AN: Here we go again!
Janice is super fast and pretty much the perfect beta.
* * *
The deed is everything, the glory is naught.
The rescue operation was grueling, and Sam and Dean didn't stop helping once emergency services arrived. Amazingly, only four people were killed, but many were injured and more than a few had gotten trapped, mostly under the scaffolding. The man who'd been moving the truck was nearly in hysterics, telling anyone who would listen that there was no way the load should have come loose. Sam made a mental note to try to get a look at the straps used to secure the load on the truck and see what had failed and why. He had a strong feeling that this wasn't just a random accident.
Finally, everyone was freed and the injured were either being treated by paramedics or had already been taken off in ambulances. Seeing there was nothing emergent left to do, Sam leaned against a bulldozer, catching his breath and cradling his ribs, which hadn't appreciated the work. A wiry man in a white polo shirt with Milton Fire Department logo on the chest walked over. He had short, tightly-curled dark hair that had just a hint of premature gray at the temples. He'd worked side-by-side with Sam for quite a while lifting boards and metal bars from the remains of the scaffolding to help free the men trapped beneath it. Sam straightened reflexively as the man approached, covering the discomfort the move caused.
"Your turn to get checked over," the man said to Sam with a smile.
"Nah, I'm good," Sam lied, smiling back. The man had an air of competence and Sam had a feeling that he wouldn't easily take 'no' for an answer.
The man ran a practiced eye over Sam's badly bruised face and stiff stance. "Even if I believed that, I bet the site manager will require everyone to get a clean bill of health. And hey, it's not like you'll have to pay for any medical expenses," he said easily.
"Oh, I didn't get hurt here. I don't work here," Sam said quickly, realizing that the firefighter had thought otherwise. He saw the man was going to protest, so he kept talking. "My...well, we aren't making this real public, but my partner and I came out to investigate some local disappearances." He and Dean hadn't completely decided on their cover story yet, but this was one they'd thought about. "Our, uh, cover is that we're looking for construction work. We just got to town and were driving by to check things out and came at the wrong time – or the right time, maybe." He held out his hand. "FBI agent Sam Clarke. I hope you don't mind keeping our secret." He grimaced internally, knowing he didn't have an ID that matched that name, but thanks to Dean, he had Motörhead on the brain.
The other man shook his hand, fortunately gently enough to not hurt Sam's ribs too much. "Grant Fleming, fire chief here in Milton." He looked at Sam's face again, where the bruises were just beginning to turn green and yellow on the edges. "I won't mention it, but I'm sure the police chief would appreciate a head's up about why you're here. And you really should probably get checked over anyway."
Dean walked over about then, and Sam took the distraction gratefully. "My partner, Dean Robertson. Dean, this is Chief Fleming."
"Just Grant," said their new acquaintance, shaking Dean's hand. "Your partner did a lot of great work today. Heavy work. I saw you running around too, and gotta say, we appreciate all the help." He shook his head a little, taking in Dean's equally battered visage. "Last case must have been a real son-of-a-bitch, huh?"
"You have no idea," Dean laughed. He must have heard more of their conversation than Sam thought, because he followed up with, "We'd appreciate you keeping what we're really in town for to yourself."
"Of course. I'd agree anyway, but after all the help you gave us, I should be buying you a steak dinner." Grant gave them one more searching look. "You sure you don't want to get checked over?"
Dean shook his head. "We're okay. The only thing we need is a place to stay that would take a dog." He said the last ruefully, gesturing toward the truck where Goethe waited patiently, leaning as far out the open passenger window as he could. "The mutt's part of our cover."
"A place cheap enough to make sense for a couple of guys looking for work," Sam added. Even though money wasn't as scarce as it had once been, seedier motels were easier to sneak in and out of in the middle of night when one was covered in blood, grave dirt, or other nastiness.
"You c – " Grant started, breaking off abruptly as he looked in the direction Dean had indicated, his eyes widening momentarily. He shook himself. "Sorry 'bout that. Had a, uh, weird deja-vu thing. Yeah, Gloria Thue has a motel off the main drag. She doesn't usually allow animals, but I'm sure she would if I vouched for you." He pulled out his phone, a business card, and a pen. He looked something up and jotted something on the back of his card, then dashed off a quick text. "Just texted Gloria to let her know I'm the one sending you over. Here's the motel address and my number if you need anything at all when you're in town. Seriously, you two saved lives today."
"It's part of the job," Sam mumbled, embarrassed. They hadn't really done that much. "Thanks for the help with the motel."
"Hey, instead of that steak, how about you have a drink with us tonight and give us your take on what's happening in your town?" Dean asked. He looked back at the destruction. "If you aren't going to be too busy handling this."
