April 10th - April 12th, 2008
We were getting desperate at this point. We started questioning any demon we could get our hands on about breaking Dean's deal.
Our most recent victim was currently tied to a chair and was getting doused with holy water. He screamed out in agony as it splashed on him and caused his skin to smoke.
"You ready to talk?" Dean asked.
The demon shook his head, looking at Dean with desperation in his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know anything!"
"Oh, you hear that? He doesn't know anything," Dean taunted.
Sam smirked. "Yeah, I heard."
"I'm telling you the truth," the demon said.
"Oh, you are? My god, then I owe you an apology. Allow me to make it up to you." Dean grabbed the demon's face and forced holy water down his throat.
The demon screamed and choked on the holy water as it smoked out of his mouth.
"I'm gonna ask you one last time... who holds my contract?!" Dean shouted.
The demon stayed quiet, and his head just hung there until he picked it up, smiling at us with black eyes. "Your mother. Yeah, she, uh, showed it to me right before I bent her over."
Dean leaned down into the demon's face. "I want a name. Or else—"
"Or what? You're gonna squirt your holy water in both ends?" the demon asked. "Please. Brother, that's like a flea bite compared to what's coming to me if I tell you jack. Do what you want. The only thing I'm scared of is the demon holding your ticket."
Dean stared at the demon and then nodded back to Sam, who started reciting an exorcism. He glared at the demon. "How does that feel? Does that feel good?"
"Go ahead. Send me back to Hell... 'cause when you get there, I'll be waiting for you... with a few pals who are dying for a nice little meet and greet with Dean Winchester." The demon smiled.
Sam stopped. "Should I?"
"Send him someplace he can't hurt anyone else," Dean demanded.
Sam nodded and continued reading. The demon screamed out, and the smoke escaped his body.
Dean had brought the body outside to bury it while Sam paced around in the cabin, on the phone with someone. "You ran the prints twice? Are you sure?" (...) "Okay." (...) "Yeah, just chalk it up to lab error." (...) He laughed. "Don't I know it." (...) "Okay. Thanks." (...) "Yeah, I'll tell the lieutenant." He hung up as Dean walked into the cabin with dirt on his hands and jacket. "Bury the body?" he asked.
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Looks like these demon's ride 'em hard just for kicks." He grabbed a beer off of the table and sat down on the couch. "What was the phone call about?"
"Remember that thing in the paper yesterday?" Sam asked.
"'Stripper suffocates dude with thighs'?" Dean asked.
Sam shook his head. "The other thing."
Dean nodded. "Right, the guy that walks into the ER and kneels over, dead. His stomach ripped out?"
"His liver, actually. Anyways, I just found out something pretty damn interesting," Sam said.
"What?" Dean asked.
"The dead body was covered in bloody fingerprints, not the victim's," Sam said.
Dean nodded. "Okay, great. My man Dave Caruso will be stoked to hear it."
"Those fingerprints match a guy who died in 1981," Sam said.
"Really?" Dean asked, "So, what are we talking? Uh, walking dead? Walking, killing dead?"
Sam shrugged. "Maybe."
"Zombies do like the other-other white meat." Dean shrugged. "Huh. Speaking of, what do you care about zombies?"
"What do you mean?" Sam asked.
"Well, you've been on soul-saving detail for months now. And we're three weeks out, and all of a sudden, you're interested in some hot zombie action?" Dean asked.
"Hey, man, you're the one who's been all gung-ho to hunt. I just thought I'd be doing you a favor," Sam said.
"Hey, no, no, no." Dean shook his head. "I didn't say I didn't want to do it, okay. I mean, obviously, I want to hunt some zombies."
Sam shrugged. "Okay, fine, whatever."
"So, like... Night of the Living Dead zombies or like... Dawn of the Dead zombies?" I asked.
Dean smirked. "You watch too many movies."
I furrowed my brow at him. "You're the one who showed me them."
I waited in the Impala while they went to talk to a coroner.
They found out that the victim's body was completely intact except for the liver. The weird thing was that it hadn't been ripped out. It was removed surgically.
