"Sam, duck."

Never one to question that tone of voice, Sam dropped to the ground in a roll. A blast from Dean's shotgun caused his ears to ring and the spirit behind him to dissipate. Coming to his feet in one smooth motion, Sam bolted for the freshly dug grave. At the last possible second, he dropped to his knees, and slid, coming to a stop at edge of the hole. He fumbled for only a second with the matches in his hand, before lighting and tossing the pack onto the exposed body below. The small flame hit, igniting the gasoline and salt mixture he'd doused the remains in earlier. Sam scrambled backward a couple of feet, away from the intense heat of the blaze, and collapsed.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam waited a moment for a response. Not getting one, he lifted his head and gazed around the moonlit cemetery. The light from the grave had ruined his night vision, allowing him to see no more than a few feet around the still burning hole. "Dean?" he rasped, his hoarse voice protesting the use.

"Yeah," Dean called out just before he dropped to the hard, cold, ground beside Sam.

Sam gave his brother a quick once over, noted the surprising lack of blood, and then dropped his head back to the ground. "A little slow on the draw there weren't you? He nearly got me." Sam raised a hand to cover his mouth and let loose a deep hacking cough. Unable to smother it, Sam sat up leaning forward over his knees.

Dean sat, his hand hovering over Sam's back. At last, Sam's breathing eased and Dean relaxed once more. "You're not getting better, Sam. I'm thinking it's time for a doctor."

"I'm fine, it's only a cold. I just need some sleep," Sam knew his rasping voice gave little weight to his words.

Dean snorted in disbelief and leaned back, seemingly content to rest for a moment longer. "Yeah, right."

Sam relaxed next to his brother, he was more than happy to delay the moment when they would have to finish the job. Despite the cold ground, lying down with the stars laid out before them seemed like a fine idea to his aching chest. And really, why rush they'd already been in Revere, or as Dean preferred to call it, "Bumfuck Nowhere," for over a week, what's a couple more minutes in the scheme of things.

The tiny town of Revere boasted no hotel, only a bed and breakfast. One restaurant, aptly named The Revere Diner, a bowling alley that employed half the town and a small grocery store that employed the other half. The bed and breakfast, where they were staying, was owned by the Mabel sisters. Sam and Dean had quickly learned that Peg, and her baby sister Floss, were legends in the town of Revere, both respected and loved by all.

The sister's status in the small town had made things interesting, to say the least, for the hunters. Normally, the brothers were sure to stay under the town's radar as much as possible when working a job. Unfortunately, this time they'd been unable to remain anonymous. As the only guests of the 'Sisters' everyone in town knew about them before they'd even settled into their rooms.

"You ready to hit it, Sam?"

Sam heard the worry in Dean's voice. He knew his big brother's overprotective tendencies were in full force when Dean got to his feet and offered, "You gather up the tools, I'll fill in the hole."

"Fine by me," Sam said, wincing from the pain in his throat. The Mabel sister's honey-lemon tea had helped to sooth his throat earlier, but was only a temporary cure at best.

"Come on, get a move on. We've still gotta get past the sisters before we can get some sleep."

Sam nodded in agreement and grasped the hand Dean held out to him. Allowing his brother to haul him to his feet, he groaned as he looked down at his mud-covered jeans. He'd spent a large part of the evening standing knee deep in mud while shoveling out the grave and he looked the part. The only good to have come out of the night was that both he and Dean were relatively unscathed. Luckily, it seemed the esteemed Councilman Todd, the ghost they were chasing, was as poor a spirit as he had been a philanderer.

Todd, who'd died in a compromising position with his secretary, had been haunting the county courthouse out on Route 611 for over a year now. At first, he'd done nothing more than knock a couple paintings off the walls. It was only week or so ago that he'd finally become violent. His wife, who'd been voted onto the council after his death, had been inside the courthouse after hours and had been attacked by her husband's spirit. Though, Todd hadn't done any real damage, he'd left the courthouse in shambles and the widowed Mrs. Todd an emotional wreck.

