Chapter Text
Part 1
“Be packed and ready to leave in five,” John ordered gruffly, interrupting the boys’ card game.
“Yessir,” Dean answered promptly, already on his feet.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Sam released an irritated huff, his breath blowing his long hair out and away from his face. John’s eyes narrowed slightly but Sam refused to squirm under the stern gaze. He wasn’t an easily intimidated eight year old boy anymore. He was fifteen and practically a man as far as he was concerned.
“Now, Sam,” John prompted losing patience.
“Yeah, I heard,” Sam retorted moving off the bed and making a show of opening his duffel.
“Drop the attitude,” John warned before turning out of the room.
There wasn’t much that needed packing and most of Sam’s things were still in his duffel anyway. He had learned long ago there was little point in getting ‘comfortable’ or trying to give things a personal touch or ‘homely’ feel. Their enforced hunter lifestyle meant they moved too frequently to ever ‘settle down’ anywhere.
“You gotta be more respectful, Sammy,” Dean advised once their dad had left the room they were sharing in the crappy motel; the really dodgy kind that saw a lot of drug-use and prostitution. “Dad’s looking out for us the best that he can.”
“Sure, whatever,” Sam scoffed already zipping up his bag, his task of packing complete. “At least we’re getting out of this shit-hole.”
“Yeah, I won’t miss this place,” Dean agreed still packing his things together. “That ugly painting gives me the creeps,” he sneered at the disturbing artwork on the wall. “There’s no hot water, the AC’s busted, and I don’t like the way that old fat fuck has been looking at you since we got here.”
‘That old fat fuck’ was staying in a room a few doors down. He was probably around their dad’s age and there was a strong possibility that he was some kind of pimp. His seedy eyes had indeed lingered on Sam for far too long every time they crossed paths. The man with the bulging belly had licked his lips and winked, adjusting himself in his pants, dollar signs practically sparkling in his eyes as he fantasized about the money he could potentially make selling Sam’s body.
“No need to be jealous,” Sam teased. “He’s ogled your ass too.”
It was true. The sweaty walrus of a man had been eyeing up Dean just as much, his eyes lingering on the teenager’s pink pouty lips.
There was a firm bang on the door, John’s voice calling out for them to get their asses to the car. Dean swung his duffel up onto his shoulder and Sam did the same with his. Leaving the room, they saw the pervy pimp standing in his doorway further down. He was just in a pair of underpants that had presumably been white once upon a time but were now stained yellowy-brown. He also wore a dirty grey vest that didn’t quite cover his stomach, sweat patches visible under his man-boobs.
“Boys,” he nodded to them with a leer, showing off his yellowed teeth.
“Keep walking,” Dean told his brother, wrapping an arm around him protectively as he gave the old pervert a disgusted glare.
Outside, they tossed their bags into the car and climbed in, Dean in the passenger seat beside their dad and Sam sitting alone in the back.
“Where are we going?” Sam asked. John didn’t provide an answer.
XXX
“Alright,” John said gruffly nearly seven hours later. He handed a small stack of papers to Dean (clearly research of some kind) as well as a fairly generous supply of cash. “You two are gonna get a room and you’re gonna work together to take care of this case. Just a standard salt and burn, you shouldn’t run into any trouble as long as you do things the way I’ve always taught you.”
“Yessir, you can count on us,” Dean replied.
“Wait, where are you going?” Sam frowned.
John glanced at Sam via the rearview mirror before turning his focus to his eldest son.
“I’ll be in the next town over,” John told Dean. “I’m meeting up with Bobby for another case. We should get the job done in a few days and I’ll be back to pick you boys up.”
“What about school?” Sam asked.
“The family business is more important,” John said dismissively, still not bothering to look at him properly.
“I haven’t set foot inside a school for nearly two months now,” Sam protested.
“Quit your whining, this is more important,” John retorted. “Dean’s in charge so do what he says.”
