Bright White Light - Supernatural/X-Files fic: Chapter 2
Warnings, rating and summary are in the Master Post.
Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, and Sam was awoken by the pale light shining through the small window. The TV was still in their bedroom, though it was switched off, and Dean was snoring and hugging his pillow in the other bed. Sam valiantly resisted the temptation to throw something at him and got out of bed instead, shivering slightly and pulling on his sweater, though the room probably wasn't all that cold compared to outside. Dad must have come back some time and switched off the TV, because Sam could remember it being on when he briefly woke up and saw Dean awake, hunched in his bed and staring at the TV as if his eyes had dried out. Dad's muddy boots were sitting on a plastic bag just inside the door - Sam grimaced, because he was probably going to have to clean those later - and the other bedroom door was firmly closed. Dad must have got in pretty late, then, if he wasn't going to get up for breakfast.
The bathroom really was cold, and Sam peed and got out of there as fast as he could, giving his hands about a second under the tap, and only because his dad always knew when he hadn't washed his hands. As he dashed out of the bathroom, he spotted some plastic shopping bags sitting on the kitchen bench by the microwave, and took a sharp right turn to see what Dad had bought. Dad had some funny ideas about buying food, and usually it was better when Dean did it. They never ran out of peanut butter or bread or milk when Dean was in charge of food. The upside to Dad's shopping was that he was much more likely than Dean to get confused in the supermarket and start buying random things until he thought he had a few meals' worth. Quite often, the random things were the bright and shiny stuff that had been right in front of his face, the expensive stuff that Dean would never buy. Sam rifled through the bags as quietly as he could to see if there was anything good, and indeed there was: a medium-sized box of Count Chocula cereal. Sam grabbed the box and looked through the cupboards to find a bowl, but just as he opened the box, he heard Dean shuffling from their bedroom to the bathroom.
"Dean! Did you see what Dad got?"
Dean gave him a bleary-eyed death glare. "Shh, Sammy! Dad only got in like an hour ago. There's milk in the fridge. Pour me a bowl of that stuff and I'll tell you what he found out. It's pretty cool."
Sam got out another bowl for Dean, and filled both with the sweet, marshmallow-riddled cereal and plenty of milk, then took his over to the sofa. Dean wandered out of the bathroom wiping his damp hands on his jeans, and grabbed the other bowl, slurping milk off the top before he even sat down.
"Dad saw it, last night! He was totally right, it went straight to the Kovacs house." Dean's voice was quiet but intense.
Sam's eyes widened. For all he was proud of his dad killing monsters and saving people, he didn't always like hearing the gory details. "Did he get it?"
"Nah, it manifested as a bright white light then it hovered above the house for maybe a minute, then shot straight down the chimney!" Dean still kept his voice down, but demonstrated the creature's movements with grand waves of his spoon. "He said he jumped out of the car and ran straight for the door, but before he could get there the light came zooming back out, then it vanished in the sky. Maybe the salt Dad put down drove it off!"
"So that lady was okay?" Sam's voice was muffled by too many marshmallows and he had to spit some back into the bowl.
"Dad said the lights in the house went on right after, and he saw her moving around, so I guess so. And you dropped a marshmallow on your sweater."
Sam scooped up the rubbery candy and ate it, thoughtfully. "Did the light go anywhere else?"
"Dunno. He stayed at the Kovacs place until just before dawn, then he went to the supermarket, then he came back." Dean tipped his bowl up and drank the last of the now-chocolate milk, with a remarkably gross gargling noise, even by Dean's standards.
"Ew, Dean, don't wake Dad! So did you sleep? Are you going back to bed? Can we go out? Is there a library?"
"Nah, I got some sleep." Dean shrugged. He always tried to stay up until his dad got back, and looked a little shamefaced at not managing it. "Dad said we could go out in the parking lot, but that's it. I got the basketball from the car, if you wanna play?"
"Okay!" Sam shoved his bowl into Dean's hand, and ran off to get properly dressed. When he came out, Dean had washed the bowls and spoons in the tiny steel sink and was writing a note for Dad on the complimentary hotel notepad.
Sam leaned on the door and twisted the handle back and forth. "Come on, Dean, he'll be able to hear us outside!"
"Yeah, right, like going out without telling him won't get us grounded for life." Dean propped up the note where Dad would see it, then pulled on his shoes and grabbed the keys before following Sam outside into the bright, cold morning.
It had snowed overnight, and the wind had blown it into drifts taller than Sam, piled up against the lattice barriers rather than the doors. The parking lot was fairly clear, though, or it would have been, if someone hadn't parked a big silver Airstream trailer in it, attached to an old wood-paneled car with rust all along the side. Sam knew that Dean was frowning without even looking at him - Dean hated to see a car neglected, but he was particularly sensitive about a certain vintage of American-made cars, as if this unloved Country Squire was a long-lost sister to the Impala.
"That's a pretty nice trailer. Look, there's a satellite dish on the roof!" Sam pointed, tugging at Dean's arm, in an effort to distract him from yet another tirade about taking care of your car.
Dean looked away from the telltale streaks of rust. "Huh. Fancy. You think I could rig up one of those for when we're staying in places with no cable? I bet Caleb's got some codes to unscramble it."
"Maybe we could put a TV in the back seat! That would be so cool!"
"Yeah, maybe if I was hanging out the window directing the dish." Dean unlocked the trunk of the Impala and retrieved their basketball, tied in a net so that it didn't roll around and make weird noises when they were driving. Dean shucked off the net and threw the ball straight at Sam. "Catch!"
Sam caught the ball, stumbling backwards with the impact, then bounced it back at Dean, who controlled the bounce one-handed as he slammed the trunk. "Come on, Sammy, you can do better than that!"
The game quickly evolved some vague rules - Dean was trying to get the ball towards the driveway, Sam towards reception - but they passed the ball back and forth just as often as they tried to take it away. Sam pushed and shoved, Dean used his height and kept the ball in the air, and their breath hung white in the icy air. Their battles got wilder and more risky - throwing the ball backwards over their heads, scrambling low - until Sam head butted the ball out of Dean's hands and it bounced straight into the side of the big silver trailer, hitting with a great metallic clang.
Sam just stared, but Dean moved fast, diving for the ball and catching it before it bounced towards the road. He had the ball in hand and the trunk of the Impala open before the trailer door opened, and quickly dropped the ball out of sight before turning with a cheesy grin. Fortunately, the man who had emerged from the trailer didn't look particularly threatening. He was tall and very thin, with wild orange hair sticking out in all directions from his ponytail and his beard. His clothes were baggy and his jeans holed at one knee.
"Did someone hit my trailer?" The man's voice was thin and worried, and Sam relaxed. This guy wasn't going to complain to their dad.
"Sorry, sir," Dean had his most polite voice in place, the one he used to talk to Sam's teachers and to the parents of hot girls. "I was playing basketball with my little brother, here, and he missed the ball. We're both really sorry."
Sam thought Dean was laying it on a bit thick - it wasn't like Sam was so little, anymore - but he crept up to Dean's side and added his most sincere apology. "I'm really sorry."
