~4~ Honeyed Words

The Impala wasn't happy as it rattled and clanged back to the motel, where it released its passengers. Sam looked to be the human persona of the car, shivering, wet, miserable. His feet squelched in his shoes, his pants felt way too tight, and worse: the wind hadn't died down, so by the time he got inside, he was coated in desert dust too.

"Aww, poor widdle Sammy," Dean cooed. He chortled and dodged out of the way of Sam's flying shoe.

"Going for a shower," he grumbled, slouching towards the bathroom.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," said Dean. "Seriously. If that rusalka can fill Baby with water, she can probably drown you in a shower."

Sam flopped onto a bed like he had no bones, groaning. "Why me?"

"Because you're a sap."

"No, really. Why me? I have nothing to do with Kara's drowning or the mining proposition. And why those other three? The shallow wader and fishermen? I don't get it."

"Maybe she didn't like your face."

"Dean, stop it." Sam pulled a pillow over his head. He felt like he'd spent the whole day running around in a suit of armour. He was exhausted. "Whmph phim omphy phey?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Sam knocked the pillow off. "What did Bobby say? On the phone?"

"Right, right. Well, what we already know. Drowned virgin. Guardian spirit. Associated with the triskel-whatsit—"

"Triskelion." Sam pulled the marked pebble from his pocket, found in a cup holder in the Impala after his near death experience, and tossed it onto the other bed.

"Yeah, that."

"What else?"

"Oh, and it likes... Well, it enjoys...um..." Dean opened and closed his mouth several times, a fish on land. Sam lifted his head to look at him, eyebrows raised.

"...Enjoys...?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Sweet talking."

Sam struggled to keep a straight face. "What?"

"Rusalki like...sweet-talking. Flattery."

"...You're joking."

"They're ladies who died virgins, Sam. Okay? Maybe it's the best they got, now."

Sam shook his head with a snort. "You sure Bobby wasn't drunk when he told you that?"

"I'm sure!"

"Okay, okay." Sam sat upright, damp hair sticking up at the back of his head. "So a virgin dies and takes guardianship of where she drowned. She kills people unless she's...wooed, and she vitalizes the water source to boot?"

"That about sums it up."

"So maybe Lance did have a romantic side...even if it was like...necrophilia." He coughed. "What else did Bobby say?"

"Not much else. But he called it a spirit. So it could be defeated like a spirit."

"...Well unless we can drain an entire lake, or salt and burn it – which I guess we could if we were desperate and had a mountain of salt – we have to swim to find her bones. But if they couldn't find her sixty years ago, how will we?"

Dean paced in the kitchenette, close by the rattling air conditioner. He tapped his chin. "Does anything live in that lake?"

"Back when it used to dry up every year, not much. Since it stopped, they've stocked it with fish."

"So no crocodiles, alligators or the Loch Ness Monster?"

Sam snorted. "No reports of any of those. Not even alleged sightings that I've discovered."

"But where Darren said the girl drowned, they found nothing. She must have drifted just far enough away."

Sam sighed, then hauled himself to his feet, only to plop himself down at the table and pull his laptop in front of him. Flipping it open, he brought up the police report of Kara's death, peering at the grainy photo, reading every word of the article in case he'd missed something. "...Huh."

"What?" said Dean.

"...Darren's house. That was the north side of the lake."

"Yeah?"

"This report says Lance Stewart claimed she drowned closer to the mine HQ, now the resort, a few miles south... Why would he claim that if Darren said she died near the house?"

"Maybe Darren remembered wrong. Been, what, twenty years?"

"Possible, I guess." Sam rubbed his mouth, thinking. "If Lance saw her drown, he probably wouldn't want to mention it was by the house. Might have made him look guilty."

"What if he was guilty?"

"Doesn't matter. He's dead and she has to be stopped. They wouldn't have found her remains if they thought she'd died a couple miles away from where she actually drowned."

"Corpses float."

"...Maybe the rusalka didn't want hers to."

