Stay in the Light - Chapter 2
AUTHOR:Scullspeare
SUMMARY: Casefic. There's something out there in the dark, ripping its victims apart - and now it has Sam and Dean in its sights.
SPOILERS: Set Season 4-ish. A casefic which takes place in-between canon hunts.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke & Co. I am playing in their sandbox, with their toys, with much gratitude.
RATING: T for some swearing.
WORD COUNT: 27K
GENRE: Gen/Hurt-Comfort/Adventure
Link back to Chapter 1 Here
STAY IN THE LIGHT - CHAPTER 2
"You boys all set?" The question came from Gus Cadwalader, the burly Swancott foreman assigned to suit up the Winchesters for their trek into the old mine.
After zipping up his bright orange coveralls, Dean nodded at Gus. He adjusted his hard hat, then reached down to his waist and flicked the switch on the battery pack on his belt to ensure the helmet light was working. "Let's get this show on the road."
The mine owners had been working with the Environmental Protection Agency over the gas leak that had triggered the recent explosion. After a stop at Kwik Kopy for new IDs and with some help from Bobby, the brothers had secured access to the mine as EPA agents.
Gus gestured for the brothers to follow him as he left the Swancott offices and headed for the mine entrance. "Listen, we appreciate you fellas coming down here so quickly."
Sam grabbed his air tanks and mask, which looked much like those used by firefighters, and fell in step behind Gus and his brother. "Mind me asking why the rush? I mean, this is not a working mine and you've vented it. Standard procedure is to let it bleed out so, why the S.O.S.?" He ignored the "Geek" Dean mouthed at him behind Gus's back.
Gus just shook his head. "You can thank our mayor for any overtime you put in on this trip. Trust me, we were prepared to let the gas bleed out. Mayor Ryder's the one who wants the shutdown fast-tracked."
Dean exchanged looks with Sam. "Why's the mayor got his panties in a bunch?"
Gus shrugged. "After he heard the old mine had been breached, he showed up here the next day, demanding we close it up ASAP and telling anyone who'd listen how dangerous it was. Didn't take too kindly to hearing that it was even more dangerous to seal it up before all the gas was vented."
Dean slung his small duffel over his shoulder. "Any of the gas bleeding into the working mine?"
Gus shook his head. "Like I said, it's venting safely. As far as we're concerned, it was just a matter of monitoring the emissions. Mayor Ryder nearly turned purple though when I told him that. Guess he's got some pull with the mine owners because now you're here. Anyway, your ride's over here." He gestured toward a vehicle that resembled a flattened dune buggy as he turned to Sam. "You clear where to park it?
Sam nodded. "Tunnel 26F."
"Good." Gus helped the brothers stow their gear in the back of the vehicle. "Breathing gear is mandatory beyond that point. We've given you dual tanks and a spare, each with a breathing capacity of about three hours. As I'm sure you know, the deeper you go, the faster you move…." He shot a glance at Sam. "The bigger you are, the more air you use. Watch your gauges and give yourselves plenty of time to get back topside.
"If you plan to talk to each other, make sure your radios are plugged in before you put your gear on. Oh, and you'll need these, too." Gus handed Sam a folded piece of paper and a can of spray paint. "That's a map of the mine. It's old and incomplete but, trust me, you'll need it. It's pitch black down there and nothing's signposted. Spraypaint's fluorescent, so mark your way as your go. Last thing I need is you two lost in there."
Dean snorted. "Trust me, that's the last thing I need, too."
Gus nodded. "If you find the source, set the explosives, clear out, and we'll blow it after quitting time. Just remember what I told you, and you'll be safe. Can't say you'll be comfortable." He glanced again at Sam. "'Specially you, son. Mines just weren't built for men your size."
"A lot of things weren't built for men his size," Dean muttered as he slid behind the wheel of the mantrip, the name Gus had used for the vehicle that would take them into the mine. Once in the driver's seat, he was almost lying down. "This supposed to be like this?"
Gus smiled as he pressed a switch on the steering column that dropped the wheel to within Dean's reach from his reclined position. "We don't waste time digging great big entrance halls to our mines. We just need enough space to get this buggy through and get us to where the coal is. In some places, the ceiling ain't more than three feet high. You sit up, you're gonna lose your head." He turned to Sam. "Lie down behind him and be prepared to duck." His smile faded. "I'm serious, fellas. Watch yourselves."
Dean glanced over his shoulder. "You all tucked in, Sammy?"
"Good to go." Sam was lying on the seat behind Dean, stretched width-wise across the mantrip and resting on his elbows.
Dean pressed the button to start the electric engine. "Later, Gus. Thanks."
Gus nodded, shouting over the engine noise, "Like I said, watch yourselves."
Dean gave Gus a casual salute, then hit the accelerator and moved forward into the tunnel. Sam held onto his hardhat as the tunnel bounced them around inside the mantrip, then slid down even further after his helmet bounced off the ceiling a second time.
It took them about fifteen minutes of snaking down through the mountain before the tunnel opened up to the point where Sam could sit up without fear of cracking his head. It was another ten minutes before they reached the tunnel that now offered access to the old mine.
Dean eased the mantrip to a halt when the vehicle lights picked up 26F spray-painted on the rock wall, and shut off the engine. "We hoof it from here, right?"
Sam nodded, groaning lightly as he unfolded himself from the vehicle and stood up. "The old tunnel's too narrow for the mantrip, so- Ow!"
Dean snorted as Sam's head hit the ceiling, his helmet tipping at a comical angle.
"Jerk." Sam took off his helmet and hunched over slightly as he grabbed his air tanks, threaded his arms through the harness that would hold them on his back and fastened the straps across his chest. "Guess sometimes it pays to be short."
"Hey, I don't fit either, asshat." Dean stood slowly, deliberately not quite straightening up as he pulled on his breathing gear. "You got the map?"
Sam nodded. After settling the mask over his face, he plugged in his radio, opened the air flow valve and then replaced his helmet. As Dean did the same, Sam pulled the map from the zippered breast pocket of his coveralls, checked it, then motioned to their left. "We go that way."
Dean unzipped his duffel and handed Sam one of the two air rifles he'd adapted to fire salt shot. Since shotguns and gas didn't play nice together, he'd been forced to get creative when it came to a way to protect themselves from any angry spirits they may run into in the mine.
Sam quickly inspected the weapon. "Uses compressed co2, right?"
Dean nodded. "Won't blow us up when we fire it, but the range sucks. Make sure you're close before pulling the trigger."
Sam snorted at that. "Getting close to fuglies never seems to be a problem."
Dean couldn't disagree with that. He grabbed the EMF, which stayed quiet, slung the duffel back on his shoulder and headed down the tunnel with Sam on his heels. The tunnel was much like the one they'd driven down, just smaller in scale. As Gus had promised, it was pitch black except for the lights on their helmets and the temperature was cool but comfortable. The foreman had told them that the mine stayed around 65° Fahrenheit year-round, no matter what the outside temperature.
After walking for about ten minutes, the brothers' pace slowed when the tunnel floor became littered with debris.
"And here it is." Dean came to a sudden halt when the beam from his helmet lamp fell on a large hole in the wall to their right, the opening blocked off with yellow Caution tape and a big Do Not Enter: Unsafe sign. Dean moved toward the opening, poking his head through the tape to see what was beyond.
It was then that the EMF meter in his pocket screeched.
Dean shot Sam a look, yanked down the tape, and moved cautiously into the old mine. Sam tucked the map into his pocket and, once again, fell in step behind his brother.
The age of the tunnel was evident in the way it was constructed. Instead of the metal support beams that braced the modern mine tunnels, this one was held up by wooden railroad ties every ten to fifteen feet, the wood gray and cracked with age.
The farther they walked into the old mine, the louder the EMF wailed. After about thirty minutes, Dean came to a sudden halt when the Plexiglas of his breathing mask began to frost at the edges. "Heads up, Sammy. We've got company."
Like Dean, Sam had his gun raised. He adjusted his grip on the trigger, then shuddered as the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Turning suddenly, he started at the sight of a large man who appeared out of nowhere behind him. Instinct kicked in and he fired, the spirit snapping his head away from Sam and shielding his eyes with an agonized yell as he dissipated under the rock salt shot.
"Sam?"
Seeing nothing else behind him, Sam turned to face his brother. "It was- Dean, down!" He fired over his brother as Dean hit the dirt, his shot hitting a small, skinny man square in the chest. Like the first spirit, this ghost raised his arm as the beam from Sam's helmet light hit him a second before the salt shot.
Dean's eyes were wide as he looked up at Sam. "Mind telling me what you're shooting at?"
Sam was still scanning the tunnel as he offered a hand to help Dean up. "Spirit, or, technically, two of 'em."
"Two?" Dean grabbed Sam's wrist and hauled himself to his feet. "Two different ghosts?"
Sam nodded. "One big guy, one smaller guy. Both kinda skinny."
"Son of a bitch," Dean spat. "'Cause one spook isn't enough. We-" He shoved Sam out of the way, raised his gun, and fired at the ghost that appeared suddenly behind his brother.
Sam's eyes were wide as he turned to Dean. "Big one or little one?"
