Special thanks to Tea Junky for editing. This story was originally published in Blood Brothers 6, which is still available for purchase. Just email TeaJunkieatcomcastdotnet and ask for details.
Author's note: This fic stands alone. However, it was intended as a companion piece to Trasan's story "Coming Home" (and whose preface I most lovingly also companioned :)), her story taking place when the boys are children. Be sure to check her story out!
Set toward the end of the Second Season… and is told in two parts. Here is Part 1.
Going Home
"I don't know, Sam, I think this is a big mistake," Dean groused as he maneuvered the Impala along the slick back roads of Blue Earth, Minnesota. It was December, cold and gray; definitely not a place Dean wanted to spend the winter. He'd been plotting hunts straight toward Georgia and the heart of Dixie country. Warm, sunny, Dixie country. And it had been working out just fine until Sam's cell phone had rung at one o'clock in the morning two nights ago. Now they were right back in the heart of cold.
Minnesota.
"Doesn't matter," Sam stared out the front window, his voice distant, his gaze hooded. "We owe it to Pastor Jim to take a look. It was his house."
Dean glanced at his brother, picking up something in his tone. "What's up with you?"
"Nothing," Sam sighed, shifting slightly in the seat. "Well, okay maybe not nothing."
"That was decisive." Dean grunted.
"Books falling off the shelves? Doors slamming shut in empty rooms? Lights going off and on by themselves? Definitely sounds like a ghost, a restless spirit." Sam summed up the panicked late night phone call he's received from Pastor Matt, an old friend of Jim's. The man had moved into the parsonage after Jim's murder—at the hands of demons—and was being tormented by an increasing spectral turbulence in the old church house.
"Definitely," Dean easily agreed, wondering where his brother was going with this.
"I don't remember anything like that when we stayed there… or of ever hearing Jim hint about anything like that going on. Jim was a hunter, that whole place was warded."
Dean frowned as he searched his memories before acquiescing, "So?"
"So why now? You don't think…"
Dean glanced sharply at him. "Think what?"
Sam swallowed hard, his eyes shiny and dark when they fixed on Dean. "That it's… Jim?"
Dean physically recoiled. "No," he stated after a moment, forcing his attention back on the road. He was adamant. "No way. Not possible."
"And why not? He died a violent death, Dean!"
The mere idea soured the words in his mouth and Dean had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Because… just no, Sam. It isn't Jim."
Sam looked like he was going to argue but then exhaled loudly and gave a curt nod instead. "Okay. Uh, yeah, then that leaves us with?"
"I don't know – someone other than Jim?" Dean felt a surge of anger, not sure if it was at Sam for even thinking it might be Jim or because, deep down, Dean felt a niggling worry that it was. "If it is even a someone. Could be something else entirely." He felt Sam's stare of disbelief and defended himself. "I'm just saying. Might not be a ghost at all. Could be a poltergeist."
"I suppose." Sam sounded reluctant. "But Pastor Matt doesn't feel threatened by it."
"That doesn't mean anything," Dean reminded his brother. "He also said the activity only just started. Poltergeists build up energy over time and it sounds like this puppy is just getting warmed up."
"Why now?" Sam shook his head, his face pursed in a frown. "It just doesn' t make sense."
"Like most things in our job." Dean snorted. "Face it, Sammy, we take care of things that don't make sense."
"Aha, funny," Sam deadpanned as Dean turned into the long driveway that led up the parsonage.
A weird longing made him sigh as he pulled up in front of Jim's old place and parked. The house itself hadn't changed much since the last time they were there, although the old barn out back was now gone, probably torn down before it fell on its own. But even with the barn gone, it looked a lot smaller than he remembered.
"Strange, huh?" Sam's voice was oddly subdued.
"Hmm?" Dean glanced at his brother.
"Being back here without Jim."
"Or Dad," Dean added quietly, remembering the summers, and the odd Christmas, that their father had either dropped them off here or stayed with them himself, either recuperating or regrouping. Neither he nor Sam had ever stayed there by themselves. Jim or Dad was always there with them.
The front door opened and a man in his late forties stepped out onto the porch. His face lit up in recognition as he eyed the car. "Dean?" he called out, hurrying down the stairs, screen door banging shut behind him. "Little Sammy?"
Dean grinned as he got out of the car and his freakin' huge brother unfolded himself from the passenger side. The pastor's eyes went wide in shock. "Not so much little Sammy anymore, huh, Pastor? Too much Sammy now," he corrected, ignoring the fraternal glare shot over the roof of the car before Sam turned to smile warmly at their old friend.
"It's just Sam, now, sir." He extended his hand and the man gave him a knowing look before bypassing the hand and pulling Sam in for a hug.
"It's so good to see you boys," he said after a moment, pulling away from Sam to give Dean an equally warm reception. "But none of that 'sir' stuff. You make me feel too old."
Dean allowed the manhandling briefly before stepping out of the hug and patting the older man on the shoulder. He took a moment to appraise their old friend, pleased to see that while he had gotten a bit thicker around the middle waist, and there were deeply etched laugh lines on his ruddy face, Pastor Matt looked pretty much the same: white-blond hair, sharp blue eyes. Matthew Schneeberger hadn't really changed much over the years.
