Chapter 2

Arriving at New Hope

“This town is almost as much of a ghost town as Tortilla Flats.”

Sam looked out at the cheerful yellow sign announcing that they had made it to New Hope, Arizona- The Happy Stop Along the Apache Trail. “At least it doesn't boast a population of six. Maybe they'll have more than just a saloon and gift shop.”

Dean turned down a small gravel side-street and silently wondered why no one in this part of Arizona had ever heard of pavement. He cut his eyes to his brother and gave him a sly grin. “But will they have jalapeño ice cream cones?”

Sam looked at him and shrugged. “It sounded interesting.”

"I don't think interesting is something one should look for in food choices, little brother. A movie, a book, maybe even a woman, but not food.”

Sam ignored him and turned his eyes back to the road as they passed huge Candelabra-shaped saguaro and rows of hedgehog and barrel cacti. New Hope appeared peaceful and sheltered, as if it had been cast back in time, frozen in another era.

It reminded him of Flagstaff, and he suddenly found himself missing his father. What the hell? The feeling overcame him like a wave, surprising him with both its intensity and its ability to steal his breath.

His dad had once taken he and Dean thereto see the Grand Canyon on what almost seemed like a typical family vacation. Of course the true purpose of the trip was to investigate a spectral sighting of something that was supposedly killing hikers, but at the time a ten year-old Sam would have taken whatever glimpse of normal that he could have gotten.

The present day, grown-up Sam sighed, letting go of the painful part of the memory. It was good to know that he could still feel something for his father besides resentment, especially so soon after Kansas. So what if all his extensive travel as a child had an ulterior motive, he could still easily understand the lure of New Hope's untamed charm and rugged landscape.

Sam looked back down at the map in his hand. Nestled in at the base of the ironically named Superstition Mountains, the town skirted Canyon Lake, but was shielded from it's neighboring bustling city of Phoenix by 30 miles of sharp volcanic peaks and tawny cliffs of red stone.

His mind drifted to one such peak on Fish Creek Hill, where Dean's driving had assuredly taken ten years off his life along the cliff-hugging stretch of road, when his brother's abrupt braking snapped him back to the present and nearly had him colliding with the windshield.

He slung both his hands out to brace himself against the dashboard as the Chevy slid to a complete stop. “Damn it, Dean! What the hell are you doing?”

“A freakin' huge white wolf just ran right out in front of us, man.” His brother was intently searching the growing darkness around them.

“Right.” Sam scanned the gravel path in front of them and frowned at the oldest Winchester. “And what, then he vanished into thin air? I don't even think wolves are indigenous to this area.”

Dean glared at the younger Winchester. “Tell that to him, college boy. I know what I saw.”

“Where'd he go then?” Sam looked out the passenger window. “Maybe it was just a dog.”

The oldest Winchester pointed to a building in the distance. “He darted off behind that building, and I know the difference between Lassie and White Fang.”

Sam focused on the tall wooden structure which stood in what looked to be the center of the small town. “I bet that’s Town Hall or maybe the Sheriff's office.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, maybe Marshall Dillon will walk out at any moment. Maybe the wolf belongs to him.”

Sam grinned and shook his head. “You always did want to be a cowboy, man. This town may be your big chance.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Sam laughed, loving turning the tables on his older brother for a change. “I'm talking about how you dressed up as the Lone Ranger four Halloweens in a row. Remember how you begged Dad to buy you that pearl-handled Colt revolver?”

“Shut-up.” Dean eased the car forward again, and ignored the amused look on his brother's face. “I think we should find a place to stay before we check anything out.”

Sam reached into the floorboard and retrieved the map and other papers that had been thrown there when Dean stopped the car. "According to the brochure we picked up at the rest stop, there's only one place. It's at the other end of town." Sam held the shiny tri-folded paper up.“ It’s suppose to be rated three stars.”

“Great,” Dean made the turn that would take them straight through New Hope. “The sooner we get started, the better.”

Sam folded the map up with the brochure tucked inside. “Dean, what is our plan, anyway?"

The older hunter shrugged. "Same as always. We'll talk to the locals and research the history of the place. Then, we'll go from there."

The younger Winchester looked out the window, feeling the coldness seep into the car as the sun finally made it‘s decent. "Maybe this isn't what we think it is. Maybe these people really did die from some type of virus."

"And maybe there is a Tooth Fairy and an Easter bunny, and maybe Santa really did bring you that Optimist Prime transformer when you were six."

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "Just playing Devil's advocate."

"Well, let it go, Scully. This has nothing to do with the flu. I just have this feeling."

Sam looked at his brother, amusement lighting his eyes. "You have a feeling?"

