1:33 am…

He awoke with a start and scrambled to his feet. Suddenly feeling dizzy, he raised his hand to his head with his eyes still closed as he tried to remember where he was. He opened his eyes slowly and felt sick to the stomach at the stench of blood which permeated the room. As his gaze wandered to the two women's bodies which were still tied to the beams, he groaned as the events of that night came back to him.

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One week ago…

Dean was driving along the highway as he slipped a cassette tape into his car. A few seconds later, the sound of "Metallica" filled the car, as he drummed his fingers to the music on his steering wheel. It was around noon, and he had just had a late breakfast. He drove listlessly, as his mind wandered, and his brows furrowed like they had a habit of doing when something was worrying him. He was thinking of Sam and how long it had been since they had actually seen each other. Two…maybe three years already?

Over two years ago, Sam and their father had had a hell of a fight about their lives as hunters. Sam was fed up with moving around and never having a home to call their own and had decided that that was not the life he wanted to lead. He had decided to enter law school and informed his father of that decision. The result of the ensuing fight had been that John Winchester had told his son that he could leave whenever he wanted to—the door was wide open.

Since then, Sam had been living the college life and Dean and John Winchester had kept up the "family business"— hunting. Although Dean usually hunted with his father, John Winchester had drifted apart of late, sending Dean on hunts of his own. Dean had just finished up a case in Tucson, Arizona, and was now making his way to Junction, Texas, where he was supposed to meet up with his father. Haven't seen Dad in over two weeks…it'll be nice to get back together again.

His reverie was interrupted abruptly by the ringing of his cell phone. He flipped it open lazily to look at the caller ID. When the name "DAD" appeared on the screen, he immediately turned off the music and cleared his throat in anticipation.

"Dad?"

"Son? I have a case I want you to work on," came the no nonsense voice over the phone.

"Sure thing. What are we looking at here?"

"Well, actually not 'us'…more like you. Something came up…a new case…and I need to check it out. But there is this other case that I need you to work on."

Dean tried to swallow the disappointment he felt after hearing that statement. "You're saying you're going off on another case by yourself again?"

"That's about the size of it. Look, I know I said we'd meet at Texas, but this thing I'm working on? I gotta do it alone."

"Common' Dad!" he wheedled. "It's like you're trying to get rid of me or something!"

"Son, I know how it sounds like and I'm sorry…I really am…but you're just gonna have to trust me on this," John said gently. "Now I need you to work on this case while I'm gone…you got something to write on?" he resumed in his business tone.

Taking a notepad out of his glove compartment, Dean sighed, knowing it was no use. John Winchester never disclosed information until he was ready to do so, no matter how much you pushed him. He could almost hear his father's voice in his head telling him to "suck it up…Winchesters didn't complain".

Dean listened attentively and took notes as he listened to his father explain the case. It seemed that there had been a few disappearances in southern Texas. Over the period of the last six months, several women had disappeared leaving no trace behind—almost like they had disappeared into thin air. So far, the only connection John had found between the victims was that they were all seemingly single women on their own, and that they had disappeared one by one within a period of exactly two weeks between each other.

"Wait a minute…how do we know it isn't just some sort of psycho on the loose?" put in Dean.

"Ever hear of Jack Tripper?"

"You mean that bastard with a track record of multiple homicides and rapes? Mostly known for his preference for young Latino women," he snorted sarcastically.

"Yep."

"Well, last I heard, he was rotting in prison with a 100 plus years conviction on his sorry ass."

"He was."

"Come again?"

"My source says that someone actually SAW the man…or at least something that looked a hell of a lot just like him…over two weeks ago in a parking lot somewhere around Laredo, getting into his car with a woman slung over his shoulder. She wouldn't give any more details, no matter how much I pushed, but she swears it was him."

"So what? The son of a bitch busted out of jail and is going back into business." He squinted as the sun began to bother him. "Still doesn't sound like our kind of job…"

"Rumor has it he got killed in a cell fight about 6 months ago. Also…it seems that at least two of the women abducted were actually top witnesses against him."

"Holy crap! So we're talking about a really pissed off vengeful spirit here?"

"Could be…that's what you're gonna find out. Any questions?"

"Uh, not really…no wait…so…where do I catch up with you after this case?" asked Dean as calmly as he could, trying not to sound too eager.

"I'll call you when I'm done here," John answered vaguely. Hearing Dean take in a sharp intake of breath, John added as lightly as he could, "Look...this case I'm working on? It might take a while…so don't worry if you don't hear from me in a couple of weeks."

Dean clenched his jaw in frustration, knowing full well from experience that pleading was useless. "Fine…so…good luck I guess. Later."