Sam grumbled under his breath as he climbed out of the car and grabbed his bag.
“Take care of Sammy,” John added to Dean. Sam rolled his eyes. By this point, he was sure his dad just said it out of habit rather than genuine concern.
Dean got his bag and stood tall by Sam’s side while the younger sibling slouched. They watched John pull away and drive off. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight by any means, but to Sam, it was always a shitty one. When he was younger, all he wanted was for dad to come back. These days, he wasn’t sure if he’d really care if the man just abandoned them.
“This sucks,” Sam muttered eyeing the motel critically.
“Shut your cakehole, it’ll be fun,” Dean said brightly as he clapped his brother on the back. “We’ll get a room, drop off our stuff and walk down to the store and stock up on snacks. Then you can do the nerd thing and use that big squishy brain of yours to research the case and then I’ll go and be a real-life Batman. You can be my Robin,” he offered and Sam scowled. “What, you don’t like Robin? Would you rather be Catwoman?” he teased.
“I’d rather be a regular kid who gets to go to school and have a normal life,” Sam commented tersely.
Dean sighed heavily as they approached the front desk. The woman working there looked bored and tired. She was probably in her mid-thirties and smelled strongly of cigarettes. Her eyes flickered between the two of them as Dean asked for a room.
“Your boyfriend’s a little young for you isn’t he?” she remarked and Dean’s jaw clenched.
“He’s my brother,” Dean corrected her.
“Whatever,” she sounded completely disinterested as she took the money and slid a key across to him. “Not my business,” she yawned and stretched before giving directions to their room.
“Um… thanks,” Sam said politely with an awkward smile. She popped her gum in response.
Adjusting the strap of his duffel on his shoulder, he followed after Dean to find their room. It wasn’t the first time somebody had made a comment about Sam and Dean being boyfriends. Probably wouldn’t be the last either. It seemed to be happening more and more lately and the expression on Dean’s face suggested he was growing increasingly angry about it.
“Fuck sake,” Dean groaned as they entered the room with just one large bed. “Bitch did that on purpose.”
“Probably,” Sam acknowledged. “Want me to talk to her this time? I can give her my puppy eyes.”
“Absolutely not,” Dean declined. “I’m the oldest, I’m in charge, I’ll do the talking.”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” Sam remarked sardonically complete with an army salute.
“Come on you little bitch,” Dean ruffled up the younger boy’s hair before leading the way out of the room and back to the woman at the front desk.
“Jerk,” Sam gave Dean a shove before the older brother caught him in a headlock. “Cut it out,” he complained, Dean releasing him before they turned the corner.
“Hey, lady,” Dean strode up to the woman who plastered on a fake smile as she lit up a cigarette.
“Hello boys,” she greeted. “Is there something wrong with your room?” she asked innocently.
“There’s only one bed,” Dean told her.
“Yeah, I know,” she took a drag, swinging side-to-side on her wheely chair before blowing out a puff of smoke.
“We need separate beds,” Dean complained.
“Last room available, sorry,” she shrugged.
“You’re lying,” Dean accused.
“I’m really not,” she laughed. “Makes it all more entertaining, to me anyway.” She took another drag of her cigarette, her eyes moving from Dean’s angry face to Sam’s awkwardly apologetic one. “You ok, honey?” she asked Sam, her tone and expression softening as she focused on him. “Need me to call anyone for you?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” he answered her. “He’s not gonna hurt me, I promise. He really is my brother.”
Her gaze flicked back to Dean, still not fully convinced or trusting but she didn’t push the matter.
“If you’re sure,” she sighed flicking the ash of her burning cigarette into the old brass ash-tray.
“We’d really appreciate a room with two beds,” Sam added on, looking at her with those big hazel eyes of his.
“Sorry, it really is the only room available,” she told him. “But if somebody with a two-bed checks out I’ll come and let you know.”
“Great, thanks,” Sam smiled.
