♪♫♪ … ♪♫♪
Sam was at a loss at what to do. He stood alone in the hotel bathroom, looking for any signs. The only thing on the ground other than grim was Dean's discarded shirt, and an empty tube of toothpaste. He kneeled down, carefully picking up the tube, inspecting it. Didn't he just buy this the other day? He looked behind his shoulder into the other room, where a fully clothed Dean sat hunched over on the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. "You attacked it with toothpaste? It's meant to kill bad breath, not demons."
In response to his brother's oh so witty and quirky comment, Dean waved one special finger around without even opening his eyes. Right now, the oldest Winchester was trying to figure out how he let such a thing happen. As soon as that creature appeared, he should've spun around and pistol-whipped its sorry ass. But no, he had stupidly put his defenses down, and because of that, he was now toothpasteless, and, of course, voiceless.
"We're going to the library." Sam mumbled to himself after so long of pacing back and forth in the small bathroom. He stopped in the doorway, pensively scratching his head while still looking down. "We'll do more research, and we'll figure this out." Dean's eyes hesitantly opened. He looked up at his younger brother, unconvinced because optimism isn't a family trait. "You'll be singing in no time." Sam promised wholeheartedly, his eyes gleaming with hope.
Yeah, and that makes sense since Dean's already a singing type of guy. He can't help it but to burst into show tunes when the mood strikes. Right. Dean doesn't say anything, but this time it's not because he can't. He doesn't want to do anymore research—he wants to find the voice theft and tear it a new asshole. Figures it picked the better voice, Dean says to himself, resisting a smirk.
Within ten minutes, they're in the Impala, and Sam still in the passenger's seat. Clenching his jaw, he worriedly glances sideways at his brother, wishing he had just let drive. When he had put his hand out for the keys, Dean slowly went to hand them to him, but stopped halfway, jingled them tauntingly, and then walked over to the driver's side of the car, a little kick in his step.
It takes three trips around the same block for Sam to realize that they're going around in circles. He waits for Dean to do it two more times. "You have no idea where the library is, do you?" Hell, he doesn't even know the name of the town they're in. Dean stares straight ahead, but after half a minute, he gives one quick, curt shake of the head. "Pull over here." The brunette orders, pointing. "I'm going to ask for directions." Dean gives him an exasperated look but obeys—for now.
Conveniently, a woman is jogging besides her poodle down the sidewalk. Sam steps out of the car, almost scraping the bottom of the door against the curb to Dean's horror, and waves at her, politely asking where the local library is. He listens carefully, nodding his head when appropiate, while the white dog yaps at his feet.
Inside the car, Dean lets out a sharp whoosh of air, and leans back in his seat, his brow creased with sheer annoyance. He so would've found the library on his own if Sam hadn't ruined his concentration. He shifts uncomfortably, too anxious for the day, and week, to get over with. He shifts again, but this time something catches his eye—his EMF reader peeking out of Sam's hoodie.
I am going to kill him. Dean gapes, and knocks Snuggles off from #1 on his "Hunt & Kill" list. He bumps Sam up. Why the hell would Sam, who criticized his beautiful homemade invention, take it? What a hypocrite.
"We have to go back down about two blocks, and then turn left. It's on Vine Street." The door flies open, once again just missing the curb, and Sam climbs in, rattling off the direction. "What?" He asks, being greeted with a glare. Dean tries to clear his throat to speak, but once again, is powerless to do so. A metallic taste hits his mouth—blood. Ignoring it, he stops trying to use his voice box, and decides to lean down, grabbing the EMF from the hoodie.
"This." He mouths, and then he kisses it, and nonchalantly polishes the screen against his clothed breast. "Mine." He mouths the word slowly for emphasis.
With a clueless shrug, Sam chuckles, not thinking too much about it now. "Freak." The tables were definitely turning now.
Dean flicks a stray penny at his head.
♪♫♪ … ♪♫♪
If there was one thing Sam wasn't used it, it was silence, especially when in the company of Dean. He sat in the library, flipping through books of mythical creatures, his eyes skimming for keywords that would aid them. He couldn't help but to relax in the silent flow of the library, too used to having Dean mouthing off to the shushing librarian, or just being his loud self in general.
"Can I help you with anything?" A gentle voice from behind him interrupted Sam's tranquil thoughts. He shut the useless book, and turned around to see that a woman approached his brother. Dean had spent the last half hour going through old newspapers—when Sam had instructed him to help him carry books to the table for him to go through, the elder brother merely walked right past him, already doing his own thing.
Dean's lips parted slightly, and the only thing that passed through them was air. Sam noted the brief flash of confusion in Dean's slightly paler than usual face, and saw that he nearly looked taken back. He got over it quickly, and shook his head with a small, apologetic smile. The scene almost made Sam's oversized heart melt.
Minutes later, Sam was going through another book, but stopped when a slip of paper swayed down from above and landed on his hand. He picked it up, not needing to know who wrote the scribbled words on it. We're going back to the house. He shook his head, pushing the paper away. He needed to go back to the textbook. He needed to find the answer.
