Title: This Ain't The Summer of Love
Genre & characters: gen; Sam, Dean, ofc, omc (no pairings)
Warnings: violence, language.
Spoilers: for 2x01 and possibly very minor ones for 2x02, 2x05 and 2x06.
Disclaimer: the Winchester boys aren't mine, the others here are.
Author's note: This takes place somewhere between 2x02 and 2x05. Betaed and nitpicked by erinrua who is nine kinds of awesome. This is my first long, plotty SPN fic, so feedback and concrit is highly appreciated. Title stolen from the Blue Oyster Cult. The story will have four chapters and I'm trying to get them all posted during the next week or so.
Summary: It's just another salt-and-burn for the boys. But every now and again, something unexpected is bound to happen.


"So what's the deal with this haunted house anyway?"

Dean sounded like he had million other things in his mind and, as far as Sam knew, maybe he had. Morning was four hundred miles, another motel room and a sunset behind their back and only now, Dean asked what they really were chasing. Dean had listened his suggestion about their next hunt and stated 'Let's go' after his exposition starting with 'Well, there's this farm in Ohio'. Sam wondered if there was a reason for Dean to be like this, if today was some anniversary he had forgotten, if something had happened to Dean or dad in Ohio, if-- Sam shrugged the thoughts away. It could be anything and knowing Dean, it could be simply that the last truck stop had served him decaf by mistake.

"Well, in the last twenty years seven people have gone missing and then turned up dead at," he glanced at one of the news articles just for show, he had memorized the details during the first hundred miles after their swift departure this morning, "the abandoned Parker farm in Ohio."

Sam summed up the article. "Apparently, they all were from out of town, their cars were found parked at the Parker farmhouse and their bodies were found inside. Two shots to the chest. And all the victims were killed on 14th or 16th of August. Like the one they found yesterday."

Dean had to think about it for a moment, but he was pretty sure that today was the 15th. "What makes you think it's our kinda gig and not just some weirdo serial killer?"

"Uh, the owner of the farm killed his daughter there back in the sixties. Shot her before he killed himself." Sam saved the best bit for last. "On August 16th."

"Okay, that's something. Flimsy, but something."

Sam glanced at Dean, who hadn't taken his eyes off the road during the entire conversation. He would've been more at ease with them driving up to the farm in the dark if they had had the time to hit the local library to further check up on things. But they had done salt-and-burns with less information so many times that they'd be prepared anyway.

---

She watched through the dirty, dust-speckled window as a black car pulled up the dark road and stopped in front of the house. Like on autopilot, she pulled up the sleeves of her hoodie and her right hand curled around the grip of her gun tucked in her waistband, stopping there to observe the situation. The two guys in the dark vintage car were looking at something --a map?-- with a penlight, and she thought that they might be just the ordinary tourists lost in the literal backwoods. Her senses sharpened when they stepped out and opened the trunk; her mind listed the ways she could get out of the house without them noticing. The back door seemed to be the only viable option, the other one was to find a nook to hide in so they wouldn't find her. 'Cause, yeah, it wasn't her house and she really shouldn't be sneaking around in it the middle of the night and there were two of them and only one of her.

From her viewpoint, she couldn't see what the men were doing behind the car, but when they closed the trunk she noticed both of them carrying shotguns and flashlights. The shorter man with less wild hair and sharper features gestured the other and stepped off the driveway, apparently going round the house. Which ruled out using the back door to slip out.

In a speeding second, she estimated her chances. The men meant business, whoever they were, and she had only the advantage of surprise against two obviously strong and prepared guys. The house was big enough to hide in, but not in the time she probably had left. Which in turn meant that she would have to surprise one of them to get out. She pulled out her 9mm, knowing that in theory she was good enough of a shot to possibly survive a stand-off, if it came to that. The problem was that the theory had gone untested so far and she really didn't want to start experimenting now.

---

Dean stepped behind the old cracked doorframe and gently tried the worn handle. The hinges creaked sharply due to lack of use, leaving Dean to bless the ways of honest countryfolk who had rarely felt the need to lock their doors. He pushed the door gently further and pulled his left hand back up to steady the rock salt-filled shotgun in his right. The beam of his flashlight sliced through the darkness as he swung the door all the way open. He pointed the beam first to the left side of the room --obviously a kitchen-- as he noticed movement on the right side behind the open door. The door slammed closed behind him and before he could turn the beam towards the figure, his reflexes had taken over and he shot roughly towards the shifting shadows. Whatever it was, it wasn't Sam and it lurked in a dark, haunted house. A small cry was emitted but Dean couldn't aim again fast enough and something hit him in the head --way too hard for his liking, leaving everything fade to black.

