For the patient, lovely, forgiving, patient, generous—did I say patient?—Nana56 who won a fic from me lo these many many many months ago at Kazcon. The Kazcon auction raised money for the American Cancer Society and was donated in the memory of Kim Manners. I started out bravely enough and then got stuck. RL was a nasty piece of work. I got advice - thanks K Hanna! I wrote some more.

I wrote other things and Nana56 waited, patiently, and reviewed, and was thoroughly charming. This didn't make me feel better, instead it convinced me I was pond scum.

So - HEREWITH, on the two years and one day anniversary of posting the first chapter of my first fan fic ever, the first chapter of Nana56's AUCTION FIC. Please look for the second chapter in one short week. The third and final chapter one week after that.

My thanks to Merisha and Scotia for their beta. They did their best. All remaining errors are mine.

Dean was trolling local obituaries on the internet before they left Connecticut and the Pierpont Inn far behind them. One eyebrow quirked up when he found a reference to 'another Atlantic City' death. Another? Atlantic City?

By the time Sam got back with dinner, Dean had a dozen windows open on the laptop and several pages of notes. Sam's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair line. "What's this? I thought you were allergic to research."

"Allergic? No, I just don't get a hard on from it. That's your perversion, Francis." He pushed a couple of books toward his brother. "Here. Your Viagra prescription."

Sam brushed the books to one side and unpacked the bags. "Got Boston Market."

"Oooh, chicken pot pie? Gimme." Dean leaned forward for the container just as Sam lifted it out of his reach.

"Wanna talk about perversion? You gonna take this into the bathroom like the last time?"

Dean felt himself turning red. "That was just to keep it safe from the human vacuum."

"Says the human vacuum." Sam dropped the container on the table. "This is a G-rated meal."

Dean watched his brother as he set up his own meal. "Fair enough. But that means the sweet potato thing stays on top of the table. No 'American Pie' moments from you."

Sam just grinned through a huge orange mouthful of potato, streusel, and mini marshmallows. "So what did you find?"

Spinning the laptop toward Sam, Dean walked him through obituaries, police reports, and newspaper articles. "Three women so far, early sixties, DOA at Caesar's Palace." He took a moment to break the crust and let steam waft out before flipping through his notes. "Fine before they got on the bus. Fine on the bus. Step off, blammo, dead." He poked a spork into the pie, methodically removed the peas, and took a big bite of steaming hot chicken. Breathing through his mouth, he pointed at one screen.

Sam scanned the page and several other pages as he ate. Finally, he said, "Cause of death?"

"The coroner's reports are sealed. Sounds like our kind of gig." Dean always left the browned edges of the pot pie's crust for last. He used a piece of it to point at the screen. "All three women used the same tour bus company. The only part of the route they have in common is from here", pointing at the map, "Woodbury to Atlantic City. "The latest vic lived in Allentown. We can drive there tonight, miss the worst of the traffic. Take about three hours tops. Be at the morgue when they open."

"Oh joy." Sam took a bite of creamed corn.

"Why do you always order the corn? Take one of those pills, man, or something. I am not spending four hours in the car with your gas."

"You'll forgive me when I crack the coroner's reports."

"Or I could just tie you onto the roof of the car. Seriously, take something."

Carol held the phone to her ear, shifting her eyes from the door to the bus station, to the bus, to the busy street, and back, counting the rings. He finally answered.

"Allan! When are you going to get here?"

"I don't know. The bridge is still up."

"Can't the cab turn around and take another way?"

He laughed. "No, he sure can't. There's two miles of cars backed up behind us. No one's going anywhere."

"Well, then, I'll wait for you. We can take my car. I don't want you to miss the audition."

"Oh, no, don't do that. You take the bus with your friends, and I'll catch the next one in a couple of hours. The audition is tomorrow—I have plenty of time."

"They were all looking forward to meeting you. I've been talking you up, kid. My grand nephew, the dancer."

"You tell 'em what kind of dancer, grand-auntie?"

"Of course I did. They aren't yokels. We've all seen drag shows." She saw movement at the station door. "I think our driver is coming out. Unless you're moving, I'm going to… Oh."

"Carol, what? Do what?"

"If you know what's good for you, you'll get out of that cab, jump the drawbridge, and run to the station as fast as your legs will go."