"Sure. I'll be doing reports for a while and have to tuck my kids in at night, but we could meet up for a while at The Chancellor Bar around nine. It's just down the road from the motel."
"Sounds great," Dean agreed. He added, as if as an afterthought, "So, what made you look like you saw a ghost there for a sec?"
"Nothing. Just was reminded of something," Grant said briskly, clearly done with the topic. He shook their hands a final time and hurried off to talk to some of his men.
"We should find that motel," Dean said, watching him go. "You did way more than you should've and I think I better tape those ribs again."
Sam huffed and regretted it. "We need to take a look at the truck that was holding the logs first," he argued. "And they're fine, but you're favoring your bad arm again and you need a new butterfly bandage above your eye."
"Already looked at it and talked to the driver. And I'm fine, but you're clearly not."
They argued all the way back to the pickup, where Goethe was intently watching the first responders still on site. "Sorry you couldn't get out, boy," Sam said. "People wouldn't want a dog running around, though I'm sure you could've helped." When Dean rolled his eyes, Sam said, "He understands more than you think, Dean."
Dean grumbled about Sam's "dogmance" with the animal, which watched the action as long as he could when they drove away. "You know what, dog? I'm not calling you that dumb name. You need a nickname," he said.
"You could call him by his actual name, you know. It's not that hard. Or, since you're D-dawg, you could call him G-dawg," Sam teased with a smirk, distracting himself from the ache in his ribs with one of his favorite pastimes – harassing his brother.
"I could call him Dipshit," Dean countered. "You know, name him after you."
"If you really won't call him Goethe, how about Ace? Like Batman's dog?" Sam asked, half worried that Dean would actually settle on calling the dog Dipshit.
Dean laughed. "Does that make Foster Alfred? And you –"
"If you call me Robin, I will punch you in the face, driving or not."
Dean chuckled again. "Fine, fine. He's Ace and you can be Commissioner Gordon." He grew serious. "We need his brains, cuz this was no accident, and it feels like whatever's happening here is escalating."
"What did you see on the truck?" Sam asked, stroking Goethe/Ace, who had laid back across his lap after watching the discussion back and forth regarding his name very intently seemingly content with the nickname Dean had settled on.
"All of the hooks on one side were missing. Every single one, and not cut off or anything, just gone. The guy who was driving was losing his mind, yelling that he'd checked it three times." Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and gave a minute wince as he moved his left arm. Sam bit his tongue but resolved to take a better look at Dean's arm and shoulder once they'd found the motel. "With the four guys who died today, that's half a dozen people in the last couple weeks, and a bunch more hurt, not to mention the chick who disappeared the same day a mountain lion randomly wandered into town and ate her boss."
Sam scratched at his chin in thought. He was weary and felt like his mind wasn't working quite at full capacity. "We have to figure out what all the people affected have in common to help us figure out if it's a cursed object or what. But which people? The guy driving the truck full of logs, or one of the ones who were killed? The missing lady or her boss?"
"We'll figure it out," Dean said as he pulled into the parking lot of Traveler's Haven. "I just hope it's before more people eat it."
The motel was rundown but cleaner than they were used to, the proprietress expecting them. She was somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty with a long, dark braid liberally striped with gray and wore a sleeveless shirt in defiance of the weather, or perhaps to show off her intricate and colorful tattoo sleeves. She was helpful, but rough around the edges in a way that implied her life hadn't always been easy or upstanding. Sam warmed to her immediately when she snuck a few pats in for Goethe when she thought they weren't looking.
As soon as they had brought the necessities into the room, Dean ordered an extra large pizza, since it was close to four and they hadn't eaten since Marta's fantastic breakfast. They devoured it in no time, bickering and talking through a plan of attack for investigating the whole mess. Neither consented to the other looking at their injuries, which prompted a few more rounds of bickering. Both gave the dog bits of sausage and pepperoni while the other pretended not to notice.
Sam fed Goethe some of the food Foster had sent with them and took him outside to do his business while Dean put up their protections.
Then Dean rolled up a sleeping bag and stuck it on Sam's bed lengthwise. "That'll keep the pressure off those ribs. Don't wake me up before 8:00 or I'll pour bleach in your laundry."
For much of his life, Sam would have protested Dean essentially telling him to take a nap, but he'd realized a lot of things while Dean was missing when he had the Mark of Cain. Mostly, that it was in Dean's nature to look after Sam, and he did it with no other motivation than love. (Not that either of them actually said words like that.) Sam had also – hopefully – matured some over the years and understood that accepting Dean's care didn't mean admitting that he was weak or unable to take care of himself.
Besides, Dean was getting ready to lie down himself, and if Sam refused the sleep (which he could desperately use), Dean wouldn't rest either.
