C&W—Ch. 7
Sam could feel the heat of Dean's fever as his brother's humid breath slid over his neck. Sam had Dean propped up against him, his face resting against the crook of Sam's neck so he could get to the crudely patched wounds on Dean's back. There had been more to Dean's fall then he'd shared, and Sam was working on repairing what he'd been unaware was broken through tear-blurred eyes.
Sam wanted to shake Dean, to scream, to tell him to go screw himself for being an idiot. How freaking hard would it have been for him to let Sam help?
Exhausted from hauling Dean back to the Impala, tiring fast from his own sickness, Sam was nearing the edge of his limits. It had taken every ounce of strength he had to carry his brother's half-conscious weight through the dunes, and now, back at their motel, he was clawing for the reserves of energy he needed to take care of his brother. He'd peeled the fever-warmed, rain-soaked clothes from Dean's skin, discovering other cuts and the evidence of neglect in his poorly healed scars. He'd choked down a sob then, using his anger to focus on what needed to be done.
Dean's leg took priority, and all Sam had to offer Dean was a crude mixture of herbs, some ethyl alcohol and what was left of the antiseptic.
He took every precaution he could manage concerning exposing Dean to the illness running rampant in his own body, but he was racing the limitations on his strength, trying to get his brother patched up before he collapsed himself, before he became useless.
Sam laid Dean back down, every tremor that shook through his brother's skin felt as Dean was fighting back the pain and heat with as much ferocity as he'd taken on the Aigamuxa. Sam watched the muscles along his jaw bounce in defiance, his back arch as the freshly dressed wounds touched down before he could get settled.
Destroying the moisture gathered at the edge of his lashes with the back of his hand, Sam tried to rally his thoughts, knowing he needed to get some cool towels to bring down Dean's fever, but he couldn't get himself to move from his brother's side.
No! Don't do this to me again. Don't go get yourself killed because of me. Don't put me first! Give a shit about yourself, Dean. They killed you to get to me!
Dean…
"Why?" Sam's thoughts manifested from his lips, parting the silence. "Why, Dean?"
"Because I left you alone…Because I wasn't here." Dean answered weakly, eyes cracking open to slits. "Because you weren't going to wake up…I knew…before you told me. I knew and I wasn't here and I'm sorry, Sam."
What was he saying? Dean was trying to make up for the time he'd been gone…Sam swallowed against the barb suddenly lodged in his throat. "What?"
"Because you can see my scars…Because you shouldn't have to worry about me anymore..." Dean said, eyes closing again, another tremor of pain temporarily seizing anymore breath behind his teeth as he clenched his jaw.
Sam went to get some painkillers, digging through the bag, desperate. All the bottles he found were empty. Dean had gone through them. When he was hiding from him? When he was pretending everything was fine? Sam's fist tightened around the plastic container, shaking.
Because you can see my scars…
"Dammit!" Sam growled, throwing an empty pill bottle against the wall.
"Sam…"
"Dean…I…" There was nothing he could give him for the pain.
"Read the journal," Dean rasped. "I need to rest, right? Can't like this…"
"Dean, no. I have to watch you…" Sam returned. "No. I can't."
It was like Dean didn't even hear him. "Maybe pick an entry… where they investigate a strip club… or a casino or something…"
Sam reluctantly took up the journal, his own strength leaving him quickly, as he sunk down onto his own bed. "Dean…no…"
"Sam, please."
With that plea Sam couldn't deny Dean's request. Not when his brother was asking to be someone else right now. Not when Dean was asking to be far away from this room, from a body betrayed by fever and pain.
"I'll try, man…"Sam sighed.
But I'm not staying there…I'm not leaving you alone…
That was when Sam's eyes fell across a name and his breath caught in his throat.
No way…
"I…I think I found an entry, Dean."
"Strippers?" Dean exhaled, then sucked in a breath, face twisting with a sudden rush of pain when he moved his leg. It left him gasping, and Sam closed his eyes. He had to keep telling himself this was to help Dean stay away from the pain, that this was to get his brother to rest.
I left you alone. I'm sorry, Sammy.
Sam pressed his eyes closed even tighter against the tears and swallowed, opening them to the blurred words of the page. He blinked to clear his vision, taking a deep breath.
"No, but it'll be okay, Dean," Sam replied, shaking a little, unsure of this decision.
We'll be okay. You'll be okay.
Wolf Lake, Michigan, June 2, 1973
Jake's forehead connected with the bar with a loud, resounding thunk. He hit it a few more times in cadence with the voice coming from the radio behind the bar.
"Your boys of summer ain't startin' out so good this season." A voice chuckled at him from the other side of the bar. Jake held up one finger and moaned.