---

She hopped down from the counter that ran almost the entire length of the wall and kicked the shotgun farther from the unconscious man, not knowing how good she had actually got him in the dark. Just as she had decided to try to make a run for it, the other man appeared in the door way on the other side of the kitchen. His flashlight went straight from the heap on the floor to her, and she whipped out her own light to even out the playing field. The bright light now in her eyes prevented her from seeing anything besides the shotgun the stranger carried. Her gun had been trained on the doorway from the moment she had noticed the stranger but she hesitated to pull the trigger without knowing who these guys really were. Maybe it'd end up biting her in the ass one day, but she was all for asking questions first and shooting later.

"Drop the gun!" She tried to impose as much authority to her voice as possible. "Your friend is down and I'm one hell of a shot."

The quiet moment made her shiver, she had no idea if the man in front of her even cared about the other one or himself.

"Dean!" The worried shout came from the man behind the flashlight. When he received no reply, he addressed her, voice shaking just the tiniest amount. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, but I will shoot him if you don't put that gun down."

Her voice was almost unrecognizable to herself and her mouth was too dry to swallow the forming dread in her throat. She had planned to be out of the house by now. She needed to get out.

"Okay, okay. I'm putting it down. Just don't shoot him." His voice was soothing and she almost wanted to trust him.

She watched the end of the double-barrel tip down slowly; her heart was racing and she was damn glad that it hadn't been more difficult than this. Suddenly she heard the unmistakable sound of a handgun being cocked on her left. Her aim shifted towards this new threat and her blood ran cold as she realized that the man in the doorway also had his gun raised now. No way she could fight her way out of this one.

"I suggest you drop the gun."

The voice belonged to the man lying on his back on the floor, pointing a .45 at her, and reluctantly she let her gun slip from her grip. She set it on the floor and raised her arms in defeat. The figure in the doorway approached her now and kicked her gun across the room.

"You 'kay Dean?"

"Yeah." Groans followed as she saw the other man get up. "Why do they always have to ambush me? Couldn't they knock your sorry ass down just once?"

Both of them had now their flashlights on her; there was a moment of hesitation before the shorter man nodded sharply in her direction.

"Sam, check her."

---

Dean finally managed a good look at his assailant when she stood in the beams of their flashlights. She was considerably shorter than them, brown hair tied into a ponytail and she wore jeans and a worn hoodie that was one or two sizes bigger than her. Her head was turned away from the lights, but still she tried to peer at them through narrowed eyes; from what he could tell she looked to be in her twenties, roughly the same age as Sam. Cute in a way but not his usual type. There was deliberate caution in her moves, maybe even a silent challenge but she made no attempt to move from her spot. To Dean, she could've passed for a typical college student, especially if you ignored the part where she was lurking in an old abandoned house, knocking out any passers-by and pulling a gun at their faces.

When Sam stepped forward, her attention shifted to him. Dean watched the woman's posture straighten and she leaned away minutely when Sam invaded her personal space. Despite the fact that she didn't step back, he could see behind the defiant tilt of her jaw and catch a glimpse of the muted fear in her eyes.

---

The taller guy left his flashlight and the shotgun on the kitchen countertop; the man --being about a foot taller than her-- towered over her when he stepped in front of her before disappearing behind her back. The man, who the shorter one had called Sam, started with her shoulders, patting down her arms and sides, not looking for cheap thrills but still too thoroughly for her liking. Sam pulled the penlight from her pocket and set it on the counter next to him.

She lowered her arms a little and noticed the angry red marks on her right forearm where the shot earlier had grazed her. It didn't look like a typical gunshot wound. She had expected more blood and less burning. And possibly more screaming and dying.

"What the hell did you shoot me with?"

The beam of the flashlight danced up and stopped on her arm. The answer from Dean came immediately afterwards. "Rock salt."

"Huh, that's new."

She wondered why anyone would load a shotgun with rock salt and under the circumstances could come up with only one possibility. While she was mulling over the obvious implications, the huge palms had gone around her waist and down her legs.

