A/N: Thanks for reading and all the great reviews. This chapter has a little something borrowed from MuffyMorrigan. Hope I do the Heather Hunt proud!
As luck would have it, good luck for a change, the man who'd run into the car turned out to be a mechanic. He felt so bad about the accident, he insisted on fixing the car at no charge. The Impala was being repaired at Marcus' garage and he was treating them to lunch at a diner across the street. While Marcus and his brother talked about the car, Sam processed what he'd just survived.
Most of it was a blur. However, those few seconds when he was certain he wouldn't get to the girl in time were slow motion and crystal clear. If things had gone the way they usually do, he wouldn't even have been at the intersection at the right time. Research normally took hours of searching newspaper articles and death records. The librarian, thinking Sam was a reporter, was only too eager to share what she knew. Apparently the Killer Crossing was already local legend, one that almost everyone in town experienced first hand and couldn't wait to tell strangers about. The only thing Heather didn't know was where the victims of the original crash were buried. But she did give Sam her cell number in case he had any more questions.
Ok fine Dean, you were right. All Heathers are hot.
Since the research took almost no time, Sam figured he'd walk back to the motel so they could get some lunch before locating the right cemetery. Standing at a stoplight waiting for his turn to cross, he heard a small group of women giggling about some guy and his car. He noticed one of them pointing and just rolled his eyes. Dean didn't even have to try. Girls were naturally attracted to him. Yeah, like a moth to the flame.
Preparing to get his brother's attention, Sam noticed a panicked look in his direction as Dean hopped out of the car. A quick look around told Sam what the anxious look was for. A small child was wandering into traffic. Hunter instincts kicking in, he reacted without a second thought. He darted into traffic himself, grabbed the girl mere seconds before the oncoming car would've hit her.
He hit the pavement hard enough to be winded, the child's weight pressing on his chest. But it had been worth it. She was uninjured, not a mark on her. In those few seconds he tried to catch his breath, he heard the squeals, the crash, and the screams. He knew Dean was fearing the worst and did his best to alleviate his brother's fears. Sitting up, seeing how close the car came, he realized how lucky both he and the girl were. It could've been so much worse. Even the gash on his head didn't hurt much. He'd barely managed to stand and reassure Dean they were ok before a woman snatched the kid from his arms without so much as a thank you for saving her.
"You're welcome," he muttered, certain she wouldn't hear. He wasn't as quiet as he thought, judging from the sympathetic look from his brother. Dean was hypersensitive where Sam was concerned. From there the situation went downhill and just made his head hurt.
Bringing his concentration back to the conversation, he realized he hadn't missed much. They were still talking about the Impala, Dean's precious baby. Though, truth be told, Sam was almost as happy that the car wasn't too badly damaged. Not that he'd ever admit it to Dean. After all they'd lost in their lives, the car was the last constant in Sam's world besides his brother. It was their home.
If I even hinted at that, I would never hear the end of it, Sam thought smiling to himself. Memories of the crash that almost took Dean and the Impala, his whole life, came unbidden to him. Bobby told him there wasn't enough of the car to bother towing, to scrap it. He still couldn't shake the feeling that giving up on the car was the same as giving up on Dean. Which just wasn't an option. Ever.
After Dean's miraculous recovery and the loss of their father, rebuilding the car was the one thing that allowed them both a little time to heal. Losing the Impala would be like losing family. Realizing the table was quiet, he noticed Marcus step out of the diner talking insistently into his cell phone. Then noticed Dean staring at him.
"You sure you're alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing broken, not much bruised. Did I miss anything important?"
"Nah, just car talk. His garage has an old Caprice out back, so we won't even have to wait on a part to arrive. The car should be ready as soon as we're done here. Did you get anything good at the library? Which reminds me, why weren't you still there? Research always takes forever."
"The librarian, Heather, told me almost everything we need to know. Didn't have to crack a single book." Noticing the look from his brother, Sam knew he was going to enjoy the next few minutes immensely. Dean had come up with the theory he could tell how attractive a woman would be by her name. He'd decided all Heathers were hot and started the Heather Hunt to prove his point. So far he hadn't been wrong.
