AN: So this is turning into a bit of a behemoth of a story. Just as a simple salt and burn for Dean is about to explode into something much more, so too, this story exploded from a five chapter ditty into. . .well, let's just say if you're following along, you'll be along for a while.
On that note: Seriously? Three chapters and not a single review? Show a little love, here, peeps!
Anyway, enjoy!
Sam had gone to Stanford. He'd gotten a 174 on his LSATs. He was far from dumb. He was very well aware that his brother was buzzed, and jumped up from sex. He just didn't feel like mentioning anything about it. So he sat and fumed while Dean pulled in to the cemetery.
It was a small cemetery, but infinitely larger than the miniscule plot they'd found just outside of the town center. Sam grabbed the bags of salt, while Dean carried the saw-off and the shovels.
"Name?" Dean grunted.
"Cassandra Shire," Sam said. He shone the flashlight around, looking for a gravestone with the same name.
"Easy," Dean said, nudging a stone with his toe. "Right here."
It took less than an hour to dig out the shallow grave, salt the bones, and set fire to them. A little longer to cover everything up, and then they were back in the hotel room.
"I get first shower," Sam said, not caring that after his. . .exertions. . .Dean was probably more in need of one. Sam had had a horrible night, between romancing the old woman and digging up bones. Dean, for some reason, still enjoyed the gross graveyard shifts, but Sam had never been a fan. He liked hunting. . .or he was learning, to anyway. He loved saving people. But there was something less gratifying about rescuing people who weren't even victims yet.
He closed his eyes, enjoyed letting the warm water wash over his body. He was just washing out his hair when he heard a crash from the room, Dean's yelled expletive. He tensed, prepared to run out naked if necessary, but then he heard Castiel's low voice, and returned to washing.
He'd only been in the shower about ten minutes when the heat began disappearing. It was simply lukewarm when he finally turned it off, began toweling dry. Too bad for Dean. He could just deal with a cold shower. Sam considered for a moment, not wanting to dress in the humidity of the bathroom. Neither did he want to walk in front of an angel wearing only a towel. Eventually he settled for pulling on clean boxers and jeans before walking out.
Dean was lounging back against the headrest of one bed, waving the remote control around. Castiel was standing, rod straight as ever, his hands shoved deep in the trenchcoat pockets.
"Cas thinks there's something else going on here," Dean said in place of a greeting.
"Really?" Sam scrunched up his face. He couldn't think of anything they'd missed. It had all seemed. . .simple. "Why? What makes you think that?"
Castiel looked sideways, as though he were peering off into the distance, but the only thing to look at was a faded watercolor, one of the cheap paintings that motel rooms all seemed to favor. "There is. . .a sense of something," he said.
"More Apocalyptic bullcrap?" Dean asked, hopping off the bed. "Come on, Cas, I told you. We're doing enough just by saying no."
"This isn't the Apocalypse," Castiel sighed. "It is just. . ." he turned to look at Sam. "Promise me that you will call if anything. . .suspicious happens."
"Suspicious how?" Sam asked. Dean brushed past him toward the bathroom. Castiel just shook his head, looking worried.
"Promise."
"okay, sure, fine," Sam shrugged. Before the words were even out of his mouth, there was a fluttering of wings, and the angel was gone. Dean poked his head out of the bathroom.
"Come on, dude, you used up all the hot water!"
* * * * *
Sam couldn't believe it. He simply couldn't believe it. They'd destroyed the body. That had to mean they'd destroyed the ghost. And yet, there it was, plain as day. A third suicide. Half a mile from the cemetery. Strangulation.
"Huh," Dean shook his head. "We must have missed something."
"That's not possible," Sam shook his head. "We lit a freaking bonfire, Dean. Nothing survived that. Not a scrap of hair, nothing."
"Well, obviously something did," Dean said. He yawned, huge, lay back on the bed, closed his eyes. "We'll head over to Jenine's house. You can pump her grandma for information, see if there was anything left of the body that wasn't buried."
"Great," Sam crossed his arms tightly across his chest. "And what are you going do do?"
