Anonymouse

            “Like I thought—bust,” said Sam.

            “Hold on there, Sam,” said Garth. “There’s a lot of things to factor in here. Uh, it happened last night, so the readings could be cold by now.”

            “Good point,” said Dean.

            “Still no witchcraft,” said (Y/N). “So that narrows things down.”

            “And, uh, even if there was any sulfur, Barney Fife and his crew probably contaminated the whole crime scene and any evidence that was here with it,” said Garth.

            (Y/N) snorted at the comparison and peeked under the car.

            “Wow. He’s on a roll,” said Dean, slightly impressed.

            “That’s one word for it,” said Sam, huffing. He wanted to go back to searching for Kevin, not playing hunter on random cases. He was looking for The End.

            “Oh, ew. Yeah, we got something,” said (Y/N). They pointed a green goo on the ground that they had almost stepped in.

            “Is that gum, or is that ectoplasm?” asked Dean.

            “Isn’t ectoplasm usually black?” said Sam, frowning.

            Garth knelt, put a finger into the goo, and tasted it.

            “Okay, yeah, that can’t be good for you,” said (Y/N), grimacing.

            “Definitely ectoplasm,” said Garth.

            “And you discovered that at what cost?” said (Y/N).

            Garth shrugged. “So, what are we thinking—uh, some kind of ghost, right?” His phone rang again, this time with “Wild Wild West” by Kool Moe Dee. “Uh, Ranger McCrae here.”

            “One of those things rings Hammer, I’m throwing down,” whispered Dean.

            “I’m rooting for Barbie Girl,” said (Y/N).

            “Oh, great. Okay. Okay,” said Garth, bracing the phone between his shoulder and ear while scribbling a note on his hand. “Thanks, Doc.” He hung up and looked at Dean, Sam, and (Y/N). “Asked the coroner to drop me a line in case the autopsy turned up anything…unusual. And guess what? Our dead guy had the word ‘Alcott’—” he showed them the spelling as written on his palm “—carved into his chest.”

            “With what?” asked Sam.

            “Coroner’s best guess? His wife Mary's fingernails,” said Garth.

            “Still think this is a bust?” said (Y/N).

            Sam sighed.

l

            Sam, Dean, (Y/N), and Garth stood beside Mary Lew’s bed in her hospital room. The bright lights of the room buzzed above them as they looked at her, handcuffed with a sheriff guarding the exit. She seemed…tired and grieving. She stared into space even as they addressed her.

            “Mrs. Lew, can you tell us what happened?” asked Sam carefully.

            “I was at the store getting groceries, and the next thing I know, my son Scott finds me in the driveway.” Mary stared into space, and her breath hitched. “And Chester was…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.

            “Do you remember anything at all about what happened? Um…Chester dying?” asked Sam, trying to be as gentle as possible.

            “Not really. Bits and pieces, I guess,” said Mary.

            Unfortunate choice of words, thought (Y/N).

            “Such as?” prompted Dean.

            “I remember his screams…the smell of burnt rubber, and…I remember feeling so angry—just uncontrollable rage, like I wasn’t myself,” said Mary, shivering. “And after it was over, all that anger was just gone.”

            “Ma’am, does the word ‘Alcott’ mean anything to you?” asked (Y/N).

            Mary clenched her fists instinctually, a telltale sign it did mean something to her. “What does she have to do with anything?” she said defensively.

            “It’s a she?” said Sam, prompting her to continue.

            Mary couldn’t avoid continuing. “My husband, Chester, and I were going steady in high school for a few years already when we had a big fight,” she said, trying to shrug it off as inconsequential despite the fact it clearly bothered her.

            “What about?” questioned Dean.

            “Something stupid, I’m sure. It was around prom, and so he took Sara Alcott as his date instead of me,” admitted Mary.

            “So, this Sara Alcott was a rival for your husband’s affections?” asked Garth.

