Chapter Three

Dean found himself liking Gabe more and more as the tour progressed. The old man was pretty agile for his age, and Dean found himself impressed with the way he was able to make his way through the shadowy back rooms of the theater with an ease borne of familiarity. He'd tried to check the EMF periodically, but had decided to stow the device for the time being, giving his full attention to Gabe and his narrative about the history of the old building. He figured it would be easy enough for him to come back after closing with Sam and give the place a thorough sweep, so for now, he decided to just absorb as much information as he could from his new friend.

"So did you actually know some of the people who were killed?" Dean asked. "I mean besides Edward?"

Gabe nodded, his eyes taking on a dark sadness in the dim light. "I only knew some of them by sight, you understand. But it was a small town, back then. Most everybody knew most everybody else." They had made their way back to the stage, standing just off to the side of the gigantic screen. Gabe glanced up at the balcony, a fond grin turning one side of his mouth. "I remember Jennifer McCall and Eli Robinson. They would usually sit right up there in the upper balcony. Figured nobody could see them kissing if they were up there, but…" He shrugged, his eyes traveling back to the empty rows of seats. "And Old Henry. He worked in the barbershop, sweeping up most nights. But every Saturday, you could find him sitting right there in the fourth row, munching on some penny candy he'd brought with him from the pharmacy. He wasn't as smart as some people, hell most thought he was downright slow, but he loved the movies. He'd sit there without moving, just watching with a huge grin plastered on his face."

The old man shook his head, the memories bringing a melancholy look to his eyes. "Sometimes I can still see them..."

Dean cleared his throat, not sure if the old man meant he still saw them in his memories or actually saw them.

"So, um, it's like they're still here?"

Gabe turned his head and gave his young friend a long look, chuckling in a low rumble as he caught the real question in Dean's voice. "I figured you weren't just interested in the architecture." At Dean's attempt at an explanation, Gabe waved a hand in dismissal. "Don't worry, kid. I ain't gonna get mad. Hell, I figured you had some angle sticking around listening to some old coot ramble on." He eyed Dean thoughtfully, squinting as he tried to ascertain the younger man's true interest. "You some reporter or something?"

As tempting as it was to lie and let the elderly man believe he was just looking for some information, Dean found himself in the strange position of wanting to come clean with Gabe. He had no idea why it was suddenly difficult to launch into one of their well-used cons, but he really had become fond of Gabe and he believed that the old man's attachment to the place was genuine and he deserved the truth.

"Um, no. I'm not a reporter," he began hesitantly. "Actually, we – my brother Sam and me – we're kind of problem solvers in an odd… super… natural way…"

He raised his eyebrows and gave Gabe a small shrug.

"You are here about the ghosts, right?"

Dean gave a sigh of relief. "Yes. We heard about the activity and thought maybe we could do something about it before someone really got hurt."

Gabe took a moment to consider the younger man, staring at him with pensive eyes before snorting a laugh from his nose and shaking his head in amusement. "A real live Ghostbuster, huh? Kid, that's a new one on me. You any good?"

Dean returned the older man's grin. "We usually get the job done."

"Okay, then. What can I do to help?"

Dean licked his lips, dipping his head in surprise. It wasn't a normal occurrence to have someone accept what they did without any questions or reservations and he was admittedly thrown a bit off his game. "Well, you can start by telling me what you've seen. " He waved a hand around the auditorium. "The couple in the balcony, Henry in the fourth row, have you ever seen them do anything or act out of character?"

Gabe shook his head. "Nope. I've been working here most of my life in some capacity or another. I've seen these ghosts on and off for almost 50 years. They're always right where they're supposed to be. Then they just fade away like they were never there at all."

"What about the others that died?"

Gabe thought for a moment then shook his head slowly. "Nope. I've seen 'em from time to time, but they never so much as acknowledged anyone's existence – at least anyone still breathing. It's like they don't know they're dead. They're just going on about the business like they did before the fire took 'em."

A soft echo of childish laughter drifted toward them from the left.

Dean's eyebrows shot up and he glanced at Gabe. "You heard that?"

Gabe nodded, his eyes momentarily losing focus as he relived another memory. "Been hearing it a more and more lately. I always figured that was Edward. He sometimes did that when we were hiding from the ushers. Nearly got us caught a time or two, but we always managed to get away."

