Untitled for rince1wind - 1/2
Title: Untitled
Author: sams1ra
Recipient: rince1wind
Rating: R (just to be on the safe side)
Disclaimer: All characters mentioned in this fic do not belong to me.
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word count: ~14,000
Author's notes: I mixed and matched a little with the prompts. It's been a while since I wrote anything, so I'm hoping you'll enjoy this. Also, I'd like to thank mayhsgirl93 and slaybelle69 for beta-ing the story!
Summary: "What about the museum? Is it haunted?" Dean asked curiously and took a bite out of his bacon cheeseburger. "Ooh, is it a mummy? I always wanted to hunt a mummy," he said, wiggling his brows.
It was a rainy morning when the boys drove into town. Not heavy-duty rain - mostly drizzles, but the sky was grey and the road was a bit slippery, spotted with dark puddles.
Sam was sleeping in the passenger seat; head mashed against the window, drool dribbling down the side of his mouth. Dean gave his brother a quick glance before returning his eyes to the road. He yawned and blinked a couple of times, trying to stay awake. He'd been driving for seven hours now, which wouldn’t normally make him this tired. The thing was, that Sam'd been sleeping the entire time, the radio was on the fritz and Dean was just plain bored out of his mind.
He bit his lower lip, trying to figure out if he had the energy needed for a prank war. He'd spent the past three hours contemplating the idea out of sheer boredom, but after nearly twenty three prank wars (there was an ongoing debate whether the prank war of '94 was one giant prank war that lasted months, or three different wars that ended with a very irritated John, a black eye for Sam, and three horrific weeks of no TV for Dean), it was getting pretty damn difficult being original. Although, there was a reason some pranks were classics.
The next yawn made Dean's jaw pop. That had actually hurt. God, he was bored.
A minute later, Dean opened his eyes and prayed to everything good and mighty that the road was empty as he swerved back to his side of the white line. Well, nothing like falling asleep at the wheel to give the ol' ticker a workout. Dean swallowed hard and took another glance at his brother. Still drooling. And snoring a little. Almost cute.
"Come on, Dean, gotta stay awake," he muttered to himself. He tried to keep his mind busy. Tried imagining what the road would look like it weren’t raining. Didn’t help much though; there was nothing on this particular road to distinguish it from countless others Dean had been on.
They passed a couple of farmhouses along the way. Saw the people getting up and starting their daily chores.
Dean could imagine that for a while. Being a farm hand. He'd done that before, for a couple of months during one summer. Surprised the hell outta him. It was damn hard work, but he would have stayed. He'd almost been happy there.
Dean smiled to himself.
That had been almost a lifetime ago.
He had a job to do now. It wasn’t an easy job, it wasn’t all nice and shiny, and hell, it'd rarely made him happy, but it was his job. He had to get that gun back. He had to kill that son of a bitch demon that killed his parents. That had nearly killed him. That was going after his little…
Dean had no idea what had happened.
One minute he was driving, rain falling onto the Impala's roof, wipers squeaking a bit as they worked their way back and forth. The next thing, there was a bang, and everything span out of control.
"Dean!"
Yeah, falling asleep at the wheel, that was scary. This though? This was losing control over the car and Sammy crying out and Dean's heart trying to climb out his damn ears.
The car swiveled down the road, skidding and hydroplaning until Dean had finally managed to regain control of it.
He sat there, heart pounding, fingers clutched around the wheel in a death grip, and just stared ahead, eyes staring widely ahead without actually seeing anything. He jumped when Sam gripped his shoulder.
"Jesus, Dean, what the hell?" Sam shrieked, more than a little shocked.
"You okay?" Dean asked, a little breathless.
Sam patted himself down, making sure, before he nodded and looked back at his brother. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so. You?"
Dean swallowed hard and wiped his hand down his mouth. That was all the answer he could manage at the time.
"The hell happened?" Sam demanded.
Dean shook his head. "Dunno," he said. "I think we blew a tire."
"A tire?" Sam asked, as though the possibility was so far beyond anything he could imagine.
"Guess we shoulda changed them a coupla weeks ago," Dean said and pushed the driver's side door open. He walked around the car and sure enough, the rear left tire was blown. Damn it.
"What now?" Sam asked.
Dean raised a brow. "Change the tire," he said simply. "Come on, get your ass out here and help me."
Sam sighed, shoulders slumping.
Fifteen minutes later, they were wet and a little muddy, but they managed to change the tire and put the old one back in the trunk.
"We gotta get a new one. I don’t like wearing out the spare," Dean said, rubbing his dirty hands on his jeans.
"Where are we, anyway?"
Dean shrugged. "I dunno," he said, "Don’t really care. We need to get us some new tires. Some coffee would be nice, too."
"Not arguing that," Sam said as he climbed back in the car. "So where to now? Food or garage?"
Dean's stomach answered for him.
***
They found an open diner a few blocks away, not far from a Motel 6. The place was nearly empty so early in the morning, but that just meant that the coffee was fresh and they didn’t have to wait long for their breakfast.
"You okay man? You look like crap," Sam asked.
Dean smiled. "Thanks, I kinda like you, too," he replied.
Sam smiled and rolled his eyes, playing with his hash browns. "So what now?"
"Now we get some more coffee," Dean said, signaling the waitress. "Then we get the tires and get out of here."
"Yeah, but where?" Sam asked. He didn’t get an answer. Dropping his fork down, Sam got up. "I'm gonna see if I can score us a paper. Maybe there's a job somewhere around here," he suggested.
Dean nodded, shoveling another forkful of pancakes into his mouth. "Might as well," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Not like we have cops on our tails or a demon to kill or nothin'."
Sam came back a couple of minutes later with the morning paper. He sat back down and thanked the waitress when she filled up his cup. "You want the sports section or the funnies?" He asked.
Dean sighed. "Sports, I guess," he said. Sam handed him the obituaries.
***
Dean dropped Sam at the motel to check them in while he drove down to the garage to get the new tires. Sam didn’t mind; he didn’t really know much about cars, that was Dean's thing. Well, Dad and Dean's thing.
It was a little weird, how you could hate a guy your whole life only to miss him like crazy thinking of something stupid like taking care of the car.
Sam dropped his and Dean's duffle bags on the floor and started rummaging through his bag for some clean clothes and his shaving kit. Might as well grab a shower before Dean had a chance to finish all the hot water.
He had time to piss, shower, shave and change his clothes, and Dean still hadn’t come back, so Sam dropped down on his bed, rearranged the pillows to better support his head, and turned the TV on.
Urgh. Morning shows.
He didn’t think they were the evil plan of some demon, like Dean did, but Sam never really liked them himself. Oh well, at least the motel had wi-fi.
Sam pulled his laptop out of his bad and turned it on. Worse comes to worst, he could play solitaire for hours if he had to.
***
Dean finally made it back more than an hour later. He entered the motel room with a smile on his face, tossing the car keys on the wobbly table next to the door.
"Any hot water left?" He asked.
"Yeah, I think so," Sam answered, nose buried in his laptop.
"Found any good porn?" Dean asked, toeing his boots off on his way to his duffle.
"Not really," Sam said offhandedly, making Dean stop dead in his track. Seeing as Sam obviously paid his older brother no attention, Dean just shrugged and pulled out a somewhat clean shirt.
"Hey, you noticed if this place's got a laundry machine? I'm pretty much out of clean clothes."
At this, Sam looked up from the computer. "Yeah, I think so," he said. "Actually, I'm getting pretty low on clean clothes, too." Putting the laptop away, Sam got up from the bed. "I'm gonna go ask the guy at the desk."
"Wait," Dean stopped him. Rummaging through his pockets, he fished out a few quarters and tossed them over to his brother.
"You got the new tires?" Sam asked, pocketing the change.
"Oh, yeah," Dean smirked. "Got my baby some nice, shiny presents, curtsy of Joe Tribbi."
"Yeah?" Sam asked with a smile. Not that he cared all that much, but sometimes Dean's childish glee was damn contagious.
Dean pulled off his shirt, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it onto his bed before answering. "Yeah. Nice guy, Tribbi. Bought us four new radial tires, a new fan belt, hell, the man even sprung for a change of oil - the extra good kind," Dean said enthusiastically. "Even got me a present while we were there," he finished.
Sam raised a brow.
"Got me one of 'em air freshener tree thingies," Dean explained.
Sam frowned. "That's your present?"
The smile was gone from Dean's face in an instant. "The hell it is. You had burritos last night," he accused.
Sam snickered. "Whatever, man," he said, waving Dean off. "Card all maxed out?"
"Yeah, I filled her up while we were there."
"Better start working on some new cards then," Sam said.
Dean shrugged, getting in the bathroom. "Maybe tomorrow. Might as well use whatever we can find in this town."
"Can I at least pick out the names this time?" Sam asked. He sighed when his only reply was Dean's laughter and the water running in the shower.
***
Adrenalin is all kinds of awesome, Dean thought as he stood in the shower with his eyes closed, letting the water spray on his face. With enough of it in your system, you could go on without sleep for days. Hell, with enough of it in your system, you can run for miles on a broken leg. He sure was one to know.
On the other hand, having all the adrenalin leave your system after an entire night spent driving is nowhere near exhilarating. No matter how many cups of coffee you've had.
Dean sighed, forcing his eyes open, and finished showering. He quickly toweled himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist, getting out of the bathroom.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
Dean grunted, face-planting onto his bed.
Sam smiled. "Yeah, I guess that's fair. You were driving all night. But next time you're doing the laundry," he said.
Dean just mumbled something incoherent and promptly fell asleep.
***
The sun was starting its descent when Dean decided it was time to rejoin the world of the living. He pushed himself up from the bed, smacking his lips, and just sat and stared for a while, not completely awake.
"Mornin'," Sam said, not looking away from the TV.
Dean took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Time's it?" he asked.
Sam looked at his watch. "Almost half past four," he said.
Dean ran a hand over his face. "You ate yet?"
"Nah, I was waiting for you," Sam replied.
Dean nodded and grabbed his jeans. He pulled them up but didn’t bother buttoning up. Instead, he went to the bathroom to take a leak and wash his hands. "Well, come on then," he said as he got out of the bathroom. "I need coffee."
"You in the mood for something special?" Sam asked, turning the TV off.
"The diner from this morning's just fine," Dean said simply and followed his brother out.
The air outside had that fresh, after-the-rain smell to it, and both brothers took a deep breath. They got in the car (where Dean pointed at the little yellow trees spread out on the dash, and then gave Sam a pointed look. Sam just rolled his eyes), and drove over to the diner.
They both asked for coffee while they were waiting for their food to arrive. Dean buried his head in his hands, still a little sleepy.
"You could have just slept on a little longer, you know," Sam noted.
Dean sighed. "Yeah, whatever."
Sam waited for Dean to say something more, but apparently, Dean's bloodstream was extremely low on caffeine. "So, I think I got us a case," Sam said eventually.
It seemed to have helped. Dean perked up a little. "Yeah? Anywhere good?" He asked, and then closed his eyes. "Please don’t say Florida. Freaky shit always happens in Florida."
Sam smiled. "No. Actually, it's here," he said.
Dean frowned. "What here? As in here in his diner?"
"Here in this town," Sam explained, "Or actually, right outside."
"Anything good?" Dean asked. "Oh, God bless you," he said thankfully to the waitress that had just arrived with a coffee pot.
Sam waited for the waitress to leave before answering. "A museum, just outside of town."
Dean took a long pull of his coffee and sighed in contentment. It was a couple of seconds longer before the coffee had kicked in. "Really?"
"Huh?" Sam asked, chewing on his chicken salad.
"What about the museum? Is it haunted?" Dean asked curiously and took a bite out of his bacon cheeseburger. "Ooh, is it a mummy? I always wanted to hunt a mummy," he said, wiggling his brows.
Sam stared at him for a moment. "Wow," he said.
Dean frowned. "What?"
"Never figured you for a Scooby Doo wannabe," Sam shrugged.
Dean scowled at him. "Shuddup. I wasn’t thinking about the cartoons anyway. And okay, the movies were mostly stupid. Except for the chick. She was hot." Dean bit his lower lip, lost in thoughts, at least until Sam kicked him in the shin. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"
"It's not a mummy," Sam said, "And even if it were, you're not Brendan Fraser and I'm definitely not Rachel Weisz."
"Killjoy," Dean muttered under his breath and bit into his burger. "You totally have the same length of hair, by the way," he added. "So what are we dealing with?" he asked, bits of food spraying out of his mouth.
