THE LEGEND OF BLACK AGNES

Chapters: 8 chapters + an epilogue (15'000+ words)
Type: drama, angst, adventure, supernatural and some good old mullet rock
Rating: PG 13
Main characters: Dean, Sam
Timeline: Set after Born Under a Bad Sign
Summary: In traditional Winchester demeanour Dean pushed aside, what happened when Sam had gotten possessed and moved on to the next hunt. In Baltimore the brothers try to solve the mysterious death of a young sorority girl, but end up endangering their lives when they overlook some details on what they thought would just be a simple salt'n'burn…
Beta Reader: Shelby (who gets my eternal gratitude for it, thanks girl)
Disclaimer: Don't own the show, don't own the boys (sadly).
Note: This story is based on the legend of Black Agnes. However I've taken quite a few liberties with it, so it would fit my story.
Written: April – May 2007


CHAPTER I : A Deafening Silence

"On a long and lonely highway east of Omaha
You can listen to the engine, moaning out as one long song
You can think about the woman, or the girl you knew the night before
But your thoughts will soon be wandering the way they always do
When you're riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do
You don't feel much like travelin', you just wish the trip was through."
Turn the Page – Metallica

°°°

Little time had passed since the incident. They had both fully recovered and all that was left were scars. One for Sam's arm and one for Dean's shoulder. Both were discreet, quiet, but would always be there, like a permanent reminder of what had happened and what might have happened.

They hadn't spoken much about it afterwards. What was there to say anyway? It hadn't been Sam; the kid was possessed, deprived of his will, so Dean held no grudges, or so he said. Bobby had bid them farewell a week ago. Told them to call him anytime; told them to be extra careful and to watch each other's back.

And now they sat in the car in silence; Sam may have looked calm and serene but the turmoil inside is head was unprecedented. Flashes of what had happened during that week kept coming back. Haunting him, a warning for what he would become. He couldn't help thinking about the hunter who had died of his hands and unconsciously that same hand wandered through his pocket, his fingers patting a now familiar object. It was a clean folded piece of paper covered in neat handwritten words of love. The letter he had found at Wandell's. Sam had read it over and over again, the lump in his throat growing bigger and bigger each time. He knew all too well the pain that came with the loss of a parent, it was the worst of all, and now he had put it upon the little Wandell girl.
He fought back the tears that made way to his eyes, his fingers still brushing the sheet of paper.

The demon they had known as Meg had only sought revenge. It was all it was. No master plan, no higher purpose; just an unconditional need of vengeance. There had been no preparation, no clear pattern and yet she had managed to make Sam kill a man, torture a friend, and hurt his brother. The next thought sent shivers through his spine while fear settled in his heart. Meg was like an armless girl compared to The Demon. He was more powerful and he had a plan; a plan that had been written many years ago and to which Sam was one of the main characters. He was like a pawn on a chessboard, pushed by an expert's fingers on an ever darker path.
The war had already begun and they were slowly but surely drawing closer and closer to the end, Sam could feel it. The final fight in which he'd have to take a side would soon be held and the young man was afraid to be standing on the wrong side when the time comes. His heart constricted in his chest when his thoughts drifted back to his brother and the side he would be standing on.

His thoughts drifted back to the old warehouse they had been in. Some words echoing in his ears, random parts of what seemed like a conversation. In a heart beat he finds himself on the deck, a gun in his hand, watching motionlessly his brother falling over the edge, a pained look on his face. Dean… oh god, Dean! He had shot his brother; the one and only person who meant the world to him and he had shot him!
This time he couldn't help a silent tear to trace a wet path on his left cheek.
After all Dean had done for him, all the efforts and the sacrifices, this was how he was repaying him. A second tear mirrored its sister on his right cheek and it was hard for him to hold back the sob that came with.

Sam let his head rest against the Impala's window; the cold glass making his headache momentary hurt less. His gaze was on the scenery but he wasn't paying any real attention. He had tried to apologize to Dean for what happened but he had cut him off every time. And ever since, he'd been real quiet and that bugged Sam to no end. The younger only wanted to talk. He wanted to get the facts straight, wanted to apologize, wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to pretend nothing had happen, wanted to run, wanted to die. But he sat there, motionless in a deafening silence that was slowly suffocating him.

