A/N: I'm so glad that people are still reading despite the somewhat OC-focus. More action is to come in this chapter, I promise :) Next update will be later--I'm out of town for the weekend visiting a very cool friend, but I'll get the next one up as soon as I can. Kudos to carocali for totally calling the next twist in action, whether she knew it or not! All other notes and disclaimers in chapter one.
Chapter Five
It was good to hear his brother's voice. It was good just hear an adult voice. Not that he didn't like kids. But it was more than a little stressful. They always had questions, always had comments, always had needs. None of which Sam actually minded. In theory, he actually liked it quite a bit.
Jess had wanted kids--four of them. She'd had two siblings herself, one older and one younger, and she said that odd numbers of children were cruel for the middle child. Two was too few, and four seemed just perfect. She wanted to have them at even intervals, maybe three years--far enough apart to give each one a chance at being the baby, but close enough that they could be playmates.
Sam had never really let himself think of children, had never considered continuing the family line, because all he knew about babies was that they killed their mothers when they were six months old.
But he couldn't tell Jess that, wouldn't ever tell Jess that, and there was no way he could ever shatter her dreams so carelessly.
And when he looked at her, it wasn't hard to see. Him with his law practice, Jess a nurse. Their two story traditional home in the suburbs somewhere. And three blonde haired children, the girls with curls like Jess, maybe one named Mary. And a little boy he could only see as Dean. He could see the way Jess' stomach would bulge, he could hear their voices as they called him "Daddy," and Sam believed it was possible.
Sam had been wrong. Babies didn't kill their mothers at the age of six months. Only he did. And he had killed Jess and all his dreams of a future and children with her. If he'd had any doubts on that one, Madison had cleared that up for him.
There was no room for children in the hunt. He should know. He lived it every day of his childhood. He would never inflict that kind of life on anyone else.
So he wanted nothing more than to get them out of here--to not just protect their lives, but their innocence as well.
He just wasn't sure if he could do that or if he even was by keeping them there. So far all was quiet, but Sam had a sneaking suspicion that it couldn't stay that way.
Looking around, he saw Liam and Daniel whispering, not conspiratorially, but purposefully. The other kids were all mostly preoccupied, bored and restless, but quiet.
Another beat passed and Daniel stood up, Liam shortly behind him.
"Uh, Sam?" Daniel asked, walking up to Sam, Liam a half step behind him. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd suspect they were joined at the hip. Memories of his childhood with Dean sprang to mind, but he pushed them aside.
"Yeah," Sam said, a bit tentatively. They had that look that Sam knew enough to dread. That innocent, hopeful, pleading look that told him things were about to get more complicated.
"Liam--he has to go to the bathroom."
The request was so typical, Sam realized. He'd never been around kids a lot--he'd never been around people for most of his life--but he could remember his own days tagging along behind his father and brother--the days of asking for all the wrong things at the wrong times, wanting something just because he knew he couldn't have it. He never meant to be problematic, but now he could understand his brother's exasperated sighs.
"Can he hold it?" Sam asked, keeping his voice gentle. Exasperation only made things worse--that much he remembered clearly.
Liam bit his lip and shook his head. "I got to go really bad," he said, looking up at Sam through his fringe of bangs.
Sam wanted to tell him to hold it, to go in a corner or something, but the kid was looking at him, his brown eyes big and wide and damn, it if the kid didn't look like a kicked puppy. Now he knew why Dean always complained about his puppy dog eyes.
He sighed. "Okay," he relented, far too easily. "Just...give me a minute, okay?"
This seemed to be an adequate compromise and Liam exchanged a shy glance with his brother.
"I just need to make a phone call first," Sam said, fishing his phone out of his pocket.
He couldn't just wander around the museum without telling Dean. It could be potentially dangerous, and his brother needed to be kept aware of what was going on--even though Sam dreaded having to tell him.
Dean wouldn't like it, Sam knew that much. He was pretty sure his older brother would try to talk him out of it. But he couldn't just keep the kids here, make them sit and do nothing. They had to move at some point or they'd never get out.
It was perfectly reasonable.
Now he just had to convince Dean of that.