Schneeberger… Dean chuckled softly to himself, remembering how Sam had so much trouble with Pastor Matt's last name and always called the man Pastor Schneezeberger instead. A mispronunciation the young pastor had always taken with good humor, sneezing and winking knowingly at Dean as the kid tried to keep from doubling over in laughter while Sammy, oblivious as ever, continued on with whatever story he was set on telling.
"Not old, Pastor Matt." Sam was such a suck-up. "Just seasoned."
That made the other man chuckle. He shared a knowing look with Dean. "And some things never change… Still charming the elders I see, Little S – I mean, Sam… That's going to take a bit of getting used to… c'mon, boys, let's go inside. It's too cold to be standing around out here." He slung one arm around each Winchester and walked to them the stairs. "I made pirogues and sausage, if anyone is hungry."
"What kind of sausage?" Dean asked, practically drooling at the thought of a home-cooked meal.
The pastor gave him a mock glare. "Spicy of course. Is there any other kind?"
On the other side of the man, Sam groaned something about antacid, and Dean grinned as he hurried up the stairs to the warmth of the house. "Yum, yum, I plum forgot just how much I love Minnesota."
"Plum, Dean? Really?" Sam grinned as he followed Pastor Matt inside and pulled the door closed behind him.
"Shut up, Sam," Dean grumbled as he toed off his boots, his nose crinkling pleasantly at the smell of tomato and spices. "Cabbage rolls, Pastor?" he gave the pastor a stern look. "You holding out on me?"
"Never, Dean. I thought cabbage rolls went without saying." Matt took their jackets and ushered them to the kitchen. "Let's eat first. We can catch up and then I'll tell you about everything that's been going on around here."
That was definitely an order Dean was onboard with. And watching his brother sniff the air, he knew Sam wouldn't be complaining either.
"You said something about falling books and doors being slammed shut in empty rooms?" Sam cut right to the chase as he sat at the table and scooped up a generous helping of cabbage rolls before passing the dish to Dean.
Dean glared at him.
"So no small talk then, huh?" Pastor Matt chuckled quietly as he poured three cups of coffee and sat down across from the brothers. "I seem to recall your daddy being the same way. Not much for chit-chat. Sorry, by the way, to hear of his passing. I wanted to send a card but…"
His voice trailed off and Dean saved him. "It's okay, Pastor Matt… Impala doesn't have a zip code. But—ah—thanks for, you know, wanting to send one."
"I'm amazed you still have her." The man nodded gratefully at Dean, his gaze moving between the brothers. "She looks good."
Dean's chest puffed up and he ignored Sam's huff. "She's my baby."
"Your dad would have been proud."
Sam was quiet as he carefully cut up and chewed each piece of his food. Dean noticed there were no sausages or pierogi on his plate and did the big brother thing: he slid his brother a generous helping.
"Hey." Sam's protest was perfunctory.
Dean just shrugged. "Just helping ya out - wait too long and they'll be gone, Sammy." He hooked a large sausage and hacked at it with a butter knife.
"Sorry about the knife," the pastor explained, "but I had all the sharp ones removed from the house…just in case. I locked them in the trunk of my car."
"It's been that bad?" Dean surmised, speaking around a piece of meat as he chewed.
"Not yet – but I didn't want to take any chances. So far, whatever this is seems to enjoy knocking all the books off the shelves, slamming doors, and turning the lights off and on… Although, last night it started to blast Christmas music at two in the morning." Matt spooned a generous amount of sugar into his coffee and stirred. He offered the sugar bowl to the brothers but they both shook their heads.
"Seasonal lover. Wonderful." Dean slid a look across at his brother but Sam seemed lost in thought, his gaze on the window over the sink. A heavy snow had started to fall. It was getting dark, and Dean was glad they weren't going to be driving tonight. "Ground control to Major Tom." He kicked his brother's leg under the table then smiled innocently when Sam turned a scowl on him. "You hearing this?"
"Huh?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Poltergeist's powering up. He's added music to his repertoire now."
"So it is a poltergeist then?" Pastor Matt tried to confirm.
Sam, now back in the conversation, shook his head. "We don't know for sure yet. Could be a ghost. We'll want to check out the house, see what kind of readings we can pick up."
"What's the difference?" the older man wanted to know. "Between a ghost and a poltergeist, I mean? Aren't they sort of the same thing?"
As Jim's protégé, Matt was aware of the supernatural. But his exposure and interest had always been very limited, so Dean wasn't really surprised by the question and focused on buttering a thick slice of bread, ready to let his brother get his geek on.
Sammy didn't disappoint.
"Well," his brother started, leaning across the table and toward the pastor as he spoke. "A ghost is the spirit of someone who's passed on but, for some reason, has refused to 'cross over,' for lack of a better term. They're stuck here, but tend to be rather harmless. They usually don't do more than haunt an area, scaring people without really being seen or heard. But a poltergeist… Well, a poltergeist—"
"Is a lot more angry and violent," Dean cut in. "They're the ones with violent beginnings. A bad death that has left behind a lot of anger or negative feelings... It creates this kind of bad energy that builds up and gets increasingly aggressive until – well, until you get violent outbursts like the kind you're talking about here."
