Episode Seven: Golgotha

By Kittsbud

Part Three

Sam didn’t feel his body tumble from the bench or hit the floor. By the time he lay on the sidewalk trembling convulsively, his mind had entered a totally different world.

Sam was back in the abandoned motel, his senses heightened until he saw every minute detail, every roach cross the floor, every fly that buzzed around clots of blood and tissue that spattered the walls.

The young hunter saw everything just a little too clearly.

He was outside a room, but this time it was not the room he had envisioned before. This place was carefully locked and barricaded as if it held some prehistoric monster. Extra wooden planks had been hammered to every possible exit save for one door, and that had three recently fitted locks protruding from its edge.

As Sam took in the new horror scene, someone began to approach the secret room. The newcomer held the knife from his earlier vision, and as the stranger neared Sam knew it was the killer, even though his features were still masked by darkness and some ungodly cloud.

The killer fumbled in a pocket with his free hand and managed to pluck out a jangling bunch of keys. Sam guessed correctly that he was about to open the securely locked door.

While the man struggled to find the right key for each lock, Sam let his gaze fall further back into the adjoining room. Something white and glistening had caught his eye, and he couldn’t help but look at whatever it was.

Sam’s head spun momentarily as his eyes refocused as if he were using binoculars. The white, glinting thing became sharp and focused, and with it came the realization that there was not one but many.

If Sam hadn’t been simply a fly-on-the wall he would have balked. The second room had a table propped against its farthest wall, and the things garnishing it and catching the sunlight from the window above were in fact bony-white human skulls. They appeared to have been bleached or worse to remove any last vestiges of flesh, making them perfect trophies.

Sam tried to count just how many people must have died to make such an evil shrine, but in the end he turned away, sickened by what he was being forced to see. Just how long have the murders been going on here?

The keys clattered down hard as the killer dropped them, foul curse words coming from his mouth every two seconds, and Sam returned his attention to the secret room the murderer was now entering. Matthew Ismay had wanted Sam here to see this. This was the end of the yellow brick road he had been forced to walk, and Sam had no illusions what might lay at the end of it.

The door swung open laboriously, its hinges groaning as rust rubbed on rust after years of not being used. Inside, the room was dark, and the killer had to walk into its center just to catch a glimpse of his special prisoner.

Sam’s presence followed, his eyes narrowing to strain through the dimness to see who or what was cowering in the gloom. As his pupils adjusted to the dark, Sam finally caught a glimmer of movement and almost gasped in surprise.

Matthew Ismay shook as he recoiled into the corner, shying from the killer’s taunting blade. The young boy looked pale, but not as white as he had appeared during his ‘manifestations’ to Sam.

“Leave me alone. You won’t get what you want from me.” The eleven-year-old's voice was high-pitched and terrified, but there was something in his delivery that told Sam the fear was not of dying. He didn’t care if the killer took his soul for some yellow-eyed demon, but he did care what his death might mean.

Sam pulled back, suddenly trying to escape what he was seeing. It was too confusing for his assaulted brain to compute. What are you afraid of? What does your death mean? The words echoed in the hunter’s mind, but he couldn’t ask them because this wasn’t real, was it? Matthew was already dead, so that meant he was seeing the past, wasn’t he?

The images in Sam’s subconscious lurched and he felt himself physically clutching his head in the real world. Voices called to him, asking if he was alright, but he couldn’t wake up to answer. The movie had one last reel of film for him to see, and he couldn’t leave the drive-in until it was over.

This time, the visualization was of the outside of the motel. The decaying structure sat ominously in the distance, its wooden roof partially caved in on the whole left wing of rooms. Outside the remaining intact parts stood two trucks, one very old freightliner, and a more modern Dodge Ram. In the back of the Ram, Sam sensed but could not see yet more bodies…

* * * *

Dean slid the Impala on to East Wisconsin Avenue and began to look for somewhere to park close to the library. Usually he’d leave the old girl anywhere without giving it too much thought, but after Val’s threats he wasn’t taking any chances.

He cussed under his breath as he realized he was going to have to pay to park, and was just about to consider driving around the block when he spotted a crowd gathering around a small roadside bench.

