Blight, Part I
Title: Blight, Part I
Rating:PG-13 for language and violence
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Word Count: ~6,000
Warnings: wee!chesters in peril!
Disclaimer: They'll be mine as soon as Kripke puts them up for sale on ebay.
Summary: Ryan Thompson is Sam’s only friend, and a mistake by the youngest Winchester could very well cost him his life. It's up to Dean to help Sam save Ryan from the clutches of a house that not only destroys people but also their souls.
We should be thankful we cannot see the horrors and degradations lying around our childhood, in cupboards and bookshelves, everywhere.
~ Graham Greene
Dean quickly tossed his backpack across the living room before making a beeline to the fridge. After a short debate with his growling stomach, Dean grabbed half-eaten sandwich from two days prior and a can of generic cola that his father picked up on sale at the local Stop & Shop.
Dean took a cautious sniff of the tuna salad sandwich then wolfed it down in five bites. He kicked his bag off the sofa and collapsed on it, grimacing when the springs creaked mightily. Dean dug out the remote from between the sofa cushions and turned on the television. It was then he realized that Sammy hadn’t appeared from their bedroom. His little brother hitched a ride with his best friend, Ryan Thompson, when his mom came to pick him up, and usually arrived fifteen minutes before Dean who had to take the bus.
“Yo! Sammy!” Dean yelled, “Your Prince Charming finally come?!”
The silence that greeted his jibe unnerved Dean enough to get him off the couch. He cautiously made his way to their room at the end of the hallway. He swung open the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Sam sitting on his bed.
“Doofus, why didn’t…” Dean didn’t finish speaking. Sam was crying, silently, but there were tears aplenty.
“Sam?” Dean approached his brother, “what happened?”
Sam threw himself at Dean and began bawling in earnest. Dean held him tightly, rocking back and forth. He knew there would be no talking when Sam was in this kind of emotional storm, so Dean waited patiently. No matter what his teachers said about him on his report cards, Dean Winchester had plenty of patience and displayed it when the need arose. Unfortunately for his teachers, school was not the place to reveal such maturity: only three things in the world ever witnessed Dean at his finest - his dad, the hunt, and Sam.
Sam finally stopped crying and started hiccupping. Dean gave him his soda and watched as Sam drained it.
“Gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”
Sam looked at the can in his hands and remained silent. Dean didn’t push. He just waited until Sam couldn’t ignore him any longer.
“Ryan is missing,” Sam whispered.
“What?” Dean said, turning pale. Ryan was Sam's only friend and the single person in Sam's grade who wasn’t ashamed to be seen with the youngest Winchester. “Does anyone know what happened to him?”
“His mom told me he went missing yesterday after church. They got everybody looking for him.”
“Jesus, I hope they find him,” Dean said then added reluctantly, “Do you think it’s our kind of deal?”
Sam shook his head frantically, his grip tightening on the can until it crumpled. Dean sighed and rubbed small circles on Sam's back. “Just wondering. You know, if Ryan’s family needs more help I’ll be glad to pitch in.”
Sam nodded and buried his face into his brother’s shoulder.
“From now on I want you to wait for me by the bus stop, okay? No going home by yourself anymore, understood?”
“Okay, Dean.”
"How'd you get home today?" Dean asked darkly.
"I took the earliest bus. I left school after I heard about Ryan. Mrs. Whimby said I was excused."
“Okay. C’mon, you need to wash your face. Snot’s not an attractive look on anyone, especially you.”
Sam didn’t let go of him and Dean didn’t push him away as he led his shaken brother to the decrepit bathroom. After Sam was done cleaning up Dean cautiously led him to the small kitchen where he made mac and cheese for dinner. For a moment he wondered if he should tell their dad what had happened but quickly quashed that idea.
It was Halloween week, and that meant The Day was coming up. Dean remembered what his father was like right after his mother’s murder. Alcohol had been his father’s only refuge for the first two years, and it was only since last Christmas that John Winchester became completely sober, mostly: the week that encompassed the anniversary of his mother’s death was still hard on his father, and the oldest Winchester continued to resort to the bottle to dull the pain.
Dean didn’t understand why his father went to a dive to get drunk when he could as easily buy a bottle, which was cheaper anyway, and drink at home. But he was glad what little discretion his father showed. The last thing he wanted Sammy to see was his father drunk and passed out on the bathroom floor. Dean had witnessed enough of that scenario for both of them.
Sam ate only half his plate, which was worrisome. Dean liked to tease his brother about his appetite, but the last thing he wanted to see was Sam pecking at his food. It somehow made Dean feel like a failure.
“Finish your dinner, Sammy,” Dean said sternly, "or you’re going to eat that for breakfast.”
Sam looked woefully at him. “Don’t feel like eating, Dean. Could you call Ryan’s house and see if they know something? Please?”
“Yeah, not a problem,” Dean said and scraped off the mac and cheese from both their plates into a clean takeout container. He wasn’t feeling too hungry either.
“Hello? Is this Thompson’s residence? Hi, I’m Dean, Sammy’s older brother? Yeah, he’s doing okay, I guess,” Dean said, looking at his brother. “Sam was wondering if there was anything … oh, okay. No, um … if you need more people for the search party my brother and I would be glad to help. Oh, okay, thanks, Mrs. Thompson. And good luck.”
“What did she say?” Sam asked eagerly.
“They haven’t found anything, so starting tomorrow morning they’re going to form search parties and start combing through their neighborhood.”
“I guess we can’t help?”
“No, Sam. They’re scared that some weirdo grabbed Ryan so no kids are allowed. They’re talking about making a curfew if they don’t find him soon.”
“Why?”
“Because Ryan’s the third kid who’s gone missing this year.”
“Really?” Sam’s eyes were wide with horror. “How come Dad didn’t say anything about that?”
Dean bit his lip. He knew why: John Winchester didn’t look to see if there were non-supernatural dangers lurking in the Town of Huckston, just supernatural ones.
“He was probably too busy working,” Dean answered glibly.
“Oh,” Sam said in a small voice.
“C’mon, let’s do homework then we could watch some shows. I finally managed to tap into Mrs. Johansson's cable line.”
“Dean, could we sleep with the light on tonight?”
“Yeah, no problem, Sammy.” Dean managed to hide his surprise at Sam’s request. His brother was never scared of the dark, unlike himself who was frequently tormented by nightmares of black skies lit with fire.
The cold, salty, sea air drifted into Huckston before dawn and coated Dean's face as he walked to the school bus stop. Sam was a sullen shadow, trailing behind by only a step or two. Dean didn’t want to push Sam but he knew his little brother was more than troubled by his best friend’s disappearance. Dean predicted that it would take Sam a day, two at most, to break down and turn to him for guidance. Dean had long become used to Sam’s reticence and subsequent emotional deluge when no other outlet became available.
In many ways Sam was a lot like their father.
Because of the difference in their grades Sam was in the West Building while Dean was in the East. Dean wasn’t too happy about being separated from his brother, but luckily, they both had the same lunch period, so Dean could at least see Sam for forty minutes during school. Usually Sam would be too busy chatting with Ryan, but today he was by himself. It didn’t take long for Dean to realize Sam was now even more of a pariah because his best friend had gone missing.
Stupid shits, why are they blaming Sammy? Dean thought as he watched a group of girls make a wide circle around Sam while whispering to each other. Sam cringed; he obviously heard what they were saying.
“Jason, I gotta go,” Dean said, hurriedly finishing his lunch. “My brother’s not doing so hot. His friend’s disappeared.”
“Yeah, I heard about that,” Jason said. “Call me if you want to do anything this weekend.”
“Cool,” Dean said and gave a friendly thump on Jason’s head, earning him a similar blow in return.
