A/N 1: Wow. Trixie as a squealy thirteen year old from 1948 is hard to write for a gritty adult series. I've tried to downplay her enthusiasm a little to make her more modern, and I've changed some parts of the plot to fit a modern plot. The years following World War II saw a major increase in an idea that nature was a healer, and that moving to nature was good for lots of different reasons. This idea became the Back to Nature movement of the 1970s, and to a large extent we're seeing the same idea resurfacing today. The Adirondacks and the Hudson Valley were popular destinations for those fleeing urbanity. I've kept true to that idea, but I've slightly changed it to fit an audience with a far more modern demographic. As a result I had to play around with a backstory to make it fit into this modern, grittier retelling.
A/N 2: Most of this piece will be from the point of view of Sam and Dean, especially Dean, with Trixie and her supporting characters as peripheral plots. I'll mainly be focusing on the story of Jim Frayne, his relation to John Winchester, and why Sam and Dean are hanging around Sleepyside-on-Hudson for the length of the plot of the first two Trixie Belden books. I think there's a lot there to work with that could have been explored more fully in the books had they been written for adults and not young adolescent girls (for example, the canine plot that this chapter ends with wasn't really explored fully in the originals) and I'm really excited about how much this story wants to be told.
Disclaimer: Anything recognizable isn't mine. Everyone will be put back to normal when the story is finished.
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Chapter 2
Shapeshifter
Crabapple Farm, the old 19th century farm where the Beldens lived, was almost exactly as Dean remembered it. There was the two story whitewashed farmhouse, and the ranch style garage that had been added on sometime in the 1960s, and a modest garden along one side held new carrots, a row of potato mounds, a trellis of peas, and other things Dean didn't recognize. The yard of the old Victorian Italianate mansion on the hill neighboring the farm was a flurry of activity with U-Haul trucks. "Huh. Somebody's moving in," Sam stated.
In the garden was Helen Belden, weeding, and trying to comfort a teenage girl who was clearly her daughter. The girl was sitting next to Helen in the dirt and had her hands fisted in her short curly hair. She looked exactly like a young Helen. And, Dean realized, she looked utterly miserable.
A few chickens wandered loose, and there was an Irish setter with ginger hair sitting by them in a corner of the garden. The dog started barking as soon as the Impala pulled into the driveway.
Helen glanced up as the Impala chugged up the lane and came to a stop beside the garden.
Sam kept a wary eye on the dog as the brothers got out. "Hullo, Helen," Dean said with a grin, somewhat throatily, but that was as far as he got. The girl glanced at them, focused her eyes on something beyond the two brothers, then jumped up excitedly, shading her eyes against the summer sun.
"Oh, Mom!" she squealed. "There's someone moving in next door! OH!"
Sam cringed as the squeals got louder.
"There are horses!"
Helen laughed, forgetting the two guests for a moment. "Trixie, we tried to tell you at dinner last night that a family with a girl your age was moving in next door. You were too miserable about Brian and Mart being away at Boy Scout camp to listen."
"Can I go up and see the horses?"
"I made zucchini bread and crabapple jam for our new neighbors. It's in a basket on the kitchen counter. Why don't you go get Bobby and take the basket up to them?"
The door to the farmhouse slammed shut as the whirlwind that was Trixie dashed inside, then reappeared moments later wearing clean jeans with the hems rolled up, exposing a pair of plain brown sandals on her feet. She had quickly changed out of her dirty plaid cutoff shirt into a slightly cleaner brown shirt with lace short sleeves. She was clutching a basket in one hand and was joined by a boy about six. The boy's curly hair had been hastily dampened and combed, and he was grumbling and squirming as Trixie held him tightly by the hand. Helen shook her head, still laughing, as Trixie and Bobby walked up the hill to the Manor House with the basket swinging on Trixie's arm and the teen doing her best to control the young boy.
"Reddy, heel!" she called to the dog, who promptly joined them. The dog yipped excitedly ahead of them, stopping for the two to catch up then dashing ahead.
Helen got up from the garden stool she was sitting on to greet the brothers.
"Dean and Sam Winchester. It's been too long! Come and let me have a look at you two! Don't mind Trixie, she is firmly in a Black Beauty stage right now and nothing will dissuade her."
"It's been a long time, Helen," Dean said, grinning and returning the hug.
The sound of another car pulling into the driveway caught Helen's attention. "Oh," she said, her smile wavering slightly, shading her eyes against the sun. "Peter's home early."
