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What Did You Bring Me (From the Gallows Pole)
{Supernatural FPS. gen. PG-13 for violence. 100% disclaimed. Beta by James. For frayen.}
Sam was pretty much resigned to follow Dean wherever his dick lead them, by now. He was working on saving him – fuck Dean and his fucking don’t you save me Sam goddamn crusade – but in the meantime Dean seemed determined to hook up with as many hot chicks as the universe would throw at him, and some he hadn’t talked to in years. Which was why they were in Nowhere, Iowa when some girl ran into the diner Sam where was waiting for Dean and had a very tense conversation with the waitress, ending in the girl who’d run in yelling “He’s dead, Sal, okay? Dad’s dead. And I don’t care what you say, it killed him and I will not sleep in that house any more. I’ll be at Lee’s. You should get out, too.”
She ran out again. Sam figured, hey, while they were here, looks like he’d found a job.
The waitress – Sally, her name badge said – came over to his booth. “Are you ready to order?” she asked, sounding distracted.
“Yeah, uh – are you okay?” Sam looked in the direction the girl had gone in. “That kinda looked a little … intense. Family trouble?”
She shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. “Just my sister. She’s kind of crazy, I guess, we’ve all been through a lot. Um, now what can I get you?”
Sam ordered absently, thinking fast. “And hey –” he said as she turned away. “Sorry about your dad.”
She gave him a small, tight smile. “Thanks.”
It took him twelve minutes with the laptop, but he found the article, and a few minutes later Dean finally showed up. He stole four mouthfuls of Sam’s coffee and bit into the donut Sam had automatically ordered for him. “Wow, this trip was worth it,” Dean grinned around the pastry, flecks of sugar clinging to his chin.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, sidestepping the suggestive tone with a roll of his eyes. “Looks like there’s a job for us here.” He angled the laptop screen so Dean could see. “This guy, Ted Wilde, forty-nine years old, bank clerk, wife and two kids, perfectly normal guy. Dies last week when, get this –” He read off the screen, “His power saw, drill and a hammer fell on him.” The incredulity in his voice was palpable. “It was ruled as an accident, a warning not to store power tools on high shelves, especially if they’re plugged in.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “So? You thinking, what, maybe it wasn’t a freak accident?”
“The neighbours kept hearing things recently, banging and crashing coming from the house, there were a couple 911 calls. Everything had been quiet until about two months ago.”
“Huh. Could be nothing, maybe there was just some kind of dispute, suddenly he and his wife were fighting. His death could have been an accident, heat of the argument, she gets him with the work tools.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“What makes you say that?” Dean finished his donut and grabbed one of Sam’s. Sam ignored it. He inclined his head at Sally.
“That’s his daughter. His other daughter came running in here, I saw them argue. Little sister yells ‘It killed him’. She’s refusing to sleep in the house. She was terrified, Dean.”
Dean sat back. “You thinking poltergeist?”
“Maybe. Or a demon possession.”
“Well, at least it wouldn’t be one of the ones we let out, not if it’s been there a couple months.”
“Right,” Sam nodded. “Why don’t I check through the records, see if anybody died in or around that house, in case it’s a vengeful spirit.”
“I could do that.”
Sam stared at him for a moment. “You? You’re offering to do research.”
Dean shrugged, cavalier. “Yeah. My turn, right?”
“Who are you and where’s my brother?”
“Shut up.” Dean rolled his eyes and sat back in the booth, dropping the last of Sam’s donuts into his mouth.
“Wait.” Sam stopped, and he had to shake his head. It was just. “That girl you came here to see? Doesn’t she work at the library?”
“Maybe.” Dean was trying to suppress his grin. It didn’t really work. “Oh come on, Sammy! I’m offering to do the research here, dig through the records. You should check out the house, see if there’s any sulphuric residue.”
“While you, what? Research?”
“Something like that.” He’d given up on trying to suppress the grin. Sam repressed the urge to thunk his head on the table.
“Fine. Call me if you find anything.”
“Yeah, you too.” Dean took one more gulp of Sam’s coffee and sauntered out of the diner. Sam just shook his head, trying to clear the exasperation.
