Okay here's the next chappie. Hope you like. As always let me know what you guys think.
Chapter 5:- Thanks for that!
Sam hacked his way into the hospital records, downloading information on the victims with ease. It hadn't really occurred to him till now how easy hacking into restricted records had become. It was like second nature to him, as easy as going to the library and opening a book.
Gathering up a pen and paper, he jotted down the victims histories, noting anything that could give them a possible clue as to what could be happening to make them flip so unexpectedly.
"You got anything?" Dean asked, as he drew himself off the bed and crouched down beside him.
"A bit," Sam muttered, as he continued to jot down details. "They both suffered massive heart attacks."
"What? Even the guy that jumped out of the building?"
"Says so here in the coroner's report, see?" said Sam, holding the laptop out to him.
"Damn, and I'd bet ten dollars on the cause of death being splattered across the sidewalk," Dean muttered sarcastically, raising his eyebrow. "I really need to brush up on my betting skills."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You care to know anymore?" he exclaimed.
"What, you're telling me there's more to it than Frank Wilmott believing he could fly like R. Kelly?"
Sam turned to his brother a look of wonder in his eyes. "Enough already! Can you please concentrate?"
"Hmm, I guess I could give it a shot," Dean grinned, settling himself down beside Sam on the carpet. "God this is like being back at school." Both boys were sat facing the wall, their backs to the room, huddled over the laptop.
Sam sighed inwardly, wishing his brother would be more serious. "Well both victims were seeing psychologists.
"The same one?"
"No."
"Well that narrows it down a bit college boy. The two victims were screwed up human beings just like the rest of the world."
Sam butted in before he could cut in with anymore sarcastic remarks. "The only connection between them is that they both attended consultations at the local hospital. Both psychologists held their weekly sessions there."
"Can you hack into the psychologists files?" Dean muttered, as he watched his brother click and type in access codes and passwords, trying to break down the firewalls which protected the restricted files.
"Dunno. Depends whether they use computer system files or whether they still use the old paper files."
Three hours later, Sam finally moved from his hunched position on the floor, wearily stretching his legs as his vision swam. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he flopped down on one of the beds. We've got ourselves some very screwed up souls."
"Oh what fun," Dean retorted as he flicked on the TV. "I really wanna do the whole nut job thing again. How long's it been, four months since you last shot me with rock salt!"
Sam flushed, anger mixed in with guilt. How could he forget that! Had the gun been loaded with real bullets back at the Roosevelt Asylum, he would have easily killed his brother, without batting an eyelid. He couldn't believe Dean could joke about something like that, especially after what could have happened.
"Come on Dean you could pull off the whole crazy 'I think I'm a girl,' thing really well. I'll even braid your hair for you," he said, trying to change the subject forcing a smile. "You never know, Oprah might want to interview you on her show. Pink would definitely be a good look."
Dean threw one of the frilly pillows at him grinning in spite of himself as his brother laughed at the mental image of Dean dressed in a pink flowing skirt with pigtails.
"It would go lovely with those beautiful green eyes of yours," Sam continued mockingly.
"I think this room is beginning to get to you dude," Dean laughed. "Lets get out of here, I'm starving."
Sam, nodding in agreement, heaved himself off the floor, dancing on the spot.
"Dude!" Dean smirked. "That's just wrong!"
"My butts numb," Sam tried.
Dean looked at him in amusement. "Too much information man. I really don't wanna know anything about your ass."
"But Dean. If you're gonna pull off the whole 'I believe I'm a girl,' thing, you're gonna have to start looking and noticing these things," Sam whined, a glint in his eye.
Dean clobbered him over the head. "No matter how strange this thing gets, for the love of god, I never want to know or look at your ass."
Sam pouted. "And what's so wrong with my ass?"
"Seriously dude," Dean laughed as he heaved on his brown leather jacket and pulled open the door, "You need to get laid."
Dean pulled up outside the diner, noticing the cotton candy blue it was painted in. He turned, pulling a face at Sam who merely grinned and climbed out of the car.
"This place is just so strange," Dean muttered. "Looks like we've done a 'Back to the Future.'"
"What? You gonna be Marty McFly," Sam laughed.
"Hey, he was cool."
Sam smirked as he opened the glass door, allowing his brother in before him.
Stepping over the threshold, Dean glanced around at the steel-topped counter and red leather-clad booths that were scattered around the edge, small steel tables and chairs making up the rest. Dean blinked twice, refusing to believe his eyes. "Oh this place is a nightmare. Where are all the grungy gloomy homely bars?"
Leading the way over to an empty booth next to the window, Sam laughed. "Come on, we might be able to see our meals for once."
Dean scowled. "I keep expecting the director to shout cut," he said, glancing round at the numerous parents and children that filled the family friendly diner. "You sure this isn't candid camera?"
Sam glanced round. "Nah, can't be. This is just too surreal, even for them."
Dean grinned, opening the pink and yellow striped menu as a pock-marked waiter with a baby blue apron and hat navigated his way through the crowds towards them, a gloomy expression written across his ruddy face.
"What can I get yah?" he mumbled in a tired and rather bored voice.
"Burger, fries and a beer please Chirpy," said Dean.
