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Sam padded down the hallway, feet softly slapping the cold cement floor, the backs of the legs of his sweatpants dragging behind him. He ruffled a hand through his unkempt hair, yawning openly.
He walked through into the kitchen, seeing his brother already sitting at the breakfast table, laptop open in front of him, an empty cup of coffee on his right, and his face buried in a cloud of Kleenex.
“Morning,” Sam muttered, heading straight for the coffee maker.
“Hey,” Dean’s voice was strained and weak, “Took you long enough.”
Dean finished blowing his nose, balling up the tissues and tossing them in the bin that he’d conveniently dragged across the room and had sitting next to the table.
Sam glanced at his watch, “It’s 5:30 in the morning.”
Dean shrugged, ripping another tissue from the box on the table.
“You know,” Sam straddled the seat across from his brother, “if you slept more than one hour a night you might have kicked this cold by now.”
Dean made a face, “I’m fine,” he muttered, before dissolving into a coughing fit, his lungs rattling like stones going up a vacuum cleaner.
“Yeah, ‘cause that’s what ‘fine’ sounds like,” Sam huffed.
“Dude, stop. I caught a case.”
Sam watched Dean over his coffee mug.
“Three people over in Wichita are dead. ‘Authorities are saying the victims were attacked by some kind of wild animal’ ,” he read, voice doughy.
“Hearts?” Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“Gone.”
“Lunar cycle?”
“It fits.”
“Sounds like a werewolf.”
“Yes, it does,” Dean said, matter-of-factly, closing the laptop.
“Alright,” Sam sighed, unsure.
Dean leaned forward, “With a bit more gusto please.”
Sam sighed again.
“Come on, I’m giving you werewolves here!” Dean’s voice cut out mid sentence.
“Are you sure you wanna take a case right now?”
Dean looked affronted, “Why the hell not?”
“Frankly, ‘cause you look awful.”
“Well, hunting ain’t a beauty contest,” Dean grumbled, getting up.
“That’s not what I mean.”
Dean coughed on his way to the door, ignoring Sam.
“You wanna, maybe, get some sleep first?” Sam suggested.
“Meet you in the car,” Dean spoke over him as he left the kitchen.
Sam sat shaking his head.
…
“So, why are the FBI interested in some random animal attacks?” Sheriff Harris said, sceptically viewing them from under his bushy eyebrows.
“We’re not at liberty to discuss that,” Sam said, with all the authority and power of a real FBI agent.
The Sheriff eyed them both curiously before relaxing back in his chair, “Well, I don’t know what to tell you boys. Nothing out of the ordinary about it.”
“Except for the fact their hearts were missing,” Dean replied, voice barely registering above a whisper.
“Look, it’s unusual, I’ll give you that. But there ain’t no way a human being made those marks.”
“We’d still like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind,” Sam said, sternly.
The sheriff lifted a hand to rub at his brow, “Well, sure. Fire away, agent.”
“There any connection between the victims?” Dean managed, voice straining at the end as he struggled against a wet cough.
“Well…” the sheriff paused as Dean raised his fist to his mouth and coughed.
“Excuse me, sorry,” he rasped.
“Well, they all taught at the same school. The first guy, Peter Harvey –“
Dean kept his lips tightly shut, coughing again, the sound of it registering panic in the sheriff’s eyes.
Dean waved a hand, “Go on.”
He adjusted his glasses, “Peter Harvey was the school’s biology teacher.”
Dean couldn’t control himself. He continued coughing, getting to his feet, “Excuse me,” he mumbled, exiting the sheriff’s office.
Once Dean had closed the door behind him, the Sheriff raised an eyebrow at Sam, “The FBI don’t give ya sick days?”
Sam gave a tight smile and jerked a thumb towards the door, “Workaholic.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” he huffed back.
“So,” Sam cleared his throat, “Sherriff, you were saying…”
“Oh, yeah. Peter Harvey was the biology teacher, the other one, Emma Fowler worked in the school library, and the third one, Henry Stanton, was the Vice Principal.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, “And you didn’t think that was strange?”
“There ain’t no method behind an animal attack, son. You’re reading too much into this.”
Sam huffed, “Right,” he offered, sarcastically, “This school have a name?”
“Springdale High.”
…
Dean retreated out into the hallway, coughing against his fist. His bluster drew a few looks his way. He avoided the deputies’ glances and made his way to the reception area, where a pretty young girl, who Dean had clocked on the way in, was working the counter.
His lungs not doing what he hoped they would, continued to force out the thick mucus, making a god awful noise.
“Hey.”
Suddenly the girl was making her way across the floor with a glass of water, extended to him, the other hand finding his shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
Dean nodded, gratefully accepting the water.
“Working through it,” Dean rasped, sending a smirk her way.
She blushed, “Pharmacy’s across the road, Agent. You might want to stock up.”
This time Dean blushed, handing her back the glass of water, “Yeah, I might do that.”
…
Sam finished up with the Sheriff and went out to the street, standing on the sidewalk next to the impala, he saw Dean across the road.
His brother popped some pills out onto his hand, threw them into his mouth and cracked the lid on a bottle of blue Gatorade to swallow them.
As Dean was striding back towards the Impala he nodded at Sam in recognition, then twisted to sneeze into his arm, not even breaking stride.
Once Dean was staring over the roof of the car at him, he quirked an eyebrow, “Gatorade? Dean, you only drink Gatorade when you –“
“Have the absolute worst of hangovers?” Dean finished, “I know, but I’m feeling a bit… depleted right now.”
Sam scoffed, “Dude, you are sick.”
“Shut up,” he groaned.
“You wanna hear what the Sheriff had to say?”
Dean waved a hand impatiently, pulling a used tissue from his jacket pocket.
“So we got a teacher, a Vice Principal, and a librarian all from the same school, gutted and hearts gone, all in the last three months.”
Dean fitted the tissue around his nose, “And the – Sheriff… didn’t think that was’weird? Heh’ TSXCH Uuh! ”
“That’s what I said!” Sam held out a hand.
“Gee, I’d hate to leave things to the law in this town,” Dean snuffled into the tissue before giving his nose one last swipe and shoving the tissue back in his pocket.
“Well… that’s why we’re here,” Sam said, opening the passenger door, relishing in the familiar squeak.
Dean collapsed into the driver’s seat, shifting another cough loose.
“You alright?” Sam asked, side-eyeing him.
“Yeah,” Dean said, gruffly, “It only happens when I breathe.”
Sam huffed, pulling out his phone.
“Where we going?” Dean asked, starting the engine, “Scope out this school?”
Sam grimaced, “I think we should head back to the motel. Do some reading first.”
“Gotcha.”
…
Dean’s hands were shaking as he unlocked the door to their motel room, coughing into his shoulder.
“You gonna live?” Sam asked, from behind him.
“Urgh,” Dean groaned, pushing the door open and swiping a hand under his nose.
Sam slowly entered, leaving his coat on and putting his bag down on the table.
Dean weaved his way to the bathroom and snagged the roll of toilet paper, sitting on the edge of his bed and tearing off a large length.
Sam made a show of going through his bag, taking his laptop out.
Dean stared at the paper in his hands for a few seconds, eyes crossing, before thrusting them forward towards his nose.
“ Huh’ TSCHTU uuh! ”
“Bless you,” Sam said, staring over at him.
Dean grunted and sat back on the bed, getting comfortable, his breathing coming in sharp and uneven, until he was leaning back against the headboard on a few pillows.
Sam let out a breath and picked up the laptop, handing it to Dean. Dean looked up when he heard the keys rattle.
“Alright,” Sam said, heading for the door.
“What the hell?” Dean asked, coughing twice, “Where you going?”
Sam cleared his throat and lifted his chin, “To scope out the school. You’re gonna stay here and rest.”
Dean opened his mouth to protest but ended up coughing instead.
“Good talk,” Sam nodded, hand on the door handle, “Drink lots of fluid and get some sleep.”
Sam was out the door before Dean could get another word out.
…
“Do you know of anyone that would have wanted to hurt any of the victims here? Maybe someone with a grudge? A disgruntled former employee, or a student…” Sam towered over the young female principal, as they stood in the hall of Springdale High.