Sam made a face, shaking his head in disgust. "I don’t really know yet," he said and sipped from his own coffee. "There's this really old place they decided to make into a museum a few years ago. I'm guessing it's full of stuff about this town. You know, stories about the founding families, stuff like that."
Dean rolled his eyes and pretended to fall asleep. "At least tell me someone famous used to live here. Or hell, died here," he asked.
Sam shrugged. "Not that I can tell," he said. "But they do have tourists."
Dean snorted.
"Anyway," Sam went on, "Apparently, they're shutting down all tours until further notice. That's how I found it in the first place."
"Not enough saps wanting to see a picture of someone who used to be a neighbor of someone who knew someone whose uncle once met the president?"
"There've been three deaths in the museum in the past fifteen years," Sam pushed.
"Oh yeah? Did they die of boredom?"
"Dean -"
"Yeah, alright," Dean raised his hands in surrender and finished his coffee. "Any of 'em die bloody?"
"Well, this last guy, he was one of the tourists. I think his family's suing the town. I'm pretty sure that's why they've closed the place for visitors," Sam said, "They're thinking of shutting the place down. It was actually in the paper this morning."
"And?"
"And apparently it's kind of a big deal. They're going to have a town meeting about -"
"How'd the guy die, Sam?" Dean cut his brother off. Sam was suddenly very busy with his nearly empty plate. "Sam?"
Sam drained the last drops of coffee from his cup before surrendering. "Well, he kinda… slipped down the stairs," he said.
Dean stared at him. "Slipped, or slipped?" He asked.
Sam shrugged. "It's worth checking out, don’t you think?"
"There are hauntings and mummies and cursed objects, and you just had to find us a museum where people die of boredom?" Dean complained, sulking.
***
"So what now? You wanna head over to the museum, see what's what?" Sam asked.
"I'd like to know more about those deaths first. Could be just old people stroking out. Might not even be our kind of thing," Dean said.
"So, back to the motel?"
"You go ahead," Dean said, "I think I'll go visit the local PD, see if they'll play along."
"Don’t do anything stupid," Sam cautioned.
"Hey!" Dean cried, offended. "When did I ever…?" He didn’t bother finishing the sentence. Instead, he shook his head and got in the Impala.
"Dean," Sam sighed, "Dean, open the door," he said when he tried the passenger side door and found it closed. "Dean, come on!" He cried when Dean started revving the engine. "Dean!" Sam yelled in frustration when Dean took off, only to stop a hundred yards away.
Sam scowled as he stalked over to the car, yanked the door open and got inside. "Very mature," he said snidely.
"Could've just driven off, ya know," Dean noted. Sam glowered at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll drop you off at the motel. See what else you can come up with," Dean offered.
"Whatever," Sam muttered.
"Aw, Sammy, don’t be like that," Dean tried. Sam said nothing.
Dean stopped the car at the motel and Sam opened the door and tried to climb out of the car when Dean grabbed his arm. "Hey, man, we okay?" He asked, making sure.
Sam sighed. "Yeah, we're okay," he said.
"Listen, I was just having some fun…" Dean started, but Sam cut him off.
"We're cool, Dean. I'll go see if I can dig up some more stuff about the museum."
"You're sure?" Dean pushed.
"Yeah, man. We're good," Sam repeated, and gave Dean a small smile.
Dean knew he could be an asshole sometimes, but he meant well. Sam kept joking about him never really maturing past the age of seven, but in Dean's eyes, it was just Sam having a stick up his ass. Sometimes he thought Sam was allergic to fun.
"Wasn’t kidding before though," Sam went on, "You be careful."
"I will," Dean promised, and Sam walked over to their room.
Dean watched the motel room for a moment longer, just to make sure there were no flames or anything bursting out of it, before he switched gears and took off.
The local police station wasn’t too hard to find, considering the size of the town. He parked down the block a bit, because regardless of what his brother might think of him, he wasn’t an idiot. They had the FBI on their tails, and as much as Dean loved his car, it did tend to stick out.
Dean was just about to enter the station when he noticed the bulletin board and cursed. He looked both ways to make sure no one had seen him, and quickly ripped off one of the wanted posters.
Damn it. This sure could make their job here harder, if there even was a job here.
Dean was rather hoping it was just old people being old people.
"You're back already?" Sam asked when Dean got back to the motel.
"Yeah, I was thinking," Dean took his jacket off, draping it over a nearby chair, "You should talk to the cops. They seemed more like your type anyway," he said.
"Pissed someone off already?" Sam asked with a slight smile.
"Something like that," Dean replied. "Didn’t want to take a chance, you know. With Henricksen and everything."
Sam nodded. "So what do you want to do now?" He asked.
Dean shrugged. "You find anything else?"
"Didn’t really have the time," Sam admitted. Dean paced around the room a little, thinking.
"I could go check the museum," he offered a moment later.
Sam looked out the window. "Nah, you were right before. It's better to go there when we know more," he said, "Or when it's not dark outside," he added.
"Yeah, I guess," Dean reluctantly agreed. He swiped the remote control from Sam's bed and dropped onto his own, flicking through the channels.
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and went back to his computer. At least, with Dean watching TV, he wouldn’t bug Sam.
Thirty minutes later though, that assumption turned out to be completely incorrect.
"Dean, I swear, stop that or I'll shove my socks down your throat!" Sam snapped. Dean stopped dubbing the movie he was watching, looking sheepishly at Sam.
"Sorry," he said.
"I get that you're bored, but seriously, can't you just watch the movie?"
Dean sighed. "It's a rerun, Sam. Everything's a rerun. And it sucked the first time around."
"Well, find something better to do, or you'll be the one doing research," Sam snapped.
Dean yawned and got off the bed. Alcohol could probably make this movie better. Lots and lots of alcohol.
Dean went over to the window and peered outside. The parking lot was brightly lit and fairly deserted. He could go for a walk, give Sam some alone time with his computer. Dean scratched the side of his face and shifted a little to look at his car. It'd been a while since he'd had the time to wash it. Might as well.
"I'm gonna wash the car," he announced.
"Oh, good," Sam said offhandedly, not even looking at his brother, "You two have fun."
Dean stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged and put his jacket on. Wasn’t like there was something better for him to do anyway. He grabbed the ice box on his way out to use as a bucket and got out to the parking lot.
"Hey, baby. Thought I'd give you a bath. What do you think, you like the idea?" Dean asked softly, walking around his car. It was then that he noticed the little girl.
She was about six or seven, dressed in a pink shirt embroidered with flowers, pink sweatpants, and pink plastic boots. The girl sat on the cold floor outside a row of motel rooms, sobbing her eyes out.
Dean frowned and looked around. He couldn’t see a parent around, which only made his frown deepen. "Hold on a sec, baby. I'll be right back," he told the car, patting its roof, and walked over to the girl. He stopped a few steps away and looked around again, really hoping to see someone who looked like a parent.
Dean was a hunter. There wasn’t much on this Earth that scared him. Crying little girls though? So over his head.
"Hey, little girl," he called awkwardly, "Are you lost or something?" He asked.
The girl looked up at him, brown eyes all big and wet, nose runny, and bawled even harder.
"Hey, that's okay," Dean said softly, raising his hands in a surrendering motion. Talking to a crying little girl in pink was pretty much his equivalent of talking to an armed terrorist. No, scratch that. He knew what to do with an insane terrorist. Little girls were uncharted territory. "Your Mommy or Daddy around?" Dean asked.
The girl's shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands and kept crying. It was then that Dean noticed the doll.
"Hey, what happened to your doll?" He asked.
"Marty killed her," the kid sobbed. "He's mean!"
Dean looked around the deserted parking lot again, hoping someone would pass by and know what to do. But of course, he was a Winchester. No easy way out for a Winchester.
"Who's Marty?" Dean asked.
"Marty's mean!" The girl cried vehemently.
"Okay," Dean said, taking a couple of steps closer. "He your brother?"
"I wish he wasn’t!" The girl cried. "He's a jerk and he killed Stacy! I'm gonna tell on him! I'm gonna tell and Mom will punish him real bad!"
"Okay," Dean said slowly. "Marty's supposed to be watching you while your parents are at work or something?" He asked, making sure.
"He's a big stupid jerk!" The girl said, clutching a headless doll to her chest. "I'm gonna tell!"
"Hey, can I see Stacy?" Dean asked.
At that, the girl gave him a suspicious look, holding the doll tighter. "Why?" She demanded.
"Because…" Dean stumbled, "Well, because I… I'm a doll doctor." Dean couldn’t believe the words were even out of his mouth. Thank God Sam wasn’t there to hear him or Dean would never have heard the end of it.
The kid wiped her nose on the back of her sleep and peered up at Dean, sniffling. "You are?" She asked in a voice full of awe.
"Sure," Dean said awkwardly. "Fixed up a lot of toys in my time, but dolls are my specialty," he lied.
"Can you fix Stacy?" The girl asked, holding the doll out.
"I dunno," Dean said and slowly sat down next to the little girl. "You got Stacy's head?"
The little girl nodded and, after some wriggling, produced the doll's severed head. Dean took it and gave it a look. Some of the stuffing was missing, but not too much. It shouldn’t be too hard sewing it back on.
Hell, if he could repair his own clothes or stitch his own skin back together, how hard could it be to sew up a stuffed doll?
"Hold on a second, okay?" Dean asked and got to his feet, giving the girl her doll back. Getting back to his car, he started rummaging under the car seat. Man, he really did have to clean up the car; there was so much junk around, it took him far too long to find the first aid kit. Dean was just glad this wasn’t a real emergency.
He hesitated a little. Sterile needles weren’t easy to come by. On the other hand - little girl crying. Damn women and their doomsday weapons. He sighed, grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box and got out of the car.
"Here, I got my suture kit," he told the girl, sitting back down next to her. "But you're going to have to help me, alright?"
The girl nodded earnestly, big eyes locked onto Dean. No pressure. Dean handed the girl the flashlight. "You're gonna be my nurse, okay?"
"Okay," the kid said.
"I'm gonna need you to hold this up real steady, so I can operate on Stacy, okay? Can you do that?"
"Yes, sir!" The girl cried enthusiastically, and Dean had to stop himself from smiling. Little runt reminded him a little of Sammy, back in the day.
It took him not five minutes to sew the doll's head back on, and he was rewarded with a new necklace made out of a fifty-five pound kid.
"Okay then," Dean said awkwardly, gently peeling the kid away and getting to his feet.
"Thanks mister!"
"Don’t mention it," Dean said, returning back to his car. He put the suture kit back in its place and started emptying the car of all the junk and empty snack wrappers. He turned around, meaning to toss all the garbage away, and froze in his tracks. "E-everything okay there?" He asked.
The little girl, clutching the newly mended doll to her chest, was not two feet away, watching him. Out there all alone in the parking lot. Not being creepy at all.
The girl nodded. "Can I help?" She asked.
"What about your brother?"
The little girl huffed. "He's a jerk!" She said, pouting.
"Maybe, but he's your brother, and he's in charge of taking care of you," Dean said.
"I don’t care. I hate him!" The girl shrieked.
"No, you don’t. He's your brother. I'm sure he's probably very sorry he hurt Stacy," Dean said, speaking from experience. He'd broken a cherished toy or two back in his day, he remembered how lousy he'd felt afterwards, when he'd seen how upset Sammy had been.
"No he's not. He said he's happy she's dead. He's mean!" The girl insisted.
Dean sighed. "Look, I know he can probably be a jerk sometimes, but I'm sure he loves you and worries about you. You wouldn’t want him to think something happened to you, would you?"
The girl hesitated. "You really think he'll be worried?" She asked, peering over her shoulder at what Dean assumed was her family's motel room.
"I bet he will," Dean said.
"Good," the girl said snidely. "He almost killed Stacy! I'm so gonna tell!"
"Okay," Dean said, and yeah, the girl did sort of remind him of Sammy. The little snitch. "Look, tell you what. You wanna help me wash my car?"
The girl nodded, messy hair flailing.
"Fine. But you're gonna have to get your brother's permission, okay? He's the boss, at least until your parents get back, so even though he might be a jerk, he has to say it's okay. Alright?"
The girl hesitated, looking over her shoulder again.
"I'm sure he's sorry," Dean tried.
"Is not," the girl insisted.
"I'm sure he is. And I'm sure he worries about you. Go ask him, and if he says it's okay, I'll let you help me. What do you say?" Dean offered.
