Part I: Come Back to Me
Little Heaven, Delaware
May 2016
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The back of the undersized chair digs into Sam's back. Armrests frame his hips, obviously built to accommodate a much smaller person. White walls cause his eyes to feel strained. He taps his index finger against the empty table in front of him at a forceful, aggressive pace.
He hears the persistent tick of the clock as it chirps on the wall opposite him, and he resists the urge to smash the much too small chair into its face.
The door swings open and Zadkiel - a doll-like angel with soft, violet eyes - enters. A rush of potent lavender invades Sam's nose and he winces. Zadkiel is silent as he sits down across from Sam, unhurried and oblivious to his radiating agitation. There is a long pause.
Sam crosses his arms over his chest, "Look, can we just get this over with?"
The angel folds his hands onto the table, forcing more lavender air Sam's way, "Well, Sam, where would you like to begin?" He brings his gaze to meet Sam's, a warm neutrality eminating from him.
Sam sighs, twisting a hand through his hair before pressing it back into his crossed arms. The warmth hasn't quite breached the neurotic buzz of his energy. "Okay, so it all started with this rumor-"
"Wait!" The angel says, holding up a finger and bending down to reach into his bag. After an annoyingly long moment of ruffling and clattering, he unbends and emerges with a notepad and pen.
"Seriously?" Sam asks with a purse of his lips.
"Continue," he poises the pen to paper. His blonde hair looks annoyingly at peace despite his vigorous rumaging.
Just short of leaping across the table and shaking the angel violently by the shoulders, Sam clears his throat. "So there was this rumor going around about this demon killer. She supposedly had some fight with Cr-"
"So it's a woman? This killer is a woman?"
Sam nods hastily, "She supposedly had some kind of issue with Crowley."
"The King of Hell?" The pen scratches at the paper.
"Yeah," Sam says. His fingers twist and wring together, the friction and pressure heating his fingers. "I'd been trying to track Crowley for weeks but every place I went I came across a giant demon wipe-out." Sam breathes out a laugh, "Like someone always got to them just before I did."
The pen freezes, "They were all killed?"
Sam nods.
The angel's eyebrows knit together. "Is it possible that she was working with someone else?"
"It was," Sam says, a small, straight-lipped smile pulling at his lips. "But I questioned everyone that would hear me. They all said she was alone. And after I met her I don't doubt it."
"Even if all this is true, it sounds like a lot of trouble to go through for a bunch of Demons."
"It isn't if you have the right kind of . . . motivation. In this case it was the self-preservation kind. She wasn't a hunter like I thought she was," Sam draws his arms around himself more tightly, "So I asked around about her."
"And you found her?"
"I didn't get a name. Just two locations that I'd be likely to find her at. One was a bar just off the interstate and the other was a diner just outside of Richmond."
The angel stops writing, then says, "I should probably ask why you felt the need to seek her out."
Sam takes a deep breath, eyes meeting his, "For the same reason I'm here talking to you."
"Ah," he says, tone careful.
Sam nods softly, fatigue shutting his eyes. He opens them again with a laugh, "He's the only reason I do anything anymore. How unhealthy is that?"
The angel scribbles something down. "Can you tell me about him?"
Sam smiles, "He's a good brother . . . All I wanted was for him to come back to me." His smile shrinks. "But everything turned into this giant mess."
The angel nods. "That's what I'm here for, Sam. To help you." He glances at his notes, then asks, "So I'm guessing you eventually found this 'hunter'?"
"I did."
Zadkiel lifts an eyebrow, "And was she all everyone said she was?"
Humor sparks in Sam's eyes as he suddenly laughs, shoulders shaking. For the first time his grin meets his eyes. "No. Not at all."
Richmond, Virginia
June 2014
2 AM
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Sam waits outside Dalia's Diner for the fifth time, standing just outside the window with a beer in hand. Every now and then he glances in. Based on what he's heard he wouldn't be surprised if this woman is eight feet tall with muscles to match.
Today the diner consists of exactly one elderly man, a little girl and her father, and two waitresses. Both of which he'd ruled out immediately since one was likely over sixty and the other spent the majority of her work hours picking at her nails.
Sam splashes out another quarter of his beer as the last of the customers file out, his sunken eyes studying each of them with what seems like his last burst of hope.
As a few of the men glance back at him suspiciously, he takes a quick swig of his beer, not letting the liquid spill past his lips.
Their glances don't last more than a split second, and they stagger on, their thick feet scraping against the pavement. One of them with a bloody face spits out a couple of curses, followed by, "Bitch is crazy-"
Sam's ears perk up. A bitch sounds like just what he's looking for. Curious as to why he hadn't noticed any signs of commotion in his hours of surveillance, he peers into the diner and finds it empty. As the voices of the disgruntled men grow more distant, Sam grows more frustrated when nothing in the diner stirs.