“I, uh… I thought these were animal attacks?” Miss Feeney was her name, and she was kind of hot, in a sexy librarian sort of way. Sam found himself flushing and adjusted his tie around his neck.
“We just have to explore every possibility.”
She looked confused, “Umm, well, former employee I’m not sure about, but we had some students that were… reprimanded not too long ago for inappropriate behaviour in the library. Mr Stanton had spoken to them and Emma was the one that brought to our attention what was going on.”
“And what exactly was going on?” Sam raised his eyebrows.
“Well, just teenage stuff, I guess, making out in the aisles, skipping class… it was unusual because these kids were good kids up until a few months ago, and then all of a sudden they started acting out… Hormones,” she shrugged.
Sam smiled, nodding, “Miss Feeney –“
“Alison,” she corrected, palming her clavicle.
Sam smiled wider, “Alison… I’m going to need a list of these kid’s names.”
…
Sam left the school and dialled Dean, crossing the parking lot, his suit jacket flapping in the breeze.
It took his brother a long time to answer and Sam was about to hang up, when Dean answered the phone.
“Hey, so I spoke to –“
Sam stopped as Dean coughed on the other end. Sam stood by the car and leaned a hand on the roof, waiting. It went on for at least 30 seconds and then went quiet. Sam pulled the phone away from his ear to check he hadn’t been disconnected.
“Hey,” Dean’s voice was husky, deep, thick with sleep.
“Jesus, you sound terrible,” Sam said.
“Gee, nice to hear from you too,” Dean coughed again, then cleared his throat, “What you find out?”
“Well, I spoke to the principal and she gave me a list of students who’ve been acting out lately. Usually pretty good kids, changed a few months ago. Almost like they were different people.”
“Mm,” Dean grunted a response, followed by three muffled sneezes.
“Bless you. So, anyway, I’m thinking these kids had a run in with our victims.”
Dean sniffed, “You thinking werewolf pack?”
“Yeah maybe,” Sam furrowed his brow, swung the keys around his finger.
There were some strange noises on the other end of the phone, like Dean had dropped it.
“I might go and talk to these kids. School’s almost out,” Sam looked at his watch, “You need me to swing by the motel first?”
“Yeah, come get me. I’ll come with.”
Sam pursed his lips, “Nah, man. Sit this out for now. I can handle it.”
Dean dissolved into another coughing fit, this one the longest so far.
“Dean?” Sam tapped his fingers on the roof of the impala.
The coughing continued.
“Dean? Man, take a breath.”
“Screw… you,” Dean replied, when he could finally talk again.
“Okay, you’re staying on the sideline for this one. Sorry, brother. I’ll be back by 7 with dinner.”
Sam hung up before Dean could protest again.
By the time Sam was sitting in the driver’s seat he had a new text message.
Don’t forget the pie.
…
Dean shuddered, pulling the blankets up higher around his shoulders. He felt like hammered crap. The cough was getting worse, leaving him more and more breathless after each fit. He’d curled up on his side, trying to get warm. The muscles in his chest were screaming at him. It felt like he’d been pelted in the chest with rock salt rounds. His face was heavy, full. When he wasn’t coughing, he was sneezing. The cheap cold and flu drugs he’d bought had barely touched this bug, and now, as he shivered under the covers and sweated through his shirt, he could add fever to the list.
“This sucks,” he groaned, regretting it as his throat stabbed with pain.
His eyes felt prickly and sore, and he’d never been so tired in all his life. He swallowed thickly, closed his eyes, and prayed he would stop coughing and sneezing long enough to drift off to sleep.
…
Sam had headed to the local diner where the kids usually hung out after school but none of the kids in question were there. He did speak to a few students though and gathered some intel. Apparently there was a wooded area on the outskirts of the city, where the students went to “park”. It sounded like a good a lead as any.
Sam picked up some tomato soup and a slice of cherry pie and made his way back to the motel to check on his sick brother.
“Dean?” he called, pushing the door open.
There was a mound of blankets on the bed and the heating was turned way up.
Sam wrinkled his nose, taking off his jacket. He crossed the room to the thermostat and turned it down to an acceptable level.
“Dean?” he asked again, before sitting lightly on the edge of Dean’s bed, next to the lump of linen concealing his brother.
“Dean, you okay, man?” Sam pulled the blankets down to Dean’s shoulders.
Dean didn’t even stir.
Sam placed a palm against Dean’s forehead and he finally blinked open bloodshot eyes.
“Sam?”
“Dude, you are burning up.”
Dean curled into a tighter ball as he coughed, dragging the blankets up over his mouth.
“Man, I told you this was a bad idea to take a case.”
Dean sniffed, trying to compose himself, “I’m fine.”
Sam sighed and stood, grabbing the food from the table.
Dean struggled upright, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.
“I got you soup,” Sam sat back down next to Dean.
Dean leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
“What time is it?” Dean’s voice was gruff.
“Uh, just after 7. You should eat something.”
Dean turned away from Sam, coughing into his elbow.
Sam scrunched his face up, “Okay, I’m making you a doctor’s appointment.”
“No, Sam –“ Dean started protesting.
“Dude, you sound like an 80 year old smoker. You’re going to the doctor.”
Dean hung his head, and didn’t say anything else. Sam knew then how sick he was.
Sam sighed, handing Dean the container of warm soup.
Dean groaned and took it from him, “Alright, well fill me in on this case. You talk to the kids?”
Sam winced at Dean’s voice but got up to settle with his computer at the table, while Dean leaned back against the headboard and didn’t complain about the choice of dinner food.
“Okay, so I didn’t actually speak to the kids that Alison –“
“Who’s Alison?” Dean asked.
“What? Oh, the principal,” Sam shifted in his seat.
“She hot?”
“Dean.”
“She’s hot, isn’t she?”
Sam cleared his throat and pointedly ignored him, “So I didn’t speak to the kids she told me about, but I spoke to some of the other kids there, and they were talking about this place – it’s like make-out point –“
“Nice,” Dean grunted.
Sam huffed out a laugh, “Anyway, they were all there like 4 or 5 months ago and some of them went off on their own. It’s like this wooded area outside of town. Sounds like werewolf central, if you ask me.”
Dean sniffed, placing his soup on the nightstand and grabbing the roll of toilet paper.
“Does this sound strangely like an episode of Teen Wolf to you?” Dean asked, shoving the tissue against his nose.
“You watch Teen Wolf?” Sam raised an eyebrow.
“ Huh’ TTSCHST U! Heh’ KKXCSHH h! … It’s called research.”
Sam laughed, “Bless you, by the way.”
Dean blew his nose and tossed the tissues over the edge of the bed, clearing his throat, “So, what’s the plan?”
“Well,” Sam scratched the back of his head, “Another full moon isn’t for a few days so we have some time to track the pack down. And get you some antibiotics or something.”
“Awesome,” Dean moaned sarcastically. He went to pick the soup up again and then stopped flopping back against his pillows and letting out a heavy sigh.
“You’re not eating any more?” Sam wrinkled his brow.
“Maybe later,” Dean grunted, voice cutting out, “Feel a bit nauseous.”
Sam frowned and got up to stick the rest of the soup in the fridge.
“But don’t you dare touch my pie.”
Sam laughed, “Well, it’s probably not gonna be any good tomorrow.”
“I mean it, Sam,” Dean grumbled, closing his eyes.
Sam went back to the computer and tried not to stare at Dean’s flushed cheeks and pink glistening hairline.
“I booked you an appointment online. 10am tomorrow morning at a clinic nearby.”
Dean opened his eyes and stared at Sam in a squint, “You want a medal?”
Sam didn’t have a chance to respond before Dean was pushing himself upright and coughing haggardly.
“Ya’alright?” Sam asked, trying to sound nonchalant even though Dean sounded like he was going to leave his lungs on the floor.
“Yeh,” Dean muttered, breathless.
Sam furrowed his brow, “You take any more medicine?”
Dean moaned as he lay back in bed, pointing weakly to his coat on the back of the chair next to Sam, “Nah, cold medicine’s in my jacket.”
Sam rummaged until he found the small generic box, crossing the room and popping a few into Dean’s waiting hand.
