Chapter Text
Cape Girardeau, Missouri – Sunday 30th April 2006
Meira is honestly curious about this job. Her dad did mention it once or twice, if only for the sheer novelty of the fact he once hunted a ghost truck, but he never gave many details, so it’ll be interesting to watch the case unfold in person. She’s also a little bit curious about this ex-girlfriend of his. In the future, he’s always very blasé about it, but here in the past, he’s actually awkward when Sam asks after her. Shifty and uncomfortable.
It’s even worse when he’s confronted with her in person. Such a charged silence hangs between them even before they manage to say hello. Meira’s a little tempted to start whistling obnoxiously, or to ask them if they need a minute alone. But then Dean remembers all by himself to introduce them. “This is my brother, Sam, and a… family friend, Meira.” He introduces.
It takes Cassie, and that name will never cease to make Meira do a double-take given the circumstances, a couple of seconds to tear her eyes away from Dean. Meira holds out a hand, and Cassie shakes it. “Pleasure to meet you.” She says, just to put some actual words into the air between them. On impulse, she pulls up a flirty grin, even though for once in her life she’s not sure she’s actually sincere. Flirting with the same person her dad is flirting with is funny, but flirting with someone he’s actually had sex with is a little uncomfortable. This is entirely meant to provoke Dean into being less weird and awkward about the situation. “Dean failed to mention you’re a journalist. I like it.”
Cassie does a small double-take. “Wow, deja vu.” She says, looking between Meira and Dean. “Are you sure you two aren’t related or something?” She asks suspiciously.
Sam snickers. “They’re like two peas in a pod, aren’t they?” He asks, clearly glad someone else has noticed it, too.
“That was just about the exact same thing Dean said to me when I told him what I was studying. ‘Journalism? Nice.’” Cassie says, putting on a deeper voice that makes Dean clear his throat self-consciously. “With the same grin and everything.”
“You should see the catfights they get into over who gets to flirt with the cute waitresses.” Sam tells her, in a deadpan that’s ruined by the mocking smirk that keeps threatening to unfurl across his lips.
Cassie smirks back with a knowing, if slightly peeved, look about her as she nods. Then she glances at Meira and the smirk becomes a grimace. “You maybe want to tone it down, though, around here.” She warns, with a hint of bitterness. “It’s not the most open-minded place in the world.”
Meira opens her mouth, but words fail to emerge. Right. She’s in 2006, and people like Sue-Ann are far more common than she’s used to. Or at least, they’re more confident that their views are acceptable and they don’t feel the need to keep it to themselves and let people be. “Right.” She says aloud, matching Cassie’s grimace.
Cassie’s smile is sympathetic. “Give me a few minutes to finish up here, and then I’ll… fill you in on what’s been happening, I guess.” She says, smiling falling away.
“Sounds good.” Dean says. “I’m, uh… sorry about your dad.”
“Yeah.” Cassie replies. “Me too.”
With that said, they head back outside to let Cassie finish her work in peace, then follow her back to her mother’s place to talk. Cassie explains the situation, tells them about her father’s ‘hallucinations’, describes the crash sites. Sam looks sceptical through most of it. “And you think this vanishing truck ran them off the road?” He asks, not actually managing to conceal the note of incredulity in his voice.
Cassie huffs and looks away. “When you say it aloud like that…”
“Could be a rogue klabautermann.” Meira pipes up, eyes locked on Sam, because he has no right to be sceptical given his entire life. He raises his eyebrows right back, not even a little abashed.
“A… I’m sorry, a what?” Cassie asks.
“Ship spirits.” Dean tells her.
“If enough people live in and love a vehicle long enough, it can create a sort of… pseudo-soul. It’s a sub-type of poltergeist, actually, a manifestation of positive energy coalescing into an entity with enough intent to be noticeable.” Meira explains, glancing away from Sam to look at Cassie. “In olden times, it was most commonly noticed in ships, which is where the myths originate, but it can happen in any mobile dwelling.” She glances at Dean. “The Impala will probably develop one, sooner or later.” She tells him, like it’s just a theory, and not something she knows for a fact. Dean pulls a face like he’s not sure whether to be happy about that or not.
Cassie stares at her for a long moment. “Why not stationary dwellings?” She asks finally.
“Oh, they can develop their own spirits, too. Poltergeists being the most noticeable. But there is a specific sort of… agency that comes with mobility that makes klabautermanns distinct from other manifestations and household spirits.” Meira tells her cheerfully.
“Right.” Cassie says, looking overwhelmed. “Listen, I’m a little sceptical about this… ghost stuff, or… whatever it is you guys are into.” She admits awkwardly.
Dean huffs out a bitter laugh. “Sceptical.” He repeats with mocking humour. “If I remember rightly you said I was nuts.” It’s an accusation, thrown down like a gauntlet. Meira catches Sam’s gaze as they forget the earlier attrition in a moment of fellow-feeling at the return of the awkward. Thankfully, the moment is broken when Cassie’s mother gets home, though Dean’s attempt to get more information out of her fails spectacularly, and after a little more awkwardness, they head out to find motel rooms for the night.
Cape Girardeau, Missouri – Monday 1 st May 2006
Someone else dies during the night. Going to check out the crash site feels like a waste of time, to Meira, but she can’t think of what else to do. She wishes her dad had been a little less sparing with the details, so that maybe she’d be able to help a little more, but right now she just feels useless. It’s all well and good figuring out that she can heal people, if the need is dire enough, but what good does it do when they’re already dead by the time she gets there? She can’t even do much of anything to help stop the thing that’s killing them.
A few questions to Cassie tell them where to find the dead man’s friends, and after some debate, Sam and Dean decide to use the Insurance Company lie. “You two go ahead, I want to do a little bit of research.” Meira tells them while they’re digging out their suits.
“You don’t wanna tag along?” Dean asks, all mock surprise.
