What's Dead Should Stay Dead
Disclaimer: I do own a two-door, green, hatch-back Ford Focus that's a zippy, fun little commuter car. However, I'm sadly lacking a black '67 Chevy Impala with optional Sam and Dean action figures.
Thank You: ToWysawyg for her suggestion, catching my errors and taking much of the angst of posting a story away. Couldn't do it without you!
A Special Thank You: To everyone who has been reading. To the anonymous reviewers that I couldn't respond to individually – thanks! This is THE chapter some of you have been so patiently waiting for. (c:
An Extra Special Thank You: To everyone who sent postcards and/or converted their friends to SPN fans – I hope we made a difference. According to tvguide(dot)com, Supernatural is in the official CW fall line-up!
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Crossing the room, Dean kicked off his own shoes and stripped down to his boxers before lying down on the bed. Dean glanced at his watch. One-thirty a.m. was earlier than they often made it back to a motel, able to crash in a bed and in one piece. He thought about the woman in the basement and wondered if the necromancy members had killed her themselves or if they were opportunistic scavengers of the recently dead. With those pleasant thoughts rolling about in his brain Dean dropped off to sleep.
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09:52:37 Saturday, Waskeegan Inn
Dean awoke slowly, turning away from the shaft of sunlight that found its way through the heavy motel drapes and into his eyes. He heard the shower running and decided the morning could wait for a few minutes after all. Dean flipped onto his stomach and allowed himself the luxury of sleeping for awhile longer.
The crinkle of a paper bag landing near his head brought Dean back to awareness for the second time this morning. He opened his eyes to the sight of Sam sitting on the opposite bed, two cups of coffee in his hands. Dean sat up in bed and grabbed the cup of coffee Sam held out for him. "What's in the bag?" he asked in a husky, morning voice.
"Doughnuts," Sam replied taking a sip of coffee. "Breakfast of champions."
A wide smile spread across Dean's face. "Crullers?"
"Yep," Sam replied with a matching smile.
"God bless small town America," Dean sighed snaking a cruller out of the bag and taking a bite.
Sam puffed and said, "We should head to the local library and search through the public records. I know the engraving is important and I think we need to find out who Thomas Harrigan was."
"Not sure that it matters, Sam," Dean replied. "If those people are being influenced by his spirit, or somehow using his spirit it has to be stopped."
"Dean, we can't salt and burn a body on mere suspicion. It may not even be necessary," Sam argued. "We should try to figure this out first."
"Sam, we can't let these people continue to steal bodies, possibly channel or summon spirits, maybe even kill," Dean insisted. "They're dangerous and one of them at least is attempting to control spirits."
"That doesn't mean we should salt and burn this guy without taking the time to verify a few facts," Sam contradicted.
"We've got all day," Dean stated. "But tonight, we do this thing."
"Yeah okay," Sam conceded standing up. He picked up his laptop and started to pack up to leave for the library.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the small motel room. "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi," Dean muttered under his breath stopping when the thunder cracked. "The lightning was three miles away, Sammy," he announced, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
"Shut up," Sam said, a small grin tugging at his mouth. He clearly remembered being afraid of a storm when he was about five or six and Dean teaching him how to gauge how far away the lightning really was.
Rain hit the motel roof followed by the pitter-pattering of hail. Great, Dean thought. We'll probably be digging up a grave in the rain again. He grabbed clean clothes out of the duffel, took another swig of coffee and high-tailed it to the bathroom to get dressed. He was not really in any great rush to start researching, but he knew Sam would be and he would be verbally repetitive in his demands for Dean to hurry and get ready.
17:15:23 Saturday, Agnes Lynne Memorial Library
Sam pulled another thick tome from the shelf and added it to his ever growing pile on a small corner table in the local library. His nose tickled when the dust from the heavy book drifted upwards. Sam rubbed his hand several times along his nose trying to stop the inevitable, but the loud sneeze echoed off the walls in the nearly empty library.
"You're supposed to be quiet in the library," Dean stage whispered emerging from behind a shelf of hard worn reference books.
Sam afforded Dean a hard glare and turned back to the recently acquired book. "Did you have any luck?" he asked Dean without looking up.
"As a matter of fact, yeah," Dean replied, turning the chair around to sit on it backwards. He crossed his arms on the back of the chair and faced Sam.
Sam could not help the look of surprise that appeared on his face. He had been concerned neither of them were going to get anywhere. "What'd you find?" he asked.