The man seemed to take their apology at face value. "Don't worry, guys. It's just that I didn't get in until early this morning. Driving all night. Trying to get some sleep now." He blinked owlishly and fished a pair of round spectacles out of the front pocket of his ratty plaid shirt, then peered at the large digital watch on his skinny wrist. "Have you got the time? My watch stopped again, and the clock in the car doesn't keep good time anymore."
Dean opened his mouth but Sam stamped on his toes before any unwise comments about car maintenance emerged, so Dean looked at his watch instead. It had been a gift from Dad for his fourteenth birthday, and he was still ridiculously attached to it. "It's 8:56, sir."
"Thanks, thank you. I'm Max Fenig, by the way." He fiddled with his watch, not seeming to notice that the Winchesters did not offer their names in return. Dean took the opportunity to draw Sam back behind the lattice screen in front of their door, shoving the room key into Sam's hand.
"Good morning, then!" Dean said, cheerfully but hastily, and followed Sam back into the room before the encounter developed into anything that would involve their dad.
"Dad!" Sam shouted, and ran over, waving his arms and jostling the cup of coffee on the table. "Dean said you saw it! And it was a bright light! Do you know what it is yet?"
"Careful, Sammy," Dad put a hand over his precious coffee to steady it, and Dean hauled Sam back by his coat.
"Watch it, Sammy. You get coffee on the guns, you can clean them." He unzipped Sam's coat and helped him out of it, though Sam was practically bouncing with excitement.
"I'm going to need your help today, boys. I told Heather Kovacs that I wanted to check the house more thoroughly, and she said today would be a good day for it. She'll be out with a friend, so she won't be getting in my way. But there's no way I can search the whole house by myself."
"What are we looking for?" Sam hadn't quite stopped bouncing, but the chance to actually help on a hunt was thrilling.
"Just a suspicion at this point, but it might be something like this." Dad showed them a page of his journal, and Sam scrutinized it closely, Dean peering over his shoulder. "It's a sigil for summoning good luck."
Sam frowned. "Really? It doesn't sound like they're having much good luck."
Dean glanced at the date on the page. "Nah, I know why. This is like those people near San Jose who summoned that genie thing and it gave them a million dollars then it ate their kid. If you get good luck, you pay for it in bad luck. And it sounds like this Kovacs guy had a lot of good luck before he dropped dead."
"Exactly right, Dean. And if other people benefitted from his luck, there's no reason why they wouldn't catch the bad luck, too. His wife, his business partner, his cousin, her uncle, and now his daughter."
Dean frowned. "Why not the daughter first? Or after the wife, at least?"
"Don't know. Maybe because she wasn't at home when the luck turned? It's got its claws in her now, though. Get Sam organized, Dean, and bring something for lunch. We might be there a while." Dad slammed the journal shut and picked out a few weapons to carry with him, putting the rest back in a long duffel bag to return to the car.
Dean turned to Sam, just as clear in his mission. "Sammy, get something to read, and get my Walkman, too. You can listen to it if you get bored."
"I'm not going to get bored! We're on a hunt!" Sam huffed.
"Yeah, but this isn't an exciting part. Looking through someone's house can be pretty boring, and you might lose concentration."
"I have great concentration! I can concentrate for hours and hours!"
Dad stood up. "Another part of the hunt is obeying orders, Sam. Do what your brother tells you or you can sit in the car the whole day."
"Fine!" Sam shouted, but went to their room anyway. If Dad was going to lock him in the car, he may as well have some entertainment. He grabbed the Walkman then hurried back to the kitchen to make sure that Dean was making his sandwiches the way he liked them. Dean was not only putting together sandwiches with peanut butter and Kraft cheese, but he'd made a little Saran Wrap parcel of Count Chocula for Sam to snack on.
"Thanks, Dean!"
"I don't want you whining and distracting Dad," Dean muttered, but grinned as he said it. He was always cheerful when he got to go on a hunt, any part of a hunt, and even more so when Sam was allowed to come, too.
All three Winchesters piled into the Impala, Dean and Sam crouching on the floor, half under the back seat, so that Heather Kovacs wouldn't ask why an EPA inspector would bring his kids into her house. Dean had suggested that their dad tell her that he was leaving them in the car, but Dad vetoed the idea.
"She's never going to believe that I'd leave you in the car all day, not in this weather. Stay on the floor until I come and get you."
The drive to the Kovacs house was short, and the Impala pulled up a long, tree-lined driveway. Sam peered up at the chimney from his hiding spot, following his dad's glance - the long scorch marks on the outside were clearly visible, just like at Rick Farmer and Dr Young's house. Heather Kovacs, a small, dark-haired young woman who would have been pretty if she didn't look half-dead, was waiting by the window, and came out to wave them into the enormous garage. There was space for at least four cars, though there were only two there, plus a spacious workbench and a wall of tools.
Dad got out of the car, with a warning glance at the boys in their hiding place, and Heather leaned against the bench, already exhausted. "My dad spent a lot of time in here, Mr Wells. I know it's pretty open and well-ventilated, but you'll probably want to check here, too."
"Thank you, Miss Kovacs. Have you thought further about my suggestion that you move out, just for the moment? There could be toxins here that are threatening your health."
"My health? No, no, I feel fine." Heather stared vaguely in Dad's direction and let go of the bench that was supporting her. "I mean, apart from losing Mom and Dad."
Dad frowned, but didn't push. "Of course. I'll be inspecting the entire house today, so I'll call you when the inspection is done, just in case I disturb some mould or find an immediately threatening hazard."
"Did I give you Sally's number? I went to high school with her. She's married now, my dad built her house…" Heather's voice trailed off, then she shook her head and went to her car, a little SUV that wasn't muddy like most of the local cars were, with a University of Wisconsin sticker on the back bumper.
"Are you sure you should be driving?"
"Sally's house isn't far. I'm fine, really. " Heather climbed in and started the engine, backing out of the driveway. She did seem to be driving fairly capably, despite her confusion and shortened vision, but then, she'd spent most of her life here, and would have the roads written into her memory like her own name.
As soon as she was gone, the garage door closing behind her, Dad opened the back door of the Impala to see the boys playing a silent but serious game of Rock Paper Scissors, which Sam had just won, as usual.
"You going to give your brother best of three, Sammy?"
"That was best of three! He has to check in that girl's room!" Sam giggled, having thoroughly defeated his brother.
"I'm sure I don't have to hold you back, Dean," Dad added drily and Dean ducked his head, embarrassed, before climbing out the door and brushing himself off. Sam slithered after, and Dad got his bag of supplies from the trunk. "I'm going to check out the fireplace - it's been a hot spot in both houses. Dean, you do the bedrooms like you promised Sam. Sam, there's a den on the ground floor, and I want you to look through that. Don't forget to check under the desk and inside drawers. And if you see a sigil, don't touch it!"
"I know that!"
The big, modern house was spacious and expensively furnished, but dust was already starting to gather on all the knick-knacks and business trophies. Photos of the Kovacs family, of family vacations and fishing trips, plus the occasional studio portrait, adorned the walls, Heather growing taller in each picture, her parents to either side. Small wooden boxes adorned with her parents' names sat beside each other on the mantelpiece. Sam hung back as Dean flicked one open and held up a plastic container inside to show their dad that the crematory label was still attached.
