A/N: I've seen at least three different ways to spell Hendrickson's last name, so I'm going with this one.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.
Chapter 31 – persons of interest
Godforsaken was the first word that came to Ellen's mind as she turned the van onto the side road. The turn off was barely there; if she blinked she would have missed it entirely, andthat was the whole point. Hunters tend to go for out of the way places, and hunters of humans are no different. The van she drove was a white 2003 Dodge Ram Van with certain modifications, and the irony that a human monster, and not just a hunter, would have found the very same vehicle to be highly useful was not lost on her, either. Ellen tried to suppress the shudder she felt, but she wasn't very successful. Dean had been here, all this time, unable to leave, seeing God only knew what on a daily basis.
Bobby had a talent for understatement, which meant that what really happened and the condition he and the Winchesters were in was probably worse than what he'd told her. Doctor Elias Blair hadn't been able to make the trip; he was going to meet them at the Roadhouse after he stitched up two damn fool hunters who'd run afoul of a black dog.
"We're fine, Harvelle," Bobby growled over the phone the last time Ellen called him. "Just get out here and pick us up."
A quick glance in her rear view mirror told her that Rufus was right behind her. His dusty black pick-up truck moved slowly over the rough road. No cops, no road blocks, not yet, anyway. Sweetbriar Hospital was in the opposite direction, further on up the highway, nearly half a state away.
Joanna Beth sat slouched down in the passenger seat. Jo's body language was closed off: her arms folded across her chest, head tilted to one side. She stared blankly at the woods. The look on her face was distant, unreadable.
"I told you, you didn't have to come," Ellen murmured softly. "You could've stayed back at the Roadhouse with Ash and your Daddy."
Jo shrugged. The corners of her mouth twitched upwards slightly. That blank look on her face shifted slightly, became stubborn, mulish. She was pissed off, resented being told an obvious fact.
Ellen added, not unkindly, "For the last three and a half years you told John and Sam that they were wasting their time looking for Dean, honey."
Jo shifted slightly in her seat. She flicked a quick, sideways glance at her mother. "So what are you saying, Momma?"
"I'm saying don't be surprised at the reception you might get, okay?"
Jo huffed. "I was wrong."
"Yeah. You were. Dead wrong. You own up to it, you'll be fine."
Twenty minutes later Jo and Ellen were at a loss for words.
Dr. Ephraim Weddington was pissed.
Try to imagine how little I care, Victor Hendrickson thought.
He knew the look, knew that showing up flashing his tin at Sweetbriar State Hospital first thing in the morning was guaranteed to ruffle some feathers. Ah, the perks of the job.
Weddington sat on the other side of his desk, and from the look in his eyes it was apparent he knew none of that psychological bullcrap he was used to dealing out was working. Hendrickson was in charge, and they both knew it. They'd been more than enough bad publicity about Sweetbriar in the last three days; the last thing Weddington needed was news reports that he refused to cooperate with the FBI in the matter of John Doe 317.
Agent Thomas Reidy sat quietly nearby. He was content to watch the show.
Hendrickson opened his briefcase. He pulled out a large color photo of Dean Winchester first, laid it face up on Weddington's desk. The photo was taken at County General Hospital, the night Winchester was first taken into custody.
Dean stared blankly into the camera. "Dean Winchester. John Doe 317."
John Winchester was next. "John Winchester. Or, as your staff knew him, Elroy McGillicuddy."
Reidy snorted. Oh, Jesus....
The dirty look Weddington shot him was totally ignored.
"And last, Sam Winchester. AKA Samuel Weston."
Hendrickson tapped Sam's photo with his finger. "Sam was in pre-law at Stanford. Kid got a full ride too. All expenses paid." Weddington's eyes widened slightly when he heard that bit of news.
"Seems like big brother and daddy dearest pulled him back into the family business. Now, Dean and John? Credit card fraud, assault, grave desecration, suspicion of murder, you name it, they've done it." Hendrickson sat back in his chair with a shrug. "Dean dropped off the grid about four years ago. Profilers think maybe he tried to escape, make a life for himself, and it didn't work out. Crazy always rises to the top I guess, which is why he ended up in here."