He dropped all his books right on the table, nearly sending Sam flying out of his seat. “Hey ass-face, what’s new?”
Sam narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Nothing, pea-brain.”
“Ooh, baby boy’s got teeth.”
Sam managed a wan smile but said nothing in return.
“How’s school?”
“It sucks,” Sam whispered.
The answer shocked Dean because Sam usually loved school so much it would take a miracle of biblical proportions to shut him up about it.
“What happened?” Dean asked.
“Everyone’s talking about Ryan,” Sam said. “And some of them are saying really mean things, like … like he deserved to be taken somehow.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Don’t listen to them, Sammy. They’re nothing but losers.”
“I know,” Sam said. “Why are people so mean?”
Dean sighed. Sam always managed to ask simple questions that took the longest time to answer. “Because some people think being cruel is the way to be and hate others who don’t think like them. Ryan is a good kid and everyone knows it - that means he’s got enemies too.”
“That's just stupid,” Sam declared vehemently.
“No kidding, but don’t let it get you down, Sammy. You have to stay strong for Ryan. He’s going to need you when he comes back.”
Sam’s lower lips trembled violently. Dean became alarmed. He leaned forward and whispered,
“Look, why don’t we visit Ryan’s family after school? Maybe they have good news or something.”
“Could we?” Sam asked, brightening considerably. “Won’t Dad get mad?”
“Nah, I’ll be with you. As long as I’m around nothing bad will happen to you.”
“Okay, thanks, Dean!”
Dean knew better than to think there would be good news waiting for Sammy when they visit Ryan’s family, but he was desperate enough to grasp for straws when it came to his brother’s happiness. However, by the time the school bell rang at three Dean was seriously regretting his offer. The last thing Sam needed was to see how far a family could disintegrate under emotional trauma - such as losing a child. But he gave his word and Dean knew Sam fully expected him to live up to his promises.
Sometimes it really sucked to be the older brother.
Sam was fairly jogging as they made their way down Broadmore Street. All the houses in this part of town had large, perfectly manicured lawns with fancy European cars parked in the driveways. Dean spotted Ryan’s house quickly. It had two squad cars parked out front with a truck from Channel 9 looming across the street.
Dean straightened his shoulders and put a restraining hand on Sam as they successfully slipped into the house without being stopped by the policeman standing guard at the front entrance.
As Sam led him to the kitchen, Dean couldn't stop himself from jealously studying the nice furniture, the expensive toys, and the scattered pictures of a proud and happy family prominently featuring Ryan. Suddenly, Dean was overwhelmed with self-loathing. How could he envy Ryan when the poor kid was probably suffering horribly at the hands of some fucking pervert?
“Sam?”
Dean turned to see Mrs. Thompson. She looked like something the cat would refuse to drag in.
“Hi, Mrs. Thompson,” Sam greeted softly. “I was wondering about Ryan.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry but I still have no news.”
Dean admired the woman for being so calm about something so terrible. How she could keep up the façade was a mystery to him. Dean knew he’d be a wreck if anything happened to Sam. The shtriga incident proved that. He heard light footsteps coming down the hallway and turned to look as a small, wiry man entered the kitchen. Sheriff Daniel Bonhomme was a lawman Dean could respect. He learned from his father that the sheriff was not a man to be messed with: blessed with intuitive thinking and a well-rounded education, Bonhomme was considered one of the best if not the best sheriff in New England.
Bonhomme spotted the group and gave a small nod. “Mrs. Thompson?”
“Yes?” she said then fell silent as he pulled out a child's backpack from a plastic evidence bag.
“Do you recognize this?”
She only needed a cursory glance. “It’s Ryan’s. Where did you find it?”
“By the railroad tracks, a block from Fore Street in Old Town,” Bonhomme answered. “Do you know of any reason why he’d go there?”
She shook her head, “No, none whatsoever.” She turned to Sam and asked, “Do you?”
Bonhomme’s attention turned to the two Winchester boys. Dean could almost see the man making mental inventory of him and his brother. “What’s your name?”
“Samuel Winchester, Sir.” Sam answered respectfully.
“Oh, yes, Ryan’s friend. Do you know why Ryan might go down there?”
“He likes treasure hunting.”
“What’s that?” Bonhomme asked.
“Ryan likes to pretend he’s an archeologist. We go digging for stuff.”
“Like Indiana Jones?” Dean supplied.
Sam nodded. “Yeah, just like Indy.”
“Did you guys ever go down to the tracks?” Sheriff Bonhomme asked.
Sam shook his head. “No, Sir. My dad expects me to be home right after school unless I got some after-school activities. Ryan and I go excavating only on weekends and we stick to where there are people around. My dad would’ve blown a gasket if we played in places like the train yard.”
“Got that right,” Dean said darkly.
Bonhomme gave a curt nod of understanding. “Smart man, your dad. So you have no idea why Ryan would be down there?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
Bonhomme turned to Mrs. Thompson and said, “I’ve got all my deputies scouring the area right now. We also found this,” he pulled out an empty soda can from Ryan’s bag, “jammed into the front pocket. Did you buy it for your son?”
Mrs. Thompson shook her head, “No, I don’t buy soda and discourage Ryan from drinking any. It makes him jittery.”
Dean managed not to gasp though he couldn’t help glancing at Sam. It was the same generic kind that was currently sitting in the refrigerator at home.
Sam averted his gaze to his sneakers, refusing to look at anyone. Dean kept his tone neutral when he said, “We should get going. Please call us if you need anything, Mrs. Thompson.”
The woman gave a wan smile and nodded. “You take care, both of you, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am, we will,” Dean answered.
The moment they entered their apartment Sam made an unsuccessful break for the bedroom. He struggled fiercely, using every trick Dean had shown him, but it was all useless. Dean's grip on him was unshakable and remained so as he maneuvered Sam into a chair and pinned him down.
“You know what happened to Ryan! What the fuck were you thinking? He’s your best friend and he’s in trouble and you lied to the sheriff, to his mom, to me!” Dean yelled.
“Dean, please…” Sam said tearfully.
“No, you can cry all you want but I ain’t falling for it anymore! Why did you lie?!” Dean shouted. “Tell me, damn it!”
“Because it’s my fault,” Sam answered. “It’s my fault Ryan was taken.”
“Taken?” Dean echoed. “Jesus, Sam, you have to tell the truth. What’s going on?”
“We went to Merrimack House.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Dean said. “You guys went to the one place Dad told you to never, ever go?”
“People said it’s full of antique stuff!” Sam said, brusquely wiping his tears with the heels of his hands. “Ryan thought it’d be a great adventure, and there were two of us so I didn’t think anything bad would happen.”
“What happened when you got there?”
Ryan gave a low whistle when he saw the supposedly haunted mansion up close. “Man, looks like something out of a horror movie. Sam, you’re a genius! Nobody would go into a house like this. I bet there’s cool stuff everywhere! Maybe we could even sell some!”
Sam smiled at the thought that he could be the breadwinner in the family. Wouldn’t it be something if he could buy stuff for Dean? His older brother desperately needed new boots and coat for the brutal New England winter. And the Impala could definitely use a tune-up and a new set of snow tires.
“Yeah, way cool,” Sam said and elbowed Ryan. “You got your gear?”
Ryan nodded enthusiastically. “See? This is why I like you, Sam Winchester. Everyone else is too doped up on suburbia to think of stuff like this.”
Sam felt his heart swell with pride and affection. He knew only too well what the other students at Huckston Junior High called him behind his back: trailer trash, welfare whore and other tasteless names he dared not tell Dean. If his brother ever found out he’d go after every single one of Sam's tormenters and give them a busted lip. Ryan, on the other hand, would match comment for comment and he could afford to. His father owned the local clothing factory and his mother was a prominent member of their church. How Ryan became his steadfast companion was a mystery to Sam, but he hoped that Ryan would value their friendship as much as he did.
