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ineedmyfics2011-09-14 05:10 pm
ineedmymods) wrote in ineedmyfics2011-09-14 05:10 pm
Entry tags:
If You Don't Watch Out
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alemara
From:silveraspen
Title: If You Don't Watch Out
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Set in season 4, shortly after episode 4.07, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester." Thanks to the mods for running a great exchange for the second year in a row! In order to avoid spoilers, please see the end of the story for additional notes.
Greenfield, Indiana
"How many kids so far?"
"Five," Sam says. He picks up the manila file folder before it can slide to the floor as Dean turns the next corner, then flips through the newspaper clippings inside. "All of them vanished from their homes after dark. Locked houses, security systems, none of it made a difference – the kids were just gone, leaving no trace. The only thing it looks like any of them have in common is—"
"I don't understand why you are spending your time on something like this."
Dean nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound from the previously-empty back seat. Tires squeal as the Impala swerves hard to the side.
"Sonofa-- dammit, Castiel, don't do that!"
"Since you cannot perceive my words when spoken in my real voice, it is necessary that I manifest in this form in order to communicate with you," the angel reminds him. Sam twists in his seat and looks over his shoulder at Castiel.
"What Dean's trying to say is that it's not a good idea to startle him like that while he's driving."
Castiel considers that, then nods. "I will remember." He meets Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Although I still do not understand. There are other matters, more important matters which would be better served by your attention—"
"More important than five missing kids?" Dean interrupts.
"The seals—"
"Hold it right there. We've already been over this," Dean snaps. Sam stares at Castiel in disbelief, then turns back around and looks out through the passenger window, his hands clenched tightly on the folder and a muscle in his jaw twitching as his brother continues.
"What'd you call it before, when talking about how you guys figured it was okay to write off a thousand or so people for the sake of your ‘bigger picture'? ‘Regrettable?' Well screw that, because these are kids. They're innocent, and we're gonna gank whatever's taking them before it gets any more, you hearin' me?"
"You misunderstand," Castiel counters. "I sorrow for the loss of these children. But worse yet would be the loss of all children on this earth, as will surely come to pass if the seals continue to break. Do you not see that?"
Dean glares at him in the mirror. "You know what, I'm through arguing with you about this. Get lost."
Between one breath and the next, Castiel vanishes. Dean blinks in surprise, then glances over at Sam.
"You okay?"
"Fine." Sam draws a deep breath, then glances down at the folder again before Dean can call him on the lie. "Anyway, like I was saying before, they've only got one thing in common."
"Yeah? And what's that, Sherlock?"
"They all go to the same school."
Eden Elementary
"I don't know what else I can tell you that I didn't already say to the police, Agent…"
"Angus," Dean supplies, smiling at the pretty brunette school counselor. "It's, uh, is it Doctor or Mrs.?" he adds, looking at the name plate on her desk, which reads Annie Smith, LCSW.
"It's Miss," she corrects him, returning his smile. "But you can call me Annie."
"Annie." Beside him, Sam coughs, and Dean kicks him in the ankle. "Right. So, Annie – we've found that doing this, you know, going over everything again, sometimes people remember little things, and that can help."
"All right," she says, doubtfully. "Although I really don't know…" She gets up and goes to the file cabinet standing in the corner of her office, collecting five records from various drawers and bringing them back to her desk.
"I try to keep close track of all our students," Annie tells them, opening the first record. "Some I see more than others, of course; the troubled ones, I mean."
"Troubled?" Sam asks, and Annie nods. "Troubled. Students with attention problems or discipline issues, children that act out or get in fights, that sort of thing. I work with them the most."
She sighs, looking down at her desk. "To tell you the truth, sometimes I wonder … these were all kids who had every opportunity, do you know what I mean? Kids from good homes, good families, people who really cared about them, and they just wouldn't... well, take Lisbeth Spencer, for instance."
"The first to disappear," Dean observes, and she nods again, tapping one manicured nail on the record in front of her.
