Chapter Seven:

Dean Winchester was downright exhausted on so many levels right now but he didn't falter – not once. He was lying on his side, warm sheets wrapped around his middle and between his thighs. Currently, trying to keep a straight face and manage to stay tight-lipped while Sam, situated behind him, poked and probed at the back of his head.

"It's not bad..." The younger of the two announced, voice low and even, practically whispered it. He didn't want to scare Dean anymore then he already had.

The cut-bump really wasn't all that bad once Sam semi-cleansed away the caked blood there and upon better observation he added, "Could've been worse." Said mainly to reassure himself. Sam didn't want to even think about how much worse this night or morning could have all been.

Dean was alive and would physically be alright but god, he hadn't said a word for the past ten minutes, didn't even argue with Sam when he told him to roll over onto his side so he could take a look at the damage done – damage, he'd created. And Dean just did it, gave no lip. Man, did Sam wish he would have put up some sort of fight, the way Dean would have normally done.

Finally, Sam pulled away, breathed out a lungful of air and then gently pat Dean on the shoulder. "I think that's the best I can do for now." He said, forcing himself to seem relaxed.

The wound was a little swollen but would be fine nonetheless. Sam hadn't even bandaged it yet, not really anyway. He was too cautious to leave the bed to retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom. Too aware of something unseen lurking just outside of the sea salt barrier, only he knew... deep down... that he wasn't afraid of it and whatever it was didn't want to hurt them.

Scooting back to make room, he watched Dean slowly turn to lay onto his back, voided eyes fixed at the ceiling, his Adam's apple furiously bobbing up and down.

Parting his lips and then licking them out of habit, Sam tried to piece together his next sentence though he knew no matter how organized and well put it sounded in his head, it would still come out all tangled and stupid in the end. Somewhat, Sam figured he got it down in his mind so he takes in a silent deep breath, ready to explain when Dean's cell phone went off.

Shooting a glance to his brother, who hadn't acknowledged the ringing at all, Sam glared only mildly and went to crawl toward the edge of the bed where the phone lay. Swiftly, he grabbed it and flipped it open, saying, "Hello?" before it completely reached his ear.

"Dean?" The breathless, shaky and familiar voice questioned.

"No, this is Sam. Who's this?" He half-turned on the bed, where his eyes finally meet Dean's but it was brief and Dean was looking at the ceiling again -- anywhere but Sam.

"Oh, Sam!" The caller sounded relieved and brings Sam's concentration back,

"It's Frank. Frank Carlova."

Sam caught himself from gasping in terror, a hand blindly reaching out to grab Dean's nearest leg, shaking it to retain his brother's attention as Frank continued.

"Sorry to call so damn early but whatever you did didn't seem to work. It's back again."

"Frank. Hi." Sam breathed nervously and saying that name had Dean sitting up, panic clearly written on his face, "Um, tell me what happened?" Sam stalled.

Despite his vertigo, Dean pushed himself onto his knees, inching closer to the end of the mattress where he leaned out as far as he possibly could to regain his duffle bag in a heap near the round table. He, too, was uneasy about crossing the ring of salt.

"I called before, about a fifteen minutes ago. We had to leave the house. We're staying at a motel now..."

Dean grunted as stretched his arm out further, fingertips brushing against the fabric of his duffle bag. Looping his index finger around the strap, Dean yanked back, plopping onto the bed, pulling the item into his lap.

"The house... it's - my kids - Katie - God, he won't leave Katie alone!" Frank persisted hysterically.

Sam nodded to Frank's rambling as if he could see him. "I understand--" Stall, stall, stall. "Motel? Uh, what motel are you staying at?"

Dean dropped his father's journal onto his thigh for a moment then snatched it back up, quickly licked the end of his thumb before he started turning the pages, looking for something, anything that could help them. What did he think he was going to find?

Angered now, Frank let out a deep breath of air into the mouthpiece, hurting Sam's ear. Sam pulled back the phone just a little as Frank went on. "What the fuck does that matter? Are you and your partner going to take care of this or what? I paid you to take care of this!"

Sam shot a frantic look to his older brother who was skimming pages. He bit his lip.

