True north- Dean
“Great,” Dean muttered angrily as he shoved another branch out of his face. “Now we get to walk around in the rain, on a stupid, overgrown - Ouch!” Dean slapped at the side of his neck. “Bug infested-” he continued stared down his palm. “Holy shit.” He spun and held his hand up, palm out toward Sam who had to skitter to a halt to keep from colliding with his brother. “Get a load of the size of this thing!”
“Dean-” Sam huffed, barely managing to right himself.
The rain had kicked in again, strong enough that it had actually washed out most of the mud Dean had managed to collect on himself. The free, cold shower, however, had done nothing for his bad mood. Mainly because it was coming down in buckets. Again.
“Make that big-ass bug infested island,” Dean corrected. Sam’s annoyed huff went largely ignored as he wiped the dead bug on his pant leg before continuing trekking through the thick undergrowth. “Remind me again why are we in this frigging place?”
Sam rolled his eyes, probably deciding it was best to ignore Dean’s foul mood. He shoved at a branch that, though it missed Dean, was just the right height to smack him right in the face. Dean glared, getting the message.
“If they were killed on the island, their bodies have to be around here somewhere,” Sam offered. “Plus, we need to figure out what killed them... if they’re really dead.”
“Right, right,” Dean said musingly. Nobody was dead until they could burn a body, that was the Winchester law. “That’ll be fun considering the few weapons we have are useless unless we’re shooting ducks and rabbits and those we do need are at the bottom of the fucking river!” he shouted, spinning to face his brother. "And have I mentioned how tired I am of being wet?”
“It’s just rain,” Sam said with a sigh. “And quit skirting the real issue.”
“Issue? I dunno Sam, there are so many to consider-”
“Stop being a smart-ass. You know what issue; the ‘why you think we aren’t dealing with angry spirits’ issue.” Sam said as he maneuvered over a fallen branch.
“I just think we should keep our options open. Be prepared for anything, you know how this job is.” Dean said with a shrug. “Besides, we ran into one ghost so far and she didn’t exactly strike me as the killing spree type.”
“I suppose,” Sam said and swiped at a swarm of gnats that hovered in front of him. “Could be we just haven’t found the right angry ghost yet.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Dean stopped and eyed their surroundings, his face indecisive and unsure. He could be standing at a crossroad, for all he knew. There was nothing but tall trees all around. “Um...” he hesitated. “Now what?”
Sam drew up beside his brother; after a quick glance skyward, he wiped the rain from his face and looked back behind them. “I think we need to head north,” he decided and pointed left. “According to their reports, the cops did only a cursory search and last time he'd talked to them, Michael said his friends managed to get to two of the three buildings before...”
“Yeah, before they were eaten, or slaughtered or both.”
Sam blinked back at his brother through soggy hair that clung to his forehead. He brushed some of it out of his eyes and held out one hand. “Well, look on the bright side,” he offered meekly.
Growling, Dean shook his head, turned back around and pushed through the sodden ground, his feet squishing inside his boots. “What bright side-” his reply cut off with a grunt when he nearly went down in a heap; his leg sank thigh deep in water and mud and he’d have gone in all the way if not for Sam’s lunge and grab of his arm.
They both froze, taking a moment to catch their breaths. Dean glared at Sam, a challenge in his eyes. “You were saying?”
Sam grinned. “Compared to yesterday, it’s just sprinkling.” He looked down at Dean’s leg where it was still buried past his thigh. “And you didn’t take a header into that puddle.”
“Funny,” Dean said as he leaned back but found the so called puddle was more like thick, muddy goop and had a tight hold on his leg. “Son of a bitch…” Sam saw him struggle and immediately began pulling.
“As for the weapons,” Sam grunted and pulled harder when the quagmire seemed unwilling to release him. “We do what we’ve always done.” He heaved hard at the same time Dean threw all of his weight into his brother and the mud suddenly released its hold. The shift and force landed them both on the forest floor where they lay panting. “We improvise.”
Dean looked at Sam, mud splattered on his face and all over his clothes. “Ya’know,” he said wiping a large splatter of mud off his forehead. “For once, it would be nice not to have to pull something out of our asses.”
“Yeah, well,” Sam stood and pulled Dean up next to him. “With any luck, all we’ll be pulling out of our ass will be mud. Well, yours, at least,” he added with a smirk.
Dean rolled his eyes and was about to tell his brother exactly where he could shove his funny retorts when something caught his attention.
