Title: Suffer the Children (and the Geeks) 1/10

Summary: A haunted museum, a geeky little brother, and five missing children makes for an interesting hunt.

A/N: This fic is for my beloved beta, geminigrl11. For all that you've done for me over the past year and a half, a fic doesn't seem like much. But I know life's sucked lately, and if this can at all perk you up, I've done what little I can :)

A/N 2: I have to thank two people for helping me get this fic to completion. First of all, Tyranusfan did the fastest beta for a fic this size that I could even imagine. I'm glad that he decided not to hate me, even while he was tackling page 55 at one AM. His attention to detail totally helped clean up my plot difficulties and character inconsistencies. Also, there are no words for how much sendintheclowns did for this piece. She held my hand through the ENTIRE process, from conceptualizing it, to doing random Google research, to helping me NOT freak out when I couldn't make myself write. She deserves a TON of credit for her work on this and I'm pretty sure I now owe her my firstborn child.

Disclaimer: I own nothing! I mean, I did make up some OCs in this one, but the heart of the fic--all things Sam and Dean--are sadly not mine. They're on loan to Gem for the day anyway :)

Chapter One

Sam was a geek.

Dean told him that every chance he got and was not hesitant to tell it to anyone they met, especially when Sam's geekiness was in demand.

Even Sam knew that he was a geek, and under duress, when he saw no other option, he would even confirm it.

He liked books. He liked research. He liked obscure, little known facts. He liked to be smart, to know things. As a kid, it had always been his way to pull his weight in the hunt--when he'd been too young or too inexperienced or just plain too not-Dean. Geekiness had been his way to shine, and he had taken to it with a flourish.

Besides that, he really was good at it. All the teachers told him so. And when praise from home was long in coming, he took it where he could find it, and so his research skills just got better.

Dean was capable, even pretty good, and their dad had been scary-good in that obsessive, reclusive kind of way. But Sam had the advantages of technology (because he paid attention in school, unlike others who will not be named) and of passion. John would only research what was relevant to him, and he wasn't great at sharing. Dean would only research when he had to.

Sam researched because it interested him.

But that didn't mean that was all he ever wanted to do, and lately, it seemed, it was all he ever got to do.

Or maybe it was just tonight.

Because he was tired. They were between hunts, and he wanted it to stay that way--just for a while. He wanted to catch a movie, eat a real meal, play mini-golf, even bowl. He'd settle for time to catch up on his email.

But they needed a hunt. And they only had one computer.

So finding the hunt kind of fell to him. Sure, Dean had checked the papers (there was only one, eight page local production that talked more about produce than news) and he had promised to watch the news to see if there was anything else if Sam would just peruse the computer.

Since it was pretty clear they weren't going out at all, Sam had resigned himself to the computer, hunched himself over it, looking for some trail to follow, some lead to go, some story to move them out of this nowhere place.

Dean, on the other hand, was sprawled out on one of the beds, propped up against the headboard. He held the remote in his hand and was flipping channels lazily. Sam couldn't help but glare.

He supposed he should really feel grateful. Dean had been itching to go to a bar, to pick up some girls and drink some beer (not necessarily in that order), but the thought of being on the social scene still made Sam feel a twinge of trepidation. After San Francisco, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to make meaningful contact with the outside world again

Which was his choice, but it certainly didn't have to be Dean's. But the prospect of being alone in a motel room, or the third wheel while Dean flirted it up at some bar also did not sound appealing. Dean, in his infinite big brother wisdom, must have taken pity on him and not forced the issue. The fact that Dean had not dragged Sam along but had also not left Sam behind that night was a testament to just how much Dean cared about his baby brother.

But that still didn't make it any easier for Sam to be working while his big brother lounged around.

He sighed. Glaring at Dean wouldn't get him very far and it certainly wouldn't get them a case any faster. Focusing was his best bet.

Besides, he may have a case, if the details panned out. Sometimes cases were easy to find—obvious clues in national news articles. Comments on supernatural websites. Freak theories on message boards.