"Son?" whispered John quickly.

"Yes, Sir?" responded Dean as he strained to hear his father who was talking barely above a whisper.

"You take care of yourself."

"Always," he smirked.

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9:00pm in local bar, Laredo Texas…

That conversation had been over a week ago. It had taken Dean a little over two days to get to Laredo, Texas, where the last kidnapping had taken place. After doing some digging here and there in odd places, he had finally ended up going to a local bar. The bar tender—a cute blonde with freckles on her nose—had been more than happy to share with the handsome stranger about all she knew. It seemed that someone or something that looked just like Jack Tripper had been seen a lot lately, mostly hanging around cheap bars for a few hours late at night.

"If you ask me, I don't really think it's him, ya know?" the girl gushed at Dean as she leaned a little closer.

"Oh? Why?" he responded before he took another swig at his beer.

"Well…" she whispered conspiratorially, "because he's dead!"

Dean pretended to choke on his beer as he blinked in "surprise".

She giggled, seeing she now had his full attention. Twirling a strand of hair in her fingers, as she grinned at him flirtatiously, she resumed, "He died in prison months ago! It was like some sort of cell fight I think…don't really remember …I think it was around Christmas—"

"Best time of the year to die," interrupted Dean sarcastically.

"—anyway, he's dead," she rambled on cheerfully, "So…like…all those people that say they've seen him? Well…it just doesn't sound right if you know get my drift."

"So…you're saying they made it up just to have something to talk about?" Dean asked innocently.

"No silly." She scanned the room as she suddenly grew serious. Biting her lip, her gaze fell back on Dean a few seconds later as if suddenly remembering he was still there. "I think it's his ghost."

"Ghost? Oh common'…you really believe in those things?"

"You don't?" she replied defensively.

"Babe, I gave up on ghosts around the same time as I did on the Tooth Fairy."

"Oh really? Well what about THIS, then...there's this guy I know called Eduardo. And HE says that he saw him no more than two days ago," she huffed.

"Where?"

"I thought you didn't believe in ghosts," she said triumphantly.

"Never mind that now," he said hurriedly in a 'don't mess with me' tone. "Where exactly did he see him?"

"About two blocks from here near the 7Eleven. He saw him get in a car and drive off."

"Drive off where??"

"Oh I don't know! Who cares?"

"Listen sister, this is more serious than you think. Where can I contact what's-his-name? I need to ask him a few questions."

"Uh…You mean Eduardo?" she asked stupidly.

"No, I mean the Vienna Boy's Choir. Yeah, I'm talkin' about Eduardo." Lights are on, but nobody's home! He thought to himself.

"Who do you think you are anyway!? A cop or something?"

With a smirk, Dean pulled out his fake FBI ID. "Special Agent Thomas Phelps at your service, ma'am."

"Ooooh my GOD…you're like a on a top secret mission or something right? So…like…that makes me like a material witness, right?" she squealed excitedly.

"No, that just makes you a normal day to day good outstanding citizen who is just doing her job by helping the authorities," he responded smoothly, trying to cover up his annoyance. Blondes, hemuttered to himself as he pulled on a fake smile.

"Oh, he works at 7Eleven…the one I told you about that's about two blocks from here? Remember? So like, his shift starts in about an hour, so you should be able to like talk to him there and…hey! Wait! Are you going already? I told you! His shift doesn't start until an hour," she wheedled petulantly as she saw him drop some change on the counter, put on his brown leather jacket and rise from the bar stool.

But Dean had already fled.

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9:55 pm outside the 7Eleven…

Dean had been waiting in front of the 7eleven for about an hour, waiting for the said "Eduardo" to start his shift. It had started raining and it was getting nastier by the minute. He sighed impatiently as his gaze roamed to his watch. Five minutes till 10:00. Hope he's one time.

About seven minutes later, a short Mexican guy crossed the street and entered the store. Must be our man, thought Dean as he braced his jacket against him to protect himself from the biting wind and rain. He locked the Impala's door and ran to the door. Once inside he shook the rain of his jacket and ran his hand over his face as he strode determinedly towards the cash register where the young Mexican guy was checking in for work. Dean waited for the other employee to check out before he accosted Eduardo.

"Eduardo?" asked Dean in a business like tone as he mentally cursed himself for not having asked the blonde for the guy's last name.

"¿Si? ¿En qué le puedo servir Señor?" he responded cheerfully.

"Huh??"

"How may I help you?" he translated good-naturedly.

"Oh." Dean put on his official face and pulled out his fake FBI ID for the second time that night. "Special Agent Thomas Phelps. Have some questions I need to ask you."

