An Old Haunt for a New Hunt
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Thank you, Jubilea for the beta work!
"The worst guilt is to accept an unearned guilt." Ayn, Rand
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Dean paced the small room. Despite his lack of sleep, he was restless, and his mind was whirling. With a sigh, Dean flopped onto the Murphy bed, and was immediately folded up into the mattress like a taco. "Great, just great," Dean muttered and squirmed to lie diagonally on the bed to keep the mattress flat. "It's been one hell of a night."
Sam's light, congested snoring and the rhythmic whirring of the fan were the only response.
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Sam awoke as sunlight filtered through the flimsy, sheer curtain covering the dirty hotel windows. Without sitting up, he looked around for Dean. There was no sign of his brother, and in fact, there wasn't even another bed in the room. He was lying in the middle of the bed, so he knew Dean could not have shared a bed with him. At least, he was pretty sure. Whatever pills Dean had given him last night left him feeling fuzzy, with a cottony, dry sensation in his throat.
Sam ground his elbows into the mattress, and tried to push himself off the bed. 'Okay, that hurts!' he thought. 'I need a new plan.' Rolling to his good side, Sam allowed his long legs to fall off the bed. With his feet as a weight, he hardly had to push off the bed at all to end up in a sitting position. Wrapping his left arm around his ribs in protection, Sam staggered to the bathroom.
While Sam was waiting for the shower water to heat up, he noticed four pills sitting on the counter, with a note from Dean that read simply, "Sam, take these. I mean it." Sam shook his head amused by the note, but he obediently swallowed the pills.
It took Sam several minutes of slow, laborious work to get undressed. He stepped into the shower, and allowed the hot water to pound against his sore back muscles. Wincing when the spray hit his ribs, Sam looked down at his chest for the first time. Angry red, dark purple and black bruises littered his chest and side. He knew if Dean saw the bruises, he was in for a fresh round of hovering from his brother. Dean was nothing, if not consistent in his reactions to Sam.
After several minutes under the warm spray, hair washed, clean-shaven, Sam stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Sighing, he realized he had neglected to bring in fresh clothes. He opened the bathroom door, and was surprised to run smack into Dean who was obviously just returning from wherever he had been.
"You're up," Dean stated in obvious surprise. "I figured I'd be back before…" Dean's voice trailed off as he caught sight of the bruises.
"It's not as bad as it looks," Sam said quickly.
"Really, Sam?" Dean replied sarcastically. "Because it looks like you got the crap beat out of you with a bat."
"Huh," Sam responded with a note of returned sarcasm. He scanned the room for his duffel. "I guess it is as bad as it looks."
"Funny, you're a funny guy," Dean said. "What're you looking for?"
"My duffel bag," Sam replied distractedly. Spying the duffel bag, Sam reached for the handle to pull it onto the bed. Dean beat him to it, and swung the duffel onto the bed for Sam in one easy motion. "Thanks," Sam murmured. He was right; the hovering was in full swing. "Where are we anyway?"
"We crossed the river into Morehead," Dean answered sitting down in the one chair in the room. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. You were pretty out of it."
"Ugh, those pills really knocked me for a loop," Sam agreed. "How far are we from Elbow Lake?"
"About forty-five minutes," Dean replied. "Feel up to a little breakfast?"
"Sure," Sam said gathering his clothes and heading back to the bathroom to get dressed. "I'll be out in just a couple of minutes."
As it turned out, it was more like fifteen minutes, and Sam was glad he'd taken the pain pills Dean had left for him that morning. He was stiff and sore, and moving his arms over his head to put on his t-shirt had taken three tries. He emerged from the bathroom oddly relieved to see Dean had already taken their bags to the car.
"Ready to go?" Dean asked without looking in Sam's direction. He was sitting on the edge of the bed watching of all things, the weather channel.
"Yeah," Sam replied. He wrinkled his brow, and blinked his eyes a couple of times in confusion. He could not remember Dean watching the weather channel before. His curiosity finally getting the better of him, he asked, "What's up with the weather channel?"
"It's the only channel we get," Dean confessed. He gave Sam an appraising look, trying to gauge how fit he was for another hour in the car until they reached their destination. Deciding Sam was up to snuff, he stood up, and handed Sam his jacket. "Let's go," he said simply and proceeded out the door.
