Title: Now I Know My ABC's
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: A hurt/comfort romp through the alphabet, one letter at a time from A to Z. Each chapter is a stand-alone one shot. There is hurt, comfort, angst, humor, feels and all around fun.
Author's Note: Alright! This one is set after 2x03 "Bloodlust". A little vision!Sammy for your day! Can't believe I only have four chapters left after this! OMG
Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
V is for Vardogr -
It was cold. That was the first thought that screamed through his mind; so cold. His teeth chattered together in his head and he clenched them to make them stop. It shouldn't be so cold, he thought to himself as he shuffled down the stairs. It was June and still eighty degrees outside. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms as he reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped on his way to the kitchen to look at the readout on the thermostat.
"Huh," he muttered. The display said it was seventy-three degrees. He snorted and kept rubbing his arms as he went to the kitchen, knowing damn well it had to be more like forty. He scowled as his breath actually fogged out in front of his face for a moment. "Seventy-three, my ass." He looked at the stack of bills piled on the table and flicked them derisively across the tabletop in no mood to think about that steaming pile of crap just then.
He shook his head and went to the refrigerator, opening it. The light from inside spilled out across the floor, lighting his little corner of the kitchen and temporarily blinding him. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and shivered, waiting for them to adjust. He looked into the fridge and sighed realizing he had never gone shopping. The only thing that greeted his need for a midnight snack was a nearly empty jug of orange juice and a badly wrapped muffin that was growing its own mold spores on the middle shelf.
"Awesome. I'm an idiot." He pulled out the orange juice and let the door fall closed. The juice helped a little as it ran down his throat, but then it began to dribble over his chin, running down his chest as he stared in shock. "What the hell?" His eyes were locked on a silvery apparition as it walked into his kitchen from the hall. The word 'ghost' screamed through his mind, but that was ridiculous. He didn't believe in such things and yet…
"What the hell is going on?" He backed away from the dim, glowing form as it neared and felt the counter at his back. He couldn't get away from it without touching it, and he was loathe to do that. "No. No. This is… no." His breath puffed out in little clouds in front of him in a panicked rhythm as the image raised a hand high above him. He shook his head in denial and then screamed as that shimmering arm dropped and pain exploded in his chest…
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Sam shouted in confusion and pain. He realized his eyes were closed and forced them open. His vision was blurred by the agony thumping through his skull from the vision, and he was frighteningly close to throwing up. He scowled, trying to clear his sight, and realized he was still in the front seat of the Impala. A heavy, tight band across his chest was actually his big brother's arm holding Sam's back against him tightly. The passenger door was open, and Sam had one leg hanging out of the car. The car itself was parked, skewed off the side of the road and half into a field with the engine idling in a steady purr. "Dean?" he gasped.
"Jesus, Sammy." Dean loosened his grip around his brother slightly and eased out from behind him a little to get a look at his face. "You back with me now?" He got a shaky nod in response. "Another of your shining episodes?"
"Yeah." Sam slammed his eyes closed as the act of speaking only ramped the pain up higher. "That sucked."
Dean pulled his arm from around his brother finally and let Sam straighten himself out on the seat so he was sitting hunched over and holding his no-doubt aching head in his hands. "So? What did you see this time?"
Sam rubbed gingerly at his temples trying to alleviate the now-familiar headache and sighed. "Uh… a ghost, I think. And…" He opened his eyes and looked over at his brother feeling the first thread of hopelessness. "A man dying. The ghost, I think it stabbed him in the chest."
"Great. Where do we find Casper McStabby?"
Sam was surprised into a chuckle that ended on a groan of pain. "Not sure." He forced himself to sit up straighter and looked around again, eyes falling on the open door beside him. "Why are we parked half off the road?"
"Because my idiot little brother tried to throw himself out of the damn car at eighty miles an hour!" Dean shouted and then scrubbed a hand over his face as the panic of moments before finally released. He hadn't thought he was going to get a hold of Sam in time when his brother had started scrambling for the handle on the door, all while hunched in obvious agony. He flicked his eyes up to the rearview mirror and grimaced at the burned rubber marks from his car's tires that he could see on the pavement. He shook his head. "Sorry. Just… can you not try to escape the car the next time your psychic hotline kicks in while we're driving?" He managed a small smile to alleviate the tension and took hold of the wheel. "Close your door, Sammy." He waited until Sam had done that and then carefully eased the Impala back out onto the road.
Sam rubbed his knuckles over the knot of pain between his eyes and replayed the vision in his mind. He listened to the comforting rumble of the Impala's engine and frowned as part of the vision nagged at him, something he had seen without realizing. "Mail."
"Female. What?" Dean looked over at his brother and quirked a brow. "We playin' word association?"
Sam looked over at Dean long enough to roll his eyes and regret it. He put his head back into his hands with a little huff of pain. "Jerk. There was… mail, letters on the table. I saw…" He tried to focus on that part of the vision again. The words on the envelopes were blurred and jumbled and didn't make any sense, but he could see the big post office stamp inked across the top of the letter; a state with a star inside it where the capitol would be. "Charleston, West Virginia."
Dean groaned. He slowed the Impala and made a tight u-turn in the empty road. "Charleston. In friggin' July. You know that whole city's just one big ball of sweat this time of year. Why couldn't your shining say Alaska? Huh?"
"Winchester luck." Sam slumped down in his seat a little and rested his head against the passenger window where he could feel the cool air from the vent blowing on his forehead. "Wake me up when we get there."
Dean sighed and nodded, outwardly calm. Inside, he was nervous as hell wondering what new nightmare they were going to find Charleston and if he was going to have to pick up the pieces of his little brother again.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Sam woke with a start and pushed himself upright in the car. "Where'we?" he grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Dean chuckled. "Humidity hell, otherwise known as Charleston in summer." He watched the city appear below them as the car crested a mountain and followed the heavy traffic looping on the interstate around the city. The buildings spread out across the valley and up its sides like a tide of humanity. He caught the glimmer of the river running through its center before it was blocked by the hulk of the state house.
"Gotta admit," Sam nodded to the dome of the state house with its gold leaf roof glittering in the sunlight. "It's eye-catching."
"Nerd." Dean chuckled. He resisted the urge to cuss continually at the traffic as they worked their way down into the city. He always did his best to avoid that part of West Virginia when they drove. It was nearly as bad as the traffic around D.C., only with toll roads to add to the frustration. He was silently fuming by the time he found a motel on the outskirts of the city and parked in front of the rental office. Dean looked over and found his brother watching him with a smirk. "What?"
Sam snorted a laugh. "You kinda want to nuke the whole city right off the map, huh?"
Dean snarled and slapped Sam's shoulder. "Go get us a room before I hurt you."
Sam laughed as he unfolded himself from the car. He waved to his brother's angry face and went inside. The smell of patchouli assaulted his nose as the door closed behind him, and he sneezed reflexively.
"Hey there, tall, dark, and… wow. Just really tall."
Sam shook his head at the young woman behind the desk and eyed the row of scented candles behind her with distaste. "Uh, hi. We need a room, please." He did his best not blush as she flipped long brown hair out of her face and clearly eyed him from head to toe with a grin. "Two queens, near the end if you can. We like it quiet."
"Uh huh." The woman licked her lips and then shook herself. "Right. Rooms."
Sam smiled and bent to scrawl the name on their fake credit card into the register. "No computers?"
The woman shrugged. "One little motel. Don't really have a need, you know? I'm Sarah, by the way." She handed him a room key and batted her eyes. "Also single, available, and really damn willing."
Sam coughed in surprise. He took the key, an old fashioned metal key actually hanging from a rectangular block of wood the size of his hand, and backed away from the counter. "Uh, thanks, I think. I'll just…" He bumped into the wall behind him and shrugged. "… bye." He escaped the rental office with her soft laughter behind him and scrubbed a hand over his face.
"What?" Dean asked when his brother got back in the car. He took in the odd, flushed look on Sam's face and realized his brother was embarrassed. "What'd you do in there?"
"Nothing." Sam pulled his door closed with a grimace. "We're in nineteen." He held up the wooden block the key was attached to and showed him the number.
Dean studied Sam from the corner of his eye as he backed out and started down the building. He started to smirk, reading the signs. "So, girl, then." He nodded when Sam made a noncommittal noise and flushed more deeply. "Pretty girl." He chuckled as Sam cut a glare toward him. "And she tried to climb you! Dude!" Dean parked and thumped his brother's shoulder while Sam's face burned with humiliation. "Think we need some extra towels! You should go ask her!"