"A ghosts also tend to haunt a specific location, while a poltergeist is usually linked to specific people or item and can actually move from place to place with them," Sam finished off.
"Oh…that's disturbing." The pastor looked thoughtful for a while, then sighed tiredly and reached up to rub his eyes. "Sorry, boys. I haven't been getting much sleep of late. I hope you don't mind if I show you to your rooms then retire to my own for the night. You can go ahead and take a look around, see what you can find out." He waved dismissively at the table." I have a housekeeper who comes by in the mornings and she'll take care of the dishes."
Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed away from the table, rubbing his stomach in exaggeration. "That was good eating…" He looked at his brother, mildly irritated that Sam had started to stack up the dishes on his side of the table. "What are you doing? You heard the man. He's got a housekeeper coming in the morning."
Sam ignored him for a moment as he finished scraping off the plates and placing the cutlery neatly over the top of them. "That doesn't mean we have to leave her a mess."
"Uh, yeah, actually, Sam, it does. House. Keeper. That is sort of what the word means… You know what?" He turned to the pastor, who was watching them with mild amusement. "Why do I even bother? A lifetime in motels and he still makes his bed every morning before the cleaning staff gets there." He glared at his brother as he stood. "You finished, Cinderella, or do you want to wash the dang things too before we go upstairs?"
Sam stood and smiled sweetly at their host. "You said something about our rooms?"
Pastor Matt just shook his head and chuckled as he led them upstairs.
It unnerved Sam more than he realized it would, coming back here. He hadn't been back to Blue Earth since before going to Stanford and had no idea when the last time Dean or their father had been. He watched Dean's back as they followed the pastor up the stairs, half-listening as his brother explained about the EMF meter and what they would look for. Sam didn't mean to be distracted, but his mind kept returning to the last time he had spoken to the aging pastor. It had been only days before Dean had showed up on his and Jessica's doorstep. He had called to ask Pastor Jim a favor…
"You don't have to do it if you don't want to… if you don't feel comfortable doing it. Don't feel you have to. I just thought it would be nice. You've always been like a second dad to me and Jessica loves the ocean and—" Sam knew he was babbling, but this was important to him; he was so nervous asking Pastor Jim, he couldn't even imagine how asking Jessica was going to be.
"Sam, you don't have to explain yourself to me. Of course I'd be delighted to perform the ceremony for you and Jessica. And anywhere you like... You're sure she's the one?"
"Pastor Jim…I…" Sam felt his throat close as he thought about the beautiful woman who was his every breath. "She's everything to me."
"Sam?"
A punch to the arm had Sam glaring at his brother. "What?"
Dean gave him an odd look, then shook his head and pointed between two rooms, side by side. "Which one do you want?"
"Um…" Sam frowned. When they were younger, they'd shared one room. It hadn't occurred to him that this time would be different.
Matt looked between them, concern rising on his face.
"I'll take this one." Sam quickly chose the closest one. The same one that had always been their room.
"'kay then, I'll take the other one. Dad's old room."
"Is that okay? I just assumed…" Matt's voice trailed off.
Both brothers' rushed to reassure him. "No, that's fine!"
"It's okay, Pastor, we're too big for bunk beds now," Sam added with a warm smile.
"Yeah, no kidding." Dean snorted waving his hands at Sam. "Can you imagine trying to fit all that in a twin bed?" He shivered in mock horror. "It wouldn't be pretty."
"Shut up." Sam grinned as he shoved his brother aside and went into their old room. Not much had changed; the bunk beds had been traded out for a double in the middle of the room. In an odd way, the change made things a bit easier, and he only felt slightly bad at making his brother take their father's old room, knowing that if it really bothered Dean, he never would have given Sam the choice.
"Good night, boys," the pastor called from farther along the hallway moments before Dean stepped into the room behind Sam.
"I think it's the same bed Dad used to sleep in," Dean commented, eyeing the changes in the room.
"You want to change rooms?" Sam offered, even as he tested out the bounciness of the mattress with his hands.
"Naw, just saying. Kinda cool, actually," he admitted, making Sam look at him. "I know, it's a strange thing coming from me but, man, it kinda makes me feel better. I don't know. Safer or something."
"Nostaglic?" Sam offered, smiling at his brother, proud of just how far Dean had come since their father's death almost a year ago.
"Gesundheit," Dean teased, letting himself fall onto Sam's bed and stretching out.
"Hey," Sam protested. "Get off my bed! You're wrinkling the bedspread!"
"Could you sound any more like a girl?" Dean smirked before pushing himself up off the bed. "C'mon, sis, let's get our stuff from the car, then take a look around. I don't know about you but I'm taking it kinda personal that someone is haunting our pastor's house."
