Chapter 9: Time for Truth
Dim lighting, loud music, and a grimy table-top. It was the same everywhere, no matter what corner of the country he traveled to. Ever since he'd been a child, seedy bars and cheap beer had been at the center of Dean's comfort zone. He settled into the booth and wrapped both hands around his beer. The cheap liquid hit his throat, and he grimaced. Terrible. Exactly what he needed.
It settled his nerves, which had been rattled ever since he found his car had been invaded. The idea of someone reading his journals was like an itch he couldn't shake, but he had no way to track down the culprit now. He had a sneaking suspicion the answer would be forthcoming sooner rather than later.
Just like everything about this job went sideways sooner rather than later.
They had gone about this all wrong. In Sam's eagerness to please, and Dean's hesitation to make a wrong move around the Moore's, they'd left all of their best habits behind. Telling the truth, working for the government, Dean didn't know how to play that role. He was done trying.
Sheriff Mann sat across the table, swirling his beer and giving Dean sideways looks, one hand settled near his belt, in easy reach of his gun. He was suspicious, and he had every right to be. Sam and Dean didn't belong in his happy small-town world, and he knew it. They didn't fit, so he automatically classified them as a threat and reacted accordingly.
"So, Mr. Winchester, what do you have to tell me that will change everything? You think we'll swap stories over beer and be best buddies? You'll let me beat you at darts and I'll be eternally grateful and stop dogging your every step?"
"First, you could never beat me at darts. Second, I'm not the story-telling kind. Third, you're gonna get yourself hurt, not the other way around, if you keep poking your nose in our business. This is for your own good."
"Oh?" Mann pushed his beer aside, untouched. Keeping a clear head for the conversation ahead.
Dean took a long drink and smacked his lips appreciatively. "No, Sheriff, I am not going to try to manipulate or bribe you. I can see that it won't work. You are an experienced lawman, and you've made it clear you can't be conned. So I'm dropping the act and I'm telling you the truth."
Mann leaned, elbows on the table. "Really? And what is the truth, Mr. Winchester? Are you going to tell me you weren't on the FBI's most wanted list?"
"Oh, no, we were on it." Dean reached into his coat and pulled out a badge he'd made especially for this job. Just in case. And because he'd always wanted one. An FBI badge for Dean Winchester. He handed it over to Sheriff Mann for inspection. "We're in the FBI. We were working undercover, trying to draw out some really nasty perps. They were getting suspicious, and we needed to do something to convince them we were serious, and draw them into our trap. There was a nation-wide man-hunt, but we weren't the target, we were the bait. Worked so well the first time, we used the same strategy again."
Mann opened his mouth, but Dean held up a hand. "No, no. I know what you're going to say. What about the videos of the massacres at the bank and the diner? We have a guy in L.A. It's amazing what people can do with camera angles and blue screens."
Mann's eyes narrowed, and he focused in on Dean's badge. "FBI agents. But Sam dropped out of Stanford."
Dean shrugged. "He transferred. Didn't want to stay in Palo Alto after his girlfriend died, so he finished school closer to home. We went through Quantico at the same time. Our dad taught us a special skill set when we were kids, and the FBI couldn't wait to put us in the field. We take on the nastiest cases, and that's what we've got here. I can't share the details, but I can tell you that if you get in our way, you'll just cause more trouble."
"Undercover FBI." Sheriff Mann shook his head and downed half his beer in one go. "So, Winchester, this is what you look like when you're telling the truth?"
Dean flashed his best 'good old boy' grin. "You strike me as a man who knows the truth when he hears it."
"Hm." Mann handed the badge back to Dean. "Why not just come in, declare the case your jurisdiction, and cut me out?"
"When the FBI comes around, word gets out. We need to keep this one quiet, for reasons I can't explain. No one else can know we're FBI. Not even the Mayor."
Mann's eyebrows climbed his forehead, and the edges of his mouth twitched, fighting a grin. "The Mayor doesn't know?"
Dean shook his head. "No. His history with Sammy gave us the perfect in. He thinks we're here to do research. You know the line Sam fed you at the morgue?"
"I knew that was bullshit!"
"The Mayor bought it hook, line, and sinker. We need to keep it that way, ok?"
"You got it, Agent Winchester." Mann smiled and finished off his beer. "Want another round?"
"Sure." Dean lifted his glass and raised it to the Sheriff. "Here's to telling the truth." He drained his glass dry and settled back for a good story-swapping session.
"You know, the Mayor isn't always the best at spotting cons." Mann leaned forward. "Once, we were working this case with a string of bad credit cards and…"
Dean's phone rang, cutting off the Sheriff mid-sentence. Claire. "Sorry, Sheriff, this is an important call." Dean answered the phone. "Hey, what's up?"
"Sam's not here," Claire said.
