Lessons 4/10
Sorry for the wait, guys. I don't know why it's taking me so long to write these chapters...true, they are between 5 and 7 thousand words a piece, but I'm on holiday! It shouldn't be taking this long! Stay with me motivation, stay with me...
Title: Lessons 4/10
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Cateory: Gen
Timeline: After 'Provenance' but before 'Dead Man's Blood'
Disclaimer: I lay claim to nothing.
Summary: Murders at a college campus lead the brothers on a ghost hunt where Dean seems likely to become the next victim.
Lessons - Chap 4
Dean watched as a swarm of students flooded out from the lecture room while another swarm tried to maneuver and jostle their way in. The congestion in the doorway looked more dangerous than that freakin’ ghost - he was surprised no one’s eye had accidentally been jabbed out with a pen. He and Sam were standing near the back of the corridor, waiting in the hopes that some clue would reveal itself during the hour they had to sit and pretend to be bored students. Well, pretend to be students, at least; Dean was sure the bored part would come easily.
“Triple six often has satanic connotations, right?” Sam said, drawing Dean’s attention back from the foreign stampede in front of him. “The number of the beast, the antichrist, stuff like that? Maybe that’s what the six zeros were somehow meant to mean.” He was referring to the numbers that the ghost had traced into the window pane mere hours ago.
Dean glanced at his brother and almost sighed. Sam’s brow was furrowed and he had that distant look in his eyes: the boy was overanalyzing this number thing. “Then why wouldn’t she just write triple six?” Dean asked. “You know what I think? It was a threat. In nine days time, she wants us six feet under.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “So the ghost has a sense of humor?”
“Hey, the ghost has a crush on you, anything’s possible.” Dean watched as the last few stragglers from the previous class squeezed their way out. Now free of obstruction, the crowd surged forward.
“She doesn’t have a crush,” Sam repeated for the umpteenth time. “It’s called mocking.”
Before Dean could respond, Sam moved forward and began weaving his way through the crowd. He seemed to know what he was doing, so Dean followed. Someone bumped into his shoulder where the tattoo still sat fresh, muttering a quick apology and disappearing into the crowd before Dean had a chance to see who it was. “More dangerous than a hunt,” he muttered, taking the aisle two steps at a time and then squeezing passed the legs of seated students until he’d caught up with Sam, who was already shrugging off his jacket. “How are we meant to make a quick escape if we’re sitting right in the middle of the freakin’ row?” Dean asked, glancing around as the seats quickly filled. Everyone was far too loud and bubbly for this hour; Dean’s head was sore enough without the added assault of hundreds of chatting students.
Sam smiled. “We don’t. We stay and listen and try to work out if someone’s using this class to target other students. One hour isn’t going to kill you, Dean.” Sam frowned, obviously realizing the irony, given the fate of the last three victims. “Or, you know, hopefully won’t.”
“Give me zombies any day,” Dean sighed, slumping down on the seat and resting his feet on the chair in front. He shut his eyes, letting the buzzing already present in his head merge with the external sound of chatter to form a blanket around his head that cushioned against the steady, if faint, pounding still pulsating from the gash. He was saved from going to sleep there and then by a shadow falling across him and blocking the light that’d been dancing in front of his eyelids.
Dean reluctantly opened his eyes to find a tall blonde staring at him from the row in front. Dean grinned. “This college thing isn’t so bad, after all.” Instead of smiling back, she crossed her arms and pointedly looked at his feet resting on the back of her chair. The smile slid from Dean’s face and a flush took its place. “Oh.” Dean removed his feet and lifted himself up. He didn’t even have to look at Sam to know he was laughing. Dean scowled. “Shut up.” He waited until Sam’s chuckling died down before glancing over.
Sam had pulled out a pen and notebook from his bag and had them rested on the writing ledge. Dean pointed to the spiral notebook. “You know we’re not going to be sitting any exams, right?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “People have been dying right after sitting this class; I just want to make sure I don’t miss anything.”
Dean narrowed his eyes, noting the automatic way Sam positioned his pen above the page and the way he was looking around the lecture room with a small, almost content smile on his face.
“What?” Sam asked.
Dean shrugged and let a mask of nonchalance slide onto his face. “Nothing.”
Sam raised his eyebrows, obviously waiting for Dean to explain. “I haven’t lost sight of why we’re here, Dean. Just because I went to college once doesn’t mean you can throw me in one and I’ll suddenly revert to school mode and forget the hunt.”
