Liam
Liam blew into the hole in her coffee cup lid and took a careful sip of the hot liquid. After taking some time to strategize, they had decided that Liam and Sam would go to the mill and meet the Winchesters' contact Bobby. Actually, Sam had mentioned that the backup he'd called in would be arriving soon, and Liam had quickly volunteered to come along, not wanting to get edged out of the hunt now that Sam had other reinforcements. Dean was looking much worse today, so Blaire had volunteered to stay behind in case he ended up in a situation where he needed revival from a professional.
"So, how do you know this guy?" Liam asked, leaning against the impala and shielding her eyes from the sun as she continued to sip on the coffee they'd picked up along the way.
"He's an old family friend," Sam explained, "he's kind of like a father to us."
Liam nodded, remembering the brief conversation she had with Dean the day before about their father.
"And he's the one who tipped you off about the ghost sickness?"
"Yeah," Sam said, "Bobby's the person to call if you get stumped. He can find just about anything."
About fifteen minutes later, a beat-up classic car pulled in behind the impala, and Sam and Liam straightened, pushing off the front bumper of the car where they'd been leaning. An older man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a worn baseball cap on his head climbed out of the car and approached them. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with an open button-down shirt thrown on top, and Liam wondered wryly to herself is this was some kind of hunters' uniform.
"Hey, Sam," the man greeted.
"Hey, Bobby," Sam replied, gesturing to Liam, "I told you about the hunters we're working with. This is Liam Sinclair. Liam, this is Bobby Singer."
Liam felt a small thrill when he called her and Blaire hunters, and immediately softened, deciding to leave her attitude behind this morning. She knew it probably wasn't easy for Sam to accept and acknowledge them as hunters, and she appreciated the gesture.
"Nice to meet you, Liam," Bobby told her with a nod as he came to stand next to Sam. Liam returned the gesture and placed her coffee cup down on the hood of the car, turning to give the men her full attention. Bobby glanced around and added, "where's Dean?"
"Uh…" Sam began, climbing to take a seat on the hood. "home sick."
"Have his hallucinations started yet?" Bobby asked, crossing his arms.
"Yeah, last night," Sam replied.
"How we doing on time?"
Bobby and Sam fell into a natural rapport so quickly that Liam found herself shifting on her feet, wanting to contribute but not knowing how.
"We saw the coroner about 8 A.M. Monday morning, so uh, just under two hours," Sam replied, anxiously checking his watch. "What about you? You find anything?"
Bobby held up the slim volume he'd brought, "This, uh, Encyclopedia of Spirits dates to the edo period."
He held the book out to Liam, and she grabbed it quickly, surprised to be included so casually. She flipped through it, her eyebrows furrowing.
"It's in Japanese," she said, tilting the book to show Sam.
"You can read Japanese?" Sam asked Bobby. Bobby responded in Japanese and Liam found herself impressed. Where did he find ancient books like this, and just how much did he know about hunting?
"Anyway," Bobby broke into her thoughts, "this book lists a kind of ghost that could be our guy. It infects people with fear. It's called a Buruburu."
"Does it say how to kill it?" Sam asked.
"Same as usual. Burn the remains."
"Well, that won't work," Liam said, exchanging a knowing glance with Sam. Luther Garland's remains had been strewn all over when he was killed. There was no way of getting and destroying them all.
"Is there a plan B?" Sam asked Bobby hopefully.
Bobby considered this for a moment, "Well, the Buruburu is born of fear. Hell, it is fear."
"So it stands to reason that fear can kill it, too. Right?" Liam chimed in. Bobby looked at her with what seemed like surprise, and Liam puffed up a bit, pleased to have impressed the newcomer.
"So we have to scare a ghost to death?" Sam asked.
"Pretty much," Bobby said, pushing off the hood and walking back to the trunk of the car, "and we'd better do it fast."
Liam stared after Bobby, deep in thought.
"You okay?" Sam asked, a wrinkle appearing on his forehead.
"Yeah," Liam said thoughtfully. "Do you think he's a genius? He seems like he might be a genius."
