Beta: That Girl Six (and I am tickled that you all notice an improvement in my writing)
See part 1 for disclaimer
Author's Notes: Please, if you figure out what is going on, then please send me a private message and do not put it on the review boards. I would love to talk about it, but don't want to spoil it for readers.
Thank you for the reviews and the alerts—I am always surprised by people taking time out of their day to send a note.
Lastly, yes, we are back from our trip and liked the episode, complete with drinking purple nurples (courtesy of MOG and Gatorpez), however, we did groan at Ruby/Christy, the "demon with the heart of gold," but were happy with Castiel.
Part 2
Caleb knew the girl was interested in Sam, but he could admire the scenery just the same. She was wearing a brightly colored sleeveless mini-dress with tall, white boots that accentuated her long legs.
Sam's hands were now filled with a pile of towels, but he seemed to have lost his ability to speak. Dean was muffling his laughter — just barely.
"How many guests are staying here?" Caleb decided to try to keep Clara present for a few more moments.
"Just one other guest — he says he's here for forever, but he'll leave in two days." She didn't step in, instead remaining on the threshold, speaking only to Sam.
Dean stopped laughing and stared at Caleb with a frown etched on his face. "How do you know that?"
Clara wrapped a hand around her blonde hair and brought it forward so it was over one shoulder. "He's fighting with his wife — they always make up." She gestured with her head to the large VCR under the television. "We have movies at the desk."
"Ahh, okay," Sam replied with a stutter. Caleb was glad Sam had found his limited voice. "Thanks for the towels."
"Sure, see you later." Clara took a step back, then turned with one last doe-eyed glance over her shoulder at Sam.
Caleb shut the door, rested against the closed door with his arms crossed. "She. Was. Coming. On. To. You."
Sam blushed and forcefully pushed the towels at Caleb. "Shut up. I thought we were supposed to go to the movies."
"Damien, you know how sensitive Samantha is." Dean cupped the back of his brother's neck and gave him a push around the room, never relaxing his grip as the younger brother tried to snake out of it.
Caleb stepped away from the door and placed the towels on the closest bed. "Are we walking?" It was a bright day outside, and he didn't want to spend any more time in the dark interior of the Impala.
"Are you insulting my baby?" Dean stopped pushing his brother.
"Yes. It's not like flying first class." Caleb crossed his arms. He loved Dean, but some of his phobias were annoying. Sometimes it was easier to fly cross-country in six hours than to drive for two days at breakneck speed.
"Some fresh air would be nice, too." Sam nodded, stepping closer to Caleb.
Dean snorted, flipping his pointed finger accusatorily to the two of them standing together. "It is nice to see you two all chummy and ganging up on me."
"So we're walking." Sam smiled, walking out the door and not giving his brother a chance to fight back.
Caleb shrugged his shoulders and followed him out with Dean in the rear. They walked down the main street they had come in on when they drove in. It was a bit strange since they did stand out as three tall men walking on the sidewalk. They were given a wide berth and welcoming smiles. "Feels like we're stuck in a Norman Rockwell painting."
"It feels like when I was with the Djinn, but different." Dean waved to someone who said 'hello' as he passed. "This is better, 'cause I am not in the mood to stab myself."
Caleb winced. He hated being reminded of the times he had failed Dean, especially when he noticed that Sam had a drawn look on his face, too. He poked him in the ribs. "Lincoln Logs." Caleb pointed to the window of the toy store.
"Tinker Toys," Sam added with a smile.
"Are you two serious?" Dean said, standing behind them while Caleb and Sam kept their faces pressed to the glass.
The toys took Caleb back to what seemed like an uncomplicated time when Jim and John were still with them, when Jim's sweet tea and a slice of apple pie could fix anything, when Caleb wasn't lying to Dean about the amulet. It was gone now, but that didn't change that he had used it. Dean wouldn't be happy about it.
"All that stuff was hand-me-downs from Jim's parishioners. And as I recall, you would hog the Lincoln Logs when they were supposed to be for me and Sammy to play with," Dean commented, pulling Caleb away from his thoughts.
"What can I say? I was a budding architect," Caleb replied with a shrug of his shoulders. He wondered if there was ever a time he thought he would do something different. Like a lot of things these days, it seemed like even those decisions were ingrained in him when his parents died.
Caleb was ready to move on, but Sam was still nostalgic. "Pretty cool store, though: Radio Flyer Wagon, Big Wheels. Dean, Army guys."
