CHAPTER 2
"So now how are we going to gank your ghosts?"
Sam and Dean exchanged a brief glance. Then Sam started to speak.
"Listen, Luis...," Sam paused.
"Dammit, Sammy," Dean grumbled, pointing at the three of us. "WE are not going to gank the ghosts. You and I are going to. No newbies on the show." Sam rolled his eyes.
"Not like you're in shape to do much, being wrapped up like a Christmas parcel," Sam countered. "We could use his help."
"To patch us up if needed, yes. But I doubt Luis has any type of hunting experience whatsoever."
"My uncle was hunting deer," I offered, which only earned me an indignant stare from Dean. I scratched my nose. "Look, Dean. You're right. I don't have any hunting experience. But I was there when you put Anne's ghost to rest. I know about salt circles and iron bars, and about angry ghost powers. So I know roughly what to expect. And frankly, I'm not made to sit at home waiting for one of you to roll you in so I can distribute Band-Aids. I'll stay back and just do what you tell me to, but I won't sit here doing nothing. 'sides, Sam is right. Your arm isn't in any shape for ganking ghosts."
"Nice speech, doc," Dean retorted sarcastically, "but let me be the judge of what my arm can or can't do."
"Dean," Sam warned imploringly. "It's not Luis' fault. Maybe he's right. Give your arm a few days and we'll do research. It wouldn't hurt to find out who Casper number two is and why Casper number one is still there despite the barbecue."
Dean's expression softened and he leaned back, mulling things over. "Fine," he relented. "But no research tonight. I think your smarties do more than just numb the pain."
"No," I insisted, "but there's still the fact that you knocked your head. Are you feeling dizzy or nauseous?"
"Just thirsty. Got another one of those beers?" He pointed at the bottle I had started on before Sam's call.
"No alcohol for scrambled egg patients," I declined. "Sorry."
Dean scowled but didn't argue. "Right, anything you got, but milk."
I went to the kitchen and found some orange juice. Then I grabbed a glass of water and some painkillers and passed them on to Sam. "I've got a guestroom with a king size bed," I offered. "If you don't mind sharing. I'm afraid the couch is no sleeping material."
"King is fine," Sam replied. "We're used to sharing."
"If you drool on me, Sammy, I'll kill you," Dean said with menace but Sam only laughed. They both made short work of their glasses' contents. Sam then scrutinized his brother, whose eyelids were starting to droop.
"Come on, one armed bandit, let's hit the deck. Thanks for your help, Luis."
I shrugged. "Least I could do, Sam."
The brothers followed me up the stairs and I pointed out the guestroom to them. Then I considered heading down to watch the remainder of the football but decided against it. It might be my vacation, but I had a feeling I could use all the sleep I could get.
***sn***
When I came down to the kitchen the next morning, Sam was already sitting at the bar-like counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.
"Morning Sam," I greeted. "Thought I smelled something good. Where's Dean?"
"Still out like a light. He was up half the night. Guess his shoulder is bothering him more than he lets on."
"He's stubborn, eh?" I challenged Sam jokingly. Sam laughed briefly. "Must be a family trait."
"You have no idea." Sam got up and filled two mugs with fresh coffee. "Don't think I missed the insinuation, Luis," he grinned as he set down one cup in front of me. I smiled. It had always been easy to banter with Sam. No wonder Dean loved teasing his brother.
After I had tasted my coffee I got some waffles from the freezer and put them in the toaster. Sam had gotten his laptop from the Impala and happily hacked away on the keyboard.
"Already on the research?"
Both Sam and I looked up and took in the sight of Dean standing in the doorway. He was shirtless and had succeeded to somehow wriggle into his jeans. Everyone who has tried to close the button of a pair of jeans, one-handed, knows it's impossible.
"Luis, do you mind unwrapping me now so I can get decent?" Dean sounded testy. Considering his dilemma and Sam's info about him having been up most of the night I couldn't blame him.
"You know, you could just ask nicely and I would help you out," Sam interjected, grinning mirthfully. His mirth was lost on his brother, though, whose eyes narrowed dangerously as he frowned.
"Over my dead body, princess," Dean growled.
"Come on, Dean, it's not like I never had to undress your ass. I'm just trying to help."
Dean continued to glare at his brother and then turned to me. "Are you going to help me out or do I have to cut it off myself?"
"Relax, Dean," I said soothingly. "I'll take it off. Want to have a look at it anyways."
"As long as you remember where to keep your eyes, doc," he replied without breaking a smile. "It sure was creepy enough having you ogle me in my sleep last time."
Sam looked at me in surprise. I shrugged and grinned sheepishly, silently vowing to fill my college friend in on how I had tried to locate the machete scar on Dean's leg while Sam was in the hospital all those months back. Didn't want him to get the wrong impression. It was bad enough Dean continuously brought it up to get to me.
"You sure are a pleasant morning person, but you forget that I like to 'see' with these here," I smiled, wriggling my fingers. Attack is the best defense. "Quite often they tell me more than my eyes."
Dean smirked as I unwrapped his shoulder. It displayed multiple colors but the swelling wasn't too bad. If it was tender to the touch, he didn't show it. Perfect Winchester poker face.
