Wow. Finally. Done.

Well Part 2 of 3 anyways!

Once again, I have to say thankyou to my beta, Red Hardy - what a wonderful ear she has been through this story. And through them all. That woman is a wealth of patience :)

The third, and final, installment to this trilogy titled 'A Great Fall' will be coming soon. I am going to finish 'Close Encounters' first though. So thank you everyone who has read and reviewed and I hope you enjoy this final chapter -

Love Phoenix

All the King's Men

Chapter 30

John was disappointed. Dr. Muir wasn't on. The hunter frowned as he and Jim eased Sam down into an empty waiting room chair. He had been looking forward to having a go at the cantankerous physician – his urge to throttle something at an all time high.

"He's not here," he grumbled, straightening up. The priest raised an eyebrow in amusement:

"Anthony is not the only doctor at this facility," he reminded the oldest Winchester.

"That's true," Dean agreed good-naturedly, inserting himself into the conversation as he and Joshua sat down in chairs flanking Sam. He coughed harshly and cleared his throat before finishing, "but he is certainly the doctor who'd be nominated as most likely to beaten to death by his patients."

"Or his patient's family," Joshua grinned.

"Or their friends," Jim conceded with his own smile. He shook his head and moved away from the motley little crew that he called his own. "Give me a moment to get everything sorted."

John watched his friend approach the triage desk and then glanced down at his sons. They were a mess.

Sam was pale faced and exhausted as he held a dish towel tightly to his shoulder to help control the bleeding. As the older man watched, his son gingerly stretched his injured leg out and winced. Whatever pain relief the morphine had been giving him had apparently finally weaved its way out of his system.

The young man saw the scrutiny and offered up a weak smile. John gave a brief nod and then turned his attention to his older son.

Dean looked just as crappy but where Sam was pale, his sibling was flushed, his fever having spiked again and his visage not helped by the streaks of dried blood from the gashes on his cheek. John hoped they didn't scar knowing that his firstborn banked on his charm and good looks. And he didn't miss the way Dean shifted in his seat, still obviously feeling the discomfort of a bruised tailbone.

"Hey Dad," the son in question asked, dropping his voice low, "do you think we got'em all?"

John traded a look with Joshua and then shrugged, "I don't know."

"We saw two males in that van," the big black man reminded quietly. "How many did you guys see in the house?" His chocolate brown eyes shifted between the brothers.

"I got a female in the kitchen," Dean reached up and touched the scratches, "bitch. And a male in the hallway. Stupid sonofa-bitch." He smirked at his own wit and turned to his brother, "Sam?"

"You saw mine," Sam spoke tiredly.

"Okay, so two females and one male – we're missing a male then," Joshua summed up.

"Unless you were wrong," John rubbed his beard, "and it wasn't two males in that van but a male and a female."

Joshua looked at him in disbelief. "Okay, I will admit I am a bit odd but I do know the difference between a naked man and a naked wo-man… Got lots of practice you know." He feigned indignation.

Dean chipped in. "Yeah I suppose it'd be hard to miss the ta-ta's on a cold night…"

"Ta-ta's?" Sam turned his heard to stare at his brother.

"Sure. You remember those don't you, little brother? Hooters, melons, gazongas, jugs, knockers -" Dean happily rhymed off, enjoying the growing look of horror on his brother's face.

"Okay. Okay. I get it," Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. "And I do remember."

The older brother sighed, his tone whimsical. "Yeah some things are just damn hard to forget…"

John just shook his head. "I think I'm going to see what is taking Jim so long."

"Coward," Joshua murmured.

"I heard that," John shot back.

Ten minutes later Joshua was sent for x-rays, Dean's face was being looked at and Sam's shoulder was getting stitches. Lucky for Sam that while his leg was hurting something fierce, it wasn't damaged any further.

John and Jim waited outside the treatment area.

The hunter paced while the cleric leaned back in a chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles and watched the hunter pace.

"They're going to be fine," Jim offered, his bright blue eyes taking in the tension in his friend's body.

The other man stopped in front of the priest. "You want to tell me your little theory now?"

"No," Jim stated bluntly and continued as he saw simmering anger light John's eyes. The ex-Marine really did not take well to the word 'no'. "I want everyone to hear this. It can wait."

"Bullshit," John bit out sitting down next to his friend – a man he considered a brother. "If this involves my sons I need to know now." He lowered his tone and glanced around. "Look we both know that this is about Sam and considering that, I need to be able to predict how Dean's going to react. I don't want half-cocked in the ranks…. so cut the crap and just tell me outright." The muscle in his jaw twitched. "Then we'll tell the boys and Joshua, together... just like the fucking doting Norman Rockwell Mom and Pop we are."

The priest glared – not approving of his choice of words.

John exhaled loudly, frustration on a short leash. "For the love of God, Jim, you gotta give me something!"

"Norman Rockwell Mom and Pop?" the cleric raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well Morticia and Gomez Adams just didn't have the same peaches and cream persuasion I was going for," John flashed him a slight smirk. "You are a man of the cloth after all."

Jim rolled his eyes and then exhaled loudly. "Fine," he finally said, "but not here." He stood up and John followed.

The two men walked outside. It was still dark and very cold.

The priest led them to a small bench in the snow covered garden behind the hospital. Brushing off the snow, he sat down, the length of his long black jacket protecting his backside from the chill.

John preferred to stay standing.

"Sam was also bitten the first time he was attacked by werewolves three years ago," Jim started. The hunter nodded for him to continue. Vapors of white punctuated each breath. "Nothing out of the ordinary happened then and it took silver to put the creature down."

