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Summary: Sam and Dean head to a town from their youth on a case, but find more than they bargained for. Could it be that they've faced the same creature before? Dean-centric

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or anything associated with the show.

Author Notes: Okay, so it's been a long while since I wrote any new fanfic and certainly a long while since I started a brand new Supernatural fic! But after working on an old fic, I found I'm not quite ready to give these boys up just yet, and I need to stretch my writing muscles a bit.

This is a story I've had kind of on the burner for a long time so it's been fun getting the chance to actually work on it. It's also one of the first Supernatural fics I've wrote that isn't set in season 1 or 2, so it's something different for me.

I hope you enjoy!

Set early Season 14.

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Chapter 1

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New Hope, Indiana

For the first time in months, things were looking up for Peter Jones. After the divorce the year before and losing his job to the very same guy he had lost his wife to, dragging himself up from the pit of despair he had fallen into had been difficult. But he had done it. He had a new job and was up for promotion, he had joined the gym and shed fifty pounds of deadweight, and now he was on his way home after a very successful date with Missy Carlton.

The road ahead was empty, the forest on either side visible only as far as the light from his headlights stretched out to. His fingers tapped against his steering wheel in time with the beat of the music that played through the radio, and he sang along to what words he knew, half mumbling, half humming the others as the song changed and Dean Martin began to croon through the speakers of Peter's newly bought, albeit a little beat up and used, Camaro.

"How lucky can one guy be? I kissed her and she kissed me."

He twisted at the knob of the radio, turning the music up louder, a lazy smile toying at his lips as he sang out of tune and out of time. For the briefest of moments, static muted the music, but it was gone as quick as it came, leaving Peter to frown at the dial in confusion. He tapped it once, but when Dean Martin continued on without any further disruptions, Peter simply shrugged it off and raised his eyes once more to the road before him.

The next line never made it passed his lips.

A shadow darted out of the tree line and he gripped his steering wheel tight, slamming hard on the brakes, the force causing his head to smash against the wheel.

The car skidded and slipped on the road, the wet from the rain earlier that day worsening the lack of grip. When it had finally stopped spinning, Peter raised his head from the steering wheel, grimacing at the pain that sliced through his temple. He traced a finger along his brow, hissing and pulling it away when he hit a definite wet spot.

"Damn it…" he cursed, turning his bleary eyes to the road, attempting to search out the shadow that had darted in front of his car.

Nothing.

Feeling more than a little shaken, he opened the driver's side door with a creak and pulled himself from the car. The first step was fine, but the second had him shooting his hand out to grip the cold metal of the car, steadying himself. He closed his eyes to fight off the dizziness, the sound of Dean Martin drowning out the light crunch, crunch of footsteps behind him until they were right upon him.

He swung around too late. Before he could even see who was there, he was sent crashing down to the ground with a heavy weight to the head. The last thing he heard, before the darkness of unconscious could claim him, was wheezing breath next to his face as his radio continued on.

"My head keeps spinning. I go to sleep and keep grinning. If this is just the beginning, my life is gonna' be beautiful…"

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Lebanon, Kansas

"I'm telling you, Sam," Dean said, sidling through the library with a plate in one hand and beer in the other. He dropped down into the seat across from his brother at the table, his eyes never leaving Sam, eyebrows raised in a way that suggested he was the older brother and he knew best. "This is a waste of time. We should be out there, trying to find Michael – hunting that son of a bitch down."

"And we'll do that," Sam answered patiently, raising his own eyebrow at Dean and the overly full burger now in the eldest's grasp, "just as soon as we get a lead."

Dean grunted around a mouthful of bread and meat and cheese, and used the hand that wasn't holding the burger to pull the laptop toward him, swinging it around so he could see the screen and the news article displayed there. He wanted to argue further with Sam. He really did, but in his heart, he knew his brother was right. Still, that didn't stop the constant irritating itch that gnawed at him from deep within. Michael was priority, but in the meantime, they still had a job to do.

"So remind me," Dean continued, swallowing the food in his mouth and putting the burger down so he had both hands free for the laptop, "this 'case'?"

Sam cleared his throat and adjusted himself, sitting just that little bit straighter, the movement causing several loose papers to slip free and drift down toward the floor. He swooped down to pick them up in one quick motion before spreading them out across the table between them. "Okay, so perfectly normal town, then three weeks back, people start turning up dead. Latest vic – Peter Jones. Found on the edge of town early yesterday, heart ripped out."

"Werewolf?" Dean questioned, brow burrowing, eyes focused on the printed out article Sam was motioning to, all the while attempting to brush off his brother's infectious energy. "But full moon was last week."

"That's what I thought," Sam shifted the papers, pulling another article to the surface. "but then, we know not all werewolves need the full moon-"

"So it is werewolves?" Dean interrupted, pursing his lips in thought and confusion, his mind wandering to the few pure-bloods they had ran into over the more recent years.

Sam shook his head. "No."

