November 10th - November 12th, 2009
We decided to look into an incident where a woman found her twenty-five-year-old husband dead in the bathroom. It was determined that the man had died from "old age." Apparently, the doctors were just as confused by this as we were because they ran his DNA through multiple tests to be sure they had the right person. After that, another woman filed a missing person report about her sixty-five-year-old husband, Cliff Whitlow. They wanted to follow up with her to see if there was a chance the two were connected.
It turned out that he had spent over $250 at a place called Madame Liu's Golden Palace, so they went to check it out, but when they found Cliff, he looked to be closer to twenty-five than sixty-five. Cliff told them that he had met some guy in a bar that offered to play poker for years. The deal was, if Cliff won, the man would add years to Cliff's life, depending on how much he won. Cliff won forty years, and the man rewarded him by doing exactly what he promised, which was how Cliff looked so young.
I gave Nate a call and told him all about the case. "Isn't that crazy?"
"No, not really. There's actually a lot of lore about it," he said.
"Oh, really? Well, let me in on it, genius," I said.
"There's a bunch of stories about traveling card players. You beat him, and you win years to add on to your life," Nate explained.
"How do you know all this?" I asked.
"You're not the only one with brains around here, dimples." He laughed.
I smirked. "You know anything else about it?"
"Not really, just that most people usually lose, which is probably what happened to that wrinkly twenty-five-year-old," he said.
I smirked. "Wow, Nathan Harvelle, look at you."
"Yeah, I just do it to impress you, it's my biggest goal in life," he said.
I laughed. "You're such a dork."
Then the door opened, and Sam walked in. "Hey, you wanna—" He realized I was on the phone. "Oh, sorry."
"Hey, I gotta go, Nate," I said.
"Oh... all right. Call me when you can," he said and then hung up.
"Do I wanna what?" I asked as I put the phone down.
"I figured you wanted to get outta this place, so do you wanna grab some food with me?" he asked.
I hopped up off the couch. "Sure, let's go. I'm assuming Dean wants the usual?"
Sam nodded. "I'm sure."
Ring! Ring!
"Speaking of..." He checked his phone and then answered, "Hey, find anything?" (...) He shook his head. "No, not a thing." (...) "Yeah, we're gonna pick up some food." (...) "Usual?"
Sam and I walked into the motel room, I was holding a bag of burgers, and he was carrying our drinks. We set the food down on the table, and I sat down.
Sam looked at the closed bathroom door. "Hey, Dean? You find anything?"
An old man in a bathrobe walked out of the bathroom. "Uh, you might say."
I jumped as Sam pulled his gun out and aimed it at the old man.
"Who the hell are you?!" he shouted.
The man put his hands up. "Dude, relax. It's me."
Sam lowered the gun slowly. "Dean?"
The man nodded. "Hi."
Sam shook his head. "What the hell happened?"
"I— You know..." Dean shrugged. "Found the game." He walked past me and pulled a burger out of the bag.
"You fou—" Sam shook his head. "I thought you said you were good at poker."
"I am." Dean glared at him. "Shut up. So, you were just gonna shoot some old guy? Is that it?"
Sam shrugged. "I didn't know what you were. I mean, have you seen you? You look like—"
Dean nodded with a mouth full of food. "The old chick in Titanic. I know. Shut up."
Sam shrugged. "I was gonna say, Emperor Palpatine."
"Yes." I gave Sam a high-five. "Or..." I pointed at Sam and smirked. "Curly Washburn."
Sam laughed. "Nice."
Dean rolled his eyes. "All right, all right, enough."
The door thudded open, and Bobby rolled in and closed the door behind himself. "I see you met John McCain there."
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Either of you want to tell us what happened?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Bobby's an idiot. That's what happened."
Bobby glared at him. "Hey, nobody asked you to play."
Dean nodded. "Right. I should have just let you die."
"And for damn sure, nobody asked you to lose!" Bobby yelled.
I smirked up at Sam.
He smirked back. "It's like Grumpy Old Men."
I nudged him with my elbow and laughed. "I was just about to say that."
Dean and Bobby turned to us. "Shut up."
Dean turned his attention back to Bobby. "What the hell were you thinking? He's a witch. He's been playing poker since guys wore tights."
Bobby shook his head. "You just don't get it."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, I get it, Bobby. You saw a chance to turn the hands of the clock back and get out of that damn chair. Pretty tempting. I can imagine."
Bobby shook his head. "No, you can't."
