Episode Fourteen: Nocturne

By Tracer

Part Two

A light tapping on the door preceded its slow opening of it and Sam jolted out of the creaky office chair, scattering the slew of Nick’s research over the mythology texts he’d snagged from the library. Clearing his throat as he waited for the intruder, he nervously ran his hands over his crumpled shirt and jeans. Last thing he needed right now was office personnel questioning his presence.

“C-can I help you?” Sam asked, leaning a bit to catch a glimpse of his visitor and urging the person to move slightly faster than their current snail’s pace.

A homely looking girl stepped cautiously into the office space, her frizzy curls twisting around her loose ponytail. Sam smiled at her, and was rewarded with a nervous laugh and immediate loss of eye contact as the girl’s pale, freckled face ducked to the floor. “I—I was looking for Nick.”

Sam nodded, resting against the desk’s edge. “Well, he’s in class right now.”

“No,” The girl exclaimed, a little louder than Sam had anticipated, and if the younger Winchester didn’t know better he’d swear tears were forming in the girl’s eyes. “We were dismissed early.”

“Oh,” Sam muttered, racking his brain for a reason why his brother had yet to return. Oh yeah, Kinsey. “Did they say why?”

“No, but I think it’s bad,” the girl replied softly, her dark eyes studying the blue carpet again.

Silence crept into the room, with Sam opening and closing his mouth to interrogate the issue further, but stopping himself each time because the girl had said she didn’t know anything and seemed to have taken a certain liking to the far wall, staring at it with dead intensity. The younger brother was never more thankful than when loud voices from the hallway met his ears, and he jumped up from the table, grabbing his books from their hiding spot, and crossing the length of the room to get a glimpse of the group.

A smile crept on his face when he saw his brother and Nick approaching, but the expression faded when he looked past the two men to the tear-stained face of Kinsey following behind. “What happened?”

Dean looked up in Sam’s direction, but Nick beat him to an answer. “Dr. Mills died an hour ago. We just got notified.”

“What?” The small crowd startled as the shrill question rang out, and Sam turned back to see his visitor leaning heavily against the door jamb.

“Megan? What the hell are you doing here? Office hours aren’t until four,” Nick stated firmly, his face tense as he brushed past Sam towards the upset girl.

“Nick,” Kinsey reprimanded, her voice shaky. “It’s okay.”

“I-I just needed help with that problem set, an-and was worried about--” Megan stumbled, nervous eyes glancing back and forth between Kinsey and Nick. “Did he—is he really?”

“Yes,” Nick took a breath, his tone switching from weary to fully authoritative but tolerant. “Look, the problem set isn’t due for another week and a half. Can this wait until tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I know…” Megan stammered, sniffing back the emotions stealing her soft voice. “I just thought you could help me get a head start. I’m sorry.”

Kinsey sighed sympathetically. “It’s okay, we just—we just have a lot to take care of now,” she offered to her student, then turned and gave Dean a wondering glance. “Maybe, if you aren’t too busy—you could take a look at the problems? This isn’t Stanford so there’s no supplemental instruction, you know?”

Dean swallowed thickly, chancing a look over to a smirking Sam and overly pleased Megan with Kinsey’s hopeful suggestion, before stuttering an answer. “Uh…well, I don’t—uh…”

“It’s okay,” Nick interrupted, and Dean struggled to hide his relief. “I got a study block at eight tonight anyway. You can stop by then.”

“Thank you so much,” Megan gushed, wiping at the wetness in the corners of her eyes. “This is all so crazy.”

The group simply nodded their agreement as Megan started to leave, although she stopped in front of Dean. “Are you going to be at the study session?”

“Actually, no,” Dean responded, not sounding remotely sorry for that fact at all.

“Oh, okay,” the girl muttered, her disappointment audible as she turned back towards Nick. “I’ll see you at eight, okay?”

“Okay,” Nick replied, and both brothers noticed the slightly annoyed glance the TA shared with Kinsey.

