Summary: A friend's first solo hunt makes Dean think more than he'd like. Pre-series, no pairings.

As always, this story contains Sara Lucian, a character who appears in several of my Supernatural stories. She is a friend of Dean's who specilises in exorcisms. This is set pre-So Cold, so there's goes my lovely plan to post these stories in chronological order.

xxx
Nebraska,
March, 2000

Dean leant back in his chair, the information on the computer screen in front of him taunting him with his inability to find the damn link between the victims. Five freaky deaths, three men, two woman, all different jobs, all from different places and no apparent connection except for the fact that all had been found with their throats slit and hearts missing. The bodies had been found exactly four days apart from one another, which meant the Winchesters had exactly three days to solve this or there would be another victim.

He reached over and punched Sammy lightly on the shoulder. "You find anything?"

"A whole new level of frustration," his little brother replied, staring at his own computer screen. "There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, it seems pretty random to me."

"Well, you know what Dad says. There's always a pattern, Sammy."

"And there's always an exception to every rule," Sammy retorted.

Dean rolled his eyes. Although a phrase was not an open declaration of war, it was the sort of fire-starter that irritated the hell out of their father. "Yeah, whatever."

Sammy bit his lip, thinking carefully. "Hang on," he murmured, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"What?" Dean asked. Sammy could say all the snippy comments he liked if he just got Dean out of this library before Dean went completely cuckoo. "What are you looking at?"

"Tax records."

"Tax records?"

"Well, they're just about the only thing we haven't looked at."

"Yeah, well, I'll leave you to it, geek boy." Dean shoved his chair back and headed for the exit. A ten minute break wouldn't hurt anyone, least of all Dean.

He managed to get his hands on some coffee and drank it as he wandered around their latest glamorous location. When his phone rang, Dean answered immediately. John Winchester was out chasing leads and had promised to call the moment he had any more information.

"Dad?"

"I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted," came the reply.

Dean grinned. "Hey, Sara. How've you been?"

"Oh, pretty good. Guess where I am."

"Wisconsin?"

"Nope."

"Canada?"

"No."

"Wales?"

That got him a laugh. "Do you even know where Wales is?"

"So where are you then?" he asked, ignoring the question entirely.

"Fort Hammond, Iowa," Sara said. He could almost hear her bouncing with excitement.

"Hang on," he said as memory flicked a card. "Isn't there a haunting going on there?"

"First solo hunt," she said. "With, if you believe it, Mum's permission!"

"You're kidding me."

"No, seriously, she actually gave me this case. I think your Dad must've said something to her, 'cause we all know what she thinks of me hunting."

"What is it?"

"A load of teenagers have been killed here over the last thirty years. It's a ghost, a pretty nasty one. Some guy named Jefferson, he was a cop who committed suicide after a teenage gang killed his wife."

"And all of the victims had a few brushes with the law?"

"Yep. All of them had a criminal record and were Latino seventeen-year-old males. Which, you know, kinda excludes me on every count."

"Good. You never walk into a hunt if you fit the victim profile. It's just asking for trouble." He paused as a thought hit him. "You don't have a criminal record?"

"Course not. I'm a sweet, innocent English rose, remember?"

"With far too many thorns."

"Thank you."

"Anyway, what's the problem?"

Sara sighed. "It's not so much a problem as a setback. The cop was cremated, but I know it's him."

"Well, that means haunted object, or some human remains somewhere. Where did all the victims die?"

"Uh, in a house just outside of town, up in the attic."

"And how did they die?"

"All beaten to death with, and I quote, 'a large wooden object'. Dean, you know how ghost sometimes haunt where they died?"

"Yeah?"

"Can they haunt, well, the thing they killed themselves with?"

"Uh, Dad dealt with a haunted sword a few years back. Why?"

"Okay, I know this sounds sort of, well, crazy, but the cop hung himself from this old oak tree, which was later cut down and made into a wardrobe or something. The deaths started at about the same time."

"A haunted tree?"

"Why not? Anyway, I'm heading out to the house tonight, see if I can find something made of oak in the attic. Unless you want to tell me that I'm barking up completely the wrong tree. No pun intended."

