Summary: A series of bodies have been turning up in the cemetery of an old west ghost town near Death Valley. When Dean disappears in the desert, can Sam discover the town's curse and find his brother before he becomes the next victim?

This story has actually been in my head for quite some time – ever since I read an interview with Jensen Ackles about how he'd love to do a western and Kripke said he would love to go back and do a story on the origins of the Colt. I could so see Dean as an old west gun-fighter and the story was that the Colt was made for a Hunter... And so this story trickled from my brain until I simply had to write it. It ended up the longest, most complex story I've written so far. I hope ya'll enjoy it.

Dead or Alive

Chapter 1

Sam Winchester slapped the local newspaper down onto the Formica table top as he slid into the booth opposite his brother. Dean was already halfway through a large stack of pancakes with a side of bacon and hashed-browns and barely acknowledged the intrusion.

"Thanks for waiting," the younger man said with a touch of frustration.

Dean glanced up and shrugged. "If you didn't take so long to do your hair, Princess…" he left the insult hanging, one side of his mouth turning up in a grin even as he shoveled another syrup laden forkful of pancakes into it.

"At least I have hair," Sam mumbled under his breath, averting his eyes from his brother's less than pleasing table manners. The waitress brought him a cup of coffee and he quickly ordered a ham and cheese omelet with a side of wheat toast. As he waited for his order, he turned the paper around toward his brother.

"While you were in here stuffing your face, I found us a job."

They had slowly wandered down the California coast after their brief stop in 'Hollyweird' as Dean had taken to calling it, not really being all that interested in working as they tried to get their feet back under them. The stop in Los Angeles was supposed to have been a vacation of sorts after the events in San Francisco, but had turned into a case as they found themselves confronted with a haunted movie set. The ghosts turned out to be a badly conceived revenge plot by the unappreciated screenwriter of a bad horror movie who had led the spirits to kill three people before turning on the writer himself.

Of course, Dean had turned out to be a fantastic production assistant, which had given them unlimited access to the soundstage while the movie was in production. He had also managed to hook up with the star of the movie, which the older man had considered quite a silver lining to the whole sordid mess.

After a distasteful stop in T.J., they had drifted back across the border, stopping for a nights rest in Ramona, just north of San Diego. A quick stop at the local paper stand near their motel had netted a few area newspapers and had given Sam a lead on a possible case.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam's announcement, but didn't stop eating. "You did, huh?"

"Uh huh," Sam pointed at the newspaper that lay on the table.

"The Inyo Register," Dean read around a mouthful of hashbrowns.

Sam grabbed the paper, his expression one of disgust at his brothers eating habits. "There's a story of a succession of men who have been found dead in Death Valley," Sam explained, pausing as the waitress deposited his breakfast on the table in front of him. He smiled his thanks and grabbed for the salt shaker.

"Ooo, Sam. People dying in the desert. Spooky."

Sam pinched his lips together and gave his brother a look of irritation. "Except that there have been over forty men who've died in the last one hundred years, and they've all been found in or around the cemetery in an old ghost town smack dab in the middle of the Mojave."

Dean chewed thoughtfully for a moment before nodded once. "Okay. That's a little weird, I'll give you that. But there's got to be something more that makes you think it's our kind of weird."

Sam swallowed a forkful of eggs before answering. "I called the local P.D. and, according to the very helpful and very attractive sounding Officer Paloma, the last victim died of blood loss."

That got Dean's attention. "Vampires?"

Sam shook his head. "I doubt it. The victims seemed to have lost a lot of blood, but there were no obvious wounds. The local M.E. couldn't explain it."

Dean's eyes widened. "Huh. That is weird."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "And also according to Officer Paloma, the coroner is putting these deaths down as exposure for lack of a better explanation."

"Figures," Dean said with a shake of his head. "Officer Palladin seems very helpful."

"Paloma."

"Whatver."

Sam shrugged, suddenly interested in the omelet. "She seemed to be frustrated at the lack of cooperation she'd been getting from the authorities on the case. She was basically told to mark it up to desert scavengers and let it go. I think she's just looking for someone to hear her out."

Dean couldn't suppress a grin. "And you, being the caring kind of boyscout that you are, promised her a shoulder to cry on."

"Something like that," Sam mumbled as he shoveled the last of the omelet into his mouth. After a moment, he swallowed, took a drink from his coffee cup and sat back against the booth. "Come on, Dean. You said you wanted to head toward Vegas, and Lone Pine is right on our way."

Dean pushed his own plate away and sat back, his posture mirroring his brother's. He pursed his lips as he ran the information through his head. "Okay," he nodded. "We'll check it out." He clapped his hands in front of him and rubbed them together as his grin widened. "Besides, I've always wanted to check out a real live old west ghost town."

