Never Leavin', for tigriswolf (gen, PG-13)
Title: Never Leavin'
Author: shay_reynolds / Etta James
Recipient: tigriswolf
Rating: PG-13.
Author's Notes: ~2,200 words. Supernatural belongs to Kripke and the CW. Thanks to m. who did the amazing beta on this one. Prompt was from tigriswolf and is the song “You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive” by Brad Paisley. Spoilers for parts of season two.
Summary: Sometimes songs actually lend more to reality than people might think. The brothers are confronted with ghosts of the labour problems long since past in Harlan.
~
Dean threw the paper down in front of Sam, the lyrics fluttering with it and he was almost unsurprised to see his little brother just stare up at him with incredulity on his face.
“And...?”
“I think we should check it out.” Dean could see Sam scrunching up his face, almost preparing to start a huge argument with his facial features alone, and he slammed down another newspaper article with it.
A pause, then Dean shrugged trying to go for nonchalant. “We're pretty close anyways.”
Sam blinked. “Don't you think we've got more...important stuff to deal with.”
Dean sighed; he'd half-heartedly hoped he wouldn't have to deal with this argument just yet, and he wasn't even close to wanting to discuss it in the middle of a diner ever, so he just shrugged again.
“And anyways, dude, it's only a song.”
With that, Dean leveled a look at his brother and Sam, as a testament to his university education, finally shut up.
Sam waved his hands around, almost as if he was conceding the fact that he was wrong (almost, but not quite), and plowed forward. “Just because people are dying by the mines doesn't mean that it has anything to do with --”
“Have you even heard the song?”
Sam had the grace to look abashed. “Well, no not really but I got the gist and --”
“Great. Why don't you just assume that I know what I'm talking and come along for the ride.”
“But --”
“Do we really need to argue about this?”
The car doors slammed as Sam petulantly slunk into the passenger side.
- -
When they arrived in Harlan almost everything was closed. At ten o'clock on a Sunday, there was little to do, and the Holiday Inn was possibly the only thing that had a vacancy sign flashing. Dean pulled in, irritably smacking Sam as he parked.
“Get a room.”
Sam grimaced, stretching legs that still protested even though long used to the cramped space, and all but fell out of the Impala as Dean rolled to a stop.
“Still think 'sjust a labour protest.”
“Yeah, and I still think you're a retard but that doesn't stop you. Get a room”
Sam shuffled off, and by the time he'd returned (more money to stay here a night than a week at the last place) Dean had most of their necessities in the duffel. He threw the extra weapons at Sam, who was pretty much expecting it and managed to catch it, and they all but fell onto the beds comatose.
The last few weeks had left a few more physical wounds then either would care to admit; a good hunt might give them a way to grapple with “normal.”
- -
“No wonder people are dying. There's no place to buy beer.”
Sam snorted as he looked over the old newspaper articles spread across the bed. While they didn't stay away from the southern states out of necessity, it was generally a good idea not to upset any of the religious folk if they didn't have to... Which basically meant that Dean was stuck with the 'medicinal' rum in the Impala for a little while.
... If you could classify a flat of two-fours as 'medicinal'.
“You really can't expect people to stay sane in a place like this... All the nature and weird graves without alcohol. I'm amazed there hasn't been mass slaughter yet.” A beat. “If we're stuck here for a while I might even start it.”
Sam leaned back on the scratchy comforter, resting his weight against his hands and cracked his neck. They really weren't any closer to figuring out what the hell was going on here - and with the death count rising every day it wasn't looking good.
“There's nothing to support it.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “You know sometimes I wonder how it was that you made it through college.”
Sam's lips pressed together, and he tried to come up with a rebuttal but no matter how many times Dean threw it at him he never had a better answer. He just fumed a bit, and then opened his mouth when his brother interjected again.
“It's where the Green-Silvers Coal mine used to be. Only 150 folk worked there when it was opened between '34 and '42 but there were a few deaths. The new deaths,” Dean's look was rakish. “All seem to be around there.”
Sam nodded, and threw all the papers into a hasty pile.
“When we going?”
Dean grinned recklessly. “Now.”
