A Game I Didn't Want To Play
(1)
"So," Dean began as they approached the highway exit ramp, "who are we again?" Apparently, Sam had finally mocked his older brother's choice of pseudonyms one too many times and Dean snapped. For the last three and a half months, any and all assumed names were now Sam's responsibility. Of course, that didn't stop Dean from constantly asking about the names and/or complaining about them. In fact, it guaranteed it.
"We are Sam and Dean Winter-"
"Dean and Sam Winter. Right."
"Right," Sam said with a twist of his lips that was half amused, half annoyed. "And, before you even start, I did not choose the last name-"
"Before I even start?" Dean interrupted again, with false indignation. "I don't have the faintest idea-"
"Dean!" Sam cut him off, then calmed himself with a deep breath. And then one more for safety's sake. Taking out his notes, he began rehashing the details of the hunt they were driving towards. "It's pretty simple – standard really. Bobby's friend called him up… a guy named 'Dom'. Well, Dom's wife-"
"Whoa, wait a minute. Dom's married?" Dean asked incredulously. "I've met that guy, worked with him once or twice. If ever there was a dude most likely to remain a life-long bachelor… and not by choice, of course…" he amended, realizing that he himself was also a candidate for that title – though, in his case, it wasn't exactly due to a lack of chicks wanting to make an honest man out of him. Not that he really minded when they attempted to persuade him or anything.
"Dom's wife, Sierra…" Sam continued as if he had never been disrupted. "Actually, Sierra's sister Jetta and Jetta's husband-"
"Jeez, who names these people?" Dean muttered half-heartedly. He was still trying to wrap his brain around the knowledge that Dominic Reed had gotten married.
"Jetta and her husband, Rex, inherited a home from Rex's great aunt… wait a minute…" Sam shook his head, hair flying every which way, and flipped through his notes flustered, annoyed that he'd lost track of what he was saying.
"So," Dean cut in, sounding serious this time, trying to sum up, "a friend-of-a-friend inherited a haunted house."
"Huh?" Sam eloquently questioned. He was still half lost in thought and his notes.
"Bobby's friend's wife's sister's husband inherited a haunted house."
Sam just blinked at his brother. And possibly said 'huh' again.
"Yeah, you're right," Dean said, completely ignoring the too-easy jibe about his college-educated little brother's intelligent line of questioning – he would never have stood a chance against Matlock or McCoy. "I guess that's not technically a FoaF. It's more of a friend-of-a-friend of-a-friend of-a-friend of-a-friend inherited a haunted house." It wasn't the typically smug or amused smile that graced Dean's face, but it was damn close.
"I hate you."
(2)
"Take a left here," Sam instructed. "According to Google, we should reach the bridge in about two minutes."
"So, what ever happened to eccentric old relatives who leave everything to a cat shelter except for the ugly-ass lamp that only looks like a Tiffany or the complete set of seventh edition water-logged Nancy Drew paperbacks?"
"I think that only happens in Disney animated classics or bad live-action movies, you know, to further the plot… or be the plot… or whatever." Sam laughed. "Hey, there's the bridge. How fast are you going anyway? That was definitely not two minutes."
"Yeah, well, you said that we were supposed to meet with this Lex guy at 1:00. It's already ten after. Oh, and you're the one who had to make three potty pit-stops on the way here Sammy."
"First of all, Lex is Superman's arch-nemesis. Rex is the name of the man we are meeting. Rex Blackburne. And second, we've been driving since yesterday morning Dean! You've only slept four of the last forty-eight hours, if that. I know because that's the only time you let me drive. And, you've had more than five times the amount of coffee I've had. It's not humanly possible, natural, or healthy to have the degree of control that you seem to possess over your body and its functions."
Then, in a huff, Sam folded his arms and turned to pout at the trees outside of the passenger-side window.
He really wanted to say something, but Dean honestly had no response for his little brother's uncharacteristic emotional outburst.
(3)
"Now remember," Sam said, speaking once again to his brother as Dean maneuvered the Impala up the narrow, winding path that they hoped led to the Blackburne Estate. The driveway, if you could even call the mud and stone road that, was completely overgrown with weeds and shrubs and trees. Little light was able to peek through and there was no visual evidence of a house or, indeed, any human existence beyond the wild-growing flora.
"Remember, the Blackburnes have been trying to renovate the estate, which is probably what caused the spirit or spirits to make themselves known. It also means that we won't be the only living humans there."
At the quick, questioning glance Dean gave him before turning his eyes back to the hazardous drive, Sam continued.
"The Blackburnes had been living in Nevada, Dean. They just about jumped at the chance to move into a country house in New England since they had been talking of starting a family. Rex had stayed at the estate…" Sam flipped the page of his notebook, "about five years ago. The place seemed to be in pretty good shape then."
"But, a lot can happen in five years," Dean concluded, and Sam nodded in agreement. And, as if trying to prove the point, the path took a particularly sharp turn, first right, and then immediately left. Dean let out a deep breath after dodging an evil-looking claw of a tree branch intent on scratching his girl.
"Right," Sam said, after taking a deep breath as well. "When Rex and Jetta moved in, the place was livable, but had more quirks and imperfections than the wealthy couple were willing to let slide. They began planning and calling professionals, and currently there could be as few as two people or as many as twenty in and around the estate – plus the Blackburnes themselves."
"Great." The word was sarcastically grumbled. It was always harder to search a building with others around. The Winchesters had become accustomed to looking around, making observations and declaring theories aloud – bouncing ideas off of one another and basically having the other's back should the need arise. And that's the way Dean liked it. It was the simplest and safest way – if such words could be used to describe any aspect of hunting."
