Chapter Six
When Sam returned to the hospital room, he was immediately concerned by the crestfallen look on his brother's face. Dean was already up and about, which actually didn't surprise Sam all that much. His brother had a tendency to downplay his injuries, so much in fact that there were times when Sam and their father hadn't even known he was hurt until a few days later. It had always enraged Sam when Dean did that. Not only had he been angry with Dean, but also with himself and with their father for not seeing it sooner. It was one of Dean's many quirks that Sam absolutely hated. He promised himself he wasn't going to let that happen this time. He would watch Dean closely to make sure his brother wasn't pushing himself.
So the fact that Dean looked as if someone had just run over the family cat didn't sit very well with Sam. Dean was dressed in a long sleeve shirt and jeans. The same ones he had been wearing when he'd been brought in. The bandage taped to the side of his head looked fresh. Sam could see the beginnings of a wrap around Dean's wrist. In his hands, he held his leather jacket. Sam eyed it and immediately knew the reason his brother looked so defeated. Sam was relieved, he'd expected something worse.
"Hey," Sam announced his presence. Dean looked up briefly at him and Sam nearly chuckled at the dejected look in Dean's eyes. "Everything all right?" Sam played the part of the oblivious observer.
Dean held up his jacket and Sam confirmed what he had originally thought. Blood stained most of the left side of the jacket. Blood that would not come out. "Think chicks dig the bloody murderer look?" Dean asked, his voice lacking the normal cheeriness. Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's so called misfortune.
"The world will never know," Sam joked, garnering a cross glare from his brother. Sam just grinned and reached for the shopping bag he held in one hand. He withdrew the purchase he'd made just minutes earlier and tossed it at Dean, who caught it awkwardly in one hand. "Santa came early."
Dean's face immediately lit up. Sam had managed to get the driver of the hospital van to stop by a clothing store on the way. He'd picked up some winter clothing and, surprisingly, they had carried a leather winter coat that had just screamed out to Sam as being in Dean's style. Apparently, the screaming had been right because Dean was practically beaming. His eyes scanned the coat, taking in the look and the pockets and everything about it. Then, he grinned and looked up at Sam. "When did you ever believe in Santa?" Dean chided.
Snorting, Sam walked over and took the bloody coat from Dean's hand, watching as his brother, still somewhat painfully, put his new coat on. When it fit him just right, Sam gave himself a silent hoorah and watched his brother appraise himself. "I didn't," he answered honestly. "Dad wouldn't let me."
It was Dean's turn to snort. He gather what little stuff he'd come in with and shoved it into his pockets. Then he gave Sam an almost sad look, one which Sam didn't quite understand. "Yeah, he didn't want to lie to you. He figured when you found out Santa wasn't real, you'd stop believing in everything else too." Sam watched his brother reminisce for a moment. He couldn't figure out what was going through Dean's mind, but he assumed it was something to do with their childhood Christmas's. Unlike himself, Dean had experienced what a normal child's Christmas was like. He'd known what it was like to set out cookies for Santa and to try and stay up late, hoping to see the big man himself come down the chimney. Sam couldn't imagine what the first Christmas without their mother had been like. When John Winchester had given up on traditions. He wondered how he had broke the news to Dean that Santa wasn't real. Sam wouldn't ask, but he thought he knew how his father would have done it: with a drink in his hand and an angry voice. Damn him.
"How's my car?" Dean asked the question tenderly, as though he were afraid of the answer. "And whose working on it? It better not be some back town hick with shit for brains."
Sam chuckled. "No, it's not. His name is Earl and he seemed to recognize the prestige of a '67 Chevy Impala and said he'd be extra careful." Sam smiled at the look of scrutiny Dean was flashing his way. "It should be done in a week."
"A week?" Dean asked, eyes widening. "Oh man. We've never been apart that long."
Sam laughed outright at that. He clapped his brother lightly on the shoulder, still aware that Dean was sporting some pretty nasty bruises. "Don't worry, she's in good hands." Dean merely nodded.
"You find anything fun in town?" Dean asked as he started walking out the door. Sam walked next to him, slowing his pace to Dean's leisurely gait. "And when I say fun I mean like burger joints and bars, not libraries and museums or whatever you college geeks find fun these days."
Sam gave him a quick glare before he straightened his shoulders and nodded. "Actually I did," Sam said, sighing as he realized it was time to get down to business. The life of a hunter, never a moment's rest. Sam told Dean all about Kate at the bookstore and then went on to tell him about the old woman and her dog. "She said it, Dean, the same as what was in the phone call."
"So what does that mean?" Dean asked.