"Bite me," Sam grumbled, but knew exactly how his brother was feeling. It just felt wrong, like some sort of violation and there was just no way in hell they weren't going to put this thing to rest. One way or another.
Ten minutes later, the brothers were back upstairs. After dropping their bags in their respective rooms, they started to scan the house with the EMF, paying particular attention to the pastor's office with the big bookshelf. According to Matt, the room had a penchant for the books coming off the shelves, but right now everything seemed fine.
Dean tapped the face of the hand-held device. "That's weird." He frowned. " even a blip. Something with enough juice to toss books like that should leave something behind."
Sam scanned the rows of books all freshly reorganized by the pastor, equally vexed. "Don't know. You sure it's not broken or something?" That earned Sam a scowl. Grinning, he turned away from his brother and stared out the closed window next to the bookshelf. It was dark and the snow was still falling. Very pretty actually, he mused as he moved closer to peer outside. He frowned when he saw the window was unlatched. "That's odd."
"What?" Dean asked as he popped the back off the EMF and played with a couple of the wires.
"Window was open, that's all." Sam ran a finger across the ledge, the absence of salt making him sigh sadly. Of course Pastor Matt didn't salt the windows – why would he? He opened his mouth to ask Dean if he was packing salt—his brother was always carrying something—but then changed his mind. They didn't want to do anything yet to change the setup of the haunting as they were hoping that whatever was happening, would happen again tonight.
"Maybe he worked up a sweat putting all these books back in order and wanted to cool off," Dean offered, casting a daggered look at the shelves.
Shaking his head, Sam turned away. His brother had nothing personal against useful books, but Dean hardly considered a shelf full of Bibles and religious texts useful, even though they kept a well-used copy among their own arsenal. "Maybe," he agreed, Matt not really striking him as a physical kind of guy. Probably did tax his exercise routine of the day to restack the shelves.
Sam circled around to the bookshelf again. "What do you think happened to all Jim's research books anyways? I don't see any of them here."
"Bobby got them." Dean put the EMF back together and took another scan of the room.
"What?" Sam looked at his brother questioningly. "Not that it doesn't make sense, but how'd you know that?"
"He told me. Damn it, still nothing." Dean scowled.
"When?" Sam demanded. "Where was I?"
Dean's disapproving look fixed on him. "What crawled up your ass? I don't know where you were – probably already gone to bed or something… Jeez, Sam, don't make it sound like we were hiding out from you behind the playground or something."
"You know what?" Sam huffed already heading for the door. "Forget it. I'm going to take a look around in the attic."
"The attic?" Dean started to follow him. "Why the attic?"
"Because it's as far away from you as I can get and…still be in the house!" Sam yelled from down the hall.
Sam had no idea where that surge of irrational petulance had come from, but by the time he'd reached the attic, he just felt tired and stupid. Dean was probably right. Most of the time, when they stayed at Bobby's, Sam ended up going to bed earlier than the other men and he could hardly expect that they didn't talk about things, just because Sam wasn't there. And that hadn't bothered Sam before. In fact, he was happy Dean had found a confidante in the older man. But still…
"Big girl is right," Sam grumbled to himself as he stood in the middle of the attic and realized he had no idea what he was looking for. Not like he had an EMF or anything, and he doubted the ghost, poltergeist, whatever, would just leave clues. After poking around for a few minutes, he went back to the lower floor and prepared to apologize.
Dean though, apparently had other ideas and when Sam finally found him, Dean was in his room with the door closed and a note stuck to it…with gum.
"Ew," Sam muttered, pulling off the note and ripping off the end so he could use it to wad up the gum. Not like Pastor Matt needed to see that. Shoving the paper-wrapped gum into his pocket, Sam walked back to his own room as he read the note:
DO NOT DISTURB. THAT MEANS YOU, SAM. UNLESS SOMETHING HAPPENS. DEAN
Sam grimaced. Yeah, there'd be need for much sucking up in the morning. Letting the note fall on the floor, Sam dropped on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He blinked once, twice, and then was out.
Silent Night, holy night, all is calm. all is bright…
Dean lurched out of bed, grabbed the EMF and his knife.
Round yon virgin, mother and child…
He met his brother in the hall. Sam was still fully dressed, his hair a big mess.
Holy infant so tender and mild…
With Sam at his back, Dean hurried downstairs. The music seemed to be coming from the main floor.
Sleep in heavenly peace…
Sleep in heavenly peace.
And then as abruptly as it started, the loud music ended.
"What the hell?" Dean whispered, sweeping the living room with the device.
"Got anything?" Sam whispered back, his gaze darting around the dark room.
"Sam? Dean?" Pastor Matt hurried into the room and turned on the light. "Did you hear it?"
Dean shook his head, silently answering Sam's question as the EMF stayed silent and dark.
"Yeah, we did but whatever it is, it seems gone now," Sam reassured the older man. "You said the music was new. Did anything else happen with it? Books falling—"
A door upstairs slammed.
"Stay here!" Sam yelled at the pastor, his long legs already running for the stairs.
Dean followed right behind him. "Hold up," he growled , pushing past Sam to take the lead. He might still be pissed at the kid for the little fit earlier, but he was still the big brother.
