DISCLAIMER: I finally tracked down Kripke and struck a deal with him…anything he wanted in return for him forking over the rights to Supernatural! But to my horror, as soon as I shook his hand, his face started transforming until he became…Lucifer! Great, now I've literally made a deal with the Devil…so is it possible he just wanted a Coke or something? :-o
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Bless the Broken Road
PREVIOUSLY: At Sam's nod, Bobby slapped his knees and stood up from the desk where he'd quickly read about the newest paranormal perpetrator on their radar. "Alright then," he declared with a level stare at the two younger men. "Brush Creek, here we come."
Chapter 7
To the two older men's surprise and gratification, the poltergeist hunt had gone off without a hitch. Sam was an excellent student, attentive and obedient…as long as he had no questions, that was. He was also relatively skilled with the weapons and above all, his head was filled with knowledge – so much so that Dean had deemed him a "walking encyclopedia of weirdness" at one point. It was clear that he had thrived in all manners under Pastor Jim Murphy's tutelage concerning the supernatural – even though demons had been the only thing on his résumé up to that point – just as Dean had under his father's and Bobby's, and the last surviving Winchester so far had no regrets on his decision to take the kid under their wing.
But the reasons for that, he had to admit, went beyond hunting.
Because in the few days he had spent with Sam, Dean was not only finding a new partner, but a new friend as well…a kindred spirit, practically. Sam was letting down his walls of self-protection more and more day by day around them, and Dean couldn't help but follow suit. Teasing and banter between the two of them became commonplace, with Bobby looking on fondly, and Dean had noticed that he'd even gotten away with calling the kid "Sammy" a time or two without correction…along with how oddly familiar the name felt when it passed through his lips…
Bobby too, in turn, had noticed some things about Dean's behavior around Sam, and vice-versa…and his struggles to keep it all to himself had become increasingly harder. He had never seen two completely different people who seemed to have such similar mannerisms – in everything from how they talked sometimes to how they moved. Hell, he'd even caught them accidentally speaking in stereo a couple of times or finishing each other's sentences, and Bobby had begun to grow suspicious that there was something more to the two young men than met the eye. True, Sam was still on his guard around them occasionally of course, and Dean still harbored shreds of reservation in his heart concerning the young psychic, but both were nonetheless slowly but surely loosening up and warming to each other…more frequently showing their true colors rather than staying hidden behind their masks of doubt and fear. And those said colors seemed to be…eerily identical in their shades at some moments, leaving Bobby perplexed…because the only explanation for that would be that the boys were –
"Related." Dean's sudden statement jolted the salvage yard owner out of his ruminations as he pushed the Impala on to their next hunt in eastern Kansas. Sam had handled a poltergeist and an amateur teenage witch – who no, was not named Sabrina to Dean's disappointment – with ease, and being that there had been no demon activity anywhere to speak of for the past few days, a vengeful spirit was next on the agenda. "Gregory Stanley was related to Louis and Martha Howell…well, Martha anyway. They were cousins…but what the real connection is from there, I have no idea."
"I do," Sam piped up from the backseat. "According to all this stuff I printed off from the county library before we left, Gregory took Martha in after both her parents fell victim to tuberculosis back in the late 1910s…raised her from the time she was three years old up until she turned sixteen and met Louis. The couple married two years after that and Louis rose to a high-ranking position, mayor of Eudora, Kansas."
"Nice," Dean muttered halfheartedly, trying to block out the thought of how close the town of Eudora was to the old Winchester stomping ground of Lawrence, Kansas…the one place he never wanted to see again, if he could help it. "And where did that leave our ghostly Greg?"
"Out in the cold, essentially," Sam answered with a frown. "Looks like Martha really took to the high life and forgot where she came from…or more importantly, just who got her to where she was. Gregory was still living in near poverty and apparently got so desperate as to beg for Martha's help…but she wouldn't lift a finger. Didn't wanna be associated in any way with someone that far down the social ladder."
"Hmph…nice girl," Bobby commented sardonically.
