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In case anyone’s worried, I promise this story will stay spoiler free for all of season 2 :)
Pictures on the Wall: Chapter Two
Present Day
Sam showered, ate (pizza, because it could last at least another two days) and even had the TV showing some Chuck Norris action movie without disturbing Dean. His brother hadn’t even rolled over. Sam breathed deep, enjoying the peaceful quietude. Four days of non-stop, bizarrely hyper and eventually hallucinating Dean was way too much. Dean when he was being his normal self could be a little hard going at times, but at least he slept relatively regularly. Feverish and paranoid Dean was a whole other pain in the ass.
Still, Sam mused as he sipped a bottle of Pepsi and peered at the laptop, things could have gone so much worse. What would he have done if Dean had launched straight into a salt and burn of the pictures? Sam paused, bottle poised in midair as he mused.
Yeah, hiding the pictures would probably be a really good idea.
Sam pulled the laptop’s lid down, set the bottle next to it and got up to gather the pictures off of the floor. He couldn’t help but look again, mentally cursing Dean and his contagious paranoia, but of course there was nothing moving in the stupid pictures that had made his life hell and oh goddamnit how Sam wished he could just burn them and save himself from having to deal with Dean if he was still crazy when he woke up because there was no way Sam would be able to find the energy to deal with Dean if he was still crazy and...
Whoa. He was going in circles.
Taking a steadying breath, Sam shoved the pictures into the back of a drawer and returned to his seat. He gazed out the window, watching the snow drift lethargically from the dark sky. He was glad Dean had retained enough sense to insist on driving out of the more mountainous areas before they’d found a motel to crash in. Chances were they wouldn’t get snowed in here, meaning they’d be able to move on easily. Although Sam wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get in the car and drive around in any kind of snow… Years spent in California had probably dulled his ability to drive through the slippery conditions and there was no way he was letting Dean drive because crazy big brother would probably see ghosts running rampage in every billboard and stop at each one to burn them to the ground.
Sam figured he’d be doing Colorado’s billboards a favour by keeping Dean drugged.
Still… Sam looked at the snow-encrusted parking lot and didn’t even try to stifle the sigh. What he wouldn’t do for a warm day, empty of worry and responsibility.
The TV gave a loud burst of gunfire, jerking Sam back to the present. He looked over at Dean. Nope, nothing was going to disturb Dean’s sleep tonight. Sam couldn’t help but let the relief bring a grin to his face. He’d never been so happy to have his brother knocked out.
Looking at his watch, Sam noted that the hour was far later than he had realised. Deciding he’d had enough of Chuck Norris running around jungles, Sam thumbed the TV off and headed for his own bed. He was settled under the covers and soon had the light out. Insomnia agreed to take a backseat to Sam’s lingering cold-induced tiredness and, after promising himself he’d wake up early to check on Dean, Sam was asleep within fifteen minutes.
That was a personal best these days.
They ran into a snag pretty quickly.
“That’s a lot of security for a bunch of bodies,” Dean surmised neatly.
Five big, burly men were walking around and around in the uniforms of a private security firm, shining flashlights in random sweeping patterns. One was smoking, hardly the smart thing to do for someone in his profession, and the others were knocking back steaming cups of coffee. All of them were calling to each other, the jokes they were telling pretty foul even by Dean’s often gutter-minded standards.
“I guess the people funding the dig here don’t want anything happening,” Sam said, his lips tilting in a small smile.
“That’s too damn bad.” Dean rubbed his hand under his nose, sniffing as quietly as he could. “So, got any ideas?”
“Aren’t distractions your thing?”
“You could sneeze on them,” Dean commented, “give ‘em all a super-sized cold. Bet that’d bring the smoking dude down in…”
“Weeks.”
“Yeah, way too slow. Damn. I thought I had a plan.”
Sam couldn’t tell if Dean had been serious so he opted not to comment.
Dean tried again. “We could wait ‘til they fall asleep.”
“Lame. And it’ll never happen because this isn’t a movie. And it’s freezing out. Plus with all that caffeine they’re all knocking back…”
Dean raised a silencing hand. “I get it.”
“So, what do we do?”
Dean chewed his lip as he pondered. “Stick laxatives in the coffee?
“Creative, but impossible.”
