Title: Hear Her Calling

Author: Wysawyg

Summary: A veteran marine friend of their father calls the boys for help when mysterious deaths start occurring on his fledgling cruise. It's not long before the boys end up in over their heads. Hurt!Dean and some Sammy!whumping for good measure.

Disclaimer: The Winchesters belong to Kripke and the CW. I am but a poor player who struts and frets her hour upon the stage and then is hear no more.

Beta: Beta'd by the fabulous TraSan who correctly my hap-hazard tenses and took time out of her own writing and duck-torture to make this story better than it otherwise would have been. Also beta'd by Heather03nmg who named me queen of the run-on sentences though I don't know what she means and it can't be that I just tend to string sentences together on and on and on to the point where the character surely must have run out of breath... right?

Timeline: Mid-Season 2, after Sammy has found out The Big Secret.

Pairings: None, Gen.

Notes: Title comes from a folk song. I won't mention which one yet 'cos it'll give away too much of the plot.

"Guess what, Sammy?" Dean sauntered into the motel room far too cheerfully for what should be a severe hangover, "We're going on a cruise!" Dean slapped down a brochure close to where Sam was resting his head on the rickety plywood that passed for a table.

"Wha?" Sam said, lifting his head and ignoring the stab of pain from the lights. His mish-mashed memory informed him it had been his brother's idea to drink the tequila which is why it was entirely unfair that Sam was the one left with the after-effect, "Dean, we can't afford a cruise." He paused and lifted his head up, "Can we? What the hell did we get up to last night?"

"I," Dean said with a grin, "Got up to two incredibly gorgeous blondes. The only action you got was hugging the toilet. Anyway, we're not paying. Got a phone call last night while you were professing your eternal love to a pot plant. It was one of Dad's old marine buddies. He's started up some cruise business and is having a few teething troubles of the potentially demonic kind, wants us to come take a look."

Sam tugged the brochure into his line of sight and stared at the glossy front cover which depicted a large gleaming white cruise ship in the middle of water so clear and blue it had to be photo-shopped. 'Boot Camp Cruises' the headline read in camouflage letter with the smaller lettering of 'Kierton Cruises' proclaiming the company name. "An adventure cruise?"

"Like I said, he's a former marine or veteran marine as Dad always insisted we call them. Left the service for some reason and figured a way to fleece rich people, luxury cruises with a spice of danger. Sadly the spice of danger seems to be a bit much as two people have died, one in each of the most recent cruises. Took a header off the back of the boat."

"What's to say that they didn't just slip while trying to recreate Titanic?"

"First of all, serious minus points for admitting that you've seen Titanic, the chick flick to end all chick flicks. Secondly, because that was on the front of the boat." Sam could've sworn Dean was deliberately making more noise with those clodhopper boots of his, "First death they wrote off as suicide, even though the guy seemed to be living the dream for all intents and purposes. Second death got the suspicions up."

"Nothing that screams supernatural though." Sam was hoping his brother would go away so he could finish his coffee and crawl back into bed to pretend the world didn't exist.

"Uh-huh. 'cos how many times has it ever not been supernatural? I swear we should investigate ourselves to figure out how we always manage to get those cases. Even Bobby said he once had a werewolf case that turned out to be a bad case of beastiality and some very, very kinky women." Dean paused and threw his head back in a chuckle, "Man, that was a good story. Anyway, if it does turn out just to be some depressed rich people, we still get a free cruise. Jerry, that's Dad's friend, is gonna bankroll the whole thing for us."

"We had the Benders." Sam pointed out.

Dean shrugged, raising a hand to the shoulder where a glossy scar remained the legacy of close encounter with a hot poker, "Don't remind me and I'm still not sure there was something wigging in the supernatural way 'bout them."

"Just 'cos a little girl got the drop on you." Sam teased before taking another long gulp of coffee in the hopes that the dark beverage would win against the sludgy feeling of the hangover.

"Uh-huh and need I remind you who got their ass kidnapped by a bunch of rednecks which necessitated big brother riding to the rescue?" Dean asked, waltzing over to kitchen and snitching a beer out of the fridge.

"Still got beaten by a little girl," Sam taunted. It wasn't that often that he had got one over on Dean in their childhood but Sam had learnt to make the best of what he did get. He took one glance at his brother's drinking and could almost feel himself turn a shade of green, "How can you drink this morning?"

"Hair of the dog," Dean jauntily replied, tilting the bottleneck in Sam's direction in a mock-toast, "Or should that be hair of the werewolf in our profession. Though hair of the werewolf would probably need to be whiskey for a bigger bite." Dean clashed his teeth together in demonstration, "So you about ready to head out?"