Sam let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. He knew Dean was judging him, and he had measured up to par, at least for breakfast. He followed Dean out to the car, carefully avoiding the largest puddles of slush on the sidewalk.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, and soon the brothers found themselves back on the open road. They drove along in silence for several miles. Sam was tapping his thumb on the door. Dean knew that meant his brother was mulling over information in his head. Unlike himself, Sam could be still. He could work for hours doing research, hunched over dusty books, or the laptop until he had answers. But, when he was frustrated, or the answers were just out of reach, the nervous energy would manifest itself with finger tapping, or leg jitters. He wondered if Sam was even aware of the behavior.
"What's up, Sam?" Dean asked turning down the radio.
"Huh, oh nothing, it's stupid because it doesn't really matter," Sam replied focusing his gaze on the passing winter dead wheat fields.
"It is important enough that it is distracting you from keeping your head in the game," Dean countered.
Sam's head snapped up at that remark, and he threw Dean a guilty look. Sometimes his brother's ability to read him went beyond the uncanny. "It really isn't a big deal, Dean. Because, I wouldn't mind, well, I mean it would be okay if…shit," Sam fumbled turning his head back towards the window.
"Well, that clears that right up," Dean responded sardonically.
"Where'dyousleeplastnight?" Sam spit out.
The corner of Dean's lip moved into the lopsided grin he often sported when baiting his brother. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that," Dean lied.
"Where did you sleep last night?" Sam asked carefully enunciating every word.
"You woke up in the same room we stayed in," Dean teased. "It only had one bed, how hard can it be to figure out?"
"I don't remember anything after I fell asleep in the car," Sam admitted.
"Ah well, that's probably a good thing, Sammy. You were pretty out of it," Dean could barely keep the grin out of his voice. "You kept asking for WooBee, and snuggling up next to me."
At Sam's horrified look, Dean laughed and let his brother off the hook. "Or, the other bed folded out from the closet, take your pick."
Sam walked through the door his brother had graciously left open for him and quipped, "So what you're telling me is this morning you finally decided to come out of the closet."
"You're gonna pay for that one," Dean muttered. Sam laughed until it caused him to have a minor coughing fit. He wrapped his left arm protectively around his ribs, and fought to breathe against the pain.
"I'm okay," he managed to gasp.
"Serves you right, you know," Dean replied with mock venom. "Instant karma for being an ass."
Sam chuckled lightly and groaned, "Don't make me laugh."
"There once was a man from Venus," Dean started.
"Dude, that isn't even funny," Sam replied.
"Sure it is," Dean replied.
"No, no it isn't," Sam disagreed. "So, we really haven't talked about the case at all," he added hoping to distract Dean from vulgar limericks.
"We were kind of side-tracked by the baddies in the alley," Dean said. "Fill me in."
"I really haven't had a chance to research it much yet," Sam answered. "I only found it shortly before we left the bar." At Dean's nod, and hand-rolling to continue Sam added, "Five years ago, Diane Schneeberger fell through the ice, and drowned in Pomme de Terre Lake. Every year since then three people died in a similar fashion, falling through thin spring ice and drowning."
"Any connection?" Dean asked not taking his eyes from the road.
"Not that I was able to glean from the obits," Sam said. "No relation, different ages, different occupations, one was even from out of state."
"So, you're thinking Diane's spirit is causing the deaths?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," Sam replied. "A straight-forward salt and burn."
"Sounds perfect," Dean replied turning up the radio, and tapping out the beat on the steering wheel.
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Dean pulled the Impala to a stop outside the four room motel in Elbow Lake. He walked into the motel office, and asked, "Are any of your rooms available?"
The woman behind the desk was in her late forties with bright, red-from-the-bottle, hair. "They're all available, and they all have two queen beds, basic cable, and complimentary coffee," she answered with a diluted-Scandinavian Minnesota accent.
When she made no move to ask him if he wanted a room Dean asked, "Can I check in? I'd like the room on the end."
"Yeah, you betcha," she replied. "Sorry, about that. I'm watching a rerun of 'Simon & Simon,' and I love this episode. Here you go, here's the key. Come back to pay if you like the room, and decide to stay."
"Okay, sure," Dean replied slowly, taken aback by the low-key behavior of the clerk. Somehow he had forgotten how trusting and laid-back small towns in the rural Midwest were. He was not sure how it was even possible for him to forget considering all the time they had spent at Pastor Jim's. "Oh, one more thing, do you have Internet access here?"