While talking with the coroner, they had found out that another victim had been brought into the hospital with a missing kidney. This victim also had his kidney surgically removed, and then he woke up in a random motel room in a bathtub of ice.
We went back to the motel room after picking up food about an hour later. Dean and I sat opposite of Sam, eating our burgers happily while he worked on his laptop.
"So, I got a theory," Sam said.
"Yeah?" Dean asked.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, I talked to Mr. Giggle's doctor. Turns out, his incisions were sewn up with silk."
Dean raised his eyebrows. "That's weird."
"Yeah, nowadays it is, but silk used to be the suture of choice back in the early nineteenth-century. It was really problematic. Patients would get massive infections. The death rate was insane," Sam explained.
Dean nodded. "Good times."
"Right, so doctors, they had to do whatever they could to keep infections from spreading. One way was maggots," Sam said.
"Dude, we're eating," Dean said.
I shrugged. "Doesn't bother me. It's interesting."
Sam smirked and kept explaining, "It actually kind of worked because maggots, they eat bad tissue, and they leave good tissue. And get this. When they found our guy, his body cavity was stuffed full of maggots."
"Dude, I'm eating!" Dean shouted and then shook his head. "All right, let me get this straight. So, people are getting ganked, right?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"A little Antiques Roadshow surgery, some organ theft. But why is this all sounding familiar?" Dean asked.
"Because you heard it before. When you were a kid... from Dad. Doc Benton... real-life doctor, lived in New Hampshire, brilliant and obsessed with alchemy, especially how to live forever," Sam explained, "So, in 1816, Doc abandons his practice and—"
Dean nodded. "Right, yeah, nobody hears from him for like twenty years, and all of a sudden, people start showing up dead."
"Dead or— or missing an organ or their hand or some other kind of part," Sam said.
"'Cause whatever he was doing was actually working. He just kept on ticking. Parts would wear out, he'd replace them." Dean shook his head. "But I thought Dad hunted him down and took his heart out."
Sam shrugged. "Yeah, I guess the doc must have plugged in a new one."
"All right, where's he doing the deed?" Dean asked.
"According to this..." Sam gestured to his laptop. "Benton's picky about where he sets up his lab. He likes dense forest with access to a river or stream or some kind of freshwater."
Dean took a huge bite of his burger. "Why?"
"Because that's where he likes to dump the bile and intestines and fecal matter," Sam said.
Dean gagged and lowered his burger.
"Lost your appetite yet?" Sam asked.
I shrugged and took another bite. "I'm good."
Dean looked at the burger, then at Sam, then back at the burger. "Oh baby, I can't stay mad at you," he said as he took another huge bite out of it.
A couple of hours later, and more research done, we had covered the beds in maps and paperwork. Sam circled the possible areas on the maps where the doctor could be working.
"So, these are all the cabins." Sam pointed. "Most of them have been abandoned for years."
"So, what the hell are we waiting for?" Dean asked.
Ring! Ring!
He answered his phone, "Bobby." (...) "I'm listening." (...) "Who's that? Like a Cleveland steamer?" (...) "And now?" (...) "And he thinks it's Bela?" (...) "She's used that before. Well, it's kinda a sloppy move, isn't it? Getting in contact with one of your old friends." (...) "Thanks, Bobby. We're on our way." (...) "Okay." He hung up the phone and looked at Sam and me. "Come on. We're going after Bela." He turned and grabbed his bag.
Sam furrowed his brow. "What? Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a second."
"Come on. Get your stuff. The clock's ticking," Dean urged.
I quickly ran over and started packing up my stuff.
"Look, I think we should stay here and finish the case," Sam said.
I stopped to look over at Sam. Getting the colt back was the best chance we had to stop this thing. How could he not want to get it back?
"You insane?" Dean asked.
"Dean, there's no way she still has the colt!" Sam shouted, "That was months ago! She probably sold it the second she got it."
Dean shrugged as he continued packing. "Well, then I'll kill her. Win-win."
Sam shook his head. "Dean—"
"Sam. We're going!" Dean shouted.
"No!" Sam yelled.
"Why the hell not?" Dean asked.
"Dean, this, this here." Sam pointed to the research. "Now. This is what's gonna save you."