"Sam, she's obviously not the..." the voice behind the flashlight paused and she sensed the man cocking his head, "one we're lookin' for."

The hands stopped on her ankles and she sighed as Sam pulled the blade from her right boot. Yes, definitely too thorough.

The light shifted to the Bowie knife and she saw the face that Dean made. It was something between surprised and impressed if she could read it right.

"So, who and why?" Dean inquired of her as he let the barrel of his .45 slowly drop down.

Following Dean's lead, she let her arms down and shrugged.

"Name's Cath and my business is my business."

"Well, Cath", he enunciated her name in a way that hinted that he didn't believe it to be her real name, "you hit me hard enough to make it my business."

She took a deep breath and ran the odds again, hoping to find a way to non-answer him, but before she found the actual words, Sam cut her off.

"I saw you at the motel earlier."

Dean continued from there, after sharing a look with Sam, "So you're not a local and you're not a tourist."

He nodded towards the knife Sam was still holding.

"Might as well tell us before we call the cops."

"No, you won't."

She called their bluff and apparently, it threw them off for a tiny moment; everyone was quiet. Sam was first to break the silence and settle the dispute.

"Look, we don't want you to get into trouble but this place isn't safe. You shouldn't be here."

Dean shot Sam a stern look but kept quiet.

"And why's that?"

She was now fairly certain that they were there for the same reason as her, but judging by the look Sam just received, she wanted to poke a little further to get their dynamic figured out, to see what hunters usually do in situations like this.

Dean interrupted before Sam could say anything.

"Look, it just is."

She figured that Dean was the leader, barking out orders and getting the last say.

"Because of the spirit?"

Sam had a surprised look which he then directed quietly towards the older man. Dean ignored this and answered matter-of-factly, "Yeah."

"You guys can relax, no spirits here tonight."

"How do you know that?"

Dean sounded impatient, clearly not believing her and hardly accepting the fact that she just might know something.

"Research."

Sam piped in before Dean had a chance to reply. "So you're a hunter? Huntress?"

"On a good day, yes."

She got distracted by Dean, who had picked up her gun and was now studying it.

"I'll take that."

With a few steps, she was standing beside Dean, trying to snatch the gun from his hands. Dean held it back so she couldn't reach it and she settled with sticking her arm out. However, Dean removed the magazine before handing it over.

"You do know that you had the safety on? That's not how you kill anything."

She frowned, not happy with the fact that they noticed it. The clip disappeared in Dean's pocket and she decided to give up on it for the time being; she tucked the weapon in her waistband in the small of her back. If these two had that much healthy suspicion, they probably knew what they were doing.

"I don't have a habit of killing something before I know what I'm dealing with."

Now Dean gave her a look which she took as 'you've gotta be kiddin' me' and then gestured at Sam. They stepped to the doorway --just out of earshot-- and obviously negotiated on how to handle the situation.

---

"This could be a trick, Sam. We don't know her. And she doesn't strike me as a hunter."

"Well, we could find out what she knows. If she's really done research. Hunter or not, she took you down."

Sam tried to suppress a smile but failed. Dean being ambushed by a girl was definitely good material for a few laughs.

"Shut up." Dean paused for a moment. "You actually saw her at the motel?"

"Yeah."

Sam watched how Dean kept an eye out for what she was doing --which appeared to be checking her wounded arm-- and then turned closer to him.

"Alright, we get back to the motel and check her story. But if she's just looking for freakin' Casper, I'm gonna shoot you."

"What! Why me?" Sam breathed out exasperatedly.

"For not shooting her."

Sam bit his tongue because he knew that Dean beat himself up whenever he got surprised during a hunt. He had done it as a kid when failure had felt like he had let dad down and he never been quite able to shake the habit. Sam didn't have time to chew the matter further because Dean was already talking to her. He missed Dean's question but caught her answer.

"I parked up the road."

"Here's the deal: we follow you to the motel, check your notes and go from there."

Sam wondered if Dean realized that he wasn't probably making friends with his condescending tone. He thought that they shouldn't piss her off for just in case; a fellow hunter would be a good ally.

Before he could explain the matter to her a little more civilly, she agreed confidently.

"Fine. Can I get my knife back now?"

Dean looked back at the kitchen counter where the six-inch blade lay and grabbed it by the handle, twisting his wrist half a turn to inspect it quickly.

"No."

