Thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing. You guys are the best and your feedback really makes me smile. Here's chapter 5 of our little adventure. Enjoy!
Chapter 5
I am the painted faces, the toxic kiss
Sowing of doubt, troll beneath the bridge.
Come across
Death by a thousand cuts
Believe it, we live as we dream
Nightwish – Ghost River
They drove Jim Hayes to his home and delivered him to his worried parents. Jim would not say much of where he had been – even in the car, with Sam and Dean, he had only given a brief description of what had happened, proving that his memory was spotty, either from shock or from whatever the Pied Piper had done to him. But he was adamant that Sam and Dean had saved him, which earned both brothers some enthusiastic hugs from the mother and the baby sister.
When they reached the hotel, Loretta told them she had started to bake some cookies for them, "you boys are heroes, you know". News in small towns travelled fast, and by now, almost everyone knew of Sam and Dean's rescue. Sam had retired to his room, flustered. Dean stayed behind.
"Hey, Loretta," Dean said, once he made sure Sam was out of earshot. "Can you help me with something?" He fumbled with his wallet, where he still kept a picture of his Dad and showed it to Loretta. "Did this man show up the last time kids were disappearing from here? He would not have been alone."
Loretta looked long and hard at the photograph, then at Dean. She shook her head.
"It's been a long time. I didn't even own the hotel back then. My parents did. But – yes. It was unusual enough that I remember. He was on a case – yet he was dragging this boy with him. Said something about being called on an emergency while he was on a family vacation and couldn't leave him." Loretta hesitated, her eyes fixed on Dean. "You don't just keep anyone's photograph in your wallet, son. You keep pictures of family there. Now, I think you're too old to be the boy in the picture. But – your brother…"
Dean stuffed the picture back in the wallet without answering. Loretta smiled slightly.
"He's grown quite a bit, hasn't he? You know, he had this habit of glancing around him. Like he was expecting someone else to be there – like he was so used to someone else being there, he took it for granted. And then when he found himself alone, he'd look so disappointed. From what the other Agent hinted, the boy had lost his mother, so I thought that must be it. But it wasn't his mother he was looking for, was it?"
"What else can you tell me?" Dean asked. "About Sam. Something happened to him, didn't it?"
Loretta drew back slightly.
"Well, don't you know? He nearly became one of the missing kids. He sleepwalked his way right into the forest. We almost didn't find him in time, you know."
And that was all the answers Dean needed.
xxxxxxxXXXXxxxxxxx
When Dean walked in, Sam was busy with his laptop. He had Dad's journal next to him and was looking at a list of names.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked.
"Hmm?" Sam asked distractedly. "Oh, just checking the names of the victims from Dad's case. I'm trying to sort out which might have been taken by the boogeyman and which by the Pied Pieper. Like this we can know something about his victim pool. It's not exactly easy, though, because it was over twenty years. Records are sketchy – not a lot of them have been transferred online, I think. I might get more at the local library. Or, I don't know. Talking to the victims' families."
Dean walked to his bed, but did not sit down.
"Or," he began and his hard tone made Sam stiffen. "We could just look at the kid we do know about."
Sam looked up. Dean's face was inscrutable. It was enough to warn him that something was wrong.
"What, you mean Jim Hayes?" he asked uncertainly. "Dean, I thought that one of the older victims would actually be more useful…"
Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head.
"I meant you, Sam. You're not going to sit there and say you don't know you were one of the original victims. You lied to me, Sam."
Sam shook his head, desperate to deter his brother's wrath.
"Dean, I did not lie to you," he insisted, then, added quickly, hearing his brother's indignant huff: "I really wasn't. I swear I don't remember being taken by anything, or what happened afterwards. I barely remember being here at all, and everything that I did remember, I shared with you. There were no lies, Dean."
Dean walked the length of the room, running a hand over his face. He looked overwhelmingly tired all of a sudden.
"Sam" he said. "You can't just look me in the eye and tell me that at some point, you did not start to suspect."
Sam took a deep breath. He had already made up his mind to tell Dean everything.
"When I went to talk to Robert Blackstone, he said some things," he began. "I think he is the one who treated me back then. He said I…I was sick when they found me in the forest. I know I should have told you…"
"You think?" Dean huffed. "Sam, it's always the same thing and you never learn. You hide things from me and that's when everything falls apart."
