Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. However, any original characters are 100% mine.
Author's Note: I wrote this story mainly because I always wanted a female character in Supernatural who was a bad ass hunter who knew what she was doing and in some cases knew more than Dean and Sam. She's also meant to frighten them in some way, hence the reason for her alias.
Thanks for reading, and enjoy!
"What the hell?!" Dean pressed himself against the wall to avoid being shot by rock salt.
A flashlight beam shone right into his face, and both he and his brother Sam covered their faces and turned away.
"No way! Sam and Dean Winchester, is that you?" A female voice called.
"Uhh…" Sam looked over at his brother in the darkness, but he couldn't make out the figure behind the flashlight.
"Sorry for shooting at you- I thought you were a ghost. I haven't seen you guys in forever!" The figure shut off her flashlight, and within moments had enveloped the brothers in a hug.
"Uh, do we know you?" Dean looked at his brother as the figure pulled away.
"One sec." The figure scrambled around in the darkness until she hit a light switch, casting the trio into a soft, warm light.
Dean and Sam both looked at the woman without recognition. She was young- probably around their age, with dark brown hair, green eyes, and a tall, slender, frame, all traits that Dean found attractive. But he didn't recognize her, and his brother didn't seem to either.
"Sorry, I don't think we've met." Sam looked at his brother uncomfortably before facing the woman with a shrug.
The woman, who had looked so pleased only a moment ago, let her smile falter. "Really, guys? You don't remember Toronto? Your first real hunt, Dean?"
Dean looked at Sam, then at the woman, then at Sam again. Who was this woman? When Dean was eight and Sam was four they had been in Toronto, Ohio, and their father had taken Dean with him to kill a ghost, simple garden variety.
"No, sorry, I don't remember you." Sam shrugged again.
The woman chuckled. "You were four, Sam. I don't expect you to." She turned her gaze to Dean. "But Dean, on the other hand… he killed a ghost in my bedroom."
Dean froze. That was her? There had been a little girl in that house, the house in which he had taken down his first spirit. He barely remembered her. He certainly didn't remember her name.
But the woman caught his expression, his stance. "You do remember." Half of her mouth turned up into a grin. "I certainly do. You were my hero. I was a six year old girl, and you were an eight year old taking out ghosts!" Her smile grew, becoming one that stretched across her mouth. "So I grew up and became a hunter."
"So, uh, how do you know who we are?" Sam shifted his weight uncomfortably.
She shrugged. "Word travels. There aren't many hunters out there, and they like to talk."
The trio just stood there for a few minutes, Sam and Dean exchanging uncomfortable glances while the woman watched them adoringly.
"So, uh, what's your name, again?" Sam tried to be polite, but Dean recognized the face he wore when he was really, really, confused.
The woman's frown faded, and she looked down before looking up again. "I don't really tell people my real name. Nothing personal." She put her hands up in a peaceful gesture before continuing. "But you can call me Tuesday, or T for short."
Sam groaned, and Dean laughed. After the events of the Mystery Spot, Dean figured his brother never wanted to hear about that day of the week again. How strange that this woman had chosen that name as her alias.
"What is it?" Tuesday frowned and crossed her arms, gaze flickering between the two boys.
"Nothing. Sam just hates Tuesdays." Dean chuckled again, while his brother threw him a look.
Tuesday kept her arms crossing, nodding even though she didn't really understand how someone could hate a day of the week that much. She had thought choosing a day of the week as her alias was clever, especially since her last name started with a T.
"So, I guess you guys are here to see the crime scene?" Tuesday stepped backwards, her heeled boots not making a sound against the carpeting.
"Yeah. I'm guessing the family's not home?" Sam glanced around the house. They had tried to view the crime scene in the morning, but the house had been crawling with police. They had decided to come get a look later, apparently what Tuesday had planned also.
"No, don't think they wanted to hang around the house where their daughter died." Tuesday turned around and started down the hallway to a staircase. "She died in her bedroom." She started up the stairs, Dean and Sam following behind, though warily. Although she claimed to know them, they knew nothing about her.
Clearly, they were on the same page about trust, because as soon as Tuesday walked into the dead girl's bedroom, she turned around and splashed what was presumably holy water onto their faces. Dean spluttered, unamused.
"Sorry, had to check." She pulled out a silver blade and both boys held their hands out, where she cut them shallowly. She gauged their faces for a reaction, but seeing none, she cut her own palm and then splashed holy water on it.
"Now that that's out of the way, tell us what you know." Dean instructed as he walked over to the bloodstain on the carpet and crouched to inspect it.
Tuesday paced around the bedroom, stopping when she stood next to Sam. "Unusual murder. Throat was slit, hair covered in black stuff that sounded like ectoplasm from the police report."
"It was." Sam cut in as Dean stood. "We checked the body this afternoon." Tuesday nodded in appreciation.
"That's about it." Tuesday shrugged.
Dean nodded, deep in thought. Then he glanced up and realized both Tuesday and Sam were taller than him, Sam naturally, and Tuesday because of her three-inch heels. Rolling his eyes, he took a quick survey of the room. If he hadn't seen the ectoplasm in the dead girl's hair, he wouldn't have thought this was unusual.