Dean fought back a smile. "Maybe you're not the only freak show in the family."

"Fuck you." Sam replied, without any real heat.

Dean frowned. "Remember the time Dad washed your mouth out with soap for saying that?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother. "If I recall right, that was you that washed my mouth out and you used peroxide."

"Oh yeah," Dean nodded, not bothering to hide his smile now. "Nothing wrong with your memory, Sam."

Sam recognized the smug look and the unspoken threat. "Whatever, Dean."

The older Winchester laughed at the poor comeback. "Whatever, Sammy."

"This must be it." Sam leaned forward to get a better look at the large two-story, pale blue, house with tiny sea green shutters that they were quickly approaching. When the brochure had said that it was a short trip through town, it hadn’t been exaggerating.

The road didn't really end, but turned rather in a cul-de-sac where the little inn sat. The wrap around porch of the old place held various rocking chairs and plants, while ivy climbed the sides of the structure. "I guess they thought the colors would be soothing?"

Dean killed the engine and grabbed his pack from behind his seat. "Yeah, hence the name, The Rest Inn. "

"We've stayed in worse." Sam took hold of his own bag and got out of the car.

"Yes we have." Dean climbed out of the Impala and looked at the colorful bed and breakfast. "At least it beats the tent or sleeping in the car."

Sam nodded in agreement. He didn‘t relish in the idea of spending another sleepless night in the Chevy. "Do you have our I.D.?"

Dean patted his pockets. "Press passes and everything." He pulled two fake ID's out and tossed one to Sam. "Courtesy of your genius older brother."

Sam caught his and looked at it. "I don't know what you're talking about. Sam Watkins is an only child."

Dean locked his door and closed it. "Don't you wish it were that easy."

If Sam hadn't been looking back over his shoulder at his brother smirking, he probably would have seen the man standing in front of the steps of the RestInn. Unfortunately that wasn't the case.

"Oh man, I'm sorry." Sam tried to hold onto his pack and steady himself and the old man he'd just collided with. "Are you alright?"

"You must go." The old man stared at Sam, his black eyes hard and cold.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, Sam has two left feet." Dean took hold of his brother's jacket sleeve and pulled him backa few inches away from the stranger.

The man didn‘t even look at the older Winchester, but continued to hold Sam‘s gaze. "Both of you must leave. Now."

Sam took a moment to study the man blocking their way into the inn. He was at least in his seventies and obviously of Native American decent. His long silver hair was pulled back into a braid, accentuating his high cheek bones and black eyes. He was as tall as Sam, and struck an imposing figure even at his seasonedage. His clothes looked old, and non-distinct. The only thing unusual about what he wore was the long strand of black and jade-colored beads holding a carved pendant of white, which hung loosely around his neck.

"I'm guessing you're not with the welcome committee?" Dean's voice brought Sam's gaze back to him. "If you don't mind, my friend and I have been traveling all day. We'd like to get a room and some rest."

Again, the old man ignored Dean. "Leave this place, before the Crow traps you."

Dean eyed the man coolly and took a step closer. "Not an option."

This time the stranger looked right at Dean. "He must not have the fire. He has been waiting for it."

A sudden chill raced down Dean‘s spine, and he felt the urgency to get back in the Impala and do just like the old man said-get the hell out of Dodge. "Look, old man, I don't know what your problem is but maybe you should head down to the mission or better yet a nice AA meeting somewhere."

The Indian turned away from Dean, instead reaching out and grasping Sam's wrist. "He will take your power for his own and use it to destroy those around you. He won't be able to resist it. Leave now before it's too late."

"Hey!" Dean started to step in between the two when the man released Sam.

Church bells rang loudly in the distance behind them and both Winchesters turned, startled by the unsuspected noise. When they turned back around they were alone.

"What the hell?" Dean looked around, amazed that the old guy could move so quickly. "Where'd he go?"

"I have an idea." Sam looked down at his wrist, which was starting to sting.

Dean took hold of his hand and brought it closer as to see in the quickly fading light. He swore at the angry looking red marks in the shape of fingers encircling his brother's wrist.

"God. That thing was a poltergeist?"

"Or something." Sam hissed as Dean prodded the slightly damaged skin.

Dean let him go and nodded towards the Inn. "Whatever it was, it's long gone now. Go on and get us checked in, I'll grab the first-aid kit from the car."

Sam picked up his pack and with one final look around headed up the green and blue stairs. He sighed heavily. This was not a good way to start out a hunt.

Sam was still talking to a young blond man behind the reservations desk when Dean opened the door. The blond kid glanced up at him then back to Sam. "So you guys work for the Denver Post, that's pretty big time, man."