"Please shut up," Sam groaned and got out of the car. He flicked his middle finger in at his brother's cheerful laugh and shoved the door closed.
Dean was still snickering when he got out and opened the trunk. He craned his head to look back down the length of the motel and could swear he saw the curtains in the rental office window twitch. It set him off laughing again as he pulled their bags out and looped them over his shoulder.
Sam shoved open the door and turned around to catch the bag Dean threw at him. He grunted and glared at his brother. "We need to try and find the guy in my vision," he said as he strode across the room and dropped his bag on the bed furthest from the door, deciding to avoid his big brother arguing with him over the bed arrangement for once.
Dean sighed and kicked the door closed behind him. "Unless you got a name on the soon-to-be-dead guy, that's gonna be kinda hard, kiddo." He gave his brother a sympathetic look. "Got a whole city to go through. We need more to go on. You know that."
"I know." Sam's shoulders slumped in defeat. He had gone over the vision many times trying to remember any detail that might help, but he had come up empty. The guilt was beginning to drown him. He didn't want another stranger's death on his head for not being able to get there in time.
"Knock it off." Dean gave Sam's elbow a slight smack to snap him out of the guilt he could see forming between the kid's eyes. "If we lose this guy, it ain't your fault. It'll be the fault of whatever evil son of a bitch kills him. You remember that."
"Yeah." Sam wasn't sure he could stop from hating himself if they lost this one, but he would try. "I'm gonna start a search and see if I can find anything that looks like an active haunting. I'm almost positive what I saw was a ghost of some sort; maybe a poltergeist."
Dean didn't point out that Sam wasn't likely to find anything if the thing, whatever it was, had yet to become active. Sam didn't need that kind of negativity if he was going to stay focused and have a chance of figuring this out. The room got a snort of laughter from Dean as he took in the brown walls and deep red hearts that bordered the ceiling. Even the bedspreads were covered in brown comforters with huge red hearts in the center. "We got the lonely hearts room."
Sam shook his head with a chuckle and went into the bathroom. He flicked on the light and stared for a second. "So, uh… there's a whole theme going on here." He stuck his head out the door and hooked a thumb behind him. "We've got cherubs in the bathroom."
"Oh, for cryin' out loud." Dean groaned. He pulled the salt out of his bag and set to work pouring protective lines in front of the door and across the window sill. He turned around when his brother came out of the bathroom and raised a brow. "Window in the bathroom?"
Sam shook his head and sat at the table, pulling out his laptop. "Nope. Just a small army of little pink cherubs flying around the room."
Dean tossed the salt onto the dresser and had a look for himself. "Yikes. I'm gonna have nightmares," he said, taking in the little winged angels cavorting over the ceiling of the bathroom and on the shower curtain. "I take it back. Don't bang cherub-girl in the office. She's clearly some kind of screwy."
Sam rolled his eyes with a huff of laughter. "Don't worry." In truth, while she had certainly been attractive, there was something about her that had made him uncomfortable, not that he would ever admit that to his big brother. He didn't need that kind of teasing in his life. Had Dean been the one to go in to get the room, he'd probably already be getting hot and heavy with her in the back room.
"Hey." Dean took out the first aid kid and dropped it onto the table with a thump.
"What?" Sam looked up confused and then followed when his brother pointed to his arm. "Oh." He had rolled his sleeves up without thinking about it and hadn't realized blood was spotting through the bandage wrapped around his arm. "It's just a little blood."
"Gimme." Dean gestured imperiously. "Laptop's gotta boot up for a minute anyway. Now gimme the arm."
Sam sighed and plucked the end of the bandage up. "Fine." He unwound it while Dean took out the peroxide and a fresh bandage. He knew Dean was only touchy about it because of how Sam had acquired the injury the day before.
Dean took Sam's wrist in his hand and checked over the stitches carefully. "Nothing popped. Looks like it's just seeping blood." He scowled as he cleaned it and was absurdly grateful that Gordon's blade had been razor sharp; it had made for a clean cut, but Dean wanted to string the bastard up for damn near severing his brother's artery just to prove a point. He shook his head at how Gordon had failed to prove that point and marveled again at his little brother's ability to see the best in anyone, even the monsters. "How's the pain?"
"A crazy hunter sliced my arm open." Sam shrugged and smirked. "It hurts."
"Yeah." Dean gave a small shiver, remembering the moment that sharp blade had been held beneath Sam's jaw. "Startin' to feel like I didn't lay enough of a beat down on his ass."
Sam smiled at the gruff, angry tone of his brother's voice and managed not to flinch as Dean pressed gently along the cut. "You broke his face. I think he learned his lesson."
Dean made a non-committal grunt and wrapped a fresh bandage around his brother's arm. "Yeah, he damn well better have."
"Alright, stop mothering me." Sam took his arm back and smiled at his brother's glare. He pulled the laptop back and settled in front of it. "This may take a while."
Dean repacked the first aid kit and nodded. "I'll go grab us some food."
Sam groaned. "Please don't bring me back the grease special with a side of grease."
"Who says I'm gettin' you food?" Dean grinned and left with a wave.
"Jerk," Sam grumbled. "Alright. Let's see if I can find you."
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Dean tucked the top of the takeout bag into his mouth to hold on to it while he dug the room key out of his pocket. He just barely stopped the drink carrier in his left hand from over-tipping and rolled his eyes as he unlocked the door. He shoved it open and stepped inside, closing it behind him, and stopped with a frown. Sam sat at the table hunched over in his chair with his head in his hands. "Mmph?"
"Huh?" Sam looked up at his brother carrying a brown paper bag like a dog and stared.
Dean rolled his eyes again and tossed the key on the dresser, taking the bag of food and setting it on the table. "Dude, what gives?"
Sam sighed and nodded to the bulky, handheld radio sitting beside his laptop. "Report just came over the police scanner." He leaned back in his chair with a thump and gave his brother a miserable look. "They just found a man stabbed to death in his kitchen."
Dean set the coffees down and shrugged. "Doesn't have to be the guy from your vision. It's a big city. People get stabbed all the time."
Sam shook his head. "It's him." He wasn't sure how he knew, but he knew. "We're too late."
Dean groaned and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Alright. Let's go have a look. You find anything?" he asked and tapped the laptop.
"Nothing."
Dean watched his brother get up and grab his bag, heading for the bathroom. "Sammy. Nothing we could have done, man." He heard Sam's grunt of reply and blew out a breath as the bathroom door closed. "Dammit."
The drive took longer than Dean liked, having to deal with rush-hour traffic in the packed city. Worse was the heat that rolled in on him as they opened the doors and climbed out of the car to look at the house. He tugged on his suit tie irritably and would have sworn his whole body felt like one big ball of sweat. "Well, this is definitely the place," he muttered. Crime scene tape was wound around the front porch of the little house, and several police cruisers were parked on the street. He looked over as a coroner's van drove into sight. "Better get a move on if we want a look at the body before they move it."
Sam nodded and walked up the stone path to the front steps. He pulled his fake FBI badge from his pocket and nodded to the two officers that appeared in the door. "Officers. I'm Agent Coulson. This is my partner. We're here to have a look at your crime scene." He flipped open his badge long enough for them to get a look and heard his brother do the same before they pocketed them in a practiced move.
The shorter of the two officers rolled his eyes. "Trust the feds to show up for a locked room mystery."
"How's that?" Dean asked curiously.
"What? You guys don't bother to read reports?" The officer snorted a laugh. "Dude's house was locked up tight as a drum. Every door; every window. Good luck figuring this shit out."
Sam watched, bemused, as the two officers strode down the steps and to the sidewalk to meet the coroner's van then glanced at his brother. "Still think this isn't our guy?"
"Nope." Dean groaned and walked in the front door with Sam at his back. "No chance of that," he muttered. The house was clean and well decorated beneath the coating of fingerprint dust on nearly every surface he could see. He followed the flashing light of a camera past the stairs and into the kitchen. "Whoa," he whispered.
Sam nudged past his brother and stared, both shocked and sad. Blood splattered across the white cabinets and counters he had seen in his vision. The light inside the open refrigerator was tinted a macabre red from more blood, and the man Sam had been looking for lay on his back on the floor. His once white t-shirt was red and had been pushed up beneath his arms in the struggle. He could see open wounds in the man's chest and defensive wounds on his bare arms as well, but it was the deep slice across the front of his throat that made Sam swallow.
