Part 5 in the Meant To Be series
…DREADFUL JOURNEY…
Written by Slayer Isis
Summary: John Winchester is dead. Ten months have passed since Dean and Sam were with Amy. The boys realize Mary, Jessica, and Grammy were not the only ones destroyed by the Demon. A lot's happened in ten months. Birthdays gone by. And there are those holding onto pain and guilt more than hope and strength. Revenge is called upon.
Summary Note: According to the CW's Supernatural, from Season One's "Hell House" to Season Two's "Playthings" (and everything in between) have occurred. It's been ten months since Part 4 of the series. (A lot's happened in between, and all will be explained). I try to write these stories parallel with the actual television show – so all the same monsters/demons/supernatural things have been faced; basically this is Supernatural with additional characters like Amy. (Takes place in February 2007).
Author's Note: I couldn't wait to write – so I had to make a new story ASAP
Rated: PG – PG-13
Distribution: I do not own Supernatural, it all belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW and etc. I do not wish to be sued. Etc. (I own Amy and anyone else that I, have obviously, made up.)
Dedication: To my sister, Sarah. Also to the cast and crew of Supernatural – they've all done a great job and have delivered a great show – hope to see it last for at least 5 years (or 10).
Feedbacks/Comments/Reviews much appreciated. (Note: I foresee that I'll be able to complete this story successfully and on time, without any pause or delay, if I receive many comments. Just a thought.)
Thus, I introduce the fifth installment of the Meant To Be series
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.
Chapter One – A Brief Tale
Dear Diary,
This record, which I keep, could damage a lot of people. I'm meant to keep this. Amy says it's important to document everything. In case anything was to happen. After my accident, my mother wanted me to see a therapist as a "just in case." But if this diaryt were to fall into the wrong hands, fingers would be pointed and others would be called crazy. Anyway, so I see this guy. Dr. Flanders. (How much of a doctor-name can you get?) He thought it was a good idea to be "evaluated" after my accident. Apparently I was "too happy" directly after. But I sunk into a depression after Jaclyn "Grammy" Forrester died. Her death was mysterious to most. But not for Dean and Sam Winchester. Sam had had a vision that night. He said a demon killed her. Actually, "the demon."
Things got worse when a police officer found a camera at the scene of the fire that night. The pictures showed Grammy on the ceiling. Her stomach was bleeding.
There was a deep investigation. And never had there been a suspect. At least, not a real suspect. I was just sort of there on the sidelines. I was heartbroken about Grammy. This woman had tried to help me while I was in a comatose state – and my "spirit" was roaming around. I cried for days. Amy was worse. She was either crying or silent.
Dean and Sam took it in a different way. There was no way to comfort them either. Dean drank a lot and Sam would stay up most nights with Amy.
I'm Amy's roommate now. My plan was to move back home and it was my idea to move in – to keep an eye on her.
She's still in a strange condition. She accepted things nearly nine months ago. Nine long months. It's as if Grammy never died. But there's still a look in her eyes…I can't stand to be in a room with Amy for more than ten minutes. I have to make a lame excuse and run to the bathroom and cry.
Dean and Amy had a bad fight, before he left with Sam. Amy, hysterical, was almost willing to quit her job as a professor and begged to be a part of 'the fight. Dean wouldn't let her. He said, "It's too dangerous." Amy almost slapped him. She wouldn't cry, but she was fighting against it. The fight was pretty bad.
Dean and Sam left a week after the funeral. Sam said a sad goodbye, promising he and Dean would return with any good news.
Then we got the word that their father died.
Grammy's death had such an effect on Amy…I never realized what John Winchester's death would do. She took a month off work. Cried, a lot. But hopefully my presence helped her. We had a lot of late nights, crying, drinking, and occasionally breaking things.
It's almost a year since we've both seen Dean and Sam. They rarely call. Mostly because Amy was in so much pain after learning about John, she refused to answer their calls, not because she was angry at them in any way…she was depressed. Their voices made her want to cry. "They're a reminder of what we've all lost…" she told me one night.
I've learned, after a brief phone call from Sam, that Dean and Amy are so alike in terrible ways. Throughout the entire ordeal, they shut themselves up. Yes, Amy's opened up…but day by day…it's like living with a shell of what was Amy Cromwell – a woman I admired, looked up to, and befriended. It was two months ago since I had contact with Sam. He told me some stuff of what had happened. But not a lot. Sam purposely told me that A LOT has happened. Things Amy can't know now. He made me promise to watch out for her – like that was a hard promise to make.
