The library closed at 8. Dean checked.
It was 8:30 and no Sammy.
Houston, we have a freakin' problem.
Dean passed out at some point after Sam took off. A little alone time never hurt and with their lifestyle, they didn't get it much. Or Dean didn't, at least.
Always with dad hunting or watching out for Sammy. Or with some sweet little lady. Alone? Not much.
He didn't mind – he liked all of the above. Not so much when dad and Sam were at each other's throats, though.
Which, suspiciously, they hadn't been the last day or so. Ever since they took off from the last place.
Usually there was at least one stupid comment Sam'd make or too-controlling order dad'd bark out. Nothing, though.
No, instead Sam was suddenly Joe Hunter.
It was a few days after the anniversary, so the ick of that night was mostly gone for him and dad. Sam didn't usually get hit so bad with the depression stick which was understandable. Kid never knew mom, just knew that he never really had one.
Something was weird though. Dean was expecting a full on bitch fit the morning after when dad told them to pack up.
Not a peep from Sam. Just a 'yes sir' and then he actually went and packed.
Which should be a good thing. Dad and Sammy getting along.
Yeah, but that right there was what freaked Dean right out. Not that they hated each other, but Sammy was difficult.
And now he wasn't all of a sudden.
And also now, it was after 8:30, the library was friggin' closed, and Sam was nowhere to be seen.
And he wasn't picking up his phone.
Dean stood outside the library and glared at the doors as if Sam would magically come walking out.
His anger was a pretty thin mask, though.
Where the hell was he? Anything, literally, anything could've…nope. Not going with that train of thought.
Dean pulled out his phone and tried calling dad. No answer there, either.
Screw this. Dean didn't have a car but that never stopped him before. The library parking lot was mostly empty. Dean scowled at the options.
A minivan and a station wagon sat three parking spots apart.
Seriously?
Minivan it was so that, when Dean found him (not if) he could lock the kid up and toss him in back and then beat his ass for making Dean worry.
He got it hot wired quick and peeled out (yes, in a minivan). The town had maybe a five mile radius so the drive wouldn't take long.
It was getting darker. Dean gripped the wheel tight and drove but didn't see anyone looing like his string-bean little brother anywhere on the roads.
And he wasn't lying earlier – there really wasn't any night scene in this town.
The shops were closed and both bars he checked turned up squat.
Dean was en route to Mather to find dad because he was at a loss and he wanted his brother found ASAP. If anyone was good at hunting things down, it was dad.
Granted, Dean wasn't exactly looking forward to saying "Hey dad, I lost Sammy," but pride and trust be damned.
Because Sammy was lost. Missing.
Words that should not ever be in the same friggin' sentence.
Dean pulled out his phone again. Past 10 now. He started dialing and froze when it started ringing.
Sam calling
Please. Please, God, let it be Sam and not some psycho ghost demon monster hybrid on the other line.
"Dean-?"
"Son of a bitch, Sammy!"
"Yeah...hey, I-"
"Where the hell are you?"
"I'm with dad. I uh… we're hunting."
Dean gripped his phone tighter. "Since when? What's with you going all Rambo lately dude? And, by the way, Pennsylvania is pretty freakin' far from the library."
"I know – look, I'm sorry. I just need to do this."
"To hunt?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
"If you think I'm letting you do this alone-"
"I'm not. Dad's here. He's letting me."
"I'm coming."
"Dean, no. You don't have to do that. I mean, you can take some time off or something."
"Just don't move. I'll be there in 45."
"I don't need you to babysit me."
"Too bad."
Dean hung up and floored it.
43 minutes later, Dean pulled into the motel parking lot. He parked his minivan next to the Impala and glanced down to his phone.
Dad texted him after the phone call with Sam, just "room 7."
Dean knocked (pounded) on the door and waited.
"Son," dad greeted when he opened it. Dean brushed past him and threw his bag on the floor.
Still no Sam.
"Where is he?"
"Bathroom. Been in there a while."
"What, he getting ready for a freaking date or something?"
"Hey." Dean looked back to dad who for some reason wasn't looking particularly angry. "I already gave him the talk about ditching you again. I want you to understand something though, son."
Dean looked past dad to the bathroom door and glared at it. "Ok."
Dad sighed and locked the door to their room. "Your brother's finally showing an interest. He spent most of the night researching lore. This is a good thing."
"Is it?" Dean barked, looking back, "The way I see it, we've got Sammy doing a total 180 with no explanation. That seem normal to you?"
"Ever hear of a gift horse, son?"