Dean scoffed. "You got me. I've never been paralyzed. But I tell you something... I've been to Hell, and there's an archangel there wanting me to drop the soap. Look at me! My junk's rustier than yours! You hear me bellyaching?" At that moment, his stomach started gurgling. "Huh?"
Sam raised his eyebrows. "Uh, actually, yeah."
"Oh!" Dean sat down, still holding onto his burger and clutching his chest. "I'm having a heart attack."
Bobby rolled his eyes. "No, you're not."
"What is it?" Dean asked, looking scared.
"Acid reflux. Guys your age can't digest certain foods. You're gonna need to put down that cheeseburger," Bobby said.
Dean sighed and put the burger down sadly.
I rubbed my hands together and smiled. "I'm so happy you get to experience this. Isn't it fun being old?"
Dean glared at me.
"So, you want to keep emoting, or you want to talk about solving this little issue of yours?" Bobby asked. "It's got to be about the chips."
Dean nodded. "I slid 'em across, Patrick did his little witchy number, and you prettied up in a hurry."
"I mean, what are you thinking? Some kind of magic chips or something?" Sam asked.
Bobby nodded. "Definitely."
Sam and I sat down.
"You remember what he chanted?" Dean asked.
Bobby nodded. "Yup... every word."
"All right, then let's find out where he stashes his chips," Sam said.
Dean nodded. "And steal me fifty. Benjamin Button me back into burger shape. What do you think?"
"I think you ought to put some clothes on," Bobby said.
A couple minutes after Dean got dressed, there was a knock on the door. Dean walked over and answered. A pretty maid was standing there with a cart and an armful of towels.
She smiled at him sweetly. "Ready for housekeeping, sir?"
Dean grinned. "Born ready."
The maid laughed. "You're just like my grandfather."
Dean's grin faded.
"He hits on anything that moves, too." The maid smirked and moved past him into the room. "You're adorable."
"And dangerous," Dean said desperately.
"Aw." She laughed and walked into the bathroom.
Sam, Bobby, and I smirked at him.
"Can we just go?" Dean asked, sounding defeated.
The four of us sat in Bobby's van and kept watch for Patrick, across from the building he was playing in. We watched as a bunch of random people walked by us, then a man in a nice suit and swept-back hair stepped out of the building.
"That's him," Bobby said.
Patrick checked his watch and walked across the street without looking, noticing too late that a car was coming. It slammed straight into him, sending him rolling across the street.
The driver jumped out and ran to him. He turned to a nearby construction crew. "Guys, get some help! He came out of nowhere! Right out in front of me!"
A moment later, the driver's car pulled away from the scene, but Patrick was driving it. The driver and construction workers looked around, confused because he was no longer laying in front of them, but they hadn't realized the car was gone too.
Dean laughed. "I got to say, I kind of like the guy."
We followed Patrick to a super nice apartment building. We waited a while to see what he would do and then watched as he walked back out and drove away. Now was our time to make a move, so we jumped out and made our way into the building. Sam wheeled Bobby in, as Dean and I followed behind, but when we walked in, Bobby sighed.
I looked up and realized the elevator had a sign that read, Elevator out of order. Sorry for the inconvenience.
"Well, I'm out." Bobby sighed.
We walked over to the mailboxes to see if we could figure out which apartment Patrick lived in, and sure enough, we found it. Unfortunately, he lived in apartment 3701, which meant we had to go up thirty-seven flights without an elevator with an eighty-year-old Dean.
So, we started up the stairs, Sam and I easily ran up them, while Dean huffed and puffed. The worst part was, we had only gone up to the second floor so far.
"Dean..." Sam stopped and pointed to the floor number sign.
Dean glared and then sighed.
"Come on, old man." I smirked.
He gently shoved me. "Get going."
Sam and I continued running up the stairs, barely breaking a sweat, and stopping from time to time to let Dean catch up with us, but eventually, we made it to the thirty-seventh floor. We walked up to 3701, and Sam picked the lock.
After Sam pushed the door open, we walked in and checked around the room, looking through everything for the poker chips.
"Hey," Dean said.
Sam and I walked over. He was standing in front of an armoire that had a false back, which revealed a safe.
"Dime-store model. Piece of cake." Dean started to turn the dial, but it was taking longer than usual. He leaned in and started squinting.
"It's like Mission: Pathetic. Watch out," Sam said and pushed Dean out of the way. He turned the dial a couple of times and opened it quickly. Inside sat a pile of poker chips.
"I could have done that," Dean said.
Sam frowned at him, and then we started grabbing handfuls of chips.
