Chapter 1

Maywood, Illinois

The Impala pulled into the motel's parking lot. Sam was asleep in the passenger seat, flashlight and map still in hand. Dean got out and reserved their room for two weeks. Hopefully that would be enough time to figure this mess out. Knocking on the Impala's window, he woke Sam up and they grabbed their bags from the trunk.

"So who are we talking to tomorrow?" Sam asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Dean rifled through some papers.

"A Roberta Jenkins."

"She's the first?"

"No, but hers is the hardest to explain. She was in a car accident almost ten years ago. It was so bad they never found her head."

Sam cringed.

"And now she's back, completely fine?"

Dean nodded as he tossed his duffle at the foot of his bed.

"Yep. Not a scar or broken bone or any hint of injury ever in her life."

They were both exhausted. It had been a long drive. Pulling off his shoes, Dean collapsed into the squeaky bed and fell asleep.

When he woke up the next morning, Sam was taking a shower. His running shoes sat in a corner by the door. Dean rolled his eyes. Running. It still didn't make sense. Once they were both finished with their morning routines, they looked over the information they'd gathered.

"Lets go talk to Roberta," Dean finally said.

Checking on his tie once more, they headed out to find Mrs. Jenkins. The house she lived in was a simple one in a quite part of the neighborhood. It had a nice white picket fence with grass almost too green. Something about these neighborhoods always made Dean uncomfortable and suspicious. Everything was too perfect, too clean. Sam cleared his throat, bringing his brother's attention back to their job. Fixing his tie, Dean nocked three times on the big oak door. It swung open, revealing a sweet looking woman in her fifties.

"Roberta Jenkins?" Dean asked.

"Yes, can I help you?" she asked, her voice laced with a thick Spanish accent.

"May we come in?" Sam asked, offering his most innocent face.

The woman looked around nervously.

"Yes, yes. Quickly."

She slammed the door closed behind them.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"I'm agent Gowan, this here is my partner, agent Phillips. We're with the FBI."

"Look," she said, nervously wringing her hands. "It isn't what you think. I'm not crazy. I WAS dead!"

The brothers offered each other a knowing glance.

"How about we sit down and talk about this?" Sam asked, motioning to her couches.

Nodding, she followed the two of them and they sat.

"So," Sam began gently. "What can you tell us about your accident."

She shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting to the windows.

"I remember it was horrible. I was driving down the highway and a truck jackknifed in front of me. My car slid underneath. I don't really know what happened after that, it got all dark."

"And after that?" Dean prompted when she fell silent.

"Then I was in this… this pit."

Dean sat up straighter and shrugged it off, but Sam noticed. He never talked about his time in the pit and hearing someone else bring it up wasn't easy.

"I was there for so long," she said, voice quiet and timid.

Tears made her eyes look glassy and her knuckles turned white.

"But then there was this… thing. She sounded like a woman, but she had these wings that looked like bat wings and…"

Pursing her lips, she looked quickly from window to window.

"She told me that this wasn't the place for me. Not anymore. Next thing I knew, I was standing on the corner by the gas station on the edge of town."

Dean frowned.

"Just like that? This batwoman appeared to you and told you that you didn't belong in hell?"

Roberta nodded quickly.

"Have you noticed anything strange since you woke up?"

Her eyebrows shot up.

"You mean besides me dying ten years ago and my head never being recovered? No. Not a thing."

They'd been asking for that one.

"Mrs. Jenkins, may I use your restroom?" Sam asked politely.

He had the EMF in his pocket and probably a few other things.

"Um. Sure. It's around the corner. Second door on the right."

Nodding with a smile, he got up and headed off to investigate whatever he could. Roberta turned back to Dean.

"Do you have any family here in town?"

Slowly, she shook her head.

"No. No, my husband and I could never conceive, no matter how much we wanted children."

Dean watched her, hands shaking a little. She was scared, though probably just being back here was hard. If anyone on this planet could understand that, he could.

"Mrs. Jenkins," he began.

"Please. Call me Roberta."

"Roberta," he continued with a smile. "Are you doing alright, being back here? You were dead for almost ten years. A lot has happened here."

Her eyes snapped up to his, glassy with bitter tears.

"Anything is better than that place. I don't care what I suffer here. I don't want to go back to that pit."

