Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural. The great Eric Kripke and a whole lot of other folks do, and I'm borrowing without permission. I'll put them back when I'm done, unharmed. I'm not making any money from this, it's purely for entertainment purposes.
Author's Note: This story is set in an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. That means that some faces, facts, and features may not exactly match what you remember from canon. Don't like AU stories, don't read.
SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for all seasons up to and including season 3 finale, "No Rest For the Wicked." NO SEASON 4 SPOILERS. Becomes AU just before NRFTW.
Beta'd as always by the wonderful Ithil-Valon. You keep me honest, and I'm so glad to give you such pleasure with finished products. Thanks so much for being there. hugs
Part One
Dean Winchester was face down into a newspaper, marking it up with a pen. So far, he didn't have much to go on, though. "Sam, you got anything?" He was bored. They'd been at Bobby's for a week, looking for a way to break that damn deal, and nothing. He'd suggested looking for a hunt. They had some time left, just not a lot. A couple of weeks anyway. And he was going stir crazy.
"I might." Sam's voice was carefully neutral. He didn't want to give up any time left with his brother, but on the other hand, they were both down to tunnel vision and that didn't help any research. "Town called Questa, in New Mexico. Reports of murdered waitresses from the truck stop there. Get this: All the victims are young, blonde, green-eyed girls."
"So what makes that our kind of job?" Dean asked as he came over to peer at the screen. "No mention of supernatural occurrences or anything."
"All the girls went missing on the same day each week. A Wednesday. All times of death seem to be around the same time. Midnight. And the police are finding no signs of struggle, no foul play at all. Except one. All the victims were missing the same body part."
"And it doesn't say which one." Dean thought for a moment. It was common practice for cops to withhold a key piece of evidence, in hopes someone would trip up and mention it. "Still doesn't mean it's our kind of gig."
"No... but there was a murder there ten years ago." Sam's face took on a look Dean recognized all too well. "Trucker named Harlan James carved up his wife because she was seeing another man. And she was young, blonde, and had green eyes." His own hazel eyes were flashing with suppressed excitement. "James died in prison three years ago."
Dean straightened up and stretched. "Load up, Sasquatch. Gotta be better than sitting around here waiting for time to run out. We shag ass, we can be there by noon tomorrow."
Jack Bryant stood at the side of the road and debated. He knew he had to pick a direction, he just didn't know which one it should be. He had to get out of town before he decided on anything else; but he also needed to have some sort of destination in mind. He just knew he had to get out of town and quick.. His mom was dead, and whatever killed her might be coming for him next.
His mom hadn't minced words with him, either, once she'd decided he was old enough to understand what she was telling him. She'd told him about the things that hid in the darkness, the evil that walked the world when most of it slept peacefully and unafraid. And she knew about them because of Jack's father. He'd saved her from one of them when they were both much younger, still kids themselves. An angry spirit, she'd said, and then proceeded to explain to Jack that such things did, indeed, exist.
Jack had demanded angrily why she hadn't told him before, and then proceeded to vent his fury on a father that hadn't made an attempt to be there for them, that had basically abandoned them. And Virginia Bryant had set him straight in a hurry, her voice as sharp as a whipcrack. It hadn't been his decision, she'd explained succinctly, but not without heat. She hadn't known about Jack before his father had gone on to another hunt, and she had made a conscious decision not to track him down to tell him. He didn't need that burden, she went on, he didn't need to know he had a kid when HE was only a kid himself. Never mind that neither of them had been quite sixteen yet. He didn't need that kind of distraction on the hunt, or he could get killed.
Jack had then gone nearly nuclear about why she'd never mentioned the man before then, why she'd never told Jack his name. Virginia hung her head, clearly unwilling to discuss it further, before meeting his eye again and taking a deep breath. "Because," she'd said softly, "because if you knew who he was, you'd try to find him. It's safer for you BOTH if you don't. You have to trust me on this one, Jack."
He'd subsided into sullen silence, but she was adamant. She wasn't going to tell him one more thing about his father. No matter what he did, or how long he gave her the silent treatment, she wouldn't say one more word about the man who'd fathered him. Except one very telling remark she'd made nearly a month before this night; that he looked more like his father every day, especially since he'd started wearing his hair short.
That was a start, but it really didn't tell him which way to go.
The foster parents he'd been placed with when his mom died were okay folks, but he couldn't go back there. The Clarksons didn't deserve anything bad to happen to them, and if the demon was looking for HIM now, it would. Besides, they didn't like music, and that was quite simply a crime.
He lowered himself to sit on the curb for a moment. It was dark, and he was wearing darker colored clothes, so he should be safe from detection for the moment. Besides, he'd left enough pillows under the covers in his bed that they should still think he was there until morning. Then he started thinking again. Which way to go?
He pulled out the iPod his mother had given him for his thirteenth birthday and stuck the buds in his ears. Maybe some decent music would help him clear his mind. He knew he could take care of himself fairly well. He wasn't too tall, but he had some muscle to him. If he could just decide which way to go, he could hitch until he figured out what to do next. And along the way, he could keep an eye out for anything weird or unusual enough to draw the attention of his father.
West, he decided with a snap of his fingers. He wasn't sure why, but he felt somehow pulled in that direction. And with the decision made, he cranked up his latest obsession - an old group called, appropriately enough, Bad Company - and started walking. He'd catch a ride when he got to the highway.
TBC