Normally, a case like this wasn't something that would even attract the brother's attention. Not that it wasn't important enough, it's just that the body count hadn't been sufficient to attract the media. The boys weren't aware of the spirit until they stopped at the Revere for a bite to eat. There, they had heard all about the tale as the other customers, all three of them, lingered over dinner. Certain it'd be an easy job, the boys had hit the Mabel sister's b&b with the intention of being in and out of town before the bright yellow, floral print bedspreads, that lay on the two twin beds, could cause permanent blindness.

That was a week and a half ago. What they hadn't counted on was the early winter storm that dumped three feet of snow on the area, seriously slowing down the investigation. Plus, Mrs. Todd's refusal to see them hadn't helped. They'd ended up relying heavily on the Mabel sister's gossip to help piece together what was going on.

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Dean winced as he pulled into the b&b's driveway, the rumble of the Chevy's engine echoing in the quiet night. They would be lucky to get into the house undetected. The brothers had figured out quickly that the Mabel sisters slept little. As an added bonus the ladies weren't against playing twenty questions with their guests if they caught them up past an 'acceptable' bedtime. Twice now, Sam and Dean had been caught sneaking out of the house, only to be chided back to their rooms like wayward teens. Determined to finish the hunt and put the town of Revere in their rearview mirror they'd left the house earlier telling the sisters they were heading for Smokey Joe's, a dive on the outskirts of town.

Dean eased open his door, silently cursing the familiar creek, and heaved himself up and out of the car. He watched as his brother followed suit. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see Sam was suffering more than he let on. The cold his little brother had been unable to shake for the last week was really beginning to worsen. Dean had no doubt that a lack of sleep and an evening spent digging in the cemetery hadn't helped. He took one last glance at Sam before he turned and headed toward the house. He vowed to get his brother a cup of the twisted sister's herbal tea. It wouldn't cure what ailed Sam, but at least it'd help take the edge off and hopefully allow him to sleep.

Twisted sisters, now there's a nickname that spoke volumes. How he and Sam'd ended up here in the back end of nowhere was still a bit of a mystery. They'd gone from just passing through to putting down roots for nearly two weeks, in Winchester terms that was practically a lifetime. Hell, he had trouble remembering the last time they'd spent that long in any one place.

Dean glanced over at Sam and gestured for his brother to be quiet. Sam of course flipped him off, a reminder that Sam wanted the sister's attention even less than Dean did. He still wasn't sure how they'd ended up sneaking in and out of the old three story house. After all, they'd bought and paid for the room and had every right to come and go as they wished.

Dean nearly shot his brother in frustration when Sam let out a whopper of a sneeze. Rolling his eyes at both his brother's ground shaking sneeze and his own inability to upset a couple of old biddies, Dean continued to the front porch. Here he was feeling like a sixteen-year-old kid trying to sneak into his parent's house. Dean snorted, though he had been sixteen once, what felt like a million years ago, he'd never been relegated to climbing through windows. Not in or out. Well, there was that one time with Tammy Lynn Crawford but that had been her window he'd been sneaking in and out of, so really that didn't count.

"This is ridiculous," he hissed to Sam as they crossed the lawn, heading for the front door.

Sam, frowning in concentration, hissed right back, "Do you remember what happened the other night when we came in late? I don't know about you but I have no interest in hearing another lecture about the evils of drinking." Sam snorted his voice raising an octave, "No, nice young girl wants to marry a scalawag," Sam mimicked, nailing Floss' tone to perfection. "I gotta admit, I loved it when you told her you'd stay a scalawag if it meant you didn't have to marry. I thought the old gi-"

Sam's words cut off, as the porch light flicked on illuminating the brothers. Dean unable to see past the glare shaded his eyes with one hand and sighed. Shit, they were caught. "Turn off the light, Peg, it's only us."

A low husky voice, belonging more to a jazz singer than a seventy year old woman, replied, "Now, boys if I'd known it was mud wrestling night over at ol' Smokey's I woulda gone on down there and laid myself a bet."

