What's Dead Should Stay Dead
Disclaimer: Kripke? Never heard of him. Oh wait….
Disclaimerx2: May contain minor season 2 spoilers.
Thank You: To Wysawyg for extremely awesome beta'ing and Jen B for helping me through a writer's crunch by sending me jokes and for helping me, "fall into the action."
A Special Thank You: To nyxlily for having the courage to send me constructive feedback and for being kind enough to send it in a private message. I think I deleted almost 2/3 of them in this chapter. I hope you notice the difference! (c;
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"Not that," Sam said correctly reading the look on Dean's face. "I was reading, 'Lord of the Flies,' for Mrs. Denelli's lit class. I had a report due in the morning."
"Sam, Sam, Sam," Dean responded in a pitying tone.
"Dean, just go," Sam replied. "I promise. I'll lay the salt lines, brush my teeth and be in bed before eleven."
"Ha ha," Dean replied. "I'll call you if I find out anything interesting."
"You do that," Sam replied his head already buried back in the computer. He barely registered the sound of the door closing with a quiet click.
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22:47:51 Thursday, 674 Filmont Avenue, Peru, Indiana
Dean sat across the coffee table from Maurice Sanderson. He was a big, hulking form of a man, his immense shoulder width easily filling the overstuffed arm chair. "You say the desk clerk told you Maureen's boyfriend was a real bruiser?" Maurice asked in a deep, baritone voice.
"Yeah," Dean replied. "He hinted that if Maureen was having troubles, it was probably due to her boyfriend."
Maurice leaned back in his chair and tugged at the hem of his red cardigan. The muscles in his jaw twitched several times before a low, rumbling laugh emerged from deep within his chest. Whatever reaction Dean had been expecting, this wasn't it. "Mr. Sanderson, are you okay?" Dean asked concern evident in his expression.
"Son, I think you've been led down a merry path," Maurice replied with a smile. He leaned forward and poured steaming water out of a ceramic teapot into a delicate china cup. His beefy hands dwarfed the cup as he held it out for Dean. "Have some tea, Mr. Elden. Let's talk."
Dean watched as Maurice poured another cup of water and dunked a silver ball several times into the cup. Dean lifted the silver chain, pulled the ball out of his cup and eyed it suspiciously. Setting it on the tray next to Maurice's, he grabbed a handful of cookies. "Have you seen Maureen lately?" Dean asked taking a sip of the tea. He refrained from making a face at the orange-spice flavor. He definitely preferred a strong cup of coffee to tea.
"As a matter of fact, no," Maurice replied taking a cookie off the tray. "I believe she's been working late at the motel."
"You could say that," Dean muttered under his breath.
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Sam leaned back in the chair, stretching his neck and shoulder muscles. Hunching over the laptop for extended periods of time always left him a little stiff. He glanced at his watch and noticed that somehow several hours had passed. It was nearly midnight. "Damn!" he exclaimed pushing away from the desk and knocking the chair over in his haste.
Only years of physical training kept Sam from landing face first on the hardwood floor when his feet became entangled in the chair. Instead, he performed a graceless, stumbling dance on his way to the weapons bag. Unzipping the bag, Sam retrieved the can of salt and proceeded to lay the lines of salt in front of the windows and the door. Whatever else happened, Dean could not harass him about forgetting the salt.
Satisfied he had lived up to his responsibilities Sam walked over to the computer and prepared to follow up on his previous discovery when a scream sounded in the hall. Grabbing his shotgun, Sam quickly loaded the rock salt rounds and cautiously entered the hall.
It was dark in the hall as only two small wall sconces lit the long hallway. Sam took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. "Help me! She's here!" a woman's voice called from the stairway. Sam ran towards the end of the hall.
The spirit stood on the stairs in a long, flowing white gown. Her back was towards Sam as she walked slowly down the stairway. Another woman stood lower down on the stairs, a terrified expression on her face as she watched the spirit moving closer. She noticed Sam standing at the top of the stairway and shouted, "Help me!"
"Stand very still," Sam cautioned. "Don't make any sudden movements."
The spirit slowly turned towards Sam and cast her eyes upwards to meet his. Sam narrowed his eyes, his research verified. Sam slowly raised his shot gun in full view and took aim.
"No wait, stop!" the spirit's terrified shout echoed off the carved wooden ceiling.