It took a flash of insurance company ID and some talking, but Sam got Mrs Wilde to let him in. She showed him where it had happened – Mr Wilde’s work station in the basement, all cleaned up now and filled mostly with boxes; “I just, I couldn’t have those things in the house after –”
“It’s okay,” he said as she turned away. She was coiled, clearly horrified to even be down in the basement. “I can take it from here, you don’t have to stay.”
“Thank you.” Visibly relieved, she headed up the stairs as fast as was polite.
Sam dug around, looked on the windowsills (there were two windows, high up near the ceiling so he’d had to pull a chair over to stand on it) and scraped at the walls, but there was no sulphur. The EMF meter, however, went berserk the second he turned it on. “So you are a spirit,” he muttered.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump. He pulled it out; Dean’s number. “Hey,” he said when he’d opened it, “what you got?”
“No deaths that I can find in the records, but there was one disappearance. A fourteen-year-old boy, twenty years ago, went missing. Lived in that house with his aunt, she moved to Ohio not long after. Kid was never found.”
“Well, it’s definitely a spirit we’re looking at. No sulphur, EMF’s going insane. I’ll check as much of the house as I can, I’m in the basement now.”
“Alright. Why don’t I see if I can get a hold of this aunt, meet you back at the motel?”
Sam knew he really meant why don’t I bang this chick some more, call the aunt and meet you back at the motel, but he let it slide. “Sure. I’ll see you there.”
He checked the rest of the house, telling Mrs Wilde “We’re very thorough.” The EMF meter went nuts pretty much everywhere, but especially in the guest bathroom and the master bedroom. He returned to the kitchen and said, “Well, that about wraps it up.”
Mrs Wilde nodded. “Um, would you like some coffee, Mr Johnson?”
She looked like she wanted to talk. Sam smiled warmly. “Thank you, that would be great.”
As she poured him a mug, she started, “I’m sorry, my manners are probably all over the place. I don’t know what to do, without – my husband, he – I’m sorry.”
“Hey. It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot.”
She tugged a ragged tissue from her sleeve, on the verge of tears. “Sorry. I guess – I guess you see a lot of grieving widows, in your line of work.”
Well. Yeah. “I do, and it’s okay. For what it’s worth – your manners are impeccable.” He gave her a smile, and she wiped at her eyes with the tissue.
“Thanks. It’s just – we’ve all been so stressed lately, with everything, and – now my daughter, Lily, my youngest, she won’t even come home. She just.” Mrs Wilde sighed, still wiping at her eyes.
“It’s bound to be hard, for all of you. A death in the family is pretty stressful, I’m sure Lily will come home soon.”
“No, it’s not that – she.” Mrs Wilde paused. “Can I tell you something off the record? I don’t want this to – I mean, this shouldn’t affect the claim, right?”
“What is it?” Sam moved a little closer.
“It’s nothing. It’s crazy, is what it is. But – Lily’s always been. Um, obsessed, I guess, with strange things.” Mrs Wilde looked uncomfortable as she mouthed ‘the occult’. “When she was little she was always seeing things. Fairies, monsters, ghosts, things like that. I thought she’d outgrown it by now, she’s sixteen, but I guess she hasn’t.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We moved here last year. Right from the start she said the house was haunted. It was all okay, until about two months ago. Then things … I’m sorry, you must think I sound like a crazy person.” She was slowly curling in on herself, one hand worrying at the top button on her sweater. Sam shook his head.
“Please, go on. It’s alright.”
“Well.” Mrs Wilde looked over at the door; the hall beyond it led to the basement. “My husband – Ted – he wanted a new work station, said he felt like having a hobby. He liked building things.” She looked back at Sam, a small fond smile and a soft look in her eyes. She really loved him, Sam thought. This never gets easier. “He … we weren’t using the basement, not really, so Ted knocked the wall through to make this big space he could work in. Lily … Lily wasn’t happy. She told him to leave the basement alone, that someone called Oliver didn’t want him to, but it was just one of her little daydreams. We don’t know an Oliver.”
“Was that about the time things started happening?” Sam asked, as gently as he could.