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

"So, Sammy," Dean leaned against the driver's side door, throwing a quick glance toward his brother on his right. "This ever helpful Deputy Palumbo –"

"Paloma."

"Whatever. Why was she jonesing to give you all this confidential info?" Dean lifted the side of his mouth in a grin as he kept his eyes carefully trained on the black asphalt road before them. "You been working on your sexy phone voice?"

Sam didn't bother to look up from John's journal he'd been leafing through ever since his last call to the Lone Pine deputy. "No, Dean," he said in a bored monotone. "I leave all the phone sex in your capable hands."

Dean pursed his lips momentarily and gave a short nod of accord. "What about Deputy --"

"Paloma." Sam cut in before his brother could slaughter the poor woman's name again.

"Paloma," Dean repeated with a smirk. "Are you gonna leave her in my capable hands, too?"

Sam gave a long-suffering sigh and raised his head. "Dean," he responded in a tight voice. "Deputy Paloma is going to be helping us with this case. I think you need to keep your hands -- and whatever else your depraved imagination can come up with – away from her until we figure this out."

"So, why's this chick all girl Friday for you?"

Sam rolled his eyes and forced himself to ignore his brother's childish baiting. "Apparently, she's been sending e-mails and phoning the state crime lab, trying to get someone to listen to her about these deaths. She's pretty smart. She knows something weird is going on, but nobody is interested in a bunch of bodies in the desert. And when she tries to connect them to the ghost town…

"Don't tell me," Dean said knowingly. "They laugh and brush her off without even hearing her out."

"Right."

"So what kind of line did you feed her?"

Sam frowned and turned toward his brother. "Line?"

"Yeah," Dean responded. "You didn't just tell her we were hunters who specialize in disposing of creepy ghosts and evil, invisible, blood-sucking monsters. Who does she think we are?"

"Forensics investigators with the FBI."

"Aww, Sammy. Suits? It's a hundred degrees out there!" Dean gestured to the brown landscape they had been driving through since passing Barstow. The arid desert was interesting if only for the drastic contrast to the green and gold of the Midwest. But, after half an hour, it all started to look the same and the heated wafts of air coming through the open windows of the Impala made him almost long for the cold, snowy plains of Kansas.

Almost.

"No Dean," Sam explained slowly as if speaking to a child. "Forensics. Think CSI."

Dean's eyebrows shot up at the reference. "Cool! I get to be Grissom. He's the man. You can be that Horatio guy from Miami." He gave Sam a lopsided grin. "You'd better start practicing whipping off those sunglasses, dude."

Sam just shook his head in exasperation. "All pop culture references aside, I think the FBI I.D.'s we have will work just fine, Dean. Besides, if she believes we're forensics experts, nobody will question us poking around the crime scene."

"The ghost town?"

"Yeah," Sam chuckled at the excitement in his brother's voice. "The town was called Ballarat." He pulled a few sheets of paper he had printed out back at the motel. "It was a supply and recreation center for the miners who were working the Paramint Mountain mines near Death Valley around the turn of the century."

"Gold or silver?"

"Huh?" Sam looked up, giving his brother a look of confusion.

"The mines?" Dean repeated. "Were they gold or silver?"

Sam stared at him. "I don't know. What could that possibly matter?" He shook his head. "Dean could we just focus on the facts here?"

"Fine, Killjoy," the older man muttered. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat as he got himself back on track. "You said these victims died from massive blood loss."

Sam nodded. "That's not the official C.O.D., but according to deputy Paloma that was the M.E.'s initial finding."

"So the million dollar question here is how exactly do you bleed to death without any open wounds?"

Sam let out a breath through his nose. "I have no idea."

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

The Inyo County Sheriff's Department was located in a non-descript brick building at the end of Main Street in Lone Pine. As Dean pulled the Impala into a diagonal space a few yards from the glass front door of the building, he leaned down and eyed the place nervously.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate small town law enforcement?"

"Yes, Dean," Sam replied in a tired voice. "On numerous occasions. Can I count on you playing nice or should I just handcuff you to the car?"

Dean smirked at his brother. "Pretty kinky for you, Sammy." At his brother's irritated glare, he held up a hand in surrender. "Fine. I'll be a good little fibbie. You just make sure you keep it all business with Deputy Pamela, Romeo."

"Paloma."

"Whatever."

Sam sighed in frustration. "Please just let me do the talking, Dean."

The older man pulled at the handle and shouldered open the Chevy's door. "Fine, Horatio. Don't forget your sunglasses."

Ignoring his brother's lame CSI reference, Sam adjusted his shirt and headed for the double glass doors. Seeing as how they were posing as Forensic investigators, they had decided to forgo the suits and instead, wear a simple 'geek' wardrobe of jeans, t-shirts and tucked-in button downs, although Sam had been forced to scrounge up a belt for his brother, who had apparently lost his sometime ago and never found the need to replace it.

