Chapter 7
As exhausted as he was from the traumas of the day, Dean laid in his bed in a half-sleep state as he listened to the sounds of his brother's light snore and smiled at the thought of Sam actually getting a good nights sleep. From what little he knew of the last five weeks, he imagined that for Sam, those had been few and far between. Sam's sounds of sleep were almost hypnotic as Dean focused his hearing on them, it being the only thing containing the brewing migraine in the back of his head. He'd felt it starting earlier, not long before Sam had walked in on him expelling his lunch all over the floor, but had been able to keep it at bay, the nurses making it a whole lot easier when they'd shot him up with something to calm him down. Stifled but still lingering, it made it's return as his body had seemingly metabolized out the whole dose they'd administered, the drugs being the only thing that had been holding it back anymore as it now had free reign in his brain.
He felt it creeping in behind his eyes first, noticing it as he focused on the images displayed on the laptop screen, it's brightness still making his eyes ache even though he hadn't seen it in hours. Even in the darkness of the room, when he tried to open his eyes the pain reverberated through his head and he knew it was better to just keep the lids shut.
His eyes fully assaulted now, he started to realize just how nauseous he still was and desperately wanted to change positions to at least lay on his side. He was so sick of being on his back and was pretty sure it was just making the queasiness worse. He didn't dare move though, because the instant he did he'd wake up Sam, and he really wanted his brother to sleep. So, he just laid there in misery and listened to Sam snore, it's rhythm helping drown out the loud buzzing only he could hear that was trying to overtake him through his ears.
He heard the voice break into his concentration, that voice he was all too familiar with as she spoke to him through his pained haze.
"Dean, I know you can hear me. I need you to remember more, more from that night. Please try to remember everything you saw, not just me. It's so important, only you can help us. Please remember," she begged him to listen to her, the voice trapped inside his head with him, the begging for more then release falling on deaf ears.
He was becoming restless and started tossing and turning, hoping he could somehow physically push her out of his mind as he fought to ignore her, not wanting to hear her anymore. She'd already tortured him enough and wasn't all of this her fault in the first place? She was the one that ran him down on the dark highway when she'd decided to get behind the wheel, killing herself and almost killing him, only to have her spirit piggy-back itself into him and take up residence somewhere inside his head as she added to the living hell she'd already made. She somehow sensed his thoughts and knew he still wasn't seeing the big picture, so she just kept trying to convince him that there was a lot more to it then just that.
"No Dean, it wasn't my fault. I was a victim too, just as much as you. Why can't you remember what you saw, the first thing you saw, even before you saw me? Before everything? Would you please just try?" She sounded desperate now, sensing the rising fight in him gaining ground.
His tossing and turning now becoming almost full thrashing, he clutched his head in his hands and started retaliating against her, wanting more then anything for her to just be gone.
"Get out of my head, damn you," he groaned over and over, and not quietly either, the cries instantly waking Sam the second they hit the air. He was across the room in a few short steps, clasping his hands around his brother's arms and trying to pull them from his pained face as he threw his head from side to side in an effort to stop the voice he was hearing.
"Dean, stop it before you hurt yourself!" Sam bellowed at him, the sound of his voice slightly calming Dean's thrashing as it slowly penetrated his head. "Dean, open your eyes and look at me!" He yelled again, this time finally seeming to get all the way through to him.
His arms went limp as his body calmed, the sound of Sam's voice finally silencing her for the time being. Dean opened his eyes to look at Sam, but the instant he did immediately regretted it when the light Sam had turned on shot through each eyeball and lanced straight through his brain like a hot knife through butter, bouncing off the back of his skull and ricocheting around in all different directions in perpetual motion.
This brought out another groan, this one a pained moan as he squeezed his eyes back shut and now had the overwhelming need to roll over and get off his back before quite possibly choking on his own bile, since his stomach was pretty much empty now. Raising his arm and swinging it over himself, he attempted to roll his body over with almost no success. Sam could see what he was trying to do and started helping him, not wanting the results to be the same as the last time Dean tried laying on his side.