Dean pulled a crumpled piece of notebook paper out of his pant's pocket and attempted to smooth it out on the table. "Thomas Harrigan died August 15th, 1910. He ran the only pub in town back then and he appeared to be well-liked by the locals. There, ah, was a rumor hinted at in another article that suggested after the death of his wife he was fascinated by the after life. He conducted séances, hired psychics and may have dabbled in, 'dubious and possibly sacrilegious ceremonies in his attempts to contact the dead.'"
"Maybe Ezra is trying to control or contact Thomas because he thinks Thomas was successful," Sam speculated.
"I found something else," Dean said taking another crumpled paper out of his pocket. This paper did not contain the trademark Dean scrawl, but rather a picture of a young woman. Dean tapped the paper with his finger and explained, "Rebecca Montegna, wife of Aaron Montegna has been missing for five days now. Look familiar?" Dean turned the paper towards Sam.
Sam examined the picture and although the woman did appear vaguely familiar, he couldn't place her. "No," Sam replied hesitantly.
"She's the woman in the basement," Dean stated, lowering his voice even more.
Sam squinted at the picture. "You're sure?" he asked still not able to make the connection for certain. She did resemble the woman, but he was not positive they were one and the same.
"I'm sure," Dean replied. He folded both sheets of paper and put them back in his pocket. "The best part is she is the great, great granddaughter of Thomas Harrigan."
Sam's eyes widened at that pronouncement. "That's going to make Thomas very unhappy," he replied.
"To put it mildly," Dean said. "No luck with the amulet?"
"None," Sam replied releasing a frustrated sigh. "But, I think I do have a working theory on what we saw in the cemetery."
Dean raised his eyebrows and waved his hands in a 'please continue' motion. "Well?" he asked.
"Ghouls or ghoul-like zombies," Sam replied.
"Ghouls are fiction, Sam," Dean contradicted.
"Up until a little over a year ago, we said the same thing about vampires," Sam argued. "According to the lore, ghouls are original monsters or demons, but other legends have them more closely related to zombies in that they were once human. By all accounts they are short, blue-gray in color, strong and very fast. It is unusual to see one out in the daytime, as they are slower and more vulnerable during the day."
"That was slower?" Dean asked incredulously. "That thing was incredibly fast."
Sam nodded in agreement and continued, "They usually hunt in packs because they are cowardly in demeanor. However, they are vicious and insatiably hungry for human flesh."
"That's comforting," Dean replied. "How do we kill it?"
"Electrocution might work," Sam answered hesitantly. He knew he had to give Dean all the options; it was the only way to ensure they had the best chance of success, but he was going to do his best to steer Dean away from electrocution. Memories of Dean lying in the hospital, pale and weak flooded Sam's brain before he forced himself back to the subject at hand. "But, the most effective method is decapitation."
"Either way, we have to get up close and personal with it," Dean replied. "Well, not quite as much with the Taser, but still pretty close."
"Decapitation is the preferred method," Sam stated firmly. He was bound and determined to win this round. "I think we should stick with that."
If Dean picked up on Sam's odd insistence on using decapitation, a far messier technique than electrocution, he did not acknowledge it other than one fleeting moment of recognition in his eyes. "Okay, we'll stick with beheading," Dean conceded. "What do you say we get out of here for awhile and grab some fresh air and maybe a bite to eat?"
"You go," Sam replied. "I'm going to search for a little longer."
"Sammy longer or Dean longer?" Dean asked with a smirk.
Sam looked up from the book, a confused look on his face. "What do you mean by that?" Sam asked.
"When you are busy searching for answers, your idea of a little longer tends to be a little longer than my idea of a little longer," Dean quipped, his amusement at baiting Sam showing through.
"It'll be longer than five minutes if that's what you're driving at," Sam snapped snarkily.
"S'what I thought," Dean replied standing up. "I'll be back in about an hour with some take out. Will that be enough time?"
"Whether I've found the answer yet or not," Sam agreed with a nod.
"Good," Dean stated. "We do need to eat and catch a few minutes of sleep before staying up all night digging up bodies."
Sam dismissed Dean with a shooing wave of his hand. As Dean walked away Sam could have sworn he heard him humming, Creeping Death. Sam shook his head and began his search for information on the amulet engravings once more.
18:42:39 Saturday, Carlotta's Café
"Where's that brother of yours?" Georgianne asked, a smile on her face and a twinkle in her brown eyes.