Dean frowned and let the car come to a stop, suddenly forgetting the chances of getting a ticket. He didn’t know why, but somehow he knew he had to see what was going on. Sliding the lever on the steering column into park, Dean quickly clambered from the Chevy and jogged across the street.

“Excuse me, somthin’ going on here, ma’am?” Dean tried to gently push through the small crowd as he questioned a wiry framed woman who looked at least a hundred.

“Some young man collapsed on the side walk. Won’t let anyone call an ambulance.” She shook her head, worriedly.

Instinctively, Dean kicked into big brother mode before he knew for sure it was Sam on the ground. “Sam?” He called through the mob. “Sammy?”

Sam was sitting up, but to Dean he looked like he should by lying down- preferably in a hospital bed. He was whiter than Ismay’s spirit, and a thick glob of blood had trickled from his nose and was congealing on his upper lip.

“It’s okay. I’ll take it from here.” Dean began waving off the crowd. The last thing Sam needed was an audience to one of his nightmarish revelations. “He’s my brother. I can take care of him…”

The onlookers took Dean’s explanation and began to move away, some disappointed that they weren’t going to get some excitement in their dreary lives- even if it only was likely to be gossip to spread.

When the last ‘gaper’ had vanished, Dean eased Sam back up onto the bench and pulled an extremely creased handkerchief from his pocket. “Dude, wipe that blood off your face, you look like crap again.”

Sam looked at his brother blearily but did as he was told. “Thanks for reminding me how bad I look,” he sighed.“At least this time I think it was worth it.”

“Worth it? Sam, you’re gonna die in one of these fits or whatever they are. Each one gets worse, and the kid is a relentless lil’ S.O.B. He won’t stop just because you’re hurting.” Dean spun around so that his back was facing Sam. This was the third time they’d had this conversation and it wasn’t getting him anywhere. Maybe the Sat Navigation wasn’t such a bad idea…

“Listen, I think I finally know what the kid wants, and we have to hurry!” Sam tried to get up and face Dean off, but his knees refused the command to stand and he flopped weakly back down. “Dean, I don’t think Matthew Ismay is dead!”

Dean abruptly turned back and looked at his brother as if he had gone completely mad. “Are you nuts? What was that we saw, a freakin’ mirage?”

“Listen,” Sam leaned forward, intent on being heard whether Dean believed his theory or not, “This time I saw everything, the motel, and more. There’s a room, it’s locked, hell, barricaded, and the killer was there. He has Matthew locked inside, cowering in a corner like some animal.” Sam’s expression changed from desperate to pleading. “Dean, we have to save him.”

“Sammy, you can’t save someone who is already dead. I know it was sad, but you were at the hospital. He’s dead.” Dean finally gave in to his brother’s puppy dog look and took a seat beside him on the bench. “Whatever he’s showing you must be the past,” he concluded.

Sam shook his head, even though it still throbbed. “No, you said it yourself; demons can make you believe anything. What if Matthew is like me? What if he has gifts the demon wants. It said it had plans, remember?”

Dean did remember, although it was something he wished he didn’t have to. He shot Sam a look, but didn’t respond.

“Dean, what if the demon had the kid abducted and made the hospital staff think he died? Some kind of illusion like the truck…” There was excitement in Sam’s voice as he convinced himself what was happening. “I think Matthew can somehow project himself and he’s been trying to let someone know he’s not dead. That’s why the E.M.F. showed zilch and the rock salt didn’t hurt him. He’s not a spirit!”

“Let me get this straight, you think an eleven year old kid is somehow able to float around, forcing you to have visions because he’s got some kind of psychic gig going on,” Dean winced, “like you?” He added grudgingly. “So how come he can do more stuff than you or Max could and he’s so young?”

Sam didn’t even blink. He’d already thought that fact through and was ready with an answer. “Some scientists think that psychic and psychokinetic abilities are controlled by a part of the brain normal people don’t use, but that people like me and Matthew have tapped into. What if Matthew’s tumor is pressing on that area accelerating the growth of his abilities? Maybe that’s why the demon took him first?”