Dean gave a quick nod, then cleared his throat. "There's a line at the movie theatre — guess everyone wants to see Bruce Willis kick ass."
Sam looked at Caleb, and the younger Winchester was confused at what he had said to put that look on his brother's face. Caleb shrugged. It could have been just about anything. Growing up had been difficult for Dean — it was fraught with insecurities that no one could avail. "Come on, Runt. Must be the first time we all go to the movie where we aren't sneaking you in."
The movie was everything they expected, seeing as they must have already seen it a dozen times, but it was so close to normal that it left Caleb shaky with anticipation of doom.
Once Bruce had yippee-kai-yayed his way to beat the bad guys, they hit the recommended restaurant, which seemed to contain the whole town. They waited by the door until they were escorted to a table. It was a period-themed place with women dressed in long skirts with white shirts. They were led to a large oak table with high back chairs, reminiscent of the set at the farm.
"I'll give you time to get your bearings." She handed them paper menus.
Caleb gave the paper a quick glance. "I know what I'm getting: meatloaf."
"Fried chicken for me." Dean patted his stomach. "Although if we stay here long enough, we may be able to work our way through the menu."
Caleb knew he didn't hide the surprise from his voice. "That's not like you—usually it's get in and get out."
Dean took a biscuit from the basket and handed it to his brother. "What can I say, Die Hard made me nostalgic for the good old days. Plus, who knows how long it is going to take Sammy to ask that girl out?"
"Shut up," Sam replied as he took the biscuit that was in his hand and lobbed it at his brother.
Caleb stretched out with his hand, catching Sam in the ribs. He cleared his throat as the waitress returned; she had witnessed Sam's biscuit throwing. "Pardon us, Ma'am."
"I'm a suffragette. There are days when I want to throw things, too. But our biscuits really are excellent."
"I'm sorry about that." Sam blushed, his neck glowing red and creeping up to his face. It was rare that Sam was ever reprimanded, and this had been mild.
The waitress placed another biscuit on Sam's plate. "What's your order?"
They went through their list; sitting in the restaurant was making them all hungry. The smell was warm and mouth watering. They passed the time talking about the movie and as expected, having a discussion about the past, of better times, not of injuries and childhood traumas. Two waitresses came with their food, placing the large plates in front of them that had them all longing for Jim's cooking.
"Looks great," Caleb commented at the steaming meatloaf and the sides of green beans and mashed potatoes with a pat of butter pooling on the top. They ate in silence, signaling the food was too good to be interrupted with conversation.
"How's tricks?" their waitress said when she swung by to check on them.
As usual when this happened, Caleb's mouth was full, and the Winchesters were in the same position. He swallowed quickly, saddened he couldn't enjoy the bite more. "Heaven."
"Do you want a second helping?"
"God, yes," Dean replied as he licked his fingers. "This whole town. . . It's just. . ."
"Pie-in-the-sky?" The waitress supplied the answer.
"Pie." Dean smiled. "I'll go with that."
She gave him a nod before leaving. They were scraping their plates when she returned with the promised second helpings. "You're the boys that came about the house."
Caleb pushed his plate away; suddenly this wasn't about a fun meal, but about too many people knowing their business. It made him wary and suspicious. "And how do you know that?"
"Walter was in here earlier." She shrugged as she smoothed the dark fabric of her skirt.
"Can you tell us anything about the house?" Sam asked, toying with his plate of chicken and dumplings.
She looked down and shook her head, the loose tendrils of her hair swaying back and forth. "Mr. Francis has heard the call of the wild."
"Call of the wild?" Caleb didn't understand how the Jack London book applied to this situation, unless the person who owned the house was involved with wolves, or worse — werewolves.
"I don't want to be a muckraker. You'll see what I mean when you make the acquaintance of Gwendolyn.
"Gwendolyn," Dean accentuated the syllables of the name through the chewing of his food. He waved the fork. "It sounds like a soap opera."
Caleb relaxed back in his seat. "I was thinking werewolves."
"Yeah, me too," Sam added. They were both staring at Dean, who continued eating.
Caleb shared a knowing look with Sam. "But the question should be, why did you think soap opera?"
Dean stopped eating, placing his fork down. "Shut up." Dean glared at Caleb, then directed his stare at his brother. "You too, 'cause it's not werewolves." He picked up his fork. "Don't you two idiots think Bobby would have mentioned that, or Jim when he told me the story?"