Dean pushed back in his seat a little, holding his hands out in questioning. He said nothing. He didn't need to. He knew Sam could read him well enough to know that Dean was waiting for him to continue and explain himself.

"The previous vic still had her heart, and so did the one before that, and the one before that." As Sam spoke, he shuffled through each article in turn, pointing to the particular sections he had circled, but never giving Dean time to fully read them.

"And this is our kind of gig because…?"

"Each person had something different missing. Sally Andrews was missing her entire left arm. Lara Cummings, her leg from the knee down, Matthew Harrison had his lungs missing. And now, Peter Jones." Sam turned the laptop just enough so he could see the screen and control the cursor, bringing up what must have been the latest article. "Dean, whatever is doing this is ripping people apart and it's not just after hearts."

"Again – how is this our kind of gig? What's to say it's not a bear or a wolf?"

"Dean…" A low warning tone, drawn out very much in the way Sam had always done, ever since he was a child. The same tone that always had him getting his way. That tone and those damn puppy dog eyes were forever Dean's weakness.

"Okay, fine!" Dean relented holding his hands up briefly in defeat. He turned his attention to the article, mouthing the words as he read what was written there before coming to a pause. "New Hope… Why does that sound familiar? Why do I know that name?"

"I don't know, I think we stayed in a New Hope when were kids once? For what, like a month?" Sam suggested with a shrug, only half paying attention to Dean, which was fine by Dean, because that gave him opportunity to commandeer the laptop once more as a half forgotten memory began to emerge, scratching at the back of his mind.

Dean's fingers played across the keys until he finally found what he was looking for, his eyes lighting up and a wide grin spreading across his face. It was another online news article, but unlike the others, this one was less grim, with a bright and happy picture sitting just beneath the title.

"Bam!" he said, swinging the laptop around so his brother could see and leaning in as if he was about to tell Sam the greatest secret of the universe. "Hudson's perfect apple pie – winner of the annual fair for five years running. They dropped out after the fifth year to give others a chance."

Head tilted to the side, Sam eyed Dean with bewilderment. "How do you even know that?"

"Dude, it was the best damn pie I've ever had. Ever. I swear, it was made with a gold dust or something. Dottie, the lady that ran the diner, she swore she'd give me the recipe one day."

There was a smile on Sam's lips, a crinkling of amusement in the lines around his eyes. "Dude, you're drooling."

"You obviously don't remember that pie."

Sam shook his head, gathering up the papers on the table. "I'll make sure to let Grant and Harry know – they just got finished up dealing with a skinwalker in Cincinnati, so I'll get them to swing by and check this out."

"Don't you dare." Dean closed the laptop with one hand, his eyes never leaving Sam. "According to the article, Hudson's is still open, so we're going."

"Dean, it's half a day's drive out, and you said so yourself – we don't know what this is yet. Grant and Harry are already practically there."

"We've driven a lot further for a lot less."

Again, a small smile tugged at the corners of Sam's mouth. "You just want the pie."

"Award winning pie, from Apple to Pecan. Best. Pie. Ever."

"Okay then… looks like we're going to New Hope."

Dean took a quick swig of his beer and pushed up from his seat. "That we are, and I'm gonna get me some pie!"

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New Hope, Indiana

As a general rule of hunting, you never hit the same town more than once. It was a rule John had engrained into both Sam and Dean. It was a rule they broke only on occasion… unless there was good reason to break it; like visiting a friend, a mess they had to clean up, or a slice of the best damn award-winning apple pie Dean had ever tasted.

Growing up, some towns stood out, vivid memories attached to them – some good, most bad – but the majority all sort of faded into a blur where all the teachers looked the same, and all the schools, and all the backdrops. But sometimes, for Dean, a memory would surface of a particular town and place. Sometimes his mind wandered back to the simpler days, where anything seemed possible, where his dad was a superhero and Dean was a hero in training, and every bite of pie was as sweet as the last. He smiled, content in the memory, as he parked up the Impala and turned off the engine.

"You really don't remember the pie?" he asked Sam, for the umpeenth time since they had set off and driven through the night so they could make it there by late afternoon.

Sam let go of a heavy breath. "No, Dean, I don't," he answered, also for the umpteenth time, before adding something he hadn't said before, "but now that I think about it, I do remember dad kicking your ass for sneaking out because you were supposed to be on bed rest."

"Pfft," Dean answered dismissively, waving his hand at Sam before clambering from the car. "Bed rest."

"Dude, you spent the first week here hopped up on meds and talking about sugar plum fairies. You scared the neighbour half to death because she thought you were a walking corpse."

"I wasn't that bad."

"Dad threatened to tie you to the bed post. Dad. John 'Walk it off' Winchester."

At that, Dean had to purse his lips and nod, seeing Sam's point. But in another moment, he was brushing it off and adjusting the collar of his Game Warden uniform. They had work to do. "Let's get this over with so I can get me some pie."

Sam merely rolled his eyes in response, but within half an hour, they were being led through the morgue by the technician on duty, an older man by the name of Jefferson with eyes rimmed black no doubt from lack of sleep, making him look older than he was, a coffee cup firmly attached to his palm.

