It's Only a Paper Moon
Jun. 25th, 2009 08:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jimmyhkim21Title: It's Only a Paper Moon, Part I
Warning: R-rated for language and violence
Summary: Dean and Sam head to Washington to tackle a case where a ghost is blamed for multiple deaths. However, once they discover what the entity is, they realize they have no way of stopping the tortured soul from continuing its murderous rampage. Becoming more and more desperate as the body count rises, the Winchesters delve into forgotten family history to discover a murderous tragedy that has yet to see the end.
Thomasville, Idaho
“This sucks,” Dean grumbled as he swirled the dregs of his coffee in the chipped mug. “How is it we can’t find a decent case? What? All the ghosties went to Bermuda for the summer?”
Sam gave a huff of annoyance. “Look, it’s not my fault that we’re … wait. I found something.”
Dean immediately perked up. When Sam used that tone, things got interesting. And exciting. Yes, their job was dangerous, but there were perks: shooting, burning, and, on occasion, using heavy excavation equipment. In spite of humming with eagerness, Dean waited patiently for his brother to continue; he knew better than to rush Sam when he was in research mode.
“Look at this,” Sam said, whirling around his laptop so Dean could read the screen. “Three accidents on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge in the last six weeks.”
“Galloping Gertie?” Dean remembered the Youtube video of the bridge doing its best to resemble a wave. And succeeding beyond its builders' ugliest nightmares.
“No, that one’s at the bottom of the Sound,” Sam blanched a little. He remembered the video only too well. He’d watched it after his roommate had plied him with an entire sheet of jello shots. Sam had spent rest of Saturday night in the bathroom, swearing very loudly what he was going to do with Mark after he got sober.
Not surprisingly, nobody would room with him after that year.
Dean leaned forward and read the article. “Okay, that’s our definition of weird. So, a jumper each time?”
“Yeah, but they never find any bodies in the water, and there are always accidents afterward a sighting. The local police department is going to man the damn bridge round the clock if this keeps up.”
“Two dead, two hospitalized with serious injuries. All because they stopped to save a kid from taking a leap off the bridge.” Dean leaned back. “So, what do we have here? A ghost?”
“That’s just it: this is happening on the second bridge.”
“The new one?” Dean frowned and took another glance at the article. “But that thing went up without a problem, right? I mean no galloping gertie routine: just the usual ripping-off the taxpayers.”
“Yeah, which is weird,” Sam admitted. “Unless, of course, they built the bridge on top of something.”
"Like a body dump? That makes sense in a what-the-fuck kind of way.” Dean paused. “But who’d dump a body there? The place’s crawling with boaters, not to mention the Navy.”
Sam looked at Dean. “How do you know so much about the area?”
Dean shrugged. “I had a job in Tacoma, a legitimate one in case you’re wondering. There’s a park there – Point Defiance – that overlooks the bridge from the Tacoma side. I kept up my training there.”
Sam wanted to ask when this was, but he didn’t want to push Dean. His brother was revealing more of himself than he'd ever done before, so Sam knew he was lucky to even get that much out of Dean.
Dean put a twenty on the table and asked, "We're going?"
“Yeah, let me pull up some info first.” Sam quickly finished his pancakes while downloading all the intel he could get his hands on about the construction of the bridge. But, as preoccupied as he was, he couldn’t forget the little slice of life Dean had revealed. He wondered how to bring up the topic again without having Dean shut him out.
Sam knew, academically, that life didn’t stop when he’d left for Stanford. That Dean and their father kept on hunting, plowing out a life on a road littered with broken bodies and torn souls. How they did so without dying was a mystery to Sam. But, then, the two men were always a bit of a puzzle to him. Especially his brother.
The summer heat smothered Sam's face as they stepped out of the diner. He struggled to breathe as they did double-time march towards the Impala. Mercifully, Dean had checked the car's air conditioning unit before the heat wave rolled over Idaho, and it started up as soon as Dean cranked it to its highest setting.
Sam sneaked a glance at Dean as he focused on getting the Impala out of the busy parking lot without smashing into a minivan. Sam knew that in spite of all his posturing and tomcatting across the States, Dean was at heart a family man, maybe even more so than their father.
For a moment Sam allowed himself to daydream: Dean, married and with kids. In a small but neatly kept house. And he would visit on the weekends to help Dean put up an addition to the house as the kids got older. Sam idly included Cassie in his imaginings as Dean's wife. He knew that if Cassie didn’t kick Dean to the curb for telling the truth – odds were his brother would’ve settled down if and when she got pregnant with their first child. He knew Dean loved to hunt, but he also knew his brother would never endanger his child as their own father did.
“I was in a hospital.”
Dean’s statement broke Sam from his reverie. “Huh?”
“I got hurt, nothing bad but I had to go to the hospital to stop the bleeding,” Dean explained. “There was a guy in the ER with me. He went berserk on the nurse. And I don’t mean like a Boston Red Sox fan – more like a rabid animal.”
“What did you do?”
“Try to stop him from ripping out her throat with his teeth,” Dean answered. “Anyway, he bit me in the arm before security managed to take control. It took less than an hour for them to find out the guy was HIV positive.”
Sam felt his ears ring as he stared at Dean in horror. “What?”
“The motherfucker was HIV positive,” Dean repeated. “I decided it would be best if I stuck around, you know? Make sure I didn’t get infected.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sam hissed. “How long?”
“The standard six months. The nurse’s husband had a buddy who owned a garage. He gave me a job while I waited it out.”
“When was this?”
“You were a sophomore. Right around Christmas.”
Sam scrambled to remember if he had any calls from Dean.
“No, I didn’t call you, Dorkus,” Dean said with a small smile. “Didn’t want to worry you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I could ask the same thing, Sam.”
The warning was sharp enough reminder for Sam to calm down. After all, he didn’t make much of an effort to keep in contact with Dean either. And there were worse things out there than HIV, wasn’t there? Most of which he and Dean faced in the last few years, Sam admitted with a wry smile.
“Anyway, I was negative and that’s all.”
“So, how was living in Tacoma?” Sam asked.
“Okay, actually. The town’s got character, you know?” Dean’s face suddenly cracked into one of his rare, genuine smiles. “There’s this great place that serves what they call a real southern breakfast. And damn, they be right: best damn breakfast in the entire west coast.”
“You want to go back?”
Dean nodded eagerly. “I could eat there three meals a day, no problem.”
Sam blanched. He’d forgotten how much his brother loved comfort food, especially if it was floating in bacon grease.
“So, what do you think it is?”
Sam had to collect himself and think for a moment before answering. “Like you said, a ghost – maybe a male version of the Woman in White. But I’m hoping not, because if that’s the case…”
“It means we've got more than one problem,” Dean finished darkly, remembering their first case that nearly got Sam killed.
“And there’s something else,” Sam said in a heavy voice. “If there is a body at the bottom of the Sound, there isn’t a chance in hell we’re going to get to it.”
“We’re going to have to find another way to put it out of his misery, then.”
Sam noticed Dean’s words: before Sam went vampiric with demon blood, Dean would’ve said “destroy” or “kill”. But now, with Sam being what he was, Dean had become cautious with his descriptions.
Sam wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or depressed. Not surprisingly, he had become used to feeling both at the same time.
“I wonder…”
Sam looked at Dean. “About what?”
“The music, remember?”
Sam had never gotten used to Dean’s way of thinking. Or lack of coherent linear thinking. But that didn’t mean Dean was stupid or lacking. While he was methodical in the practical matters, when it came to shooting shit or guesswork, Dean went in the way of chaos, dragging his reluctant brother after him. However, Sam never complained because he enjoyed it when Dean actually let himself go. It was entertaining and there was also the fact that Dean allowed himself to be carefree.
“Music?” Dean repeated, annoyed now.
“Sorry, yeah.” It took a moment for Sam to remember what Dean was talking about. “They were all oldies, you know? Music from WWII days.”
“I guess that’s a clue. But I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do with it.”
Sam gave a grunt of agreement.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, the jumper’s always the same: a young man, early twenties or late teens. Dressed neatly, from the reports I’ve managed to read so far.”
Dean tapped the wheel with his fingers. “You know what’s weird about this case?”
“What?”
“When we first sniff one out, we usually get a feel for it, you know? It’s bad, it’s really bad, or it’s shitty beyond telling of it, but this one’s just confusing. And that’s not due to bad research, just so you know.”
“That’s good to know,” Sam replied dryly. But he had to agree with Dean. This case was strange in that he couldn’t nail it either. And that, more than anything, worried him. The fact that they were going in blind forced Sam to be more cautious than usual. He wondered if Dean felt the same.
It took less than a moment for Sam to realize that Dean would hardly stop plowing ahead just because of a feeling. Not unless Sam was in mortal peril.
