Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Digging graves always sucked, naturally. It’s hard to plow through a good six feet of rocks and dirt and bones and whatever other crap might be waiting below the surface (one time, in some backwoods in Ohio they’d hit a bathtub around three feet down. Never got an explanation for that one). But, of course, the muggy pits of July made things much worse.

Sam had shed his top layer in the car, and was now down to a single shirt. He probably would’ve taken that off too, had it not been glued onto his back from sweat. Dean, who’d made a dig at Sam earlier that night for not being able to “take the heat like a man” still wore his flannel over his shirt, though it was beginning to soak through.

Laborious elements aside, what really made grave digging so tedious was the inability to fill it with anything else. It wasn’t like they could play music or anything, when they were in graveyards they had to keep a low profile, and all the other smart places to go hiding a corpse don’t get radio reception. And talking? With the amount of dust and dirt they kicked up, not to mention the work itself, it was more like trying to reason with a bully as they threw sand in your face. Gritty, painful, and overall, not worth it. So the brothers dug side by side with only light from a half-dead camping lantern and the singing of insects to keep them company.

Sam hit a rock with the tip of his shovel to knock it loose from the wall, then scooped it up and heaved it over the side of the grave. It was still only about knee height, meaning they’d have to put in another two hours minimum if they wanted to get the man hidden.

He’d been working with a witch to dodge death as he cheated his way through some shady business dealings. Actually, he’d been fairly easy to subdue- probably why he needed the witch in the first place- but once Dean had yanked the hexbag from where it hung around his stick-figure neck he’d begun to convulse and when he stopped, well, he wasn’t going to start convulsing again. That, however, was a problem for tomorrow.

Sam knocked a few rocks loose this time, letting them pile around his feet then launching them all over his shoulder at once. With the sound of metal clacking against rock gone, he realized Dean had stopped digging and was leaning against the handle of his shovel cautiously looking out into the woods. Sam moved in next to him and tried to figure out where he was looking.

“What are y-“ he asked. Dean shushed him before he could finish, then signaled for him to listen and pointed just past a thick bramble, to a gap between two trees. It would’ve been impossible to spot without years of hunting experience, out about 100 yards away were little moving. They weren’t even shadows, it was simply just movement in the dark. “Dude-“

Dean shushed him again, and shot him a dirty look before pointing more forcefully in the direction of the movement and focusing back in place. He gestured once again for Sam to listen. For a few moments they stood in silence, barely breathing. It was faint, but Sam began to make out what was unmistakably English. a dull beam of light swung around towards them then went back to facing the other direction, effectively re-blacking out the figures. Sam reached back, not taking his eyes off the movement, and now occasional glimpses of light, and snapped off the lantern.

It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dark. Once they could see each other again, Dean tilted his head to the left, pointed a few times with two fingers in two directions then held one finger against his mouth. Sam nodded and they both began creeping in opposite directions with the intention of surrounding who or what was having a chat out in the woods at night.

Sam moved as if he were gliding above the forest floor. He could vaguely make out Dean doing the same, though he now could see Dean about as well as he’d been able to see the... three? He hovered further. Definitely three people (or, by his guess witches), earlier. Now that he was getting closer, though, he began to take note of a few things.

There were three short witches(?) standing fanned out around something slumped on the forest floor, their dying halogen flashlight held limp in one of their hands, flickering sadly. The witch farthest from flashlight-witch and closest to Sam held a shovel, though didn’t make any moves to use it. None of them moved, they all just stood there and stared at whatever was at their feet.

He signaled to Dean that he was going to go in from the front. He was pretty sure he saw the shadows nod to him, so he took that as an okay. Like a mouse on cotton, he positioned himself just far enough into the forest that they couldn’t quite see, Dean doing the same but behind them.

“I- What do we do?” the one holding the flashlight muttered. His nose was awfully clogged, it sounded like he’d been crying.

“I don’t know, Tuck.” The one holding the shovel answered. She also sounded upset, but more like she was doing everything she could to push back tears, a tone that Sam knew very well. “Danny, are you sure you wanna do this?”

The one in the middle, Danny, shook his head. Each of his arms reached across his middle, like he was trying to hug himself, or maybe more like he was trying to make himself look small, trying to hide. “I-“ his voice cracked and he let out a few sobs. The leaves and sticks made a simultaneous crack as he fell down onto his knees, folding over himself and shaking with pure, cutting sorrow.

Flashlight, or Tuck apparently, and Shovel got down beside him, hugging him from either side. They held one another and sobbed, one of them, Shovel, creaking out some pained “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”’s between wordless wails. From the looks of them, they couldn’t be more than 12 years old. Or maybe they could, Sam wasn’t a pediatrician. They were undoubtedly much too young to be in the middle of nowhere, all alone in a fragile mental state doing who-knows-what.

Sam looked to Dean then gestured with his head to let him know he was going to talk to the kids. Dean shook his head and violently gestured with his gun at the kids. Wait. Not /at/ the kids, beyond them. He’d neglected studying the white-wrapped body in front of them. That explained the tears. He couldn’t help but feel for them, even though for all he knew they’d just murdered someone in cold blood. He looked back to Dean and nodded, then signaled again.

Keeping his gun at the ready, but tucking it behind his back he slowly and deliberately stepped out of the trees, intentionally making noise so they’d see him coming. Tuck looked up with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose. Danny and Shovel tensed but didn’t further acknowledge him.

“Um, hey,” he said, trying his best for nonthreatening and landing at the border of creepy and awkward. “Are you guys good?”

Tuck’s eyes flooded with tears, but he got up on shaky legs, trying to pull Danny and Shovel up with him. They weakly joined him, leaning against one another for support. Despite the warm night, all three were trembling.

“I’m, uh, I’m not here to hurt you,” Sam started, not really sure where he was going with this, “I’m Sam Winchester, what are your names?”

Tuck gave him the same watery stare he’d had the whole time, like Sam was the saddest thing he’d ever seen. Shovel looked up next, she was more angry. Maybe her smeared and ruined makeup should’ve made her look silly, but all it did was add to the aggression she exuded. He could see her squeezing both her friend’s shoulders and tugging them very slightly to the left, wordlessly signaling- or at least trying to- an escape plan. Sam pretended not to notice.

“I just wanna know what happened here,” he inched his way towards the corpse. As he got closer he could smell burnt hair and flesh, another thing he was all too familiar with. He didn’t break eye contact as he squatted down and gently pulled the sheet back from a tuft of what he assumed was hair.

He bit the inside of his cheek upon seeing the boy. Fried was the only word that could describe him. His mouth hung open, as did his eyes- or at least, what was left of them. Ooze had dribbled from every orifice and re-solidified in horrible mauve blobs. His hair was barely more than a charred mess, his skin was peeling and bubbled in places, and so discolored Sam could barely make out the dusting of freckles across his nose. This was a death in agony if he’d ever seen one.

He folded the cloth back over the boy’s head and straightened up, pulling the gun from where it had waited behind his back.

“Alright,” he said firmly, “I’m gonna need some answers.”

Danny looked up, letting Sam properly see his face for the first time. His red-rimmed eyes widened at the sight of the gun, lips tightening into a thin line. It was a look of fear and resignation. He ran the back of his hand across his nose. Sam noticed a dusting of freckles on it. He looked to the sheet and then back to Danny, then checked once more.

“What the hell is going on here.” Sympathy gone, Sam allowed himself to posture intimidatingly. Whatever freaks these- these- these... freaks! were, they weren’t about to get away with cooking some kid alive. “Talk.”

The “or I’ll shoot” was silent, but understood. Danny cleared his throat, one hand rubbed nervously on the back of his neck.

“It- I-“ he stuttered, then in a barely audible trembling voice he said, “I, uh, I think I’m dead.”  

Chapter Text

Sam blinked. “What do you mean ‘you’re dead’?”

Dean began silently edging his way out of the bushes, on the left of and slightly behind the pre-teens. The girl raised her shovel and stepped cautiously in front of Danny. 

“He’s not dead.” 

Danny made a noise between a sniffle and a protest but Shovel girl cut him off, “You are not dead, Danny!” 

Her voice was hoarse but strong, another couple tears ran down her cheeks but she didn’t back down. Sam gave a quick look confirming his new plan to Dean. Neither of them could shoot, not with two (assumedly) human children so close by, so Sam slowly bent over and laid his gun right on top of the still slightly warm corpse. He took one careful step over the body, keeping his palms visible. 