Dean tried to let his thoughts drift away, not wanting to think back on the freshly reopened wounds. Not wanting to think of the new memories that had awoken hastily buried fears. Behind the wheel of his precious Impala, he felt like he was where he belonged. In his one true shelter, his solely reassurance, he turned the volume a little louder, hoping that Zeppelin would be enough to silence everything else. Of course things never go the way you want them to, now do they? Plant was singing 'Friends' and the lyrics unleashed the flood of memories that Dean had tried so hard to block out. He tightened his grasp on the wheel as a gun shot resounded in his ears while pain radiated from his shoulder.

Minutes before he had thought that he was just where he ought to be, but now the only thing that he wanted was to get out the car, to run away in the night and forget. But again, things never go the way you want them to.

°°°

When Dean's world dangerously blurred, he figured it was maybe time to call it a night and he parked in front of the first Motel he found. He was out of the car before Sam even had the time to turn over and propose to go checking them in.

The eldest Winchester returned a few minutes later, keys in hand. They made way to the room, which would be theirs for the night, in silence.

It was old and the furnitures was tattered and ragged. Dean shrugged as he sat on the first bed, it wasn't worse than usual and at least the smell was faint. Sam mimicked him and started to take some of his cloth off, but he was out in a heart beat. Sleep won him over before he even had the time to properly undress. He fell in a dark oblivion where images danced in front of his eyes, set to a psychedelic melody only he could hear.

Dean relaxed a little when he heard his brother's breath even. He had been afraid that he would have had to go through another one of Sam's attempt of an apology. More mumbled words, barely coherent and a sad puppy-dog's eye look pleading for forgiveness. He thanked Mr. Sandman for the break he'd cut him, for he wasn't sure if he'd have had the strength to hold it all together one more time.

He dragged himself to the bathroom, quickly undressed and stepped in the shower. The water was lukewarm at best but he didn't even notice. He watched as the droplets washed away the stain from his limps, he sighed when he felt his muscles relax under the massaging liquid and wondered why it couldn't do something for his pain as well.

He didn't have the energy to fight anymore so he let the memories assault him – cascading into each other, one fucking memory after the other – piercing through his already bleeding heart. Images danced between his eyes: Sam, his beloved brother, slowly handing him the gun while his watery brown eyes were pleading him to take his life. His knees gave way under him and he sank to the tub's white ceramic floor, hugging his knees close to his chest. Sam standing on the bridge, smiling as he pressed the trigger. He let his tears melt with the droplets, cursing whoever there was to curse for the fucked up lives he and his brother had. Sam looking up at him with his five years old face, asking him if Dean would always be there to protect him.

°°°

Dean awoke when the first ray of light passed through the window. He turned his back to the door and gazed at a still very asleep Sam. The gesture was automatic, done unconsciously like a reflex. Checking on Sam had always been the first thing he did after waking up. Once he was assured that everything was ok, he got up and got dressed.

He scribed down a quick note, to let Sam know he'd gone out to get breakfast in case he'd wake up while he was gone, before leaving the room. He wondered what this new day would be like. Surely enough Sam would want to talk about what had happen while he really didn't want too.
He shook his head, realising he had to find something to divert his thoughts; a regular hunt to help him getting his bearings back; an easy job to help pretending things were back to normal.

Sam was still asleep when he came back, his arms in an awkward fashion on the folded sheets. What Mr. Sandman had brought to the young man was no fitful sleep but this wasn't really unexpected
Dean sat on the table and lit up his brother's laptop. He went online and started to look through the local newspaper, expanding his search wider until he spotted what could be their next hunt.

A soft moan announced him that his brother was slowly coming around. He waited for him to stir, sigh and then sit as he always did.

"Breakfast's on the table," Dean matter-of-factly said without adverting his gaze from the computer.

He caught a glimpse of Sam's hand reaching for the coffee on his right a few minutes later. Without looking up he could feel his eyes boring through him. The guy was probably frowning, wondering how to phrase his thoughts. Dean beat him to it and quickly stood, facing his brother, speaking in a low, controlled tone.

