A/N: Sorry again for the wait, this chapter ended up being longer than I anticipated. Anyway, here it is, hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 11: Coincidence and Circumstance
A few weeks after the Lake Michigan case, Mike catches wind of a serious ghost issue a few towns over. After my success with the kelpie, Mike trusts me to go alone. There was a time when he would have let me go alone to Michigan, after all I'm twenty-six and I've been hunting since I was a child. However, a few years ago I made myself very untrustworthy by making a huge mistake and taking off on my own. When I got the case in Florida, I had only been back living with Mike for about a year. Sending me to handle what seemed like just a small ghost case was his way of saying he trusted me again, but then it had blown up into a full on demon hunt. The case a few towns over is without a doubt a ghost, and Mike heard about a similar case in another town not far away. So, now able to trust me again, he sends me off on my own once more while he checks out the other case. The drive north isn't too long, only a couple of hours. The whole drive I think about the bombshell Mike dropped on me while we returned from Michigan. My brother had these visions too. He had these visions and they caused him to confront the demon. Mike had spared me the details, but I have been hunting long enough to draw the conclusion for myself. My brother had sought out the demon, gotten himself killed by said demon, and my father had made a deal to bring him back. Obviously, the deal my father made with the demon was a life for a life. When I was younger I never understood why Eric blamed himself for my father's death. As I got older I started to put the pieces together, our demon hunt and Eric going missing the night before. Now the final piece seems to have fallen into place. In the first year or so following our father's death, my relationship with my brother could not have been stronger. We only had each other and Mike. After that first year, my relationship with Eric started to fracture. We continued hunting together, also with Mike at first, but each hunt strained our relationship. Eric simply could not move past the death of our father. Now I understand why, but at the time I just wanted my brother to pay more attention to me. He started treating me like a partner instead of his baby sister and would criticize my every mistake. Of course, years later I understood he was so concerned with my safety he could not afford to be distracted and he wanted me to do everything right to protect myself. Another year later and his protective nature over me became-
My mind is jolted from my past as I swerve to miss a huge branch in the road. Once again, I let my mind wander too far and completely became detached from driving. I focus on driving, trying to keep my mind focused this time. Another hour goes by before I arrive in the secluded town. The town itself is not small, but it is contained and some ways off from the main highway. Mike warned me before I left that my nosing around may not be very welcome here. I will have to be careful about the number of questions I ask and who I ask them to. I pull into the town's bustling police station first to ask about the recent, unsolved "homicide" cases. The whole place seems understaffed and overpopulated. People move all around in hurried paces, going this way and that. Quite a few minutes pass before I am met by a rushed-looking, older officer.
"Can I help you?" he asks, his tone rigid.
"Yes, I believe you can," I say, flashing my fake FBI badge. "I'm here about the four homicides from the past month. I just need to-"
"Look, this department is very busy, as you can see. We do not have the luxury of answering the same questions multiple times. If you're going to ask the same thing the other agent did, go to the abandoned Ridgeview hospital. That's where the bodies have been found. Now, please, I have more serious issues to deal with than a dead end lead," the officer says then goes back to reading a report on his desk.
I am taken aback by his unfriendly and blunt tone, but I am grateful he gives me the only information I really need. As I make my way to the abandoned hospital I wonder if should really be going there at all. There may be an FBI agent, a real FBI agent already there. An agent who may be able to blow my cover or even have me arrested. Even if they believed my identity, a civilian would throw a real wrench into my ghost hunting. When I arrive at the hospital, only a twenty minute drive away from the station, I see something slightly unsettling. The sign along the main road to the hospital reads: "Ridgeview Mental Hospital." A slight detail that everyone seems to have left out. Abandoned mental hospitals are sure to have some pretty violent spirits, but, still, I am not deterred. I have dealt with worse than a few violent spirits. I park on the far side of the hospital and wait for sunset, hoping to avoid an encounter with a real FBI agent.
