Part Three

It didn't take long for Dean to set into motion, and do something instead of moping over his current predicament on a dusty old mattress in the basement. There hadn't been any sounds coming from upstairs – no footsteps or voices. Nothing in the last twenty minutes, and the silence was about to drive Dean mad. For whatever reason these people kidnapped him, it was obvious he didn't win the millionth customer prize from the bar-b-que diner. Many possibilities sorted through his brain, and he didn't like any of their outcomes – enough incentive right there to start thinking of plans to escape.

Despite the cuffs hampering his movements, Dean scooted to the edge of the mattress and brought his knees up to his chest. He slowly moved his arms forward, bringing them under until his wrists touched his ankles. It wasn't exactly comfortable to move his joints like this, and he bit his bottom lip as he brought his chained hands under his feet and out from behind his legs until they rested in front of him. He rotated his shoulders a bit and looked around the dimly lit basement. He could see nothing in sight that could be used to pick the lock on the cuffs, until he spotted a small nail protruding from the fifth step on the staircase.

Worth a try, he thought idly and started to crawl toward the stairs. If only Sam could see this, no wait, Dean scratched that thought, and refused to think about his brother laughing hysterically at the sight of him moving along the floor like a damn caterpillar. But then Dean couldn't help but laugh either, and he shook his head. "Damn it, Sammy you better be okay and just sleeping like a baby in that cabin… Or better yet, your sorry ass better be looking for me."

Once he reached the staircase, Dean got on his knees and pulled himself up with his hands. The nail was a lot bigger than Dean had originally thought – too big to fit through the lock on the cuffs and he cursed under his breath. He sat back on his knees and scanned the room again, searching the floor and the low shelves storing various tin cans and boxes, but nothing that he could use. Until he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye, under the stairs: A pair of small shears used to trim hedges. He scuttled forward and snatched the tool from the storage bin; a sudden prayer on his lips that the thing would work. He went for the ankle restraints first and after numerous uttered curses and failed attempts later, the small link between the cuffs finally snapped.

Someone was coming. A key turned in the lock and the door leading into the basement opened, with a stream of light painting the walls and mattress a soft yellow glow. Dean crouched low under the awning of the stairs and watched a pair of boots descend the steps, before he lashed out with his hands and grabbed the man's ankles. Larry gave a low yelp and tumbled down, landing at the base in a daze when he hit his head against the wall. Dean came out with the shears clutched in his hands, approaching Larry with caution. A rifle lay just to the left of the prone man's body and Dean replaced it with the garden tool, aiming the gun at Larry. The man didn't move – aside from shaking his head to clear it and groaned.

"Serves you right, asshole," Dean said under his breath. He glanced up the stairs; saw the door open and no one standing there. Then he was suddenly falling, his feet swiped out from underneath him and he landed face first on the steps, busting his chin on the wooden surface. Blood blossomed on his tongue and he muttered, "Son of a bitch" as he rolled over onto his back, eyes clenched shut. The jarring impact caused his vision to black out before pain, sharp and blinding consumed Dean's coherency, but suddenly aware of hands on his legs, pulling him down. He kicked and thrashed, instinct taking over and he tried to roll over again, to make it up the steps. Larry's hold strengthened and yanked Dean off the stairs, the momentum causing both men to collapse on the mattress in an awkward heap.

"Addy! Get down here!" Larry bellowed, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist in an effort to keep him restrained long enough for the Sherriff to arrive.

Dean growled low in his throat, and elbowed Larry in the face before pivoting his body to the side and away from the big man. He reached for the gun that lay a few feet away, but his fingertips barely brushed the butt end when he heard footsteps bounding down the steps and a rifle cocked by his ear. He froze, his heart suddenly pumping wildly as the adrenalin rush finally caught up with him.

"Give it up, kid," Sheriff Addison warned. He kicked the gun out of Dean's reach and motioned for him to sit up on his knees.

"I never was good at that whole self-control thing," Dean said flippantly, looking up at Addison through half-lidded eyes. He licked the blood from his lips and cringed – he had a split lip on top of a busted up chin. Damn, no flirting with the ladies for a while…

"He's becoming a pest more than anything," Larry said from behind. "'Bout right broke my neck when he tripped me down the stairs."

Dean couldn't hold back the sloppy grin spreading across his lips. "Oops."

Addison gave Dean a look, silently telling him to stop antagonizing the bigger man. He glanced at his friend, and frowned. "You okay now?"

"Yeah," Larry grunted and went over to retrieve his gun. "Little punk..."

"Hey, if all you wanted was for my brother and I to get out of your town you could've picked a better method," Dean said, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly.

"You think that's what this is about?" Larry scoffed, shaking his head. "It's more than that, boy."

"You know…" Dean wiped at a tickling trail of blood from his neck and sniffed. "I'm really tired of people calling me 'boy' around here."

"Get up," Addison ordered, waving the rifle around. "We're leavin'."