Dean let a low whistle out through his teeth. “Whoa, you’ve been looking this whole psychic boy stuff up? You’re getting way out there into the twilight zone, you know that right?”

“But what if I’m right? What if the kid isn’t dead and we do nothing? He doesn’t have long before the tumor is inoperable. We have to at least check this out.” Sam pressed hard, knowing that no matter how much Dean thought Sam was losing it, his brother would never risk a child’s life.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Dean watched Sam for a reaction. He still suspected Sam was letting the kid and the visions get the better of him, and he wanted to be sure they made the right move for everyone’s sake. “I vote we find Ismay’s grave, and if the body’s not there, maybe, just maybe I’ll buy this whole projection deal. If the body is there, we salt and burn the bones, job done.” He shrugged. “The way I see it it’s a win, win situation.”

Sam inhaled and took the time to glance up to the library clock face. How many hours did Matthew Ismay have left before there was nothing the doctors could do for him? How many hours before the demon put its plan into motion? “Let’s do it…” Sam pushed up from the bench and this time forced his knees to lock. If his theory was right, they had a kid to find, and not very much time to do it in.

* * * *

Oak Hill Cemetery
Neenah, Wisconsin

The earth was dry and hard, its clay content and lack of rain making any kind of excavation difficult. Digging into the cement-style soil was like ramming a spade into steel. The motion jarred every muscle in Dean’s body, but actually only got him a few measly inches further into the ground with every lunge.

Sweat poured from the elder Winchester until he gave in and dropped his spade for a second to tear off his t-shirt. He tossed the soaked tee on top of the neighboring tombstone and then began to dig again, cursing under his breath for once again getting the short straw.

Damned if he knew how his little brother did it, but whenever there was a body to unearth Dean got the digging, and Sammy got the babysitting or lookout duty. “I am so gonna get me a one-sided coin for times like these…” Dean took out his frustration on the ground, using his upper body strength to take out another few inches of earth until his spade clanked against something solid.

Dean pulled back and took a long, deep breath before mopping his drenched brow with his forearm. The motion left a swatch of dirt across his forehead but Dean never noticed. He glanced warily around the empty cemetery, searching for mourners who might see his totally illegal act and call the police.

It was a risky business exhuming a body at the best of times, but in broad daylight like this, it was plain buckets of crazy. That was why Sam had been strategically placed to look out for possible trouble.

“Long legs are better for climbing my ass,” Dean grouched as he took a peek at the tree Sam had concealed himself in. “Next time I get to play monkey; Sammy boy definitely gets to be the ghoul with the spade.” He brought the tool up over his shoulder and plunged the sharp edge into the top of the casket.

Matthew Ismay had no relatives and his burial had been a simple one. The cheap, thin-lined coffin gave way with ease to the ghost hunter’s spade and Dean leaned back, expecting to be overwhelmed by the sight of Ismay’s bloating body.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Well I’ll be damned, little brother.” He raised a brow and then kneeled down, brushing away loose dirt to check if there was anything at all in the casket. A few rocks lay at one end, and Dean guessed they’d rolled there because the coffin had probably been lowered at an angle. “Guess we got ourselves a motel to find, and fast.”

Dean dropped the spade and reached out to grab the solid earth walls that surrounded him. Digging down to a casket was hard work, but clambering up the hole was a bitch with no one to give you a hand back out.

He cursed as the dry soil crumbled in his hands. “Where’s college boy when you need him…” As if in answer, an outstretched palm appeared over the earthy ledge and Dean grabbed it appreciatively. “About time you made your sorry ass useful…”

Dean paused as he was tugged from the grave not by Sam, but a tall, bearded old man with beady, mischievous eyes that danced in the sunlight.

“You one of those college kids who think it’s funny to come dig up my cemetery, boy?” The man’s brow crinkled questioningly and he gestured to the mess Dean had made. He appeared neither angry nor reproachful, but simply curious as to Dean’s motives.

Way to go, Sammy. Not only do you get to sit out of the sun, but you get my ass canned too! “No, sir,” Dean began with the truth, carefully spinning a lie to follow. “I’m with the police department. We’re investigating Matthew Ismay’s death.” He let his eyes fall to the kid’s tombstone and waited for the old timer’s next move.

