Curtain Call

By, december.morning

Disclaimer: Not my birthday, not Christmas, I don't have fairy god parents…in other words, NO, I do not own Supernatural, Sam, Dean, Jensen or Jared. But damn, do I wish I did.

Summary: His foot on the final step, he turned to face her and gave her another eerie, fake-smile, and whispered, "This is my scene."

A/N: I'm SO sorry this took so long…I've been really busy with the play. Opening night is tomorrow, Friday March 3rd, so we've been rehearsing a lot. Whenever I wasn't rehearsing, I was scrambling around, trying to do my homework, or stressing.

Last time in Curtain Call: Dean discovers Bates' skeleton, but the ghost is less than cooperative. The ghost knocks Dean out and drags Sam into his torture chamber; when Dean wakes up, the gasoline is gone. He drives off to find Richard Bates.


April 19th, 2003—Richard Bates' home

Dean was pushing 80 in a 40 mph zone, but he didn't care. Every moment he wasted obeying pedestrian constraints was another moment his Sammy was in Bates' clutches. So, ignoring the yells and one fingered salutes he received, he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, and accelerated to 85 mph. Now he pushed down hard on the brakes, simultaneously turning the wheel of the overheating Impala into the driveway of Richard Bates' cushy New Hope farmhouse. The car had barely wheezed to a halt before he threw the door of the car open, and tumbled out of the Impala. He patted the roof of the car quickly as he passed.

He took the stairs of Bates' porch two at a time, and pushed the bell at least five times. Some classical music rang throughout the house each time he pushed the bell, and it was in the middle of the sixth ring that Richard Bates, disheveled, rubbing his eyes, and only in boxer shorts, opened the door.

"One ring of the bell would suffice, young man," grumbled the doctor, glaring at Dean with steely eyes.

"I—I need your help. Joseph Bates, he was your brother, right?" Dean said urgently, meeting the doctor's dark eyes, which were currently wide with fright.

"It must be a coincidence. Bates is a common name…" he stuttered, stumbling back. "Please, leave," he said, attempting to push the door shut. "It's the middle of the—"

"Yeah, I know it's the middle of the night! It's also the night before your brother's play flopped, give or take two years!" Dean asserted, pushing his way through the door. The doctor made a strangled noise and stumbled back.

"You know something about Joseph Bates, don't you, Richard?" Dean said savagely, "your little brother is murdering people, doctor, and now he has Sammy in his quaint little torture chamber! You know something, and you are going to tell me!"

The doctor was staring at Dean with wide, crazed eyes. "I can't tell you! He'll kill me!"

"I won't let him kill you! But if my brother dies, it'll be your fault, and then you'll wish that I'd have let him," Dean threatened, narrowing his eyes. He knew he wasn't handling this very well –Sammy was the public relations guy, Dean just shot stuff— but what was he supposed to do? Ask nicely over a cup of English Gray?

"I brought him back so he could try again! You're not going to fuck that up!" the doctor shouted, and it was such a sudden change of emotions that Dean took a step back.

Necromancy. Of course…that was why Bates had surfaced so late, and why he looked so awful. Most ghosts looked like they had when they died, but not Bates…he looked like he'd spent a few months underground…it would have taken a while for Richard to gather the necessary supplies, and the nerve to raise the dead.

"But he's murdering innocent people! You can't want that for him, Richard!" Dean said in a low voice, slowly moving towards the obviously imbalanced man. Richard was staring at him, looking particularly insane in his Daffy Duck boxers, bed head, and wild red eyes.

The two of them stared at each other for several long, anxious moments, before the doctor sighed loudly, his shoulders slumping.

"No. I don't. But I loved him so much…and when I saw him with that gun to his head, I knew he didn't really want to die. So I promised him I'd bring him back…" Richard murmured. "And I never break my promises."

Dean just stared at the doctor. "If he put a gun to his head, and pulled the fucking trigger, I'd say he wanted to die, buddy," he said scathingly.

Bates shook his head, and grabbed a coat from the coat hook, then turned around to eye a stunned Dean. "You coming or not?"

"Coming. We have to hurry, your asshole of a brother dragged Sam under the stage about three hours ago," Dean answered, earning a sharp glare from Richard, but the doctor said nothing; he merely rushed upstairs, and returned five minutes later, clutching a heavy leather book, and clad in a hunter green bathrobe. He was still silent.