Sam raised his head to his brother, staring at him out of pained, foggy eyes, "You are kidding, right?"

"What's the matter, Sammy? Don't fancy a nice, winding road? Car swerving around the corners."

Sam gulped back the rising nausea, "Fuck you," He swore through clenched teeth, "And it's Sam."

"Whatever, Sammy."

Sam gripped tight around his now empty coffee mug, resisting the urge to toss it at his brother's stubborn head. He doubted there were enough brain cells left in his head to damage, "How urgent is the job? When does the next cruise leave?"

"Check the literature, geekboy." Dean replied, motioned to the brochure he'd left at Sam's table.

Sam didn't want to read. That was a rarity but hardly surprising when just squinting at the text on the front page was enough to make his world tilt a little and make the drumbeat of a headache pick up tempo. "How about you do some research for once?"

"Jeez," Dean snatched the cruise brochure up and started to leaf through it. "Last time I buy you tequila."

"As I recall, you weren't the one buying it." Sam pointed out, reaching for his money clip which he knew was a few notes lighter.

"I suggested it, that's almost as good as buying," Dean replied, flicking past pages without even looking leading Sam towards the suspicion that his brother was trying to wind him up enough to take over. Sam wasn't going to give in this time. "And who was it playing pool for three hours to get you that money, eh?"

"And who was it stopped you from getting glassed when you fleeced the same damn guy out of two hundred dollars?"

Dean just shrugged, casual as usual about any matter pertaining to his own health, "I could have handled it and it's not my fault that the guy kept playing, too stupid to know when he's being hustled." Finally Dean stopped on a page of the brochure, obviously having given up on his most recent 'irritate Sammy' strategy, "Next cruise is three weeks from now."

"No rush then," Sam said with some relief, thinking lovingly about crawling into bed, pulling a cover over his head and pretending the world, or at the very least his brother, didn't exist.

"It'll take a couple of days for us to drive there." Dean said, "And then there's your training."

There's something in Dean's tone which immediately alerted Sam. That amused note mixed with smug satisfaction and he just knew that Dean had wanted to say this since he first walked in the motel door, letting an unholy amount of sunshine in. Sam was not going to rise to the bait, not this time, just this once he won't… "What training?" Damn.

"Why, for your new job of course." Dean stated with a light air, opening up the brochure to reveal a nestled contract, no doubt what he was hoping Sam would just happen across. "Sam Malone, barman to the rich and famous, well, the rich."

"Sam Malone? My pseudonym is the skirt-chasing idiot from Cheers?" Sam sounded horrified, reaching up to snatch the blindingly white paper from his brother's grasp, "What the hell, Dean? I thought you said Dad's friend was bankrolling us?"

"Did I? I meant he's bankrolling me." Dean eased himself down into a chair, swigging the beer back, "I will be Nathaniel Edenridge the third. I always thought I'd make a good Nathaniel. Call me Nate," Dean said with a wink and a finger gesture which looks like it belonged on Dallas.

The coffee cup shook in Sam's hand and he decided it was a good thing that his weird telekinesis hadn't manifested other than once or there'd currently be a coffee mug shaped dent in his brother's head, "Don't you ever get tired of screwing me over?"

A hurt look flashed in Dean's eyes for a millisecond before being replaced by Dean's habitual nothing-hurts-me mask, "Damn, you are so pissy when you are hungover. How about applying the mega-brain to the situation just for a few seconds and giving your dear old brother the benefit of the doubt?" Dean reached over and tapped Sam on the head.

Sam swatted the hand away with more force than was absolutely necessary, "I really don't have the time for the latest Dean Fucking Winchester balls and bravado master plan thanks. I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for you to recite it in the car journey so let's just forget it for now."

Dean slammed the bottle down so hard on the table that foam from the beer shot up to bubble over the top, "Fuck you, Sammy." He pushed his chair back, grabbed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder, heading towards the door, "I'm going out for supplies. Be back in an hour and we are leaving, you better have this whole place packed up and ready to go." Without even giving Sam a chance to reply, he walked out of the door.

-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-

True to Dean's word, he returned an hour later almost on the dot. Sam had initially decided to ignore his brother and had remained in exactly the same spot for ten minutes despite the fact his body would rather be curled up in bed. His mind however had other ideas and guilt gradually began to creep in, reminding him of the brief hurt that had crept in and the fact that his brother usually did have Sam's best interests at heart even if he could be a complete ass about it.

