After seeing the family off, the three of them climbed into the Impala. "Tomorrow we go back and look for info on the husband. But we need to hit the cemetery tonight, take care of Melinda Bennett," Dean said, his voice all business as he pulled away from the curb. "At least we can get rid of one spirit."
"No!" Devon argued, watching as Dean's eyes met hers in the rear view mirror. "We're not going to burn her remains. She's not the problem here."
Dean pulled the car over with a screech of brakes. "Not the problem? You do have a concussion! She was just trying to smother that little girl back there!"
"She was trying to keep her quiet because she was afraid. We need to find her husband. If we take care of him..."
"If we take care of him we still have her spirit to deal with! We already know where her body is buried, at least we won't have to fight both spirits," he argued.
"No, Dean," she started again, but he shook his head, almost shouting as he pulled the car onto the road again.
"Look! I told you, you do what we say, when we say, remember? If you don't like it, you can stay at the motel. Sam and I can take care of business at the cemetery."
Devon opened her mouth to speak, but swallowed her words, fuming. She sat in angry silence until they pulled up in front of the motel, then launched herself from the back seat almost before the car had come to a stop. Sam called out her name, but she pulled out her card key and opened her door, slamming it behind her. "Great, Dean. Was that really necessary?" he asked as he and his furious older brother exited the car.
"I warned her, Sammy. I told her we run the show and she's here to watch and learn." They entered the room, Dean first, and Sam turned to close the door. Then he stepped to the side, surprise on his face, as Devon came rushing at Dean, shoving him with all her might with both hands on his chest. Off balance, he hit the door and stood there, staring in surprise at her enraged face.
"Now can I finish a sentence, you arrogant ass? In my opinion-which counts zero with you, I know-Melinda would probably let go of her hold on this world if her husband's spirit was gone. She's still in that cycle of fear, and if he was removed, I really think she'd move on." She stared up at Dean, fire in her eyes, for a moment. Then she slowly lowered her hands from his chest and took a step backward. "So you can take that for what it's worth, but I think you're wrong if you go ahead and burn her remains." Her lips curved in a smirk as she folded her arms across her chest. "Sir."
Sam smothered a laugh, not completely successfully, and Dean glared at him before stepping away from the door. He folded his arms like Devon, and stared down at the woman a head shorter than him who had just put him against the wall. "What makes you so sure of that?" he asked, and for a moment she was taken aback at the sincerity of his question. His sarcastic tone was gone, and he was looking at her, waiting for an answer.
"I'm not sure, just a feeling. When I was in that room with her-I didn't feel any anger, or malice. Just fear. She thought she was protecting Becca, not hurting her. Which is probably what happened to her baby."
Devon watched as the brothers glanced at each other, then Dean's eyes rested on her once again. "You feel pretty strongly about this," he said, stating the fact, not asking.
She relaxed her stance a little, unfolding her arms and taking a step back, looking up at him. "Yes, I do. I think if we can get rid of her husband's spirit, she will move on voluntarily." Dean looked into her eyes silently for what seemed like forever; then, finally, he turned away and walked to the dresser where the bottle of whiskey sat.
"Okay." He poured himself a drink and turned back towards her again. "We'll do it your way. This time."
Devon took a relieved breath. "Thank you." She turned quietly, heading back to her room. "Good night." She heard Sam answer behind her as she closed the door to her room.
Sam turned to look at his older brother, struggling to control the urge to smile. "So," he started, but Dean cut him off.
"Shut up, Sammy."
Devon walked to the library the next morning, leaving Sam and Dean to change back into their suits for another trip to the courthouse and sheriff's office. The librarian smiled pleasantly at her as she walked in, and Devon smiled in answer. "More research on Melinda Bennett?" she asked, and Devon nodded.
"Well, actually-I'm doing research now on her husband. Were you living here when the tragedy happened, Mrs. Kline?" she asked, reading the woman's name from the nameplate on her desk.
The grey-haired woman took her glasses off and let them dangle from the chain around her neck. "I was. It was horrible. Melinda was such a sweet, shy girl, and the baby-I think her name was Sophie-was adorable."
"Did you know Mr. Bennett?"
The older woman's smile faded. "Robert Bennett was a tyrant. He was a loud, obnoxious bully. That's what I remember."