Dean shrugged. "Compared to what? Looked kinda medium to me. He-"
Sam grunted when a large chunk of rock slammed into the side of his head. His helmet was knocked off as he hit the wall and slid down it.
Dean spun in the direction the rock came from but the gun was pulled from his hands as he raised it. Something slammed into his chest, forcing the air from his lungs as it knocked him to the tunnel floor. His helmet was jarred loose when he landed and, for a brief moment as the beam of the lamp swung around, he caught a glimpse of the spirit kneeling on his chest. He was big but skinny, his clothes filthy, baggy and ragged, and he had a full beard covering his face. But it was his eyes that were instantly memorable: all white except for pinprick black pupils. He snarled and lunged down at Dean just as the light disappeared and he was once again cloaked by darkness.
Dean couldn't breathe; the specter had its hands clamped tightly around his throat. He coughed and choked as he fought to free himself, his struggles intensifying when he realized the spirit was also pushing his head to the side. Images of the victim in the morgue filled his head: the throat ripped open, the skin jagged and torn.
"Hey!"
Sam's deep shout echoed through the tunnel at the same time a brilliant flashlight beam hit the spirit. The ghost threw its arm across its face to hide from the light, its scream of rage feral and easily overpowering the thud from Sam's gun. The spirit dissipated, and so to did the pressure on Dean's chest and throat.
Dean coughed and retched as he sucked in air greedily, rolling onto his side and grabbing for his gun and his helmet. He settled the helmet back on his head as he shakily sat up and looked over at Sam.
His brother was still sitting on the tunnel floor, legs stretched out in front of him, his gun in one hand, their big Mag-Lite in the other. Sam's helmet was on the ground beside him but still tethered to the battery pack on his belt, the light pointing up the tunnel in the direction they'd come.
Sam's eyes were screwed closed, but it was the blood running down his temple along the edge of his mask that grabbed Dean's attention.
"Sammy?"
Sam let his head fall back against the tunnel wall and forced open his eyes, squinting over at Dean. "Y'okay?"
Dean snorted as he dragged himself closer to Sam. "You're the one bleeding."
"What?" When Dean gestured to the side of his head, Sam pressed his fingers there and winced. "Oh. It's…nothing." He glanced down the tunnel. "The spirits…don't think they like…the light." He turned back to Dean. "We need to…to keep the light on."
Dean was at Sam's side now, fingers locked on his brother's chin and gently turning his head to inspect the injury. The mask made it hard to examine but the cut didn't look deep, probably wouldn't even need stitches, but like most head wounds was bleeding heavily. Dean cast a wary eye around the tunnel. "Sure you're okay?"
"Yeah." Sam blinked slowly as he looked up at Dean. "We should go."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious." Dean carefully placed Sam's helmet back on his head, then grabbed their duffel before threading his left arm behind Sam's back. "On three. Two…three."
With a synchronized grunt, the brothers pushed themselves to their feet. Dean tightened his grip on Sam's shirt as his brother swayed, then relaxed his hold as Sam found his balance. "Seriously, Sammy. You good, or you gonna faceplant on me?"
"M'good." Sam frowned as he stared down at the Mag-Lite still tightly gripped in his hand. He fumbled with it a bit as he turned it around so the beam was pointing behind them. He looked across at Dean and offered a tired smile. "They always came from behind-in the dark." He swallowed. "Gotta make sure they don't sneak up on us. Again."
Dean smiled. "That Ivy League brain of yours may be dented, but it's still working better than most." He glanced around again. "But I've got another idea."
He fumbled through his duffel, pulled out a canister of salt and poured a thick line across the width of the mine. "If they're behind us, they're staying behind us…." Dean picked up their guns, then pulled Sam's arm across his shoulders and starting moving back toward the mantrip. "But keep that light on in case they bounced this side of the line." He swallowed. "Now let's get back topside, and figure out who the hell these bastards are."
xxxXXXxxx
"Ow!"
"Hold still, you big baby. I"ve gotta get the dirt out."
"Damn it, Dean, I can do it myself."
"No, you can't. It's on your temple. You'd be working half-blind. Now quit squirming. You weren't this bad when you five and fell off that swing set."
"Well, you weren't such a jackass back then- Son of a bitch!"
"And you didn't have such a potty mouth. Okay, fair's fair. Guess I should've warned you about the antiseptic. Stings, huh?"
"Sadist." Sam was sitting on the closed toilet seat, holding a clean facecloth to his temple and glaring up at Dean. "I think we're done."
"Not quite." Dean capped the bottle of antiseptic, then grabbed a butterfly bandage from the first-aid kit open on the vanity. "I've got to butterfly that shut."
"Let me do it."
"Sam." Dean didn't budge; he just stood there, expectantly, holding the bandage.
Sam huffed out a breath, but dropped his hand and the facecloth into his lap.
Dean took a step closer, eyes narrowing as he studied the gash. It ran in a jagged line down Sam's temple from inside his hairline to the base of his eye. It would have waitresses of all ages fussing over his brother for the next week, but the damage was mostly superficial. Sam had quickly regained his balance and his senses as they moved through the tunnel. He'd also made it to the car under his own steam while Dean returned their equipment to Gus, blaming Sam's injury and their shortened trip on falling rubble.
On the ride home, Sam had admitted to a headache but, as far as Dean could tell, a concussion seemed unlikely.
"Dude, any day now. My ass is asleep from sitting so long."
"Yeah, yeah." Sam's bitching pulled Dean from his reverie. He quickly pulled the skin together, pressed three butterfly bandages in place along the gash, then covered the whole thing with a gauze bandage. "Keep that on overnight-to protect the bedding more than your head," he added when he saw Sam about to object. "We're almost out of cash. We need our damage deposit back."
Sam bit back his protest and nodded. He glanced up at Dean as he ran his fingers lightly over the bandage. "Thanks, but your bedside manner needs a serious overhaul."
"Bitch-and you're welcome." Dean grabbed an amber pill bottle from the first-aid kit and pressed it into his brother's hand. "Two of those should kill the headache. Gatorade's in the cooler."
Sam groaned as he stood up but was steady as walked back into the room.
While packing up the first-aid supplies, Dean watched surreptitiously through the bathroom mirror as Sam grabbed the drink and downed the pills. "You got any idea what the hell those things were that came after us?"
Sam put down his drink on the nightstand and pulled off his long-sleeved shirt, rolled it into a ball, and shoved it into the duffel pocket that held dirty clothes. "The obvious answer is spirits of dead miners, but their eyes…" He turned to Dean. "You saw them, right? The weird eyes?"
"Yeah." Dean washed his hands, then walked back into the room while drying them on a hand towel. "I mean, I saw the eyes of the bastard trying to choke me and rip out my jugular. You saying the others had the creepy white eyes, too?"
Sam nodded. "They're kinda hard to miss." He sank down on the edge of his bed and toed off his boots. "What would make a spirit's eyes turn white?"
Dean shook his head. "Maybe that's something we should ask the mayor. First he screws with the coroner's reports on the victims. Second, he flips out when he finds the old mine's been breached and wants it sealed up pronto. Pretty damn sure he's got some idea about what's going on down there."
Sam pulled his legs up onto the bed and fell back onto the pillows with a groan. "But you know he's gonna stonewall us. What about that, um, Miss Gwyn that Matt told us about? She's likely to be more cooperative."
"Then I say we divide and conquer." Dean sank down onto the edge of his lumpy motel mattress, facing Sam. "Old ladies love you. Must be that puppy-dog thing you do. You talk to the librarian, I'll go see the mayor. I'm much better with dicks."
He froze when he realized what he'd said. Sam was staring in disbelief, his mouth breaking into a wide grin.
"Not a word, Sammy. Not a word." Dean glared at his brother for emphasis. "I mean it, or so help me, head injury or not, I will hit you."
He grabbed clean clothes and disappeared back into the bathroom, the sound of Sam's laughter filling the room even after he slammed the door.
xxxXXXxxx
Mayor Harland Ryder was a round-faced man with thick gray hair and a self-satisfied manner that told Dean he was used to getting his way.
"So you were in the mine yesterday." The mayor was studying his visitor with the same intensity Dean was studying him. "See anything…unusual?"
"Unusual?" Dean's eyes widened innocently. "Like what?"
Mayor Ryder scowled. "Like the source of that damned gas leak."
"Well, yesterday was just a preliminary walk through." Dean smiled, deciding it was time to push the mayor's buttons. "We'll go back in the next day or so. Continue our search."
"The next day or so…." The mayor's expression darkened. "Now look, son. I thought I made myself clear to the mine owners. That old mine is to be closed up immediately. And if that takes men working around the clock to find this damn gas leak, that's what should be happening. If I have to call the owners again and-"
"There really is nothing to worry about as far as the gas is concerned, Mr. Mayor." Dean offered his best smile and kept his voice level and calm, knowing just how much both would piss off the man on the other side of the desk. "Methane is only dangerous to human beings if they're trapped with it in a confined space. The mine crew did a great job venting it. If we're lucky, it'll bleed itself dry and then we won't have to worry about sealing up the old mine at all. We'll just-"
Dean feigned surprise when the mayor slammed his fist on his desk.
"That mine will be closed." Mayor Ryder's face had reddened, his chest heaving noticeably as he fought to reel in his temper. He forced a smile. "It's dangerous. I…I do not want kids getting hurt because they decided to go exploring."