“No, I know,” Dean said, annoyed that Sam had read his thoughts so easily. “You’ll just dorkify it”. Satisfied by the sigh that left his brother’s lips, Dean turned his attention to the front of the lecture as the lights dimmed and an older man with graying hair stepped up to the podium. But Dean still couldn’t help noticing the way Sam uncapped his pen and leaned forward at almost the exact time that everyone else did. He couldn’t help noticing the way Sam’s messy hairdo seemed to be the style of choice, or the way his brother automatically smiled at the person next to him and moved his elbow to offer more room, or the way he chuckled at the lecturer’s opening line and scribbled down the guy’s name without having to glance at the notebook. Dean may have been acting, pretending to be a student to complete a hunt, but Sam had lived this life once and wanted to live it again. This wasn’t just a job for Sam, it was his future and past - a world that Dean had intruded on once and now couldn’t help feeling like the intruder again. Sam wasn’t on a hunt, he was home.
Dean rolled his eyes, safe in the knowledge that it was dark and Sam wouldn’t notice. Melodramatic, much? his mind berated, ignoring the pang in his chest. Dean slid down until his knees hit the chair in front of him. Annoyed at how small the freakin’ space was and at how the lecturer’s voice droned and at just about everything else to do with this damn hunt, Dean forced his breath to even out and suppressed the lecturer’s voice. He picked a spot on the carpet and let his sight rest there while his hearing sharpened, trying to pick up on anything that might indicate the use of a spell: something was happening to victims in this lecture, and Dean was certain that the ghost was being controlled by another student. It was the only thing that made sense.
Dean listened as paper rustled and pens scratched, as coughs burst through the thin veil of quiet before dispersing and giving way to the occasional throat clearing. Dean listened as chairs squeaked and as chuckles followed the pauses the lecturer left after whatever highfalutin joke he’d made. Dean listened as from under the veil of attention, a breeze of whispers and chatter and quiet laughter flowed through the lecture in indiscernible waves. Indiscernible, at least, to those not listening for it.
Dean focused in on a voice near the back and shrunk further into his chair. He didn’t turn to see who it was, but the voice sounded gravelly and possibly chant-y. Possibly. The conversation in the seats directly behind him was blocking any attempt to interpret what the gravelly voice was saying. Dean sighed and tried to ignore the conversation, but it kept intruding like annoying gunfire blocking his path to the enemy.
“So did you ask her?”
“By ask her, you mean…?”
“Come one, Joey, tell me what happened.”
“Um, I said hi.”
“And then?”
“I walked away.”
“Dude!”
“It’s not my fault.”
“Whose fault is it then?”
“Hers. No, mine, no I don’t know! She just looked really nice, you know, and I kinda freaked out. A little. I just…yeah, I don’t know.”
Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face. He was not in the mood to hear about some chump’s lack of a love life.
“You’re gonna die alone, man, I’m telling ya.”
“You’re real supportive, Chris, you know that?”
“Grow a pair, it’s the best advice a guy can give.”
“Maybe after I grow some fucking facial hair. She’s out of my league, okay? Let’s just drop it.”
Dean turned in his chair, torn between feeling annoyed and incredulous. “Confidence, man!” he said, intruding on the conversation in an attempt to get them to wrap it up. “Chicks go for confidence, not facial hair, so just suck it up and ask her out and make sure you don’t stutter or twiddle your fucking fingers and she’ll say yes. I mean, your friend here sounds like he gets some and he’s wearing a fucking pink polo shirt and has blonde highlights. Now, shut up, I’m trying to learn here.” Dean faced the front again; turning his back on Joey’s shocked face and pink polo shirt’s indignant one.
“Dean,” Sam hissed, looking from Dean to the two students and back again. “What was that?”
“Hey, don’t get me started on your fashion sense, too.”
Sam smirked and shook his head. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
Before either could continue, the next words out of the lecturer’s mouth stunned them into silence:
“And like our good friend, Frost, wrote: I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference. So, don’t be afraid to tackle the more challenging essays.” The students chuckled, obviously used to having Frost quotes flung at them- every lecturer had their obsessive point of reference. “Believe me, if I have to read ‘it’s all subjective’ one more time, I might have to commit mass failings. Remember, tackle the topic: How much of our actions are of free agency, and how much are dictated by our social reality and the events thereof? Does character change with circumstance or are our values intrinsic and unchanging? Take a stance and explore it. Be brave.”
Dean exchanged a look with Sam. “Well, someone’s sure paying attention to this class.”
“That can’t be a coincidence,” Sam whispered. “The ghost quotes Frost, the lecturer quotes Frost, students from this class are being killed…”
But Dean wasn’t listening. A cold had shot up his spine and rendered him speechless as his eyes focused on the girl sitting up front, on the girl looking around the lecture with big dark eyes, on the girl with the pale face and long hair.
Dean startled out of his shocked stupor when he felt Sam’s hand on his arm.
“Dean?”
“I see dead people.”
“What?”
“I either have the Haley Joel syndrome or I’m going crazy but I’m seeing dead people. Sitting in the front row.”