- -
Nothing about the area screamed haunted. Nothing even screamed dead bodies. The mine area just looked like someone had forgotten it years ago. It looked like an abandoned mine, but Sam had to actually look to make sure he wasn't crazy.
“Dean.”
His brother stopped, and looked back from where he'd been attempting to jury rig some sort of opening into the heavily padlocked door. “Little busy here Sam.”
“Uh... Dean.”
Sam could tell his brother wasn't impressed, but he figured that if nothing else he should probably warn him.
Dean finally turned, and the figure behind him fully solidified. The little girl was staring beseechingly, if that look could cross the transparency line, up at Dean, and pointing down into the mine shaft.
Then she disappeared.
Sam wasn't at all surprised to see the cocky grin on Dean's face.
“When I'm right, I'm right.”
Sam grimaced. There'd be no living with him after this.
- -
Sam was normatively surprised to see that the structure was more or less sound, but one of the articles had been talking about some sort of historic revival for the mining industry so it wasn't all the surprising.
It would definitely have explained why the padlocks on the door had been as new as they had been.
And why the air actually wasn't killing them even a little further down the corridor.
There were times when Sam really wondered about the sanity of his family - wandering through a haunted, abandoned mine shaft definitely counted as one of them.
Which was when he ran smack through the man, unexpectedly finding resistance in the motion.
Oohh. Nice and young. Missed this feeling.
Feeling his consciousness detach from his body granted Sam a split second to make an agonized noise and then it was gone.
- -
Dean felt the prick against his neck, his eyes widening in shock.
As the world swirled around him, movements suddenly sluggish and jerky, he had to admit that this, at least, was unexpected.
As unconsciousness stole over, he wished that he'd actually made sure Sam was ok.
- -
The smell of rot was the first thing he noticed as he swam back towards consciousness; head pounding in rhythm to whatever was hammering against the wall.
He blurredly opened his eyes, lids gummy and gross and he wasn't even attempting to figure out why, and he saw Sam's form all but filling the room.
The only living things filling the room. Bodies were littered across every surface, decomp all but marking the years and months some had been down there. A few mummified corpses gave true testament to how long this had been going on for, and Dean swallowed a little nervously when he realized what exactly Sam was doing.
“You know little brother, this isn't the best way to get rid of the ghost.”
When Sam turned back to him, the debonair expression was alien on his face. The self-satisfied smirk, and utter lack of concern was something he'd never wanted to see on his brother's face.
“And why would you want to get rid of me?” The oily tone was completely off in Sam's voice, and Dean tried to pretend this wasn't concerning him.
“'Cuz someone has to put people like you in their place.”
Sam arched his eyebrow, a smirk that would be more suited to Dean's face flitting across it, and then turned back to his hammering.
Dean ground his teeth, and slowly levered himself to standing, trying to ignore the fact that he was ripping off well aged limbs in the process.
The dust made him cough, and as he moved forward he caught the dead canary in the corner and he almost gagged in how painfully set up this room was.
“You'll be stuck here forever if you don't stop.”
At that, Sam did turn back to him, his expression hard. “If I'm going to be here anyways, I figure I can always use more company. The men always need to be replaced around here.”
Dean blinked, and slowly the situation started to work itself out in his head.
“You owned the place and died down here?”
The other man blinked, and it was only this close up that he realized Sam's eyes had changed to a deep blue. “It wasn't that uncommon at the time, you know.”
Dean hated it when the ghosts knew they were dead. It made it seem all the more evil when they just went on doing it. Sam was going to blame himself for this later, and Dean really didn't want to have to deal with that.
If there was a later.
“Here, ask your brother yourself.”
Dean paused, as the blue seemed to leech out of his brother's eyes and Sam's body fell to the ground spasming. The seconds it would normally have taken to get there never quite managed to register, and he was slapping Sam's face before he'd even realized he'd moved.
Sam groaned, and suddenly surged up almost knocking Dean in the face.
“Dean!”
Dean blinked.
Sam looked down at him, took stock in the room around him and promptly turned a shade of green that might have turned to puking if Dean hadn't pushed past him to the beaten up door.