She nodded. “I guess when Ted knocked the wall through, it did something to the electrics. That’s all it was, some kind of wiring fault.”
“The neighbours heard bangs,” Sam reminded her, wording careful. “Was everything okay?”
“Yeah, it – Lily had nightmares, I think, she’d thrash around. We just let her be.”
“Mrs Wilde, may I speak with your daughter?”
“She’s not home, it – why would you need to talk to Lily?”
“Just to check it out. It shouldn’t affect the claim,” he added as she opened her mouth to speak, “but I just want to make sure. Only if it’s alright with you.”
“She’s not home. I guess, though, I – if you need to, I can give you her friend’s address.”
“Like I said. We’re very thorough.”
Lily was in her friend’s back garden when Sam was taken through to see her. “Thanks,” she said to her friend’s mom, “I’ll probably need to talk to him alone.”
“We’ll be inside.” She nodded at Sam and left them on the porch.
“Miss Wilde, I’m from your dad’s insurance –”
“I know who you are.” She was sitting on a swinging loveseat, dangling her legs back and forth. “You’re here about Oliver.”
Sam leaned against the porch frame. “Who’s Oliver?”
“He shouldn’t have made it mad. I told him, I said not to change the basement, but Dad never listened.” She curled up, pulling her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs. “He was okay until then.”
“Lily, who’s Oliver?”
Lily looked up at him, frightened. “He’s the boy who tried to stop it killing my daddy.”
“Your dad died in an … accident, right?” Sam asked, carefully.
Lily shook her head. “It wasn’t an accident. He made it mad, and he wouldn’t listen, and Oliver left and something bad was there instead.”
Sam opened his mouth to ask another question, but his phone buzzed in his pocket.
“You’ll want to get that. It’s Dean.” Lily pulled her legs in closer, holding them tighter.
Sam closed his mouth and opened it again. “How did you –”
She gestured to the phone. “Go on, he hasn’t got long. She gets off in ten minutes and he isn’t there yet.”
Sam tugged his phone out of his pocket and answered. “Hey. What’s the news?”
“I got a hold of the aunt. Kid’s name was Oliver Cramen, she was his dad’s sister. Seems pretty certain he’s dead, and there is definitely something she is not telling me.”
“What do you think it could be?” Sam kept his eyes on Lily, who was tracing patterns on her knees with a fingertip, humming a Motorhead song.
“Don’t know. But I should probably make a personal appearance and use my persuasive powers, don’t you think?”
“You’re going to Ohio?”
“Yeah, if I shag ass I should make it by morning. Don’t worry, I won’t be gone long. You should stay there, keep an eye on the place. If it’s this Oliver kid doing the haunting, he’s probably pretty messed up. Didn’t you say that guy had kids?”
“Yeah.” Sam was still watching Lily. She gave him a smile and hummed a few bars of Led Zeppelin to herself.
“You should make sure they’re safe. I gotta say goodbye to the lady, she gets off in like ten minutes, then I’m gone. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Alright.”
Lily was watching him when he hung up. “Told you.”
“Lily, how did you know who it was? How did you know his name?”
She shrugged. “Mom says it’s daydreams. Dad always said it was silly nonsense and I’d grow out of it. My sister just thinks I do it for attention.” She rested her chin on her knees. “I don’t.”
“What? What is it?”
“I know stuff,” she said, looking up at him again. “Sometimes. Not always. I’ll meet someone and I’ll know their name and some stuff about them. I have to pretend I don’t, get them to say what their name is, make it look like it’s a surprise when they tell me things. But I already knew.” She smiled. “He’s not gonna die, Sam.”
She’d said it, that she knew people’s names, but he still got a shiver all down his spine. “What – what do you mean?”
“Your brother. That deal he made? He’s not going to die this year.”
“He’s – he’s not?”
“No. He wants to.” She hummed another song, and Sam recognised it. From Dean’s collection.
“Why do you keep humming that? You like classic rock?”
She snorted. “Hardly. It’s all guys with too much hair saying how they want to party until they die too young with coke all over their faces. No, it’s Dean. He likes that stuff. He wants to party until he burns.”
