Be Careful What You Wish For

Disclaimer: SPN doesn't belong to me. It belongs to a bunch of folks over at the CW, including Kripke. I'm just playing with their toys.

A Special Thank You: H.T. Marie for having the wherefore all to post the instructions on tricking the document manager. Thanks!

Thank you: To Jubilea and Shar for beta'ing, and Jen B for simply being an awesome sounding board. Special thanks (I think) to Shar for the writer's challenge. BG.

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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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Dean entered the suite right behind Sam, and headed straight for his bedroom. He tore into his duffel bag, and slipped on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. He thought about it briefly, and put on a pair of jeans as well. Belatedly, he remembered he had left a pair of boxers down in the locker room, but he was not about to go back for it right now. Dean padded on the plush cream-colored carpet in his bare feet back out into the dining room area.

A few minutes later, a nearly fully dressed Sam joined Dean in the dining room. He set the laptop down on the dining room table, and booted it up. Sam sat down on one of the wooden chairs, and wiggled his toes while he waited for the computer.

Sam looked over at Dean, and noticed he had pulled out the weapons stash and was taking inventory of their arsenal. He realized it was not only necessary, but busy work. Sam knew Dean had already done this very job several times during their four weeks of down time. While he appreciated the fact Dean was doing something to keep him occupied, Sam could not help but wonder if it was a habit born from years of waiting for their dad to return from a hunt.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

Sam waited for Dean to make eye contact with him, and when it did not happen, he tried again. "I'm going to research the deaths in this area, but I'm also going to pursue the other possibility."

Dean did look up this time. "Sam, Laurie is handling the stress just fine. She seems exactly like she did three years ago. In fact, if anything, she's a little surer of herself, a little more outgoing. Which is really saying something, because Laurie is not one I would ever call shy," Dean argued.

"It doesn't have to be Laurie. It could even be Jim, or someone who works here," Sam replied. "I'll start with the deaths though, because it does seem like the most logical explanation."

"You do that," Dean agreed. He watched Sam as he started researching the poltergeist. Sam always wore such a look of intense concentration when his brain was busy analyzing every aspect of a situation. It made Dean want to tease him, just to make him react. Deciding better of it, Dean went back to the weapons stash. He was certain something needed cleaning.

"Huh," Sam puffed. His eyes scanned the computer monitor for several moments until finally Dean's patience ran out.

"What?" Dean asked. Sam looked up at him expectantly. Realizing Sam was not aware he had spoken out loud, Dean prompted, "You said, 'huh.'''

"Oh, it's Blues Weekend at the resort," Sam explained. "They are going to have a live Blues band here tomorrow."

Dean enjoyed Blues music, but he could only feign interest in cleaning the weapons for so long, then he would have to find something else to occupy his attention, and that rarely ended well. "Sounds like you're getting pretty far on that research," Dean observed.

"I can switch places with you, if you like," Sam offered. He waited for a response from Dean, and dared him with a look, to cross the line again.

"Nah, I'll leave it for you," Dean replied in a seemingly magnanimous gesture. "I wouldn't want to deprive you of something you enjoy."

"You're all heart," Sam responded, his face already back in the laptop.

"That's me," Dean agreed. "In fact, if you play your cards right, I'll let you interview the pretty girls down by the pool next time."

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied by rote. He was not really listening to Dean anymore, and Dean knew it.

"Remember the time we played tiddlywinks with the Thundercats?" Dean joked.

"Uh-huh," Sam replied without looking up.

"Cheetara was a real hottie, wasn't she?" Dean asked with a grin.

"Yeah, she really kind of was, wasn't she?" Sam responded frowning at the laptop screen.

Dean chuckled lightly and decided to really have some fun with his brother, "I think you should be my personal slave for a week."

Sam looked up at Dean from behind the computer. "Nice try," he replied with a grin.

Dean laughed and moved back to the weapons' bag. He would have to find something else to amuse himself with for awhile. Unfortunately, the time spent cooped up in motels while Sam recovered had left Dean with an even shorter tolerance level for boredom.

Deciding to give Sam a little space, Dean dragged the bag over to the living room sofa. He would be close enough to offer input, but far enough away that his relentless fidgeting would not distract Sam. He spread out a cleaning rag on the coffee table in front of him. Disassembling his gun, Dean took out the magazine, and removed the slide and the barrel.