"Are you sure you're telling us everything? You do have a tendency to hold back the details."
Dean puckered his face. "Pot, kettle, black."
"Yeah, we may be guilty, but you're the king of 'I'm fine,' when you're bleeding out." Caleb recalled when Dean had gotten his ring and hidden a serious injury, along with another half dozen times that were entirely too close calls.
"What about that time — " Dean started.
"This is the best meal." Sam picked up a forkful of chicken and dumplings, interrupting the obvious game of one-up-man-ship. "Mmmm."
Caleb laughed – Sam was very effective in asserting himself between the two of them. The time Caleb and Sam had spent together towards a common goal had helped them bridge a large gap. "Yes, it is."
Too full, they were quiet as they left the restaurant. Dusk was starting to settle, so they took their time as they walked back on the other side of the street, which had a baseball diamond lit up by large lights attracting mosquitoes and fireflies. They paused, Caleb noticing Dean's hands wrapping around the metal fence. It was older men playing baseball with intensity and no audience except for Caleb, Sam, and Dean.
The batter hit the ball, getting a double. Dean whistled, then clapped his hands. "Way to go!" he yelled out. They remained watching until the batters were going out into the field.
One of the players, heading towards the pitcher's mound called out to them, "Hey, we need another person. Do any of you play?"
There were very few 'being at the right place at the right time' moments, and they were going to take advantage of it. "Deuce — "
Dean snorted, backed away from the fence, and waved his hands. "Damien, it's been a long time."
The youngest Winchester cupped his hands around his mouth. "He can!"
"Sam!" Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder.
"What? I can't remember the last time I saw you play baseball." He gave a little nod to Caleb. "We promise not to laugh when you suck."
Caleb knew as well as Sam that Dean never said no to a dare, especially one where he was insulted. "Me? Suck? I don't think so." Dean walked away from them to the opening in the fence. "Do you have some equipment for me to borrow?"
They watched as Dean was patted on the back and warmly welcomed by his new teammates. They gave him a glove, a baseball hat, and sent him to the outfield.
"I'd forgotten this," Sam commented as they walked to the benches.
Before, Caleb had wanted to keep what had happened to Dean while Sam was away a secret — all of it, even the good times. However, since Dean's kidnapping by Rose, it had become easier to let a lot of those secrets go. "I think I did, too, for a while, but then when you were at school, we went on a hunt and had a chance to stop at the batting cages." He recalled how Dean had helped the kids with their stances. "You should do that sometime, just the two of you."
Sam shook his head. "I suck at baseball."
"It's okay." Caleb elbowed the younger hunter. "I'm sure he'll help you. Plus it's good for eye/hand coordination."
"Everything a training exercise, Knight Caleb? Dad would be so proud." Sam rubbed the spot on his side where Caleb had made contact.
Maybe it was this place, or watching Dean play baseball, but Caleb's mind produced a picture of Jim, Mac, and John at the pastor's kitchen table having an easygoing conversation. "They were good together, you know, as The Triad." He didn't have to explain the nonsequitor to Sam.
"Mac thinks we'll be better since we were brought up the traditional way."
"There's nothing traditional about us." He was tainted by demon blood; Sam, a few years ago, had packed it in; and their Guardian had a death wish. "What do you think?" Caleb didn't want to push Sam, but knew he was hiding something. He hoped it wasn't something that could hurt Dean or hurt them finding a solution, and eventually Sam would tell them what was bothering him. He always did.
"I'm taking the wait-and-see approach. We have some big shoes to fill."
Caleb assumed Sam had it easy; Mac was still around and would be if he had any say in the matter, but Mackland Ames was a larger than life figure, too. Even having the man for a father didn't take away all the mystique. Caleb and Dean had to live up to ghostly enigmas, so it seemed as though they were all in the same situation.
"So you finally caught up with the gypsies?" Sam changed the topic of conversation, either because it was getting too close to his secret or being the next Scholar was overwhelming. Caleb didn't know and knew enough not to ask.
"Yeah, we could learn a lot about subterfuge from them." They were not a cult, which is why his usual contacts failed him. He'd made contact through Esme. Joshua would have asked too many questions. It was hard to talk to Joshua these days between his work at the PR firm, The Brotherhood, and then coven meetings, plus Caleb's overwhelming guilt at having caused the mess. He still had to make arrangements with Drew to take him out to lunch, as much as he wanted to shirk his promise.