"It has its perks." Sam handed his brother the pen he'd just used to sign in and waited for Dean to do the same.

"You guys are in Room 8 at the top of the stairs and to the right." The kid, whose name tag read Dave, put a key down in front of Dean. "Miss Maggie serves breakfast at six A.M. sharp. I know it's early, but trust me, it's worth it."

"Maggie?" Dean signed his fake name and handed the pen back to the kid.

"Yeah, sweet old lady that owns the inn. She's been here forever."

"Where's the closest place for a meal now?"

Dave looked at Sam. "That would be the Jalapeno. It's right around the corner and open until ten."

"Thanks." Dean picked up the room key and started for the stairs.

The inside of the inn was stranger than the outside. Cheerful pink walls adorned with pictures of cats in various poses greeted them as they made their way up the spiral staircase.

They came to Room8 and Dean raised an eyebrow as he read the sign. "The Siamese Suite."

"Creepy." Sam shuddered and actually faltered a step as he encountered a huge stuffed white cat standing sentry in their entranceway.

Dean pushed the door open and shot him a look. "You get fried by a spirit and don't even flinch, but a stuffed kitty freaks you out."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Blame it on childhood trauma."

Dean waved him in. "After you , Little Albert."

"That should do it." Dean put the last piece of tape on the bandage he'd wrapped around his brother's wrist. "Just call me Florence Nightingale."

Sam pulled his sleeve down and sighed. "I doubt if she used Holy water mixed with Neosporin."

Dean smiled. "Better safe than sorry. If that thing was evil, I don't want to take any chances."

"Can we eat now?"

"Your gratitude is touching, dude."

"It's hard to be thankful on an empty stomach."

Dean sighed. "Let's go." He grabbed the car keys and his jacket. "Maybe we can talk to some of the locals in the cafe. I'm sure this story is on everyone's tongue."

Sam picked up his own coat and grabbed their father's journal from Dean's bed. "Maybe we'll find someone who can read Dad's notes."

Dean opened the door and held it for his brother. "Maybe, we'll meet up with Jay Silverheels again and he can translate it for us before I send him and his welcome wagon back to hell where he belongs."

Sam carefully skirted past the stuffed cat and tossed his brother a look over his shoulder. "And how do you plan on doing that without knowing what or who he is? We haven't even started our research."

Dean locked their door and pulled on his jacket. "I'll think of something, Kemosabi. Trust me." He nudged Sam as he passed him up in the hall and grinned. "Think we should grab some cat litter before we come back, Sammy?"

"Bite me."

Dean made it outside ahead of his brother, who got stopped by their friendly receptionist, so he decided to take a quick look around. Pulling out his pocket flashlight he played it along the ground where he and Sam had encountered Mr. Friendly.

It was easy to make out his own boot prints in the soft dirt and Sam's sneakers also, but his and his brother's appeared to be the only impressions. He'd bent down to pick up something that had caught his attention when the front door opened and his younger brother bounded out.

"Check it out, Dave drew us a rough map of New Hope and gave us some coupons for the cafe." Sam held up a brown envelope and waved it at his brother as he made his way down thefront steps.

Dean pocketed the small bead he'd found and stood. "Jeez, Beav, I always knew you were swell at making friends."

Sam sent a not so friendly hand gesture to his brother as Dean made his way towards the car. The older Winchester caught the move out of the corner of his eye and turned to reciprocate in kind when a soft whooshing sound filled the night air.

Dean felt the breeze off the first arrow as it careened past his head to stick into the ground behind him with a loud thud. “What the…?”

Unfortunately he had no time to recover as another screamed through the air straight towards him. "Dean, look out!"

Dean tried to turn and duck, but the wooden shaft sliced past him, erupting a blinding pain across his left arm. He cried out and fell back against the passenger's side door, roughly sliding to the ground before he could recover enough to catch himself.

"Dean!" Sam hunched as low to the earth as possible, making himself less of a target, and scrambled towards his fallen brother.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean was nearly lying on the ground now, seeking what cover he could from the car, when Sam slid to a halt beside him. He was holding his arm tightly, but even in the pale moonlight Sam could see the thick red fluid seeping through his torn jacket and between his fingers.

Another twang and the shattering of the passenger's back window gave Dean his answer. Someone or some thing was trying to kill them.

"Are you alright?" Sam ignored his brother’s question and tried to lift his brother’s hand away to see the extent of the damage, but Dean wasn’t cooperating.

"No! I'm pissed. That thing hit my car!" Dean didn’t think it necessary to mention the fact that his arm felt as though it were on fire. Although, he was seriously beginning to rethink his idea that living in the Old West would have been fun.