"Oh, god, what am I missing?"

"Eye candy. The driver can't dress himself, but honey, he's gorgeous. And there's another guy, and oh my god, Allan, you have to get here just to see him put the luggage in the hold. He's bending over…" She felt her jaw drop and heard Allan hoot with laughter.

"I knew you were a cougar. I just knew it. Take pictures."

"Oh, we are, we are. I'll get your bag on board and see you at the hotel. You have the reservation confirmation number?"

"I'm fine. Just wish I could see these paragons in person."

"You'll kick yourself when you see the pictures. Call and let me know when you'll arrive, okay, hon?"

"Go get 'em, girl."

The drive to Allentown was unremarkable. Dean didn't tie him to the car like a trophy buck, they found and checked into a clean motel, got a couple of hours sleep and found a good coffee shop in the morning.

What was remarkable was the cause of death. As they put on their suits and got in the car, Sam shared it with his brother.

"The hell? Their bones were gone? How can bones be 'gone'."

"Not the whole bone, just the part that makes it rigid. The marrow, endosteum and periosteum, and some cartilage were still in place and seemed untouched." Sam juggled his coffee and flipped through the autopsy reports. "'An inexplicable absence of mineralized osseous tissue.' Once that was removed…"

"They turned into what? A puddle?"

"More like a big pile of shapeshifter skin."

"Gross. So, they stepped off the bus and, what, dissolved?" To Sam's horror, Dean sounded almost excited. "Wasn't there an X Files episode like that? A fluke or something?"

"No, there wasn't."

"There was this boneless guy moving through the sewers. Maybe it's like that."

"No, it's not."

"It could be. It slithers up, sucks out the bones, slurps back…" Dean hit the steering wheel making Sam jump. "This is awesome."

"No, it isn't. Those women died horribly." A thought struck him. "Besides, how could no one notice it in front of a casino. And how could a fluke have gotten on the bus? Climb the steps. Someone would have noticed a giant leech with a human face oozing onto a seat." When Dean didn't reply, Sam glanced over and was treated to a full on smirk.

"I knew you'd try to rationalize that, Braniac." Dean's next grin was sly. "Maybe it's more like Mrs. Peacock. She drags herself up the steps on her elbows, thump, thump…"

"Dude, stop! That episode scarred me for life." Sam pitched his voice to a falsetto. "'I kin tell you don't have no chil'ren.'"

"That was the most awesome episode ever."

"Back to real life, you freak. We still don't know what took the bones. Or how."

"That's a job for CDC Investigators Malcolm and Young. There's the morgue. Start looking official."

They looked official all the way into the morgue, through the interview, right up until the coroner unveiled the body. Sam turned green and bolted for the bathroom. When he was done, he rinsed his mouth over and over, then slid down to sit on the floor. Leaning his head back on the tile wall, he swore he was never eating raw oysters again, or jello, or eels, and god, he had to stop thinking about it or he'd start barfing again. This was reinforced in no uncertain terms a few minutes later when Dean barged in, slammed open a stall door, and puked for a solid minute.

Dragging himself to the sinks, Dean hawked up some yellowish bile before rinsing and spitting. He held out a hand to Sam. "Get up. I've got to get this taste out of my mouth."

Sam let Dean drag him to his feet. "Dude, I'm never eating again."

"Come on, I think there's some mouthwash in the car. And I think I found the key to this." He walked rapidly out of the building, Sam having to trot to keep up with him long, legs or no.

"What?"

Dean held up a finger before going head first into the trunk. Tossing a couple of towels and boxes around, he pawed through an old dopp kit before holding up a bag. "Eureka." He fished out a bottle of Listerine, took a huge mouthful, and started to gargle loudly.

"Could you be more uncouth?" Sam took a discrete sip and rinsed. "We were really smooth in there, Dean. Real official CDC. "

"Hey, I made it longer than you." Sam huffed but watched with interest when Dean pulled out a small notebook and drew two complex symbols: 餓鬼. "I found this mark on the skin over every one of her joints—elbows, wrists, hips. The coroner hadn't reported it because he thought it was some kind of tattoo."

"I know that mark. It's in Dad's journal."

"I know you do. It's gaki in Japanese and a preta in Tibetan. A 'hungry ghost'. Hey, you want Japanese food? What's that thing you like with the raw jellyfish?"

