Somewhere a Clock is Ticking, 4/9 (R, Sam/Dean)
Title: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking (Part 4 of 9)
Rating: R
Pairing: Eventual Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Still not mine, sadly.
Wordcount: Approx. 70k for the fic as a whole.
Betas: So, so much love to zooey_glass04 and aynslee, beta readers and Ameripickers extraordinaire, for all their awesomeness. Thank you, darlings! <333
Notes: This is the fic I wrote during Nano 2007; I had only seen up to episode 3.04 (Sin City) at the time. This is therefore set post-3.04 and contains spoilers only up to that point; of course, it has now been completely overtaken by canon and is officially AU. Oh well. The fic is complete, and will be posted chapter by chapter as I sort out my life.
Summary: Salt had been part of Sam's life for as long as he could remember, and it had always been something positive. It hadn't even occurred to him to think that it wasn't something positive any more, not for Dean.
Previous chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Chapter Four
When Sam opened his eyes, dim light was just starting to filter into the room through the thin curtains. He blinked for a moment, then remembered in a rush what had happened the previous night, and sat up abruptly as he realized that he was no longer holding on to Dean's wrist.
"Dean?" he asked aloud. God, what if whatever it was had worn off? What if it had only been a one-time thing? What if -
A hand clapped down on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, and Sam couldn't stop himself from exhaling sharply with relief. Not only was Dean still there, they could still touch. Oh, thank god.
"Okay," he said, when he thought he could control his voice again. "Okay. Good." He swallowed, and remembered the feelings he'd picked up on when Dean had fallen into him the previous night. "Hey. You okay?"
The hand squeezed once more and started to pull away, but Sam reacted with the reflexes Dean had helped him to hone, catching Dean's upper arm and holding on tight. The very fact that his brother let him get away with it, not bothering to tug his way free, told Sam that Dean needed the contact too. Probably even more than Sam did, under the circumstances.
He didn't comment on that, though. Instead he asked again, more insistently, "Seriously, you okay?"
Dean's hand covered his and squeezed once, the first and most basic code they'd ever learned. Yes.
"Good," Sam said uncertainly, only half-believing him. "You want to tell me what happened last night? Because you didn't seem so okay then."
Two squeezes. No.
"C'mon," Sam said, mustering a half-smile. "Something obviously happened to you. You went to the bar across the road, right? Were there just too many people around?"
Two squeezes. Then, after a pause, one.
Sam nodded. From the sound of it, Dean wasn't entirely certain himself what the exact cause of the problem had been - or if he did know, he didn't want to talk about it. Sam wasn't about to push, at least not right away, since there was no better way to guarantee that Dean would turn stubborn. With luck, he'd be able to work out more of the details later. He was just relieved that they could touch each other now. Dean had always responded better to touch than most other forms of communication, even if he'd never admit it.
"Okay, fine," Sam said. "I guess I'd better get out of bed if we're going to hit the road sometime today, right?" Even he could hear the barely suppressed undercurrent of reluctance in his tone, though.
A single squeeze, and Sam nodded, then forced himself to release his grip on Dean's arm. He told himself firmly that since he was still able to touch Dean this morning, whatever had changed had probably done so permanently, so there was no need to worry that it would be gone if he let go of Dean for a second or two. It was hard not to reach out to make certain, though. Instead he forced himself to get out of bed, flushing suddenly at the realization that all he'd been wearing when he'd gone to bed was a towel wrapped round his waist, which had of course come loose during the night. He secured it back around his hips and headed for the bathroom.
He made himself take the time to shave, something he'd been neglecting since - well, since. It was hard to take the time to do it properly, though, and he could feel his body growing tenser, the strokes of his razor becoming more hasty and impatient. He kept glancing up at the mirror, searching the reflection for something he knew damn well he wasn't going to see.
Then a palm flattened against his back and stayed there, and Sam felt his muscles relax.
He finished shaving, steadied by the contact, and stood still for a long moment when he'd finished until Dean took his hand away again, at which point Sam forced himself to go and dress. Then he returned to the bathroom to try to convince his hair to lie in a slightly more orderly fashion, which proved to be a losing battle since he'd gone to bed while it was still completely wet the previous night.
Dean tapped against his back as Sam frowned at his reflection in the mirror. It took Sam a moment to place it as Morse code, something their father had made them learn when they were young, and another moment to translate it into a word - he was out of practice. Sonic, Dean was tapping.
Sam snorted, picturing himself with Sonic the Hedgehog's spiky blue hair, but had to admit that Dean wasn't all that far off, color aside. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, dude." He ended up wetting a comb and dragging it through his hair a few times. "That'll have to do, I guess. Good thinking with the Morse, by the way, that'll be come in handy if we can't use the Ouija board at some point."
Dean gave a single squeeze for Yes, and Sam wondered if it was only in his imagination that it felt slightly smug. Then Dean tapped out Genius, which pretty much confirmed it.
"Yeah yeah, genius," he said. "Whatever. C'mon, let's hit the road."
Food, Dean tapped out.
Sam shook his head, uncertain whether he should be touched that Dean was still watching out for his welfare even though he couldn't eat himself, or nervous that Dean was transferring his obsession with food to Sam. Knowing his luck, it was probably both. But Sam had no intention of taking Dean into a diner, not after the previous night. "I'll grab something on the way. Let's go, we've still got a long way to drive if we're going to reach Cicero today."
~*~
It was late afternoon when the Impala pulled up in front of the motel in Cicero. Dean felt obscurely relieved that Sam wasn't planning on seeing if Lisa would let him stay, though he was almost certain she would offer. It was probably safer for her and for Ben if the Winchesters spent as little time in their house as possible. Besides, something about the thought of spending a night wandering about that house, surrounded by that life which wasn't his but could have been, made him feel uncomfortable.
He was just glad Sam had paid cash for his room back when they'd visited Cicero last year, or they might not have had a choice about where to stay.
Sam barely took the time to get them checked in and to glance around the room itself before he started dragging Dean back to the car.
"Dude," Dean protested futilely. He didn't bother tapping anything out, though, or even trying to pull away. He was more or less resigned to the idea that Sam was going to be dragging him all over the place for a while, if only to make certain that he really was still there, and Dean couldn't entirely blame him for that. And if he was honest, there was something reassuring about it, feeling Sam real and solid under his fingertips in a world where nothing else was, knowing he was real to Sam if no one else. It was an anchor he shouldn't need, but he did.
"I want to talk to Ben and Lisa first," Sam said, climbing back into the Impala. "See if they know anything useful." He hesitated for a moment before asking, "Do you - do you want me to tell them you're... here?"
Dean couldn't help the way he flinched. There had been so many other things to think about that he hadn't considered the fact that Ben and Lisa knew he was dead, and the implications of that. Lisa's skepticism about the supernatural had to have taken a battering over the past year, but Dean wasn't sure she was ready for the idea of a ghost wandering around her house. And Ben... well, Ben would probably cope with it much better; he was a hell of a kid. But that didn't mean it would be good for him. The kid had been through enough supernatural shit.
He squeezed Sam's arm twice. No.
"Okay," Sam said, and quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, after I've talked to them I want to retrace your steps. Unless you've changed your mind and you're gonna tell me what happened?"
Dean shook his head, unable to suppress a sigh. He should have known better than to think Sam would give up on this, but he still wasn't going to let Sam walk into that kind of danger if he could prevent it. There was a pretty good chance that Sam wouldn't be able to find any real clues to Casey and Father Gil; Dean hadn't himself, though admittedly he'd been working under a deadline, and Sam had time and stubbornness on his side.
He squeezed Sam's arm twice again.
"Figures," Sam muttered. "Fine. Let's go."
It was weird being back at Lisa's house, standing on the same doorstep he'd been on just a few days earlier.
"Stay close," Sam muttered. "And - just let me know you're there every so often, okay?"
Dean squeezed Sam's wrist once, affirmatively, and then the door opened.
"Sam," Lisa said, looking surprised and uncertain, before she stepped forward and hugged him. "Oh god, Sam, I'm so sorry about your brother."
