|Hell Hath no Fury
Author: TraSan PM
Sam and Dean take a minivacation, and stumble on their next gig. An old, abandoned house with recent renovations. Did the construction activity awaken an angry spirit, or are they simply normal accidents?Rated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural/Adventure - Dean W. & Sam W. - Chapters: 7 - Words: 13,379 - Reviews: 45 - Favs: 16 - Follows: 10 - Updated: 01-10-07 - Published: 12-27-06 - Status: Complete - id: 3311566
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters, the metallicar, or anything else related to Supernatural. I only wish I did.
A big thank you to Jubilea (formerly accredited as the delightful Ms. M) for agreeing to be my secret Beta.
Hell Hath no Fury
"The lady at the counter said Crater Lake is amazing this time of year," Sam stated as he opened the passenger door. He was juggling Chevron's version of a latte the size of his head, a bag of chips, two sandwiches, and some type of candy.
"What ya got there?" Dean asked ignoring Sam's plug for sight-seeing at Crater Lake.
"Twizzlers," Sam replied a wide grin cracking his face. "They make mouths happy."
"I let you watch entirely too much t.v. when you were a kid," Dean grumbled snagging the bag of chips from Sam's grasp.
"Whoa," Sam exclaimed frantically rearranging the remaining food in his hands trying not to drop anything. "Could you wait a sec?" He folded himself into the passenger seat, set his latte on the dash, and handed Dean one of the sandwiches. "I have a map."
"Grab that latte, Sam," Dean responded. "If you get any coffee on my upholstery…"
"I know," Sam interrupted, unfolding the map. "You'll banish me forever to the passenger seat. I'll never be the driver. I'll never get to choose the music we listen to, or…wait…that IS what you've done." Sam unfolded the map to the section showing the route to Crater Lake.
"I'm serious," Dean responded with a growl. "Grab. The. Coffee."
Sam snagged the coffee from the dashboard. It had created a foggy spot on the windshield from the steam, and left a small amount of condensation on the dashboard from steam droplets falling back to the dash. Sam hastily wiped up the water droplets with the sleeve of his jacket, chancing a glance in Dean's direction. Dean seemed preoccupied with un-wrapping his sandwich, and had not noticed. Sam repressed a sigh of relief. "So, it's only about forty-five minutes from here – thirty the way you drive."
"What?" Dean asked. He looked up from his sandwich.
"Crater Lake," Sam replied with a sigh. "It is only about forty-five minutes from here, supposed to be beautiful this time of year, remember?"
"We're not going to Crater Lake," Dean stated, the conversation obviously over before it even began.
"Why not?" Sam asked. "We are so close to it."
Dean looked over at Sam, who was flashing him those little brother, puppy dog eyes. "Sam," Dean said exasperated. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered to put up a fight.
"Fine," Dean replied sarcastically. "But, after we look at the big, pretty lake, you find us our next gig."
"Deal," Sam replied with a small grin. "Turn right out of the gas station, and stay on the highway until you see the signs for Crater Lake. I don't think we can miss it. There's nothing else out there."
Dean pealed out of the station with a little more speed than necessary, causing the tires to squeal, and black smoke to billow up from the pavement. It may not have been necessary, but it sure as hell felt good.
Sam wrapped his fingers around his mug of hot cocoa, complete with mini-marshmallows courtesy of the grandmotherly receptionist in the lodge lobby. He was sporting a small grin, as he stared into the fire thinking about the impromptu snowball fight he'd started with Dean earlier.
They had been snowshoeing around the rim of the lake, which Sam had to admit, really was beautiful, when he had slipped and fallen face first into the powdery snow. It took quite a bit of effort and three tries, to stand up with the cumbersome snowshoes on, and only one good hand. He had glared at Dean when he had realized Dean was laughing at him so hard, he could barely catch his breath. Sam had thrown the first snowball. The shocked looked on Dean's face had been worth it. In the end, Sam had ended up pinned face first in the snow, with Dean shoving snow down his coat collar.
"It's been so long since I've seen Dean be just Dean," Sam thought. "It was definitely worth the wet jeans, and a face full of snow." Sam felt his eyelids growing heavy, and he gave in to the feeling.
Sam jumped when he felt Dean's hand on his shoulder. Dean was obviously unaware Sam had drifted off to sleep, and Sam struggled to catch up to the conversation.
"If you tell me where it is, I'll go get it," Dean offered.
"What?" Sam asked.
"The map, Sammy," Dean replied sporting his cocky half-grin. "Am I going too fast for you, kiddo?"
"Whatever, Dean," Sam replied frowning. "It's upstairs in our room, on the bedside table."
"I found our next gig, and it's right here in Oregon," Dean stated grabbing the now cold cocoa from Sam's hands, and taking a sip. He frowned at the temperature. "It tastes like crap, no wonder you didn't finish it."
"It was fine before," Sam defended.
"Uh-huh, I'm going to hit the shower while I'm up there," Dean replied. "We can head out in the morning."
As Dean turned to stand, Sam popped off, "Use the shower mat. I wouldn't want you to slip."
Dean whirled around, and shot him the patented Dean Winchester death-stare. "Dude, shut up," Dean retorted.
Sam sat back into the over-stuffed armchair with a satisfied grin on his face.
"Shish bath in Mefrd," Dean said, his mouth full with a breakfast burrito.
"Mind repeating that?" Sam asked grimacing in disgust. "Do you have any table manners?"
"Technically, we're not at a table," Dean intoned. "And, we're in MY car, Mr. Etiquette."
"Nice," Sam replied, "That certainly makes it okay."