Dean moved toward the dim shadows to the left of the stage, coming upon a wrought iron spiral staircase that wound from the main level up into the shadows. "Where does this go?" he asked, craning his neck to see up into the darkness.

"Nowhere, really." Gabe shuffled up behind him, mimicking his stance as he too looked up the staircase. "There used to be a prop room up there when they used to have live stage shows, but that was boarded over a when the place became exclusively a movie theater. Nothing's been up there since."

Dean pulled the EMF from his pocket and switched it on, watching as the red lights flashed across the LED indicators. "Well, there seems to be something up there now," he mumbled as he pocketed the device and started up the stairs. He was halfway up when he felt the sudden drop in temperature and had only a moment's notice before he felt something lift him up and push him over the side of the railing. He heard Gabe shout his name, then felt the a sudden impact as the ground rushed up to meet him, sending him into a different -- yet sadly familiar -- kind of darkness.

snsnsnsnsnsnsn

Sam rushed sideways through the sliding doors of the Emergency room, barely giving them time to open far enough to allow space for his body. He quickly spotted the admittance desk and hurried over in three long strides, Kim running frantically to keep pace.

"Excuse me," he called to the nurse on duty, pulling her attention from the file she was studying. "My brother was just brought in here, his name's Dean –" He stopped abruptly, not sure exactly which alias his brother would have used, or if, in fact, he'd been able to use one at all.

"You must be Sammy."

Sam turned to his left, his eyes falling on the form of an old man. He stood about 5'10", although without the slightly stooped shoulder, Sam guessed he must have been close to 6' in his youth. The man had thinning, almost white hair and his face was dotted with liver spots that seem to go hand in hand with the advancement of years. The man held out a wrinkled hand, gazing at the young man with understanding eyes.

"Sam," the hunter corrected automatically. He stepped away from the desk, his larger hand engulfing the old man's.

"Of course," the man laughed as he looked up at Sam. "You certainly are a tall one. My name's Gabe. I was with your brother when he fell."

Sam's eyes widened at the information. "Fell? From what? Where?"

"Just take a breath, son. He's okay." He gave Sam a sheepish grin. "I guess I kind of panicked a bit when he hit the ground. When I couldn't wake him up right away, I called 911 and here we are. He wasn't too happy about it when he came to in the ambulance."

The fact that Dean had been awake and coherent enough to be upset was enough to abate Sam's frantic concern somewhat. "Thank you for calling me, Gabe. I appreciate you looking out for Dean. He sometimes doesn't do a real good job himself."

"That's because I have to spend so much time taking care of your clumsy ass."

Sam whirled around, a sigh of relief filtering through his nose as his brother came in to view. Sam's eyes moved from the stitched gash above Dean's left eye to the dark blue sling, which effectively secured his left arm to his torso.

"Who are you calling clumsy, man? Looks like you're the one who needs a babysitter."

Dean rolled his eyes. "It takes more than a little staircase and a cement floor to crack this head."

"But it was enough to cause one hell of a dent." The young man who had accompanied Dean through the doors of the Emergency area stepped forward and held a hand out to Sam. "I'm Dr. Trent. You must be Sam."

"Yeah," Sam took the hand and shook it firmly. "Is he okay?"

Trent turned back to his patient. "He managed to separate his shoulder but it seems to have popped back in on it's own."

Sam glanced to Dean who grinned, tilting his head in a 'you don't say' gesture.

"The joint was only slightly inflamed," the doctor continued. "We did an x-ray to determine the extent of the damage. There didn't seem to be any obvious ligament tears, so if he can keep it immobilized for a few days, it should heal up fine."

Sam nodded, knowing the injury was probably already a couple of days old, a result of their jump from the church window. It was possible Dean had re-injured the limb, but it was more likely the doctors had assessed the results of Sam's somewhat questionable first aid. "What about the dent in his head?"

Trent smiled at the glare his patient threw his brother's way. "No concussion, so he's probably right about the hard head. I'd suggest a few Tylenol if the headache persists. If you notice any nausea or he starts exhibiting any strange behavior, bring him back as soon as possible."

"Hey," Dean interrupted. "Right here, dudes."

Sam promptly ignored him. "I'm not sure I'll be able to distinguish strange behavior from normal, Doc, but I'll keep an eye on him."

The doctor nodded and held out his hand to Dean. "Then I'll leave you in your brother's capable hands."

