I can't believe we're at chapter 8 already. Thanks to everyone for your usual reviews and such. This chapter will be full of twists and turns and I enjoyed every minute of it.
Chapter 8
It was three o'clock when Dean and Sam woke Beatrice up. Peter was still feverish and mostly sleeping, but when Beatrice roused him to give him some medication, he had seemed lucid enough, although restless.
"He keeps saying something is going to kill him," Beatrice complained.
"I don't think it would kill him," Dean said. "But it probably does want him."
Beatrice frowned.
"Look, if you don't start talking sense…I have a right to know what's going on. My kid's life is at stake."
"We're gonna get out of here," Dean promised. "We just need to figure out what the hell was unleashed in this place."
"Well, what do you think was unleashed?" Beatrice asked. "What's outside?"
Sam and Dean looked at each other.
"My best guess?" Dean finally said. "The inhabitants. Those who disappeared in the 1980s. Probably some of those who got lost in the town since then."
Beatrice gaped at him.
"And they've – what? – gone rabid?"
Dean shrugged.
"That's one way of putting it."
"Near as we can figure out, this town is cursed," Sam said. "Something happened with the first settlement. An illness or something that wiped out the town. That's when the curse started."
Dean was looking at him thoughtfully.
"You never told me why you think it only affects orphans."
Sam grimaced.
"I don't know why. But the writer of the journal spotted the pattern."
"Peter isn't an orphan," Beatrice pointed out. "His father is alive – unfortunately."
Dean cleared his throat.
"Yeah but…you said you no longer see him as his father, right?"
Beatrice glared at him.
"Peter no longer sees him as his father. And if you knew what he did..."
Dean interrupted her with a swift movement of his hand.
"Hey, we get it. But that means Peter only has one parent. Which means he fits the pattern. That's why he's being affected."
Beatrice took her head in her hands.
"Is this why he's ill, too?"
"Probably," Dean said.
He did not like the way Beatrice was now looking at them, assessing and knowing.
"But you two, you're ill, too," she remarked.
Dean shrugged.
"I think it's pretty obvious we share DNA, so…"
"So, you're orphans."
Dean felt Sam stiffen beside him. they never said what they were. They never acknowledged it, not even to themselves. They knew, of course, they had been called that several time. But Dean had always violently shut down such labels. Sam was of a different sort. He wanted to talk, Dean sensed that, but since his father and brother obviously didn't, he had learned to keep it inside him. At times, Dean regretted making Sam do that. At other times, he felt too wrapped up in his own grief, possessive of it to the point of jealousy. He did not want to share it with anyone. He didn't want to share mom with anyone. Not even with Sam, hard as that part was to believe.
"No offence, lady," he said tightly. "But that really is a case of none of your business."
Beatrice stood her ground.
"It is, if I am stuck here with you," she insisted.
Sounds of scratching at the window put a stop to Dean's aggressive answer. They all turned to catch a grayish figure perched up on the ledge. It blinked at them, Dean was sure it even made eye contact with him, then it moved away so fast, Dean was sure it had vanished into thin air.
"Oh my God," Beatrice gasped. "What the hell…?"
Dean had noticed the unwashed golden hair and torn clothes. The figure had looked more human than the other he had glimpsed before. There was enough left for Dean to recognize her from the pictures Arthur Croydon had showed them.
"That was Elizabeth," Sam exclaimed.
Dean nodded.
"Now we know what happens to those they take," he said darkly.
"What?" Beatrice asked tersely.
Dean hesitated, wondering how much to tell her. Beatrice seemed to guess he was trying to manage her, and she grasped his arm.
"Listen to me, those things are after Peter, so I have every right to know."
Dean shook his head.
"Of course. But knowing won't help."
Beatrice raised her eyebrows.
"Really? Try me."
Dean looked at Sam, indicating that he should take over.
"It seems something is turning the victims into some sort of…diseased ghosts."
Beatrice clenched her fists.
"You mean they die?"
Sam bit his lips.
"We don't really know, actually," he admitted. "It doesn't look like it."
Dean huffed.
"They're as good as dead. They won't come back."