Sam, cringing inwardly, kicked him hard in the shins, making him jerk painfully.
Grinning as Dean mouthed, "What was that for," he turned to the waiter who slowly turned his eyes towards him.
"Same mate."
The middle aged man nodded, slowly pushing the notepad back into his pocket before turning to leave.
"What a friendly place this is," Dean muttered sarcastically once the waiter was out of earshot.
"Would you cut it out," Sam hissed. "Stop baiting him. The last time you did that, I had to haul your sorry ass out of a full scale bar brawl."
"Man that was four years ago," he said, remembering the seven burly bikers, that were twice his size, who had picked a fight with him over some girl. He grinned to himself remembering the startled look they gave when he knocked out two of them, before being pummelled by the rest. His eyes twinkled as he remembered how the girl he had had his eye on, smiled at him afterwards as she nursed him better.
Sam, shaking his head as he watched his brother's jubilant face, laughed. "Yeah and you never change."
Dean pouted as Sam pulled the research he'd collected about the victims and the town out of his pocket.
"Man put that away. Let's just have a break. God you're worse than dad!"
Sam looked at him sharply, bitterness erupting in his chest. Sighing in resignation, he rammed the paper deep into his pocket and stared determinedly at the metal panelling that edged the table.
"That's better," said Dean, ignoring the effect his words had had on him. "Why don't you see if there's anyone in here that takes your fancy."
"Dean," Sam groaned, through gritted teeth, feeling his temper starting to boil.
"Look all work and no play makes you a very dull little brother. Let me hook you up for once."
"Dean, I don't feel the need to go out every other night and pick up girls, okay."
"You mightn't feel the need to, but its damn good fun."
"Yeah so I've noticed," Sam sighed. "Your little black book must be the size of an atlas by now."
Dean grinned. "You can always borrow it if you want."
Sam rolled his eyes. "I don't do sloppy seconds, especially from you."
"Ouch," Dean whistled. "That's harsh."
Sam opened his mouth to retort, but snapped it shut as the waiter returned carrying their food. Chucking it down roughly, he turned to leave.
"Charming," Dean muttered, as he attacked the enormous burger in front of him. "Nice food though."
Sam smirked, whilst starting on his own.
As they sat eating quietly, an enormous crash emitting from the kitchens reverberated around the room, the din drowning out the conversations that had filled the air. The room fell silent as all listened to the stifled yells and screams that bled through the swing doors.
"What the-" Dean muttered, as he struggled to swallow his mouth full. Following everyone else's gaze, he watched as two men flew through the doors. One, he recognised as their miserable waiter, stumbled backwards clutching his bleeding stomach as the other, who looked like the chef, wearing a large hat and apron, wielded a carving knife.
The diner sat in shocked silence as they stared transfixed at the pair, time seeming to stand still.
"What the hell's wrong with you," the waiter breathed shallowly between desperate gasps for air, as the chef charged at him, sending him flying backwards over a table scattering the startled customers.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" the chef continued to yell, as he lunged at the waiter again. "I WON'T GO WITH YOU. YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"
"Whoa. What are you talking about Tom? I don't want you to go anywhere with me."
From behind them, two other waiters jumped the chef, trying to wrestle the knife away from him. Punching and fighting his way free, he again lunged at the wounded waiter, whose pale face looked up at him terrified.
Sam and Dean jumped to their feet ready to defend the man who was stumbling towards them.
"I'LL KILL YOU FIRST," he yelled, throwing the knife towards the waiter, who ducked just in time. Dean watched the man drop to the floor taking his eye off the other.
"DEAN!" Sam yelled, as he watched as if in slow motion, the knife flying through the air towards his unsuspecting brother.
Dean, his eyes widening in surprise, threw himself to the floor as the knife whipped past his hair and logged itself in the wall level to where his head had been just moments before.
"Dean?" Sam asked tentatively after a long pause, looking to where his brother lay unmoving on the floor underneath a nearby table.
Dean rolled over slowly, giving a thumbs up signal. His eyebrows rose as he looked up at the offending weapon and crawled out from under the table. "Thanks for that!" he exclaimed weakly, a sheepish look etched across his face as he struggled to his feet.
"You okay?"
"Yeah little brother, you?"
"Yeah, I wasn't the one who nearly had a knife through his head a la Halloween."
Dean pulled a queasy expression as he comprehended his brother's words. Silently, noticing that all eyes were on him, he shifted uncomfortably and looked over to where the chef stood being restrained by two well built male customers.
The chef was drenched with sweat and was continuing to flail under their grip, screaming into space.
"Something just ain't right," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Sam. "People just don't lose the plot like this."
Sam looked from him to the chef, whose face was turning beetroot red and was breathing heavily. He watched as the man's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped to the floor, his body fitting as it struggled to cope with the panic shooting through every nerve ending.
As a deathly silence stole across the diner, one of the customers, breaking the stillness, reached for the phone on the counter and rang for the emergency services. Within five minutes paramedics were at the scene, checking the man's vital signs before rushing him and the injured waiter off to hospital, leaving the rest to stare after them as the Sheriff's department began their questioning.
"You fancy a trip down to the hospital after all this," Dean asked Sam, gesturing to the Sheriff. Sam continued to stare off into space.