A/N: So this is officially the longest chapter I've ever written for anything. Yay. I just want to thank all of you who reviewed, messaged, and and left kind words. It truly does mean a lot. In particular, I'd like to thank , C.J Todd, RedRoseBlade, LightningBolt21, and .777 for the support, advice, and criticism, though I appreciate it all.
Sam was clinging to a bit of metal on the side of the bridge, legs dangling below him. He grunted occasionally as he started working to pull the rest of himself up. After a moment he managed to get to a safer spot, where he sat. Free of the immediate danger, his eyes went to the river below him.
The room was still tense as all holy hell from earlier. So, in the way of the Winchesters, and occasionally the Singers, nobody said anything about it. It was basically just ignored, making the room feel heavy and dark with apprehension.
"Dean?" he yelled, looking down, "Dean!?" Louder that time as he couldn't see his brother at first. He let out a breath he'd been holding as his filthy older brother crawled out of the water and into the mud, panting.
"What?" He yelled up, annoyance in his voice.
"Hey! Are you all right?" He laughed, relieved when Dean held up an A-ok sign at him, and scooted away from the edge of the ledge he'd crawled onto.
"I'm super."
Sam wanted to question that. If that fall had killed Constance, than how had it not killed Dean? He wasn't complaining or anything, he didn't want his brother dead, he was just curious. He didn't say it though, because as he opened his mouth to, he remembered that pretty much everyone in the room thought he hated them.
"I don't think all that stuff." He muttered, surely too quiet for John and Bobby to hear. Dean did though, and when he looked again at his brother, his gaze was a little bit softer than it had been before.
A little while later, back on the bridge, Dean shut the hood of his car and leaned on it, absolutely covered in mud from head to toe.
"Your car all right?" Sam asked, coming around the side of the Impala.
"My car?" Dean asked, voice perking up a little bit. He loved the Impala, but it was always Dad's car, it'd been his dad's since before he and Sammy were even born. He never really expected to call it his, though apparently it would come to be.
"It's not yours yet." John pointed out, like he knew where his son's mind was going. His voice was more tense than it had been earlier, when he'd laughed. It was back to being hard and cold. He'd shifted back from father-mode back into military-mode.
"Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now." Dean stood up straighter so he could yell "That Constance chick, what a bitch!" into the night, before resuming his earlier position with something like a sigh.
"Well she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure." Sam commented, looking back to the edge of the bridge where they'd seen her before settling on the hood next to Dean, who threw up his arms in obvious frustration, before flicking mud off his hands. Sam sniffed and looked at his older brother. "You smell like a toilet."
"Really Sammy?" Dean asked with a snort. "Way to be the supportive brother." He said it in a teasing voice, but Sam couldn't help but to wonder if it was actually said with a double meaning. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and instead forced himself to smile.
"It's probably true though." he argued back, with little vigor.
Back at the hotel, Dean threw a MasterCard on the guest ledger. The name was Hector Aframian, just like he'd said earlier to Sam. He was still soaked int the mud, though it was mostly dried by then.
"One room please." The clerk picked up the card and looked at it for a moment.
"You guys having a reunion or something?" he asked, tilting the card to look at the name.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, while Dean's eyes just widened.
"I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month." Dean turned and looked at Sam.
That, to Dean, was the most surprising. Rarely did they rent rooms that far in advance. They usually paid a day at a time, that way if they had to bail in the middle of the night, it wouldn't create as much suspicion. He wondered if that in itself wasn't some sort of clue as to where Dad was.
The motel door swung open, Sam on the other side having picked the lock. He slid the pick back into his pocket as he stood, Dean just outside to play lookout, until Sam grabbed his shoulder and forcefully yanked him inside and closed the door behind them.
They looked around, to see every vertical surface completely covered in pinned up papers; maps, newspapers clippings, pictures, notes. There were books on the desk and junk on the floor and bed, and even something marked with the Hazardous Materials symbol.
"Whoa.." Sam breathed. Dean turned on a light by the bed and picked up a half-eaten hamburger sitting there as Sam stepped over a line of salt on the floor. He sniffed the food and recoiled.
