Chapter Two

Detroit, Michigan

"Where is this chick we're supposed to meet?" Dean asked Sam as they navigated the streets of Detroit.

Sam studied his map. "Her apartment should be a couple of blocks east of here."

"Do you think she'll be hot?" Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Sam gave him a scolding look. "You probably shouldn't sleep with Bobby's hunters."

Dean put on an innocent look. "Who said anything about sleeping with her? I just asked if you think she'll be hot. And, besides, I'm sleeping with his married stepdaughter, and he doesn't say anything about that."

"That doesn't mean he likes it, Dean. Plus, Jo's not his stepdaughter."

Dean scoffed. "She might as well be. Ellen's been shacking up with him for years."

"It's not the same thing, Dean," Sam insisted.

"Whatever, dude. Can we talk about something besides Bobby and Ellen? Thinking about them together grosses me out."

"I'm with you on that one," Sam replied. "So, the ghost we're hunting has killed three people in the last week. The info that Bobby gave us finds mention of it for at least the last hundred years. It's apparently old and powerful and not going to leave without a fight."

"Is this the place?" Dean asked, rolling to a stop in front of a rundown building.

"Um," Sam stalled, looking at the papers in his hand and then the building. "Yeah. You know if you would get a GPS system, we wouldn't have to worry about getting lost."

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's nagging. "I like getting around old school, Sam. When I want a chick barking orders at me, I'll get married again."

Sam shook his head disapprovingly but smiled despite himself.

XXX

"You must be Sam and Dean," the bubbly woman who answered the door said. "I'm Sandy. Come in. It's good to finally get to work with you. I have heard so much about you over the years. Bobby said if I asked, you would probably tell a few stories."

Sam shared an amused look with Dean over the woman's enthusiasm. "Maybe," he fudged. "We'll see if we get time."

"Oh, of course. Come on. I'll show you to your room," she said motioning for them to follow her.

"I only have one extra bed," she explained while they walked. "Sorry about that. One of you can sleep on the couch if you want. The house with the ghost is only a couple of blocks away. I've been researching, and I think I've come up with the best plan of attack. You can go over it and give me pointers and change it. I welcome your suggestions. I still can't believe that I am working with you two and that you are staying in my apartment. It's exciting. But, anyway, I'll let you get settled. Let me know if you need anything."

Sam waited for her to leave and shut the door behind her. "I've changed my mind, Dean. Sleep with her if you want. She needs an outlet for all that energy."

"I'll pass, but thanks for your permission," Dean answered dryly. He looked around the room. "I'm getting the strongest sense of déjà vu, Sam. I would almost swear I've been here before."

"You've never even been to Detroit, Dean," Sam reminded him.

"I know. It's weird, but I feel like I've seen this before. In a dream, maybe."

Sam shrugged. "Weirder things have happened."

Dean shook it off. "Let's go see what Chatty Cathy has to say," he suggested after one more glance around the room.

He followed Sam out of the room, and they walked back into the living room where Sandy was sitting with her back to them talking on the phone.

"...I know. Tell Lindsey that I owe her fifty bucks." She laughed. "Even hotter, actually. If she slept with him like she said, then I am impressed. I can see what the big deal is." Sandy paused to listen then giggled. "Like steel. I didn't believe her, either." She turned around and saw Sam and Dean. "I gotta go," she said nervously and hung up the phone without waiting for a reply.

"Everything okay with the room?" she asked apprehensively.

Sam smiled reassuringly. "It's great. Thanks for letting us stay with you," he replied. He elbowed Dean when he noticed his smirk.

Sandy visibly relaxed. "You're more than welcome. We can go down to the house now and investigate if you want."

Sam shook his head. "You said you had done a bunch of research already. Why don't we look at that first?"

"Okay. It's in my bedroom. I'll go get it."

She got the stuff, and they spent the next few hours going over the information Sandy had acquired. She had done a thorough job of finding information on the place, but the facts still did not add up. They could not figure out why the ghost suddenly turned violent after over a hundred years of being little more than an echo.

"This just doesn't make any sense," Sam complained with an annoyed sigh. "Why would this ghost just start killing people out of the blue? Everything points to it having been in the house for 150 years, but it only recently started killing people."