Sam forced himself to his feet, ignoring the surge of nausea that leapt into his throat from the movement and padded awkwardly over to his bed, his body refusing to respond to its usual cues that allowed him grace as a hunter. He grabbed his duffel and began stuffing his clothes into it, he was usually a neat packer but the combination of annoyance and the hangover meant that he really didn't give a damn.

Next comes Dean's side of the room and he found Dean's duffel was already half-packed so just stuffed the last oddments in, trying not to crease it too fast but knowing that Dean will likely kick a fuss about his packing no matter what, even if Dean's idea of packing is stuffing everything in and jumping on it 'til it fits. The weapons Sam left 'til last from simple common sense. The alcohol-induced weakness in his limbs had ceased now and his head felt clearer, even if the nausea had him on a five minute warning before he'd need to dash to the bathroom. He picked up the knives from the various stash points in the room (because you can never be sure which wall the ghost will throw you into) and retrieved the guns, tucking them all into the container and then rolling it up and tying it tightly.

After Sam has finished emptying the contents of his stomach into the already disgusting toilet, he stood and headed into the kitchen, washing up his coffee mug and the other cutlery and plates that had accumulated over their brief motel visit. He knew he didn't need to, from the state of the place when the brothers moved in, nobody else bothered.

He'd just placed the last glass in the rack when there was a click of the key in the lock and Dean walked back in. "Ready to go, Sammy?" It's a peace offering Winchester-style.

"I'll load the bags into the car." was Sam's replying apology.

"Nah, I'll get it." Dean accepted Sam's apology.

Ten minutes later they were on the road. Dean had Led Zeppelin cranked to what he considered a reasonable volume and kept his tapping fingers on the wheels to a minimum, "Get some sleep, Sammy." He advised when he saw Sam's swaying movements, "It's a two day drive without stops."

Sam took Dean's advice and curled himself as comfortable as possible against the side of his chest, resting his cheek against the cool glass of the window, letting the purr of the Impala and the calming presence of his brother lure him into sleep.

-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-

Jerry Kierton bore all the trademarks of long years in the marines though gone slightly to seed. His grey-threaded dark hair was longer than the regular buzzcut and he had a slight beer belly built on a solid foundation of muscle. His eyes were still sharp though and Dean could see him assess the boys within two seconds of them stepping into his house and how his poise didn't relax one note from full attention. "Boys," He drawled, "It's good to finally meet ya. You must be Dean, I recognise the moptop." He said to Sam.

"Dean had a moptop?" Sam exclaimed, liking this man already.

Dean scowled, "Did not."

Jerry paused briefly and glanced between the brothers, rapidly realising his mistake, "Jeesh, you got tall." He addressed Sam, "And your brother had a hell of a moptop. Your Dad used to spend hours passing round the latest photos on a boring wait to be deployed. This is Sammy, This is Sammy's first smile, This is Sammy's second smile, This is either Sammy's third smile or wind." Jerry obviously spotted Dean's smug grin as he switched to, "This is Dean, This is Dean getting his first kiss off the girl next door, This is Dean getting his second kiss off the girl next door on the other side, This is Dean getting kicked by his first kiss. This is Dean running naked around the garden because he decided it was too hot for clothes."

"And that's enough of that." Dean interrupted.

"And to think how you rag on me." Sam crowed, "Moptop boy."

"Dude, I was four. Mom used to cut my hair herself with the aid of a lopsided mixing bowl."

It had taken just under two days for the Winchesters to drive to the coast where Jerry lived, swapping over the driving every seven hours though Sam was fairly sure Dean had extended his shifts a little. To their surprise, the veteran marine lived in a terraced, white picketed fence house in the middle of Suburbia, surrounded by gardens containing sandpits and racing bikes.

"I was sorry to hear about your mother," Jerry said, "Only met her the once, John wasn't big on attending the marine formals. She was the most beautiful woman in the room and I told her that. Of course my own date wasn't so pleased with me but frankly she looked like mutton dressed like lamb dressed like a freaking hooker, last time I pick up a girl at a bar."

It was always telling how differently the boys reacted to talk about their mother, even in those few times it happened. Sam leaned forward, eager for any more information. Dean leaned back, watching somewhat resentfully the man who had memories of his mother that he didn't.

Jerry's eyes flicked between the brothers, assessing before adding, "I was sorry to hear about your father too. Damn good man, too good for a fucking traffic accident."

"That's not quite all the information," Dean said, leaning forward a little to show his concession, "But I figured it was a bit much to blurt out over the phone."