"What happened to him after Melinda and the baby died?"
She thought for a moment. "You know, I don't really know. He just disappeared, I think everyone figured he just couldn't live in that house after what had happened. I don't think anyone every heard from him again. But he had nothing to hold him here, no family, definitely no friends. He just left and never came back."
Devon smiled at her again. "Thank you, Mrs. Kline. You've been very helpful."
She walked down the sidewalk, brow furrowed in thought. They knew he was dead-his spirit had appeared at the house. But if he died there that night, where was the body? He wasn't mentioned at all in the news stories. Could Melinda have been so distraught over the baby's death that she managed to kill him and hide the body before committing suicide?
She was so lost in thought that she almost walked right by the motel. She turned back and got herself a cold Coke from the machine near the office, then walked to her room to wait for the Winchesters to return.
It was an hour or so before Sam and Dean came back to the motel. They had gotten no further than Devon had in finding more information on Robert Bennett. Devon shared what the librarian had told her about the man, and then hesitantly told them of her thoughts about his possible murder. "Could his body still be there somewhere?" she asked, glancing between the two as she waited for an answer.
"Maybe we need to go have a look around the property." Dean stood up, looking at Devon. "Ready to go search for a body?" he asked, a crooked smile on his face.
"Thought you'd never ask," she answered, and they all headed back once again to the Impala.
They arrived at Mike and Sheila's home and parked, walking around the exterior of the house, looking for anything odd. They stood finally in the back yard on the patio, Devon with her hands on her hips and a frustrated look on her face. "She couldn't have buried him. There's no way she would have had the strength to dig a grave." Dean leaned on the fence surrounding the patio, his arms folded. "Maybe he's in the house, but where?"
"Well, we could call Mike, see if there was anything odd here when they bought the place." Sam and Devon nodded in agreement, and Dean dialed Mike's number. After explaining what they were looking for, Dean was quiet as he listened. "Where the planter is? Okay...Well, do you mind if we bust up the concrete? Okay, thanks, Mike. We'll let you know if we find anything." Dean tucked his phone into his pocket. "Over there, where that whiskey barrel planter is? That little concrete slab was poured over the lid to an old cistern. Mike said there's a sledgehammer in the shed, and he gave the go-ahead to break up the concrete."
Sam went after the hammer, while Devon and Dean walked over to the planter. "Do you think she could've gotten his body out here?" Devon asked quietly, trying to imagine the struggle the slight girl would have had dragging the dead weight across the lawn.
"She probably had some serious adrenaline pumping, so I suppose it's possible." Sam returned with the sledgehammer and a wheelbarrow, and the two men wrestled the planter off the concrete and onto the grass. Then Devon stood back as they took turns beating at the slab until it finally lay in pieces. She helped load the chunks of cement into the wheelbarrow, and Dean shoved the remaining pieces off of the rusted metal lid, about two feet in diameter. He disappeared into the shed again, returning with a crowbar. It took both men to get the bar in position and shove until the cast iron finally began to shift.
After much sweat and effort, the threesome stood looking down at the hole in the ground. Dean grabbed his small flashlight from a pocket and shined it down into the blackness, but it didn't come near to reaching the bottom of the huge underground tank. Dean shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together as he looked at Devon, then at Sam, rolling his eyes. He tucked his flashlight back into his pocket, and placed the fist of one hand into the open palm of the other. Devon watched in amazement as Sam did the same.
"Are you two seriously playing rock/paper/scissors to see who goes down there?" she asked, incredulous.
"Yeah," they answered in unison, looking at her as if she were asking the silliest question they had ever heard.
"Forget it. If you tie a rope to me, I'll go down."
Dean looked at her, one eyebrow cocked in disbelief. "You? Want to go down there? No way." He was shaking his head as she stared back at him, frustration on her face.
"Why not?"
"Because," he started, and trailed off as she stared at him, eyebrows raised, silently demanding an answer.
"Because why?"
His brow furrowed as anger began to stir at her tone. "Because it's dangerous, that's why." He turned away, looking at Sam. "Sammy, get that rope from the trunk, will you?"
"And if you go down there, it won't be dangerous?"
"If there's something down there, you don't have the experience to handle it."
"What's gonna be down there? This thing has been sealed up for years!"
