Wow momma, lookit what I did!
Title: Hospitality
Author: jennaraven
Rating: pg-13
Pairings: implied Cassie/Dean, Sam/Dean
State: Mississippi
Spoilers: tiny ones for Route 666, Devil's Trap and Pilot
Feedback: Wouild be really really cool. Especially in this weather.
Notes: Done for the spn_50states challenge. Never actually done a SPN fic before, so it's new territory for me. Also in a style I don't normally do. The places mentioned in the fic are true, from the streets to Mammy's to Monmouth Plantation to Devil's Punch Bowl. John Murrell and the General are true too. No one knows for sure if Murrell's gold is in the Bowl, but that's what makes fiction fun. *grins*
The ‘Welcome to Mississippi’ sign passes in a hot, sweltering blur. Dean’s never liked the deep South much; too humid, too hot, and whenever he’s crossed that imaginary line, the clouds were always heavy, a dark purple black that didn’t abate until he was caught in some torrential downpour.
Pink Floyd is playing on the cassette deck; Syd Barrett wailing through the car and keeping him company as Sam slept. Sam sleeps more often nowadays, curled on the seat as far as his body can go, turned towards Dean with one arm wrapped around his middle and the other laying on the seat, always within touching distance.
The interstate tree line whizzes by, the discordant tunes of Floyd floating on the air, and Dean zones out. It isn’t until Sam’s hand is shaking on his thigh that he realizes there’s something wrong.
Sam’s shaking, clutching his ribs in phantom pain. His moans sound pitiful and broken.
Dean grabs Sam’s hand and kisses the knuckles, ignoring the spiking pain in his own arm as he clenches the steering wheel tighter.
*~*~*
They had just crossed over the border into Kentucky when Dean finally got around to listening to his voice mails. A call from Bobby asking how they were. It was weird having a father figure who actually called to make sure they were doing okay. Dean still hadn’t gotten used to that one yet.
“Dean-” She still had his number, but with how it ended the last time Dean was in town, he thought Cassie wouldn’t ever call him again. “Look- I’m not calling for me. I have this friend, Becca, lives in Natchez-that’s Mississippi-and she could use your help. I would really really appreciate it if you could come down and see what your particular brand of expertise could do for her. Go to the Monmouth Plantation and say that Cassie sent you.” She hung up without saying good-bye.
Sam looked over when Dean snapped the phone closed and didn’t say word one. “Did Bobby call?”
“We need to make a detour.”
“Dean what the-“
“Need to go to Natchez, that’s in Mississippi, if you didn’t know.” Dean smiled as he looked over at Sam.
“Really? Didn’t know that.” Sam rolled his eyes. Dean hated how Sam could remember random ass details like that. “So we’re not going to New Orleans?”
Dean gave Sam a cold look. “Of course we’re going to New Orleans.” Dean slouched down in his seat. “Just need to make a slight detour. Wake me up when you stop for food.” He said as he closed his eyes, ignoring the whine of “Dean, you shit” as the regular thump of the concrete pavers lulled him to a light slumber.
*~*~*
Sam’s back to driving again as they enter the Natchez city limits. Dean’s drinking the last cold drink they have in the car, and Sam’s evil looks would make Dean laugh out loud, if he didn’t already know what would happen if he did. Neither of them mention Sam’s latest nightmare.
“So where are we going again?” Sam rolls his eyes.
“The Monmouth Plantation. So turn on that charm of yours and ask that nice girl over there where it is.” Dean says as he indicates the brunette in the daisy duke shorts and the barely there tank top. Dean’s glad that some people don’t act like the oppressive heat doesn’t exist.
“And you’re not going to do it because?”
“It’s too hot.” Dean smiles as if that’s all the answer Sam needs.
The Impala does indeed slow down, stopping mere feet from the brunette. “Excuse me.” Sam asks, using that considerate tone he always uses when talking to people, one that Dean only uses when he needs something.
The brunette smiles and they see a perfect row of white teeth. “Yes sweetie?”
“Well, you see, my brother and I, we’re visiting old friends and they told us they’d be staying at the Monmouth Plantation.” Sam hemmed and hawed with the best of them.
“And you need directions, isn’t that right?”
“Would be much appreciated.”
The brunette leans on the car door and both Sam and Dean can’t help but get a good look at her cleavage, accentuated by her leaning over. They both try really hard not to look down. “Well you’re on St Catherine right now, so you’re gonna have to turn around. Just take this road until you see the turnaround for Franklin, and follow that until it turns into Melrose and you’ll be fine.”
Sam smiles. “Thanks.”
The brunette stands back up. “You’re welcome sugar. Have fun now.”
They find Monmouth Plantation easy enough. Dean really doesn’t know anymore how he got around without getting lost six different ways before Sam showed up. The mansion, and there is no other way to describe it, has a large grove of trees surrounding it, and Sam can see at least four other smaller outbuildings, but he has a feeling with a mansion that size there might be more.
