Garland begin to paint the devil's symbols on the ground, a jolt from below almost made him pass out. The knife in his shoulder jarred but didn't totally release from the Chevy's frame. If he could have rolled over, Dean felt sure he would have been sick, but right now he couldn't afford that, or he might choke.
Garland kept his back to the car, chanting now as he prepared the items for his ritual sacrifices. Dean gulped. It was as if Garland knew what they were doing, and knew their escape would fail.
"Again Sam…" Dean croaked out the words, dreading the blow that would come next. He felt hot, was that pain, fever, shock?
Dean closed his eyes and felt his teeth grind on one another he was clenching them so hard. Then, it came again. The breeze that was definitely ethereal in its source. He sensed the blade in his shoulder move slightly, but not from Sam's blow- at least not his brother Sam.
Daring to look, Dean's eyes fluttered open, and standing above him, hands clasped around the knife, was Samantha. She had physical form again now, just like the night they had given her a ride. "Sammy?" The name came out a whisper.
Sammy didn't acknowledge his words. She didn't even look straight at the man she was about to rescue. Instead, her features contorted in temper as she peered longingly, hatefully at Garland. She wanted to kill him, or worse, but she couldn't leave Dean. Her time on earth had been granted for one thing, and revenge wasn't an option.
Dean groaned as somehow, the spirit of a young girl managed to tug out the blade which he and Sam had not been able to remove. As the cool steel exited his body, Sammy vanished, taking the hunting knife with her.
Dean let his good hand slide over the entry wound as he slumped from the trunk down to the floor. He gasped a few lungsful of air and composed himself. He'd been injured before and still dealt with an evil spirit, and he was going to have to do it again. First though, he had to get the Impala's keys out of his pocket and free Sam.
Shaking, he forced a hand in to his jeans pocket and pulled out the fob. It jangled annoyingly in his fumbling grasp, and he feared Garland would hear it, but still, Dean managed to force it into the trunk lock.
The trunk popped with a thump as its hinges jerked backwards, and Sam flew out like a raging bull. He knew Dean had been hurt, and the perpetrator was close by. Now, that perpetrator was going to pay.
Garland turned, amazed that either of his quarry had been able to free themselves. It shouldn't have happened, not according to the master's teachings. Something crossed his mind that there had been otherworldly intervention, but for now that was of no consequence. The Winchesters were an annoyance that would have made a good sacrifice, but the real thing he wanted was much more important. Nothing could be risked for that.
As Sam barrelled towards him, Garland decided to turn tail and run. That way, he would still be able to make the ultimate killing in a few hours time. "It would have been nice to have stuck around and sparred with you, but…Peggy won't wait all day…"
Sam reached out a hand, daring to lunge at Garland without even a weapon. However, his fingers slid through the killer like pushing a hand into thick oil. Garland laughed and then vanished in a fit of insane laughter. It was like he had been 'beamed up' on some Sci Fi show, except this wasn't fiction, it was ghoulish reality.
Sam gaped. Of all the things he had encountered, Garland was unique. He shook of the thought and raced back to the Impala at full throttle. Dean was more important right now than some spook freak.
"Dean!"
"Gee, Dude, thanks for finally remembering me!" Dean pushed up on one arm, despite his brother's protestations that he should remain where he was. "Quit, flapping and give me a hand."
Sam did as he was told, helping to prop Dean precariously on the Chevy's hood. Then he teased back his brother's shirt to view the damage. "Jeez, you're still bleeding. We should…"
"We should get my gear back in the trunk and find out who Peggy Lee is before it's too late." Dean raised a brow and then pointed to all their ghost hunting garb littering the floor.
"You know the name? How?" While Sam waited for his brother's reply, he began tossing items back into the open trunk until he found what he was looking for. Being a hunter tended to be a dangerous job, so they always carried a few first aid items- just in case.
"Sammy mentioned the name twice back in the junkyard." Dean winced as Sam pressed gauze over the knife wound front at back. "Argh, this is the last time you get to play nurse," he cursed appreciatively.
Sam continued unabashed. "You've seen her again?"
Dean nodded, exhaling sharply as Sam finished his prodding. "Who do you think saved my ass? Not you, trunk boy." He tugged his shirt back over his shoulder and tentatively eased himself into the Impala's passenger seat. "Sammy said this Peggy Lee was the catalyst. The first. What I don't get is, if she was the first victim, how the heck can he kill this babe again?"
Sam thought about it as he picked up several different sized wooden crosses and four boxes of rock salt-filled shells. "Local library visit?" His brow furrowed questioningly. "Once you've seen someone about that shoulder," he added forcefully.
