The Dead Who Groan Within Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
Sam groaned awake and then gasped, sitting up fast enough to make his head spin as he remembered the events of last night.
"Whoa, easy Sam." Dean dashed over from the table and clasped Sam's bare shoulder firmly. "No evil fish here. You're safe."
Sam dropped his head into his hand, dizzy and too warm and nodded. "Right." He glanced down and raised his brows. "Dude, when did I take my clothes off?"
Dean snorted. "You didn't. Your awesome big brother took one for the team so you didn't sleep in sopping clothes and wake up with the damn plague or something."
Sam turned several shades of red, grateful to feel his boxer briefs still on. At least he didn't have that visual in his head to deal with. "Thanks." Sam managed and pushed the blanket back.
"Where you think you're going?" Dean asked, concerned. Sam was somehow managing to be pale and red at the same time and the glassy look in his eyes was disconcerting.
"Bathroom." Sam swung his legs to the floor. "Gotta go and no, I can do it myself." He smirked at Dean and stood…then promptly sat back down as the floor tilted beneath him. "Dammit."
Dean shook his head and pulled Sam back up, holding on and guided him to the bathroom in a weaving path. He stopped at the door and smirked when Sam firmly shut it on him with a muttered thank you. He checked the salt lines at door and window and decided now was a good time to go have that little chat with the motel owner when he heard the shower turn on. Dean cracked the bathroom door.
"Sam. I'm gonna go down and talk to the manager. Salt lines are good." Dean told him. Sam waved an arm from inside the shower. "Don't drown." Dean ordered with a laugh and left him alone.
The mounted Catfish was still where Dean had left it the night before. He glared down at the thing. "You and me are gonna have some alone time soon pal." Dean told it and wrapped his fingers around the zippo in his pocket in anticipation as he headed down the stairs and to the office. If anything, it was colder today than it had been, the temperature taking an early dive into the upper thirties. Dean pulled his coat tighter against the bite in the air. He sighed gratefully when he opened the door to the office and warm air met him.
"Mr. Winchester." The manager smiled at him from behind his counter. He wasn't much older than Dean. Black hair and brown eyes in a tanned face said some of his ancestors had to be Native American and when he smiled; his eyes vanished behind the high cheekbones. "What can I do for you?"
Dean leaned against the counter and smiled. "I had to ask. There's this massive Catfish mounted over our beds. Where the hell'd that thing come from?"
The manager, his badge said Norman, nodded and smiled sadly. "My Uncle caught it when I was a kid." He chuckled. "Dad said it took him two hours to reel it in. He used to own this place."
"It's a hell of a fish." Dean grinned.
"Yeah." Norman sighed. "Dad had it mounted and hung it when he got back. My Uncle died on that trip."
Ah ha. Dean said silently to himself, brows rising. "Sorry to hear that. What happened? If you don't mind my asking."
"No, no." Norman smiled again. "Uncle Joe drowned. Dad said he caught the fish and it knocked him overboard and he drowned. He must have gotten wrapped up in seaweed on the bottom or something."
"Why's that?" Dean asked, sensing something off.
"Oh Uncle Joe was a damn good swimmer. He's the one who taught me." He shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder if this place would even still be here if Uncle Joe had lived. He was thinking of selling the Motel, moving to Florida." He chuckled and Dean plastered a friendly smile on his face while inside bells were going off.
"Huh. So where's your Dad now?" Dean looked closely at the picture behind the desk of two men on a fishing boat and knew who they were now.
"Oh he passed a few months ago." Norman sniffed and pointed to an Urn on a high shelf. "Cancer."
Dean nodded, looking at the Urn and shook himself. "Sorry to drag stuff up." He smiled. "Thanks, I was just curious about the fish."
"Oh it's no problem." Norman gave himself a shake. "You know I don't usually put people in that room." He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "I didn't realize that's where I'd put you til the next day." He laughed nervously. "Honestly, Uncle Joe's fish kinda creeps me out. Always feel like its watching me."
"No kidding." Dean gave him a short wave and went back outside. He jogged past the pool and it's now torn cover, flipping it off absently as he passed. When he reached their room he gave a light kick to the mounted fish before going inside.
Sam was flopped face down on his bed. He'd managed to get himself dressed but his energy had run out before he could get his shoes on. "What'd you find out?" He asked, turning his head to watch his brother as he shut the door behind him.
"Well, our fish was caught by the manager's uncle and unless I'm wrong, and I'm not, his dear old Dad offed his uncle to get the motel before he could sell it." Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat at the table. "Get this. His Dad died a few months back and the manager has his friggin ashes in an Urn in the rental office."
Sam groaned. "Great, but why the fish?"
Dean grinned and toasted the empty wall over their beds. "Uncle Joe caught that monster on the same trip where his brother drowned his ass. Then Daddy dearest comes home, mounts the thing and hangs it in here."
Sam groaned and rolled until he was sitting on the side of the bed. "We need to find where his Dad's buried then." He wiped a hand over his face and shook himself, trying to find energy. "Salt and burn him along with his damn fish. Tonight."
