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Chapter 4 - Settling the Mood
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"Three spirits," mused Sam, "all tangled up in death."
"Ghosts are real." muttered Hoyt.
"Yep." Dean contributed, downing a shot of whisky. "Welcome to our world."
"Jonathan was a spitting image of Hoyt here," Sam mused, "I wonder if we can use that to our advantage."
"What, y'all want me to be bait?" Sitting up straighter, Hoyt glared over his glass at Sam.
"Might be a way to get Ophelia or Jonathan to talk to us." Sam placated.
"Or he can be bait." grinned Dean.
Hoyt switched his glare to the other brother. "Ha. Ha." He took another swig, and then turned back to Sam. "What did you guys find in Ophelia's room?"
"A box, hopefully containing the papers your Dad mentioned, and a book of some kind.." Sam replied, finishing off his beer. "I'm actually going to head back to the motel and start researching. You guys coming?"
"Not yet for me. Take the car, we'll walk back." Again, silent conversation passed between the brothers, then Sam nodded, accepting the keys, and headed out into the night.
—-
"Dude. Y'all's life is crazy man." Hoyt may have been slightly buzzed at this point.
"Yup." Dean replied cheerfully.
"And you LIKE doing this? Fighting ghosts?"
"Beats a boring 9-5 dead end job" he replied. Hoyt thought for a moment he detected a hint of wistfulness, but gone so quick he wondered if he imagined it.
"Damn straight. I never could see myself in one of those. Too wild and fancy-free I guess. I love to go where the wind takes me, you know? Wish I could have lived back in the 1800s, I could see myself heading out west, staking a claim, being a frontier man. Born in the wrong time period, there ain't no use for a wild cowboy these days." I don't tell people this stuff, what is wrong with me? Must be the booze. Hoyt eyed the bottle, but knew he wasn't drunk yet. There was just something about these Winchesters!
"I hear ya." Dean stared contemplatively at his drink. Hoyt had just about decided that was the end of the conversation and was contemplating the pool tables when Dean started again, quietly enough that he had to lean in to hear him clearly. "I feel a bit like you, a soul from a different era. I think that's why I love what I do, saving people, hunting things." he picked at the bottle label, but continued after a pause. "Sammy, not so much. He got out of the life…went to college, was on his way to becoming a lawyer, pretty wife…heck, probably the 2.5 kids and mortgage too." He frowned, then downed the rest of the bottle and signaled for another round.
"What brought him back?"
"It's a long story. Too long to tell right now. Suffice it to say, he's in it now. I wish…"
"Yeah." Hoyt heard the longing in Dean's voice, whether he meant to convey it or not, for better things for his brother. "At least you have each other. You're clearly close."
"I practically raised the kid. Dad was always hunting, and we moved all the time." Once again the pause was long enough Hoyt began eyeing the pool table again, and he barely caught the nearly whispered "I don't know what I'd do without him." Regarding Dean thoughtfully, he once again felt a pang for the lack of that kind of deep connection and devotion in his own life.
Shaking himself from his maudlin thoughts, Dean followed Hoyt's glance to the pool tables across the hall. "Guessing you're a hustler." Rawlings just grinned widely in reply. "Wanna see who can collect more from these suckers?"
"You're on!"
—-
Sam jerked awake, the journal on his lap sliding to the floor. It took a second to orient himself and determine what had woken him, but a slight scraping sound at the door had him up with his gun out. When the handle jiggled and more scraping was heard, coupled with a guffaw, he rolled his eyes, set the gun down on the table, and swung the door open abruptly. The suddenness of the door opening caused a more than tipsy Hoyt, who had apparently been leaning on the door, to spill in and onto the floor. Dean leaned on the door jamb and snorted with mirth at his companion.
"Dean! Why are you picking the lock instead of using the key? Are you guys drunk?" Sam paused, noticing their rumpled appearance, "And were you fighting?"
"Dinnnit want to wake ya bro." Dean slurred. "And not fighting, not with him anywhoo."