So he gave a grunt he knew Dean would understand was a thank you, dug out the Tylenol, took a few, and tossed the bottle to Dean. He didn't have to look to know Dean rolled his eyes in response, but he also took a couple, so Sam took that as a win.
Seeing Goethe looking up at him expectantly, Dean folded his arms across his chest. "Don't even think about it, Ace. I let you come along and ride in the front of the truck, I let you stay in a room with us, but I am not letting you sleep on my bed. You're a dog. You can sleep on the floor."
Sam stretched out gratefully, finding a comfortable position with the sleeping bag supporting his back. Biting back a grin, he patted the bed in front of him. "C'mere, Goethe," he called, emphasizing the correct name. The dog jumped right up and laid down, scooting back against Sam so they were nearly spooning.
"Oh, for the love of…" Dean muttered as if Sam couldn't hear the amusement and fondness under the words.
Sam closed his eyes.
His dinosaur hoodie barely fit him anymore, but it was Sam's favorite, so he intended to wear it every single day until Dean deemed it too small. He knew it was really too childish for an eight-year-old, but it felt like a connection to the innocent Sam who hadn't known that monsters were real and had believed that dinosaurs were the scariest things that had ever lived.
He had loved dinosaurs since Bobby had given him a book about them four years earlier. Even at that age, he'd practiced pronouncing their wonderful, hard-to-say names and quickly memorized the book, though he didn't tell Dean that for a long time, since he'd liked being read to.
Dad was talking with some strange man and Dean was standing close and listening because he so badly wanted Dad to treat him like an adult, especially now that he'd just become a teenager. Sam, on the other hand, wasn't really ready to hear anything more about ghosts and ghouls and werewolves just yet. For a long time, he hadn't cared that he was "the little one," because that meant he wasn't expected to make food or do a last sweep through a motel room they were leaving or keep track of how much money was in the coffee can. Lately, he'd started to push to be given more responsibility, but he regretted that now since it had been the impetus behind him reading Dad's journal. He truly wished he'd never learned what Dad really did. That was why he was petting the dog instead of listening in to the conversation, even though he was actually allowed to listen in now.
"Ankylosaurus, diplodocus, spinosaurus, stegosaurus, triceratops, troodon, tyrannosaurus rex, velociraptor," Sam chanted quietly to the dog, still remembering the details of the beloved (and long since lost) book. There was also the maiasaura, but Dean always skipped that page because the description said the species were good mothers and Dean avoided saying that last word at all costs.
God, Dean must have thought Sam was so dumb to want to learn about dinosaurs and other stupid little kid things when Dad was out fighting monsters every day. Risking his life while Sam never suspected a thing. Now that he knew, he had to grow up...he might not want to, but he had to. He had to help Dad and Dean in the fight, help them be safe. A lump grew in Sam's throat, and he realized he'd tightened his grip on the dog's fur to the point it must be uncomfortable. The dog didn't try to get away, just gazed at him patiently with its two different colored eyes.
"Sorry," Sam whispered, petting his new friend gently.
"Here's the book you want," the strange man said to Dad. "And no, you can't take it with you. There are more curses tied to a specific piece of land than you'd think. And some creatures too. And remember, even ghosts can surprise you. Most follow the normal rules, but 'most' and 'all' ain't the same thing."
Sam tried not to be interested. He liked books. And learning. Maybe that was how he could help Dad and Dean – by learning about the monsters and how to keep them away and kill them if you had to. He stood up and pulled off the too-small hoodie, then walked over to a small bookshelf and started reading the titles, trying to memorize them the way he had the dinosaurs' names.
The man who Dad had come to see walked over and Sam put his hands behind his back so the man would know he hadn't touched the books without permission. "You can take 'em out and look at 'em, son," he said without preamble. "There's nothin' too valuable out here."
Sam thanked him and pulled out one that had caught his eye. "How come there's so many books about monsters?" he asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
"Well, they've been around since before humans were, so people've had plenty o' time to learn and write about 'em."
The fact struck Sam hard. In the short time he'd known that nightmare creatures were real, he hadn't contemplated how long they'd existed or how long humanity had known about them. "What, like vampires drank dinosaur blood or something?" he asked, not intending to be as snarky as it sounded.
The man chuckled. "I dunno about that, but I bet a 'pogo could chomp a dino or two." He pointed at an illustration of a long-necked creature labeled "Ogopogo" in the book Sam was holding.
Sam thought about his list of dinosaurs, and all the ones he'd learned about that weren't in the book. "I bet a spinosaurus could eat an ogopogo. Or a T-rex. Or an allosaurus, gigantosaurus, or oxalaia," he counted off.