“You want me to go out and get cough syrup or something?”
Dean shook his head, tipping the pills in his mouth and swallowing with a swig of water, “No, I’m good.”
“Alright, well get some shut eye.”
“Planning on it,” he grumbled rolling onto his side, away from Sam.
Soon his breathing evened out, as congested as it was, and Dean went to sleep.
…
Dean didn’t stay asleep long.
Sam watched from the light of his laptop as Dean stirred, breath hitching before he sneezed throatily.
“ Huh’ KKSCHTT uh! ”
Dean’s sneezes were always powerful, loud, and generally incorporated his whole body.
“ Heh’ KCKXHSTHHWEW ww! Urrrgh… ”
Sam stayed silent, watching Dean’s hand reach lazily for the roll of toilet paper.
“ Hih’ TSHSHSHHK Uh! ”
That one was wet.
Dean blew his nose, loud, gurgling, and crackly.
“Dean…”
“ Hhhh… Heh’ KSCHTUEW uhh!... Whad?”
“You alright?”
Dean groaned, curling forward, coughing.
“I sound alright to you?”
“You sound like crap.”
“ Hhh… ”
“You going for a record?”
“ Huh’ HEKSHHHTXK !... Shut up.”
“Bless you.”
Dean gurgled into more tissues and let out a congested breath, rearranging himself in the bed. He was quiet for another ten minutes. Sam went back to research before Dean woke again.
It started with a sharp inhale, a cough on the exhale.
“ Hhh’eh’… Huh’ KCHXTTU uh! Son of a…”
Dean coughed again, and pushed himself up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
“Dude,” Sam furrowed his eyebrows as Dean panted.
Dean groaned, half annoyed, half clearing his throat, “Seems to be worse… when I lie down.”
“You want me to get you some more pillows?” Sam suggested.
Dean looked sheepishly up at Sam from where his head hung in defeat. Sam almost laughed.
“Extra pillows,” he said, standing, “Coming up.”
…
The Next Morning
“Dude, you were in there like thirty seconds,” Sam gawked as he strode across the car park after his brother, “What did the doctor say?”
Dean stopped, staring over the impala at Sam. He raised both eyebrows slightly, “Sam, we got a case to work, alright? Can we focus on that please?”
Sam sighed as Dean flung the driver’s side door open and collapsed into the car. He followed, getting into the passenger seat.
“So, you’re not going to tell me what he said?”
“No. Let’s go and talk to these kids’ parents. I just gotta stop off at a pharmacy first.”
Sam suppressed an eye roll, “Right.”
…
“I don't understand. Kieran’s not in any trouble, is he?”
Sam and Dean were in fed threads, sitting in dual white armchairs across from Mrs Higgins.
Dean cleared his throat, “Of course not, ma’am. We just want to make sure that everyone at the school is being as safe as they can be.”
Dean’s voice was rattling even towards the end of the sentence, and he cleared his throat again, covering his mouth with his fist.
Sam didn’t break from his FBI, all business expression to look at him, “Mrs Higgins, have you noticed anything strange in your son’s behaviour recently? Any changes in mood, or unexplained absences?”
Mrs Higgins seemed confused but answered anyway, “Well, he’s been a little moody lately, but that’s teenage boys for you.”
“Sure, of course,” Sam nodded.
“He has been going out a lot though. He’s missed curfew a few times this week. He’s been spending a lot of time with his new girlfriend, Kimberly.”
“I see,” Sam said, “And how’s Kieran been doing at school?”
Mrs Higgins furrowed her brow, “What… what is this about?”
Dean sputtered into his sleeve, clearly unable to control his cough any longer. When he could breathe he sniffed thick and wet.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, “Do you mind if I use your restroom?”
Mrs Higgins looked somewhat sympathetic and gestured over her shoulder, “Sure, it’s down the hall.”
Dean got to his feet, pausing a little before he started walking, giving away the head rush he’d so obviously felt.
But Sam didn’t even need to look at him to know what he was up to. And all he needed to do was keep Higgins distracted while Dean snooped around in Kieran’s room.
Sam smiled warmly, “Please, if you can tell us anything about your son it might help us keep him safe. I’m sure you’re aware that there is something or someone out there that has killed three people already. If your son is going out at night, getting himself into dangerous situations, we need to know or we may not be able to protect him.”
Worry washed over her face and she let out a sharp sigh.
Sam smirked internally. She was putty in his hands.
…
While Sam did what he did best, Dean rounded the corner into Kieran’s room, treading lightly and sniffing quietly again, because he really did need to blow his nose.
Dean nonchalantly wandered in, crouching to lift up the corner of the kid’s mattress. He smirked, slipping out the skin mags concealed there. He flicked through, eyebrows raised, eyes scanning over the images.
He shoved them back under the bed and got back to business. He only had so long before the concern for him grew out in the other room. He knew Sam could talk to this lady and keep her busy for hours, but he couldn’t excuse himself to the bathroom for that long or she’d get suspicious, and if how he looked and sounded was anything to go by, she’d probably suspect he’d passed out.
He scrubbed his face, nose twitching.
Spying the laptop on the kid’s desk he flipped it open and woke it up.
Password.
Dammit. Dean wasn’t as good at these things as Sam. All he knew about this kid was he had a girlfriend named Kimberly.
Huh, he shrugged, typing in the girl’s name. The computer unlocked, opening to a webpage.
“Oh, that was just too easy,” Dean mumbled.
The webpage open was lore. Werewolves.
Dean closed the laptop and headed to the bathroom for a quick stop.
…
Sam was listening with sharp ears for signs of his brother.
From what he could tell, Dean had already cased Kieran’s room and was now in the bathroom. He heard muffled nose blowing, followed by two thunderous sneezes, and a coughing fit that just seemed to go on and on.
Sam’s eyes flicked towards the hall.
“Is your partner alright?”
Sam cleared his throat and flexed his jaw, “He’s fine,” he smiled, “Long work hours,” he added.
“If you’d like to come back this afternoon and speak to my son… I’m really not sure what else I can tell you.”
Sam looked up as Dean entered the room. He was rubbing the sleeve of his suit jacket across his sweaty, reddened forehead. He gave Sam a brief nod. Sam lifted his chin in response and stood.
“Thanks for your time, Mrs Higgins,” he smiled, extending a hand.
She shook it, “I hope you boys catch whatever’s out there.”
“You and me both,” Dean said, voice haggard.
She leaned forward to shake Dean’s hand but he put his hand up and shook his head slightly.
She nodded, adding a sincere, “Feel better.”
…
Sam and Dean pounded down the front steps of the house and out onto the footpath.
“He’s our kid,” Dean said gruffly, “I found werewolf lore on his computer.”
“Okay, well, what’s our next move?” Sam asked, as they walked, steps in sync, down the street to the impala.
“I say we go monster hunting.”
Sam frowned, “Dean, we just told that woman we were gonna keep him safe.”
Dean paused to catch a sneeze in his elbow, “ Huh’ ASCHSTT Uu! ” sniffing, he turned to Sam, “He’s a werewolf.”
“He’s just a kid , Dean,” Sam emphasised.
Dean shook his head slightly and sniffed again, “Not anymore.”
…
Sam and Dean waited till nightfall to scope out the woods near ‘make-out’ point.
Dean had been stifling wet coughs against his sleeve for the last hour, and Sam had had just about enough of it.
“Dean, why are we even out here? It’s not even a full moon tonight,” he huffed, brushing the shrubbery away from his eyes.
Dean cleared his throat, “C’mon, Sam. The lore is all kinds of whack these days. Nobody follows rules anymore… Friggen annoying.”
“Since when do you use words like ‘whack’?” Sam scoffed, casting an amused and slightly curious smirk at his brother, who was trailing behind him by about five metres.
“Since when do you… not use… words – shut up,” Dean panted, wiping sweat from his face with a stroke of his hand, from forehead to chin.
He looked pale, gaunt, and Sam was damned if he’d let this go on much longer with his brother as sick as he was.
Dean started coughing again, bracing his hand on a tree as he bent double, spitting yellow gunk into the leaves below. He straightened and blanched even more.
