Chapter Five

Honey woke early the next morning, wincing as the morning light streamed in and hit her. She sat up, covering her eyes. Thankfully, her head didn’t hurt but her stomach was turning somersaults. What had possessed her to drink so much last night? Sam. Being so close to Sam's muscled body, his arm around her shoulders, laughing at Trixie and Dean.

She glanced over at Trixie still sprawled across the bed on her stomach, sacked out. Crawling out of bed, Honey desperately wanted a shower.

Forty-five minutes later, she left Trixie sleeping and headed for the diner across the street, having first checked her email. The information she had been waiting for had arrived.

Guilford, Maine had one hotel, one diner, and two restaurants. Not even a real coffee shop, to her dismay. Her latte the other day had been a mix of whole milk with coffee. Obviously, this town didn’t care about modernization, she thought.

Sam was already sitting in a booth with his laptop, his eyes focused on the screen as his fingers quickly moved over the keys. A half-empty cup of coffee sat nearby.

“Can I join you?” she asked softly.

He glanced up, did a double take and smiled. “Sure.”

Honey slid into the seat next to him. A waitress appeared with a menu and Honey ordered a coffee to start.

“Dean is still asleep. Trixie?”

“Oh, she’s out.” Honey chuckled. “I’m the early riser. And I don’t envy the headache I know she’ll have.”

“Me too,” he smiled at her as her coffee was delivered. “I wish I could say the same for Dean but he’s, uh, an experienced drinker.” Sam chuckled.

“What are you looking at?” she finally asked, as she added a liberal amount of sugar to the coffee that the waitress had just set down.

“I was trying to find more information on the house. Listen to this,” he continued. “The house was built in 1872 by Grislan’s father, who also died under mysterious circumstances. Grislan took over the property with his young bride.”

“Grislan’s mother?”

“No mention of her,” Sam answered.

“So, you’re telling me we now have five potential identities to the spirit?” Honey asked, dismayed. “Bea, Grislan Sr., Grislan Jr. and Viola? Not to mention the wife, Eugenia. How on earth are we supposed to narrow it down?”

Sam nodded reluctantly. “Well, I also found where they’re buried. There’s a cemetery on the edge of town, and the Grislans have a family plot.”

“We can’t just dig up graves and—” Honey stopped. “You’re serious.”

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes intense on her. “Honey, we have to. We’re going to have to find those bones, salt and burn them. All of them.”

Honey swallowed. “I don’t like cemeteries.”

Sam took her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry. Dean and I have done it plen—before,” he quickly amended. “You’ll be fine.”

Honey found herself smiling weakly at Sam. If she had to dig up some bones, at least she could admire Sam’s shoulders while doing so.

Without thinking, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up against him. “You’ll be fine,” he repeated. Her eyes shifted from his and rested on the laptop screen.

Sam continued, “Cremation has only gained popularity in the last 20 years or so. Around here, everyone is buried.”

“Well, we can rule out the body in the house. Whoever it was, the city would have cremated it,” Honey said. “Surely they wouldn’t have performed a burial with it.”

He shrugged. “I’m not so sure. This town is pretty small. It might have been cheaper to dig a hole and stick the body in a pine box. I guess it would depend on the level of decomp and how much of a health hazard it was.”

They ordered their food and chatted quietly while they waited. Close to each other, Honey enjoyed the feeling of Sam’s fingers playing with her long hair, his arm resting around her shoulders. When the food arrived, he moved it reluctantly. They surfed online for more information on the house. Honey was surprised to realize the café had internet, then wondered if Sam didn’t have some high powered-technology. She didn’t want to think about how illegally obtained it might be. She told herself it was likely someone’s unsecured home wireless.

“Some construction in the forties, added the porch and redid the fireplace,” Sam commented. “Maybe there’s a body behind that big portrait.”

Honey was making a final search attempt when she gasped. “Sam, look at this!”

He glanced over from his plate of pancakes at the article on screen. The picture associated with the article was that of the front of the house missing the large tree that now obscured the view of the front. “That’s the house.”

“Listen to this—‘While this house has been shrouded in local legend lore for years, the real activity began many years ago, when the younger Mr. Grislan’s wife and child died in the pox epidemic. Many years later, the house became a local legend and was said to be haunted. Beatrix Belden, who inhabited the house, allegedly went mad with grief after Mr. Grislan’s death in 1953, fueling the rumors that she killed his wife and child. In recent years, passersby have reported hearing odd noises, moans, and groans. Some nights, a mysterious figure can be seen lurking in the shadows’.”