Dean couldn't help but grin at Sam's disconcerted expression and the way he didn't seem to know what to do with his arms for a moment - there were few things he found more hilarious than watching Sam out of his depth with a hot chick - but he couldn't help feeling a bit strange, watching them hug, Sam's arms now wrapped safely round her.
"Thanks," Sam murmured. "I - sorry to drop in on you like this." He pulled back, managing an awkward smile.
"Don't apologize," Lisa said. "I'm glad you're here. I - I owe Dean so much. Do you want to come inside?"
"If you don't mind," Sam said, and followed her over the threshold.
Dean started to follow, then stopped, staring at the line of salt still in place across the doorway. Oh, shit.
Sam didn't appear to have noticed, still focused on Lisa, who was saying something about coffee as she shut the door behind them both. Dean gritted his teeth and tried to walk through the door.
The door itself wasn't a problem, but the salt was another matter. Dean knew the moment he'd hit it, burning whiteness blinding him and throwing him back. He found himself on the doorstep again, gasping, and instinctively took another quick step back -
Only to find himself standing on the street, beside the Impala.
It was a horrible moment before Dean could even process how that had happened. Surely the salt hadn't thrown him that far back? He'd been on the doorstep again for a moment, and he hadn't had any problem getting that close to the house before. No, the salt wasn't to blame for that part.
He'd moved the way ghosts tended to, snapping from one spot to another with unnatural speed.
Jesus Christ. Dean took several deep breaths and tried to recover his composure. He'd always found the jerky way spirits sometimes moved to be creepy as hell, ever since he was a kid, and he had to admit he was more than slightly freaked out that he'd done it himself.
"This death gig just gets suckier by the minute," he muttered, and tried to put it out of his mind. He'd done it once, that didn't mean he had to do it again. And he had a bigger problem on his hands, specifically the fact that he couldn't get inside the house. He half-wished he hadn't told Lisa to lay salt along the walls, too, because he'd really locked himself out as a result. It looked like he was stuck outside unless Sam opened up a hole in one of the salt lines.
And hopefully Sam wouldn't do that. They might be keeping Dean out, but if they were also keeping out demons and the like...
Dean sighed and passed back into the Impala. Maybe it was for the best. Lisa and Sam having a conversation about him could only be embarrassing.
~*~
"Come on through," Lisa said, ushering Sam into the kitchen. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Um, milk and sugar, please," Sam said. "Lisa, I'm sorry I was so rude when I got here at the weekend - I just -"
"God, please don't apologize," Lisa said in a rush. "You were right to be worried. I'm sorry I didn't tell you at once where he was - maybe if I'd..."
Sam shook his head at once. The last thing he wanted was for Lisa to blame herself. "No, I - I don't think it would have changed anything, honestly." He changed the subject hastily. Even now he knew Dean wasn't gone, it was hard for him to remember that alleyway and the taste of Dean's blood. "How's Ben doing? Is he okay?"
Lisa nodded slowly. "He's doing okay. He's upset about Dean, of course..." She managed a painful smile at Sam. "I know they didn't know each other long, but they really hit it off. Ben adored him."
"Dean really cared about him too," Sam said quietly, thinking back to the conversation he and his brother had had after leaving Cicero for the first time.
"So he's upset, yes," Lisa said. "But I'm just grateful that he's back safely. I was so worried."
Sam accepted the cup of coffee and took a sip. "Lisa, could you maybe tell me a bit about what happened while Dean was here?"
"Of course," Lisa replied, her eyes soft with an understanding that Sam had to look away from. "He arrived late on Friday afternoon and looked at Ben's room. He found this weird dust up there - he said it was sulfur, and that meant a - a demon had been there." She swallowed, obviously still uncomfortable with that. "He went out to ask around a bit, but it didn't sound like he made any progress that evening."
Sam nodded encouragingly. He'd spoken to Dean that evening, and his brother hadn't mentioned anything then. "What about the next day?"
"Dean was looking around Ben's room again when I woke up," Lisa said. "He found a sort of flyer, a questionnaire-type thing - something about a new youth center being opened. I gave him directions to the park, and I think he went to talk to a couple of Ben's friends there. I don't know what he did after that, though - he was away for most of the day. When he came back he asked me if I knew anyone called Stacey. He seemed to think that was who'd taken Ben."
"And you don't know anyone called that?" Sam asked. "Or anything similar?"
Lisa shook her head helplessly. "No, nobody. I told him that, too. Anyway, we were talking and there was a noise outside. Dean opened the door and there was a note on the doorstep, with an address. It said to come alone at sunset - to an abandoned warehouse down at the bottom of that alley. I wanted to go too, but Dean talked me out of it, said it was too dangerous." She bit her lip and looked up at Sam helplessly. "Then he left, and a little while later you appeared. That's it."
"Okay," Sam said, a little disappointed that she didn't seem to know much more than he did. "That flyer - I don't suppose you still have it?"
Lisa shook her head. "He took it with him when he went off to the park. I don't know what happened to it after that."
Maybe Bobby would know more about it, Sam thought, making a mental note to call him later. "Thanks, Lisa." He hesitated, then went ahead and asked. "Do you think I could maybe speak to Ben? Just for a few minutes?"
Lisa hesitated for a moment, and Sam thought she might refuse, but the thought of what she owed Dean seemed to win out, because she said, "Sure. I'll go get him."
Sam glanced around the kitchen as he waited. "Dean?" he asked quietly.
There was no touch to his arm, nothing. Sam's eyes fell on the thin white line of salt along one wall and he inhaled sharply, looking around more closely.
Salt.
Now he thought about it, he'd stepped across a salt line across the front door, too. He hadn't given it a second thought at the time: salt had been part of his life for as long as he could remember, and it had always been something positive. It hadn't even occurred to him to think that it wasn't something positive any more, not for Dean.
Sam took a deep breath to steady himself and forced himself to think rationally. If the salt was along the walls, too, there would be no way for Dean to get in. He'd probably gone back to the car to wait after Sam had gone inside. If Sam opened up a space in the salt now, Dean probably wouldn't be close enough to see and come inside, but there would be a danger that something else might, and Lisa and Ben could be at risk.
He would just have to wait. Dean would be fine outside, Sam was sure, though he resolved to keep his conversation with Ben as short as he could. He really didn't like being separated from his brother right now.
"You're Dean's brother."
Sam swung round to see Ben standing in the doorway, Lisa behind him with a hand on his shoulder. He smiled awkwardly at the kid. "Yeah, I am. I'm Sam. Can I maybe talk to you for a minute?"
Ben shrugged and stepped into the room, and Sam took a moment to study him. He hadn't had a great deal to do with Ben in the past, except for when he and Dean had taken on the changelings together to rescue the kid; Dean was the one who'd spent time with him. He could see why his brother liked him so much, though. He might not be Dean's son, but Sam could definitely see similarities nonetheless.
"I'm trying to find out exactly what happened," Sam said, once Ben had sat down. "Can you tell me what you remember?"
Ben nodded. He was more subdued than Sam remembered, though he guessed that wasn't surprising under the circumstances. "I woke up in the middle of the night, and there was a man standing at the end of my bed."
Sam sat up straighter. Finally, something new. "What did he look like?"
"It was dark," Ben said. "I didn't see him too well until later, but he had grey hair, looked kinda old. Really pale. Like, sick."
Sam frowned. "What about his eyes? Were they a weird color, like black or yellow or anything?"
Ben shook his head. "Not that I saw."
"Okay," Sam said. "So this man took you?"
"I don't remember that part," Ben admitted. "It was like I fell asleep or something. When I woke up I was in this room, tied to a chair. I tried to untie myself, but I couldn't. It's a lot harder than they make it look on TV."
"Yeah, it is," Sam agreed. "It takes a lot of practice, and even then you can't do it if the person who tied you up really knows what they're doing."
A spark of interest flared in Ben's eyes. "Maybe I should learn."
Sam hurried on before Lisa could kill him for inadvertently planting that idea. "What happened after that?"
"This woman came in and talked to me for a bit," Ben said. "She said not to worry, they weren't going to hurt me, and Dean was going to come and get me."
"What did she look like? Had you seen her before?" Sam asked.
