AN: Please imagine that I said something pithy and thought-provoking here. Thanks.
Janice, who is often pithy and thought-provoking and always fabulous, beta'd this chapter very fast. I'm grateful.
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Precaution is better than cure.
Sam guzzled his coffee gratefully. He had zero regrets about sitting up half of the night making sure Dean's breathing never took a turn for the worse, but he didn't want his weariness to be obvious to everyone they talked to. Dean, who sounded much better now, gave him an appraising look but didn't comment. Sam would have easily brushed it off if he had; if he'd been faster with getting and burning the rosary, Dean wouldn't have been at risk for pneumonia. It was only right that he was the one losing sleep over it.
"Well, the cops were a lot of help," Dean commented sardonically. They'd just met the chief, who had basically told them they were chasing shadows. If he were being uncharitable, Sam would have called the guy a mere placeholder who wasn't interested in doing much in the way of work. The top cop thought the missing people had run away and either come afoul of local wildlife (the 12-year-old) or simply left the area (the young paralegal whose boss had become mountain lion food). Facts like the latter's car was still in her carport didn't move him. He'd handed over copies of the requested files, however, and given them the carte blanche to operate around town, promising that his officers would help in whatever way they needed.
"Bet you fifty bucks the woman at the front desk is already on the phone telling all of her friends that we're FBI," Sam answered, skimming the report of dead squirrels. Goethe sat on the truck seat between them, as he'd been beyond eager to come along, even after Sam warned him that he'd have to spend most of the day inside the vehicle.
"Not taking that bet," Dean scoffed. "If her eyes got any bigger when we introduced ourselves as feds, they'd've popped right out of her head. But that may actually help us. So, anything I need to know about the squirrel people before we show up?"
"Leonard and Lynn Peterson. Retired. No trouble with the law. Officer showed up to the call, saw all the dead squirrels but didn't find any other signs of anything wrong. Helped them bury the animals," Sam reported. "As far as I can tell, nobody did any kind of environmental checks or tested the bodies for any chemicals! It was written off as 'they must have eaten something they shouldn't' and the Petersons were told to call if they saw anything else weird." Sam was disgusted at the lack of follow-up. "That's comforting."
Dean scrunched his face in distaste. "You don't think 'hey, there might be some kind of poison in your back yard, but you're probably fine' is a good answer?" he asked sarcastically. "What house number?"
The Petersons had a very nice home that sat on an impeccably groomed couple acres. By the time Sam and Dean were climbing out of the car, the door was already open to reveal a slender man in his seventies dressed like Mr. Rogers. A petite woman with her snow-white hair curled into a careful if outdated style hovered behind him.
"Mr. and Mrs. Peterson?" Sam asked with his most comforting smile. "I'm Sam Clarke and this is Dean Robertson."
"You're here about the squirrels, aren't you?" blurted the woman before Sam could state that they were from the EPA. "Please come in." Her husband shook their hands and ushered them in while Lynn apologized for her 'rudeness' and offered them coffee. Sam accepted quickly. He could use the additional caffeine.
When they all held dark burgundy earthenware mugs full of steaming coffee, Lynn spoke again. "I just knew that we were right to be worried about that! Do you think the birds are in any danger?"
Sam was a little confused by the question until he followed the direction of her hand gesture and looked out of the bay window behind him. The large backyard and deck were dotted with bird feeders of all different sizes and shapes, and at least a dozen different birds of all sorts were partaking. The yard butted up against a woods, and even some of the trees skirting boundary held feeders and birdhouses.
Dean's eyebrows flew up at the sight but he refrained from commenting. "That's what we want to be sure of," he said. His face held a bland smile, but Sam could easily read the 'holy crap, these people are nuts' behind it. "About how many squirrels were there? The police report didn't give specifics."
"Forty-three," said Leonard precisely. "I counted. That includes the ones in the woods."
Dean whistled.
"And they didn't look injured in any way?" Sam followed up.