I pop the trunk of my car, lift the false bottom, and sift through my weapons as the sun starts to sink in the sky. I slip a specially-made iron rod through a belt loop on my hip. It slips easily in and out of my belt loop in case of a ghost attack and is easy to carry around on my hip. I pick up one of my numerous shotguns, a double-barrel, and load it with salt rounds. I pack a small shoulder bag with extra salt rounds, plain salt, and one of my other favorite custom-made ghost tools. I grab a flashlight and close my trunk, making sure my car is securely locked. I walk along the back of the hospital until I find a door with a lock I am able to easily pick. By the time I am inside of the hospital, the sun is about to disappear below the horizon. I click on my flashlight and continue deeper into the hospital. There is some kind of ominous allure that I feel toward abandoned places. They have some sort of gloomy, despondent beauty to them, something I am drawn to. I don't know if that allure came from hunting or if I always felt that way, I can't remember. I point my flashlight around with my shotgun, holding them together in a way where I will be able to shoot while still having light. From what I can tell, I am moving down one of the main hallways, hopefully toward the center of the main floor. The place is pretty much bare, only a few overturned, rotting pieces of furniture remain. There are also old and rusting metal food trolleys that have been overturned on their sides. The appearance of these is sporadic down the hallway. I have to step over and through some of them to continue on my path. I move slowly and quietly, hoping to make as little noise as possible. My goal is to see if I can get clues as to what would have happened to create violent spirits here, not to piss off the spirits even more. The hallway eventually opens up into a large, wide open area that seems to be the main part of the hospital. The area looks like a lobby, there is an old, decaying desk askew near the center of the room. There are some overturned and some upright chairs scattered over the floor. I look up and see a glass dome roof that reveals the night sky, during the day this room is no doubt flooded with light. I look to one side and see what appears to be the double-door main entrance to the hospital in the distance. To my other side is more open space that eventually splits into more hallways leading further back into the building.
After walking around the main open lobby area for a few minutes nothing stands out that points to a violent incident. I start to move toward the other hallways when I hear a loud bang that makes me jump and almost fire my shotgun in shock. I turn in the direction of the noise, which seems to have come from the left hallway that leads further back into the building. All of my nerves are on end and adrenaline is pumping through me as I get closer to where the noise came from. I walk a few feet into the hallway only to find it turns sharply to the right almost immediately. I carefully navigate the corner, trying to always know what is ahead of me before I turn. This hallway is slightly larger than the first one I came through. I follow the hallway for about twenty more feet before it turns again, this time to the left. Being slightly too comfortable this time I turn before moving my flashlight and shotgun. As I bring my flashlight and shotgun around to look down the next corner I am face to face with a human figure. I am jolted and have only a split second to stop myself from firing off my shotgun. Not only is the face I see definitely a living human face, it is a familiar face.
"Dean!?" I say, completely confused.
"Lara?" the older Winchester responds, equally confused.
We both lower our shotguns and flashlights out of each other's faces.
"I could have shot you!" we say simultaneously.
This amuses Dean, who cracks into a smile.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask.
"I could ask you the same thing, but I'm like a hundred-percent sure our answers are going to be identical."
"So you're the other FBI agent I was afraid of running into," I say with a laugh.
"That crotchety, old officer talk to you too?" Dean asks with a laugh.
"Yeah, barely. No thanks to you. He really did not want to repeat himself. Luckily, he told me this is where you came. Hey, where's Sam?"
"We should probably talk outside," Dean says.
For a second a knot forms in my stomach as I think of my vision. Then I realize Dean does not even look slightly upset.
"Sure," I say.
We are almost out of the hospital, walking toward the main double-doors when I hear a soft click. Dean and I exchange glances of uneasiness and we run for the doors. We both push on them, but they will not budge.
"Dammit!" Dean yells. "Looks like Casper's got us."
"Fantastic," I say sarcastically.
We both put our backs to the doors, raising our shotguns. All of a sudden a human form appears out of thin air on my left. I do not hesitate and I fire a salt round at the spirit. The spirit dissipates instantly. Almost immediately another, completely different spirit appears to our right, closer to Dean. Dean fires his shotgun and that ghost dissipates. Again, almost immediately, another different spirit appears in front of us. We both fire at it at the same time.
"How many of them are there!" I yell in shock, quickly reloading my shotgun.
"Beats me," Dean says, reloading his shotgun.
As he is reloading another spirit, again looking completely different from the other three, appears. I only had time to load one round, but it is enough. I fire at the spirit and it dissipates. My fingers are steady as I quickly go back to reloading. The second I am done reloading one of the four spirits appears right in front of me. Before I can raise my shotgun, I am flung across the room. I hit the floor and slide on my shoulder toward the center of the room.