"Leave that here, Dean. I'll mix in a little salt just to make extra sure that Mr and Mrs Kovacs are at rest." Dad held the EMF meter near the ashes. It didn't react, but sweeping meter over the fireplace sent the needle straight into the red. Dad passed it over to Dean, who tucked it firmly under his arm.
"See where it leads you, if you can pick up anything apart from the path from here to Heather's bedroom. There's got to be a focus to this." Dad picked up a brass poker and started scraping soot from the hearthstone to see if a mark had been placed there when the fireplace was built.
"What's there, Dad?" Sam lingered, not quite sure that he wanted to go off by himself yet.
"The fireplace is a pretty common place for a protection mark, and Kovacs built the place himself. I wouldn't be surprised if he added in something special as he went. Off you go, Sammy, I'll keep an ear out for you."
Sam headed towards the study, watching as Dean checked out the path of red-hot EMF running straight from the fireplace to the stairs, but he didn't go up to Heather's bedroom. Unlike the last EMF meter, which had been great until his dad fell on it, this one was a bit buggy - it was great for high level readings, but it wasn't very sensitive, and that really didn't help when they were looking for traces rather than a great big ball of light that was here just last night. Dean had said he could fix it, but Dad seemed to have the idea that he might break it, and had told him no. Dean was pulling bitchy faces at the meter, so Sam left him to it and scurried off down the hall.
Sam was supposed to be checking for sigils, but he'd become distracted almost immediately when it turned out that the den was the room where the Kovacs family kept their few books. The very first one he touched was immediately fascinating, and when Dean walked in a few minutes later, Sam was sitting cross-legged in an enormous brown suede recliner, reading a large, lavishly illustrated book about the fish of the Great Lakes.
"Hey, Sammy. No sigils in here?"
"Nuh uh. I looked under the desk and under this chair, and in this book."
"Yeah, you check every page of that one. Fish are totally demonic, you know."
"Shut up, Dean! Mr Kovacs liked to go fishing, you know. Maybe I might find something!" Sam didn't really believe that, but it was so nice to have a new book, and one that looked like no-one had ever read it, the edge of the pages so crisp that they were sharp.
Dean looked up at the stuffed fish that decorated the walls, staring glassily down from their wooden plaques. "Seriously. Demonic." He waved the EMF meter at them, and both he and Sam jumped at the immediate reading. It wasn't all the way into the red like the fireplace, but it was a definite wiggle, and it repeated when Dean pointed the meter at the chest-high bookcase that sat beneath a stuffed rainbow trout. Dean dropped the meter on the desk, pulled Sam's book out of his hands, grabbed him by the arm and yanked him clear out of the chair.
"Ow! Don't!"
"There's EMF readings right there, dumb-ass. The curse might start working on you! Do you want to get all weird and dead?"
"Nooooo," Sam whined, annoyed that Dean was right, and rubbed his arm. "Is there a sigil there?"
"I dunno. Here, you hold the EMF meter, and I'll look through the bookcase. See if you can get a better reading on that stupid thing."
Sam grabbed the meter off the desk and ran it over the book that he'd been reading, then over the staring fish. "My book is fine. The fish makes it flicker, but I think it's strongest in the bookcase. Do you think it really is in a book?"
Dean shrugged, pulled his sleeves over his hands, and started pulling out books without letting them contact his skin. "Could be. I hope you didn't touch it."
"I just got the fish book, and that's clean. It was sitting on top of the bookcase."
"Cool." Dean took each book out and slid it across the floor towards the desk, while Sam held the meter steady on the bookcase. Dean had cleared the top shelf and started on the second before Sam called out.
"Wait, wait! It's not in the red anymore."
Dean performed a death-defying roll across the floor and leapt to his feet, pointing at the last book he had pulled off the shelf. "This one! Scan it!"
Sam ran the meter over it, and the needle jumped in a satisfying way. "Yeah, that's it! I'm gonna get Dad!"
"You do that, and I'll watch the book in case something happens."
Sam shoved the EMF meter into Dean's hands and ran up the hallway, shrieking, "Dad! Dad! Dad!" He reached the living room where he'd last seen his dad, but Dad wasn't standing by the fireplace - instead he was thundering down the stairs towards Sam.
"Sammy! You hurt? Where's Dean?" Dad scooped up Sam in his arms. "What the hell's going on?"
"Hi Dad! We found something! And Dean's watching it to make sure it doesn't escape!" Sam slung one arm around his dad's neck and pointed towards the study.
"Dean's okay?" Dad's breathing was starting to return to normal as he carried Sam down the hall towards the study.
"Uh huh. He used the EMF meter and we found an evil book."
"Good boy, Sammy. Just don't give me a heart attack next time."
Dean sitting on the floor, still keeping a close eye on the book, but he looked up when his dad and Sam came in. "That one, Dad. I've got a silver letter opener from the desk so we can open it up and not touch it."
"Did Sam touch it?" Dad crouched down and let Sam slide onto the ground.
"No, he didn't. I touched the outside with my sleeves, but I didn't open it. Seriously, it looks like a totally normal book."
All three Winchesters peered at the book in question. It was a hardcover binding of a collection of soil studies from the University of Wisconsin, a little battered at the corners, and it certainly didn't look like the mysterious parchment books that Bobby kept. Dad took the letter opener from Dean and prised the cover open, to find something that looked rather more like what they expected. A small, yellowed pamphlet was nestled inside the cover, printed with heavy black letters in a foreign language.
"What does it say, Dad?" Sam leaned in close, and Dean put a hand on his chest to make sure he didn't actually fall on their discovery.
"I don't know." Dad peered at the booklet. It was printed in the Roman alphabet, but with a lot of accent marks on and over the letters. The closest language he could think of was Vietnamese, except that Vietnamese had a lot more vowels than this language. "Let's get it out of here and I'll give Pastor Jim a call. Maybe Bobby. Dean, go to the car and get the lockbox."
"Sure, Dad!" Dean leapt to his feet and hurried out.
"I was reading a book about fish. Not all kinds of fish, just lake fish. They're not the same as ocean fish," Sam said, but Dad was concentrating on the booklet.
"When Dean gets back, I'm going to search the rest of these books. I want you two to scan upstairs, see if there's more unexpected EMF spikes." Dad turned the booklet over with the letter opener, and the back had more heavy printed letters, in what looked like the same language.
"Is that book a spellbook? Or a cursed book? It looks really old."
Sam had his hands firmly clasped together, restraining himself from wanting to touch the weird little book, even though he desperately wanted to open it and see if there were pictures, or anything that he could read. He didn't think that was the evil nature of the spellbook, though - he felt that way about most books.
"I don't think it's a spellbook, Sam. They're usually hand-written, for one thing, and this one is printed."
"Maybe some witches had a printing press! They could share spells with all the other witches and spread evil!"
Dad smiled at that. "Witches don't tend to be the caring, sharing type, Sammy. Nice people don't get into witchcraft in the first place."
