An Old Haunt for a New Hunt
Disclaimer: Not my action figures, but alas, the boxes have been opened.
Thank you, as always, to my most fabulous beta, the delightful Jubilea.
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Sam's mind traveled back to thoughts of Dean at the lake today without him. His anger started to burn anew until he saw the look on Dean's face. "Dean?" he asked softly.
"I was just talking to Patty this afternoon," Dean replied quietly. He looked up at Sam and said forcefully, "We have to end this thing, one way or the other."
"We will," Sam reassured Dean. He slid to the edge of the bench, placed one hand on the table, and one on the back of the seat, and slowly stood up. "Let's go."
Dean nodded, grabbed his leather jacket, and tossed twenty-five dollars on the table. The two Winchesters walked out to the Impala, and drove off towards the hospital.
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Dean strode purposefully into the hospital emergency entrance, and scanned quickly for any sign of Patty, keeping Sam in his peripheral vision at all times. He spotted her quickly in the small waiting area. Dean was aware of the activity in the trauma room, but headed straight for Patty. He noticed Sam was no longer following behind him, and he turned to search for him.
Sam was standing at the window to the trauma room. He was simply staring at the activity encased within the small room, and Dean hoped Sam would snap out of it soon, and join him. Dean sat down next to Patty and her three children. He sat on Patty's right-hand side so he could still see Sam. "Patty, I'm really sorry to hear about your mother," Dean said.
Patty looked up, and over at Dean with a tear-streaked face. "I'm sorry, I don't want to talk to the papers right now," she said with a genuine tone of apology lacing her words. She was holding her small boy, who was staring at Dean with wide eyes.
"I'm not here as a reporter," Dean reassured her. "I'm here as someone who wants to help." He leaned forward towards her, and asked softly, "What happened tonight, Patty?"
Patty sniffled loudly, and gently pushed her son off her lap. "Go sit with your sisters, Jeffy," she said giving him a pat on the rear to get him moving. She turned back towards Dean and said, "My mother has been sick. She's old, confused at times." Patty laughed a little through her nose and continued, "She has a quirky sense of humor, and she has – had an infectious laugh." Patty paused in her story, and gave Dean a hard look. "You really aren't doing a story, right?"
"No," Dean replied his voice husky. "I know what it is like to lose a parent. Please, Patty, I really want to help."
Patty pulled out her hair clip, and ran her fingers through her blonde hair. She twisted a strand around her finger, in the same nervous habit Dean had observed earlier that afternoon, at her home. "Mom said she heard a loon crying. I, I didn't think anything of it," Patty stuttered. "I should have listened to her. I should have checked in with her after supper tonight. She wouldn't have been able to make it all the way down to the lake if I had just checked on her. It is all my fault."
"Hey, listen to me," Dean said, sliding off the chair and crouching down in front of Patty. "This is not your fault. You took care of your mother the best you could."
"She wouldn't blame you," Sam said suddenly appearing at Dean's right elbow. "I'm sure she knows you did your best to take care of her, to keep her safe."
Patty looked up at Sam. "How can you be so sure?" she asked, a hopeful look in her eyes.
Sam returned Patty's gaze, but his words were for his brother. "Because I do," Sam replied simply, his eyes conveying his sincerity and empathy. It seemed to be what Patty needed to hear, and she visibly released some of her anxiety.
"What's going on here?" a man asked from behind Sam.
Dean stood quickly, and was in between Sam and the man before Sam had finished slowly turning around. "We're just talking to Patty," Dean explained quickly. "We heard about her mother, and wanted to see how she was doing."
"Jim, it's alright," Patty explained. "Have you heard anything?"
The look on Jim's face told Dean, Patty was not going to be happy about the news. He took that moment to steer Sam away from the Knutson's and closer to the exit. "Let's go, Sam," Dean commanded. "There's nothing else to learn here."
"Actually, there is," Sam disagreed pulling away from Dean's grasp. He walked towards the trauma window, and Dean followed closely behind. "That lady in there, Patty's mother, that was the lady on the street," Sam said staring at the sheet covered body lying on the gurney. 'It could have been, Dean,' he thought.
"You can't be sure of that, Haley Joel," Dean replied. Dean turned his eyes on Sam to gauge his reaction to this new information. He had not really believed there was a lady in the street; not truly. He had believed it was the medication. However, with the discovery of the woman on the gurney, Dean was willing to entertain the idea. A strange, old woman warning Sam about knocking of all things, he was not sure he believed. A dead woman warning Sam, he could certainly buy into.