"And I thought doctors took an oath to do no harm."

Trent laughed. "Good luck, gentlemen."

The doctor disappeared back through the treatment room doors and Sam turned to run a concerned eye over his brother. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Sammy. I've had a lot worse."

Sam noticed the slight tremor in his brother's voice and understood his meaning. Forty years in Hell kind of made a trip down a staircase look like nothing worse than a splinter.

"Yeah," Sam breathed.

"Glad you're okay, kid." Gabe approached, standing to Sam's right and giving Dean his own cursory visual exam. "You managed to scare the bejezus out of me when you went flying over the rail like that." The old man held up a hand, wiggling Dean's cell phone back and forth. "Good thing I found this next to you or we'd have had a hard time getting hold of your brother."

Dean accepted the phone and awkwardly tucked it into his front pocket. Looking past the two men, he noticed the young woman standing a few feet behind Sam for the first time. "You must be Lace—er, Kim."

The brunette stepped forward, giving him a cute little wave. "Yeah, hi. Sorry about your head," she waved a hand toward her own forehead. She looked at the sling holding his arm secure and grimaced. "Does it hurt?"

Dean waved his own hand in dismissal. "You kidding? Happens all the time. Bet you didn't expect this good of a time when you accepted Sammy's offer tonight, huh?"

Kim returned his grin. "No, I have to admit, this is one of the more original dates I've been on in a while." She glanced playfully at Sam, who had the decency to blush in apology.

"Yeah, well Sammy's always been a bit of a slow starter." Dean stepped forward between the two men and placed his free arm around the girl's shoulder. "How about we get some dinner and I'll tell you about the time…."

Sam rolled his eyes as his brother steered Kim out through the ER doors, the low rumble of his voice mixing with her giggles as they sauntered out into the night.

"Seems to me, those capable hands kind of run in the family," Gabe observed with a touch of amusement.

Sam merely sighed and moved to follow his brother. "You have no idea,"

Snsnsnsnsnsns

"Here." Sam held out three Tylenol, dropping them into his brother's outstretched palm before handing him the plastic cup of water.

"Using the good china, I see," Dean quipped as he downed the pills and gently eased himself back against the headboard.

"Only the best for my big brother," Sam replied. He dropped onto the edge of the other bed, leaned forward, elbows on thighs and took a good look at the sibling in question. "So, how are you really? You okay?"

Dean had managed to hide most of his discomfort throughout dinner and Sam was pretty sure neither Kim nor Gabe were aware of just how much pain the older hunter was in. Sam, on the other hand, could tell the moment the painkillers the doctor had administered had begun to taper off and had managed to end the evening without being too obvious about his real concern. Lucky for him, Dean wasn't exactly on top of his game or he would have definitely been called out on the whole mother hen routine.

As it was, he was able to get Dean back to the motel, propped up with every pillow in the room and settled in before the anesthetic he'd received for his shoulder had worn off completely. Of course, the fact that Dean hadn't protested Sam's hovering spoke volumes to the younger man, telling Sam that he was probably in a fair amount of pain even though he would never consciously admit to it.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean responded automatically. "Seriously, man. Just a few more bruises to add to the new collection."

Sam laughed softly. "So much for the pristine new temple, huh?" Dean returned his laugh, nodding in agreement. "So, now what? Did you get a chance to scan the place with the EMF?"

Dean shook his head against the wall very slowly. "Nah. I was with Gabe the entire time. Didn't want to freak the old guy out." He opened his eyes and gave Sam a wry grin. "Turned out, he'd pretty much already figured it out anyway."

"You told him why we were here?"

Dean shrugged with his good shoulder. "I figured he deserved the truth. I mean, he's probably the only person alive who has that kind of a connection to the original theater. And he's seen the ghosts, swears they'd never hurt anyone."

"Until now." Sam dipped his head in thought. "So the six victims all burned to death in the fire. According to Kim, there was nothing left of the bodies. So, in effect, I guess they were cremated."

"So can't salt and burn them." Dean concluded. "You think they're connected to something in the theater?"

Sam nodded thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes suddenly widening. "The rock."

Dean turned his head to face his brother, his brows furrowing in confusion. "You want to watch wrestling?"

Sam gave him a momentary look of bewilderment before standing and continuing. "No, moron. There's a big slab of concrete in the middle of the memorial they have for the victims. You must have seen it when we went through the lobby."

