Hehehe...I probably shouldn't be writing this now, as I am not yet finished my other story, the Winchester Mansion. I said in my profile when I talked about doing this story that I would have to wait until I updated the last chapter of that, but I really just can't. This has been in my head to long. I apologize to all who are currently reading it, but I can also defend myself: this first chapter was entirely planned out to begin with, and took less time to write. It's late now and I don't have time to improvise the next chapter for the Winchester Mansion (which is what I usually do), so really, it's all still good, right? Ok...so this story definitely has more angst than I'm used to. Please stick with me through it, and review! Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own anything.
NOW
The water was rushing around him, through him, above him, rushing so hard and loud that the sound of the rapids was deafening him. Breathing was a lost luxury, as was movement. His body splayed in the depths of the vast emptiness, small bubbles trickling from his open mouth. His lungs screamed in agony, desirous of the oxygen he so desperately needed. But he wouldn't get it. He would never breathe again. And all he could think about was Dean, about how broken he would be when he found out that Sam had chosen this fate, chosen this for him. He told Dean once that he would die for him, he was his brother. And he meant every word. Sam had saved Dean from the same watery fate, and for that he was happy. The pain, though...the pain of drowning, of being fully and wholly submerged, was more than he could bear. He closed his eyes and waited for the impending blackness to come so he could finally be free.
BEFORE
A black car sped down the back roads of Montana, the blaring mullet rock blaring from the speakers likely audible from a fair distance away. An onlooker could observe two young men situated in the two front seats, bickering stupidly over what an average individual with a normal life would write off as a simple brotherly quarrel. And that it was, in a way-although it was far from simple. The topic was what separated the argument from normalcy, although, for the two Winchesters, it was an everyday occurrence to debate over an incredibly strange supernatural death – which was, of course, what they were doing.
"Dude, it's not worth looking into," insisted the oldest brother, with a tangible air of annoyance. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield.
"What are you talking about, Dean? We've looked in to way less than this. Think about it: Three people dead in three weeks, all members of the same family. First a brother, then two sisters. All the same symptoms – apparent signs of drowning, water in their lungs but not on their clothes. And for the past nine years, four people have died over the course of four weeks, each person leaving one sibling behind. In this case, there's still one sibling left."
"Like I said, Sammy boy. It's probably just some insane serial killer who follows some whacked out murder pattern."
The youngest Winchester raised his eyebrows, giving Dean a clear look of incredulity. "And the cause of death? How do you explain that?"
Dean turned to look briefly at his brother, flashing him a characteristic cocky grin. "Well, that's obvious-" When Sam shook his head in disbelief, already mentally writing off whatever explanation Dean would have, the eldest brother became defensive.
"Would you just listen to me for one second, brain boy? Other people can have theories to, you're not God."
"Well, I know that," said Sam, laughing. He was truly enjoying watching Dean try to invent an explanation for something that was obviously supernatural.
"Listen, this froot loop problably just poured a jug of water down their throats through a funnel or something, after he already suffocated them."
"And that seems logical to you?" asked Sam. Dean's head must be a pretty screwed up place.
Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, why not?"
"Why not? I could give you a few reasons." Sam began ticking off fingers. "One, there wouldn't be any point in a killer pouring water down their throats. It just doesn't make any sense, dude. And two, there's no evidence. No prints, no fibers, no DNA. Nothing. And three-"
"-yeah, yeah, yeah Sammy-Whammy. I get it. But weren't you the one to get held captive by the redneck posse? Humans have some serious issues, man. You know I'm right."
"And you know I'm right, Dean. There is no way that this is a run-of-the-mill serial killer."
"Is there such a thing as a run-of-the-mill serial killer?"
"You know what I mean. Why are you so against going on this hunt? You're always the one trying to convince me of something."
Dean stopped the car on the side of the road, turning to look over at Sam. He was met with an expectant stare from his brother's hazel eyes, the look he always used on Dean when he wanted to weasel out the truth from his older sibling.
"Why did you stop the car, Dean?"
"Maybe it's because I have absolutely no idea where I'm going. Or maybe it's because there's a ditch right there, and I'm going to need somewhere to dispose of your lanky ass after I murder you."
"Dean, come on. What's your deal?"
"Honestly, Sammy, I don't know. Something just doesn't feel right about this whole thing."
"How is this any different from any other case we've ever looked into?"
"It's not...I don't know." Dean sighed. He knew perfectly well why he felt hesitant to go into this job. He hadn't ignored the pattern, it was as clear as day. The spirit, or whatever it was, went after siblings. Four in a year. And it always left one remaining, every single time one unfortunate soul was left to deal with the devastation of losing someone close to them. And this year, if the pattern was to stay the same, one more person was left. And he and Sam were brothers. If they were to get entrenched in this investigation, there would be a helluva good chance that one of them could be the next victim, and he wasn't ready for that to happen.
