Episode Seven: Golgotha

By Kittsbud

Part Four

The newcomer was tattooed all the way down the right side of his face, wore a red-checked bandana, and had a scowl to match the rest of his scar-covered features. “Trying to take a little trip with our merchandise, bucko?” He spat through chipped, unkempt teeth.

Dean shrugged. “Heard you had a special offer on gifted kids and didn’t want to miss the sale.” He kept the forty-five pointed at the goon, but backed up towards the door they’d just exited, unsure if he was toying with a man, or a demon.

Sam edged back too, noticing the man at the window was not their only problem. “Dean…” From the side room, another bad guy had appeared, and this time the corroding blade in his hand made him all-too familiar.

Dean took a chance and took his eyes momentarily from his target.

As the killer moved into the light, both brothers gaped as at last their foe’s features became visible. Never once had Sam seen the mystery murderer’s face during the visions; had he, things would never have gotten this far.

“You set us up right from the get go, you sonofabitch!” Dean felt his finger tighten on his weapon’s trigger and he kept it aimed at the man before him rather than the minion at the window.

Black eyes flashed and dull laughter filled the room. “One special kid as an offering got me brownie points, but two? Hell, I think I just moved up the corporate ladder a little, don’t you?” Nick lifted the knife in his hands and twisted it in front of him. “Course, I would have enjoyed gutting you freaks a whole lot more, but the master has plans.”

“You knew back at the bar who we were?” Sam recalled now where he’d seen the man, or rather demon, before. “Did you make me see the visions too?”

Nick scoffed. “Your little friend there provided those free of charge. He lured you here with the best of intentions, and I let him.” He chuckled, eyeing Dean with a sadistic smirk. “And you thought I was just some brainless brawn back at the bar. You people will never learn…”

Dean smirked back cockily. “Yeah, well I got the brainless brawn right. Two outta three ain’t bad.” Shit! How the hell do we deal with these freaks without the Colt!

Nick seemed to read his mind. “You don’t. You belong to us now.” He took a step forward. “Shame for you that the master is only interested in Sammy boy. Looks like I get to add another skull to my collection tonight…”

Another ‘follower’ appeared behind the fake bartender like some kind of demonic bodyguard. He held an old but probably very effective shotgun in his hands, but at this point didn’t attempt to take aim. The room now had three bad guys, one of which at least was pretty much unstoppable.

“Time for a tactical retreat, Sammy!” Dean let of four rounds straight at Nick’s kneecaps. If Nick was possessed then the human part of him would live, but hopefully the move would knock him off his feet right now and buy precious seconds.

The plan half worked, and the demon stumbled forward, his followers unsure how to proceed until he barked a command.

Using the distraction, Sam backed completely into the barricaded room and settled Matthew back on the floor, then returned to the doorway. In the half a second he’d been away, ‘bodyguard dude’ had advanced on Dean and was just asking to take a slug.

Dean considered another leg shot, but hesitated just long enough for Sam to get there first.

Sam pulled his salt-filled shotgun from beneath his jacket and gave the six-five behemoth attacking his brother both barrels. The goon took the salt right in the gut and was blasted backwards with the impact. His momentum carried him arms flailing straight into his boss’s gruesome, fly infested altar.

“Sammy!” Dean spun around, checking where the first bad guy had gone. Instead of catching a glimpse of his quarry, he soon realized that ‘knee capping’ the demon hadn’t had a very lasting effect.

Nick’s rather cumbersome form sprang from the motel room floor with surprising agility, his rage making him forget just what and who he was here for. In a fit of uncontrolled wrath the bartender slashed out with his recently sharpened weapon and only Dean’s panicked cry saved Sam from a fatal stab wound.

Sam jerked back intuitively at his brother’s yelp and Nick’s knife caught the side of his jacket, merely slicing at his flesh instead of plunging right through into his stomach.

The blade glanced off his ribs, causing a thick red welt on his t-shirt where the blood instantly soaked through. Sam ignored the stinging sensation and expertly dodged another lunge whilst digging a hand deep into his pocket.

He had one last weapon, and it might buy them another minute. “Time for a bath, dude.” Sam retrieved the holy water he’d gotten from the Impala’s trunk and sprayed it straight into Nick’s eyes.

Nick recoiled, grabbing at his boiling, scab covered flesh but he didn’t run. Behind him, the two other goons were regrouping. The only way out through the window was now cut off, and the Winchesters' only sanctuary was back into the tiny barricaded room.

“Sam, in here…” Matthew’s quivering voice called to the younger hunter and Sam sensed backing up truly was their only option.

