Sorry about the odd format and delay on fixing it. I've recently started working third shift in the bakery and have been sleeping most of the time.
Currently unedited. I've been arguing with this chapter for a while and I finally just said 'screw it.' And posted it.
My update schedule is this: I've no fracking clue.
Note #1: I recommend reading 'Of Candy Bars and Golden Retrievers' first. Just to get a feel for the basis of the AU.
Note #2: If you read 'Gabriel' please be advised this is a complete re-imagining of the same premise. You might see similar elements to the previous story, but the plot line will be very different as well.
Pretty sure I didn't explain that very well, but hopefully you'll understand after the chapter.
Please leave me your comments and reviews!
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any other pop culture items that Dean references.
"Can...can you repeat that?" Dean asked, a terrified note in his voice. The woman manning the ornate wooden desk gave him a sympathetic look.
"I'm afraid Sam Winchester left the school over two months ago."
"Do you know why?"
"I believe it might have something to do with the murder about a week before." She admitted, a strange gleam entering her eye as she leaned forward. Dean copied her obligingly. "They say that the boy who was killed was his friend." She whispered conspiratorially. "And now they've got no leads."
Dean frowned internally at the new information, but plastered on a grateful smile for the gossip. "Thank you. Do you know if he left a forwarding address?"
She hummed and shuffled through the folder on her desk.
"Ah, here it is!" She congratulated herself. "He moved out of the dormitories about a year ago and listed an apartment off-campus. I'd ask either his former RA or the building super."
"Thanks for your help, ma'am." He gave her another charming smile.
She swooned a bit and commented quietly on "such a charming young man!" He knew she'd be spreading that little interaction around, but at the moment, he didn't really care.
His little brother was missing. Possibility that he was being chased by something was high, as the boy had firmly said he'd never hunt again. Which didn't help with Dean's worry at all.
As he walked out of the building into the bright California sunlight, the smile slipped off his face. He ran a hand over his eyes and sighed.
"Sir, are you alright?" A quiet, gentle voice asked.
Dean looked up and observed the owner.
Blonde, pretty, bright colors, college student. In other words, completely his type.
"Better now." He smirked flirtatiously.
She surprised him by rolling her eyes and taking a careful catalog of his face.
"Are, by any chance, related to Sam Winchester?"
Dean blinked at her for a moment.
"Uh, yeah, I am. How'd you know?"
"Your nose," she replied, tapping her own. "It's the same as his."
Dean's hand lifted to feel his nose. He glanced incredulously at her.
"Really?"
She gave him a sage nod. Then, her expression turned far more somber.
"Are you looking for him? Sam?" He nodded. "Mrs. Andron already tell you he's left?" He sighed and nodded once more.
"She also mentioned something about a murder. Said the victim was his friend...?" He let the question trail off.
She turned slightly and shot the building he'd emerged from a frosty look. Then she sighed and gestured him over to one of the benches lining the quad.
Dean sat next to her.
"The only reason I'm telling you this is because you're his brother. I wouldn't tell just anyone this." She took a deep breath. "The...victim, as you called him, was a doctor at the hospital, not a student, named Gabriel Coelum. Sam and him were indeed... friends." The girl gave him an unreadable expression. "Three weeks ago, his body was found in an abandoned warehouse by a couple of frat pledges. I only know what one of the pledges told me," she warned, "so I can't tell how truthful it was."
"I still want to know." Dean confirmed. She nodded and continued.
"He said that Gabe's body was... in bad condition." She said haltingly.
"Like he'd been there for a long time or like he was...?" He spoke gently.
She took a deep steadying breath.
"Like he'd been tortured."
"Do they know who did it?"
She shook her head.
"They're being tight lipped about what they know, but they've made no arrests and they've stopped coming by for interviews and evidence."
"What did Sam do when he found out?" Dean was hesitant to even ask the question.