A flash of irritation replaced Sam's previous guilt.
"You're one to talk, Dean. Aren't you the one that was keeping things from me? I had to find out from Cass that I was walking around for a whole year without a soul."
He regretted his words as soon as he saw Dean flinch.
"That was different," Dean said tiredly. "I was trying to protect you. What you're doing here is…I don't know what this is."
He strode to the hanger and grabbed his jacket. Sam felt a rush of cold spill over him.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
Dean refused to look at him.
"I need to clear my head," he stated bluntly. "Stay here."
He was out the door before Sam could even think of stopping him. Sam was unspeakably relieved when he did not hear the familiar rumble of the Impala. So, wherever Dean was going, he had chosen to walk. Which meant he was not leaving Sam there permanently. Not that Dean would ever do something like that to him – but there were times when Sam thought he would actually deserve it.
XXXxxxxXXXXXX
At first, Dean walked aimlessly through the narrow streets of the small town. He had to side-step some rats a couple of times, which nearly sent him back, but whatever fear or distaste he might have of rats, he still did not want to face Sam just yet. Not before he managed to reconcile himself with the idea that his brother had kept something from him yet again. Dean had really thought they were past this.
He felt angry at everything at everyone. At Dad for never telling him something had happened to Sam. At Sam for keeping this from him – then and now. He might have experienced something traumatic enough to forget at some point, but Dean was sure when they had picked him up from the boys' home, Sam had still remembered. He was angry at Greenberg and whatever shady stuff he had going on back on the original hunt. Hell, if Dean was honest, he was even angry at Bobby for throwing the case at them. They had been doing so well.
Dean shook his head. Part of him understood Sam's hesitation to share this with him. If Sam really was not sure of what he remembered, he'd be reluctant to talk. Dean knew his brother enough to realize he had major control issues – and him being drawn by a dude with a flute and then having his memories somehow erased was not going to be easy to process.
Another part – and, a bigger part, if he was honest – was pissed as hell. When was Sam going to get that being upfront with him would actually help? What could Dean do, if he did not know something was wrong with Sam? Of course, this did not start with Sam. It had started with John Winchester, who had thought for some reason Dean had to be kept in the dark about Rattigan. And, for the life of him, Dean could not understand why.
He'd stopped and sat down on a bench in what passed for the town's playground/dog park. He searched his mind for that time right after he had come back from Sonny's. Surely, his father must have given him some hints that something had happened to Sam. Maybe Dean had just not known how to read them.
xxxxXXXXXXxxxx
Dad came back three days after he picked up Dean from Sonny's. By then, Sam was almost back to his normal self. He snarked back at Dean whenever he could, seemingly more used to having his brother around again and beginning to understand that nothing he was going to do would have Dean vanishing again. Dean still had not told him about where he had been, although Sam was starting to ask more and more direct questions. Dean knew he would have to tell him – no matter what Dad said.
Despite the fact that he was getting better, Sam still seemed reluctant to let Dean out of his sight for more than ten minutes. It was good they were going to Pastor Jim's and not some Hunt where they might have been forced to leave Sam at the motel. Dean did not think Sammy could handle that right now.
Sam was still sleeping when John got back. Dean made to head towards his brother and wake him, but John shook his head.
"Not yet," he said, then indicated that they should go outside. "I want to talk to you first, Dean."
Dean braced himself for the lecture he had been expecting ever since he had been picked up from the boys' home. Something about responsibility and consequences, stuff that did not really click with their lifestyle – they did a lot of things and fled before facing the consequences, why should this time be any different? He was surprised, however, by John's questions.
"How was Sam?"
Dean shrugged. He did not think Sam would appreciate it if he shared with their father how clingy he was when it came to his brother.
"You know. He's Sam. Hey, has he been sick or anything?"
John hesitated, then shrugged.
"It was just a bug, Dean. Kids pick up stuff all the time. Has he said anything to you?"
About what? Dean had wanted to ask. He did not want to talk about Sam's nightmares. It would have felt like a violation of trust, revealing them to someone else. Even to their Dad.
"He wants to know where I was," he said instead.
The way John was looking at him, Dean had to wonder if his father did not realize he was keeping things from him. Still, he made no comment.