“How do you –”
“I don’t know how I know. I don’t even know how he gets out of it, so don’t ask, I just know that he will. Somehow. He’ll live.”
Sam tried to process that. “He will?”
She nodded. “You want to know about Oliver,” she added after a minute. “I hate doing this, being all I know what you’re about to say!, but you weren’t asking.”
“Sorry. Yeah. Uh, tell me about Oliver.”
“He went away. He’s – he’s scared. He said not to move things around in the basement, that it would be mad. That he can’t stay if it wakes up, and it always wakes up mad.”
“What’s ‘it’?”
She looked at him, and suddenly she was a small, frightened girl. “It kills you. It finds you and it kills you.”
“What does?” he asked, gentle. She shook her head.
“It. I don’t know what it is, Oliver wouldn’t say – all I know is, it’s bad and I can’t stay there with it. It killed my dad. It’d kill me, if –”
“If what?”
This time, she looked less frightened. “If you hadn’t come. It would have killed me, and Mom and Sally, but you came. You and your brother. You won’t let it hurt us.”
“That’s right,” Sam said, jaw set. “We won’t.”
He spent the night in the motel, searching for every scrap of information he could find on Oliver Cramen and his family. Mother died when he was five, father disappeared soon after, grew up with his aunt in the Wildes’ house. Disappeared aged fourteen, nothing since.
The infomercials at four am sent him to sleep, and he woke up when his phone rang in his ear. “H’lo?”
“D’I wake you?” Dean asked, sounding amused. “It’s ten forty five, jackass, what’re you doing still asleep?”
“Guess I sleep better without your wheezing. You found anything?”
“Yeah. I just talked to the aunt. Turns out her brother, Oliver’s father? There was definitely something going on there, but she won’t tell me what. She looked real shifty though, when she talked about him.”
“Shifty, shifty how?”
“Like she was scared or something. Why? You find anything?”
“Yeah, uh – Oliver’s mom died when he was six, his dad disappeared that year too. No word or sign of him.”
“Well, that’s interesting. Because Oliver’s dad was definitely still in the picture when he was ten, at least, if not older.”
“Huh.” Sam wished he had coffee. “So, what, he … disappeared but showed up again or something?”
“No, I mean he was living with them and always had been. Way she talked about it, he didn’t have a whole lot to do with bringing Oliver up, just sort of was around.”
“That’s weird.”
“Yeah. Maybe you should talk to the neighbours, see if any of them were around at the time, see if they know anything. I’ll try the aunt again later, there is definitely something going on there.”
“Meanwhile, it’s not Oliver who killed Mr Wilde.”
“Wait. It’s not?”
“Not according to Lily Wilde. She’s his youngest daughter, the one who said it killed him? She’s some kind of psychic, knew who I was. Knew it was you calling me yesterday. She says Oliver tried to stop it, and she doesn’t know what it is but it’s bad.”
“Huh. You pick up anything but ghost vibes from the house?”
“Nothing, so whatever it is, it’s probably another ghost. Sounds like Oliver’s just a benign spirit, trapped there for some reason, but this other thing is a poltergeist. Vengeful.”
“Well, that can’t be good. If we don’t know whose spirit it is –”
“– No bones to torch,” Sam finished. “Yeah, I know.”
Dean paused. “If his dad disappeared but he was still around, maybe he wasn’t as around as, say, an alive person.”
“You think his dad could be the poltergeist?”
“Could be. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Yeah, and I’ll make sure the rest of the family are okay. Whoever this spirit is, I don’t think it’s going to stop at just Mr Wilde.”
“Sam?” Sam couldn’t see Dean’s face, but he knew it would have that my spidey sense is tingling look on it. “What is it?”
He let the air out of his cheeks. “Lily. She said we’d save them.”
“Hey, smart girl. She hot too?”
Sam snorted. “Dean, she’s sixteen.”
“Oh. Well go on then, go be the knight in shining armour. Save the kids.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you later.”
Coffee, he decided. Now would be a really great time for coffee.
Lily was home when he went to the house. “Hey, I thought you didn’t want to be here.”