Final score, Kansas City Royals five, Cleveland Indians one.
"Sonof…" The flat of Jake's hand landed on the aged, polished wood next to his forehead creating a louder thunk than his forehead did, "…abitch!"
"Here. You might as well have this since you're gonna have a heckuva headache in a bit anyway."
Turning his head to the side and cracking one eye open, Jake was met with the sight of a glass of cold beer and a shot of whiskey. Sighing he sat up, took the beer and let his eyes wander around the room. That's when he realized the place was dead silent and everyone was staring at him. At a table near the center of the roadhouse, Ben was sitting with Rufus. His head was ducked down, bangs dripping in eyes that slid in Jake's direction.
Ben was trying hard not to laugh by biting down on the slow smile spreading over his face.
"They'll do better tomorrow." Jake straightened and announced to the room in general, feeling silly and lame. He downed his shot and slugged down half his beer.
Shaking his head, Ben shifted in his chair to get a better look around the room at everyone staring at his brother. He scrubbed his fingers over the back of his head and turned back to whatever he and Rufus were so interested in discussing. Both he and Ben had rounded past forty but it never ceased to amaze Jake how Ben could still look like an excited kid when something caught his interest. Ben was far from a kid anymore, but Jake supposed he'd never stop being Jake's kid.
"Damn things are taking people, and you're worried about a damn baseball game." Some scruffy looking kid in the corner mumbled in a stage whisper, pushed away from his table and lurched on unsteady legs to the door. "Fill them up and make them do things they wouldn't do. Make them so dark their eyes are black as oil."
Ben's head jerked up, and he turned far enough to meet Jake's eyes. Head dropping so his chin hit his chest, Jake shoved away from the bar stool. Couldn't he simply mourn the loss of his favorite baseball team in peace? Apparently not. No. Hell no even. No rest for demon hunters.
Or guys who thought every kid with a kicked-too-often look was his responsibility. As if he needed another little brother and another mouth to feed.
Catching up to the guy just outside the door wasn't an issue. He was stumbling sideways more than he was forward. "Hey…kid…buddy…fella…you need some help there?"
When the man turned around Jake got a look at the baseball cap he wore. Kansas City Royals. His heart sank along with his shoulders. Dull eyes looked at him. The guy had scraggly blondish hair and an unkempt beard. Just as Jake's hand was about to land on the kid's shoulder, he also discovered this guy probably was wearing the same clothes he wore a month ago and hadn't had a shower in about as long.
"Whacha wan' old man?" The guy slurred and turned too fast nearly knocking himself down.
Wrinkling his nose, "I thought—" Jake jumped sideways and narrowly avoided having the stream of urine fountaining out of the kid hit his boots. Smirking and rubbing his chin with two fingers, Jake muttered, "Damn good reflexes for an old man."
"Wha'e'r. You some cr'p that followed me out 'ere for a piece of ma' ass?" Tucking himself back in, the kid let loose a string of obscenities Jake was sure some of which the guy invented when his zipper snagged. "Cause if yer are, I got a wi—" His face crumpled and he covered his face with his hands. "Had a wife." Sob. "A beautiful wife." Sob, hiccup. "She was my whole world, everything and anything important or good. Ya understand how that feels?"
Ben's dimples and hair forever needing a cut popped to the forefront of Jake's mind. "Yes." Jake realized the man's ramblings and the way he was staggering away was taking him closer to the river between the roadhouse and the road. There was a bridge, but the rail was low and the whole thing was unsteady. The water wasn't deep, but there was a good twelve foot drop, enough to cause serious injury or death if one hit bottom the right way. Holding out one arm, Jake took a step toward the kid, but not close enough to grab him. "Come on back inside. Let me get you some dinner and you can tell me about your wife." Jake's chest squeezed tight, he had a feeling he knew the story before it was even told to him.
"Don' 'ave time. They're all 'rnd us. Gotta get 'em."
"Yeah, yeah, you and the White House plumbers, kid. But never on an empty stomach." Jake took two more steps, "You gotta name?"
The guy grunted something at him and stumbled farther back, spun on his heels fast enough he got his legs twisted together and nearly landed on his ass. Just when Jake was almost close enough to put hands on him and stop from going any further, the kid jerked out of reach and zigzagged onto the bridge.
And right over the rail.
Jake was right behind him. "Oh shit, crap, no." Lunging after him, Jake's boots hit the bridge with a hollow sound that surrounded him. Wiggling between the rail and the bridge, he squinted into the dimming light. The thought hit him suddenly that there'd been no splash. As if on cue, the kid started squawking and inventing yet more cuss words. "Wow, that's pretty impressive." He couldn't help chuckling, the guy had done a header over the railing and gotten caught on something under the bridge. Now he was dangling, legs kicking, arms jerking, mouth running.