He's about to chuck his beer across the parking lot when he sees the kitchen lights flick off. Cold air touches his face and chills scatter across his skin. The two waitresses emerge from the kitchen, followed by three others, two men and one woman. Most likely the cooks. They each sport stained aprons.
Sam's eyes instantly zero in on the woman, who has already seperated herself from the pack.
Dark hair and dark eyes jump out at him, and one vibrant red streak sits against her curls. He leans on the cold brick wall as the workers say their goodbyes. The woman stays silent, not once glancing back at the others. The diner light goes out and the five exit into the parking lot. Sam backs into the shadow of the building, watching her carefully.
The sound of car doors snapping shut and engines yawning awake fills the midnight air as the woman remains in the middle of the lot, patting her pockets for her keys. Flour wisps off of her apron when a breeze skitters across the fabric. Sam hesitates. This might just be an innocent woman. The person he's looking for wouldn't stand in a diner kitchen flipping pancakes all night. That just doesn't make sense.
But then he sees her hand. Inch by inch it retreats from her pocket clutching a set of keys. And on her fingers are blotches of red.
The man's bloodied face from earlier reemerges in Sam's mind and his heart leaps.
Suddenly blinding tail lights create a glowing spotlight around the woman's silhouette as cars roll out of the parking lot. Sam squints, blocking the blinding light with his hand. It's only when the lights fade into the distance that he sees that she's staring at him with icy eyes. The hairs on the back of his neck rise. This is the girl that's been causing Crowley so much trouble.
"He's never sent me a cripple before," she says, her words cascading towards him from across the lot. The flat sound of her voice reaches him, and sends a frigid bite up his spine.
Sam clears his throat, "I wouldn't call myself a cripple."
Her eyes slither down to the sling supporting his sprained elbow, then back to his face, "You can tell Crowley to stop wasting his demons on me. Obviously he's scraping at the bottom of the barrel if he sent you."
"I wasn't in his barrel-" Sam pauses with discomfort and inwardly cringes, his jaw working. "I mean, he didn't send me."
"Then good night," she says with a little salute.
"Wait," he steps forward, closing in on her. He raises his hand to take her arm but stops halfway, dropping the hand back to his side. "Tell me what the deal is between you and Crowley."
She stills, but doesn't look the least bit interested in humoring him, "Last I checked that business was between me and him."
Sam's fingers contract around the beer bottle and he forces out an irritated breath. "I need your help. I know that you're into ridding the world of demons and stuff so maybe you and I could-"
She snorts, "Rid the world of demons? Where'd you hear that fairy tale?"
Sam pauses. "Well, I was told that you're taking out his henchmen. It just seemed like you had it out for demons."
She laughs, the sound ringing false in the early morning air. She takes a few steps so she's standing directly in front of him, close enough that he needs to angle his head down to look at her. Sam smells vanilla and cinnamon as his eyes track the lift of her chin as she looks up at him.
"Hot, tall, yet crippled, man comes to me at-" she checks her watch, "-two in the morning to accuse me of trying to save the world. I guess I can't complain." She's too close now. Close enough to be distracting.
He swallows. "Is this what you do?" His words come out quietly. "Use your body to manipulate people?"
One corner of her mouth tilts upward. "Maybe. If there was something I wanted enough."
Sam licks his lips, "Why are you killing demons if not to save people?"
She shrugs, her feet stepping away from him and towards her car. She takes his air with her. "Why don't you let me know when you find out, big guy? I have a bed to get to." She reaches her car and wrenches the door open.
"Hey!" Sam stalks to the passenger side, throwing the door open. They climb into the car at the same time and the doors simultaneously click shut. A tightness envelopes them. Silence rings as she glares at him and he offers her a stern look in return.
"Listen," she says, her voice sliding through the air, somehow making it colder. "You should know before you get a little too comfortable that I have no problem killing you and leaving your ass in this parking lot."
If there is anything frightening about her - her dead eyes, her striking face, or the way she makes everything around her stand still - Sam slaps it away. "I need your help. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't desperate." At her look of continued boredom, Sam grinds his teeth. "Okay, what do you want, huh? For me to beg?"
She groans, rolling her eyes. "Spare me."
Sam leans forward, searching her face for anything. Any indication of what she might be thinking. But she doesn't even acknowledge him. She flicks on the radio, getting white noise until the sound focuses in on a woman singing about happier days. Sam huffs. Deciding on a different tactic, he asks, "Why'd you attack that man?"
