Summary: Sequel to Creepy-Ass Orchard of Death. When Dean and Sara reunite, their plans to relax are disrupted as they find themselves stuck on a haunted ship. Pre-series, no pairings.

Note: Sara Lucian was first introduced in Creepy-Ass Orchard of Death. She is the daughter of an exorcist, Amelia Lucian, and is just about to begin training to become an exorcist herself. She first met Dean the year prior to this story, as told in Creepy-Ass Orchard of Death.

xxx

July 1st, 1999

Grant County, Wisconsin

Amelia Lucian, without getting up from her desk, stretched the kinks out of her back. She was getting too old to spend so long sitting in one place. The thought made her smile; she was only thirty seven, after all, although that was ancient for a Lucian. She'd already beaten her father's record by three years. Sighing, she pulled the map back towards her. This case wasn't going to solve itself, after all.

When the phone rang ten minutes later, she was about to tear her own hair out.

"Caleb, I told you- Oh, sorry, John. Yeah, the damn arms' dealer won't shut up. Couldn't you just do the world a favour and shoot him or something? Well, there must be other places you could get ammo." She held the phone in place with her shoulder and rifled through the papers littering her desk. "Ok, we have unconfirmed sightings of skin-walkers in South Dakota. Bobby Singer's looking for back-up, if you're interested. And a haunted house in Iowa, but I haven't had time to look too closely at that one."

Her gaze fell on the calendar, on the circle around the tenth of July. And then on the sketchy notes, slightly separated from the other piles.

"Well, there is something you could do for me, John. Is that boy of yours around?"

xxx

July 10th, 1999

England

Sara gave her ankle-length black skirt a tug, making sure the hem brushed her feet, and smoothed her blouse down before carefully pulling on her smart jacket.

"So, do I pass inspection?" she asked her best friend, turning around.

Lucy gave her a critical once-over, brushing some invisible specks of dust off Sara's shoulders, before nodding. "You'll do. Are you excited?"

"It's my last day of school. Of course I'm excited." Sara turned back to the mirror. "Hair up or down?"

"Definitely up. So, who's coming to cheer for you today as you collect your awards in the big assembly?"

"Subtle."

Lucy put her on her best innocent face. "What?"

"Who started this round of 'Let's watch out for Sara'?"

"We're just worried about you, Sara. With your mum in America-"

"I know, I know. And I appreciate it, in my own unappreciative way. But, far as I know, no one's coming."

"Well, your friends are proud of you, if nothing else."

Sara smiled. "Yeah, I know."

Both girls jumped as a bell rang throughout the building.

"Damn, we have to go. Where are you meant to be?"

"Back door, sending people round to the front of the hall," Sara replied. "You?"

"Front door, meeting and greeting." Lucy checked her appearance once more time. "Let's go."

xxx

Lucy kept her smile friendly and welcoming, her gaze travelling over almost identical couples, the men in suits, the women in smart dresses, all looking proud and relaxed. All but one. The latest person to come through the doors walked tall, but looked decidedly uncomfortable in his smart trousers and jacket. No tie, Lucy noted, and no cuff links. No crest on the jacket, either. Four older and two younger brothers had taught Lucy that between the tie, the crest, and the cuffs, you could piece together most of who a man was. But that didn't matter at the moment. She knew this man. Or had seen him before, anyway. In a photo that Sara had kept on her desk since January.

"Excuse me," Lucy called, slipping through the crowd.

"Um, hi," he said with an American accent. "I've, uh, I've got an invitation."

"Who cares?" she replied. "You're Sara's friend, right? Dean?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"She talks about you a lot." Lucy frowned slightly. "But Sara never said you were coming."

"Well, she doesn't know. Kinda a surprise." He smiled, and Lucy had to agree with Sara – it was definitely a nice smile. "Know where she is?"

"She's round back."

Dean gave her another nice smile and slipped back out of the hall's double doors.

xxx

Sara had found a step to sit on, but it was a stone step and extremely uncomfortable. This was such a bullshit assignment. Making sure no one tried to enter the hall from the back? All of the parents coming today had been turning up several times a year for the last seven years! They knew the routine as well as Sara knew the reason for her sitting out here. She was fairly well known amongst the parents, and not always for the best things. In the first year, she'd told the best ghost stories. Later, she'd bullied the PE teachers into setting up shooting and fencing classes and personally taught a couple of friends the basics of self-defence. Whilst the fathers tended to laugh and slap her on the back, the mothers tended to worry. And in anything to do with daughters, the mothers held all the power.