“Insurance Agents working in pairs makes sense. Three’s a crowd.” Meira points out, flopping down on one of the beds and stealing Sam’s laptop. Sam ribs Dean about Cassie while they get dressed, and Meira has to muffle her snickers with her hand. It’s so weird seeing her dad like this, and it makes him seem so very young. It’s a world away from the man he’ll become, secure in the life he’s built with his two partners. Those thoughts make her mood drop, but she doesn’t let it show until Sam and Dean are out the door.
What the hell has she been doing these last six months? Sure, tagging along with her dad and her uncle is kind of fun, in a touristy sort of way, getting a glimpse of the past she’s only ever heard them talk about in snatches. But this isn’t her place, and she wants to go home. She hasn’t even been trying to get home.
Not that she has any idea how to even begin. How does she research something that hasn’t even happened yet? Because the only way she can think of to get home is to fly there herself. There are no angels about to take her, not that any of them would anyway, except for Pabbi, and she’s not going to ask that of him. She could ask him to take a look at he binding, she supposes, but she’s not sure he could tell her anything she can’t sense for herself, which is not much. It’s woven into her skin, into her grace, so tightly that she can’t really feel the edges of it until she runs right up against it. Someone on the outside might be able to tell her more about its origins, but she doubts it.
And besides, the only way she could get in touch with Pabbi without alerting the host to his presence would be to summon him as Loki, which has the unfortunate side-effect of being far more likely to catch the actual Loki. As much as Meira likes her Uncle Loki, she doesn’t actually trust him.
For lack of any other leads, Meira rings up Missouri. “Meira!” Missouri greets, sounding delighted. “How are you? How are those boys?”
“We’re good, Missouri.” Meira says, spirits rising a little just in response to Missouri’s good mood. “You? And how’s Patience?” She asks.
“Oh, I’m good, honey, I’m good.” Missouri tells her, and then sighs a little. “I don’t suppose you know, but I don’t actually see Patience at all anymore, so I don’t know how she’s doing.” She explains.
“Wait, what?” Meira asks, sitting up straight.
“My boy, her father, he doesn’t- We had a falling out, about two years ago, after his wife died.” Missouri sighs again. “I told him what he wanted to hear, not the truth about what was happening to his wife.” She elaborates.
Meira winces. “That was dumb.” She tells Missouri.
Missouri snorts. “Oh, I know that now.” She assures her. “But at the time, I- Well, I just wanted to spare my baby boy a little bit of hurt.” There’s a moment of silence and Meira lets Missouri collect her thoughts. “He called me a fraud, and refused to let me ‘fill Patience’s head with my nonsense’.” Missouri concludes.
“I’m sorry.” Meira says. Well, no wonder Patience hadn’t had much at all to say about her grandmother, except for the fact that she inherited her abilities from her.
Missouri draws in a bracing breath. “Oh, it’s alright, honey. I’ll know if there’s something wrong, my gift’s good for that, at least. And you gave me more than I could have hoped for, just knowing Patience is going to be alright in the end. More than alright. That’s all I need.”
“Well, I’m glad for that much.” Meira says with a sideways smile.
“What’s wrong?” Missouri asks.
Meira chuckles. “Do your gifts work even over the phone?” She asks incredulously.
“No, honey, it’s in your voice.” Missouri chides gently. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
Meira swallows and tries to steel her heart against disappointment. “When we were in Lawrence, did you… You said I seemed caged , but could you…? I don’t know what I’m asking, I just… I’m trying to figure out if there’s even a hope of me breaking this so I can go home, but I can’t even feel it unless I’m pushing against it, and then I’m in so much pain I can’t-”
Missouri makes a wounded sound. “I’m sorry, honey.” She says, and Meira’s heart sinks despite the fact that she’d expected that answer. “I couldn’t even tell it wasn’t something you’d done to yourself for some reason, until you told me otherwise.”
Meira goes still. “Really?” She asks carefully.
“Mmhm.” Missouri confirms. “What are you thinking, girl? I can’t read your mind right now, and let me tell you, I don’t know how everyone else does it, living like this all the time, I just don’t.”
Grinning, Meira flops down on her back, feeling just a little bit lighter at this unexpected progress. “You wouldn’t know, since you’ve never met him to compare us, but, uh… my grace is almost identical to Lucifer’s.”
“You think the devil did this to you?” Missouri asks, aghast.
Meira shrugs. “Maybe. Or someone else used his grace. I don’t know, I thought he was still locked up in his cage in Hell, but… it’s the only explanation I can think of. Even if there was some sort of spell to make my grace bind itself, there should at least still be traces of the spell.”
“Unless the spell was a one-time thing.” Missouri counters thoughtfully.
Meira hums an acknowledgement. “A spell like that would be… extremely complicated, though. And extremely specific.” She turns it over in her mind. “To alter the behaviour of my grace like that, without leaving a trace? I think it would take God himself to pull that off.”
“Well, I hope we can rule out God.” Missouri says, very nearly scandalised by even the implication that God might do something like that.
“Yeah, Granddad wouldn’t.” Meira assures her, and Missouri laughs.
“I don’t know what I expected, given who your parents are, but to think-!” She sighs gustily through the last traces of her laughter. “I never thought I’d see so much irreverence in an angel. Of course, I never thought I’d see an angel, either.” She acknowledges.
Meira smiles. “Irreverence is necessary.” She declares piously.
Missouri tuts at her, but doesn’t contradict her. “Now, then. Tell me what you and your daddy and uncle have been up to since I saw you.” So Meira does, telling her about the asylum, about the half dead fertility god, about the faith healer. She tells her about Kat, who’s been texting Meira questions every now and then, and Meg, who will one day be something like a friend to her qaada but is currently an enemy, and Layla, who Meira managed to save despite the stupid binding.
“What about you?” Meira asks, when she’s run out of things to talk about, and so Missouri tells her a bit about her customers, her friends, gossip from around Lawrence. “And Jenny? How’s she doing?” Meira asks when Missouri mentions a potential haunting that turned out to be nothing but a draft and a cat stuck in the loft.