“Dude, we go back in there and we’re walking into our own graves.” Dean shot his brother a look of despair, but knew there was no place else to go. “Hell, no way is that freaky sonofabitch bleaching my skull for his next party trick!”

Dean squeezed on his trigger repeatedly, emptying his clip into Nick’s legs until the demon was thrown back against his buddies. Instead of reloading, Dean stuffed the auto in his jeans and tugged out the Remington.

As he gained a tight grip on the butt, he backed up until he was inside Matthew’s ‘cell,’ keeping an aim on the bad guys until Sam managed to tug the door closed.

“Dean, no way can we keep this door closed on our own,” Sam shook his head and swiftly looked around for anything in the shadows they could use. Because the door swung outwards, other than their own weight on it, there was little they could do. There would be no wedging a dresser up to stop anyone entering- not that there was a dresser in the room anyway.

“Sam, you can do it…” Matthew struggled to sit up, but his fatigued muscles wanted to sleep forever. “I’m too tired…so tired…but you’re stronger.” He coughed, “I know you’ve done it before…”

Dean shot the kid a look and couldn’t help but feel compassion. He stole a glance to the door and didn’t quite know whether to cradle the dying kid in his arms and comfort him, or make a last ditch effort to stop the bad guys entering. In the end, he decided surrender of any kind wasn’t an option and joined Sam to try and hold the door shut.

“Just what the hell is he talking about, little brother?” Dean put a hand over Sam’s and felt the door straining against their grip. The demon’s underlings were already swinging on the door handle to open it the other side. Once Nick recovered from the holy water he would probably blast it open with sheer wrath.

Sam knew what Matthew expected, but he couldn’t do it. His gifts were weaker, less trained. He couldn’t hold off the demon with the power of his mind alone. I can’t do it. I don’t know how!

“Sam,” Matt hacked again, this time bringing up congealed blood that had drained down his throat. “You have to concentrate…think about what you need to do. Focus on the door…nothing else matters but the door. I’m too weak…” With the last strength ebbing from his body, Matt’s head lolled backwards, but he still remained conscious- barely.

“I can’t control it,” Sam begged, shaking his head in misery, “the only time I’ve ever moved anything was in blind panic for someone’s life. I never had power over anything.”

Dean felt the door shudder and then whoever was on the other side seemed to suddenly loosen their grip. If they weren’t trying to yank the door open, that probably meant one other thing. “Sammy, duck!”

Both brothers took a swan dive for the floor just as part of the door exploded in on them. Shards of rotten wood and splinters rained down as buckshot blew away the lock section and part of the framework.

“I’d say those blind panic powers ought to be kicking in right about now, dude, because we’re about to get our asses kicked by the demon bartender and the waiters from hell,” Dean winced and put a hand to his brow as he noted a sliver of wood had cut into his temple. Damn, near scalped me already…

Sam scrambled up until he was resting back on both arms, staring wildly at the half-demolished door.

“Now, Sammy!” Dean barked out the order and hoped he sounded enough like their father to jog Sam into action. Sam might not be the obedient soldier Dean was, but he still respected John’s training and what it stood for.

As Dean snapped his orders, Matthew seemed to stir. He swallowed hard, trying to get out words through blood-clogged sinuses. “You can do it, Sam. Just feel it…you have as much power as they do if you can just harness it…”

“Listen to the kid.” Dean had no clue whether Ismay was even in his right mind he looked so sick, but if Sam believed, then maybe that was enough. As he watched, Matt’s eyes rolled back and the hunter feared their failed rescue was too late anyway.

Ignoring Sam and the doorway for just a moment, Dean rolled across the floor to the kid’s side, Remington in hand. “Hey there, buddy,” he soothed, rolling Matt’s head onto his lap. “You gotta stick with us, ya hear? I haven’t kicked butt all afternoon for you to just give in, okay?”

Matt’s eyes opened and lit up for the briefest of moments and a smile played across his greying lips. “The floor,” he whispered, letting his gaze roll sideways, “the floorboards are loose. Tried to pry them up when they first brought me here…you can get out, under the wood… under motel…”

Dean followed the kid’s gaze and spotted the raised wood. The flooring was old, just like the motel, and maybe, just maybe with his strength he could finish what the kid couldn’t. “You gotta hold ‘em off, Sammy, while I get us out of this roach motel.”

Dean scrambled across the bare floor to the raised, rotting planks, glancing once to see if his brother understood him. Sam didn’t acknowledge he did, but instead scurried into the far corner, tugging something from his pocket in his panicked race against time.