After all, how could you defend a psychotic murderer?


August 19th, 2003—Bucks County Playhouse

After a quick pit stop at the local Sunoco, to get a tank of gas from the bleary-eyed mechanic, Dean and Richard pulled up in front of the playhouse. The doctor was wringing his hands, but Dean merely glared at the doors, and got out of the Impala. He started to open the trunk for the tank of gas, which Richard had been reluctant to buy, but he was stopped by Richard's quiet protest.

"You don't need that. I have everything I need here," the elderly man murmured, holding up the battered book. Dean narrowed his eyes, slight frown lines appearing between his eyes. "I promise."

Those words struck a chord, and Dean nodded. Without saying a word, he hurried to the back of the theater, boosted Richard through the window, and then followed quickly. Taking care to be silent, the two men tiptoed into the mausoleum-quiet theater. Dean didn't know how Richard was, but the man was pale. He himself was nervous as hell.

"I'll lure him out...get Sammy. You just do whatever you do with that book," Dean whispered, running on the tips of his toes towards the stage. Richard's stage-whisper cut him off.

"He might not be alive, you know," the man said quietly, not meeting Dean's eyes as he leafed exaggeratedly through his book.

Just as Dean opened his mouth, with the full intention to give this ass-faced necromancer a piece of his mind, a piercing scream filled the auditorium. It was a voice Dean would know anywhere.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, throwing himself underneath the stage, simultaneously pulling a rock salt gun from the back of his jeans. He was met with the scene from hell.

His baby brother, his Sammy, was chained up like an animal, chained to the wall with a set of manacles—vicious specimens covered with blood, both new and old. Sam was clad only in boxers, and his eyes were wide and glazed, locked on to where Dean stood, but from the lack of recognition, Dean's fogged mind concluded that Sam couldn't see him. He was covered in sweat, dirt and blood, and for a minute, Dean wondered where the blood was coming from. Until he saw the cuts.

If they could be called cuts…Joseph Bates had hacked into Sam's chest and arms, taking out tiny triangles of flesh, which littered the floor around him. The marks, although small, bled copiously; where Sam wasn't cut, he was bloody. Dean gagged, and before he knew what he was doing, he stepped forward, arms outstretched to Sam.

His heart ached as Sam flinched back. "No…Sammy, it's me. It's Dean! Your big brother," he said, his voice cracking. "Big brother's gonna get you outta here…promise," he whispered, feeling something wet slide down his cheek as Sam flinched again, and made a small, frightened noise in the back of his throat.

Slowly, he turned around to look for a key, only to come face to face with Joseph Bates, who leered at him with his yellowed nubs. The ghost backhanded him viciously, and Dean stumbled back, knocking into Sam, who groaned loudly.

"Fuck! Sorry, Sammy! Sorry!" He fumbled for his gun (damnit, his hands were trembling!), and finally managed to pull the trigger. The salt blasted through the ghost, and slammed into the wall behind him, leaving several satisfying craters. With an unearthly scream, Bates flew past Dean, and up into the main theater.

"NOW, RICHARD!" Dean screamed, at the top of his lungs, praying that the man would hear him. He dedicated his attentions to ripping the tiny room apart, searching for a key. "Key…key…damnit! If I were a psycho murderer, where would I hide a fucking key…key! Bingo!" Not realizing how crazy he sounded, he ripped the rusted key from its position on the wall, and jammed it into the manacles, which came loose with a noisy creak.

Sam's eyes rolled up into his head, and he pitched forward. With a grunt, Dean caught him, then swept his legs up so that he could carry Sam up the stairs. He leaned forward and stumbled up the steep, blood stained stone steps.

In the main theater, Richard and Joseph stood face to face. With a start, Dean realized how similar they looked…maybe the similarity was why Richard wasn't doing anything.

"Richard, god damnit! Send him back to hell!" Dean yelled, and both men, one alive, one very much dead, turned to him. Joseph leered again, and raised a hand; Dean felt himself be blasted backwards. He collided with the stage, and landed on the floor, with Sam somehow still in his arms. Gritting his teeth, he tried to rise, but found that he was locked into place, so he had to be content with sending the brothers' his most murderous glare.

