Title: some you give away
Author: bitterkidxsweety
Rating: T
Summary: Through the flying dust, he sees her standing in the middle of the road, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her blonde hair surrounding her head like a halo and he knows that his life will never be the same.
A/N: AU. Takes place after 1.16 "Shadow" in SPN-verse (the Winchesters don't decide to split up.) In the OTH-verse, Ellie doesn't exist, and instead of meeting Lucas at the beach, Peyton left at the end of 2.23 "The Leaver's Dance" with her father and has been hunting with him since.
Furthermore, as you aware, due to the time jump, coupled with the fact that Supernatural started two years after One Tree Hill, there are some time discrepancies. For the sake of this fic, Peyton is now twenty-one, Sam is twenty-two, and Dean is twenty-six. I am aware of the other numerous plot holes but we'll just attribute it to creative license. Enjoy.
xxx
It's ten o'clock in the morning and the diner is filled with the steady chatter of customers. Larry and Peyton come inside and sit down by the far side of the building and a waitress with bottle-dyed red hair comes by and places two menus in front of them.
The furniture has that distinct feel of being dirty and oily no matter how many times it's been wiped down, and the air is thick with the smell of eggs and bacon and pancakes and grease. Red and white checkered curtains hang on the dusty windows and the waitresses wear pale yellow uniforms with white aprons that have a ruffle trim at the hems.
Suddenly, the bell above the doorway jingles and a man enters, wearing jeans, a red flannel, and dirtied boots messily tied. There is something about him – from the black stubble on his chin, to the bags under his eyes, to the way he's so sure, as if he knows exactly where he is going, and it's not familiar, and it's not surprising, but Larry looks, and looks, and looks, and suddenly he sits straight in his seat with a look on his face like he's seen a ghost.
Peyton curiously glances between the two men and tries to think if she's seen him before; perhaps from some family barbeque long time ago, or at a church service. Before she realizes it, Larry is standing up and walking up to the unfamiliar man, and he's saying, "John?"
The man turns around, looks at her father, and they stare at each other until the man looks away and turns to leave. Larry blurts out, "Anna's dead," and it's like the world stops.
Peyton's eyes widen, Larry stares, and John stops walking.
"It's been almost…thirteen years, now…" he continues, and it's like he's realizing it for the first time himself.
Several minutes later, they're all sitting uncomfortably in a booth, drinking coffee.
xxx
Larry's things sit in the middle of the hallway and Peyton absently picks it up and sets it next to the couch in the living room. As she turns to leave, something heavy slides out of his satchel and lands on the hardwood floor with a soft thud, and her eyes land on a worn, leather-bound book so thick that there are several rubber bands tying it together.
A piece of paper falls to the ground and she gingerly picks it up, fingers lightly touching the aged document as if it were an old relic. Her eyes catch the words "Anna Beth Sawyer nee Montgomery" and her entire body stiffens. It's a coroner's report. She thinks she's going to be sick.
Her brain refuses to make complete sentences, thoughts running through her head and crashing into an incomprehensible heap of useless words. Her fingers deftly pull at the rubber band, and her eyes quickly scan the contents of the book – pictures and writings and drawings of symbols and theories and…creatures. With each passing page she feels the dread sink deeper and deeper, the cold shock and confusion trickling down her spine and into her very core.
Larry suddenly appears, his frame blocking the hallway entrance.
"What is all this?"
He takes the book from her and stuffs it into his bag with an angry shake of his head. "You know you're not allowed to touch my things, Peyton."
But she's not listening. She stands in front of him, her eyes wide and inquisitive. "Is all that true? Did…did someone murder mom? Something?"
He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, and he's looking at her so sad and so sorry and he just looks so fucking miserable and she knows that he's not lying.
"And…and all those other things in your notebook…what is that?"
xxx
Larry clears his throat and asks him how he's been, what has he been doing, and John humors him with one word answers. Peyton finds the dynamic awkward and wishes she wasn't sitting on the inside of the booth because the tension; it's suffocating.
