Title: Suffer the Children (and the Geeks) 6/10
A/N: Thanks all for the kind words. I hope this next installment doesn't disappoint. See chapter one for other notes and disclaimers.
Chapter Six
Dean waited, staring at his phone. He checked his missed calls list even though he knew he'd been watching it the entire time. Sam should have called by now. Sam said he'd call.
With a frustrated sigh, he put the cell phone to the side and looked again at the search screen open on Sam's laptop. He still needed to have something to tell Sam when Sam did call. Something about what this was, how to get rid of it, why it suddenly increased its powers.
But this was Sam's gig. Sam did the research. Dean did a little, and it wasn't like he couldn't--he just didn't enjoy it like Sam did. He'd never seen someone get so excited about obscure historical facts like Sam did. The kid couldn't tell him anything about daytime TV, classic rock, or horror flicks, but Sam knew just about every religious custom, half a dozen Latin exorcisms by heart, and every mystical sign or sigil from around the world.
Dean couldn't help but feel guilty though. He was the one who wanted to find a hunt, and he'd spent the entire time leading up to it goofing off, more than happy to let Sam do all the work. He'd always figured he'd pull his weight when it came to the actual extermination of evil, but now he was on the outside for that too. He hadn't intended for any of this to happen, but that didn't mean that some of it wasn't his fault.
And if Dean could just focus, it wouldn't be so bad. If his brother wasn't trapped inside the stupid museum with some homicidal jewel…
He almost laughed at that, a bit hysterically.
He was a man of action; he liked to be doing things. He didn't want to be doing research, especially when it meant his brother was alone.
Not alone.
Stuck with five kids. Kids that would just make Sam all the more vulnerable. If he was too busy protecting them, he wouldn't be able to protect himself, and why hadn't he called yet?
Dean looked around, hoping to see some change, maybe his brother. He was seated on a bench on the side of the pavilion, trying to look casual as he perused the Internet. The security was still milling around, looking mostly useless, while the employees seemed to be getting bored.
Grace had engaged the kids in a rousing game of red rover, but Dean could see her anxiety. Her glances went to the door more often then Dean's did.
She turned again, and caught his eye. Looking briefly at the children, who were playing obliviously, she made her way to him.
Her smile was nervous and tentative, and Dean braced himself, setting the laptop to the side.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
She sighed, turning herself to sit next to him, her eyes still on the kids. "It's been a long day."
Dean could understand that. "It'll be over soon," Dean assured her, with some semblance of confidence that he didn't feel but that he would never let her know about.
"They're my responsibility, you know?" she said, chewing her lip pensively. "If anything happened to them…"
"I know," Dean said, his voice soft with empathy.
"I just feel so helpless!" she exploded, whirling at him. "Shouldn't your friend be back by now? With the kids?"
Dean swallowed hard. He might be nervous, but he certainly didn't want her to be. Especially since her nerves might lead her to ask for help from the higher ups. As if being trapped in there with five kids wouldn't be enough to deal with, Dean knew they didn't need bank security become aware of Sam's presence or his identity. "I'm sure there's just been a small hold up," Dean said. "It depends where the kids were—if they were scattered. Just relax."
Relaxing was about the last thing that she seemed to want to do and she looked distrustfully at him. "You said this would be the best way."
"And it is," Dean replied without hesitation. "Sam will get those kids out. You just have to give him a bit more time."
"Time—" she spluttered. "But—"
Dean reached out and took her arm, guiding her gently to the side and shushing her. "I know how you feel--"
"You don't know how I feel!" she snapped suddenly, turning tear-filled eyes at him. "Those kids are my responsibility. Mine. No one else's. If something happens to them..." Her voice trailed off and she shook her head.
Grace's words sounded so familiar—he could feel them in his soul. He laughed a little, shaking his head with a bittersweet smile on his face. "I know exactly how you feel."
"How?" she said. "How could you possibly--"
"Because Sam's my brother," he said finally, his eyes flashing and an edge coloring his voice. "He's my kid brother and I've spent my entire life looking after the kid. If anything happens to him, that's on me. It's all me. And I can promise you, it'll take me far longer to get over that than you can ever imagine. So don't tell me that I don't get it. And don't think that I'm not doing everything I can."
His words silenced her and she was staring at him, her face pale and her jaw tight.
He let his eyes drop to the ground, taking a deep breath before looking up again. "Grace, just trust me, okay?" he said. "I wouldn't have let Sam go in there if I didn't think he could get out." Or so he kept telling himself, as if he could somehow talk himself into believing it.
She was trembling now and Dean could see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I just...I don't know what to do," she said. "I feel so useless. So completely useless."