What was turned could not become human again. John had taught them that rule. Sam fought against it, but Dean was sure that was just Sam. Soft-hearted, sometimes too much so for his own good. The hunter life would toughen him up, eventually. Dean found himself regretting this more than he wanted to admit.
"We just have to make sure they don't get in here," he said. "If we play our cards right, none of us will be taken."
Then we won't have to do something we'll regret. He did not say that out loud, certain that Beatrice would never stand it, not with Peter's life at stake. He realized that Sam was just as much at risk – as was he, but that did not matter. He would forfeit his life much easier than he would Sam's.
He noticed Sam's keen eyes on him and turned away. Sometimes, he was afraid Sam read him too well.
"We'll all make it out of here," Sam said. "One way or another."
Dean nodded.
"Of course."
"I'll consider that a promise," Sam said.
His eyes were hard and grown up, too grown up, Dean thought. At times like this, he hated both John and himself for forcing Sam out of his childhood in such a brutal manner.
Dean cleared his throat and wondered if the burning feeling was the aftereffects of the curse or just his sense of guilt.
"We'll all get out of here," he said. "We just need to wait out the night and then go see what happened by that church. We'll have this figured out in no time."
xxxXXXxxx
Bobby drove way above speed limit, not that John blamed him. He was beginning to realize he had made a terrible miscalculation. He did not do things like that. More than that, he did not gamble with the lives of his sons. But he had. And, deep down, he knew he deserved Bobby's reproaches 100%.
"I honestly thought it was a simple case of desert creature with a taste for blondes," John said. "All the evidence pointed to that. Or a ghost. After all, ghost towns probably have ghosts."
Bobby grunted.
"Look," John said. "I wouldn't knowingly put Sam and Dean in danger…"
Bobby side-eyed him.
"So, that thing with the shtriga years back…?"
John tensed. He could not believe Bobby would bring that up. Actually, he could not even believe Bobby knew.
"I never told you about that. Did Dean tell you?"
Bobby rolled his eyes.
"Of course he didn't. That boy's loyal to you to a fault, God help him. But you told Jim and Jim told me."
John shook his head. Pastor Jim was one of the few people he trusted – or, at least, moderately trusted – with Sam and Dean. After the shtriga incident, he had fled to Jim's place, and, after much persuading, Jim had gotten John to tell him what had happened. The pastor had a way of making people confide in him. John called it manipulation and taking advantage of someone when they were vulnerable. Jim called it simply knowing how to listen and how to help people unburden themselves.
"You know," he said, "You guys really take the whole it takes a village saying to the extremes."
Bobby's hands tightened around the wheel.
"And you don't give us reasons at all," he commented.
John glances out the window. He wished Bobby would drive faster. They were still a way from the desert.
"I don't know what you think happened with the striga." he said, "But I somehow suspect you've got the wrong idea."
"I sure hope so," Bobby said. "Because, if I was certain that you'd deliberately used Sam and Dean as bait…"
John would have punched Bobby if he hadn't been driving.
"What the hell, Singer?"
Bobby was not Croydon, though. He did not get intimidated so easily by John's moods.
"You tell me, John. A Hunter like you, leaving two kids alone for long periods of time with a shtriga in town. If it was anyone else, I would think maybe he was up to something. Setting up a nice snack for the shtriga so he could rush in at the right time and get it. We all know she's vulnerable when she's feeding."
John felt sick. It did sound like a solid plan. But he had never even contemplated it.
"You also rushed into that room in time," Bobby added. "Some would say that's mighty convenient."
John took a deep breath, battling his anger.
"You're lucky we're running out of time," he said. "But just so we get one thing straight. I love my boys. I wasn't trying to use them as bait. As a matter of fact, when I realized they might be a target, I ran as fast as I could to get to them and got them the hell out of dodge before more damage could be done. I love my boys."
Bobby sighed.
"Of course. In your own way."
John huffed.
"In what way would you love them, then? I can't coddle them. I know what's out there. They need to be tough. They need to be ready for it. People who are coddled don't survive long. You know that."
Bobby looked reluctant to agree.
"Some would say it's the quality of your life that matters, Winchester. Quantity don't mean squat."
John huffed.
"You don't believe that hallmark motivational crap anymore than I do, Singer."
Bobby shrugged.
"Sometimes I wish I could."
