Disclaimer: I don't own either one of the Hottie McHots. And I have a new name for them: Hay in a Can. It's 'Hot' in a can mixed with 'Gay' in a can, which makes 'Hay' in a Can! Heh, clever, eh? Like I said before, they're waaaay too hot to be straight. Ah, well... two hot guys at with each other are almost as hot as one of them at it with me... not quite, but almost...
Chapter Six: Examination Commenses
Sam's hands were limp at his sides and his eyes were closed. His head felt like a stone, resting against something soft—but he knew he must be crushing whatever he was lying on, because his skull weighed a million tons. I wonder where Dean is… He thought vaguely. Dean was here a minute ago… We were talking… There was a tantalizing thought that was riding the crest of Sam's brain waves, teasing him and taunting his inability to remember, but Sam couldn't reach out and grab it. It was bad, ominous… like a dark shadow that hovered over what would have otherwise been contented sleep.
My ribs hurt. I should probably wake up now, and find Dean.
His heart beat steadily against his ribs. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Shut up, Sam told it irritably. You're ruining my train of thought.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
In the moment that followed, which seemed to last for longer than the longest eternity, the memories flooded Sam's brain explosively, erupting into his recollection like a seething volcano. Lafayette—the crashed plane—Dean and I—the mist in the air—couldn't breathe—woke up on a couch—the scientist—the 'Parasite of Fire'—I need to find Dean! Why isn't he here? Wait—my eyes are closed! I'm asleep! No, I'm not, I'm unconscious, I'm still passed out! Wake up, Sam, you have to find Dean, he might be infected now, because of you! Wake up! WAKE UP!
With a great effort, Sam pulled himself from his place between awake and asleep. His eyelids flickered open. "Dean?" He croaked as loudly as he could.
Nearby something moved quickly and suddenly Dean's face was inside Sam's field of vision. "Sammy?"
Relief rushed through Sam's senses and he took a deep, shaking breath. "You're ok!"
"Of course I'm ok! Are you ok?"
Sam nodded slowly, pleased to realize circulation was returning slowly to his body as it woke up. His neck muscles felt stiff and frigid, but as he moved them, they began to tingle with the warm blood of life. "I feel like I got run over by a cart horse, though."
"You look like you got run over by a train, little brother."
"Wow, I love how comforting that is to hear."
Dean grinned, unable to contain his joy that Sam was once again awake, and helped him to clumsily maneuver upward into a sitting position. It was only when Sam was seated upright, secured behind a sturdy, black seat belt, that he realized they were no longer in the small backseat of the red Jetta—instead, they were in way back of a vast SUV. There was one person sitting two seats ahead of them, and two others in the front seats. The space between Sam and the front of the vehicle was spacious, reminding Sam uncomfortably of what the inside of a limousine would look like. "Where the Hell are we?" Sam whispered nervously, leaning back a little, farther into the shadows. "Do we know those people up there?"
"Don't worry," Dean assured him. "We're in Tom Hanson's car. Gavin's up there with him, sitting in the passenger seat."
"How did we get into Hanson's car? I thought Hanson lived in Bethel."
"He met us half way here. Said this was too urgent, and it called for immediate assistance from him and him alone. That's a direct quote, by the way. He's driving us somewhere closer than the college is."
"Where?"
"I'm not sure…" Dean looked slightly resentful as he said it. "Hanson said he didn't have time to explain."
"Well, how long was I out this time?"
"Thirty minutes, or so."
Sam was slightly surprised. "That's a lot less time than when it happened on Lafayette! I could be getting better, Dean!"
"No, it's not that." Dean said heavily, and he held up an enormous, clear pack of water upon which droplets had condensed and were dripping steadily. "Hanson told me to put this on your chest and let the water seep out of the little hole for fifteen minutes, so I did."
"What! Why?"
"I guess this thing is repelled by water. I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? The thing is partly made of fire."
"How come I'm not soaking wet, then, if you were water-logging me for fifteen minutes?"