Sam frowned and followed Dean’s gaze. His jaw slid open when he saw the girl turned in her seat. “Huh?” was all Sam managed.
Dean nodded as he watched the girl scour the lecture with a bored expression, her eyes panning over them without recognition. For the second her eyes locked with his, though, Dean’s memory flashed back to that smiling face inches from his as her fingers wrapped around his neck and squeezed and to the eyes that had sparked with an anger that shot through him like electricity, or like the absent needles that had branded his arm. It was her. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind. She was slightly less pale, her eyes were ringed with eyeliner and coated in dark eyeshadow and she was breathing, but it was still her. Dean watched as she turned back to the front and leaned against the person next to her, who in turn flung his heavily tattooed arm around her shoulders.
Dean blinked and looked up as the lights brightened and the lecturer stepped away from the podium, signaling the lecture’s end. Dean shot up, the chair folding with a bang. Eyes trained on the girl, Dean hurried past the students taking their sweet-assed time packing their stuff. He knocked a few pens and notebooks from writing ledges in his haste but barely noticed the owners’ cries of “Hey!”
“Dean! Wait!” But Dean ignored Sam too and pushed past the crowd of students walking down the steps. He was only interested in that girl as she left her boyfriend talking to the lecturer and disappeared out the doors. Dean sped up, literally pushing people aside as he raced to catch her.
There she was. Leaning against the corridor wall and chipping at the remaining flecks of black polish on her nails. Dean smiled tightly, his anger spurred on by the pounding in his head and the way his shoulder stung with every movement. He started for her but someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“Dean! Listen to me,” Sam hissed, dragging him away from the crowd.
“Gerr’off me.” Dean tried to yank his arm free of Sam’s grip. “What the hell are you doing? She’s going to get away.”
Sam refused to let go. “No, she isn’t, she’s just standing there, and what the hell are you doing? We can’t just tackle her and make a big scene or we’ll be kicked out of this place.” He glared at Dean for a second then slowly, cautiously, removed his hand.
“Figure what out? She’s the floaty glowy bitch who’s trying to kill me. There, figured out.”
“Right, Dean. College student by day, ghost by night. That makes real sense.”
Dean opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t for the life of him explain that one, so he shut it with a glare and conceded that Sam was right. For now. And he wasn’t happy about it. “Fine, go play nice with the thing trying to kill your brother.”
Sam sighed and turned his back on Dean. A casual smile stole his expression as he walked up to the girl. Dean followed close behind.
Sam stood a few feet away and waited for the girl to notice him. She remained leaning against the wall, one booted foot propped against it, still picking at her nails. “Um…hi,” Sam said. She waited a second before slowly looking up at him, raising her eyebrows and waiting for him to continue. “Um, well, me and my bro -”
“Cousin,” Dean interrupted, remembering what he’d put on their student IDs. “I’m Dean, this is Sam, we think we recognize you but can’t really put our finger on where, one of those face things, you know? Where were you last night? Between one and seven, to be exact.” Dean ignored the sigh that came from Sam’s direction and watched the girl carefully.
She tilted her head and pushed away from the wall, stepping closer to him as her lips curled into a smile. “Am I being interrogated?” she asked. “Is there a crime on campus being kept all hush hush? A murder, perhaps?”
“Attempted,” Dean said, refusing to look away. Until Sam pushed him aside with a tight smile, that is.
“We just thought we recognized you from a party, that’s all,” Sam said.
The girl’s gaze slid towards Sam and then to the door as her boyfriend emerged. She shrugged, her expression turning bored again. “I was with my boy all night. We were…NC-17-ing it.” Her boyfriend hooked his arm around her shoulders and appraised Sam and Dean before dismissing them. He turned and started down the hall, pulling the girl with him. “Bye, Sam. Bye, Dean,” she said, turning her head to watch them as she walked away, her eyes swiveling over theirs just like that ghost had.
“Dude, that is so her,” Dean whispered, swatting Sam for emphasis.
“First, ow, and secondly, again with the whole one breathes and the other doesn’t.”
“Sorry about hitting on your girl, man,” Dean called after their retreating backs. The boyfriend stopped short and Sam whipped around to look at Dean like he’d gone nuts. “Trust me,” Dean muttered, nudging Sam out of his way.
The boyfriend locked eyes with Dean, sauntering back and laughing quietly. “I suggest you find a new crush to drool over. Strongly suggest. I only agree to threesomes if two of ‘em are female.”
“Sorry,” Dean said, eyes trained on Susie. “I’d heard she was into the whole tattoo thing, that’s all, and, strangest thing, I found one on my shoulder that I swear wasn’t there a few days ago.” Susie’s eyes widened. “Of a spearhead.” Dean watched as the boyfriend’s mouth slid open in shock. “My mistake.”