Dean ached with understanding. "I know," he whispered. "Look, I know."
Her gaze stayed down as she struggled to control her breathing. Dean hesitated for a moment before reaching out and pulling her close to him. He didn't hug often and he didn't hug easily, but Dean couldn't deny the pull of joint grief and he sought comfort as much as he gave it.
-o-
He really wanted to get out of here. He wasn't sure how long they'd been in the bathroom, how long they'd even been in the museum, but Sam was ready to get out. Get out and as far away as possible. Sleep in a bed, take a shower, eat a meal--hell, even ride around cramped up in the Impala for a week straight.
He just wanted to get out of here.
And maybe some place with some good painkillers. He'd be happy with a hospital at this point.
Glancing down at his side, he gently lifted the outer-shirt he had shed in order to press against the wound. At first, all he could see was red, and his face contorted uncontrollably in disgust. He looked around, and found the children quiet. Daniel was perched next to Liam, holding his hand and studying his face. Jeremy was riffling through his backpack, presumably looking for something to do. Jaclyn and Lara were seated side by side. Jaclyn had her head ducked miserably between her knees. Lara rested her blonde curls on Jaclyn's shoulder.
Satisfied that they were preoccupied, he lifted his shirt and jacket, trying to see how the wound was faring.
It was messy, the flesh ragged and ripped and blood-soaked. But if it had hit something vital, he'd probably be dead by now, or much closer to it. Despite the painful and grotesque nature of it, it was mostly a flesh wound.
That fact would have reassured him much more had he been in the Impala or at least under Dean's steady hands. This was a wound he could survive, he didn't doubt that, but he wasn't sure it was a wound he could work through.
But if he couldn't work through it, he would probably never get out. And that was something he wouldn't survive.
He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to focus. Feeling sorry for himself or worrying about what might happen would get him anywhere. And it wouldn't get the kids anywhere. He needed to focus on solutions, things to do, a way out.
There were, in fact, too many things to do and not nearly enough ways to do them. In fact, he had virtually no way of doing them. He couldn't get the kids out, he didn't know how to destroy the jewel's powers, and he couldn't do anything to make Liam better.
All he could do was sit here and wait. And hope that Dean figured it out.
Dean!
His brother would be worried sick about him by now. It hurt to move, but there was nothing to be done for it. Trying to keep his injured side immobile, he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. Even the small movement left him breathless and he struggled to keep his composure.
Clumsily, he hit the speed dial for Dean's number, trying not to notice the blood his hands smeared over it. Holding to his ear, he closed his eyes and waited for his brother to answer.
-o-
No matter how confident he sounded when he talked to Grace, Dean was losing his cool. He needed to be doing something—anything. And if he couldn't go in, he'd have to focus on a way to get Sam out.
And that meant research. He'd promised Sam. Sam needed him. He had to follow through.
Dean had developed a tentative balance between his phone and Sam's laptop, alternating glances between the two while occasionally letting his gaze sweep over the scene in front of him.
Sam had been so sure, so confident, so plaintive about moving the kids, but it just plain freaked Dean out. And Sam hadn't called. It had been nearly thirty minutes and Sam hadn't called.
How long could it possibly take for a kid to go to the bathroom?
He kept his face neutral, though, smiling at Grace when he needed to. And he kept his research up--those were necessities. He needed to own up to his duties while on the outside; he owed Sam that much.
Despite the lack of communication from his brother, he was persisting in the research, for what it was worth. At this point, he wasn't sure what he wanted more: a break in the research or to hear from Sam.
Just then, his phone rang. Looked like he'd be getting the latter before the former.
Uncontrollably, his heart skipped a beat as he answered. "Sam?"
There was a heavy breath. "Hey."
It was so good to hear Sam's voice, but it was off. It was tight and pained and clipped. Something was wrong. "What happened?"
"Well, we finally made it to the bathroom," Sam joked, though the humor didn't really work.
"What took you so long?"
"We ran into a few problems." Sam almost sounded guilty to admit it, and more than a little reluctant.
Dean leaned forward, nervous for the news. "A few problems?"
Sam was weighing his words. "Just a small problem," Sam said. "It's getting more powerful."
Dean's stomach tightened uncertainly. Things were bad enough; he didn't want to know how they'd gotten worse. "More powerful how?"
At that, Sam actually laughed, which did nothing to alleviate Dean's growing dread. "The thing has exhibits coming to life now," he said. "I'm pretty sure it's what locked us in. I don't think it was very happy when we tried to take its next meal from it."
That bit of news made Dean pause. "The exhibits did what?"