Sam shook his head sadly. "Yeah…and it got worse for Gregory. 'Cause soon after Martha turned him down, the Dust Bowl hit…and while that was of course disastrous for the entire state and just about everyone in it, it hit the poor especially hard. They compromised the largest percentage of casualties…Gregory was one of them. He died from a mixture of suffocation and heatstroke in the shantytown he lived in, while Martha and Louis stayed safe in their well-built home. Then around the time that the state finally started recovering from the Dust Bowl, strange things were reported happening in the couple's house, though it started out mostly tame…objects moving of their own volition, unexplained voices, the stench of all that prairie dust hanging thick in the air even after it was long gone…things like that. Then it escalated, started getting harmful, to the point where Louis and Martha started having trouble breathing and they feared for their lives. Martha was a believer in the paranormal though, and she suspected it might be Gregory, so she ordered his body retrieved from the shallow, unmarked grave it'd been tossed into and had it cremated. But the haunting didn't stop and they eventually moved out."
"Just like any others who've moved into the old place since then have ended up doing," Dean finished. "But you say the guy was cremated, right? Meaning no body to salt-n-burn."
"Then it's gotta be some kinda cursed object or human remains," Bobby proposed. "A lock of hair, an old drop of blood…somethin' like that. Does it say if Martha left anything when she moved out, Sam?"
"Yeah…she left everything, actually. She didn't know why she was still being haunted, and she didn't wanna take any chances. People have tried to modernize the house since then, of course, but a lot of Louis and Martha's stuff they left alone…some of them even testified to nearly getting sick when they tried removing this one particular thing."
Dean raised an intrigued brow. "And that is?"
"Martha's diary…it just sits there on an old table in the house's living room. It can apparently be touched, picked up even…but, anyone who tries to take it out of that room immediately complains that it feels like they're choking." Sam met the older men's eyes pointedly in the rearview mirror. "On dust. And it doesn't stop until they either drop the thing or put it back."
Bobby nodded. "I'd say that's the culprit, then…good work, Sam. We torch the diary and we should be good to go."
"Well then let's get a move on," Dean added, pressing the gas pedal further. Ten more minutes of driving then found them at their destination.
The Howell house would've likely been impressive in its day. Folk Victorian-style, two-stories with a large, wrap-around front porch, a cobblestone walkway leading up to it, and a stately oak tree shading one side. But time and vacancy had worn down its former beauty; the windows were now dirty and broken, the wooden siding splintered and weathered with pale yellow paint peeling and flaking off all surfaces, the front porch rickety and dilapidated, and the walkway and yard nearly covered in ugly brown weeds and overgrowth. In other words…the classic haunted house.
"Why anyone would actually wanna move into a place like this, you've got me," Dean grumbled as the trio stalked up the creaky steps to the front door with sawed-off shotguns in hand, loaded with rock salt and ready to fire. "I mean, doesn't this house just scream 'already occupied' to you?"
"I guess it does," Sam answered, even though he knew the question was rhetorical. "I think—"
"Hold that thought," Dean interrupted and then kicked in the rotted door with a flourish, granting them unauthorized entry. "Okie-dokie…continue."
"Okaaay…" the youngest man resumed with an amused shake of his head. "I was saying, I think that despite that possibility, people are attracted to and intrigued by the history of the place, maybe. Or hell…maybe for some of them, the prospect of a ghost being in their house is actually exciting."
Dean scoffed. "Yeah…and those are the ones that are a pain in our asses. Them and their Ouija boards and séances and thinkin' it's gonna be Casper when there usually ain't nothin' friendly about it."
"I hear ya," Bobby concurred. "But curiosity is human nature, for better or worse…that ain't gonna change no matter how many cases of harmful spirits ya get."
"Yeah, well…guess all we can do is make sure there's one less to worry about, then. But after this one? We're takin' a break."
