xxxx
Chapter 9
xxxx
They were sitting around the desk in Bobby's study while Bobby scowled.
Sam looked uneasily at Dean, who was watching Bobby with an untroubled expression on his face. Sam glanced back at Bobby, who had just focused his frown on Sam alone. Shifting, Sam couldn't help the tensing of his body or the reflexive look at Dean again.
"Bobby. Dude, you're making Sammy nervous," Dean said. He hadn't even glanced Sam's way as far as Sam knew. But now Dean did turn to him, a quick smile settling the pitch of Sam's stomach somewhat. "That's just how he looks when he's thinking, Sammy. It's hard work, so it makes 'im mad," he said with a flashing smirk at Bobby.
Bobby blinked at Dean's gentle rebuke, face smoothing out completely in surprise and dismay. But it wrinkled back into unhappiness just as quick, directed now at Dean.
"Smartass," he growled.
When he looked back at Sam, Bobby's expression had evened out again. "That's at least partially true, Sam. Trying to think with your brother sucking all the smarts out of the room is a real trial."
It was Sam's turn to scowl, and he aimed it unhappily at Bobby, not liking the implied criticism of his brother. Dean was plenty smart, what …?
But Dean just snorted noisily, tilting his chair back a little farther to take another swig of the beer Bobby had brought out. The grin hadn't left his face, and Sam realized a little belatedly that this was the usual give and take between the two men.
"'Course," Bobby went on. "You're usually sucking what's left of the smarts out of the room right along with him, so…"
Bobby smiled, raising a slightly challenging eyebrow at Sam as he took a pull on his own beer.
Sam's eyes didn't leave Bobby's. "So my inability to remember anything about my life or who I am is actually a good thing in your opinion?" he asked blandly.
Bobby cocked his head to one side, considering. "Maybe a blank slate doesn't create the same level of suckage the deliberate ignorance you two generally exhibit does," he allowed.
And Sam couldn't stop the bark of laughter, rocking back in his chair to balance on two legs like his brother. "Glad to help," he said dryly.
"Well," Bobby said grumpily. "I'm not sure it's 'helping' so much as 'not making things worse.'" He took a second to scratch thoughtfully at a spot under his chin. "You hadn't gotten too far with it, had you?"
"Nope," Dean admitted. "We'd talked to the victims we could find and were checking out the affected area when…" He broke off, jaw tightening.
Bobby gave him a second then prodded. "What were you thinkin'?"
Dean shrugged tightly. "Angry spirit maybe. Sam was going to start researching the area when we got back. We'd just wanted to, you know, get a feel for the location."
"Why an angry spirit?" Sam asked, curious.
Bobby and Dean turned to him in surprise.
Sam shifted uncertainly under their stares. "I don't understand," he said.
Sam saw it register with Dean—Sam's the ignorance, his desire to know. His brother nodded his head before he responded. "Spirits sometimes get stuck in a repeated pattern. Usually it's related to how they died—unfinished business, an injustice. Sometimes it's an event from their lives. Whatever it is, it holds 'em here. And the longer they stay, the angrier they get." He let his chair drop to solid footing on the floor. "They tend to take it out on any living person that comes across their little cycle of rage. Suck them into the repetitions." Dean glanced across at Bobby. "This had the feel of that."
Sam nodded. "How do you fix it?"
"Salt and burn," Dean said.
Sam's brow knit in confusion. "What does that even mean?"
Dean shook his head with a slight smile, and Sam saw it again, Dean's realization that Sam didn't know. Bobby's eyes went back and forth between the two men.
"It means you gotta find the body. Salt and burn the bones."
Sam's eyebrows went up. "Seriously?" He thought maybe he should be disturbed by all this. But he was fascinated. "What does that do?"
Bobby's dry voice inserted itself into the conversation. "We don't know why exactly, but it seems to release the spirit from this…dimension, I guess. Usually it's the bones. Sometimes the spirit will be tied to something else. But generally getting rid of the body does the trick."
Sam fixed his attention on Dean. "So whose body do we need to find?" he asked.