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean gripped his brother’s shoulder, the woman eyeing the action with a raised eyebrow. “I bet that bitch was lying,” he claimed once they were back in their room with the one large bed.
“I don’t think she was,” Sam said. “Anyway, it’s not a big deal. It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before or ended up cuddling in the back of the car.”
“Hey, what happens in the car, stays in the car,” Dean defended. “And there’s not enough room in the backseat so we don’t have a choice. Sharing a bed is different.”
“It’s just for a few nights, Dean, no need to cry about it,” Sam set his duffel down.
“I’m not crying, you’re crying,” Dean retaliated dropping his own bag to the floor.
“It’s just a bed, man,” Sam pointed out calmly.
“Right, just a bed, just a few nights, not a big deal,” Dean agreed sourly rubbing a hand over his face.
In all fairness, it shouldn’t be a big deal. But to Dean, it really was. The old fat fuck from the last motel wasn’t the only pervert with impure thoughts about Sammy. And the lady at the front desk wasn’t entirely wrong to be casting Dean the side eye. The nineteen-year-old was guilty of some very disturbed desires towards his younger brother. It had first started when Sam turned thirteen, the yearning for the younger boy growing and showing no signs of going away. Dean did his best to ignore it and had done a damn good job of keeping his hands to himself. But sharing a bed with the little brother he had inappropriate feelings for? That was just pure torture.
“Hey, you’ve got your fake ID, right?” Sam asked interrupting Dean’s most recent self-loathing session. “You could get us some beers from the grocery store. Dad doesn’t need to know.”
A brief thought of getting Sam drunk and taking advantage of him flashed through Dean’s mind. He shook it away before it had time to fully form.
“We’re here on a case, we need to be responsible,” Dean said sternly.
“Now who’s the nerd,” Sam taunted.
“Come on,” Dean made sure he had the money and keys. “Let’s get to the store and get what we need, then we can start working.”
“Alright, just let me piss first,” Sam moved towards the bathroom, already unfastening his belt and pushing his jeans down.
He stepped into the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door. Dean had the perfect view of the fifteen-year-old’s pert little arse. He pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger as he stared at it, unable to tear his eyes away as the stream of urine hit the porcelain. Then Sam was tucking himself away, hiking his boxers and jeans back up. He washed his hands quickly, drying them on his trousers and flipping his hair out of his eyes, oblivious to the depraved thoughts cascading through Dean’s mind.
“Ready?” Sam asked.
“Ready,” Dean nodded, his voice too husky. He coughed to clear his throat and stepped out, Sam clueless to all his inner guilt, shame and turmoil.
XXX
After stocking up on snacks and drinks, and grabbing a large takeaway pizza, the Winchester boys returned to their motel room. They sat at the rickety circular table together, the legs of Dean’s chair uneven and making him wobble any time he moved. Eating pizza, they looked through the information dad had left them with.
There were several newspaper articles, all from recent months, the latest dated just five days ago. A number of victims had died. Some had drowned, others had perished in a fire. There were also a few reports of ‘seeing a ghost’.
“Any connection between the victims?” Dean asked.
“Mostly teenagers,” Sam said. “But I don’t think the ghost is specifically targeting teens. Looks like a local ghost story situation,” he pointed to a particular article that showed an image of a rundown house. “Probably kids daring each other to go into the haunted house.”
“So what’s the deal with the haunted house? Who lived there and why are they so pissed off?” Dean wondered.
“Looks like dad already figured it out,” Sam drew Dean’s attention to another sheet of paper.
“Malcolm Monroe… Jenny Brown,” Dean read out the hand scribbled names, a thick question mark by each. “So who the hell are they and which one is the ghost?”
“I guess that’s what we need to figure out,” Sam said. “Could be his. Could be hers. Could be both. Shouldn’t be too hard to find out more at the library.”
“Ok… how about you go and do research at the library,” Dean suggested. “I’ll suit up and talk to the friends and families of the most recent victims.”
