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Chapter Four
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Once again I was awoken abruptly, this time to the sound of an anguished, "No! Dean, please…no…!" and a hushed murmuring. I regarded my impromptu house guests through nearly closed eyes, knowing somehow intuitively they would not want a witness to these moments. "Sammy, wake up. C'mon man, you're dreaming." Dean whispered, shaking him carefully. Sam came awake swinging, which was unfortunate since it jarred his injured shoulder. He was immediately gasping with pain, leaning his head onto Dean's shoulder as he coaxed him through it. He finally laid back with a groan, uninjured hand over his eyes. "Dean, I'm sorry - "
"I've told you a million times kid, you have nothing to be sorry for." was the gruff reply. Sam moved his arm to regard his brother with a disbelieving look, and once again some unspoken conversation ensued. "Go back to sleep," grumped Dean finally.
"Only if you do," came the stubborn reply. "I know you've been watching over me all night. You need rest too." The staring match ensued, until I could finally take it no more and a giggle escaped. That brought both sets of eyes over to me, and I sat up.
"You're just like little boys." I said, smiling. "You should both sleep. I'm awake, and I'll keep watch. Believe me, I can scream like nobody's business if necessary." Dean rolled his eyes and looked back at Sam, who wasn't backing down. Finally with a huff he grabbed a pillow from under Sam's feet, and laid down next to the couch. Sam looked over at me and smiled triumphantly, then his face softened, clearly conveying his gratitude. I smiled back, inordinately pleased that I could be of help. I didn't even know what mess these boys were into, but heaven help me, I was clearly a lost cause!
Several hours later, working on breakfast in the kitchen, I heard soft bickering that told me they were awake. In the light of day the experiences of the past night seemed so far away and strange, and I was now eager to hear that explanation that Dean promised. I knew though that men needed food to function, so I made sure to pile the eggs, bacon, and toast high. I had intended to take it out to them, but the topic of their argument became obvious as Sam stubbornly came slowly into the kitchen, followed by an exasperated looking Dean. Sam slid onto one of my kitchen chairs and leaned heavily on the table with his good arm. Dean meanwhile took the serving platter from me, so I turned to grab the dishes from the counter. He had already made it to the coffee pot by the time I had turned around again, so I simply pulled down three mugs, and he filled them. There was silence for a number of minutes as we all focused on eating, but eventually the food was gone and we were savoring round two of coffee. Sam was listing slightly, and after another one of those crazy silent conversations he finally nodded and allowed Dean to help him back to the couch, where he sank back wearily. I followed with our coffee cups. Dean handed him a couple pills that he dry swallowed, gratefully accepting his coffee to chase it down. Dean then sank down on the couch beside Sam, and I curled up back in the arm chair, somehow knowing the time for explanations had come.
"Thank you for helping us, you didn't have to do that." Sam started softly. I stared back solemnly over the lip of my cup, inhaling the sweet fragrance. "We owe you an explanation." I nodded, curious. My imagination had taken flight in the wee hours of the morning, and I suspected that whatever they were about to say couldn't be more fantastical than what I had dreamt up. Sam paused, looked over at Dean who nodded, and then proceeded to prove me wrong.
"We are hunters," he began. I wrinkled my brow, confused, but there was no time to question before he explained, "We hunt monsters." My mouth fell open at that, but even then, I was thinking like murderers and rapists? Dean quickly chimed in, "Ghosts. Vampires. Werewolves. Things that go bump in the night, that most people don't believe exist." I giggled nervously, thinking they must be pulling my leg, but stopped and just stared as they steadily looked back, clearly dead serious. So they are not monsters, just sociopaths and delusional. Great Rosalie, your intuition was way off this time! Time to call the professionals!
