Family Business Part 1

Dean stood on the walkway, looking out on the frozen pond as he listened to Frank.
"So, Dick's funding an archaeological dig? Well, unless Dick's actually digging himself, I'm not sure I know what to do with that, Frank. Or the factory in Saudi Arabia, or the fishery in Jakarta. None of this is helping, Frank." He complained.

"Explain how Western to Southeast Asia is too wide a net. You know, I could be in Tromso right now. Zero Leviathan activity in Tromso."

"Where the hell is Tromso?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Norway, you moron. By the way, they opened another Biggerson in Butte."

"Yeah, well, we're not in Montana." Dean told him.

"Oh, you know where Butte is. That's encouraging. So, where are you?"

"We're in Oregon."

"No. I got nothing in Oregon."

"Wisconsin, Frank." Dean reminded him.

"What about it?"

"The coordinates – Bobby's coordinates." Dean explained, exasperatedly.

"Bobby... Oh! Right. Yeah, no. I got nothing. I got no activity."

"Well, work on it." Dean told him. His attention was drawn to Sam and Lacey exiting a nearby café and heading in his direction.

"Hey. When did you become the boss of me? You don't like what I'm doing, you can stick it right up your Montana."

"All right, all right, all right. Take it easy, Frank."

"Oh, and another thing…" Frank said, before promptly hanging up.

"Frank? Hello?" Dean looked at his phone in annoyance. "He's a crazy son of a bitch." Dean muttered as Sam and Lacey reached him.

"Frank?" Sam asked as Lacey handed him a cup of coffee.

"You know, having a cranky total paranoid as your go-to guy, that's… it's... I don't know what it is. What, are you going for, like, the Guinness record of caffeine consumption? That's like your fifth this morning." Dean noted, nodding at Sam's drink.

"Yeah, well, every time I close my eyes, Lucifer is yelling into my head. It's like I let him in once, now I can't get rid of him." Lacey watched him worriedly as she sipped her hot chocolate.

"You know he's not actually..."

"Yeah. Yeah, no. I know. Uh, try telling that to the volume control inside my brain." Sam pulled a face.

"Well, did you try the hand thing?"

"Yeah." Sam shook his head in defeat. "Anyway, long as I'm awake, check it out." He handed Dean a newspaper. "They're saying drugs, but read between the lines. Sounds like she danced her own feet off. Might be our kind of thing."

"Dancers. They are toe shoes full of crazy." Dean commented as he skimmed the article.

"And you would know this how?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I saw "Black Swan." Twice. Hot tutu-on-tutu action? Come on, Sam. What's wrong with you?"
"Wow. The depths of your…" Sam glanced at Lacey who shrugged.
"It's not my job to police his viewing habits."

"Anyway, it's in Portland, a couple hours away. What do you think?"

"Yeah, dancers. Why not? Maybe you'll get some sleep on the way." Dean shrugged.

"Yeah, maybe." Sam replied, noncommittally before getting in the car. Dean and Lacey shared a look before getting in too.

They arrived in Portland a few hours later. They checked out the crime scene before heading to the police station.
"So, the usual – no EMF, no sulfur, no hex junk." Sam confirmed as they walked in.
"If there's no more dancers to interview on this trip, it could be a bust. Although I hear they have good coffee in Portland." Dean replied, disappointedly.

"Dude, that's Seattle. Oh, let's just get the drill over with." They walked up to the reception, the desk Sargent glanced up from his paperwork.

"Hi." Sam smiled at him.

"Yeah?"
"Uh, we'd like to see the crime-scene photos from the Irina Koganzon case, please."

"And you would be..."

"Oh." They pulled out their badges and showed them to him.
"Give me a minute."

"Take your time." Dean waved him off. The officer brought back the files and handed them to Dean.

"Yeah, I'd call that weird." Dean said as he flipped through the photos. They headed over to the evidence locker and waited while the attending officer dealt with his daughter, who he had brought to work with him.

"Hey, there. How you doing?"

"Okay. What can I do for you fellas?" He asked.

"Well, we need to see the shoes that were involved in the ballet dancer's death." Sam explained.

"Didn't figure that would be an FBI deal. But sure. Yeah, right here." He turned around to grab the shoes but frowned. "Damn it, Tracy."

"Who's Tracy?" Dean asked.

"My daughter. She loves ballet." The three of them exchanged looks.

The officer told them his daughter had gone to the bathroom so the three of them rushed in. Tracy was sat on the floor, the ballet shoes already on her feet.

"Hey, take those shoes off." Sam exclaimed. The girl seemed to float as she stood up and began to spin.

"Dean, get the shoes!" Sam yelled as the two advanced and tried to grab hold of her.

"I'm trying!" Dean grumbled. Lacey waved a hand and the girl came to a halt. Sam managed to grab hold of her shoulders while Dean took her legs and tried to get the shoes off.

"Sorry!" The girl gasped as the shoes, with a mind of their own, caused her to kick Dean in the head. Dean scrambled with her foot and managed to get one off.

"Come on, Dean!"

"I'm trying!" The girls leg went out but Lacey managed to put up a barrier before it could hit Dean.

"I got it! I got it." He exclaimed triumphantly as the second shoe came off.

"Uh! Okay. I'm going with cursed object." Sam said as the stayed on the ground, catching their breath.