"'Cause he was annoying. Speaking of . . ." she says, tilting her head to look at him, "Your butt's still in my car."
"Because I'm not done talking to you." Sam says with force. These last few days of tracking his brother has him on edge. More so than before. Dean slips further and further away the longer he sits here trying to convince this woman to help him. And he wouldn't even have to resort to this if it weren't for his stupid arm injury.
The woman makes a tired face. "Look, I'm bored. That's the only reason you're still alive right now. So if the next words out of your cute little mouth aren't the most amazing things I've ever heard, then your head's coming off."
"I'll help you kill Crowley," Sam says. When she doesn't make any move to seperate his head from his body, he continues, "All I'm saying is we have a mutual enemy. I'm looking to go around Crowley and you're looking to get him off your back. I will personally see to it that he is off of your back forever as long as you help me."
She pauses, regarding him slowly. "How would you do that? You have one usable arm."
"I know Crowley. I know his strengths and I know his weaknesses better than any living person."
She leans back. "You're bluffing."
"Maybe I am." He says, looking out the windshield. It's almost pitch black outside except for a single lamp hanging above them. The darkness follows them in through the windows, blanketing them in shadows. All he sees of her face is the light reflecting off her cheekbones and the white framing her irises. Sam stares directly into them. "But I know for a fact you don't want Crowley two steps behind you the rest of your life. And you know he's capable of it. Would you really pass up the chance to get rid of him?"
There is another pause as she sighs. "God, what are you, a lawyer?"
Sam lets out a breathy laugh, "I went to law school."
He feels her eyes on him for a long moment. The radio scratches on, the woman's voice deepening, growing sadder and sadder.
"Fine. I'll help you," she says. The coldness of her tone cuts through the music.
A breath of relief leaves him, and a small smile curves his lips appears. "Thank you."
"What's your brother's name?"
"Dean. Winchester."
"I'll do some homework. Meet me back here Sunday morning. I'll be in the kitchen with information."
"Again. Thank you," Sam says.
Elena rolls her eyes. "Yeah okay. You can get out of my car now."
Sam can't stop the smile from growing on his lips. "I have to ask," he ventures, "Why here? Why a diner?"
She turns to look at him steadily, one brow lifted as if his question had only one answer. "Because I like pancakes."
Sam laughs, the pressure inside him lessening just a tiny bit. "Fair enough." He risks another question, "What do I call you?"
She reaches across him, and tugs at the door handle, unlatching it. The door pops open. "Elena. Now get out, I need my beauty sleep."
Not wanting to try her patience any more, Sam climbs out. Without looking back, Elena drives away. And as he watches her go, he swears he sees her smile in the mirror.
He's at Dalia's two days later, sitting in a corner booth with a plate of salad in front of him. He pokes at a soggy crouton with his fork, silently questioning its quality.
"Salad for breakfast?" Elena's voice says from behind him. He turns in surprise, his fork scraping loudly against the plate, and finds her staring directly at him. Chestnut and honey. Her face is absent of any humor that might have been present in her voice just a few seconds ago.
"It's the healthiest thing on the menu." He drops the fork.
She raises her eyebrow, then slides in next to him. As soon as she settles in, he waits expectantly, assuming that the figurative talking stick has been passed to her. His neck cracks at the awkwardness of the angle.
But she remains silent, her legs crossed into a lazy twist. Her blank stare swings from their mundane surroundings to Sam, then latches onto his face without a word.
When they are at risk of competing in the world's most uncomfortable staring contest, he clears his throat, "So, uh, do you want to eat something?" He rips his eyes away and busies himself by stabbing at his salad. The loud crunch of lettuce in his head is a good enough distraction from her unrelenting stare.
Her lips finally seperate and she asks, "Are you offering?" Her eyes darken, and she grins, exposing sharp canines.
Sam nearly swallows an entire cherry tomato. When he recovers, he glances at her, mentally cancelling his tests he had planned to find out exactly what she is. The silver blade in his bag is just extra weight now. "Oh, uh, well I-"
Elena ignores his blubbering and stops a passing waitress by pressing a hand to her arm. "I'll have three pancakes and a milkshake. Make it fast."
"I'll do what I can," the waitress says before rushing back to the kitchen.
"So your brother's been hiding out in Detroit. I tracked some of Crowley's guys down there. He isn't doing much aside from the odd job for the boss every now and then."
"How is he?" Sam's eyebrows knit together.
Elena shrugs. "About as bad as you'd expect."
"I hope not."
Her eyes settle on him, unwavering. "It is."