Sam laughed heartily and stood, tucking the book into his inside jacket pocket.
"I told you, he's the person to call."
"Speaking of calls, we should probably update the others and check in," Liam reminded him as they followed Bobby to the trunk, where he was now looking through the various weapons and equipment.
"Let's work out a plan, first. Then I'll call," Sam said.
Ten minutes later, Sam was pulling his phone from his pocket and pressing a number on speed dial, while Liam and Bobby stood by the open trunk, assembling and loading shotguns.
"Hey," he said almost immediately as Dean picked up on the other side, "just ride out the trip, okay? You're, uh - you're gonna be fine. We got a plan."
There was a brief silence as Dean responded.
"Just, uh - a good plan, all right?" Sam assured him, "Hang in there."
When he hung up, Liam and Bobby were both staring at him, slack-jawed at how put-upon that reassurance had been.
"This is a terrible plan," Bobby said, "I know I said scare the ghost to death, but this?"
"If you've got a better idea, I'm listening," Sam said with a light-hearted chuckle. Liam wondered briefly how he managed to stay so calm with Dean's time ticking away. If it were Blaire with the ghost sickness, she would be beside herself right now. There was a long moment where the three of them exchanged glances. No better ideas.
"Let's just get it over with, then," Liam said. Bobby closed the trunk with a slam and they split up, entering the mill from separate entrances. Liam walked slowly, her eyes scanning the dusty equipment. She didn't like the idea of being around all of this industrial equipment with an angry spirit on the loose. The mill was quiet except for the sound of debris softly crunching under her feet.
Blaire
"Do you need anything? Water, a snack?" Blaire called across the room at the back of Dean's head, he was intently staring at the television screen.
"Nah," He turned to her, resting his arm across the back of the couch with a failed attempt at a reassuring smirk, "I'm fine."
"Alright," she crossed the room and sat on the chair opposite him with her laptop in her lap. "You let me know."
The pair sat in silence for several minutes as Dean fixed his gaze on the television. Blaire scrolled aimlessly through the same useless sites that they had all sifted through in attempts to find some solutions for Dean's current situation. Dean watched as Gumby tied a lasso around Pokey's neck and began to drag the claymation horse down the street. Blaire winced and Dean swallowed hard, stopping his mindless scratching at his arm to turn the station.
"Not helping," he muttered gruffly, settling on a local news station.
"Try not to scratch," Blaire set the laptop aside and moved toward him. She sat down on the couch beside him and reached over to take her arm in her hands. She brushed back his sleeve and examined the wound. "We don't know if this is going to go away the minute they get rid of Luther. If it doesn't, you don't want to risk an infection."
"Infection?!" Dean drew his arm away to examine it. Blaire sighed, cursing herself for even mentioning it this late in Dean's illness.
"It's okay," she encouraged, smiling brightly to reassure him. "All we have to do is get it bandaged up so that you keep your hands off of it, and we'll be just fine."
Dean continued to examine the wound on his forearm so closely that it would seem he could see bacteria with his naked eye. Blaire crossed the room to fetch the bag of the first aid essentials she always carried. Inside, she quickly fished out one of many gauze rolls she had jammed in among countless other necessary supplies.
As she turned to assist Dean in bandaging his self-inflicted wound, his phone started to ring, causing him to jump to attention. He let out an exhausted breath and put it to his ear.
"Hey," he spoke expectantly into the receiver. He gripped the remote in his hands and shut off the television just as Blaire took the seat beside him once more. "What is it?" Dean paused as Sam's deep voice responded on the other end, then he flipped his phone closed.
"What did he say?" Blaire reached out toward Dean and took his arm in her hands again. She glanced up at him only briefly as she began to work at his wound deftly.
"They have a plan." The tone he used was jarringly resolute. However, it was the slight waver in his bottom lip that told Blaire he was only as hopeful as the illness would let him be.
"There," Blaire let out an accomplished sigh as she sat back from Dean's newly bandaged arm.