Sam could see the grin on Dean's face just before he started dry heaving.

Her friend leaned so far over the empty aisle seat, Carol thought Judy's head was going to end up in her lap. "What the hell are you doing, Judy?"

"You can see the driver's face. Can I switch places with you?"

"Yes, I can. And no, I won't." She looked around her friends' faces and patted the aisle seat. "And remember, I'm saving that seat for Allan at least until the bus pulls out."

"We could take turns."

"No, 'we' can't. Besides, you have a great view of the guy outside. All I can see is a little bit." The compact mirror she was angling over her shoulder was totally inadequate. Movement at the front of the bus caught her attention and she watched the driver stand and trot down the stairs. She looked at her friend. "Did you notice? His feet are so big he has to put them sideways on the steps."

Judy sighed. "Big hands, big feet... we all know what that means."

A voice piped up behind them. "Is that really true?" Mabel was eighty if she was a day. "They're both big guys." Just then another passenger approached the bus, a tiny Asian woman of indeterminate years. The driver took a few minutes to help her onto the bus before turning to the baggage handler. Mabel waved. "Keiko, over here! I saved you a seat."

Carol watched Keiko with some interest and, if she had to admit, a little bit of jealousy. Asian woman just seemed to age so much more gracefully than Caucasian ones. She patted her spiky white coif, reassured that her cut was modern and youthful even if it wasn't a smooth waterfall like Keiko's still jet black hair.

Carol didn't know very much about Keiko. She much older than Carol, having lived near Hiroshima when the bomb had been dropped. Keiko and Mabel had bonded in the shallow end of the pool during arthritis swim class, having both their height—four foot nothing—and their war bride history in common.

Mabel glanced out the window before saying to Keiko, "Is it true what they say about big hands and feet?"

Carol cranked around and watched Keiko look appraisingly at the men outside the bus. She said in her quiet voice, "In my experience, yes." which elicited a round of laughter.

Carol turned and looked around the bus, checking faces, finally standing up to get a better view. She called out to the group, "Has anyone seen Lucy or Mary?"

Someone called out "There they are", and sure enough, both of their missing members were hurrying to the bus. Lucy was a newcomer to group and Carol had been looking forward to a chance to get to know her better. Lucy fiddling around the luggage at the last minute, and then both she and Mary climbed onto the bus.

"Something's going on with the men."

Carol angled her mirror again and watched the shorter man reach up and smack the driver on the back of the head before waving a box over each bag. Must be a check for explosives. The driver came back onto the bus and folded himself onto the driver's seat. To Carol's surprise, the baggage guy hopped on just before the door closed. The bus pulled out of the station toward the interstate. After a few minutes, the shorter man took down the microphone a tour guide would normally use.

"Hello, ladies. Welcome to, ahh, East Coast Bus Lines. We'll be taking you to Atlantic City today for a wild weekend of…", the driver swung out an arm and clipped him on the leg, "for a wonderful weekend. I'm Dean, your guide, and the driver here is Sam. Any complaints about his driving should come straight to me. Any questions?"

A dozen hands went up.

The pants were too short, the jacket wouldn't button, the clip-on tie was pathetic, and strands of long brown hair were sticking out over the ears and below the cap.

"Dude, you look like a…" Dean had to turn away to hide a smile, before turning back to tug on Sam's button down collar, "absolutely totally one hundred percent gen-u-wine professional bus driver." That time he couldn't hide the grin, or the chuckle that made his shoulders shake.

"Dean. I can't wear this." Sam held out a leg, clad in gray polyester pants with a black stripe down the seam, and stared at it with obvious revulsion. "The pants don't make it to my ankles. And black socks do not", he glared at Dean, "make it look any less stupid."

"Bus drivers don't need to be fashion plates, Sam. No one will notice."

Pulling at the jacket sleeves again, Sam pouted. "Why didn't you steal a uniform from a tall person?"

"Sure, Shaquille O'Neal's locker's right over there. At least it's your shirt. Look, man, none of the drivers here are even as tall as me." He scowled when Sam snorted. "What? I'm tall. You're unnaturally tall. Like a sequoia."

"A sequoia that looks like a complete moron in this." He sighed. "Maybe we need another plan. There's got to be another way. The passengers could get hurt, or killed."