"What? Chasing some Frankenstein?" Dean asked.
"Chasing immortality," Sam said, "Look, Benton can't die. We find out how he did it, we can do it to you."
I stared at him, stunned.
Dean shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
"You have to die before you go to Hell, right?" Sam asked. "So, if you can never die, then—"
"You aren't suggesting what I think you are... right?" I asked.
Dean shook his head. "Wait, wait, wait. Wait a second. Did you know that this was Doc Benton from the jump?"
"No," Sam said, nervously.
Dean just stared at him.
Sam sighed. "Look, I was hoping."
"So, the whole zombie thing, it was a lie?" Dean asked.
Sam shook his head. "I didn't wanna say anything until I was sure, Dean. All I'm trying to do is find an answer here."
Dean shook his head. "No. What you're trying to do is chase Slicy McHackey here. And to kill him? No. You wanna buy him a friggin' beer. You wanna study him."
"I was just trying to help," Sam said.
"You're not helping!" Dean yelled. "You forget that if I welch on this deal, you die. Guess what, living forever is welching."
"Fine! Then, whatever the magic pill is, I'll take it too!" Sam yelled.
"Oh, what is this? Sid and Nancy? No." Dean shook his head. "It's just like Bobby's been saying. We kill the demon who owns the contract, and this whole damn thing wipes clean. That's our best shot."
"Even if you had the colt, Dean, who are you gonna shoot?" Sam asked. "We have no idea who holds the ticket."
"Well, I'll shoot the hellhounds then before they slash me up. Now, you comin' or not?" Dean asked, picking up his bag.
"I'm staying here," Sam said quietly.
I raised my eyebrows, looking at Sam, shocked as I zipped my bag.
Dean shook his head. "No, you're not. 'Cause I'm not gonna let you wander out in the woods alone to track some organ stealing freak."
"You're not gonna let me?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head. "No, I'm not gonna let you."
"How are you gonna stop me?" Sam asked.
Dean looked startled.
Sam sighed. "Look, man, we're trying to do the same thing here."
Dean nodded. "I know. But I'm going. So, if you wanna stay... stay." He stared at Sam, who only looked away. He shrugged and flung his bag over his shoulder, then picked up mine, and hesitated before opening the door. "Sammy, be careful."
Sam finally turned to face Dean. "You too."
I shook my head at Sam. "This is such a stupid idea," I said before shutting the door behind us.
We walked up to a small house. There was a handwritten sign next to the door that read... No solicitors. That means you! No asking for donations. No selling ANYTHING!
Dean rang the doorbell and banged on the door. We heard a noise and looked up to see a security camera moving to point at us.
"What?" a man asked gruffly, over an intercom.
"Hi, uh, Rufus?" Dean asked the camera.
"Yeah, even if I am, the question is still the same. What?" Rufus demanded.
"Uh, We're Dean and Maddison Winchester. Friends of Bobby Singer's," Dean said.
"So?" Rufus asked.
"You called him this morning," Dean said.
"So?" Rufus asked.
"Uh..." Dean smiled at the camera. "You told Bobby about a British chick who made contact with you."
"And so?" Rufus asked.
"You know where she is?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," Rufus said.
"Great." Dean nodded. "Could you tell me where I could find her?"
"No," Rufus said.
Dean rolled his eyes and looked down at me. "Course not." He looked back up at the camera. "Look, Rufus, man—"
Suddenly, the door opened, and an older man stood behind it. "Look, let me point something out to you. You are knocking at my door, so don't 'Look, man' me. I'm not your man."
Dean nodded. "I'm sorry, sir."
"All right, let me tell you a little story." Rufus pointed at Dean. "See, once upon a time, Bobby called me, asked me to call him if I got a whiff of this Bela Talbot. I got a whiff. I called. The end."
"Okay, yeah, if you could just tell me where she is, I mean, that would be great." Dean smiled.
"Dean Winchester, right?" Rufus asked.
Dean nodded. "Yeah."
"Dean, do I look like I'm here to help you?" Rufus asked.
Dean sighed. "I'm gonna say no?"
"Then get the hell off my property." Rufus pointed for us to leave.
