KEEPING WATCH
Chapter two
AN: Thank you so much again, Caroline for giving so freely of her time to look this over. All other mix-ups and oops are my own doing. And thank you most sincerely for your time in reading. Sunshine, Karen
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They'd driven all day, only stopping twice; once for lunch and once to fuel and piss.
As the sun went down, blue skies and white clouds were slowly snuffed out, replaced by the purplish pink-carnation shadows of dusk. The shouts and cries of distant seagulls and the cool stream of wind played backup to Tom Petty's Free Falling. The sleek black car moved down a long twisting road. Gravel snap, crackle, and popping under the sporty wheels as the Impala rolled to a stop.
"Arrrr, me hearty, we be here," Dean announced in a deep throaty tone, turning the car off and peering out the windshield. "She be a high, lofty tower."
Sam shook his head at his brother's continued pirate lingo that had somehow magically swept his nightmare to the back of his brain.
Early evening shadows spread across the white granite lighthouse. Plenty of windows were carved into the stony walls, some glassless and open to the destruction of rain and wind; the lamp room no longer guiding ships through dangerous waters. The tower was nestled at the end of a long rocky break wall, overlooking the lake and surrounded by a tall, chain link fence. Sweeping, greenish dirty-brown waves crashed roughly against the cluster of gigantic, treacherous looking boulders that jutted out across the lake; leading to the base of the square-shaped lighthouse, like a bridge.
Dean moaned, "Be brutal and fierce swashbuckling our way out to Davy Joness' locker." Dean pointed toward the break wall. "That thar stone bridge is not for the lily-livered, or feint of heart."
Sam nodded, his gaze fixated out the front windshield. "Worse trying to make our way back in the dark," he added.
"I, scurvy seadog, that tit is. What say ye'?" Dean asked. "Walk the plank?"
Sam pulled his shoulders back and sat up straighter in his seat. He felt like his back was up against a wall. Jess was dead. Dad, missing. Dean so damn determined to follow dad's orders as if the man were standing erect before him, the stern face of a commanding officer barking out instructions that had better be followed to the very last letter. Sam, he just wanted to somehow rewind his life.
Sam cleared his throat and reached for a bottle of water, he moved slowly these days, the crushing burden weighing him down. It'd been weeks. Six to be exact. He just wanted to find the monster that killed his girlfriend. He'd spent day and night, night and day researching - burning haystack after haystack, and still found no needle, not even a piece of thread. He ached so badly. Inside and out. So much so, he was going numb - the kind of numb that invaded souls, froze hearts - than broke, falling off piece-by-piece and blown away by the smallest of wind.
"Just want to do the job, okay?" Sam said ignoring his brother's crazy Pirates of the Caribbean routine, taking a small sip of water and staring out the window. He capped the water and set it back on the seat, long bangs bobbing to cover his bloodshot eyes that were rimmed in purple shadows.
A few silent seconds stretched between them. Sam could feel Dean keeping watch. He was always keeping watching; especially when he didn't think Sam was looking. But Sam knew. He could feel Dean's stare. Swore he could hear Dean's blood rushing with worry in his ears. In the daytime, in the nighttime, breakfast time, lunch time, dinner time, pull- over-I-gotta-take-a-leak time. Dean kept watch brother-over-brother. All the watching - at first - served to warm Sam's frozen and breaking heart, but now the constant sidelong glances and out-of the-corner-of-Dean's eye, looks - were driving Sam nuts.
Dean was doing it again. Watching. Glaring. His green eyes like a bright flare piercing Sam's inner darkness. For a long while Sam kept his eyes averted, waiting for Dean to say something, when he didn't Sam turned in his seat - squarely their eyes met.
"What?" Sam frowned.
"Avast ye' scallywag," Dean continued with his pirate theme, completely aware of how pale Sam was and how his fingers always seemed to twitch, unconsciously. "Ye' be a landlubber, whilst I pillage for booty." Dean waggled his brow.
