Be Careful What You Wish For
Disclaimer: Still keeping my fingers crossed for Season 3, because I DON'T own 'em. If I did, we'd have nothing to worry about. I did, however, find out they decorated a wall of the production room with our postcards! I found an on-line article with a picture of part of the wall.
Great job, guys!
For the record, I've been trying to post this for almost three days, but the site was being a bully. Sorry for the wait.
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The computer chimed as the WLAN on the laptop found the resort's WiFi connection. Sam logged into the Internet, and decided to check out information on the resort. He had barely scanned the first two lines before he slammed the beer bottle down with such force a stream of beer shot out the top narrowly avoiding the laptop on its decent.
"I'm going to kill him," Sam muttered through gritted teeth.
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"Laurie, I have to go," Dean said, pulling on his jeans. "I still have to fill Sam in on the whole scoop."
"You didn't tell him?" Laurie asked. She sat up in the bed, and pulled the sheet up to her neck holding it in place with her hand. She reached towards Dean with her other hand as he stood up, and started to walk away. "Wait, Dean," Laurie began. "I'm sure Sam is already asleep. It's two in the morning."
"You don't know Sam," Dean replied. "He's probably up right now, trying to research what is really happening here at the resort."
"If that's the case, he already knows the big secret," Laurie replied. "We do have our own website."
Dean's face shot from horrified to panic. "I gotta go," he said quickly as he beat a hasty retreat out the door.
Moments later, Dean stood outside the door to Suite 11 with his hand on the doorknob. He dropped his hand, and paced several times in front of the door, before grabbing the handle again. Dean weighed his options.
One, Sam already knew about the resort. Go in, blow it off as no big deal, ignore Sam's protests, and go to bed. Dean released the handle, and paced down the hall once before returning to the door.
Two, Sam didn't already know, and he was off the hook for the night. No, he was not that lucky. Dean walked down the hall in the other direction, and came back again.
Three, Sam already knew, and Sam lets him have it with both barrels before he can get a word in edgewise. Yep, that was the one. Dean dropped the doorknob again, and was about to pace the hall one more time, when the door suddenly swung open.
"Get in here," Sam hissed in a hushed voice. "If you pace down the hall one more time, someone is going to complain." He turned his back on Dean and walked further into the room before turning around to face Dean again, who was hovering in the doorway.
Dean saw the laptop was on the dining room table, and it was open and fired up. That meant Sam had indeed been conducting research. "How's the research coming along?" Dean asked casually. He headed for the mini-bar to check on the possibility of beer.
Sam did not answer him, and Dean saw three beer bottles sitting in the small garbage can near the sink. He knew then, he really was in trouble. He opened the small refrigerator, but did not find any beer. "Sam, did you drink all the beer?" he asked without turning around to face his brother.
The lack of response from his normally verbose sibling had Dean mentally squirming. Sam was not going to make this easy for him. "What are you still doing up, anyway?" Dean tried again. When that too failed to elicit a response from his brother, Dean closed the refrigerator, and turned back towards Sam.
Dean was surprised to find Sam standing in the same spot, and staring at him through hooded eyes. To Dean's, well versed in all things Sam, eyes his little brother was a combination of angry and drunk. "I think you should go to bed, Sam," Dean said at last. "You look pretty tired."
"When were you planning on telling me?" Sam asked.
Dean blinked in startled confusion. Sam neither sounded angry or accusatory. When in doubt, play ignorant. "Tell you what?" Dean asked walking closer to Sam, leaving only the table between them.
"Dean, don't. I'm tired, and frankly, I'm at a loss to explain how or why you thought this would be a good idea. I just want to go to bed with some way of reconciling this in my head," Sam replied wearily, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table. "Why here, and why didn't you tell me?"
