Thanks all of you for your reviews. Some of you have anticipated where I'm taking this story – but not entirely, because twists and turns are my thing :P Enjoy the following chapter.
Chapter 6
Beatrice was not having a good day. Peter had gone quiet during the night. He had slept deeply at first, but then he had gotten some pretty bad nightmares that had him screaming and whimpering. Beatrice had done all she could for him, but he was feverish, and she had trouble keeping his temperature down. She had been insightful enough to take their first aid kit with them when heading towards the town, and he had pried some Tylenol into him. She did not think it had helped much. It had kept the fever from rising, but it did not bring it down.
The next morning, Peter had said he was feeling slightly better. Beatrice had dragged him back to the car, even though she had thought it would have been better for him to lie down. But she could not leave him on his own in the town. They seemed alone, but one never knew if that was really so. Besides, when she had proposed to Peter that she fix the car and then bring it into town to pick him up, Peter had nearly gone hysterical.
"You can't leave me alone," he pleaded. "Not here. Not with them."
There was no "them" to fear, not as far as Beatrice could see. But Peter had always run some pretty bad fevers and had been delirious before.
Beatrice had taken some tools she found in the house where they had taken shelter during the night. She ignored the twinge of guilt, because no one was using them anymore. The town had been abandoned a while ago.
"Where did you hear the church bells from?" Peter had asked in one of his clearer moments. "The church looks destroyed."
Beatrice had shrugged, not wanting to look at the burned-down tower.
"Perhaps there's another church," she said.
"Well, then who was tolling the bells?" Peter had argued.
Beatrice had no answer to that, which frustrated her.
"Let's just fix the car and get out of here. We'll speculate as soon as we reach civilization, yes?"
But there was nothing wrong with the car. Beatrice had fiddled with it in every way possible. Her father had been a mechanic, so she knew quite a lot about fixing cars – enough to realize that the car should have been working just fine.
After a few hours of frustrating herself even further, Beatrice was forced to give in.
"I'm sorry, kiddo," she told Peter, who had been dozing in the backseat. "Looks like we're in for another night of squatting."
Peter tensed, face paling.
"We can't go back there," he said hoarsely.
Beatrice shook her head.
"Well, we can't sleep here. Not with you being sick."
Peter clutched at the leather seat.
"Can't we try walking?" he suggested. "I mean, away from the town? Until we find a place that actually has people in it, or another car that will take us, or…"
Beatrice would have considered this. But she knew Peter would not be up to that.
"Not with you sick," she repeated. "I don't want to put you in danger."
Peter looked her straight in the eye.
"That's exactly what you'd be doing by taking me back there. You're going to kill me."
Beatrice flinched.
"Of course, I'm not going to kill you."
But as they had gotten closer to the town again, and Peter had gotten worse once more, she had to wonder if maybe his instincts were not right. Maybe there was something in that town that was gunning for Peter.
xxxxXXXXxxx
Beatrice had just resigned herself to spending yet another night in the abandoned town – and maybe more than one – when she heard voices outside. Her encounter with the two boys left her baffled. She ignored the irrational thought that they might be ghosts – they were solid enough – or part of some weird isolationist cult that could get violent at any moment – the guns did not do them any favors, not in Beatrice's mind. They did not act like kids either. Well, the oldest, Dean as he introduced himself, was probably not a kid anymore, but the youngest could have been Peter's age. And yet they behaved like they were professionals being handed a situation they were used to solving. Whoever they were, wherever they had come from, Beatrice was certain they had done all this before.
She allowed them in with only minimal reservations. She hated being out in the open in that place. She could not escape the feeling that she was being watched.
"Have you been here before?" she asked.
Dean shook his head.
"No, first time," he quipped.
He cleared his throat and grimaced. Beatrice did not miss the gesture.
"Are you alright?" she demanded.
Dean smirked.
"Never better, Ma'am."
Liar, Beatrice thought. Sam seemed to think the same. He was watching Dean with an almost frightening focus and intensity. Looking at the two, the way they stood close to each other and how attuned they both were to each others' gestures – even the smallest ones – Beatrice had no idea how to take them. They were obviously brothers, but they were more. It was almost as if they had been conditioned to function as a team.