Other times, they took more work. Sometimes they required finding patterns, putting together pieces—the kind of stuff their father had thrived at.

Though it was more time consuming and more stressful, it was also more gratifying. And Sam was feeling pretty certain that he might have just stumbled across a new one.

"Dean," he said. "I think I got something."

Dean didn't even look at him, but instead flipped to a channel where a short Hispanic man was kneeling front of a dog. He was staring intently into the dog's eyes and started hissing.

"Dean," Sam tried again, glancing from the screen to his brother.

Cocking his head to better view the picture, Dean raised an eyebrow at the dog barking frantically on the screen. "Yeah?" Dean asked.

"You listening to me?" Sam replied, more than a twinge of impatience coloring his voice. It was one thing to have to do all the research; it was another to feel completely ignored doing it. "I've got a string of mysterious deaths related to a museum exhibit."

Dean didn't even blink, just looked mesmerized at the screen as the man began to moan a little.

Sam had finally had enough. "Dude, what are you watching?"

"Shhh," Dean said. "He's about to tell us what the dog is thinking."

Sam reluctantly relented to his curiosity. "Why would he do that?"

"He's a dog whisperer, man," Dean told him as if he should know. "He helps the owners figure out why the dog freaks out all the time. Like why it attacks every fat bald guy it sees."

Mouth hanging open, Sam searched for something to say. "Dean, he claims to be a dog whisperer. He's like a deranged Jennifer Love Hewitt."

Dean flashed him a grin at the familiar reference. "Only not nearly as hot," Dean agreed, "and far more believable."

Sam opened his mouth to make a response, but thought better of it. He looked back at his computer screen. "It's always the same," Sam said, checking the notes again. "Some kid at a museum, gets separated from his family or group, and they find the kid having seizures or passed out. All the kids wind up in comas and eventually die from pneumonia."

The show had gone on commercial, and Dean commenced clicking channels again. "Sounds like a shtriga," Dean mused.

Sam shook his head. "But at a museum? Those things work their way through families and only go on food binges every 15-20 years. This pattern is too widespread--all across the country, maybe some overseas. And the timeframe we're looking at--not the nightly attacks like a shtriga."

"But the kids are all found in different parts of the museum?"

"Well, that's the interesting part. They're all found near the Jewels of the East collection. It started over in Japan and just started making its way across America last year. Since then, nine kids have died."

"And no one's made the connection?"

"It's a traveling exhibit," Sam said with a shrug. "The deaths haven't hit the same city twice--and there's nothing suspicious about the deaths. They've all been called fluke illnesses, something with heart arrhythmias and comas. And there's no link between the victims except they've all been kids—ages five to fourteen."

"So, where's it at now?"

"It just moved," Sam said. "Just opened up in Springfield Natural History Museum."

"As in Illinois?"

"Yep," Sam said. "It's going to be there for about a month before it moves on. I think we should catch it before it can get another victim."

Dean yawned. "We don't have any idea which jewel it is? I mean, unless it's like the whole exhibit or something." He paused his flipping, cocking his head in wonderment at a music video on the TV.

Sam ignored Dean's wayward attention. "It's hard to say. Some of the jewels were gathered from other museums. Only about half are from the most recent excavation. I'm thinking that whatever it is that's causing problems is from that dig."

"Any strange histories popping up on any of them?"

"I haven't had much time to look—I've been searching for a detailed list of the items in the exhibit, but it's hard to come by. Most of them came from a dig—"

"Dude, you do know you can just say no, right?" Dean asked.

At this, Sam frowned. "I was just trying to answer your question."

"Sure thing," Dean said lazily. "So you want to check it out?"

Sam shrugged. "I think it's worthwhile." And it sure beat the heck out of watching Dean channel surf.

"You sure you're not just trying to find some way to get me in a museum?"

The look Sam shot at his brother was one of exasperation. His brother simple did not take him seriously sometimes. "People are dying, Dean. Kids."

Dean grunted. "Yeah, yeah. We go off and be the good little heroes that we are," Dean said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We'll head out first thing in the morning. It's only a half day's drive to Springfield."

