Dead Men Tell No Tales
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. If it did, I'd have the boys doing landscape work. My yard could really use the help.
Beta'd: By the supreme ruler and all out Queen of -- "Hmm…I'm not sure…." If not for Wysawyg, there have been times when only magic could explain the apparent teleportation of people or things. Thanks, girl! Couldn't do it without you!
I had homework after she beta'd so any and all remaining errors are my own.
Special Thanks: To Muffy Morrigan for once again helping me with the Pirate talk and past one itsy bit of writer's block.
…….……………………………………………………Chapter Three……………………………………………………….
"Dean, it's me, Sam," Sam said, hoping to bring out Dean out from whatever held him prisoner in his own body. "Your brother. You can trust me."
Dean scowled. "I can't trust anyone, lad, and I think I'd remember a brother."
"You'll have to trust me," Sam insisted. "I don't want those guys to find either of us. We need to get out of here and you can come back for the treasure later."
Sam had disabled the camera network in the ride when he had started looking for Dean a half an hour ago, but he suspected his sabotage would only remained unfixed for another hour or so and that left very little time to get his brother out. Whatever was happening to his big brother, Sam needed to get him back to the hotel so he could figure it out.
A slow grin spread across Dean's face. "A valiant effort, young thief, but I'll not be trusting you or leavin' my treasure so your conspirators can make off with my booty."
"Dean, we need to go," Sam urged quietly. The air was stale in the little cave and he breathed shallowly waiting for Dean to reply. If Dean did not agree soon, he would be forced to resort to plan B.
"You're right," Dean conceded. "But we won't be goin' far. You and I, young thief, are going to see Mama Collette."
This time, Sam did sigh…a voodoo priestess, of course. Why not?
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The third time Dean poked him on his injured shoulder with the prop sword Sam whirled about and hissed at his brother, "Dean, you poke me with that thing again and I'm gonna shove it…" He stopped short when Dean's features tightened, the lines by his eyes becoming more pronounced and the muscle jumped in his jaw. Dean was pissed.
"You be careful how you speak to me, whelp," Dean shot back in a harsh whisper, his tone carrying more weight than the soft volume of his voice. "Men have died for less."
Sam could feel his upper lip involuntarily curling and his forehead wrinkling in what Dean, not too tongue-in-cheek, called his 'my big brother is an idiot' face. He quickly schooled his features and aimed for a tone that sounded sincere. "Dean, I'm your brother and I want to help you, but something's wrong and you aren't yourself." He missed. Even to his own ears, it sounded placating.
Dean gripped the rough-hewn handle of the prop sword tighter. "You want to help yourself to my treasure."
"No, I don't care about your treasure," Sam started, but he hesitated. Maybe he did care about the treasure. Whatever was in Dean, it seemed to care about the treasure very much. He had to be careful and not raise Dean's suspicions any higher, but he needed more information. "I can see it's very important to you."
Dean tilted his head to the side and a grin tugged at one corner of his lips. "You seem a might bit interested yourself for a man who claims not to care. My treasure tain't none of your business, thief."
"I didn't mean anything by it, I…" Sam stopped short when Dean pressed the metal sword to his throat. It wasn't sharp by any means and Sam figured he had a decent shot at disarming his brother. Even when Dean was in top form, he could best his brother in hand to hand on occasion. But with this version of his brother, it was obvious the spirit controlled most of his actions. Dean would never have left his less dominant side unguarded.
The problem being, however, that he needed more information to help his brother. Sam hadn't been able to completely rule out the possibility of a shapeshifter, but the most likely scenario was spirit possession. A crazy, Loony Tunes, thought he was a pirate spirit, but a spirit nonetheless. He'd have to wait it out for the moment and figure it out as he went along. He just hoped it would be soon. He raised his hands in surrender. "Dean, let's talk about this."
Dean grabbed the front of his t-shirt and pushed him against the artificial rock out-cropping. He winced when the sharp edges poked through the thin material. "You need to mind your tongue, lad," Dean said, his face hovering mere inches from Sam's. "I'll not be taking too kindly to your cheek."
Sam blinked against an odd rush of amusement in an otherwise tense situation. When he got Dean out of this, and he would be getting his brother out of this, he was going to have loads of material to work with. He could live off Dean as a dandy pirate for weeks. "Dean, calm down. I just want to talk."