My thoughts unfortunately must have shown on my face…that or they were just accustomed to not being believed. They exchanged a look and then Sam started to try to get up from the couch, as if to leave. Moving wrong, he stopped abruptly, biting down on a groan, eyes closed. Dean's hand was immediately at his arm, easing him back against the couch, even as I leaned forward intent on urging him back down too. Once Sam was settled again, Dean's piercing gaze was directed back to me. I held that gaze, trying to determine what it was about these men that had me wanting to believe such a far-fetched story. To this day, I can't tell you why I didn't just call the cops or send them packing, but something in Dean's eyes, and Sam's too as I glanced over at him, told me they were speaking truth. I finally settled back in my armchair, curling my legs under me and said, "Tell me about this hunt." Clearly that was not the response they were expecting, as they exchanged a surprised look. Sam carefully scooted down so he could lay his head on the back of the couch, but his face remained tipped so he could watch me, clearly leaving Dean to take the lead. Dean pulled the blanket back over his brother, patting his leg gently, then leaned forward, coffee mug clasped between his hands, and prepared to talk.
"You believe us?" he said skeptically. "Usually it takes a lot more convincing…"
"I - " I paused. Did I? "I don't know why, but I guess I do. Let's say I'm willing to be convinced."
He nodded, apparently willing to work with that. "A couple days ago we read the article about the two boys that were injured next door." he began. "It sounded like our type of case, so we came to take a look."
"Your type of case?" I queried.
"The article says the boys claimed something tossed them around, along with throwing items in the house at them, but that they didn't actually SEE anyone. They also mentioned it was really cold, and they felt like they weren't alone. The article clearly made it sound like they were lying to escape being in trouble for visiting the abandoned house, but we weren't so sure."
I remembered the article. My thought at the time was that either the author was trying to be sensational or that the boys were trying to garner their five minutes of fame. I shook my head. It never once occurred to me that they might have encountered something other-worldly. "Ghost?" I asked skeptically.
"Or poltergeist." Sam added.
"There's a difference?"
"Ghosts are the spirits of the dead who didn't move on." Dean explained to me, "They eventually go mad, becoming vengeful spirits that usually try to avenge their deaths in the same manner as how they were killed. Poltergeists are more indiscriminate as to who they hurt and why." I nodded, so he continued. "We tried to talk to the boys about their experience, but we couldn't gain access. Apparently their parents just wanted to pretend nothing had happened, and refused to allow us to question them. Sammy tried to do research on the house, but nothing stood out in the archives. So unfortunately, we were flying blind." He paused, peering down into his cup, then abruptly stood and reached out a hand for my mug. I silently handed it over, staring after him as he headed to the kitchen and returned with fresh coffee for us both. It was so strange to me just how comfortable I felt with him roving my house. I'd met these guys yesterday, but it felt like I'd known them forever. Huh.
Settling back on the sofa, he glanced over at Sam whose eyes had drifted shut. It seemed like he was asleep, but I suspected not deeply since he still held himself pretty rigidly. Dean leaned ever-so-slightly so their shoulders were touching, and my eyes widened as I watched Sam's body language relax, clearly finding comfort and safety in that familiar touch. Truly these brothers were something special. Dean looked back over to me, and I was startled by the fierce protectiveness reflected in his eyes. It was quickly hidden behind his more stoic look, but I had seen it and knew he wasn't letting any more harm befall his brother if it was within his power.
Taking a sip of his fresh coffee, Dean continued their story, softly so that his brother would hopefully stay asleep. "We came last night to try to determine what we might be up against. The house was a mess, but we had covered most of it without finding any sign of a specter, when the temperature dropped, and it appeared. It was the ghost of a man, mid thirties, dressed like a businessman, with a gunshot wound in his chest. We both reacted, raising our shotguns to fire (he interrupted himself here to explain that the shotguns fired salt shells, and that salt would disburse a ghost temporarily), when someone else entered from the far side of the room and fired first. Problems with that being the dude was living, firing real bullets, and Sam was in his line of fire." Dean glanced over at Sam, but he seemed to still be out. "The ghost disappeared, and though I chased the other man, he ran out the back into the woods, and I wasn't willing to leave Sam to find him. I ran back in to find the ghost leaning over Sam. I shot him and pulled Sam from the house, and I guess you know the rest."