The air-conditioned coolness of the station was a welcome relief from the blazing heat of the desert town. Despite the air conditioning, there were fans placed around the small reception area, ruffling the notices and posters pinned to the walls and bulletin boards near the doors.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

Both men turned to the far wall to see a young, dark haired woman stand up from the paper-strewn desk. She was about 5'6", with wavy chestnut hair pulled back into a low ponytail. There was s smattering of freckles across her nose making her seem way to young for the short sleeved, brown deputy's uniform she wore.

"Um, yeah," Sam said taking a step forward. "We're looking for Deputy Paloma?"

The smile that spread across her face changed her from a pretty girl next door to a certified beauty. "You must be Sam." She held her hand out and stepped around the desk. "I'm Elizabeth Paloma, but you can call me Ellie."

Sam shook her hand, his own smile answering hers. "Nice to meet you, uh, Ellie. This is my partner, Dean." Sam indicated his brother, but didn't move aside, nor did he, Dean noted with amusement, take his eyes off the pretty deputy.

"Nice to meet you, Dean." Ellie's smile was genuine, so Dean returned one just as real.

"Sam says you think there's something strange going on with these deaths in the ghost town." Dean had learned a long time ago that if someone wanted to talk, all they needed was a bit of a prompt.

"Well, officially, the latest victim died of exposure." She looked around as she lowered her voice. "But I've been doing some research and I've found more than five unexplained deaths in the last decade alone."

"It is a desert," Dean decided to play devil's advocate. "I'm no expert, but it's not really that strange for people to get turned around out there."

"No," she agreed. "And don't get me wrong. We have our share of legitimate deaths from nature. Dehydration, sun stroke, exposure, not to mention snakes, scorpions, coyotes and any one of a hundred other predators that call the desert home."

"But you don't think these deaths fall into those categories?" Sam urged her on.

"No," Ellie shook her head. "These five men were all found in the same place."

"Ballarat."

She nodded at Sam's observation.

"More specifically, Ballarat's cemetery." She crossed her arms on her chest and leaned back against the desk. "I could only find coroner's reports on two of the other victims, but the both men had had massive blood loss before they died. But there was no indication in the reports of any actual wounds."

"And it was the same with this victim?"

Ellie nodded. "The M.E. and the Sheriff have decided to list the official cause of death as exposure, but according to my friend in the morgue, this guy was drained almost dry."

The Winchester's exchanged a look of interest. "Any idea how that could happen?"

Ellie shrugged at Dean's question. "None," she admitted. "I was hoping you guys could help me out with that."

"That's the plan," Dean smiled again and Ellie ducked her head, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Is there anything you can tell us about the ghost town? Any legends or history?"

Ellie pursed her lips for a moment. "Well, there are a lot of old stories about Ballarat." She shrugged. "I mean it is a ghost town. It has to have a few ghosts, right?" She took a deep breath. "I know the basic story. The townspeople betrayed the local sheriff and he was killed. His wife was a gypsy or something and she cursed them." She looked from one man to the other. "It's just a local legend they use to scare the tourists, though."

Dean turned to his brother and raised his eyebrows, the tilt of his head an unspoken acknowledgement.

"Ellie," Sam dipped his head, unconsciously trying to minimize his intimidating height. "Is there anyone who could tell us about the town? Anyone who may know more than local legend?"

"There's old Mac."

"Old Mac?"

Ellie nodded. "Yeah. He lived here most of his life. I think he's actually a descendant or something of one of the townspeople. At least that's what he always claimed. Nobody ever really called him on it."

Dean pulled out a small pad of paper. "Does this Old Mac still live here?"

"I heard he moved to Beatty. That's in Nevada, right across the border just a few hours from here."

"Think you can get me an address?"

"Sure," Ellie moved back around the desk to the computer. "But what's Mac going to be able to tell you about these dead bodies?"

Dean smiled and tilted his head at the girl. "A lot of these old legends have some facts built into them if you know what to look for. Besides it never hurts to have all the information you can, right? Maybe this guy can tell us something about the town we won't be able to find in any history book." He shrugged as she handed him a small slip of paper with an address. "At least it's worth the few hours to see what he has to say."

As he turned back to the doorway, Sam placed a hand on his arm and lowered his voice to a whisper. "And just what am I supposed to do while you're playing twenty questions with grampa?"

Dean looked over his shoulder at the young deputy, a suggestive grin lifting one side of his mouth. "Maybe you could find a way to mix business with pleasure, Sammy." He patted the younger man on the chesta couple of times with the back of his hand. "Just use your imagination."

TBC