"Never thought I'd see foot you didn't eat, no matter how disgusting." Sam teased, trying to make the atmosphere like it had been earlier. It just felt dark and uncomfortable in the room, when earlier it'd been light and almost happy. It'd been easier to be in the room with his father then than it had in months. Now it was just like always.
"I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least." He reasoned, as his little brother pressed three fingers into the salt on the floor, before flicking it off and looking up at Dean.
"Salt, cats-eye shells.. he was worried." The younger hunter reasoned, pulling himself back up to his full height. "Trying to keep something from coming in." He glanced over at Dean, who walked along one of the longer walls, looking at the papers attached to the wall there, and made his way over. "What have you got here?" he asked, looking over his brother's shoulder.
"Centennial HIghway victims." Dean answered simply. "I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?" He wondered aloud as Sam crossed the room behind him, looking at the papers on the other walls. There was more than just the current case everywhere. There were witches, people being burned alive, a column about "Devils + Demons", another about "Sirens, Witches, and the possessed", a wooden pentacle, and a note the said 'Woman in White" above a printout of the Jericho newspaper article they'd seen online about Constance's suicide.
Sam turned on another lamp. "Dad figured it out." He informed Dean, who turned to take a look.
"Of course he did." Dean muttered, not at all surprised. Almost always, Dad figured out cases that seemed much more difficult than that one, and it sure as heck rarely took three weeks. His main question was, if dad figured out the case, then why was it still happening. He almost asked it out loud but caught himself, not sure he wanted to throw that question out into the room right now. He had a feeling it'd be push the room out of the pan and into the hellfire.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white."
John cast a look at Bobby. He had no idea what that was, a woman in white. He was met with an almost identical look of confusion of his own. Bobby didn't know what that was either, yet apparently they'd find out in later years.
Dean took a second look at all of the missing men's pictures. "You sly dogs." He commented, as if they could hear him, before turning back to Sam. "Alright, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it."
"So it's like a spirit." Bobby reasoned. He knew you burned the body for ghosts, so it wasn't exactly a leap to assume that, if the same was true for the 'woman in white' that she was a some sort of spirit as well.
"She might have another weakness." Sam suggested, still looking at the article on the wall.
"Well, Dad would want to make sure." Dean said with complete certainty, walking over to Sam. "He'd dig her her up. Does it say where she's buried?" He asked, glancing at the paper.
"No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband." Sam suggested, tapping the picture of Joseph Welch. "If he's still alive." he added, because if the date on the printout was correct, than the man was sixty four years old.
"Alright." Dean agreed, "Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address, I'm gonna get cleaned up." Dean suggested, starting to turn away.
"I feel bad for that poor shower." Sam tried again, to tease, but was met with only stony silence, even if Dean did give him an almost playful reproach look.
Sam turned with him. "Hey Dean?" He asked, seeming almost nervous to do so as his brother pivoted back toward him. "What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry." He apologized, voice sincere. Dean held up a hand though.
"No chickflick moments." He said, kind of like a decree. Sam laughed and nodded.
"Alright. Jerk."
"Bitch."
Surprisingly, the apology and Dean's apparent acceptance of it, did wonders to lighten the mood in the room. A lot of the strain released, like a a weight had been lifted off the room, and even though it wasn't as light as it'd been before, it was better.
Sam laughed again as Dean disappeared into the bathroom. He noticed something, his smile disappearing, and crossed over for a closer look. A rosary hung in front of a large mirror, and stuck into the mirror frame was a photo of his father sitting on the hood of the Impala, next to a younger version of him and his brother. Dean in a baseball cap, and himself on his father's lap. He took the photo off the mirror and held it between his fingers, smiling sadly.
More than anything, Sam was surprised at the sentimentality of it. His dad never seemed to care much for relationships, and often never saw past whatever hunt he happened to be on that week, so the thought of him carrying a family picture with him, was almost too odd for him to wrap his head around.
"That was, what, seven, eight years ago?" Dean asked, looking back to his father curiously.