"What if Bennett's ghost shows up down there? What would you do, Devon?" Both voices had been raised, and getting louder, but at his words, Devon stopped, feeling a little foolish.
"I didn't think of that."
"No kidding," Dean retorted. Sam handed Dean the rope, which broke off the glaring match between the two combatants, and the men began to tie off the rope, tying one end around Dean's waist. Sam handed his brother the large flashlight he had retrieved from the trunk, and Dean stuck it in his belt. He stepped up onto the edge of the opening, and Sam wrapped the rope around his forearm, ready to lower his brother slowly down into the cistern. Dean nodded, then stepped off into the hole, and Sam strained to hold the rope as Dean began his descent.
Devon shined a light into the darkness, keeping an eye on Dean's downward progress, secretly glad she hadn't been the one to descend into that inky blackness. After what seemed like forever, Dean shouted that he had touched bottom. Devon and Sam watched as Dean's flashlight made a bright circle in the darkness; then he shouted up to them, his voice echoing and hollow from the bottom of the tank. "We've got bones down here. Human bones. I think we just found Bennett."
"I'll get you some salt and lighter fluid-do you have your lighter, Dean?" Sam called down.
"Yeah. Lower down the sawed-off, too-just in case he decides to show up." Sam came back shortly with a duffle bag, placing the accelerant, salt and the shotgun inside.
"Be careful, Dean," he shouted as he lowered the bag on another length of rope.
"You know me, Sammy," Dean called back, and Sam shook his head as he felt Dean tug on the rope, removing the items.
"That's what worries me," Sam muttered under his breath, and Devon looked at him, her eyes widening.
"Is he going to be all right?" she asked quietly, worry in her eyes.
"Of course he will," Sam answered, staring steadily down into the hole.
Dean tucked the flashlight under one arm, shaking the salt liberally over the bones lying on the floor. As he pulled the lighter fluid from the bag, he felt the temperature drop and saw his breath fog in the air before him. Then he was picked up and tossed from behind, sending the flashlight and can of fluid clattering across the floor as he hit the far wall, almost knocking the breath from his body. "Sammy, some light!" he shouted, and Sam and Devon aimed their flashlight beams down, searching for the angry spirit.
"Dean! Where are you?" Sam shouted, then heard the blast of the shotgun in the cistern, echoing loudly. He heard noises, feet scrambling, metal clanging and an occasional curse from his brother as Sam and Devon searched desperately with their flashlights. Then he saw Dean's light raise up from the floor, and Dean shined it on his face, looking up towards them.
"I'm okay, Sammy," he shouted, shining the light around until he saw the can of lighter fluid, which he retrieved and quickly emptied over Robert Bennett's bones. He grabbed his lighter, snapping it to life with a flick of his thumb, and tossed it onto the remains, stepping back as the flames shot high into the air. Robert Bennett materialized once again, charging at him, but he was reduced to ash before he could do any further harm, and Dean smirked at him as he faded into oblivion. "Take that, you wife-beating son of a bitch."
Dean sat on the couch in Mike and Sheila's living room, holding ice to his head. He felt like he'd been run over by a truck, but that was nothing new to him. Devon had brought him the ice pack, and cleaned the blood from his face, not saying a word, and not meeting his eyes once. He knew she was thinking about what would have happened if she had been down there instead of him, and he hoped that maybe now she understood.
She came back from the kitchen, holding a beer for each of them, handing one to each of them before sitting down herself and taking a swallow. She hesitated for a moment, then looked Dean in the eye. "You were right, Dean. I'm sorry I argued with you about going down there."
He nodded in reply. "I'm not trying to hold you back, Devon. If you're set on doing this, fine-but we will do our damned best to keep you safe, even if you fight us on it." He took a drink of his beer and stared down at the floor. "I think you have some good instincts, you just need some experience and knowledge to back that up. And that takes time." He looked back into her hazel eyes, which were staring back at him in shock.
"Did you just give me a compliment?" Dean rolled his eyes and gave a tired sigh.
"Yeah, I guess. Don't let it go to your head."
Sam smiled, ducking his head, as Devon answered, "Yes, sir." But she was smiling as she spoke, and Dean's lips curved in a one-sided smile in answer.
They finished their beers, and Devon took a deep breath. "Well-do we try to speak to Melinda now? Should I go to the nursery?"