The younger Winchester huffed and slouched deeper into his seat. Not for the first time Sam wished he’d remember what happened after they killed Ruby. He could still see the pure white light, the feeling of horror and ecstasy as the Lightbringer rose free from its cage.
Then he woke up in a grimy hotel room, covered in gore and dirt. Dean was lying on the floor, in the same state. Neither of them were able to remember what happened in the deconsecrated nunnery. Bobby was unable to find anything in the following weeks, and the angels were of no help, either. None of them responded to Dean’s calls, and the demons had taken the same route. Sam managed to trap one after spending two frustrating months looking for clues. It took one look at the Winchesters before streaming out of its victim, headed straight back to hell, all on its own volition.
That unnerved both Dean and Sam enough so that they stopped digging.
“I can do some research on the music,” Sam finally grunted out.
“Oh, you’re still alive?” Dean deadpanned. “I thought you went to sleep.”
Sam grinned. Apocalypse, Lucifer, renegade angels – but leave it to Dean to continue being a wiseass in the face of it all.
“Seriously, the music has to be a clue of sorts. As esoteric as it is.”
“Whatever,” Dean glanced at the setting sun. “We’ll probably get to Tacoma around six in the morning. Get some sleep.”
“Dean,” Sam cautioned his brother. “You promised.”
“Okay,” Dean said reluctantly. “We'll switch at two.”
“Better,” Sam muttered as he made himself comfortable. Wrangling his right to drive the Impala was a battle hard fought but worth the struggle. “I’m going to set my watch, in case you forget.”
Sam heard Dean’s short sigh of exasperation and knew he was planning to do exactly that. Feeling smug, Sam forced himself to fall asleep. The nightmares that peppered his dreams were normal as his nightmares usually went. The worst ones where he’d imagined Dean in hell disappeared after Maryland, and now they were dotted with wendigos, ghosts, and the usual beasties that ate people but weren’t exactly capable of bringing down the Apocalypse when pissed.
Merciless sunlight woke Sam, making him unfurl himself cautiously. Feeling discombobulated he looked around to find they were parked in front of a Starbucks.
“What the hell?” Sam muttered, getting out of the Impala. He spotted Dean inside the coffee shop, waiting for his order while chatting up with a pretty coed who was looking at Dean like he was the Christmas present long-denied by her parents.
Sam marched into Starbucks, eyes narrowed and jaws hard.
“And this is my brother,” Dean said amiably. “Don’t mind him. He gets a little grumpy when he doesn’t have caffeine in his system.”
The girl turned to look at Sam and he could almost see her brain stutter when her eyes finally reached his murderous face.
“I thought I told you to wake me up when it was my turn to drive.”
“Hey, you said your watch would do that. Do I look like an alarm clock to you?”
“No, you look like an ass,” Sam muttered.
“Like I said, don’t mind Sammy.” Dean gave an apologetic grin at the girl.
“Well, I hope you have fun here,” she said quickly. “Nice to meet you Sam.”
Sam watched her practically bolt out of the coffee shop and felt a pang of remorse. Then he looked at Dean’s smug face and felt annoyance again. But before he could say anything the barista behind the counter handed over a coffee holder jammed with two venti-sized cups and three bags filled with breakfast sandwiches.
Dean grabbed the order, gave a wink at the female barista who responded with a good natured eye-roll.
“C’mon,” Dean said. “Let’s eat.”
As usual, the two sat in the car while scarfing down their meals. Sam had to admit, the latte and the sausage sandwich went a long way to ease his bad mood. After finishing his meal, Sam looked at his wrist to find it bare.
“Dean,” Sam snapped. “Where’s my watch?”
Dean pulled it from his jacket pocket. “It was beeping but you didn’t wake up. So I had to turn it off.”
Sam blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Dean looked at him. “You aren’t a light sleeper, Sam. Don’t you remember how hard it was for me to wake you when you were a kid?”
“I changed a bit since then,” Sam said wryly.
“For a while, but the last few months you’ve been sleeping like a rock.”
“What about you?” Sam asked.
“Still the same ol', same ol',” Dean confessed. “I was always the light sleeper in the family. That’s why Dad made me take the outside bed.”
“I didn’t know that,” Sam confessed. “I thought it was because…”
“Dad wanted me to protect you?” Dean said. “That’s true, in part, but he also did it because King Kong could sit on your head and you would just keep on snoring.”
Sam remembered Dean struggling to wake him, but he had chalked it up to teenage years, some of which he spent in a haze of exhaustion or burning with anger and resentment against the implacable Winchester, and the life he was forced to live because of his father’s obsession.
“Man, how can anybody like this shit?” Dean said, grimacing. “It tastes like they scraped the bottom of a monkey barrel and made coffee out of that.”
Sam chuckled at Dean’s description and allowed his anger to dissipate.
“I remembered something,” Dean said. “There’s a swap meet on South Tacoma Way. It’s pretty cool, and you get to meet a lot of interesting folks.”
“You think there will be people there who knows what’s been happening?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, most of the people who show up for business are locals. We might come across a few who know something about what's been happening.”
“Sounds good. When does it start?”
“Around eleven,” Dean answered. “We have to buy tickets.”
Sam frowned. “What are we going to swap? We hardly have anything for people to browse over.”
Dean grinned from ear to ear. “I got an idea.”
Sam narrowed his eyes in warning. “What?”
Dean popped the collar to his leather jacket. “Don’t worry: I won’t rent you out by the hour.”
“Oh, thanks,” Sam said, blushing. “For a moment there I was wondering.”
Dean’s grin got bigger, which made Sam’s anxiety also increase in proportion, so by the time the Impala rolled into its assigned parking space at the crowded swap meet, Sam was half-determined to stay in the car.
“Get your ass in gear,” Dean said as he got out of the Impala.
Sam obeyed reluctantly. He looked around and soon forgot his concerns as his curiosity took over. The parking lot was jammed with shoppers and sellers. Most were Hispanic, though Sam couldn’t tell from which country, but they all had one thing in common: sharp eye towards a good bargain.
Sam looked at Dean again, and watched as his brother took out his bag of old tools from the trunk and spread them on the hood of the car. The response was immediate: people started to come, if only to look at the newcomers and their wares. Most took a glance and kept going but a few stayed.
Unsurprisingly, they were all women.
Sam sighed and leaned back on the Impala, trying to look smaller. His imposing physical presence made people wary. It was only when Sam began talking that people relaxed. Usually, because they were posing as authority figures, his size wasn’t an issue. But, in this arena, Sam instinctively knew it would cause problems.
Dean sat next to his tools, looking up at the sun. Sam had a disconcerted thought that Dean resembled a basking gecko he’d seen in Florida.
“What can you fix?” a woman asked as she approached them.
Sam looked at her and noted she was probably born during the Civil War.
“Pretty much anything, Miss,” Dean said amiably.
“Don’t use that honeyed tongue on me,” the woman responded with complete lack of sternness. “Seriously, what can you fix?”
“Whatever needs fixin',” Dean answered, looking at the woman with interest. “But my specialty is car engines.”
“Really?” she said, doubtful. “What kind of cars?”
“If it runs, I can fix it.” Dean tapped the Impala. “I built this baby from skin up.”
The woman’s gaze suddenly turned serious. “You fixed that thing?”
“No, I built it.” Dean hopped off the hood. “It got totaled by a sixteen-wheeler, but I couldn’t let it go. It belonged to my dad, you know?”
“Is he telling the truth?”
Sam suddenly realized she was speaking to him. “Yes, ma’am, he is.”
“Okay, then. I got a Buick Pontiac. It’s giving me troubles, but I can’t afford to pay what the mechanics are telling me. So, if you could do something about it maybe we could come to an agreement.”
“Why don’t I take a look first? Then we could talk about the price,” Dean said gently.
“Okay, it’s right over there.”
Dean looked at Sam who gave a nod of understanding. Without a word, the older Winchester followed the woman while Sam took his place. Now, he was able to use his imposing size, guarding the car and the tools until Dean came back. It took his brother less than ten minutes to return with the grandmother practically beaming at him.
“One of the arms needs replacing,” Dean said. “The mechanic told her it was going to cost her twelve hundred dollars.”
Sam couldn’t prevent himself from gaping. “What?”
“No shit,” Dean said. He turned to the woman and said, “Beth? Seriously, go to another mechanic. It shouldn’t cost you over eight hundred to have it replaced. I wish I could do it here but I don’t have the tools necessary to do something that big. And you really need a shop for something like that.”
“Well, at least you’re honest,” Beth said. She pulled out a twenty and gave it to Dean. “This is for your consulting fee.”
Dean pocketed the bill and smiled. “Thanks.”
“What are you boys doing here?”
Sam pulled up the most innocent smile in his arsenal and answered, “We’re here investigating, actually.”
“You’re not the police,” Beth said, her eyes darting between them with harder scrutiny.
“No, we’re writers,” Sam said. “We’re doing a book about urban legends and weird happenings in the States. And this area’s loaded with them.”
