"Sam."
"Dean." Sam stopped trying to jimmy a hidden employee access door to look up to his brother.
"I want one," Dean said, giving his brother his best pleading look, "This is awesome. It's like... the terminator eyes." He had to hand it to this GPS screen. Not only did it tell him where in the city their mark was, it also had this little white shell building version of the hospital that marked the man with a blinking red dot. On the side of the screen, it showed altitude readings. Which meant one thing-- they knew where exactly this scumbag Paul Leslie was.
Or at least Sam did.
The same Sam who just chuckled and went back to work on that door. "What are you even going to do with that? You can't stick it on a ghost."
Dean smirked. "Oh, I can think of of lots," he replied, wistfully, " Like hide and go seek in the dark."
"Regressing already?"
"With the female species," he very slowly explained. "It's a game, Sammy. One day, when you've grown up to be a man, you'll learn how to play these games," he teased when his brother stopped what he was doing once more to give him a mortified expression.
"Dean, I did not need to know that!" Sam exclaimed tugging on the knob to finally open the door.
Sometimes, it absolutely amazes Dean how innocent his brother could be about these things. And to think that it was Sam who's had a hand at a long term relationship. It was a wonder how he ever kept that alive with the dearly departed Jessica. "Here you go Sammy," he tossed the handheld to his brother to lead the way, "take us down to paradise city," he said dryly.
"Dude, really?" Sam threw him a doubtful glance as he lead the way to a service elevator, "Guns n' Roses?"
"I think I'm going to put on my earplugs now," he declared innocently ignoring the comment. He saw his brother do the same while saying something. "What? Sammy, What did you say? I can't hear you," he yelled in jest. Sam quickly placed his own on simply rolled his eyes and gave him a tart smile in reply.
The elevator doors slid opened revealing a busy floor. Sam took one look at the screen and tilted his head towards one side. Dean was quick to follow him down the corridor, smiling at the pretty nurses and doctors that he happened to catch eying him. They looked away flustered and he smiled inwardly. Maybe later, he thought.
Right now, there was work to do.
They went through double doors and he had to stop walking. There were letter blocks, balloons and teddy bears painted on the otherwise stark walls. They've arrived at the children's ward. He couldn't hear anything but he could tell it was quiet. It was certainly a departure from the hustle and bustle of the other hall they came from. Besides from a few nurses in the central station and a few parents inside the rooms, the place was devoid of life.
Dean has seen some weird things before, but this scene made him cold.
Sam cocked his head again towards and adjoining corridor. Dean took a peek at every window there was and inside were children just lying there, hooked up to the liquids and machines that were keeping them alive. To be able to have the gall, to do this children just for revenge-- He silently swore that he was, without a doubt, going to kill that miserable excuse for a human being.
He grabbed Sam's collar stopping him from turning another corner when he saw the man himself leaving a patient's room, shaking hands with a parent. He looked up and down the corridor. When he was satisfied that nobody was there, he decided to act. "Hey Leslie," he called out, or at least he thought he did. His voice echoed in his head. "Just when you think you've gotten rid of us."
Paul Leslie turned ashen in shock. He said something and quickly blew on the whistle. Dean shot his hand to the side, absently grabbing his brother's jacket, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. He exchanged victorious smiles with Sam as the old officer tried again.
"Look, it doesn't work old man," Dean said, not knowing how loud he exactly said it, "Just do it the easy way and give us the pipe."
Of course, they never did it the easy way. The old man just lowered his gaze, the corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly. He blew on the pipe again. Dean couldn't understand why but the man looked more confident this time. His mouth moved and nodded at something behind them. Moments later, he felt Sam grab his collar forcing him to turn.
He saw why their mark was so confident.
-- -- --
Paul Leslie saw the children rise from their beds and rush to the two men who was slowly but surely taking slow and measured steps to take him. The two men didn't hear his little army fumble wake, nor did they hear him say, "Look behind you," he nodded towards his small army. The children crept up behind the two men, holding whatever they could grab to throw and stab. By the time, the two realized what was happening, it was too late.
That was the problem with earplugs. Wear a pair and one's early warning alarm gets turned off.
"Dean!" the taller one called out pushing a rabid child away.
His companion just wailed in pain when several children bite down on his leg, "Son of a--" he cursed, swatting them away.
"Careful, they're just kids," Paul taunted, though he knew they couldn't hear him. He rounded several corners and passed through several doors. He had no doubt in his mind that the children would slow the boys down, maybe even kill them. He, however, was not going to get ahead of himself. Those two knew the truth to his little weapon. He didn't know how many else would try to stop him or how they found him in the first place but he decided that the most prudent thing to do until he could finish his plan, was to hide. Hide where no one would think to look, a place with a lot of children nearby that were already in his control.