"We've been through this. Gakis, Pretas... they don't come out at night and sunset is our only time to do the ritual. The bus is the only lead we have. We can't wait til they get to Atlantic City..." Dean frowned, tugged off Sam's hat, snapped his fingers. "Give me your comb."

Sam slapped his hands away. "I'm not six."

Tossing his hands up, Dean pointed to a mirror behind Sam. "Then comb your hair behind your ears. You'll look a lot better."

"Why aren't you driving again?"

"Because you got drunk on the last job." Dean had to bite his tongue not to add, 'And because you made me promise to kill you.'

Sam seemed oblivious. "The greasy pork sandwich in the ashtray image was punishment enough. I threw up my toenails."

Dean grinned. "That was awesome. But you still drive the bus. Just carry the jacket." Tsking, he handed Sam a comb. "Hurry up and comb your hair, for god's sake, or you'll scare the fugly."

Sam ran fingers through his hair and resettled the hat at a rakish angle. Dean turned his head to hide a grin. "You have the box?"

"Already on the bus. You have the EMF? Binding lasso? Athamé?"

Dean tapped one pocket. "Magic box—check." Tapped another pocket. "Magic rope—check." Gestured to his back. "Magic knife—check."

"Ready?"

"Let me at 'em. I can take on a busload of bluehairs."

Judy spoke out of the side of her mouth, "We get a tour guide?"

Carol shrugged. "We're just going to Atlantic City."

Mabel leaned forward and whispered. "He could be the entertainment?"

Carol started to laugh. She elbowed Judy. "Maybe somebody ordered a stripper?" Judy turned to Beth and Kathy across the aisle and repeated the question. The bus was buzzing soon enough, until one woman said piercingly from the back, "I would never abide a stripper. But," and her voice dropped conspiratorially, "if he's already here, we could see what's he's got."

Carol laughed again as Dean blushed. "Ladies, ladies. I'm not a stripper. I'm a, a magician." He turned toward the driver and shrugged.

"Well, we could tell you weren't a tour guide."

He smiled and glanced up through his eyelashes and Carol thought she would melt right into her seat. "In fact, I'm going to use this magic rope", he held up a braided length of fabric, "to perform an amazing illusion. I'm going to make one of you change shape. First though, I want you all to take these."

He pulled up a box and walked down the aisle, handing out strands of bells to each passenger. Carol inspected hers carefully and like everyone else gave her strand an experimental shake. Over the ringing, Dean continued, "I'm also going to give a few of you these", he held up a strand of noisemakers. Several women held up their hands while he distributed those from the front to the back.

Carol glanced up and caught the driver intensely studying the passengers in his rear view mirror. When Sam saw her staring, she looked down and away, only then realizing that Dean was standing by her row of seats. He tapped at an earphone, turned left, then right. He pulled the same black box out of his pocket and tapped at it. Lights flashed at the top. He shook it before dropping it back in his pocket.

"Now ladies, when I say 'Bells', I want you to shake your bells as loudly as you can. If I say, 'Firecrackers', I want those ladies with the noise makers to throw them onto the floor of the bus just as hard as you can." He lifted the rope. "Ready?"

Carol called out 'ready' with everyone else. Dean swung the rope to loop around Keiko's neck. "Bells!"

Turning in her seat to watch the action, Carol shook her bells as hard as she could and watched Keiko. Nothing happened. Dean shouted a string of nonsense syllables. Still nothing. Someone behind Carol started to laugh and soon most of the passengers were laughing nervously, one woman going to far as to call out to Dean, "If that's the best trick you have, maybe you should take up stripping!" There was more laughter.

Things happened so quickly after that, Carol wasn't sure weeks later exactly what happened.

Lucy stood up behind Dean and she was changed, grotesquely changed, wizened, sunken-eyed, her neck three times too long for her body. Carol screamed "Behind you!" just as the driver bellowed, "Bells! Firecrackers!" Dean turned, but it was all in slow motion, everyone screaming, bells ringing and sparks, the noise and smoke, the brakes hissing, Dean turning, a knife in Lucy's hand... Carol lunged for the knife, the hand, screaming, but she was too late, and she watched in horror as the thing that was Lucy rammed the knife up to its hilt in Dean's side.

TBC