“Oh, yes,” Beth paused for a moment, “are you here about the suicides?”
Dean shook his head, “No, actually. We’re investigating the local legend about a water monster right off the Sound.”
“What suicides?” Sam asked, balancing his tone perfectly between innocent curiosity and boredom.
Beth’s eyes lighted as she thought she had perfect listeners to impart local gossip. “There’s been a rash of suicides on the bridge.”
“But there are always people who jump off bridges,” Dean said, picking up on Sam’s body language. “The one in San Francisco got a nasty history because of it.”
“But it’s not the same jumper,” Beth said conspiratorially.
“What?” Sam feigned shock.
“The same person? How’s that possible?” Dean asked, frowning.
“Because it’s a ghost,” Beth said. “And my niece who works in the police department tells me the station’s going crazy because it’s causing deaths.”
“How many?”
“Anybody who sees the damn thing dies.”
“Wait a minute,” Sam looked sharply at Dean. “There aren’t any survivors?”
“Well, initially yes,” Beth said. “Two, actually. One walked away only to keel over from a heart attack, and the other died in the hospital, after she was pronounced fit enough to moved from the ICU.”
“What kind of ghost does that?” Dean asked conversationally.
“Not Llrona, that’s for sure.”
“Woman in white?” Sam said. “What makes you say that?”
“So you know about that legend, eh?” Beth said. “Well, for one, she doesn’t go after women. Children? Yes. Unfaithful men? Maybe. But never women. Besides, there’s no male Llrona that I know of.”
“What do you think it is, then?” Sam asked.
“I’m not sure,” Beth said. “And I don’t think it’s a ghost of a suicide, either.”
“Why?”
Beth leaned forward and said, “‘Cause my niece, who works in the police department, has a boss who actually researched the history of both bridges. And as far as the police knows, there’s never been a jumper matching the description of the ghost.”
“Really?” Dean gave a glance towards Sam who looked as taken back as he was. This was the first time they’ve met up with a cop who was broad-minded enough to look into the paranormal as well as the normal.
“Yes, and Detective McTighe was sure there hadn’t been any jumpers like that.”
“What about people who’d died building the bridges?” Sam asked.
Beth shrugged. “That’s one theory, but whoever it is, it’s not happy. And it wants everyone to know it’s unhappy.”
“What do you think it will do?” Dean looked at Beth with a worried gaze.
“Keep fooling people into helping it, and then kill them.” Beth sighed and looked at South Tacoma Way where more cars poured out from and into the parking lot. “It preys by using the best of people: their desire to help someone in trouble. That makes whatever it is not only sad, but also evil.”
“Sounds about right,” Dean said. “Does anybody else feel the same?”
“Pretty much everyone I know,” Beth said. “But not everybody agrees on how to handle such an evil thing. My daughter thinks a priest can cleanse the bridge of it. My best friend believes its body has to be found and burned, or reburied with special rites.”
“I’m guessing the ghost is the topic of the day?” Sam asked.
“It’s the only topic of the day, for everyone who lives around here,” Beth said. “It’s morbid curiosity at its worst, but better that than talking about how hard the Mariners are going to suck this season.”
Sam barked out a laugh. Even Dean chuckled at Beth’s summation of Seattle’s baseball team.
“So, you boys have enough for your book?” Beth asked.
“More than enough,” Sam said. “Thanks for talking to us.”
“Here,” Dean handed a scrap of paper to Beth. “This lists what’s wrong with the Buick and what needs replacing. And how much it should cost.”
“Thank you,” Beth said, pocketing the paper. “I hope you guys have a good day. You’ve come to the right place, you know. People around here love to gossip!”
Dean chuckled softly and waved farewell as Beth walked away, examining cheap t-shirts on sale. It didn’t take long for them to pick up yet another customer, and by the end of the day, Dean had earned a tidy sum of money. Though their credit cards were still good for few more weeks, Sam always preferred cash. There was something about having dollar bills in your hands that made the world just a little easier to deal with.
They also collected more tales about the bridges, and who or what was currently haunting them. As Beth had pointed out: people loved to talk, and the topic of the ghost was in the forefront of everyone’s mind. By the time they closed shop, Sam was keen on visiting the library to gather more information about the Tacoma Narrows Bridges.
Dean had other ideas. They drove down the street, and Dean pulled the Impala over at the first strip mall. Sam looked around: it was just as dreary as the one they had left behind in Idaho.
“What’s here?” Sam asked.
Dean pointed at a storefront. “Best damn Korean food in the entire city.”
Sam warily looked at Dean. “You eat Korean food?”
“Do you have any idea how much food you could get for ten bucks in a joint like that?”
“Do you even know what you’re eating?” Sam asked.
Dean’s lips tightened. “Just because I didn’t get into Stanford doesn’t mean I’m the village moron.”
Sam flinched. “I didn’t mean that…”
“Right,” Dean said, unwilling to make eye contact with his brother. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”
Sam mentally kicked himself as he followed Dean through the front entrance. In spite of its grubby exterior, the restaurant itself was spotless, if also well-worn. The hostess didn’t bat an eye when she saw them, and gave them couple of well-worn menus before sitting them on a table in the corner.
Sam realized how hungry he was as he eagerly pored over the sticky pages. Everything looked good, and the prices were such that he could order two meals and not worry about his wallet.
“My treat,” Dean said. “I’m going to order one of their bbq dishes, along with their mixed rice bowl.”
“Sounds good,” Sam said, practically salivating as he imagined eating the tender slices of marinated beef.
Dean ordered for them. The food came out quickly enough and soon their table was sizzling as the grill in the center of the table was loaded with beef, onions, and garlic. Sam watched his brother scarf down the roasted garlic and mentally reminded himself to go to the bathroom in the morning before Dean for the next few days.
Weirdly enough, the conversations stayed away from the hunt as Dean reminisced about his days as living as a civilian in Tacoma. Sam didn’t know what to make of it, but he was only to happy to let Dean prattle on. It was rare to hear his brother talk about something, anything, that wasn’t related to a case, and rarer still that Dean actually dominated the conversation.
As Sam listened, he realized Dean actually liked living in Tacoma, and that he had a good time pretending to be something else than a hunter. Sam wondered if given a chance, would Dean settle back here? Pick up a thread of life that he was forced to leave behind?
The thought left an achy Dean-sized hole in his psyche. Because Sam knew if Dean rebuilt his life here, Sam couldn’t stay.
How ironic was it that it was Sam who would be unable to have a normal life? His demon blood may be gone, but that didn’t mean his demon powers were, also. And Sam was terrified of the day that they would rear up their heads again, whispering into his brain of glories unimagined and untapped, of all the people he could save if only he’d take just one more step.
Sam looked at Dean and imagined a life without his older brother, but not because Dean was dead, but out of separation of wills. He shuddered a little. He would truly then be alone. Even Bobby, as good a man as he was, was wary around Sam nowadays. And he knew the word was out on the hunters about him. Sam Winchester wasn’t human; Sam Winchester was responsible for the fuck-up in Wyoming; Sam Winchester had to be responsible for what had happened in Maryland, where Lucifer almost broke free and unleashed himself onto humanity.
Sam wasn’t quite sure of the last one, but he knew all too well that demons talked. And if he had to guess they probably told every hunter possible what he’d done: how in his arrogance, fear, and denial, the youngest Winchester nearly ended the world. He looked at Dean again, and knew those same hunters would spare his brother. And Sam knew exactly why they would: Dean shone. Even in his most desperate moments, Dean had this brightness that came from his soul, which convinced even the hardest of people to give him a chance. The deputy in Hibbings was the perfect example. She knew Dean was dangerous - a felon wanted for multiple murders, and yet trusted Dean with her life.
He wondered if Deputy Hudak would’ve done the same for him. Sam doubted it.
“You okay there?”
Sam nodded, grateful for the genuine care in his brother’s voice. “Yeah, ate too much too fast.”
“So you’re not interested in getting some pastries and coffee next door?”
Sam gave a broad smile. “Never hurts to stock up for late night research.”
“Amen to that!”
Dean paid in cash and left a generous tip, earning a grateful smile from both the hostess and their waitress. They walked out of the restaurant, and entered the pastry shop which was actually right next door. Sam felt his saliva glands start up again and wondered when his appetite returned.
The demon blood probably dampened it somewhat, Sam thought as he examined the various desserts on display. And there’s the Apocalypse thing, too.
Dean plopped a twenty on the counter and ordered a grocery bag’s worth of pastries and other sweet treats, alongside two large coffees. Sam was glad to note these ones didn’t taste like they were scraped from the bottom of the monkey barrel. Dean seemed to agree as he let out a satisfied ‘ah’ after taking a large gulp.
Sam sat back on his seat and watched Dean drive. He wondered where Dean would lead them now. Maybe a Shinto monastery where they could bunk during their stay? The thought made his lips quirk.