“Okay, why don’t you tell me what happened then…?” He crouched a bit so he could more properly look her in the eye. She clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on her shovel. “I just wanna talk.”

He took another cautious step forward. She raised her weapon and braced herself to swing. “Leave us alone- We- I- Please. Please go away.” The tone in her voice was more vulnerable than anything she’d said to Sam before, more akin to how she sounded when apologizing to Danny, but it wasn’t quite a plea. 

Sam stood his ground. “My name is Sam Winchester, I can help you, I just need you to tell me what happened.” 

“Nothing happened!” 

Sam sighed. “I saw the body. I know what he is,” Sam lied. Ghoul? Ghost? Shapeshifter? None of them seemed quite right, but Danny was supernatural, and if there was anything Sam knew, it was the supernatural. “And I know how to help him.” 

That lie was even crueler. The minute Tuck and Shovel girl stepped away from their friend Dean was ready and waiting to shoot. Sam hoped that whatever Danny had become was vulnerable to bullets. If they needed, maybe he could stall long enough for Dean to creep back to the car and get some salt rounds. 

The girl took a half step backwards, forcing her friends to stumble back as well. “We don’t need any help.”

One of the others cleared his throat, “Sam, maybe we should hear him out.”

“Tucker-'' The girl, Sam? That’s probably gonna get confusing. Looked over her shoulder to tell her friend off. She ended up making direct eye contact with Dean, who was a mere few feet behind them, gun pointed at the ground. She looked back and forth between the brothers once, then she swung. The flat side of the shovel landed on the back of his knee, collapsing him forward. The shovel clamored onto the ground beside him. 

The girl Sam screamed, “Run!” And took off past Sam-Sam further into the forest, dragging one of her friends by the wrist, who tugged the last one along behind them all. Dean rushed forward and tried to pull Sam to his feet. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, just go!” Sam shouted, trying to right himself without putting any pressure on his hurt leg. 

“They’re headed for the bridge, bring the car around and cut them off, I’ll follow on foot,” Dean said, not waiting for an answer before chasing after the fleeing teenagers. Sam took a deep breath in as he began running in the opposite direction. With every stride, his wound throbbed, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been.  By going for the back of the knee, the girl Sam had probably saved him a broken kneecap. 

He took the time to gather the lantern and the shovels when he passed the half-dug grave. He threw them into the footwell in the backseat of the Impala. The keys were still in the ignition, as they always were when a quick getaway might be needed, so he turned the key and reversed full speed into the neglected field and onto the overgrown trail, this time going in the opposite way that they had come. 

As lovely as the impala was, she wasn’t built for offroading. The road he was flooring it on was barely more than two tire tracks worn into the ground, divots in which the weeds grew less dense. Tall grasses slapped the windshield and wiped against the sides of the car as he rattled along. A few times larger rocks scraped against the undercarriage. Sam chose to ignore this. The road met a more usable path a few fields over. The car practically thanked him as she turned onto it, speeding up even while climbing uphill. 

The bridge was nothing special, a few dozen yards long and illuminated with a single solar-powered streetlight, which was more than the rest of that stretch of road had. Sam parked the car just short of the sun-bleached asphalt, then in a flash was at the trunk. He shoved a few different anti-evil measures into his duffle bag, a silver knife, a vial of holy water, and a bottle of spray paint for drawing sigils if needed. In his hand he carried a shotgun loaded with salt rounds. A second one loaded with silver bullets was in the bag for Dean. He skidded down the steep hill into the dried-out creek bed. 

Hiding in the shadow under the bridge he waited. Crickets filled the air with their songs before being cut off by someone clamoring through the brush. Sam cocked his rifle and carefully stepped behind a tree. 

“Stop!” Dean crashed out of the foliage, breathing heavily. “...Sammy?”

“Dean?” Sam lowered his gun, “What happened?”

“I don’t know, they were right in front of me, I don’t know how they got away. You didn’t see anything?”

“Not until you showed up, no.” Sam frowned. 

“Damn. How’s that leg?” Dean asked. 

“Only bruised, I don’t think she was really wanting to hurt me.”

“We should get some ice on it anyway.” Dean took the bag from Sam and dug through it 

They spent another half hour checking the woods around in a circular formation, every time they thought they saw signs of a trail it tampered out within a few feet. Finally, they decided to slog back to the car. 

“Wait, come look at this,” Dean stood a few feet from the Impala. He crouched down to examine the road farther. “Footprints.”

Sure enough, there were three distinct sets of muddy sneaker tracks on the road, leading toward the bridge before fading away.  “How the hell did they get past us?”

“Get past you.” Dean went back and started the car. 

Sam followed “What?”

“I mean, I’m just saying,” The car cruised over the bridge and onto the winding road leading back into town. Dean turned on the high beams to account for the pitifully low amount of street lights. “I was right behind ‘em, you’re the one who dropped the ball here, Sam.”

“If you were right behind them then how did they run off?” He glared. 

“It’s okay to admit you messed up, Sammy. I forgive you.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s okay to admit you’re not very funny, Dean. I forgive you.”

Dean continued to push the bit as they rolled into Amity Park and slowly patrolled the streets. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, even the giant towering Weasley-like house had shut off its neon signs for the night. Actually, it looked like everyone shut off their lights for the night. 

“Why is it so dark?” Sam wondered aloud. 

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it…” Dean ducked so he could see farther up through the windshield as if the stars might have something to do with it. “What do you think? Witches?”

“Probably,” Sam sighed, “where was that guy’s house? Maybe we missed something there.”

Dean pivoted and drove back to the man’s house. It was a large well kept place, taller than it was wide with a large bay window on one side. From the outside, it looked pretty nice. Sam led the way around to the back door. Earlier he’d removed the deadbolt, so picking the lock was an easy task. They crept inside. 

Dirt and dust tracked onto the kitchen tile, each footstep echoed in the large, clean kitchen. No lights were on in here either. They slowly searched the house, room by room. Nothing had changed from when they’d attacked there a few hours earlier. A few large leather chairs had left skid marks on the hardwood floor from being pushed aside in the businessman's efforts to escape. Sam and Dean always try their best to clean a crime scene, but they drew the line at complete renovation. 

They ended up in his office, Sam scanning the bookshelf with a small pocket light and Dean turning back and forth slightly in the rolly chair while rifling through the man’s desk.  Sam yawned. “I don’t think there’s anything here. Maybe it was just a regular power outage?”

“I’ve got a weird feeling, man, something’s up. Let me…” Dean shined his own light into one of the deeper cabinets, with his other hand he pulled out a switchblade and started scraping around the edges of the bottom. “Bingo.”

Sam leaned over the desk to see what he’d found. There was a false bottom on the drawer containing a roll of cash, a cigar box that Dean was now digging through, a cell phone, a handgun, and a tin of Altoids. 

“Yikes,” Dean held up a skull, “dude, I think this guy was literally killing puppies.” 

“Could be worse, what if he had human bones in there,” Sam walked around the desk and leaned over Dean’s shoulder. The box wasn’t jam-packed but it held a variety of little magical witchy things, sage, seashells, various herbs, a human finger, basic witch stuff. What stood out, though, was a shiny black business card just barely visible under a pinkie-sized bundle of dried herbs. Sam pulled it out and wiped it on his shirt a few times to get the debris off. He couldn’t read it with his flashlight straight on it, the light simply made a white circle in the middle of the card where the light hit it, so he had to set the card on the table and use his fingers to mute the light. On it was the name, number, and address of one Lightshadow Crystals and Oddities. 

“Looks like we know where to go next,” Sam held the card up for his brother to see. Dean was inspecting the Altoids. “I wouldn’t eat those if I were you. They’re probably cursed.”

“I wasn’t gonna eat ‘em,” Dean lied, snapping the tin shut and placing it back into the secret compartment. Working together it took them no time at all to reassemble the drawer, though now the false bottom only contained the probably-cursed mints. Outside in the small but well-maintained backyard, they burned the cigar box along with its contents. Conveniently, there was a small fountain gurgling near the house, which they used to put out the fire. Remember kids, only you can prevent forest fires. 