Dean blinked at him, deadpan. "Since when can spirits handle their own remains? Or if they can, how would they know what could happen to them?"

Sam shrugged one shoulder. "Dunno."

Dean released a breath through his nose, looking out the window. "You know, there's one thing we haven't considered. Suicide."

"What difference does that make?"

"How do you kill yourself in water, Sam? You don't just dunk your head and hope you have the willpower to overcome pure instinct. I'm talking about rocks in the pockets, or a frigging anchor to the ankle. Anything."

"Huh. Lance reported that she went under, and that's it. No splashing, no screaming. But as he said it happened closer to the resort..." Sam raised a hand and let it fall on his lap. "They didn't look in the right place for a body."

Dean leaned on a counter, stretching his neck back. "So we gotta go down by the dock and look ourselves. Awesome."

"Yeah," said Sam, snorting. "But if we don't figure out what makes her angry, we can't go swimming."

"Scores of people go into that lake everyday, and nothing's happened to most of them."

"I didn't even touch the water. Look what happened."

"So what did you do?"

Sam looked on, thinking, and almost shrugged until he remembered. "I dropped a piece of foil in the water."

"Wait, so you think the rusalka went after you because you littered?"

"It's her home, Dean. She protects it. Life flourishes in it. She probably destroys anything that might contaminate it."

"...Like a mine."

"Like a mine." Sam stood. "We should speak with Sophia's fiancé, whatshisname...Josh. He could be the only one left who knows about the proposition."

"Checked out? What do you mean, checked out?"

The clerk raised a bushy eyebrow at Dean.

"Am I speaking Spanish?"

"I don't believe this." Dean rubbed his eyes. So close, they'd been. So close! Dean's lookout – a maid he'd worked his charms on – had called Dean as soon as she saw Josh Jenkins. But by the time the Winchesters got to the resort, he'd already left, for good. Rattled by his fiancée's death, probably. He would still be in the town, for the police investigation, but where, they had no idea.

Dean pulled away from the check-in desk with his brother, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. "Great."

"People are in danger," said Sam. "We can't spend time looking for Josh. We'll have to consider the emails between him and Nick evidence enough. If Lance Steward heard about the mine proposition, he could have mentioned it to Kara. Or maybe she overheard it somehow. The lake's her domain – wouldn't surprise me if she could hear everything everyone was saying. And if it is litterbugs she's going after, that would explain how she knows who they are, too."

"It's certainly a way to get her attention," Dean muttered.

"Yeah...We can't risk swimming where her bones are, not with her on garbage patrol."

"So how do we keep her away?"

The brothers stepped out of the resort, silent as they descended the stairs and passed the British-style phone booth where Sophia had died, which was now wrapped in police tape. Sam's shoes squelched with every step.

"I guess it's...less about keeping her away and more like drawing her attention elsewhere," he mumbled.

"Well that clears it up," said Dean gruffly. "Thanks."

"Think about it. What did you say appeases rusalki?"

Dean's head whipped over to him. "You saying we have to sweet talk a spirit?"

"Not we, you."

"Ooooh, no. Off the table."

"Come on, Dean. This would be a breeze for you."

"Not sweet talking. My forte lies within my personal mojo. My...sexy, dashing, devil-may-care demeanour."

"You mean your inflated ego and testosterone boosters."

"Shut up." Dean shoved him into a bush. Sam was still grinning as he emerged.

"Anyway, you're the soft, squishy, cuddly one," said Dean. "You should be the one to woo a dead virgin."

"I'm the stronger swimmer. You're like a drowning bird in the water. Plus she already tried to kill me."

"I shot her. You can start by apologizing about a little piece of burrito foil. Then you put on your puppy-eyes and confess your undying love to her."

Sam scoffed but a smile tugged at one side of his mouth. "If I do this, I get to drive the rest of the month."

"Fat chance, Romeo."

Night fell. Sam had spent the rest of the day thinking up flattering, loving, romantic crap he thought might sound pleasing to a ghost virgin, and mostly memorized poems and references chosen from films made after the mid '90s. He could only hope Lance Stewart hadn't done the same thing.