The woman looked up from her small television and laughed at Dean. "Son, this is a small town. We don't have anything like that here. You could try Fergus or Alexandria. In fact, I think Alexandria does have a bookstore with Internet access."
Dean sighed. "What about a library?" he asked inwardly cringing.
"That we do have," the lady replied with a smile. "It's on Main Street, and it's open Monday through Friday from eight to five."
"Thanks," Dean replied. The bell on the door jangled when Dean beat a hasty exit.
Dean carried their bags into the hotel, only allowing Sam to carry the laptop bag. He knew he was coming dangerously close to pissing Sam off, but frankly, he did not care. Taking care of Sam was not just what he did, it was an integral piece of who he was. He could not change that part of him even if he wanted to, and he didn't. "Why don't you rest here for awhile, and I'll go scout out the town? See if there is a library, a diner, you know, the essentials," Dean suggested.
"Dean, I'm not a child. I don't need a nap, and I don't need to be coddled. I'll go with you," Sam snapped.
"And yet, you managed to sound like a cranky three-year-old, Sammy," Dean smirked. "I'm following doctor's orders. He told you to take it easy. So, take your medicine, and rest for awhile. I don't care if you sleep or not, just rest." He tossed Sam's white paper bag from the pharmacy to him, and went to fill one of the disposable motel cups with water.
Sam sighed, and sat down on the bed. He was not sure this was a battle worth fighting especially as he seemed doomed to lose from the get go. He sighed again. If Dean had his mind set on him resting, there would be no changing his mind without an argument. The Winchester stubborn streak was a mile wide, and just as deep. When a small disposable cup was thrust in his face, Sam looked up at Dean.
"Just take the pills, and get some rest, Sam," Dean said in a softer, less bossy big brother tone, the one that would get him further with Sam than any other. To cement the deal, Dean pulled out his trump card. "Please?"
Sam's face softened, and he nodded in concession. "Just don't go out to the lake by yourself," Sam requested measuring out the four pills, and swallowing them at all at once. He knew Dean liked to visit the site of the activity as soon as possible, but he did not want Dean there without him to watch his back.
"Yeah, okay," Dean capitulated easily, too easily.
"Promise?" Sam asked mustering up his best version of the puppy dog eyes he knew would get him the extra cookie from Dean every time.
Dean sighed loudly and said, "Alright, I promise. I'll see you in a couple of hours." He waited until Sam slowly swung his legs on the bed, and lay back against the pillows.
"I'll be here," Sam replied closing his eyes. He was more tired than he thought. His chest felt a little tight, and he could definitely feel pressure building up in his sinuses. He heard the door close when Dean left the room. Within minutes, he succumbed to the call of slumber.
Dean stopped at the office to pay for a week's rental on the room, and headed out to find the library. He figured he may as well try his hand at finding the newspaper articles from the drowning incidents.
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Dean's stomach rumbled and he tossed aside the paper he had been reading with a disgusted flick of his wrist. Over an hour of research had turned up nothing more than what Sam had found at the bar. There did not seem to be any pattern to the deaths. They were young and old, male and female, and from all different occupations. They were not related in any way that Dean could see. The only thing he had discovered, was most of the deaths occurred after the ice started to melt, but before the spring equinox. It was roughly the same time of year Diane had drowned so that, in itself, was not unusual.
Dean folded the papers neatly, and stacked them in order. He grabbed the entire stack, and walked them back up to the librarian.
"I hope you found what you were looking for," the elderly librarian said with a kind smile.
"Thank you, ma'am," Dean replied. "I don't suppose you know where I could pick up some take-out? My brother is sick at the motel, and I don't want to drag him out if I can avoid it."
"Stop over at the Home20 across the street. They serve tasty, home-cooked meals. I'm sure you can find something over there that will be nutritious," the librarian supplied. "And, Edna makes a scrumptious strawberry-rhubarb pie. It isn't exactly in season right now, but she usually has enough canned to make a pie every day. Try to get a piece of it, it is worth it."
"Thanks," Dean said with a slight tilt of his head. "I appreciate it."
Edna had insisted that Dean take not only several more dishes of food than he and Sam could possibly eat, but also threw in two pieces of the legendary strawberry-rhubarb pie. Of course, along with the small town hospitality came small town timing, and Dean figured he had spent over an hour waiting inside the restaurant for his to-go order.
"Uh, Ms. Westrom," Dean started when Edna walked by.
"Edna," she interrupted.