Leaning back, enjoying the sun on her face, Sara's eyes started to drift shut, only to snap back open when she heard the crunch of feet on gravel. It would be just her luck for it to be a teacher. She leapt up, tugging the skirt straight again. But the man walking towards her was certainly not a teacher.

Dean was ever so slightly thrown as he approached Sara. He hadn't actually seen her in a year, and the smartly dressed young woman didn't seem to have anything to do with the kid who'd accompanied him into the Creepy-Ass Orchard of Death. And he had to stop calling it that.

"Damn, you clean up well," he said finally.

And then she smiled at him and she was Sara again, and despite his no-chick-flick-moments rule, Dean didn't feel too bad about giving her a hug that lifted her off her feet.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when he put her down again.

"Came to see you in your moment of glory, of course."

"You came all the way across the Atlantic to see my sixth form prize giving?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Your mom called, told me what was going on, and here I am."

"And you didn't even try to wear jeans. I'm very impressed."

Of course, Dean realised as Sara led him back into the hall and they sat down, he stood out here even in his hated smart clothes. The other men wore their suits with a sort of easy confidence while Dean just felt awkward. He'd rather be in his jeans and leather jacket and to hell with what other people thought, but Amelia had made a point of telling him the dress code for these occasions and his father had made sure that Dean would look presentable at the very least before letting him go.

No one had been more surprised than Dean when John Winchester, the King of Emotional Repression, had let him take two weeks off from hunting to come and visit a friend he hadn't physically seen since the first time they met. Not that Dean was complaining. But maybe John understood it all more than he let on. He'd missed Dean's Graduation, through no fault of his own. Wendigos weren't too bothered about family occasions. But all the other kids there had had their families with them, and Dean hadn't missed the looks of pity that concerned mothers had given him. The standard excuse of, Dad had to work nearly got him in trouble on his last ever day of high-school when a father had voiced disapproval, clearly thinking John didn't give a damn about his son, and Dean, clearly thinking the guy was an asshole, nearly decked him.

As Sara found them seats, next to the girl he'd met earlier and who he belatedly realised must be Lucy, and introduced him to Lucy and her parents, Dean noticed the surprised looks people were giving him. It seemed Sara having someone there for her was something of a novelty as well.

"Who cares who he is?" He heard someone say. "The guy is cute."

"You'll have to forgive them," Sara murmured. "So long spent in an all-girls school makes them somewhat easily impressed."

"Play nice, Sara," Lucy said from Sara's left. She hadn't heard what Sara had actually said, but seven years taught you a lot about a person.

"Did a girl just stand up for me?"

"Yep. Don't question, accept. Easier," Sara said, grinning. "Trust me."

That comment earned her a one-handed slap round the back of her head from Lucy.

"Younger brothers?" Dean asked her. He recognised that move – it was one of his specialities.

"Two," Lucy replied and jerked a thumb towards a teenager sitting on her other side. "That's Benjy."

"I prefer Ben," the boy said.

"Of course you do, sweetie."

Dean had spent huge amounts of his childhood sitting in the back of the Impala with Sammy, fighting in the brotherly way which involved a fair dollop of violence but a lot of affection as well. The two brothers had it down to a fine art by the time Dean hit double-figures and most of the time John only knew they were fighting because what else would they be doing? But Lucy and Ben were even better than him and Sammy. Their parents, sitting right next to them didn't even notice and from the waist up, the only parts of them visible in the crowded hall, the two were all angelic smiles and neat appearances.

He was about to ask Lucy for a few tips when a woman who screamed 'schoolteacher' even louder than Amelia Lucian walked up onto the stage at the front of the hall. Dean realised, far, far too late, what was coming next.

Speeches.

xxx

Far too many hours later, Dean loaded the last box of Sara's belongings into the Impala's back seat. There was no way in hell he'd spend nine hours on a flying metal deathtrap and there was only one other way to cross the Atlantic. Amelia had paid for the boat tickets, without asking or even offering, saying that Sara loved the car more than Dean and what was the point of only half the team going to get her? And Sara's reaction to seeing the car had been worth the five days spent on the ship, that was for sure. Explaining to his father that the trip to get Sara could take up to two weeks, as opposed to the couple of days that it could have taken, had been easier than Dean had expected as well. John tolerated Dean's fear of flying, probably glad that his son had some human weaknesses, however ridiculous.

He turned to lean against the car as Sara came out of her boarding house. They had both changed out of their smart clothes, and Sara was looking much more like the kid he'd spent time with last summer in her jeans and t-shirt.