“Come on! Mom’s going to make cookies after her Sunday Lady’s Luncheon is over, and you don’t want to miss her snickerdoodles.”
Sam giggled at the word ‘snickerdoodles’ and Ryan chuckled with him. He said, “It sounds like one of those nasty STDs you get when you sleep with the local barfly.”
The entire front of the Victorian was surrounded by tall hedges so they were safe from prying eyes as they walked up to the house. The two boys tried the front door and found it unlocked. There was enough daylight for them to see the front rooms were barren. Even the marble inlays around the fireplaces were stripped. The wooden floors were dull from years of dust but Sam noticed their unusual color. He wondered if the wood even existed anymore.
Ryan hummed to himself as he studied the rotting shelves. “You know, whoever lived here was very rich.”
“What makes you think that?” Sam asked.
“Books were expensive in the old days. So, if someone had these many shelves, it meant he owned a lot of books. And that means mucho dollars, Sam. And I counted five fireplaces on this floor. That’s a lot of wood to burn - another sign that people who owned this house were rich.”
Sam was impressed. He knew he was smart but Ryan’s intelligence stemmed not only from love of learning but an innate ability to soak up all sorts of information, no matter how trivial. Sam swore to himself that he would pick up that trait. It was way too cool not to.
They cautiously made their way to the back of the house and found the kitchen.
“Holy cow,” Sam said as he noted two huge ovens and three large sinks. “They could’ve cooked for an army without a problem.”
“It would’ve taken a platoon to run a place like this.” Ryan peeked out of the largest window in the back and grinned, “Would you look at that?”
Sam gave a whistle of appreciation when he saw what Ryan was staring at. “Wow, that’s a huge … what the heck is that?”
“It’s a garden house,” Ryan explained. “It’s for rich ladies to take their tea after a hard day pruning the rose bushes or writing letters to their female pen pals.”
“That must have been real backbreaking work,” Sam said sarcastically.
Ryan smiled. “Why don’t you go check it out? I’ll sweep the rest of this floor and meet you there. I bet you’ll find some cool stuff, like a writing desk. You know, those things used to come with hidden compartments.”
Sam gave a reluctant nod and exited through the back door. He turned to see Ryan watching him, giving a thumb's up for support. Sam grinned widely. Seriously, Ryan was the best friend Sam thought he would never have.
Sam cautiously circled the garden house then tried to open the door. He was encouraged to see it was still locked. So he went around the back and pried open a window in order to enter. The garden house was still fully furnished and the furniture definitely looked pricey. There was a velvet settee, now a mice condo, and as Ryan predicted, a writing desk made for a woman.
Sam checked the drawers, and after few minutes of rummaging he discovered it indeed possessed a secret compartment. In it was a small locket pin. He picked it up with trembling hands and opened it slowly. He gave a sigh of wonder when he saw a picture of a young woman staring back at him. He studied the beautiful face and wondered why she looked so sad: it was as if she was watching her dreams galloping away from her.
Sam eagerly scoured the rest of the miniature house and found couple of dusty books. He recognized the names on the binder so he tucked them into his jacket before climbing back out the window. He sat on a stone bench situated right next to the garden house's door and waited for Ryan to join him. Fifteen minutes dragged by and Sam became worried enough to go look for his friend.
To his shock Sam couldn’t open the kitchen door. He jiggled the handle violently and tried again but the door remained firmly shut. He examined the lock and found it engaged.
“What the hell?” Sam said and pounded on the door. “Ryan! You ass, what are you doing?”
He waited for his friend to reply but there was only silence. Feeling uneasy Sam ran to the front to discover the main door was also bolted shut. Sam felt anger and confusion at his friend's abandonment. Maybe Ryan had played a joke on him and left while Sam was rummaging around the garden house. Maybe he got pissed that he found nothing and Sam did.
Ryan wouldn't leave you for that, a small, childish voice whispered in his mind. He'd screwed you over, Sam, and is probably laughing with his real friends about how easy it was to pull one over you.
“Stupid jackass,” Sam muttered angrily and began walking rapidly. If he was lucky, he could catch the three-fifteen bus back to the center of town and be home before Dean returned from his Sunday training practice with Dad.
Sam was trembling when he finished telling Dean what had happened. “I swear, I thought he went home.”
“Okay, okay, I believe you.” Dean looked at Sam and then said, “Maybe it’s was some perv who took Ryan, but if it’s our kind of deal then we can’t involve other people.”
“Are you going to tell Dad?” Sam asked fearfully.
“No, not yet,” Dean answered. There was no way in hell he was going to involve his father, not when The Day was so close. “Look, if it’s a person then we can take him, but if it’s not we're still the only qualified people in the entire town who can handle whatever snatched Ryan.”
“We’re going there?”
“Yeah, we are, just for scouting purposes, though. To make sure, you know?”
Sam shivered. “Okay, so when are we going?”
“Tomorrow morning, that way we have daylight covering our asses.”
“We’re going to skip school?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Hey, you don’t have to come…”
“No!” Sam shouted. “We’re going together and you can’t stop me!”
Dean smiled. “Didn’t think I could, short stuff.”
Sam sighed in relief then tensed when he remembered what they were about to go up against. “Do you think Ryan’s still there?”
“Maybe, if not … well, Mrs. Thompson deserves to know the truth, don’t you think?”
Sam nodded. “Do you think Ryan’s angry with me? I left him there.”
Dean shook his head. “Nah, he’ll be so happy we got him out that he’s not going to remember anything else.”
Sam thought on that for a moment before he said, “How are we going to get out of school?”
“I’ll call them and tell them we both ate something bad for breakfast. They’d be suspicious if it’s just me but with you, they won’t think twice. It helps that everyone at administration thinks you're the best thing since Columbus landed in America.”
Sam rolled his eyes but said nothing. He wasn’t capable of making any smart comebacks: his heart and soul were swelling up with gratitude for what Dean was about to do for him and for his best friend.
Ryan wasn’t exaggerating when he said Sam had the best big brother in the whole damn world.
Dean heard his father’s familiar footfall as John Winchester entered the apartment. He checked his alarm clock and saw it was almost midnight. With weary resignation Dean slipped out of his bed and went to the kitchen where his father was stumbling about.
“We have some mac and cheese,” Dean said softly when he saw his father peer into the fridge.
John startled and turned around. “What are you doing up so late?”
“Sammy had a nightmare,” Dean lied. “Do you want me to heat it up?”
John shook his head. “No, not really hungry. I thought we had soda?”
“The case is in the pantry shelf.”
It took John to fumble about for nearly a minute before Dean realized his father had no idea where the pantry shelf was located. Dean opened the cabinet next to the oven and pulled out a can of soda.
“Thanks, son,” John said and quickly drained the cola.
Dean smelled the alcohol and the cigarettes on his father. But unlike last year, there was no perfume. He avoided his father for three days after that horrible encounter because Dean was afraid he would actually punch his dad.
“You should go to bed,” John said, trying unsuccessfully not to slur the words.
“Okay,” Dean said. “Good night, Dad.”
Dean sat in his bed, listening to his father take a long leak before turning on the shower.
No fucking way is Dad going to get involved in this mess, Dean thought vehemently. He’s in no shape to deal with it. Best to let him go through this week like he always does.
Dean closed his eyes and clamped down on his frustration. He wanted more than anything to talk with his father about what Sam had done and then come up with a plan to save Ryan. After all, wasn’t his father the best hunter in the business? And wasn’t it a father’s duty to help out his sons when they got into trouble?