But they were Hunters. And for Hunters, survival was all there was. That and helping people live the life Bobby talked about.
"So tell me what you know about the ghost town," John said. "And why you think Sam and Dean might be targets."
xxxxxXXXXxxxx
Bobby drove for a while in silence, glad that John was allowing him to gather his thoughts. He had been on a hunt of his own when John had called but, as usual, had dropped everything for the Winchesters, after calling Rufus to finish the hunt for him. Rufus had asked if this was a coparenting issue and Bobby had promptly told him to go to hell and screw himself and his jokes. Still, in the back of his mind, he had to admit that often enough, he wished he had more rights over John's boys. It was not nice, wanting to be a parent to someone else's kids, especially when that someone else was still alive and kicking and doing his best. But Sam and Dean meant something to Bobby, perhaps they had meant it since the first time he had seen them, perhaps it had happened gradually, over the years. But all of a sudden, Bobby, who had never wanted children of his own, who had broken his wife's heart by resolutely telling her there were going to be no kids with him, found himself coveting someone else's sons. Life sure had a way of showing just how sarcastic it could be.
"So?" John asked, bringing Bobby out of his thoughts. "What do you know?"
Bobby shifted, somewhat guilty and glad that John was not a mind-reader.
"Near as I can tell, there was a disease. The town was isolated. They died out. That's when the town became cursed but, for some reason, the curse was dormant for a while."
John nodded curtly.
"Right. What does this have to do with Sam and Dean? Which part of this made you suspect they would be targets?"
A truck cut their way and Bobby cursed, breaking and blowing his horn. When the road was clear again, he turned to John.
"Dean's latest report was about a woman with a kid who were probably missing as well. Just like Elizabeth Croydon."
John nodded cautiously.
"Sam overheard the librarian, yes. He seemed to think they are connected."
"Well, Sam's probably right, given he usually is about that stuff," Bobby said. "The kid's father was apparently not in the picture, yes?"
He noticed John starting to get impatient by the long line of questioning, but given what Bobby wanted to reveal, he knew he had to take it slow. John was going to explode anyway.
"Singer, anytime you're done playing twenty questions with me…"
Bobby made a pacifying gesture with his hand.
"And Elizabeth Croydon's mother is also dead. Those that have been vanishing sporadically since then, they also had parent issues. See where I'm going John?"
Just as he had predicted, John stiffened.
"No," he said coldly.
Bobby felt a brief pang of sympathy for him.
"It looks very much like it, Winchester. Sam and Dean are vulnerable to whatever's happening in that town. They fit the pattern of the victims to a T."
John straightened up.
"So do I," he said tightly. "Or do you think there's an age limit? I'm too old to be a considered an orphan? Although, technically, I'm not, my Dad just bolted one day."
That explained a lot. Bobby had no idea, since it meant he too was on the list. He did not want to explain to John what had happened to his father, so he decided to just shrug.
"I mean, seeing as eventually the whole town disappeared, I think everyone who stays there long enough would become a victim. Right now, I think they will focus on the younger ones. That missing kid, for example."
John grimaced.
"And Sam and Dean," he said hollowly.
Bobby reached out and clutched John's tense shoulder briefly.
"That's why we're going there," he reminded John.
The other hummed without much conviction. John Winchester was never big on hope, Bobby reminded himself. Not many hunters were.
"You never told me," Bobby said. "What was the real reason you wanted the boys out of the way?"
John's face became hard.
"Where do you get all that crap from, Singer?"
Bobby glared at him.
"Don't try that with me, Winchester. I've been round the block more than I wanted to. I know you. I know when you're hiding something."
John looked away.
"I'm not hiding anything. Drive faster."
Bobby obeyed, but he still kept glancing at his passenger. John gave an exasperated sigh.
"I was looking into something," he admitted. "I didn't think the boys needed to know."
Bobby's eyes narrowed in suspicion. John was well known for playing his cards close to his chest. But sending his sons away like this, it meant something big was on his mind.
"If you're thinking of going after Mary's demon on your own…"
John clenched his fists.
"I'm not thinking about going after Mary's demon. It wasn't about Mary's demon. And by the way stop calling it that. It wasn't Mary's."
Bobby raised his eyebrows at the outburst.
