Chapter 8

"I'm telling you, Dean. There's something going on in Utah. A rash of drownings. All young men—good looking men. All at the same lake. All at night. Something freaky is definitely going on there." Sam pointed at the laptop. Dean had to admit, it sounded legitimate. He glanced sideways at Stella.

"I see you getting excited over the prospect of a job," she said. "Don't you try to hide it."

"Stella…"

"What? Dean, you guys should totally check it out. I'd go in a heartbeat, but I'm not going to do you much good. Damn arm."

"So, you wouldn't care if we went without you?" asked Sam.

"Well, I sorta care. I mean, I don't like warming the bench over here, but we've all hunted on our own before. There's nothing that says we always have to hunt as a trio… Really. Go. I'll be fine." Stella sincerely did want them to go. Too much down time and they were all going to get rusty. If the boys went out on a few hunts, at least their skills would stay sharp. And the looks on their faces? They were eager to go, eager for some action.

"How far away is this place?" asked Dean.

"About 300 miles, but the way the roads go through the mountains, it could take four or five hours to get there. Town is Green River, Utah," answered Sam.

"Really not that far," said Stella. "And I can be here if you need any extra research done. I might not be ready for a job in the field, but I can click a mouse without hurting myself."

Dean nodded. "Okay, let's do the job, Sam. We'll leave first thing in the morning. But I'm calling Bobby now so he knows we're going and he can check in on you, Stella."

"Oh, for God's sake," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"And no back-talk from you woman," he added. The pillow hit him square in the back of the head as he put the cell to his ear. For a righty, Stella's aim with her left hand was getting pretty darn accurate.

It was a four-and-a-half hour drive from Steamboat to Green River, and a little part of both Winchester brothers was glad to be on the road again, back on a job. Dean used one hand to rummage through his box of old cassette tapes. Despite frequent "suggestions" from both Stella and Sam, Dean refused to upgrade his audio to a CD player, forget an iPod system. He popped a new cassette in and the Impala was filled with Richie Sambora's guitar work and the vocal stylings of Jon Bon Jovi singing "Bad Medicine."

Sam turned in his seat and stared. Clearly Dean had slept next to a pod last night; his brother hated Bon Jovi, and had mocked Sam mercilessly whenever Sam even hinted he liked the band.

"Dude. Bon Jovi? What have you been drinking?" he asked Dean.

"What? Hey, gotta give things a chance sometimes. Band kinda grew on me." Dean stared straight ahead.

Sam laughed. "Yea, whatever, Dean. Stella grew on you, that's what happened. You like Bon Jovi now because SHE likes Bon Jovi. She started training you when we were in Upstate New York that time. What was it? Corning?"

Stella and the Winchester boys had finished a quick job outside Corning, NY—Just a simple salt and burn to get rid of a restless spirit that was just causing some general mayhem in the town. They were on their way out of town when a 17-year-old boy, who had just gotten his driver's license the day before, went through a stop sign and took out the Impala's rear quarter panel. The poor kid had almost wet himself when Dean, dressed in his leather jacket and shades, got out of the Impala, along with Sam. Stella pulled up a minute later in the Camaro, just in time to hear Dean yell, "You hit my damn car!"

The upshot was that the Impala couldn't be driven far; the panel was dented in far enough to be rubbing the tire. There was no way they could get it all the way to Bobby's without doing even more damage. Dean found a repair shop in Corning that could do the work, but it would take a few days. As they pulled out of the body shop parking lot, Stella fiddled with the car's CD changer.

"Oh, man, not Bon Jovi," groused Dean.

Stella skewered him with a look. "Let me remind you of the Winchester Radio Rules," she said. "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cake hole."

"It was priceless," said Sam. "She caught you in your own rule and you sulked for the next 30 miles."

"I did not sulk."

"Dean, you sulked."

They found a place to stay in Green River– the Red Barn Motel–and went inside for a minute before getting to work on the hunt. They both looked at the dated artwork and the faded red shag carpet, and momentarily pined for Chateau Bodine. But a job was a job, and this was far from the worst place they'd ever stayed. They spent the next several hours combing the town, posing as FBI Agents Geddy and Lee, interviewing victim's family and friends, and trying to piece together what happened.

They decided to just get some take-out from the diner down the street and eat in the room so Sam could do a little more research on the lake where the deaths had happened. By the time they got to the diner, Dean was particularly quiet, except when he was curt to the cashier. They ate in relative silence and after, Dean started to flip through some recent newspapers and Sam started surfing the 'Net. About a half-hour later, Dean tossed the paper on the floor in frustration.

