The Great Gumball Affair

By: Maygin

Summary: Dean and Sam head south to deal with a thousand year old legend that no one will touch… perhaps because they're too busy laughing at it?

The Blah-Blah Section: Yeah! One more chapter after this! I think this chapter will put a lot of your questions about a certain someone to rest ;)

Chapter 7

"Hey, you boys alright?" Gus called worriedly from the front porch steps of the Bed and Breakfast as the Winchester brothers tiredly trudged up the road. "We heard the explosions and saw the sky fill with smoke… we was about to come out there and have a look fer ourselves." His head turned to the younger brother. "You look like shit."

"Yeah, about the truck-" Sam started with a cringe.

"We saw some drunk guys out in the field way down the road setting fire to that old tree everyone talks about-"

"Ole Gumbie?" Gus asked incredulously, his eyes widening. "What the hell sonsabitches would do that?!"

"Our thoughts exactly," Dean heartily agreed.

"So we thought we'd check it out… maybe run em off."

"And since we had the truck and we were there…"

"We thought we might go ahead and try to put out the fire."

"No shit?" Gus' eyes widened even further with excitement, and then he leaned to the side, looking past the boys, noticing the distinct lack of truck behind them. "Didn't go so well huh?" he asked with the same customary casualness the mechanic seemed famous for.

Dean almost rolled his eyes in disbelief; if it had been the Impala, he'd have already dismembered the persons head from their body.

"Yeeeaaah," Sam drawled, feeling the same as his brother. "Apparently the drunk guys had- um…" he pressed his lips together, suddenly realizing just how ridiculous their cover sounded, "explosives."

"Son of a bitch!" Gus slapped his leg with an excited laugh, followed by some hooting and hollering. "Damn! You boys know how to have a good time!"

Dean and Sam awkwardly glanced sideways at each other. Dean attempted a direct approach instead, "The truck blew up."

"Holy Shit!" Gus laughed loudly in disbelief, clapping his hands. He seemed to calm down for a moment only to bust out laughing again. Dean cleared his throat as Sam chewed on his lip. "Oh… man," Gus blew out a blissful breath of air, pulling his sweat-stained cap from his head and smacking it against his leg, dust billowing in the air, before plopping it back on. He gave a small nod, and then sighed again. "Well I'll let the Sheriff know what happened," he finally said, his expression slowly turning forlorn. "Look, uh…" he glanced behind him hesitantly, "I hate to be the one to tell you this but uh… well- Grandma Bee died earlier this mornin."

Sam's face dropped as he felt a lead weight drop in his gut. "What?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yep," Gus sadly nodded, pulling his cap from his head again to awkwardly fiddle with it between his hands. "Apparently Miss Rosa was stopping by for their weekly game of cribbage and found her asleep on the couch. …only she wasn't asleep."

"God," Sam half said, half whispered, expressing his horror.

"Yeah," Gus nodded sadly, his eyes awkwardly avoiding theirs. "Apparently she died holding a rolling pin to her chest and a smile on her face though, so…"

Sam's forehead smoothed out as an odd choking noise suddenly erupted from his brother. He slapped his hand hard against his struggling brother's chest when Gus turned to glance at the house again.

"I reckon Pete'll be by later to take the body to the funeral home," Gus said as he turned back to the boys, completely oblivious of Dean's losing battle to laughter and Sam's horrified embarrassment. Sam gave a sympathetic nod of understanding. "I figure you boys are welcome to stay until you can git yerselves situated to move on. I'm sure it's what Grandma Bee woulda wanted."

Dean's head tilted, his lips pressed firmly together as tears formed in his eyes. Gus noticed and misinterpreted the older Winchester's struggles as grief. He reached forward and rested a hand on the younger man's shoulder, giving it a good squeeze. "It's okay Dean. Ain't no shame in crying. Let it out man… Lyford cries with you."

A choking snort bursted from Dean's lips who immediately hunched his shoulders and dropped his head and at least attempted to hide his tears of laughter behind a hand. His other hand clamped onto Gus', giving it a camaraderie squeeze in return. Sam glowered across the lawn, intentionally not looking at his brother knowing he'd only be driven to homicidal acts.

"Thanks Gus," Dean managed with a nod, still not raising his head as he wiped at his eyes again.

"Anytime man, anytime." Gus gave him another squeeze on his shoulder and then stepped back. "Well, I gotta get back to the shop; see if I can drum up a new fire truck." He shook his head with a smirk, "Man, wait until Goober hears about this." He plopped his hat back on, "You boys let me know if you need anything else before you head out. They'll be by to pick up the body in an hour or so."

"Thank Gus," Sam quietly responded, his eyes sullenly watching the house. Gus gave a final nod and then hopped into his truck and drove off.

Dean sighed before gently tagging his brothers arm and walking toward the house, "Come on."

Sam followed after him; warily walking through the front door, his eyes scanning the living room as they neared it. There, lying on the couch, exactly as Gus had said, was Beatrice Montgomery; with a rolling pin held to her chest and a peaceful expression on her face. Sam stopped short of the couch and just stared. Dean stood beside him, gazing down respectfully despite his earlier amusement. She'd been more than good to them and he wanted to offer her that if nothing else. But he couldn't imagine a woman who was always so lively and spirited in life would want them moping around her dead body. Dean almost imagined her death position as her final salute to the world; her last farewell as she now eagerly and happily sought out her next adventure facing the afterlife. He let out a breath of a laugh, wishing her well. And then he looked at Sam who hadn't moved; hadn't even blinked.

"You alright," Dean asked quietly enough that his brother could act like he never heard it if he wanted to.

Sam looked to be doing just that when his head jerked slightly toward him, not quite looking at him. "We should've scanned the house," his voice low.