Long rows of eclectic little stores lined up and down Amity’s small downtown area. All with blinds drawn, some with security gates rolled across the windows. The only light on the street was their headlights, casting spindly shadows everywhere. Dean pulled up the curb on the opposite side of the street and parked the car in front of a dollar store. Lightshadow Crystals and Oddities had a charming little wooden sign, carved to look overgrown with vines and flowers. Just like the rest of the street, the inside of the shop was pitch black. Two cars were parked in front of it. Shelves and decorations of some sort blotted out the display. Sam could faintly smell incense when he approached the shop for a better look into the store. 

There was a little rectangle of light in the very back, a door that had been left open. It flickered and moved across the wall like a flame. The light got closer. A woman pushed the door all the way open with her hip and held it open, talking to someone behind her. In one hand she held an old brass candle holder, her other hand was held in front of the flame to keep it from extinguishing. She held a stack of papers under one arm. In the flickering candlelight, he could see wisps of her hair floating around her face like a halo. 

When she started walking again, this time with another person behind her, Sam ducked from the window, as did Dean. The door jingled as it opened, Sam and Dean scuttled into the alleyway next to the storefront. 

“I swear, Janey, if we have to get that damn air conditioner fixed again, I’m going to lose it.” The woman with the candle said, propping this door open too. 

Janey chuckled, “I’m sure it’ll start right back up when the power comes on. Actually, speaking of the power, if it’s not up and running by tomorrow, bring Tyler down here. I’m sure if you ask he’ll fix it for us.”

“Shut up,” She bumped her friend with her hip, letting the door swing closed behind them. Janey locked the door, then spoke some polish. A rattling sound not unlike a zipper came from the store. 

“Good night, see you in the morning,” Janey unlocked their car with a click. Leisurely they started down the road. For a second their car slowed as their headlights found the Impala. 

“‘Night,” The woman said, setting her candle on the hood of her car to unlock it, then driving off in the opposite direction without noticing anything. 

Sam looked at his brother. “Call me crazy, but I don’t think the witches caused this power outage.”

“Maybe not,” Dean frowned. “We should still take a look inside though, see if they know anything about who did.”

“You’ve got your lockpick on you?” 

“Always,” Dean kneeled down to inspect the keyhole. It was so dark he was just feeling around blindly. He dug in his pocket for a second. Then checked the left one. “Give me yours.”

Sam handed Dean the little bundle of wires. From his pocket, he pulled a little keychain flashlight and aimed it at the keyhole. It took a moment, but the door eventually jingled open. 

“Thanks.” Dean pocketed the lockpick. Sam shined the flashlight up and down the door. A metal security gate was closed over the entire storefront. “Wanna go get the bolt cutters?”

“Naw, I don’t think we should put them on alert yet. Let’s try a crowbar first.” 

They attempted to wedge the gate open but it wouldn’t budge. Every time they tried to hook the crowbar onto a ledge it slipped off like the metal was covered in slime. When they tried to pry it open with their hands it wouldn’t even rattle. It was like the bars were set into the ground itself. They both held onto the gate with two hands and leaned with their entire weight to the side. Sam’s fingers began to slip and he toppled onto the concrete. His knee throbbed. Dean’s shoes scraped on the sidewalk as he righted himself. 

“I guess we’ll have to come back tomorrow,” Dean grumbled as he pulled Sam up. “You need help getting back to the car?”

Sam shook his head, “I’m fine.” 

He hobbled across the street and leaned against the passengers side of the impala as Dean relocked the door. 

“I bet this is the electric company’s fault.” Sam as they rolled down the street back towards the motel. “Maybe the mayor forgot to pay the electricity bill.”

Dean snorted, “Maybe. I feel like something’s off here, though. Call me paranoid, but the lights don’t just go out for no reason.”

They pulled back into the motel parking lot. The neon Vacancy sign that had been flashing when they checked in was dark, as were all the lights in the building. Dean took most of the stuff in, letting Sam sit down on his bed and pull off his jeans to inspect the bruises blossoming from his leg. There was a little swelling. His skin was mostly red, purple had started to form in the center of the wound. “Think you could go get some ice?”

Dean shrugged, “I’ll see if the machine’s still working. We might have to go with a wet washcloth instead.”

“That’s not a bad idea either. I think my sweat’s starting to solidify.” 

“Me too. Don’t use all the hot water.”

“Maybe I will.”

The door clicked shut. Sam limped into the bathroom and took a very brief, and very cold shower. No power meant no water heater. In a way, the cold was a relief, considering how stupid hot it was outside, and how stuffy it was inside now that the a/c was down. In a bigger way, it was freezing and it sucked, which helped hurry him along. The heat was already beginning to creep back in as he dried off. 

Chapter Text

It was lightly sprinkling in the morning, the kind of muggy that was sure to burn off by noon. The power was still out pretty much everywhere, they patrolled a few different streets just to check for anything out of the ordinary. After a quick breakfast of shitty coffee and plastic-wrapped snacks, Sam and Dean donned their official-looking but nondescript blue caps and headed over to Authentic Crystals and Oddities. With a toolbox full of guns and holy water they strutted inside. Inside it was pleasantly warm and smelled very strongly of Jasmine. A girl with two long braids drooping down her shoulders sat at the counter, both hands curled around a cardboard to-go cup staring into space. 

“Good morning, welcome to Authentic Crystals and Oddities. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.” She said practicedly, speaking a mindless script for the millionth time. Instead of returning her attention to her beverage as she’d obviously been intending to, she did a double take. “Oh. Are you here for something?”

“Amity A/C repair, I’m Jim, this is Sean. Can you get your manager? We just need to take a quick look at your unit, shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.” Dean responded in his own highly polished professional voice. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” She got up from her stool and opened the employee’s only door. “Hey, Candi, some guys are here to see you!” She yelled. Calmly she walked back to her stool and sat back town, picking up her cup and taking a long sip. “She should be here in a minute.”

“...Thanks?” Sam had to hold back a laugh. The girl grunted and shrugged in response. 

“I swear to the gods, how many times have I told you not to shout in front of the customers?” The woman from last night, Candi, swished out of the door. Her hair was slicked back into a tight bun with only slight fraying along the edges this time. 

“They’re not customers, they’re here to fix the air conditioning.” She said dryly. 

“We just got our air conditioning fixed. I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong store.” Candi leaned on the counter with one hand, resting the other on her hip. Despite the early hour, she looked physically tired. 

“No, this is Authentic Crystals and Oddities, right? Tyler wanted us to make sure everything’s still working after the shock last night.” Dean said. 

Candi perked up. “Tyler sent you?”

“Yup.” 

“He also wanted us to tell you he said ‘hi’ and that he's sorry he couldn't show up himself,” Sam added. “Would you mind showing us around real quick so we can get started?”

“Of course,” Candi nodded her head to the side to invite them behind the counter. The girl in the chair leaned forward so they could get past but otherwise didn’t acknowledge them. Sam didn’t miss the scowl Candi sent her way. She propped the door open, leading the way into the back room. 

It was strangely quiet, the lack of the constant hum of machinery in the background really allowing each step to carry through the walls of the room. Shelves lined the room. Extra crystals, herbs upon herbs hanging to dry, boxes of unused incense sticks, and stacks of burners. There were enough evil eyes in there to protect all of Texas. It also had plenty of normal things. A calendar documenting who was working when pinned on a corkboard with a few flyers and notes, a shabby old velvet couch, and a nice Keurig with a stack of empty cups on the floor next to it. 

“Sorry for the mess, Monique was supposed to take out the trash when she came in this morning.” Sam ignored the blatant resentment in her voice. 

“Don’t sweat it, ma’am. Trust me, we’ve seen worse.” Dean grinned. Sam nodded in agreement, though that was lost to Candi who had her back turned to them. 

“I’m sure you have! Why just last week Tyler was telling me about a job he went to at some funhouse, you know Fenton Works, a few blocks from here?” She looked back to confirm. 

Dean nodded, “Yeah, we’ve driven past it a few times, but we’re pretty new in town, haven’t heard much about it.”

“Ah, I figured.” Candi nodded. “You don’t talk like you’re from here.”

“Guess not,” he agreed. Candi seemed slightly put off that he hadn’t added any new information but she waved them forward anyway. 

“What was weird about the job?” Sam steered the conversation back on track.

“Oh, they’ve got some sort of garage or lab or dungeon or something in their basement. He had to go down there to check the fuses and you didn’t hear this from me but it looked like they had some serious military-grade weapons.” She stopped in front of the back door. “The big box is just outside, but I think the main vent is over in the utility closet if that’s where you need to be?” 