Weddington's mouth firmed up into a tight, hard line. It was clear he didn't like the use of thr word crazy. Hendrickson quirked an eyebrow at the man. "You had wall to wall Winchesters out here, Dr. Weddington. That's never a good thing. How long was Dean Winchester here as John Doe 317?"
"Ah, six months."
"Was he violent?"
"When the Dean persona would come out. Dean had another alter. John. John was the dominant one. Mild mannered. Confused. Our head orderly, Nathan Beck, had more experience with Dean. Dean hated him. I never could understand why."
"So you never actually talked to Dean?"
"No. Just John."
"I see. And you taped your sessions with John?"
"Yes." Weddington knew where this was heading, and he clearly didn't like it.
"Agent Reidy and I are headed out to County General to talk to Nathan Beck about the day Deputy Kathleen Hudak died, but we'll be back this afternoon." Hendrickson gathered up the photos, slipped them back into the briefcase. He snapped it closed and stood up, as did Reidy. "We need to see everything you have on John Doe 317, McGillicuddy, and Weston. Employment papers, medical records, the whole nine yards."
Weddington nodded wearily. "I'll have a room set up for you in the business office."
Hendrickson smiled tightly. "Good. We can see ourselves out."
Jo saw John, Sam and Uncle Bobby first, standing in front of the farmhouse as they pulled into the yard. John and Bobby stood shoulder to shoulder; Sam about a step or two back. She didn't see Dean at first and that bothered her. Her mom said they'd gotten Dean back alive and safe, so where the hell was he?
All three men were bruised and bloodied up, and Jo didn't miss that hard stare Sam fixed on her. She cringed inside; Sam hadn't forgotten what she'd told him on the parking lot of the Roadhouse, not two months after Dean disappeared.
"Dean's dead, Sam. That's why he hasn't he called you or your Dad. He's dead. The sooner you face that, the better off you'll be."
"Fuck you," Sam whispered quietly as he walked to the Impala.
That was the way their conversations went for the next three years. Jo wanted to go up to Sam and apologize for all that. It was stupid. She was stupid and blunt and she talked out of turn, but she didn't know how to unwind the clock back and take those words back.
Jo tried to time her movements so that she opened her door at the same time Ellen did. It was crazy, but she felt like she was a kid again, maybe eight or nine years old. She wanted to hide behind her mom, even though John and Bobby didn't look mad. They were happy to see her.
Sam wasn't.
As Jo walked closer she realized that there was someone standing directly behind John, back to back. She caught a glimpse of unevenly cut, sandy blond hair, pale bruised skin, freckles, and a long, thin red cut down the left brow and cheek. Jo moved away from Ellen in order to get a really good look. What she saw made her freeze in place, and when Ellen stopped short Jo knew she saw him too.
It was Dean.
John and Sam were his anchor. Dean stared at the ground, his eyes half shuttered by those ridiculously long, dark eyelashes.
Sam stepped aside.
"Dean. Honey?" Ellen whispered at last.
Dean nodded. He barely looked up. "Uh…hi." His tone was flat, dull.
It was obvious Ellen wanted to hug Dean. It was just as obvious that Dean didn't want her to. His right hand tightened, curled up into a fist. Something bright and feral flashed in his eyes.
A couple of years ago this German Shepherd dog hung around the dumpster behind the Roadhouse. Jo would feed him, give him scraps on a paper plate when she took the trash out. The dog seemed friendly enough, until Jo tried to pet him one day.
Then the wolf in him came out.
The look in Dean's wide green eyes was exactly the same.
Ellen took a step back. Dean stared at her for a long, hard moment, and then he settled down. He didn't protest as Ellen hugged Bobby, and then John.
After Ellen hugged John, she slapped him in the face.
"What the hell was that for?" John groused. She'd pulled her punch; the blow stung, that was all.
Ellen fixed him with a mock glare. "Why the hell didn't you call me?" she snapped.