"Please tell me you guys aren't child soldiers," she said.
Dean snorted.
"That depends on how you define the term."
Beatrice glanced at Sam, who was avoiding her gaze.
"What about your kid?" he asked.
Beatrice did not know if she could really trust them with Peter.
"How do you know so much about us?" she wanted to know.
"Like I said, your aunt is looking for you," Sam insisted.
Beatrice doubted they had been sent by her, though.
"First off, she's my great-aunt, not my aunt," she corrected. "Second, she'd take one look at you and decide you're delinquents. No way would she trust you enough to send you after me."
"Well, lucky for you, other people are more open-minded," Dean quipped. "Now, what's wrong with your kid?"
Beatrice sighed.
"Follow me," she said.
She led them to the bedroom where she had placed Peter. She was relieved to see that he was sleeping deeply, although his fever was threatening to rise again.
"First I thought it was just nerves," Beatrice said. "Peter suffers from anxiety and panic attacks. My ex-husband is…not a very nice man."
Sam and Dean exchanged looks.
"Did Peter see something here?" Sam asked. "Did he say anything…unusual?"
Beatrice drew back.
"How could you possibly know…?"
"Did he?" Dean insisted.
Beatrice hesitated, as if half-afraid to divulge Peter's secrets in such a manner.
"He…look, he must have been delirious by then."
Dean huffed, impatiently.
"Let's pretend he wasn't."
Beatrice lowered her head into her hands. She was tired of all this. If she had known they would be facing all this trouble, she wouldn't have taken Peter and left. She would have taken her chances in court.
"He said there was something that walked on two legs. Like a man, but not really. That it was tall and thin and looked…well, wrong."
Sam frowned.
"Wrong how?"
Beatrice took a deep breath.
"Wrong like it was ill. Like it had been ill for a very long time."
"Huh," Dean said.
"Well, that explains it," Sam muttered.
"Explains what?" Beatrice asked. "What the hell do you know that I don't? And how do you know it? What's out there anyway?"
Sam and Dean once more looked at each other. Sam shrugged.
"We don't know yet," Dean said. "But we do know it's coming for your son."
Beatrice gasped.
"No, it can't…why?"
"It could be because Peter was already not feeling well. It could be something else."
Sam sounded apologetic that he did not have more answers. He was fiddling with a flask.
"There is something we could try to give him."
Beatrice tensed.
"Oh no," she said. "I'm letting you in here, but if you think I'll let you just poison my son…"
"It's water," Dean interrupted, waving his own flask in front of her face. "You can check."
Beatrice took the flask almost automatically. It did look like water. She took a cautious sip. It was a little stale, but nothing out of the ordinary.
"I have water, too," she pointed out. "This one is a few days' old anyway. How could it help?"
"We don't know if it will," Sam admitted. "But it's holy water."
Beatrice snorted.
"My kid isn't possessed. He's sick."
Dean shifted from foot to foot, betraying his impatience. Sam touched his elbow briefly. Just like that, Dean settled.
"Look, it helps in some cases. You can try, or you can't. It's your kid and your choice. But if I were you right now, I'd try anything."
What do you know about having kids anyway? Beatrice nearly asked. She stopped, though, because she saw the way Dean would stand a little in front of Sam, as if protecting him, or guarding him, the way he would glance at Sam from time to time just to make sure Sam was still there. Dean probably did know. She suspected that he did a lot when it came to raising Sam. More than a brother would be expected to do. More like what a parent would do.
Beatrice shrugged. She turned to Peter and tried to coax him to drink. After a while, she finally managed to get some of the water into him, even though he didn't wake up.
"Nothing's happening," Dean said.
Beatrice froze.
"What's supposed to happen anyway?"
If they had given her something that would hurt Peter…
"There is supposed to be a reaction," Sam admitted. "But it would have happened by now."
Beatrice handed the flask back to Dean.
"What does it mean?"
Dean glared at the flask.