Sam did not lower his shot gun, but replied, "What's the matter, Maureen?"
"Are you crazy?" Maureen asked, gesticulating wildly. "You're going to shoot me!"
"I thought you were a ghost," Sam replied managing both a condescending and insincere tone.
"Then why on earth would you try to shoot me?" Maureen demanded angrily.
"It's only rock salt," Sam reassured her, lowering the shotgun. "It wouldn't have killed you."
"Why would you shoot a ghost with rock salt?" Maureen demanded. She had changed from a ghost, to a scared woman, back to an irate housekeeper in less than five minutes. "What were you hoping to accomplish?"
Sam did not answer, but instead took several steps down the stairs to stand face to face with Maureen. He lowered his voice, "Were you and William trying to drum up more business for the hotel?"
"Excuse me, what exactly is going on here?" William demanded appearing at the bottom of the stairs. The other woman was gone and Sam assumed she had left to tell William what was happening.
"He pulled a gun on me, Will," Maureen whined running down the stairs and standing behind William. Sam snorted softly, at the sight of little William standing guard in front of Maureen in a protective stance. If it came to blows, the fight would be over before it began.
"Is this true?" William asked his eyes flashing. He took a step towards Sam and Sam squared his shoulders and tightened his stance. William noticed the change in Sam's demeanor and stopped his approach.
"I think the bigger question is why the hell you're yelling at my little brother," Dean asked with a deadly calm from the doorway. Sam looked over William's head at his older brother. Dean's eyes reflected his amusement at William's obvious and immediate distress at being surrounded by the Winchester brothers. His eyes also reflected a flittering emotion of concern, quickly buried with skilled ease.
"He, he, he pulled a gun on Maureen," William stuttered turning sideways. He kept his back pressed against the railing so he could see both Sam and Dean, but not have his back to either of them.
"Don't you mean the ghost of Maureen?" Dean asked with thinly veiled sarcasm. "She is a ghost isn't she? Look at the blood on her throat, the white dress, the hollow look in her eyes. She looks awful."
"Hey!" the forgotten Maureen protested loudly.
"Daddy says hello by the way," Dean quipped nodding in Maureen's direction.
"I uh, I mean," Maureen started to explain. She pulled on her gown and flapped her hands in meaningless gestures.
"You and William staged this whole thing in an attempt to drum up business for the hotel, didn't you?" Sam asked again. "You thought a haunted hotel would draw some of the tourists from the circus festival off the main strip and back over here."
"Yes, alright yes," Maureen admitted. "We didn't see the harm in a fake haunting. You boys are crazy. No one in their right mind would think you can shoot a ghost and why rock salt?"
"Actually, salt has been a symbol of purity since ancient times and many cultures believe salt wards off evil spirits," a new, unidentified voice said behind Sam.
Sam was surprised someone not only knew about salt's ancient symbolism, but also seemed to understand how it translated into rock salt in a shotgun. He did not turn around to face his newfound supporter, but kept his gaze fixed on William and Maureen. Maureen was staring apprehensively over Sam's shoulder, presumably at the man standing behind him.
"I say we forget all about this," Dean suggested moving into the foyer and closing the door behind him. "It's late and some of us have to hit the road pretty early tomorrow." Things were going downhill fast when Dean became the voice of reason.
"Your brother aimed a gun at Maureen," William reiterated taking a step towards Sam.
Dean closed the distance between William and himself in a heartbeat. He leaned in close to William and enunciated every word, "You mean he aimed a gun at the spirit of Maureen. You can't kill something that's already dead. I think you need to forget all about this and go to bed." Dean emphasized his last words with a couple of finger jabs to William's chest.
"An excellent suggestion," William agreed. "I believe I will attempt to calm Mrs. Henderson's nerves. For heaven's sake, Maureen, stop gaping and go wash off that make-up." Without a further word William spun on his heel, trudged down the stairs and disappeared around the corner.
Maureen stood on the stairs for several moments sniveling and wringing her hands. "You really need to go wash up," Sam said gently laying a hand on her shoulder. Maureen turned to Sam and enveloped him in a hug, sobbing quietly into his chest. Sam returned the hug after a startled pause and tried to figure out how he had gone from an evil, gun toting, crazy man to a comforting port in the storm.
Dean offered Sam a small grin, but made no attempt to extricate his little brother from Maureen's death grip. "I'm heading to bed," he said as he passed by Sam.