Dean face creased with faux concern. "I understand, Mr. Mayor, but the only way to get into that mine is through the Swancott tunnels. There's no way for John or Jane Public to just wander in there. You can relax on-"
"That's not the point." The mayor was almost shouting. He cleared his throat and dropped his voice back to a conversational tone. "This is not a debate, son. I repeat, that mine will be closed."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, what is it you're so worried about?"
The mayor's eyes glinted with anger. "I am worried about the safety of my constituents. That's all you need concern yourself with."
"You asked before if I saw anything unusual. Well, now I think of it…." Dean leaned forward in his chair, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Have you heard any stories about…about ghosts in that mine?"
Mayor Ryder blanched. "Ghosts?" He quickly schooled his features. "Ghost stories are for children, boy."
"Funny." Dean bit back a smile. "I'd have sworn you were a believer because, right now, you sure look like you've seen a ghost. Now, I'm not judging. I've seen some weird stuff in my time too, but-"
"I believe our time is up." The mayor stood suddenly. "You go bothering folk with Halloween stories and I'll make sure you're on the unemployment line by week's end. You find the source of that gas leak and you get that mine closed. End of story. We clear?"
"Crystal." Dean grinned as he stood up, offering the mayor his hand. The mayor made no move to reciprocate. "Alrighty then. Back to work it is. Mr. Mayor." With a wink, Dean turned and left the mayor's office.
He pulled out his phone and punched in Sam's number as he jogged down the town hall steps.
"Dean?"
"The mayor definitely knows something about those ghosts. Threatened to get me fired if I kept talking about 'em. You got anything?"
"Think so. I'm still at the diner with Miss Gwyn."
"Still?" Dean stepped off the curb and rounded the Impala. "You're slipping, Sammy. Guess you should've worn the tighter t-shirt."
"Dude, just meet us here."
Dean grinned. "Be there in fifteen."
He found a parking spot easily, and less than ten minutes after hanging up the phone entered the diner. A bell jangled as he pushed open the door. Stepping inside was a bit like stepping back into the 1950s. A counter ran the length of the restaurant, red swivel stools anchored in front of it. Red vinyl booths lined two of the walls, while small chrome and laminate tables filled the center. There were a dozen or so customers spread throughout the diner, but it was easy to find Sam, who was sitting in the middle booth by the far window, towering over the tiny white-haired woman on the opposite seat.
As he approached, he noted an empty plate in front of his brother, a few crumbs all that remained of whatever he'd had to eat. Sam cradled a mug of coffee in his hands as he listened intently to Miss Gwyn. The librarian's pastry was only half-eaten, her fork placed neatly on the plate beside it, while she refilled her cup from a china teapot decorated with red roses.
She set down the pot and looked up curiously as Dean approached the table. "If I was a betting woman, I'd say this is your brother, Dean."
Sam looked up and nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He slid across the seat, moving closer to the window to make room for Dean, pulling his mug and empty plate with him. "Dean, I'd like you meet Miss Gwyn Jones, retired Anderson County librarian and local historian."
Miss Gwyn smiled at Sam, obviously smitten with his little brother. "You flatter me, Sam." She waved a hand, inviting Dean to sit down. "But the truth of the matter is, that's just a fancy way of saying I love books and I'm nosy." Her smile widened as Sam blushed. "Both of which are true, by the way."
"It's a pleasure, ma'am." Dean sank into the booth beside Sam. He flashed his most genuine smile; there was something eminently likeable about Miss Gwyn, a rare quality in the people who populated the Winchesters' universe. "And I've always found a healthy curiosity a very attractive, and useful, trait."
"Indeed?" Miss Gwyn's blue eyes, clear and bright despite her age, studied him intently.
Dean guessed she was around eighty. She was small and trim, her snow-white hair pulled back in a neat bun, her simple yellow dress topped with a white cardigan.
The lines around her eyes and mouth deepened as she returned his smile. "I'll bet you've stirred up some trouble in your time, young man. That many a young lady's will has melted under that smile."
Now it was Dean's turn to blush. He kicked Sam under the table when his brother snorted softly. "So, what have you two crazy kids been chatting about, huh? Wanna fill me in?"
"First things first. Where are my manners?" Miss Gwyn raised an arthritic hand to summon the big man behind the restaurant counter.
He wore a cook's white t-shirt, pants and apron and cast a suspicious glance at the brothers as he approached the table. "You okay, Miss Gwyn? These boys bothering you?"
"Not at all. They are my guests." She smiled sweetly. "But I thank you for your concern, Molly."
"Molly?" Dean looked in surprise at the big, balding man, his apron knotted in front over a good-sized beer gut. "You're the Molly in Molly's Diner?"
"Gentlemen, may I introduce Mr. Mollsworth Tipton, the former star linebacker for the Davy Crockett High School Lions, former hellion in my library, and now maker of the best honeybuns this side of the Smoky Mountains." Miss Gwyn nodded at the brothers. "Molly, this is Dean and Sam. They lived in Clinton for a brief time before their daddy's work took them out of state. They're in town on business and dropped by to say hello to their old librarian. Sam here seems to think I may have played some role in him being accepted at Stanford."
Molly's protective demeanor relaxed a little. "Stanford, huh?" He took in Sam's height and the width of his shoulders. "You play for the Cards?"
Sam shook his head. "No, um, law school didn't leave much time for football."
Dean kept his expression neutral as he listened to the exchange, piecing together what had happened in his absence. Sam had obviously earned Miss Gwyn's trust, to the point that whatever fiction he'd fed her as the reason they were in town, she now felt comfortable embroidering those lies for Molly to keep his suspicions at bay. They had an ally in this Miss Gwyn.
"Dean?"
He tuned back in when he realized Miss Gwyn was looking at him curiously. "Ma'am?"
"Your coffee. How do you take it?"
"Black, thanks."
Miss Gwyn turned to Molly. "That's it then, a coffee and a honeybun for Dean, and a refill for Sam."
Molly nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Miss Gwyn cast a subtle glance around the restaurant as she sipped her tea. "I can see the tongues are wagging already, wondering why I have two such handsome gentlemen callers." She set down her cup and winked at the brothers. "Well, let them talk. At my stage of life, rumors like that can only enhance my reputation."
Dean looked a little shocked but Sam snorted, a wide grin creasing his face.
Miss Gwyn smoothed the napkin in her lap. "Now, before you arrived, Dean, Sam was telling me about the real purpose for your visit to Camden Hollow - that you don't believe animals are responsible for the horrible deaths that have been in the papers recently."
Great. Dean's smile froze in place. He'd arrived right at the point where they told the nice old lady that ghosts are real, and they hunted them. There was a damn good chance he wouldn't get so much as a bite of one of Molly's famous pastries before Miss Gwyn kicked their asses to the curb.
Sam seemed to read his mind. "It's okay, Dean. I told Miss Gwyn what we do, and she didn't throw her honeybun at me or tell me to get the hell…er, heck outta Dodge."
That news raised Dean's eyebrow.
Miss Gwyn chuckled. "I'm eighty-four years old, Dean. In my lifetime, I've heard things that would likely curl your toes - even knowing what you do for a living. I've read ghost stories since I was a little girl and, over the years, the historian in me has discovered most are based in fact. To dismiss something because you haven't seen it is a sign of a closed mind and, to me, there's nothing more dangerous."
Dean leaned forward, his smile returning. "Miss Gwyn, I think I'm falling in love with you."
"Oh, don't tease." The librarian winked at him. "But if I were just six decades younger, I bet we could have had some fun." She took another sip of her tea. "But the reason for your visit is serious, so let's get back to business. If you believe a spirit is responsible for the deaths of those poor men, do you know who it is…or was?"
Sam kept his voice low. "We believe there's more than one spirit and they were released accidentally when an explosion opened a Civil War-era mine adjacent to the Swancott operation. It could be related to a battle on South Mountain between state forces and miners fighting for safer working conditions, but what we don't know is how these spirits are picking their victims or why they're killing them so violently. If we can figure out who they are, it might help us answer the other questions."
"These spirits…." Miss Gwyn raised a hand and pointed to the purple and red bruising that ran from Sam's hairline to the base of his left eye. "Are they responsible for that?"
"Yeah." Like Sam, Dean spoke quietly. "We checked out the tunnel yesterday - had a close encounter with these bitches, er, bad guys. That's how Sammy here got the shiner. Looks like there's at least three of them. Strangest thing about them, though, was their eyes, all white with just the tiniest black pupil."
Miss Gwyn's teacup froze halfway to her mouth. Dean and Sam glanced at each other but didn't get a chance to question her reaction since Molly chose that moment to return with their order. All three sat in silence as he placed Dean's honeybun in front of him, then filled up each brother's mug with coffee.
The diner owner turned to Miss Gwyn. "Can I get you anything else?"
Miss Gwyn smiled like they had been discussing nothing more controversial than the weather. "Thank you, Molly. Everything was wonderful, as always. Please put all this on my tab."
"No, please, we can't let you do that." Sam reached into his pocket for his wallet. "You're helping us. We'll take care of this."
"Put your wallet away, young man." Miss Gwyn's tone was all librarian. "You are my guests and this will be my treat. Thank you, Molly."