Sam huffed out something unflattering but let him go first anyway.
A quick search of the rooms garnered nothing. Once again both the EMF and the house were silent.
"I don't get it," Sam admitted as they stood in the hallway outside Dean's room. "Slamming doors? Loud music? I dunno…"
"Seems kinda pussy for a ghost, let alone a 'geist," Dean finished for him, shivering slightly in the chill. He was only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, and kicked himself for letting his guard down. He should have stayed in his clothes, like his brother. Speaking of which… "You over whatever the hell that was downstairs earlier?"
Even in the dim lighting, Dean could see his brother blush. Good. Kid should be embarrassed.
Sam shifted on his feet. "Yeah, about that… man, I don't know what came over me-"
"Well, just don't let it happen again," Dean growled, anxious to get on to the job at hand. "Jealous?" he huffed. "Over me and Bobby? Get real, Sam. Now c'mon, let me grab some pants, then we can take a look outside. I got a weird feeling on this one."
"Me too," Sam admitted, then went downstairs to talk to Matt while Dean shoved on some warm clothes, not really looking forward to going outside.
"…we're just going to take a look outside," Sam was telling the pastor when Dean clumped downstairs. "Just to make sure we don't miss anything." He glanced at his brother when Dean strode into the room. "You ready?"
"Just need my boots and jacket." Dean carried the sawed-off shotgun, fully loaded with rock salt.
Boots and jackets later, the Winchesters stepped out of the warmth of the house and into the cold. It was just after two in the morning and the night was eerily quiet, the snow having finally stopped. But a brisk wind had picked up in its place, swirling the freshly fallen powder around their feet. In silent agreement, the brothers stuck together, making a quick trek around the house. Their boots crunched noisily in the crisp snow, their breaths puffs of white, before they finished their round and stopped shy of the driveway, in sight of the front door.
A good foot had fallen on his car, and Dean was not looking forward to digging it out in the morning. "I hate Minnesota," he grumbled as he rubbed his hands together to keep them warm, the shotgun held snuggly between his arm and body.
Sam ignored him, his gaze fixed on something in the distance.
"What?" Dean demanded, following his brother's gaze toward the old cemetery farther back on the property. Although it wasn't used anymore, it seemed kept up pretty well from what Dean could tell from the original cursory glance he'd given it on their walk around. "You see something? Sam?"
"Huh?" Sam gave himself a little shake, then looked at his brother. "What? No, I was just thinking."
"Thinking?" Dean snorted quietly. "About what? Your old imaginary friend? What was his name again? Octave, Oscar-"
"Olaf," Sam corrected quietly. "His name was Olaf. Look, can we just back inside? There's nothing out here to see."
Dean opened his mouth to tease his brother some more, faint memories of a winter so long ago on the tip of his tongue, but then changed his mind. "All right – snow's covered anything that might have been useful anyway."
By the time the brothers had trudged back inside, they were both shivering.
"Did you find anything?" Pastor Matt asked as he met them in the porch.
"Snow." Dean sighed. "Maybe a mild case of hypothermia," he added, flexing his stiff fingers. "Want to hit the library in the morning?" Dean asked his brother as he hung up his jacket and kicked off his boots.
"Probably a good idea," Sam agreed with a yawn. "Check out the history of the house, see if anything comes up."
"Sorry, boys. I wish I could be more help," the older man fretted as he followed them into the hallway.
"Not your fault," Dean assured as he stifled his own yawn and cast a glare at his brother when Sam smirked at him. "Do you think that's it for the night? Or does it like to keep things up?"
"Not usually. The music was new last night but usually it would just slam a door, knock the books down and fiddle with the lights. Tonight's been a bit quieter to be honest. Maybe it just knows you boys are here." The man smiled at them warmly. "Your reputation and all."
"Not really sure our reputation would help." Sam chuckled softly, avoiding a half-hearted swipe from Dean as he put a foot on the first stair to go up to the bedrooms. "But if you don't mind, I think I'm going to try to get some more sleep."
"Me, too," Dean agreed, following his brother. "All this excitement has plum tuckered me out. Night, Pastor."
"Again with the plum, Dean?" Sam teased. "What is it with you and fruit today?"
"I don't know," Dean grumbled petulantly. "It just seemed to happen when we crossed the Minnesota state line. I've become Howdy Doody or something…"
"That makes no sense!" Sam chastised as he stopped to look at Dean.
"You make so sense," Dean gave him a shove to get him moving again.
"Good night, boys," Pastor Matt's mirthful voice followed them up the stairs.
"Did you find anything?"
Dean's voice startled Sam and he jerked up from the drawings he was looking over in the library. He'd found a copy of the original architect's schematics for the parsonage in the township archives.
"What's s'matter, Sammy, did I scware you?" Dean teased as he pulled out a chair and sat down across from Sam at a small table at the back of the library.
Sam covered a yawn and shook his head. "Sorry – didn't sleep well last night." And they'd hit the library first thing in the morning. Now, four hours later, Sam had been fighting to keep his eyes open.