"Well, obviously I chose here because I know Laurie, and she's having problems. Our sort of problems," Dean explained patiently. He was using his, I'm the big brother voice, and Sam shot him a warning glare. Dean did not bother to change his tone, but continued, "As to why I didn't tell you? That should also be pretty clear based on the way you are reacting. Which, for the record, is a breach of our agreement." Dean sat down in the chair, and smiled.
"Our agreement?" Sam asked. He flopped down into the chair opposite Dean with a sigh. "What agreement?"
"When I agreed to pick the next job, you said you wouldn't complain or question my choice," Dean replied. "You've done both."
"When I agreed to that, I figured it was going to be angry spirits, zombies, or rawheads, not - well, not this," Sam stated. He ran a hand through his hair, and returned it to the table where he beat out a nervous rhythm before catching himself and stopping.
Dean laughed. "Come on, Sammy," he chuckled. "You're trying to tell me this is harder to face than those things?"
"I know and understand those things," Sam defended. "This is…"
"Natural," Dean interrupted. "And Spiritual."
"Funny," Sam shot back sarcastically.
"You know, I don't remember you putting any stipulations on our agreement when we made it other than I needed to choose a hunt within twenty-four hours, and I did," Dean volleyed. "I think the only question left here is whether I explain the rules to you tonight or in the morning."
"In the morning," Sam replied. "I'm too tired tonight, and I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"That's a first," Dean muttered quietly.
"You're a riot," Sam responded standing up from the table. He narrowed his eyes and added, "We'll talk in the morning."
Dean bit back a sarcastic reply. Sometimes it really was better if you did not poke the bear with a stick. "Good night, Sam," he said instead.
Sam nodded and stumbled down the hall towards his room. Dean decided to grab a couple hours of sleep, and headed for his room as well. Soon it was dark and quiet in the suite save for the occasional rustle of sheets.
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Dean entered the bathroom, and turned on the hot water for the shower. He was mildly surprised to discover Sam had not already showered. It was rare for Sam to sleep in longer than he did. He caught sight of Sam through the bathroom mirror as he walked past the doorway. "Sam?" Dean called.
"Yeah?" Sam asked, reappearing in the mirror.
"How long will it take you to get ready?" Dean asked.
Sam frowned and replied, "I'm showered, dressed and ready to talk when you are."
It was Dean's turn to frown. "Talk, right. I'll be out in ten," Dean replied shutting the bathroom door. He was not looking forward to this discussion.
Dean emerged from the bathroom eight minutes later, clad only in his boxers. The steam from his too hot shower billowed behind him. He crossed into the living room, and flopped down on the sofa opposite Sam. "Whatcha reading?" he asked.
Sam looked up from his laptop, and noticed Dean's attire, or lack thereof. Despite the fact they had essentially lived in the close quarters of motel rooms their whole lives, they typically did not wander around partially dressed. "Practicing?" Sam quipped as he raised an eyebrow.
"You might say that," Dean responded with a grin. He nodded towards the laptop indicating he was still waiting for an answer to his question.
"It was the one article the local press did on the attack in the kitchen," Sam replied shutting down the computer.
"That's the one that caught my attention," Dean replied. "Notice the part where the head chef suggests the attack is unexplainable by any normal means?"
"Did you notice the chef's name?" Sam asked with a hint of condensation lacing his tone.
"No, why?" Dean asked.
"It's Paul Chambers," Sam replied.
"Well, that clears everything up," Dean replied sarcastically.
"Paul Chambers is Laurie's paternal cousin. He could be causing trouble in an attempt to gain some sort of control over the resort, and James' estate," Sam explained.
"Jim," Dean corrected. "Did you order breakfast? I'm starving," Dean added abruptly changing topics.
"Not yet, Scooby," Sam replied with a grin. "I thought maybe we could start out by interviewing some of the kitchen staff. We could pick up a sandwich or something while we are there."
"You just want to start somewhere you won't have to lose your shirt," Dean smirked.
"Dean," Sam replied exasperatedly. He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. "What were you thinking?"
"Hey, I landed us a gig in a nice place for a change. We never get to stay in places like this, and certainly not free," Dean protested.