With that, Dean didn't even move, just clicked the channel upward again.

Sam stared, waiting for his brother to ask more questions. One thing they'd both learned from their father was to never go in blind. Sam hadn't figured out half of the clues yet, and some good old fashion brainstorming could do them both good.

Dean, apparently, had other plans. Mostly watching TV.

After a minute, Dean looked at him. "What?"

Sam just shook his head. "Never mind," he said. "I think I'm going to get some sleep." He stood, grabbing his bag and heading to the bathroom.

"You sure?" Dean asked. "In a half hour, America's Next Top Model is on. That Tyra chick? She can sure throw a mean cell phone. You throw like a sissy--you could pick up a thing or two."

"Yeah, and I'm sure the fact that she's smoking hot has nothing to do with it," Sam said with an air of annoyance.

Dean shrugged. "I'm just saying, man," he said, letting the channel linger on Access Hollywood where a B-list reporter was fumbling after Lindsay Lohan.

"Right," Sam said absently, closing the laptop. "You're impossible."

Dean just snickered, sinking deeper into the bed as Sam closed the door behind him.

-o-

Springfield was mostly nondescript. As the state capital, it was bigger than their usual locales, but it was hardly the biggest, most exciting town they'd been to.

The Natural History Museum was downtown, positioned at a scenic point on the river, and surrounded by other educational venues. In fact, the museum was at the far end of a decorative pavilion, flanked by an IMAX theater on one side and an art museum on the other.

The pavilion was sunny and sported sculpted hedges and a few statutes among the benches and fountains.

The day was cheery, just like he'd expect to see in the beginning of a movie or something equally cheesy, but the pavilion was quiet in the early morning sun. Traffic on the nearby road was moderately heavy, as was the foot traffic that traversed the sidewalk, but interest in the museum seemed to be low at that time of day.

Not that Dean could blame them. It was a beautiful day. The air was clear and crisp—with a hint of coolness to make it more alluring. The sky was blue and spotted with puffy white clouds. All Dean wanted to do was to take the Impala and drive deserted back roads with the windows down, blasting all his favorite songs, driving nowhere—fast.

Instead he was paying fifteen bucks to get into a museum. Well, thirty, since apparently he was paying for Sammy too. Sam didn't exactly make him as much as assumed, because they always did that kind of thing together. Dean, being Dean, liked to take the lead, be in charge, which often meant he was the one who picked up the tabs, something which he didn't see Sam jumping to change. Sometimes being a big brother sucked. Little brothers were so cheap.

Okay, and truth be told, sometimes being a hunter sucked. He was in a museum, of all places, chasing down a who-knows-what. At a museum.

Sam seemed completely intent though, the little geek, and more than a bit excited. He was already pouring over the museum guide by the time they'd paid.

"It's quiet today," Sam said absently.

Dean just grunted at that. How a museum could ever be truly busy was a little beyond Dean. He didn't see the appeal of wandering around room after room, looking at things and reading about stuff. There wasn't just enough to do. Sure, he found ancient weaponry appealing, but looking at it through a glass case and reading a little info card hardly did much for him. He wanted to hold them, try them out, see what they were made of.

Museums had too many rules. What not to touch, what not to do. Don't run. Don't eat or drink. Don't have fun. Don't breathe.

And this one didn't even have any paintings of naked women to make it seem worthwhile.

He sighed, following bleakly after his brother, who seemed far too content within the large building.

"Dude, there's like no one here," Dean said. "How is this thing supposed to feed when there's no one here?"

"I think that's a good thing," Sam said. "It's not like we want another victim."

"I'm just saying. It could have picked a better location to do its thing. It doesn't seem like a very smart possessed jewel."

Sam shrugged. "It's tied to the exhibit."

Dean snorted a little. "I know. I'm just saying." Sam was just too easy.

"Well, just—stop saying," Sam said, casting him an annoyed look.

They both quieted, nodding to an elderly couple that passed by.

Sam looked again at the map before heading them forward. Dean paused to examine a jewel bedecked monopoly board.