"Thanks, Doc." Dean let out a similar sigh, less accomplished and more defeated.
"Anything else? I can whip up a mean easy mac for my favorite patient," Blaire offered kindly, taking a few strides to her bag to put her supplies back.
Dean did not respond. Blaire turned back to him to find him staring around the room, his eyes wide and head darting back and forth from one source of distraction to another.
"Hey," Blaire said gently, walking back over to him. "Take a breath. Focus on my voice." Dean was still unable to look at her. "What's happening?"
"Dogs," Dean muttered, his eyes trailing invisible stimuli around the room.
"Alright. Dogs," Blaire agreed. She reached out slowly and took Dean's hand into hers. She squeezed it tightly, pulling his attention away from something across the room to her fingers pressed into his palm. The pressure was enough to call his attention to it. "There you go. This is real. Just focus on this."
In that moment, there was a loud pounding that came from the door. Blaire and Dean both shot up, Dean looked at Blaire and then at the door.
"You hear that, too?!"
"Shhhh," Blaire encouraged, taking a few deliberate and quiet steps to the door. She looked over her shoulder at Dean, who had very quickly crouched down behind the couch they had been seated on.
Before Blaire could press her eye to the peephole, the door began to splinter at the frame. She knew it was less than seconds before it was kicked in. Cursing herself for not having her gun in the waistband of her jeans, she turned and searched frantically for a weapon she could use to protect the two of them. The door fractured and swung open. Standing the the doorway was the sheriff, chest puffed and jaw set.
"Sheriff?" Dean spoke for the both of them. Blaire, too, felt the same disbelief she heard in his voice. "What are you doing?"
It was then that Blaire noticed the gun in the sheriff's hand.
"Why are you looking into Luther Garland's death?"
"We think we found a way to stop the deaths around town," Blaire began frantically, inching back towards the nightstand that held Dean's gun.
"Hey. Hey, you're-you're sick. You're sick just like me, okay? You got to relax," Dean encouraged, pointing between the bandage on his arm and the blood soaked sleeve of the sheriff's uniform.
In response, the sheriff threw up his up his hand that held his gun and cracked Dean across the side of his head.
"Dean!" Blaire was torn between moving forward toward Dean, who was hunched over bracing his head and backing up to grab the gun just a few feet behind her. Her exclamation called attention to her movements.
The sheriff turned to her, "Make one more move and I'll kill you both." He held his gun towards her and cocked it. Blaire felt her lower limbs tingle in fear. The sheriff turned back to Dean, "Frank O'Brien was my friend. So he made a mistake. So I didn't bust him. So what? And you're gonna bring me down over that?!"
"That's not what this is about! Please, listen to me!" Blaire attempted to reason with him. She knew that there was limited time before this man's paranoia was going to sound louder than anything she attempted to say.
"No, sir," he growled and pointed the gun at Dean. Blaire lunged forward towards them just as Dean slapped the gun out of his hand, terrified.
The two began to struggle. The sheriff shoved Dean against the wall, holding him there by his forearm. Frantically, Dean's hands pressed against the sheriff's face, attempting to create space between his arm and Dean's windpipe. Blaire moved quickly toward the gun that lay across the floor. Just as she took it up in her hands, Dean had managed to send the sheriff backwards into the glass coffee table. She winced as it shattered and the room fell silent.
Dean walked toward him, the look in his eye filled with more concern than Blaire thought the man deserved. Wordlessly, the sheriff began panting and clutching at his chest. She recognized the sweat beginning to collect at his brow. She left the gun at her side and moved toward the man.
"Get away from me!" He shouted at them. Dean hesitated but Blaire did not listen. She fell to her knees beside him, mindful of the shards of glass that lay scattered around his form.
"Al, you need to calm down," Dean tried to warn.
"Stay back!"
"Listen to me," Blaire reached out toward him cautiously, her words were more direct. "You are having a heart attack. You need to let me help you right now."
There was little time left. The sheriff was unable to fight her off anymore. She took advantage of his weakness and began to loosen the tie around his neck and unbutton the first few buttons of his tan uniform. He was gasping and clutching at his chest. Then there was nothing.
