Reflective Triangles

Summary: Sam and Dean try to help a woman who's lost nearly everything, but being Good Samaritans might cost them even more…

I completely forget to forswear any and all rights to anything Supernatural related in the first chapter. My bad. I got nothin'. Now where were we… oh yes. Dead husband.

Chapter Two

Hannah's eyes widened and shot toward her husband. The man's ghostly image flickered for the first time since they'd seen him and he stepped toward them menacingly. "Get out of my house!" Paul ordered.

Sam's eyes darted between his brother and Paul as it instantly became clear why Dean was so interested. It also explained Dean's hesitation to shake the man's hand earlier. Dean had somehow known. For being a psychic, sometimes Sam thought his radar just sucked.

"We can help you," Dean said, his hands held out in a placating gesture.

"I don't care what you think you can do," Paul shot back. "Get out of my house!"

"Why don't you tell us what happened," Sam suggested. "We really can help."

"GET. OUT."

"Paul," the man's wife pleaded. "Paul, please."

He immediately stopped and turned to pull her into his arms. "I'm sorry, Hannah. So sorry. I just want to keep you safe. I just want you both to be safe."

"You think she's in real danger?" Dean frowned. Sam knew he was remembering that moment when they'd thought it was going to turn into a fistfight with Kane.

Paul turned toward them, the image of the man that had been flickering madly in his agitation. "I know she is."

"And you're sticking around to protect her," Sam stated.

"I have to keep her safe, no matter what," the man vowed.

"Why don't we sit down and you can explain all this to us," Dean said, and from his tone it wasn't a suggestion. Sam noticed his brother's fingers rubbing together and knew Dean was longing to have a weapon in hand. A ghost was a ghost even if he was trying to protect his wife. If Paul decided that they were a danger to her, he could turn on them in an instant.

Paul eyed them, but after several more seconds, he complied, still keeping one arm around his wife as they all moved back into the living room. The couple sat together on the love seat and Sam and Dean took the sofa. Paul really was a very real looking apparition. It was an amazing amount of energy for a ghost and Sam knew that is was sheer determination on Paul's part to keep his wife and child safe.

"You… you really can help us?" Hannah asked tentatively. "You know about… this sort of thing?"

"It's sort of our specialty," Sam answered. "If you can just tell us what's going on we'll do what we can."

"You don't mind that Paul's…"

"Dead is as dead does," Dean muttered only loud enough for Sam to hear.

Sam coughed to cover an embarrassed smile. "The waitress at the diner said your family… that you'd been having problems with your family," Sam gave them a place to begin.

Hannah smiled sadly, but didn't seem uncomfortable. "My family is Amish," she said.

Dean looked at her in astonishment, but Sam nodded. The waitress' shunning remark had made a lot more sense after they'd passed the buggy on the way here. If Hannah had chosen to leave the Amish way of life, her family wouldn't have had anything more to do with her. She'd have been shunned completely.

"But you're… you…" Dean didn't seem to know how to say it.

"No," she said. "No dress, no bonnet. I left it all to marry Paul. He and my father were business partners. Paul sold the furniture my father and brothers built. That's how we met."

"Your family wouldn't allow you to marry an outsider," Sam said.

"No," she replied. "Since I left, no one from the community will speak to me. They won't even acknowledge me," she explained. "Not my family, not anyone. My father told me that if I married Paul, I could never come back."

Sam felt like he'd been sucker-punched and he must have made some sort of sound or movement, because Dean suddenly shot him a concerned look. Talk about an old wound to sneak up on you at the oddest time.

"You haven't even spoken to them since?" Sam asked.

"I've been shunned and it just isn't allowed," she answered simply. "But before that we'd argued for years, fought and fought, until finally I left." Her expression became harder, more resolute. "I don't believe I can best serve the Lord by being cut off from the world around me. My father didn't understand that."

"Didn't?" Dean asked.

"There was an accident," she said simply. Paul's face became thunderous and his arm around his wife tightened.

"What kind of accident?"

"Along with everyone else, Father refused to sell anything else through Paul after we were married. There were still a few things left in the shop though and they occasionally had to meet to iron things out from… before. Father would stop his buggy at the foot of the drive and Paul would go out to meet him."

That explained why the couple was struggling. Their marriage had cost Hannah her family and Paul his business. "What happened?"

"The carriages all have bright orange safety triangles on the back that reflect in the dark. It should have been very visible," she said.

"It was visible," Paul said angrily. "He purposely hit the buggy."

"Who?"

"Our neighbor, Martin Kane." He made the name sound ugly.

"The guy from outside the diner?" Dean asked.

