Thanks to Mary T. for being my beta:)
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Chapter Two
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"Okay . . . yeah, I understand . . . "
Dean glanced to the passenger side of the car where Sam sat with a cell phone clutched to his ear, his brow was knitted in an expression Dean recognized as Troubled!Sam; they were still a half hour's drive away from Shorewood Hills, WI---a little town outside Madison, where they would staying---and Bobby had just called. Muttering to himself in frustration, Dean drummed an AC/DC tune into the steering wheel while Sam kept on talking:
"All right . . . thanks, Bobby . . . we'll be there soon. Bye." Sam flipped the phone shut and put it back into his coat pocket, settling into his seat again and focusing on staring at the window; Dean watched him for a second, waiting for him to speak. Obviously, he wasn't in the "caring, sharing" kind of mood.
"So . . . what's up?"
Sam took a breath. "Frances Goodwin's body was . . . uh, 'discovered'," he explained, "outside the institute, just two hours ago. She was strung up from the roof and dropped down, she landed on top of Grace Myer's car."
"Damn." Dean blinked in surprise. "That's rough."
"Yeah."
Dean frowned. "So how does Grace know Bobby anyway?" he wondered aloud, "what---was she a hunter before she became a psychiatrist? She live in a haunted house?"
"I don't know," Sam said, "didn't ask."
"Huh," Dean grunted, taking a moment to think, to wonder more about this woman he'd never met but Bobby spoke so fondly of. "Wonder if she's hot."
Sam scowled, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Dean!"
Dean laughed, throwing his hands in the air in a surrendering gesture. "Hey, I think it's a valid question! If we're gonna be workin' next to this chick for a week she'd damn well better be easy on the eyes."
"You're a pig, you know that?"
"Hey, you're thinkin' the same thing, just afraid to admit it." After a second, Dean smirked. "Actually, scratch that---knowing you, you're not thinking that at all---" he grinned when Sam rolled his eyes again, setting his jaw in an expression of annoyance that Dean knew all-too-well "---alright, alright, tell me more about the case."
"Frances's body was mutilated," Sam started, "she was sliced open like a field-dressed deer, and the skin of her face peeled off. Plus, her eyeballs had been removed."
"Gross."
"Understatement of the year," Sam remarked. "The institute has been evacuated, all the patients were moved to a nearby hospital while the police continue their investigation."
"Cops?" Dean grumbled his frustration. "Great. Just what we need to complicate things!"
"If we stay out of sight we'll be fine."
"Sam, when have any of our plans gone the way we wanted them to?" Dean questioned skeptically, his brows climbing toward his hairline. "Especially when the cops are involved."
"So we'll be careful," Sam said, "you especially. You're the one whose face is on all the posters, and probably on America's Most Wanted by now."
"America's Most Wanted," Dean tasted the words, a grin slowly softening his worried face, "you really think so? Damn, John Walsh is up on TV talking about me! Wonder who they got to play me in the reenactment---"
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and decided to slouch back down into his seat and listen to his brother's ramblings as they drove on.
"---bet they picked some pretty boy to play you, Sammy. Someone like, uh, that guy from Pirates of the Carribbean!"
"Johnny Depp?" Sam looked up, his voice incredulous.
"No, no, no . . . the other one, the pretty one."
"Orlando Bloom."
Dean scowled. "Whatever. You're such a chick for knowing that." Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel again, he continued with his musing: "They probably picked some hottie to play me, too. A real man's man, y'know? Someone who could kick your ass and look good doing it!"
"Whatever, Dean . . . "
"Like, umm, Matt Damon. Yeah, he was badass in those Bourne movies you like so much. Or . . . the Red Ranger! Whoever the hell he was. Yeah, that'd be awesome!"
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A half hour later, the Impala rumbled into the town of Shorewood Hills, drawing stares from the locals who walked down the sidewalks or shopped in the little stores on the side of the street; Dean grinned his appreciation for their admiration as he pulled into a parking space outside the tiny Maplehurst Motel. "At least we know the town's got good taste," he said, cheerfully.
"Outdated taste," Sam replied, teasingly.
"Shut your face, heathen!" Dean snapped.
They laughed as they walked into the office and checked into a room at the end of the row, it was 'quaint', Dean decided aloud, as they stood in the doorway and surveyed the tiny area: Two queen-sized beds with patchwork quilts laid over them, two oak sidetables beside them, the curtains were made of some kind of checkered material, the floor was wooden.
"Looks like we've landed in Hickville."
"I kind of like it," Sam admitted, setting himself down on one of the beds---and wincing at the hard mattress.
"Uh-huh," Dean grunted, "sure."
"So it's---" Sam looked down at his wrist, "---just about noon. You gonna rest up for awhile? We can head out in the evening and meet up with Dr. Myers."
After driving all night, Dean was readier than ever for a good sleep; so he nodded, then threw his bags aside and plopped down on the bed, letting out a muffled "owww" into his pillow that prompted a fit of laughter from Sam. "All right," he said, "I'm gonna grab something to eat. Be back later."
Dean muttered his acknowledgement as Sam went outside and softly shut the door behind him, scoping the area for a little diner or mini-mart; he quickly spotted one and made his way across the two-lane street, heading straight for "Young's Diner", a small white building with green trim and a wooden porch.
When he entered, the scents and sounds filled his senses and put him at ease almost immediately; from the kitchen, he smelled hamburgers on the grill, and steaming apple pie, from the people sitting in the booths, he heard bits and pieces of conversation, ranging from serious to light-hearted fun. A part of him realized the town he had seen so far was a little too perfect for comfort, but nevertheless, he accepted it and patiently waited for a waitress as he took a seat at one of the tables.
"So what'll you have, honey?"