"Happy, doc?" Dean asked. When I nodded, he turned to walk up the stairs again.
"Where are you going?" Sam called after him.
"Hit the shower. Don't wanna stink up this joint like you do, Sammy," he replied without stopping.
Sam shrugged and glanced at me. "You gonna help me find out who ghost number two might be?"
"Sure. But I don't even know about number one to start with." I pulled my stool closer to Sam so I could see the laptop better.
"Jeremy Wood," Sam stated, clicking on a minimized picture to open it. The face of a young man, barely out of his teenage years, appeared on the screen. "Him and his family lived on the premises for generations. Then he was killed in 1968 when he broke his neck falling down the big staircase," Sam pointed at another picture on the screen.
"He was buried on the premises?" I asked.
Sam nodded. "Family tradition. That was changed a few years later due to a new law. When his parents were killed in a car crash some years later, his sister buried them at the local graveyard."
"Do you know when the haunting started?" As much as the word 'haunting' gave me the creeps ever since I had seen Anne's ghost, I couldn't deny my curiosity. Sam scrolled down the page to a newspaper clipping.
"First mention was a year after Jeremy died. Furniture moving on its own, light flickering, stuff like that. It got worse after his parents died and eventually his sister, Jenna, moved out. The mansion stood abandoned ever since. Every couple of years some teenagers enter the house as a dare and tell ghost stories. The two bodies now seem to be the first fatalities, however."
"So... you think it's Jeremy?"
"We thought so. He's the only one buried there close to the time the haunting started. But we did a salt and burn and neither spirit was destroyed."
"Maybe neither one was Jeremy," I mused.
"He was there," Sam stated, looking at me. Then he pointed at Jeremy's picture. "No mistake there. One of the spirits was him."
"Then why didn't it work?"
"There are only two reasons possible," Sam exhaled slowly. "Either the bones are incomplete..."
"Incomplete?" I interrupted.
"Yeah, like the skull is missing or so," Sam pointed out. I nodded.
"Or?"
Sam sighed. "Or the spirit is attached to an object. In that case the object has to be destroyed in the same manner." He paused. "Jeremy's skeleton was complete."
"So we have to find something that he is attached to?" I asked. "Maybe the sister can be of assistance here."
"Yeah," Sam nodded. "We should definitely talk to her. But still, that would only put one of the ghosts to rest."
Footsteps coming down the stairs halted our discussion. Dean had actually managed to get himself dressed, but judging by the tightly pressed lips he paid the price for it. That shoulder must be awfully sore. He grabbed a mug from the shelf and set it down on the counter to pour himself some coffee. Then he took a seat on a stool opposite from us.
"What have you got?" He asked, looking at his brother.
"Not much more than yesterday," Sam admitted. "Luis was suggesting we interview the sister."
Dean glanced at me before taking a sip from his mug. "Any idea where to find her?"
Sam concentrated on his laptop again and I used the time to inconspicuously scrutinize the older brother. At least I tried to. It didn't take long for Dean to catch on, though. He gazed at me defiantly and I escaped to fill up my mug. Having Dean stare at you is very intense.
I grabbed some bottled water and the pain killers and placed it between the brothers on the table. "Breakfast for champions," I smirked.
Sam looked up and sighed. "I'm good," he mumbled, only to concentrate on his laptop again.
"They're also anti-inflammatory," I urged gently. Sam looked up again and relented. After washing two pills down with some water he purposefully pushed the items towards his brother.
"No way," Dean declined. "Whatever you say, Luis, those smarties make me nap."
"From what I heard you didn't get much sleep in the first place so it wouldn't hurt," I tried to convince him. But Dean resolutely shook his head which earned him a reproachful glare from his brother.
"You found anything yet?" Dean successfully changed the topic, when Sam took a deep breath.
"Jenna Wood, now Jenna Naysmith, in her sixties, widowed, no children. Address in a small town about twenty miles from here."
"Great," Dean finished his coffee. "Let's hit the road."
***sn***
We arrived at the address of Jenna Naysmith about forty-five minutes later. She lived in a small, neat suburban house with a tiny garden in front. I felt a bit nervous when I followed the brothers to the entrance.
Sam knocked on the white door. I almost thought that Jeremy's sister wasn't home, when she finally opened up a crack.
"Mrs. Naysmith?" Sam asked and she nodded. "My name is Sam Webster, these are my brothers Dean and Luis. We're writing an article about supposedly haunted houses in the area and..."
"Young man," the old woman interrupted Sam. "If you've come to blame me for the boys' deaths, you better leave now. I haven't set foot in the house for over forty years. Good bye."
She wanted to shut the door but Sam was quicker and stuck his foot in. "Please, we're not here to put blame on anyone. We would just like to find out what happened back then."
If the situation wasn't so tense I would have laughed. Sam put up a pleading face that was shouting puppy eyes and Dean was flashing a smile that would melt any woman, regardless what age, in the radius of a mile. Trying not to stick out I mustered a smile, too.
Mrs. Naysmith scrutinized the three of us for a moment. Then she nodded. "Alright, boys, come on in, but if I don't like your questions you will have to leave immediately."