"I am sure," Sam insisted, turning his hazel orbs to Dean. "She had the same hair, even the same clothes. I don't get it, Dean, what was she trying to tell me?" Sam looked suddenly very weary, and his eyes conveyed pain.
"Come on," Dean said, grabbing Sam's jacket sleeve. "Let's get going. Dr. Polson wanted to be sure you started your prescriptions tonight. We should get back to the motel."
"When did you talk to Dr. Polson?" Sam asked his brow knitted in confusion. He did not resist Dean's pull towards the door, or out into the parking lot.
"I didn't," Dean admitted. "But he talked to Norlin…"
"Who?" Sam asked stopping by the passenger door.
"Norlin, the pharmacist," Dean explained waiting for Sam to slowly ease into the seat. "And, he told me," Dean finished, closing the door. He walked around the Impala, and took a seat next to Sam.
Sam stared at Dean with an incredulous look. "What?" Dean asked.
"I don't know why it continues to surprise me, but it does," Sam replied with a small frown.
"Well, that's a small town grape-vine for you," Dean replied starting the Impala.
"Not that, well that too, but I meant your ability to distract me, and get me to do what you want me to do," Sam said with a small smile.
Dean had used distraction as a means to get Sam to eat vegetables, to go to sleep, or to wait for their father to return from a hunt since Sam was old enough to start talking back. It was one of the best tools he had in his arsenal against his head-strong little brother. "Why mess with a good thing?" Dean asked.
"One of these days, that won't work anymore," Sam stated.
Sam's voice was strained, and Dean noticed he was breathing shallowly. He twisted in the seat to look his brother in the eyes. "Sam?" he said.
"Hmmm?" Sam replied, looking away from Dean. He knew the direction Dean was headed, and he was hoping to avoid a confrontation. He was tapped out.
"That, apparently awesome, pain medication you had before you left the hospital, it's wearing off, isn't it?" Dean asked. He attempted to catch a glimpse of Sam's face, but Sam studiously avoided Dean's gaze. "Sam?" Dean tried again.
Sam turned towards Dean, his eyes hooded. "I'm…" he started.
"Be honest, Sammy," Dean admonished him.
Sam sighed lightly through his nose, "Yeah," he replied softly. There was a pause before he added, "I'll be okay. It isn't anything I haven't worked through before."
Dean shook his head, and pulled the car out of the parking lot. It was a fair statement; they had both worked through injuries before. It did not make it right, and it certainly did not make it something Dean was willing to put Sam through needlessly. "I don't think so, Sam. As you pointed out, we can't really dig up Diane's grave unless we are absolutely sure. A job, you won't be doing at all, by the way. Research will have to wait until morning, when we can head to Alexandria or Fergus and hook into someone's Internet access. So, unless you can think of another reason to be out and about when you shouldn't be, we're headed back to the motel," Dean stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Sam snapped his jaw closed on his first response to Dean's dictations, and opted for the path of least resistance. "Guess not," he replied simply.
"Good answer," Dean said. He stole a quick glance at Sam. The muscles in his jaw twitched in frustration, as he watched Sam fidgeting in the seat, trying to get comfortable. He hoped that the pain medication Dr. Polson prescribed was stronger than the pills Dr. What's-his-name had prescribed back in North Dakota.
Dean pulled the Impala to a stop outside the motel. In the four short blocks from the hospital to the motel, Dean agonized over every pothole, and every bump. He knew the car ride could not be comfortable, but at least it was over.
Sam managed to open the car door, and swing his long legs out the door before Dean made it around to the passenger side of the car. Dean reached inside the car, and grabbed one of Sam's arms intended to help him stand. "I got it," Sam snapped. He was obviously frustrated with his current situation and in pain, but Dean was not going to let Sam's anger build to the point he would not accept help.
"I know you do," Dean replied ducking slightly to look Sam in the eyes. "But, there's nothing to prove here, Sam. Let me help you." He wrapped his hand around Sam's arm, and bent his knees to help Sam stand. Sam was definitely heavier than his deceptively lean frame would suggest. "Oof, Sam, you're gonna have to lay off the extra-large, chocolate foo-foo coffees. Dude, you're heavy."
Sam puffed a small shot of laughter and retorted, "You're no light-weight yourself, Dean. However, in your case, I think it's all the greasy food you like to eat."