"I think it looks good. Do you think it does? I mean, it is out of The Brotherhood stuff. Bobby and Mac have been working on that angle and haven't come up with anything."
Caleb recognized the excited hopefulness he had, too, when he had come across a few Romany legends. "I don't want to jinx it, but hey, maybe we're on a roll — good movie, good eats, a little baseball. And besides, karma owes us."
"We're past due for a miracle."
When was the last time they had had a miracle? Presently, all that came to mind was John's deal for Dean, and that wasn't a miracle. A miracle wouldn't need a sacrifice, just some faith. Caleb had faith. "Long past due."
(((((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))
Dean was exhilarated by the baseball game, playing the remaining seven innings for hours, wondering if the other players were stretching the game because of him. They let him keep the hat from the Brooklyn Dodgers, which Caleb kept flicking off his head.
When they arrived at the motel, Clara popped her head from the hotel lobby. "Hi, Sam. Did you have a nice night?"
Sam looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. "Great. The food was great." Then the corners of his mouth turned up as he bobbed his head. Dean couldn't resist, and slapped the back of his brother's head.
Clara must have seen the action because she put a hand over her mouth before letting it drop. "Great! Bye!"
"That was—" Caleb started. They were all watching Clara sashay into the motel office, showing off her toned legs.
"Great?" Dean suggested, picking his brother's stagnant word, which caused Caleb to laugh in earnest.
"Shut up." Sam walked ahead of them.
Caleb and Dean ran up to him. "Ask the girl out," Caleb said, giving Sam's shoulder a push.
"No." Sam fumbled for the room key.
Dean easily found his and put the key in the lock. "Why not?" He knew a part of Sam would always grieve for Jessica, but he hoped that his brother would, if not emulate him, try to find some female companionship a little more often.
"Every time I get close to someone, it doesn't work out and then we leave. That doesn't work with me." Sam sat down on the bed.
Dean was dumbfounded, never realizing the toll their lifestyle growing up had taken on his brother, how it had affected him bonding to others. "Why don't you do what I do: be honest, let her decide?"
"You're honest?" Caleb snickered, leaning against the desk in the room. "I've heard the load of bull you feed to women, Deuce."
"Not in words—in actions. They know what they are getting into and they like it." Girls understood one night stands and weekend hookups just as much as any guy, especially the types he met at bars.
"Sam, take the girl on a date to wherever they go in Mayberry," Caleb advised.
Dean couldn't remember the last time he had been on a formal date, probably during the time without Sam when he was with Cassie. He assumed Caleb was referencing his own time at college, and Dean was happy they shared that in common.
"But we're only here for a week tops, then after. . ." Sam waved his hand in the air.
"There's an after," Caleb said emphatically, always the optimist.
It was Dean who had the shaky future, who was trying to ensure his brother had a future. He was at least optimistic about that, too. He wanted them both to stop spending so much time on planning for the future and concentrate on the here and now. "Cowboy up." Dean walked over and pulled his brother to standing. "Girl meets Boy. Girl and Boy have sex. You know how it goes."
Caleb added a push towards the door.
Sam stayed his ground and glared at them. "You two aren't going to let up, are you?"
Dean looked at Caleb for confirmation. "No, not really."
Sam sighed loudly; maybe it was more a frustrated groan. "Fine." He turned and stalked out the door.
"Big brother knows best," Dean said to the closed door, happy he had steered his brother towards Clara.
Caleb crossed his arms. "You don't find it strange that Sammy is getting the girl?"
"We have to throw him a bone every once in awhile."
"True. Think maybe he'll come back with a movie?" Caleb pointed at the large VCR set under the television.
Dean knew how the scenario would play out. "Probably. He'll go in, kinda stutter, pretend the real reason he's there is to pick up a movie. If we are lucky, then no hamster."
Caleb barked a snort of laughter. "She'll make some moves on him," Caleb added in, whether by knowing Sam or reading the girl, Dean didn't know, but it was an accurate assessment.
"Then he'll ask her out." Dean could picture his brother's sheepish posture.
"How long?" Caleb tapped his watch.
"An hour, because then he's going talk to her about some stupid shit." It may be music, or books, or at a long shot, Die Hard.
"I'll take an hour and a half."
"Deal." Dean put his hand out to Caleb who bounced his fist against it.
