A/N: Yay! Chapter Seven is up and running. Okay, just some notes for readers new to my work. I re-work cannon cases in most of my projects, it's just a personal writing preference, but though I keep the basic case the same, all the details, names, locations, little twists and turns, all tend to change to suit my purposes, as I obviously did here with the history of Lily Dale.
So, how are we liking the boys? I love my vagabond Sam, capable and vulnerable, and my tough, I don't need anyone Dean, who doesn't even realize that a part of him has been looking for Sam his whole life.
This story has such a life of it's own, and Dean's protectiveness continues to surprise me. I keep trying to write him as more laid back, and case focused, and he'd having nothing to do about it, because he's pretty obsessed with this Book character right now.
So, apologies if I make any Sam/Book name mistakes, since my mind tends to interchange them frequently, I don't always catch the mistakes, even when I proofread my own work. Since both Sam and Book are real words, even my computer gets confused at what I want sometimes.
In other news, if you guys haven't jumped over to my profile and read "A Space Shaped Like Home", you might find it a really good read. It's a one shot about Ellie, the runaway who had a cameo at the end of Chapter four. It has a surprise at the end you guys might like. "How TO Fix A Winchester" updated yesterday, and yesterday's prompt was a !weechester!, which was fun. "All The Pretty Monsters" updated Thursday, and I had a lot of fun with that chapter, which is called 'Conference Call' and uses some unusual formatting for one section. "Prisoner of War" had back to back updates on Wednesday and Thursday, concluding the scarecrow storyline, so lots of action there also.
Last but not least, last week "Confessions Of A Boy King", which is my Sam-centric canon project, got a prompted update, which I really enjoyed writing, because it discusses the Gadreel fall out, and I needed to get it off my chest already.
Reviews are love, let me know how the boys are coming across. I'm worried the story is moving too slowly, but Dean's stubborn as a mule, so I can't seem to force him to go any faster. Do we like the slower pace, with more introspection from the boys? I could speed it up, but the interaction between the boys is so fun, I hesitate to, unless you guys are getting bored, so let me know your thoughts.
As always,
EverReader
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox...
Tuesday's Child – Chapter Seven
"Stranger Than Fiction"
John found himself writing again, a habit he had dropped shortly after he had met Mary.
Journaling had been a release, after the horror and pain and fear of the war. It had eased the transition, between soldier and civilian.
As a soldier, he had received orders from a superior. If orders weren't available, he relied on his training, and the the severity of the mission to guide his actions.
Though this situation was obviously severe, obviously of high importance, John didn't expect anyone to come and give him directions any time soon.
So he spent those first few days gathering intelligence, looking for signs, for mistakes, left behind when whatever...thing...had taken his son, erased his son.
Scraps, like the scrap of blue blanket he carried in his pocket.
There were a few others.
In a desk drawer downstairs, safe from the fire, he'd found carousel tickets, from a trip to the zoo several weeks back. There were four on them, and for some reason Mary had kept the stubs. At the time, John had complained about having to buy a full priced ticket for a three month old, but now he was grateful.
Though neither one of them had been particularly religious, Mary had also, for some reason, insisted that both boys be baptized when only a few weeks old. For both baptisms, she had chosen an out of the way church, an old rectory with an aging priest. Though the baptism certificate the old priest had painstakingly filled out had disappeared along with Sam, the old priest had also kept a ledger, and there, halfway down the page, dated for June 18th, was a line notated as-
'June 18th, 1982- baptized one Samuel Jonathan Winchester-age six weeks'.
John had ripped the page out of the ledger when the other man hadn't been looking, and now it was tucked away inside the leather bound journal that had been his own father's.
John had never used it before, unwilling to use something that had belonged to Henry before he had abandoned their family, but now, with his wife dead and his son missing, he found himself thinking of Henry, and of his complete, surprise disappearance.
Though Henry hadn't disappeared as literally as Sammy had, he had disappeared completely. No paper trail, no body.
He'd simply...vanished.
Like Sam.
Though John had no way of knowing whether or not it was the same type of situation, or if he was simply cursed to lose the people he loved, he now had to look at his father's abandonment with a more open eye.
So now, as he wrote out his thoughts and findings, He desperately hoped that putting his words on paper would make them make sense, somehow, some way.
And using the journal of John's missing father to chronicle the search for his missing son seemed appropriate.
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Dean stood on the porch of a neat, tan bungalow as they waited for Marie Le Shay's granddaughter to open the door. They didn't have to wait long before a pretty, dark-haired woman in her late twenties stood before them.
"Gentleman, I'm sorry, but I'm not giving readings today. You might check with Magdalena, she's only a few blocks over."
The boys shared an amused glance before Dean spoke up. "Actually, I'm look for Amanda Woodsby. I'm Mr. Tyler, we spoke on the phone yesterday about your grandmother?"
Amanda frowned, looking from Dean to Book and back to Dean again, but she reluctantly let them in.
"I'll answer your questions, but no way your cops. Private investigators?" She guessed, taking a seat on the sofa.
