Notes: This is after Buffy ends; and after season 6 of Supernatural. I wish I was better at writing fight scenes; it came out nothing like my mind’s eye so that’s all cut! This is a 5 chapter story and sadly there’s no romance. I worry about the boys, the lack of medical care and friends and stuff. So here’s my solution. (Yes, I know they are fiction….really I know!) Oh and I don’t in real life believe in ghosts, not for a second. Just have to say that. I am not sure if there is canon for Samantha and if I broke that… sorry. I call Riley’s wife Samantha because otherwise it was far too confusing.
I hope it is fun and that people like it and please I welcome reviews so much! Thank you for reading my story! Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Riley and Sam belong to Joss Whedon and whomever. Sam and Dean belong to Kripke. I did invent a grandmother, ha! Another Bloody Christmas
In the middle of the salt and burn, in ice cold Montana in November, Sam’s phone rang. The phone buzzes came right after Dean fired at the ghost, and just as Sam got the match lit and tossed into the grave and the burning started. Flames followed the tracks of the alcohol poured over the body and the salt sizzled a bit. Dean had slumped to ground. This ghost had not gone easy into the good night. This ghost was an asshole.
Sam stood and watched the remains and the bones burn, ignoring the phone, until it was done. Then he made sure nothing else was going to catch fire. Then he hauled Dean to his feet and half carried him to the car.
“I can fucking walk, what’s the hurry anyway,” Dean complained. Yet he did not put weight on his left ankle.
“Just lean on me already, let’s get out of here.”
“We are so not having a moment,” said Dean. He started to sing.
“How much did you drink before the hunt?” asked Sam.
“Dude, how the hell was I to know we’d be hunting ghosts tonight? Just thought I’d be hunting for a girl.”
Sam got him into the car, went around to the other side and started driving to the hotel. “Well, you landed wrong on that ankle. Got to strap it up.”
“Okay already,” said Dean. He slumped his head back, closed his eyes. Sam saw that his jaw was clenched. He was in pain.
Sam just drove.
It was while Dean was sorting out the damage, and Sam went to get ice from the machine down the hall, that his phone rang again.
“Hello,” he said, his voice neutral, ready to be anything the caller needed.
“Sam? Sam Winchester?” said a woman’s voice. It was the voice of an older woman, and don’t ask Sam how he knew that, he just did. And it was almost familiar somehow.
“Yes,” said Sam, still neutral voice.
“This is Melissa Moore. Jessica’s mom. I should have called you years ago. But I wanted to reach out to you now.”
“Mrs. Moore,” said Sam. He leaned against the wall of the little nook where the ice machine was, and a vending machine. They made little humming sounds.
All the colors seemed bright. “Mrs. Moore,” said Sam, “how are you? How is Mr. Moore?”
“It’s been seven years Sam. I’d understand if you didn’t want to talk. Are you a lawyer now? Are you married? I don’t mean to interrupt.”
“Wow, um, no I didn’t end up being a lawyer. Sort of work on some stuff with my brother, Dean, we’re on the road pretty nearly always, so no family. No girlfriend. But we’re doing okay mostly.”
Saving the world, Sam thought. We’re saving the fucking world for you. Your daughter got killed just because of me. We’re real damn heroes.
“Well then I’d like to invite you to Christmas dinner, if you are anywhere near Iowa and can make it.”
Sam was too stunned to say anything. He sort of grunted some sort of noise, feeling like an ass.
“Are you okay? We’re really sorry that we didn’t keep up. We knew that you … were probably in pain back then and didn’t have anyone – well didn’t have help. Let us make amends.”
“Christmas?” Sam managed to say.
“It’s in a couple days.” Her voice was gentle, with a hint of laughter.
“My brother’s just twisted his ankle, so I can’t –“
“Bring him,” said Mrs. Moore. “Truly Sam, our other children are coming home too and the more the merrier. Plus we have a situation that might be sort of up your alley so to speak. What’s your email address? I’ll send you directions.”
Too confused to argue, Sam gave her his email. And after he got the ice to Dean (and a beer), he fired up the computer. There was the email from Mrs. Moore with directions to their house. There was also a link. Clicking it led to a newspaper article about the mysterious deaths the town had been experiencing. Bodies drained of blood. People missing.
Why the hell did Jessica’s mother think this was his business?
“What’s going on Sammy?”
“Looks like we have a job,” said Sam. “Jessica’s mother called me. We’re going there for Christmas.”