But, add a few civilians into the mix – especially non-believers, as most people are apt to be – and life gets a whole lot more complicated. If Dean had his way, he'd like most folks to remain blissfully ignorant. He'd also keep them away from haunted locations and otherwise dangerous places so they wouldn't get hurt and couldn't witness things they didn't understand, leading him to be branded a 'bad guy' or arrested or worse.
Sam would have rolled his eyes and chastised his brother for the lousy attitude had he not felt the same way. Well, mostly the same – he was also tired of running from the police and FBI and whoever else deemed themselves as some sort of law enforcement, not to mention running into demons and monsters and such that weren't under the impression that they were working towards the public good. But, the role of persona non grata seemed to fall on Dean more often than not, and as anxious as Sam was about his possible demonic destiny, the idea of his big brother getting incarcerated or injured was his greatest fear. He really didn't want to think about what could be worse than the positions and conditions Dean had already been through.
"Well, on the bright side," Sam said, trying to combat the sudden downward spiral of his mood, "the homeowners know who we are and what we do. I mean, they hired us… in a manner of speaking. We won't have to shell out any cash for a motel room or food. And, they are willing to cooperate and help in any way they can… they just want to put everything back to normal-"
"Normal?" Dean grumbled, then huffed.
"Well, normal for them," Sam tried.
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning," Sam began, sounding like a strange cross between a well-meaning elementary school teacher Dean once had and their father, "no more specters or spooks – and that's an exact quote – and a house they can comfortably live and raise a family in."
Dean nodded once, pointedly, and with no expression on his face. Whether it was in agreement with the home-owners wants or merely an understanding of them, even Dean himself didn't know. And, he definitely didn't want to think too deeply on it.
(4)
Dean had it on the tip of his tongue to start complaining about finding a way to turn around – he really did not want to have to try and guide the Impala back to the beginning of the path in reverse – when the forest of untamed vegetation thinned and then disappeared completely to give them full view of the Blackburne Estate and grounds.
"Wow," Sam said softly and in slight wonder. "So this is how the other half lives."
Other half of what, was what Dean wanted to say aloud, then bit his tongue at the last second. He really didn't want to start the age old debate with Sam. They had gone over and over the normal life vs. the hunting life, the safe life vs. the hunting life, and even the better life vs. the hunting life. It never got them anywhere because certain words did not seem to mean the same thing to each of them. It was almost as if they were arguing in two different languages – actually, it was exactly like that – and therefore they would continue to agree to disagree… though, truth be told, Sam had not preached the virtues of normal living for quite some time. And, to be honest, Dean didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.
As they approached the estate, the mud and stone path gave way to loose gravel, then finally a paved stretch of road up to the large, open iron bar gate. To the right of the house was an angled attached, large two-car garage. Opposite that – mirror image, really – there was an identical detached garage. And, between the two was a paved area that looked very much like a small parking lot, as there were a number of vehicles parked there already.
First was a light blue pick-up with a tall cover on the back, the bed filled with wood and shingles and tools. Next were two over-sized utility vans, one was army green and had a light bulb and the name Meriol Brothers Electric on the back, and the other was white with red letters proclaiming R & R Plumbing. There was a canary yellow SUV with matching stenciled, script letters on the back window – the name Amber Jessamy and a phone number were flagged with a yellow daisy. And last was another pick-up, not nearly as nice or new as the first – it looked as if it was orange once but had jaundiced rust in many places – that was filled with small bushes, sod, large bags of mulch or seeds, tools, and a sizeable tarp folded to the side, obviously used in place of a hard shell cover.
In the attached garage sat a big black Hummer, dwarfing the sporty little black Boxter convertible next to it. In the detached garage was a beautiful '65 Chevy Bel Air convertible with raspberry-colored interior. It looked as though it was painted in a sparkling black, but when the sun hit the trunk, there was a reddish shine. Black Cherry – Dean was impressed. He thought about parking next to the beauty in the empty spot in the garage, but decided to just park in the lot with the other workers' and guests' cars.
Pulling into an open spot, they could now see towards the back of the estate. That seemed to be where all the action was taking place. There was scaffolding and ladders lining the back and side of the house. There were also extension cords and hoses running back and forth across the lawn. Hammers sounded from the far corner of the yard and echoed from above on the roof. Underneath the pounding, shovels could be heard digging delicately from somewhere near the house and more deeply from further out onto the grounds. And voices came from all around and inside the house.
The Winchesters, or Winters, stepped out of the car and closed their doors in a simultaneous creak then crack. No one came around to see the cause of the noise, but a disruption of the cacophony could be detected. That was fine. They weren't sneaking in. They had been invited.
They walked straight to the back yard and finally saw people. There was a woman on the roof and one planting knee-high shrubs around a wooden deck set at the middle of the house. There was a man planting larger bushes around the perimeter of the lawn. There was a man in an army green work suit on some of the high up, second story scaffolding talking and passing wires and tools back and forth through an open window to another man in a matching outfit. There was a man in worn jeans and a flannel shirt hammering a staircase into place that ran from the deck up to a second story terrace with a landing in the middle large enough for a table or grill. He was talking with another man, who wore dark grey slacks and a light grey-blue button-down shirt.
Just great, Dean thought. Seven people, and that was just counting those he could see. According to the vehicles in the lot, there was also a plumber – or plumbers – running around somewhere, and who knows how many others.
Sam took the lead and walked out to the man in more formal clothing than the rest. Feeling their eyes on his back, the man turned around and smiled.
"Ah, Sam," he said, shaking Sam's hand, then turned to Dean to do the same. "And Dean."
"Yes," Sam said, surprised. "I'm sorry. Have we met before?"