"Then whose was it?"
John shook his head, looking tired, his shoulders slumped.
"Never mind. Just drive."
Bobby was sure now more than ever that John was hiding something. Maybe he was right and he wasn't looking into the demon directly, but Bobby had seen John get that shifty several times before. And it never boded anything well.
It did not matter, Bobby told himself. First, they needed to help Sam and Dean and whoever else was trapped in the town. Then – well, then he could knock John Winchester over the head several times. But only once the boys were safe.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Sam and Dean did not sleep at all that night. As soon as it was daylight, they went to the church. An area close to the church was cordoned off, the tape now thin and flimsy after being exposed to the elements for so many years. The hole had been covered up, though.
"Please don't tell me we have to dig that up again and set fire to a mass grave," Sam said.
Dean frowned in his direction. Sam looked pale and tired, with dark circles around his eyes. He had refused food, even when Dean had threatened to tie him up and shove food in his mouth. Dean would have done it, too, but Sam had retorted that he would simply refuse to swallow, and what would Dean do when Sam started choking on his day-old burger? Dean was afraid that Sam actually meant it. When it came to out-stubborning someone, Sam had been a professional from the age of three.
Dean was not feeling too good himself. He was sure he was running a mild fever and his chest was tight. Every time he swallowed, he felt as if he was shoving glass down his throat.
"I hope it won't come to that," he finally said.
Neither of them were in any shape for that kind of work. Besides, even if they did salt and burn the bodies of the plague victims – assuming those were still there and haven't been taken by the archeologists, that still left the victims that had disappeared in the eighties. And these were, apparently, walking and talking.
"If the land is cursed, we could do a cleansing ritual?" Sam suggested.
Dean thought about Sam's suggestion. Cleansing rituals sometimes worked, but whatever curse this was, it looked powerful.
"You need a lot of mojo to make an entire town disappear and turned them into plague-ridden zombies," he argued.
"You'd need something equally strong to counter the curse," Sam agreed. "What do we have on us?"
Dean grimaced in distaste.
"Practically bandaids when it comes to curses. We might have something back at the car."
He stood for a while pondering their situation. Leaving Sam alone and vulnerable was the last thing he wanted to do. But they needed their arsenal. Still, they also needed to know what was going on in there.
"I'm about to suggest something that's gonna piss you off, but you're gonna be a good boy and not argue," he finally said.
Sam's eyes widened. Of course, Sam would know exactly what he was thinking.
"No," Sam said firmly. "No, Dean, you're not going out there in the desert alone."
Dean rolled his eyes.
"Look, man, the problem's here and not out there. If anything, I should be the one with my panties in a twist for leaving you alone here and exposed to those things. Not that I have panties," he added hurriedly.
Sam firmly ignored the attempt at levity.
"Dean, separating now is one of the stupidest things you've ever suggested."
Dean rolled his eyes.
"Oh, I can think of a few others," he quipped.
Sam scowled.
"It's typical," he muttered. "If Dad was here, this wouldn't be a problem."
Dean felt a stab of fury.
"Oh, now you want dad here? Because you usually butt heads with him every time you're in the same room together."
He paused and started coughing. Sam was immediately by his side, all anger forgotten. Dean tried to wave him away – he did not think Sam had any business pulling that card with him, especially now that they were at odds with each other. But Sam held on to him so tightly, he could not dislodge him and keep breathing at the same time. Besides, he had to admit it was rather comforting, having Sam so close. It made him feel safe, which was all kinds of sappy and weird – Dean should have been the one keeping Sam safe, not the other way around, no matter how much Sam wanted to re-write the rulebook on how to be a little brother.
"This is why I don't want you going alone, Dean," Sam said.
Dean cringed internally. Sam even sounded like he was the adult.
"Who made you my mother?" he muttered.
"Dean, let's just think like regular people for once."
"We're not regular people," Dean protested.
Sam ignored that too. He was on a roll, as far as Dean was concerned. Ignoring all of Dean's deflections like a pro.
"Walk me to the library," Sam went on. "Let me pick out some newspapers and books about the original settlement if there are any. Then you and Beatrice can go out into the desert and I'll stay with Peter."
Dean raised his eyebrows.
