It was a cloudless sunny day outside but inside the hospital, the air hung heavy. Dean Winchester looked one look around the emergency ward's lobby and adjusted his suit. Inches behind him, he knew Sam was doing the same. Find potential exits. Look for anything out of place. Forget that they didn't exactly have a lot to say to each other during the ride to the hospital. Forget that there were times he caught Sam wanting to say something but kept his mouth shut instead. Forget that he wanted to say something but found nothing to really say. This is what they were raised to do.
They were raised to hunt.
Another lethargic child was wheeled across the room. He has never seen a place so packed with sick children and their worried parents. Any doubt that this might not be their thing flew out the door. In his opinion, it was one thing to mess with adults, but quite another thing to mess with children. "Sick son of a-"
"Dean," Sam cut him off before he could finish. "There are kids around."
"Just saying, you know," he replied moving towards what looked like the hospital receptionist, "They should mess with someone their own size for a change." He waved at the small girl eying him while resting her head on her distraught mother's lap.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" A middle aged doctor met them halfway to the table. He adjusted his glasses and shut the folder he was reading impatiently.
"Yes, actually, you could," Dean gave him a polite smile, retrieving the counterfeit ID inside his breast pocket, "we're from the CDC," he said, flashing the ID quickly. "Could we talk to the chief doctor about this situation you have here?"
The man met his gaze squarely. "You're looking at him," he replied in a no nonsense way. The man looked tired, "Doctor Washburne." He shook both their hands before exchanging folders with a passing doctor. "But you're not the CDC," he continued knowingly. "I called the CDC this morning. They said two days. So whatever game you boys are playing, this is neither the time nor the place."
"With all due respect sir," Sam said trailing the doctor as he went around, "We're actually off the clock. I called a friend and said we were passing by this town and he filled us in with what's happening. We thought we could check it out and help if we could."
Doctor Washburne eyed them suspiciously. "Come on," Dean shrugged wishing that the head doctor were a woman instead. Sam's puppy dog eyes and his charm worked better with the opposite sex after all. "We all know you should've set up quarantine by now," he added, trying to sound exactly like the doctors in that show he secretly liked to watch.
"Quarantine what exactly?" Dr. Washburne snapped. "There's nothing in any test that say these kids aren't healthy despite how they look. I've looked into every patient history there is to be seen. Every cut, every sniffle and nothing was out of the ordinary. They're all asleep. You want to pretend to be doctors and help? Diagnose this." He turned his back and headed straight for a waiting man in the center of the room.
"Well, I picked a hell of a time to visit," the older looking well built man. He ruffled his peppering hair a bit and grimaced. "I take it lunch anytime soon is out of the question?"
"Sorry Paul," the good doctor sighed, "Maybe after all this is done? How long are you in town for?"
"Just until the 26th," Paul replied. "Well if you get the chance, call me. I'm staying at the Whitespaces."
"Nice place," the doctor smiled. "Hey, where did you get that pendant? Jessie's been looking for a oboe charm."
"Oh, I took a Mediterranean cruise last..."
Dean rolled his eyes and looked away, secretly embarrassed for the two men. He wished he would never be that old to discuss souvenir jewelry with another person. Plus it also reminded him that he was missing his necklace. "Damn that Castiel," he muttered to himself. "Well Sammy," Dean turned to face his brother but found that he wasn't there. "Sam?" He finally spotted him a few meters away with a collapsed child of about ten in his arms. A distraught mother picked herself up from the floor slowly as doctors and nurses tried their best to attend to the child when Sam placed him on an empty bed.
The older Winchester's smiled. Chaos might be going on around him and he couldn't do anything about it. But he just caught a glimpse of someone he hadn't seen in a long time-- the old Sam. The brother that he picked up from school and used to lecture him about morality. He could see Sam's face etched with concern as the hospital staff wheeled the child into the intensive care unit and felt like a small weight has been lifted. Buried beneath that roughened kid, old Sam, the one he trusted, was still in there. "Come on, Sammy," he called, cocking his head towards main door, "there ain't anything we can do here."
" Dean." His brother grabbed his arm before he could move. "Demons, witches, warlocks, African sleeping juice.... " he ranted on quietly. "It's got to be something. These are kids. They die, this town is dead."
"You're right. This is our kind of thing," he replied. "But the doc didn't buy our cover and we can't stand here looking like the freaking Men in Black."
"This kid's delusional. She says she can hear flutes," he overheard a nurse say as she handed a file to a doctor.
"Can we go now," Dean prompted, making sure Sam followed his lead out the door.
Suddenly, a nurse ran past them with a handful of files. "Dr. Washburne, these kids," she said trying to catch her breath. "These were the ones woke up yesterday."
Dean paused watching the old man rifle through the files. "They're all back in?" the doctor exclaimed.
"Yes, sir. Summer's kids. Do we call her up?"
"No. Dr. McKenzie barely took a break this last few days," Dr. Washburne sighed. "Whatever this is, all we can do is hope it runs it's course soon. Just watch all of them. Inform me if there are any more changes," he ordered, managing to give the nurse a small smile.