“Here we are.” Dean pulled into an appropriately shitty motel. “They’re cheap, and they’ve got free wifi.”
Sam gave a non-committal grunt and wondered if the place had bedbug infestation problem. Probably, along with the rodent infestation: the two-legged kind from the looks of shady characters hanging around.
“I’ll check us in, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean said.
It was only then that Sam realized he was starting to nod off.
I have got to get on the ball, Sam berated himself. I can’t get careless now. Not when all of hell and heaven might be after us.
For a moment Sam dreamt what it would be like to have retained his power and defeated Lucifer, instead of being a ‘normal’ person. He could almost hear Dean’s harsh voice telling him to stop wishing for things that could drive a wedge between them, again. Or worse, kill them.
Sam was unloading their duffle bags when Dean returned, brandishing two keys. He tossed one to Sam. “We got free cable too.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“What can I say? I’m smooth.”
Sam managed not to roll his eyes at his brother’s antics. “I hope you got us a bug bomb along with the free cable, because this place looks like it needs it.”
Dean just unlocked the door and stepped in. Sam followed, and looked back to check the parking lot to make sure they didn’t have any interested observers. He then turned to face the room and abruptly stopped at the doorway in shock.
The furniture was old, but the room was spotless. It was as if Mr. Clean lived in the damn place.
“Huh?” he said to no one as he used his right foot to hook the door and close it behind him.
“I stayed here the last time,” Dean explained. “It’s family run, has been for generations.”
“Wow,” Sam said in awe as he swiped the dresser with his finger. There wasn’t a smudge of dust. “This is amazing.”
“The area got bad around here during the eighties, but McCord Air Base is just down the road, and families do visit, you know? Anyway, The Golden Eagle has a good reputation among the personnel because it’s cheap and clean.”
“And the free cable?” Sam asked.
“I told them we were ex-Marines,” Dean explained.
Sam rolled his eyes, but mostly in amusement. How could he deny his brother free porn? Ever since Maryland Dean’s pleasures had shrunk down to waking up, still alive. He practically treated everything after that as a bonus, and it pained Sam to witness it.
“The shower’s awesome by the way,” Dean said as he unlaced his boots.
Sam suddenly remembered all the garlic Dean had eaten during dinner. He rushed into the bathroom and took his time. By the time he came out Dean had fallen asleep, still wearing his boots. Sam spotted the demon-killing knife hidden tucked under the pillow and smiled. He took off Dean's boots before tucking in his brother.
Feeling refreshed, the younger Winchester decided to do some research before turning in.
The second Narrows Bridge wasn’t short on lore, especially since the spectacular downfall of the first one, but its history was uniformly dull. As beautiful as the bridge was, it didn’t inspire manic tendencies to those who used it on a routine basis. The same went for the third one.
Sam wondered why he didn’t feel more grateful for that.
After another two numbing hours of clicking through links, Sam gave up. Either the haunting was some completely new, or it was so thoroughly masked that none of the local papers or historians had an inkling.
Sam hid his glock under the pillow and went to sleep. Mercifully, his dreams featured a vampire with a fantastic flare for bad wardrobe, even worse than the shapeshifter from Canonsburg.
Dean woke first and found coffee stand a block away. It featured a busty beauty in a bikini who made one mean latte and offered Dean a free upgrade from medium to large on his regular coffee.
Dean wasn’t sure what he appreciated more: her luscious figure or the fact that she could respect his need for genuine coffee and none of the frou-frou shit that Sam preferred. Feeling much better after such a wonderful start to the morning, he drove back to Golden Eagle and found Sam still deeply asleep, snuffling into his pillow.
Dean knew Sam was puzzled as to why he was eating more and sleeping at all hours. Dean had no such questions: Sam’s body was detoxing and returning to its normal state. After months of using demon blood as its main form of sustenance, his body now craved normal meals, complete with high protein count. Sam also needed sleep because his body was repairing the damage the demon blood had wrought. Dean knew Ruby was telling the truth when she informed Sam that her blood had nothing to do with his powers, but it had to have triggered something within Sam’s tainted blood, thus making it easier for Sam to fall. And now that he was climbing back out of the pit, his body was busy trying to heal itself, thus needing huge quantities of food and hours of sleep.
It was a sweet sight for Dean to watch Sam rest. And not once did his brother show any sign of distress.
Maybe God’s not too pissed, Dean thought as he powered up Sam’s laptop. Maybe Zachariah and his buddies won’t come after us after all.
The thought of Zachariah and his ilk answering to God like six-year-olds facing particularly pissed off grandmother further aided Dean’s good mood. He surfed through regular paranormal news websites and blogs, idly watching for clues as to what’s been happening in Tacoma. Luckily, due to the fact that University of Washington had a satellite campus in the city, there was more than few comms busily discussing about the supposed ghost. Unfortunately, it was basically all bullshit since most discussions seemed to be fueled by too much caffeine and other addictive substances.
It was almost ten before Dean decided to wake his brother. He did it with his usual thoughtfulness: a well-placed slap on the tender part of the nape with a ear-throbbing holler of “Wake the fuck up, Sleeping Beauty!”
Sam sat up, tangled in the sheets and flailed before rolling off the narrow twin bed. It took him almost a minute to peel himself off from the shag carpeting. With a litany of imaginative curses, Sam went to the bathroom. A trail of steam followed him as he exited twenty minutes later.
The latte was still warm enough for Sam to make appreciative noises as he drank it.
“So, what are we going to do today?” Sam asked.
“Honestly, I thought I thought I'd get some info from the web about what’s going on, but I’ve got bupkus. I think it’s time we hit the library,” Dean answered, scrunching his face at the thought of spending hours in the stacks.
“Sounds like a plan,” Sam agreed but with more enthusiasm. “Do you want to try to get some intel from the police?”
“Hell no,” Dean said. “We can’t pull our usual stunt with the police around here. They’ve dealt with the FBI and Homeland on a regular basis because of the port.”
“Port?”
“Yeah, Tacoma has a busy port, not as big as the one in Seattle but it brings in international freighters on a regular basis.”
“And the bridge is probably under the auspices of the state, so we’re also talking about state troopers,” Sam added.
Dean gave a nod. It would be too risky to play a hand on any single well-networked law enforcement like the Tacoma Police Department. Add to that more law enforcement personnel, and they were bound to get caught.
“Maybe I can get the ME’s report,” Sam offered as he packed his laptop into his bag. “If the people were still in the hospital when they died, then the initial autopsies were done there. Something in the files might give us a clue.”
“Okay, then,” Dean said. “Rock ‘n roll.”
Getting the ME's reports were great deal easier than either of them expected. Sam was able to get copies of the hospital’s autopsies after downloading the file from an unmanned nurse’s station. He met up with his brother in the parking lot and the two made their way to the main library.
As expected, certain sections were abandoned so they were able to speak freely.
“Okay, so Mrs. Becker who was in the hospital and recovering died of … holy shit,” Dean said when he read the cause of death.
Sam couldn’t help smiling. “She died of holy shit? Man, that’s new, even for us.”
Dean passed the printout to Sam. “Just read, Dorkus.”
Sam did. “Okay, that’s definitely weird.”
“How in hell did her head get crushed?” Dean snatched back the file and took another look. “More to the point, who in their right mind could claim it was accidental? What? She got out of her bed, smashed her head somewhere in the basement until there was a hole in her skull, then crawled back into bed and died?”
“The second survivor – he did technically die of a heart attack, but he had a hole in the head too.”
“Um…”
“He was at the zoo with his grandkids when he keeled over.”
“Damn,” Dean said in awe. “Have you ever heard of anything like this?”
Sam shook his head. “No, curses are tied to something, a place, an object, or a person. It’s not transmutable like a flu.”
Dean suddenly had a flashback of the fear virus he’d caught in Rock Ridge. “Well…”
“I know, I remember Colorado too, but this is different. People don’t suddenly develop holes in their heads. It could be a curse, but there’s nothing that connects the victims, other than crossing the bridge.”
“And if that’s all it takes, Tacoma General is going to be an interesting place very soon,” Dean said.
“Okay, so let’s say the curse is tied to the bridge, because … well because we don’t have any other clue to go on.” Sam shook his head in frustration. “That means we have to go to the bridge, tonight.”
“Where we’re going to meet up with bunch of nutjobs, not to mention a horde of cops,” Dean said in a weary tone.
“We’ll just keep to our cover story about being writers.”
“Man, I’m bringing a thermos of coffee.” Dean paused and looked at Sam. “Wait a minute … where the hell am I going to park the car?”
Sam’s lips quirked into a half smile. They might just be facing a lethal situation in the dead of night, surrounded by hapless civilians and trigger-prone police, and Dean was concerned about the Impala. He was grateful that, no matter what, some things would never change.