"Heather? You found a Heather in the middle of Nowhere, Texas? That's my boy. She was hot, wasn't she? Did you get her number?"
"You'll have to decide for yourself. She took her picture when she put her number in my phone." Now comes the fun part.
Handing Dean his phone, Sam patiently waited for him to open the phone book. The flabbergasted look on Dean's face was well worth the wait.
"Seven different Heathers here? You've been holding out on me, you sly dog! Wait, I recognize this girl from that town in North Carolina. How did I miss that?"
"Well, if you'd bothered to ask her name at some point in your 'date', you might've known. By the way, she says I'm better than you."
"Wh—wait a minute, huh?" Sam tried to hide a smirk and failed. He could tell Dean's brain was trying to work its way around that one. He looked like he couldn't decide whether Sam was lying or not.
"You're totally lying! She's not even your type."
"You keep telling yourself that. Maybe you'll believe it eventually." The flurry of emotions crossing his brother's face made Sam laugh out loud, releasing the last of the tension from the accident. This just frustrated Dean even more. Luckily the discussion was cut short by Marcus' return.
"Ok boys. Where were we? Oh, right. The Killer Crossing legend." Marcus proceeded to tell them exactly what Sam heard from Heather a little while ago.
Eleven years earlier
Suzanne ran as quickly as she could from the house, her car already loaded with the few belongings she didn't want to leave behind. After months of abuse, she finally told Lonnie she couldn't be with him anymore. She realized his abusive behavior wasn't going to get any better, only worse. And it wasn't just the abuse. He was getting into some weird, scary stuff. Stuff she wanted no part of. He was furious, even threatened to kill her if she left. Which is why she hid his car keys before heading to the police station.
The closer she got to town, the safer she felt. She was pretty sure he wouldn't try anything crazy in broad daylight in front of witnesses. Sitting at the light at the main freeway through town she checked the rear view mirror and breathed a small sigh of relief. It would be short-lived. Just moments before the neighbor's huge truck slammed into her compact car, she saw it in the mirror approaching at an alarming rate. She didn't even have time to pull the emergency brake before her car was forced into oncoming traffic. The last thing she saw was the terrified expression of the passenger as her car impacted with theirs, her last thought, Oh my god, he's just a kid!
"So let me get this straight, Sam. The ghost in this scenario is just some poor girl trying to escape a psycho boyfriend?"
"Yeah, the details fit. All of the fatality accidents happened the same way. A woman's car is forced into traffic, the same day and same time that Suzanne MacDonald was killed by Lonnie Stiger."
Dean was pretty sure Sam was right, but he wanted to make sure they didn't miss anything. Too many cases that should've been a simple salt and burn ended badly because they missed one detail. Well that and the infamous Winchester luck. "What about the victim in the other car? Or the psycho?"
"The other victim doesn't fit the pattern. He wasn't even driving, just a twelve year old kid. The boyfriend didn't die in the crash. He's currently serving his sentence on death row at Huntsville. Everything points to Suzanne reenacting her death."
"Ok, so we find out where she's buried and get this done quickly. That'll give us a few days to recover from whatever she does to us and make sure it worked." Dean noticed Sam was looking a little unsure. "What's up, Sammy?"
"It's Sam. And...I don't know. I wish there was a way to make her stop without having to burn her bones. She was the victim in this. It doesn't seem fair."
"I know. Sometimes this job can suck out loud. We don't have to like it, but if we don't do it, someone else will die in four days." He hated the way his brother took everything to heart, let all the jobs get to him. If he didn't, he wouldn't be Sam.
"Guess that means another trip to the library. Maybe Heather will still be there."
"Oh, ha ha. Very funny!" He had to admit. Sam had gotten him good. Dean still wasn't sure if he was joking about that girl or not. In all honesty, he didn't think he wanted to know. "Bitch."
"Jerk."