Dean was nodding slowly. "That roped off area with the big plague?"

"Yeah. According to Kim, that big piece of rock is part of the foundation of the original theater."

Dean's brows rose as he contemplated his brother's logic. "So you think these spirits have somehow attached themselves to the only surviving piece of the original building."

"Why not?" Sam argued. "We've come across spirits bound to weirder things. Maybe that's why they don't leave the theater. Maybe they can't. Maybe the rock is holding them there."

"Okay. I can roll with that. We can take the EMF back tonight and check it out."

Sam nodded and returned to the edge of the mattress. "But if the spirits are bound to that slab, how the hell are we gonna get rid of them. We can bust it up, but there's no guarantee that'll work. We can't exactly salt and burn concrete." He looked up at his brother. "Can we?"

Dean thought for a moment, his lips pursed as his eyes momentarily lost focus in contemplation. "Maybe we don't have to," he said softly. Suddenly he pushed himself off the pillows and swung his legs over the side of the bed opposite Sam.

"What are you doing?"

Dean leaned forward, snagging the handle of his duffle and hauling it with his right arm up into the mattress. After a few moments, he pulled the familiar leather journal from the bag and turned back toward Sam.

"Dean?"

With his good arm, Dean awkwardly pulled the strap holding the well-worn book together and began to thumb through the pages. "I have an idea," he said as he quickly scanned entry after entry. "I'm not saying it's a good one, but it might work."

Sam switched beds and took a seat beside his brother, careful not to jar the wounded shoulder. "Please tell me this plan doesn't involve baby oil, hookers or us doing something incredibly stupid."

Dean stopped his search for a moment and gave his brother a look of amusement. "No, but I can see if I can work one or two of them in."

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "Don't do me any favors, dude. Just what is this not so good idea of yours?"

Dean stopped at an entry, tapping a faded yellow piece of newsprint stapled to the page. "Well, if we can't really destroy this rock, maybe we can move it to a place where it can't do any more harm." He handed the book to Sam and pointed to the article.

"Hickory Hill?" Sam looked up at his brother in confusion. "Wasn't that some old slave house that's supposed to be haunted?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but Dad and I cleaned it out years ago while you were off playing Joe College."

Sam shook his head, trying and failing to follow his brother's train of thought. "Maybe you hit your head harder than we thought, Dean. You're not making any sense here."

The glare he received was not unexpected.

"When we cleared out the Crenshaw house at Hickory Hill, our trusty geek-boy was off playing BMOC, so I got stuck doing most of the research. Do you know why they had so many slaves in southern Illinois at that time?"

"Why?" Sam knew his brother was getting to the point, he just wished he'd hurry it up.

"To work the salt mines."

It took a moment for Sam to put the pieces together, but a slow smile spread over his face and his brother's idea finally clicked home. "You want to toss the rock into a salt mine?"

Dean tipped his head from side to side. "Sort of. The salt lick closed up over a hundred years ago, but according to what I found from the geological surveys there's still a pretty high mineral content in the area. There's even a salt spring on the bank of the Saline River a couple of hours south of here. I always remembered it because I thought it might come in handy some day." He shrugged, his eyes wide as he concluded his pitch. "I don't know, but it should be enough to keep the spirits contained for the long haul." He licked his lips and watched his brother's face, searching for any kind of reaction. "Well? What do you think?"

Sam contemplated the information, finally concluding it was better than anything he could come up with. "It just might work. But, how exactly are we going to get the rock to this salt spring?" He waved a hand at Dean's sling. "The thing's got to be a couple hundred pounds at least and you're not gonna be much help. Besides, I doubt if you're gonna let me toss it into the back seat of the Impala."

"Like you could, Clark Kent." Dean grabbed his phone from the bedside stand and tossed it in the air to his brother. "Call Bobby. Maybe he knows someone in the area who can pinch hit. Preferably someone with a pick-up."

Sam nodded and hit the button of the speed dial. "Think he'll answer?" The last time they'd called, hoping to draw on the older hunter's expertise to help with Anna, the mechanic had been in the Dominican. He'd told Dean it was a job, but, seriously, the only spirits Dean had ever heard of in the Caribbean came in coconut mugs with little umbrellas in them.

"Hopefully," Dean responded with a one armed shrug. "If he can pull himself away from the banana hammock and umbrella drinks."

TBC