"Beats me," Dean said in a bored voice. "I don't need to understand its motivation. Let's just get rid of it and get back home."

Sam looked unsatisfied but finally shrugged. "You're right: it doesn't matter why it started killing, just that it has. Let's break until the morning and then we can do reconnaissance at the house."

"Do you think I missed something?" Sandy asked, looking a little crushed.

Sam gave her his most charming smile. "You did a bang-up job and saved us a ton of time and effort."

Sandy beamed. "Really? Thanks so much. I really tried."

"It shows," Sam told her.

Dean rolled his eyes at the touchy-feely conversation. "So, Sandy," he interrupted, "do you know where a guy can get a decent drink in this town?"

"No drinking," Sam insisted, his tone severe.

Dean gave Sam a look like he was accepting Sam's unspoken challenge. "So, Sandy, you haven't shown me your bedroom yet," he said in a silky voice.

Sam glared at Dean. "Fine, drinks it is."

Dean smiled triumphantly and headed for the door without waiting for Sandy and Sam to follow. Sandy watched Dean walk away then looked at Sam uncertainly. "Was he just trying to get me into bed?" she asked.

Sam nodded. "Don't take it personally. He doesn't mean to be a jerk; it just comes naturally to him."

XXX

"You're different than I expected," Sandy told Dean as she watched him prepare to drink his umpteenth drink of the night.

Dean licked the salt off his hand, downed another shot of tequila, then sucked on the lime wedge he was holding. "Oh, yeah? How's that?" he asked disinterestedly. His eyes had started to become glazed.

Sandy shrugged. "I don't know. You're sadder than I would have expected. You seem like you're in mourning."

Dean wiped his mouth then threw some bills on the bar. "I think I'm ready to go," he said.

"Was it something I said?" Sandy wondered. "I'm sorry. I can let you drink in peace if you want."

Dean looked at her for the first time since she had sat down beside him. "Look, Sandy, you're a very nice girl. I'm not a nice boy, though. You should keep your distance from me because I would hate to do something to take away that look of worship you have in your eyes. If you stay around me for too long, it will definitely disappear."

"Sam said you're sad because your wife died. I didn't know you used to be married."

Dean waved down the bartender. "On second thought, I'll have a vodka shot, straight up. Chase that with a nice scotch on the rocks." He turned back to Sandy. "Sandy, sweetheart, you need to decide whether you want a sloppy, forgettable night in the sack with me or to be able to continue your hero worship. I'm about to get smashed, and odds are, I won't spend the night alone."

Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "You're not sleeping with Sandy, Dean. Apologize for suggesting it."

Dean smiled at Sandy. "Do you want me to apologize?" he asked. "Or do you want to get out of here?"

Sandy looked behind Dean at Sam. "Uhh…well…how about we all go home?"

Dean laughed drunkenly. "Sorry, babe, I don't do threesomes with dudes." He grabbed the glass that the bartender put in front of him and drank it in one gulp.

Sandy looked very uncomfortable. "Uhh…" she stuttered out. "That's not what I meant." She looked at Sam. "I just want to go home. Can we go home?"

Sam nodded and pulled Dean to his feet. "Let's go, Dean."

Dean put an arm around Sam and let himself be dragged out of the bar. "I think I'm losing my touch, Sammy," he told him. "I can't even get the groupies to screw me anymore."

Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Let's get you home," he told Dean. He met Sandy's eyes. "Sorry he's being such a dick."

Sandy's eyes were wide with hurt surprise at Dean's comment. "Is he always like this when he drinks?"

"He didn't used to be," Sam explained, shoving Dean none too gently into the Impala.

XXX

Dean groaned as he came awake. His head was pounding, and his mouth felt like he'd slept with cotton in it. He sat up and immediately laid back down as a wave of dizziness and nausea hit him.

"Don't throw up in Sandy's bed," Sam commanded. "I mean it, Dean."

Dean opened his eyes then squinted at the too bright light that was flooding the room. "I can tell from your tone that I did something last night that you disapprove of. What was it, and who do I need to apologize to?"