The Impala gleams in the Southern sun as they park in front of the main house, refracting light in weird ways that Dean still isn’t used to. The air is that special kind of humid, the kind where water could be practically wrung out of the air itself and it would do no good. And being hit with it full force is something Dean absolutely hates.
When they step inside the expansive mansion, Dean and Sam can hear the air conditioner as it makes pitiful wheezing noises trying to cool down the main foyer of the house. It’s not succeeding. Behind what appears to be the concierge desk, there’s a young girl, black hair up in pigtails, nibbling on a biscuit as she reads a magazine.
“Hi.” Sam smiles.
“Welcome to the Monmouth Townhouse, one of the oldest and most romantic locations down the Mississippi. Do you have a reservation?” The young girl says listlessly, as if she’s had to say it one too many times.
“Hi, I don’t think we have a reservation, but we’re looking for-“
“Becca. Tell her Cassie sent us.” Sam gives Dean a look for not telling him sooner why they’re stopping in the picturesque little town of Natchez.
The little girl looks at them now with a bit of wonder in her eyes. “You mean you’re… Momma!” She literally jumps off her stool and runs towards the back of the large antebellum house.
A woman with dark, chestnut colored hair tied in a messy bun and an apron tied around her waist meets the young girl at the end of the hallway. They whisper low enough that both Sam and Dean have problems hearing the whole conversation, but they do pick up bits; enough to know that the young girl’s name is Tara, she shouldn’t run in the house and wake the guests; normal things mothers tell their daughters. But she gets a weird look in her eyes when her daughter mentions Cassie’s name. She whispers something in her daughter’s ear right before the young girl runs off.
Becca wipes her hands on the apron and walks over to greet Sam and Dean. The flour on her hands is still visible as she shakes their hands. “You must be Dean and Sam.”
“That’d be us ma’am.” Sam says cordially as Dean shakes her hand.
“Oh, none of that ma’am business now. You’re Cassie’s friends, so you can call me Becca too.”
“Becca.” Dean smiles.
Becca immediately sobers up. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen.”
The two follow Becca into the kitchen where she proceeds to pour them glasses of iced tea. The kitchen smells of baked goods, pecan pies cooling on the windowsill, biscuits cooling on trays, and a plate of gingersnaps resting on the center inlet. “So Cassie’s told me you deal with things that aren’t exactly… normal.” Becca says as she takes a sip from her own glass of iced tea.
Both Dean and Sam nod. “So what’s happening that’s been so strange? Doesn’t seem like there’s anything wrong to me.” Sam asks.
“Oh well, you see Natchez has a whole bucket full of old ghost stories and the like, so lots of times, something strange happens, it just rolls off our backs and we go on with our business.” Becca smiles. That’s another thing that makes Dean bristle whenever he visits the deep South. They never seem to have proper reverence for the things that could go bump in the night and eat you. “But this time… I don’t know. Doesn’t seem right. Seems like there’s something polluting the air, more ‘n just the humidity. And with the downright strange way Johnny Rhodes died last week and Jess Holcomb jus’ three days ago… I didn’t know who to call, cause the sheriff sure don’t think nothing’s wrong. Then I remembered Cassie mentioning something about the strange way her father died, so I asked her if she could leave you a message. And here you are.”
“Here we are.” Dean smiles as he bites into a gingersnap.
*~*~*
Becca volunteers to drive them to the Devil’s Punch Bowl, but Dean and Sam feel more comfortable in the Impala. They drive past more old antique houses than Sam’s seen in his life, a bit of the old charm of the Civil War that’s almost a living and breathing thing in Natchez.
The Devil’s Punch Bowl sits innocently enough on the side of the road, a large depression in the ground that looks like half of a circular cone. About a dozen cars at most speed by as they take a good look at it. Dean’s palmed the EMF, and both of them are attuned to its hum by now. There’s something down there.
“Legend says John Murrell’s gang used to store their gold here, but nowadays it’s just used by bored kids as dares to go down into the caves. See if they can find Murrell’s gold. No one ever has.”
“This was where Johnny was found?” Sam asks.
“Right over there.” A tattered end of yellow police tape flaps in the weak breeze.
Sam and Dean walk over to the site, the EMF’s hum getting louder. “Something happened here Sammy.”
There’s a dark red stain that looks like rust. “Yeah.” Sam echoes.
*~*~*
Becca promises to take them to the local library. As they drive back she mentions poor Tom Charleston, a friend of both Jessica and Johnny. Sam asks if they could go visit him tomorrow as well. Becca agrees.
“Now we don’t get many singles that come to stay at Monmouth, most are newlywed couples looking for a taste of the old South, so you’ll just have to share a room. But the couch does fold out, so you boys figure out who’s sleeping where however you do it.” She smiles as she opens the door to the room. A large canopied bed dominates the room, classical furnishings from the old South overpowering in ways the bed doesn’t.
“We’ll manage.” Sam says as their bags slide to the floor. Dean immediately jumps onto the bed and tests the mattress.