Sam grinned back. "Oh, yeah. Good point, Dad."
Dean ran back in, the heavy metal lockbox swinging from one hand and almost hitting the doorframe. The lockbox had started its life as a toolbox, but after it had contained a fairy's magical stone long enough for Dad to effectively threaten the fairy in question, its cold steel had been enhanced with wards plus a pair of charms made by Bobby Singer and welded on by Dean. Dad was fairly sure that one day he'd put something in there that would jump right back out again, unimpeded, but it should be well and truly up to holding a strange booklet.
"Dump it in, Dad!" Dean held the lockbox open and Dad used the tip of the letter opener to scoop the booklet from its hiding place into the box. Dean slammed the lid with a satisfying clang and Dad closed the pentagram-embossed latches.
"Right, now we know the problem is here in the house. Keep searching. Dean, make sure Sam stays with you - I don't want him reading something he shouldn't."
"Sure, Dad." Dean took the EMF meter off the desk and gave it back to Sam.
"I don't need babysitting!" Sam argued, offended, but Dean ignored his protest.
"Come on, dude, let's finish scanning this room, then we can do the bedrooms. That good, Dad?"
"Yeah, I'm going to stick with the chimney - see if I can ward it better, at least keep Heather Kovacs safe until I work this out." Dad got to his feet and picked up the lockbox. "I'll put this back in the trunk for now. And don't touch anything!"
"No, Dad," the boys chorused, and Sam started scanning the bookshelves again, his face scrunched up in concentration. He kept his hands to himself, though - getting cursed just because he liked to read was the last thing he needed. Sam diligently waved the sensor over each of the shelves, but nothing else gave any indication of needing further investigation.
"Now the desk drawers, Sammy." Dean slid the top drawer open, pleased to find it wasn't locked.
Sam sighed. "Do we have to? We found the evil book already."
"Told you you'd get bored." Dean reached for his secret weapon - the stash of Count Chocula in his pocket. He offered Sam the crushed, plastic-wrapped parcel. "Here you go, Sammy. Enjoy."
Sam's complaints evaporated immediately. "Thanks, Dean!" He plopped himself onto the floor and unwrapped the cereal, starting by picking out the marshmallows and rolling them into little spongy balls. "You want some?"
"Nah, I don't need snacks. I'll wait for lunch with Dad."
Sam was unperturbed by Dean's blatant lie. "Okay!" He gnawed on the marshmallow balls as loudly and wetly as he could while Dean finished scanning the desk, which gave nothing. Dean moved over to the three tall filing cabinets, stepping over Sam, who was now lying on his back and making even grosser chewing noises, but the EMF meter wasn't registering anything above background levels. Dean sighed, and took the marshmallow that Sam offered him in response.
"Don't worry, Dean. We'll find something."
Their dad finally called them to lunch a while later, and neither the EMF meter nor Dean's careful searches had unearthed any further weirdness. The path from the fireplace to Heather's bedroom was indeed crackling with energy, and her deceased parents' room had enough residual energy to make the needle twitch, but there were no sigils, no more mysterious booklets and definitely nothing to stop Dean wishing - out loud and at some length - for something he could heroically fight, saving Heather Kovacs, who was very pretty in her photos and would presumably be very grateful. Sam had long since finished his cereal and had got so bored of the lack of results and Dean's heroic tales that he was sitting on the stairs reading his pastel pink book from the car. Their dad had refused to let him read anything that came from the Kovacs house, so his last, shameful book it had to be.
Despite their dad's loud holler, Sam remained on the stairs, focused on his reading. Dean crept down the stairs to stand behind him, then shoved Sam's head down into the pages.
"Enjoying your Babysitter's Club, Samantha?"
"Dean! Shut up!" Sam hurled the shameful book away and punched Dean right under the kneecap with his hard knuckles.
"Ow!" Dean grabbed Sam around the neck, just in time for their dad to see them.
"Dean Winchester! No headlocks on your brother!"
Dean let go instantly. "Sorry, Dad."
"Apologize to Sam, then both of you get down here before I eat your lunch." Dad turned his back and walked into the kitchen, just slowly enough to make sure he caught Dean's muttered "Sorry, Sammy," and just quickly enough to make the boys scurry after him, afraid for their lunch.
All three Winchesters sat at the kitchen table, eating their sandwiches. Both Sam and Dean had cast more than a few wistful looks at the laden pantry shelves, but neither of them bothered to ask if they could raid the Kovacs' food - it wasn't just rude, it could well be dangerous if it was the house itself that was cursed. Instead, they ate their sandwiches with ruthless efficiency and washed them down with the cans of Coke that had Dad miraculously produced from his duffle bag of hunting gear.
"What's up next, Dad?" Sam tried not to kick the leg of the chair, but didn't entirely succeed. His foot had an impatient life of its own, and he could hear Dean doing the same.
Dad took a long swig of his Coke. "I'm thinking that Darrell Kovacs started this whole thing, but I don't think he's the one killing people. He's cremated, for one thing, and it's not behaving much like a ghost. No, I'm thinking that either his debts have come due and he's not here to pay them himself, or something he kept under control is running wild. Either way, I need to take a look at his cousin's place - see if she and her father had some of those pages that you boys found."
Dean grinned at the implied praise, but Sam just gnawed on the last of his sandwich crusts, which he liked to pull off and eat separately. Even Dean the eating machine wasn't too interested in torn, slightly gnawed crusts, so Sam could take his time with them.
"I wish I could get to the town records, but they're not open until Monday. I guess I can keep it away from Heather Kovacs one more night."
"You could break in, Dad!" Dean's enthusiasm knew no bounds. "There's probably hardly any security. I could go in a bathroom window, maybe?"
Dad put down his empty can. Dean was wriggling like he had ants in his pants, and Sam was slumped in his chair taking an excessively long time to finish the remnants of his lunch. "How about you head back to the motel? You both look like you need a run, and I don't want you going out after dark. Everything in order for dinner, Dean?"
"Yes sir. But-" Dean looked thoroughly disappointed to be sent back.
"You're no use distracted, Dean, and you need to stay in shape if you want to help me with the rest of the hunt. Call it two birds, one stone." He dug their motel key out of his pocket. "I should be back well before dark - I'll check the house out and see if Shawna can help me fax these pages to Bobby Singer. If I'm not back, go inside and stay there."
Sam spoke up. "But there's no way we'd be targets, is there? It's all about Mr Kovacs and people he knew."
Dean jumped to his feet. "Sam, if Dad says go inside, we go inside!"
Sam's frown was turning mutinous, so Dad spoke over the top of his son. "Sam, we don't know that for sure, and we've seen those pages now. You know there's more than one kind of evil in the world."
Dean nodded, and Dad's explanation cheered Sam up a great deal - it was always the randomness of his Dad's orders that annoyed him, and rarely not the orders themselves. He stuffed the last of his sandwich crusts in his mouth. "Yeah! There's a lake, and all that forest, and there could be ghosts or anything! Or witches!"
"Get your coats from the car before you go, boys. I'll see you back at the motel."