Sam heaved a great sigh and plopped on the end of the bed. "Sandy. You need to apologize to Sandy. You were really crappy to her last night."

Dean sat up again, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead to stop his head from spinning. "What I'd do this time?" he wondered. "She's so sweet I'm sure it must have been bad."

"You called her a groupie and basically humiliated her in front of a room full of people. I'd say groveling's on the menu for you this morning."

"We all know how I love to grovel," Dean observed dryly. He put his head in his hands in an attempt to quell the nausea he was feeling. "Is Sandy awake?" he asked when he was able to push it down.

"She is."

"Lucky me," Dean said. He stood up and carefully made his way out into the living room. He started feeling queasy again at the smell of bacon.

Sandy walked into the room and pulled up short when she saw him. Dean had one hand against the wall and was starting to look green. He looked at Sandy and blew out a relieved breath.

"I know I was an ass last night, and I'm really sorry. I hate to ask, but could you help me to the bathroom so I don't puke all over your living room?"

Sandy looked severely put out. "You're really disappointing, Dean," she told him when she'd moved across the room and maneuvered herself under his arm.

"Tell me something I don't know," Dean said.

"I have a friend who talks about how cool you are," Sandy informed him.

"She does, does she? What's your friend's name?" He clapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself from gagging.

"Lindsey. We got her drunk one night, and she admitted that she had slept with you once."

"Sorry, I don't remember any Lindseys," he said. He pushed away from Sandy and hurried to the toilet, making it just in time to empty his stomach into the bowl. He groaned miserably as he sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. "You can go bang some pots and pans or something if you want to get back at me. Sam told me I was a bastard to you last night."

"You were," she agreed. She bit her lip thoughtfully. "You really don't remember Lindsey?" she wondered.

Dean rubbed his temples and thought about it. "I'm sorry. I'm sure she's a really nice person, but I don't remember her."

Sandy looked crushed. "Oh." She rallied herself. "It's not like you were that important to her, either."

Dean leaned his head back against the wall. "So, have you ever hunted a ghost before?" he wondered.

Sandy ducked her head in embarrassment. "No, not really. I'm usually on the research side of things."

"A bookworm, huh? No wonder you and Sam get along so well."

Sandy shifted nervously. "I'm excited to go with you guys, but…" She trailed off and looked at Dean for reassurance. "Do you think I'll be okay?"

Dean tried to look confident as he replied. "No worries, Sandy. Sam and I've got your back."

Sandy's smile was big and bright as she looked at Dean. "It's gonna be a good day," she predicted.

"A good day. Right."

Sandy laughed, which made Dean smile somewhat. "You know, you're not as mean as you think you are," Sandy told him.

Dean put a finger to his lips. "Shhh," he said. "Wouldn't want word to get out. I've got a reputation to maintain, you know."

XXX

"That wasn't here the last time I was here, promise," Sandy said, staring at the huge pentagram that had been painted on the floor in the entranceway of the haunted building.

"We believe you," Sam assured her. "We'll figure out what's going on, okay? Let's split up and check the other rooms. If anyone finds anything, let everyone else know."

"I'll take upstairs," Dean said, heading toward the staircase without waiting to see what everyone else was doing. He took the stairs slowly and opened the first door he came to. Dust stirred as he walked into the room.

"Hunting is hell on the allergies," he muttered to himself, feeling his sinuses start to close up. He walked around the room, going through the shelves and desk trying to find clues. He didn't find anything in the first room and searched three other rooms before he did. In the last room on the right side of the hall, there was a box sitting on one of the end tables by the bed. It had the logo for Barrister Enterprises on top of it. Dean walked over and opened the box. Nothing was inside.

"Run," a voice commanded from behind him. He whirled and came face-to-face with the ghost they had researched. She was a young teenaged girl who looked to be under a great deal of stress.

"Run," she repeated, voice a little desperate this time. "I'm not going to be able to fight this thing for much longer." Her eyes turned pleading before him.

Dean's face slid into a smirk. "Sweetheart, I don't run from the things that go bump in the night; they run from me," he told the ghost cockily.

