Worth Living for

by Swanseajill

Part Nine

Sam pushed open the door to the Moonstone Coffee and Gift Shop, smiling at the gaudy sign and the random display of colorful gifts in the window.

The shop was busy. Several customers browsed around the gift-laden shelves and all five tables were occupied. Hardly surprising at 1:30 pm. He was inordinately relieved to see Dean slouched at a table near the counter, a mug cradled between both hands. Sam slipped into the solid pine chair across from him, but Dean didn't acknowledge him, continuing to stare into his mug. "Dean?"

No response.

"Dean!"

"Huh?" Dean looked up then, but his eyes were still focused somewhere else.

"Bro, you read tea leaves in a cup of tea. I don't think it works the same way with coffee."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. So, what did you find out?"

Dean shrugged. "Not a lot."

Sam rolled his eyes. It was going to be one of those, "blood out of stone" conversations. "Okaaay. Want to elaborate on that a bit?"

Dean sat up a little straighter, and his brows drew together in an obvious attempt to concentrate. "To cut a long story short, Rhonda Adams was brought up in Four Pines, and then went away to college to study art. She had some success with her painting, but things hadn't been going too well for the last couple of years. Last year she had an exhibition in Denver that bombed big time. Amber – that's her friend – says she persuaded Rhonda to come back home for a while, back to her roots where she started painting. She was looking at Rose Cottage to rent when she…"

Dean stopped talking as a girl came across the room and stopped at their table. She smiled at Dean and gestured toward Sam. "This must be your partner."

Dean nodded. "Jimmy Logan. Jimmy, this is Amber Jackson. She owns this place."

"Co-owns," the girl corrected and smiled at Sam, shaking his proffered hand. "Nice to meet you. Can I get you something?"

"Just a coffee, thanks."

"Latte, cappuccino, Americano, house blend?"

"House blend's fine."

"How about a sandwich, or maybe I can tempt you to a slice of pie?" Amber flicked her thumb in Dean's direction and her smile broadened. "Your friend turned me down. Can you imagine that?"

Sam grinned. "Actually, no. I think I can safely say I've never seen Dean turn down a piece of pie as long as I've known him."

"See?" She raised her eyebrows at Dean. "Now I'm really offended."

Sam expected a flirtatious response, but Dean just said, "Really, I'm good, thanks."

Amber shrugged. "How about you, Jimmy? Sylvia's pecan special is renowned over four states."

"Uhh… thanks, that'd be great."

She looked back at Dean. "Another coffee, then?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Be right back."

Sam had watched the interaction between Amber and his brother with interest. Amber had barely been able to take her eyes off Dean the whole time. It was clear as day that she was interested, and he'd have expected Dean to be turning on the charm big time with such an attractive girl. For some reason, though, Dean seemed oblivious to Amber's charms.

Sam decided to prod a little. "So, are you about to tell me you've made plans for tonight and you won't be spending the evening with me surfing the infomercials back at the motel?"

Dean looked at him uncomprehendingly.

Sam sighed. "Dude, despite the fact that you still look like the living dead, that girl is all over you like a rash, and she's a babe. What's wrong with you?"

Dean stared at the table. "Nothing. I just… nothing. Can we get back on track?"

Sam studied him for a moment, and then let it go. "Sure."

"Right. Well, like I was saying, Rhonda was looking at Rose Cottage to rent. She was there with the Realtor when the Realtor got a call on her cell. The Realtor went into the kitchen to talk in private and a few minutes later, she heard shattering glass. When she got back to the family room, Rhonda was laying out on the deck, glass all around her, a shard sticking out of her jugular."

"Ouch!" Sam winced.

"Yeah. Everyone thought it was an accident – she must have tripped and fallen through the glass. That's what Amber thinks. She says Rhonda wasn't in a good place – she was really bummed about the exhibition, feeling like a failure, but Amber didn't think she was suicidal – she'd said she was determined to try again."

"So, we're no further forward."

"Nope. Oh, and as far as Amber knows, Rhonda didn't know any of the others, except they were both in the same year in school as Brad and knew him quite well."

"Well, that connects Rhonda and Brad," Sam said, "but it doesn't link Brad to anyone else. Not much to go on."

Amber returned with the coffees and a huge slice of the pecan pie. She waited expectantly as Sam took a bite, and he made a big show of almost swooning in ecstasy. "Best pie I've ever tasted."