“Oh, I’ve got some laxatives.”
Sam peered at his brother before (wisely) deciding he didn’t want to know. Figuring there was no way Dean was serious, Sam continued to think out loud. “We only need to get them all to run away long enough to give us time to deal with the bodies. Maybe if we…” Sam could hear Dean sneaking back towards the car. “Where are you going?”
Dean just grinned over his shoulder and kept going.
Sam’s eyebrows disappeared behind his lengthy bangs. “You’re gonna do it aren’t you?” He hurried after Dean. “You’re gonna put laxatives in their coffee.”
“Hey, it worked on you.”
Sam winced at the memory of that prank war. “Yeah but how…?”
“Trust me.”
Dean’s eyes sparkled mischievously and Sam felt a burst of sympathy for the five unsuspecting guards.
Sam was on his feet and out the door without any further hesitation, not even stopping to see if Dean had been awoken by the commotion. Sam wasn’t alone in the hallway. There were four other people, three women and a young man, out of bed and hurrying to the source of the disturbance. Sam easily made his way to the front, arriving at the swinging, peeling green door of room eight. The other people seemed content to huddle together, peer in and mutter to one another. Only Sam stepped into the room. There was a man crouched in front of the beds, his eyes white and shining in the light from the hallway. He rocked back and forth slightly, his hands gripping his faded blond hair and tugging hard. The man’s lips were moving but his voice was a hushed whisper, the words little more than a rush of air.
Sam reached out and slid his hand around the wall blindly until he found the light switch. The man flinched as light drenched the unimaginative room, but he didn’t look up. Sam heard the people in the hallway take a collective step forward. Ignoring them, Sam cautiously edged closer to the man. His bare feet itched as they crossed the coarse brown carpet. A lifetime of dealing with the unusual almost steadied Sam’s nerves, but something unknowable and unshakeable left him unsettled.
“Sir?” He kept his voice calm and quiet. “Is everything all right?”
A voice from outside overrode the chatter and Sam turned to see the motel’s manager come in. The portly man with grey hair, grey eyes and an expression set to permanently calm stepped around Sam with ease and approached the man. He placed his hands on the trembling figure and calmly said, “Stan, c’mon now, calm down.”
“Sh-she’s gone!” The man suddenly cried out, grabbing the manager’s arms and staring at him with wild, unabashed horror. Tears stained his bearded cheeks and spittle flecked his lips. “Wh-where has she gone? Please, tell me!” He shook the manager hard. “Help me! I have to find her!”
The manager looked up at Sam with a sad smile. “Poor Stan. He comes here every now and then. He’s got some trouble...you know,” and the manager tapped his forehead.
“Do you know where his daughter is?” Sam asked quietly.
“She ain’t nowhere, son. He always checks in alone and every now and then he’ll wake up screamin’. I dunno if he ever had a daughter, maybe he did, but he sure don’t now. Scared the life outta me first time he did this. Had the police up here and everythin’. But they told me what they tell everyone this happens to – Stan’s just got some troubles, that’s all.”
Sam frowned sadly, sympathy sinking down from his chest and lingering more like suspicion in his stomach. “Do you need any help?”
“Nah, I’ll deal with this quietly. I know how to help him.” The manager helped Stan to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go to my office and get everything sorted.”
“N-no, no!” Stan tried to fight the manager’s sturdy grip but even his uncontrolled strength wasn’t enough. “No, let go!” Stan resorted to further pleas. “I have to find my daughter. She’s gone! She’s diabetic and she needs her insulin. Please, please help me find her!”
The motel’s manager muttered calming words as he led Stan away. The crowd outside the door parted for the pair to pass by. Alone in the room, Sam allowed his eyes to travel around. There really was no evidence that anyone other than the man had occupied the room. He let out a sigh. Maybe Stan really was just troubled. But something wasn’t sitting right with Sam. No such thing as coincidences when his family was in town, right? And everyone had evidently heard that scream, far too high-pitched for the average male vocal chords. Sam turned to leave but something caught his eye. He looked at the four pictures hanging on the wall behind the TV.
Scenery again, further shots from the series Sam had hidden from Dean.
But there was nothing moving. Sam couldn’t believe he was even considering it. He shook his head and didn’t know who he should kick: himself or his brother.