Dean narrowed his eyes, refusing to do what he was told. "No. Not until you tell me what the hell's going on." The butt of Larry's rifle cracked against the side of Dean's face, pitching him sideways. His face tilted crazily first to one side, then the other, and Dean thought he was going to throw up. Closing his eyes, he said, "It started out like a pretty good day."

"No more jokes, kid," Addison said with one hand under Dean's arm, bracing his suddenly profound weight – his legs like jelly. "Just come with us and make things easier on yourself."

"Yeah, sure," Dean mumbled, blinking lethargically and leaned against the Sheriff for support. "Where are we going again?"

"Just shut up," Larry said roughly.

"Brian!" Lynn suddenly came down the stairs, eyes frantic and wide. "Brian, there's another kid at the door… I think it's his friend!"

Dean jerked to attention, blinking a few times to clear his head. Did he just hear right? Was Sam outside? Did he even know Dean was here? If he could find a way to escape… let Sam know where he was – that's all he needed.

The Sheriff swore under his breath and his grip subconsciously tightened around Dean's arm, causing him to grimace through the haze of his muddled brain. "Just calm down, and go make sure he doesn't suspect anything."

Her eyes hardened and she frowned. "No, Brian. I will not get more involved than I already am. I will not do this—"

"Lynn, we don't have a choice!" Addison said desperately. He released Dean and pushed him toward Larry. "Just please! Keep him busy until I can make it up there!"

Lynn stared at Dean, her frown deepening. She gripped the banister tight, and her jaw clenched as she asked, "You hurt him again?"

"Just go upstairs, Lynn, please."

While the Sheriff was occupied, Dean used the opportunity to his advantage and slammed his elbow up and into the man's nose, sprouting blood and curses in the process. He spun on his heel and kicked Larry in the groin, knocking the big man over with another kick to his face when he jack-knifed. He cried out and grabbed at his bleeding nose. With the element of surprise in his favor, Dean bolted for the stairs, intent on running like a mad man out of hell – he had to get to Sam.

He made it halfway up the stairs when Larry's bulk slammed into him from behind, causing both of them to topple forward in front of Lynn's feet. She cried out and stepped back as if burned, but she didn't retreat. "Larry, don't!"

Dean lashed out with his legs, connecting with something solid though he didn't know what. If Larry's cry of pain was any indication, it had to hurt. He kicked again and the hold around his body relented, giving him leeway to scramble up the last steps, past Lynn's frozen form and the doorway. His main focus was getting out of that damned basement and reaching Sam – to hell with helping these crazies with their problems. "Sam! Help! Sam, I'm here!"

He heard the whoosh coming from the hallway to his left, but Dean didn't have the chance to dodge the broomstick that collided with his back, causing him to arch in agony. Caught off guard by the force of the impact, Dean fell forward, bracing his fall with chained wrists. He turned over onto his back, groaning and stared at his latest attacker. His eyes grew wide with disbelief. A girl, barely sixteen – who looked so much like Lynn it was unmistakable of the relevance – stood over him, chest heaving and broom clutched in both hands. It was obvious she hadn't intended to do much harm, just protecting her family. That didn't matter to Dean – he just had the shit beat out of him by a damn girl. He couldn't shake the thought from his head, even when Larry appeared in his line of sight, sneer and all. He hauled Dean from the floor, dragging him down to the basement with a painful twist of his arm. Dean glanced behind his shoulder, and saw the girl standing there, shell-shocked and still holding the broom in white-knuckled hands, apparent guilt washing over her gaze.

"Damn rednecks… You're all a bunch of crazy sons of bitches!" Dean yelled, stumbling down the steps when Larry pulled him. He forced his feet to stop moving, rooting himself to the wooden steps despite the pull on his arm from Larry. He stared at Addison as the older man climbed the stairs, passing by them, wiping the remnants of blood from his face with a grimace. "Whatever you have planned – if it has to do with Kathryn Sheridon, it won't work! Think about this before you do something stupid, Sheriff." Dean tried to reason. He didn't know where it came from – not even certain it was true about Sheridon, but by the Sheriff's reaction, he suspected he had hit home.

Addison's face tightened, eyes glazing over in anger. He shook his head once and continued to ascend the stairs, turning his back on Dean. "Keep him quiet," he said to Larry over his shoulder, throwing the man a berating glare. "And make sure he stays that way."

Dean watched the Sheriff disappear down the hall, his wife following close behind with shame in her eyes, and suddenly Dean felt pity for her and their family. Why? He didn't know – that stupid human nature of his that couldn't help caring for others despite the possibility that they wanted to use him as some sacrifice against Sheridon's spirit. Interesting idea – not sure I want to see it happen, though, Dean realized as Larry dragged him further into the basement, and shoved him down to sit on the floor with his back pressed against one of the support posts. Larry unlocked the cuff from one wrist and twisted Dean's arms behind his back, around the post. Then he ripped off a piece of duct tape and approached. Dean turned his face away, and said, "You're making a big mistake here, Larry."

"It's a small sacrifice for my family to live…" Larry muttered, pressing the tape firmly over Dean's mouth and straightening. Was that regret Dean recognized in the man's eyes? Larry didn't give him enough time to confirm, and left without another word or glance.