“The hell is that...” he mumbled moving toward it.
“What?” Sam asked, trying to follow Dean’s gaze. But Dean was already moving, pushing aside branches and large leafed plants, shoving the forest aside so that he could reach whatev- “Woah. That’s...”
Dean stood at the edge of the clearing, Sam behind him, both of them gazing at the perfectly neat rows of white rocks.
“A graveyard. Dean,” Sam whispered as he counted the rows and columns that seemed to go on forever. “There has to be... shit! two hundred plus graves here.”
“Yeah,” he agreed and moved out into the clearing, stepping carefully where the ground was so wet that depending on where he put his foot, the mud and grass seemed to tug at his boots, as if it were trying to suck him under. Under, where Alastair surely wait-
“Well, that settles it.” Sam sounded so suddenly sure that Dean had to turn and look at him questioningly, grateful for the interruption.
“What settles... what? How does this settle anything?”
“Our next move; we go back to the hospital building, take a look around, see if we can figure out who our angry spirit is, ‘cause this...” Sam said gazing around them.
“This would require a napalm strike the likes of Vietnam if we can’t narrow it down. And that’s if it’s a vengeful spirit.”
“You still think it’s not.”
“Hey,” Dean shrugged, “I can tell you what I think but I can’t make you believe it.” Turning slowly, he slung off more mud from his left hand and began heading back the way they’d come. “C’mon, lets get back. I wanna wash this shit off me and try to dry off. Again. Then we can go play with Casper some more.”
Dean took no more than half a step when he felt a rush of cold air dash past. A voice washed through the frigid air, frantic. Pleading. “NoOOoO... hERe...”
Sam’s hands on his back were the only thing that kept Dean from being laid out on the swampy ground at their feet. Startled and breathing hard, both brothers stood stock-still, staring in the direction the whoosh of air had gone.
“The hell was that..?” he growled. Pulling away from Sam’s helping hands, he adjusted his muddy jacket but his eyes were locked on the trees that still swayed, marking where the ghost had disappeared into the dense forestry.
“Casper, I think.”
Dean twisted and shot Sam a dirty glare before squaring up and rolling his shoulders. “Casper or not, I’ve had about enough of this crap...” He stalked off in the direction of the ghost’s exodus.
“Wh-” Sam stumbled as he finally got past his shock and launched to follow. “Just what do you think you’re gonna do? Talk to it?”
“You know, I dunno,” and he didn’t. But he did know that whatever the hell was going in, it had less to do with ghosts and more to do with demons, but the ghost thing, it was getting weirder by the minute. “Doesn't it strike you as a little odd how these things are acting?”
“Well, I-”
“Right, they seem,” and just like that it came to him, “anxious. Eager to tell us something.”
“Man,” Sam started and after a sound that seemed like a chuckle, he could only duck as Dean let go of branch after branch, those that he’d shoved out of his way, sending them whipping back one after another. “Seriously-” he ducked again, “dammit, what the hell could-”
There was nothing he could say as he collided with Dean’s back. Sam would have cursed but he saw what had brought Dean up short and he froze.
“Well, hello Casper.” Dean said, voice low and curious.
The ghost was pacing. Actually pacing! Arms down at it’s sides, the woman kept shrugging her shoulders, head tilted to one side, face angled down, just... pacing. Dean’s eyes followed its every move, still trying to figure out what was happening. Obviously it was trying to tell them something.
Sam tried to put a reason to it first. “Is she caught in some death echo...?”
“I seriously doubt she paced herself to death, Sam” Dean stared at the woman’s face, noting the angle, her agitation and pacing increased, and his gaze followed the spirits, down. “Pacing...” he murmured and trailed his eyes down further until he finally saw it. “Holy shit,” he took three quick steps forward, Sam calling after him when the woman stopped and stared directly at Dean.
Her mouth opened wide, and blackness, followed by a blast of cold wind rushed out as she yelled, “NOoOOOooO... hERe....”
Squinting into the stale gust, Dean brought his arms up to shield his eyes a bit. “Yeah, I get it,” he shouted back at her.
The gust seemed to grow in strength and Dean had to cover his face.
“Dean!”
Sam’s shout sent warning bells clamoring and Dean lowered his arms too late to take avoiding action, but just in time to see the ghost fly right at him. The cold seemed to soak into his skin, her voice increasing in volume. “hERe,” her voice echoed and screeched in his head as he felt himself fall. “Evil. Run. Here!”
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