"Yes, ma'am." The diner owner returned to the kitchen, leaving the three of them alone again.
"If you succeed in hunting down these spirits, preventing anyone else from being hurt or killed, this town will be in your debt." Miss Gwyn picked up her fork. "Now, please, enjoy your coffee." She silenced Dean's objection with a simple look. "I can help you, but here is not the place to have that discussion. When we're done, I would appreciate it if you gentlemen would escort me home. There, we can talk in private." She motioned to Dean's honeybun. "Come on, try that. Ask your brother. It really is as good as they say."
xxxXXXxxx
Miss Gwyn's living room reminded Sam a lot of Bobby's study, except neater. Much neater. Books covered every wall but, unlike Bobby's where haphazard stacks spilled onto the floor and any available flat surface, here they were all neatly arranged on shelves, and likely catalogued using the Dewey Decimal system, too.
Miss Gwyn motioned for the brothers to take a seat on her big, overstuffed floral couch before settling into a wing chair opposite them. "I apologize if I seemed abrupt at the diner but your description of the miners startled me, brought back memories of a story I haven't thought about in many, many years."
Sam leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands. "So you've heard of the white-eyed miners?"
"Indeed." She pointed to a framed sepia photo on the mantle. "The man in the clerical collar is my granddaddy, Pastor Llewellyn Jones. My parents and I lived with him in a big old drafty house outside town. Folks would often stop by to talk to Granddaddy about things troubling them and, yes, to sometimes confess their sins."
Miss Gwyn threaded her fingers together and settled her hands in her lap, her eyes taking on a faraway look as she tapped into dusty memories. "One night, after bedtime when I was nine or ten, I'd snuck downstairs to his study to get a new book. When the door opened, I hid, knowing I'd be in trouble if I was found downstairs when I should be sleeping. Granddaddy came in with a friend of his, Jeb Clayton, and they settled into the two big leather chairs by the fireplace to talk. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but…."
"You were kinda stuck." Dean leaned forward, encouraging Miss Gwyn to continue.
"Yes. Turns out Jeb had been feeling poorly of late and wanted to get something off his chest if it was time to meet his Maker. Many years before, he'd been part of a hunting party that…." She glanced from Sam to Dean. "Let's just say he played a role in one of this state's dirtiest secrets."
Sam, too, was intrigued. "Please, go on."
"Let me back up a bit." Miss Gwyn cleared her throat. "You know the history of that old mine you were in? That it was established to provide coal for the Confederacy?"
"Yes." Dean sat back. "And it was shut down shortly after the war ended."
Miss Gwyn shook her head. "That's where history becomes fiction in our town records, I'm afraid. In 1862, there was cave-in at the mine and twenty-eight men were trapped underground. Their coworkers on the surface toiled day and night trying to free them, but then the mine bosses got word the Union Army was moving into Eastern Tennessee." The librarian shook her head. "By this point, they knew they were likely on a recovery mission rather than a rescue, so…."
Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "They stopped looking for them?"
Miss Gwyn nodded. "The bosses ordered all the men to abandon the rescue and retreat behind Confederate lines."
Dean glanced at Sam. "So it's the spirits of those abandoned miners we're looking for."
"Yes and no." Miss Gwyn shifted uncomfortably. "What nobody above ground knew was that when the rescue was called off, many of the trapped miners were still alive, frantically trying to claw their way to the surface under the misguided belief that their coworkers were still digging their way down to them."
Sam frowned. "But if no one knew they were still alive, how does anyone know what happened to-" He sat back in surprise. "Damn. They got out, didn't they?"
Miss Gwyn nodded. "They collected water where it dripped through crevices, and drank their own urine. They ate bugs and rats, eventually even the bodies of their fellow miners. Days stretched into weeks and more of them died. They never stopped trying to get out, but they lost all track of time and their minds started to break. Then, almost a month later, a handful of survivors made it to the surface."
"Son of a..." Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say they were royally pissed to find crickets chirping where a rescue party should be."
"They snapped." Miss Gwyn shook her head sadly. "What little was left of their sanity vanished the moment they found out they'd been abandoned and left for dead by their employers and so-called friends."
Sam frowned. "Being underground all that time, there'd be no light. Is that what-?"
"Turned their eyes white?" Miss Gwyn nodded. "So the story goes. The survivors eventually made their way back to their homes but were quickly ostracized. They'd changed in ways there was no turning back from. They became known as white-eyed freaks and were forced to retreat into the backwoods of South Mountain. They lived there alone, their anger and isolation further fueling their madness."
Dean glanced over at Sam. "That explains their spirits' ability to leave the mine. They were trapped in the woods in the same way they were trapped in the mine."
"Almost the same way." Miss Gwyn again looked uncomfortable. "The miners stayed hidden until they'd almost been forgotten. Their families preferred to believe they'd died in that mine disaster. A more noble death, I suppose, than becoming a kind of freak.
"But the miners hadn't forgotten the way they'd been treated and, one night, they began to seek their revenge. They started hunting down all those who abandoned them…left them for dead." She closed her eyes. "Their attacks were savage, animalistic…. They ripped out their victims throats with their bare teeth…."
Sam swallowed. "Just like the four recent attacks."
Miss Gwyn looked shocked. "What?"
"Sorry." Sam smiled apologetically. "That information wasn't made public, but the four men who died recently…they, um, were killed the same way."
Dean jumped in to get Miss Gwyn's thoughts off that horrific image and back to her story. "What happened to the freaks? Did anyone try to stop them?"
"Oh, yes." The librarian turned to Dean. "The town council of the day formed a posse to hunt them down. They shot any they found but the last three white-eyed men ran into the old mine to hide. They knew they had an advantage there. They could see in the dark far better than any of the men hunting them. The hunting party followed them in, hoping to corner them but there were a few skirmishes, two of the hunters were killed and the hunt was called off."
Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "They just gave up?"
"No." Miss Gwyn's eyes were glassy with emotion. "They blew up both entrances to the mine, sealing the three surviving men inside."
Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Leaving them to relive their worst nightmare en route to a slow death."
Miss Gwyn nodded. "They even posted guards at both entrances for almost two months to make sure they didn't dig their way free. The mayor of the day, Ezekiel Ryder, made each man on the posse swear on a Bible they would never tell anyone what they'd done. The official story was that the miners simply vanished into the backwoods, never to be seen or heard from again. No one ever spoke of it and, eventually, it all disappeared from the pages of our history."
The librarian glanced at the photo on the mantel. "Jeb Clayton, my granddaddy's friend, he was a young teen when it happened, but he rode with his daddy as part of the hunting party. What they did, and keeping it secret, it gnawed at his conscience the rest of his life. He was an old man when he came to Granddaddy that night, and it was to ask forgiveness-for himself and the souls of all the miners. They prayed together, then Granddaddy went up to the mine and offered a blessing for the lost souls up there."
Dean glanced over at Sam. "I'd say that blessing didn't get through."
Sam frowned. "You said the mayor who swore them to secrecy was a man named Ryder. Any relation to the current mayor?"
Miss Gwyn nodded. "Mayor Harland Ryder is the fifth generation of his family to take office in this town. Been one Ryder or another in power for as long as I've been alive."
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "And that's why the mayor wants the door slammed shut on that mine. If anyone goes poking around in there and finds human remains, finds out what his ancestor did-"
"They're gonna shake loose a few skeletons from the Ryder family tree." Sam pulled his notebook from his pocket, flipped it open, then glanced over at Miss Gwyn. "One of the victims of the recent attacks was a Lloyd Clayton. Could he be any relation to your grandfather's friend?"
Miss Gwyn thought for a moment. "Lloyd's daddy is Tom, and Tom was the son of Ezra Clayton. Yes, I believe you're right. Ezra was Jeb's grandson."
Sam tapped the notebook as he turned to Dean. "I'll bet if we check the family trees of each of these victims, they'd all be descendents of the men who hunted down the white-eyed freaks. These spirits still want revenge, and they don't seem to care that their victims are five generations removed."
Dean shook his head. "And that would put the mayor on that hit list. The mine stays open and either someone finds those bones or the spirits find a way to get to old Harland. Either way, it makes it clear why he's so horny to get the mine door slammed shut."
Sam raked his fingers through his hair. "'Course, closing the door won't do any good now."
Miss Gwyn looked puzzled. "I'll admit, gentlemen, I'm a little out of depth here, but the mine has been sealed up all these years and there were no attacks. If you re-seal the mine, why wouldn't that stop them?"
Dean shrugged. "To vent the gas, engineers punched holes all through the mine, all offering access to the backwoods and all serving as escape hatches for the spirits. Even with the mine breach closed, they can come and go as they please."
"Oh." Miss Gwyn's frown remained as she turned and stared at Sam's black eye. "But tell me this, if they're only going after the descendents of the men who originally hunted them, why did they attack you? Your family played no role in their fate."
Sam ran his fingers over his bruised eye. "No, but we were carrying guns and we were hunting them in that mine. Once we pulled the trigger, it was no big stretch to add us to their hit list."
Miss Gwyn looked troubled by that piece of information. "So how do you stop them from hurting you, or anyone else?"
Dean smiled. "We head back to the mine, we find their remains, and destroy them."