"This is between my brother and I, Mr. Winchester," said Joseph calmly. "What are you going to do, Richy?" the ghost intoned, turning back to Richard, who trembled, the book perilously close to falling from his hands. "Do you think you can best me, brother dear?"

"Joseph—I have to, what you're doing is wrong…" Richard choked, tears sliding down his cheeks. "When I brought you back, I had no idea…you killed Melina, why did you kill Melina?"

"Because, Richy, her performance was not up to par. You know I only tolerate the very best," Joseph answered, smiling slightly.

"Joseph, I have to kill you…" whispered Richard, shaking his head slowly. "I have to send you back!"

The ghost nodded calmly. "If you can bring yourself to utter the correct words, brother dear, I will allow it."

Dean fixed his eyes upon Richard, who stood, trembling, looking into the dull, dead eyes of his brother. The ghost grinned widely at Richard, who winced, and opened up the book with trembling hands. His eyes darted up to meet Joseph's, and he began to read, in a small, quavering voice.

"Transporto is vir tergum ut suus sepulchrum…"

Subconciously, Dean translated: Send this man back to his grave…

"May is nunquam reverto iterum…"

May he never return again…

Richard choked a bit, and looked at Dean, with wide, terrified eyes. He turned back to his reading; seeming to gather something within himself, he shouted the last line.

"May totus involved in suus reverto pereo, quo…"

And may all involved in his return perish…

Dean's eyes widened, and he began to struggle. "Richard, no! There's another way! Another spe—"

But before he could finish the word 'spell', Richard looked up, his eyes blazing, and positively roared the final word.


Joseph and Richard merely stared at each other, with Dean looking on with wide, horrified eyes, before the ghost threw his head back and gave a long, keening wail. A fire blazed up at his feet, and, gleaming with a holy light, raced up his torso. With Joseph screaming like a banshee, the fire began to consume him, and, with a final burst, it flew into a flaming inferno. Dean yelled and shut his eyes (his arms were locked into place), and when he opened them, all that remained of Joseph Bates was a smoldering pile of ashes.

Richard, however, still stood. He smiled faintly at Dean, and whispered two words: "Thank you."

Then he threw his head back, gave a single howl of pain, and keeled over backwards. A loud bang filled Dean's ears, and he found himself free of the binding enchantment. At the same time, Sam opened his eyes, and, for the first time, he seemed to recognize Dean.

"Dean—what the hell…?" Sam said, with difficulty. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, a sight that pulled at Dean's heartstrings.

"Shh, Sammy. It's all over. Bates is dead –again— and so's the yobbo who brought him back. We need to get you out of here," Dean said quietly, and he struggled to his feet, Sam still in his arms. Carefully, he positioned his arm so that Sam couldn't see the body of Richard Bates, and hurried out of the theater. As he passed by where Bates' skeleton had been, he realized that it, too, had disintegrated; all that remained was another pile of ashes.

The chains that circulated the door fell off as Dean reached the doors, and he was able to kick it open easily enough. He slipped out into the grey-pink morning, unlocked the Impala, and laid Sam into the passengers seat without even bothering to lay a towel over the leather.

Unsurprisingly, the car was silent as the brothers' drove away from the Bucks County Playhouse. Sam was in too much pain to speak, but Dean was deep in thought.

This one damn near got us killed…how many more near death experiences can we survive?


Well, that's it! The last chapter of Curtain Call…boohoo…no, really. I'm going to miss this story!

Review responses:

Jessica: Yeah, me too! I hope this ending satisfied you!

Ghostwriter: Thanks! I'm sorry you had to wait this long, I really hope it was worth it!

Eternal Bleeding Heart: Aaah, I'll always have Gracie. Hope you liked this chapter, and I'll start Ragdoll on Sunday or Monday!

My next story is going to be Ragdoll. It's about young women in Wisconsin who are abducted out of their beds…normal, right? But what's weird is that they're found with body parts missing, and they're always insane. They repeat one phrase 24/7, and only sleep if sedated. The phrase is What a pretty doll…

Weird, huh?

Final A/N: Thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed, and everyone who put me on their alerts or favorites…I really appreciate it! And tons of cookies and cows to Eternal Bleeding Heart, AKA Grace, AKA the psycho who beta'd this story for me. Thank you so much!