"She was really pale too," Ben said. "Like the old guy. But not as old as him. And I saw her on Thursday on my way home from school."
"What?" Lisa demanded, paling herself.
"She had this survey thing," Ben said. "She said it was for some youth center or something - it was just a couple of stupid questions, Mom, and I got a free voucher for this music store. Everyone else filled it out too, it didn't seem like a big deal at the time."
"And that was the woman?" Sam asked hastily, before Lisa could say anything else. "What else happened?"
"Nothing for a while," Ben said. "I was getting really hungry, and then all of a sudden Dean came in with her again."
"Dean came in with her?" Sam frowned. "Did he... have her at gunpoint or something?"
"No," Ben said, as if Sam was being stupid. "She showed him the way."
Sam shook his head in confusion. "What did Dean do?"
"He cut me loose with this wicked knife," Ben said, as if it was obvious. "And I said I was hungry, so he said we would get out of there and go find something to eat. So we went down the stairs and Dean thanked her, and then we ran up the alley. Except then the old guy suddenly appeared in front of us." His voice shook for the first time, but he met Sam's eyes proudly. "Dean was awesome, you shoulda seen him. He pulled out a gun, just like that. And then he told me to run. I wouldn't have otherwise - I wouldn't have just run away and left him."
"You did the right thing," Sam reassured him, swallowing hard. "I'm glad you did what he told you."
"Are you gonna hunt them down?" Ben asked, a note of eagerness entering his voice. "Can I come and help?"
"I'm looking for them, yes," Sam admitted. "But I think your mom would miss you if you came with me, Ben. They might have left Cicero already. I'm guessing you haven't seen this Stacey or the old guy since?"
"I haven't seen them," Ben said. He frowned. "Who's Stacey?"
"We think that's what the woman's name was," Sam told him. "Dean was on her trail before he went to get you."
"That's not what he called her, though," Ben objected.
Sam stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"I heard him thanking her as we were leaving," Ben said, looking slightly nervous in the face of Sam's intent gaze. "He called her another name."
"What did he call her?" Sam asked.
Ben glanced across at his mother, then back at Sam. "Casey. He called her Casey."
~*~
Man, Sam was pissed.
Dean didn't bother trying to tap out anything in Morse, just touched Sam's arm for a second to let him know he was there. It was a probably a measure of just how pissed Sam was that he didn't say anything beyond, "We're going back to the motel. And then we're going to talk, Dean."
Oh yeah, that boded well.
They reached the motel far too quickly for Dean's comfort. Sam didn't bother holding the car door open for him to get out, just slammed it and headed for the motel room. Which, okay, Dean was perfectly capable of passing through the door, but he'd been taking a certain satisfaction in Sam holding them open for him everywhere.
Safely inside the motel room, with the door closed behind them, Sam exploded.
"Casey? Casey, Dean?! When the hell were you planning on letting me on that detail?"
Oh. Well, that explained it.
Sam was still in full flow. "I mean, what the hell? You didn't think I needed to know she and Father Gil were back? You didn't think that was important? Damnit, Dean!"
"Maybe if I'd thought there was a chance you would actually listen to me like a reasonable person instead of charging after them in a rage and getting yourself killed in the process, I'd have told you," Dean muttered, starting to get angry himself.
"You actually trusted her, didn't you? You went in there and put your trust in her, and she stabbed you in the fucking back! And, what, you're still trying to protect her?"
"The knife was at my throat, actually," Dean said, and sat down at the table. It was really no fun arguing with someone who couldn't hear you. He might as well just let Sam get it out of his system before he tried to communicate again.
It didn't take quite as long as Dean expected. He guessed Sam found it unsatisfying yelling at nothing, too; he'd have to bear that in mind for future reference. Sam dropped into the other chair, jaw still clenched, and said, "Talk to me."
Fine. Dean reached for the Ouija board, which was sitting on the table; he wasn't about to start tapping Morse against his brother's arm while Sam was this annoyed.
WANTED KEEP YOU SAFE
Sam shook his head angrily. "Yeah, right."
THOUGHT YOU'D REACT LIKE THIS, GO AFTER THEM
"Of course I'm going after them," Sam said, his voice starting to get louder again. "They're demons, Dean! And they killed you!"
DON'T. TOO DANGEROUS
"You wouldn't have accepted that while Ben was in danger," Sam said. His voice was glacial now. "You wouldn't accept it if I were in danger."
NOT IN DANGER. DEAD
Sam choked a bit on that. Dean winced slightly himself, but he had to get through to Sam about this.
"But you still need help," Sam said finally. "They might be able to bring you back. And if not, they still need sending back to hell before they kill other people."
OR GET YOURSELF KILLED
"Do what I say, not what I do, huh, Dean?" Sam's voice was bitter now, and Dean flinched from it. "So, why did you trust her?"
TRIED TO SAVE ME
"Like hell," Sam said. "She was setting you up for her partner out in the alley, that's all."
NO. NOT STUPID, SAM
"What makes you so sure?" Sam demanded. "She just too pretty to be evil or something?"
Dean glared at him for that one. "After that werewolf chick, Sam, you have no room to fucking talk." SAID NOT STUPID
Sam sighed and shook his head. "Fine, sorry. Why, then?"
TRIED BEFORE. PLUS OWED ME FOR TRYING TOO
Sam frowned. "Trying to save her from what?"
YOU, Dean spelled out succinctly.
Sam stared at the Ouija board. "What?"
TOLD YOU NOT TO SHOOT
"They were trying to kill you," Sam said, with an obvious effort to stay calm.
NOT HER
"So what do you think I should have done?" Sam demanded.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe listened to me for a second before coming out all guns blazing?" Dean muttered, but restrained himself. He might be concerned by his brother's rash behavior this year, but he wasn't about to deliberately hurt him. NOT IMPORTANT. SHE OWED ME
Sam took a deep breath, looking thoughtful. "So you really think she meant to let you go?"
YES
Sam shook his head. "Okay. I don't know, I'm not convinced, but okay. Even more reason for me to track her down, in that case - if she likes you that much, maybe she'd be willing to help you."
Yeah, that was really likely, Dean thought sardonically. BAD IDEA
"Best idea we've got right now," Sam told him. "Just about the only idea we've got right now. You going to tell me the leads you had on her, now the big secret's out? Or are you going to make me do this the hard way?"
Dean sighed and gave up. MUSIC STORE. WORKED THERE. ADDRESS, BUT DIDN'T EXIST
"That's somewhere to start, though," Sam said. "I guess it's too late to check out the store tonight, it's bound to be closed by now. The address might be worth a try, though. Was it just the number that didn't exist, or the entire street?"
NUMBER
"Good," Sam said. "Maybe they still picked it for a reason. I'm going to grab something from the vending machine, then we can try researching it online, and maybe head over there after if we find anything promising."
OK, Dean spelled out simply. There hardly seemed any point in trying to talk Sam out of it.
Sam got to his feet and grabbed his wallet from beside the bed, then hesitated. "Anything else major you haven't told me that you should have? Any other secrets you've been keeping that I should know about?"
Dean thought about the crossroads demon, about the fact that the clock was still ticking on his deal. He suspected Sam assumed that was over with, since Dean was dead and still there, not in hell. But Sam had never come right out and said that, so it wasn't exactly like Dean was keeping it from him, was it? Besides, if he told Sam, no doubt his brother would start looking for ways to undo it again. And much as Dean wanted to be able to talk to Sam normally, he didn't want it to happen because Sam had dropped fucking dead.
NO, he responded, and told himself it wasn't exactly a lie.
~*~
The street was much as Dean remembered it: a row of undistinguished houses on either side. Also as he remembered, the number Casey had given didn't exist; the houses stopped several numbers before it.
He stayed slightly ahead of Sam as they walked down the road. Most of Sam's attention appeared to be on the houses to either side; Dean concentrated on the shadows at the end of the street, where there seemed to be a small park. When Sam halted at the end of the road and turned in a circle, looking around, Dean continued across to the park, walking in amongst the few trees and checking whether there were any signs of anything suspicious. It appeared to be deserted, though, as far as he could see, and he couldn't find anything obviously demonic among the trees.
He walked back to where Sam was standing, pressing a hand against his back so his brother would know he was there.
