A/N- A little bit of a longer wait for this chapter, and honestly I don't think it's one of my better ones, but that's because I'm excited for the next chapter - a little action, and answers to their questions! Thanks to AlaskaForever for her continued support and incredible reviews!
Chapter 8
There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I'm one
Sam flipped a page in Herbs: Magical Plants and the Spells They're Used In as Bobby's radio started playing House of the Rising Sun softly on his weathered radio. The whisper of the rock music was the only sound that permeated the living and dining rooms, aside from the crackle of old pages being turned and soft sighs that echoed when one of their number shifted or grew frustrated.
My mother was a tailor
She sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gamblin' man
Down in New Orleans
Sam couldn't blame anyone for their agitation at this point – they'd been reading into the night, and had yet to find anything on their mysterious dark flower and what it could mean for whatever they were up against. It was obviously an obscure reference; Sam had looked through several books on spells and the herbs they required, and he had yet to find anything. Even he had to admit things were looking more than a little hopeless for their little group.
Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and trunk
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drug
Sam peeked to his left on the couch and saw Jo's head dip and jerk back up as her eyelids fluttered. Despite the coffee, they were all pretty fried and sleep deprived. Even Sam with all his late night studying experience at Stanford was beginning to feel dregs of sleep pull at the corners of his subconscious. He shook his head, trying to keep his vision from blurring and the words from sliding from his brain. Even Ellen was blinking furiously in an obvious attempt to stay awake as she bent over the kitchen table. Only Bobby seemed to be resisted the need to sleep, his eyes intense on the book that seemed to cover his entire desk with obscure symbols and elegant cursive handwriting.
Oh mother tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun
Despite his exhaustion, Sam was glad they had something to stay up and research on at all. Earlier, when all they knew was that people were disappearing, it was unbearable. All they could do was sit and watch helplessly as people vanished into thin air from their very homes, unable to do anything at all. Now, at least, they had a lead. It didn't feel like they were in a rowboat without paddles, drifting without actually being able to control their course. Now they had real, solid evidence to work with, something to prove they weren't just going crazy.
Well, I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm goin' back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain
Sam was just happy to research, and he knew it was thanks to Dean that they had this flower at all. Dean had managed to piece together the flower as the common denominator between these disappearances, and honestly, Sam wasn't at all surprised. He may have been the resident researcher aside from Bobby, happy to stick his nose in a book, but it was Dean who was the real hunter of the two. Actually, if Sam was being honest with himself, Dean was probably one of the best hunters out there, period. He had obviously inherited John's natural-born ability to hunt – somehow, Dean always seemed to have a sort of sixth sense, his displays of speed and agility matched those of Olympic athletes and his aim was deadly accurate with a rifle or handgun. Sometimes Sam couldn't help but be jealous of how easy hunting came to his brother. For him, it was as easy as breathing, but when John had started teaching Sammy he came with reluctance, feet dragging the ground.
Well, there is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I'm one
Speaking of Dean… Sam tore his weary eyes away from the sentence he was sure he'd probably read three or four times. His hazel eyes roved the kitchen, where he had last spotted Dean grabbing a beer. Since then he'd thought Dean had gone to the bathroom or simply ran outside to get something, as he often did to avoid research, but now… maybe not. He was just realizing he hadn't seen Dean in a while – obviously, he'd been distracted with research.
No need to panic. Dean could be upstairs, he thought as he rose to his full height and headed toward their room upstairs. Reaching their room, he took in Dean's empty bed, sheets still rumpled from Dean's nightmare. He quickly peeked into the remaining rooms on the upper floor and headed downstairs. Almost numb, he headed outside and made a quick lap around the junkyard in case Dean had opted to work on a car for Bobby. As he headed back inside, he could feel his chest tighten with worry. Where are you Dean?
Ellen looked up as he entered the kitchen. "Have you guys seen Dean? I can't find him anywhere."
Bobby looked up from his giant book as Ellen shook her head. "No honey, last I saw him he was getting in here getting a beer." Even Jo sluggishly look up from her book.
Sam started pacing. "I saw him then too, but now I can't find him in the house or the yard." His feet slapped the linoleum floor, and he could feel his hands start to shake at his sides as a mixture of anger and fury directed toward his brother manifested in his stomach.