"We have the room?" Dean asked the crime scene tech with the camera. He flashed his badge and waved the man out of the kitchen. He took his time looking at the body and the damage done to it. "Whatever killed him, it played with him first." He knelt carefully amidst the blood pools on the tile and pointed. "It hacked him up and saved slitting his throat for the coup de grace. It wanted him scared."
"Yeah." Sam pulled the EMF meter from his pocket and turned it on. As he expected, the needle rose steadily and hovered in the red while it whined.
"Why would you get a psychic shout-out from a ghost?" Dean asked as he rose. He looked around the kitchen and saw the tension in Sam's face. "Saw all this in your head, huh?"
Sam nodded. "But not…" He waved a hand to the body. "I didn't see him die."
"Alright." Dean went over to the kitchen table, having to walk in an odd hop-step to avoid the blood, and plucked one of the letters from the pile. He slid it inside his jacket. "Come on. Let's go see what we can dig up on this guy and the house. Has to be something." He caught his brother's elbow when he reached the door and gave a pull so Sam would stop staring guiltily down at the dead man. They passed the coroner and a stretcher on their way out and Dean hoped that, this once, they would figure this out before more bodies hit the ground. He hated watching Sam be torn up when he felt like he was failing the victims.
"This sucks." Sam walked angrily back to the Impala. He looked over his shoulder once to see the gurney vanishing inside the house and barely resisted the urge to slam his fist into the roof of the car. A few moments of relief weren't worth the beat down his big brother would give him.
Dean didn't answer. He didn't need to. He got them quickly away from the house and took the letter he'd stolen out of his jacket, tossing it into his brother's lap. "Start with that. Gotta be something in this guy's past or the house's that would bring up a killer spook. That shit doesn't happen overnight."
Sam stared down at the name on the envelope the whole drive back to the motel - Alex Wells. In his mind, he apologized to Alex for not being there in time to save him. He got out of the car once they had parked and purposefully ignored the worried look on his brother's face. He opened the door of the room, took two steps inside and gasped as pain suddenly stabbed through his skull. "God!"
"Sammy?" Dean ran when he heard Sam's voice and skidded around the door into the room, just in time to catch him as Sam's legs gave out and he went down. "No, no, no." Dean held on to his brother and grimaced in sympathy as one of Sam's hands dropped to curl tightly around his arm over his chest. "Hey. Hey, I gotcha. Just breathe, Sam. Breathe through it." He hated this. Dean hated that he couldn't protect his brother from his own head and whatever nightmare was even now pouring in. "Sammy, come on."
Sam saw stars behind his eyes as the pain ramped up even higher and swirled away in a black cloud to leave him at the mercy of the vision.
"Ellie!" He listened for a moment for an answer and rolled his eyes heavenward for patience when he didn't get one. "Damn woman never pays attention to a damn thing unless it involves shoes. Dammit," he grumbled and made his way carefully down off the ladder, the glass light cover held in his hands. He set the cover on top of the ladder and cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Ellie, dammit! I need a bulb!" He bellowed it and still heard nothing. "Awesome." He stalked out of the storeroom into the store and checked his watch. "Could'a been home a damn hour ago, but no; women gotta linger over a damn pair of shoes all night like it's the answer to the mysteries of the fuckin' universe." He drew his foot back to kick a display of evening shoes and sighed, going around it instead. The moment of satisfaction wasn't worth the time he'd have to spend picking the whole thing back up.
"Ellie, if you skipped out and went home without telling me, I'm firing your ass tomorrow!" He shook his head, still getting no reply and pulled open the supply closet. "She's such a flake." He grabbed one of the spare, u-shaped fluorescent bulbs and turned around. He frowned, hearing the sound of footsteps and spun.
"Hello?" He heard the steps and thought they had gone into the store room. He closed the supply closet and walked quickly across the sales floor. "Ellie, that you? Where the hell did you go?" He turned into the storeroom and his frown deepened, finding himself alone. "Ellie?" He saw something silvery and glowing in the corner of his eye and turned, staggering sideways into the stepladder with a sharp cry. The glass cover wobbled off the top and shattered at his feet as his scream sliced through the air…
Sam gasped as he came back to himself. It was a long moment before he realized he was once again collapsed into his brother's arms. Humiliation burned through him at that show of weakness, but he didn't have the strength to do anything about it just then. "Dean."
"Yeah, buddy." Dean heaved a relieved breath and eased his brother up slightly so he was nearly sitting on his own rather than slumped back in against Dean's chest. "Alright, can you get up?"
Sam nodded and let Dean help him up off the floor. He sat heavily on the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands. "Hate this."
"Me too." Dean rested a hand on his brother's shoulder and knelt in front of him. "What'd you see?"
The pain in his head made it hard to think, and Sam breathed deeply a few times, slowly, until it backed off, grateful that Dean seemed to understand and just waited. "Uh, guy in a shoe store." Sam pressed his knuckles into his temples to try and relieve the pressure and squeezed his eyes closed. "Saw the ghost again, just for a second. Definitely a guy."
"Ok." Dean gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze to get his attention when it seemed like Sam had forgotten they were talking. "What else?"
"I saw the name of the store, I think." Sam opened his eyes and stared at the floor between his feet. "It was on the window, backwards. Uh… High Stepping."
Dean snorted and rose. "Well, that shouldn't be hard to find." He let go of Sam and waited a moment to make sure he wasn't going to fall over, then went and pulled the medical kit out of his bag. "Hey, take these." He shook a pill bottle and held it out for Sam.
"I'm ok." Sam shook his head and then thought better of it with a low groan.
"Bullshit. You wanna be functioning?" Dean raised his brows and waited. He smirked when Sam grudgingly took the painkiller bottle. "Good boy. I'll go find our shoe store."
"Not a dog," Sam grumbled but he did take one of the painkillers. Dean was right in that he needed to get the headache under control if he was going to back his brother up.
"So, can't be a garden variety spook." Dean sat at the laptop and pulled up the browser. "Not if it's jumping locations."
"No." Sam frowned and went into the bathroom. He leaned over the sink and splashed cold water up onto his face. He closed his eyes and gave himself a moment before he grabbed a towel and went back out, drying his face. "Haunted object? Something they both touched maybe and the spirit of whoever it is latched on to them."
"Maybe." Dean leaned back and tapped the laptop screen. "Got it. Stupid name for a store, only one in town too."
"Let's go." Sam tossed the towel and grabbed his jacket.
Dean considered arguing with him and trying to convince his brother to give the painkillers time to work, but he knew that stubborn look on his brother's face. And if someone else died while Sam was nursing a sore head, Sam would never forgive himself. "Alright. Let's go."
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Sam looked at the big, filigreed words stenciled on the shop window and felt a sense of dread as they crossed the sidewalk to 'High Stepping'. "What if we're too late again?"
Dean wanted to tell him they weren't, that they wouldn't be, but he couldn't lie to him. "Then we'll figure it out. Come on."
Sam tried the door and let out a relieved breath to find it unlocked. He pushed it open to the soft tinkling of a bell hanging above it, and stepped inside. The smell of leather filled the air. "Hello?"
"We're closed!" A voice shouted from somewhere in the back.
"That's him." Sam recognized the man's voice. He grabbed Dean's shoulder in response and rushed toward the back of the store.
"We closed like ten minutes ago!" The man appeared from a door off to the side and waved a hand at them. "Ellie was supposed to lock the damn door. I'm sorry, fellas. You'll have to come back tomorrow. Ellie! Get out here!"
Sam stopped with his brother beside him and couldn't stop the little smile at seeing the man alive and well. "We're sorry, but… this is kind of important."
"It's not about shoes." Dean smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Dean, this is my brother, Sam. We're here to save your life."
Sam rolled his eyes and groaned as the man's eyes widened comically. "Really, Dean? You couldn't lead in with something less crazy sounding?"
"What?" Dean shrugged and dropped his hand when the man didn't shake it. "Don't exactly have a lot of time here, do we? So…" He looked back to the man and frowned. "What's your name?"
"Brian… why am I telling you that?" Brian glared at the two very tall men and suddenly felt like he wasn't safe in his own store. "I think you should both get out of here before I call the cops. I'm armed!"
"Uh huh." Dean scoffed and didn't believe him for a second. "Look. Something very bad is going to happen to you if we leave."