"Yeah, but Dean, it's essentially a nudist colony," Sam countered. He reached behind the couch, and grabbed the laptop case.
"I'm surprised at you," Dean replied. "I would have thought the whole college experience meant you kept your mind open to new possibilities."
Sam looked up at Dean as he slid the laptop into its case. "I went to school to study law," Sam deadpanned. "As a group, we're a fairly conservative bunch."
A slow grin spread across Dean's face. "Was that a joke, Sammy?" Dean asked, standing up and slapping Sam on the shoulder as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. "I'm impressed."
Sam stood up and joined Dean in the kitchen. "Dean would you stop rummaging around in the fridge, I think it's time you filled me in on the etiquette at the resort."
"First of all, I only got one piece of chicken last night and I'm hungry," Dean defended, pulling his head out from behind the refrigerator door. "Secondly, there aren't too many rules. Essentially, you don't wear anything."
"You know the website was actually more helpful. You can wear as little or as many clothes as you feel comfortable in until you adjust to the resort. The only exceptions are the pool and spa," Sam stated, sitting down at the table.
"I gotta tell ya, you're not going to get anywhere with the people here, if you're going to be a grandma about this," Dean quipped.
"If it means I get to keep my pants on for awhile," Sam replied. "I can live with it."
Dean rolled his eyes, and joined Sam at the table. "Fine. While you play Ms. Junior Detective with the kitchen staff, I'll talk to some of the crew and guests at the pool and spa so you don't have to get your feet wet," Dean said smiling at his own joke. "Don't say I never did anything for you."
"Never would," Sam replied, standing up and heading for the back bedroom. "I'll meet you here in a couple of hours."
"No, meet me in the café," Dean corrected. "I'm hungry remember?"
Sam turned back around to face Dean who was still sitting at the table, but now had his feet up on the chair Sam had recently vacated. He was leaning back, his arms behind his head, with his eyes closed. Sam walked back towards Dean and asked, "You are planning to actually move from this room, right?"
Dean opened one eye to look up at his towering brother. "Yeah?" he replied.
"Looks like you're falling asleep on the job," Sam observed gesturing towards Dean's reclining form.
"Nah, I'm giving you a chance to get out of here first," Dean replied closing his eye again. "Unless you'd prefer to have an awkward brotherly moment before you go."
"Sa'alright," Sam replied quickly. He opted not to stow his laptop after all, but instead exited the room with all due haste.
Dean chuckled and remarked to the room at large, "You're too easy sometimes, Sam."
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Sam stood near the staff door entrance to the kitchen. He was hoping he was right about Paul, it would certainly make for a quick and painless job, and they could leave that much sooner. As soon as the thought entered his head Sam realized how wrong he was. If it would make the job quicker, easier and he'd be able to leave sooner, it could not possibly be the right answer. Things were never that easy.
Sam sighed and entered the kitchen. It was immense and immersed in organized chaos, with gleaming stainless steel appliances. The kitchen staff scurried between each other, each one busy in a task at hand that benefited another. Each one was dependent on another to finish on time, so they could assemble or complete a dish. The food was funneled to the front where the wait staff could easily enter from the dining room to pick it up. Sam was reminded instantly of an ant colony.
"I'm Sam. Laurie said I could talk to you," Sam called out to no one in particular. Not a soul raised their head, and the only sounds in response were chopping, and banging. "Is Paul Chambers here?" Sam asked trying another tack.
"Chef Chambers is not here until lunch," an unidentified voice replied. No one moved, and Sam could not tell who answered.
"Is there anyone here now who witnessed the kitchen incident last week?" Sam asked.
Three hands shot into the air briefly, before returning to their work. Sam moved closer to the owner of the first set. "You were in the kitchen the night in question?" he asked. A head bobbed in response. This was not going to be easy. "What's your name?"
