6

Sam looked at Dean as if he'd gone insane. "Dean-?"

Dean shut his eyes for a second, and nodded. "I was stuck where I was for a while, Sam. Nate here was kind enough to keep me company."

Nathaniel Willard whispered his hello. Sam was alarmed, but intrigued as well. This was a new one. "Uh...hi, Nathaniel. ..um, thanks for looking out for Dean, here. Were you the one hitting me with the apples? I'm not here to cause you any harm... I just came out to find my brother..." He paused, embarrassed. He looked to Dean for reassurance. Dean nodded wearily, and Sam continued. "Geez, I feel weird talking to the air...can you show yourself at all?"

The sin eater was silent for a while. Finally he said, " It's hard. Tuckers me out...but gimme a minute."

Both Dean and Sam watched as a nebulous mist formed in front of them. It began to take shape, until finally, the Sin Eater stood before them. It was a horrifying incarnation. An emaciated, bearded man of about thirty appeared. He was dressed in rags, and was bloodied. His right hand was crushed, bone and gore hanging below his sleeve. His shirt was torn, his belly was laid open, a loop of dirt-crusted intestine exposed and hanging. Both the brothers recoiled.

"Jesus, Nate...what the hell happened to you?" Dean finally asked.

The apparition cocked his head quizzically and looked down at himself. "This is what I was, last...after the buckboard. This is Sin Eater."

Dean had no idea what he was referring to regarding the wagon. He shook his head at Sam's questioning look. He addressed the horror in front of him. "Nate, that's pretty brutal. But I'm not talking to the Sin eater, ok? I'm talking to Nathaniel Willard. Can you show me Nathaniel instead..?"

The spirit sighed in confusion. "I been Sin Eater more years than I was Nate. That was a long, long time ago...not sure I can remember."

Dean took a chance. "Nate, show us how your mother would remember you."

It took some time, it was clearly a struggle for the sin eater to recall that earlier form. But slowly, the apparition changed. What emerged was much easier on the eyes. A boy, perhaps in his early teens. He was thin, but had a look of wiry health. He wore clothing that was patched and darned, and his eyes were clear and hopeful, a shade of green. His short, tousled hair was bleached light by the summer sun, and his freckles were almost obscured by the tan of a boy who spent most of his days outdoors. Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"That's better. Hello Nathaniel." Dean said quietly.

The apparition smiled shyly. Sam stared, fascinated. He'd never had an interaction with a spirit quite like this, they were most often tortured, angry wraiths bent on revenge or mayhem, the only interaction was their screaming anguish.. Nathaniel seemed sort of peaceful, despite his state of flux. At least when he wasn't pelting people with apples.

Nate still spoke in a whisper. "You never told me your name, but I heard it; it's Dean, ain't it? Is this the one you damned your soul for..?"

Dean glanced at Sam, who turned his eyes away. Dean nodded.

Sam wanted to turn the conversation anywhere but in the direction it was headed. "We have to go, Dean; we need to find you some help, and it's going to get dark soon." He reached around his brother's shoulders to raise him.

"Wait, Sam; my phone, I need to find it. It must have rolled down somewhere from where I ended up. Could you call it? You should be able to locate it that way. I can't afford to lose it."

"Are you sure it can't wait? You ok for a minute?"

"Yeah, I'm ok. I don't want it to get wrecked if it rains or something."

Sam frowned, but he left to find it. Dean leaned back and closed his eyes, rocking slightly, cradling his throbbing arm. The sin eater sat crosslegged on the ground, watching him quietly. Dean opened his eyes again, desperate for distraction.

"Nate, how come you came to be the sin eater? Seems like a lousy way to live.."

The apparition smiled wistfully. "Family...same as you."

"Tell me."

The boy sighed, and launched reluctantly into his story. "I lived here, me and my mama, and my daddy. It was pretty, but it was hard. Especially in winter. Up here, there wasn't no way to get out when the snow came, you was on your own 'til the thaw. My mama was...well she was beautiful. She taught me stuff, about how to grow things, and how to sing the church songs, and how to knit socks. She always told me I was the best thing she ever growed. She was always laughing, or at least smiling. At least when pa was out. She was real quiet when he was home. Had to be, else we'd set him off."

"Your old man was hard on you?"

The apparition frowned, and stared off into some distant and unhappy place. "He was a mean sonofabitch, that's what he was. And when he had the drink in him, well...we never knew what was coming then. I was maybe twelve or something, when he come home, full of the devil one night. Mama and me had spent the day gettin' the grain in. He got real mad cuz his dinner wasn't sittin' there hot and waiting for him, and he started beatin' on her. He wouldn't stop, I remember...she was screaming..."

Nathaniel's image began to fade.

"Are you leaving, Nate?" Dean asked.

