Chapter Nine – The Master Plan
Shelly was more than willing to hand over her gram's diaries if it meant immortalizing her in print, and while Sam felt bad about deceiving her, Dean simply shrugged it off as just another part of the job. Dean always was more casual about the lying, cheating, and credit card fraud, like he enjoyed being on the outskirts of society acting the outlaw. He and Dad always justified it as required for the job, and considering their line of work, a necessary evil. Regardless of whatever reservations Sam might have had about invading the privacy of a dead woman and lying to her granddaughter, they had a spirit to vanquish, and the more they knew about him the better their chance at success.
It was strange having Dean totally invested in the research, for once wanting to know all the facts before facing this spirit. Sam sensed Dean wasn't going to take any more chances with this ghost. This was personal, and he wanted it gone. He'd already tried facing off against it without the intel and that hadn't worked out so well. Now he wanted to insure success.
Gram's affair with Jackson and the sinking of Titanic happened to occur as she was finishing up one diary and starting another. That was fortuitous for the Winchesters, providing each of them with a diary and a glimpse into those times as they scoured the journals for clues. Watching Dean intently reading the diary was a familiar sight reminding Sam that his brother often studied their dad's journal and almost knew it by rote, able to quickly open it up to the correct pages for info on a Wendigo or Werewolf or a hundred other dark creatures of the night. In the past he'd always kidded Dean about not reading and his brother always flippantly responded he'd wait for the movie to come out, but the truth was Dean was perfectly capable of reading and he did. He just read what interested him, not necessarily what Sam or society thought he should. Aside from reading about guns and hot rods, Dean was always quick to point out he was the resident expert on the editorial merits of those insightful Playboy articles.
After an hour of intense study Dean rose and stretched. "You got anything, Sammy?"
Sam glowered at him. "Are you dense, Dean? I've told you, it's Sam."
Dean simply smirked like he always did. "Yeah, right, Sammy's all grown up now. When you gonna start wearing a suit and tie? Huh, kiddo? Whatcha gonna be? A doctor? Lawyer?" Dean released a low chuckle, "Maybe an Indian Chief?"
"Maybe," Sam defiantly snapped at his brother, "I'm sure as hell not going to be a hunter."
Dean shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Whatever." But his eyes showed a glimmer of pain behind his brave front, like a kid who'd been asked to surrender his favorite toy to the neighborhood toy drive. The child trying to remain strong because he knew it was the right thing to do, but it pained him all the same, leaving a hole that even a brand new toy placed under his tree on Christmas morning could never fill. Knowing nothing would ever replace what he had willingly given up. Dean's voice was gruff, detached, as he focused on the job, "So... Sam… you got anything?"
"Well, it looks like Shelly's gram and this guy Jackson were quite serious. They were very… adventurous… " Sam stopped and his face flushed and his ears turned pink when he realized his brother was staring at him and smirking, that infuriating, smug smirk that always managed to get under Sam's skin and make him resent having a big brother that delighted in tormenting him; and being a total idiot, he had just inadvertently given him enough ammunition for the coming month. Sam only wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. God, sometimes I hate you, Dean.
Dean was enjoying the awkward moment little brother seemed to be experiencing. Oh, Sammy! However, it didn't take long for his protective instincts to override his glee as concern washed over his face. His voice got low and tender. "Sam, just what exactly does she say in that diary? I mean, she doesn't get into details, does she?"
Sam looked up with a half-hearted grin, trying to be the mature young man instead of the geeky nerd who was getting turned on by the words written over eighty years before. "Yeah, she kinda does."
"Oh, really?" Dean couldn't control his spontaneous smirk and chuckled under his breath. He spent a few moments staring at his brother and reveling in his discomfort before he abruptly handed his book across the aisle. "Here, switch… mine's all about her grief and guilt after the ship sinks. It's depressing… I could use some dirty sex talk."
Sam was embarrassed and he kind of wanted to keep reading, just not with his brother sitting across from him knowing what he was reading. That was just awkward and dangerous. Dean could be relentless with the teasing and he wasn't in the mood for it now. He reluctantly passed the diary over to his brother, but he kept a watchful eye on Dean as he started reading the racy journal noting his brother didn't appear shocked at all by what he read. If anything the little grin and glimmer in his eyes indicated he was totally enjoying the action depicted on the page. Big wonder, probably picking up pointers.
After another thirty minutes of reading Dean let out a whoop and lowered the diary to rest on his lap. "Man, I hope this runs in the family. For being back in those prim and proper days, Grams sure was a wildcat." He threw the book down on the bed and got up to grab another beer out of the mini-fridge. "Sammy… Sam, you wanna pop?"
Sam smiled as he looked up, "Yeah, thanks."
Dean tossed him the can and sat back down. "So, what's the verdict? How we gonna waste him?"
---
A plan was made and the brothers drifted off to sleep each having dreams about women. Dean's involved Shelly and the promise of her carrying on the family wild streak when they finally connected, and Sam had vague dreams of a young woman who rebelled against her family and followed her own dreams and desires. She had everything against her back then, society, her family. The expectations and restrictions of what a proper young woman was supposed to do trying to rein her in, and yet she did what she wanted. Sam respected that. He only hoped when the time came, he'd have the same strength to follow his dreams.
Dean again felt antsy as morning found them firming up their plans; but he concentrated on looking relaxed, knowing his brother would be watching him with the scrutiny of a Hollywood tabloid reporter just waiting for that revealing slipup. Internally his stomach was doing flip-flops, and the three cups of coffee that sloshed around in the otherwise empty space didn't do anything to ease the tension. It helped to know why he was so on edge, but it didn't relieve the strain and the knowledge he still had to face the damn thing. It further didn't help that their brilliant plan involved dangling him as bait. Since it seemed the damn thing liked him, or at least liked possessing him, it was the obvious mode of attack; let the spirit possess him and have Sam take it out. At least that way they'd know where the fugly thing was.