"You think?"

"Next stop – "Out With The Old"." Sam said, reading the tag on the shoes. " I suppose it's too much to hope that these shoes are the only thing in that store that we have to worry about." Sam said as they exited the bathroom.
"Oh, what a dreamer you are." Dean teased.

They drove across town and pulled up outside the store. Lacey was about to get out when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye.
"What the..?" She trailed off. Sam and Dean turned around in their seats. The ballet shoes had appeared on the seat next to her.
" Hey. Didn't we put those in the trunk?" Dean asked, frowning.

"How did they…"

"Cursed object, Sam." Dean reminded him.

"Do they... look like they're... your size?" Sam asked, scrutinizing them. Lacey let out a short sharp laugh.
"Well they're certainly not my size."

"Shut up." Dean told them.

"Wait, are you…"

"Getting the strong urge to Prince Siegfried myself into oblivion? Yes." Lacey giggled at his wording.

"You really did see Black Swan." Sam looked slightly impressed. They quickly got out of the car and Sam took hold of the shoes, holding them at arms length. They crossed the snow-laden side walk and headed into the store.

"Hello?" Sam called out. A guy who was mopping the floor straightened up and walked towards them. "Hey, did you sell these?" The man glanced at the shoes.

"Uh, yeah."

"Where did you get them?"

"Uh, m-my m-mother had them in that box." Sam put the shoes down and the guy handed him a wooden box with symbols carved into it. As he examined it Dean picked up the shoes, staring at them longingly.

"I don't understand. What's happening?" The guy looked between the three of them uncertainly.

"This, in here?" Sam clarified, holding open the box. He realised Dean had picked up the shoes.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey!" Lacey sighed and waved her hand, causing the shoes to float out of Dean's grasp and into the box before shutting the lid.

"Geez! You okay there, Baryshnikov?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm 'pas de done.'" Dean quipped, looking more himself again.

"Okay, if it's not too much trouble, do you mind telling me, uh, what's – what's going on?" The guy asked. Sam and Dean took out their badges and showed them to him.

"What's your name?" Sam asked.

"Uh, Scott, Scott Freeman." He told them.

"You said these were your mother's? Where'd she get them?"

"I don't know. I found them in the back." He pointed towards the back room.

"I got it." Dean headed into the back room.

"Now, where is your mother?" Sam asked.

"Well, she's, uh... She passed away last week." Scott told him.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Scott, listen. These shoes..."

"Just some personal stuff she collected. I'm trying to get rid of it all." Scott explained.

"All? Is there more like this?" Sam asked, but Dean interrupted.
"Sam." He stood in the doorway holding up two more empty boxes.

"Scott, what was in those boxes?"

"Okay, what the hell kind of FBI guys are you?" Scott looked between them accusingly.

"The kind that are trying to fix the mess you started. Now where'd your mom get these?"

"I don't know. I found them in her safe." Scott shrugged.

"Did it ever occur to you that these things might be locked in that safe for a reason?" Sam challenged.

"No, I…I just thought it was some of the junk that she had collected over the years. Like, I knew she was into some weird stuff, but I never thought that she would be, like…" He paused, lost for words.

"Yeah, well, think again, okay? 'Cause this "junk" is killing people."

"What? Like, how can that be?" Scott stared at them, shocked.

"Look, Scott. We're gonna need to know exactly what you sold out of that safe and names and addresses of who you sold it to." Sam told him.

Scott gave them a list of everything he'd sold out of the safe and the three of them left the store to try and reclaim them.
"All right, what do we got?" Dean asked as they pulled up outside the first address.

"She bought a tea kettle." Sam told them.

"Tea kettle?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Hey, with enough curse mojo, you can turn a freaking pencil into a weapon of mass destruction." Sam told him.

"Good times." Dean sighed as they got out of the car and headed up to the house. After knocking on the door a few times, they tried the handle and the door opened. When they walked inside they found the owner of the house on the ground, her face burned beyond recognition, the tea kettle on the floor beside her.

"Better call this in." Dean said as he grabbed a tea cloth and used it to pick up the kettle. Sam nodded and pulled out his phone, before dialling 911.

"Hello, yeah. I'd like to report an accident at 23 Gorham Road. My name? Uh... Bruce Hornsby." Sam answered before hanging up.

They made their way back out to the car.

"All right. Who's next on the list?" Dean asked as he deposited the kettle in the trunk. Sam pulled the list out of his pocket.

"We got a, uh, gramophone sold to Brenda Gluck, 413 River Street, and a vintage gentlemen's magazine sold to Peter Yankit, 27 Johnson Lane."

"Really?" Dean smirked.

"Yeah."

"All right, we'd better split up. Why don't you take the gramophone? I'll handle the old rag." Dean suggested.

"I wouldn't really "handle" it if I were you. Remember those shoes?" Sam reminded him.

"Yeah, how could I forget?"
"I'll go with you, just in case." Lacey smiled at him, cheekily.

"You know, I wonder how old porn kills you." Dean mused.

"Pretty sure you don't want to know." Sam raised an eyebrow as Lacey started to giggle.

"Yeah, you're probably right. All right. Let's do this."

"Yep." Sam headed off to the next street while Lacey and Dean got in the car.