Dean followed Joe through a door and into the guestroom that Laura had mentioned, and as he looked around he felt all the blood drain from his face. It was terrifying…

It had ‘old lady’s’ room written all over it, from the nauseatingly floral wallpaper and frilly white curtains to the lace doilies on the bureau. And if that wasn’t scary enough, the porcelain doll collection that the absent aunt had amassed would have truly horrified. They were everywhere.

“Oh my God,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ve died and gone to – uh, Sam,” his eyes roved over the painted faces, “exactly where have I died and gone to?”

Behind him, Sam faltered, dizzied by the clutter. “Ah—” He was actually at a loss for words – an unusual occurrence for the youngest Winchester, who had started speaking at the age of seven months. His first word had been ‘Dede’. Dean.

One colorfully painted face, with a very red nose, caught Dean’s attention and he was moving before Sam saw it, reaching out and shoving the offending collectible out of sight.

Joe gave him an odd look. Dean shrugged and gave his best ‘innocent’ look. While he would mercilessly tease his younger brother about his clown-phobia, he refused anyone else that privilege…so the clown doll had gone down. A silent assassination in the name of brotherhood.

He was fairly certain that that was something the Hardy boys would have understood.

“Okay then,” Joe grinned, picking up that he was missing something significant but not pressing the issue. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll have some dry duds for you.” He paused and added as he glanced at the wavering younger Winchester. “There’s towels in the closet across the hall, if you want to take a shower or something.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean said with heartfelt sincerity; a shower had never sounded so good before. He turned to his younger brother as soon as Joe left. “Stay here,” he ordered and then moved across the hall and came back with a thick green towel.

Wordlessly he spread it over the floral comforter and then helped Sam strip down to his briefs frowning as he finally got a good look at his brother’s injuries.

“Man, kid,” he whistled softly in appreciation, “you are one hell of a mess.”

A knock on the door interrupted Sam’s response.

“Dean? Sam?” It was Laura. “I’ve got the first aid kit.”

Giving his brother the ‘move an inch and die’ look, Dean opened the door, surprised when the woman passed him a tray holding the first aid kit, two cups of hot liquid – inhaling, the young demon hunter furrowed his brow. One coffee. One hot chocolate – and two sandwiches, tuna.

“Just in case,” was all Laura said as she gave him a soft smile and then turned away. “Sleep tight,” she added over her shoulder, “and if you need anything, ask one of the boys.”

Dean watched her go and then just shook his head, used his foot to close the door and then turned around. “You hungry?” he asked but Sam just shook his head.

Joe returned a few minutes later with a change of clothes for each of the Winchesters and then waited while the brothers changed and then passed him their wet stuff.

The older Winchester frowned as he glared at the police insignia on the front of the navy tee Joe gave him. Wordlessly he cocked an eyebrow and looked at the blond teen for some sort of explanation.

“My dad used to be a cop,” was all he got, and then with a final “Good night” the younger Hardy was gone, quickly moving towards the upstairs where he and his brother slept.

Dean’s frown grew as he glanced at his brother. Sam was sitting on edge of the bed, the green towel protecting the comforter. “Not a word,” he muttered and then indicated the bathroom across the hall from them as he reached out to pull his brother to his feet, “c’mon, geek-boy, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You know,” Sam mumbled tiredly, “normal brothers don’t go to the bathroom together…”

“Yeah, well we ain’t normal,” the older man snorted. “Besides, Dad would have my ass if I let you drown in the shower for the sake of your preserving your pride. And need I remind you that I’ve changed your diapers?”

Sam stopped and shot his brother a daggered look. “Dude, you’re only four years older than me. No way in hell Dad let you anywhere near my bottom when you were only five or six!”

Dean grinned and ushered his brother into the small bathroom. “True…but I did teach you how to aim.”

“God, Dean. Sharing time is getting scary…”

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank had just finished with the shower when Joe came back upstairs. Hearing the younger boy go into his room, he wrapped a white towel around his waist and stepped through the door into Joe’s room.

“Everything okay?” he asked, taking note of Joe’s haggard appearance.

“Yeah,” Joe sighed heavily and dropped down on the edge of the bed. Absently he rubbed at his arm. “Sam and Dean are in Aunt Gertrude’s room for tonight.” He grinned. “You should have seen the look on Dean’s face when he saw,” he paused and added emphasis with his tone, and parentheses with his fingers, “‘the collection’.”

The older Hardy laughed as he towel-dried his hair. “Man, I would have loved to have seen that.”

“It was priceless,” Joe beamed, “Dean was actually speechless. And Sam just kinda stood there.”

“Well, the poor kid has an excuse, he’s had a pretty rough night. Speaking of which,” Frank snagged Joe’s wrist as it moved towards his arm again. “What’s up with your arm? I’ve seen you rubbing it a couple of times now.”

“I dunno,” Joe admitted, reaching to peel his shirt off to get a look, “But it’s been bugging me for the last hour or so.” Freeing his arm he frowned. “What the—?”

Frank crouched down to get a better look. He gently rotated his brother’s arm, his own frown matching the blond teen’s as he took in the raw, red mark on Joe’s arm. It looked like he’d been burned. Sitting back on his heels, he pursed his lips. “What happened?”

