WiP Teaser: In a Mirror Darkly (TDF/SPN)
What the hell am I doing. I don't even know what this is.
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“Harry? What are we doing here?” Thomas asked as the Blue Beetle puttered to a stop across the street from a highrise condominium that proudly proclaimed itself Lake Meadows Apartments. The driving rain of the past few days was threatening to turn the park in front of the apartments into the apartments' namesake, and Thomas was not looking forward to getting out of the car.
Harry shifted the car into park and stuck his keys into his pocket, also peering out through the windshield to eye the still-falling rain. “Ghost hunting. Bob got me a tip about a ghost that's been showing up here recently.”
“No, I mean why are we here,” Thomas repeated, jabbing at pale finger at himself, then at his younger brother. “Isn't this why you have Warden underlings to call? So they can slog through the mud chasing some pissed off ghost while we stay nice and dry with pizza and beer?”
“Because this is my town,” Harry insisted, reaching into the cramped backseat of the Volkswagen Beetle for his staff and blasting rod. Thomas had to duck as the staff came perilously close to cracking him on the back of the skull, and Harry muttered something that might have been an apology, but just as likely could have been a laugh. “I'm not going to make them come out here if I wasn't going to.” He tossed a small leather pouch at Thomas. “Here, catch.”
The leather pouch hit Thomas in the chest and he grunted in surprise at the unexpected heft. “What the hell did you just throw at me, lead?”
“Depleted uranium. It's ghost dust.” Harry bounced an identical pouch in his palm. “Once we get the ghost's attention, throwing this on him should weigh him down enough to keep him from killing us before we can get him to cross over.” He hefted his staff and blasting rod and gave Thomas a waiting look “You coming, or are you going to sit in here and whine about how the widdle ghost dust hurt your feelings?”
Thomas rolled his eyes and grabbed the cavalry saber that had been wedged against the side of the car. He kept his gun at his back, but he had a feeling that wasn't going to do much good when it came to ghosts. Neither was the saber, but they both made him feel better. “You could've picked a night when it wasn't raining,” he complained in lieu of answering the question, wincing as he opened the Blue Beetle's door and let in the driving rain. “Or is part of the story the ghost only shows up on dark and stormy nights?”
“It's already killed two people this week, Thomas, I'm not going to wait for it to kill a third just because I don't want to get my feet wet.” Harry shot his half-brother the vampire a grin as he climbed out of the car and headed towards the field, staff in hand. “Besides, you know I can't resist a good old 'It was a dark and stormy night.'”
Thomas snorted and followed his half-brother the wizard into the darkness, the rain already plastering his hair to his forehead and dripping water into his eyes, his hand resting on the hilt of the cavalry saber at his hip. “Great. If I die because of your need to live the cliché, I'm haunting you.”
*****
“Sam, what the hell are we doing here?” Dean demanded as he guided the Impala around a corner past rows of neat brownstone townhouses and alongside a large, grassy field. “I thought the papers said that these were mugging victims.”
Sam sighed and shuffled through the pile of papers in his lap. Newspaper clippings, coroner reports, bits of reference materials photocopied from old books and microfiche. “Yeah, but the papers didn't mention that the mugging victims died of stab wounds,” he answered as he handed over a copy of a police report. “And how many muggers do you know stab their victims through with bayonets?”
Dean snorted as he slowed to a stop and put the car into park. “Maybe someone just decided to get creative. Take a stick-up literally.”
“Right. And they just so happen to do it in a field that used to be a prison camp where thousands of Confederate soldiers died.” Sam pulled up another piece of paper, this time an old sketch of the field they were parked beside, filled with ill-staked tents and unhappy soldiers. “This field is where Camp Douglas used to be,” he continued. “A prison camp for Confederate soldiers so overcrowded and brutally run that they used to call the place Eighty Acres of Hell.”
Scanning the papers his younger brother pressed on him, Dean nodded, a frown furrowing his brow as he read. “So, you thinking what, angry spirit with its bones somewhere in the park?”
“Seems likely. The two deaths happened to joggers who were running here at night, and both of them were found in this area, so the bones are probably here.” Sam tapped his window and grimaced. “Didn't expect it to be raining though. That'll make digging harder.”
Dean snorted and tossed the papers back at Sam. “Yeah, well not knowing where the bones are ain't gonna make this a picnic either.” He didn't wait for Sam to secure said papers before opening the driver's side door and climbing out into the rain. “Better get going before some joker decides to go jogging in this and finds himself skewered by Johnny Reb.”
The gust of wet wind that whipped through the Impala's interior would've sent the rest of the papers flying if Sam hadn't been so used to his brother and had slapped a hand over them. Still, it didn't stop him from shooting his older brother a look as he tucked the file under the seat and followed Dean out into the rain and their arsenal. “Johnny Reb? Really, Dean?”
The Impala's hood kept most of the rain off the trunk as Dean loaded salt rounds into a shotgun. “If it's stabbing people with a bayonet, what else could the son of a bitch be besides an angry soldier who died in the camp?” He held the gun out to Sam and shouldered a duffel bag, the tin of rock salt and the tin of lighter fluid banging against each other within.
“Dude, we're from Kansas.” Sam accepted the gun and grabbed a couple of shovels, trying his best to ignore the little problem of burning bones in the middle of a driving rain. He kept an eye out while his brother finished arming up, and swore as motion from across the green caught his eye. “C'mon, I think we've got health nuts going out for a jog. Two of them, looks like.”