Finally, Larry drags his hands over his face and talks about Anna and how she died, and how he's been on the road since then. There is a catch in his voice, and John closes his eyes, because he knows; he knows too well.
"I'm sorry I didn't believe you," Larry says, and Peyton gives him a confused look, and John looks up.
"I'm sorry I was such an ass. I'm sorry I believed Mike and thought you had gone crazy. I'm sorry that when Mary died, I didn't try to help. I'm…" Larry sighs. "I'm sorry."
John stares at him emotionless, and then Larry looks him in the eye and says, "I know, John."
The food comes, but no one makes a move to eat.
"Did you know that almost everyone Mary knew passed away?"
There is silence and Larry takes a sip of his coffee.
"It wasn't long before it came after me too."
John finally looks at Larry and then he says the first sincere thing since they sat down for coffee.
"I'm sorry about Anna," he says, and he means it.
xxx
She listens as he tries to explain. She feels like she's underwater, the words murky and far away, and she's suffocating, she can't breathe.
Peyton gets up from the table so abruptly the chair falls backwards and she backs out of the room, tears threatening to overflow from her eyes. She moves without thinking, stumbling out of the front door, and the cold bites at her cheeks, at her fingertips, but all she can feel is the swell of emotions tumbling through her like waves crashing upon a shore.
She wants to go somewhere far away, but she only manages to make it down to the intersection in front of the police station when her knees buckle and her legs give way and she collapses onto the nearby bench, her hands coming up to brush the hair out of her eyes. She thinks she's having a panic attack and she breathes and she breathes and she breathes until her heartbeat slows down.
Her father finds her an hour later, sitting on the bench, gazing at the stoplight as it changes color. He slowly sits next to her and they watch as the light turns yellow, red, green.
"You lied to me."
"I know."
"How long?" she asks.
He swallows hard and wipes his hands on his jeans.
"A few years after your mother died." he replies.
Peyton fiddles with the hem of her shirt.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks, and she sounds so lost and so young.
"…I didn't want you to be a part of that world, Peyton. I…How was I supposed to tell you that that monster under your bed could be real? How was I supposed to raise you telling you to be afraid of things?" he sighs. "I couldn't do that, Peyton. I just couldn't."
He gazes somewhere in front of him, his eyes glassy and faraway.
"When you were little, you were this…beautiful, innocent little thing. And you were so happy; all the time."
"You're always my little girl, Peyton."
Peyton leans her head on his shoulder, and they watch the lights change color.
xxx
Dean walks into the restaurant an hour and a half later after he notices that his father has left. He showers, brushes his teeth, changes, and watches TV, and finally he can't stand it anymore and before he knows it he's walking across the street to the little rundown diner with a flickering neon sign that reads "Lulu's" on the dusty roof.
Dean is only a little surprised when he sees his dad sitting with someone in a red vinyl booth, talking about something or other that Dean's sure is about demons and ghosts and other things of the supernatural nature, (because really, what else would his dad be talking about?) but to his credit, John isn't really talking much, just sitting there nursing a cup of coffee in his hand, staring at the steam rising from his mug as the man across from him does the same.
He doesn't know if he should walk up to him or let them continue their conversation, but John lifts his eyes from his drink and spots him, and Dean finds himself making his way over, an awkward smile tugging on his lips.
When he gets there, he isn't sure why he didn't notice her before, because this girl; she looks up at him and he pauses for a second, those big hazel eyes stopping him in his tracks.
"Dean," his father says, and he literally has to tear himself away from her gaze. "This is Larry and his daughter, Peyton."
And Dean doesn't know what to say because he can't shake the feeling that he's missing something here.
Sam takes this opportunity to come through the door, the bell hanging above the doorway chiming cheerfully as he enters. He has a thoroughly irritated look on his face, and Dean turns back around and braces himself for the attack.