"Did you find anything?" Sam asked through a hiss when Dean sat down next to him and started kicking at the leg of his chair repeatedly. His voice was a little too loud, and caused the woman who had earlier asked if Dean needed her assistance to turn around.
"What are you guys looking for?" She asked, walking over to their table. Her heels echoed though out the small room. She seemed like a friendly woman, with light brown hair pulled back away from her face, and looked around Dean's age. "I've been working here for some time now, I'm sure—"
"We're actually looking for some local, historic information." Sam interrupted, a little too eagerly. He couldn't help it—the books weren't proving to be of any value, and Dean had shrugged at his earlier, loudly asked question.
The woman smiled, picking up one of the books Sam had gone though. "You're looking for local information through a book titled Mythical fabulous creatures: a source book and research guide?"
Not having expected that, Sam blinked and smiled innocently at her, cocking his head to the side like a puppy that didn't understand their owner's command. "I guess that could be a problem, but these books here are for a paper I'm writing." He leans forward on his elbows, clasping his hands together. "The other information is for more of an, uh, interest of mine."
The woman nodded, not seeming skeptical or suspicious, but interested. "Like what?"
"Haunted houses." It rolled off his tongue easily, so carelessly. Sam's acting skills had improved since Our Town, Dean noted. "Know anything about them?"
Something flashed in her eyes, but the smile remained. "Around here? Heavens no!" She laughed lightly, folding her arms across her chest. She shivered, and looked past Sam at Dean, who had started to rub his throat. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" Sam followed her gaze behind his shoulder, and looked at his brother. The silence was just beginning to get uncomfortable.
"No thanks, we've got to get going."
♪♫♪ … ♪♫♪
"Did—does it hurt?" The question was asked once they were settled in the car. Dean had just started the car, and his hands were already tightly gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Dean didn't respond—he didn't feel like nodding or shaking his head, or blinking twice for yes, once for no. "Dean?" He wasn't deaf, Sam, just frustrated. "Sorry, man."
This was getting ridiculous. Dean had only been mute for three hours and Sam was already apologizing. What, did he think if he whacked the demon with the flashlight harder this wouldn't have happened?
The tension in the car on the way to the house is thick enough to deflect a bullet. Dean could already feel the strain of being forced to hold in his snide comments, and Sam… well, Sam wasn't exactly longing for them.
The car pulls in front of the house, which didn't seem nearly as threatening as it had early that morning after midnight. It almost looked like an ordinary, rundown house… that steals your voice. The brothers are hesitant to get out of the car. Dean stalls by looking around for something, and Sam pretends to help his brother look for the lost object.
"I think you should stay here." Sam says, breaking the silence. Dean's brows rise to his hairline, and judging by expression on his face, he wasn't too open with that idea. "I'm serious Dean, what if this demon isn't done with you? What if it wants your hair, or your eyes, or something?" Wink, nudge.
Dean shudders, imaging the dark beast grabbing fervently at his scalp, "you have such beautiful hair… can I have it?" But what if the creature was indeed finished with whatever it wanted from Dean? It could go after Sam next, and Dean just wouldn't have that. He reaches for the EMF reader. When both boys are out of the Impala, he shoves it softly into Sam's chest.
"You should take it—" He begins to protest but Dean pushes his shoulder in a manner that couldn't be translated into anything other than "dude, shut your cakehole." Honestly, it didn't matter to Dean now, since he didn't plan on splitting up. Not this time, at least. "Oh, look, someone already has kicked the front door open for us." Sam tries to joke, squeezing his freakishly tall frame through the still busted doorway. Huh—the creature didn't even have the decency to clean up after its guests. Perhaps it was too busy sneaking up on other people while they undressed in their bathrooms, or so Dean figured.
At an annoyingly slow pace, the brothers went through the downstairs room, and then moved on up. When they got to the room where Dean had been attacked, Sam picked up the items they had left there earlier, and shrugged at a disbelieving Dean, who had already expected to open a can of kick ass on the demon by now. It was supposed to jump out at them with a frightening "boo" and then they were to defeat it, get Dean's voice back—all before dinner time!
This ghost obviously didn't watch television, or the movies.
Sam looked down at the EMF. He turned it on as soon as he stepped foot in the house, but it still hasn't even made the slightest beep. Before he can even think of throwing the towel it, the small device, does beep! And it beeps again, and again, and Dean grabs a gun from Sam, and snarls when he realizes the clip is missing. Sonofabitch! He tries to tell Sam, but his throat just retracts, and he nearly chokes on his own saliva.
"I don't understand this—" Sam starts to say, looking up at Dean, who was holding the useless gun in one hand, and rubbing the base of his neck with the other. "Are you—?" It's suddenly very cold in the room, and a force strikes Sam against the back of his shoulders. The items in his hands fall to the ground, and the frantically beeping EMF scatters half way across the room. The door slams shut, and then flies open, the old hinges giving out. Dean grabs Sam's arm, jerking him out of the flying door's path. It slams heavy against the wall, and then falls over.
