Close Encounters

From the previous chapter:

"Sammy?" The older hunter moved cautiously towards his brother as behind him, he heard Joe trying to rouse Frank. He crouched down in front of his distressed sibling and asked softly. "What did you do?"

Sam looked at his brother, his eyes wide and confused. "I-I think—" he swallowed hard and shivered, unable to keep the horror off his pale and bruised features. "I th-think I s-s-shot h-h-him! Oh G-G-God D-D-Dean…" and then he bent over and retched.

Chapter 11

"Frank?" Joe gently shook his brother as he quickly glanced over the prone body, looking for any signs of injury. The older boy had a bloody nose but other than that, seemed to be fine.

After a moment, the blond teen got a moan for his effort and then his older brother moved his head slightly before he opened his eyes; taking in a sharp breath as he did so.

"Whoa, easy there, big brother," Joe said, his voice low and soothing. He put his hand on Frank's shoulder to keep him from sitting up. "You're okay."

Frank blinked and then frowned. He reached up and touched his sore nose. "Ow," he winced softly and then as he remembered what had happened, he shrugged off Joe's hand and sat up, quickly turning towards where Dean was crouched down with his brother, one hand on the younger boy's back as Sam dry-heaved. "Sam!"

Dean turned at the sound of Frank's voice, relief clear on his handsome young face. "Frank – you okay?"

"I'll live," the older Hardy assured; accepting Joe's hand up he moved stiffly towards the Winchesters, rubbing at a sore spot on his back. He glared at Sam as the kid blinked up at him, his face a sickly shade of green. "What'd you see?" He crouched down eye level to the kid, ignoring both Dean and Joe for the moment. Sam slowly shifted back so he was sitting, leaning against the side of the van again. "When you told me to get down, what'd you see?"

Sam glanced at his own brother and then lowered his gaze, the dark bangs falling into his eyes as he just shook his head. "Y-you w-w-won't b-b-believe m-m-me," he shivered.

"What happened, Frank?" Joe asked quietly, moving to stand behind his brother.

Frank appraised the younger Winchester for a long moment and then sighed and stood up, realizing he wasn't about to get anything out of the kid right now. He was relieved to see that Dean had the gun Sam had shot at him, though. The older Hardy exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his wet hair, wondering if this night could possibly get any more screwed up.

"I don't know," he admitted, "but something attacked the van just after you guys left." He frowned and gingerly touched his nose. "Sam kinda freaked out—" he ignored Dean as the older Winchester slowly rose beside them. "Tackled me to get his gun—" he cast a quick glance at Sam. "You could have just asked," he added and then continued when Sam refused to meet his gaze, "Aimed the damn thing at me and then yelled 'down' and fired."

"I-I w-wasn't sh-sh-shooting at y-y-you," Sam defended quietly.

"Touché," Frank replied and then winced and rubbed his back again. "I just dropped and damn near knocked myself out."

Joe chuckled softly as he reached out and patted his older brother's shoulder consolingly. "Well at least you listened this time, old man." He then pulled his hand back and wrinkled up his nose. "Rather stinky than dead."

"Speaking of which," Frank turned on Dean, "What is up with 'rock-salt'?"

"Look," Dean held up his hands in resignation. "Can we table sharing time for just now?" He leaned down and grabbed his brother by the arm, gently hefting the younger boy to his feet. "I'm cold and my ass is getting numb."

Frank opened his mouth to protest but then realized it was late, they were all tired, sore, cold, wet and – in his case – smelly. Besides, their mother would be worried sick if he and Joe didn't get home soon. "Fine," he conceded, "But you are going to tell us what's going on. After all the crap we've been through in the past two hours, I think we've got the right to know."

Dean appraised Frank a long moment and then slowly nodded. "Fair enough," he stated bluntly and then helped his brother around the front of the van and towards the waiting Impala.

As Frank and Joe got into the back, Dean carefully lowered Sam into the front passenger seat and then closed the door and hurried around to the driver's side.

"Seatbelts, children," he called over his shoulder at the Hardys, after sliding into his own seat. He started the powerful car and then thrust it into drive, quickly pulling away from the disabled van. "Okay, where to?"

"Corner of Elm and High Streets," Joe quipped with a grin.

"Or the next left," Frank added, flatly. He waited a few minutes and then pushed, "Okay. Spill. What's going on?"

Dean sighed heavily and then just said. "It's a wraith. That's what I shot at in the gulley, that's what attacked your van, and that's what Sammy was shooting at. A freakin' wraith."