"That's your suggestion? To take the civilian with me?"
Sam shrugged.
"It's not like we have another Hunter here, do we?"
Dean decided to take a leaf out of Sam's book and ignore the obvious dig at Dad.
"She won't do it, you know," he said. "She won't leave her son alone."
Sam huffed.
"She wouldn't be leaving him alone, would she? I'm here."
Sam apparently did not realize he was one year younger than Peter and Beatrice very much still saw him as a kid. Maybe that was their fault too – him and John's. They were sometimes treating Sam so much like an adult that Sam forgot the rest of the world would not perceive him as such.
"Sam, she won't let a fourteen-year-old look after her sick fifteen-year-old. She wouldn't trust you with Peter."
Sam pursed his lips.
"Well, that's good, because I don't trust her with you. But she's still better than you going out there alone. We'll just have to convince her that I'm better than Peter being left in here alone."
And the way Sam said it, he didn't sound like a fourteen-year-old at all.
xxxXXXXxxxx
Beatrice was, indeed, more than reluctant to go along with the plan. It took about half an hour for Dean to convince her this was the best thing to be done.
"Look, Sam's been around the block before," he said. "He knows what to do."
Beatrice frowned, her body tense.
"Did he know what he was doing when he made himself sick as well?" she asked skeptically.
There was a lot of concessions she was willing to make for the two strangers. But leaving Peter alone with one of them seemed out of the question.
"He's not well himself," she said. "And he's…"
She stopped and bit her lips seeing the steely look in Dean's eyes.
"He's what?" Dean challenged. "A kid? Lady, I don't know if you've noticed, but we're not your regular type of kids. Sam's been training since before he could understand what he was training for. He's been forced to grow up at an age when your own kid was still playing with action figures."
Beatrice did not doubt that. She noticed the grown-up looks in both of them, the way they moved and they acted. But still, fourteen was fourteen.
"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," she began when Dean cut her short.
"I'm not fishing for sympathy here," he said. "I'm just asking you to go with our plan because we know what we're doing."
Beatrice tried to have her way one more time, although she knew the decision had been made without her.
"Why can't you stay here with Peter while Sam comes with me to your car?" she suggested. "He knows what to take from there, doesn't he?"
"Sam's better at research," Dean said. "I mean, I'm good, but Sam's quicker and faster. You want this solved quickly, right? You want to get out of here before they have your son? Because he's next, you know that?"
Beatrice did not want to know that. She did not want to admit it. But Peter had been getting worse, and he acted as if time was running out for him.
She took a deep breath. She did not have a choice – that was what was bothering her so much. She had been helpless ever since the car had broken down in the desert, and now she had to trust two strange kids with her life and Peter's life as well. Of course she did not like it.
But as she looked at Dean, she realized it could have been worse. She and Peter could have been alone. And if Dean said he might have a solution – well, at least it allowed her to hope, didn't it?
"Fine," she said tightly. "We'll do it your way."
Dean grinned.
"I knew you'd come round," he said. "Let's go, then."
Beatrice tried to ignore the way her heart clenched. She had a feeling this was going to go very wrong.
"Alright," she finally said. "Let's go."
xxxxXXXXXxxxx
Peter was feeling like hell. He did not understand anything anymore. He certainly did not understand why his mother was going in the desert with some random stranger while he was being left all alone with some random kid.
"It's for the best," Beatrice had said before leaving, and Peter had been feeling far too exhausted to argue.
He had slept for a while, and when he had woken up, his mother still had not returned and the strange kid – Sam – was sitting by the window going through what looked like old newspapers.
Peter's family friends congratulated Beatrice regularly on having such a well-behaved, responsible kid. And he was, Peter supposed. At least, he tried to be, because with the divorce and all, the last thing his mother needed was a brat. Besides, he had spent half his childhood with a grumpy control freak of a dad. And he knew what stepping out of line meant.
Still, that did not mean Peter could not be a brat if he wanted to – and right now he wanted to be one very much.
"You know," he muttered. "I don't think this is working. I'm not up to babysitting duties."
Sam did not even look up from his newspapers.
"You're only one year older than me," he pointed out calmly. "And, technically, I'm the one babysitting you."
Peter did not have the energy to scowl.