“Recent years.” Sam frowned. “That means the spirit probably isn’t the original Grislan that owned it. That might help us rule out a couple of people.” He paused thoughtfully. “We definitely need to check out the cemetery. Why don’t we go now? Dean and Trixie probably won’t be up for a while.”

Honey’s stomach lurched slightly, but she forced a smile. “Okay.”

“I’ll protect you,” he assured her, his hazel eyes twinkling. She couldn’t help but smile back. She had no doubt he meant it.

The waitress brought the bill, and Sam reached into his pocket. He was setting his credit card down when Honey covered his large hand. Sam stared at the delicate hand with its French manicure and dainty ring.

“Let me,” she said handing Sam’s card back to him. He shook his head.

“No way. You shouldn’t have paid last night,” he said firmly.

“Sam, every time you use one of those fake credit cards, you risk the FBI tracking you,” she said quietly.

Sam froze, and then blanched. “You—what did you just say?”

“I know Dean is a fugitive,” she confessed. “Let me explain before you freak out on me. You know I’m a private investigator. Of course, I ran a check on you two, after you let your last name slip. Dean is in the FBI database. He’s listed as armed and dangerous. You don’t have your own listing, but you’re identified as a Known Associate to him.”

Sam swallowed. “Are you going to try and turn us in?”

“No, I’m not,” she said quietly. “I don’t believe for a minute that Dean tortured and murdered that girl in St. Louis. I’ve seen enough in the last 48 hours to know he was setup somehow, in sort of paranormal way.. Credit card fraud, though, is a felony as well, and I don’t want you getting caught. I have the money, so please, just let me pay.”

Sam sighed and stared part her, his eyes blank. . “This is the part of our life I hate,” he admitted. “The lies, the constant on-the-go, always looking over our shoulders—I hate it.”

She placed her hand over his. “I know. And I wish I could do more.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I hope in time you’ll confide in me what happened in St. Louis.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll tell you on the way to the cemetery.”

***

It had been a shapeshifter, he told her. It had taken on the guise of his old college friend Zack and then tortured and killed Zack’s girlfriend. The brothers had gone to investigate, and were ambushed. It had knocked them both out, tying them up. It took on the guise of Dean and tried to seduce, and torture, Sam’s friend, Rebecca. They had worked their way free and got to Rebecca’s house in time, killing the shapeshifter. Dean was blamed for the attack since it had taken Dean’s form at the time. Officially, Dean Winchester had been dead, shot by the SWAT team. But then Dean’s fingerprints had started turning up at bizarre crime scenes, and they were tracked to Baltimore. There, they got help from a local cop who realized they were on the level about the supernatural happenings and helped them escape from her crooked partner. Unfortunately, the escape landed Dean on the FBI’s wanted list.

“The scariest part about the shapeshifter,” Sam continued as Honey drove to the cemetery, “was that it didn’t just take on Dean’s face. It took on his personality. It was like he downloaded Dean’s thoughts and memories.”

Honey shuddered. “That sounds horrible.”

Sam nodded. “It was freaky. But if you ever come up against one, remember they can be killed by a silver bullet to the heart. That legend is true. Turn left up here.”

As they drove, Sam opened up to Honey more about his life. He told her about his mother, how Mary had died in a house fire when he was only six months old. Dean had taken him from the house while their father, John, tried to save Mary from the inferno, but he couldn’t. Then the Hunting and moving began. He told her a little about his tumultuous relationship with John as he got older, leaving for Stanford, his former girlfriend Jessica, and the Yellow-Eyed Demon they were still Hunting. The same demon that killed his mother, and Jessica.

“It was one of the most horrible nights of my life.” He stared out the window as the memories of Jessica’s death came flooding back. “I had had that damn vision for days and never said anything. Thought if I ignored it, it would just go away. Then it happened, and she was gone. I couldn’t go back.”

Honey blinked back her tears.

“There’s more to tell you, but I think you need some time to absorb all of this before I give you any more details. As for Dean…there’s more to him than what you’ve seen. He’s never forgiven Dad for giving up his soul—not just his life, but his soul, to save his. Don’t let his cocky attitude fool you.”

“I sensed something sad in him, deep down,” she admitted.

Sam nodded. “I think you’re an Empath.”

Honey didn’t look surprised. “I’ve been told that. I don’t really know what it means, other than I sympathize with people.”

Sam shook his head. “It’s more than that. You feel people’s pain. I’d bet you get teary at any sad story, and right now, you feel like crying.”

She nodded with a sheepish smile. “I’ve always been sensitive to other people’s feelings. I just thought it was because I was so shy and withdrawn.”