“Whoa,” he said, lips losing colour rapidly, blinking owlishly like he couldn’t see anything at all.
Sam hurried back and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, feeling the sickening heat rolling off him in waves.
Dean grasped blindly at Sam’s coat and latched on with clumsy, damp fingers. By some miracle, he kept standing.
“Okay, we’re going back to the motel,” Sam ordered, decision made.
Dean gulped, no sign of a protest coming, but their redirection was short lived as the trees rustled beside them, twigs cracking underfoot, somewhere to the left.
As sick as Dean was, his gun was drawn within half a second, in sync with Sam, and trained with precision.
They advanced on their target, a red converse sneaker seen moving under the brush.
Sam went ahead, small nod to his brother and moved in, a hand grabbing the back of the kid’s shirt and yanking him from his hiding place.
“Don’t shoot! Please!” the kid cowered, hands in the air in surrender.
The brother’s brows furrowed.
“What are you doing here?” Dean’s voice was gruff, a grunt in it that made him even more intimidating, despite looking like he was about to hit the ground.
“I – I…”
“What’s your name, kid?” Sam asked, gun still drawn, but finger off the trigger.
“K – Kieran, Kieran Higgins.”
A quick assessment showed no claws, or fangs, or yellowed slitted eyes.
“Answer his question,” Sam said, head tilting towards Dean.
“I was just…”
“And don’t think about lying to us.”
Dean swallowed, gun wavering as his arms fatigued, “We know what you are… werewolf.”
Kieran’s eyes widened and he looked like he was going to bolt.
“I – I’m not. I swear.”
“We spoke to your mum today… You had werewolf lore on your computer, and now you’re sneaking around the woods, in the middle of the night. So, you better have a good story,” Sam ordered, taking charge of the situation.
“It’s not me! It’s… I can explain, please.”
Sam looked to Dean, one of Dean’s shoulders coming up in a half shrug. They lowered their guns.
“You have to promise me that you’re not going to hurt anyone,” the kid licked his dry lips, “Please.”
“No can do,” Dean grunted, finding a fallen tree and dropping, unceremoniously onto the log, elbows resting on his knees.
Sam cast him a worried glance and Dean waved him off, in a silent “I’m fine”.
Sam turned his attention back to the kid and put his hands up in a placating manner, “We’re here to help okay. Just tell us what’s going on.”
Kieran looked around, like he was still trying to find a way to escape, “I was trying to find it.”
“What?” Dean’s head came up.
“The monster… I wanted to talk to it. To fix her.”
“To fix whom?” Sam asked.
“Kimberley,” he sighed, “my girlfriend. We were out here one night, you know, just fooling around. She went off on her own, and this thing… came after us. We got away, but it… I think it did something to Kimberley. She’s… she’s… acting - ”
“Differently?” Dean quirked an eyebrow, panting through his mouth, like he was struggling to draw breath.
Kieran looked sheepish, “I wanted to find the thing. Find out what it did to her.”
Dean huffed, “Well, that sounds like a stupid plan.”
“Dean,” Sam chided.
Dean just shrugged, the heat and exhaustion getting the best of him.
“Kieran… has Kimberly hurt anyone? Those murders, people from your school – “
“No! No, of course not! She wouldn’t do that. She’s not dangerous.”
Dean, unable to hold it back anymore, let out a series of rattling, explosive coughs into his sleeve, back hunching, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Okay, we’re taking you home,” Sam said to the kid, “But we need to know who else has been attacked out here.”
Dean pushed himself to his feet, knocking away Sam’s assistance, and the three of them ventured back towards the car.
…
Sam pushed the kid into the backseat and shut the door, turning sharply to his brother, who was leaning, one hand on the hood, one hand on his knee, breath rattling and whole body trembling.
“Dude, what is going on?”
Dean sniffed, attempting to straighten, “Huh?”
“You’re a mess, man! Are you going to tell me what the doctor said, or not? ‘Cause we have a case to work, and, surprise, surprise , it’s not going to be as simple as we thought,” Sam flapped his hands in an exasperated gesture.
Dean narrowed his eyes and swiped a hand under his nose, “Exactly. We have a case to work,” he grumbled, tossing Sam the keys and sliding into the passenger seat. Conversation: over.
Sam sighed, shaking his head a little and massaging his brow, as he listened to Dean sneeze three times, thunderously, car rocking each time, a muted ‘bless you’ coming from their charge in the back seat, before climbing into the driver’s seat and setting off out of the woods.
…
“That kid could have gotten himself killed,” Dean moaned, coughing into his fist as he stared out the window, the neon lights of the motel coming into view.
“He was trying to help his girlfriend… but you’re right. It was a dumb move.”
“At least he gave us her address,” Dean sighed, closing his eyes against his pounding headache.
“Speaking of,” Sam said, turning into the motel driveway, “You’re not coming with me.”
“What?” Dean asked, straightening in his seat, but his protest was weak at best, his energy all but gone.
“You need to get some sleep. I’ll keep an eye on Kimberley tonight, make sure she doesn’t wolf out on anyone.”
Dean looked at Sam before another cough clawed its way up his throat and he was left panting and breathless.
When his vision returned Sam’s hand was on his shoulder and he was slumped against the dash.
“Okay, good point,” he conceded, “Be careful.”
“Alright,” Sam nodded, “Feel better.”
Dean groaned in response, acknowledging the fact that at this late stage of the night, he probably wouldn’t. All he could hope for was a little sleep.
Dean pushed his door open and tried not to moan at the ache in his body as he dragged himself to his feet. Sam waited till he had the motel door open before the thrum of the impala drifted off down the street.
He locked the door behind him and pulled the box of high strength antibiotics from his coat pocket with trembling fingers.
He swallowed a pill, followed by two Tylenol, and collapsed onto the bed, the edges of his vision greying until he was left in complete blackness.
…
Sam sipped on his triple redeye as he sat behind the wheel of Baby across the street from Kimberley’s house. He knew she was home because Kieran had given him her Snapchat details. Man, it was easy to track people these days.
He settled in, checking his phone one last time for a message from Dean that didn’t appear, hopefully it meant he was getting some sleep, and prepared himself for an all night stake out.
…
Dean woke to his phone vibrating in his pocket and rolled onto his back, a painful phone-shaped indentation in his leg. He felt raw, wrung out. His body was slick, clothes and sheets stuck to him in all the most uncomfortable places. It took him a while to wake up and get his bearings. It was morning, the sun just coming in and lighting up the room. Sam’s bed was empty and made, signifying he hadn’t come home. The phone, now in his hand, had stopped ringing, pausing briefly and starting up again.
He held it in front of his face and blinked his eyes into focus. It was Sam.
Dean swallowed the cough he felt was coming and hit answer, trying to get his voice to work after his long and impromptu nap.
“Hey.”
It didn’t work. No noise came out but a scrape of air that left him wincing.
“Dean?” Sam sounded too spritely after a stake out and it almost wasn’t fair.
“I’m here,” he tried again, holding the mouthpiece right up to his lips, but it didn’t do much but to set him off coughing again.
He struggled to sit up and cough out the junk that had been pooling in his lungs from hours of lying flat. His vision greyed, sound periodically fading in and out, from the shock of being upright.
It felt like a few minutes before he picked the phone back up.
“Dean! You okay?”
“Awesome,” Dean squeaked.
“Geez… alright. Well, I’m heading back to the motel. I followed Kimberley to school this morning so I say we go and check on the kids again today while they’re all in the one place. Be back soon.”
Sam hung up before Dean could think about adding anything to the conversation… not that he could.
Dean was still recovering from being conscious when his phone rang again.
Dammit, Sam. What is it this time? He thought, looking down at the screen.
But it wasn’t Sam calling. He answered, and tried really hard.
“Hello,” it was airy and not much more than another squeak.
“Dean Harper? It’s Dr Elliot here. I just got your results back from the swab and sputum test we did.”
Dean swallowed, wishing he hadn’t used the word sputum.
“Yeah,” was all Dean could manage.
He tutted on the other end, “You don’t sound like you’re faring too well, and unfortunately I don’t have the best news.”
Dean clenched his jaw in worry.
