-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_,.-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

A Wandering Boy

Chapter 10

Memories and Ghosts

Jess Crayton, the manager of the Victor Hotel in Cripple Creek took a hard look at the Ghost Hunters that Singer had sent. One of the guys was exceptionally tall and seemed awfully young to be as experienced as Singer had claimed. The other guy was of average height with sky blue eyes, good looking and very, very weird.

Jess had been the Hotel Manager most of his working life. He was also the boss on the Casino floor and he was no body's push over. If these two guys were running some kind of scam they were going to learn a lesson trying to take down Jess Crayton.

"Please take a seat, gentlemen." Mr. Crayton waved a hand at the leather guest chairs in front of his desk. "I'm going to assume that Mr. Singer gave you an idea about what we're up against here."

The younger guy took the lead. "I understand that this Eddie is a ghost that's been here for a very long time. It's only lately that he's turned mean on you?"

"You got it," Crayton said, responding to the kid but keeping his eyes on his strangely immobile partner. "Eddie's been here longer than me and I've been here over 20 years. He's a holdover from the old days of the Victor when Cripple Creek was a gold rush town.

"No one is really sure what happened to Eddie or why he's stuck in this place but he has a thing about the elevator. It's always been one thing or another with the lift. It either won't run or it runs constantly, stopping at each floor and opening and closing the doors on an empty cab. It freaks the guests out all the time. Good thing the Hotel is only four stories high. Most of the guests elect to use the stairs after their first run in with Eddie."

Castiel leaned forward in his chair and pinned Crayton's face with his eyes. "You believe you know who this Eddie is, don't you? You know more than you're telling us."

The Manager leaned back and looked at the kid. The blue eyed man's stare was too intense. He felt like those eyes could bore right through him and expose all his secrets.

The one called Sam laid a hand on his partner's leg and smiled. "Back off, Cas, you're scaring the civilians."

Mr. Crayton cleared his throat. "To tell the truth, your partner is right. My family has been in Cripple Creek for a very long time. Granddad came with the 49's and never made it to California. He stopped and settled here. There's an old legend that Eddie was really a gold miner who had a seizure and was declared dead. He was put up on the fourth floor with all the other corpses to wait for a spring burial."

"Unfortunately he woke up surrounded by dead people and, in his panic, tried to get out down the elevator. He forced the doors and fell down the shaft. Then he really was dead and they took his body back up to the fourth floor again."

Castiel spoke up. He tilted his head and stared at Crayton as if the man was something he wanted to study. "Why would you try to conceal this story? You weren't even born when it happen. No blame for the man's death can accrue to you."

Crayton could not sustain Castiel's piercing stare. He first glanced down at his desk and then redirected his eyes to Sam. "It's sort of a family secret. Granddad was the undertaker in Cripple Creek back then and he was the one who declared Eddie dead the first time."

Sam snickered. "The second time too, I suppose. I could see how Eddie might be carrying a grudge. Maybe even a grudge against your family. I'm not sure but perhaps the ghost knows who you are."

"Whatever reason this nasty dead sucker might have, " Jess Crayton opined, "he doesn't have a right to start pushing Hotel guests down the elevator shaft. Can you guys get rid of him or not?"

"If you can tell us Eddie's name and where he's buried Cas and I can most likely solve your ghost infestation tonight." Sam replied.

Jess Crayton laughed. "Ghost infestation, that's a good one; sort of like rats in the walls, right? You guys are just paranormal exterminators." Crayton laughed heartily at his own joke.

Cas was simply confused and looked to Sam for an explanation. "I'll tell you later, Cas, " Sam said. "Let's just get the job done for now and I'll explain the rats in the walls, later."

"Very well," Cas muttered. "I'm not here to kill rodents."

Jess Clayton stood up and moved over to a map of Cripple Creek he had framed on one wall. Sam went with him.

"Not really quick on the uptake, your partner, right?" Clayton murmured to Sam.

Sam answered. "Cas is a good guy. It's just that English isn't his native language. He catches up eventually and you couldn't ask for a better partner."