Lynn set her cup down, looking slightly ill. Leonard laid a hand over hers and answered. Sam noticed that there was a bandage on the back of his hand. "No wounds we could see, but they were…twisted up, like they, uh, were in pain." He grimaced.
"Did one of them bite you?" Dean asked. He pointed to Leonard's hand.
Leonard abruptly pulled his hand back and turned it so the bandage wasn't visible. "No! No, they were all dead. I just, I must have bumped it some time. You know when you get older it's so easy to tear your skin and not even know how. Now if that was all –?"
Sam didn't roll his eyes, but he didn't dare glance at Dean, either or he might laugh. Leonard was a horrible liar. "Actually, could you show me where they're buried? It might be a good idea for us to run some tests on them" which should have been arranged by the actual cops "to make sure they weren't poisoned by something that could get in the water supply or anything. It's unlikely, considering nobody has gotten sick by now," he hastened to add. "I promise we'll be respectful of your yard."
"Are you sure?" asked Leonard grimacing. "It's been almost two weeks." With a little sound, Lynn hurried from the room.
"It won't be...pleasant, but it could be important," Sam said. Yeah, it was going to reek, but they'd seen and done far worse. "You don't have to come outside."
"But before we do that, is there something else you wanted to add, now that the missus is in the other room?" Dean asked. "Something we should know?"
"Not at all," Leonard said briskly, rising to his feet. "I will show you where the squirrels are buried, and you may use a shovel and garbage bag from the garage. Then I need to tend to my wife, who is feeling ill from the macabre topic, I'm sure."
Dean gave Sam a tiny shrug. It had been worth a try.
Leonard pointed them to a spot in the far corner of the yard where they could see the dirt had been disturbed then practically ran into another room.
"Are you afraid the macabre sight will make you feel ill?" Dean asked cheerfully with an affected accent. "Or are you ready to dig up some delicious squirrel swill?" They headed to the truck to get supplies, including a thick, warded burlap sack they used to carry nasties that might have some supernatural danger or trap attached to them.
"You're disgusting," Sam told him, neither surprised nor bothered by Dean's crude humor. "No digging," he told Goethe, letting the dog get out.
"Gopher gravy?"
"Even worse."
"Hamster hash?"
"You're having way too much fun with this."
"Pest poutine?"
That one surprised a laugh out of Sam, which made Dean look proud. He held out a hand when he saw that Sam had located a spade. "Gimme that shovel. I didn't forget about your ribs."
"I'm good. You're the one who went a few rounds with a pissed-off ghost yesterday." Sam shouldered the tool and headed past the virtual aviary and toward the back of the yard.
"That was nothing," Dean said with a straight face. Sam gave him an incredulous look. Dean just stared back, unapologetic, so Sam resumed walking.
"If it hurts, I'll let you dig," he said, matching Dean's flippant tone.
Not surprisingly, that wasn't the end of the argument. Sam retained possession of the shovel and let Dean complain while he dug. (Of course, it did hurt to dig, but that was beside the point. Anyway, the unfortunate animals weren't exactly down deep.)
Goethe refused to get too close to the burial spot, watching warily from a distance. His body was practically quivering with tension. He never took his eyes off Sam, who wondered if the dog was trying to warn him away from disturbing the dead.
"Aw, shit," Sam said when he started to uncover the bodies. Or what was left of them. Instead of still-juicy corpses decayed less than two weeks, he'd uncovered piles of little bones, all black as if they'd been burned.
"Looks like a clue to me," Dean reasoned. He used the edge of the sack to pick up one skull without actually touching it. "Not that I have any idea what it means. We should burn 'em all."
Sam couldn't disagree. They'd grabbed salt and lighter fluid for this very eventuality. He uncovered the bones better and Dean coated them and lit 'em up.
"What are you doing?" shouted Leonard from the house.
"It's for your protection," Dean called back, not even lying. "Go back in the house." Neither he nor Sam looked back as the older man huffed and slammed the door. Clearly, some shady shit had gone down and he was hiding things. While he probably didn't have a boiling cauldron or dark altar from which to cast squirrel-cursing spells, he had some culpability for withholding information that could help them keep people safe, so they weren't too worried about his wounded sensibilities.
