Thanks you oddballs!! And a special shout-out to that lurker who should be getting her home internet this weekend!
Chapter Eighteen
"This is more like it," Sam muttered, going over old police reports from the abandoned house. His satellite uplink, homemade, also gave him access to various police records. Sam liked to keep his hacking skills up to date anyway. There were a number of dead kids found in that building, but they needed the first one, the very first one.
There were a couple that looked promising. Two kids, about thirty years ago when the building was still relatively new tenant housing, were beaten nearly to death inside. Found by the janitor, the kids were rushed to the hospital. The police investigated but the assailants were never found.
Sam did a search on the names of the kids. One died a few weeks later from extensive internal injuries the doctors could not deal with, and the other died two months ago at the age of forty-three. Sam frowned, doing an additional search for the cause of death of the kid who survived the initial attack. He was killed in a car wreck on the other side of the country, but the timing was right. The attacks on teens in the building started days after the second guy died in the car wreck.
"This is weird," Sam said, pointing out the article. "I found one guy who died from an attack in the building thirty years ago. He was fourteen. A second kid was with him, but he lived."
"We should talk to him," Dean said, abandoning the weapon he was cleaning to move his chair to sit closer to Sam. Even a close proximity to his brother felt comforting.
"He died in a car wreck two months ago. Two days later the first kid was killed in that building." Sam pointed out the obituary on the screen. "And according to this, he was cremated."
"Sounds like the guy." Dean went quiet for a moment. "Right?"
Sam rubbed his eyes with both hands. They felt scratchy and dry, too much time staring at a computer screen. He passed it over to Dean. "You tell me. I need a break."
Dean took the laptop from him, nodding over to the Styrofoam container against the wall. "Grab a beer for me too, will ya?"
Sam chuckled as he pushed away from the table. He retrieved a couple of cold sodas before bouncing down on the mattress. "Well?" he asked, handing out the drink.
Dean shrugged, scowling at the lack of beer being held out. "Could be him. Let's see if we can talk to some friends or family. That might shed some light on this."
Sam nodded. "Works for me. When do you want to go?"
Dean pointed to the screen. "Looks like the services were held here in town, so he must have been local. Maybe we can get some names off the registry?"
Sam shook his head. "That usually goes to the family. Most funeral homes don't keep a copy."
Dean raised an eyebrow at that. "Seriously? Dude, why do they have to make things so difficult for us?"
"Maybe they don't," Sam replied, a thought coming to him. "Let me see that." Dean handed the laptop over. Sam did a search on that name until he found the online guest book of the funeral home. It was still up, with about a dozen names listed. They chose three of the most personal entries, hoping those would be the best leads.
Sam decided they should try to talk to the people in person rather than over the phone. His hope being, of course, that Dean's new abilities would pick up on more than they usually would.
The first two were a bust, information-wise. All they learned was what a great guy Jerry was and what a great friend. Yadda-yadda. It was typical of all the stuff you usually heard about the dead. They needed something real, and Dean had not picked up on anything worth following up.
The last person on their list lived in brown and white two storey house. Two kids flew out the door after they knocked, stumbling into their legs in a rush to go outside. Dean chuckled at them as they tumbled to the ground in the front yard, yelling.
"Boys!" A woman's voice bellowed. "Don't kill each other!" She appeared in the open doorway. Pushing a stray strand of hair from her face, she addressed them. "I'm sorry about that, but they're driving me crazy."
Dean smiled. "No problem, ma'am. My brother here and I understand what brothers are like." Dean gestured at the boys rolling in the grass. "They're pretty tame compared with us."
The woman smiled. "And you are?"
Sam flashed one of their fake ids. "Reporters with the Chicago Sun. I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean." Since Dean couldn't lie, he had to stick with their real names.
She nodded. "And what do I owe the pleasure?"
"We're, ah, doing a follow-up story on Jerry Williamsburg. Human interest piece. You knew him?" Sam said quickly, hoping to prevent Dean from saying anything that might blow their cover.
She motioned them through the door. "Coffee?"
"Thanks," Dean said, shoving Sam out of the way. The brief touch filled him with a lightness and hope, which dispersed the instant Dean stepped away. Momentarily dazed, Sam stood just outside the door.
"Psst!" Dean hissed at him. "Dude, you coming in or what?"
Sam nodded, following his brother's lead. When they reached the kitchen, they found the woman filling two cups with coffee. "So," she said, her voice loud in the small kitchen, "what do you want to know about Jerry?"
Dean took a cup, sipped at it. "Oh, that's very good." He motioned to Sam to take the other cup. "Try it, Sammy. Best coffee I've had in a while." Dean downed the rest of his cup before Sam could pick the other up. He motioned to the woman to fill it up again.
"Dean!" Sam hissed in his brother's ear. "We're not in a diner!"
Dean's gazed went to the second, untouched, cup of coffee. "Dude, just try it. You won't need any of that fancy crap you usually put in your coffee."
The woman chuckled at them. "I'm sure your brother is exaggerating," she said as she refilled Dean's cup.
"I doubt it," Sam replied, picking up his cup. With the first sip he knew Dean was not exaggerating. It was, without a doubt, the very best coffee he ever tasted. Cream would be an insult.
"Tell me you can buy this," Dean was saying. Sam had to drag his attention from the cup of pleasure in his hands to the current conversation.
The woman laughed, a real laugh this time. "It's my own blend. I run The Grind down on Main."
"If you serve this there, I'll buy a cup," Dean promised.
Sam smiled at his brother's enthusiasm for the coffee. "Uh, ma'am? I'm sorry, but there are a few things we'd like to ask about Jerry. If that's all right?"
"Do you mind, Lilly?" Dean asked, his voice suddenly pitched lower, soothing.