"She was," Annie confirms. "Six weeks ago. And she was in here at least once a week for the entire month before that – oh, for all kinds of reasons, from sassing back to her teachers to mocking and getting in fights with other girls on the playground. Always making trouble. Her parents were just beside themselves."
"It almost sounds like you blame her," Sam says, and Annie darts a sharp look at him. "I don't think I like what you're implying, Agent Young."
"I didn't—-"
"—-it's just that the case is so important," Dean swiftly interrupts, giving Sam a look. "Sometimes my partner here gets a little intense."
"Right," Sam says, flatly. "Intense."
"Mm-hmm." She doesn't look appeased, and Sam trades a glance with Dean before pushing his chair back.
"If you'll excuse me - I'll just step outside and call the field office to give them an update."
"You do that," Dean agrees, and turns his most charming smile on Annie as Sam shuts the office door behind him. "So. Where were we?"
It's a good fifteen minutes later when Dean emerges from the counselor's office to find Sam studying the class pictures arranged by year along the hallway.
"Dude." He holds up a slip of paper with Annie's phone number on it, grinning, and Sam rolls his eyes.
"Good for you," he says, dryly, and Dean elbows him in the ribs.
"You're just jealous."
"Not even a little. I don't like her," Sam argues. "Look here." He points at one of the pictures, then a second, then a third. "Do you see?"
"I see three pictures of a really hot chick," Dean says, and Sam grimaces.
"That's not what I mean – look at them, Dean! They're all the same!"
"So she doesn't get a new picture taken every year. So what?"
"So there's something weird about ‘Miss Smith'," Sam returns, and from behind them a child's voice pipes up,
"She's an orphan."
Both Dean and Sam turn around fast to find a little girl standing there, with her two friends watching them from a little further away. Dean crouches down.
"Say again?"
"She's an orphan," the girl repeats. "She tells us so all the time. She says we're lucky to not be orphans too, and that we better be good."
"Did she say why?" Dean asks. The child blinks solemnly at him.
"'Cause of the boogeyman."
"The boogeyman?"
"He's a raggedy man," one of the other girls chimes in, and the other two nod. "He steals bad children and puts them in a sack, and they're never, ever seen, ever again."
"Was Lisbeth Spencer bad?" Sam puts in, and all three girls look at each other before nodding yes, one by one.
"Missy was bad too," the first girl says. "An' Tom, an' Freddy, and Joel. The boogeyman got them all. "
"Julie Lynn Richardson!" Annie Smith is standing in the doorway of her office, hands on her hips, scowling at them all. "If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times - what have your parents said about talking to strangers!"
Julie squeaks in fright and grabs hold of her friends' hands, practically pulling them along with her as she runs off down the hall toward her classroom. Annie turns her scowl on Sam and Dean.
"What are you two still doing here?"
"Just tying up a couple of loose ends," Sam says, and she gives him a narrow stare.
"I won't have you upsetting the children. Julie's troubled enough as it is. If you're going to be wandering around the school like this --"
"We're leaving now," Dean puts in, quickly. He takes hold of Sam's arm just above the elbow and nudges him toward the front door. "Thanks for your help."
As they leave the school and head down the sidewalk, Sam yanks his arm free and hisses,
"You maybe want to fill me in on the reason for the hasty exit?"
Dean rounds the front of the Impala and opens the door, then looks across the roof at his brother.
"I'm thinkin' we've got a lot to do before we stake out little Julie's place tonight."
Richardson house, 11:37 PM
"I wish I was sure this was going to work."
"You said that already," Dean points out. Sam slants a sideways look at him.
"Well, it's still true. We're going on nothing but a kid's story here, Dean. Do you know how many different kinds of boogeyman there are in the lore?"
"Ain't that what I've got you for?"
Sam draws a harsh breath, but Dean interrupts before he can get started.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. There's a bunch of them, and we don't know for sure which kind this is. But I'm figurin' from what Julie said and what you dug up about just how many of them carry sacks to steal kids with, that's gonna be its weak spot."
