Disclaimer—Recognizable characters belong to Eric Kripke. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Author's Notes—This has been a long time in coming... and I hope it actually comes together this time as opposed to the 12 other times I've attempted this sequel. Follows Ramble On. Many thanks to PenKnight for long nights and plot bouncing.
Spoilers—Pilot, late first season, mid-late second season. Takes place immediately following Folsom Prison Blues, before What Is and What Should Never Be.
Feedback—Always greatly appreciated.
The War Between the States—On the run from the FBI, the Winchester boys think they've found a safe haven and perhaps a reprieve from work until, that is, they find themselves at the center of a troubling possession--their own.
Then...
Dean meets and befriends Darcy Ryan, a worker at the New Orleans City Morgue, who helps him battle Opal Moon, an undead voodoo priestess.
Now...
She was the only one in the building--exactly the way she preferred it. It was late, but she didn't have much longer to go. She ran her fingers through her dark hair, watching as the digital clock on the display in front of her flickered from 10:47 to 10:48. Less than an hour and fifteen minutes now. She could handle that.
Leaning back in her chair, she let her eyes close for a moment, though not for long. Something seemed to be just out of reach, right at the edge of her senses, something… familiar. Something sweet… Something she couldn't quite put her finger on... or could she?
Someone, she realized.
The thoughts came to her suddenly, unbidden, filling her mind: a close call, a harrowing experience; a new friend, old enemies...
But, would he remember an old friend? Could he still remember her?
Immediately getting to her feet, she poked through a stack of hard plastic cases lining shelves along the back wall, she selected a CD with a smile, before sliding it into the empty player and finding the right track. Easing back into her chair, she waited until the song playing started to end, and leaned forward, flipping a switch as she pulled the microphone closer to her. "You're listening to WXMT FM, Eclectic Rock on your Radio, broadcasting live from high atop Pine Ridge." Her voice was warm, sultry in the cool, spring evening air. "This next song is for someone special, a blast from my past... This is for you, Dean Winchester."
It was suddenly silent, save for the radio, in the '67 Impala as he maneuvered along the curvy, hilly Tennessee highway, heading east, out of the dodge they'd just left in Arkansas. He blinked. No way. It couldn't be... could it? Occasionally, sure, he wondered how she was doing, but he figured, like the hundred of others who'd breezed into and right back out of his life, that he'd never see her again.
His brother, riding shotgun, looked at him expectantly. "Dean..."
"Mm?" he managed, a slight smile coming to his lips as he realized the band now rocking out over the airwaves was Metallica. She'd remembered, after, what, almost two years?
"There anything you want to tell me?"
"Uh..."
"Please tell me you didn't really revert to a caveman and can speak coherently in more than just 'mms' and 'uhs.'" Sam was not really liking the whole idea of mentioning his brother's name on the radio. He was a fugitive after all; they both were.
"Last I knew, she was still in New Orleans."
"Dean... who?"
"Darcy," he said, a slight smile forming on his lips.
"You realize she just gave away our position, right?"
Dean glanced over, rolling his eyes. "C'mon. 'Eclectic Rock on your Radio'? Like our friend Agent Henricksen is going to be tuning in to a small-town radio station in, best I can tell, the middle of nowhere."
"Maybe not him, no, but maybe... Maybe some local yokel has seen the most-wanted list with our names attached and just contacted the nearest FBI field office," said Sam, unable to keep the ire out of his voice.
"Even if that were so... I'd say the safest place we can be right now is at that radio station," he said, pointing at the dial on the dash.
"You'd say that's the safest place? I'd say the safest place is as far away from Arkansas as we can get before sunup!"
"Sammy, relax. Stopping in to say hi for five minutes won't hurt. If you want, you can take the Impala, get us some grub, and pick me back up and we'll be back on the road before you know it."
"Who's this girl, Dean? Some other conquest?"
"No."
He answered just a little too quickly for Sam's liking. "Dude, c'mon..."
"She's not 'some other' conquest. She was never…" He paused. "Conquested."
"But, you wouldn't mind..."