“Maybe that’s not such a good idea, not without dad,” Sam reasoned. “You don’t look old enough to be an FBI agent.”
“Screw you, I play agent with dad all the time,” Dean pointed out.
“And people buy it because they believe dad’s an agent and that you’re his young prodigy,” Sam stated. “It just won’t be convincing on your own. Even less so if I’m with you.”
“Fine, I won’t talk to them as an agent. I’ll just be myself, making polite conversation,” Dean said.
“That’ll be creepy and suspicious,” Sam told him. “Just come to the library with me.”
XXX
“This sucks,” Dean complained pacing behind Sam who was working at the lone computer in the public library.
“Ssh,” an older woman scolded Dean.
“Don’t,” Sam whisper-warned, gripping his brother’s forearm before he could make a retort.
“Whatever,” Dean mumbled leaning over Sammy, his hands braced on the desk either side of the younger boy, effectively trapping him in. Sam seemed unbothered by the close proximity but Dean was definitely impacted by it, swallowing thickly and licking his lips as he inhaled Sam’s distinct but undefinable scent. “Anything?”
“Yeah,” Sam said quietly. “Malcolm Monroe and Jenny Brown both died back in 1925… He was a respected man of the town.”
“Meaning he was a rich dick?” Dean guessed.
“Probably,” Sam acknowledged. “He was in his forties so quite old. And Jenny Brown… shit, she was barely even eighteen when she died… He drowned and she was burned by the townspeople.”
“Witch?” Dean asked.
“Maybe,” Sam shrugged. “Jenny Brown was a woman of disgrace,” he read.
“Huh?” Dean frowned.
“Looks like this Monroe guy spread some rumours, told everybody she was a whore, and so she was ostracised and became an outcast in the town,” Sam said.
“Five minutes until closing, dears,” the little old librarian called over to them.
XXX
“So, who’s the ghost?” Dean asked as they walked back to the motel. “We dealing with Malcolm Monroe or Jenny Brown?”
“Not sure,” Sam admitted. “It wasn’t clear which one of them lived in that house that was in the papers dad gave us. If only we had more time at the library.”
“Nerd,” Dean teased digging Sam in the ribs with his fingers.
“Jerk,” Sam retaliated kicking the back of Dean’s leg and making him stagger.
“Bitch,” Dean grabbed Sam’s arm, locking it behind the younger boy’s back and pulling him flush against his chest, his other arm across Sammy’s throat.
“Alright… get off,” Sam panted out and Dean shoved him away with a little more force than necessary, discreetly adjusting himself in his pants after the roughhousing inadvertently turned him on. “Hi,” Sam smiled to the lady at the front desk. “Any rooms with two beds available yet?” he asked conversationally.
“Sorry, kid,” she shook her head as she flipped through a magazine. “You doing ok?” she checked, her eyes straying to Dean briefly before returning to Sam.
“All good,” Sam assured her. “Um, hey listen,” he leaned up against the front desk, hip cocked to the side, head dipped as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, looking up at her from underneath his eyelashes. Damn, he looked illegally beautiful like that. Dean wanted to throw him up against the wall. “We heard something about a local ghost story. Malcolm Monroe and Jenny Brown… do you know anything about it?”
“I’m a little old to believe in ghost stories, honey,” she told him.
“Please, you’re not that old,” he said sweetly. “What are you, twenty-two, twenty-three?”
“You’re smooth,” she set her magazine down. “Gonna break a lot of hearts one day.” She did not divulge her age.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Sam smiled, saying it in the same way Dean had to countless girls and women. Perhaps it wasn’t quite as charming or ‘intentional’ as when Dean said it, but it was definitely endearing. “I’m just curious. You wouldn’t want me sneaking into the old, haunted house and getting myself in some kind of trouble, would you?”