On to Chapter 3
Back to Chapter 1
Master Post
Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, and Sam was awoken by the pale light shining through the small window. The TV was still in their bedroom, though it was switched off, and Dean was snoring and hugging his pillow in the other bed. Sam valiantly resisted the temptation to throw something at him and got out of bed instead, shivering slightly and pulling on his sweater, though the room probably wasn't all that cold compared to outside. Dad must have come back some time and switched off the TV, because Sam could remember it being on when he briefly woke up and saw Dean awake, hunched in his bed and staring at the TV as if his eyes had dried out. Dad's muddy boots were sitting on a plastic bag just inside the door - Sam grimaced, because he was probably going to have to clean those later - and the other bedroom door was firmly closed. Dad must have got in pretty late, then, if he wasn't going to get up for breakfast.
The bathroom really was cold, and Sam peed and got out of there as fast as he could, giving his hands about a second under the tap, and only because his dad always knew when he hadn't washed his hands. As he dashed out of the bathroom, he spotted some plastic shopping bags sitting on the kitchen bench by the microwave, and took a sharp right turn to see what Dad had bought. Dad had some funny ideas about buying food, and usually it was better when Dean did it. They never ran out of peanut butter or bread or milk when Dean was in charge of food. The upside to Dad's shopping was that he was much more likely than Dean to get confused in the supermarket and start buying random things until he thought he had a few meals' worth. Quite often, the random things were the bright and shiny stuff that had been right in front of his face, the expensive stuff that Dean would never buy. Sam rifled through the bags as quietly as he could to see if there was anything good, and indeed there was: a medium-sized box of Count Chocula cereal. Sam grabbed the box and looked through the cupboards to find a bowl, but just as he opened the box, he heard Dean shuffling from their bedroom to the bathroom.
"Dean! Did you see what Dad got?"
Dean gave him a bleary-eyed death glare. "Shh, Sammy! Dad only got in like an hour ago. There's milk in the fridge. Pour me a bowl of that stuff and I'll tell you what he found out. It's pretty cool."
Sam got out another bowl for Dean, and filled both with the sweet, marshmallow-riddled cereal and plenty of milk, then took his over to the sofa. Dean wandered out of the bathroom wiping his damp hands on his jeans, and grabbed the other bowl, slurping milk off the top before he even sat down.
"Dad saw it, last night! He was totally right, it went straight to the Kovacs house." Dean's voice was quiet but intense.
Sam's eyes widened. For all he was proud of his dad killing monsters and saving people, he didn't always like hearing the gory details. "Did he get it?"
"Nah, it manifested as a bright white light then it hovered above the house for maybe a minute, then shot straight down the chimney!" Dean still kept his voice down, but demonstrated the creature's movements with grand waves of his spoon. "He said he jumped out of the car and ran straight for the door, but before he could get there the light came zooming back out, then it vanished in the sky. Maybe the salt Dad put down drove it off!"
"So that lady was okay?" Sam's voice was muffled by too many marshmallows and he had to spit some back into the bowl.
"Dad said the lights in the house went on right after, and he saw her moving around, so I guess so. And you dropped a marshmallow on your sweater."
Sam scooped up the rubbery candy and ate it, thoughtfully. "Did the light go anywhere else?"
"Dunno. He stayed at the Kovacs place until just before dawn, then he went to the supermarket, then he came back." Dean tipped his bowl up and drank the last of the now-chocolate milk, with a remarkably gross gargling noise, even by Dean's standards.
"Ew, Dean, don't wake Dad! So did you sleep? Are you going back to bed? Can we go out? Is there a library?"
"Nah, I got some sleep." Dean shrugged. He always tried to stay up until his dad got back, and looked a little shamefaced at not managing it. "Dad said we could go out in the parking lot, but that's it. I got the basketball from the car, if you wanna play?"
"Okay!" Sam shoved his bowl into Dean's hand, and ran off to get properly dressed. When he came out, Dean had washed the bowls and spoons in the tiny steel sink and was writing a note for Dad on the complimentary hotel notepad.
Sam leaned on the door and twisted the handle back and forth. "Come on, Dean, he'll be able to hear us outside!"
"Yeah, right, like going out without telling him won't get us grounded for life." Dean propped up the note where Dad would see it, then pulled on his shoes and grabbed the keys before following Sam outside into the bright, cold morning.
It had snowed overnight, and the wind had blown it into drifts taller than Sam, piled up against the lattice barriers rather than the doors. The parking lot was fairly clear, though, or it would have been, if someone hadn't parked a big silver Airstream trailer in it, attached to an old wood-paneled car with rust all along the side. Sam knew that Dean was frowning without even looking at him - Dean hated to see a car neglected, but he was particularly sensitive about a certain vintage of American-made cars, as if this unloved Country Squire was a long-lost sister to the Impala.
"That's a pretty nice trailer. Look, there's a satellite dish on the roof!" Sam pointed, tugging at Dean's arm, in an effort to distract him from yet another tirade about taking care of your car.
Dean looked away from the telltale streaks of rust. "Huh. Fancy. You think I could rig up one of those for when we're staying in places with no cable? I bet Caleb's got some codes to unscramble it."
"Maybe we could put a TV in the back seat! That would be so cool!"
"Yeah, maybe if I was hanging out the window directing the dish." Dean unlocked the trunk of the Impala and retrieved their basketball, tied in a net so that it didn't roll around and make weird noises when they were driving. Dean shucked off the net and threw the ball straight at Sam. "Catch!"
Sam caught the ball, stumbling backwards with the impact, then bounced it back at Dean, who controlled the bounce one-handed as he slammed the trunk. "Come on, Sammy, you can do better than that!"
The game quickly evolved some vague rules - Dean was trying to get the ball towards the driveway, Sam towards reception - but they passed the ball back and forth just as often as they tried to take it away. Sam pushed and shoved, Dean used his height and kept the ball in the air, and their breath hung white in the icy air. Their battles got wilder and more risky - throwing the ball backwards over their heads, scrambling low - until Sam head butted the ball out of Dean's hands and it bounced straight into the side of the big silver trailer, hitting with a great metallic clang.
Sam just stared, but Dean moved fast, diving for the ball and catching it before it bounced towards the road. He had the ball in hand and the trunk of the Impala open before the trailer door opened, and quickly dropped the ball out of sight before turning with a cheesy grin. Fortunately, the man who had emerged from the trailer didn't look particularly threatening. He was tall and very thin, with wild orange hair sticking out in all directions from his ponytail and his beard. His clothes were baggy and his jeans holed at one knee.
"Did someone hit my trailer?" The man's voice was thin and worried, and Sam relaxed. This guy wasn't going to complain to their dad.
"Sorry, sir," Dean had his most polite voice in place, the one he used to talk to Sam's teachers and to the parents of hot girls. "I was playing basketball with my little brother, here, and he missed the ball. We're both really sorry."
Sam thought Dean was laying it on a bit thick - it wasn't like Sam was so little, anymore - but he crept up to Dean's side and added his most sincere apology. "I'm really sorry."
