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Chapter 2 - The Story Unraveled

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"Did anyone catch the plate of that semi…?" muttered Hoyt as he slowly rejoined the conversation. Finding himself laying in the dirt he attempted to sit, belatedly realizing his hands were now tied behind his back, which made leveraging himself up much more challenging. Sam stepped over and helped him lean back against a nearby tree. "Much obliged." Sam shook his head again at his southern politeness, a dichotomy to what they knew of the man so far. Then he crouched down, dangling the necklace in front of Hoyt. Hoyt frowned, clearly frustrated, but said nothing.

"Sam, come on. Let's destroy the damn thing and get a move on. We can call the cops to come collect Rawlings…"

"Destroy it! What the hell?!" shouted Hoyt, struggling to rise, "Why would you do that?"

Sam pressed on his shoulder, keeping him down and against the tree, but was looking up at his brother. "Dean, we need more information first. It's possible the necklace isn't the tether, or not the only thing keeping Walker here. We need to be sure. Rawlings might know something that will help." Dean's response was simply an eye roll and a gesture to get on with it. Sam turned back to Hoyt, settling on the ground facing him with legs crossed.

"Are you telling us the truth, that this necklace belonged to your family?"

Hoyt just stared, first at Sam, then over at Dean. "Who are you guys? What do you mean tether?"

"You first."

He stared some more, then smiled. "Yessir, it was my great-great-great," he took a breath and grinned wider as Dean rolled his eyes again, "great-great grandma Ophelia's necklace. It was given to her by the love of her life, Charles Rawlings."

"Charles Rawlings?" Sam was startled. "Not Grant Walker?"

"Walker? Hell no! She married him, but she never loved him. Story goes, she loved Charles, but her daddy gambled away their fortune and in a drunken stupor pledged his only daughter to Walker, a man twice her age, in exchange for his own life. Walker took great pleasure in informing her of that to her face." The change in Hoyt's visage from the friendly, smiling, open one he had shown up to this point was drastic. Cold, hard anger shone through for the wrongs done to his long deceased relative. Sam was actually really encouraged by this response…clearly Hoyt was a criminal, but apparently still had some compassion for others. It reinforced his sense that Rawlings was more than he seemed, though he wasn't sure WHY he felt that way. He shook his head and realized Hoyt had resumed his tale.

"Ophelia's married life was a living hell, but thankfully for her, a short one. Walker repeatedly accused her of cheating on him, even though she always denied it. He beat her, and kept her locked up in their damn plantation. She died giving birth." Hoyt paused, looking away, almost as if to compose himself.

"And the baby?" Sam prompted.

"The baby died at birth. Supposedly."

"But it didn't?" Dean couldn't help himself, this Rawlings guy could weave a tale!

"It was discovered, much later, that the midwife had smuggled the baby out as Ophelia's dying wish. Story goes, she took the baby to Charles, who raised him as his own son." Another pause, and then Hoyt refocused on Sam. "Jonathan Rawlings - he never used the Walker name - knew nothing about his birth parents until he was in his 20s, married, and with a baby of his own. Charles became ill and shared the truth on his deathbed. After his passing, Jonathan tracked down and confronted Walker, who denied the accusations. They fought, and no one knows what exactly happened, but Grant Walker was discovered the next morning dead in his home, and Jonathan just disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Sam wasn't sure why he was whispering.

"Vanished. His wife, Lily, raised their son Charlie as a single mom. Fast forward several generations, and my Dad arrived on the scene, Charles Victor Rawlings III. The last of the Walkers and Rawlings, if my Grandma was to be believed. Vic, as he was called, was…a bit of a wild child, ya might say. He fell in love, and along came me. Not sure what happened to my Ma, never knew her, but Pops was obsessed with his lineage and tracking down what he believed to be his birthright. We moved around - a lot. Odd jobs, hustles…Dad taught me everything he knew…"

Sam and Dean were still for a moment, pondering all they had just learned, watching Hoyt as he stared off at something unseen. "How do you know all this history?" queried Sam, "I mean, is it all anecdotal, or is some of it written?"