Dean hoped Sam’s move meant he had a plan, and so he concentrated on his own task at hand. Looking at the planks he spotted what looked like tried blood on the edges, probably where Matthew had scraped with his fingers until they’d become raw. The elder brother grimaced but flicked out his hunting knife and wedged it under the raised edge.

Using the adjoining board as leverage, he quickly broke the insecure piece off and grabbed at the next plank with his free hand. He yanked back hard, putting all his strength into tugging the next section of board away from the nails that held it. In the end, the wood lice-infested piece of lumber snapped, its far end crumbling under the pressure.

Dean repeated the procedure until there was a hole big enough for even Sam’s towering frame to squeeze through. He peered down beneath the motel and wondered just how many rats were living in the darkness. Damn, I hate rats…

Another shotgun blast hit the doorway, forcing Dean to look up from his escape route. This time, the buckshot had obliterated what was left of their protection. Only the topmost half of the door and its hinges remained, swinging helplessly from the attack, and that too would soon be gone.

The remnants of the door abruptly blasted inwards as if some unearthly zephyr had caught it unawares. Dean held a hand up to instinctively to protect himself, knowing that this was the demon’s work. When it was safe to move his palm from his eyes, Nick stood before him where the door had once been.

The demon’s face still held the scars from the holy water, some having burnt deep to the bone, but he still managed a small leer as he entered the make-shift prison. He looked around, at first only seeing Dean and his charge.

Nick’s eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the escape route Dean had made in the floor. For an instant, he even considered the fact that perhaps Sam had already fled the scene.

The demon’s momentary hesitation was enough.

Sam pounced from the shadows, eyes fixated on his target. He didn’t have the physical strength to toss Nick, but Matthew had convinced him he had the mental power to do it, just like he had at the hospital in Missouri.

Nick howled as his legs tore unexpectedly from beneath him and he was slammed into the motel wall like a doll. Sam winced, realizing his ‘aim’ was a little off, and tried again.

This time, Nick was almost ready for him, and a psychic tug of war ensued. One minute Nick was pinned to the wall, suffering a taste of his own medicine, the next he was mentally tossed into the gloom where Sam had scrambled only seconds earlier.

Dean watched, awestruck at what his brother had achieved, and when Nick didn’t reappear from the darkest reaches of the room, raised a brow.

“You gave me the idea.” Sam sat on the floor, panting, but couldn’t help a small smile at his brother. “Roach motel,” he grinned, holding up a small piece of chalk he’d had in his pocket.

Dean squinted but still couldn’t see Nick. He could, however, hear the depraved cursing coming from where the demon had been trapped inside Sam’s improvised protective circle. “I would say impressive, but I don’t want your head swelling any bigger than it already is.” He whirled towards the doorway, sensing company. “Not to mention it ain’t over ‘til it’s over…”

Nick’s two goons where waiting. One didn’t appear to have a weapon, but the other still held the shotgun from earlier. Neither man seemed sure what to do until their ‘superior’ began spitting vile comments their way from where he was held out of sight. Each comment made it clear what would happen should they fail in their mission for ‘the master.’

“Back off, dudes, I’m not afraid to use this thing,” Dean still gripped the Remington, but knew its rock salt load would only slow the men down. He glanced to his still bleeding brother. “Sammy, get the kid out while I baby-mind the Olsen twins here…”

Sam appeared dazed, his body and mind’s strength sapped from overexertion. Eventually, he gulped and clambered on hands and knees to Matt’s side. The eleven year-old appeared unconscious until Sam tried to lift him. As Sam’s arm curled under his back, Matt stirred. “I knew you…could do…it. There’s so much we can do, Sam…”

“It’s okay,” Sam shot Dean’s escape ‘tunnel’ a glance and wondered if he should use it or try to brush past the goons while Dean held his weapon on them. The lead bad guy fidgeted under Sam’s gaze. He’s gonna try something… “You can tell me later,” he finished as he scooped up Matt and carefully began to clamber down the small opening in the floor.

Nick, still invisible in the darkness, realized his quarry was escaping and what his fate would now be. His father, the master, never took kindly to failure. There was no compassion among demons, only allegiance or deceit. “Kill them or you’ll burn! You’ll all burn!” More tainted language followed, and as Sam’s head vanished beneath the floor of the motel, the lead goon finally decided he wanted to keep his skull a little longer.

Dean saw the move coming and emptied two shells into the aggressor before he could get close. The bad guy dropped his own weapon and clutched at where the rock salt had bit into his flesh making a terrible burning sensation under his skin.

