OK, thanks again to all those who reviewed/alerted/added to favorites.

Not so much Sam in this chapter, and I added another character (not a love interest, don't worry). Please let me know what you think.

And for those who were wondering, the boys will be reunited in the next chapter.

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada.

A Different Kind of Hell

Chapter 3

May 6, 2005

Palo Alto, California

"…authorities in Dove Creek, a small town in southwestern Colorado…"

Sam sat bolt upright in bed and quickly reached over to fumble with the volume knob on his clock radio. He leaned over, listening intently.

"…investigating a fire which destroyed several buildings belonging to a private storage company. Details have not been released, but it is believed that the fire was started deliberately. Firefighters are struggling to keep the blaze under control, but fifteen thousand acres of forest have already been consumed by the fire. Local historic preservation activists have voiced their alarm…"

Sam collapsed back on his bed and groaned. It's not what you thought… He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, wincing as he rubbed his head and stumbled out to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

Fifteen minutes later he was joined by Luis.

"You're up early. Or did you even go to bed last night?"

"Yeah, I got some sleep. I've got an early morning review session." Luis shook his head and paused, staring at Sam with concern.

"You OK? You look a little freaked out."

"No man, it's nothing. I just had a really weird dream."

"Oh yeah? What was it? You missed a question on a final exam?"

"Yeah, something like that," he responded with a weak smile. Luis chuckled and shook his head.

"You are such a geek, man. I thought Jess would have broken you of that by now."

"She's trying, I think."

"Good luck to her, then." Luis poured himself a cup of coffee and shuffled back to his room. Sam leaned against the kitchen counter and rubbed his temples as he remembered details of the nightmare.

Running…darkness...pain…fear…

Dean.

May 6, 2005

Southwestern Utah, near the Nevada border

Dean had been traveling for over three days straight without sleep or food, and he had no freaking clue where he was. After the fire, he had headed pretty much due west with no idea why. Finally, after following a gravel road for two miles past the last town, he stopped to lean up against a chain link fence to rest.

That was when he saw her.

That's impossible…it can't be…

Behind the fence, next to a squat cement building, sat a stark reminder of his old life. He stared at her in wonder as he felt a host of memories wash over him. Suddenly, his senses awoke, and he spun around to stare at the person standing behind him.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked. She appeared to be in her late thirties, average height and build, and dressed in dark blue coveralls, sunglasses and a worn baseball hat. Her short dark hair was visible around the edges of the cap.

"No, uh…sorry, I was just looking…"

"Beaut, ain't she? Or at least, she would be, if I had the time to fix her up." Dean raised an eyebrow.

"She's yours?"

"Yep. Buddy of mine hauled her in for me. Found her abandoned outside some fleabag motel down in Cedar City. He knew I always wanted one, so he gave me a good deal. I've been meaning to work on her for over two years, but work just keeps piling up." She tilted her head and studied him. "You OK, buddy? You look plum worn out."

"I, uh…I'm OK. Sorry to bother you." He started to walk away but only made it a few steps before staggering and almost face-planting in the gravel. The woman hurried over to him, placed a callused hand under his arm and helped him to his feet.

"C'mon, buddy, I got you. Let's get you inside, OK? You can practice the macho act later." She closed the gate and guided him to building and through the garage bay to the office where she led him to a battered recliner. He sank into it with relief. She walked over to a small counter and rattled around in the cabinet overhead before pulling out a chipped mug and filling it with coffee from the pot on the counter.

"Do you want anything in it? I've probably got some sugar around here somewhere."

"Black is fine, thanks." She handed him the cup and he inhaled the wonderful aroma before talking a sip. It had been years since he'd had coffee, and this was worth the wait.

"Mmm. Thanks."

"No problem." She reached under the counter and brought out a bottle of water and a couple of granola bars. Dean's stomach rumbled. Usually he hated that stuff, but at this point he didn't care.

"Eat those, and then maybe you'll be able to make it to the kitchen where I can fix you a real breakfast."

"Thanks, uh…" He looked at the patch on her coveralls, but it simply said "Grease Monkey".

"Cora. Cora Harding. And you are?"

"Dean." She stared at him, obviously waiting to hear his surname. "Just Dean."

"Well, Just Dean, do you mind telling me how you wound up outside my yard? I don't get too many random visitors."

"It's a long story."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I, uh, got lost. Lost…everything. In a fire. I've been trying to…get to California."

"Sorry to hear that. Is there anyone I can call for you? To let them know you're OK, maybe come and get you?"

"I don't have anyone…anymore."

"So why to California?"

"It seemed as good a place as any." He tore open one of the granola bars and practically inhaled it. He took another gulp of coffee to wash it down and noticed that Cora was staring at him intently.

"You're not some kind of fugitive, are you?" He chuckled weakly.

"No, the police don't care about me. I promise." He gave her his most innocent, wide-eyed expression and she laughed.

"No, but you're still trouble, ain't ya? Luckily that won't work on me."

"Oh. Uh…"

"If you don't have wheels, I'm not interested. Now then, tell me, do you know anything about cars? Other than an appreciation for their finest forms," she said, nodding towards the front of the building.

