Huge grateful thanks to skag trendy, CerdoVolador, sendintheclowns, PADavis, Thorny Hedge, The Original Madackle, supernaturalsammy67 and Poaetpainter for taking time to review.
This chapter was going to be the last but then I did my back in (I'm 28, so way too young for that type of thing surely!) so have been struggling to sit hunched (Sam Winchester style) over my laptop. As such this chapter is shorter than I would have liked but to turn your frown upside down– we're gonna get more time for limpness in chapter 4. ; D
Chapter 3
The ghost was an elderly man, his craggy face weathered by the passing of years. Dean eyed the ghost carefully as the shimmering form continued to watch him silently. Dean hastily reached out for the iron bars of the cage thinking that if he could just wrench one free to use as a weapon...Yeah that'd work, if you'd suddenly developed the strength of Superman. Outstanding idea Dean, pure genius.
"Stanley." The old ghost said abruptly in a rasping deep voice.
"I'm not Stanley." Dean stuttered, a little confused.
"No jackass, my name is Stanley." Stanley puffed out his cheeks. "She gone and done it again?"
Dean's was baffled so shrugged his shoulders.
"Jeez! Has - she - gone - and - done - it - again? Took another man to replace me?" Stanley asked, saying each word slow and deliberate for Dean's obvious benefit.
Somewhere deep inside Dean's brain, the clogs whirred into motion and it clicked that in front of him was the man from the photograph. Sure, he looked a few thousand years older and was of course dead but it was him alright. "You're her husband." Dean whispered. A statement not a question.
"Wow you really do have a room temperature IQ, I'm impressed."
Dean's features dropped into a spontaneous sulk. He was beginning to take a dislike to Stanley. "You know then, what she's been doing and you've just been letting it happen? Letting her take and kill all those men?"
"There's no reasoning with the woman. Anyway she doesn't just take them to kill em'" Stanley pointed a gnarled finger at the bones on the floor of the cage. "These are her rejects; she's been searching to find someone who reminds her most of me." Stanley seemed to sense the disbelief radiating from Dean, so he quickly continued. "She wasn't always evil. My death just hit her harder than most. She started dabbling in the occult. A hobby to fill the hole I left...I guess."
Dean choked back a harsh laugh. "Oh yeah, some hobby. Knitting, that's a hobby. Bridge Club, that's a hobby. Brainwashing and murdering young men? That sure ain't a ladies guild I've ever heard of! I don't get it, all this time and you've not lifted a finger to stop her?"
Stanley raised a transparent hand and waved it so that it passed back and forth through Dean's chest. "Can't touch nothing, I'm not strong enough. I should have moved on, my spirit is ready but her misery is binding me here. In any case she's changed. The dark forces she's been messing with, they've tainted her mind. So I stay outta sight, safer for me that way."
"Safer for you? She's turned my brother into her zombie boyfriend, doing..." Dean shuddered; he had been trying very hard not to imagine what she might be making Sam do. "...doing God knows what to him and I want him back."
Stanley sighed heavily, "I've seen how happy she is. I don't think she'll hurt him, she wants to keep him."
"I don't give a rat's ass what she wants, he's mine." He's my Sam...Mine.
Stanley considered Dean for a moment, rubbing a hand over his worn face. "She traps the essence of their free will and keeps it confined in a bottle locked in her bedroom. That's how she controls them...I'm not certain, but I've observed enough of her mumbo jumbo to hazard a guess that if someone were to release it, it'd free the person from under her spell."
Dean looked relieved. "How the hell do I get out of this cage?" he muttered, shaking at the bars once more.
"You really are the brains of the bunch aren't you? Why not try using one of the bones you've got your pretty little backside parked on to pick the lock. Rib bone might do the job nicely."
Dean frowned at the insult. He missed Sam. Sam would have thought of that and wouldn't have made Dean feel like a doofus in the process.
SNSNSNSNSNSN
In the end a finger bone worked best. Stanley was long gone but as the lock fell open Dean still slapped a satisfied grin on his face for Stanley's benefit. See not such a doofus. He was in a cellar, it was still pitch black but Dean could smell the recognizable dank stench which only came from spooky old cellars, not to mention he'd bumped into a huge wine rack as he blindly struggled his way towards the stairs. Covert and ninja like, of course.
Dean found the bottle without difficulty, hidden away in an upstairs bedroom just like Stanley had said. There was no sign of Sam and the old lady, clearly both were otherwise engaged. Nope, so not thinking about that. Dean really didn't want the trauma of mental images or the therapy bills. The bottle was made of glass, tinted blood red and etched with weird markings which Dean didn't recognise but knew his trusty geek boy sidekick probably would. He held it and peered into it, studying the strange mist inside as it swirled aimlessly in the contained space. Dean shook it, watching the mist shift around wildly before he remembered that if it was indeed Sam's essence, maybe it wasn't a genius idea to be shaking it around like a snow globe. Dean watched it for a moment longer, strangely captivated before smashing it to the floor. The glass shattered easily and the mist rose into the air before twining away out of the room and down the stairs. A minute later and Dean heard the faint sound of Sam's voice. "Dean?" Sam sounded freaked out and whiney and completely like his Sam. Dean chuckled but the smile was ripped off his face when he heard Sam scream.
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Aching back muscles aside, final chapter up tomorrow, with added limp as promised :