Once the bones had pretty much burned out (which took very little time at all), Dean swiped the shovel away and started covering the grave again. Since his breathing sounded fine and he didn't move too stiffly, Sam just sighed and let him get away with it.
The back of Sam's neck prickled like he was being watched. He looked around and saw nothing out of place. "Dean? Do you feel like something's here?" he asked, aware but not afraid. He picked up the shotgun which Dean had brought out there, just in case there were some rabid squirrel ghosts around, Sam supposed.
Dean also looked around. "No," he said after a moment. "But I think Ace does." The dog stood frozen in a near pointing stance, fur on end, growling and staring at the woods.
Sam looked around even more carefully. "I don't see anything, but I have a feeling we should come back when we don't have an audience and take a better look around." Dean grunted his assent. "While you finish, I'm gonna warn the Petersons to stay away from this area for a while." He didn't know of another way to protect them from the unknown something that was out there.
Sam wasn't sure anybody would answer when he knocked, but Lynn tentatively opened the door a few inches. "Thank you for helping us, Mrs. Peterson," Sam started, because courtesy could soften up many people. "We're finished. I think you and your husband should stay out of the woods until we get some answers, okay?"
"Of course," she agreed almost fervently. She was definitely spooked. "Leonard used to take his evening walks there, but he hasn't gone since –" she waved her hand. "You know."
Sam smiled, hunching so he didn't tower over her quite so much. "It's just a precaution, but I think that's a good idea."
Dean was hanging up his phone when Sam got to the truck. "That was Grant. His sources say the truck driver's doing some talking. He's still in the hospital, but they'll let us chat with him on Grant's say-so. Wanna see what he has to say?"
They were, indeed, admitted without having to show any kind of credentials, which was helpful for them, though probably not a good look for security at the hospital.
The worker, who preferred to be called Buddy ("Wouldn't you if your first name was Hiram? Dean asked.) was unkempt and looked shell-shocked. He was in a gown and there were soft cuffs on his wrists, though he was simply sitting placidly staring into the distance.
"Hey, Buddy. I'm Sam and this is Dean. Think we can ask you some questions?" Sam asked him with a gentle smile. The man merely shrugged without looking at the two.
"About the accident," Dean added, not unkindly.
"Not an accident," Buddy whispered. "It's my fault."
"Why do you say that? I looked at the tie-downs, and they were solid."
"I wanted...I wanted to see her longer, but I couldn't have the day off." Buddy looked over at them, tears in his eyes. "Because I wanted to see my girl longer, four men are dead. Dead!" He shook his arms, not trying to escape the restraints but for emphasis. "The price was too low. I wish I had died!"
He lowered his head into his hands and sobbed, and nothing else they said could get an answer of any kind out of him, and eventually they gave up.
Buddy's wounds were all covered, but with nothing more than a smile and a polite request, a nurse let the Winchesters see some pictures.
"Those are a unique shape," Dean mused as they studied the photos. Skin isn't a good canvas, but the punctures looked like triangles with a line across the top point.
"We don't know what he used to do that," the friendly nurse chimed in. "He won't say, and they're pretty deep."
Sam didn't think the man had done it to himself at all, but he just nodded.
Leaving the hospital, Sam looked at the long list of people to interview. "Why don't we split up?" he asked. "You can drive to the farther ones out and I can walk to the ones close to the motel, stop at the library, and go back to the room so I can read through more of this. I'll take Goethe with me."
Dean chewed that over then agreed. "Yeah, okay. Maybe tonight after we've hashed it all out a little and checked in with Cas, we should call Foster. I think he'd like to stay in the loop as much as possible. And he might have some ideas too."
The thought made Sam smile. He knew they'd both missed having a Hunting guru on speed dial. Foster wasn't Dad or Bobby, but he was a potential resource and friend, and they could use more of both.
Dean dropped Sam off and he headed for the office where mountain lion guy and disappeared lady had both worked. Nobody batted an eye at Goethe coming inside, which surprised Sam.