The boyfriend quickly recovered, retracting his arm from Susie’s shoulder and striding for the exit, hitting it open with such force that the sound resonated through the halls. Susie hurried after him.
“He’s in on it,” Dean said.
“Yeah, but what is ‘it’?”
Dean turned away before Sam even finished the sentence. Loitering in the hall, chatting quietly, stood a small group of students, two of which Dean recognized. “Hey,” he called out. “Joey and friends.” The small group turned at the call and smiled politely. “That’s your name, Joey, right?” Dean asked, approaching the group.
“Yeah,” Joey said, looking nervous, his pudgy fingers fiddling with his bag’s strap. “Sorry about talking, um, you know in class and preventing you from, uh, learning and stuff.”
“Huh?” Dean said. “Oh, that. Fuck it. Do any of you know who that couple is that me and my cousin over there were just talking to?”
Joey looked down the hall, but they had already disappeared.
“The Satan worshipper Goth ones,” Dean clarified as Sam approached and smiled at the group in greeting.
“You know, regarding the Goth subculture as evil is a huge stereotype and doesn’t take into consideration the multiple and varied reasons behind any adoption of Goth style,” interrupted a small brunette before Dean had a chance to introduce Sam by name. She had a bobbed haircut and an array of badges covering her backpack.
Dean glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, whatever, shortstuff, do you know who the Goths are or not?”
Joey answered for her. “That was Susie Chandler. Her pierced, Courtney Taylor hair styled boyfriend was Damien Charles. No one knows too much about them; they pretty much keep to themselves.”
“Are they book worms?”
“Are they competitive, he means,” Sam said.
Joey frowned, thinking. “No…no, not really. Just average like the rest of us. The big name students they…well, you know.”
“Went splat, right,” Dean said. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, know what dorm room this Susie chick is in?”
“Why do you want to know?” the small brunette asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re asking a lot of questions, what’s your agenda?”
“What’s my agenda? What the hell makes you think I have an agenda? Do we look like the mafia? We just want to talk to her.”
“That’s what they all say before whipping out the guns. Hello, don’t you watch TV?”
Dean stared at her for a second, before turning to look at his brother. Was this chick for real? He scowled at the smirk covering Sam’s face.
“We’re transfer students,” Sam said.
“From where?”
“Stanford.”
“What are you majoring in?”
Dean frowned. What were they meant to be majoring in? He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Do the Student IDs have that printed on them?”
“We’re both prelaw,” Sam interrupted.
“So you’re studying to become lawyers?”
“Yeah,” Sam answered at the same time Dean blurted, “hell no.”
The girl turned to eye Deran. “Well, what does your future involve, then?”
Dean felt everyone’s eyes turn to him, including Sam’s.
“Uh…well…” Dean paused, a flush creeping up his neck as his mind drew a blank. He shifted uncomfortably. “My future will, uh, involve…a hot blonde. Maybe a couple of ‘em. And possibly some bounty hunting.”
She scoffed. “So you’re one of those guys. The oh I’ll just turn everything into a joke type. You’re Chris without the pink.”
“Hey,” Chris objected. “I’m very serious about my V8 car racing aspirations. A generation four, eight cylinder LSA engine, Corvette. One day, papa’s going to be able to afford you, baby.”
The girl ignored him and continued staring at Dean. “You still haven’t answered my question; why do you want to know what room she’s in?”
The entire group stared at Dean expectantly, now as intrigued as the girl was.
“Sammy here has a crush on her,” Dean answered quickly, wrapping his arm around Sam’s shoulders and pulling him closer to the group. “Big, huge, massive crush. Love at first sight, Titanic style. And now he wants to, you know, sweep her off her feet, Titanic style. He’s into the whole dark, broody, whip thing. Aint that right, Sammy?” Sam sputtered for a second and Dean wasn’t sure if Sam was going to blush or throttle him. “Aw, see this?” Dean grabbed Sam around the jaw in a mock display of affection. “He’s too shy to admit it, but he’s really into the tough love thing. This guy has piercings in places you don’t want to know about.” Dean’s grin wavered as Sam elbowed him.
Sam glared at Dean for a second and then took a visible breath. He turned to the group and smiled tightly. “What can I say; I’m a sucker for the pale ones.”
The girl scoffed. “Men. Her boyfriend seems like the possessive type, I’d watch out if I were you.” She glanced at her watch and hitched her bag higher onto her shoulder. “Gotta get going. Catch you later. I’ll see you tonight, huh, Joey?” she said, smiling at him.
Joey turned bright red and seemed torn between grinning and replying, resulting in a sort of choking sound. “Sure, see you then,” he finally managed to squeeze out when she and her friends were halfway down the hall.
“We’ll work on that speaking thing,” Chris said as he turned to check his hair in the window’s reflection, absently tweaking it.