He feels his mouth turn downwards and his eyes freeze on her just as the waitress returns with a plate of pancakes, flour dusting the tip of her nose and a fresh milkshake balanced in her other hand. She sets it down in front of Elena and says, "Enjoy your meal, ma'am," with a sweet smile. She retreats back into the kitchen.
Sam tilts his head as Elena grips the small pitcher of syrup and pours a thick stream onto her pancakes. He studies her face, curious, as she continues to pour with no sign of stopping.
"That's a lot of sugar," he hears himself say. He immediately clamps his mouth shut. That was a stupid thing to say.
She still doesn't put down the syrup. "You think I should be worried about diabetes?"
There it is again. A wit that isn't sharp, or biting or light or condescending. In fact, it isn't anything. She's just an echo of what her past personality had been before something reached in and hollowed her out. Sam wonders what that might have been.
He clears his throat and laughs, "No, I guess not."
Her unapologetic eyes scan his face. "I have some pictures."
"Oh, you mean-"
She puts the syrup down, pulls out a thick stack of paper and slaps them onto the table in front of him. "Can't say that I see the resemblance," she says as she turns her attention back to her pancakes.
As soon as Sam looks at the first photo, a deep, unsettling feeling of grief hits him like a slow knife to the heart. The sounds around him suddenly mute, and all that's left is the image of his brother. Dean's face is completely relaxed aside from his eyes, which squint skyward as sunlight beams down. He leans against a balcony railing, his elbow perched atop the sleek metal. Sam flips to the next photo.
This one hurts just a little bit more.
Dean's eyes are wide open this time as he smiles. He's talking to a young woman, probably Elena's age, with silver hair down to the backs of her knees. The smile stretches across his face like a warning, and doesn't quite touch his eyes. The knife twists.
The photo bends in Sam's fingers as he stares at it in silence. The sad shadow of where Dean was once hides in that smile, and he's replaced by a monster.
"He's working people," Elena pulls him back. "Those last few pictures I got from a job he did a couple miles from the city."
"So he's . . . a crossroads demon?"
"No," she says, folding a pancake in half and taking a bite. "He just follows through on some deals." She glances at Sam as he stares down at the picture. "That girl is one of his favorites."
"Huh?" Sam looks up, finding Elena looking at him with a look of boredom.
"That girl," she says again, "She's the one he seemed to like the most. He has a lot of lady friends. Which is why I suggest we bait him."
"You mean-"
"A girl. He has a big soft spot for a damsel in distress. It'd almost be sweet if he didn't always sleep with them after the whole knight in shining armor routine. Honestly, it makes me want to puke."
"Why not just grab him when he's alone?" Sam suggests. "I mean with your help it'll be easy enough."
She shakes her head. "He's not in the right mindset." At his look of skepticism she continues, "Look, if you want to kill him, sure just grab him off the street and do the deed. But if you're planning on turning him back into a human, he needs to come to us."
Sam lets out a breath. He hates that she's making sense right now. She has a surprising amount of insight for such an insensitive person. He frowns, "Right. So I'm guessing you're the damsel in our plan."
She nods. "I bait him, trap him, and get your little ritual started."
"Okay," Sam says. He almost strains his brain trying to think of her as a damsel in distress. Deciding to think through that impossibilty later, he goes on, "That all sounds great, but where do I come in?"
"You don't." Her clipped tone is completely serious.
Ah. There's the other snag. Sam begins to protest, "Elena-"
"He can't see you. It's not a good idea. Not now anyway." She takes a long sip of her milkshake. The straw creases between her lips.
"I can't just stand by!" His voice is a little too loud now and people are turning their heads to look at them.
Elena ignores them, and speaks clearly and softly. "You're a reminder of who he used to be. And judging by where he's at right now he'll do anything not to be reminded."
"You think he'll hurt me?"
She shrugs, "Maybe. He'd probably even kill you if he's anything like me. That's what I'd have done."
Sam's eyebrows lower and he says, "I don't think he's like you at all."
At that Elena smiles in that annoying way, as if she thinks he's adorable. "Well, then I guess you're safe."
Sam studies her as she eats, her words burrowing in his brain like a cyst. Dean could hurt him. Sam knows that. But how far would he go? Elena didn't even hesitate in saying she would kill. He wonders if she already did. Maybe some time ago, before he even met her, someone loved her and tried to get her back, like Sam is with Dean. Maybe she couldn't take the reminder.
Her hands are steady on her knife as she cuts through another pancake. The image the knife slicing through his own throat flashes in Sam's head. She's just stare at him with that beautiful smile and watch him die without even flinching-
"Well?" Elena asks as she chews, interrupting his thoughts. "Is it a plan or what?"
"Yeah," Sam says, eyes still on the the knife. "Right. It's a plan."