"Sammy, please, if you apologize once more, I'm gonna hit you, until you see things straight again. You were possessed, it wasn't you," Sam was about to retort something but Dean spoke again, a little louder this time. "I don't want to talk about it again. Ever. It wasn't you Sam. It. Wasn't. Your. Fault." Dean enunciated each word clearly, hoping that his brother would get the message this time.

'Yes it was,' Sam thought but he said nothing and nodded, he couldn't make things better, and he couldn't help Dean. At least he could cut his brother a break and leave him alone if that was what the older wanted.

°°°

After the light breakfast the brothers, once again, hit the road. They weren't very far from their destination anymore and should probably get there in the afternoon, depending on the traffic.
Zeppelin had been cast back to the glove compartment, only to be replaced by Sabbath's Paranoid. Sam sighed for what had to be the hundredth time when Ozzy started chanting about fairies. 'Yep, the guy really is nuts'.

Sam was about to sigh again when his world blurred on the edges. It's funny how sometimes memories resurface. Images settling themselves in your mind, unstoppable long forgotten thoughts, fighting their way in, when you only want them to get out.

Sam tried to find out what had trigged this flow of memories but already the scenery was changing. The deafening music faded away and was replaced by a cold wind blowing against windows. The light dimmed and Sam found himself standing in the corner of an hotel room, watching his younger self turning and tossing in bed, shaken by a violent dream. Sam walked closer to the bed and noticed that Dean was slowly waking up. The sixteen years old tean stirred and opened his eyes, slowly taking in his surroundings and turning over to his brother's bed. When he realised what was going on, he tossed over the covers and was by Sammy' side in the blink of an eye. He put his hand on his baby brother's shoulder, shaking him slowly and softly asking him to wake up. The younger Sam woke up with a start and sat up straight, confused and afraid. 'Dean' he tried to call out, but it came out as a mere murmur almost covered by the sound of the wind batting hard against the windows. 'I'm right here kiddo, I'm right here,' came the strong yet soft reply. And Sam watched as his younger self slowly turned over to Dean and then buried himself in the elder's chest, small hands clutching his shirt, tears running free on his cheeks. Dean held him tight, slowly rocking them both and murmuring reassuring words. Without loosening his grip on his brother, Sammy slowly went back to sleep and Dean laid them both down, steadily manoeuvring them under the blankets. Sam felt his eyes grow damp as he watched Dean stroke his younger self's hair softly and place a soft kiss on his forehead before closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep.

The scenery blurred again and he found himself back in the Impala, gazing outside the window. He quickly stole a glance at his brother who was looking at the road, tapping his fingers on the wheel to the sound of AC/DC.

The memory however fresh in his mind seemed at the same time very distant and it felt all too bittersweet to him. Through the years Dean had changed and so had he. Life had been hard on them and the way they lived their lives was not helping.
Mom, Jess, and now Dad; they had taken every blow in full force but were still standing, forcing themselves to smile, pretending everything was ok. After all, they were Winchesters and nothing could hold them down, right?

'Yeah right, but at what cost,' Sam bitterly thought.

Dean slowed down as they entered Baltimore, Maryland. He kept driving until the city's precinct and parked in front of the morgue. He turned the engine off and reached for the glove compartment to get himself and Sam some fake IDs.

Agent Ford and Hamill exited the car without exchanging a word and started towards the entrance door. Sam clenched his teeth hard; quiet had become a habit lately. There were no-more sarcasm and teasing, and Sam would never have thought missing it would hurt so much.

The doctor looked up from his paperwork as he heard the door open. He frowned as the two men who'd just entered held out their badges. Damn he had already enough problems as it was. No need for these federal cowboys to pick their noses in his stuff. He gave them his best fake smile as he asked over-politely what he could to for them.

"Sheila Davies" The tallest man who had identified himself as Agent Hamill started. "Female, twenty-three, was brought in three nights ago,"

"What about her?" The doctor cautiously asked.

"We'd like to see her." Hamill's colleague replied with a smirk.

°°°

TBC

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