"Eight." John confirmed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. It wasn't like he hated his children, far from it, he just wasn't good at expressing his care for them. And though he himself hadn't left the picture, his future self had, it still felt like he'd just stumbled through an admission of affection and was a bit nervous as a result.
Later, when the sunlight was still streaming through the windows, Sam paced, holding his phone to his ear, before sitting on the bed. A voicemail message from Jess playing in his ear.
"Hey, it's me, it's almost ten-twenty Saturday night-"
Dean, clean again, came out of the bathroom and grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on one shoulder. "Hey man. I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in the diner down the street. You want anything?" He asked. Sam shook his head no. Dean looked doubtful before adding, in a playful voice, "Aframian's buying." But Sam just shook his head.
"Mm-mm."
Dean left the motel room, getting the rest of his jacket on as he walked across the parking lot. He looked over and saw a police car, where the motel clerk was talking to the deputies they'd spoken to at the abandoned car on the bridge. The clerk pointed at Dean, who turned away and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
"Uh-oh." Dean's eyes widened a bit as he watched himself get nervous from the arrival of the police officers.
"Uh-oh is right." Bobby agreed, frowning at the screen. He knew that cops meant well, and were really just trying to do their jobs, but they often got in the way, and as a result often got hurt or killed. It was mainly due to such occurrences that he wasn't exactly a fan of law enforcement.
Back in the room, Sam was sitting on the bed, still listening to the message.
"So come home soon, okay? I love you."
"Like I said." Dean commented with a smirk directed toward his little brother. "Your future life is a Romcom."
The phone beeped and he looked at it, pressing the answer button and putting it back against his ear.
"What?"
Outside, the deputies were approaching Dean.
"Dude, five-oh, take off."
Sam stood slowly, "What about you?"
"Really Sammy? Just get the hell out." Dean urged, sounding only halfway sarcastic.
"Uh, they kinda spotted me. Go find Dad." Dean hung up as the deputies approached, and he turned and grinned at them. "Problem officers?" He asked brightly - too brightly.
"Where's your partner?" one of them asked.
"Partner? What, what partner?" Dean countered, deflecting badly. One of the cops glanced over his shoulder and jerked his thumbr towards the motel room, while the other one headed toward it. Sam saw the officer and darted away from the window.
Dean fidgeted.
"So. Fake US Marshal. Fake credit cards. You got anything that's real?" The officer demanded, to which Dean only smirked.
"My boobs." A second later, and the Winchester was slammed over the hood of the cop car, listening to his rights being read to him.
"Really Dean!?" Sam yelped, looking up at his big brother with a mix of annoyance and disbelief. "What the hell? Why in the name of God would you mouth off to the cops -again-? It's like you have a secret wish to be put in prison."
In the police station, the sheriff walked into the room, holding a large box, that he set on the table where Dean was sitting. He went around to the other end to face Dean.
"So you want to give us your real name?" He asked.
"I told you, it's Nugent. Ted Nugent." Dean insisted, trying not to smile as he claimed the name of the musician as his own. The sheriff wasn't the least bit amused.
"Because nobodies gonna recognize that name." Bobby said, rolling his eyes at Dean's antics.
"Ya gotta go with what ya got Bobby." Dean replied, unconcerned.
"I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you're in here."
"We talkin', like, misdemeanor kind of trouble or, uh, squeal like a pig trouble?" Dean asked without missing a beat, looking at the man with an unconcerned smile.
"You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall." He stated, while Dean just rolled his eyes and looked away. "Along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. Boy, you are officially a suspect."
"How could you be a suspect?" Sam asked, tilting his head. "You'd have been like two years old when the first person went missing Dean."
"Remember, I was there." John pointed out. "They might think he's a partner."
"Well that makes sense." Dean muttered, voice sarcastic. "Because when the first one went missing in '82, I was three." The Sheriff though, wasn't at all swayed.
"I know you've got partners. One of 'em's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So tell me. Dean." He tossed a down a brown, leather bound journal on the table between himself and Dean. "This his?" Dean just stared at it while the sheriff sat on the edge of the table, flipping through it. It was filled with newspaper clippings, notes, and pictures, just like what'd been on the wall in John's hotel room. "I thought that might be your name." He continued. "See, I leafed through this. What little I could make out—I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy."