"Hey, it's all muscle," Dean insisted with a grin. He wrapped Sam's arm around his neck, and did not miss the way Sam stiffened next to him. Sam was holding his mid-section, and he seemed unable to straighten up completely.
Dean cursed the medication that had so completely masked Sam's injury for nearly four hours. There was no doubt in Dean's mind they had stayed out too long, and Sam had done too much. It was always easier to keep pain at bay, than it was to put it in its place, unless you had access to strong medication.
Dean shut the passenger door, and helped Sam to the motel room. It took three tries to unlock the door while holding Sam upright. Sam was still supporting most of his own weight, but he was tensing his jaw, and a small moan of pain escaped his lips. "We're almost there, Sam," Dean reassured him as he led Sam inside.
The room was cool, and Dean noticed the front window was still wide open. At least, the room no longer smelled as strongly of beach and flowers. Sam pulled himself away from Dean, apparently no longer willing to accept help now that he was so close to his final destination, the bed. Sam gingerly sat down on the bed, and ran his hands through his hair. He grabbed two fistfuls of hair, and tugged, before dropping his hands to his sides.
"Headache?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, a little bit," Sam replied squinting up at Dean.
"I'll get your new pain pills," Dean said turning around to close the window. The last thing Sam needed was a cold air induced coughing fit like he had earlier by the Impala. He went to the bathroom to fill a glass with water. Sam needed to take the pain pills now, before the pain increased any more. He knew even if he convinced Sam to take stronger medication tonight, he would have a harder time getting him to do so tomorrow if it was too strong. The new prescription was the dreaded Percocet. They would definitely be fighting over this in the morning.
Dean measured out the Percocet, and the new antibiotic. He walked back out to Sam only to find his brother sitting on the bed, his face pale and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. Sam had somehow managed to rid himself of his jacket, boots and jeans, but seemed to be having difficulty removing his hoody. "Here, let me," Dean said placing the water and pills on the side table. Sam had already pulled his arm out of the sleeve on his uninjured side. Dean gently pulled the sweatshirt over Sam head, and then slid it off his other arm.
"Thanks," Sam said tiredly.
"No problem," Dean replied. He reached around and grabbed the pills and water off the table, and handed them to Sam. "Take these," he commanded.
Sam raised his eyebrow, and threw Dean a look of annoyance. "Mind if I ask what I'm supposed to be taking?" he asked jiggling the pills in his hand.
"Nope, I don't mind," Dean replied with a half-grin.
After a brief pause, Sam released a sigh of long-suffering and asked, "What pills am I taking?"
"These are your new antibiotic," Dean replied pointing to the two large pills. "And these, are your new pain pills."
"Dean, stop being deliberately obtuse," Sam snapped, irritated. "What type of pain pills?"
"Percocet," Dean replied the grin falling from his face. "But, before you refuse, we are both going to bed, and there is no reason you can't take something that will knock back the pain. You'll be asleep, so it really doesn't matter how loopy you think they make you."
"I don't think they make me loopy," Sam protested. "I know they do. Don't tell me you've forgotten about the time I took them after I was hurt by the poltergeist in French Glenn?"
"How could I forget, Sammy?" Dean replied the grin reappearing on his face. "When your baby brother sings, 'The Song That Never Ends,' off-key, for over two hundred miles while you are trapped in the car with him, you tend to remember it."
"I don't remember that part at all," Sam said. "But, I do remember asking you a lot of questions about the difference between a poltergeist and an angry spirit. I don't even remember why I was asking about it."
"You didn't ask a lot of questions," Dean disagreed. "You asked the same damn question many, many, many times." Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, and added, "Just take the pills, Sam. You were only fourteen last time. Besides, you need the sleep, and I'm not going anywhere without you."
Sam nodded, and swallowed the pills in one smooth motion. Dean watched as Sam struggled to pull his legs onto the bed, and carefully lay down. He was not going to interfere with Sam's efforts to do things on his own. It would only annoy Sam, and he would be less likely to do what Dean asked him to do later, if he pushed too hard now.
Within moments, Sam was asleep. Dean sat down at the small table, and smoothed out the crumpled papers he had absconded earlier that afternoon. The top sheet was a summary of Sam's injuries, care, warnings, and pain management. Possible infection, danger of recurrence, and an increased chance of pneumonia topped the list. 'Great,' Dean thought. 'He already has one of those.' It was the second page that caught Dean's attention, and caused a flare of anger, not at Sam, but at himself. Sam had signed himself out of the hospital against medical advice.