"What do you mean?" Dean's voice dropped dangerously low. Even though it wasn't Claire's fault his brother was chronically incapable of doing as he was told.
"Well, you told me to check on him and call you if there was a problem. But he's not here. He's not in his room, he's not in the hotel, he's not anywhere near here."
"Right. I'm on my way." Dean cut off the call and turned back to the Sheriff. "Sorry, Sheriff. Another time. Duty calls." Dean dropped a bundle of cash on the table to cover the beers and stepped out of the dingy bar and into the bright afternoon sun.
Kelpie, vanished. Journals, stolen. Brother, missing. Something was up. Something was wrong, and Dean was going to find out what.
000 Lakeport 000
Brian sat under the awning at the entrance to the Holiday Inn. It was a pleasant spot, covered in shade with a slight breeze ruffling his hair. A fountain burbled at his side, and soft music piped from speakers fixed in the awning. It was designed by a team of marketing professionals to creation a sensation of relaxation. But nothing could soothe the tension in Brian's shoulders, not today. He felt like a band-aid had been ripped off his heart, one he had forgotten he was wearing.
She had found out about everything. The darkness in the world that he had tried so hard to hide from her, she had taken in in the space of an afternoon. She hadn't cracked, hadn't cried, hadn't even had the urge to run and hide. It didn't scare her, didn't even surprise her. Because she'd had a secret, too.
Jessica.
Brian clenched the magazines in his hand, rolled up to hide the inappropriate covers from public view. All this time spent hiding from the shadows, and he'd missed the most important thing to happen in his house these past twelve years.
He rubbed his chest, but there was no band-aid to help this ache.
Sun flashed in his eyes, the glare reflected off of a black metal surface. Brian looked up to see the Impala rumble into a parking space. He rose to his feet and straightened his shirt. Sam would be irritated, but wouldn't take it out on anyone, Brian was fairly sure. But he didn't really know Dean, not well.
How would he react to the theft? Brian didn't know. It was why he had insisted Sandy stay home for this part.
"Dean." He waved at the hunter as he stepped out of his car.
Dean waved, then paused when he caught sight of the magazine-roll in Brian's hand. A thunderous clouded his face, and then came to stand toe-to-toe with Brian, arms crossed.
"Mayor," he rumbled.
"Dean." Brian let the magazines flop open, revealing their covers. "I believe these are yours."
"Damn straight." Dean snatched the magazines from his hands. "What did you need to know, that you couldn't ask Sam? You broke into my car."
"I-didn't." Brian had considered trying to shield Sandy from this, but they had both decided to be done with lies, even small omissions. "My wife did." He watched Dean's reaction carefully. Sandy could be packed and out of town within the hour.
Dean pulled his journals closer to his torso. "Sandy?" He rocked back a step, and gave Brian a sideways look. "Your wife? Huh. You married a smart woman, Mayor. I knew she wouldn't be happy with our story for long. Wait-" He frowned. "She broke into my car? I didn't think she was the type."
Brian shrugged. "Sam taught her how."
Dean's mouth tilted in a half-grin. Brian relaxed; the danger had passed. "Of course he did. So. What did she make of it?"
Brian pursed his lips. "Actually, she wasn't really surprised. It turns out she's seen a bit of the supernatural herself."
"Really?"
Brian nodded. "I think she may have sent a ghost home with you."
The thunder was back in Dean's face, dark and dangerous. "What?" he growled. "Your wife sent Jessica's ghost with Sam on purpose?"
"You knew?"
"Yeah, I knew as soon as the lights went out at dinner. Classic ghost signs." Dean clenched the magazines in a tight fist and pointed the roll at Brian's chest. "So help me, if anything happens to Sam-"
"Happens?" Brian swallowed against a sudden bitter taste in the back of his throat. "What could happen? She's a flickering image, at most. Sometimes, she sings to the grandchildren. That's all. They think she's their imaginary friend."
"Imaginary friend?" Dean wiped a hand over his face. "Mayor-spirits are dangerous. They don't understand what's happened to them, they don't see clearly through the veil and don't understand what is happening in the world around them. They're stuck with the feelings they had when they died, usually rage and pain. They almost always go vengeful."
Vengeful. The word was clear, sharp and bloody, but Brian still had to ask, "What does that mean?"
"They start to do things. Like short out the electricity and make the room go cold. Then they start moving things around, locking doors, throwing things. Eventually, they get strong enough to possess other people. And they start to kill."
"Kill?" Brian shook his head. "Jessica would never-"
"Jessica was killed by a demon. She died bloody and in pain and who knows how mad she was when she passed. She's not your daughter anymore, not really. She's a shadow of the person she was, stuck in a world she doesn't belong in anymore. She's got to move on."
"Yes," Brian latched onto those words. He knew the right answer when he heard it, even if his feelings didn't follow. "That's what Sandy wanted. She wanted to her to move on. She knew it wasn't good-"
"Did she now? How?" Dean growled.
