Title: Gehenna
Rating: R (language, future potential sexual content and violent imagery)
Pairing: uncertain
Spoilers: set in the latter half of s1
Disclaimer: some of it's mine, some of it's not. the pretty boys and the nice car? Not.
Note: part 1 of my entry for occhallenge's nice big prompt challenge. It's definitely a WIP and has a few more parts planned out. thanks to seimaisin and piper47 for beta help and possibly more in the future.
Summary: Sam and Dean visit a small Georgia town, drawn by a mysterious death and a tragic history.
--
The house was still, silent in the Georgia night. At precisely 2:52 a.m., her eyes flicked open to the instinctive awareness that something was very wrong. She lay quietly and listened to the silence of the night. Her husband slept on at her side, the family cat was nowhere to be seen but that was no surprise. The heat wave making the air in the house heavy with moisture, Boomer had taken to spending his nights out in search of what breeze could be found.
Hearing nothing, she rolled onto her side and shut her eyes tight with annoyance. No more late night Stephen King marathons with Rach, she scolded herself lightly. She was the fraidy cat in the family, one horror movie and she didn't sleep for a week.
Chagrined, she squirmed against the oppressive heat as she tried to relax and drift back into sleep. The heat alone made relaxation difficult, but on top of that, her instincts screamed as her mind worked hard to ignore them.
Something was wrong and no amount of thinking would convince her mind of the contrary.
Throwing back the covers, she admitted defeat and got up to check while her husband slept on oblivious.
---
The house was silent, nothing out of place and no one about, but as she approached her daughter's bedroom the feeling of wrong became overwhelming. Each footstep closer to the door was another chill down her spine and a shiver across her grave.
Something stirred in the back of her mind, a memory rusty with disuse uncurled and she understood. Not again, no it couldn't, it couldn't happen again. It would not happen again.
She rushed the bedroom door, calling out for her husband as she went, yanking on the doorknob in desperation. It would not open. For all her fighting the door remained shut fast and she threw herself against it, fists beating ineffectually until it…opened.
The unexpected and sudden reversal caught her in mid-movement, sending her stumbling to her knees in the middle of her daughter's bedroom.
Hannah lay sleeping before her, atop the covers in deference to the heat, oblivious to her mother's terror.
Relief rushed out of her in a breath and she rushed to her daughter's side, brushing a hand over her sweat-dampened forehead. She was all right, unharmed, maybe it wasn't happening again. Maybe…Maybe her relief was short-lived.
It vanished when the scream of pain tore its way free and lost itself in the night.
---
It was a sunny day; that was wrong.
It shouldn't be a sunny day on the day you buried your Mama. Sunny days were days when the world was happy. The birds were singing and the breeze was perfect for kite flying. Mama had said the day her Mama was buried it rained and the skies were grey, like all the world was in mourning with her. It shouldn't be sunny like it was; it should be rainy and grey like that. Like everyone in the world wanted to sit down and cry with her, like everyone in the world wanted to say goodbye.
Grasping Aunt Rachel's hand, Hannah watched solemnly as Pastor Perkins talked, reading from the little book in her hand. She liked Pastor Perkins a lot, she was a nice lady.
The morning they'd found Mama in bed, Pastor Perkins took her to Mamie May's for a chocolate fudge sundae and told her all about the vacation bible school they were going to be having in the summer. Hannah couldn't wait for that, it would be nice then. Better than it was now, Pastor Perkins promised that when they'd talked.
She wasn't talking about that now and Hannah wasn't listening anymore. This was for the adults and that was okay. Sometimes adults had to have things explained real clear. They weren't too smart when it got complicated.
The hand holding hers squeezed and she peered up to see her aunt looking down at her from beneath the wide-brimmed hat she'd picked out for her. It was Mama's favorite and Hannah thought she'd like it if Aunt Rachel wore it today.
She smiled and returned the wink, if a little half-heartedly. Her aunt understood, she knew that, she wasn't the only one who was going to miss Mama. Mama and Aunt Rachel were best friends and it wasn't fair…
Sudden anger made her drop her eyes, just missing the sight of the arrangement on the mother's casket suddenly slide off. A few surprised chuckles echoed among the mourners but Hannah wasn't among them. She just scowled and looked away. Mama would have laughed but Mama wasn't there so she wasn't going to laugh either. Scuffing her shoe in the grass, she instead tracked the progress of a bee as it flew about the arrangements. Mom had always said Grandma kept bees. When they moved back to the house, she'd said she was going to start and teach her, too. She didn't want to know now.
The bee, full of pollen, looped across the graveyard, skimming low and about the gravestones as it went. She tried to follow it but that's when she saw them. The two men standing next to the big limo she, Daddy, and Aunt Rachel had ridden in.
They were too late and Hannah stuck out her tongue.
Goobers.
---
"Sam," voice speculative, Dean leaned back against the limo and folded his arms. "Just me or did the kid just stick her tongue out at us?"
"Huh?" His brother lifted his head from the intent study of the journal in his hands, squinting against the bright afternoon sun to look at the tiny redhead. Hannah immediately made a face, flipped her braids and turned her back. Taking in the sight, Sam looked over at his brother. "What did you do this time?"