'Break…break…'
The Winchester's words echoed unsettlingly in the silence of the abandoned structure. Old floorboards groaned under new weight as the three men made their way into the large foyer, Dean in the lead and Bobby bringing up the rear, with Sam protected between the two of them at Dean's insistence…much to the youngest man's chagrin. Faint morning sunlight spilled through the grimy windows, the weakness of the rays prompting the trio to employ their large flashlights as they continued further down the hall. Dean scanned the rooms with the strong beam from his, letting a low whistle. "Place is practically untouched in some of these areas…creepy. So, whadda'ya think of your first real live haunted house, Sammy?"
"I thought the poltergeist place was my first haunted house…and it's Sam."
Dean smirked. "Nah…that was technically an office building. I'm talkin' this," he spread his arms out in an all-encompassing gesture, "kinda thing. A haunted place that actually looks haunted."
Sam panned his own flashlight around at the statement, taking in the old house…and he couldn't help but give a shudder. Dean was right. Wallpaper hung loose in jagged tears in several areas, while any bare walls were no longer white but yellowed and stained with age. Cobwebs were scattered about, clinging to the many antiques that lent their décor to the huge rooms…everything from tables and chairs, to clocks and old hurricane lamps, reminding Sam that electricity was a rare thing for homes back in that day and only to be used in moderation for those who had it. Pictures also lined the decaying walls, most of them still-life paintings with plant or animal subject matter, but a couple of them people whose eyes really did seem to follow him wherever he went, cliché as it sounded. Peeking into open doors he could see, among other things, a bed with a large canopy over it, a fully-stocked kitchen that looked as though it was frozen in time, and what appeared to be a bathroom if the large, claw-footed tub was anything to go by. He cleared his throat.
"Um…like you said. Creepy. But, uh…when is the ghost gonna make his appearance?"
"Usually happens whenever we get close to whatever it is that's keepin' it around…be that a body or a personal effect or whatever," Bobby answered professionally. "Speakin' of…anybody spotted the diary yet?"
"No, I—"
"Found it!" Dean's voice sounded from a nearby room, cutting off Sam's reply and causing him to wonder just when the green-eyed hunter had separated from them.
They found the man in question standing in the doorway of a large sitting room, pointing at one corner of it with a triumphant grin on his face. But instead of getting commendations for his find, he got a brisk whack with Bobby's trucker's cap. "Ow! What was that for…I found the diary didn't I?"
"That was for goin' off alone, ya idjit…you know better than that."
"Yeah, yeah…" Dean muttered back huffily. "Now can we get this party started already?"
"Be careful what ya wish for, boy," Bobby warned. "'Cause I'd say we're likely to get an unwanted guest soon enough. You 'n Sam stay back there and cover me now while I try an' see exactly what secrets this here diary holds."
Both young men watched, Dean impatiently and Sam anxiously, as Bobby leafed through page after page unmolested, not even detecting the slightest change in air pressure or temperature that would signal the arrival of the spirit of Gregory Stanley. Minutes passed as he skimmed through the entries, and finally Dean began to grow restless. "Damn, I'm about to fall asleep standin' up here…anything yet?"
"Not much so far," Bobby replied while still bent over the book. "Just a lot of things about her husband, social gatherings, quilting sessions with her friends…wait a minute." Both boys' attention perked up at the words and the dirty, unopened envelope that the older man extracted from between two of the diary's pages. "It's addressed to Martha…let's see what it's all about."
No sooner had Bobby spoken the words than Sam felt a light breeze ruffle the hair on the back of his head, as if a fan had been turned on. But he knew there was no fan in the room, and the air was icy cold…which could only mean… "Dean! I think it's—agh!"
"Sam!" Dean shouted as the younger man was jerked backwards by an invisible force to slide along the scuffed hardwood floor in a tangle of long arms and legs. "Shit, Bobby!" Dean called over his shoulder as he rushed to defend the kid. "You're obviously onto somethin', keep it up!" Skidding to a halt beside the fallen psychic, he barely had enough time to raise his shotgun and fire at Gregory's rapidly approaching form, dispersing the entity long enough for him to haul a slightly dazed Sam back to his feet. "You see it coming, shoot it!" he ordered before turning back to Bobby. "Anything else?"
