Chapter Three

The bed and breakfast turned out to be more of a house that rented out its two spare rooms. A good looking house, but not exactly Sam's idea of what a bed and breakfast should look like. It was an old farm house, painted white with blue shutters, with a porch that wrapped halfway around each side. There were two porch swings and countless chairs. It looked welcoming, but Sam had always thought of a bed and breakfast as being a mini mansion on the inside. Perhaps that had just been the ones his Dad used to take him and Dean to when they were little and needed a break.

An older man sat in a rocking chair, smoking a pipe. He acknowledged Sam and Dean with a raise of the pipe as they got out of the car and headed towards the entrance. As they got to the steps, an older woman came out with a tray of lemonades. She looked surprised to see them but her smile was warm and she set the tray down on a table.

"Well welcome!" she said cheerfully. "Are you boys looking for a room?" She turned to her husband before they could answer. "Hank! Set these boys up with a room." When Hank didn't move, she waved her hands at him. "Go on now!"

"Actually," Dean broke in, earning the attention of the couple. "We're not here for a room. We're actually looking for Blaine Beaumont. Is he still here?"

The woman came to the front of the porch and wrapped her arm around one of the wood pillars. The woman had graying black hair, giving her an almost silvery shimmer. She had her hair pulled back into a bun. Her face looked as though it had just begun to wrinkle, though there were years of lines around her eyes. But all in all, she still looked pretty. Sam wondered how old she was, couldn't be older than 60.

"You aren't cops are you?" the woman asked. "That boy's been questioned to death, what more could you possibly need to know?" she took on a defensive nature, almost motherly.

"We're not cops," Sam assured her.

At that, Hank stood up and came to stand next to his wife. He eyed the two of them warily, pulling the pipe from his mouth. He tapped the end of it on his cheek, studying and thinking for a moment. "You're more of those damn ghost hunter yahoos, ain't ya?" Hank pointed a finger at them. "We don't need more of your kind around here. There ain't no ghost and there ain't no more room for young bloods such as yourselves getting killed."

"Hank," the woman said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Hank didn't seem to notice. Instead, he turned and threw his hands up. "The world's gone nuts. It's that damned television, putting stories in there heads…" his voice trailed off as he entered the house and disappeared.

Sam and Dean stood still, not sure what to say or do. The woman smiled warmly at them before descending the steps. "I'm sorry about Hank," she said, glancing slightly towards the house. "He's been battling Alzheimer's for the past year. All this talk about ghosts and such has him in a fuss." She held out her hand. "Mary Reynolds."

Sam shook her hand and Dean followed suit. "I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean."

That earned a rather sharp glare from Dean to which Sam promptly ignored. He knew what his brother was thinking. But Sam didn't feel like aliases were needed in this town. If there really was a ghost out there, Sam and Dean would be welcomed with open arms in a town like this.

"It's nice to meet you," Mary said. "So, you are ghost hunters then?"

"Only on the weekends," Dean offered, looking towards the house. Sam looked too and was able to spot what had drawn Dean's attention. Someone was peaking through the curtains of the upstairs window. Sam guessed it was Blaine Beaumont.

Mary looked them over suddenly. "Where are your cameras?"

"What?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Your cameras," Mary repeated. When Sam and Dean just looked at her, she gave them a questioning glance. "You ghost hunters, you all carry cameras and recorders…to catch glimpses of ghosts. That's what you do, right? So where are yours?"

Sam realized what she was saying. "They're in the car. We didn't think we'd need them here." Mary nodded, accepting the answer. Sam didn't have the heart to tell her that they weren't those kind of hunters. When Conroy had first asked him if he was a ghost hunter, he'd half hoped that there were other people like him and Dean around. But Mary had just doused whatever hope that had been smoldering of that happening. The ghost hunters that were coming to Shilling weren't their type of hunters. They weren't really hunters at all. More like…documentary filmmakers. Sam had never really understood, or liked, those types of ghost hunters. Most of the time, they were filming nothing and made big deals out of smudges on the lens or flashes of light. And when one actually found a ghost, they packed it up and called it a night, not doing anything to dispel said ghost.

"Mary," Dean said, drawing Sam's attention back to the conversation. "We'd really like to talk to Blaine."

Mary sighed and looked at Dean with a sweet sort of smile. "He's been through a lot. I think it would just be better if you let him have a few days to collect himself." She patted Dean on the shoulder. "It's hard losing a brother."