Prologue * Part II
Warning: R-rated for language and violence
Summary: Dean and Sam head to Washington to tackle a case where a ghost is blamed for multiple deaths. However, once they discover what the entity is, they realize they have no way of stopping the tortured soul from continuing its murderous rampage. Becoming more and more desperate as the body count rises, the Winchesters delve into forgotten family history to discover a murderous tragedy that has yet to see the end.
Thomasville, Idaho
“This sucks,” Dean grumbled as he swirled the dregs of his coffee in the chipped mug. “How is it we can’t find a decent case? What? All the ghosties went to Bermuda for the summer?”
Sam gave a huff of annoyance. “Look, it’s not my fault that we’re … wait. I found something.”
Dean immediately perked up. When Sam used that tone, things got interesting. And exciting. Yes, their job was dangerous, but there were perks: shooting, burning, and, on occasion, using heavy excavation equipment. In spite of humming with eagerness, Dean waited patiently for his brother to continue; he knew better than to rush Sam when he was in research mode.
“Look at this,” Sam said, whirling around his laptop so Dean could read the screen. “Three accidents on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge in the last six weeks.”
“Galloping Gertie?” Dean remembered the Youtube video of the bridge doing its best to resemble a wave. And succeeding beyond its builders' ugliest nightmares.
“No, that one’s at the bottom of the Sound,” Sam blanched a little. He remembered the video only too well. He’d watched it after his roommate had plied him with an entire sheet of jello shots. Sam had spent rest of Saturday night in the bathroom, swearing very loudly what he was going to do with Mark after he got sober.
Not surprisingly, nobody would room with him after that year.
Dean leaned forward and read the article. “Okay, that’s our definition of weird. So, a jumper each time?”
“Yeah, but they never find any bodies in the water, and there are always accidents afterward a sighting. The local police department is going to man the damn bridge round the clock if this keeps up.”
“Two dead, two hospitalized with serious injuries. All because they stopped to save a kid from taking a leap off the bridge.” Dean leaned back. “So, what do we have here? A ghost?”
“That’s just it: this is happening on the second bridge.”
“The new one?” Dean frowned and took another glance at the article. “But that thing went up without a problem, right? I mean no galloping gertie routine: just the usual ripping-off the taxpayers.”
“Yeah, which is weird,” Sam admitted. “Unless, of course, they built the bridge on top of something.”
"Like a body dump? That makes sense in a what-the-fuck kind of way.” Dean paused. “But who’d dump a body there? The place’s crawling with boaters, not to mention the Navy.”
Sam looked at Dean. “How do you know so much about the area?”
Dean shrugged. “I had a job in Tacoma, a legitimate one in case you’re wondering. There’s a park there – Point Defiance – that overlooks the bridge from the Tacoma side. I kept up my training there.”
Sam wanted to ask when this was, but he didn’t want to push Dean. His brother was revealing more of himself than he'd ever done before, so Sam knew he was lucky to even get that much out of Dean.
Dean put a twenty on the table and asked, "We're going?"
“Yeah, let me pull up some info first.” Sam quickly finished his pancakes while downloading all the intel he could get his hands on about the construction of the bridge. But, as preoccupied as he was, he couldn’t forget the little slice of life Dean had revealed. He wondered how to bring up the topic again without having Dean shut him out.
Sam knew, academically, that life didn’t stop when he’d left for Stanford. That Dean and their father kept on hunting, plowing out a life on a road littered with broken bodies and torn souls. How they did so without dying was a mystery to Sam. But, then, the two men were always a bit of a puzzle to him. Especially his brother.
The summer heat smothered Sam's face as they stepped out of the diner. He struggled to breathe as they did double-time march towards the Impala. Mercifully, Dean had checked the car's air conditioning unit before the heat wave rolled over Idaho, and it started up as soon as Dean cranked it to its highest setting.
Sam sneaked a glance at Dean as he focused on getting the Impala out of the busy parking lot without smashing into a minivan. Sam knew that in spite of all his posturing and tomcatting across the States, Dean was at heart a family man, maybe even more so than their father.
For a moment Sam allowed himself to daydream: Dean, married and with kids. In a small but neatly kept house. And he would visit on the weekends to help Dean put up an addition to the house as the kids got older. Sam idly included Cassie in his imaginings as Dean's wife. He knew that if Cassie didn’t kick Dean to the curb for telling the truth – odds were his brother would’ve settled down if and when she got pregnant with their first child. He knew Dean loved to hunt, but he also knew his brother would never endanger his child as their own father did.
“I was in a hospital.”
Dean’s statement broke Sam from his reverie. “Huh?”
“I got hurt, nothing bad but I had to go to the hospital to stop the bleeding,” Dean explained. “There was a guy in the ER with me. He went berserk on the nurse. And I don’t mean like a Boston Red Sox fan – more like a rabid animal.”
“What did you do?”
“Try to stop him from ripping out her throat with his teeth,” Dean answered. “Anyway, he bit me in the arm before security managed to take control. It took less than an hour for them to find out the guy was HIV positive.”
Sam felt his ears ring as he stared at Dean in horror. “What?”
“The motherfucker was HIV positive,” Dean repeated. “I decided it would be best if I stuck around, you know? Make sure I didn’t get infected.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sam hissed. “How long?”
“The standard six months. The nurse’s husband had a buddy who owned a garage. He gave me a job while I waited it out.”
“When was this?”
“You were a sophomore. Right around Christmas.”
Sam scrambled to remember if he had any calls from Dean.
“No, I didn’t call you, Dorkus,” Dean said with a small smile. “Didn’t want to worry you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I could ask the same thing, Sam.”
The warning was sharp enough reminder for Sam to calm down. After all, he didn’t make much of an effort to keep in contact with Dean either. And there were worse things out there than HIV, wasn’t there? Most of which he and Dean faced in the last few years, Sam admitted with a wry smile.
“Anyway, I was negative and that’s all.”
“So, how was living in Tacoma?” Sam asked.
“Okay, actually. The town’s got character, you know?” Dean’s face suddenly cracked into one of his rare, genuine smiles. “There’s this great place that serves what they call a real southern breakfast. And damn, they be right: best damn breakfast in the entire west coast.”
“You want to go back?”
Dean nodded eagerly. “I could eat there three meals a day, no problem.”
Sam blanched. He’d forgotten how much his brother loved comfort food, especially if it was floating in bacon grease.
“So, what do you think it is?”
Sam had to collect himself and think for a moment before answering. “Like you said, a ghost – maybe a male version of the Woman in White. But I’m hoping not, because if that’s the case…”
“It means we've got more than one problem,” Dean finished darkly, remembering their first case that nearly got Sam killed.
“And there’s something else,” Sam said in a heavy voice. “If there is a body at the bottom of the Sound, there isn’t a chance in hell we’re going to get to it.”
“We’re going to have to find another way to put it out of his misery, then.”
Sam noticed Dean’s words: before Sam went vampiric with demon blood, Dean would’ve said “destroy” or “kill”. But now, with Sam being what he was, Dean had become cautious with his descriptions.
Sam wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or depressed. Not surprisingly, he had become used to feeling both at the same time.
“I wonder…”
Sam looked at Dean. “About what?”
“The music, remember?”
Sam had never gotten used to Dean’s way of thinking. Or lack of coherent linear thinking. But that didn’t mean Dean was stupid or lacking. While he was methodical in the practical matters, when it came to shooting shit or guesswork, Dean went in the way of chaos, dragging his reluctant brother after him. However, Sam never complained because he enjoyed it when Dean actually let himself go. It was entertaining and there was also the fact that Dean allowed himself to be carefree.
“Music?” Dean repeated, annoyed now.
“Sorry, yeah.” It took a moment for Sam to remember what Dean was talking about. “They were all oldies, you know? Music from WWII days.”
“I guess that’s a clue. But I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do with it.”
Sam gave a grunt of agreement.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, the jumper’s always the same: a young man, early twenties or late teens. Dressed neatly, from the reports I’ve managed to read so far.”
Dean tapped the wheel with his fingers. “You know what’s weird about this case?”
“What?”
“When we first sniff one out, we usually get a feel for it, you know? It’s bad, it’s really bad, or it’s shitty beyond telling of it, but this one’s just confusing. And that’s not due to bad research, just so you know.”
“That’s good to know,” Sam replied dryly. But he had to agree with Dean. This case was strange in that he couldn’t nail it either. And that, more than anything, worried him. The fact that they were going in blind forced Sam to be more cautious than usual. He wondered if Dean felt the same.
It took less than a moment for Sam to realize that Dean would hardly stop plowing ahead just because of a feeling. Not unless Sam was in mortal peril.
The younger Winchester huffed and slouched deeper into his seat. Not for the first time Sam wished he’d remember what happened after they killed Ruby. He could still see the pure white light, the feeling of horror and ecstasy as the Lightbringer rose free from its cage.