“Oh, she’s alright.” Missouri assures her. “She’s settling in well, got a job at the local hospital as a nurse. It’s difficult hours for a single mother, but she’s handling it.” She shares a few anecdotes about the handful of occasions she’s babysat Sari and Richie so that Jenny could have an evening to herself, and then has to say goodbye, since she has a customer coming for a reading soon. “Call again soon, okay, honey?” Missouri prompts. “Or better yet, make one of those boys call me, cause I’ve got some words for them. I told them not to be strangers, but have I heard a word since?” Missouri demands, although she clearly doesn’t expect an answer.
“I will.” Meira assures her, grinning. “Talk to you soon.”
“Soon.” Missouri confirms, and then hangs up.
Meira stares at her phone for a moment, considering what to do next. She’s made a step forwards, yes, but she’s got no idea where to go from here, either. It’s not as if she can ask the devil what he might one day do in the future. If it even was him or someone using his grace, because Missouri was right, it could have been a spell to twist her own grace into doing all the heavy lifting, but… That would take a fundamental knowledge of her grace and soul, and how the two were intertwined, and given that there are only three beings like her in existence? That knowledge is pretty much limited to God and Pabbi.
Sighing, Meira sits up and drags the laptop closer. She really doubts she’s going to be able to find anything useful to her situation on the internet, but maybe she can at least poke into the case Sam and Dean are currently working.
She’s been working at it for a few hours when Sam comes back, curiously alone. “Dean?” Meira questions.
“He went to talk to Cassie again.” Sam tells her.
“You mean he went to talk to her, or he went to talk to her?” Meira asks, raising her eyebrows.
Sam snorts. “God knows. The cover story is he’s going to see if she has any idea why so many people connected to her family are dropping dead. But I kind of hope they manage to discuss their great stinking pile of unfinished business somewhere in there, too.” Meira makes an agreeing face as Sam starts stripping off his suit. “You find anything?”
“I hit the jackpot.” Meira says, and then spins the laptop around for Sam to see the scanned newspaper article she found. It’s some ridiculous puff piece, Meira didn’t actually care to read the article beyond the caption for the little photograph that went along with it. The photograph of a young man leaning proudly against the hood of a big black over-compensation of a truck.
“You found the truck?” Sam asks, bending down to peer more closely at the picture while unbuttoning his shirt.
“I found the truck.” Meira confirms. “But that’s not the good part.”
Sam looks up at her, then goes to grab a t-shirt and plaid shirt out of his duffel. “What’s the good part?” He asks, voice a little muffled as he pulls the t-shirt on.
“The proud owner of our monster truck? Cyrus Dorian.” Meira tells him. Sam frowns at her as he shrugs on his plaid and starts shucking off his suit pants and retrieving jeans. “Son of the people who used to own the paper our latest victim was editor of.” Meira tells him, and Sam’s eyebrows fly up. “And going by the tone of those old articles? Not particularly open-minded people, were the Dorians.”
“So you think Cyrus Dorian is our guy?” Sam asks, hopping into his jeans and then dropping down to sit on the other bed. “Great, where’s he buried?”
“That would be the bad news.” Meira tells him with a grimace.
“Oh, don’t tell me he was cremated.” Sam groans.
“I don’t know. No one does.” Meira tells him with a dramatic shrug. “Cyrus Dorian disappeared.”
Sam’s face goes slack. Then he groans. “I’m guessing that’s code for murdered.” He sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “So, we’ve got a vengeful racist monster-truck driver. If we want to figure out where his body is, we’ve gotta figure out what happened to him. When did he disappear?”
“1963.” Meira tells him, bringing up the appropriate article.
Sam frowns. “1963?” He asks incredulously, scanning the article. Then he leans back, eyes narrowing at the laptop, although he doesn’t look like he’s still reading anything. Meira watches him, wondering what’s got his attention. “The guys we talked to down at the dock, they said that back in the sixties, there were a string of racist murders where the victims all supposedly vanished into a big black truck.” He explains, which, yeah, that’s got to be connected.
“Why the hiatus?” Meira asks. “Forty years is a long time for a ghost to stay dormant.”
Sam pulls a face that clearly says he has no idea how to answer that. “It would make sense, though, why the murders in the sixties stopped without the killer being brought to justice, if it was because Cyrus ‘disappeared’.” He points out. “If maybe, since the law couldn’t be trusted to deal with it, someone decided to take the matter into their own hands?”
Meira nods. “Except, again, forty years.” She challenges. “Forty-three, to be exact, almost down to the day.”
Sam blinks, and pulls a considering face. “Anniversary?” He suggests.
“Forty-three years isn’t exactly significant. Now, if it was forty-two…” Meira says, and Sam gives her a very unimpressed look, to which she grins, unrepentant.
Sam sighs at her, shaking his head, and then shrugs. “Maybe there was some sort of triggering event?” He suggests. “Maybe something, I don’t know, woke him up?”
“Vengeful ghosts don’t usually wait, if they’re sticking around to get vengeance.”
“Maybe it’s not vengeance, then. Maybe it’s just Cyrus picking up where he left off?”
Meira blows out a breath. “Too many questions, not enough answers.” She huffs, and Sam nods. When neither of them come up with any ideas for how to proceed, Meira throws herself backwards again to glare up at the ceiling. “Best person to talk to would be Mrs Robinson. If anyone would be able to tell us if Cyrus had a reason to be vengeful in her husband’s direction…” Meira says, trailing off pointedly.
“Well, then let’s go talk to her.” Sam says reasonably.
Meira whines. “No…!”
“What? Why not?” Sam asks.
