The Dead Who Groan Within Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Sam cried out as fingers dug into his forearm and the wound there, sending pain to stab up into his head. His vision blacked out for a moment and he found himself collapsed to his knees. Just as suddenly, his arm was released and Sam looked up to see his big brother rush his attacker with a feral growl, bowling them both into a shelf. Dean flipped the man off to the floor on his back, straddled his chest and drove his fist into the masked face three times and finally lifted the lolling head by the collar with a disgusted look before letting it thunk to the floor, dismissed as a threat.
He crawled over to Sam and hissed in sympathy at the blood now seeping through his sleeve. "Hey, Sammy. You ok?"
Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"Shit. Shit." The clerk repeated himself a few more times and slumped over the counter.
"You call the cops yet?" Dean asked and the clerk nodded. "Come on, Sam. Let's get you back in the car, ok?"
"I'm…I'm good." Sam closed his eyes, breathing through the pain and let Dean pull him to his feet. Sam got his eyes open, seeing the blood on Dean's face once more. He turned to the counter and pulled a bandanna out of a box, putting it immediately to Dean's forehead. "Dude, you're bleeding."
"So are you." Dean grinned.
"You…you're just gonna leave?" The Clerk asked nervously, eyes on the two men still rolling on the floor and the third who had yet to move.
"Yep and turn on the pump would ya?" Dean said with a smile but his eyes said he wasn't expecting an argument.
"Uh…uh yeah. Go ahead." The Clerk wiped a shaking hand over his face and did as he was told as the brother's stumbled back outside.
Dean wiped at the blood on his face. He bent over the roof of the Impala to see the damage and sighed. "Not as bad as it looks. Get in, Sammy." He opened the passenger door and watched Sam ease inside, cradling his arm. He briefly considered going back inside and giving one last kick to the jackass who'd hurt Sam. He shook his head, pressed the rag to the cut and went around to the back seeing Sam had left the nozzle in. He squeezed the handle, pleased when the gas started and threw a salute at the station's windows.
Dean put the nozzle back into the pump as the sound of sirens sounded in the distance. "Time to go." He said and slid in behind the wheel. "How you doin?" He asked Sam as he turned on the car and pulled out of the station, heading for the interstate.
"Okay." Sam all but whispered around the pain. He hadn't looked at the damage yet, unable to make himself stop cradling his arm or take pressure off of it. He could feel beneath the bandage, as his hand pressed to stop the blood flow, that at least a few stitches had been torn.
Dean watched Sam's paling face from the corner of his eye as he drove and passed several police cruisers as they turned back onto the interstate. "We'll get a few towns over and stop for the night."
"Don't need to." Sam said. "I can make it til Keuka."
"Well I can't." Dean said, surprising his brother. Normally he'd have kept that information to himself but Sam was gearing up for one of his obstinate 'I'm fine' arguments and Dean knew his arm needed looking at and soon. "Head wound. Remember?" Dean grinned and turned to display the now bloody bandanna clasped to his forehead.
"Shit. You should stop now." Sam let go of his arm and turned to see his brother more clearly. "How's your vision?"
"It's good." Dean smiled to reassure him. "Good enough to get us a few more miles down the road. Relax." He put an arm across Sam's chest and pushed him back into the seat. Sam dropped his head to the back of the seat and cradled his arm again, nodding. Dean smiled, happy the ploy had worked and flicked the headlights on as the sun finally dipped below the horizon behind them.
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Dean gave his little brother a shove toward the motel room door when he would have grabbed his bag. "I got it. Go get the lights on." In truth, he was glad to have an excuse to stop for the night. The last few miles of road in the dusky sun and the headlights glaring in at him had given him a pounding headache. He lugged both their duffels and the weapons bag out of the trunk and followed Sam inside, kicking the door shut behind him.
The room was unremarkable; fairly clean with brown bedspreads, brown carpet and brown walls. It was a beige bonanza. Even the lampshades were beige. He thumped the bags onto the bed closest to the door and bent to dig the first aid kit out of his bag. Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed trying to figure out how to get his jacket off without jostling his arm.
"Hang on." Dean stepped over, set the kit down and took Sam's jacket at the shoulder, easing the sleeve off over the wounded arm. Blood had saturated the gauze through as well as the shirt above it and into Sam's jacket, staining that as well. "Man that jackass had a hell of a grip."