"No..." he sighed. "Just gettin tired. I'm just gonna talk now, if that's ok."

"Sure."

The boy faded from Dean's view, but his whispered tale continued. "I was real scared, more than ever. I always hid when he was like that, but this time I couldn't take it no more. I hollered at him to stop. Well, he didn't. He got this look on his face... Mama was lying quiet on the floor, and he lit into me. When he was done, I wasn't getting up, and he took the horses and left. He never came back. I crawled over to my mama, talkin' to her, beggin' her to be alright, but she wasn't. She died that night, I couldn't do nuthin for it."

Dean sat, shivering, his heart aching for that poor kid. He knew what that boy had felt. He waited expectantly for him to continue. After a while, Nathaniel went on. " I was broken up bad, after what he done to me. I couldn't walk for days, couldn't get her to town, not without the horses. Nobody was there but me, so I just done what had to be done. I found some apples and I laid them on her. I said some words, maybe the wrong ones, I dunno...and I ate her sins. Don't think there was a whole lot of 'em. But once you done that, you can't go back. Anyway, I got her sorta wrapped up in a quilt, and I tried to bury her. I was too hurt to do it, so I dragged some stones over and covered her, best I could. Coyotes dug her up every night for four nights, I gave up after that, hardly nothin' left anyway."

Dean was truly appalled. "Wow...that's really.. jesus. ..And your old man?"

"Never came back. I hoped and prayed every day that he was dead and burnin'. I spent the winter here alone, I was real sick for a time, but the lord saw fit to keep me breathing. When spring came, I walked into town. After that, I had nuthin' to earn my way, so I started sin eatin' for money. That's about it."

Sam had returned with the cell. He saw that Nathaniel was gone, and turned his worried eyes to his brother. Dean shook his head and spoke to the sin eater. "Nate, I've got to go. I'll come back to talk to you again, later if you want."

"Yes.." he sighed. "it's awful lonely here sometimes..." The voice faded away, and the air immediately lost it's icy edge.

Sam crouched in front of Dean. He didn't like how he looked; his pallor was pronounced, and he was in obvious pain. "Ok, Dean; I did what you asked, but we are going now. Can I lift you?"

Dean nodded, and Sam carefully hauled him to his feet, holding him until he was steadied. The two made their way back through the grass, back down the rough road, and both were awash with relief at the sight of the car. Sam managed to get him in without eliciting too many curses, and he pulled away from the site.

Until Sam could ascertain where the nearest medical help was, he decided the most comfortable place for Dean was his bed at May Adam's. He got him in and settled, and started to call around. He knew that they would likely be able to offer a recommendation at the post office, but he would use that hostile source as a last resort. He searched online for the next closest town on the highway, and put a call in to a convenience store listed there. The news was not good. It seemed, like everything else, the nearest hospital was in Bradford. A long drive was inevitable.

Dean was shivering badly, and was reduced to one word grunts in answer to Sam's anxious queries. Sam covered him with blankets, and went out to the car for the first aid kit. Unfortunately, it hadn't been replenished after their last misadventures, and bandaging was in short supply.

"Dean, listen...I'm going to check around in May's house for some med stuff, ok? Do you need anything first?"

Dean pulled the blanket higher with his good hand. "I'm freezing, I need something warm. That stew smells good, get me some of that. And hand me that bottle, will you?"

Sam did so, un capping it and pouring a good bit out into a mug. "Ok, back in a sec."

He left, walking around the tangle of hollyhocks that graced the sunny side of the farmhouse. He remembered May's warning, that they should mind Angus. He hoped he wasn't some huge half-bred wolf-dog or something. He knocked at the screen door, and when there was no answer, and thankfully no deep threatening growl, he entered the kitchen.

Angus was there, sitting silently. It wasn't a fearsome cur after all; wasn't a dog at all. He was the most grizzled, ancient old man Sam had ever seen. It appeared that Angus hadn't heard him enter, he sat snoring at the table, toothless old head resting on his chest, while his shirt-front slowly darkened with drool. He smelled of stale tobacco and urine. Sam gently nudged him.

"What? What? Who're you? Where's May!" he croaked. Sam stuttered to answer, ducking the cane the old man swung at his head.

"Sir! Angus! We're the renters! May's at the wake, she told us to get some stew from the kitchen!" He had to say it several times more before Angus seemed to hear, or comprehend it fully.

"Ain't free! Cost you a fiver." he said sourly, wheezing and hocking up something unpleasant and spitting it onto the floor. Sam handed him a ten and found some bowls, filling them full. He remembered his other need. "Sir, my brother had an accident; would May have any bandages around?"

Angus sized him up with faded, rheumy eyes. "Ain't free."

Sam handed him another five, and Angus nodded curtly toward the cupboards. ''Over the sink. Don't touch nuthin else, hear?"