“That her?” Dean asked, nodding in the girl’s direction.
Joey nodded, smiling shyly. “Brenda”
“She’s cute. In that annoying sort of way.”
“What’s tonight?” Sam asked, trying to sound casual. Dean knew differently. Everything that happened in this school had to be checked out. Clues always existed; it was just a matter of uncovering them.
“The Night of the Living Dead,” Chris answered dramatically, before grinning and slapping Joey on the back. “Scared, buddy?”
“Of the Ghost of Exams’ Eve? Not really. Of Brenda, yes.”
“Wait, wait, Night of what? Ghost who?” Dean interrupted. Why was it impossible to get a straight answer out of college students?
“Our college is haunted,” Chris announced proudly. “Bet you didn’t know that,” he grinned, punching Dean’s shoulder.
Dean frowned, looking down at his shoulder and then up at Chris’ bobbing head. “Oh, wow, haunted, really?” Dean exchanged a dry look with Sam. “Do explain.”
“Every year before the first set of exams, a group of students perform, like, this séance thing,” Joey said, a smile spreading onto his face, his friend’s enthusiasm too contagious to resist. “If we don’t stuff it up since we’re, you know, winging the Latin and all, students each year draw on the spirit of this girl who died from stress on the eve of her first exam. Her unfinished business is to pass, so she helps the rest of us pass.”
“Has it ever worked?” Sam asked, startled.
“Well, me and Chris both got Ds last year. So, hasn’t worked yet. But it did teach us not to copy off each other. And sometimes the séance gets pretty creepy - like we’ll hear someone chanting from through the walls. It stops after we turn the music off…but we catch it every now and then. And the séance’s after party is pretty cool.” Joey’s smile faltered. “You know, when I’m not throwing up.”
Dean smirked. “Too much booze?”
“Too much Brenda. She makes me nervous. A little.”
“So this séance thing happens tonight?” Sam asked.
“Yep,” Joey said. “It was meant to happen two nights ago but Fred - the guy who leads the séance - had some student union meeting that he forgot about.”
“So we gotta do the booze and music thing all over again.” Chris grinned. “Bummer, huh?”
“Wait…” Sam said. “Two nights ago…as in the night before Sherrie Cruiser committed suicide?”
“Yeah.”
Dean raised his eyebrows.
“Where is this thing?” Sam asked.
Joey and Chris exchanged looks. “We’re not really meant to invite people not already in on it.”
“Can’t have alcohol on campus, so can’t have untrustworthy gatecrashers who might lead the college officials to us and rain on our alcohol parade,” Chris added.
“You can’t trust these faces?” Dean asked, pointing between him and Sam and trying to mold the right balance of insult and indignation onto his features. He knew Sam had no problem pulling off the innocent thing; he was a different matter.
“Two ‘transfer’ students who just show up and start asking weird questions?” Joey said, smiling to let them know he was joking.
“That’s just creepy,” Chris said, completely serious as far as Dean could tell.
“Hey, c’mon, give us a break,” Dean said. “Look, Joey, you want to hook up with this Brenda chick, right? Then you need my help. Ask Sam, I’m great at the whole, you know, helping people with their crap.” Dean looked at Sam, silently imploring him to back him up; they needed to get to that freakin’ séance.
Sam sighed. “Sure, yeah, he’s…” Sam trailed off. “Sure.”
Dean glared at Sam, who ignored him in return.
“All about confidence, right?” Joey asked.
“Exactly,” Dean said, pushing aside his impatience and playing along. “It works for me.” Dean grinned, looking over at Sam who raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Dean’s grin faded into a frown. “But, Sam, here, not so lucky, yet you wouldn’t believe the type of girls falling all over him - out of this world types.” Dean’s grin returned at the way Sam clenched his jaw. It must’ve been killing him not to shout: ‘She doesn’t have a crush on me!’
“Yeah, like women don’t go for the tall and broody type,” Joey scoffed.
“I’m not broody!”
“Denial is your enemy, Sammy.”
Sam sighed loudly. “Please just tell him where this séance thing is.”
Joey smiled. “There’s this building that burnt down a few years back, right at the back of the campus. It’s meant to be off limits, dangerous or something, but unofficially it’s where everyone goes if they want to do anything off the radar. Parties and stuff. There’s always someone hanging out in there. The séance starts at nine.”
“Bring booze,” Chris demanded. “Or marshmallows.”
“Wait, what dorm room is Susie in?” Sam asked quickly.
Joey looked sympathetic. “Room 26. On the nineteenth floor.” He said ‘nineteenth floor’ in a deep and gravelly voice, Chris waggling his fingers behind him in what Dean assumed was meant to be a spooky impression.
“You scared of heights?” Dean asked.