"I'm not positive, but if the Mothman is really trying to warn us that something's going to happen, I think it has something to do with that woman. We need to follow her around, find out what she does, watch where she goes." Sam paused as a doctor walked by. The brothers smiled innocently at him.
As soon as the doctor was past, Dean smacked Sam in the chest. "You wanna play stalker?" he asked, eyes widening with humor. "Sammy, I think I'm rubbing off on you."
Sam scowled at his brother and was about to retort when they came to the front desk. Dr. Marksman, the doctor who had been working on Dean, spotted them and intercepted their retreat. "Mr. Winchester," the man smiled, folding his hands over the clipboard he held to his stomach. Dean smiled at the man, though Sam could tell he was still a little leery of the good doctor. Dean and doctors had never gotten along. His brother was just too stubborn to ever listen to the doctors and treating him proved to be a battle in itself. "It's good to see you up and well again," Dr. Marksman smiled.
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Good as new, thanks, Doc."
Dr. Marksman chuckled. "Well I hardly did anything. You've got a remarkably hard head." Sam chuckled at Dean's unflattered look. "Before you go," the doctor held up a finger and turned to the front desk again, searching through some equipment that was scattered among the tables. He found what he was looking for and turned around again, holding out a pill bottle towards Dean. "There's not a pharmacy around here and I heard your car was in for repair. So I had your pain relievers filled right here. This should help with the headache you're no doubt feeling."
Sam turned to look at his brother, wondering if Dean really was that good at hiding his pain. Dean glanced his way before looking back at the doctor and smiling. He took the bottle and said, "Thanks." He shoved them into a pocket without another thought. "I don't think I'll really need them, though."
"Maybe not," the doctor said. "But whether you take those or not, you still have a concussion and you'll be feeling the effects for a few days. It's always good to have them, just in case."
Sam watched his brother half smile at the doctor before nodding and looking his way. "Well, I'm ready to get the hell out of here," he announced, the annoyance obvious in his voice. He turned to leave before Sam could even say anything.
Looking at the doctor, Sam smiled. "Thanks," he said.
"I have a feeling you have your hands full with him," Dr. Marksman grinned.
Sam gave a harsh laugh. "Yeah, but he's not so bad."
Dr. Marksman smiled and nodded. "Good luck to you."
Sam nodded his thanks and jogged to catch up to Dean, who was already at the elevator. They stood in silence for a moment, Sam trying to think of a way to approach the idea of telling his brother that he had to take it easy and Dean's thoughts, no doubt, already going over the hunt in his head. Eventually, it was Dean who broke the silence and spoke first.
"So, we pull a Max Cady and then what? Just wait for the Mothman to jump up behind us? That doesn't really sound like a plan, Sam." Dean asked as the elevator door opened.
The two stepped in and Sam frowned at his brother. "Max Cady?"
Dean turned and gave his brother the look that always made Sam remember that he was the younger brother. Sam may have been more book smart, but Dean was always able to pull strange facts out of some corner of his mind. "Yeah," he said and frowned. "Dude, don't tell me you've never seen Cape Fear." At the blank look on Sam's face, Dean continued. "You know, Robert De Niro, the whole creepy stalker part? Come on…"
"Um, no," Sam admitted. "Can't say that I have."
Dean shook his head. "Man, and you call yourself smart."
"Dean," Sam said calmly. "Knowing movie trivia doesn't make you smart."
The doors to the elevator opened and the two stepped out. Sam saw the hospital van waiting for them and he started walking towards it, Dean following closely behind, still dumbfounded that his brother had missed seeing on the best stalker movies of all time. "No," Dean agreed. "But it does help you assimilate with your fellow Americans."
"Assimilate?" Sam smirked. "Wow, Dean, I'm impressed. Expanding your vocabulary?"
"Shut up," Dean snapped. Sam just laughed. They climbed into the van and headed back into town.
The ride was mostly quiet. They couldn't really talk about their plans with the driver listening and Sam had noticed that as soon as the van started moving, Dean had grown quiet, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Sam could only guess what a car ride was doing for his headache. He kept quiet, allowing Dean to concentrate on keeping the headache at bay and his stomach from revolting. He was almost tempted to suggest that Dean take one of those pain relievers, but he knew where that would get them: nowhere. Sam only hoped that if Dean was really hurting, he'd ignore his stubborn pride for a moment and pop one of those pills.
When they returned to the hotel, Sam thanked the driver and gave him a tip, to which the man seemed eternally grateful. He turned to find Dean leaning against one of the columns. "Which house is hers?" Dean asked.
Sam turned to look across the street and trying to be discrete, he pointed at the house in the middle. "The one with the green shutters," he told Dean. "I don't even know if she's still home. I didn't see a car earlier."