"And if it's not?"
"Then we shoot the fucker," Dean tells him, and Sam shakes his head – then suddenly stiffens, staring past him.
"Dean, look."
A shadow slides along the side of the house until it reaches the wall below Julie's window, where it coalesces into the slouched misshapen figure of a man in rags and tatters with a large burlap sack slung over his shoulder. The boogeyman tips its head back, looking up at the window, then plants its clawed hands on the side of the house and begins to scramble swiftly upward.
"Shit!" Dean's out of the car in an instant, running across the yard toward the house, with Sam hard on his heels. "Hey, you – that's right, you creepy sonofabitch, I'm talking to you!"
The thing ignores him and slithers through the window that slides open at its touch. Sam curses and breaks for the front door while inside, Julie begins to scream.
"No no no, go away, boogeyman go away, I'll be good, I promise I'll be good – Mommy, please Mommy, I want Mommy!"
The door crashes wide open as Sam kicks it in. Dean streaks past him, taking the steps two at a time, and hits the door to Julie's room with his shoulder; it pops open, and he levels the shotgun at the thing hulking over a cringing Julie in her bed as he charges into the room.
The double-barreled salt shell blast knocks the boogeyman back a step. Dean pumps the action and fires again while Sam bursts in behind him and dashes straight for Julie, snatching her up and safely out of the monster's reach.
"Get her out of here!" Dean yells, as the boogeyman lets out a hissing shriek and reaches toward the child.
Sam makes for the door, only to be confronted by a frantic Mrs. Richardson as she finally reaches her daughter's bedroom. He thrusts Julie into her mother's arms and turns back to the fight as she flees back down the hallway.
"Shooting it's not working!" Sam yells, over the thunder of his own shotgun as he takes his turn firing, driving the thing briefly back another step and covering Dean while he reloads. "Got any better ideas?"
"Working on it!" Dean shouts back. "Lighter in my jacket pocket—-"
"Bad boys!" The screech comes from behind the monster, just inside the window. Annie Smith moves to the side and into view, her face twisted with angry, cheated hate as she raises her hand and points a finger at them. "Such bad, wicked boys—-"
The boogeyman turns its hooded face toward them with new awareness, and Sam's eyes light in sudden realization.
"Bad girl!" he counters, and points at Annie in turn as she gasps in shock. "And you know it, too, don't you, Annie?"
Slowly, the thing turns to give her a speculative look as Dean joins in, "Yeah, she's a cold one, aren't you, sweetheart? How long've you been at it, huh? Scaring kids, telling lies—-"
"-—stealing lives," Sam concludes. "Stealing the lives of the kids you envied. The ones who had what you never had - families who loved them."
Confronted by the truth and helpless to deny it, Annie screams in wordless fury, then screams again and again as the boogeyman shakes its sack free and snatches it down over her head. Her terrified cries turn muffled and distant as it hoists its new burden back over its shoulder and oozes its way back to the window, then suddenly dives through it.
Dean and Sam are across the room in an instant, but it's too late. Annie Smith and her "raggedy man" are gone.
The brothers trade a look.
"I'm thinkin' we should do the same," Dean suggests, and Sam nods agreement.
"Before the cops show up would be good."
Highway 40, somewhere west of Greenfield
They've been making good time for about half an hour, Dean coaxing the Impala to her best speed and drumming an absent-minded beat in time with the music while Sam watches out the window behind them for any signs of pursuit. Finally, he turns around and relaxes into the passenger seat.
"We clear?" Dean asks.
Sam nods. "Looks that way." He glances over at Dean. "Wonder what'll happen to her."
"No clue." Dean grimaces. "Don't think I want to know, either."
"Yeah." A beat. "You know, what you said back there-- about how long she'd been at it? When I was looking up lore on the boogeyman, I ran a search on her too."