Meira lifts her head to stare at him. “Sam. If we go to that house, we’re either going to walk in on a domestic, or porn. I don’t wanna see either. Do you?” Sam can’t quite hide his disgust, and Meira gives him a pointed look. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”
“Okay, you’re right, but the job is more important.” Sam says reluctantly. He has a point, but Meira can’t bring herself to move. Apparently, neither can Sam, because they both sit there, trying to find the motivation to get on with the job and failing. “This is just going to get worse the longer we put it off.” Sam says into the silence.
“Isn’t there someone else we can talk to?” Meira whines.
Sam is quiet for longer than Meira expected it to take him to come up with a ‘no’. She sits up again, intrigued by the shrewd look in Sam’s eyes. “Sam?” She prompts.
Sam refocuses on her. “Okay, it might not be connected at all, but… remember what the Mayor said? About talking to Cassie’s mother about why he’s the last person to accuse of racism? If Dean’s right, and this all seems to be centered on Cassie’s family, then… maybe it is connected.”
“It’s a long shot.” Meira tells him, making Sam grimace. “But I’ll take it. We can, ugh, go to the Robinson house if the Mayor turns out to be a bust. So, where does he live?”
They find his address and head off in the Impala. Sam gets less and less confident the closer they get to the mayor’s house. “How the hell are we going to get him to talk to us?” Sam asks. “It’s not like we can pretend to be Federal Agents or anything, he already knows we’re friends of Cassie’s.”
Meira thinks about it for a few minutes, playing out different scenarios in her head. “We only need time to ask two questions.” She says. “We don’t need a ruse, we just need him to open the door.” Sam shoots her a look, but since they’re already pulling up outside the mayor’s house, he doesn’t argue. They get out and go knock on the mayor’s door. It’s late, dark already, but there’s lights on inside the house, so Meira doesn’t feel bad about knocking.
After a few minutes, it opens, revealing the mayor. Harold Todd, Meira remembers. He looks confused, but like he’s trying to be welcoming. “You’re Cassie’s friends, aren’t you?” He asks slowly. “Sam and… Maria?” He guesses.
“Meira.” Meira corrects with an understanding smile.
Mayor Todd nods and smiles back. “Can I help you with something?”
“Why did you tell Cassie to ask her mother about why she shouldn’t call you racist?” Meira asks bluntly. Sam makes a slightly strangled noise as Mayor Todd’s expression closes off.
“That’s none of your-” Mayor Todd begins, but Meira cuts him off.
“Does it have anything to do with Cyrus Dorian?” Meira asks.
Mayor Todd’s expression shuts down in an instant, going hard and flinty. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says levelly, but Meira’s not convinced in the slightest.
“Look, Mayor-” Sam begins, all earnest reassurance.
“We don’t need to know what happened.” Meira interjects. “We can make a pretty good guess. We just need to know what happened to his body.”
Mayor Todd looks at her sharply. “Cyrus Dorian disappeared more than forty years ago.” He states firmly. “How the hell should I know what happened to him?”
Meira looks him dead in the eye. “I dunno, but you and Mrs Robinson are the only people we could ask. Everyone else who knows is dead.” She says pointedly. It’s an educated guess, but she catches the flicker of something like fear in the mayor’s eyes. “I don’t think that’s a coincidence, Mayor Todd, and I don’t think you do, either.” Mayor Todd doesn’t answer her, just presses his lips into a thin, angry line.
“If you won’t tell us to protect yourself,” Sam entreats quietly, “think of Mrs Robinson. If she knows anything, which I’m betting she does, since you told Cassie to ask her about it, then she’s in danger too. And Cassie. Just by proximity, if nothing else.”
“I don’t know.” Mayor Todd insists.
“Mayor-!”
“I mean that.” Mayor Todd snaps, and then sighs in surrender. “I was… a Deputy at the time, and I was assigned to the Cyrus Dorian case. No one else bothered to wonder about the… the murders of black men that had been going on before that, so no one noticed that they stopped when Cyrus disappeared.” He explains, with an old, tired sort of anger. “I did. I also noticed that Martin had been badly beaten by someone around the same time Cyrus disappeared. It wasn’t that hard to put together, if you gave half a damn what was happening to black people in this town.”
“And you confronted Martin about it?” Sam asks.
“I asked him about it, to make sure.” Mayor Todd corrects with a glower. “But I already knew I wasn’t going to arrest him. He was black , no way was he going to get a fair trial, but it was self-defence, plain and simple. Cyrus Dorian was a murderer.” He snorts. “And an arsonist. So, no, I didn’t ask where his body was, I didn’t care. Just so long as it wasn’t going to be found, and Martin assured me it wasn’t. That was good enough for me.”
“Arson?” Sam queries.
Mayor Todd huffs out a derisive laugh. “Audrey, Mrs Robinson, she used to be Cyrus’s girl, before she fell in love with Martin.” He says grimly. “The day she and Martin were supposed to be married? The church mysteriously burned down.” He scathed, and then glared at Sam. “Twelve children died in that fire.” He tells them, almost accusingly, daring them to tell him he’d done something wrong.
“Do you think Mrs Robinson knows what happened to Cyrus’s body?” Sam asks wearily.
Mayor Todd shrugs. “I have no idea.”
Meira and Sam exchange a look full of resignation, and then Sam says “Thank you for your time.” to Mayor Todd and turns away.
Meira is about to go after him, but she hesitates, and turns back to the Mayor. He notices just before he can close the door and pauses as well, looking at her with raised eyebrows. “You may be in danger, Mayor. I would suggest staying inside tonight, and possibly staying home tomorrow, as well.” His eyebrows rise higher. Meira digs around in the breast pocket of her coat, and pulls out a business card. Once Dean had put the idea in her head, she couldn’t get it out until she’d made a test batch, just to see if they’d be useful. She’s not keen on them, just because it leaves her with no way to keep track of the people who have her number, but in this instance, they’ve come in handy. “And if you happen to see Dorian’s truck, call me.” She instructs.