Dean wanted to scream. He wanted to burst out of his bedroom, knock down his father’s door and yell at the man to sober the hell up and be a father instead of a grieving widower. Just because November third was coming up didn’t mean Dean and Sam didn’t need him. If anything, Dean needed him even more because of the Anniversary.
Dean heard Sam whimper in his sleep and crawled into his brother’s bed. He made soothing noises and rubbed circles on Sam’s back, frowning when he felt the knotty bumps made by Sam’s spine. Much to Dean’s consternation it took less than a year for Sam to lose all his baby fat and shoot up full five inches. Sam had taken to teasing him that it would take just one more year before he was as tall as Dean, if not taller. Dean’s response was to kick Sam’s gangly legs from out under him.
“Dean?” Sam muttered.
“What is it kiddo?”
“Had a bad dream.”
“I noticed. Don’ worry, I’m here. I’ll wake ya if you have another nightmare.”
“Okay,” Sam whispered and fell back asleep.
Dean closed his eyes and wished hopelessly that his father was able to do the same for him.
Dean waited in the bedroom with Sammy until their father left for work. Dean knew John Winchester wouldn't be in any mood to humor his sons, and the last thing they or Ryan needed was for Sam to slip up about their plans.
Dean made a quick breakfast of cereal and toast, and packed sandwiches and his water bottle in Sam’s backpack while he organized the weaponry in his. Sam noted Dean’s methodic inventory of material: Dad’s EMF meter; Dean’s .22 and shotgun, Dad’s H&K, four sandwich bags filled with salt, one bottle of kerosene, two bottles of holy water, and the family Bible.
Dean waited until it was almost nine-thirty before finally setting out. They went to Stanley Park to scout for transportation. It wasn't long before Sam found a crammed bicycle stand next to a cafe, and in less than two minutes the Winchester boys were furiously pedaling eastwards where Old Town was located.
Sam felt his heart pound harder as they rattled over the train tracks, keeping out of sight from law enforcement and volunteers as they searched fruitlessly for Ryan. It took another ten minutes before they finally hit the oldest part of Huckston.
Merrimack House was positioned on top of the highest hill in town, looming over Huckston like a bad smell. Dean and Sam stopped and hid their stolen bikes behind a large elm. As they approached the house Sam’s fear overwhelmed him enough for him to press against Dean’s back.
Now that he was facing the place the last thing Sam wanted to do was go anywhere near the house.
“Sammy, why don’t you stay outside? It’d be better if both of us didn’t go inside. That way, if anything goes wrong you can go for help.”
Sam was about to agree with his brother's fantastic idea when he saw the fear in Dean’s eyes. For a moment Sam was overwhelmed by his love for his older brother. Dean was scared of going into the Merrimack House by himself, but he was willing to do it if it meant protecting him.
“No, we go together. That way we can cover more ground,” Sam said.
“Good idea,” Dean replied weakly. “C’mon, daylight’s wastin’.”
Dean took out his dad’s EMF meter and began scanning. Sam peeked over his shoulder and found the machine silent. Sam suddenly realized that as soon as they entered the property, silence descended on them. Save for the crunching of leaves as they walked, there wasn't any other noise: no birds chirping, no traffic; it was as if outside noise circumvented the place. In fact, the peace was so severe Sam knew it was unnatural.
Dean frowned as they circled the entire house. The machine remained cold.
“Huh,” Dean said. He gave the house a good soaking with holy water but, again, no response from either the house or the meter.
Dean tried the back door and found it already open. He examined the lock: someone smashed it long time ago. There was no way Sam could have been struggling with it earlier. With trembling hands he unzipped his bag and pulled out the .22. He handed it to Sam and tucked his father’s H&K into the back of his jeans.
“Thieves?” Sam asked when he saw the damaged lock.
“It could be homeless people,” Dean answered as he kept the EMF in front of him. The machine remained disturbingly quiet, unnerving both boys as they went deeper into the house.
It was just as Sam described. No furnishings worth salvaging, but as Ryan already noted, it was obviously built to suit lavish tastes.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Dean said.
“But Ryan didn’t go up there,” Sam said, hating how whiney he sounded.
“We don’t know that,” Dean said impatiently. “C’mon.”
Sam scooted close to his brother and followed with reluctant steps. He really, really didn’t want to go to the second floor or worse, the attic, but he had absolutely no desire to be separated from Dean. As they slowly made their way up the stairs Sam noticed the second floor’s landing was wide and long, diverging into two corridors.
“Man, this is cool,” Dean whispered, “and weird.”
“Why do you say that?”
“ ‘Cause it’s not wired for electricity, just gas,” Dean answered, tapping a wall sconce.
Sam’s response was grabbing his brother's shirttail. Sometimes Sam had to wonder how the hell they were even related to each other.
Dean started to slowly open doors as they made their way down the right corridor. To their surprise the rooms were completely furnished and undisturbed. One was a bedroom obviously decorated for a mother and her baby. Another, for a man. Each room was created to suit a specific individual and all were done with no thought to the cost. One room had wallpaper that Dean knew must have cost the owner a pretty penny, and probably next to impossible to get now.
When Dean opened the last door Sam gasped in shock. He turned to Dean with wide eyes and whispered,
“I don’t get it.”
Dean’s lips thinned. “This is wrong, just wrong.”
The two cautiously entered the newly furbished room. Though there was a complete bedroom set, it lacked anything that could tell the boys who slept in the room.
Dean dragged a finger on the desk and noticed there was no dust. In fact, the piney scent of cleaner tickled his nose.
“I don’t like this,” Sam said.
“That makes two of us,” Dean said. “Let’s go home. Dad’ll be waiting for us.”
Sam was confused as to why Dean would tell such an obvious lie to him, but his brother’s stony face prevented him from asking. Sam had just closed the door behind him when he heard a loud thump from inside the room. Dean actually jumped a little in shock and Sam nearly screamed. The two looked at the door with wide eyes; it was Dean who opened it.
Right at the foot of the bed was a brand new basketball. And the bedspread had changed. Before, it was a non-descript caramel-colored throw. It was now a thick cotton blanket with a nautical theme. Sam gaped at it before Dean closed the door. The two managed not to run as they made their way downstairs.
When the front door opened, Sam almost gasped with relief. Dean, on the other hand, retained his stoic façade until they reached the stolen bicycles.
“Jesus, what was that?” Sam asked.
“It’s bad,” Dean answered. “Really, really bad, Sam.”
“The blanket - it looked like the one Ryan has in his room.”
“But he doesn’t play basketball, right?”
Sam shook his head, “No, he’s too short to play, but he likes to watch the games on television.”
“I was so hoping you wouldn’t say that,” Dean said, slumping against the elm tree.
“Dean, you’re scaring me. Please, tell me what’s going on?”
“The house … it … ate Ryan. Somehow, it took Ryan inside and now it’s using him to decorate that room.”
“That’s not possible,” Sam said, pale but belligerent. “That’s crazy talk!”
“The ball wasn’t there before, Sam. Where did it come from? And who changed the bedspread? The bedspread fairy? C’mon, you know I’m right.”
Sam looked as though he might actually fight back, but it only took a moment before he completely deflated.
“But there’s good news,” Dean said. “I think Ryan’s still alive.”
“Huh?”
“If … if the house ate people and made all those special rooms - well, they had to be alive while it did it, or the house couldn’t have finished any of the rooms. So…”
“So, as long as the house keeps adding things to Ryan’s room, he’s alive,” Sam said. “But how do we get Ryan out?”
Dean looked at Sam. “We’re gonna have to find everything we can about the Merrimack House.”
“Research?”
“Not yet, at least not until three, or people will get suspicious.”
“What are we going to do until then?”
“Sit tight. If we turn up nothing we can always call Pastor Jim or Bobby.”
“We have to move fast, Dean.”
“I know, kiddo. I know.”