"Still at the library, school paper," Dean replied, the lie easily tripping off his tongue. "I'd like to place an order to go."
"Sure thing," Georgianne replied. "Why don't you have a cup of coffee at the counter while I box it up? Do you know what you want?"
"Two specials will be fine," Dean replied. "And I think I will take you up on your offer." He ambled over to the counter and took a seat on a red vinyl covered stool. The elderly man already seated at the counter gave Dean an appraising look then turned back to his newspaper.
Georgianne filled Dean's mug and set down a slice of apple pie in front of him. When he shot her a questioning look she said, "Just 'cause I like you."
"What's not to like?" Dean replied with a lop-sided grin. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Georgianne replied heading for another customer. "Those orders will be up in a few."
Dean took a leisurely bite of his pie. Ah man, this is good, he thought. Dean twisted his head to read the headline on the paper the elderly man to his right was reading. City Council to Approve Land Usage Permit blasted out from the front page. Dean tried to read the article, but the man folded up his paper and, in a surprise gesture, handed it to Dean.
"I'm finished with it, kiddo," the man stated, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "You can have it."
"Thanks, Mr…?" Dean hinted taking the offered paper.
"LaBelle," the man replied, holding out his hand. "Gary LaBelle."
"Dean," Dean supplied, shaking Gary's hand. "Thanks again."
"You're welcome, son," Gary replied and with a small degree of difficulty hefted himself off the stool and toddled out the door.
Dean watched Gary leave and then turned his attention back to the paper. Flatt Plains City Council voted 10-1 in favor of granting a church land use permit to Ezra Umholtz, leader of the Church of Chevalier de Saxe. The Chevalier petitioned for land rights to the wooded property adjacent to the Community Cemetery thirteen months ago according to court records. The first two petitions were denied by City Council and, while no explanation has been released as to their sudden decision change regarding the land use, it is suspected whatever red tape was previously holding up the permit has been cleared. "The City Council has re-evaluated our claim and made a proper decision," Ezra Umhotz was…
"Dean!" Georgianne said loudly, grabbing the top of the newspaper and pulling it down.
"What? Sorry, were you talking to me?" Dean asked, his face the picture of innocence.
"Yes, as a matter of fact," Georigianne stated with a small laugh. "I didn't realize small town news was so riveting. Your food is ready to go."
"Great," Dean replied, folding up the paper and tucking it under his arm. He tossed twenty-five dollars down on the counter. "Will that cover it?"
Georgianne picked up the twenty and handed the five back to Dean. "Twenty more than covers it as well as a nice fifteen percent well-deserved tip."
Dean wadded the five and stuffed it in his pocket. "Catch ya later," he said flashing a grin.
"Later," Georgianne replied, watching him leave before turning her attention back to her other customers.
20:12:34 Saturday, 2 blocks south of the Waskeegan Inn
"Whatever you picked up, it smells really good," Sam commented. The rain pelted the Impala's windshield relentlessly. The beat of the windshield wipers kept almost perfect rhythm with the song currently playing on the radio. Sam did not recognize the song, but it was an old soft, rock ballad proving Dean was not listening to the radio at all. "What're you thinking about?" he asked crinkling his brow.
"This case, it's all over the place," Dean replied, pulling into the motel parking lot. "Necromancers, Pow-wow magic, possible zombies or ghouls," Dean snorted at the last item he ticked off. "The fight over the land use rights, the amulet and disappearing bodies. It's all interconnected somehow, but what are we going to do about it? We can hunt the ghouls, salt and burn the body of the spirit that is inspiring or teaching the necromancers, but in the end what are we going to do about the necromancers?"
"We can't kill them," Sam stated definitively. "They may be practicing a ceremony regarded as evil as far back as Biblical times and ancient Rome and Greece, but they are still just people."
"That's my point, Sam," Dean said, grabbing the to-go order. "This doesn't seem like anything we can solve and it's starting to annoy the hell out of me."
"Is that why you've been so jumpy lately?" Sam asked turning around to snag the laptop from the back seat.
Dean narrowed his eyes and replied, "I haven't been jumpy." He took note of the look of disbelief on Sam's face and added, "Okay, I may have been a little…proactively cautious…but not jumpy."
"Whatever Dean, it's all semantics," Sam replied. Before Dean could offer a response, Sam was out of the car and walking briskly to the motel room avoiding the largest puddles along the way.