"Anecdotal?" smirked Hoyt. "You a professor or somethin?" Dean joined in smirking at Sam, but he ignored them both. "Grandma had some old, old letters I think - letters from Charles Rawlings. Might have been some other stuff, but I never cared to look at it all. That was Dad's obsession, and it cost him…" He stopped abruptly and looked away, as if he had said more than he meant to.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked softly. Hoyt just stared back at him. What is it about these guys, he wondered, why am I spilling my life story to a couple strangers? Sam just waited patiently, while Dean stared off into the trees, appearing as if he couldn't care less about the conversation. Hoyt knew better. There were tell-tale signs, if you were good at reading people - and he was GOOD at reading people - that said Dean had not missed a word of this conversation. Well, in for a penny…

"My last conversation with my Dad, he was at the old Walker plantation." This brought Dean's gaze firmly around to him, as he continued. "He said he thought he was being followed, and was hiding his research there. Told me to come find it if anything ever happened to him. Told me the necklace was the key."

"When was… did he… did you…key to what…?" Sam started and stopped. He realized, almost belatedly, just how personal this conversation had gotten.

"That was ten years ago. I never heard from him again, I assume he's dead. I was…unable to check up on things until more recently…"

"You mean you were in jail, on parole, on the lam, and in jail again." Sam had done his research while Rawlings was "napping".

"Maybe." He stared at Sam, debating leaving off there, but decided he might as well finish spilling his guts. "Anywhoo, I tried to check out the plantation but didn't get far, some schmuck ran me off the property - claimed he was the owner. Found out he was selling off MY heirlooms to museums and such, including the necklace, and decided to regain what was rightfully mine. You know the rest."

"Dean," Sam broke the silence that followed Hoyt's declaration, "Those documents might contain the information we need to put these spirits to rest. We need to get back to the plantation…"

"No!" The Winchesters both jumped at the vehemence in Hoyt's voice, as well as a hint of something else. Fear? They glanced at one another, and then Dean moved to pull Hoyt to his feet.

"Whoa! Hold your hosses fellas!" Hoyt resisted, pulling back from Dean's hand on his arm. "Spill. Who the hell are you guys, and what in tarnation do you mean "spirits"?" Dean stared for a minute, then quickly glanced over at Sam. They shared a grin, and then Dean burst out laughing. Sam's smile grew, basking in the joy of hearing Dean genuinely laugh for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Tarnation?" Dean gasped, doubled-over with his hands on his knees. "Hosses? Are you Yosemite Sam?" He chuckled again, trying to calm back down. Hoyt scowled at him, kicking out but getting nothing but dirt.

"We should keep moving." Sam soothed. "We will explain in the car." Sincere-faced Sam versus closed off, skeptical-faced Hoyt…it was no contest, and they were up and moving back to the Impala. Once there, they traded the rope for handcuffs, much to Hoyt's annoyance. At least they were kind enough to cuff my hands in front, he thought as he slouched once more against the leather. Once Dean had eased his Baby back onto blacktop and they were cruising down the highway, Sam pivoted his back to the door so as to face both Hoyt and Dean.

"I'm Sam Winchester. This is my brother Dean." He began. "We're hunters." He glanced over at Dean, and had Hoyt not been so incredibly skilled at reading people he would have missed the entire silent conversation that took place in that brief meeting of eyes. Huh, interesting. These guys are close - really close.

Sam took a deep breath. "We hunt things that go bump in the night, that other people deny exist."

"Like ghosts?"

"Ghosts. Vampires. Werewolves. Lots of other things you've probably never heard of." chimed in Dean. Hoyt stared at Dean's eyes in the rear view mirror, then over to Sam. Surely they were pulling his leg? They stared back at him, serious as can be."Y'all are insane. Those things aren't real." Great, I picked the insane brothers for a ride. But even as he thought that, he also recognized that nothing in either man's actions had been crazy, and they were clearly skilled with weapons and fighting (as his jaw would attest to!). Is it really so crazy? He wondered. He leaned back, lost in thought, startled when Sam's hand swooped in and pulled the paperclip secreted in his hand that he had been using as a lock pick. Wow, rookie move, idiot! He chastised himself.

There was silence in the car for a while, all three lost in their own thoughts, and Hoyt was startled as they pulled off at a roadside gas station. Dean twisted to glare at him, then gruffly said, "Stay put, and don't cause trouble, and I'll get some snacks to share. Cause trouble, and I'll stuff you in the trunk." He clambered out of the car and headed into the convenience store, while Sam chortled at Hoyt's gaping mouth. "He's not joking." Sam then proceeded to get out and pump gas.

Before long they were back on the road, munching beef jerky, with the metallic sounds of a Led Zeppelin song pouring (loudly) from the car's speakers. I am WAY off my game. Hoyt shook his head, slouching down further and munching on his jerky. What is it about these guys?