"What?" Dean frowned, not expecting that.

"She trusted us to keep her safe and we didn't."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Now he was a little worried.

Sam suddenly turned and brushed past Dean, "I'm getting the EMF and the guns. We need to scan the house; we need to find out what did this."

"Whoa-whoa wait a second Sammy," Dean half-chuckled incredulously, grabbing the younger man's arm, mindful of the cuts on his hands. "If something had been in the house, we would've noticed it by now. A spirit didn't do this-"

"Well then we need to figure out what did," Sam twisted his arm with annoyance to free it.

Dean gripped it tighter, jerking toward him. "Sam," he said firmly, "Nothing evil did this. She was an old lady and I'm sorry but that's just the way it is." He dropped the younger man's arm and spoke softly, "She was ninety years old dude… she wasn't gonna live forever."

And Dean almost wished he'd kept his mouth shut and let Sam think it was a spirit of some kind; because the look his little brother gave him was something new and heartbreakingly innocent. He suddenly realized his brother had probably never been around anyone that had died of natural causes before. Through all the blood and guts and dismemberments and broken bodies and burnt corpses – Sammy had never had anyone die on him because it was simply their time. There was always something for them to blame, to hunt, to exact revenge on… but this… this was just death. No rhyme or reason and something Sam was finding himself helpless to do anything about.

Dean flexed his hands as he awkwardly scanned the room while Sam, still speckled and smeared with drying blood just stared at the woman who'd made them smiley-face pancakes that morning. "Why don't you wait here Sammy," he said softly, "I'll go get our stuff." He waited another moment for his brother to give him a barely-there nod without looking up before slowly making his way upstairs to their room to pack their stuff up.

When Dean came back downstairs with a duffle bag on each shoulder, he found the living room lacking anything living. "Sam," he called casually, setting the bags down and checking out the back porch windows followed by the kitchen and dining room. When he entered the living room again he noticed Grandma Beatrice had an old crocheted blanket draped gently across her frame. Dean gave her one last nod of thanks before walking toward the hallway and shouldering their bags again, walking out the front door. "Sam?" he called as he closed the door behind him, hoping to find his sibling waiting next to the car. He caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye to his right, sitting perfectly still in one of the old rocking chairs.

Dean gently laid the bags down and slowly walked across porch, crossing in front of his brother and taking a seat in the other rocking chair with a sigh. He let his eyes roam over the landscape, gently rocking back and forth; taking in the last peaceful moments of Lyford's darling.

"What if this was our fault," Sam finally voiced quietly, his eyes never straying from the southern landscape.

"It's not," Dean answered in kind, only with confidence as he continued his slow rocking.

"But what if it is? What if we- with the tree, and-" he asked hesitantly.

"Sam," Dean said gently, his head rolling to the left as he stilled his chair, "this has nothing to do with that." Sam's head haltingly turned toward his brother. "She was really old and that's it."

Sam turned to look back out across the yard. Seconds ticked by as Dean renewed his slow rocking.

"It's just not fair," Sam whispered without looking at him. And Dean was almost uncertain if Sam was even talking to him.

"She lived a good long life."

"How do you know?" Sam asked slightly accusing though he hadn't meant for it to come out that way.

Dean puckered his chin in thought. "Because she still found it within herself to laugh at age ninety."

Sam's eyes drifted and slowly found Dean's. A smirk slowly formed on his face before he looked down at his towel-wrapped hands and then across the yard again. "So," he shifted slightly with a grin, "Vanquishers of the Exploding Gumball huh?"

Dean snorted softly, "Champions of the Spiky Ball of Death."

"Defacers of the Lone Firetruck."

Dean laughed and drew in a breath behind his open smile, pushing himself to his feet and stretching sore muscles with a loud groan. "Alright, where to next," he clapped his hands.

Sam watched him amusedly and shrugged.

"Wanna hit up the Alamo?"

Sam snorted, "Whatever, as long I get a shower sometime today. I think I've still got glass in my hands," he said as he rose and followed his brother down the hollow porch steps to their car.

"Kits in the back seat, we'll stop at a gas station outside of town." Dean's door opened loudly with a squeak as he prepared to drop into his seat.

"Looks different doesn't it?" Sam asked, watching the house from his car door.

Dean paused to gaze over the car at their brief safe haven. Sam was right; it almost looked aged and worn down now, the white siding looking almost dull and the inside shadowed. It was no longer the welcoming bright light of Lyford the boys had stepped into. Dean sighed. He couldn't believe how one, ninety-year, hunched-back little old lady could bring so much life and joy to a house. No… he thought; he could believe it actually. He'd had it once himself, only she wasn't ninety and she wasn't hunch-backed… she was beautiful and she loved her family. His gaze switched to his brother who was still staring longingly at the house. He suddenly understood normal, and realized he just how much he kinda missed it himself.

"Come on Sam," Dean dropped into the car, "Day's wastin away and there's a whole world out there for us to see."

Sam smiled fondly as he continued to watch the house, remembering Grannie saying the same thing earlier that day. He gave a final nod to the Bed and Breakfast before dropping into his seat and shutting his door; the Impala slowly making its way down the gravel driveway and out of sight.

TBC…

(Okay, for those of you who were wondering what was up with Grannie Bee or that I was gonna turn her evil somehow… you totally cracked me up! Because I had every intention of putting a twist in there where she ends up being like the witch from Hansel and Gretel; and though – yeah – it would've been funny and fun, I just really wanted to touch on something else. I needed my angst! ;) Let me know what you think – was where I took it okay or do people want to kill me now that Grannie's gone?) (I'll upload final chapter tomorrow – promise)