“I don’t.” She looked uncomfortable, wrapping her arms around herself. “You need me to be here though, Mom’d ask questions. Besides, she’s at work.”
“Can I come in?” Lily nodded and stood aside, and Sam looked around. “Thanks. Listen, I’m gonna need your help, okay? Is Oliver here?”
She shook her head. “He’s scared. He’s hiding where it can’t find him.”
“Does he know what it is?”
She nodded.
“Lily, do you know what it is?”
“Not exactly. I just know that it’s angry. It was angry with Dad for changing the basement. And it’s angry with you, because you’re looking for it.”
“What about you and your mom and your sister? Is it angry with you?”
“Not yet.” Suddenly, she looked behind Sam, over his shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Duck.”
He dropped to the floor and heard a whizzing sound above him. As he looked, a kitchen knife embedded itself in the opposite wall.
Lily backed away. “It’s here.”
“Lily, get out of here,” Sam yelled, jumping up and reaching into his bag for the shotgun. He whirled around and saw three more knives hovering at head-height; he fired two rounds of rock salt at them and they dropped to the floor. A wisp of air was framed for a second in salt, and then it was gone.
Sam loaded the gun with another two rounds, but before he could snap it closed again he felt something shove him against the wall. His back hit it with force, and he felt three bruises blossom. He cocked the gun and got ready to fire, but the door to the basement banged open and he felt himself being dragged; the sensation lasted a few seconds, he shot blindly with the salt, saw something move quickly on the edge of his vision, and then blacked out.
He came to slowly. The basement walls softly came into focus, along with a splitting headache. He tried to move his arms, but they wouldn’t budge.
He looked down. He was tied to a chair, the one he’d stood on the day before to get to the windows (no chance of getting to them now, and besides, they were only slits, maybe just big enough for a cat to get through, not much more than ventilation) and as he tilted his head he felt something on his brow. It dripped onto his cheek and ran into the corner of his mouth, where he flicked his tongue out to taste it.
Blood. His blood. He must have hit his head pretty hard.
“You’re awake,” said a voice.
There was no one in the room. Sam looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of the spirit, but it was incorporeal. “Who are you?”
The sound of disembodied tutting was really fucking eerie. “Now now, don’t be so cheeky. You come in here,” quiet menace, and it was moving, always moving dammit, “you poke around, into my business, move my things – you shouldn’t move my things, boy. I don’t like it when people move my things.”
“What – what things did I move?”
“My chair, boy, you moved my chair. I was sitting on that, I need it to – for purposes. Purposes. Always gotta move my things, never ask permission, always just take take take take take, never give, oh no, he won’t mind, it’s not like he needs things, oh no, he won’t mind. Just take.” The voice had trailed off into mutterings.
“I’m sorry,” Sam tried, slowly and carefully. “I didn’t mean to move your chair, I didn’t know.”
Out of nowhere, it seemed, a hammer came whizzing through the air and hit Sam, hard, on the arm. “But you should have,” the voice screamed. “What,” it continued, the hammer coming around to hit Sam’s side, “do I have to put labels on things? I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” the hammer hitting Sam’s arm again. His wrist exploded into white-hot jabs of pain. “If that’s what you want, I’ll label things, I’ll label this –” the hammer smashed something on one of the shelves “– I’ll label this –” it broke a box and spilled magazines over the floor “– I’ll label this –” a hole broke out in the wall “– it’s mine, boy, all of this is mine.”
Sam heard a distant sound from upstairs or outside, he couldn’t tell which, but the voice wasn’t finished.
“You,” it yelled, the hammer coming back to thwack against his leg, hard, “shouldn’t,” it hit his other wrist, “touch,” a solid hit to his shoulder and fuck that hurt, “my,” it hit his chest, “things.”
The hammer reached back to take a swing at his head and Sam dived. It whizzed past above him and the voice screamed – but it wasn’t rage. It screamed and it fucking screamed, and then there was silence.
The hammer clattered to the ground.
Someone banged on the basement door. After a couple of solid bangs, it burst open and Lily ran down the stairs. “Sam!” she shouted when she saw him.