She's in her room now. Working. She's thrown herself into her work. She finally got her PhD in Art History. She's now Doctor Amy Cromwell.
Have I also mentioned that Amy is apparently losing her psychic abilities? And Sam hasn't made much of a change in his own – just more visions. But yes, Amy. Even though Sam knows, and Dean doesn't, I know that Amy could see dead people. But she can't anymore. Ever since Grammy, Amy said she couldn't see Mary or Jessica. She occasionally saw some at a cemetery or at a hospital – but soon they all faded away from all perception. Amy says she can't "feel" like she used to – I take that statement in different ways.
At least the nosebleeds have stopped. I was worried about her before. I thought this psychic stuff was going to kill her.
Amy still has her "empathic" abilities – they're not as strong though.
I hope Dean and Sam are okay, or alive for that matter. It's been a long time since we've heard anything. I wondered IF they were to be killed…would we ever find out? Would there be someone there to notify anyone?
It's a scary thought. It's not really even my world. But then again…I'm sure Dean, Sam, and Amy had a different world. She mentioned before she missed 1997. I didn't understand that. But then she told me about the time loop.
She's filled me in on everything. Demons. Ghosts. Monsters. And your average psychos, like Hunter Austin – who is in a prison cell in Los Angeles.
As for me, I think I'm fine. I barely knew Grammy – but I was still screwed up after her death. She was innocent. And John Winchester…I didn't know him…but Amy's description was enough to make me want to ball up in a corner and disappear. I miss having the ability to disappear. It would make things easier.
Mom says I'm in an "unhealthy" environment. I can't abandon Amy. She saved me before. Maybe I can do the same back.
I wonder if Dean and Amy are technically still "together." I wonder if Amy will smile for real someday. She's a twenty-seven-year-old success in her profession…but she can't enjoy anything. And I hope Sam and Dean are alive and well. And if they're not well…
At least they're alive.
Diary, I'll write again soon. I write three times a day. Amy says I'm a good writer, if I actually put effort into it. I've suggested Amy take a diary too. She says she doesn't have the time. As Dr. Cromwell, she has a lot more work to do. But I think she keeps one.
I want Sam to call. Hearing his voice would be some comfort.
O.O.O.O.O.
North Platte, Nebraska…
The Roadhouse was slow tonight. A few hunters and two or three "normal" men. Ellen was cleaning glasses up by the bar, wearing old jeans and a red blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail; a few escapee curls dangled by her cheeks. The Sad Mask was on. Ash called it that. He was already stone cold drunk, asleep on the pool table in the back, snoring loud enough for people to hear over the jukebox's music. Ellen last heard that Jo, the "runaway" daughter as she called, was in Montana with a cousin. Jo was apparently practicing shooting and hunting deer. Ellen wasn't surprised when Jo took-up-and-left to become the hunter she always wanted to be. She had been angry as hell. But there was nothing to do about it. Jo was twenty-one-years-old, too old to chase after and drag back by the hair.
Ellen turned around, leaning against the bar, placing the last clean glass away, and spotted Dean drinking in the darkness of the bar. He and Sam had returned from a hunt she sent them on – in Connecticut - something involving "creepy ass dolls" (as Dean quoted) and Hodou. She had offered them a spare room to stay at in the back. Dean and Sam had no trouble driving up the highway thirty minutes to a hotel, but tonight was not a night for a long drive.
Dean was drowning in negative emotions. Anger, sadness, worry. Ellen knew it was because of Sam. Because of the yellow-eyed Demon, the bastard that had claimed the life of their father.
Sam had already been drunk that night. He was asleep on one of the cots in the back. Dean was a slow drinker, Ellen saw. He took his time to let everything flow through him.
Something had happened. Something Demon-related. But Dean wouldn't admit what. He still thought it was a "family business" involving the Demon and the psychics…the people like Sam.
She wouldn't budge from her place. Ellen had a bar to tend to. Even though it was close to closing, Ellen knew she would kick the others out, let Ash sleep on the pool table, and leave Dean with an extra beer.