A stranger glared out at him through his brother's green eyes. "I be calm, thief." Dean bent his head closer to Sam's. The unsharpened metal edge of the sword dug into Sam's throat. "You best stop wagging your tongue and keep it in your head."
The pressure on Sam's throat disappeared and Dean backed away enough for him to stand upright. He rubbed at the red line on his neck, barely visible in the weak light. "Dean…" Sam tried one last time.
Dean gestured with his sword point in the direction of the water and looked back at Sam with an angry scowl. "Maybe the water will cool you off."
Sam looked back at Dean, his eyebrows climbing higher into his hairline, the movement pulling on stitches in his scalp he hadn't been aware of before. "You've got to be kidding me." Sam could not keep the incredulousness out of his voice.
"Into the water, lad," Dean said, his stage-whispered order audible above the sounds of the slowly moving water. A sharp poke in his back convinced Sam to sit down on the edge and slip into the water, knowing Dean would be right behind him.
Another tactical error his brother would not have made. The water would impede both their actions, making it harder to keep someone subdued. Not to mention, Dean would have tied his hands at the very least to give himself the upper hand. Not that Sam was complaining. It would make for an easier getaway if that's what his intentions were. What he really wanted, however, was to find a way to bring his brother back to him and get rid of whatever was causing the accidents on the ride. The only way to do that for the time being was to play along.
A cold hand on his neck guided him further upstream towards the bayou. The lights from the restaurant sparkled in the distance and the delicate strains of regional music drifted to them across the dark water. Sam could just make out the murmured voices of the dwindling lunch crowd. "That way," his brother's voice whispered near his ear, "We're going up there."
Sam grabbed the first rung of the wooden ladder up into the hut. It was a miracle no one had spotted them yet. Now would be the best time to make a break for it and drag the thing wearing his brother's skin with him. A loud voice in the restaurant drew the brothers' attention to the people above them. Both hands tightened around the rung and Sam kicked, his foot connecting solidly with Dean's chest.
"Oof," Dean puffed out as the air escaped from his lungs. He staggered backwards sluggishly through the water and Sam pressed his advantage. He pushed off the ladder and landed with the majority of his body weight on Dean who had not regained his balance. Dean's footing slipped and the brothers fell back into the murky water.
Water filled his nose at the sudden submersion and his water-laden boots sought purchase on the slick stream bottom. Sam's fingers closed around the metal sword and he tried to wrestle it away from Dean. In a stroke of good fortune, his feet found traction and he pushed his brother into one of the support beams of the outdoor restaurant.
"This be a bad idea, thief," Dean said in a hushed, angry voice. He spit water as he talked and Sam grimaced as the droplets hit his face.
"Dean, come on it's me, Sam," Sam said, urging his brother to remember. "Give me the damn sword."
"Stop now, or regret later," Dean said, his voice gaining a little volume. Dean's renewed grip on the sword kept Sam from pulling it out of his brother's hands. Instead he pulled it towards him and then quickly pushed it back towards Dean, shoving Dean hard into the wooden beam.
"Give me the damn sword," Sam repeated through gritted teeth. Pain radiated in sharp bursts from his injured shoulder, but he pulled back the sword again. He hesitated at the unfamiliar smile Dean sported. "What?"
"Regret later, it is," Dean said, his eerie smile widening.
Sam furrowed his brows in momentary confusion before he felt a freezing breeze race past, a sharp pain in his head and the world turned black again.
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The annoying thief collapsed as Myra materialized in front of him. Her translucent white skin was nearly shiny in places. Her once beautiful red, then pink, now faded to gray dress clung to her in all the right places. Myra's hair was as colorless as her skin, but it was still styled prettily on the top of her head in a curling beehive. "Having trouble with the whelp?" she asked.
He caught the lad by the front of his shirt and kept his head out of the water. Charlie's borrowed muscles bunched and protested the burden. The scallywag was heavier than he had suspected. "Thank ye for your help, Myra." Charlie wrestled with the unconscious boy until he could get a good grip around his waist and pull him over his shoulder. He nearly lost his footing again, but the support of the wooden beam behind him kept him upright.