TBC
Rating:PG-13 for language and violence
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Word Count: ~6,000
Warnings: wee!chesters in peril!
Disclaimer: They'll be mine as soon as Kripke puts them up for sale on ebay.
Summary: Ryan Thompson is Sam’s only friend, and a mistake by the youngest Winchester could very well cost him his life. It's up to Dean to help Sam save Ryan from the clutches of a house that not only destroys people but also their souls.
We should be thankful we cannot see the horrors and degradations lying around our childhood, in cupboards and bookshelves, everywhere.
~ Graham Greene
Dean quickly tossed his backpack across the living room before making a beeline to the fridge. After a short debate with his growling stomach, Dean grabbed half-eaten sandwich from two days prior and a can of generic cola that his father picked up on sale at the local Stop & Shop.
Dean took a cautious sniff of the tuna salad sandwich then wolfed it down in five bites. He kicked his bag off the sofa and collapsed on it, grimacing when the springs creaked mightily. Dean dug out the remote from between the sofa cushions and turned on the television. It was then he realized that Sammy hadn’t appeared from their bedroom. His little brother hitched a ride with his best friend, Ryan Thompson, when his mom came to pick him up, and usually arrived fifteen minutes before Dean who had to take the bus.
“Yo! Sammy!” Dean yelled, “Your Prince Charming finally come?!”
The silence that greeted his jibe unnerved Dean enough to get him off the couch. He cautiously made his way to their room at the end of the hallway. He swung open the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Sam sitting on his bed.
“Doofus, why didn’t…” Dean didn’t finish speaking. Sam was crying, silently, but there were tears aplenty.
“Sam?” Dean approached his brother, “what happened?”
Sam threw himself at Dean and began bawling in earnest. Dean held him tightly, rocking back and forth. He knew there would be no talking when Sam was in this kind of emotional storm, so Dean waited patiently. No matter what his teachers said about him on his report cards, Dean Winchester had plenty of patience and displayed it when the need arose. Unfortunately for his teachers, school was not the place to reveal such maturity: only three things in the world ever witnessed Dean at his finest - his dad, the hunt, and Sam.
Sam finally stopped crying and started hiccupping. Dean gave him his soda and watched as Sam drained it.
“Gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”
Sam looked at the can in his hands and remained silent. Dean didn’t push. He just waited until Sam couldn’t ignore him any longer.
“Ryan is missing,” Sam whispered.
“What?” Dean said, turning pale. Ryan was Sam's only friend and the single person in Sam's grade who wasn’t ashamed to be seen with the youngest Winchester. “Does anyone know what happened to him?”
“His mom told me he went missing yesterday after church. They got everybody looking for him.”
“Jesus, I hope they find him,” Dean said then added reluctantly, “Do you think it’s our kind of deal?”
Sam shook his head frantically, his grip tightening on the can until it crumpled. Dean sighed and rubbed small circles on Sam's back. “Just wondering. You know, if Ryan’s family needs more help I’ll be glad to pitch in.”
Sam nodded and buried his face into his brother’s shoulder.
“From now on I want you to wait for me by the bus stop, okay? No going home by yourself anymore, understood?”
“Okay, Dean.”
"How'd you get home today?" Dean asked darkly.
"I took the earliest bus. I left school after I heard about Ryan. Mrs. Whimby said I was excused."
“Okay. C’mon, you need to wash your face. Snot’s not an attractive look on anyone, especially you.”
Sam didn’t let go of him and Dean didn’t push him away as he led his shaken brother to the decrepit bathroom. After Sam was done cleaning up Dean cautiously led him to the small kitchen where he made mac and cheese for dinner. For a moment he wondered if he should tell their dad what had happened but quickly quashed that idea.
It was Halloween week, and that meant The Day was coming up. Dean remembered what his father was like right after his mother’s murder. Alcohol had been his father’s only refuge for the first two years, and it was only since last Christmas that John Winchester became completely sober, mostly: the week that encompassed the anniversary of his mother’s death was still hard on his father, and the oldest Winchester continued to resort to the bottle to dull the pain.
Dean didn’t understand why his father went to a dive to get drunk when he could as easily buy a bottle, which was cheaper anyway, and drink at home. But he was glad what little discretion his father showed. The last thing he wanted Sammy to see was his father drunk and passed out on the bathroom floor. Dean had witnessed enough of that scenario for both of them.
Sam ate only half his plate, which was worrisome. Dean liked to tease his brother about his appetite, but the last thing he wanted to see was Sam pecking at his food. It somehow made Dean feel like a failure.
“Finish your dinner, Sammy,” Dean said sternly, "or you’re going to eat that for breakfast.”
Sam looked woefully at him. “Don’t feel like eating, Dean. Could you call Ryan’s house and see if they know something? Please?”
“Yeah, not a problem,” Dean said and scraped off the mac and cheese from both their plates into a clean takeout container. He wasn’t feeling too hungry either.
“Hello? Is this Thompson’s residence? Hi, I’m Dean, Sammy’s older brother? Yeah, he’s doing okay, I guess,” Dean said, looking at his brother. “Sam was wondering if there was anything … oh, okay. No, um … if you need more people for the search party my brother and I would be glad to help. Oh, okay, thanks, Mrs. Thompson. And good luck.”
“What did she say?” Sam asked eagerly.
“They haven’t found anything, so starting tomorrow morning they’re going to form search parties and start combing through their neighborhood.”
“I guess we can’t help?”
“No, Sam. They’re scared that some weirdo grabbed Ryan so no kids are allowed. They’re talking about making a curfew if they don’t find him soon.”
“Why?”
“Because Ryan’s the third kid who’s gone missing this year.”
“Really?” Sam’s eyes were wide with horror. “How come Dad didn’t say anything about that?”
Dean bit his lip. He knew why: John Winchester didn’t look to see if there were non-supernatural dangers lurking in the Town of Huckston, just supernatural ones.
“He was probably too busy working,” Dean answered glibly.
“Oh,” Sam said in a small voice.
“C’mon, let’s do homework then we could watch some shows. I finally managed to tap into Mrs. Johansson's cable line.”
“Dean, could we sleep with the light on tonight?”
“Yeah, no problem, Sammy.” Dean managed to hide his surprise at Sam’s request. His brother was never scared of the dark, unlike himself who was frequently tormented by nightmares of black skies lit with fire.
The cold, salty, sea air drifted into Huckston before dawn and coated Dean's face as he walked to the school bus stop. Sam was a sullen shadow, trailing behind by only a step or two. Dean didn’t want to push Sam but he knew his little brother was more than troubled by his best friend’s disappearance. Dean predicted that it would take Sam a day, two at most, to break down and turn to him for guidance. Dean had long become used to Sam’s reticence and subsequent emotional deluge when no other outlet became available.
In many ways Sam was a lot like their father.
Because of the difference in their grades Sam was in the West Building while Dean was in the East. Dean wasn’t too happy about being separated from his brother, but luckily, they both had the same lunch period, so Dean could at least see Sam for forty minutes during school. Usually Sam would be too busy chatting with Ryan, but today he was by himself. It didn’t take long for Dean to realize Sam was now even more of a pariah because his best friend had gone missing.
Stupid shits, why are they blaming Sammy? Dean thought as he watched a group of girls make a wide circle around Sam while whispering to each other. Sam cringed; he obviously heard what they were saying.
“Jason, I gotta go,” Dean said, hurriedly finishing his lunch. “My brother’s not doing so hot. His friend’s disappeared.”
“Yeah, I heard about that,” Jason said. “Call me if you want to do anything this weekend.”
“Cool,” Dean said and gave a friendly thump on Jason’s head, earning him a similar blow in return.
He dropped all his books right on the table, nearly sending Sam flying out of his seat. “Hey ass-face, what’s new?”
