Chapter 4:The Haunted Shower
A/N:This chapter is loosely based on an urban legend called Haunted Shower. The events begin in the same manner (however implausible), but then there is a small departure from the original events. I've never been to Lakeland, Florida, so please forgive any inaccuracies in the depiction.
By the time they reached Lakeland, Florida, the boys had a good idea what their father wanted them to investigate. Lakeland was home to Florida Central College, where four young men had died over the past two weeks. Cause of death had been different in each case, but the circumstances surrounding the seeming accidents or suicides were suspicious.
Dean found a cheap motel not far from the campus and they settled in as night began to fall.
"Run down the list, Sam." Dean was sitting on his bed, idly flipping through their father's journal for anything that could help.
"Okay," Sam began, "first death was Damien Hodges, 18, scalded to death in the third floor bathroom in Hollis Hall. Nobody heard or saw anything. Second victim was Mike Malloy. He was 20. Three days after Damien died he smashed a mirror in the same bathroom and slit his wrists. He was dead by the time anyone found him. Third guy was Tommy McCue, also 20. He hung himself, also in the third floor bathroom. After he died the school got smart and closed off that bathroom, but then Dan Covais slipped in the shower room on the second floor and hit his head. He died too."
"Any connections between them?"
Sam double checked his notes. "They all lived on the third floor in Hollis Hall. The last three were friends, but looks like they didn't have any connection to Damien other than being neighbors."
"Hmm, some kind of angry spirit probably," Dean speculated. "Any past problems in that building?"
Sam shook his head. "Nothing in the local paper for the past five years. We'll need to hit the library to go back further."
Dean nodded in acknowledgement. "Maybe tomorrow. We don't want to ignore that it could be a cycle." He closed the journal and set it aside. "Let's check out the building tonight, maybe see who's left on the third floor to talk to."
"Food first," Sam told him, closing the laptop and heading for the door.
Sam had pulled a map of the campus off the internet, so they had no problem finding the dorm. Dean stuffed the last of his take-out fries into his mouth as he angled into a parking space.
They made it to the third floor unchallenged, and Dean made quick work of the lock on the bathroom door. Dropping their bag of tricks to the floor, he waited for Sam to secure the door before pulling out his EMF reader and a shotgun. He tossed the gun to his brother and circled the room, scanning for any sign of a spirit.
"Nothing," he reported after a minute. "Maybe it moved downstairs permanently."
Sam shrugged, eyes distant. "I can feel something, but it's not very strong. It's not here right now."
"Maybe we should have called ahead," Dean joked. "We'll try back later. Meanwhile, let's see if we can find anyone that'll talk to us."
They hit pay dirt on the third try when a disheveled, slightly ripe-smelling resident named Chris answered their knock. He was obviously terrified of something and the brothers played off each other to talk their way into his room and persuade him to tell his story.
Once they were inside, Dean commandeered the desk chair, leaving Sam to lean against a corner of the desk. Most of the other surfaces in the room were covered with books, papers and dirty laundry. Sam took the lead on the questioning and Dean didn't object, recognizing that the soft-touch would probably get them further than his direct approach. Sam's sincerity paid off, and he was able to convince Chris that they could help him if he just told them the whole story.
"It was supposed to be just a stupid joke, but now everyone is dying," he began, voice cracking in fear.
"Just take it easy," Sam reassured him. "Start at the beginning."
"It's that kid Damien. He was really stuck up or something, wouldn't have anything to do with the rest of us on the floor. He just kept to himself. A bunch of us decided to prank him in the showers and he died and now he's killing us off one by one!"
Chris' voice rose hysterically, and Sam stepped in to calm him again. "Chris, slow down and tell us about the prank. I know it's hard, but we need to know everything if we're going to help."
Dean shifted restlessly in his seat and Sam shot him a look. His big brother rolled his eyes in response, reminding Sam again how much he hated the touchy-feely stuff. Sam couldn't help the smirk that crept across his face and he was glad that Chris was too distracted to pick up on their by-play.
Taking a deep breath, Chris elaborated on his story. "So, the bathrooms here are kind of old. You can't flush the toilet while people are showering or they get burned. It was Mike's idea," he told them defensively. "There were, like, seven of us. We waited for him to go in the shower, then one of the guys stood outside with a camera and the rest of us flushed the toilets. Mike said he'd come running out and we'd get pictures to put up around the floor." Chris' voice was getting whinier as he went on. "We took turns flushing, and he was screaming at first, but he wouldn't come out. We kept on for a few minutes until he stopped screaming. When we checked he was dead. Mike said he was just too dumb to open the door."