"It means the holy water is useless. So it's not a demon. What do you think it is, Sammy? Curse? Ghost? Ghost plague?"
It was strange watching an-almost adult defer to a teenager's opinion, but Sam seemed to take it in his stride.
"We won't know until we look through the town," Sam said. "It has to do with illness, though."
As if on cue, Dean started coughing. His coughs were harsh and pained, robbing him of breath. Beatrice took a step towards him on instinct, but Sam was already between her and Dean.
"Hey, Dean," he began. "Hey, it's…it's alright. Just take a breath. Come on. You can do it."
Beatrice watched in fascination as Sam rubbed Dean's back. She had thought Dean was protective of Sam – and that was normal to some extent. But Sam was younger. He was a child, really. Yet the way he handled Dean, the way he hid his fears and turned into the one comforting his big brother baffled Beatrice. Who are you? she wondered. What kind of life do you lead?
Eventually, Dean straightened up. He swayed slightly, but batted Sam's supporting hand away.
"I'm fine, Sam," he assured his brother.
Sam frowned.
"Bull. You're…you're not well."
Dean snorted.
"Stop being dramatic, Sammy, it doesn't suit you. Now get to work while I catch my breath. Make sure the doors are secure."
Sam looked like he was about to argue.
"Really, Sam," Dean insisted. "You don't want that thing walking in on us, do you?"
Sam huffed and walked out the room. As soon as he was gone, Dean leaned heavily against the wall. Beatrice took a step towards him.
"Dean," she began.
Dean waved her aside impatiently.
"Look, lady, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't need your sympathy either."
Beatrice was not going to allow herself to be bullied by someone who looked like he was barely out of highschool.
"Listen to me, if there's something wrong with you, don't you think we need to know? We're stuck here. Now tell me what the hell's wrong with you."
Dean rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but was distracted by a thump from outside. He tensed briefly.
"Sam?" he asked.
There was no answer. Dean's face grew hard and he rushed outside the room. Beatrice followed. She gasped once she reached the front door. Sam was on the ground, convulsing.
xxxXXXxxx
For a fraction of a second, Dean could only gape at Sam in horror. No. he told himself. No, it was not supposed to be like this. It was not supposed to be Sam. It was supposed to be him. Dean had made sure it would be him.
Dean ran to Sam and knelt beside him. He wanted to reach out and hold him, but he knew the risks of touching someone when they were having a seizure. He could hurt Sam, or Sam could inadvertently hurt him, although Dean really did not care about that bit. He finally managed to grab Sam and restrain him.
"No," he gasped. "No, it can't be you. Why the hell is it you?"
He fought with the cough that he felt coming, wanting to ignore the way his chest tightened. Surely, he had not driven himself nearly to the point of being out of commission for nothing…And while Sam was in danger, too!
"Come on," he whispered. "You can't do this to me now. I made sure it wouldn't be you."
Unless Sam had done the same thing for Dean. The notion came to him like a dose of cold water. He glanced down at Sam.
"Sammy, you didn't."
"Is he alright? He doesn't suffer from epilepsy, does he?"
Dean made a furious gesture with his hand.
"Damn well he doesn't."
The idea that he would have allowed John to drag Sam all across the country if Sam had been suffering from epilepsy annoyed Dean even more than Beatrice's persistent questions. What did she take him for? That would have been the moment Dean would have said enough. He wouldn't have put Sam in danger like that. He stiffened when he realized that Sam was in danger right now. Sam was always in danger.
As usual, when he was tired and scare and frustrated, Dean took his helplessness out on others.
"Look, lady, give us some space," he growled.
Beatrice drew back slightly. Sam would reproach him for his mother bear tendencies, but Dean would never give them up.
Something was scratching at the door. Dean was too busy holding onto Sam to go check what it was. Since it was night time, anyway, going out alone wouldn't have been safe and opening the door would have made the civilians vulnerable. Dean couldn't waste time on civilians when Sam was at risk as well. Lucky for them, Sam had managed to secure all entry points before he collapsed.
Thankfully, Sam had stopped seizing. He was breathing heavily, but he seemed to be coming around. Dean clutched at him harder.
