AUTHORS NOTE: I know Kripke has said that the whole two-year thing was a mistake. I just had to fix it. This is the first in my fixes (tags, missing scenes, whatever you want to call them). I have a whole list I'm going to get to eventually.
Just for fun. No money being made.
TWO YEARSHad it been two years. It seemed longer.
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"Dean," Sam said letting him into the room. He scanned his brother searching for any clues to the unexpected visit. There were no visible wounds, no limping. So what the hell was going on? He'd been at Stanford for two years and not once had his brother dropped by or even called.
"Nice place," Dean said awkwardly.
"Thanks. What are you doing here?" Sam asked closing the door.
"I was in the neighborhood…"
"Cut the crap, Dean."
"Fine. Be that way," Dean mumbled.
"Dean."
"I need your help, ok?" Sam shook his head, but Dean continued before he could speak. "I wouldn't be asking…"
"I have finals. I don't have time to run off…"
"Damn it, Sam. This is important," Dean said, his voice rising.
Sam glared at him. "What is it?"
"Dad and I were hunting this spirit and…"
"And?" Sam asked when Dean didn't continue.
"I messed up, and Dad got hurt."
"Why didn't you…"
"Shut up, Sam. Dad's fine. He's just out of commission, and we didn't finish the job."
"What?" Dad's injuries must have been bad for Dean to leave a job without finishing.
"The spirit was hard to pin down and Dad was… It doesn't matter. This spirit is a mean bitch, and it's not picky about who it hurts." Dean pulled a folded piece of newspaper from his pocket. "The boy snuck back in."
"God, Dean," Sam said scanning over the article. "He's going to be ok?"
Dean gave a noncommittal shrug. "Just this one, Sammy, and I won't bother you again."
Sam sighed. "Where are we going?"
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"So the Gorman's just gave you the keys to their house?" Sam asked as they pulled up to the gray two-story house.
"Not exactly." Dean shook the lock pick case and smiled.
"Nice," Sam said shaking his head. "Are you going to give me a few more details here? Do you know who the spirit is?"
"No, just that it's a woman, and she is one nasty bitch."
"A woman?" Sam asked. The lock clicked and Dean opened the door.
"Yeah, you got something to say?" Dean continued into the house.
"Nope," Sam said not hiding the smile on his face.
"Come on," Dean grumbled.
"We need to…"
"Just be quiet for a minute, ok."
"I hate it when you do that," Sam mumbled, but followed his brother as he searched each room. They found nothing.
"What the hell," Dean said standing in the kitchen.
"This has been fun, Dean, but I have to go," Sam said heading for the car.
"Sam. Sammy!" Dean yelled after him. He caught up to his brother in the yard.
"Dean, we came, we didn't see. Time to go," Sam said not stopping until he was at the car.
"Don't be an ass."
"Dean."
"There's a library," Dean said smirking at his brother.
"You know I hate you, right," Sam said trying not to smile.
Dean shook his head, the smirk turning into his usually charming smile.
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"You found it," Dean said. "Finally."
"Shut up. If you had helped…"
"Yeah, whatever," Dean said scowling at the computer.
They had spent the last three hours in the library after spending an uncomfortable not in a cheep motel. After two years of not sharing a room, it was weird. Sam forgot how laud Dean snored.
"I know why she wasn't there last night," Sam said rubbing his eyes.
"OK, genius, enlighten me," Dean said.
"What day did you and Dad see her?"
"Huh?"
"The day, Dean," Sam said annoyed.
"I don't know. When we're hunting they all run together." He ran his hand over his face. "It was a Wednesday I think."
"That fits. The Nickerson family owned the house in the 1950s: Frank, Georgia and their son Tony. In 1958 when Tony was six, he went missing. They searched for him, but didn't find anything. Three weeks to the day of his disappearance, a Wednesday, Georgia was found hanging in the boy's room. The cops ruled it a suicide, but…"
"What?"
"There were suspicions that the father…"
"So Frank killed Tony, and when Georgia found out, he killed her too," Dean said looking over Sam's shoulder at the computer. The smiling happy family mocked him. "Does it say where she's buried?"
"She wasn't."
"Cremation. Well that's just great," Dean said leaning back in his chair.
"The boy who snuck into the house, what did he look like?" Sam asked.
"Blonde hair, green eyes, freckles, cute kid," Dean said offhandedly.
"Right," Sam said sarcastically. That pretty much described Tony. "He was how old?"
"I don't know six, seven, eight. Something like that," Dean said standing. "Where are you going with this, Sammy?"
"Maybe she wasn't trying to hurt him. Maybe she's looking for her son. Anyway, she'll be their tonight. We just have to wait for her."
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"Dean."
"I heard you the first time, Sammy. One more hour." Dean leaned his head back against the wall. "What I wouldn't give for a simple salt and burn."
"Right, like anything is ever simple in our family," Sam said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.
"Nothing. Forget I said anything."
Dean opened his mouth to comment when the room suddenly grew cold. He turned to find the ghost hovering in the corner looking out the window.
"Dean…"
"Not now," Dean said getting to his feet. "Is she crying?"
"Wait, Dean…" Dean didn't stop until he was right in front of the ghost.
"Hey, miss me, Bitch," Dean said brandishing an iron rod.
The ghost's pretty face contorted into an angry scowl. Before Dean could even raise the rod, he was thrown across the room. Sam was instantly by his side.
"Get off," Dean cringed when Sam touched his right arm. "Damn it. I think she broke my arm."
"Great." Sam picked up the rod but didn't approach the ghost.
"What are you waiting for? Get her," Dean said trying unsuccessfully to get to his feet.
"Where is she going?" Sam said following close behind the ghost.
"Sam," Dean said annoyed, finally getting to his feet and following Sam.
The ghost slowly moved through the house. Stopping at the door to the basement. Then she was gone.
"Why is it always the basement?" Dean asked holding his arm close to his body.
"Must you complain about everything?" Sam said opening the door.
"Bite me," Dean grumbled as they made their way down the stairs. "Cozy."
Sam rolled his eyes, looking around the dingy room. Rusty metal shelves with assorted Christmas decorations and old boxes were scattered around the room.
"Dean, over here."
Dean found his brother under the stairs, the only place were the floor was not cement. The area was just large enough to be a grave. Thirty minutes later, the brothers sat by the bones of a little boy.
"I'll make the phone call once were out of town," Sam said grabbing their bags and taking the stairs two at a time.
Dean sat and stared at the bones. No matter how much suffering he saw, he would never understand how a father could do this to his own child.
They didn't speak the whole way back to Stanford.
"Don't wait too long to get your arm looked at," Sam said getting out of the car.
"Yeah, don't worry so much, Sammy." Then he was gone.
Sam hadn't seen or heard from Dean since.
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Sam hid the knife in the bag as Jessica walked in. He had a bad feeling about this.