Jerry frowned, brows lowering over sea-water blue-green eyes and this time it was him that leaned back, "Oh, what happened?"

"You know about Dad, right? About what we do?" Dean always remained deliberately vague but at Jerry's nod, Sam saw him breathe a sigh of relief, "Demon-possessed truck driver."

"Fuck," Jerry draw out the syllable to three times its length, "That's just.." He ran a hand idly back through salt and pepper hair, "Fuck." He repeated, "You got the son of a bitch?"

"We weren't exactly in the best shape either." Dean admitted and Sam could hear two thousand shades of regret in his brother's voice. If they weren't in front of a marine, he'd likely try for a 'chick-flick moment' but they were and even Sam's desperation to get Dean to Just. Damn. Talk. didn't stretch to public embarrassment. It didn't take Dean long to apply avoidance strategy #1 in the Winchester rule book, "So, about the job?"

Jerry took a moment to assess the few emotions allowed to express themselves in Dean's hazel eyes before, apparently satisfied, he stood and retrieved a folder from on top of a cabinet, "Most of the details I know are in here, I didn't feel safe to fax it over." He handed the folder to Dean who immediately passed it off to Sam who opened it and started leafing through the documents within.

Dean just leaned back, preferring to get the facts straight from the horse's mouth as usual, "You know anyone with a grudge against you that'd like to set you up for a fall?"

Jerry quirked a grin at the line of questioning, "You want a list? I'm not exactly the most popular guy around. My squad usually voted me 'Most likely to find himself in the path of friendly fire' though I never was. Don't exactly fit around here either."

"Yeah," Dean said, glancing towards the curtained window, "Seems a bit suburbia for an ex-soldier."

"Veteran soldier, Semper Fi," Jerry corrected though there wasn't much heat to his voice, "And I got this place cheap. I spend most of my time out on the boats. I have a thriving scuba-diving that provided the base capital for the cruises. Wouldn't want to retire here but it's the least I can do to provide all the fence-peekers with some gossip."

Sam glanced out of the window just in time to see a soccer mom being tugged along by a labrador on a leash and a toddler. She glanced over at Dean's muscle car stretched languidly across the driveway, sighed and carried on walking. Sam let out an amused grin, "Dean's car already has an admirer."

"Damn right," Dean nodded, "Is she hot?"

"Nope, looked a lot like the ex-girlfriend that Jerry described earlier." Sam lied.

Jerry turned towards the window and bit back a laugh, "That's Missy Rayder. You can always tell when she's about from the sound of jaws hitting the ground or, as the old ladies around the corner tend to say, the headboards hitting the wall."

"I think I'd like to meet this girl," Dean said with a white-toothed grin.

"Trust me, you don't," Jerry said, "The only thing louder than what I just mentioned is the sound of running footsteps. She's a little clingy to her lovers and her husband is career military and a little antsy when he comes home." Jerry paused and frowned, "Damn, I've been staying in this place too long."

Dean looked amused and Sam was pleased to see that the tension which had begun to be formed between the two men had been whittled down, "Anyone specific that might want to target your business?"

"There are a couple of marines that I turned down a job here. I let just about everyone but these two were a lot too vicious and there were several nasty stories about their actions out there. They tossed a few generic threats my way but I've no idea how they could have got onto my ship, let alone push a couple of passengers off. I tend to hire marines and you don't get much past those guys. I offered your Dad a job once."

The look on Dean's face when Jerry said that made Sam burst out laughing on the spot, "Dad?" Dean choked on, "Working on a cruise ship full of rich people. What were you thinking?"

Jerry laughed; a deep barrel sound that reminds both boys of their father, "I was thinking it'd be nice to have a good friend around. It's not easy being surrounded by rich people all the time."

"Dad wouldn't have lasted five minutes around a bunch of toffs. You wouldn't have needed a spook to end up with a bunch of them overboard," Dean said, pride resounding in his voice.

Jerry arched his brow for a moment, glancing between the two brothers, "I think maybe we've got your roles the wrong way around. Perhaps we should let Sam be the rich guy and keep you in the back room. You seem a lot like your father."

Sam was about to give his agreement to that plan but Dean just shook his head, "No way. I can play a rich guy, they are allowed to be cruel to other rich people but you make me a barman and I'll be pouring the drinks, for sure, all over the customers." He paused and then added, "Plus Sam has the puppy-dog eyes. You just wait. If he sits the other side of the bar and asks the customers 'How are you feeling?' then they'll be telling him. If this is a human problem, we'll have it all wrapped up before the ship is even clear of the harbour."