"It would really help us if we could talk to him now," Sam said, drawing Mary's attention. "We're planning on doing a little hunting tonight and it would really help if we knew what we were looking for, especially if there's an angry spirit out there."

Mary seemed to think for a moment, looking at both Dean and Sam before she nodded and stepped aside. "Go ahead. Don't want you getting into any trouble out there. He's upstairs to the right."

"Thank you," Dean and Sam said in unison. Dean whipped his head towards Sam before quickly spitting out, "Jinx."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, I don't play those stupid games anymore."

Dean pointed a finger at him. "Hey, bro, you just opened yourself to a slew of bad luck."

"That's a myth," Sam countered as they climbed the steps and headed into the house.

"So was Bloody Mary, and look how that turned out," Dean called back to Sam, who frowned.

Sam rushed to catch up with Dean. "Do you really have bad luck if you break a jinx?" He asked, lowering his voice so no one could hear. Dean just turned and gave him a classic Dean Winchester grin before he continued up the steps. "Dean!" Sam called, worried now that perhaps he had just cursed himself. "You're being a jackass!"

"Comes with the territory," Dean answered, before stopping in front of a door. Sam stopped himself from continuing the banter with his brother, knowing that right now was not the time. But they would continue this discussion later, just like so many other discussions they had never finished. Dean raised a hand and knocked on the door, clearing his throat. "Blaine?" he called gently. "We'd like to talk to you about your brother."

"I told your detective buddies everything I know! Just leave me alone," a strangled voice called from inside the room.

Sam stepped up next to his brother. "Blaine, we aren't cops," he found himself saying for the second time. He waited for a response, but none came. "We're ghost hunters, like you," he added, hoping that would stir Blaine up a bit to talk to them. But there still wasn't a response. "Look, we were hoping you could tell us what happened so we'd know what to look out for."

The door unlocked and Sam and Dean both took a step back as it opened, revealing a rather tired looking man dressed in an undershirt and pajama bottoms. His eyes were puffy and his hair disheveled. His mouth seemed to be set into a permanent frown. But he eyed them both and after concluding in his head that they weren't dangerous, he opened the door all the way and went to sit back down on his bed, near the window.

"Thank you," Sam said, knowing that they were now treading on fragile ground. They had to play by Blaine's rules now in order to get anything out of him. If they didn't, he could shut them out and they'd never know what they were dealing with. "A waitress at the restaurant told us to come and talk to you."

"Lucille," Blaine whispered quietly. His face suddenly crumpled. "Adam had set up a date with her."

"Adam," Dean repeated, standing near a desk opposite Blaine. Sam sat down in one of the chairs, leaning forward with his hands knit together, trying to look as nice and caring as possible. "He was your brother?"

Blaine nodded, bringing a hand to his face and rubbing it as if he could rub away the pain etched there. He was gazing out the window, almost as if he were waiting for someone. Blaine couldn't be much older than Dean, Sam realized when Blaine pulled his legs up and hugged them close to his chest. He was scrawny, and he looked young, incredibly young.

"Blaine, can you tell us what happened?" Sam coaxed gently. "We're still a little fuzzy on where and how all of this is happening."

Sucking in a breath, Blaine looked over at Sam and then his eyes drifted towards Dean, where they lingered for a moment. Then he went back to gazing out the window. "I don't know how it happened," he said at last.

"Well, can you just tell us what you remember?" Dean asked.

At first, Sam didn't think that Blaine was going to cooperate. He looked over at Dean, whose patience was obviously winding down. Sam thought about telling Dean to leave the room, but he didn't have to as Blaine started talking.

"We were gonna camp out for the night…"

"This sucks," Blaine complained as, once again, mud seeped over the top of his boot and proceeded to be squished into his socks and around his toes. He hated the thought that maybe a leech or something else gross had just been deposited there. Adam was up ahead, his video camera casting a soft glow. He looked up when his brother spoke up.

"No it doesn't," Adam said. "This is great. You're just being a little bitch." Blaine chose to ignore that comment. "Go back if you want to, or are you too scared to go by yourself?" Adam turned and popped a fake malicious grin at his brother.

"I'm not scared," Blaine said immediately, though his voice gave him away when it quavered. He sighed and looked around him. "There's nothing out here, Adam," he said. "Just trees, mud, bugs and maybe an alligator. Maybe!" Blaine struggled through the knee deep mud to reach his brother, who had paused near a tree. When he noticed his brother's attention was on the camera more than him, he looked at the video screen. "What?"