"I'll get your legs if you can turn your shoulders," Sam told him, already moving towards the foot of the bed. Sliding one hand under his brother's lower back, he lifted his good leg up with the other hand and slowly turned Dean until he was rolled onto his hip, resting his leg half bent back down on the mattress over the other. Dean did his part as well, turning his upper body enough for his back to be off the bed as he now laid fully on his side, somewhat quelling the sick feeling in his stomach. Sam went to his own bed and grabbed his pillows, strategically placing one under Dean's bent leg for support and wedging the other behind his back to stop him from rolling back down.
Hearing Dean's breathing finally slowing to normal, Sam rested his hand on his brother's shoulder and started his expected questioning. "You alright now?"
Without ever opening his eyes, he gave his usual answer, the one Sam knew he was going to hear. "Yeah, I'm good," he lied as the knives slicing through his brain continued their dicing, his stomach somewhat rolling as the effort to speak was put forth.
"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" Sam asked, even though he though he already knew.
"Just a little pillow talk before I get screwed Sammy, that's all."
"Not funny dude. What did she say this time?"
"More of the same. You'd think she'd get some new material by now, huh?"
"Well, at least she didn't put you into seizure mode this time," Sam observed, thankful himself for the change in her method of contact.
"No, but I think I prefer that to the headache she just amplified past ten and upped to eleven before she left," he spoke back, the pain obvious in his voice.
Sam knew he was in a world of hurt and decided that summoning a nurse and getting him something to ease his pain and help him sleep would be well worth the wrath he'd incur later. Pressing the call button, he waited patiently for one of the nurses to show, which one did in just a few short moments. He explained to her what had happened, leaving out the parts that would probably get them both locked up in the psyche ward, and basically told her he now had a migraine. She shook her head and left, promising to be right back.
"What the hell did you go and do that for Sam?" Dean asked him, the annoyance in his voice hiding the gratuity in his thoughts.
"Because you're in pain and you don't need to be, and you need to rest, which you won't do unless you're forced to, that's why," he told him, only stating the facts as he saw them.
"Whatever dude," was as close to a thank-you as Sam would get, and he would gladly take it, knowing Dean knew he was right. "You know Sam, we could just go salt and burn her now and get it all over with tonight."
"Don't worry man, I'll take care of it," Sam promised, not wanting to see anymore helplessness from his brother any more then Dean wanted to see it in himself. They'd both seen enough in the last twenty four hours to last a lifetime.
"I know you will," he mumbled.
Dean was back to being half in/half out and only vaguely aware of what was going on around him by the time the nurse came back with whatever concoction was on the menu as the special drug of the day today, his head finally feeling some relief as she pushed the drugs into his vein. Sam stood at his side and watched as the deep furrows in his brow started to smooth and relax, his eyelids no longer pinched tightly together as he appeared to have fallen mercifully into a deep sleep. Sam couldn't help but wonder what was really going on and with all of his senses fully awake and aware now, he knew he'd never get back to sleep and decided now was as good a time as any to get started since the sooner he did, the sooner this nightmare would be over for both of them.
He plopped himself back down on his own bed and rested his back against the wall as he sat his computer on his lap and watched mindlessly as it booted up and connected to the internet. He started by reading the article he'd bookmarked weeks ago for about the hundredth time, not sure why he wanted to read it again since he could probably recite it out loud word for word from memory anyway. He'd never bothered to dig any deeper into the woman that had nearly killed Dean, not really caring now that she was dead herself. He guessed now he would have to, since she'd decided to live rent-free his brother's body on a day to day basis.
His Google search yielded more information then he thought it would, not for a moment having the slightest clue as to who she had been but realizing now why their expenses were all being so generously taken care of. Trish Waterson had been the only daughter of Robert Waterson, the patriarch of the richest, most powerful family in the county, and his wife Elizabeth, heir to a small fortune of her own. Their estate sat right on the shore of Lake Geneva's most valuable section of real estate, it originally being the family home but now only being used off and on over the last few years as the seasons warranted. Had he and Dean been walking down that dark stretch of road a month later, none of this probably would have happened as the Watersons would have been long gone, probably sunning themselves on some Florida beach with their damn daughter by their side. 'Go figure, just our luck,' Sam thought.