Sam waited until Megan had vanished out of the hallway before offering his condolences, “I’m sorry about what happened to Dr. Mills. Did they tell you anything when they called?”

“It’s okay,” Kinsey returned, her voice conveying it was anything but, although neither brother was prepared to bring up that point, “We’ll figure it out. And no, they didn’t.”

Sam nodded and offered a small reassuring smile. “I’m sure you will and we’ll do anything we can to help.”

Dean’s face bore a similar expression as he agreed. “Yeah, if you need anything just give us a call.”

“Thanks,” Nick breathed, relief washing over his face as he set his focus on Sam. “Did you find anything today?”

“No,” Sam offered, but cast a glance at Dean that suggested otherwise the instant Nick nodded resignedly. “Just a couple literature books I’ve been searching for.”

“Oh…okay,” Nick muttered, his disappointment evident. “Well, Kins and I have to do some grading and call some people. Pretty boring stuff. I mean, you’re welcome to stay, but I think we--”

Dean held up a hand in interruption. “It’s fine. We got to check into a hotel anyways.”

“The Milton on 8th is a good one,” Kinsey chimed up as she disappeared into the office.

Nick shook his head, “Yeah, if you’re Bill Gates.” He scoffed, flashing the brothers a smirking grin. “Women.”

* * * *

A crowd of concerned students had already gathered outside the office building and Dean was surprised that Megan wasn’t in the middle of the worried mob revealing her new found information to her classmates. Sam shook his head in sympathy at the impending grief coming to the undergrads.

The brothers walked in pensive silence as they reached the far parking lot, familiar black awaiting its passengers. Dean patted his jacket pockets and yanked out his keys as Sam circled around the back of the car.

“So?” Dean questioned expectantly, opening the creaking driver’s door of his baby and giving little brother his full attention as he leaned against the car top, arms crossed over the door jamb.

Sam’s face scrunched in puzzlement. “So?”

“What? You gonna tell me that you didn’t find a damn thing about what’s going on here?” Dean accused, eyebrows raised inquiringly.

“No, I did, I think…” Sam replied, sinking into the passenger seat and waiting for his brother to enter the car before continuing. “I found a couple of books that might help.”

“Good,” Dean returned, placing the keys into the ignition. “So, what you got?”

“Well,” Sam began, his attention wavering between flipping through the dog-eared pages and observing his brother’s backing out technique, which he knew Dean hated, but hey, another set of watching eyes never hurt a damn thing. Finally satisfied that no unsuspecting student was going to get hit in the parking lot, Sam focused back on the exposed pages. “It’s not sleeping sickness,” he said, “And the fact that its only guys that are affected made me think it could be some kind of curse or something.”

“Like a cursed object?” Dean offered, merging onto the highway with racing driver speed.

Sam rubbed his temples in thought. “Yeah, but then they’d all have to be in contact with it somehow.”

“The campus?” Dean tried again, shrugging his shoulders.

“See that’s what I thought.” The brunet yanked out a few loose copied sheets crammed in between the book’s pages. “But more guys would’ve been affected right? And then, I found that this isn’t the only town where this has happened.”

Dean shot his brother a baffled expression. “Huh?”

“Redding, Massachusetts,” Sam read, re-scanning the article he’d printed. “Four years ago.”

“Did Dad mention it?” Dean asked offhandedly as he maneuvered the Impala onto the exit ramp.

“Nope,” Sam shook his head and grabbed another book from the car’s floor, “I did fin--”

“Hold that thought, Sammy,” Dean instructed, turning into the lot of a run down motel, it’s half-lit sign declaring “vacancy”.

“This place looks like it violates every health code, Dean,” Sam complained, grimacing at the rusted metal railings and chipped doors starkly visible in the early evening sun.

Dean shifted into Park and shot Sam a ‘deal with it’ glance. “We’ve stayed in worse.”

With that Sam couldn’t argue, and he watched in muted frustration as his brother sauntered into the motel office to check them in, only to return moments later triumphantly sporting keys to their new living quarters, compliments of one Mr. Kirk Hammett, a smirk on his face.