"That was a waste of time," he growled. He got up, and started to pace around the room.

"Could you be more crabby?" asked Sam. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing. It's just, well you know I don't like the idea of leaving Stella…"

"For starters, Dean, you're going to have to get over this worrying-about-Stella thing. She's healing just fine and by fall she'll be hunting with us again." Sam had been wondering when Dean's over-protectiveness was going to start causing a problem. Dean grumbled at his brother and Sam leaned back in his chair.

"So," Sam continued, "now are you going to tell me what's really bothering you?"

Dean flopped backwards and sprawled across his bed. "Stella got hurt, what, six, seven weeks ago?"

"That's about right," answered Sam.

"Do you remember the night before we went to the house where the shape-shifters were?"

Sam was silent for a second, thinking. Then it came to him. "Ah, yes. I came back to the motel with dinner early and interrupted your reindeer games."

"Hey, a Santa hat isn't just for Christmas anymore…" Dean grinned.

"Classy. What's this all got to do with your bitchy attitude?"

"Well, if you do the math, Einstein, you'll figure out that I haven't had any gifts to unwrap since that night…"

Sam's chair came down with a thump as he suddenly understood. "Seven weeks? Holy crap, Dean…" Sam knew his brother and Dean had always been more sexually adventurous and active than him. Rarely would a full week go by when Dean didn't hook-up with some girl. Sam was no prude, but he was definitely more conservative than his brother when it came to sex.

Dean rubbed his hands over his face. "I mean, I've been handling my business…"

"Handling your… Oh, man… Dean! I don't want to hear about you handling anything. Too much detail. Way, way too much detail…"

"What? Aww, Sam! Get outta the gutter. That's not what I meant…" Dean started to explain, but gave up as he started to laugh. A moment later both brothers were howling, nearly in tears. After they'd laughed themselves out, Dean sat up.

"Seriously, Sam. I'm losing my mind not being able to get with her."

"Well, have you guys asked her doctor if it is okay?"

Dean looked at him like he was insane. "No. I'm not talking to some doctor about whether or not I can have sex with my girlfriend. Shit, I can't believe I'm talking to YOU about it."

"You'd get an answer to your question. Or better yet, ask Stella. She just might be waiting for you to make the first move."

"No, trust me, if Stella wants to make a move, she'll make a move."

Sam shrugged. Nothing much else he could say to solve his brother's dilemma. Instead he moved the conversation to a different topic: his research. "Well, I think I might know what caused the spirit to start acting up. There's a bunch of new construction going up around the lake and part of it is in an area where a woman named Anita Duval was murdered in 1930s. They found most of her body in the lake; the police never recovered her head."

"That would piss me off…" agreed Dean.

"My best guess is that whoever killed her—the murder is still unsolved—buried her head. I bet the area where her head was buried has been disturbed by the construction, and her spirit's been released. But I don't know about the singing…"

"Wait a sec." Dean started flipping through their father's journal. "I remember seeing something here once. Dad wrote about sirens once, but there was something else. Here it is. A Rusalka. It is a spirit of a woman who died in the water, either murder or suicide. They sing to seduce men and draw them underwater to become their lovers. They feed off of the victim, almost like a vampire, until the person drowns."

"So, if that's what it is, how do we kill it?" asked Sam. "Do we need to go find her skull and then burn all her bones?"

"I wish," said Dean. "According to Dad, the Rusalka will vanish if her death is avenged. Fat chance of that happening at this point. The only other way according to this is to keep her out of the water long enough for her hair to completely dry."

"And exactly how are we supposed to do that?"

"Time for a little more research, Sammy."

By evening, they had a plan. Like most Winchester strategies, it came with the caveat of 'if you have a better idea, I'm listening.' Neither had one. The plan was for Sam to be the bait and lure the Rusalka out of the water. Dean's rational was that Sam was younger and therefore more appealing to the creature. Sam told him he was an ass. As for the creature's siren song, they went with the old-fashioned solution: wax in the ears. If it was good enough for Odysseus, it was good enough for the Winchesters.