“The swab came back with parainfluenza and the sputum sample revealed it has developed into pneumonia. Your lungs were quite congested when I took a listen. Now there’s not a lot we can do from here, I’ve already put you on a high dose of antibiotics, all you need to do now is rest and let your body recover. It may take several weeks and you shouldn’t get back to work or any strenuous activities for at least two weeks.”
Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t comment.
“Do you have any questions for me, Dean?”
Dean swallowed labouredly, “No, I got it. Thanks, doc,” he whispered.
“Get lots of rest and drink plenty of water. You can take Tylenol for the fever as well if needed. If you have any sharp pain in your chest or if you’re having trouble breathing, get yourself up to the hospital. All the best, Dean.”
Dean stared at his phone long after the doc hung up. He ran his hand down his face and sniffed thickly. He was screwed.
…
Sam could hear Dean sneezing when he got out of the car, never mind that he was parked across the parking lot.
When he opened the door Dean was lying, curled on his side, back to the door (which so wasn’t Dean), looking feeble.
“HHH’ ETSCH hhuu!”
“Bless you.”
“Hehhh’ ATTTCSHU u!”
“You okay?”
Dean sniffed thickly and Sam grimaced, heading to the bathroom to grab another roll of toilet paper. Sam sat on the edge of his own bed, opposite Dean and held out the roll.
“Here.”
Dean’s eyes were red and glassy, blinking frequently like he couldn’t focus them. He took the roll wordlessly and Sam got up to take his coat off, giving his brother some privacy.
When it sounded like Dean couldn’t shift anything else in his head he walked back over, noting the box of antibiotics on the nightstand, and sat back down on his bed.
He didn’t have time to say anything before Dean took a sharp inhale in and started hacking this deep, chesty cough, unable to draw breath in by the sheer amount of fluid he could hear rattling around in his brother’s lungs. Dean struggled upright and knocked Sam’s hand away.
“Urrgh,” he groaned, face red, chest heaving, “Just…” He got one word partially out, scratchy, high pitched and strained. Wincing at the pain in his throat he flapped a hand towards the bed, basically indicating that he was fine and too much lying down was the cause. Sam had to hold back the eye roll.
Sam furrowed his brow, taking in his sick brother, “Dean…”
Dean sighed, flapping a hand, “Sam – “ he broke off coughing again and Sam put a hand on his shoulder.
“Dude, stop trying to talk.”
Dean rubbed the space between his eyebrows.
“I know you want to know about the case. Kimberley was fine. Home all night. Nothing happened. I watched her meet up with Kieran and walk to school this morning. He knows to keep an eye on her and call us if anything happens.”
Dean whipped his head to the side, sneezing into his elbow, “Hiih’ EETSCHHXKT !”
“Bless you,” Sam frowned, “So, anyway, I think we do our FBI dance again at the school and get a bead on Kimberly and these other potential werewolf kids.”
Dean nodded, massaging the glands under his jaw.
“I can… do this on my own,” Sam suggested.
Dean glared and that was all the words he needed.
Sam just sighed as Dean got up (leaning on the wall, for goodness sake) and made his way to the bathroom, shutting the door slightly harder than necessary.
…
“Agent Perry, good to see you again,” Principal Alison Feeney beamed, eyes never leaving Sam, “What can I do for you?”
“Alison, this is my partner, Agent Shon.”
Dean gave Sam a look, Alison?
Sam cleared his throat, “We need to speak to some of your students again. Is there somewhere we could maybe interview them, one on one?”
“Absolutely,” she smiled, “Follow me, Agents.”
Alison waltzed off ahead, putting more of a swing in her step than was needed… not that it wasn’t appreciated.
“Something’s off about her,” Dean mumbled, voice more intact than it had been that morning after a hot shower and countless cups of tea.
“Why do you say that?” Sam cast a sideways glance at Dean.
“Because she was more into you than me.”
Sam quirked an eyebrow, “That’s because you look like death warmed over and you sound like a space heater.”
Dean frowned, “Dude, I sound like Batman.”
Sam scoffed, “You wish… and why are you breathing so heavy? You sound like you just ran a marathon.”
Dean wrinkled his nose, “I’m sick, man. Leave me alone.”
“Most people can still breathe and talk at the same time.”
“Shut up.”
…
“Alright, Andy, it’s okay. You’re not in trouble,” Sam plied the kid with his soft, compassionate voice.
Andy squirmed in his seat under the scrutiny of the brothers, “Is this about what happened to Mr Harvey?”
“We just want to ask you a few questions, okay?”
Dean removed a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and tried to discreetly dab at the flop sweat that was beading on his forehead and running down the side of his face. He swallowed, trying to school his expression as Sam led the interview.
The kid nodded stiffly.
“Would you mind,” Sam pulled a silver pen from his pocket, flipping his notebook open, “writing your name down for me here?”
Dean sat forward a little as the kid reached for the pen. Solid silver. No way a werewolf could touch that without eliciting some sort of reaction.
Andy took the offered pen and paper without so much as a flinch.
Dean slumped back in the chair and Sam shot him a glance. Dean had to close his eyes for a minute as an uncomfortable, nauseous, warmth swept over him. He felt his breathing kick up a notch and if no one noticed his wheezing before it was hard not to now.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, getting to his feet and exiting the small room.
Alison Feeney was outside the door.
“Bathroom?” Dean asked simply.
“Down the hall and on the left,” she supplied.
Dean raced to the bathroom and somehow managed to make it there without losing his breakfast all over himself. He was glad the bathroom was empty as he hit his knees in front of the toilet and threw up all the green tea he’d forced down his throat that morning. It did not taste better the second time around.
…
Sam had finished talking to Andy and was starting on the next kid when Dean finally emerged through the door. He looked… ashen, with a tinge of green, and actually swayed where he stood as he pushed the door closed behind him.
Sam crinkled his brow at him.
Dean stood by the door for a moment as he started coughing again, then pointed back in the direction he came, and left again.
Sam sighed and rubbed his brow. He should have just done this on his own.
He finished up quickly with the kid (also not a werewolf) and joined Alison outside the room.
“Alison, I’m sorry. We’re going to have to cut this short. I think you could tell my partner’s not feeling too well.”
“Yes, he didn’t look so good,” she looked down the hall in the direction Dean had gone.
“We’ll be in touch. I’ll have to come back another day and speak to the kids. I’m sorry for this inconvenience.”
“Not a problem, Agent. I’ll wait for your call.”
She smirked and Sam adjusted his tie nervously. He fumbled with his notebook, pen dropping to the floor and rolling towards Alison’s feet. She took a sharp step back. Alison made no move to pick the pen up for him so Sam stooped in front of her. He nodded his thanks and went off to find his brother.
The lunch bell had rung and students were flooding the halls. As Sam approached the toilet block, he heard murmured voices about a man in a suit hurling his guts up in the boy’s toilets. He pushed his way through the crowd of kids, seeing Dean’s shoes sticking out from under the stall door.
He spun on his heels, pulled out his badge and waved it above his head.
“FBI! Clear the room!”
Some kids left, some just stared at him.
“Now!” he bellowed.
The kids scattered, leaving the room mercifully empty… save for his brother, who was apparently saying a prayer to the porcelain god.
“Dean?” he approached, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder and feeling the heat and moisture through his suit jacket.
Dean just groaned. Sam sighed.
“You okay?”
Stupid question.
Dean leaned his head against his arm, swallowing, “I look… okay… to you?”
“Fair enough, man. You done here?”
Dean shook his head and then proceeded to demonstrate the fact that he was absolutely not done.
Sam’s hand grasped the back of Dean’s bare neck and Dean shivered.
“Hands are freezing,” he objected.
“No, you’re just burning up. Come on. Let’s get you to a bed… and maybe a toilet that’s not in the middle of a busy school at lunch hour.”
Dean groaned again and reached for the toilet paper to wipe his mouth.
Sam saw his movement as the time to act, “Come on, dude. I got ya.”
He hauled Dean to his feet, and kept a hand around his arm when he leaned back towards the toilet like he was going to throw up again. He didn’t. And when he finally straightened, he looked very pleased with himself at that fact.
“You alright?” Sam watched Dean’s fist press against his chest.