The ghost's entire demeanor changed before Dean's eyes. "You should have worn the amulet if you wanted that statement to be true," it told him snidely.

Dean raised his gun, but the ghost disappeared before he could shoot. The next thing he felt was a knife sliding into his back.

The ghost leaned over his shoulder so that it could speak into his ear. "We've been waiting five years for you to be dumb enough to lose that necklace. Your wedding ring is nothing compared with that amulet. Every dog will have its day, I suppose. Bully for me," it said, twisting the knife before touching Dean's head. He fell to the ground, unconscious. The ghost smiled and bent to retrieve the knife. It pulled it out of Dean's back then slid Dean's wedding ring off his hand and tossed it across the room. It made a tinkling noise as it skidded across the hardwood floor. The ghost smiled happily and moved over to the box on the table. When it touched it, the lid closed again, and the ghost was gone.

Blood seeped from Dean, making an ever-widening circle of red around his body.

XXX

"Lauren, I really need to go. I'm in the middle of a hunt," Sam said happily, laughing into the phone. "I know, I know..." He trailed off as his phone beeped to let him know another call was coming in. "Hey, Lauren, I'm getting another call. I don't know how long it will take, so I'll call you back later. Love you." He switched the phone over to the incoming call.

"Hello?" he answered. There was still a trace of laughter in his voice.

"You need to help Dean," the voice on the other end said. Sam could hear another, more frantic voice in the background but could not make out what it was saying.

"Who is this? Dean's fine."

"He's not fine. He's dying. Apparently, there is blood everywhere," the lady said emotionlessly.

"Who is this?" Sam asked angrily.

"Oh my god," the woman said in exasperation, "Just do what I said. My friend is freaking out."

"Fine," Sam answered tersely. He hung up and hurried out of the room and up the stairs. "Dean?" he called when he got to the top. He headed in the opposite direction of the room Dean was in, but then he heard Dean's cell phone ringing from the other end of the hall.

"Dean?" Sam called again, moving toward the sound. He followed the ringing to the end of the hall and opened the door to the room it was coming from. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Dean's unconscious body crumpled on the floor. "Dean?"

He rushed over to him when he saw the blood. "Dean?" he called again, voice shaking from fear.

Dean started to stir. He came to when Sam rolled him onto his stomach so that he could get a look at the wound. His phone was still ringing, and he answered it drowsily.

"Hello?" he croaked out.

"What the hell are you doing, Dean?" Sam asked as he frantically tried to staunch the blood.

Dean ignored him as he waited for a response. The line was silent, however.

"Hello?" Dean repeated irritably.

There was muffled noise on the other end, and then Dean clearly heard his name said by a voice he recognized.

"Liz?" he asked in disbelief, voice slightly stronger. His wound was completely forgotten as he tried to sit up.

Sam held him down. "Stay still, Dean," he chided him.

"Liz?" Dean repeated, gripping the phone. His heart was suddenly pounding.

The line went silent again for a minute, and then he heard more muffled noise.

"Sorry, wrong number," a different voice said, and the line went dead.

"Liz?" Dean repeated weakly then passed out again.

"Dean?" Sam asked anxiously. When he got no response, he pulled his cell out and called 911.

"There's already a car en route to that address," the operator informed him. "It's about two minutes out. The best thing that you can do is try to staunch the bleeding. I'll walk you through it."

"I got it, thanks," he answered, hanging up the phone. "Sandy!" he yelled. "There's a problem upstairs. Can you go meet the ambulance?"

When he got no response, he yelled her name again. She still did not respond. Sam could hear the sirens getting closer and applied as much pressure to the wound as he could.

The EMTs pounded on the door several times before coming in.

"He's upstairs!" Sam yelled and waited for them to find him. When they had taken over and begun trying to stabilize Dean, Sam jogged downstairs in search of Sandy. He found her in one of the side rooms, also lying in a pool of blood. Her pulse was weak, and even though the cut on her side looked shallower, she was in worse shape than Dean. He scooped her up and took her to meet the EMTs as they were bringing Dean down.

"I couldn't find my friend. I just did." Sam sounded shell-shocked, even to himself.