"¡Santa Virgencita del Cielo! ¡La migra!" squealed Eduardo in a not so masculine voice. (Translation: Sweet Mother Mary! An immigration officer! La migra is Spanish slang for the immigration department. )

"Can't you stick to one language, damnit?!"

"Señor, I know I don't have a legal residence yet, but I what can I do? My mother, she can't work no more! And my sister Carmela is too young to be working…I do my job, I work hard, I don't give anybody no trouble and I don't get drunk! Mire que se lo juro por la Virgencita que nos acompaña desde el cielo," he pleaded with tears running down his cheeks, as he put his thumb against his other fingers and kissed it devoutly. (Translation: I swear to you by the Virgin Mary that watches over us from Heaven.)

Finally registering why the man was rambling on, Dean couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the man. After all…he knew what it was like to be constantly hiding from the law. Not that he knew what it was like being an illegal immigrant…but hey, having a couple of grave desecrations, mutilations, and murders on your record was no picnic.

"Hey, it's ok sir, see…I'm not going to deport you or anything like that. Uh…that's another department. As far as I'm concerned, my lips are sealed," Dean winked companionably at him.

Waiting a few seconds for Eduardo to recover, he resumed the "investigation".

"Ok, so I want you tell me anything you can remember about when you saw Jack Tripper two nights ago."

"How did you kno—"

"It's my job."

"Oh…ok…what exactly do you want to know?"

"Trust me…every detail counts."

"Oh…well, let me think a minute. Ok, so I was crossing the street heading to my job here—"

"What time was that?"

"Ten…that's my regular shift," he paused, staring with childlike curiosity at Dean, who was taking notes. Feeling important to be helping in what he supposed to be a secret investigation, he resumed with excitement. "Anyway, so I'm crossing the street, when all of a sudden I see this man that looks just like him walking only a few feet away, see? Then he stopped in front of a car, got in and drove away taking a left turn onto that back road."

"That's all?"

"Well…yes."

"Do you remember what kind of car it was?"

"Oh that…well..."he paused, scratching his head as he tried to remember. "Oh now I remember! It was a dark car…worn down Toyota Camry I think…a rusted and ugly thing."

"Any idea where he could have been heading maybe?" asked Dean hopefully. So far, Eduardo hadn't given him much new information that could help him.

"Well, he took a left turn onto that back road, like I say. I don't think it leads to anywhere really…it goes on for some fifteen, twenty minutes maybe, and hits the woods. Nobody lives back there, far as I know."

"No trailers, old houses, camping grounds…?"

"No…wait! Yes, there is this one old house somewhere back there. But nobody ever goes there anymore. The trail to it must be quite broken down by now. What? You think maybe Jack Tripper is still alive and he hide out there from the police?" he asked lowering his voice into a whisper.

"That's not for me to stay. Now Eduardo, as for you—"

"What, me? I just mind my own business and stay out of trouble. And if anyone ask me about this, I don't know what they are talking about. And I never even hear of Special Agent Tomás…ever."

"Eduardo, if only half the people I met in my job had as much sense as you have, it'd be a better world," smiled Dean from ear to ear.

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Just like Eduardo had said, the back road had gone on for about fifteen minutes, until it reached dense woods. He stopped the car, trying to get a better view. The rain was falling nonstop, and the strong winds didn't exactly make driving easy. Not to mention the muddy road full of puddles. Finally spotting a bumpy trail with overgrown grass running over it, Dean decided this must the one Eduardo had told him about. After following it for about five minutes, an old decapitated house came into view. He turned off the engine, as he mulled over what his next course of action should be. First of all, it was practically pitch dark and there was no telling who or what was in there. There could be several hostages there, and there was no way in hell he would be able to pull out a one man rescue team for who knows how many people in this infernal weather.

I'll wait an hour or so, till the rain calms down some, then check this place out. Not much I can do till that happens.

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Retake from 1:33 a.m…

I've been out for over an hour. Who knows where that bastard is by now. Slowly, Dean inched towards the further end of the room to where his knife was, and involuntarily looked at the both women again. I can't leave them here…the least I can do is give them a decent burial.

He kneeled by the second woman, the one who's throat had been slit, and carefully laid her down on the ground after he had cut her bonds. He took off his jacket and covered her reverently with it, till he could find a sheet or something to wrap the body in. Picking up his knife once more, he turned to the other woman to cut her bonds too. He laid her on the floor beside the other woman and was about to take off his checked shirt to cover her face too when something caught his eye. He froze as he saw a single tear slowly make its way down her cheek onto her ear.

"I can't believe it…she's still alive," choked out Dean.