Chapter 14
Then:
"You do have to tell them eventually," Chuck points out.
"Oh, and you saw that, did you?"
"As a matter of fact, I did." Well, that steals my thunder. "It...didn't go well. You waited too long to tell them, and I have to be honest, they kinda flipped out."
"They'd flip out no matter when I tell them," I sigh, "Look, they're still pissed about Gabriel, and I just...we all need some time before I'm ready to face any flipping out."
Chuck looks uneasy, but nods. "It's your call."
"It's my call," I agree, because no matter what the angels in Heaven say, destiny doesn't make the choices anymore.
Now:
An angry yell distracts me from my conversation with Chuck.
"For the last time I'm not making this up, okay?! She's upstairs, a real live dead ghost!"
"That's an oxymoron if I ever heard one," I note, draining the rest of my cocktail and moving down the bar to join Sam and Dean. Both of them are frowning in the direction of the commotion and I spot the source: one of the attendees of the convention.
His friend is trying to convince him to stay. "I'm sure it was just one of the ghost actors."
"Who beat the hell out of me and then vanished?!" he snaps back as Sam gets up, approaching them.
"You saw something?"
The younger man sneers at Sam. "This isn't part of the game, jerk." He turns back to his friend. "Look, I'm getting out of here and you should do the same."
"Alex, wait. Hey, come back!" His friend runs after him as he storms through the door.
Sam returns to us, his eyebrows furrowed. "What do you think?"
"I don't think that guy's a good enough actor to be acting," Dean says grimly.
"You think we might have a real case here?" I ask, looking between the two of them.
"One way to find out." Dean gets up from his seat and he and Sam head for the hotel's front desk. I follow them.
"Why, yes, agents Jagger and Richards," the manager is saying to a group of people in fake suits around him, "As manager of this fine establishment, I can assure you it is indeed haunted."
"Not exactly something they'd want advertised if it's true, is it?" I point out and Sam shrugs at me.
"Some people like the publicity." We wait for the manager to finish his spiel and for the crowd to move on before approaching the front desk. "Excuse us, mind if we ask you a few questions?" Sam asks.
"Look, I don't have time to play Star Wars, guys. Go ask the guy in the ascot," the manager says irritably.
Dean takes out a fifty-dollar bill and slides it over. "Actually, we, uh...really want to talk to you."
The manager eyes it greedily before pocketing it. "You guys are really into this," he notes.
"You have no idea," Sam says wryly.
"What do you want to know?"
"About this place being haunted, is it true?" I pipe up.
"We generally don't like to publicize this to, uh...normal people...but yeah. 1909, this place was called 'Gore Orphanage'. Miss Gore killed four boys with a butcher's knife, then offed herself." I grimace at the thought.
"And is tonight really her anniversary?" Dean prompts.
"Yep. Guess your convention folks want authenticity."
"There been any sightings?" Sam raises an eyebrow.
"Yep, over the years. A few maids have quit saying they heard the boys or saw them. A janitor even saw Miss Gore once." The manager's beginning to frown.
"Where did Miss Gore carve up the kids?" Dean asks and the manager puts his foot down there.
"Look, I don't want you stomping all over the joint. A lot of this place is off-limits to nerds." Dean slides over another fifty without hesitation. "The attic," the manager supplies promptly.
Dean smiles cheerfully. "Thanks for your cooperation." He turns and heads for the staircase, gesturing for me and Sam to follow.
"Ugh, does this mean we've gotta root through a dusty old attic?" I groan and Sam gives me a sympathetic grin.
"Looks that way."
I wrinkle my nose. "I reserve the right to back out if my dust allergies start acting up." Sam only pats me on the back with a laugh as we follow Dean up the stairs.
I should have known that Sam's pat on the back was essentially a "no" to me staying behind. The instant I start sneezing as we crawl through the small passage to get to the attic, Dean only rolls his eyes while Sam shrugs at me.
"Sorry, Air, first rule of hunting is to work through whatever's slowing you down."
"I thought the first rule was to point, shoot, and God help you, don't miss," I echo Bobby's lessons grumpily, attempting to breathe through my now-stuffed nose.
"Okay, the second rule's to work through weaknesses," Sam concedes as we enter the attic and are finally able to stand. I clap my hand over my nose and mouth just in time to stifle a sneeze. "Don't stifle," Sam scolds, "You're gonna burst a blood vessel."
I scrunch my face up and stifle another sneeze just to spite him, despite the fact that my eyes feel as though they're bugging out of my head. "You're being very contradictory."
"You two done?" Dean snips at us irritably as he sweeps the dusty room with the EMF, which whines loudly. "EMF's all over the place. Awesome."
"So we've got a real ghost and fake hunters poking at it," I summarize and then sneeze before I can stop myself. "Chu!"
"Bless you," Sam says automatically and I scowl at him, my temper already smoldering due to my persistent allergies.
"You of all people probably shouldn't bless someone." Dean snorts as he pockets the EMF and walks past us to search the rest of the attic, but I immediately regret the harsh comeback when Sam's expression flickers between surprise and hurt before closing off completely. He pushes past me to follow Dean and I try to ignore the gnawing guilt at the thoughtless comment in favor of trying to stifle another sneeze.
"My mommy loves me." I spin around and see the flickering form of a little boy huddled in the corner. I stumble back, scared by my first sight of a ghost (I swear, I am never going to make it as a proper hunter), and my back collides with Dean's chest. The older Winchester squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. "I said my mommy loves me," the boy insists. His hands are clasped over his head.
