Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.
Summary: A year and a half before his father died and he went home to sell the mine, Tom met up with two hunters in a motel. There's no way his reality could stay the same after that.
Author's note: I've never been able to find the name of the company that was buying Hanniger mines in the movie, so I've made up my own. Any similarity to any mining company is purely coincidental.
In and Out of Harmony
By Colleen
Chapter 10
If Bobby hadn't found him in a motel room at the end of his drunken lost week, it would have gone on much, much longer. As it was, Singer had to haul him bodily out of the bed he'd passed out on and propel him into the bathroom with the instructions to shower and brush his teeth. Tom was spitting and rinsing before his head cleared enough for him to wonder how Bobby found him.
He wasn't surprised the other hunter heard about Eli Hanniger's death. Bobby's information sources were vast and keeping an eye on Tom's only living relative other than Dean was to be expected. What he didn't anticipate was being tracked down when using an ID Bobby didn't know about yet.
Ten minutes later, Tom stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. He gave the glass of water and bottle of Tylenol Bobby held out to him a half hearted glare before accepting them and downing four of the tablets.
"How the hell did you find me?"
The older hunter shook his head. "Dean uses rock stars; you use characters from 1950's horror schlocks. I just kept plugging in names until I found Tony Rivers."
"Hey, 'I was a Teenage Werewolf' is a classic."
"Not saying it ain't, just telling you how I found you."
Tom gave him a grumpy face and sat down on the unmade bed.
"Idjit." Bobby sighed and sat down next to him. "Given you were drunk off your ass, I take it you heard about your Father."
Tom nodded. "Yeah."
"Don't mean to be insulting, but I'm surprised you're this broke up about it."
The younger man ran hand over his face and through his hair. "I probably wouldn't be, but he had a private eye track me down and drag me home a few weeks ago."
Bobby looked at him questioningly.
"Okay, I let the private eye drag me home after his third attempt to grab me." He shrugged. "Figured if he kept it up he'd eventually get lucky and I preferred to make the trip under my own power."
"Understandable. So, what did he want?"
"For me to come home and take over the family business."
Bobby winced. Sure, being a hunter was a piss poor way to live, but he knew enough about Tom to know that despite what peace he'd made with his past, spending everyday close to it would eventually kill him. Oh, he'd be walking around and talking, but give it a year or two and a zombie would have more life in him than mine owner Tom Hanniger would.
Even the messiest hunting death would be preferable.
"Pack your bags. You can come back with me and help with some research."
"Ah… Okay?"
Bobby snorted. "You need something to do. Something that won't get you killed. So pack."
"The last time I helped you with research, one of your books tried to eat me."
"And that's why I'm not letting you near that one again. Now pack."
"Alright, alright, bossy much?"
Bobby shook his head. Sometimes the boy reminded him of Dean in more than just looks.
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On February 2nd, Tom was sitting on the couch in Bobby's living room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a very old book in another. It was in English, but the style was ancient and he occasionally referenced the laptop next to him for a translation.
Bobby was at his desk, reading a similar book without the aid of translation and doing it much faster than Tom was.
Both men frowned when a knock came at the door. With a grunt, Tom put aside his book and levered himself out of Bobby's old couch. Whoever it was, knocked again before he could get there.
"Coming." He swung the door open with a slightly annoyed expression on his face.
The guy standing on the other side of it was either a lawyer or a demon.
"Tom Hanniger?"
Once again, Tom would have preferred demons.
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Bobby served the man a cup of coffee, heavy on the Holy water. When the lawyer didn't start smoking, he and Tom sat down to hear what he had to say.
"Mr. Hanniger, I'm here to discuss your father's will with you."
Tom gave a pained grunt, reminiscent of a man who'd taken something blunt upside the head. "How the hell did you find me?"
"I was simply given this address. I believe we got it from a file your father was keeping on you."
"Crap." Tom had the sinking feeling that Lanthom wasn't' the first private eye his father sent his way. Made him wonder if dear old dad knew about the mental institutions.
Bobby didn't look very happy about that piece of new either.
"Now, about your father's will."
Tom shook his head. "He disowned me."
The lawyer paused. "When did he do that?"
Tom shrugged. "Not certain, but he told me he was going to do it the last time I saw him, at the end of December."
"Ah, well, he never sought an appointment with our firm to change the will or the trusts." Understanding Tom's frown, he explained. "Several of the bequests were set up as living trusts, to avoid the delays of probate. He released them just before his death."
Tom rubbed at his eyes and forehead and resisted the temptation to hide his face in his hands. "Okay, let's hear it."
"I, Eli Hanniger, being of sound…"
Tom held up a hand. "How about the highlights version."