"We can walk to the library. It's not that far and I'm not risking my baby again so soon after getting her fixed."
After finding the necessary information, they decided to check out the cemetery, find her grave, and mark it to make it easier to find at night. The less complications, the better. Afterwards, they checked their supplies, gathered what gear they'd need, and relaxed in the room until it was late enough to dig a grave uninterrupted. Dean spent the time cleaning his already pristine guns while Sam did a little more searching online to make sure they hadn't missed anything. This case seemed way too easy to both of them.
At about midnight they headed out. The cemetery was quiet, as expected. They decided to take turns digging while the other stood watch. They weren't sure how Suzanne would react and didn't want to take any chances. It was during Dean's second turn at digging that he hit solid wood. He opened the casket and stepped out of the huge hole. Pouring salt and lighter fluid on the bones, he was tensed for trouble, fully expecting it. If not for that alert state, he might've missed the small sound from his brother.
"Dean," Sam whispered. Turning to his brother's voice, he saw the last thing he expected. Suzanne was petite, long brown hair flowing freely behind her, a sadness in her eyes. Standing a few feet from Sam, she wasn't moving to hurt him. She was smiling. Then she approached Dean, turned to face her grave, and said thank you before she backed away to watch.
"Huh? Guess there's a first time for everything."
Dean turned, lit the matchbook, and threw it in the open grave. Instead of the usual angry screams when they put a spirit to rest, they both heard a light sob, then nothing.
"Dude, I'm a little confused here. If she was an angry spirit, why let us burn her bones without a fight. If she wasn't an angry spirit, why all the accidents? That was too weird. Did we miss something?"
"I'm just as confused as you on this one, Dean. We'll have to keep a close watch on the intersection and hope this was the right spirit."
"Why not just go dig up the other victim's grave in case we were wrong?"
"I found the obituaries from the original accident. Suzanne was buried here. The boy who died, Wesley Oram, was cremated. No grave, no bones to burn."
"Son of a bitch! Alright. Guess all we can do is wait. I think I need a drink."
Word traveled quickly why the brothers were in town, to write a book about Southern hauntings. No one questioned their frequent visits to the Killer Crossing. In fact, many people offered their own experiences, hoping to see their names in print. Sam was pretty sure it was Heather, not Marcus, that spread that information. Though it made watching the intersection for trouble easier, it also made doing their job uninterrupted nearly impossible.
With three days of waiting, no wounds to recover from, Dean quickly got bored. Sam even agreed to the earlier suggestion of the Dinosaur Park. This did nothing to improve his brother's mood. It turned out the park didn't have dinosaur bones, only fossilized prints. Lots of them. No chance of a dinosaur spirit held no interest for Dean. Not even his usual nights at the bar held any interest. Thankfully, the wait was almost over. If they'd burned the wrong bones, they would know by 9:49 that morning. Unfortunately, if they were wrong, there wasn't anything that could prevent an accident. I really hope we got this right.
They'd been eating meals at a little family-owned restaurant on the corner. The best indication they had so far that it truly was over came from listening to the regular customers. Most hoping something small would happen for "the book people" kept talking about how strangely uneventful things were the last few days. No minor fender benders. No unexpected light changes. Nothing. This went quite far in calming Sam's fears. They should have enough time to eat a light breakfast at the cafe next door before the deadline.
"I can't wait for this to be over, Sam. I miss driving my baby. There's no way I'm taking chances with her until we know for sure this is done."
Yeah sure, Dean. Your baby is the only thing you're worried about. I know how on edge you've been. I also know if anything goes wrong today, you'll blame yourself. "It will be nice to get out of here. Any idea where we'll head next?"
"I thought we might head up to Fort Worth. It's less than an hour away. Big towns make it easier to hide from the Feds and to hustle a little pool without pissing off the locals. Plus those rich college kids are so easy to hustle."
"Sounds good. I haven't been to a decent bookstore in a while."
"Bookstore? You're kidding, right?"
"No, I'm not kidding. I happen to enjoy them. That is how I met Jessica."