Sara waved to Lucy as she drove past with her family. Mr and Mrs Monette had been surprisingly welcoming, automatically including Dean in their invitation for Sara to stay with them for a few days. It seemed Sara had been adopted, with even Ben seeming sad to see her go.

"So," he said after a moment. "You ready to go?"

She nodded, looking around one last time. "Goodbye, Normality, and good riddance. And I can't believe you brought the car."

He shrugged. "Seemed the thing to do."

"And it's appreciated."

The last time Dean had seen her, Sara fiddled with her hair when she was thinking or feeling awkward. Now she had a new habit: rubbing the scar on her right middle finger against her lower lip. She followed his gaze and grinned at him.

"Yeah, that beauty caused quite a stir with the girls."

"Let me guess," he said. "Mugging gone wrong?"

"Well, I could hardly tell them the truth, now could I?"

"I don't know. Could be quite funny, really."

"It would also get me committed, Dean."

"Which would also be quite funny."

Sara slapped his arm, but she was grinning. "I'll remember that when the men in white coats come for you."

"Oh, I'm on very good terms with them."

"Right. And if I ask you why you came by boat rather than by plane, will you lie to me?"

"Probably. Let's go."

xxx

The Louisiana wasn't a particularly huge ship, carrying around two hundred passengers across the Atlantic at a reasonable price. Dean had already spent five days on it, bored to tears, but as it was either five days of boredom or nine hours of terror, it hadn't been that bad.

Sara leant against the railing and watched England get further and further away as the Louisiana carried her away from her birthplace and on to America. Despite her words to Dean, she would miss some things about her life in England. Not the time spent worrying about her mother and the Atwoods, but the laughing with her friends and the predictability of the days there which had helped her so much when she was still a kid.

Well, she'd just have to make new patterns and habits for herself. Trade the English lessons for ones in cleansings and banishments, swap the gossiping for discussions about weaponry.

No difference at all.

"Am I interrupting?"

Sara glanced sideways at the speaker. A young man, maybe only a few years older than her, leant his elbows on the railing next to her and grinned.

"Nothing important," she replied. "Beside, I could never resist a man in uniform."

The man, dressed as a member of the crew, laughed and offered his hand. "James Pearce."

"Sara Lucian," she said and shook hands.

"So, why is such a delightful woman out here all alone?"

"Hm, an apparently innocent question complete with a compliment, said in a clear tone of voice bordering on the bloody cheeky." Sara raised an eyebrow. "Now, how should I respond?"

"You're meant to giggle coquettishly and blush," James said plaintively.

"Didn't your mother ever warn you about girls who do that?"

"At length. Why do you think I'm so keen to find one?"

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, the only way you could disappoint me would be to say that the chap with the nice car is more than just a friend."

"Ok, that's not cheeky, that's downright impertinent!" Sara said, fighting back a laugh.

"But adorably so, right?"

"You're a charmer. I tend to dislike charmers." Seeing his forlorn expression, she relented slightly. "But then, I am nothing if unpredictable."

James grinned. "I'll have to remember that. If you'll excuse me?"

Sara waved as he left and went back to staring at the ocean waves. England was still easy to see and suddenly the sight of it annoyed Sara. She wanted to just forget about her 'normal' years, to get to work on what she wanted to do. She didn't want her past dangled in front of her like a worm on a hook.

Shaking her head at her own silliness, Sara moved away. Maybe Dean would show her around the Louisiana before supper.

xxx

The next morning, Dean rose as early as he nearly always did. Any of his worries about seeing Sara again had been completely crushed by supper the night before, when she'd shown that her sense of wicked humour was intact. And it certainly hadn't been as awkward as the first time they'd met, when she'd arrived home to find him shirtless and armed.

Once he was dressed, he stuck his head around the connecting door between their two tiny rooms. Sara's bed was empty and neatly made.

He finally found her in the ship's small gym, practicing combat moves on the mat-covered floor. For a few moments, Dean just stood by the door, watching her. He knew from last summer that Sara could shoot well and one of the awards she been given the day before had been for representing her school at fencing, but he'd never seen her fight hand-to-hand.

Dean had leant most of his tricks from his father, some from other hunters and a few from the various scraps and brawls he had gotten into at one point or another. He knew how to fight and how to recognise someone who could fight. Sara had obviously been taught by someone who knew their stuff.

Oh, well. It had to be done, didn't it?

He stepped forward silently and aimed a punch at her head.

Sara ducked, spun and faced him, fists held in front of her. "Good morning to you too," she said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Come on, Sara. We have to fight at least once," he said, grinning.

She hooked one leg around his and yanked, sending him falling to the floor.