Then he woke up in a grimy hotel room, covered in gore and dirt. Dean was lying on the floor, in the same state. Neither of them were able to remember what happened in the deconsecrated nunnery. Bobby was unable to find anything in the following weeks, and the angels were of no help, either. None of them responded to Dean’s calls, and the demons had taken the same route. Sam managed to trap one after spending two frustrating months looking for clues. It took one look at the Winchesters before streaming out of its victim, headed straight back to hell, all on its own volition.
That unnerved both Dean and Sam enough so that they stopped digging.
“I can do some research on the music,” Sam finally grunted out.
“Oh, you’re still alive?” Dean deadpanned. “I thought you went to sleep.”
Sam grinned. Apocalypse, Lucifer, renegade angels – but leave it to Dean to continue being a wiseass in the face of it all.
“Seriously, the music has to be a clue of sorts. As esoteric as it is.”
“Whatever,” Dean glanced at the setting sun. “We’ll probably get to Tacoma around six in the morning. Get some sleep.”
“Dean,” Sam cautioned his brother. “You promised.”
“Okay,” Dean said reluctantly. “We'll switch at two.”
“Better,” Sam muttered as he made himself comfortable. Wrangling his right to drive the Impala was a battle hard fought but worth the struggle. “I’m going to set my watch, in case you forget.”
Sam heard Dean’s short sigh of exasperation and knew he was planning to do exactly that. Feeling smug, Sam forced himself to fall asleep. The nightmares that peppered his dreams were normal as his nightmares usually went. The worst ones where he’d imagined Dean in hell disappeared after Maryland, and now they were dotted with wendigos, ghosts, and the usual beasties that ate people but weren’t exactly capable of bringing down the Apocalypse when pissed.
Merciless sunlight woke Sam, making him unfurl himself cautiously. Feeling discombobulated he looked around to find they were parked in front of a Starbucks.
“What the hell?” Sam muttered, getting out of the Impala. He spotted Dean inside the coffee shop, waiting for his order while chatting up with a pretty coed who was looking at Dean like he was the Christmas present long-denied by her parents.
Sam marched into Starbucks, eyes narrowed and jaws hard.
“And this is my brother,” Dean said amiably. “Don’t mind him. He gets a little grumpy when he doesn’t have caffeine in his system.”
The girl turned to look at Sam and he could almost see her brain stutter when her eyes finally reached his murderous face.
“I thought I told you to wake me up when it was my turn to drive.”
“Hey, you said your watch would do that. Do I look like an alarm clock to you?”
“No, you look like an ass,” Sam muttered.
“Like I said, don’t mind Sammy.” Dean gave an apologetic grin at the girl.
“Well, I hope you have fun here,” she said quickly. “Nice to meet you Sam.”
Sam watched her practically bolt out of the coffee shop and felt a pang of remorse. Then he looked at Dean’s smug face and felt annoyance again. But before he could say anything the barista behind the counter handed over a coffee holder jammed with two venti-sized cups and three bags filled with breakfast sandwiches.
Dean grabbed the order, gave a wink at the female barista who responded with a good natured eye-roll.
“C’mon,” Dean said. “Let’s eat.”
As usual, the two sat in the car while scarfing down their meals. Sam had to admit, the latte and the sausage sandwich went a long way to ease his bad mood. After finishing his meal, Sam looked at his wrist to find it bare.
“Dean,” Sam snapped. “Where’s my watch?”
Dean pulled it from his jacket pocket. “It was beeping but you didn’t wake up. So I had to turn it off.”
Sam blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Dean looked at him. “You aren’t a light sleeper, Sam. Don’t you remember how hard it was for me to wake you when you were a kid?”
“I changed a bit since then,” Sam said wryly.
“For a while, but the last few months you’ve been sleeping like a rock.”
“What about you?” Sam asked.
“Still the same ol', same ol',” Dean confessed. “I was always the light sleeper in the family. That’s why Dad made me take the outside bed.”
“I didn’t know that,” Sam confessed. “I thought it was because…”
“Dad wanted me to protect you?” Dean said. “That’s true, in part, but he also did it because King Kong could sit on your head and you would just keep on snoring.”
Sam remembered Dean struggling to wake him, but he had chalked it up to teenage years, some of which he spent in a haze of exhaustion or burning with anger and resentment against the implacable Winchester, and the life he was forced to live because of his father’s obsession.
“Man, how can anybody like this shit?” Dean said, grimacing. “It tastes like they scraped the bottom of a monkey barrel and made coffee out of that.”
Sam chuckled at Dean’s description and allowed his anger to dissipate.
“I remembered something,” Dean said. “There’s a swap meet on South Tacoma Way. It’s pretty cool, and you get to meet a lot of interesting folks.”
“You think there will be people there who knows what’s been happening?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, most of the people who show up for business are locals. We might come across a few who know something about what's been happening.”
“Sounds good. When does it start?”
“Around eleven,” Dean answered. “We have to buy tickets.”
Sam frowned. “What are we going to swap? We hardly have anything for people to browse over.”
Dean grinned from ear to ear. “I got an idea.”
Sam narrowed his eyes in warning. “What?”
Dean popped the collar to his leather jacket. “Don’t worry: I won’t rent you out by the hour.”
“Oh, thanks,” Sam said, blushing. “For a moment there I was wondering.”
Dean’s grin got bigger, which made Sam’s anxiety also increase in proportion, so by the time the Impala rolled into its assigned parking space at the crowded swap meet, Sam was half-determined to stay in the car.
“Get your ass in gear,” Dean said as he got out of the Impala.
Sam obeyed reluctantly. He looked around and soon forgot his concerns as his curiosity took over. The parking lot was jammed with shoppers and sellers. Most were Hispanic, though Sam couldn’t tell from which country, but they all had one thing in common: sharp eye towards a good bargain.
Sam looked at Dean again, and watched as his brother took out his bag of old tools from the trunk and spread them on the hood of the car. The response was immediate: people started to come, if only to look at the newcomers and their wares. Most took a glance and kept going but a few stayed.
Unsurprisingly, they were all women.
Sam sighed and leaned back on the Impala, trying to look smaller. His imposing physical presence made people wary. It was only when Sam began talking that people relaxed. Usually, because they were posing as authority figures, his size wasn’t an issue. But, in this arena, Sam instinctively knew it would cause problems.
Dean sat next to his tools, looking up at the sun. Sam had a disconcerted thought that Dean resembled a basking gecko he’d seen in Florida.
“What can you fix?” a woman asked as she approached them.
Sam looked at her and noted she was probably born during the Civil War.
“Pretty much anything, Miss,” Dean said amiably.
“Don’t use that honeyed tongue on me,” the woman responded with complete lack of sternness. “Seriously, what can you fix?”
“Whatever needs fixin',” Dean answered, looking at the woman with interest. “But my specialty is car engines.”
“Really?” she said, doubtful. “What kind of cars?”
“If it runs, I can fix it.” Dean tapped the Impala. “I built this baby from skin up.”
The woman’s gaze suddenly turned serious. “You fixed that thing?”
“No, I built it.” Dean hopped off the hood. “It got totaled by a sixteen-wheeler, but I couldn’t let it go. It belonged to my dad, you know?”
“Is he telling the truth?”
Sam suddenly realized she was speaking to him. “Yes, ma’am, he is.”
“Okay, then. I got a Buick Pontiac. It’s giving me troubles, but I can’t afford to pay what the mechanics are telling me. So, if you could do something about it maybe we could come to an agreement.”
“Why don’t I take a look first? Then we could talk about the price,” Dean said gently.
“Okay, it’s right over there.”
Dean looked at Sam who gave a nod of understanding. Without a word, the older Winchester followed the woman while Sam took his place. Now, he was able to use his imposing size, guarding the car and the tools until Dean came back. It took his brother less than ten minutes to return with the grandmother practically beaming at him.
“One of the arms needs replacing,” Dean said. “The mechanic told her it was going to cost her twelve hundred dollars.”
Sam couldn’t prevent himself from gaping. “What?”
“No shit,” Dean said. He turned to the woman and said, “Beth? Seriously, go to another mechanic. It shouldn’t cost you over eight hundred to have it replaced. I wish I could do it here but I don’t have the tools necessary to do something that big. And you really need a shop for something like that.”
“Well, at least you’re honest,” Beth said. She pulled out a twenty and gave it to Dean. “This is for your consulting fee.”
Dean pocketed the bill and smiled. “Thanks.”
“What are you boys doing here?”
Sam pulled up the most innocent smile in his arsenal and answered, “We’re here investigating, actually.”
“You’re not the police,” Beth said, her eyes darting between them with harder scrutiny.
“No, we’re writers,” Sam said. “We’re doing a book about urban legends and weird happenings in the States. And this area’s loaded with them.”
“Oh, yes,” Beth paused for a moment, “are you here about the suicides?”
Dean shook his head, “No, actually. We’re investigating the local legend about a water monster right off the Sound.”