"You never leave your journal behind." Dean said aloud, not even realizing that his brain-to-mouth filter had stopped working again.
John looked down at his journal - the same thing, just less full and worn - a few feet away on the desk. He took the thing with him everywhere, it had it's own little hollow in the Impala, had left a small imprint in every jacket he'd ever owned in the last twelve years. He would never, under any circumstances, leave it alone in a hotel room if Dean and Sammy weren't there, especially if he was on an active hunt. It held every bit of information he had on every bit of supernatural anything he knew about.
Dean couldn't help but to lean forward for a closer look.
"But I found this, too." The cop flipped through the journal to a page that read "DEAN 32-111", circled with nothing else on the page. "Now. You're stayin' right here till you tell me exactly what the hell that means." Dean just stared at the page for a moment, before looking up.
Meanwhile, Sam knocked on a grimy, fence covered window. An old man opened it, wearing a baseball cap and squinting against the bright light from outside.
"Hi," the hunter greeted. "Are you Joseph Welch?"
"No, he's the Easter Bunny." Dean interjected caustically.
"Yeah."
Joseph and Sam walked down the junk-filled driveway, the older man holding the photo Sam found on John's motel room mirror. "Yeah. He was older, but that's him." He confirmed, handing the picture back. "He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter."
"That's right." Sam confirmed, going with it. "We're working on a story together."
"Well I don't know what the hell kinda story you're working on. The questions he asked me?"
"About your wife Constance?" Sam asked.
"Really Sammy? You're 2-0 on asking stupid questions."
"Shut up, ya jerk."
"Bitch."
"He asked me where she was buried." The man sounded like a mixture between confused and revulsed.
"And where is that again?" he inquired.
"What, I gotta go through this twice?"
"It's fact-checking." Sam explained. "If you don't mind."
"In a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge."
"And why did you move?"
"Because your children dying in the house isn't enough?"
"Seriously Dean, knock it off." Sam burst, quickly growing irritated with Dean's commentary that seemed to be nothing more than high-and-mighty comments on Sam's mistakes or pointless questions.
"But you're asking stupid questions!" Dean objected, looking seriously like he didn't understand why Sam could be getting upset.
"I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died." His voice shook a little bit for the first time as he mentioned the death of his children in the old house, and Sam stopped walking. Joseph stopped right behind him.
"Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?"
"No way." he replied, without a moment's hesitation. "Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known." His voice was fond and smiled just a little bit as he recalled his late wife.
"So you had a happy marriage?" It was there that the man finally hesitated, just a moment.
"Definitely."
"Liar." Sam accused, knowing well what that beat of hesitation.
"Now who won't shut up?" Dean fired back at his brother.
"Boys.." John warned, yet again, as his sons began to argue.
Sam nodded, but didn't look convinced. "Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time." He turned and walked toward the Impala, and Joseph headed back for his home. Sam waited a moment, before stopping and looking back. "Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a woman in white?"
Joseph turned around, looking confused. "A what?"
"A woman in white." Sam repeated. "Or sometimes a weeping woman?" The old man just looked at him.
"What the hell are you doin' boy?" Bobby asked, confused. Sam had gotten his information, what could he possibly have to gain by going back and explaining the lore?
"It's a ghost story." The hunter began to explain. "Well, it's more a phenomenon, really." He started back toward the man slowly. "Um, they're spirits. They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places, in Hawaii, Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women." He came to a stop right in front of the widower. "You understand. but all share the same story."
"Boy, I don't care much for nonsense." He replied, voice almost, but not quite, annoyed, and walked away. It didn't have the desired affect though, because Sam simply followed him, still talking.
"Oh snap Sammy." Dean teased, watching as his brother persisted in making sure Joseph Welch knew what he'd started.
"See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them." That brought the older man up short. "And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children." Then Joseph turned around. "Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking down roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again."
"You think...you think that has something to do with...Constance? You smartass!" There was anger in his voice as he stepped closer to Sam.