Out at the lake, they'd waited for several hours and the night was deepening. From time to time, Sam would yell out, calling as if he was looking for someone. Then, out in the lake, there was a ripple in the water. He saw it and flicked a small rock into the bushes where Dean was hiding. His brother waved quickly and settled down. Slowly, out of the water, the Rusalka materialized. To Dean, it was fuzzy, amorphous, but to Sam it looked like a beautiful woman. She came forward, holding her arms out to Sam. Dean couldn't understand it but clearly Sam could make sense of what it was saying.

"I can't come in the water," he said. "Come sit here with me." Sam held his hand out to the ghostly woman. She came closer, swaying and reaching for Sam. Suddenly, the creature surged forward, catching him off-guard. She seized Sam and kissed him. In the first instant of the kiss, the Rusalka's lips were warm and inviting, but as her grip tightened the warm lips turned clammy and the smell of lake algae threatened to make Sam throw up. Sam struggled but couldn't break free of the Rusalka's grip. A moment later, he started gagging as water from the creature's mouth started pouring into his. If it couldn't get him to the water, it was going to drown him right here on dry land.

"Get away from him you crazy bitch!" shouted Dean. He rushed out from where he'd been hiding and waved his arms.

Startled by the unexpected interloper, the Rusalka snarled and backed away from Sam, who dropped to the ground gagging and heaving. But when she saw that Dean was unarmed, she smiled, and when she did her whole appearance changed—and now Dean could see her quite clearly. She morphed from a sunken cadaver with long chunks of wet, lanky hair and a tattered dress to a beautiful young woman whose wet nightgown clung to her body, leaving very little to the imagination. She started to talk and it came out as song. The wax in Dean's ears blocked most of it, but he could still feel the temptation, the compulsion, the desire.

"Come with me," beckoned the creature. "Let me love you." The Rusalka backed up another two paces, Dean following as if enthralled by her spell.

"You're so beautiful," he said. "I want you to be mine. I need you…" Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam moving into position.

The creature fluttered its eyelashes coquettishly at Dean. "Yes, come with me, love me. Take me in your arms and I will make all your fantasies come true…"

Dean stopped. "Oh, you'll fulfill my fantasy all right. Skeevie algae-covered freak. Now, Sam!" Both brothers lit cigarette lighters and tossed them on the ground where they'd laid a track of gasoline down earlier in the day. Flames leaped up and the Rusalka screamed and flung up her arms. She turned to flee back to the lake, but the flames raced around the gas path and met up, encasing her in a flaming circle.

Sam grabbed a bag from behind the tree where he'd been waiting. He pulled out a small canister of gas. Dean joined him with an armful of branches and brush. They both still had wax in their ears to keep from being too influenced by the Rusalka's hypnotic voice, but they didn't need to talk, they both knew the plan. They started dousing the other branches with gas and lighting them on fire. Taking the flaming branches, they tossed them into the flames, making sure the ring stayed connected. The creature would rush at them but couldn't cross the flames. Inside the ring, the Rusalka started to keen, a high-pitched wail that was anything but hypnotic and enticing. And she started to steam.

"Look at that!" Sam pointed at the rising steam. "The fire's working. She's drying out."

"Keep stoking the flames, we've got to keep them hot," shouted Dean.

It took two hours but the drier the Rusalka became the more she started to fade and the softer her raging voice became. As the last chunk of wet hair on her head dried out, she shriveled up and disintegrated into nothing more than ashes and dust. The brothers let the flames die down and then went into the charred ring. They dug a hole to one side of the pile and shoveled the ashes in. Sam crowned them with a coating of salt, just to be safe, and they buried everything.

"C'mon," Sam said. "We can get a few hours of shut-eye before the motel kicks us out."

In the morning, the boys wolfed down a breakfast and checked out of the Red Barn Motel. Dean had just put the key into the Impala's ignition when he flipped open his phone and pressed a speed dial number. Sam knew he was calling Stella just from the smile that appeared on Dean's face when she picked up the phone. "Hey, baby, how are you feeling? Good. We're done here and just getting on the road now. Oh, it was interesting—Sammy got Frenched by a lady swamp ghost. Yea, very kinky. I'll see you in a few hours… I miss you, too." He laughed. "Yea, we'd love a Spaghetti-Os feast when we get back."

Dean made it back to Steamboat in less than four hours.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, the boys are back in business! Thanks again to everyone who has been reading my story. I hope you enjoyed the hunt – I wanted to get some action in here for Sam and Dean without belaboring the point. I hope I provided enough detail for it to be satisfying. And I hope the humor worked and fit with the characters… The next chapter will be coming soon…!