Silence. Heavy breathing. Sam nudged his brother's boot, which was grossly on top of the bed.
"Dean? What about you?"
He turned around. Unbelievable. Unbelievable. His brother was asleep. Not just mildly asleep, but full-blown, lightly snoring, dead to the world. Sam rolled his eyes. Normally he'd be happy to see Dean sleeping. His older brother had a habit of only catching four or five hours a night, if they were both lucky. Since coming back from hell it had been notably less. However, in the bright morning, in the middle of a case, was not when Sam wanted his brother catching up on the Zs. He aimed, and carefully threw the remote directly into the center of his brothers head.
"Ow! Sam! What the!" Dean sat upright immediately, glaring at Sam, and gingerly running a hand over his forehead. "What was that for?"
Sam turned around, facing the television. "And just what are you going to do, while I seduce grandma again?"
"I'll, uh, get us some breakfast from the diner," Dean said. Sam knew he was making the face. The one that Dean gleefully had named his "bitchface."
"I don't think so," Sam said, standing up. "Last night I did all the research. So fine. Today, you get to research. Library, Dean."
"Fine," Dean rubbed at his face. He glanced up at his brother from beneath thick eyelashes. "Breakfast first?"
Sam had prepared for the inevitable. He tossed the Pop Tart into his brother's lap. "There you go. Car leaves in five."
He grabbed both duffel bags and began loading the car. From behind him he heard Dean yell "I have the keys!"
Sam would never admit it to Dean, but he was kind of glad the case wasn't over, yet. There was something charming about Paradise, the way that everyone waved hello, and every single man drove a pick-up. The coffee was good and strong, and he and Dean didn't get weird looks when a stranger caught a glimpse of the hardware in the back of the Impala. And, as much as he really wouldn't admit it to Dean, he was hoping to see Jenine again. Which was exactly why he had packed Dean off to the library.
There was no bell on the house, just a simple knocker. Sam liked that, too. In small houses, he'd never seen the need for a doorbell, not really. He heard the footsteps on the other side. Small and swift. . .nothing like the dragging steps of Grandma Shire.
Sure enough, a pert face peeked out at him, that immediately burst into a broad smile.
"Sam!" Jenine threw the door wide open, and beckoned for him to enter. "Come on in! Grandma said that you visited her last night. That was sweet. . .and weird."
"Yeah, um. . .my brother and I are kind of. . .ghost researchers," Sam said. "We were looking at the town of Shelton."
"Don't waste your time," Jenine said. She began walking toward the rear of the house, gesturing for Sam to follow. "It's just another tourist trap. That's the main industry around here, so the locals will do anything they can to keep someone around another day."
"Oh," Sam nodded.
"Coffee?" Jenine asked, pouring herself a cup.
"Please,"
She handed his over, their hands briefly touching over the top. "I'm a fiend," Jenine said, conspiratorially. "I mean, I'm addicted to this stuff. Can't get enough."
"Yeah," Sam smiled. "I know what you mean."
Jenine leaned against the counter. She was still wearing pajamas, a Berkley t-shirt over a pair of shorts, and a long, breezy bathrobe. Not exactly what most women wanted to be seen in. Yet Jenine seemed completely comfortable.
"Um. . .Berkeley?" Sam asked. Jenine glanced down at the shirt, looked up again with a bright smile.
"Yeah," she said. "I graduated two years ago. I did some traveling for a while, before taking the LSATs."
"Law school?"
"Yeah. I'm thinking Columbia. Somewhere far away from Paradise, anyway." Jenine set her coffee cup down, and pulled the belt around her robe, drawing it closed over the t-shirt. "Anyway. Did you just come by to say hello, or. . ."
"Oh, yeah, actually I had a few more questions for your grandmother," Sam admitted, clumsily setting down the coffee cup. It splashed a little in his hurry, hot liquid burning his hand. "Is she around?"
"She's still asleep," Jenine said. "You're welcome to stay. I was just going to back some cookies. It's my day off."
"Yeah," Sam grinned. "That would be great."