Thinking thoughts like that would've gotten him into serious trouble back in New Orleans. "Sammy, she's a good girl. She helped me out. I just want to say hey."
The younger Winchester sighed heavily.
"Five, ten minutes max. You might even like her."
"Ten minutes. I'm holding you to it."
Dean grinned as he slowly cruised through downtown, since the deserted highway had turned into Main Street. He glanced around, unsure of where the radio station was. He was about to decide to try to call the station, provided they could find the number, when her voice came back on the radio, over the end of the Metallica track. "Turn left, up ahead on the right…"
Sam looked quizzically at Dean, who merely followed the directions.
The radio station was housed in a brick building, with the call letters spelled out in crisp white along the side. The parking lot itself was completely empty, but the lights shone warmly through the windows. By the time they started climbing out of the Impala, Darcy Ryan, the nighttime disk jockey, was at the front door, holding it open.
She wasn't quite what Sam had expected, not that he had been able to form much of an opinion from the little information Dean had given on the drive over. She was shorter than he'd figured, but still a pretty brunette, though perhaps not what he figured Dean thought of as conventionally attractive which might've explained the lack of "conquest."
Darcy glanced over at Sam as they neared the steps leading up to the door. It was, by no means, a casual look. She was quickly distracted, though, by the hug Dean suddenly wrapped her up in. "Hey," she said, laughing as she realized her feet were no longer touching the floor.
"How've you been?" he asked, setting her back on the ground.
"Much better, as you can see," she said, remembering well the last time he probably saw her, asleep in a hospital bed. She could also see he had one hell of a shiner. "What happened to you?" she asked, reaching up with gentle fingers to touch the left side of his face, which was bruised and swollen.
"Occupational hazard," he said, consciously making an effort to keep his thoughts in check as she touched him. His heart, however, beat a little faster.
"You need some ice?"
"Nah," he said, shaking his head. He cleared his throat a little, moving on. "You left New Orleans."
She shrugged as she slowly pulled back. "It was time to move on. Too much big city noise. Who's your friend?" she asked, again glancing at Sam.
"This is my brother Sam. Sammy, Darcy."
Sam held his hand out politely. "It's nice to meet you."
Darcy took it. "Likewise, I'm sure. Sammy... Dean... Your dad wasn't Frank, was he?" she asked, looking back up at Dean.
He shook his head. "John..."
"Just checking." She smiled. "Come on in," she said, entering into the station's lobby. It was somewhat cozy, with a desk in the center, a couple guest chairs lining the wall, some plants. There were two control rooms, one opposite the front door, the other to the right of the entrance, both clearly visible through large picture windows.
'I didn't realize the Rat Pack qualified as eclectic rock.' Sam slid his hands into his jeans pockets as he glanced around. "So, how do you know Dean? I don't think I've ever heard him mention you before."
"I don't expect he would. It was a long time ago now," she said, glancing up at Dean. He'd grown up; perhaps they both had. "He spent some time in New Orleans, crashed at my place."
"That voodoo thing I told you about, before I came to get you in California..." Dean supplemented.
"So, she's been hunting," Sam said. That made some sense, he decided.
She was standing right there, and he was going to talk about her, around her? She frowned, annoyed. "I guess I have."
Sam's thoughts, however, continued. 'That makes a lot of sense, actually, why he was never with Jo, either. Female hunters just aren't Dean's speed. He prefers to be with the ones that have never fought the ghosts and goblins we fight. Like Hollywood starlets.' He tried not to wince, thinking about a rocking trailer.
Darcy cleared her throat. "I, um, gotta check on the music, but can you stay, Dean?" she asked, looking up at him.
Before Sam could insist on their brief time limit, Dean said: "You bet."
She smiled, heading into the control room.
"Ten minutes, remember?" Sam whispered, glancing at her as she eased down behind the microphone.
He sighed. "C'mon, Sammy; we just got here."
"And we've got to get moving before the FBI catches up to us. I'm sure if you told her, she'd understand. You can get her phone number if you want to catch up that badly."
"Even if we were to run, eventually they'd catch up to us."