"How do you think moldy old papers are gonna help us?" he asked.
Sam turned a page.
"You'd be surprised. There are some accounts here of the old plague."
Peter tried to ignore the way his throat felt like sandpaper.
"Was it really the plague?"
Sam looked up, probably hearing the hoarseness in his voice.
"There's water by your bed. Don't worry, I don't think we have the plague."
Peter drank the water and grimaced. It felt stale.
"No, you think we'll be turned into monsters. I heard you and Mom last night."
Sam peered at him in a way that made Peter uncomfortable.
"You feel something is here, don't you?"
Peter shrugged.
"I was hoping I was just delirious."
Sam left the window and his newspapers and went to sit by the bed.
"Tell me what you feel. What's in your mind?"
Peter took a deep breath.
"It's like something's reaching out to me. Something dark and terrible. And I saw this…thing a couple of times. Like a corpse but not really. Grey and tall and nasty-looking. Is that what I'm gonna become?"
"Not if we can help it," Sam said.
Peter scoffed.
"Pretty full of yourself, aren't you?"
Sam shook his head, a trace of vulnerability on his face.
"Not really," he admitted. "Half the time I'm scared to death."
Peter looked at him keenly, surprised by the honesty. He did not have time to ask anything more. There was a sudden bang and the distinct shattering of glass. Something was in the room with them. A grey blur making straight for them, moving quicker than it was natural.
Peter screamed. He heard a deafening crack as Sam fired his gun.
xxxXXXXxxxx
Beatrice and Dean walked towards the car. Dean scowled.
"It's covered in sand," he muttered. "It's gonna take a hell of a lot to clean it all up."
Beatrice looked at him amused.
"It looks sturdy," she commented. "I think it can handle more than sand. It's a great car."
Dean shrugged.
"It was my Dad's. He gave it to me when I turned eighteen."
He had no idea why he was telling all this to a total stranger. Beatrice was taking it all in, as if more information about Dean would have helped her understand what she had landed herself in.
"Where is your dad now?" she asked.
Dean scowled.
"Not here," he answered curtly. "He's not dead, either, if that's your next question."
He rummaged through the trunk, ignoring Beatrice's gasp at their arsenal. He did not need weapons anyway – not those kind of weapons. Curses were broken with rituals and strange ingredients. Plants, mostly. Yarrow and St. John's wart and other stuff Dean laughed at, because he found it weird for a healthy teenaged boy to know the name of so many plants.
"So, will this help us get out?" Beatrice asked.
Dean shrugged.
"It depends."
"On what?"
Dean looked up when he caught the impatience in her tone.
"On what Sam finds out and on how powerful the curse is. Something must have caused this. Someone must have been extremely angry to curse the town like this."
Beatrice tilted her head.
"So, you want to appease whoever set the curse."
Dean groaned inwardly. Civilians had a romanticized view of ghosts and the supernatural. They thought vengeful spirits and people that set curses could be "appeased". As if a grievance that was so strong it changed the shape of reality could be solved with just a little talking and therapy.
"I want to break the curse," he said. "And make sure it's gone."
He froze as he heard a rustle that was not the wind and pulled out his gun. Beatrice stiffened.
"Get behind me," he ordered.
She did so without protest. They stood there, tense and listening, and for a moment Dean really hoped he was wrong and there was nothing close by. Then three grey silhouettes rushed towards him. Dean fired but it did not slow them down. He half turned and shoved the contents he had gotten out of the trunk to Beatrice.
"Take this to Sam," he said.
Beatrice's eyes widened.
"But…"
Dean fired once more. One creature was down, but it was getting back up.
"Now!" he ordered. "Get out of here."
Beatrice hesitated, then obeyed, running in the direction of the town. The creatures did not look at her, as if it was not her they wanted. No, that honor was reserved for Dean.
Sam's gonna kill me, he thought as he fired the last time. His vision was growing blurry and his lungs burned. He fell to his knees and the things were on him, the cursed townspeople who had now become something else. They were dragging him away, deep in the desert, and Dean hoped very much that they would kill him, because the last thing he wanted was to become one of them.
Uhhh…don't hate me? I'm sure you know by now I don't kill characters who aren't my own, so at least there's that :P