She'd been born and raised here along with her brother, actually attending public schools where she'd been head of the cheerleading squad, becoming homecoming and prom queens and student president until she graduated high school as class valedictorian five years ago. That was when the seizures had started unexplainably, doctor after doctor her parents dragged her to coming up with the same diagnosis. She dropped out of college and just followed her parents everywhere they went, the binds of school and a real life no longer limiting them to just their small Wisconsin town anymore. They'd return every now and then for a few weeks at a time, only to jet away again when they'd get bored and always leaving for warmer climates when the harsh Wisconsin winters hit. "Yeah, right, it's Lake Geneva. Like the winter's are so harsh there. I guess when you're rich and pampered, any winter below 50 degrees is harsh,' Sam thought again, picturing the whole family to be nothing but a bunch of snobs.
Sam wasn't the least bit surprised to see that she seemed like a spoiled brat either, which would explain why she was relentlessly dogging Dean right now. She was obviously begging for attention, even in death. Further investigation told Sam that after her death, she'd been buried in the family plot along with three generations of Watersons before her right there in Lake Geneva. Shortly afterwards, the family retreated to their home in Arizona to mourn. "Tough life', he thought again to himself, not really sure where the uncharacteristic bitterness was coming from, but not really caring either. He thought he should be grateful for the excellent care his brother had been given, but then again, didn't they owe it to them for letting her do what she did?
Refocusing his thoughts back to the cemetery, he thought 'Good, nobody to get in the way when I salt and burn your ass. In and out quick and no one will even know I was ever there.' He didn't even think he'd need to wait for Bobby, figuring he could take care of it himself. He would too, because Bobby or no Bobby, he was going to take care of this tonight.
Stealing a glance in his brother's direction, he was relieved to see him sleeping peacefully, the thought that just over twenty-four hours ago he'd have given his right arm to wake his brother from the same condition, but now just wanting him to sleep through the night. 'What a difference a day makes' ran through his head as he grabbed his phone and snuck out of the room as quietly as possible. He figured that after the drugs they'd given Dean a little while ago he'd be able to sleep through Metallica giving a live performance in the room but having to be quiet reassured him that he could wake Dean up if he tried hard enough.
Flipping open his phone once he was out in the hallway and noting the time, he decided to call Bobby anyway, really wanting to know where the man was and how long it would be before he got there. He dialed and listened, jumping slightly when he answered, the irritated voice he got in response being exactly what he was expecting but just not quite prepared for yet.
"Sam, did you suddenly change time zones and forget which one you were in? You do know what time it is, don't you?" Bobby tried his best to sound annoyed, but it was really concern he felt because Sam would not call at three a.m. unless he absolutely knew it was for a really good reason.
"I'm sorry Bobby, I know it's early, or late, however you want to look at it, but we have a problem here, and I think I'm going to need your help," Sam told him, his tone of voice not as grave as the older man had expected, but worried nonetheless.
"What kind of problem Sam?" He queried, his curiosity peaked.
Sam proceeded to tell him everything that had happened since they had spoken last, giving him as much detail as quickly as he possibly could, pausing briefly to let Bobby's fit of laughter pass when Sam told him about the whining, weeping mess Dean had turned into earlier this evening. It wasn't that it was funny, but picturing it from Dean, well, yeah, it was funny. As Sam spoke more, Bobby started to formulate an opinion in his head, and when Sam was finally finished and had given his own take on the situation, he took just a few seconds to respond, knowing they were both thinking the same thing.
"If I head out now, I can be there by dark. You gonna be ready to do this when I get there?"
"Hell Bobby, I'm ready to do this now but Dean would kill me if I went commando."
"I'll take that as a yes then. I'm on my way Sam, just sit tight and hold that box of Puffs Plus for your brother just in case he gets all emo again," he told Sam as he hung up, putting a huge grin on Sam's face.