This time, Sam sighed, and Dean felt all attempts at humor fade. "It can bring them to life. Manipulate them to move like real people. There were Indians shooting arrows, Eskimos with spears--"
"Like coming to life coming to life? It can do that?"
"Apparently," Sam replied, and he sounded tired, far too tired.
Dean's mind ceased trying to understand how an entity could bring inanimate objects to life and focused on the fact that his brother wasn't telling him everything. And if Sam was so readily offering such bizarre and disturbing information, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know what Sam wasn't telling him.
But he had to know. His Sammy-sense was spiking in all kinds of terrible directions, and he had a sinking feeling that already knew what Sam was keeping from him. "Everything else okay?" Dean prodded.
"The kids are scared--"
"No, dude, I mean you," Dean said brusquely. "You don't sound so good."
In fact, Sam sounded terrible. He knew his brother better than he knew anyone. He'd heard Sam's first word, his first sentence, his first cry, his first yell, his first fight--everything. He knew that voice. He knew when it was happy (and how long it'd been), he knew when it was sad (and it almost always was). And he knew when it was hurt.
There was a strain in it and a weariness not borne of the situation. Sam was hiding something from him. And the only thing Sam would hide at a time like this was his own well-being.
"Dean--"
"Sam, tell me the truth," Dean said. "How are you?"
There was only a moment's pause. "Concussion," he said finally, his voice nearly inaudible tones. "I don't think it's too bad. Didn't lose consciousness."
Dean waited for the other shoe to drop. A mild concussion wouldn't be enough to make his brother sound like that. "And?"
Sam's sigh was one of resignation. "Things were flying everywhere. I took a...a spear in the side. I had to take it out to keep moving. I've got pressure on it, though, and I think it's slowing."
Dean's heart sank. His Sammy-sense had been more accurate than he had feared. "How bad is it really?"
"It's not great," Sam admitted, a bit regretfully, a tad sheepishly. "But I can handle it. I'm managing it. We just need to focus on getting the kids out of here."
"No, you just focus on staying alive and keeping the kids safe, okay?" Dean said. "I'll do the research, figure out what's going on. Then we can find a way to get rid of it."
"But--" Dean could practically see Sam's puppy dog eyes and he closed his own eyes away from them.
"Dude," Dean cut him off, using his authoritarian, parental voice. "I know how to research too. Don't worry."
"I have the sites about where it was found linked on the laptop. I hadn't gotten much into the local legends."
"I can handle it. Besides, I already found those, and then some. It shouldn't take me much longer," Dean assured him. Then he softened his voice. "Just take care of yourself, okay?"
"Yeah," Sam said, with a light laugh. "Call me when you have something."
"Sure thing," Dean said.
There was a pause, both brothers lingering on the line, neither wanting to disconnect. Finally, Dean heard the call end and his stomach flipped uncertainly.
Closing his phone, he took a calming breath. This was up to him. He was used to the pressure, but not on this end. He could stand off with any supernatural entity without flinching. But being on the outside? Being the one responsible for figuring it all out while his brother's life hung in the balance?
It made him nauseous.
He shook the feeling away. He didn't have time for this. He had a jewel to research and a brother to save.
-o-
The sound of the call ending was harder to handle than Sam anticipated. He wanted his brother there more than he could explain. Because, as much as he hated to admitted, he really needed Dean right now. He needed Dean's cocky smile, Dean's smooth habit of taking care of things.
He simply needed Dean's reassurance, because things felt pretty bleak at the moment.
He was holed up in a bathroom, bleeding and hurt, with five little kids. The only way out was past a homicidal spirit and he wasn't sure he even had the strength to stand without passing out, much less defeat whatever it was that was keeping them in here.
Bleak didn't begin to cover it. This was bad, even for a Winchester.
But, he was a Winchester. And Winchesters didn't sit around feeling sorry for themselves; they didn't sit around doing nothing.
No, he had to take action. Get things together. Be ready for when Dean came through with a plan to get him out of here. The first step: checking on the kids. Starting with Liam.
The bathroom was small. Between his own long legs and Liam's still form, most of the available floor space was used up. The other kids were flattened against the walls, shell-shocked and weary. The others except Daniel, that is. The older brother was hunched over his brother, and Sam could see the fear in his young features. Fear for Liam.
Carefully, he pulled himself forward, holding his side tighter as pain ricocheted through his body. His head spun a little and for a brief second he thought he was going to pass out, but he managed to steady himself, swallowing tentatively as he scooted toward Liam.
On his knees next to the boy, he assessed him. His skin was pale, probably paler than before, but it was hard to tell. He lifted the boy's eyelids, wishing he had some way to check for response. Instead he took his knuckles, rubbing them against the boy's sternum.