"We… there was a threat." Sam scrambled to think of something that he might believe. "We have a friend in the local police. He said they received a death threat for this address. We're here to keep an eye on you."
"Death threat?" Brian moved back a step away from the men and ran a hand over the back of his neck. "What kind of threat? And why the hell aren't the cops here themselves, huh?"
"You got us." Dean shrugged and smiled. "We're off duty, alright? No one at the precinct took it seriously but Sammy here…"
"It's Sam," Sam protested pointlessly.
"Sammy." Dean grinned over at him. "… couldn't get it out of his head, and we figured better safe than sorry. We just wanna make sure you don't end up bloody and dead on the floor. Capisce?"
"Huh? Oh, right." Brian studied the two men. He ended up meeting the eyes of the taller of the two, and there was a distinct impression of puppy-dog-eyes there that he found impossible to turn away from. "Geez. Alright. Just don't, you know, axe murder me or anything. My wife'd be pissed." He waved them into the store and reached behind them to turn the lock on the door. "Haven't mowed the damn lawn yet."
Sam smiled and headed toward the back and where he knew the storage room was. "Have you met anyone new lately? Anyone that stands out?"
Brian snorted a laugh and threw his arms out to indicate the store. "I meet new people every day, and some of 'em are crazy-ass women with a shoe fetish. You have to be more specific than that."
Dean watched his brother go to the storeroom and look inside. He turned back to Brian. "Anyone weird? Maybe someone who gave you a bad vibe. Anyone get pissed at you lately?" He scowled when Brian shook his head. "Ok. You know a guy named Alex Wells?"
Brian looked down at his feet as he thought about it and then shrugged. "Don't think so. Why?"
"No reason." Dean didn't want to scare the guy more than they had to.
"You're changing the light in here," Sam said as he came out of the room.
"Yeah?" Brian shook his head. "What's that got to do with it?"
"Dean?" Sam looked at his brother and gave him a look to tell him the storeroom was the site of his vision.
Dean nodded. "Got it. Hey, Brian. Where's your office?" He took the man's shoulder and gave him a push toward the back of the shop. "Back here?"
"Yeah, but why? What's going on?" Brian looked over his shoulder to the younger man before the older one gave him a shake. "Back there, next to the supply closet."
Dean found the door, opened it and guided the man inside. "There another way in here?" he asked as he took in the metal desk, filing cabinets, and coat rack in the corner along with head high stacks of shoe boxes along one wall.
"No. Just the one door. What's going on?" Brian demanded in a shout.
"Calm down!" Dean sighed and smiled again, trying to put him at ease. "We just need to check the store and make sure it's safe. And you're gonna lock yourself in here while we do."
"Dean!"
Sam's shout echoed through the store and Dean flinched. "Sam?" He spun and pulled the office door closed behind him. "Stay in there! Sam!" He ran to the storage room and skidded to a stop in the door. "What the hell?" He watched his brother lying on the floor as he rolled to his back.
"Thought it was you." Sam sat up and held a hand to his left shoulder. "I heard you walk up behind me and then…" he pulled his hand away and stared at the bright, red blood covering his fingers. "Wasn't you," he said ruefully.
"Holy shit." Dean went to his brother and pulled him to his feet while scanning the room for any sign of a threat. "What the hell happened?"
"Felt like a knife." Sam pulled the EMF out of his pocket and looked at the now quiet display. "It started screaming a second before this happened." He allowed his brother to manhandle his jacket off his shoulder and look at the wound with a grimace as it pulled painfully. "I think whoever it is realized I'm not Brian and stopped."
"So it's specific. Damn." Dean shook his head as he brushed blood from Sam's skin with his fingers. "Got you right in the meat. This is gonna hurt while it heals."
"Hurts now." Sam sighed and pulled his shirts back into place. "We need to check on Brian."
"Why'd you think it was me?" Dean asked as he followed Sam back out into the shop.
"I know what your footsteps sound like," Sam said, as though that should be obvious. "I swear it was you coming up behind me." He frowned. "Seriously. It was your step I heard, like it was trying to sound like you."
Dean pushed open the office door and smirked to find Brian wedged back in the corner of his office with a bright red high-heeled shoe held over his head like a weapon. "We need to get you out of here."
"What happened?" Brian slowly lowered the shoe and felt slightly ridiculous holding it. "Is there someone else in the store?"
"Uh, yeah. There was." Sam opted not to try and explain spirits to the man. He looked like he was one good freak-out away from running in terror. "He, uh, got the jump on me and got away. We need to get you safe. Do you live nearby?"
"Over the shop." Brian pointed a finger up. "I live upstairs. Entrance is out back."
Dean frowned and met the understanding look in his brother's eyes. "Well, that's not ideal but we'll see what we can do. Come on. Lead the way."
Brian reluctantly set the shoe on his desk. He straightened his shirt and tie and walked back out into his shop. He looked around nervously. "Are you… are you sure he's gone?"
"Nope." Dean shook his head and stayed close to the man with Sam only a few paces behind him. "That's why we're gonna stay close. He'll have to go through us first, ok? You're gonna be fine."
"Not sure I believe you," Brian grumbled but he led the men to the back door of his shop.
Sam kept looking over his shoulder, sure that the spirit or whatever it was, was going to materialize at any moment and attack again. The back of his shoulder was a steady, burning pain, and he could feel blood trickling down his back beneath his shirts. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. "Hurry."
Dean didn't question Sam's soft warning; if his little brother thought something else was coming, he was probably right. Dean pushed through the door ahead of Brian and checked the alley behind the shop. It was empty and he nodded. "Alright, go. Go." He gently pushed the man ahead of him and followed up the metal stairs to the left of the door. "Sammy?"
"Right behind you." Sam kept right on his brother's heels.
"Jesus, you guys are freakin' me the hell out now." Brian's hands shook as he took out the key to his apartment and unlocked the door.
"Is your wife home?" Sam called as he trudged up the stairs behind them.
"No. No, she's spending a few days at her sister's." Brian smiled in relief at that, grateful that she wasn't around to be caught up in whatever crazy was currently happening to him. He pushed open the door and felt Dean close at his back.
"Get inside. You got salt in here?" Dean raised a brow and then a hand when Brian opened his mouth. "Argue later. Salt. Where?"
"Uh…kitchen. Over the stove." Brian went past him and down the hall. It was hard not demanding answers or an explanation for why they needed salt, but there was no denying the tension pouring from both men, and the urgency was contagious.
Sam closed the door behind him and made sure it was locked before he followed his brother and Brian down the hall. He rounded the door into the kitchen in time for Dean to toss a container of salt at him which he barely caught. "Dude."
Dean smirked. "Get the window in here. I'm gonna run down to the car and grab the bag." He pointed to a chair at a small table in the corner by the refrigerator and gave Brian a stern look. "Sit. Do not move. And you…" he turned his gaze to his little brother while Sam started pouring a line of salt in front of the window over the sink. "… try not to bleed everywhere before I get back."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Hurry up. And watch your back." He glanced over and saw Brian slowly sitting at the table. "This all seems a little crazy, huh?" he asked as he finished the window and turned to watch the man.
"I, uh…" Brian shook his head and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Why are we seasoning my kitchen window?"
Sam chuckled and gave a one-armed shrug. "I could tell you, but you'd never believe me." He watched Brian's eyes suddenly blow wide and the man's jaw drop. "Brian?" Sam went to him and froze as the meter in his pocket began to whine.
"What… what… what the fuck is THAT?" Brian shot up from his chair and pointed past Sam back toward the window.
Sam spun and immediately wished he had his shotgun as a silvery spirit, the same one he had seen in his visions, emerged from the wall to his left. He backed up and put himself between it and Brian. "Stay behind me." He felt one of Brian's hands land shakily on his left shoulder and winced as it jarred his wound. Sam waited for the spirit to come for them, and he frowned when it didn't. It paced silently across the kitchen and stopped in front of the cabinets. His frown grew and he watched curiously as it raised a shimmering arm above its head, and he felt his stomach clench as that arm dropped in a stabbing motion, over and over.
"Do something!" Brian shouted suddenly.
Sam was shaken into action. He swung the salt container up and let salt spew from the spout across the kitchen. It hit the spirit and sank into it before the thing finally flickered and vanished. "That was weird."
"Weird?" Brian asked with more than a hint of panic in his voice and shook Sam's shoulder under his hand. "A damn ghost just waltzed into my kitchen and you think that's just weird?"