Sam took notice of how she shook her head with frustration and exited through the back door. Dean cast him a look and it didn't take a genius to decode it; Dean was pissed. They had meant to scout the place for any obvious hints of the spirit and then cook up a game plan, but as things had turned out, the night was a complete bust. Dean handed him her knife and Sam wanted to --if not outright believe her-- give her the benefit of a doubt.

The familiar squeak of the Impala's door seemed loud enough to disturb the night when they got in. Dean started the engine and got them ready to follow her by turning the car around.

"You know that you could have been a little nicer to her?"

Dean huffed. "I'm here to do the job. Period. Not to make new friends."

"But if she was telling us the truth, she could help us get the spirit. I mean, she knew somehow that it wouldn't be out tonight."

"Could've been a lucky guess."

Sam opened his mouth to argue back but a dark car sped past them and Dean hit the gas in a way that signaled that the conversation was officially over.

---

The cars pulled up to the motel parking lot and Dean watched Cath jump out of the green Ford. She checked her arm again quickly and pulled her sleeves down.

Most hunters were men, but Dean had seen one or two women at the Roadhouse and it seemed that despite gender, the hunter attire was pretty much the same, a dangerous combination leather and denim. She was far from that image.

She stepped in front of them as they got out of the Impala. "My dad's in there, so if you could try not to shoot him."

Sam snickered at Dean with a 'hey I'm innocent and she was talking to you' look and Dean gestured for him to shut up. Sam really had too much fun with this him being ambushed by a girl thing. Maybe he should let Sam go in by himself and get all the girl talk out of him. Preferably beaten out of him, if possible.

They walked two steps behind her and Dean checked the yard and the parking lot with a good, long look before they entered the room. There was no one outside.

"Hi, Dad." Dean could hear her as he got in last and shut the door. "We've got guests."

Dean did a quick inventory of the room. The walls lacked the articles he and Sam occasionally had up, no guns or books were visible anywhere, and the man that Cath referred to as her dad was an older guy, maybe close to his fifties, hunched over a laptop. Dean got no dangerous vibes from him either; the man seemed more white-collared than your typical hunter and the room was, well, normal. No way could they be hunters.

He heard her introducing them and decided to act nice in front the older man but ditch this party ASAP.

"It's okay, they know."

Dean's interest perked a little when she used the conspiratorial tone. He met the man's gaze a little flustered and hoped that Sam would do the talking.

"Sam and Dean, eh? You got a last name?"

Dean was ready to use one of the made-up names he had waiting for situation like these but Sam managed to share their real name before Dean had the time to stop him. The man got up and shook their hands.

"I'm Mike Bennett and I see that you've already met my daughter Cathy."

Mike stepped back after the formal introduction and Dean didn't like to be under the man's scrutiny like that.

"You boys related to a John Winchester?"

Sammy answered the question for him after a quick glance. "He was our dad."

Dean noticed how Mike caught the past tense and had a brief look of sadness on his face. For some reason the older man addressed him and not Sam.

"He was a good man."

"Yeah, he was."

He knew that Sam nodded somewhere in his right, probably looking at him like he was going to crack into million pieces every time Dad was mentioned. Sam changed the subject.

"Uh, Cathy told us that you're hunting that spirit out on the Parker farm. Could we see what you've got on it?"

Cathy turned to her father. "I agreed to show them."

Mike nodded and Dean watched Cath pull a laptop from under the bed and set it on the lone table. He and Sam stepped behind her watching her to open a bunch of files. She clicked through them and it quickly occurred to Dean that the spirit had been active a lot longer than they had thought. Sam noticed this also and leaned in closer to check the dates. Dean stepped back and let Sam's geekier side handle the conversation; he knew how Sam couldn't contain it sometimes.

"This thing dates back to the 60's?"

"It sure looks that way." She looked at Sam and then threw a look over her shoulder at him.

Dean knew that he should probably listen but then again, Sam listened close enough for the both of them and Mike was giving them the occasional glances which were too disinterested to be actually disinterested.

"So, Mike, this place looks a little too feng shui for hunters."

Sam gave him the 'dude, what the hell are you doing' face, or maybe he just wondered how Dean knew about feng shui, so Dean replied with his most innocent look, 'what?'

He was gonna soften the comment to get Sam untwist his boxers and to avoid the whole 'you could have been nicer to them' speech he knew Sam already had in store for him, but Mike cut him short.

"It's the 21st century. Besides the maid would stop coming if she saw the walls covered with crime scene photos and articles about dead people."