Mayor Todd takes the card, and looks it over. It has her number on one side, and her name on the other, bracketed by little wing motifs. She couldn’t help herself, okay? Mayor Todd snorts at her and pockets the card. “Alright.” He says, in a tone that suggests he’s only humouring her. Meira isn’t surprised, so she just turns and joins Sam by the Impala.
“Business cards?” Sam asks as they climb into the car.
“Dean’s idea.” Meira defends, pulling a face. “I don’t like them.”
Sam snorts. “So, should we head to the Robinson’s?” He asks reluctantly.
“I think I’m gonna call Dean, first.” Meira announces.
“You know, if he’s… busy, he’s not going to pick up.” Sam warns her.
“Exactly.” Meira says, pointing at him as she lifts the phone to her ear.
It rings almost all the way to voicemail, before Dean finally picks up with a groggy “Ngh, what?” growled irritably into the phone.
“I’m sorry, sunshine, were you sleeping?” Meira asks chirpily. “It’s not even ten.”
“Shut up. What do you want?” Dean demands.
“Do you think you could tear yourself away from your bed partner long enough to ask her mom where her husband dumped Cyrus Dorian’s body?” Meira asks. “Else we’re going to have to come over and do it, and that’s just a waste of time.”
“Dorian? Like, people who owned the paper way back when Dorian?” Dean asks, and there’s a sound of rustling, and a sleepy mumble of a question from Cassie.
“Mmhm. Also Mrs Robinson’s racist ex-boyfriend Dorian.” Meira adds.
“Oh, hell.” Dean grumbles. “Can’t this wait until morning?”
Meira glances over at Sam, who looks back curiously, since he can’t hear Dean’s side of the conversation. “I guess so. Just… keep an eye out, okay? There’s every chance that Mrs Robinson is next on Cyrus’s list.”
“Yeah, okay.” Dean says, and then hangs up.
Cape Girardeau, Missouri – Tuesday 2 nd May 2006
Meira’s woken up at the ass crack of dawn when Dean bangs back into the motel room. “Dude.” Dean complains when he spots her head poking up out of the duvet. “I’m gone for one night and you’ve already rented out my room?”
Sitting up and scrubbing her system with grace to clear out the sleepy fog, Meira starts undoing her braid, since it’s been messed up by her tossing and turning during the night. “Well, since you found alternate accommodations, we figured there was no point paying for an extra room.” She explains, and then grins when she spots Cassie in the doorway, peering in around Dean. “Hey, Cassie.”
“Hey.” Cassie greets.
Dean tosses a pair of jeans at the lump under Sam’s duvet. “Rise and shine, Sammy, we’re going swimming.” He declares.
“It’s Sam.” Sam grouses blearily.
Meira’s hands still in the process of putting her hair up into a tail. “You’re joking.” She says, even though she really doesn’t hold out much hope.
“Nope.” Dean says while Sam hauls himself out of bed, gathers up his clothes, and slumps into the bathroom. “Cassie’s dad and his friends put Cyrus in his truck and pushed them both into the fricking swamp. Thankfully, we know pretty specifically where, cause the swamp butts up just onto the old Dorian property, So it’s just a matter of getting a chain attached.”
Meira groans, because out of the three of them, she’s the one most resistant to infection or toxins, so she’s pretty sure she’s going to be the one diving into the fricking swamp. But, putting it off isn’t going to make it any more pleasant, so she climbs out of bed and gets dressed. When she pulls her tank-top off without doing more than turning her back, Cassie makes a noise, and shuts the door with a snap. “Um…” She says warily, while Meira’s doing up her sports bra. “Are you two…?”
“No!” Dean says quickly.
“I am very gay .” Meira assures Cassie, turning back around once she’s decent. She’s amused to see that Dean has his hand over his eyes. She goes for her least favourite tank, the one that doesn’t have armholes quite big enough to leave her shoulder blades bare, so she always feels like she’s going to stretch it all out of shape if she has to manifest her wings. She won’t care if that one gets ruined by swamp muck. “Hey, Sam? Steal the towels while you’re in there.”
“She’s just freaking shameless.” Dean adds to Cassie in a pissy tone.
Meira turns and winks at Cassie. “Just thought you might like to see what you’re missing out on.” She says, playing along.
Cassie laughs, visibly relieved. “Thanks, but no thanks.” She says, just as Sam re-emerges from the bathroom and throws a wad of towels at Meira’s head. She catches them and stuffs them into her duffel alongside a change of clothes.
“Alright, let’s go.” Meira sighs, hauling her duffel up over her shoulder.
They head out into the parking lot, and Dean pauses beside Cassie’s car to look at her. “I’ll see you later, alright?”
Cassie raises her eyebrows at him. “I’m coming with you.” She tells him.
“Uh, no you’re not.” Dean retorts, and Cassie gives him a look.
“Don’t go getting all authoritative on me, Dean.” She snaps right back, and then smirks with a hardness behind it that’s a clear warning. “I hate it.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Best case scenario, it’s just going to be disgusting. Worst case? This could get dangerous, Cassie.” He warns her. “You should go home, keep an eye on your mom.”
Cassie hesitates, looking away, and then glaring back at Dean. “If you’re right, I’ll be in danger no matter where I am. If this guy is pissed that my mom married my dad, don’t you think he’s going to be pretty pissed off that I even exist?” She challenges.
“Yes, which is why you should-”
“Oh, let her come, Dean.” Meira calls over the roof of the Impala.
Dean points at her without looking. “You don’t get a say when you go around throwing the whole damned world into the line of fire.”
Meira gapes at him. “The whole damned world is already in the line of fire, or you’d be out of a job. Fuck’s sake, if she comes, at least we’ll be around to keep her safe, and maybe she might just learn how to keep herself safe in case it happens again! It’s how humanity crawled out of the stone age in the first place, Dean.” She says, yanking the Impala door open. “Education. Sharing knowledge.”
