Chapter 4: To the Train Station

Yeah, too bad we all don't have visions and dreams that point the way. Some of us have to rely purely on instinct. But it comes in handy when a guy like me has Sammy around to have visions. Alright, so that sounded a little cold. I didn't mean it like that. It bothers me, though, to see Sammy hurting like he does. And for what? For a life he never wanted to live?

I just don't want anybody to think that I'm using Sam. 'Cause that's not the case. If I could take his burdens, I would do it without a moments hesitation. But I can't change Fate and I don't know why he was given the gift that he calls a curse. I don't want him to think that I'm using him.

But, like any pain-in-the-ass big brother, I can't tell him any of these things. I can't seem to tell him anything that matters. I try. I honestly do, but I'm not that kind of person. I'm not all touchy-feely and stuff, so it's harder for someone like me to say things like 'Thank you' or 'I'm sorry' or 'I love you'. I'm supposed to be strong and that means eliminating the emotion factor.

I guess I'm just scared that one day it might be too late for me to say all those things, and life's too short for regret.
--------------------
It was almost noon when they reached the abandoned train station. Sam felt a chill of recognition creep up his spine as he saw it. The only difference was that he was standing on the outside this time.

"This the place?" Dean asked as he closed the driver's side door to the Impala.

"Yeah, this is it," Sam replied, "But, Dean. What are we supposed to find here?"

"You tell me, psychic boy. What'd our dead friend say?"

"Nothing about a train station," Sam muttered as he made his way up the old platform steps.

Dean followed him and used his jacket sleeve to wipe a layer of dirt from one of the windows, peering inside.

"Dark," he commented, pulling a flashlight from his duffel bag and handing it to Sam before grabbing one for himself.

Sam took the flashlight and went to the door. Not locked. That was a surprise. The place was abandoned. Why would it be open?

"Break the door down or break a window?" Dean asked.

"Door," Sam said, indicating that it was open.

"Door it is, then," Dean replied, motioning for Sam to stand back.

"But, Dean-"

Sam didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as Dean ran and kicked the door. The door, already opened slightly by Sam, gave way easily, and Dean found himself falling face-first onto the dusty floor. Sam found himself stifling a laugh as he bent down to help his brother up.

"Tried to warn you," he said with a grin on his face.

"Good job at that," Dean muttered, brushing dirt off his shirt and jacket.

"Wow, Dean, look at this place," Sam said as he took a look around the old train station, "It must be at least a hundred years old. Hey, look at this." He walked over to an old telegraph device on a desk in the corner. "Dean, these were used for-"

"Yeah, save the history lesson for later," Dean interrupted. "Besides, I'm not an idiot. I did finish high school you know."

Sam felt himself flush slightly, but shut his mouth. Smartass, he thought.

"Hey, Sam."

"Yeah?" he asked, shining his flashlight onto an old train schedule.

"This place is supposed to be abandoned, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

Sam turned and followed the beam of Dean's flashlight. Through the dusty floor there was a trail of footprints leading through the station. And they looked pretty new compared to everything else here. Sam faced Dean and his older brother lifted an eyebrow.

The older Winchester led the way through the cluttered station, following the footprints. Sam couldn't help but feel the uncanny sensation of deja vou as he spotted the door at the end of a long hallway. He immediately remembered his dream and the chanting that had come from that room. He half expected the girl to call out to him as he followed Dean in that direction.

Dean nudged the door open with his toe and shone the flashlight inside. Both the young men peered in cautiously. It was an empty room, dark and windowless. But what caught their attention was the symbols carved and painted on the floors and walls.

"Look what we have here," Dean muttered as he walked inside, pausing to study some of the symbols.

"Vandalism?" Sam asked.

"I think it's more than that," Dean replied, pointing to a strange shape on the wall, "No mere kid could find some of these symbols, even in a book. This one here, it's used to summon the dead. Very ancient. Dates back to before Christ."

"Summon the dead?" Sam asked, turning to his brother, "Dean, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that the spirits here weren't disturbed by the construction. Someone summoned them, and used the old cemetery as a cover."

"Are you talking about Necromancy?" Sam asked, a little dubiously.

"It makes sense," Dean replied, "Why else would the girl's spirit be calling out to us? It also explains all the weird deaths. Someone in this town is using the dead to kill people off."

"Dean, really. You can't know all that from a few symbols written on the wall. Necromancy is serious magic. No average person could possibly manage it."

"How else do you explain this room?" Dean asked. "How else do you explain the girl?"

"Look, maybe we should visit the cemetery first before we draw conclusions from nothing," Sam reasoned.

"Sammy, why would she show you this place if wasn't important?" Dean asked.

"It's Sam, and I don't know, but this wasn't the place that she wanted us to go, Dean, it was somewhere else. I just can't remember where. And how do we even know that this is a good spirit, Dean? Demons always try to come across as good spirits before they attack, that's why they disguise themselves as small children all the time. For all we know, this could just be a case of vengeful spirits."

"Who write symbols on the walls that are used to summon the dead?" Dean asked. "Yeah, that makes sense, Sam. And maybe I'm Santa Clause."

"You're such a pain in the ass," Sam said with a sigh. "Okay, say you're right. Someone is summoning spirits to kill people off. What's the motive?"

"Motive?" Dean asked.

"English class, Dean. In every story a motive is why a character does the things he does."

"Aw, man, I slept during that class," Dean muttered, "This isn't a story. Why do people need motives?"

"Why would someone want to kill people?" Sam insisted. "A harmless old lady, a father of two?"

"'Cause they're just evil," Dean replied. When Sam gave him an incredulous look he continued, "Look, you said in your dream that you heard chanting from this room, right? Maybe reciting spells?"

"Let's visit the cemetery, Dean."

Dean shrugged in surrender, motioning Sam out the door. He was right, and he knew it, and that was all that mattered.