Chapter Text
Dean accepted the cup from Cas. It smelled like hospital coffee, the kind you only got in hospitals and even then only in hospital emergency rooms. It was the same everywhere. It was like there was a proprietary blend of cheap, mostly stale beans and disinfectant that only hospitals bought. Maybe they mixed it up themselves. “Thanks, Cas,” he said, making a face. “What the Hell is this? Artificial sweetener?”
“Hospital regulations disallow sugar,” his partner informed him.
“Because chemical sweeteners are so much better,” the agent groused.
“What are we looking at?”
“I can tell you that six of the migrants were already dead,” he reported. “They were dead before the truck was even opened. Beyond that I couldn’t say. Crime scene techs are still processing the site but we’ve got to interview the actual victims, assuming that they can still, you know, speak.”
The blond shook his head. “Honestly. I don’t know why we have to invent ghouls and werewolves and crap like that. People are monsters enough.” He looked around. There had been some sixty people crammed into a tractor-trailer that had been abandoned in the desert. Twenty of the patients had been brought here, to Morningstar General Hospital. Others had been scattered to other area hospitals. No one facility in the area had enough beds to accommodate everyone, and the field office was scrambling to keep up. “All right. I guess we wait. Explain to me where the locals are again.”
“I’m afraid we’re a little stretched these days,” a voice from his other side commented. “Gordon Walker, San Diego police department.” A dark hand reached out to shake his. After a moment Dean accepted the offer. “Local aid cuts, you know how it is. Good thing we have the feds to back us up.”
“I guess,” he said. “Agents Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester. Pleased to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure. Winchester, you said? Any relation to John Winchester?”
What was up with this guy holding his hand for so long? “Yeah. He was my dad.”
“Great guy. Hell of a cop. I worked with him for a while in San Francisco. I thought I remembered him saying that his boy went fed. He was real proud of you.”
Okay, now the handholding was just really creepy. “Well, thanks man. Any word on security here right now? I’m a little worried about the traffickers being able to get in here and get at these people.”
“Well, that’s why we’re here, right?”
“Right,” Cas said. He glanced around. There were not enough beds in the ER; people were literally on gurneys in the hall. “I’m sure they feel very safe.”
One of the nurses came out of one of the treatment rooms – a blonde, Dean noticed, with short hair. She was pretty but she really kind of frightened him. “Who’s in charge of the investigation here?”
“That would be me, ma’am,” Dean told her, and that’s when the screaming started. “Well that lasted,” Dean muttered, drawing his gun. He knew the difference between grief-screaming and terror-screaming. This was coming from the entrance to the emergency department and this was not a drill. “Is there some way of locking this area down?” he asked the nurse.
She nodded and slammed a big red button on the nurses’ station. “Page Doctor Campbell,” she directed one of her colleagues. Alarms sounded. Gunshots rang out somewhere in the distance.
“You paged a freakin’ doctor?” he questioned.
“As a matter of fact yes,” she replied. Doors swung shut. “Now stay out of the way. “ She and her colleagues began moving gurneys into treatment rooms as someone paged Doctor Campbell to the emergency room “immediately.” Dean knew from hospitals. Weren’t they supposed to say “stat” or something?
The three cops exchanged glances. “I never argue with the ER nurses here, boys,” Walker advised. “No one would ever find the body.”
“If you think that the nurses are engaging in obstruction of justice it would be inappropriate to avoid filing a report,” Cas told the officer, drawing his own weapon and aiming it at the door.
“Open the door!” a voice called from the admitting area. “We’re not asking twice.”
Dean had been an agent for eight years, a cop for a long time before that. Longer than he’d carried a badge, really – it was the family business. He could read a lot about a person in just a few seconds. He didn’t even really need to see them. “Chicago? Seriously?” he asked Cas.
“That was unexpected,” his partner replied. “I thought the men we were tracking were primarily local. The Chicago groups usually work with Russians, or am I mistaken?”
“We can sort it out later. You’re kidding, right?” he called back. “No way we’re letting you in here.”
“This doesn’t concern you, G-man,” a second voice replied. “We just want our property back.”
“People aren’t property jackass,” he retorted. He looked at Walker. “You want to radio this one in or what?”
“Right, right,” Walker said, picking up his radio. “Uh, this is Sargent Gordon Walker at Morningstar General, we’ve got a situation here…” There was a gunshot, and a screamed obscenity.
“We aren’t playing around here, G-man!” the first man yelled. “We’ve got a hostage. Open up the doors or he’ll bleed out in a matter of minutes.”
“Dude, there’s no way you’re walking out of here with twenty people,” Dean shot back.
“Nineteen,” the blonde nurse supplied helpfully. “One of the women died while you were getting into your little pissing contest.”
“Not helping, lady,” he growled.
“They’re still ours,” the voice replied.
A different set of doors opened up and two people walked through them. Both of them wore scrubs with white jackets and were apparently of Caucasian descent, although that’s where the resemblance ended. One of them was a woman, about five foot four with long wavy black hair and pale skin. Her nametag clearly read “Dr. M. Masters.” She looked pissed. The other stood a good fourteen inches taller than his companion, towering over everyone else in the room. He had a good four inches on Dean and Dean wasn’t exactly short. It wasn’t as though the guy was skinny either - the guy looked muscular, although scrubs weren’t exactly flattering on anyone. His nametag identified him as “Dr. S. Campbell” although his long chestnut hair and slight stubble made the title a little unbelievable. He didn’t look particularly pissed. “Resolute” might be a better term. “What’s the situation here?” Campbell wanted to know. His voice was gravelly, rough.
