Sam stared blankly at the laptop screen, not even trying to pay attention anymore. He could only look at newspaper stories and cult websites for so long before his mind started to wander. The hunt for their dad had hit a dead end and now the two brothers were holed up in a ramshackle motel, waiting for a sign, for anything to lead them on.
While Dean had taken a long, hot shower, Sam browsed the web trying to find a hunt for them to go on to take their mind off things. He was sure Dean wasn't saving any hot water for him. He sighed and stretched out his long limbs, closing the laptop and rubbing his eyes tiredly. Walking toward the bathroom door, he banged his fist roughly on the old wood.
"Time to get out, princess," he raised his voice and was greeted with a colorful curse, muffled by the spray of the shower. The taps shut off soon after. Sam was actually surprised Dean obeyed. The older Winchester flipped open the door, wearing a threadbare towel around his hips and a scowl on his face.
"The hell do you want, Sammy?" Dean said oh so graciously. Sam wondered what had made Dean so cranky lately. It was even worse than what he usually had to put up with, and it pissed Sam off right then.
"A shower," he said, tossing an exasperated look Dean's way. That was when his stomach turned barely noticeably.
Sam had seen Dean naked or close to it many times in the past. They were brothers after all, and it was bound to happen every once in a while. But maybe it was the fact that Sam hadn't seen him in years that he was suddenly uncomfortable. It barely registered with Sam that Dean was saying something to him.
"Um, what?" he said dumbly.
"I said give me five minutes," Dean said impatiently. Then, in a quieter voice, "Get some sleep, Sam. You look like you need it." Then the door was shut in Sam's face.
He knew he looked like hell. He also knew that he would be getting almost no sleep tonight, too. Jess might be dead, but she was still very much alive in his dreams, in his subconscious, in the backs of his eyes and threaded in his voice. She kept him awake long after Dean passed out, his snoring a background noise to all the memories that played through Sam's head each night.
Before his thoughts could spiral down that beaten path again, he changed course and went back to the computer to see if he could concentrate again.
Sam watched in mild disgust as Dean seemingly shoved pancakes and sausage in his face as fast as he could. It was kind of amazing, Sam thought, how he could eat whatever he wanted while sitting behind the wheel the majority of the day and still stay fit and healthy.
Sam realized he was staring when Dean shot him a funny look and quickly averted his eyes.
"So, talk to me. What're we dealing with here?" Dean said around a mouthful of food. The older of the brothers noticed how Sam seemed to jolt into action after spacing out. He'd been doing that a lot recently, and it was starting to grate on Dean's nerves. Sam was going to get himself killed if he spaced out at the wrong time.
"Well, we've got some guy, late twenties, no kids, widower, goes to church, found in-"
"Wait, back up," Dean interrupted. "A widower? In his late twenties?" He shook his head. "Getting chained down so early in life..."
Sam ignored him and kept reading from the newspaper clip he pulled up on the laptop. "Earl McMaine, 27, found dead in the bathtub. He drowned." At Dean's no shit look, Sam elaborated.
"The shower head was running, not the faucet."
"Maybe the guy forgot how to breathe?" suggested Dean helpfully. Sam rolled his eyes and rubbed at them tiredly.
"Yeah, maybe. Look, we're suiting up. Gonna go check out the body. You talk to the neighbors or something, see what's up."
Sam left as fast as he could, not letting Dean get out more than a couple uttered words.
The body was staring lifelessly at the white ceiling, dim brown eyes reflecting Sam's face as he examined the cadaver for any clues as to what could have killed him. Nothing was out of the ordinary, as far as he could tell. No abrasions, cuts, weird bite marks, or even signs of a struggle of any kind. Sam was baffled, to say the least. Nobody drowns in the shower, he was sure.
"Are there any signs that point toward foul play?" he asked the coroner, Dr. Weiss. The doctor shook his head, explaining that the flood of water he had to extract from Earl's lungs was what did him in. Suddenly, Sam's pocket vibrated, and he took out his phone, flipping it open.
"Another body found today," was Dean's way of greeting. He sounded impatient, hurried, as if he had something else to do. Sam decided to make it brief.
"Tell me."
Dean quickly filled him in on the details, his voice getting quicker and quicker each passing second. Sam wondered what had him so anxious to get off the phone.
He wondered if it had anything to do with him.
The lumpy motel bed felt heavenly as Sam plopped down onto it, sighing tiredly. He'd had a long day. Dean was due to be back any minute now, since they'd agreed to meet up at the motel to share what they'd learned about the case.