"Fine", Crayton responded. "Look here," he pointed to a green park like area on the map. "This is the Mt. Pisgah Cemetery. Luckily you don't have to go there. The graveyard for the common folk is off over here to the east of Mt. Pisgah. Like a lot of the buildings in Cripple Creek, the Mt. Pisgah Cemetery is listed as a Historic Site. It might be monitored or at least there may be frequent police passes. Grove Cemetery where Eddie is planted is on the same road but not watched like Pisgah."

"Why would the police keep an eye on Mt. Pisgah? Sam asked.

Crayton shrugged. "People steal the damnedest things. Why anyone would want a marble headstone for decoration goes right over my head but I understand the older they are the more they're worth. The headstones in Pisgah are over a hundred years old. Don't worry about that one. Here's Eddie's grave."

_,.-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Late that night, under the crescent moon, Sam Winchester led Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, on the Seraph's very first salt n' burn. An odder pair might be found, but this one, and their reason for being where they were, would be very hard to explain to a judge so they were being very circumspect; very quiet and careful.

"You know, Sam." Castiel muttered sotto voce "this human being thing is very inconvenient." Castiel was struggling with a shovel, a can of gasoline and a slippery columnar box of salt.

Up in front, Sam huffed. He was carrying the salt guns, one already cocked and ready to fire, and the other under his arm. "Tell me about it." The young man said. "We should actually have brought two shovels just in case we have to speed it up but I figured the load was enough for now."

"Next time I get to carry the gun," the Angel said.

"Whatever you want O Angel of the Lord." Sam snickered.

For just a moment Castiel was thrown into the past and he heard another Winchester say those same words. For a moment he saw a smiling face with bright green eyes and a splash of freckles across the nose looking back at him. The pain of a love lost forever went through him like a knife.

"There's Mr. Eddie Lawson's grave," Sam said, pointed at a headstone and broke Castiel's mood.

The Angel looked up and Sam took the shovel from him. ""Here, take the gun. I'll start digging. When we get near the coffin is the time we'll start worrying about Eddie's ghost showing up. Since he's already gone vengeful in the hotel he's liable to be a real handful here."

Sam dug and Castiel inspected the shotgun. He had never needed one before but he was pretty sure he understood its use. The first thing was to not point it at Sam. Secondly he needed to keep a sharp watch out for Eddie's ghost. The ghost would attack the digger first if it could but the watcher was in just as much danger.

Sam dug steadily and soon had a respectable pile of dirt beside the grave. As Sam's action began to slow they switched off and Castile resisted the temptation to cheat a bit and use his Grace to move the heavy dirt. He had sworn to himself that he was going human all the way, even if it made him sweat.

He hit the top of Eddie's coffin and cleared off the dirt. Just as he brought down the shovel in a sharp blow to break the coffin lid open he heard a high pitch squeal and felt the spectral wind created by a ghostly manifestation. The shattering blast of the salt gun followed. Exposing the bones he pulled himself out of the grave and emptied the salt over Eddie Lawson's remains. As he was pouring the gasoline he heard Sam grunt and Castiel turned to see his young partner flying through the air, head first toward a headstone.

Taking a chance Castiel reached out and slowed Sam's flight. His intervention cushioned the eventual blow to Sam's head but didn't stop it completely. Sam hit the tombstone hard enough to stun him. Castiel saw the enraged ghost of Eddie Lawson preparing to charge the young Hunter again and he didn't wait for matches. He pointed one hand at the open grave and held the other hand up to freeze the ghost in place. The grave exploded in flame and the ghost stopped like it had run into a solid wall.

As the flames flared up out of the earth the ghost began to burn. Red traces of flames curled up its form and the last of Eddie Lawson burned. The ghost's hands, thrown over its head in despair disappeared with flames licking up the fingers like candles. Silence filled the graveyard except for Sam's moans of pain.

Castiel dumped the empty gas can and salt canister into Eddie's desecrated grave. As he went to Sam the Angel used a small amount of grace to push the dirt back into the grave behind him. It looked like a giant dog burying a particularly tasty bone.

Castiel knelt in the damp grass beside Sam Winchester's unconscious form and swept the bangs out of Sam's eyes. The Angel swiftly checked on the young Hunter's condition and ran his hands through Sam's hair, enjoying the sensation of the silky strands running through his fingers.

When he realized what he was doing he snatched his hands back. That had felt disturbingly nice. Castiel held his hands an inch away from the Hunter's skin and checked Sam's entire body for damage. There was nothing more serious than some bruises and a lump on the back of Sam's head.