"Right. Well, I've already taken a look around, so I'm going to go." Tuesday uncrossed her arms and started walking backwards out of the room. "But hey, we should meet up tomorrow and discuss." She stopped walking and swung her shotgun up to prop on her shoulder.
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "Sure, where are you staying?" Sam stuck his hand not gripping his own shotgun into his jacket pocket.
Tuesday's eyes narrowed, but she answered anyways. "The Rose Parlor, room 232. There's a nice restaurant on the first floor- we can grab breakfast around nine."
"Sounds good." Sam smiled without showing any teeth as Tuesday winked before striding out of the room and down the stairs.
Once the boys were certain she was out of earshot, Dean made a what-the-fuck gesture. "Dude, she's staying at the Rose Parlor? That's the nicest hotel in Clearview, Pennsylvania!"
Sam didn't face his brother, instead looking at the doorway the woman had exited. "Yeah. It's four stars." He turned around. "Dean, who is she? Because something doesn't seem right. A hunter who can afford nice hotels? A hunter who chose the life? A hunter with a name like 'Tuesday'? A hunter who looks up to you?"
Dean was nodding with his brother until he said the last bit, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, people look up to me." He said defensively.
Sam echoed his brother's eyebrow raise. "No, they don't, Dean."
Dean pressed his lips together before conceding and brushing by his brother. "Yeah, you're right, they don't."
The two brothers walked out of the dead girl's room and down the stairs, each thinking about the mysterious woman who claimed to know them. Should they trust her? Who was she? And what did she know? Either way, they figured the best thing to do was meet her for breakfast and see how it went.
12 hours earlier.
"So why are we here again, exactly?" Dean asked his brother as he climbed out of the Impala, biting into a breakfast burrito.
"Brie Samson. 17. Fairly good student, extracurriculars, pretty average girl if you ask me." Sam responded as he scanned the newspaper article announcing the girl's death. "It's just that her head was almost cut off, and her hair was coated in black stuff. Like lathered in it."
"Ectoplasm?" Dean stuffed the rest of the burrito in his mouth before tossing the wrapper into the trashcan by the road of the dead girl's house.
"Possibly." Sam folded up the newspaper and stuck it inside his suit jacket. "That's why we're here."
The Winchesters walked up the driveway of the pale blue house, rather large in size, pausing when they reached the police tape that circle the front yard.
"Can I help you?" One of the many police officers, a short, balding man, came over to them.
"Agents Lifeson and Peart, FBI." Sam whipped out his fake badge as Dean copied his actions next to him.
The police man frowned. "More of you?" He looked behind him at the dozen or so police men wandering around before facing the brothers again. "We already have four of your agents here. Mayor Samson called them."
Dean nodded in understanding. "We're back—"
"We'll be back later, thanks." Sam cut him off, smiling at the officer and leading Dean away from the crime scene.
Once they were far enough away from the police man, Dean yanked his arm out of Sam's hand. "What was that for? I was going to say we were back up, and we could have just strutted in like John Travolta."
"Dean, look." Sam whispered as they approached the Impala. "If the FBI agents are in there, then that means they aren't at the morgue. We can go check out the body without having to worry about them breathing over our shoulders. And then tonight we can come back when there aren't any police around."
Dean nodded, unlocking the car door and swinging it open before sliding in and looking at his brother. "Good thinking, Sammy. Let's go get ourselves a body viewing."
"So this is what she looked like?" Sam stuck a gloved finger into the victim's hair, picking out a bit of the black goop. Definitely ectoplasm.
"Yes." Dr. Reed nodded. "She was just found dead the night before last. Poor thing, the Mayor's daughter. Everyone loved her."
Dean eyed the doctor. "She didn't have any enemies? No one who wanted to cut her neck like that?" He motioned to the neck of her body as his lip curled. Her neck had been cut so far that the spinal cord was almost severed.
"I can't think of a person." The Doctor shook his head sadly.
Sam covered the girl's head with the sheet and pulled off his gloves with a snap. "Thanks, doctor, you've been a great help."
"I just hope you can find who killed her." The doctor said, rolling the body back into the wall as the brothers walked off, Dean straightening his suit jacket as they did so.
"What do you think?" Sam asked as they climbed into the Impala. "The doctor said no one hated her. No one seems to have a reason to kill her."
"Looks like an angry ghost to me." Dean said, turning the key and letting the car purr.
"But that much ectoplasm? Are we sure that it's just one? Sam looked over at his brother, who continued to watch the road.
"Must have been a really angry ghost. Like Freddy Krueger angry." Dean said with a shrug, glancing at his brother, who was deep in thought.
"Maybe." But Sam wasn't convinced. "Hey, pull over here." He motioned to a tall, brick building. "Let's do some research, see if any townspeople suffered particularly terrible deaths."
Dean obliged, smoothly turning the car into a small parking lot off of the main road. Sam was right- they needed to do research, but not just on the townspeople. The amount of ectoplasm in the girl's hair was frankly terrifying, and Dean wondered whether they were dealing with something other than a classic angry spirit.