"No. I think it didn't disperse the way ghosts normally do when I hit it with the salt. And it didn't just attack." Sam tried to think why this ghost would be different, but was distracted by Brian shaking his damaged shoulder yet again. "Ah, crap. Easy!"
Brian scowled and then remembered the other man, Dean, telling Sam not to bleed. "Oh, my God. You're hurt." He felt it then, blood beneath his hand. He jerked it away from Sam's shoulder and saw the hole through the man's jacket. "Holy crap! How… how bad are you hurt?" He watched Sam cradle his shoulder with his good arm. "You got that protecting me down in the shop, didn't you?"
Sam sighed and nodded. "Yeah, and it's not that bad. Believe me, I've had worse. I'm more worried about you right now." He heard the front door open and tensed. "Dean?"
"Yeah!" Dean heard a note of something off in his brother's voice and hurried down the hall. "What? What'd I miss?" He set the weapons bag on the kitchen counter and looked to Sam.
"Our spirit came back. It didn't attack Brian though." Sam held up a hand when Dean's face darkened. "Didn't come after me either. It just walked into the room over there, mimed stabbing the air, and then went away when I threw salt through it." He held up the salt container before setting it down. "It didn't get torn apart by the salt like spirits usually do, though. It just…left. There's something weird about this one."
"Dammit." Dean ran a hand through his hair and then pulled open the weapons bag. He pulled Sam's shotgun out and set it on the counter, then his own.
Brian had listened to the whole exchange half in shock, but when Dean pulled out the weapons, he took a small step back and shook his head. "You guys aren't cops, are you?"
Dean glanced over at him and quirked an eyebrow. "Not so much. But we are trying to save you, so work with us here." Brian visibly swallowed hard and managed a small nod. Dean turned back to the weapons, and his eye was caught by an open letter sitting on the counter, half under the bag. He narrowed his eyes as he quickly scanned the contents and tugged it free to get a better look. "Hey, Brian. You buy a house recently?"
"What?" Brian looked up, confused at the sudden change in topic. "Yeah. Couple weeks ago. Why?"
Dean held the letter out to his brother. "The Realtor who foreclosed on the house and sold it to you, it's Alex Wells."
"Holy crap," Sam breathed. "You did know him."
"What? No, I didn't. I don't know anyone named Alex." Brian took the paper and looked at himself. "This was all handled through my bank. I never even met the Realtor. We just wanted a house away from the city, you know?" He waved an arm at the apartment. "Feel like I never get to leave work living over the shop like this and my wife kinda hates this place."
"We need to check out this house." Sam folded the paper and shoved it into a pocket. "There has to be something there, some reason for this spirit to be coming after him. I don't like this."
"Shoulder first. Get your jacket and shirts off." Dean grabbed the container of salt and tossed it to Brian. "Hey. Pour a nice, thick line of this in front of the door there. You'll be safe in the kitchen at least. Hurry up."
"Ghosts." Brian took the salt and knelt by the open door in a bit of a daze. "You're talking about ghosts like… like it's real."
"You saw that thing," Sam pointed out and draped his jacket and flannel over a chair before tugging his t-shirt off over his head. "Crap. Ow."
Dean grimaced in sympathy. He plucked a towel from beside the sink, dumped peroxide over it, and used it to clean the blood from his brother's back. "Scary shit is real." He watched Brian get back to his feet and shrugged. "We fight it. That's kind of our job."
"And save people," Sam amended with a smirk. "Have you been to the house?"
Brian nodded. "Yeah. Once. I went to have a look at it before I bought it. Oh, man," he groaned, seeing the blood on Sam's back, and he swallowed hard. "Why is this happening to me?"
"That's what we're going to find out," Sam assured him.
"Hold still." Dean pressed carefully around the wound and was relieved to see that it had mostly stopped bleeding. He used butterfly strips to pull the edges closed, noting that the knife blade was a good inch in width. He pressed a bandage over and taped it down efficiently before packing the kit up again. "Alright. Brian, you're gonna stay here." He pulled an iron fireplace poker out and handed it to the man. "You see anything glowin' in the dark, you hit it with this and it'll go away."
"Seriously?" Brian looked at the poker dubiously and then gestured to the salt guns on the counter. "How come I can't have one of those?"
"You ever fire a gun before?" Dean asked and grinned when the man shook his head. "That's why. Probably fill your own foot full of rock salt."
"Dean." Sam stopped his brother before he could really start harassing the man and annoy him. "Make sure the salt lines aren't broken and keep that poker in your hand." He waited for Brian's nod and smiled. "Stay in the kitchen." He grabbed a piece of paper off the counter and a pen and wrote down his cell phone number. "If anything happens - if you even think something is happening - you call me."
"If the temperature drops and you're seein' your breath…" Dean took out another, larger container of salt and set it on the counter. "You hear footsteps that ain't there, lights start flickering…" He looked around the kitchen and gestured to the folding doors of a pantry. "You put yourself in there and dump salt in front of the door. It'll keep anything from coming in after you."
"I don't…" Brian shook his head and backed toward the pantry. "This is crazy. This is all just… crazy."
"I know." Sam pulled his shirts back on and eased his jacket over his aching shoulder before going to the man and resting a hand on his shoulder. "We've made it as safe as we can for you. Now we need to go find out where this thing is coming from so we can stop it. And we need you to do exactly as we've said, alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah OK." Brian nodded. He pulled open the pantry door and stepped inside. "I think I'm, uh, just gonna wait in here until you come back." He rolled his eyes and held up the salt. "In my pantry."
Dean gave him a smile and waved his brother toward the door. "Come on, Sam. Faster we figure this out, the better."
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
"Well." Dean eyed the three-story house in front of them with raised brows. "I can see why the guy would want to move in here."
Sam nodded. "He got it for practically nothing too, according to the sales receipt." The house was brown with three stories, a turret on one side, and the remains of a garden wrapping around the house beneath the wide porch. A 'sold' sign was nailed to a realty sale sign in the front lawn, and all the lights were off inside the home. "Doesn't look like anyone's here."
Dean nodded to the right. "Someone's definitely paying attention next door though." He saw the curtains on the first floor twitch closed, and a moment later, the door of the little white house opened. He put on a friendly smile and started over with Sam at his side. "Excuse me, ma'am!" he called to the woman who emerged. She had black hair with streaks of silver gathered into a messy knot on top of her head, wide, silver-rimmed glasses, and a faded Metallica concert shirt over blue jeans and bare feet that made Dean's smile genuine. "We were wondering if you knew anything about the former owner of that house." He nodded to her shirt as she stopped at the bottom of the porch stairs. "Like your style."
She chuckled and grinned at the very handsome man. "Name's Nataly. I reckon you're a might young for me, but I'd be willin' to try it."
Sam groaned and put a hand over his eyes while Dean chuckled. "Sorry, ma'am. We really do need some information, though. My partner and I here are doing an article on foreclosed homes and their owners." Dean shrugged as she tsked sadly. "You wouldn't happen to know anything, would you?"
Nataly smiled, letting her eyes wander up and down the long, cool, green-eyed drink of water before she plucked a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. "As it happens, I do." She leaned back against the railing of her porch and lit one. She held the pack out to the two men but they both shook their heads. She shrugged and put it away. "Well, now, that house has a right history and most of it's less than pretty."
"What happened to the last owner?" Sam took Brian's sales invoice from his pocket and held it up. "There's no name listed for the owner before it was sold recently."
"That'd be Joey Grayson." Nataly shook her head and crossed herself, uncaring of the raised brows the two men gave her for it. "He started out a cute enough kid. Now, I know I don't look it," She grinned at Dean and blew him a kiss. "… but I'm the same age his momma was."
"Was?" Dean asked and had a sudden urge to grab Sam and run. Some part of him knew exactly where this story was heading.
Nataly gave a sad tilt of her head. "Poor woman up and burned to death when Joey was just a baby. His dad never did come back from it, losin' poor Miranda like that. Blew his own head off a couple years later."
"Oh, God," Sam breathed.
Dean put a hand on his brother's arm to steady him when Sam seemed to stumble where he was standing. "What happened to Joey?" he asked, figuring Sam wasn't up to asking the questions just then.
"Oh, his aunt came and moved in." Nataly shook her head. "Alice Grayson. That woman never did meet a man she liked, and she was hard on that kid. Maybe that's why he grew up weird."
"Weird?" Dean cocked his head and had a feeling they were going to find another kid like Sam who had gone bad.