Sam narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Nothing, pea-brain.”
“Ooh, baby boy’s got teeth.”
Sam managed a wan smile but said nothing in return.
“How’s school?”
“It sucks,” Sam whispered.
The answer shocked Dean because Sam usually loved school so much it would take a miracle of biblical proportions to shut him up about it.
“What happened?” Dean asked.
“Everyone’s talking about Ryan,” Sam said. “And some of them are saying really mean things, like … like he deserved to be taken somehow.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Don’t listen to them, Sammy. They’re nothing but losers.”
“I know,” Sam said. “Why are people so mean?”
Dean sighed. Sam always managed to ask simple questions that took the longest time to answer. “Because some people think being cruel is the way to be and hate others who don’t think like them. Ryan is a good kid and everyone knows it - that means he’s got enemies too.”
“That's just stupid,” Sam declared vehemently.
“No kidding, but don’t let it get you down, Sammy. You have to stay strong for Ryan. He’s going to need you when he comes back.”
Sam’s lower lips trembled violently. Dean became alarmed. He leaned forward and whispered,
“Look, why don’t we visit Ryan’s family after school? Maybe they have good news or something.”
“Could we?” Sam asked, brightening considerably. “Won’t Dad get mad?”
“Nah, I’ll be with you. As long as I’m around nothing bad will happen to you.”
“Okay, thanks, Dean!”
Dean knew better than to think there would be good news waiting for Sammy when they visit Ryan’s family, but he was desperate enough to grasp for straws when it came to his brother’s happiness. However, by the time the school bell rang at three Dean was seriously regretting his offer. The last thing Sam needed was to see how far a family could disintegrate under emotional trauma - such as losing a child. But he gave his word and Dean knew Sam fully expected him to live up to his promises.
Sometimes it really sucked to be the older brother.
Sam was fairly jogging as they made their way down Broadmore Street. All the houses in this part of town had large, perfectly manicured lawns with fancy European cars parked in the driveways. Dean spotted Ryan’s house quickly. It had two squad cars parked out front with a truck from Channel 9 looming across the street.
Dean straightened his shoulders and put a restraining hand on Sam as they successfully slipped into the house without being stopped by the policeman standing guard at the front entrance.
As Sam led him to the kitchen, Dean couldn't stop himself from jealously studying the nice furniture, the expensive toys, and the scattered pictures of a proud and happy family prominently featuring Ryan. Suddenly, Dean was overwhelmed with self-loathing. How could he envy Ryan when the poor kid was probably suffering horribly at the hands of some fucking pervert?
“Sam?”
Dean turned to see Mrs. Thompson. She looked like something the cat would refuse to drag in.
“Hi, Mrs. Thompson,” Sam greeted softly. “I was wondering about Ryan.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry but I still have no news.”
Dean admired the woman for being so calm about something so terrible. How she could keep up the façade was a mystery to him. Dean knew he’d be a wreck if anything happened to Sam. The shtriga incident proved that. He heard light footsteps coming down the hallway and turned to look as a small, wiry man entered the kitchen. Sheriff Daniel Bonhomme was a lawman Dean could respect. He learned from his father that the sheriff was not a man to be messed with: blessed with intuitive thinking and a well-rounded education, Bonhomme was considered one of the best if not the best sheriff in New England.
Bonhomme spotted the group and gave a small nod. “Mrs. Thompson?”
“Yes?” she said then fell silent as he pulled out a child's backpack from a plastic evidence bag.
“Do you recognize this?”
She only needed a cursory glance. “It’s Ryan’s. Where did you find it?”
“By the railroad tracks, a block from Fore Street in Old Town,” Bonhomme answered. “Do you know of any reason why he’d go there?”
She shook her head, “No, none whatsoever.” She turned to Sam and asked, “Do you?”
Bonhomme’s attention turned to the two Winchester boys. Dean could almost see the man making mental inventory of him and his brother. “What’s your name?”
“Samuel Winchester, Sir.” Sam answered respectfully.
“Oh, yes, Ryan’s friend. Do you know why Ryan might go down there?”
“He likes treasure hunting.”
“What’s that?” Bonhomme asked.
“Ryan likes to pretend he’s an archeologist. We go digging for stuff.”
“Like Indiana Jones?” Dean supplied.
Sam nodded. “Yeah, just like Indy.”
“Did you guys ever go down to the tracks?” Sheriff Bonhomme asked.
Sam shook his head. “No, Sir. My dad expects me to be home right after school unless I got some after-school activities. Ryan and I go excavating only on weekends and we stick to where there are people around. My dad would’ve blown a gasket if we played in places like the train yard.”
“Got that right,” Dean said darkly.
Bonhomme gave a curt nod of understanding. “Smart man, your dad. So you have no idea why Ryan would be down there?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
Bonhomme turned to Mrs. Thompson and said, “I’ve got all my deputies scouring the area right now. We also found this,” he pulled out an empty soda can from Ryan’s bag, “jammed into the front pocket. Did you buy it for your son?”
Mrs. Thompson shook her head, “No, I don’t buy soda and discourage Ryan from drinking any. It makes him jittery.”
Dean managed not to gasp though he couldn’t help glancing at Sam. It was the same generic kind that was currently sitting in the refrigerator at home.
Sam averted his gaze to his sneakers, refusing to look at anyone. Dean kept his tone neutral when he said, “We should get going. Please call us if you need anything, Mrs. Thompson.”
The woman gave a wan smile and nodded. “You take care, both of you, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am, we will,” Dean answered.
The moment they entered their apartment Sam made an unsuccessful break for the bedroom. He struggled fiercely, using every trick Dean had shown him, but it was all useless. Dean's grip on him was unshakable and remained so as he maneuvered Sam into a chair and pinned him down.
“You know what happened to Ryan! What the fuck were you thinking? He’s your best friend and he’s in trouble and you lied to the sheriff, to his mom, to me!” Dean yelled.
“Dean, please…” Sam said tearfully.
“No, you can cry all you want but I ain’t falling for it anymore! Why did you lie?!” Dean shouted. “Tell me, damn it!”
“Because it’s my fault,” Sam answered. “It’s my fault Ryan was taken.”
“Taken?” Dean echoed. “Jesus, Sam, you have to tell the truth. What’s going on?”
“We went to Merrimack House.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Dean said. “You guys went to the one place Dad told you to never, ever go?”
“People said it’s full of antique stuff!” Sam said, brusquely wiping his tears with the heels of his hands. “Ryan thought it’d be a great adventure, and there were two of us so I didn’t think anything bad would happen.”
“What happened when you got there?”
Ryan gave a low whistle when he saw the supposedly haunted mansion up close. “Man, looks like something out of a horror movie. Sam, you’re a genius! Nobody would go into a house like this. I bet there’s cool stuff everywhere! Maybe we could even sell some!”
Sam smiled at the thought that he could be the breadwinner in the family. Wouldn’t it be something if he could buy stuff for Dean? His older brother desperately needed new boots and coat for the brutal New England winter. And the Impala could definitely use a tune-up and a new set of snow tires.
“Yeah, way cool,” Sam said and elbowed Ryan. “You got your gear?”
Ryan nodded enthusiastically. “See? This is why I like you, Sam Winchester. Everyone else is too doped up on suburbia to think of stuff like this.”
Sam felt his heart swell with pride and affection. He knew only too well what the other students at Huckston Junior High called him behind his back: trailer trash, welfare whore and other tasteless names he dared not tell Dean. If his brother ever found out he’d go after every single one of Sam's tormenters and give them a busted lip. Ryan, on the other hand, would match comment for comment and he could afford to. His father owned the local clothing factory and his mother was a prominent member of their church. How Ryan became his steadfast companion was a mystery to Sam, but he hoped that Ryan would value their friendship as much as he did.