-o-
He knew his brother's laptop better than Sam thought he did. He just hoped Sam didn't take the time to check the history tab in the Internet browser...
He found himself grinning despite the situation. It wasn't like it was something Sam hadn't seen before, even if the little prude wouldn't admit it. He sometimes wondered what had made Sam so shy about it...his little brother certainly didn't take after him in that regard.
But there was no time for that now, he thought, a bit mournfully. He glanced around. Too many people around anyway. Public places were not ideal for that kind of browsing.
Besides, Sam was counting on him, and Dean was not about to let his kid brother down. He could torment him later--when he was safe and out and Dean could watch him sulk in all his petulant glory.
For now, he took to the task at hand.
Sam had about fifty billion bookmarks, but Dean was pleased to discover that his brother's anal retentive qualities extended to the laptop. All the links were compulsively organized and filed under folders. Under "Jewels of the East" he found a host of links, detailing everything from the list of museums, to a documentation of the jewels on display, to an article on the excavation process.
"Not bad, little brother," Dean murmured under his breath as he skimmed the info. He noted the location of the excavation, the company involved and the brief synopsis of where the jewels originated from. Opening a new browser, he got Google going, plunking down the information and hoping for hits.
He was perusing a list of articles and sites when his phone disturbed his concentration. He fished it out, answering it one handed while he continued browsing.
"Yeah," he said.
"Dean." Sam's voice was low and rushed.
Dean straightened, moving to hold his phone. His protective instincts flared. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Sam said, quickly and unconvincingly.
"Sam."
"I'm going to take the kids to the bathroom."
Sam had to be kidding. "You're what?"
"They need to go, and I can't sit here forever."
Dean shook his head. "I think you should stay put," Dean said.
"I know," Sam agreed. "And I wish I could." Dean could hear the regret in Sam's voice, contained just below his resolve.
"Tell the kid to hold it or something," Dean advised. He glanced over his shoulder. Grace was eyeing him. "You just need to keep yourself safe. And those kids."
"Dean, we don't even know what we're up against," Sam reasoned. "It hasn't made any attack since it locked us in."
"Probably because it's waiting for you to make a mistake."
Sam sighed. "If it is what locked us in, then we're sitting ducks anyway. It will just keep us here until it finds a way to force our hand. And we can't get rid of it from the outside. So the way I figure it, moving is about the only way to figure out what we're up against."
"This plan sucks, man," Dean said. "It's like throwing spaghetti against a wall and seeing what sticks."
Sam snickered softly. "Sounds like your kind of research."
Dean couldn't stop himself from smiling back. "Yeah. It kind of does. But still..."
There was a pause, a stillness between them that radiated with fears and trust. "I'll be careful, Dean," Sam said finally. "I promise."
"You better," Dean muttered.
He could practically hear Sam smile before he ended the call.
-o-
He started them off slow. They crept, single file down the hall. Lara insisted they hold hands again and Sam wasn't really opposed. Though it caused him to stoop, he felt Jaclyn's small hand gripping his and took comfort from knowing they were close.
They made it passed the first set of exhibits with no consequence.
Maybe the thing was done with whatever attack it had been mounting, Sam thought, a bit irrationally.
The kids, though not totally sure what was going on, knew enough not to talk. They were nervous, a bit fidgety, especially Liam, who kept wanting to skip.
Sam's focus, though, was singular. He just wanted to get them to the bathroom and back out. Simple and easy. Then wait for Dean to find a way out of this mess.
The first hallway was easy, no problem, and Sam felt himself relaxing a little. This could work out, after all. Just a few more turns then they'd reach the bathroom and they'd be in the clear. If the thing was dormant again, it gave them much more flexibility and gave Dean a lot more time.
Sam's optimism, however, was short lived.
He heard it first, a crash behind him that sent his heart rate soaring. As he turned to look, he thought he should probably tell the kids to get down, but he wasn't fast enough.
He saw it coming, but not soon enough. He was just fast enough to turn around and catch the Grecian urn with his head.
He didn't go down, not all the way, but his vision fractured and his consciousness splintered. Vaguely, he was aware of the chaos around him--the flying objects, the sound of the children yelling, someone crying, but he was too disconnected to really act on them.