"Let's go over and find out," Dean said, pulling his coat in tighter around him as the wind picked up a bit.
"How?" Sam asked.
"Well, we could do what everyone else does and knock on the door," Dean suggested sarcastically.
Sam shot a glare his way before shaking his head. "No, I've already tried to talk to her. I think we'd spook her if I went back over there again." Sam turned to look at Dean and knew what he was thinking. He stopped that thought before his brother could voice it. "And I don't think a guy with half his face black and blue would make her comfortable either."
Dean looked frustrated. He suddenly let out an angry sigh. "What are we even expecting to get out of her? Sammy, we don't even know what it means. We're in the dark here."
"I know," Sam calmed him. "But until we figure it out, we can't risk losing her. We could miss something important and then lose our chance at stopping whatever it is that's going to happen."
"Well we don't know anything, do we?" Dean said hotly. Sam wanted to say something that would calm his brother down, but the truth was he couldn't. It was true. They really didn't know anything about what they were dealing with. What did they have to work with? A phone call and two sighting of the creature that they suspect is the Mothman. That gave them nothing.
Dean sighed and turned his head to face Sam, though his eyes were closed. Sam frowned. Dean looked utterly exhausted. Sam knew his brother had been pushing himself to recover, but no amount of will could cover the fact that Dean was still hurt. Sam looked back to the house. "Look, it's cold out and you smell like disinfectant," Sam said, smiling at the scowl Dean sent his way. "Why don't we go inside so you can shower. Then you can take a nap and go talk to the Sheriff or someone when you're less tired. I'll stay and watch the house."
For a moment, Dean just stood there staring at him and Sam wondered if he'd said something wrong. But finally, Dean grinned and said, "Well look at you," he praised and punched Sam in the arm, a bit harder than an injured person should be able to. "My littler hunter all grown up."
"Shut up," Sam snapped.
"You shut up," Dean sot back and turned to go into the motel room. "And I don't smell like disinfectant. It's a skin cream. Wild yam or something…" Sam chuckled and followed his brother inside.
Settling down into a chair in front of the window, Sam listened to the sound of the shower running. He'd run to the snack machine quickly while Dean had been getting into the shower, never taking his eyes off the house for more than a few seconds. He knew junk food was probably not the best choice of meals, but they didn't really have the time to go find a nice place to eat.
Alone with his thoughts, Sam's brain was in overdrive. He was trying to piece together everything they had so far. The woman had said, "Manheim needs his bone." That was the first sentence in the phone call that hadn't made sense. Sam took out the paper and laid it down on the table next to him. The next sentence after that had been, "Save my baby." He wondered if that's what they were supposed to be looking for next. But he had no clue what it meant. Whose baby were they supposed to save? The Mothman's? He highly doubted that. He thought that maybe it had been talking about the grandchildren that had been with the older woman, but that didn't make much sense either. How was he suppose to save them? Was something going to happen to them? There were so many questions that Sam didn't have answers to and it was frustrating. Forty six people had lost their lives the last time the Mothman had been around. Sam didn't want that to happen again, especially if the Mothman really was just warning them and wanted them to stop it from happening.
In 1967, the tragedy the Mothman had predicted was the collapse of the Silver Bridge. If it was predicting another tragedy, maybe the best place to start would be to figure out where something like the Silver Bridge incident could happen in Fort Sudak. There weren't any bridges that Sam had seen. The town itself was pretty small. One of the buildings could collapse. Or, he thought he'd heard a train earlier, there could be a train wreck. There were just too many possibilities to explore them all. They needed something more. They needed to figure out what that second clue meant.
The shower stopped, bringing Sam out of his thoughts. He heard Dean moving around in the bathroom and then heard him groan. Sam turned his head to the side. "Everything all right in there?" he called.
"I look like Two-Face!" Dean yelled back.
Sam grinned and settled back into the chair. Yep, everything was fine. He stared out the window at the house across the street, willing the old woman to make a move, do something that would help them figure out what it was they were supposed to be doing.
The bathroom door opened and Dean came out in fresh clothes and a scent that more suited him. He'd taken the bandage off and Sam winced at the sight of the wound. Although it was less bloody than the first time he saw it, it still looked horrible. The stitches still looked fresh and the skin was still a bit swollen around the gash. Sam could see the full extent of the bruising on the side of his brother's face and he had to admit, Dean really did look like Two-Face. But he'd never tell him that, at least not right now.
"Did Old Mother Hubbard make her appearance yet?" Dean asked, grabbing a bag of chips Sam had left him on the table.
Sam shook his head. "Not a peep," he sighed.
Dean clucked his tongue and grabbed his coat. "Well, keep watching. I'll head over to the Sheriff's and see if I can dig anything up."