Dean grabbed the soiled toothbrush from inside the bag. It was one of Sam's old toothbrushes that Dean had absconded as a joke. He dipped the toothbrush in cleaning solvent, picked up the barrel, and started to scrub it. While Dean worked, his mind took him back to their previous hunt.

Dean pulled himself out of the freshly dug grave. Rain pelted him from above with a vengeance. He wiped rain water out of his eyes, and searched for the salt. Spying it quickly, he sprinkled it generously on the body, and reached the kerosene. He could see Sam in the distance, returning from the Impala with what Dean assumed was the amulet dangling from his fingers. That's when he saw it, the lightening fast shadow that morphed into a flesh-eating, ghoul-like creature the moment before it hit Sam. Teeth gnashing, and claws ripping, it had Sam on the ground before Dean could offer a warning shout.

"Sammy!"

Dean was pushed forcibly from the memory with a small gasp. He looked over at his brother, and reassured himself that Sam was fine. The clacking of the keyboard had started again in earnest. Dean knew Sam was okay, that things had worked themselves out despite the fact they had almost gone very, very wrong.

Attaching a cleaning patch to the correct rod, and applying more cleaning solvent, Dean slid the rod slowly through the barrel. He concentrated on the task at hand, willing himself to stay in the present time. He was focused so intently that when Sam did call out to him, he did not hear it.

"Dean," Sam said. "I found a record of one death at the resort." When the news of a find that would validate Dean's belief was not commented upon, Sam looked up from the laptop. "Dean!" Sam called a little more loudly.

Dean startled almost imperceptibly. "What?" he asked.

"I found a record of one death at the resort," Sam repeated.

Dean placed the barrel on the table and walked over to Sam. Standing behind him, and leaning forward, Dean read the article over Sam's shoulder.

Local Man Dies in Freak Accident

Patrick Lancaster, aged thirty-seven died in a freakish accident at the Sunnyvale Naturalist Spirit Renewal and Spa off Edgewood Highway. Patrick was a resort member for fifteen years, and according to his family, had never experienced any difficulties at the resort.

Last Wednesday, Mr. Lancaster was on the 16th hole on the spa's extensive golf course, when his cart presumably hit a rock, and he was ejected from the golf cart. Dr. Michael Stewart reported Mr. Lancaster died when his head impacted with the railing on the decorative bridge crossing the water hazard.

Mr. Lancaster was pronounced dead on the scene and taken to Filbercast Mortuary on Highland Street. Memorial Services will be held at St. Mary's Catholic Church on Saturday at 3 p.m.

Patrick Lancaster is survived by his son, Charles (Chuck) Lancaster, and his daughter, Jane Strong. See pictures on page 7.

Dean looked up at Sam and said, "Looks like we need to pay a visit to the Lancaster's."

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The telltale squeak of the Impala's doors announced the arrival of the Winchester brothers at 424 Hibbard Street, home of Charles Lancaster. The small white cottage was neat and tidy, save for a rambling wildflower garden out front.

Two garden gnomes were hiding among the flowers. One wore a red hat, with blue suspenders and carried a shovel. The other wore a red hat, with green suspenders and pushed a wheelbarrow also filled with wildflowers. Dean eyed them warily as he approached the cottage door. The door sported a large, brass knocker and Dean could not help but wonder when he had slipped back in time without realizing it.

Sam banged the brass knocker several times on the heavy wooden door. He listened carefully for footsteps on the inside indicating someone was coming to the door, but he could not hear anything.

"Can I help you boys?" a man called. Dean recognized him from the obituary article as Charles Lancaster. He appeared at the side of the house wearing grass-stained jeans and carrying a nasty pair of garden shears.

"Yeah, I'm Dean. Sam here and I work at the Filbercast Mortuary. I hate to bug you, but there's a chance there was a mix-up and your father's remains were exchanged with a twenty-seven year old teacher from Monterey. If we could get your permission to exhume the body, we could clear this up," Dean fabricated.

Sam tried to keep the look of shock off his face. Where did Dean come up with these cover stories, anyway? At the look of surprised anger on Charles' face, Sam quickly added, "It's just a small chance. Our computer system was hacked into and we can't verify our records. If you can give us the location of your father's burial site, we can take a DNA sample with minimal disturbance of the actual grave."