"Oh no," he laughed. "But I was given a pretty good description of you both by my brother-in-law. And, of course, you are the only other people that we were expecting. Shall we go inside and talk," he then lowered his voice, "in private?"
"Sure, of course," Sam told him and followed the man into the house through a back door, through a slightly furnished sun room, down a long hallway towards the front of the house.
At first glance, the man seemed completely together and at ease, dressed smartly and carrying himself well. But as they followed him through the house, there were noticeable signs that that wasn't exactly true any more. While he was obviously once all of these things, the strain of his current predicament had caught up with him. The slight hunch forward of his shoulders made him seem smaller than his actual height – probably very close to Dean's 6'1" if Sam had to guess. His clothing, that had most likely fit before moving into the estate, hung a bit loosely on him from his recent weight loss. His face appeared older than it should have and his black hair was graying around the temples prematurely.
"Please," he said, opening a door, "come in. Lucky for me, the one room that seemed to be easily fixed up, well easy as in I was able to do the work myself, was this one – my study, or den, home office. Whatever," he said with a smile. Closing the door behind them and gesturing to a couple of comfortable looking chairs, he sat across from them behind a desk and introduced himself.
"As I am sure you figured out, I am Rex Blackburne. I will have to introduce you to Jetta later. She's out shopping with her sister. Hopefully, that includes some groceries. I heard the weather report earlier – supposed to be getting a storm coming through. I should have asked Sonny to start with the overgrown forest devouring the path up here, but Jet spoke with him first and, well, we obviously don't have the same priorities on that one. And I wouldn't trust her car on that mud after a heavy rain. My car would make it, of course, but it's really too wide to take that road before the trees are cut back at all…"
Rex looked up, seemingly embarrassed. Dean nodded, taking in any and all important information, filtering out the extraneous portions. Sam, on the other hand, smiled in indulgence. He enjoyed listening to the personal details, irrelevant though they may be, he was given.
"Oh, I am so sorry," Rex said with a discomfited laugh. "I have found myself rambling on and on lately to anyone unfortunate enough to actually listen to me."
"It's all right," Sam told him. "I am sure you have a lot on your mind. Sometimes rambling seems to be the only way to work through it all. I mean, the move, the renovations-"
"The house guests," Dean cut in. "Welcome or otherwise."
"Dean," Sam said lowly and with warning, himself embarrassed now by his tactless brother.
"No," Rex said, "no, he's right. The sooner we get down to business, the sooner we – I mean, you – can take care of this thing."
"Do you have any ideas about what this thing is?" Dean asked.
"Well, I was talking to Dom at lunch a week or so ago. I told him a few things I had noticed about the house – not going into too much detail, of course. I didn't want him to think I was crazy. Though now, I guess I could tell him almost anything – Big Foot's running around in my back yard and there are fairies in the flower beds – and he's probably dealt with the same thing or knows someone who has."
"Well," Dean said with a slight grin, "if it makes you feel any better, Big Foot isn't actually real."
Rex laughed and seemed to relax a little bit.
"I guess that's one thing I don't have to worry about then. But this… thing… I don't know what you'd call it. It started with little things at first – missing items, furniture being moved without my wife or I having done it or seen it happen, strange smells appearing and disappearing, sudden temperature fluctuations. That was all strange and making me start to think I was going crazy. But, then it got worse.
"I attributed it all to stress in the beginning. And even when stranger things started to happen – like seeing someone watching me out of the corner of my eye – I explained it away as the various workers around the house, or even memories from my childhood – remembering, seeing my auntie reading one of her many books in the library or my uncle in the kitchen watching the geese settle down in the pond out back. But it was happening more and more. And not just to me. Jetta told me that she had been seeing people – different people – around the house. She would pass a room and jump back, swearing someone had just been inside watching her. There was never anyone there.
"And there have been sounds, too. The worst one was on a Sunday night, before any of the workers had arrived, Jetta and I were in bed watching television when we heard a loud crash. To me, it sounded like someone had suddenly angled the china hutch in such a way that all of the dishes fell out and smashed onto the wooden floor. We listened for a moment to make sure that a burglar had not broken in, then we quietly got up – I grabbed a bat and Jet took out her old golf putter – and we went to find out what had happened…"
"What?" Sam finally asked softly when Rex hesitated. The man looked at Sam and then Dean, fear in his eyes.
"Nothing," he whispered. "Absolutely nothing was out of place. I checked the whole house – not so much as a broken glass. No television or radio had been left on either, let alone at such a volume – well, none but the one we had been watching, and the weather channel had certainly not produced the sound. And Jetta said that all of the windows and doors were still locked from the inside."
"Mr. Blackburne," Dean began.
"Call me Rex, please."
"OK, Rex. We know that you inherited this house and I hate to ask this, but has anyone ever… was there ever any acciden-"
"Are you trying to ask if anyone had been hurt or died here? Or if anyone has been killed in the house?" At the regretful looks he got from both boys, Rex grimaced. "I appreciate the concern, really, but Dom asked me that already, though not as gently. No, to my knowledge nothing awful has ever happened here. My uncle died years ago in a car accident in Michigan and my aunt spent the last two years in a retirement community. When she passed on, it was quietly and peacefully in her sleep. And, having grown up watching movies like Poltergeist, I checked into the history of the house and the land – no relocated or hidden graveyards, no spilled blood, no nothing. I, in all my non-preternatural thoughts and learning, have run out of ideas."
(5)
"Wow, this is an awful lot of information. It's nice having someone else do all the research for a change," Sam said snidely when Dean re-entered the bedroom they were given for the duration of the hunt. After Rex had 'run out of ideas', he quickly pointed out different rooms, along with random facts about each, as they all went to the staircase. The second story of the estate mostly contained bedrooms. There was a bathroom and half-bath on the main floor but a few of the bedrooms, including the one given to Dean and Sam, had an en suite bathroom. Rex was able to vaguely point out the door to the cellar and the one to the attic before rushing off to answer his ringing telephone.