            “Sara had one night with him, whereas I was—” Mary started to cry “—with Chester for thirty-seven years.”

            “Of course, right. Sure,” said Sam awkwardly. “Um, just one more question. Um…Is…Ms. Alcott still alive?”

            “As far as I know, yes,” said Mary, through bitter tears.

            “Thank you very much, Mrs. Lew,” said Dean, hurrying them out before the situation became even more awkward.

l

            “Let me get this straight,” said Dean as they headed towards the impala after finishing with Mary. “This poor guy goes to prom with some girl over thirty years ago, and because of that, he is now a pancake?”

            “If it’s some sort of possession, it’s possible it could be bringing up old grudges,” said (Y/N). “Wouldn’t be the first time people’s emotions are influenced.”

            “Yeah, but what sort of possession? Alcott’s alive. It makes no sense,” said Dean.

            “Well, we’re definitely gonna want to talk to her,” said Garth.

            “Yeah, sounds like a plan.” Dean paused. “Did we eat yet?”

l

            “There you go,” said the waitress, setting down the burgers (and singular salad) that the group had ordered. They were in a bar, which (Y/N) got into thanks to their handy FBI badge.

            “Thanks,” said Garth. He took a bite and then looked at Dean and (Y/N). “So, Dean, (Y/N), gimme the skinny. Where were you the past year?”

            “Reading tarot for suburban mothers while I hunted on the side,” said (Y/N), blunt as ever. “Tried not to die.”

            Sam held his utensils tighter. Dean frowned.

            “Bet you made good money on that scam,” said Garth cheerfully.

            Not so much a scam. (Y/N) smiled all the same.

            “Why don’t we save what I did on my summer vacation for another time?” said Dean, taking another bite of his burger.

            “Aw, come on,” said Garth.

            “Alright. I was in Purgatory,” said Dean, straightforward.

            “Like the Purgatory Purgatory?” said Garth.

            “No, the one in Miami,” said Dean sarcastically.

            “The gay club?” snorted (Y/N), and Dean threw a fry at them.

            “Man, that’s balls,” said Garth, not batting an eye. He took everything in stride, which was one of his best qualities.

            “That’s not how you say ‘balls,’ ” said Dean.

            “So how’d you get out?” asked Garth.

            Sam made a show of turning and looking at Dean of the answer to that question. (Y/N) glanced at him curiously. They weren’t going to judge—they were just glad he was back—but they were curious. It was one of (Y/N)’s biggest flaws (that and their hopeless need to run straight into danger, which stemmed from a need to be useful or else, but that was too much psychoanalysis and they weren’t going to get into that).

            Dean avoided everyone’s gaze and looked around the bar. A confederate flag hung on the wall, and he frowned. “What’s up with all the, uh, hillbilly hankies? These people know the Civil War’s over, right?”

            “Mm. That’s a touchy subject round these parts,” said Garth knowingly. “See, Missouri was a border state. So, half the men were Confederate, the other half were the Union.”

            “How do you know all this?” asked Sam.

            “I went to college,” said Garth, munching on his burger.

            “You went to college?” said Sam in surprise.

            “Huh.” (Y/N) hadn’t thought about that; people got into the life in different ways. They hadn’t even really gotten around to thinking about college. And they really weren’t going to start.

            “Yeah. College and on to dental school,” said Garth, nodding.

            “You were a dentist?” said (Y/N), blinking. It seemed so…normal.

            “Yeah, just for, like, a hot minute. Where’d you think I got my first case?” said Garth, shrugging like it was obvious.

            “Let me guess—Tooth Fairy,” joked Dean.

            Looking uncomfortable and a little ashamed, Garth put his utensils down. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) stared.

            “Yeah. Man, I felt terrible when I ganked that SOB,” said Garth, shaking his head.

            “Uh, you killed the Tooth Fairy?” said Sam slowly, making sure he heard that right.

