Even Monsters have a Social 12/12
Chapter 12
John fought his way back to consciousness through a crowd of familiar faces, most long dead but still haunting his dreams. Lives he had to take, lives which were taken from him, a long parade of the dead with their eyes fixed on him, hard and accusing. Jessica was there, too.
And between them there was a new face. Rachel Martin. The last in a long line of people he couldn't save. But then she flickered and was something else, something he didn't want to save, something worth killing.
Sam Winchester came into view, bloody knife in hand. John didn't know if he wanted to seek help from him or run from him.
When John opened his eyes he wasn't sure if he wasn't still dreaming.
He lay in a bed in an unfamiliar room, staring up at a water stained ceiling.
"Mr. Reese?" Harold came into view and instantly John felt better. He still didn't know where he was and his head was pounding. There was a throbbing pain in his leg that told him he'd been injured at some point and images from his nightmares lingered in his mind. But Finch was here so it was fine.
"I'm here, Finch." His throat felt raw and dry. "How long was I out?"
"A few hours. Here." Harold offered him a glass of water which he accepted gratefully. Propped up on one elbow John emptied the glass in three big gulps before he had a real look around the room. For some reason Bear was there, however, the dog was content so there shouldn't be any threat near by.
When John turned his head to see the rest of the room, he didn't expect to find Dean Winchester sitting on the edge of a second bed. And Sam Winchester tossing and turning in said bed.
"No!" Sam cried out without waking up. John knew that feeling. "Please, no. Lu..." The rest was lost in a moan.
Dean had a reassuring hand on his brother's chest and was mumbling under his breath. He didn't seem to even remember they weren't alone.
John turned back to Harold.
"What's going on, Finch?"
Finch didn't answer right away. Instead his gaze flickered over to the other bed as if he needed guidance for what he was about to say. Dean didn't even look in their direction so Harold turned his attention back to John.
"Ms. Martin is dead." He finally said, with one hand scratching Bear behind the ear and John wasn't sure if it wasn't more to comfort Harold than the other way around.
"I'm sorry." John said. It hurt when they couldn't save a number but it was always Harold who became more upset about it.
"She wasn't exactly the victim here." Harold said without meeting his eyes. "She has killed a lot of people. She drugged you. You and Mr. Winchester over there." He waved over to the other bed where Sam still fought against his nightmares.
That explained the weird dreams and the fuzziness still in John's head. It didn't explain why Dean didn't just wake his brother up who was obviously suffering in his dream. But John decided to focus on the more imminent things first.
"What happened to my leg?" He felt sore all over but the throbbing in his leg stood out. He didn't need to lift the covers to tell that his pant leg was cut short and there was a bandage around his calf.
"We think you fell down some stairs and cut yourself on a piece of metal." Harold provided the answer with ease and John couldn't shake off the feeling that his friend was glad he'd ask about this and not about something else. "Mr. Winchester took care of the wound."
Harold hesitated for a moment. "How do you feel? Any pain in your back? Dizziness, nausea? How is your sight?"
Of course John recognized the questions and knew Harold was asking about a possible head and/or spine trauma.
"I'm fine, Finch." He was pretty sure of that. He knew what a concussion felt like, he had his fair share, thank you very much, and he could move all his limps without any problems.
"Why am I here?" That was the more important question. He recognized the room as the Winchesters' motel room and that was the last place he would expect Harold to take him. The hospital or back home, that would have been the more obvious choices.
"Mr. Winchester offered to take care of your wound." Harold said and now Dean turned his head in their direction.
"Just a few stitches." He said as if that was nothing. "Don't try anything stupid and ruin my handiwork."
John got the warning behind those words. It wasn't exactly a threat but Dean wasn't just talking about pulling stitches either, that much was clear.
The last time he'd checked they had considered the Winchester brothers vigilantes, with maybe the right intentions but getting way over the top with their way of handling things. And now Dean had stitched him up and he was roommates with the younger brother.
"How did you find me anyway?" Taking a step back John tried to make sense out of the situation. The last thing he remembered clearly was Rachel attacking him and he'd drawn his gun on her. Everything after that was a blurred mix of memories and dreams.
"She called me and used you as a hostage to ensure her escape." Harold explained. "She thought I was Sam Winchester."