Bobby looked at him with sympathetic eyes under the brim of his cap. "Sam, calm down. He's your brother, he wouldn't do anything—"
Sam came to a stop and slammed his hands down on the kitchen table. "What, stupid? Since when Bobby? Dean is always doing stupid shit because someone's in trouble. Remember, he feels like he has to save freaking everyone. And now Sara is in trouble, and god forbid he wait until we actually have something on what we're fighting here. That freaking idiot—"
Bobby spoke over Sam's steadily rising volume. "Hold the phone, Sam. This is your brother we're talking about. Yeah, he's an idjit with a death wish, and yeah I'm gonna wring his neck when he comes back, but he's also perfectly capable of handling himself. He's proven that more than once."
Bobby's words calmed Sam, but only momentarily. "Bobby, he's out there right now against who knows what. Chances are, he's alright found the things freaking lair, and like the dumb idiot he is, he's already gone in."
Bobby was silent for a moment, and Sam was aware of Ellen and Jo's eyes latched on him, watching in a way only women could. The house was silent and still, and he could feel anticipation and adrenaline coursing just under the surface of his skin. He was sensing he had to go after his brother, even if it was as halfcocked as his brother was. Thanks to his brother, now they were being rushed all the more to come up with a solution.
Bobby's gruff voice knocked him from his reverie. "You're right. We know that your brother is probably found where that thing is hidden – he was certainly motivated enough."
"Alright, then let's go, we have to find him and—"
"Hold up boy! Slow down a little bit," Bobby ground out. "Your brother may have gone in unprepared, but that doesn't mean we have to. I think I may have found what we're looking for."
"Seriously," Ellen asked. Sam took a few long strides into the living room and Ellen followed behind him, her arms crossed. Even Jo sat straighter on the couch.
Bobby nodded. "Seriously. I just found it in this old book I got from Jim. This flower we're looking at here" he held up the black flower with splashes of purple and red "is a blood iris. They're very rare, only used in the most powerful black magic spells. You don't see these unless we're dealing with a seriously evil, seriously old witch. But, they're also a symbol of something else. A greek goddess, goes by the name Achlys. She's a nasty thing – very old, very powerful. She's the goddess of misery, poison, and death, and these flowers are her calling card. Rumor has it she'd been locked away somewhere deep, but I guess she's free."
Ellen took a step forward. "Ok, that's good. We know who she is, now how do we kill her?"
Bobby flipped a few pages, searching, and looked back up. "Stab her with a blessed olive branch dipped in her own poison."
Jo spoke up from the couch for the first time. "What's her own poison, exactly?" They all exchanged looks as the question hung in the air. It was a valid point, and Sam didn't know the answer.
Apparently Bobby didn't either. "That it doesn't say. I have the blessed olive branch, but I have no clue how to get my hands on her poison."
Sam frowned. "Where'd you get your hands on a blessed olive branch."
Bobby leaned back, nonchalance written all over his features. "I went on a supernatural killing kick last year – lots of gods around these parts for some reason. I was sick of hunting the darned things down, so I had an olive tree from Greece shipped over and planted in my back yard. I had a Greek priest bless it for good measure." He said this casually, like a normal person might say they'd bought a terrier or groceries.
"Bobby, you are amazing, you know that," Jo said, laughing.
"It could stand be said more."
Ellen snorted. "All right old man, stop stroking your enlarged ego. I say we get some weapons together and find the place this thing is holed up at, if we want to find Dean."
They were all quiet for a moment. Sam's mind was spinning, and it was all he could do to concentrate on the problem set before them.
Sam spoke slowly. "You said these flowers are her calling card, right?" Nods all around. "Ok, so she could be growing these someplace – like a garden."
Bobby's eyes grew exponentially under his grey eyebrows. "A plant nursery. That's genius Sam." Even as he spoke Sam whipped out his laptop and searched.
"There's an abandoned plant nursery just outside of town, not even thirty minutes away. It's perfect."
Those words seemed to be the gun at the start of a race. Suddenly everyone was in a frenzy, bustling around and gathering bags of weapons and ammo. Bobby ran outside and Sam could hear the sounds of an axe against a poor olive tree.
Sam busied himself with packing, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. This was so Dean. Of course he would run right into the belly of the beast without any backup or any heads up. Sam could almost hear his voice in his head. I have to do this Sam. I have to save her. Or maybe something a little more self-deprecating. This is my fault Sam. I got her messed up in all of this. It's my responsibility. That was just Dean. Anything to protect an innocent or Sam, no matter the cost to himself. Sam found himself cursing Dean's hero complex, his incessant need to protect and save everyone. If he would've just waited a little bit longer, he'd be armed with something that could save his and those victims lives. Instead, he was out there doing who knows what, possibly injured.
Sam shook his head as they headed out the door. They were going to find his brother, and he was going to be ok. You have to be ok.
TBC- Please don't be shy- I appreciate any and all reviews. All you ghost readers out there, start making yourselves known :)