The time stamp on the paper was about forty-five minutes prior to Dean finding Sam in the motel room. A part of Dean felt guilty for not coming back to the hospital as soon as he woke up in the car. He may have been able to convince Sam to stay at the hospital and rest. The larger part, the part that knew his brother almost as well as he knew himself, understood if the situation was reversed Sam would have done the same thing. Their father's influence ran deep.
Dean carefully folded the papers, and tucked them back inside his jacket pocket. Deciding nothing more could be accomplished that night, Dean quietly undressed, and slipped into bed. He promptly fell asleep.
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Pain came unbidden as a deep ache in his chest, burning its way through muscle and bone, and radiating outwards in a spiral loop. My chest hurts, why does my chest hurt? Sam awoke with a start, and looked around the room trying to catch his bearings. He remembered now, the alley, the lake, the angry spirit, and his ribs.
The bed next to his had obviously been slept in, but Dean was no where to be seen. Sam struggled to sit up, and get out of bed. He padded across the green shag carpet, and opened the door of the motel room. The Impala was still parked in front of the room, the midday sun glinting off the black paint.
Sam turned towards the motel office. He could not make out any distinguishing characteristics of the man standing in the office, and yet, he knew it was Dean. There was something about the way he stood, the way he carried himself. It reminded Sam of their father.
As the cool, morning spring breeze hit his legs, Sam remembered he was only clad in boxers and a t-shirt, and he ducked back inside the room. He hoped no one had seen him. He was sure it would be all over town by dinner time if they had. He stooped to pick out clean clothes out of his duffel bag. Sam felt stiff, and sore, and he desperately wanted a hot shower before they headed out.
Sam tossed his clothes on the towel rack and turned on the shower water as hot as he could tolerate. He had finally managed to wrestle off his t-shirt when Dean banged on the bathroom door.
"Sam, are you okay in there?" Dean's muffled voice asked through the door.
"I'm good," Sam replied. He did not like how tight his voice sounded.
There was a long pause before Dean asked, "You sure?" Apparently, Dean did not like it either.
"Yeah," Sam answered. "I'll be out in a few minutes."
"No hurry," Dean replied. "If you're sure you're okay, I'm going to go gas up the Impala, and grab us some food. Apparently, the sidewalks will roll up today at noon, and nothing will be open again until Monday."
"Go for it," Sam replied. "I'm sure."
There was another pause, and Dean said, "Sam, just take the damn Percocet Dr. Looney Tunes prescribed." When Sam did not respond Dean added, "We still have to eat, and Alexandria is about fifty minutes from here. That's plenty of time for you to shake off some of the effects if there are any."
Sam did not respond for several long moments. He was thinking about his ability to conduct research, or watch Dean's back if he took the pain killers. "Sam, promise, okay?" Dean said his voice sounding less muffled. Sam guessed he was pressed to the door, trying to figure out if he was okay.
"Okay," Sam said finally.
"Promise?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, I promise," Sam replied more forcefully. He grabbed the Percocet bottle off the back of the sink and shook them loudly. "See?"
"I said take them, not shake them," Dean answered with a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Just go, Dean," Sam said defeated. He dumped a pill into his hand. He was not lying to Dean. He would take the Percocet, but he was starting with a half dose. He swallowed it dry and said, "Alright, I took it, and I'll be out in about twenty minutes."
"I should be back about the same time," Dean replied his voice sounding farther away. Sam heard the door shut, and he climbed into the hot shower allowing it to pound on his sore muscles.
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Dean pulled the Impala to a stop at the only gas station in town. He automatically scanned the area for hidden danger, spots that could conceal an attacker, and the best area to seek cover in. He was not even aware of the action. Years of hunting had turned it into habit, something he no longer had to think about. As Dean swiped his card, and filled the gas tank, he could hear the two other men at the station talking.
"I don't care what you think, Ernest, those drownings don't seem natural to me," one man said pushing his cap further up on his forehead.
"You know what your problem is, Don? You're just too paranoid. Not everything is a conspiracy," Ernest replied from under the hood. He was bent over the grill to check the oil pressure in his truck.
"It's not a coincidence," Don insisted leaning over Ernest's old Chevy to get a look at the engine. "It can't be. With those kinds of odds, we should bring the lottery to town. Someone here could win it big."
"Guys, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation, and I gotta say, I agree with Don," Dean interjected. He did not look up at the men, but kept his attention focused on his car. There was no way he was going to risk spilling gas on the paint.
"See?" Don gloated.