Charles was still frowning, but he no longer looked angry. "Your records have serious information holes," he stated.

"We understand," Sam agreed. "That's why we are trying to clear this up as soon as possible."

"No, I mean, my father was cremated," Charles replied. "Half of his ashes were interred at the Westdale Cemetery."

"What happened to the other half?" Dean asked, flicking his eyes to Sam and only partially hiding his half-smirk.

"We scattered them in his flower garden," Charles replied, gesturing towards the wildflowers. Dean's eyes once again strayed to the ceramic garden gnomes whose red hats were visible even from this distance.

"Thank you, Mr. Lancaster," Sam replied. "We're sorry to have disturbed you." Sam turned to leave and looked back at Dean when he did not follow behind him. Dean was still gazing out into the garden at something. "Dean!" Sam whispered harshly, emphasizing his words with a head jerk. "Let's go."

Dean snapped himself from his stupor and followed Sam back to the waiting Impala. Both brothers slipped into their traditional seats, and shut the doors nearly simultaneously. Sam looked over at Dean questioningly when he did not start the car for several long moments, but instead stared out at the wildflower garden. Dean shook his head, started the Impala and eased her out onto the road.

"What?" he asked when he finally noticed Sam staring at him.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Sam replied. "What's with the thousand yard stare?"

"Seeping farting homes," Dean mumbled under his breath.

Sam wrinkled his face, and rubbed his hand along his forehead in confusion. "What?"

"What, what?" Dean asked not taking his eyes off the road.

"I didn't catch what you said," Sam explained. "Why were you staring at the Lancaster's flower garden?"

"I wasn't," Dean denied. At Sam's look of disbelief he added, "I said I was looking at the creepy garden gnomes."

"Dean," Sam started in his patient, teaching tone. "Some people believe garden gnomes are a representation of mythical beings of a legendary race endowed with exceptional vision and heightened human sensitivities. Their task is to provide assistance to all living things. In fact, gnomes symbolize integrity, honesty, and hard work. It is said they bring good luck."

Dean refrained from rolling his eyes. Sam's ability to pull obscure, odd facts out of the thin air was a constant source of amazement to him. "I told you, you'd watched enough of the History Channel," Dean snarked. "And I think Patrick may disagree with you on the luck thing. I guess we struck out on the Lancaster theory."

"Not necessarily," Sam disagreed. "We've seen spirits return even after cremation of the body."

"That was a replay haunting," Dean explained. "Not a poltergeist. No way, I'm not buying it."

"Okay," Sam conceded. Dean was the consummate hunter of the supernatural, and Sam yielded to his expertise. "Where do we go from here?"

"Back to your other theory?" Dean asked.

"It may not be easy to figure out who is causing it," Sam replied. "And that's only if it is the reason. We should keep a look out for anything unusual."

"That kind of goes without saying, Sam," Dean replied with a small laugh. "Odd is your middle name."

"My name? Why isn't it your middle name?" Sam asked.

"Because mine is Handsome," Dean quipped.

"It certainly isn't Humble," Sam grumbled turning away from Dean. He rolled down the window and enjoyed the warm spring air despite the teasing laugh of his older brother.

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Dean led the way into the suite followed closely by Sam. He stopped short of opening the door when he heard faint sounds coming from inside the room. Pulling out his gun, Dean slowly opened the door, and found Laurie inside dancing to a quietly playing pop song he did not recognize. She was once again unloading a cart, and placing food plates on the table. Dean frowned in disapproval. He liked Laurie, he really did. But, she was being presumptuous of his space, and more importantly the space he shared with Sam. It did not matter who they were, Dean did not like anyone intruding on the circle of safety, that despite everything, he tried to keep around his brother.

Sam was grinning when Dean glanced over at him. Dean was not certain if Laurie's behavior or his amused Sam. Deciding it did not matter either way he slapped Sam on the chest and gave him a look that expertly communicated, 'What the hell?'

Sam shrugged his shoulders in response, and mouthed something that looked suspiciously like, 'She's your girlfriend."

Dean scowled, and without giving it another thought snapped, "Laurie, what the hell are you doing in here?" It did not occur to Dean for a moment that they were staying here due to her hospitality.

Laurie looked up from her task, her face contorted in confusion. "What's wrong?" she asked nonplused.