The girl studied him for a moment in the poor light of the parking lot, and finally turned tail and ran off. For a minute there, Dean was sure that would be the end of it. He'd been there before; there was no way the kid's brother would let her stay out at night helping a stranger wash his car.
Apparently, he was wrong. Or the tears thing worked far better than he'd imagined, because five minutes later, the girl was back, and she brought a rag to help with the cleaning. Her brother was not five feet away though, never keeping his eyes off Dean.
Yeah. Not creepy at all.
***
The next morning Sam and Dean split up. Sam walked over to the local PD to try and get some more information, while Dean drove over to the museum.
He got out of the car and stared at the building. "No way," he muttered at the dilapidated house. He checked the address again, and then looked back at the building and sighed. "Great."
Dean walked around the building, taking in the surroundings. Didn’t look like there was a cemetery around, and so far, the EMF meter stayed quiet. He gave the entrance door a twist, but it was locked.
The paper had said the place was closed pending investigation. The visiting hours written on a little plaque by the door informed him that even if it hadn’t been, the museum wouldn’t open for at least another hour or so. Good thing he had his lock pick on him. Seventeen seconds later, Dean was inside the house, a little irritated that it had taken him that long to pick the old lock.
The house was clean, which was a bit of a surprise considering Dean had stayed in condemned buildings that looked better on the outside. The floor was covered in heavy carpeting, and the walls were overcrowded with pictures. The place almost looked like someone's grandmother's house.
Hell, it probably had been.
It was obvious people cared about the museum. It was spotless, and someone took the time to print leaflets with the history of the place and the surroundings. Dean tucked one into his back pocket. You never knew what might come in handy on a job like this.
"Well that's freakin' great," Dean muttered to himself. If this turned out to be a haunting, he was going to kick Sam's ass.
There were so many old knick-knack piles around Dean would be surprised if something wasn’t haunting something in there.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Oops. Dean was so busted. Oh, freakin' crap on a cracker, he thought, swallowing hard as he remembered the wanted poster.
Heart pounding, Dean slowly turned around and finally realized what the museum's main attraction was.
A five foot four brunette with her hair pulled up in a sexy librarian kind of way, wearing a dorky outfit that did absolutely no justice to her giant rack.
"Oh, hey there," Dean said in his most charming smile and did his best to look the woman in the… not chest area. "I was just passing through this town and I heard about this place," he said, "Gotta tell you, the way people were going on about it, I just couldn’t leave town without seeing it."
The woman crossed her hands over her chest, forcing Dean to look up at her face. "Museum's closed," she said coolly.
"Really?" Dean smiled awkwardly. "The front door was open when I got here."
"Well, it shouldn’t have been," the woman, whose nametag said 'Natalie', said.
"Oh," Dean said, doing his best to sound disappointed. "Well, I'm here now, and I'll be leaving real soon. Any chance I could get a tour? Please?" Dean asked, making his best 'pity me, I'm cute' face.
The woman narrowed her eyes, making Dean's heart rate pick up a notch or three.
"You want a tour? Of the museum?" She asked skeptically.
"Oh, I just love old town history," Dean lied. "You know, I'm on this road trip. Saw the world's second largest ball of twine a few states over," he kept going.
"Really?" The woman didn’t seem convinced.
"Come on, Natalie," Dean tried, "You don’t mind me calling you Natalie, do you?" No reaction there, and Dean was starting to sweat. "Well, okay," he sighed, "I guess this place won't go on my blog then. Nice to meet you," he added and turned to leave.
"Wait-"
Dean smiled to himself as he stopped and turned back to Natalie.
"What blog?" Natalie asked.
"Oh, I'm a writer. Didn’t I mention that?" Dean lied. Natalie raised a brow. "Yeah, I write about the hidden wonders of America. You know, all the things you just have to see if you're around and want to see the real America," Dean couldn't believe the crap flying out of his mouth. On the other hand, Natalie seemed to be eating it up, so he kept going.
"Too bad this place won't be on it. I understand you're in a bit of a financial mess, and I can already tell, this place has real… character," Dean stumbled and bit his lower lip, hoping like hell the woman was buying what he was selling.
"Well… we do need the publicity…" Natalie hesitated. Dean smiled at her and she blushed a little and started toying with her hair. Huh. Awesome.
***
It was almost midday when Dean made it back to the motel room. The day had been pretty great so far; Natalie had given him a private tour of the ancient house this town called a museum, and then a private tour of her privates. All in all, Dean got all sorts of interesting information today.
"Hey Sammy, how was your day?" Dean asked as he took his jacket off and tossed it onto his bed.
"How was my day?" Sam asked in that irritated tone that usually meant a lecture was coming. Dean rolled his eyes at the thought alone. "How was my day?" Sam repeated, getting off his bed. He grabbed something from his bedside table as he walked over to his brother.
"I don’t know Dean, how was my day?" Sam asked.
"Informative?" Dean tried.
Sam narrowed his eyes, and Dean swallowed and took an unconscious step back.
"Went to the police station this morning," Sam started.
"Oh, right," Dean nodded, "How'd that go? You got some 411 on the museum deaths?"
"Oh, I got some information alright. They told me all kinds of things," Sam said in a tone of voice that predicted a fist in the near vicinity of Dean's face.
"Dude, what's going…"
"Ran into someone while I was back at the station," Sam cut him off.
"Oh, really? Who'd-" Before Dean had had the chance to finish his question, Sam shoved a piece of paper in his face. A familiar Blue Steel impersonation. Oh, right. Damn. "There was another one?" The moment the words left his mouth Dean realize the enormity of his mistake.
"Another one? You mean you knew about this?" Sam yelled, shoving the wanted poster in Dean's face, the veins in his temple throbbing.
"Um," Dean took another step back, "There wasn’t a poster of you, was there?" He asked.
"It's not the point!" Sam cried.
"Kinda is, if you went into the station," Dean corrected. Good thing he was fast, because Sam's left hook was mean.
"You knew about this!" Sam accused.
"I'm a wanted man, Sammy. Any woman could have told you that years ago," Dean joked, but Sam's expression let him know he was nowhere near funny. "Seriously, dude. Did they make you?"
"No, they didn’t make me. And I took this off the second I saw it. But seriously, man, why didn’t you say anything? You know Henricksen would love to get us back in jail, we're supposed to stay under the radar!" Sam snapped.
"So, what? Pack up and leave town?" Dean asked.
"Yes," Sam said.
"Thing is, you were right," Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "I think there may be a case here."
***
"So, what'd you find? I mean beside my pretty face?" Dean asked, handing Sam a cool beer.
Sam glared at him, but after a swig or two from his beer he let out a breath and started talking. "Nine deaths altogether since the place opened back in '51. Two look legit - there was a guy that stroked out, had a prior condition, and a seventy year old janitor that had a heart attack. He actually died in a hospital, not in the museum itself."
"What about the others?" Dean asked, sipping from his own beer.
"Could be coincidences, could be something else," Sam said.
"I vote something else," Dean said.
"You think there's a case here?" Sam asked.
"Had myself a tour of the place with the lovely Natalie. She was very… informative."
Sam raised a brow. "Tell me you didn’t."
Dean smirked. "A gentleman never tells," he said.
Sam snorted. "You are many things, Dean, but a gentleman is not one of 'em," he said.
Dean feigned being stabbed in the heart. "That hurts, Sam. Really," he said. "Anyway, EMF was a little high, but I didn’t get a chance to get a proper reading. Also, there were definitely cold spots."
"So, ghost?"
Dean finished his beer in one sip. "Looks like," he said.
"You have any idea who it might be?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head. "That, my geek brother, is your job. I gotta take a shower," he said and got up from his bed.
"Didn’t she tell you anything about the history of the place? Anything we could use?" Sam pushed.
"Oh, she talked alright," Dean drawled, and shuddered. "Woman wouldn’t shut up. Even when we were…" Dean caught himself and made a face. "Anyway, good thing I learned early on how to filter geek speak, or I would have been victim number ten," he said. "Man, museum haunts are supposed to be awesome, not some old lady who didn’t want anyone touching her quilts," he whined.
Sam's brows disappeared under his hair. "Quilts?"
"Don’t even go there," Dean warned, "It's either the quilt lady, or the old house keeper, and trust me, the crazy quilt lady is the exciting of the two."
Sam smiled, turning back to his computer as Dean got into the shower.
Back at the motel parking lot, an average-looking man stood across from the Winchester's room, watching what he could through the window. He'd been standing there a while.
***
"Don’t say it."
"I'm sorry, it looks like…"
"Sam, I'm begging you, don’t say it," Dean said.
Sam raised his hands helplessly. "I think it's the crazy quilt lady," he said.
Dean slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "A museum, Sam," he said, "You told me there was a job in a museum," Dean accused.
"There is."
"No!" Dean snapped, "A job in a museum is a… a cursed monkey paw or a runaway mummy. Not this!"
"Actually, most museum cases involve haunting," Sam corrected his brother.
"I don’t care!" Dean cried, "A spirit of a native American latching on to a weapon and using it to kill people! Or a spirit of a soldier terrorizing African-Americans because he died before the North had won! Those are Museum cases! Not… this."
Sam stared at his brother for a long moment. "Dude, you do realize this place is pretty much this town's memorial to… well… this town, right?"
"That's just it. This isn’t even a freakin' museum, it's just an old house!"
Sam shrugged. "Old houses get haunted all the time," he said simply.
"Sam," Dean warned.
"What exactly are you objecting to here, Dean?"
"This whole freaking thing!" Dean cried.
"On the grounds that it's…?"
"Stupid. It's just… It's an eighty seven year old woman who loved quilting and hated other people touching her stuff, Sam. It's stupid!"
Sam gave a slight nod. "Ok, I agree, it's not one for the books, but…"
"Not one for the books?" Dean stuttered, "It's goddamn embarrassing, Sam!"
"Bet you ten bucks the old woman tosses you through a wall," Sam said.
Dean glowered at him. "Bet you a hundred she's gonna find a way to choke you," he retorted.
***
"Urgh," Dean said, wiping his brow and leaving mud smudges on his forehead. "Not gonna be easy torching this old bird in the rain," he complained.
"Least digging's easy," Sam replied and wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his sleeve.
Dean stretched his back, rocking his head back and forth to ease the cramps in his neck. And then he froze. "You saw that?" Dean asked in an undertone.
Sam stopped digging and looked up at his brother. "She there?"
Dean narrowed his eyes, squinting through the rain. "Someone is," he answered quietly.
"Human?" Sam asked, his voice hushed.
Dean reached for the sawed-off he had leaning next to him. Grabbing the gun, he climbed out of the grave. The wind made chills run through his spine. Old Nutty had already introduced Sam's face into a tree before Dean had managed to put two salt rounds into her. Dean wasn’t going to give her another chance.
On the other hand, there was no way of putting salt circles to protect themselves. Not in the rain, anyway.
Dean squinted in the dark. He was sure there was someone there. Someone was watching. The fine hairs on the back of his neck were on end.
Couldn’t see anyone, though. Human or otherwise.
"Dean?" Sam whispered.
"I can't see anything," Dean answered. "I'm gonna take a look around?"
"Hurry up," Sam replied, and started digging again.
"Sam," Sam stopped and looked up at his brother. "Careful, okay?"
Sam nodded and went back to digging. Dean let out a breath and focused, eying the dark surroundings. There was nothing there; nothing he could see at least. But there was something. He could feel it, deep in his gut.
He cocked his gun, blinking in the rain. With another glance back at Sam, he took off. If there was someone there, in this weather, they'd leave footprints.
Dean found them. Footprints. There was a patch of trees not far from the graves. It held a good vantage point overlooking the grave the brothers were digging.
There was no one there though, not now. Whomever it was, was probably long gone by now.
Crap on a cracker.
Dean's heart pounded in his chest.
Someone saw them digging up a grave. Cops could be on their way. Damn it, someone might have recognized Dean from the wanted posters. He cursed.
"Sammy, get on with it, we have to split," Dean cried, kneeling next to their open duffel and taking the kerosene out just as Sam climbed out of the grave.
Sam nodded at his brother. "Go ahead," he said, and Dean wasted no time dosing the old bones with a healthy dose of kerosene and lighting it up.
"Well, at least the old lady didn’t show up again," Sam breathed, wiping the hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Yeah," Dean said distractedly, eyes still darting around. "You alright?" He asked.
Sam touched his nose gingerly. "I don’t think it's broken," he said and let out a breath. "Least the case's over, right? We can split town."