There was no response.
Sighing, Sam going somewhat limp against the wall. There was nothing he could do, and he had no way of knowing just how serious Liam's condition was.
"Can you help him?" Daniel asked, and Sam remembered the little boy by his side.
Swallowing, he braced himself. "I'll do everything I can."
Daniel's eyes went wide. "He's not okay, is he? He's not going to be okay, is he?"
The boy was panicking and he pulled away, turning protectively to the wall.
Sam's heart broke. "Daniel, he's going to be okay," he promised.
The boy kept his eyes downward, refusing to turn back around.
"Daniel," Sam called again, moving to look the child in the face. "Hey, we're going to take care of him. My brother—he's outside and he's working on a way to get us out. Okay? All we have to do is stay here and it'll all work out."
Daniel still refused to look at him, and from his tense posture, Sam could tell the boy was on the verge of tears.
"Daniel? Say something, kiddo," he encouraged, putting a hand gently on his back.
It was the contact that Daniel responded to, turning toward Sam with tear-filled eyes. "He's my brother!" he said.
Sam's heart fluttered. "I know," he said softly, patting Daniel shoulder. "I know."
"I'm supposed to take care of him! Mommy said!"
"This wasn't your fault," Sam explained. "This is…this is something no one can protect against, okay? It's not your fault. Do you understand?"
Daniel looked hesitant but finally nodded, wiping viciously at his tears.
"Good, now can I trust you to sit with Liam? To make sure he's okay?"
That was a charge Daniel could take and this time when he nodded there was no hesitation.
This time Sam's smile was true and relieved. He clapped the boy lightly on the shoulder.
One down…four to go. Well, three to go. He couldn't comfort Liam, couldn't do much for Liam at all except get him out of there.
He let his eyes roam each of the kids. Daniel had resumed his post by Liam's side, offering comfort that Sam was pretty sure the younger brother couldn't appreciate. Jaclyn was watching Daniel with Liam with wide, scared eyes. Lara seemed withdrawn, her delicate features pale. Even Jeremy looked subdued, morosely leaning his head against the wall.
Holding his side, he went to Lara, crouching next to her, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on her arm.
When she looked at him, Sam could see that she'd been crying. Her blue eyes were red rimmed and still full, her eyelashes clumped together.
"You okay?" he asked.
She sniffled, loudly. "Is Liam going to be okay?"
Sam glanced over at the boy, making eye contact with a far too on-edge Daniel. He looked back at Lara. "Yeah," he said. "I'm sure Liam will be fine."
"I don't understand...what's out there," Lara said miserably. "My mom said things like that aren't real, but they were after us. How is that even possible?"
Sam smiled sadly, wishing he had enough lies to hide the reality of the situation. The kids had been too shocked before, too busy surviving to process what they'd seen.
Seeing was easy. Understanding it was something entirely different. Sam was used to saving people. Helping them deal with the aftermath was something he dreaded. Especially with children. Because he knew what that felt like. He knew what it felt like to have everything safe feel like a lie, what it felt like to not trust anything anymore. He didn't wish that on anyone.
But he couldn't lie to them.
He settled next to her, draping an arm carefully across her small shoulders. "Sometimes things that you hear about in stories--scary things, bad things--sometimes they're real."
Lara looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. "I don't understand."
He sighed. He was being too vague. "There's something trapped in the museum," he explained. "Trapped inside one of the jewels. And it attacks people because it's trying to get out."
"That's crap," Jeremy said from across the room. "There's no such thing as ghosts and stuff."
"I wish that were true," Sam said softly, realizing he was addressing the whole group. "But it's not always true. Sometimes there are spirits, monsters, bad things."
He was suddenly aware of the fact that Lara was shaking and Jaclyn was inching closer to him. "They can hurt us?" Jaclyn asked. "Like La Llorona that my grandma talks about?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "Stories like that, most of them are based on real events, real people, real ghosts."
In many ways, it was easier with children. The world had not yet completely jaded them, their so-called common sense was not nearly as refined as adults. They were much more prone to believe what they saw, what they felt, unlike adults who had a habit of rationalizing too much. Yet, looking at their faces, believing with a hint of terror, he couldn't help but feel guilty at how easy it was to deconstruct their sense of safety.
"But...how do we get away from them?" Jaclyn asked.
"Well, that's what my brother is trying to figure out," Sam said.
Lara snuggled closer, resting her head against him. "And you'll protect us?"
Sam patted her gently, letting his eyes peruse each child, lingering on Liam. "I'll do the best I can."