Author's Note: Hi everyone! As promised, I'm working on a sequel to "Endangered." I hope you love it, and I hope it lives up to your expectations.
If you have not read "Endangered," I tried recapping it, so hopefully everything will make sense. Or you can check it out on my profile page. I'm very proud of it, and would love your feedback.
This story is an AU—basically, I'm exploring what might have happened if the Styne family met the Winchesters right before season one. Things turn out differently, but how differently? Let's find out!
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. This is purely for fan enjoyment.
SPN
Night had fallen, but with the garden lights radiating around the flowerbeds and along the path up to a domed gazebo, it was still easy to see through the dark. Jessica Moore stood tall and wary in a blue knee-length dress with silver strap heels. Her golden hair was styled exquisitely with curls and rhinestones. She could have been at a wedding if she wasn't completely by herself.
Was she by herself? She looked scared and cautious. After glancing over her shoulder, she scurried off the path and into the shadows. A fountain bubbled to her left, and as she veered away from it, she sought shelter beneath a cluster of crepe myrtles. She took a moment to collect herself, pressing her hands against her mouth to stifle an anguished cry.
"Jessica!"
She stiffened at the sound of Jacob Styne's southern voice. He was close, and he was amused—hard to say which was worse.
"Come on back, darling! Can't leave without the magic word, so there's really nowhere for you to run!"
She shook her head and picked up her pace, eventually entering a courtyard lined by hedges. It was occupied by an enormous marble statue of an angry two-headed bird with wide, unfurled wings. It was monstrous—the pedestal alone reached her shoulder height—and for a terrible moment she could only stare at it in shock. Then she turned, eager to find some other refuge, only to find herself face-to-face with another woman.
Elizabeth Lavenza Styne. Like Jessica, Elizabeth was a twenty-one-year-old blonde all decked out for a wedding. But while Jessica could have been a simple guest, Elizabeth was clearly the bride. She wore a flowing white princess gown with a fitted bodice and capped sleeves. A diamond tiara crowned her head. She would have been beautiful if she wasn't holding back tears.
"You think you can escape when I can't?" she asked severely.
Jessica shrank back, eyeing the ceremonial knife in Elizabeth's right hand. "Please! I know you're not like the rest of them. We can help each other."
Elizabeth clucked her tongue and slowly advanced. "Unfortunately, darling, you're beyond helping. The moment you laid eyes on sweet little Sam, you were doomed."
Jessica caught her breath and bolted to the right, but didn't make it more than a few feet before she was swept up by an invisible current that carried her back to the pedestal. She was shoved against it with such crushing force that she groaned. Meanwhile, Elizabeth crossed over to her maliciously.
"It could be worse," she whispered sadly, stroking Jessica's face. "At least you won't be around to see what they have planned for your boyfriend." And with that, she brandished her knife and stabbed her victim through the chest.
SPN
(Chicago, Illinois … Tuesday, October 20, 2005)
Sam woke with a start, gasping, sweating and shaking. It took him a moment to remember where he was—in a shabby motel far from California and anything resembling a normal life—and then he sighed, running a hand through his thick, tousled hair. What time was it?
He glanced around the room and saw his dad sitting by the window, writing in his journal. The desk lamp was on, but it didn't cast much of a glow, and it didn't seem to bother Dean, who slept soundly with his face buried in the pillow. The clock read 4:38 a.m. Not too early to get up, especially since he was past the point of resting.
That nightmare… It felt so real. Of course, he thought about Jessica every day, but he hadn't seen her in over a year—not since they said goodbye at Harvelle's Roadhouse in Nebraska. He still remembered that conversation word for word.
"I don't want you to leave."
They stood in a private corner of the dilapidated saloon, away from the watchful eyes of Sam's family and friends. It had been a week since the conflict with the Styne clan in Shreveport, Louisiana, and John didn't think it wise to linger much longer. While most of their enemies were dead, at least two—Earl and Freddie Styne—remained at large, and no one seriously believed prison would hold Jacob or Elizabeth. Sooner or later, they were bound to escape, and when they did, they would undoubtedly seek retribution.
Sam squeezed Jessica's hand, struggling to find the appropriate words. She meant everything to him. After nineteen years of constant danger, living on the road where he was trained to hunt monsters, he finally found peace and security at Stanford University. But it wasn't until his friend Brady introduced him to Jessica that he actually thought he might have the future he always dreamed about. Normal. Happy. Safe.