"Gross." Sam made a disgusting face.
"Dude," Dean said in his usual, Dean voice, "Get your mind out of the gutter, man, means hunting for treasure in pirate language, or, "Dean tilted his head, "In this case, ghosts."
"Dean, pirates - ship. Lighthouse - lighthouse keeper," Sam said in total irritation, "So you can stop doubling-up on your adjectives. Savvy?"
"Huh?"
"Mean's do you understand," Sam raised both hands, wiggling two fingers, indicating quotation marks," In pirate language."
"Look, Sam," Dean huffed, "You need to take a mini vacation. Need rest," he said, now using his 'father knows best voice, "I'll take care of checking out our ghost."
"I'm fine," Sam huffed back.
"You're smart, Sam," Dean said, "One of the smartest guys I know, but you're not the smartest at hiding how…not fine…you really are."
Sam gave Dean a heated glare before exiting the car, slamming the passenger door so hard the Impala rocked off her tires.
Dean flinched. " That went well. Sorry, baby." He caressed the steering wheel tenderly. "He didn't mean it," Dean cooed. Glancing at the side view mirror, he watched Sam dejectedly gather weapons out of the trunk and stuffing both their duffels. "Bro, what am I going to do with you?" he sighed, getting out of the car and shutting his door with great care.
"Doesn't look like they use this old tower any more," Dean noted, coming to stand beside Sam.
"Obviously," Sam slammed the trunk down as hard as he'd slammed his door.
Dean pretended not to notice, running his fingertips faintly over the trunk.
"Stop that." Sam shouldered his duffel.
"What?" Dean feigned innocence.
"It's a car, man, not a delicate flower."
Dean bent low and whispered to the car, "Sh, baby, he just doesn't understand you like I do."
Sam's jaw ticked in frustration.
"What?" Dean straightened. "So, we're close."
Sam made a disgusted face.
"Dude." Dean one-handedly whacked Sam across the back of his head. "We're not that close."
"Ouch, hey," Sam grumbled. "Whatever, man, here." He handed Dean his duffel bag, shouldering his own. "You done?"
"Yes."
"We can go now?" Sam arched his brows in question.
"Yes," Dean answered.
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely."
Sam glanced down at Dean's fingers, still tenderly caressing the trunk. "Do it," he ordered.
"Do what?" Dean cocked his head in confusion
"Kiss her goodbye." Sam stormed off taking long, hurried, angry strides toward the break- wall.
He'd kissed Jessica goodbye that day he'd left with Dean. But never in his wildest dreams would he have thought it would be their last. Maybe after this hunt, Sam could get through the next job without missing her so much, without letting every little thing - a word, a song, a color, the whisper of the wind - remind him of her. He couldn't stop thinking about how much he loved her, how responsible for her death.
"Wait up." Dean trotted beside him. "So, where's there a body buried?"
"There isn't."
"Tell me why we're here again?"
"Fish where the fish are, Dean."
"Huh?" Dean cocked his head in confusion. "Want to explain your fish philosophy, Sammy."
Sam shook his head. "Look, there's tons of lore about haunted lighthouses. And since this ones construction in 1861 its been surrounded by death and tragedy. Place seems to be attracting residual energy, like the spirits are drawn to the light, in much the same way a ship is drawn by its beacon," Sam said, more thinking out loud than talking to Dean, "The name of the place itself is a symbol of darkness. So, we're doing what dad wants. Hunting ghosts where ghosts hang out. "
"Raven's Point," Dean mumbled, following Sam down the weed-filled gravel path that led to the break wall and the lighthouse.
"Ravens are messengers of death, Dean."
"No duh," Dean grouched. "So, we got a bunch of freak deaths over the years and no bodies to burn," Dean tsked. "Place is old, man, its seen multiple lifetimes, there's bound to be mishap and bad luck.
"I don't call someone dying every eighteen years a freak death. There's a pattern here. Last death was in 87 a young boy fishing off the rocks with his dad drowned and was never found. Another death is going to take place if we don't do something."