"Dean," Sam whispered harshly, "A little help here." His pleas fell on deaf ears as he watched Dean ascend the stairs and silently slip past him. He patted Maureen several times on the back and gently peeled her away from his chest. Her nose was white and her eyes were swollen. Tear tracks streaked through the gray makeup covering her face revealing blotchy red patches of skin.
"I'm sorry," Maureen hiccupped. "We really thought it would help bring people to the hotel."
"It did," Sam replied forgivingly. "Dean and I showed up, didn't we?"
Maureen managed a watery smile and stated, "I think I should go home now." She pulled away from Sam, dabbed her eyes with the collar of her gown and headed down the stairs. Sam stood there for a moment before turning around and heading back to the room.
Sam's hand was resting on the doorknob when the voice from before remarked, "That was really quick thinking with the rock salt."
Sam turned his head only far enough to see the man through his peripheral vision. "Thanks, my dad was a marine. Taught us to think on our feet." The best cover story was always the truth. Not the full unbridled truth, but a glimmer of it usually went further than a lie.
"I'm a professor down at the University of Indiana," the professor continued. "I don't know anyone outside of a handful of anthropologists that would have thought to make that connection. I must say, I'm impressed."
Sam turned around to properly thank the professor and startled back against the door. The professor was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a bright red wig and face paint. "Ah, thanks," Sam replied cautiously. He edged closer to the opening of the door and grabbed the door handle behind his back.
The professor grabbed Sam's free hand and gave it a quick shake. "You ever make it to the university, look me up," he said. "Professor Garner, Anthropology." Professor Garner handed Sam his business card.
Sam accepted the business card, nodded his head and pulled open the door slipping quickly inside. He found Dean standing in the bathroom washing his face. Dean looked up when he walked up behind him and talked to Sam from his reflection in the mirror. "You look soggy," Dean laughed.
"Yeah, thanks for rescuing me back there," Sam replied sarcastically. "My shirt is soaked and I have gray make-up stains down the front." He chose to leave out the incident with the professor in the hall. There was no need to give Dean any more ammunition to use against him.
Dean dried his face with a small hand towel, wadded it up and tossed it on the counter in the corner. He turned back towards Sam and said, "I didn't think you looked like you needed rescuing. She is a pretty girl underneath that ghost get-up."
"She's also engaged," Sam responded. "To William."
"I know," Dean replied clapping Sam on the back on his way past. "Her dad told me. She's named after Maurice, she's engaged to William and strangely enough although she was born and raised here, she's afraid of clowns."
"That's just good sense," Sam replied flatly. He walked over to his bed and flopped down, closing his eyes. He heard the metal squeak of springs protesting when Dean sat down on the opposite bed. After a few moments he could feel Dean watching him, so he opened one eye and squinted at Dean. "What?" Sam asked.
"I'm assuming you figured that out pretty quickly," Dean said. "So, what else did you uncover?"
"The vanishing bodies in Flatt Plains do seem to have one thing in common," Sam replied resting his head on his bent arm. "They're all related to members of the city council."
"That seems a little too convenient to be a coincidence," Dean replied turning off the light on the bedside table throwing the room into darkness.
"That was my thought as well," Sam replied. After a pause he added, "You couldn't have spent all that time talking to Maurice."
"I didn't," Dean replied the smile on his face evident in his voice. "I stopped at the bar to play pool."
"You mean hustle pool," Sam corrected.
"Yeah," Dean admitted. "But there was a group of people from the festival playing something like darts, so I joined them instead."
"Something like darts?" Sam questioned. Dean swore he could almost see the frown on Sam's face despite the darkness enshrouding the room.
"They were using knives instead of darts," Dean replied simply. Sometimes telling the truth should be done the same way you ripped off a bandage, as quickly as possible and in one smooth motion.
"You played a game of darts, with knives, with circus performers who probably do it for a living?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Making the win all the sweeter," Dean replied rolling onto his back and folding his arms under his head. "Your big brother is seventy-five dollars richer tonight."
"My big brother is a lucky man," Sam replied toeing off his boots. The first boot hit the ground with a thud, followed quickly by the other. Sam wiggled his toes enjoying the cool freedom found in sock clad feet.
"I hear he's good looking and talented as well," Dean replied following Sam's example and kicking off his boots.
"Modest too," Sam replied sleepily.