"What are you doing?" a woman asked from behind us.
We turned around to see a beautiful blonde woman standing there with a large silver locket around her neck.
"Aren't you the chick from the bar?" Dean asked.
The woman shook her head. "I'm a lot more than that." She threw her hand up, clenched her fist, and twisted it. Dean immediately doubled over in pain.
Patrick rushed in and put his hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, Lia. It's all right," he said with an Irish accent, "They're harmless, sweetheart."
Lia relaxed and let Dean go.
Patrick stepped forward. "You want chips? Take 'em. They're just chips, Einsteins. It's showmanship. This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in a pile of crappy plywood or in any phony abracadabra. It's in the 900-year-old witch. You want years? Score 'em the old-fashioned way. Texas hold 'em." He chewed on a toothpick that was sticking out of his mouth.
Dean stood up and nodded. "Fine. Let's do it."
Patrick pulled a card out of his pocket. It was the eight of hearts. "What card am I holding up?"
Dean squinted at it but didn't answer.
Patrick nodded and slipped the card away. "That's what I thought. If your eyesight's that bad, what about your memory? I'm not a murderer." He pointed to Sam. "You, on the other hand—"
Dean looked at Sam. "No, Sam."
"Dean," Sam said.
"What, Sam? Not much of a player?" Patrick asked. "Okay, well, happy trails, Dean. Enjoy the twilight of your life. Should have taken better care of that ticker, though." He opened the front door. "You're free to go."
We turned to the door.
"Oh, Maddison..." Patrick said, causing us to turn back.
I wasn't really sure how he knew my name, but then again, he was a 900-year-old witch.
"You seem like a sweet girl, so you're off the hook this time." He looked at Dean. "And Dean's situation, that's punishment enough, but Sam..." Patrick smiled and looked at Sam. "I can't let you leave without a small parting gift." He clapped three times.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked.
Patrick smirked. "You'll find out soon enough."
"Let's get out of here," Dean said, and then we followed after.
We made our way down the stairs and out the front door. Sam kept stopping periodically to scratch at his crotch uncomfortably.
"Dude..." Dean said, "I believe that he-witch gave you the clap."
Sam went stiff for a moment and then marched off to Bobby's van. Dean and I laughed at him.
We walked back toward the motel, feeling a little defeated after our run-in with Patrick.
"Little help here?" Bobby asked from behind us, irritated.
We stopped and realized Bobby was struggling to wheel himself up the incline into the motel.
Sam walked back and helped Bobby wheel up. "Ya know, I still think I should play."
At the top, Bobby took over wheeling himself, but we all stopped and looked at Sam.
"You can't be serious. What if you end up like Dean?" I asked.
"What if I don't?" Sam asked. "I could win his years back, and he wouldn't be like this anymore."
Dean shook his head. "No. You're not good enough. I'm better. Bobby's way better. We both lost."
Bobby nodded. "Exactly."
"So, what?" Sam asked, "So I don't get a say in this anymore?"
Dean shook his head. "Sammy, when you get to be our age—"
I rolled my eyes. "All right drama. You're thirty."
Sam shook his head. "Look, I've watched you hustle plenty of poker—"
"Knowing the game is not enough, Sam. It's not about playing the cards," Bobby said.
Sam nodded. "It's about playing the other guy. I know that."
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Well, hooray for you. All I'm saying is, I played this guy. I know his style. I can take him."
Dean shook his head. "No, Bobby. You don't have enough years in the bank."
Bobby scoffed. "I got enough."
Sam shook his head. "No, you'll die if you lose, Bobby."
"So what if I do, huh?" Bobby asked, "What exactly am I living for, huh? The damn apocalypse? Watching men die bloody while I sit in this chair, can't take a step to help 'em?"
Dean shook his head. "Bobby—"
"No, no. It's the facts. I'm old... and broke down... and I can't—" Bobby took a deep breath. "I ain't a hunter no more. I'm useless. And if I wasn't such a coward, I'd have stuck a gun in my mouth the day I got home from the hospital."
We were all silent for a moment.
Sam shook his head. "Bobby, you are not playing again. I'm not letting you do that. There's another way out of this. There's got to be. And I'm gonna find it." He walked past us.
After Sam walked away, we slowly continued to our motel room, but when we walked in, Lia was sitting on the bed.
She held up a piece of paper. "Take it. It'll help you."
Bobby wheeled up to her and took the paper. "What is this?"
"The most powerful reversal spell you've ever laid your eyes on," Lia said.
"And it reverses what?" Dean asked.