The man seemed to take their apology at face value. "Don't worry, guys. It's just that I didn't get in until early this morning. Driving all night. Trying to get some sleep now." He blinked owlishly and fished a pair of round spectacles out of the front pocket of his ratty plaid shirt, then peered at the large digital watch on his skinny wrist. "Have you got the time? My watch stopped again, and the clock in the car doesn't keep good time anymore."
Dean opened his mouth but Sam stamped on his toes before any unwise comments about car maintenance emerged, so Dean looked at his watch instead. It had been a gift from Dad for his fourteenth birthday, and he was still ridiculously attached to it. "It's 8:56, sir."
"Thanks, thank you. I'm Max Fenig, by the way." He fiddled with his watch, not seeming to notice that the Winchesters did not offer their names in return. Dean took the opportunity to draw Sam back behind the lattice screen in front of their door, shoving the room key into Sam's hand.
"Good morning, then!" Dean said, cheerfully but hastily, and followed Sam back into the room before the encounter developed into anything that would involve their dad.
"Dad!" Sam shouted, and ran over, waving his arms and jostling the cup of coffee on the table. "Dean said you saw it! And it was a bright light! Do you know what it is yet?"
"Careful, Sammy," Dad put a hand over his precious coffee to steady it, and Dean hauled Sam back by his coat.
"Watch it, Sammy. You get coffee on the guns, you can clean them." He unzipped Sam's coat and helped him out of it, though Sam was practically bouncing with excitement.
"I'm going to need your help today, boys. I told Heather Kovacs that I wanted to check the house more thoroughly, and she said today would be a good day for it. She'll be out with a friend, so she won't be getting in my way. But there's no way I can search the whole house by myself."
"What are we looking for?" Sam hadn't quite stopped bouncing, but the chance to actually help on a hunt was thrilling.
"Just a suspicion at this point, but it might be something like this." Dad showed them a page of his journal, and Sam scrutinized it closely, Dean peering over his shoulder. "It's a sigil for summoning good luck."
Sam frowned. "Really? It doesn't sound like they're having much good luck."
Dean glanced at the date on the page. "Nah, I know why. This is like those people near San Jose who summoned that genie thing and it gave them a million dollars then it ate their kid. If you get good luck, you pay for it in bad luck. And it sounds like this Kovacs guy had a lot of good luck before he dropped dead."
"Exactly right, Dean. And if other people benefitted from his luck, there's no reason why they wouldn't catch the bad luck, too. His wife, his business partner, his cousin, her uncle, and now his daughter."
Dean frowned. "Why not the daughter first? Or after the wife, at least?"
"Don't know. Maybe because she wasn't at home when the luck turned? It's got its claws in her now, though. Get Sam organized, Dean, and bring something for lunch. We might be there a while." Dad slammed the journal shut and picked out a few weapons to carry with him, putting the rest back in a long duffel bag to return to the car.
Dean turned to Sam, just as clear in his mission. "Sammy, get something to read, and get my Walkman, too. You can listen to it if you get bored."
"I'm not going to get bored! We're on a hunt!" Sam huffed.
"Yeah, but this isn't an exciting part. Looking through someone's house can be pretty boring, and you might lose concentration."
"I have great concentration! I can concentrate for hours and hours!"
Dad stood up. "Another part of the hunt is obeying orders, Sam. Do what your brother tells you or you can sit in the car the whole day."
"Fine!" Sam shouted, but went to their room anyway. If Dad was going to lock him in the car, he may as well have some entertainment. He grabbed the Walkman then hurried back to the kitchen to make sure that Dean was making his sandwiches the way he liked them. Dean was not only putting together sandwiches with peanut butter and Kraft cheese, but he'd made a little Saran Wrap parcel of Count Chocula for Sam to snack on.
"Thanks, Dean!"
"I don't want you whining and distracting Dad," Dean muttered, but grinned as he said it. He was always cheerful when he got to go on a hunt, any part of a hunt, and even more so when Sam was allowed to come, too.
All three Winchesters piled into the Impala, Dean and Sam crouching on the floor, half under the back seat, so that Heather Kovacs wouldn't ask why an EPA inspector would bring his kids into her house. Dean had suggested that their dad tell her that he was leaving them in the car, but Dad vetoed the idea.
"She's never going to believe that I'd leave you in the car all day, not in this weather. Stay on the floor until I come and get you."
The drive to the Kovacs house was short, and the Impala pulled up a long, tree-lined driveway. Sam peered up at the chimney from his hiding spot, following his dad's glance - the long scorch marks on the outside were clearly visible, just like at Rick Farmer and Dr Young's house. Heather Kovacs, a small, dark-haired young woman who would have been pretty if she didn't look half-dead, was waiting by the window, and came out to wave them into the enormous garage. There was space for at least four cars, though there were only two there, plus a spacious workbench and a wall of tools.
Dad got out of the car, with a warning glance at the boys in their hiding place, and Heather leaned against the bench, already exhausted. "My dad spent a lot of time in here, Mr Wells. I know it's pretty open and well-ventilated, but you'll probably want to check here, too."
"Thank you, Miss Kovacs. Have you thought further about my suggestion that you move out, just for the moment? There could be toxins here that are threatening your health."
"My health? No, no, I feel fine." Heather stared vaguely in Dad's direction and let go of the bench that was supporting her. "I mean, apart from losing Mom and Dad."
Dad frowned, but didn't push. "Of course. I'll be inspecting the entire house today, so I'll call you when the inspection is done, just in case I disturb some mould or find an immediately threatening hazard."
"Did I give you Sally's number? I went to high school with her. She's married now, my dad built her house…" Heather's voice trailed off, then she shook her head and went to her car, a little SUV that wasn't muddy like most of the local cars were, with a University of Wisconsin sticker on the back bumper.
"Are you sure you should be driving?"
"Sally's house isn't far. I'm fine, really. " Heather climbed in and started the engine, backing out of the driveway. She did seem to be driving fairly capably, despite her confusion and shortened vision, but then, she'd spent most of her life here, and would have the roads written into her memory like her own name.
As soon as she was gone, the garage door closing behind her, Dad opened the back door of the Impala to see the boys playing a silent but serious game of Rock Paper Scissors, which Sam had just won, as usual.
"You going to give your brother best of three, Sammy?"
"That was best of three! He has to check in that girl's room!" Sam giggled, having thoroughly defeated his brother.
"I'm sure I don't have to hold you back, Dean," Dad added drily and Dean ducked his head, embarrassed, before climbing out the door and brushing himself off. Sam slithered after, and Dad got his bag of supplies from the trunk. "I'm going to check out the fireplace - it's been a hot spot in both houses. Dean, you do the bedrooms like you promised Sam. Sam, there's a den on the ground floor, and I want you to look through that. Don't forget to check under the desk and inside drawers. And if you see a sigil, don't touch it!"
"I know that!"
The big, modern house was spacious and expensively furnished, but dust was already starting to gather on all the knick-knacks and business trophies. Photos of the Kovacs family, of family vacations and fishing trips, plus the occasional studio portrait, adorned the walls, Heather growing taller in each picture, her parents to either side. Small wooden boxes adorned with her parents' names sat beside each other on the mantelpiece. Sam hung back as Dean flicked one open and held up a plastic container inside to show their dad that the crematory label was still attached.