Dean gave him a look. "That was what we were going to try to figure out next," he informed him. "Before you fell off a cliff."
xxxx
It had taken Bobby awhile to get on board with the whole Internet thing, but once he had, he'd embraced it with all the enthusiasm his old researcher's heart could muster. Most of the answers to the questions he tended to get asked were contained in the stacks of books he'd collected over the years. But access to newspaper archives and the other arcane information that was increasingly available online had made the investment in a high-speed connection worth some of the hassle that went along with any technological advancement.
"So, where do we start?" Sam was seated in front of the computer, his customary spot when online research was required, but he was looking curiously at his brother as Dean pulled up a chair next to him.
Dean seemed to have adjusted fairly easily to the reality of his brother's ignorance of all the skills drilled into him since he was a child, but it still startled Bobby to hear the questions, to see the looks directed at Dean as Sam worked out what was going on.
Dean shrugged and reached for the mouse, clicking to open the browser. "I usually start with a google search, just to see…"
Sam's hand twitched toward the mouse, and Dean relinquished control without seeming to realize he'd done it.
I can do it, Dean; let me…
Bobby blinked in remembrance. He could almost hear the younger version of Sam's voice, excited and eager. And watched as Dean sat back, mirroring the motions of himself as a child, letting Sam do, voice patient as he guided his younger brother through a search, encouraging when Sam had ideas, redirecting if Sam got off track.
"Wait. Click there, Sammy. Bobby, you got a pencil and some paper?" Dean swiveled around in his chair, shaking Bobby loose from the shifting images of past and present.
"Huh? Oh. Yeah." Bobby rummaged through the piles of paper on his desk until he found a sheet that didn't already have his own scribbling on it, pulled a pencil out of a mug.
"Thanks." Dean's eyes were already back on the computer screen.
"What?" Sam asked, skimming what his brother was looking at, but not sure what he was seeing.
"See?" Dean looked up from what he'd been writing, jabbing the pencil at the monitor. "Right there. Local legend, ghost girl." He went back to taking notes.
Bobby moved up behind the boys. He squinted at the words. Damn. Where were his specs?
"Well?" he demanded instead of taking the time to look for his glasses. One of the damn kids might as well put his young eyes to use. "What's it say?"
Dean turned to grin up at Bobby. "You need us to move the monitor further back for you, Bobby?"
Bobby smacked him. "Just tell me."
Rubbing at his ear, Dean said, "It's one of those independent papers in the area. Did a special report on 'supernatural phenomena' in the area. Most of it's crap, but they've got enough here on a 'wailing female apparition' that we can…."
"But did she wail?" Sam asked, frowning. "You didn't say anything about anybody hearing anything like that."
"No," Dean admitted, "but sometimes the stories get garbled. This is the right area and crying seems to indicate grief of some kind, which…"
"Lines up with what people are feeling when they wander off," Sam finished thoughtfully. "I get it."
Dean exchanged a look with Bobby. "Right."
Sam nodded his head. "OK, what next?"
"Let's see if there are any historical archives online. Maybe one of the libraries…"
But Sam was already typing, glancing at the notes Dean had taken and scowling the I will figure this out scowl he always wore in the midst of a hunt.
xxxx
Five hours later they'd made little to no progress, and Bobby had threatened to unplug the computer if the boys didn't step away from it.
"He'll do it, too, Sammy," Dean said wearily as he scrubbed a hand over his eyes while Sam looked mutinous. "He's an ornery cuss." Dean sighed, pushing back from where he was seated. "Give it a rest. We'll come at it fresh in the morning."
Reluctantly Sam saved his work, having retyped Dean's notes into a Word document and added his own as they'd searched. He shut down the computer and stretched, finally noticing the tightness down his back and along his shoulders. Automatically he reached down, hand searching momentarily for the familiar warmth of the dog, caught his breath a little unsteadily when he remembered that the animal wasn't there. He stood abruptly.
"I'm gonna go for a run," he announced.
"Yeah?" Dean said uncertainly, peering up at him. He glanced at the windows. It stayed light late this far north during the summer, but it was close to dusk. "You want company?"
Sam really didn't. But he realized that running in unfamiliar territory as night was about to fall probably wasn't the wisest thing to do. Crap. He needed to get out.
"Yeah. Fine." Not the most enthusiastic of acceptances, but it was the best he could do.