"He went catatonic." The girl said giving a bitter little laugh. She wiped at one of the tears welling in her eye. "For a few days he didn't even talk, stopped going to class, stopped leaving his apartment, I'm pretty sure he stopped eating, too."
"But then..." he prompted.
"But then the police came by to ask some things, let something slip that seemed to terrify him." She rubbed her eyes again. "He started talking again, but it was... manic and strange. He... it was like he couldn't even see me. I was invisible. I'd visit him every day, bring his homework, notes, food, make sure he'd eaten, tidy up a bit. He didn't ever speak directly to me. Then, one day, when I brought him lunch, his door was wide open, most of his clothes gone, pictures gone, a mess of salt everywhere. The super said that Sam tore out of there like a bat out of hell. Foisted his keys on the landlord, told him to sell whatever he left and took off in his car."
"Do you have any idea where he went?" Dean didn't like where this story was cutting off. If the apartment had already been sold off and rented out, he had no where to start and nothing to go off.
She shook her head, but then tilted it consideringly. She pulled out her wallet and fished a crumbled up piece of paper out of it. It was a photo of four people, Sam, two men, and the girl. Stuck to the back was a sticky note with an address and the name Claer Torag.
"I already went. It's a little occult shop about thirty minutes away, I think it was for a school project, but you might see something that I don't." She smiled a little at the picture.
Dean ran a careful finger over the photo's crease marks.
"Who are the other two?" He asked when the silence stretched on a little too long.
"Brady's on the left. The man on the right, that's Gabe." A few more tears alighted her eyes but didn't fall.
"Thank you. For this and for helping Sam." Dean told her sincerely, pulling his own wallet out. He froze halfway though, and asked, "I'm sorry, did you want to keep this picture?"
She shook her head as Dean cheered internally.
"I have my own copy."
"Thank you, again." He placed it carefully inside his wallet.
"No problem." He stood and started to walk away, but was halted by the soft hand on his arm. "Find him, will you?"
"Of course." She smiled. She stood up as well, shouldering her bag.
"I never got you're name." He realized.
"It's Jess. I hope to see you again, Dean."
"I hope so, too."
Well, not as helpful as he'd hoped, but it was more than he had before. Making his way to the address listed, he wasn't incredibly surprised to find it to be less of a hoodoo occult shop and more of an incense, candles, and yoga "occult" shop. The door even had a little bell above the door that chimed faintly as he stepped in.
The place smelled very strongly of sage, cinnamon, rosemary and something else, he also started to sneeze a little. He wondered if it was due to the sheer amount of scents or that he was allergic to something.
His question was answered when a displeased looking fluffy ball with a tail jumped onto the counter, scaring a little shout that was definitely not a yelp out of him.
"Not a fan of cats, sir?" A voice rang out from behind him.
Dean spun around, not comfortable with having missed two presences within the shop.
The girl, for she was definitely a girl of probably only eighteen or nineteen, was another blonde with wide blue eyes and a curious look on her face.
"I'm allergic." He finally replied, trying not to breath in too deeply.
She seemed a bit unimpressed but obligingly picked up the cat, ugly though it were, in her arms and carried him off to somewhere behind the counter. A few minutes later she returned.
"Can I help you find anything?" She asked, tilting her head. "I don't mean to sound rude, but you don't look like my usual type of customer."
"Ah... yeah." He started but stopped, not entirely sure where he wanted to start. Finally, he pulled out the photo, peeling the sticky note off and handing it to her. "My brother wrote this note before disappearing. I wanted to know if you could tell me what he came here for."
She took the note from him and frowned.
"What's your brother's name?"
"Sam. Sam Winchester."
Her frown deepened.
She turned around and pulled a small package off the shelf behind her, carefully wrapped in a blue silk. She handed it to him.
"I was holding this for him. I called to tell him it came in. He was supposed to come in a few weeks ago, but when he didn't show, I figured he he just forgot."
"What is it?" He asked, careful not to open the wrappings.