"Well?" said Dean, pulling on his shoes.

Sam adjusted the collar of his jacket and shrugged. "Guess I'm ready."

"So how am I going to know when you've got the rusalka's attention?"

"Call you, I suppose."

"Signal was sketchy before. You can try, but we should have a plan B." Dean opened his duffle bag and tossed Sam a flashlight. "Shine this across the water a few times."

"Sounds good."

Ensuring they had all they needed in the trunk of the Impala, they drove to the lake. They had selected a place from which Sam was to try and draw the rusalka in – an abandoned boathouse on the shore opposite from Darren's cabin where Dean would swim for bones. Although they weren't sure if distance affected the spirit's radar, they decided to try it.

Sam climbed out of the car, opened the trunk and pulled out a backpack with guns, salt rounds and iron tools. He stopped by Dean's window.

"Alright. Good luck."

"You too. Remember, aim for third base."

"You're gross."

"Hey, this might be the luckiest night you've had in months!" The Impala's wheels spun before the tires found enough friction to pull away, but Sam was still too slow to punch his brother's shoulder before he escaped. He shook his head and made for the boathouse, letting the sounds of crickets and gentle lap of waves on the shore calm his wracked nerves.

The boathouse sat on low wooden stilts, surrounded by water and accessible by a walkway from the shore. The padlock on the front door was broken. Sam knocked it from the latch and entered with caution, floorboards creaking underfoot. It reeked of motor oil and fish. A broken canoe sat in a cradle in the middle of the room, and the windows were so filthy it was hard to differentiate between them and the panelled walls. The doors of cupboards and cabinets hung open, some off their hinges, but there were no tools, having been claimed or looted long ago. Sam was glad he'd brought his own sources of iron.

He made his way to the twin back doors, which opened up onto a ramp sloping to the water and a wraparound deck. He stood at the top of the ramp, gazing at the resort to the south. It might have been beautiful if not for the danger below his feet.

He checked the time. He knew it took at least twenty minutes to drive from one side of the lake to the other. After ten, he watched east of the resort's boundaries, and fancied he saw the Impala's headlights snaking their way towards Darren's house.

It had almost been twenty minutes when he saw two distinctive lights on the other side of the lake. The high beams flicked once, twice, three times. Sam marked the time, allowing another ten minutes for Dean to walk the rest of the roadless way to the dock and ready himself for a swim.

Sam took off his shoes and socks before sitting on the edge of the deck beside the ramp. Then, with a deep breath, he dipped his feet into the water.

This is stupid.

Dean stood at the end of the dock, gazing at the black, black water. Lake Placid came to mind, and he shuddered.

"Sam said no crocodiles. We trust Sam." He began to undress, pulling off his jacket and shirt, then his shoes, leaving them beside the kerosene and salt canister. After tugging off his socks, he glanced behind him, to see that Darren's house looked to be asleep. There wasn't even a porch light. Heaving a sigh, Dean undid his belt and removed his jeans, glad the night was warm as he stood there in his boxers.

Out of a duffle bag came a snorkel mask and a headlamp, guaranteed to be one hundred percent waterproof or your money back. He covered the glass of the lamp as he flicked it on to test it. Turning it back off, he then put on a water utility belt complete with iron knife and grabbed the fishing net he was to use to bring up the bones he found...Might find.

Grumbling to hide his own nerves from himself, Dean checked his cell. No signal.

"Alright. Plan B." He kept his eyes on the opposite shore. It was so dark it was like there was no opposite shore. That would make Sam's flashlight impossible to miss.

"Put on your groove, Sammy."

Sam tried to stay relaxed. Deep breaths and gentle humming released the tension in his muscles, but then a thought would bring him back to his objective and he would go taut again.

His feet numbed. He imagined little fish nibbling at his toes. He wiggled them.

The moon rose, glazing the boathouse in silver. But only when it broke from the horizon and could admire its own image in the lake did something stir in the watery depths.