“So you don’t know the story, huh?” Joey grinned. “The Ghost of Exams’ Eve lives on the nineteenth floor - people have seen her walking the halls…and not at night like your normal ghost. During the day. She’s our morning ghost.”
“What floor are you two on?” Sam asked.
“The…nineteenth,” Joey said.
Sam smiled slightly. “Okay, well, thank you for all the help, but we should probably head off.”
Chris slammed his hand down on Sam’s shoulder, making him lurch a little. “No worries, camarada, anything for the pursuit of twisted, kinky love.” They walked away, saluting their goodbyes.
Dean turned to Sam and slapped him on the shoulder in an imitation of Chris. He opened his mouth to say something, but could only manage a huge grin before bending at the waist and laughing.
Sam sighed. “I’m going to let the ghost thing kick your ass next time.”
“Why’d you brand him?” Damien demanded once he and Susie were alone in his room. “What we do is important, Susie, you can’t just get me to kill every idiot that tries to get in your pants.”
“That isn’t it!”
Damien’s voice lowered and anger flashed through his eyes. “Then why did you brand him?” He grabbed her arm. “Tell me!”
Susie yanked her arm free. “I’ll show you,” she whispered. She reached up and placed her hand against his head.
Damien gasped and stepped back, face paling.
“See?” Susie said, tears welling in her eyes. “He has to die.
Dean was frowning in concentration and biting his lip as he picked the lock to Susie’s dorm.
“Uh, damn, Dean, you forgot your key? Again?”
Dean paused and looked up at Sam as a student strode pass them, too preoccupied with keeping steady the mountain of books in his arms to even glance in their direction. “You suck at the lying thing.”
“Stop taking your time and I wouldn’t have to,” Sam hissed.
“Dude, this is a delicate procedure. Do you want Psycho Goth to know we broke in? What are you so antsy about, anyway? I’m the one doing all the work here.”
Sam’s jaw dropped and his eyes narrowed. “All the work? I’ve been loitering here in this goddamn hallway all morning, afternoon and most the evening waiting for Susie to leave her dorm. All day, Dean. All day staring at salmon coloured walls! What have you been doing?”
Dean smirked, resuming his work on the lock. “Found a TV in the floor’s common room. Bumped into that Joey and Chris. Remind me I owe ‘em five bucks - I bet they wouldn't keep pressing that damn button. Then that annoying Brenda chick showed up. Joey turns bright red every time she looks at him - funny guy.” The door clicked open and Dean stood up, brushing down his knees. “This college thing’s a piece of cake. No wonder you got into Law school so easily.” He handed Sam the lock pick and turned away before Sam could respond. He pushed open the door, revealing a dark interior. Dean stepped in cautiously, blocking the entrance as his eyes scanned each corner to make sure it was safe.
“Move!” Sam whispered from behind.
“You move.”
Sam shoved him out of the way and Dean stumbled for a second before righting himself and glaring at Sam. Sam just rolled his eyes and switched on the light, shutting the door behind them.
“Room looks normal,” Dean said. The bed was unmade and crumpled tissues stained black from nail polish littered the bedside table. Clothes hung from the back of the desk chair and a few posters of bands Dean had never heard of hung from the walls.
“Were you expecting severed heads hanging from the ceiling?”
Dean ignored him and started sifting through some of the books lying on the desk. He paused and looked around the room again, frowning. She had a lot of books. They were sprawled across the desk and spilling onto the floor, creating a sea of multi-colored titles that lapped against the bookshelf. “Someone’s missing their television.”
“More in here,” Sam said, opening the closet to reveal a large stack of books piled on the top shelf. He pulled one down and flipped through it while Dean creaked the door open and checked to see if the coast was still clear.
“Dean,” Sam called, his voice laced with an emotion Dean couldn’t quite place.
Dean quickly shut the door and turned to his brother. “What?”
Sam stared at the book for a second without answering. His face was growing paler in front of Dean’s eyes.
“Sam?” Dean said, stepping closer. Sam passed the book to him and ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it in frustration.
Dean read the title out loud. “Astral Projection.” He looked up at Sam who was waiting for his reaction, his face a mixture of disbelief and resignation. Dean flipped to the first page. “Proponents of astral projection maintain that their consciousness or soul has transferred into an astral body, or double, which moves in tandem with the physical body in a parallel world known as the astral plane.” Dean shut the book with a snap and looked up at Sam. “Wait, we’re not really thinking what we’re thinking, are we?”
Sam turned in answer and started yanking more books from the shelf, reading each title aloud before tossing them to the ground in disgust. “The Out of Body Experience; Controlling your Astral Voyage; Parallel Power and You. Getting the picture yet?”
Dean grabbed Sam’s wrists and forced him to stop throwing the books around. “So the ghost stalking us isn’t a ghost, it’s this Susie chick’s astral projected, spiritually powered up self. I got it.”
