Disclaimer: I still don't own either of these Hottie McHots...
Sorry for waiting a couple days to update, I meant to do it sooner but school bit me in the ass so I had to go to the emergency room...anways...Oh yeah, and there is a small amount of swearing in this chappie as things get more intense. Luv you all!
ChapterThree: Bitter Voice of Guilt
Andy Thompson lay in bed. His blond hair was matted and dirty, sticking to the cold sweat that stood out on his pale forehead. A woman sat in a chair by his bedside, rocking back and forth, holding knitting needles tightly in her fingers as though they might be about to try for an escape. Her face was worn and haggard.
It took a lot of strength for Andy to turn and look at the woman with somber eyes. "You don't have to stay, Emily."
"Of course I'm staying," She responded severely, although concern was obvious behind her dark eyes. "I'm not leaving you in a state like this. You can't even get out of bed on your own, let alone eat or shower!"
"You're staying here won't make the difference between life and death."
"How do you know, Mr. Thompson? You've had periods of remission in the last week, and all of them came around when I've been here with you. The sickness may go down again, and then where would you be, if you have sent me home?"
Andy sighed, giving up. He knew he couldn't explain his situation to a maid like Emily Madders, but he wished he at least had someone to speak with. The sickness was obviously unnatural in some way, which had been made apparent up on the summit of Mt. Lafayette. Furthermore, Andy had devised a very primitive way of keeping it in check for short periods of time so that he could study his own diseased body in the lab, poking and prodding himself in the same fashion he used with his lab mice while trying to extract DNA or a virus. However, recently, the illness had grown so debilitating that he'd become bedridden, unable to move without splitting pains in his spinal chord and chest.
Andy wondered vaguely whether or not the others had come out alright yet. He'd heard a young man named Mr. Winchester that several of them, maybe four, had been cruelly unlucky. However, a hope, perhaps a naïve one, persisted in his heart for the others who had been exposed to this new phenomenon, and he would hold onto that hope as long as there were thoughts in his mind. That hope was what told him he couldn't go to the doctors and risk having all his research destroyed by unknowing, clumsy hands, not to mention having this illness spread to countless others.
A soft humming caught Andy's attention, bringing him gently back into his own bedroom within the company of Emily Madders. He eyed her in as playful a way as possible. "Well, if you're going to stay, you may as well make yourself useful. I'd like a cup of coffee."
"Now, Mr. Thompson, I don't think caffeine would do well in your system as of late."
"Emily, just bring me some coffee."
"It's your own digestive system you're attacking"—
"Emily!"
((At the Base of Mt. Lafayette))
Dean staggered off the trail and onto the gravel driveway, heaving breath into his lungs and trying to stay on his feet. Sam was like a dead weight in his arms, which by now felt deadened and useless. Somehow, though, Sam was still clutched tightly to his chest, and this encouraging thought spurred him onward toward the small Moosehead Lodge.
Someone strode briskly out of the lodge's big front doors, carrying a bundle of camping accessories and trying to write on a clipboard at the same time. "Oh, my God!" Roger Gavin exclaimed, spotting the two boys as he paused to check the sun's position. "What the Hell?" He ran to meet them, staring in confusion at the unconscious body of the young police officer he'd just met ontop of Lafayette.
"I need to get him inside," Dean ground out, gritting his teeth and coming to another grinding halt as his knees threatened to give way. "Somewhere there are no people!"
"What's wrong with the boy?" Gavin demanded, dropping the camping gear onto the gravel. "How is he injured?"
"Look, I'll explain it, if you'll just show me a place inside that's empty! Please, I need to get him inside!" Normally, Dean would have cringed at begging anything of a man like Gavin, (or any person, for that matter) but in a crisis, all normal sense of self seems to disappear as the main focus becomes someone other than yourself.
Gavin had finally gotten the point. His small eyes darted back and forth as his mind sifted through thoughts and places, finally coming to rest on the lowest level of Moosehead Lodge. Only employees were permitted in that area, so there wouldn't be a need to worry about people being present—(Whatever the Hell the reason is that he doesn't want anyone else to help, Gavin thought incredulously)—and there were several sofas on which the injured one could be settled.
"I know a place," Gavin said, turning back to Dean. "Give him to me, I can carry him inside."
"No!" Dean said, protectiveness flaring in the wake of Gavin's generosity. "I've got him, ok?"
"At least let me help you carry him."
Dean reluctantly did not object as Gavin grasped Sam's legs and hoisted half of the weight onto himself. They started toward the lodge as quickly as possible, Dean in the rear so that Gavin could lead the way. "Is this place close by?"
"It's right here. It's the lodge's basement, but you wouldn't know it was a basement." Gavin maneuvered Sam so that he could reach for the doorknob of a particularly weathered looking door on the side of the lodge, and he pushed it open. He backed slowly inside.
