Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Soul
Chapter 1
This story is all thanks to Mango Marbles! She is an amazing writer and threw this idea out for me to chew on. She's kindly been willing to act as a beta for me. This story has been a long time in the works for me and officially marks me coming back to the community of fanfiction. Again, another shout out to Mango Marbles, this all thanks to her!
Dean was sitting with one hand loosely grasping the steering wheel while the other was levied up by the elbow on the open window, his whole body lax with lazy abandon. Several hundred meters in front of the Impala was the black truck his father drove. Sam was stretched out in the passenger seat, limbs scattered comfortably since he had yet to hit his growth spurt at just barely thirteen. The weather was hot and humid, precipitation threatening to come with the tropical storms that hit coastal Virginia during the summer time. In turn, the windows were cranked down uselessly as the air outside was nearly as hot as the air inside the car.
The air conditioner had died last week, an event which spoke volumes to how much Sam was pouting by choosing a sauna next to his brother rather than an air conditioned seat next to his father.
Sam rolled his sweat covered head to look plaintively at his brother.
"Why are we going to Virginia?"
Dean rolled his shoulders, attempting to take the kinks out.
"We're already in Virginia, dumbass."
Sam glared at him. "That's not what I meant Dean."
Sam had been complaining non stop about their uprooting from the town in Missouri. Dean didn't understand, it was summer vacation so it wasn't like Sam could claim that he was missing school or getting behind.
"Well, all you're going to do is complain, and I don't care to listen. So shut up, bitch."
Sam gave out a small humph. "Doesn't change the fact that the place we're going, Hickory-" he over pronounced 'Hickory', taking in a dramatic breath to continue. But Dean beat him to it
"Dickory dock. I don't care, Sam."
Sam crossed his arms, face turning down in what Dean had coined as the bitch-face.
"Still doesn't mean that it isn't shit-"
"Language, Sammy."
Sam flipped his head dramatically, purposefully pressing himself as close to the passenger door as possible to show that he was displeased with Dean. Dean just had to muffle a laugh as his brother looked like a shampoo commercial. Dean didn't honestly care if Sam swore, it was more of to nag his brother back. A few moments of silence passed before Sam started in again.
"They have a place near it called The Great Dismal Swamp, Dean. You can't say anything about that."
Dean tried to hold in a laugh at the name-he was sweaty and annoyed, he wanted his brother to know just how annoyed- but he still let out a snort of laughter. He saw the corner of Sam's lips turn up just a little, but then it disappeared.
"I just don't get why we're going."
Dean sighed and resisted the urge to strangle his brother. Sam knew about the supernatural. He understood the basics of hunting and had even helped in a small time ghost hunt, so what Dean didn't understand was why his brother asked these questions when he already knew the answers.
"We're close enough to the coast that we might actually get to go swimming, Sammy."
Sam saw the shut down for what it was, but didn't argue further.
"Yeah, that'd be nice."
Dean wasn't like his dad, he may not understand Sam's opinion on the moving, but he also didn't like seeing Sam sad or brooding.
"'Course you'd scare all the girls away with that ugly mug."
Sam's face immediately scrunched up and he was throwing a retort back, the broodiness gone in an instant. Dean smiled inwardly as he continued teasing his brother, the Virginia heat forgotten for the moment.
They got to Hickory several hours later and pulled up into the local motel, All's-Well Motel. Parking, Dean hopped out into the heat and Sam came out right after. Their father gave them a quick nod and headed over to the office while his two boys began grabbing bags from the back of the Impala. The car their dad was driving was a relatively new addition, an added cost he considered necessary. Dean loved the independence of driving without his dad in the car, and the entire family appreciated it as Sam had recently begun questioning their father on everything, his curiosity angry rather than innocent.
They checked in and, without wasting a moment, stepped into the air conditioned motel room. Cheap as it was, it wasn't much better than being outside. John was prompt, despite the fact that they'd been driving since three that morning and it was now getting to be around six at night.
"Dean, I want you to take Sam to the local library. Get him in enrolled in the cheapest and biggest community program that's going right now. Sam, you'll need to tell me about anything the kids say which could relate to our hunt-"
Sam broke in. "What's the hunt even about?"
"Give me a second, Sam, and I'll get to it."
Dean tensed at what could be the beginning of an argument. Sam just nodded, though, and his father gave a curt nod in return.
"If you can't find one, I won't be surprised. This place isn't real big. Right now, all I know is that three people have gone missing. All were eviscerated and none of the viscera have been found. For now, we're assuming it was eaten. I got this call from another hunter, so we're going to check it out. I'm trusting you two."