Charlie grunted and shifted his load higher onto his shoulder to balance the weight. "I can't carry him up to Mama Collette, Myra. What'd ya do to the lad?"
Myra laughed, the merry, tinkling sound mixing with the noise of the crowd and the water. "Not to worry, Charlie. I just pinched his brain a wee bit." She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together to illustrate.
"Some day, wench," Charlie said. "Yawr gonna take more than a person can lose."
"Ah, that one there's got plenty o' gray matter to spare," Myra said, waving her hand at Charlie in a dismissive fashion. "You worry too much."
"Someone has ta guard our treasure and protect Mama Collette," Charlie said. He shifted again, but the young man on his shoulder did not react. "This scurvy cur was trolling down by m'treasure and he ain't to be havin' any of it."
"You think Mama Collette will be happy, what with ya bringin' a stranger into our midst?" Myra asked. "And he looks like a strong feller, that he does."
"Aye," Charlie agreed. "He'd make a fine sailor." He pushed off the wooden beam and headed for the hut, his progress slow through the cold water.
"Oy, Charlie," Myra called. "You're not going to be able to take him up there."
"Why not?" Charlie rested a hand on the first rung of the ladder.
"Charlie, have ya not got the sense God gave you?" Myra asked. "You know there's no room up there for a body. I can talk to Mama Collette for you and send her down if she'll come."
Charlie frowned. He had forgotten that the little hut could only be entered when he wasn't inside a new body. Just like he had forgotten that he couldn't float down from the bridge last time and had gotten tangled in some rope and strangled his last host. Or the time before when he had somehow managed to electrocute the body he was in, but it wasn't entirely his fault. Electricity had been a novelty to him.
"If you'd be so kind, Myra," Charlie replied. "I'll truss up the thievin' dog if you'd fetch Mama Collette."
"Of course I will," Myra said. Her form winked in and out twice before disappearing completely.
He turned and waded through the water back to the tall dock. He had barely made it under the structure before the lights came on. Charlie retreated further under the structure. Mama Collette would have to wait. He needed to hide, to hole up until he could talk to Mama Collette about the thief. He didn't need to keep the scurvy cur secured, however. He could leave him out where the other invaders would find him and take him off Charlie's hands. Or he could simply eliminate the problem altogether. It wasn't as if Myra or Mama Collette would want a male body after all.
The other whose body he occupied buzzed angrily in his mind. Charlie winced against the sensation. The other could not really speak to him, but he could pick up on his emotions and occasionally borrow from his knowledge in a way Charlie did not fully understand. Right now, the other was angry: angry to the point of bursts of light flashes behind his eyes and a crippling headache, nearly forcing Charlie to his knees.
The hot flush of anger filled Charlie until he staggered under the combined burden of the thief and his own pain. Okay, okay, he thought through the haze. I'll not hurt him. The pain receded slightly, fading into the background far enough that he could think a little clearer. The others he had inhabited had not been able to project more than a slight niggle into his brain. He didn't know whether to be concerned or just plain scared.
The boy on his shoulder moaned low in his chest. Charlie knew he didn't have long before the scurvy cur would be awake. Past experience had taught him the boy was more trouble than he was worth. Pain flared briefly in his head and he staggered, his other shoulder catching the side of a support beam. "Stop it!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "I already said I'd not hurt him."
"Dean?" It was more of another moan than anything and for a moment, Charlie hesitated. He wasn't quite sure why, but the young lad was growing on him. He pushed the feelings down and dropped the still mostly unconscious boy into the water.
Sam popped out of the water, gasping and choking. He brushed hair and water out of his eyes and looked around frantically before his gaze locked with Charlie's. Charlie was impressed with how quickly the boy went from confused to focus. This one was a fighter, like the other. Sam scowled at him and Charlie found himself hard pressed not to knock the petulant glower off the lad's face.
"Not Dean," he growled a reminder. "Shut yer mouth now, before I close it for ya." Sam muttered under his breath and Charlie narrowed his eyes.
Without warning, the thief Sam grabbed him by the arms, whirled him around and shoved him against the nearest support beam. Sam leaned in until his face was inches from his. Charlie lifted the sword and Sam snagged his wrist. The thief banged Charlie's hand against the beam three times, before Charlie lost his grip and dropped the sword. The lad reacted before Charlie fully registered what had happened and he found himself facing an armed opponent.