"Your stuff's upstairs," Bobby said turning toward the kitchen.
They changed clothes quickly and set out, Sam setting the pace, deliberately running faster than he thought Dean could keep up with. If he could stay just a few feet ahead of his brother Sam thought maybe he could convince himself that he was on his own. But Dean kept step, silent and steady, offering nothing by way of conversation, just running easily next to him.
Sam hadn't run like this at all while he was on the road by himself. He'd walked so much and there'd just been no opportunity to leave his stuff and get out. At the Sweeds' he'd joined Dean on a couple of easy runs, just a mile or two, sometimes with one or two of the boys and the dog with them, undemanding and, when the kids were with them, pretty goofy.
But he still felt the need to run and knew it was probably because he'd run before. Dean had mentioned "training" when they were kids and surely that had included long runs. For endurance if nothing else.
After about three miles Sam started to feel the fire in his legs and his lungs, but he kept going, wanting, needing the physical exertion to burn away the frustration of the past few hours. It had been exciting at first, the hunt for information, the challenge of figuring out a search, of sifting through obscure databases. But as time had passed and they'd hit dead end after dead end, Sam had felt the hopeless anxiety of we'll never figure this out settle over him. His brother had been surprisingly patient and apparently undaunted as they'd worked. But it had still depressed Sam. And then to reach for Dean, to remember that the dog wasn't there…
"This is coming up on five miles."
Sam shook himself and looked at his brother.
Dean indicated a lone tree about a football field's length ahead of them with his chin. "You wanna keep going?" Dean seemed willing to run as far as Sam wanted, breath fairly steady.
Sam realized the wheezing he heard was his own. "Nah," he managed.
Dean didn't say anything else, just nodded and turned to check the long strip of road behind them before he made a u-turn across the blacktop. Sam followed, letting himself slow. Dean did the same thing, easing into a walk just as Sam did.
Sam took the opportunity to stop completely, bending over to catch his breath, while Dean reached his arms up over his head, stretching out. They walked in companionable silence back to Bobby's.
It was full dark by the time they got back to the house, but Dean had never faltered as they'd gone, apparently having developed eyes like a cat over the years. Sam showered first, Dean waving him ahead up the stairs as he followed the smell of something cooking into the kitchen. Sam took his time in the shower as he had since he'd been "back." Or "found." Or whatever. He ducked his head under the water, breathing out, letting (imagining) the water washing away the tension that had lodged between his shoulder blades.
Being back in the car—which seemed weird—and at Bobby's had awakened in Sam a strange combination of familiarity and anticipation that had morphed into an anxiety that was confusing. There was the faintest sheen of déjà vu over almost everything they were doing. It was like having a word on the tip of his tongue that he just couldn't remember, niggling and annoying. And it was making Sam antsy.
When he got downstairs, Dean went up and Sam dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, gulping down the glass of water next to his plate.
Bobby held out a hand for the tumbler and Sam handed it over, taking it back when Bobby returned it, full. Sam drained half of it before setting it on the table. He let out a fairly impressive belch as he did so.
"'scuse me," he said with a faint grin at Bobby.
Bobby slid a couple of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches onto his plate. "Eat," was his only response. Sam did.
"You boys used to run a lot," Bobby said suddenly, and Sam raised his eyes curiously to the older man.
"Yeah?" he said.
Bobby nodded. "Initially cuz your daddy made you. But I think you got to like it. Dean maybe not so much. He always liked the sparring better. But you. You ran."
Sam swallowed the bite of sandwich he'd just taken. He watched Bobby closely for a minute. Finally ventured, "What was he like?"
Bobby didn't pretend to misunderstand. "John was a… hard man. A good one. But hard."
Sam wasn't sure what to do with that. He waited to see if Bobby would go on.
"He loved you boys," Bobby continued. "I never doubted that. But."
But.
"Your mama's death. It changed him, I'm guessing. Not that I knew him before." Bobby shrugged. And that seemed to be all he was going to say on the subject.