Sam pulled away and sighed, shutting his eyes for a second. “It’s why the EMF and ITS didn’t read any supernatural activity. And it means this hunt just got a hell of a lot more difficult.”
Dean nodded in realization. “Can’t kill humans, right? Personally, I have nothing against offing a murderer who’s trying to off me. But, hey, that was your rule, right? We can only kill what’s already dead. So, what are we meant to do now, Gandhi?”
Sam shrugged, the movement looking heavy, his eyes sliding to the spot on Dean’s shirt that covered his tattoo. “Find out why she’s doing this. Try to talk to her, I guess.”
“Talk to her?”
“Dean-”
“No, seriously, explain to me how we’re going to talk to the psychic, psychotic murderer? Over tea and crumpets?”
Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not psychic.”
“What?”
“Being able to astral project doesn’t mean she’s psychic.”
“Dude, kinda beside the point!” Dean suddenly froze, holding up his finger to silence whatever Sam was about to say. He hurried to the door and opened it a crack, listening carefully. “Crap. I think she’s coming. Let’s go.” Dean flipped off the light and flung open the door. A loud crash sounded from behind him. Dean whipped around and switched the light back on. Sam was hopping on one foot, grimacing. Half the books and assorted stationary that had been on the desk now scattered the floor.
“Dude, are you kidding me? We gotta go.”
“You could’ve waited to turn the light off.” Sam starting scooping up the objects and propping them back on the table.
“We don’t have time to play Neat Freak, Sam!”
“She can’t know we were in here, Dean.”
Dean clenched his jaw and peeked into the hallway again; the voices were getting louder. “Hurry up,” Dean snapped, flipping off the light and running into the hallway and around the corner, skidding to a stop in front of Susie. “You again, hey!” he said, forcing a smile.
Susie tilted her head and looked up at him. “You again,” she said, her tone bored and sullen. “I’ll call you,” she said to the girl beside her, who nodded and disappeared into a room.
“So, how are you?” Dean asked, absently tapping his fingers against his thigh.
“I have cramps, I feel crappy.” She pushed past him and turned the corner, clomping towards her room.
“Really? Want to tell me about that?” Dean grabbed her arm and pulled her around so that she was facing away from the door.
“Is there something wrong with you?”
Dean just nodded, ‘hmm’-ing like he did with any female he wasn’t actually paying attention to.
How long did it take to pick up a few freakin’ books? Just open the door and get out of there, Sam. Wait…what had he just asked this chick? His eyes widened. “Oh, god no. Sorry, don’t tell me about it. Tell me about something else. Your hair. Is it dyed?”
She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you a closet transvestite?”
“Am I a…” Dean trailed off, his chuckle dying. “If I say yes, will you give me some long, detailed tips?”
She squinted at him before her face slackened in realization. She whipped around and looked towards her room, eyes wide. She marched for it, expression darkening.
“Wait,” Dean called, jogging after her. “You don’t want to go in there; it’s being fumigated!”
She grabbed the handle and flung the door open, switching on the lights. Dean cringed, expecting to see Sam’s guilty face bent over her desk with a stack of her books in his hands.
The room was empty.
Susie’s gaze swiveled towards Dean, who quickly wiped the surprised expression from his face and smiled at her tightly: nothing to hide here; unless you counted his missing brother, of course.
Still watching him, she backed slowly into the room, only breaking her gaze when she reached her desk. Her hand trailed over the desk until it landed on a skull-shaped weight holder. She picked it up and moved it a few paces, to where it was meant to be sitting. “Are we playing hide and seek?” She said it so quietly Dean was forced to step further into the room to hear her.
She smiled and turned towards the closet, flinging it open. Dean rushed forward, expecting Sam to be in there and expecting her anger to flare up at the intrusion. But it was empty. Still no Sam. Now he was starting to worry. He let his eyes roam the room, trying to work out where Sam was hiding - but college dorms were tiny and Sam was a big guy; there wasn’t really anywhere he could hide.
His attention turned back to Susie as she picked up the books that Sam had thrown there. Her face visibly paled as she stared at them. “You shouldn’t snoop through a girl’s belongings,” she whispered, hands gripping the books. “Someone’s been naughty.”
“Yeah, you shouldn’t shove people out of windows, either,” Dean said, ignoring the chill that attacked him as he watched her fingers tighten on the books until they paled in synch with her face. “Someone has been naughty.”
“You don’t know anything. You’re going to screw it all up.”
Dean froze. This is too important for you two to screw up…the words swirled around his head until they merged with the memory of her hands around his throat, squeezing. And something snapped. Something inside him let go of the need for discrepancy and subtlety, for the guise of normality and control - they were games, all just games and he didn’t want to play them anymore. He was sick of pretending to be normal, pretending to be a student or priest or technician. His life wasn’t normal; he wasn’t normal. He was a hunter and she was his target and he’d be damned if both weren’t fully aware of it. He was done playing games.