She shrugged.
"I don't know. Guy came in, said it was for Sam Winchester and gave me the number to call."
"Can you describe the man?" She nodded and waited for Dean to pull out a notebook and pen.
"Curly, dark hair, short, kinda stocky, bright blue eyes, bit of a beard."
"Did he leave a name?" She shook her head.
"Anything else you can tell me?"
"Just that the guy I talked to on the phone didn't sound completely there."
"Thanks for your help."
She nodded and absentmindedly asked, "Are you gonna buy anything?"
Dean glanced once more around the shop dubiously.
"Is there anything here that will help me find someone?"
She considered him for a moment. Then, after digging through a cubby on the wall, she brought out small stone with a red eye painted on it and a silver chain with another small smooth rock, only this one had a rune of some kind carved into it.
"The Seeing Stone is only usable once, but it shows you exactly what you're looking for." At Dean's eager look, she clarified. "It shows exactly,as in, if he's indoors, you will see him, inside a house or a hotel room, no addresses no coordinates, and it only works once for about a minute."
Dean's face fell hearing the description.
"And the other?" He asked hopefully.
"That is called the Pathfinder. Nearly limitless uses, but once its been... attuned to a certain goal, that is the only one it will lead to. It works by showing you the path to your goal, however," she interrupted, once more putting a stop to his eager hopefulness, "more often than not, it's not a direct route. The path you need to take can be subjective. It will get you there, but who knows how long it will take."
Dean paused, thinking it over.
On one hand, if he used the Seeing Stone, he'd be able to tell mostly how Sam was doing, but only once. And conditions changed. Alternatively, he could use it to see if Dad was in trouble, though again, finding the man would be near impossible especially alone.
The other object, the Pathfinder, seemed both useful and convoluted. Depending on what path the rock thought he needed to take, it could be years before he saw Sam again. But it was guaranteed to lead him to Sam... or Dad.
That was the problem, wasn't it. If he used the Seeing Stone to search for Dad and it turned out he was in trouble, he wouldn't know anything about Sam's condition. And the reverse was true, as well. And if it turned out that both were in trouble he'd only be able to commit the Pathfinder to finding one.
So, either Dad or Sam. That was his choice.
Dean nodded.
"How much for both?"
"Forty dollars total." She replied ringing it up on the register.
He handed over the bills and slipped the leather cord around his neck.
"How do I work either of these?"
"Burn a sachet of thyme and lemongrass and place the Seeing Stone on your forehead. Then say the words, 'Deíxe mou ti thélo.'" She passed the stone over, placed it a brown paper bag with the herbs and a slip of paper. "To attune the Pathfinder- you know how to purify a space, right?- find something small, related to your goal and tie it to the stone with twine. Then, place it in an open flame for twenty-four hours. Once the stone has been attuned, all you need to do is dangle the stone over a map and say the words, 'Ostende semita.' It'll show you where it thinks you should go next."
A rock telling him where to go. Wonderful. Dean considered for a moment whether he was okay, mentally.
"Other than that," she continued, heedless of his thoughts, "since you're looking for someone, it helps to do the ritual somewhere heavy with their presence, like where they were last seen."
"Thanks." He nodded to her and made his way quickly out of the shop.
Sitting is his car didn't do anything to alleviate his growing panic, so he quickly moved his mind onto other things. More important things, like where Sam would buy an apartment.
He tore out of the parking lot and began a slow, watchful circle around the campus. There were many apartment buildings surrounding the school, they obviously saw the opportunity, but most of them were pretty much just off campus frat houses.
Dean leered for a moment at a few blonde coeds washing cars on the lawn of one brownstone building. Eventually, though, they were out of sight and he continued his search.
The building would probably be marketed towards the over twenty-five college students, recognizing the difference in maturity. It would probably be one of the new post-moderns or a well-kept older one.