While Dean’s attention was taken with goon number one, the second bad guy decided for a full frontal assault even though he had no weapon at all. He charged like a bull, and before Dean could get off another shot, the two crumpled to a heap on the floor.

Winded by the collision, Dean dropped the Remington momentarily and was forced to reach out, struggling to reaffirm his grip before the bad guy got the upper hand.

He grabbed the wooden stock with the tip of his fingers; only to lose contact again as his foe slammed a right hook straight to his jaw. Dean took the blow with a grunt and brought his knee up straight into his enemy’s gut. To the guy’s credit, he faltered only briefly and then tried slugging Dean in the face again.

Dean yanked his head to the left so fast it hurt, dodging the punch before finally snatching his shotgun's barrel with his outstretched hand. There was no time to turn the weapon and aim, and no room to maneuver it anyway. He simply brought the Remington down hard on his opponent’s head and hoped he hadn’t done too much damage.

The man tottered, lurching forward until his unconscious mass slumped down on top of Dean.

Dean groaned, ignoring Nick’s now desperate screaming as he shoved the dead weight away and made a mad dash for his escape route. The first bad guy was stirring, and he really didn’t want to be around for a second fist fight with Olsen number one.

As darkness enclosed him, Dean could hear Sam up ahead frantically talking to the kid he was now being forced to almost drag in the cramped conditions. There was little room beneath the motel, and definitely no room to actually carry Matt.

Dean fumbled in his pocket for a Maglite as he shuffled along on his stomach. Once he’d retrieved the tiny flashlight he twisted the lens, illuminating under the Melrose Motel’s decking.

To his right, an inquisitive rodent cocked its head, nose twitching before scurrying away into a hole in the woodwork. Great, rats, I knew it!

“Dean, hurry!” From somewhere ahead Sam’s voice beckoned him on.

Dean pushed his elbows and knees to work faster until he could see the opening Sam had exited via. It looked like the longer-legged Winchester had actually kicked his way out through a mite-infected section of decking, and he was now looking around for the company that would surely follow.

Matthew Ismay still lay in his brother’s careful grasp, but Dean noted Sam seemed to be struggling to bear his weight. Blood from the cut to his side had turned his brother’s t-shirt a glaring shade of crimson, and that coupled with exhaustion from the visions was finally taking its toll. As he watched, Sam seemed to sway on his feet, his eyes blinking desperately as he tried to stay in control of his muscles.

Dean tugged free from the motel’s underbelly and didn’t waste time trying to brush away the dirt and cobwebs that had covered him. Instead, he took stock of the situation.

As far as he could tell no one was following- yet. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t once the ‘Olsens’ freed Nick. All he and Sam had to do was make a dash across the open ground to the Impala and hope they made it first. Looking at Sam, that might not be so easy.

“Dude, you look like…”

“Yeah, crap, I know,” Sam countered, tired of the insinuation. “Now can we just get to the car?”

Dean offered up the Remington he’d recovered and gently took Matt from his brother’s arms. “You’re bleeding, man. Let me take the kid.”

Sam reluctantly let go his grip on the now unmoving eleven year-old and tried to break into a jog at the side of his brother. Any life that had been left in Matt seemed to have waned away as they’d escaped, and Sam now feared he wouldn’t even make it back to the hospital. Everything they had done would probably be for nothing. He didn’t care about the cost to himself, but Matt had suffered, both at nature’s hand with the tumor, and now the demon too. Why? Why were we given these gifts? All they bring us is torment, grief…death.

A shot landed at their feet as they ran, kicking up dusty sods of earth and making it all too apparent they were being pursued again already. Sam didn’t seem to notice, his mind was already foggy with defeat and his body weary. He glanced back and was thankful their followers were at least the human kind. Perhaps Nick was still bound inside the protective circle.

Dean picked up the pace, hoping he wasn’t jarring Matt too much as he lengthened his strides towards the Impala. Another shot rang out, ricocheting from the Chevy as it took out a chunk of metal from the passenger door. “Sonofa…” He reached the hood and turned, looking for his brother.

Sam was trailing behind, hand clutched to his side where the rusted blade had nicked him. “Go! Start the car!”

Dean nodded, yanking the rear door open and placing Matt carefully across the seat. He left the door ajar, knowing Sam would want to travel with the youngster.

More bullets bounced off the ground, but Dean ignored them and jumped behind the steering wheel, keys at the ready. As he cranked the ignition and floored the gas, Sam dived into the back of the car, his legs still dangling outside as Dean pulled a one-eighty and headed back for the open road.

“You two okay back there?” Dean dared to glance in the rear view as Sam tugged himself into a sitting position. He knew damn well neither of them was ‘okay’ but he needed to know that neither had been clipped by one of the bullets that had been flying around.