"Martin was there?" Paul asked, turning to look at his wife. "Did he bother you? You can't trust him."

"It's all right." She motioned toward Sam and Dean. "They were very helpful."

"No one said anything about the accident?" Sam asked, trying to keep them from being distracted.

"Kane was very sorry. Said it was a terrible accident. He just didn't see the buggy in the dark," Paul explained.

"But you don't believe it," Dean said.

"I was there," Paul replied. "Not that I can tell anyone. They went to my funeral."

"How do you know it wasn't an accident?" Sam inquired.

"I saw him change direction to hit us," Paul said gravely. "He sped up."

"Why would he do that?" Sam asked, perplexed.

"The meek shall inherit the earth, unless you're willing to do something about it." Paul nodded for emphasis.

Dean frowned in confusion. "Come again?"

"We… the Amish commonly have families of a dozen children," Hannah said by way of explanation. "And we… they farm. That's what they do. They don't have to buy expensive tractors. They don't have to buy fancy houses, cars, pay for TVs, cell phones, computers, microwaves, jewelry or a million other 'necessities' that the rest of the world buys. They do buy land. Anything comes open in this area, they buy it. And they are willing to pay top dollar. They can outbid almost anyone. If you have half a dozen boys who are going to need land of their own to raise their families then that's what you have to do."

"He killed your father because he outbid him on some land?" Sam asked skeptically.

"No," Paul shook his head. "He killed Hannah's father, four brothers, and two sisters because he outbid him on a tract of land. Wasn't the first time he'd been outbid either."

"And you, Paul," she added quietly. "He killed you."

Sam and Dean were both silent, shocked by the enormity of the woman's loss. No wonder the waitress had talked about her bad luck.

"I don't think it was premeditated. I think Kane was angry. He came down the road, saw the triangle on the back of the buggy and ran at it like it was a target. He might even be sorry. But that doesn't change what he did. Or what he's done since. He cried at the funerals and then promptly approached Hannah's mother to try and buy the land just like he came to Hannah to try and buy this farm."

"Pardon me for saying so, but this land doesn't exactly look like a gold mine," Dean observed. "Why would he be willing to kill to get it?"

"It's not a gold mine," Paul said. "It's not sitting on oil. It's not going to be for a business or bought to build a road. It's just farmland."

"So…"

"So Mr. Kane is a powerful man, a rich man. He wants it and he doesn't like being told no." Hannah looked back and forth between them. "Have you never met someone who cannot understand contentment? No matter how much they have, they must have more."

Sam and Dean shared a glance. Neither of them owned more than the bare essentials. They had even less than what most people called the bare essentials. A bag, a couple of easily replaceable changes of clothes and a car to get them from place to place. That and a whole lot of things that said Warning - Flammable.

That said, while they weren't personally familiar with it, they'd run across it more times than they could count. Ghosts were born out of violent deaths. Greedy business partners, unfaithful spouses wanting someone other than who they already had, a rich guy wanting land he couldn't have. It all boiled down to the same thing. Somebody killed somebody else because one of them wanted more than they really needed. More. Had to have more.

"Well, we should get going," Dean said and stood. "I'll be back in the morning with the car."

Hannah also stood, though not as quickly. "I'll let you fix the car on one condition."

"What?" Dean asked cautiously.

"That you stay here. We have a guest room."

"We couldn't," Sam and Dean said together.

"Please. You have to let me do something to repay you," she said earnestly.

"We'll find a room in town," Dean said, but it was half-hearted at best.

"Really. There's no need," Sam added, wanting to smack Dean for weakening.

"It's the good old fashioned barter system," Hannah insisted. "You have to let me return the favor."

"Hannah, we can't-"

"It's a deal," Dean cut him off, smiling at the woman and ignoring Sam's barely hidden glare.

"Wonderful," she beamed.

"You're sure?" Dean asked, eyeing Paul. Hannah's husband, Sam noted, was barely paying them any mind. All his attention was on his wife. Ghosts weren't known for their flexibility.

As they watched, the ghost blinked and was gone. When neither of them reacted visibly, Hannah nodded and smiled. "Absolutely." Sam supposed she was grateful to have someone around who didn't freak out that her dead husband was still in residence.

"We'll just get a few things from the car," Dean said, "and then you can point us in the right direction." He nudged Sam toward the front door. "Excuse us."

Sam waited until they were back outside then let out the breath he barely realized he'd been holding. "This is crazy. There's a dead guy living here and she's poor as a church mouse. She can't afford to keep us."

"She can afford to feed us a couple of meals a lot easier than she can afford to fix that car."

"And the dead guy?"