From the other bed Dean chuckled softly.
"Sammy here got her by surprise." Dean added. "I'd have loved to see her face."
John didn't remember the face she'd made but he did remember her screams while Sam had stabbed her.
"She kept her promise." He remembered that. Tell Dean …, her words echoed in his mind.
"She did." Dean confirmed. "But she couldn't stop killing people."
John looked over to Harold who said: "There was no other way."
John knew his friend. There was always another way. John was missing a big part of the story here, that much was obvious, but there was always another way. They didn't just kill people.
The image of his nightmare version of Rachel flickered in his mind but that had only been a dream. It had to be. It still felt real, though. The lingering pieces of his nightmare slowly faded but this one stayed, sharp and clear. If it had been something else he would have sworn it had been real. But things like this weren't real.
However, they were interrupted by Sam screaming in his sleep. Instantly Dean's attention was back on his brother, the rest of the world forgotten.
John thought he heard the name Lucifer in between the moans of no and please and don't and he wondered what kind of nightmare the man was suffering from.
For a moment they just watched the brothers, Sam fighting his dream and Dean comforting him with a grounding touch and mumbled words.
It was Bear who broke the moment by trotting over to the brothers. He looked up at Dean as if he was asking permission before he settled down next to him with his head resting on Sam's shoulder.
Nobody spoke but Sam visibly calmed.
Feeling better by the minute John threw off the covers and sat up. The wound in his leg was covered with a white bandage but there was no blood seeping through so he let it be for the moment. He would have a look at it later.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, catching his breath, John thought about their situation.
"What aren't you telling me, Finch?"
There was this look again. Harold looked at Dean as if he was searching for help there. Which did nothing to put John at ease. Whatever this was, it wasn't good.
"He's your buddy." Was all the guidance Dean gave.
"I doubt you would believe me, Mr. Reese. Not without seeing it for yourself."
"Finch." With effort he lifted his head to give his friend a stern look.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Mr. Reese, than are dreamt of in our philosophy." Harold finally said with a little smile. John couldn't help but roll his eyes at him.
"I feel too hung over for high literature right now, Finch." But it brought back the image of Rachel.
"Mr. Winchester here has opened my eyes to a lot of things." Harold said with a gesture in Dean's direction. "But I have to look farther into this."
"Don't look too deep." Dean warned him. "And if you come across anything like Rachel again, give us a call. Don't try to handle this on your own."
To John's surprise Harold promised to do that. He must have missed the part where the violent mass murderer had turned ally but he was willing to let Harold take the lead. At least until his head stopped pounding.
"D'n?" Sam had finally found his way back among the living.
"Hey." Once again Dean's focus was on his brother.
"Where am I?" He searched blindly for his brother but his hand found Bear's head instead. He frowned but didn't open his eyes just yet.
"You're topside." Dean answered and John wondered what that meant. "You got whammied by the horsy monster. Which, by the way, doesn't look like a horse at all."
Sam even managed a smile and kept scratching Bear's head.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you get turned into a dog?"
Laughing Dean took his brother's hand off Bear's head who commented that with a low whine.
"Open your eyes, stupid."
Sam did as he was told and blinked in confusion at Bear. Then his gaze settled on John and Harold.
"Oh, right." He licked his dry lips. "You guys okay?"
After their last encounter that was the last thing John had expected to hear from Sam.
"We are fine, Mr. Winchester." Harold answered for them while Dean fetched his brother a glass of water.
"We should hit the road as soon as you're ready." Dean said when he took the glass back. Only now did John notice the packed bags near the door. Maybe he really had a mild concussion.
"We got her?" Sam struggled his way out of the covers and reached for his shoes.
"We got her." Dean grinned at him and he was way too gleeful about this. John looked over to Harold but couldn't read his expression.
Only minutes later John sat next to Harold in the car, he wasn't exactly sure about the logistics, with Bear in the backseat and watched the Winchester's car disappearing in the distance. He didn't know how he should feel about just letting them go but he was willing to put that question off for tomorrow.
"Finch, what happened today?" There were still too many holes in the story, things that didn't add up.
Finch started the car. "Apparently even monsters have a Social Security number, Mr. Reese."
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