"All right, yeah, fair enough. I got one more question for you, though." Dean pulled a bottle out of his bag. "See, I got this, uh, this bottle of scotch, and... uh, is this considered good?"
Rufus looked at the bottle and then back up at Dean and smiled.
After a lot of talking and a lot of drinking, they had gotten three-quarters of the way through the bottle, and Rufus was finally starting to come around.
Dean had been drinking slowly and carefully. He wanted Rufus drunk enough to get information out of him.
Dean poured more scotch into their glasses. "Bottoms up."
They clinked their glasses and drank some of the contents.
"You know, I don't even bother drinking unless it's this stuff. Nectar of the gods, I'm telling you," Rufus said.
"Yeah, it's a nice change, ya know. Most of my whiskey comes from a plastic jug," Dean said, and they both laughed. He cleared his throat. "So, Bela was here because...?"
"She wanted to buy a couple of things, which is gonna take me some time to round up," Rufus explained.
"Where is she now?" Dean asked.
Rufus looked at Dean carefully. "Can I ask you something?"
Dean nodded. "Sure."
"You got three weeks left. Why are you wasting your time chasing after that skinny, stuck-up English girl?" Rufus asked.
I furrowed my brow. Dean never brought up how much time he had left.
"How do you know about that?" Dean asked suspiciously.
Rufus leaned forward. "Because I know things. I know a lot of things about a lot of people."
"Is that so?" Dean asked.
"I know ain't no peashooter gonna save you," Rufus said.
"What makes you so sure?" Dean asked.
"Cause that's the job, kid. Even if you manage to scrape out of this one, there's just gonna be something else down the road." Rufus sighed and shook his head. "Folks like us... there ain't no happy ending. We all got it coming."
"Well, ain't you a bucket of sunshine?" Dean chuckled.
"I'm what you've got to look forward to if you survive." Rufus smirked and raised his glass. "But, you won't."
Dean cleared his throat. "So, Bela—"
"Hotel Canaan. Room 39," Rufus said, now starting to slur his words, "But watch your back."
"I think I can handle Bela," Dean said.
"Oh, don't be so sure about that. There are things that you don't know about her," Rufus said.
"Oh, and you do?" Dean asked. "Right. Because you know things."
Rufus nodded. "Yup."
"And let me guess... you lifted her fingerprint?" Dean asked.
Rufus nodded. "Yup."
"And that got you jack," Dean said.
Rufus nodded. "Yup. She burnt them off. Probably years ago."
"Yeah, so you're right where we are," Dean said.
Rufus shook his head. "Nope. You do her ear?"
"Sorry?" Dean asked.
"You do her ear?" Rufus asked again.
Dean chuckled. "Hey, man, I'll try anything once, but I don't know. That sounds uncomfortable."
"Ears are as unique to humans as fingerprints," Rufus said.
Dean raised his eyebrows. "No kidding."
"Of course, that don't fly in the courts over here, but in England, they're all over it. A friend of a friend... of a friend faxed me ten pages of confidential files within a day. All I had to send him was one clean shot off the security camera," Rufus said.
Dean nodded. "Right. One clean shot of her ear."
Rufus stood up, picked up a folder off of his desk, and handed it to Dean. "The so-called Bela Talbot."
On the way to Bela's hotel, I read the file Rufus had on her. When she was around my age, her parents died in a suspicious car crash. The police suspected a cut brake line, but the car was too burnt to tell. Shortly after that, Bela ended up inheriting millions.
I closed the folder. "You really think she killed her parents?"
"It's Bela," Dean said, bluntly.
I sighed. "Yeah, but—"
"Yeah, but nothing," Dean interrupted. "It's Bela, I have no doubt she did it."
I sighed. "Dean, maybe something happened. She was my age at the time, I would never think of doing something like that unless—"
"You're different," Dean said.
"How?" I asked.
"You just are," Dean said.
I shook my head. "No, I'm not."
"What?" Dean asked.
I sighed. "After Renee told me everything. I wanted to— I wanted to kill her." I shook my head. "To be honest, I was angry that the demon did before I could. I was so scared because I never felt that much anger before." I clenched my jaw as the memories flooded my mind.
