My first fiction. Is based around season 2 time, but no spoilers.
Any recognisable characters belong to CW and Eric Kripke. Am not making any money from this, absolutely nothing.
REAP WHAT YOU SOW
Dean and Sam Winchester had fallen naturally into their familiar roles within the steamy diner. Having ordered their coffees, they had found an isolated table beneath a big picture window overlooking a rain soaked Main Street.
Sam sat staring intently at the screen of his lap-top; lips pursed and eyebrows meeting in concentration, occasionally breaking the silence between them with the rhythmic tap tap of his keyboard.
Bored with watching him, Dean sat opposite trying to occupy himself by doing what he thought he did best, and glanced around the room trying desperately to connect with the waitress as she busied herself with flicking crumbs off a nearby table.
With poorly hidden satisfaction, Dean's efforts with the girl were finally rewarded when his best smile was returned to him, quickly followed by a blush and deliberate sway of the hips.
Pausing from his research in time to catch the intimate exchange, Sam sighed and tried to drag his brother's attention back to the subject in hand. "Dean, are you even interested in listening to me?"
Dean swung his head round to face Sam, but his eyes remained appreciatively fixed on the woman's hips. "You have my undivided attention Sammy, what's up?"
Seeing that his brother was anything but attentive, Sam drew in the deepest breath ever and exhaled an impossibly long and laboured sigh.
Hearing him, Dean couldn't help but wonder if his lungs had expanded far enough down to rest on his knee-caps that time. "Dude, you seem to be having a bit of trouble with your breathing there; think you might need to go visit a doctor?"
Choosing to ignore his brothers' comments, Sam resignedly launched into his findings. "So, there have been a series of strange deaths over the past year, all centred on a packing depot just a few hours drive from here. Apparently the victims all died from run-ins with machinery or equipment that seemed to operate by themselves, nothing ever picked-up on the security camera", he paused to check the screen again, "Lets see, for starters we have decapitation by a conveyer belt, crushed by a compactor, um.., shot thirty times with a nail gun, oh, and impaled on a forklift. The list goes on."
"Serial nail guns and psychopathic fork-lifts, I don't think so Sammy, sounds more like operator error to me."
"And get this," Sam continued, "What's really odd is that even the police reports acknowledge that there may be something supernatural going on, never known them to admit that before, have you?"
"Huh," was all Dean could manage.
In all his years of hunting, and as far as he was aware, those of their dads too, the police had never once formally admitted that there were bad things beyond the realms of normal explanation. Admittedly there were a scattering of police officers whose lives would never be the same after their shocking introduction into the brothers' scary world, but they had always chosen to stay silent rather than risk being thought insane. Who could blame them…right?
Finally, Dean nodded. His brother's bloodhound nose for sniffing out new cases was rarely wrong. "Okay, I admit that is beyond freakin' weird. We'll go check it out first thing tomorrow."
xxxx
After an early start, the two hunters made good time reaching the town just over in the next state. On arrival, they had spent the day gathering as much information as possible, pouring over local records before using illegally gained police reports to track down and gently question some very distraught witnesses. It was pretty obvious to them that they were dealing with a vengeful spirit, the most likely culprit being the previous owner of the land on which the depot now sat.
The area had once been farmland, owned and lovingly worked over several generations by the Conner family. The farm had just about been breaking-even when the rumours that it was being considered for a new depot had started, so the townsfolk were at first surprised then increasingly angry when Conner had refused to sell, particularly with the promise of so many new jobs at stake.
After months of unsuccessfully boycotting the farm in an attempt to force Conner out of business, the situation eventually turned ugly when the standoff was brought to a permanent and particularly bloody close.
No one really knew who attacked Conner that night, but the rumor mill in town hummed with whispers of a local involvement. What was a certainty was that someone had brutally murdered the farmer before setting fire to the family home and crops, and that the crime had remained unsolved.
Inevitably, the scorched and neglected land had passed into the hands of the developers, and within a short space of time, most of the evidence that the farm had ever existed had been erased with the first foundations. All that was left un-touched was a small, and now long forgotten family burial plot tucked away in a far corner of the site. It was here that the boys hoped to dig up and dispatch with the bones of Conner.
xxxx
The packing depot was a large but anonymous collection of grey industrial buildings and offices located some distance from the small town that it provided with employment. From an ideal vantage point tucked behind an office block, the boys sat silently in the parked Impala watching and waiting as the tail end of workers made their goodbyes before heading for home.
With no eyewitness sightings of the spirit they needed to confirm that Conner was their man, well…vengeful spirit, for themselves. This was the only way they could be sure that the killings would stop once they had salted and burned his bones. And they planned to enter the warehouse where the grisly events had occurred, so they could lure the spirit out and become acquainted with it in a not so friendly manner.
Finally they were satisfied that the place was deserted. The security lights fixed to a distant perimeter fence by someone with a questionable sense of direction did nothing to light their intended targets, so the buildings sat menacingly hunched together in the growing darkness. Perfect hunting conditions.
Once out the car it didn't take the boys long to correctly identify the building where the macabre activities had occurred. 'Crime scene do not enter' tape criss-crossed the entrance to the large warehouse like an over enthusiastically wrapped birthday gift, making it stand out in contrast from its unadorned neighbours.
Making short work of the police seals and locks, the brothers cautiously entered the building, pausing for a moment to allow their eyes to adjust to the dark space that stretched before them.
The warehouse was a cavernous room filled with signs that production had been halted mid-job.
Boxes and packages of goods lay in various states of completion along the length of the plant and equipment that formed the assembly-line snaking around the room. With so many shadowy areas to search, the two hunters decided to split-up so they could carry out a systematic search quicker.