Little did he know, his father came from a long line of mystical sages who belonged to a secret organization called the Men of Letters. According to the Stynes, uninitiated heirs of the order—like John, Dean and Sam—were called legacies, and they naturally possessed extraordinary, untapped potential deep within their souls. They should have been raised as elite, scholarly guardians, far from the vulgar, violent affairs of ordinary hunters. But something in 1958 decimated the entire organization—right around the time Sam's grandfather, Henry Winchester, disappeared from John's life—and they were never heard from again. John was raised completely in the dark, unaware of his heritage until, by chance, Dean happened to meet a fortune-teller in Lily Dale, New York who read his palm.
Her name was Elizabeth Lavenza Styne, from the ancient house of Frankenstein. She actually lived in the early nineteenth century, where she was betrothed to Victor Frankenstein himself, but her heart belonged to another. An alchemist named Dr. Thomas Benton. They tried to elope, but the Stynes tracked them down and murdered Elizabeth for her impudence. They explained to Doc Benton that, thanks to a powerful family ritual, Elizabeth would one day be reincarnated, long after his time. He could grow old and die, for all they cared, alone and miserable, knowing he would never see his beloved again.
But Doc Benton was an alchemist, and he devoted himself to the mystery of the philosopher's stone, i.e. the elixir of life. He gained immortality and spent the next 164 years waiting for Elizabeth's rebirth. It might sound romantic, but in the meantime, his body continued to age and wither. His organs failed, forcing him to steal replacements from innocent men and women. He became a monster, and in 1990, while Elizabeth was still a child, he was mutilated by a hunter. John Winchester. Elizabeth witnessed the act in a trance brought on by her quartz crystals, and she never forgave John for his crime, and she never forgave her Uncle Monroe for refusing to help.
So, in 2004, when she read Dean's palm, she found herself facing a remarkable opportunity. With the Men of Letters destroyed, their legacies were rare and extremely precious—an endangered species worth more than gold. The ancient Styne ritual that facilitated their reincarnation required them to sacrifice legacies every generation, or else the spell would expire, and they would die like regular humans. Elizabeth knew how much her uncle would pay for legacies, so she ran home and told him all about the Winchesters in exchange for his blessing to repair Doc Benton's body, restoring him to health, so she could marry him once and for all.
Several days later, her cousin, Jacob Styne, and four of his henchmen ambushed Sam and Jessica out in California, kidnapping them and effectively ruining any chance they had of being together. It wasn't just because of the Stynes—though as long as they remained a threat, Jessica would remain a target to get to Sam. The FBI were also involved, investigating the Stynes for fraud, arms dealing, tax evasion, kidnapping, and murder. Special Agent Victor Henriksen and his team would be looking for the Winchesters as material witnesses and vigilantes. In theory, they were on the same side, but honestly, it would be too difficult to hunt while in protective custody, and the feds weren't equipped to protect them anyway. Better to avoid them altogether, which meant leaving Stanford, where Sam would be too easy to find.
"It's safer this way," he told Jessica regretfully, brushing his fingers through her hair. "We don't have any known connections to Nebraska, so the bad guys shouldn't be able to track you out here. Ellen and Ash have everything under control. Just follow their instructions, and nothing will happen to you."
It was a lot to ask. Jessica had more to give up than Stanford. She had a home—a real home—and parents who loved her, who wouldn't know whether to hope for her return or mourn her loss. It wasn't fair, and Sam hated himself for putting them through all this.
"But why do you have to go?" Jess protested. "If the Roadhouse is safe enough for me, why isn't it safe enough for you?"
"It is," he lied. "But with so many Stynes still out there, I can't just sit around waiting for this nightmare to end. My dad's been helping the feds try to draw them out, and I'm going join them. Maybe the sooner we resolve this, the sooner things can return to the way they were." Like that would ever happen. Sam had come to the realization that he was cursed, and he knew better than to expect anything to ever be the same again.
"Well then, I want to help too."
"Jess—"
"Please, Sam. I think… I think I love you, and I don't want to lose you."
He couldn't believe her words. They had only been dating for a few months, but the summer they had spent together had been perfect, and she was everything he wanted. Now that he knew she felt the same… It made his heart ache. "I'm sorry," he whispered, drawing her into his arms. "I don't want to lose you either. That's why you have to stay. Jess, if anything ever happened to you, I think it would kill me. Please. Stay here, where you'll be safe."