The second body that Dean had heard about turned out to be twenty two year old Annie Foster, a crack addict living in one of the seedier parts of the town they were currently in. She'd had time to ripen before the authorities found her, too, and when Sam walked into her small trailer, the smell had hit him like a semi truck. But it wasn't the smell that had him high-tailing it out of there less than five minutes after he'd arrived. No, she looked strikingly like Jess.
Blonde hair, streaked with lowlights, tumbled out of a messy braid at the nape of her neck. Little ringlets framed her gaunt, blood-shot face, and yes, a damn beauty mark. All at once, Sam had heard her sweet voice at the back of his mind, seen her beautiful face in Annie's bulging, lifeless eyes. Sam barely registered the rainbow colored toy snake wrapped around her throat or the thin trail of dried blood coming from her mouth. He saw the little gold cross necklace, almost a replica of the one his Jess wore...
He got away as fast as he could, heart hammering painfully in his chest.
And now he was lying there, trying to forcibly control his breathing, because it was her, and the guilt and the pain were threatening to bash him into nothing. For possibly the hundredth time, he replayed the scene in his mind, feeling the peace of knowing she was there, and then the horror of knowing that she wasn't.
He saw her on the ceiling of the motel room. Dripping blood on his face. Again. Sam felt the warmth and the wetness of her blood, and saw her pained, disbelieving face. She was still alive when she burned.
Then the door to the motel room opened and in walked Dean, still in his suit, looking ragged. He went to the small table in the kitchenette, loosening his tie and setting his coat down, but froze when he saw Sam's face.
"Dude… are you crying?" His voice was a weird mix between disbelief and concern. Sam reached up and touched his own face, feeling Jess' blood, and pulling away his hand to see that it was just tears. Just tears. Jess was already long gone.
"I- Yeah, I don't know," Sam said, relieved. He went and sat down at the table, more than ready to put the whole scene out of his mind for a while.
"It's Jess, isn't it?" Dean's voice was uncharacteristically quiet. Sam froze in the middle of getting his laptop out.
"That's over and done with," he said just as quietly.
"But you-"
"Leave it," Sam said, flipping his wrist in a vaguely submissive gesture. His tone was perhaps a bit harsher than he meant it to be.
Thankfully, Dean let it be, and dished on the case they were working on, though he was eyeing the younger Winchester suspiciously.
"Apparently, the first vic's wife died only a year ago. Went to swim with the fishes in a boating trip gone bad. Guy never really got over it. And get this," Dean said, perking up minutely. "The two vics were related. Apparently they were nephews or something."
"Well, Annie didn't seem the family type. Her house had nothing, not even a family picture. Do you think bad blood plays a part in this?"
"Could be," Dean said, scratching at his chiseled jaw thoughtfully. "How'd the second chick get killed?"
"Strangled by a children's toy. If she had kids, wouldn't they have found the body sooner than the cops did?" Sam said, searching for any files on the woman.
A couple minutes later, Sam found what he was looking for. "Hey," he raised his voice. Dean came over, now dressed in a loose t-shirt and jeans, and stood behind Sam to lean down and look at the computer screen. Sam's stomach roiled at the close proximity, and he had to wonder what exactly was causing this uneasiness when it came to the older brother. He cleared his throat and spoke.
"Apparently, Annie Foster did have kids. Four of them. One died, and the other three were put into foster care." It explained the toy snake. And her crack addiction explained why the kids were taken out of her care. Sam could practically hear the gears turning in Dean's head, figuring it out.
"How'd the one kid die?"
Sam did some more poking around through police files, pointedly ignoring Dean's head hovering over his shoulder. Eventually he came to the right file. "The youngest of the four kids died of asphyxiation."
"Ass what?"
"Asphyxiation, meaning the kid choked to death. Went to sleep, found the next morning with his face in the pillow, dead." Sam's stomach did a little flop. He hated hearing about stuff happening to kids. It just wasn't right.
"You mean kind of like what happened to the mom," Dean said it as a statement, and Sam nodded.
"And," Sam picked up. "Like the first victim, drowning shortly after his wife drowned in the lake."
"Vengeful spirit?" Dean bounced ideas off Sam.
"Yeah, but how are we going to find the wife's body? It's probably at the bottom of the lake by now."
"I don't know, but I'm hitting the sack," Dean said tiredly. He looked as worn down as Sam probably did. There were dark smudges under his brilliant green eyes, and he looked older than he should have. He turned his back toward the younger brother and tossed over his shoulder, "Get some sleep, Sammy. Long day tomorrow."