“The bathroom is behind that door, and don’t worry about what you owe me, it’s free. Use the phone if you boys want something quick to eat, and breakfast is at 7. I expect both of you to be there.” Becca ignores Sam’s protests as she closes the door.
*~*~*
It’s 3 am and a moonbeam travels across the room, glinting off the knife that rests under one pillow and exposes one of the numerous circles of salt that lie around the windows and doors. The comforter has been pushed off, and as the beam reaches the bed, one body rolls to the other side, shying away. A hand reaches over and pulls the body close, unconsciously looking for skin-to-skin contact. A shirt rises up, and the hand palms the side, exposing the bottom of a protection sigil etched into skin.
*~*~*
Breakfast is an interesting affair. After living for the last two years off of power bars and roadside coffee, a full plated breakfast, complete with grits, biscuits, plump sausage, ham, and plate size pancakes is a new experience. Dean manages to find a way to pack it all away and talk to the young blonde sitting across from them, who Sam finds out is in Natchez as part of a large family reunion. Sam strikes up a conversation with a guy sitting next to them who Sam overhears as being from Stamford. Sam pretends the sudden ache he feels doesn’t exist.
After breakfast is cleared away, Becca takes the brothers to Tom Charleston’s place. Tom doesn’t have much to say, but fumbles through an explanation of what happened that night with Jess Holcomb, Johnny Rhodes and himself at Devil’s Punch Bowl. He swears that nothing happened.
Then Becca takes them to the local library, telling the boys that she needs to go pick up some things from the market, so she leaves them to their own devices. Sam does the internet search, while Dean gets the task of looking through the newspapers, trying to find out all he can about the deaths of Johnny and Jessica.
Johnny and Jessica were both beheaded, but from the report, it looked like Johnny suffered worse than Jessica; his neck had multiple cuts in it, almost as if whatever had killed him needed more than one chance to do it. They also had their thumbs missing.
John Murrell turned out to be a somewhat effective bandit, terrorizing those that traveled along the Natchez Trace in the middle 1800’s. Becca was right though; many people thought that the gold Murrell and his gang stole was hidden in the Devil’s Punch Bowl. In fact no one could prove that it wasn’t.
“So it’s gotta be this Murrell guy. Where’s he buried? We swoop in, burn the bones, and call it a day. Go tattle on Tommy and tell him to give up whatever he stole.” Dean says after Sam tells him what he’s found.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why can’t it ever be that simple Sammy? Just once, I want it to be that simple.” Dean almost looks like he’s ready to pout.
“Well it’s tough to burn the bones when his thumb is mummified in Tennessee and no one knows where the head is.” Sam says sarcastically.
“His thumb?” Dean has a skeptical look on his face. “Who the hell mummifies a thumb?” He mumbles. Sam shrugs.
“But you are right, we need to go back to Tom’s house. Tell him that we know he found something.” Sam says as he shuts off the computer he is using.
*~*~*
Dusk is falling by the time Becca meets them outside the library. She’s hesitant to leave Sam and Dean alone to go back to the Charleston place, but Sam assures them they’ll be on their best behavior. Dean’s nice enough to not scoff.
When they park the car, Dean wants to go into the trunk and get his gun, but Sam stops him. “We’re just gonna ask the kid to give back whatever he stole. No reason to bring a gun Dean.”
“You know, one of these days, you’re gonna say that, and I’m gonna be able to say ‘told you so’.” Dean says sarcastically as he makes sure his knife is adjusted properly.
Tom answers the door again, cornrows small and tight against his head. Instead of letting the two of them come in, Tom closes the front door and sits on the porch.
Dean makes himself at home and hops onto the railing. Sam leans against the porch door. “Tom, did you forget to tell us anything when we were here with Becca?”
“No, I mean, I told you what happened that night. Both Jess and I thought Johnny was behind us. But then we were at Mammy’s and he wasn’t anywhere.”
“And then you find out that he was killed at Devil’s Punch Bowl.” Sam says.
“Yeah. No head, no thumbs, with that weird squiggle carved into him.”
“Look Tom.” Dean butts into the conversation. “Sam and I know one of you took something from that cave. So just give it to us so we can return it to whence it came, and no one will be the wiser. You didn’t know that whatever little trinket you have stashed away somewhere would kill your friends, so no crime on you.”
“But I don’t…”
“Was it a gold nugget? Coin? Or it could have been something really odd, like maybe a figure made out of straw.” Sam says with a smile on his face, trying to get the kid to trust and confide in him.
Tom scrunches up his face. “I don’t… but maybe…”
Sam raises his eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I think… yeah. Jess found this tiny wooden horse. She pocketed it cause she liked it so much. But I remember it having this really weird mane. Like it was made of real hair or something.”
Dean and Sam look at each other over the kid’s head. They needed that figurine. “Hey Tom,” Tom looks up at Sam. “You think if we go to Jess’ house, you could find that horse?” Tom nods his head. “Then let’s go.”
Tom’s able to get them to the Holcomb house with little problems. They stay in the car while Tom goes up to the house. “Whence it came?” Sam scoffs as soon as Tom is out of hearing range.