It turned out the lady was pretty universally liked, though several people mentioned that she'd gotten a lot quieter and more reserved in the last year or so. They literally laughed at the notion that she'd run off on her own without telling anyone and quickly shot down the idea of her having any real enemies. Nobody had noticed her acting any different in the days right before her disappearance.
The reputation of the guy who'd become an hors d'oeuvre was a different story. He wasn't very popular as he apparently liked throwing his weight around and treating his underlings like they were inferior to him. Still, they were shocked and horrified by his gruesome death, which had happened on the street right in front of the suite of offices. One woman confided that "basically everybody in town" was now armed when they went outside. "It's Idaho," she said. "Everybody has a gun."
Great, Sam couldn't help but think. Scared people with weapons. Sounds like a great combo.
His next stop was at the missing lady's apartment. He was rather amused that the landlord was expecting him, having heard all about the two "FBI agents" looking into the disappearance. He even knew about Goethe, who he said was welcome to go in with Sam to "sniff out clues."
The apartment was small and fairly neat, with signs that Allison "Allie" Curtis had not planned to be gone long. For example, the coffee pot was prepped to brew a fresh pot, and clothes appropriate for an office job were draped over a chair still on the hangers, as if laid out for the next morning. There were a couple bloody Band-aids in the bathroom trash, making Sam wonder if she had the same wounds as Buddy and the others.
Just before leaving, he stopped to study a picture hanging on the fridge. Allie and three other young women were dressed in hiking gear and posing on a scenic overlook.
A hint of an idea was starting to wiggle around in Sam's brain, but he couldn't put it into words quite yet. He walked past the building that had fallen into a spontaneous sinkhole. It was a small middle school gym, and the fall had reduced it to rubble that hadn't been hauled away yet. Sam stared at it for a few moments. The parking lot was intact, as were the main school building and the nearby houses. It was like the Earth had decided to take out the one building only and carefully targeted just the gym. It was just as odd as Foster had made it out to be.
Deep in thought, Sam walked to the library. He needed to get a few books, then he wanted to read through the police reports with more care. It wasn't until he was standing in front of one of the stone lions guarding the library entrance that he realized that the institution was one place where he couldn't take Goethe.
"C'mon, buddy. You'll have to wait in the room," Sam encouraged, but for the first time ever, the dog was reluctant to obey. "I don't have a choice, and I don't want to just leave you tied up outside," he insisted, unwilling to drag the intelligent animal by his leash. "I'll get what I need, grab something for both of us to eat, and come back. It shouldn't be all that long."
Goethe was still clearly unhappy, so Sam took a little extra time to make sure he had plenty to eat and drink and a few minutes of belly rubs before he left again. Goethe whined and laid down with his chin on his paws with big, sad eyes. It made Sam feel like a cruel reprobate, but he needed more information, so he left anyway.
Whether it was the dog's unusual behavior or something else, Sam's skin tingled as he climbed the few stairs to the library door. Before going inside, he paused to look around for anything that could have caused that "someone walked over my grave" feeling but saw nothing.
The familiar feel and smell of a library relaxed Sam quickly. He found a nice-sized section on the history of the town, all the way back to the time before white settlers had moved in. He soon had a pile of copied pages to read up on local murders and legends and anything that could possibly give some indication of what was plaguing the town. Then he found a new source of information: a gossip-loving librarian by the name of Laurie. She knew all of the victims and had commentary about every one. She had already heard (wink, wink) why he was really in town. In fact, Laurie had so much to say that at one point, Sam took a break to walk back to the motel, text Dean, and give Goethe a few moments of attention. The dog physically blocked the door this time, but Sam had promised his new friend he'd be back as soon as he could, and Laurie could tell him things that he couldn't find in books. It was unfortunate that every observation was paired with something negative. With one last pat, Sam gently moved Goethe out of the way and went back to the library.