"Look, whoever the hell you are. If you think I'm going to let you take up residence in my brother and have yourself a new life in his body you are even crazier than I think you are," Sam whispered harshly.
"My. Name. Is. Charlie," Charlie cringed in fear as the taller man towered over him. He had underestimated the scurvy cur. Laughter rippled like quicksilver in his mind. Shut up! Charlie was not certain what the other found so amusing, but it seemed to be Charlie's fear of the young thief.
"You're stupid," Sam said, scrunching up his face. "The lights are back on, probably the cameras too. There's zero chance you can continue to wander around the ride with security crawling everywhere undetected. Stop fighting me and let's get out of here. I'm sure we can at least agree you don't want to go to jail."
"They'll have to catch me first," Charlie said. "I've lived here a long time, ya shot rolling dog. I know how to avoid the fleet."
Sam shook his head. "That's another thing. Real pirates didn't talk like that. You're like some, cheap Hollywood version of a pirate. Shot rolling dog? Shot rolling dog? What is that anyway?"
"A rolling dog is a traitor and that ye be. This here be my home and you won't be makin' me leave." Charlie lost his footing and slipped a little when Sam leaned in closer.
"I'm not really asking," Sam said, his free hand gripping the back of Charlie's neck. "We can't stay here without getting caught. You're leaving."
Charlie felt the strong tug on his neck and started to struggle until he remembered the young thief had stolen his sword. He would have to follow along for now and an opportunity would present itself. "There's a secret exit by the bridge," Charlie said. "We can get out that way."
The hand on his neck tightened momentarily before disappearing and Sam's scowling face appeared in front of him. "Why are you suddenly being so cooperative?"
"Ya made a good point, lad," Charlie said. He motioned for Sam to continue walking. "I don't want to be thrown in the brig." Sam seemed to consider his words for a moment before he nodded and started walking again.
They walked in silence and in relative darkness under cover of the tall dock. Slits of light filtered down to them through the floorboards of the outdoor restaurant and music played loudly above them, its answering tinkle approaching from across the water. "We will have to stay low and walk quickly," Sam said as they approached the edge of the dock. "I don't see anyone out there, but that could change."
"Aye," Charlie replied. "You never know when those thievin' dogs will appear."
Sam surprised him when he laughed lightly. "You pretty much think everyone's a thief, don't you?"
"And I ain't been surprised by being wrong, yet," Charlie said, scratching his nose. "You ready?"
"I'm ready."
Sam spared Charlie a glance to make sure he was following and cut out against the open water. Miraculously they made it across to the far side of the bridge without being spotted. Sam and Charlie clamored onto the slick artificial flooring and Charlie headed for a blind corner, Sam hot on his heels.
"Where's the door?" Sam asked. "I don't see it."
"I'm not here for the door," Charlie replied. He pulled his back up sword out from behind a rock cropping and held it out in front of him. "I be here for this."
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Sam stared at Dean. The would-be pirate spirit inhabiting his brother's body was a complete idiot. He seemed to lack even the most basic concepts of common sense and, quite frankly, he wanted this spirit gone. "Dean…" Green sparks flashed in his direction. "Charlie, you can't be serious. We're lucky no one has seen us already."
He tightened his grip on the sword he had confiscated from Dean earlier, but kept it held low by his side. There was no use provoking an already deranged and possibly angry spirit. Dean stepped closer to him, the point of his sword poking Sam in the chest. He didn't have anywhere to back up without falling back into the water and if the tactical disadvantage didn't convince him, the wet and clammy clothes he wore, did.
"I am serious, you pox-ridden dog!" Dean shouted. He kept the sword steady against Sam's chest as he took another step closer. Sam heard muted shouting coming from the restaurant and sighed. They had been spotted.
"Yeah? Well, you are an imbecilic, vacuous ignoramus," Sam countered. If this Charlie-spirit in Dean's skin wanted to use words and phrases Sam didn't know, two could play that game. Am I really about to have a sword fight with my possessed brother who thinks he's a pirate?