"Oh, sorry, it's Allie," the woman responded. She huffed and blew the bangs away from her forehead. "I don't know what to tell you exactly. I've never seen anything like that before."
"It's okay, just think back. What's the first thing you noticed?" Sam replied softening his voice. He leaned in closer to Allie and she seemed to relax slightly.
Allie stopped chopping carrots, and tilted her head marginally in thought. "The first thing I noticed was the hanging utensils." She noticed Sam's questioning gaze and added, "Over there, the hanging utensils were shaking and then they flew in different directions."
"They didn't just fall?" Sam asked.
Allie squinted and gave him the, you've got to be kidding me, face. "No, not unless the pull of the gravitational force shifted to the walls." Allie replied sardonically.
"I think we can safely rule out that possibility," Sam replied with a small smile. "Did you notice anything else?"
"Only complete and utter destruction," Allie said. "Plates, food, pans, flying around the kitchen. It took us hours to get it all cleaned up. It was the middle of the dinner rush too." Allie made a noise of disgust, and started chopping again in earnest.
Sam took that as his cue to leave and said, "Thank you, Allie." Allie waggled her knife at him, but did not look up again. Sam hoped the next employee he interviewed had more information to offer than Allie.
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Dean stopped in the men's locker room briefly to slip out of his boxers before heading to the pool. Whether he knew it or not, Sam owed him for this. Dean remembered his last sojourn into the land of the underdressed, and not everyone who frequented a naturalist resort was young or in shape. The pool and the spa would be the two most likely places to run into the older clientele who were more comfortable with low impact, low visibility activities. Now the beach volleyball, that, he was looking forward to.
He was lost in his thoughts and almost ran smack into a paunchy man in his late fifties. "Sorry," Dean mumbled not making eye contact. His eyes were already focused on a younger woman near the pool. She was reading a book poolside seemingly lost in her own world. However, whenever there was a loud noise or increased activity she would look up, and glance around furtively over the top of her book. She definitely was not as relaxed as she tried to pretend.
"Hey there," Dean said giving her one of his best charming smiles. "Poetry?"
Gretchen looked up from her book at the handsome, well-built man in front of her. She swallowed back her disdainful reply. It was not the first time an attractive man had come on to her, and he certainly had not said anything original, but there was something about him that made him seem genuine, caring. She met his green eyes, and realized what it was. It was his eyes. She smiled back at him. "Care to have a seat?" she asked, gesturing to the chair beside her.
"Don't mind if I do," Dean replied with a smirk. He laid down his towel, sat down on the chair, and decided maybe Sam was off the hook after all. "Are you enjoying the resort?" Dean asked.
"Absolutely," Gretchen replied with a smile. "My friends and I come here every year." Gretchen frowned slightly.
"But…" Dean prompted.
"But, there has been some strange stuff happening this year," Gretchen responded. She had no idea why she was confessing her stupid, paranoid thoughts to a complete stranger.
"Things you can't quite explain?" Dean asked. He leaned forward resting his forearms on his legs. "Things you don't think anyone will believe?"
"Yeah," Gretchen said quietly. "I mean it isn't anything I can put my finger on exactly. My earrings disappeared off the dresser in my room, and I found them later in my suitcase. I know I wore them the night before, and left them on my dresser. And sometimes, sometimes, I just get the feeling I'm being watched." Gretchen laughed and added, "Well, that sounded egotistical and paranoid."
"No, no it didn't," Dean replied. "It sounded reasonable to me."
"Now, you are just being nice, or you're a little egotistical and paranoid as well," Gretchen replied with a smile. She caught the smirk on Dean's face and remarked, "It's the latter, isn't it?"
"Hey, I'm nice too," Dean mock protested.
Gretchen laughed, bookmarked the page, and set down her book. "You know, there is one other thing," Gretchen said thoughtfully. "When I feel like I'm being watched, I get a chill, and sometimes the lights flicker." Gretchen laughed lightly, dipped her head and whispered, "Why'd I tell him that?"