She looked over at Dean, whose face was ashen, "I need you to do the best you can to stay calm." She began to take off her jacket and threw it to the side.
Dean watched as Blaire began chest compressions on the unresponsive man. Blaire knew that it was likely a futile attempt, but for her to acknowledge the full weight of her helplessness was impossible.
"I don't think he-" Dean began, but she cut him off.
"Well, we have to try," she shot, surprising herself and Dean.
Liam
Liam's muscles were tense as she continued to wait for something, anything to happen in the mill. Her job in the plan would change depending on who was confronted by Luther first, and she wanted the confrontation to start already so that she could act. The walkie clipped to her side emitted sudden static, and she jumped slightly as the sound punctured the tense silence.
"Any luck?" Bobby's voice came through the speaker.
"No," Sam reported, "Liam?"
Liam pulled the walkie off her belt and pressed down the button, "nothing."
"I don't know what's wrong," Sam continued, "Last time, he came right at us. It's almost like he's... scared. "
Liam supposed that wasn't the worst thing, considering their end goal, but it wouldn't help if Luther never even showed his face in the first place. She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking about what might coax her to come out if she were a spirit.
"So now what?" Bobby was saying, but Liam suddenly pressed down the button and cut him off.
"What if we make him angry?"
There was a brief silence on the line before Sam responded, "I think I can do that."
Moments later, Liam heard Sam's voice carrying through the aluminum walls of the mill.
"Hey, Luther!" he was shouting, "Come on, Luther! What are you waiting for?"
Liam followed the echoes, careful to keep her shotgun at the ready and watch her back, in case Luther chose to sneak up on her instead of rising to Sam's taunting.
Don't shoot at him unless you have no other options. She was reminding herself. Sending a rocksalt round through the ghost would make him disappear, sending them back to square one.
The equipment around her kicked on with the screeching sound of turning gears. The buzz of operating saw blades filled the mill, causing the hair on the back of Liam's neck to stand on end.
She hurried toward the office where Sam was waiting. It was time for Luther to show his face.
Blaire
Dean had taken a seat on the bed through the open doorway. Blaire was still keeping a steady pace with her compressions on the sheriff's chest. Sweat was starting to form at the back of her neck and her hairline, her arms starting to fatigue.
She looked over at Dean, who was scratching at his arm again. The panic on his face as he surveyed their current circumstances made her stomach drop. Enough time had passed between Dean's phone call with Sam and this moment that made her feel wary about any progress Sam and Liam had made. Recognizing that her efforts were fruitless and would be best suited to comfort the increasingly panicked looking Dean, Blaire forced herself to stop the compressions on the sheriff's chest.
Dean watched as she got to her feet and moved into the bedroom toward the closet. She grabbed an extra throw blanket from the closet and returned to the sheriff's lifeless body, covering him gently.
When she turned back to Dean, he was scratching so feverishly that his bandages were starting to come undone. Blaire recognized the fear growing more and more prominent on his face as his eyes began to dart around the room again. Careful not to move too quickly, she sat down on the bed opposite him, facing him as he reached down under the bed and grabbed the hotel Bible.
Blaire reached out and gently took his wrist in her hand, "Dean, we want to focus on keeping your heart rate down as much as we can." His pulse was racing underneath her fingertips. Nothing in her training had prepared her to avoid an imminent heart attack brought on by this kind of disease. Suddenly, Dean stiffened. Blaire pulled away, fearful that her touch had triggered him, and she sat back nervously.
Dean's jaw set, his body tensed and indignation filled his face, "No. No." He gripped the Bible tighter in his hands and swallowed hard. He got to his feet, easing away from a touch that disgusted him. "You-" he pointed the Bible at an object or person that Blaire could not see. "You are not real!"
"Dean…" Blaire began, but fell short of something helpful to say. Instead, she decided to sit back and monitor him as he interacted with his hallucination.