“Actually, if we could borrow a spare set of keys so we can come and go? I’m sure you have work to do, and we don’t want to interrupt too much.” Sam said. 

“Oh, it’s really no trouble at all. I technically have the morning off, just thought it would be a good idea to be nearby in case Monique needed help.” Candi waved him off. Sam and Dean exchanged a look. 

At this point, Sam couldn’t tell if she was just genuinely trying to be polite or if she was onto them, or was hiding something and didn’t want to leave them alone. One look at Dean told him that he was suspecting the latter. Still, that wasn’t good enough to break cover. They’d just have to observe what they could from where they were led. Candi unlocked the back door and propped it open with a brick. 

“Watch out for needles, Monique dropped a box of pins back here last week.” She warned. 

“Classic Monique,” Dean joked, successfully. Candi gave a polite laugh and nodded. 

“She seems like quite a handful,” Sam added. He set the toolbox on the ground and gave the unit a hard smack on the side. 

“More than a handful,” She shook her head, leaning against the doorframe. “Laney- they’re my co-owner- insists on keeping her on the payroll. I want to insist on not babysitting at work.”

“Why did you hire her then?”

“She’s Lainey’s little cousin. You know how family is…”

The brothers looked at one another. 

“Yup, we sure do,” Dean said.

 Nobody talked for a moment. Sam pretended to tinker with the machine, Dean pretended to help. Candi cleared her throat. Sam hit the side of the machine again discreetly, then pulled on a pair of gloves and began to inspect the vents. They sure looked like vents. Candi began tapping her foot. Sam loosened and tightened a few washers. 

“I think we’re done here,” Dean said, giving the top of the machine a pat. Sam got to his feet and nodded down at it. 

“Yup, looks like you’re all good here. Could you show us the inside vent?” 

“Of course,” She pushed the door open further and held her arms out for them to enter. Once they were back inside she kicked the brick holding the door open and watched as the door swung closed, then checked the handle. “Making sure it’s locked, this door is tricky sometimes.”

“We have the same problem on one of our trucks.” Dean nodded sympathetically. 

Candi took them back through the room and behind a shelf. Crowded against the shelf and wall was the utility door. The door didn’t open more than a third of the way far, hitting the shelf. Sam was momentarily concerned that its arc would knock the shelf over, as saturated as it was with products. One at a time they squeezed into the closet. Luckily, it was much larger than your average broom closet. Unfortunately, with the water heater, furnace, and indoor a/c access all jammed in there wasn’t much space for the three fully-grown adults trying to share that space. Sam could practically hear Dean making a tall joke. 

Sam got his pocket flashlight out and began shining it around just to do a once-over. Cobwebs caked the corners, the top of the water heater had a healthy layer of dust on top of it, and above the door frame, just barely visible was some kind of rune carved into the plaster. Candi shifted. 

“Uh, the unit’s over here.” She said, ruffled. 

“My bad, just admiring your, um, artwork above the door there. Does it mean anything?” Sam asked casually. Candi looked more uncomfortable, shifting her shoulders back and forth. 

“Ah, no. I’ve never noticed that. Probably something the builders included… This building is almost 30 years old, did you know?” She rather ungracefully changed the subject. 

“Couldn’t tell,” Dean said from where he had his head half-stuck in a vent. Sam shined the light next to him so he could see better. “Damnit, Sam!” 

“What, Jim ,” Sam said with no small amount of warning. 

“Quit shinin’ the light straight in my eye, for the love of god man you’re gonna blind me someday.” 

“Sorry,” Sam’s tone would’ve satisfied a teacher, but caused another fight with a student.  Dean glared at him. 

“Just watch it next time.” 

“Oh, I can hold the light for you,” Candi offered, stepping forward with one foot. The heel of her other boot held the door open. 

Dean waved her off, sliding the vent cover back onto the machine. “Actually, I think we’re good here too. Your unit should come back on whenever the power’s up and running again.”

“Oh, good!” She ushered them out of the closet. Sam turned his shoulders sideways, as to not knock anything over. For their sake, and for his own, he hoped that would be soon. The fire hazard of a room had heated up dangerously in the short amount of time they’d been there. 

Monique was clearly of the same opinion, the front door of the store was held open with a brick to let the morning breeze in, similar to how Candi stopped up the back door. Other than that she hadn’t really moved. Now she was sitting on the stool cross-legged, and instead of a cup, she leaned over her phone. It played a looping theme of some video game obnoxiously through the empty store. 

“Monique!” Candi scolded. “If you’re going to be on your phone, at least turn off the volume.” 

Monique looked her up and down then began to go back to her phone. Candi sighed heavily. 

“ Please .”

“You got it, boss lady,” she flipped her phone closed and picked up a book that had been waiting under the counter. She wasn’t chewing gum, but Sam half expected her to blow a bubble. 

“So!” Candi clapped her hands. She leaned her palms on the counter next to Monique who barely shifted over to accommodate her. “How much?”

“Oh, this one’s on the house,” Sam smiled. “Favor from Tyler.”

She clasped her hands and turned side to side a little excitedly. “That’s nice of him. Tell him I say Thanks next time you see him?”

“Of course, no problem. Say, our niece was looking for some of those crystals you’ve got on the shelf there. Would you mind if we took a quick look before going back to the office?” Dean gestured to the window display where the sun hadn’t begun hitting the crystals yet. It probably looked better in the late afternoon. 

“Please do!” She grinned, gesturing to the whole store, “Employee’s discount on anything you buy, as a thanks.”

“That’s very kind of you, ma’am,” Dean nodded along in agreement. 

Sam set his toolbox right by his feet as he inspected the shelves. Every so often a rune or sigil or something was carved onto the shelf, all of which Sam recognized as protection symbols, things to ward off intruders, thieves, trouble. Dean thumbed through a pile of old books on the other side of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw three kids enter the store. Three very familiar kids…

Without turning around he watched them, continuing to pick up crystals and turn them around like he was trying to find one to buy. They beelined right to a stuffed bookshelf crammed with vintage books. 

“For fuck’s sake, Sam,” Monique grumbled. Sam turned around automatically, but Monique wasn’t talking to him. “Get the hell out before I call your mom.”

The girl Sam was disheveled. Her black hair was all bunched into a tiny ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her haircut didn’t suit the style, a few strands of hair had escaped, falling around her face like a dirty picture frame. She was in house slippers and a trendy tracksuit. Even with no real knowledge of the girl, she looked very out of place in baby pink hemmed with silver sequins. One of her hands rubbed the bottom of her shirt between her finger and thumb, a kind of nervous quirk. 

“We only need two seconds, Niq, nobody has to know.” She bargained.

“Yeah, no. I almost lost my job last time I let you in here, and you know damn well no one else in this town is gonna hire me.” 

“It’s important, I only need a book, one book, please,” Sam begged.

“Are you kidding? What happens when your mom finds that book? She’ll freak out and I’ll pay the price, that’s what. No dice kid. Get out before I call the cops.” 

Sam made no move to leave. Monique flipped her phone open and slowly began dialing, leaving plenty of space between digits. It was sort of funny to see her staring so intently at Sam while she blindly felt around the keys. Sam held her forehead with one hand, and sighed deeply.

“There’s nothing I can do to convince you? Seriously Niq?” 

“Unless your Mom comes in here with you, no. Tick tock, Manson.” Monique held her thumb above the call button, pinning Sam Manson with a deathly glare. 

“You didn’t tell me your Mom doesn’t want you here, young lady.” Dean interrupted their standoff. Sam turned around and looked at him like he’d just said the Earth was flat. “Apologize to your friend right now.”

Sam looked at him then looked at her friends, then she caught a glimpse of Sam (Real Sam. The original, if you will.). Her eyes looked like they were trying to jump from her skull. Sam gave her his best ‘just go with it’ look. 

“Sorry about her,” Sam (The first one) said, “I’ll let my sister know she needs to keep her daughter on a shorter leash. C’mon, outside. You too!”

He pointed to the two boys who mostly looked confused. Obediently they marched out the door, with Sam standing between the girl and her friends to prevent any escape attempts, followed by Dean who politely thanked the cashier. Tiny Sam was not so subtly looking for a way out. She opened her mouth to talk but before she could say anything she found herself doused with holy water. 

“Ew!” She spat, rubbing at her face with her sleeve, “What the hell?”