"You always assume it's me," Dean pasted on a wounded expression. "For your information she was looking at the both of us and you are the one with your nose in a book at her mother's funeral. Bad taste there, buddy boy. If you're right about the kid, last thing you should be doing is getting us on her bad side."
With a roll of his eyes, Sam turned away from the funeral to put the journal on the car, flipping through it. "Well, I think I am. Look at this," he passed a newspaper clipping over. "Found that in the paper when you got coffee this morning. Her mother, Naomi, was found dead in her bed two weeks ago, according to that they say there was no immediate apparent cause of death but her autopsy revealed that almost all of her total blood volume was gone."
Taking the clipping, Dean skimmed down over it and nodded. "They don't mention the other deaths; think somebody's trying to cover it up?"
"Or they haven't gone back far enough to notice yet." Sam flipped the journal shut and they walked away from the cars, blending into the mourners leaving the graveside. "It was thirty years ago, they might not notice it for a while. It's an unusual death; no one's going to be rushing to look for a pattern yet..."
"Not unless you're us," Dean dug in his pocket for his keys, "or Dad, at which point we're all scary obsessed with the patterns and in this case..." His gaze went to the little girl, walking solemnly between her father and the older redhead. "It's a pattern that is not getting repeated."
---
"Well, it's the damndest thing I've ever seen," the coroner scratched at the back of his head. "Not so much when we found her, of course, I figured it might'a been a stroke or some such. Young lady just lyin' in her bed, white as a sheet like that, you don't get a lot of strokes her age but...it happens."
The county coroner's office was housed in a brick building just on the other side of the police station and as quiet, fittingly, as a tomb. Not a building that saw a lot of action and the coroner himself backed that up. The coroner was as close to the stereotypical country doctor as anyone could get but Sam had the feeling that was as much affectation as anything. The old guy probably got a kick from playing the role for any outsiders, maybe to see how they'd react.
Bending over, he shuffled through the files on his desk until he came up with the one he wanted, passing to Sam who flipped through it casually. "So, you thought it was a stroke but when you actually got to the internal examination?"
"Didn't have damn near a lick of blood in her." The older man shook his head. "No sign of where it went or how it went, but just about all her blood volume was gone. I checked her from head to toe and couldn't find not a place where she might've bled out from and the forensics boys? They took that mattress apart, didn't find anything to explain where the blood might've gone. Just as though somebody waved a wand and it went poof."
"Did they think she might've died somewhere else and been moved?" Stopping his perusal of the office, a skull held in hand, Dean looked over at his brother and the doctor with a curious look. "Maybe the husband..."
"They thought he might have but, like I said, I couldn't find no sign of it on the body and they went over the house first chance they got. Nothing. It's like it just vanished clean out of her body... It's all in the report. Did find a few interestin' things in her brain and her heart..." Taking the file back, the coroner turned a page and found what he was looking for, pointing it out to Sam. "Looked to me like that poor girl got herself one hell of a good fright before she died. The hormones kickin' around in there, she must've been good and terrified." He shook his head. "Terrible shame, what happened to that poor little thing. Didn't know her myself but you hear around, y'know? Nice enough, and to up and leave that daughter of hers..."
"Yeah," Sam agreed, "it's a pretty terrible thing." Even more terrible if they didn't figure this out before their time ran out. With that in mind, he held up the file. "Mind if I get a copy of this?"
---
The kid opened the door, glaring up at them out of a face that could have been called cherubic – if not for the previously observed hostile glare pasted across said face.
A look which absolutely was not apprehensive passed between the brothers before Dean stepped forward courtesy of Sam's elbow. Cursing under his breath, he felt around in his pocket for the identification he carried. She definitely looked like the "identification is required" sort of a woman.
"Good afternoon, Miss," he began putting on his best drawl and producing the ID. "I'm Agent Smith and, uh, this is my colleague Doctor Jones, we're with the Georgia Bureau of Investigations. Your Daddy at home by any chance? We're hopin' to talk with him and – "
"You're lying," she interrupted. From behind him, Dean heard a sound which just might have been his little brother choking back a laugh. Last one he was ever going to enjoy in his short but reasonably eventful stay on God's mostly green but browning from pollution Earth.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he countered, smile fading away.
"I'm sure you do," Hannah immediately shot back, spunky for an eight-year-old. "You were at the cemetery yesterday; you're here about what it was that got Mama." She tilted her head, squinting at them. "You're not from the Bureau neither."
Dean straightened up and put the identification away. Something about this kid was sending serious chills down his spine and he had the feeling none of the usuals were going to work. "No," he admitted, looking back to see the same knowledge on his brother's face. "No, we're not. But we are here to help."
"You're late," she announced, her eyes suddenly fixing on Sam. "You were supposed to help -"
"Hannah?" Behind her, a woman's voice preceded the arrival of the older redhead who'd been with her at the funeral. She smiled politely at the men standing at the door,. "Hi, I'm Rachel McNeal, Hannah's aunt; can I help you gentlemen with something?" Neither of them missed the caution lurking in her gaze as she rested her hands on her niece's shoulders, subtly drawing her a step backward though she certainly seemed unaware.