"I know my way around an engine."

"Good, I think we might be able to help each other, J.D." He raised an eyebrow at the new nickname, but didn't comment on it.

"And why would you want to help a complete stranger? You know nothing about me. I could be some sort of—" freak "—psycho."

"But you're not. I can tell."

"Oh yeah? How?" She sighed.

"Let's head over to the house. I think breakfast would put you in a better frame of mind. C'mon." She held out her hand and helped him out of the chair. Dean groaned. After three days on the run, he really didn't want to get up again, but he managed to haul himself up and follow Cora.

The house was cement block, like the garage, but when he stepped through the door, Dean was amazed at the difference. It looked like a real home, with dark curtains on the windows, clean, slightly worn furniture, and dozens of pictures adorning the whitewashed walls. He followed Cora to the kitchen and took a seat at the heavy wooden table.

"Bacon and eggs okay with you?" she asked as she stared pulling cookware out of the cabinets.

"That'd be great. Thanks." Bacon. Another treat he hadn't been allowed for years. He watched her as she started to work, slowly sinking lower and lower in his seat until his chin was resting on the table. He closed his eyes, sniffed, and smiled dreamily. Smells so good…

The clatter of a plate and silverware on the table startled him from his daze. He sat up abruptly and rubbed his eyes before starting down at the plate in front of him.

"Looks…awesome." Cora laughed. He grabbed a fork and began eagerly shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, Ace. You'll make yourself sick." Dean saw real concern in her expression and swallowed, guiltily.

"Sorry."

"When's the last time you had decent food, J.D.?" Decent? About two and a half years ago.

"Um, what's today?"

"May 6th. Friday."

"Uh…Three days? Almost four." She huffed in disgust.

"If I had known that I would have fixed you something lighter. Just go easy, OK?" He nodded and continued to eat as slowly as he could while his stomach rumbled in protest. When he finally managed to clean his plate, he sat back in the chair and gave a contented sigh.

"Thanks, Cora. That was…great."

"You're welcome. Now, are you ready to discuss an arrangement?"

"I guess, but I still don't know why you'd help someone like me. Do you take in stray men often?" She chuckled.

"Hardly. You do need help, though, that I know."
"Again, how? You said you could tell I'm not some psycho. You psychic or something?"

"Not exactly. I've always been really good at reading people, knowing what they're feeling, knowing whether or not they're lying to me. Now you, for instance, I know what you told me before is the truth, just not all of it. There's something else that you're hiding, but not because you want to hurt me. In fact, I'd say it was just the opposite. I'm right, ain't I?" Dean stared at her in wonder for a minute before answering.

"Yeah, you are."

"I also know you don't really trust people. You don't trust me all that much right now, but you're working your way up to it, I think." She looked up at him for confirmation and he hesitantly nodded. "You're hurting, not just because of whatever just happened, but from something that's been troubling you for awhile now. I know you don't want to tell me, and you don't need to. I just need you to know that you can trust me. OK?"

"OK."

"Here's what I propose: you say you know cars and I need another set of hands around here. You work for me in the garage and you'll get room and board. I can't really pay you outright, because if nothing else I'm damn honest about my payroll and I have a suspicion you don't have the proper paperwork. What I can do is arrange for you to have one of the cars to work on for yourself until you can get the proper paperwork. Hell, maybe even that Chevy if you prove yourself. So, do we have a deal?"

"What if I can't get the paperwork?"

"Then we'll figure something out. Listen J.D., if nothing else, you really look like you could use a break from whatever it is you're running from. Seriously, kid, you need to do this. For yourself. OK?" Dean was overwhelmed with a feeling of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He hadn't forgotten his promise. He would get back to hunting, but right now he needed to do this: to rest, to rebuild, to prepare himself for the fight that was coming. Finally he met Cora's eyes and nodded.

"OK."

August 6, 2005

Palo Alto, California

Sam sat up in bed, heart hammering in his chest as the images from his nightmare flashed though his mind.

Blood…fire…Jess splayed on the ceiling…Dean, fear in his eyes, a gun pointed at his face…whispers…"why, Sam?"

Sam ran a shaking hand over his face.

It doesn't mean anything. Just random memories, applied to your life now. You're afraid of losing Jess like you lost everyone else.

He lay back down and closed his eyes, trying to block the memory of the nightmare, but he knew it would be a long time before he would sleep again.

August 6, 2005

Southwestern Utah

Dean woke with an immediate feeling of fear.

Something is wrong…

He grabbed the knife from under his pillow and sat up, waiting, listening. After three months he had become very familiar with the sounds, smells, and feel of Cora's house. His own room, at the opposite end of the house from Cora's, appeared perfectly normal, but he could tell, could sense, that something, somewhere, was out of place. Silently, he made his way to his door and unlocked it, knife at the ready, as he eased the door open and stepped, barefoot, out into the hallway. He tried to tell himself that it was nothing, imagination, but he knew better.