Her friends were all reacting similarly, having received the same treatment. More importantly, though, none of them began steaming.

“Gross, dude. Not cool.” Tucker wiped his glasses on the hem of his t-shirt. 

“Tell your creepy Uncle to take a hike, Sam, jeez,” Danny tried to brush off his tongue with his hand, “Ugh, I can still taste it!” 

“Quit bein’ so dramatic, you didn’t even react to it.” Dean huffed, capping his now empty flask. “Teenagers.”

“You literally just used Water Gun (pokemon! Gotta catch 'em all) on us but okay,” Tucker placed his glasses back onto his face and blinked a few times before sighing and taking them off again to clean. 

“Yeah, what was that? Were you trying to drug us?!” Danny backed away. “Heads up Sam, I think your uncles a perv.” 

“I- No, no, no. He was just making sure you weren’t demons, nothing perv-y,” Sam placated. 

The kids stared at him.

“Sam, I think your perv uncles insane,” Danny did the little coo coo hand gesture.  

“That’s not my Uncle.” She growled.

The kids stared at Sam jr. Blinked once, looked back at Sam, then at Dean, then back to their friend. 

“...So, just a regular perv then,” Tucker concluded, finally replacing his glasses. 

“We don’t want anything weird, we just want you to explain what happened last night.” Dean said firmly. Danny and Tucker paused, both coming to the same realization at the same time. They looked at Sam desperately. She jerked her head like she was about to start running. Dean grabbed her arm. “And you aren’t leaving until you do.”

“Uh, yeah, actually that might be a problem,” Danny stuttered over his words. “See, we were actually on our way to, uh, lunch, with my sister.”

“It’s true, we always go to lunch on saturdays. It’s even my turn to pay this week,” Tucker nodded so hard he had to hold one hand on the side of his face to secure his glasses.

“You’re going to lunch at,” Sam checked his watch. It was undetermined o’clock, because he was not wearing a watch. “11:00?” he guesstimated. 

“It’s really more of a brunch,” Mini Sam twisted her arm to free herself. Dean effortlessly held her in place. 

“But, my sister’s like, super overprotective so we gotta go. If we don’t show up on time she’ll call the cops, she’s done it before,” Danny shuffled nervously. Tucker gave another brain-liquefying nod. 

“It’s true, last time we were late I had to stay at the station because my Dad was at work.” 

“Great,” Sam smiled in what he intended to be a calming way, “Where are we going?”

Chapter Text

“Uh…” Danny cringed. He asked even though he surely already knew the answer. “‘We?’”

“You need to go to lunch, we need information, this works out perfectly. We’ll even drive you there.” 

“Could I just get a word in with you, Sam? No, not you, the other Sam,” Dean tried his best to turn his back on the children while not letting go of the other other Sam’s arm. He whispered, low enough that they probably wouldn’t be able to hear. “You sure about this, Sam?”

Sam looked at Dean. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother? Since when do you turn down free food?”

“Since we’re going into this with no plan, no background, with a group of toddlers in a public place. This doesn’t look very good on us, man. Especially if the cops get involved.”

“If you have a better plan, go for it, but this is our best bet. I don’t think these kids are gonna try anything, and even if they do, we can be out of town before the cops can print up a wanted poster.” 

“And what about the case we’re actually supposed to be working on?” 

Sam shrugged. “We see if we can find someone else to handle it. I’m sure Garth would be happy to get a call.”

Dean nodded reluctantly. “Alright. I’ll work on plan B, just in case.”

“Good idea.” Sam patted Dean on the arm. “God, I’m hungry. Let’s go, kids.”

Dean began marching down the street, giving baby Sam no choice but to follow. The other two kids walked alongside adult Sam, scared but not willing to abandon their friend. He could respect that. 

“Wait, this is yours?” Danny said, “Dude, this thing is older than my Dad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, looking up from where he was trying to one handedly unlock the car.

“No, I mean it’s not a bad thing I just didn’t expect this to be yours.” 

“You know they make cars you can unlock remotely now, right?” Tucker inspected the windshield. “Might be easier, just a suggestion.”

“My baby is a classic,” Dean scoffed. “I don’t need any robot car, she’s better than any of the junk they produce today.”

Sam (2) made a quick grab for the keys. Dean resisted by flipping his wrist and holding his keyring over her head. He gently tossed them to Sam (1). The girl scowled. “Are you seriously trying to fuel a superiority complex around a car that isn’t even manual transmission?” 

Danny and Tucker looked at her in amazement. 

“What?” She crossed her arms, or at least tried. “I know cars.”

“Since when?” Tucker asked incredulously. “Because I distinctly remember you turning down a ticket to Cars and Coffee last year.”

“I know cars, meaning I know the environmental impact they have and-”

Tucker and Danny groaned loudly. 

“Seriously, Sam?” Danny groaned. “You can’t let it go for two seconds?”

Tall Sam unlocked the doors for them, not interested in joining in on the squabble. Tucker and Danny briefly argued about who would have to take the middle seat. It was decided that the next person who complained would ride in the trunk. Sam wouldn’t have let Dean, obviously not, but the kids didn’t know that. Short Sam ended up sitting in the middle. All three of the kids insisted on giving directions. That went down a little like this.

“Left left left! Oh you missed it. Turn around…. Ok wait no go back this isn’t the right left.”

“Ok right turn up here.”

“What? No, it’s a left turn.”

“No, it’s a right turn, dumbass.”

“Danny, look at your L’s”

“... yeah it's left up here.”

“Yeah, and then you’re gonna wanna turn at the street.”

“Which way? What street?”

“I dunno, the street! I’ll know it when I see it, oops, you just passed it, hold on.”

“Haha hey look it’s my house.”

Sam could tell his brother’s patience had worn out yesterday. Luckily, the kids were now shouting 

“There! That’s it. I told you it was a left, Tucker.”

“You said it was a right!” 

“Dean, do you mind stopping here to let us out of the car?” Sam offered. Dean mouthed the words ‘Thank you’. 

The car idled. The doors were child locked so Sam had to let the kids out from the outside. They all walked in a row, with Sam in the back, into one of the more garish diners Sam had been to in a while. It was really more of a fast food place, but not quite commercial enough to earn that title. Colorful signs boasted their patented ‘Nasty Sauce’ as an extra topping, only 0.89 to add to any combo meal. Signs next to them boasted their patented ‘Nasty Sauce’ as a reliable civilian-grade explosive, to be stored only in cool dry places. 

Danny led the way, heading straight for a booth in the corner where a young teenager had her nose quite literally buried in a book. Spread around her were various other textbooks, either lying open or heavily bookmarked. A notebook full of almost printer-quality notes sat on her right. 

“Jazz,” Danny started. Jazz held up one finger. For a full 30 seconds, they all stood there while she intently scanned the page. Finally, she grabbed a sticky note and marked her page, slamming the book shut and shoving it into a bag at her feet. She stacked her other books and tucked them away as well, leaving only a small notepad and pen on the table. 

“You’re early. What’s with the manners today, little br-” Only then did she actually turn to look at them. Sam she visibly lingered on. When she stood she was near Dean’s height, even in the flat black ballet shoes she wore. Though she was quite small and skinny, she managed to look kind of intimidating. She pulled her brother over by the sleeve and stepped in front of him and his friends. “Nice to meet you, strange man hanging out with my fourteen-year-old brother. I’m Jazz. Would you mind telling me why exactly you’re here?”

“Uh, sure. You might wanna sit down for this, though.” He tried his best to look unbothered. 

“Alright.” She turned her head, “Danny, you go ahead and order whatever you want, I’m gonna have a quick chat with Mr…”

She looked at him like he was a mom feeding formula and she was a pta superhero. 

“Winchester.” He said before he could think of anything else. Well. There goes that identity. “But Sam’s fine.”

Jazz looked at him, confused. “I know Sam’s fine, she’s right over there.”

“No, I mean I’m Sam. Also. My name is also Sam.” 

“Oh.” She put her hand on her chin and scrunched her eyebrows. “That’s confusing. Why don’t we go grab a seat, Mr. Winchester.”

She cupped his elbow and guided him across the restaurant. He could feel the stares of the kids from their corner booth, he could only pray they didn’t take the chance to run. She sat down at a table for two, the one far in the back completely blocked from all windows. Neither of them could easily see the kid's table. Rookie mistake, Sam noted. 

“Ok, right, so Jazz, right?” 