Move. He needed to move.
But his body was moving sluggishly behind his thought process.
When he finally did move, blackness darkened his vision dangerously. Apparently his body didn't want to move.
He closed his eyes, hoping to diminish the glare of the lights and the blur of movement that were making him feel like he was coming apart at the seams.
"Sam!"
The voice was small. Childlike. Terrified.
"Sam!"
The girl. He knew her name.
"Sam, come on!"
And someone was tugging at him, moving him.
Suddenly the world came into focus.
He saw broken shards of glass, pieces of displays.
Then he saw Jaclyn's dark hair peaking out from behind a bench. The other kids were huddled behind it as well.
Sam's eyes roamed outwards and he managed to duck before a pair of Fiskars from the Quilt exhibit caught him full on.
They needed to get out of there. Now.
Fumbling, he managed to pull himself to his feet. "We need to go," he panted. "Into the hallway."
The kids scattered, scampering in front of him. He followed, trying to keep his head clear, and not really succeeding. But he did what he could, his body moving on pure adrenaline and out of habit. He was no good to the kids unconscious, and that was something he couldn't let happen.
The hallways blurred, looked the same. They were moving too quickly--from flying fish (there were fish flying at them--flying--and one nearly took out Jeremy) to angry...Eskimos?
Sam's mind grappled with that new fact, struggled to make sense of it. Where they moving? Coming to life? Moving after them?
Sam wasn't sure, but what he did know was that the needed to move--faster.
They needed to hide, they needed shelter. They were moving so fast that Sam didn't see where the kids were leading them until he saw the jewel case.
"No!" he yelled. "We need to keep moving!"
But it only took a second, one second, and Sam was too late.
It was Liam it caught, the little boy stuck solidly to the floor, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide and hypnotized.
Then he heard the voices--the whispers--rising maliciously.
Jaclyn was screaming--Daniel was yelling, yelling and moving forward.
Roughly, he held Daniel back, pushing himself forward toward Liam.
His mind flashed, trying to remember--all they had to do with Ethan was pull--hard.
He didn't think about anything more than that. His head ached, but there wasn't time for that. Wasn't time for anything. If he waited any longer, Liam would be beyond saving, and he still had to get the rest of the kids out of harm's way.
His hands gripped the boy—hard, yanking with all of his weight. It was a sharp and haphazard action, and when the boy jarred free, he tumbled backwards, the boy in his grip.
Hastily, he tried to stand, fumbling a little as he did so. Liam's body was limp and Sam shifted him carefully until he was cradled in his arms.
The kids were pressed against the wall, someone was still screaming, and as Sam pulled himself to his feet, he yelled, "Go, go, go!"
They didn't need to be told twice. They didn't know where they were running, just that they were running, being prodded ahead by Sam.
The corridors flew by, each exhibit that they passed offering some new items to the flying debris. Jaclyn barely ducked a piece of a fossilized bone, which shattered into the wall above her head, raining pieces down on all of them.
Jeremy turned the corner first, Jaclyn right behind him, but they both shrieked. Jeremy hit the ground and Jaclyn pulled herself back around the corner, running into Lara as she did so. Sam didn't have enough time to stop his forward momentum, and he skittered into the next hallway.
This time, he didn't even see it coming. He turned the corner and then felt the pain.
His vision disappeared completely and when it cleared he was looking down at a spear lodged deeply in his side. It was long and had jagged edges, which he felt all too acutely stabbing in his side. "Son of a...," he muttered, too stunned to even know what to do with it. He'd walked right into it.
Staggering a little, he sank to his knees, his arms shaking with his burden. It was all he could do to keep Liam from hitting the floor hard, but his arms could no longer hold the child.
White pain blinded him and he tried to remember to breathe. He had to get it out. Now. Logically, he knew that wasn't the smartest thing in the world--the pressure of the object usually helped control the bleeding. But the pressure was nearly unbearable, and he couldn't very well run away while impaled.