"Dude, check this out," he said. "I think there's like some ruby or something on Park Place. There's even some blue thing in jail. In jail." He shook his head. "Who would have thought?"

He didn't get a response and when he looked up, he found Sam staring at him. "When do you have time to play Monopoly?"

"Come on," Dean said, a bit indignant. "Chicks dig guys who play games."

"You played Monopoly to get a girl?"

"Girls," Dean clarified with a proud gleam in his eyes. "I put them both in jail and they had some...creative ways of getting out, let me tell you."

Disgusted, Sam crinkled his nose. "I don't want to know, okay? Can we just keep going, please?"

"There are better things then getting 200 dollars for passing go, let me tell you."

But Sam was already moving on, shaking his head. Dean gave the Monopoly board one last grin before he trailed after him.

-o-

Sam was halfway down the hall before he caught up. His little brother didn't acknowledge him, just kept walking in pure little brother petulance.

The museum itself was an awkward design--a network of confusing corridors with rows of doors opening into various exhibits. Some smaller exhibits randomly lined the hallways. Some were worth gazing at, he supposed, but there was far too much writing to make it truly worthwhile.

They passed one group of children on a field trip, all donning matching uniforms, while their teacher pointed out things of interest.

Dean checked her out, noting her slim figure and her young face. The children in her group were squirming around an exhibit about ancient sloths, little faces pressed against glass cases, and she glanced at him, then again, lingering this time.

Dean grinned, tilting his head and easing his posture upright.

A smile teased her lips.

Dean was ready to saunter over, when he was pulled sharply in the opposite direction, clear out of the room.

"Dude, what's up with that?" Dean accused, trying to look back over his shoulder to see if he could see her.

"Come on, man," he muttered. "Homicidal spirit in a museum?"

Dean just rolled his eyes, but followed after Sam. "I'm just appreciating the exhibits, Sammy."

Sam sighed, exasperated, pulling Dean down the hall. "The Jewels of the East collection is in the eastern wing. Next to the early American quilt collection."

"Quilts?"

"Yeah," Sam said distractedly. "They're very reflective of early American lifestyle and are often overlooked as a form of art. Probably because it's been historically dominated by women."

"Dude." Dean let his tone say the rest.

Sam glanced back at him. "What?"

Finally Dean shook his head. "You're such a geek," he muttered.

Though he couldn't see it, he heard Sam sigh as he led them onward.

The long hallway was noticeably empty and strangely quiet. The distant voices of the children were lost in it. The odd peace made Dean tense unconsciously, and for a second he wished he'd brought his gun.

Sam had nixed the idea from the get-go--though security might not catch them, there was security, which was a cause for concern in and of itself. Sam was getting positively anal about that stuff these days. Sure, Dean knew it was risky, but it wasn't like he'd ever actually gotten caught. And yeah, they were still doing research, but research and the hunt itself weren't always clear-cut lines, and Dean believed in being prepared.

He would have been a good Boy Scout. He was even good at tying knots. He was resourceful and smart and could totally survive in the wilderness for days at a time. He definitely had all the bases covered.

Except for the whole being polite and patient thing. And the uniforms. They had the dorkiest uniforms. The uniforms Sam would have loved.

But that was beside the point because Dean liked carrying a gun, liked picking which gun to carry, liked putting bullets in his gun, because it made him feel good. Was that so terrible? Feeling good?

He glowered at his brother's back. Sam sure seemed to have some natural aversion to fun. There were times when he had no idea how they were related.

But his brother was on a mission, and so was he, even if this wasn't the part of it that interested him. All he had to do was humor Sam a bit longer, help reason through the details, then find a way to waste whatever it was that was killing the kids. It wasn't that Dean couldn't research, but why would he bother when Sam was so clearly and geekily enthralled by it? It made his brother happy, kept his brother occupied, and, most importantly, left Dean free for other things.