"Let's go," Dean said by way of answer, and the two quickly packed up their gear and headed back towards the Impala.
They passed by the patch of trees on their way back to the car, and Dean stalled a little, let his brother get ahead. He wanted to take another look, just to make sure.
"Dean?"
"Go ahead," he told Sam, "Just got to tie up my shoe," he lied, and bent down as if to tie it. He never would have noticed it otherwise, not in the rain, definitely not in the dark.
Sulfur.
He spent the entire drive back to the motel room cursing in his head.
***
"Get a move on, Sam," Dean cried. He had his duffle all packed up and ready to go. Time to get the hell out of town. They weren’t ready for this. Not for this. Not a demon. Not now.
Dad was gone, the Colt was gone, and there was a demon after his brother.
Like hell.
Demon or not, Sam was Dean's little brother, and Dean wasn’t giving him up anytime soon.
"Dean, wait," Sam called back.
"Daylight's a-wastin', Sammy," Dean pushed.
"Listen," Sam said, turning the volume up on the TV.
"Oh, you gotta be freakin' kidding me," Dean muttered.
It was one of those local morning shows. For some reason, Sam had a habit of getting dressed while watching the morning shows. Must have been a Stanford thing, because he sure as hell didn’t used to do that before.
Only this time, they weren’t talking about clothes or the weather or some local production of a school play. They were talking about another dead body found in the town museum.
"We torched the bitch," Dean said, looking at Sam.
Sam shrugged. "Maybe she latched onto something," he offered.
Dean cursed, shaking his head. "I don’t like this," he said.
"Dean…"
"Yeah, I know," Dean sighed and dropped his duffle back down. Job wasn’t finished yet. "Try to find out what you can, okay?" He looked up at Sam.
Sam nodded, reaching for his suit.
"And Sam?" Dean added. Sam stopped, suit in hand, "Be careful."
***
Sam loosened his tie and stepped out of the car. The day was cloudy, light wind blowing, making the few remaining leaves on the trees shiver.
It had taken Sam a while to get the information they needed. Not like he could chance going to the police again, and the puppy eyes didn’t really work when your nose was twice its normal size.
He did get it though. Probably in the first place his brother would have gone to.
Huh.
Sam wrinkled his brow at the sight before him. He cocked his head to the side.
Huh.
"Dean?"
The look on his brother's face couldn’t have been guiltier. It was almost like the word 'busted' was tattooed all over his forehead.
"Sam. I… uh…"
"Would you like to introduce me to your girlfriend?" Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest, the brown bag of greasy diner food dangling precariously.
The girl giggled.
Dean looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
Sam wished he had a camera.
"Isn't she a little… young?" Sam asked, a smile creeping onto his lips.
"Dude, this is so not what it looks like," Dean said quickly.
"We're having a tea party!" The little girl announced brightly. "Stacy's all better now, so we're throwing her a party," she explained.
And Sam lost it.
"Shut up, Sam!" Dean warned. Not that it helped him much. Sam was nearly doubled over laughing. Dean pushed to his feet and stalked off towards their motel room, Sam in toe. "She had cookies. I was freakin' starving. The hell took you so long?" Dean grumbled.
Sam's only answer was a rolling laughter. He had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.
"Dude, you don’t shut up about this, I'm gonna break your face," Dean warned and grabbed the bag of food mere seconds before Sam rolled over it.
Sam wiped the tears from his eyes and did his best to stop laughing. It didn’t really work. He had to lock himself up in the bathroom though, because Dean's glare was getting too close to the 'bodily hard' zone on Sam's Big-Brother-Meter.
"You done now?" Dean grunted when Sam finally got out of the bathroom.
"Yeah, I'm done," Sam said and reached for a beer. Dean snatched it from him. Sam made a mental note not to eat anything in the room. If he knew his brother - and he did - Dean must have spit or licked everything. Good thing Sam's tooth brush was in the bathroom with him.
"Found out anything?" Dean groused.
"You mean beside your new hobby?" Sam asked. And ducked really fast. Apparently, not fast enough. "Ow! Dean!"
Sam didn’t have time to recover though, before Dean body-tackled him onto the floor.
Ten minutes later, both brothers were lying on their backs on the grubby motel carpet, panting.
"You gonna bring it up again?" Dean asked.
"Do," Sam answered, holding his nose. "I thing it's bwoked."
"It's not broken, you big baby," Dean said and pushed to his feet. "I didn’t even touch your nose."
"You pushed be," Sam accused.
"Told you to shut up about it," Dean shrugged and pulled Sam to his feet. "See, you should always listen to me," he said and reached into the fridge for a beer, handing it to Sam. "Come on, let's eat."
"I'm dot eating adything. You pwobably licked by food," Sam pouted.
"I did not lick your food. What do you take me for, a ten-year-old?"
Sam raised a brow. Dean scowled.
"I'b eating! I'b eating!" Sam said quickly and stuffed his face full of cheeseburger.
Dean kept scowling until Sam had finished half of his burger, and then turned to finish his own lunch.
"So, about the case," Sam started.
"Don’t poke your nose, Sam," Dean cautioned and scraped the back of the fridge for ice.
"Dude, that's gwoss," Sam remarked.
"I'm putting it in a towel," Dean rolled his eyes. "Sheesh. Aren't you a princess."
Sam bit his lip trying not to laugh.
"Thin ice, Sam. Very thin ice," Dean warned, handing him the ice in a towel.
"I had do luck at the usual sources," Sam started.
"What, no one at the diner would talk?" Dean asked.
Sam sighed. Of course. He knew that would have been the first place Dean would have checked.
"You're dot gonna like it," Sam said.
"Like what?"
"The quilt lady," Sam started and Dean rolled his eyes.
"Oh, come on…"
"Best I could tell, some hobeless guy got in the buseub trying to keep out of the rain," Sam kept going.
"Damn it," Dean cussed.
"They foud him stwadgled by a quilt," Sam said, taking a sip from his beer.
Dean blinked. "They what now?"
"He was… stwadgled by a quilt," Sam repeated, making strangling motions.
Dean shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nope. Doesn’t sound any less stupid, man."
"You do realize she's pwobably latching od to one of her quilts, right?"
"Dude."
"Cobe on, Dean. Racist twuck?"
"Death by quilt, Sam. This so trumps racist truck on the stupidest case meter," Dean deadpanned.
Sam shrugged, bobbing his head from side to side. "So how mady quilts did the old lady have, adyway?" He asked.
Dean smiled sarcastically. "Oh, just her entire collection of a hundred and eight quilts. Scattered all over that dump," he said, pulling the pamphlet out of his back pocket and handed it to Sam.
Sam whistled. Or tried to. It didn’t really work on account of his badly bruised nose.
"Let's just torch the place and get it over with," Dean suggested.
"Dean! You can't torch the place," Sam cried.
"Why the hell not?"
"Because! It's… historic!" Sam fumbled.
Dean rolled his eyes again. "It's lame is what it is, Sam," he said. "Torching the place would probably be more lucrative than keeping the thing open for business. Which it isn’t, by the way."
"Still," Sam insisted. "You can't torch it. We just… we need to get rid of the quilts."
"Oh, is that all?" Dean asked, and shook his head. "I am so not related to you."
***
They waited for nightfall before driving out to the museum.
"Good thing this place is closed," Sam said, getting the weapons out of the car, "At least there won't be anyone here to see us."
"Dude, I took a tour of the place," Dean told him as he shouldered his own duffle of weapons and closed the trunk. "No one would have been here even if it wasn’t closed."
Sam shook his head at his brother and headed towards the old house. Dean followed a little more slowly, taking his EMF meter out of his pocket and turning it on.
"Anything?" Sam asked. Dean just shook his head.
It took Sam fifteen seconds to get the door open.
"Showoff," Dean muttered as he got inside.
"What?"
"Nothing," Dean said quickly.
"A hundred and eight quilts? Seriously?" Sam asked, making sure.
"You bet," Dean answered, still sweeping around for EMF.
"You want to split up?" Sam offered.
"Anything good ever happens when we split up?" Dean asked in return.
Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Guess not," he said. "Hey, the bet's still on, right?"
Dean snorted. "You are so gonna get choked."
"Tough talk, coming from a guy who's been through pretty much every solid barrier known to man," Sam quipped.
"Oh, bet's totally on," Dean muttered.
"You do realize it doesn’t count if you choke me yourself, right?"
Dean made a face. "Dude!"
"Sorry."
"Yeah, choking you is just the cherry on top," Dean said. And smirked.
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
"Okay, we've been in here for one minute and this is the fifth quilt I've seen," Sam quickly changed the subject.
"It is?" Dean frowned.
"Yeah."
"Look up," Dean said without looking up himself.
"Oh, come on." Sam rolled his eyes.
"Small towns, Sammy. Gotta love 'em," Dean said and stopped as they entered a large room filled with old pictures of the town back in the day. And quilts. Lots and lots of quilts. "Any chance I can change your mind about torching the place?" Dean asked, making sure.
"Not likely," Sam replied.
Dean sighed. "Fine," he said, "Which way?"
"You've been here before, what do you think?" Sam asked.
"A hundred and eight quilts, Sam," Dean reminded him.
"Let's just start with the attic, sweep for EMF on our way down. If we're lucky, the right ones will give out EMF," Sam said.
"Okay," Dean drawled and followed his brother up the stairs.
***
"Any EMF?" Sam asked hopefully, looking at an attic full of quilts.
"You do realize I've got some leftover kerosene in the car, right?" Dean answered.
"Dean, for the last time, we're not burning this place up," Sam snapped. That was when his flashlight started flickering. "Dean?"
"Yeah. I got some EMF here," Dean said, turning the meter off and shoving it into his pocket.
Sam shook the flashlight a little, trying to get the light back on as Dean took his gun out.
"What are you guys doing here? This place is closed to the public!"
Sam and Dean both froze. And then the lights came on.
"Natalie?" Dean asked.
"You two are trespassing," Natalie said coolly, "I've called the cops."
"No, Natalie, wait," Dean said quickly, hiding his gun in the small of his back and raising his hands in a surrendering motion. "This is Trent," he said, motioning at Sam, "He's my editor. I wanted to show him the place, maybe take some pictures for the blog?" He tried.
Natalie narrowed her eyes. "Where's your camera?"
Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "In the car," Sam stuttered just as Dean said, "It's in the car."
"Oh, really?" Natalie asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well why doesn't Trent go get it, and you and I stay here and wait for the cops?" She suggested.
Dean smiled awkwardly. "C'mon, Natalie, we don’t really need to call in the cops, do we?"
"My uncle is the sheriff," Natalie stated, "And I already told you we were closed for business," she added.
"Didn’t seem so close for business the other day," Dean whispered to Sam, who replied with his usual bitchface.
"Now, are you going to get that camera, or should we all just go downstairs and wait for my uncle?" Natalie said coolly.
Sam and Dean exchanged another look. They did have a video camera in the trunk. Dean gave a slight nod, and Sam nodded in return.
"Look, we really don’t have to get the cops," Sam said as sincerely as he could, "We don’t even have to take pictures of this place. I mean, not every blog entry has to have pictures, right?"
"Look, Natalie, I'm really sorry about breaking in and everything, but it's not like we were going to steal anything. We were just looking around, for the article," Dean tried. "I mean, if you don’t want us to post anything about the museum, it's not a problem," he carried on, "I just figured, a place like this, people really should know about it, you know?"
Natalie narrowed her eyes. "You don’t really write for a blog, do you?" She asked.
"Sure we do," Dean said quickly. "Look, we got a laptop in the car. We could show you some of our work if you'd like," he suggested, exchanging looks with Sam.
Sam gave Dean the 'are you crazy? We don’t have anything for a cover like that!' look, and Dean gave him the 'I know, but dude, cops' look. And of course, Sam gave Dean a bitchface, but was quick to hide it when Natalie looked at him.
"Well," Natalie hesitated. "I mean, my uncle is already on the way, but if you guys really just wanted to take pictures of this place and your blog is legit, I guess I could tell him to just let you off with a warning."
"Great. That's great," Dean said quickly. "So let's all just get to our car and we'll show you everything's cool."
Natalie hesitated a moment, but then nodded. "After you," she said.
Sam and Dean exchanged another glance and a nod, and then turned for the door.
"Hey, Dean, wait a minute," Natalie said, pulling on Dean's sleeve to stop him from following his brother out the door.
"What?" Dean asked.
"I have a better plan," Natalie smirked.
And then the door to the attic slammed shut, with Sam on the other side.