"Eventually is not now, Dean, not mere hours after we left lock-up in Little Rock."
"And I told you before, but you forgot... that this," he said, gesturing to the station around them, "is the safest place we could be right now."
"You never explained as to why that was."
"Because of her," he said, glancing back up at Darcy, who winked at him as she continued to talk on the air.
"My head seriously hurts right now." Sam rubbed absently at his forehead.
"She's special, Sammy."
Sam looked up at Dean, praying he'd continue without being prompted again.
"She can read thoughts. That's what she was talking about: city noise. This place is a one horse town, if that."
Sam exhaled slowly, instantly in work-mode. "What about her mom?"
"Alive and kicking, or was almost two years ago when she decided to be a royal bitch and not come down to the hospital when Darcy was comatose..."
"What?"
"Long story," Dean admitted. "Long story short... Darcy's been estranged from her family since she was a teenager."
"She wasn't adopted? I mean, she could be one of us... one of the people like me," Sam said urgently.
"Perhaps you've forgotten: we only figured this stuff out about you fairly recently. I haven't seen or talked to Darcy since then and didn't really think about the fact that she might be in the same boat."
Sam glanced over his shoulder at her, as she pushed the mic away from her face.
"So, do you want to leave now, try to outrun the G-men without the benefits of a psychic... or stick around, see if Darcy's part of the yellow-eyed demon's plans and depend on her FBI radar...?"
Sam looked back at Dean, sighing heavily.
"Staying put it is," he said, grinning widely.
"I'm not sure which of your plans is worse… intentionally getting arrested... or intentionally abandoning our escape plan."
Dean chose to ignore his brother's snarky comments and made his way quietly into the control room, where Darcy was programming up the next music selections. "So..."
She glanced over at him. "Is he always so quick to judge?"
"Sammy?"
She nodded.
"Sometimes. We both can be, though, y'know. I'm sure it's in the genes somewhere."
She could tell he was trying to diffuse the situation, and she chose to let it go. There were more important things than to worry about Sam's initial reaction to her. Like the fact that she was face to face with the one person who understood her again. "It's good to see you. I wasn't sure our paths would ever cross again."
"I'm glad they did," he admitted.
She smiled. "So... what's up with the FBI?" she asked. "I didn't catch all of what your brother was thinking – he thinks fast."
"If you were to hear the thoughts of a pissed-off law enforcement agent... would you let us know?"
"Sure."
"The Feds pegged two murders on me, and a couple other nasty, not-as-headline grabbing crimes on me and Sam. The murders, I didn't do. Grave desecration, well, maybe they have a case there… They caught up to us in Arkansas but we've got a bit of a head start."
"If you need to go, Dean, I don't want to be the reason you guys get busted."
"We actually might need to talk to you, get some more information, see if you're... special like Sammy."
She looked at him quizzically.
"It'll take a while to explain," he said, momentarily flashing on his childhood home burning, taking Sam out of their house at his father's order...
She closed her eyes tightly, wincing. She'd remembered that from before, from when he stayed with her in her New Orleans apartment, how his thoughts – so intense, so vibrant – had pulled her from her sleep. They were just as strong today. She eased down in her chair. "I've got the time if you do."
Dean motioned through the picture window for Sam to join them, before taking the co-anchor's chair beside Darcy. Sam pulled a chair from the lobby to sit with them.
"We've determined that there are certain people with certain abilities," Dean began slowly. "Sam can see the future, sometimes. He can't really control it; it just happens. When Sam turned six months old, our mother was killed... by what we now know is a yellow-eyed demon bastard. Dad spent the rest of his entire adult life hunting things, trying to find what killed Mom."
She didn't have to ask if they ever found it. Sam was thinking about their last encounter with the demon, the encounter that put both Dean and John in the hospital, and where John's life ended.
"This sick demon definitely has a pattern, where bad things happen when you're six months old," Dean continued.
Darcy shook her head, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. "No trauma. Nothing like that, not then."
"Your mom, that's your real mom, not an adoptive mom, not a step-mom...? There wasn't a surrogate or anything?" asked Sam.