"How did you know I was Lilly?" she asked, mirroring Sam's thoughts.
Dean gave her that brilliant smile. "You look like a Lilly. It's one of my favorite names, right after Mary."
She blushed, pink spots high on her cheekbones. So, that was how Dean did it. He didn't lie when he flirted. And with the looks his brother kept shooting this woman, Sam would not be terribly surprised to be told to go wait in the car.
"We found your entry on the online guest book," Sam explained. "It's how we knew to look you up."
Lilly smoothed her shirt with both hands. "Jerry was a good friend. Really. Despite what people said about him."
Sam exchanged a look with Dean. "And what did people say about him?" Sam asked gently.
She sighed. "That he was unstable, kind of angry. I mean, he probably was, I just never saw him that way. I think he just never got over the death of his brother."
Dean sat straighter. "He had a brother?"
She nodded. "We've been friends since we were kids. We all lived in this really crappy apartment complex downtown. I think it's abandoned now. When Jerry and I were, oh, about seventeen, he and his brother were attacked in the hall just outside their apartment."
"Wait a minute," Sam interrupted. "They had different last names."
Lilly shrugged. "Different fathers, same mother."
"That would do it," Dean mumbled close to the rim of his cup.
"Jerry's parents split up when he was little. His mother remarried, really great guy, and they had another boy. Jerry just doted on both of them. His little brother could do no wrong in his eyes. Well, when his brother was killed it pretty much killed his stepfather too." She sighed. "It was never the same after that. A lot of families moved out right after that, including Jerry's and my family. Jerry and I stayed in touch over the years, sometimes just a card at Christmas, but he was always there if I needed a shoulder to cry on." A sad smile crossed her face. "Or somebody to stand up for me."
"How do you mean?" Dean asked.
"A few years ago I had some trouble with an ex-boyfriend. My husband is more of the let's see if it goes away on its own type. Jerry isn't. Wasn't." Her voice caught. She took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. "He came into town and within two days Bob stopped calling. I haven't seen Bob since. I never asked Jerry what he did, I didn't want to know." She wiped away a couple of stray tears. "I guess he was like a big brother to me, too."
"Sounds like a great guy," Sam said, knowing someone just like that sat not two inches to his left.
"I think we have what we need, Lilly," Dean's voice cut through the room. "Thanks so much. I'm sure we'll stop by The Grind before we leave town. This coffee is too good to pass up."
She smiled at them through her watery eyes. "Thanks. I hope I helped."
"You did," Sam assured her. It was pretty obvious who it was now. They had been barking up the wrong tree, Sam realized. Well, technically it was the right tree, just the wrong branch.
He waited until they were in the Impala headed back for the library before he mentioned it. "Well, it was a good thing we went, huh?" Sam asked. "We were after the wrong brother."
"What?" Dean asked, eyes pinned to the road. "What are you talking about? It's obviously Jerry."
Now it was Sam's turn to look at Dean in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? Didn't you hear her? It has to be the younger brother. Maybe he wasn't cremated, so we can torch the bones."
Dean's eyes narrowed, but he did not look Sam's way. "Mike said he was cremated."
Sam snorted. "So ol' Mike isn't perfect. Big deal."
"It is a big deal, Sam. If Mike is wrong. Besides, what makes you think it's the younger brother anyway?" Dean demanded. Sam could swear he saw a green glow in his brother's eyes even from the side.
"You want your sunglasses?" he asked, opening the glove compartment. It slammed shut on its own. "Fine! No need to be so touchy!"
"Sam? Why do you think it's the younger brother?" Dean repeated, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
"He was the one who died because of the attack in the building. It stands to reason," Sam replied. "Why would you think it's the older brother?"
Dean cleared his throat. "The attacks started right after he died?"
"And?" Sam prompted. "You obviously think there's more to it." His brother's fingers drummed faster. "Dean?"
"He's avenging his brother's death, okay?" Dean snapped. "He's going after punks who remind him of the ones who killed his brother."
With that outburst, Sam understood that this was exactly what Dean thought he would do if that had happened to them. "Dean, you would never…"
The car swerved wildly, barely dodging a bolt of lightning and a large falling tree branch. The tires screamed in protest as the car spun completely around. They stopped just off the road. Sam's hands were firmly embedded in the dash.
"Oh, crap," he mumbled, wondering how the hell he could fix that. Dean was going to kill him. Sam slowly removed his hands from the deep handprints in the dash.
A low whistle came from his left. "Number one," Dean pointed a finger right in his face, "don't ever tell me what I would and wouldn't do. And yes, Sam, I probably would. God help anyone who even thinks about killing you. Number two," the finger moved to point at the dash, "you're fixing that."
"It's going on your list, isn't it?" Sam asked, inspecting the deep indentions. "I hope you don't need anything in the glove compartment anytime soon."
"I'll make a deal with you," Dean said, pulling out his list. "I'll burn mine if you burn yours."
Sam grabbed his legal pad. Without a second thought, he ripped out his notes on Dean and handed them out. "Here. You burn these and I'll burn yours."
Dean snatched the pages, thrusting his own over. Sam took those notes and popped his door open. Dean joined him on the side of the road. Dean took out his lighter and flicked the flame on. Sam grinned, holding Dean's notes out into the flame. When the flame climbed up the side, licking greedily up the edges, Sam dropped it to the ground. More flaming yellow pages joined it on the roadside gravel. A weight leaned into his shoulder, and Sam felt any hard feelings disperse. Relief and gladness filled him.
"We have a ghost to get rid of," Dean said softly. "Ready?"
The papers curled in the flames, browning and blackening as it was consumed by the fire. "In a minute," Sam replied, leaning back into Dean's shoulder. "Just a minute."