"Lara!" I hear Dean call after me.
I am able to keep hold of my gun and my bag with my extra rounds stays strapped to me. I quickly try to get to my feet. As I a getting to my feet, Dean runs up beside me and helps me the rest of the way up.
"Thanks," I say.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good. Little bit pissed, but-"
Suddenly, the four spirits we have seen all appear at once, surrounding us as we are exposed in the center of the room.
"Back to back?" I suggest.
"Yeah," Dean agrees.
We stand back to back, with only inches separating us to account for the kick of our guns. We are able to each take out two of the spirits from our position. The spirits are able to reappear every few seconds, barely giving us enough time to reload.
"Man, they must really be pissed!" Dean says after we do this a few times.
"We have to get out of here!" I say.
Dean nods. We fire off our guns again, dissipating the four spirits before making a break for the door. We are able to get our backs up against the doors before the spirits reappear. We each fire twice more and I take the iron rod from my side and jam it between the two doors. I am able to pry them open just enough so we can slip through.
"Bag!" I yell to Dean as he slips through the door after me.
He takes the container of salt out of my bag and makes a salt line under the door as I let them slam shut. I slip the iron rod through my belt loop and Dean hands me the container of salt. I place it back in my bag as we start to walk quickly away from the hospital.
We hurry across a large patch of grass that separates a parking lot from the front of the hospital. In the front of the parking lot I can make out the unmistakable form of Dean's Impala. I follow Dean to the Impala.
"Where's your car?" he asks as we reach the Impala.
"Around the other side of the building."
"Get in, I'll drive you."
I slip in the passenger side as Dean goes around to the driver side.
"Thanks again," I say as Dean starts the engine.
"Don't mention it. I'm just glad we made it out of there. Those spirits seemed extra pissed off for some reason."
"Yeah, it was weird. I don't like it."
"Me neither."
Dean drives the Impala around the parking lot to the other side where my car is parked. As I'm getting out Dean stops me.
"Hey, are you already staying somewhere in town?"
"No, I just got here a few hours before sunset."
"Well, we're staying at the Blue Ridge Inn off 16th Street. Meet me there?"
"Sure," I say, getting out. "See you there."
I walk over to my car, put my shotgun in the trunk and start the engine up. Only after my headlights turn on does Dean start to drive off in the Impala. I am able to follow him most of the way to the inn, keeping pace with his sometimes less than lawful driving. The inn is exactly what I expected, small and cheap, the kind I'm used to. It has two floors and doesn't look like a total dump, but it is certainly on its way. I am checking in when Dean walks up behind me.
"I forgot I didn't tell you what room we were in," he says.
"I think I could have eventually figured it out. Your car kind of sticks out."
"She's unique, okay?"
"Hey, I didn't say in a bad way."
The inn manager comes back and looks at us with an odd expression.
"Oh, I didn't realize- will you be needing a room further away from your own?" he directs his question mainly at Dean.
I blush, realizing what he is implying.
"No, no, no, no, whatever you have is fine. We aren't-" I say, flustered.
"Oh. Well, you are all set, then," he says, handing me a key.
I quickly take the key and walk out of the room, trying not to make eye contact with Dean. Once we are outside I hear Dean chuckle. I take a breath in relief, glad he found the situation funny rather than horribly awkward, as I did.
"So, is that a normal thing for you? People thinking you and Sam-"
"Are gay? Yeah, it happens more than you'd think," Dean says with a smile. "At this point we've pretty much given up trying to tell them we're brothers. We're in room 105, by the way."
I laugh, finding the situation funny myself.
It turns out my room is only a few doors down from Sam and Dean's room. I move my car around and park it next to the Impala. I put my stuff in my room before heading over to their room. When I walk in I find Sam sitting on one bed, laptop in front of him, and Dean reclining on the other. Sam looks up from his laptop and looks surprised to see me. I take it Dean didn't tell him about our little adventure.
"Oh, yeah, look who I found in Ridgeview. I wouldn't exactly have pegged her for the crazy type, but, hey, what do I know?" Dean jokes.