Sam shook himself and eased Matt’s head onto his lap. He checked for any new injuries, but all that he could see was a fresh stain of blood from the kid’s nose. He slid a finger to Matt’s neck, feeling his pulse. It was weak and thready. “Nothing new,” he said morosely. “But he’s dying anyway.”

Dean checked his mirrors again and swallowed hard. He’d never really known the kid, and yet he felt a connection, maybe not to the extent Sam did because of the shared gifts, but a connection nonetheless. He didn’t want to see Matt die, not here, not anywhere. “Never give in, Sammy, you should know that. Did you give up on me back in Missouri?”

Sam thought back, recalling Dean lying bloodied in his arms just like Matt was. It was something he’d never wish to experience again, but here he was, and all because of the damn demon.

“Sam…” Somehow, Matt’s eyes fluttered open.

“I’m here,” Sam offered sensitively, holding the kid as the car bucked over rough spots in the road.

“Don’t feel bad, Sam. You tried,” Matt’s expression was one of happiness, even though he knew what was happening. “Better for me to die free than with the…the demon.”

At the mention of the word Sam recoiled, thinking of his mom, Jess, the skulls, and the horror Matthew had probably witnessed. “Why? Why are we so important to them?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Matt inhaled sharply and then began to cough. Each hack becoming deeper and more intense 'til his body shook with the effort. When the bout finally abated he trembled in Sam’s grip, desperate to answer before succumbing. “The balance, Sam…we’re the balance…without us…” His eyes slid gently closed, and even though his chest still rose and fell pitifully slowly, Sam knew there would be no more answers.

What does that mean? The balance between what? Why couldn’t I understand the visions sooner? I could have stopped this, had the answers I need, saved a life… My fault… Sam was jarred back to reality by his brother spitting out cuss words as he glanced behind.

“Shit!” Dean hit the Chevy’s brakes and pulled the car’s steering wheel hard to the right, forcing the Impala to lean heavily, its frame groaning with effort. “We got a tail. It’s the Dodge, and he’s catching us up.”

“I thought this thing was supposed to be fast for a classic?” Sam turned, momentarily taking his attention from Matthew to the vehicle chasing them. Dean was right, the Ram was definitely gaining.

“Hey,” Dean shot a pained look at his brother for daring to insult his ‘baby,’ “This thing was built for comfort not superspeed. Besides, he must have got a booster to be catching us up this fast…”

“Now what?” Spooks, Sam could deal with, but he was no stunt driver. “We don’t have time for any detours, we need the hospital!”

Dean took another tight turn and almost growled at his younger sibling, “Maybe you wanna come up here and drive?” He rolled his eyes. “On second thought, maybe not…” He slid the car onto the main highway and began to pray under his breath.

Dean was not a friend of the law. How could he be when he was not only officially dead, but also an officially dead suspected murderer? However, on this occasion he was willing to bend and actually seek out a cruiser.

Cops tended to pick their spots for speed traps, and of course Dean knew how to best avoid them. Right now, he was searching one out like the Impala was a ‘cop seeking’ raven black missile.

Dean glanced at the speedometer needle and whistled. “Man, that overhaul worked wonders.”

“What are you..?” Sam asked, bewildered at his brother’s driving tactics. Suddenly, it all became clear. “Dean, we got a cop on our tail!”

“Bingo!” Dean’s face cracked into an ear-to-ear grin as the cruiser’s siren began to wail and its lights began to whirl in a kaleidoscope of color behind them. “Let’s see if the ‘Olsens’ want to follow us now…” As he watched, the Dodge slowed and inconspicuously slinked off onto a side road. “Guess not,” he shrugged brashly.

Sam peered through the rear window. “So now what? How do we get rid of the cops?”

“We don’t,” Dean answered somewhat smugly. “Consider them our escort. Hell, everyone gets out of the way of the cops, right?”

Ten Minutes Later…

Dean kept his foot on the gas until he hit the outskirts of town and then slowed somewhat, knowing that he had to be more cautious wherever there was a chance of causing an accident.

The cruiser behind him matched his speed but didn’t try to intercept, the driver all-too aware of what the consequences might be in a built up area.

At the sight of the children’s hospital emergency entrance, Dean slowed more, hitting the Chevy’s horn to let people know he was coming in fast, and that he had someone who needed help on board.

“Dean…” Sam glanced back at the cop car as the Impala ground to a halt and then pushed open the heavy rear door to try to carry Matt into the E.R.