John looked at Sam seriously. He'd been slowly trying to open Sam up to the hunt. Right now, he was just involving Sam in research.
"I'm sure we'll take this thing down."
Dean grinned. "No problem, sir."
John looked at Sam expectantly. Sam's lips pursed and he looked back a moment before responding.
"Yes, sir."
John smiled and then pressed a fifty into Dean's hand.
"Get yourself and Sam something to eat, and try to catch something local so you can get an ear out."
Dean nodded. There was an art to working a town for a hunt, and this kind of small town that was passed through by an interstate had a way to be worked.
John was out the door then, his car pulling away and the sound of the engine fading. Sam looked up at Dean.
"I'm not joining the local soccer group."
Dean nearly groaned, that was Sammy speak for 'I'm not doing anything Dad said'.
"I doubt they have one, so don't worry about it."
They headed out to the Impala while Dean eyed the fifty. The two needed food and it would be necessary to eat at a local place to pick up at least something about the town. Dean then looked at the A/C switch. Not near enough to fix it. He was going to have to try to get a job at a nearby garage if he could. Sam was brooding in his seat, mind oblivious to the troubles swirling in Dean's head.
"What monsters eviscerate people?"
Dean looked up at the question as he placed the keys in the ignition.
"Werewolves sometimes, if they aren't careful and take a lot more than the heart with them. Rugaroos will eat any part of a person, guess one could get picky. A ghost with a particular way of killing. We'll have to research a little more before anything's clear."
Sam nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.
"Greek priestesses eviscerate people. They would use the innards to help them determine the future and other stuff."
Dean was listening, a type of witch was also another important possibility.
"I read Julius Caesar at my school just last month. They have a Greek priestess who-"
Dean nearly let out a chuckle, he should've known better. Sam always leaned towards books and other stuff rather than focusing on a hunt. He zoned out as Sam went on about whatever it was, relaxing as they made their way to a local diner.
They got back to the motel around eight to find their father already there. John was seated on his bed, papers spread all over the cover and still wearing a cheap suit. He barely paid them any attention, head coming up for a moment to hear Dean's report.
"We didn't get much. One of the victims was from out of town and the other two were some couple living illicitly together. Nobody cared to talk much about them, just said stuff about how scary it all was. We did learn that there is a prison close by and they had a recent break out. People say it might be the prisoner doing the killing."
John nodded and looked back down at the papers. Dean peered over and saw a medical report and some nasty images. He quickly looked away.
"Good work, I want you to go over these reports when I'm done. Drive Sam out to practice shooting for now. He didn't hit enough of the targets last time. When I bring him on a hunt, I don't want him messing up and getting someone hurt."
Dean looked over at Sam who was now hunched up on the bed, face turned stubbornly toward the window.
"Yes, sir," Dean replied.
They headed back out to the Impala and Dean glanced at the gas gauge. The fifty was going to be stretched. He had no idea when his dad would give him another one.
"Do I mess up a lot, Dean?"
Sam's face was a poor mask of indifference covering up anger, which was covering up hurt and rejection and that unholy sensation of never being good enough.
"Pain in the ass like you?" Dean smiled jestingly "Never."
Sam turned away and got into the Impala. Dean could stretch money. He could fight. He could load a gun and kill man without hesitation, if needed. What he couldn't do was be a brother, mother, and father. He managed only two of those roles, and tried awkwardly filling the other, while the person supposed to be filling it didn't even know what it was. Dean felt a nasty sensation of inadequacy roll in him. He could really do with getting laid right about now.
Dean chose some lone field about a mile from the motel. It had a plain house in the middle and trees lining the fields, acting as wind buffers for the now overgrown fields. The house was abandoned, nearly all the windows broken and graffiti lining parts of the house. Sam was more interested in the house than the empty dirt plot behind the house where Dean had lined up some bottles.
"Who do you think lived in this house?"
Dean raised a brow, annoyed again and hot. He had the Smith and Wesson model 4560, a gun his dad had picked up from a fellow hunter who doubled as a police officer.
"Sam," Dean held out the gun and Sam looked at him petulantly before taking the gun with reluctance.
"Don't forget to adjust for the recoil, Sam. It's why you have a hard time hitting the target."
Sam brought the gun up and Dean swooped in to position his brother's arms.
"Some day, you'll get used to the gun enough that you can just shoot on instinct. For now, use the guides."
Dean illustrated his point by taking the gun from Sam and quickly firing off three shots, all of which hit the intended cans. Dean smiled at Sam who was absentmindedly looking back at the house.
"Easy as pie."
Sam turned to look back at Dean.
"Do those look like Greek letters to you?"
Dean looked at the house and then back at Sam.
"Just concentrate, alright?"