Bobby had planned to scan through the letter's contents quickly as he did his best to block out all the action behind him and his worry for the boys…but that proved to be unnecessary. Almost immediately, his eyes were drawn to the signature at the bottom, standing out in all its crimson glory amidst the rest of the words penned in black. He read the words written above the signature aloud. "My dearest cousin, I remember the truth, that no matter how far apart we grow we are still bound by blood. My only hope is that you will remember this also, before the end." Bound by blood…that ain't no red ink! He turned abruptly to Dean. "Blood, boys! Gregory wrote this letter and signed it in his own blood…human remains! Toss me the lighter!"
"Comin' right up!" Dean declared as he plunged his hand into his jacket pocket to retrieve the small item…and then suddenly went flying sideways across the room to smash into a glass curio cabinet.
"Dean, no!" Sam yelled as he instantly sprinted to the Winchester's aid, barely registering Bobby's frantic command behind him.
"Sam! Stay calm, Dean has to wait, you've gotta get that lighter to me and cover me!"
The young psychic nodded shakily as he dug the requested item out of Dean's jacket pocket, trying not to look at the blood that was slowly pooling under the older man's side.
"Get it over here, Sam, now!" Bobby urged, then watched with dismay as Sam's running feet were swept out from under him and the young man fell forward, the impact causing the lighter to come loose from his hand. Fortunately, however, it slid across the floor straight at the feet of the salvage yard owner.
Unfortunately, though…Gregory now had his spectral hands wrapped around Sam's long neck in a bruising, merciless grip. The boy's blue-green eyes were blown wide in panic, his face already suffusing with red under the assault…and he couldn't even lift his hand in a last ditch hope that his powers would work on a spirit as well, though he did try.
Shit! "Hang on, Sam!" Bobby snatched the lighter off the floor and flicked the flame to life with lightning speed, holding it to the corner of the letter and watching with relief as the brittle parchment immediately went up in hues of red, orange, and black.
Watching with even greater relief as Gregory's spirit did the same seconds later…leaving Sam a gasping, sputtering mess on the floor.
"Sam," Bobby beckoned as he rushed to the young man's side and helped him into a sitting position. "You okay, kid?"
"Yeah," the psychic assured in a breathless, raspy tone. "D-don't worry 'bout me…De…Dean's hurt."
But the eldest hunter was already across the room assessing his other companion before Sam could even get the words out. "Damn…he's got a glass shard stuck in his side. He ain't bleedin' out the mouth so it apparently missed all 'is vital organs, but it still ain't nothin' to mess with…we need to get 'im to a hospital. Carside triage ain't gonna cut it and the motel's too far away." He patted the Winchester's cheek. "Dean? Dean…can ya hear me, son?" His question was met with a low moan and twitching eyelids and Bobby pressed on. "That's it, boy…come on back."
"B'bby…ugh…s'n 'fa b'tch s'mthin' burns…"
"You've got some glass in ya, Dean…you're gonna be fine. It's the hospital for ya though," Bobby informed the injured hunter as he and Sam gingerly lifted him off the dusty floor.
"Sh't…h't h'sptals…"
"I know, son…don't care for 'em much myself either. But our usual do-it-yourself patch-ups ain't gonna work this time. And sorry to say we've gotta leave the glass in ya side for now…you know how it goes."
"No bl'din."
"S'right."
"Sh't."
"I know."
"S'mmy?"
"Right here, dude," the youngest man replied, putting himself into Dean's line of vision with a soft smile on his face. "And it's Sam, remember?"
"Y'h, y'h…"
Reaching the Impala, Bobby instructed Sam to get in the backseat so that he could keep Dean stable on the ride to the hospital. The young psychic awkwardly allowed his lap to become a pillow for Dean's head, and he was thankful that the older man was only half-conscious or else he knew he'd never hear the end of it. "Good to go?" he questioned Bobby as the bearded hunter climbed behind the wheel.
"Yep," came the confirmation along with the start of the engine. "Now we've just gotta find the nearest hospital."
"I'm pretty sure there would be one in Lawrence," Sam proposed. "I saw the exit for that city; it's not far from here."