Dean's face was a mask of anger and disgust, and Sam kicked his ankle, shooting him another cautionary look. Fortunately it wasn't that common, but they did occasionally run into a case where the spirit or demon was more likeable than its intended victim. Sam could always see the black and white of the situation – living human being rates higher than dead, murderous spirit – while Dean saw shades of grey and tended to want to champion the wronged party. Watching his brother scowl, Sam was reminded of how different they were, in spite of so many similarities. He wondered fleetingly what had happened in Dean's life that drew him so strongly to the outcasts and underdogs, but pushed the thought aside as Chris spoke again.
"So, are you going to help me? I can't sleep, haven't been near the bathroom since Dan died two days ago."
Dean wrinkled his nose. "That explains the smell," he snarked, standing up and moving to the door. "From what you've said, it's everybody's fault except yours – Mike's for the idea, Damien's for being snobby and stupid. The way you tell it you've got no blame, nothing to worry about." Shaking his head, he left the room.
Sam watched him go before turning back to Chris. "Do you know where Damien was from?"
Chris nodded, his expression still confused from Dean's words and abrupt departure. "Yeah. His folks live right here in town. Mike said they made him live on campus 'cause they couldn't stand him either."
Sam sighed inwardly, but otherwise didn't respond to the comment. "So he's buried locally?"
"Yeah. Roselawn Cemetery," Chris answered. "Are you guys gonna help me or what?"
"We'll see what we can do," Sam assured him, making a bee-line for the door.
Dean was pacing in the hallway, waiting for him. "You done with the hand-holding crap?"
Sam sighed. If he said yes, Dean would have some comment about coddling the idiot; if he tried to explain that it wasn't hand-holding there'd be a remark about that. Some situations were just lose-lose. Instead of arguing he chose to ignore Dean's question.
"Damien's buried at the Roselawn Cemetery here in town. I think it's a safe bet that the problems stem from him. It sounds like a pretty gruesome death."
Dean nodded, still angry. "And that little shit doesn't have any remorse; doesn't accept any of the blame." He stopped pacing and eyed Sam for a minute before nodding curtly at his brother's expression. "Fine. Let's do some grave digging."
Roselawn Cemetery wasn't difficult to find, but locating the right grave took a bit longer. The brothers split up to search, but it was still almost two hours before Sam found Damien's headstone. Dean was on the opposite side of the cemetery, and he had to resort to his cell phone to get his brother's attention. Fortunately the grave was a fair distance from the road, so they were not likely to draw unwanted attention.
They dug together at first then, as the hole got deeper, took turns. Dean was in the grave when the top of the coffin finally appeared, and he made quick work of clearing it off.
"Makes you miss the days of wooden boxes," he commented as he widened the hole so that the heavy lid could be opened.
Sam smirked from his seat on the side of the hole. "You can use the extra exercise," he laughed.
The laugh turned into a yelp as Dean grabbed his legs and yanked him into the grave, administering a dirty wet-willy to his closer ear.
"Aww, that's gross," Sam complained, shoving his brother aside and scrambling back out of the hole.
He wasn't prepared for the spirit that met him, a young man with glowing eyes and an angry expression. "Uh, Dean," he called out, keeping his eyes on the spirit, "Damien's here." He heard the creak of the coffin lid before Dean popped out of the hole behind him.
"Keep him busy for a sec while I take care of the bones," Dean instructed. He crouched by their weapons bag, leaving Sam to wonder why he always had to be the distraction.
There wasn't much time to dwell on it, as Damien started toward him. He could see Dean from the corner of his eye sprinkling salt into the grave, but splitting his attention between the spirit and his brother proved costly. He didn't see the headstone until it was too late, and before he could adjust he was on the ground with Damien standing over him.
In a split second Sam wondered – almost incoherently – what Damien would do to him. He wasn't sure of the specifics, but he was pretty confident that it would hurt. He kicked himself for being unprepared, for not having the shotgun ready. Something landed on the ground beside him, and his panicked brain recognized the lighter fluid and his brother's lighter. Suddenly Dean was there, confronting the spirit. Sam's momentary relief turned back to panic as he realized that Dean didn't have the shotgun either.
