Criminal Minds/Supernatural Fic: I'll Lay Your Soul to Waste 3/4
~*~*~*~*~
Dr. Gablehouser was waiting for them at the hospital door. “The boils got worse,” he said brusquely, guiding them down to the morgue. “I’ve never seen a case so bad. They grew so big they cut off the air supply to his lungs.”
Spencer’s mind whirled. Boils, heavenly weapons - the ten plagues of Egypt? Exodus 9: 8-9 King James version, “And the LORD said unto Moses and unto Aaron, Take to you handfuls of ashes of the furnace, and let Moses sprinkle it toward the heaven in the sight of the Pharaoh. And it shall become small dust in all the land of Egypt, and shall a boil breaking forth with blains upon man and upon beast, throughout all the land of Egypt.”
“Do you know what caused them to grow so rapidly?” Rossi asked.
Dr. Gablehouser nodded thoughtfully. “It’s actually thanks to Dr. Reid here that we even have a clue.”
Spencer thought back to their last meeting. “A previous medication?”
“An antibiotic,” Dr. Gablehouser confirmed. “He was on doxycycline for chlamydia. We think that’s what kept him alive so much longer than the others.”
“But the last update we received was that Hetton was getting better,” Rossi said, confused. “How did he go from fighting off whatever this is to dying from it in a matter of hours?”
“A new strain? Compromised immune system?” Dr. Gablehouse suggested. “We’re still not really sure what changed. I’ll let you know when the latest tests come through.”
They left the pathologist’s office to talk to Hetton’s head nurse, maybe she’d noticed something. Hell, maybe they’d get luck and the unsub had come for one last visit.
Mitzy Lish was the nurse on record, but it took trips to three separate break rooms across four floors to find her. She was lounging across three chairs, iPod playing classic rock clutched tightly to her chest.
“Mitzy Lish?” Rossi asked, shaking the dozing nurse gently. “SSA Agent David Rossi and SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, we have a few questions about Max Hetton.”
“Shame,” she said casually. “He seemed to be getting better. At least he had a couple visitors before he died - we were starting to get worried. Nothing sadder than someone alone in the hospital, you know?”
“Do you remember what the visitors looked like?” Spencer asked, distantly wondering if he could become psychic later in life. He made a mental note to ask Dean Winchester when things died down, for some reason Chuck hadn’t been answering his email for a while and he missed having a reliable source of information on supernatural phenomena.
“His wife maybe?” Rossi suggested.
Lish shook her head. “No, visitors were definitely guys. No women came.”
“How many men?” Spencer asked.
Lish looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, I’m not really sure. I’ve got six other patients on that floor and things got pretty hairy last night. There were at least two, I can tell you that much.”
Rossi whipped out his notebook. “What’d they look like?”
“Um, first guy was younger. Maybe mid to late twenties? Big guy.”
“Big as in tall, or big as in large?” Spencer asked.
“Tall,” Lish confirmed. “This guy was massive. He actually spent some time visiting Mrs. Walker before going in to see Hetton, so I’m not sure if he really came to visit Hetton or was just being polite.”
“Do you have a lot of people just being polite?” Rossi asked politely, though he clearly doubted this was a regular occasion.
“Not really,” Lish admitted. “But anything’s possible, right?”
Spencer shrugged. “What about the other guy? Do you remember anything about him?”
“I got a better look at him. Older guy, fifties maybe? White, really intense.”
Rossi shot Spencer a dark look. “What do you mean intense?”
Lish hesitated. “You know how you just get vibes off people? He was just kind of off when he asked me for Hetton’s room number. Said he was an old friend.”
“And you told him?”
Lish flushed angrily at Rossi’s insinuation. “He came during visiting hours. What was I supposed to do? It wasn’t like Hetton’s room had special instructions or a police escort. He said he was a friend; that happens every day.”
This wasn’t going to end nicely, Spencer realized as he saw Rossi’s spine stiffen at Lish’s defensiveness. He noticed a round black shape and interrupted Rossi’s latest sarcastic response. “Do you have security cameras in Hetton’s room?”