Castiel sat back on his heels and considered the young man lying helpless before him. The Sam of this timeline was a disturbing mixture of Castiel's own Sam and Dean. The brothers in Castiel's world had distinctly different and yet strangely complimentary personalities.

In this world Sam Winchester was both the scholar and the sadly abused child. Every cruel remark John Winchester had lavished on Dean in the other world had fallen on Sam in this one. This world's Sam was quieter, more introverted and more damaged than Castiel's Sam.

Sam moaned again and moved his head from side to side.

Castiel gathered up the guns and the shovel, careless of his strength. He offered a hand to the slowly awakening Sam and pulled the young man up. Wrapping his arm around Sam's waist, with one of Sam's arms flung around his shoulders Castiel guided the way back to the Impala.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._

The morning that Sam and Castiel started the hunt in Cripple Creek Bobby drove Dean to school in his dependable old blue pickup truck. They had to disturb the sleeping Rumsfeld to use the truck and so she nominated herself as a third passenger and joined the trip to school. Dean took her seat, which she resented, and she spent the entire trip leaning on him to register her displeasure. Consequently when he was dropped off in the kissing lane he smelled like dog and was covered in dog hair.

"Never again," he muttered entering school. Even from something of a distance Eau de Dog was highly evident and got him some pretty weird looks in the hall.

Kerman appeared by his locker to discuss plans for the day and even he had to say something. "God, Winchester. Do they make you sleep with the dog?"

"Ha, ha," Dean responded. "Bobby's dog rode with us this morning and leaned all over me." Dean took off his jacket and hung it in the locker, hoping to dispel at least some of the smell. He realized that now he could find his locker by smell alone if the lights went out. He grabbed the books for his morning classes and spun the dial on the combination lock.

"My Dad is out of town and if I have to ride in Bobby's truck all week that dog is getting a bath tonight. I also have to vacuum that truck and get a heavy duty air freshener." Dean went down the hall with Kerman, mumbling all the way about Bobby's dog.

Of course, a bunch of firth graders have nothing more important to do than talk about the other fifth graders and by the time the story of Dean's cologne had been passed around he was either being made to sleep outside because his family didn't like him or he had a girl friend who smelled like a dog or his girlfriend was a dog.

No one dared to approach Dean himself or Kerman so by lunch time it was little Mike Thompson who was getting teased about his good friend Dean. Mike was trapped in the lunch room by the same pack of kids who Dean had rescued him from on the way to the bus stop and they were pushing the little kid back and forth.

It was unfortunate that Mike's tear ducts had a hair trigger and by the time Dean and Kerman arrived on the scene the kid was a blubbering mess.

"Hey," Dean shouted and started pushing his way through the pack of bullies.

"Oh, look," someone said. "It's dog boy himself. What's your girlfriend's name, Winchester? Rover?"

It wasn't smart. It wasn't good. By the time Dean spun around to see who was shooting his mouth off his right hand was already balled up in a fist and the centrifugal force added weight to the punch that he landed on the kid's jaw.

The boys' head went back, his butt went down and a tooth shot out of his mouth and hit one of the other kids in the face. Now that actual blood had appeared, one of the teachers on monitor duty intervened.

The hefty middle aged woman grabbed Dean's arm and shook him. Dean pulled away from her and yelled in her face. "Where were you when they were pushing Mike around, taking a beauty nap? You sure need one."

Dean heard what was coming out of his mouth and knew that Sam would not approve. He looked over to see that Kerman was taking care of Mike.

His captor shook his arm again. "Do that one more time lady and you will regret it." Dean snapped.

He was looking at the kid on the floor. He didn't even know the kid's name. He was just another faceless bully who got off picking on any one smaller than him. As far as Dean was concerned from now on the kid's name was toothless. Dean kicked out at the kid's leg. "Get up, you pig. I'm more your size, why don't you try to push me around?"

The rest of the kids dispersed to tables as far away from the action as they could get. Another teacher showed up with the school nurse in tow.

Dean glared at the woman holding his arm. "Aren't you here to take care of the little kids? Why did you let them all pile up on Mike?"

"You're coming with me, young man," the teacher snapped back. "Your father is going to hear about this."