"Guess she really did put your wind up back there at the school," Dean observes. "So, you find anything?"
"As a matter of fact...." Sam shifts, reaching into his bag and pulling out their dad's journal. He flips to the newest pages, where he's been meticulously recording their hunts, and reads,
"Sisters of Mary Orphanage, Greenfield, Indiana. Alice Ann Smith, age 12, mother died in childbirth, father killed in war." He turns the journal to show Dean the photocopy of the old daguerrotype image of a younger Annie that he's pasted there. "1865."
Dean gapes. "Get out."
"I did, when I attempted to do as you requested, but I am afraid that I was unsuccessful," Castiel reports, appearing without warning in the seat behind them again. "It appears to be an impossibility for me to, as you put it, ‘get lost.'"
Sam jumps, and the car swerves once more as Dean startles violently.
"Dammit, Castiel!"
_______________________
* Story title taken from James Whitcomb Riley's "Little Orphant Annie." The character of Alice Ann Smith is loosely based on Mary Alice "Allie" Smith, who lived with the Riley family in Greenfield, Indiana, during James's childhood and who was the inspiration for the "Annie" of the poem. Annie Smith's "raggedy man" is likewise loosely inspired by Riley's other best-known poetry work, "Raggedy Man."
* There are many, many, many different types of boogeyman (or bogeyman, or bogieman, etc.) to be found in legend and myth from at least fifteen countries, including the United States. Quite a few of them are reputed to carry a bag, sack, or basket that they stuff children in. Interestingly, the "hombre del saco," or "sack man," was reportedly a reality in 16th century Spain, and was the man responsible for collecting orphaned children (carrying them in a large wicker basket) and delivering them to orphanages.
* Dean and Sam have actually encountered one variety of boogeyman in canon previously - the child-napping "rawhead" seen in episode 1.12 ("Faith"), which owes its origin to northern England and Irish lore. Rawheads -- likely of similiar source -- have also been incorporated into the lore of the American South. (This time around, however, I chose to avoid having Dean use his near-lethal taser. I figure once was enough.)
alemaraFrom:
silveraspenTitle: If You Don't Watch Out
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Set in season 4, shortly after episode 4.07, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester." Thanks to the mods for running a great exchange for the second year in a row! In order to avoid spoilers, please see the end of the story for additional notes.
Greenfield, Indiana
"How many kids so far?"
"Five," Sam says. He picks up the manila file folder before it can slide to the floor as Dean turns the next corner, then flips through the newspaper clippings inside. "All of them vanished from their homes after dark. Locked houses, security systems, none of it made a difference – the kids were just gone, leaving no trace. The only thing it looks like any of them have in common is—"
"I don't understand why you are spending your time on something like this."
Dean nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound from the previously-empty back seat. Tires squeal as the Impala swerves hard to the side.
"Sonofa-- dammit, Castiel, don't do that!"
"Since you cannot perceive my words when spoken in my real voice, it is necessary that I manifest in this form in order to communicate with you," the angel reminds him. Sam twists in his seat and looks over his shoulder at Castiel.
"What Dean's trying to say is that it's not a good idea to startle him like that while he's driving."
Castiel considers that, then nods. "I will remember." He meets Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Although I still do not understand. There are other matters, more important matters which would be better served by your attention—"
"More important than five missing kids?" Dean interrupts.
"The seals—"
"Hold it right there. We've already been over this," Dean snaps. Sam stares at Castiel in disbelief, then turns back around and looks out through the passenger window, his hands clenched tightly on the folder and a muscle in his jaw twitching as his brother continues.
"What'd you call it before, when talking about how you guys figured it was okay to write off a thousand or so people for the sake of your ‘bigger picture'? ‘Regrettable?' Well screw that, because these are kids. They're innocent, and we're gonna gank whatever's taking them before it gets any more, you hearin' me?"
