"So it seems—" Sam blew what had to be a record amount of snot into a tissue, wadded it up and tossed it at the wastebasket. He missed, again, but didn't seem to notice. "—this spirit hangs out on a smaller road going from town to the lakefront. All the drowning victims have had some sort of criminal record." He jerked out another sneeze, Dean leaned away, grimacing. Sam took no notice of that either. "The latest one was a guy who jumped into the water to save his dog. Dog was fine; the guy, however, died. He was, from all accounts, an excellent swimmer. He was also wanted for murder in Michigan. He beat some woman to death for a five gallon gas can full of gas."
Dean nodded and used two fingers to flick yet another tissue that landed near him into the wastebasket. "That's a bit of a coincidence."
Sam snorted, coughed, and nodded. Dean handed him the bottle of liquid cold medicine, snickering when Sam just chugged some, never bothering to read the directions or even use the little cup on the top of the bottle. Years of meticulously measuring out medications for Sam through various hurts and minor ills, and the guy now just gulped down huge swallows, not caring if he was overdosing himself or not.
"What?" Sam looked up from his laptop.
Dean took the bottle. "Don't you think you should at least look to see how much of that you should take?"
"Why? You won't let me take it more than every eight hours anyway. You set the alarm on your watch."
"You saw that?"
"Um humm." Sam grinned at him.
"Good thing, too. This stuff is like forty-proof, probably addictive as hell." Dean tossed the bottle onto the dresser, watching Sam's eyes track it to its resting place. "Don't even think about sneaking a hit between times."
"Yes, Mom," Sam grumbled.
Dean let it slide. "So, is there a connection between the victims?"
"Not that I can find so far, other than they were all born near the Finger Lakes region, and they'd hurt someone somehow."
"Some kind of vengeful spirit then?"
Sam nodded, yawning. "Yeah, I think so. That's most likely."
Dean's cell phone coming to life had him moving from the edge of Sam's bed where he'd perched, to the other side of the room. He frowned, not recognizing the number, but answered anyway. "Hello?"
"Who is it?"
Smiling a bit, Dean held up one finger, amused by Sam's question. Only sick would his brother be this pushy about to whom Dean was talking. "Yeah, sure, I was about to head out for some food anyway. Bye."
"Who'd you give your number to? We've only been here a day?"
"Sam, stop whining."
"I'm not whining." Now he was pouting, too.
Ignoring the fact he should argue the point with the kid, Dean shook his head. "I ran into that guy, Ed, from the parts store last night. He works at the diner I went to. I told him if he needed a hand with his car to give me a call."
Sam coughed then wheezed out, "What about our car? And me?"
"I tuned up our car during your last marathon nap. I'm going to grab us some dinner. See if you can stay awake for more than an hour and figure out the connection between the victims."
"I don't like that guy." Sam was stabbing at the computer keys, not looking at Dean.
That made Dean laugh, "Sam, you don't like anybody."
"That's not true. I like you."
"Doesn't count. You live with me. You have to like me." Dean pulled on his jacket and grabbed his wallet. "Any requests?" He tucked the bottle of nighttime sneezing, sniffling, drug your kid into unconsciousness cold medicine into his duffel. Sam didn't have to know he'd bought a case of the stuff nearly a week ago, having known he'd need it.
"You going to be long?"
Reaching down, Dean patted Sam's knee. "Naw, hour or less, I promise." He gave the blankets over Sam's legs a bit of a tug. "Get some work done, and take a shower. You are starting to stink. You're not going to get better if you're filthy."
"Yeah, yeah."
"I mean it, Sam."
"I'm a big boy, Dean. I think I can get through the day without you reminding me to shower," Sam snapped at him.
Dean bit back the sharp words hovering at the edge of his mouth and swallowed the hurt from Sam's prickly attitude, knowing his words were empty. Sam was sick enough to be miserable and probably felt a bit useless right now. Dean reminded himself, yet again, Sam had always been cranky and snappy when he didn't feel well. It was best for them both if he just ignored him. "I'll be back."
Out the door, careful not to slam it behind him, Dean stopped on the sidewalk, taking a few deep breaths. The smell of lilac permeated the air and focusing on it calmed him. He'd been prepared, he thought, for the attitude, the plain irritability he'd have to live with for at least a few more days. He felt bad for Sam, worried about him, but that didn't always alleviate his slighted feelings or his own frustration. He'd suck it up and deal. He was good at that sort of thing.