"I wonder why," Dean remarked dryly.
Sam shook his head. "I meant after that. Couldn't get comfortable or something." He didn't want to admit to the weird dream he kept having about an elephant in the snow wanting him to come outside and play. Dean would never let him live that one down.
Dean shrugged as he dragged a corner of the old drawings closer to take a look. "I slept like a baby."
"Good," Sam said, and meant it. He continued on before Dean could do more than give him a look. "This is just so weird. It doesn't make sense, not even for us, but I've gone back to even before the house was built and checked out the land and everything, and there is absolutely nothing to explain what might be going on now. Excluding Jim's, no deaths, violent or otherwise. No ancient burial grounds or other land claims. No missing persons, no construction accidents. Nothing. Nadda, zip, zero, absolutely nothing." Sam sat back in frustration.
"So, what you're really saying," Dean drawled out as he also sat back and folded his arms across his chest, "is that you found diddly-squat?"
"Yeah, pretty much. What about you?" Sam smirked, thinking of the blonde at the front desk his brother had been chatting up while Sam had hit the books. "Was the librarian any help?"
"Unfortunately, no," Dean admitted with true regret in his voice and a look of longing on his face. "Other than offering to console me on our 'uncle's' unfortunate passing, she really didn't get her job for her IQ."
"Isn't that just how you like them?" Sam chuckled fondly.
"Usually," Dean had no trouble admitting, "but she also really liked Jim and that just made things creepy… and she's a member of Matt's congregation…. and there are just some things you don't flock with."
"Don't you mean fu— Ow!" Sam yelped, glaring at his brother for kicking him under the table.
"What about the cemetery?" Smooth topic change by big brother. "Could be something came crawling out of there."
Sam glowered another second, then shrugged. "I don't know, man. That would be stretch. Why now? No one has been interred there since before you were born. Surely if anyone was going to go Caspar, Jim would have taken care of it already… Unless—"
"Unless Jim had wards or protection in place that have been recently disturbed." Dean finished his brother's line of thought, already starting to roll up the plans so they could put them away and get the hell out of there. "Two things to do: Talk to Matt again—"
"And visit the cemetery," Sam finished with a nod as he stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Matt first?"
Dean flashed a grin. "Matt first."
And of course, the fact that it was early afternoon and the pastor probably had made lunch for them had absolutely nothing to do with it. Although, cabbage rolls…
"So, did you find out anything?" Matt asked as he passed them plates heaped with corned beef and mashed potatoes. No cabbage rolls this time, but oven-warmed buns were more than adequate compensation, in Sam's opinion. And if the noises Dean was making as he took the first bite were any indication, his brother was okay with it too.
"Yes and no, actually," Sam spoke for them as he buttered one of the buns before Dean inhaled them all. "We did find out that there really is nothing that should be going on here—which is a yes—but we're no closer to finding out what is happening, which is the no."
The pastor chuckled. "That does cover it rather nicely."
"We do need to pick your brain a bit more though," Sam continued. "Do you remember seeing anything strange around the house, like little bags of herbs or twigs?"
"You mean like hex bags?" the man asked. He steepled his fingers in front of him as he watched the brothers eat. "No…not that I recall."
"So you didn't do any particular kind of housecleaning or anything when you first moved in? Or even more recently?" Dean finally joined the conversation after taking a large swig of coffee to wash some of the potatoes down.
"No…" Matt started but then a thoughtful look crossed his face. "Well, I'm just thinking, no, I didn't personally see anything like that but, to be honest, Linda, my housekeeper, is here every morning for a couple of hours, doing cleaning, washing, dishes, things like that. So if there was anything to find, she would have already taken care of it months ago."
The brothers shared a look.
"Can we talk to Linda?" Sam asked.
The pastor nodded, already starting to stand. "I don't see why not. Let me give her a call. Her boys—she has twins—are in morning kindergarten and she picks them up after she finishes here, but I'm sure she must be home by now."
"What do you think?" Dean leaned toward Sam as Matt went to use the phone in the parsonage office. "The maid do it?"
Sam frowned as he stabbed at a piece of the beef, then pushed his plate away, not really that hungry. "I don't know. The timing doesn't make sense. She would have found whatever wards Jim had up a while ago, so why is something going on now?"
"You going to eat that?" Dean was already snagging the meat.
"I spoke to Linda," the pastor hurried back into the kitchen, "and she's fine with Dean dropping by to talk to her as long as you're gone before her husband gets home. He's a bit of a jealous type."
"Why Dean?" Sam asked, feeling another odd prickle of irritation.
Matt gave him a sympathetic look and reached over to pat Sam's hand. "Don't take it personally, Sam, but you look too much like Linda's ex-boyfriend and I'm afraid she's going to take one look and…. Well, it just wouldn't be good. She does have small children and all… And if Ryan – her husband – does come home early… well, let me just say he isn't a 'forgive and forget' kinda guy."
Dean started to laugh. "Man," he slapped the table, "I love me these little towns! Talk about drama central."