"You misunderstand," Castiel counters. "I sorrow for the loss of these children. But worse yet would be the loss of all children on this earth, as will surely come to pass if the seals continue to break. Do you not see that?"
Dean glares at him in the mirror. "You know what, I'm through arguing with you about this. Get lost."
Between one breath and the next, Castiel vanishes. Dean blinks in surprise, then glances over at Sam.
"You okay?"
"Fine." Sam draws a deep breath, then glances down at the folder again before Dean can call him on the lie. "Anyway, like I was saying before, they've only got one thing in common."
"Yeah? And what's that, Sherlock?"
"They all go to the same school."
Eden Elementary
"I don't know what else I can tell you that I didn't already say to the police, Agent…"
"Angus," Dean supplies, smiling at the pretty brunette school counselor. "It's, uh, is it Doctor or Mrs.?" he adds, looking at the name plate on her desk, which reads Annie Smith, LCSW.
"It's Miss," she corrects him, returning his smile. "But you can call me Annie."
"Annie." Beside him, Sam coughs, and Dean kicks him in the ankle. "Right. So, Annie – we've found that doing this, you know, going over everything again, sometimes people remember little things, and that can help."
"All right," she says, doubtfully. "Although I really don't know…" She gets up and goes to the file cabinet standing in the corner of her office, collecting five records from various drawers and bringing them back to her desk.
"I try to keep close track of all our students," Annie tells them, opening the first record. "Some I see more than others, of course; the troubled ones, I mean."
"Troubled?" Sam asks, and Annie nods. "Troubled. Students with attention problems or discipline issues, children that act out or get in fights, that sort of thing. I work with them the most."
She sighs, looking down at her desk. "To tell you the truth, sometimes I wonder … these were all kids who had every opportunity, do you know what I mean? Kids from good homes, good families, people who really cared about them, and they just wouldn't... well, take Lisbeth Spencer, for instance."
"The first to disappear," Dean observes, and she nods again, tapping one manicured nail on the record in front of her.
"She was," Annie confirms. "Six weeks ago. And she was in here at least once a week for the entire month before that – oh, for all kinds of reasons, from sassing back to her teachers to mocking and getting in fights with other girls on the playground. Always making trouble. Her parents were just beside themselves."
"It almost sounds like you blame her," Sam says, and Annie darts a sharp look at him. "I don't think I like what you're implying, Agent Young."
"I didn't—-"
"—-it's just that the case is so important," Dean swiftly interrupts, giving Sam a look. "Sometimes my partner here gets a little intense."
"Right," Sam says, flatly. "Intense."
"Mm-hmm." She doesn't look appeased, and Sam trades a glance with Dean before pushing his chair back.
"If you'll excuse me - I'll just step outside and call the field office to give them an update."
"You do that," Dean agrees, and turns his most charming smile on Annie as Sam shuts the office door behind him. "So. Where were we?"
It's a good fifteen minutes later when Dean emerges from the counselor's office to find Sam studying the class pictures arranged by year along the hallway.
"Dude." He holds up a slip of paper with Annie's phone number on it, grinning, and Sam rolls his eyes.
"Good for you," he says, dryly, and Dean elbows him in the ribs.
"You're just jealous."
"Not even a little. I don't like her," Sam argues. "Look here." He points at one of the pictures, then a second, then a third. "Do you see?"
"I see three pictures of a really hot chick," Dean says, and Sam grimaces.
"That's not what I mean – look at them, Dean! They're all the same!"
"So she doesn't get a new picture taken every year. So what?"
"So there's something weird about ‘Miss Smith'," Sam returns, and from behind them a child's voice pipes up,
"She's an orphan."
Both Dean and Sam turn around fast to find a little girl standing there, with her two friends watching them from a little further away. Dean crouches down.
"Say again?"
"She's an orphan," the girl repeats. "She tells us so all the time. She says we're lucky to not be orphans too, and that we better be good."
"Did she say why?" Dean asks. The child blinks solemnly at him.
"'Cause of the boogeyman."