Still hours until sunrise, Sam snuck back into the room and spread himself out on his bed, hands firmly tucked under his head and clasped together as his eyes fixed themselves on an imaginary spot on the ceiling since it was too dark to see the real thing. He blanked his mind and just listened to the silence of the room as he ran through his plans. He'd check out the cemetery early, hopefully before Dean woke, then wait for Bobby to do the actual deed. He'd stay with Dean all day on guard duty just in case, because his brother was right about one thing for sure, they needed to keep the seizures a secret. He tossed the thoughts back and forth until his eyes finally closed, sending him back to sleep where he belonged.
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Sam hadn't slept long as his eyes opened to the faint ray of light filtering into the room through the slit at the bottom of the shades covering the windows. Checking the time, he yawned and stretched as he determined seven a.m. was an acceptable time of the day to go scoping out a cemetery, because didn't everyone hang out in graveyards for amusement in the wee hours of the morning? It was six now, and by the time he grabbed something to eat and coffee and actually drove his ass out there, it would be well after seven. Throwing on a jacket and shoes, he checked on his brother and, seeing that he hadn't moved not one inch since he'd finally fallen asleep, he snuck out of the room again to begin his recon.
Jumping in the car and firing it up, he decided fast food would have to do for now, one of the few benefits of their current situation being the fact that at least Sam wasn't eating at the greasiest, shittiest diners Dean could find for a few weeks. How his brother lived on that crap he'd never know. He pulled into the first drive-thru he saw, it unfortunately being one of those fast food chain places that made an egg sandwich any which way you wanted with some form of dead pig on top and covered in cheese nestled between two either hard or flaky pieces of bakery good. Side that with a healthy order of greasy tater-tots in a wet paper bag and wash it down with some hot, strong coffee and he had the makings of a day full of indigestion and heart burn. Dean would be so envious right now.
Food in lap and coffee in the holder, he drove off east, heading to the tourist trap of the Midwest, or maybe that was the Dells, he wasn't sure as he didn't give a rats ass about either one. He pushed the car hard and fast, wanting to get there and back in as little time as possible. Dean had been sleeping for almost four hours and he wasn't sure how much longer Little Miss Sunshine would let him rest before dinging the bell for the next round of brain sparring, drugs or no drugs. For a drive that should have taken at least forty-five minutes, he made it there in forty, including the stop for the lump of what looked like food now sitting in the bottom of his stomach as his body seemingly refused to digest it.
The cemetery had been easy to find, and as he parked along the street a block away he noticed it had no fence around it to hinder his entrance or escape. That was good. The other thing he noticed is that it was small and close to the street. That was bad. Traipsing inside, he walked up and down each row in search of her headstone, noticing that almost each and everyone bore the same last name, but he breathed a small sigh of relief when he finally spotted it at the back of the farthest row from the street. That was good. Unfortunately, it was right under a floodlight that turned on at the first sign of motion. That was bad. He casually walked back to the car and rummaged through the trunk for the only thing he knew he had that he could break that light with without being heard and after a few long moments of searching, finally found it at the bottom of the weapons stash where it had obviously been hiding for quite some time. Dean had made it himself and given it to him for his ninth birthday, and Sam couldn't believe he still had it in there, but knew he did when he had seen it months ago, meaning to unbury it and maybe use it sometime, if only for his own amusement.
Wrapping the slingshot around his wrist, he searched the ground for some oversized rocks to use as projectiles. He had to wipe out that light before he and Bobby came back tonight because they would need it as dark as possible. There was little to no traffic on the street in the daytime and Sam assumed it would be the same in the dead of night, but there was no sense in taking stupid chances. Finding nothing on the ground big enough to shoot, he dug through the trunk once again, this time pulling out a few regular every-day bullets that wouldn't kill anything not of this world. Slamming the trunk closed again, he scanned the area for anyone that may be watching him as he nonchalantly made his way back to the far corner of the graveyard. Taking careful aim, he drew back the loaded pocket as far as he could, stretching the rubber bands as tight as possible in the hopes of generating enough force to shatter the bulb. The light in his sight, he let the bullet fly, striking the lamp dead on and shattering the glass on his first shot, knowing he would have made Dean proud. Training his eyes up the sky, he casually walked back to the car, got in, and drove away, heading back west, never once seeing the man that had been silently watching him from across the street in the bushes the whole time.