To be continued...
To Chapter 3
SUMMARY: Casefic. There's something out there in the dark, ripping its victims apart - and now it has Sam and Dean in its sights.
SPOILERS: Set Season 4-ish. A casefic which takes place in-between canon hunts.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke & Co. I am playing in their sandbox, with their toys, with much gratitude.
RATING: T for some swearing.
WORD COUNT: 27K
GENRE: Gen/Hurt-Comfort/Adventure
Link back to Chapter 1 Here
STAY IN THE LIGHT - CHAPTER 2
"You boys all set?" The question came from Gus Cadwalader, the burly Swancott foreman assigned to suit up the Winchesters for their trek into the old mine.
After zipping up his bright orange coveralls, Dean nodded at Gus. He adjusted his hard hat, then reached down to his waist and flicked the switch on the battery pack on his belt to ensure the helmet light was working. "Let's get this show on the road."
The mine owners had been working with the Environmental Protection Agency over the gas leak that had triggered the recent explosion. After a stop at Kwik Kopy for new IDs and with some help from Bobby, the brothers had secured access to the mine as EPA agents.
Gus gestured for the brothers to follow him as he left the Swancott offices and headed for the mine entrance. "Listen, we appreciate you fellas coming down here so quickly."
Sam grabbed his air tanks and mask, which looked much like those used by firefighters, and fell in step behind Gus and his brother. "Mind me asking why the rush? I mean, this is not a working mine and you've vented it. Standard procedure is to let it bleed out so, why the S.O.S.?" He ignored the "Geek" Dean mouthed at him behind Gus's back.
Gus just shook his head. "You can thank our mayor for any overtime you put in on this trip. Trust me, we were prepared to let the gas bleed out. Mayor Ryder's the one who wants the shutdown fast-tracked."
Dean exchanged looks with Sam. "Why's the mayor got his panties in a bunch?"
Gus shrugged. "After he heard the old mine had been breached, he showed up here the next day, demanding we close it up ASAP and telling anyone who'd listen how dangerous it was. Didn't take too kindly to hearing that it was even more dangerous to seal it up before all the gas was vented."
Dean slung his small duffel over his shoulder. "Any of the gas bleeding into the working mine?"
Gus shook his head. "Like I said, it's venting safely. As far as we're concerned, it was just a matter of monitoring the emissions. Mayor Ryder nearly turned purple though when I told him that. Guess he's got some pull with the mine owners because now you're here. Anyway, your ride's over here." He gestured toward a vehicle that resembled a flattened dune buggy as he turned to Sam. "You clear where to park it?
Sam nodded. "Tunnel 26F."
"Good." Gus helped the brothers stow their gear in the back of the vehicle. "Breathing gear is mandatory beyond that point. We've given you dual tanks and a spare, each with a breathing capacity of about three hours. As I'm sure you know, the deeper you go, the faster you move…." He shot a glance at Sam. "The bigger you are, the more air you use. Watch your gauges and give yourselves plenty of time to get back topside.
"If you plan to talk to each other, make sure your radios are plugged in before you put your gear on. Oh, and you'll need these, too." Gus handed Sam a folded piece of paper and a can of spray paint. "That's a map of the mine. It's old and incomplete but, trust me, you'll need it. It's pitch black down there and nothing's signposted. Spraypaint's fluorescent, so mark your way as your go. Last thing I need is you two lost in there."
Dean snorted. "Trust me, that's the last thing I need, too."
Gus nodded. "If you find the source, set the explosives, clear out, and we'll blow it after quitting time. Just remember what I told you, and you'll be safe. Can't say you'll be comfortable." He glanced again at Sam. "'Specially you, son. Mines just weren't built for men your size."
"A lot of things weren't built for men his size," Dean muttered as he slid behind the wheel of the mantrip, the name Gus had used for the vehicle that would take them into the mine. Once in the driver's seat, he was almost lying down. "This supposed to be like this?"
Gus smiled as he pressed a switch on the steering column that dropped the wheel to within Dean's reach from his reclined position. "We don't waste time digging great big entrance halls to our mines. We just need enough space to get this buggy through and get us to where the coal is. In some places, the ceiling ain't more than three feet high. You sit up, you're gonna lose your head." He turned to Sam. "Lie down behind him and be prepared to duck." His smile faded. "I'm serious, fellas. Watch yourselves."
Dean glanced over his shoulder. "You all tucked in, Sammy?"
"Good to go." Sam was lying on the seat behind Dean, stretched width-wise across the mantrip and resting on his elbows.
Dean pressed the button to start the electric engine. "Later, Gus. Thanks."
Gus nodded, shouting over the engine noise, "Like I said, watch yourselves."
Dean gave Gus a casual salute, then hit the accelerator and moved forward into the tunnel. Sam held onto his hardhat as the tunnel bounced them around inside the mantrip, then slid down even further after his helmet bounced off the ceiling a second time.
It took them about fifteen minutes of snaking down through the mountain before the tunnel opened up to the point where Sam could sit up without fear of cracking his head. It was another ten minutes before they reached the tunnel that now offered access to the old mine.
Dean eased the mantrip to a halt when the vehicle lights picked up 26F spray-painted on the rock wall, and shut off the engine. "We hoof it from here, right?"
Sam nodded, groaning lightly as he unfolded himself from the vehicle and stood up. "The old tunnel's too narrow for the mantrip, so- Ow!"
Dean snorted as Sam's head hit the ceiling, his helmet tipping at a comical angle.
"Jerk." Sam took off his helmet and hunched over slightly as he grabbed his air tanks, threaded his arms through the harness that would hold them on his back and fastened the straps across his chest. "Guess sometimes it pays to be short."
"Hey, I don't fit either, asshat." Dean stood slowly, deliberately not quite straightening up as he pulled on his breathing gear. "You got the map?"
Sam nodded. After settling the mask over his face, he plugged in his radio, opened the air flow valve and then replaced his helmet. As Dean did the same, Sam pulled the map from the zippered breast pocket of his coveralls, checked it, then motioned to their left. "We go that way."
Dean unzipped his duffel and handed Sam one of the two air rifles he'd adapted to fire salt shot. Since shotguns and gas didn't play nice together, he'd been forced to get creative when it came to a way to protect themselves from any angry spirits they may run into in the mine.
Sam quickly inspected the weapon. "Uses compressed co2, right?"
Dean nodded. "Won't blow us up when we fire it, but the range sucks. Make sure you're close before pulling the trigger."
Sam snorted at that. "Getting close to fuglies never seems to be a problem."
Dean couldn't disagree with that. He grabbed the EMF, which stayed quiet, slung the duffel back on his shoulder and headed down the tunnel with Sam on his heels. The tunnel was much like the one they'd driven down, just smaller in scale. As Gus had promised, it was pitch black except for the lights on their helmets and the temperature was cool but comfortable. The foreman had told them that the mine stayed around 65° Fahrenheit year-round, no matter what the outside temperature.
After walking for about ten minutes, the brothers' pace slowed when the tunnel floor became littered with debris.
"And here it is." Dean came to a sudden halt when the beam from his helmet lamp fell on a large hole in the wall to their right, the opening blocked off with yellow Caution tape and a big Do Not Enter: Unsafe sign. Dean moved toward the opening, poking his head through the tape to see what was beyond.
It was then that the EMF meter in his pocket screeched.
Dean shot Sam a look, yanked down the tape, and moved cautiously into the old mine. Sam tucked the map into his pocket and, once again, fell in step behind his brother.
The age of the tunnel was evident in the way it was constructed. Instead of the metal support beams that braced the modern mine tunnels, this one was held up by wooden railroad ties every ten to fifteen feet, the wood gray and cracked with age.
The farther they walked into the old mine, the louder the EMF wailed. After about thirty minutes, Dean came to a sudden halt when the Plexiglas of his breathing mask began to frost at the edges. "Heads up, Sammy. We've got company."
Like Dean, Sam had his gun raised. He adjusted his grip on the trigger, then shuddered as the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Turning suddenly, he started at the sight of a large man who appeared out of nowhere behind him. Instinct kicked in and he fired, the spirit snapping his head away from Sam and shielding his eyes with an agonized yell as he dissipated under the rock salt shot.
"Sam?"
Seeing nothing else behind him, Sam turned to face his brother. "It was- Dean, down!" He fired over his brother as Dean hit the dirt, his shot hitting a small, skinny man square in the chest. Like the first spirit, this ghost raised his arm as the beam from Sam's helmet light hit him a second before the salt shot.
Dean's eyes were wide as he looked up at Sam. "Mind telling me what you're shooting at?"
Sam was still scanning the tunnel as he offered a hand to help Dean up. "Spirit, or, technically, two of 'em."
"Two?" Dean grabbed Sam's wrist and hauled himself to his feet. "Two different ghosts?"
Sam nodded. "One big guy, one smaller guy. Both kinda skinny."
"Son of a bitch," Dean spat. "'Cause one spook isn't enough. We-" He shoved Sam out of the way, raised his gun, and fired at the ghost that appeared suddenly behind his brother.
Sam's eyes were wide as he turned to Dean. "Big one or little one?"
Dean shrugged. "Compared to what? Looked kinda medium to me. He-"
Sam grunted when a large chunk of rock slammed into the side of his head. His helmet was knocked off as he hit the wall and slid down it.