Part Two
Author: sams1ra
Recipient: rince1wind
Rating: R (just to be on the safe side)
Disclaimer: All characters mentioned in this fic do not belong to me.
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word count: ~14,000
Author's notes: I mixed and matched a little with the prompts. It's been a while since I wrote anything, so I'm hoping you'll enjoy this. Also, I'd like to thank mayhsgirl93 and slaybelle69 for beta-ing the story!
Summary: "What about the museum? Is it haunted?" Dean asked curiously and took a bite out of his bacon cheeseburger. "Ooh, is it a mummy? I always wanted to hunt a mummy," he said, wiggling his brows.
It was a rainy morning when the boys drove into town. Not heavy-duty rain - mostly drizzles, but the sky was grey and the road was a bit slippery, spotted with dark puddles.
Sam was sleeping in the passenger seat; head mashed against the window, drool dribbling down the side of his mouth. Dean gave his brother a quick glance before returning his eyes to the road. He yawned and blinked a couple of times, trying to stay awake. He'd been driving for seven hours now, which wouldn’t normally make him this tired. The thing was, that Sam'd been sleeping the entire time, the radio was on the fritz and Dean was just plain bored out of his mind.
He bit his lower lip, trying to figure out if he had the energy needed for a prank war. He'd spent the past three hours contemplating the idea out of sheer boredom, but after nearly twenty three prank wars (there was an ongoing debate whether the prank war of '94 was one giant prank war that lasted months, or three different wars that ended with a very irritated John, a black eye for Sam, and three horrific weeks of no TV for Dean), it was getting pretty damn difficult being original. Although, there was a reason some pranks were classics.
The next yawn made Dean's jaw pop. That had actually hurt. God, he was bored.
A minute later, Dean opened his eyes and prayed to everything good and mighty that the road was empty as he swerved back to his side of the white line. Well, nothing like falling asleep at the wheel to give the ol' ticker a workout. Dean swallowed hard and took another glance at his brother. Still drooling. And snoring a little. Almost cute.
"Come on, Dean, gotta stay awake," he muttered to himself. He tried to keep his mind busy. Tried imagining what the road would look like it weren’t raining. Didn’t help much though; there was nothing on this particular road to distinguish it from countless others Dean had been on.
They passed a couple of farmhouses along the way. Saw the people getting up and starting their daily chores.
Dean could imagine that for a while. Being a farm hand. He'd done that before, for a couple of months during one summer. Surprised the hell outta him. It was damn hard work, but he would have stayed. He'd almost been happy there.
Dean smiled to himself.
That had been almost a lifetime ago.
He had a job to do now. It wasn’t an easy job, it wasn’t all nice and shiny, and hell, it'd rarely made him happy, but it was his job. He had to get that gun back. He had to kill that son of a bitch demon that killed his parents. That had nearly killed him. That was going after his little…
Dean had no idea what had happened.
One minute he was driving, rain falling onto the Impala's roof, wipers squeaking a bit as they worked their way back and forth. The next thing, there was a bang, and everything span out of control.
"Dean!"
Yeah, falling asleep at the wheel, that was scary. This though? This was losing control over the car and Sammy crying out and Dean's heart trying to climb out his damn ears.
The car swiveled down the road, skidding and hydroplaning until Dean had finally managed to regain control of it.
He sat there, heart pounding, fingers clutched around the wheel in a death grip, and just stared ahead, eyes staring widely ahead without actually seeing anything. He jumped when Sam gripped his shoulder.
"Jesus, Dean, what the hell?" Sam shrieked, more than a little shocked.
"You okay?" Dean asked, a little breathless.
Sam patted himself down, making sure, before he nodded and looked back at his brother. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so. You?"
Dean swallowed hard and wiped his hand down his mouth. That was all the answer he could manage at the time.
"The hell happened?" Sam demanded.
Dean shook his head. "Dunno," he said. "I think we blew a tire."
"A tire?" Sam asked, as though the possibility was so far beyond anything he could imagine.
"Guess we shoulda changed them a coupla weeks ago," Dean said and pushed the driver's side door open. He walked around the car and sure enough, the rear left tire was blown. Damn it.
"What now?" Sam asked.
Dean raised a brow. "Change the tire," he said simply. "Come on, get your ass out here and help me."
Sam sighed, shoulders slumping.
Fifteen minutes later, they were wet and a little muddy, but they managed to change the tire and put the old one back in the trunk.
"We gotta get a new one. I don’t like wearing out the spare," Dean said, rubbing his dirty hands on his jeans.
"Where are we, anyway?"
Dean shrugged. "I dunno," he said, "Don’t really care. We need to get us some new tires. Some coffee would be nice, too."
"Not arguing that," Sam said as he climbed back in the car. "So where to now? Food or garage?"
Dean's stomach answered for him.
***
They found an open diner a few blocks away, not far from a Motel 6. The place was nearly empty so early in the morning, but that just meant that the coffee was fresh and they didn’t have to wait long for their breakfast.
"You okay man? You look like crap," Sam asked.
Dean smiled. "Thanks, I kinda like you, too," he replied.
Sam smiled and rolled his eyes, playing with his hash browns. "So what now?"
"Now we get some more coffee," Dean said, signaling the waitress. "Then we get the tires and get out of here."
"Yeah, but where?" Sam asked. He didn’t get an answer. Dropping his fork down, Sam got up. "I'm gonna see if I can score us a paper. Maybe there's a job somewhere around here," he suggested.
Dean nodded, shoveling another forkful of pancakes into his mouth. "Might as well," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Not like we have cops on our tails or a demon to kill or nothin'."
Sam came back a couple of minutes later with the morning paper. He sat back down and thanked the waitress when she filled up his cup. "You want the sports section or the funnies?" He asked.
Dean sighed. "Sports, I guess," he said. Sam handed him the obituaries.
***
Dean dropped Sam at the motel to check them in while he drove down to the garage to get the new tires. Sam didn’t mind; he didn’t really know much about cars, that was Dean's thing. Well, Dad and Dean's thing.
It was a little weird, how you could hate a guy your whole life only to miss him like crazy thinking of something stupid like taking care of the car.
Sam dropped his and Dean's duffle bags on the floor and started rummaging through his bag for some clean clothes and his shaving kit. Might as well grab a shower before Dean had a chance to finish all the hot water.
He had time to piss, shower, shave and change his clothes, and Dean still hadn’t come back, so Sam dropped down on his bed, rearranged the pillows to better support his head, and turned the TV on.
Urgh. Morning shows.
He didn’t think they were the evil plan of some demon, like Dean did, but Sam never really liked them himself. Oh well, at least the motel had wi-fi.
Sam pulled his laptop out of his bad and turned it on. Worse comes to worst, he could play solitaire for hours if he had to.
***
Dean finally made it back more than an hour later. He entered the motel room with a smile on his face, tossing the car keys on the wobbly table next to the door.
"Any hot water left?" He asked.
"Yeah, I think so," Sam answered, nose buried in his laptop.
"Found any good porn?" Dean asked, toeing his boots off on his way to his duffle.
"Not really," Sam said offhandedly, making Dean stop dead in his track. Seeing as Sam obviously paid his older brother no attention, Dean just shrugged and pulled out a somewhat clean shirt.
"Hey, you noticed if this place's got a laundry machine? I'm pretty much out of clean clothes."
At this, Sam looked up from the computer. "Yeah, I think so," he said. "Actually, I'm getting pretty low on clean clothes, too." Putting the laptop away, Sam got up from the bed. "I'm gonna go ask the guy at the desk."
"Wait," Dean stopped him. Rummaging through his pockets, he fished out a few quarters and tossed them over to his brother.
"You got the new tires?" Sam asked, pocketing the change.
"Oh, yeah," Dean smirked. "Got my baby some nice, shiny presents, curtsy of Joe Tribbi."
"Yeah?" Sam asked with a smile. Not that he cared all that much, but sometimes Dean's childish glee was damn contagious.
Dean pulled off his shirt, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it onto his bed before answering. "Yeah. Nice guy, Tribbi. Bought us four new radial tires, a new fan belt, hell, the man even sprung for a change of oil - the extra good kind," Dean said enthusiastically. "Even got me a present while we were there," he finished.
Sam raised a brow.
"Got me one of 'em air freshener tree thingies," Dean explained.
Sam frowned. "That's your present?"
The smile was gone from Dean's face in an instant. "The hell it is. You had burritos last night," he accused.
Sam snickered. "Whatever, man," he said, waving Dean off. "Card all maxed out?"
"Yeah, I filled her up while we were there."
"Better start working on some new cards then," Sam said.
Dean shrugged, getting in the bathroom. "Maybe tomorrow. Might as well use whatever we can find in this town."
"Can I at least pick out the names this time?" Sam asked. He sighed when his only reply was Dean's laughter and the water running in the shower.
***
Adrenalin is all kinds of awesome, Dean thought as he stood in the shower with his eyes closed, letting the water spray on his face. With enough of it in your system, you could go on without sleep for days. Hell, with enough of it in your system, you can run for miles on a broken leg. He sure was one to know.
On the other hand, having all the adrenalin leave your system after an entire night spent driving is nowhere near exhilarating. No matter how many cups of coffee you've had.
Dean sighed, forcing his eyes open, and finished showering. He quickly toweled himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist, getting out of the bathroom.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
Dean grunted, face-planting onto his bed.
Sam smiled. "Yeah, I guess that's fair. You were driving all night. But next time you're doing the laundry," he said.
Dean just mumbled something incoherent and promptly fell asleep.
***
The sun was starting its descent when Dean decided it was time to rejoin the world of the living. He pushed himself up from the bed, smacking his lips, and just sat and stared for a while, not completely awake.
"Mornin'," Sam said, not looking away from the TV.
Dean took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Time's it?" he asked.
Sam looked at his watch. "Almost half past four," he said.
Dean ran a hand over his face. "You ate yet?"
"Nah, I was waiting for you," Sam replied.
Dean nodded and grabbed his jeans. He pulled them up but didn’t bother buttoning up. Instead, he went to the bathroom to take a leak and wash his hands. "Well, come on then," he said as he got out of the bathroom. "I need coffee."
"You in the mood for something special?" Sam asked, turning the TV off.
"The diner from this morning's just fine," Dean said simply and followed his brother out.
The air outside had that fresh, after-the-rain smell to it, and both brothers took a deep breath. They got in the car (where Dean pointed at the little yellow trees spread out on the dash, and then gave Sam a pointed look. Sam just rolled his eyes), and drove over to the diner.
They both asked for coffee while they were waiting for their food to arrive. Dean buried his head in his hands, still a little sleepy.
"You could have just slept on a little longer, you know," Sam noted.
Dean sighed. "Yeah, whatever."
Sam waited for Dean to say something more, but apparently, Dean's bloodstream was extremely low on caffeine. "So, I think I got us a case," Sam said eventually.
It seemed to have helped. Dean perked up a little. "Yeah? Anywhere good?" He asked, and then closed his eyes. "Please don’t say Florida. Freaky shit always happens in Florida."
Sam smiled. "No. Actually, it's here," he said.
Dean frowned. "What here? As in here in his diner?"
"Here in this town," Sam explained, "Or actually, right outside."
"Anything good?" Dean asked. "Oh, God bless you," he said thankfully to the waitress that had just arrived with a coffee pot.
Sam waited for the waitress to leave before answering. "A museum, just outside of town."
Dean took a long pull of his coffee and sighed in contentment. It was a couple of seconds longer before the coffee had kicked in. "Really?"
"Huh?" Sam asked, chewing on his chicken salad.
"What about the museum? Is it haunted?" Dean asked curiously and took a bite out of his bacon cheeseburger. "Ooh, is it a mummy? I always wanted to hunt a mummy," he said, wiggling his brows.
Sam stared at him for a moment. "Wow," he said.
Dean frowned. "What?"
"Never figured you for a Scooby Doo wannabe," Sam shrugged.
Dean scowled at him. "Shuddup. I wasn’t thinking about the cartoons anyway. And okay, the movies were mostly stupid. Except for the chick. She was hot." Dean bit his lower lip, lost in thoughts, at least until Sam kicked him in the shin. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"
"It's not a mummy," Sam said, "And even if it were, you're not Brendan Fraser and I'm definitely not Rachel Weisz."
"Killjoy," Dean muttered under his breath and bit into his burger. "You totally have the same length of hair, by the way," he added. "So what are we dealing with?" he asked, bits of food spraying out of his mouth.