"Let me know if he says anything. Or, if he does anything that's…unlike Sam."
Dean's eyebrows rose. He was ready to ask what that was supposed to mean, when the door to their room opened and Sam's disheveled head appeared. He looked at Dean wide-eyed.
"I woke up and you weren't there," he said accusingly.
Dean smiled reassuringly.
"I'm right here, Sammy. Just talking to Dad, see."
Sam inspected his father, frowning. John did not seem to take offence, probably because Sam looked like he was only half-awake.
"Hey there, sport," he greeted. "Ready to go to Pastor Jim's? You can take care of that mangy dog you like so much."
Sam tilted his head, not even reacting to the mention of a dog.
"Dean's coming too, right?"
"Well, where else would he go?" John asked carelessly.
And Dean was so annoyed by that question that he forgot about asking Dad why he wanted to know if Sam was acting like himself or not.
xxxXXXXXxxxxxx
Dean rubbed a hand over his face. So, he might as well add himself to the list of people who had handled the situation poorly back then. He should have pushed with his Dad. He should have pushed with Sam. He should have seen then and there that something was wrong. The two months at Sonny's must have made him soft. Otherwise, he would have caught on to Dad trying to tell him something might be up with Sam. As for Dad – well, the man had always been a cryptic mess. What else was new?
Dean got up. He knew what he had to do – talk to someone who had been there. Who had witnessed what had happened twenty years ago. Sam would not do – Sam did not even remember everything. And, besides, after their fight, Dean was not ready to face Sam yet. That would come later. After he knew more. But there was someone else in town who could help.
He paused at the grocery store to ask for directions, then walked two more streets until he reached the large house with the sign for a doctor's office in the front yard. He rang the bell. His eyes narrowed as he took in the haggard face of the man who opened it. This was someone who had recently lost a loved one, he reminded himself.
"Doctor Blackstone?" he said.
The man shook his head impatiently.
"Unless you have new information about my daughter, I suggest you leave."
"I don't," Dean said. "But it's related to your daughter. The last time children were disappearing, you had a boy brought here, a potential victim, right?"
Blackstone's eyes flashed.
"How do you know that?"
Dean took a step forward, looking Blackstone in the eye.
"I need you to tell me everything about what happened to him. Everything you know."
xxxxXXXXXxxxxx
Back in his room, Sam was thinking that the one thing that was sure to help him reconcile with Dean was information. He needed to tell Dean exactly what had happened to him twenty years ago. Unfortunately, he could only remember bits and pieces, which were not exactly helpful. But maybe there was someone who could help jog his memory a bit.
Getting Bobby to give him Greenberg's phone number was not exactly easy. Bobby was already suspicious about the whole thing. Getting Bobby not to call Dean and let him know Sam was about to do something majorly idiotic was even harder. Sam had to tell Bobby that he thought Dean might have been working a lead and it was best not to call him just then. Bobby eventually said he wouldn't but advised Sam not to call Greenberg until Dean was back. Sam promised he would do his best – which was not exactly a lie, and he was sure Bobby knew it.
It took him three tries, but Greenberg eventually answered. The voice was harsh and gravelly and completely unfamiliar to Sam. But, then again, it had been a while, and Sam had only met him on that case.
"Mr. Greenberg," Sam greeted. "I'm…I'm the Hunter Bobby Singer sent to deal with this problem in Rattigan…"
"And?" Greenberg asked uncompromising.
"And I need to ask you some questions. About what happened then. You're the only one I can ask."
There was a pause, then Sam heard Greenberg's resigned sigh.
"Go ahead."
"You killed the boogeyman back then. And you had no suspicions there was something else?"
Even without seeing Greenberg, Sam could feel his barely-contained impatience.
"Look, I missed something. It wasn't only my fault, you know. I wasn't the only Hunter there."
"Right," Sam said coldly. "Only, the other Hunter suspected something else was there. And then you…what exactly did you do then, Greenberg? Use his kid as bait?"
Greenberg's prolonged silence made Sam wonder if he had not come on too strong. When Greenberg spoke next, his tone was all hostility:
"Only two other people knew about that. One is dead – and there's no way John would have shared with other Hunters what happened there. So – what is it exactly that you want, Sammy?"