“Yeah, but… let’s,” Dean waved his finger in a circular motion, “move quick.”
…
They had made progress. Now instead of the stall of a high school bathroom, Dean was now hurling in the garden out the front of said school.
“Man, how do you have anything left at this point?”
Dean coughed and swayed, Sam casually righted him.
“I don’t…” he groaned, “My body hasn’t… caught the memo.”
Sam sighed, creasing his brow in sympathy, “Here, give me your tie before you get more puke on it.”
Dean coughed and spluttered into the garden again. He reached a hand out and gripped Sam’s shoulder, “I gotta sit down,” his voice was raw.
“Alright, car’s this way.”
“No, no, no,” Dean pulled away from Sam and almost toppled backwards, “I’m not risking my baby.”
Sam grabbed both of Dean’s shoulders as he blanched and closed glossy eyelids.
“I’m making a call. We’re going back to the motel now .”
Dean’s hands fisted in Sam’s coat jacket as he fought to keep standing, “Okay… okay.”
“Can you walk?”
“I’ll make it,” Dean mumbled, leaning on his brother.
Sam wasn’t so sure. So, he remained close and lead the way, taking whatever weight Dean put on him. Dean was panting and gasping and making awful noises in his ear. His breathing was loud and laboured, and he was constantly sniffing back congestion.
“You sound terrible,” Sam couldn’t help but mutter.
Dean didn’t even reply. Probably because he was trying to walk and breathe and not puke all at once.
Somehow, they made it to the car and Dean was almost completely out of steam. Sam dumped him into the passenger seat and managed to quickly get out of the way as Dean painted the sidewalk.
“Sorry,” Dean moaned, head down around his knees.
“It’s okay, man.”
“I really… screwed this up… didn’t I?” Dean finally flopped back against the seat and closed his eyes, swallowing and wincing.
Sam sighed, feeling sorry for his ailing brother. Well, as sorry as he could feel when Dean was the one that took this case to begin with. Sam slid in behind the steering wheel and peered at Dean, who seemed to use all of his remaining strength to get his feet into the car. He started the car and watched Dean get paler as he made a U-turn back towards the motel.
“Dean?”
“Mm,” Dean made a noncommittal noise, eyes closed.
“What did the doctor say?”
Dean opened his eyes to slits and rolled his head to look at his brother, “I got the flu.”
Sam scoffed, “Yeah, no shit. But you don’t need antibiotics for the flu.”
Dean’s eyes rolled back as he closed them, “I might have a little…” he tapped on his chest, lungs rattling, “chest infection.”
Sam narrowed his eyes, knowing there was more that Dean wasn’t telling him.
“What kind of chest infection?”
Dean ignored him, but Sam could tell he was only pretending to be asleep.
“ Dean… ”
“Pull over,” Dean muttered softly.
“Dean, come on –“
“Pull over!”
“Oh! Right,” Sam said, swinging the car onto the shoulder.
Dean tumbled out of the car onto his knees, coughing up what looked like just more watery bile.
Sam stayed in the driver’s seat, waiting for Dean to get himself under control. After a minute or so Dean stopped hurling and started coughing, in earnest. His lungs sounded awful, and every breath in seemed to choke him, making him cough even more.
“Geez, Dean.”
Dean managed to get a breath and struggle on shaky limbs, like a newborn calf, back into the seat.
“This… sucks,” Dean rasped, running a hand down his sweat slicked face.
Sam frowned and waited till Dean pulled his door shut before driving again, keeping one eye on the road and one eye on Dean.
They made it back to the motel and Dean struggled out of his suit jacket and tie and parked himself on the edge of the bath.
Sam followed him in slowly, leaning against the doorframe.
Dean glanced up at him, then waved a hand, “Just to… be close… in case.”
Sam sighed, “You need me to bring you supplies?”
Dean shrugged, focussing on breathing.
Sam grabbed the quilt off the bed as well as a pillow. He shoved the toilet roll Dean was using as tissues under his arm, grabbed the box of antibiotics, a bottle of water, and the box of flu pills.
Dean was coughing when he returned.
“Here, man. You gotta drink something and take these pills.”
Dean laughed squeakily, “Not gonna happen.”
“Dude…”
Dean held out his hand, annoyed, “Urgh. I don’t have the energy to argue.”
Sam handed him the pills, “But you have the energy to hunt?”
He fixed Dean with a gaze, eyebrow raised.
Dean visibly softened, leaning his elbows on his knees, “No. I don’t.”
Sam almost had to pinch himself to make sure this was real.
“I’m… having a hard enough time… keeping all my insides… where they’re supposed to be.”
Sam sighed.
“But I don’t want you taking on a pack on your own. It’s too dangerous.”
Sam sat down beside his brother, “Okay, fair enough. I’ll put the call out for hunters in the area.”
“Okay,” Dean nodded.
“But, man… I gotta be honest, I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re throwing off heat waves,” Sam countered, bumping his shoulder playfully against Dean’s.
Dean cleared his throat, coughed into his sleeve, and then shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, “It’s kicking my ass, Sammy. But don’t worry. I kick back,” he smirked.
“That’s very optimistic for a guy who just had his head buried in a toilet bowl.”
Dean half laugh, half coughed.
“You gonna take those pills or just melt them in your hot hands?”
Dean swallowed, “Just getting control of my faculties first.”
“Okay,” Sam nodded, “I’m gonna go make a few phone calls.”
Dean nodded, directing a wet sneeze into his elbow.
“Bless you, man.”
…
Dean sat shivering on the bathroom floor. Sam had stripped him down to his boxers earlier and he’d since wrestled the quilt around him so he was wrapped up like a burrito, the pillow tucked under his head as he leant back against the bathtub. He could have probably gone to bed but he didn’t really want to move. He grabbed more toilet paper to cough a lung into. His chest tightened, abused from the constant coughing.
“Dean…”
Dean cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes before he looked up at Sam. He was leaning on the doorframe, hair mussed, eyes bleary.
“You okay in here?”
Dean nodded, saving his voice.
Sam sighed, “Maybe you should go to bed.”
Dean just swallowed, feeling the scratchy lump in the middle of his throat.
“Man… you gotta try and get some sleep. There’re no hunters around, and Jody can’t get here for a couple of days. We can’t leave it this long.”
“I know,” Dean coughed after saying the words. He could feel the bile crawling up his throat again and swallowed convulsively.
Sam sighed again from somewhere above him, “No, man. You’re done with that. Breathe through it.”
Dean flopped back against his pillow, thunking his head kind of hard against the edge of the bathtub. He could feel the sweat running down his face.
“You’re a mess.”
Dean kept his eyes closed and showed Sam one of his fingers.
“Come on, dude. Let’s get you to bed.”
…
Both of them needed sleep. There was no use in wandering around the woods in the middle of the night right now. And Dean was so bad that Sam didn’t really want to leave him on his own. He was wishing now that Dean had never even found this case. It was clear it wasn’t going to be easy. Last time they went up against a werewolf pack Sam had been shot and almost bleed out in an abandoned cabin. And now this was kids they were dealing with. Neither of them wanted to kill kids, even monster kids. The case was starting to get to him, and he couldn’t figure out why. Something was off.
Sam lay staring at the ceiling trying to piece together bits of the case. They still knew very little at this point and it was hard to concentrate when you hadn’t slept in days and Dean was doing his best impression of a drowning walrus half a metre away in the next bed.
He sighed loudly, just so Dean could hear he was awake, just in case he needed help and didn’t want to wake his brother.
“Sammy?” A congested voice broke through the darkness, low and rough and painful sounding.
“Yeah?”
“Trashcan.”
Sam leapt upright and grabbed the trashcan from between their beds, shoving it under his brother’s chin as he leaned over the side to hurl up more water.
Dean muttered a curse and flopped back on the pillow, “ God, this sucks.”
Sam patted Dean’s shoulder, “You alright if I clean this up or you gonna need it again?”
Dean just made an ‘okay’ symbol with his fingers and kept his eyes closed.
Sam washed out the little plastic bin in the bathtub and returned it to his brother’s side.
Dean was blowing his nose, pausing to take a few breaths through his mouth before continuing.
“Anything I can get you, man?”
