I'm pretty sure this is record for me-two updates within 24 hours.
Dean doesn't have a problem admitting that Sam is the smarter of the two. That doesn't necessarily mean that Dean is stupid, not by any means. It's just that Sam is freakishly smart, in the same way that he's also freakishly tall. Doesn't matter that Dean is nearly six foot one, he's still going to look short when he's standing next to an abnormally gargantuan giant. The same is true for their intelligence. People simply assume that Dean is dumb, simply because they're comparing him to Sam.
Doesn't mean it's true.
And that's why it's so much sweeter when Dean's the one to solve the puzzle. He has the map tucked neatly under his arm as he quickly walks through the many rows of books, his eyes looking from table to table, searching for Sam. It doesn't take long for him to spot the familiar hunched form bent over the table, long hair hiding his face as his arms wrap around whatever book he's reading, blocking out the rest of the world. The whole image makes Dean want to smile, it's too familiar to when Sam was younger, sitting on his knees in an oversized chair as he tried to keep Dean from seeing whatever it was he was reading or writing.
Tapping the map on the table twice, Dean manages to bring Sam out from the secret circle. He sits down in the chair across from Sam, waiting somewhat patiently for his brother to ask what he's found. When Sam finally asks, somewhat annoyed, "Did you find something?" Dean smiles a smile that can only be described as pure smug with a hint of cockiness as he unrolls the map on the table for Sam to see.
Being the freakishly smart genius that he is, it only takes Sam about four seconds to recognize that he's looking at a map of the county. Still somewhat confused as to why Dean's got that I deserve the extra cookie look going on, Sam shrugs one shoulder and asks, "Want to tell me what I'm supposed to be looking at?"
Dean points to a blue line on the map that Sam instantly recognizes as the creek where Dr. Tate's body had been found. Seeing the recognition in Sam's eyes, Dean traces the blue line with his finger, only stopping when his fingernail lands on a small grey patch, the map's legend identifying it as farmland.
"That's Jean Dobson's farm," Sam says slowly, the wheels spinning in his head. "The creek leads to the farm." Dean sits back, smug smile in place as he writes in his little notebook.
She said it was 'her' creek. Sprinkler system most likely uses creek water.
Sam nods as he remembers the sprinkler system catching them off guard their first trip into the orchard, all annoyance gone as the excitement of solving the puzzle takes over. "That would make sense. Tate's body starts to decay in the creek. Instead of haunting somebody like a normal pissed off spirit, his…juices latched onto the water and poisoned the apples."
Dean's smug smile slowly starts to wilt as Sam puts words to what he had already theorized, another realization creeping in.
"What?" Sam asks when he sees his brother's Adam's apple bob heavily, his face pale a little before taking on a green hue.
Dean swallows a few more times, forcing the nausea down as he writes out his realization.
I ate apples watered with man juice.
Sam tries not to smile at the look of complete disgust on Dean's face or at how dirty that one line sounds, but he can't help it as the corners of his mouth decide to rebel, dimples forming as Dean's scowl deepens.
Sam's trying to think of the best way to fulfill his duty as the younger sibling and mock his brother when his phone begins to vibrate, momentarily stopping any teasing about Dean and his man juiced apples.
"Agent Page," Sam whispers, sending an apologetic look to the young librarian that just so happens to walk by the moment Sam answers the phone. "Uh, yes sir," he says, his eyes darting to Dean, widening in that way that says something's changed. "No that's not a problem, we're actually in town already."
Dean leans forward, tilting his head as he tries to hear the tiny muffled voice on the other end of the line.
"We'll be there as soon as we can. Thank you, Sheriff." Sam hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. "That was the sheriff. Deputy Adams gave him our card. He asked if we could stop by the station."
Dean slumps back in his chair, imitating Sam's heavy sigh. Part of him feels like going to the station will be nothing but a waste of time. They both know the guy's probably going to ask for help solving the case of Dr. Tate's second disappearance. Right now, Sam and Dean need to focus all of their attention on figuring out how to reverse whatever's been done to the creek. Then again, how often is it you get to investigate a crime that you committed?
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
"I swear I'm just about ready to shoot 'em all. Each and every one of the dumb fucks." Dean's starting to think that Sheriff Nunez could make Mr. T wet his pants. The man has to be in his fifties, a full head of hair, and eyes dark enough to make the seasoned hunters each take a second look before stepping into the crowded office.
"What sick son of a bitch steals a body? And not just any body, but one that's been dead for God knows how long. Guess they couldn't really get their jollies off unless they're dick deep in jelly."
Yep, Dean's liking this guy. He'd probably be liking him a little more if the Sheriff wasn't unknowingly insinuating that he and Sam are necrophiliacs who like an extra bit of kink in their cocktail.
"Sheriff, not to be rude…" Sam tentatively interrupts. They've already been in the room five minutes, and so far all they've learned is that the Sheriff has long run out of patience with the crazies overrunning his town.