With a sigh, the lawyer flipped to the next page of the will.
"Your father left the house and most of the contents to the Harmony Historical Society."
Tom let out a relieved breath. He hadn't relished the idea of dealing with the house and contents, even if it was just to sell it.
"There is also a bequest to his friend and partner Ben Foley, consisting of a Rolls Royce automobile, several items of a personal nature that I can itemize if you wish..."
Tom shook his head no.
"And a living trust for shares in The Hanniger Mine that represents ten percent of the companies total shares."
Tom frowned.
"His last non-family bequest is to former sheriff James Burke and is a living trust in the amount of one million dollars, in thanks for the actions that saved his son's life." The lawyer paused to glance up from the paper. "Apparently your father has been putting one hundred thousand dollars a year into the trust for the last ten years."
Tom grimaced, but nodded.
"Now. To my son, Tom Hanniger, I leave any items he may wish to have from the house, to be chosen before the Historical Society takes ownership of it. Along with that, I leave him the bulk of my estate. All moneys, stocks and bonds I posses at the time of my death. I also leave him a living trust containing the balance of the Hanniger mine shares, which should represent a controlling interest in the company."
Tom gave in, buried his face in his hands and groaned.
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He lost track of how many times he signed his name before the paper work was complete. Then he had to open a bank account in his real name, so eventually the funds he inherited that weren't in the trust could be transferred into it. He also got a safe deposit box for the paperwork. He used the same bank in Sioux Falls that Bobby did for the initial set up, planning to move some of the funds to other names and accounts later.
The lawyer opened his briefcase to pull out one last thing. "I've been asked to pass this on to you. The Blayco mining concern is interested in purchasing The Hanninger Mine and adding it to its holdings." He passed him a very thick offer to purchase document.
Tom flipped through it quickly, taking a moment to blink at the amount offered, before passing it over to Bobby.
The lawyer gave them a few minutes before subtly clearing his throat to get their attention.
"If you like, I can set up a meeting with them."
Even though he outright told his father he would sell the mine if he left it to him, Tom hesitated, unwilling to rush into anything.
And Bobby apparently thought there was something more important to worry about.
"When does the Historical Society take possession of the house?"
"The will must clear probate first, although I don't think it will take all that long as no one appears to be contesting it. Ben Foley was named executor, so it might be best to check with him about that."
Tom frowned a question at Bobby. The older hunter gave him a look that said to ask later.
"So, should I set up a meeting with Blayco Mining?" The lawyer asked, interrupting them.
"No." Tom said. "I'll want to talk some things over with Ben first."
"Of course." He handed him a card. "If you need any assistance, just call me."
Tom took the card and nodded.
Once the lawyer was shown out and made his way off the property, Bobby answered the question about the house.
"Your grandmother was a Campbell. A trained hunter that came from a long line of hunters. I know she gave it up when she married your grandfather, but we have to consider the possibility that she might have left things behind you wouldn't want a volunteer history buff coming across accidentally."
Tom groaned. "This day just keeps getting better and better."
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Early in the evening of February 6th, Ben Foley set the box of his best friend's ashes on the shelf behind his desk and sighed. He hadn't expected Tom to show up for the memorial service, but he'd hoped. Pouring himself a drink, he sat down at his desk and started going through the messages the maid took while he was out.
Most of them were condolences. Two of them were from fucking Blayco mining. One was from Eli's lawyers, about final paperwork for the trust Eli left him. And one... was from Tom. He'd left a contact number and a message, saying he needed to talk to him about the offer from Blayco Mining.
Reaching out blindly, he fumbled the phone off the hook and started punching in the number.
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On February the 4th, Blayco Mining had not endeared itself to Bobby when two of its representatives appeared at his front door, looking for Tom. He also wasn't too happy with the lawyers, because for Blayco to find Tom meant either the attorney was followed out to Bobby's, or someone in the firm was leaking information.
Realizing Singer was frustrated and just itching to fill the two reps with rock salt; Tom took them up on their offer of lunch and got them off Bobby's property.
Lunch was an attempt to impress him. Even for a city of over 150,000 people, Sioux Falls boasted an impressive number of restaurants that ran the gambit from greasy spoon to elegant dining room and they didn't take him to a greasy spoon.
The two reps, one male, one female and both too good looking for the effect to be completely natural, plied him with alcohol while explaining what a fabulous deal he would be making by selling to Blayco. Tom had to admit, in another life he would have been ready to sell by dessert.
Now though...
He spent the next two days thinking about it. After the first day, Bobby got tired of his emo ass and pointed him in the direction of a hunt in North Dakota. The drive helped him think and that was why he called Ben Foley on the second day. As the executor of his father's will and the holder of the next largest block of shares in the mine, the man had a better grasp of the situation than Tom did.