Actually it was pretty funny. Except for the fact that his jacket was starting to rip and the guy would still end up in the river.
Fingers curling into the fabric of the man's jacket, Jake tugged. Then he groaned. Then he groaned and tugged. This scrawny kid was heavier than he looked. Or Jake was older than he felt. Deciding it was the former, not the latter (absolutely no way was it ever the latter) Jake heaved the upper part of his body up and off the bridge.
For about a second.
The kid's weight brought him crashing back down with an even louder thud than his head connecting with the bar earlier. His ribs did a sickening sort of squishy thing in his chest for a few seconds while he gasped for air. Tightening his hold, Jake refused to let go even when he heard footsteps coming up behind him.
"Need a hand?"
Jake turned his head far enough to see Ben standing there, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows vanished under his bangs and the right half of his mouth turned up. "Naw, I'm good. This is fun." He sighed, "But if you're bored…"
"So I see." Ben knelt down, rested his wrists on his knees so his hands dangled between them and leaned far enough he could see over the railing. "New fishing technique?" He reached passed Jake and grabbed one of the guy's arms.
"Didn't work out like I planned."
"Ya think?" came the voice from below.
Jake eased onto his knees, hauling his catch along with him. "Benjamin!"
"Yeah, yeah…" Ben barked a laugh and pulled when Jake lifted up. Together they managed to get the kid onto the bridge. Standing up and taking the guy with him, Ben brushed him off and moved him away from the rail. "You okay?"
"No, I'm not okay. I'll never be okay again!" He yanked out of Ben's grip and staggered back a step then straightened his shoulders and glared. Ben blinked back placidly. "What are you some sort of hero who wanders around saving people?"
Ben shook his head and smiled. "Nope, that's him," he waved at Jake who was using the railing to pull himself upright. "I'm the plucky comic relief who follows him around for the sparkling entertainment of watching him catch guys like you."
"Do you…have a…name?" Jake let go of the railing and turned to face the kid. "And quit being so obnoxious or I'll shove you back over."
"No he won't." Ben put an arm around the kid's shoulders and steered him off the bridge. Jake followed behind, grumbling threats.
"Bobby." The kid announced.
In tandem, Jake and Ben waved one hand in the air in a keep going motion.
"Singer."
"Okay then, Bobby Singer, you need to tell us what happened and why you think the world is being overrun by something black taking over people." Jake stopped next to their car and leaned against it.
"No one believes me."
"Really?" Jake wanted to take this Bobby kid and shake him until his brains rattled back into place. "Huh, never could guess why. Oh, wait, maybe it's because you're drunk, you stink, you make no sense and did I mention drunk?"
"Jake." Ben's soft voice cut in and cooled Jake down instantly. "Why don't we take you where you can get cleaned up, we'll get something to eat, and you can tell us because we'll believe you."
When Ben reached for the door handle of the car, Jake's hand shot out, grabbing him. "Uh, no, not getting in the car like that."
Ben shrugged and grabbed Bobby by his collar hauling him to the far side of the roadhouse.
"Hey! What are you—where are you—you some kind of freak?" Bobby's feet suddenly stopped tripping over themselves and he got it together enough to take a swing at Ben, connecting with his jaw.
"Ow! Hey!" Ben let go of the guy and stumbled back a step, rubbing at his face.
Jake had Bobby in a choke hold, one arm twisted behind his back, and shoved face first into the building before Bobby got a second breath out. "No, that's definitely a no." Turning his head far enough to catch sight of Ben, "You okay?"
"Yeah." Ben mumbled and took the hose from the holding bracket and unwound it. Reaching to the faucet, he gave it a hearty crank.
Bobby invented even more obscenities when Ben turned the hose on him.
Jake let go of him and stepped away. "Eh, now you more smell like wet stink, but the first layer is off. Now you can get into my car."
"Who are you?"
"Jake Colt, this is my brother, Ben."
Bobby looked from Jake's stern face to Ben's lopsided grin and shook his head. "Why should I go anywhere with you or even trust you two?"
"Because we believe you." Jake turned and headed back to the car stopping after two steps he spun around to face Bobby again. "Oh, and for the record, if you think we're saying this to get you to our room or some shit, dude, look at yourself, man. You're a mess, you're a wreck and so far out of our league it's not funny. We could do a lot better and we don't take in strays. Now do you want help or not?"
Bobby took off his Royals cap, shook the water out of it and wiped more out of his eyes. Nodding sullenly he traipsed after them to the car. "This is a cool, sweet ass car."