She nodded politely. 

“I don’t know how much you know but I can start from the beginning. Monsters, ghosts, all those uh, ‘things that go bump in the night’? They’re all real, and they’re living among us. It’s my job to stop them from hurting people, that’s why I came to town. You’re gonna have to trust me on this one here but I can show you proof later if you really need it.”

Her face remained completely blank the entire time. She waited a moment for him to continue. When it became clear he wasn’t going to, she said accusingly, 

“You’re one of Mom and Dad’s friends, aren’t you?”

“...I don’t think so. It would depend on who your parents are, I guess. I actually came here because of some messed up disappearances and weird happenings in your area. You know, (Corpse guy from the first chapter), right?” 

“...The senator?” 

“Yeah, him. I’m not sure if you follow politics-”

“I do.”

“Good, that makes this a little easier. Well, after he made that miracle recovery last year, we noticed that everyone he ran against, and every other Senator that disagreed with him would get sick. Now, of course, that could be a coincidence, but it ended up that the guy was working with witches. Basically, we think he’s been… ‘cursing’ those people, stealing their health, and as a bonus winning elections. The witches would’ve had to sacrifice at least one person for each spell they cast, not to mention whatever they put on him in the first place. We picked up a pattern and followed it.”

She nodded slowly like she thought he needed extra help to understand. “I see. And where are these witches now?”

Her fingers twitched from where her hands were folded like a fort on the table. Something told him she was intentionally suppressing an ‘air quotes’ gesture. “Actually, we’re still kinda in the middle of that one.” 

“And who is ‘we’? Do you have a partner you… hunt ghosts with?”

Sam mentally cursed at himself for giving her that information. “W-”

“Where are they now?” She stood up from the table, realizing her mistake. Sam tried to stop her but she power-walked right back to the booth, where it appeared Dean was facing off with Tucker in a milkshake-drinking contest that Dean was currently losing.

“Chug, chug, chug!” Danny chanted. Sam pushed away an empty milkshake glass. A small puddle of chocolate was pooled at the bottom. She held out her tongue, where she’d tied a cherry stem into a knot. 

“Betcha can’t do that,” She held it out proudly between her pointer finger and thumb, showing the whole table. “Oh, hi Jazz.”

“Sam,” Jazz greeted, ignoring Tucker’s woeful cries of ‘brain freeze!’ “Who’s that?”

Tiny Sam stared at Dean contemplatively “...I don’t remember his name.” 

“It’s Ryan,” Tucker said, holding his head and shivering. 

“What? No it’s not,” Dean said, spitting drops of milkshake all over the table. 

“It isn’t?” Sam (girl) asked. 

“I’m pretty sure you told us your name was Ryan, man. Are you having a stroke or something? Do you smell burnt toast?” Danny said with a completely straight face. 

“Quick! What year is it!” Tucker challenged. 

“I’m not having a stroke!”

“Maybe we should call an ambulance just to be sure.” Sam the second offered, fishing her cell from the front pocket of her sweatshirt. 

“Sam, don’t call an ambulance, that’d just be wasting the EMT’s time, you know they’re busy professionals and by calling them when they aren't needed… irresponsible…… should know better…… your parents would be so…………. danger………..”

Even Sam the first began to tune her out. He took the chance to slide into the booth next to Dean, who was sitting on the very outside edge previously. The bench was in a sort of u shape, with the teenagers at one end and the Winchesters at the other, the middle was some sort of official-non official no man’s land. 

Jazz finally finished her speech, seemingly unaware that no one was listening. She brushed off the top of her thighs and sat down next to Tucker, forcing Danny to scoot closer to Dean and enter the vinyl no man’s booth. 

“So. Hi, I’m Jazz, nice to meet you. You must be new in town, because I could’ve sworn all my brother’s friends were still in middle school.” 

“Hey, we’re in High School now,” Tucker objected. Jazz didn’t even look at him, holding the palm of her hand up at him. 

“Not until the school year starts, you’re not.” 

One deep breath later, she calmly placed both hands on the table, like a tiny wall separating herself from them. “I’m sure I’m misunderstanding something here. Please, explain whatever’s going on here to me.”

Sam looked at his brother, who was slurping up the very last of his milkshake. 

He took a deep breath and sighed it back out. Making eye contact and trying to pull the utmost sincerity into his voice, he said, “Jazz, that’s not your brother.” 

All four of the teenagers goggled at him. 

“Excuse me, what ?” Jazz finally broke the silence. 

“Yeah, what the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Danny tried to stand up from the table in outrage, forgetting he was in a booth. He pondered the table for a second then settled for just sitting angrily. 

“Oh my god...Dude I think they’re your brothers.” Tucker widened his eyes in scandal. 

Goth teenage girl Sam looked him up and down. “Actually, that kinda makes sense… You’ve gotta admit, you don’t really look like your dad.”

Danny seemed arguably more pissed at his friends now. Dean interjected before Sam could clear up the situation.

“What my idiot brother was trying to say is, that,” he pointed at Danny, “is no longer your brother.”

Again, all four of them gave Dean the same look, this time one of confusion and irritation.

“That makes no sense.” Jazz stated.

“No, I saw this on TV once, it’s like, some kind of reverse adoption. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal in America though.” Tucker explained. 

“I think that happened to my cousin once,” Sam un-Winchester said. Jazz and Danny nodded along like they were beginning to accept that as an explanation. 

“For heaven’s sake- He’s dead! Your brother is dead, that is not the real Danny.” Dean corrected. “Reverse adoption- what kind of?”

“He’s right. If reverse adoption existed I would’ve done it to Dean years ago.” Sam nodded. 

Dean lightly elbowed him, but Sam didn’t feel like continuing their bickering. Danny sat there stone still, eyes and mouth wide open. A small gentle tremor shook through his body. His friend Sam, and Tucker weren’t much better. She was breathing heavier, the expression she wore might be more suited to a pissed cobra. Tucker couldn’t seem to stop looking around, eyes going everywhere but in contact with another’s. Jazz’s face snapped from shock to fear to disbelief and then right to anger in just a few seconds. 

She grabbed Tucker's wrist and in one swift motion slung her book bag over her shoulder and pulled him out of the booth. Sam got the hint and followed suit, clutching Danny’s arm in a similar manner. As soon as they were all up she stood directly in front of regular Sam’s edge of the booth, preventing him from getting up.

“Sam, call your parents to come pick us up. Wait outside.” The edge in Jazz’s voice was a familiar one. As far as he could tell, Jazz had just become one of the more major obstacles of the case so far. Girl Sam glared at them but shepherded her friends out the door nonetheless, leaving Sam and Dean staring up at her. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. Clearly, you’re both going through some mental health issues, so I really can’t hold you accountable for your words. But if you dare harass my brother or any of his friends again, I’ll have no choice but to report you. And the psychiatric healthcare in this town is terrible .”

Sam stood up, having to keep bending at the knees in a really awkward position. He stepped outward giving Jazz no choice but to back away. Dean scooted off the seat and stood behind him. 

“We know this might be hard for you to hear, but he’s right.” Sam’s bedside manner was better than most, but when confronted with harsh truths like the one Dean had just laid before her, bedside manner did little to soothe whatever little daggers were going through someone’s mind. “Did you see Danny? Did you really look at him? He knows it’s the truth too, and now we need to stop him before he decides he’s already caught.”

“You’re making no sense,” She backed away a few steps. 

“When’s the last time you saw Danny, before this morning?” Dean asked. 

“Yesterday- wait, why do you need to know?” She stumbled over her words, caught between curiosity and fear and hostility.

“And where were you last night?” 

She glared. “None of your business.”

“You want to know why we’re here, right?” Sam asked. She nodded reluctantly. “Then humor him.”

“I- I was at a concert, with some friends. I didn’t get home until this morning.” She looked at her feet, rubbing the back of her neck. 

“And where was your brother last night?” Dean continued.

“At home, having a sleepover... But our parents were home all night, watching them. There’s no way they would’ve let anything happen.” 

“You don’t sound very sure about that.” He observed. 

“Well, I am.” She snapped. 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re hiding something.”

“Am not!” she sputtered. “And- and even if I was- which I’m not- it’s none of your business in the first place. You haven’t explained anything.”