“We’re in lucky 13,” Dean boasted with a loud laugh, gunning the Impala and squealing into the parking space provided directly in front of their room door.

“Wonderful,” Sam groaned, gathering his books and struggling to open the car door.

Dean snickered at his younger brother’s predicament. “Need any help there, Sammy?”

“Nope,” Sam responded firmly, yanking the door open and stumbling out of the car to the sound of Dean’s open laughter. Regaining his balance, Sam raised a foot to kick the passenger door shut, grinning satisfactorily when the retaliating gesture succeeded in pissing his brother off.

“Dude!” Dean screeched, damn near sprinting over to the opposite side of the car and kneeling down to study the door panel. “If there is one scratch, I swear to God--”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sam shot back unfazed, setting his load on the car’s roof before extending a grasping hand in impatience in his brother’s direction. “Keys.”

Dean tossed the room keys over to Sam with more force than was really necessary and brushed past the younger brother in an irritated huff to retrieve their bags. Sam couldn’t help but revel a bit in his moment of inspired genius as he stalked over to the badly painted door. The key stuck in the lock but what else was new? Sam got his answer the instant he flung the door open.

His mouth gaped in abject horror and immediately the brunet averted his gaze in disgust. The Sunrise Motel hadn’t been joking when they’d advertised ‘where the sun always shines’ on their tacky road sign, and the bright, neon yellow paint accented so wonderfully by the burnt orange trim attested to that.

“Well, I feel happier already,” Dean snarked, hurling Sam’s bag onto the far bed and setting his own down on the coarse orange wool comforter gracing the bed he’d designated for himself.

“I can’t stay here,” Sam protested, waving an arm towards the monstrosity that was the walls. “I’m already getting a headache.”

“You always have a headache,” Dean replied cockily, unzipping his bag and yanking out a fresh tee and sweats.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “You, for starters.”

Dean’s head snapped up at the insult, a look of feigned offense clouding his features. “Oh, now that hurts.”

“I bet,” Sam huffed, rubbing at his eyes as he sunk down onto the bed and cracked open an old text he’d snagged from the campus library. “So, I got an idea of what this could be.”

“Really?” Dean asked, grabbing his bundle of clothes and settling down on his bed facing Sam.

“Yeah.” The younger brother quickly flipped through the pages, finding the correct one and handing the book to Dean. “I think it’s a Mara.”

“Mara?” Dean repeated incredulously. “Isn’t that a nightmare demon or something?”

Sam nodded, scratching his head. “In some legends, yeah.”

“Okay, so what makes you think this is what we’re dealing with?” Dean inquired, studying the illustration of a sleeping man with a woman’s spirit hovering above him alongside the text.

“Well,” Sam began, rubbing his hands on his jeans, “One of the legends mentioned that Mara’s were once thought to be free floating spirits that paralyzed men in their sleep.”

“Sounds about right,” Dean commented absently, and began reading the opened page. “So, if it’s a spirit then it should come from somewhere right? It’s got to have an origin.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, letting out a breath, “But another article said that Maras were thought to be spirits of cursed women that attack while the girl is sleeping.”

“So like its part of the curse?” Dean questioned, tearing his eyes from the book and meeting Sam’s.

“I don’t know, I guess,” Sam offered, taking to biting his lip as he retreated into a thoughtful silence.

“That’s just weird.” Sam shot his brother an annoyed glance and Dean’s eyes widened, “What? I mean, usually a curse affects the cursed right?”

“It still does,” Sam argued, locating his laptop and turning the machine on. “I mean, if the people are related to the cursed girl in some way, their slow paralyzing deaths affect her too.”

“Yeah, but if she knows she’s cursed why doesn’t she just avoid any situation that would kill these guys?” Dean reasoned, tossing the book back over to Sam.

Sam pursed his lips in thought. “Maybe she doesn’t know she is cursed.”

“What?” Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “How do you not know you’re cursed, Sammy? Even people who don’t believe in curses think some people are cursed.”

