Dean and Elizabeth circle the block around the cemetery twice before deciding no cops are going to spring out of the trees and throw their asses back in jail. After all, it'd be pretty hard to explain what they're doing in a cemetery in the middle of the night with a sawed-off shotgun two shovels, a canister of salt, some lighter fluid, and matches. There's no way to lie about that and get off with a warning, even if Elizabeth resorts to her crying routine.
"You know, as much as I love the idea of saving people, sometimes our job really sucks," Elizabeth complains, swinging her flashlight around slowly to take in the grave markers. "Case in point, that mothball smell old bones always have. It's like hugging my great-aunt all over again."
"Yeah, that was awful." Dean shudders at the memory. Constance Mayson had been the type of old lady that insisted on pinching cheeks, big hugs, and hoards lint-covered candy in the suitcase she called a purse. "I've never been so happy to attend a funeral before."
"Right? Uncle B kept stomping on my foot because I didn't look the right amount of upset."
"Well, she did leave you and Dana an entire house. Granted, that house collapsed three days later and she only left it to you guys because she was a spiteful old biddy that wanted to piss off her son. God, she was just mean to everyone."
"Now you're gettin' it." They get another few feet when they're stopped by the sound of breaking twigs nearby. "Please tell me I imagined that."
"Wish I could." The pair look around, not relaxing for a good minute and a half before deciding the noise must have been an animal. "Someone needs to tell Thumper it's past his bedtime." This late at night, the only people that would be exploring graveyards are cops, high school kids on a dare, or hunters that regret every choice they've ever made in their lives. After another ten minutes of intense scowling at headstones, Dean taps Elizabeth's arm and nods at a small marker with a familiar cross etched into the stone.
"Hello, preacher man, just gonna take a small looksee."
"Talkin' to dead guys now, Liza?"
"They don't sass back." She winks and drops her flashlight to the ground, the beam highlighting the dark green of the grass. Digging up a body is never easy work—in fact, it's not even easier said than done—but Elizabeth will do it with only minimal complaining if it means saving somebody's life. I just hope we can get this done before the Hash-slinging Slasher decides to turn Sammy into mincemeat.
It takes a grand total of twenty minutes before the dirt softens under the shovels, easier to scoop up even if Elizabeth's shoulders protest otherwise. It's not something you actually get used to over time, but it's an inevitable part of being a hunter. Still, she's taking the world's longest shower when they get back to the motel and nothing short of Orcs stampeding through the bathroom will get her out.
"That's it," Dean gasps," next time I get to watch the cute girl's house."
"Fine with me as long as I get to leave with the cute fraternity guy," Elizabeth quips, rolling her sore shoulders for a second before continuing to dig. This had better work or somebody's getting the holy hell beaten out of them. After what feels like centuries, they hit pay-dirt and use the shovels to smash open the lid of the coffin.
"Just once I'd like to dig someone up that smells like potpourri," Dean grumbles, using his shirt to mop sweat and dirt off his forehead.
"Or at least a little less like Constance." Her back muscles strain as she pulls herself up out of the grave, Dean right behind her with a groan as he rolls over onto his side. "I'll do the lighter fluid if you do the salt." Dean nods, digging through his bag until he pulls out the cannisters and hands Elizabeth the right one. They make sure to cover every inch possible so there's not a snowball's chance in hell of Karns making a comeback. "Matches?"
"Right here." He pulls a book of them out of his back pocket, lighting them before tossing them into the grave. "Why don't you go catch some sleep and I'll wake you up to help me fill the grave back in?"
"What about you?"
"You can make it up to me later." The suggestive look he sends her way has her biting her lip as she remembers what happened last time they were alone together. The way his hands had fit perfectly against her hips and the delicious friction of unyielding denim against the delicate lace covering her is definitely not something she'll forget anytime soon.
"Maybe lock the door next time, though." He winks before turning back to watch the fire, Elizabeth taking the moment to admire his jean-clad ass before heading back to the car. It doesn't take her long to find a comfortable enough position in the backseat to have her halfway to dreamland, all her problems seeming to fade away as Viggo Mortensen begins to massage her aching feet.
It's morning by the time Dean wakes her up, handing her a bottle of Mountain Dew once she manages to sit up. "What's going on," she asks, voice rough with sleep. "The bones done?"
"Yeah, and I got the grave filled back in."
"You should've woken me up."
"Nah, it wasn't too hard." He keeps his voice soft until she's a little more awake, the caffeine working wonders. "I got a call from Sammy a couple minutes ago, he wants us to meet him at the hospital." That has Elizabeth wide awake, worry surging through her as her overactive imagination conjures all kinds of scenarios of what could've landed Sam in the ER.
"Is he okay?"
"He's not the one that got hurt, he was just the driver. Apparently, the preacher was attacked by Hook or somethin'." Elizabeth's brows knit together as she tries to puzzle that out, vaguely aware of Dean shutting her door and taking up his place in the driver's seat.