"Yeah, it is." Jake grinned and he slid behind the wheel, tossing a look over his shoulder at Bobby, "Try not to pee in it."
Ben knew his brother had a great sense of humor, which in and of itself was amazing, considering what their lives had become. In fact, Ben thought most of Jake was amazing. But this? This was entertainment beyond entertainment. He settled in one of the chairs near the table, leaned back, and popped open a bottle of Coke with which to watch the show.
"First of all, I like girls." Rummaging through one of his bags, Jake pulled out a shirt and jeans, "Here this should fit you well enough. Secondly if you don't get your ass into that shower in the next three seconds, I'm taking you back to the bridge, tossing you off, and shooting you!"
Bobby glared at Jake then turned to Ben who held his hands up in mock defense and shrugged. Taking the offered clothes, Bobby stomped off to the bathroom, huffing and grouching. When Jake's glare turned on him, Ben dropped his gaze to the floor and the overgrowth of green and gold, wondering if the maid vacuumed it or mowed it. He bit down on his lip—hard—to keep from laughing outright. It was building in his chest, and he finally had to give into it or explode. "You gonna keep him?"
Someone who didn't know Jake very well might, at this moment, think he was considering murdering his little brother. Fortunately, Ben knew better. He smiled around the bottle as he took another swig of Coke.
"No I'm not going to keep him and neither are you. We're cleaning him up, feeding him, and sending him home."
"I don't think he wants to go home, Jake."
His reply was simply a snort and Jake turning away to clean and check the load on their guns. Ben knew the issue, or part of it anyway. Jake didn't like other hunters and steered clear of them. They'd learned over the years that the majority found their way to hunting for some vendetta or revenge, something killed someone they loved. Ben was fine with that since for the most part the others they'd met were a rough, unscrupulous lot, and Ben's reaction to them ran the gamut from disgust to out and out fear.
This guy was different or at least Ben thought so. Yes, something had killed someone he loved, but this guy seemed to have a grounding quality. They'd met very few old hunters, but Ben was willing to bet this guy might become one.
"He's not going to stop just because you tell him to." Ben pointed out.
Jake looked downright miserable and nodded, "I know. Maybe I should tell him to go ahead and jump in with both feet and that might work."
Ben shook his head.
The shower cut off and Bobby ambled out, "Cleveland Indians shirt, huh." He straightened the shirt and tucked it into his jeans.
"Gotta problem with them?" Jake asked giving the shotgun in his hand a hearty pump. Ben rubbed his eyes with two fingers, Jake took his sports seriously.
"Uh, no…guess not." Bobby mumbled.
Time for a safer subject, Ben decided. "Where do you live?"
"South Dakota."
"We're in Michigan." The words popped out of Ben's mouth before he could stop them.
Scratching his forearm, Bobby shrugged, "I took a drive."
"So," Jake took a chair, swung it around and straddled it, "Tell us what happened to your wife."
"You guys cops?"
Ben's gaze shifted to Jake who sat there stony-faced and barely breathing. He sighed and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, "I'm not. No."
Bobby nodded opened his mouth, narrowed his eyes, shut his mouth and shot a look at Jake while sinking slowly onto the end of one of the beds.
Jake suddenly looked old and tired, he cleared his throat and looked at the ugly needing-a-mow carpeting for a few seconds before pulling his gaze back up and meeting Bobby's eyes. "I was a detective with the Cleveland P.D. a long time ago."
"I know this sounds crazy, but she was already dead when I hit her." Bobby looked from one to the other.
Nodding, Jake softened his voice, "I know. I can't arrest anyone and I'm not turning you in. You didn't do anything wrong. I know that. We know that and we believe you."
Pulling one hand over his mouth, Bobby nodded again. He sat quietly for another few minutes as if drawing some inner energy together. "We have—I have a place outside Sioux Falls, small business with farming land too. I'm a mechanic. Anyway I come in from the shop one afternoon and she comes after me with a butcher knife. It's not like I've never done anything to rile the woman, but never did anything to warrant her carving me up either. It's not really her, you know? I can tell that right off. Her eyes are all wrong, nothing but black. She's throwing furniture she's not even touching and me. She throws me like I'm an old newspaper. At some point, I don't even know how, she grabs the power box, shorts out the entire house. She should have dropped like a stone. But she didn't, just kept on coming, jerking and twisting for a bit. She was electrocuted and should have been dead, but kept coming.
