A.N. Ok, so, I deleted the first version of this final chapter and did some more work on it, both for my own sake and in response to a couple of reviews (thanks for the motivation guys – it helped).
THANK YOU EVERYONE for your support and encouragement, it's been great fun walking the journey with you.
"Out of Control"
Fighting to maintain his self control, Sam moved from slumped against the Impala to stood up straight and carrying out a visual scan of the area, looking for anything at all that might qualify as being "off".
"Nah. Nurses were mind zapped, slept through it."
"Hypnotised is my guess. The good news is, it's recent enough they could still be in the building or round about. I'm on my way down to…."
"Bobby, hang on."
"There might be something going on down the side of the building. I think I heard a car, I'm heading over to check it out. Don't ring me."
"Be careful. I'll be there in a couple."
As Martinson opened the emergency exit door, the touch of the cool night air served to rouse Dean and he slowly raised his pounding head as he was wheeled out of the building. Looking ahead, Dean saw a parked Limo, it's engine idling, around fifty yards in front of him. Another man, Dean guessed he was the driver, was stood by the car and holding the back door open. Almost instantly, Dean's body hit fight or flight mode as he recognised that he had to come up with something quickly. He had one primary goal…avoid being put into that car at all costs! Martinson trotted ahead, halting by the Limo and looking over his shoulder at Dean's two escorts.
"Dump the wheelchair. Let's face it, he's not going to live long enough to need it."
Hearing Martinson, Dean steeled himself and got ready to cause whatever disruption he could, despite harbouring no illusions that his physical condition put his chances of escape somewhere between naught and zero. Here goes….
Glock in hand, Sam ran silently across the car park and to the front edifice of the hospital. Hugging the shadows in the lea of the building's wall, the Hunter made his way to where the front aspect ended. Stopping to listen, he heard the definite low purr of a car engine.
Sam risked a brief glance around the corner. The scene he witnessed in that small moment before ducking his head back out of sight, was enough to cause a momentary weakness in his legs and he leant harder up against the wall, using it as a support. It was the first sight of his brother in what felt like an age, and the situation was serious. Sam briefly wondered whether to risk calling Bobby and give him a heads up? He decided not. He wasn't prepared to take the risk of Bobby being somewhere close enough so that the ringing of his cell alerted the men surrounding Dean to their presence. Neither dare he hesitate too long and wait for Bobby to catch up. It had been clear from what he saw that the men were intending to put Dean into the car. A male voice sliced through Sam's thoughts.
"Dump the wheelchair. Let's face it, he's not going to live long enough to need it."
Sam was given no choice. He had to act, and fast.
Please God…anyone. Let there be someone around to hear me.
Taking a deep breath, Dean once again reached down and rammed on one of the chair's manual breaks. The affect was to change the chair's forward motion into a sudden turn. As soon as the open emergency exit door swung back into view, Dean launched himself out of the chair, hoping against hope that his legs would hold him. At the same time, he prepared to shout himself hoarse in an attempt to attract help. It didn't quite work out. His sudden movements created a massive jolt of electrifying pain, and the sound that did emerge out of Dean's mouth was more akin to a raw, animal howl of agony.
The adrenaline pumping throughout his body meant Dean managed four whole steps toward the open doorway, before he collapsed to the floor. Despite the hurt, Dean began using his hands and arms to try dragging himself across the tarmac to safety. He didn't hear the shout of the newcomer to the party, drowned out as it was by the groans and whimpers of his own pain and desperation.
Grasping his gun in both hands, Sam stood with his back against the wall and began to give himself an internal count to three. On two he heard Dean'sagonised howl, everything else flew out of his mind barring one over-riding thought, Save Dean. Raising the Glock, Sam stepped out into the open.
"Stand still! All of you.! Hands where I can see them or I will shoot."
There were a couple of seconds in which Sam found himself looking at a frozen tableau where everyone, except Dean, seemed rooted to the spot. Martinson himself was the one to brake the spell. Showing a complete lack of concern, he stared directly at Sam.
Command given, Martinson turned away, paying Sam less attention than he would some miniscule bug. The Necromancer strode across to Dean.