Dean looked up front. "Mr. Hanson, you're better at explaining this than I am." He turned to Sam. "I haven't gotten a chance to talk to this guy yet. I still have to find out what his involvement is in all this."
The man behind the wheel cleared his throat loudly. His voice was crisp and clear, projecting assertively to the way back. "The parasite inside you feeds on heat and warmth. It needs those things to survive. That's why you get that feeling of cold numbness whenever it is attacking your immune system. What it's doing is draining your body of heat and energy for its own survival. It will only need to do this once every three hours, or so. The rest of the time, it will lie dormant along your spinal cord and brain stem."
Sam found the matter of fact way in which Hanson was speaking highly irritating. "So how come I'm still bone dry and I feel like I haven't had water in a couple millennia?"
"If a person was able to discern his body temperature by feeling his forehead with his own wrist, you would know why you're not still wet from the water-pack. You're body is so dehydrated and drained of moisture that your epidermis is at a point at which it will literally absorb moisture in order to keep you alive. One might think that as long as the Parasite of Fire is dormant for three hours between system attacks, one is safe, because one's body is given the chance to rehabilitate. This is not the case—a body can only go so long having its energy and heat depleted. Your body will stop being able to replenish itself if this goes on too long."
"Ok, I think that's enough," Dean said roughly, turning back to Sam. "Don't listen to that kind of talk; it won't do you any good, Sammy."
Sam opened his mouth to answer.
"On the contrary," Hanson interrupted, "It would be better for your brother to face the reality of his situation than it would be for him to remain in the fictional, easy world of 'everything is ok, it will be alright.'"
"Dad, stop it. You don't know what they're going through."
Sam realized there was another person in the car, other than Hanson and Gavin. A young woman was sitting in the seat right behind the passenger's side, speaking severely to Hanson as though she were a mother scolding her children. She had chestnut colored hair that gleamed dully in the faded moonlight, and it was held back with a shiny clip so that it only fell down to her neck.
"Ashley, if you actually understood what is going on here, I might be inclined to consider your opinions."
"I do understand. You forget, I've been spying on your lab work for some time, now."
"I didn't forget, believe me."
In the way back, Sam shot a questioning look at Dean.
"That's Hanson's daughter, Ashley. She's a student at his college," Dean provided in a hushed voice. "One of the reasons I haven't interrogated this scientist guy yet."
Ashley and her father were still arguing, and their voices drifted back to the brothers, who both tuned out the disagreement and focused on the trees rushing past. There is an odd hypnotism that accompanies driving on a star-lit night along a deserted, forest road… Something not quite explainable, but both Dean and Sam knew how it felt. It felt calm. Peaceful. As though for one moment, poised in time, there was no such thing as danger or loss. The moon knew a language that did not include 'death' or 'hurt', and for once, they could hear the soft conversations of the stars…
"Unbuckle your seat belts," Gavin called back to them, startling them both. "We're there."
((Andy Thompson's Bedroom))
Andy struggled for his last breaths, feeling the sweet, fresh air as it swirled inside his aching lungs, and letting it rattle inside him for as long as was physically possible. He knew he was dying. His heart beat was slowing, so as to preserve oxygen, and his toes and fingers were quickly numbing. His body was saving the warm blood for his vital organs, because not enough of it was being pumped to supply his entire body.
I'm not going to call anyone, Andy thought stubbornly. It's too late, anyway. I've come this far without telling… I won't die a failure. The secret will die with me, and so will everyone that has been infected.
The phone rang. It was a shrill, penetrating blast of sound. Andy didn't even lift his hand. It wouldn't have been much use, though, even if he had tried—the skin had turned gray and dead, and he no longer had control of the movement in his fingers or wrist. His right hand and lower forearm had literally died.
It rang again. Brrring…Brrring…Brrring…
"Shut the Hell up, you piece of garbage," Andy muttered scratchily. He refused to spend his last moments on earth listening to the irritating sound of a telephone.