By the time Dean joined Sam in the room; Sam had already booted up the computer and appeared to be fully engrossed in research – again. "Thought we were going to take a break for awhile, have some dinner?" Dean asked. He knew Sam was like a dog with a bone when he was searching for answers, but a break was sometimes exactly what Sam needed to piece together the tidbits of information he already had and see the whole picture.
"We are," Sam replied. "I'm checking the browser history. I'm hoping I stumbled on the answer to the engravings earlier and I can simply backtrack my way to the site."
Dean shook his head. He knew Sam better than anyone and he knew Sam wasn't going to stop until he found the answers he was looking for. Dean resigned himself to a long night of research rather than a relaxing time at the bar or even crashing in front of the television for a couple of hours. If Sam was going to be working, he was not going to slack off. Then again, he could possibly justify the time at the bar as an opportunity to make some money, but he could not bring himself to feel right about leaving Sam here while he went to the bar.
Dean pulled the food out of the bag and opened one of the Styrofoam boxes. He took a huge whiff of the home-cooked meal inside. It was a simple meal of mashed potatoes, meatloaf and corn, but it was all smothered in brown gravy. "That's the stuff," Dean sighed. He held out the other box for Sam. "Come on, dig in," he said.
"In a minute," Sam replied with a head jerk indicating Dean should set the box down.
"Sam, you have a little over two hours yet before we should leave for the cemetery. Take a minute now," Dean insisted.
Sam looked up from the computer and saw Dean was still holding the box up for him. He snagged the to-go container, opened it up and was hit with the smell of greasy food. Sam peered into the container only to find meat and potatoes absolutely smothered in brown gravy that was congealing with a fine layer of grease sitting on the top. He noticed Dean seemed to be enjoying his food, but he could not muster up enthusiasm for the fatty meal. He took a few, conspicuous bites to appease his brother and then set it back down in favor of further research. So far, the Internet history had proven to be less than helpful.
Deciding Sam was a lost cause, Dean grabbed the remote to the television and settled in on his bed with the container of food balanced in one hand. He flipped through the stations in rapid succession several times before landing on an old, black and white movie. It only took him a minute to recognize the flick as The Old Dark House. He loved this movie. The witty conversations and the insane Saul more than made up for the thin plot line. When Sam sighed for the third time, Dean looked over and asked, "Sam, why don't you give it a rest and watch the show for awhile?"
"I'm just a little frustrated," Sam replied. "There has to be an answer here."
"You'll find it," Dean reassured. "It won't kill you to take a break though."
"I suppose you're right," Sam conceded, grabbing his now cold dinner and sitting down on his bed.
"Could you repeat that?" Dean asked. He closed his container and aimed for the trash can near the door. The container hit the rim and bounced in on the first shot.
"Nah, I don't think your ego needs any stoking," Sam replied, setting the still mostly full container on the side table. He leaned back and sank deeply into the pillows. He relaxed a bit as the movie droned on accompanied by Dean, who would chuckle every once in awhile at some snippet of absurd dialogue. Before he realized it was happening, Sam's eyes grew heavy and he dozed off.
Dean knew the moment Sam fell asleep. The constant fidgeting from an anxious Sam stopped and he could hear the deep, rhythmic breathing of sleep coming from the opposite bed. Dean figured he could give Sam an hour before they headed to the cemetery. Sam would not be happy he had fallen asleep, but Dean could feign ignorance and Sam would let him off the hook. Dean picked up Sam's to-go container and finished the cold meatloaf. They would be digging up a grave tonight; the extra energy source would come in handy.
The closing credits were rolling on the small television screen when Sam jumped out of bed motivated by a sudden epiphany. He rushed over to the chair he had flung his jacket over a couple hours ago. "What're you looking for?" Dean asked.
Sam frantically searched the pockets of his jacket. "A business card," he replied succinctly.
"You had business cards made up?" Dean asked teasingly. He strode over to the table to see what Sam was doing.
"Of course not," Sam replied somewhat distractedly. He pulled the business card out of his inside pocket and fished out his cell phone as well. Sam retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom and arranged the amulet on the white cloth. Snapping a picture, Sam started moving through his cell phone menu to send the picture as an attachment.
"Who are you sending that picture to?" Dean asked genuinely interested now. He read the business card Sam flipped around for his to see. "Who's Professor Garner and when did you meet him? It says here he's in Indiana."