Dean leaned forward and replied, "It's okay, I believe you."
Gretchen turned her head towards Dean and smiled. "You're just a little crazy on top of everything else, aren't you?"
Dean cracked a wide grin. "Not for the reasons you think," he replied. "What room are you staying in?"
Gretchen's smile disappeared and she gave Dean an appraising look. "Why?"
"Ah, hey, hey, no," Dean replied. "I'm just trying to figure out where this thing is appearing. It appeared in the kitchen, and now in your room, and…"
"It?" Gretchen interrupted with a frown.
"Something is causing these things to happen," Dean explained. "I'm just trying to find out what, so I can stop it."
Gretchen narrowed her eyes briefly and replied, "I guess now it's my turn to believe you." She paused and added, "Room seventy-two."
"Thanks," Dean replied moving to stand. Gretchen rested her hand on his knee in an unspoken request to stay. Dean glanced at his watch, and decided he could stay for a few minutes. He leaned back into the chair, and gave Gretchen a smile. She smiled back at Dean and waved down the wait-person at the poolside bar. It was almost noon, and time for a drink.
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Sam hurried back to the room to change before he was supposed to meet Dean in the café. He placed the laptop on his bed, and stood there for a moment debating about what he should do. He had noticed the disapproving looks from the other resort guests at his appearance. One woman had even gone so far as to make a rude comment, and guide her husband to the opposite side of the hall. So help him, Dean was right and he was not going to be able to communicate with the others guests unless he attempted to fit in with the group.
Sam peeled off his t-shirt, kicked off his shoes, and slid out of his blue jeans. He sat down on the end of the bed, and hung his head. He did not know if he could take the final step. He knew for certain he would be unable to walk down the hall, and out to the poolside café without any clothes on, or at least something to hide behind. Sam played with the strap on the laptop bag, lost in thought. He sat there for another moment before the obvious answer came to him.
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Dean was on his second glass of iced tea when he spotted Sam approaching the table. He chuckled to himself when he noticed the strategic manner in which Sam carried the laptop bag. He had lengthened the strap so the bag hung directly in front of him at waist level. Dean could not tell from this distance if Sam had gone the entire way, but it did not matter. Seeing his kid brother so far out of his comfort zone was amusing enough.
"Hey," Sam greeted Dean. He spread out a towel and had a seat. Dean noticed he did not remove the laptop before sitting down.
"Do you plan to hold that thing for the entire lunch?" Dean asked with a smirk.
"As a matter of fact, yes I do," Sam replied good-naturedly. "Did you see they have a large Zen garden out by the shuffleboard court?" he asked abruptly changing topics.
"I didn't make it past the pool," Dean admitted. "I met this girl…"
"Why am I not surprised?" Sam interjected.
"What?" Dean asked leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Play nice, Sammy, I was interviewing her about the poltergeist."
Sam held up his arms in surrender. "Sorry," Sam replied with a smile. "Continue."
"I met this girl, Gretchen," Dean repeated. "She is staying in room seventy-two, and she mentioned mysteriously moving jewelry. She also complained of the feeling of being watched and said that when it happened the room was cold and the lights flickered."
Sam raised his eyebrows and nodded his head in understanding of the implication. "I spoke with three members of the kitchen staff, and all they really had to offer was what was already in the article. However, I did wait until Paul showed up in the kitchen to speak with him."
"Yeah?" Dean prompted, flagging down the waitress. "Did he shed any light on it for you?"
"No," Sam replied. "And, I don't believe he is trying to cause any trouble at the resort. He's surly, cantankerous and pompous, but all he's concerned about is the kitchen."
"May I help you gentlemen?" the waitress asked, setting two menus down on the table.
Sam looked up at the waitress, and immediately turned his head back towards the menu. He could feel the red climbing up his neck, and the heat in his face. He glanced over at Dean who was smiling at the waitress.
