FOUR:
The Part With The Not-Too-Graphic But Very Adult Situation. Oh, and Darth Vader
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Sam pulled in a deep breath, stretching long legs and feeling the relaxation from the roots of his bed-hair to his toes.
His toes. That felt strangely cooler than the rest of him. He opened his eyes and took stock of the now-familiar motel room ceiling. He heard a hissing sound and shifted his elbows under him, looking round the room.
He realised his cold toes were poking out from beyond the blankets that were heaped all over him in a way that suggested they had been dropped from a great height. His gaze ranged further afield. He noticed his clothes - all of them, apparently - spread around the room as if a large dog had had access to his duffle and yanked everything out, tossing every article of clothing over the room. Apparently it had then rather happily snatched them all up again and flung them about with wild abandon some time before he had woken up. He noticed the abundance of decidedly female garments also lying in careless arrangements, and lifted a hand. He dragged it back through his hair and then scratched at his head slowly.
He looked over at his brother's bed and found it empty. He breathed out a sigh of relief. Then he heard the bathroom door open.
Out walked a stunningly shapely blond girl, and as Sam stared, the events of the previous night came back to him in a flash.
"Mornin' sweetie," she grinned, holding her towel up and crossing the room to start locating her clothes.
"Morning," Sam agreed. He lifted the blankets, found not a stitch on his person, and dropped them again. A dull throb began in the back of his head, just as a large sergeant major jumped to his feet, wanging a really large bell from side to side to peel it alarmingly loudly, crying 'hangover!' at the top of his lungs. Sam did his best to ignore him, instead watching her. "Carrie. You leaving?" he realised.
"Well… Yeah. I got stuff to do, and… and let's not pretend this was more than a one-night thing," she said apologetically. "Besides, I have to find Mandy."
"Oh, she'll be ok with my brother," he said dismissively. He suddenly remembered a drunken conversation whereby Dean had taken the room next door. At least, I think I do.
As if on cue, there came a female shriek and a laugh through the wall behind him, and Sam's eyes rolled like a ten-tonne juggernaut, and just as incapable of stopping on a sixpence. He sat up properly as Carrie picked up her blouse.
"I had a real good time," she grinned. "If you come back through here again, you'll have to look me up."
Sam opened his mouth to answer in the affirmative, but he heard another female cry of amusement, followed by the unmistakable sound of his brother laughing at something.
Carrie looked at the wall directly above Sam's head. She looked at Sam, smiled, and then went looking for her skirt.
Another manly laugh and a girlie giggle, and then a soft, slow knocking began against the wall behind Sam. He cleared his throat and ignored the sound as he pulled the blankets back. He spotted his duffle over on Dean's empty bed and made for it, refusing to acknowledge the knocking as it started to get louder.
He emptied the duffle, feeling the cool morning air all over him as he sorted through for clean shorts. He and Carrie took their time getting dressed as they desperately focused on anything but the noise from the wall.
"So what are you doing in Springfield?" she asked gamely, the persistent knocking increasing in volume.
"On holiday," Sam shrugged.
"Holiday?"
"Yeah. Just relaxing, y'know? We've had a crazy few months and we just needed a break."
The banging got louder as it started to speed up slightly.
"You two must work really hard," she offered, raising her voice.
"Yeah," Sam agreed loudly. He picked up a shirt just as the banging next door stopped abruptly. There was an almighty thump and crash accompanied by both male and female cries of surprise. Then the masculine laughter started, triggering apparently delighted chuckling from the girl's voice. It went on for barely ten seconds before the knocking partnered it again, faster and louder.
"So what do you do?" Sam asked, over the giggling and chuckling from next door.
"Town planning," she smiled stiffly. "Me and Mandy work together."
The breathless giggling accompanying the banging changed into more appreciative noises as they both sped up. Sam concentrated on Carrie's face as she smiled at him.
"Is there a hairdryer?" she asked desperately.
"God I hope so," Sam urged, waving a hand at the bathroom. She walked into the smaller room quickly, putting her hand on the doorknob. "Oh, please," Sam called hurriedly, "leave it open."
She let go, turning to find the hairdryer.