"You do most of the research," Dean said, dropping Sam's duffle bag where he stood inside the doorway and then moved over with his own bag and the weapons and equipment bag to place them nicely on top of the chest of drawers. "I do my part, too. And, I doubt he got all of the information we'll need."
"I don't know about that," Sam told him, spreading out the different packets of papers Rex had given them to look at them all at once. Then, squinting in the dimming light, reached behind himself to turn on the lamp.
"I do. You heard him. Rex said it himself. He's not used to this sort of thing happening and is still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that non-human monsters exist. There are bound to be a few questions he didn't even think to ask, let alone answer."
Dean's statement was punctuated by a thud and a shout from outside. Both Winchesters ran to the wide window – luckily facing the back of the estate. On the ground towards the middle of the house was a large toolbox, open and having scattered its tools after its fall. Next to that was a rather jagged plank of wood that had been part of the scaffolding and a very frightened looking woman – the one who had been planting shrubs – still in the arms of the man in the flannel shirt after he obviously pulled her out of the way of the falling items. And, hanging from a piece of broken scaffolding was the man in the green work suit.
Sam threw the window open just in time for Dean to pass him by and climb out of it. Before he got more than halfway out, Sam grabbed his brother around the waist, halting his progress, so that Dean was hanging his upper body out of the window with Sam anchoring his legs securely inside.
"Hey, buddy, I can almost reach you," Dean said reaching out, stretching as much as he could. "Can you give me your hand?"
"I don't know," the man wheezed. He looked around as if trying to find another way out of his situation. However, the only other way down was to drop. As the main floor of the estate was twice the height of a normal story, it would have been more than a two story drop, which might not have been too bad, but the man happened to be dangling directly over the sun room. The sun room jutted out from the house and the excess of the room was made of glass – the walls and the ceiling/roof. The floor, of course, was solid concrete.
"Come on man, you can do it," Dean encouraged. "All you have to do is swing a little towards me and I'll catch you."
"Swing? I'll lose my grip!" the man cried out. But, he was already losing his grip. Holding onto the fractured edge of a wooden plank, not to mention the panic and sweat, had the man's fingers and hands bleeding and sliding closer to Dean, but also closer to the end of the plank.
Dean tried to reach out further, move more of his body out of the window, but Sam's hold kept him practically immobile. He was so close, fingertips away, but Sam knew that giving him even an inch more meant that he would not be able to pull his brother and the other man back inside. If Sam had time to think about it, he might have been a little disturbed to realize that he knew the exact point in which he would no longer have the ability to retrieve his brother. However, he was a bit preoccupied with the current circumstances to actually think about things and not just act out of instinct and training.
Then, two things happened at once. As Dean continued with his steady stream of encouragement, the sky began to rumble, darkening quickly, surprising the man into almost losing his grip amid a chorus of gasps from below – the roofer and the man from the outer yard had now joined the man and woman already slowly gathering their tools and materials while watching the scene from below. At the same time, Sam felt someone else enter the Winchesters' bedroom. Turning his head while keeping his grip solidly on his brother, Sam found the other green work suited man – the one who had been working from inside the house. Unfortunately, the man seemed frozen in the doorway.
Lightning lit the blackened sky, followed closely by a boom of thunder. Rex was right - there was a bad storm coming and it was coming fast. And the people outside seemed to see its rapid arrival, too. They each began running around the yard, collecting items more quickly than before to keep them from getting wet and ruined, all the while looking back to check the man and Dean's progress.
Another flash filled the sky at the same time as the thunder howled. Seconds later, the clouds began sobbing big, fat, cold raindrop tears. The suspended man cried out once again and slipped a little more. Dean stretched out his fingers, hand, arm, torso as far as he could and pulled himself slightly further from Sam's grip. The people below disappeared, scattering in different directions. And Sam, having been looking back at the frozen man, happened to see the scripted name patch just above his heart.
The only warning Sam got was a frightened shout from the man outside, then his brother was nearly yanked from his grip as Dean called out a gotcha! On the other hand Sam, who had been distracted and lost some of his hold on Dean, wasn't sure he could say the same.
"Oliver!" Sam yelled, hoping to thaw the man in the doorway. When Oliver looked over to Sam, he seemed confused that this stranger knew his name. Sam really didn't have time to explain as Dean slipped a little more out of the window.
"Oliver!" he commanded. "I don't know how long I can hold them, man. And I know I can't pull them back myself. I need your help!" he told the stunned man quickly.
Oliver muttered some expletive, realizing for the first time just exactly what was going on and crossed the room to the window and tried to figure out how best to help. Standing next to Sam for a moment, slightly flailing and failing to come up with a plan, he finally turned to the strained man.
"What can I do? What… what do you want me to do?"
"Well," Dean called out, "I don't know about you guys, but we're getting soaked out here." Another spark and crack overhead. "Look, grab my leg or something and help pull me back in a little so that one of you can reach my new pal here. How about you, dude? You ready for this flying trapeze show to be over?"
"Oliver," the man yelled, "just do whatever they tell you to!"
Quickly readjusting his grip, making sure Dean was not going to slip, Sam edged to one side of the window. Oliver, still unsure about what to actually do, grabbed at Dean's legs as he was told to do and began to pull with all his might. Sam did the same.
On the outside of the window, Dean could feel every little bit and edge of the window sill as it scraped across skin and bones. But, he tried to concentrate on holding onto the rain and blood wet hands on the man below him.