"I was able to lock up in a closet but she found me, came right through the door. I didn't want to hurt her, I never meant to. The only thing in there with me was a tire iron, so I swung it. Damn thing dropped her. She just folded up her knees and hit the floor then all this black sooty stuff comes out of her mouth and eyes. So I swing at that too and it goes away.
"I didn't know what to do with her body. I was scared I'd go to prison and I hadn't done anything."
"What did you do?" Ben asked quietly.
"Wrapped her up good, carted her as far into the woods as I could get and—" Tears streamed down Bobby's face, his voice cracked and broke.
"You burned her?" Jake asked. Bobby couldn't do more than nod. Standing and moving so he could rest one hand on Bobby's shoulder and squeeze, Jake reassured him, "You did the best thing. The right thing." Stepping away from the bed, Jake picked up a book Ben had been reading off the table. He rummaged around in one of his duffels for another few seconds, bringing out a notebook. "You need to start keeping a record, write down what works and what doesn't. There're passages and references marked in both these, start by memorizing."
Bobby jerked upright, swinging around to face Jake, his face red and angry. "Books! You want me to read books?!" He knocked them out of Jake's hand. Ben winced, bad move.
Bending and picking them up, Jake shoved Bobby back down and dropped the books in his lap. "YES! I do! You want to fight these things? Well in these books are the weapons. Memorize this shit till you can recite it in your sleep because you can't ask the next demon to wait while you get out your notes. You want to do something about what happened to your wife? Well, I'm offering you a way."
"And who the hell do you think you are?" Bobby shouted.
"A guy who has been doing this for twenty years that's who, and is alive enough to tell you what to do."
"We'll need to check out your house too. Demons do things for a reason, trouble is figuring out what the reason is." Ben stood up and stepped between them, cutting off what looked to be another bickering matching brewing.
They packed up and headed out. Every stop for food or a night's rest between Wolf Lake and Sioux Falls turned into hunting-bad-things 101 with Jake and Ben tag teaming as instructors and Bobby soaking up every word they uttered. The time wasn't long enough before they found their first encounter with a demon, Bobby Singer in tow.
Jake, of course went in first followed by Bobby with Ben bringing up the rear. Bobby got the chance to set a trap and face off a demon the right way.
The small farmhouse was too quiet for Jake. Every groan and creak seemed amplified throughout his room, making him edgy. Ben was restless in the bed next to his, and he could tell his brother was picking up on the same noises, each one grating against adrenaline-charged nerves and aiding insomnia.
They'd just finished up a hunt with the Singer kid, had been trying their best to help him learn what he could about demons. Jake was worried though. Worried that the kid was too eager to fight these things, too reckless and too angry to keep his head in the fight. This last one, if Ben and he hadn't been able to find another way into the room, to finish up the rite that Singer was not only botching but taking too long to get through, the demon would have painted the walls with the kid's insides.
"That all there is to it?" Bobby huffed, catching his breath. He was grinning despite the blood pooling in his right eye from a jagged laceration above his brow. He had a lot of cuts, all from common objects turned projectiles as it looked like a whirlwind had touched down in the room.
Ben was checking the guy tied to the chair beneath the Devil's Trap, the one who'd been possessed and nodded when he found a pulse, starting to untie the guy.
"Well, hell," Bobby smirked. "That wasn't so bad."
Jake took the journal Bobby had been reading from and smacked him upside the head. "Ya idjit!" Jake barked. "What were you doing reading the whole damn Rituale Romanum? Trying to bore the demon back to Hell?" He flipped open the book and pointed to the shortened version. "Get to the point and send it packing. Most demons won't be able to sit pretty much past the first two lines."
Ben was laughing to himself, shaking his head as he hooked an arm under the arm of man they'd just saved, helping him to his feet. "Give him a break, Jake."
Bobby rubbed at his head where Jake had hit it then took back the book. He spit blood to the side and pulled his lips back over blood-coated teeth in a grin. "Admit it. I did good, Colt."
"Sit down before you fall down, kid." Jake sighed.
"Admit it. You old guys need me," Bobby laughed as he had a seat, dabbing at the cut over his brow.
Old guys? Jake not once felt his forty-eight years. Except after a fight like this…
He cracked his neck and pointed at Bobby. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get cocky, kid."
So maybe these "old guys" did need Singer around, but Jake was wary of dragging Bobby into their search for the yellow-eyed demon. It was the only thing Ben and he didn't talk about with Bobby. Boy had enough demons of his own to deal with. And Jake liked the kid. He wasn't about to drag him into a fight against something they'd spent twenty years trying to catch. As soon as they found a new lead, a new trail, a scent, something, they would part ways.