"Sammy," he muttered hoarsely. "What the hell did you do?"
xxxxXXXXXxxxxx
Sam opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the headache. He could feel his body sluggish and heavy. Nothing seemed to cooperate. Not his hands, when he wanted to cover his eyes and drive away the pounding headache, not his legs, when he tried to move and sit up. Still, despite this, he felt safe and warm. It took him a while to realize Dean was holding him.
Sam blinked again and tried to focus his eyes on his brother's face. Dean looked pale, his eyes wide and worried.
"You OK, Dean?" he rasped.
Dean tightened his arms around him.
"Am I…? Sam, you just collapsed. And that creature was outside."
"Oh," Sam said.
He did not think it would come so soon. Anyway, if it had come, it would have been for Peter not for him, and Peter was still safe upstairs.
"Did you see it?" he asked.
Dean's face darkened.
"No, I didn't see it, Sam. I was too busy keeping you from cracking your skull open against the floor."
Sam didn't even remember what had happened. He hadn't expected it to be that bad.
"Seriously, what the hell did you do?" Dean continued. "And don't you dare say nothing, Sam, cause I swear…"
In Sam's mind, two could play this game.
"What did you do?" he countered. "Cause I know you're not innocent, either."
He could see it in Dean's still pale face and in how he was fighting to keep himself from coughing. Something was wrong with him.
Before Dean could continue to deny it, Sam turned to Beatrice who was hovering a few steps behind. Dean had probably tried to bite her head off when she had tried to get near him. Sam felt horrified – and mildly touched.
"Could I have some water?" he asked.
Beatrice nodded quickly and left, probably glad to be useful in some way. Sam turned to Dean.
"Well? I'm waiting? What did you do, meet a cute nurse and bribe her to inject you with the plague?"
Dean rolled his eyes.
"Of course I didn't ask a nurse to inject me with anything. As if they even had the plague in that town. The clinic was all fancy tiles and sanitizers round every corner."
Sam frowned.
"How do you know what the clinic looks like?"
Dean hesitated. It was clear that he was caught, though. He could not hide from Sam anymore.
"Dean?" Sam pressed on, a hard edge in his voice.
Dean sighed.
"Fine. There was this guy in the waiting room who was coughing like his lungs were gonna come out any minute. He was drinking some water from a paper cup. I snuck in and drank after him."
Sam stared at Dean in shock.
"Dude, you had no idea what he had. What if you've got something really serious now?"
Dean snorted.
"Sam, it's just a cold. Or at worse the flu."
Sam would not let him be, though.
"And you did it on purpose," he accused.
Dean rolled his eyes.
"Of course I did it on purpose. If that thing goes after the ones who are sick, I was the right choice to be bait."
Like hell, Sam thought. He moved away from Dean, because this was a serious conversation, and he was not going to have it with Dean holding him. Moving away gave him at least the semblance that he and Dean were equal partners. He swayed, but when Dean tried to reach out for him, he waved him off.
"No, don't you dare Mr. I gave myself TB so I can be monster bait!"
Dean wisely stood aside.
"Sam, it was a longshot anyway," he argued. "I didn't even think it would work. After all, my immune system is legendary."
Sam cast him one of his coldest looks.
"Clearly," he drawled. "By the way, did it ever occur to you that, since we're in that car beathing the same air, I could get sick too?"
Dean's eyes widened.
"You didn't, did you? Not from me?"
Sam had to hand it to Dean, he had taken precautions. That was why they had been driving with the windows open in the desert, despite all the dust outside.
"No," he admitted. "Not from you. I might have…I might have come up with the same plan."
Dean gave him a pointed look.
"I noticed. What did you do? You weren't at the clinic, were you?"
Sam lowered his eyes and shook his head.
"No. I just didn't drink water at all today. I dehydrated myself, that's all."
Dean's eyes narrowed. Sam understood why he would be mad. He knew what he had done had been beyond irresponsible. Not drinking water in the desert was foolish and deadly – even worse than drinking from the same glass as someone who may or may not have had the flu.