Dean couldn't help but grin at Peg Mabel's reply. "Peg, if you had gone I'd have bought you a couple shots. No worries though, the odds were all stacked in my favor anyway. You wouldn't have made much money."

Peg's voice, filled with good humor, replied, "Pretty brash of you, Winchester. Imagine thinking I'd lay my money on you're scrawny self."

"Thank you, Miss Mabel," Sam's reply was sickly sweet and full of laughter.

Dean rolled his eyes and shot out a fist, nailing Sam on the arm. "You're such a suck up."

As they made their way up the porch steps, Dean shook his head at the elderly woman before him. Peg Mabel was the oldest of the Mabel sisters at a spry 75. She was tall, thin, and severe. Her thick silver hair was always neatly dressed and no matter the hour, she was always neatly clothed. From her woolen skirt to her crisply pressed blouse and thick hose, there was never a hair out of place. Her face was lined with age and her fingertips stained yellow with nicotine from years of chain smoking.

Thirty years ago, when it was finally determined that cancer was caused by smoking, Peg had kicked the life-long habit. She'd told Dean at the time she quit, she had been smoking for nearly 30 years. Her one failing, had been her inability to put the cigarette down. So, she'd compromised. Peg Mabel hadn't had a drag on a cigarette since 1977, however, she carried an unlit one in her hand for a large part of the day. Anytime the urge to light up came over her, she'd pick up a cigarette and hold it.

Dean had to marvel at the woman's will-power. She was as rare as the alcoholic bartender or a gambler that still visited his favorite casino without ever laying a bet. She held temptation in her hand every day and she stood strong against it. Habits however had died hard. The majority of Peg's smoking had been done outside on this very porch. She would sit in one of the four rocking chairs that lined the porch, smoke and watch the world go by. Now, though she forgoes the smoking she still keeps a hawk-like eye on the world around her.

Dean had no doubt Peg knew everything and everyone that passed by better then they new themselves and she wasn't above sharing her knowledge with anyone that dared to brave her porch steps. However, despite her gossipy ways, the brothers had come to realize she was always willing to lend a hand to anyone that needed it, regardless if they asked for help.

"Come on, inside, boys. You two look about done up." Peg turned toward the house, one hand holding her coat close to her rail thin body the other reaching out to open the screen door, a cigarette shining brightly between her fingers.

As the brothers stepped into the entry, they were greeted with Floss' higher pitched tones. "You boys get yourselves in this kitchen right now. You know better than to be out this late at night. Sam you've already got a doozy of a cold, you don't want to end up in the hospital, do you?"

Dean knew it was pointless to resist, the sisters didn't take no for an answer. If they summoned, you obeyed, otherwise you found yourself called to task for it. In a way they reminded Dean of his father, only when crossed they were much scarier. With a low, "Yes, ma'm." Dean sent a longing glance up the stairs, toward the shower he'd been looking forward to, and headed straight for the kitchen where Floss waited.

Florence Mabel, Floss, at seventy-three was the younger of the sisters and a more exact opposite of Peg you couldn't find. Where Peg was tall and willowy, Floss was short, barely clearing five feet. Where Peg had a husky voice, Floss' was as high pitched and sweet as a young girls. Floss' slightly thinning grey hair, held not a bit of Peg's shining silver and was kept short in a cap of curls. In point of fact, the only feature that marked the woman as sisters were their eyes. Both ladies had dark brown eyes, as warm as fudge with a slight twinkle that made you sure they knew more than what they were letting on. They can and often did melt harder hearts than the Winchesters with those eyes.

Dean sent a wicked grin toward Floss and was treated to an answering smile and a whip with the dishrag she held in her hand. Taking a moment to wash up at the sink, he then sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Sam followed suit looking like death warmed over. Though, he felt bad his brother was sick, he couldn't help but snicker. Dean might have gotten knocked around a bit tonight, but any bruising he suffered was well hidden. Sam and his ever-worsening cold was fair game.