"They're here about Mama." Hannah looked up at her and then at them, her eyes holding some sort of unspoken accusation. "They want to talk to you about how she died..." She ducked her gaze then peered up at Sam. "They want to know about how Grandma died, too." After delivering her unexpected comment, she ducked free of her aunt's grip and ran back inside the house, leaving the shocked adults staring at each other.
Finally, Dean cleared his throat and presented his ID again. "Actually, ma'am, we were hoping to talk to you about your sister if it's not a bad time. There are a few questions we'd like to clear up. The matter of your mother's death would actually be one of them. As I said, if it's a bad time, we can certainly come back and speak with you later..."
"No, it's all right," she stammered out, shaking her head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry for my reaction, I just didn't think Hannah knew about that, it's been years since I thought about it myself...Please, come in," stepping back, she waved them inside. "It's actually been too quiet, with everyone gone back and I never did like this house...not knowing what happened and all. Truth is, I don't know what possessed Naomi to move back in here last month...Never thought either one of us would live here, she always said first chance we got we should sell it but then…she up and changed her mind, moved back in with Alan and Hannah."
Following her into the house, they were immediately assailed by the musty odor of a place long shut up and forgotten. This was not a house that was well lived in, hadn't been for a very long time. Immaculately clean though it was, the faint scent of cleaner intermingling with the age, the house carried a sense of abandonment as if it had been long forgotten and only just discovered again.
"When was the last time you lived here?" Dean inquired, watching their hostess' hips sway as she strolled ahead of them. Southern belles... He grinned as Sam shot a glare in his direction. Can't blame a man for looking, Sammy... The lovely Ms. McNeal was certainly plenty to look at and there was never any harm in looking but, he had to admit, he was probably supposed to be looking at the pictures that practically coated the hallway's walls, images that spanned decades.
The ones which caused his step to slow were the ones of two little girls in what looked to be the seventies. One clearly a toddler, the other a child.
"My sisters," Rachel's sad voice said his interest had been noticed. She took a step closer, reaching out to take the photograph from the wall. The empty space where it hung revealed the tell tale fading of the wallpaper around it. The picture, indeed all of them, had not been moved in years. "This looks like it was taken only a few months before Louisa and her mother died. They moved out of the house immediately after, Daddy couldn't stand lookin' at the place. Just boarded it up and left everything behind."
The way she spoke peaked the interest of both, but this was Sam's territory. Dean didn't keep him around for just his pretty looks, okay, so technically he did since the big eyes and the puppy dog expression tended to work on just about anything with a pulse within a hundred mile radius but...details, right? Whatever got the information the fastest and meant nobody had to get naked.
"I'm sorry if this is too personal," he began, the puppy dog look cranked up on about fifty, "but..."
"Helen wasn't my Mama." Rachel explained before he could finish, replacing the picture carefully. "Daddy remarried a few years after she died and I came along then, quite unexpected I should say. Bit of a miracle baby." Turning, she continued on toward the back of the house and the kitchen.
"Amen to that," Dean muttered appreciatively, watching her walk ahead. Wincing when Sam slapped the back of his head, he stopped and turned on him, whispering, "Dude, what the fuck did you do that for?" Rubbing the back of his, he scowled at his brother in annoyance.
A scowl that was promptly returned. "Will you knock it off?" Sam whispered back, "You're staring at her like you're in heat!"
Dean didn't so much as even consider trying to suppress the smirk which spread across his face, whispering, "Yeah, well, you've seen her, can you blame me?" in response. To punctuate his comment, he waggled his brows then turned back to smile at the clearly-curious Rachel, ignoring the grumbled, "Yes," from behind him.
"Is everything all right?" She asked, leading them into the sunny kitchen where she went to the refrigerator. He wasn't surprised when she produced a large pitcher of iced tea. Invite guests into your home and not serve refreshments? Now that just was not done.
"Oh, no, nothing, everything's fine. The good doctor just remembered a call he had to make," he lied immediately, waving a hand at his brother who only just held back a scowl in response. "He tends to being a mite forgetful on occasion."
As he'd hoped, ever the good hostess, the pretty redhead immediately jumped in to help. "Oh well, there's a phone in the hallway you can use, cell service around here is hit and miss with the hills and all, you're best off just using that."
"Yeah, Doc, you go on and take care of that now," that nice little impromptu search of the house, "Ms. McNeal and I'll just wait down here."
"Are you sure?" Sam hedged, addressing the question to Rachel but, in truth, asking Dean. Little brother had that 'am I going to have to get you fixed?' look on his face again. Probably figured the minute he left them alone, he'd just jump her right then and there, go for it on the kitchen floor.
As if.
On hardwood? There'd be splinters.
"Quite sure," she assured, "it's fine, believe me, I know how goes. You go right on and make yourself at home. I'm sure we'll find somethin' to keep ourselves busy while we wait, now won't we Agent Smith?"
Dean returned the conspiratorial smile she was directing at him. "Why yes, Ms. McNeal, I think we will."
God, he loved the south.
tbc