Dean spun in the direction the rock came from but the gun was pulled from his hands as he raised it. Something slammed into his chest, forcing the air from his lungs as it knocked him to the tunnel floor. His helmet was jarred loose when he landed and, for a brief moment as the beam of the lamp swung around, he caught a glimpse of the spirit kneeling on his chest. He was big but skinny, his clothes filthy, baggy and ragged, and he had a full beard covering his face. But it was his eyes that were instantly memorable: all white except for pinprick black pupils. He snarled and lunged down at Dean just as the light disappeared and he was once again cloaked by darkness.
Dean couldn't breathe; the specter had its hands clamped tightly around his throat. He coughed and choked as he fought to free himself, his struggles intensifying when he realized the spirit was also pushing his head to the side. Images of the victim in the morgue filled his head: the throat ripped open, the skin jagged and torn.
"Hey!"
Sam's deep shout echoed through the tunnel at the same time a brilliant flashlight beam hit the spirit. The ghost threw its arm across its face to hide from the light, its scream of rage feral and easily overpowering the thud from Sam's gun. The spirit dissipated, and so to did the pressure on Dean's chest and throat.
Dean coughed and retched as he sucked in air greedily, rolling onto his side and grabbing for his gun and his helmet. He settled the helmet back on his head as he shakily sat up and looked over at Sam.
His brother was still sitting on the tunnel floor, legs stretched out in front of him, his gun in one hand, their big Mag-Lite in the other. Sam's helmet was on the ground beside him but still tethered to the battery pack on his belt, the light pointing up the tunnel in the direction they'd come.
Sam's eyes were screwed closed, but it was the blood running down his temple along the edge of his mask that grabbed Dean's attention.
"Sammy?"
Sam let his head fall back against the tunnel wall and forced open his eyes, squinting over at Dean. "Y'okay?"
Dean snorted as he dragged himself closer to Sam. "You're the one bleeding."
"What?" When Dean gestured to the side of his head, Sam pressed his fingers there and winced. "Oh. It's…nothing." He glanced down the tunnel. "The spirits…don't think they like…the light." He turned back to Dean. "We need to…to keep the light on."
Dean was at Sam's side now, fingers locked on his brother's chin and gently turning his head to inspect the injury. The mask made it hard to examine but the cut didn't look deep, probably wouldn't even need stitches, but like most head wounds was bleeding heavily. Dean cast a wary eye around the tunnel. "Sure you're okay?"
"Yeah." Sam blinked slowly as he looked up at Dean. "We should go."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious." Dean carefully placed Sam's helmet back on his head, then grabbed their duffel before threading his left arm behind Sam's back. "On three. Two…three."
With a synchronized grunt, the brothers pushed themselves to their feet. Dean tightened his grip on Sam's shirt as his brother swayed, then relaxed his hold as Sam found his balance. "Seriously, Sammy. You good, or you gonna faceplant on me?"
"M'good." Sam frowned as he stared down at the Mag-Lite still tightly gripped in his hand. He fumbled with it a bit as he turned it around so the beam was pointing behind them. He looked across at Dean and offered a tired smile. "They always came from behind-in the dark." He swallowed. "Gotta make sure they don't sneak up on us. Again."
Dean smiled. "That Ivy League brain of yours may be dented, but it's still working better than most." He glanced around again. "But I've got another idea."
He fumbled through his duffel, pulled out a canister of salt and poured a thick line across the width of the mine. "If they're behind us, they're staying behind us…." Dean picked up their guns, then pulled Sam's arm across his shoulders and starting moving back toward the mantrip. "But keep that light on in case they bounced this side of the line." He swallowed. "Now let's get back topside, and figure out who the hell these bastards are."
xxxXXXxxx
"Ow!"
"Hold still, you big baby. I"ve gotta get the dirt out."
"Damn it, Dean, I can do it myself."
"No, you can't. It's on your temple. You'd be working half-blind. Now quit squirming. You weren't this bad when you five and fell off that swing set."
"Well, you weren't such a jackass back then- Son of a bitch!"
"And you didn't have such a potty mouth. Okay, fair's fair. Guess I should've warned you about the antiseptic. Stings, huh?"
"Sadist." Sam was sitting on the closed toilet seat, holding a clean facecloth to his temple and glaring up at Dean. "I think we're done."
"Not quite." Dean capped the bottle of antiseptic, then grabbed a butterfly bandage from the first-aid kit open on the vanity. "I've got to butterfly that shut."
"Let me do it."
"Sam." Dean didn't budge; he just stood there, expectantly, holding the bandage.
Sam huffed out a breath, but dropped his hand and the facecloth into his lap.
Dean took a step closer, eyes narrowing as he studied the gash. It ran in a jagged line down Sam's temple from inside his hairline to the base of his eye. It would have waitresses of all ages fussing over his brother for the next week, but the damage was mostly superficial. Sam had quickly regained his balance and his senses as they moved through the tunnel. He'd also made it to the car under his own steam while Dean returned their equipment to Gus, blaming Sam's injury and their shortened trip on falling rubble.
On the ride home, Sam had admitted to a headache but, as far as Dean could tell, a concussion seemed unlikely.
"Dude, any day now. My ass is asleep from sitting so long."
"Yeah, yeah." Sam's bitching pulled Dean from his reverie. He quickly pulled the skin together, pressed three butterfly bandages in place along the gash, then covered the whole thing with a gauze bandage. "Keep that on overnight-to protect the bedding more than your head," he added when he saw Sam about to object. "We're almost out of cash. We need our damage deposit back."
Sam bit back his protest and nodded. He glanced up at Dean as he ran his fingers lightly over the bandage. "Thanks, but your bedside manner needs a serious overhaul."
"Bitch-and you're welcome." Dean grabbed an amber pill bottle from the first-aid kit and pressed it into his brother's hand. "Two of those should kill the headache. Gatorade's in the cooler."
Sam groaned as he stood up but was steady as walked back into the room.
While packing up the first-aid supplies, Dean watched surreptitiously through the bathroom mirror as Sam grabbed the drink and downed the pills. "You got any idea what the hell those things were that came after us?"
Sam put down his drink on the nightstand and pulled off his long-sleeved shirt, rolled it into a ball, and shoved it into the duffel pocket that held dirty clothes. "The obvious answer is spirits of dead miners, but their eyes…" He turned to Dean. "You saw them, right? The weird eyes?"
"Yeah." Dean washed his hands, then walked back into the room while drying them on a hand towel. "I mean, I saw the eyes of the bastard trying to choke me and rip out my jugular. You saying the others had the creepy white eyes, too?"
Sam nodded. "They're kinda hard to miss." He sank down on the edge of his bed and toed off his boots. "What would make a spirit's eyes turn white?"
Dean shook his head. "Maybe that's something we should ask the mayor. First he screws with the coroner's reports on the victims. Second, he flips out when he finds the old mine's been breached and wants it sealed up pronto. Pretty damn sure he's got some idea about what's going on down there."
Sam pulled his legs up onto the bed and fell back onto the pillows with a groan. "But you know he's gonna stonewall us. What about that, um, Miss Gwyn that Matt told us about? She's likely to be more cooperative."
"Then I say we divide and conquer." Dean sank down onto the edge of his lumpy motel mattress, facing Sam. "Old ladies love you. Must be that puppy-dog thing you do. You talk to the librarian, I'll go see the mayor. I'm much better with dicks."
He froze when he realized what he'd said. Sam was staring in disbelief, his mouth breaking into a wide grin.
"Not a word, Sammy. Not a word." Dean glared at his brother for emphasis. "I mean it, or so help me, head injury or not, I will hit you."
He grabbed clean clothes and disappeared back into the bathroom, the sound of Sam's laughter filling the room even after he slammed the door.
xxxXXXxxx
Mayor Harland Ryder was a round-faced man with thick gray hair and a self-satisfied manner that told Dean he was used to getting his way.
"So you were in the mine yesterday." The mayor was studying his visitor with the same intensity Dean was studying him. "See anything…unusual?"
"Unusual?" Dean's eyes widened innocently. "Like what?"
Mayor Ryder scowled. "Like the source of that damned gas leak."
"Well, yesterday was just a preliminary walk through." Dean smiled, deciding it was time to push the mayor's buttons. "We'll go back in the next day or so. Continue our search."
"The next day or so…." The mayor's expression darkened. "Now look, son. I thought I made myself clear to the mine owners. That old mine is to be closed up immediately. And if that takes men working around the clock to find this damn gas leak, that's what should be happening. If I have to call the owners again and-"
"There really is nothing to worry about as far as the gas is concerned, Mr. Mayor." Dean offered his best smile and kept his voice level and calm, knowing just how much both would piss off the man on the other side of the desk. "Methane is only dangerous to human beings if they're trapped with it in a confined space. The mine crew did a great job venting it. If we're lucky, it'll bleed itself dry and then we won't have to worry about sealing up the old mine at all. We'll just-"
Dean feigned surprise when the mayor slammed his fist on his desk.
"That mine will be closed." Mayor Ryder's face had reddened, his chest heaving noticeably as he fought to reel in his temper. He forced a smile. "It's dangerous. I…I do not want kids getting hurt because they decided to go exploring."
