True Love's Kiss?
Dean walked into the kitchen in the bunker that morning to the familiar sight of Sam hunched over his laptop with a cup of coffee.
"Any news?" Dean asked as he sat down.
"Nothing on angel-demon radar, but I think we've got a simple salt 'n burn case in Colorado just across the border."
"Well that just sounds pleasant," Dean quipped as he moved over to look at the screen. "What are the details?"
Sam pulled up some news articles from various recent years. "The whole thing started about five years ago, and there've been 14 deaths since then. Victims go into comas, and then die at 12:00 AM the next day, no matter what time they're hit. They were all different genders, races, and ages. The only similarity is that they were all single. Sounds like a vengeful spirit, huh?"
"Yeah," Dean rubbed his eyes, "You looked into the death records for the last decade?"
Sam's eyebrows pinched together as he pulled up some new tabs. "Yes, but nothing looks too suspicious. One middle aged guy shot in an armed robbery, one 24 year old girl died in a car accident, one young kid drowned. The rest look like natural causes."
"That's it?"
"It's a pretty small town, Dean."
"Well, let's get going then." Sam and Dean both stood up and Sam closed his laptop.
"You might wanna lose the dead guy robe first."
In the glorious town of Sycada, Colorado, the doctors were just lenient enough to let the CDC inspectors through. However, they all reported seeing nothing unusual or unhealthy in the patients other than their perfectly timed deaths. No one had even reported feeling chills.
The families of the victims were slightly more helpful. Most of the victims had been acting more distant in the weeks before their deaths.
"Rachel's last few months weren't her best," sniffled the young blonde woman, "she wouldn't admit it, but she was pining over this guy she met in college. Only she wouldn't say anything to him, because he was leaving for grad school and they were just friends and stuff. I wish I hadn't let her beat herself up about it."
"Tom and I were getting a divorce when he passed. He never told me why, just that it wasn't working out. But I think he met someone else. I could see it in his eyes."
Sam and Dean shared a glance, then Sam spoke up. "Ms. Bakker, are you by any chance related to Tracy Bakker?"
"Well, yes. She was my niece. Her death struck the family hard, and then with Tom's…"
"If you don't mind telling us, what was Tracy doing the night she died?"
"I don't see how that connects-"
"Please," Dean interrupted, "it's better to have all the details."
"She was out late driving to her best friend Richard's house. They'd been friends for five years, and it was obvious she'd been in love with him for three. She was finally going to tell him that night. She was agitated so she called me about it and I told her to man up and… and high tail it over there. Ironic, wasn't it? Guess there's no way of knowing…"
"So-" Dean said as they headed back to the car, "Tracy Bakker: car accident death. Looks like this thing curses people too wimpy to talk to their crush. That's all kinds of messed up."
"Since when does a spirit make logical sense?"
"Good point. Anyway, the thing should be pretty simple. The first midnight death on record's gotta be our ghost."
"And that," Sam said, checking his notes to be sure, "is Mr. Jed Marsh."
Six hours later, Sam and Dean were digging up the grave, which was unfortunately under very hard ground. They both kept an eye out for a surprise ghost attack, but none came.
As Dean poured out the salt and gasoline, Sam covered him, swinging his salt-filled gun about the perimeter. Then, the flames were lit and the deed was done.
Sam approached and warmed his hands over the fire. "I don't know Dean. It's really weird when a ghost doesn't fight back."
"It's rare," Dean replied, brows creased, "but it happens sometimes." Sam did not look convinced, so Dean continued. "Come on, what could possibly be doing this besides a spirit? Different kinds of deaths. No way these people were all the enemies of some witch!"
Nodding, Sam turned back toward where they parked the Impala just in time to hear police sirens and see cars flashing by on the road. Dean glanced at his watch to check the time.
"12:04."
With a quick look, they ran back to the car and followed the officers. They arrived in a classy neighborhood, where one of the nicest houses was surrounded by police officers and an ambulance. On the front porch, a middle-aged woman was crying hysterically in the arms of her husband.
Dean and Sam jumped out of their car and hastened to show their badges to one of the officers.
"What happened?" Dean demanded.
"Twelve-year-old girl," the officer replied grimly, "Melissa Growcott. Stabbed herself with a kitchen knife. No idea how she had the gumption to do it. Parents heard her scream, found her body, called us in."