Dean chuckled and nodded. "Yep. The snake's gonna have to wait a night. I don't like knowing Uncle Joe's lurking out there for revenge on a dead guy."
"At least we don't have to worry about the manager's Dad." Sam pushed up and sat heavily at the table, pulling his laptop over. "I'll find his grave. Just give me a minute."
Dean frowned and reached over, slapping a hand to Sam's forehead. It was quickly batted away but Dean scowled. "Dude, you've got a fever still."
"It's fine." Sam rolled his eyes.
"It's that damn cut the Hookman gave you." Dean growled. He went and pulled the first aid kid from his bag and set it beside Sam. "Gimme." Sam sighed but put his arm out, too tired to argue and he could just as easily research while Dean cleaned it again.
Dean unwound the bandages and frowned at the angry red around the wound under the stitches. At this rate Sam was gearing up for a trip to the ER for sepsis if he couldn't get the infection under control. Though he was barely touching, Sam winced and flinched as his fingers gently pushed at the stitches, blood oozing in droplets in a couple places. "Sorry." Dean muttered. "It's infected, Sam." He saw Sam's head drop, heard the sigh. "I know. It sucks but I gotta do it or you can go to the ER. Your choice."
"Aw hell." Sam looked over at the obviously unhealthy cut and shrugged. "I'd rather have you do it."
Dean nodded and took the little scissors from the kit, bending over his brother's arm and started clipping the neat row of stitches. He would have to reopen the wound and disinfect it again. It would be damn painful but if he did it right and they could keep the damn thing clean for more than a day, it would heal properly.
Sam did his best to focus all his attention on the computer screen and ignore the burning, tugging sensations in his arm as Dean worked. He could feel the sweat that broke out on his face. Typing one handed helped him focus. He had just found the cemetery record for the motel manager's Uncle Joe when Dean poured disinfectant in the newly opened wound.
"Crap." Sam hissed and jerked on his arm but Dean held it firm.
"Sorry, buddy. Once more." Dean kept a firm grip on Sam's wrist and irrigated the wound as thoroughly as he could. Sam dropped his head into his other hand and gave up, just breathing through the pain as Dean swabbed it with alcohol and started putting in a fresh row of stitches. Dean wrapped a fresh bandage around Sam's arm and then dropped a hand on the back of his neck. "Ok, kiddo. All done."
"I found him." Sam said, eyes still closed and not moving his head yet. "Found his grave."
"Okay. We'll get him tonight. You need to get a couple hours sack time before we go dig him up." Dean tugged his brother out of the chair and pushed him gently towards his bed. "No arguments. You can't watch my back tonight if you're this out of it."
It was probably the only thing Dean could have said that would have made Sam go without argument. He understood the logic and had no intention of letting Dean do the salt and burn on his own, not with a ghost that had already proven himself homicidal. "Okay." Sam muttered and crawled in his bed, planting his face in the pillow wearily.
Dean tugged the blanket over Sam's long frame and sighed. Some days the kid just couldn't catch a break. He checked the salt lines again for the third time, peeked out the window at the mounted fish now covered with a towel he'd tossed over it and nodded; satisfied.
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Dean took a break, leaning against the side of Uncle Joe's grave and wiped a grimy arm over his brow. "Pass the water, Sam." He called up. He'd kicked Sam out of the digging a half hour earlier before he could pull any of the new stitches. He hadn't gone without an argument and stood now leaning against the headstone and the salt covered bundle that was the mounted catfish. Dean was taking no chances.
"Here." Sam tossed a bottle down. "You're almost there. Come out and I'll finish."
"Nope." Dean grinned up and tossed the empty bottle back up. "I'm almost there." He smirked at the bitch face Sam gave him and took up his shovel again. A few more shovels full of dirt and he hit wood. "Yahtzee." He raised the shovel up and slammed the edge of the blade down hard, cracking aging wood and made short work of the lid of the coffin, revealing the desiccated bones beneath. "Toss me the fish, Sam." He looked up. "Sam?"
A shotgun blast answered him and Dean scrambled up out of the grave. "I'm ok." Sam sat up beside the headstone, a rueful grin on his face. "Popped up right in front of me." He laughed.
Dean smirked. "Dude, you fell?" He laughed and tugged the salt covered bundle of fish over to him, dropping it into the grave.
"I slipped." Sam argued.
"You fell." Dean grinned and dusted his hands. "Such a girl." He caught the salt canister Sam threw at his gut with a grunt and a laugh. "Throw like one too."
"I can kick your ass." Sam growled and stood but he was smiling and embarrassed. He had fallen right off the back of the headstone in surprise when Uncle Joe appeared. He pulled the lighter fluid out of the duffel and stood, watching for the ghosts return while Dean poured salt in on the bones. "Guy looked pissed."
Joe the ghost loomed up once more on the other side of the grave as Dean grabbed the lighter fluid from Sam and started pouring it in. The shotgun echoed beside Dean, blasting the irate spirit into bits a second time.