Nail marks covered the wood, and bits of dried blood marked some of the more determined folk but in the end even with all the nails it was still rotted wood that the door was made of.
A solid kick and the door all but busted out and Dean ended up face down in the dirt outside, coughing up coal dust.
“You know, we really should get some sort of danger pay for this job.”
Sam poked his head out of the room and blinked dazedly.
“So, genius, how do we get out?”
Sam blinked again, and without missing a beat pointed at the footsteps barely visible in the dust.
“I knew that education would get us somewhere one day.”
Sam grimaced, and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket.
“It's just up the hallway.”
“I know that.”
“What are we going to do?”
Dean smirked. “I'm working on it.”
Sam cut off a curse and turned the flickering flashlight off.
“Work on it faster.”
Sam's interjection didn't really catch Dean's attention as he squared off against the spirit.
“It doesn't want to kill people, Dean.” The instance made Dean grind his teeth. “It...just wants to keep the mine going.”
Dean slowly turned, feeling the insubstantial shovel go through his head. He was glad that most spirits weren't strong enough to affect reality all that much.
“Yeah, and I'm pretty much sick of this place by now.” Dean cocked the shot gun and aimed, hoping this wouldn't end up in the “stupid things I did that made me dead” category.
The rocksalt round shouldn't have caused any damage; should have just caused the spirit to dissipate, so when the tunnel started to shake he pushed Sam in front of him and they ran.
Though the shaft hadn't been used in over half a century, it was well travelled and even though they were following half-visible footprints they were up and out before they had been going hard enough to even pretend they were out of breath.
The crack as the entrance all but fell into itself could have been satisfying had they not been standing close enough for a cave in to pull them in. Sam grabbed him this time and they managed it back to the road, looking back in time to catch a vague figure reform.
The little girl looked over her should, clad in a summer dress and she smiled innocently back at them as she took the other ghosts' hand. They walked off, and her form wavered and melted as they disappeared into the sunset.
The brothers paused, looked at each other, then ran back to the Impala.
It really wouldn't do to get caught near a newly exploded ancient mine shaft with a criminal record after all.
Author: shay_reynolds / Etta James
Recipient: tigriswolf
Rating: PG-13.
Author's Notes: ~2,200 words. Supernatural belongs to Kripke and the CW. Thanks to m. who did the amazing beta on this one. Prompt was from tigriswolf and is the song “You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive” by Brad Paisley. Spoilers for parts of season two.
Summary: Sometimes songs actually lend more to reality than people might think. The brothers are confronted with ghosts of the labour problems long since past in Harlan.
~
Dean threw the paper down in front of Sam, the lyrics fluttering with it and he was almost unsurprised to see his little brother just stare up at him with incredulity on his face.
“And...?”
“I think we should check it out.” Dean could see Sam scrunching up his face, almost preparing to start a huge argument with his facial features alone, and he slammed down another newspaper article with it.
A pause, then Dean shrugged trying to go for nonchalant. “We're pretty close anyways.”
Sam blinked. “Don't you think we've got more...important stuff to deal with.”
Dean sighed; he'd half-heartedly hoped he wouldn't have to deal with this argument just yet, and he wasn't even close to wanting to discuss it in the middle of a diner ever, so he just shrugged again.
“And anyways, dude, it's only a song.”
With that, Dean leveled a look at his brother and Sam, as a testament to his university education, finally shut up.
Sam waved his hands around, almost as if he was conceding the fact that he was wrong (almost, but not quite), and plowed forward. “Just because people are dying by the mines doesn't mean that it has anything to do with --”
“Have you even heard the song?”
Sam had the grace to look abashed. “Well, no not really but I got the gist and --”
“Great. Why don't you just assume that I know what I'm talking and come along for the ride.”
“But --”
“Do we really need to argue about this?”
The car doors slammed as Sam petulantly slunk into the passenger side.
- -
When they arrived in Harlan almost everything was closed. At ten o'clock on a Sunday, there was little to do, and the Holiday Inn was possibly the only thing that had a vacancy sign flashing. Dean pulled in, irritably smacking Sam as he parked.