I smile and roll my eyes sarcastically, "Thanks, Dean. Hey, Sam."
"Hey, Lara. I can't believe we picked up the same case," Sam says.
"Yeah, we might be glad we did. Those spirits seemed pretty upset," I say, taking a seat in one of the armchairs.
"Spirits? I thought there was only one."
"Nope. Four. At least that's how many of them tried to kill us," Dean says.
"Dean, that's why I said I should have come with you."
"Yeah, well, you wanted to do research and I wasn't about to sit around the room all night. I'm twenty-eight, I can take on a couple spirits by myself."
"Obviously you couldn't," Sam jests, nodding his head toward me.
"Just because Lara happened to be there doesn't mean I couldn't take those spirits by myself."
"I don't know, even with two of us it was barely an even fight," I say lightly.
"Come on, don't help him," Dean says in feigned anger.
Sam and I both laugh at the same time.
"It's just too easy, Dean," Sam says.
"Oh, shut up. Do your research."
"Already did and get this, one of the victims was the great granddaughter of the head doctor of Ridgeview back in the 1920s, Henry Conway. The hospital officially shut down in 1926 due to multiple lawsuits by the families of the patients. Most of the lawsuits were for mistreatment of the patients or negligence resulting in death of the patients."
"So basically this place is just called a 'hospital', but it's more like an asylum. So, what, evil doctor kills a couple of patients and they come back looking for revenge?" I suggest.
"More like four patients," Sam says, turning his laptop around.
On the screen are four black and white pictures. I have seen those faces before, briefly.
"Those are the four spirits that attacked us."
"Fantastic, find out where they're buried, burn the bones, case closed," Dean says.
"Not so much," Sam counters.
"Please, don't say it-"
"They were cremated. Apparently, the good doctor thought that the patient's mental illnesses were a sign of demonic possession. He would perform weird rituals on them to try to exorcise the 'demons' and when some of them died he 'purified their bodies with salt and had them cremated.'"
"So what's keeping them here?" I ask.
"I'll bet there's some part of them still in that place. Blood, skin, personal items, something," Dean says. "Which means, great, we have to go back to that funny farm."
"What, are you scared?" Sam pokes at Dean.
Without hesitation, Dean picks up a pillow off the bed and hurls it at Sam's head. The pillow hits its mark then falls to the floor.
"That's what I thought," Sam taunts, undeterred by the pillow.
We plan to return to the "hospital" tomorrow near dusk and I leave the brothers for the night. I call Mike and tell him what is happening. I do not talk to him very long because he is deep into his own hunt, but he seems to be more comfortable with sending me alone on this job now that Sam and Dean are also here. As soon as I am done talking to Mike, I pull out a book of various lore and prop myself up in my bed. Reading up on random lore is something I try to do in my ever declining amount of spare time. I want to be ready for whatever case may pop up along the way, no matter the monster. I read the lore book for about an hour before I start to get drowsy.
Suddenly, I find myself in the familiar rainy ghost town. Sam is cradling his right arm, and looks exhausted. We also walk toward him, intending to meet him halfway.
"Sam," Dean says.
"Dean!" Sam says, smiling at his brother, he too looks overcome with relief.
In a split second everything changes.
"Sam! Look out!" Dean yells.
I see him at the same time as Dean, another guy comes up from behind Sam, rushing him. At the exact same time, Dean, Bobby and I run toward Sam. The guy thrusts something into Sam's back and I see Sam's face wrinkle up in pain.
"NO!" Dean yells.
I wake with a start, tears once more in my eyes. I do not even remember falling asleep. The lore book lies on the motel floor, open pages-down. I realize what woke me was the sound of the book hitting the floor. I pick up the book from the floor, set it back on the desk and get ready to sleep. I close my eyes in the dark room, and despite being extremely tired now, I cannot fall asleep. Dean's cries from my vision reverberate in my mind. I feel guilty for not telling him about the vision, or even Sam. I tell myself it is because I do not want to create unnecessary worrying about something that may not even happen. Part of me knows, however, that the real reason I do not want to tell them is my own fear. Somehow, saying it aloud feels the same to me as sealing Sam's fate. I fear if I accept the vision as a real threat it will certainly come true. Now I feel I am beginning to understand what Eric went through with these visions. I try to drive the thoughts out of my head so I can sleep. Eventually, I am able to fall asleep without any more visions.