He sat in the corner, at his own round table, drinking a glass of whiskey in small sips. He wasn't as clean-shaven; scruffy and almost dirty looking. His hair felt dry and his hands seemed rougher. He wore a pair of jeans, holes and tears included, and a black shirt with his brown leather jacket on top.
Sitting there, miserable and drunk, Dean found the time to stop the drinking and he let his head fall into his hands.
"Take care of Sam…" John's voice appeared in his head. "Love and protect him always. But something may happen…and you might have to kill him…take care of Sammy…and yourself…"
"Promise me Dean!" Sam had recently yelled, drunk. "If I turn evil – if I go dark side – you'll kill me!" And Dean had replied with an "I promise" and forced his brother into bed.
Killing Sam was not an option. Dean made this promise to himself. He would protect Sam. He would prevent anything from happening. Despite what they've been through, Dean knew that Winchesters were strong. And Sam was stronger than him. Sam couldn't possibly turn evil. It was all a mistake. An ugly, false, mistake.
He was more miserable than he could imagine. Dean was worried he consumed alcohol more than eating anything decent. Ellen was a gracious hostess, she had a small kitchen in the back, and she made eggs and bacon every morning, and cooked dinner. She said, "Damned if I'm a servant of a Winchester" and let the boys fend for themselves what to have for lunch. But it wasn't a problem. They had been there for about a week. It wasn't a miserable experience. Dean played poker during the day, usually chatting with a few hunters near the evening. Sam spent his time with Ash – both were on their own laptops, trying to find any patterns the demon might have left behind.
Tonight was just one of those nights. A night of much needed alcohol and sleep.
Sleep…he felt as if he hadn't had that in so long. Of course, he got drunk a lot and could sleep in until one…but there was that longing for an actual good night's rest.
Or to fall asleep on a couch with Amy in his arms…
Dean shut his eyes tight. He mentally called himself a bastard every time he thought of her. He missed her. Sam missed her. And most of all…Dean was sorry for the fight they had had.
It was a bad one. Perhaps the worse he and Amy had ever had…or anyone ever had.
It was questionable whether they were still "together" or not.
But he was miserable. He was a jerk. Yep, I'm a jerk alright…and a bastard…and a lousy boyfriend…I'll be lucky if I still am a boyfriend…
He rested his chin on his fist.
Dean hadn't even been the one to call Amy to tell her John was dead. Sam had that responsibility. The twenty-seven-year-old hunter couldn't bear to give the news. He talked to her for three minutes about four months ago. It was just to check up on her. Neither of them could say anything for a while. Amy was unusually silent and Dean couldn't pick a decent telephone conversation. He wondered if she was upset. Heartbroken. Or still grieving.
He missed the sound of her voice. It would be easy to wake Sam from his dead sleep and convince him to drive the Impala to Illinois ASAP.
Still too dangerous, Dean told himself. She has a normal life now. At least more normal than before. And I know Izzy is taking care of her.
He wasn't alright. And Dean was wrong to think that Amy was alright too.
With a final gulp of whiskey, Dean got up to throw himself in his cot, opposite Sam's, and fell asleep. There were no dreams for Dean. And the same went for Sam.
O.O.O.O.O.
Dean Karajan, in a blue suit and gray tie, sat behind his desk with wide eyes and mouth opened. He made a sound, sort of like "Kawha"…but paused. He shook his head and rubbed his chin nervously.
"Dr. Cromwell…" Dean Karajan addressed Amy, who sat across from him in gray slacks and a white dress shirt. "I'm certainly at a loss for words. Please," he begged, "reconsider."
The dye from her hair was gone and was back to its usual brown. Her posture was so straight, so structured; it made the dean of Northwestern uncomfortable in his seat. But her propriety wasn't the whole of it.
"You've turned yourself into a successful young woman – at your age…" Dean Karajan gulped again. "You've just earned your doctorate!" He shook his head, as if waiting for Amy to say "Gotcha!" and reveal the joke.
She was sitting simply with one leg crossed over the other. Amy sighed, rubbing her cold hands, and blinked slowly.
"I thought about this decision very carefully…" Amy explained. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for the opportunities you've given me. You didn't show me sympathy, when people thought I needed it, you showed compassion…" She gave the dean a half-smile.
"Think of your students," Dean Karajan tried.
Amy grinned softly. "They'll live. They'll understand. Of course, they'll continue their education."
"I don't und-understand," he gasped. "This is really happening, isn't it?"