"Anything?" Sam murmured.
Dean squeezed his arm twice. No.
Sam nodded towards the house on the left side of the street. "That's the house where the old lady was found dead."
Sam's insistence on research before setting out had come in useful: they'd turned up a newspaper article about the death of an elderly woman in the street several weeks ago. The newspaper had reported it as suicide, and they didn't really have any reason to think otherwise - except that Casey had given this street as her address, and if demons might have been hanging around here, then all deaths had to be treated as suspicious.
Dean looked at it, studying the dark windows, and nodded. Back, he tapped in Morse.
"Okay," Sam agreed, and started walking towards the park before - with a last glance behind him to make sure no one was looking - ducking along the side of the house and around to the back door.
Dean watched as his brother pulled out his lockpicks, and shook his head. He touched Sam's left hand once to let him know the plan.
"Dean, wait!" Sam hissed. "We don't know what might be in there -"
"I'm dead, Sam, what else can happen to me?" Dean muttered, and slipped through the door.
Inside, the house appeared as dark and deserted as it had looked from the outside. Dean spared a glance at the hallway he was standing in, then turned his attention to the door. Sam was still working on the lock, and Dean bent to examine it, then reached into it.
There was a click as it unlocked, and he punched the air in triumph. "Oh, hells yes!"
Sam's face was a picture as he straightened up and put the picks back in his pocket. "Show-off," he muttered and stepped inside.
Dean laughed and swung the door closed behind him. "You're just jealous because I'm faster than you, Sammy."
Sam pulled out a flashlight and played it up and down the hallway. "Okay, let's take a look around." He paused, and Dean knew exactly what he was thinking: normally, in a situation like this, they'd split up to cover the ground faster. But under the circumstances...
Well, Dean would still be able to hear Sam if he yelled. And what trouble could Dean run into at this point?
He touched Sam's arm and tapped out Going upstairs.
"I don't think we should separate," Sam said. "We don't know what might be here, Dean."
"A whole lot of nothing, I'm betting," Dean said, and tapped out, Be fine. Yell if need.
Sam still didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded his agreement. "Okay. Be careful."
Dean patted his back once, and headed for the stairs.
Upstairs was creepy only in the little-old-lady vibes the place was giving off. Dean paused to stare at a framed cross-stitch of a kitten playing with a ball of wool, then moved on along the hallway with a shudder.
He slipped through the first door he came to, and found himself in what he guessed was a spare bedroom. The bed was still neatly made; a thin layer of dust lay over everything, from the ugly orange lamp on the bedside table to the equally ugly vase on the windowsill. The place didn't look like it had been used in a long time, much longer than the couple of weeks the woman had been dead. Maybe that also explained why none of her belongings appeared to have been packed up yet: probably no family nearby.
Dean passed back through the door and checked out the bathroom at the end of the hall. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary, though patterned pink tiles and a cat-shaped toilet-brush holder weren't exactly to his taste. It took a bit of effort to slide aside the mirror that doubled as the front of the medicine cabinet, but he managed it and peered at the little bottles of pills inside. There seemed to be quite a few different varieties, but the newspaper report had said Mrs. Green was over seventy, so Dean guessed that was probably normal. He eyed the level of the pills in each bottle. The report hadn't said how she was supposed to have killed herself, but it didn't look like an overdose was likely. And since the bathroom still appeared to be fairly clean and tidy, she probably hadn't slit her wrists, either.
He only stuck his head into her bedroom: he was already staring to think that the house was a bust. Maybe Casey had killed Mrs. Green and maybe she hadn't, but either way it certainly didn't look like she'd been staying here before she'd gone after Ben.
Dean started back down the stairs, ready to find Sam and get out of there. He might not be able to sleep, but Sam had to be exhausted by now after driving all day. They could try checking out the music store in the morning, maybe Sam would have better luck there than he'd had.
He was almost at the bottom of the stairs when he glanced up and saw Sam crouched just inside the kitchen, intently examining something on the floor.
And advancing on him, fingers hooked and teeth bared in a snarl, was what could only be the hollow-eyed ghost of Mrs. Green.
Dean didn't even think, instinct taking over. "SAM, LOOK OUT!"
He barely had time to see Sam's head snap up before he was there, suddenly between Sam and the ghost, with no recollection of crossing the space to reach that spot. He didn't bother to question it, just held his ground, glaring at the spirit.
He could see now how she'd died, the dark bruising around her neck and her discolored face telling him she'd either hung herself or been strangled. Her eyes were filled with fury, and she snarled and launched herself at him.
Dean was expecting her to go right through him, and was hoping Sam had figured out enough of what was going on to defend himself. So he was caught completely off-guard when she hit him.
"Son of a -" he cursed, struggling against her. Damnit, why hadn't it occurred to him that ghosts might be able to touch him now that he was one himself?
He was pretty certain that if they'd both been alive, he'd have been able to take Mrs. Green in about three seconds flat, and that was allowing time for her to thwap him with a walking stick or whatever - he didn't underestimate little old ladies in a fight, he'd experienced for himself once or twice how vicious they could be when provoked. But she wasn't reliant on a walking stick, and muscle strength wasn't much good to him now he didn't have any muscles. As she sank her clawed hands deep into his shoulder, snarling against his face, Dean yelped in pain and was forced to admit that they were much more closely matched than he'd expected. In fact, he was quite possibly outmatched.
Sam yelled something behind him, and Dean made himself concentrate. Outmatched or not, he was damned if he was going to let her go after Sam.
~*~
Sam swore and shifted his grip on the shotgun. There was no way he could shoot, not when Dean was obviously fighting with Mrs. Green's ghost - it was impossible to get a clear shot, especially since he couldn't see his brother. And salt didn't lend itself to clear shots anyway, it always went everywhere. Normally that was an advantage, but Sam had shot his brother with salt once in life and regretted it. He didn't want to think about the damage it would cause if he did it again now Dean was dead.
It was hard to just stand back and wait when his brother was in danger, though. Sam tried frantically to think of something he could do, but he couldn't come up with anything that would damage the ghost without hurting Dean, too.
The ghostly figure suddenly shifted to the other side of the room. Sam swung round, taking aim, but stopped short as he saw she was still fighting with something invisible, something that could only be Dean.
"Dean, get clear!" he yelled again. "I can't get a clear shot while you're fighting her!"
He heard a muffled curse, and then felt Dean passing through him, an instant of his brother's pain before Dean was gone again. Sam didn't have more than a split-second to worry before Mrs. Green's ghost lunged at him, fury in her eyes and something that looked like blood dripping from her clawed hands.
He brought the shotgun up and fired, and she dispersed with a scream.
"Fuck me," Dean's voice said weakly in the ensuing silence.
Sam turned at once, looking around. "Jesus, Dean, where are you? Are you hurt?" The kitchen table behind him was a couple of inches away from where it had been, and he moved in that direction.
"Here I thought being dead meant I finally had a free pass on getting beaten up," Dean complained. "Jeez. Little old ladies are fucking vicious, I've always said so."
"You never really got over Mrs. Wilkins chasing you with her stick when you almost ran over her cat on your bike, did you?" Sam said, dropping to his knees next to the table and reaching out, feeling around carefully. He touched something solid in thin air and ran his hand over it. "Is that your shoulder?"
"Quit feeling me up, Sammy," Dean said. "And Mrs. Wilkins was a fucking bitch. Her cat was a menace, too, I'd have been doing her a favor."
"I don't think she saw it that way," Sam said drily, feeling along Dean's shoulder carefully. "Are you hu- " He cut off abruptly as realization hit.
"Yeah, well, she was blind as a bat, she didn't see what a -" Dean broke off suddenly too.
There was silence for a moment, then Dean said weakly, "Sam?"
"Yeah," Sam said, his heart pounding.
"Oh," Dean said, sounding completely floored. "Wow."
Sam couldn't help but laugh. "That's all you've got to say? Now you finally don't have to tap everything out in Morse code, you can't manage anything longer than three letters?"
"I'll give you goddamn Morse," Dean said, and punched his arm.
Sam couldn't seem to stop laughing. He lowered his head to rest against Dean's shoulder and shut his eyes.