"OK guys, that's good, that's good," Dean said once his hips and abdomen were resting against the window ledge. Curling his body around the frame, he was sure he would not slip back out of the window. "Now grab him," he faced Sam and lowered his voice so as not to cause any more panic," before I lose my hold."
Sam and Oliver let go of Dean and reached around him to grab for the other man's hands. Once they had a hand each, Dean let go and shimmied out from between them and out of the way, collapsing on the floor and attempting to catch his breath.
"We've almost got you Hunter," Oliver called out with a shaky voice.
With the two young men pulling him up and in, Hunter nearly fell through the window. Once everyone was safe again, the three men collapsed to the ground, backs against the wall under the still-open window, breathing hard and getting rained on.
(6)
"I can't believe I froze up like that," Oliver mumbled as he took his work shirt off and put on the T-shirt that Rex had let him borrow.
There were a lot of muffled voices coming from the stairwell, but the only person that entered the room had been Rex. He had come dashing up the steps and into the room just after all of the excitement was over. Apologizing profusely about not being there to help – his wife and sister-in-law had almost made it up the path to the estate, but got stuck in the mud and he had run out to pull them out with his Hummer – and then went to get clean, dry clothes for the electricians to wear.
"Hey," Sam said gently, pulling a dry shirt from his duffle and grabbing Dean's bag to retrieve some clothing for his brother. "Things got a little crazy there. You can't blame yourself-"
"He could have been hurt. He could have been killed," Oliver lamented, sitting at the foot of Dean's bed and putting his head in his hands. "I saw it happening and I couldn't make myself move to help. If you guys hadn't been there-"
"But we were," Sam told him kindly but sternly. "There are a lot of what ifs and could haves – but, aside from a few scrapes and bruises, everyone is fine." Oliver looked up at him with over-bright eyes and Sam finally got an intimation of what people griped about when he used his puppy eyes.
"He's my big brother," Oliver told him sadly. "Well, half-brother – growing up, I didn't know him at all. But, for the last ten years… our dad, his mom… especially Hunter… they've looked out for me. And, when he really needed it, I couldn't do the same for him."
"Everyone's fine," he repeated. Then, to try and lighten the mood, he picked up the shredded over shirt that Dean had been wearing. "Except for Dean's favorite red shirt."
Oliver smiled despite himself, and Sam gave himself a mental pat on the back.
(7)
"I can't believe he froze up like that," Hunter grumbled as Dean carefully picked the splinters out of his palms and fingers in the Winchesters' – no, Winters' – en suite bathroom.
When Rex had run up to their room after hearing about what had happened from the rest of the house guests, he could only give them more bad news:
Jet and Cici almost got caught in that forest of a path. From what I could tell, the path is pretty well flooded with water and debris, and the girls said that the bridge washed out not minutes after they crossed it. I guess we are going to have more guests than we thought. But, we have the room – plenty of room – and we now have food… hopefully everything will be, er, sorted out quickly. Once again, I am truly sorry…
Then, he went to get some dry clothing for Oliver and Hunter to wear, knowing that Dean and Sam had packed clothes of their own. After that, while Jetta Blackburne and Cierra Reed went to get more guest rooms prepared, Rex went back downstairs to tell half a dozen people that they could not leave the estate for an indefinite length of time.
"Hey," Dean admonished lightly, "give the kid a break. His brother almost fell to his death right in front of him."
"Yeah and- Wait, what?" Hunter nearly whispered, then hissed when the antibiotic hit his ripped skin.
"Sorry," Dean told him, wincing in sympathy.
"How did you know Oliver was my brother?"
"Well, even if your truck didn't say Meriol Brothers on it," Dean smiled, "let's just say that a big brother knows how to spot one of his own."
"You and…"
"Sam."
"You're brothers," Hunter said, didn't ask, understanding. "And you work together. I don't know how you – ow!"
"Sorry. Don't know how we haven't killed ourselves or each other yet?" Hunter smirked and nodded. "I guess because, when it comes down to it, there's no one I would rather work with and no one I trust more than Sam. You know?"
"Well," Hunter hedged and gave a great big sigh. "We've only really been brothers for a decade or so. We have the same dad, but different moms," he explained at Dean's questioning look. "Long story short, about ten years ago, I became a big brother in an instant – to a guy not a year younger than me.
"We had both grown up as only children, so suddenly having a live-in friend was cool. Only lately…"
"Lately, what?" Dean asked as he wrapped the man's hands with clean bandages to prevent infection.
"What?" Hunter blinked, realizing he had gone off into his own mind for a bit. "Oh, nothing. Long day… death-defying rescues and all that… I guess I am just ready to get some rest and not think for a while." Then, under his breath, "be alone for a while."
"I hear that," Dean agreed as if he didn't hear the last bit – the part he was not meant to hear. Though he really didn't agree at all. There was something more going on with these two but now was not the time to push. Being in the right place at the right time to catch someone before falling to his possible death only gave so much leeway for questioning. Pushing too much now would only guarantee he wouldn't get answers. "I, for one, could use a nice hot shower and a nice long nap."
"Yeah," Hunter said absently, then looked at the younger man who had just saved his life. The kid looked tired and worn, and on top of that, in need of some tending to himself. He had gotten rid of his over shirt, a red long-sleeved button-down, before entering the bathroom to perform some much needed and appreciated first aid. But, he was still soaked to the bone, making it hard to tell if the jagged holes in his black T-shirt were surrounded by rain alone, or something more.
"Yeah," Hunter said again. "I guess we should let the two of you sort yourselves out and go and find Rex. Apparently, we've all just become house guests."