He'd known Sam's cold was coming on probably even before his kid brother knew himself. Years of caring for the guy and there was no change in him Dean hadn't seen and cataloged away for future reference. Sam would call him nuts, of course, but Dean's first clue came about a week before Sam started sneezing, sniffing, and blowing snot everywhere. It was simple really; Sam turned into an attention whore when he was sick. Dean had been put on immediate alert the night Sam asked to go to a bar for some burgers, beers, and to "catch up". Some "just them" time.
Dean guided the Impala out of the parking lot, heading toward the diner, grinning at the memory of Sam wanting to "catch up" about a week before he'd started wheezing all over Dean and the Impala. They lived together, practically spent twenty-four-seven together. What on earth could there be for them to "catch up" on? How much more "just them" time could they possibly have?
Dean stocked up on cold medicine and tissue the next day while Sam haunted some musty old book store.
Reminding himself, yet again, beating his brother comatose until his cold went away wasn't going to be productive, Dean wandered into the same diner as the night before. The place had decent food and a pretty good selection, which was good because between their case and the fact that if Dean was forced to spend days driving in the car with Sam things could turn ugly, meant they'd be here for a few days at least. Dean consoled himself with the thoughts he'd have other interests to occupy his attention while they worked on their case.
"Hi. I hope you don't mind I called." Ed appeared from somewhere behind the counter.
Glancing up from the menu, Dean smiled. "Nope. Not at all. I think you need to adjust the timing a bit more, that's all. Sometimes you have to play with it before it's right."
"Okay, thanks. I'll give that a try." Ed pulled out an order pad. "What can I get for you?"
Dean spent another few minutes considering his choices before placing his order. Normally, he and Sam decided ahead of food run time what they wanted to eat or they went together in search of a diner or bar serving food. Silly as it was, he felt a bit out of sorts, missed Sam's company and his neverending talk. Spending the day working on his car, intermingled with watching Sam do his best impression of a slug (complete with the slime trail) and he was a bit lonely and wanting some company, even if it was just for twenty minutes while he waited on dinner.
There were no obviously interesting women not already attached to a man in the diner. Leaving Sam alone and sick in their motel while he went to find himself some female entertainment didn't feel right. Dean knew he'd not have a good time, and if his heart wasn't in it, well what was the point? Too many years of caring for the kid left Dean with parental instincts and responsibilities that reared their ugly, rational heads at all the wrong times. Sam would never know he'd been gone for a few hours, or the night for that matter, but Dean felt the need to stick close, at least for another day or two.
If he couldn't find it in himself to get laid, he could at least get some conversation, and maybe some information.
"I read about that guy who drowned a few weeks ago. Freaky."
"It sure was." Ed agreed.
Dean sipped the water set in front him. "Did you know him?"
"Not really. I saw him around a bit. He came in here every now and then. His dog is cool. One of the waitresses here adopted him. Cooper, his name is Cooper."
"That's something, saves his dog, and then he drowns. Turns out he was wanted for murder." Dean chuckled. "Talk about poetic justice. I hear there've been quite a few people who've drowned on that stretch of lakefront in the last few years."
Ed shrugged, "I don't know too much about it, don't follow that stuff much. Heard a story or two on the news, I guess."
"Ahh. Sort of a hobby of mine, things involving poetic justice. Those types of stories fascinate me."
"They are pretty cool. Love movies where the good guys win."
"Me too." Dean grinned.
"Hey, I don't live too far from where that guy died. If you're interested in seeing the spot, I know where it is. I'm off tomorrow."
"That'd be great."
Between the fact Ed spent more time talking to him than working, and Kim, the waitress from the night before, made one mean milk shake, Dean didn't end up getting his food order and back to the motel for two hours.
"Where the hell have you been?" Sam stopped pacing, his voice shooting up a few octaves. Arms spread wide, he glared at Dean.
Dean stood blinking at him. "I went for dinner."
"Two hours ago, man! I didn't know what happened, woke up, and you were still gone. I was about to go look for you."
"Sam, why didn't you just call me?"
Sam grabbed Dean's cell phone off the nightstand, shaking it at Dean before he let it fly. It landed on Dean's bed, bounced a few times, then rested near the pillows.
"I'm sorry." Setting their food onto the small table across the room, Dean settled himself in a chair, pushing the other chair toward Sam.
"That guy creeps me out, Dean. Did you have to give him your phone number? Can't we get food from somewhere else?"