"And every eighteen years a ghostly young girl in her early twenties is sighted walking the catwalk at night, wearing a long white dress." Dean covertly peered at Sam. He may not have known exactly what horrible nightmares fed on his brother's brain at night, but he had heard Sam mumbling in his sleep. Dean sighed a long breathy sigh, he didn't dare muddy Sam and Jess' love with his own sick imagination of how she'd actually look in the long, white dress Sam often muttered unknowingly about. "Sam," Dean called gently, "You sure this isn't about…"
"It's a hunt," Sam swallowed hard, "Something to check out. It's what you said dad wants us to be doing, and since we can't find dad or anything else we're going to…"
"Check this out."
"Right." Sam followed behind Dean as they made their way across the treacherous, rocky break wall toward the lighthouse.
As steady on their feet as Sam and Dean usually were, they struggled across the chunky granite. Keeping balance was difficult, one side of their bodies being weighted down with their heavy rucksacks, causing them to move much slower than they were used to moving.
The huge, slabs of rock were strung together like a giant concrete necklace, the road not so smooth as the brothers had to jump over wide, jagged spaces from time to time. Down between the holes they could see water jutting in and out, bringing with it gunky lake sand, dead fish and algae slimed junk. They stepped around brush and small trees growing out of the cracks in the rock. It was windy, the water choppy, splashing up at them from both sides, and the air smelled like a large vat of bad calm chowder.
"Uh," Dean sniffled rubbing at his nose. "Won't find a bouquet of roses around here."
"Or wildflowers." Sam cringed, suddenly distracted by more thoughts of Jessica.
/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first time he'd seen her she was across the lawn sitting under the shade of a tall tree. She was beautiful. Her eyes. Her face. Her hair. Everything. She was reading a thick, hardback book, sipping a Coke, not diet like some girls, but a real, honest to goodness, full of calories, Coke. The closer he got the more beautiful she was. Sam got a down to earth feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling he never had before in his life. It felt good, it felt normal and he was drawn to her like magic, like some fairytale storybook prince charming. Sam slowly walked her way, dazed, enchanted, not sure what he was going to do or say. A million pickup lines ran through his head. He wasn't here to meet girls. He was here to study. To make a new life for himself. Normally, he'd never even have approached her. What was he doing?
'Can you hear that sound? That is the sound of the ambulance coming to get me because when I saw you my heart stopped beating.'
It was the first pickup line that popped into his head, stupid, totally not storybok prince charming, yet the line was so true. Sam felt as if his heart had stopped beating the moment he laid eyes on her. Dean would have laughed his ass off at the mere mention of the cheap line. His dashing and debonair brother didn't use pickup lines. He would have simply swaggered up to her, told her his name and she would have been all a giggle - Silly Putty in his big brother's capable hands. Meeting girls didn't come that easy to Sam.
Before he knew it, Sam was standing before her.
"Can I help you?" She asked politely.
Sam shook his head unable to stop staring at the cute way she wrinkled her nose at the sunlight that dappled down through the branches of the tree. He opened his mouth, but his stopped heart must have crept up into his throat and he couldn't get any words past the meaty lump.
"Are you lost?" She asked, scrunching her nose even cuter than before.
"Um, you have a really beautiful...uh...nose…'eh…" Sam nervously ran a hand through his hair, pulling his bangs away from his eyes. "What I mean is, your nose is so, 'eh, pretty," he stumbled, what was he saying?
She said nothing, just kept staring brightly at him, utter amusement shining in her eyes.
Sam shoved both hands deep in his jacket pockets. "What I want to say is… you have a nice…uh, so, you know…gah…I…"
Oh, man, he was messing up so badly. Crap. Stupid, Sam. Stupid, stupid.
"Hey, Sam," a voice called from behind. "I see you've met Jessica."