“Get a room.”
Sam grimaced, stretching legs that still protested even though long used to the cramped space, and all but fell out of the Impala as Dean rolled to a stop.
“Still think 'sjust a labour protest.”
“Yeah, and I still think you're a retard but that doesn't stop you. Get a room”
Sam shuffled off, and by the time he'd returned (more money to stay here a night than a week at the last place) Dean had most of their necessities in the duffel. He threw the extra weapons at Sam, who was pretty much expecting it and managed to catch it, and they all but fell onto the beds comatose.
The last few weeks had left a few more physical wounds then either would care to admit; a good hunt might give them a way to grapple with “normal.”
- -
“No wonder people are dying. There's no place to buy beer.”
Sam snorted as he looked over the old newspaper articles spread across the bed. While they didn't stay away from the southern states out of necessity, it was generally a good idea not to upset any of the religious folk if they didn't have to... Which basically meant that Dean was stuck with the 'medicinal' rum in the Impala for a little while.
... If you could classify a flat of two-fours as 'medicinal'.
“You really can't expect people to stay sane in a place like this... All the nature and weird graves without alcohol. I'm amazed there hasn't been mass slaughter yet.” A beat. “If we're stuck here for a while I might even start it.”
Sam leaned back on the scratchy comforter, resting his weight against his hands and cracked his neck. They really weren't any closer to figuring out what the hell was going on here - and with the death count rising every day it wasn't looking good.
“There's nothing to support it.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “You know sometimes I wonder how it was that you made it through college.”
Sam's lips pressed together, and he tried to come up with a rebuttal but no matter how many times Dean threw it at him he never had a better answer. He just fumed a bit, and then opened his mouth when his brother interjected again.
“It's where the Green-Silvers Coal mine used to be. Only 150 folk worked there when it was opened between '34 and '42 but there were a few deaths. The new deaths,” Dean's look was rakish. “All seem to be around there.”
Sam nodded, and threw all the papers into a hasty pile.
“When we going?”
Dean grinned recklessly. “Now.”
- -
Nothing about the area screamed haunted. Nothing even screamed dead bodies. The mine area just looked like someone had forgotten it years ago. It looked like an abandoned mine, but Sam had to actually look to make sure he wasn't crazy.
“Dean.”
His brother stopped, and looked back from where he'd been attempting to jury rig some sort of opening into the heavily padlocked door. “Little busy here Sam.”
“Uh... Dean.”
Sam could tell his brother wasn't impressed, but he figured that if nothing else he should probably warn him.
Dean finally turned, and the figure behind him fully solidified. The little girl was staring beseechingly, if that look could cross the transparency line, up at Dean, and pointing down into the mine shaft.
Then she disappeared.
Sam wasn't at all surprised to see the cocky grin on Dean's face.
“When I'm right, I'm right.”
Sam grimaced. There'd be no living with him after this.
- -
Sam was normatively surprised to see that the structure was more or less sound, but one of the articles had been talking about some sort of historic revival for the mining industry so it wasn't all the surprising.
It would definitely have explained why the padlocks on the door had been as new as they had been.
And why the air actually wasn't killing them even a little further down the corridor.
There were times when Sam really wondered about the sanity of his family - wandering through a haunted, abandoned mine shaft definitely counted as one of them.
Which was when he ran smack through the man, unexpectedly finding resistance in the motion.
Oohh. Nice and young. Missed this feeling.
Feeling his consciousness detach from his body granted Sam a split second to make an agonized noise and then it was gone.
- -
Dean felt the prick against his neck, his eyes widening in shock.
As the world swirled around him, movements suddenly sluggish and jerky, he had to admit that this, at least, was unexpected.
As unconsciousness stole over, he wished that he'd actually made sure Sam was ok.
- -
The smell of rot was the first thing he noticed as he swam back towards consciousness; head pounding in rhythm to whatever was hammering against the wall.
He blurredly opened his eyes, lids gummy and gross and he wasn't even attempting to figure out why, and he saw Sam's form all but filling the room.