"Get out!" A loud, deep voice orders, and the cracks in the wall caused from the door shoot up to the ceiling and down to the floor. The only window in the room rattles until the rest of the busted glass falls out.
Despite their current situation, Dean smirks. Did the house have any idea who it was dealing with? These two had battled Houses Gone Bad before, and even stood up to Death, what made it think it was so important?
"You…" Dean's voice suddenly whispers from nowhere. The smell of mint toothpaste hits the air. The brothers exchanged glances. A hand grabs Dean's shoulder and roughly spins him around. Those penetrating sad eyes meet his. A dark, gray figure stands hunched over in front of him, and Sam immediately reaches down for the gun when it points a finger at Dean.
"Stay away from him!" The younger one hisses, pointing the gun directly at the creature's oversized, deformed head. "I swear to god, touch him and…" Die? No, that doesn't sound right. "I'll blast your goddamn head off." Well, it's more Dean-like, but we'll take it. However, Dean shakes his head. He knows the guns are now useless.
"Hush now, Sammy." Dean's voice rasps from the creature's small mouth. Yeah, right, if Sam doesn't listen to his father or brother, like hell he's going to listen to a voice stealing creature… even if its puppy eyed look would give his own a run for his money. "It's time for you to—" A picture frame flies from the wall and smacks the creature right in the forehead.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dean would snap at Sam if he had his voice. Sam grabbed the shorter Winchester by his shoulder and raced out of the room, practically dragging Dean behind him. His brother clicked his tongue angrily at him. The walls cracked and dust coated pictures off the walls as they hurried out of the house through the broken wooden door. The screen door snapped shut loudly behind them, like a warning.
Once they're out, Dean pushes Sam, his eyes narrowed forward at him, and a snarl pressed on his lips. He shakes his hands at him, and then gestures the house in a questioning manner. Sam pretends not to understand because he's given that right under the younger brother law.
"We are not going back there until we're better prepared." Maybe it was the poor lighting, but for a second there, Dean thought Sam looked like their father. The flicker of determination in his eyes may have brought on that idea. Dean may have his father's thick, beautiful eyelashes, but that wasn't the only traits that were passed on to them, obviously. "We'll do an exorcism if we have to, but…"
Dean is no longer listening to his brother. He's now looking up past his shoulder, into a window of the house, where that pair of distressing, wide eyes called out to him.
On their way back to the car, Sam scratches the back of his head thoughtfully. "You know, I'm starting to think that maybe the librarian was wrong about there not being any haunted places here." Dean shoots him a dirty look because he was supposed to be the one with the dark humor, and throws the keys at Sam, not in the mood to drive.
♪♫♪ … ♪♫♪
After that rather ghastly experience, they head out for dinner like nothing had happened. The brothers walk casually into the diner, their stomachs rumbling, and their wallets already feeling lighter.
"Do you want to eat here or take-out?" Sam asks. Dean thinks about it… here, at a small, harmless diner, or back at their hotel room, which he dubbed 'wood paneling hell' since that's exactly what the walls were—wood paneling. Every wall. It was behind his bed, to the right and left of his bed, in front of his bed. It was rather maddening, so he just took a seat.
"I'll be with you in a minute." A waiter says from behind the counter several feet away. Sam tells him to take his time, and sits down across from Dean in a maroon colored booth.
"The usual?" Sam asks Dean softly, leaning forward on his elbows as he glanced down at the menu that was conveniently placed under glass on the table. "Double hamburger with cheese, mayo, and lettuce, onion rings, what?" Dean shrugged, taping his fingers. Although his stomach would object, he just didn't feel like eating. "If you don't decide, I'll choose for you." The tapping stopped. Sam looked up, and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry man." Yeah, and Berlin's the capital of Germany. What else is new?
Within twenty minutes, hot food is placed in front of the boys, the rising steam taunting their nostrils. Sam immediately picks up his cheeseburger and takes a big bite. Mayo squeezes out from the back with a silent cry of 'I'm free!' and falls unnoticed into his lap.
Dean stares down at his burger. Soon enough, his stomach warns him if he doesn't take a bit now, it'll jump out of his throat and start to digest it right on the plate. He picks it up slowly and takes a small bite. Pain in his throat flares up when he swallows it, and he starts coughing. Sam drops his half eaten burger on the plate and quickly hands his brother the plastic glass of water he ordered. Dean struggles to control his coughing fit while taking slow sips of water. Sam watches with worried eyes, his appetite declining.
He had to do something.
♪♫♪ … ♪♫♪
Hours later, it is already nighttime, and Dean's sleeping dreamlessly in the wood paneled hotel room. He merely floats in and out of unconsciousness, waking up every time he tossed or turned. It startles him when he hears the hotel door swing open. His hand reaches for the knife under his pillow, and he sits up in one swift movement, pointing the sharp knife at the intruder. The intruder, of course, was Sam, whose face was flushed, and he was breathing hard. Confused and concerned, Dean kept his grasp on the knife, but rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his other hand. When did Sam even leave? Hell, why did he even--?
"I set the house on fire."
Oh.
♪♫♪ … ♪♫♪