Sam's humming faltered, but he forced it to resume. All his memorized quotes and poems vanished from his head. Figures. It was exam time and suddenly he knew nothing.

Just calm down. He took another deep breath, held it, then released it slowly. What had he just been humming? The lullaby from Pan's Labyrinth. Keep going with that.

His voice cracked a few times, but he continued to hum. There. Something was definitely in the water. It slithered past his foot. He flinched but kept humming. The water was cold now. Ice cold. Goosebumps rose all over his body.

He saw her again. A flicker of silver below a film of black, like a fish. No. A shark. She was too dangerous to be anything less. And he had her attention now.

He looked at his phone, still humming, silently cursing upon seeing no signal. He slowly reached behind him, grasping the flashlight. He flicked it three times over the water before setting it behind him again, and then he stopped humming. He leaned forward to peer into the depths.

"Kara. I know it's you."

Dean was beginning to think Sam really was hopeless with the ladies, even dead ones. But then he saw the three white pinpricks of light. He sighed with both relief and apprehension.

"There you go, Sammy." He began to hyperventilate. It was risky but he needed to be underwater for as long as he could at a time. He sat on the edge of the dock, legs submerging half way up his shins. It was bitterly cold. He pulled the mask down over his eyes and strapped the headlamp on before slowly turning and easing the rest of himself into the water, careful not to splash. His breath shuddered as the chill enveloped his body. He grasped the fishing net and pushed away from the dock. It was like stepping off a cliff, blindfolded. His teeth chattered. He clenched his jaw, as though the sound might draw the rusalka to him, and turned on the headlamp. Then he submerged.

"I know who you are."

Another brush against his foot. It felt like fingers. But then, Sam was so numb he probably imagined it. His heart pounded. What if she could sense his fear?

"I heard what happened to you. I thought I'd come by and...help you feel better."

Those were definitely fingers. They gripped his ankle and he tensed, almost kicking them away.

"Y-your friend died a week ago. Is that why you're angry?"

The grip loosened. Sam's chest did not.

"He was a nice man, right? He cared about you. He treated you as every woman should be treated." I hope. "Before he died...he told me about you. How beautiful you w— are."

The fingers slipped away from his ankle, and he pulled both feet out of the water, only to get onto his knees and lean over the edge, to see better.

There she was. Floating through the water like a kite on the wind, glowing faintly. Her long silvery hair rippled in the moonlight. He could see her features better than when he was drowning in the Impala, and they were young and innocent. Her clothes seemed to change styles, and sometimes appeared whole or tattered. The triskelion looked to be burned into her flesh just below her collarbone. She was pale green, mirage-like beneath the surface. It irked him. But it also calmed him.

Then in a flicker of reality, she was nose to nose with him, solid, cold, angry. He recoiled with a cry, then sputtered as water splashed across his face. He reached for his gun...and then a piece of foil bounced off his cheek. She wasn't attacking. It was the garbage he had accidentally dropped in the lake hours before.

"Right. You knew that was me."

She submerged, glaring up at him.

"I am truly sorry for doing that. That's another reason why I came. To apologize. I tried to get it back." Not hard enough, he scolded himself. This might have ruined everything! But she still hadn't tried to drown him...again.

Sweet talking. Wooing. Come on, think, Sam!

"Do...do you want to know what Lance said to me? Before he passed away?"

Kara tilted her head and blinked. He took it as his cue to continue.

"He said...he didn't want to close his eyes. He didn't want to fall asleep, because he'd miss you, and he didn't want to miss a thing."

She blinked again, then drifted closer to the surface, face expectant. So she didn't know Aerosmith. Good.

Sam cleared his throat. "You should know...death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while." Did he sound as corny to her as he did to him? But she seemed to like it. So, go corny.

"I can see why he loved you," said Sam. "Would do anything for you. I...I would do anything for you, too. What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down."