Sam finished his first sandwich and started on his second. He'd only asked Dean a few questions about their parents. He'd found himself strangely reluctant to dig deeper than what Dean had told him. He sensed that there was more there than Dean was telling him, but that it would be hard on Dean to talk about it. So he'd kept his mouth shut. For now Sam still held out hope that he'd remember at some point, that he wouldn't have to ask.
"How'd we get to know you?" he asked.
Bobby smiled at him faintly. "I had some information John needed, but it was going to take some time to put it together. He asked if he could stay while we were at it and learn about my collection. You two were part of the package."
"How old were we?"
Bobby paused to think about it. "Maybe three and seven that first time? Into everything." He shook his head. "But two of the most obedient pups I'd ever seen." He smiled again, ruefully this time. "Your old man ran a pretty tight ship. I'd never seen a kid Dean's age so completely in charge of a kid your age. The first day, your dad said, 'Dean you keep an eye on Sammy and don't get into any trouble.' When he said it, I remember thinking, 'We'll see how long that lasts.' But Dean just said, 'yes, sir,' and proceeded to keep you occupied and fed and pretty damn happy while your daddy spent nine hours straight in that front room there pouring over books and taking notes."
Bobby shook his head again. Like he still couldn't believe it. "I never saw anything like it. And I'd say I never have since 'cept I saw it every time you boys showed up here. Whether it was with your dad around working on something or the times he dropped you off so he could go hunt something on his own."
"We were here a lot?" Sam asked.
Bobby lifted a shoulder.
"Enough to call you 'Uncle Bobby,' I guess," Sam said with wry smile.
Bobby shrugged again.
Sam let it drop, finishing his meal and taking the plate to the sink. He looked at the older man. "Night, Bobby."
"Night, Sam. Welcome home"
xxxx
Sam was up before his brother, shuffling into the kitchen not long after Bobby had done the same thing. Betty was there eating her breakfast and when she was done, Sam coaxed the dog to him, scratching in all the right places and murmuring what sounded an awful lot like endearments into the dog's ear as he bent over her.
Bobby watched with a certain amount of surprise. Sam had never paid particular attention to any of the dogs in the past. He put a mug of coffee on the table by Sam's elbow.
"Dean likes his black," Sam said absently when Bobby put a carton of milk down next to him. Though he reached for it himself.
"Dean likes Lucky Charms."
Bobby looked at the three-year-old sitting at the table eying with suspicion the box of raisin bran Bobby had just set in front of him. Bobby grunted.
"Or cheerios," the kid tried helpfully.
Bobby stared at Sammy, who blinked wide-eyed at him. Evidently something more by way of response was going to be required. "Oh?" Bobby said, trying for "repressive."
"Yeah." A leg swung rhythmically under the table while the boy watched him expectantly.
Bobby tried grunting again.
Sammy's attention never wavered.
Stand-off.
"I don't have either of those," Bobby caved finally.
"Dean likes eggs," Sammy offered.
"We're having cereal," Bobby said, trying out his best imitation John Winchester glare.
The boy dimpled at him, Bobby's glower quelling the child as effectively as John's. "'K," Sammy said agreeably, pouring raisin bran into his bowl. And all over the surrounding surface of the table. Bobby observed the mess glumly. What the hell had he been thinking agreeing to watch these kids for Winchester?
"Dean can burp for a whole minute," Bobby was informed around a mouthful of cereal.
Bobby gave Sam the same stare he'd been using (with varying degrees of success) on the Winchester boys for the last 20 years. "You still like milk in yours, right?" he asked blandly.
Sam blinked at Bobby and ducked his head slightly. "Yeah. Sorry. Thanks."
"Must be strange to be around people who know you better than you know yourself in some ways," was all he said in return.
Sam just nodded.
Dean joined them not much later, drinking his coffee – black – in hunched over silence until he'd had a second cup and eaten a plateful of eggs. Bobby, as always, pretended not to notice Dean slipping bacon to the dog, who sat with her head in the boy's lap while Dean scratched sleepily at the dog's ears.
"You call Jo to let her know you boys got here?"
Dean lifted his head. Frowned. Then grimaced. "Uh. No."
Bobby raised an eyebrow at him and Dean sighed. "Right."
xxxx
"Hey, Jo."
"Dean!"
"We're here. Got in yesterday afternoon."
"Good. Thank you so much for letting me know."