Dean smirked, shook his head, and pulled the Impala's door closed with a painful sounding grunt. "No time for either, but I'm betting I know someone who can help us." He tossed the car's keys through the already open window and Sam caught them. "Get your sorry behind the wheel before I change my mind and drive one handed…AND with rock music…"
Sam rolled his eyes. Even hurt, Dean was the perfect pain in the ass brother he loved so much. He was like a cowboy – heck, outlaw even from pioneering days, riding across country doing what he did best. Nobody beat him at his job, and right now, that job might save a girl's life.
Sam pulled the Impala up back in their motel's small lot and looked at his rather pallid looking brother expectantly. "Are you sure this is the place to be searching for answers right now?"
Dean nodded and grimaced as he tugged himself out of the car. His shoulder was throbbing, but he wasn't about to admit that to Sam. "The old guy who owns this place seemed pretty knowledgeable about the folks around here last night. I'm thinking he might have heard of this 'Peggy Lee.' He's our nearest and best shot."
Sam noted Dean was struggling to stand straight, but he didn't mention it. "If this doesn't work out, we're getting your shoulder looked at before we do anything else." He asserted.
Dean shot a glance back that said 'yeah right, I think not' and then carried on into the dusty office area. He squirmed as he saw the person sitting behind the counter was not the man from the night before.
"Can I help you boys?" The woman looked about the same age as the old guy, but her eyes were sharper.
"We were hoping to speak to the guy who was on duty last night." Sam leaned on the old brown wooden counter and gave the woman his best 'prince charming' smile.
"That would be Herb, my husband. I'm Loretta," She explained. "Herb's sleeping right now. Something wrong with your room?" Her eyes narrowed as if she'd heard plenty of complaints before and was ready for more should they be sent her way.
"No ma'am," Dean turned on his wily charms, cradling his arm, while still managing to appear suave. "Herb, that is, your husband, helped us find someone last night. We were kinda hoping he could do the same again."
Loretta relaxed somewhat. "There's not many people around here I don't know. Been living in these parts too long. Who ya looking for?"
"Do you know anyone named Peggy Lee?" Sam held his breath as he waited for a reply.
Loretta didn't even have to think about it. She crossed her arms and nodded sadly. "Do I! That name won't ever be forgotten in this town. Peggy and I used to work together at the local hospital back in the sixties. Peggy was a great nurse and she loved the kids she tended to…"
"So, you and Peggy were nurses?" Sam liked that idea. Maybe the old woman could look at Dean's shoulder. "What happened?" He urged more from the bristly old woman.
"Nah, I was no nurse. I was too dumb for that job. I was just a cleaner there. Peggy, though, she was so pretty she could have had any guy in town- even the rich ones. She didn't even need to work."
Dean wobbled a little and grabbed the counter. "Look, can we just get to the important part? Like what happened to Peggy?"
Loretta huffed. "Sonny, you should sit your butt down before you fall on it. Then maybe I'll tell you." She indicated to a scruffy old chair in the corner. The padded area was torn and the sponge was hanging out, but it felt like heaven as Dean did as he was told for once and sat on it. Satisfied, Loretta continued. "Peggy was killed way back in the sixties. You see, she got involved with a guy by the name of Walt Crenshaw. I told her he was a no-gooder but she wouldn't listen."
Sam bit his lip. It was weird, just like they thought. If Peggy Lee was dead, then why was the spirit inside Garland hell bent on killing her again? Not that you could kill a dead person anyway- well, medically speaking at least.
Loretta didn't spot his bemused look and carried on with her narrative. "Walt was besotted with Peggy, wouldn't let her out of his sight. One day while he was working on a car up at his old garage a customer mentioned they'd seen Peggy with another guy. Walt went plum crazy and went into town with a shotgun. Turns out, the guy was Peggy's cousin from Iowa. Peggy was so angry with how Walt behaved, she left him. About a year later, she married someone else, and Walt never got over it."
"But you said Peggy died?" Sam exhaled.
"That's right. Peggy married a local cop named Johnson. They had a kid together and were happy as could be. Walt couldn't stand that. One day he took that old shotgun out again and killed Johnson and Peggy with one pull of the trigger. The cops found him hanging from the rafters of that ol place of his about two hours later. Course, that was all back in early 67…"
Sam started suddenly at the date. It was the date on the calendar back at the shack in the desert. "Walt's place, was it just off the highway? Is it still there?"