"Then who…?" he shooed Dean inside, closing and locking the door once more. Dean, for his part, simply stepped over Hoyt and flopped face-first onto his bed. Snores startled Sam, and he looked down at the floor to find Hoyt curled on his side and out cold. Glancing back at Dean, he realized there were not going to be any answers tonight, so he set about pulling Dean's shoes and jacket off, then man-handled him under the covers. Grabbing a pillow and the comforter off his bed, he covered Hoyt as best as possible, and then, sighing to himself, crawled into his own bed and quickly fell back asleep.
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Awake again as the early rays of dawn snuck through the cracks in the cheap hotel curtains, Sam showered and dressed, and then stepped out to grab some breakfast and coffee. Returning to the room he paused in the doorway, shaking his head. Dean apparently was still dead to the world, as was Hoyt - but now he was in SAM'S bed. Setting the breakfast and coffee on the nightstand between the beds, knowing Dean at least would be in a better mood if awakened by the smell of food and caffeine and not his brother, he sat down at the table to enjoy his own breakfast and continue researching.
An hour later, Sam was still at the table reading, when the other two finally stirred.
"Dude. Ow." came from Hoyt.
:"Mmphf. Epic." was the mumbled reply from the bundle of covers that was Dean. "Did you see that guy's face…!"
"Before or after your fabulous right cross? Man, it was beautiful."
"Not so bad yourself, cowboy. I saw that move with the pool cue…" Dean finally emerged from the covers, groping for the coffee he knew was there.
Sam just rolled his eyes at the mutual fanboying, denying the pang that went through him that was NOT jealousy. He really didn't care if they bonded last night, really. He knew his place in Dean's life. Still…his unwelcome thought train was thankfully interrupted by Dean's slowly joining him at the table, coffee in hand.
"What did you find out in your research Sammy?"
"Yeah, what did you find Sammy?" smirked Hoyt. Sam glared across the room at him.
"He's the only one that can call me that." he snapped, nodding his head towards Dean, irrationally riled. Hoyt immediately held his hands out placatingly in response. Sam continued to glare at the man. MY brother, his gaze clearly read, back off. Hoyt carefully nodded and dropped his gaze. Dean, for his part thoroughly confused by the sudden eruption of tension in the room, glanced back and forth between the two, then cleared his throat to regain his brother's attention. Slightly startled, and frustrated by his own seemingly uncontrollable wave of anger and jealousy, Sam's eyes bore into Dean's intensely enough for him to lean back under the look. Further disconcerted, Dean wrinkled his brow. What's wrong with you? he challenged silently. Sam quickly dropped his eyes to the table, and realizing his hands were clenched into fists, focused on breathing and releasing his tense muscles. This is stupid, he raged internally, get a GRIP!
After a deep breath, Sam began, "So get this… the papers you found were the letters he mentioned between Charles and Ophelia." He indicated Hoyt with his head, but kept his gaze firmly on Dean. "But beyond the letters, there was also a journal. Ophelia's journal." At this Hoyt moved forward from the bed, as if to take the book now held in Sam's hands. Another hot glance from Sam stilled his movement though. Dean glanced again to both men, then "Sam, can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?" Sam huffed in reply, tossed the journal onto the table, and rose to abruptly stomp out of the room. Dean glared at Hoyt, who once again raised his hands with a look of innocence. Don't ask at me, his look said, I don't know what blew up his skirt. Dean frowned in response, then followed his brother out the door, hoping he hadn't gone far.
He hadn't. He could see Sam pacing in the parking lot by the Impala, looking like he was ready to hit something. Better not touch my car. He saw Sam glance his way, and then suddenly fold in on himself and slide down to sit hunched on the parking curb, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face. Worried now, Dean walked quickly over and sank down next to him, not sure what to do to get Sam to share. He leaned slightly, pressing their shoulders together, and felt some of the tension immediately leave his brother. Encouraged, he quietly whispered "What's going on? Talk to me."
Sam, for his part, just sat for a moment, soaking up the comfort that still came at just a touch from his big brother. How that made so much difference, even at his age, he didn't know, but it did. He felt something settle inside of him, even as he searched for words to explain his irrational feelings. Ugh, I'm such a girl! The only thing that came out was "Sorry."