Jake looked over at the clock, noting it was too late to get any decent sleep, too early to get up and move around. His eyes passed over the pictures on the wall, the antique furniture, the dried flowers on the dresser. This was Singer's home. The one in which he lost his wife. Jake couldn't believe that the kid still held onto the place. There were several rooms that clearly still held her essence, her touch, her tastes. How hard was it for the kid to stay here?
The house sat on a good piece of land, and if Jake had to guess, Bobby was probably at one time going to become a farmer, do some good, honest work and get his hands dirty after he returned from Vietnam. Now the back forty was collecting rusted-out cars.
A loud bang, the distinct sound of metal colliding with metal tore open the silence of the house. Jake sat up with Ben, practically in unison, both exchanging 'what the hell?' glances before going to the window. Below them, in the backyard, Singer was taking a tire iron to his Chevelle.
Jake swore, worried that the kid had finally flipped; never one to stand by while a perfectly good car was beaten to death, he grabbed his fedora and jacket from the chair. He could hear Ben falling into step behind him, but he held back on the porch, letting Jake go to talk with Bobby.
Shoving his hands down into his pockets, Jake approached Bobby slowly, cautiously watching him dent up the back of his car. Each blow rocketed back through Jake, and he could almost feel the pain behind each swing.
"Whatcha doin', Singer?" Jake asked.
Bobby stopped swinging only long enough to regard Jake with rage-laced eyes. He sucked in a stuttered breath, winded then took the tire iron to the back tail light. A shard of glass bounced off Jake's jacket and he looked down at it sadly.
"Bobby…"
"I'm sick! And tired! Of being so close and yet so damn far away!"
Jake moved to where he could catch Bobby's eyes. "To what? What do you want, Bobby?"
"Revenge!"
"End up dead real fast that way," Jake said calmly. It was what he'd feared about the kid from the beginning.
"Like drinking poison and waiting for your enemy to die…" Ben added from the porch. He descended the stairs and joined Jake on the lawn.
"I don't care! What kind of legacy can I EVER hope to have? Huh?"
Jake cast a look over at his brother. His legacy. "That's something you gotta figure out for yourself, kiddo. It takes more strength to deal with life outside of what we planned for ourselves. You can't throw away your life for lack of purpose when you haven't tried to find it."
His words only seemed to slide more fire into Bobby's swings. "There's nothing left to find! I fight demons, Colt! There's nothing there worth trying for!"
"Then they've won," Jake returned.
With one last feral growl, Bobby launched the tire iron through the back window. "No!"
Jake watched the young man grip the gnarled metal of what had been the trunk of the car, gulping air like water, exhausted and wrung out.
"Feel better?"
The kid was nodding, but his lips gave up the truth, the word slipping from them weighing heavy on Jake's heart. "No…"
Jake put a hand on Bobby's shoulder and was surprised when he didn't try to rip it away.
"Come on, kid. Come inside."
Back hunched, Bobby fell in between Jake and Ben, shoulders almost touching as they guided him back to the house.
Sam looked over at Dean as his brother slept, silently turning over the things he'd seen in his mind. The echo of Bobby's pain he'd witnessed in his brother. It seemed like ages ago. Dean hadn't known that Sam was watching him in Bobby's scrap yard, beating the hell out of the Impala, each swing resonating the weight and depth of Dean's burdens, his secrets, his anguish; the very things that paved the road for his decisions, his sacrifice.
Bobby didn't know back then, open wounds pouring into every destructive swing, what he meant to two brothers watching him self-destruct, what he would mean to two brothers now. Likewise, Sam didn't think Dean knew fully the extent of what he meant to the brother watching him…
What kind of legacy can I EVER hope to have?
Dean and he were Bobby's legacy. Sam hoped Bobby knew that.
Sam looked down the phone in his hands. He'd finally broken down and called Bobby, telling him he couldn't do this alone. Dean was getting better, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take another turn for the worst, and Sam couldn't rest until he knew Dean was okay. He could feel the breath rattle around in his own chest, knew his cold was winning after a night of sleeplessness. He'd only stayed in Jake and Ben's world long enough to guarantee that Dean was asleep and had pulled himself out to watch over his brother.
He had no idea how he was able to do so…but he didn't know how he was able to blow up their TV or land a perfect shot on that damn Aigamuxa either. He didn't want to know. Every time he thought about it, he could feel the blood in his veins crawl in response.
The blood he still had to tell Dean about.
Sam resisted the urge to curl up inside himself at that thought as he heard the bed shift, a light groan leave Dean's lips, bringing a small smile to Sam's. Dean was going to be okay, except there was no cure for the Winchester stubborn ass gene.