The next afternoon comes faster than I would have hoped. I have barely found anything new about the case, which means our trip tonight will depend mostly on luck. When I go over to Sam and Dean's room later that afternoon, they haven't gotten much further than I have. Between our slightly different information, we are able to narrow down the possible location of the patients' remains to one section of the hospital. It is a large section, but it is far better than searching the whole hospital. While we are talking, I notice Sam and Dean seem to be more tense with one another than usual. I quickly dismiss the notion and try to focus on our daunting task at hand. We plan which rooms we will search first and which rooms are our next best bet if we come up empty-handed. By the time we are done with our semi-organized plan the sun is starting to sink lower in the sky. I grab my ammo and salt bag, my specialized ghost hunting tools, and my shotgun. All three of us load into the Impala, at Dean's insistence, and we head toward the hospital.
"I can drive too, you know," I say while we are driving.
"Yeah, but it's easier with just one car and I'm not leaving Baby alone on a hunt," Dean replies, eyes fixed on the road.
I nod in agreement. He has a point, I hate leaving my car alone somewhere unfamiliar. That is why I wanted to drive tonight as well, but it is more practical to only drive one car. I'm hesitant to leave my car anywhere, really, since there's an arsenal in the trunk. The rest of the drive is marked by silence. I can tell something is definitely causing tension between the brothers.
The Impala pulls up to the hospital a the sun is setting, casting odd shadows from the building. It is hard to imagine this place as a care center of any kind. The grim, crumbling edifice only reflects nearly a century of decay and abandonment. We gather the essentials and head into the hospital through the same door I entered yesterday. When we get to the main lobby, nothing happens. I had expected to be immediately attacked, but there is no sign of the spirits.
"We're all thinking it, so I'll just say it now: we need to split up," I say.
Dean turns fiercely, so that he is facing me, "That's a terrible idea! Right, Sam? Sam?"
Sam and I exchange looks of mutual understanding. Dean notices quickly.
"You're insane. Both of you. Haven't you seen any horror movie? Splitting up never works out."
"Dean, we have no idea, what we are even looking for, let alone where we should be looking. If we split up, we can cover more ground. We can look in different rooms for anything that may be anchoring these spirits here. And if the spirits were going to attack, they would have already," I say.
"Fine. But I still think it's a bad idea," Dean says.
We split up, Sam and Dean each taking one of the two lower corridors. I take the upstairs corridor. The main lobby is our meeting spot. If any trouble arises, that is where we run and fire off a round to alert the others. If nothing happens or we have been looking, but cannot find anything, that is where we meet in half an hour. We do not want to risk being in here any longer than that, just in case there is a patrol later. I climb the stairs, shotgun held low, but ready to fire. There is hardly a sound to be heard, except my light footfalls. Making less noise really won't help deter the spirits, but it makes me feel better. Once I am on the second floor landing, I look down the some forty feet to the floor of the lobby. Though the building is only two floors, those floors are very big. Mostly the building is wide and open, very different from other asylums I have been in. Perhaps they did want it to seem like a normal hospital. I turn back around and start down the main hallway, the only hallway on this floor. The hall has sparse doors on either side, which I am grateful for. There are not as many rooms to search up here as I had feared. I enter room after room only to find them incredibly bare. I have searched almost half of the rooms in the hall when I see something different. Outside the next door is a bronze plaque with a name written on it: Doctor Henry Conway. The office of the doctor accused of harming his now vengeful patients is exactly the break I need. I place my hand on the clouded, bronze doorknob and find it freezing to the touch. I hold my shotgun tightly, ready to fire it as soon as I enter the room. I turn the doorknob and push the door open, quickly raising my gun as the door swings inward. The office is dark and, like everywhere else in this place, covered by a thick layer of dust. It is modestly furnished; there are a few chairs, a desk, and a filing cabinet. The filing cabinet is the sole thing that catches my attention because of the spirit standing beside it.