He never told her he loved her back. How could he? She was better off without him, and he almost hoped she would meet someone in Nebraska who might help her move on. He certainly wasn't worth waiting for, and it would have been selfish to ask. He never called or emailed her, and though he suspected Dean might be passing along messages through Jo Harvelle, he hoped breaking contact would simplify things. He thought, over time, her feelings might abate, allowing her to heal.
Sam, on the other hand? He still thought about her every day, and even now, over a year later, she was still haunting his dreams. Damn. The nightmares had been getting better since the spring. Why were they starting to return now, all of a sudden? It was like they came out of nowhere.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he crawled out of bed and trudged wearily towards the desk, where he took a seat across from his father. John glanced up at him knowingly, and for a moment, neither spoke. It sometimes amazed Sam that they could share such a companionable silence after everything they had been through, after everything they had said to each other. When he first left for Stanford, John told him never to come back. He was basically disowned.
But if one good thing came out of the conflict with the Stynes, it was the restoration of their family. The Winchesters. They loved each other more than words could describe, and they weren't going to stomach anyone who posed a threat to any of them. Period.
"I don't think I'm ever going to get over this," Sam finally said in a low voice to keep from disturbing Dean. Not for the first time, he felt weak and embarrassed, but John never once criticized him for it.
"You haven't had any real closure," he replied gently. "That makes it difficult. I can imagine Jacob and Elizabeth are intentionally biding their time, putting off their escape to prolong the suspense. They probably know what it's doing to you, cause it's a normal response. You don't have anything to be ashamed of."
So he kept saying, but that didn't make it any easier to believe. Sam had been a prisoner for nearly three days, and while he wasn't physically tortured or anything, he didn't come out of the ordeal unmarked. And if anything distressed him more than his goodbye to Jess, it was the explanation he owed his family.
The three of them—John, Sam and Dean—had stood by themselves outside the Roadhouse, far from prying ears. It wasn't that they distrusted the Harvelles or Ash, and certainly not Bobby, who was like a second father to the boys, but it was difficult enough for Sam to tell Dean, and he just couldn't bear for anyone else to know.
Leaning his back against the side of John's 1986 Sierra Grande, Sam wrapped his arms around himself and stared at his feet. Where to begin? There was so much to say, but it all tasted bitter. "Dad, I… I think there's something wrong with me."
Dean bristled. "Sammy—"
But John gripped his arm, cutting him off. "Let him finish, Dean."
Slowly, Sam pulled back his left sleeve and peeled away the wide bandage covering his wrist. John had already seen the tattoo, but it was Dean's first glimpse, and he scowled at the sight. On the last day of Sam's captivity, early in the morning, the Stynes basically branded him with their family crest—a two-headed bird with outstretched wings, sharp talons, and a shield in the foreground. It was their way of welcoming him into their family.
"At first, the Stynes were going to sacrifice me for their ritual, just like they planned. But when we arrived at their estate, there was a demon waiting for us. Monroe called him Hell's finest general. Azazel. He was possessing Eldon Styne's dead body, and even though his eyes had been removed, the empty sockets were glowing with a pale yellow light. I've never seen anything like it."
Demons were known to have black eyes, and occasionally red, depending on their position. According to rumor, the most powerful demons might have white eyes, but no one could confirm that. Yellow eyes? John and Dean glanced at each other in concern.
"Azazel knew me, dad. He said we met when I was a baby." Sam watched for his father's reaction, and sure enough, John clenched his jaw. "He told Monroe, Jacob and Elizabeth that I'm too tainted to sacrifice. He said I'm worth more to them alive than dead, because if I play my part, I'll help trigger some kind of calamity, and the Stynes always profit from chaos."
Dean shook his head vehemently, refusing to believe any of it. "Demons lie, Sammy."
"I know, but they made Elizabeth read my palm, and whatever she saw literally made her throw up! She called me the Holy Grail! Azazel said he wasn't going to let them kill me, but would consider it a favor if they..." He trailed off, face flushing.
"If they adopted you," John wrapped up. Sam nodded weakly, and Dean recoiled, looking sick. Jacob told him they were going to keep Sam as a souvenir; he never said anything about adopting him. The idea was absurd, but the threat was very real. John sighed, wiping his mouth. "Okay, why would this Azazel entrust you to the Stynes? Especially knowing how important legacies are to them? Why didn't he just claim you for himself?"
