Roses
Author: my_sam_dean
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1066
Challenge: siriuslyyellow, footprints, spray, mahogany, "I didn't know it could feel like this."
Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural.
Summary: Sam and Dean smell something rosy.
"So what's the deal on this guy again?" Dean asked as he parked the car in front of the house.
"He died in his home."
"That's not our problem."
"He unknowingly moved into the local haunted house," Sam took the steps two at a time. He tore down the crime scene tape and put his lock picks to work.
Dean held the flashlight so Sam could see what he was doing. "Isn't there some law where the realtor would have to tell him he was buying a haunted house?"
"Haunted houses are only real in our world. The real world doesn't believe in them, so, no, no law." Sam opened the door and Dean handed him a flashlight of his own.
The study was where the death occurred. He was found slouched over his mahogany desk. No gunshot, knife wound, or poison. They could find no evidence of his demise or clues of a possible killer.
After searching the main floor, they climbed the stairs. Dean held his arm out when he stopped on a step. He sniffed the air.
"Sammy, can you smell that?"
"Smell what?"
Sniff. Sniff. "That. Don't you smell it? We smelled death downstairs."
Sam tried to identify the scent that was in the air. "Roses?"
"Do you see any roses here?"
"Rose air spray?" Sam shrugged.
"Just . . . Be ready for anything," Dean moved slowly to the second floor. The smell of roses was stronger up there.
They cleared the floor, going room to room. The scent was getting stronger and stronger as they neared the end of the hall. The door at the end led to the master bedroom.
Again, there was nothing out of place in the room.
"What the hell, Sam? Did something come in from outside?"
"No. The doors and windows were locked. He had pills for his heart in the kitchen, right next to the study. They were just a matter of steps away." Sam looked around. "There has to be something that we're missing."
Dean shuffled his feet while he thought. "I'll go check downstairs and you look up here again. If we don't find anything we're out of here. It's not our problem. We can go to the bar for a beer and back to the motel."
"Yeah, yeah. Don't rub it in. It can be hard to tell if a death is natural or supernatural."
"Fine. You buy first beer." Dean clomped down the stairs. He wasn't quiet anymore, sure that it was just a guy who had too many greasy burgers and couldn't make it to his pills.
Sam stepped further into the bedroom. He opened the closet door and looked inside. There was nothing behind the rack of clothes. He felt a chill and turned to see a figure holding her hands out to him. The gun and flashlight just fell from his hands.
He was mesmerized by her grace as she floated. She took his hands and drew him closer to her. He closed his eyes and felt a peace that he'd never known as he swayed with her.
After he finished going over the ground floor, Dean yelled for Sam up the stairs. Sam didn't answer and Dean didn't hear anyone moving on the floor above him.
"Shit!," he angrily whispered to himself as he checked the salt gun.
He crept up the stairs and down the hall like he had before. The door to the master bedroom was open. He could see Sam's gun on the floor. Not a good sign.
When he shouldered the door open, he saw Sam with his feet inches above the floor. He was limp in the arms of a ghost. His head hung back and his eyes were closed. Dean took careful aim at the misty figure. The first round hit its target. She dropped Sam and that gave Dean a clear shot. The second shot hit her chest. She let out an eerie cry as she dissappeared.
Dean rushed to Sam. His first words to Dean were, "I didn't know it could feel like this."
"What are you talking about?"
"I feel at peace, Dean. Everything that's been going on and I feel calm."
Dean gave him a puzzled look. He glanced at the floor. "Footprints. Look at those. Is that water?"
"Watery footprints?" Sam was starting to get back in the mindset of hunting.
***
Dean sat on a bench in the park. He listened to the wind. He thought about that Sam had said about being in that ghost's arms. He'd never been that close to a ghost and never intended to have Sam near one again.
Sam sat down by Dean. "I found what we were looking for."
"Yeah?"
"Forty years ago, happy newlyweds lived there. The husband was fatally wounded on the job in the train yard. Got caught between two boxcars."
"Yikes."
"He lingered for a few days and died. His wife had bought roses at the florist every week. One day she changed the order to two dozen. She went home, ran a bath with rose petals in it, and drowned herself."
"In a tub?"
"Yep. She was determined."
"Where's she buried?"
"That's the problem. She was cremated with the ashes spread on her husband's grave. There's no body to burn, Dean."
Back at the motel, Dean was pacing. "I've never had a ghost like this. Do you remember Dad ever talking about one?"
"We can call Bobby and see if he's heard of one."
Dean fell backwards onto the bed where Sam was sitting. "Can you call him this time? I hate looking like an idiot."
"But it's fine for me to look dumb?" Sam smiled.
"Yeah." Dean put a hand behind Sam's neck and pulled him down for a kiss. "You're younger." Kiss. "He expects you to call with questions."
Sam laid down beside Dean, leaning on his elbow with a hand on Dean's chest. "You know, it's getting kind of late. Maybe we should wait to call Bobby tomorrow."
A slow grin spread across Dean's face. "I can think of plenty of things to keep us busy until then."
"I love the way your mind works." Sam rolled so he was on top of Dean, with his hands framing Dean's face.
The ghost had been there for forty years. It could wait another day. There were more pressing issues.