Dean face creased with faux concern. "I understand, Mr. Mayor, but the only way to get into that mine is through the Swancott tunnels. There's no way for John or Jane Public to just wander in there. You can relax on-"
"That's not the point." The mayor was almost shouting. He cleared his throat and dropped his voice back to a conversational tone. "This is not a debate, son. I repeat, that mine will be closed."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, what is it you're so worried about?"
The mayor's eyes glinted with anger. "I am worried about the safety of my constituents. That's all you need concern yourself with."
"You asked before if I saw anything unusual. Well, now I think of it…." Dean leaned forward in his chair, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Have you heard any stories about…about ghosts in that mine?"
Mayor Ryder blanched. "Ghosts?" He quickly schooled his features. "Ghost stories are for children, boy."
"Funny." Dean bit back a smile. "I'd have sworn you were a believer because, right now, you sure look like you've seen a ghost. Now, I'm not judging. I've seen some weird stuff in my time too, but-"
"I believe our time is up." The mayor stood suddenly. "You go bothering folk with Halloween stories and I'll make sure you're on the unemployment line by week's end. You find the source of that gas leak and you get that mine closed. End of story. We clear?"
"Crystal." Dean grinned as he stood up, offering the mayor his hand. The mayor made no move to reciprocate. "Alrighty then. Back to work it is. Mr. Mayor." With a wink, Dean turned and left the mayor's office.
He pulled out his phone and punched in Sam's number as he jogged down the town hall steps.
"Dean?"
"The mayor definitely knows something about those ghosts. Threatened to get me fired if I kept talking about 'em. You got anything?"
"Think so. I'm still at the diner with Miss Gwyn."
"Still?" Dean stepped off the curb and rounded the Impala. "You're slipping, Sammy. Guess you should've worn the tighter t-shirt."
"Dude, just meet us here."
Dean grinned. "Be there in fifteen."
He found a parking spot easily, and less than ten minutes after hanging up the phone entered the diner. A bell jangled as he pushed open the door. Stepping inside was a bit like stepping back into the 1950s. A counter ran the length of the restaurant, red swivel stools anchored in front of it. Red vinyl booths lined two of the walls, while small chrome and laminate tables filled the center. There were a dozen or so customers spread throughout the diner, but it was easy to find Sam, who was sitting in the middle booth by the far window, towering over the tiny white-haired woman on the opposite seat.
As he approached, he noted an empty plate in front of his brother, a few crumbs all that remained of whatever he'd had to eat. Sam cradled a mug of coffee in his hands as he listened intently to Miss Gwyn. The librarian's pastry was only half-eaten, her fork placed neatly on the plate beside it, while she refilled her cup from a china teapot decorated with red roses.
She set down the pot and looked up curiously as Dean approached the table. "If I was a betting woman, I'd say this is your brother, Dean."
Sam looked up and nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He slid across the seat, moving closer to the window to make room for Dean, pulling his mug and empty plate with him. "Dean, I'd like you meet Miss Gwyn Jones, retired Anderson County librarian and local historian."
Miss Gwyn smiled at Sam, obviously smitten with his little brother. "You flatter me, Sam." She waved a hand, inviting Dean to sit down. "But the truth of the matter is, that's just a fancy way of saying I love books and I'm nosy." Her smile widened as Sam blushed. "Both of which are true, by the way."
"It's a pleasure, ma'am." Dean sank into the booth beside Sam. He flashed his most genuine smile; there was something eminently likeable about Miss Gwyn, a rare quality in the people who populated the Winchesters' universe. "And I've always found a healthy curiosity a very attractive, and useful, trait."
"Indeed?" Miss Gwyn's blue eyes, clear and bright despite her age, studied him intently.
Dean guessed she was around eighty. She was small and trim, her snow-white hair pulled back in a neat bun, her simple yellow dress topped with a white cardigan.
The lines around her eyes and mouth deepened as she returned his smile. "I'll bet you've stirred up some trouble in your time, young man. That many a young lady's will has melted under that smile."
Now it was Dean's turn to blush. He kicked Sam under the table when his brother snorted softly. "So, what have you two crazy kids been chatting about, huh? Wanna fill me in?"
"First things first. Where are my manners?" Miss Gwyn raised an arthritic hand to summon the big man behind the restaurant counter.
He wore a cook's white t-shirt, pants and apron and cast a suspicious glance at the brothers as he approached the table. "You okay, Miss Gwyn? These boys bothering you?"
"Not at all. They are my guests." She smiled sweetly. "But I thank you for your concern, Molly."
"Molly?" Dean looked in surprise at the big, balding man, his apron knotted in front over a good-sized beer gut. "You're the Molly in Molly's Diner?"
"Gentlemen, may I introduce Mr. Mollsworth Tipton, the former star linebacker for the Davy Crockett High School Lions, former hellion in my library, and now maker of the best honeybuns this side of the Smoky Mountains." Miss Gwyn nodded at the brothers. "Molly, this is Dean and Sam. They lived in Clinton for a brief time before their daddy's work took them out of state. They're in town on business and dropped by to say hello to their old librarian. Sam here seems to think I may have played some role in him being accepted at Stanford."
Molly's protective demeanor relaxed a little. "Stanford, huh?" He took in Sam's height and the width of his shoulders. "You play for the Cards?"
Sam shook his head. "No, um, law school didn't leave much time for football."
Dean kept his expression neutral as he listened to the exchange, piecing together what had happened in his absence. Sam had obviously earned Miss Gwyn's trust, to the point that whatever fiction he'd fed her as the reason they were in town, she now felt comfortable embroidering those lies for Molly to keep his suspicions at bay. They had an ally in this Miss Gwyn.
"Dean?"
He tuned back in when he realized Miss Gwyn was looking at him curiously. "Ma'am?"
"Your coffee. How do you take it?"
"Black, thanks."
Miss Gwyn turned to Molly. "That's it then, a coffee and a honeybun for Dean, and a refill for Sam."
Molly nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Miss Gwyn cast a subtle glance around the restaurant as she sipped her tea. "I can see the tongues are wagging already, wondering why I have two such handsome gentlemen callers." She set down her cup and winked at the brothers. "Well, let them talk. At my stage of life, rumors like that can only enhance my reputation."
Dean looked a little shocked but Sam snorted, a wide grin creasing his face.
Miss Gwyn smoothed the napkin in her lap. "Now, before you arrived, Dean, Sam was telling me about the real purpose for your visit to Camden Hollow - that you don't believe animals are responsible for the horrible deaths that have been in the papers recently."
Great. Dean's smile froze in place. He'd arrived right at the point where they told the nice old lady that ghosts are real, and they hunted them. There was a damn good chance he wouldn't get so much as a bite of one of Molly's famous pastries before Miss Gwyn kicked their asses to the curb.
Sam seemed to read his mind. "It's okay, Dean. I told Miss Gwyn what we do, and she didn't throw her honeybun at me or tell me to get the hell…er, heck outta Dodge."
That news raised Dean's eyebrow.
Miss Gwyn chuckled. "I'm eighty-four years old, Dean. In my lifetime, I've heard things that would likely curl your toes - even knowing what you do for a living. I've read ghost stories since I was a little girl and, over the years, the historian in me has discovered most are based in fact. To dismiss something because you haven't seen it is a sign of a closed mind and, to me, there's nothing more dangerous."
Dean leaned forward, his smile returning. "Miss Gwyn, I think I'm falling in love with you."
"Oh, don't tease." The librarian winked at him. "But if I were just six decades younger, I bet we could have had some fun." She took another sip of her tea. "But the reason for your visit is serious, so let's get back to business. If you believe a spirit is responsible for the deaths of those poor men, do you know who it is…or was?"
Sam kept his voice low. "We believe there's more than one spirit and they were released accidentally when an explosion opened a Civil War-era mine adjacent to the Swancott operation. It could be related to a battle on South Mountain between state forces and miners fighting for safer working conditions, but what we don't know is how these spirits are picking their victims or why they're killing them so violently. If we can figure out who they are, it might help us answer the other questions."
"These spirits…." Miss Gwyn raised a hand and pointed to the purple and red bruising that ran from Sam's hairline to the base of his left eye. "Are they responsible for that?"
"Yeah." Like Sam, Dean spoke quietly. "We checked out the tunnel yesterday - had a close encounter with these bitches, er, bad guys. That's how Sammy here got the shiner. Looks like there's at least three of them. Strangest thing about them, though, was their eyes, all white with just the tiniest black pupil."
Miss Gwyn's teacup froze halfway to her mouth. Dean and Sam glanced at each other but didn't get a chance to question her reaction since Molly chose that moment to return with their order. All three sat in silence as he placed Dean's honeybun in front of him, then filled up each brother's mug with coffee.
The diner owner turned to Miss Gwyn. "Can I get you anything else?"
Miss Gwyn smiled like they had been discussing nothing more controversial than the weather. "Thank you, Molly. Everything was wonderful, as always. Please put all this on my tab."
"No, please, we can't let you do that." Sam reached into his pocket for his wallet. "You're helping us. We'll take care of this."
"Put your wallet away, young man." Miss Gwyn's tone was all librarian. "You are my guests and this will be my treat. Thank you, Molly."