Dean paused, eyes flitting to Book's again before frowning at her. "Ma'am?"
She rolled her eyes. "Okay. Cards on the table. I'm not psychic, neither was my grandmother. My family are showman, not supernatural. But I grew up in Lily Dale, and I've met enough real ones to know when I'm around one." She said, gesturing with her chin at Book.
Book blinked, clearly disconcerted, but then suddenly he grinned, all dimples and white teeth and sunshine and please-mommy-can-I-keep-the-puppy, and Dean watched in amazement as Amanda pretty much...melted.
"Okay." Book said, still smiling as he sat down opposite of her. "You got me. Steven here is a private investigator, and I'm contracted to help him with his investigation. His employer is very interested in old objects, antiquities and such, and whenever an...unusual death, such as your grandmother's, occur, he's dispatched to see if an object the likes of which he collects might have been the cause."
Dean looked at him quickly in consternation as the smooth (clever, brilliant kinda perfect actually...) lies fell from Book's lips, and Book's eyes laughed back at him.
Amanda was already nodding. "Oh. Well, I guess. If you say so. I know there are some objects with actual psychic energy, but it's not really something either I or my grandmother would have pursued. Those kinds of things simply aren't necessary with acts like ours. My grandmother bought most of her props online."
Dean chewed his lip. "What about tarot cards, crystal balls, altars? Or, did you ever do a joint act, have a partner, maybe, who might have something with actual mojo?"
They didn't care so much about objects any more, what they cared about was people and motive, but Book's lies had relaxed Amanda, giving her an explanation for their presence that fit in with her world view.
She shook her head, simply amused now. "No, she never worked with anyone other than me, and I was three states away. I travel a lot for my work, night clubs, conventions, even cruise lines sometimes. Most of the...psychics here in Lily Dale work alone, there can be a lot of rivalry. But, seriously, you actually think there's something to all this hoodoo nonsense? When I got that voice mail from Marie, I just thought she was being over dramatic."
Dean's gaze sharpened at her words. "What voice mail?"
Amanda shook her head. "It was garbled, it didn't make a whole lot of sense. She'd said she'd had a vision, a real vision, of a woman in black predicting her death."
"Like...a banshee?" Book asked curiously, and Dean shot him a look, curious himself at just how much hunting experience Book actually had, because Banshee's were rare. Dean himself had never encountered one, but Bobby had one. He'd said they were nasty, dangerous things, and not something to go against without back-up.
But Amanda just laughed. "Banshee? Are you kidding? No, not a banshee. It was Melinda Dale, or at least she claimed it was."
"Oh." Book said suddenly, leaning back in thought. "But, wait, isn't that the wrong sister? I thought Miranda, the younger sister was the talent? And, how did she even recognize her?"
"What?" Dean asked, looking from Amanda back to Book.
Book glanced over, eyes widening. "Oh, sorry Dean. Um, if I remember my history right, Melinda Dale was the older sister, and Miranda, who was a genuine psychic, was the younger sister. Melinda was...a showman." Book said, with a nod at Amanda, who grinned back. "Anyway, they were orphans, and Melinda raised Miranda. They lived and worked in a traveling circus, a freak show. But then freak shows became outlawed, and there was no where for them to go, as they could no longer travel from town to town."
Amanda took over. "They founded this town, but back then it was more of a 'community', for psychics to come and live without being ostracized."
"And get paid well to do so?" Dean guessed wryly.
Amanda shrugged. "A girl's gotta eat." She turned back to Book. "My grandmother's grandmother moved here shortly after Lily Dale was founded. The Dale sisters were both spinsters, and Miranda died only a few years after the town was founded. Melinda only lived a few years longer. All of their belongings and photos are over at the Lily Dale City Museum. That's the only place I can think of that Marie would have seen photos of the Dale sisters."
Dean thanked her for her time, and the boys let themselves out.
Looking over at Book as they walked to the car, Dean asked suddenly, "Hey, Book, if you just got into town, how'd you know all that junk?"
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Book glanced up at Dean's words. "Hmm? Oh, well, for a psychic, Lily Dale is kind of pertinent history. There are a lot of flakes here, but a lot of real deals have moved in and out over the years, hiding in plain sight, at all that."
Dean frowned. "What do you mean, hiding in plain sight?"
Book chewed his bottom lip, like Dean had done earlier. "Well, I mean, think of it. If a genuine psychic wanted to use their powers, where better to hide?"
Dean tilted his head slightly. "Why would they want to hide?"
Sam sucked in a breath, wishing now that he'd just kept his mouth shut. Finally, he said "Dean, what makes psychic power so dangerous is the same thing that makes the monsters so dangerous."
Dean nodded thoughtfully. "The fact that no one believes in them?"
Book looked at him solemnly. "Exactly. But if someone did believe, and they got their hands on someone with real power, the psychic can't exactly go to the cops and get help."
"Well, shit. I've never had to think of psychics as an endangered species before." Dean grumbled.
Book laughed. "Well, apparently they are here in Lily Dale, right now anyway."