"Thought I saw something," Adam replied, his voice low, distant. Blaine looked around them, feeling suddenly paranoid.

"What'd you see?" he asked, his voice quiet, merely a whisper.

Adam shook his head. "It was probably nothing," he said, looking up as well. Suddenly, Adam's eyes went wide and he reached and grabbed hold of his brother's shoulder. He yelled, "Watch out!"

Blaine, on pure instinct, dove to the ground, ignoring the mud that was now all over him. He managed to keep his face out of it, though he covered his head, knowing that for sure, this was it. For sure his brother had gotten him killed. Any minute now, some swamp creature was going to grab him and claw out his eyes. But suddenly, he heard something that he didn't expect. It was Adam, and he was laughing. He rolled over in the mud and looked at his brother, who was bent over, clutching his stomach with one hand on his knee and laughing so hard his face was turning red.

"You should have seen your face, man!" Adam said between laughing fits.

Blaine clenched his hands into fists. "You're an asshole!" he yelled, suddenly furious. He stood up, the plopping sound as he pulled himself out of the mud only making Adam laugh harder. Blaine had had enough. He wiped the biggest chunks of mud off of himself and then looked at Adam, waiting for his laughter to die down a bit before he said, "I'm done. You're on your own."

Adam slowed to a hard chuckle as he said, "Aww, come on, Blaine. Don't be such a pussy. It was a joke man, lighten up." But Blaine wasn't listening. He stalked back the way they had come. "Blaine!" Adam called after him. "Come on, I'm sorry!" But Blaine was beyond the point of no return and he continued to trek back towards the road where they had parked their car.

Blaine made it about five minutes before a scream ripped through the air. He froze, unsure what to do. He listened for any more, but nothing came. He debated whether to turn around or head for the car. It was probably Adam messing with him again, trying to get him to come back. But even as the thought entered his mind, another scream rang out, this time more painful and guttural, but it was cut off sharply. Blaine knew he couldn't ignore that. Adam was good, but not that good.

Racing back through the trees and mud, he made his way towards the spot where he had left Adam. Branches snatched his clothes and he cursed them for trying to hold him back. When he reached the spot, his eyes frantically searched for any sign of his brother. He found none. "Adam?" he called out warily, knowing it probably wasn't a good idea to yell out if there really was something out there. "Adam, it's not funny." He tried to sound mad, but it didn't work. "Adam!" he screamed louder, but there was still no answer, only the soft rustling of the trees.

Then, something caught his eye. He made his way towards the object that was shimmering in the moonlight. He bent slowly, hands reaching out with care. Mud covered and broken, Blaine knew immediately what it was. It was Adam's camera. This was no joke. It gave him the motive he needed to run back to their car and call for help.

Blaine's eyes were distant and watering as he finished the story. Dean and Sam sat quietly, knowing that Blaine was gathering himself back together. It must have been hard to go through that, and even harder to talk about it. Sam didn't want to think about how he'd feel telling one similar to that. The thought alone nearly sent him into a panic.

"I'm sorry about your brother," Sam said. Blaine reached up and wiped a tear that had slipped from his eye. He turned to look at them, trying his best to smile his thanks, but failing miserably.

"I don't normally cry," Blaine said, trying to sound stronger.

"It's okay," Sam assured him.

"Where'd they find him?" Dean asked. Sam noticed that his brother's voice had lowered, grown softer, gentler. He'd tease Dean about it later. Macho tough guy had a soft side.

Blaine took in a breath and looked at the bed. "Right here," he answered.

Sam frowned. "In the bed?" he asked.

Nodding, Blaine reached out and stroked the bed as though it were something he cared about dearly. "I spent most of the day looking for him, driving to hospitals, looking up and down the road. The police had the department of wildlife out looking for him too. They said it was probably a gator," Blaine gave a harsh laugh at that. Dean stiffened. "One of the cops told me to come back and clean up. So I did and I found him lying right there." Blaine's face crumpled again and this time he didn't bother to wipe away the tears. "He looked so beat up. No fucking gator did that. It was that fucking ghost, bringing him back here to show off his work." Blaine's hand went to his arms. "He had scratches everywhere. Deep. And…" Blaine broke into a sob but quickly collected himself. "And his head was split open in the back. They say that's what killed him."

Sam looked over at Dean, wondering if his brother was thinking the same thing he was. By the concentrated look on Dean's face, he knew that he was. They were dealing with a ghost. Scratches were most common with angry spirits.

"I should have never left him alone," Blaine whispered.