"For what?"
"I - ugh, I don't know. Watching you two bond, it just…forget it."
Oh. Dean suddenly found clarity. His newly formed bond with Hoyt had shaken something in Sam. Sam is JEALOUS. That's nuts! How can he question his priority in my life? But even as he thought that, he realized that the last few months had taken their toll, and some of their usual bickering of late had more bite than usual to it. Sam had more often than not retreated to research at their latest motel, while he had sought the liveliness of bars, the forgetfulness of booze, and the company of fast women. It wasn't new, just had become more of a regular thing to go their separate ways. In fact, Dean realized, Sam joining them at the bar last night was probably the first time in he couldn't remember how long that they had shared a drink out together. So maybe he was feeling a bit shaky and needing some reassurance.
"Sam - "
"You said the Sam in your dream world, that the djinn gave you..he said the two of you had nothing in common." For some reason these thoughts, which had festered in Sam's unconscious, suddenly jumped to the forefront, and he couldn't help but speak, mumbling almost into his knees. "We have hunting, but beyond that, are we any different?"
"What? Yes!" Dean retorted, shocked.
"Really?" Sam challenged, finally looking at Dean. Dean's breath caught at the fear, misery, and worry he saw in Sam's eyes. How could he have let it get this bad? Damn, as much as he hated chick-flick moments, clearly Sam needed them, needed words to accompany actions.
"Yes REALLY, Sammy. You are my little brother. I care about you, about what you care about. You are the most important person in my life, period. I realize we've been having a rough go of it of late, but nothing will change how I feel about you. NOTHING." Dean stared back at Sam, willing him to see the truth behind his words. Sam returned his look, eyes clearing as he read the truth his brother was sharing and reflecting his own love back, finally nodding and straightening - although not breaking their shoulder contact.
"Sorry, Dean. I'm stupid."
"Forget it. We all have moments of weakness. We're good." They continued to sit, now in a contented silence, feeling the sun warm their backs, until interrupted by footsteps. Tensing and rising as one, a knife leaping into Dean's hand as he turned, they found Hoyt approaching, hands once again up in a placating manner.
"Paranoid much?" he drawled.
"It keeps us alive." Dean responded shortly, sliding the blade back into its hidden sheath.
"Well, if you're done kissing and making up," this statement received twin glares, which caused Hoyt to guffaw, "I found something." A quick glance between brothers, and then they followed him back to their room.
—-
"While you two were having your soul-baring moment," Hoyt adroitly ducked the head slap Sam aimed at him, but was not as successful at avoiding the corresponding one from Dean. "Ow! Anyway, I decided to make good use of our time and read Ophelia's journal."
"And?" asked Dean, even as Sam spoke, "I've already read it." Hoyt ignored them both and continued.
"She writes that she is 'hiding her heart away' and 'the key to her heart is with her love'."
"I read that. It makes no sense." Sam groused.
"I agree." Hoyt responded, "But when you read the last letter she wrote to Charles, it sheds some light on it. " 'My love, you will always hold the key to my heart. Cherish it, and pass it along to my son. Let him know I loved him, and loved you.' "
"Gibberish" complained Dean. "Just love letter nonsense."
"It seemed to be," agreed Hoyt, "but then I saw this picture tucked in the piles." He held up a yellowed, dog-eared picture of a baby boy, head full of curly blonde hair and all smiles. Taking the picture from him, Sam turned it over and read the faint writing on the back, "Jonathan Walker, 1 year old, 1846. So?"
"So…" Hoyt gently turned the picture in Sam's hands, and tapped the middle of the photo. Squinting, he looked closer, then gasped.
"What?!" demanded Dean. Sam handed the photograph to him, and he peered at it. There, resting around the baby's neck, was the necklace. "Oh."
"Yeah, oh." Hoyt grinned. "I think the necklace is an actual key to something. And if we can find what it unlocks, that might be what is needed to put her spirit to rest."