"What the hell, Dean? You're not the only one who's hungry."
Dean leans back a little with a fixed smile on his face, his brow raised to point out the two strangers in the booth in front of him, and it's almost comical how fast Sam's expression changes.
"Hi," he greets uneasily, and if wasn't awkward before, it's awkward now.
xxx
Because
Peyton's mother was in a car accident.
Because
Peyton's mother ran a red light.
Because
Peyton's mother was dead before impact.
Because
Peyton wasn't allowed to know about the four-inch gash across her mother's throat when they found her.
Not until now, anyway.
xxx
They don't necessarily work together, but they don't work alone. The Winchesters travel in the Impala and Larry and Peyton quietly appear several days later in her Mercury Comet. They rent separate rooms, (John in one, Dean and Sam in the other, and Larry and Peyton in another,) and talk over latest sightings and information and work on local jobs if they happen to come across them. For the most part, they focus on finding the yellow-eyed demon.
xxx
Her father takes one last look at the house and turns to leave, a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder and a thick jacket draped over one arm. He hears his name and he turns around, and Peyton stands at the foot of the stairs holding a black bag with the word RAVENS printed across it in blue and white block letters.
He grips the strap of his bag tighter. "Go back into your room, Peyton."
Her eyes are ablaze, her thin lips set in a firm line. She stands her ground.
"This isn't like those Scooby Doo cartoons you watched when you were younger. This is real. People get hurt. People die. Do you understand that?"
Peyton glares.
"Go back to your room."
"No."
"Peyton."
"I want to go with you."
"This is not open for debate! Now go back to your room!"
She crosses her arms in front of her and scoffs. "It's a little too late for you to be parenting, don't you think?"
"Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer!"
She turns to him, her emotions raging. "When was the last time that you were home? Four months ago? Five? And what about before that?...You are never here." Her eyes begin to water.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to wait for you to come home? Do you have any idea what it was like, when that storm blew in last year, and I had to go all the way across town to identify your body? What it was like, sitting there, not knowing if you were dead or alive, because the thunderstorm was so bad that they had to close down the bridge?" She wipes away a stray tear with the back of her hand. "I know this is important to you. And I know it's dangerous. But now, it's important to me too. I'm coming with you."
xxx
Dean and Peyton don't get along.
The first time he tries to talk to her, Peyton is standing alone on the balcony, trying to light a cigarette. He figures she doesn't smoke often; the cigarette hangs awkwardly from her fingers, and she coughs twice when she exhales.
He runs his hand through his hair, assumes his most charming attitude and walks up to her. But before he knows it, she swerves around, her fist swiftly coming towards him, and he quickly grabs her wrist, spins her around, and shoves her back against the metal railing.
"Easy, now," he says, and she squints at him before recognition registers across her face. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says, his grip loosening. "Can I let you go?"
She smirks before she kicks him in the shin, (hard,) twists his arm around his back, and pushes him into the wall as she had originally intended. An ungraceful grunt escapes his lips, and he tries not to think about how embarrassing this is, being thrown down by girl that couldn't be more than a hundred something pounds. He's really glad that Sam's not around.
And it's not like he can't take her, and it's not like he doesn't know that it's petty and lame, but now he and Peyton bicker and fight and throw sarcastic barbs at each other, and more often than not Sam is just sitting in a chair watching them throw words at each other like a game of tennis. (Or Ping-Pong. Whichever is harder to follow.)
Once, Sam offhandedly tells him that he's acting like a first grader who chases his crush around the playground and pulls at her pigtails. Dean tells him to shut his pie hole, because really, he couldn't be more wrong.
Sam and Peyton get along better.