The only living things filling the room. Bodies were littered across every surface, decomp all but marking the years and months some had been down there. A few mummified corpses gave true testament to how long this had been going on for, and Dean swallowed a little nervously when he realized what exactly Sam was doing.
“You know little brother, this isn't the best way to get rid of the ghost.”
When Sam turned back to him, the debonair expression was alien on his face. The self-satisfied smirk, and utter lack of concern was something he'd never wanted to see on his brother's face.
“And why would you want to get rid of me?” The oily tone was completely off in Sam's voice, and Dean tried to pretend this wasn't concerning him.
“'Cuz someone has to put people like you in their place.”
Sam arched his eyebrow, a smirk that would be more suited to Dean's face flitting across it, and then turned back to his hammering.
Dean ground his teeth, and slowly levered himself to standing, trying to ignore the fact that he was ripping off well aged limbs in the process.
The dust made him cough, and as he moved forward he caught the dead canary in the corner and he almost gagged in how painfully set up this room was.
“You'll be stuck here forever if you don't stop.”
At that, Sam did turn back to him, his expression hard. “If I'm going to be here anyways, I figure I can always use more company. The men always need to be replaced around here.”
Dean blinked, and slowly the situation started to work itself out in his head.
“You owned the place and died down here?”
The other man blinked, and it was only this close up that he realized Sam's eyes had changed to a deep blue. “It wasn't that uncommon at the time, you know.”
Dean hated it when the ghosts knew they were dead. It made it seem all the more evil when they just went on doing it. Sam was going to blame himself for this later, and Dean really didn't want to have to deal with that.
If there was a later.
“Here, ask your brother yourself.”
Dean paused, as the blue seemed to leech out of his brother's eyes and Sam's body fell to the ground spasming. The seconds it would normally have taken to get there never quite managed to register, and he was slapping Sam's face before he'd even realized he'd moved.
Sam groaned, and suddenly surged up almost knocking Dean in the face.
“Dean!”
Dean blinked.
Sam looked down at him, took stock in the room around him and promptly turned a shade of green that might have turned to puking if Dean hadn't pushed past him to the beaten up door.
Nail marks covered the wood, and bits of dried blood marked some of the more determined folk but in the end even with all the nails it was still rotted wood that the door was made of.
A solid kick and the door all but busted out and Dean ended up face down in the dirt outside, coughing up coal dust.
“You know, we really should get some sort of danger pay for this job.”
Sam poked his head out of the room and blinked dazedly.
“So, genius, how do we get out?”
Sam blinked again, and without missing a beat pointed at the footsteps barely visible in the dust.
“I knew that education would get us somewhere one day.”
Sam grimaced, and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket.
“It's just up the hallway.”
“I know that.”
“What are we going to do?”
Dean smirked. “I'm working on it.”
Sam cut off a curse and turned the flickering flashlight off.
“Work on it faster.”
Sam's interjection didn't really catch Dean's attention as he squared off against the spirit.
“It doesn't want to kill people, Dean.” The instance made Dean grind his teeth. “It...just wants to keep the mine going.”
Dean slowly turned, feeling the insubstantial shovel go through his head. He was glad that most spirits weren't strong enough to affect reality all that much.
“Yeah, and I'm pretty much sick of this place by now.” Dean cocked the shot gun and aimed, hoping this wouldn't end up in the “stupid things I did that made me dead” category.
The rocksalt round shouldn't have caused any damage; should have just caused the spirit to dissipate, so when the tunnel started to shake he pushed Sam in front of him and they ran.
Though the shaft hadn't been used in over half a century, it was well travelled and even though they were following half-visible footprints they were up and out before they had been going hard enough to even pretend they were out of breath.
The crack as the entrance all but fell into itself could have been satisfying had they not been standing close enough for a cave in to pull them in. Sam grabbed him this time and they managed it back to the road, looking back in time to catch a vague figure reform.
The little girl looked over her should, clad in a summer dress and she smiled innocently back at them as she took the other ghosts' hand. They walked off, and her form wavered and melted as they disappeared into the sunset.
The brothers paused, looked at each other, then ran back to the Impala.
It really wouldn't do to get caught near a newly exploded ancient mine shaft with a criminal record after all.