His fever was down, but Sam wanted it gone, and he wasn't going to be able to untwist his nerves until the fever was absent from his brother's body. He'd forced fluids when Dean was awake for small bouts of time, keeping his flesh cool with wet towels. The poultice he'd applied had taken a lot of heat and inflammation out of the skin around the wound.
Sam wanted to shake Dean, but he could still hear his brother's confession of guilt, could still feel it slide sharply through his ribs and up into his heart.
Dean's head turned toward him like he instinctively knew where Sam would be, fever-taxed eyes working their way open.
"Dean?" Sam started. "You okay?"
"'M hungry," Dean moaned, throat working, sounding rough and dry.
"You serious?" Sam asked, laughing a little.
"Do I ever kid about food?" he asked, giving Sam a lopsided grin.
"Unbelievable," Sam huffed. Dean and his stomach. "I'll head out later, okay. For now…" he moved the bottle of Gatorade into Dean's line of vision. Sam smiled at the role reversal when Dean eyed the liquid with something akin to disdain. "Don't make me sit on you."
"Nazi," Dean sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
"Dean?"
"Mmm?"
"You okay?"
"Jus' tired…" he swallowed thickly. "Hey…was it me or…was Bobby one weird looking kid?"
Sam snickered. "Yeah, well, looks like that hat of his was glued on at birth." Sam shook his head. "These hunters are connected to a lot in our lives, and we never even heard of them. The hunts, Yellow-eyes, Bobby…what else?"
Dean took the journal and flipped a few pages, slow smile spreading over his face as he settled back against his pillows again. "They ditched Bobby," He chuckled then turned the book so Sam could see the entry.
July 28, 1973
Ben says he feels like we're ditching out on a prom date and skipping out on pay the dinner bill. Not that we've, okay Ben has ever done that. Singer has a home he wants to keep and we've no right to drag him into our life. He can take what we taught him and do with it what he thinks is right. I just hope it doesn't get him killed.
So, yeah, maybe sneaking off in the middle of the night on him, pushing our car to the road so the engine wouldn't wake him up was a crappy thing to do, but he's better off for it, I know that for sure. Ben and I've been in this a long time and been a team even longer. I feel bad but adding a third just won't work. If Singer needs help, he knows how to reach us and how I hope he never needs that help.
"Huh," Dean skipped ahead farther. "Get comfy, Sammy, this is going to interest you."
"Dean, maybe we should give it a break."
"Only if you're gonna get some sleep and stop hovering over me." Dean shot back. If Dean couldn't be fed he might as well be assured they'd both get some more sleep and a few more answers.
Sam gave him a look that was something between sullen and downright snotty but stretched out on the other bed and rolled onto his side, one arm folded under his head for a pillow, watching Dean intently.
What kind of legacy can I EVER hope to have?
Dean swigged some of the Gatorade, just to satisfy his brother and set the bottle on the nightstand between their beds. There was a time he couldn't answer that question, funny how it wasn't even a question anymore. There was duty and destiny, honor and responsibility, and all his was a few feet away watching him with sleepy eyes.
Clearing his throat and focusing on the page he'd found, Dean read.
Hartford, Connecticut, November 2, 1975
"You sure about this?" Ben pressed his back to the wall next to the door of the abandoned factory and turned his head far enough to meet Jake's eyes. "Think this Elkins guy is right?"
Jake barely glanced up from checking the load on his shotgun. Tucking that under one arm, he pulled out his good luck gun and loaded that. "I don't know, but I'm not taking chances. He says he's got some information for us about Yellow-eyes. I want to know what it is."
"Why do you even bother with that old thing?" Ben always worried that if Jake tried shooting the antique weapon the thing would blow up in his face. "Aren't those the special bullets you never use?"
Stopping long enough to grin at Ben, Jake slid the final bullet into it and clicked closed the chamber, tucking it behind his back. "Ah, Benny, I thought you loved the history this gun represents. They're just bullets; I don't know what's so special about them. Besides I don't have any other ammo for it right now."
"Yeah, I do, when it's locked in the trunk." Ben knew why Jake kept the gun. It and the car were the only two things they had left from their family. Ben didn't remember the uncle, Jake claimed he was crazy, who'd given Jake the gun just months before their parents died but he'd heard the story enough from Jake. Take the gun, a Colt Revolver, keep it safe and at your side, it's for men like us and will guard against evil.
Ben bit back a laugh at the thought. What would crazy uncle-whoever think of the men he and Jake were now? He'd never admit it but the gun was special to him too. Jake had taught himself to shoot with the Colt before entering the police academy. He'd taught Ben to handle guns with that old Colt. That had been a lot of years ago, but Jake claimed he'd kept it in perfect working order.
