Okay here's the next chapter, up quicker than usual. Hope you like it. Please read and review.
Chapter 6:- Head to head.
"I feel like an undertaker," Dean moaned, as he stepped out of the dress hire boutique, having finally escaped the barrage of questions the sheriff had thrown at them. "This suit's even worse than the Blue's Brothers one I got for that job we did for Jerry.
Sam grinned pulling a handful of fake IDs out of his duffle bag before flinging it on to the back seat of the Impala. Flicking through them, he smirked as he found one's for bikini experts, why his brother thought they'd need these he'd never know. Next he found a janitor's badge and finally stopped at a psychologist's ID. Looking sideways at his brother, he raised an eyebrow.
"Hey," Dean said "In our line of business it's best to have a back up plan in case people think we're crazy. I don't want to end up in a loony bin that's probably more haunted than the Roosevelt asylum!"
Sam smirked. "I didn't say anything."
"Yeah well you were thinking it."
"Now look who's turning into Missouri."
Dean flushed. "That's your department psychic boy. I'm just the loveable good looking older brother who keeps your ass outta trouble."
"Shut up and get in the car," Sam laughed, climbing into the driver's seat.
"How come you get to drive."
"Cos I'm taller," Sam retorted.
The pair continued to bicker all the way to the hospital.
As they climbed out and entered the building, Dean pushed Sam towards the receptionist's desk; a pretty blonde girl in her early twenties was sitting behind.
"Isn't this more your kind of thing," Sam hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
"It isn't me she's checking out," Dean grinned, looking at the young woman who was of a slim build. "You could do worse. Use your charm Casanova." He shoved Sam forwards with a mischievous smile, before wandering off down the corridor.
"Any problems?" Dean winked as Sam walked towards him several minutes later, looking flushed.
"He's on the third floor, Wing Seven," Sam mumbled distractedly, as he felt the receptionist's eyes follow him.
Dean, noticing this, smiled broadly. "You get her number?"
"Dean! We're on a hunt."
"So! It doesn't mean we can't have a little fun!" he said, a cheeky glint in his eye.
"Let's just get this over with shall we," Sam groaned, pushing the button for the elevator.
As they reached Wing Seven, they encountered a police officer. Dean, using his gift of the gab and fake IDs, sweet-talked their way around the older man, making it into the chef's room with little difficulty.
As Dean pushed open the door, Sam noticed how the blinds had been drawn and the room was bathed in a dull light emitting from the light fitted to the ceiling. The cold harsh glare reflected off the sterile pale blue walls dampening his spirits and making his skin crawl. The hospital bed stood in front of them, the chef, Alan Fox according to the patient's notes which Sam picked up and leafed through briefly, was sitting cuffed to the metal sides looking at them questioningly.
"Good afternoon Mr. Fox," said Dean, in his most formal clinical voice, reading the notes over his brother's shoulder. "I'm Mr. Cobain and this is Mr. Gogh. We're from the State's mental health resource centre. Would you mind answering some questions for us?"
Sam glanced at Dean, flashing him an incredulous look, and shaking his head in disbelief at his poor taste in names. Groaning, he wondered how they would ever get away with this one.
The man, who still seemed rather flustered, looked between the two men before muttering, "I've already told the sheriff everything I know." Looking more closely at them he added, "Hey, aren't you the two guys from the diner?"
Dean exchanged a nervous glance with Sam.
"Yes sir," Sam muttered. "We had just stopped off for a bite to eat after we'd been to see a patient of ours." Changing the subject he continued, "It would be really helpful if you could assist in our inquiries."
The man let out a deep sigh, but nodded.
"So," said Dean, letting go of the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. "Can you tell us what happened at the diner?"
"As I told the sheriff, I was standing cooking meals and had just started to carve when I … I just felt these people crowding in all around me, pulling at me and hitting me and trying to drag me away."
Dean exchanged another glance with Sam. "Are you sure sir? Others, who witnessed what happened, said that the waiter who was injured had simply come over to hurry up the orders when you turned on him."
"I'm sure, look; I have the bruises to prove it! I didn't see Peter. I'd never …" he trailed off.
"Do you know who the people that attacked you were?" Sam pressed, examining the bruises with silent wonder.
"No. I … I could see their outlines, their bodies, but I couldn't see their faces. They, they were faceless," he muttered trying to make sense of it himself; thinking to everyone else, even perhaps himself, it sounded nuts, that he was really going crazy. "The sheriff doesn't believe me, does he? That's why he sent for you. To have me certified as a nut job!"
"No, we're just here to try to make sense of what happened earlier today. To assess what really happened," Sam said in what he hoped was a soothing calming voice.
"Oh yeah, so why do I need these," the man replied sarcastically, nodding to the straps that bound his arms and legs to the bed.
"I'm sure it's just a precautionary measure," Dean smiled. "You'll be out of those in no time," adding inwardly 'We'll make sure he is.'
"Well I think we've got all we need for now," Sam said, looking at his brother. "You just try and relax."