(8)
"How're your arms, Sammy?" Dean asked once the two were alone in the room again. After Hunter thanked the two men again, he walked out of the room without so much as a glance in his younger brother's direction. Oliver stood dejectedly from the bed, gave them both a much quieter thanks, and walked out with his head hanging in shame, closing the door behind him.
"A little sore," Sam admitted. "Should I thank the extra cheeseburgers you've been putting away lately for that, or should I ask Hunter to skip the next few rounds of dessert?"
Dean smirked at his little brother, impressed by the sarcasm and quick wit. Rolling his own aching shoulders before attempting to rid himself of his wet clothing, he answered, "I think we're probably equally to blame."
Sam laughed, glad that their previous arguments and attitudes had dissolved. Nothing like saving someone from falling through a glass roof to put things into perspective. While he could blame his brother's earlier edginess on lack of sleep and, well, Dean just being Dean, he wasn't sure about his own. He was not usually so quick-tempered. A life-time of living and working elbow to elbow with his brother would beat a certain amount of fortitude into the most impatient of people. But, for some reason, he found himself at a breaking point – or rather, an outburst point – on a few different occasions this morning and he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe he was tired, too?
"Seriously though," Sam said, watching the way his brother moved stiffly and stifled any hint of a groan, "are you OK? Now that the adrenalin has worn off, are there any dislocations or torn muscles I should worry about?"
"No permanent damage. I'm sure I'll be a little sore, too. But it's nothing a couple ibuprofen and a hot shower won't help."
Both brothers had promised the other that they would be more honest about their injuries and illnesses. They had both stuck to the deal so far, but Sam knew Dean wasn't volunteering anything. His first instinct was to get angry again, but he caught himself before accusing Dean of withholding information.
"What about stitches?" Before Dean could argue, Sam held up the red shirt. "And before you gloss over anything, remember, I've seen the rips in this thing."
Sam felt pretty happy with himself that he had not argued or attacked his brother, however, he saw in an instant that Dean was anything but appreciative.
"No, Sam, I don't need stitches," Dean huffed as he took his T-shirt off. "Nothing deep enough for that." It was true. While Dean's midsection was already a mass of bruises with torn skin and blood in various places, there were none that would require anything more than simple first aid and time to heal. "You know, I haven't forgotten the deal either. Why don't you try and trust that I know what I'm talking about, instead of just assuming that I'm going to lie to you."
Dean turned around and walked back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Before Sam could say another word, he heard the shower turn on. In retrospect, maybe he hadn't taken all of the sting or accusation out of his question.
(9)
"Excuse me, Sam?" Rex said, knocking lightly on the partially closed door of Sam and Dean's bedroom.
"Rex, hey, what's going on?" Sam asked. He walked towards the door to meet the other man when it became clear that Rex was not planning on entering, likely hearing the shower and trying to give the brothers some privacy. "How is everyone taking the news?"
"Not too terribly," Rex told him with a small, slightly nervous looking smile. "Some of the others were already set to stay here with us. And, a couple were planning to stay at a hotel in town. But, some of the others were a little less than thrilled with the idea. Of course, I think they understand… what with the circumstances and all…" Lightning lit the dim room and thunder rocked the house, causing both men to look towards the bedroom window.
"Anyway," Rex shiver-shrugged and turned back to face Sam. "I just wanted to invite you and Dean to dinner. I'd like to make some introductions, as we're all going to be living together for a few days."
"That's probably a good idea," Sam replied. "It will be beneficial to know who else is in the house and who to look out for while Dean and I try and find your other guest."
"Oh my," Rex paled. "In all the excitement I had very nearly forgotten about that. What should we tell the others?"
"Well, in my experience, telling everyone up front is a bad idea. Best not to panic anyone without need. I'd say we should keep the investigation under wraps for as long as we can. We don't want anyone to get hurt and we will explain things if necessary, but I'd rather allow the others to remain happily unaware if we can."
"Yes, yes, you're right. All right – that's settled then. I will follow your lead and help in any way I can, of course. And, I'll make sure Jet and Cici know the plan as well." He started to leave the doorway, then turned back. "Oh, and Sam? Dinner will be served at 6:00."
(10)
The hot shower had done its job – Dean felt more relaxed, his muscles were soothed as much as could be expected, and the chills he had been feeling due to the rain had been extinguished. Not to mention, his temper had cooled immensely. He turned the still steaming water off before his skin could wrinkle further. Huffing out a breath, he opened the tempered glass shower door and blindly reached for the towel off the rack next to the shower stall.
Yes, it had bothered him – Sam's attitude towards the imagined infringement of their deal. But, even Dean could understand his little brother's skepticism. How many times had Dean disregarded his own health to fix up Dad or Sammy first? It was just natural to him to ignore his own injuries in exchange for making sure his family was still in tact. He couldn't exactly blame Sam for thinking he had done it again – they both knew that he did it without even realizing anymore.
It was painfully obvious that the two of them were running on empty. Sam's strange attitude in the car and Dean's just now in the room… they were too low on rations, rest, and recuperation. They both needed a break, and without thinking, Dean jinxed himself by hoping that this case would be straightforward and unproblematic.
Taking another deep, fog-filled breath, Dean stepped out of the shower and continued toweling off. He was afraid to move too much though, as he could barely see for all the steam the shower had produced in the small bathroom. Finding the shape he knew to be the sink underneath the haze-obscured mirror, he turned on the tap water so that he could splash the cold water on his face, hoping to wake himself up a little and clear his vision.
He turned off the water, patted his face dry, and then lifted the towel to wipe the mirror. Only, the mirror was not completely sheathed in condensation now. Now, there were words finger-painted onto the surface.
As rain falls down from the grey-blue sky
little brother is going to die
(11)
Sam had been studying the information on the house Rex had provided for them as his brother showered. With all of the workers now trapped at the estate, it was in everyone's best interest to get to the bottom of this haunting – and the quicker, the better. However, as Rex told them before, the history of the house was spotless.