He stepped closer to her. “Screw up what? Why did you mark me? What did you make my brother see?”
“I’m not one of the bad guys, Dean.” Her eyes glazed over in an anger that matched his own. “You don’t know anything.”
“Then enlighten me, bitch. Because I’d say shoving your peers out of windows puts you smack dab in the bad guy category.”
She shook her head and backed away from him. “This is more important than a few spoiled rich kids.”
“What is?”
She seemed to deflate, looking down at the ground and remaining that way for a few seconds, long enough to unsettle Dean. “How far are you willing to go?” she finally whispered, barely audible.
“What?”
She looked up at him, a small smile dancing on her lips. Her eyes bore into his. “How far are you willing to go to save him? To save them?”
Dean froze. A chill spiked up his spine and momentarily rendered him useless. The anger left him so fast that the muscles in his face slackened before he had a chance to mold them into a guise of bravado.
“What do those numbers mean?” he asked, recovering. “What the hell are you counting down? And you better answer me or I swear to god…” he let the threat hang in the air.
“You throw a vague threat my way and expect me to spill my ‘big evil’ plan,” Susie scoffed. “Has that ever worked for you?”
Dean drew out his gun and pointed it at her. “What are you counting down?” he asked again.
Susie’s eyes slid towards the gun, but her grin only widened. “What are you counting down? The days till little Sammy says bye-bye?”
Dean clicked the safety off. “You have five seconds to tell me before your brains replace those piss ugly posters.”
Susie stepped closer to him, opening her arms. “Go ahead,” she whispered, still smiling. “I dare you.”
Dean tightened his grip on the gun and aimed. For several seconds.
“Performance anxiety?”
He lowered the gun and tucked it back into his waistband. “Not yet. I’m not done with you; it’d be a waste of a bullet. You’re time will come, sweetheart. But meanwhile, you know what I will do? I’m going to have Sam forge some nifty drug charges. We’ll send in an anonymous tip and, believe me, if we can get our hands on this much arsenal, we can get our hands on some ice too. You’ll be kicked out of this place faster than you can say ‘I was framed by those hunks.’”
Susie’s grinned faltered for a second. “Just wait till I kindly point out all those guns I’m sure you have stashed away in your room.”
Dean shrugged, unconcerned. “Me and Sam can finish this hunt from a motel. Somehow, I get the impression you need to be here for whatever the hell you’ve got planned.”
Susie’s grin fell from her face.
“One more time, now. What are you counting down?” Dean slowly smiled, matching her earlier expression. He was sick of waiting around, of playing by the bad guys’ rules, waiting to react to their moves. He wanted some answers.
Susie stared at him for a second with eyes slit angrily. She crossed her arms and leaned forward slightly. “Your death.”
The words hit, but Dean was careful not to show a reaction. “So this tat on my shoulder wasn’t just free ink. Did your other victims get the big countdown treatment too, or am I just special?”
She cocked her head and tried to grin but it looked more like a snarl. “You’re not. But your death will be.”
“Baby, you’re not the first to tell me that.”
“Oh, this time you aren’t getting out of it. I saw your death in my vision. My visions always come true. Always.” She took a few steps backwards and propped into a sitting position on her desk, casually brushing some lint off her checkered skirt. “I don’t know why this is news to you; Sam knows what the numbers are counting down.” Her eyes slid towards his. “He didn’t tell you?”
Dean froze. “What?”
She feigned surprise. “He saw the same vision I did, the one where he screams your name because you’re dying. Painfully. Gee, guess he never got round to mentioning it.” She watched him closely. “Betchya it’s because of that other thing I showed him: The dream.”
“What dream?” Dean was still whispering, unable to make his voice louder, unable to pad it with anger or silent threats. It just sounded numb.
“Oh, you know, the dream. About you. And your death.” She swung her legs casually. “You boys really don’t talk much, do ya? Guess it’s hard for Sam, though. I pity him, I do. He’s all educated and intelligent, and you’re…” she looked him up and down, “…well, not.”
Before Dean could question how she knew that, she strode across the room and pulled open the door. “Get out of here,” she said. “Before I start screaming.”
Looking around one more time, though knowing there wasn’t anywhere his brother could be hiding, Dean walked to the door. He paused at the entrance, though, and leaned casually against the frame, bending closer to her like he was about to reveal a secret. “You try to hurt my brother and you’ll wish I just pushed you out a window.” He smiled at her and backed out, refusing to break her gaze, refusing to let the threat slip.
“Hey, Dean?” Susie said, standing with her hand on the door. She grinned. “You’re cute, too.” The door slammed shut.
Go to Chapter 5
***
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