Dean sat on the edge of the bed and watched dad sit down at the table. "Seriously. There's nothing about this hitting you as being weird? Dad, Sam doesn't just take off."
"Flagstaff?"
Dean hardened his glare. "He was a kid."
"He still is. You both are," Dean looked offended. Dad smiled (a rarity) and continued, "But he's showing an interest. Sammy's smart and he's got a knack for research, more than me. Him using it for something that matters, something that'll help save lives – I'm not about to tell the kid to stop."
"Fine. Let him research, but he doesn't need to be in the field."
"You were."
Dean and dad both looked up. Sam stood in the bathroom doorway, stone face and eyes on Dean.
"Doesn't mean you have to be," Dean said, standing.
"Doesn't mean I don't want to. Why'd you come if you're just gonna bite off my head?"
"Maybe because you were missing for two hours and I didn't hear a damn word from you? And considering our line of work – well freakin' excuse me if I don't throw a parade when my little brother goes missing."
"I can help with this stuff."
"You're a kid."
"Not forever," Sam bit back.
"Dean."
They looked at dad.
"I'm going with Sam on this one. I get that you're worried and I'm not telling you to stop looking out for your brother, but Sammy's right. If he wants a shot at this I'm not seeing any reason not to give him one."
"He's barely fifteen."
"And you were eleven. Your first hunt, you remember?"
Dean scowled.
Dad continued, "And you were taking care of him a lot longer than that."
This was a weird shift in dynamic. Dad arguing for Sam. Dean being the downer. Was no one else finding this whole thing totally freaking off?
Dean looked over at Sam who apparently was finding something weird. He looked like he couldn't believe dad had his back on this one. The kid looked like Christmas came early.
Son of a bitch.
Dean looked over to Sam's things on the bed. A binder full of old newspapers, laptop with a big fat comforting headline, "MYSTERIOUS, GRISLY DEATH IN ABANDONED MINE" staring back at him. And then books, a few of'em. No school work. Nothing college worthy, but books on local Pennsylvania folklore. And that demon book, too.
Dean lost this battle. He'd been losing a lot of battles lately and the way things were going, it just might be the whole war, too.
"Fine," Dean gave in, but he looked back to dad. "The second things get too bad, even an inch..." he warned.
"You and me both," dad agreed.
Dean glanced at Sam who frowned and was clearly thinking he didn't need rescuers.
"We'll get the story from the cops in the morning," dad said. "Sam, you head back to the mine and give it another once over but you stay out of the tunnels."
"But what about tonight? Ghosts are more active at night," Sam said.
Dad shook his head. "We don't need activity right now. We need to figure out who the ghost was from earlier so we can find whatever it is that's keeping him stuck here and get rid of it."
"So you saw it? When?" Dean asked, looking from Sam to dad. He froze at the sight of the bandage he hadn't noticed before. "You were attacked?"
"Nothing serious. It's a vengeful spirit but we've got a hell of a lineup. Two-hundred potential suspects to go through and tonight we ruled out at least 20," dad answered. "We're done for the night. Get some sleep."
Dad's 'conversation over' cue.
So not only did Sammy run away but he went into the actual mine? An unstable mine that had a history of exploding and killing everyone inside?
Without knowing who the freaking target was in the first place?
And on top of it, dad was injured, obviously not badly, but what the hell happened there?
Fine. If the conversation for tonight was dead and Sam was being stubborn and uncooperative then fine. Sleep on it and maybe in the morning Dean wouldn't want to beat some sense into both of them.
James R. Page.
Born November 1st 1899 in Wicklow, Ireland. Immigrated to the USA in 1913 and lived in Pennsylvania up til the explosion.
The picture staring back at Sam matched the twisted, angry ghost they saw in the tunnels.
Sam closed the binder quietly. Dad and Dean snored and slept and last thing Sam wanted was to wake them.
He had a match for the spirit. Now all that was left was hunting down the bones to salt and burn them so James could rest in peace (more or less).
Sam had a hunch that there wasn't much in the way of graves, though. Most of the miners had headstones sure, but the bones were down in that mine.
And this was Sam's hunt. Had been since he started research on it and he'd finish it because then dad and Dean wouldn't have to have this insane back and forth anymore about keeping little "Sammy" safe from danger.
It was just a salt and burn. Easy as pie.
Sam grabbed his backpack, emptied the unimportant stuff and started packing. Salt, a lighter, matches (just in case), and everything else he'd need.
When they woke up in the morning they could hit the road and find some other monster to hunt because this one would be taken care of.
Sam liked that dad had his back earlier. He wanted that more and he was going to make that happen.