"Patrick's work... all of it," Lia said.
"You— You saying I could be normal again?" Dean asked.
Lia nodded. "You and everyone else he's ever played." She hesitated a moment. "Who's still alive."
"Why would you want us to do that?" I asked.
Dean nodded. "Why the hell should we trust you?"
Lia shrugged. "Trust me, don't trust me. I don't care. The spell is real." She stood up and walked to the door.
"If it zaps everyone, don't that include your man?" Bobby asked.
Lia nodded. "And me, too." She shrugged. "I look good for my age."
Bobby shook his head. "Lady, this don't add up for squat."
"I have my reasons." Lia put her hand on her silver locket and rubbed it. "Do it quick. We leave town tomorrow."
After looking at the spell, we realized we needed to find a graveyard with a murderer planted in it. There were very strange and specific items in it, but then again, it was a spell, and what spell doesn't?
As Dean and I dug through a grave, Bobby sat at the foot of it watching.
"Jawbone of a murderer. Great," Dean said, breathing heavily. "Ya know, this really sucks. How do we even know her spell's gonna work?"
Bobby shook his head. "We don't. But we ain't got a Plan B. Now, less flappin' and more diggin'."
Dean went to move another scoop of dirt, and something cracked. "Oh, god!" He grabbed his arm and moaned. "My elbows! I'm all creaky."
"Hurry up, you crybaby," Bobby snapped.
I stopped digging and rolled my eyes as Dean turned to face him.
"Pound it up your ass, Ironsides," Dean growled.
Bobby shook his head. "One little grave."
"Then you do it," Dean said.
Bobby shrugged. "Fine. I'll hop right in."
"Well, least your legs are numb," Dean said.
"Shut up and dig, grandma," Bobby said.
Dean huffed and turned back to start digging, but there was another crack, and he grabbed his back. "Oh! Now it's my back!"
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Can you straighten up?"
"Yeah, but a little sympathy wouldn't hurt," Dean whined.
"Butt cheek tingling?" Bobby asked.
"Well, that's kind of personal," Dean said.
Bobby nodded. "So, yeah?"
Dean looked up at him.
"It's sciatica. You'll live. Keep digging," Bobby said, completely unsympathetic.
"Ya know, Bobby, killing you is officially on my bucket list." Dean shook his head and started digging, but there was another crack. "My knee!"
I shook my head. "Get out."
"What?" Dean asked.
"I can't take it anymore. You're just slowing me down. Get out," I said sternly and pointed out of the grave.
"I'm helping," Dean said.
I shook my head. "No, no, you're not. Dean get out so I can get this done. Or I swear to god I will beat you with this shovel, and you won't have to worry about feeling anything anymore."
Dean widened his eyes at me and started to climb out.
I smacked him in the butt with my shovel. "Hurry up."
Bobby shook his head and chuckled.
"All right, all right, jeez," Dean said and sat on the edge of the grave. "What I wouldn't give to be young again."
"Shut up," Bobby and I snapped at him.
We met up with Sam. He had been keeping Patrick busy and playing poker with him. When he got the chance, the plan was for Sam to get a hold of something that would have Patrick's DNA on it. Sam burst out of the back doors and walked up to us.
"How's it going in there?" Dean asked.
Sam scoffed. "How do you think it's going? What about you? You have everything you need?"
"We still need a little he-witch DNA," Dean said.
Sam held up a toothpick. "He was chewing it."
Dean took it.
Sam nodded. "Hurry up, Dean. Please."
"All right. Just keep him busy. And Sammy... don't lose," Dean said, and we started walking back toward the van.
Bobby already had everything set up for the spell. There was a bowl filled with some of the items we had collected that he had lit on fire.
He read from Lia's paper, "'Airmidh mi air maponus, dia na hogalachd. Gairmidh mi air sucellus, dia na time...'"
Dean threw a handful of powder into the bowl, and the flames flared up blue.
"'Till an-dràsda obair uile gu bheilair a bhith deànta. Mar sin bitheadh.'" Bobby looked up and nodded. "Drop it in."
Dean looked at the toothpick and added it to the fire. We waited a moment, but nothing changed.
"Well? How do I look?" Dean asked us.
Bobby and I looked at each other and cringed. The honest answer was eighty years old.
Dean drove us back to Patrick's apartment building.
Bobby shook his head. "Everything in that spell was kosher."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, everything except the damn toothpick."
"You got to go get a speck of DNA. Strap on your track shoes," Bobby said.
"Oh, goody. More stairs." Dean groaned.