"You tell me." He retorted, without batting an eye.
"Sammy, you're going all hardass." Dean said with a laugh. "I like it."
"Glad I could do something to impress you."
"I mean, maybe...maybe I made some mistakes."
"Which is code for being a douchebag and cheating on your wife." Dean translated smugly.
"But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children. Now, you get the hell out of here! And you don't come back!" Joseph's whole face shakes, though it was unclear whether from grief or anger. After a long moment he turned away, and Sam sighed.
Back at the police station, an increasingly annoyed Dean was still sitting at the table from before.
"I don't know how many times I gotta tell you. It's my high school locker combo." He said, exasperated and still referring to the page in the journal, and it was clear that the officer had no intention of believing his story.
"We gonna do this all night long?" he asked. A second later, a deputy leaned into the room.
"We just got a 911, shots fired over at Whiteford Road." He explained. The sheriff looked back over to Dean.
"You have to go to the bathroom?" He deadpanned.
"No."
"Good." He reached over and handcuffed Dean to the table and left.
"Okay, the police are officially the biggest dumbasses in the world." Dean concluded. "At least make sure the book's far enough away that they can't reach the paperclips." He folded his arms over his chest as his future self began to do the obvious thing.
Looking around, the hunter caught sighed of a paper clip poking out of the journal. He pulled it out and looked at it. Moments later, when the Sheriff and Deputy were gearing up to leave, he was already out of the cuffs, watching them through through the window in the door. He ducked out of sighed as the deputy approached the door and waited for his opportunity.
Later, he climbed down the fire escape, father's journal in hand.
"Good thinking." Bobby approved, nodding once.
"It's not exactly brain surgery." John commented. He hadn't intended to discredit or make Bobby's almost-compliment any less true, he just knew how things would go to Dean's head if he wasn't kept in check, and with his son still having a lot to learn about hunting, arrogance could spell big trouble later on.
Sam was driving the Impala when his cell phone rang. He pulled it out and answered it.
Dean was in a phone booth. "Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I don't know, that's pretty illegal." He teased, voice playful. Sam just grinned.
"You're welcome."
"Aww! Little Sammy's finally joining the dark side!" Dean cooed in a sugar-sweet voice as he looked over at Sam.
"Shut up." he grumbled.
"Listen, we gotta talk."
Sam shrugged off his brothers words. "Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop."
"Sammy, would you shut up for a second?" Dean interjected.
"I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet." Sam continued, clearly not understanding what Dean was trying to tell him.
"Seriously dude? Just shut your mouth!" Dean exclaimed, exasperation in his tone, even as his future self was saying something similar. "'Would you shut up for a second' isn't code for 'please keep talking!'"
"What can I say?" Sam replied, looking at his brother with an expression that was too innocent. "I learned about not listening from the best."
"I can't even argue with that." His older brother conceded reluctantly.
"Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho." Dean finally just spit out.
"What?" Sam asked, voice short and clipped. "How do you know?"
"I've got his journal."
"He doesn't go anywhere without that thing." The youngest Winchester's voice was laced with concern.
"Yeah, well, he did this time."
"Please don't tell me that I turn into that dude who points out the glaringly obvious." Dean groaned.
"What's it say?" Sam knew that if his father left the journal, then he left a message in it.
"Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going."
"Coordinates." He said in a knowing voice. "Where to?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?" He looked up and saw Constance in the middle of the road. He gasped and slammed on the brakes, dropping his phone in the process.
Sam jumped a bit, jerking his body with the suddenness of the spirit's arrival. He almost felt embarrassed by his reaction, at least until he realized that everybody else in the room had been just as surprised as he'd been.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean blurted, earning a reproachful look from his father, who wasn't overly fond of Dean's frequent cursing.
The car passed right through her as Sam brought it to a halt.
"Sam? Sam!" Dean asked into the phone, hearing the squealing brakes and the thud of the phone hitting the floorboards.
Sam breathed hard for a second as the car stopped, but didn't see Constance in the back seat, until she spoke to him.