One of the two heavies began to reach inside his jacket. Sam didn't hesitate, and the man screamed as Sam's bullet shattered the upper bone in his gun arm. The impact span the man partially around before he fell to his knees, clutching at his wound. Unwilling to take any chances, Sam readied to fire a second round into the man's other arm, intending to effectively disable the guy.
As Sam took aim, the Limo driver made use of the opportunity afforded by Sam's distraction, and sighted his own pistol at Sam's chest.
Three shots rang out virtually simultaneously.
Dean's frantic attempts to drag himself to the potential safety offered by the open doorway came to an abrupt end when a heavy weight landed in the middle of his back, effectively pinning him in place and forcing an agonised gasp out of him. Exhausted and dazed with pain, Dean heard Martinson's voice snarling down at him.
"There's no escape Winchester. Your soul is mine boy, and no frigging heroics by your dickhead brother and his pathetic pop gun are going to save you."
Lifting his foot off Dean's back, the Necromancer used it to turn Dean over, at the same time he called for help.
"Cobey…Get your useless backside over here now and give me a hand to get this infuriating bastard into the car."
Martinson turned his head, looking for Cobey, and reeled under the impact of the fist that connected with his nose like a sledgehammer, causing the audible crunch of breaking bone and crushed cartilage.
Martinson's eyes teared in pain as blood promptly began to gush from the pulp which had been his nose. His world suddenly tilted as something swiped across the back of his knees, causing him to smack down onto his butt on the tarmac. There was no gap in which Martinson could gather his thoughts before a rough hand grabbed him under his chin, yanking his head back as the sharp edge of a blade was pressed against his throat. At the same time, Martinson heard the hiss of words directly into his ear.
"Desuetudo visio, desuetudo viox, desuetudo actio. Dirigo. Desuetudo visio, desuetudo viox, desuetudo actio. Dixi!"
Whilst the words were being spat out, the hand holding Martinson's chin let go and, instead, something was pressed against the Necromancer's lips. The blade pushed harder against the Necromancer's throat, breaking the skin and sending him very clear message. Martinson conceded, partially opening his mouth. Something soft and vaguely papery was pushed between his lips, where it immediately began to dissolve in his mouth. Crap…Rice paper. Martinson shook his head in denial as the world around him began to fade to black. He tried to speak. Horrified, he heard himself produce little more than an unintelligible whine.
Bobby continued to press his knife against the Necromancer's throat.
"Now, you little sonofabitch…If you don't want me to dice you up into tiny pieces and bury you in concrete all over this Goddamn country, you'll gimme the control spells. Understand me, Shitface?"
Bobby's own spell left Martinson unable to do more than manage a slight twitch in any of his limbs, instead the Necromancer blinked his understanding and lowered his now sightless eyes down towards the chain of his pocket watch.
Sam had Cobey and his wounded colleague sat on the ground back to back and was efficiently cuffing them to one another. Both men had been relieved of their weapons. Sam ignored the whimpering as he yanked on the wounded man's injured arms in order to secure him to Cobey. Satisfied, Sam lifted his head when he heard another, much more worrying, sound that seemed to be getting closer. He glanced at the body of the dead driver. Crap.
Sam called out a warning.
Bobby straightened up and turned around, the Necromancer's pocket watch in his hand. He frowned when he saw Sam stood, gun held loosely in his hand, using his forearm to wipe sweat from his forehead. Bobby's stomach flipped when he noticed Sam's other hand was pressed against his left side.
"I hear 'em. You got a problem there?"
Sam walked over to Bobby, still clasping his side.
A quiet, husky sounding voice interrupted any response Bobby might have made.
"Please?...Some help here?"
Waylaying any further questions from Bobby, Sam quickly, but nervously, went to his brother, kneeling on the floor by Dean's side.
"It's ok Dean, I gotcha, you're going to be ok."
Half shuttered eyes gazed gratefully up at Sam's face, then instantly opened wide. Gratitude and relief were swiftly replaced by fear and desperation.
"No…I know you! Get the fuck away from me!"
Horrified, Sam reached out his hand in an effort to calm Dean, to try to reassure him, to stop Dean looking at him with those anguished eyes.
Trepidation flared as Dean saw the guy's large hand reaching for him, and he tried to move away from what he interpreted as the threat of more hurt. Panic sent his breathing hiccupping and hitching and his hands scrabbled around on the floor, trying to find something, anything, to defend himself with.