"Just somethin' about him, didn't sit right with, well, anyone." Nataly looked over at the house and blew out a long stream of smoke before meeting Dean's eyes again. "His aunt? Got herself killed last year. Stabbed on the way home from work. And long as that boy's been here, this neighborhood ain't had no strays." She raised her brows meaningfully. "Not a one. Hell, sometimes even people's cats would go missing. That boy, he ain't right in the head. Now, I ain't sayin' he killed his aunt, but I ain't sayin' he didn't either. You know what I mean." She nodded, agreeing with herself and tossed her cigarette into the yard. "Cops say he was home when she died, that it couldn't have been him." She snorted derisively. "I think they didn't look hard enough."
Dean could feel Sam's arm trembling under his hand and managed a smile. "You happen to know what happened to this Joey?"
"No idea. They came and evicted his ass a few weeks ago." Nataly smirked. "Made a right good show for a while, all the yellin' and carryin' on and him promisin' to make 'em pay, the people as took his house. Wherever he is, he's probably up to no good."
"Thanks, Nataly." Dean gave her another smile and tugged on his brother's arm. "You've been a big help. Gonna be a great article."
"Hmm." Nataly watched him back away, pulling the other one with him and smiled. "You need any more info, you come and knock on my door, son. Any time of the day or night."
Sam allowed Dean to pull him back to the Impala in a daze while everything Nataly had said swirled sickly through his mind. "He's like me."
"No, he's not," Dean said angrily. He pulled open the passenger door for his brother and went around to get behind the wheel. He started the engine and looked over at Sam's pale face. "He is not like you, Sammy. And you are not gonna turn into some murdering dickbag."
"How do you know?" Sam felt his own anger beginning to rise up and clenched his fists. "What if I do turn into that?"
"You won't," Dean said firmly. In his head, he could hear the echo of their father's voice warning him to save Sam or kill him. He shook his head and knew that he would always save Sam. "So, let's dial back the angst and figure this shit out, alright? What superpower does this guy have? How's he doing it?"
Sam fumed silently for another moment before taking a deep breath and slowly shoved the anger back down so he could think rationally. He smoothed his hands along his thighs and watched the Grayson house dwindle in the rearview mirror. "I don't know. I don't understand the ghost, unless it's his dad. It was definitely a guy."
"Ok, so, what? The family house gets repo'd, and dear old dad decides to off the people who took it?" Dean shook his head. "Doesn't feel right."
"No." Sam agreed. It didn't. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but he couldn't pin it down. "We need to get back to Brian."
"Yeah." Dean couldn't shake the sudden feeling that leaving the man alone had been a mistake. "He call you?"
Sam pulled his phone out, looked at the screen, and shook his head. "No. Nothing." He put his phone back in his pocket and glared out the window. "Why didn't I get his number before we left?"
"Hey, I didn't think to either. We both suck." Dean pushed the Impala faster and silently prayed that they wouldn't get pulled over for speeding. It seemed to take forever before they pulled up in front of the shoe store once again. Sam was out of the car before Dean even had it in park, and jogging out of sight around the building. "Hey! Wait up!" Dean called as he threw himself from the car and sprinted after his brother.
Sam ran up the stairs to Brian's apartment and pounded on the door. "Brian!" He waited and then put his ear to the door. He heard Dean come up the stairs behind him and leaned back to bang on the door again. "I can't hear anything. Brian! It's us! Open up! Did you lock the door when we left?"
"Yeah. Move." Dean nudged Sam to the side and, fearing that something bad was already happening inside, he reared back and slammed his foot into the door. It opened with a bang and slammed into the wall behind it. He caught it before it could bounce back into his face and ran inside. "Brian! Talk to us!"
Sam grabbed his brother's arm ahead of him. "You smell that?"
Dean nodded grimly. The sharp, copper tang of blood filled the air. He slid to a stop in the doorway to the kitchen and slumped in defeat. "Son of a bitch."
Sam pushed past him and shook his head. Brian's body lay beneath the window beside an open cabinet. He laid on his stomach and his back was red with his own blood. Sam could see the holes that littered his shirt, evidence of the brutal stabbing that had killed him, and blood decorated the wall beside him and pooled beneath his body. "He should have been safe."
Dean nodded silently. He looked down at his feet, then crossed the room to check the windowsill. "The salt lines are intact." He looked down at Brian's body and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "So the guy just sits there while someone comes in and stabs him in the back?" He kicked the counter angrily. "What the hell was he doing out of the pantry anyway? We told him to stay in there!"
Sam knelt down beside Brian's body with the grief and guilt of his failure a heavy lump in his throat. He sighed sadly and pointed. "That's a gun box in there. He was trying to get a weapon."
"Poor bastard," Dean said sadly.
Sam stood and backed away. He stopped and scowled as he took in the crime scene. "Dean." He moved to stand where he had been earlier with Brian at his back. "Dean, that's where the spirit was earlier. When it came in the room. The… thing, ghost, whatever…" he pointed to Brian's body. "It stood right there and stabbed the empty air over and over and then it vanished."
"Wait. Wait. It killed him before it killed him?" Dean stared around the room and then went to pack up the weapons bag. "How the hell does that work?"
"I'm working on it," Sam said absently, his mind already spinning through the possibilities.
"Come on. We need to get out of here." Dean nudged Sam out of the kitchen and followed him out of the apartment. All the while, he hoped they hadn't left anything of themselves behind that would get them in trouble once the authorities found Brian's body. Sam was still silent as they got into the car and pulled away, and Dean reached over to nudge his arm. "Dude. You got something. I know that look on your face. Spill it."
"I think we need to go back to his house." Sam took out his phone and dialed Bobby, putting it on speakerphone. "He's killed the people who took it from him. That has to be where he's holed up. We shouldn't have left earlier."
"We didn't know." Dean felt every bit of the guilt he knew his brother was feeling. As far as he was concerned, Brian's death was on them.
"Bobby, it's Sam." Sam smiled a little, hearing the gruff, older hunter's voice. "What do you know about Vardogr?"
"Vardogr?" Bobby's voice was raised in surprise. "Not a whole lot. They're harmless, from everything I've read."
"I know, but I think that's what we're seeing." Sam held up a hand when Dean looked the question at him. "They're from Norse mythology, considered like… personal poltergeists."
"How exactly is that harmless? Dean asked in disbelief.
"They're just projections. The people they shadow don't even usually know the things are there." Sam shrugged. "They usually show up a few minutes for the person they're attached to, do whatever that person's going to do when they get there, and then vanish."
"Like really useless fortune tellers." Bobby said with a chuckle. "I've seen a couple over the years. They usually vanish on their own after a while."
"This one's different. For one thing, it stabbed me." Sam rolled his eyes as Bobby yelled. "No, I'm fine! Bobby, it's fine."
"He got punctured. It's not bad," Dean said, reassuring Bobby with a smirk to his brother for the older man's reaction. "So if these varsities…"
"Vardogr," Sam corrected him.
"Varmints…" Dean grinned at him. "… are usually harmless, how come this one's pullin' a psycho?" He looked over at Sam and saw the warning in his brother's eyes. Dean shrugged to say they had no choice and put his eyes back on the road. "Bobby, we're pretty sure this is another of the special kids. Neighbor said his mom burned in the house when he was a baby."
"Well, shit."
Even over the phone, Sam could hear the worry in Bobby's voice. A small part of him wondered if Bobby was concerned about what Sam might someday do, but he knew the man would never say that. "Is there a way to, I don't know, break the connection between a person and their vardogr?"
"Nothin' concrete. You could try force-feeding them salt." Bobby didn't sound very sure of that suggestion himself. "Might break whatever's connecting them. Or you could just end up pissin' it off. I wish I had better advice, but damn, this is a new one on me."
"Awesome," Dean groaned.
"I'll dig around, see if I can come up with something better. You boys watch out for yourselves, and call me when you get this bastard."
"We will, Bobby. Thanks." Sam ended the call and tucked the phone in his pocket. "So, find the bad guy, feed him salt."
Dean snorted. "Only about a hundred ways this could go bad. We really need to make better plans." They made the rest of the drive back to the Grayson house in silence with Sam staring out the window. Dean wished he could take the damn visions out of his brother's head, give Sam the 'normal' he had always craved. He pulled up in front of the house as the daylight was fading and glared at the structure through the window like it was somehow personally responsible.
"Dean?" Sam asked curiously, seeing the dark look on his brother's face.
