A/N. I would like to thank all those who have faithfully followed this story, it really makes my day! Your kind words and support are an inspiration. Thank you all! And, as always, Supernatural is regrettably not mine, but belongs to Eric Kripke and co.
Chapter 8
As expected, the search of Vanessa MacLeod's childhood home proved to be a wasted effort. The room was left just the way it had been at the time of the young woman's death, from the make-up on her vanity to the heavy volumes she had studied from at St. FX. It was the typical girly room, from the floral print comforter to the photos taped to her mirror. Sam and Dean searched in the typical areas where a young woman would hide a photograph or similar keepsake: in her diary, under her bed, tucked behind socks in her dresser drawer. Nothing. The brothers had even searched through the young woman's Bible, but found nothing but a few pressed flowers and a bookmark with the poem "Footprints" written in fancy script. No photograph. Frustrated at the wasted effort, the boys returned to the motel, in hopes of figuring out a Plan B. As they drove, for once the radio turned off, Sam considered confronting his brother about his deal. He could remember Ruby's face clearly, could hear her voice as she explained that she aware of Dean's deal, and could be of some use. But could he really share that information with him? No doubt his brother would brush it off (if Sam was lucky), or bitch at him for the rest of the drive "home" (and possibly then some) if he was less fortunate. But anything was better than this forced bravado, the fake smiles, the pretending that everything was ok when in truth everything was far from it.
"What's up, Sammy? Thinking about that chick? From the pictures seems like she had some pretty hot friends." Dean smiled at his brother with a cocky wink and his trademark smirk.
"Shut up."
"Touchy, touchy." Dean remained quiet for a moment, then went on, oblivious to Sam's look of frustration.
"I mean it man, something hasn't been right for a while. You haven't been sleeping, you're barely eating. You spend hours on that damned laptop on things other than researching our case. I know what you're up to, and it needs to stop."
Sam sighed. No use feigning innocence. Hell, he had been planning on confronting his brother anyway. May as well do it now and get it over with.
"Fine. I was trying to save you, Dean."
Dean was quiet, unsurprised by his brother's revelation. For a while, they drove in uncomfortable silence, Sam staring out the passenger window into the darkness. Finally, Dean broke the silene.
"I told you to leave it alone Sam."
"Like you left it alone for me? Weren't you the one who said 'what's dead should stay dead'? And not that long ago, too, if I remember correctly."
"Yeah, but that was before I had my kid brother die in my arms."
Sam sighed in frustration, turning to his brother. "You are such a hypocrite Dean! You get pissed when Dad made that deal for you, and you go and do the exact same thing? You were messed up for weeks afterwards. And now you go and do the same thing to me."
"We are not having this conversation, Sam."
"Yes we are!" Sam was surprising himself with how easy the words were suddenly flowing now that his brother had brought up the topic. His brother had made a goddamn demon deal, and had expected him to sit on his ass and do nothing? Really? This was Sam's chance to vent his frustrations, to hopefully knock some sense into his hard headed brother. As if that were likely to happen. "You can't just go around and pretend everything's fine. Because it's not. You're dying, and I have to sit and watch. And I can't do a goddamned thing to stop it. But that's mostly because I'm not getting any help from you. If you'd stop for one minute and let me actually help you, you might be able to save yourself from the pit."
"You don't understand."
"Then make me understand, Dean."
Dean sighed. He had not wanted to mention the terms of his deal, of what would happen if he tried to weasel his way out of it. But now, he felt as if he had no choice. Because Sam was dead set on voiding the contract. And he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't watch his brother die, not after what he had gone through that horrible night in Cold Oak. He stole a glance at his brother, who was once again staring blankly out his window.
"Look Sammy," he said quietly, "if I try to wiggle my way out of this deal, do anything to save my ass, you drop dead. And I can't go through that again, ok? I just can't." Dean saw his brother's head lower slightly, as if in defeat. "So you have to let me do this, alright? Hell, I should've been dead months ago."
"Don't say that."
"Can we just drop it, please?" And without waiting for an answer, Dean switched on the radio, hoping Iron Maiden would somehow clear his head, make him forget about what was to come. They drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence.
XXX
Upon arriving at the motel, the brothers promptly crashed, not only from exhaustion, but in hopes of avoiding any awkward conversation following their confrontation in the Impala. By morning, they seemed to be their normal selves, chatting about the case and the upcoming baseball game and conveniently avoiding the subject of Hell and Crossroads Demons. Dean went off on a coffee and breakfast run, and Sam went back to researching the case as he waited, resisting the urge to summon Ruby for more information, or to find some more dirt on Hellhounds and demon deals. By the time that Dean returned with the take out and coffee, Sam had figured out a plan on how to gank Vanessa MacLeod's spirit for good.
"You're probably not gonna like it. Hell, I don't like it."
"Such comforting words from our ghost hunter extraordinaire," Dean smirked, handing his brother a steaming cup. Sam accepted it gratefully and took a careful sip before laying out the details of his plan.
"Well, we already figured out that our water spirit is a Rusalki. Remember how it is suggested that if they're out of water long enough, their hair dries and the spirit may vanish?"
"Yeah. I don't like where this is going, Sammy."
Sam continued, scrolling down his page. "I'd forgotten about that" (not surprised considering how distracted you are lately, Dean thought but wisely said nothing). Anyway, I was thinking that one of us could lure her out, chase her on dry land, and keep her moving until her hair dries. Bye bye spirit."
"So you're saying we're going to play cat and mouse with a ghost on the chance she might die if her hair dries…"
"Do you want to hire the scuba gear and find that picture Dean? That's if you can find her body in the first place."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean groaned, "what choice do we have? So what's the master plan? Who's gonna be Ursula's bait?"
"Seriously, man, it kinda scares me that you know about Little Mermaid references." Dean rolled his eyes, chucked his Egg McMuffin wrapper at his brother. Sam shot one of his ultimate bitch faces, tossing the crumpled up paper in the nearby trash. "Anyway, I was thinking that we could lure her out, gun the engine before she gets there, hope that she'll be interested enough to follow long enough to dry her hair. We could use something of Nathan Long's to help keep her focused."
"And where exactly are you going to find something of Nathan Long's, Samwise the Great?"
Sam rolled his eyes. Now was not the time for his brother's attempts at humour. "I swiped it from his cell when we were visiting yesterday. One of his magazines. Why do you think I wanted to check it out?"
Dean chuckled, impressed. "Sammy, you sly devil. Hand it over, it'll be ready when we leave."
"Wait, who said you were going to be the bait?"
"Nonnegotiable. Besides, if I'm risking ruining the upholstery in the Impala, I want to be the one behind the wheel."
Sam rolled his eyes, his appetite suddenly gone. He knew damn well why Dean had chosen to be bait. He was on a suicide mission. He knew that Sam would stop at nothing to break his deal, and if going downstairs ahead of schedule would stop him, then Dean Winchester would gladly step up to the plate. Which was unacceptable to the Sasquatch of a man trying to save his life. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dean raised a finger, eyebrows arched.
"I said, nonnegotiable." He glanced at Sam's half eaten breakfast sandwich, eyed it hungrily. "You gonna eat that?"