Sam froze, then quickly withdrew his hand. Instead, holding both hands out to his side, palms facing his frantic brother, hoping to show that he meant no harm.
"Dean, it's ok, stop….Dean, listen…Please?"
Instead, Dean rolled onto his side and began an attempt to raise himself onto all fours. As he did, Sam heard a low mewl and Dean's strength finally gave out. He collapsed face down onto the floor.
On the inside the Necromancer was howling in fury, but he could do nothing at all to stop Bobby pushing him to the ground, turning him onto his front and cuffing his hands behind his back. The spell Bobby used had been vaguely familiar. Martinson knew that some versions could be relatively short lasting, and already he could feel his limbs more. He also thought he could see dark greys amongst the black. Bobby reached down and gave the Necromancer a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"Now, you be a good little scumbag of a Necromancer and stay putt, y'hear? Oh, and just so's you know, you ain't gonna be talkin' any time soon. Kinda puts the breaks on you casting any nasty little spells, don't it?"
Were he able, the names Martinson would call him would have made even Bobby blush.
As Bobby crossed to where Sam now sat on the floor, his brother's head cradled on his lap, the first of half a dozen patrol cars rounded the corner and screeched to a halt. Bobby noted the growing patch of fresh blood staining Dean's hospital PJ's. Sam looked up at him, tears already threatening.
"His stitches. We can't move him now. He needs to go back inside."
"Ok kid. You're right…."
"You! Hands where I can see them and turn around…slowly! I'm armed and I will shoot if necessary!"
Bobby smiled down at Sam and gave him a wink before putting his hands on his head and turning to face the numerous weapons, all aimed in his direction
As two cops cautiously began to move forward from the rest, Bobby called out to them.
"My name's Robert Singer, Sioux Falls Sheriff's Department. I've got ID in my top pocket."
One of the two cops indicated the ground with his gun.
"On your knees."
Bobby complied with the instruction as the cop approached. Never taking his eyes off Bobby's face, the cop reached forward and pulled an ID from Bobby's pocket. Stepping back again he held the ID up, turning it to catch the light from the hospital windows. He looked from the ID to Bobby and back again, then holstered his weapon and called out to his commanding officer.
"Sir, ID checks out. Deputy Singer, Sioux Falls."
Bobby smiled up at the cop from where he was knelt.
"Ok if I get up now? Damn tarmac's hard on the knees."
The local Sheriff glanced around, quickly taking stock of the situation before giving out orders to his men. Although confused by what the hell had just happened to turn things around, Sam was never the less relieved to hear the Sheriff directing two officers to alert E.R. staff that help was needed.
"And tell them to get their assess round here double time!"
As he strode across to Bobby, the Sheriff held his hand out in greeting.
"Sheriff Foster…Dave. Have to say, I was none too happy to have an out of towner being Lone Ranger on my turf, but Jodie can be real persuasive."
Bobby's smile grew wider as he shook the man's hand.
"Yup, that she can. Glad you're here though. Guess someone called it in?"
"Gun shots in the hospital grounds? Ward staff seeming like they've been roofied? Yeah. Folks round here get nervous about that kinda thing. So….which of this little lot need arrestin'?"
Still bewildered, it felt to Sam as though things around him had begun to move in a way that he could only think of as fast forward in slow motion. He was almost surprised to find himself running alongside a gurney on which Dean lay as a gaggle of E.R. staff rushed his brother back inside the hospital. Samonly came to a halt when a medic stopped him by the expedient method of grabbing one of Sam's arms.
"Sorry Sam. It is Sam, right? 'Fraid this's as far as you can go. Don't worry. Dean's in good hands. Now, let's get you looked at, ok?"
Sam turned and looked blankly at the male junior doctor.
"I'm fine. I don't need looking at."
Sam followed the medic's gaze, feeling vaguely puzzled to see the left side of his own shirt and jacket stained with blood, and then he remembered.
He recalled Bobby shouting out a warning, diving to his right at the same time as he fired his second bullet at the man he was targeting, hearing an echo of his own shot, just before feeling a hot, searing pain in his left side. Within a fraction of a second, there had been a third shot. The driver. He must've shot me, then Bobby killed him.