Sam made a face, shaking his head in disgust. "I don’t really know yet," he said and sipped from his own coffee. "There's this really old place they decided to make into a museum a few years ago. I'm guessing it's full of stuff about this town. You know, stories about the founding families, stuff like that."
Dean rolled his eyes and pretended to fall asleep. "At least tell me someone famous used to live here. Or hell, died here," he asked.
Sam shrugged. "Not that I can tell," he said. "But they do have tourists."
Dean snorted.
"Anyway," Sam went on, "Apparently, they're shutting down all tours until further notice. That's how I found it in the first place."
"Not enough saps wanting to see a picture of someone who used to be a neighbor of someone who knew someone whose uncle once met the president?"
"There've been three deaths in the museum in the past fifteen years," Sam pushed.
"Oh yeah? Did they die of boredom?"
"Dean -"
"Yeah, alright," Dean raised his hands in surrender and finished his coffee. "Any of 'em die bloody?"
"Well, this last guy, he was one of the tourists. I think his family's suing the town. I'm pretty sure that's why they've closed the place for visitors," Sam said, "They're thinking of shutting the place down. It was actually in the paper this morning."
"And?"
"And apparently it's kind of a big deal. They're going to have a town meeting about -"
"How'd the guy die, Sam?" Dean cut his brother off. Sam was suddenly very busy with his nearly empty plate. "Sam?"
Sam drained the last drops of coffee from his cup before surrendering. "Well, he kinda… slipped down the stairs," he said.
Dean stared at him. "Slipped, or slipped?" He asked.
Sam shrugged. "It's worth checking out, don’t you think?"
"There are hauntings and mummies and cursed objects, and you just had to find us a museum where people die of boredom?" Dean complained, sulking.
***
"So what now? You wanna head over to the museum, see what's what?" Sam asked.
"I'd like to know more about those deaths first. Could be just old people stroking out. Might not even be our kind of thing," Dean said.
"So, back to the motel?"
"You go ahead," Dean said, "I think I'll go visit the local PD, see if they'll play along."
"Don’t do anything stupid," Sam cautioned.
"Hey!" Dean cried, offended. "When did I ever…?" He didn’t bother finishing the sentence. Instead, he shook his head and got in the Impala.
"Dean," Sam sighed, "Dean, open the door," he said when he tried the passenger side door and found it closed. "Dean, come on!" He cried when Dean started revving the engine. "Dean!" Sam yelled in frustration when Dean took off, only to stop a hundred yards away.
Sam scowled as he stalked over to the car, yanked the door open and got inside. "Very mature," he said snidely.
"Could've just driven off, ya know," Dean noted. Sam glowered at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll drop you off at the motel. See what else you can come up with," Dean offered.
"Whatever," Sam muttered.
"Aw, Sammy, don’t be like that," Dean tried. Sam said nothing.
Dean stopped the car at the motel and Sam opened the door and tried to climb out of the car when Dean grabbed his arm. "Hey, man, we okay?" He asked, making sure.
Sam sighed. "Yeah, we're okay," he said.
"Listen, I was just having some fun…" Dean started, but Sam cut him off.
"We're cool, Dean. I'll go see if I can dig up some more stuff about the museum."
"You're sure?" Dean pushed.
"Yeah, man. We're good," Sam repeated, and gave Dean a small smile.
Dean knew he could be an asshole sometimes, but he meant well. Sam kept joking about him never really maturing past the age of seven, but in Dean's eyes, it was just Sam having a stick up his ass. Sometimes he thought Sam was allergic to fun.
"Wasn’t kidding before though," Sam went on, "You be careful."
"I will," Dean promised, and Sam walked over to their room.
Dean watched the motel room for a moment longer, just to make sure there were no flames or anything bursting out of it, before he switched gears and took off.
The local police station wasn’t too hard to find, considering the size of the town. He parked down the block a bit, because regardless of what his brother might think of him, he wasn’t an idiot. They had the FBI on their tails, and as much as Dean loved his car, it did tend to stick out.
Dean was just about to enter the station when he noticed the bulletin board and cursed. He looked both ways to make sure no one had seen him, and quickly ripped off one of the wanted posters.
Damn it. This sure could make their job here harder, if there even was a job here.
Dean was rather hoping it was just old people being old people.
"You're back already?" Sam asked when Dean got back to the motel.
"Yeah, I was thinking," Dean took his jacket off, draping it over a nearby chair, "You should talk to the cops. They seemed more like your type anyway," he said.
"Pissed someone off already?" Sam asked with a slight smile.
"Something like that," Dean replied. "Didn’t want to take a chance, you know. With Henricksen and everything."
Sam nodded. "So what do you want to do now?" He asked.
Dean shrugged. "You find anything else?"
"Didn’t really have the time," Sam admitted. Dean paced around the room a little, thinking.
"I could go check the museum," he offered a moment later.
Sam looked out the window. "Nah, you were right before. It's better to go there when we know more," he said, "Or when it's not dark outside," he added.
"Yeah, I guess," Dean reluctantly agreed. He swiped the remote control from Sam's bed and dropped onto his own, flicking through the channels.
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and went back to his computer. At least, with Dean watching TV, he wouldn’t bug Sam.
Thirty minutes later though, that assumption turned out to be completely incorrect.
"Dean, I swear, stop that or I'll shove my socks down your throat!" Sam snapped. Dean stopped dubbing the movie he was watching, looking sheepishly at Sam.
"Sorry," he said.
"I get that you're bored, but seriously, can't you just watch the movie?"
Dean sighed. "It's a rerun, Sam. Everything's a rerun. And it sucked the first time around."
"Well, find something better to do, or you'll be the one doing research," Sam snapped.
Dean yawned and got off the bed. Alcohol could probably make this movie better. Lots and lots of alcohol.
Dean went over to the window and peered outside. The parking lot was brightly lit and fairly deserted. He could go for a walk, give Sam some alone time with his computer. Dean scratched the side of his face and shifted a little to look at his car. It'd been a while since he'd had the time to wash it. Might as well.
"I'm gonna wash the car," he announced.
"Oh, good," Sam said offhandedly, not even looking at his brother, "You two have fun."
Dean stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged and put his jacket on. Wasn’t like there was something better for him to do anyway. He grabbed the ice box on his way out to use as a bucket and got out to the parking lot.
"Hey, baby. Thought I'd give you a bath. What do you think, you like the idea?" Dean asked softly, walking around his car. It was then that he noticed the little girl.
She was about six or seven, dressed in a pink shirt embroidered with flowers, pink sweatpants, and pink plastic boots. The girl sat on the cold floor outside a row of motel rooms, sobbing her eyes out.
Dean frowned and looked around. He couldn’t see a parent around, which only made his frown deepen. "Hold on a sec, baby. I'll be right back," he told the car, patting its roof, and walked over to the girl. He stopped a few steps away and looked around again, really hoping to see someone who looked like a parent.
Dean was a hunter. There wasn’t much on this Earth that scared him. Crying little girls though? So over his head.
"Hey, little girl," he called awkwardly, "Are you lost or something?" He asked.
The girl looked up at him, brown eyes all big and wet, nose runny, and bawled even harder.
"Hey, that's okay," Dean said softly, raising his hands in a surrendering motion. Talking to a crying little girl in pink was pretty much his equivalent of talking to an armed terrorist. No, scratch that. He knew what to do with an insane terrorist. Little girls were uncharted territory. "Your Mommy or Daddy around?" Dean asked.
The girl's shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands and kept crying. It was then that Dean noticed the doll.
"Hey, what happened to your doll?" He asked.
"Marty killed her," the kid sobbed. "He's mean!"
Dean looked around the deserted parking lot again, hoping someone would pass by and know what to do. But of course, he was a Winchester. No easy way out for a Winchester.
"Who's Marty?" Dean asked.
"Marty's mean!" The girl cried vehemently.
"Okay," Dean said, taking a couple of steps closer. "He your brother?"
"I wish he wasn’t!" The girl cried. "He's a jerk and he killed Stacy! I'm gonna tell on him! I'm gonna tell and Mom will punish him real bad!"
"Okay," Dean said slowly. "Marty's supposed to be watching you while your parents are at work or something?" He asked, making sure.
"He's a big stupid jerk!" The girl said, clutching a headless doll to her chest. "I'm gonna tell!"
"Hey, can I see Stacy?" Dean asked.
At that, the girl gave him a suspicious look, holding the doll tighter. "Why?" She demanded.
"Because…" Dean stumbled, "Well, because I… I'm a doll doctor." Dean couldn’t believe the words were even out of his mouth. Thank God Sam wasn’t there to hear him or Dean would never have heard the end of it.
The kid wiped her nose on the back of her sleep and peered up at Dean, sniffling. "You are?" She asked in a voice full of awe.
"Sure," Dean said awkwardly. "Fixed up a lot of toys in my time, but dolls are my specialty," he lied.
"Can you fix Stacy?" The girl asked, holding the doll out.
"I dunno," Dean said and slowly sat down next to the little girl. "You got Stacy's head?"
The little girl nodded and, after some wriggling, produced the doll's severed head. Dean took it and gave it a look. Some of the stuffing was missing, but not too much. It shouldn’t be too hard sewing it back on.
Hell, if he could repair his own clothes or stitch his own skin back together, how hard could it be to sew up a stuffed doll?
"Hold on a second, okay?" Dean asked and got to his feet, giving the girl her doll back. Getting back to his car, he started rummaging under the car seat. Man, he really did have to clean up the car; there was so much junk around, it took him far too long to find the first aid kit. Dean was just glad this wasn’t a real emergency.
He hesitated a little. Sterile needles weren’t easy to come by. On the other hand - little girl crying. Damn women and their doomsday weapons. He sighed, grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box and got out of the car.
"Here, I got my suture kit," he told the girl, sitting back down next to her. "But you're going to have to help me, alright?"
The girl nodded earnestly, big eyes locked onto Dean. No pressure. Dean handed the girl the flashlight. "You're gonna be my nurse, okay?"
"Okay," the kid said.
"I'm gonna need you to hold this up real steady, so I can operate on Stacy, okay? Can you do that?"
"Yes, sir!" The girl cried enthusiastically, and Dean had to stop himself from smiling. Little runt reminded him a little of Sammy, back in the day.
It took him not five minutes to sew the doll's head back on, and he was rewarded with a new necklace made out of a fifty-five pound kid.
"Okay then," Dean said awkwardly, gently peeling the kid away and getting to his feet.
"Thanks mister!"
"Don’t mention it," Dean said, returning back to his car. He put the suture kit back in its place and started emptying the car of all the junk and empty snack wrappers. He turned around, meaning to toss all the garbage away, and froze in his tracks. "E-everything okay there?" He asked.
The little girl, clutching the newly mended doll to her chest, was not two feet away, watching him. Out there all alone in the parking lot. Not being creepy at all.
The girl nodded. "Can I help?" She asked.
"What about your brother?"
The little girl huffed. "He's a jerk!" She said, pouting.
"Maybe, but he's your brother, and he's in charge of taking care of you," Dean said.
"I don’t care. I hate him!" The girl shrieked.
"No, you don’t. He's your brother. I'm sure he's probably very sorry he hurt Stacy," Dean said, speaking from experience. He'd broken a cherished toy or two back in his day, he remembered how lousy he'd felt afterwards, when he'd seen how upset Sammy had been.
"No he's not. He said he's happy she's dead. He's mean!" The girl insisted.
Dean sighed. "Look, I know he can probably be a jerk sometimes, but I'm sure he loves you and worries about you. You wouldn’t want him to think something happened to you, would you?"
The girl hesitated. "You really think he'll be worried?" She asked, peering over her shoulder at what Dean assumed was her family's motel room.
"I bet he will," Dean said.
"Good," the girl said snidely. "He almost killed Stacy! I'm so gonna tell!"
"Okay," Dean said, and yeah, the girl did sort of remind him of Sammy. The little snitch. "Look, tell you what. You wanna help me wash my car?"
The girl nodded, messy hair flailing.
"Fine. But you're gonna have to get your brother's permission, okay? He's the boss, at least until your parents get back, so even though he might be a jerk, he has to say it's okay. Alright?"
The girl hesitated, looking over her shoulder again.
"I'm sure he's sorry," Dean tried.
"Is not," the girl insisted.
"I'm sure he is. And I'm sure he worries about you. Go ask him, and if he says it's okay, I'll let you help me. What do you say?" Dean offered.
