Chapter Four

The plan went off without a hitch for the most part. Bobby called back with the names of two hunters he'd worked with in the past that were just over the border in Indiana who agreed to pitch in their muscle. Bobby assured them that the two men he sent could be trusted, which both brothers took with a grain of salt. They already knew Sam was a target from the faction of hunters that had listened to Gordon Walker's single-minded brand of crazy, and then there was the whole Steve Wandell thing. They only had the grizzled mechanic's assurance that he'd never heard any chatter indicating anybody had ever managed to put two and two together and come up with Winchester in Wandell's death.

And now, to top it off, they had a bonafide resurrection to explain. The hunter network was a tight one, they had come to realize, and once information was out, it traveled faster than the AP wire. The hope that these two particular hunters hadn't heard about Dean's vacation down under and subsequent renewal topside was quickly dashed when the older one, Cash, looked him up and down and shook his head, muttering "I'll be damned" as he hesitantly shook Dean's hand.

The two hunters were a peculiar pair, sort of a Mutt and Jeff duo. The younger hunter, who's name, ironically, was Jeff, had continued to stare at Dean with wide eyes, almost in a kind of hero worship. It was sort of amusing at first, but managed to become increasingly annoying to the elder Winchester as the evening wore on, causing Sam to run interference and suggest Dean stay outside to keep watch as the other three broke into the theater, bust the slab into smaller pieces with a sledgehammer and carry the large fragments safely to the truck.

Cash agreed to transport the slab to the salt spring, his head dipping in amused respect when presented with the plan. Dean, becoming quite uneasy with Jeff's constant scrutiny, had readily accepted the offer and stood beside his brother, breathing a sigh of relief as the pick-up's tail lights faded into the dark.

"Well that was creepy," Dean said with a shudder.

Sam gave a soft laugh. "You mean Jeff worshipping the ground you walked on?"

Dean nodded. "Tell me that wasn't just a little weird."

"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "According to Cash, Jeff was raised Catholic. Still goes to church every Sunday despite what he's seen. When Bobby confirmed the rumor about the angels pulling you out of hell, he almost wet his pants volunteering to help."

"Another mental image I could've done without."

"Get used to it, Dean." Sam sighed. "Word of this angel thing is gonna spread and the hunters who don't see us as a threat and want to kill us are gonna see us as something else and…"

Dean turned to him, a measure of disbelief on his face. "And what? Vote me in as the next American Idol? No thanks."

Sam chuckled, appreciating his brother's attempt at levity. "I doubt if any of them are going to hand you a microphone, but you gotta admit, being pulled from the pit by an angel because 'God commanded it' is something you don't see everyday… or never."

Sam watched as the emotions played across his brother's face. He understood how hard it was for Dean to deal with what had happened. He'd never forget the tearful confession on the side of the road. Listening to Dean try to calmly explain what had happened to him in Hell, and what he'd been forced to do was one of the hardest things Sam had ever had to do in his life. He could only imagine how much harder it had been for Dean.

And despite how onerous the whole experience had been, Sam suspected that dealing with how he had gotten out was going to be just as difficult for the older man. Like Dean had confessed back at Bobby's, he didn't like being singled out at birthday parties… let alone by God. Sam couldn't even begin to imagine how much weight that extraordinary act had added to his brother's already overburdened shoulders, but if any one man was strong enough to bear that extra burden, it was Dean.

Sam just wished the rest of the world would stop adding to it.

"So," he started back to the Impala, slowing until his brother's step fell in rhythm beside him. "How long do you think?"

"A couple of hours," Dean replied. "Cash said they'd call as soon as the rock was buried."

Sam nodded, splitting off toward the driver's side as they approached the car. With Dean's arm still immobilized, Sam had insisted on doing the driving despite a weak, token protest from his brother. "You really think this will work?"

Dean paused as he opened the passenger door and looked across the top of the car. "It'll work, Sammy. And maybe those spirits will even be able to move on once they realize they're no longer bound to the theater."

"Maybe," Sam responded with a sad shrug. "I hope so." But he didn't really believe it.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

It was closer to four hours before Cash phoned Dean's cell and gave the all clear. Dean's pain relief had completely worn off by that time and the older hunter had nodded off, propped against a mound of pillows after self-medicating with three beers and a couple of pulls from the ever- present flask. Sam had tried not to show his concern, but had kept a watchful eye, sliding the flask from his brother's lax hand as his eyes dropped shut and his breathing began to even out.

With Dean out cold, Sam had been tempted to head back to the theater and run the EMF over the place just to confirm the ghosts had indeed been dealt with. He knew if Dean happened to wake up, the older man would be furious that he had gone out alone, so, in deference to not giving his brother anything new to get upset about – not to mention being within reach just in case one of the frequent nightmares took hold, Sam opted to wait, settling himself in for the rest of the night.