Dean ignored Sam’s plea and the wailing police siren, and scooted to the back of the car, plucking Matt from his brother’s arms with the intention of carrying him inside. Sam protested, but was in no shape to fight off his sibling.

“I’ll take it from here, Sammy.” Dean glanced at his brother, bleeding and forlorn, and he knew Sam thought there was no hope for Matt. Maybe he’d even seen it. “Sam, you need to get that cut checked out…”

Sam just nodded dolefully, but didn’t attempt to move. He’d had enough fighting demons to last him his entire life, or at least that’s how it felt right now. Kids, why does it always have to be helpless kids…

Dean wanted to console his brother, to tell him it was normal to feel that way, but he was out of time. Two of Wisconsin’s finest had exited their cruiser, guns drawn, and if he wanted to get Matt inside first he had to move.

Offering a quick glance at the cops as they shouted him to stop, Dean bounded through the hospital doors and up to the duty nurse. Some of the already waiting patients shot him a dirty look as he ‘jumped the queue’ but Dean didn’t care.

“Excuse me, miss, I need some help here.” The elder Winchester felt Matt’s weight move just a fraction in his arms and it gave him hope that maybe there was still a chance. “He has a tumor…you should have his records…” Dean had never felt so powerless, so unable to fight off what was happening, and it hurt just as much as if it were Sam he was gently cradling. “Matthew Ismay,” he explained, “I think you might have him listed as deceased…”

The young nurse took one look at the spindly child in Dean’s arms and immediately pushed away the shameless thoughts she’d had the moment she’d set eyes on the hunter. “Bring him through.” She hopped from her seat, frowning, and ushered Dean into a cubicle. While he set Matt down, she vanished, reappearing a second later with a doctor.

“We can take it from here, young man…”

Dean nodded absentmindedly, but didn’t want to move until he had answers. He stepped back through the curtain grudgingly and then remembered he had another injured party to deal with.

Sam was still probably in the Impala, bleeding all over the leather. Why don’t I just get the interior redone in red, it would save me a helluva lot of cleaning. Dean shrugged as he recalled how he’d bled all over it himself back in Missouri.

First he had to ditch the cops, and then he could work on getting Sam cleaned up and looking half-human again.

“Hold it right there, buddy.” Dean turned, knowing his police ‘escort’ had finally caught up with him. Both patrolmen had their weapons trained on him, and the people in the waiting area were looking decidedly spooked.

He raised his hands, wondering if he should slip out one of his fake detective I.D.s and ‘wing it’ or admit the truth- he’d been speeding to save a life. “Dudes, chill,” he smirked, “I can explain everything…”

* * * *

Children’s Hospital of Wisconsin,
The Next Day

“So, is psychic boy gonna tell me just how he tossed the demon yesterday?” Dean stole a glance at his brother as he maneuvered the Impala through an automatic barrier at the hospital. “I mean, pretty impressive, dude, even for you.” For once, he wasn’t kidding.

Sam’s gifts never ceased to amaze the elder Winchester, but sometimes he held back on discussing it because he knew it freaked his brother out. Sometimes, it freaked Dean out too. That was why he’d waited until now to bring the subject up; because it was obvious Sam was still sulking over Matt’s condition. Heck, knowing Sam he was shouldering the blame all to himself for not finding the kid fast enough.

Sam wound down the side window and peered out, abruptly feeling smothered by the subject. He’d moved things before- even tossed a demon once, but never because he’d actually planned it. The gifts had come spontaneously, at least until the previous day.

Somehow, Matt Ismay had helped him focus his abilities and use them as a weapon against the bad guys. The only problem was, without Matt, Sam wasn’t sure it was something he could repeat. The kid had knowledge and intuition he just hadn’t learned about his fledgling powers yet. If Matt lived, Sam suspected even though he was only eleven, he could easily end up being some kind of mentor. The tumor had advanced his abilities growth, who knew what he’d also managed to learn about the demon? We’re the balance…

Sam shook himself and turned back to his brother as Dean expertly tucked the Impala into an empty space. “I don’t think it was me,” he finally admitted, rubbing his temple as if another headache was about to set in. “At least, not all of it. I think Matt helped me channel whatever it was, kind of like a guy with a limp needs a crutch, I needed Matt…”

Dean nodded at the idiom but didn’t speak. He could tell Sam was having a hard time, and that was nothing new. No matter how hard he tried to put some fun or humor into their lives, no matter how hard he tried to shield his brother, Sam would always end up feeling low like this.

Dean climbed from the Chevy and checked out the charges for the hospital lot. Maybe if he got some good news about the kid for Sam, he could drag ‘dimply smile’ back from where it had been hiding. He groaned as he saw the fees but still slipped a hand into his pocket to sift through his loose change. Man, it’s expensive to be sick in this town!