Dean stopped walking suddenly, and Book stopped also, turning to face him enquiringly. "Dean?"
"Are you running from someone, Book? Do you need help?" Dean said, the questions grave and serious and inquiring all at once.
Suddenly Book felt the words, the hundreds and thousands of words, the entirety of his double-life's story, fighting their way up his throat, desperate to break free, to pour out of his mouth and into the air so they could finally, finally be real.
So Book could finally be real, too.
But we don't always get what we wish for.
He shook his head. He wasn't denying Dean's words, just signaling that he wasn't answering the question either. "I'm a wanderer, Dean. That's all. It's just what I am now."
"Now?" Dean pressed, taking a step closer, and Book forced himself not to retreat from Dean's larger than life presence.
"Everyone has a story, Dean. I've got a couple. But that's all they are, stories. And they won't get this case solved." Book said quietly.
Dean stared holes into him. "Do you need help?" He said the words even more firmly, with even more DEAN-ness behind him, and Book swallowed, hard.
"I'm okay, now. Before...things weren't so good. But everything's going to be okay now." Book said finally.
Dean continued to look at him for a moment, and Book felt small, like he hadn't in years, and he wondered if this was what it had felt like to be Dean's younger brother all the time.
It was a strange feeling, comforting and restricting all at once, like stretching a knotted muscle, relief and pain all bound up in one tangled knot.
Finally, Dean said. "Okay, so what now?"
Book wondered if Dean was testing him, as surely Dean had run so many investigations by this point that he could have done this in his sleep.
Book shrugged. "The museum?" He offered. "A vengeful spirit might account for the murders, though, what would have triggered her at this point, I don't know. And it's odd that the spirit of the fake psychic is targeting other fakes, and not the other way around."
Dean mulled over Book's words. "You mean, instead of targeting live psychics, what, like you?" He looked over at Book again, like he was trying to decide if Book needed protection.
Book shook his head. "A ghost couldn't do much against me anyway, at least not without a lot of help. No, I just meant it was weird that Marie thought it was Melinda, and not Miranda."
"Maybe she got the two mixed up? Their mother wasn't exactly creative with the names." Dean pointed out. "Oh, man. Am I really going to end up digging up Lily Dale's only real psychic? This case BLOWS!" He grumbled loudly, and Book laughed again.
Leaving Dean when this was over was going to be hard.
He actually liked the guy. Not just the memory of him, but the real, flesh and blood person.
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As they walked, Dean pondered over Book's words.
Book had certainly known a lot about Lily Dale. Perhaps he was simply like Bobby in that regard, curious and smart, and psychic to boot.
It could make sense for him to know a lot about that kind of thing, especially as his adoptive family knew about the supernatural.
Book also seemed to know a lot about running and hiding.
Dean was more certain than ever that this kid, however capable and independent he might be, was running from something or someone.
The only question was, was this thing still a threat? Or just the memory of a something dark that kept him wandering.
Dean could understand wandering as a coping mechanism, it was his own personal preference, after all.
If that was all it was, then that was Book's right.
But if something was trying to hurt him, then Dean could help. Or take him to John or Bobby or someone who could. Book's family obviously couldn't fix whatever was wrong.
Book had indicated that all the danger was in the past, but sometimes Dean would catch a look in his eyes, like somewhere deep down inside, Book was...waiting.
Waiting for what, though?
As they approached the museum, Book's words echoed in Dean's mind.
"Everyone's got a story. I've got a couple..."
Dean wondered who Book had been before he became Book, the vagabond wanderer.
Was someone out there waiting for him, too?
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Book studied the photo of the two Dale sisters carefully. A resemblance could definitely be seen, though Miranda, the younger sister, had been prettier, more feminine. Melinda had a sharper, more angular face, with plainer features and a slightly sour expression.
"Well, she finitely looks like the vengeful type." Dean muttered.
Book frowned. "But why now? Why all of a sudden? And why target fakes, if she was a fake as well?"
"Melinda hated phony psychics, if that's what your discussing." A voice behind them said suddenly, and both boys tensed up a little as they turned.
"But, to my understanding, it was her sister who was genuinely talented?" Book worded his question carefully.
A man in a curator's uniform stood before them, polishing his glasses on his coat. "Oh, she was as fake as Velveeta cheese." He agreed cheerfully. "She participated in the whole show simply to keep an eye on Miranda. She was very protective of her younger sister, possessive, even, you might say. But she could be an impressive showman, when she wanted to. She was angry at the influx of phonies into Lily Dale, with flashier shows that she felt eclipsed Miranda's genuine talent. When Miranda took ill, Melinda blamed it on the stress of dealing with the other charlatans, even going so far as to suggest that Miranda had been poisoned by a jealous competitor. When Miranda died, she became quite bitter, becoming a literal shut-in. Before her death a few years later, there were rumors that she had starting delving into...more distasteful subjects." The man said delicately.
Book cocked his head curiously. "As in...the dark arts?" he guessed.
"Oh man, a fake psychic ghost who knows witch craft? Bobby owes me so big...!" Dean grumbled loudly.