Lish shook her head. “But we do have cameras in all the hallways,” she offered.
“Thanks for your help,” Spencer replied, already pulling out his cell to call Garcia.
“You can’t use that there,” Lish said before he could push speed dial. “There’s an ok area down two floors, but no cells allowed on this floor.”
Spencer found himself wishing he hadn’t interrupted Rossi earlier, but managed to thank the nurse and head down to the phone area.
“Sam Winchester, you think?” Rossi asked on their way down.
“Most likely,” Spencer replied. “But I do want to know who this other guy is.”
~*~*~*~*~
Sam really hadn’t prepared for this; Dean was supposed to be living the dream, a normal life, with Lisa and Ben in Indiana, not chasing him like maniac through the streets of Portsmouth.
It was a distraction he really couldn’t afford right now.
Unfortunately, Dean’s months in suburbia didn’t mean he ‘d let himself go. And while Sam had always been better at sprints, Dean could outlast the best of them. And if Sam wasn’t mistaken, Agent Prentiss was fast on Dean’s heels.
If he could make it another three blocks, he’d get to the car and would be able to put enough space between them to at least finish the case before getting caught up again in Winchester family drama.
He had enough of that with Samuel. That was one thing to be grateful for at least, that the old man had taken the cousins off on a training exercise and finally left Sam in peace.
His lungs burned, but the car was in sight. He risked looking behind him only to see his brother make a desperate tackle before his face met the pavement.
Goddamn it.
~*~*~*~*~
Watching Dean attempt to wrestle his brother to the ground only to give up and slam his head into the pavement made Emily glad that she was an only child. Of course, if she’d had siblings, she rather doubted they’d have the same volatile relationship Dean had with his brother (for one thing, she hoped neither she nor her hypothetical sibling would die as often as the brothers appeared to).
She flashed her badge around to several concerned citizens who’d wandered over to watch the fight, then helped Dean drag his unconscious brother into the nearby car. She wasn’t sure how’d she explain going through an unconscious man’s pants’ pockets to find the keys if pressed, but luckily no one seemed too interested in pressing for details. It was a toss-up if that was due to Dean’s expression or her drawn gun.
“Where we headed?” she asked when they all finally got in the car.
“Motel,” Dean answered brusquely. “The Orange Grove.”
“And why are we stealing Sam’s car again?”
“My baby’s on the side of the highway in Ohio. Ass didn’t even give me a heads up we were about to travel Angel Air. I swear if there’s a ding on that car when I get back…”
She helped him pull Sam back out of the backseat when they arrived at the motel. It was indeed a truly startling shade of orange and it looked like someone had attempted to make a “grove” of plastic palm trees at the entrance to the main office.
They dumped Sam onto one of the wooden chairs Dean placed in the center of the room, dragging it over from the small table in the corner. The room was small and smelled like cheap beer and stale smoke, but Dean didn’t appear to notice. He tossed a marker at her once she holstered her gun and told her to get to work making a devil’s trap around Sam’s chair.
“Didn’t Castiel say he’s not Lucifer’s host anymore?” she questioned curiously, carefully drawing an unbroken circle on the floor with the Sharpie Dean tossed her from the table.
He glowered and instead of answering left the room, only to return a moment later with a large duffle bag.
“Sam’s weapons,” he explained at her prompt, before waving her on to continue drawing the trap. He took a bundle of rope out of the bag and started tying his brother down, one limb at a time.
“Isn’t this kind of overkill? Seriously Dean, he’s not a host anymore and really, every limb and the chest? What, you think he’s going to be able to get through all of those knots?”
“Yes,” he replied flatly.
She was about to step out to update Hotch when Sam started groaning. Check-in forgotten, she waited nervously next to Dean. He threw a glass of water at his brother.
She knew that move all too well, but unlike last time, Sam just opened his eyes and said, “I’m not possessed, Dean.”