Dean coughed.
“That sounds bad.”
“ UUrrrgh, ” Dean grumbled, rolling onto his side and pulling the covers right over his shoulders like he was freezing cold, “Can I be honest?” he mumbled, gruffly.
“Please,” Sam begged, sitting on the edge of his own bed.
“It’s pneumonia.”
Sam bowed his head, pinching his brow, “God, Dean…”
Dean’s body shuddered with a full body shiver and he buried his face in the blankets.
“ Huh’ EEXXCTHU ! Heh’ PTSCHT !”
Sam frowned.
Dean cleared his throat, “But I’m doing the right things, you know?”
“I know, man…” Sam conceded, “I know you are.”
He held his tongue about him wanting to take this case when he knew he was sick, and if he had of just rested instead of sitting up every night in the bunker, glued to his computer screen he might not have got this bad.
“We gotta… save these kids. Het’ SSTCHTX ! ”
“How?”
…
“Dean?”
Dean’s mouth was slack and slightly open, his face mashed into his pillow, flushed red and wet with sweat. There was a good chance he wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning.
Sam stretched across the gap in the beds and pressed the back of his fingers to Dean’s forehead. He was red hot and didn’t stir. Sam decided to let him sleep for now, at least he was sleeping, and they’d reassess in the morning. Sam rubbed his own tired eyes and made sure everything was in Dean’s reach before he slumped back in bed and waited for sleep to claim him.
…
ThumpThumpThumpThump
Wha’?... Dean groggily pulled his eyes open, they were scratchy and held together with gunk. There was a strange kind of muted ringing sound in his ears, and when the thumping came again, he realised everything sounded like he was under water. Fan-friggen-tastic , he thought.
He furrowed his brow and looked to the bed across from him. Empty, a note on the bedside table he had to squint to read.
Went for breakfast and medicine.
Dean groaned, regretted trying to make a noise when it left him coughing and breathless.
ThumpThumpThump
Oh, for Christ’s sake.
He pushed himself up on shaky limbs, battling a head rush to get to the door, his 1911 clutched in his right hand and carefully positioned out of sight behind the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to find two kids standing there, a girl and a guy, looking about 15 years old.
“What do you want?” he mumbled gruffly, words running together and barely understandable to his own ears.
“You're the – you’re the FBI guy from school, right? We had to – we had to talk to you,” the guy stammered.
“Whoa, are you alright?” the girl interjected.
“You’ve gotta help us, man. We didn’t know what else to do and you guys –“
Dean leant forward, coughing into his fist. When he recovered he tried, “I don’t –“
That was all he got out before he started coughing again, turning his back on the open door.
The kids followed him inside and that probably wasn’t good but he couldn’t do anything about it right now.
“Is your partner here? Maybe he could help – “
“Shut up, Ryan, he’s obviously really sick.”
Dean staggered and put both hands on the table, his gun clattering against it.
“Oh crap, is that a gun?”
Dean was coughing too hard to speak and their chatter was fading into the background. He blinked exaggeratedly, trying to get his eyes to focus. But it was no use. His lungs screamed for more oxygen and before he knew it his grip on consciousness failed and his head connected with the table.
…
Sam knew when he saw the motel door ajar, and not locked the way he left it, that something was wrong.
“Dean.”
He rushed inside and took the motel room in, in an instant. Dean was gone. There was blood on the edge of the table and Dean’s gun on the floor.
“Oh, god,” he mumbled.
Dean’s phone was on the bed, the sheets tumbled around, cold and damp.
He’d only been gone 20 minutes… 20 minutes, and now they had his brother.
He grabbed his phone and called Jody, while he packed the weapons into the trunk.
“Jody, it’s Sam. They’ve got Dean. I’m gonna try and find him and… if I don’t check in…” he ended the call there, leaving the rest unsaid as he threw himself into the driver’s seat and took off down the street.
…
“No, Ryan, this has clearly gone too far. What the hell were we thinking? He’s the FBI!”
“You don’t really think he’s the FBI, do you? She called them hunters. This is about survival.”
“Survival at what cost? Kieran already thinks – “
“It was stupid to even get Kieran involved, you know that, right?”
Dean could hear the voices around him but he followed his gut, trying to remain still and silent under the guise of unconsciousness.
“I couldn’t have him thinking… We were meant to let her handle it. She said she was going to handle it.”
A subtle flick of his wrist and he felt the thick rope scrape against his skin. The surface he was on was hard, the floor, maybe? His wrist tied together behind his back. His ankles tied too. The right side of his face was pressed against the floor, and the off angle of his right arm had cut off circulation, his fingers cold and tingling. He could feel the dried blood caked to the side of his face, dangerously close to his eye. Whilst listening to these stupid kids reveal all their information to him was both amusing and beneficial, unfortunately his illness wracked body had other ideas. His lungs seized and he jerked forward coughing hard into the dusty cement floor.
“Hey! He’s awake!”
“Shit, this guy’s gonna die. Look at him!”
“Kimberly! Shut up! It’s either him or us!”
Dean groaned as the kids grabbed him around the shoulders and sat him up against the wall. His head was pounding, and his vision lurched sickeningly.
“You gonna puke?” Ryan asked, leaning over him.
Dean cleared his throat and met his gaze with narrowed eyes, “I will if I have to listen to your crappy teen melodrama for another minute.”
A thud against the side of his face caused a ringing in his ear as the kid backhanded him.
Dean coughed again, “Lemme guess, you didn’t exactly qualify for the football team, did ya?”
“This guy’s a jackass,” Ryan whined, “Find me something to put in his mouth.”
Kimberly rolled her eyes, “Seriously? The guy can barely breathe and you wanna gag him?”
Ryan turned to face her with a scowl, “What do you care?” he said before storming off out of the room.
Kimberly sighed and looked at Dean with furrowed brows.
“You really look like shit. What were you thinking letting us in your motel room?”
Dean swallowed thickly and cleared his abused throat, “Wasn’t thinking, I guess... as you can see, I’m not really in my best form right now.”
“No kidding,” she chewed on her lip, arms folded across her chest.
Ryan came back through the door and frowned at her.
“I don’t want you talking to him.”
“You’re not the one in charge, you know.”
Ryan grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close, saying quietly in her ear, “I will not let you ruin this for me.”
He let her go and approached Dean, squatting down in front of him and ripping off a length of duct tape from the roll he had found.
“Sorry, man.”
…
“Agent Perry, I need to speak to Alison Feeney now. It’s an urgent matter,” Sam was clenching and unclenching his jaw repeatedly, worry and anger gripping him and squeezing tight. He needed to find his brother.
“I’m sorry, Principal Feeney isn’t in today,” the school receptionist chirped back.
“She isn’t?” Sam felt the blood drain from his face, “Why? Where is she?”
“Um, she took a sick day, sir. Takes them a lot actually,” she mumbled.
And suddenly he realised. She’d never touched the pen.
“I’d like Ms Feeney’s home address, please. Now.”
…
Dean felt the sting in the side of his head. He’d fallen from where he was slumped against the wall, unable to keep his own body upright, and now with the added challenge of having his mouth covered, consciousness was harder and harder to hang onto.
“Why in God’s name did you bring him here ?”
Dean could see the outline of some black high heels, muscular tanned calves and the bottom of a black pencil skirt.
“This is not what I asked for.”
It was a female voice and it sounded somewhat familiar.
“We went to the motel like you said, the other guy wasn’t there. What did you want us to do?”
“Killing him would have been better than this! His partner is still out there, what do you think – Shh…”
Ding-dong
“Not a sound, do you hear me?”
“Yes, Miss Feeney,” the kids echoed in unison.
Son of a bitch.
…
Sam straightened his jacket and schooled his expression, fixing a taut smile when the door finally opened and Alison stared back at him.
“Agent Perry!” she gasped, pulling a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “What a surprise.”
“Alison, I’m so sorry to bother you at home. The school said you were out sick today but I really needed to talk to you. Is it alright if I ask you some questions?”
He tried his best with the sympathy gaze. If she believed he didn’t suspect her, he’d have a better chance of finding Dean alive.
She studied him for a moment, then furrowed her brow, “Actually, I’m not feeling too well. Could we do this later?”