"Yeah. No. I mean, if she wasn't my mom, I think I'd have heard something."
Sam frowned. "How long have you had this ability?"
"Since I was a kid. It was all just… noise. I couldn't really make it out, couldn't focus, couldn't determine who was saying what, just... a jumble of voices, all talking over each other. I used to get horrible headaches. I went to specialists for years. They put me on something that seemed to make it all go away. I couldn't tell you now what it was – migraine medicine maybe – but it worked great, except for my sister's thoughts. I don't know why, but I always knew what she was thinking. She... accepted the fact, thought it was kinda cool. We had a lot of inside jokes. We were really close. Really close."
Sam intuitively picked up on the past tense. "Were?"
"When I was seventeen, the medicine stopped working. Sheila, my sister, was at Georgetown University, a junior. One night, I was home, studying for a test and all, of the sudden, I could hear her thoughts, clearly, screaming at me, as if she were in the room with me. That had never happened before." Darcy's face contorted in pain, retelling the story she'd never told, not since that night. Never talking about it, she never got past it. The pain was just as hurtful as it was all those years ago. "I'd never felt her, heard her thoughts from so far away before..."
Dean reached out, hesitantly placing a hand on hers and squeezing encouragingly.
"I ran out of my room, told my parents something was wrong with her, but they didn't believe me... not until the police came knocking at our door two hours later, saying she'd been killed in a car accident." She laughed a little. "In Pennsylvania. We were in suburban D.C., in Virginia. Mom was furious with me, told me not to speak one word about what had happened because obviously I was mistaken and that story didn't need repeating. But I knew what she was thinking: I was a freak, something was wrong with me, something was... horrifically wrong."
"Nothing's wrong with you, Darcy," Dean told her gently.
"The medicine never worked again after that night," she told him. "It was like... losing my sister, my best friend shook something lose in my head. I almost overdosed on that medicine trying to make my parents' thoughts stop. It didn't just work, nothing did."
Sam frowned: what if Darcy's sister was special, too? But, no, Dean wasn't special, not as far as he could tell. Nothing seemed to indicate he was anything out of the ordinary, excepting of course his day (and night) job. Darcy'd had her power so long and Sam had only discovered his about a year ago. He wondered how far her hearing normally reached. Did it normally extend past state boarders now?
"No," Darcy said, looking over at Sam.
He blinked. "I haven't said anything."
"What were you thinking, Sammy?" Dean asked.
"Just... your range," he said, looking at Darcy. "If you heard your sister from states away, if you heard Dean's thoughts once we entered the county... how far does it normally reach?"
"The closer someone is, the louder their thoughts are," she said.
"Are we talking proximity... or intensiveness of friendship?" Sam asked, trying to keep his thoughts from venturing down whether or not Dean had been truthful with him as to the actual nature of their relationship.
Darcy narrowed her green eyes slightly. "Proximity, generally speaking. I don't know how I heard Dean from so far away," she said, glancing back at the Winchester sitting beside her.
"We only spent about two weeks together, and most of that time, she was in intensive care in a coma," Dean said, looking again at his younger brother. "Voodoo-induced, but, y'know... "
Sam frowned. "We can check weather history for around the time she turned six months old... check the newspaper archives..."
Dean nodded, then turned and smiled at Darcy. "You wouldn't happen to have a place we could crash, would you? Y'know, give our credit cards a break from seedy hotels, less things for the Feds to sniff..."
She laughed softly, remembering well how they met... with her working the late shift, with him needing some place to stay. "You bet," she said with a nod.
He grinned broadly.
"In fact..." She looked at the clock along the side wall. "My shift ends in about a little under an hour."
Dean nodded. "Plenty of time to get a head start, huh, Sammy?"
He slowly got to his feet. "I'll go get the laptop."
The Road Ahead...
"Dean, you said yourself you didn't know this girl very well, you didn't spend that much time with her awake..."
"We both might've died in New Orleans if we hadn't worked together. I trust her and so should you."
"No offense, but sometimes your opinion of girls and their opinion of you tend to differ..."