"See what?" Ernest asked pulling a handkerchief out of his back pocket to wipe the oil off his hands. "The man's a reporter from out of town. Of course, he's going to agree with your conspiratorial view."
"I don't think it is a conspiracy," Dean said replacing the gas cap on the Impala. "But, I do think there is something going on at Pomme de Terre lake that cannot be easily explained."
"Emma was an old, crazy woman. She wandered out last night, lost her way, and drowned in the lake. End of story," Ernest insisted. He slammed the hood of his truck down, narrowly missing Don.
Don jumped back quickly and snapped, "Ernest, easy on the truck."
"You can stay here and talk to yet another reporter, but I'm headed back to the farm. I have cows that need tending," Ernest stated climbing into his truck. "I'll tell Jo Anne you and your family will be out after church tomorrow."
"You bet," Don replied. He waved at Ernest has he pulled the rumbling truck out onto the highway. Don turned his attention back to Dean. "Do you really believe there is something going on at that lake?" he asked.
"Yes, I do," Dean replied. "What do you think is going on at the lake?"
"Well, don't know if I believe it myself or not, but some folks think the lake is haunted," Don replied. He walked over to Dean, and started to circle the Impala. "Nice car," he commented with a whistle.
"Yeah, she is," Dean agreed with a smile. "What do people say about the haunting?" he asked.
"Ah, some folks, not me you understand, but some folks think it is Diane Schneeberger. She drowned in the lake five years ago. Ever since then, we've lost three people a year to that damn lake," Don explained. He ran his hand along the hood of the Impala. "She's a '67, isn't she?"
"Sure is," Dean affirmed. "What do you think?"
"I think something is out at that lake, but I don't think it is Diane. She was always such a sweet, young lady. I just can't see her hurting anyone," Don replied. "Besides, Ernest and Jo Anne are friends of mine."
Dean shot Don a questioning look and asked, "What does that have to do with Diane haunting the lake?"
"Diane was their daughter," Don replied. "So, what do you think is going on at the lake?"
"I'm not sure," Dean answered opening the door to the Impala. "But, I intend to find out."
Don laughed and commented, "You really do remind me of the reporter that was here before. He said the exact same thing, before he up and disappeared in the middle of the night."
"Do you remember his name?" Dean asked casually.
"Nope, sure don't," Don replied pulling his cap back down to shade his eyes. "But, I remember what he drove."
"Yeah?" Dean asked. "Was it as nice as my car?"
"Nah, it was a nice truck, but it wasn't as great as that Impala," Don replied. "Can't remember the year, exactly, but it was a big, black GMC. I can't say I wasn't a little jealous."
"Sounds like a nice ride," Dean agreed, but his mind was traveling past the conversation. He was almost positive now, the reporter from last year, was his father. He opened the door to the Impala, and climbed in behind the steering wheel.
"You take it easy," Don called as Dean pulled out of the gas station.
Dean waved at Don, and headed for the small, convenience store on the corner. It was only a few minutes before noon, and he really wanted some breakfast, even if it was only a microwaved breakfast burrito.
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Sam sat on the edge of the bed. He had successfully managed not only a shower, but getting dressed. The new prescription, even at half dose, was doing an adequate job of controlling the pain. He certainly did not feel as good as he had yesterday, but then, since he could not sleep the whole day away, that was probably a good thing.
He bit back concern over what was taking Dean so long to return. The overwhelming feeling from yesterday was gone, but he still could not shake the feeling Dean was in danger, and that he had to stick close to his brother.
Something more than an angry spirit was going on at the lake and Sam knew he had the clues in front of him. He needed to access the Internet so he could research it properly. Sam mulled over the facts in his head, twisting them around trying to figure out how the pieces all fit together.
He was snapped from his reverie, when Dean returned with two coffees, and a paper bag which he tossed onto the bed next to Sam. "Doughnuts, breakfast of champions," he said by way of explanation. "I picked up a coffee for you, but it is simply the plain, black, garden variety so if you don't…"
"Sounds great," Sam interrupted snagging the offered cup from Dean. He pulled out a doughnut, and took a large bite. It was wonderful. Sometimes, there was nothing better than carbs, sugar and caffeine for breakfast. He washed it down with a gulp of coffee, and the heat scorched his tongue and mouth. "Ah, hoooot," he commented.
Dean scrunched his brow in mock confusion. "No offense, Sam, but that's kind of a given. You sure you're okay this morning?" he teased.
"I am now," Sam replied taking another large bite of the doughnut. "Are you ready to go?"