There was something… off about Sam. When she’d met the man last, he’d been desperate to find his brother. But now? It was as if he was greeting an old schoolmate - the recognition was there, but none of the shared history or strange codependence that had been in full-force last winter.
Dean stiffened beside her.
“Could have fooled me Sammy,” he replied. He picked up a small knife he’d laid out on the table and nicked his brother’s hand causally.
“Not a shapeshifter either,” the tied-up man replied. “Look, it’s me. Can you just untie me so we can get back to the important thing here - crazy old guy trying to kill sinners?”
“You’ve seen the unsub?” Emily asked at the same time Dean roared, “Important thing?”
“You know, the family business?” Sam replied sarcastically. “Killing things, saving people? Not going to do any good tied up here, am I? We’ve got a case, don’t be an idiot.”
The room suddenly felt to small to Emily as Dean started yelling.
“An idiot? Really Sam, I’m being an idiot?” Dean ranted. “To think that something might be wrong? Because let’s think about this Sammy - my brother would never let me think he’s being tortured day in and day out. Never.”
“I don’t know what to tell you Dean,” Sam replied. “I just woke up and was here. I was myself. I did the tests too - silver, exorcism, devil’s trap, holy water - I’m just me.”
“Then why?”
Emily really wished she wasn’t here right now. It didn’t seem right witnessing the raw hurt and pain; Dean was normally so strong, but right now he just looked broken. Like the countless mothers she’d informed of their child’s death over the years, as if a vital part was missing and there wasn’t anything in the world to bring it back.
“You looked happy, Dean,” Sam replied. “So I went and continued on the hunt.”
“When?”
“After you got to Lisa’s,” Sam admitted.
“Sam, you’ve always been the one with the giant lady boner for suburbia. I was doing it for you. Why not just tell me you were back?”
“Because you’d want to join me,” Sam hesitated. “And I didn’t want that.”
Dean looked like he’d been struck. Emily could empathize; it was as if an entirely different man was sitting before her.
“By the end, you were broken. And I… I just wanted to hunt. No more fights over demon blood or destiny or anything. Just hunting.”
“I’m calling Cas,” Dean said, leaving an awkward message on the other man’s phone.
“Oh please, the son of a bitch never answers… he’s behind me isn’t he?” Sam asked.
Emily nodded slowly, she didn’t think she’d ever get used to people suddenly appearing. At least she knew her reflexes were still good, she noted as she sheepishly reholstered her gun once again.
“What’s wrong with him,” Dean demanded. “Fix him.”
Castiel looked unimpressed.
“I told you, there’s nothing wrong,” Sam protested. “And you! Cas, why didn’t you answer me any of the times I called? Hell, I even tried praying!”
Castiel shrugged. “I have been busy.”
“You answered Dean,” Sam accused.
The angel looked uncomfortable. “He and I share a stronger bond. I wasn’t going to mention it.” He turned to Dean. “I cannot say this more plainly, this is your brother.”
Dean shook his head. “Something isn’t right. You really telling me he came out of the Pit perfectly fine without any help?”
“Maybe our Father decided to reward him for his selfless act?” Castiel suggested.
“Look,” Dean said. “I’m saying the Sam I know would never decide to hunt instead of telling his brother he’s not suffering unspeakable torment in Hell. Can’t you just do some angel flashy-thingy and check?”
Castiel frowned. “Flashy-thingy,” he pronounced carefully, positively oozing disdain.
“I don’t know, just double check he’s the same guy who loves puppies and cries at Disney movies. I don’t know, read his soul or something.”
“We don’t have time for this Dean,” Sam protested, struggling against his bonds. “Seriously, crazy guy with a plague weapon ringing any bells?”
“You knew what it was the whole time?” Emily asked, her turn to become irrationally angry. “You knew?”
“Yes…”
“Then why didn’t you tell us,” she asked, finally beginning to feel some glimmer of the betrayal Dean must be dealing with. “The FBI involvement has been all over the news, you could have told us it was something supernatural days ago! Before more people died!”
“It’s not your kind of work,” Sam dismissed.