He drove in a widening spiral, with the new criteria in mind, and after twenty minutes, decided on a six story white stone building with black edging. It looked very calm, sophisticated and how Sam liked to act.
This had to be it.
He pulled into the lot and made his way to the front door. It had one of those infuriating new electronic scanner locks on it, with an old call box nestled underneath.
He pressed the button.
It beeped at him for a minute before a tinny voice rang out from the speaker.
"Welcome to the Ivory Palisades. Are you visiting one of our residents?" Dean pressed the button once more to respond.
"Actually, I needed to ask about a former resident. Sam Winchester."
The box was silent a long moment, likely looking up the records.
"Who is requesting the information?"
"His brother, Dean Winchester."
"Alright, he's listed you as an authorized visitor. Please make your way to the front office."
There was an electronic buzz and a click. Dean pulled at the door, which swung open on well-oiled hinges.
He strode in the building, somewhat surprised by the understated interior. Warm wooden furniture, iron and brass statues and decoration, earth-toned rugs. Not all pretentious like the name would imply.
There was a short Italian man standing at an open door down the hall, he gestured for Dean to follow. The Winchester shrugged and complied.
"Tea or coffee?" The Italian asked when Dean entered. "And please, sit." He motioned to the comfy-looking armchairs in the corner.
"Uh, coffee, please." He sat. The chair was even comfier than it looked.
The Italian finally made his way over the the other chair, two porcelain mug in his hands, steam rising off them both.
"I'm Richard Marisso." He offered a hand, which Dean shook. "I'm pretty sure I know why you're here."
"Yeah?"
"Well, don't worry, I didn't sell his stuff." The man took a sip of his drink. "It's all packed up and ready for shipment if you want it."
Dean took a long drink and thought up a response.
"Why'd you keep it? I thought Sam ran out and told you to sell everything?"
Richard gave him a considering look. "Can I be honest?" At Dean's careful nod, he continued. "I didn't like the look in his eyes."
"What do you mean?"
"He was- what's the word- manic. Rushing about, stumbling over words, in a tizzy. I've been his land lord for two years, and I've never seen him like that before." He took another sip. "After what happened, I don't blame him, but when he came to me like that, I thought he was on something. I thought after a few days he'd come back or I'd get word he wasn't. Neither happened. So I packed it up and waited for a relative" he gestured to Dean "to come by and collect his stuff. So, you got someplace you want me to send it?" The man had a form and a pen at the ready.
"Uh..." He thought quickly. "2194 Wallace Lane, Sioux Falls, South Dakota."
"Sue is spelled...?"
"S-I-O-U-X."
"Alright." Richard stuck the form into a folder and shoved it onto his desk. "Anything else I can help you with today?"
"Uh, no, thanks." He stood up, a good foot higher than the Italian, and shook his hand.
"No problem. If you find him, tell him I'd be willing to offer him another of my apartments."
Well. Not a whole lot of help. A shipment of Sam's stuff headed for Bobby's, two rituals to perform, and no locations to work from.
He sighed burying his head in his hands.
Why did his little brother, family in general really, have to be so goddamn complicated. Both men go missing at roughly the same time leaving him holding the bag. And this news about Sam's odd behavior, he didn't like it. If Sam really was 'on something,' then Dean would wager it was a magic or curse of some kind. The younger Winchester had tried recreational drugs twice before, once with a friend from school and once with Dean while Dad was on a hunt. He hadn't like it either time. Hell, the boy barely tolerated alcohol, not liking the 'fuzziness' his brain got when he drank too much.
The nerd.
But the problems still stood. Who did he go to when he needed help, information, and/or resources? Well, when neither Dad or Sam were available.
Bobby fucking Singer.
Conveniently, that was where his subconscious had already sent Sam's stuff, so killing two birds with one stone. He liked it when things worked conveniently that way.
He sighed as he started his engine. It was a few days drive to Bobby's. Hopefully he made it there before Sam's stuff.
Either way, Bobby'd be pissed.