"So this chick is the only one who has a clue?" Dean gave his brother a wry smile.
"Or did the deed. Sounds like a witch. Maybe we should check with Bobby to see what we're up agaisnt. We've never heard of a witch this... I mean what did she do? Hide hex bags in everyone's houses? Curse the water?" Sam suggested. "Do you think she might be... Pestilence?"
"Yeah well, you never know. Life is like a box of chocolates." Dean replied as indifferent as he could possibly sound.
– – –
Bobby Singer fingered the fading pictures on an old photo album he kept locked inside his table drawer. Nobody ever saw its pages except for him. Sometimes he liked to look at old photos to toast to the ones who have gone before him. They were so young then. And the young ones like the Winchester boys, were younger still. Just children really.
His mobile phone rang. He groaned in dismay when he realized he had left it in the other side of the room. By the time he wheeled himself over, the call had gone to voice mail. His caller ID told him that it was Sam.
"Like the bloody Apocalypse isn't enough," he sighed, calling his voice mail to see what the brothers wanted this time.
"Hey, Bobby, we're up in Washington. Just wanted to ask if it's possible for a witch to be strong enough to put children to sleep because if not, then Summer McKenzie might not be a witch and we might be dealing with something stronger. Like Pestilence. Call me back. It's Sam by the way."
Bobby Singer's eyes grew wide with worry and quickly did as he was told. He called Sam back.
----- – -
Summer Wind McKenzie heard her door bell ring twice but ignored it. "Evangelists," she grumbled before continuing on with her breakfast and reading the newspaper. Then she heard a small tinkling sound from her backdoor and frowned. She knew exactly what was happening. Someone was picking her lock. She groaned. She had always wanted to add a set of barrel locks on that door but never got around to it. She thought It was just like her luck to be robbed during her day off as well. At least she wasn't in pajamas anymore.
She should really have called the cops but decided against it. Summer decided to deal with these jokers herself before handing them over to the authorities just out of spite. She quickly rummaged through her bag and retrieved a retractable baton then quietly rushed to the small laundry room. She pressed herself against the wall beside her door just in time.
A second later the door swung open hiding her briefly from sight. She could see there were two of them. The first that walked in had a shotgun. The second taller one had a handgun. The first guy cocked his head to the other, a sure sign to close the door they had just gone through. Summer smirked.
"Hi," she greeted, grabbing her surprised intruder's by the collar and slamming his head on her washing machine. His handgun fell from his hands. She quickly shoved the dazed man to her broom closet.
"Sam!" the first one turned just as she barred the door with her baton. "Hey!" The man aimed shotgun as she dove for the fallen handgun.
"Hey yourself," she greeted quickly raising the gun though she was down on one knee.
"Dean!" the man stuck in the broom closet yelled.
"I'm good," the man named Dean replied. "You're the girl from the bar."
"You're the guy from the bar," she shot back.
"You know how to use that thing?"
"Of course."
"Coz you know the safety's on right?"
"No, it's not," she smirked keeping her gaze locked with his. She saw him flinch slightly when she called his bluff. "Why don't you slowly put the shotgun down and take ten steps back before you hurt yourself," Summer suggested.
"Hurt myself?" the man almost laughed. "Lady, I grew up with this stuff."
"So did I," she said.
"What?!" the man exclaimed. "That's bull."
Suddenly, a phone started ringing from inside the broom closet. Summer couldn't help thinking that these boys might just be the worst theives she had ever had the chance to encounter.
"Better believe it because if you don't put the shotgun down in five seconds, I'm going to shoot your kneecaps," she threatened as calmly as possible. Calm, she realized from her parents long ago, was much scarier than someone someone shouting out idle threats. "Five- four-"
"Aw, you have to be kidding me."
"Three-" she fingered the hammer.
"Dean! Dean put the gun down! Bobby's on the phone. He said we got it all wrong," his friend yelled.
Summer could see the reluctance on Dean's face and smirked."Two-" she continued her countdown anyway. If the shotgun wasn't on the floor when she was over then she knew she might be in trouble. They were too close together. If he fired the shotgun, she knew she wouldn't survive. Still, even with the beat up leather jacket and the semi- grungy clothes, he didn't look lke the kind to fire. If he were, he would've done so when she picked up the hand gun. If he were, he wouldn't look as indecisive as he did right now.
She, however, wasn't one to make idle threats. "One-" she angled the gun downwards, ready to pull the trigger.
"Bobby Singer!" his friend screamed from the closet. "Bobby Singer, wants to talk to you." Her finger left the trigger upon hearing that name. "He owns a junkyard in South Dakota," he continued, "He gave you the white 65 Beetle in the curb when you were fourteen. He taught you how to drive--"
"Oh no," She groaned, lowering her gun. Summer eyed the surprised man in front of her who lowered his weapon as well. She cringed realizing that he did fit a certain criteria of their profession. Rough. Tough. Tumbled. Reckless. Frustrated. Determined. Crazy. But most of all, he just looked... hurt. "You guys are hunters."