"Hey," Sam said, shaking his head as Blaine looked over at him, eyes full of tears. "You can't blame yourself."

Blaine shook his head back. "If I would have stayed with him, or even if I would have ran back after the first scream. I could have…could have…"

"Gotten yourself killed," Dean interrupted, drawing both Blaine and Sam's attention to him. Sam gave him an incredulous look, telling Dean to be careful of what he said. But his brother wasn't looking at him. He was staring at Blaine, but his eyes were empty. "Whatever's out there wouldn't care if you were with him or not. There was nothing you could have done that would have saved your brother. Trust me, I know. And even though it hurts to lose your brother, you living may have just saved a lot more people from getting killed."

Blaine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a ghost hunter too," Dean said, but smiled as he said it. "But not in the same sense as you or Adam. You went out there just wanting to see one. I'm going out there to kill it." Sam looked at his brother then and couldn't help but feel like he was a little kid again. The thing about Dean was that he had such an air of confidence about him that if he said he could shrink the moon and wear it as an eye patch, you actually believed that he could. It had tricked Sam many times when Dean was playing practical jokes on him when they were kids. But it had also comforted him many times. When Dean said everything would be okay, you could pretty much guarantee that Dean would do everything in his power, and even some things out of his power, to make sure that they were.

"How?" Blaine asked, disbelief clear on his face.

"If it is a ghost," Dean said. "We'll find its bones and burn them."

"And if it's not a ghost?"

Dean shrugged, smiling warmly. "Then I have a big gun that sometimes does the trick."

Blaine let out a laugh at that. He swiped at his eyes again, forcing back the tears that were threatening to fall. He looked over back out the window. "I loved my brother," he said quietly. "I don't think I ever told him that."

Sam sighed and got out of the chair. He walked over to Blaine and put a hand on his shoulder, making him look up at Sam. "I'm sure he knew." Blaine smiled at him. Sam didn't want to turn and see Dean's face then. He was afraid of what he'd find there. So, instead, he pulled the map of the back woods that Conroy had given him out of his back pocket and handed it to Blaine. "Can you show us exactly where you were?"

After a few minutes, Blaine had their entire hike mapped out for Sam. It wasn't a very long hike, but Sam knew it must have been hell to walk through with all the mud. He thanked Blaine and turned to see if Dean was ready to go. Dean, however, was not. "Blaine, do you have the videotape your brother was shooting?"

Blaine frowned but then got up and walked over to the desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out the broken video recorder. "I'm not sure if its in one piece. But you can mess around with it if you want. Just," Blaine rubbed his arm, nervously. "If you do get it to work and you find something…just let me know, okay?"

"Sure thing," Dean nodded, smiling as he turned to Sam. "Ready to go, sweet cheeks?"

Sam nodded and Dean gave one last thanks towards Blaine before heading out. Sam nodded his thanks as well and went to follow his brother, but Blaine grabbed his arm. Sam was shocked to find his grip so strong. He turned to see that Blaine was following Dean's form as he went down the stairs. "Take good care of your brother."

"I will," Sam promised, both to Blaine and to himself.

Sam headed out after Dean and found him waiting by the car, already fidgeting with the camera. "Do you think it'll have anything useful?"

Dean shrugged. "I'd cream myself if it showed a manifestation." Sam closed his eyes at the crude visual. "But I'm just hoping for some orb action to confirm the ghost theory."

Sam was thoughtful for a second. "Dean," he said.

Dean, who was still enthralled with trying to get the tape out, didn't look up but answered with a quick, "Yeah?"

"You know what Conroy said about this thing taking out the scum of the town? The real, hurtful people in town?" Dean looked up at that and nodded. "I don't think Adam Beaumont fits into that category. From what Blaine said, he didn't sound like that type of guy."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I was thinking about that too," he admitted but didn't elaborate. "You want to go talk to the Westridge family while I fiddle with this?"

Sam couldn't help it. "Did you just say fiddle?"

Dean looked mortified, like a deer caught in headlights. He looked at Sam as though they had just discovered the world was going to end. Sam couldn't help himself as he started laughing at the look on Dean's face. "Oh god," Dean said pitifully. "I'm turning old." He quickly put his head down and pointed to his hair. "Sam, quick, do you see any gray or balding? Be honest now."

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean, I think you're safe."

Bringing his head back up, Dean put a hand to his chest. "That was close," he said, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh of relief. Sam patted him on the shoulder as he walked around to the passenger side of the car.

"Come on, gramps, I need a ride."