They played cards half-heartedly while waiting, accusations of cheating ranging from mind reading to counting cards made their game turn into an arm wrestling match. After an hour Caleb was smug, believing he was going to win the bet, but Sam sauntered in at an hour and fifteen minutes. "No go." Dean sliced his hands through the air.
"Damn."
Sam put the two black cases on the television, ignoring the exchange between the best friends. "They had two Chuck Norris movies."
Dean idolized Chuck, but wanted to know what happened. "So?"
"Tomorrow night."
"Excellent."
(((((((((((())))))))))))))
The next morning Dean languished in bed, figuring either Caleb or Sam would get some coffee, breakfast, or both and bring it into the room. However, it seemed as though each depended on the others because Dean was awakened not by the smell of fresh coffee, but by the sound of a toilet flushing followed by the shower in Caleb's room.
Dean scratched his head, tufting up his hair as he sat up in bed. Sam came out, toothbrush in his mouth. Dean tilted his head to read the t-shirt he didn't recognize. "I own Blackacre."
Sam popped the toothbrush out of his mouth and tugged on the shirt. "I bought it at that second hand store . . . I thought it was funny."
He couldn't recall which store they had stopped at recently. They tended not to buy much new except underwear and t-shirts. "I don't get it."
"Blackacre is a legal example about property. They use it in hypos." Sam used his finger to underline the words.
Dean nodded, not really caring about what Blackacre signified; it was obviously something geek-related. "So you still think about going back?"
Sam quickly looked away with a shrug. "It's just a t-shirt," he added before returning to the bathroom.
"Alrighty." Dean set his feet on the floor.
Caleb came out with a towel wrapped around his waist, peeking his head through the adjoining door as Sam exited to the bathroom once more. He dropped his toothbrush into his bag and swung back out again. With a jaunty wave to Caleb along the way, Sam announced that he was going to get some coffee and left the room.
"Did I miss something?" Caleb was looking between the closed door and Dean.
"Promise me you'll make sure he goes back to school?" Dean said while he went through his bag looking for clean clothes.
Caleb put a hand on his bicep. "You'll be able to do that yourself."
Dean didn't want to leave anything up to chance, just in case, and shook off the arm. "I know he's jealous of Elijah. He's legit, going for a PhD or whatever, but it's respectable like you and Mac."
"He respects you." Caleb held on to the towel around his waist.
"Don't know about that," Dean answered as he entered the bathroom, shutting the door on any further dialogue with Caleb and his inevitable listing of all his good qualities. He was good at hunting, and other things, but he didn't have a college education with fancy initials after his name. For guys like Caleb and Sam, that piece of paper was important.
When he came out of the shower, wet hair curling along his nape and shirt damp from the quick dry, he found the smell of coffee and crullers along with an excited Sam. He was animatedly talking to Caleb.
"You won't believe what I just saw!"
"What?" Dean questioned his brother while reaching for a cup of coffee. He took the lid off, tossing it on the table.
"He saw break dancers. Like 'Stop! Hammertime'." Caleb stood, crouched, then shuffled across his feet back and forth.
Dean put his hands out to stop Caleb's antics, splashing the coffee over his hand. "You're scaring me."
Caleb squared his shoulders. "Ah, yeah, sorry."
"Yeah, you should be. I think I'm scarred for life. Jeezus, 1980s calling, MC?" Dean took a sip of coffee, embracing the brew and the caffeine jolt.
"Hey, hey, you don't see me putting the Eagles down."
"That's right—" Dean really couldn't argue. His music was sacred to him, and classic rock didn't need to be defended. The Eagles were all solid musicians (even if they did only get together now when one of them was broke enough to get over himself and tour again) when the same couldn't be said about bat boy MC Hammer.
Caleb took a seat on one of the beds. Sam had a habit of pulling the coverlet back over the bed, even though they were only temporary living quarters. "So Sam, you said you talked to Walter?"
Sam eyed his brother, and Dean gave him a nod to continue while he took a bite of a cruller.
"Ahh, he said we can head over to the house. Mr. Francis is waiting for us."
Dean took another bite and wiped his hands on his jeans. "I'm ready to go."
They headed out the door, the Impala keys so tight in Dean's hand that he almost dropped them when Clara popped out at them. "Sam! See ya tonight."
"You're going to be getting some tonight," Dean sing-songed, reaching out to slap his brother's back.
"We agreed not to talk about it." Sam shrugged his shoulders so that Dean would drop his hand.