Of course, Ben calling back while a ghost was tossing Tom across a basement wasn't exactly the best of timing.
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Tom stood up, his body objecting to the motion painfully. His phone was ringing, but other than mentally kicking himself for not turning the thing off, he chose to ignore it, at least long enough to empty the second barrel of rock salt into the ghost of a pissed off architect. Apparently, his boss hadn't liked the guy's designs much. That or he hadn't liked the architect's designs on his wife. Either way, the guy ended up buried under the concrete floor of the last house he helped develop.
Tom might have felt sorry for the guy; if it wasn't for the fact he'd already avenged his own death, killing his killer. He should have moved on, but instead was still hanging around, lashing out and slaughtering anyone stupid enough to go down into the basement alone at night.
Like Tom had.
Actually, Tom spent the afternoon there with a jackhammer, crow bar and shovel, digging up the body. The whole time, he hadn't seen any sign of the ghost. There wasn't even much EMF.
Then the sun went down.
His phone stopped ringing for about ten seconds, before starting up again. With a growl, he fished it out of his pocket, staggering back to the grave to pick up his crow bar at the same time. The name on the screen caused him to hesitate and instead of turning it off, he hit answer, tucking the phone up to his ear with his shoulder so he could also pick up a container of salt.
"Tom? It's Ben Foley, I'm returning your call."
The ghost popped up in front of Tom and he whipped the crowbar through it, dispersing it.
"Hey, Ben… Um, I'm a little busy at the moment." He poured the salt onto the exposed body. "Do you think I could call you back in a few minutes?" Tom turned towards the cold spot behind him, tossing what he had left of the salt at it. The reforming ghost screamed silently, disappearing once more.
"Sure, sure. I'll be waiting for your call."
Tom dropped the salt container and picked up the lighter fluid. "Thanks." He ended the call and quickly covered the body with the accelerant. A moment later, he was flying one way, his phone staying behind when the ghost heaved him across the room. Tom hit the floor, rolled and came back to his feet. Pulling out an iron knife, he started patting his pockets down for a pack of matches. The ghost reappeared, doing that semi-teleport across the room thing to take up a guard position in front of its body. With a shrug, Tom tossed his iron knife at it. He was dropping the lit matches into the grave just as it reformed. Even though there was no heat from it, he took a step back as the ghost appeared to catch fire before abruptly winking out of existence.
Sadly, the same wasn't to be said for the real fire. Swearing softly, he gathered his scattered stuff, including his phone. He left the jackhammer. He didn't have time to carry it out and it couldn't be traced to him, as he'd rented under a fake name on a soon to be dead credit card.
He drove quietly out of the neighbourhood, two fire engines passing him as they responded to the 911 call he made on the way out with his now slightly cracked, but still serviceable phone. With any luck, the house would take a little smoke and water damage, but wouldn't be a complete loss.
It was another ten minutes before he remembered to call Ben back.
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Ben was beginning to believe Tom was blowing him off, when his phone rang. "Tom?"
"Hey Ben. Sorry about earlier, kind of had my hands full."
"No problem. I was hoping you'd phone. The funeral was today."
"Yeah, I know. Not why I called though."
Ben heaved out a sigh. "Blayco Mining."
"Yeah. It's an impressive offer."
"One that will screw over the entire town if you take it."
"Maybe… I want to call a shareholder's meeting. I think the offer has to be looked at."
Ben shook his head. "You're the major shareholder Tom. If you decide to sell the mine, there is nothing we can do about it."
"I know, but I figure you should at least get the chance to explain to me why we shouldn't sell. I might actually listen."
Ben was honestly shocked. Ever since he found out Eli left the majority of the mine to Tom, he'd figured his and Harmony's time was limited, especially with Blayco looking to buy.
"Okay then. I think I can get everyone together on the 11th, at 7 o'clock. We can hold the meeting at the offices in the conference room, assuming you're willing to come into town. I don't think you've been back since you left ten years ago."
Tom's laugh startled him. "Actually, I've been back a couple of times. Guess Dad didn't mention the last one."
"Uh no, he didn't."
"Figures. Okay, February 11th, 7pm."
"If you're in earlier you could meet me at my place, have supper."
There was a lot of silence on the other side of the line.
"What the hell, sure, say five thirty?"
"Yeah, that would be good."
"Okay, see you then."
Ben hung up the phone and turned his chair so he could glare at the box holding his friends ashes. "Just what didn't you tell me, Eli?"
He didn't know how lucky he was he didn't get an answer.