"I don't know. She just said she knew Jessica needed to move on, and it wasn't going to happen if she stayed with us. She hoped Jessica's ghost could find what she needed with Sam."
"Yeah, or kill him."
"No," Brian said instantly. "Not Jessica, not my daughter." It didn't matter what Dean knew about the supernatural world, he didn't know Jessica. Not the way her father did. "She'd never-Sandy had no idea that could be possible."
"I think it's time your wife and I had a little talk. As soon as I find Sam." Dean moved around Brian, but he caught Dean's sleeve. The hunter was angry, and he had every right to be, but Brian knew there might not be another time to ask his question.
"Can I talk to her? Jessica. Do you know of a way I can see her, tell her-say goodbye?" He knew she couldn't stay, but they'd been robbed of a proper farewell. Her loss had been a sudden surprise, a gaping, empty hole in a future that she should have filled. More than anything, he'd wished for just a few more moments.
Dean stopped and turned back to Brian, and his expression softened. "Yeah. There might be a way." He nodded to the hotel doors. A young woman exited, a large cardboard box in her hands.
"Hey, Dean. I went through all this stuff with the EMF reader, and got nothing. Whatever the ghost is attached to it isn't here."
Dean nodded, as if he wasn't surprised. "Right, Sam's got it with him. Claire, this is the Mayor. He's the one who called us in for the hunt. Did you get any leads on where Sam went?"
Claire shook her head. "No, the girl at the desk just said he went in and out a lot over the past few hours. He had something different from the box with him each time."
"Hm. He's testing."
Claire shrugged. "Maybe. Look, Dean, I was thinking. This thing we're hunting, the kelpie. How could it-"
"Not now, Claire. We've got to find Sam." Claire glared, but Dean held up a hand. "He hasn't answered his phone for half an hour, and he's alone with a ghost he's got a lot of history with."
"Brian." Dean turned to the Mayor. "Do you know where Sam might be? I mean, where would he and Jessica go together?"
Brian frowned. He didn't want Dean and his gun anywhere near his daughter, ghost or not, but he also knew they needed to find Sam. "There was the park across from their apartment. Jessica liked to pack a picnic on the weekend."
Dean nodded and steered Brian toward his car. "That sounds about right. Show me the way."
000 Lakeport 000
Sleepy Hollow Park. The name had always seemed ominous to Sam. He couldn't help but think of Ichabod Crane running from the headless horseman. Not that Sam would ever be afraid of a headless horseman-he was likely just a vengeful spirit, and a little salt would keep him at bay easily enough. Jessica had never cared. She'd laughed when he mentioned it, and strode right past the sign to spread their picnic blanket under this tree. It was a big old weeping willow with low-hanging branches that draped a green curtain over their private alcove.
The grass was thick and springy today, no blanket needed. The tree trunk was smooth, and Sam leaned back into the grooved surface, hands behind his head, waiting.
He had been back and forth from the park to the hotel six times already, once with each object from Jessica's box, starting with the Smurfette. So far, there had been no reaction. Either this was it, and she would show up, or he still had no idea which object Jessica had attached herself to.
Sam turned the diamond ring over in his fingers, watching the shadows play over the multi-faceted surface. He had imagined showing it to her, the look on her face, placing it on her finger, so many times. The images rolled through his mind, familiar and real as if they were actual memories. He could see her in her wedding dress, glowing in white with a bouquet of daisies in her hands. He didn't know what flowers she would have chosen for their wedding, but he always saw her with daisies; sunny and warm.
There had never been any question of her answer when he offered the ring. She had made that clear months before, here in Lakeport, after she had met his family and made the choice to stay with him anyway. The ring just mean that they finally had enough money saved up to make their dreams real.
What would she have done, if she'd learned the truth? The real truth? There was no way to know.
"I miss you." Sam felt tears rolling down his cheeks, and didn't bother to wipe them away. It had been years since he had thought about Jess, years since he had last cried for her. But it felt the same today as it had then. "We were so good together, you and me. You made me laugh more than anyone else I've ever known. I needed that."
"You were the sweet one," Jessica said. She was there beside him, her hand wrapped around his. Around the engagement ring she had never worn. "When I was surrounded by a bunch of jocks trying to impress the pretty girl, you saw me."
"You made me feel like I could have a home, for the first time in my life."
"You were sad and mysterious, when my life had no unanswered questions. You made life exciting, Sam Winchester."
Sam placed his hand on top of hers. It felt warm, solid, almost real. Almost.
"Jessica. What are you doing here? What are you waiting for?"
"I've been waiting for you, Sam. You said you'd be back for your interview. If you get that scholarship, we don't have to wait until you graduate law school to get married. It's our whole future on a platter."
The words wrenched at something in his chest. "Jess. That was over ten years ago."