The attack actually came quicker than Dean could have imagined, given the late hour and the ladies age. Floss immediately set a steaming mug in front of Sam with an admonishment to drink up. Dean could only figure the sisters had been keeping a mug of tea ready for any sign of the boys return. He couldn't help but be impressed as the woman moved about the kitchen gathering supplies. Floss stood at the stove, her back to the brothers, as she dished out bowls of something. Dean breathed deep, drawing in the mouth-watering aroma of chicken soup.

Peg meanwhile, had stripped off her coat, gloves, hat and scarf and upon following the Winchesters into the kitchen had headed straight for the fridge. Within moments, she'd pulled out a half-gallon of chocolate milk, and a hunk of what appeared to be cheese. As she turned toward the table, she snapped at Sam, "Drink up, boy. Drink up. You're throat's not going to feel better on it's own."

At the fire in Peg's voice, Sam immediately sipped at the still steaming cup. A groan of pain mixed with relief escaped Sam as he swallowed the sisters home remedy.

Dean, whose only thought a half-hour before had been shower and then sleep, groaned as Floss placed a bowl of soup before him. Earlier he'd been sure it was the sister's eyes that kept him putting up with their meddling ways, but now, he was suddenly reminded of another reason. Groaning, Dean leaned over the bowl enjoying the smell. "Oh, God," he moaned as he picked up the spoon Peg had placed before him.

Floss returned to the stove as Peg leaned over Dean's shoulder and sprinkled something white over his bowl. "Eat up before it gets cold."

Dean wrinkled his nose at what looked like parmesan cheese floating in his once perfect soup. "What's with the cheese? Who puts cheese in chicken soup?"

Peg sighed and swatted his shoulder. "Just eat it."

Still looking suspiciously at his bowl, Dean's growling stomach made itself known. He glanced over at Sam and shrugged. With a mumbled, "Down the hatch." Dean dipped a spoonful of the soup and took a bite.

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Sam watched as his brother gave him a nervous grin before taking a sip of the soup. Floss had also placed a bowl before Sam, but he figured he'd wait for Dean's seal of approval before trying it himself. Not that Dean was truly any judge, after all his brother's tastes weren't exactly discriminate. To put it bluntly Dean was basically as a big a ho for food as he was for women, yes there were certain qualities he looked for in both but when in need 'any port in a storm' was pretty much the motto Dean lived by.

Sam's brows raised in surprise as Dean let loose a moan that was downright indecent. His brother didn't bother to say anything else, he just set about in-haling the food before him. Setting aside his mug, Sam picked up his own spoon, deciding it had to be pretty good if Dean's groans and moans were any indication. Just before he could take a bit, Peg moved her hand over his bowl. Sam quickly covered it before the sprinkle of parmesan cheese landed in his bowl. "Ms. Mabel, I really don't like parmesan." Sam hated the pleading tone of his voice. Unfortunately, he knew there was no other way to deal with the Miz. Mabels as Dean had dubbed them.

Dean barely pausing from his assault on his own soup, reached out and knocked Sam's hand out of the way, allowing Peg to sprinkle the cheese. Sam gave up with a sigh. He figured it'd be easier to be polite and eat a couple bites rather than risking the Mabel sister's feelings. Lifting his spoon, he smiled at the sisters and took a bite.

Sam's groan rivaled Dean's in both duration and feeling. Unable to form coherent thought, he continued to eat, stopping only when his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl and came up empty. Nodding in reply to Floss' unspoken question, Sam held his bowl out for more and took stock of his surroundings. It was then he noted that it was after two. A scan of the sisters showed that neither one looked at all fatigued. As he accepted a large glass of chocolate milk from Dean, a favorite of both the Winchesters, Sam couldn't help but ask, "Are we keeping you up? I mean we can clean up, if you want to get some sleep."