"
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1066
Challenge: siriuslyyellow, footprints, spray, mahogany, "I didn't know it could feel like this."
Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural.
Summary: Sam and Dean smell something rosy.
"So what's the deal on this guy again?" Dean asked as he parked the car in front of the house.
"He died in his home."
"That's not our problem."
"He unknowingly moved into the local haunted house," Sam took the steps two at a time. He tore down the crime scene tape and put his lock picks to work.
Dean held the flashlight so Sam could see what he was doing. "Isn't there some law where the realtor would have to tell him he was buying a haunted house?"
"Haunted houses are only real in our world. The real world doesn't believe in them, so, no, no law." Sam opened the door and Dean handed him a flashlight of his own.
The study was where the death occurred. He was found slouched over his mahogany desk. No gunshot, knife wound, or poison. They could find no evidence of his demise or clues of a possible killer.
After searching the main floor, they climbed the stairs. Dean held his arm out when he stopped on a step. He sniffed the air.
"Sammy, can you smell that?"
"Smell what?"
Sniff. Sniff. "That. Don't you smell it? We smelled death downstairs."
Sam tried to identify the scent that was in the air. "Roses?"
"Do you see any roses here?"
"Rose air spray?" Sam shrugged.
"Just . . . Be ready for anything," Dean moved slowly to the second floor. The smell of roses was stronger up there.
They cleared the floor, going room to room. The scent was getting stronger and stronger as they neared the end of the hall. The door at the end led to the master bedroom.
Again, there was nothing out of place in the room.
"What the hell, Sam? Did something come in from outside?"
"No. The doors and windows were locked. He had pills for his heart in the kitchen, right next to the study. They were just a matter of steps away." Sam looked around. "There has to be something that we're missing."
Dean shuffled his feet while he thought. "I'll go check downstairs and you look up here again. If we don't find anything we're out of here. It's not our problem. We can go to the bar for a beer and back to the motel."
"Yeah, yeah. Don't rub it in. It can be hard to tell if a death is natural or supernatural."
"Fine. You buy first beer." Dean clomped down the stairs. He wasn't quiet anymore, sure that it was just a guy who had too many greasy burgers and couldn't make it to his pills.
Sam stepped further into the bedroom. He opened the closet door and looked inside. There was nothing behind the rack of clothes. He felt a chill and turned to see a figure holding her hands out to him. The gun and flashlight just fell from his hands.
He was mesmerized by her grace as she floated. She took his hands and drew him closer to her. He closed his eyes and felt a peace that he'd never known as he swayed with her.
After he finished going over the ground floor, Dean yelled for Sam up the stairs. Sam didn't answer and Dean didn't hear anyone moving on the floor above him.
"Shit!," he angrily whispered to himself as he checked the salt gun.
He crept up the stairs and down the hall like he had before. The door to the master bedroom was open. He could see Sam's gun on the floor. Not a good sign.
When he shouldered the door open, he saw Sam with his feet inches above the floor. He was limp in the arms of a ghost. His head hung back and his eyes were closed. Dean took careful aim at the misty figure. The first round hit its target. She dropped Sam and that gave Dean a clear shot. The second shot hit her chest. She let out an eerie cry as she dissappeared.
Dean rushed to Sam. His first words to Dean were, "I didn't know it could feel like this."
"What are you talking about?"
"I feel at peace, Dean. Everything that's been going on and I feel calm."
Dean gave him a puzzled look. He glanced at the floor. "Footprints. Look at those. Is that water?"
"Watery footprints?" Sam was starting to get back in the mindset of hunting.
***
Dean sat on a bench in the park. He listened to the wind. He thought about that Sam had said about being in that ghost's arms. He'd never been that close to a ghost and never intended to have Sam near one again.
Sam sat down by Dean. "I found what we were looking for."
"Yeah?"
"Forty years ago, happy newlyweds lived there. The husband was fatally wounded on the job in the train yard. Got caught between two boxcars."
"Yikes."
"He lingered for a few days and died. His wife had bought roses at the florist every week. One day she changed the order to two dozen. She went home, ran a bath with rose petals in it, and drowned herself."
"In a tub?"
"Yep. She was determined."
"Where's she buried?"
"That's the problem. She was cremated with the ashes spread on her husband's grave. There's no body to burn, Dean."
Back at the motel, Dean was pacing. "I've never had a ghost like this. Do you remember Dad ever talking about one?"
"We can call Bobby and see if he's heard of one."
Dean fell backwards onto the bed where Sam was sitting. "Can you call him this time? I hate looking like an idiot."
"But it's fine for me to look dumb?" Sam smiled.
"Yeah." Dean put a hand behind Sam's neck and pulled him down for a kiss. "You're younger." Kiss. "He expects you to call with questions."
Sam laid down beside Dean, leaning on his elbow with a hand on Dean's chest. "You know, it's getting kind of late. Maybe we should wait to call Bobby tomorrow."
A slow grin spread across Dean's face. "I can think of plenty of things to keep us busy until then."
"I love the way your mind works." Sam rolled so he was on top of Dean, with his hands framing Dean's face.
The ghost had been there for forty years. It could wait another day. There were more pressing issues.
"