The Aspen Spirit

Chapter Six

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Sam Winchester would never have described his father as an emotionless man. Far from it. To him, they were just the wrong sort of emotions: too stubborn, too intense, too volatile, too domineering, on occasion too depressed. At age 16, it'd never occurred to him that he may exhibit at least some of the same traits himself, that perhaps the reason they clashed so much was because they were, in some ways, alike.

Dad coming in late, soaked in whiskey and dropping in a mumbling mess into whatever armchair was available happened from time to time, but Sam would usually be in bed and, if not, Dean soon sent him in that direction, staying behind to do whatever it was that had to be done to comfort John.

It was therefore a huge surprise to him to see his father crying. Not the pained, silent slip of a tear from dark eyes down his tortured face, but the full-on version. He wasn't even really sure how it started. One minute they were sitting next to Dean's hospital bed and Dean was looking oddly young and fragile under the white dressings and trailing tubes and wires. Then the surgeon had called in. Dean was "very lucky"… again. "Minor surgery for a ruptured kidney", "caught it just in time before kidney failure", "healthy young man", "take it very easy for quite some time". And John had thanked him in his gruff way and the surgeon had left. And the next minute John had leaned forwards, taken Dean's hand in his own rough one and let out a little gulping noise. Sam had looked at him, startled, and saw his father's other hand was over his face and he was sobbing, his shoulders shaking beneath his shirt.

Sam sat there, not sure what to do, until he saw the shine of tears running through John's fingers and tracking into his thick stubble. Then he got up and rather awkwardly put an arm around John's shoulders, shocked by the depth of misery he could feel in the wrenching sobs. And John took his hand away from his face and threw his arm around Sam's waist and buried his head into Sam's chest. He got snot all over Sam's t-shirt and that was "Eww", but Sam didn't really mind because he was crying himself and he didn't know why either.

"Jeez, chick flick moment." The hoarse whisper snapped them out of it and they looked up to see Dean's tired green eyes fixed on them.

"I don't mind hot nurses crying over me," he muttered, looking a bit embarrassed. "But dude!"

So there was a lot of snot wiped on cuffs and jacket sleeves and then John went for coffee and Sam told Dean he mustn't EVER do anything like that again. Dean protested weakly that it wasn't his fault if some creepy ghost chick thought he was hot and decided to prove it by kicking his kidneys half way through his stomach wall.

Then John came back and asked the question that had been nagging at him since they were on the mountainside.

"Dean. Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

Dean moved the ice chip he was sucking to the side of his mouth. "Wasn't sick," he said, a bit muffled.

"Sam says you were sick when I left you in the cabin. That you wouldn't tell me in case I took you off the hunt?" John's voice was carefully neutral.

"I didn't know I was sick." Dean looked sheepish. "A bit banged up, after that fight, bruised kidneys… but nothin' serious. It just got worse, real quick."

John frowned at him. "You had bruised kidneys from that fight? That must be, what, nearly three weeks ago now?"

Dean dropped his gaze, fiddling with the cup of ice chips. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.

"You told me you took a few punches son, not a beating."

Sam snorted, despite himself. "Maybe you should've checked him out better Dad. He's still got boot marks on his back."

John levelled a gaze at his youngest. He nodded, not looking pleased. "Maybe I should've." His head swung back to Dean. "But you should've spoken up! How many times have I told you, you can't go into a hunt compromised."

He flexed his shoulders a little, easing away the tension that had settled there.

"We had to uproot and move 'cause of that fight. You never told me what it was about?" John's tone left no doubt that he wanted to know, now.

Dean squirmed a bit, looking up at John under his lashes. "Someone said somethin'."

"You're gonna have to do better than that son."

Dean scowled. "Someone said we were losers, dropouts. All of us."

"So you hit him?"

"Yeah." Dean's chin came up. "I punched him. And his friends."

John looked at him, his eyes sad but a little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Sometimes, when the odds are too high, it's better to walk away?"

Dean glared at him. "No-one is bad mouthin' my family."

His father huffed, ruffled his hair affectionately. "Yeah." He sighed. "Well next time, come get me first, okay? And then we'll both kick their asses."

Sam stared at them, not sure whether to laugh or cry, it was so ridiculous. It was obvious from the look on John's face that he would be making a call back to their last place of residence sometime soon. Sam decided that when he went to college… and that was when, not if… he might study law, find some way for idiots like his family to resolve issues without resorting to violence all the time.

Dean's voice broke into his thoughts. "We'll take Sammy along too. He's gettin' kinda big."

Sam did grin then. The law was all very well, but if his family needed him as back up, he was up for it. "'Kay," he said. "Can we wait 'til school is out though, 'cause I really don't want to have to move again this year."

-o-

With the boys settled in a reasonable motel some ten miles away from the mountain, with strict instructions to stay put, John headed into the nearest diner to see if he could turn up some information on where to find the old man. Diners and bars were by far the best places to unearth scraps of information, so long as you knew who and how to ask. In truth, he'd rather have done the asking over beer than eggs and coffee, but the bar wasn't open yet and the caffeine boost would be welcome.

It was one of those rare occasions when fate seemed to be on his side. He was lounging at a table, waiting for his order to arrive, when the old man walked in. His face fell at the sight of John, but to his credit he didn't hesitate, just came right up to the table and raised an eyebrow at the empty bench seat.

"Just the man I'm lookin' for." John, waving to the seat in an easy way, wasn't in the mood for small talk.