Sam didn't look happy about it, but he took the gun from his brother and aimed at the cans. The first two shots missed. Sam let out a huff of frustration.
"Sam, you're not-"
"I can do this, Dean."
Dean watched as Sam took a deep breath and aimed once more. He hit the remaining five cans.
"See. Now, set them back up and go again. I'm going to grab something to drink from the car."
Sam nodded and handed the gun back to Dean with the safety on. His eyes were locked onto the house again, and he was studying the lettering that had been graffiti-ed onto the side paneling. It looked familiar, and made Sam curious. As far as he was concerned, no one out here was Greek and the symbols looked different than the standard Greek he saw in some of the books at Bobby's. His dad often said if something looked out of place, it often wasn't meant to be there. Mind wandering, he thought of the case, and then his teachers no nonsense voice explaining how human entrails were often used in many early Greek rituals-and previously Etruscan rituals.
Dean had come back by now with two water bottles in hand and a beer. Sam's face squished up at the sight of the beer.
"Dad said you couldn't."
"It's empty. If you couldn't tell, not all the bottles and cans we lined up were made from metal, we had a few glass ones."
Handing a water bottle to Sam, he frowned.
"You didn't set up the cans."
Sam looked surprised to hear that and realized he had been staring at the house. Sam jogged over and began lining them up, mind still considering the Greek letters.
The rest of the shooting session passed well. Dean knew how to deal with Sam, unlike their father. Sam always shot better when Dean was with him. Eventually they stopped, when the lighting got too bad around nine, and they began to head out. Sam took out a notebook, though, and carefully copied the lettering on the house wall. Dean shook his head, but didn't say anything. Sam had done good tonight, which meant their dad would be happy. Sam may have talked about a normal family the most, but Dean was the one who made their family as normal as possible.
When they got back, their dad was gone again, the papers neatly arranged in a stack with a small note written on paper torn from a motel bible on top. Dean quickly glanced at it. 'Out. Back by morning. Look over the reports. Tomorrow research in the library, Sam needs to learn.'
Dean sighed. Sam already knew how to research, kid was better at it than he was at times.
"What'd Dad say?"
Sam was peeking over his shoulder. Before Dean could answer, another question was spilling out.
"What's that?" Sam pointed at the stack of papers and then grabbed it.
"Hey!" Dean immediately snatched the papers back, no way was Sammy looking at these crime scene photos.
Sam glared up at him and Dean hardened his face. Kid still hadn't learned that his puppy dog face worked better than his bitch face.
"I read Dad's note. How am I supposed to research if I don't have all the facts of the case?"
Dean shook his head. "I said no. Deal with it, alright?"
Sam glared more fiercely before stomping over to one of the beds. He flopped down on it with an exaggerated movement and turned away from Dean. With another sigh, Dean sat down on his dad's bed and opened the report. The pictures were gruesome and the reports were clinical and practically draconian with how they described the death. It was dull, boring, and emotionally exhausting. These had all been people, and that freaked Dean out.
After an hour, he set the reports down and looked toward the bed. Sam was fast asleep on top of the covers. Dean smiled affectionately and got up. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated waking him up with a wet willy, but he dismissed it when he remembered their dad's note. Tomorrow would be long and Sam needed his sleep. Dean gently unlaced his brother's worn out converse and set them on the floor. Kicking out of his own boots he took off his jacket and settled on the bed next to his brother. Minutes later, he drifted off.
He woke up around seven thirty when his dad came into the room. Sam was out like a light next to him, despite the light filtering through the curtained windows. Dean smiled as he noticed that Sam had curled up next to him, looking like a toddler again. He gently slipped away from Sam, not waking him, and padded up to where his father was seated on his own bed.
"Looked at the reports?"
Dean nodded.
"Get your brother up, then, and head to the library. It opens at eight. I think I know what did it and where it is, but I want Sam to practice and for you to see if you can figure it out."
Dean eyed his father curiously.
"We'll go out tonight to get it, just you and me for now."
"Yes, sir."
John looked at Dean wearily, a small, but affectionate, smile on his face. "We can stick around a little longer. Let you get a job and we can fix that broken A/C."
Dean grinned back, it was a promise from his dad that he would spend some time with them, real time. His dad continued, "I'll take some time looking for a hunt. I wanted to take you and Sammy to some of the summer festivals in Georgia. I spent time there before I got shipped out."
Dean's nodded before heading over to Sam, John pulled off his boots and headed into the shower. Dean snuck up on Sam, his good mood influencing him, and he yanked the blanket so Sam fell off the bed. There was shout and then a head covered in mussy auburn hair popped up with an angry glare on it.
"Deaaaan!"