“What suicides?” Sam asked, balancing his tone perfectly between innocent curiosity and boredom.
Beth’s eyes lighted as she thought she had perfect listeners to impart local gossip. “There’s been a rash of suicides on the bridge.”
“But there are always people who jump off bridges,” Dean said, picking up on Sam’s body language. “The one in San Francisco got a nasty history because of it.”
“But it’s not the same jumper,” Beth said conspiratorially.
“What?” Sam feigned shock.
“The same person? How’s that possible?” Dean asked, frowning.
“Because it’s a ghost,” Beth said. “And my niece who works in the police department tells me the station’s going crazy because it’s causing deaths.”
“How many?”
“Anybody who sees the damn thing dies.”
“Wait a minute,” Sam looked sharply at Dean. “There aren’t any survivors?”
“Well, initially yes,” Beth said. “Two, actually. One walked away only to keel over from a heart attack, and the other died in the hospital, after she was pronounced fit enough to moved from the ICU.”
“What kind of ghost does that?” Dean asked conversationally.
“Not Llrona, that’s for sure.”
“Woman in white?” Sam said. “What makes you say that?”
“So you know about that legend, eh?” Beth said. “Well, for one, she doesn’t go after women. Children? Yes. Unfaithful men? Maybe. But never women. Besides, there’s no male Llrona that I know of.”
“What do you think it is, then?” Sam asked.
“I’m not sure,” Beth said. “And I don’t think it’s a ghost of a suicide, either.”
“Why?”
Beth leaned forward and said, “‘Cause my niece, who works in the police department, has a boss who actually researched the history of both bridges. And as far as the police knows, there’s never been a jumper matching the description of the ghost.”
“Really?” Dean gave a glance towards Sam who looked as taken back as he was. This was the first time they’ve met up with a cop who was broad-minded enough to look into the paranormal as well as the normal.
“Yes, and Detective McTighe was sure there hadn’t been any jumpers like that.”
“What about people who’d died building the bridges?” Sam asked.
Beth shrugged. “That’s one theory, but whoever it is, it’s not happy. And it wants everyone to know it’s unhappy.”
“What do you think it will do?” Dean looked at Beth with a worried gaze.
“Keep fooling people into helping it, and then kill them.” Beth sighed and looked at South Tacoma Way where more cars poured out from and into the parking lot. “It preys by using the best of people: their desire to help someone in trouble. That makes whatever it is not only sad, but also evil.”
“Sounds about right,” Dean said. “Does anybody else feel the same?”
“Pretty much everyone I know,” Beth said. “But not everybody agrees on how to handle such an evil thing. My daughter thinks a priest can cleanse the bridge of it. My best friend believes its body has to be found and burned, or reburied with special rites.”
“I’m guessing the ghost is the topic of the day?” Sam asked.
“It’s the only topic of the day, for everyone who lives around here,” Beth said. “It’s morbid curiosity at its worst, but better that than talking about how hard the Mariners are going to suck this season.”
Sam barked out a laugh. Even Dean chuckled at Beth’s summation of Seattle’s baseball team.
“So, you boys have enough for your book?” Beth asked.
“More than enough,” Sam said. “Thanks for talking to us.”
“Here,” Dean handed a scrap of paper to Beth. “This lists what’s wrong with the Buick and what needs replacing. And how much it should cost.”
“Thank you,” Beth said, pocketing the paper. “I hope you guys have a good day. You’ve come to the right place, you know. People around here love to gossip!”
Dean chuckled softly and waved farewell as Beth walked away, examining cheap t-shirts on sale. It didn’t take long for them to pick up yet another customer, and by the end of the day, Dean had earned a tidy sum of money. Though their credit cards were still good for few more weeks, Sam always preferred cash. There was something about having dollar bills in your hands that made the world just a little easier to deal with.
They also collected more tales about the bridges, and who or what was currently haunting them. As Beth had pointed out: people loved to talk, and the topic of the ghost was in the forefront of everyone’s mind. By the time they closed shop, Sam was keen on visiting the library to gather more information about the Tacoma Narrows Bridges.
Dean had other ideas. They drove down the street, and Dean pulled the Impala over at the first strip mall. Sam looked around: it was just as dreary as the one they had left behind in Idaho.
“What’s here?” Sam asked.
Dean pointed at a storefront. “Best damn Korean food in the entire city.”
Sam warily looked at Dean. “You eat Korean food?”
“Do you have any idea how much food you could get for ten bucks in a joint like that?”
“Do you even know what you’re eating?” Sam asked.
Dean’s lips tightened. “Just because I didn’t get into Stanford doesn’t mean I’m the village moron.”
Sam flinched. “I didn’t mean that…”
“Right,” Dean said, unwilling to make eye contact with his brother. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”
Sam mentally kicked himself as he followed Dean through the front entrance. In spite of its grubby exterior, the restaurant itself was spotless, if also well-worn. The hostess didn’t bat an eye when she saw them, and gave them couple of well-worn menus before sitting them on a table in the corner.
Sam realized how hungry he was as he eagerly pored over the sticky pages. Everything looked good, and the prices were such that he could order two meals and not worry about his wallet.
“My treat,” Dean said. “I’m going to order one of their bbq dishes, along with their mixed rice bowl.”
“Sounds good,” Sam said, practically salivating as he imagined eating the tender slices of marinated beef.
Dean ordered for them. The food came out quickly enough and soon their table was sizzling as the grill in the center of the table was loaded with beef, onions, and garlic. Sam watched his brother scarf down the roasted garlic and mentally reminded himself to go to the bathroom in the morning before Dean for the next few days.
Weirdly enough, the conversations stayed away from the hunt as Dean reminisced about his days as living as a civilian in Tacoma. Sam didn’t know what to make of it, but he was only to happy to let Dean prattle on. It was rare to hear his brother talk about something, anything, that wasn’t related to a case, and rarer still that Dean actually dominated the conversation.
As Sam listened, he realized Dean actually liked living in Tacoma, and that he had a good time pretending to be something else than a hunter. Sam wondered if given a chance, would Dean settle back here? Pick up a thread of life that he was forced to leave behind?
The thought left an achy Dean-sized hole in his psyche. Because Sam knew if Dean rebuilt his life here, Sam couldn’t stay.
How ironic was it that it was Sam who would be unable to have a normal life? His demon blood may be gone, but that didn’t mean his demon powers were, also. And Sam was terrified of the day that they would rear up their heads again, whispering into his brain of glories unimagined and untapped, of all the people he could save if only he’d take just one more step.
Sam looked at Dean and imagined a life without his older brother, but not because Dean was dead, but out of separation of wills. He shuddered a little. He would truly then be alone. Even Bobby, as good a man as he was, was wary around Sam nowadays. And he knew the word was out on the hunters about him. Sam Winchester wasn’t human; Sam Winchester was responsible for the fuck-up in Wyoming; Sam Winchester had to be responsible for what had happened in Maryland, where Lucifer almost broke free and unleashed himself onto humanity.
Sam wasn’t quite sure of the last one, but he knew all too well that demons talked. And if he had to guess they probably told every hunter possible what he’d done: how in his arrogance, fear, and denial, the youngest Winchester nearly ended the world. He looked at Dean again, and knew those same hunters would spare his brother. And Sam knew exactly why they would: Dean shone. Even in his most desperate moments, Dean had this brightness that came from his soul, which convinced even the hardest of people to give him a chance. The deputy in Hibbings was the perfect example. She knew Dean was dangerous - a felon wanted for multiple murders, and yet trusted Dean with her life.
He wondered if Deputy Hudak would’ve done the same for him. Sam doubted it.
“You okay there?”
Sam nodded, grateful for the genuine care in his brother’s voice. “Yeah, ate too much too fast.”
“So you’re not interested in getting some pastries and coffee next door?”
Sam gave a broad smile. “Never hurts to stock up for late night research.”
“Amen to that!”
Dean paid in cash and left a generous tip, earning a grateful smile from both the hostess and their waitress. They walked out of the restaurant, and entered the pastry shop which was actually right next door. Sam felt his saliva glands start up again and wondered when his appetite returned.
The demon blood probably dampened it somewhat, Sam thought as he examined the various desserts on display. And there’s the Apocalypse thing, too.
Dean plopped a twenty on the counter and ordered a grocery bag’s worth of pastries and other sweet treats, alongside two large coffees. Sam was glad to note these ones didn’t taste like they were scraped from the bottom of the monkey barrel. Dean seemed to agree as he let out a satisfied ‘ah’ after taking a large gulp.
Sam sat back on his seat and watched Dean drive. He wondered where Dean would lead them now. Maybe a Shinto monastery where they could bunk during their stay? The thought made his lips quirk.
“Here we are.” Dean pulled into an appropriately shitty motel. “They’re cheap, and they’ve got free wifi.”