I would have already fired my shotgun, I almost did in plain shock, but I notice something pretty odd about this spirit. It isn't attacking. The spirit is a woman, one of the four that attacked me and Dean. Her form is emaciated and pale, she is wearing a tattered, gray nightgown. She is just standing next to the filing cabinet, looking at me. I watch her curiously and do not move to fire my shotgun. After a minute of staring at me, she reaches over and puts her semi-transparent arm through the cabinet. I flinch as one of the cabinet drawers shoots open. The spirit looks back in my direction and vanishes before my eyes. I quickly go to the filing cabinet and look inside the open drawer. Inside is a single, paper folder with a few papers inside. Still holding my shotgun tightly with one hand, I open the folder on the desk with my other hand. Flipping through the yellowing pages, I easily see that these are copies of police reports. From my quick skimming of the documents, I find these are the reports filed against the hospital by the families of the patients. The last paper I get to is a paper from a law firm, in the top corner it reads "Owens Law Firm" with a small, faded logo next to it. Skimming the paper gives me limited information about the case filed against the hospital. It does, however, give me the name of the lead prosecutor for the case: Peter Owens. No sooner do I read the name before the room drops in temperature again. I turn to face the doorway and see an unnerving sight. In the doorway stands another spirit, but this one does not look helpful. It is a man this time, a tall, slender man in a dirty, once-white lab coat. His face is screwed up in a scowl and he starts to storm toward me. I fire my shotgun, dissipating the spirit. I grab the folder off the desk and run for the main lobby.
I am running down the hallway toward the stairs when something wraps around my ankle, tripping me. I fall down, dropping the folder and my shotgun. The papers scatter everywhere and my shotgun falls a few feet from where I hit the ground. I am barely able to keep my face from slamming into the hard floor. I reach out for my gun, but just as my fingers brush it, it is flung over the side of the staircase. A pit forms in my stomach as I realize I am all but defenseless. I quickly scramble to my feet, finding myself uninjured from the fall. Once I am on my feet I am almost face-to-face with the tall, slender spirit. I do not recognize this spirit from the night before, he is not one of the patients. I then take in the sight of the white lab coat and I realize who he must be.
"Dean! Sa-"
The spirit puts a hand around my throat. The spirit itself is not putting any pressure around my neck, but my chest tightens and I find myself unable to breathe. I gasp for air, but no air comes into my lungs. Quickly I feel lightheaded and fall to my knees. The spirit moves back, watching, but not doing anything else. Instinctively, I raise my hand to my throat as I continue to choke. My vision is going blurry when I hear a loud gunshot feet from me. Almost immediately, I am able to breathe again. I take quick, shallow breaths at first, causing me to cough. I recover and am able to take deeper breaths as I hear footsteps approaching.
"Lara? Hey, are you okay?" Dean's voice is unmistakable.
"I'm fine now, thanks. You saved me...again."
I look up at him and he offers me a hand. I take it and he helps me to my feet.
"You sure you're alright?" he asks, looking me in the eyes.
"Yes, I promise," I say.
"Good. I think you'll be needing this," he says, handing me my shotgun.
I smile, feeling much safer with my shotgun in my hands again.
"Thanks."
"He'll be back. We should probably head out for tonight."
"Agreed. Let's go."
We walk quickly down the stairs into the main lobby, where Sam is standing.
"Is everything okay?" Sam asks.
"Yeah, but we gotta go for tonight, Sammy, come on," Dean says, barely slowing down.
The three of us make a B-line for the exit, the same way we came in. When we come to the doorway, we stop and Dean pokes his head out to look for any random police patrols. There are none. We all climb into the Impala and put the hospital into the rear-view once more. On the drive to the motel, I tell Sam and Dean about the spirit and the files I found.
"Why would a spirit that attacked you lead you to that file?" Sam asks.
"I don't know. Maybe the patients' spirits want to move on, but can't. Maybe they need our help."
"Then why did they attack us," Dean adds.
"...I don't know."
We get back to the motel and I follow Sam and Dean into their room on their request. Sam opens his laptop and pulls up the local police database.
"What did you say that name was?"
"Peter Owens," I say.
Sam types the name into the database.
"So, you really think that it was the doctor who attacked you. I mean, his spirit?" Dean asks me while we wait.
"I think so, I was in his office. There might have been something in there that is keeping him there. He did not seem happy, though. Thanks again."
"You really don't have to thank me," Dean says.
"I don't have to, but I am."
He gives me a quick smile before Sam speaks up.