"The chapel," he remembered the often forgotten niche of the St. Raphael's hospital. If he remembered correctly, it was always mostly empty on a busy day. If they decided to hold mass, a priest from the outside was brought in. Otherwise, it was just another empty room at the end of a building wing. He passed through the wooden doors, relieved when he found the place dusty and empty. With a sigh, he sat down on the nearest pew to catch his breath.
A few moments later, he heard the door open and close quietly behind him. Standing on the doorway was the same girl in the alley just the day before. She was even clad with the same zipped up black leather motorcycle jacket, black leather gloves and boots. at first glance, she didn't look like a threat. But the alley tussle told him otherwise. She tied her long black hair back and waved at him, a small smile on her face. "Hi," she greeted.
He stood, holding his pipe, ready to blow upon it if he needed to. "Who are you?" he asked, frustration mounting in his voice. How many people knew about him and his abilities? How many people exactly were out there? Paul's frown deepened trying to control himself from lashing out thoughtlessly. It won't solve anything, he told himself.
"I'm Dr. McKenzie," she answered breezily while crossing herself. "I work in this hospital and we need to talk," she said meeting his gaze.
"You're a doctor?" he replied, unconvinced, "A doctor that just happens to wear weighted gloves, steel toe boots, and, oh, a tactical leather jacket? I'm sure talking is high on your agenda."
"Mr. Leslie, we both know that whatever I'm wearing, it's not going to help me with what you're packing. I'm not even wearing earplugs. That's enough of a sign of good faith. Enough for you to hear me out," she pointed out.
Paul eyed the girl suspiciously. All she did was lean against the last pew waiting for him to answer. He fingered the pipe pendant he wore as a precaution and to remind her of the threat he posed. But she didn't move to stop him from doing anything. She merely tilted her head to one side, raising her eyebrows expectantly at him. "What do you want kid?"
"You need to blow on that pipe and reverse what you've done since you arrived in town," she simply answered.
"Or what?"
"Or you're going to die by that thing," she finished. She pointed at the pendant he was holding and shrugged. "What comes around, goes around. I checked."
Paul chuckled. "I'm going to die eventually kid," he replied, "And when I do, I'm going to drag this under- appreciating city down. You and your friends are not going to stop me," he stated, lifting the pipe to his lips and took a deep breath. He had personally had enough from these youngsters. They needed to be taught a lesson.
He didn't see a prayer book fly across the room but he definitely felt the pain when it hit the bridge of his nose. The old officer dropped the pipe instinctively when his hands flew to his nose. He cursed angrily when he saw blood in his hands. He caught a sight of the girl waving a paperback book to his direction. "It's the golden rule sir," she said, dead serious this time. "The power of God compels you."
"Compel this." He lifted the pipe to his lips once more. He was able to dodge two paperback books thrown to his direction. However, he realized that they weren't aimed at him. They were merely distractions, something to concentrate on so he could not blow on the pipe. It was then Paul caught sight of the change in the girl. In a blink of an eye, another persona was heading right for him, someone more focused, almost icy. He tried to let air pass through the pipe but it was too late.
-- -- -- - -
Dr. James Washburne was having the most surreal day. It was the stuff nightmares are made of. The children all sat up, eyes wide open, staring blankly ahead all at the same time. Parents, doctors, nurses,-- just everyone who were just delicately hanging on to any semblance of sanity were now at a loss of what to do. They didn't know what was happening. There was nothing anyone in the hospital could do.
But pray.
He made his way to the small chapel to pray to his favorite saint, St. Raphael, who the hospital was named after. But on his way there, two men ran through the double doors connecting to the west wing and barred the doors from opening with a shotgun. He swore he saw dazed children running after them, some with scalpels on hand.
The boys themselves fell to the floor trying to catch their breath. They were both bleeding sporting several cuts and stab wounds. The old doctor could even see shards of glass caught in the taller man's hair.
"I'm going to kill that son of a bitch," the smaller, older looking one swore.
Dr. Washburne remembered them now. They were the boys posing as the CDC just the other day. Though now, the monkey suits were gone and they looked like they just fought a war. "Boys, what's going on here?" he asked. The fear and uncertainty he already felt was now being fueled not by his own thoughts but the urgent pounding from behind the door.
The two just stared at him for a second, picking themselves off the floor, before the smaller one blurted out, "The kids are being controlled by your old friend Paul Leslie," like events like these happen regularly.
It took the doctor several moments to understand. It didn't make sense. Mind control was the work of science fiction. There was no scientific fact to back up a claim like that. "Mind control. Like witchcraft?" he finally asked, doubting the very words he let out.
"More like dog trainers," the taller one said, carefully, with a cringe that said that he would rather not know. "Do you know where your friend is? We want a word with him."
Suddenly he heard something crashing from the north wing. He ran towards the noise and was about to turn the corner when someone held him back. "This is my hospital. I am responsible for the people here," he bravely told the older boy holding him.
"Yeah, but we want to know if it's more kids so we have a head start with the running," he replied with a humourless smile.
