Summary: The boys have to put all of their training to use when assassins are on their tail, along with an angry spirit. Set after FPB but before WIAWSNB.


Erased From This World

Chapter 1

His feet pounded against the pavement as he ran faster than his legs would let him. He almost fell when he turned sharp down a narrow alleyway with towering sides, leaving no places to change your mind. He kept his eyes straight ahead, refusing to let himself look back. He ignored the pain in his side, telling him to stop. His head was screaming, his heart banging hard against his bloody chest.

He saw a high fence looming up ahead of him, and he shortened his strides for a few steps while calculating the distance. He sped forwards again and jumped up against the fence, crawling his way over it. He landed hard on the other side, falling down onto his side. He heaved for breath as he tried to push himself up. He heard footsteps running along the alley the way he had just come. He forced himself up and ran on. He rounded a sharp corner and recognised the street.

He ran on down the street, still ignoring the stitch in his side, his pounding head and banging heart. He saw the trustworthy black car parked on the side of the road. He ran past it and hurried on up another narrow alley. He skidded to a stop when he approached a pair of large black dustbins. Heaving for breath he walked round them and fell to the ground, which was covered in his brother's blood. He looked into his brother's face, seeing only a pale replica of the face he once knew.

He touched the other's hand gently and whispered in a hoarse voice, "Dean?"


Two weeks earlier

"Sam will you get your ass down here?" Dean yelled impatiently from Bobby's kitchen. Why did his brother always have to spend double the amount of time on something than other people?

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Sam said irritably as he came running down the stairs, putting on his jacket.

"Are you boys sure you will be alright?" Bobby asked, emerging from the front door.

"Yeah, it's just another spirit." Dean said walking out of the kitchen with his bag in his hand.

"I meant about the police." Bobby said sternly, looking from Sam to Dean. "You know that it was some stupid shit you did, walking straight into that prison."

"We're fine, Bobby." Dean said with a smile as he walked past the elder hunter and out the front door.

Dean knew that it had not been the cleverest thing they had ever done, but he stubbornly withheld the thought that it was the right thing. He walked over to the Impala and threw his bag into the back seat, thereafter positioned himself in the driver's seat and waited for Sam. They had heard of another hunt from one of Bobby's fellow hunters who had said that it was probably a spirit, but that he was heading north to look at werewolf attacks. Dean had been eager to take the hunt, Sam had been a little less so.

"Afternoon, Sammy." Dean said sarcastically, noting the rising sun, as Sam threw his bag onto the back seat too.

"Ha ha very funny." Sam said calmly as he sat himself down in the passenger seat.

Dean started the engine and smirked at the sound. He turned the music on loud and drove away from Bobby's house. Sam only looked slightly pained by Dean's idea of playing loud music, but did not complain. They drove on down the road, listening to the music and the rumbling of the Impala.

"So," Dean said, turning down the music slightly so he and Sam could talk, "what did you find out about this spirit? Is it a spirit?"

"Sounds like it." Sam said pulling out his laptop from his bag and started it up. "As far as I have been able to find out it's Jake Knowel. He was apparently quite a criminal in his time."

"What did he do?" Dean asked, casting a glance at Sam trying to see if he could see anything on the computer screen.

"Dude, the road." Sam reminded him before continuing with the information. "Jake Knowel was a serial killer, but his methods were inconsistent, as though he wanted to try something new at every murder. His only consistency was to stalk his next victim for a little time before taking action; sometimes letting himself be seen by that person alone." Sam shifted slightly in his seat, scrolled down on the computer screen and continued. "This spirit as killed five people so far. The husband of the second victim said that his wife had claimed to have seen a man staring at her in their kitchen before disappearing into thin air. It seems that all of these victims have been killed differently. However, all the killings were done in Jake Knowel style."

"Pretty good, Geek Boy." Dean joked, his eyes flashing in Sam's direction for a second, just in time to see his brother smile confidently for a moment. It was great to be back on the road with his brother being his good normal self. Dean thought he better test his responses anyway. "Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam said instinctively.

They drove on for hours, talking most of the way about all sorts of things; sometimes past hunts including their last in the prison, or talking more about their current job. They both realised after a while that they were really rather lucky not to be in prison at the current time. Dean quickly changed the subject, not really wanting to talk about the prison.

"Sam, what do you say we grab something to eat and drive on again after that?" Dean asked pointing at a café at the side of the road.

"Sounds good to me." Sam said cheerfully, stretching in the seat, knocking his hands into the ceiling.

"Don't hurt the car." Dean joked as he parked the car in front of the small roadside café.