With a steadying breath, he looked down again. He briefly thought about snapping it off and leaving some of it in to keep the bleeding to a minimum, but there was no way he was going to be able to snap something that large around and he didn't have a knife anywhere handy much less the time to sit there and saw at it. The spear wasn't all the way through, but it protruded from his front, low on his side. Looks a little like a shish kabob.
But it was low and to the side--probably hadn't hit anything vital, which was good, because pulling a spear out of his intestines did not sound like his idea of a good time. Not to mention the fact that he'd probably be dead within minutes if it did--or worse, die slowly from sepsis.
He would rather avoid both those options.
Instinct told him to probe the area, to better assess the damage, but he could hear the kids yelling amongst disconcerting thumps.
This thing wasn't screwing around.
Gritting his teeth, he grasped the spear and yanked—hard.
His vision grayed and his head went light. His entire body buzzed, throbbing distantly with a pain he knew he'd feel in a minute.
The gray abated and his senses solidified.
And then the pain returned with a vigor that took his breath away.
He wanted to cry, he wanted to curl up and sob with it.
But there was no time for that. He needed to get up, to help the kids.
Fumbling, he managed to hunch over, onto his hands and knees. The movement alone left him panting, squinting through tear-filled eyes.
Blinking up, he could see something in front of him, a lifeless form, inert on the tile. Liam.
He'd nearly forgotten about the boy in his injury, and he was suddenly relieved that the spear hadn't hit the boy when it had impaled him.
Something clattered above him and he ducked instinctively. He had to get out of here, out of the line of fire.
Shaking, he managed to snake a hand out to grasp Liam, tugging him with him as he scooted around the edge of the wall where he found the other children looking at him.
"What's happening?" Lara screamed.
Daniel was on him, all over him, grappling for Liam. "I need to see my brother."
Sam really didn't have the energy for this. His vision was doubled, swimming, and he felt suddenly nauseated. "We need to—"
They were all talking at once now, too fast and Sam couldn't keep up. He pulled Liam up into his arms, away from Daniel away from the others.
Fresh debris was sailing around them and something shattered over Jeremy's head.
"We need to move," Sam gritted out, forcing himself to his feet.
He didn't know where he was going, but just that they had to move. Sitting still they were far too easy targets.
"Go," he said, trying to sound authoritative.
He got to his knees, Liam hoisted over his shoulder.
Swallowing, he found his voice. "Go!"
Something skidded hard into the wall behind Lara, and that was the only impetus the kids needed to get them moving again.
Getting himself moving was nothing short of a miracle. Well, that, and pure adrenaline, but he didn't stop to think about it, didn't stop to think about how much it would hurt later, how hard he would crash when he finally got the chance.
Crossing the hallway, he saw Lara frozen in place, staring at something down the hall. Hesitating, he looked down and did a double take.
He stifled a curse. The exhibits weren't just flinging pieces at them anymore. They were moving. Honest to God moving, coming at them, with all the intensity of actual living things.
Either that, or he was hallucinating those angry Native Americans running after them with bows and arrows—he was pretty sure that he did have a concussion, after all.
But Lara was screaming—a high-pitched, desperate wail that made him wince.
So much for hallucinating.
Jaclyn and Jeremy were ahead of them, pulling a protesting Daniel with them. Daniel was still distraught, turned in hope of seeing his brother, still limp in Sam's arms. But Lara was frozen in place, staring at her impending doom.
Not if Sam had anything to do about it. He may not be armed, but he could still run (until his adrenaline ran out anyway). Without missing a beat, he hoisted Liam over his shoulder, and the small child flopped lifelessly. He stooped to yank Lara into his grip, pulling her against himself, ignoring her screams, which now pierced directly into his ears and ran.
Despite his injuries, his long legs quickly brought him up to speed with the rest of the kids. Just as he herded them around a corner, something whizzed over his shoulder--an arrow.
Great. Now they were shooting arrows at them. Like the spear in his side and the goose egg on his forehead weren't enough.
But it didn't matter, he reminded himself. He had to get them out of here. Now.
They needed someplace safe, someplace where museum exhibits wouldn't come flying at them, attacking them—
The bathroom. He had no idea how far of a reach the entity had, if it could make anything in the walls of the museum come to life, but the bathroom seemed like a pretty safe bet. Safer than anything else. Everything big was anchored down—and he had a hard time envisioning how a toilet would rear its head and attack them.