"We did?" Caleb added with a smirk, signaling that Sam was going to be crucified during the drive over to the house. He was lucky it was a short drive. The youngest Winchester was the first one out of the car, barely waiting for it to stop.
The house was ornate in its outside decor. Caleb was rattling off names of architectural stuff. Dean and Sam looked for any markings, as in Connecticut, but found none. The EMF from outside was pulling in a low hum, and there were no easy answers waiting for them. "There's something."
The door opened, and a man in a pin striped suit stepped out. He was thin, average height, with his dark hair slicked back and parted on the side. He had a skinny mustache and kept fidgeting with the corners of his mouth. "Are you the folks Walter put in a good word for?
"Are you Mr. Francis?" Dean answered the question with the question, wondering if they would ever know the man's first name. However, he looked like a man who was supposed to be referred to formally.
"Spot on." The man walked down the stairs, hand extended. They made their introductions with Sam relaying they were amateur ghost hunters and that was why they were interested in the house.
Dean licked his lips as he entered the house, directly following Mr. Francis. "We had friends that were here a long time ago. One guy was a little gruff, longish hair wearing a cap while the other was thinner, taller, gray hair, and a mustache? They were ghost hobbyists, too. Do you remember them at all?" He wanted to know about the connection. He couldn't disguise that it was one of the reasons he wanted to come, to hear about Jim.
"They sound familiar, but they probably spoke to my mother."
"Can I speak with her?" Dean said while he was looking around the entryway of the home. This was still an active haunting, and he needed to be aware as much as Caleb and Sam.
Mr. Francis's reply was interrupted by singing coming from the staircase: "Some enchanted evening, when I find my true love. . ."
"Isn't she the cat's meow?" Mr. Francis smiled and gave a lustful growl as a curvaceous woman dressed in a flesh colored, wispy gown melodramatically came down the stairs singing until her hands flayed out at the same time the EMF detector spiked.
Caleb raced forward, stopping the woman from tumbling completely down the stairs. Dean saw the woman's arms go around Caleb's neck, forcing him to have to carry her down the remaining steps, her high-heeled shoes peeking from the hem of the gown.
"Gwendolyn, are you okay?" Mr. Francis came forward, reaching out to the woman.
She didn't address Mr. Francis; she brought her hand and laid it against Caleb's cheek. "You're a big, strong, man."
Caleb put a starry-eyed Gwendolyn down. "Just glad I could be there to help."
"Sweeting, maybe you should rest . . ." Mr. Francis took Gwendolyn's hand within his, placing his other on top to show they were connected.
Dean raised his brow at Caleb. Mr. Francis was obviously jealous.
Gwendolyn shed the hand with a flick of the wrist. "No, the party's over, Melvin. I'm tired of being in the hot seat."
"But, Doodlebug!"
"She has you over a barrel, and as these boys will tell you . . .nice guys finish last." Gwendolyn gave them a sexy smile, and Dean replied in kind until Sam elbowed him in the ribs. Then they all had the good sense to look down, but Dean knew that bad boys did better. He was living proof that a woman wanted a man with some edge.
She squared her shoulders until her gown swept back as she waved her fingers at Mr. Francis. "This is strictly for the birds. Bye."
Mr. Francis ran after her, only to be stopped by the door slamming shut on him. He pounded on it, howled, and then collapsed on the ground.
"You are not allowed to pick the next gig, that's all I'm sayin'," Caleb whispered in his ear.
Dean swatted at him before pushing his brother forward to try to console Melvin. Sam resisted, mouthing, 'What? Stop it!' However, in the end he placed an arm around the loudly crying man's shoulder. "I'm sorry. We can leave. . . "
Mr. Francis took in a loud snort of air, he shuddered, then stood. Sam backed away near Dean. "No! I mean, I want to give you the tour if she will allow it."
"You know who's doing this?" Caleb asked, glancing from Dean to Sam to Mr. Francis.
"She's my mother, and it really is time for her to go," he said in a whisper. "Gwendolyn was my bunny. . ." He placed his hand on the door. "Why me?"
"So how do you know it is your mother?" Sam frowned.
Mr. Francis looked taken aback. He smoothed down the edges of his mustache. "She died recently."
Dean was wondering about the hunt Pastor Jim and Bobby had been on all those years ago. "Remember those friends I told you about? They said they investigated a haunting; so who was it then?"