"Jessica Moore," Brady smirked, putting an arm around Sam. "This is my new roommate, and all around good guy, Sam," he said, pulling Sam closer. "Sam, this is Jessica." Brady turned ever so slightly, and whispered into Sam's ear. "Go ahead, man, tell her a little bit about yourself." Brady encouraged Sam with a hard elbow jab to his ribs.
"Uh, yeah, I, eh…" Sam stuttered some more.
"Sam just enrolled here," Brady helped out. "Going to be a big-wig lawyer someday. He doesn't smoke, barely drinks, is super shy and the tallest, lamest guy on campus." Brady gestured a hand toward Jessica. "Your turn, Jessica."
Jessica folded her book under her arm and stood in front of Sam. "Hi." She held out a hand to shake Sam's. " Jess," she shortened her name, "Who also doesn't drink or smoke. I'm not tall or shy, and you, Sam, certainly don't strike me as lame." She shrugged.
"If he's not lame, I don't know who or what is?" Brady teased.
"Roses are lame," Jessica said firmly.
"Why do you think that?" Sam asked, swallowing down his heart that suddenly decided to start beating again - pounding in his chest like mad.
"There's no law that says you have to spend a million dollars to make a girl smile, is there, Sam?" Jessica smiled hugely at Sam.
"Care to discuss that theory over a cup of coffee?" Sam asked softly, relaxing a bit.
Jessica nodded. "Yes, I'd like that."
"Have fun you two," Brady said with great satisfaction as quickly strolled off. /~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sam!" Dean's voice pulled Sam from the memory with an almost electrifying jolt. "I asked you if you were okay back there," Dean held up three fingers, "Three times now."
"Crap." Sam slipped on a wet rock. Damn, he'd broken dad's cardinal rule:
Constantly be aware of where you are, what the hell is going on around you, and what you're stepping into next.
Tripping over himself, Sam's right leg dipped down into one of the break wall's holes, and he struggled on his left leg to stay upright.
"Nuh," Sam cried, fingers scrabbling to hold on to his duffle, sharp craggy rock scrapping his leg bloody, and ripping his jeans.
"Hey, ho." Dean whirled, grabbing hold of Sam's jacket collar just in time to save his little brother from pitching into the slimy lake. "You didn't get a load of the "No Swimming" sign back there, did you?" Dean kept a firm hold of Sam as he pulled him upright. "Ouch." Dean peered down at ripped material and stream of blood dripping down Sam's now pulpy looking flesh. "You suck." He glanced at the funnel-shaped hole shaking his head
"Thanks," Sam mumbled, hiking his duffle more securely up on his shoulder. "Didn't get a load of the "Slippery When Wet" sign, either."
"You okay to keep going?" Dean frowned. "Who were you day dreaming about?" Dean waggled his brow. "Collin Farrell?"
"What," Sam screeched with disgust. "No."
"Yeah, well, just pay attention and be careful, klutz," Dean warned, pointing a finger at the sloshing green waves below. "Water's cold and wet and stinks like yesterday's news."
"Next time I'll plan my trip better." Sam pulled away from Dean; he didn't need his big brother keeping watch like he was ten and on his first hunt. Taking more tentative steps, Sam put thoughts of Jessica out of his mind, instead replacing them with thoughts of dad.
Even after all these years he remembered the day he went on his first hunt, recalling his father's stern orders to Dean.
'I got the shotgun. Caleb, the holy water. Dean, you man the flashlight and don't dare let go of your brother's hand, you hear me?'
"You do know that's no hot tub around us, right Sam? Sam. Sam!"
Dean's voice shook Sam back to the present yet again. Damn he needed to stay focused.
"I said pay attention, man."
"I am."
"Uh-huh, prove it." Dean's disbelieving voice floated from behind.
"Hot tub sounds nice," Sam joked lightly, hoping Dean bought that.
"That's my klutzy boy," Dean laughed heartily.
Sam tensed, his peevish boo-boo lip showing itself.
Dean didn't take the bait. Sam could sense his brother's gaze skull-burning the back of his head once more.
TBC….