“So, my turn at questions and answers.” Sam cupped his hands on the Chevy’s roof, “Are you going to tell me how you ditched those cops, or not?” He looked on impatiently as his brother checked the coins in his hand and then looked up, smirking.

“Told you, Sammy, I’m charmed!”

Sam huffed, teasingly. “Dude, no offense, but no way you’re any match for the Halliwells.”

“At least I’m not a boring ‘Gilmore Girl,’” Dean chuckled and spun around to lock the Impala. As he slipped the key in the lock he spotted a red sixty-nine Charger two cars up and whistled. “Whoa, check out those lines…she’s got the most gorgeous a…”

“Dean!” Sam groaned, cutting his brother off from further thought. “It’s a car, not a pin up.”

“Not just a car,” a familiar voice offered. “It’s a classic, right, Dean?”

Both brothers turned to see Val smiling at them, hands on hips.

Dean nodded, suddenly speechless, and gawked further when the pretty nurse headed for the gleaming V8. “She’s yours?” He asked incredulously. “You threatened the Impala with the crusher and you drive that?”

Val hunched her shoulders in a swift shrug and quickly opened up the Dodge. “Cars I get, people are just…”

“Crazy,” Dean grinned, finally admitting he and the brazen nurse were on the same wavelength. “So,” he cleared his throat, trying to become a little more serious. “Is there any news about Matthew? The doctors said it might be this morning. We came as early as we could…”

Val’s face visibly changed. She’d been happy to hear the kid wasn’t a ghost at all. Not only did it prove her theory that ‘the hereafter’ didn’t exist, but it also meant the youngster might survive. Now it looked like that wasn’t going to happen.

“Matt made it through the surgery, but it didn’t go well. He’s in a coma and the doctors don’t hold out much hope he’ll ever wake up. I’m sorry. I know how hard you two worked to save him, I really do.” Val watched as both brothers shared a look. They were clearly upset, but she wasn’t sure of their reasoning. Was it simply just another ghostbusting case to them? Where they upset because they couldn’t interrogate the kid about how he’d ‘projected’ himself?

Sam convinced her otherwise. His soft, almost tearful voice cracking as he begged, “No chance at all?”

“I wished I could say I believe in miracles, but I really don’t,” Val admitted, climbing into her car and tossing her purse onto the vacant seat, “I don’t believe in miracles, and I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Dean leaned on the Charger’s door, peering in through the open window, his face perfectly serious. “How can you be so sure? In your job don’t you see miracles every day? There has to be something more out there than us, right?”

Val patted the Dodge’s steering wheel. “This car? It belonged to my husband. He idolized the damn thing just a little more than he even loved me.” The nurse screwed up her face as bad memories brought moisture to her eyes. “One day he was driving home from work when a truck shed its load. He never even knew what hit him. A steel sheet slammed straight through the windshield…”

“I think we get the picture,” Dean consoled, “but if brings so many bad memories why did you keep it?”

Val smiled. “Because it was Tony’s, and for awhile, like you, I believed if his will was strong enough, Tony could come back. I waited; I waited so long, but nothing. Not even in this damn thing that he adored!” She was angry now, angry at a world that would deny her even one last vestige of hope that love could live on after death.

Realizing she’d said two much in front of two relative strangers, Val plucked a tissue from the glove box and rubbed at her streaming eyes. Eventually, when her vision cleared, she looked to Sam, hoping to change the subject. “How’s your side? Hopefully not too sore?”

“Sore? Heck, he pulled through three stitches last night trying out a new yoga move!” Dean answered for his brother, wiggling his eyebrows with just a little too much fervor.

“Dude, that was so not yoga…” Sam looked sideways and then crossed his arms resignedly. Dean would never let the whole yoga thing drop, even if he had partaken in it himself since the accident in the Impala.

"Riiiggght,” Dean exaggerated, “Some martial arts crap or something. Suurreee…”

The brothers’ mirth brought a smile back to the nurse’s face and she cranked the engine of her classic. The Dodge roared to life, its grumbling V8 challenging even the roar of the Impala. Dean scowled with a slight pang of ‘car jealousy’ but then winked as Val began to pull from her spot.

She smiled back, tapping the brakes lightly to address Sam. “Still want to know how your smart-Alec brother lost the two traffic cops?” Val waved an arrest sheet in the air and then tore it in two. “My brother works traffic, remember?” She laughed before powering up her window and heading out towards the lot’s exit.