Sam shrugged. Technically, she was right. They didn’t know much about the case in the first place. Despite their years of experience, what they’d seen was a mystery, and it wasn’t like they had any proof of it. Unless, of course, they wanted to drive back into the middle of nowhere and locate Danny’s- the real Danny’s- miserable husk. Speaking of that, there was a dead senator lying unburied on the leaf litter, probably surrounded by their very incriminating footprints. As much as he’d loathe the drive back up there, they did have some business to finish. Maybe picking Danny’s remains (and giving them a good burn just to be safe) wouldn’t be too far out of the way after all. “Maybe you should ask your brother.”

She glared at him. Her mouth moved like she was trying to form words but couldn’t think of anything to say. “Just leave us alone.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. But just in case.” Dean grabbed her hand and slipped a little scrap of paper into it. “You know how to call us.”

She studied it for a second, then crumpled it into a ball in her fist and stormed out of the restaurant. 

“Think she’ll actually call?” Sam asked. 

“You kidding? Girl was basically pissing her pants, I bet we wrap this one up by the end of the night.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “I’ll take you up on that. Loser has to dig graves by himself next time.”

“You’ve got a deal.” They shook on it. 

Chapter Text

Sometimes Sam wondered what the regular folks thought when they overheard all the strange and usually disturbing conversations they tended to have in broad daylight. It seemed that the patrons of the Nasty Burger didn’t really care, though, because of the relatively early hour there weren’t many. Nobody noticed as they went outside just in time to see a nice brand-new SUV pull out of the parking lot. 

“Expensive car,” Dean remarked. “I’m gonna hunt down Tyler, see if we can get any info from him. You wanna come along?”

“Drop me off at the room, I have some things I wanna look up.” 

“No problem.”

Another short ride later, Sam was back at their motel room. He settled in with his laptop and a diet coke, trying different keywords and descriptions of the symbol from memory. Trial and error became dull after a certain point. He turned on the TV for some background noise as he absently clicked through page after page of links and photos and papers, none of them were quite right. Still, when he saw one that looked promising he jotted it down along with a quick description, adding to their dictionary in case they’d ever see those symbols in a case.

It was once he’d decided to give up on satanic symbols and moved on to lesser-known Celtic runes that his phone rang. 

 “Yeah?” 

“Go outside and wait for me, just got a call from the girl. Brother’s snapped.”

“Be right there.”

He laced up his boots and shoved his gun back in his waistband before running out the door. Dean barely stopped when he came by, he started driving before Sam’d even fully closed the door. They peeled around corners into the nicer part of town, the street over from the Senator's house. There was one singular circle-shaped window at the top of the house that was blocked by black velvet curtains while the rest of them had cheery white lace pinned up to let light in. Flowers danced around the pristine concrete path leading to the door. The door itself was framed by marble pillars. A gold plaque with the address and family name, Manson, sat next to them. Dean knocked impatiently at the door. 

A woman in a pink floral dress with perfectly styled hair that could survive a windstorm answered. “Hello.”

Even the way she talked was straight out of hgtv. Sam took the lead. “Hello, ma’am. We’re with Amity A/C Repair, we’re just here to do a quick check at your unit to make sure it wasn’t fried in the power outage last night.”

“Oh, how kind of you! But we actually run entirely on solar power, so our machine’s fine.”

Crap.

“How about a free consultation anyway? I believe you’re eligible for an upgrade this year, Mrs. Manson.” Dean came in with the save. 

“...Oh, actually that might be a good idea. My daughter just insists she’s fine up in the attic but I do fear it’s getting to her head.” She clasped her hands and stepped aside for them to follow through. “The heat, I mean.”

“That’s very possible, we’ve been seeing it a lot of people getting heat exhaustion inside their own homes this summer. So many people have insufficient air conditioners and don’t realize until it’s too late,” Sam nodded. They followed Mrs. Manson up the grand staircase.

“Really?” She paused to look at him, concernedly, “I had no idea. I’ll have to bring that up at the next HOH meeting. I’m glad you came by, boys.”

She led them to what looked like a linens closet but turned out to be another, narrower staircase. It was a cramped ascent. Her heels clicked on the worn wooden steps. The outsides of them were shiny with varnish but the center of each step was more dull from millions of footsteps that had come before. 

“Samantha, honey, we have guests!” She called much too late for any real warning as the door swung open.

“Uh, that’s great mom! C’mon up.” Sam stood in the middle of her room, hands in fists on her hips, looking anything but casual in a garishly decorated dress. 

“Oh it’s so nice to see you wearing that, your aunt just knew you’d love it. Remind me to take a photo to send to her, will you dear?” 

Sam tried to curtsey, changed her mind, went for a bow, changed her mind again, and ended up doing some awkward jazz hands. 

“And aren’t you just so pretty without all that depressing makeup?” 

“Yeah, Mom. Actually, can you go get the camera right now? I really like the uh, lighting up here and I don’t want to miss it.” 

“Great idea. Can you show these gentlemen to the air conditioner so they can start working, please?” 

“Of course, Mom,” Sam called down the stairs. Her mother daintily retreated like a dexterous fawn. Once the door closed Sam’s voice dropped an octave, sounding much more natural again. “I broke the camera last week, we have at least a half hour before she realizes. Danny’s… you’re sure you can help him, right?”

“It’s our job, little missy,” Dean said. 

“If you wanna live to keep doing that job, never call me that again.” The stone-cold seriousness in her voice was kinda funny but mostly frightening. A thud came from across the attic. The way the room was set up was somewhat strange. 

The attic itself was all one big room, but the space that served as Sam’s actual bedroom was only a fraction of that. She had a fuzzy purple rug thrown over the scuffed hardwood floors, a grand four-poster bed draped with black fabric, and a large TV right across from that, complete with two high-grade speakers only a few inches shorter than Dean. Sam the a/c man briefly wondered how they’d gotten all this stuff up there, considering the woefully small staircase. 

The room itself was vaguely box-shaped, except the walls, excluding the one that ran at a slant, didn’t go all the way up to the ceiling. Sam took them through a walk-in closet packed with black and chains on one side and bright colored very feminine clothing on the other. At the back of said closet were two doors. Sam took the one that led straight ahead. This portion of the attic was like an unfinished basement. Dusty and unloved, probably shouldn’t walk barefoot in it, might get a splinter or maybe a tetanus shot from goofing around. Boxes upon boxes stacked around the walls. Old furniture, including a really creepy wooden rocking horse sat in no clear pattern. Most had white sheets gone gray with layers of dust covering them. Jazz and Tucker were standing in the middle of the room looking distressed. 

“I don’t know where he went!” Jazz cried. “He disappeared!”

She shook out her hands in front of her anxiously. Tucker started calling for Danny, much too loudly.

“Guys, chill,” Sam said, “There’s only one door, he’s still in here somewhere.”

“She’s right,” The other Sam confirmed. “Panicking will only make things worse. If we work from the door to the back we’ll find him.”

So from front to back they combed through the room, checking old wardrobes and artificial corners made by stacks of boxes. But Danny wasn’t there. Just as he was about to suggest a new plan, Tucker spoke up. “Hey, can you guys see that?” 

“See- oh crap.” Dean said. In the very back of the room there was a particularly large stack of boxes that Tucker had been sifting through. Now, the boxes were floating, not particularly well, just a few inches or so above the ground. Each one glowed a soft blue light. Tucker slowly began backing away, as Sam and Dean drew their guns and tentatively crept forward. 

Like a baby mobile in an earthquake, the boxes started shooting up and down, quickly growing more violent. 

“Danny?” Dean asked, raising his voice to interrupt the clanking and clattering of things being thrown around inside the boxes. “Danny, whatever you’re doing you need to stop. Now.”

“Just put down the boxes and we can talk! We don’t want to have hurt you, Danny.” Sam Winchester added. 

One of the teenagers, who exactly was unclear in the din, shouted something about hurting Danny but he couldn’t quite make it out above the noise. Sam ignored that, making a break for the door and hustling the kids with him. More boxes glowed, adding to the carousel of angry maracas. A large one skidded across the floor, blocking the exit. It was quickly joined by a dozen smaller boxes. What boxes weren’t barricading the door formed a vortex. Each rotation was closer together, forcing everyone to stumble backwards until they were rounded up in the middle of the room. Then all at once, the boxes slammed hard into the walls, they adhered to wherever they had landed, giving the room a very modern-art feel. For a moment it was quiet. 

“ I AM THE BOX GHOST ” 

And then it wasn’t. 

