AN: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. If I did, I would keep them wrapped in bubble wrap and only bring them out to show off to company and for emotional support cuddles whenever I rewatch certain episodes or run out of Reese's peanut butter cups.
This has some language, though not as much as some of my other stories, and contains spoilers up to and including Dog Dean Afternoon, since it set to take place immediately after that episode. In case you can't place where that falls, "Zeke" is still in Sam, who is unaware. Dean feels guilty, Sam thinks something is wrong with him, and Kevin is living in the bunker, eating his grilled cheese in blissful ignorance. And Cas is working at a Gas 'n' Sip and sleeping in the back room, figuring out how to be human. *sniff, sniff*
I did a little blurb where I put the boys and Baby on the ferry just to mess with Dean, and Wildfire's Flame pointed out that there was a lot more story potential for the ferry, a comment which stuck in my brain like a burr on a sock. So, here's more ferry. I haven't been on The Badger myself, though I've seen it many times, so my info all comes from the magic information box known as my phone and the internet. Also, I do not speak Greek, so if I erred, well, I do that sometimes.
Please enjoy, and know that I love reviews even if they're critical. I'm kind of like Crowley that way – all attention is good attention.
For years, the list had contained nine things. After a disastrous liaison with a waitress in Tampa, it had been upgraded to eleven. Now, pinned against the wall like a bug and looking over at his bleeding brother, Dean decided it was time to make another addition. From now on, the list would be known as Twelve Things Dean Winchester Will Never Do Again.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Sam was studiously copying down everything they had learned about the Inuit spell that had turned Dean into Dr. Doolittle. Dean was ostensibly cataloging weapons and other cool items he found, but mostly he was watching Sam. The guilt he felt over lying to Sam, over the look in his eyes when he tried to puzzle out psycho chef's words. The guilt he felt over tricking Sam into being possessed – and then lying to him about it.
It was a relief when a phone rang. Dean checked the two phones he had on himself. Sam looked annoyed then checked his. No dice. He went to the drawer of old phones and waved one at Dean triumphantly before answering it. "Yeah?" Dean watched Sam's face as much as he listened to his words, so he saw the exact moment it switched from curiosity to serious surprise. "Yes, that's right." Dead serious. "Hang on, Margaretha, I'm putting you on speaker so my brother can hear you too." He set the phone in the middle of the table and hit the speaker button.
"Margaretha was a resource for Samuel sometimes," he explained to Dean with a significant look.
"I had heard that Samuel and his family were all killed in the kerfuffle in Sandusky," said a woman's voice. It was a little lower than average, well-modulated, and with a hint of an accent Dean couldn't identify. She could have been anywhere from 40 to 80. Dean mouthed kerfuffle? to Sam, who ignored him. "Hoping the information was incorrect, I attempted to call all of them."
"We heard about that," said Sam, evenly. "We were part of the team that took out the monster that did it." Sam's answer told Dean a great deal. He wasn't giving this woman more information than necessary.
"I have some information. I am sorry for the loss of your partners, and am highly pleased to find you in the land of the living."
"Thank you. So am I." Dean watched and listened closely, content to let his brother take the lead on the conversation. Honestly, he found it kind of fascinating. Sam was navigating the conversation carefully, showing the woman deference and giving her some information without actually revealing much even though he clearly knew her.
"Sam, I know that I'm nothing more than a voice on the phone that you know as one of Samuel's contacts. We've never met, and you have little reason to trust me, but there are hunters dying and I am hoping that I can find someone to take care of the problem. I'm only willing to give the information I have to the very best, since I refuse to send anyone to certain death. So I have to ask: are you in fact Sam Winchester, and is your brother Dean?"
"Margaretha, I don't even know your last name."
"I am an old woman who studies monsters and helps hunters know where and how to kill them. Nobody knows who or where I am, or I would be dead. But I will tell you two things: first, back when I thought to take a more active, physical role in hunting, I did some work with Bobby Singer. If you ever heard him mention the name Jean Valentine, it most likely meant me." Dean's eyebrows shot up. Both brothers recognized the name as a woman Bobby referenced in his journals as a source of some of his most arcane and esoteric information. "He is the one who first called me Margaretha, after Margaretha MacLeod, better known as – "
"Mata Hari," finished Sam. "The famous spy and exotic dancer."
"He thought he was amusing, but the moniker stuck," she said acidly.
"What's the second thing?" asked Dean, speaking up for the first time.
"Oh, hello, unnamed brother. The second thing is that from what I've heard, Sam Winchester is half of the best team of hunters there is, and has done a lot more for this world than Samuel Campbell ever did, either of his times on this side of the dirt." She paused. "You may not trust me, but hunters are dying and I want. It. To. Stop."
Sam and Dean held an entire conversation with their eyes, ending in Dean nodding, a gesture which conveyed both I'm okay with telling her and it's up to you. "Yes, we're the Winchesters. Tell us about the job."
There was a long pause, though Dean would guess from the absolute confidence with which she spoke that this was rare for her. Finally, she said, "I am glad to know that. I have heard of some of the things – well, I want to take a moment to say thank you. I doubt you hear it often, but the world owes the two of you a great deal." The brothers didn't know what to say, so after another pause, she continued, more briskly. "In any case, there is a ferry that crosses Lake Michigan between Manitowoc, Wisconsin, and Ludington, Michigan."
"We've heard of it," said Dean drily. The brothers had ridden it once before, for expediency to travel to a hunt, and Dean had not enjoyed putting his baby on a boat.
"We rode it once before," Sam explained. "Dean is…not a big fan."
"Nor am I, since four hunters have died within hours of taking the ferry." Her voice was tight. "The first, Taryn Holloway, simply took it to shorten her trip. After she died of suspicious causes, Anthony Matthews was retracing her route and died as well. Then Tina and Bill Mason were friends of Matthews and went together, and both died shortly after disembarking." This time, her anger was clear. "These were good people, good hunters who were saving lives, and something murdered them."
"How did they die?" Sam wanted to know.
"I can text the coroner's reports, though the files include pictures and are rather large."
"I'll text you an email address."
"Excellent."
"We'll let you know the plan after that," said Dean. "But rest assured, we'll find and kill whatever's doing this."
"That is exactly what I had hoped to hear, gentlemen. I'll send the files now."
Dean was suddenly curious. "Hey, did you ever meet Rufus Turner?"
"The last time I saw that kamaki I shot him."
Sam and Dean exchanged surprised, amused looks. "On purpose?" Dean had to ask.
"Mr. Winchester, I assure you, I have never shot anyone by accident." And with that, she hung up.
"I may be in love," sighed Dean.
The autopsy information was gruesome. The first three had all hemorrhaged, bleeding out while driving away from the docks. The couple had their chests crushed, also while driving. They had been on the phone with Margaretha when it happened, so she had heard them gasping for air, then driving off the road. The coroner couldn't determine what had caused any of it.
"I hate witches," scowled Dean, slapping the table. Seeing the photos, Sam could only agree.
Note: From what I understand, kamaki indicates a ladies' man in Greek.