Sam shook his head at his brother's single minded obsession. He was hurt and bleeding and apparently more worried about his car. "You've been shot. We've got to get you out of here."

"Duh!" Dean shouted at his brother. "You have a fine grasp of the obvious, college boy," he bit out through clenched teeth.

Another whistling sound had Sam throwing himself over his brother as a loud pop had the front tire beside them hissing like a giant snake.

"My car!" Dean growled from beneath his brother. "The bastard is shooting my car!"

"Take it easy." Sam knew the frustration and hint of fear he heard in his brother’s pain-laced voice had little to do with the attack on his pride and joy. Dean hated to not be in control, to be helpless, and that's exactly what they were. Sitting ducks.

"Get off me, Sam. I'm going to kick Tonto's ass!"

Sam didn't budge from his protective stance until a familiar voice called out to them in the darkness. "You two alright out here? What's going on?"

Lights flooded the Inn's front porch and Dave stepped out the door. "I thought I heard someone yelling."

Sam pushed himself up and helped his brother to his feet. Sweat already covered Dean's pale face and Sam had to grab hold of him to keep him from landing on his ass in the dirt again. "He got her twice, Sam."

Sam followed his brother's gaze to the arrow sticking out of the front tire and then to the one protruding from the back of the driver's seat.

"More importantly, he got you." Sam tightened his hold on his brother, not willing to think about what could have happened. "Let's get inside before he comes back to finish the job."

“I get the whole shooting the horse right out from under the cowboy thing, but what kind of monster shoots a man's car?" Dean asked as Sam wiped an alcohol swab over the deep gash across his brother's bicep.

Sam continued his work, barely glancing at his brother's face. "A pissed off poltergeist has my vote."

"Ow!" Dean jerked back from the youngest Winchester's ministrations. "Good thing you decided against medical school."

"Sorry." Sam winced in empathy as he cleaned the deep, jagged wound again. He was having a hard enough time keeping his hands steady, without having to deal with Dean‘s criticism. "This may need stitches."

Dean shook his head. "I've had worse. Just use the butterfly bandages after the Holy water."

Sam hated to admit it but Dean was right, he had suffered worse. Thanks to John Winchester. "Why would the poltergeist attack us? Do you think it has to do with the curse? Do you think it's the spirit of Geronimo?"

"I don't know." Dean looked down at his arm and grimaced. He'd never admit it, but he hated the sight of blood, especially his own. At least it wasn’t Sam’s. "Why warn us to leave at all?. Why not just take us out to begin with? And since when do ghosts use primitive weapons?”

Sam shrugged and continued to try and get the bleeding to stop. “That thing back in Kansas didn’t mind using knives or cords or anything it found lying around.”

Dean winced. “Yeah, but spirits don't usually show themselves in corporeal form unless they have to. It uses way too much of their energy."

Sam held his brother‘s gaze. "It still had enough energy to attack you."

"Maybe."

Sam wanted to ask what his brother meant, but the door to their room swang open before he could. "Here's the water you wanted boiled." Dave walked into the room carrying a small metal bowl. He raised a skeptical brow at Sam. "I did it just like you said, over the open fire in the fireplace."

Sam took the water and sat it on the floor beside Dean. "Thanks, Dave."

"Man that looks nasty." Dave leaned over Sam's shoulder to get a better glance at the cut on Dean's arm. "Look, dudes, are you sure you don't want me to call Sheriff Landry? This is like messed up. Somebody tried to kill you."

Dean shook his head. "Don’t worry about it. People hate reporters almost as much as lawyers." He shot Sam a quick smirk. "I think someone was just trying to keep us away from this story. It could have even been our competition."

Dave whistled. "Man, I think I'll stick to the Archeology major. At least dead, buried things don't go around trying to kick your ass."

Sam and Dean shared a knowing look. "Right." Sam forced a smile. "But just so you know, we're going to the Sheriff's office in the morning. We'll file a report then."

"If you say so, dude, but I'll call Morry over at the garage and see if he can come and fix your ride? It's the least I can do."

Dean opened his mouth to say something but Sam cut him off. "That'd be great, Dave. Thanks."

"Why'd you let him have my keys?" Dean asked his brother after Dave had left the room.

"I don't let just anybody touch my car, you know that. I work on it."

"Yeah, well you're not exactly up to changing tires right now, are you."

"Then you can do it."

"I'm taking care of you."

Dean watched his brother for a moment, his mouth suddenly dry. “Just so we’re clear, if anything happens to me, you get the car, and if you sale it or wreck her, I’ll haunt your ass forever.”