“No, I think you have a gift. I just pray it’s not like mine.”

Honey blanched at the thought. “Yes, I don’t think I want this Demon coming after me.”

“You really don’t,” he confirmed and pointed her to the left. “There it is.”

They drove through the open gates and left the car near the entrance. They walked through the cemetery, reading headstones. Finally they reached the family plot, where an angel statue in disrepair bore the marker with GRISLAN etched in it. Unlike many of the other plots, there were no fresh flowers, and it looked like it hadn’t been tended to in a long time.

“See how there’s nothing but dirt around it, in an almost perfect circle?” Sam asked quietly. “No living flowers?”

Honey nodded.

“There’s definitely something here. Spirits are usually angry because of a violent death, and living flora can’t survive around them. I’ll bet the groundkeepers gave up on them, and since there is no other family, it’s been abandoned.”

“Where does it start?” Honey asked, peering down at it as she slipped her hand into his. He gave it a squeeze.

“No telling. It encompasses most of the area.”

“But it stops there.” Honey pointed to a small marker. They walked to the grave that bore no name, and and a date that covered a two-year time span.

“This must be the child’s grave—Viola’s grave!” she exclaimed. “Only two years old,” she said sadly.

“We didn’t find the death certificate, but…the article said they were buried here, although…” Sam’s voice trailed off. “This could be just a marker, nothing more. It’s odd they didn’t out her name on it.”

Honey glanced at him oddly. “Why would someone do that? Just put up a marker, I mean?”

The flash of pain in his eyes and tightening of his mouth hit her. “Your mother,” she murmured.

Sam nodded. “She had an uncle we never met, who put up a marker for her. Dean said there was nothing left to bury, it was just a token. We visited it once. Well, I did.”

“Someone must have cared,” she whispered. “Why do you suppose it’s not touched by that—that space?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe the innocence of the baby is protecting it,” he said thoughtfully. “But it encompasses everyone else.”

“Let’s check the other names,” Honey suggested, pulling her hand from Sam’s to dig out her small notebook.

Sam looked at her admiringly. She wasn’t balking, wasn’t getting hysterical but was treating this in a very business-like manner. In fact, she looked intrigued, and he smiled to himself as she knelt in front of the stone to study it. What he wouldn’t give to have someone like her in his life, he thought.

“Sam?” She was looking up at him expectantly with a puzzled smile. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he reassured her, noting how pretty she looked right then. He reminded himself he wasn’t Dean, he needed to stay focused. He could daydream later.

***

They returned to the hotel to find that Dean and Trixie had risen and were sitting across from each other at a table. Sam and Honey joined them, Honey hiding her disappointment at having to sit with Trixie instead of Sam. She ordered another round of coffee for the table. Trixie was sporting a green tinge, and she kept rubbing her eyes as she sipped her coffee and cringed at the plate of untouched toast in front of her. Dean was chowing down on eggs, bacon and pancakes, chuckling at Trixie’s state. His eyes looked tired but he was alert.

“Where’d you crazy kids run off to?” Dean greeted them cheerfully.

“Researching,” Sam answered. He filled the other two in on what they had found in the graveyard. Sam decided to skip, for now, telling Dean that Honey knew who they were. He was pretty sure Trixie was still clueless. Dean was intrigued, and Trixie began to look livelier as the conversation went on.

“We get to dig up graves?” Trixie demanded in an excited whisper. She took a gulp of her water.

“Looks like,” Sam replied. “It’ll possibly help us narrow down whose spirit we’re dealing with.”

“And if there are no bodies for Eugenia or the baby?” Honey asked.

“These are the graves we know about,” Dean answered. “If it isn’t either of them, we’re screwed and back at square one. I think we should head back to the house, keep looking for clues. We can’t do any digging until tonight, and I want to explore the cellar. Sam, you need to check out that kid’s room. If it was trying to communicate with Trixie, it will probably get through to you easier.”

Sam nodded. He needed to tell Dean that Honey knew about them, but he didn’t know if Trixie knew, but suspected she didn’t, not to mention, Dean would be furious enough when he found out.

***

“Is it possible to talk to them?” Trixie asked. “Like, normally?”

“Like talking among us? What would you say, ask it to tea?” Dean taunted. She glared at him, and he smirked. “Sometimes. This won’t be one of them. This spirit is pissed and all it knows is anger. I doubt there’s any trace left of who it was.”

He parked the Impala in front, and they split up, Dean and Trixie looking for the cellar, and Sam and Honey heading up the front steps. Once inside the house, Sam pulled out his EMF meter, a much nicer looking one than the beat-up Walkman Dean was using. Honey stuck close to Sam as he walked around, looking for signs of paranormal activity.