He brings Peyton a cup of coffee every morning, and she idly passes him the current events section from her newspaper as he sits down across from her. They share a muffin or a piece of toast and laugh and talk over the crossword puzzle like they're some goddamn married couple it makes Dean sick. He gives them a sideways glance every so often and clears his throat and turns up the volume on the television, and sometimes Sam looks up and gives him a look, but other than that he doesn't get a response. One day, Peyton goes to her room to get something, and Dean watches her leave before he focuses his attention back to the screen.
"So, you and Peyton seem to be getting pretty close."
Sam nods absentmindedly, his eyes squinting slightly as he reads something about a series of murders in Texas – Teenagers found dead at an alleged haunted house. "Yeah. She's pretty cool."
Dean scoffs and Sam finally looks up from his newspaper.
"What's your problem, anyway?"
Dean lifts his brow. "Problem? No Problem. Just wondering if you've gone insane."
Sam raises an eyebrow. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
But Dean just shrugs and Sam thinks he looks a little too interested in the television.
"Wait a minute…do you…do you like her?" he finally asks, and Dean makes a face.
"Me? Please. That girl is nuts. With her attitude, and her mood swings, and that damn deer-in-the-headlights look she always has when you so much as say her name," he replies. "What's with that, anyway? They just look at you all...big…and…green…" He mutters the last part and he knows he's in trouble the moment he says it even before Sam puts the paper on the desk and leans back in his chair with a big smile on his face.
"You do! You like her!" Sam all but accuses.
Dean doesn't know why, but he starts to panic and his eyes begin to dart around the room. "Do not!" He argues petulantly.
Sam guffaws, (his head tilting back, his hands slapping at his knees,) and Dean fails to find the amusement.
"You look like an idiot," he says, and his brother shakes his head as if he doesn't care, but he stops laughing, and Dean takes a small satisfaction out of that.
They don't get to say much else, because Peyton comes back in and when she notices the weird tension in the room and asks what's going on, Sam just smiles and Dean just glares.
xxx
Peyton knows that she gets along with Sam better than she gets along with Dean. There's just something about Sam that reminds her of home. He's compassionate and smart and likes Steinbeck.
She looks up from her crossword puzzle and steals a glance at Dean. He's sitting at the edge of the bed, cleaning his gun with a red handkerchief, and she pauses, studying his hands, the muscles in his arms, his broad shoulders, the chiseled line of his jaw.
But Dean; Dean reminds her of what she left home for.
xxx
They're pursuing a lead in New Mexico and decide to drop-in on the haunted house Sam had been reading about in the paper on the way. The Winchester's arrive first, checking out a local music store where they had tracked down a kid linked to the house. The boy relates to them the legend of a ghost named Mordecai Murdoch, a farmer who had lived their previously and had murdered his daughters by hanging them in the cellar. Dean and Sam are dubious, but they go to see it anyway.
When they visit the building, they see the Comet already parked outside. Inside, the house is painted with a mass array of various symbols along the wooden walls and the hardwood floor. Peyton and Larry emerge from the kitchen moments later and they share the information that they had already gathered – While they recognized several of the cryptic images, it was primarily a hodgepodge of symbols with seemingly no connections.
They are still investigating the house when they hear a suspicious noise coming from the other room. They instinctly aim their guns in the direction of the mysterious sound and Sam and Dean nod at each other before the latter kicks the door open, ready to attack.
Bright light flashes in his eyes and they are both disoriented for a few seconds.
"Cut. They're just a couple of humans."
Two teenage boys, armed with video cameras, flashlights, a homemade EMF transmitter, and dressed in what Dean could only identify as clothes solely fit for fly-fishing stand in front of him. When Dean asks what they're doing there, they blabber on and on about ghosts and radio waves and the supernatural in that irritatingly exasperated, arrogant tone, (the one where they act as if they are trying to explain advanced physics to preschoolers,) and when he discreetly glances over at Sam to shoot him an amused look, Sam is already sharing one with Peyton.