"Where did you say you boys are from again?" Jefferson questioned, voice as worn as the lines on his face.

"Salem," Dean supplied with a forced smile.

Jefferson merely nodded and turned away, leading the way through the halls once more and on toward where the bodies were being kept. "Well, I hate to say it, but I think you boys have had a wasted journey."

"Why do you say that?" Sam questioned, falling into step just behind the man.

"I ain't saying I've seen anything like this before, not in my ten years here or my twenty years back in Michigan, but I can tell you one thing – this weren't no animal attack." He opened the door to the icy room, holding it open long enough for the brothers to pass through before joining them at the table in the centre of the room, cup discarded on a table near the entrance.

"How can you be so sure?" Sam glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the close drawers before moving back to the body covered up on the table in front of them.

"You ever met a bear that could use a knife before?" the man asked. "Or how about a cougar with a scalpel?"

Neither brother answered, simply sharing a look before returning their attention to the technician. He said nothing further as he pulled back the cover to reveal a fresh cadaver on the table. It looked to be a perfectly normal dead body pre-autopsy, if there was such a thing as perfectly normal, and that right there was the problem.

Dean held up a finger, his mouth working as he looked between Sam and the technician, a deep crease forming in his brow. "That's… She…"

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean could tell his brother was as confused as he was. "This victim… she isn't in our files."

"Well, she wouldn't be. She's barely even in the system." Jefferson pulled two pairs of gloves free from a box beside the table, donning one pair and holding out the second set for them. "Sadie Williams. They found her this morning, out by the creek in the woods. Real shame too. She was due to graduate college soon; one of the good ones too! Got herself a real nice job lined up too, but she came back home for the summer to enjoy her last few months of freedom I suppose."

"Bet she wishes she hadn't," Dean mumbled under his breath, earning himself a jab to the ribs that could have been easily misinterpreted as Sam reaching for the second set of gloves, but Dean knew it was too precise to be anything but deliberate. Jaw clenched, he sent a silent glare Sam's way.

"You seem to know a lot about the victim," Sam pressed on, following Jefferson's lead as the technician focused on the young girl's face.

"It's a small town, everyone knows just about everyone here." Jefferson, completely unfazed, pulled back the lid of the victim's right eye, motioning for Sam to do the same with the left.

Sam was a little less composed, his body suddenly stiffening as he complied. It didn't matter how many dead bodies they had come across, or how many creatures they killed, or how much blood they saw, there were still things in life that could have them wanting to bring up their breakfast in the nearest trash can. Two completely empty eye sockets was one of those things.

Dean didn't miss the way Sam swallowed thickly, or the way he all but jumped back when Jefferson covered up the body once more, the latter stripping the gloves free from his hands and dropping them into the nearby trash can.

"This ain't no animal attack," was all Jefferson said, one eyebrow raised as if he was expecting them to argue.

"Any chance we could get a copy of her file?" Sam questioned, eagerly disposing of his own gloves, gaze flickering toward the body on the table before focusing on Jefferson once more. "And the others too?"

"I'm not sure how it'll help ya…" Jefferson said with a light shake of his head. "Like I said, not an animal attack."

"We just need to dot the I's and cross the T's with the guys back at the office," Dean offered up. "You know how management gets. They like to be thorough. If we head back without any paperwork, well, they'll just make us drive right back out here."

Jefferson bobbed his head. "Sure, I'll go get a copy now, but as you can see – this autopsy hasn't been done yet."

Sam stepped forward before Jefferson could make his way toward the doorway. "Even so, any ideas on the cause of death… besides the er… the…" He motioned to his eyes.

"Her lack of eyes?" Jefferson questioned, before continuing on. "Heart failure seems favourite. Lab's still working on the blood work, but seems to me she was given something that sent her into cardiac arrest. Same with the others… well, 'far as I can tell." His eyes lingered for a moment on one of the drawers, but he shook his head, no doubt shaking away the cobwebs there. "I'll get you that paperwork."

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John's Journal – July 1993

I screwed up. I thought I knew what we were dealing with. I thought it was just a regular hunt and I had all my ducks in a row. Dean paid the price.

Everything pointed to a Water Sprite, so a simple ritual in the moonlight should have done the job. It all seemed to be going so smoothly. Of course, turns out a binding fairy circle doesn't work on a Kappa. I let my guard down and the damn thing grabbed Dean and dragged him into the water.

I nearly lost our son tonight, Mary. What would you think of me? What would you say?

He's passed out in bed, wrapped up in as many sheets as I could find to help stop the shivering. He doesn't complain, but I can already tell infection is setting in. I'll let him rest tonight, but tomorrow we're heading south, maybe find some place to hold up while school is out, let Dean rest.

You would have been proud… Took that Kappa's head off clean. He's a natural. It's almost like he was made for this life. I just wish I could offer them a different life, but knowing what's out there – I need to protect them, and training them, teaching them everything I know, it's the only way I know how.

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A/N: More to come soon...