Dean lurched through the door behind Gavin, clinging onto Sam's shoulders as well as he could. His fingers were slipping. "I'm losing my grip!" He said. "Help me get him to the couch."
The two of them made their way to the sofa and laid Sam down as softly as they could. Dean hesitated a moment before he stood, finding himself staring once more at the torpid face of his brother, and at that moment he felt an unexpected pang of guilt.
He was worried about this job. He wasn't certain about the hike today, and I thought we should go anyway. I wasn't careful enough, and because of it, something's happened to Sammy.
A more welcome (but less truthful) voice materialized in his head, arguing for his own justification. There was no way you could have known you were dealing with such a highly invasive entity! You couldn't have stopped what happened; you had no way of knowing.
But you should have recognized your unprepared situation and put this off until you both felt completely comfortable with it.
The other voice was silent. Dean groaned involuntarily, desperately upset that the accusing voice had won the argument. Damn this job! And everything that comes with it! Send everything to Hell, where it can all rot slowly and painfully! SEND THIS JOB TO HELL!
Dean felt his heartbeat slowly steadying, and he realized he had zoned out for a few moments, staring at Sam. The anger that had burned so strongly only split seconds before began to ebb away, leaving a worse feeling— vulnerable emptiness. Sam's breathing became a soft rhythm in Dean's mind… In…out…in…out… Breathing life-sustaining oxygen into lungs that just wouldn't cooperate… At least the pace of Sam's breathing seemed regular… That thought lodged itself in Dean's psyche, creating a brick wall between hope and guilt's bitter voice.
"So do you want to tell me what you two police officers are doing up here in the middle of nowhere without a cop car and without radios?"
Dean looked up, remembering where he was, and saw the room for the first time. It didn't look like a basement at all—in fact, it reminded him of an ornately furnished living room, complete with a velvety-red carpet and paintings on the walls. He shrugged in response to Gavin's question.
Gavin hunkered down in a chair on the other side of the room, staring intently at the two of them. His eyes raked Dean's ruffled appearance, taking in the dirty jeans and the mud on his knees from where he'd obviously kneeled on the trail. The younger one's face was damp with sweat, but other than that, Gavin could detect no signs of physical injury. It must be under all the clothes, he thought decidedly. He made up his mind to find out. "You agreed you'd tell me what happened. I do have First Aid training, you know. But given the looks of your partner, there, I'd say he needs more than a Band-Aid and some Neosporin. I need to call an ambulance."
"Don't call an ambulance! I just—I have it under control, ok? I'm taking care of him; he shouldn't go to a hospital."
"What the HELL is going on? You sound like a couple of fugitives, running from the law or some crazy horseshit!"
No response. Dean had found it was much easier to sit and stare at Sam's closed eyes than to attempt speech for some hic from the woods, who wanted to bring doctors into this, and probably cops. He still thinks we ARE cops, Dean remembered numbly.
Gavin didn't give up. "I brought you here, I showed you this place. You owe me an explanation, buck. And furthermore, he DOES need an ambulance, despite what you might think, and if you're not going to be the one to call in for one, I will be!"
"Don't even think about it. Just let us be, alright? I need to take care of my brother; I can make him come around. He's alright, he just passed out, if I just stay here with him, he'll wake up." The astringent voice of blame threatened to break through the brick wall. He pushed it back.
"Hey, Officer Harding, I'm talking to you here."
"I don't give a shit!" Dean burst out furiously. "Just get out of here!"
Gavin faltered for a moment, and then stood and made his way over to the door. Just before stepping outside, he turned back, his expression softening. "I want to help you, boy. I don't want to see your partner hurt like that, either."
It took a very long, very thought-filled moment for Dean to make up his mind. Finally, he opened his mouth and spoke. "He's not my partner. He's my brother and neither of us are police officers."
Gavin didn't respond. His expression became unreadable as he walked slowly back over to his chair and lowered himself back into it.
Dean continued, the dam having been breached. "We're investigating something up on Lafayette, something incredibly serious that has put a lot of people in danger, and it's even killed. When I realized what had to be done, I had to lie to you, I had to pretend I was an Officer, or else you wouldn't have listened. All of those people would have been exposed to this thing. And don't ask me what it is, we don't even know yet."
"So… What happened to your brother? And what are your names?"
"Dean Winchester and my little brother is Sam. Honestly, I don't really know what's wrong with him, but I'm damn sure it has something to do with what we're looking into."
"Which is…?"
"I told you, I don't know! It's not your average virus, I can tell you that much…"
An incomprehensible mutter issued from the couch, and both Dean and Gavin sat bolt upright, watching Sam with rapt attention. Dean's heart was thumping so quickly in his chest he thought his ribs might break.
"Give him a little slap to the cheek," Gavin suggested, leaning in so that he could see properly.