One example of Laurie's insights was that the Petersons were "a bit snooty" and "completely obsessed with their yard and all of those bird feeders," which matched Sam's own opinion. She also said that guy whose tires had popped "deserved it" because he was a workaholic who was rarely home to spend time with his family. And Laurie thought the parents of the missing 12-year-old pushed her way too hard, signing her up for every possible extracurricular activity and expecting success in every endeavor. She said the guy who'd been mountain lion lunch was cheating on his wife and that the missing subordinate struggled with depression.
Laurie didn't know Buddy the truck driver very well, but she strongly disapproved of the fact that he was engaged to a woman from a nearby city. She clearly thought Milton lifers were superior to everyone else. (Sam barely managed to hide his eyeroll at that. The amount of pettiness in the woman's judgments of others was so annoying that he would have left long before in any other circumstances. But he flat-out needed information.)
What might have been most helpful of all was Laurie's list of weird happenstances that they hadn't known about. For example, a perfectly health tree had fallen on one family's fishing boat right before they could sell it, and a small, decorative fountain inside of an executive's office had suddenly begun to emit such a foul odor that the owner of said office vomited violently and was out of work for nearly a week. In the latter case, the smell had stopped as soon as the man was out of the building.
Sam realized that a whole lot more time than he'd intended had passed and was trying very unsuccessfully to make his getaway when Dean walked in. He must not have hidden his relief very well because Dean immediately smirked. Sam quickly introduced them and said goodbye to his loquacious informant.
"I don't wanna interrupt anything –" Dean said, smirking even wider as he hung Sam out to dry.
"Oh, no, that's okay," Sam said quickly. "I didn't notice the time." He smiled at Laurie. "Thank you for –"
"I wouldn't dream of taking you away," Dean said.
"I know more –" Laurie said at the same time.
"I appreciate it," Sam smiled insincerely, knowing Dean would see the promise of retribution beneath it. "But it's getting late and I'm starving. Dean, shall we?"
Dean made a big point of apologizing to Laurie that they had to leave "so soon" and Sam just started walking away. Dean nearly caught up to him as he reached the door, but Sam pretended not to notice and let the door close in his face.
As Dean opened the door, Sam heard a sound like stone sliding across stone and looked up. To his horror, he saw a gargoyle statue tumble off the roof.
It was falling straight toward Dean.
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AN: Mwuah-ha-ha-ha.
Mr. Rogers is the late Fred Rogers, a children's TV personality. He always wore a shirt, tie, and cardigan sweater on his show.
I don't know if everyone is familiar with poutine, though it's fairly common here in Michigan. It's steak fries covered with cheese or cheese curds and all of that is covered with gravy. Decadent and delicious!
The comment about a lot of people in Idaho owning guns isn't a knock on the state. It, like other states with a lot of wilderness and large wildlife (i.e. Montana, Wyoming, and Alaska), has a large percentage of gun ownership.
sylvia37: It's never anything benign, of course! You are skirting the edge of something I was hinting at...nice!
muffinroo: Sam whump? Never occurred to me. *g* It will come, I promise. I'm not sure I'd know how to write a story without it!
scootersmom: Aw, thanks! I'm such a sucker for the guys being really tough and taking care of each other, but you probably knew that already!
Shazza: I'm jealous that you're heading into summer. Winter has very definitely arrived here. I'm sure many people are glad to have a white Christmas, but I'm not one of them! But anyway, I knew you liked some good Dean whumpage. Hehe.
Kathy: It's hard to guess what I'm going to write sometimes because I make stuff up and change the "rules" of different creatures (like making a solid ghost). Although, you readers still figure out some of the mysteries and things. Sam reading everything actually reminds me of one of my kids. He acted like learning to read was the greatest thing that ever happened to him (which I totally get, as a voracious reader myself) and he'd walk around reading everything. I think I could definitely do a short story about Sammy doing that! I know how you love the Weechesters. Your little aside about what kind of magazines Dean would get for himself made me laugh! I probably shouldn't complain about cold and snow to you – I think the weather guy said your general area is having a cold snap and lots of snow. Stay warm and be careful!