"Glad you see it my way," Dean remarked. "I said, it is back in Medford."
"Back the way we came?" Sam asked. "How'd you even find out about it?"
"Two old geezers talking in the lobby," Dean said. "They were talking about the old Drumsfield house, and the recent accidents. A few questions later I had the whole scoop." Dean attacked his burrito again with gusto.
Sam gazed out the window at the heavily tree-lined highway. The fog was drifting low to the ground between the trees, and the sky was dark gray. It looked like the type of area people purported to see Big Foot. Of course, it was logically explained by Wendigos, werewolves, and so on. "Logically," Sam thought. "Just goes to show how twisted my life is, when werewolves are the logical explanation." He snorted softly at the thought.
"What?" Dean asked turning his attention from the road back to Sam. "I didn't catch that."
"Nothing," Sam muttered, and attempted to change the subject. "So, back in 1927, the Drumsfield's threw a dinner party no one attended. They were so offended, they sent away the servants, and just left? It seems a little extreme to me."
"Yeah, well, you're not some uptight little society bitch, either," Dean replied. "Apparently, everyone attended the mayor's dinner instead, and she had a breakdown over it." Dean slowed down as they passed through yet another small town. It was never a good idea to speed through a small town. The police did not have much else to do besides watch for speeders. Now that Dean was on the federal list it was an unnecessary risk, and his car was visible enough as is.
"But, you're not buying it?" Sam asked.
"Maybe, until the accidents started happening," Dean replied. "It was quiet until it was sold recently, and the new owner started renovations."
"Disturbing a spirit," Sam interrupted.
"That's my theory," Dean continued. "I'm guessing one or both of them were killed, and now something is awake, and pissed off."
Twenty minutes later Dean pulled to a stop at a small locally owned gas station. "I'm going to talk to that guy, and get some directions," he stated getting out of the car.
Sam stretched carefully, and walked around the car to pump gas. He had no sooner picked up the nozzle, when the aforementioned man came walking out of the station house, and yelled at Sam.
"Hey!" he shouted. "You from out of state?"
"Yeah," Sam replied hesitantly.
"Thought so," the man replied ripping the nozzle from Sam's grasp. "Can't pump your own gas, son. It's illegal in Oregon."
"You're kidding me?" Sam replied incredulously.
"Nope," the man replied straightening his cap. "Plus side is, we don't have sales tax either."
Sam nodded, and threw a glare in Dean's direction. Dean just smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Jerk," Sam thought. "He must have known. He was the one who filled the tank before." Sam headed out to find the restroom hoping they were not illegal in Oregon too.
Five minutes later they were back on the road. "I got it," Dean stated.
"How?" Sam asked tersely. He was still upset about the gas incident.
"Hey, I'm charming as well as smart and handsome," Dean cracked, his moss-green eyes flashing, and the cocky half-grin making another appearance.
"Modest too," Sam replied sarcastically.
"Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble, when you're perfect in every way," Dean sang in a twangy country voice.
"Ah man," Sam moaned. "That song is going to be stuck in my head all day now."
"Remember the first time we heard that song?" Dean asked. "We were staying with Bobby for a few days while dad was hunting? We were playing hide and seek in the garage, and there was Bobby, singing off-key, his crack half-way out of those blue mechanic's pants he always wore?"
"Great," Sam complained. "Thanks for reminding me. Now, I have a mental image to go along with the song in my head."
"I like to share the pain, bro," Dean replied laughing. With a quick flick of the wrist, Dean turned on the stereo, and Metallica thumped through the speakers.
Two dirt roads, three deer, and a flock of wild turkeys later, they were weaving their way along another tree-lined country road uphill towards the Drumsfield mansion. As they pulled into the drive, Sam noticed there were heavy construction equipment, scaffolding, and tools in the yard. The only thing missing was the workers.
"Work is halted through the weekend," Dean stated apparently reading Sam's mind. He pulled the Impala to a stop, and turned off the lights. Dean stepped out of the car, and walked around to the back. He started rifling through the trunk.
Sam joined Dean at the trunk where Dean was stuffing the weapons bag with his favorite shot gun. "You pack the rock salt?" Sam asked.
Dean gave Sam a quizzical look, "You serious? I packed enough to pickle the old guy." Dean picked up his EMF, and slammed the trunk lid closed. "Let's hit it," he said.
Dean easily picked the lock, and he and Sam stepped into the old mansion. Sam hit the light switch, and asked, "Do you want to start upstairs, or downstairs?"
Before Dean could reply, the lights flickered for several seconds, and went out. A gust of cold wind blew down the stairs, and between the Winchesters slamming the door shut behind them. Sam and Dean looked back towards the door, and then back to each other. "Well, that can't be good." Dean remarked.
AN: I couldn't help, but indulge myself, and give poor Sam and Dean a mini-vacation after the angst filled season 2 they've endured thus far. It wasn't an action packed beginning, so I hope I didn't lose anyone due to the lack of exciting adventure. The supernatural stuff is coming next chapter, I promise.
The brothers were in Oregon, supposedly near Crater Lake (per Sam's vision) in the episode, "Croatoan." Crater Lake seemed like a convenient location to take the guys on a quick road trip.
The house is real. The couple really did disappear one night after a failed dinner party. Everything was left in the house as if the owners would return at any time. Reportedly, they moved back east, but it was never verified. It was recently sold and renovated, but no problems arose. It seemed like an ideal place to put an angry spirit to me. Bg.
Also, there really isn't sales tax in Oregon, and it really is illegal to pump your own gas.