You Found Me |Sam Winchester| [2015 Wattys Winner]

41. West Nevada

Dean chuckled. "Too soon?"

"Too soon," I mumbled.

"Don't get me wrong," the doctor said, "I'm glad the CDC is here, but what we really need is vaccine." We stopped in the middle of a semi-packed waiting room.

"You got that right," Dean mumbled, looking around.

"Well, tell me, have you noticed anything unusual about the strain?" Sam asked. "Any signs of behavioral change, like aggression, maybe?"

"Excuse me?"

"Have the flu victims shown any signs of, uh, homicidal tendencies?" I asked firmly.

The doctor actually chuckled. "Uh...Symptomatically speaking, we're looking at a relatively mild case of swine flu here. Probably add up to a miserable week off of work, and that's about it."

"So nothing unusual," I deadpanned.

"Hmm. Day and a half ago, we didn't have a single case. Now we're looking at over seventy—the infectious equivalent of a briefcase bomb." Another masked doctor came by to hand over our doctor a clipboard with papers to skim through. "So, yeah, I might call that a little unusual."

"Day and a half?" I shifted my weight.

"That's the same time those statues started crying," Dean murmured.

"Yeah," Sam and I agreed.

"I'm sorry. What was that?" the doctor inquired.

"What was what?" I asked stupidly.

"Did he just say a bunch of statues started crying?"

"What?" I snorted a nervous laugh. "N-no, no. W-who would—"

"Who would say that, huh?" Dean caught on. "Crazy people."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, which we are not."

"No."

The doctor looked at the three of us strangely. "Just...Get us some vaccine." With wary brown eyes, the doctor left us. I rubbed my forehead. Close call.

After we finished up in in the hospital, we ditched the masks and the gloves, all filing into the Impala. We shed our outfits too. I yawned, realizing just how dark it really was out. I could easily take a nap if I really wanted to.

Meanwhile, the boys were trying to get a hold of Bobby.

"Let me guess," came Bobby's voice from the speaker on the phone, "another steamin'-hot pile of swine flu."

"Yep," Dean confirmed.

"Doesn't make any sense, Bobby," Sam added. "Pestilence touched down here. I'm sure of it."

"But why is he dealing them soft serve like swine flu when he's got the Croatoan virus up his sleeve? I-I-I don't get it."

"Doesn't matter what the sick son of a bitch is doing. What matters is this is the fourth town he's hit—that we know of—and we're still eating his dust. Did you get anything? We got even a snowball at probable next target?"

"No pattern we can see," I reported.

Bobby sighed. "Okay. Hold on." There was a momentary pause. "Well, as far as I can tell, he's still heading East. So...head East, I guess."