The girl studied him for a moment in the poor light of the parking lot, and finally turned tail and ran off. For a minute there, Dean was sure that would be the end of it. He'd been there before; there was no way the kid's brother would let her stay out at night helping a stranger wash his car.
Apparently, he was wrong. Or the tears thing worked far better than he'd imagined, because five minutes later, the girl was back, and she brought a rag to help with the cleaning. Her brother was not five feet away though, never keeping his eyes off Dean.
Yeah. Not creepy at all.
***
The next morning Sam and Dean split up. Sam walked over to the local PD to try and get some more information, while Dean drove over to the museum.
He got out of the car and stared at the building. "No way," he muttered at the dilapidated house. He checked the address again, and then looked back at the building and sighed. "Great."
Dean walked around the building, taking in the surroundings. Didn’t look like there was a cemetery around, and so far, the EMF meter stayed quiet. He gave the entrance door a twist, but it was locked.
The paper had said the place was closed pending investigation. The visiting hours written on a little plaque by the door informed him that even if it hadn’t been, the museum wouldn’t open for at least another hour or so. Good thing he had his lock pick on him. Seventeen seconds later, Dean was inside the house, a little irritated that it had taken him that long to pick the old lock.
The house was clean, which was a bit of a surprise considering Dean had stayed in condemned buildings that looked better on the outside. The floor was covered in heavy carpeting, and the walls were overcrowded with pictures. The place almost looked like someone's grandmother's house.
Hell, it probably had been.
It was obvious people cared about the museum. It was spotless, and someone took the time to print leaflets with the history of the place and the surroundings. Dean tucked one into his back pocket. You never knew what might come in handy on a job like this.
"Well that's freakin' great," Dean muttered to himself. If this turned out to be a haunting, he was going to kick Sam's ass.
There were so many old knick-knack piles around Dean would be surprised if something wasn’t haunting something in there.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Oops. Dean was so busted. Oh, freakin' crap on a cracker, he thought, swallowing hard as he remembered the wanted poster.
Heart pounding, Dean slowly turned around and finally realized what the museum's main attraction was.
A five foot four brunette with her hair pulled up in a sexy librarian kind of way, wearing a dorky outfit that did absolutely no justice to her giant rack.
"Oh, hey there," Dean said in his most charming smile and did his best to look the woman in the… not chest area. "I was just passing through this town and I heard about this place," he said, "Gotta tell you, the way people were going on about it, I just couldn’t leave town without seeing it."
The woman crossed her hands over her chest, forcing Dean to look up at her face. "Museum's closed," she said coolly.
"Really?" Dean smiled awkwardly. "The front door was open when I got here."
"Well, it shouldn’t have been," the woman, whose nametag said 'Natalie', said.
"Oh," Dean said, doing his best to sound disappointed. "Well, I'm here now, and I'll be leaving real soon. Any chance I could get a tour? Please?" Dean asked, making his best 'pity me, I'm cute' face.
The woman narrowed her eyes, making Dean's heart rate pick up a notch or three.
"You want a tour? Of the museum?" She asked skeptically.
"Oh, I just love old town history," Dean lied. "You know, I'm on this road trip. Saw the world's second largest ball of twine a few states over," he kept going.
"Really?" The woman didn’t seem convinced.
"Come on, Natalie," Dean tried, "You don’t mind me calling you Natalie, do you?" No reaction there, and Dean was starting to sweat. "Well, okay," he sighed, "I guess this place won't go on my blog then. Nice to meet you," he added and turned to leave.
"Wait-"
Dean smiled to himself as he stopped and turned back to Natalie.
"What blog?" Natalie asked.
"Oh, I'm a writer. Didn’t I mention that?" Dean lied. Natalie raised a brow. "Yeah, I write about the hidden wonders of America. You know, all the things you just have to see if you're around and want to see the real America," Dean couldn't believe the crap flying out of his mouth. On the other hand, Natalie seemed to be eating it up, so he kept going.
"Too bad this place won't be on it. I understand you're in a bit of a financial mess, and I can already tell, this place has real… character," Dean stumbled and bit his lower lip, hoping like hell the woman was buying what he was selling.
"Well… we do need the publicity…" Natalie hesitated. Dean smiled at her and she blushed a little and started toying with her hair. Huh. Awesome.
***
It was almost midday when Dean made it back to the motel room. The day had been pretty great so far; Natalie had given him a private tour of the ancient house this town called a museum, and then a private tour of her privates. All in all, Dean got all sorts of interesting information today.
"Hey Sammy, how was your day?" Dean asked as he took his jacket off and tossed it onto his bed.
"How was my day?" Sam asked in that irritated tone that usually meant a lecture was coming. Dean rolled his eyes at the thought alone. "How was my day?" Sam repeated, getting off his bed. He grabbed something from his bedside table as he walked over to his brother.
"I don’t know Dean, how was my day?" Sam asked.
"Informative?" Dean tried.
Sam narrowed his eyes, and Dean swallowed and took an unconscious step back.
"Went to the police station this morning," Sam started.
"Oh, right," Dean nodded, "How'd that go? You got some 411 on the museum deaths?"
"Oh, I got some information alright. They told me all kinds of things," Sam said in a tone of voice that predicted a fist in the near vicinity of Dean's face.
"Dude, what's going…"
"Ran into someone while I was back at the station," Sam cut him off.
"Oh, really? Who'd-" Before Dean had had the chance to finish his question, Sam shoved a piece of paper in his face. A familiar Blue Steel impersonation. Oh, right. Damn. "There was another one?" The moment the words left his mouth Dean realize the enormity of his mistake.
"Another one? You mean you knew about this?" Sam yelled, shoving the wanted poster in Dean's face, the veins in his temple throbbing.
"Um," Dean took another step back, "There wasn’t a poster of you, was there?" He asked.
"It's not the point!" Sam cried.
"Kinda is, if you went into the station," Dean corrected. Good thing he was fast, because Sam's left hook was mean.
"You knew about this!" Sam accused.
"I'm a wanted man, Sammy. Any woman could have told you that years ago," Dean joked, but Sam's expression let him know he was nowhere near funny. "Seriously, dude. Did they make you?"
"No, they didn’t make me. And I took this off the second I saw it. But seriously, man, why didn’t you say anything? You know Henricksen would love to get us back in jail, we're supposed to stay under the radar!" Sam snapped.
"So, what? Pack up and leave town?" Dean asked.
"Yes," Sam said.
"Thing is, you were right," Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "I think there may be a case here."
***
"So, what'd you find? I mean beside my pretty face?" Dean asked, handing Sam a cool beer.
Sam glared at him, but after a swig or two from his beer he let out a breath and started talking. "Nine deaths altogether since the place opened back in '51. Two look legit - there was a guy that stroked out, had a prior condition, and a seventy year old janitor that had a heart attack. He actually died in a hospital, not in the museum itself."
"What about the others?" Dean asked, sipping from his own beer.
"Could be coincidences, could be something else," Sam said.
"I vote something else," Dean said.
"You think there's a case here?" Sam asked.
"Had myself a tour of the place with the lovely Natalie. She was very… informative."
Sam raised a brow. "Tell me you didn’t."
Dean smirked. "A gentleman never tells," he said.
Sam snorted. "You are many things, Dean, but a gentleman is not one of 'em," he said.
Dean feigned being stabbed in the heart. "That hurts, Sam. Really," he said. "Anyway, EMF was a little high, but I didn’t get a chance to get a proper reading. Also, there were definitely cold spots."
"So, ghost?"
Dean finished his beer in one sip. "Looks like," he said.
"You have any idea who it might be?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head. "That, my geek brother, is your job. I gotta take a shower," he said and got up from his bed.
"Didn’t she tell you anything about the history of the place? Anything we could use?" Sam pushed.
"Oh, she talked alright," Dean drawled, and shuddered. "Woman wouldn’t shut up. Even when we were…" Dean caught himself and made a face. "Anyway, good thing I learned early on how to filter geek speak, or I would have been victim number ten," he said. "Man, museum haunts are supposed to be awesome, not some old lady who didn’t want anyone touching her quilts," he whined.
Sam's brows disappeared under his hair. "Quilts?"
"Don’t even go there," Dean warned, "It's either the quilt lady, or the old house keeper, and trust me, the crazy quilt lady is the exciting of the two."
Sam smiled, turning back to his computer as Dean got into the shower.
Back at the motel parking lot, an average-looking man stood across from the Winchester's room, watching what he could through the window. He'd been standing there a while.
***
"Don’t say it."
"I'm sorry, it looks like…"
"Sam, I'm begging you, don’t say it," Dean said.
Sam raised his hands helplessly. "I think it's the crazy quilt lady," he said.
Dean slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "A museum, Sam," he said, "You told me there was a job in a museum," Dean accused.
"There is."
"No!" Dean snapped, "A job in a museum is a… a cursed monkey paw or a runaway mummy. Not this!"
"Actually, most museum cases involve haunting," Sam corrected his brother.
"I don’t care!" Dean cried, "A spirit of a native American latching on to a weapon and using it to kill people! Or a spirit of a soldier terrorizing African-Americans because he died before the North had won! Those are Museum cases! Not… this."
Sam stared at his brother for a long moment. "Dude, you do realize this place is pretty much this town's memorial to… well… this town, right?"
"That's just it. This isn’t even a freakin' museum, it's just an old house!"
Sam shrugged. "Old houses get haunted all the time," he said simply.
"Sam," Dean warned.
"What exactly are you objecting to here, Dean?"
"This whole freaking thing!" Dean cried.
"On the grounds that it's…?"
"Stupid. It's just… It's an eighty seven year old woman who loved quilting and hated other people touching her stuff, Sam. It's stupid!"
Sam gave a slight nod. "Ok, I agree, it's not one for the books, but…"
"Not one for the books?" Dean stuttered, "It's goddamn embarrassing, Sam!"
"Bet you ten bucks the old woman tosses you through a wall," Sam said.
Dean glowered at him. "Bet you a hundred she's gonna find a way to choke you," he retorted.
***
"Urgh," Dean said, wiping his brow and leaving mud smudges on his forehead. "Not gonna be easy torching this old bird in the rain," he complained.
"Least digging's easy," Sam replied and wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his sleeve.
Dean stretched his back, rocking his head back and forth to ease the cramps in his neck. And then he froze. "You saw that?" Dean asked in an undertone.
Sam stopped digging and looked up at his brother. "She there?"
Dean narrowed his eyes, squinting through the rain. "Someone is," he answered quietly.
"Human?" Sam asked, his voice hushed.
Dean reached for the sawed-off he had leaning next to him. Grabbing the gun, he climbed out of the grave. The wind made chills run through his spine. Old Nutty had already introduced Sam's face into a tree before Dean had managed to put two salt rounds into her. Dean wasn’t going to give her another chance.
On the other hand, there was no way of putting salt circles to protect themselves. Not in the rain, anyway.
Dean squinted in the dark. He was sure there was someone there. Someone was watching. The fine hairs on the back of his neck were on end.
Couldn’t see anyone, though. Human or otherwise.
"Dean?" Sam whispered.
"I can't see anything," Dean answered. "I'm gonna take a look around?"
"Hurry up," Sam replied, and started digging again.
"Sam," Sam stopped and looked up at his brother. "Careful, okay?"
Sam nodded and went back to digging. Dean let out a breath and focused, eying the dark surroundings. There was nothing there; nothing he could see at least. But there was something. He could feel it, deep in his gut.
He cocked his gun, blinking in the rain. With another glance back at Sam, he took off. If there was someone there, in this weather, they'd leave footprints.
Dean found them. Footprints. There was a patch of trees not far from the graves. It held a good vantage point overlooking the grave the brothers were digging.
There was no one there though, not now. Whomever it was, was probably long gone by now.
Crap on a cracker.
Dean's heart pounded in his chest.
Someone saw them digging up a grave. Cops could be on their way. Damn it, someone might have recognized Dean from the wanted posters. He cursed.
"Sammy, get on with it, we have to split," Dean cried, kneeling next to their open duffel and taking the kerosene out just as Sam climbed out of the grave.
Sam nodded at his brother. "Go ahead," he said, and Dean wasted no time dosing the old bones with a healthy dose of kerosene and lighting it up.
"Well, at least the old lady didn’t show up again," Sam breathed, wiping the hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Yeah," Dean said distractedly, eyes still darting around. "You alright?" He asked.
Sam touched his nose gingerly. "I don’t think it's broken," he said and let out a breath. "Least the case's over, right? We can split town."