"Yeah. Let's move." Dean climbed out and went to the trunk. He took the weapons bag out and didn't argue when Sam tossed it over his own shoulder. "We stay together."
Sam nodded. "And keep your EMF on. It doesn't give much warning before the vardogr appears, but it's all we've got."
Dean looked over to Nataly's house as they walked up the path to the Grayson house and frowned. "She's not looking."
"She's probably doing something else."
"No way." Dean detoured and cut across the lawn. "You saw her, man. She's the nosy neighbor. Always got her nose to the window checkin' on everybody else. She hears my baby twice in the same day and this time she doesn't bother looking?" He shook his head. "Something's wrong."
"Crap." Sam realized his brother was right. There was a car in the driveway and the lights were on in the house, but there was no sign of the woman lurking behind the curtains. "You don't suppose Joey…"
"Nataly said he was a weird kid." Dean climbed the steps of the front porch quickly. "Wanna bet she wasn't exactly friendly to him either? Nataly!" Dean knocked on the front door and stood up on his toes, leaning against the door, so he could look through the window at the top.
"Joey Grayson might have added her name to his 'kill' list." Sam pulled the bag off his shoulder and pulled out the shotguns. "Here." He handed one to Dean. "I'll go around back. Maybe she's just outside and didn't hear the car."
"Yeah. Right." Dean watched his brother jog off around the side of the house and tried not to twitch as he vanished from sight. So much for 'we stay together.' "Dammit." He grabbed the knob of the front door and gave it a turn. He had a sinking feeling when it easily opened. "Aw hell, Nataly," he muttered. "No way a woman like you leaves her door unlocked. Don't be dead." He turned on the EMF in his pocket as he stepped inside.
"Nataly?" Dean called loudly. He listened and his nerves itched with the sense that something was wrong in the house. He looked up the stairs to his right and put a foot on the bottom step, stopping when he heard a sound from down the hall. "Nataly?" It sounded like a muffled cough. Dean held his shotgun ready and moved slowly down the hall and turned into a wide living room on his left. A deep, brown leather soft sat against the far wall. The wooden coffee table in front of it had been toppled and shoved to the side and Nataly lay there on her back. Blood seeped from a stab wound in her shoulder, near her throat and her eyes stared up at the ceiling. Dean saw her blink and jerked back into motion.
"Shit. Shit! Nataly?" Dean knelt beside her. He yanked a bandana out of his pocket and pressed it hastily to the wound. "Hey. Hey. You hear me?" He watched her eyes roll slowly to meet his and he smiled. "Better ways to get me inside for a cup of coffee." He smiled as her lips twitched upward for a moment, then she slammed them closed in pain. "Hey, I gotcha. Don't worry, alright? Sammy! Living room!"
Dean looked up, hearing footsteps and expecting Sam, but there was no one there. "What the hell?" He tensed as the meter in his pocket whined to life. The shimmering apparition of a man appeared beyond the arched door in the dining room. Dean scowled as it jumped forward into the living room. He brought his gun up, expecting it to attack, but instead it stopped in the door. It had one arm raised awkwardly over its head while the other made strange, upward stabbing motions. "Screw this." Dean fired a round of rock salt into the vardogr and smiled grimly when it flickered and vanished.
"Hey, it's ok." He soothed Nataly as she jumped under his hand at the sound. "Just lay still. We're gonna get you help."
"Dean?"
"Living room! And watch your ass!" Dean called. He listened to the meter in his pocket warily. It was no longer whining loudly, but it still hummed, registering the presence of something 'other' in the vicinity. "This bastard is not gettin' you, Nataly. Not if we can help it."
"Is she alright?" Sam asked as he jogged into the dining room and saw his brother kneeling beside Nataly's bloody body.
"It got her pretty good, but she's still… SAM!" Dean shouted as a glowing figure suddenly appeared behind his brother and the meters in both their pockets screamed to life. He watched in horror as the movements he had seen the thing make minutes before suddenly made sense. It reached one opaque arm up and wrapped it around his brother's throat to bend him backwards, while the spirit's other arm pulled back, before driving up and into Sam's unprotected back. "NO!" he screamed as Sam loosed an agonized shout into the room.
Instinct pulled Dean to his feet and he rushed them. He slammed into Sam and knocked him bodily away from the thing trying to kill him. They crashed to the floor and Dean rolled quickly to his back, raising the shotgun he had managed to hold on to and fired into it. The vardogr flickered and vanished again. "Sam."
Sam groaned breathlessly. Pain had settled in his chest like a weight, and he couldn't stop the whimper when Dean pulled and tugged him up so he was sitting with his head resting on Dean's shoulder. "S'bad?"
"It ain't good." Dean shifted enough to pull Sam's jacket and shirts up without dislodging his brother's head. He ran his fingers over bloody skin, counting Sam's ribs by touch and let out a breath. "It's not that bad. Think it missed the important stuff."
Sam shook his head and pushed weakly at his brother's arm. "Can't… can't breathe."
"You're talkin', you can breathe." Dean eased Sam up enough to see his brother's face and gave him a smile. "Just try not to move too much." He picked up Sam's shotgun from the floor where it had fallen and put it in his brother's lap. "We need to find this dick now."
"Next… next door. Gotta be." Sam slowly moved with Dean's help so he was sitting against the wall beside the door and facing into the living room. "Go find… find him. I'll wa… watch her." He watched the argument move over his brother's face and saw the moment he resigned himself. "'ll be fine." He gave a smile that was more of a grimace. "Promise. Go. Hurry." He rolled his eyes. "Some of us are… are busy bleedin'."
"Bitch."
"Jer… jerk." Sam grunted with a fresh wave of pain, but he kept his eyes open.
Dean anguished about leaving him alone and wounded for a moment more before he stood. "Alright." He went back to Nataly and knelt beside her. He pressed the folded bandana more firmly to her wound and brought her own hand up, setting it over top. "Keep pressure on that." He smiled when she met his eyes. "And keep an eye on him, woudja?" Nataly gave him a short nod. Dean gave Sam one last look, grabbed the weapons bag, and ran from the house.
"Don't… don't worry." Sam smiled as Nataly rolled her head enough to see him. "He'll fix… fix this."
Nataly watched the younger man's eyes flutter and slip closed as his head began to nod forward. "Sam?" she called and then moaned as it made her wound hurt more. She pressed her hand over it as Dean had told her to. "Sam!"
Sam jerked his head up and sucked in a stuttering breath. "Sor… sorry. M'here." The pressure in his chest wasn't letting up. If anything it was becoming harder to breathe around. He hoped his brother could find Joey and put a stop to him quickly.
Dean ran from Nataly's house to the Grayson house next door. He didn't stop to try opening the door and kicked it in with a bang. Joey Grayson had to know he was coming, so there was little point in being stealthy about it. "Joey!" Dean bellowed into the house. He heard a clatter from upstairs and took the steps two at a time. He stopped on the second floor, listening, and then continued up to the third when his gut told him he would find the young man there. Dean led with his shotgun as he reached the top of the stairs.
"Joey? This doesn't have to end badly!" Dean called and moved slowly down the hall. He opened the first door he reached and moved on, finding the room empty. "I get it. You got weird shit goin' on in your head, but you don't have to kill anyone else."
Dean startled as his meter whined suddenly and the vardogr appeared in front of him. He shot it quickly, not bothering to give it time to move. A pained whine came through the door at the end of the hall, and Dean grinned dangerously. "Gotcha." He hastily reloaded the shotgun then pulled the canister of salt out of his bag before letting that drop to the floor with a soft thump. Distantly, he heard the sound of a shotgun firing and he snarled; the bastard had sent his personal spirit after his brother again.
"That's it." Dean kicked in the door and realized they were in the turret room at the top of the house. A young man no older than Sam was crouched under the window across from him with his hands wrapped around his head, fingers tunneled tightly into his curled, blonde hair. His face screamed 'pain,' and Dean smiled darkly. "Hurts when we blast your pocket poltergeist, doesn't it?"
Joey Grayson squinted up at Dean with nothing but hatred in his eyes. "Kill you. All of you."
"Don't think so." Dean stalked across the room and caught hold of Joey before he could try and get away.
Joey yelled in rage. "Let me go! Kill you!" He stared into the green eyes of his attacker and spat. "Already killing the other one!"