He waited as patiently as possible for Dean to finish in the bathroom and tried to prepare his apologies for the day's events. He was half listening as he read – something he had long ago learned to do – to his brother's movements. He heard the shower start up, later turn off, Dean moving around in the bathroom, and the faucet turning on. Then, not five seconds after the faucet turned off again-
"Sam!"
Sam was out of his chair in a flash, reaching out for the bathroom door just as Dean was opening it. Sam quickly examined his brother – bruises, no more blood, still in just a towel around his waist, steam pouring from the bathroom…
"What is it?" Sam asked. He couldn't see any sort of problem, well, anything worse than what Dean had entered the bathroom with. Unless his brother had actually used up all of the hot water. "What's the matter?"
"This," Dean said, stepping back into the bathroom and pointing to the vanity over the sink.
Sam looked at the mirror and saw that there were words drawn onto the glass, but could only make out a few before the mirror cleared and they disappeared. What he could make out of the jumble – rain and sky and brother – didn't seem that alarming to him.
Seeing the confused look on his brother's face, Dean looked back at the mirror. It was completely clear, as if the steam from his shower had never existed. He leaned closer, trying to see if the message had somehow stuck to the glass. However, it was the cleanest mirror he had even seen, looking recently wiped free of all dust and deposit.
"I didn't see it all, Dean," Sam told him, in a gentle but unpitying voice. "What did it say?"
"It said you were going to die, Sammy. It said you're going to die."
(12)
Needless to say, the 'Winters' brothers were no less jittery than the rest of the guests that sat around the dinner table that evening. Dean because of the mysterious message threatening his brother's life, and Sam because of the way said-message had spooked his brother. Not to say that menacing notes left by seemingly no one were not spooky. But in their line of work, in their lives, they had seen worse things than an eerie couplet left on a mirror. Much worse.
Looking around the dining room, Sam couldn't help but marvel at the number of people that easily fit around the long table. And there were a lot of people – reminding the brothers just how different their life was from the Blackburnes'. The boys were counting themselves lucky to be staying in a room larger and nicer than their average motel lodgings. The Blackburnes, on the other hand, had plenty of room for everyone to comfortably dine and to reside in their home. In all, the boys counted themselves numbers fourteen and fifteen at dinner.
Sam had been to a couple of 'dinner parties' during his short-lived Stanford days. He and Jess hosted one and attended a few other dinners at friends' places. Basically, it was four couples playing dress up, shoving mismatched chairs around a too-small table set up to be formal. They used their best faux-china dishes and drank boxed wine from plastic stemware, pretending they were actually professional lawyers and such, out of school and in the real world. It didn't seem too different to Sam from the way his father and brother played at being professionals while hunting.
But this was different. This wasn't a few friends pretending to be upscale and elegant. This was a couple of upscale, elegant people making the best of the situation that they were thrown into. At one end of the long dinner table sat Rex Blackburne, still dressed casually enough, now in black slacks and a rich blue button-down shirt with a black blazer. It was dressed up for the Winchesters' standards, but obviously not for Rex.
At the other end of the table sat two women who looked remarkably alike. They both had long, black hair and deep brown eyes. They were both dressed down in the same fashion that Rex was – one in a tailored black suit, the other in a floral sundress – the sort that was expensively made to look inexpensive. The one in the suit had straight hair with straight cut bangs. The one in the dress had flowing waves made up to look as if she didn't do much with her hair, time well-spent to look at if she spent no time on her appearance at all – just naturally gorgeous.
Between the ends of the long, rectangular table were a dozen people, including the Winchesters – Winters. Sam and Dean sat on opposite sides near the center of the table. On one side of each of them sat an unfamiliar woman, and next to them sat Oliver and Hunter, then Rex. At Dean's other side sat a woman (the one who was almost struck by Hunter's toolbox), an unfamiliar man, and the woman who had been on the roof. Next to Sam were three men – first the one who had been further out in the yard, then another unfamiliar man, and finally the man who had pulled the gardener-woman to safety.
Food had already been placed along the center of the table and served, in what Sam had thought of as 'Thanksgiving style', with the meat and side dishes set out to be passed around to each person in turn. There was sliced turkey and ham, along with mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, honey-glazed carrots, and buttered corn. There were also white, wheat, and sourdough rolls. And, on a sideboard along the wall were two pies – one apple and one cherry – cooling for dessert.
The rain continued to spill down from the sky, only now without the accompaniment of thunder or lightning. The soft sounds of water to windows creating a lulling effect that, along with the fire in the hearth, the comfort foods, and the wine flowing generously, had those gathered around looking soft and sleepy.
Rex had seated each person as they came into the dining room and quickly introduced everyone around. But, it wasn't until after dinner and dessert, when everyone was ushered into a living room / lounge area (across the foyer from the room in which Dean and Sam had spoken to Rex earlier) that the guests really had the opportunity to chat. Rex, Jetta, and Cierra excused themselves to go to the kitchen for, what one of the sisters called, digestifs.
Sam was about to walk over to his brother to discuss some sort of game plan for the investigation they needed to get started on, when the unfamiliar woman who sat next to Dean at dinner approached and seemed to corner him. Sam looked on, slightly amused by the aggressive nature of the woman, until someone came over and stood beside him. He turned to see an attractive redhead with big brown eyes at his side, watching the woman and his brother with her arms crossed.
"I just want to appologize now for anything she says or does," the woman who sat next to Sam at dinner said.