"Yeah. Well. Sorry that I forgot to call before this morning." That Bobby had to remind me.
She laughed. "Honey, it took Michael three days to call one time when he first went to college. 24 hours is nothing. Of course, now I just call myself when I think it's been too long, so…. You're in just under the wire this time."
He breathed out an acknowledgement of her point. "Good to know."
"How are things?"
"Pretty good. We haven't gotten very far, but Bobby's here and we'll do what we can online before we head back."
"OK." She hesitated for a second. "How's Sam? Has he…?" She trailed off, but he knew what she was getting at.
"He's fine, I guess. But he hasn't…"
Sam seemed a little "off" to Dean, truth be told. Off of what he'd been at the Sweeds' anyway. He'd settled in there, Dean thought. Gotten comfortable to an extent – with him, with the Sweeds. And that had been a good thing, something Sam had needed. In the car on the way here, Sam had seemed even more at ease; he'd been relaxed, Dean thought, in the familiarity of the Impala, in the company of just the two of them. Dean had felt the tightness in his own chest loosen while they'd been on the road.
But since they'd gotten to Bobby's, Sam had been quiet – thoughtful and frowning, studying Bobby and his surroundings with an intensity that alternately gave Dean hope and made him want to gnash his teeth in frustration.
He bit his lip, turning to peer through the window into Bobby's study, checking to make sure Sam was still there. He was. Dean could see the scowl on his brother's profile as Sam typed furiously on the computer keyboard.
"I don't know," Dean amended. "He's not… I can't figure out if he's off-kilter because we're someplace new or if he's starting to remember," he admitted to Jo.
"Oh, Dean," Jo breathed, hope just coloring her voice. "Do you think that…?"
But he was shaking his head, "I don't know. He hasn't said anything to me." Which was a source of annoyance in and of itself. "But he's been looking pissed about 95% of the time we've been here. And that usually means he's trying to figure something out." He shrugged. "I don't know," he said again.
"OK," Jo said, a little disappointed. "Well. Keep us posted, OK? We want to hear how y'all are doing."
Dean smiled. Felt a slight tug in his gut. Missing. "I will."
"We miss you already," Jo said.
Dean swallowed, still getting used to having people tell him what they were feeling so easily. "Yeah," he admitted. "I miss y'all, too."
"Is that Dean?" Jake's voice could be heard clearly in the background. "Can I talk to him?"
"Well, honey…"
"'s OK, Jo," Dean said loudly, knowing from experience that he needed to speak up to get her attention over the increasing clamor on the other side of the call. "Me, too!" he heard Tommy carol. "I want to talk to him, too!"
"Really, sweetheart? Because – Jake, stop grabbing! – I know you're – Jacob! – trying to…"
Dean was laughing. "Really. Sam's in full-on geek mode in front of the computer."
"Well, if you're sure, I – Jake, if you don't step back I'm going to give the phone to Tommy and you can just wait to talk to Dean until after everyone else has had a turn." There was a significant pause, and Dean could imagine the expression on Jo's face as she and Jake faced off. "Alright then," Jo said in satisfaction. Evidently the kid had capitulated. No real surprise there. "Dean, honey," she said serenely. "I believe Jake would like to talk to you."
There was a slight sound of a scuffle as the exchange was made.
"Hey, Dean."
"Hey, man," Dean said, unable to keep the grin out of his voice.
"Jeez." It was muttered into the phone, and Dean knew that either Jo had left the room or Jake had taken the phone out of her hearing. "She's such a control freak."
Ever an oldest child, Dean was unable to stop himself from saying, "Like you don't need a little control in your life, brat."
"Whatever," Jake sulked. "Dude." And he was on to the next thing. "Guess what?"
The phone was passed around, and Dean was in the middle of a conversation with Luke when Sam stepped out on to the porch.
"Just a sec', Luke. Hey, Sammy, what's up?"
Sam gave him an odd look. "I thought you were going to help me with the research," he said stiffly.
Dean cast a quick glance at his watch. He'd been on the phone almost 45 minutes. Damn.
"Oh. Yeah, Sammy, I…"
"Dean." Luke's voice cut across the answer to his brother. "I'll talk to you later, kiddo. Just call when you get a chance, OK?"