She hauled Dean Winchester out of the lunch room and down the hall to the principal's office. Dean remembered when they had come to the school to register and there was a lineup of kids sitting on the chairs outside the principal's office. It had taken only just over a week to earn a chair of his own.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._

The Principal of Discovery Elementary stood at the window in his office, looking over the latest group of kids out on the playground for Phys Ed. Even from this distance he could spot the confident versus the coddled. They were playing softball and just the stance told him a lot about the child. There were those who were looking to attack the ball and there were those that were looking for the ball to attack them.

These kids were at that delicate age where an imagined slight or snub would bend their personalities for the rest of their lives. They were like clay pots not yet fired in the kiln. They still could be shaped; they could be bent or marred. Each one bore the imprint of their guardians, each one needed to be tended, healed, and protected.

The principal turned away for the window and glanced at the files on his desk. These were the kids waiting outside the office. It was his job to give them just that push that set them back on the correct path. There weren't those many, just three. The first one was a little girl who made a habit of stealing the other kids' crayons; a third grader. He felt pretty sure he could deal with that one. The next was a little more serious. He had been found hiding in the janitor's closet during lunch. That could be any of a number of problems, none of them easy and several of them possibly disturbing.

The last one however, was the kind an Administrator dreaded, a fighter. Pretty likely the kid was a bully. He had, after all, knocked another kid on his ass and a tooth had been lost. He could hear the other kid's parents right now. He could even imagine them sitting in front of his desk, all righteous indignation; demanding protection for their little darling and blaming the school for allowing thugs to run freely.

He snorted, imagining a 10 year old thug trolling the halls, looking for victims. He would see what he had when the kid was in front of him. He glanced at the name; Dean Michael Winchester.

He sat down in his high backed desk chair, leaned forward and buzzed for the little girl.

In a half hour he had dealt with an insecure little girl, the youngest of four who had learned at home to fight for her share of anything going. He hoped he had assured her that she could ask the teacher for anything she needed or, he told her, she could come to him any time at all and he would try to make it right. It was sad that there was no one at home to offer her the same support.

He gave serious thought to calling the high school and having the councilor there speak to the oldest sister. He made a note to do that before the end of the day.

The kid in the closet was being bullied by someone who took his lunch money every day. He wouldn't tell the principal who it was so the man offered the kid an alternative. He took the child out to the office and had one of the assistants set up a lunch fund for the little boy. If he could get the money to her every day she would pay for his lunches.

He picked Ms. Lawry for the job, confident she would have the little thief's name inside of a week. Ms. Lawry was good and sneaky. Problem solved and the kid looked at his new lady friend with eyes as big as they could get without rolling out of his head. Life would get better now for the kid. It would be infinitely better if the kid could find some friends his own age but the Administrator couldn't control that.

Before going back into his office he glanced at his last child, the Winchester boy. He halted for a moment. The beautiful little curly haired blonde was not what he was expecting at all. The kid looked like a little angel but no doubt he was more of a leprechaun instead. He stepped out in front of the counter and motioned for the boy to follow him back into his office.

Back in the office he had Dean sit in the big adult chair in front of his desk. The kid's had to climb in forward and turn in the seat. His feet swung freely. Normally the kid would have been directed to sit in the child's chair off to the side but kids who acted like pool hall bullies got treated like adults.

The kid drew his feet under himself and thrust forward so that one hand was resting on the principal's desk. With the other hand Dean picked up the name plaque from the front desk edge and settled back in his chair, tracing the letters with his fingers. "Principal Gabriel Angelus, PhD." The boy spelled out. "What does the pudd mean?"

Gabriel pursed his lips, trying not to smile. "It stands for Doctor of Philosophy." He answered. "It also means put my name plaque back where you found it."

Dean looked at Gabriel unafraid, staring into the man's brown eyes. "Alright, I just wanted to know. That's why I'm here right? To learn stuff, right? It's a school,"

"Did you learn to punch people in the face here?" Gabriel snapped, running his long fingers through his smooth blonde hair and pushing it off his face.

"No, I learned that somewhere else." Dean replied.

Gabriel stopped for a moment, not liking that answer at all. He searched the little boy's face, looking for old bruises.

"Tell me, Dean," Principal Angelus leaned forward. "Why did you punch Ricky Steward in the face? Do you think you had a good reason?"