"Let's go," Dean said by way of answer, and the two quickly packed up their gear and headed back towards the Impala.
They passed by the patch of trees on their way back to the car, and Dean stalled a little, let his brother get ahead. He wanted to take another look, just to make sure.
"Dean?"
"Go ahead," he told Sam, "Just got to tie up my shoe," he lied, and bent down as if to tie it. He never would have noticed it otherwise, not in the rain, definitely not in the dark.
Sulfur.
He spent the entire drive back to the motel room cursing in his head.
***
"Get a move on, Sam," Dean cried. He had his duffle all packed up and ready to go. Time to get the hell out of town. They weren’t ready for this. Not for this. Not a demon. Not now.
Dad was gone, the Colt was gone, and there was a demon after his brother.
Like hell.
Demon or not, Sam was Dean's little brother, and Dean wasn’t giving him up anytime soon.
"Dean, wait," Sam called back.
"Daylight's a-wastin', Sammy," Dean pushed.
"Listen," Sam said, turning the volume up on the TV.
"Oh, you gotta be freakin' kidding me," Dean muttered.
It was one of those local morning shows. For some reason, Sam had a habit of getting dressed while watching the morning shows. Must have been a Stanford thing, because he sure as hell didn’t used to do that before.
Only this time, they weren’t talking about clothes or the weather or some local production of a school play. They were talking about another dead body found in the town museum.
"We torched the bitch," Dean said, looking at Sam.
Sam shrugged. "Maybe she latched onto something," he offered.
Dean cursed, shaking his head. "I don’t like this," he said.
"Dean…"
"Yeah, I know," Dean sighed and dropped his duffle back down. Job wasn’t finished yet. "Try to find out what you can, okay?" He looked up at Sam.
Sam nodded, reaching for his suit.
"And Sam?" Dean added. Sam stopped, suit in hand, "Be careful."
***
Sam loosened his tie and stepped out of the car. The day was cloudy, light wind blowing, making the few remaining leaves on the trees shiver.
It had taken Sam a while to get the information they needed. Not like he could chance going to the police again, and the puppy eyes didn’t really work when your nose was twice its normal size.
He did get it though. Probably in the first place his brother would have gone to.
Huh.
Sam wrinkled his brow at the sight before him. He cocked his head to the side.
Huh.
"Dean?"
The look on his brother's face couldn’t have been guiltier. It was almost like the word 'busted' was tattooed all over his forehead.
"Sam. I… uh…"
"Would you like to introduce me to your girlfriend?" Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest, the brown bag of greasy diner food dangling precariously.
The girl giggled.
Dean looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
Sam wished he had a camera.
"Isn't she a little… young?" Sam asked, a smile creeping onto his lips.
"Dude, this is so not what it looks like," Dean said quickly.
"We're having a tea party!" The little girl announced brightly. "Stacy's all better now, so we're throwing her a party," she explained.
And Sam lost it.
"Shut up, Sam!" Dean warned. Not that it helped him much. Sam was nearly doubled over laughing. Dean pushed to his feet and stalked off towards their motel room, Sam in toe. "She had cookies. I was freakin' starving. The hell took you so long?" Dean grumbled.
Sam's only answer was a rolling laughter. He had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.
"Dude, you don’t shut up about this, I'm gonna break your face," Dean warned and grabbed the bag of food mere seconds before Sam rolled over it.
Sam wiped the tears from his eyes and did his best to stop laughing. It didn’t really work. He had to lock himself up in the bathroom though, because Dean's glare was getting too close to the 'bodily hard' zone on Sam's Big-Brother-Meter.
"You done now?" Dean grunted when Sam finally got out of the bathroom.
"Yeah, I'm done," Sam said and reached for a beer. Dean snatched it from him. Sam made a mental note not to eat anything in the room. If he knew his brother - and he did - Dean must have spit or licked everything. Good thing Sam's tooth brush was in the bathroom with him.
"Found out anything?" Dean groused.
"You mean beside your new hobby?" Sam asked. And ducked really fast. Apparently, not fast enough. "Ow! Dean!"
Sam didn’t have time to recover though, before Dean body-tackled him onto the floor.
Ten minutes later, both brothers were lying on their backs on the grubby motel carpet, panting.
"You gonna bring it up again?" Dean asked.
"Do," Sam answered, holding his nose. "I thing it's bwoked."
"It's not broken, you big baby," Dean said and pushed to his feet. "I didn’t even touch your nose."
"You pushed be," Sam accused.
"Told you to shut up about it," Dean shrugged and pulled Sam to his feet. "See, you should always listen to me," he said and reached into the fridge for a beer, handing it to Sam. "Come on, let's eat."
"I'm dot eating adything. You pwobably licked by food," Sam pouted.
"I did not lick your food. What do you take me for, a ten-year-old?"
Sam raised a brow. Dean scowled.
"I'b eating! I'b eating!" Sam said quickly and stuffed his face full of cheeseburger.
Dean kept scowling until Sam had finished half of his burger, and then turned to finish his own lunch.
"So, about the case," Sam started.
"Don’t poke your nose, Sam," Dean cautioned and scraped the back of the fridge for ice.
"Dude, that's gwoss," Sam remarked.
"I'm putting it in a towel," Dean rolled his eyes. "Sheesh. Aren't you a princess."
Sam bit his lip trying not to laugh.
"Thin ice, Sam. Very thin ice," Dean warned, handing him the ice in a towel.
"I had do luck at the usual sources," Sam started.
"What, no one at the diner would talk?" Dean asked.
Sam sighed. Of course. He knew that would have been the first place Dean would have checked.
"You're dot gonna like it," Sam said.
"Like what?"
"The quilt lady," Sam started and Dean rolled his eyes.
"Oh, come on…"
"Best I could tell, some hobeless guy got in the buseub trying to keep out of the rain," Sam kept going.
"Damn it," Dean cussed.
"They foud him stwadgled by a quilt," Sam said, taking a sip from his beer.
Dean blinked. "They what now?"
"He was… stwadgled by a quilt," Sam repeated, making strangling motions.
Dean shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nope. Doesn’t sound any less stupid, man."
"You do realize she's pwobably latching od to one of her quilts, right?"
"Dude."
"Cobe on, Dean. Racist twuck?"
"Death by quilt, Sam. This so trumps racist truck on the stupidest case meter," Dean deadpanned.
Sam shrugged, bobbing his head from side to side. "So how mady quilts did the old lady have, adyway?" He asked.
Dean smiled sarcastically. "Oh, just her entire collection of a hundred and eight quilts. Scattered all over that dump," he said, pulling the pamphlet out of his back pocket and handed it to Sam.
Sam whistled. Or tried to. It didn’t really work on account of his badly bruised nose.
"Let's just torch the place and get it over with," Dean suggested.
"Dean! You can't torch the place," Sam cried.
"Why the hell not?"
"Because! It's… historic!" Sam fumbled.
Dean rolled his eyes again. "It's lame is what it is, Sam," he said. "Torching the place would probably be more lucrative than keeping the thing open for business. Which it isn’t, by the way."
"Still," Sam insisted. "You can't torch it. We just… we need to get rid of the quilts."
"Oh, is that all?" Dean asked, and shook his head. "I am so not related to you."
***
They waited for nightfall before driving out to the museum.
"Good thing this place is closed," Sam said, getting the weapons out of the car, "At least there won't be anyone here to see us."
"Dude, I took a tour of the place," Dean told him as he shouldered his own duffle of weapons and closed the trunk. "No one would have been here even if it wasn’t closed."
Sam shook his head at his brother and headed towards the old house. Dean followed a little more slowly, taking his EMF meter out of his pocket and turning it on.
"Anything?" Sam asked. Dean just shook his head.
It took Sam fifteen seconds to get the door open.
"Showoff," Dean muttered as he got inside.
"What?"
"Nothing," Dean said quickly.
"A hundred and eight quilts? Seriously?" Sam asked, making sure.
"You bet," Dean answered, still sweeping around for EMF.
"You want to split up?" Sam offered.
"Anything good ever happens when we split up?" Dean asked in return.
Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Guess not," he said. "Hey, the bet's still on, right?"
Dean snorted. "You are so gonna get choked."
"Tough talk, coming from a guy who's been through pretty much every solid barrier known to man," Sam quipped.
"Oh, bet's totally on," Dean muttered.
"You do realize it doesn’t count if you choke me yourself, right?"
Dean made a face. "Dude!"
"Sorry."
"Yeah, choking you is just the cherry on top," Dean said. And smirked.
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
"Okay, we've been in here for one minute and this is the fifth quilt I've seen," Sam quickly changed the subject.
"It is?" Dean frowned.
"Yeah."
"Look up," Dean said without looking up himself.
"Oh, come on." Sam rolled his eyes.
"Small towns, Sammy. Gotta love 'em," Dean said and stopped as they entered a large room filled with old pictures of the town back in the day. And quilts. Lots and lots of quilts. "Any chance I can change your mind about torching the place?" Dean asked, making sure.
"Not likely," Sam replied.
Dean sighed. "Fine," he said, "Which way?"
"You've been here before, what do you think?" Sam asked.
"A hundred and eight quilts, Sam," Dean reminded him.
"Let's just start with the attic, sweep for EMF on our way down. If we're lucky, the right ones will give out EMF," Sam said.
"Okay," Dean drawled and followed his brother up the stairs.
***
"Any EMF?" Sam asked hopefully, looking at an attic full of quilts.
"You do realize I've got some leftover kerosene in the car, right?" Dean answered.
"Dean, for the last time, we're not burning this place up," Sam snapped. That was when his flashlight started flickering. "Dean?"
"Yeah. I got some EMF here," Dean said, turning the meter off and shoving it into his pocket.
Sam shook the flashlight a little, trying to get the light back on as Dean took his gun out.
"What are you guys doing here? This place is closed to the public!"
Sam and Dean both froze. And then the lights came on.
"Natalie?" Dean asked.
"You two are trespassing," Natalie said coolly, "I've called the cops."
"No, Natalie, wait," Dean said quickly, hiding his gun in the small of his back and raising his hands in a surrendering motion. "This is Trent," he said, motioning at Sam, "He's my editor. I wanted to show him the place, maybe take some pictures for the blog?" He tried.
Natalie narrowed her eyes. "Where's your camera?"
Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "In the car," Sam stuttered just as Dean said, "It's in the car."
"Oh, really?" Natalie asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well why doesn't Trent go get it, and you and I stay here and wait for the cops?" She suggested.
Dean smiled awkwardly. "C'mon, Natalie, we don’t really need to call in the cops, do we?"
"My uncle is the sheriff," Natalie stated, "And I already told you we were closed for business," she added.
"Didn’t seem so close for business the other day," Dean whispered to Sam, who replied with his usual bitchface.
"Now, are you going to get that camera, or should we all just go downstairs and wait for my uncle?" Natalie said coolly.
Sam and Dean exchanged another look. They did have a video camera in the trunk. Dean gave a slight nod, and Sam nodded in return.
"Look, we really don’t have to get the cops," Sam said as sincerely as he could, "We don’t even have to take pictures of this place. I mean, not every blog entry has to have pictures, right?"
"Look, Natalie, I'm really sorry about breaking in and everything, but it's not like we were going to steal anything. We were just looking around, for the article," Dean tried. "I mean, if you don’t want us to post anything about the museum, it's not a problem," he carried on, "I just figured, a place like this, people really should know about it, you know?"
Natalie narrowed her eyes. "You don’t really write for a blog, do you?" She asked.
"Sure we do," Dean said quickly. "Look, we got a laptop in the car. We could show you some of our work if you'd like," he suggested, exchanging looks with Sam.
Sam gave Dean the 'are you crazy? We don’t have anything for a cover like that!' look, and Dean gave him the 'I know, but dude, cops' look. And of course, Sam gave Dean a bitchface, but was quick to hide it when Natalie looked at him.
"Well," Natalie hesitated. "I mean, my uncle is already on the way, but if you guys really just wanted to take pictures of this place and your blog is legit, I guess I could tell him to just let you off with a warning."
"Great. That's great," Dean said quickly. "So let's all just get to our car and we'll show you everything's cool."
Natalie hesitated a moment, but then nodded. "After you," she said.
Sam and Dean exchanged another glance and a nod, and then turned for the door.
"Hey, Dean, wait a minute," Natalie said, pulling on Dean's sleeve to stop him from following his brother out the door.
"What?" Dean asked.
"I have a better plan," Natalie smirked.
And then the door to the attic slammed shut, with Sam on the other side.
Part Two