Dean's arms and legs propelled him down into the water, steady and strong. Drowning bird, indeed, he thought. The cold worsened the deeper he went, the darkness encroaching with the pressure on his ears. He turned his head slowly, scanning the declining bottom in search of bones. Lake weeds brushed against his belly and he shuddered. Gross.

Stones. More weeds. An old anchor. No bones. The silty bottom continued to descend, beyond the reach of his light and his physical capacity to survive in the depths. A couple minutes passed and he made himself ascend. He needed his remaining oxygen to reach the surface.

He broke water, gasping. He pulled the mask away from his eyes to release water that had leaked in. Then another deep breath had him going down again, light panning left and right. What if the bones had gotten buried over the years? Dreading the idea, he knew he had to get deep enough to poke his fingers into the mud.

I'll take grave digging over this any day.

Was she blushing? Sam didn't know if spirits could blush. She was definitely smiling. He smiled back.

"You're so beautiful. You make me want to be a better man."

She giggled, an echoing, eerie sound. Her face was just below the surface. To him her movements seemed flirtatious, but for some reason that didn't bother him. Sam reached into the water, and found himself pleased he could touch her cheek. She closed her eyes, leaning into it. Her fingers lightly brushed the back of his hand. When she next gazed at him, her eyes were imploring.

"I'd rather spend one lifetime with you, than face all the ages of this world alone."

It made little sense to a mortal. To an immortal, it was everything. Her head breached the surface without a ripple, but when she kissed him her lips were solid. They were cold and wet but he didn't care. Couldn't care. She was beautiful and she had chosen him.

Three times Dean had to dive and resurface. And each time a large portion of his strength was spent. He couldn't keep warm anymore, so numb he didn't feel the tangling weeds or the light on his head.

As he went down once more, he decided – after this, he would climb out, get dressed, and call Sam off. They could try again another day. But that was not to be.

A glint caught his eye. Halfway through his lungful of air, he swam closer, careful not to disturb the lake bed. He put his thumb and forefinger into the mud to pick up the golden object. A heart. A locket.

Trying not to feel excited, Dean gave it a tug. The chain was stuck in the mud. He tugged harder, and as it broke free, a few vertebrae were pulled out with it.

Jackpot.

Kara's fingers ran through his hair but didn't get it wet. Sam kept his eyes closed, forgetting the rest of his cheezy quotes, not minding that he was smooching a ghost old enough to be his grandmother. The fact that she was a ghost at all should have been warning enough. As Lance had been infatuated, so now was Sam. He knew, and he didn't care. Nor did he care that she was coaxing him into the water. He slipped in easily, keeping hold of her as she drew him deeper.

Once several feet below the surface, she pulled away, and he let her with regret. He opened his eyes, eager to see her face again, only to blink in confusion.

He tried to ask what was wrong, but only bubbles came out of his mouth. He touched her cheek, but her brow remained scrunched and her eyes bespoke worry. Then she released him, turning and shooting off through the water. Sam watched her go with longing and disappointment...and confusion.

What...the hell am I doing?

He turned in a circle, but couldn't even see the stilts of the boathouse. As the rusalka drew away, her influence ebbed—mostly—and he realized he needed air.

He swam for the surface, then back to the boathouse. Once he'd pulled himself out of the water, shivering, he gazed after where she had gone. He'd looked that way before. Why? Because he'd been waiting for something...a signal. A signal from...Dean's car. Dean. Dean was out there. Dean was in the water.

Slowly the wheels and cogs of Sam's mind rattled out the wrenches, and he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. Distracting the rusalka, not exchanging spit with it! But if the rusalka had left now, in a panic, that could only mean...

Dean had found her bones. And she could sense it.

"Oh, crap."

Lines I unabashedly stole because I don't know how to sweet talk:

"I don't want to close my eyes..." Altered from I Don't Want to Miss a Thing by Aerosmith.

"Death cannot stop true love..." The Princess Bride.

"What do you want? You want the moon...?" It's a Wonderful Life.

"You make me want to be a better man." As Good as It Gets.

"I'd rather spend one lifetime with you..." The Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Ring.