Loretta nodded and frowned at the boy's questions. "Sure is. In fact, Pete Garland one of the mechanics down at our local garage was thinking of buying it and starting up his own business. He was the first to visit that place since the cops after Walt killed himself there. Must have been derelict for more than thirty years…"
Dean scowled. It was all fitting together. Walt had died in the shack all those years ago, and the first person he'd had the opportunity to possess since had been Pete Garland. "This may seem like a dumb ass question, but the girls that have been killed out on the highway recently; did they look anything like your friend Peggy?"
Loretta licked her lips and both brothers noticed her aged hands had begun to shake. "Ye—ss, they did a little, but …"
Dean looked to his brother, perspiration forming on his brow as he took in the pain from his knife wound without showing it. "He's in Garland, and he's killing girls who look like Peggy. So, who the heck is next?"
Sam paced to the door and back, glancing every few seconds through the grimy window and then to his injured brother. "We're missing something here…" he pinched his nose and then looked straight back at their host. "You said Peggy Lee had a child? You never said if Walt killed the baby too?"
Loretta wasn't really following what the Winchesters were discussing. In fact, she suspected they might just be a pair of loonies. Still, she could answer their question. "Heck no, the kid lived. Peggy may not have lived to see it, but she had a lovely son. Grew up to be a fine member of the community too."
Sam let out a breath. He'd hoped Peggy had had a daughter. Then maybe it would have all hinged on her, the only living relative. "Now what?" He asked Dean dejectedly.
Dean stood from his perch on the chair and faced Loretta. He never gave up on a hunt. "Peggy's son would be about forty now, right? And he had at least one kid, didn't he?"
Before Loretta could respond, the old door creaked open as its hinges were forced back with a quick jarring motion. It was Herb, and he appeared flustered. "Honey, have you heard the news?" His voice raised into a high pitch as he scurried behind the counter.
Loretta huffed. "How in tarnation am I supposed to hear anything while I'm tending the counter? And weren't you supposed to be in bed, not watching TV?"
Herb ignored his wife and shot the two Winchester boys a bemused glance. "There's some kind of hostage thing going down at the hospital! It's on every dang channel, even the radio. Why this town hasn't seen anything this big since…" His voice trailed, but Dean easily finished the sentence for him.
"Since Peggy Lee got shot back in the sixties?" He raised a brow as Herb nodded, amazed that the newcomer knew so much about their town's history. Dean whirled to face Sam. "C'mon, cowboy, I think we just found Garland."
Sam nodded dolefully as he scooted out the door after Dean. "The question is, has Garland found his next victim already?"
"I don't know Sammy, but we're about to find out!" Dean hopped behind the wheel of the Impala, despite his injured shoulder. If they were going to hit the gas, then he was doing the driving. Sam tossed over the keys, knowing his brother only too well.
Within a second, the Chevy was kicking up a sand cloud as it churned up the desert floor with the raw power of it's bored out engine.
Dean slowed the Impala only when he spotted the police roadblocks surrounding the rather stylish town hospital. It was a much bigger place than he had imagined, and so was the police presence cordoning it off.
He slipped the Chevy onto a side road and killed the ignition, looking over at his brother for inspiration. "I think it's time we pulled out the ID's."
Sam opened up the glove box and pulled out their stash, but then paused, frowning. "How the heck are we going to masquerade as anyone in such a small town as this? I just don't think they'll buy it." He gestured out of the window. "The local sheriff will probably know everyone of his crew personally, and I doubt the feds would be here yet."
Dean pulled a face, and Sam wasn't sure if it was from the pain in his shoulder, or that he knew his brother was right. Eventually, he answered. "Okay, so we go on over and casually ask a few questions from the folks in the crowds. Find out what Garland is up to and what the cops are doing about it. Somehow, we gotta get in that building though, Sammy."
Sam agreed. "Want to wait here while I go check things out?" He was concerned about Dean's shoulder, but he didn't come right on out and admit it.
Dean shook his head, reading his brother's thoughts. "I'm not an invalid, Sammy. It's just a scratch." To prove it, he climbed from the Impala and headed towards the throngs of onlookers. Sam rolled his eyes and followed. It was going to be a long day, and Dean was at his most stubborn.
Dean milled among the locals, being careful not to arouse their attention, but still managing to get close enough to hear their conversations. Apparently, Garland had walked into the hospital without saying a word, and had entered the West wing about thirty minutes ago. People who had been evacuated from the hospital were saying he had pulled a shotgun and was asking for a certain nurse. At this point, no one recalled the name he had asked for, but one thing was certain. In Garland's mind, he was going to kill Peggy Lee all over again.