"I am glad to see where your priorities lie." Sam joked back as he got out of the car.

Dean got out too, locked the car while giving it a small pat on the roof, mostly to see Sam's reaction. Sam merely shook his head and walked towards the café. Dean followed him, giving him a small whack on the back of the head as he walked past him. He heard Sam grunt slightly, and thought that now that he had started it; his brother would most likely try to get him back.

"So immature…" He heard Sam mumble. He laughed inwardly and walked into the crowded café.

The hours on the road had tired both brothers and they were both happy to sit down at the café and eat something rather than hurriedly take something out to the car and drive on.

"You think we should call, Bobby?" Sam asked after swallowing a mouthful of food.

"Why?" Dean said through a mouthful of food.

"Just to let him know we have come so far without being stopped by the police." Sam said.

"Yeah, alright." Dean said while fishing out his phone and he dialled Bobby's number. "Hey there Bobby, it's Dean….yeah, yeah, just wanted to tell you as Sam put it that we have come this far without being stopped by the police…I am not a smart-ass…Yeah, see you, Bobby." Dean put down the phone and looked up when he noticed that Sam was laughing. "What?"

"Smart-ass?" Sam said questionably after getting his laughter under control.

"It's not funny, dude." Dean said, though he was trying not to laugh at the memory of hearing the older man say 'smart-ass'.

"It is." Sam protested.

"Who's immature now?"


Hotel Room, New York

He threw cold water at his face, trying to wake himself up completely. It worked after three times and he dried his face with a towel, growling silently as he brought it down and seeing bloody patches. He thought that his head wound had stopped bleeding by now but his restless sleep had apparently irritated it. He splashed some more cold water on the wound, and then dabbed it lightly with the towel, until the bleeding minimised to almost nothing.

He threw the towel down in the bathtub, before walking out of the bathroom and into the small bedroom. He picked up the gun lying under the pillow, and checked it for bullets. He emptied it and threw the empty case down on the bed while putting the bullets into the pockets of the jacket hanging from a chair next to the bed. He ran his hand through his close cut black hair before lying down on the bed. He lay and stared up onto the ceiling, trying to rid his mind of all thoughts.

A loud bleeping cut through his mind and he reluctantly got off the bed and walked back to his jacket, where he withdrew a small mobile phone. The screen read: 'INCOMING TARGET'. He kept his mind on the screen and waited for his next target to appear on the screen. He had never asked why he was to terminate the people who became his targets, it was simply not important for his job. The screen of the mobile phone flashed once and the previous message was replaced by two pictures, both of two young men; their names read respectively: 'DEAN WINCHESTER' and 'SAM WINCHESTER'.


"Home, sweet home." Dean said ironically as they walked into a shabby looking motel. At least the room had two beds, a bathroom and even, to Dean's pleasure, a TV. He put his bag down in the corner by one of the beds, took off his jacket before falling down on the bed, the TV remote in his hand.

"Shower?" Sam prompted him.

Dean merely grunted and continued to flick through the channel. He watched Sam's back as he walked into the small bathroom. It was not long before Dean could hear the water running and Sam's yell as he realised the coolness of the water. Dean chuckled and bore his back a little deeper into the pillow and continued to flick channel. He was not really expecting anything to turn up, but it almost made him feel normal to just slump down on a bed in front of a TV.

"The water is cold." Sam warned as he walked out of the shower, a towel around his waist.

"Yeah, I heard." Dean said and smiled as he walked past Sam and into the bathroom.

Dean soon found out just how cold the water was and did not spend much more than five minutes in the bathroom. He walked out to find Sam sitting on the end of the other bed with the TV remote in his hand.

"That was quick." He said, looking up at his brother.

"The water was cold." Dean said, lying down on his bed.

"Yeah," Sam said a smile appearing on his face, "I heard."

"So, any idea what we are going to do when we get to the town tomorrow?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's comment.

"Have a look around." Sam suggested, turning off the TV and lying down on his own bed.

"Dude, how angry do you think this Jake Knowel's spirit is?" Dean asked, turning his head in Sam's direction, unable to see much in the darkness.

"Well, there seems to be no records of how he died, which makes it a little harder for us." Sam said in response to Dean's question. "I guess we will have to try and find out when we hit the town. I suppose that what's holding his spirit there is probably in that town."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Dean said, returning to staring into the direction of the ceiling.

He didn't really worry that much about the job. They had hunted so many spirits by now that they were almost the 'normal' hunt, however angry they might be. He smiled at the thought that they had actually escaped from the prison and again almost wished that he could have seen Hendrickson's face.


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