"Yeah, man. Sure," he responded, eyes still on Sam, thankful that Luke seemed to realize he needed to go. "I'll talk to you later."
He snapped the phone shut. "I'm sorry, Sam. I was just going to let Jo know we'd gotten here and lost track…"
Sam shrugged. "'s OK," he said. "I just got stuck and thought you might have an idea."
Dean squinted at his brother. He didn't seem upset. But still He got up and headed into the house. "Tell me what you've got."
xxxx
"How do we avoid being affected by this thing again?"
They'd headed to Oregon after slightly more than a week of fruitless searching online. As much as Dean would have liked to have had a little more information under their belts before venturing back to deal with this thing, there just hadn't been anything helpful to find over the Internet.
Frustration with the research aside, though, Dean was pleased they'd had the time to do some crash-course training with Sam in addition to the time they'd spent at the computer. It had been good to see Sam's comfort-level with the weapons increase pretty significantly in just a couple of sessions, years of conditioning seeming to kick in not only with the guns and knives, but the physical sparring as well. The kid was nowhere near where he'd been – or needed to be – but Dean had been encouraged by the progress his brother had made in a relatively short amount of time.
And it had been gratifying for Dean to see Sam regain some of his former confidence in his abilities. Sam had begun to hold himself with a physical assurance Dean recognized, but had not seen in his brother for the last few weeks. No longer as easily startled or tentative in his bearing, Sam's easy grace of movement had started to reassert itself, and it was a surprise to Dean to realize how much he'd missed it.
When they'd finally acknowledged the end of the computer's usefulness, Sam had tracked down the website of the town's local historical society thinking that the paper archives would be a good a place to start when they returned to Oregon. And the Winchesters had climbed into the Impala as Bobby had eased in behind the wheel of refurbished clunker he was currently driving. The older man had steadfastly refused to be left to the tender mercies of the boys' driving, insisting on his own set of wheels.
Dean shook his head at Sam, not sure. "The only way I can think of is to stay within sight of each other the whole time. Whatever emotions she makes us feel, if we can see each other, we'll know they're a lie."
They'd found a series of Depression era newspaper articles about the suicide of a teenage girl who had hanged herself, apparently out of grief over the death of her parents and younger brother. Friends had gone out to check on the family and found the graves of the parents newly dug in the small cemetery close to the cabin. Inside the house, they'd found the body of the son, aged 14, dead from what looked like starvation, and the hanging body of the daughter, aged 17.
The town had buried the children in the family plot with their parents, and the articles had described the tragic circumstances around the deaths with great pathos and a disturbing level of relish.
Further investigation had revealed that when the national park had been created in that area, the property along with its long-abandoned improvements had been a part of the parcel that had been allotted for that purpose. Bobby agreed with the Winchesters' assessment that they needed to find the cabin and its plot to salt and burn what surely was the ghost of the suicide. Unable to rest and consumed with grief over the loss of her family, the girl was sharing those emotions with anyone she came in contact with.
Of course, the point at which they'd figured it all out was the point at which Bobby had received a call from Ellen Harvelle asking for his immediate help on a job that had gotten out of the control of the young hunter who'd taken it on. A follow-up call with the kid had confirmed that he was in so far over his head that not only his own life, but the lives of his "clients" were in danger. Cussing steadily under his breath, Bobby had loaded up his car and with a series of barked orders at Dean and Sam had headed south into California.
"You know if we screw this up Bobby's never going to let us work a job on our own again," Dean had said casually to Sam as they'd watched the older hunter's car disappear around a bend in the road.
And even Sam, who didn't know the man much at all right then, couldn't do anything but agree.
xxxx
Sam stood in the clearing, frown furrowing his brow. "Does this look familiar to you?" he asked. "I feel like I've been here before." He was really starting to hate these random moments of déjà vu when he could never hold onto them longer than the brief flash it took to recognize them.
Dean was nodding even as he looked around himself. "Yeah. We were coming along here and you…" His eyes narrowed as his attention was caught by something a few feet away. "You were there…"
Sam had already begun to move in the direction Dean had started to indicate, more careful this time than the first, cautious. "Oh, man," he breathed.