"Get the hell away from my brother," Dean spat, then to Sam, "Burn his ass, Sammy." Then Damien was on him.
Sam rolled away, diving toward the grave as Dean shouted in pain. Squirting the lighter fluid into the coffin, he looked over to see his brother on the ground, writhing in agony. Tendrils of smoke were rising from his jacket, and the smell of burning flesh assaulted Sam's nostrils as he dropped the lighter into the grave. Damien shrieked in anger and – Sam hoped – pain, and was gone.
He rushed to his brother's side. Dean wasn't moving but, based on the grimace of pain on his face, Sam was pretty sure he was conscious. The beam of his flashlight revealed first and second degree burns over all of Dean's exposed skin. Smoke was still trickling lazily from his jacket, and Sam used his hands to smother the remaining embers.
Realizing that Sam was there, Dean struggled to smooth out his expression until the only indication of his pain was in his eyes. "Sorry, Sammy. I guess I improvised again," Dean joked. "Got to break that habit."
"Are you okay? Can you get up?" Sam asked, concern warring with anger.
"Yeah, give me a sec." He lay there for a minute before struggling resolutely to his feet. He swayed, and Sam moved to support him, cringing at Dean's sharp intake of breath as the action chafed against his burns.
"He tried to fry me, like what happened to him," Dean said conversationally as he regained his balance. "Do I still have my eyebrows?"
Sam gave him a disgusted look, but checked anyway. "Yeah."
"Thank God."
"Come on, idiot. We need to get you to the hospital."
"Nah." Dean brushed him off, already much steadier on his feet. "Let's just go back to the motel."
"Dean," Sam started to argue, shining the light in his brother's face. He broke off with a gasp as he realized that the blistered skin he'd seen there was already beginning to heal. It looked no more serious than a bad sunburn.
"Dude, it barely hurts anymore," Dean told him, grabbing their bag and walking away, toward the car.
Sam stared after him. Now that he knew his brother was going to be okay his concern disappeared, dissolved by anger. Stalking after him, he grabbed Dean's arm, whirling him around. "Jesus Christ, Dean, what the hell were you thinking?"
Dean's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in anger. "I was thinking 'that thing's gonna hurt my brother,'" he snarled. "You're welcome!"
"I'm not thanking you, you idiot," Sam shouted. "You should've done your job and burned the bones. I don't want to watch you get hurt because of me."
The anger went out of Dean's voice. "I couldn't just watch it hurt you. What if these burns had killed you?"
Sam wanted to hit him. "What if they'd killed you?"
Dean shrugged. "There was a good chance I'd heal." He looked at Sam. "I knew you wouldn't. At least not as quickly."
Sighing, Sam shook his head. "And what if you didn't? Dean, we don't know anything about this healing stuff or how it works."
Dean shrugged again, but Sam could read the answer on his brother's face. At least you would have been safe.
Without another word, Sam walked past his brother to the car. It wasn't until they were both seated inside that he spoke again.
"How do you think I'd feel if you died because of me?" He asked.
Dean stared straight ahead, not answering. Sam could see his jaw working, clenching and unclenching.
"Here's one more thing to consider," Sam continued softly. "Every time that you do something stupid and get yourself hurt, I'm the one that'll have to sit there and wait and see if you're going to heal one more time. How would you feel if our positions were reversed?"
Still not looking at him, Dean reached down silently and started the car.
Sam's Journal
When I suggested rose reversal that time, I didn't bother to put myself in Dean's shoes. What with hindsight being 20-20, I can see his perspective now. If I had been the one who could potentially heal from anything, I would have done everything in my power to protect my brother, regardless of the pain it caused me. And actually that had always been Dean's way, even prior to the encounter with the faith healer. For me though, it seemed different. The added tension of wondering if Dean would continue to be able to heal quickly made it that way. What if it didn't work one time, and I delayed taking him to the hospital – he could die. What if I thought it wasn't working, went to the hospital, and then had to explain the miracle to his doctors when he healed in front of them.
The change in Dean's healing ability made him more reckless, as if he was challenging his new talent – what he jokingly called his superpower – not to work.
It also spurred a change in me, as I became increasingly more determined not to create situations where Dean would risk injury for my sake. For the first time in over ten years I threw myself - body, mind and soul - into hunting.
TBC