I'm really sorry to anyone who tried to review under anonymous, I didn't realize it was disabled but thanks to heather03nmg I've got it fixed! So, anyone who wants to review anonymously, feel free to now!
To everyone one else, thank you, thank you, thank you! It was so fantastic to hear everyone's thoughts! Tammy K, Sue Pokorny, lucablue, Wondergirlxox, Tididooo, Poppyflake thanks for your kind words! Hope you all enjoy!
The Saloon was one of the few multi-level buildings in the town. The simple sign proclaiming: 'Saloon' looked as though it had once been red. The paint was now faded and cracked; the warped gray wood visible under the peeled paint. Several of the windows were busted and caked with a layer of dust.
Dean's eyes looked over the tracks in the road. He climbed up the warped steps of leading to the bar. He glanced over his shoulder, a smirk on his face. "I keep waiting to hear something from Doc Brown."
His younger brother didn't crack a smile. Dean was disappointed in his missed joke but turned his attention back to the Saloon. He laid his hand on the dusty batwing doors and pushed them back. He stepped into the large room. Sunlight trailed in across floor from the door and the beams tried to cut through the dirty windows. Along the left side of the room a staircase wrapped up the wall leading to a balcony. He counted six door and hallway. Halfway across the balcony, the banister was broken. Dean's eyes traveled to the floor below. There was nothing there, except a disturbance in the layer of dirt.
A large bar stood along the whole right side of the room, behind it a mirror reflected some remaining bottles. Here there was clean spot in the layer of dust. He walked over to it, his heavy boots clunked along the floor. Two pairs of footprints had proceeded them own into the room. The footsteps stopped only a few feet away from the door, while both changes in the grim on the floor were several yards away from the foot print. Dean's eyes raked over the spot below the balcony. The slightly messed outline had been a body, that was clear.
But there was no blood. Where was the body?
Dean turned on his heel and he examined the bar over Sam's shoulder. The same situation, clearly the outline was another body, but besides the print in the dirt, there was no physical sign of a struggle. "No sulfur?"
Sam shook his head.
Dean stepped back away from his brother and looked around. "Looks she pushed that one, then threw the other one, and somehow got rid of the bodies."
Sam surveyed the room, his innocent face serious. "But where did she put them?'
Soft tinkling music slowly filled the room. The tune grew louder as Dean turned and looked for the source. Under the balcony, a player piano stood on the platform. It seemed to gleam in shadows though it was just as covered with dust and blown dirt as everything else inside the Saloon.
Dean started to step closer to the piano, but Sam's hand shot out.
"Dude, what are you doing?"
Sam shook his head. "She's playing it. You really don't need to get close to her again."
Dean took a deep breath. He hated when Sam tried to take care of him. He was the older brother, he was the one who was supposed to be looking out for his brother.
"Come on, let's get out of here."
Dean started to protest, but a sudden twinge in his shoulder changed his mind. He definitely didn't want to remind his brother of the injury. Sam was already being a pain in the ass about the way the ghost seemed to have locked on him, another attack could make Sam unbearable.
Dean looked slowly around. He was reluctant to leave. That damn spot on his shoulder throbbed harder with every beat of his heart. He wanted to figure out what the hell was going on, waste it, and get the hell out.
The music started to play louder.
Dean felt pain shoot from his shoulder to his temple; a sharp, pounding ache that was trying to dig its way into his head. A strangle grunt pushed past his lips as Dean felt his knees giving. He didn't want to close his eyes. He felt like the pain would only get worse if he closed his eyes, but he couldn't seem to do anything else. A growl passed his lips as he hit his knees and wrenched his eyes shut.
He could hear Sam beside him, or at least it should like Sam, but the damn music was playing louder. It sounded as if his head had been shoved into the piano. Dean dropped his uninjured arm to the floor to help support his weight. He forced his eyes open again.
The Saloon was filled. The music was softened by the chattering of the people surrounding him. Laugher mingled with banter and Dean tried to make out what was being said. He wanted a clue or anything that could explain what the hell was happening to him, but the snippets he could understand sounded like normal conversation.
He heard the banging of wood against wood. Fighting down the increasing urge to vomit from the pain, Dean turned his head and saw the pointed toe of the sand colored boots, the dark brown hem of wool pants. A gun shot cracked across the Saloon. Dean heard screams and his head dropped to the floor.
"Dean!" Sam grabbed at his brother's arm and pulled him to his feet.
The throbbing inside his head melted away, but Dean couldn't seem to make his body move. Sam was strong, but Dean was being a dead weight, he forced his brain to focus on moving his legs. They reached the middle of the dust road, before Dean dropped to the ground again.
The air was hotter outside, the warm air seemed to press harder against his throat and lungs. His head no longer felt like it was being ripped apart. He felt shaken, but normal, as normal as he got. Dean resisted the urge to stretch out the muscles in his arm.
His brother was watching him intently. "Are you okay?"
"I swear, dude, if you ask me that one more time, I'm going to punch you in the jaw." Dean was struggling to his feet again. He was sore and tired. His shoulder ached. He shoved his hand into the jacket pocket, it was working as an inconspicuous sling. He meet Sam's worried expression and felt momentarily bad for snapping at him. "When you would have those—when you used to see those things…"
Sam furrowed his eyebrows. "Ghost?"
"No." Dean thought about dropping it, but he was too far in now, and the only person he could talk to about this unfortunately had experience with visions on his own. "When you had those visions…" The word let a bitter taste in the mouth, as if he'd just stapled a neon sign that read FREAK to his forehead. "Did you feel like you were there?"
"Dean, what happened?"
"Just answer the question."
"Yeah, sometimes." Sam shook his head and stared at his brother. "You know how it used to be. Are you having visions?"
"We need to call Bobby." Dean started towards the car.
"What did you see? Did you see ghost? Did you see someone?'
Dean wanted to scream, he wanted to ignore his brother and make him sit in the car until he figured this all out. He finally sighed and turned to look up at his brother. "The music got louder, the Saloon was filled with people. Some fired a gun, then I heard you yelling my name."
"Someone fired a gun?"
Of everything Dean had just talked about, he found his brother's interest in the gunshot odd. "Yeah."
Sam nodded. "Something hit the back wall, it busted up a piece of the balcony. I didn't see anyone. I wasn't sure what it was."
Dean turned over this information in his mind. He stared at the horizon, the shapes of the tress against het backdrop of the mountains. "So, something that happens in their world—"
"Reacts to something that happens in our world."
Dean thought about his shoulder again. He'd been shot before, the marks on his skin looked like something he'd seen before. His mind flashed briefly to the walking dead girl they'd hunted. They'd shot her and the bullets made black holes in her chest. His shoulder twitched violently. With a sickening realization in the pit of his stomach, Dean realized what was wrong with his shoulder. What he wasn't sure of was how to dig out a bullet that wasn't there but was still managing to damage his body.
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