Dean laughed "Get ready, we're heading to the library."
Sam sent him another glare before grumbling loudly while getting ready. They were about to step out the door when Sam looked over at the bathroom door. He looked up at Dean, a strangely quivering and vulnerable look on his face.
"Dad got back?"
"Yeah," Dean avoided his brother's gaze.
Sam didn't reply.
They got to the library and Sam immediately ran about getting piles of books. Dean noted the titles, ones that ranged from "North American Myths, Monsters, and Legends" to "Ancient Greece: Religion". Dean sat down and waited for his brother to finish. When Sam had collected enough books, he sat down and looked at Dean with bright eyes.
"So, I was thinking, this isn't just some run of the mill monster. The wounds on the bodies indicate that someone cut open the body. It wasn't a clawed creature and the hearts weren't touched. There wasn't any ectoplasm, and Dad left a note mentioning the fact that he hadn't picked up any fur from the bodies."
"That's great Sam-wait, where did you read that?" Dean had a sinking feeling that he already knew.
Sam blushed, looking shame faced at the floor.
"I-uh, I may have read the report."
Dean glared. No wonder Sam had been sleeping like a baby, the kid probably had spent hours reading over those reports.
"I'm chewing your ass out once we get out of here."
Sam nodded, already shrugging his brother off. He knew Dean wouldn't stay mad. The next hours both boys spent emerging themselves in research. Dean collected his own books and agreed with Sam's previous comments. He had brought the report, and everything that Sam had said made sense. Researching further, Dean found that others had died the same way. It seemed every thirty years about five people were eviscerated, followed by the mysterious disappearance and reappearance of a person. This had been going on for nearly 180 years. It started right after the disappearance and apparent death of a woman named Sara Blockney in 1816. Records were fuzzy, but this sounded like a type of ghost Dean had heard of before, one Bobby had talked to him about. It was a spirit called a Pontianak, supposedly known as a woman who had died in child birth and who, in death, eviscerated people to eat their innards. Dean felt a surge of pride as further research supported his idea, Sara Blockney had been thirty when she'd died.
Dean shut his book, excited to get back to his dad. This was a more obscure ghost, something that his dad would be proud he had figured out so quickly. Glancing at Sam, he saw his brother engrossed in whatever he was looking at on a computer. Walking over he saw that it was some college paper posted online about anthropomancy. Nearly six hours had passed, and his stomach was grumbling with hunger and excitement at his success.
"Hey, Sammy, we gotta go."
Sam turned to him, eyes bright. "I think I figured it out, Dean!"
Dean nodded, too happy to care that Sam was completely wrong.
"We'll get something to eat and then hang out some until we get back to the motel room tonight. Dad'll be real proud."
Sam nodded and followed him out of the library, where he began blithering away about human sacrifice and Greeks and history and Dean stopped listening. They went out and got food, both deliriously happy and excited.
Getting home, John was waiting for them, already dressed and getting ready to hunt. He looked up at the two expectantly.
"It's a Pontianak." Dean said, watching for his dad's response.
John smiled "Good work, Dean."
But Sam frowned. "No it isn't, it can't be. It's definitely a Greek Magoi."
John looked at Sam. "It's a Pontianak, Sam. Don't argue, you just need more practice researching."
Sam's frown deepened and anger entered his features.
"No. It's not, it's a magoi. The victims and their cuts, it all points to a Greek magoi."
John wasn't listening and Dean was grabbing his gun.
"Dad, I'm serious, it's a magoi!"
John ignored him, moving to the motel door. He opened it and gestured for Dean to go get in the car and was about to follow. Sam watched desperately before exploding.
"LISTEN TO ME!"
John turned. Sam's breathing was heavy and he was filled with rage. His dad never listened to him, he never cared. Sam wasn't ever good enough. There was beat of silence, then John glowered at his son.
"Stay here, Sam. When I get back I'll deal with you."
The door shut and Sam felt like screaming. He stomped around the room, feeling as if he would explode. Hot angry tears were winding down his face, burning trails on his cheeks. His dad never listened, never. He was never good enough. He was always being told to practice more, shoot more, research more, but he couldn't be trusted on a hunt. Dean had gone on his first hunt when he was fourteen. Sam, inching toward that number, dreaded the idea that his father would never trust him enough. He spent nearly two hours trying to calm down, the light fading from the curtains and the night arriving in its place.
Suddenly, he was struck with an idea. He would prove them wrong. He would find the magoi and kill it. Then, his dad would trust him. Heading over to the Smith and Wesson his dad had left for protection, Sam tucked it into a bag and headed to the motel door. He was determined to prove them wrong, and he knew exactly where the magoi would be.