"What are you doing in here?" Dean asked slowly, gesturing with his gun around the room. "You can't just pop in here whenever you get the urge," he said.

"Dean," Sam interjected softly.

"As a matter of fact, I can," Laurie replied. "This is my father's resort, and you are staying here for free. That means I can enter this room if I feel I need to." Laurie's voice continued to rise, and she moved closer to Dean as she spoke.

Dean's eyes hardened and he retorted, "That can be fixed. Sam, get your gear, we're leaving."

"Dean," Sam tried again, a little more loudly this time.

"What's the matter with you?" Laurie asked her green eyes sparking. "This was supposed to be a surprise dinner, and you're making a Federal case out of it. I don't remember you being this touchy before."

Laurie's eyes flicked from Dean to Sam, and she put the pieces together in an instant. She smiled slightly. Dean really was protective of Sam. "Look, I'm sorry," she apologized. "You're right, and I'll catch you later tonight." She made quick work of pushing the cart out into the hall. "I really am sorry," she said again with a small smile. Laurie stood in the doorway for several moments in anticipation.

"Dean," Sam prompted giving his brother the evil eye.

Dean did not utter a word, but he did give Laurie a small wave of his gun before shutting the door. Dean jammed his gun back into the waistband of his jeans, and walked over to the table. He dished up a plate of food without really paying a lot of attention to the presentation or the product, and flopped down on the sofa in the living room area.

Resting his feet on the coffee table, and balancing his plate of food on his lap, Dean grabbed the remote, and turned on the television. When Sam did not join him, he looked over and found Sam standing by the table staring at him. "What?" Dean asked.

"Dude, that was rude," Sam replied, scooping up a heaping spoonful of red potatoes. "Why'd you get so angry, anyway?"

"She was in our room," Dean said as if that explained it all.

"Dean, she knows what we do," Sam said. "It's not as if she found the salt and wondered if we were trying to cure meat in here. What's the big deal?"

"Sam, what if she is the cause of the attacks? We can't let our guard down simply because we know her. It could put the case at risk," Dean insisted.

And in between Dean's words, Sam read the message. "Maybe later, while I'm doing some more research, you should explain that to her," Sam suggested taking a seat next to Dean.

Dean shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, and turned back to the television. Sometimes Sam's perceptiveness took him places he really did not want to go. Flipping quickly through the stations, Dean came across the opening sequence for the 'Rockford Files.' He turned up the volume, and leaned back into the sofa cushions. He was in for the long-haul.

"Hi, Jim, it's Jaime at the police impound. They picked up your car again. Lately, they've been driving it more than you have."

Sam heard the distinctive opening riff for the 'Rockford Files' and smiled. He remembered sitting with Dean, just like this, and watching reruns of the show while the waited for their dad to return from a hunt. Dean used to do an impersonation of Jim Rockford that was hilarious, at least to an eight-year old, Sammy.

Sammy was snuggled up close to Dean in the one large armchair of the motel room. Playing on a grainy black and white television was the ever-popular, 'Rockford Files.' Sammy knew he should be in bed, but Dean could not resist the gritty detective show.

Jim pulled out his investigator's license and the sheriff said, "L.A. city limits are back there about 400 miles."

"Uh, this license was issued in Sacramento, it's good all over the state," Jim retorted.

Sammy looked up at his brother. Dean was very respectful to the adults he felt deserved respect, but he could see why his brother liked Jim Rockford. He was a smart aleck too. Sammy snuggled in closer to Dean, and before the show was over, he was asleep.

"Come on, Sammy, time for bed," Dean said, rousting his younger sibling. "Show's over."

"Dean, do it Rockford-style," Sammy requested, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

"Nah, just get to bed," Dean argued. "It's late."

"Come on, Dean, please," Sammy begged.

Dean rolled his eyes, but obliged his little brother. "Rocky, this is an original Nelson, he's a primitive," Dean quoted, reaching over and tickling Sammy. When the laughter died down, Dean stated. "Okay, kiddo, it really is time for bed."

"Okay, Dean."

Sam was snapped from his reverie when Dean shouted, "Oh come on, that's so obvious!"