            “Yeah, man. I mean, not my proudest moment, but it happened.” Garth shrugged and picked up his burger for another bite. “Mmm. Man, this is good.”

            The phone rang—a normal ringtone from Dean’s phone—and he picked it up. “Yes, this is him. Really? What’s the address.” He listened and scribbled it down. “Yeah, got it. Thank you.” He hung up. “There’s another one.”

            “What?” said Sam.

            “Another body dropped,” said Dean. “And the perp was Scott Lew.”

            “Damn,” said (Y/N).

l

            (Y/N) looked at the crime scene with their hands and their hips. Jeff’s—Scott’s friend—body lay under a blanket, blood staining it and the ground beneath him. Drying, spilt coffee was drying on the floor, and various amenities from the convenience store shelves lay haphazardly around Jeff’s corpse. Green goo peppered the ground as well—whatever had possessed Mary had gotten to Scott as well.

            “So, first the mom goes ‘Natural Born Killer,’ and now the son?” remarked Dena. “Well, what do we got—a ghost with an Oedipus complex?”

            “You don’t know what that means, do you?” said (Y/N).

            “Nope,” said Dean.

            “Thought so,” said (Y/N). “Still, is there something about the Lew family causing it? Or is it chance that whatever got to Mary got to Scott?”

            “Not sure, but check this out,” said Sam, stepping over to the refrigerated section of the store. Painted in blood was “Sussex.”

            “ ‘Sussex,’ ” read Dean. “What is that, another name?”

            “I wonder if it’s another person that involved in a grudge,” said (Y/N), tilting their head. “Then there would be some sort of pattern.”

            Garth walked over after consulting with the deputies on the scene.

            “Hey, what’d the cops say?” asked Sam.

            “Not much,” he said, scratching beneath his baseball hat. “Uh, Scott insisted he wasn’t in control of himself. Says all he remembers is a red-hot rage.”

            “That’s like his mother,” said (Y/N).

            “So, what is this, some-some kind of family curse?” Sam looked at (Y/N).

            “Maybe,” said (Y/N). “No hex bag doesn’t rule it out.”

            Dean couldn’t stop staring at the baseball hat on Garth’s head. “Is that Bobby’s hat?”

            “Oh, yeah. Sure is.” Garth smiled proudly. “We worked a rugaru case together a few years back. He left it in my car, so I kept it as a—” Dean snatched the hat from his head “—memento. What are you doing?”

            “That’s not how you wear it,” snapped Dean, tucking it under his jacket.

            (Y/N) grimaced. Dean’s time in Purgatory had meant he never got to grieve Bobby’s loss properly, which, in turn, meant he wasn’t sure how to handle people trying to move on. (This is a very wise statement for someone who refuses to fully deal with the trauma and internalized issues their parents’ deaths created).

            A deputy walked up to them and informed them, “Gentlemen, surveillance is up, but something is all screwy with it.” He brought them to the back room of the store to show the security feed. It displayed Scott stabbing Jeff with a shovel—brutal—but Scott’s face was obscured by white light and a strange line across the screen.

            “Must be the camera,” said the deputy.

            (Y/N) knew better. “Probably. Thank you, deputy.” He nodded and walked off, leaving the hunters to talk amongst themselves.

            “You guys see the head? Ever seen anything like that before?” asked Dean, watching the reply of the security footage again.

            “Like that? No way,” said Garth.

            “So?” said Sam, wondering what to do next.

            “So…” Dean frowned.

            “So, I’m thinking we need to talk to Sara Alcott,” said Garth. “I found her—although these days, she goes by Sara Brown.”

            “How about this?” said Sam. “(Y/N) and I’ll check her out, and you two see what you can find out about Sussex.” He wanted to try to show (Y/N) he was still their friend and someone they could rely on. He had to prove himself to them. After all, he cared about them too much to let them think he didn’t care. They were family.

            “Word,” said Garth.

            “Awesome,” said Dean.

            “Fine,” said (Y/N).

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