“Come on! Mom’s going to make cookies after her Sunday Lady’s Luncheon is over, and you don’t want to miss her snickerdoodles.”
Sam giggled at the word ‘snickerdoodles’ and Ryan chuckled with him. He said, “It sounds like one of those nasty STDs you get when you sleep with the local barfly.”
The entire front of the Victorian was surrounded by tall hedges so they were safe from prying eyes as they walked up to the house. The two boys tried the front door and found it unlocked. There was enough daylight for them to see the front rooms were barren. Even the marble inlays around the fireplaces were stripped. The wooden floors were dull from years of dust but Sam noticed their unusual color. He wondered if the wood even existed anymore.
Ryan hummed to himself as he studied the rotting shelves. “You know, whoever lived here was very rich.”
“What makes you think that?” Sam asked.
“Books were expensive in the old days. So, if someone had these many shelves, it meant he owned a lot of books. And that means mucho dollars, Sam. And I counted five fireplaces on this floor. That’s a lot of wood to burn - another sign that people who owned this house were rich.”
Sam was impressed. He knew he was smart but Ryan’s intelligence stemmed not only from love of learning but an innate ability to soak up all sorts of information, no matter how trivial. Sam swore to himself that he would pick up that trait. It was way too cool not to.
They cautiously made their way to the back of the house and found the kitchen.
“Holy cow,” Sam said as he noted two huge ovens and three large sinks. “They could’ve cooked for an army without a problem.”
“It would’ve taken a platoon to run a place like this.” Ryan peeked out of the largest window in the back and grinned, “Would you look at that?”
Sam gave a whistle of appreciation when he saw what Ryan was staring at. “Wow, that’s a huge … what the heck is that?”
“It’s a garden house,” Ryan explained. “It’s for rich ladies to take their tea after a hard day pruning the rose bushes or writing letters to their female pen pals.”
“That must have been real backbreaking work,” Sam said sarcastically.
Ryan smiled. “Why don’t you go check it out? I’ll sweep the rest of this floor and meet you there. I bet you’ll find some cool stuff, like a writing desk. You know, those things used to come with hidden compartments.”
Sam gave a reluctant nod and exited through the back door. He turned to see Ryan watching him, giving a thumb's up for support. Sam grinned widely. Seriously, Ryan was the best friend Sam thought he would never have.
Sam cautiously circled the garden house then tried to open the door. He was encouraged to see it was still locked. So he went around the back and pried open a window in order to enter. The garden house was still fully furnished and the furniture definitely looked pricey. There was a velvet settee, now a mice condo, and as Ryan predicted, a writing desk made for a woman.
Sam checked the drawers, and after few minutes of rummaging he discovered it indeed possessed a secret compartment. In it was a small locket pin. He picked it up with trembling hands and opened it slowly. He gave a sigh of wonder when he saw a picture of a young woman staring back at him. He studied the beautiful face and wondered why she looked so sad: it was as if she was watching her dreams galloping away from her.
Sam eagerly scoured the rest of the miniature house and found couple of dusty books. He recognized the names on the binder so he tucked them into his jacket before climbing back out the window. He sat on a stone bench situated right next to the garden house's door and waited for Ryan to join him. Fifteen minutes dragged by and Sam became worried enough to go look for his friend.
To his shock Sam couldn’t open the kitchen door. He jiggled the handle violently and tried again but the door remained firmly shut. He examined the lock and found it engaged.
“What the hell?” Sam said and pounded on the door. “Ryan! You ass, what are you doing?”
He waited for his friend to reply but there was only silence. Feeling uneasy Sam ran to the front to discover the main door was also bolted shut. Sam felt anger and confusion at his friend's abandonment. Maybe Ryan had played a joke on him and left while Sam was rummaging around the garden house. Maybe he got pissed that he found nothing and Sam did.
Ryan wouldn't leave you for that, a small, childish voice whispered in his mind. He'd screwed you over, Sam, and is probably laughing with his real friends about how easy it was to pull one over you.
“Stupid jackass,” Sam muttered angrily and began walking rapidly. If he was lucky, he could catch the three-fifteen bus back to the center of town and be home before Dean returned from his Sunday training practice with Dad.
Sam was trembling when he finished telling Dean what had happened. “I swear, I thought he went home.”
“Okay, okay, I believe you.” Dean looked at Sam and then said, “Maybe it’s was some perv who took Ryan, but if it’s our kind of deal then we can’t involve other people.”
“Are you going to tell Dad?” Sam asked fearfully.
“No, not yet,” Dean answered. There was no way in hell he was going to involve his father, not when The Day was so close. “Look, if it’s a person then we can take him, but if it’s not we're still the only qualified people in the entire town who can handle whatever snatched Ryan.”
“We’re going there?”
“Yeah, we are, just for scouting purposes, though. To make sure, you know?”
Sam shivered. “Okay, so when are we going?”
“Tomorrow morning, that way we have daylight covering our asses.”
“We’re going to skip school?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Hey, you don’t have to come…”
“No!” Sam shouted. “We’re going together and you can’t stop me!”
Dean smiled. “Didn’t think I could, short stuff.”
Sam sighed in relief then tensed when he remembered what they were about to go up against. “Do you think Ryan’s still there?”
“Maybe, if not … well, Mrs. Thompson deserves to know the truth, don’t you think?”
Sam nodded. “Do you think Ryan’s angry with me? I left him there.”
Dean shook his head. “Nah, he’ll be so happy we got him out that he’s not going to remember anything else.”
Sam thought on that for a moment before he said, “How are we going to get out of school?”
“I’ll call them and tell them we both ate something bad for breakfast. They’d be suspicious if it’s just me but with you, they won’t think twice. It helps that everyone at administration thinks you're the best thing since Columbus landed in America.”
Sam rolled his eyes but said nothing. He wasn’t capable of making any smart comebacks: his heart and soul were swelling up with gratitude for what Dean was about to do for him and for his best friend.
Ryan wasn’t exaggerating when he said Sam had the best big brother in the whole damn world.
Dean heard his father’s familiar footfall as John Winchester entered the apartment. He checked his alarm clock and saw it was almost midnight. With weary resignation Dean slipped out of his bed and went to the kitchen where his father was stumbling about.
“We have some mac and cheese,” Dean said softly when he saw his father peer into the fridge.
John startled and turned around. “What are you doing up so late?”
“Sammy had a nightmare,” Dean lied. “Do you want me to heat it up?”
John shook his head. “No, not really hungry. I thought we had soda?”
“The case is in the pantry shelf.”
It took John to fumble about for nearly a minute before Dean realized his father had no idea where the pantry shelf was located. Dean opened the cabinet next to the oven and pulled out a can of soda.
“Thanks, son,” John said and quickly drained the cola.
Dean smelled the alcohol and the cigarettes on his father. But unlike last year, there was no perfume. He avoided his father for three days after that horrible encounter because Dean was afraid he would actually punch his dad.
“You should go to bed,” John said, trying unsuccessfully not to slur the words.
“Okay,” Dean said. “Good night, Dad.”
Dean sat in his bed, listening to his father take a long leak before turning on the shower.
No fucking way is Dad going to get involved in this mess, Dean thought vehemently. He’s in no shape to deal with it. Best to let him go through this week like he always does.
Dean closed his eyes and clamped down on his frustration. He wanted more than anything to talk with his father about what Sam had done and then come up with a plan to save Ryan. After all, wasn’t his father the best hunter in the business? And wasn’t it a father’s duty to help out his sons when they got into trouble?