"He works at the university and I met him at the hotel in Peru," Sam explained. "He's a professor of anthropology. It's possible he's seen markings like this before."
"It's worth a shot," Dean agreed.
"Done," Sam announced. "What time is it?"
"Almost one o'clock," Dean replied picking up his keys. "We should get a move on."
"Let's go," Sam stated, grabbing the amulet and falling into line behind Dean as he headed to the car. There was one small blessing, it wasn't raining any more.
02:34:59 Sunday, Flatt Plains Community Cemetery
Sam stood at the top of the grave as shovels full of mud landed near his feet. He had just finished his third round of digging and now Dean was down there. Sam crouched near the marble headstone and shone his light over the unique engraving. It seemed similar to the engraving on the amulet and he considered the possibility they were related somehow.
"Yahtzee!" Dean's muffled shout came from the bottom of the muddy pit. Sam shone his flashlight low to the ground, but out towards the trees checking for the shadowy creature they had seen here when they pulled into town. He could see nothing out of the ordinary and Sam heard Dean cough several times. He peered over the edge of the grave at Dean as a gust of stale air assaulted his senses. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the smell of death lingering in the air.
"Can you get out of there, or do you need some help?" Sam asked.
"I got it," Dean assured him, balancing precariously along the coffin's edge. He handed Sam his shovel.
"If you're sure, I'm going back to the car for the amulet. I think it is tied to Harrigan and I want to compare the engraving on the amulet with the grave marker," Sam explained.
"Go," Dean said waving his arm at Sam. "I got it."
Sam stood up and headed for the Impala. He was only half way back to the car when the rain started again. It was a heavy rain that soaked through his too long hair in mere seconds and caused water to run down the collar of his jacket. Sam picked up the pace and ducked into the passenger seat of the Impala.
He opened the glove box and pulled out the delicate amulet. The engravings certainly seemed similar and he was certain now he had seen them somewhere else as well. The realization that not only was Dean out there handling a salt and burn by himself, but also that he was dripping water all over the interior of the Impala catapulted Sam out of the car.
Sam walked back towards the grave site amulet in hand, trying to rack his brain for the connection between the grave marker and the amulet that seemed to evade his best efforts. He heard something running up behind him moments before he was knocked to the ground.
Teeth sank into his shoulder and he tried desperately to pry the creature off his chest. Claws ripped through his jeans and jacket and into tender flesh. Distantly he heard the sound of his brother calling his name. "Aaaagh!" Sam shouted in pain. He bent his knees up towards his chest and managed to plant his feet on the creature's belly. Thrusting his long legs outwards he pushed against the creature and was able to launch it into the air.
Pain lanced through his shoulder as a hunk of flesh was ripped from his chest as the ghoulish creature was hurled backwards. Before Sam could react, it was back again. The creature was in Sam's face, the bloody flesh from his chest still dangled from its teeth. Thin blonde hair clung to its head and it narrowed its eyes at Sam, growling deep in its throat. "Rebecca?" Sam moaned as recognition hit him.
The creature cocked its head to the side. It was impossible to decide if it was in possible understanding of the question or confusion by it, but it hardly seemed to matter as the next moment its claws were again ripping into Sam with renewed intensity.
Searing pain shot through his stomach, legs and thighs as claws and teeth attacked. He could smell the coppery scent of blood and he felt his strength waning. Sam fought weakly against the creature and did not immediately register Dean's presence when he roared and rushed at the creature.
Sam became vaguely aware of Dean's arrival and his fear lessened. True to his belief the pressure on his chest was relieved only moments later when the creature fell to the side and onto the ground. Dean's anxious face swam in front of him and he could tell Dean was desperately trying to say something to him, but Sam couldn't hear him. Sam's eyes rolled to the back of his head and then there was darkness.
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AN: We're back! For those of you who were waiting for the Hurt!Sam/Protective!Dean, it has officially arrived. It is a good thing I wrote this part (Hurt!Sam) right after I wrote the same scene from Dean's POV in chapter 1. I don't think I would have had the heart to hurt Sammy after AHBL1.
I realized today that perhaps because I'm a wee bit (hey, I'll choose the qualifiers here) older than those boys I must have a secret mothering impulse going on. In all of my stories they get plenty of food and at least some sleep. I must subconsciously worry they don't get enough of either on the show. BG.
Thanks for reading!