He smiled darkly, the memories of the pain he endured and inflicted pushing into his thoughts.

"Believe me Roberta. The last thing I want to do is send you back there. I remember the pit. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemies."

"You? You… died?"

"A few times, now. Yeah. You haven't been back with the living for very long. It's not easy, I know. The nightmares started yet?"

"Every time I close my eyes…" she whispered harshly. "I can't sleep… How do you?"

"Honestly?" he asked, resting his elbows on his knees. "Usually whiskey. But even that doesn't help sometimes."

"The heat… The light… How do you keep moving forward?"

His brows came together as he thought carefully about his answer.

"I kill whatever evil bastards I can find. I don't think about it. I stay away from fire if I can, though it's hard with this job."

He saw Sam return out of the corner of his eye. Sitting up, he cleared his throat and looked up at his brother, who shook his head. Pulling a card out of his jacket pocket, he wrote down a number on the back.

"This is my number, and my personal cell on the back. Call me if you think of anything else," he said. "Or if you just need to talk," he added quietly.

"Thank you," she said, taking the card from him.

They headed to the door. As Sam was opening it, she called to them.

"Wait. Agents. She said something else to me."

Dean turned to her.

"What did she say?"

"She told me to be thankful for my second chance. That she didn't give these away."

That was odd. What kind of creature would say something like that? What had the juice to spring someone from the pit with no problem? They both nodded to her and headed out to the car. Once they were inside, Sam looked over at Dean, puzzled.

"What the hell are we dealing with? This thing just pulled her from the pit, no big deal? There was no sign of sulfur or EMF or anything in the whole house."

Dean shook his head, trying to forget the memories that had pushed their way out.

"No way a demon could do that, not even for a crossroads deal. Ghosts can't do that either. There aren't many things that can pull someone out of the pit."

"A super-juiced angel. Death. Crowley. But that's it."

"Obviously not," Sam said, looking down at their small file again. "There weren't any signs of any of those."

Dean shrugged.

"But how would we tell if Death had been by? Or an angel? They don't leave behind any signs. Crowley would at least leave sulfur."

"We can't even find connections between the victims. They all died years apart, some in different states, all in different ways."

They rode in silence for several minutes, both trying to understand what they were missing.

"I think," Sam said as they walked back into their motel room. "I think I'm going to try and talk to another person that's been resurrected. Maybe if we do that, we can find some connection."

"Okay. Who are you going to go find?"

Sam shuffled through some papers.

"This guy. He's close. There's one or two others we could talk to, if you don't wanna split up."

Dean shook his head.

"No. We'll cover more ground if we split. Who else is close enough to talk to?"

"Ummm…" more paper shuffling. "Her. She wasn't resurrected, but she was a witness to Roberta's return. Maybe she saw something."

Dean smirked.

"What, like Batgirl?"

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the car keys.

"Hey!" Dean called.

"I'm not walking to the other side of town!"

Before he could object, Sam left Dean in the motel. Grumbling to himself, Dean gathered up some paperwork and headed out to find this other girl.

"Must be my lucky day," he said to himself with a smile.

She worked at the local bar, only a few blocks away. Walking in, he flashed his fake FBI badge and asked if she was working. The guy behind the counter nodded in the direction of a cute blonde girl.

"Taylor?" Dean asked, approaching her slowly.

"Yes?"

"I'm agent Gowan with the FBI. You mind if I ask you a few questions?"

She nodded and sat down at the table she'd been cleaning.

"Can you describe to me what you saw when Roberta Jenkins came back?"

Looking down at her folded hands, she breathed deeply.

"I was just coming out of the gas station with a bag of chips. One minute, there was no one standing on the corner. The next, she was there. And she wasn't alone."

"She wasn't?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. There was this woman with her. She was tall and… beautiful."

The more he learned about this case, the less sense it made.

"Beautiful?"

"She looked like a supermodel. Tall, perfect hair… She was talking to Roberta. I don't know what they said, but whatever it was… it scared the old woman."

Offering Taylor his card, he thanked her.

"If you can think of anything else, please call."

She smiled and nodded, putting his card in her pocket. As Dean got up to leave the bar, he got a strange feeling. There was a distinct feeling that he was being watched. Looking around slowly, he could see nothing to indicate that anyone was stalking him, but he couldn't shake the feeling. Glaring at nothing, he turned and headed back to the motel.