"Yeah?" Sam said, grinning. He was remembering how much he had enjoyed their time with this family. They had always smiled and laughed with each other as well as anyone who was their guest, and it looked like that hadn't changed very much. He wondered what would bring Peter Belden home early, and from Helen's reaction it sounded like it was a rare occurrence. "What's he up to these days?"
"Peter," Helen said, a slight prideful tone in her voice, "manages the Sleepyside First Bank now." The smile was back on her face.
Peter pulled his slightly newer Jeep into the garage, then joined Helen the brothers. "Well, if it isn't Sam and Dean Winchester. How are you two these days?" he greeted them. After the greetings he turned to Helen. "I've just come from the hospital. Jim Frayne took a bad fall this morning by his mailbox. The doctors said it was a heart attack."
Helen looked shocked. "Oh, Peter. I wish we'd been better neighbors. I had no idea."
Sam and Dean exchanged a concerned look. "Jim was a friend of our dad's," Dean started.
"Yes, I remember," Peter said.
Helen shook her head. "I still remember the day I met you two, and learning that Nell Frayne had died from being bitten by a copperhead snake."
"It was a shock to all of us that she'd died," Peter added. "Jim told me that he took the old shortcut to town to try to get her to a hospital fast. Well, you remember that old shortcut, I'm sure. They got a flat tire and the pothole that did it tore up the rim."
Dean nodded. "I remember." He exchanged a questioning glance with Sam—Do we find out how much they know about how Dad really knew Jim?—and the slight nod of agreement from the younger man left him unconsciously fidgeting. This family was sweet and friendly, and had helped the two of them through a rough time as surely as they had helped the family with the loss of Nell Frayne, who clearly had meant a lot to them.
"Come on in," Helen said brightly. "I baked this morning. The chickens and the zucchini are overproducing, as usual."
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Then…..
Dean didn't move as Helen brought the car to a stop in front of a quaint old farmhouse a few miles outside the town that the hospital served. "Sam will be all right," she said, placing her hand again on Dean's shoulder. Dean wished she would stop doing that. "But they won't let you stay with him." It was late, 9 PM, and in the dying dusk Dean could see that the farmhouse sat at the bottom of a hill that had woods starting about halfway up it. Fireflies were starting their nightly dance. He'd never really watched them before.
"I know. I'm not eighteen yet." Sammy had just turned thirteen that spring, and that meant, according to Sammy, that they were only three years apart now. Dean still insisted he was four years older. As far as hospital policies were concerned, being almost seventeen didn't mean he could stay 24/7 with his brother, even if their dad was temporarily out of the picture.
Helen to the rescue. She had told the staff that their dad would be staying with a neighbor friend of the Beldens' to help with getting things ready for Nell Frayne's funeral, and that she would take Dean with her to find him.
Of course, that meant that Dean would have to—temporarily—deal with an apple pie lifestyle from a family that really didn't know what was out there, and he was damned if he would let anyone get hurt on his watch.
"We'll put you up in the guest room," Helen said, getting her purse from the back seat of the car. "I'm not sure you'd much enjoy sharing a room with Brian and Mart. Brian is five and Mart is two."
Dean couldn't help but give a small smile at the realization that the Belden boys were almost the same age difference as him and Sam. He got out of the car and slammed the door closed maybe a little harder than he'd meant to.
"And I'm sure you don't want to share the nursery with Trixie. She's one, almost two."
Dean caught a glimpse of Helen watching him carefully. Was she trying to see what it took to break him out of the shell?
He followed her warily into the farmhouse.
A cheery yellow patterned throw rug graced the hardwood floors in the living room. Pale green lace curtains fluttered in opened screen windows. It wasn't the child-oriented décor of Helen's office at the hospital. Gods, thankfully it wasn't that awful clown wallpaper.
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Now…
The zucchini bread was delicious. Helen served it with iced tea, fresh homemade butter, and something she called lemon curd, which Dean found out, was made with just butter, eggs, sugar, and lemons. It was thick and sweet and deep yellow from the eggs that Helen proudly said were from her flock, and he couldn't get enough of it, and she promised them a copy of the recipe. It sounded so easy to make! When they got back to the bunker he was definitely calling breakfast duty.
"You've changed," Helen said, after they'd eaten in silence for a few minutes. Reddy, the Irish setter, was back and whining at the door, his tail tucked between his legs. Peter got up to let the dog back in. Reddy burrowed himself under Helen's chair. Apparently his behavior was a regular occurrence, because neither Belden commented on it.
Peter agreed. "Something's different about you two. Like Jim, later on."
