People Are Strange
Previously:
"So…" he trailed off, waiting until the man's head tilted in his direction slightly, indicating that he had his attention. "You're gonna help me find my brother, right?"
"Yeah," he nodded, and then took a deep breath. "I will. But I was kinda hoping that…"
"That what?" Sam inquired after he didn't continue, wondering absently if he was being baited.
He smiled down at Sam, looking mostly excited, but slightly nervous. "Well…I was wondering…if you wouldn't mind doing me a little favor first."
Chapter Two"What sorta favor?" Sam asked boldly, curious about what this man wanted of him.
"It's a secret," he said after a slight pause, they continued walking down the parking garage, passing a myriad of cars. Sam's little eyes scanned them all hungrily, in his head he was trying to name the model of everyone, like Dean had taught him to do on one particularly long car ride to South Dakota.
"How can I help you if it's a secret?" He inquired, his mind mostly stuck on the bright red car to his left. Corvette or Mustang? He couldn't remember the specifics behind their differences.
The stranger sighed, and Sam tore his attention away from the cars and back to the shaggy-haired man, wondering absently why it was that grown-ups sighed so much around him. It wasn't as if his question hadn't been logical, even an adult would have asked that, right?
Sam stuck to his guns, not sure about the motives of most adults, but knowing without doubt that Dean would have asked the exact same question, and that was good enough for him.
"You gotta trust me, remember?" He finally answered, and Sam did remember. Though he didn't recall actually coming to a conclusion about this man's trustworthiness, he had followed him out of the elevator and into a strange place – that pretty much implied trust, didn't it?
"Yeah, alright." Sam bit out, a little impatient. "But you gotta find Dean and my dad too, right?"
"Absolutely, Sam." He assured. "Abso-freakin'-lutely"
"Then can I do the favor fast? 'Cause I really wanna find my family." He was anxious to get to Dean, to see with his own eyes that his brother hadn't been too badly injured by the vengeful spirit. Seeing his dad wouldn't be too horrible either, especially if the older man wanted to apologize for sending him to this place so completely packed with strangers.
"We'll see." The young man said vaguely, and they walked in silence for a bit longer.
Sam got bored with his 'Identify the car' game fairly quickly, "So..." he dragged the word out for a while. "What's your name?"
"Huh?" He was distracted, Sam realized, so he repeated himself.
"Oh. Huh." The guy seemed a little surprised at the question. Like he didn't think Sam would care about such a thing. "Ah...my name's Cal."
"Hi, Cal." He said it cheerfully; like this was the first time they were being introduced. Which, in a way, it was, Sam reasoned. It was the first time they were talking to one another as two separate, named, individuals. Before it had just been Sam and the stranger. And before that, the stranger and a kid. This was much better.
"Hi, Sam." Cal responded with just as much cheerfulness, although it was of a slightly mocking nature. Sam pretended like he didn't notice. Grown-ups always thought that kids didn't notice when they were being mocked, but in reality, they just didn't care. Well Sam didn't, anyway.
They were silent for a few more minutes, and Sam's boredom was just about getting the best of him, when Cal spoke again. "We're almost there," he told him. "We're meeting a couple of my friends." He threw that last bit in as an afterthought.
"Friends?" Sam questioned warily. Meeting and trusting a stranger was bad enough, but a whole group of them? The seven-year-old wasn't too sure about that.
"Yeah," Cal confirmed, sensing Sam's distress he added, "Don't worry, we're not bad people. We just wanna rise above the media propaganda and set loose a wave of anarchy that'll shake the world and change history." His tone stayed level, he shrugged, and Sam really wished he understood what Cal was actually saying. "All in a day's work."
"Oh," Sam considered it. Well, pretended to consider it. "Okay." Because really, what choice did he have?
Newbury Teaching Hospital had this much loathed, infuriating rule where no one was allowed in a patient's room until the supervising doctor had Okayed it. John Winchester suspected that this was due to the hospital staff's inability to pull their heads out of their asses, even though he'd been calmly told - by a friggin' twelve-year old-doctor - that it was because they were still residents and it was simply their policy.
"Hey!" He shouted, banging his palm repeatedly on the counter, having given up on waiting outside Dean's room, he was now at the reception desk. "Someone needs to help me, now."