At the end of the hall, he turned and crept to the kitchen. His senses were now confirming what he had believed before: someone was in the house. Pressed against the wall, he saw a man step through the front door with a gun in his hand. He gripped the knife harder and stepped out of the shadows to confront the intruder. He grabbed the man from behind and put the knife to his throat.

"Drop it." The man froze.

"Who the Hell are you?"

"I'm the guy telling you to drop the gun. Now do it." The man slowly started to lower his hand to the floor and then suddenly slammed his elbow into Dean's ribcage, driving the breath out of him. He staggered from the force of the blow and the man spun around, shoving the gun in his face. Dean froze.

Huh. Some great secret weapon you are. Getting soft, there, Dean.

"Well, well. Looks like the bitch got herself a boy toy. Surprise, surprise." Dean's anger surged.

"Go to Hell." The intruder grinned and pressed the gun to Dean's forehead.

"You first." Before the intruder could pull the trigger, Dean struck with lightening speed, knocking the man to the floor. The gun went off, piercing a hole in the ceiling as the intruder struggled to get to his feet. Dean was on him in a flash, knocking the gun out of his hand and kicking and punching until the man screamed for mercy. Suddenly, the lights went on, and Dean froze.

"J.D.?" Cora was standing in the doorway, dressed on shorts and a t-shirt, staring at the two men.

"What the Hell?" Dean realized that she was not looking at the prone man, but at him. At his bare back, and the changes made to it as part of his enhancement. At the things Dean had been able to keep hidden from Cora for the past three months.

The things that marked him as a freak.

She stared at him in silence until the groans of the intruder jerked them both back to reality. She reached for the phone as Dean plucked the gun from the floor and aimed it at the intruder

"I'll call the cops. They'll get this sorted out. You, uh, you better go back to your room. We'll talk later."

Dean turned, placed the gun on the counter, and backed away from Cora until he reached the hall to his room.

"J.D.?"

"Yeah?"

"It's OK." She gave him a shaky smile and nodded. He stared at her for a moment before retreating to his room and locking the door.

By the time the cops had come and gone, taking the bastard with them, Dean had his things together. He didn't have much: a couple pairs of jeans and a few shirts that had belonged to Cora's father and had still been hanging in the closet when he moved into the room; a pair of mechanic's coveralls; and the jacket that he wore on the night he had fled the Facility. He stuffed everything into an old duffle bag he found in the back of the closet and slung it over his shoulder before opening the door and quietly stepping out into the hallway. When he reached the kitchen, he saw Cora sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in her hand, and another full cup sitting on the table opposite. She stared at him for a moment and sighed wearily.

"Have a seat, J.D."

"No, really, that's OK, I--."

"Sit." He slowly made his way to the chair and sat down.

"Do you know who that man was?"

"Uh…no."

"Well, it turns out he was responsible for a series of burglaries and rapes in the area, and his last victim didn't make it."

"Oh."

"So thank you, J.D. You did good tonight. I'm sorry you have such a low opinion of me, though."

"What?"

"You think I want you to leave, after I saw…"

"Yeah. Who needs a freak in the house, right?" She stared at him with hurt in her brown eyes.

"Apparently I do. No matter what, you saved me. That is what's important. Anything else…isn't."

"But--."

"Were you born like that?"

"I…no." Her eyes searched his.

"Then how?"

"I got myself into this, I don't know, project I guess."

"Someone did that to you?"

"Yeah. That, and a bunch of other stuff." The cat's already out of the bag. Might as well go for the whole thing.

"What else did they do?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yes, I do."

So he told her.

Three hours, and several cups of coffee later, Dean had explained everything. After a lifetime of keeping secrets, of hiding who he was, it was strangely liberating to tell someone everything. Not because he was looking for pity, but because he had to let it out. After he finished, he sat back and waited, not sure what to expect.

Cora simply looked at him for a long time, thinking. Finally she spoke.

"So…ghosts, demons, and monsters are real."

"Yep."

"And your family hunted them."

"That, too."

She thought for a few minutes longer.

"And this doctor, he and his…friends did this to you so you could fight them better?"

"Well, the Doc did, I'm not sure about the rest of them. They were more concerned into making me into some sort of spy or offensive weapon."

"I see. And this stuff they did to you…they made you stronger but lighter weight, more agile, and made you…bullet proof?"

"Not bullet proof, trauma resistant. I can still die if I get hit straight on at close range."

"And the other stuff: stronger sense of smell, better hearing, better vision, better night vision…"

"Yep."

"Echo…uh?"

"Echolocation, so I can tell how far I am from something or if something might be heading toward me that I can't normally see."

"Like sonar…and last but not least…?

"Yeah…" Dean had removed his jacket and allowed the two strange, leathery appendages to unfold and stretch out from his back until they spanned the length of the kitchen, fifteen feet from tip to tip.

"Wings." She met his eyes. He looked back, waiting for her to scream, cry, or otherwise freak out or show disgust. He thought he had seen it building and he braced himself. Instead, she looked at him with childlike wonder.

"Dude, you're totally Batman."

He froze in shock for the span of several heartbeats and then, for the first time in years, Dean threw back his head and laughed.