Sam thanked him and retrieved two thin rolls of gauze. He was about to leave when Angus poked him with the cane. "What's wrong with him? Did ya tangle with the sin eater, like Bert? Stupid bugger, told him to stay away from that land; cursed, I tell you. You was poking around where you ain't wanted, wasn't you? Got what you deserve. Idiot boy! Don't you know no better?"

Sam was shocked that the old codger had nailed it right off. "No, no, he just... fell and cut his arm. Angus, do you know anywhere closer than Bradford that he could see a doctor?"

Angus snorted. "I know everything. I'm a hunnert-an-two years old, nobody knows nuthin more'n old Angus." Sam waited impatiently for the information, but the old man seemed to forget the question.

"Sir?"

"What do you want?" he griped.

"A doctor? Is there any doctor nearby?"

"How the hell would I know?"

Sam thanked him, collected his bowls and left.

Dean was into his second mugful. Sam was concerned, but the bourbon had made such a difference in his brother's suffering that he felt it was a benefit regardless. But the stew was a real help. Despite his miserable experience, Dean was hungry, and he took the bowl gratefully. And it was as good as the scent had promised. Only when Dean felt the curled spear of a tomato skin in his mouth did he even give a thought to Sam's porcupine fears. It didn't stop him from finishing it. He handed the bowl back, fortified somewhat.

"Ok, Nurse Ratchet, have at it."

Sam found a bucket in the bathroom, he filled it with hot water, and brought soap and towels. He sat down on a chair beside Dean's bed, holding his wounded arm on a towel across his knees. He carefully picked out the forest debris from the wound, and cleaned it as well as he could. Dean had his head turned, hand over his eyes, and was trying his best to keep silent during the process. He was nearly successful, despite the stream of tears that slid down his face.

"So...what's the damage?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Sam had done what he could. He'd cleaned out what he could see, and he'd bound it tightly in fresh cotton. He'd even sacrificed a brand new pair of sport socks, folding them into squares and tucking them under to absorb the blood still oozing from both sides. He'd tied a wooden spoon from May's kitchen into the wrappings as a splint. "Well...pretty sure you broke at least one of the bones. Nasty, dirty wound, too. We really need to get this fixed up properly, especially after you bled so much. How's your shoulder?"

"On freaking fire. Pass that bottle over again."

Sam was about to, when the door abruptly opened. Old Angus shuffled in, leaning heavily on his cane. He wandered over to the bedside, peering at Dean's injury. "It's whisky and a good sharp saw that you want for that." He cackled loudly at his own idea of humour.

Dean shot his brother a look of alarm and disgust. "Sam?"

Sam turned to the old man. "Angus, is there something we can do for you?"

Angus pulled up a chair and sat his rickety backside slowly down. It was fairly clear that he had the intention of visiting for a while. Sam asked again. "..Angus?"

He was either ignored or Angus simply didn't hear. The old man sat back, crossed his arms, and when he was sure their attention was rapt, he began to reminisce.

"You boys, being outsiders; you wouldn't know the comings and goings of folks from here. This here's hard country. Folks've been half starving here for over a hunnert years, ain't no better nowadays either."

Dean glared at his brother, in no mood to humour a stranger, especially this senile incarnation. Sam interrupted Angus. "Sir, we'd love to hear it, but right now my brother here could use some rest."

Angus ignored him, and gestured toward the bottle. "This ain't free."

"What? What isn't free?" Sam barked, his patience frayed.

Angus continued. "You wanna know about the sin eater, don't ya? Nobody knows it proper but me. I was there, you know."

That caught his attention. Dean raised his head, and shared a glance with Sam. Sam shook his head. "Not now, Dean, it's not important."

But it was important. Dean had to know. He'd felt a strong connection with the Sin Eater; his story had hit him hard, and for him, it was worth the delay. "Yeah, it is. Offer him a drink." he said quietly.

Sam sighed in defeat. "Angus, care for a snort?"

The old man grinned slyly and held out his hand. Sam poured out a measure and passed it to him, pausing to ask, "Why would we want to know about that?"

"Didn't I tell you I know everything, boy? That yappy McCormack woman down at the post office phoned May and said there was two strangers what asked about it. And so far, you're the only outsiders here. So I done the math."

Dean didn't have the patience or stamina to put up with a production. "Fine, spit it out then, old man. If you have something to say, then say it; otherwise I could use some peace and quiet about now." Having tightly bound the arm, Sam had untied the makeshift tourniquet, and a flood of unwelcome sensation accompanied the renewed bloodflow. He really just wanted to be alone, at least until the bourbon kicked in.

The old man frowned. "Mind your manners, boy. Now, where the hell was I..?"

Sam rolled his eyes and prompted him, "The sin eater; you were telling us all about it."

Angus remembered, and the rest of the story unfolded.