Doors would be a problem though. They needed more protection. Something solid to hide behind. So far the spirited items were easily contained by walls and simple tricks.
They were almost to the bathrooms now—one for males, one for females—then he saw it. The handicap bathroom. It was a single stall, and the door wasn't a swinging one, but one with a handle, which meant a lock on the inside.
He skidded to a halt, pulling it open as he tried to slow himself. "In here!" he yelled, ushering the kids in as best he could. Jeremy and Jaclyn flew in, Daniel on their tails, another arrow flying by them. Looking nervously down the hallway, he could see the charge of the two Indians. He didn't hesitate a moment longer though, thrusting Lara inside before pulling himself and Liam in as well.
His fingers numb and fumbling, he locked the door, just as a war whoop came crashing down outside. The children pulled back, cowering in the corner behind the bathtub. Sam kept his weight against the door, feeling it vibrate as it was attacked.
The whoops died though, dissipating.
Stillness followed.
He could hear the children panting behind him; he could feel the distant thump of Liam's heart.
They were safe—for now. He didn't dare venture outside. He didn't want to know if the Native American warriors were still there, or what other exhibit had come to see them.
Instead, he turned his attention to the children.
The older four stood stock still, staring at him. Even Jeremy was a bit shell-shocked. Sam licked his lips. "Are you guys okay?"
They kept staring, blinking intermittently. Lara's tears were still streaked on her face, but her sobs had ceased. Jaclyn was studying him, her mouth hanging open. It was Daniel who moved, running at him.
"Liam," he said breathlessly, his small arms reaching up for his brother. "How's Liam?"
Sam didn't relinquish Liam, but instead carefully went to his knees before lying the smallest child down. He was gentle with the boy's head and arranged Liam's body into the most comfortable position he could.
The bathroom was tiled with a dusty blue color, and against the tiles, Liam looked ghastly. His skin was colorless and his eyelids were nearly blue. The brown mop of hair on his head laid askew, flopping back limply.
Daniel was perched next to him, alternating glances between his brother and Sam.
His fingers were shaking as they felt for the child's throat and he blinked away the doubling of his vision. His own heart was so loud in his ears that he barely felt the thumping of Liam's heart.
Too slow.
He sighed. Turning, he smiled a little at Daniel, patting the older brother's shoulder before attempting to move backwards.
There was nothing he could do for Liam. He had no resources and no way to better assess what was wrong with him. He'd need to call Dean, to find out how Ethan was doing--if the other boy would recover then maybe Liam had a chance.
He looked down at the boy again, taking in the way his body lay limp on the tile, and couldn't escape the guilt. He should have gotten them out of here. He should have protected them. Maybe if he'd been faster, smarter--if he hadn't gotten himself hurt.
Suddenly his side spiked with pain as he remembered his injury. He'd yanked the spear out pretty quickly. Trying to be discrete, he fondled his side, but all he could feel was blood.
Great.
He felt dizzy and the room spun. He braced himself against a wall. He needed to take care of himself or the blood loss would get to him, and then the kids would be nowhere.
"You okay?"
Sam looked up and into Jaclyn's concerned face. The Hispanic girl was watching him, looking tentative.
"Yeah, I'm just...," he paused as he let a bout of nausea rip through his stomach.
"You don't look so good," she advised. Then she stood, moving closer. "Are you hurt? I mean, besides your head."
Sam smiled wanly. "Just a scratch. On my side." He pressed his hand hard against it, containing a grimace. He needed something to wad against it, something to tie it down with.
"My dad says that if you press down really hard on cuts, that'll help them stop."
"You're dad's a smart man," Sam said, his voice husky from the pain. "I don't suppose you've got a band-aid in that backpack of yours?" Or a pressure bandage? Gauze? Needle and thread? Morphine?
Jaclyn looked down at her backpack, which she had clutched in front of her. She put it aside. "No, just books," she said, a bit mournfully.
"Well," Sam said, trying to relax against the wall. "We'll just have to take what we can get."