"Yes, ma'am." The diner owner returned to the kitchen, leaving the three of them alone again.
"If you succeed in hunting down these spirits, preventing anyone else from being hurt or killed, this town will be in your debt." Miss Gwyn picked up her fork. "Now, please, enjoy your coffee." She silenced Dean's objection with a simple look. "I can help you, but here is not the place to have that discussion. When we're done, I would appreciate it if you gentlemen would escort me home. There, we can talk in private." She motioned to Dean's honeybun. "Come on, try that. Ask your brother. It really is as good as they say."
xxxXXXxxx
Miss Gwyn's living room reminded Sam a lot of Bobby's study, except neater. Much neater. Books covered every wall but, unlike Bobby's where haphazard stacks spilled onto the floor and any available flat surface, here they were all neatly arranged on shelves, and likely catalogued using the Dewey Decimal system, too.
Miss Gwyn motioned for the brothers to take a seat on her big, overstuffed floral couch before settling into a wing chair opposite them. "I apologize if I seemed abrupt at the diner but your description of the miners startled me, brought back memories of a story I haven't thought about in many, many years."
Sam leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands. "So you've heard of the white-eyed miners?"
"Indeed." She pointed to a framed sepia photo on the mantle. "The man in the clerical collar is my granddaddy, Pastor Llewellyn Jones. My parents and I lived with him in a big old drafty house outside town. Folks would often stop by to talk to Granddaddy about things troubling them and, yes, to sometimes confess their sins."
Miss Gwyn threaded her fingers together and settled her hands in her lap, her eyes taking on a faraway look as she tapped into dusty memories. "One night, after bedtime when I was nine or ten, I'd snuck downstairs to his study to get a new book. When the door opened, I hid, knowing I'd be in trouble if I was found downstairs when I should be sleeping. Granddaddy came in with a friend of his, Jeb Clayton, and they settled into the two big leather chairs by the fireplace to talk. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but…."
"You were kinda stuck." Dean leaned forward, encouraging Miss Gwyn to continue.
"Yes. Turns out Jeb had been feeling poorly of late and wanted to get something off his chest if it was time to meet his Maker. Many years before, he'd been part of a hunting party that…." She glanced from Sam to Dean. "Let's just say he played a role in one of this state's dirtiest secrets."
Sam, too, was intrigued. "Please, go on."
"Let me back up a bit." Miss Gwyn cleared her throat. "You know the history of that old mine you were in? That it was established to provide coal for the Confederacy?"
"Yes." Dean sat back. "And it was shut down shortly after the war ended."
Miss Gwyn shook her head. "That's where history becomes fiction in our town records, I'm afraid. In 1862, there was cave-in at the mine and twenty-eight men were trapped underground. Their coworkers on the surface toiled day and night trying to free them, but then the mine bosses got word the Union Army was moving into Eastern Tennessee." The librarian shook her head. "By this point, they knew they were likely on a recovery mission rather than a rescue, so…."
Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "They stopped looking for them?"
Miss Gwyn nodded. "The bosses ordered all the men to abandon the rescue and retreat behind Confederate lines."
Dean glanced at Sam. "So it's the spirits of those abandoned miners we're looking for."
"Yes and no." Miss Gwyn shifted uncomfortably. "What nobody above ground knew was that when the rescue was called off, many of the trapped miners were still alive, frantically trying to claw their way to the surface under the misguided belief that their coworkers were still digging their way down to them."
Sam frowned. "But if no one knew they were still alive, how does anyone know what happened to-" He sat back in surprise. "Damn. They got out, didn't they?"
Miss Gwyn nodded. "They collected water where it dripped through crevices, and drank their own urine. They ate bugs and rats, eventually even the bodies of their fellow miners. Days stretched into weeks and more of them died. They never stopped trying to get out, but they lost all track of time and their minds started to break. Then, almost a month later, a handful of survivors made it to the surface."
"Son of a..." Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say they were royally pissed to find crickets chirping where a rescue party should be."
"They snapped." Miss Gwyn shook her head sadly. "What little was left of their sanity vanished the moment they found out they'd been abandoned and left for dead by their employers and so-called friends."
Sam frowned. "Being underground all that time, there'd be no light. Is that what-?"
"Turned their eyes white?" Miss Gwyn nodded. "So the story goes. The survivors eventually made their way back to their homes but were quickly ostracized. They'd changed in ways there was no turning back from. They became known as white-eyed freaks and were forced to retreat into the backwoods of South Mountain. They lived there alone, their anger and isolation further fueling their madness."
Dean glanced over at Sam. "That explains their spirits' ability to leave the mine. They were trapped in the woods in the same way they were trapped in the mine."
"Almost the same way." Miss Gwyn again looked uncomfortable. "The miners stayed hidden until they'd almost been forgotten. Their families preferred to believe they'd died in that mine disaster. A more noble death, I suppose, than becoming a kind of freak.
"But the miners hadn't forgotten the way they'd been treated and, one night, they began to seek their revenge. They started hunting down all those who abandoned them…left them for dead." She closed her eyes. "Their attacks were savage, animalistic…. They ripped out their victims throats with their bare teeth…."
Sam swallowed. "Just like the four recent attacks."
Miss Gwyn looked shocked. "What?"
"Sorry." Sam smiled apologetically. "That information wasn't made public, but the four men who died recently…they, um, were killed the same way."
Dean jumped in to get Miss Gwyn's thoughts off that horrific image and back to her story. "What happened to the freaks? Did anyone try to stop them?"
"Oh, yes." The librarian turned to Dean. "The town council of the day formed a posse to hunt them down. They shot any they found but the last three white-eyed men ran into the old mine to hide. They knew they had an advantage there. They could see in the dark far better than any of the men hunting them. The hunting party followed them in, hoping to corner them but there were a few skirmishes, two of the hunters were killed and the hunt was called off."
Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "They just gave up?"
"No." Miss Gwyn's eyes were glassy with emotion. "They blew up both entrances to the mine, sealing the three surviving men inside."
Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Leaving them to relive their worst nightmare en route to a slow death."
Miss Gwyn nodded. "They even posted guards at both entrances for almost two months to make sure they didn't dig their way free. The mayor of the day, Ezekiel Ryder, made each man on the posse swear on a Bible they would never tell anyone what they'd done. The official story was that the miners simply vanished into the backwoods, never to be seen or heard from again. No one ever spoke of it and, eventually, it all disappeared from the pages of our history."
The librarian glanced at the photo on the mantel. "Jeb Clayton, my granddaddy's friend, he was a young teen when it happened, but he rode with his daddy as part of the hunting party. What they did, and keeping it secret, it gnawed at his conscience the rest of his life. He was an old man when he came to Granddaddy that night, and it was to ask forgiveness-for himself and the souls of all the miners. They prayed together, then Granddaddy went up to the mine and offered a blessing for the lost souls up there."
Dean glanced over at Sam. "I'd say that blessing didn't get through."
Sam frowned. "You said the mayor who swore them to secrecy was a man named Ryder. Any relation to the current mayor?"
Miss Gwyn nodded. "Mayor Harland Ryder is the fifth generation of his family to take office in this town. Been one Ryder or another in power for as long as I've been alive."
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "And that's why the mayor wants the door slammed shut on that mine. If anyone goes poking around in there and finds human remains, finds out what his ancestor did-"
"They're gonna shake loose a few skeletons from the Ryder family tree." Sam pulled his notebook from his pocket, flipped it open, then glanced over at Miss Gwyn. "One of the victims of the recent attacks was a Lloyd Clayton. Could he be any relation to your grandfather's friend?"
Miss Gwyn thought for a moment. "Lloyd's daddy is Tom, and Tom was the son of Ezra Clayton. Yes, I believe you're right. Ezra was Jeb's grandson."
Sam tapped the notebook as he turned to Dean. "I'll bet if we check the family trees of each of these victims, they'd all be descendents of the men who hunted down the white-eyed freaks. These spirits still want revenge, and they don't seem to care that their victims are five generations removed."
Dean shook his head. "And that would put the mayor on that hit list. The mine stays open and either someone finds those bones or the spirits find a way to get to old Harland. Either way, it makes it clear why he's so horny to get the mine door slammed shut."
Sam raked his fingers through his hair. "'Course, closing the door won't do any good now."
Miss Gwyn looked puzzled. "I'll admit, gentlemen, I'm a little out of depth here, but the mine has been sealed up all these years and there were no attacks. If you re-seal the mine, why wouldn't that stop them?"
Dean shrugged. "To vent the gas, engineers punched holes all through the mine, all offering access to the backwoods and all serving as escape hatches for the spirits. Even with the mine breach closed, they can come and go as they please."
"Oh." Miss Gwyn's frown remained as she turned and stared at Sam's black eye. "But tell me this, if they're only going after the descendents of the men who originally hunted them, why did they attack you? Your family played no role in their fate."
Sam ran his fingers over his bruised eye. "No, but we were carrying guns and we were hunting them in that mine. Once we pulled the trigger, it was no big stretch to add us to their hit list."
Miss Gwyn looked troubled by that piece of information. "So how do you stop them from hurting you, or anyone else?"
Dean smiled. "We head back to the mine, we find their remains, and destroy them."
To be continued...
To Chapter 3