“Sonny, don’t you think I know you have to get a court order to exhume a body?” He smirked playfully, looking over into the grave, his eyes twinkling with some bizarre form of mirth. “And of course, the police wouldn’t send one half naked and very scruffy young man. They have professionals for this kind of thing.”

“Let’s just say we’re in a hurry. We have reason to believe the kid isn’t dead, at least not yet.” Dean knew the man, whoever he was, wasn’t buying his story, but he had to try. What he needed right now was some Sammy intervention to save the day or he might just be getting arrested for grave robbing.

The bearded stranger’s upper lip twitched and he crossed his arms. “But of course you’re in a hurry. You’re looking for somewhere, aren’t you?”

Dean took a step back, and his eyes narrowed in both surprise and suspicion. The guy before him should be demanding I.D. and getting ready to call the cops, but instead he was being all-too helpful. In fact, he seemed to know just a little too much for his presence at Ismay’s graveside to be random.

On the other hand, with no body in the casket, and no real clue where the elusive motel was, Dean was prepared to take the risk of dancing with the devil if it saved a kid’s life.

“We have reason to believe the kid,” he pointed at the tombstone again, “is being held captive in an old motel. Someplace off the beaten track that hasn’t been used in years. We know part of the roof is caved in. Anything like that ring any bells?”

The old man pondered the question. “I think you mean the old Melrose place. I used to play there as a kid. It hasn’t been used since the fifties. Too far out to get any business, you see.”

Dean winced, uncertain how to take the new information. Things were coming together just a little too easily, and the more he thought about it the more he was convinced he and Sam where being set up. And where the hell is Sam, anyway? The thought, coupled with the stranger’s openness, brought worry to the young hunter’s heart and he whirled, sudden concern flushing his face.

When Sam’s long, gangly legs appeared on cue and he jumped from the lowest branch of his hideout, Dean let out a sigh and turned back to quiz the old man more.

For Dean, though, there would be no more playing quizmaster. The stranger with the white beard and thinning hair had vanished. The cemetery was once again the empty, solitary place it had been before.

“What are you staring at so intently?” Sam scooted over to Dean’s side and glanced around, uncertain what had turned his brother into a wide-eyed gawker instead of his usual cocky self.

Dean’s gaze strayed from the plethora of granite monuments around them just long enough to shoot his brother a perplexed look. “You didn’t see the old guy? Hell, my ass could have been on the line if he’d have been security or a cop.”

Sam’s confused expression matched Dean’s and he shook his head lightly. “Dean, nobody has passed me. I haven’t seen anyone since you started digging. There was nobody here.”

“Dude, I’m not the one who sees things, remember?” The aggravation in the elder Winchester’s tone made it quite clear he thought Sam had missed the old timer. After all, what other answer could there possibly be? “He was over six feet, grey thinning hair and a beard.”

“Nobody walked, floated, or drove by that tree, Dean.”

Dean grabbed his t-shirt from the tombstone and pointed down into the grave. There was really no point in arguing, but something very weird had just happened. “You were right about the kid. No body, no nothing. What’s more, the guy who ‘was never here’ just happened to know where to find your mystery motel. In fact, he offered up the information without me really having to say anything…”

Sam inhaled and leaned against the cool exterior wall of the vault behind Ismay’s grave. Either he really had missed the old guy, or maybe they were being led into another trap by the demon. The thing had toyed with them like this before and it could certainly be doing so again. “If we find the motel we could be walking straight into a demonic ambush.”

Dean nodded, slipping his t-shirt back on. “Yeah, but if we don’t, your kid is as good as dead…”

* * * *

Melrose’s Motel
Just South of Neenah, Wisconsin

Dean pulled the Impala to a halt and reluctantly shut off the engine. It hadn’t taken much for the brothers to find out where the "old Melrose place" was actually situated, but that didn’t mean he liked the idea of actually visiting the dilapidated dive- there was just too much of a chance that the demon might be here.

Not that Dean didn’t want to send its yellow-eyed ass back to hell, because he wanted nothing more. But still, even at the thought of the thing he tended to see his father’s face after the events in Missouri.