Dean nodded in agreement, as he turned towards the door. "Hang tight."
"I'm not going anywhere," the chef laughed bitterly, sarcasm dripping off his tongue.
Dean broke out into a grin as he followed his brother out of the door, pulling it too behind him.
"You reckon this is all normal, as far as going loopy goes? Or you reckon we've just joined the Looney Tunes?" said Dean, turning to Sam as they made their way down the stairs and left the building via a side exit, avoiding the receptionist at the younger brother's request.
"Oh come on, you know full well this isn't normal," Sam muttered with a smirk.
Dean beamed. "Damn, now I'm going to have to miss my favourite soap."
"Get in the car," Sam laughed, as Dean threw him the keys.
"So you gonna ring that girl," Dean grinned broadly, gesturing back to the building.
"Umm, no," Sam muttered, avoiding his gaze.
"Why the hell not?" Dean said, staring at his brother open-mouthed. "She seemed really interested in you."
"Yeah, a little too interested," Sam flushed with embarrassment.
Dean laughed. "Aww is lil Sammy scared of the big bad girl!"
Sam side swiped him, laughingly saying, "Shut up. She was more your type anyway."
Dean continued to grin.
"Well it's not really that hard to be your type is it! All she needs is to be fairly decent looking with a pulse and you're all theirs."
"Hey, I'm not that easy," Dean said, feigning hurt pride.
Sam grinned, turning on the ignition. "You'll flirt with anything!"
Sam pulled up outside the motel and the pair walked up the grassy slope to the gravel path which led up to their room. Opening the door and chucking the keys aside on the ornate table come desk, Sam hastily started up the laptop, itching to do some research. He shrugged off his jacket eagerly waiting to begin hacking into the file records of the latest victim.
Knowing what he was looking for this time, he found the record he was apprehensively searching for with ease and noted down the connection between the three victims.
"You found what you're looking for?" Dean asked, as he walked over carrying two mugs of coffee.
"Yeah," said Sam, a glimmer of a smile gracing his lips. "The first victim, Frank Wilmott, was severely burned in a house fire five years ago and lost his daughter. Marianne Blackstock, the girl who did the flip over the car, suffered from severe Arachnophobia and our knife-happy chef Tom, suffered a severe childhood trauma. All were seeing psychologists at the local hospital."
"The same one?"
"No, well there are only two psychologists in this town, but two of the three saw the same guy, a Mr. Hyde."
"So could we be dealing with a demon psychologist?" Dean grinned.
"I highly doubt it seeing as the victims were patients of both."
"Well you got a better idea Einstein?" said Dean, sarcasm dripping from his lips.
"Well this demon is obviously using a person's worst fears against them."
"Demons usually do dummy. They normally embody a common fear and use it as a weapon."
"Yeah, but this one uses a different fear for each individual. Frank seemed to think he was on fire, Tom thought faceless figures were coming to take him away, just like he remembers in his nightmares from childhood-"
"Well what about Marianne?" Dean butted in.
"Witnesses say she was screaming and clawing at herself, right?"
"Yeah, something along the lines of 'Get them off me, get them off me!'"
"So couldn't we assume then that she thought spiders were crawling across her? It would explain her wild hysteria."
"I guess. But what are you getting at?"
"Maybe this demon is a hybrid."
"Ehh?" Dean said, his eyebrow raised.
"What if this demon has the ability to embody all fear? What if it can sense a particular person's fear and create it in that person's mind."
"You mean like mind control?"
"Maybe. Hospitals are the perfect place to pray on the vulnerable."
Dean cringed. "God this sounds like something from Charmed."
Sam grinned. "You man, are full of surprises."
"What?" Dean tried innocently. "They were three hot witches!"
Sam laughed. "You're unbelievable you know that?"
Dean laughed. "I try."
"So what are we gonna do smart ass," Sam laughed.
Dean replaced his smirk with a serious look, a knowing glint twinkling in his eye.
"Hell no! Don't even think about it. You're not going in there!" Sam half-shouted.
"Look, if we're gonna catch this thing; we need to draw it out."
"You're not going in there," Sam repeated resolutely.
"Well what do you suggest?"
Sam was silent.
"Exactly!"
"Well let me go. I have bigger fears than you to tempt it."
"That's exactly why I'm going in there not you. You shot me in the chest the last time you went off alone, oh and befriended a crazy ass demon."
Sam flushed, anger tinged with bitterness. "I don't like this."
"Oh and I'm just jumping for joy at the prospect," Dean retorted sharply. "It's my life ambition to be scared literally to death."
Sam furrowed his brow, his mouth turning down at the corners into a worried frown.
Dean, trying to lighten the atmosphere between them, grinned. "Look it'll be fine; I can wisecrack the thing to death."
"This isn't funny," Sam mumbled shaking his head at his brother's poor attempt at humour. "You could be killed."
"So could a lot of others if we don't do this."
Sam sighed. "Fine, but if you die on my ass, I'll never let you rest in peace."
Dean smiled. "It's a deal."