Cassie makes an agreeing noise as Meira climbs into the car in a huff. She feels a little like a sulking child, which… she kind of is, but she’s also right and she knows it. Outside, Cassie crosses her arms at Dean. “I’m coming, Dean.” She says. “I’ll just follow you anyway if you keep saying no.”
“Jeez, fine.” Dean growls, and storms towards the Impala.
He continues to fume all the way out to the old Dorian property. Which, as it turns out, has been torn down and is in the process of construction. “Three guesses what woke old Cyrus up.” Dean remarks as he climbs out of the Impala.
Cassie pulls up a minute later while they’re contemplating the edge of the swamp. “Coin toss to see who has to go in and find the thing?” Dean suggests.
“Oh, don’t bother.” Meira huffs, kicking off her boots and pulling her socks off to stuff them inside. “I’ll do it. Go get a tow chain.”
“Let’s hotwire one of those diggers. I don’t wanna hook my baby up to this thing if I don’t have to.” Dean says to Sam and they head off.
Meira strips out of her coat, and then, after a moment of hesitation, hands it to Cassie when she holds out an arm helpfully. “Thanks.”
Cassie just shakes her head to dismiss that. “So… why do we need to get the truck?” She asks.
“We need the body.” Meira corrects. Cassie pulls a disgusted face and gives Meira an ‘oh, god, why?’ sort of look. “If you’ve got a spirit that won’t move on of its own volition, you can force it out of this plane by salting and burning its anchor. Usually, that’s its body.”
“So… you’re going to dredge up a forty-three year old corpse, pour salt on it, and set it on fire?” Cassie checks. “And this is something you do… regularly?”
“Yup.” Dean confirms, walking past her to hand Meira one end of the tow chain. The other, he goes to attach to the back of the digger Sam is driving over. “Wishing you went home instead, yet?” He tosses over his shoulder at Cassie.
She shoots a glare at his back. “No.” She says stubbornly.
Meira ignores their sniping, and braces herself, before starting to wade into the swamp. If she could use her grace properly, she’d be able to make herself and her clothes entirely impervious, and just walk in and walk out of the swamp like it was nothing, but no. The closest she can get is to circulate her grace just beneath her skin, just where the binding starts to prickle in warning, which will at least keep any toxins that might be in the swamp out of her pores. Everything else, the slime and the muck and the silty water, she’s just going to have to endure. Gross.
“Hey, Meira? Your phone’s ringing!” Cassie calls after her when she’s chest-deep.
“Dean! Answer my phone!” Meira calls back, and then dives under. The water is cloudy with algae and silt, but it’s not too hard to find the rusted remains of Cyrus Dorian’s truck, it just takes a tedious amount of time. She has to come up for air once, and that’s with her grace increasing her lung capacity to the optimal. Once she finds it, she attaches the chain, and then swims back along it to the shore. “Got it.” She says breathlessly once she’s surfaced and slogged her way back to shore.
“Right.” Sam says, and then waves to Dean, who starts driving the digger away from the swamp. The tow chain pulls taut, and the digger’s forward momentum sharply decreases.
“Who was on the phone?” Meira asks, going to her duffel and shedding all her clothes except her underwear along the way.
“Mayor Todd.” Sam says grimly. Meira looks up from digging a towel out of her duffel at his tone. Sam meets her gaze solemnly. “He’s dead.”
“Shit.” Meira swears, towelling herself off aggressively. “Sorry I took so long.” She gets dressed in a change of clothes and puts her hair up in a bun so it won’t drip all down her back. Cassie hands her coat back once she’s dressed, looking a little red around the eyes, like she’s been crying, and Meira offers her a sympathetic smile.
They stand around and watch as Dean slowly drags the old truck out of the swamp. Once it’s fully out of the water, Dean turns the digger off and hops down and goes to open the truck door. An extra gush of swamp water splashes out and he jerks backwards to avoid it and the skeleton that half collapses out of the driver’s seat. “Oh my god!” Cassie says, and abruptly turns away, hand over her mouth.
“Yeah.” Dean agrees. “Hope we can get all the pieces and nothing swam off with any of him.”
“That’s disgusting.” Cassie accuses.
“Once remains have entered the circle of life, they cease to hold any metaphysical connection to the previous occupant.” Meira tells Dean. He gives her an incredulous look, and she shrugs and simplifies. “It doesn’t matter if something swam off with parts of him as long as it ate them.”
“Huh.” Dean says. “Come on, Sam.” Sam pulls a face, but together they haul out all the pieces of Cyrus Dorian and lay him out on a pyre they must have built while Meira was in the water.
Meira fetches the gasoline and salt, and after a moment, offers the gasoline to Cassie. “Wanna help torch this guy?” She offers.
For a moment, Cassie stares, and then her expression sets and her eyes turn flinty. “Absolutely.” She says firmly, and twists the cap off the can. Meira grins, and together, they douse the bones. Then Dean strikes a match and tosses it onto the pyre. Cyrus Dorian goes up in flames, and in the exact same moment light floods the area and there’s the growl of an engine that sounds distinctly angry.
Cassie lets out a small scream, more out of surprise than fright, Meira thinks, although there’s plenty of both in the sound. The truck wavers like it’s behind a heat haze, one moment intimidatingly solid, the next ominously translucent. “Wait, so burning the body had no effect on that thing?” Sam demands.
“Sure it did.” Dean says, flippant even with the tense note in his voice. “Now it’s really pissed.”
“But the ghost should be gone, right?” Cassie asks, voice gone high in alarm.
“Apparently not the part that’s fused to the truck.” Dean says, and then turns for the Impala. Sam calls after him, confused, and Dean replies with “Gonna go for a little ride, lead that thing away. That rusted piece of crap, you gotta burn it!”
Meira looks at the physical truck, and then at their very limited supply of salt and gasoline, and grimaces. Even if they could get it to go up, there’s not enough salt there to make it properly purifying. “How am I supposed to burn a truck, Dean?!” Sam demands.
“I’m coming with you.” Cassie declares, bolting for the passenger door and interrupting whatever answer Dean might’ve had for Sam.