Just as Sam was fingering his t-shirt collar, clearing his throat and trying desperately not to be a party to the sounds of Mandy clearly having the time of her life next door, Carrie flicked on the electrical appliance.
The harsh noise drowned out the final few minutes of the apparently earth-shattering performance behind the wall, and Sam managed to relax enough to start re-packing his duffle. The chorus done, the banging exhausted, all was quiet as Carrie stopped the hairdryer and ran her hands through her hair carefully.
She came out of the bathroom to find Sam pulling his trainers on. He stood, walking to the empty coffee pot on the hot plate.
"Coffee?" he offered. "Your friend might need a few minutes."
"That'd be good," Carrie nodded gratefully. "I'm certainly not going in there till she's showered and ready to go."
Sam smiled easily, going into the bathroom and swilling the jug out.
Carrie leaned on the doorjamb to the bathroom, folding her arms and watching him. He filled the jug halfway before turning and looking at her.
"You have an interesting tattoo," she smiled. "Never seen one quite like it."
"It's an embarrassment," Sam said with a smile. "Me and my brother got drunk one night and woke up with matching ones."
She laughed. "Now that I can believe," she teased.
He walked out past her and went to the coffee machine, opening the top and pouring the water in. He put the pot underneath and then slid out the filter tray. It was quiet, a very relaxed silence, as he finished his preparatory ministrations and pressed the button. She found her shoes and then picked up a biscuit in the plastic wrapper from the tray next to the coffee machine. She sat on Sam's bed, opening up the makeshift breakfast and watching him. He had his arms folded, looking out of the motel window, a far away look on his face.
"Whatcha thinking about?" she asked quietly.
"Oh… My dad," he admitted.
"Is he on holiday too?"
"No. He passed away a couple of years ago."
"Oh Sam, I'm sorry," she said, biting her lip. "I bet he was really cool."
He turned slightly to look at her with a small smile. "What makes you say that?"
"Well… You two wouldn't be you two without him, right?" she asked cheekily.
"You're absolutely right," he allowed cheerfully.
They watched the coffee brew slowly, lost in individual thoughts.
"Should I go get Mandy?" she dared.
"When Dean smells the coffee he'll be right in," he smiled.
"How's he gonna smell coffee from next door?"
"Oh trust me, he's like a shark. He can smell a single coffee granule from over three miles away."
She chuckled and got up, going to the coffee pot that was nearly done. She picked up two cups and went to the bathroom, rinsing them out. She came back and put her hand out to the jug as a quiet thud-thud-thud started up from behind them.
"I don't believe it," she stated flatly, turning to look at the wall. She walked over and lifted her fist to bang on it.
"Wait," Sam said quickly. She stopped and turned, looking at him. "It's coming from there," he added, chucking a thumb in the direction of the bathroom.
"The shower?"
Sam shrugged helplessly. "He always was good at multi-tasking," he offered.
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"And then he was let out the drunk-tank and he turned up at work looking like Hell - everyone told him to take the week off, but he just said he couldn't rest, that working was all he wanted to do," Carrie said conversationally, draining her coffee cup.
Sam looked up from his laptop. "And this is Frank Abel?" he inquired.
"Yup. I heard from Shirley, who got it from Helen who he worked with," she winked.
The motel room door opened abruptly and Mandy appeared. She looked at them both, managing to wipe a smug smile from her face.
"Hi, sorry. Have you been waiting long?" she asked, having the manners to at least appear contrite.
"Coupla coffee pots," Carrie sighed, eyeing the dregs in her cup. "Poor Sam's been working. I had a nap," she admitted.
"Oh. Ah. Right. Well, I'm good now," she offered. "I'll buy you breakfast."
"Yes, you will," Carrie said pointedly. "We have a lot to discuss."
"Oh, do we," Mandy confirmed with a grin. Sam looked up from his laptop and she cleared her throat.
"Where is he?" he asked wearily.
Mandy gestured to the wall with her head. "Getting dressed," she said quietly.
"Thanks," he said easily, and she felt some guilt slip from her shoulders. Sam looked at Carrie, but she was already getting to her feet and collecting her bag from the bed.