She placed her hand on his cheek. "I've been waiting for you, Sam." She leaned forward, drawing his head closer for a long, deep kiss. Sam didn't resist. He wanted it, longed for it, but it wasn't right. He could see her in front of him, feel her presence against him, but with none of her warmth, no heartbeat, no breath.
She was dead, and there was no escaping that fact.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I'm sorry Jess, so sorry I was too late."
"I made cookies." She smiled. "Your favorite. Do you want some?"
"I don't think-"
"Sammy!" The voice was familiar, Sam had heard that deep bellow a thousand times. One word conveyed a hundred things all at once. Where are you. I'm worried about you. If you aren't dead I'll kill you myself for worrying me. But, more than anything, it was a warning to anything that might threaten him.
Like a vengeful spirit.
Sam turned and saw his big brother striding across the park in full attack mode, reaching behind his back for his gun. Brian Moore trotted behind him, staring at Jess.
Sam raised a hand. "Dean it's ok-"
Bang! The gunshot cracked across the park. Jessica shrieked, and winked out. Wind whipped through the tree branches.
"Sammy, are you ok?" Dean hadn't lowered his gun, and dodged away from Brian, who looked ready to knock the firearm out of Dean's grip.
"What did you do? Where did she go?" Brian gasped.
"Iron rounds dispel spirits," Dean said tersely.
"Dean, I'm fine. She's not-" Sam pulled himself to his feet and moved toward his brother, to demonstrate that all body parts were fully intact and functional. He was stopped by a fall of tree limbs. The curtain of weeping willow branches drew together, blocking his path.
Or blocking Dean from getting in.
"Not vengeful," Sam finished. Yet, the small voice at the back of his head that sounded a lot like Bobby said.
"Sam!" Dean beat at the branches, but the wind just grew stronger.
"Sam." Jessica's voice sounded hollow. She was back, her arms wrapped around him, cold but strong. "Don't leave me."
Sam felt the icy chill sink into his chest. He wrapped his fingers around the diamond ring in his palm. "I never wanted to, Jess. I won't leave you again. I promise."
Deans face broke through the branches, followed closely by the fist clutching his gun. Sam held up his hand. "No. Don't, Dean."
Dean's grimaced in frustration. "Sam." There was a warning in his tone. Sam figured he had until the count of five before Dean let off another round.
Apparently, so did Jess. She stepped around Sam, glaring at Dean. Dean braced, and aimed the gun. Jessica lunged, launching a wave of kinetic energy that knocked Dean off his feet. Brian also stumbled backwards, caught in the blast, and smashed into a picnic table. Dean rolled across the grass, the gun flying in the opposite direction. It bounced against the tree trunk and landed in the grass at Jessica's feet.
Sam grabbed the gun, but when he looked up, he was alone. Jessica was nowhere to be seen. The willow tree hung limp, branches waving gently in the breeze. Dean was crawling to his feet, his posture stiff. Brian was slumped on the picnic table bench, clutching his shoulder, face taut with pain.
Sam ran forward. "Mayor. Are you alright?"
Brian blinked, eyes wet with tears. "That was Jessica, wasn't it? Did I just see my daughter again?"
"You saw her ghost." Dean staggered toward them. "She threw you into that picnic table, and I'm guessing that shoulder is dislocated. There's nothing nostalgic or happy about this, Mayor. She's getting stronger, and she's getting angry." He fixed his glare on Sam. "Which means she has to go."
Sam clenched his jaw and slipped the ring back into his pocket. "I'm not going to burn her, Dean. She burned to death, I'm not doing that to her again."
"Sam, you know it doesn't hurt them. We even did it for Bobby. It's a one-way ticket to heaven, she'll be a lot happier there."
Sam shook his head. "We're not burning her, Dean. We have to find another way."
Dean's expression was a familiar one. It said, I know this won't work, but I just can't fight the puppy-eyes. "Fine, but we're going do this one hunt at a time." Dean held out his hand. "Jessica is going in a safe box until the Kelpie is dead."
Dean's tone left no room for negotiation. It didn't matter how old they got. It didn't matter how much Sam grew up, proved he was responsible. Dean couldn't ever leave protector-mode behind entirely. It also helped that he wasn't wrong.
Sam reached into his pocket and dropped the ring into Dean's hand. Dean's eyebrows rose and his eyes grew sad. Aw, Sammy. Sam could hear the sympathy in that silence. He curled his shoulders under the swell of pity and looked away.
It was an old hope, long gone. Or so he had thought.
Dean tucked the ring into his pocket. As soon as they reached the car, it would go into an iron box full of protective wards. "Alright then. Let's go see what Claire wanted to talk about. We have a kelpie to kill. Mayor." Dean turned to Brian. "We've got painkillers and a sling in the trunk. Are you coming?"
Brian met Sam's eyes, and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think will."
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