"But you did," Dean protested. "I saw you drink. I would have forced you to, otherwise."
Sam looked away, annoyed that his face was flushed with shame.
"I…uhhh…I was actually only pretending to."
The look Dean gave him showed clearly that they would be dealing with this later. Sam did not know how to deal with it, though. Dean was clearly content not to trust Sam and set himself up as bait without consulting him - something that he would have never done with John. So why would he be so upset if Sam did the same?
"Only one of us was supposed to get sick, you know," Dean pointed out. "Only one of us was supposed to capture the creature's attention."
Sam nodded. They had both blown it, it seemed.
The sound of footsteps put a stop to their conversation. Beatrice approached and handed Sam a glass of water.
"Here it is," she said. "Nice and cool."
"Where do you have cool water here?" Dean asked distractedly.
"From the tap," Beatrice said. "Everything still works – water, electricity – the heating system, too, I suppose, but I didn't see any need to try it. It's hot enough as it is."
Sam and Dean exchanged worried glances, completely forgetting their conflict.
"That's strange," Sam said. "The utilities shouldn't work. If the population of the town disappeared in the eighties, there hasn't been anyone to pay for the utilities for decades. Why are they still working?"
Dean shrugged, indicating to Sam to drink the water.
"Add that to the many other things that are strange," he muttered.
xxxXXXXxxxx
Bobby was decidedly not pleased with John. He got the call late at night, but he was already on edge. He himself had been trying to reach Sam and Dean and could not get through to them.
"I've had a hunter who often goes to that area do some research for me," Bobby said without preamble. "There have been a string of disappearances around that place since the early nineties – at least, that was when the first documented cases started cropping up. But the area was bad news before that."
John frowned.
"What do you mean? I haven't heard of it."
Bobby huffed.
"Yeah, well, contrary to your belief, Johnny-boy, you don't know everything, do you?"
John sighed.
"Singer, I swear, I'm not in the mood. My sons are in danger."
Bobby was just as worried as John, but he could not bring himself to be sympathetic.
"You should have thought about that before sending them in there blind," he snapped. "If you had wanted to test their wings, you could have done it with something simpler. A salt and burn, maybe."
"They could do that in their sleep," John replied.
Bobby rolled his eyes.
"My point exactly."
"So, what about that town?" John asked.
He sounded tired, Bobby decided to cut him some slack.
"There are legends that the area is cursed. See, I think the town that disappeared was built later, on the remains of an older settlement."
"What happened to the original settlement?"
"It died out in the 1800," Bobby said grimly. "There was some sickness. No one made it. That place is bad news, Winchester."
John swore. Bobby understood the sentiment.
xxxXXXXxxxx
It was night. Godfrey had closed his shop. He stood in his office, eyes intent on the picture in front of him. The picture that the strange man – a Hunter, surely – had brought to him. He smiled wistfully.
"Hello, Mary," he said. "I never expected to see you again. And under such circumstances too."
xxxXXXXxxxx
Beatrice and Peter had gone to sleep. After checking one more time that everything was secure, Sam and Dean decided to sleep as well. Dean had drifted off quickly. Sam listened to his congested breathing. He could not sleep. Dean had pried water on him despite his protests and made cold compresses to cool him off, but he still felt strange. Like something had taken hold of him. He wondered if this was what Dean was feeling too.
Sam got up from the living room where he and Dean had taken residence on two couches. He went up the stairs, not in the room Peter and Beatrice slept in, but in the one next to it. It had looked like a study, and Sam wanted to see if he could find more information. There were several newspapers lying on the table. Sam cleaned the dust and cobwebs and set them aside to show them to Dean when he woke up. He opened the drawers of the large desk. He found several bills, all with due dates in the early eighties. That gave them a better timeline for when the town had become deserted.
In the bottom drawer, Sam found an old notebook. He opened it and frowned. It looked like a journal. He began to read. His hands clenched as he took in the words. He finally had an idea of what was happening there.
I wonder what Sam found….and I wonder what's going to happen now…Well, I don't have to wonder, because I know, but I'm sure you're all curious to find out as well. Tune in next week for more :)