Whatever Dean was reacting to, he was staring so intently that Blaire began to wonder if he even realized she was still in the room. His lip started to quiver and the hand that extended out toward the source of his terror, Bible clasped tightly in it, began to shake. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his face began to twitch. It was then that Blaire decided to intervene, stepping closer to him. Dean groaned and his hand gripped his chest.
"Dean," Blaire began, reaching down to check his pulse. His wrist was clammy between her fingers. He still clutched the Bible in his hands as he rested them on his knees. His face turned upward to face whatever he had been interacting with as if it had been forced. "Focus on me, Dean. Breathe." Blaire tried to encourage.
His eyes were searching, pointed upward, "why me? Why did I get infected?"
"Shh…" Blaire tried to distract him from any anxious thinking. But it was too late. As she said it, Dean fell backwards, resting his weight on his elbow. He was starting to grow paler, more dewy.
Liam
Liam entered the office just in time to see Sam dragged across the floor by his feet. Luther was towering over his prone form, and gave him a kick in the side for good measure before turning him over. Sam took the opportunity to laugh in Luther's face, angering him further. Luther's hands clamped around Sam's neck, but it was too late. Liam had retrieved the chain they'd planted on the office floor and slung it around Luther's neck, pulling it tight. Luther clawed at the chain and turned to face Liam, his expression dark and deadly.
He barreled toward her, but before he could get his hands on her, Sam cried "Bobby, punch it!" from his spot on the floor. Bobby certainly hadn't been sleeping - it only took a moment for the chain to pull taut, and suddenly Luther was being dragged out of the mill, through the swinging double doors. Liam gave Sam a hand-up, and they exited the mill quickly, watching as the impala dragged Luther through the dust. He struggled, grasping helplessly at his neck, and Liam felt a twinge of pity at the thought that this last moment would be as terrifying for him as it was the first time. After a few moments, he evaporated into nothing, and the impala screeched to a stop as Bobby applied the brakes.
Sam and Liam let out a collective breath, exchanging a glance.
"Thanks," Sam said, rubbing his side where he'd been kicked.
"Any time."
Blaire
Dean blinked hard, gripping his shirt tightly. He began gasping for air. Blaire was
trying desperately to move him into a more comfortable position to ease him through the worsening symptoms but he was squirming away from something she could not see.
"Dean, please…" She begged, trying to support his weight as she moved him into a sitting position. His legs were still kicking and he started to grip his throat. She checked her watch frantically. Where the hell were Sam and Liam?
Suddenly, the labored breathing stopped and his chest didn't rise to take another. Blaire cursed under her breath and got to her feet. She bent down to grip Dean by the ankles and pulled. His upper half clunked to the floor where he now lay flat. She knelt beside him, interlocking her fingers together and leaning her weight completely over him. She began to thrust downward steadily, repeating the motion as she counted upward until thirty.
Just as she leaned down to put her mouth over his, Dean let out one deep gasp. Blaire jumped back, astonished. She held up her hands and leaned back onto her heels before she reacted. Dean was coughing, each new breath filling his lungs deeply.
"It's okay," Blaire smiled, helping him up to get into a better recovery position. "You're okay."
Dean looked up at her, eyes wide. Then he looked down at his arms, both of which were now without the deep scratches.
"It's over," Blaire smiled down at him, and wiped the sweat from her own brow.
Liam
Blaire and Dean, after swinging by a convenience store to grab a few beers for the cooler, met Sam, Liam, and Bobby in the abandoned lot next to the mill. Dean looked considerably better than the last time Liam had seen him, and Blaire didn't look any worse for wear either, though she gave Liam a look upon exiting the car that clearly said wait until I tell you what you missed.
Sam and Dean exchanged a nod to indicate that they were both okay, and Liam briefly wondered if they would usually embrace in a situation like this if not for having an audience. Blaire came to lean against the impala next to Liam and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets.
"You literally could not have cut it any closer," she said.
"Sorry," said Liam, "I've never strangled a ghost before."
Dean, who had been having a murmured conversation with Sam, turned to face the others, "So you guys really road-hauled a ghost...with a chain?"