So he left the room, shut the door, and returned to his own room like the other guests. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to return later. There was a chance that the man was truly unstable, but Sam had spent his entire life looking beyond the obvious and until his mind was settled, he wasn’t letting this go.
“Guess that’ll teach them not to share a coffee urn.”
Sam was still amazed it had worked. “How much did you use?”
“More than enough. Figured we needed the effect to kick in quick.”
“Why the hell do you even have laxatives?”
Dean shot Sam a sly look. “Do you really want the answer to that?”
“Dude, what are you trying to…”
“You wanna know? Really wanna know?”
Sam just pulled his cold body out of the snowdrift and headed into the abandoned town, coughing a little as his body began to grow warmer with movement. Dean gave something like a disappointed sigh and headed after his brother, pulling the duffel bag more comfortably onto his shoulder.
“How long do you think they’ll be… you know?” Sam asked.
“They’ll be lucky if they survive.”
Sam looked back at his oddly sincere brother in alarm. “Are you serious?”
Dean shrugged. “Let’s just get this done before they come waddling back.”
“Waddling?”
Something akin to sympathy passed over Dean’s expression. “Yeah. Trust me.”
And now Sam really didn’t want to know.
“Hungry?” Sam asked as Dean pushed himself off the pillow. “I got bagels.”
Dean shook his head, only to wince and sink back down on the pillow. “Is it early?” he asked, his voice muffled by cloth.
“Uh, no, not really.” Sam wondered if Dean was building up to a ‘how dare you drug me!’ rant.
“Feels early,” Dean commented instead, flopping over onto his back. His eyes were barely open. A yawn made his jaw pop before a smattering of sneezes left him wiping his nose on the sheets until Sam, disgusted, tossed a packet of tissues at him. “Oh, thanks.” He went through two in as many minutes. “Crap,” Dean muttered, curling up on his side. “I’m tired.”
“Want a drink? Coffee?”
“Um…” Dean blinked hard, trying to focus his slippery thoughts. But his eyes slid shut anyway, his determination to stay awake watered down with however many pills Sam had crushed up… not that Dean knew that and Sam was praying that was how it would stay. “What did you say?” Dean eventually asked.
“Coffee. You want some?”
“Oh, right. Uh, no, actually.” Dean rubbed his hands over his face. “Dude, I feel like a car hit me.”
“Well, it didn’t. It’s just the flu.”
“Great.”
Sam considered telling Dean about the early morning disruption, but he didn’t want to risk reawakening the moving picture rants – Sam’s own paranoia didn’t need that kind of encouragement. So instead, like the caring younger brother he was, Sam suggested, “You could sleep more.” And how he wished he could take his own advice.
Dean mumbled something, pulled his legs up to his stomach and drifted off – all without slipping his hand under the pillow to rest on the knife that Sam had forgotten to remove. Sam winced at that, and also felt a stir of guilt. Dean had managed to stay awake a grand total of three minutes and showed no sign of his usual thought processes. Sam hadn’t made Dean take an unwitting overdose had he?
Sam waited thirty minutes before he left to poke around room eight again. In that time, he finished two cups of coffee and, far more importantly, convinced himself that Dean wasn’t going to sleep himself to death.
Leaving a note (Gone out, be back later. Call if you need me), Sam headed to room eight. No one was around and so he picked the lock with ease. Sam slipped in silently and closed the door, hooking the chain across so no one else could come in unannounced. He already had a cover story for that scenario: Oh, sorry, I was worried I dropped my cell-phone in here last night…
The room was as he and everyone else had left it. Sam went through the meagre contents quickly, finding nothing that could belong to a girl. There wasn’t even a picture in the man’s, Stan Lawson’s, discarded wallet. Sam sat on one of the beds, staring at the four pictures but not really seeing them. For once in his life it looked as though Sam had stumbled upon an honest, normal (in a manner of speaking), traumatised man.
But that was what Sam thought before the air began to whisper.
Somebody…
…please…
…I need…
…I…
…I n-need…
A pause. A wrenched, rasping gasp. Sam was on his feet. And then…
HELP ME!
…all the glass began to shatter.
TBC…
Thanks for reading! I’ll be back asap :)
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