“I was inspired.”
“Inspired, is that what they call it now.”
“Oh shut it.” Dean says as he turns his head and watches the house, waiting for Tom to come back out. They don’t wait long before a scream rents the air. “Can I use the gun now Sammy?” Dean says sarcastically as they run out of the car.
Sam groans as he runs inside. The front foyer doesn’t look like it’s damaged, but Sam can see that there are quite a few pots and pans scattered on the floor of the kitchen. He pulls out his knife as he runs towards the back. A woman who Sam thinks has to be Jessica’s mom is knocked out on the floor, a smashed casserole of Mac and cheese around and under her. Tom is battling with what has to be the restless spirit of John Murrell. Sam’s still amazed that even without a head ghosts can be pretty darn menacing all on their own.
“Hey Murrell!” Sam hears Dean shout over his shoulder. Murrell stops trying to strangle Tom momentarily. Sam ducks. “Say hello to my little friend.” The shot is loud in the hallway.
Sam scrambles over to Tom. “Do you have the horse Tom?” Tom is unable to do more than nod his head. “Give it to me.” The horse is smooth in Sam’s hand, and the mane’s hair is brittle, but Sam knows what the feel of centuries old dead hair is. He tries not to take too long a moment as he realizes that. “Dean, I-“ Sam’s unable to say more as his own knife is plunged into the arm that holds the horse. Sam sees Dean shaking himself off in the corner of his eye, but right now all of his attention is on Murrell. Sam struggles against the rather vengeful ghost, but the knife in his arm makes it tough. Tom jumps onto the back of the spirit, trying to help. Sam’s finally able to get the knife out of his arm, just as he sees Dean get back up with the shotgun again. Sam pulls Tom off Murrell right as Dean proceeds to shoot him, over, and over, and over.
Murrell finally disappears. “You okay Sammy?” Dean asks as Sam sprawls in front of some dark wood cabinets. He delicately takes the arm to look at it.
“I’m fine. Bandage me up and I’m good.”
“Your side?”
“Fine.” Sam stresses. He uncurls his hand and there sits the mare, innocent looking in his hand.
*~*~*
After finding the bandages in the Holcomb house, they dress their shallow cuts, give Sam’s arm wound a quick bandage and make sure Tom is okay. He calls 911 and gives them a story about a burglar. They leave Tom with Mrs. Holcomb.
Dean and Sam are silent as Dean drives to the Punch Bowl. Sam has the flashlight out, making sure he has the spell right before they banish the totem. He’s said it more than once, but it’s never too careful not to double check what you’re doing. Especially when it’s banishing spirits.
The Impala is parked haphazardly on the side of the road as they walk back into the Bowl, hi-beams blasting as they walk into the shallow cave system. They use their flashlights to search the cave some more, make sure there are no more cute little knickknacks to find; knowing that sometimes it was possible to split your essence to two totems.
Dean finds a very ugly straw doll wedged deep in the cave's wall, and as a precaution, put both that and the horse into the circle. As the flames burn, Dean can’t help but say, “Told you so.”
*~*~*
Sam’s arm wound started bleeding again as they made their way back to Monmouth. Trudging their way to the room, they shed their dirt filled clothes into one pile, and Dean sets about pulling out the larger medical kit they had. Sam tries not to whimper too pitifully when the peroxide comes in contact with his arm.
Becca knocks on the door a short time later, laden with a pecan pie and more gingersnaps. “Tom called and told me what you boys did. And Tara saw you try to sneak inside earlier. Figured I’d give you a few minutes to clean up.”
“Thanks Becca.” Sam smiles as he takes the pie and the cookies.
“No thank you.” Becca says as she comes inside the room. “If it wasn’t for you, Tom would probably be dead right now.”
“How’s Mrs. Holcomb?” Sam asks, making conversation.
“Oh she’s fine, thank God. Got a nasty bump on her head, and a sprained wrist, but she’s gonna be alright. Frank was very relieved. Poor man, I don’t think he would have taken losing both his daughter and his wife.”
A dark look passes over Sam’s face as he says, “No I don’t think he would.”
“Oh I’m sorry honey. I didn’t know.”
“No, it’s okay.” Sam pastes on a smile.
Becca gives him a hug anyway. “You and Dean are gonna come down for breakfast one last time right? I figure you two were trying to get somewhere before you answered Cassie’s call.”
This time Sam’s smile is more genuine. “Yes Becca.”
*~*~*
Sam and Dean make sure to fully enjoy their breakfast before they leave. Becca even makes sure they have an extra bag of homemade biscuits on top of the leftover pie and gingersnap cookies from the night before.
Becca gives both boys a hug before they get into the Impala. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.” Becca whispers in Sam’s ear.
Tara and Becca wave from the porch as Dean drives away. Sam looks in the rearview mirror and watches their forms become smaller and smaller. As they turn off the Plantation road, Sam sees something in the rearview. “Dean did you…”
“What Sam?”
Sam could swear he just saw the image of a Civil War General waving them goodbye. “Never mind.”