“Well, if the Mara spirit attacks while the girl is sleeping, she may not even realize it’s her.”

Dean scrunched his forehead at his brother’s take on the whole thing, running his fingers through his spiky hair. “Maybe,” he acquiesced over Sam’s fingers clicking against the computer keys. “But you know even if the girl doesn’t know she’s cursed, there’s not much we can do to help her.”

Sam heaved a sigh, defeated. “Yeah, I know. But we have to at least try. This Mara, or whatever--it’s killing these guys.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” the sandy-haired Winchester nodded in agreement. “Did any of your research say why this thing paralyzes its victims? Got to have a reason, yeah?”

“No,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to quell the headache forming behind his eyes. “My best guess is we figure out who’s cursed, and what the curse is exactly and go from there.”

“Walk in the park,” Dean joked, pushing off of the bed, clean clothes in hand, as he headed to the bathroom. “What are you looking for?”

“Those other victims,” Sam answered, his eyes never leaving the screen. “There’s got to be a connection.”

“Well, let me know if you find anything, Sherlock. I’m going take a shower then crash. Been a long day.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed sarcastically. “Oh, and by the way, how was class today, professor?”

“Bite me,” Dean shot back, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

* * * *

Dean emerged from the shower smelling as Zestfully clean as one could get, only to find Sam already curled up on the far bed, a mound of paper serving as the younger brother’s pillow. A wry smile graced the elder’s face as he repositioned his brother, throwing a blanket over him after yanking the free pages out from under the thick mass of hair.

Several names scrawled out in Sam’s messy penmanship marked the copied sheets and Dean settled in the provided motel chair, and opened the laptop. He found the first couple of Sam’s bookmarked pages with no problem, and then began his own Google inquiry.

Soon, the older brother came to the same conclusion Sam had no doubt come to earlier: There was nothing to connect these other two Dale victims with Dr. Mills. They were from completely different backgrounds and educations. Only one of the guys was a student at Britannia, although none of his classes even remotely resembled science in any way. The other victim hailed from a Starbucks two miles west of the campus.

Even if they had just run into each other on campus that still wouldn’t explain why a cursed girl would have it in for them, or unknowingly hurt them.

Dean resigned himself to momentary failure and crossed the room in search of his rifle, setting the gun against the nightstand separating the two beds. His trusty Marine Raider wasn’t going to do a damn thing against a spirit, but Dean eased into his normal sleeping position, clutching the knife’s handle anyway. It sure as hell made him feel better.

* * * *

A steady buzz echoed in the small room, causing the two exhausted lumps covered in blankets to merely stir, forcing the intruding noise into the background of welcome darkness. It worked because the sound dissipated seconds later, and both brothers gladly settled back into the mass of bedclothes.

The annoying resonance returned only seconds after it had left, eliciting an irritated groan from Dean as he cracked an eye open, raising his head slightly off the pillow. “Sammy…get that.”

Dean let his head plop back onto the feather head rest and waited for Sam to offer the buzzing a hello, but got a mumbled reply of “your phone” in return.

Sighing tiredly, Dean propped himself up onto his elbows and reached out for the offending object, which lay just out of reach on the nightstand, quickly flipping it open.

“Hello,” the elder brother greeted groggily, his voice thick from sleep.

“Dean?” a frantic voice from the other end asked.

Scratching his head absently, Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah?”

“It’s Kinsey,” the female voice revealed, and Dean instantly snapped out of his haze.

“Kinsey? What’s wrong?” Dean pressed, leaning over to swat Sam into awakening.

“Huh?” The younger mumbled, giving his brother a less than happy glare which intensified when Dean shushed him.

“You there, Kins?” Dean repeated anxiously, almost certain he’d heard the blonde crying.

Kinsey hesitated, taking a breath to calm herself. “I-it’s Nick.”

“What about Nick?” The older brother swallowed thickly when a choking sob flooded from the line.

“He hasn’t come to work, and—and he’s not answering his phone. I think…first, Dr. Mills--god, it’s happening again.”

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