Chapter Five
Rating: R
Pairing: Eventual Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Still not mine, sadly.
Wordcount: Approx. 70k for the fic as a whole.
Betas: So, so much love to zooey_glass04 and aynslee, beta readers and Ameripickers extraordinaire, for all their awesomeness. Thank you, darlings! <333
Notes: This is the fic I wrote during Nano 2007; I had only seen up to episode 3.04 (Sin City) at the time. This is therefore set post-3.04 and contains spoilers only up to that point; of course, it has now been completely overtaken by canon and is officially AU. Oh well. The fic is complete, and will be posted chapter by chapter as I sort out my life.
Summary: Salt had been part of Sam's life for as long as he could remember, and it had always been something positive. It hadn't even occurred to him to think that it wasn't something positive any more, not for Dean.
Previous chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Chapter Four
When Sam opened his eyes, dim light was just starting to filter into the room through the thin curtains. He blinked for a moment, then remembered in a rush what had happened the previous night, and sat up abruptly as he realized that he was no longer holding on to Dean's wrist.
"Dean?" he asked aloud. God, what if whatever it was had worn off? What if it had only been a one-time thing? What if -
A hand clapped down on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, and Sam couldn't stop himself from exhaling sharply with relief. Not only was Dean still there, they could still touch. Oh, thank god.
"Okay," he said, when he thought he could control his voice again. "Okay. Good." He swallowed, and remembered the feelings he'd picked up on when Dean had fallen into him the previous night. "Hey. You okay?"
The hand squeezed once more and started to pull away, but Sam reacted with the reflexes Dean had helped him to hone, catching Dean's upper arm and holding on tight. The very fact that his brother let him get away with it, not bothering to tug his way free, told Sam that Dean needed the contact too. Probably even more than Sam did, under the circumstances.
He didn't comment on that, though. Instead he asked again, more insistently, "Seriously, you okay?"
Dean's hand covered his and squeezed once, the first and most basic code they'd ever learned. Yes.
"Good," Sam said uncertainly, only half-believing him. "You want to tell me what happened last night? Because you didn't seem so okay then."
Two squeezes. No.
"C'mon," Sam said, mustering a half-smile. "Something obviously happened to you. You went to the bar across the road, right? Were there just too many people around?"
Two squeezes. Then, after a pause, one.
Sam nodded. From the sound of it, Dean wasn't entirely certain himself what the exact cause of the problem had been - or if he did know, he didn't want to talk about it. Sam wasn't about to push, at least not right away, since there was no better way to guarantee that Dean would turn stubborn. With luck, he'd be able to work out more of the details later. He was just relieved that they could touch each other now. Dean had always responded better to touch than most other forms of communication, even if he'd never admit it.
"Okay, fine," Sam said. "I guess I'd better get out of bed if we're going to hit the road sometime today, right?" Even he could hear the barely suppressed undercurrent of reluctance in his tone, though.
A single squeeze, and Sam nodded, then forced himself to release his grip on Dean's arm. He told himself firmly that since he was still able to touch Dean this morning, whatever had changed had probably done so permanently, so there was no need to worry that it would be gone if he let go of Dean for a second or two. It was hard not to reach out to make certain, though. Instead he forced himself to get out of bed, flushing suddenly at the realization that all he'd been wearing when he'd gone to bed was a towel wrapped round his waist, which had of course come loose during the night. He secured it back around his hips and headed for the bathroom.
He made himself take the time to shave, something he'd been neglecting since - well, since. It was hard to take the time to do it properly, though, and he could feel his body growing tenser, the strokes of his razor becoming more hasty and impatient. He kept glancing up at the mirror, searching the reflection for something he knew damn well he wasn't going to see.
Then a palm flattened against his back and stayed there, and Sam felt his muscles relax.
He finished shaving, steadied by the contact, and stood still for a long moment when he'd finished until Dean took his hand away again, at which point Sam forced himself to go and dress. Then he returned to the bathroom to try to convince his hair to lie in a slightly more orderly fashion, which proved to be a losing battle since he'd gone to bed while it was still completely wet the previous night.
Dean tapped against his back as Sam frowned at his reflection in the mirror. It took Sam a moment to place it as Morse code, something their father had made them learn when they were young, and another moment to translate it into a word - he was out of practice. Sonic, Dean was tapping.
Sam snorted, picturing himself with Sonic the Hedgehog's spiky blue hair, but had to admit that Dean wasn't all that far off, color aside. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, dude." He ended up wetting a comb and dragging it through his hair a few times. "That'll have to do, I guess. Good thinking with the Morse, by the way, that'll be come in handy if we can't use the Ouija board at some point."
Dean gave a single squeeze for Yes, and Sam wondered if it was only in his imagination that it felt slightly smug. Then Dean tapped out Genius, which pretty much confirmed it.
"Yeah yeah, genius," he said. "Whatever. C'mon, let's hit the road."
Food, Dean tapped out.
Sam shook his head, uncertain whether he should be touched that Dean was still watching out for his welfare even though he couldn't eat himself, or nervous that Dean was transferring his obsession with food to Sam. Knowing his luck, it was probably both. But Sam had no intention of taking Dean into a diner, not after the previous night. "I'll grab something on the way. Let's go, we've still got a long way to drive if we're going to reach Cicero today."
~*~
It was late afternoon when the Impala pulled up in front of the motel in Cicero. Dean felt obscurely relieved that Sam wasn't planning on seeing if Lisa would let him stay, though he was almost certain she would offer. It was probably safer for her and for Ben if the Winchesters spent as little time in their house as possible. Besides, something about the thought of spending a night wandering about that house, surrounded by that life which wasn't his but could have been, made him feel uncomfortable.
He was just glad Sam had paid cash for his room back when they'd visited Cicero last year, or they might not have had a choice about where to stay.
Sam barely took the time to get them checked in and to glance around the room itself before he started dragging Dean back to the car.
"Dude," Dean protested futilely. He didn't bother tapping anything out, though, or even trying to pull away. He was more or less resigned to the idea that Sam was going to be dragging him all over the place for a while, if only to make certain that he really was still there, and Dean couldn't entirely blame him for that. And if he was honest, there was something reassuring about it, feeling Sam real and solid under his fingertips in a world where nothing else was, knowing he was real to Sam if no one else. It was an anchor he shouldn't need, but he did.
"I want to talk to Ben and Lisa first," Sam said, climbing back into the Impala. "See if they know anything useful." He hesitated for a moment before asking, "Do you - do you want me to tell them you're... here?"
Dean couldn't help the way he flinched. There had been so many other things to think about that he hadn't considered the fact that Ben and Lisa knew he was dead, and the implications of that. Lisa's skepticism about the supernatural had to have taken a battering over the past year, but Dean wasn't sure she was ready for the idea of a ghost wandering around her house. And Ben... well, Ben would probably cope with it much better; he was a hell of a kid. But that didn't mean it would be good for him. The kid had been through enough supernatural shit.
He squeezed Sam's arm twice. No.
"Okay," Sam said, and quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, after I've talked to them I want to retrace your steps. Unless you've changed your mind and you're gonna tell me what happened?"
Dean shook his head, unable to suppress a sigh. He should have known better than to think Sam would give up on this, but he still wasn't going to let Sam walk into that kind of danger if he could prevent it. There was a pretty good chance that Sam wouldn't be able to find any real clues to Casey and Father Gil; Dean hadn't himself, though admittedly he'd been working under a deadline, and Sam had time and stubbornness on his side.
He squeezed Sam's arm twice again.
"Figures," Sam muttered. "Fine. Let's go."
It was weird being back at Lisa's house, standing on the same doorstep he'd been on just a few days earlier.
"Stay close," Sam muttered. "And - just let me know you're there every so often, okay?"
Dean squeezed Sam's wrist once, affirmatively, and then the door opened.
"Sam," Lisa said, looking surprised and uncertain, before she stepped forward and hugged him. "Oh god, Sam, I'm so sorry about your brother."
Dean couldn't help but grin at Sam's disconcerted expression and the way he didn't seem to know what to do with his arms for a moment - there were few things he found more hilarious than watching Sam out of his depth with a hot chick - but he couldn't help feeling a bit strange, watching them hug, Sam's arms now wrapped safely round her.