"Is her body still inside?"
"Yup. My boys are still marking up the scene. I'll show you in."
They followed the officer to a gruesome sight. On the tiled kitchen floor, the girl lay in a pool of blood, hands still holding onto the knife inside her gut.
Sam reluctantly squatted down to examine her more closely, and he noticed a small smudge of ink on her leg, protruding from her shorts. He took out a pen and used it to lift the fabric, revealing a sharpie drawn heart with the words 'Brandon and Mel' in it.
Sam looked back to Dean, who cursed under his breath. "Looks like you were right Sam. This ain't over." As Dean spoke he started inspecting all the kitchen cupboards, earning him several suspicious glances from the surrounding officers, but Sam knew what he was doing. Beneath the kitchen sink and behind the trash can, Dean found what he was looking for. A hex bag.
"Fuck," Dean muttered as he stowed the bag and walked over to Sam. "Fuck fuck fucking witches man!"
"Calm down Dean. We'll find them. In the mean time, let's check the house, ok?"
They looked in every room for anything that might hint at witchcraft, and they struck gold in the attic. It was an old but fine leather-bound book of witchcraft. It wasn't a particularly "Satany" brand, as Dean would say, but rather a moderate guide for the naturally gifted: simple spells, anti-wart potions, but definitely enough information to kill these love-struck people.
Sam tucked the book into his jacket and they went back downstairs. Melissa's mother and father were still on the porch, somewhat calmer than before. "I'm gonna ask them about it," Sam told Dean softly.
He approached the aggrieved parents, who were now sipping on coffee as they shed silent tears.
"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Growcott. My name is agent Worley, and I am so sorry for your loss."
"Agent?" Mrs. Growcott's voice cracked, "But my-my daughter wasn't-I mean-there's no crime here." She sniffled and began crying harder.
"We just want to make 100% sure, ma'am. Was Melissa acting strangely over the past few days?"
This time Melissa's father answered. "Not really. A bit quiet. But that's what you expect at that age."
Sam nodded sympathetically. "One more thing. I noticed Melissa's room is on the second floor. Who lives in the attic bedroom?"
"Her grandmother used to live there, but she moved out six years ago. She has Alzheimer's and we couldn't care for her anymore. So she lives in the senior center across town now."
Sam's brows shot up, but he was all sympathy as he took leave of them.
"Did you hear all that?" he asked Dean, who met him near the car.
"Yup. Wacko old witch with memory issues. Not gonna be fun."
"No. But we can't visit her until the morning anyway, so let's get some sleep."
Visiting hours at the Senior Center started at 9:00 am, and Sam and Dean arrived promptly at the homey building with a huge garden.
"Good morning," Dean smiled at the receptionist. "We're hear to visit Margaret Growcott."
"Oh," the young lady smiled at them with droopy brown eyes, "are you two family?"
"She's our great aunt," Sam chimed in.
"Excellent. Follow me." She led them down a white corridor. "I should warn you though, she almost never remembers anyone these days. She usually thinks she's twenty again and she never stops talking about her 'dear Hugo.' Must've been a lover of hers. Ah, here we are."
She knocked on the door and then opened it. "Margie, visitors for you!" Sam and Dean stepped into the room and then she closed the door behind them.
She old woman was sitting at her desk in her nightgown writing something, and it took her a full thirty seconds to look up and see Sam and Dean. When she did, she smiled wide and jumped to her feet with the agility of a much younger person.
"Hugo!" she cried joyously, and ran over to lock Sam in a tight embrace. Sam stiffened uncomfortably and looked to Dean for help, but his brother just backed up a few paces. Traitor.
Sam took a different approach, and tried to relax. "Ma'am, uh, Margaret, I just wanna let you know, I'm not-"
"Sh," she cut him off by putting her finger to his lips. Dean was stifling laughter. "Don't speak now Hugo. Just let me see you. They told me you were dead. Old Jerry Nichols said you missed the curve on the fire road last night and went right over. But I knew you couldn't be dead. I knew you'd come back to me so I could finally tell you how I feel. I love you, Hugo."
She stepped back from Sam a little then, and moved her hand to caress his face with a warm, affectionate smile. It was quite amazing how unperturbed she was, considering Sam's eyes were twice their normal size.