"Dude, I'm not dating him. Chill out." Dean gave the chair another shove with his toe. "C'mon, sit down and eat." He watched as Sam lumbered over and slouched in the chair opposite him. "The guy that creeps you out so much lives not too far from where the last guy was killed. Thought I'd go check it out tomorrow."
"You're going to go visit him?"
"No, Sammy, we are. You need some fresh air. What's with you anyway? What have you got against that guy?"
Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Just…something about him isn't right."
"You think he's involved?" Dean asked between bites.
Another shrug.
Dean sat back, eyeing Sam. His words were cut off by his cell phone. Holding up one finger to Sam in a hold that thought motion, Dean flipped open the phone.
Sam blew out a breath and ate without further comment, or without really looking at Dean. Clearly this young man, Ed, bothered Sam, but he wasn't forthcoming with why, so Dean let that drop, too.
Sam's pleasant little drug induced world of warmth and sleep was rudely ripped away. Right along with his blankets. Rolling until he was mostly sitting up, he sneezed and coughed. He looked at Dean through blurry eyes; rubbing them did no good.
"Sam!" Dean barked at him, obviously angry.
Looking around for whatever threat had Dean so worked up, and finding none, Sam simply sat there, blinking at him. "Uh, what?"
The blankets got another harsh jerk, this time ending on the floor. "Get your ass up. What the hell is with you? If you don't get moving, take a shower, and brush the scum off your teeth I'm doing it for you!"
"What's with me?" Sam climbed from the bed to face off his brother. "What the hell is with you?" He could shout just as well as Dean. "I can take care of myself!"
"Obviously you can't, since I have to tell you to get out of that germ pit you've been in for two days and clean up."
"You know what? I don't need you telling me what to do!" Sam's fists clenched. He marched across the room and upended his duffel, throwing aside items until he found his shaving kit, toothbrush and clean clothes. "You're not my mother." As he snapped out the final words at Dean, Sam straightened and turned enough to look his brother in the eye.
Dean's expression made Sam immediately regret what he'd said, how he'd acted.
"Yeah!?" Dean's finger stabbed the air between them.
"Dean…I—"
"Well, guess what, Sammy? I'm the closest thing to one you've ever had, so suck it up and clean up!" Dean's voice reverberated straight through Sam, shimmying through his chest to course along his bones.
Sam had screwed up. Seriously screwed up. Dean almost never yelled at him unless Sam hurt him some how, or was in danger of having his head taken off by some nasty they were hunting.
Dean turned away from him, heading fast toward the door.
"Dean. Wait. Where are you—?"
His answer was the door slamming so hard it knocked one of the pictures from the motel wall. Sam listened for a few seconds, but didn't hear the rumble of their car engine. Dropping his chin to his chest, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. No matter how much he'd reminded himself be nice to Dean, it seemed whenever he was sick, he'd do or say something completely not nice.
Of course, the worst part was Dean had been right. Sam needed to clean up. Moving quietly to the window, Sam sidled up and pulled the curtain back just a bit. He caught a glimpse of Dean walking along the sidewalk, away from the motel. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and his shoulders had a hunch to them that read plain and clear to Sam. Pissed off, hurt, needs some space.
Sighing, Sam turned away and headed to the shower. Dean spent his life doing for and giving to Sam. It was high time Sam grew up and returned the favor.
The first ten minutes, Dean paid no attention to where he was going. He moved along the sidewalk, barely noticing anyone he sidestepped, simply wanting to blow off steam. He needed to find something to hit, or preferably kill. Something that wasn't in the size and shape of his little brother.
He'd have to settle for a good, brisk walk, some fresh air, and a few minutes to calm down.
Sam didn't mean his words. He rarely meant things he said when he was angry. Dean knew that. Words just tumbled, unbridled, from the kid's mouth. It was the Sam Winchester version of an angry upper cut to the jaw.
Their motel was maybe, at the most, a half mile from the lakeshore. The sidewalk eventually ended, sandy beach taking up where concrete left off. There was a drop off a dozen or so yards from the lake. Steps lead from the beach down to the waterfront and a small, secluded vantage point was nestled among vines, overgrown brush, and trees.
Dean picked his way carefully down the slimy moss covered steps. If he wasn't careful, he'd slip and no doubt, tumble down. Finding him, or anyone else, in this little spot might be difficult if none of the locals thought to look. The steps and look-out didn't appear well traveled or well used. Probably some long forgotten spot.
He sat, letting his feet dangle over the small wall, and watched as the lake water lapped and splashed against it.