* * * * *
Dean was bored. Not just kind of bored, but out of his mind, on the verge of flirting with the overweight, blue-haired librarian bored. And tired. He wasn't sure what sounded better, a beer, a burger, or a bed. He glanced down at his cell phone. Still no calls. What on earth had possessed him to let Sam have the Impala? Clearly, he'd been rendered momentarily insane.
He waved good-bye to Ms. Blue Hair and strolled outside, jamming his hands deep in his jacket pockets. It was August, but there was still a slight chill in the air. He wondered if Michigan was ever really warm. He rocked back on his heels, began to whistle. Checked the phone again.
"Come on, Sammy, how long can it take to interrogate an old woman?"
As if on cue, the phone buzzed, screen lighting up. It was at his ear in an instant.
"Yeah."
"Nothing, sorry, Dean," Sam's voice sounded a little breathless. "Everything was buried with her. I guess we'll just have to go back to the cemetery after dark, double check our work."
"Yeah, guess so. Listen, I'm on my way over to pick you up. "
"Sounds good."
Before Dean had the chance to pocket the phone it was ringing again. Cas.
"Hello?"
"Dean, where are you?"
"I'm still in Paradise. Outside the library. Why?"
Before the last syllable was out of his mouth he was staring into a pair of big, blue eyes.
"This is getting ridiculous."
"Sorry."
The angel backed off, and both men put away the phones.
"Cas, what's going on?" Dean frowned, noticed a small trickle of red at the corner of the angel's nose. "Uh. . .Cas, you got a little. . ." he rubbed his own nose. Confused, the angel brought his hand up, inspected the droplets of blood that came away.
"Interesting," he said.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," the angel looked back up again. "Dean, I am more certain than ever. There is something here. . .some kind of. . .infection." The angel frowned, leaned forward, and sniffed him. Actually sniffed him! "I think you have been infected."
For a brief moment Dean felt panic. Then he got over it, laughed. "Come on, Cas. No way. I haven't been infected. Just chill off, okay. What is it, the search for God isn't going so well?"
"No," Cas said. "in fact, another sign has been wrought."
"Another sign?" Dean sighed. "I told you, Cas, I just want to"
"I know," Cas interrupted. "But Babylon has surfaced."
"Babylon?" Dean frowned. "What on earth is Babylon?"
Cas peered off into the distance. "I saw a woman seated on a scarlet beast that was covered with blasphemous names, with seven heads and ten horns. The woman was wearing purple and scarlet and adorned with gold, precious stones, and pearls. She held in her hand a gold cup that was filled with the abominable and sordid deeds of her harlotry. On her forehead was written a name, which is a mystery, "Babylon the great, the mother of harlots and of the abominations of the earth." "
"Uh-uh." Dean shook his head. "Are you quoting scripture again?"
"She is nearby," Cas said, something frantic in his voice. "Come. We must destroy this sickness in you, and then destroy her."
"Sure, sure," Dean waved his hand wearily. He was used to the angel getting all freaked out over little things. Or sometimes not so little things. Even so, he had never left mid-job, and he certainly wasn't going to do so right now. And besides. . .
"Hey. Didn't you say the Four Horsemen were a sign of the apocalypse? As in. . .all four of them make just one sign?"
Cas considered for a moment, cocked his head, stared at Dean. "Yes?"
"So there can't be another sign until that one's finished. Cool your jets, Heathrow, we're still missing a Horseman."
"Oh," Castiel considered that for a moment. "Yes. That is possible. But we are still neglecting your infection."
"For crying out loud, I'm not infected!" Dean threw his hands up in the air just as the Impala came around the bend. He didn't think he'd ever been so happy to see his little brother before.
"Very well," Cas said, his brow furrowed. "If you don't mind, I will stay with you a while yet."
"Fine, whatever," Dean hopped into the passenger seat. Even after three years sharing the driving with Sam, it still felt strange not to be behind the wheel. "Hey, Sammy," he looked over at his brother, suddenly remembering how very tired he was. "You think we could hit the hay for a few hours before burning this bitch?"