“No way, man, of all the cops in Wisconsin you’re lucky enough to get her brother?”

“Told you I was charmed, Sammy.” Dean winked again and headed back to the Impala, hands in pockets.

Sam scurried behind, still not getting something. “So, gonna tell me why the self-confessed babe magnet that is Dean Winchester didn’t just try to hand over his cell number to one very pretty nurse?”

“Oh, because I think the husband, Tony, might have something to say about it.” The elder Winchester pulled out his home-made E.M.F. meter and pointed it at the Charger now vanishing into the milling traffic on the highway. Even at this distance, the meter was red-lining. “That thing makes Christine look like a pussycat.” He slipped the meter back in his pocket and climbed into the Chevy.

“You’re not going to tell her?” Sam joined his brother in the car, incredulous that they were letting a spook get away.

“What do you want me to do? Say ‘Hey, you're wrong, your husband is with you everywhere you go, just like you hoped. Now I gotta get rid of his spook ass?’ C’mon, Sammy, he’s watching over her.” Dean shrugged, and then a playful grin spread across his features. “Either that, or he really does love the car more than his wife.”

“Dean!” Sam slammed a mock-punch into his brother’s arm but then sobered, “Seriously, Dean, we’re just leaving Wisconsin? Leaving Matt, leaving,” he shot the highway a glance, meaning the ghost of Val’s husband.

“Dude, I feel for the kid as much as you do, but we’re not doctors. We did our best and there’s nothing more we can do here.” Dean fumbled with the Impala’s keys, trying to think of something useful to say, but he was never the philosophical one. “I know you wanted to save him, to have answers to everything, but at least we know more now.”

“Know what? I mean, what the hell is "we’re the balance" supposed to mean?” Sam’s tone wasn’t angry, but it was clear that frustration was building the more he thought about things. “All I know is that some damn demon is hell bent on taking certain kids for reasons unknown. The harder I try to understand, the more people die!” he slammed a fist into the dash, taking out pent up rage. “And what about the guy in the cemetery? Was he a bad guy too? Are we being watched that closely?”

“Hey!” It was Dean’s turn to raise his voice. “You didn’t just stumble on this, the priest and his note played a part. Now, I don’t know him, or the guy in the cemetery, maybe I never will, but they’re either with us, or they’re working for Mr. Sparkly eyes the fire freak. The way I figure it, the priest at least is like you, Max, and the kid. That means eventually, we will find answers, Sammy. You’re not alone in this.”

Sam looked to the floor. “No, we just feel alone. Can you imagine how it must have been for Matt to learn what he could do and have no one to confide in? No family?” No big brother. “How terrifying to know that demons do exist, and that one of them is after you? He was just a kid!”

“He is just a kid, Sam. He’s not dead.” Dean slid the keys in and fired up the Chevy’s engine. When the roar of ignition dulled, he looked over to his woeful brother with a glimmer of hope. “You have to think of it this way, little brother, Matt isn’t dead, he’s just someplace the demon can’t hurt him anymore. I have a feeling when this whole gig is over, a lot more people will be wishing they were there too…”

Dean didn’t say anymore, he just headed out for the highway towards Melrose’s motel. It was doubtful Nick was still held in the protective circle there, but if he was, the Winchesters had one last debt to pay in Neenah, and damned if they wouldn’t enjoy sending his demon ass back to hell.

As he steered the roaring car down the empty track to the motel, dust clouds billowing in its wake, Dean never even noticed the stranger watching from the roadside. Some might have said the fresh rain spattering the car’s windshield had obscured the hunter’s view, others might have given a more startling reason- perhaps the stranger wasn’t even visible unless he so wished it.

The old man’s head cocked to one side and he smiled, his almost-white beard twitching with amusement just as it had back in the cemetery. Matthew Ismay’s soul had been saved from the demon’s grasp, the balance, although skewed had been saved from further harm.

The stranger’s eyes twinkled with satisfaction as he watched the Impala and its very special occupants disappear from view over the horizon. For now, he could leave, free in the knowledge that something very big, and very bad had been averted. That day would come again, however, because the powers of darkness were relentless in their pursuits. And when that day came, he had no doubt he and the Winchesters would meet again.

A small breeze blew across the nearby road surface, churning yet more spirals of dust in the air like mini-whirlwinds. The old-timer turned into the gust, his insubstantial form melting down into the zephyr and vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

In the Impala, the Stones' ‘Gimme Shelter’ blasted from the overburdened speakers, but for some, until the crusade was over, there would be no shelter, no peace, no respite.

The End

Discuss the episode here

E-Mail the Author!