"What is it you need, sir?" A petite brunette asked coolly, obviously fed up with the ex-marine's obnoxious behavior.
"A doctor." He spat, not caring at all how rude he sounded. "A real doctor."
"Name please." She demanded, fingers poised above a keyboard, sounding like a friggin' robot.
"Winchester." He informed, glad that they hadn't bothered with fake names in this town. "My son, Dean, and I were brought here almost an hour ago, and no one will tell me what's going on."
"Okay," she acknowledged him, read her computer screen for a little longer, and then looked up at him. "The doctor overseeing your son's treatment is Dr. Hogan. I'll page him now."
"Good," John sighed, running a hand over his stubbly chin wearily, "Do that."
He knew nothing about the severity of his son's injuries - nothing. Zip, nada, zero, zilch.
His eldest son had stopped breathing on the way back from their hunt, John remembered the heart attack he'd nearly had when Sam's frantic screams had interrupted his break-neck speed driving, nearly causing him to crash the...oh, fuck.
"Hey, lady," he spun around, facing the annoyed woman once again. "Lady!" He shouted, making her look up from her vigorous typing and raise a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him.
"My son, my other son," he couldn't fucking believe he'd forgotten about Sammy until just that moment. "He came here, told someone to send an ambulance to our motel. Where is he now?"
She looked slightly alarmed, which alarmed John, because it was the first solid emotion he'd gotten out of her yet - and it wasn't a good one. "Ah..." she trailed off, clicking a few keys and returning her gaze there for a second. "I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester," and she did sound honestly sorry at having to say this. "I don't...I don't know."
"What the hell do you mean you don't know?!" John shouted, upsetting other patients, he was sure, but not caring so much at the moment. "He's seven goddamn years old! Where the hell could he be?"
"Look, I'm sure he's fine," the young woman tried to sound reassuring. "Dr. Hogan will know more than me."
John gritted his teeth, but remained silent. Shouting at this poor, already frightened, moronic, droning, idiotic bitch wouldn't do him any good. He would just have to clench his teeth and wait.
Fuck... he hated waiting.
At the moment, though, it was Sam who felt like he'd been waiting forever. Cal had taken him all the way to the back of the parking garage, they were standing - and had been standing for hours, Sam was sure - next to his car. A Firebird, Sam recognized. And at that discovery, he did breathe just a little easier.
"You have a cool car." Sam shared his feelings with Cal, trying also to dispel some of the empty silence of the wide-open space.
"Thanks." The older boy was looking all around, seemingly searching for something, but Sam continued his spiel nonetheless.
"Dean says that you can tell a lot about someone by what kinda car they drive. Like only Soccer mom's drive station wagons, and muscle cars are for bad asses." He smiled a little at his own use of profanity - it made him slightly giddy to use words he knew he wasn't supposed to use.
"Is that right?" Cal smiled a little too, and Sam nodded enthusiastically.
"Yup," Sam continued. "I like Firebirds, 'cause of the name, mostly." He paused, and then added thoughtfully, "But I like Impala's the best."
"Impala's a good car," Cal nodded his agreement. "'specially the classics."
"My dad's got a 1967 one." Sam stated proudly. "It's gonna be Dean's one day. In a long time."
"Your brother old?" It was the first direct question Cal had asked concerning his life and family, and Sam answered without hesitation.
"He's eleven. But he'll be twelve in a few months. Dad puts him in charge a lot," the young boy seemed to have Cal's full attention, which was a nice change from the grown-up's he usually talked to. "It's okay mostly, 'cause he lets me eat Lucky Charms for dinner. But sometimes he won't let me play until I do my homework, and I hate that."
"Don't like school?" Cal sounded sympathetic. "Been there, man. Too many conformists."
"Oh, no." Sam assured quickly, "I do. I like school a lot. Way more than Dean does, but there's this boy in my class who always copies my papers, and I don't want him to anymore."
"So don't let him." Cal provided his solution with amazing casualness.
"I could get Dean to beat him up," Sam considered thoughtfully, "He's done that before. But I don't wanna have to tell him about it."
Cal just smiled. "Sounds like Dean's a pretty good big brother,"
"Yeah," Sam dragged out slowly, studying Cal oddly, as if the elder man was suddenly the one too young to comprehend things like an adult. "Duh."
TBC…