*****
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“Harry? What are we doing here?” Thomas asked as the Blue Beetle puttered to a stop across the street from a highrise condominium that proudly proclaimed itself Lake Meadows Apartments. The driving rain of the past few days was threatening to turn the park in front of the apartments into the apartments' namesake, and Thomas was not looking forward to getting out of the car.
Harry shifted the car into park and stuck his keys into his pocket, also peering out through the windshield to eye the still-falling rain. “Ghost hunting. Bob got me a tip about a ghost that's been showing up here recently.”
“No, I mean why are we here,” Thomas repeated, jabbing at pale finger at himself, then at his younger brother. “Isn't this why you have Warden underlings to call? So they can slog through the mud chasing some pissed off ghost while we stay nice and dry with pizza and beer?”
“Because this is my town,” Harry insisted, reaching into the cramped backseat of the Volkswagen Beetle for his staff and blasting rod. Thomas had to duck as the staff came perilously close to cracking him on the back of the skull, and Harry muttered something that might have been an apology, but just as likely could have been a laugh. “I'm not going to make them come out here if I wasn't going to.” He tossed a small leather pouch at Thomas. “Here, catch.”
The leather pouch hit Thomas in the chest and he grunted in surprise at the unexpected heft. “What the hell did you just throw at me, lead?”
“Depleted uranium. It's ghost dust.” Harry bounced an identical pouch in his palm. “Once we get the ghost's attention, throwing this on him should weigh him down enough to keep him from killing us before we can get him to cross over.” He hefted his staff and blasting rod and gave Thomas a waiting look “You coming, or are you going to sit in here and whine about how the widdle ghost dust hurt your feelings?”
Thomas rolled his eyes and grabbed the cavalry saber that had been wedged against the side of the car. He kept his gun at his back, but he had a feeling that wasn't going to do much good when it came to ghosts. Neither was the saber, but they both made him feel better. “You could've picked a night when it wasn't raining,” he complained in lieu of answering the question, wincing as he opened the Blue Beetle's door and let in the driving rain. “Or is part of the story the ghost only shows up on dark and stormy nights?”
“It's already killed two people this week, Thomas, I'm not going to wait for it to kill a third just because I don't want to get my feet wet.” Harry shot his half-brother the vampire a grin as he climbed out of the car and headed towards the field, staff in hand. “Besides, you know I can't resist a good old 'It was a dark and stormy night.'”
Thomas snorted and followed his half-brother the wizard into the darkness, the rain already plastering his hair to his forehead and dripping water into his eyes, his hand resting on the hilt of the cavalry saber at his hip. “Great. If I die because of your need to live the cliché, I'm haunting you.”
*****
“Sam, what the hell are we doing here?” Dean demanded as he guided the Impala around a corner past rows of neat brownstone townhouses and alongside a large, grassy field. “I thought the papers said that these were mugging victims.”
Sam sighed and shuffled through the pile of papers in his lap. Newspaper clippings, coroner reports, bits of reference materials photocopied from old books and microfiche. “Yeah, but the papers didn't mention that the mugging victims died of stab wounds,” he answered as he handed over a copy of a police report. “And how many muggers do you know stab their victims through with bayonets?”
Dean snorted as he slowed to a stop and put the car into park. “Maybe someone just decided to get creative. Take a stick-up literally.”
“Right. And they just so happen to do it in a field that used to be a prison camp where thousands of Confederate soldiers died.” Sam pulled up another piece of paper, this time an old sketch of the field they were parked beside, filled with ill-staked tents and unhappy soldiers. “This field is where Camp Douglas used to be,” he continued. “A prison camp for Confederate soldiers so overcrowded and brutally run that they used to call the place Eighty Acres of Hell.”
Scanning the papers his younger brother pressed on him, Dean nodded, a frown furrowing his brow as he read. “So, you thinking what, angry spirit with its bones somewhere in the park?”
“Seems likely. The two deaths happened to joggers who were running here at night, and both of them were found in this area, so the bones are probably here.” Sam tapped his window and grimaced. “Didn't expect it to be raining though. That'll make digging harder.”
Dean snorted and tossed the papers back at Sam. “Yeah, well not knowing where the bones are ain't gonna make this a picnic either.” He didn't wait for Sam to secure said papers before opening the driver's side door and climbing out into the rain. “Better get going before some joker decides to go jogging in this and finds himself skewered by Johnny Reb.”
The gust of wet wind that whipped through the Impala's interior would've sent the rest of the papers flying if Sam hadn't been so used to his brother and had slapped a hand over them. Still, it didn't stop him from shooting his older brother a look as he tucked the file under the seat and followed Dean out into the rain and their arsenal. “Johnny Reb? Really, Dean?”
The Impala's hood kept most of the rain off the trunk as Dean loaded salt rounds into a shotgun. “If it's stabbing people with a bayonet, what else could the son of a bitch be besides an angry soldier who died in the camp?” He held the gun out to Sam and shouldered a duffel bag, the tin of rock salt and the tin of lighter fluid banging against each other within.
“Dude, we're from Kansas.” Sam accepted the gun and grabbed a couple of shovels, trying his best to ignore the little problem of burning bones in the middle of a driving rain. He kept an eye out while his brother finished arming up, and swore as motion from across the green caught his eye. “C'mon, I think we've got health nuts going out for a jog. Two of them, looks like.”
*****