Frank snorted. "A wraith?" his voice was incredulous. "As in a pissed-off ghost? Puhlease…you don't expect—"

"I don't expect anything," Dean cut him off coldly. "You asked and I'm just telling you. Now it's up to you whether or not you want to believe me. But this is what me and my family do – we hunt down these evil sons-a-bitches and send them straight back to hell."

An uncomfortable silence filled the car for a few minutes and then Sam shivered, "R-rock s-salt r-r-repels…brief-f-fly." Dean leaned forward and cranked up the heat more.

Frank looked at Joe to see what his brother was thinking. Joe shrugged his shoulders 'why not'? But the older teen was not so sure. He had seen a lot of things in his eighteen years, but ghosts? Sighing, the serious young sleuth ran a hand through his dark hair before sitting back and staring out the side window at darkened Bayport. Ghosts?

"Rock-salt repels?" he repeated, still unable to just accept what he was hearing.

"Yeah," Dean's voice was hard. He sighed and dropped the edge. "We went back to the house to make sure the poltergeist was gone. And it is…but something even more nasty has moved in. Wraiths are vicious; nothing to be screwed around with. And it's smart. It separated me and Sam, and the rest is, as they say, 'history'. That's it. You wanted to know what was going on, and now you know…"

…

The four young men rode in silence the rest of the way to the Hardy house. One dozing lightly in the passenger seat, one mentally reviewing how screwed up the night had become and what needed to be done next, and two wondering just what the heck they'd stumbled into the middle of, until finally Dean pulled up in front of a large Victorian house with a nicely manicured front yard and big old oak tree out front.

It reeked 'Martha Stewart' and Dean just shook his head but said nothing. Ever since he was a kid, Victorian houses freaked him out….He blamed it on a 'Flowers in the Attic' book he'd read 'by accident' when he was twelve.

Glancing across at his younger brother, Dean winced as the streetlights gave him a good view of Sam's damaged face.

Sam opened his eyes and gave him a wan smile. "We there yet?"

The older hunter shook his head. "Nah, brat, not yet. We're just dropping Rick and A.J off first. Then we'll get a room." They'd already checked out of the motel they had been staying in, earlier that day. A couple of dopeheads were staying in the room next door and Dean was uncomfortable with his kid brother being anywhere around them – even in the next room.

"Dean," Sam shifted uncomfortably in the seat as the back doors creaked open and Frank and Joe got out of the car. He lowered his voice. "I r-really got to g-go." Thankfully he was finally warming up and the shivering wasn't as intense as it had been.

"Can it wait?" his brother asked, not liking being parked in front of the huge house – let alone going inside. He sighed in resignation when Sam gave a little head shake – damn…the things he'd do for this kid… "Okay." Turning off the car, Dean shoved open the driver's door and got out. "Hey guys," he tilted his head towards the car. "D'you mind if Sammy uses your bathroom before we go?"

"No problem," Joe flashed a smile as Frank went ahead to unlock the front door. The blond teen moved back towards the car in case Dean needed a hand with his brother, but the older Winchester waved him off as he waited patiently for Sam to extricate himself from the passenger seat.

The sixteen-year-old limped heavily, but after having a bit of rest and warming up, he was moving on his own now – albeit stiffly and slowly. Dean kept a surreptitious eye on his brother and reached out to steady him when he wavered slightly climbing the few steps up to the front door.

"Okay, Sammy," he muttered under his breath as they prepared to step inside the house. He felt increasingly uneasy. He could handle ghosts, werewolves, cockroach infested motel rooms, but this he wasn't so sure of….It was a freakin' Victorian house for cripes sake! He wasn't even sure rock-salt would protect them in there. "Let's just keep this simple and make it quick. Got it?"

The younger boy gave him a weak smile as he reached across and patted his arm awkwardly. He was the only other person who knew about Dean's unfounded phobia. "It'll be okay, Dean…it's just a house."

"Yeah and John Wayne Gacie was just a clown."

Sam paled and swallowed hard. He hated clowns…. And Dean had a point.

"C'mon," Joe coaxed the two hunters, "My Mom's still up and I know she'd love to meet you!"

Dean felt all the blood drain from his face. Their mother?

"Sammy," he hissed, "kill me now!"

The younger hedged. "I could wait…" he offered but Dean exhaled loudly and shook his head.

"You are not getting septic on my watch!" And with one final, steadying breath, the brave hunter stepped into the mouth of the Hardy home….

His younger brother just shook his head and followed. With Dean it was just the easier thing to do.

TBC