“A couple of coyotes trying to take back their ‘property,’” Castiel replied, sizing the giant up.
The man nodded. “How many of them are there?”
Blonde Nurse checked a screen. “Two. Five hostages, one bleeding.”
“He shot a hostage? What a dick.” Masters didn’t seem exceptionally worried, or concerned.
“Tell me, exactly what are a couple of extra doctors going to do about a hostage situation?” Dean wanted to know.
“This doctor’s going to work on the trafficking victims here in the ER. You know, the ones who brought the creeps here in the first place,” Masters smirked. “I assume you’d like for them to actually survive? I’d prefer that sweet cheeks here do the same and not risk those perfect hands of his, but we both know that isn’t going to happen. “
Hazel eyes turned to him and looked down. His brother’s eyes had been hazel. He hadn’t thought much about Sammy in… hell, twelve years? Must have been. Why would he spring to mind now? “That guy is bleeding out right now, Dean,” he said in a voice that was half growl. “There isn’t time to wait for a friggin’ SWAT team. Are you coming with me or not?”
“You’re not even wearing a vest!” he objected.
“Nope.”
“You’re a civilian,” Walker frowned. “They’re going to shoot you in your face.”
“Then they do. Is one of you going to come and play backup or not?” He was walking toward the barrier already. Dean had to race to catch up.
Stupid sasquatches and their stupid long legs. “What the hell, Campbell?” he hissed.
Gigantor ignored him and banged on the door. “This is Doctor Sam Campbell. I’m a surgeon here at Morningstar General. I’m going to come out to tend to your hostage, okay?”
“You have to let us in, buddy boy,” the criminal on the other side taunted. “We’re not letting you take our hostage.”
“Dude, the hostage is no good to you dead, and then the charges get upgraded to murder, you understand me?” Campbell told him. “I’m just going to come out with one negotiator.” He turned to Dean. “Put your gun away.” He turned back to the door. “Just us, okay? I’ll be your hostage, all right? They’ve already radioed this in, you don’t want to make this worse than it already is.” A very tense moment followed. “Dude, a doctor is a higher-value hostage than some receptionist, right? Just let me come out, okay?”
After another couple of seconds the second man spoke. “All right, but no funny business. Just you and the negotiator.”
“You’re a friggin’ idiot,” Dean hissed to the doctor.
Gigantor shrugged and pushed the door open slowly, hands raised. He and Dean walked slowly into the reception area. “It’s just me, see?” he said. “Me and this guy here.” He walked over to the hostage, who was struggling to hold a hand over a spurting wound in his shoulder. “Do you mind if I take a look at your patient?” He kept his eyes locked on those of the guy with the gun.
“Go ahead, pretty boy.” The coyote was about forty, maybe forty-five, and bald with blue eyes. He had plenty of scars and bad teeth. His partner had facial hair, obviously compensating for the hair missing from his head. “Let’s make this fast, though. G-man there can bring him back to your ER and then you and I can settle in and wait.”
“Sure thing, boss. Just let me take a look and see what the best way is to stabilize the patient.” He crouched down in front of the hostage, who looked like he might have been a janitor or something. “How you doing, Julio?”
“I’ve been better,” Julio gasped.
Campbell slowly reached into his pocket. “I’m just grabbing some gauze to try to stop the bleeding,” he assured the captor. Both of the bad guys drew closer, suspicious. “Relax. No problems from me, man.” He pulled out a huge wad of gauze and pressed it to Julio’s shoulder. “This probably doesn’t feel great, man. Sorry about this.” He helped Julio to his (shaky) feet and carefully passed him to Dean, passing him an access card while he was at it. As he did he met Dean’s eyes. There was something there, something Dean couldn’t help but feel he was missing.
“Okay, pretty boy, let’s take your seat now,” said Thing Number Two, grabbing Campbell by the arm. That was when the doctor moved, and frankly no guy that size should have been able to move so damned fast. Dean dragged Julio out of the line of fire as fast as he could while Campbell grabbed the assailant’s arm, pulled it past and broke the elbow. He grabbed the gun out of the trafficker’s hand, used it to hit the enemy hard on the head and aimed it at the first trafficker.
“Lie down on the ground,” he said in a growl, with your hands over your head. The thug snarled something obscene – and moved to pull the trigger. Campbell was faster. He shot the Chicagoan in the shoulder. The enemy yelled and fell to the ground, spurting blood. The doctor then pocketed his gun and turned to the agent. “Toss me your cuffs, Dean,” he instructed calmly. “And open the door, would you? We’re going to need to get him into surgery. Julio too.”
Dean fumbled for his handcuffs and tossed them to the physician, who was already on his knees to stop the bleeding. “What the hell, dude?” he asked. Nurses and orderlies and Cas and Walker surged in.
“I’d recommend reading this guy his rights or whatever,” Campbell advised as he helped to get the bleeding coyote onto a gurney. “I’d hate for him to get out on a technicality. Right, Dean?” He started walking back toward the treatment area.
“Hey,” Dean called. “Hey, Campbell!” he called.
Campbell turned.
“How do you know my name?” he asked. They’d never been introduced.
Campbell kept walking.