"Sammy! Don't be a know-it-all," Dean interrupted, sounding embarrassed. He was usually proud of Sam's encyclopedic brain, but Sam knew he wanted to impress the strange Hunter, so he wasn't offended.
They left shortly thereafter, Sam reading the book Dad had cajoled the other Hunter into letting him borrow in his first real foray into research of the supernatural. (Less than a month later, he'd help bust open a case by remembering a fact about dhobar-chus he'd read that day.)
"Oh, man. Sammy left his hoodie behind," Dean piped up suddenly. "Dad, it's his favorite, and he doesn't have a spring coat yet –"
"It's okay," Sam interrupted. "I outgrew it anyway."
Suddenly, the dog was next to Sam in the car, growling and pulling at his sleeve. It pulled more insistently, making his ribs ache, and he was
sitting up suddenly wide awake, with Goethe – the real one, not the dream version – standing between the two beds and giving short, warning barks. Sam swore quietly, holding the ribs that were protesting the sudden movement.
Dean, still lying down, swore much louder. "Shut it, dog," he demanded. "You can hold it until we need to get up."
Goethe ran to the door and gave another sharp bark, his hackles up. The sight galvanized Sam. He hadn't seen the dog agitated before. "That isn't it, Dean," he said, running a hand through his hair and stuffing his feet into his boots. "I think he's warning us about something."
Sam stood and tucked a gun in the back of his pants. "I'm gonna check it out."
"Shit," Dean complained, but he got up too, as Sam had assumed he would. "I don't wanna play Lassie."
"You don't have to. I'll go see what's got Goethe worked up and call you if it's important." Sam opened the door and let Goethe out.
"Shit," Dean said again. "Sam, wait!"
Not wanting to piss Dean off, Sam told the dog to hold until Dean came out with pillow creases and a very unimpressed expression on his face. As soon as he'd shut the door, Goethe took off, luckily only trotting and not running too fast for them to follow, occasionally pausing to look back as if to make sure they were following. Sam and Dean trailed him around the back of the motel, across an alley and another street, over a few lawns, and around a corner.
Though it was just shy of 8 pm, it was fully dark out though fairly well-lit by streetlights, porch lights, and the headlights of the rare passing car. It seemed the families of this quiet corner of Milton were eating their supper and whatever else normal suburban people did on cold evenings.
One guy was outside, though, standing next to a pickup truck in a driveway. He was wearing a hard-hat as if he was just home from work. Goethe stopped at the end of his driveway and growled low, hunching like a cornered wolf. It was a menacing sight – and sound – but hard-hat didn't even look up. He was visibly agitated, peering through the side window of the truck and messing with the door.
"Uh, excuse me," Sam called, not wanting to startle him. He didn't react to the call either, muttering about keys and doors.
.
"Hey!" Dean called a little louder as they got close enough to get a better look. They both froze and reached for their weapons at the sight of his blood-covered face. "Sam," Dean hissed. "That's one of the guys I helped pull out of the mess at the construction sites today. One of the dead ones."
* * *
AN: We'll call that "cliffie light," shall we?
Most of the dinosaur info actually just came out of my head thanks to my own son being obsessed with all things dinosaur for several years of his life and all the books I subsequently read to him. (Not to mention countless episodes of Dinosaur Train.) If my memory is faulty and I messed something up, I apologize.
scootersmom: I'm so glad you like the slower chapters too. Janice says the same thing when I get paranoid that there isn't enough action. Thank you for the encouragement!
Shazza: It's one of my favorite episodes! Glad the description of the car made you chuckle. I kind of got carried away with it!
Monanell: I love what you said about Bobby, that once you're in his heart you're there forever. Happy to give you the visual of the guys in that crazy car! It makes me giggle.
Jenjoremy: The thought of Dean driving that car amuses me way too much. They left it behind, but it may have to make another appearance. Imagining Sam trying to get in makes me think of the guy in the tiny car in the "Muppets Most Wanted" movie. LOL! Happy you're along for the ride on this story, so to speak.
sylvia37: I love how you just accept things like: "a psychic dog? Okay." As for the guys getting more beat up before they get better, you know it.
muffinroo: Thank you, sincerely. Barb and her sisters meeting Foster would be an absolute riot to write! Now you're making me want to bring her back. But first they need to take care of Mr. Hard Hat Ghostie.
Trucklady53: I spend a lot of time speculating about those in between times the show didn't or couldn't cover. And I.kind of wish I could keep my cat around for 40 years...except when he yaks on my bed like he did today.
Natylop: I'm so glad that you're intrigued! I am giving the guys a full-blown mystery with this one.
Kathy: I look up so many things I. the course of writing a story and then I want to share them all! I thought of you when writing Sam's dream / memory in this chapter because I know you love glimpses of the guys when they were little.