Later, Dean walks by a joke shop and purchases a packet of itching powder. Sam doesn't stop wincing and walking bow-legged for the rest of the day.
xxx
They solve the case in less than two weeks and afterward, John, Dean, and Sam drive to New York to explore a series of murders surrounding an estate in New Paltz, (they could rest when they were dead.) Larry and Peyton follow a lead in Missouri.
Dean sweeps the estate with the EMF, and John and Sam do a background check on the house. They both come up clean.
After some research, they discover that all the furniture had been sold to an auction house belonging to a Daniel Blake. John stays in the motel room, leaving the boys in charge of the case while he focuses on the Yellow-Eyed-Demon, and Sam and Dean go to further their investigation. When they come back, they are bickering about someone named Sarah and providence (to which Sam keeps correcting, "provenance," in an irritated tone.)
"A provenance is a certificate of origin, like a biography, you know? We can use em' to check the history of the pieces, see if anything's got a freaky past."
Dean purses his lips. "Huh. Well we're not getting anything out of Chuckles, but, uh, Sarah?" he smirks.
Sam rolls his eyes. "Maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin," he says to Dean, but Dean just chuckles.
"Not me."
The implications hit Sam, and he is quick to protest. "Oh, no, no, no, no; pickups are your thing, Dean."
"It wasn't my butt she was checkin' out."
Sam stares at him incredulously. "You want me to use her to get information," he confirms.
"Sometimes you gotta take one for the team, Sam," Dean adds merrily. He holds out his cellphone to Sam. "Call her."
When Larry and Peyton finally reach New York after finishing their hunt, Sam and Sarah are already on their date.
xxx
Dean stops by the convenient store at midnight and he juggles a brown paper bag and a donut in his hands as he walks down the cracked sidewalk leading back to his motel room. The pool is lit, the distorted yellow lights swaying with the rippling water, and the waves lap against the edges of the cool concrete as he passes by.
He sees something white and green and blonde by the rickety, yellowing beach chairs, and he pauses, still chewing on his donut, and looks around, wondering if he's seeing things.
The figure abruptly turns around, and he steps back as wide, hazel eyes look up at him.
"Peyton," he says with a wry smile.
Her feet are dangling in the cool water, the cuffs of her jeans rolled up past her knees, and she's holding a green blanket over her shoulders.
"Dean."
Her eyes land on the pastry in his hands and she raises an eyebrow.
"Do you ever stop eating?" she asks.
He raises an eyebrow right back.
"Do you ever stop being annoying?"
Peyton makes a face and flips him the bird.
"Oh, that's pleasant."
She turns back around.
He should be getting back, really, but he just stands there and looks at the motel and then to her again and again: motel, Peyton, motel, Peyton. Finally he walks around the iron fence and takes a seat next to her on the floor, the paper bag falling next to him with a thud.
The few lights still turned on in the building slowly dim, and the water from the pool gently hits the sidewalk as she lightly kicks her feet back and forth.
"My dad and I just drove in a couple hours ago."
Dean nods in acknowledgement. "Sam's on a date."
She pulls the blanket around her closer around her. "I heard," she replies. "Sam says she's an art history student."
He scrutinizes her from the corner of his eye. She's staring contemplatively at the water, the rhythmic waves creating hypnotic shadows on her face.
"My friend wrote a book, you know," she continues. "He's my age but he's already made the New York Bestseller's List. And my best friend started her own fashion line in high school and was featured in Vogue last month." She doesn't sound resentful or jealous, and Dean takes that as a good sign.
"You have some pretty ambitious friends."
"Yeah...I used to think that I was going to go to college with them. Probably major in art history. Or maybe fine art or music," she says.
"I miss…" she takes a deep breath. Tree Hill, Brooke, dates, her life before it all came crashing down.
"I miss a lot of things."
He opens a bottle of beer and hands one to her and she politely accepts as he reaches into the bag for another. They sip their drinks and listen to the moving water and watch the rise and fall of lights refracting off the surface, and it's enough.