Sam seemed to be in to together-time lately, though, and was ascribing a bit too literally to the old adage that there was safety in numbers. Whatever the reasons, Sam asked him along (more like expected him along) and Dean hadn't been able to think of a good excuse to get out of it. After all, he knew his brother had been under undue stress lately. San Francisco had only made Sam hesitant to make connections with anyone beyond him. And spending time in jail had clearly unnerved Sam to stop taking all unnecessary risks. Since Dean had talked him into situations on both accounts, he couldn't help but feel a little responsible for standing by Sam until he felt a bit more secure.

So wandering museum halls looking for clues was it for today, though he did get to play with the EMF, which made him grin a little bit each time in spite of himself. He had made the thing from scratch after all.

Sam, for his part, was completely concentrated on the map, leading them through the ridiculous maze of hallways and corridors until he said, "I think that's it, down the hall."

Dean peaked down the hall, which looked like every other hall in the place. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, I can read a map," Sam said, not looking up. "And there's a huge sign right in front of your face."

Dean blinked, looking directly to upwards, where indeed a large banner was stretched out above a set of double swinging doors. The large font boldly proclaimed, "Jewels of the East." Underneath the title, it read, "Come Explore the Exotic wonders of the Orient."

"They can make as many signs as they want," Dean muttered. "I can't see why anyone would want to come look at rocks though."

Sam rolled his eyes, almost out of habit, rather than what Dean had actual said. "Dean, they're some of the rarest jewels in the world. The sheer quantity in the collection is impressive. Not to mention that the jade--it's said to be the best quality and cut for one of that size ever found. It was one of the most important finds in that region of the last five years."

Weirded out, Dean raised his eyebrows at his brother. "We cannot be related."

Sam didn't even dignify that with a response. Not that there was a response to be made because Dean knew he was totally right.

They walked in silence, their legs moving in tandem, and the museum resounded heavily with emptiness. That happened a lot, and he wondered if all the unconscious behaviors that he and Sam shared, all the silent communication, weren't part of the reason everyone seemed to mistake them for a gay couple.

Unnerved, Dean blanched a little, slowing his pace to fall out of synch with his brother's. Better to be safe than sorry.

Then the atmosphere seemed to shift, almost imperceptibly, and Dean saw his brother stiffen slightly and his own heart skipped a beat. He felt the itch to be armed again. There was something in the air--an electricity--and Dean reached in his pocket, pulling out the EMF. Turning it on, it crackled and flashed.

"Looks like we've got company," Dean murmured.

"It's a little early in the day," Sam noted, tensing in concern next to him.

Dean was still looking at flashing lights on the reader. Then he looked up and met his brother's eyes. "Well, one way to find out."

-o-

If a hunt could ever be normal, Sam might feel a little better by it. But, no matter how well they planned or prepared, there was always something to go wrong.

They weren't even a day into this one and already Dean was in full-on annoying snark mode and they were picking up EMF way too early in the game. They weren't ready for this, they didn't know what they were facing, but now that they were here, they couldn't just ignore it.

He looked at his brother, who had pocketed the EMF. Dean nodded at him, giving him the go ahead. Taking a steadying breath, Sam inched cautiously around the corner.

Stepping inside, they were both surprised to find the room occupied.

There was a boy, maybe seven or eight years of age, standing still in the middle of his room. His blonde hair was parted on the side and he wore a school uniform that matched the group they'd seen earlier. And he seemed completely enthralled, staring at the jewel case like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Dean breathed out an even sigh. They both knew to play it easy around civilians, especially kids. They didn't want to freak anyone out--the last thing they needed was a freaked out kid blabbing something stupid.

"Hey," Dean called.

There was no response. It was as if the kid didn't hear him.

Dean looked at Sam, who looked uncertainly back at him.

"Hey, kid," Dean tried again, stepping forward slightly, "shouldn't you be with your group?"

Sam reached a hand to stop him just as the kid's shaking became noticeable and he fell to his knees.

"What the...?" Dean asked, stepping back in surprise.

Sam's forehead creased with concern. The lights flickered again and a rise of whispers could be heard around them. Realization dawned on Sam, and he cocked his head. "He's being attacked," he said suddenly, right as his stomach went cold.