Amber grinned, obviously appreciating his theatrics. "Told you. So, how long are you two in town?" The question was addressed to both of them, but she was looking at Dean.

"Just a couple of nights," he said.

"Well." She seemed to hesitate, then went on. "If you'd like someone to introduce you to Four Pines' spectacular nightlife, I'd be happy to oblige."

Sam looked at Dean, who seemed to be finding a coffee stain on the table particularly riveting. After a moment, Dean cleared his throat and looked up. "I… uhh… that's nice of you, but we're on a really tight deadline. We'll be working through the night. Another time, maybe?"

Amber's smile faded and she flushed slightly. Sam had the impression she wasn't usually the type to come on to strangers and was embarrassed at the brush-off.

"Not that we wouldn't love to go out on the town," Sam said quickly. "It's just— "

"It's okay," Amber said. "Maybe next time you're passing through" She glanced up as the doorbell rang. "I have to go. Old Annie Watts just came in and she hates to be kept waiting."

She walked away quickly and Sam glared across the table at his brother.

Dean met his eyes. "Sam, just… don't."

It brought Sam up short, because he hadn't been expecting to meet such a profound expression of regret. He bit back the caustic comment he'd been about to make.

"So," Dean said, after a moment's silence, "Did you find anything?"

Sam was prepared to accept the change in subject – for now. He shook his head. "I didn't do any better. Rose Cottage was built in nineteen-fifty, and I searched the newspaper archives over the past seventy years, but came up blank. And before you ask, I talked to the librarian, who's at least fifty years older than the cottage and studies the history of the town as a hobby, and he doesn't know of any legends connected to it or the land. It isn't a sacred Indian burial ground, or anything like that – the land was just meadows until the cottage was built."

Dean grunted.

"Then I looked up all the newspaper articles I could find on the five deaths and anything else on the individuals, and there just doesn't seem to be anything to connect them."

"Well, that's just great."

"There's more. Brad Warrington was cremated on his father's wishes. His ashes are buried in the churchyard on the other side of town. So he can't be our ghost."

"Shit."

"Yeah. We're not even back at square one. We're further back than square one."

Dean took a long swig of coffee. "So I guess we stick to Plan A – talk to the other families and hope we come up with something. And if we don't, then maybe we just accept we've drawn a blank and blow this town."

Sam frowned. It wasn't like Dean to give up on a job. He was always like a dog with a bone until he found something to salt and burn. "What about the small matter of the ghost who attacked you last night?"

Dean shrugged. "Waste one, there'll just be another to take its place."

Sam looked at his brother with narrowed eyes. What had happened to Dean Winchester, dedicated hunter with a mission to clear the nation of evil? He studied Dean carefully, wondering what was going on in his head. His earlier comment about the living dead was a slight exaggeration, as Dean did in fact look a little better than he had earlier. His face had more color, at least. But he still looked tired and was far from his normal self.

"You don't look so hot, Dean. You still got that headache? How's your back?"

Dean ignored the questions and got to his feet. "Let's just get this finished."

He walked to the counter to pay the check and exchanged a few words with Amber that Sam couldn't make out. Amber's smile faded a little as he nodded and turned to go.

Once outside, Sam couldn't help himself. "Don't tell me you didn't ask her out!"

"I didn't ask her out." Dean's face was expressionless. "We've got a job to do. Let's just do it, okay. You're the college boy, why don't you drive out to the college and talk to Martin Warrington."

"Fine." Dean was right. They needed to finish this job and get out of this town. Sam was beginning to get a very bad feeling about both.

He fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Dean. "The librarian says Bill Turner's family is out of town staying with relatives, but this is the address of his brother-in-law – they used to be business partners. It's just a few blocks from here. And Wendy Metzler worked at Parker Wilkinson on the corner of Willow and Main."

Dean fisted the sheet of paper. "Is every damned street in this town named after a tree? Okay. Let's get this done. Call me when you've finished at the college."

Sam held his hand out.

"What?"

"Car keys."

"Oh." Dean fished in his pocket, handed the keys over, and turned to walk away.

"Uhh, Dean?"

Dean stopped and turned to face him. "What now?"

"Haven't you forgotten something?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

"The usual lecture on looking after your baby, not scratching the paintwork or grinding the gears."

Dean stared at him for a long moment, a strange expression on his face. Then he said, "Dude, it's just a car," turned, and walked away, leaving Sam standing on the sidewalk with his mouth open.