"Tell you what, you head back to the motel and I'll check out the flat, just to be sure." Striding purposefully down the road, Dean laid out instructions for him and his brother, willingly grabbing the reigns of responsibility. Although the older brother was eager to get the case over and done with before anyone else got hurt (as always), being a decent hunter, he insisted on getting it right and making sure the job was done properly. The reason Dean was so particular about that was probably because, despite his father's reputation on being one of the greatest hunters of his time, John never actually seemed to finish a case properly, leaving it to his sons to finish it off for him, therefore Dean aspired to be better than that. He wished to be the kind of hunter that never failed to complete a job, the kind that always saved lives, more so by finishing cases. Knowing he would never be as great as his father (which is obviously entirely untrue) didn't seem to faze him; he still constantly strove towards his impossible goal.
"Yeah. See you in ten?" Sam interrupted his brother's thoughts, staring at him as if to ask if he was okay, but without saying anything. He knew how irritated Dean got when people persisted in asking after his well-being. Nodding in agreement to their arrangements, Dean headed off in the direction of the latest victim's apartment after grabbing his bag out of the Impala, which resided just around the corner from Mrs Harris' home, while Sam climbed into the driver's seat and drove off back to the motel.
When Dean arrived at the flat, he silently and quickly picked the lock, making sure no-one was inside beforehand. Glancing round conspicuously, the older Winchester crept around the house, getting a feel for the place. It sent a shiver down his spine, though it wasn't a cold spot; the spirit had cleared off for now. No, the eerie atmosphere of the apartment that caused Dean's throat to go dry and his stomach clench with uneasiness was the sense of death that hung over the place like a dark cloud. However, it could also be an aftertaste, if you like, of the spirit, of course. Shuddering, the hunter headed to the guy's bedroom, where he had been found dead.
Once Dean was perched on his tiptoes just around the corner from the room, squashed up against the wall in anticipation, he pulled out and loaded his shotgun full of rock salt (as per usual), his other hand burdened with the infamous EMF meter, which was showing no sign of spirit activity; for now, at least. Shuffling cautiously around the corner, Dean abruptly swivelled around into the room, aiming the gun at the four corners, but nothing leapt out at him. Naturally, this was a relief to the hunter, however sometimes it can be more unnerving when the monster cannot be seen.
The room itself was fairly ordinary aside from a translucent layer of dust that coated everything, evidently present due to the two-day duration of non-cleaning and general abandonment of the flat, except for when the cops and forensic team were swarming about it. The only item that looked out of place was the length of rope lying neglected in the direct centre of the floor, and even that appeared as if it had made its home there, as if it almost belonged there. Strolling over to it and turning his gaze upwards, Dean noticed a ceiling fan that must have been the item from which Connor Harris hanged himself. Well, not him – the spirit, obviously. But Dean wasn't in the mood for being pedantic. As the hunter remained still for a moment, imagining the tremendous pain the victim's mother must have felt on discovering him that way, a shrill squealing noise emanated from his left hand. When he looked down, Dean perceived the EMF red-lining, as he liked to call it. After a thought came to mind, he moved the helpful device closer to the rope, and, as expected, it shrieked ever louder and higher, as if protesting and wishing to be separated from such a repulsive object.
"Definitely some major Sixth Sense stuff going on here." The hunter muttered to himself under his breath. A moment later, he was thrown off his feet and slammed violently against a wall, picture frames falling and shattering under his weight. Groaning in annoyance, Dean realised he had dropped his rock salt shotgun, yet the EMF meter held on, which was where the irony lay since it wouldn't do much to help. A burst of static erupted from the other end of the room as a spirit materialised. It was in the form of a young boy who was likely still in high school (well, not anymore, clearly), and who looked extremely ticked off, wearing a torn-up uniform and his eyes glaring daggers at Dean. However, a second later, the ghost gazed at the hunter almost apologetically before disappearing. Dean crashed undignified onto the floor and landed in a rather unceremonious heap. Sighing, he pulled himself up, grabbed his gun and EMF, and legged it out of the flat before the spirit could return.
"So, what you're saying is that the ghost just… let you go?" Back in the motel room, Sam was interrogating his brother on the events in which he had just unwillingly participated. The younger Winchester was fascinated – it never failed to intrigue him when a spirit did something other than their usual M.O., aka. killing anything in its path. He refused to let this particular piece of information go, and he had a hunch it linking into his perennial further research.
"That's right, Sammy. Must have had the hots for me or something." Dean smiled at his lame joke as Sam pulled his omnipresent disapproving face at him, therefore the older brother coughed to cover his laughter and carried on describing his account, somewhat more seriously than previously. "He began attacking me as they normally do and then stared at me, like he was saying sorry before vanishing."
"Hmmm… This may sound strange, but it kinda makes sense. I mean, I was researching the other victims and, get this; they all attended the same high school. In the same year group. In fact, they shared most of the same classes."
"Whoa, whoa, hang on. Can you zoom in on the badge a sec?" Dean leaned over his brother as he studied the photos of the students intently. "'South Side High School'… I recognise that badge – the spirit was wearing a school uniform from there."