"Found a match. Peter Owens was the lead prosecutor on pretty much all the cases against Dr. Conway. He died way back in the fifties and his case files haven't been put online...But get this, is grandson is a police officer here. Thomas Owens-" Sam stops for a second and then laughs.
He turns the laptop so Dean and I can see the screen. On the screen is the picture of Officer Thomas Owens, and I recognize him. He is the crotchety officer who talked to both Dean and me about the hospital.
"You're kidding," Dean says in disbelief. "Sam, this better be the break we need in this case. This was supposed to be a simple ghost case. One night, done, gone, on to something more important."
"You're telling me..." I comment. "So, tomorrow morning?"
"Tomorrow morning," Sam says, closing the laptop.
"I almost got strangled by a ghost today, so I'm pretty tired. Good night," I say, making my way out of the room.
"Good night," I hear both of the Winchesters say as I walk out.
It is almost an hour later before I even get close to going to bed. Between talking to Mike, trying to convince him that I'm fine on my own without mentioning the Winchesters and taking a shower, an hour is generous. Mike does not need to know about Sam and Dean being here, I decide. I want him to think I can handle a case on my own and saying the Winchesters are involved seems like I have no chance on my own. As I am getting ready to go to bed, I start to wonder if Mike knew Sam and Dean would be here. I put the thought aside and try to convince myself that he didn't know. I sit on the edge of my bed, lost in thought, when a noise interrupts my thoughts. Someone is knocking on my door. Being the paranoid individual that I am, I take my revolver out of the desk drawer before I go to the door. I crack the door to see who it is, keeping the revolver pressed against the other side. When I see who it is, I immediately take the gun away from the door.
"Dean?" I say in shock.
I open the door all the way and stand in the doorway.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, looking around behind him.
There is no obvious sign of danger.
"Yeah, yeah, everything is just peachy," he says sarcastically.
His words are slurred just slightly.
"Come on," I say, stepping back into the room and holding the door open for him.
"No, no, you were tired. Sorry, I-I shouldn't have-"
"No, something is clearly wrong. Don't try to deny it, just...come in."
He takes a few steps inside and I let the door close behind him. I grab two beers from my small cooler, figuring we'll need them. I walk over and sit on the side of my bed, and motion to the extra bed next to mine.
"Sit," I say.
Dean walks over and sits on the side of the extra bed, facing me.
"So, what's wrong?" I ask, popping open my beer.
I pop the top off the other beer and hand it to Dean.
"Thanks," he says, taking the beer. "It's just...Sam."
Once again, I can hardly help from thinking about my vision and feeling guilty for not telling Dean.
"What, did you guys get in a fight?"
"I think we stay in a fight constantly now. He's just angry with me."
"Why?"
"I don't know, because I say the sky is blue and he thinks it's purple," his words are dripping with bitter sarcasm. "Lately, it's anything, I say the smallest thing and he gets pissed."
"I understand," I say.
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, before I realize what I am saying. Dean gives me a skeptical look. I realize I will have to tell him. This will more than likely be one of those rare nights I drink to forget.
"I'm not saying he's right, I'm just saying I know where he's coming from. It's hard being the younger sibling because, in the eyes of your older sibling, you are always their kid brother or sister that needs protecting all the time. It's hard to take sometimes."
"Wait, you had a...?"
"A brother, Eric. An older brother."
"How come I knew about your dad, but not you or your brother?"
"My dad didn't really want other hunters to know about us, we weren't raised into it like you and Sam."
"You know about us?"
"Mike does. He became like a father to my brother and I after our dad...anyway, Mike knows Bobby. He said Bobby complains about your dad raising you two like warriors."
Dean takes a swig from the bottle before responding.
"Yeah, Bobby likes to do that. When did you become a hunter?"
"Please, I thought I was supposed to be listening to you, not the other way around."
"If you were trying to make me feel better, trust me, taking my mind off of things is your best option. Besides, we've worked together twice now. I hardly know a thing about you, and you seem to know more about me and Sam."
I smile and take a huge swig of beer, definitely a night I'm going to want to forget.
Opening up to someone I hardly know is very uncharacteristic of me, but I feel I can trust Dean. I also feel like if I hold these feelings in any longer, they will destroy me from the inside out.