Dean shifted the duffle bag filled with weapons they had chosen from the trunk of the Impala to his other shoulder. They walked around toward the back of the house and found the cellar doors bolted shut. Grabbing the bolt and forcing it free, he told Trixie to stand back.

“Why?” she asked. “What’s going to come flying out of there?”

“Nothing probably,” Dean answered. “But stay back anyway.”

She stuck out her tongue at him behind his back but obeyed. Dean tugged on the doors twice before they opened, creaking in protest. He flinched covering his nose and mouth, stepping away. Trixie had been admiring his muscles until the stench of the cellar hit her.

“Damn,” he choked. He pushed Trixie further back. “That’s gotta air out. Something definitely died down there!”

Buying their time, they poked around the side of the house, neither wanting to descend into the odoriferous cellar.

Trixie noticed the woodpile off to one side and drifted over that way. She nudged the rooting wood with her toe, disturbing a long black snake that slithered out and into the weeds.

With a small, startled cry, she stepped backwards and into Dean.

Instinctively, he placed himself between her and the danger “What is it?” he asked.

“It was just a snake,” she managed to say, flushing. “It startled me, that’s all. Good thing I have my boots.”

Dean smirked. “You wanna get close, just say so,” he told her, sliding his hand around her hips as she turned towards him.

“Jerk,” she spat even as he pulled her against him. She wanted to resist the coming embrace, but she couldn’t, and the instant their lips touched, heat flared and she melted into him. His arms came around her, lifting her short frame up to him.

When he finally set her down she held onto him, not trusting her knees to hold her. His green eyes stared into hers and she felt dizzy. He was so hard to read, she thought with dismay, but his body was indicating he was enjoying the embrace.

“You look a little faint, Curly,” he said quietly.

“Too much beer last night,” she growled. He chuckled and kissed her again, knowing he had to stay focused on the job right now. They would definitely continue this later. “Let’s check that cellar.”

Shining their lights into the darkness, Dean went first, his salt gun drawn, testing the stairs with each step. Trixie had her own gun out, and even though she knew it was useless against a spirit, it still made her feel safer.

“Damn, whatever died down here must not have fully decomposed,” Dean said.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Trixie muttered. She couldn’t see Dean’s smirk at the response. “Cellars were built to keep things cool, you know.”

“It’s stronger over here,” Dean choked out. Trixie took a step to follow and felt her stomach roll.

“How long do you think it’s been down here?” she asked, gagging.

“I don’t know, but—” Dean was cut off as Trixie turned and raced up the stairs. He was on her tail, feeling his own wave of sickness.

He found her lying in the grass on her back, gulping air.

“Another few seconds down there and I would have just hurled,” she laughed shakily. Dean nodded, dropping onto the ground next to her, grateful for the fresh air.

“Yeah, projectile vomit isn’t really my thing,” he agreed, glancing over at her. She sat up, running a hand through her sandy curls.

“How long do you think we should wait?” she asked, turning toward him.

“Dunno. It could be a while.” Without warning he leaned in to kiss her and she let him, reaching for his jacket collar to pull him closer. Scooting closer to her, he eased her onto her back, passion building in their embrace.

“Dean—”

“You talk too much, Curly,” he answered, covering her mouth with his. Trixie gave in. She couldn’t fight the allure of his rugged sexiness or the desire that overcame her every time those green eyes looked her way.

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Author Notes: - A "Man, I'm freakin' velvety smooth!" to my editors, Mary, Jenn and Dana! Quote by Dean, ep 2.19 Folsom Prison Blues.
- The shapeshifter that set Dean up in St. Louis is the episode “Skin”, from Season 1. Dean ended up on the FBI’s Most Wanted list in “The Usual Suspects” from Season 2. The cops were played by Linda Blair and Jason Gedrick. Sam does not have his own listing, but is listed as an accomplice to Dean.
- The boys’ mother died in a flashback in “Pilot”, from Season 1, where Dean saved Sam by getting him outside. John couldn’t save Mary. Jess, Sam’s girlfriend, also died in the pilot, in the exact same way.
- John made a deal to save Dean’s life in “In My Time of Dying”, episode 1 of Season two. A demon taunted Dean with it “Crossroad Blues”, episode 9 of Season 2, confirming Dean’s worst fear.
- The marker for Mary was mentioned in “Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things”, episode 4 of Season 2. Dean revealed an unknown uncle had the marker made, and he wouldn’t go near it while Sam buried John’s dog tags at the marker.
- Word Count, 3,482

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