“Oh boy, you do play dirty,” she shook her head at him, looking a little bit fond and Dean had to take a breath and count to ten so he wouldn’t do something stupid like punch the woman. “It’s just a ghost story, it doesn’t mean anything,” she emphasized. “So absolutely no breaking into Jenny Brown’s house, ok?”
“I promise,” Sam told her and she held her pinkie finger out to him. He entwined it with his own, shaking on the promise that he and his brother would surely be breaking later that very night.
“Everybody who grows up in this town knows the Jenny Brown story,” she shared. “The kids used to say a little poem about it all on the school playground.”
“Yeah, tell me,” Sam encouraged, his big hazel eyes giving her all his attention while Dean skulked behind him, listening intently.
“Let me think, how did it go?” she asked herself. “Back in 1924,” she recited and Dean suppressed an eyeroll while Sam listened attentively. “Malcolm Monroe called her a whore.”
She closed her eyes, clearly searching her memory for the rest. She tapped her fingers to her temples a few times before raising her hands to the air in celebration as the poem clearly came back to her.
“He dirtied her name to the whole town
A poor disgraced young Jenny Brown
Then one night in ‘25
Was the last Monroe was seen alive
Malcolm’s neighbour heard him scream
And then they found him in the stream
They looked for Jenny high and low
Certain that she killed Monroe
As they fastened Jenny to the pyre
She maintained he was a liar
‘A curse upon you all!’ she cried
And in the flames young Jenny died
Now Jenny’s old house still stands there
Only enter if you dare
But tell a lie like old man Monroe
Then Jenny Brown is sure to know
She may make you burn, or make you drown
For no secret’s safe from Jenny Brown.”
Her eyes drifted over to Dean as she concluded the poem.
XXX
“It’s Jenny Brown,” Sam stated as Dean closed the door to their room. “She’s the vengeful spirit.”
“Yeah, sounds like it,” Dean agreed.
“Right, it’s her house,” Sam listed. “She had a brutal death. And if Monroe was lying about her being a whore then of course she’s going to be pissed. Some of those newspaper reports mentioned some of the victims having big secrets as well. Like the one from three weeks ago, the survivor said the ghost told him his girlfriend was pregnant but it wasn’t his baby.”
“Don’t trust the words of a ghost,” Dean scoffed. “Ghosts are miserable, evil shitty things. They lie.”
“Ghosts are victims nobody was in time to save,” Sam said compassionately. “And Jenny Brown has every reason to hate people telling lies. It makes sense that her twisted lost spirit would insist on spilling people’s secrets and sharing the truth.”
“Whatever,” Dean said. “Who even knows if all those details from the poem are true? It doesn’t mean a thing ok. It’s just some whiny dead bitch and we’re gonna gank it.”
The poem was nonsense, Dean was sure of it. A ghost couldn’t possibly know a person’s secrets. And Jenny Brown probably was a whore anyway.
“So what’s the plan?” Sam asked, looking to Dean respectfully, far more prepared to listen and take orders from him than he was from their dad it would seem.
“We’re gonna get some rest,” Dean instructed, his stomach knotting up uneasily at the prospect of sharing the bed. “Then sneak out at midnight and break into Jenny Brown’s house. She was burned alive so no grave to dig up and no bones to salt and burn.”
“Not quite the simple straightforward salt and burn case dad sold it as,” Sam quipped.
“Whatever, we can handle it,” Dean insisted. “She’s gotta be tied to something in that house. Some sentimental object. We just need to figure out what and destroy it.”
“Ok, sounds like a plan,” Sam accepted easily.
“Alright, go clean your teeth and then get in bed,” Dean ordered.
“Yes, Sir,” Sam agreed and he wasn’t being a sarcastic little brat about it. He was obediently following the order and it made Dean feel warm inside, powerful and in control. It made him wonder what else he could demand from Sammy, how far he could push. He dug his nails into his inner-wrist, punishing himself with the pain for the sick thoughts.
XXX
XXX
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