"Dean," the younger one looked back, "it's Summer."
"I thought that girl said she was staying behind," Dean said, letting the doctor go.
Dr. Washburne only knew one Summer in the city. He took a peek at what's round the corner filled with dread. There he saw one of the chapel doors had fallen. One of his youngest residents was trying to pick herself off the fallen door. Blood dripped down her lip as she held her jaw with one hand. He barely recognize his old friend coming out of the chapel looming over her like a school yard bully.
"Just listen to me," she cried, "I'm being honest here. That pipe isn't doing what you want for free."
"Child, I've been using this pipe for almost a decade now and it's never done anything to me," Paul replied. He lashed out he foot aiming at the girl's face.
But Summer blocked it with her both her hands and pushed down. Doctor Washburne saw the resident tackle the older man sending him slamming to the wall behind. She was obviously more capable in defending herself than he thought she was, which surprised the old doctor quite a bit. "Everything has a price. There's no such thing as a free lunch," she argued, stepping back for a second to wipe the blood from the cut on her lip with the back of her glove.
"That's a lesson this city is going to learn," Paul growled throwing a punch after punch that were either blocked or dodged. "Did they think I'd let them go after I spent all my energy mopping up this hell hole and I got nothing in return?! As you said, there's no such thing as a free lunch," he shot back, fists leading the way.
The girl redirected the last jab and kneed the man's middle before shoving him forcefully back against the wall. "You're unappreciated. I get it. But listen to me," she demanded, kicking the man back when he made another move for her, "The pipe made an immortal god mortal. What do you think it's going to do to you?"
Dr. Washburne watched his friend lunge for the doctor once more. His force was used against him and he slammed to the opposite wall before being released.
"Dammit, she's staying on defense. She's not going for the kill," the man named Dean cursed.
"She doesn't have earplugs on either," his companion pointed out.
"Put yours on Sam, we're--"
Dr. Washburne didn't hear the end of the sentence. He had personally had enough and Paul was his friend. He can reason with him. He can try to get some sense into everyone, stop the violence in his hospital, put things back to normal. "What's going on here?" He called down the hall as he tentatively rounded the corner. "Paul, are you causing all this?" He asked just as Summer twisted his friend's arm behind him to pin him.
Two pairs of eyes focused on him, one narrowed in anger, one wide eyed with shock fear. It was Paul who let out a sneer so vindictive, it sent chills down the his spine. His friend's face was the sort of distorted figure he had only seen in mentally unstable people, the violent kind that had left reality behind. He saw his friend's free hand reach for his pendant.
It was Summer who ran towards him, releasing the old officer all together and taking something out of her jean pocket. His friend blew his whistle furiously. Doctor Washburne stood still in shock when she slid something in both his ears. A few seconds after, the young doctor fell to her knees gasping for air. And he fell on one knee trying to help his colleague but she kept waving him away as if to tell him to run.
The two injured men rushed out of the corner. They both took Paul on as Dr. Washburne knelt on the floor, stunned. It was like a silent opera or a movie scene where the sounds were cut for the effect of it all and the players were all moving in slow motion. His friend landed a few punches but that was it. The smaller one, Dean, had both his arms and his neck locked. The taller one, Sam, grabbed the necklace from his neck and brought out a lighter from his pocket. Paul was struggling to get free.
Dr. Washburne took his silicon earplugs out just in time to watch Dean nod a silent order. The taller one, Sam, immediately grabbed the necklace from Paul's neck and brought out a lighter from his pocket. Paul was struggling to get free. Sam was struggling to get a light.
"Don't," Summer managed to say, grabbing his coat and getting his attention "They can't hear..." she struggled to say. "Stop them... don't burn," she pleaded before releasing his collar.
He propped the girl against the wall and rushed to the boys to do what she said. But it was too late. Sam had the flame beneath the necklace and the wooden pendant had already started to take to the fire. "Put that out!" he yelled knocking the pendant from the youngster's hand. But it was too late. The most agonizing scream came from Paul's lips. Dean released his friend and Paul fell, twitching and trembling, unable to breath, unable to control any of his functions. His eyes darted wildly about then glazed.
His practice took over and he rushed to his friend's side. "Paul!" He looked up at the two standing figures, scared and confused, when his friend went limp in his arms. He had no pulse and try as he might to resuscitate him, Paul wasn't responding. His friend was dead.
"What did you do?" he asked, at a loss of anything else to say.
"We didn't do anything," Sam said with a grim frown.
"Reasoning with crazy people ever work for you?" Dean knelt before the fallen doctor a few feet away.
Dr. Washburne saw that her eyes were closed and her head was raised to the ceiling, which helped open her airway to breathe a bit more freely. Although she was as pale as the white walls, she was alive. "Sometimes," she answered dryly in one breath.
"Can somebody please tell me what's going on?" Dr. Washburne finally requested.