Dean wanted to scream. He wanted to burst out of his bedroom, knock down his father’s door and yell at the man to sober the hell up and be a father instead of a grieving widower. Just because November third was coming up didn’t mean Dean and Sam didn’t need him. If anything, Dean needed him even more because of the Anniversary.
Dean heard Sam whimper in his sleep and crawled into his brother’s bed. He made soothing noises and rubbed circles on Sam’s back, frowning when he felt the knotty bumps made by Sam’s spine. Much to Dean’s consternation it took less than a year for Sam to lose all his baby fat and shoot up full five inches. Sam had taken to teasing him that it would take just one more year before he was as tall as Dean, if not taller. Dean’s response was to kick Sam’s gangly legs from out under him.
“Dean?” Sam muttered.
“What is it kiddo?”
“Had a bad dream.”
“I noticed. Don’ worry, I’m here. I’ll wake ya if you have another nightmare.”
“Okay,” Sam whispered and fell back asleep.
Dean closed his eyes and wished hopelessly that his father was able to do the same for him.
Dean waited in the bedroom with Sammy until their father left for work. Dean knew John Winchester wouldn't be in any mood to humor his sons, and the last thing they or Ryan needed was for Sam to slip up about their plans.
Dean made a quick breakfast of cereal and toast, and packed sandwiches and his water bottle in Sam’s backpack while he organized the weaponry in his. Sam noted Dean’s methodic inventory of material: Dad’s EMF meter; Dean’s .22 and shotgun, Dad’s H&K, four sandwich bags filled with salt, one bottle of kerosene, two bottles of holy water, and the family Bible.
Dean waited until it was almost nine-thirty before finally setting out. They went to Stanley Park to scout for transportation. It wasn't long before Sam found a crammed bicycle stand next to a cafe, and in less than two minutes the Winchester boys were furiously pedaling eastwards where Old Town was located.
Sam felt his heart pound harder as they rattled over the train tracks, keeping out of sight from law enforcement and volunteers as they searched fruitlessly for Ryan. It took another ten minutes before they finally hit the oldest part of Huckston.
Merrimack House was positioned on top of the highest hill in town, looming over Huckston like a bad smell. Dean and Sam stopped and hid their stolen bikes behind a large elm. As they approached the house Sam’s fear overwhelmed him enough for him to press against Dean’s back.
Now that he was facing the place the last thing Sam wanted to do was go anywhere near the house.
“Sammy, why don’t you stay outside? It’d be better if both of us didn’t go inside. That way, if anything goes wrong you can go for help.”
Sam was about to agree with his brother's fantastic idea when he saw the fear in Dean’s eyes. For a moment Sam was overwhelmed by his love for his older brother. Dean was scared of going into the Merrimack House by himself, but he was willing to do it if it meant protecting him.
“No, we go together. That way we can cover more ground,” Sam said.
“Good idea,” Dean replied weakly. “C’mon, daylight’s wastin’.”
Dean took out his dad’s EMF meter and began scanning. Sam peeked over his shoulder and found the machine silent. Sam suddenly realized that as soon as they entered the property, silence descended on them. Save for the crunching of leaves as they walked, there wasn't any other noise: no birds chirping, no traffic; it was as if outside noise circumvented the place. In fact, the peace was so severe Sam knew it was unnatural.
Dean frowned as they circled the entire house. The machine remained cold.
“Huh,” Dean said. He gave the house a good soaking with holy water but, again, no response from either the house or the meter.
Dean tried the back door and found it already open. He examined the lock: someone smashed it long time ago. There was no way Sam could have been struggling with it earlier. With trembling hands he unzipped his bag and pulled out the .22. He handed it to Sam and tucked his father’s H&K into the back of his jeans.
“Thieves?” Sam asked when he saw the damaged lock.
“It could be homeless people,” Dean answered as he kept the EMF in front of him. The machine remained disturbingly quiet, unnerving both boys as they went deeper into the house.
It was just as Sam described. No furnishings worth salvaging, but as Ryan already noted, it was obviously built to suit lavish tastes.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Dean said.
“But Ryan didn’t go up there,” Sam said, hating how whiney he sounded.
“We don’t know that,” Dean said impatiently. “C’mon.”
Sam scooted close to his brother and followed with reluctant steps. He really, really didn’t want to go to the second floor or worse, the attic, but he had absolutely no desire to be separated from Dean. As they slowly made their way up the stairs Sam noticed the second floor’s landing was wide and long, diverging into two corridors.
“Man, this is cool,” Dean whispered, “and weird.”
“Why do you say that?”
“ ‘Cause it’s not wired for electricity, just gas,” Dean answered, tapping a wall sconce.
Sam’s response was grabbing his brother's shirttail. Sometimes Sam had to wonder how the hell they were even related to each other.
Dean started to slowly open doors as they made their way down the right corridor. To their surprise the rooms were completely furnished and undisturbed. One was a bedroom obviously decorated for a mother and her baby. Another, for a man. Each room was created to suit a specific individual and all were done with no thought to the cost. One room had wallpaper that Dean knew must have cost the owner a pretty penny, and probably next to impossible to get now.
When Dean opened the last door Sam gasped in shock. He turned to Dean with wide eyes and whispered,
“I don’t get it.”
Dean’s lips thinned. “This is wrong, just wrong.”
The two cautiously entered the newly furbished room. Though there was a complete bedroom set, it lacked anything that could tell the boys who slept in the room.
Dean dragged a finger on the desk and noticed there was no dust. In fact, the piney scent of cleaner tickled his nose.
“I don’t like this,” Sam said.
“That makes two of us,” Dean said. “Let’s go home. Dad’ll be waiting for us.”
Sam was confused as to why Dean would tell such an obvious lie to him, but his brother’s stony face prevented him from asking. Sam had just closed the door behind him when he heard a loud thump from inside the room. Dean actually jumped a little in shock and Sam nearly screamed. The two looked at the door with wide eyes; it was Dean who opened it.
Right at the foot of the bed was a brand new basketball. And the bedspread had changed. Before, it was a non-descript caramel-colored throw. It was now a thick cotton blanket with a nautical theme. Sam gaped at it before Dean closed the door. The two managed not to run as they made their way downstairs.
When the front door opened, Sam almost gasped with relief. Dean, on the other hand, retained his stoic façade until they reached the stolen bicycles.
“Jesus, what was that?” Sam asked.
“It’s bad,” Dean answered. “Really, really bad, Sam.”
“The blanket - it looked like the one Ryan has in his room.”
“But he doesn’t play basketball, right?”
Sam shook his head, “No, he’s too short to play, but he likes to watch the games on television.”
“I was so hoping you wouldn’t say that,” Dean said, slumping against the elm tree.
“Dean, you’re scaring me. Please, tell me what’s going on?”
“The house … it … ate Ryan. Somehow, it took Ryan inside and now it’s using him to decorate that room.”
“That’s not possible,” Sam said, pale but belligerent. “That’s crazy talk!”
“The ball wasn’t there before, Sam. Where did it come from? And who changed the bedspread? The bedspread fairy? C’mon, you know I’m right.”
Sam looked as though he might actually fight back, but it only took a moment before he completely deflated.
“But there’s good news,” Dean said. “I think Ryan’s still alive.”
“Huh?”
“If … if the house ate people and made all those special rooms - well, they had to be alive while it did it, or the house couldn’t have finished any of the rooms. So…”
“So, as long as the house keeps adding things to Ryan’s room, he’s alive,” Sam said. “But how do we get Ryan out?”
Dean looked at Sam. “We’re gonna have to find everything we can about the Merrimack House.”
“Research?”
“Not yet, at least not until three, or people will get suspicious.”
“What are we going to do until then?”
“Sit tight. If we turn up nothing we can always call Pastor Jim or Bobby.”
“We have to move fast, Dean.”
“I know, kiddo. I know.”
TBC