"Edna," Dean corrected. "I hate to bother you, but do you know how much longer it will be? I hate to leave Sam for too long." It was only half a lie, Dean was itching to go check out the lake, but he did want to check on Sam. After all this time, he would be lucky if Sam had not decided to walk around town looking for him.
"I'll be boxing it up within five minutes," she reassured him.
Dean sighed. Edna had told him five minutes every time he had asked so far. "Say, I overheard two people talking earlier about the drownings that have occurred around here. What is that all about?"
"It is about tragedy," Edna replied with a frown. "I suggest you don't go around asking folks about it. It is a small town, everybody knows everybody. A death doesn't happen without it affecting almost everyone."
"Sorry, I didn't mean," Dean started.
"No, I know you didn't," Edna interrupted again. "Wait here and I'll see if your supper is ready to be boxed up yet."
Luck was with Dean this time, and when Edna returned several minutes later, she was carrying two plastic bags filled with to-go boxes of food. "Here you go, Dean," she said with a smile. "You take care of that brother of yours."
"I always do," Dean replied flashing a return smile. "Thanks."
"Yep," Edna replied simply and turned to head back into the kitchen.
Dean managed to get all of the food back to the motel without spilling anything in his car. Feeling pleased with himself for the small battle won, he opened the door to the motel room surprised to find Sam was asleep. 'That's two for me,' Dean thought. 'Things are looking up.'
Dean set out the food, and soon the room was permeated with the smell of chicken soup, biscuits and hot coffee. For a few minutes now, Sam had been showing signs of waking, and by the time Dean had finished he turned around to find Sam sitting up in bed blinking owlishly at him.
"S'time izzit?" Sam asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I think I fell asleep."
Dean raised an eyebrow and responded, "Come on over and eat, Sam," he replied. "We have just enough for a quick bite, and a trip to the lake before it gets dark."
"Yeah, okay," Sam answered. He stood up and slowly made his way over to the table. Not only were his ribs sore, but also his muscles felt achy. Gingerly lowering himself into the chair, he growled, "What's so funny?"
"You're walking like an eighty-year-old man," Dean chuckled lightly. His voice turned serious and he asked, "I suppose you're going to tell me you're fine, and you are still coming with me to the lake?"
"Got it in one," Sam replied snagging a biscuit. "Find out anything about the drowning accidents?"
"Not that we didn't already know," Dean admitted. "Other than they all seem to happen within a five week period ending with the spring equinox."
Sam took a bite of chicken soup, and replied. "Isn't that about the time Diane died?"
"Sure is," Dean replied. "I think things are shaping up for our angry spirit angle."
"It's about time we had an easy one," Sam agreed.
"Famous last words, Sam," Dean cautioned with a note of humor in his voice.
"Hey, I like to live dangerously and tempt fate," Sam replied. There was a small pause before Sam pointed his soupspoon at Dean and said with a grin, "Wait, no, that's you."
"I don't know how you became such a smart ass," Dean grumbled taking a bite of soup.
"It's a mystery," Sam replied sarcastically.
Sam and Dean arrived at Pomme de Terre Lake as the sun was dipping close to the horizon. They would have to make this trip quick, as it would be dark in about an hour. "Whatever happens, stay away from the water, Grace," Dean cautioned. "I don't want to have to fish your butt out of lake."
"Ha, ha," Sam replied. "Hey, there's someone out on the dock."
Dean raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. There was a woman standing out on the dock, her loose shirt and her long blonde hair blowing in the cold breeze. She was not wearing a coat, and was hugging herself to stay warm. "Stay here," he barked at Sam and ran for the dock. He was not sure if anything was wrong, but he was not sure it was completely safe either. Diane's spirit could appear at any time, and the woman was standing way too close to the end of the dock.
"Hey!" Dean shouted as he approached the woman from behind. "You shouldn't be out here without a coat." He noticed the hem of her skirt was wet and dripping onto the dock. "You're wet. We should get you out of here." The woman turned towards Dean and disappeared.
Sam shouted out to his brother as the woman reappeared and pushed Dean from behind. As quickly as she appeared, the woman disappeared again. Dean teetered for a moment, and almost regained his balance, when he was suddenly jerked forward into the icy depths of the lake.
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AN: Ridley C James is ONE of the excellent writers in this fandom. The reference to Sam's WooBee was from one of her Weechester fics.
Here's an official shout out to all the great authors in the forum. Take a bow.