Sam gave a non-committal grunt and wondered if the place had bedbug infestation problem. Probably, along with the rodent infestation: the two-legged kind from the looks of shady characters hanging around.
“I’ll check us in, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean said.
It was only then that Sam realized he was starting to nod off.
I have got to get on the ball, Sam berated himself. I can’t get careless now. Not when all of hell and heaven might be after us.
For a moment Sam dreamt what it would be like to have retained his power and defeated Lucifer, instead of being a ‘normal’ person. He could almost hear Dean’s harsh voice telling him to stop wishing for things that could drive a wedge between them, again. Or worse, kill them.
Sam was unloading their duffle bags when Dean returned, brandishing two keys. He tossed one to Sam. “We got free cable too.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“What can I say? I’m smooth.”
Sam managed not to roll his eyes at his brother’s antics. “I hope you got us a bug bomb along with the free cable, because this place looks like it needs it.”
Dean just unlocked the door and stepped in. Sam followed, and looked back to check the parking lot to make sure they didn’t have any interested observers. He then turned to face the room and abruptly stopped at the doorway in shock.
The furniture was old, but the room was spotless. It was as if Mr. Clean lived in the damn place.
“Huh?” he said to no one as he used his right foot to hook the door and close it behind him.
“I stayed here the last time,” Dean explained. “It’s family run, has been for generations.”
“Wow,” Sam said in awe as he swiped the dresser with his finger. There wasn’t a smudge of dust. “This is amazing.”
“The area got bad around here during the eighties, but McCord Air Base is just down the road, and families do visit, you know? Anyway, The Golden Eagle has a good reputation among the personnel because it’s cheap and clean.”
“And the free cable?” Sam asked.
“I told them we were ex-Marines,” Dean explained.
Sam rolled his eyes, but mostly in amusement. How could he deny his brother free porn? Ever since Maryland Dean’s pleasures had shrunk down to waking up, still alive. He practically treated everything after that as a bonus, and it pained Sam to witness it.
“The shower’s awesome by the way,” Dean said as he unlaced his boots.
Sam suddenly remembered all the garlic Dean had eaten during dinner. He rushed into the bathroom and took his time. By the time he came out Dean had fallen asleep, still wearing his boots. Sam spotted the demon-killing knife hidden tucked under the pillow and smiled. He took off Dean's boots before tucking in his brother.
Feeling refreshed, the younger Winchester decided to do some research before turning in.
The second Narrows Bridge wasn’t short on lore, especially since the spectacular downfall of the first one, but its history was uniformly dull. As beautiful as the bridge was, it didn’t inspire manic tendencies to those who used it on a routine basis. The same went for the third one.
Sam wondered why he didn’t feel more grateful for that.
After another two numbing hours of clicking through links, Sam gave up. Either the haunting was some completely new, or it was so thoroughly masked that none of the local papers or historians had an inkling.
Sam hid his glock under the pillow and went to sleep. Mercifully, his dreams featured a vampire with a fantastic flare for bad wardrobe, even worse than the shapeshifter from Canonsburg.
Dean woke first and found coffee stand a block away. It featured a busty beauty in a bikini who made one mean latte and offered Dean a free upgrade from medium to large on his regular coffee.
Dean wasn’t sure what he appreciated more: her luscious figure or the fact that she could respect his need for genuine coffee and none of the frou-frou shit that Sam preferred. Feeling much better after such a wonderful start to the morning, he drove back to Golden Eagle and found Sam still deeply asleep, snuffling into his pillow.
Dean knew Sam was puzzled as to why he was eating more and sleeping at all hours. Dean had no such questions: Sam’s body was detoxing and returning to its normal state. After months of using demon blood as its main form of sustenance, his body now craved normal meals, complete with high protein count. Sam also needed sleep because his body was repairing the damage the demon blood had wrought. Dean knew Ruby was telling the truth when she informed Sam that her blood had nothing to do with his powers, but it had to have triggered something within Sam’s tainted blood, thus making it easier for Sam to fall. And now that he was climbing back out of the pit, his body was busy trying to heal itself, thus needing huge quantities of food and hours of sleep.
It was a sweet sight for Dean to watch Sam rest. And not once did his brother show any sign of distress.
Maybe God’s not too pissed, Dean thought as he powered up Sam’s laptop. Maybe Zachariah and his buddies won’t come after us after all.
The thought of Zachariah and his ilk answering to God like six-year-olds facing particularly pissed off grandmother further aided Dean’s good mood. He surfed through regular paranormal news websites and blogs, idly watching for clues as to what’s been happening in Tacoma. Luckily, due to the fact that University of Washington had a satellite campus in the city, there was more than few comms busily discussing about the supposed ghost. Unfortunately, it was basically all bullshit since most discussions seemed to be fueled by too much caffeine and other addictive substances.
It was almost ten before Dean decided to wake his brother. He did it with his usual thoughtfulness: a well-placed slap on the tender part of the nape with a ear-throbbing holler of “Wake the fuck up, Sleeping Beauty!”
Sam sat up, tangled in the sheets and flailed before rolling off the narrow twin bed. It took him almost a minute to peel himself off from the shag carpeting. With a litany of imaginative curses, Sam went to the bathroom. A trail of steam followed him as he exited twenty minutes later.
The latte was still warm enough for Sam to make appreciative noises as he drank it.
“So, what are we going to do today?” Sam asked.
“Honestly, I thought I thought I'd get some info from the web about what’s going on, but I’ve got bupkus. I think it’s time we hit the library,” Dean answered, scrunching his face at the thought of spending hours in the stacks.
“Sounds like a plan,” Sam agreed but with more enthusiasm. “Do you want to try to get some intel from the police?”
“Hell no,” Dean said. “We can’t pull our usual stunt with the police around here. They’ve dealt with the FBI and Homeland on a regular basis because of the port.”
“Port?”
“Yeah, Tacoma has a busy port, not as big as the one in Seattle but it brings in international freighters on a regular basis.”
“And the bridge is probably under the auspices of the state, so we’re also talking about state troopers,” Sam added.
Dean gave a nod. It would be too risky to play a hand on any single well-networked law enforcement like the Tacoma Police Department. Add to that more law enforcement personnel, and they were bound to get caught.
“Maybe I can get the ME’s report,” Sam offered as he packed his laptop into his bag. “If the people were still in the hospital when they died, then the initial autopsies were done there. Something in the files might give us a clue.”
“Okay, then,” Dean said. “Rock ‘n roll.”
Getting the ME's reports were great deal easier than either of them expected. Sam was able to get copies of the hospital’s autopsies after downloading the file from an unmanned nurse’s station. He met up with his brother in the parking lot and the two made their way to the main library.
As expected, certain sections were abandoned so they were able to speak freely.
“Okay, so Mrs. Becker who was in the hospital and recovering died of … holy shit,” Dean said when he read the cause of death.
Sam couldn’t help smiling. “She died of holy shit? Man, that’s new, even for us.”
Dean passed the printout to Sam. “Just read, Dorkus.”
Sam did. “Okay, that’s definitely weird.”
“How in hell did her head get crushed?” Dean snatched back the file and took another look. “More to the point, who in their right mind could claim it was accidental? What? She got out of her bed, smashed her head somewhere in the basement until there was a hole in her skull, then crawled back into bed and died?”
“The second survivor – he did technically die of a heart attack, but he had a hole in the head too.”
“Um…”
“He was at the zoo with his grandkids when he keeled over.”
“Damn,” Dean said in awe. “Have you ever heard of anything like this?”
Sam shook his head. “No, curses are tied to something, a place, an object, or a person. It’s not transmutable like a flu.”
Dean suddenly had a flashback of the fear virus he’d caught in Rock Ridge. “Well…”
“I know, I remember Colorado too, but this is different. People don’t suddenly develop holes in their heads. It could be a curse, but there’s nothing that connects the victims, other than crossing the bridge.”
“And if that’s all it takes, Tacoma General is going to be an interesting place very soon,” Dean said.
“Okay, so let’s say the curse is tied to the bridge, because … well because we don’t have any other clue to go on.” Sam shook his head in frustration. “That means we have to go to the bridge, tonight.”
“Where we’re going to meet up with bunch of nutjobs, not to mention a horde of cops,” Dean said in a weary tone.
“We’ll just keep to our cover story about being writers.”
“Man, I’m bringing a thermos of coffee.” Dean paused and looked at Sam. “Wait a minute … where the hell am I going to park the car?”
Sam’s lips quirked into a half smile. They might just be facing a lethal situation in the dead of night, surrounded by hapless civilians and trigger-prone police, and Dean was concerned about the Impala. He was grateful that, no matter what, some things would never change.
Prologue * Part II
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Date: 2009-06-26 07:30 am (UTC)I felt sad when Sam felt that he couldn't even try the normal life anymore. Aw, man.
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Date: 2009-06-26 06:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-27 09:51 pm (UTC)