"You don't know the half of it." The pastor winked conspiratorially, then sat down back down at the table. "And you never will…"
Dean had no idea what to expect when he knocked on Linda Blair's door and waited for her to answer. He couldn't help but chuckle at her name. Linda. Blair. Oh, that just begged for some Exorcism jokes, but after promising both Sam and Matt that he'd be on his best behavior, he shelved the good stuff and decided to stick with introducing himself politely. Or he would have if his jaw hadn't dropped open at the sight of the drop-dead gorgeous redhead in tight leather pants who answered the door.
After an awkward moment, the woman smirked at him. "Pastor Matt's Dean, I presume?"
"Linda?" Dean had to shake his head to clear it. He scowled at her in disbelief. "You're the housekeeper?"
"I can be." The vixen actually purred at him, batting her eyelashes. "If you want me to be…"
Dean felt the collar on the suit Sam had forced him to wear, get a bit tight. He was saved by a high-pitched scream of "Mommy!" coming from inside the apartment, followed closely by an "I didn't do it!"
"Come in," Linda invited as she turned around to deal with whatever crisis she'd just missed out on.
Dean followed her, glancing around at the homey little apartment. It wasn't fancy or anything by anyone's standards, but it was clean and tastefully decorated. He smirked at the mess of dinky cars in the middle of the living room floor. It was easy to tell little boys lived here. He passed an assessing eye over a family portrait hanging over the couch, recognizing Linda right away. And geez, Pastor Matt really should have given him some sort of warning about her. The two boys in the picture, one of which was currently loudly proclaiming his innocence about something in the other room, looked like their mom. The guy in the picture, presumably Ryan the jealous husband, was a hulking big guy with jet-black hair and hammer-sized hands. Dean gave a full-body shudder. Definitely not someone he wanted to run into.
"I'm sorry," Linda apologized as she sauntered back into the living room. "Please sit."
"Is everything okay?" Dean asked as he sat. The couch was very soft and going to require some consideration when standing; he didn't want to look like a goof.
"Oh yes, just boys being boys." The woman smiled sweetly. "Pastor Matt said you wanted to talk to me?"
"Uh, yeah. He mentioned that you've been doing the housekeeping for him at the parsonage since Pastor Jim died."
Linda's face grew sad. "Actually, I started working at the house a couple months before Pastor Jim— Well, before that awful tragedy. It was so terrible… And the man was such a saint. I just can't think of who would have wanted to do something like that. Horrible, it was. Just horrible."
Dean had to restrain himself from giving the obviously distraught woman a hug. "Ah, yeah. It was," he agreed as he shifted uncomfortably. He was so glad his brother wasn't here to see him practically salivating. "But back to the house… Other than salt on the window ledges, did you ever see anything out of the ordinary? Maybe some weird looking little bags, drawings on the floors or walls, or anything odd?"
The woman licked her lips as she appeared to give the question great thought. Dean was fascinated by the motion and had to shake his head and look away. Was this woman a siren or something?
"Other than that weird symbol thingy on the floor, under the front mat?"
It took Dean a moment to realize what she was talking about; he'd forgotten about the devil's trap Jim had stenciled onto the floor. He and Sam hadn't known what it was when they were younger, other than a protection symbol. "Yes," he nodded, "other than that."
"Maybe." She batted her eyelashes and grinned coyly. "Do I get any special reward if I did?"
"Mommy?" A small red-haired boy burst out of the kitchen. "Jamie's being mean to me again!"
Linda gave Dean a sweet smile then yelled over her shoulder. "Jamie, you be nice to your little brother, or there won't be any extra cookie for you at snack time!"
"Mommy!" came an indignant squawk from the kitchen.
"You heard me!" she shouted back, and then gave Dean an apologetic look as the little boy disappeared into the other room. "I'm so sorry. Where were we? Oh, yes. We were talking about my reward…"
Dean was itching to get out of there, his attraction to the woman having dwindled to bare tolerance. "Well, I'm sure something could be worked out with Pastor Matt—" He ignored Linda's immediate pout. "What exactly did you find?"
"I was only teasing." She smirked. "Unless mothballs count because, really, Pastor Jim seemed almost obsessed with them. They were, like, in every closet."
"Ah." Dean decided there really wasn't anything helpful he was going to get from her and remembered Matt's warning to be out before the husband got home. "Well, thank you for your time, Linda," he stood in one fluid motion, rather pleased that the plush couch allowed him the dignity, "but I'd better be going. One more thing, though. Do you know if anyone else went in to do any sort of cleanup before you started to work there?"
Linda stood, shaking her head. "Nope, just me. Can I ask you one thing, though?"
Dean felt himself tense.
She continued on without waiting for his response. "Why would Pastor Jim have salt on his windows? The ledges were practically dust free…"
Sam stood outside the cemetery gate, his breath curling in wisps of white as he shifted from foot to foot in the cold. He definitely needed a warmer pair of boots. A soft smile curled the edges of his mouth as a myriad of memories warmed him from inside. He'd spent a lot of time in this old graveyard when he was kid. It was weird to think about now, a small child playing among headstones, inventing imaginary playmates from the names of the dead.