"Really? You never told me that. I didn't think hot chicks went to bookstores."
"Attractive, intelligent women do, Dean. Anyway, she was in the cafe reading something for her philosophy class. I tripped over her book bag and almost spilled my latte on her. We struck up a conversation about her book. Two months later we were roommates."
"Not bad, Sammy. Ok, you can go to your bookstores. Count me out though. We should head outside. It's almost time and I'm itching to get on the road."
They quickly paid the check, not wanting to miss any sign they'd completed the job. Only two minutes left, the traffic was flowing smoothly, to the consternation of a few onlookers. Thirty seconds from the appointed time, Sam saw something that reassured him they'd burned the right bones.
"Dean," he whispered, not wanting to attract outside attention. "Can you see her?" Standing in the center of the intersection, Suzanne smiled and waved.
"Whoa! Yeah, I can," Dean whispered in response, obviously not wanting anyone else to hear their conversation either. "But I think we're the only ones who can. She looks so happy." They both watched as she faded in a beautiful glow of white light. "I think that's the first time a spirit wanted us to get rid of them."
Sam was reluctant to look away, to break the spell her appearance had on them. It felt good to know they were right and for once the spirit was happy to move on. Maybe this job doesn't always suck. His brother lightly slapping his shoulder brought Sam out of his reverie.
"Case closed. You know, it's about time we had an honest-to-god simple salt and burn. It is kind of weird not to have even a few bruises to show for our work. Time to find you that bookstore, little brother."
Sam couldn't shake the feeling they still had unfinished business here. He knew this intersection was safe again, but an indistinct feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. Much like the time the psychic Missouri had assured him their old house was free of a malevolent spirit that hadn't actually left, he just felt things weren't right yet. The walk back to the motel did nothing to alleviate those fears. He still felt they'd missed something. Something important.
"Sam? You listening to me over there?"
He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't realize his brother was talking. "Sorry, Dean. What were you saying?"
"Nothing really. What's got you so distracted?"
"Just thinking."
"I could see that. About what?"
Someday Sam would learn not to let his emotions show so clearly on his face. Though he doubted he'd ever learn to hide them completely from his brother. Dean's spidey-sense when it came to Sam was a little unnerving at times. And comforting. No one else knew him like his big brother. Not even Jessica. Certainly not their father.
"This case. It seemed too easy, like we missed something." He didn't want to admit it was nothing more than a vague feeling. His "shining" was already enough of an issue.
Arriving back at the room, Dean headed for the car while Sam grabbed the bags they'd packed before going to breakfast. He wanted to believe this case was over. He wanted that feeling in the pit of his stomach to go away. His thoughts were interrupted again, this time as Get Drunk and Be Somebody blared at top volume from the Impala. The country song ended almost as quickly as it began.
"Sam!" he hollered as he came back to the room.
"Don't look at me. I haven't been in the car since we got to town. Maybe it was Marcus?"
"You know, if you want to start the practical jokes again..."
"No! It took forever for that itch to go away. I'm telling you it wasn't me. I swear!"
The last thing Sam wanted was more itching powder in his shorts. Though the sight of Dean with a beer bottle stuck to his hand was priceless. They'd managed to stop the jokes before things got too bad that time.
"Well, I'm keeping my eye on you. My hand hurt for a week after all that super glue. Let's stop for some coffee at that little diner by the garage. The stuff at breakfast was gross."
They ended up getting coffee and donuts. The food hadn't been any better than the coffee. No sooner had they gotten back into the car than Dean was griping about the mirrors.
"I'm serious about the practical jokes. And screwing with the mirrors is amateur class." He started the car and the radio blared again, this time Achy Breaky Heart.
"Damn it, Sam!"
"I got out of the car before you! I swear it wasn't me. Maybe your baby decided she likes country music." Sam forced himself to hide a smirk from the disgusted look that comment elicited from his brother. He didn't want to make the situation worse.
"Dude, that's not even funny!"