“Didn’t stop you from investigating a human serial killer,” she accused.
“Sam is right,” Castiel declared. “There is no more time for delay. We must find whoever has the weapon and determine how he gained access to it.”
“And stop him from killing, right?” Emily pressed.
Castiel nodded absentmindedly. “Right.”
“Hold up,” Dean protested. “Seriously, how long could it take for you to soul-whammy Sam? Three seconds? Just get it over with and we’ll go.”
Sam huffed from his seat. “There’s nothing wrong, I’ve just been really focused on hunting - it’s been nonstop since I got back. We need to get going.”
Emily could see Castiel wavering. “We’re wasting time. Can you just soul-whammy - really Dean? - Sam so we can go?”
“It will hurt,” he replied.
Sam rolled his eyes from the chair. “This conversation hurts. If it’ll make the princess feel better,” and he nodded exaggeratedly to his brother, “then go ahead.”
~*~*~*~*~
“Pulling up the security footage now,” Garcia said over speakerphone, her fingers clacking over the keyboard rapidly in the background. He and Spencer had been able to find a quiet corner - a miracle as far as Dave was concerned - to call the technical analyst.
“All right, I’ve got the right camera,” she said distractedly, “I’m sending the video to your phone Reid.”
The small screen didn’t show much. Just the usual hustle and bustle of a hospital: nurses in scrubs moving between rooms as various lights lit up on over doorways, staff bearing medicine going between rooms, visitors bearing flowers and presents trickling in and out.
“Go a couple hours before Hetton’s death,” Rossi directed, watching as the video suddenly sped up.
“Wait,” Spencer interrupted. “Go back.”
“Where?”
Spencer kept watching the screen, looking for what Rossi couldn’t tell. “Wait, there. Stop it.”
The man on the screen was familiar to them both - Sam Winchester.
“He goes into the room across the hall,” Dave noted.
“There were doctors in Hetton’s room,” Spencer pointed out. “He’s waiting them out. Look, there after the room clears out.”
“He crosses the hall. Good eyes, Reid,” Dave complimented.
“Not to burst your bubbles, boys, but the time stamp on this is almost four hours before Hetton died,” Garcia said. “A lot can go wrong in that time.”
“Keep going forward,” Dave said. “A bit slower this time. Anyone else go into the room? Our mysterious old man maybe?”
Garcia pushed a few buttons and the footage moved forward once more. The next few hours passed on the screen, but nothing suspicious jumped out until twenty minutes before Hetton’s death.
“There he is,” Dave said softly.
The man’s head was down, avoiding the cameras even better than Sam Winchester had. He was older, sure, but Dave would have pegged him as middle aged. Of course, that could be because he looked closer to Dave’s age than his father’s.
The man on the screen didn’t look impressive, though few of their unsubs ever did. White, broad shouldered, but walking hunched over, as if trying to fold into himself. He shuffled into Hetton’s room and no one blinked an eye in the hallway. Of course, no one else entered behind him.
This was their guy, Dave knew it.
“How long was he in there?” Dave demanded.
“Eighteen minutes,” Garcia answered promptly. “A nurse noticed he wasn’t breathing when she came in two minutes later to deliver another IV. They couldn’t bring him back.”
“He was hooked up to a heart monitor, right?” Reid asked. “They should have noticed earlier.”
“Looks like the machine malfunctioned sweet-cheeks,” Garcia said. “It was reporting normal functions for another hour after he died.”
Dave and Reid exchanged uneasy looks.
“Can you follow the last visitor any more? Get a better look at him?” Dave asked after a moment.
“Tracking now,” Garcia said, the video flashing over the screen too fast for Dave to track. “Ok, here he is leaving. Tricky bastard, his head is down the whole time. Ok, hallway, hallway, hallway, still nada. Oh!”
The video jumped on screen again.
“Elevators!” she crowd. “Everyone always forgets about-”
She stops suddenly.
“Is that who I think it is?” Reid asked softly, bringing the phone closer to his face.
It was.
Jason Gideon was staring back.
Part Four