Suddenly, her eyes moved to Dean, who shuffled a little under her gaze. She let her hand slip from Sam's face as she walked towards him, then she grabbed Dean's arm with talon-like fingers. "My love came back to me," she murmured. "I finally told him the truth about how I felt. I found that courage." Her grip increased to a painful level, but he couldn't just hurt an old lady doing no harm, so he bit his lower lip.
"I don't see the same courage in you." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Better death than a life without love." Then she quickly pressed a finger to Dean's forehead and muttered some kind of incantation.
Dean dropped to the ground.
Kindness to the elderly be damned, Sam grabbed Margaret Growcott by both arms and pinned her down to her own bed. "What did you do to him?" he snarled.
"Hugo, please!" she squeaked pitifully. "I was only helping!"
"Wake him up! Now!"
"I caaan't!" she wailed. "Hugo, you don't know how hard it is to live with your feelings hidden away forever. I want to help people! They can live their lives with their true loves, otherwise their lives aren't worth living!"
Slowly, with great effort, Sam calmed himself and released Margaret, pulling her with him to a sitting position. She was crying and looking down at her slippers.
"Ok, it's ok. Now tell me Margaret, what did you do to Dean?" Sam pointed at his unconscious brother for emphasis.
"I gave him an aneurysm."
"What?!"
"Calm down, darling! You are entirely over dramatic! All he needs is for his beloved to kiss him by midnight, and he'll be fine!"
Sam thought he might have an aneurysm of his own. "So your saying you made him Snow White?"
"Well it does make sense for him." Margaret smiled light-heartedly, "No one would kiss him while he's awake, with that attitude of his!" She laughed heartily at that, while Sam thought he might tear his hair out.
"But Margaret," he countered, "you can't just hurt people like this. Your granddaughter is dead now just because she had a crush."
"Hugo, what are you talking about? I'm not a mother yet, let alone a grandmother, though I think you can remedy that." She smiled mischievously and walked her fingers up Sam's chest.
Sam jumped to the other side of the bed. Oh god, oh god. She really had no idea. He got up and took Margaret's desk chair so he could sit in front of her.
"Margaret, um, darling, I'm glad to be back, but listen. What you just did to Dean right now, you've done to other people too. I don't want that. I don't want you to use your powers that way."
Margaret looked at her hands with concern. "Did I do bad things with my magic?"
Sam nodded. "Yes, and we need to make sure it doesn't happen again. How can we do that, Margaret?"
She thought for a moment. "I can give it back to my book, if I had it. There's a spell so it can store all my power for me, until I'm better."
Sam looked at her sadly, then pulled out the book and gave it to her. She opened it to a certain page and took it to her desk. She took a letter opener and made a small cut on her hand, then she pressed it to the page and recited a spell.
Light flashed across the room, and Margaret collapsed into Sam's arms.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Fine, dear, fine." She patted his arm lethargically. "I just think I'll go to bed now."
Obligingly, he tucked her in, then he noticed that Dean was still on the ground.
"Margaret, wait! Dean's still asleep. How can I help him?"
"I'm sorry," she yawned, "only true love's kiss can wake him." A second later she was snoring.
Damn.
Out in the parking lot, Sam shook him and slapped him a few times, but Dean was dead to the world. Shit.
How was Sam supposed to find Dean's "true love" in-he checked his watch-fourteen hours?
He picked up Deans's limp form and buckled him into the passenger seat of the Impala.
"Okay," he said out loud to himself because why not, "it has to be someone that Dean currently loves and who currently loves Dean. There's always Lisa, but no-Cas wiped her memory. Damn your emotional constipation Dean!" Ugh, a thought occurred to Sam that he did not particularly welcome. Maybe it was a Maleficent thing (yes he saw the movie) and he could wake Dean up.
"Dean, if you can hear what's going on, I'm sorry," Sam said as he kissed his brother's forehead. Nope. No response.
"Oh forgive me," Sam thought as he kissed Dean as quickly and chastely as he could on the lips. Blushing furiously, Sam looked at his brother's still-unconscious face with frustration and a little relief.
Dammit! They had no other friends! Charlie was a lesbian, everyone else was dead except Cas-.