"Because he still has a year left of vacation," Sam said despondently. "And he called Monroe uniquely qualified to prepare me for whatever he has planned."
"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore," Dean snapped angrily. "Monroe is dead, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you!"
"Do you think…?" Sam felt the tears welling up. "Do you think this demon killed mom? Did she die because of me?"
"No!" Dean was adamant, even as he looked at John for support. But John was not convinced, and his expression was not comforting.
"Sammy," he finally said. "I want you to listen to me right now." Sam nodded obediently, turning his head away in shame. He half expected an admonishment for not looking at John when he spoke, but instead, his father gently pulled him into an embrace. "When your mother died, you were six months old. It wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault. You're a good person, and you don't deserve this crap. All right?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. Now that we have the demon's name, we're gonna find him, and we're gonna kill him, and whatever he has planned for you will die with him. I promise."
Azazel's year of vacation was over, and so far, they were no closer to finding him then they had ever been. He was remarkably elusive—perhaps in hibernation. But now, as Sam sat across from his father in that gloomy motel room, quietly assessing his face, he thought he saw hints of a dilemma. "Dad, what is it?"
John stared down at his journal, tired and melancholy. Between the Stynes, the demon, and all their other hunts, he had a lot on his mind, and Sam often wondered how he coped so well with such responsibilities. He was by no means perfect, but he did his best, and in hindsight, Sam knew his childhood could have been a hell of a lot worse.
"Dad?" he asked again, a little more urgently. John was too straightforward and impatient for this kind of hesitation. Unless it was something big.
After a beat, he reached his decision and nodded, meeting Sam's gaze resolutely. "I'm sorry, kiddo. There's something I have to do, and you're not gonna like it."
Sam bit his lip, wondering if he should wake Dean. Since he had resigned himself to the family business, he and his father didn't argue half as much as they used to, but sometimes their tempers still clashed. John would always be a marine who valued a clear chain of command, and Sam would always be a strategist who valued collaboration. They loved each other, and they trusted each other, but that didn't mean they always worked well together.
"What is it?"
"A lead… Maybe. I'll have to swing by Arizona to be sure."
Sam scoffed, fear and excitement at war within him. A lead meant danger, but it also meant progress, and they could definitely use some progress right about now—which of course brought up John's use of pronouns. "Don't you mean we'll have to swing by Arizona?" John didn't blink, and Sam grew tense. "Arizona's over fifteen hundred miles away. You can't just leave us behind."
"It might not be anything to worry about. I'm gonna make a few inquiries; that's all. There's really no need for the two of you to come."
It took every ounce of Sam's discipline to curb his frustration. "Sounds like there's no need for us not to come." He tried to keep his voice steady, but with little success. If John wanted to go alone, he must have a reason for it, and the obvious ones were the most upsetting. He could be trying to keep them out of harm's way so he could be more reckless, or because he feared what Azazel might do if he found Sam. In either case, he was taking an unnecessary risk, refusing backup. "Dad, please…"
But John had that stubborn look in his eyes. "I knew you weren't going to like it. Sam, I need you to trust me. I'm only gonna be gone a few days, and it's strictly reconnaissance. Stay here with Dean. Keep your heads down, and try to get some rest."
The very suggestion made Sam shift uneasily. He wasn't sleeping well, and they all knew it. With enough coffee, he could handle his fatigue, for now anyway. It wasn't a permanent solution. But he couldn't bear to keep watching Elizabeth murder Jessica. It might only be a nightmare, but each time, it felt more real. "Dad…"
What was he supposed to say? That he was scared? That he wasn't ready for John's neglect? Could it even be considered neglect when Sam was twenty-two years old? What did it matter? He couldn't change the old man's mind, and it would be too exhausting to try. He should have known John's sheltering presence wouldn't last forever.
Of course, that's why he had Dean. Sam glanced over at his brother—still sprawled out on the bed—and sulked. Because it didn't matter how profound a bond they shared. No son ever wanted someone else to replace his father. It wasn't fair to Sam, and it wasn't fair to Dean.
"Just hold onto the hex bag I gave you," John suggested, somewhat contritely. "It will keep you hidden from the Stynes."
"Yes sir."
They sat in silence for quite a long time, John returning to his journal while Sam stared at a black-and-white photograph of historic Chicago that decorated the wall. He wondered why this was happening to him, and how long it would take for him to finally recover.
SPN
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