At last it stopped ringing. Andy's chest muscles relaxed and he sunk deeper into the pillow on his bed. The breath was coming even harder now, and he found it difficult to form a clear, coherent thought. Here it comes, he thought hazily. The moment of truth. Are those psychics I've seen on TV telling the truth about the afterlife, or are they just frauds? A chuckle at his own humor was lost on a sudden onset of violent coughing. The hacking subsided, but now every last ounce of physical strength in his body had drained.
If only I had found out sooner… I could have saved myself, and then researched on the others to discover the root of the parasite. I wouldn't be lying here right now, dying, in my very own bed.
Another vicious round of coughing seized his body, leaving him even emptier and weaker than before.
It was so simple… So miraculous, I should have seen it coming from over a mile away…I thought at first that since the thing was afraid of water, all I had to do was jump in a lake, or something—good thing I didn't do that before I uncovered what would have happened to me!
One little sip of this stuff… Or one tiny injection… It's so obvious to the mind of a scientist, and yet I overlooked it for so long. The parasite needs for the body's brain to be highly active, producing sufficient amounts of energy. It's so simple!
BRRRING! BRRRING!
"God damn you!" The phone had jarred Andy so harshly that his mind had slipped out of its pre-death hibernation and he was once again fully awake. However, even as he thought this, he could feel the blanket of darkness once more settling warmly over his senses, and this time, not even the blasting ring of the phone would revive him.
((A Science Lab in an Abandoned Warehouse in Maine))
"He's not picking up." Dean snapped the cell phone closed and turned to Sam and the others. "He must be asleep."
Hanson chuckled. "Asleep is your word for it, sonny. Dead's mine."
"I'm not really in the mood to appreciate sick minded humor," Said Dean dryly. "My brother is sick, and all I care about right now is figuring out how to fix him."
"Fix him? Nobody's going to 'fix him', take my word on it. We'll be lucky if we even get a lead on how to start dealing with this."
"We're going to figure it out, Hanson. Got it?"
"I understand we're going to try"—
"DON'T YOU TRY TO WORM YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS ONE, HANSON!" Dean was at Hanson's throat within a second of the man's response, pushing him against the wall. In any other given circumstance, Hanson wouldn't have lost his balance, but Dean had been so abrupt and surprising that he'd caught Hanson off-balance.
"I'm not worming my way out of anything! I can't promise you we'll get this thing out of him!"
"If you don't…" Thoughts and ideas were pouring like water into Dean's mind. Thoughts about what he would do to Hanson if the man couldn't help Sammy. "I know you caused this whole thing, Hanson. Gavin told me. So if you're planning on 'trying your best', and that's all, I promise you'll regret it."
A hand on his shoulder brought Dean back into the cold, dingy warehouse lab, and he glanced back. Sam was reaching out, a pleading expression on his face. "Nobody planned for this to happen. It just did. We can't be successful unless we're all in this together. Right? That's what you tell me. 'A house divided against itself cannot stand'. Lincoln or something."
The fury Dean had felt for Hanson dissolved instantly as he realized how Sam must be feeling. The boy's face was ashen, but his determination to remain fair and positive was like a light in the darkest of tunnels. Dean drew away from Hanson, rubbing his forehead.
Hanson moved slightly away from the wall, and Ashley pushed past the two brothers. "Are you alright?" She asked quickly.
"I'm fine. It's understandable that Mr. Winchester is having a little trouble handling this." Shooting a calculating look at Dean and Sam, Hanson walked toward the examination table in the center of the room. "We need to get started."
Sam watched him nervously, not moving. "What's first?"
"I need to study you're body, what do you think? Don't question my scientific method, just do as I say."
Dean objected, "Scientific method? This isn't science—this is my brother."
"Do as I say, or all hope could be lost for Sam."
Dean reluctantly let go of the fold of Sam's jacket that he had been gripping, and Sam walked slowly out into the middle of the dark room toward the single, luminous examination light.
Hey Chummingtons! I love you all, and I hope you review with wonderful, flowery praises of my writings, telling me I'm Godly and wonderful and amazing... Anyway, I think I got my point across. REVIEW!