The next afternoon, Sam called Kim, offering to take her out for the cup of coffee that had been interrupted the previous evening. Even though she had to work until closing, she readily accepted, asking if Sam could meet her at the theater around 11:00 that evening. The date gave him an excuse he was looking for to run the EMF over the theater to confirm the ghosts were indeed gone, and, on the plus side, he got the chance to spend more time with the pretty college student.

"Dean," Sam argued for what seemed like the hundredth time. "You need to take it easy."

Ignoring the advice, Dean slid his jacket over the sling, pushing his good arm inside the sleeve and tugged the worn leather garment on.

"Dean," Sam sighed in exasperation. "Please. I can do this alone. Besides, the last thing I need is you horning in on my date… again."

The older man grinned, his eyebrows rising in challenge. "You sure, Sammy? Looked to me like you could use a few pointers."

Sam gave the remark the disdain it deserved. "Ha ha. Funny. If I didn't have to go running off to save your ass every ten minutes, maybe I could accomplish more than small talk."

"My ass is just fine, little brother." Dean responded. "And if you'd work faster than a constipated snail, you might actually be able to seal a deal or two. "

"I do just fine." Sam griped.

"With who? Ruby?"

Sam started, not appreciating his brother's insinuation. "It was only that one time, Dean. And I explained why --"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean waved a hand in apology. "I get it, Sammy. I already told you that. Just, I'm still trying to get that visual out of my head." The grin on his face softened the words, letting Sam know it wasn't really a critical jab at what had happened in the four months Sam had spent without him.

Sam dipped his head, snorting a soft laugh through his nose. "You really want to come?"

Dean gave him a look of alarm. "Hell no. You're a big boy, Sammy. You're on your own with Lacey."

"Then where are you going?"

Dean snagged the keys from his pocket and started for the door. "I'll drop you off at the theater. Then I'm going to find Gabe. I think he deserves to know what happened."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

Dean parked in front of theater, having taken back control of the driving despite Sam's protests, and climbed out of the car. Sam reluctantly led his brother into the building, feeling like a twelve-year old kid going to his first dance with his big brother as a chaperone. Of course, he did remember first hand what that actually felt like. It hadn't been so bad having Dean drive him and Mary Lynn Corbett to the 8th grade dance, but when Mary Lynn spent the entire ride watching Dean's every move with star filled eyes, and then preceded to talk about how lucky Sam was to have such a cool older brother for the rest of the evening, Sam vowed to never again accept his brother's offer of a ride if there was a girl involved. It had been years before he'd asked anyone else to go anywhere that wasn't within walking distance. It wasn't that he'd disagreed about Mary Lynn's assessment of his older brother, he just would rather have his dates like him for who he was – not who he was related to.

Dean had never even noticed the attention Sam's date had shown him. As far as he was concerned, it was just a little girl dumb enough to hang around with his geeky little brother, and Sam had never really blamed Dean for the slight. But, he'd felt the tang of jealousy and it had made him nauseous to feel that way toward Dean. So he'd vowed to never give a girl he was interested in the chance to dis him again. It just wasn't worth the aggravation.

Of course, Sam remembered Dean wearing the same smirk that was on his face right now, so maybe he had known what was happening all those years ago.

He'd professed a need to ask Kim if she knew Gabe's address, or, for that matter, last name so that he could look him up in the local directory, but Sam suspected his older brother simply didn't want him going into the theater alone just in case their plan hadn't worked. On one hand, it felt good that Dean still put Sam's safety first, but it was also kind of stifling that he still felt the need to watch out for him. Of course, Sam reminded himself, that was one of the things he'd missed the most in the four months Dean had been gone, having him show his concern in such a normal, 'Dean-like' way really wasn't too hard to bear.

He just wasn't about to let Dean know that.

Stepping through the doors, both brothers chanced a glance at the roped off memorial area to their right. There was a yellow police tape wound around the purple velvet ropes, cordoning off the area and obviously labeling it a crime scene, but there were no cops around and, they assumed, the tape was just a left over from an earlier investigation when the rock had been discovered gone.

"Maybe we should've found another rock to replace it," Dean whispered in a low voice.

Sam nodded in agreement. "I doubt if they're gonna call in the CSI guys over a missing slab of cement."

Dean pursed his lips, his eyebrows quirking as he tilted his head. "Even if they did, we didn't leave a trace. It was the perfect crime."

Sam rolled his eyes. He thrust his hands into his jacket pockets and moved toward the concession stand, pointedly ignoring his brother's smug satisfaction.

"Hey, Sam," Kim waved as he approached.

"Hey," Sam responded with an innocent smile. He thrust a thumb back over his shoulder. "What's going on over there?"

Kim sighed, leaning her arms against the glass of the counter, a look of irritation marring her pretty face. "Some morons broke in and stole the memorial rock," she explained.

Sam was momentarily ashamed of the fact that even though the young woman had no idea of his part in the theft, that he was the one who was the target of her ire.

"Really?" Dean sidled up to the counter, glancing back toward the memorial. "That sucks. What kind of depraved scumbag would steal a memorial?"