“The hell you are!” Dean barks.
“Can you guarantee it’s going to go after you, and not me?” Cassie snaps right back, glaring at Dean over the roof of the Impala. Dean’s eyes go wide with dawning understanding. “This way, we make sure Sam and Meira get the time they need.” Cassie says firmly, and then gets in the car, slamming the door shut behind herself.
Dean glares at the sky for a moment, then throws himself into the driver’s seat and peels away, the spirit truck in pursuit. Sam looks to Meira a little desperately. “What the hell do we do?” He asks.
“We think very fast.” Meira tells him.
Sam gives her a look that suggests that was not very helpful, and then grabs up his dad’s journal. Meira looks at the truck, thinking. If Dorian’s ghost has latched onto it as an anchor, then burning it is the only sure way to get rid of him, but they don’t necessarily need to destroy it in the blaze. Just cleanse it. She figures it’s worth a try, and grabs what’s left of the gasoline and salt. She starts with the driver’s seat, which is where Dorian probably spent most of his time, and then splashes the last little dregs of gasoline in a wide spray across as much of the truck as she can reach.
“You’re really going to try burning water-logged metal?” Sam demands.
“Worth a shot.” Meira shoots back. “Unless you think Cyrus’ll be willing to move on if we ask him pretty please?” Sam pulls a face, and they each get back to their respective tasks. Meira spreads the salt around as liberally as she can, using up the entire rest of the canister, and then drops a match in the driver’s seat. Flames leap up and spread, but not far and only briefly. Anything flammable was degraded long ago by the water. Still, Meira hopes it might have been enough, so she whips out her phone and calls Dean. “Is it gone?” She asks.
“No!” Dean informs her, vehemently.
“Give the phone to Cassie!” Meira orders. “I don’t wanna distract you while you’re driving.” There’s a brief grumble, and then Cassie’s voice demanding to know what’s going on. “Burning the truck didn’t work. We’re looking for a different solution.” Meira informs her, crossing back over to Sam.
“What sort of different solution?” Cassie asks.
“Not sure yet.” Meira admits.
“I think I’ve got something.” Sam says abruptly. “But only if…” He trails off, and gets out his own phone. There’s a bleary and vague hello on the other end, and Meira abruptly remembers that it’s barely an hour past dawn. “Hey, Mrs Robinson, it’s Sam. Sorry about calling so early, but it’s important. That church that Cyrus burned down, where was it? It’s gotta be exact.”
“What…?” Mrs Robinson asks, confused.
“Please, it’s urgent. Cassie’s life might depend on it.” Sam tells her, and Mrs Robinson sucks in a sharp breath, before telling Sam to wait a moment in a voice that shakes ever so slightly.
“The church?” Meira asks, bewildered. “Why the church?”
“Evil spirits can’t pass over hallowed ground.” Sam tells her with a fatalistic shrug.
Meira stares at him, aghast. “Hallowed ground?” She demands. “It’s not a demon, Sam!”
“Have you got any better ideas?!” Sam yells back.
Meira opens her mouth to explain why exactly a vengeful spirit is different from a demon, and why hallowed ground only works on the latter, and only works on them occasionally because humans are actually very bad at identifying and maintaining consecrated spaces, but then she stops. “It’s not a demon.” She repeats slowly. “But maybe it’s not a vengeful spirit, either.”
“What?” Sam and Cassie both ask in the same moment. Sam, however, is distracted in that moment by Mrs Robinson getting back to him and starting to rattle off an impressively comprehensive list of distances and directions.
“Cassie, can you see into the truck?” Meira asks.
“I don’t know. No, the headlights are too bright.”
“I need to know if there’s a driver. Can you see Cyrus in the driver’s seat?”
“Dean, can we turn around?” Cassie asks, and Meira hears Dean shout a very alarmed ‘what’ in response. “We need to drive past the side of the truck, see if there’s anyone inside it.”
“God damn it, why?!” Dean demands, but before Cassie can attempt to relay the question, or Meira can answer it anyway, there’s a sudden screech of tyres and Cassie yelps. “There, you happy?!”
“Ecstatic!” Cassie yells back. “No, there’s no driver, Meira!”
“Then it’s a klabautermann, not a vengeful spirit.” Meira says, and laughs with relief.
“That’s a good thing?” Cassie demands.
Meira doesn’t bother to answer, just hands the phone to Sam. “Hallowed ground, let’s try it.” She says, because now is not the time for explanations. Sam frowns at her, but obliges, and starts giving directions. Meira’s sure it’s all very dramatic for Dean and Cassie, but for her, she just leans back against a tree and breathes in the dew-soaked dawn air, still tainted by the scent of smoke and burning bones, but she doesn’t care.
After several minutes, Sam comes over to join her and give her back her phone. “The truck’s gone, Dean and Cassie are on their way to pick us up, and I let Mrs Robinson know everything’s over and Cassie’s safe.” He reports, and Meira nods. “So, if hallowed ground only works on demons, why did it work on the truck?” He asks.
“Klabautermanns are a subset of poltergeist.” Meira reminds him, and Sam nods. “Except, where most poltergeists are formed from concentrations of negative energy, klabautermanns are concentrations of positive energy.” Sam frowns at that, and Meira smiles faintly. “They’re a manifestation of love, Sam. Of affection given whole-heartedly without any expectation of return. If you love a thing enough, sometimes, if you’re lucky, it learns to love you back.”
“No, I get that.” Sam says, but he’s still frowning. “But if the truck was a manifestation of positive energy, then why would hallowed ground work?”
Meira snorts. “Because it wasn’t hallowed.” She says, and gives him a chiding look. “Cyrus desecrated it when he burned children alive there, Sam.”
Sam winces. “Right.” He agrees with a grimace. “So…?”
“Klabautermanns are poltergeists, so… how do you destroy a poltergeist?” Meira prompts.