"He doesn't seem too bad. Just trying to look out for her. She needs some help. We can help." Dean shrugged. "Then we'll salt and burn him like any other spook."

"Fine. Fix the car for her," Sam said. "We still don't have to stay here. She can't afford that either."

Dean shook his head, looking up at him like he wasn't too bright. "You're supposed to be the sensitive one. Sam, she can't accept something for nothing."

"She'll get over it," Sam frowned. "There's a ghost in there. We should be dealing with that, not worrying about her feelings."

Dean narrowed his eyes at him. "Dude, when did you turn into me?"

"When you turned into Oprah."

"Keeping the weight off's a bitch." Dean scratched a hand through his hair nervously and let his gaze drop, purposely not looking at him. "Look Sam, I spent a lot of time when we were little trying to keep you in pop tarts and macaroni. Sometimes making deals is all you can do." He looked back up and laughed like it wasn't anything, but his eyes were haunted. "Feeding a ten year old who can eat his weight in hamburgers wasn't easy. Don't even get me started on trying to keep you in shoes."

Sam swallowed past a suddenly constricted throat. Dean and deals. Always making deals to save his little brother. "Dean, you could've just said…" Sam let out another heavy sigh and this time he was the one who couldn't meet his brother's eyes. "Fine. So we stay. Then what?"

"I fix the car. You figure out how to stick it to old man Kane."

Sam shifted from one foot to the other. "Define stick it."

Dean grinned wickedly. "I'm sure you'll think of something. If you don't I'll just have to go old school and take a bat to his knees."

"Right." Sam grimaced. "I'll think of something."

"Thought you might."

"And once we take care of him?"

"Hopefully that will take care of Paul too."

"I doubt it," Sam replied. "Kane's not what's keeping him here. It's her."

"He might be able to go once she's safe."

"Would you leave your pregnant wife if you didn't have to?"

Dean's eyes widened and he took a step back. "You say that again, I'm gonna get hives."

"Dean."

"Fine, fine. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's get some rest first."

Sam woke up out of a dead sleep. He could feel the tension in the air and remained perfectly still. He and Dean were sharing the guest bedroom, but he could tell that the other side of the bed was empty.

"Sam, get over here." Dean's words were clipped.

His brother had known the second Sam had come awake, which didn't surprise him. Dean was on permanent high alert where Sam was concerned. He rolled out of bed to find Dean standing at the window peering through the curtains.

"Something's wrong."

"What?" Sam asked. It was dark outside, but nothing looked off and he hadn't heard anything.

"Not sure yet."

"Have you seen anything?"

Dean looked at him and for the first time seemed a little sheepish. "Well, no. But…"

"But?"

"But something woke me up." Dean walked toward the door and for the first time Sam saw Dean already had his jeans on and a gun in hand held down at his side. "You take a look around downstairs. I'll take outside. Try not to clomp around and scare Hannah, will ya, Gigantor?"

Sam pulled his jeans on and by the time he turned to get his own gun, Dean was gone. Tense for no other reason than that Dean was tense Sam walked out onto the upstairs landing. Quickly moving from room to room, he cleared the house and found nothing. He then moved outside, carefully avoiding the noisy step he'd noted when they'd come in the night before. Stealth was forgotten, however, when he heard Dean's shout come from the back of the house. Sam sprinted, gun at the ready. As he came around the corner, Dean was running flat out toward the field.

Sam followed, but tripped over something in the dark, toppling forward. Immediately the smell hit him. Gasoline. Their prowler had meant to burn the place down, a time-honored country tradition. You wanted a troublemaker gone or just someone you didn't like, you burnt their house down. If they had the nerve to rebuild, you burnt it down again. They'd eventually get the idea to find somewhere else to live.

Sam turned, waiting for his eyes to adjust and after several moments finally saw Dean standing at the edge of the field. Sam rose and hurried to his side. The field was covered in soybeans, a sea of black knee high plants in the oppressive darkness.

"He's still out there," Dean said lowly. "After he dropped the gas can he ran into the field and laid down."

"We'll never find him in the dark," Sam whispered.

Dean straightened and faced the field. "Just so you know," he said loudly, his voice carrying easily out into the black. "I'm heavily armed and I'm a real light sleeper."

"What now?" Sam asked, still eyeing the field warily. The leafy plants rustled in the darkness, making Sam's flesh crawl. Kane was still out there, lying perfectly still and Sam had an absurd notion to set fire to the field and see how long it took to smoke the arsonist out of his hiding spot.

"You go in and get some sleep," Dean said. "I'm gonna sit on the porch for a while. Make sure he keeps his distance."

"And then?"

"And tomorrow we'll go have a little chat with Mr. Kane."

More tomorrow…