Bobby nodded. "Good eye, kid…sounds fine to me."
Sam nodded back, glancing briefly at Dean's closed eyes and then back up to Bobby. "M'sorry, ya know."
"What for?" Bobby queried, eyes narrowing at Sam in the rearview mirror.
"That Dean got hurt…maybe if I would've done something different it—"
"Now don't you go doin' that, boy," Bobby quickly scolded. "Damn, you and him are even more alike than I thought...."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean he does the same thing," the gruff hunter responded with an exasperated sigh. "Blames 'imself for stuff that ain't at all his fault." Faded blue eyes met apologetic blue-green ones as Bobby looked over his shoulder at Sam. "You done good back there, kid…don't let this one incident convince ya otherwise. Dean's gonna be fine…he's had a lot worse than this, believe me. This is a paper cut to him."
"But I was freaked, I—"
"Had never hunted a spirit before," Bobby finished for the distraught boy. "True, on paper demons sound a whole lot tougher to deal with, but not for you…you're experienced with demons, you've got your powers…you've got an easy, surefire way of takin' 'em out. Ya didn't have that luxury with that ghost back there, though…it was a first for ya, whole different ballgame." Bobby flipped on the right blinker as the exit for Lawrence approached. "And like I said, for your first time…ya done good. Take it from someone who's been around the block, kid."
Sam took a few seconds before he reluctantly acquiesced. "Okay…thanks. But um, just for the record? The way I exorcise demons isn't easy or luxurious."
Bobby would've kicked himself if he could've, vivid memories of the boy's nosebleed and killer post-exorcism migraine leaping into his brain. "I know that, kid, sorry…didn't think 'fore I spoke, there."
"S'okay..." Sam forgave. "I guess I am starting to get a little better at it, though…the side-effects used to be a lot worse."
Bobby chuffed audibly. "Damn, boy…would hate to see worse than what we did see." Sam had no answer to that, and around twenty minutes of silence passed between them as the older man navigated the black classic into the outskirts of the city, within minutes locating a street that had a square blue sign labeled with a white "H" prominently displayed on a lamppost. After he'd driven down more streets with identical signs on their corners for some time, Bobby spoke up again. "How's he doin' back there?"
"Seems good. Breathing's even," Sam offered. "Strong, steady pulse. But every few minutes I think he feels a little bit of the pain, so…I hope we're almost there, anyway."
"Not just almost, kid," Bobby answered with a wave out the window to the large, pristine structure that finally appeared on their left. "We are here." The hunter deftly steered the Impala into the large parking lot, pulling into the first available space he saw before killing the engine and turning back to Sam. "Help me get 'im inside?"
And together the two men did just that, pleased and relieved when hospital staff gave immediate attention to Dean upon seeing the blood on his shirt and hearing what was wrong with him. They watched with hints of anxiety in their eyes as the Winchester was wheeled away on a gurney – the newly-conscious injured hunter grumbling at the nurses and orderlies all the while not to let any blood get on his leather jacket – and settled themselves in the waiting room chairs as he disappeared behind closed doors.
Both were unsure at that moment of who they felt sorrier for…Dean, or the poor souls assigned to take care of him and his hospital-induced grouchiness.
TBC…
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A/N: Aw, poor Dean…Sam's first real hard-knock hunt with him and Bobby, only it wasn't Sam who seemed to take the hardest knock, LOL...although, knowing Dean, he probably prefers himself to be hurt over Sam anyway. But one thing is the same for Sam, at least...ghosts still like to go for that neck of his! Hee-hee, couldn't resist it…
Aside from the hunts, though, looks like more and more puzzle pieces are starting to fall into place regarding a certain truth – with Bobby and even Dean himself increasingly noticing how well and quickly Sam has been fitting into the older Winchester's world…will that lead to something important? Well, if it does, what better place for that to happen than the city where it all began…
I so appreciate all the positive attention this story has been getting, and for that I thank my LLS for making sure everything is clean before I post, and my readers and reviewers for their kind words and continued feedback afterI post! LOL. The next chapter will be up Monday! :-D