"Take care, Sam. Don't kill him, he's on holiday after all," she winked. "And there are worse ways to spend a morning than having coffee with you."
"No worries," he nodded, getting up. He walked them to the door, smiling and making goodbyes. They both gave him a hug and then swished their way out across the parking lot. The moment they knew they were out of earshot, Carrie pushed her arm through Mandy's, leaning on her and talking urgently.
Mandy started laughing and as Sam leaned on the doorjamb, watching them, the door adjacent to his opened.
He turned to see Dean walk out, yawning and pulling the door shut slowly. He bounced the key in his hand as he turned. He found Sam staring at him, eyebrows raised and a judgemental chin stuck out at him.
"Something wrong?" he asked cautiously.
"No, nothing," Sam accused. "I really enjoy listening to you making girls squeal right behind my head," he added with enough sarcasm to fill the boot of the Impala.
Dean just shrugged, walking over and ducking in the open door past him. "Didn't realise the walls were so thin. Don't tell me you just sat here and listened, you pervert," he teased.
Sam shut the door and studied him. Dean looked around for his duffle before his gaze caught his younger brother's damning eyes. Sam noticed his face paler than usual, and the craggy, dishevelled demeanour that had nothing to do with the clothes or unshaven Winchester underneath. It was something more deep-seated than that, and Sam severely hoped he was not witnessing weariness that afflicted soul as well as bone.
"You listened?" Dean smiled cheekily, oblivious of the scrutiny. "If I'd known it was just me pulling a double shift we wouldn't have changed ends at half time."
"Dean," he protested, putting his hands up quickly. "Let's just get back to why we're here, shall we?"
"What are we supposed to be doing, anyhow?" Dean asked innocently. "Gimme something to do and I'll do it."
"Fine. We need to find Matthew Bosun's place and work out just how he's making people levitate into nooses before we find him and he pulls the trick on us."
"Right," Dean nodded decisively. Then he yawned. He sniffed and wiped at his nose casually, looking back at Sam. "Whut?" he asked, noticing his impatient scowl.
"Dude, you look like you haven't sle--. Tell me you at least slept off last night's booze before you went round two - and three - this morning?"
"Are you kidding? Did you see the curves on that girl? She was like an Italian road map," he protested. "Sleeping would have been a waste of everyone's talents."
"Well when you yawn all day I'm gonna have zero sympathy for you," he sighed, shaking his head and turning to the laptop.
"It wasn't my fault," Dean urged, following him to the desk. Sam sat down, focusing on the laptop studiously.
"Oh really? And why is that? Something made you poke her repeatedly? You had no control over it?" he scoffed.
Dean looked at the desk guiltily, but he said nothing. Sam waited, got no response, and turned his head to look at him. Dean jumped slightly, wiping all emotion from his face and straightening. He cleared his throat but Sam blinked at him.
"Is there a problem here?" he asked quietly.
"Whut? No," Dean said quickly. "No, no problem."
"Really?" Sam pressed, but he was more concerned than angry.
"Yeah, really," Dean shrugged defensively. Sam turned his gaze back to the laptop, pressing the spacebar to interrupt the screensaver.
"I'm just tracing addresses," he said quietly. "We can find Matthew's pad first."
"Ok," Dean mumbled. Sam kept his eyes on the screen, knowing Dean was watching from over his shoulder. It was silent as he scrolled through pages of names.
"You know," he said gently, "you were down there a long time. Maybe--"
"Addresses," Dean interrupted, but he wasn't as angry as his brother had expected.
"Ok. All I'm saying is… You considered yourself all shiny and new when you came back. Maybe you're more right than you know."
"That was exactly it, man!" Dean blurted, snapping his fingers in apparent relief. "It was exactly like being eighteen again! It was like playing Duke Nukem with the unlimited ammo cheat on!"
Sam raised his hands quickly. "Stop! Seriously dude, TMI!" he protested. There was an awkward silence and he held his breath for a long moment. Then he turned to look over his shoulder at his big brother. "Although… If I'd been in the same situation, I'd like to think I would have taken every opportunity, too."