Staring under the hood, Dean still couldn't believe his luck. They'd barely made it five miles out of town when the car sputtered and died. And refused to start again. What the hell? Marcus said it was fixed. I checked everything myself. What's wrong with my car now? This can't be from the accident.
"Hey, Marcus. This is Dean. We're a few miles from town. I could use a tow." Dean hated letting a tow truck anywhere near his baby, but they had no other choice. "It stalled and won't start again. I'll be damned if I know why. It won't even turn over." He told Marcus where they were and hung up angrily.
"What the hell!?" Staring under the hood, hoping to find the cause just frustrated him even more. He couldn't see a single thing wrong. Realizing it was an exercise in futility, Dean stormed back to the car to wait for the mechanic.
"Did Marcus have any suggestions as to what's wrong with the car?" Sam seemed sincerely worried about the car, which surprised Dean. He wasn't in the mood for jokes. He was silently grateful that his brother knew how much this was bothering him.
"No, he just said he'd come get us. I guess this is what I get for letting someone else work on her. I should've done the work myself." He knew he was being silly. It was only a headlight. But the car was running fine before the accident. It seemed like too much of a coincidence to him.
"All he replaced was a headlight, right? I don't see how that could have caused this."
"I know, but the car was running fine before the accident," distractedly voicing his thoughts. "It's too coincidental."
The wait would be a quiet one. Dean wasn't in the mood to talk. Sam didn't push. Even the radio refused to work. Fifteen minutes later, Marcus arrived in the tow truck. Dean was glad the man came himself and not the kid who worked for him. The older man understood the Impala was a delicate piece of machinery. He would treat her with the proper respect.
"Hey, Dean. Figure out what's wrong with her yet?"
"Not a clue. She doesn't seem to be getting any power, but I checked the battery and the alternator. They're both working fine. It doesn't make any sense. If you don't mind, I'd like to be the one to do the work. Just tow her to the garage. I'll take it from there." Dean didn't want to insult the man, but he needed to fix it himself to be certain it was done right.
"Sure thing, kid. I understand. If this baby was mine, I'd feel the same way. Mind a sidekick, though? I'd love another look under the hood. They don't make 'em like this anymore."
"That's cool. It would be nice to have a second opinion and Sam's no use at all with car repairs."
Sam decided a walk was in order. Dean was still under the hood three hours later, trying to figure out why the car wouldn't start. He'd exhausted all ideas and his extensive vocabulary of expletives to no avail. Marcus ran out of ideas after only an hour and went back to his paying customers.
"Hey, Dean. I'm going to head back to the motel and get us a room for a couple of nights."
After a growl of frustration, Dean poked his out from under the hood and said, "Only one night, Sam. I don't plan on being here any longer than that."
"Yeah, because you know how well our plans usually work. I'll be in the room when you've finished here."
"The room? I'm going to be here a while. Why not do something fun?"
"Not tonight. There's something I want to check out. Something still doesn't feel right."
"Why is this 'feeling' just coming up now? If you thought we weren't done here, you should've said something. So what's up?"
"That's just it. I don't know. I didn't bring it up before because I thought I was being paranoid. It's only a feeling, like our old house, like Lawrence, though not that strong. I think if I can find out why Suzanne was replaying her death, this will feel done."
"Ok, but let me know if you find anything."
"I will. Don't stay here too much longer. We haven't eaten since breakfast. Maybe a little food and time away from the car will help you figure out what's wrong." Sam went to retrieve his laptop from the trunk. Sitting here watching his brother fume wasn't going to fix the car any faster. And it was extremely boring. He barely had his hands free of the trunk before it slammed closed. "Man, that was close!"
"Dude, what are you doing back there? And don't slam the trunk so hard."
It was Sam's turn to growl in frustration. "I was getting my laptop. And I didn't slam the trunk! It fell on its own almost taking a couple of my fingers with it."
"You ok?"
"I'm fine. See you back at the room." That was weird. The trunk's never fallen closed like that before. Sam headed out, trying not to let his paranoia get the better of him.