Sam used those 'puppy-dog' eyes to glower at his brother, "I still think I could pass better as a rich person. I'm used to the lawyer types from Stanford."

"But I'm a far better liar," Dean replied.

"Are not!" Sam protested.

"Dude, I had you still believing in Santa Claus when you were fourteen despite the fact that at least two people had told you otherwise and you'd seen Dad sneaking into the room at night."

Sam blushed and stared intently at his shoes for a moment, "So I was a bit naïve and it made sense that with all the dark things out there, there'd have to be a few light things to even the balance."

Dean smirked at Jerry, "I yelled at him for two hours straight in order to convince him that I really was angry at him for letting Santa Claus into his room while we were all sleeping. He was crying by the end of it." Dean chuckled to himself and then frowned at the end, "Dad yelled at me for an hour about making Sammy cry for no good reason. Was still worth it."

"I almost miss my brothers when I hear the pair of you talking, almost." Jerry stated, "Anything else you need to know?"

Sam glanced back down to the file he was reading, "Here, You said that no-one actually saw either of the two victims diving off the side. Is that unusual? No-one being on the deck."

"On a real ship? Sure would be. There's always jobs need doing. On a cruise ship, it isn't so unusual. It had been raining lightly all day and half of our passengers who were so keen for a real military experience disappeared inside at the first scattered showers. We have regular patrols up on deck, just in case. Both deaths occurred in between the patrols."

"But both of them were spoken to in the hall." Sam said, fact not question.

"And neither of them sounded suicidal." Jerry agreed with Sam, "They just sounded like themselves."

"Any chance I could speak to who they spoke to before the cruise departs?" Dean asked.

"I?" Sam queried.

"Of course," Dean stated, "You get to go to barman training, boot camp style."

Sam looked up to find twin smirks off his brother and the veteran marine, "You have got to be kidding me?"

Jerry shook his head, even as he scribbled down on paper the names and addresses of the eye-witnesses, "This ain't special treatment, all of my staff go through it, even the marines to make sure we give customers the 'genuine military experience'." Sarcasm was thick in the man's tone, "You got any work experience?"

"Did some work in a college bar," Sam admitted.

Dean blinked at his brother, "You did? You never mentioned that."

"It didn't come up. You still haven't told me how you got that new scar on my arm."

"I told you, gorgeous brunette, bit of a biter." Dean winked.

Sam scowled, "Those are not human bite marks."

"Boys," Jerry interrupted, "Can we save the squabbles for later?" He held out the piece of paper to Dean who stuffed it into a pocket.

"Should we schedule a time?" Dean said sweetly to his brother, "That is a good point. Where on the ship would be a good place for me and Sam to meet without anyone else noticing?"

"I've arranged a room for you close to one of the entrances to the staff corridor. I can get you a key so you can slip in and out. Most of the crew are people that I know so they'll be safe to tell…"

Dean held up a hand, "I'd rather you didn't them. Trusting them is one thing, trusting them not to let something slip out is another."

Jerry stared disbelieving at the older Winchester, "They are marines! Not letting something slip out is one of the first things we get taught."

"I'd still rather you didn't tell them." Dean said, "The chances are whenever we find this thing and take care of it, it's going to be messy and I'd rather we didn't have too much questions about it."

"Fine. I'll have to tell the top members of my team. They are marines so if you two started sneaking around the ship and asking questions and they'd be likely to accuse you."

"Let us know who you'll be telling," Dean said, his voice just one decibel below the full John Winchester command level. "So where on the staff level would be close enough for us to meet?"

Jerry frowned, "I can get you a room fairly close to Dean's. It'll mean you have to share but I can make sure they are good people. You will be able to trust them not to report any clandestine meetings."

"Dean, I'd like to check out any similar incidents in the library," Sam said. "Before I get assigned to barman boot camp. Check around for anything targeted at the military or similar accidents in the vicinity."

Dean nodded his head and stood up, "Thanks for this, Jerry." Dean tapped the folder in his brother's hands, "I'll let you know if we need any more information before we go."

"I should be thanking you," Jerry said as he stood, "Anything you need, let me know."

The brothers walked about the door and Sam spotted his brother peeking around for the soccer mom from earlier and rolled his eyes, "Any thoughts, Dean?" he asked, knowing he was setting himself up.

"About hot soccer moms? Hell yeah. About this case? Not the slightest but I'll tell you one thing," Dean rubbed his hands together, "I love me a mystery."