Sam stopped what he was doing and gave his brother a sharp look. He didn't like the turn their conversation had just made. “Shut-up, Dean.” A sudden feeling of loss closed in on Sam and his head began to hurt. He pushed back at the warning, locking it behind the door he wasn’t quite willing to open yet. “ Nothing’s going to happen to you, so we don’t need to do this.”

Dean rolled his eyes, recognizing the heated words for what they were. Fear. Sam was afraid, and for some reason, so was Dean. "I'm really hating this town, Sam."

Sam bent down in the floor beside his brother again, not willing to mention that it was Dean‘s big idea to come here. Or was it John‘s? "I know, just take it easy. I'll finish this and then we'll start over in the morning."

Dean nodded and Sam picked up the forged bowl of Holy water. He hesitated. "This may hurt."

Dean gritted his teeth. "Just do it." The older Winchester wasn’t sure which one of them was about to suffer more, but he was determined not to make it anyharder than it had to be.

Sam's wrist hadn't been affected by the Holy water, but it was only a slight burn, and not an open wound where infestation from the source could be a problem. He remembered when their dad had been sliced up by a Banshee demon once while on a hunt. Sam was only a kid then, but he could vividly recall his screams as he'd made Dean pour the Holy water over the wounds. It was just one of the many things that he'd had nightmares about growing up.

"Do it, Sammy." Dean's soft voice cut through his reverie, as if he knew what his kid brother was thinking. "Better safe than sorry."

Sam lifted his dark eyes to his brother’s, finding solace in the hazel gaze, before taking a deep breath and gently pouring the hot liquid over the still bleeding gash.

Dean had tensed in anticipation of the pain, but sill wasn't prepared for the agonizing fire that erupted along his upper arm. "Damn it!" he gasped, clenching his fist and reflexively trying to squirm out of Sam's grasp as the water did it's job.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," Sam whispered. His mouth had gone dry and he felt like he was going to be sick as he watched his older brother struggle with the pain, but he held onto him and doused the wound with the water again.

This time Dean came up off the bed. "God," he choked, pulling away from Sam and stumbling away from him towards the window. "What the fuck was that thing?"

Sam raked a shaking hand through his hair and tried to take a deep, slow breath to calm his frayed nerves. "Something very bad." Any thoughts of it being a mortal attack were vanquished as soon as the Holy water began to react on Dean’s wound.

"Well it's really pissed me off now." Dean was trembling with the effort it took not to pass out on his kid brother. He refused to freak Sam out anymore than he had to. His brother was tough, but he also knew what his weaknesses were. Watching someone he loved hurt was one of them. In fact, they both shared that particular demon. Damn the damned.

"I'm not leaving here until we find out what's causing all of this and bury it for good."

Sam walked across the room to where his brother stood clutching his arm. "I need to finish this." He forced a small smile, as if he inflicted pain on his brother for his own good every day. "Third time's charmed, remember?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say, Van Helsing. You're not the virgin vampire in this really bad episode of Dark Shadows."

Sam‘s grin widened, revealing a hint of his usual smile. “You haven‘t been a virgin for a very long time, bro?”

“Well that makes one of us.” Dean took some comfort in watching Sam’s face color slightly.

“Whatever, Dean.”

Dean laughed at Sam‘s typicalthirteen year-old rebuttal, despite the pain trying to pull him under. “Whatever, Sammy.”

Sam led his brother back to the bed, finishing the task as quickly as possible. He blocked out the sound of Dean's harsh, panting breath and tied the last bandage. "That should do it.”

He helped his brother pull his black ACDC T-shirt back on, and handed him a glass of water, and two Tylenol that he‘d dug out of the first-aid kit. “Why don't you try to get some sleep.”

Dean took the pills and a long drink of the water, letting it wash some of the pain away, and then handed the glass back to Sam. "What about dinner?" He hugged his injured arm close to his chest and scooted back on the bed until his back was resting against the headboard. "I thought you were starving."

Sam shook his head, returning the glass to the night stand. "I lost my appetite.” Dean was not up for a midnight stroll, and there was no way Sam was leaving his brother alone. “We'll just wait for this incredible cook, Miss Maggie, to fix us breakfast in the morning."

"You sure?"

"Yep,” Sam picked up the blanket from the bottom of the bed and gently draped it over Dean. He reached his hand up and quickly checked his brother’s forehead for fever. The skin was cool to his touch and he breathed a sigh of relief. “We both need the rest.”

Dean started to open his mouth to say something, but before his brother could come off with a smart ass comment about the chick-flicktreatment, Sam moved his hand away, and turned off the lamp. He kicked his shoes off and fell back on the other bed. "I think even I'll be able to sleep tonight."

Onto Chapter 3

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