"Dean Karajan…" Amy whispered soothingly. "I don't want to quit being a professor forever. But right now my place isn't in a university. I'd like to do more. I've already made some interviews at some high schools. It's time for me to try and inspire the younger generation."
"But, you've just earned your PhD," Karajan exclaimed, "not to mention, you have the opportunity – if you don't want to be a professor – you can apply for jobs as an art director or a museum curator – think of the possibility – you can curate your own museum in France!"
She smiled sweetly again as if Karajan had offered her a piece of candy.
"In time," Amy finished. "If it's what I want to do…I'll have no problem getting a job. I love Northwestern, and I hope maybe to have a position in a decade or so."
Dean Karajan laughed warmly. He nodded slowly, not in agreement, but in understanding.
"We'll surely miss you," the dean muttered.
"I'd like to work for the rest of the semester," Amy replied. "And in May I'll resign. It'll give me more than enough time to prepare for being a high school teacher." She got up slowly and walked toward the mahogany door.
"Dr. Cromwell…" Dean Karajan called, and waited for Amy to pause in her steps and look his way. "Thank you," he mentioned, "for allowing us to harbor such talent. You're still young, Dr. Cromwell, and I know there's something big in your future. Don't let that kind of hope go." He smiled, the sweetest smile she had ever seen on that man's face. "There's more to all of this, isn't it?"
There was not another word, just more smiles. And Amy left, leaving Dean Karajan silent in his seat.
O.O.O.O.O.
"Your parents are going to be pissed," Isabella exclaimed. She was still hoping Amy would change her mind. The two young women sat inside a Starbucks coffee shop. They sat at a round table in the corner, near the glass, where they could see dozens of people walking through the small shops.
Amy drank her coffee slowly and nodded. "I'll wait to tell them the news later."
"Amy," Isabella begged, "c'mon…you just became 'Doctor Cromwell'…and you want to work at a high school?"
"Northwestern is no longer the place I need to be," Amy defended.
Isabella noticed that Amy's clothes fit her differently. She was thinner. Amy had done a lot of jogging (and less swimming). Izzy could hear her get up at five on the weekend, go running for two hours, and return from her run without a word.
"I just don't get it, Amy," Isabella sighed. She drank her cappuccino, biting her lip, and shook her head.
"I need a change…" Amy whispered nicely. She was all smiles today.
Isabella had also noticed that Amy seemed to be turning into the Amy she remembered when she first met her. Long, simple brown hair and a soft complexion. Only Amy seemed softer than before. Softer as in weaker. It was like Amy was turning into the person she used to be before she fully took on the 'psychic' persona.
"And, with a PhD, I have many opportunities, if I don't like the teens, then I can find something else," Amy announced cheerily. "Things will be fine."
"But are you?" Izzy demanded, placing her cup back down on the table. There was only silence as they drank their coffee. They left minutes later to catch a movie and go shopping. Even though Isabella couldn't understand it, she played along with Amy's "happy day." At least no one was crying.
O.O.O.O.O.
Sam couldn't explain why he woke up at six in the morning. There had been no dreams. No terrifying, death-related, demon-related visions. He just woke up.
He rubbed his tired face, yawning, catching the taste of tequila in the back of his throat. Sitting up in his cot, Sam was shirtless and was still in his pair of jeans. Apparently he hadn't changed for bed when he had thrown himself into his pillow.
Dean was sound asleep in the cot across the room. It was a small room, but it was comfortable. Two cots, a small desk, and a dresser. Their bags hadn't been emptied completely; a few rifles and guns were scattered across the desk.
Licking his dry lips, Sam got up slowly, his bare feet creaking against the wood floor, and made his way to the desk.
He sat down in a rickety chair and Sam reached into his bag and pulled out an old-looking, black, leather book. It was small and the pages were a creamy yellow color.
Isabella had told him about the journal she kept – or a diary – and Sam thought it was something of a good idea. At least he could get out everything without breaking down – or making Dean feel uncomfortable. Sam knew he wasn't as dedicated to it as Isabella was.
He opened to a page he left off at and took a pencil that had been placed on the inside.
Dean and I finished case in Connecticut last week. (Sam didn't write "Dear Diary" or "Journal" as his heading. He just wrote). More Voodoo/Hoodoo stuff. It's been a while since we handled a case like that.