Author: jennaraven
Rating: pg-13
Pairings: implied Cassie/Dean, Sam/Dean
State: Mississippi
Spoilers: tiny ones for Route 666, Devil's Trap and Pilot
Feedback: Wouild be really really cool. Especially in this weather.
Notes: Done for the spn_50states challenge. Never actually done a SPN fic before, so it's new territory for me. Also in a style I don't normally do. The places mentioned in the fic are true, from the streets to Mammy's to Monmouth Plantation to Devil's Punch Bowl. John Murrell and the General are true too. No one knows for sure if Murrell's gold is in the Bowl, but that's what makes fiction fun. *grins*
The ‘Welcome to Mississippi’ sign passes in a hot, sweltering blur. Dean’s never liked the deep South much; too humid, too hot, and whenever he’s crossed that imaginary line, the clouds were always heavy, a dark purple black that didn’t abate until he was caught in some torrential downpour.
Pink Floyd is playing on the cassette deck; Syd Barrett wailing through the car and keeping him company as Sam slept. Sam sleeps more often nowadays, curled on the seat as far as his body can go, turned towards Dean with one arm wrapped around his middle and the other laying on the seat, always within touching distance.
The interstate tree line whizzes by, the discordant tunes of Floyd floating on the air, and Dean zones out. It isn’t until Sam’s hand is shaking on his thigh that he realizes there’s something wrong.
Sam’s shaking, clutching his ribs in phantom pain. His moans sound pitiful and broken.
Dean grabs Sam’s hand and kisses the knuckles, ignoring the spiking pain in his own arm as he clenches the steering wheel tighter.
*~*~*
They had just crossed over the border into Kentucky when Dean finally got around to listening to his voice mails. A call from Bobby asking how they were. It was weird having a father figure who actually called to make sure they were doing okay. Dean still hadn’t gotten used to that one yet.
“Dean-” She still had his number, but with how it ended the last time Dean was in town, he thought Cassie wouldn’t ever call him again. “Look- I’m not calling for me. I have this friend, Becca, lives in Natchez-that’s Mississippi-and she could use your help. I would really really appreciate it if you could come down and see what your particular brand of expertise could do for her. Go to the Monmouth Plantation and say that Cassie sent you.” She hung up without saying good-bye.
Sam looked over when Dean snapped the phone closed and didn’t say word one. “Did Bobby call?”
“We need to make a detour.”
“Dean what the-“
“Need to go to Natchez, that’s in Mississippi, if you didn’t know.” Dean smiled as he looked over at Sam.
“Really? Didn’t know that.” Sam rolled his eyes. Dean hated how Sam could remember random ass details like that. “So we’re not going to New Orleans?”
Dean gave Sam a cold look. “Of course we’re going to New Orleans.” Dean slouched down in his seat. “Just need to make a slight detour. Wake me up when you stop for food.” He said as he closed his eyes, ignoring the whine of “Dean, you shit” as the regular thump of the concrete pavers lulled him to a light slumber.
*~*~*
Sam’s back to driving again as they enter the Natchez city limits. Dean’s drinking the last cold drink they have in the car, and Sam’s evil looks would make Dean laugh out loud, if he didn’t already know what would happen if he did. Neither of them mention Sam’s latest nightmare.
“So where are we going again?” Sam rolls his eyes.
“The Monmouth Plantation. So turn on that charm of yours and ask that nice girl over there where it is.” Dean says as he indicates the brunette in the daisy duke shorts and the barely there tank top. Dean’s glad that some people don’t act like the oppressive heat doesn’t exist.
“And you’re not going to do it because?”
“It’s too hot.” Dean smiles as if that’s all the answer Sam needs.
The Impala does indeed slow down, stopping mere feet from the brunette. “Excuse me.” Sam asks, using that considerate tone he always uses when talking to people, one that Dean only uses when he needs something.
The brunette smiles and they see a perfect row of white teeth. “Yes sweetie?”
“Well, you see, my brother and I, we’re visiting old friends and they told us they’d be staying at the Monmouth Plantation.” Sam hemmed and hawed with the best of them.
“And you need directions, isn’t that right?”
“Would be much appreciated.”
The brunette leans on the car door and both Sam and Dean can’t help but get a good look at her cleavage, accentuated by her leaning over. They both try really hard not to look down. “Well you’re on St Catherine right now, so you’re gonna have to turn around. Just take this road until you see the turnaround for Franklin, and follow that until it turns into Melrose and you’ll be fine.”
Sam smiles. “Thanks.”
The brunette stands back up. “You’re welcome sugar. Have fun now.”
They find Monmouth Plantation easy enough. Dean really doesn’t know anymore how he got around without getting lost six different ways before Sam showed up. The mansion, and there is no other way to describe it, has a large grove of trees surrounding it, and Sam can see at least four other smaller outbuildings, but he has a feeling with a mansion that size there might be more.