Sam scowled. So that was how Greenberg wanted to play this.
"I want you to tell me what happened to me back then. And about your involvement in whatever this was. What did you do to me?"
"I didn't do anything to you," Greenberg scoffed."Just…took advantage of the situation. You were there. You were a Hunter's kid who could take care of himself better than regular kids – so I thought. And you would have had both John and me to intervene if things got out of hand. That's how I explained it to your father. He broke my nose. Said next time he'd shoot me."
Sam's lips curled into an involuntary smile. That sounded like John Winchester, all right.
"So, I decided to try a different game," Greenberg went on. "I set up a false lead for John one evening. And I snuck into your room while you both were at dinner and messed with some of the wards."
"You left me vulnerable," Sam accused.
"Maybe," Greenberg conceded. "But your Dad didn't want to cooperate, did he? Anyway, I was sure it was going to work. You were miserable – just like those other runaway kids. You tried to take off before. You were whining for that brother of yours any chance you got. Perfect victim, Sam. A true Hunter takes advantage of what he's got."
Years ago, Sam had tried to leave the Hunting life because of people like Greenberg – because he was afraid that, the longer he stayed, the more chances he had of becoming one of those cold, calculating machines that saw everything in absolutes and missed the shades of grey. Years ago he had also been worried Dean was heading down that road, too. But, somehow, despite everything, all the near misses and all the mistakes, he and Dean still managed to cling on to the shreds of their humanity. Maybe it was because they kept themselves from losing it. Maybe, what someone like Greenberg had needed to prevent him from becoming the cold bastard he was now had been a big brother.
"It was about midnight when you left the room," Greenberg informed Sam. "I was beginning to worry, afraid that your Dad might come before my plan was set in motion. I knew I would not get another shot at you. But he didn't. And then I saw you leave your room in nothing but your pajamas. You were walking funny. Like you were not really there."
"Like I was hearing something?" Sam asked. "Music, maybe?"
He heard Greenberg pause.
"Come to think of it, yeah. I do remember music. Something like a flute or bagpipe, I don't know. I figured it was someone practicing with an open window. Sound carries far at night, you know.
"Anyways, I obviously did not intend to leave you out of my sight. But you were nearly by the woods and there was suddenly this…this pack of rats between me and you. It distracted me. When I looked up, you'd vanished."
Sam snorted.
"Some Hunter you are," he baited Greenberg. "You lost a twelve-year-old."
He imagined Greenberg on the other end, clutching the phone and barely containing his anger. The picture gave him an odd twinge of satisfaction.
"I'm also the guy that found you," Greenberg said. "Two nights later. It was when we encountered the bogeyman and finally killed it, so you can't blame me for thinking you appearing right then was connected. Anyway, that's all I know. I found you in the woods. You were delirious by then. Talking crazy."
Sam felt himself grow cold.
"What do you mean, crazy?"
"I don't know," Greenberg said. "I took you to the doc, then took off before John got there. I knew he wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in me. Funny, though. Before starting this hunt, I'd proposed a little information trade with John Winchester. He'd help me with the boogeyman, and I'd tell him the rumors I had heard – that countless dark things were talking about little Sammy Winchester and insisting there was something not right about him."
Sam took a deep breath, telling himself not to be bothered by Greenberg's words. That was ancient history, as far as he was concerned. It did not matter now, how things would have changed if the information about him had reached Dad earlier. Perhaps it would have changed things for the worst.
"What was I saying?" he insisted. "You've gotta remember something."
There was a pause. Sam did not know if Greenberg was really trying to remember or only yanking his chain and playing with him.
"You were out of your head," Greenberg said, at length. "Kept talking about how someone had told you it was best for everyone if you had stayed lost for good – that you had seen your future, and it was full of hell-fire."
Sam switched off the phone without thinking. He was clutching the device in his hand, almost on the point of breaking it. He looked at it, dazed. This was where he should call Dean. He should get to his brother and ask him to be there before he tried anything else.
He pulled up Dean's phone number, his thumb hovering over the call button. He should call. But what if Dean was still upset and refused to answer? Could Sam afford to wait? Maybe he should try and remember things more clearly first. That way, he would have something more substantial for Dean.
I had fun writing this one. can't wait to show you the rest :) Stay safe!