Sam tried to remember her name. She and the woman talking to his brother were interior designers who had also been set to stay at the estate. They knew each other, came together, and Sam remembered they had the same last name, though they didn't look like sisters to Sam. Yet, most people didn't realize that he and Dean were brothers until they told them.
What was her name? The other woman's name was Lyla, and there was an Amber and a Celeste at dinner as well. Why couldn't he remember hers? He was usually so good at remembering full names and intricate details – it came in handy with the job of interviewing all the people the brothers' dealt with during hunts. Feeling himself blush, he responded by using her last name – of course he could remember that.
"And why would you have to do that, Ms. Gridelin?" Why did he remember that and not her first name?
"It's Miss," she laughed, not fooled one bit, and yet she didn't seem upset by his poor memory. "And you can call me Ionia." She smiled a warm, beautiful smile. "And don't worry. Most people don't remember it."
"I'm so sorry," Sam said, returning her smile. He held his hand out, feeling a little silly for doing so as they had just had dinner side by side. "I'm Sam."
"Hello Sa-"
She was interupted by the sound flirtatious laughter. Both Sam and Ionia turned to see Lyla flip her hair over her shoulder and practically pose before Dean.
"Like I said, I appologize," she said with disdain.
"Oh, I don't know," Sam turned back to her. "Dean doesn't seem to mind that much." But, to Sam's Dean-trained eye, he could see that his brother was actually not enjoying the attention all that much. The smile was in place, but it held none of its usual charm or self-confidence. But, what were brothers for, if not to stand by and watch while their siblings were uncomfortable.
"Well," Ionia grinned, obviously seeing exactly what Sam was, "I do have to admit that I feel a little responsible. After all, I made the mistake of remarking that I thought he was cute." She smiled when Sam gave her a questioning look. "Earlier, I saw the two of you arrive and go around to talk to Rex. I didn't notice that Lyla had walked into the room, or that I made the comment aloud… well, until she accused me of drooling."
"I see," Sam said, for lack of anything more intelligent to say.
"Hey, be thankful that you had your back to the house," Ionia told him with a smirk. "Or that could have been you over there."
It took a moment for Sam to catch her meaning, but when his did his blush returned full force. Ionia gave a little laugh when, what people had called his 'bashful dimples', made their appearance.
"But seriously," she told him, smile slipping fast from her face, "a word of warning: Lyla is a cougar of the worst kind."
"Why would you say that? What's 'the worst kind'?"
"The married kind," Ionia stated bluntly. "And, as much as I would like my brother to pull his head out of his ass and see her for what she truly is, I also don't want to see him hurt."
Sam understood that. And, he now understood the women's relationship. They weren't sisters, they were sisters-in-law, and apparently not very close ones. Though they worked together. Had to be difficult.
Ionia stood staring at Sam, sizing him up, waiting for a response to her statement – waiting to see how he would respond and watching to see if his reactions would be honest.
"My brother doesn't go for married women," Sam defended.
"Good," Ionia gave him a small, understanding smile. She turned away, having said her piece, but then turned back. "By the way, I don't know how much of a drinker your brother is, but I thought you might like to know that Lyla made sure his glass was always filled."
(13)
Damn, he was tired. Dinner had been wonderful and he felt pleasantly full; strangely, he didn't feel stuffed to the chin as he normally did when the food was good and plentiful. And, there was pie. Dean had had day-old pie, nearly fresh-baked pie, and rewarmed pie, but never straight from the oven pie. It was all he could do not to groan sinfully with each bite.
He would have preferred a beer to the wine and water served with dinner. Even a soda would have been more his style. But, he had to admit that the cabernet savi-something had been quite good. Though, it must have gone straight to his head because he was feeling fuzzy-brained and wobbly. Even though he didn't even finish a whole glass. Apparently, he was a wine lightweight. Hopefully, a 'digestif' is a fancy, rich-people word for coffee.
He also would have preferred the red haired Gridelin to approach him, rather than the woman who sat next to him at dinner. Yes, this woman was quite attractive and damn sexy, but she was also very married. There was no missing that giant rock on her finger. If he was the cad most people mistook him for, he could have easily seduced Lyla Gridelin (or allowed himself to be seduced, as she seemed intent on doing) and stolen that diamond, paying his and Sammy's way halfway across the country. Damn his morals.
He was thankful when Sam came to his rescue, introducing himself to the brash woman and standing his ground next to Dean. The look on Lyla's face screamed "three's a crowd" at Sam, but the kid smiled innocently and she finally left the two of them alone.
"Thank you," Dean said whole-heartedly.
Before Sam was able to reply, Rex and Jetta returned with a tray of glasses and ornate decanters of caramel-colored liquids. The brothers could hear them offering brandy, sherry, and port to Robin and Celeste – or Rob and Les – the carpenter and roofer. The married couple each took a glass from Jetta's tray and Rex poured their drinks from different bottles.
Sam looked at his brother who either mumbled something that sounded very much like 'need coffee' or his brain was so loud thinking it that Sam able to hear the thought. Dean looked to be fading fast, and if Ionia was right – and how did neither Sam nor Dean notice? – then he had had a pretty good amount of wine.
"Hey," Sam nudged him to get his attention. "Why don't you excuse yourself and go get a couple of hours sleep? I really think we need to look around after everyone else turns in."
"Yeah, OK," Dean nodded. It was a true testament to how tired he really was – taking an order (no, suggestion) from Sam without a fight, let alone, agreeing to it. "We need to know what we're dealing with, and the sooner the better." Both of them knew Dean was thinking of all the innocent people – well, innocent people plus one cougar – that were trapped within the house.
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I'll be up in a bit and set an alarm. Try and get some rest, OK?"
"Will do," Dean mumbled. "Oh, and Sam? Be careful. Someone or some thing has already taken notice of you."