"Damn he does look pissed." Dean chuckled and set aside the fluid bottle. "Well now he can go be pissed somewhere else." He pulled out a book of matches and lit one, setting the whole book alight and tossed it down into the grave. Flames leaped up from the bones and mounted fish, making a warm glow in the middle of the cemetery. Dean irreverently warmed his hands over the flames. "Good riddance."
"Think the manager's gonna be pissed when he finds that fish gone?" Sam asked, packing up the salt and lighter fluid and shotgun before picking up his shovel. He stood beside Dean and waited for the flames to die down.
"Don't much give a crap." Dean shrugged. "I know, not his fault. Aw I'll tell him it fell or something. I don't think he's actually gonna mind much." He chuckled. "He did say that fish gave him the creeps." He picked up his own shovel as the last of the flames slowly flickered away. "Let's fill this in." It had taken them almost two hours to dig it out. Thankfully, the filling in part always went fast and a half hour later they were strolling through the quiet graveyard back to the Impala.
"You know, it's only one in the morning." Sam said as they reached the car and stowed the shovels in the trunk. "Plenty of time to take a drive by the ruins. We've got the knives now."
"No way are we chasing that thing in the dark." Dean shook his head definitively. "We'll go in tomorrow in daylight. End of discussion." He slammed the trunk shut and left Sam glaring at him, bristling at being ordered. He hated doing it to him but Sam could be as single-minded as their Dad; while Sam was willing to ignore injuries for a hunt, Dean wasn't going to let him. He needed another night to heal.
"Fine." Sam muttered and got in beside Dean. "You know, we should be partners, Dean."
Dean snorted. "We are." He smirked over at Sam. "But I'm still in charge." He gunned the engine to cut off any retort.
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The Bluff Point Ruins didn't look any more inviting the next day as Dean and Sam hiked in from where they'd hid the car. They'd driven by once, happy to not find any cops keeping watch and decided things were looking up.
"Let's head down toward the water." Sam checked his shotgun, making sure it was loaded properly with rock salt. They knew it wouldn't kill the Dobhar-Chu but it had proven effective at distracting it. "These things are supposed to be water dwellers, only coming on land to feed."
Dean nodded and patted the bronze blade hanging at his hip. "We stay together. I'm not letting it pick us off. It's too damn fast." Sam agreed and made no argument. It would take both of them to kill it. They strode down the path they had taken on their last visit as it provided an almost straight shot to the shore. The afternoon was a cold one, the temperature had dropped enough that Dean could almost smell snow in the air. He had the EMF detector in his pocket and turned on so he'd hear it whine if a spirit got too close. In air that cold, seeing their breath was moot as a means of detection. The breeze coming in off the lake had a bite to it and they could feel their cheeks reddening and going numb.
"Dibs on the first hot shower when we get back." Dean said suddenly in the silence and made Sam chuckle.
"Focus, Dean." Sam shook his head, senses alert, highly amused and wondered if he could beat his brother into the motel room and get the shower first.
"Nope, you're not fast enough." Dean told him, guessing what Sam had been thinking and chuckled. He stopped and whirled as pebbles clattered on the path behind and above them. Two shotguns leveled up in the noonday sun.
"What in the hell are you two doing?" Sheriff Bilkes appeared from one of the paths cutting off theirs, his hand jumping to his sidearm. "Drop em boys."
"Dammit, Sheriff!" Dean lowered his gun but didn't drop it. "Are you trying to get dead?"
"What?" The Sheriff scowled. "Don't tell me. You two idiots are actually hunting that giant snake of yours? You're crazier than I thought." He pulled the radio off his shoulder. "I'm calling in backup and you boys are gonna spend some quality time answering questions down at the station."
"Sheriff…" Sam lowered his gun, putting out a placating hand but got no further. The Dobhar-Chu appeared suddenly on the rise above them. It hissed menacingly and they watched all the blood drain out of the Sheriff's face in shock.
"Holy crap!" Sheriff Bilkes gasped. He fumbled for his gun and dropped it as the giant snake pounced down and slammed into him. Two shotguns exploded together, hitting the creature near its head. It backed away from the Winchesters and instead, turned its fierce glare on the Sheriff. They watched, stunned as a horn grew from the center of its head and had no time to call out a warning before the creature had speared through Bilkes' chest. The Sheriff gave a pained, gurgling cry.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted and ran forward, unloading the other barrel into its head and drew his Bronze knife, feeling Sam at his back.
"Dean!" Sam shouted in warning. The Dobhar-Chu's tail whipped out toward them, sweeping their legs from them. Dean thumped into the wall as Sam went sprawling further down the path. Sam rolled to his knees, looking for his shotgun and cried out again as the creature wrapped a coil around his brother. Sheriff Bilkes' body still hanging like a macabre puppet from its horn; the Dobhar-Chu plunged into the open entry to the tunnels, dragging Dean behind it in the grip of its coils. "DEAN!"
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