"Anything's possible. Call me when you're done?"

"Deal."

Dean stuffed the phone back into his pocket and turned back to the library.

So, little Sara was finally hunting. It was about time, really. And that did sound like a good hunt for her to start out with, a nice, simple salt-and-burn. But still...

He was still trying to decide whether he was actually happy about this or not when Sammy produced the link between the victims and when his dad made plans to track the demon, as it turned out to be, through most of the woodland in the entire state.

"Dean, what did I just say?" John demanded finally.

"That this demon's more slippery than a greased weasel and we're going to have just one night to kill the damn thing before some well meaning idiot from the National Wildlife Service tries something really stupid," Dean rattled back to his father. It was a long time since he'd been caught not paying attention.

John suppressed a smile. He wasn't sure when Dean had learnt to memorize what he was being told even when he clearly wasn't actually listening, but the completely false look of innocence in his eyes was the same one he'd had as a young child, snaffling extra cookies.

"She'll be fine, you know," John said. "It was long past time she started working on her own."

"Yeah, I know," Dean replied, but he felt uneasy. He'd done a few hunts alone, sure, but Sara was only eighteen. How long before it was Sammy's turn to work solo?

xxx

It was late, almost early really, when Sara called again. Dean grabbed his phone and ducked out of the cheap motel room, trying hard not to wake his sleeping family. Perching on the hood of the Impala, he pressed the phone against his ear.

"Sara? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Her voice was tired, but it didn't sound like she was upset or hurt. "Our ghost is now one nicely crispy critter."

Something in his chest loosened with the words. "Congratulations. What was he haunting?"

"A broken rocking horse, of all things. Really ugly one, as well, all manic eyes and huge teeth."

Dean couldn't help it. The idea of a haunted rocking horse was just too much and he cracked up, trying to make as little noise as possible.

"It's not funny, Dean! Damn thing nearly skewered me."

"Come on," he managed to choke out. "It is a little funny."

He could almost see the exasperated expression on her face, and he could definitely hear the smile in her voice when she spoke again.

"Why is it that no one ever warned me about killer rocking horses?" she asked.

"Well, there are some things you just have to learn for yourself. You sure you're ok?"

"Yeah, I'm good, Dean. Promise."

"Good." He shifted slightly. "So, what's next? Haunted doll's house?"

Sara's retort was lost in giggles. After a few more minutes of idle chatter, Dean said goodnight and ended the call. He slipped back into the motel room, frozen bare feet reminding him of how long he'd been sitting on an equally cold car. Dean made his way across the room and into bed silently, and it wasn't until he was settled that John spoke.

"I take it Sara's alright."

"Yeah, Dad, she's ok."

Dean could never work out if his dad actually liked Sara. From what he had said, John had known Sara longer than Dean had, and Hunters did watch out for each other. They were a small group, with bizarre alliances and friendships, but sometimes even the best of them needed back up. Pastor Jim watched his scarred, battered 'flock' with as much care as his congregation, Caleb manipulated connections and risked arrest almost daily to keep them supplied with weapons and ammo. Even Amelia Lucian, one of the most disconnected women he had ever met, wouldn't hesitate of one of her extended 'family' was in danger.

And, of course, Dean was no different. From high-school bullies to mythological monsters, if it threatened someone dear to him, it was going down. Hard. His default setting was 'protect'. What was it Sara had said once? Dean's a nice guy with protective instincts to spare. It wasn't hard; he could count the things he considered worth protecting on one hand. Sammy, his father, his life as a hunter and the Impala. And now Sara was on the list, and that was alright by Dean.

Turning over to get comfortable, hearing Sammy's soft murmurs in his sleep, Dean found a part of him wishing Sara didn't have to deal with the supernatural crap that life seemed to love throwing at them. But another part of him, a part that he was ashamed of, was so glad that she did, because at least it meant that neither of them had to deal with it on their own.

"Dean, if you don't stop tossing and turning, I'll make you sleep in the car," John threatened.

Dean grinned to himself and rolled over one last time before falling asleep.

xxx
Reviews are loved. Would you guys like to see a short piece about Sara's first solo exorcism as well? Let me know...