With the memory came the pain. It cut through the fading adrenaline high that had, until now, kept it at bay. Sam gasped and bent double, cursing.
Bobby was sat waiting for him when Sam was brought up on to the day surgery ward to rest. His wounds had been cleansed, stitched and dressed. Sam was lucky, the bullet had just clipped him, passing straight through fatty tissue and, therefore, not causing any organ damage. Now wearing clean PJ's and happily reaping the benefits of pain control, Sam both looked and felt better than he had in what felt like months.
As soon as he was settled on to a bed, Sam demanded to know whether there was any news on Dean yet? Bobby poured Sam a glass of water and handed it to him before answering.
"He went back into theatre. They needed to check whether or not there'd been any more internal damage caused before they could fix him up again. Seems he'd taken more hits. They're worrying about possible concussion, so I know they were planning on scans somewhere along the line. I've not heard anything beyond that. Dean's surgeon promised we'd be told right away if there was any…..complications."
Sam nodded, taking the news on board.
"What about the Necromancer and his lap dogs? What the Hell happened there Bobby? How come we're not sat in a jail cell…Deputy Singer?"
Bobby raised both eyebrows.
"What? I told you I had a call to make when I went out back at the hotel."
"So, you rang Sheriff Mills?"
"Well, yeah. Gave her the run down. I figured we might need professional back up, you know, in case things….went tits up. At least make sure the Necromancer's uncle act could be blown apart. Thought it might help Dean. Anyway, we concocted a story about my nephew being taken, payback for me getting some drug dealer's son locked away. Then we supposedly hear about this unknown victim, so she sends me here on the quiet to check if their Dean is our Dean."
"You and Jodie? Ok, so…where do I fit in?"
"Easy! We just decided to be bendy with the truth. You're his brother, you came with me, your name's Sam Singer. Jodie's job was to keep the local force off our backs, in a nice one cop to another kinda way, persuadin' them to stay out, let us monitor the situation in the hopes our imaginary main bad guy would show up. She was goin' to sell 'em the theory that probably Dean wasn't supposed to survive the beatin', fake uncle likely then turned up at the hospital to finish him when he got the chance, but maybe the amnesia changed things."
Sam shook his head at Bobby.
"And you never thought to mention to me that you'd rung Jodie? It might've helped, you know? If I'd known there was a back up plan. I can't believe you didn't say anything. I really can't!"
Bobby had the good grace to look embarrassed.
"I know, and I'm sorry. I never meant to keep you in the dark. I guess I got distracted by that web site and then looking for a way to get your memory back. I didn't give it much thought after that, not till the Sheriff turned up. I am sorry Sam and you've a right to be pissed."
"Ok…..So, where's the Necromancer now?"
"Arrested and held in police custody."
Bobby didn't miss the look that crossed the younger Hunter's face before Sam turned away from him. Sam stared in the direction of the window, not really focusing on the view as he contemplated this piece of information.
"I'm sorry son, but I could hardly shoot him or whatever with all those damn cops around, could I?"
Sam turned his gaze back to Bobby. It was obvious from Sam's expression and the set of his jaw that Sam was frustrated by this turn of events.
"No….I guess you couldn't. So. What the Hell are we going to do about him?"
Bobby shrugged his shoulders.
"Not a fat lot we can do just yet, but at least he's contained. I'll sort something. I will."
Sam said nothing and, for a while, the silence hung between them.
Eventually Bobby cleared his throat. Sam knew the man well enough to know when Bobby was about to announce something else he probably didn't want to hear right now.
Bobby looked at Sam, trying and failing to paste an innocent expression onto his face.
"Huh? What makes you think I was going to say somethin'? Can't a man just need to cough?"
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Ok. Well…it's just. We still gotta get Dean his memories back and….as I recall, it wasn't exactly a party when you went through it. I got what we need off that bastard Necromancer, but…"
"But what? There's no but! It has to be done Bobby!"
Bobby stood up and began a back and forth pace at Sam's bedside.
"Course we have to do it. What I mean is, you're his brother. So, I figure it's down to you. You need to decide the when, especially with the state he's in. I mean, physically."
Sam lowered his head.
It was right then that an older man popped his smiling face into the double bay.
"Either of you two gents like a hot drink? I got coffee, I got tea, or, I can do you a mean hot chocolate. What's it to be?"