I saw Dean glance at me out of the corner of his eye, with worry on his face. "That was different."
"How?" I asked.
"She tried to kill you," Dean said.
"Exactly." I nodded. "You don't know what happened to Bela. Maybe she was protecting herself. Or maybe... she had nothing to do with it at all."
Dean looked over at me but didn't say anything for a while. "Maddi... I'm sorry."
I furrowed my brow and looked over at him. "What? Why?"
"I should've been there to protect you," Dean said, sadly.
"You couldn't've known, Dean," I said.
Dean shook his head. "I should've gone with my gut, I knew the whole thing was a bad idea. It's on me. Everything."
I sighed. "Dean—"
He shook his head. "You're too young to have to deal with something like that."
"What?" I asked, shaking my head. "You know what kind of life we live, right? In all honesty, it's not that surprising."
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. When we walked into that house and saw Renee lying there..." He sighed. "I thought we had lost you. I was so scared. I would never forgive myself if they had—" He cleared his throat and shook his head, not able to finish his sentence.
"Dean, I'm okay, though. I'm fine now," I said.
He nodded. "I know. Just thinking about leaving you and Sammy behind." He shook his head. "I won't be able to protect you at all anymore. That scares me too." He sighed. "Just promise me that you and Sam will look out for each other."
"You need to stop burying yourself in guilt," I said.
"Just promise me," he said, looking over at me very seriously.
"Okay... I promise," I said.
Eventually, we parked in front of Bela's hotel, and Dean went in by himself, only to come out twenty minutes later, empty-handed.
We drove in silence for a while, I could feel the anger radiating off of him.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
"Yeah," he answered his phone. (...) "What do you think?" (...) "No, no, she deserves to die a dozen times over, but I couldn't do it." He glanced over at me. (...) "I'm really screwed, Sammy." (...) "But you were right. Bela was a goose chase. The colt's gone, and this time I'm really screwed, Sam." (...) "You okay? Was he there?" (...) "Did you kill him?" (...) "What do you mean, 'no'?" (...) "What, the live-forever formula?" (...) "Great, let me guess. I got to drink blood out of a baby's skull?" (...) "Wait, wait, wait. What are— What are you saying? You think—" (...) "Okay, so, this formula—" (...) "Sam?" He pulled his phone away, looked at it, then put it back to his ear. "Sammy!" he yelled into the phone. "Damn it!" He hit the wheel and threw the phone down on the seat.
"What? What's wrong?" I asked urgently.
"He's got Sammy," Dean said, and then we took off.
We stopped in the middle of the woods, and Dean turned to me. "I need you to stay in the car."
I looked over at him. "You know that's not gonna happen." Then I opened my door and started running further into the woods.
"Maddison!" Dean shouted. "Slow down." He grabbed my shoulder. "If you're coming with me, you need to listen and let me lead."
I nodded, and then he took the lead, taking us deeper into the woods until we found an old abandoned shack.
We searched around, and Dean stumbled across a bottle of chloroform and pocketed it. We eventually found a door in the floor, leading into the basement. Dean turned and put his finger up to his mouth and then nodded for me to follow him down. He had his gun drawn as we walked down the stairs.
The deeper we got, we started hearing Doc Benton talking to someone, which I figured was Sam.
At the bottom of the stairs, we could see Doc Benton with his back to us. Dean gestured for me to hide around the corner. As soon as I did, he fired three shots into his back.
"Shoot all you want." Doc Benton turned around and approached Dean.
As he did, I ducked around the corner and made my way over to Sam. Dean shot at him a few more times, but Doc Benton simply threw him across the room.
I stood up next to Sam as he laid on a medical table, his arms strapped down, and his eyes held open with tape.
"Maddison?" Sam whispered in relief.
I unstrapped one of his arms, and then he quickly sat up and unstrapped his other arm. He got off the table and pulled the tape away from his eyes.
As we approached Doc Benton and Dean, we could see that Dean had stabbed him in the chest.
Doc Benton looked down and laughed. "A knife? What part of immortality do you not understand? Pity about the heart, though. It was a brand-new one."