A lot's happened since Illinois. I feel like that was the last time Dean and I were at least happy. There've been a few laughs. But nothing real. I realize now that Illinois is our escape. Even though it seems like a magnet for the supernatural, but being there, with Amy, at her apartment, makes it feel like it's our own personal haven. Even with the supernatural on our ass, we have a piece of what it feels like to be normal.
I wish Dean would say the word and nothing would delay a speedy trip back to Evanston. We miss Amy. But things are too complicated. She has no idea what's happening.
And I admit I want it to keep that way. Dean was right, I think. This isn't exactly Amy's world. She's more normal – especially when Dean and I far away.
The less she knows about the Demon, and the others like me, the safer she is. I never understood why the demon went after Jessica, my mom, even Grammy. The demon said before, when I had asked, that he had "plans" for me. And when I questioned why it killed the others, he said, "They were in the way." Grammy was more of a threat than Amy?
It doesn't matter how much we question it. Despite what we WANT, Dean and I probably won't return to see Amy for a while. I know she's okay, with Izzy there, but I know something's wrong. I feel it.
There's just so much that's happened. It's hard for me to decipher if I'm being paranoid, or psychic.
The Hell House case was simple. It was one of the minor cases we've dealt with.
Then there was the Shtriga, a witch that cold absorb the life forces of young children. That case kinda went too close to home. Apparently it came to me when I was a kid. Dean made a mistake, and it all explained why Dean was so loyal and subservient to our dad.
Then I met Sarah. A case of an angry spirit of a little girl, killing people through a painting, had been an intimidating case. Sarah was just as intimidating. I admit I've thought about her. But now's not the time to think about that. Maybe some day…soon…
Vampires. They actually exist. And we met up with Dad, luckily. I miss him.
I had a vision of a baby girl and her mother…Dean and I saved them…Meg returned. Then Dad was taken by the demons. Dean and I didn't deal with Meg's exorcism too well – she had been a real person. An innocent. And she died. We found our father, but later, unfortunately, realized he was under possession of The Demon.
The crash. Dean's coma. Dad's death… It was all too much to handle.
All I can say is that I hate clowns.
More vampires and we met up with a hunter named Gordon we didn't know then he was psychotic. Vampires can actually be good…? I couldn't understand. Dean had a tougher time dealing with it. We grew up believing the world was black and white, good and bad, positive and negative. It made hunting easier…then…things are more complicated now.
Necromancy. Zombies. Not Romero's kind. The dead girl broke my right wrist – thus I've had a cast on it since then.
Andy. Another one like me. Possessed the power of persuasion. He killed his evil twin, Webber, who was probably under the influence of The Demon.
Jo almost got herself killed. She went against her mother's wishes, and next thing I know we're teamed up to take on America's first serial killer: Holmes. Jo later revealed that it was Dad's fault that her father died. She's taken off, since then, in training to be a hunter. She has a while before she can take on something alone.
We were held as suspects in a murder. Turned out one of the cops was a bad guy, and we had a good cop to help us out. It was another angry spirit case.
Then…souls being bargained for…ten years of whatever you want…and people actually give up their soul for that sort of thing. A demon mentioned that Dad did something similar…and…he's in hell…but it's impossible. Dad's not there. We've slowly come to realize that's why Dad died – he gave himself up to save Dean…
Rivergrove. The demon virus. The entire town disappeared…and I was immune to the virus…why???
I finally learned the truth. Dean told me he would have to kill me if I turned evil. Going darkside. I can't see myself doing that…but I'm not sure anymore…The Demon has "plans" for me…
Ava…she's gone…taken by The Demon…and it's my fault…
Cornwall Inn. Our recent case. We saved a woman and her daughter. It was the Hodou/Hoodoo case.
And here I am. Isabella says that writing helps in some way. It does, I admit. This cast doesn't make it easy, but the strain is worth it. Sometimes I reread what I write. It brings me down for a moment, but I find some hope in some things. But it's not enough.
Maybe it'll never be enough.
Sam stopped scribbling the last word when he heard Dean move in bed. He groaned, turning to his other side, and continued to sleep. The twenty-three-year-old dropped the pencil on the desk and closed the leather book.
I can't turn evil, Sam thought. I won't let myself…and I know Dean won't let it happen either…
O.O.O.O.O.
A/N: Hope you're enjoying so far – comments/reviews much appreciated! Will update ASAP.