"But we salted and burned his bones, though." She pouts in the backseat, wondering why her life seems so determined to go downhill. "This is some bullshit." Dean nods, giving her a sympathetic look when he catches her eye in the rearview mirror.
"If it makes you feel any better, your eyeliner didn't smudge while you were sleeping."
A couple of police officers stop them in the hallway, keeping them from running the rest of the way to where Sammy is standing with another cop. "It's all right," Dean tells them, trying to get past without using force. "We're with him, he's our brother." The cop closest to Elizabeth doesn't look convinced, looking between the two blondes and then over at Sam with his headful of dark brown hair.
"Sammy," Elizabeth calls, rolling up onto her toes to peek over the cop's shoulder. "Hey, Sammy, call off the guard dogs!" The older cop he was speaking to a moment ago gives a curt nod of his head, Sam meeting the other two in the middle and staying quiet until the three of them are sure the cops aren't within earshot. "Are you okay? No stab wounds or concussions?" He nods, looking behind him for a moment before facing the others again.
"The Hook Man showed up," Sam tells them with a glare. "You two were supposed to torch the bones not fool around back at the motel room!" Elizabeth runs a hand through her hair, frowning slightly at his tone.
"We did," Dean insists. "Are you sure it was Karns?"
"I'm pretty sure no other spirit can pop up out of nowhere and impale a man on a hook." Elizabeth opens her mouth, but one look from Sam has it snapping closed again. "Bring up that stupid urban legend about Piggy Man again and I'll tell Bobby you were the one that crashed his favorite tractor in the pond freshman year."
"That's just cold," she grumbles, crossing her arms and looking away.
"Back on track," Dean growls. "Jesus, dealing with you two's like herding cats." Sam and Elizabeth both give him a glare at that, jaws working stubbornly. "Why would Karns even want to hurt the preacher? The guy basically fits the profile of who he usually clings to."
"Because he was having an affair with a married woman," Sam informs them. At Dean's so what face, Sam continues. "Believe it or not, that's immoral and Lori was raised to believe that if you do something wrong you get punished."
"And that's pretty much Hook's calling card," Elizabeth says, catching on. "He's punishing people Lori thinks deserve it even though she doesn't know that she's using him as her personal hitman."
"Exactly."
"But, those bones are beyond dust and they're so salty that not even Uncle Bobby would touch 'em, so why is he still hanging around?"
"Don't say we missed somethin' either, because we even burned the damn coffin," Dean says, beating his brother to the punch.
"Did you guys get the hook, too," Sam asks, raising his brows. Elizabeth opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to remember if she even saw a hook last night, but drawing a blank. "It was the murder weapon and it was technically part of him."
"So, like the bones, it's a source of his powers."
"And if we find the bones we can finally put a stop to the Hook Man." He pauses and makes a face, looking as exasperated as any twenty-three year old can. "God, this is even weirder than the whole Bloody Mary fiasco."
"If the Headless Horseman's our next case, then I'm kicking something," Elizabeth agrees, shaking her head. "Alright, let's head to the library and see if we can't find out where that stupid hook ended up." I never thought I would grow to hate libraries, but this case is like diving headfirst back into the awful high school years before Bobby got a computer.
An hour spent in deep research is one thing, but three hours in deep research with a migraine building up behind her eyes has Elizabeth wondering what would happen if she packed up and moved to Canada. Yawning, she stares blankly at the book balanced on her knees, the words blurred until she blinks again. I need caffeine or I'll go insane and make Hook look like a damn saint.
"I think I finally found something," Dean says after taking a pen cap out of his mouth. The other two look up hopefully, Dean arching a brow at them in amusement before continuing. "It's the logbook for Iowa State Penitentiary. Karns, Jacob—personal affects, disposition thereof."
"Does it even mention what we're trying to find," Sam asks. Dean runs a finger down the page until he finds what he'd been reading earlier, keeping his voice low as he repeats it out loud.
"Upon execution, all earthly objects will be remanded to the prisoner's place of worship, St. Barnabas church."
"That's where Sammy's crush lives, ain't it," Elizabeth asks," and where the hospitalized preacher got attacked?"
"Maybe that's why the spirit's been haunting reverends and reverend's daughters for the past two hundred years."
"Wouldn't someone have seen the hook if were there," Sam points out. "I mean, a blood-stained hook doesn't exactly blend in with hand-knitted doilies and stacks of bibles." Elizabeth stands up from her place on the floor, stretching her legs as she tried to think of where a hook could be tucked away so that the congregation didn't freak out.
"I'll go find the church records." It's another two hours before any mention of a hook is found amongst the four thick books that Dean hauls back to their table.
"St. Barnabas donations, 1862," Sam reads out, nudging Elizabeth out of her doze with his foot. "Received—silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged."
"We are so fucked," Elizabeth states tiredly, slamming her book shut and laying it on the table in front of her. "We are beyond just plain fucked, we're jungle fucked."
"God, I told you not to let her watch Boondock Saints the other night," Dean scolds Sam. "Now she's gonna be quoting it for the next month and a half."