"Sorry, Agents," the Sheriff apologizes, running his hands through his hair before resting his palm on the butt of his gun. "I'm a few years shy of retirement, you understand? And I moved to this little slice of Bumfuck to settle down, take it easy my last few years. Now, I spent twenty-two years working in Atlanta, and trust me when I say people can do some crazy things in the city, but this…this shit is crazy. I've had five suspicious deaths in the last few weeks alone, two major fires in twenty-four hours, and now someone's jacked with the breaker box and stolen a body. If I'd known I'd be signing up for this crap, I'd have staid in the city."
"Yeah, your receptionist mentioned that the main breaker had been tampered with," Sam says, gesturing to the emergency backup lights still running on a generator. Dean nods along, promising never to make fun of Sam's theater experience again, because damn if the kid isn't giving a convincing performance.
"Cut right through the main line," the Sheriff confirms, finally taking a calming breath and sitting down at his desk. "No idea who it was either."
Dean sits up at this little bit of news. In the least, he had been expecting a colorful recounting of the outside surveillance footage.
"Aren't there cameras outside?" Sam asks without a trace of guilt in his voice. Way to go, Sammy.
The Sheriff shakes his head. "Ain't worth a damn thing. Squirrels chewed through the wires a couple of weeks ago, haven't had the money to replace 'em. All we got is someone who thinks they may have seen two guys. Nothing more than that."
Dean feels that little bit of tension in his stomach ease. At least that's one thing going in their favor.
"So what is it exactly you'd like for us to do, Sheriff?" Sam asks very professionally. "We're happy to help, it's just that it's been our experience that most people don't like it when we step in."
"You've been working with Adams, right?" the Sheriff asks, earning a short nod from both Sam and Dean. "Well, I know y'all came here originally to look into the whole Mayor Dempsey fiasco, but Adams's says you've been helping out on other cases too. Figured a body theft would be right up your alley. And I hate to admit it, but with all the crap going on around here, we could use the help."
"Like I said, Sheriff, we're happy to help." Sam throws in an extra nice smile to go along with his sincere eyes. Sheriff Nunez seems to fall for it, so he stands and raps twice on the window overlooking the small bullpen.
"Adams! Get in here," he yells, resulting in a very eager looking Deputy Adams scrambling into the office moments later. "Get these agents everything you've got on the Tate case."
Deputy Adams smiles big, dipping his head and muttering a sincere "yes, sir" before closing the door behind him.
"He's a good kid," Sheriff Nunez tells them as soon as the door is shut, "A bit over eager at times, but he gets the job done, especially lately with all this weirdness going on."
Anything else the Sheriff wants to say is cut short as Deputy Adams comes back in, handing over two thin folders.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
When they were younger, there were a few things that they could always count on. One being that their dad would always come home. It might have been later than was intended, but he always showed. Another thing that never failed was when one got sick, you can bet your bottom dollar that the other Winchester wasn't far behind.
It's a given when you live in such close proximity with one another. Given that the closest thing they have to a permanent address is the Impala's VIN and license plate number, the rule still stands that when one gets sick, the other's close behind.
It's as Sam tries to swallow the little bits of crushed ice from the bottom of his cup that he realizes the pathogens his brother's been mindlessly spewing over three states have finally found a new home. His throat is sore, making it painful to swallow. He's guessing that little throb in his sinus cavity is only going to get worse.
Listening to Dean clear his throat from across the room, Sam inwardly groans, because he knows exactly what he has to look forward to. If the timeline his brother's set is any indication, he'll be vomiting by the end of the week.
Tossing the rest of his ice into the trash, Sam continues to look through their dad's journal, trying to find any reference to cleansing a creek of a curse. It's not like they can just burn a body of water.
He knew before opening the thing that he wouldn't find anything helpful. He had memorized almost everything in the journal nearly six years ago. If it wasn't there the first time, odds are pretty good it's not gonna be there now.
He's still reading though, if for no other reason than to pass the time. Dean's got the computer, they've already called a few friends and sent out a few emails with the hopes that someone somewhere will know how to fix their problem. His thumbnail is absently playing with one of the paper clips holding the pages together when he feels a small projectile hit him on the side of the neck.
He turns, finding Dean just where he left him, propped on the bed, laptop in his lap, innocent face in full effect before he points to Sam's feet. Sam blinks and looks down. A small ball of paper is resting on the floor. As he picks it up, he sees Dean's handwriting.
Find anything?
Sam simply balls the paper back up, tossing it none too kindly back towards his brother, before returning to the journal. "No." He doesn't even remember what the last thing he read had been, so he just starts at the top of the page.
Two pages later, the whole freaking notebook lands against his shoulder. He turns, angry and seriously considering the benefits of doping Dean up with Ritalin before he sees the somewhat pleased look on the idgit's face.
"What d'you find?" Sam asks, tossing the journal on top of the two police folders Deputy Adams had given them. Dean begins to mouth something, but Sam missed the first bit and really Dean's going too fast for him to catch anything anyway.
Sam grabs the laptop from his brother and turns it, finding an open email with a list of ingredients and instructions on performing a cleansing ritual. Sam smiles, definitely relieved. He recognizes the sender as being one of the names they had found in the back of their dad's journal.
Retrieving Dean's notebook from the floor, Sam begins to copy down everything in the email. "Come on, man. Lets go get this stuff and get this over with."
TBC...