"You're right," Sara said, with a smile of her own.

Dean rolled back onto his feet, slightly impressed. But there was no way he was going to lose to a five foot girl. He jabbed forward again. Sara dodged and ducked, never letting him get close enough to use his superior height and strength to force her down.

It was very clear that Sara mostly knew defensive moves. Dean gave her a few openings, mainly to see what she would do, and her reactions were just slightly off. When he grabbed her arm, on the other hand, she half turned, bringing several sensitive areas of his body within striking range of her heel and elbow.

Finally, knowing enough, he waved a hand to call the sparring to a close. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"My games' teacher had a firm belief that every well-bred Englishwoman should know how to kick an attacker's kidneys up through his ears," she replied, rubbing a sore arm.

"Self defence lessons?"

"Yeah, mostly. Adrian taught me a few tricks as well, just in case."

"Well, before we reach the New World, maybe I could show you a few more," Dean offered as they walked out of the gym and back to their rooms. It was lucky they were both such early risers, or they would have to find a decent excuse to explain their little fistfight. And Lord knows that would have been fun.

"Assuming that won't get me on Amelia's blacklist," he added.

"Nah, Mum's kinda given up on that, remember? Besides," Sara said as they reached their doors. "The Atwoods are both still alive and, you know, in one piece."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. Mostly."

xxx

After breakfast, they found a quiet spot on deck. Dean produced a pack of cards from his pocket and started showing Sara card tricks, one eye on the pretty girl sunbathing a short way away. Sara, grinning, didn't comment on the wedding ring the sunbather wore, or when the husband arrived to a passionate embrace.

Sighing, Dean focused on Sara again. She was staring at a point a little over his shoulder. Dean twisted around to see a young man in the Louisiana's uniform offering drinks to several passengers.

"Oh, Sara, Sara," he said, shaking his head.

"What?"

"A sailor?"

"What's wrong with that? You're hardly in a position to judge careers. Besides, at least he isn't married."

"I'm ignoring that. See? This is me, ignoring that."

"Noted."

"Know how to play poker?"

"Not very well."

"Excellent!" He dealt the cards out, ignoring her exasperated expression. "So what was your gran like?"

"Okay, random."

Dean shrugged. "Not really. Just wondering what sort of woman could have a daughter like your mom."

"Gran was..." Sara paused, shifted position slightly. "She wasn't a Lucian by blood, you know, she married into the family. Met my grandfather at seventeen, married him at eighteen and buried him at thirty two."

"She knew about everything?"

They were fairly isolated where they were sitting, but Dean kept an eye on the other passengers near them, just in case.

Sara kept her voice low as she continued. "Oh, yeah. She was a psychic, knew all about the monsters under the bed. Spent a long time teaching my mum about mental resistance and stuff, to help with the exorcisms."

"The whole willpower thing?"

"Yep. Some demons try to meddle with your mind, make you see and do things. So, resistance to ideas, kinda helps."

"And she was a psychic? For real?"

Sara nodded. "She was the genuine article. Good with vibes and echoes and so on."

He frowned. "Echoes?"

"Bad events leave echoes, which bad things sometimes latch onto, to feed from. Or something like that."

"Oh, like poltergeists and sites of past atrocities." Dean had heard that theory before, albeit in slightly different terms. "Hey, I thought that sort of thing was genetic?"

"Yeah, Mum has the Shining. Or a little bit of it, anyway. Her instincts are normally pretty accurate. Really helps with tracking down the possessed host. There are a few theories that that's the reason why she's still alive today."

"What about you?"

Sara shrugged. "Don't know. I have weird hunches, sometimes, but nothing really useful."

"So basically, you're even more of a freak that we thought."

"I'm not a freak, I'm eccentric."

"What's the difference?"

"Better breeding," she answered instantly. "So, what's this I hear about your dad taking down a werewolf?"

xxx

Pulling her hair back from her neck, Sara peered in the mirror, looking for the faintest hint of sunburn. She loved her red hair, but pale skin went with it, often resulting in painful sunburn when she wasn't careful. She seemed to have gotten away with it, though.

Sara reached forward and turned on the tap, letting the water run until it warmed up. As the mirror fogged over, she cupped her hands and threw water over her face.

Opening her eyes again, Sara gasped and leapt back, her back slamming into the opposite wall. On the mirror, written in the mist, was a single word.

Albatross

Sara flung up her hands to shield her face just as the mirror shattered, pelting her with tiny fragments.

xxx

Next chapter should be up on the 23rd. Reviews are hugely appreciated!