"The boogeyman?"
"He's a raggedy man," one of the other girls chimes in, and the other two nod. "He steals bad children and puts them in a sack, and they're never, ever seen, ever again."
"Was Lisbeth Spencer bad?" Sam puts in, and all three girls look at each other before nodding yes, one by one.
"Missy was bad too," the first girl says. "An' Tom, an' Freddy, and Joel. The boogeyman got them all. "
"Julie Lynn Richardson!" Annie Smith is standing in the doorway of her office, hands on her hips, scowling at them all. "If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times - what have your parents said about talking to strangers!"
Julie squeaks in fright and grabs hold of her friends' hands, practically pulling them along with her as she runs off down the hall toward her classroom. Annie turns her scowl on Sam and Dean.
"What are you two still doing here?"
"Just tying up a couple of loose ends," Sam says, and she gives him a narrow stare.
"I won't have you upsetting the children. Julie's troubled enough as it is. If you're going to be wandering around the school like this --"
"We're leaving now," Dean puts in, quickly. He takes hold of Sam's arm just above the elbow and nudges him toward the front door. "Thanks for your help."
As they leave the school and head down the sidewalk, Sam yanks his arm free and hisses,
"You maybe want to fill me in on the reason for the hasty exit?"
Dean rounds the front of the Impala and opens the door, then looks across the roof at his brother.
"I'm thinkin' we've got a lot to do before we stake out little Julie's place tonight."
Richardson house, 11:37 PM
"I wish I was sure this was going to work."
"You said that already," Dean points out. Sam slants a sideways look at him.
"Well, it's still true. We're going on nothing but a kid's story here, Dean. Do you know how many different kinds of boogeyman there are in the lore?"
"Ain't that what I've got you for?"
Sam draws a harsh breath, but Dean interrupts before he can get started.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. There's a bunch of them, and we don't know for sure which kind this is. But I'm figurin' from what Julie said and what you dug up about just how many of them carry sacks to steal kids with, that's gonna be its weak spot."
"And if it's not?"
"Then we shoot the fucker," Dean tells him, and Sam shakes his head – then suddenly stiffens, staring past him.
"Dean, look."
A shadow slides along the side of the house until it reaches the wall below Julie's window, where it coalesces into the slouched misshapen figure of a man in rags and tatters with a large burlap sack slung over his shoulder. The boogeyman tips its head back, looking up at the window, then plants its clawed hands on the side of the house and begins to scramble swiftly upward.
"Shit!" Dean's out of the car in an instant, running across the yard toward the house, with Sam hard on his heels. "Hey, you – that's right, you creepy sonofabitch, I'm talking to you!"
The thing ignores him and slithers through the window that slides open at its touch. Sam curses and breaks for the front door while inside, Julie begins to scream.
"No no no, go away, boogeyman go away, I'll be good, I promise I'll be good – Mommy, please Mommy, I want Mommy!"
The door crashes wide open as Sam kicks it in. Dean streaks past him, taking the steps two at a time, and hits the door to Julie's room with his shoulder; it pops open, and he levels the shotgun at the thing hulking over a cringing Julie in her bed as he charges into the room.
The double-barreled salt shell blast knocks the boogeyman back a step. Dean pumps the action and fires again while Sam bursts in behind him and dashes straight for Julie, snatching her up and safely out of the monster's reach.
"Get her out of here!" Dean yells, as the boogeyman lets out a hissing shriek and reaches toward the child.
Sam makes for the door, only to be confronted by a frantic Mrs. Richardson as she finally reaches her daughter's bedroom. He thrusts Julie into her mother's arms and turns back to the fight as she flees back down the hallway.
"Shooting it's not working!" Sam yells, over the thunder of his own shotgun as he takes his turn firing, driving the thing briefly back another step and covering Dean while he reloads. "Got any better ideas?"