Sam shook his head, and smiled. Dean had the right combination of charm, bullshit detector, and analytical skills to be a police officer or private detective. It did not surprise Sam in the least that he gravitated towards shows like this, or pieced together the clues long before the protagonist. What did surprise him at times was how emotionally involved his, no-chick-flick-moments, brother seemed to get with the fictional characters.

As the closing credits ran on the show, Dean turned off the television and looked over at Sam. Sam was still looking towards the television and smiling. "What are you smiling about?" Dean asked. "You're creeping me out."

"Have you noticed lately, how easily you are freaked out?" Sam asked. "First, harmless garden gnomes, and then your innocent little brother. It's kind of sad really."

Dean gave Sam a gentle shove. "It's not my little brother that creeps me out," Dean mildly protested. "It's the grinning. Makes me think you are plotting over there."

"Who says I'm not?" Sam asked, his face the picture of innocence. "I'm sure I owe you for something."

"Me?" Dean asked, leaning further into the sofa. "I'm a great big brother."

"That doesn't preclude you from being a jerk sometimes," Sam teased, turning to face Dean. "In fact, I do believe I still owe you for the time you put hot sauce in my soda."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, that was awesome," he said reminiscing. He sat there for a moment, and then slapped Sam lightly on the leg before standing. "Okay, back to work."

"Now would be a good time for you to go and talk to Laurie," Sam suggested, standing up. He walked over to the table, and started to gather the left-over food. There was definitely enough food for three people. Laurie must have been planning on joining them. Sam hoped she had been able to eat something.

"I think I will," Dean replied. He was starting to feel a little guilty for throwing Laurie out of the room. "I'll be back in an hour."

"You sure?" Sam asked. He gathered up the plates, and stopped at the door trying to juggle the dishes and open the door.

Dean opened the door for Sam. "I'm sure," he replied. "I'm going talk to her, smooth out the ruffled feathers, and try to figure out where her head is. I may be able to tell if anything about her is different. I was, uh, a little distracted before."

"I'll bet," Sam responded. "I'll be here. I'm going to dig a little deeper, see if I can find anything unusual that may have happened here in the past."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean replied. "Stay out of trouble," he admonished, tongue in cheek.

"Because I'm the one who finds trouble," Sam replied sarcastically. "Go."

"Going," Dean replied ducking out the door.

Sam returned to the table, and pulled out the laptop for the third time today. He knew the answer was here, it had to be. The question was where exactly was it?

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Dean rapped on the door to Laurie's apartment. He could hear her moving around in the apartment before she opened the door. "Dean," Laurie said with smile. "I was hoping you'd come around." She moved closer to Dean.

"Laurie," Dean replied slightly exasperated. "I'm here to explain what happened."

"Come on in," Laurie replied stepping to the side and gesturing Dean inside. She followed Dean back into the apartment and stopped at the wet bar. "Do you want a drink?"

"No, Sam and I will be out hunting later," Dean replied taking a seat on the cream-colored leather sofa. "Laurie, about earlier…" Dean began.

"You don't like surprises. You don't like someone in your personal space. You aren't comfortable with intimacy, and most importantly, you don't like someone surprising you in your personal space…because you don't like anyone putting Sam in danger. I'm not a danger to Sam," Laurie interrupted. She joined Dean on the sofa, and put her hand on his knee. "Why would you think I am?"

"It's not that exactly," Dean replied meeting her eyes. "We are in the middle of a hunt, and I don't like surprises when all I'm concerned about right now is watching Sam's back and getting through this hunt with minimal risk."

"I understand," Laurie replied. "After all, saving Sam is very important to you, isn't it?"

"It is the most important thing to me," Dean replied turning away from Laurie. He felt Laurie get up from the sofa, and he heard ice cubes clinking into a glass. Listening to liquid pouring into the glass, Dean connected the dots. "Why would you say, 'saving Sam?'" Dean asked turning towards Laurie. She was standing at the wet bar, her back to Dean. "Why not, protecting Sam, or keeping Sam safe? Why would you choose the word, 'saving?'"

Laurie took a drink of the whiskey, her eyes growing dark. "You know something, Dean?" she asked sweetly, turning around to face him. "You and your brother really are a pain in the ass."

TBC

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AN: Okay, I'm PLANNING on one, maybe two, more chapter getting us there, but the way this thing has grown out of control on me already, I can't promise anything.

Thanks to all who are reading!