"Why don't you finish eating first? More importantly, finish that coffee. I don't want you falling asleep in my car with a coffee in your hand," Dean said. "I talked to a guy at the gas station. He thinks there is something happening at the lake, but he doesn't think it is Diane's spirit. Of course, most people don't realize that being a good person in life, doesn't mean you won't be angry, or confused as a spirit. I think he's got a point though. It doesn't feel right."
"I agree," Sam said. "I need to research it further, but I think the loon, your bruises, and the spirit are all related." He popped the rest of the doughnut in his mouth. "Is there anything you can tell me about the spirit?"
"Other than she dripped water in my car?" Dean asked with a flash of annoyance appearing in his eyes. "Nope, nothing I haven't already told you. Last time, she tried to get me to follow her to the lake."
"That's not typical spirit behavior," Sam replied taking another gulp of the hot coffee. "Let's head out. I won't fall asleep after all this coffee."
"Uh-huh, okay Sam, you won't fall asleep," Dean replied sarcastically. "But, you're right. We should go."
Sam followed Dean out to the car, and carefully slid into the passenger seat. When Dean sat down, and started the car, Sam asked, "Do you have any ideas on what this thing is? I keep thinking I should know, but I'm a little fuzzy."
Dean pulled the Impala out onto the highway, and turned towards Alexandria. "Not sure, really, but I did talk to Don at the gas station for awhile. The one thing I am pretty sure of, is that it was dad who was here last year."
When that revelation was met with silence, Dean looked over at his brother. He shook his head, and smiled. "Good thing I wasn't counting on you to keep me entertained," he said quietly. He pulled the still steaming coffee out of Sam's hand, and was not surprised when it elicited no response from his little brother. He was out cold.
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"Sam, wake up," Dean said gently tapping on Sam's shoulder. "Come on, kiddo, we're here."
Sam opened his eyes, and looked out the windshield at the coffee shop. He looked over at Dean and blinked in confusion. "We're here already?" he asked.
"Actually, we've been here for nearly an hour. I thought about letting you sleep some more, but it is about time for you to take your pain pills," Dean replied. Dean held out his hand, and Sam noticed there were two pills in his hand.
"Thanks," Sam said. He popped one in his mouth, and stealthily pocketed the other while Dean was preoccupied with snagging the laptop from the back seat.
"Let's go," Dean stated as he exited the car. He stood waiting to see how easily Sam could get out of the car. When he seemed to have little difficulty, Dean heaved a silent breath of relief.
The coffee shop was a busy little place, with many display racks, and several small tables. Dean pointed a small, back table out to Sam. He set the computer down for Sam, and went to stand in line. By the time he returned with the coffee, Sam's face was already buried behind the laptop screen.
"Here you go," Dean said handing Sam one of the double, mocha lattes that he seemed to enjoy.
"Thanks," Sam replied absent-mindedly. He did not look up from the computer, but grabbed blindly for the coffee cup.
"Find anything?" Dean asked.
Sam looked at Dean from over the computer screen and scowled. "Dude, I just started," he protested. "I'm good, but even I need more time than that."
Dean nodded, and looked around the coffee shop. The cacophony of voices made it difficult to focus on any one conversation. Strike one, for keeping himself occupied. He started humming, 'Fat Bottom Girls' as he watched the young, female, coffee bartista making an espresso. When he turned around again, Sam was glaring at him. "What?" he asked with an innocent expression on his face.
"Can't you find something to do? Go talk to someone," Sam suggested.
'Strike two,' Dean thought. "Nah, I'm good," he said baiting his little brother with a lop-sided grin.
Sam sighed heavily, and returned his focus to the computer screen. Dean sat quietly for a few minutes, until his natural need for action took over, and he began beating out the rhythm of the song on the table. It started quietly at first, but built up to a knocking and humming symphony within eight measures.
"Dean!" Sam hissed. "Man, you really need to give me some space here. All that knocking and humming is making it difficult to concentrate."
"Creepy old lady did warn you about the knockin'," Dean quipped.
"Yeah, she did," Sam snapped. A light slowly dawned on his features. He typed frantically for several seconds, and then fell silent as he scanned the computer screen. A slow smile stretched across his face, and he looked up at Dean. "Dean, I think I know what it is."
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TBC – as usual, feedback welcome.
A thank you to everyone who has continued to read this story, and an extra thank you to everyone who has given feedback. It is much appreciated.
One more chapter should wrap it up!
Don't forget to send your postcard.