"I'm sure she does," Sam says quietly, taking a step towards the boy carefully.
"My mommy loves me this much!" The boy spreads his hands to show us just how much and then I see what his fingers had been hiding: a large bloody hole in his scalp where hair should have been. I press back against Dean with a short scream, startled, and the boy flickers out of sight.
Dean throws me an irritated look. "Jeez, Air, we could've gotten more out of him if you hadn't been such a chicken."
I grimace as more guilt is added to the growing weight in my chest. "Sorry," I say weakly, cheeks warming with embarrassment, and Dean just nudges my shoulder with a wry grin.
"Oh, well. C'mon. At least now we've got a lead." Sam's already ducked into the small passageway to leave the attic and Dean follows.
Casting a glance back at the empty corner where the scalped little boy had been, I go after the Winchesters.
Dean is on the phone, calling local historical societies for information on Leticia Gore, while Sam purposely tries to avoid Becky's leering gaze at the bar. I throw a warning glare at the fangirl, surprising her enough to make her stop staring at Sam, before taking a seat next to the younger Winchester.
"Hey." Sam ignores me. "Okay, now you're just being oversensitive."
One side of his mouth quirks humorlessly. "Well, you were insensitive."
"True," I admit grudgingly even as my throat tightens uncomfortably. Damn it, I'm not going to cry just because someone else is angry with me, I'm not going to cry, I'm not - too late. My eyes are already stinging. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean what I said."
"I know. It's okay. It's true, any-" Then Sam finally looks at me and his eyebrows shoot up. "Are you crying?" A smile slowly starts to form on his face. "What, did you think I'd be mad at you forever?"
That pretty much sums my expectations up. "Sorry," I mumble again, ducking my head and swiping at my eyes.
"Now who's oversensitive?" Sam's chuckling now, though, which I take as a good sign as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and tugs me against his side in a half-embrace. Honestly, it just makes me feel even worse. "Quit crying, Ariel, I said it's okay!"
"I can't!" I wail as I bury my face into his shoulder, and he just laughs harder.
"Oh, wow, I can't believe you thought I'd stay mad at you!"
"Fuck off!" I punch him half-heartedly.
"Is the kid PMSing or something?" Dean asks, bewildered, as he approaches us and I kick his leg, sniffling.
"Screw you, too!"
"Aww, that's adorable." Dean ruffles my hair and I smack his hand away. "Anyway, I just got off the phone with the County Historical Society. Not only did Leticia Gore butcher four boys, but one of them was her own son."
"The kid from the attic?" Sam asks and Dean nods.
"Yeah. According to the police at the time, she scalped the kid." He scowls. "I swear, I'm gonna deep-fry this bitch extra crispy."
"Can't do that if you don't know where she's buried," I point out, finally calming down enough to contribute.
"Yeah, exactly, the guy at the society didn't know, either." Dean's still sulking when I overhear a conversation from a nearby table.
"Check it out. There's the orphanage, here's the carriage house, and right there...cemetery." It's one of the LARPers, the tall skinny guy, and he's talking to the overweight Dean cosplayer. I nudge Sam and nod in their direction. Dean's already halfway to their table by the time we get up to join him.
"You think that's where Leticia's planted?"
"It's worth a shot."
Sam reaches the table before I do - damn his longer legs - and reaches out for the map.
"Hey, hey!" the skinny man protests.
"You mind?" the Dean cosplayer snaps as he snatches the map back.
"It's real," Sam informs Dean, "A century old, at least, and he's right, there is a cemetery on the grounds."
"Where'd you get that?" Dean demands, glaring at the LARPers.
"It's called a game, pal. It ain't called charity."
"Oh, don't be rude," I scold, "Where's the good sportsmanship?"
The man rolls his eyes at me. "You've never LARPed before."
Dean sighs. "Give me the map, Chuckles."
"Yeah, well, you're the Chuckles, Chuckles. Besides, Dean don't listen to nobody." The man looks pleased with himself as he reveals his plastic gun and I have to admit that seeing the vein in Dean's forehead ticking is worth it. The older Winchester pulls out his own real gun, gleaming silver in the light of the bar, before tucking it away again when we give him a warning look.
"Look, guys. We all wanna find the bones, right?" Sam attempts to pacify the startled LARPers, "We just thought...it would go faster if we all worked together."
The skinny guy hesitates. "Ahem. We..ah...we get the Sizzler gift card."
"Sure," Dean agrees, rolling his eyes.
"And we get to be Sam and Dean," the LARPer prompts. Sam and Dean look at each other with identical long-suffering expressions.
"Fine," Sam agrees and the LARPers both fistpump in success.
I'm starting to understand why Dean's so annoyed.
This chapter's shorter than the others for a couple of reasons.
One: my brain is incapable of writing this episode for some reason, even though it's one of my favorites.
Two: I got into a fight with a wall today. The wall won and gave me a spectacular black eye, which is now swollen and painful to blink.
Three: I am traumatized by my discovery of the existence of Giovanna Plowman. Don't know who that is? Trust me, you don't want to know. (But if for some reason you do and you don't plan to have an appetite for a long time, Google her name.)
Anyway, I'm going to leave it here and hopefully finish the episode in the next chapter. Review, please!