Cas, Sam thought again. It was really the only answer that made sense. They had a "profound bond" and he undoubtedly meant more to Dean than anyone else besides Sam. Of course, Dean always seemed almost comically straight, but Sam wasn't blind. The tension those two could create was stifling, not to mention the outright flirting. And Dean had given a guy a second look in Sam's presence more than once.
"Yes," Sam thought, "It's either this or Dean is leading a secret double life in an alternate universe."
At that, Sam fished Dean's phone out of his pocket and found Cas's number. It rang three times before the ex-angel picked up.
"Hello, Dean."
"Um, no. Actually this is Sam. Dean and I were on a hunt and he went and got himself cursed. I need your help to break it."
"Sam, I don't understand. I no longer have the power to break curses. What is wrong with Dean?"
"He's unconscious. Listen, man, you can help with this one, believe me. Tell me where you are."
Nine hours later, Sam, Cas, and an unconscious Dean met at a cheap motel near Wyoming.
Cas walked briskly over to the Impala, looking concerned. "How is he?" Cas asked.
"Still asleep."
"Sam, you were extremely vague on the phone. How am I supposed to break this curse. We only have four hours and thirty minutes more."
Sam sighed, "I'll tell you what happened Cas. It was a witch. She cursed people to die at midnight unless they are kissed by someone they're in love with and who loves them back. It's like a Snow White thing."
Cas starred at Sam for a few moments before turning away and muttering, "I am familiar with that story." He rubbed the back of his neck and turned abruptly back to Sam. "Are you suggesting I am Dean's…Prince?"
"Well," Sam shifted a bit, "I thought about it, and it's the only thing that makes sense. Dean has to be in love, and you're the only person he could be in love with who also loves him back."
Cas looked at Dean for a long time, still strapped into the passenger seat with his head lolling pathetically to the side. "It doesn't seem likely that he…feels that way for me, but I will try."
Sam almost rolled his eyes at that. Cas and Dean, the low self esteem team, undeserving of the joys of love.
But then Cas was half-sitting next to Dean in the Impala, at a very awkward angle, and leaning in. Sam watched and crossed his fingers.
Cas held Dean's face in place with his hands and softly pressed his lips to to Dean's for just a moment. Before Cas could pull away more than an inch Dean's eyes fluttered open. For the briefest of moments they froze there before Dean reeled back and yelled, "Dude, PERSONAL SPACE!" while tangling himself in the seat belt.
Sam instantly burst into laughter as Cas stood up, prompting one look of confusion and one of righteous indignation.
"What's even happening here Sam?" Dean had finally escaped the car and was stomping up to his brother.
Sammy just hugged him and said, "I'm happy you're alive being you."
"Um, okay," Dean responded into Sam's shoulder. "But really, what happened? Why is Cas here? Why were you in my face, Cas?"
Sam sobered up at that and Cas began to inch away slightly. "You got cursed by that witch up in Sicada. The love curse, you know?" Dean just looked at him, which he took as a yes. "The curse was unbreakable, with the resources I had. So I decided to find the person who needed to, uh, kiss you. I made a guess and I got it right." Sam gave a little nod in Cas's direction.
Dean turned to look at Cas with a look that was heartbreaking. They starred for their usual long time and Sam almost went into the the office to purchase a room to give them some space. Then Dean broke the silence.
"This…is not how I would've liked this to, you know…"
Cas gave him a little smile and stepped closer. "I never thought you desired this in any capacity."
Dean shook his head incredulously. "Well, I must be a better actor than I thought."
Sam snorted obscenely at that and marched off to the motel's office.
Cas shuffled forward until his chest was two inches from Dean's. "May I-" he whispered, "may I kiss you again."
Dean nodded, looking excited and a little terrified, and Cas closed the distance between them. Dean felt soft, dry lips pressed against his mouth, then hands gently running over his short hair. He moved his own hands to rest gently on Cas' waist as they exchanged gentle, chaste pecks.
A minute later, Cas pulled back and nuzzled his head into Dean's shoulder.
"Thank you," he whispered, the words tingling against Dean's neck.
"You know," Sam said quite loudly from next to the car, "I don't think witches are that bad, right Dean?"
"Bitch."
"Jerk. Here's your room key." He graciously chucked it at Dean's face. "I'll be in room three, on the opposite side of the motel." With that, he hurried off.
Dean turned back to Cas and grinned at his slightly bemused expression. "We're room ten, Cas. Come on."