“Hey,” he said, voice thick, “get out of here, it –”
“It’s okay, he’s gone. Here –” She reached out and untied him. Sam’s phone was clutched in one hand, open, and once he was untied she put it to her ear and said into it, “He’s hurt. Yeah, it’s gone. Thank you. Look, I really need to get Sam to a hospital, I’ll call you when we know he’s okay. Okay? Thanks, Dean.”
“Dean?” Sam lifted his head with an effort. His entire body was screaming in agony. He was pretty sure he had at least four broken bones.
“I’ll explain later. Come on, we have to go. I can’t – I can’t carry him,” she turned to the empty air to her left.
Sam felt himself being lifted by something warm and cold at the same time. “What –”
“It’s okay. It’s Oliver. Can you carry him upstairs? I’ll call 911.”
The most sensible thing to do in that situation would be to pass out. So he did.
When he woke up, he was in a hospital bed. A smiling doctor told him he had two cracked ribs, a broken wrist, four fractures and a minor head injury. “You’ll be out of action for a little while, but before long you’ll be just fine.”
“Thank you, doctor.” He noticed two people hovering outside the door; as the doctor left, Lily and Dean sidled in.
“Hey. How are you feeling?” Dean asked.
“Like a ghost just kicked my ass. What happened back there, anyways?”
Lily ran out of the house when Sam told her to, but she stayed close. “Oliver,” she called. “Oliver, I know you’re there. I know you’re scared, but you have to do something. Sam’s going to get hurt, come on, we have to help. Don’t let it get him too, please.”
And then Oliver was there, and so was Sam’s phone. It was buzzing.
“Yes.” She picked it up. “Dean.”
There was a pause. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Lily Wilde, your brother told you about me. It’s got him, he told me to get out and I don’t know what to do.”
“Lily, okay, you’re at the house? Do you know where your parents keep the shovels?”
“Yeah, there’s one out back. Why?”
“The spirit, it’s Oliver’s dad. He was crazy, his sister was a psychiatric nurse and she took care of him at home, she never told anyone. He killed Oliver’s mom but she didn’t know, and then he killed Oliver and when she found out, they had a fight, he died. It was an accident, she buried him out in the back yard.”
“Okay.” In the time it had taken for Dean to explain, she had rounded the house and grabbed the shovel. “What do I do?”
“Salted and torched the bones. She’s a natural.” Dean looked at Lily proudly. She grinned.
“It was kind of easy. I mean, the digging wasn’t. But the fire was pretty.”
“And what about Oliver?” Sam asked. “Where was he buried?”
“His aunt never found out. But he’s not – I mean, he’s okay, right?” Dean asked Lily. She nodded.
“Yeah, he’s – he just wants a friend. And I think he was protecting the house, making sure his dad didn’t wake up and go nuts again. Now his dad’s gone, it’s like he can rest.” She smiled. “He still wants to hang out, but maybe he won’t be around much any more. I’ll tell him to go towards any light he sees,” she added, smiling at Sam. He smiled back.
“She’s a good kid,” Dean said, when she’d gone. “Would make one hell of a hunter when she grows up.”
“Yeah.” Sam watched him. “She said something. Before – she said you’re not gonna die.”
“Yeah? She said something to me too.” Dean leaned closer and said, “I’m gonna need to save your sorry ass again soon.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Right.”
“He’ll be okay,” she said, watching Dean’s face as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, Sam beat up and unconscious down the hospital corridor.
“Aren’t I supposed to be the one telling you that?” He gave her a rueful smile.
“Maybe. But you need to hear it sometimes, too.” She smiled at him. “Save Sammy. That’s what you do. That’s what you always do. He’ll never ask for it, Dean, but he needs it. He needs you.”
That brought the touch of a cocky grin to Dean’s jaw. “Yeah, that’s my little brother. Always needing me.”
She touched his arm. “He needs you alive, Dean. And you will be. You need to be.”
He shifted, uncomfortable now. “Hey, we all gotta live, right?”
She felt like nobody had really given him a hug in a while, so she did it herself. “Right,” she said, breathing in the scent of leather and blood and grease, strains of AC/DC songs running through her head.