" Iron chain," Sam said, passing out beers to Liam, Blaire, and Bobby, "etched with a spell word."
Liam glanced across the circle at Bobby, who looked particularly proud of himself for coming up with this solution. Bobby's eyes flicked toward Blaire, and he pulled his free hand from his jeans pocket, holding it out to her.
"I'm Bobby Singer," he said, making a point of glaring at the boys for their neglect. Blaire smiled and took his hand.
"Blaire Cartello," she said, "thanks for your help, Bobby. It sounds like these two would've royally screwed it up without you."
"Hey," Sam said, giving her a playful look as he took a sip of his beer.
"So, I'm guessing this isn't something you run into everyday," Blaire continued.
"No, this is a new one," Dean admitted, taking an extra long swig of his drink.
"We had to use what he was most afraid of," Sam said, shrugging a shoulder, "It was pretty brutal though."
Liam raised her eyebrows as if to say that's an understatement.
"On the upside, I'm still alive, so, uh...go team," as he said this, Dean lifted his beer as if to toast the four of them. Liam figured this was as close as they'd get to a thank you.
"Yeah," Sam said, "how are you feeling, by the way?"
"Fine," Dean responded shortly, shifting on his feet as all eyes turned on him.
"You sure, Dean? Cause this line of work can get awful scary," Bobby told him with patronizing sympathy. Blaire glanced between the men, unsure how to react, and Liam smirked into the mouth of her beer, pausing mid-sip to keep from choking. Dean glanced at her, and she wiped the smile off her face, clearing her throat. Dean's ruffled expression looked highly indignant.
"I'm fine," he repeated to the group, "You want to go hunt? I'll hunt. I'll kill anything."
They all exchanged silent glances for a moment, amused that Dean was now overcompensating.
"Aw," Sam said, breaking the silence, looking at Dean as if he could pinch his cheeks.
"He's adorable," Bobby chimed in. Sam laughed, and Dean continued to pout as Liam and Blaire pretended not to witness the exchange.
"I got to get out of here," Bobby said, finishing off his beer and pushing off from his spot leaning against the car, "you boys drive safe. Ladies, it was nice to meet you."
"You too," Liam said, raising her beer in acknowledgment.
'Thanks, Bobby," Sam said earnestly as Bobby climbed into his car. With very little fanfare, Bobby started his car and drove off without another word.
"I like him," Liam murmured to Blaire, who smirked.
"Me too."
"So, where are you two headed next?" Dean asked after the dust Bobby had kicked up began to settle around them.
"Not sure," Blaire said, shrugging, "we'll probably check the papers for nearby towns online and see what comes up. That's how we ended up here."
Sam nodded, his forehead wrinkled in thought, "And I don't suppose we could convince you to go home?"
"Nope," Liam said.
The two brothers exchanged a look, and Dean cleared his throat, "look, I know we can't tell you what to do. But you saw what a life like this can do to a person's psyche. It's a lot to handle," he said, his face coloring a bit as he referenced his meltdown from the night before.
"Maybe so," Blaire said gently but firmly, "but I think you're assuming that your experience as a hunter is the norm, and from what I've seen, I'm not sure that's true."
Sam's eyebrows furrowed, and he straightened a bit, as if he hadn't really considered this, "you may be right. Just...be careful? Please?"
"We're always careful," Liam said dismissively, and Sam gave Blaire a meaningful look that said I'm serious. Blaire nodded. "Stick to spirits. And if you run into something you can't figure out, call us. Or Bobby. I'll give you his number."
"Sounds good," Blaire said, crossing her arms uncomfortably over her chest as she sensed the oncoming goodbyes.
"Well, we'd better hit the road," Dean said, gesturing for Sam to hand over the keys to the impala. He shot another glance at Liam and Blaire "you sure you're alright? Do you need ammo or iron or anything? I think we've got some things we could spare in the trunk."
"We're good," Liam said with an appreciative smile, "thank you, though. You boys take care."
"You, too."