Katie. The ghost of Robert Hoel had hurt her before, didn't it? It was the reason why Frank had finally called their father for help in the first place. Frank hadn't mentioned any other family member being physically attacked -- just her, just Katie. But why was Robby focusing on her? She was only a kid... And suddenly, Sam found myself slowly piecing together the puzzle.

"Katie--" Sam pulled back the cell long enough to press the right button, selecting 'speaker'. "You said it won't leave her alone. How old is she, Frank?"

Frank scoffed, then answered heatedly, "She's seven. Look, are you going to help me or not?"

Again, Sam looked to Dean for some guidance and immediately noted the wide-eyed expression his brother has and where Dean whispered, haunted, low and doubtless, "...he was seven..."

Had they not noticed the date of birth and death of Robert Landon Hoel before? God, had they even bothered to realize that the bones they were burning belonged to a child?

Bones. Robby's bones. They burned them. Why was this still happening?

As if on cue, Dean answersed Sam's inner questions, "Sometimes ghosts aren't attached to their earthly remains. Not often but it does happen." He explained professionally, his eyes locking onto his younger brother's as he pointed to text in the journal, obviously going along with what he was saying.

Sam's gaze flickered to the page, dropping the phone onto the bed, where he let his trembling hands run down his face with worry and frustration. "Then what the fuck is going to stop him, Dean?" He rushed and momentarily wondered why the hell he gave a shit about Frank fucking Carlova.

He remembered quickly.

"She's an innocent. Katie has nothing to do with this, Dean. It's her father... her age."

"What the hell are you two talking about! What is going on?" Frank's muffled roar filtered from the mattress. They almost forgot he was still there.

Abruptly, the room dropped way too many degrees in temperature, making their breath come out in small white puffs. Dean turned to Sam and Sam really didn't like how disorientated his brother's distant hazel eyes were staring into him, his whole body was shivering.

His lips were moving before he finally whispers, "Justice..." He looked so young. Dean sounded all but seven years old. "Confession, Sam. He needs to confess what he did."

Static started leaking from the cell and they both clearly hear childish giggling now. It was loud, all around them, close. It was Robby.

"Frankie..." Robby's voice singsonged.

"W-what's that? Who's there?" Frank demanded.

Moving the journal back onto his thigh, Dean exhaled noisily, "It won't stop. He'll kill her, Frank. Own up to it. Turn yourself in. It's the only way to save her." Though, that was a bit of a lie. An exorcism of some sort could probably work but this seemed right. After all, this was an unsolved, covered-up murder.

If only Frank would just cooperate, instead he just kept insisting harmlessly, "I don't know what you're-"

"Frankie! Frankie! Frankie!" Robby's playfully deranged voice interrupted, sending shivers down their spines.

"No..." cried Frank and if they could see him now, he was shaking, nearly sobbing with fear, "No, you aren't there. You're dead."

Again, booming laughter, followed by, "You killed me!" It was so piercing it has the Winchester brother's literally having to cover their ears.

A light breeze rushed past them, ruffling their hair then it picked up quickly, forming an almost mini-tornado circling the twin bed and without really realizing it, their pulling closer to each other, huddled, protecting one another.

Sam reached for the phone, pulled it directly in front of his mouth and yelled, "Frank! Listen to me, you need to admit you killed Robert. You have to or he'll kill Katie!"

An unnatural high-pitched scream bounced off the walls and the wind was so powerfully it knocked the brothers onto their bellies, pinning them down.

"I'm sorry! Please, just leave my baby alone!" Frank pleaded, barely audible aligned with all the noise, "I did it, okay! I killed Robby. I killed him! I killed him!"
But they still hear him -- more importantly Robby does.

Screeching filled the room again along with a blinding flash of white light but both were gone just as quick as they came, taking the howling wind with them. Slowly lifting their heads up from the cover they took, the brother's both pan the motel room skittishly, finding nothing out of place or unordinary, almost as if they dreamt it all up.

All they heard was the dial tone...

"Hey, Sam?" Dean asked weakly as he gingerly sat up, back pressing against the headboard.

Sam raised, following suit, and faced his brother. "Yeah, Dean?"

A grin was playing on the elders pale, sweat-beaded face,

"Wouldn't you say we were in a Hoel lot of trouble just now?"

Sam cracked a smile, shaking his head. "Shut up."

Dean closed the cell and countered with a wider smirk that Sam couldn't help but think looked strained.

"You shut up..."