Sam was the first to find evidence of the violence that had taken place. He looked in amazement at the large bloodstain pooled around the base of the guiltily looking fork-lift. Calling over his brother, he asked, "Is it true that the human body holds only eight pints of blood? Because, if it is, this guy must have been practically transparent when they found him."
"Come on, Sam, no use crying over spilt blood." Said Dean, before letting loose a loud "Yeuch!" as he joined him and eyed the impressive bloodstain for himself.
They concentrated their search in this area before spreading further out when this proved fruitless. For over an hour they hunted the main area of the warehouse with equally unsuccessful results, prompting Dean to try and goad the spirit out with taunts. "Come on, freak, time to come out and play with the big boys."
Eventually Sam was forced to give the EMF meter he carried a violent shake to check it was still working. "I don't get it, this thing should be lit up like a Christmas tree by now," he said, showing his frustration. "Maybe this isn't a vengeful spirit after all; it could be a bashful one. Maybe we should be drawing it out with offers of hugs or…, or lollipops instead."
"Okay, Sam." Dean was also getting irritated by the seemingly reluctant spirit, and since they were now back to covering old ground again, he suggested that they move on to the offices located at the far end of the building.
Once there, they found a number of offices leading off a central corridor. Entering the first they found themselves in a large oak panelled room smelling of polish and old cigar smoke. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, Sam gave the room a couple of wide sweeps with the beam from his torch. Padding his way over the thick carpet that covered the floor, he headed towards a display case that had caught his attention. "Hey, Dean, come take a look at this."
Dean wandered over to where his brother stood beside a large, glass fronted oak cabinet that grandly stood at the head of the room. Inside was an assortment of faded and curled photographs that they just about recognised as the old farm. Below these lay a small collection of personal items that had been found on site during the building works. Dean looked at the sad little group feeling a sense of pity that this was all there was to show for Conner's life. "That's not rubbing the old boy's nose in it much, no wonder he's pissed. Do you think his spirit could be attached to one of these?"
"Possibly," Sam agreed. He reached into the cabinet, picking up a gold cross and chain. Turning it over in his fingers, he was just about to take a closer look when he was suddenly stopped by the shock of a voice shouting behind them.
"Freeze, armed police. Put your hands where I can see them."
xxxx
The hunters cringed and quickly reached for the ceiling, locking their hands behind their heads.
"Turn around slowly and on your knees," the authorative voice continued.
Obeying, they turned round to face the source of the voice and dropped to their knees. A lone police officer stood before them, his gun pointing in their general direction. They guessed he was middle-aged, but he gave off a confident and officious air that suggested more often than not, the man came out on the right side of any tussles with his usual clientele.
The boys glanced at each other, then Dean launched into one of their well worn routines "There's a perfectly good explanation for this Officer. You see our father's the plant owner, and we just dropped by to pick something up for him that he left behind, old mans getting a bit forgetful these days."
"Yeah, right", the officer responded. "The old mans in his nineties. Do the maths, when you two jokers must have been born, him and his wife would have been in their seventies and not up to doing anything more physical than adjusting their hearing aids. Do you really think I look that stupid?"
"Well since you mention…" Dean started to answer but was suddenly cut short by his brother interrupting him.
Hearing the question posed by the Officer, Sam had looked at his brother, knew exactly what he was thinking, saw the brain shift into neutral, the mouth shift into drive and decided his brother needed saving from himself.
"No…no sir, but you have to believe we have a legitimate reason for being here."
Feeling cheated, Dean threw a glare at his brother; unaware of the number of times Sam had used this diverting tactic in the past to save him from a potential crack to the jaw.
Sam continued, "Look, I have ID in my pocket. If you just let me show you I can explain everything."
The officer looked at Sam and smiled, "Oh, I'm sure you have, in fact, I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Sam, Dean." He nodded at each in turn as he reeled off their names. "It is Sam and Dean Winchester, isn't it?"
The boys' mouths gaped silently open, as they eyed him with renewed suspicion.
The Officer then went about securing the pair of them. It was not the first time he had worked alone and he had honed his routine down to a fine art, ensuring that there was no chance of being overpowered in situations when he had more than one suspect to deal with.
Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, the Officer withdrew two pairs of handcuffs. Throwing a pair over at Sam, he instructed him to cuff Dean's hands behind his back.
Dean's mind was in overdrive, weighing up the chances of them fighting their way out of this situation. The Officer was older, and there were the two of them, improving their odds considerably, but the man was armed. Damn, no matter which way he looked at it there was no getting past the gun thing. Putting his arms behind him, he turned his back and offered up his hands to his brother.
Sam hesitated, being the one to make his brother defenceless sucked. Like Dean, he worked his way methodically through each of the options popping into his head before he too stumbled at the last hurdle – the gun. His thoughts were broken by Dean noticing that the Officer was becoming increasing agitated by the lack of activity.
"Sam, its okay" he reassured quietly.
Finally Sam forced himself to pocket the small cross that he still held, and tightened the cuffs around his brothers' wrists with a small apology.
The remaining cuffs were then thrown towards Sam with the instruction that he was to lock one of his own wrists and lie face down on the floor, hands behind him. When Sam had completed this task, the Officer moved towards him, toppling Dean, noisily, face down on the floor as he passed, before finishing the job of securing both of Sam's hands behind him.
"Err…what now Officer?" Dean asked, straining to look round.
"How about this for starters," the Officer responded, quickly bringing his gun down, first to the back of Dean's head, and then to Sam's, knocking them both out cold.
xxxx