The Impala gleams in the Southern sun as they park in front of the main house, refracting light in weird ways that Dean still isn’t used to. The air is that special kind of humid, the kind where water could be practically wrung out of the air itself and it would do no good. And being hit with it full force is something Dean absolutely hates.
When they step inside the expansive mansion, Dean and Sam can hear the air conditioner as it makes pitiful wheezing noises trying to cool down the main foyer of the house. It’s not succeeding. Behind what appears to be the concierge desk, there’s a young girl, black hair up in pigtails, nibbling on a biscuit as she reads a magazine.
“Hi.” Sam smiles.
“Welcome to the Monmouth Townhouse, one of the oldest and most romantic locations down the Mississippi. Do you have a reservation?” The young girl says listlessly, as if she’s had to say it one too many times.
“Hi, I don’t think we have a reservation, but we’re looking for-“
“Becca. Tell her Cassie sent us.” Sam gives Dean a look for not telling him sooner why they’re stopping in the picturesque little town of Natchez.
The little girl looks at them now with a bit of wonder in her eyes. “You mean you’re… Momma!” She literally jumps off her stool and runs towards the back of the large antebellum house.
A woman with dark, chestnut colored hair tied in a messy bun and an apron tied around her waist meets the young girl at the end of the hallway. They whisper low enough that both Sam and Dean have problems hearing the whole conversation, but they do pick up bits; enough to know that the young girl’s name is Tara, she shouldn’t run in the house and wake the guests; normal things mothers tell their daughters. But she gets a weird look in her eyes when her daughter mentions Cassie’s name. She whispers something in her daughter’s ear right before the young girl runs off.
Becca wipes her hands on the apron and walks over to greet Sam and Dean. The flour on her hands is still visible as she shakes their hands. “You must be Dean and Sam.”
“That’d be us ma’am.” Sam says cordially as Dean shakes her hand.
“Oh, none of that ma’am business now. You’re Cassie’s friends, so you can call me Becca too.”
“Becca.” Dean smiles.
Becca immediately sobers up. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen.”
The two follow Becca into the kitchen where she proceeds to pour them glasses of iced tea. The kitchen smells of baked goods, pecan pies cooling on the windowsill, biscuits cooling on trays, and a plate of gingersnaps resting on the center inlet. “So Cassie’s told me you deal with things that aren’t exactly… normal.” Becca says as she takes a sip from her own glass of iced tea.
Both Dean and Sam nod. “So what’s happening that’s been so strange? Doesn’t seem like there’s anything wrong to me.” Sam asks.
“Oh well, you see Natchez has a whole bucket full of old ghost stories and the like, so lots of times, something strange happens, it just rolls off our backs and we go on with our business.” Becca smiles. That’s another thing that makes Dean bristle whenever he visits the deep South. They never seem to have proper reverence for the things that could go bump in the night and eat you. “But this time… I don’t know. Doesn’t seem right. Seems like there’s something polluting the air, more ‘n just the humidity. And with the downright strange way Johnny Rhodes died last week and Jess Holcomb jus’ three days ago… I didn’t know who to call, cause the sheriff sure don’t think nothing’s wrong. Then I remembered Cassie mentioning something about the strange way her father died, so I asked her if she could leave you a message. And here you are.”
“Here we are.” Dean smiles as he bites into a gingersnap.
*~*~*
Becca volunteers to drive them to the Devil’s Punch Bowl, but Dean and Sam feel more comfortable in the Impala. They drive past more old antique houses than Sam’s seen in his life, a bit of the old charm of the Civil War that’s almost a living and breathing thing in Natchez.
The Devil’s Punch Bowl sits innocently enough on the side of the road, a large depression in the ground that looks like half of a circular cone. About a dozen cars at most speed by as they take a good look at it. Dean’s palmed the EMF, and both of them are attuned to its hum by now. There’s something down there.
“Legend says John Murrell’s gang used to store their gold here, but nowadays it’s just used by bored kids as dares to go down into the caves. See if they can find Murrell’s gold. No one ever has.”
“This was where Johnny was found?” Sam asks.
“Right over there.” A tattered end of yellow police tape flaps in the weak breeze.
Sam and Dean walk over to the site, the EMF’s hum getting louder. “Something happened here Sammy.”
There’s a dark red stain that looks like rust. “Yeah.” Sam echoes.
*~*~*
Becca promises to take them to the local library. As they drive back she mentions poor Tom Charleston, a friend of both Jessica and Johnny. Sam asks if they could go visit him tomorrow as well. Becca agrees.
“Now we don’t get many singles that come to stay at Monmouth, most are newlywed couples looking for a taste of the old South, so you’ll just have to share a room. But the couch does fold out, so you boys figure out who’s sleeping where however you do it.” She smiles as she opens the door to the room. A large canopied bed dominates the room, classical furnishings from the old South overpowering in ways the bed doesn’t.
“We’ll manage.” Sam says as their bags slide to the floor. Dean immediately jumps onto the bed and tests the mattress.
“The bathroom is behind that door, and don’t worry about what you owe me, it’s free. Use the phone if you boys want something quick to eat, and breakfast is at 7. I expect both of you to be there.” Becca ignores Sam’s protests as she closes the door.