Sam winced at the feel of a boot connecting with his shin. One glance at his brother let him know, if the kick hadn't, that Dean disagreed. It was the sudden sound of a frying pan sizzling and a waft of garlic and butter that drew Sam's attention back to Floss. She seemed to be pan-frying some small round steaks.

Peg snorted at Sam's question as she dropped a bag of fresh sandwich rolls on the table. "Sleep, we can get by with next no sleep. It's both a blessing and a curse at our age."

"It's only a blessing when we have someone to look after. When it's just the two of us, the hours just seem to drag by." Floss carefully seared the steaks on either side and then moved back toward the fridge pulling out a jar of mayonnaise.

"Well, we're more than happy to be looked after," Dean replied his tone dead serious, as his focus remained locked on the steaks that Floss was now plating.

Setting the platter down, the two ladies finally took seats on opposite sides of the table. In a matter of minutes, Sam was handed a roll with a round steak tucked inside and mayonnaise oozing out the sides. For one moment, he considered the ramifications of eating that much fat in one sitting, in the middle of the night. With a snort, he ignored everything Jess had taught him about healthy living and instead dug in with relish. "What the hell, I might die tomorrow," he muttered not aware he'd spoken aloud.

"Amen, brother," Dean replied around a mouthful of bread and meat.

"Now, why don't you boys tell us where you were tonight and how you got so filthy?" Peg asked her own barely touched sandwich in front of her.

Sam exchanged befuddled glances with Dean. The question was so unexpected he had to scramble for an excuse. "Uh, Smokey's like we said."

"Uh, huh. And the mud?" Peg questioned her eyes pinning Sam where he sat.

Dean's reply came quicker than Sam's had and actually sounded nearly natural. "We got into an argument. Smokey's parking lot was muddy."

"Now, why ever would you do that?" Floss asked her eyes wide as she took a bit of her sandwich.

"Oh, I don't know, Floss. We used to have some knock down drag outs when we were young," Peg answered her lips twitching a bit at the corners.

Floss burst out laughing, her apple-like cheeks rosy from the memory. "Oh, we did, didn't we, Peg. Do you remember old Harold Markson? Oh, how you pulled my hair cause you thought I was making eyes at him."

Peg sniffed, the twinkle in her gaze at odds with her stoic expression, "Yeah, well you were, weren't you."

Floss dropped a wink and a grin toward Dean and said, "Of course I was. Old Harold had twelve acres up in Cedar Falls. No way was I going to just roll over and let you have him."

"Well, I guess it was a lucky day for both of us when he decided on Sally Smith instead. I still can't believe he killed her with a garden hoe and then left her to rot in the root cellar," Peg replied pragmatic as always.

Floss sighed a bit and picked at her sandwich. "Yeah, though, he did build her a lovely house first. Do you remember that house, Peg. It was solid brick."

Peg waved a hand and rolled her eyes. "Yes, well, Sister, brick or not, I'm much happier here, than rotting in some root cellar."

Sam and Dean had watched the whole exchange without glancing at each other. Both were too busy trying to follow the conversation and finish their sandwiches. Peg's last words however, were simply to much to ignore. As he met Dean's gaze his older brother quirked an eyebrow at him sending Sam into a fit of laughter which quickly became a fit of coughing.

"Come on, Sammy. Easy there."

Sam felt more than heard his brother's words as he struggled to control his coughing. Apparently, at some point Dean had left his seat and now stood at Sam's elbow, one heavy hand resting on his shoulder. He couldn't help but take comfort from Dean's solid presence as his coughing finally subsided, leaving him lightheaded and weak.

"Come on, kiddo. No need to fight it any longer."

Sam felt a tug on his elbow as Dean helped him to his feet. Nodding weakly to the sisters, Sam allowed Dean to lead him out of the kitchen. At the base of the staircase, he tugged his elbow out of Dean's solid grip. Shoving Dean back a bit, Sam nodded toward the kitchen.

"I'm fine, lock up and help the sisters. I'm good, nothing some sleep wouldn't help." Though Sam knew his brother wasn't buying it, Dean did take a step back. Sam couldn't afford for Dean to see just how wiped he really was, or Sam'd never get him out of this town. As it was, they'd been here way longer than necessary.