Bobby returned the man's smile.
"You've got some good timin' there friend. I'd appreciate a coffee, just as it comes."
The man noted Bobby's order down in a small jotter, then gazed at Sam.
"Now, youngster. Tempted? Wanna try my special recipe hot chocolate? Guaranteed to help you relax and sleep like a babe."
Sam was about to refuse, then changed his mind at the old guy's nod of encouragement. Sam gave the man a slow smile.
"I'll have tea. Thanks…very much."
The man gave Sam a broad wink.
"Comin' right up!"
Sam groaned as Bobby appeared around the corner of the bay pushing an empty wheelchair ahead of him.
"Sorry son. Hospital policy. No wheelchair, no go see big brother. Well?"
Although Sam was extremely tall for the sulky six year old look, Bobby thought he carried it off rather well as Sam reluctantly plopped down into the wheelchair. Bobby ruffled the top of his head.
Sam shrugged his head from under Bobby's hand irritably.
"Just drive, will you?"
Bobby leaned over until he was level with Sam's ear.
"Aww. Wittle sunshine boy all gwumpy wumpy?"
Sam tried not to smile at Bobby's baby speak.
Sam began to have second thoughts as the pair neared the double doors leading in to the Intensive Care Unit.
"Bobby, hold on a sec."
Bobby drew to a halt and moved into Sam's line of sight.
"What's up kid?"
"I….What if?...I'm just not sure anymore."
"I get that. But, if it helps, I think you're right. The effect of lifting the spell will be less if we do it while he's still under."
"But, what if I'm wrong? What if he still has a major seizure?"
"Then, I guess he's in the best place to get help."
Sam sat quietly for a moment whilst Bobby waited patiently. Finally Sam looked determinedly at the ICU entrance.
"Ok….Let's do it.
The nurse lead them into Dean's room, leaving again with a hushed "Call me if you need anything." At last, Sam and Bobby were alone with Dean. The wheelchair having been left outside the room, Sam hesitantly moved to Dean's bedside. His vision immediately blurred and Sam had to blink hard a few times as he stared at his older brother, who seemed to be trapped in a maze of tubes, stands and monitors. What Sam could see of Dean's face was almost covered in dark, mottled purple bruising. One hugely swollen eyelid gave Dean a lopsided appearance. Fine flakes of dried blood crusted his eyebrow below the line of stitches to the gash in his forehead. Most of his top lip was swollen around a tender looking split. Sam's gaze landed on the finger bruising around Dean's throat, and Sam's hands curled into fists. He forced himself to track the injuries he could see, noting scrapes and grazes around Dean's shoulders, travelling down to where yet more large areas of bruising overlaid Deans rib area, and to the fresh clean dressing covering the surgical wound to his abdomen where, yet again, the evidence of Sam's own assault on his brother mocked him. Finally, Sam noticed the dressings on both of Dean's hands and the areas of Dean's bare forearms that were raw, angry red and criss-crossed with long scrape marks caused by Dean's attempts to drag himself away from danger.
Sam's mouth filled with saliva and he realised he was about to vomit. Turning, he unsteadily headed for the room's small sink unit and wash basin. Knocking on the cold water tap, he began to throw water onto his face as he took deep breaths, trying to quell the nausea. He felt the weight of a hand settle onto his shoulder.
Looking into the over sink mirror, Sam met the reflection of Bobby standing right behind him and, beyond Bobby, he could see Dean, his eyes still closed, unaware of Sam and Bobby's presence.
"Sam. He's gonna be ok. You do know that, right?"
Sam continued staring into the mirror as Bobby pulled a gold pocket watch from his trouser pocket and opened it. Nestled inside were three small, round scraps of paper, each one covered in script. Bobby kept his eyes averted from Sam's.
"I need to do this now, while he's out of it. I'm going to lift the Forget on Dean, then I'll break the controls on both of you. You'd best sit down son. Just in case."
Sat in the room's only armchair, Sam continued to stare at his brother whilst Bobby prepared himself, only turning away when Bobby reached out to mark Dean's forehead. In a low voice, Bobby muttered the counter spell, then he and Sam both held their breaths. After a couple of seconds Dean's whole body twitched twice, his breathing stuttered and the heart monitor flickered momentarily before settling again. Sam and Bobby continued waiting, until they were both satisfied that there was going to be no more reaction from Dean.