*~*~*
It’s 3 am and a moonbeam travels across the room, glinting off the knife that rests under one pillow and exposes one of the numerous circles of salt that lie around the windows and doors. The comforter has been pushed off, and as the beam reaches the bed, one body rolls to the other side, shying away. A hand reaches over and pulls the body close, unconsciously looking for skin-to-skin contact. A shirt rises up, and the hand palms the side, exposing the bottom of a protection sigil etched into skin.
*~*~*
Breakfast is an interesting affair. After living for the last two years off of power bars and roadside coffee, a full plated breakfast, complete with grits, biscuits, plump sausage, ham, and plate size pancakes is a new experience. Dean manages to find a way to pack it all away and talk to the young blonde sitting across from them, who Sam finds out is in Natchez as part of a large family reunion. Sam strikes up a conversation with a guy sitting next to them who Sam overhears as being from Stamford. Sam pretends the sudden ache he feels doesn’t exist.
After breakfast is cleared away, Becca takes the brothers to Tom Charleston’s place. Tom doesn’t have much to say, but fumbles through an explanation of what happened that night with Jess Holcomb, Johnny Rhodes and himself at Devil’s Punch Bowl. He swears that nothing happened.
Then Becca takes them to the local library, telling the boys that she needs to go pick up some things from the market, so she leaves them to their own devices. Sam does the internet search, while Dean gets the task of looking through the newspapers, trying to find out all he can about the deaths of Johnny and Jessica.
Johnny and Jessica were both beheaded, but from the report, it looked like Johnny suffered worse than Jessica; his neck had multiple cuts in it, almost as if whatever had killed him needed more than one chance to do it. They also had their thumbs missing.
John Murrell turned out to be a somewhat effective bandit, terrorizing those that traveled along the Natchez Trace in the middle 1800’s. Becca was right though; many people thought that the gold Murrell and his gang stole was hidden in the Devil’s Punch Bowl. In fact no one could prove that it wasn’t.
“So it’s gotta be this Murrell guy. Where’s he buried? We swoop in, burn the bones, and call it a day. Go tattle on Tommy and tell him to give up whatever he stole.” Dean says after Sam tells him what he’s found.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why can’t it ever be that simple Sammy? Just once, I want it to be that simple.” Dean almost looks like he’s ready to pout.
“Well it’s tough to burn the bones when his thumb is mummified in Tennessee and no one knows where the head is.” Sam says sarcastically.
“His thumb?” Dean has a skeptical look on his face. “Who the hell mummifies a thumb?” He mumbles. Sam shrugs.
“But you are right, we need to go back to Tom’s house. Tell him that we know he found something.” Sam says as he shuts off the computer he is using.
*~*~*
Dusk is falling by the time Becca meets them outside the library. She’s hesitant to leave Sam and Dean alone to go back to the Charleston place, but Sam assures them they’ll be on their best behavior. Dean’s nice enough to not scoff.
When they park the car, Dean wants to go into the trunk and get his gun, but Sam stops him. “We’re just gonna ask the kid to give back whatever he stole. No reason to bring a gun Dean.”
“You know, one of these days, you’re gonna say that, and I’m gonna be able to say ‘told you so’.” Dean says sarcastically as he makes sure his knife is adjusted properly.
Tom answers the door again, cornrows small and tight against his head. Instead of letting the two of them come in, Tom closes the front door and sits on the porch.
Dean makes himself at home and hops onto the railing. Sam leans against the porch door. “Tom, did you forget to tell us anything when we were here with Becca?”
“No, I mean, I told you what happened that night. Both Jess and I thought Johnny was behind us. But then we were at Mammy’s and he wasn’t anywhere.”
“And then you find out that he was killed at Devil’s Punch Bowl.” Sam says.
“Yeah. No head, no thumbs, with that weird squiggle carved into him.”
“Look Tom.” Dean butts into the conversation. “Sam and I know one of you took something from that cave. So just give it to us so we can return it to whence it came, and no one will be the wiser. You didn’t know that whatever little trinket you have stashed away somewhere would kill your friends, so no crime on you.”
“But I don’t…”
“Was it a gold nugget? Coin? Or it could have been something really odd, like maybe a figure made out of straw.” Sam says with a smile on his face, trying to get the kid to trust and confide in him.
Tom scrunches up his face. “I don’t… but maybe…”
Sam raises his eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I think… yeah. Jess found this tiny wooden horse. She pocketed it cause she liked it so much. But I remember it having this really weird mane. Like it was made of real hair or something.”
Dean and Sam look at each other over the kid’s head. They needed that figurine. “Hey Tom,” Tom looks up at Sam. “You think if we go to Jess’ house, you could find that horse?” Tom nods his head. “Then let’s go.”
Tom’s able to get them to the Holcomb house with little problems. They stay in the car while Tom goes up to the house. “Whence it came?” Sam scoffs as soon as Tom is out of hearing range.