The voice was female, with a hint of a Southern accent---and distastefully familiar.
Sam looked away from the window he'd been staring out of, dismayed to see the voice accompanied a woman with long, blonde hair; she wore a pair of skinny, black jeans and dark blue top covered by a mid-riff brown jacket. Mischievous, green-blue eyes stared down at him over a hint of a smile on the woman's youthful face.
"What the hell do you want?" Sam demanded, gruffly.
Ruby slid into the seat across from, folding her arms over her chest, her smirk widening into a smile. "Just keeping an eye on you, Sammy-boy," she replied, "making sure you take care of yourself . . . and that brother of yours." She looked up and smiled charmingly at the young waitress you came to take their order:
"Hi, my name is Dina and I'll be your server today! What can I get for you two?" the waitress asked, cheerfully.
"Actually---" Sam began, his eyes focused on Ruby.
"A Coke," Ruby cut him off, "and a hamburger with everything, plus a side of fries." She leveled Sam with her gaze, arching one eyebrow. "What about you, Sam?"
"Just a Coke, please," Sam said through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing angrily.
"Sure thing!" and the waitress bounced off; Ruby mouthed her words in a silent echo, rolling her eyes in disgust.
"Humans," she muttered.
"You're not here just to watch me," Sam stated, "so what's really going on? You---" he stopped himself abruptly as, to his surprise, Dina bounced on over with their drinks. He took a sip, glancing away from Ruby only for a moment to look at the motel where Dean slept safely; his thoughts drifted to the deal, the sacrifice, his brother had made for him, and how in God's name he was going to get him out of it.
"Don't get all melancholy now, Sam," Ruby scolded, gnawing absent-mindedly on her straw and watching Sam, interest gleaming in her eyes.
"You said there were things you wanted me to do," Sam said, quietly, "so . . . when are we gonna get down to doing them?"
Ruby grinned, sitting back and folding her hands on the table. "That's my boy," she said, "all ready to get down 'n dirty."
Sam sneered. "I'm not doing this for you."
"Ah yes, your brother." Ruby blew bubbles into her drink, staring down at the dark liquid in the tall glass, her reflection staring right back at her.
"Are you ever going to tell me how you can help him?"
"Sure I will," Ruby assured him, "after you've done all I ask of you. As a matter of fact---" she paused for a moment, a sly smile creeping onto her face again, "I already have something in mind."
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"I want to thank you guys for coming," Grace said, her hands clasped in front of her, fiddling nervously; her icy eyes were dark, shadowed, they seemed haunted. "Bobby assured me you would . . . that it wasn't any trouble. But still."
Dean spread his hands, smiling in his charming way in an attempt to to relieve the young woman of any concerns she had: "It's what we do, Doctor. No trouble at all."
"So sorry to hear what you've been through," Sam spoke, his voice dripping with sympathy, but still careful to not smother her.
Grace attempted a tight smile. "Thanks," she said, "it was . . . horrifying. I've gotta say, I can't imagine that you boys have ever been up against someone as . . . sick and twisted as this." She watched them as they exchanged dubious looks. "But then again, maybe I'm wrong," she amened, sincerely hoping she was not.
"We've dealt with some pretty messed up spirits," Dean informed her.
"This should turn out to be relatively simple," Sam said, "we've done so many salt 'n burns, we could probably do it with our eyes closed." He smiled reassuringly. "Once we're done, we'll head up to Plainfield---to the cemetery there---and burn his bones. It'll all be over."
"But what about those poor women?" Grace asked.
"Who?" Dean countered.
"Denise and Joy," Grace explained, "they're still missing. I mean---" she swallowed, her hands beginning to tremble despite her grasping them firmly "---I'm sure they're dead. But their bodies should be found."
The brothers glanced at each other again, Sam was the first to speak: "We were planning on going up to the institute anyway, seeing what we can find. It's standard procedure. Even though we're pretty sure this is Gein we're after, we like to be posititive."
"Well, if it isn't," Grace said, "how about you two just burn that son of a bitch's bones, too?"
Dean chuckled. "Sounds like a plan."
"And if there's anything I can do," she added, "please, let me know. I'm no hunter, but I might be able to get you things from inside the hospital that would be harder to attain otherwise, you know?"
"We'll keep that in mind," Sam said, "thanks. So . . . you found Frances's remains in the North Wing hallway headed toward the basement, right?"
"That's right."
"And the actual body just . . . dropped from the roof," Dean picked up, "but the cops weren't able to actually figure out where it had been tied off."
"Again, correct." Grace sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes for a second. "I keep seeing that poor woman. She was such a sweetheart, everyone loved her. I can't believe someone would---" she scoffed, cutting herself off. "Anyway, that's all I really know."
"I assume they searched the basement," Dean said, "no signs of . . . anything?"
"They don't really report to me," Grace replied, "but considering they left the institute open till---till Frances was found. I wouldn't think they found anything important."
"We'll check it out anyway," Sam said.
"But if we're gonna head up to Mendota, we'd better get a move on." Dean held out his hand and gently shook Grace's. "We'll be in touch, Doctor. Thanks for the info."
"Be careful," Grace said, reaching out to shake Sam's hand.
"Always are," Dean promised, as he stepped outside the door, Sam closely behind him; Sam shut the door, nudging Dean slightly as they walked down the cold sidewalk and toward the Impala parked on the side of the street. "What?" Dean questioned, eyebrows crinkling with confusion.
"You're never careful," Sam grumbled.
"I've never hunted Leatherface before."
"And he's scarier than a demon?"
"I've said it before," Dean said, taking his place in the driver's seat, "and I'll say it again: Demons and all other kinds of evil bastards I get. People are just crazy. Ed Gein was a person."
TBC