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance mid bite and mid chew. "Uh, about that," Dean said, remembering to swallow. He took a sip of his tea, wondering how to start. "Our dad worked a few odd jobs with Jim Frayne," he began, and paused. "Well, um," and he took another sip of tea, "the night his wife died, Sammy here got sick and Dad decided that since we were already in Sleepyside, he'd see if Jim would let us crash at his place for a few days while Sammy got better. Then…..well, we found Jim and the wrecked car on the side of the road, and his wife was already dead."
He reached for another slice of bread and the lemon curd.
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Then…
Dean would have told Sammy off if his kid brother mentioned anything—anything!—about the fact that he had jumped a mile when Helen came back into the living room. Shit, she had just left to go turn down the sheets for him in the guest room.
Truth be told, he'd been eyeballing the lights from a mansion on the hill in the woods. Flickering lights set slightly closer to the driveway said mosquito candle on a stick. Another, better kept mansion was further down the U-shaped driveway, its yard looking rather like something out of a Victorian horror novel in the gloom of the night. He was wondering if the family was safe with that old mansion in the woods so close.
"I told Peter we have a house guest for a few days. Peter is my husband."
Dean heard the familiar chug of the Impala as it turned into the driveway.
"Dad!"
He couldn't help himself, and started for the door.
Helen grabbed his arm.
"Dean, sweetie—"
"Don't call me that! You're not Mom!"
He jerked out of her grasp as they both exchanged shocked looks. "I'm—I'm sorry." He could hear movement upstairs as the muffled cries of a baby started. He groaned inwardly. Great.
Helen sighed. The laughter was gone from her eyes now. Dean braced himself. "Dean, Jim Frayne lives in the mansion in the woods. I saw you looking at it and thought you were watching for your father."
"I didn't know Jim lives there."
"Call me when he's ready to come home."
Helen guided him to the couch, and he finally gave in to her. He sat.
"Give them time. Let your father help Jim grieve."
"You know a lot about grief."
Helen got a far off look. "My brothers died three years ago. It takes time to heal from death. Our boys, Brian and Mart…they're named for them." She fingered a silver bracelet on her left wrist; she wore a matching ring on her right hand; they were both adorned with large charms. In the gloom of the single light from the living room lamp, and the dark of the night from the window, Dean couldn't quite make them out.
"Oh." He scuffed his toe at a ragged corner of the rug, then, "I'm sorry."
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Now…
Dean brought himself back to the present with difficulty. Peter was asking Sam what they were up to these days, and what had brought them to Sleepyside. As Sam stumbled through an explanation, the four of them started when a shrill scream of fear pierced the quiet surroundings. It was followed quickly by two more screams. They all faintly heard a growl, and Dean was pretty sure it wasn't from Reddy, who was still whimpering under Helen's chair.
"Those came from the old mansion!" Peter exclaimed. "There's been an old mangy dog running around here. The SPCA caught wind of it last week and has been keeping tabs on it. Folks who have seen it said it was rabid."
"The kids!" Helen cried. Her hand went to the silver bracelet still on her wrist after all these years. The bracelet held a twisted, contorted piece of metal as its central charm, one that Dean could recognize even given its distorted appearance. Dean now realized that the ring on her hand contained another bit of metal twisted beyond recognition.
But he recognized them.
Silver bullets.
Fuck.
"Stay here."
Dean's deep voiced order brought the elder Beldens to a stop. Helen was half up from the table and Peter had already made his way to the windows, pulling back the curtain as he did so.
Helen exchanged a confused look with Peter, but only for a moment. Dean and Sam both were shocked to see both Peter and Helen with looks of realization of just what the Winchesters were. Peter was looking at them with a clenched jawline and a determined expression on his face.
"Stay here, Helen. I'll go with Sam and Dean to make sure the kids are okay," Peter said.
The three men hurried out of the house. Dean could plainly hear Trixie's tones up the hill in the woods by the mansion, but couldn't make out what she was saying. Peter detoured quickly to the garage, returning with a shotgun and cartridges, while Sam threw open the trunk of the Impala and he and Dean both grabbed weapons.
Bobby came barreling down the hill. Dean had forgotten just how fast six year olds can run when they want out, now. "DADDY!" Bobby screeched, panicking as he was suddenly grabbed by a scruffy looking man who had leapt at him from a nearby bush, still morphing from dog to human. The man clamped a hand over Bobby's mouth, muffling the youngster's screams.
Dean vaguely registered Trixie and a sickly looking girl with a short bob cut of golden brown hair run out of the woodline and stop short, watching with shocked faces as the scene unfolded. Dean trained his pistol on the man, his expression hardening at the site of the boy struggling in the creature's arms.
Well. Shit.
Peter Belden spoke grimly, keeping his rifle trained on the creature holding his son captive. "Shapeshifter."