Even months later, the breaks in the undergrowth were visible, one branch on the edge of the sharply sloping precipice still hanging by a narrow strip of bark. Sam took a step forward, meaning just to peer over the side when he felt a hand fist in his jacket and pull him sharply back.
"Dude," he started, about to shrug out of the restraining grip.
But when he turned with a roll of his eyes and a slight frown curving his lips, Sam realized that his brother was tight-lipped and ashen.
"No," Dean said sharply. "Don't."
Shaken somewhat by Dean's reaction, Sam swallowed back the rebuke he'd been about to voice and instead just nodded his understanding. "Yeah. Sorry."
Dean didn't say anything else, but after a tug that manhandled Sam away from the cliff and into the direction they needed to go, he released his hold on his brother, turning toward the edge of the trees.
"That way," Dean said brusquely, taking the lead.
And Sam fell into step behind him.
The best they'd been able to figure, the cabin was about half a mile from the point where Sam had gone over the cliff. From maps of the park as well as a couple of plats they'd found from before the government had taken over the area, Dean felt like he had a pretty good idea of the cabin's location.
Sam had watched with a certain amount of awe as Dean and Bobby had compared topography and coordinates and directions from several different maps to come up with a probable site. For all Bobby's grumbled insults about Dean's intelligence, it had been clear as the two men worked that Bobby valued Dean's input and trusted his judgment. No matter how many time he used the term "idjit" with both boys.
It took them 20 minutes of hard going to reach the reported site of the cabin and 15 minutes more of rooting through the underbrush to find the faint outline of the structure's remains. Dean jerked on what looked like a pile of vines and uncovered a pile of stones that had probably been the chimney. He grinned at Sam.
"Yahtzee," he called out and Sam laughed.
Still across the overgrown clearing, Sam kicked free of the bush he found himself hip deep in, and headed toward his brother. He took a couple of steps and tripped over something. Looking down, he realized it was a shoelace, and he rolled his eyes at himself. Typical. He dropped into a crouch, carefully putting down the shotgun Dean had insisted he keep with him.
"Hey, Sammy, I think maybe this way…"
Sam glanced up at his brother and caught Dean's eyes across the tangled expanse. Saw Dean shake his head in amused exasperation when he realized what Sam was doing. Huffing out a breath of agreement, Sam turned his attention back to his shoe, reaching for the leather lace, looping it around and…
Watch, Dad, watch, I can do it! You make bunny ears and then…
In the end it was so anti-climactic that Sam almost didn't realize it had happened. One second he was tying his shoe with no memory of how he'd mastered that particular skill and the next everything slipped seamlessly into place. Dean showing him over and over how to do it, slightly larger child's hands over his as they practiced. Dad at the table, working on something, but looking up occasionally to add his encouragement or suggestions.
Sam put a hand on the ground to steady himself, rocked suddenly by the rush of emotions. Oh my God. Relief and joy flooded through him. I remember, I remember, I… He raised his head, seeking out his brother. "Dean!"
But his eyes when they came up saw only brush and trees, the slate gray of the sky above him. He was alone.
Dean was gone.
xxxx
Dean dropped the vines back into place, checking over his shoulder as he scanned the terrain. He squinted as he moved away from the ruins of the house. There was something that looked like it might be an enclosure. A corral? A garden? Family plot perhaps?
"Hey, Sammy, I think maybe this way…"
He turned to his brother and saw just the tangle of Sam's hair over the brush. Dean frowned and was about to move toward him when the kid's head came up and Dean realized Sam was tying his shoe. Typical, he thought to himself, shaking his head and smiling at the exasperation in his little brother's expression.
Knowing that Sam would be right behind him, Dean started toward the small patch of ground with what looked like might be the remains of a fence of some sort. But this close to the house? Would people bury…?
Dean stepped around a tree, pulling out the machete he'd stuck in his belt and swinging it at a thick mess of undergrowth.
"Dean!"
He jerked around at the shout, startled, but knowing even as he turned that it wasn't panic or fear he heard in Sam's voice. His mouth opened to ask what it was and his eyes skimmed the area for his brother. He saw nothing.
Sam was gone.
xxxx