Dean had to smirk; the man at least had a sense of humor. Mike set his laptop aside and looked Dean straight in the eye.

"It's incredible what you can find on the Internet these days if you know where to look."

The look was somewhat unsettling but then Mike's seriousness melted into a smile and Dean, catching his drift, let the man have his moment. He sauntered back towards the table, stopping next to Sam and swatting his back with more force than necessary simply because he was bored and uncomfortable now. And annoying Sam was a way to earn cheap laughs and the patented Sam Winchester 'are you ever gonna grow up' look which Dean purposefully ignored.

"Whatcha got?"

"Dean, there's at least thirteen people gone missing in the last 38 years." They knew of only seven, so this probably wasn't good news.

Dean's 'huh' didn't betray his dislike for this turn of events.

"And Cathy thinks that there are actually two spirits responsible."

"Well that complicates matters."

Dean started a mental inventory of the things they needed to have on hand with the usual weapons. After running the list quickly, he addressed Cathy.

"How did you find that many victims?"

She turned away from the laptop and looked at him with a slight grin.

"Basic research. You guys do know about research, right?"

Dean ignored the jab completely. "We got only seven missing persons."

A small victory smile played on her lips which didn't relieve Dean's deepest doubts at all. She lost the smile.

"We've got our own software doing the data mining and analysis."

"And where did you get that? Ghostbusters R Us?" The sarcasm was evident in Dean's voice.

"Dean." Sam tried to keep Dean behaving; Dean knew that tone.

"We programmed it."

Her eyes were slightly narrowed, her voice was even, and more than her words, her attitude made Dean believe her. At least the part about the program, he still wasn't too sure about the part where they supposedly were hunters.

Dean shrugged his shoulders casually, smirking where the apology should have been and producing the magazine of her gun from his pocket.

"Uh huh. Are you sure you even know what to do with this?"

She skipped the verbal affirmative, stood up snatching the clip from his fingers and shot Dean a glare that reminded him of the look that Sam made when he teased him about his geekiness a moment too long.

"You wanna find out?"

---

With a quiet sigh, Sam wondered absently how Dean could always land himself in the most awkward situations, and whether it was genetic or just one his brother's many talents. He broke the stare-down by stepping between the glaring hunters and pulled Dean behind him before the situation could get out of hand.

"I'm sorry, it's been a long day for us. We'll get out of your way now."

He elbowed Dean swiftly out the door before Mike could get in a word edgewise. The curling tension in the older man's shoulders hadn't gone unnoticed when Dean had insulted his daughter. The image reminded him of Dad just before he would break up their fights, but the memory brought Sam only thin comfort and hurt and he pushed it aside quickly.

Glad that Dean hadn't fought back about the leaving, Sam turned to Cathy before he retreated outside.

"I'd like to have a look at that program tomorrow if it's okay."

Sam made his best 'I'm so sorry' expression to follow the request.

Cathy's shoulders relaxed visibly after a beat, fleetingly eyeing the door as if to estimate whether she could face Dean again. She even mustered a faint smile to go with her shrug and nod.

"Sure."

---

Dean had sulked for the last three minutes, cleaning meticulously the remnants of rock salt from the shotgun ever since they stepped into their room. Sam had the words ready, knowing that the same went for Dean and that whoever would go first would start an argument. Fine, he could play the bitch, after all that was his birth right.

"Dean, what the hell were you thinking? You almost decked the man's daughter in front of him!"

Dean whipped his head up from his task and let a fiery gleam form in his green eyes.

"Well, she shouldn't have kicked me in the head! A real hunter would've fought fair."

"So you rather she had a gun on you straight up?"

"I'd rather have her go back home and leave hunting to hunters!"

Sam took a calming breath, understanding where Dean came from. Demons and spirits they knew but people were unpredictable. And when something unexpected happened, it wound a cold knot in your stomach, compressing every fear and bad feeling into reality.

"So maybe she's not that experienced but she was doing the job. She had it covered until we showed up."

Dean pointedly tucked away the shotgun and the rest of the equipment.

"Yeah well, that's what separates the men from the boys."

Sam followed Dean's path to the bathroom with his gaze, knowing that after using all the hot water, Dean would be fine. Or at least less angry at himself and everyone around him. Maybe in the morning, after Dean had had his caffeine, Sam could try to reason with him.

---