Dean steadied his brother's face with one hand, holding him tenderly around the jaw and neck. With his other hand, he delivered a quick cuff to Sam's cheek, and then another. He knew he wouldn't hurt Sam—they'd been in fist fights with each other that rivaled European street fighting in the late 17th Century.
"I think he's coming around," Gavin said with baited breath.
Sam's eyelids quivered. His lips parted slightly. He muttered something again, but the words were unintelligible.
"Sam," Dean said quietly, "Sammy? It's me. Wake up, you're almost there, come on."
"Let him be, he's coming around on his own time."
"Don't tell me how to deal with my brother!"
Sam's eyes opened. He seemed to stare above Gavin and Dean for what seemed like an eternity, fixated blindly on the ceiling. Slowly, his eyes traveled downward and found Dean's own eyes, locking them in something that can only be described by experience.
"Hey, bro."
Dean was incredulous. "Hey, bro? You almost gave me a heart attack, you mindless madman! I almost had a stroke!"
"Sorry."
"No—don't be sorry," Dean said hastily. "I just—I was worried."
Sam noticed the older, bigger man looming above Dean, watching him closely. "Who's he?"
"I'm Roger Gavin."
Dean filled in the missing spaces for Sam, re-accounting the tricky journey they had undergone in order to reach the lodge safely, and explaining the new extent of Gavin's knowledge concerning their identities. Not surprisingly, it didn't take long for Sam to start feeling a bit overwhelmed, seeing as his body felt as weak and shaky as jelly, so he cut his brother off. "Have you gotten a hold of Andy Thompson?"
The question threw Dean a little. He hadn't thought once about contacting Thompson since up on Lafayette's summit, but the reality dawned on him now that they needed to find someone who had more experience than they did. Sam would have to be extremely lucky to have gotten off easy and be well and healthy. Somehow, Dean suspected that 'lucky' was something never to related to either of the Winchester brothers in any context.
"Dean? Did you?"
"No, I didn't, yet. I've been watching over you, I didn't have time."
"You didn't have to watch over me, I wasn't going anywhere, was I?"
"I guess not, but you never know. You always do the sneakiest things behind my back, right when I turn around. How did I know you wouldn't take off for Vegas, win a million bucks, and elope? That would leave me with nothing but muddy jeans and two hotel rooms."
Sam grinned, which brought a welcome feeling of joy into Dean's world, temporarily suppressing the voice of dangerous guilt.
"While you two are having your happy reunion," Gavin said loudly, less than amused, "I'm still waiting for an explanation as to why you were investigating something so sketchy up there in the first place."
"We can't give you that," Dean said. "We don't even have one. Is there a phone in this basement?"
Gavin pointed to it, and Dean grudgingly left Sam's side to cross the room and pick it up.
((Andy Thompson's House))
Andy held the phone in his right hand, squeezing ridiculously hard, but he didn't notice his hand was white from strain. "Are you sure?"
He was sure, the caller said. It was definitely what had gotten the others. What did he know about it?
"Know? Is that a joke, Mr. Winchester? How can anyone possibly know anything about something so phenomenal and supernatural?"
Winchester had found the papers in the med kit within the crashed plane.
"Yes, I did write those, amazingly enough," Andy said quietly. "But they won't do anyone much good. I've figured out there's nothing that'll stop this thing."
On the other end of the line, Dean scowled in frustration. "You're still alive, aren't you, Mr. Thompson? All the others have died."
"I said you can't stop the thing. I didn't say you can't slow it down, which I have managed to do in several steps."
"And if you don't share with me those steps, I will be forced to come to your house myself and make you share," Dean growled, sensing the man's need for secrecy. "You called me this morning, in case you have a problem remembering now. You called me and warned me about what we were facing. That means you care enough to try and help us."
Andy paused, bewilderment crossing his face. His eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to remember having had any such conversation this morning, let alone with this kid.
"Mr. Thompson?"
"You must be mistaken, Winchester. I never called you this morning."
"I don't find that amusing. We seriously need your help, my brother is infected, and I'll be damned before I let that thing that's inside him—or wherever it is—get worse."
"I'm not trying to amuse you. What I'm saying is simple: I did not call you this morning, I do not believe it would be safe to share with you the information I've found, and I wish you the best of luck."
Click. Andy hung up the phone, the smug expression sliding off his face like sap. He examined his pale, trembling fingers, which now had more of a blue tinge to them because of circulation malfunctions.
"I wouldn't be able to explain this to them, anyway," He said quietly to himself. They wouldn't understand the severely strange behavior that this entity seemed to live by. First of all, after absorbing itself into Andy's body, he would have expected it to be there and there alone. However, somehow, the entity had copied itself, or used some other lightning fast form of replication, because there was still enough of it to infect every other hiker on that trip. Not to mention this young Winchester boy, who probably didn't stand a chance.
Review, chummie mc chums! I love getting your awesome reviews, it really makes my day : ) I'll try to have the next chappie up and running as soon as possible. Muah!