The old man sighed and slid onto the seat, holding out his hand. "Don't believe we've been introduced proper. Joe's the name."

John took it. "John."

"Yeah. I recall." Joe slouched back in his seat, laying one arm along the back. He didn't look anywhere near as worried as John thought he should be in the circumstances. In fact, he didn't look worried at all.

"Let's cut past all the bullshit. You know somethin' about what's goin' on up there."

Joe met his gaze. "Yeah. I do. And I'm thinkin' mebbe you're the man to do somethin' about it?"

John nodded, grim. "I am. You know that's a spirit, right?"

"Yeah. Ghost. Lacy Brooks. Went to high school with her. Real pretty girl. Damn shame what happened."

"What happened exactly?"

John's question went unanswered, interrupted by the arrival of the waitress with his coffee. She smiled a kind, motherly smile, unperturbed by the remains of John's dark scowl.

"There ya go honey."

John blinked; it had been a while since someone called him 'honey'. He remembered his manners in time and gave her a smile as she unloaded his coffee and buttered eggs. She turned to Joe with a wide smile.

"How ya doin' Joe? What can I getcha?"

To John's intense surprise, Joe gave her a 'Dean' look from under his lashes, his white teeth appearing in a charming grin. It occurred to John that, if Dean lived long enough, one day he just might look a little like this man. It shocked him so much and started wheels whirring in his head so fast that he didn't realise at first that Joe had spoken to him.

"You were asking?" Joe prompted him, looking a little amused, as though he'd read John's mind.

John took a slurp of coffee. "What happened to Lacy?"

Joe turned the sugar shaker in his fingers, spinning it idly across the table top. "She fell in love, back in high school, local kid, Ben. You know the thing, fell in love in high school, got herself pregnant, gonna get married…" The sugar shaker stilled. "Ben built this cabin up in the aspen forest, the one you and your boys were in. They were gonna set up home there. Then he got drafted."

Joe flicked a quick glance in his direction, then looked away out of the diner window. His expression was tight as he pulled at his beard.

John waited, patient.

"Ben didn't make it home." There was a weight of pain in the words. "Lacy didn't take it so well. Lost the baby, ended up taking her own life, up in the woods." Joe turned to him, sorrow in his golden eyes. "I guess she's been waitin' for him to come home ever since. At first, she was just a presence, I think mebbe only I saw her. Then young men started disappearing… I didn't want to believe it at first; she was such a good girl y'know? Didn't know what to do."

"They change. After a bit. Happens to 'em all eventually." John found he felt sorry for him, though he wasn't sure why. "We're goin' to have to stop her."

Joe dropped his head. "Yeah. It's time. I'll help ya, if I can."

"What is she, to you?"

There was a lost expression on Joe's face when he raised his head. "She was gonna be my sister-in-law."

-o-

Dean was sore, tired, pissed at not being on the hunt. He made up his mind to follow doctor's orders so he could get back to normal as soon as possible. Rest enough, drink the right fluids, eat right, rest some more. After four hours he was bored out of his mind.

There was nothing on the TV, although that wasn't surprising as there were only three channels and one of those was all static. He gave it up as a bad job and flipped the control idly in Sam's direction. It bounced off his open text book and fell onto his lap.

"Dean!" Sam scowled at him. "Working here dude."

"'M bored." Dean's face settled into lines of discontent.

"You're pouting." Sam pointed out.

"I don't pout!" Dean's lip disagreed. "I scowl in a manly dude way."

"Yeah, right." Sam looked at his lip pointedly. "My mistake."

"'M bored." Dean reminded him. "There's nothin' on TV."

"You could try reading maybe?" Sam waited. Dean did read. He actually liked reading sometimes. But there was no way he was going to admit it.

"I'm not a geek, Sam!" There it was. Sam smirked.

"I'm not reading. There's nothin' on TV. I can't play poker with myself. Where are my skin mags?"

"Dude! Gross. You're not leering over them while I'm studying. 'Sides, Dad threw 'em out when we moved."

"What!" Dean looked affronted. "He had no right. And it's studyin', just a different subject, that's all." He hoisted himself up carefully, swearing under his breath at his own weakness.

"What are you doing?" Sam watched him with suspicion.

"Sitting outside." There was a snap in Dean's tone. He was not a good patient. He held up a palm in Sam's direction. "Jacket is on, Sam. There's a bench so I'm not gonna get piles or nothin'." He slammed his way out of the room.

Sam peeked out of the window, glad the table was next to it so he could study and make sure his brother didn't wander off at the same time. Dean was settling grumpily and with care onto the bench outside the room. If he hadn't been pouting before, he certainly was now. Sam smiled and turned back to his studies.

Dean settled back, miserable, angry at himself and everything else. He just wanted to feel well again. He was twenty and he felt like an old man. He turned his face into the breeze, grateful for its freshness against his skin, keeping his eyes carefully averted from the aspen tree at the end of the parking lot. Something in the shiver of its leaves against the pale bark reminded him uncomfortably of pale hair and soft fingers against his face.

-o-

Thank you all for reading! There'll be more craziness soon.

Thanks so much to reviewers:

Duxe, Minion79, celinenaville, mckydstarlight, iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife, waitingforAslan, ngregory763, OnANickle, Beakers47, babyreaper, lenail125, MicheleChadwick, Kathy, DearHart, Irreality, wildandsweet, Tsweeny, Wunjo and Sabidoche, grishma239, arwenadreamer and bagelcat1.