Joe just shook his head. “I have no idea. It looks like a burn and it feels like a burn—”

“But how do you get a burn on your arm without even singeing your shirt?” Frank held up the undamaged sleeve for Joe to see. He sighed and glanced over his shoulder towards the hallway. “Maybe we should be asking the Winchesters that question.”

“Frank…” Joe started but his brother held up his hand, waving off his protest as he moved to close the room door.

“Just hear me out, okay?”

“Okay,” the younger boy sighed, although he didn’t sound open to whatever Frank was about to suggest; the older Hardy wondered briefly about the apparent protectiveness Joe harbored towards the Winchesters, but he didn’t press about it. Yet…

“Weird things have been happening all night. First with the van – I mean what was with that? It just died for no reason and then was fine again a few minutes later? Then when we find you and Sam, you’re out cold but say that Sam had nothing to do with it,” he continued quickly seeing the protest already forming on Joe’s lips. “Dean’s got a gun full of rock-salt, hell they both do; the van gets ‘attacked’, twice….AND Sam almost shoots me – with rock-salt…which apparently repels spirits, according to the ghost-busting duo downstairs – add that to this ‘wraith’ thing they were babbling about in the car and I’d say, it is quite possible that they might have a very good explanation for how you got a burn on your arm but nothing on your clothes.” He paused for a breath and to see if Joe was going to say anything.

The younger boy stared at him for a long time, seeming to seriously consider what Frank was saying.

“Well?” the dark haired Hardy pressed after a minute of silence.

“Huh,” Joe finally said.

“Huh?” Frank repeated and then scowled. “Is that the best you can come up with?”

“Frank,” Joe stood up and moved towards the bathroom the brothers shared. It connected their rooms like a giant walk-in closet with separate doors. “I’m tired. It’s late. My arm hurts like hell and I gotta take a piss….Can we sleep on this and maybe finish this conversation tomorrow? Morning might shed light on all this.”

The older teen just stared at his brother’s retreating back. “Okay,” he drawled out slowly, “So, who are you? And what have you done with my brother?” It was not like Joe to be so…well so ‘calm’ after the adrenaline-filled night they had. Normally when things had been ‘chaotic’ the usually hyper younger boy would be driving Frank crazy with wild hypotheses and outlandish ideas. But not this time. This time, Joe just seemed…well…a bit off.

“And people call me dramatic,” Joe quipped from the bathroom as he washed his hands. “I’m just tired and I wouldn’t mind a couple of aspirin.”

Frank sighed. That he did understand. “Fine. But we talk to Dean in the morning.”

“Fine,” Joe agreed and the sound of the shower turning on indicated the end of the conversation.

Using the hallway to get back to his room, the older Hardy didn’t realize just how weary he was until he lay down. He actually groaned as his still tender back hit the mattress.

What a messed up night….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Twenty minutes later, Dean stood beside the bed, freshly showered, in clean clothes – police workout sweats, nonetheless – and with a small Band-aid covering the gash on his forehead; he watched his younger brother sleep.

Sam was a mess, but amazingly enough he had managed to get away with no serious injury; the worst being a sprained wrist, bruised ribs, and a wrenched knee. He’d be limping for a while, that was for sure.

He’d even managed to avoid a concussion though he had admitted his head hurt.

Other than that, Sam was scratched, bruised and very colorful, but he’d live.

Bothersome though, were two unexplainable marks on the younger Winchester, more like a rash or burn than anything else….One was on Sam’s chin and the other, a much larger and unnervingly hand-shaped print, was in the center of his back.

The skin was painful and hot to the touch.

Dean frowned and sighed as he reached up to scrub at his tired eyes. He couldn’t remember seeing anything wrong with his brother’s coat or shirt to suggest how the mark had gotten on Sam’s back. He might have missed it though – anything was possible, as he’d been a bit preoccupied with getting Sam out of the ditch at the time.

Realizing that the articles of clothing in question were in the laundry, he knew that he’d have to wait until morning to see if he could figure it out. He had a sneaking suspicion about what had caused it, but wanted to rule out all natural causes first.

Though when dealing with Sam, it usually worked best just to skip anything ‘usual’ and jump right into ‘freaky-assed’.

Exhaling wearily, the exhausted young man eased himself onto the bed next to Sam and then stretched out, the softness of the mattress more welcome than he’d ever admit.

It wasn’t the first time he and his brother had shared a bed and actually, in light of the night they’d just had, it gave him an extra modicum of comfort to know that if Sam even breathed the wrong way, he’d know.

“Night, kiddo,” he whispered as he lay on his side and then reached up and turned off the lamp.

…

Outside the Hardy house the wind rustled the autumn leaves on the old oak tree in the front yard. A small black cat ran across the street. A dog barked, once.

And the wraith waited.

Anger seethed through its very presence; a hatred so powerful it kept the spirit unbound and restless…tormented.

Slowly, like poison through veins, the creature seeped into the walls, drawn to a light like a moth to a flame.

Inside the house, safely ensconced in a warm bed, the ‘light’ tossed lightly in his sleep….

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hardy boys fan fiction