Chapter 1: Sighting.
It still felt strange driving the impala...It felt strange hearing his own music instead of Dean's ragged cassette tapes playing over and over and over. It felt strange never sitting in the passenger seat, having to take the wheel again and again, despite how exhausted he was, how hurt after a hunt he might be. He'd never get used to having the empty space beside him...to have the car so unbearably quiet all the time unless he drowned it out with the soft tones of his ipod that made him forget, for one moment, the raging rock metal he'd grown up with.
But, Dean was dead...and it was becoming harder and harder to believe that there was any way to bring him back. Sam had tracked down demons, witches, and other denizens of the dark. He had laid his soul bare time and time again, making it clear that he was prepared to bargain, prepared to do anything to bring his brother back, in any form he could. The longer time went on, the more desperate he became, until he found himself dealing with voodoo priests and necromancers.
None of the deals went through though...
But Sam kept trying.
He also kept hunting. Every case could possibly unveil a new lead that would bring him closer to Dean. So Sam researched, and he killed monsters, and he cut and hacked his way through the dark underbelly of the world, shedding everything in his desperate search. He ran until he was ragged, sleeping in the back of the impala, more often than not.
It was the life he never wanted, but it was the life he got...Dean would have handled it better than he. It was lonely and empty, every dead end shredding his soul to pieces. Nothing worked...but Sam didn't know what else to do.
It was just another place he was passing through, a small mining town nestled in Pennsylvania, surrounded by trees and endless wilderness. Sam had driven up to the closest bar he could find, sat down at a table, and started researching. Surrounded in piles of papers, cold beer sitting untouched, Sam flipped through a few articles, scanning over them. Shootings, stabbings, all normal, mundane deaths. No cattle mutilations, no bizarre occurrences. Sam sighed, shoving them all aside. He was tired though. Maybe he'd spend the night in town, instead of ploughing ahead. It wasn't like he had a destination. It wasn't like he had a hunt to get to. And he was tired...so tired...of everything.
The bar was decorated in faded paper hearts and red streamers. There were a few cardboard cherubs shooting bent arrows all around, a few paper lanterns that had seen better days. Sam had almost forgotten about Valentines day...not that it really mattered. He didn't have anyone to celebrate it with, and he wasn't going to look around for some paid company. It was just going to be another day like any other.
Taking a swig of his beer, Sam shoved all of his dead-end research into his bag, and continued to sulk, eyes staring fixedly at one of the paper hearts on the wall.
He had seen Dean's heart ripped open by the teeth of an invisible beast. He had seen the blood gushing from the damaged, struggling muscle as it tried to keep beating...but eventually lost. Hearts didn't really look all perfect like that. They were ugly, fleshy things, sickening to look at in pictures, even worse to see up close. They were not romantic. They were not beautiful.
He felt like tearing his own from his chest.
"Glad you share my sentiments." A man slurred, sliding onto the stool next to Sam at the bar, half-empty beer clutched in his hand. "Valentines day is a damn joke."
Sam quickly scrutinized the stranger, taking in his scruffy face and dirty clothes. He looked like any other small-town citizen, nothing special, not a monster or a mastermind...but, if there was one thing that Sam had learned during his life, it was not to trust outward appearances. The man could be anything...but, he could also be a source of useful information. It was like playing with fire. Sam relied on others for facts and leads, but that precious information could so easily be misleading.
"I just think the holiday's overrated." Sam said, deciding to see what the man knew. He seemed harmless enough, just an old, jaded guy slumming his evening in a bar. Hopefully, he would stay that way.
The man scoffed, finishing rest of his beer in one long pull.
"It's like no one even remembers what happened...not even ten years ago! They just continue on buying their little candy hearts, and their cards and shit, when they should be mourning."
"Mourning?" Sam asked, his interest piqued. "Why should they be mourning?"
The man chuckled darkly-a hollow, bitter sound-and tapped his beer bottle on the counter, signaling for a new one.
"You're not from around here, are ya?"
Sam shook his head.
"At least you have an excuse." The man scoffed. "There was a fucking massacre, right on Valentines day, right down the road from here. Harry Warden slaughtered every soul in that hospital, and then all them damn kids in that mine. How the hell could they forget that? Dumb shits."
"Did they ever find out why he did it?"
"There was an accident at the local mine where Henry worked. He and five others were trapped down there for days, and when help finally got to them, the only one left alive was Henry. He'd slaughtered the others so he could live, so he wouldn't run out of air. But, he was in a coma by the time they found him. The doctors didn't think that he'd ever wake up."
"But he did."
The stranger nodded, suddenly much quieter.
"He'd lost it down there...and when he woke up, he wasn't the Henry we all knew. The cops shot him, in the end...but he'd killed so many before that. I just don't know how people could just forget it in favor of this damn holiday."
Was it a hunt? Sam wasn't sure. The man was quiet after that, useless for more information, trying to drink away the memories of that fateful valentines night. Sam bought him another beer, before gathering his things, heading out to the parking lot.
Harry Warden had all the makings of a vengeful spirit, and with Valentines day so close, Sam wondered if he should stay until then, to make sure that nothing happened. He'd be no closer to saving Dean, but if he left, and something happened, he'd never forgive himself.
The least he could do was spend the night, and conduct some of his own research in the morning. His mind set, Sam climbed into the impala, and headed out to find someplace to spend the night.
The Thunderbird motel was just another shady joint in the middle of nowhere, a common hangout for people who wanted something other than a good night's rest. Sam had spent his childhood in such places, secreted away while his father went off to hunt. He was used to the seedy atmosphere, being asked to pay by the hour.
Strangely enough, this motel was owned by a talkative woman (who barely came up to his knees). She took his money, and handed him the key to his room. Sam thanked her, patted her French bulldog on the head, and went off in search of his sleeping quarters.
On the way out, he passed a gruff, bald man slinking into one of the rooms. Sam ignored him, and quickly located is own room dragging his lone duffle bag inside.
A commotion in the room next door woke Sam from his light sleep. Yelling and arguing had replaced the previous non-threatening sounds of love-making sifting through the thin walls. Immediately, the hunter was alert, hand reaching for the demon knife he kept beneath his pillow. It could be anything...but he had to make sure.
He heard a door slam, and the yelling escalate outside. Cautiously, Sam crept to the window, almost shrinking back in surprise as a woman, completely naked, save for a pair of high-heeled shoes, ran into the parking lot, holding a hand gun, screaming at the man Sam had seen earlier.
Sam drew back from the window, quickly searching for his cellphone. This wasn't supernatural. It was something else entirely, but it looked like it was going to get ugly. He had just dialed 911 when a blood curdling scream echoed through the parking lot. Racing to the window, Sam saw the woman running clumsily back to her room...pursued by a man dressed in an old miner's uniform, wielding a pickaxe.
Henry?
No time to think about it. He had to act.
Dropping his cell phone, Sam grabbed a shotgun filled with salt rounds, and rushed after them only to find the poor woman in her room, trapped against a wall in an upturned bed-frame...
A gaping hole in her abdomen, spurting blood.
And the miner was nowhere to be seen.
Sorry if there are any tyos/glaring errors in this. I've been sitting on the opening forever, but the last bit was giving me trouble (it's still the oddest thing I've written Why does she have to be naked?). Thank you for reading!