Sam nodded, slipping his good arm out of his overshirt and letting Dean take that one off as well. "I didn't even see him." Sam said softly. "I'm sorry. I should have."
"Hey, I didn't see the asshole either." Dean told him and cuffed the back of his head lightly. "No apologizing for that. You cleaned the floor with the other two." Dean told him and smiled happily. He'd enjoyed watching that. Sam smirked. Dean unwrapped the gauze and then growled; overtop of and around the seeping wound, a handprint had been bruised into Sam's arm. "Son of a bitch." Dean said in a low voice. He swallowed the anger and smiled for Sam. "Not as bad as I thought it'd be." Hang on.
Sam watched him go to the bathroom for a wet cloth and closed his eyes for just a second, trying to still the grinding pain in his arm. The gash hadn't even had a day to heal yet and already it was being abused. His arm felt warm with pain and he gasped in surprise when the cold, wet towel touched it, opening his eyes to find Dean watching him with concern in his eyes.
"I'm ok." Sam said automatically and Dean snorted.
"Uh huh. Just hold still. Gotta redo some of these stitches." Dean rubbed the topical anesthetic he'd scored at the last clinic they'd been to and hoped it would numb some of the pain as he worked. He cut loose the five stitches that had torn, tossing them to the floor before re-sewing the now open wound. Sam took it all stoically; letting only the barest gasps escape as Dean worked and sighed in relief when he wrapped the fresh bandage around it, tucking the arm into Sam's lap.
"Ok." Dean handed him a glass of water and two pills. "Drink."
Sam opened his mouth to argue but saw the obstinate look on Dean's face and sighed. "Fine." He swallowed the pills and handed the glass back. Dean nodded and cleaned up the mess. He reached over to his own bed and pulled the laptop over, putting it next to Sam. "How about you research and I'll go pick up some supplies."
"Dude, I'm not gonna break." Sam rolled his eyes but pulled the laptop with him as he got comfortable on the bed, toeing his shoes off as he did. Dean only shook his head, grabbed his keys and left. "Jerk." Sam grumbled with a short laugh and pulled out the computer.
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"I'm beginning to think no one's ever made up their mind who built those ruins in the first place." Sam said, interrupting Dean's chuckle as the giant lizard on the television screen stomped mercilessly through downtown Tokyo. "I've got a couple articles that say it was built by the Seneca and some more who say it was the freakin Vikings."
"Vikings?" Dean perked up. "Cool. Maybe we'll get some Viking ghost to salt and burn. Never ganked a Viking."
Sam chuckled and wondered if he'd ever feel the love of the Hunt the way Dean did. "There's not much left intact above ground apparently but there's extensive catacombs under the place and it's right next to the lake so, probably gonna be a wet hunt."
"Fantastic." Dean groaned. Wet and cold and underground; three of his favorite things. "Any other fun facts I should know?"
"Just the usual ghost sightings in and around the ruins. There's really never been a lot of deaths around the place either til now." Sam frowned. "So something's changed."
"Or someone just wandered in and pissed it off, whatever it is." Dean flicked the TV off and stretched. "Let's get some shut-eye." He said, giving a steely glance to Sam who looked ready to spend all night hunched over the laptop. Dean reached across and pulled it from his hands.
"Dude, you're like a mother hen." Sam groaned but admitted to himself he wanted to lie down. He was sore, his arm ached and he thought maybe he was starting a slight fever as well, though he wasn't going to tell Dean that. He slid down under the blankets as Dean clicked off the light and gave a grateful sigh.
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Dean woke suddenly, senses alert that something had changed in the room. He turned his head to see Sam while his hand slid under his pillow to the knife he kept there. Sam's bed was empty, the covers thrown aside. Dean tensed and then saw a light under the bathroom door. He relaxed, sliding his hand out from under the pillow and sighed when he heard the clear sounds of retching.
"Dammit." Dean looked over at the clock, groaning to find it only three in the morning. He kicked the covers off and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and went to the bathroom, easing the door open.