A gust of frigid wind blew across his shoulders, ruffled his hair and his nerves.
"Why do they always have to pick the creepiest places in a town to meet?" Jake groused and dipped his head at the door. "You know, what's wrong with a nice diner or sunny park?" In the next second he was moving at it, fluid and fast. One solid kick and the door was open, they were inside.
Jake scanned left and right while Ben covered the high and low. Following his brother's steps, Ben paced into the old warehouse. Jake was right the place was creepy as Hell and a defense disaster. There were walkways two stories above and enough junk scattered around that the place was a maze.
"Stay there." A voice rattled down from one of the walkways. A silhouette of a man resolved into color and facial features as he moved closer. A holster slung around his hip held a handgun. His right hand gripped a small, gas powered saw.
Jake glanced at Ben for a second then sidestepped enough he was mostly standing in front of Ben and blocking the man's path to him. "You Elkins?"
"Yeah." Elkins's gaze skittered nervously around the area. He dug in his pocket with his free hand, produced a piece of paper and held it out to Jake who took it, glanced at it and handed it to Ben who shoved it into his own pocket.
That was the last clear thought Ben had.
Something hard and heavy landed on his shoulders knocking him forward and into Jake. Blood slipped over his forehead and into his eyes. He tried brushing it away. Jake's voice, shouting but sounding far away though Ben knew it had to be practically next to his ear made him realize the blood was his. Watching in fascination as his gun dropped in slow motion to the floor and spun away, Ben's knees folded, and he started his own slow slide down.
Elkins was going after something with his saw. Jake fumbled behind his back for his lucky Colt Revolver with one hand and threw his other arm across Ben's chest hauling him up and bracing Ben against his own body, backing up.
Ben blinked and sucked in his breath, cringing back against Jake when someone—something—came at them. Something with long, narrow fangs and wild eyes. Jake's reaction was immediate. His free arm came up and he fired hitting their assailant dead center in the chest.
The oncoming man was stopped mid-leap. He didn't fall to the ground dead, he shattered, exploding outward in a rain of blood, guts and overcoat.
"What the—?" Jake held the gun at eye level and stared wide-eyed at it. He swung around, shoving Ben with him and took another shot at another of the things.
"Damn vamps, musta followed me…sorry." Elkins shouted.
Something hit him and Jake, sending them both to their knees. Jake was up, dragging Ben with him when shots rang out. Ben's head swirled, his senses twisted the world around to something unfamiliar and grotesque. Curling back against Jake's chest, his vision went gray, gasping and fighting away the black edging in from his periphery.
The world dropped away and Ben lost his fight to stay conscious.
Jerking, trying to get upright, Ben's eyes snapped open. He stared at a ceiling. His entire body twitched and snapped in his effort to get free, get away, fight.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it easy, kiddo."
A warm, strong, solid hand pressed against his shoulder. Head jerking to the side, Jake swam into view and shimmered in waves for a few seconds until Ben's eyes decided to work right and focus. "Jake?"
"S'okay. You're okay, safe."
"Whaa…?" A glass of water was pressed to his lips. Ben drank, realizing he was parched. His throat opened up from the cool liquid sliding down. He was on a mattress, a bed, in a motel room. The mattress dipped and Ben turned toward the motion.
"Vampires." Jake huffed a short laugh. He took the glass and set it on the nightstand. "I got one, shot it, and Elkins took the head off the other two. That's why the saw."
Ben nodded. "You shot it with that old gun. It just…" he struggled for the right word, "poof." Maybe not the greatest word, but descriptive enough.
"Yeah." Shoving one arm under Ben's shoulders, Jake eased him up until he could sit, leaning back against the headboard. "Guess the stories were true. Elkins started babbling about how he'd been looking for it for years. A gun, special gun that kills evil. Or maybe it's the special bullets."
"We had it all along. A gun that…our lives sure would have been simpler." He eased his head side to side and rubbed kinks from his neck. "You figure out how it works?"
"Nope. I gave it to Elkins."
"You gave—? Why?"
"Uh, well it was either that or he sharpened his saw on your neck."
Ben's head bumped back, he closed his eyes and sighed. "Figures. We tote that thing around for all our lives and the day we find out it's more powerful and useful than any other weapon we have and it gets stolen." Turning his head, he looked at Jake and let his hand drop to his brother's arm. He knew how much that old gun meant to Jake and not for its evil killing abilities. "I'm sorry."
Jake offered him a small smile. "I'm not."
Three days later Ben's head stopped spinning enough for he and Jake to check out the lead on Yellow-eyes.
A/N: Yes, it's baseball season and I'm going to say it! GO TRIBE!!!!!--Bayre