"Leave that here, Dean. I'll mix in a little salt just to make extra sure that Mr and Mrs Kovacs are at rest." Dad held the EMF meter near the ashes. It didn't react, but sweeping meter over the fireplace sent the needle straight into the red. Dad passed it over to Dean, who tucked it firmly under his arm.
"See where it leads you, if you can pick up anything apart from the path from here to Heather's bedroom. There's got to be a focus to this." Dad picked up a brass poker and started scraping soot from the hearthstone to see if a mark had been placed there when the fireplace was built.
"What's there, Dad?" Sam lingered, not quite sure that he wanted to go off by himself yet.
"The fireplace is a pretty common place for a protection mark, and Kovacs built the place himself. I wouldn't be surprised if he added in something special as he went. Off you go, Sammy, I'll keep an ear out for you."
Sam headed towards the study, watching as Dean checked out the path of red-hot EMF running straight from the fireplace to the stairs, but he didn't go up to Heather's bedroom. Unlike the last EMF meter, which had been great until his dad fell on it, this one was a bit buggy - it was great for high level readings, but it wasn't very sensitive, and that really didn't help when they were looking for traces rather than a great big ball of light that was here just last night. Dean had said he could fix it, but Dad seemed to have the idea that he might break it, and had told him no. Dean was pulling bitchy faces at the meter, so Sam left him to it and scurried off down the hall.
Sam was supposed to be checking for sigils, but he'd become distracted almost immediately when it turned out that the den was the room where the Kovacs family kept their few books. The very first one he touched was immediately fascinating, and when Dean walked in a few minutes later, Sam was sitting cross-legged in an enormous brown suede recliner, reading a large, lavishly illustrated book about the fish of the Great Lakes.
"Hey, Sammy. No sigils in here?"
"Nuh uh. I looked under the desk and under this chair, and in this book."
"Yeah, you check every page of that one. Fish are totally demonic, you know."
"Shut up, Dean! Mr Kovacs liked to go fishing, you know. Maybe I might find something!" Sam didn't really believe that, but it was so nice to have a new book, and one that looked like no-one had ever read it, the edge of the pages so crisp that they were sharp.
Dean looked up at the stuffed fish that decorated the walls, staring glassily down from their wooden plaques. "Seriously. Demonic." He waved the EMF meter at them, and both he and Sam jumped at the immediate reading. It wasn't all the way into the red like the fireplace, but it was a definite wiggle, and it repeated when Dean pointed the meter at the chest-high bookcase that sat beneath a stuffed rainbow trout. Dean dropped the meter on the desk, pulled Sam's book out of his hands, grabbed him by the arm and yanked him clear out of the chair.
"Ow! Don't!"
"There's EMF readings right there, dumb-ass. The curse might start working on you! Do you want to get all weird and dead?"
"Nooooo," Sam whined, annoyed that Dean was right, and rubbed his arm. "Is there a sigil there?"
"I dunno. Here, you hold the EMF meter, and I'll look through the bookcase. See if you can get a better reading on that stupid thing."
Sam grabbed the meter off the desk and ran it over the book that he'd been reading, then over the staring fish. "My book is fine. The fish makes it flicker, but I think it's strongest in the bookcase. Do you think it really is in a book?"
Dean shrugged, pulled his sleeves over his hands, and started pulling out books without letting them contact his skin. "Could be. I hope you didn't touch it."
"I just got the fish book, and that's clean. It was sitting on top of the bookcase."
"Cool." Dean took each book out and slid it across the floor towards the desk, while Sam held the meter steady on the bookcase. Dean had cleared the top shelf and started on the second before Sam called out.
"Wait, wait! It's not in the red anymore."
Dean performed a death-defying roll across the floor and leapt to his feet, pointing at the last book he had pulled off the shelf. "This one! Scan it!"
Sam ran the meter over it, and the needle jumped in a satisfying way. "Yeah, that's it! I'm gonna get Dad!"
"You do that, and I'll watch the book in case something happens."
Sam shoved the EMF meter into Dean's hands and ran up the hallway, shrieking, "Dad! Dad! Dad!" He reached the living room where he'd last seen his dad, but Dad wasn't standing by the fireplace - instead he was thundering down the stairs towards Sam.
"Sammy! You hurt? Where's Dean?" Dad scooped up Sam in his arms. "What the hell's going on?"
"Hi Dad! We found something! And Dean's watching it to make sure it doesn't escape!" Sam slung one arm around his dad's neck and pointed towards the study.
"Dean's okay?" Dad's breathing was starting to return to normal as he carried Sam down the hall towards the study.
"Uh huh. He used the EMF meter and we found an evil book."
"Good boy, Sammy. Just don't give me a heart attack next time."
Dean sitting on the floor, still keeping a close eye on the book, but he looked up when his dad and Sam came in. "That one, Dad. I've got a silver letter opener from the desk so we can open it up and not touch it."
"Did Sam touch it?" Dad crouched down and let Sam slide onto the ground.
"No, he didn't. I touched the outside with my sleeves, but I didn't open it. Seriously, it looks like a totally normal book."
All three Winchesters peered at the book in question. It was a hardcover binding of a collection of soil studies from the University of Wisconsin, a little battered at the corners, and it certainly didn't look like the mysterious parchment books that Bobby kept. Dad took the letter opener from Dean and prised the cover open, to find something that looked rather more like what they expected. A small, yellowed pamphlet was nestled inside the cover, printed with heavy black letters in a foreign language.
"What does it say, Dad?" Sam leaned in close, and Dean put a hand on his chest to make sure he didn't actually fall on their discovery.
"I don't know." Dad peered at the booklet. It was printed in the Roman alphabet, but with a lot of accent marks on and over the letters. The closest language he could think of was Vietnamese, except that Vietnamese had a lot more vowels than this language. "Let's get it out of here and I'll give Pastor Jim a call. Maybe Bobby. Dean, go to the car and get the lockbox."
"Sure, Dad!" Dean leapt to his feet and hurried out.
"I was reading a book about fish. Not all kinds of fish, just lake fish. They're not the same as ocean fish," Sam said, but Dad was concentrating on the booklet.
"When Dean gets back, I'm going to search the rest of these books. I want you two to scan upstairs, see if there's more unexpected EMF spikes." Dad turned the booklet over with the letter opener, and the back had more heavy printed letters, in what looked like the same language.
"Is that book a spellbook? Or a cursed book? It looks really old."
Sam had his hands firmly clasped together, restraining himself from wanting to touch the weird little book, even though he desperately wanted to open it and see if there were pictures, or anything that he could read. He didn't think that was the evil nature of the spellbook, though - he felt that way about most books.
"I don't think it's a spellbook, Sam. They're usually hand-written, for one thing, and this one is printed."
"Maybe some witches had a printing press! They could share spells with all the other witches and spread evil!"
Dad smiled at that. "Witches don't tend to be the caring, sharing type, Sammy. Nice people don't get into witchcraft in the first place."