Sam jerked at the hand that dropped to the back of his neck but couldn't take time to say he was fine in mid-heave. He didn't feel fine. He felt like crap and the hand of his brother was comforting in spite of his need to be independent; comfort born of a thousand similar touches over a lifetime and knowing that, as he sat back and spit the last of the bile from his mouth there would be a cloth in front of his face, and there was, followed by a glass of water.
"Thanks." Sam said hoarsely.
Dean frowned at the heat on the back of Sam's neck. "Come on, bigfoot. Let's get you back in bed." He pulled a wobbly little brother off the floor and steered him back out and let him flop on his bed. Dean went back and filled the glass again then dug the antibiotics out of the first aid kit, the last two and made a mental note to refill them later. "Here. Down the hatch."
Sam nodded and took the pills, swallowing the water hungrily against his dry throat. He snorted a laugh when Dean tossed his legs up on the bed and threw the blankets back over him. "Go back to sleep, Princess. You'll feel better in the morning."
"Bite me." Sam muttered from inside his pillow and made Dean snort.
"Not into rotten food, sorry Sammy." Dean tossed back and curled gratefully back up in his bed.
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"Dude, is this a town or a pit stop?" Dean asked irreverently as they drove into Jerusalem, New York at the crux of Y-shaped Keuka Lake. They'd seen little but vineyards on their way in though it was beautiful hilly and sometimes almost mountainous country with vineyards and ski slopes that dotted the hillsides in multi-colored checkerboards.
"You think this is small, wait til we get to Bluff point." Sam chuckled. "It's listed as a 'hamlet.'"
Dean snorted. "So a stop light and a post office." He shook his head and continued through the little town south, towards the end of the little peninsula. Ten minutes later, both men stared with wide eyes at what looked more like a retreat for the wealthy than a little hamlet. "Whoa."
"Yeah." Sam saw signs to a golf course, a marina on the lake, vineyards, several restaurants with more than one star by their names and something called Esperanza Mansion.
"Motel." Dean pointed and sighed, afraid they were going to have risk one of his questionable cards to get a room at the friggin mansion. Even the motel looked better than the fare they were used to. It was clean, the buildings and parking lot well-kept and in its center a small swimming pool, covered with a lurid green tarp for the fall weather that had descended early this year. He pulled up in front of the office, waving at Sam to wait and ran inside. He came back out a short while later shaking his head with a handful of brochures.
"What's all that?" Sam asked and Dean tossed them into his lap.
"Motel manager thinks we're here for the fall friggin foliage tour." Dean chuckled and pulled out, heading around to the side of the two-story, square building. "Said we're a couple weeks early and gave us a deal on the room cause he's so empty."
Sam flipped through the brochures and pulled out the one for the Bluff Point Ruins. "Well this might come in handy."
Dean pulled into a space and parked. "We're on the second floor on the end." He passed a key to Sam. "Go get the door open, I'll grab the bags."
"Dude I can carry my own bag." Sam argued and got out, waiting at the trunk. "I have two arms, remember?"
"Two freakish long arms." Dean teased and opened the trunk. "Have it your way."
The room, like the outside of the Motel, was clean. Paisley bedspreads covered the two queen size beds against the inside wall. The carpet was a dusky maroon as were the curtains on the window. However, it was clear the motel was used to tourists; the walls were covered in dozens of mounted fish of all sizes from only a few inches to what looked like a massive Catfish of several feet hanging over the beds.
"Whoa." Dean took it in and tossed his bag on the bed nearest the door out of habit, leaving Sam to walk around to the other. "It's like the Finding Nemo graveyard in here."
Sam smirked and reared back slightly when he looked up into the gaping maw of the Catfish. "Well, that's not creepy at all." He said, staring at the glassy eyes that seemed to follow him as he moved. "And when did you see Finding Nemo?" Sam asked on a laugh.
"What? I watch movies." Dean chuckled. "Those Seagulls are friggin hilarious."
"We should check the place it out while it's still daylight." Sam pulled a salt canister from the weapons bag on Dean's bed and started salting the door and window. "Get a good look at the crime scene."
"Scenes." Dean said softly. The day's paper had been sitting on the nightstand and the front page was a grisly picture of a third body discovered early that morning. He handed it to Sam and pulled the sawed off shotgun from the bag, loading salt rounds into the chambers.