Dean and I hurried as much as we could up to Patrick's apartment.
After a little bit of searching around the immaculate apartment, Dean called Bobby. "It's too damn clean in here. First witch I ever heard of that didn't spew bodily fluids all over the place."
I walked over and spotted a wine glass on the counter. "Dean..." I pointed.
Dean began walking toward the glass, but collapsed, grabbing his chest.
My eyes widened. "Dean?"
I ran to him and knelt beside him. His breathing was strained.
"You're gonna be okay, all right?" I asked, but his eyes closed.
I put my hand to his neck to check for a pulse, but it was extremely faint. I cupped my hand over my other and started performing CPR on him, just to keep his heart going. Now our only hope was for Sam to win.
"Come on, please, hold on..." I said as tears started to roll down my cheeks.
It felt like I was pumping forever, and then finally, his skin started to smooth, and he took a deep breath. He sat up, and he was thirty again.
"Dean?" I gasped and wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed.
"How..." He tried to pull away. "Long..." He pulled back again. "Were you doing that?"
"I have no idea." I let him go. "It doesn't matter."
He wiped a tear from my cheek. "Thank you."
I stood up and put my hand out to him. "Let's go."
He swatted my hand away. "I'm not an old man anymore." He said and stood up, and we walked out. "Wanna race?"
I smirked. "Sure."
Dean smirked, shoved me back, and started running down the stairs.
"Hey!" I yelled and ran after him. I sat on the handrail and slid down, passing him.
"Cheating!" Dean yelled.
"You started it!" I yelled back, looking over my shoulder, but because I wasn't paying attention, I slipped off the end and landed on the floor.
"You okay?" Dean asked, kneeling next to me.
"Perfect." I smirked and pulled the laces of his shoes. I stood up and started running down the stairs.
"Oh no, you don't." Dean grabbed my jacket sleeve to pull me back.
I unzipped my jacket, ripped it off, and took off down the stairs laughing.
Shortly after I reached the last step, Dean joined me, both of us out of breath. We looked at each other and then started laughing.
"You're a cheat." Dean pointed at me.
I shrugged. "I learned from the best."
Dean smirked and tossed me my jacket. "Let's go."
We walked out and waved at Bobby, Dean jumped and clicked his heels together, and Bobby just shook his head.
Back at the motel, we started gathering our stuff together.
"No tricks... you actually beat the guy?" Bobby asked Sam.
Sam nodded and shrugged.
"How the hell?" Bobby asked.
Sam smirked. "Just lucky." He walked to the door, passing Dean, who was standing there with a burger in his hands. "Hey. I'll see you guys later." He grabbed his jacket.
"Where you going?" Dean asked.
"Um, nowhere." Sam shrugged.
Bobby, Dean, and I furrowed our brows at him.
"A booster shot," Sam said, and clenched his jaw, looking at Dean. "Don't say it." Then he walked out, closing the door behind him.
Bobby groaned. "Well, I guess we can get the van loaded."
Dean held up a finger and cleared his throat. "I shouldn't have called you an idiot."
"Which time?" Bobby asked.
"I'm sorry." Dean sighed. "I mean, I actually— I— I— I get it. Getting old ain't a bachelor party. And dealing with the crap you got to deal with—"
Bobby shook his head. "Don't you go on pity patrol."
"I'm not. I'm not. I'm just—" Dean sighed. "I'm saying, you know if I was in your shoes—"
Bobby chuckled. "You'd never stop complaining."
Dean stared for a moment and nodded. "Fair enough." He shook his head. "You're not useless, Bobby."
"Okay. Good talk," Bobby said and started to roll away.
Dean stepped in his path. "No, wait a minute. Listen to me." He sat down and sighed. "You don't stop being a soldier 'cause you got wounded in battle. Okay? No matter what shape you're in, bottom line is you're family. I don't know if you've noticed, but the three of us, we don't have much left. I can't do this without you. I can't. So, don't you dare think about checking out. I don't want to hear that again."
Bobby was silent and then nodded. "Okay."
Dean nodded. "Okay. Good."
"Thanks. Now, we done feeling our feelings?" Bobby asked. "'Cause I'd like to get out of this room before we both start growing lady parts."
"Yeah, we're done." Dean stood up and grabbed his burger, looked at it, and then set it back down. He walked over and picked up his bag. "Let's go, Ironsides." He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked to the door.
"Oh, that one's sticking, huh?" Bobby asked.
Dean looked back, smiling, and Bobby sighed.