Dean scowled dangerously at the maniacal glint Joey's eyes. "Son of a bitch! No you don't!" He wrestled Joey to his back and sat on his chest, pinning the younger man's arms beneath his knees. Dean opened the salt, letting his gun thunk to the floor, and used his now free hand to pry Joey's mouth open. "You're done, kid." He poured salt ruthlessly into Joey's mouth while the kid struggled and spat salt in clouds up at Dean. Dean kept pouring until his mouth was full. He let the salt canister topple to the floor and slammed Joey's mouth closed. He nearly lost his grip when Joey was suddenly enveloped by a blue glow. He kept his grip on the kid's jaw until all that light exploded outward.
"Better out than in, you psycho asshole." Dean released Joey's mouth and climbed off of him, grabbing his shotgun as he stood quickly. He leveled it at Joey's head while he curled onto his side and spat gobs of wet salt onto the wood floor. "Yech."
"What…" Joey coughed and choked salt out until his eyes were watering. When he could breathe again, he sat up and felt inside himself for his power. He frowned, beginning to panic, when he could no longer feel that other presence. "What did you do?"
"Stopped you," Dean said simply. "Now I'm gonna call the cops, and you're gonna spend, well, the rest of your natural life behind bars, I figure." He smiled. "I'm tryin' real hard to feel sorry about that, but you stabbed my little brother." He knelt down and tapped the barrel of his gun beneath Joey's jaw until the kid's eyes widened fearfully. "That kinda thing pisses me off." While Joey was processing the threat, Dean pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and had one end slapped around his wrist and the other to a radiator beside him before Joey could protest. "Don't go anywhere."
Dean stood and crossed the room. As he reached the door, the meter in his pocket began to scream. His breath frosted out in front of his face and he spun. "Oh, you asshole!" He was annoyed that the salt hadn't worked and tried to think of a way to stop Joey without killing him as the vardogr reappeared in the center of the room. Dean raised the shotgun and then paused as the spirit turned, not toward him, but to Joey.
"Kill him!" Joey screamed at the spirit. He pointed to Dean with his free hand, demanding that it do his bidding, but this time, he couldn't feel the connection between them. "No! Kill HIM!"
Dean watched the vardogr crash into Joey's body. He saw the first spray of blood across the floor, followed by Joey's scream. He slowly lowered the shotgun and backed away. "Problem with chainin' something up and makin' it kill for you." Dean pulled the door closed on Joey's weakening plea for help. "Sooner or later, it bites you in the ass." He knew he could have fired and stopped the vardogr for a moment, but only a moment. It wouldn't last. He had freed it from Joey, and there were no bones to burn or rituals to chant that would save the kid the next time it came for him. He was dead and he had done it to himself. Dean picked up his bag and then paused as the room behind him went silent. He sighed and jogged down the stairs.
Dean sprinted between the two houses again. He slid to a stop in Nataly's hall and gave her a cursory glance, seeing her smile tiredly up at him, before he ran across the room and slid to his knees beside his brother. "Heya, Sammy." Dean put a hand to Sam's neck and lifted his head up. The shotgun was resting on the floor beside him. Sam smiled at him and then began to chuckle. Dean frowned. "You alright?"
"Ye… yeah. Not really." He laughed again and then grimaced as it stole his breath. "The var… vardogr… was here'minute ago. Looked… looked like…" He shook his head, unable to stop his words from slurring together.
"It looked like you," Nataly said softly, picking up when Sam gave up speaking in favor of breathing. "It knelt down next to him and did what you're doing, held his head."
"Huh." Dean looked back to his brother and watched his brother's eyes, seeing the pain deep in them. He smirked. "Think maybe it was tryin' to say thanks for freeing it from the serial killer?"
Sam gave a short nod. "Joey?" he asked.
Dean shook his head. "Soon as I set it free, it came back and pasted the guy."
Sam let his eyes close sadly, though it wasn't really a surprise. Supernatural things never liked being put on a leash. There was always a price to pay. "Dean." He got his eyes open again with effort. He tried to pick his hand up to grab Dean's arm, but his hand twitched weakly on the floor. "Need… help."
"Shit." Dean fumbled his phone out of his pocket and called the police. He gave them the address and told them they'd need more than one ambulance, then ended the call and tapped Sam's cheek. "Hey. Hey. I gotta go put the weapons bag back in the car. Can't let the cops find it and ask questions. You hold on, you hear me?" He took Sam's nod for what it was, the only answer his little brother was capable of giving him just then.
Sam listened to Dean's footsteps fade. He vaguely heard Nataly calling his name, and then Dean's voice in his ear and felt his brother's hand on his chest like he was willing him to breathe, but there wasn't enough air left in the room anymore.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Sam opened his eyes again and blinked in confusion. Gone were Nataly's leather couch and the uncomfortable wall at his back. Instead, he was lying in a soft bed and staring up at a white tiled ceiling. He felt fuzzy and disconnected, but he recognized the soft sound of snoring coming from his left. Sam rolled his head over and found Dean. His big brother was leaned awkwardly back in a plastic chair with his head tipped back, mouth open, and arms dangling over the sides. Sam smirked.
"Dean." Sam called and grimaced as his throat burned with the effort to speak. He realized his throat hurt, and, really, his chest as well ached with pain. He brought one shaking hand up and rested it over his chest with a low moan. That sound proved to be enough to get into his brother's sleeping mind, conditioned as Dean was to respond to Sam in pain. He watched Dean's head jerk up and met Dean's eyes with a small wave. "Hey."
"Sammy." Dean grinned and shot upright. He groaned at the sudden change of position and the pain that shot through his shoulders, then ignored it in favor of leaning over the bed and resting a hand on Sam's chest. "How you feelin'?"
Sam swallowed and looked around, spotting a cup and pitcher on a table beside the bed. "Water?"
"Yeah. Yeah, hang on." Dean hastily poured a cup and then helped his brother hold it while he slowly drank. "Better?" he asked as he set the cup aside.
Sam nodded. "Yeah. "What happened?"
Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair and gave Sam a lopsided smile in an effort to hide the fear he'd lived through. "The uh, the ghost? It knicked your right lung when it stabbed you." He patted Sam's shoulder when his brother jerked in surprise. "Yeah, you decided to go oxygen free by the time they got you in the ambulance." He smiled again. "You're good though. Got you all patched up. But the docs want you to take it easy for a few weeks so you don't reinjure yourself."
Sam rubbed a hand over his sore throat and quirked a brow. "They intubated me?"
"Stopped breathing, jackass!" Dean said and tapped Sam between the eyes with his knuckles until his brother batted his hand away. Dean chuckled, but it sounded strained. "Yeah, they stuck a tube down your throat. Took it out yesterday. And before you ask… three days."
"It's been three days?" Sam's eyes blew wide in surprise. He suddenly understood the dark shadows riding under his brother's eyes and the lines of tension in his face. He had damn near died on him, and his big brother wasn't taking it well. "Holy crap."
"Yeah, that sucked." Dean sat back again, but left his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'm gonna bust you outta here tonight. We'll head back toward Bobby's. You can steal his couch for a while."
Sam groaned but with a smile. "Awesome."
Dean watched his brother for a few minutes and then squeezed his shoulder when he saw tension pass through him. "Wasn't your fault, Sammy. That Joey kid went off the rails long before his shining ever kicked in. You heard Nataly."
Sam nodded. It didn't make it any easier to accept that yet another of the children like him had gone dark side so easily. He swallowed and cracked his eyes open to look at Dean. "How's Nataly?"
Dean shuddered. "Dude, that's why I'm breakin' you outta here later. She promised to come back for a visit." He rolled his eyes. "They released her yesterday after the cops got done grilling us about Joey's attempted murder and suicide." He nodded with a disgusted smile when Sam looked at him in surprise. "Yeah, that's their expert opinion. Morons. Anyway, Nataly she said she wants to thank me personally."
Sam laughed. His sore throat argued and it turned into a cough that had him sitting up with Dean supporting him against his shoulder. Still, he managed a chuckle. "She's not that much older," he said in a hoarse voice, nearly gone. "And she seems… enthusiastic."
Dean snorted. "Dude, she is literally mom's age. Hell, no. That's just… no." He laid his snorting brother back to the bed and sighed fondly as Sam closed eyes again, still grinning. "Get some more sleep, idiot."
"Yer'a idiot," Sam said sleepily.
Dean grinned and settled back into his chair; eyes intent on his brother and ears alert for the sound of Nataly's combat boots in the hall outside.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The End.
Next Chapter: W is for …..?