“I was inspired.”
“Inspired, is that what they call it now.”
“Oh shut it.” Dean says as he turns his head and watches the house, waiting for Tom to come back out. They don’t wait long before a scream rents the air. “Can I use the gun now Sammy?” Dean says sarcastically as they run out of the car.
Sam groans as he runs inside. The front foyer doesn’t look like it’s damaged, but Sam can see that there are quite a few pots and pans scattered on the floor of the kitchen. He pulls out his knife as he runs towards the back. A woman who Sam thinks has to be Jessica’s mom is knocked out on the floor, a smashed casserole of Mac and cheese around and under her. Tom is battling with what has to be the restless spirit of John Murrell. Sam’s still amazed that even without a head ghosts can be pretty darn menacing all on their own.
“Hey Murrell!” Sam hears Dean shout over his shoulder. Murrell stops trying to strangle Tom momentarily. Sam ducks. “Say hello to my little friend.” The shot is loud in the hallway.
Sam scrambles over to Tom. “Do you have the horse Tom?” Tom is unable to do more than nod his head. “Give it to me.” The horse is smooth in Sam’s hand, and the mane’s hair is brittle, but Sam knows what the feel of centuries old dead hair is. He tries not to take too long a moment as he realizes that. “Dean, I-“ Sam’s unable to say more as his own knife is plunged into the arm that holds the horse. Sam sees Dean shaking himself off in the corner of his eye, but right now all of his attention is on Murrell. Sam struggles against the rather vengeful ghost, but the knife in his arm makes it tough. Tom jumps onto the back of the spirit, trying to help. Sam’s finally able to get the knife out of his arm, just as he sees Dean get back up with the shotgun again. Sam pulls Tom off Murrell right as Dean proceeds to shoot him, over, and over, and over.
Murrell finally disappears. “You okay Sammy?” Dean asks as Sam sprawls in front of some dark wood cabinets. He delicately takes the arm to look at it.
“I’m fine. Bandage me up and I’m good.”
“Your side?”
“Fine.” Sam stresses. He uncurls his hand and there sits the mare, innocent looking in his hand.
*~*~*
After finding the bandages in the Holcomb house, they dress their shallow cuts, give Sam’s arm wound a quick bandage and make sure Tom is okay. He calls 911 and gives them a story about a burglar. They leave Tom with Mrs. Holcomb.
Dean and Sam are silent as Dean drives to the Punch Bowl. Sam has the flashlight out, making sure he has the spell right before they banish the totem. He’s said it more than once, but it’s never too careful not to double check what you’re doing. Especially when it’s banishing spirits.
The Impala is parked haphazardly on the side of the road as they walk back into the Bowl, hi-beams blasting as they walk into the shallow cave system. They use their flashlights to search the cave some more, make sure there are no more cute little knickknacks to find; knowing that sometimes it was possible to split your essence to two totems.
Dean finds a very ugly straw doll wedged deep in the cave's wall, and as a precaution, put both that and the horse into the circle. As the flames burn, Dean can’t help but say, “Told you so.”
*~*~*
Sam’s arm wound started bleeding again as they made their way back to Monmouth. Trudging their way to the room, they shed their dirt filled clothes into one pile, and Dean sets about pulling out the larger medical kit they had. Sam tries not to whimper too pitifully when the peroxide comes in contact with his arm.
Becca knocks on the door a short time later, laden with a pecan pie and more gingersnaps. “Tom called and told me what you boys did. And Tara saw you try to sneak inside earlier. Figured I’d give you a few minutes to clean up.”
“Thanks Becca.” Sam smiles as he takes the pie and the cookies.
“No thank you.” Becca says as she comes inside the room. “If it wasn’t for you, Tom would probably be dead right now.”
“How’s Mrs. Holcomb?” Sam asks, making conversation.
“Oh she’s fine, thank God. Got a nasty bump on her head, and a sprained wrist, but she’s gonna be alright. Frank was very relieved. Poor man, I don’t think he would have taken losing both his daughter and his wife.”
A dark look passes over Sam’s face as he says, “No I don’t think he would.”
“Oh I’m sorry honey. I didn’t know.”
“No, it’s okay.” Sam pastes on a smile.
Becca gives him a hug anyway. “You and Dean are gonna come down for breakfast one last time right? I figure you two were trying to get somewhere before you answered Cassie’s call.”
This time Sam’s smile is more genuine. “Yes Becca.”
*~*~*
Sam and Dean make sure to fully enjoy their breakfast before they leave. Becca even makes sure they have an extra bag of homemade biscuits on top of the leftover pie and gingersnap cookies from the night before.
Becca gives both boys a hug before they get into the Impala. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.” Becca whispers in Sam’s ear.
Tara and Becca wave from the porch as Dean drives away. Sam looks in the rearview mirror and watches their forms become smaller and smaller. As they turn off the Plantation road, Sam sees something in the rearview. “Dean did you…”
“What Sam?”
Sam could swear he just saw the image of a Civil War General waving them goodbye. “Never mind.”