Dean chuckled softly. "G'night, Sammy," he said.
"Good night, Dean," Sam replied with a yawn.
Dean lay awake for nearly an hour after Sam fell asleep. There was something about the case in Flatt Plains that was causing his big brother instincts to itch. Finally, he managed to fall into a dreamless sleep.
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13:23:54 Friday, 20 miles east of Flatt Plains, Iowa
"I still don't see why we couldn't stay for breakfast," Dean complained.
"You had three corn dogs and an elephant ear this morning," Sam reminded him. "Where did you even find a concession stand open that early?"
"It wasn't open," Dean replied glancing sideways at his brother. "She made them special for me."
"Course she did," Sam replied. "Why am I even surprised anymore?"
Dean simply smirked and turned his attention back to the road. Dean had been driving for nearly four hours, but they were finally close to Flatt Plains. He thought back to the days of trying to keep Sammy entertained for hours in the car while their father drove to his next hunt. He couldn't imagine Sam playing the alphabet game anymore, so he invented another.
"Who would you rather sleep with," Dean asked, "Lindsay Lohan or Alicia Keys?"
"I'm not playing this game," Sam announced. He had not slept well in the creaky, lumpy bed and he was pretty sure one of the springs was broken and had poked him in the back most of the night.
"Come on, Sam," Dean replied teasingly. "Hot, party girl or hot, smart girl?"
"Alicia," Sam replied with a sigh.
"I figured," Dean replied with a nod. "Your turn."
"Who would win in a fight?" Sam asked, caving to Dean. "Indiana Jones or Han Solo?"
"That's a hard one," Dean replied. He paused a moment giving serious consideration to the question. "Assuming no weapons of any kind just hand to hand combat, I'm going with Indy."
"Why?" Sam asked, warming to the game and turning towards Dean.
"Because Han was quick with his blaster and a good pilot, but we never saw him fight much hand to hand," Dean explained. "Indy kicked ass."
Sam was no longer paying attention to Dean's response; he was looking at something in the distance. Dean followed Sam's line of sight, but did not see anything worthy of such intense concentration. "Sam?" Dean asked waving his hand in front of Sam's face.
"Dean, look over there," Sam said pointing towards the approaching cemetery.
Dean looked towards the cemetery at the tree-lined expanse and granite reminders of lives past. "What?" he asked.
Sam squinted, a look of confusion gracing his features before disappearing again. "There!"
This time Dean caught it, the flash of a shadow between the trees. The quick, jerky movements of something quicker than one would expect. "It's out during the day?" Dean asked. "That's risky. Guess it's time to find out what's going on."
The tires on the Impala squealed in protest as Dean jerked the wheel sharply to the right and onto the quiet, gravel drive of the cemetery entrance. Sam grabbed a hold of the passenger door to avoid leaning into Dean with the sudden turn. "Dean," Sam snapped. "You might want to slow down a little. You almost hit a squirrel."
"Doing some overtime for PETA?" Dean asked. "Job isn't keeping you busy enough?"
"Just slow down," Sam cautioned, a grin teasing across his face despite the tone. "The local fauna aren't ready for you."
"They never are, Sammy," Dean replied with a smirk. "They never are." Dean pulled the car to a stop near the manicured shrubs encircling the parking area. He slipped out the door, and opened the trunk. By the time Sam joined him, he was already tucking his Colt into his waistband.
Sam reached into the weapons cache and pulled out the Beretta. He tucked it into his jeans and rummaged around for his knife. "Dean, there's a chance this thing is really just a person, you know."
"I know," Dean replied tucking a wicked looking blade into his inside jacket pocket with a lop-sided grin. "That's why I'm leaving the really good stuff here." He closed the trunk lid and stated, "Let's go."
Sam nodded and followed Dean towards the trees where they had spotted the shadowy figure from the car. He veered right at Dean's hand signal and circled around towards brush line. He peered in the direction Dean had headed and spotted Dean just in time to see him disappear between the trees.
A movement to Sam's left caught his attention and he crouched lower to the ground and paused. When nothing materialized, Sam proceeded to head behind the brush and meet back with Dean. He was almost to the half way point when he heard a shout.
"Sam!" Dean shouted from his left. He looked past the tall marble monument and out to the trees. He could see Dean running and he appeared to be chasing something. Sam did not hesitate. He ran after Dean, keeping low to the ground under the cover of the trees and the brush line.