Sam furrows his brow. “A purification ritual.” He remembers.
“Or…?”
For a moment, Sam looks like he’s about to say he doesn’t know, but then he pauses, considering. Meira waits, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Didn’t… didn’t you say something about cancelling out their energy with the exact metaphysical opposite?” He recalls.
“Bingo! Give the man prize!” Meira chirps cheerfully. “That truck was manifested from Cyrus’s unconditional love. The church ground was tainted by Cyrus’s jealous hatred. The two cancelled each other out as they encountered each other.”
Sam stares at her for a long moment, then slumps against the tree beside her. “It has to be that specific?” He asks, belatedly alarmed.
“Pretty much.” Meira confirms wryly. “I mean, there is some leeway, and if you can generate enough of a near opposite, you can still destroy a poltergeist by just sort of overwhelming it, but obviously that gets harder the less specific you are.”
Sam nods and stares out at nothing. Then, abruptly, he says “I’m surprised Cyrus could love anything that much. It seems like his whole life was defined by hatred.”
“All human souls are capable of the greatest evil, and the greatest good.” Meira tells him, tired and sorrowful. “Mostly, we diddle about somewhere in the middle.” Sam snorts. “But that capacity is there inside all of us. It’s God’s greatest gift to mankind; the gift of choice.”
“You’ve said that before.” Sam recognises. “You really believe that?”
“One hundred percent.” Meira confirms. “It’s the most precious thing any of us have ever or will ever possess, and the most powerful weapon at our disposal.” Sam doesn’t say anything to that, just stands with her in silence until the Impala appears in the distance.
“I think I like the sound of that.” Sam says finally.
Meira smiles at him. “My uncle taught me that.” She says, knowing he won’t get the humour, but not caring. “I mean, my dads helped. Team Free Will. But my uncle’s the one who taught me exactly what it meant, how powerful our choices really are.”
“Yeah?” Sam asks curiously. “You don’t talk about him as much.”
Meira chuckles a little self-consciously. “Yeah, I’m a bit of a daddy’s girl.” She admits ruefully as the Impala pulls up.
“Hard not to be, with three dads.” Sam points out with a grin, and Meira snickers in agreement as they head over to the Impala. They get there just as Cassie gets out. “Hey, Cassie, you okay?” Sam checks.
Cassie takes a deep breath. “Well, I don’t think this ghost hunting thing is for me, but yeah.” She says bracingly. “Dean said you guys are probably going to take off today.” She goes on, tucking her hands into her pockets. “We already said goodbye, so I just wanted to say thanks to you guys, too.”
“No problem.” Meira assures her, and Sam nods along. “Hey, you should give me your number, cause these two chuckleheads are crap at staying in touch with people.” She adds, which earns an indignant exclamation from Sam. “It’s true, don’t deny it.” Meira says to him. “And, by the way, Missouri wants to know why you haven’t called her yet. Also, call Becky. You promised not to drop off the map again.”
Sam hunches down, suitably chastised, looking one harsh word away from scuffing his foot like a naughty school boy. Cassie throws back her head and laughs brightly. Sam relaxes a little, but he still looks rueful as he offers Cassie a quiet goodbye, and goes to get in the car before Meira can rake him over the coals some more. “Alright.” Cassie says to Meira, pulling out her phone. They exchange numbers, and Cassie glances over her shoulder at the car before saying, far more subdued. “But don’t push too hard, okay?” She looks back at Meira with a knowing look in her eye. “Dean’s not going to settle down, and I don’t want to chain him to me.”
Meira tips her head and considers that, considers what she should say to that, because she’s proof that Cassie is wrong in the letter of her statement, but the spirit of it is still true. “He probably will one day.” She says finally, and then offers her own knowing little smile. “But it’s not your responsibility to wait for that day to arrive.”
Cassie grins wryly. “Exactly.”
Meira holds her arms out, offering a hug, and Cassie takes it, squeezing tightly before she lets go. “You would have made one kick-ass hunter, you know that?” Meira tells her.
“Mm, I would have.” Cassie agrees without an ounce of humility. “But I’m going to make an even more kick-ass journalist.”
Meira nods acceptingly, and Cassie grins again. “Just give us a call if you spot anything inexplicable in your investigations.” She instructs, and Cassie nods like that’s obvious, and then they each head for their separate cars. Meira slings herself into the back seat, and Dean drives them back to the motel to finish packing up their stuff, let Meira shower off the last of the swamp muck, and then they hit the road.
“So, hey, Sam. What do you want to do for your birthday?” Dean asks as they leave Cape Girardeau in the rear view mirror.
Sam huffs and leans back in the passenger seat. “Go to Disneyland.” He says jokingly.
“We’re only a couple days driving away from Florida, one if we push hard.” Meira says, taking him seriously just for the hell of it. “Could maybe even get there while it’s still your birthday, watch some fireworks, and then hit the theme park tomorrow.”
Sam sits up to stare at her. “I was joking.” He says flatly.
Meira shrugs. “Could be fun, but okay. It’s your birthday.”
Sam laughs, shaking his head and flopping back down again. “I don’t even know. There isn’t really anything in particular I want to do.”
That kind of breaks Meira’s heart a little. “Okay, then, I vote Disneyland just for the hell of it. Come on, it’ll be fun. Haven’t you ever wanted to arm-wrestle Gaston?” Dean bursts out laughing, and the next turn that comes up, he heads South.
“Dean, you’re not serious.” Sam protests, but he’s nearly laughing, too.
“If you don’t want to, you’ll have to come up with a better idea.” Dean retorts.
“We’re going to get arrested. Or did you forget we’ve been impersonating government agents? And Meira’s supposed to be dead.” Sam points out despairingly.
Meira blows a raspberry to show what she thinks of that. “I am dead, according to what happened back then, so no one’s even looking for me anymore, and you two just need a couple baseball caps and sunglasses or something.”
Sam throws his hands up. “Fine! Disneyland it is.”