Not weird, he amended with a slight shiver, creepy.
"Just how messed up was my childhood?" He snorted a chuckle, thinking of one December in particular when Dean had been busy at school and Sam had met Olaf. "Olaf?" Sam shook his head. "You are such a freak, Winchester. What kind of kid picks an invisible friend called 'Olaf'?" He laughed out loud. "And one who didn't even speak a word of English."
Still grinning to himself, Sam unlatched the gate and pushed it open. The recent snowfall made it a bit difficult but it wasn't deep enough yet to cause him too much trouble. He noted absently that the fence must have been painted within the last year or two and felt his eyes sting, pretty sure it had been Pastor Jim himself who had done the painting. The man had always insisted on keeping the cemetery in a good state of repair, even if the church didn't use it anymore.
Once inside, he started a methodical search of the area, his mind having perfectly mapped it out years ago. In many ways, it felt like visiting old friends, and he found himself stopping by certain markers to brush the snow off the names or to give them a fond pat, and was ridiculously glad Dean wasn't there to witness it. His brother would be ribbing him about being a sentimental girl for years. Not that Dean wouldn't anyways…
Eventually Sam ended up standing in front of Olaf's marker, a blush of gray in the oldest part of the cemetery. The words had all but worn off, but Sam knew them by heart:
OLAF PETERSON
1876-1885
LUBA BRAT
The little boy had only been nine years old when he'd died and perhaps that, and the fact that the word "BRAT" had been engraved on the headstone, had endeared the child to Sam. Sam couldn't remember exactly how Olaf came into being, but Olaf had lasted the longest of Sam's imaginary friends, and he was the only one Sam had ever dreamed about. Although, after Dean's little mishap in the graveyard that same week, Sam wasn't allowed to play there by himself anymore. Sam had continued to play amongst the headstones whenever they visited Pastor Jim's, but only under the strict supervision of Dean who, for whatever reason, wouldn't let him play with Olaf.
"Jealousy," Sam surmised to the quiet afternoon as he ran gloved fingers across the top of the granite. "For some reason, big brother was jealous of you…" He shook his head and started to walk toward the last section at the very back of the cemetery when something distinctly out of place, resting at the foot of a tilted headstone, caught his eye. "What the—?"
Although it was covered in snow, Sam was pretty damn certain he knew what the square-shaped lump was before he used his boot to give it a light tap. And he was right. A beer case. He crouched down and flipped open the flaps, taking a moment to check out the inside. An empty beer case. He straightened up. "Nice…" Scowling, he glanced around, irritated that anyone would desecrate his cemetery, but he didn't see any culprits. The few trees and shrubs, leaf bare and telling even this early in winter, would have made it difficult for anyone to hide.
Sam rubbed his hands together, his fingers chilled through his light gloves. Had to be kids. Why else come all the way out there to drink? They get shit-faced and piss off one of the locals? His eyes skipped across the headstones, each one a potential suspect. No, that didn't make sense. Can't be the first time something like this has happened… Although… He pursed his lips and started to pace a small path in an effort to keep the blood flowing to his toes. Maybe there was something different—
His cell phone ringing startled him, and it took him a moment to dig it out of his jacket pocket. He glanced at the caller ID before answering, "Hey, Dean."
"Man, I think I need a shower."
"What? Did something happen?" His brother was only supposed to be asking the housekeeper some questions. If Dean found a lead and tried to follow it up on his own—
"No, dude, it was that housekeeper chick, Linda. I feel…practically violated!"
"Violated?" Sam's face puckered in confusion.
"You should have seen her, Sam, she was like a piranha that hadn't eaten in months. And I was her little lunch minnow! Here I was, trying to conduct the interview and she's just sitting there undressing me with her eyes."
Sam couldn't help but laugh at the plaintive whine in his brother's voice.
Dean growled, "Hey!"
He tried to muster up some sympathy but the visual of Dean being chased around by an Alice Brady-Bunch-type housekeeper made it difficult. "Sorry, bro. Just, uh, yuck?"
"The things I do for this job," Dean grumbled. "Next time, though, I don't care, you're coming with me."
"Let's try to make sure there isn't a next time," Sam offered, then asked, "So, other than herself, did Linda have anything valuable to offer?"
"Ha, ha, Sam, and no. Oh wait, she did make one comment. Apparently old Jim had stopped salting his windows months before he died."
Sam paused, mid pace. "What?"
"You heard me. For whatever reason, he wasn't putting up wards. Son of a bitch!"
"Dean?" Sam clenched the phone at his brother's startled yelp. "What's going on?"
"I just got rear-ended! Damn it! I gotta go." And then Dean was gone in a flurry of four letter words that had Sam wincing.
The good? His brother sounded okay.
The bad? There might just be bloodshed in Blue Earth today.
Quickly pocketing the cell phone, Sam hurried toward the front gate, intent on seeing if he could borrow Matt's car so he could head into town. He got about five steps when the ground suddenly gave way under him and, with a startled yelp, he was falling.
To be continued...