"Thanks," Sam murmured. "I - sorry to drop in on you like this." He pulled back, managing an awkward smile.
"Don't apologize," Lisa said. "I'm glad you're here. I - I owe Dean so much. Do you want to come inside?"
"If you don't mind," Sam said, and followed her over the threshold.
Dean started to follow, then stopped, staring at the line of salt still in place across the doorway. Oh, shit.
Sam didn't appear to have noticed, still focused on Lisa, who was saying something about coffee as she shut the door behind them both. Dean gritted his teeth and tried to walk through the door.
The door itself wasn't a problem, but the salt was another matter. Dean knew the moment he'd hit it, burning whiteness blinding him and throwing him back. He found himself on the doorstep again, gasping, and instinctively took another quick step back -
Only to find himself standing on the street, beside the Impala.
It was a horrible moment before Dean could even process how that had happened. Surely the salt hadn't thrown him that far back? He'd been on the doorstep again for a moment, and he hadn't had any problem getting that close to the house before. No, the salt wasn't to blame for that part.
He'd moved the way ghosts tended to, snapping from one spot to another with unnatural speed.
Jesus Christ. Dean took several deep breaths and tried to recover his composure. He'd always found the jerky way spirits sometimes moved to be creepy as hell, ever since he was a kid, and he had to admit he was more than slightly freaked out that he'd done it himself.
"This death gig just gets suckier by the minute," he muttered, and tried to put it out of his mind. He'd done it once, that didn't mean he had to do it again. And he had a bigger problem on his hands, specifically the fact that he couldn't get inside the house. He half-wished he hadn't told Lisa to lay salt along the walls, too, because he'd really locked himself out as a result. It looked like he was stuck outside unless Sam opened up a hole in one of the salt lines.
And hopefully Sam wouldn't do that. They might be keeping Dean out, but if they were also keeping out demons and the like...
Dean sighed and passed back into the Impala. Maybe it was for the best. Lisa and Sam having a conversation about him could only be embarrassing.
~*~
"Come on through," Lisa said, ushering Sam into the kitchen. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Um, milk and sugar, please," Sam said. "Lisa, I'm sorry I was so rude when I got here at the weekend - I just -"
"God, please don't apologize," Lisa said in a rush. "You were right to be worried. I'm sorry I didn't tell you at once where he was - maybe if I'd..."
Sam shook his head at once. The last thing he wanted was for Lisa to blame herself. "No, I - I don't think it would have changed anything, honestly." He changed the subject hastily. Even now he knew Dean wasn't gone, it was hard for him to remember that alleyway and the taste of Dean's blood. "How's Ben doing? Is he okay?"
Lisa nodded slowly. "He's doing okay. He's upset about Dean, of course..." She managed a painful smile at Sam. "I know they didn't know each other long, but they really hit it off. Ben adored him."
"Dean really cared about him too," Sam said quietly, thinking back to the conversation he and his brother had had after leaving Cicero for the first time.
"So he's upset, yes," Lisa said. "But I'm just grateful that he's back safely. I was so worried."
Sam accepted the cup of coffee and took a sip. "Lisa, could you maybe tell me a bit about what happened while Dean was here?"
"Of course," Lisa replied, her eyes soft with an understanding that Sam had to look away from. "He arrived late on Friday afternoon and looked at Ben's room. He found this weird dust up there - he said it was sulfur, and that meant a - a demon had been there." She swallowed, obviously still uncomfortable with that. "He went out to ask around a bit, but it didn't sound like he made any progress that evening."
Sam nodded encouragingly. He'd spoken to Dean that evening, and his brother hadn't mentioned anything then. "What about the next day?"
"Dean was looking around Ben's room again when I woke up," Lisa said. "He found a sort of flyer, a questionnaire-type thing - something about a new youth center being opened. I gave him directions to the park, and I think he went to talk to a couple of Ben's friends there. I don't know what he did after that, though - he was away for most of the day. When he came back he asked me if I knew anyone called Stacey. He seemed to think that was who'd taken Ben."
"And you don't know anyone called that?" Sam asked. "Or anything similar?"
Lisa shook her head helplessly. "No, nobody. I told him that, too. Anyway, we were talking and there was a noise outside. Dean opened the door and there was a note on the doorstep, with an address. It said to come alone at sunset - to an abandoned warehouse down at the bottom of that alley. I wanted to go too, but Dean talked me out of it, said it was too dangerous." She bit her lip and looked up at Sam helplessly. "Then he left, and a little while later you appeared. That's it."
"Okay," Sam said, a little disappointed that she didn't seem to know much more than he did. "That flyer - I don't suppose you still have it?"
Lisa shook her head. "He took it with him when he went off to the park. I don't know what happened to it after that."
Maybe Bobby would know more about it, Sam thought, making a mental note to call him later. "Thanks, Lisa." He hesitated, then went ahead and asked. "Do you think I could maybe speak to Ben? Just for a few minutes?"
Lisa hesitated for a moment, and Sam thought she might refuse, but the thought of what she owed Dean seemed to win out, because she said, "Sure. I'll go get him."
Sam glanced around the kitchen as he waited. "Dean?" he asked quietly.
There was no touch to his arm, nothing. Sam's eyes fell on the thin white line of salt along one wall and he inhaled sharply, looking around more closely.
Salt.
Now he thought about it, he'd stepped across a salt line across the front door, too. He hadn't given it a second thought at the time: salt had been part of his life for as long as he could remember, and it had always been something positive. It hadn't even occurred to him to think that it wasn't something positive any more, not for Dean.
Sam took a deep breath to steady himself and forced himself to think rationally. If the salt was along the walls, too, there would be no way for Dean to get in. He'd probably gone back to the car to wait after Sam had gone inside. If Sam opened up a space in the salt now, Dean probably wouldn't be close enough to see and come inside, but there would be a danger that something else might, and Lisa and Ben could be at risk.
He would just have to wait. Dean would be fine outside, Sam was sure, though he resolved to keep his conversation with Ben as short as he could. He really didn't like being separated from his brother right now.
"You're Dean's brother."
Sam swung round to see Ben standing in the doorway, Lisa behind him with a hand on his shoulder. He smiled awkwardly at the kid. "Yeah, I am. I'm Sam. Can I maybe talk to you for a minute?"
Ben shrugged and stepped into the room, and Sam took a moment to study him. He hadn't had a great deal to do with Ben in the past, except for when he and Dean had taken on the changelings together to rescue the kid; Dean was the one who'd spent time with him. He could see why his brother liked him so much, though. He might not be Dean's son, but Sam could definitely see similarities nonetheless.
"I'm trying to find out exactly what happened," Sam said, once Ben had sat down. "Can you tell me what you remember?"
Ben nodded. He was more subdued than Sam remembered, though he guessed that wasn't surprising under the circumstances. "I woke up in the middle of the night, and there was a man standing at the end of my bed."
Sam sat up straighter. Finally, something new. "What did he look like?"
"It was dark," Ben said. "I didn't see him too well until later, but he had grey hair, looked kinda old. Really pale. Like, sick."
Sam frowned. "What about his eyes? Were they a weird color, like black or yellow or anything?"
Ben shook his head. "Not that I saw."
"Okay," Sam said. "So this man took you?"
"I don't remember that part," Ben admitted. "It was like I fell asleep or something. When I woke up I was in this room, tied to a chair. I tried to untie myself, but I couldn't. It's a lot harder than they make it look on TV."
"Yeah, it is," Sam agreed. "It takes a lot of practice, and even then you can't do it if the person who tied you up really knows what they're doing."
A spark of interest flared in Ben's eyes. "Maybe I should learn."
Sam hurried on before Lisa could kill him for inadvertently planting that idea. "What happened after that?"
"This woman came in and talked to me for a bit," Ben said. "She said not to worry, they weren't going to hurt me, and Dean was going to come and get me."
"What did she look like? Had you seen her before?" Sam asked.
"She was really pale too," Ben said. "Like the old guy. But not as old as him. And I saw her on Thursday on my way home from school."