It was like John now personified the thing that he and Sam hated so much. In Dean’s eyes, entering the decaying motel was like walking into the cabin all over again.

“This is as close as we can get with the car.” Dean raised a finger towards their target and pulled out his forty-five, checking to see that he had a full clip. “Looks like there’s more than one bad guy in there,” he noted, wincing at the sight of both trucks parked outside.

Sam nodded. He hadn’t seen anyone but the killer, but he clearly recalled the Freightliner and Dodge from his vision. “The kid’s important to the demon. They wouldn’t risk leaving him with just one guard.”

Dean stuffed his favourite silver automatic back under his jacket and his head tilted slightly as he asked, “I don’t suppose you can see through walls as well as minds?” A grin appeared.“Because it would be real helpful to know how many of the demon’s goons we’re dealing with.”

“Sorry, even I have my limits.” Sam grinned back before exiting the car and heading for the trunk.

The younger Winchester already had his Glock stuffed in the back of his jeans, but selected a rock-salt filled shotgun and holy water to add to his arsenal. He might not be dealing with spirits, but the rock salt provided an alternative to actually shooting someone if Ismay’s guards turned out to be human minions.

He tossed Dean a similar weapon and his brother began sliding shells in until the pump action Remington was full. “So, any ideas on how we get into this place without Mr. Slice and Dice and his buds seeing us? I mean they gotta have lookouts, right? Did you see anything that might help while under projection boy’s influence?”

Sam lightly closed the Chevy’s trunk to avoid making undue noise and took a fleeting glance in the distance at the motel. All he kept thinking about were the white glistening skulls that had glared at him so malevolently in the last vision. Then, he realized the garish items just might have shown him a way in.

“I think there’s a window around back we might be able to get through. It’s close enough to where they’re keeping Matthew and we can use the tree line for cover most of the way over.” Sam licked his lips. “Just be careful what you tread on when you climb through…”

“Don’t tell me, there’s a toilet on the other side?” Dean rested the Remington on his shoulder and his face puckered at an old and unpleasant memory. He’d once climbed through a window and planted his boot right down a rather unkempt toilet bowl. Sam had ribbed him about that for weeks.

This time, Sam wasn’t laughing. “No. Nothing that nice.”

Dean shrugged but didn’t ask his brother to elaborate. They’d both seen enough bad things in their time to know when a subject was "off limits" like now. “Okay, so let’s play cavalry, dude,” he offered instead, jogging into the undergrowth to their left as if he were tracking some wild animal.

Sam followed, keeping close to his big brother, shotgun at the ready.

As they grew closer to the rear of the motel, Dean’s gait slowed and he began scanning the ground for any kind of booby trap. There could be hidden snares or alarm wires anywhere and he didn’t intend to walk the Winchesters right into one.

Just before they reached the edge of the tree line, Dean paused and dropped down to his knees. He didn’t speak, but instead pointed downwards with his finger to something near his toe cap.

Sam recognized the trip wire instantly. It had been placed at just the right height to catch an unsuspecting visitor. Too bad for the bad guys that John had been a marine. Dean and Sam had been trained to look for such devices from childhood. It wasn’t exactly something kindergarteners should have been taught, but it had saved their lives many times. “Snare, or something worse?” Sam whispered, watching as his brother skilfully traced the wire to its final destination.

Dean gently brushed away a section of "fake" undergrowth to reveal sharpened spikes nailed to a lattice section of wood. It didn’t take much imagination to realize what kind of damage the booby trap could do to a human body. “Ouch.” The elder brother winced.“I’m thinking definitely something worse.”

Dean stepped over the wire and then tugged his hunting knife out, disarming the grotesque and archaic weapon. When it was safe to proceed, both brothers slid down the small earthy embankment to their target.

Sam stowed his shotgun under his jacket and tugged out the Glock, taking position on one side of the filthy motel window while Dean waited poised on the other with his forty-five.

After a quick nod, Dean made the first move, swinging his arms outward and spinning around to point his weapon through the window. When he thought it was all clear on the other side, he lowered his weapon a touch and held it in a one-handed pose while he jerked open the stiff-sliding frame.