Something tugged on Dean's jacket and he turned to see Sam was back. "No way are we getting into the hospital the easy way," he offered dejectedly. "I just overheard a conversation with the cop in charge over there." He pointed to a man of about forty who was giving out orders to the head of the police SWAT team. "They've locked the place down tight. Anyone who can be moved has been transferred to another hospital, and only emergencies that can't make it to the next town are being allowed through into the ER. We need a Star Trek transporter to get into that place right now!"
Dean inhaled. Garland had to be stopped, and no police marksman was going to cut it. The cops just didn't know what they were dealing with. He let a hand slip under his jacket and rubbed at his shoulder without even realizing it. When his hand came away bloody he grinned roguishly.
Sam noted his brother's expression, but not the blood. "Why do I get the feeling you still think we can do this?" It wasn't really a question. He knew Dean too well for that. They were about to finish the hunt, he just didn't know how yet.
Dean pointed past the crowds to an ambulance, parked but with its lights still whirling in a kaleidoscope of color. "Sammy," he grinned, "You're about to change your profession.
Detective Sergeant Frank Johnson was not a happy man. He had about twenty minutes to resolve the situation with Garland before his superior arrived and pulled him off the case. Firstly, he didn't have enough seniority to be in charge of something this big- even though he definitely had the experience, but that wasn't the main reason why he was about to get pulled. He grimaced, thinking of what might be transpiring inside.
The cop had the thought of going on inside himself and trying to reason with Garland, but that thought was cut short by a commotion just beyond the yellow police tape that cordoned off where he now stood.
Johnson turned to see a young man arguing with a street cop guarding the area. He was clearly hurt, and wanted Johnson's attention. The detective raised a hand. "Let him on through…"
Dean inhaled. So far, so good. Heck, and I'm not even having to act out half of this…He kept a hand pressed over his shoulder, making sure the cop saw him do it. "I need to speak to someone…someone in charge." He slurred his words on purpose and swayed on his feet just a little as he got closer to the cop. "I know about the guy inside…"
Johnson looked Dean over. The kid looked a mess. "We should sit you down. Then you can talk all you want about Garland. Believe me, I'll be all ears." The cop motioned towards the front seat of an unmarked police cruiser, but Dean had no intention of getting that far.
"No time…" Dean let himself fall forward and managed to make his stumble appear genuine. Johnson tried desperately to catch him, but the move came too late and Dean soon found he was eating dirt. Perfect. Now I let Sam do the work…
Johnson quickly kneeled and noted the young man was pretty much out cold. It looked like he was bleeding quite badly from a gash to his shoulder, and the cop guessed quite correctly that it was Garland's handy work. He glanced across to where an emergency ambulance had been standing by in case of casualties. "Hey, I need some help over here!" Johnson yelled at one of his subordinates, who soon returned with an E.M.T. At least, that was what Johnson thought the young man was.
Sam gulped as he ran back with the cop. Of all the people he'd had to impersonate, a medic had never been one. If anyone asked him too many questions, things could get messy. It had been bad enough hijacking the two real EMT's and tying them up in the Impala, but now he had to get this cop to believe every word he said.
As he jogged towards Dean and Johnson, Sam felt a lump form in his throat. Dean looked pallid, almost grey even, and that was for real. Just how much of this is he faking? The young ghost hunter frowned. Dean really did need treatment. Pulling away his brother's jacket to take a look at the wound only forced the thoughts home even further.
"I need to talk to this guy. He might have information about our whacko inside." Johnson leaned close and was watching Sam's every move. "Do we need to get him to the county hospital, or can you fix him up enough to talk too?"
Now Sam had to play his hand. If it worked out, Dean's plan would have been a winner, and they'd be inside within minutes. "There's no time to get him to County, he's lost too much blood. We need to get him inside right now." Sam hoped he sounded sincere enough.
Johnson frowned. "Are you sure? I can't risk peoples' lives by taking them inside unless it's absolutely necessary." When Sam nodded, the cops asked, "Just where the hell is your partner anyway?"
Sam grimaced. "He um, went to take a leak. I don't know why he isn't back yet." Thinking quickly he added, "Can you get somebody give me a hand to get him inside?" It sounded better than trying to do it on his own, but once they got in the hospital, they were going to have to ditch the helper.
Johnson shouted the cop back who'd brought Sam through the yellow tape earlier. "I want this guy right back out once you've got the injured kid inside. The least civilians in that building, the better!"
The cop nodded, and Sam sighed. They'd found their way in. Now they had to get rid of the cop once they got through the ER doors…
Tbc...