It was a simple plan; that is, unless you were the one letting the creepy bastard roam around your insides, slipping through your mind and exposing all your inner terrors to a stranger… a ghostly stranger at that. All the hurts he'd buried from himself and the world would be fodder in this ghost's hands, and that was almost as terrifying as having it inside his body to start with. Dean had already sacrificed immeasurably on this job, and it appeared the sacrifice wasn't yet over.
"Dean, are you sure this exorcism will work on this ghost?" Sam was reading over the words in Dad's journal, practicing and trying to memorize as much as he could. "I mean, it's not a demon, it's a ghost. You sure?"
"Sammy… Sam, it's a freakin' pink slip for the bitch. It's designed to send ghosts back to the afterlife. Dad and I used it last year in Frisco. Worked like a charm," Dean confidently responded, rising to refill his coffee cup. "So, you wanna catch some breakfast?"
The tension in the room was stifling and Sam wanted nothing more than to be done with this job. Now I know how Dean's felt. He closely studied his brother, Dean appearing cool and calm, like none of this was freaking him out. "Dean, this doesn't freak you out?" he whispered, anxiously gauging his brother's response and the look within his eyes.
Dean smirked, his eyes clear and confident, "Nah. It doesn't freak me out."
I wish I could believe you, Dean. I mean, just looking at you… yeah, anyone would believe you, but I know you. I know how you were feeling before. I've been watching you since I was four years old and this has got to be scaring the crap out of you, doesn't it?
Sam slipped on his long sleeve shirt and headed for the door just a step before his brother. The keys were dangling in Dean's hand and he seemed raring to go. "So, Dean, where to?"
"How about we have a real sit down breakfast? I'm starving."
---
Shelly met them at the theater shortly before the noon showing. Unaware of the real purpose behind the brothers' attendance, she was there to simply retrieve her gram's diaries and again watch the movie. She and Dean continued their flirtation and it seemed to ease Dean's mind, once more offering up a distraction before the dreaded opening credits of the movie. Dean hung out in the lobby with Shelly until the last possible moment when he had to walk back into that dark theater to face his fears, cursing under his breath at the bad luck that landed him on this hunt and put him in the cross-hairs of this spirit.
It helped to have Sam by his side, even though it pained him to think he was dependant on his kid brother. He secretly wished his dad was here. He'd accept help from Dad, if necessary, but his brother? That one hurt. Being the older brother, he was supposed to be the protector, not the other way around. Dean was used to hurt though, so he mustered all his courage and walked into the theater ready to face this ghostly freak and put him down.
"Dean, you ready?" Sam asked, concern etched on his face, still watching his brother for signs he'd reached that breaking point. Sam really didn't think Dean would ever break, but the last few days had left a lingering doubt that refused to yield. I'll be glad when we put this sucker down and get back to normal... Yeah, right! Like the Winchesters have ever been normal? I guess I'll have to settle for Dean back to his old cocky self. And that would be good enough… real good!
Dean turned back with that familiar cocky smirk plastered on his face, his voice steady and sure, "Sammy, I was born ready." Then he winked.
So Sam relaxed. Dean always had that effect on him. It was how things worked between them, if Dean was standing beside him grinning and telling him everything would be all right then Sam believed him. Sam always believed his big brother because Dean would never lie to him. Oh, he'd tease him unmercifully and torment him 'til he wanted to explode with frustration, but he'd never lie. When times were tough, as they so often were, Sam trusted Dean to see them through. Now it was Sam's turn.
"So, Dean, you think this Jackson is hanging around Shelly because he knows she's Rosanna's granddaughter?"
Dean's grin dropped away, replaced by a wide-eyed look of total shock. "Rosanna? What the hell, Sammy! That's gram's name?"
Sam nodded before realization struck. Shit! Shit! How stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Sam sheepishly gazed at the confounded look on his brother's face. "Yeah, Dean. You didn't know that?"
Dean huffed out an inaudible reply. Silence enveloped them until Dean finally uttered, "Hell, no. I mean, what the hell?"
Sam was mentally kicking himself, down the stairs and around the block. How could you not realize that? Jackson and Rosanna? God! "So… you think there's a connection? I mean between the movie and our Jack and Rose?"
"A connection? Nah, couldn't be. I'm sure it's just a big old freakin' coincidence, but then I also think ol' Bill didn't inhale, the good guys always win, and the White Sox are gonna take the series. Watcha think, Sammy?" Dean's voice was low and throaty, ragged from the strain and this unexpected revelation, and the worry of what else might throw a monkey-wrench in their master plan. "Hell, yeah! Come on! Probably if we dug a little deeper the writer or Cameron or someone involved with this stupid movie knows the story of Shelly's grandmother."
"Yeah." Sam stomped his foot into the carpet, furious he could be so stupid, and the possible ramifications this might have on Dean and their chance for success. "Look, Dean… I'm sorry I didn't put it together before. I should've… "
Protective big brother syndrome was in full force as Dean dismissed the oversight and possible negative impact on their plan. "Sammy, don't sweat it. It's too late now, and what difference? Let's just get this done." Dean led them to the right side near where Shelly was sitting and found seats half-way back from the screen two rows behind her. As he sat down in his seat he whispered more reassuring words to his brother, "It don't matter, Sammy. We know who the ghost is. We know he likes to play around inside this fine body of mine, and we know how to smoke 'em. It's all good. So, you ready to rock and roll?"
Sam smiled and relaxed again. Dean exuded such confidence, what could possibly go wrong?
TBC