"What?" Lisa demanded, paling herself.
"She had this survey thing," Ben said. "She said it was for some youth center or something - it was just a couple of stupid questions, Mom, and I got a free voucher for this music store. Everyone else filled it out too, it didn't seem like a big deal at the time."
"And that was the woman?" Sam asked hastily, before Lisa could say anything else. "What else happened?"
"Nothing for a while," Ben said. "I was getting really hungry, and then all of a sudden Dean came in with her again."
"Dean came in with her?" Sam frowned. "Did he... have her at gunpoint or something?"
"No," Ben said, as if Sam was being stupid. "She showed him the way."
Sam shook his head in confusion. "What did Dean do?"
"He cut me loose with this wicked knife," Ben said, as if it was obvious. "And I said I was hungry, so he said we would get out of there and go find something to eat. So we went down the stairs and Dean thanked her, and then we ran up the alley. Except then the old guy suddenly appeared in front of us." His voice shook for the first time, but he met Sam's eyes proudly. "Dean was awesome, you shoulda seen him. He pulled out a gun, just like that. And then he told me to run. I wouldn't have otherwise - I wouldn't have just run away and left him."
"You did the right thing," Sam reassured him, swallowing hard. "I'm glad you did what he told you."
"Are you gonna hunt them down?" Ben asked, a note of eagerness entering his voice. "Can I come and help?"
"I'm looking for them, yes," Sam admitted. "But I think your mom would miss you if you came with me, Ben. They might have left Cicero already. I'm guessing you haven't seen this Stacey or the old guy since?"
"I haven't seen them," Ben said. He frowned. "Who's Stacey?"
"We think that's what the woman's name was," Sam told him. "Dean was on her trail before he went to get you."
"That's not what he called her, though," Ben objected.
Sam stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"I heard him thanking her as we were leaving," Ben said, looking slightly nervous in the face of Sam's intent gaze. "He called her another name."
"What did he call her?" Sam asked.
Ben glanced across at his mother, then back at Sam. "Casey. He called her Casey."
~*~
Man, Sam was pissed.
Dean didn't bother trying to tap out anything in Morse, just touched Sam's arm for a second to let him know he was there. It was a probably a measure of just how pissed Sam was that he didn't say anything beyond, "We're going back to the motel. And then we're going to talk, Dean."
Oh yeah, that boded well.
They reached the motel far too quickly for Dean's comfort. Sam didn't bother holding the car door open for him to get out, just slammed it and headed for the motel room. Which, okay, Dean was perfectly capable of passing through the door, but he'd been taking a certain satisfaction in Sam holding them open for him everywhere.
Safely inside the motel room, with the door closed behind them, Sam exploded.
"Casey? Casey, Dean?! When the hell were you planning on letting me on that detail?"
Oh. Well, that explained it.
Sam was still in full flow. "I mean, what the hell? You didn't think I needed to know she and Father Gil were back? You didn't think that was important? Damnit, Dean!"
"Maybe if I'd thought there was a chance you would actually listen to me like a reasonable person instead of charging after them in a rage and getting yourself killed in the process, I'd have told you," Dean muttered, starting to get angry himself.
"You actually trusted her, didn't you? You went in there and put your trust in her, and she stabbed you in the fucking back! And, what, you're still trying to protect her?"
"The knife was at my throat, actually," Dean said, and sat down at the table. It was really no fun arguing with someone who couldn't hear you. He might as well just let Sam get it out of his system before he tried to communicate again.
It didn't take quite as long as Dean expected. He guessed Sam found it unsatisfying yelling at nothing, too; he'd have to bear that in mind for future reference. Sam dropped into the other chair, jaw still clenched, and said, "Talk to me."
Fine. Dean reached for the Ouija board, which was sitting on the table; he wasn't about to start tapping Morse against his brother's arm while Sam was this annoyed.
WANTED KEEP YOU SAFE
Sam shook his head angrily. "Yeah, right."
THOUGHT YOU'D REACT LIKE THIS, GO AFTER THEM
"Of course I'm going after them," Sam said, his voice starting to get louder again. "They're demons, Dean! And they killed you!"
DON'T. TOO DANGEROUS
"You wouldn't have accepted that while Ben was in danger," Sam said. His voice was glacial now. "You wouldn't accept it if I were in danger."
NOT IN DANGER. DEAD
Sam choked a bit on that. Dean winced slightly himself, but he had to get through to Sam about this.
"But you still need help," Sam said finally. "They might be able to bring you back. And if not, they still need sending back to hell before they kill other people."
OR GET YOURSELF KILLED
"Do what I say, not what I do, huh, Dean?" Sam's voice was bitter now, and Dean flinched from it. "So, why did you trust her?"
TRIED TO SAVE ME
"Like hell," Sam said. "She was setting you up for her partner out in the alley, that's all."
NO. NOT STUPID, SAM
"What makes you so sure?" Sam demanded. "She just too pretty to be evil or something?"
Dean glared at him for that one. "After that werewolf chick, Sam, you have no room to fucking talk." SAID NOT STUPID
Sam sighed and shook his head. "Fine, sorry. Why, then?"
TRIED BEFORE. PLUS OWED ME FOR TRYING TOO
Sam frowned. "Trying to save her from what?"
YOU, Dean spelled out succinctly.
Sam stared at the Ouija board. "What?"
TOLD YOU NOT TO SHOOT
"They were trying to kill you," Sam said, with an obvious effort to stay calm.
NOT HER
"So what do you think I should have done?" Sam demanded.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe listened to me for a second before coming out all guns blazing?" Dean muttered, but restrained himself. He might be concerned by his brother's rash behavior this year, but he wasn't about to deliberately hurt him. NOT IMPORTANT. SHE OWED ME
Sam took a deep breath, looking thoughtful. "So you really think she meant to let you go?"
YES
Sam shook his head. "Okay. I don't know, I'm not convinced, but okay. Even more reason for me to track her down, in that case - if she likes you that much, maybe she'd be willing to help you."
Yeah, that was really likely, Dean thought sardonically. BAD IDEA
"Best idea we've got right now," Sam told him. "Just about the only idea we've got right now. You going to tell me the leads you had on her, now the big secret's out? Or are you going to make me do this the hard way?"
Dean sighed and gave up. MUSIC STORE. WORKED THERE. ADDRESS, BUT DIDN'T EXIST
"That's somewhere to start, though," Sam said. "I guess it's too late to check out the store tonight, it's bound to be closed by now. The address might be worth a try, though. Was it just the number that didn't exist, or the entire street?"
NUMBER
"Good," Sam said. "Maybe they still picked it for a reason. I'm going to grab something from the vending machine, then we can try researching it online, and maybe head over there after if we find anything promising."
OK, Dean spelled out simply. There hardly seemed any point in trying to talk Sam out of it.
Sam got to his feet and grabbed his wallet from beside the bed, then hesitated. "Anything else major you haven't told me that you should have? Any other secrets you've been keeping that I should know about?"
Dean thought about the crossroads demon, about the fact that the clock was still ticking on his deal. He suspected Sam assumed that was over with, since Dean was dead and still there, not in hell. But Sam had never come right out and said that, so it wasn't exactly like Dean was keeping it from him, was it? Besides, if he told Sam, no doubt his brother would start looking for ways to undo it again. And much as Dean wanted to be able to talk to Sam normally, he didn't want it to happen because Sam had dropped fucking dead.
NO, he responded, and told himself it wasn't exactly a lie.
~*~
The street was much as Dean remembered it: a row of undistinguished houses on either side. Also as he remembered, the number Casey had given didn't exist; the houses stopped several numbers before it.
He stayed slightly ahead of Sam as they walked down the road. Most of Sam's attention appeared to be on the houses to either side; Dean concentrated on the shadows at the end of the street, where there seemed to be a small park. When Sam halted at the end of the road and turned in a circle, looking around, Dean continued across to the park, walking in amongst the few trees and checking whether there were any signs of anything suspicious. It appeared to be deserted, though, as far as he could see, and he couldn't find anything obviously demonic among the trees.
He walked back to where Sam was standing, pressing a hand against his back so his brother would know he was there.
"Anything?" Sam murmured.