"Probably nothing, then, but now it is different. This is an old house. We say it's haunted for the tourists, and they fall over themselves. It brought you boys here." He led them into the first room to the right.
"But this time it is something?" Caleb asked as they found themselves in a room where the dark wood of the floor was emphasized by the dark woodworking. The walls had a riotous blue floral pattern. The furniture looked fragile on mostly spindly legs.
"Yes." Mr. Francis nodded. "By my mother, and she's making me bonkers."
Dean wanted to question his sanity but didn't get the opportunity as the EMF spiked before the rattling sound. They stood back to back in the center of the room, looking to find where the noise came from. Dean saw the curio cabinet, the glass shelves, and glass in the door shaking.
"You're only hurting yourself. That is your collection of thimbles," Mr. Francis called out.
The glass stilled; one thimble with a red bird tumbled to the side, beckoning to be straightened.
"I hope you're not scared, because this is par the course." Mr. Francis straightened the lapels of his suit.
"No, we're not scared. I think we want to see the rest of the house," Sam replied.
"We really get into this," Dean added with exaggeratedly huge eyes and nods, following his brother's bad acting skills.
"Yeah, exciting." Caleb deadpanned. "I think we should get our weapons," he whispered into Dean's ear.
Dean shook his head, keeping an eye on his brother while he was speaking to Mr. Francis. "We're supposed to pretend we're friendly ghost enthusiasts into this shit." Dean got frustrated with this part of the job. He liked going in with a fake ID, looking around, and leaving to come back later to finish the job.
"I can do friendly."
It was a feral smile. "Not so much." Dean pushed Caleb forward towards Sam and their tour guide.
"That's Mother and Father when they were young."
It was a black and white smile-less picture, and somehow the shadows still made them look young. It was strange to see the picture, not know the people, and realize they lived a life, got old, and died. "See, Sammy, that's what happens to people who don't get enough sex. It wipes the smile right off your face."
Sam didn't reply, which was unfortunate, but Dean was planting the seed for his date that evening. His brother needed to loosen up around women — and people in general, but mostly women.
"Or go out with loose women," Caleb said with a smile.
Dean rolled his eyes at the fact that his friend had read his thoughts. Of course sometimes it was more that Caleb knew him so well, so mind reading wasn't necessary.
"She was a good mother, but now. . . " Mr. Francis explained before continuing on with the tour, missing the banter going on behind him.
Mr. Francis's comments about his mother irritated Dean. He held his mother sacred, above others, and wished he had had more time with her. Here was this man, who had spent the better part of forty years having his mother in his life, and he was mad at her because she was haunting him? For Dean, that was beyond disrespectful. Granted, his mother had saved him and Sam back at the old house, while Mr. Francis's mother had just chased out the guy's girlfriend. Either way, the talk was getting a little irritating.
Melvin — poor Melvin, what a name to never be able to live up to — showed them the first bedroom, which he labeled the spare. It was better than the motels they stayed in — spacious in size with a king sized bed taking up a fraction of the room. They walked down the hallway as a red oriental rug covered the area to lead the way.
"My room," Mr. Francis announced. It was again large sized; the wall paper was also floral, but muted cream and tan. There was a mirrored chest, opened with gowns hanging inside. That wasn't the only evidence that Gwendolyn was also using the room. Toiletries were floating in the air in a slow circle going round and round. Mr. Francis reached out to pluck one of the items from the air. "Mother, I understand X marks the spot. . ."
"No, wait — " Caleb tried to stop him from touching the gentle parade of brush, mirror, and makeup items. John had always said not to disturb patterns made by ghosts—the poltergeists were amusing themselves, and that was when a hunter could go about their business and get the job done. But Caleb didn't stop Mr. Francis in time. The items began to pick up speed, winding up and pulling in an ashtray, statues, and jewelry from around the bedroom like a centrifuge.
"Loocy, you got some 'splanin to do," Dean said as suddenly.
The innocuous was becoming deadly. Dean and Sam crouched down to avoid the long necklace which had become a whip slashing through the air. Mr. Francis had been tackled by Caleb, who kept a hand on the man's head, forcing him to keep it down.
"Move!" Dean ordered, pushing his brother as they frog walked to the door. Caleb was ahead, assisting Mr. Francis. Dean kept his eyes forward on Sam and Caleb, not looking back as the open door was in close proximity, pinned against the wall by the wind. He had almost reached the threshold when he felt something hit the back of his head, pushing him forward and then into darkness.