Sam eyed him. "You sure you don't want to take it easy for a bit?"
Dean looked as though he'd just been insulted. "I've been taking it easy all day. I'm ready for action."
Sam smiled. "Well, be careful," he said, which earned him a funny glare. "I mean it. When I mentioned the Mothman to the girl at the bookstore, she froze up. I don't know how well the Sheriff will react to a stranger coming in and asking questions about it."
"I can handle it, Dad," Dean said, making Sam scowl at him. "Call me if anything happens." Then he was out the door. Sam sighed and watched Dean through the window as he disappeared down the street. He resisted the urge to go after him. He knew Dean was fully capable of handling this, he had, after all, been doing it longer than Sam had. But he also had just been released from the hospital. He may not be on top of his game, which had Sam worried. He just hoped Dean would make the right decisions.
It took him a while, but finally Dean found the Sheriff's Department. He stepped inside, shaking the cold out of his system as he was met with the well heated interior. Looking around, he saw that the place wasn't that big. There were two separate jail cells at the back of the room and only four desks at the front. There was a door that lead to another room off to the side, Dean guessed it went to some kind of break/storage room. Only two of the four officers were there at the moment. One of them was looking at him.
"Can I help you son?" the older Sheriff asked. Dean guessed, by the way the man held himself, that he was the boss. He had a typical Sheriff's hat, the tan cowboy wannabe. He wore a brown shirt and black tie with khakis. He was a bit overweight, which didn't surprise Dean as most officers he met were. He tried to appear cold, but Dean could tell that he was far from a mean man. He could tell by the pictures of his children and the nice potted plant on his desk.
"Yeah," Dean said, turning towards him and walking over to the desk. The Sheriff eyed his head and Dean saw him wince. He mentally high-fived himself as he realized he'd gained sympathy points. He stepped up to the desk and took in a breath. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about…weird animals in the area."
The Sheriff eyed him, frowning a bit. He rose his chin a little to look down at Dean. "I ain't a tour guide, son," he said dryly.
"I know," Dean answered, nodding a bit. "It's just that, my brother and I are down here from Stanford, we're students there. And we've been studying the incident that happened in Point Pleasant about forty years ago. Well, we started hearing about some strange things going on down here and decided to come and take a look. And wouldn't you know it, when we're coming into town, I see something in the road and crash my car. My luck, right?" Dean hated playing the upbeat cheery guy, but Sam wasn't here to play the good cop bad cop roles, so he was on his own.
The Sheriff was quiet for a moment before he crossed his arms over his chest. "What's your name?' he asked.
Dean hesitated for a second. They'd used his real name at the hospital, so if he said any other name, it would be cause for suspicion. But did he really want to give his name to a lawman? He was torn for a second before he finally just spit out, "Dean."
"Well, Dean," the Sheriff said. "I can tell you that you and your brother were right. There have been some strange things happening around here." He paused for a second and gave Dean a strange look. "Say, you aren't looking to write a book about all this, are you?"
"Uh," Dean was confused for a second. "Would that be a bad thing?"
"No," the Sheriff shook his head. "Anything to get Fort Sudak a little publicity. Coziest place on earth, you know."
Dean nodded. "Okay," he said.
The Sheriff puffed his chest and hooked his thumbs through his belt. "Well, tell me what you need to know. Anything to help the man whose going to make us famous."
"Uh," Dean said again. "You could start by telling me about the weird things that have been happening."
"Oh," The Sheriff looked around slowly, trying to find a place to start. "There's been so many. Strange lights, strange noises, strange animals, just plain spooky things."
"Spooky things?" Dean asked.
"Oh, all sorts of stuff. Writing on walls, banging in the middle of the night, missing dogs. Those sort of things." The Sheriff nodded towards the right. "Just last night old Ken Poland had something bouncing around on his roof. I went up there myself to try and kill the thing, but there was nothing there. And I trust Ken Poland, he'd never lie about something like that."
Dean leaned forward a bit. "Well, if all this strange stuff is going on, why is this town not in a panic?" he asked.
The Sheriff shrugged and grinned. "Because they know they have Sheriff Wyatt Millard watching out for them. Ain't nothing to fear."
Dean forced a smile. "Uh huh," he nodded. "Could you possibly make me a list of all the people who have seen or heard anything strange?"
"I think I could do that," Sheriff Millard nodded. "It'll take me a while, there's been a lot of 'em."
"That's all right," Dean said. "I can come back and pick it up."
Just as the Sheriff was about to say something, Dean's cell phone rang. He held up a hand, telling the Sheriff to wait a second. Answering the phone he said, "Yeah?"
Sam's voice on the other end sounded excited. Dean soon found out why.
"She's on the move."