He was probably being irrational. Hell, a few months ago he would have jumped right in to this case, guns blazing and adrenaline pumping. It was rare to find such a perfect hunting job. But after losing Dad...he had a constant pain in his chest that he couldn't alleviate, no matter how hard he tried. He knew Sam was hurting, he had admitted to Dean that he wasn't okay-but Sam didn't have to deal with the fact that Dad was gone because of him. Because he was weak and hadn't been able to beat that goddamned coma, been strong enough to live and fight on his own. He would never get over it. He knew that now. Sam was the only thing saving him from falling into absolute despair, the only family he had left, the cornerstone in his life. He literally had nothing else going for him.
But Sam couldn't know this. Sam had to be happy, remain unburdened by whatever issues Dean was dealing with in his tortured psyche. For if Sam were to find out just how bad Dean was doing, Dean would have failed his father, would have broken his promise that he had made so long ago to protect Sammy, his Sammy, at all costs. He had let his emotions out briefly, once briefly by the side of the road. He hadn't been able to hold it in then, but ever since he had doubled his efforts to try and retain his usual "Dean" demeanor. All would be okay if Sam thought that after his brother's little "spill my guts" session that Dean was over his temporary period of depression.
"Still waiting for a brilliant explanation, Dean," said Sam impatiently.
"Still ready to murder you, string bean."
"So what is it?"
Dean turned the key in the ignition, re-starting the Impala. "We'll go, okay? Happy?"
"But what about-"
"It was nothing, Sammy. I guess I'm just tired or something. Let's find this town. What was it called again?"
Sam uncrumpled the slightly torn newspaper clipping he had clenched in his hands, reading over the faded article. "Uh...lets see...okay, Rapid Falls. Town of 5,672 people. ("That's specific," muttered Dean) All the murders have happened there, but they don't give an address for the last family. For confidentiality, I guess."
"We're gonna have to question around then. Open the glove compartment, Sam. Got any state-police badges? I think I made some for Montana a while ago during a werewolf case."
As Sam rummaged through the barrage of false identification cards, Dean leaned back in the vinyl seat of the Impala. He had agreed to go on the hunt because he realized that any job they would go on (and they would end up going on one) would be insanely dangerous anyway. This one was a bit too specific, too close to home for Dean's liking, but he calmed his insecurity by reassuring himself that nothing would happen. He just wouldn't let Sam leave his sight. And if Sam didn't leave his sight, then nothing could hurt him.
"Found them," said Sam with triumph, holding out the two badges. He glanced down to read what they said, unable to suppress a laugh. "Uh, Dean? 'Robert Chartoff and Irwin Winkler'? Those are the producers of Rocky, dude."
"I knew I heard those names somewhere," said Dean. "They just popped into my head when I had to come up with 'em."
"We're gonna get caught, Dean. There's no way they're going to believe that these are our names."
"Worked the first time," said Dean with a shrug. "Just flash it real fast, like you did with the 'bikini inspector' card."
Sam shook his head angrily. "I still can't believe you made me do that."
Dean laughed, pulling out on the road. Yeah, he could act normal...for now.
SPNSPNSPNSPN
"Why do you friggin' cops keep comin' round here? I must've told a crapload of you that I know nothin'. I just feel bad for that family, is all. And all them others. All I can say is I'm glad I got no family. Means I never have to lose 'em."
Dean cleared his throat, scratching down nonsense on the small notepad he had brought, for effect. So far, he had written: Old man with no teeth. Smells like old socks. Knows nothing. Is eating scrapple, which means he has completely lost his mind.
Sam, however, seemed to have more interest in what the man was saying. "Did you know any of the victims?"
"I didn't know 'em, really. Just seen 'em around town, they come in here to get some grub."
"What were they like?" questioned Sam, persistent in his efforts.
The man thought for a second. "Fine, I guess. These last to die, the Drakes...the brother was real successful. Greg, I think his name was. Had a real big house. The sisters, uh...Sarah, Jane...they were twins, er, triplets. The last is still livin'. Tabitha, I think her name is. They all lived together, but I don't think they got on all that well. Always fightin' over shit. Came in bitchin' into here all the time 'bout each other."
"Do you know where Tabitha lives?"
"Not the number. Know it's on Grapevine Avenue, the white one with the red shutters. Kinda small."
"Thank you," said Sam. "If you think of anything else, call this number." He handed the man a card with his cell cumber printed on it in black ink. "My name is Irwin, this is Robert."
"Call me Robby," said Dean, smiling. He loved using aliases. "Come on, Irwy. Let's go."
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean, at the moment, wasn't making a very convincing cop. "See you, uh..."
"Ned," supplied the old man.
"Alright, see you around Ned. Thanks for the tip."
The two brothers strolled out of the small restaurant, into the main street of Rapid Falls. It was a cloudy day, suitable in that it matched Dean's inner unsteadiness about the job. Sam, however, was charged.
"Let's go find Tabitha."
NOW
The body of a young man floated eerily in a dark pool of water, long brown hair radiating from his head and waving in the slight ripples created by the movement of the clear, cool liquid. But only he saw the water, only he felt it. His body wasn't wet in the slightest. As he lost consciousness, the notion of water disappeared. And Sam was left on the cold, unforgiving ground in the black of night, his lungs filled with water that had never really existed.
TBC
Okay, please review! This chapter was kinda short, but the rest will likely be longer. I would really appreciate feedback! (Btw, Rapid Falls is a town created by me. It isn't real.)