Sam slowly turned toward his brother, his eyes wide, is best bitch face firmly in place.

Dean returned his stare with a smile before turning to beam at Kim. "Hey, I was wondering if you could tell me where Gabe lives? I really wanted to thank him for what he did for me the other day, but…" he shrugged , his expression self-deprecating. "After whacking my head, if he gave me his last name, I don't remember."

"Sure," Kim giggled. "His last name is Stafford. He lives in the house at the end of Buford Rd., about two blocks east. It's a big white house with a wrap around porch. You can't miss it."

"Thanks," Dean nodded to her and then turned and slapped Sam on the chest with the back of his hand. "I won't wait up," he stage whispered before heading across the lobby and out the exit.

Sam rolled his eyes, the act beginning to give him a headache before turning back to Kim. "Sorry. My brother sometimes has a problem with tact."

"It's okay, Sam," Kim responded coyly. "There's a good chance he may just be spending the night alone." She winked at him. "I just have to go make a final check of the auditorium. Be right back."

With a flirty smile, she ducked out from behind the concession counter and sauntered over to the theater doors, giving Sam a glance over her shoulder as she slipped into the quiet theater.

Sam took a deep breath through his nose and let it whoosh out his pursed lips. He smiled. Maybe his luck was changing.

Shaking himself from his musings, he reluctantly remembered the true reason for his presence in the theater. He pulled the EMF detector from his pocket and flipped it on, pointing it toward the roped off memorial site as he slowly crossed the small lobby. The device didn't let out a beep and Sam sighed in relief. He quickly moved the detector around the lobby, a small smile creeping onto his face as he realized his brother's off-the-cuff plan had actually worked.

The feeling of relief was cut short when Kim's piercing scream carried through the closed doors of the auditorium into the lobby. Sam broke into a run, long legs quickly carrying him across the room and through the ornate doors. The lights in the auditorium were dim, but Sam could make out Kim's form at the edge of the stage. She was standing near the curtains on the right side, backing slowly on shaking legs towards the center of the screen. Her hands were clasped over her mouth and her attention was frozen on something ahead of her, hidden from Sam's view behind the long red curtains.

Another loud screech dragged his attention to the device still in his hand and Sam quickly glanced at the EMF, his eyes going wide as he watched the red LED indicators light up in quick succession.

"Damnit!" he breathed through clenched teeth as he pocketed the device and hurried down the center aisle, coming up behind the frightened young woman. At his touch, she screamed again and jumped, turning frightened eyes on Sam that took more than a moment to fill with recognition.

"Oh my God!" she whispered. "I saw… I saw…"

Sam looked up past the top of her head and watched as the image of a young boy flickered in and out of focus. The kid was dressed in homespun pants held up by a simple rope belt and a plain pale blue shirt. His hair was slicked down and combed to the side and his eyes held a look of malice, his mouth turned up in an unfriendly grin.

Sam quickly stepped around the frightened girl, wishing like hell he'd thought to bring a shotgun with him. He had his revolver tucked into the back of his jeans, but the gun held real bullets which, he knew, would have no effect on the spirit before him.

He turned slightly, placing one hand on the girl's shoulder and the other under her chin, lifting her face up and effectively cutting off her view of the ghost. "Kim," he said in a slow, calm voice, his eyes holding hers, forcing her to listen to him. "I want you to go. Get to the lobby and get out of the building."

"But," Kim protested, trying to turn her head to search for the spirit, but Sam managed to tighten his hold on her chin and kept his gaze.

"Now, Kim. Go."

After a moment she nodded and as he released her, she took a few steps backwards before turning and running up the center aisle and out the auditorium doors.

Sam spun around, his eyes searching the dim area where the shadows of the room played behind the slowly fluttering curtain. The spirit was no longer visible, but Sam knew it was still present. The temperature in the auditorium was unnaturally chilled and he could see his breath as he exhaled. He cautiously stepped along the edge of the stage, the hairs on his arms prickling as he closed the distance.

"Hello?" he called. "I don't want to hurt you."

As long as you don't want to hurt me.

He approached the side of the screen, releasing the tense hold of his shoulders as he realized the spirit was no longer there. Keeping one eye on the shadows, he quickly pulled out his cell and hit speed dial one, waiting as the device connected to his brother's phone.

"Yo," Dean's voice answered after two rings.

"Dean, we have a problem –" His words were cut off as he felt a rope wrap around his neck and pull tight. Dropping the phone, both hands grabbed for the rope, his panicked mind recognizing it as one of the gold brocade cords that hung alongside the red curtains all around the theater. As the rope tightened, he could feel his feet beginning to lose purchase on the floor. His vision began to swim, black spots forming as he struggled, fighting to take a breath.

"Sammy? Sammy!" He could hear his brother's frantic calls coming from the phone and closed his eyes against the pain he could hear in the familiar voice. "Sammy!"

"Dean!" he managed to croak out just as the rope tightened again and he felt his feet leave the floor.

TBC