"Okay, Dean Winchester, you asked for it," I say.
Dean smiles, "So, how old?"
"I was thirteen. You probably had already killed a dozen or so monsters by that age."
"Probably," Dean teases. "Why thirteen?"
"My brother was that age when he started hunting."
"What about your dad?"
"Oh, he was raised into it, he came from a family of hunters."
"So why not your brother and you?"
I down another mouthful of beer before responding, I am going to need to be at least tipsy if I go any further with this. I grab another beer from the cooler and chuckle at my own thoughts before delving into my life story.
"We were raised with the knowledge of hunters, and I am very glad I wasn't told monsters weren't real. I knew that if the temperature drops twenty degrees in two seconds or the lights flicker, you go for the salt or iron. Every one of the rooms in our house had salt or iron, or both, within reach. We weren't raised to be hunters because of my mother. She was perfectly fine with my father hunting, but she didn't want us to be hunters. She wanted us to get an education, to make something of ourselves, or at least have the option. If we went to school and still wanted to be hunters, that was fine too."
"She sounds like a great mother," Dean comments.
"She was. When I was six, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. In a couple of months she was gone."
I realize I must be more drunk than I thought to spit this out without faltering.
"I am so sorry, I didn't know," Dean says.
"Thanks. It's okay, though. I've made my peace with it. Anyway, after my mother passed, my father dove into hunting a lot more. My brother and I spent more and more time with relatives or at Mike's while my dad crisscrossed the country hunting. Eric became more and more enamored with the hunting life and finally he told my dad he wanted to be a hunter. They fought about it for years before my dad finally gave up. When Eric was thirteen my dad let him hunt. I saw how much it stressed my father out and I knew I shouldn't press the issue until I was at least thirteen. That didn't stop me from reading every bit of lore I could get my hands on until I turned thirteen. The rest is history."
I realize I dropped my eyes to my lap while saying this. I look up and see Dean looking at me, not with pity, but with empathy. I hardly notice the trace of tears on my face until Dean leans closer to me. He reaches up and gently wipes one of my cheeks with his thumb. I let my eyes close and subconsciously lean into his touch, needing the comfort it brings. I open my eyes and he withdraws his hand.
"Sorry, I-"
Before he can finish what he is saying, and before I can bottle up my emotions again, I lean in and kiss him. He seems shocked at first, but then returns my kiss with matched passion. Without even pausing, he moves over from the extra bed to sit beside me. My trepidation melts away as I start to kiss him harder. I gently place my hands on either side of his face, our lips never parting. I feel his hands slide around my waist, firm, but still incredibly gentle. In retrospect, mixing alcohol with such strong emotions was probably not my best idea. I slide down so I am laying on my back and Dean leans down to kiss my neck. I loop my arms behind his neck, pulling him closer. By the time my brain registers what my eyes are seeing, Dean's shirt is halfway off. He pulls his shirt off and tosses it over the side of the bed. I stare at his bare chest, my eyes tracing the lines of his well-defined muscles. Without hesitation, I pull my shirt off as well, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed. My heart is practically jumping out of my chest as his runs his fingers through my long, brown hair, his lips on mine once more. I run my hands over his back, feeling his muscles under my fingers. At this point, no amount of alcohol could make me forget this night.
I roll over onto my back, pulling the white sheet over my exposed body.
"Damn," I say, breathlessly, staring at the ceiling
"'Damn' is right," Dean adds, equally breathless, next to me.
To describe it as one of the best nights of my life would still feel like understatement. We both lie there, staring at the ceiling, for a few moments before speaking again.
"So, that was-" Dean starts.
"Yeah..."
I pull the sheet up to my neck, trying to fight off the chill in the room.
"Are you cold?"
"A little, yeah."
He puts his arm up behind my head, opening up his side to me. I move next to him, leaning my head on his chest and he places his arm around my shoulders.
"We should work together more often," I say, grinning.
He laughs, "I was just thinking that."
The steady rise and fall of his chest under my head is calming. My eyes start to become heavy and I soon fall asleep, comforted by Dean lying next to me.
A/N: So sorry for the length, but I hope it was worth the wait. Comments are always appreciated, I really would enjoy some feedback. Thanks for reading, the next chapter won't be as long.