"No," Dean replied. "There's never a good reason for punching a kid in the face. I should only punch monsters, not kids but he was picking on Mikey and Mikey's just a little kid who cries a lot. Then toothless got up the balls to try and push me around and I lost it. Sam is going to really give it to me when he gets back."

"Who's Sam?"

"Dad, I meant Dad. Sam is my Dad's name." The little boy retreated into his chair. "He's going to be really mad when he hears about this."

"When you said you were really going to get it, did you mean that your father will hit you?" Gabriel asked.

"Hey, none of that," Dean barked out. "Sam, Dad, he doesn't hit me but he has a glare that could freeze your balls off in July."

Gabriel almost took that one in his stride. "That's quite a mouth you have there, Dean," he remarked. "What does your mother say when you talk like that?"

The kid froze and Gabriel knew he had screwed up. That was an amateur's mistake. He quickly glanced at the file. There was no mother's name listed.

"She's been dead a real long time." Dean said grimly. "I don't know her well enough to know how she would take it."

Gabriel was about to kick himself around the room, pretty sure he had just lost any connection with the kid.

"Alright Dean," Gabriel gave up. "This is what we're going to do. Who's taking care of you while your Dad's out of town?"

"Uncle Bobby," Dean answered. "It's all Uncle Bobby's dog's fault anyway. If Rumsfeld had stopped leaning on me cause I was in her seat then I wouldn't have smelled like dog this morning and none of this would have happened."

"Ok," Gabriel stared down at the file, looking for an Uncle Bobby's authorization. He found Robert Singer and a phone number. "Let's just keep the dog story for the conference with your father."

"What conference?" Dean snapped his head up and looked into the Principal's face.

"I'm suspending you until your father can come in for a conference, Dean. We'll call your Uncle Bobby to come and get you."

"What about the other kid?" Dean asked. "Are you throwing him out too for picking on Mikey?"

Gabriel made a notation and closed the file. "That's not your problem, Dean." He replied. "Take this folder out to the front office and have one of the ladies call your Uncle."

"Wait a minute," Dean straightened and his feet hit the floor. "What about my classes? I have to keep my grades up or Sam will really get after me. I can't do that."

Gabriel was surprised. Grades were the last thing that kids thought of when they were in his office and threatened with the wrath of parents. No parent liked to be called on the carpet at his kid's school. Gabriel once again considered just what kind of punishment Dean's Dad handed out to cause such a reaction.

Gabriel leaned forward and buzzed the outer office. "Who's free out there for a small job?" he asked.

"I'll be right in Principal, a voice said. "It's Mrs. Johnson."

One of the older office assistants opened the door and entered. She was a pleasant faced woman with years of experience carved into her face behind her half glasses. "Mrs. Johnson, could you please call Dean's Uncle Bobby and tell his to come get Dean? Dean is being suspended for fighting but he is very worried about missing his classes so could you go to his afternoon classes and gather up his assignments to work on at home? "

Gabriel turned back to Dean. "Do you know when your Dad is due back?' he asked.

"Probably a couple of days," Dean answered. "Bobby will know."

Gabriel pulled a form out of his desk drawer and began writing on it. "Here's your official suspension but it is of indeterminate length and will not go on your permanent record as long as your father comes in to meet with me as soon as he comes back. He should bring you with him. After we talk about appropriate behavior in a school setting I'll let you back in class."

"Mrs. Johnson, please work something out with Dean's Uncle Bobby about getting the necessary assignments out to Dean. Thanks."

_..-.._..-.._..-.._

An hour later Dean was back in Bobby's truck, heading for the Salvage Yard. "Suspended for fighting, huh?" Bobby said. "I don't know what Sam is going to think of that."

Dean hunched over by the passenger window, clutching his back pack. "It wasn't even a fight. I just decked the kid for picking on Mikey and for being a smart mouth. It was a reflex. I didn't even think about it before I hit him."

"Besides,' Dean said. "It was all Rumsfeld's fault."

Bobby was a bit surprised. "Ok, when we get home you can explain to me and Sam on the speaker phone just exactly how my dog got you suspended. Right now, just sit over there and suffer in silence. I don't want any part of this mess to splash over on my boots."

They spent the rest of the ride back home quietly.