"Damn." Sam groaned. "It was a cop man. They left a deputy behind to watch the place last night and found him this morning."
"Well that's gonna make this interesting." Dean set the gun down. "Definitely don't wanna go in as Feds then."
Sam shook his head. "Yeah, it'd piss them off. It's one of their own now." Dean rifled through a box of fake ID's and pulled two out, tossing one to Sam. "Dude, reporters? How is that not going to piss them off too?"
"Hey, it's better than being Feds and getting into a pissing contest. This way they can just shake their heads at us and ignore us." Dean grinned. "Come on, Jimmy. Let's go find us a story."
"You are so not Clark Kent." Sam chuckled and followed Dean out the door.
"Naw, Superman cheats. I'd rather be Batman." Dean grinned as Sam laughed and shut the door behind them.
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"So what was this place?" Dean asked, leading the way under the police tape and down a gulley towards the shore.
"Ancient stoneworks of some kind." Sam pulled an EMF meter from his pocket and turned it on. "There's old quarry works over the hill there." He pointed and then frowned when the meter started to whine. "Got some spikes here."
Dean looked up and around and saw no power lines to interfere. "So we got spooks for sure."
Sam nodded and trailed closer to one of the underground entrances, putting the meter through the bars in the Iron Gate. "It's stronger in here."
"Of course it is." Dean sighed and stopped. The gulley they walked in was more like an old road, cut right out of the rock and led straight down to the lake below. He could just see the waters sparkling green between two dilapidated stone buildings whose roofs had long crumbled away. He stood at a four way intersection and looked down either side, seeing nothing to pique his interest save the faded blood stains on the rock and gravel at his feet. He frowned, seeing little pegs in the ground with tiny flags. "Hey, Sammy. What are these?" Dean pulled one out and held it up.
"Looks like an Archaeologists' marker." Sam shrugged. "Probably one of the college kids."
"Where are the cops?" Dean asked suddenly. "I would have thought we'd have to sneak in here." He looked around but saw no one living save themselves.
"Maybe they don't want to risk anyone else until they know what happened?" Sam shrugged. "Crap! Dean!" Sam shouted as his right arm was grabbed and he was pulled into the iron gate, his shoulder slamming into the bars.
Dean was at his side instantly. "What is it? Can you see?" He took hold of Sam around his chest and pulled against the force holding him.
"Ghost!" Sam shouted. He could feel the icy fingers clasped around his arm, freezing his skin and braced his left hand against the bars, ignoring the pull of the stitches when his shoulder threatened to slip through.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted. He let go, pulled his shotgun and stuck the barrel through the bars above Sam's arm and fired. The explosion was loud in the confines of the tunnel and the gulley; echoing back at them and deafening them both. Sam fell backwards, his arm released and would have fallen to the ground if not for Dean stepping behind him; holding him up.
"You ok?" Dean asked, gun trained on the gate and Sam nodded.
"Yeah." He rubbed feeling back into his chilled arm. "Lost the EMF though. Sorry, man."
"Dammit!" Dean cursed and kicked a loose rock at the grate, listening as it skipped through and ricocheted inside. "Freakin ghosts!" He groaned. "I want my meter back." Dean stalked to the gate and studied the padlock.
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean had built the thing and wouldn't be happy until he had it back. Sam pulled his picks out of his pocket and pushed at Dean's shoulder. "One side. I'll get it open."
Dean nodded but stayed beside him, shotgun aimed steady through the bars. "Mr. Grabby Hands comes back I'm gonna have a message for him."
Sam snorted and worked on the lock. A moment later he had it open, pulling it off the gate and pushed it in with one hand. Dean took a flashlight from his pocket, shining it inside and smiled to see the meter was lying only a few feet in. "Nice." He stepped into the tunnel, wrinkling his nose at the dank smell inside and bent to retrieve it. He froze. A dragging sound came from further in, soft but distinct. "Sammy." Dean whispered.
Sam took a step toward his brother when he heard gravel slide on the slope above them. "Shit. Dean. There's something out here." More gravel fell on the path and Sam could clearly hear the heavy breaths of something large coming closer even as Dean backed out of the tunnel, gun pointed inside.
"Well this isn't going how I thought it would." Dean grumbled as he stepped back out into the daylight.
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