Sam forced himself up the stairs making sure to keep his tread steady and his back straight. What he wanted to do was crash on the nearest sofa, plastic covering and all. What he did was climb the two flights to their room in the attic. Not bothering to do anymore than shuck off his jeans and shrug out of his button down shirt, Sam collapsed on the bed giving into his urge to cough.

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"That brother of yours is not good, young man."

Dean turned to find Peg in the doorway to the kitchen. Arms folded, she watched the stairs where Sam had just disappeared. He agreed with the older woman's assessment, Sam wasn't good and he was getting worse not better. Dean had stalled leaving Revere as long as he could hoping Sam's cold would get better, and instead it seemed to be getting worse. They had planned to leave the next morning, but now given Sam's display, Dean was going to fight tooth and nail to keep his little brother here. As small town as Revere was at least it boasted a clinic and a pharmacy. Plus, the room they were sharing in the attic was warm and clean, something that was a lot harder to find on the road.

Dean followed Peg back into the kitchen and dropped into his seat. He was going to have a fight on his hands. He knew that Sam was gung-ho to get going. Ever since he'd confessed to Sam their Dad's secret and then tried to talk his little brother into hiding, Sam seemed more gung-ho than ever. Dean had no doubt Sam was taking Dean's reluctance to move on as a sign that he was still trying to hide out. In reality, it was watching his brother struggle to draw a breath that had him dragging his feet. Peg's voice broke into Dean's thoughts.

"You know, Floss, I'm thinking tomorrow I'll run the Buick into town for an oil change."

"Well, now, Peg, I know it desperately needs it, but we really don't have the money right now."

Dean had to grin at the sister's conversation, though he knew where this was headed he couldn't help but be impressed with their manipulation.

"I know, Floss, but if that old jalopy breaks down, we'll be in for a world of trouble."

Both sisters turned toward Dean. Staring at him with an air of expectancy, they waited. Dean picked up his sandwich and took a large bite. Chewing thoroughly, he then took a long drink of his milk. Finally, noticing the impatient staccato Peg's fingers tapped on the tabletop he offered, "I could do the tune-up for you."

The master manipulators shot him identical looks of horror and said in simulcast, "Oh, no we couldn't allow you to do that."

Peg trained her gaze on her sister as she continued, "At least not without compensating him somehow."

Floss' smile beamed as she said, "Oh, I know. We can let the boys have the room at no charge for another couple of nights. After all, it's not as if we've got guests lining up to stay."

Peg turned toward Dean with a satisfied smile. "Well, now, that works for me."

Dean sat back in his seat. One brow lifted in amusement, this wasn't the first time the sisters had played this game. So far, Dean figured they had paid for maybe two nights stay, the rest of their visit had been paid for in trade. Deep down Dean appreciated their meddling, he and Sam had limited funds, and the idea of paying for the room with a fake credit card just didn't appeal to him. Paying for their stay in trade worked for him and he knew that despite the sister's claim to be destitute when it suited them, they were financially well off.

Every offer had been crouched in such a way that the brothers had been unable to deny them. Sam at one point, elbow deep dirt as they cleaned out the basement had actually Christo'd the ladies who stood supervising nearby. Though, neither sister showed evidence of demonic possession, Sam had remained unconvinced.

Dean often wondered when the time came for them to leave if they'd be able to. "I guess that'll work."

"Good, that's settled. Now, off to bed, we'll have this mess cleaned up in minutes."

Summarily dismissed, Dean nearly argued with the sisters simply to ensure they didn't always expect him to roll over. Taking a last bite of his sandwich, he suddenly found his will to argue melt away. The sisters for all their eccentricities could cook, now that might not help Sam feel better any sooner, but it sure as hell would help keep a smile on Dean's face.

Chapter End Notes:

Thanks to everyone that reads and reviews, it means so much and I hope you enjoy - Thanks K