“I’m afraid not,” Sam said.
She schooled her expression and let out a breath, “Alright, but let’s keep it brief.”
Sam followed her inside, just as a loud thud travelled up from the basement. Alison whipped around, her face contorted to fit her enlarged teeth and fangs. Her eyes were piercing yellow, full of fire and fury. Sam was already pulling his gun out when she shoved him, flinging him back into the wall, smashing into a large TV, bringing it down on top of himself. His gun clattered to the floor.
…
Upstairs Dean could hear a fight. He tried to get his hands free, struggling to get back up against the wall but he was dizzy from lack of oxygen. He coughed with his mouth covered, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain in his chest.
“We gotta help her!” Ryan said urgently.
Kimberly was hanging onto his sleeve, “She can handle it herself.”
“No, we have to make sure.”
“I’m not going up there.”
Ryan grunted in frustration and took off up the stairs.
Dean coughed again, sound distorting around him. He could barely breathe through his nose and he could feel the deep panic setting in.
As the darkness encroached, he felt a sting on his face as the tape was removed. He took a grateful breath in, but instead of Sam saving him, it was Kimberly.
“I never wanted this,” she said, sitting back on her bum and sliding up against the wall, arms wrapping around her legs, face buried in her knees.
…
Sam scrambled for the gun, as Alison’s heeled shoe kicked it away. She pulled him up by the jacket and he managed to get a headbutt in. She stumbled backwards, clutching her forehead, before advancing on him again. A swift backhand had Sam back on the floor. He landed a kick into her stomach and she growled.
BANG
Alison looked down and the slow trickle of blood coming from her chest. She looked shocked. Blood came rolling out of her mouth and she hit her knees, bringing Jody Mills into view at the front door, aiming her smoking gun.
Sam let out a breath.
“No!” Ryan came running from the back of the house, skidding onto his knees and grabbing Alison’s limp body to cradle against him, “What did you do?! What did you do?” He sobbed.
Sam looked at Jody.
“Go find Dean,” she nodded, keeping her gun trained on Ryan.
…
“Hey!” Sam came barrelling into the basement, aiming his gun at Kimberly, “What did you do to him?”
“Sam…” Dean grunted, struggling to breathe against all the crap in his lungs, “she didn’t -“
Kimberly’s eyes were wide, “Is she dead?”
Sam nodded, dropping down next to his brother. His hands went to the back of Dean’s neck and his forehead, careful of his head wound.
“Thank God,” she mumbled.
“God, Dean, you’re on fire.”
Sam started undoing the binds, keeping an eye on Kimberly.
Dean had his eyes on her too.
“You’re not… a werewolf… are you?”
Kimberly shook her head.
“What?” Sam asked.
“Neither of them are. I could tell… when Ryan hit me… he’s not strong like a werewolf would be.”
Dean got his hands free and wrapped an arm around his face coughing against his elbow. Sam rubbed his back and gave him a few thumps until Dean got his breath back.
“She was going to save us.”
…
Jody was sitting on the edge of Sam’s bed and leaned across the divide to run her hand over Dean’s brow. One neat butterfly dressing over the crack to his forehead.
“I’ve never seen you this sick before.”
Dean snuffled, rubbing the blanket across his nose, “I try not… to make a habit of it,” he directed a sneeze into the blanket before reaching a shaky hand out to grab some Kleenex from the box Sam had purchased before his untimely kidnapping.
The motel door clicked open as Sam entered with a sigh.
“Kids okay?” Jody asked and Dean turned to look at him too.
“Yeah, I guess… not werewolves.”
“I don’t get it,” Jody said, handing Dean another tissue as he sneezed into his wrist.
Sam slumped into one of the chairs in the kitchen.
“Ryan… has a congenital heart defect. He’s already had 3 open heart surgeries and is likely to need more by the time he’s 30. If he makes it that long.”
Dean pushed himself up to lean against the headboard.
Jody’s eyes instantly filled.
“Kimberly?” Dean croaked.
“Cystic fibrosis,” Sam pressed his lips together in a sad smile.
“Oh my God,” Jody shook her head.
“Alison was going to turn them. It would have saved their lives.”
Dean shook his head and coughed, “She would have… made them monsters.”
“Dean -“ Sam started.
“She was killing people, Sam. She wanted a pack, and was going to use these poor desperate kids to do it,” Dean's eyes were bright with fever, and bloodshot. His voice was gravel and Sam could see his chest lurching up and down as he fought to breathe through the infection.
“What about that other kid? Kieran? Didn’t he say Kimberley was a werewolf?” Jody mused.
“He never knew exactly what happened. Kimberley had gone off on her own. In the end he only believed what she’d told him.”
“Why would the werewolf make those kills so close to home though?” Jody asked, helping Dean sit forward when a coughing fit grabbed him.
Sam threw his hands up, “Maybe they were onto her… maybe she got sloppy. Maybe she was desperate too.”
“For what?” Dean grunted, settling back against the headboard again.
“A family,” Sam breathed, watching Jody tuck the blanket around Dean.
“Would you stop fussing? I’m fine.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “Dean, if you say you’re fine one more time.”
“Alright, I’m not fine,” he plucked two tissues from the box at his side, folding them in half and fitting them around his nose. He blew long and hard and although it sounded like the tissues couldn’t take much more, they knew Dean had a lot more snot in there to shift. He finished up with a congested sneeze and groaned openly, “I’ve been treating my body like crap for weeks. Guess it finally caught up with me.”
“You’ve been a little stressed,” Jody chimed in, “This isn’t your fault.”
“Nah, I brought it on myself,” he cleared his throat and sunk back into his pillows, “I’m just lucky you found me when you did, Sammy.”
“Thank Jody,” Sam gestured towards the sheriff, “I wasn’t exactly winning that fight.”
“I was already rolling into town when you texted me the address. When you told me Dean was this bad I left as soon as I could.”
Dean cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“Would have thought you could handle one werewolf chick on your own, Sammy. Losing your touch?”
“Ha ha,” Sam huffed sarcastically, “Says you, getting yourself kidnapped by two 15 year old kids!”
“Yeah, yuck it up. I can tell I ain’t gonna live this one down anytime soon.”
“Chronically ill 15 year old kids,” Jody added with a cheeky smile.
Dean coughed again and forced himself up to the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress.
“Have I mentioned,” he panted, “pneumonia sucks?”
“I believe it,” Sam said, coming to sit at his brother’s side.
Jody patted Dean on the knee, “Well, I’m not ready to drive another 8 hours back home and the girls aren’t expecting me back till at least tomorrow. And you, mister,” she pointed at Dean, “are far from road ready.”
Dean nodded, rubbing a hand over his face to displace the sweat.
“You are only allowed to get out of that bed to take a leak. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean grunted, as Sam tried to hide his grin.
…
“ Ugh, God,” Dean groaned as he trundled down the steps into the bunker.
“You alright, man?” Sam came heavily down behind him, carrying both their bags.
Dean coughed as he headed up the steps into the library, leaning on the table and driving it into his fist.
“Here, sit down,” Sam dumped the bags and directed Dean into a chair.
“This case was messed up, man,” Dean croaked out, voice all but gone again, “Aside from… all this,” he said, tapping his chest.
“Yeah, I’m with you there,” Sam slumped into the chair across from his brother.
“Those kids…” Dean shook his head and pulled a tissue from his pocket, “They’re gonna die, Sam.”
Dean’s eyes glistened and Sam knew it wasn’t just from the illness.
“ Huh’ EKSCTKKuh h! ”
“Bless you,” Sam rubbed his fingers across his forehead, “We saved them, Dean. And we stopped Alison. We did the right thing.”
“Did we?”
Sam looked down and Dean struggled to his feet, pressing his eyes shut as he adjusted to being upright.
“I’m gonna go sleep for a week.”
“Sounds good, man.”
Dean disappeared down the hall coughing haggardly into his fist. Sam watched him until he turned the corner. Then looked down at the silver pen he was twirling in his fingers. He placed it on the table and sighed, scrubbing both hands over his face and up through his hair, before he shook it off and stood to follow his brother.
Roll credits.