He had very nearly caught up to Dean, but whatever Dean was chasing still appeared only as a shadowy form in the distance. It was getting away. He saw Dean pick up speed and attempt to close the gap between him and the shadow.
Without warning, Dean circled back around heading towards the graveyard. Sam changed direction to intercept and had almost closed the gap when the shadowy form changed direction once more, this time heading straight for Sam. The shadow took on substance as it drew nearer to Sam. It was some type of creature with a mouth full of sharp teeth and gray, death-kissed skin.
"Sam, look out!" Dean shouted. He saw Sam raise his weapon and steady his stance. The creature, seeming to sense danger quickly darted to the right and Dean moved to follow even as Sam's weapon tracked the movement.
Dean shot after the creature, pushing forward. He was almost there. He could smell the sickly sweet odor of death on the shadowy creature in front of him and he lifted his arm to his mouth and nose to block some of scent.
He kept his gaze focused on the creature in front of him and when it veered sharply to the right, Dean moved to follow. He noticed, too late, the pitfall in front of him and despite his best efforts Dean could not adjust his speed or momentum quickly enough to avoid it.
Dean felt his world shift, the ground beneath him disappear and his perspective pivot as he glimpsed patches of blue and green. He could hear the thud before the pain of impact registered with his brain and the air roared out his lungs in a thundering burst.
He lay there at the bottom of the earthen pit for several seconds before Sam's worried face appeared at the top. "Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked panting from both exertion and concern.
Unable to answer save a wheezing attempt at an indrawn breath, Dean waved his hand dismissively at Sam and was relieved when Sam disappeared from sight. He lay there for several moments before he could effectively draw air into his lungs. Sam reappeared again in his limited field of vision. "It's gone," Sam stated.
The sun shone between the trees casting a ring of sunshine around his brother. Dean snorted at the imagery, finding amusement in the angelic figure his brother appeared to be at the moment. Sam was sensitive, caring and a downright pain in the ass with his sense of right and wrong at times, but he wasn't an angel. Dean snorted again at the thought and his lungs and ribs protested the movement. Oh yeah, that was going to hurt in the morning.
"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked again, the worried expression on his face causing temporary wrinkles in his forehead. "Can you stand up?"
Dean rolled to his side and pushed up with his hand, the sudden movement causing nausea to roll over him in waves. "Son of a bitch," he whispered.
"Dean?"
"I think I hit my head," Dean remarked quietly, more to himself than to Sam. The ground beneath him vibrated in accompaniment of his brother's boots landing in front of him. Sam grasped Dean's arms under his armpits and hauled him to his feet. Sam's hands were cool on his face and he could feel the waves of concern emanating from his little brother as Sam examined his head.
"I'm okay," Dean stated wincing at the loud echo in his head that followed his words. "I'm okay now."
"You sure?" Sam asked disbelievingly.
Dean nodded and instantly regretted the movement. He swallowed down bile and attempted a smile that must have missed the mark judging by Sam's face. "Yeah," Dean reaffirmed.
"Then let's get you out of here," Sam replied. He cupped his hands and gave Dean a head nod. Dean placed his foot in Sam's hands, his own hands at the top of the hole and allowed Sam to give him a boost.
Dean pulled himself out and turned around to help Sam, but Sam was already almost out of the hole. Sam stood up, looked down into the pit and back to Dean. His face broke out in a grin that disintegrated into giggles. His brother - his caring, sensitive brother was giggling, actual giggling at his mishap.
"What?" Dean snapped with a frown.
"Oh come on," Sam replied, pausing in his laughter. "You have to admit there is a certain amount of humor in you falling into a freshly dug grave." He laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You're sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," Dean replied. It was almost the truth now. "We better get out of here before we draw attention to ourselves."
"It may be too late for that," Sam replied nodding to something over Dean's shoulder.
Dean turned around and noticed an elderly man and his dog walking towards them. "Hello!" the man called waving his cane in their direction. The black lab by his side ran towards Sam and Dean, carrying a tennis ball in his mouth, his tail whipping about. "You boys be careful," the man said picking his way closer to them. "There's an empty grave behind you. I wouldn't want you to fall in and get hurt."
Sam sniggered and Dean thumped him once on the arm. "Dude, shut up," he whispered hotly under his breath.
TBC
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AN: As always – feedback welcome!