Dean squeezed his arm twice. No.
Sam nodded towards the house on the left side of the street. "That's the house where the old lady was found dead."
Sam's insistence on research before setting out had come in useful: they'd turned up a newspaper article about the death of an elderly woman in the street several weeks ago. The newspaper had reported it as suicide, and they didn't really have any reason to think otherwise - except that Casey had given this street as her address, and if demons might have been hanging around here, then all deaths had to be treated as suspicious.
Dean looked at it, studying the dark windows, and nodded. Back, he tapped in Morse.
"Okay," Sam agreed, and started walking towards the park before - with a last glance behind him to make sure no one was looking - ducking along the side of the house and around to the back door.
Dean watched as his brother pulled out his lockpicks, and shook his head. He touched Sam's left hand once to let him know the plan.
"Dean, wait!" Sam hissed. "We don't know what might be in there -"
"I'm dead, Sam, what else can happen to me?" Dean muttered, and slipped through the door.
Inside, the house appeared as dark and deserted as it had looked from the outside. Dean spared a glance at the hallway he was standing in, then turned his attention to the door. Sam was still working on the lock, and Dean bent to examine it, then reached into it.
There was a click as it unlocked, and he punched the air in triumph. "Oh, hells yes!"
Sam's face was a picture as he straightened up and put the picks back in his pocket. "Show-off," he muttered and stepped inside.
Dean laughed and swung the door closed behind him. "You're just jealous because I'm faster than you, Sammy."
Sam pulled out a flashlight and played it up and down the hallway. "Okay, let's take a look around." He paused, and Dean knew exactly what he was thinking: normally, in a situation like this, they'd split up to cover the ground faster. But under the circumstances...
Well, Dean would still be able to hear Sam if he yelled. And what trouble could Dean run into at this point?
He touched Sam's arm and tapped out Going upstairs.
"I don't think we should separate," Sam said. "We don't know what might be here, Dean."
"A whole lot of nothing, I'm betting," Dean said, and tapped out, Be fine. Yell if need.
Sam still didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded his agreement. "Okay. Be careful."
Dean patted his back once, and headed for the stairs.
Upstairs was creepy only in the little-old-lady vibes the place was giving off. Dean paused to stare at a framed cross-stitch of a kitten playing with a ball of wool, then moved on along the hallway with a shudder.
He slipped through the first door he came to, and found himself in what he guessed was a spare bedroom. The bed was still neatly made; a thin layer of dust lay over everything, from the ugly orange lamp on the bedside table to the equally ugly vase on the windowsill. The place didn't look like it had been used in a long time, much longer than the couple of weeks the woman had been dead. Maybe that also explained why none of her belongings appeared to have been packed up yet: probably no family nearby.
Dean passed back through the door and checked out the bathroom at the end of the hall. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary, though patterned pink tiles and a cat-shaped toilet-brush holder weren't exactly to his taste. It took a bit of effort to slide aside the mirror that doubled as the front of the medicine cabinet, but he managed it and peered at the little bottles of pills inside. There seemed to be quite a few different varieties, but the newspaper report had said Mrs. Green was over seventy, so Dean guessed that was probably normal. He eyed the level of the pills in each bottle. The report hadn't said how she was supposed to have killed herself, but it didn't look like an overdose was likely. And since the bathroom still appeared to be fairly clean and tidy, she probably hadn't slit her wrists, either.
He only stuck his head into her bedroom: he was already staring to think that the house was a bust. Maybe Casey had killed Mrs. Green and maybe she hadn't, but either way it certainly didn't look like she'd been staying here before she'd gone after Ben.
Dean started back down the stairs, ready to find Sam and get out of there. He might not be able to sleep, but Sam had to be exhausted by now after driving all day. They could try checking out the music store in the morning, maybe Sam would have better luck there than he'd had.
He was almost at the bottom of the stairs when he glanced up and saw Sam crouched just inside the kitchen, intently examining something on the floor.
And advancing on him, fingers hooked and teeth bared in a snarl, was what could only be the hollow-eyed ghost of Mrs. Green.
Dean didn't even think, instinct taking over. "SAM, LOOK OUT!"
He barely had time to see Sam's head snap up before he was there, suddenly between Sam and the ghost, with no recollection of crossing the space to reach that spot. He didn't bother to question it, just held his ground, glaring at the spirit.
He could see now how she'd died, the dark bruising around her neck and her discolored face telling him she'd either hung herself or been strangled. Her eyes were filled with fury, and she snarled and launched herself at him.
Dean was expecting her to go right through him, and was hoping Sam had figured out enough of what was going on to defend himself. So he was caught completely off-guard when she hit him.
"Son of a -" he cursed, struggling against her. Damnit, why hadn't it occurred to him that ghosts might be able to touch him now that he was one himself?
He was pretty certain that if they'd both been alive, he'd have been able to take Mrs. Green in about three seconds flat, and that was allowing time for her to thwap him with a walking stick or whatever - he didn't underestimate little old ladies in a fight, he'd experienced for himself once or twice how vicious they could be when provoked. But she wasn't reliant on a walking stick, and muscle strength wasn't much good to him now he didn't have any muscles. As she sank her clawed hands deep into his shoulder, snarling against his face, Dean yelped in pain and was forced to admit that they were much more closely matched than he'd expected. In fact, he was quite possibly outmatched.
Sam yelled something behind him, and Dean made himself concentrate. Outmatched or not, he was damned if he was going to let her go after Sam.
~*~
Sam swore and shifted his grip on the shotgun. There was no way he could shoot, not when Dean was obviously fighting with Mrs. Green's ghost - it was impossible to get a clear shot, especially since he couldn't see his brother. And salt didn't lend itself to clear shots anyway, it always went everywhere. Normally that was an advantage, but Sam had shot his brother with salt once in life and regretted it. He didn't want to think about the damage it would cause if he did it again now Dean was dead.
It was hard to just stand back and wait when his brother was in danger, though. Sam tried frantically to think of something he could do, but he couldn't come up with anything that would damage the ghost without hurting Dean, too.
The ghostly figure suddenly shifted to the other side of the room. Sam swung round, taking aim, but stopped short as he saw she was still fighting with something invisible, something that could only be Dean.
"Dean, get clear!" he yelled again. "I can't get a clear shot while you're fighting her!"
He heard a muffled curse, and then felt Dean passing through him, an instant of his brother's pain before Dean was gone again. Sam didn't have more than a split-second to worry before Mrs. Green's ghost lunged at him, fury in her eyes and something that looked like blood dripping from her clawed hands.
He brought the shotgun up and fired, and she dispersed with a scream.
"Fuck me," Dean's voice said weakly in the ensuing silence.
Sam turned at once, looking around. "Jesus, Dean, where are you? Are you hurt?" The kitchen table behind him was a couple of inches away from where it had been, and he moved in that direction.
"Here I thought being dead meant I finally had a free pass on getting beaten up," Dean complained. "Jeez. Little old ladies are fucking vicious, I've always said so."
"You never really got over Mrs. Wilkins chasing you with her stick when you almost ran over her cat on your bike, did you?" Sam said, dropping to his knees next to the table and reaching out, feeling around carefully. He touched something solid in thin air and ran his hand over it. "Is that your shoulder?"
"Quit feeling me up, Sammy," Dean said. "And Mrs. Wilkins was a fucking bitch. Her cat was a menace, too, I'd have been doing her a favor."
"I don't think she saw it that way," Sam said drily, feeling along Dean's shoulder carefully. "Are you hu- " He cut off abruptly as realization hit.
"Yeah, well, she was blind as a bat, she didn't see what a -" Dean broke off suddenly too.
There was silence for a moment, then Dean said weakly, "Sam?"
"Yeah," Sam said, his heart pounding.
"Oh," Dean said, sounding completely floored. "Wow."
Sam couldn't help but laugh. "That's all you've got to say? Now you finally don't have to tap everything out in Morse code, you can't manage anything longer than three letters?"
"I'll give you goddamn Morse," Dean said, and punched his arm.
Sam couldn't seem to stop laughing. He lowered his head to rest against Dean's shoulder and shut his eyes.
Chapter Five