John shrugged. He smirked a little. "We had this covered."
Jo saw what happened next.
Dean's expression didn't change, but his right hand came up, his fingers balled up into a fist. He turned towards Ellen, but Sam caught him by the elbow and jerked him back. Dean froze. He stared at Sam.
Sam shook his head no. Dean relaxed.
Ellen and John appeared not to notice.
Rufus smirked as he walked up. "Hell, I'm glad you didn't call me, Winchester." His cocky gaze went from one man to the next as he took in John's bloody clothes, the cuts on Bobby's face, neck and arms, Dean and Sam's general appearance, bruised and disheveled. "You four look like twenty miles of bad road. Jesus!"
"Idjit," Bobby muttered. He limped heavily towards Ellen's van. "Let's go. Don't think I can stand hearing all the witty repartee coming out of your dumb mouth any longer, Tanner."
Jo stared at the house as she brought up the rear. "What…what about the people who lived here?"
"Dead." John shrugged as he followed Bobby. Sam pointedly ignored Jo; so did Dean.
Jo looked stunned. "All..all of them?" she whispered.
"Yep." John nodded. "No great loss."
It took ten minutes to unload the boxes and the false wall from the back of the van. The first wall that was permanently welded in behind the front seats effectively blocked anyone from seeing inside, and air vents in the floorboards of the hidden compartment provided more than enough ventilation.
John and Bobby climbed in first. Sam was next.
Dean was last. He never looked at Jo or Ellen again.
After Jo, Ellen and Rufus finished up, if anyone opened the back doors all they would see would be row after row of boxes.
And not Winchesters.
Jo sat quietly as Ellen turned the van around and headed out.
"Momma," Jo began slowly. "Did you see ---"
"How Dean reacted when I slapped John?" Ellen nodded. "Yeah, I did. Call your Dad, okay?"
Jo nodded as she pulled her cell out of her jacket pocket.
"Tell him to clear everyone out," Ellen said quietly. "Don't think Dean needs to be around a lot of people after what he's been through."
"Penny for your thoughts, dude," John said quietly. He sat with his back against the front wall. "Ellen's a friend, Dean. She's family. So's Jo."
Sam snorted in disbelief. "Jo told me to stop looking for Dean, Dad. She always told me I was wasting my time."
John rolled his eyes. "She was wrong, Sam."
Bobby sat with his cap pulled down over his eyes, his arms folded across his chest. He was already snoring softly. It would take a shotgun blast to get him to wake up.
"Well?"
"Jo didn't come get me," Dean said slowly. "None of the Harvelles did."
Sam nodded in silent agreement.
John knew there was more, and he was willing to wait for it.
Dean sat up straighter. "Jo used to talk about how hunting. It was all she talked about, all she said she ever wanted to do."
"So what are you saying, Dean?"
Dean stared down at his hands in his lap. "You saved Bill Harvelle's life on that hunt."
"That's right." John nodded. "I did."
"So I thought we were close. Our families, I mean. We're not." Dean shrugged, as if the fact was painfully obvious. "They didn't come for me. The Harvelles aren't family, Dad. They're not."
"That why you tried to punch Ellen out?"
Dean scowled. "She hit you."
"Dean, Ellen and Bill never gave up on you."
Dean shrugged. "They didn't come looking for me, either. None of them did. You, Sam and Bobby came. They didn't."
John gingerly massaged that space between his eyes. He was getting a headache. Dean had obviously made up his mind about this, and nothing John or Missouri Moseley or anyone could say would convince him otherwise. This was a wall that Dean had slammed down, entirely on his own. It was his version of Us against the World.
"Do me a favor, then, dude. Don't swing on anyone else, okay?" John huffed. "Unless I tell you to."
Dean nodded. Judging from that michievous gleam in their eyes both Sam and Dean liked that idea just fine.
County General Hospital
One hour later
"Dean? Sure," Nathan Beck drawled. He glanced at the photo in Reidy's hand and shook his head. "Kid's a total nutjob. You catch him yet?"