Bobby turned to Sam, a smile on his face and tears in his eyes.
"You were right, boy."
Sam gave a slight nod, but refused to allow himself to relax just yet.
"Get rid of the controls."
It was a major relief for both Sam and Bobby when the effect of the control dissipating simply felt like a brief surge of vertigo, followed by the realisation that for the period that the spell had exerted it's influence, Sam's mind had been functioning as if smothered in a layer of cotton wool. It was only when his cognition and functioning suddenly felt so much sharper and clearer, that the impact became evident. Sam slumped back in the chair, exhaustion taking over, his eyes closed and almost instantly he was asleep. Bobby's own body cried out for sleep, but he had two boys to look out for. He wandered out of the room on a quest to track down a chair, a sympathetic nurse, and a coffee.
Something's wrong. Sam's still here, what's he doing outside? There's someone behind him, he's moving closer, he's doing something. What the Hell? Sam…behind you! Sam! Why doesn't he listen? Why doesn't…Fuck! Sam? Why? Sammy…..No. Sammy…please….can't defend….What've you done to us? Sammy…hurts…can't…breath….no…please, please…
Dean jolted awake, then immediately squeezed his eyes..Eye?...closed again at the unexpected daylight. A myriad of thoughts and memories swarmed over him, almost taking his breath away with the speed at which they piled in. Amongst them all, he recognised the figure he had seen standing behind his brother. The man who had claimed he was Dean's uncle. Dean's one good eye flew open again and flicked around the room, looking for him. Instead, his gaze landed on his brother, fast asleep sprawled out in a less than comfortable armchair. He looked pale, dark circles stood out under his eyes and his hair was in chaos. Dean smiled. A quiet voice coming from the side on which Dean's eyes was still swollen and closed startled Dean.
Dean turned his head, and his smile returned at the familiar sight of Bobby.
"It's ok Dean…You're safe now. Do you know who I am?"
Dean's smile grew wider.
"Yeah, Bobby. It's good to have you back with us son."
Dean turned to look at his sleeping brother again.
"He'll be ok."
"He got hurt, but it's fine. He's nervous though, thinks you won't want him around."
Dean frowned and shook his head.
"Not his fault. I remember…..everything. A man….."
"Martinson. Seems you've got fans amongst the Necromancer brotherhood. He double wammied you both, had you bound with a control and forget combination. Nasty one."
Dean looked back at Bobby.
"Is he dead?"
Bobby didn't answer, Dean gave a nod of understanding.
Sam shifted and muttered in his sleep, attracting Dean's attention. Dean grinned.
"S'cute….look, he's dribbling."
Bobby mock scowled
"Gross. Want me to wake him?"
"I'll do it. Hand me that towel."
The towel landed draped over Sam's head, creating an instant response as Sam went from sleep to awake with a yelp, hands flapping at the thing on his head, throwing it to the floor, then looking around in confusion.
"It's to wipe the drool off."
Sam froze momentarily at the sound of the voice, before spinning his head to stare at the source.
"You're awake! Dean! You…..Oh God…you're awake!"
Dean smiled happily again.
"You don't say! You gonna get me a glass of water, bitch?"
Sam looked flustered.
Sam hurriedly poured Dean a drink, his hands shaking, and moved to his brother's side, raising Dean's head and holding the glass for Dean. As Dean drank, his gaze stayed firmly on Sam's face. Glass empty, Sam put it down carefully next to the water jug. For a few seconds he kept his fingers rested on the rim of the glass and stared at it. Dean glanced over to where Bobby still sat. Bobby nodded and stood up, stretching.
"I'm gonna go grab a coffee down in the canteen. You two behave while I'm gone. I'll bring you one back Sam."
Sam looked around at Bobby,
"Er…yeah. Ok, thanks Bobby."
They waited until the door closed after the older man, then Sam turned back to Dean. Before he could take a breath to speak, Dean had a finger held up to Sam's face.
"Don't. I know what happened. I was there, so lets just skip to the part where you agree, it's not your fault."
As Sam opened his mouth to protest, Dean grabbed his brother's hand.