Sam grinned back. "Oh, yeah. Good point, Dad."
Dean ran back in, the heavy metal lockbox swinging from one hand and almost hitting the doorframe. The lockbox had started its life as a toolbox, but after it had contained a fairy's magical stone long enough for Dad to effectively threaten the fairy in question, its cold steel had been enhanced with wards plus a pair of charms made by Bobby Singer and welded on by Dean. Dad was fairly sure that one day he'd put something in there that would jump right back out again, unimpeded, but it should be well and truly up to holding a strange booklet.
"Dump it in, Dad!" Dean held the lockbox open and Dad used the tip of the letter opener to scoop the booklet from its hiding place into the box. Dean slammed the lid with a satisfying clang and Dad closed the pentagram-embossed latches.
"Right, now we know the problem is here in the house. Keep searching. Dean, make sure Sam stays with you - I don't want him reading something he shouldn't."
"Sure, Dad." Dean took the EMF meter off the desk and gave it back to Sam.
"I don't need babysitting!" Sam argued, offended, but Dean ignored his protest.
"Come on, dude, let's finish scanning this room, then we can do the bedrooms. That good, Dad?"
"Yeah, I'm going to stick with the chimney - see if I can ward it better, at least keep Heather Kovacs safe until I work this out." Dad got to his feet and picked up the lockbox. "I'll put this back in the trunk for now. And don't touch anything!"
"No, Dad," the boys chorused, and Sam started scanning the bookshelves again, his face scrunched up in concentration. He kept his hands to himself, though - getting cursed just because he liked to read was the last thing he needed. Sam diligently waved the sensor over each of the shelves, but nothing else gave any indication of needing further investigation.
"Now the desk drawers, Sammy." Dean slid the top drawer open, pleased to find it wasn't locked.
Sam sighed. "Do we have to? We found the evil book already."
"Told you you'd get bored." Dean reached for his secret weapon - the stash of Count Chocula in his pocket. He offered Sam the crushed, plastic-wrapped parcel. "Here you go, Sammy. Enjoy."
Sam's complaints evaporated immediately. "Thanks, Dean!" He plopped himself onto the floor and unwrapped the cereal, starting by picking out the marshmallows and rolling them into little spongy balls. "You want some?"
"Nah, I don't need snacks. I'll wait for lunch with Dad."
Sam was unperturbed by Dean's blatant lie. "Okay!" He gnawed on the marshmallow balls as loudly and wetly as he could while Dean finished scanning the desk, which gave nothing. Dean moved over to the three tall filing cabinets, stepping over Sam, who was now lying on his back and making even grosser chewing noises, but the EMF meter wasn't registering anything above background levels. Dean sighed, and took the marshmallow that Sam offered him in response.
"Don't worry, Dean. We'll find something."
Their dad finally called them to lunch a while later, and neither the EMF meter nor Dean's careful searches had unearthed any further weirdness. The path from the fireplace to Heather's bedroom was indeed crackling with energy, and her deceased parents' room had enough residual energy to make the needle twitch, but there were no sigils, no more mysterious booklets and definitely nothing to stop Dean wishing - out loud and at some length - for something he could heroically fight, saving Heather Kovacs, who was very pretty in her photos and would presumably be very grateful. Sam had long since finished his cereal and had got so bored of the lack of results and Dean's heroic tales that he was sitting on the stairs reading his pastel pink book from the car. Their dad had refused to let him read anything that came from the Kovacs house, so his last, shameful book it had to be.
Despite their dad's loud holler, Sam remained on the stairs, focused on his reading. Dean crept down the stairs to stand behind him, then shoved Sam's head down into the pages.
"Enjoying your Babysitter's Club, Samantha?"
"Dean! Shut up!" Sam hurled the shameful book away and punched Dean right under the kneecap with his hard knuckles.
"Ow!" Dean grabbed Sam around the neck, just in time for their dad to see them.
"Dean Winchester! No headlocks on your brother!"
Dean let go instantly. "Sorry, Dad."
"Apologize to Sam, then both of you get down here before I eat your lunch." Dad turned his back and walked into the kitchen, just slowly enough to make sure he caught Dean's muttered "Sorry, Sammy," and just quickly enough to make the boys scurry after him, afraid for their lunch.
All three Winchesters sat at the kitchen table, eating their sandwiches. Both Sam and Dean had cast more than a few wistful looks at the laden pantry shelves, but neither of them bothered to ask if they could raid the Kovacs' food - it wasn't just rude, it could well be dangerous if it was the house itself that was cursed. Instead, they ate their sandwiches with ruthless efficiency and washed them down with the cans of Coke that had Dad miraculously produced from his duffle bag of hunting gear.
"What's up next, Dad?" Sam tried not to kick the leg of the chair, but didn't entirely succeed. His foot had an impatient life of its own, and he could hear Dean doing the same.
Dad took a long swig of his Coke. "I'm thinking that Darrell Kovacs started this whole thing, but I don't think he's the one killing people. He's cremated, for one thing, and it's not behaving much like a ghost. No, I'm thinking that either his debts have come due and he's not here to pay them himself, or something he kept under control is running wild. Either way, I need to take a look at his cousin's place - see if she and her father had some of those pages that you boys found."
Dean grinned at the implied praise, but Sam just gnawed on the last of his sandwich crusts, which he liked to pull off and eat separately. Even Dean the eating machine wasn't too interested in torn, slightly gnawed crusts, so Sam could take his time with them.
"I wish I could get to the town records, but they're not open until Monday. I guess I can keep it away from Heather Kovacs one more night."
"You could break in, Dad!" Dean's enthusiasm knew no bounds. "There's probably hardly any security. I could go in a bathroom window, maybe?"
Dad put down his empty can. Dean was wriggling like he had ants in his pants, and Sam was slumped in his chair taking an excessively long time to finish the remnants of his lunch. "How about you head back to the motel? You both look like you need a run, and I don't want you going out after dark. Everything in order for dinner, Dean?"
"Yes sir. But-" Dean looked thoroughly disappointed to be sent back.
"You're no use distracted, Dean, and you need to stay in shape if you want to help me with the rest of the hunt. Call it two birds, one stone." He dug their motel key out of his pocket. "I should be back well before dark - I'll check the house out and see if Shawna can help me fax these pages to Bobby Singer. If I'm not back, go inside and stay there."
Sam spoke up. "But there's no way we'd be targets, is there? It's all about Mr Kovacs and people he knew."
Dean jumped to his feet. "Sam, if Dad says go inside, we go inside!"
Sam's frown was turning mutinous, so Dad spoke over the top of his son. "Sam, we don't know that for sure, and we've seen those pages now. You know there's more than one kind of evil in the world."
Dean nodded, and Dad's explanation cheered Sam up a great deal - it was always the randomness of his Dad's orders that annoyed him, and rarely not the orders themselves. He stuffed the last of his sandwich crusts in his mouth. "Yeah! There's a lake, and all that forest, and there could be ghosts or anything! Or witches!"
"Get your coats from the car before you go, boys. I'll see you back at the motel."
On to Chapter 3
Back to Chapter 1
Master Post