Sam nodded, and Dean followed suit. "I'm coming in with you, just in case. But maybe she'll come to you, since you spoke to her already."
Devon nodded, then looked at Dean. "And if she won't go-we'll have to burn her bones?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?" he said, and they all stood, Dean moaning a little, and headed up the stairs.
Devon stepped into the nursery, and turned as Dean made a move to follow. "Please-can you wait in the doorway? She's so afraid of men, I'm afraid she won't show if you're in here." Dean sighed, nodding in reluctant agreement, and stood his ground, the sawed-off hanging from one hand. Sam was right behind him, similarly armed. Devon stepped to the middle of the room, standing quietly for a moment, then softly calling out. "Melinda? Melinda, are you here?" Nothing happened, and she took a breath, closing her eyes. "Melinda-Robert is gone. We sent him away forever. He will never hurt you again." A chill ran up Devon's spine, and she opened her eyes. Melinda stood before her, a quiet keening issuing from her pale lips. "Robert is gone forever, Melinda. He can't hurt you. He can't hurt Becca. You can go now. You can go be with your baby." The wailing sound grew slightly louder, and Devon felt tears sting her eyes. "You can let go now, Melinda. You can go to Sophie."
The spirit of Melinda Bennett slowly raised her face upward, appearing to listen. Then, for the first time, they heard her speak. "Sophie? Sophie, Mommy's coming. Mommy's coming!" she called out, and as Devon, Sam and Dean looked on, she began to glow, brighter and brighter until they could no longer look directly at her. Gradually the brilliant light faded, then disappeared completely, and the spirit was gone.
Dean reached Devon as her legs gave way, and caught her before she fell to the floor. "Come on," he said softly, leading her out of the room and into Mike and Sheila's bedroom, where he helped her sit on the edge of the bed. "Devon? You okay?"
She looked up at him, a dazed expression in her eyes. "I think so." She leaned forward for a moment, then looked up into his worried green eyes. "She's gone, Dean." A tear escaped her eye and she brushed it impatiently away, but it was followed closely by another. He sat down next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders, and she let herself rest against his shoulder until she had composed herself again. Sam stood in the doorway, smiling understandingly at her as she glanced his way.
Sam called Mike to let him know their ghosts were gone, and Sheila begged them to stay until they got back home. Sam and Dean went out to the back yard and replaced the cover on the old cistern, ready for Mike to bury once again in concrete. By the time they were finished, Becca came rushing in the front door, calling for Devon.
"Hi, Devon!" the little girl cried happily, climbing onto Devon's lap and hugging her with soft little arms around her neck. "Is that lady gone, Devon?" Her blue eyes gazed soberly at Devon, and she smiled at the child.
"Yes, Devon. She went home. She won't come back any more."
"She was scared. But she's home now, right? She's home with her baby?"
"Yes, Becca, she went home to see her baby. So she won't be scared any more." Becca nodded wisely, looking at Devon for a moment before climbing down and running back to her mother.
"Mommy, I'm hungry."
Sheila laughed quietly. "Well! I guess things are back to normal around here." She stood, taking her daughter's hand. "Let's go find you a snack, sweet girl."
"I want goldfishes," Becca demanded as they went down the hall.
Later that night, Devon got out of the shower and dressed in a pair of pj pants and a worn Captain Morgan t-shirt, sitting back against the headboard of her bed and stretching out. She had a glass of her favorite Irish whiskey sitting next to her on the bedside table, and she sent a text to her mother, telling her she was having a good time on her vacation. Not so much, but at least this way her mom wasn't worrying about her.
She leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. A quiet knock sounded at the connecting door, and she called out, "Come in."
Sam stuck his head in, smiling, and Devon smiled in answer. "Just wanted to say good night, Devon."
"Good night, Sam."
Sam stepped back, and Dean came into the room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Devon picked hers up and held it up in silent salute, and they both took a sip. "You did good today, Devon. I, uh, just wanted to tell you that."
She gave him a tired smile, and sighed quietly. "Thanks, Dean."
His eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer. "You okay?'
She nodded. "Yeah. I'll be okay."
"Well, g'night, then."
She looked into his eyes one more time. "Good night, Dean." He left the room then, pulling the door shut behind him. Devon slid down underneath the covers, snuggling in for the night, drifting quickly off to sleep.