He tipped his head forward, checking again for bad guys before clambering over the ledge. “Here’s Johnny!” The elder hunter couldn’t resist the ‘Shining’ quip as he dropped down onto the skull-filled table.

As he became aware of what he was trampling he turned his head, repulsed at what one human could do to another. Why the hell would anyone worship a demon that asked for that kind of allegiance? Dean shrugged off the word demon purposefully and as Sam followed him inside put his attention back on finding Matthew Ismay.

The door to the heavily locked room lay ahead, just as Sam had described it. Dean inhaled, brushing a sweating hand across his mouth in thought. This is still too easy. He brought the automatic back up to chest height and his finger tickled the trigger expectantly. “Wanna do the honors, Sammy?” he mouthed, nodding towards the three heavy duty locks they had to get through.

Sam eased past his brother, ducking his towering frame until he was level with the locks. He licked his lips and then pulled his lock-picking tools from his jacket pocket. Each lock gave way to his tinkering within just one minute. Before he opened the door, Sam looked back to Dean, apprehension, fear, anticipation all apparent on his boyish features.

Dean nodded stoically and held his weapon ready, just in case this really was an ambush.

Sam pushed gently on the wood, and when it didn’t yield right away he struggled with the urge to kick at it. Instead, he eventually put his shoulder to the door and bounced on it with his weight behind the move.

The corroded hinges gave way, and finally the door surrendered. Sam moved forward cautiously, his brother only a short distance behind playing bodyguard, automatic swinging in wide, protective arcs.

“Sam…” The voice was hollow, weak, dying. It was more than Sam could take.

Forgetting any caution he had once had, the younger Winchester dived into the shadows, into the gloom he knew held the frail and shivering form of Matthew Ismay. “It’s all right. I finally understood your message. We’re here for you…”

Sam let his lanky legs bend into a crouch, and as his eyes adjusted to the gloom he at last met Matthew face to face. The boy had dark rings under each eye and his sorrowful expression showed the pain he felt every waking moment. Dried blood pock-marked his features where it had dribbled from his nose while he slept on the concrete floor.

“You have to hurry. They know you’re coming.” Matt’s voice sounded nasal and thick, his throat and nose clogged with yet more clotting blood. “You have to know…” he struggled to even form words. Each effort to breathe or make coherent sentences cost him vital energy.

“Shush, whatever it is you can tell me later.” Sam slid an arm under Matthew’s perilously thin body and quickly picked up the eleven-year-old, clutching his head close to his chest to stop his neck lolling backwards. The kid was so light it was difficult for Sam to believe he wasn’t younger. But then, the tumor was eating away at him, and maybe even now they were too late to stop it.

Sam stood from his squat position and turned to face Dean. He didn’t have to say any words. Just the look of gratitude was enough. Dean had trusted Sam’s instincts even when it looked like they were waltzing right into a trap. He had walked into a demonic lair to save this kid, facing his own fears about the demon along the way. To Sam, even though it was his gifts that had brought them here, Dean was the real hero. Dean the protector, the fighter, the big brother who would always be there.

Dean's eyes twinkled and Sam realized his brother had probably guessed his thoughts. He might not have real mind-reading abilities, but it was just uncanny how close Dean got when it came to what Sam was thinking sometimes.

The small show of amusement was short-lived. When Sam moved into the light and Dean saw Matthew for the first time his brow creased and he immediately turned into big brother for not one, but two very special people. “I’ll take point,” he offered, fully intending getting in the way of anyone or anything that dared to cross their path.

Sam wanted to argue but knew he couldn’t. He probably now cradled the life of the most important of all the kids the demon was hunting. He now had to be "big brother" protector too, just like Dean.

“Can you make it through the window carrying him?” Dean queried, sweeping the room with his weapon without looking back.

Sam was about to give an affirmative when he stole a glance towards their escape route. Things had suddenly changed. “Err…Dean, I think we might need a plan B.”

At the sound of uncertainty in his brother’s voice, Dean whirled and immediately spotted the reason. Standing outside the window was a goon that looked like someone right out of a Hell Angel’s magazine.

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