The look on Dean's face would have been comical if the situation was different. It was Dean's typical 'I smell shit' face he used when he knew Sam had bested him and he didn't want to admit it, coupled with a look Sam had rarely seen directed at him. Dean wasn't just annoyed he was angry.
"That's the last time ye insult me ya scurvy cur!" Dean drew back his arm and swung the sword in a sideways slashing motion which Sam easily deflected with a counter move.
"I don't want to hurt you," Sam said. Unfortunately the spook in a Dean suit didn't feel the same way as he parried. Sam grunted as the blow connected, his actions not quick enough. The sword point wasn't very sharp, but it was sharp enough to cut through his t-shirt and leave a long scratch down his chest.
"I wouldn't be worryin' about me," Dean said with a smirk. He came at Sam fast and furious, his blade nearly blurring and Sam spun to keep his back away from the water.
Charlie had to be controlling Dean's every move. Dean had never held a sword before in his entire life. A machete? Yes, that weapon his brother could wield with deadly accuracy. But a sword? Never, unless the summer Dean had spent practicing his light saber technique with a wooden stake behind Bobby's garage counted.
Sam on the other hand had a smattering of experience with a sword, a saber to be more precise. Jess had taken a fencing class one semester and Sam had been her willing sparring partner on more than one occasion. It had usually ended with them tangled in a mass of long limbs and laughter that quickly escalated into the more horizontal type of swordplay.
Sam was favoring his injured arm and the spirit in Dean knew it. He attacked from that angle repeated until the dull blade hit Sam's hand. Sam groaned and shook his hand. That blow had been hard enough to bruise bone. Son of a…I need to put an end to this, but how without hurting Dean? Sam could hear more voices and the sounds of running feet in the distance. He had to finish this and he had finish it now.
His back was tight against the wall and he found it difficult to counter Dean's move in the limited space. Dean drew back his arm and when he hesitated briefly Sam saw his window of opportunity. He pulled back his arm and punched, his fist connecting solidly with Dean's face.
Blood poured from his brother's nose and he bent over, moaning in pain. Dean dropped the sword in favor of pinching his nose and glared at Sam out of the corner of his eye. He bent down to retrieve his sword, lost his equilibrium and pitched forward, knocking his head on the ornamental rocks.
"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said, rushing forward and wrapping his arm around Dean's shoulders to help him sit down. "I had to stop you. Are you okay?" The shouting and the footsteps grew louder. "Come on, Dean, we have to go." Sam tugged on Dean's belt loops intent on getting his brother to his feet and out of the ride.
"Collette," Dean whispered, as he struggled to his feet.
"Who?" Sam asked. Dean opened his mouth to reply when the lights winked out.
Sam blinked against the darkness. His breath came out in barely visible wisps as the temperature of the air dropped dramatically. For a moment he felt dizzy and closed his eyes. When the feeling passed he opened his eyes and looked around. He and Dean were no longer standing beside the bridge. In fact, Sam was not sure they were even in the ride anymore.
It seemed to be a dark room, with a few well-placed candles lighting the interior. Sam could hear the people shouting just outside the walls, but somehow he doubted they would be able to hear him. Dean sat on the floor beside him, one hand holding his head, the other pinching his nose.
Sam watched as a woman materialized inside the room, her form morphing from transparent, to color, to seemingly corporeal in front of him. Her black hair hung in a thick plait and her colorful dress continued to take on vibrancy as the seconds past. She looked down at Dean and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Charlie, I can't trust you for a moment, can I?" Her voice had a soft, Southern lilt. "If you can't keep this body from harm, I won't find you another one."
Sam's heart sank with those words, all humor in their present situation gone. Cobbs, the man before him and now Dean, they were all Charlie. Unknown by their owner Sam's fists tightened by his side. I'll get you out of this, Dean. I promise.
……………………………………………………………Supernatural……………..…………………………………………
AN: I'm having a HUGE fangirl moment (and I use the term girl loosely here, folks, as I haven't been young enough to be called a girl in well over a decade).
Heather03nmg, Muffy Morrigan and I are all headed to L.A. this coming weekend to the Supernatural Convention hosted by Creation Entertainment. Jared, Jensen and Kripke are all currently scheduled to be there.
Keep your fingers crossed that they all show!
SQUEE!