"Technically not true. Not about the 'nothing out of the ordinary' part anyway," John reminded him and when Jim gave him an uncomprehending look, the hunter clarified. "Sam was bitten multiple times, but you weren't even worried about him being infected. As I recall you gave us a bull-crap story about the virus being bled out because of blood loss…" his words tapered off as he waited for Jim to remember. When the priest nodded slowly he finished, "and you're not worried about it this time either, although the blood loss is minimal."

Jim held John's gaze for a few moments and then sighed and admitted bluntly, "Sam can't be infected, John… I knew it then like I know it now." He pressed on mindless of the growing shock he saw on his friend's face. "The same thing that drives the fire demon's interest in your son protected him from the lycanthropy." He gave a blasé shrug. "Demons outrank werewolves in the supernatural hierarchy. It really is as simple as that."

"And you never mentioned this before?" John's eyes glimmered darkly at the perceived deception. "How long have you known?"

"John," Jim's voice was patient. "You weren't ready to know about Sam's – ah – uniqueness at the time… None of you were. If I had told you the real reason why I wasn't concerned – well it just wouldn't have gone very well for either of us."

"Is that why you encouraged Sam to go to university? Pulled strings to get him in at the last minute?" John demanded, the conversation veering wildly off track. "Because you didn't think I could handle this? Handle that my son was supernaturally 'gifted'?"

"Of course not," Jim refuted, his blue eyes intense – Sam's going to Stanford was still a very raw spot between the two men, "you know as well as I do that Sam left to protect-" his jaw slammed shut and the priest turned his head swiftly and took in a deep breath. He'd almost broken Sam's confidence –

The other man snorted softly recognizing that Jim wouldn't say anything else. It was more than he'd gotten out of the man before about what had prompted his younger son's seemingly overnight zeal to go away – far away – to university… However this wasn't the right time or place for this talk: "Back to the original attacks of three years ago, Jim."

Relieved to be back on topic, the cleric nodded. "Okay. Where was I? Oh yeah. Anyway, this time the creature bit Sam and died, so let me ask you this – what's different? How is Sam's blood different tonight than it was at that time?" Bright blue eyes held the hard brown ones waiting for the other man to put it together.

John frowned and then comprehension lightened his features. He sank down to the bench next to the priest. "The monkey. The damn monkey saliva…"

"Exactly," Jim was pleased that his friend got it so quickly – not that he doubted John's sharpness. But it had been a long night. "We have already seen it's physiological effect on Sam – its prey – and we know from his continuing anxiety that, while most of it must be out of his system by now, there is still enough to affect him. Enough to obviously affect this werewolf too."

"So what are you saying? That something in the monkey's saliva enters the bloodstream and wrecks havoc on the prey, paralyzing them with panic, yet on another predator? It does what? Kill them?" The man shook his head in disbelief at the far reaching implications of the mill hunt – it was just supposed to be another rather routine look into a missing persons gig…

Jim nodded emphatically. "Yes. Exactly! That somehow it can determine predator from prey and then – for the predator – the saliva itself is deadly… And considering how weak it is in Sam's bloodstream right now, can you even imagine the potency at full strength?" His eyes danced with excitement. "Possibly even demon killing potent!"

All the color drained from John's face as the full implication of this hit home. "We don't know that for sure. It could be something else," he pointed out.

"You're very right," the cleric admitted. "But it is possible. And what is a demon… if not a predator? An ultimate predator…"

"Depends on your definition," the hunter responded distractedly as he stood up and started to pace out a path in the snow in front of Jim. "But where does that put monkeys on that supernatural hierarchy?"

"No where," the priest admitted cryptically, "but where does it put man? Those apes were genetically engineered, John. Someone created something very powerful."

"Yeah and after we killed it, we salted and burned the remains. No more monkey. No more monkey saliva," John reminded the other man.

"Ah very true," Jim stood up, "gone but not completely lost, my friend. Sam's blood is still potent. We need to get it tested and go from there."

John scowled. "I won't have my son used as a lab rat."

His friend held up his hand in understanding. "Me neither. But all we need is a vial of blood. I know a guy who can run an analysis for us." The priest gave a charming smile. "You'd like him, John, he has a tattoo."

"Wonderful," the hunter grumbled, "just wonderful. Fine. If Sam consents, your 'guy' can have at it."

"Good," Jim patted his arm, "now come on. I'm freezing my ass off out here."

John nodded and walked beside his friend towards the front of the hospital again. He paused at the doorway. "Are we still going to check out that John Doe this morning?"

"John Smith actually, and yeah," the priest was way too cheery. "I still want to leave at 8 am."

The hunter glanced at his watch, "That's in three hours…"

"Yeah, I know," Jim was still too cheerful, "so we'd better get a move on then!"

John might have muttered, "I really hate you right now." But then again… he might not have.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Anthony Muir was very pissed off. It was his night off. Damn Dr. Christy. How dare he get sick?

The incensed man didn't care if his co-worker was projectile vomiting, it was no reason for the man to go home and for them to expect him to come in!

Parking his car in the underground parking lot, the doctor made his way towards the elevator that would take him into the hospital.

He never knew he was being watched…

He never saw the naked man with the glowing eyes…

He did hear the growl.

But by then. It was too late.

…

The werewolf did not kill Anthony Muir. It did something much worse…

It turned him.

The End.

To be continued in the third and final story 'A Great Fall'

Hey, has anyone else noticed that in the TV series, except for killing via exoricisms, Sam has NOT killed anything? Even the clown in 'Everyone loves a clown' was invisible... Dean or John has done ALL the killing. Hmmm... I wonder if that has any significance? The thinks that I thinks... :)

And if I don't get a chance to say it - Merry Christmas to everyone!