"Not yet. Weddington tells us that you had more interaction than he did with Dean," Hendrickson said. "What was Dean like?"
"What was he like?" Beck repeated. He shifted his weight against the pillows at his back. "Angry. Mad as hell. Kept confusing me with his Dad."
Hendrickson pulled out John Winchester's photo and laid it on Beck's overbed table. "Here's Daddy."
Beck leaned forward, stared at the photo for a moment. "Huh. McGillicuddy. I don't see the resemblance."
"I don't either." Hendrickson snapped. "Look. John Doe 317 was the dominant one, right?"
"Right. John was quiet. Took his meds when I told him to. Did whatever I asked him to. Very cooperative, model patient. He was a regular little ol' puppy dog."
"Were John and Dean aware of each other?"
Beck nodded. "Yeah. I think so. John would get pretty upset whenever Dean would get him in trouble. I felt sorry for him. Having to share the same body with that psycho? That's a tough gig. Dean fought me and my staff every step of the way. Weddington tell you about the stuff Dean drew in his cell with that black magic marker?"
"No." Hendrickson frowned.
"Ward A. Can't think of the cell number off hand. It'll be in his records. We moved John from Ward C to A because of good behavior. He was coming along. Treatments seemed to be working. Kid took a giant slide backward that night when Dean came out."
Reidy looked curious. "How'd he get the magic marker?"
"Beats the hell out of me. Dean was klepto. Had to really watch those hands of his. He'd steal anything that wasn't nailed down. I was curious about what he wrote on the walls, so I surfed the web. Turns out it's Latin. Some half-assed exorcism. Check it out if you don't believe me."
"We will. Now," Hendrickson pulled the third photo out. "Sam Winchester."
Beck nodded. "Uh huh. Sam Weston. You want to know what happened that day? I'll tell you just like I told the local cops. John Winchester shot me. And this one, this Sam, is it? He killed that lady cop."
If he closed his eyes, they'd leave him.
Everyone did, sooner or later.
Dean sat there and watched Sam, John and Bobby sleep. If he closed his eyes they might disappear, and he didn't want that. They came for him. They were the only ones who did. They came for him, bled for him, nearly died for him. They were the only ones who mattered to him now, so Dean kept watch.
Sam looked haggard, tired, fine thin lines already forming around his eyes. It was startling to see lines like that on Sam's face. Dad snored, as usual. Bobby never stopped.
That ache in Dean's left leg was a constant now, a dull throb that promised to rekindle, red and flaring. He massaged his left thigh down to his knee with both hands, dug his fingers deep into his muscles, and the pain eased up. It was only a reprieve. He'd have to walk the pain off again, when they reached the Roadhouse. It was the only thing his body seemed to understand these days.
They were on the highway now. The rough side road turned into smooth pavement. Dean counted off the mileage inside his head, and he didn't need to look outside to know where they were. Half a mile from the house, and yeah, there was that sudden dip in the road. It always caught Lee or Jerry by surprise when they drove.
A mile away from the house, still another half mile to go, then the highway. He was leaving it all behind now, and he wasn't sure exactly what was ahead. Ellen carefully negotiated the bumps in the road. She was as good as Abraham or Gabriel had ever been.
I thought the Harvelles were family. We were close. I thought they cared about me, but they didn't. You don't abandon family. No matter what, you don't.
But they did.
Those thoughts kept bouncing around inside his skull, like pebbles in an empty soda bottle.
After a while something loosened inside his chest. His eyelids were too heavy now, so he leaned his head against the wall of the van and closed his eyes. Dean could hear and feel the hum of the tires on smooth pavement. It was like a lullaby, and he couldn't put a name to what he was feeling. The sensation felt weird, like something he'd felt a long time ago, when he was a kid. It was taken from him and now it was back, but he didn't trust it. Not entirely.
Flashes of long blonde hair, a bright, warm smile, the smell of clean warm skin and baked cookies.
Mom, Dean muttered softly to himself.
It finally came to him, just past the edge of consciousness, just as he drifted away into sleep.
Safe. He felt safe.
Next post Wednesday.