“ FEAR ME! ” 

A good three or four feet off the ground floated a rotund man in old work bibs and a stiff woolen beanie. He was sort of hunched over, guy really should’ve gone to a chiropractor when he was alive. Blue exuded from him, casting deep shadows throughout the room, and making it impossible to distinguish any other color. He wiggled his fingers, his dirty work gloves forming, or at least trying to form, claws. It… wasn’t very intimidating…

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean said, pretty much voicing everyone’s thoughts. 

“ NoOoooOOOOOOOooOOOoooo ” 

The Box Ghost… groaned? Ghosted? Said like an owl Broadway star who’d just discovered vibrato? Sung! 

“ I AM MASTER OF ALL THINGS CARDBOARD AND SQUARE ” 

“...Good for you, man.” Sam said, not quite sure whether to take a shot. Dean took no such hesitation, firing off three shots, one right between the eyes and another two in the chest. They knocked him backwards violently. All the boxes that were previously being held to the walls like pinned insects fell to the floor with another startling thud. Keeping his gun at the ready, Dean crept towards the Box Ghost, who was still floating high in the air but now motionless- aside from the gentle up and down of his floating. With the barrel of his gun, Dean nudged the Box Ghost’s foot. It moved when he pushed it but fell back down into place as soon as he stopped. Dean turned around to shrug at Sam. Violently, the Box Ghost inhaled. The bullets dropped to the floor, passing straight through him. 

“ OOOOoooOOOOooOOWWW ”

All around them the boxes began hovering again. 

“ I’LL SHOW YOU WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU MESS WITH ME, THE BOX GHOST! TASTE CARDBOARD DEFEAT! ”

Like a booby trap straight out of Indiana Jones the walls (and by walls I mean boxes) came crashing into them. Sam tried his best to shield the children from hard corners and heavy impacts but he could feel bruises being punched under his skin. One hit him straight in the back of his injured knee, sending him down. What a way to die, he thought, killed by a swarm of boxes. There was nothing he could do. When he tried to get up, he was simply sent back down again. His hands were trampled when he tried to reach for his gun. Just as he decided things couldn’t get any worse, the boxes all dropped to the floor, blue energy completely gone. It took only a few seconds for him to regain his barings and sit up. 

“Heard you like boxing,” The voice was Danny’s but it had a strange new quality to it. Kind of like listening to a walkie talkie in a cave. It was echo-y and… grainy? What it was, was hard to describe as anything other than just plain spooky. Sam was still quite a bit disoriented from the pummeling he’d just received, but he certainly thought he saw a fuzzy black and white blur socking a blue blob right in the nose. He blinked a few times until his vision was back in focus. 

“ YOU WILL NEVER DEFEAT ME! FOR I AM- ” 

He could now clearly see the two floating people (though maybe humanoids would be more accurate) above their heads. The Box Ghost, who was dripping blue sludge from his nose, and an awfully familiar looking kid in a full safety suit with snow white hair and glowing green eyes. The kid’s right glove was speckled with blue. No mercy was shown on the part of the kid, who gave the Box Ghost an impressive roundhouse kick in the jaw, followed by another swift punch. 

“Newsflash, dude, nobody cares!” He full on tackled the Box Ghost, sending him flying out of the room and leaving the kid- who Sam was 99% sure was Danny- floating on his own right above a cluster of busted up boxes. “Ar-”

He didn’t have a chance to finish that sentence, passing out midair and falling straight into the debris. A blinding flash of white light shocked the room for a split second. Sam carefully got to his feet, seeing that Dean was doing the same. Since Sam was closer to where the kid had crashed, he was the one that had the honor of stepping over the crushed cardboard. The way Danny was laying, in a sort of mangled half moon, reminded Sam of a fossil he’d seen once, a nautilus or something. An important quality they shared was the whole ‘buried under rock and extreme pressure for hundreds of years’ look. Now his hair was stark black, a little dusty from the scuffle, but black all the same. His stained t-shirt and jeans with a solid ring of mud around the cuffs looked just as they had before. 

Firmly, but maybe not as gently as he should’ve, he yanked Danny up by his arm. Danny groaned and shuffled, but couldn’t gather his bearings. Even for his relatively small size, Danny was light. Light enough that Sam could've carried Danny under his arm like a football. 

“Danny!” All three of the conscious teenagers called simultaneously. They rushed Sam, he helped get Danny flat onto his back in a relatively clear patch of floor. Jazz cradled his head in her lap, frantically brushing his hair from his face. The goth Sam was trying to shake him awake, Tucker held one of his limp hands. Danny groaned again, trying to turn over onto his side but not getting far. He muttered something that sounded like ‘let me sleep’.

“Wrap it up rugrats, I’m guessing Jackie Kennedy called the cops already, let’s move!” Dean clapped. 

“Are you stupid? His back could be injured! He’s not going anywhere until the paramedics arrive.” Jazz tried to shield Danny with her body.

“I don’t think Danny should go to the hospital!” Girl Sam blurted out. 

“I second that!” Tucker said.

“What’s gotten into you? We all need to go to the hospital, the sooner the better.” Jazz starred in exasperated disbelief. Sam fidgeted, looking at Tucker for help. A nonverbal conversation occurred, two friends trading expressions above their third friend’s unconscious body. Normal things. They nodded at each other and returned to the outside world. 

“Jazz…” Tucker started, “I, uh… Sam has something to tell you!”

Sam shot Tucker a dirty look. Jazz shot Sam an even dirtier look. 

“What.” Jazz demanded. 

“Um…” She ducked her head, hiding behind the thin curtain of hair that had escaped from her thinning ponytail. A tear dropped onto her bent knees. “There was an… accident.”

“Yes?” Jazz coldly coaxed. 

“Well-” 

“SAM” A muffled scream vibrated from below. Mrs. Manson’s voice was high enough to be a dog whistle. 

“I’ll tell you later-”

“You’ll tell me now!” Jazz shouted. Sam’s mom screamed again, louder this time. 

“Nobody will be able to tell anybody anything if the cops show up!” Sam grabbed Danny by the arm. Jazz tried to tug him back, but quickly decided not to fight over her brother like he was a pretty ragdoll. She stood up and tried to stare Sam down. He tucked Danny back under his arm. “Let’s go.”

“No!”

Sam briefly entertained the idea of picking Jazz up under his other arm. Already she looked like an animal in a live trap, so it wasn’t a great idea. He decided to ignore her. 

“Sam! Get your mom to go into a closet or some shit, lock her in, keep her calm, I don’t care, just make sure she doesn’t see us. Don’t tell her anything .” Dean barked. Sam nodded, looking like the kid who had to pull down the blinds in a surprise lockdown drill. She dashed out of the room. 

“You two,” Dean pointed to Tucker and Jazz, “When I say go, you run like hell out the back door. Understand?”

Adrenaline seemed to have shocked them past the point of protest. While they nodded absently, Sam highly suspected he’d have to literally herd them out of the house. Everyone went back into Goth Sam’s bedroom. Dean left the room to go downstairs, leaving the door open so they could still hear him. Sam, and after some instruction, Jazz and Tucker, stood with their backs pressed to the wall the door was on. Dean scampered around downstairs for a few moments before hollering for them to join him. As a unit, they ghosted through the long hallways. 

“Sam? Samantha! Samantha Manson, you open this door right now!” Mrs. Manson banged on the door that was trapping her. Sam Manson was in the process of wedging a chair under the doorknob. 

“Help me,” She hissed. Dean forced the door closed while Tucker helped her properly jam it into place. Her mom's wails were muffled but not by much. It was quite a relief when they ran down the stairs, through the kitchen, and into the beautiful garden complete with a small forest of well-maintained willow trees. A defined path led their little line around the side of the house and back onto the street. Everyone piled into the car, a vaguely conscious Danny getting crammed in the backseat between Jazz and Tucker. Dean hurriedly left the street then switched to more of a casual speed. 

“Sorry, I panicked, she was asking questions and I just-. I don't think there’s a phone in that bedroom, though, so we should be okay.” Sam Manson’s hands were bunched in her jacket, rubbing the shiny fabric like she was trying to start a fire. 

“You did good,” Sam Winchester said. Dean nodded. The conversation paused for a beat.

“You did good,” Dean repeated. Once again it fell silent. In the rearview mirror, Danny stirred. Jazz whispered to him, too quiet to hear. Dean turned down another street, looping back into town.