"I'll have the tri-tip sandwich with garlic fries," Dean answered as he jiggled his empty glass. "And more ice tea when you get a chance."
"I'll uh, I'll have," Sam stumbled. Truth was he could not even read the menu; his eyes were blurry with tears of embarrassment. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision. "I'll have what he's having," Sam finished quickly.
"Right away," the waitress replied.
"Sam," Dean said leaning closer on the table. Sam looked up at Dean with a questioning gaze. Dean nodded his head towards the waitress. "She's waiting for your menu."
"Oh, right," Sam replied, handing the waitress the menu without looking at her.
Dean laughed lightly. "It's okay, the scary waitress is gone now," he remarked after a beat.
Sam scowled and narrowed his eyes. "Let's just focus on the job right now, okay?"
"Sure thing," Dean replied. He leaned back in his chair, and held up his glass when the waitress returned with a pitcher of iced tea.
Sam did not even look up when the waitress set a glass down in front of him. He waited until Dean finished with the sugar, and then started to add sugar to his own glass. He poured the sugar without paying attention to how much he was adding, as he tried to refocus.
"Do you have enough sugar there, Sam?" Dean asked.
"Huh? Oh, yeah," Sam replied setting down the sugar.
"Dude, you're going to have to get your head back in the game," Dean observed. "You can't let the distractions here cause you to lose focus."
Sam looked at Dean guiltily. Were they really having this reversal of roles? "Sorry, I'm just not comfortable here. I…I'll try."
"Do or do not, there is no try," Dean intoned.
Sam shook his head at the Star War's quote. "Whatever, Dean," he replied.
"I think it's pretty straight forward," Dean replied snapping back to business. "We simply have to find out what's causing the poltergeist to attack, and where it originated from, then salt, burn and we're done." He smiled at the waitress when she set their plates of food on the table. He completely ignored the strange look on her face at over-hearing their conversation.
"I'm still not convinced," Sam replied. "Events appearing as poltergeists can also be caused by telekinetic individuals. There is a theory that sometimes these events are caused by those individuals, typically woman between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five, who are suffering from emotional stress. Laurie definitely fits the profile. She's recently dealt with her father's stroke, and she is now managing the entire resort. That has to be stressful."
"Why are you trying to debunk our case after everything we've seen, Scully?" Dean queried. "You and I both know there are such things as ghosts."
"We can't rule out a theory simply because it isn't supernatural enough," Sam defended. He took another bite of his sandwich. It was delicious.
"You're right," Dean agreed. He shoved several french fries into his mouth, and washed it down with a swig of iced tea.
"I am?" Sam asked, genuinely surprised Dean had capitulated so easily.
"Yeah, you are. I say we go back to the room, try to figure out who this angry spirit was, and why the attacks are escalating. Or, we figure out who or what else may be causing this to happen," Dean suggested.
"I agree," Sam replied quickly. "If it gets us back to the privacy of the suite, I'm all for it."
Dean shook his head. "Come on, kiddo. Let's go," he said. He held out the electronic key when the waitress walked by, and she snagged it from his hand.
When the waitress returned the key, Dean stood up and grabbed his towel. Sam was already walking ahead of him, and Dean snickered. Despite the way Sam carried the laptop in front of him, he did not have anything to hide. Sam's boxers were still on.
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AN: As many of you guessed, the naturalist portion of the resort referred to a nudist colony of sorts. BG – that was part of the writer's challenge Shar threw my direction.
Thank you to everyone who is reading and an extra thank you to those of you who are reviewing. It is appreciated!
Believe it or not, this started as a one-shot, but Ms. Woman-of-a-Thousand-Words turned it into a chapter story. I simply can't be trusted with a plot bunny. I keep feeding it until it outgrows its cage, and then it has to be turned loose on Mr. McGregor's garden.
To those of you who asked, what happened to Sam (or at least some of what happened) during the last hunt will be revealed in chapter three. When the story stretched beyond its original dimensions, so did some of the details. (c:
TBC