Sam looked down at Dean in silence. Hard as he searched, he could see no blame, no anger at all in his older brother's eyes, just his plea for Sam not to shoulder the guilt, to let it go. Closing his own eyes, Sam sighed and gave a small nod of consent, feeling Dean squeeze his hand tighter before letting go.
Opening his eyes again, Sam sat himself down carefully on the edge of Dean's bed.
"We didn't get to finish him Dean, the Necromancer. The police turned up."
"I know. But hey…the little bastard didn't get to finish me either! Personally I think that's a score for the good guys."
"Yeah, I guess it is."
"So…what did happen to him?"
"Would you believe he was arrested?"
"You're kiddin'! ... Sam, the cops…I'm guessin' they don't know what they've got? The man's a damn Necromancer Sammy, they're not goin' to be able to hold him!"
Sam quickly placed a hand on Dean's chest and hushed him.
"Dean, relax. It's ok, really. Bobby has Martinson…well, the phrase Bobby used was neutered. He slapped some kind of magic muzzle on the guy. While ever it holds, Martinson is near enough mute. He can't throw spells around if he can't speak, can he? Anyway, give it an hour roughly and he'll be heading for Sioux Falls. Jodie's arranged to have him transferred over to her, she knows the score. Between them her and Bobby'll keep the little creep contained till you decide what we do with him."
"Jod….Sheriff Mills? No….Get Bobby back up here, please Sammy. I've spent time with this guy. He's probably not so high up the ladder as that bastard in Tennessee, but I'd lay odds there's tricks he knows that don't need words!"
Sat alone in a cell containing a cot bed, a stainless steel toilet and a small hand sink, Martinson stared down at the bowl of thick porridge in his hand with disgust. In the next cell, despite Cobey's hunger, his own breakfast stood untouched on his tray. He was finding even the mug of hot, sweet coffee hard to swallow. Since their arrival, Martinson hadn't spoken one word to Cobey, he had simply sat staring at him, only averting his steady gaze when the cop brought their breakfasts and told them they were due for transfer to somewhere called Sioux Falls.
Cobey was terrified. He knew what his boss was, he'd seen the kind of things the Necromancer was capable of, the guy was pure psycho. Cobey shivered. He wasn't the type to delude himself, he held no hope about his chances of making it to Sioux Falls alive. From the moment things had gone arse up back at the hospital, he knew he was finished. He was already sitting on death row, a condemned man with no chance of reprieve. Cobey finally gave up trying to drink his coffee, fighting to keep down what little he'd already had.
Martinson suddenly slammed his bowl back down on to the metal tray. Cobey flinched. He didn't daring meet the man's eyes and he determinedly kept his head lowered. He heard the creak of Martinson's cot as the Necromancer shifted his position. Is this it? That sonovabitch gonna kill me right here, right now? Fuck!
Martinson shuffled around on the edge of the cot until he had made himself as comfortable as he could manage. The indignity, sitting in this piss hole of a town jail cell as though he was some common criminal? Preparing to be shipped to another shit eating town like a pig for slaughter? Just one more thing to add to his list of annoyances that the Winchesters and that man Singer were responsible for. Did these idiot cops really think they could just bundle him off nice and easy to another cell in another town? Well, they would learn soon enough. He had some business to take care of, and he'd be starting with that cretin Cobey.
Closing his eyes, Martinson began to centre himself. His entire focus switched to his own breathing. Eventually, each breath grew deeper than the last. Each intake of air become less and less frequent. In time, the beating of his heart began to slow down too, every beat gradually falling into sync with his breathing. Going deeper into his self induced trance, the Necromancer didn't hear Cobey's panic stricken whimper, or his screams for someone to get him out of there. He didn't hear the two cops come running What the fuck? What he did here was the door to his cell being unlocked, along with the worried Get in there an' check on him. He did feel the hand of the cop who grasped his shoulder and shook him. And now he heard Cobey's frantic cries, desperately trying to warn the pair. A smile crept slowly onto the Necromancer's face, and his eyes flew open…
A.N. And there we leave it! I decided not to go for the nice neat bad guy dead, happy ever after ending this time around, ;P although I'll definitely not be picking this character up again. Two Necromancer stories is enough!
My grateful thanks to anyone who has stuck with this until the end.
Any feedback obviously appreciated.
Until next time.