"Working on it!" Dean shouts back. "Lighter in my jacket pocket—-"
"Bad boys!" The screech comes from behind the monster, just inside the window. Annie Smith moves to the side and into view, her face twisted with angry, cheated hate as she raises her hand and points a finger at them. "Such bad, wicked boys—-"
The boogeyman turns its hooded face toward them with new awareness, and Sam's eyes light in sudden realization.
"Bad girl!" he counters, and points at Annie in turn as she gasps in shock. "And you know it, too, don't you, Annie?"
Slowly, the thing turns to give her a speculative look as Dean joins in, "Yeah, she's a cold one, aren't you, sweetheart? How long've you been at it, huh? Scaring kids, telling lies—-"
"-—stealing lives," Sam concludes. "Stealing the lives of the kids you envied. The ones who had what you never had - families who loved them."
Confronted by the truth and helpless to deny it, Annie screams in wordless fury, then screams again and again as the boogeyman shakes its sack free and snatches it down over her head. Her terrified cries turn muffled and distant as it hoists its new burden back over its shoulder and oozes its way back to the window, then suddenly dives through it.
Dean and Sam are across the room in an instant, but it's too late. Annie Smith and her "raggedy man" are gone.
The brothers trade a look.
"I'm thinkin' we should do the same," Dean suggests, and Sam nods agreement.
"Before the cops show up would be good."
Highway 40, somewhere west of Greenfield
They've been making good time for about half an hour, Dean coaxing the Impala to her best speed and drumming an absent-minded beat in time with the music while Sam watches out the window behind them for any signs of pursuit. Finally, he turns around and relaxes into the passenger seat.
"We clear?" Dean asks.
Sam nods. "Looks that way." He glances over at Dean. "Wonder what'll happen to her."
"No clue." Dean grimaces. "Don't think I want to know, either."
"Yeah." A beat. "You know, what you said back there-- about how long she'd been at it? When I was looking up lore on the boogeyman, I ran a search on her too."
"Guess she really did put your wind up back there at the school," Dean observes. "So, you find anything?"
"As a matter of fact...." Sam shifts, reaching into his bag and pulling out their dad's journal. He flips to the newest pages, where he's been meticulously recording their hunts, and reads,
"Sisters of Mary Orphanage, Greenfield, Indiana. Alice Ann Smith, age 12, mother died in childbirth, father killed in war." He turns the journal to show Dean the photocopy of the old daguerrotype image of a younger Annie that he's pasted there. "1865."
Dean gapes. "Get out."
"I did, when I attempted to do as you requested, but I am afraid that I was unsuccessful," Castiel reports, appearing without warning in the seat behind them again. "It appears to be an impossibility for me to, as you put it, ‘get lost.'"
Sam jumps, and the car swerves once more as Dean startles violently.
"Dammit, Castiel!"
_______________________
* Story title taken from James Whitcomb Riley's "Little Orphant Annie." The character of Alice Ann Smith is loosely based on Mary Alice "Allie" Smith, who lived with the Riley family in Greenfield, Indiana, during James's childhood and who was the inspiration for the "Annie" of the poem. Annie Smith's "raggedy man" is likewise loosely inspired by Riley's other best-known poetry work, "Raggedy Man."
* There are many, many, many different types of boogeyman (or bogeyman, or bogieman, etc.) to be found in legend and myth from at least fifteen countries, including the United States. Quite a few of them are reputed to carry a bag, sack, or basket that they stuff children in. Interestingly, the "hombre del saco," or "sack man," was reportedly a reality in 16th century Spain, and was the man responsible for collecting orphaned children (carrying them in a large wicker basket) and delivering them to orphanages.
* Dean and Sam have actually encountered one variety of boogeyman in canon previously - the child-napping "rawhead" seen in episode 1.12 ("Faith"), which owes its origin to northern England and Irish lore. Rawheads -- likely of similiar source -- have also been incorporated into the lore of the American South. (This time around, however, I chose to avoid having Dean use his near-lethal taser. I figure once was enough.)