----

Sam paced the driveway, the old photo of Kathryn and her husband clutched in his hand. He couldn't believe it – the similarities between Dean and Jonathan were so dead on, as if his brother had actually lived in that time over one hundred years ago. He couldn't help but contemplate the possibility of a link in their ancestry – on their Mom's side, perhaps. She did have some Irish in her, didn't Dean tell Sam that once before? Unless it was all just one big coincidence— Sam suddenly looked up when the Sheriff opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, dressed in casual jeans and a red T-shirt with "University of Arkansas" across the front. He threaded a hand through his sandy hair, and appraised Sam as he leaned against the support post leading down the steps. "I thought I told you to leave this town," the Sheriff said, his voice devoid of emotion. His features conveyed otherwise – haggard and anger underlying around the edges. Sam also noticed the man's nose – red and swollen as though he'd been punched. That raised a red flag for Sam.

"Sir," Sam started, and took a deep breath to ready himself for what he rehearsed in the car on the way there. It sounded logical coming out of his mouth in the Impala, but when trying to explain to others exactly what their family did, it didn't always turn out pleasant – usually ending up with a crazed look, fear or even a shotgun fired in the air before threatened to leave. "I know there's more to this town than meets the eye. I know what's haunting you and your family. My brother and I are—"

"That's bullshit," Addison interrupted. "I don't believe in that kind of stuff, kid."

"Then how can you explain the pattern of people dying – your family dying for that matter, along with the Dubois'. Something is getting revenge… and you're its main target."

Addison straightened, his eyes darkening in much the same way they did earlier when Dean and Sam had met him the first time. "I warned you once and I won't do it again. Leave my town or I will force you out. Understand?"

"Yes, and I'll leave just as soon as you return my brother and let us take care of this vengeful spirit for you."

"What?"

Sam blinked, but held his ground when the Sheriff advanced. "I know you have my brother, Sheriff. You think that because he looks like Jonathan Sheridon this will solve all your problems. It won't. She won't stop—"

The Sheriff scoffed, shaking his head. "You're crazier than I thought, and I should have you arrested for impersonating a government agent."

Sam clenched his jaw, along with his fists at his side. He held back his anger, and asked calmly through clenched teeth, "Where is he? Where's my brother?"

Addison didn't answer, glancing up when a pair of headlights approached his driveway. Sam turned and squinted against the bright glare, cursing inwardly when he noticed the dormant lights mounted on the roof of the car – one of the Sheriff's deputies no doubt.

The guy couldn't have been much older than Sam, curly carrot-top and freckles giving him the appearance of a teenager despite the gun strapped to his hip. He gave Sam a once over before he stepped up to Addison, and whispered, "Sir, there was a break-in at the library. It looks like some files were stolen in the archive room."

"Oh? Is that so?" Addison looked at Sam accusingly, narrowing his eyes. "You seem to be getting yourself in more trouble by the minute, kid. I should take you in right now—"

Sam held up his hands in defense. "Look, I can explain everything. Just give me a chance to show you the proof!"

Addison seemed to have made up his mind long ago, even before his deputy arrived. "Hoots, take him to the station and make him stay overnight. I'll deal with him then."

"Wait, Sheriff… Listen," Sam said with desperation in his voice, and waved the photo in front of him. "This is all I took. You have to listen to me. This spirit – the only way you can get rid of it is with salt and burning the bones. Giving my brother to her won't help your family!"

"I don't want to hear it," Addison said, holding up his hand. There was a sign of an inner struggle, as if the Sheriff tried to believe Sam, but he couldn't. A stronger motive held him back from opening his eyes to the truth, and he tried to turn his back on it. "You've explained plenty."

Hoots circled around Sam, cuffs in hand. Sam shrugged away from him when he reached for his arm, and approached the Sheriff. Before Sam could reach him Hoots intercepted, slamming him against the hood of the Impala with a grunt. The kid had more strength than he let on, definitely surprising Sam into docility. He cursed under his breath as the cuffs snapped around his wrists, wondering when the roles had suddenly reversed. Normally his brother got himself arrested on more than one account, while Sam needed the rescuing. How would Dean get out of this?

"You should've never come here," Addison told Sam, while Hoots escorted him to the squad car. "Next time you should take some good advice and stay out of other's business."

Sam's lips curled up in a snarl. "Sheridon's spirit won't rest by sacrificing my brother to her. I'm hoping you're all wrong and she's not interested in him, but will it be worth it to you if she is, Sheriff? Will you be able to live with yourself by condemning my brother for your family's mistakes?"

"Once this is over and my family is safe, I'll rest just fine."

"Go to hell," Sam threatened, venom dripping from his words. "You won't escape Kathryn's spirit so easily... You need us. We're your only chance of getting rid of it."

Addison nodded toward his deputy, pushing Sam into the backseat of the car. Hoots situated himself behind the wheel, shifted his eyes toward Sam in the rearview mirror before he drove away from the Addison home. Sam slammed his head against the back of the seat, closing his eyes tight in frustration. This wasn't exactly how he had planned for this to turn out.

TBC…