"Oh I did that alright," he said wickedly, starting to chuckle as Sam shook his head and turned quickly to look at the laptop.
"Only one Matthew James Bosun in this town," he said gratefully, gesturing to the screen. "Got an address. Ready?"
"Uh-huh," Dean managed through a yawn. Sam sighed and pulled over his notebook, copying down the address.
"Mornin' boys," came a voice from behind them.
Sam jumped in surprise, but Dean simply turned round mid-yawn.
"Boss man," he nodded, matter-of-factly. Then he grinned. "Missed saying that."
"My God, Dean!" the spirit gasped.
"Hey, we're friends, just 'Dean' will do," he sniffed, looking back at Bosun.
"What in hell happened to you?" the spirit cried, aghast, as he took in the younger man's face.
"Funny you should put it like that," Dean muttered to himself. Sam turned and looked at Bosun.
"He has a weakness for whisky. And women," he said brightly.
"That's two weakne--" Dean began.
"I've already warned him I'm not making time for him today," Sam continued cheerfully. "You ok?"
"Yeah, er… Just spent too much daylight," Bosun managed, his eyes still running over Dean like he expected him to drop any second. "So, ah… What are you up to? Are you gonna help me?"
"Of course," Sam nodded. "We're just looking up your son's house now. We're going to go down there and get a look at all this 'wrong side of the Force stuff' for ourselves - see how he's doing this to people."
"Oh. Well I'll tell you how he did it to me," he said uncomfortably.
"That would make things easier," Dean nodded.
"He kinda… Well, I don't want to freak you out or anything, but… He kinda has this… he can make people do things," he admitted.
Dean simply folded his arms. "Like Uri Geller do things, or sing-like-Elvis do things?"
"Like… make you slide-up-walls do things," Bosun admitted.
"What, so he just holds a hand out like Diana Ross and you go--"
"I never said he used his hand," Bosun interrupted. "You've seen him do it?"
Dean wet his lower lip slowly, then looked at Sam. "No." He sniffed, then raised eyebrows at his younger brother.
"We've seen it done," Sam said confidently.
"You don't think he's just possessed?" Dean asked Bosun directly. "I mean, I seen more'n a few demonic assholes do that to--"
"No. Well, I don't think so," Bosun replied thoughtfully. "Do you really think he could be possessed?"
Both boys shrugged and Bosun shook his head slowly. He lifted a hand and scrubbed at his hair, his form flickering in and out slightly.
"Look, ah… We were heading over to his place," Sam said quietly. "You want to… you coming with us?"
"I could," he admitted. "Might just make the little shit jump a little for killing me." He paused, thinking about it. "That's weird, right?"
"Oh, if I'd been ganked, and I found the guy that did it, I'd put the frighteners on his ass till he was sweatin' like a hooker at a VD clinic," Dean scoffed.
"Dean!" Bosun snapped angrily, and both Winchesters jumped at the ferocity. The spirit lifted his finger to wag it at him. "Just you take care what tumbles out of that gutter mouth of yours!"
Dean just blinked at him, stunned, and it was silent for a long, edgy moment.
Dean cleared his throat. "Sure, Dad," was his indignant retort, but Sam leaned back in his chair slowly, folding his arms and enjoying the discomfort the man had clearly caused his older brother.
Bosun let his hand drop smartly. "I… ah… Forget it," he said quietly, with a sudden, rueful smile. "Guess I don't really have the right to try and rein you in any more."
"Check the collection of fake driver's licenses, pal," Dean said, slightly too cheerfully. "Every one says I'm over twenty-one now."
"Still got that smart mouth though," Bosun shot back with a wide smile. He waved a hand at Sam to make a move. The youngest man got up slowly, turning to the laptop and shutting it down. He went over to his bed to get his jacket, picking it up and shaking it, realising it was empty.
"You got the Impala keys?" he asked as he turned to find Dean.
He looked away from Sam's direction quickly, going to his jacket and shaking it. He lifted it higher and shook it more forcefully to make the keys jangle loudly. Then he simply turned and walked to the door of the motel, letting himself out quietly.
Sam looked at Bosun, who just smiled knowingly. Sam allowed himself a small conspiratorial smile and walked to the door, following in his brother's footsteps.