Dean nodded. "Good. It should be pumping nice and strong..." He held up a bottle of chloroform. "Sending this stuff throughout your whole body. See, I picked up your little bottle upstairs and dipped the knife in it."
Doc Benton looked down at his chest, back up at Dean, and then collapsed. A few minutes later, we had him tied up to the table like Sam had been.
Dean tapped him on the face with the back of his hand, causing him to open his eyes. "Oh, hiya, Doc. Wakey, wakey, eggs, and bac-y."
"Please," Doc Benton begged.
"Please, what? You've been killing poor bastards for over 150-years, and now you got a request?" Dean scoffed. "Shut up."
"No, you don't understand. I can help you. I know what you need," the doctor said.
"We might have to cut him up into little bits," Dean said, "Ya know, this immortality thing is a bitch."
"I can read the formula for you. You know... immortality... forever young, never die," Doc Benton said.
"Dean," Sam said.
Dean furrowed his brow and looked over at him. "Sam."
Sam nodded and walked out of the room, Dean and I followed.
"What?" Dean asked.
"I mean, we're talking hell in three weeks. Or needing a new pancreas in like half a century," Sam said.
"Yeah, well, you can't exactly get those at a Kwik-E-Mart," Dean said.
"It's not perfect, but it buys us more time to think of something better. We just need time, Dean. I mean, please, just— just think about it," Sam begged.
Dean shook his head. "No."
"Dean, don't you want to live?" Sam asked.
"That's not really a fair question." I shook my head. "What you're suggesting would make us no better than the monsters we take out."
Dean nodded. "What he is isn't living. Look, this is simple."
Sam furrowed his brow. "Simple?"
"To me, it is, okay. Black or white; human, not human." Dean walked back into the room and stood in front of Doc Benton. "See, what the doc is... is a friggin' monster. I can't do it. I would rather go to Hell."
"You don't understand. I can help you!" Doc Benton cried.
Dean covered his nose with a chloroform-soaked cloth, knocking him out again. He turned to Sam. "Now, I'm gonna take care of him. You can either help me or not. It's up to you."
About an hour later, we had Doc Benton inside a chained refrigerator in a hole in the ground, his formula book sat on top of it.
As we started burying him, he woke up and started pounding on the inside of the fridge. "No! No! Don't! Stop it! I can help you! No!"
"Enjoy forever in there, Doc," Dean said as we continued to bury him.
"Let me out! I can save you! No! Don't!" he pleaded.
We just ignored him and kept piling the dirt into the hole.
We went back to the motel and quickly got packed up. Dean said he thought Bela would be coming for us, so we set up the room to look like we would still be there after she left. We set up pillows under blankets so it would look like we were sleeping when she arrived. After we turned out of the parking lot, we saw her creeping into the motel.
Dean called our motel room a few minutes later. "Hiya, Bela. Here's a fun fact you may not know. I felt your hand in my pocket when you swiped that motel receipt." (...) "Oh, I'm pretty sure I understand perfectly. See, I noticed something interesting in your hotel room. Something tucked above the door. An herb. Devil's shoestring? There's only one use for that. Holding hellhounds at bay. So, you know what I did, I went back, and I took another look at your folks' obit. Turns out, they died ten years ago today. You didn't kill them. A demon did your dirty work. You made a deal, didn't you, Bela. And it's come due." (...) "Is that why you stole the colt, huh? Try to wiggle out of your deal, our gun for your soul?" (...) "But stealing the colt wasn't quite enough, I'm guessing." (...) "Really! Wow, demons untrustworthy. Shocker. That's, uh, kind of a tight deadline too... what time is it? Well, look at that, almost midnight." (...) "Sweetheart, we are weeks past help." (...) "You know what, you're right, you don't. But you know what the bitch of the bunch is? If you would have just come to us sooner and asked for help, we probably could have taken the colt and saved you." (...) "And who told you that?" (...) "She?" (...) "Lilith?" He looked over at Sam and me. "Why should I believe you?" (...) "This can't help you, Bela, not now. Why are you telling me this?" (...) "I'll see you in Hell." He hung up and tossed his phone down onto the seat.