Taking some deep breaths, Dean felt calmer. His shoulders relaxed, tension easing from his arms. He'd bring Sam here when his equilibrium was restored. Dean had no wish to chase his brother, rolling down the steep steps when he lost his balance, to the water.
Leaning back on his elbows, Dean watched the water, remembering bigger lakes had tides too. High tide had peaked earlier that morning. The waves rolled out, working toward low tide.
Scanning the shoreline, Dean could barely make out openings, maybe caves or smugglers' tunnels dotting the steep, rocky cliffs. He'd read, or seen on TV, long ago, how during Prohibition, bootleggers built secret rooms under their houses accessible only from the water. Maybe there were some of those around here. The shoreline could have changed just enough in the time since then to make a few of them partially visible. Or maybe they'd been decoys.
Movement in the water made him squint, then sit more upright. A dark shape skimmed just beneath the surface and he leaned forward even more. Gripping the sides of the embankment at the last second, not wanting to end up down in the water, he stared. Jaw dropping down, he could do nothing but sit there and track the underwater shadow with his eyes.
Barely breathing, Dean sat, completely transfixed by the sight. As suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, heading away, diving to deeper waters.
Sam was going to flip when Dean told him.
Scrambling to his feet, and taking the slippery steps a precarious three at a time, Dean headed back to the motel and his cranky brother.
Dean was pulling the sheets off Sam's bed when he came slinking out of the bathroom, looking contrite. It always made Dean wonder; how did a six foot four guy manage to look like a small child and slink anywhere?
"Hey."
Wadding the offending sheets into a ball, Dean tossed them at the door. "Come on, Sammy, get dressed. I've got something to show you."
"Dean…I'm sorry….I didn't—"
"Okay, good. Now make it up to me and move your ass."
Sam watched him for a minute, shoulders slumping a bit further, but at least he got dressed. Dean all but shoved him out the door, and stuffed him into the car.
"You sure are anxious to get to Ed's."
"Huh?" Dean glanced away from the road long enough to give Sam a quick visual. Attention back on the road, he laughed. "Not really. There's something I want to show you first."
Sam eyed him suspiciously, but kept quiet.
Finding a parking spot not far from where the steps were, Dean hustled Sam to the edge. Sam stood at the top of the steps, staring down.
"You ran me out here to show me old, slimy steps?" Sam shrugged. "I'm not impressed."
"No, Sam, don't be ridiculous." Dean started down the steps. "You coming?" Sam sneezed and coughed a few times. He looked at the steps, clearly not sure about venturing down them. "Just take it slow. Watch, they're slippery. If you fall, you'll just hit me. C'mon," he coaxed.
Sam sighed, shook his head a bit, and moved gingerly down the steps, arms out to make up for his missing internal balance. Finally he was standing beside Dean near the break wall.
"Out there." Dean pointed to the lake.
Sam nodded wisely. "Water."
"Sammy, I saw it!"
"Saw what?"
"Champ. Right there." Dean pointed to the spot he'd seen the shadow beneath the surface.
Sam threw both hands in the air then let them drop and thud against his sides. "Aw, Dean, you dragged me down here to see something that doesn't exist? It's a myth." His eyes roamed the water. "Look, it's just the shadows over the water surface. The sun hits just right, with the trees…"
"Sam, I know what I saw, and it wasn't the play of light on the water."
Crossing arms over his chest, Sam wheezed and coughed some more. "We have a case to work."
"You don't believe me?"
Sam sighed. "Of course I believe you when you say you saw something. But I don't think it was some sea monster, just an optical illusion."
"After everything we've seen, how can you not even think a little bit it could be real?"
"Because I just don't think it is. Where're the dead bodies? Why are there never good pictures?"
"Maybe you can't see it, and I did, because I believe it could be real."
Rolling his eyes, Sam turned back to the steps. "Can we just go meet your boyfriend and get this over with?"
"He's not my boyfriend."
"Whatever, Dean."
Dean caught the smirk on Sam's face. He gave his brother's back a shove, moving him a bit faster. Once at the top, Dean stopped, looking out over the water again.
"We need to check into the land more." He pointed along the shoreline. "See there, caves or maybe rumrunners' tunnels."
Sam twisted, eyes following Dean's outstretched arm. He leaned against the car for a few seconds before nodding. "Yeah, those I see. I'll check into it when we get back."
Dean guided the car back to the road. Time to get working on their case in earnest.