Bosun looked around the room, shrugged into his pseudo-coat, and whisped out of sight.
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Dean brought the Impala to a stop outside the block of flats, killing the engine and sitting back in the seat. He and Sam squeaked the doors open and looked around the quiet street slowly, Sam surveying the lack of people, the tall trees, the sleepy demeanour. He heard Dean's boots on his side of the pavement and found him already heading to the path of a house.
"This it?" he called over his shoulder.
"3256," Sam nodded, following. They walked up a narrow, stone tiled path that culminated in a neat wooden door, small flakes of the red paint peeling and hurling themselves at the brown stiff brush mat under their feet.
"Looks normal enough," Dean observed. He put a hand out to the small round bell button. Sam grabbed his sleeve, pulling it off.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm ringing the bell, Sam," he shrugged. Sam pushed his hand down and let go of his sleeve.
"What if he's jumpy? What if he's not pleased to see visitors?" he hissed.
Dean turned slowly, puzzlement and surprise warring for space in his expression. "This guy freakin' you out?"
"What? No," Sam said quickly.
"Well he's freakin' me out," Dean allowed cautiously, but Sam still avoided his gaze. "You're thinking he's… like you?"
Sam spared him a vulnerable glance and Dean's gaze ranged up the door frame and round the peeling surround before he ran a hand through his hair. He let his hand drop and looked back at his younger brother.
"You're thinkin' he can just turn it on and off? You're thinkin' he's doing the same Jedi Mind Tricks as you, but for the other side?" he pressed.
Sam bit his lip but looked at the window beside him.
"Sam, tell me," Dean snapped. "Just say yes or no, for the love of gun oil."
"Alright - yes," Sam hissed at him. He looked at his older sibling, trying to decipher the look on his face. But there was something odd in the eyes, something cryptic in Dean's stare. "What? What are you thinking?"
Dean sniffed, then rubbed a hand over his top lip slowly, looking at his feet.
"What, Dean?"
"Naw, nuthin'," he said, smiling slightly. "Just that… Well, if he is doing this - this - thing - that you do too, then… Well, if he goes all Emperor Palpatine on us, you can just Darth Vader his ass down the nearest electrical chute," he grinned.
Sam let his shoulders drop, unable to stop the smile on his face. Dean put his hand up to the bell again, but Sam snatched his wrist.
"You really think I'm Darth Vader?" he asked slowly.
Dean shook his hand off, then turned to look at him. "No. I think you're Anakin Skywalker. Y'know, seduced by the Dark Side - well, some demon chick possessing a dead girl, anyhow. And then you turn into this master of the Dark Side, sure, but you make up for it all in the end, find your way back to the good side by chucking your evil overlord to certain death," he teased, grinning.
"And you're just watching, poking fun and taking every opportunity to snag the girls or the pool money, peripherally making sure I don't go too Dark Side with your snide comments and fists?" Sam said, deadpan.
"Summin like that," Dean grinned.
"Dude… you know who that makes you, right?"
"If you say Chewie, you are so springing for pie for the next--"
"I was gonna say Han Solo," Sam chuckled, and Dean started to laugh.
"I can live with that. So can I ring the bell now, or are you gonna Mind Trick it open?"
"Let's just… take it slowly," Sam advised, walking off the step and instead going to the window.
"Could you look any more suspicious?" Dean whispered hoarsely, but he turned and went the other direction, peering in through the window. "Looks clear."
"Then you jimmy the door open," Sam called back. Dean grumbled something to himself as he walked back to the door, pulling a few tools from the inside of the jacket.
The door clicked and opened suddenly, and Dean looked up with haste.
"Honestly, you two are the slowest house-breakers I've ever met," Bosun said grumpily, flickering in and out in slightly blue streaks. "Now get in here before he gets back and I use up all my time in daylight again."
"Fair enough," Dean shrugged, pushing the tools back into his inside pocket. "Sammy!" he called, and Bosun wandered back into the house. Dean walked in, looking round the hall. Sam walked in behind him and shut the door quietly.
"So where do we start?" he asked, rubbing his hands together.
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