"Take me home." He just stares at her in the rearview mirror. "Take me home!" She repeated, louder and more insistent.
"Talk about desperate. Didn't think anybody'd ever want ya that bad Sammy." Dean teased, winking at his little brother, who looked sufficiently mortified, playfully.
"No." Sam replied, voice calm but firm. Constance glared at him and the doors locked themselves. The hunter tried to reopen them, but the gas pedal pressed down and the car began to drive itself. He tried to steer, but Constance was doing that too. He kept trying to get the door open, but to no avail. In the back seat, Constance flickered.
The car eventually pulled up in front of the abandoned house on Breckenridge Road, where the old Welch house was. The engine finally shut off, as did the lights.
"Don't do this." Sam said, voice more of a suggestion than any type of plea. Constance flickered again, and spoke, voice sad.
"I can never go home."
"You're scared to go home." he realized, but when he looked back again, Constance was gone. His eyes flicked around and back, before he saw her in the passenger seat. She climbed onto his lap, shoving him back against the seat hard enough to recline it as he struggled.
"Hole me. I'm so cold." She pleaded, pressing herself into him.
"Don't do it Sam." Bobby urged from the back of the room, gaze intense as he watched. He hadn't even realized that he'd spoken aloud at first.
"If Sammy was so stupid he'd do it, I doubt he'd have even made it into college." Dean pointed out, "Let alone survive our life." His voice was light enough, but there was a tension in him that was still concerned for his little brother, even if in the future he was some kind of gigantic mountain person.
"I... I think that was a compliment.." Sam realized with a blink, looking at his older brother. "So.. thanks?"
He tried to get away, pulling his head back and baring his teeth as she touched him, so it was hard to tell if he was fighting her or his own will for a moment.
"You can't kill me." Sam stated, stilling completely. "I'm not unfaithful." He took a deep breath through his nose. "I've never been." He groaned and leaned his head back for a brief second.
"Atta boy Sammy. Way to not be a douchebag." Dean cheered, reaching to hit Sam's shoulder, who slid back in time to miss the blow.
"You will be." She replied with absolute certainty. "Just hold me." She kissed him as he continued to struggle, reaching for the keys.
"Okay.. now this is getting kinda uncomfortable to watch."
"At least you're not watching yourself get assaulted by a ghost." Sam replied, feeling his skin heat up as he pointedly looked away from the screen.
"You're right. I"m watching my little brother get assaulted by a ghost, because that's much better."
At which point she pulled back and disappeared, a flash of something behind her face as she vanished. Sam looked around in a moment of peace, before screaming out in pain and falling backward, yanking his hoodie open. There were five new holes burned in the fabric, matching to Constance's fingers as she flickered in front of him, her hand reaching into his chest.
The room stilled, the sound of future Sam's screams filling the room for a heartbeat. They all knew the risks that came with hunting, you got hurt - it was just part of it. Knowing that was one thing, but watching someone be, for lack of a better word, tortured, and having no means to help was agony in itself. Especially for Dean, because he couldn't see past the fact that the person being hurt was Sammy. John's eyes narrowed, as he ignored a flash of emotion that rushed through him and made him want to do something, anything, to help - even though he knew he couldn't.
A gunshot rang out, shattering the window and startling the spirit. Dean approached, still firing at her. She glared at him, then vanished, then reappeared. The hunter continued firing until she disappeared again.
"Thanks."
"No problem." Dean replied, voice smug. "What am I if I'm not saving my baby brother's ass?" he asked.
"A jackass yourself?" That time, Sam had to dodge a boot that was aimed for his head. It hit his shoulder instead, and most definetely would leave a mark, but he kinda knew he deserved it.
"Boys stop." John ordered, for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past thirty minutes.
Sam sat up and started the car. "I'm taking you home." He hit the gas, driving the car forward as Dean stared. The Impala crashed into the house with a loud noise, taking out the front wall. Dean ran into the wreckage, gun in hand, to the passenger side of the car.
"Sam! Sam! You okay?" He asked, almost demanded, as he yanked the door open.
"Yeah, I think." Sam grunted.
"Can you move?"
"Yeah." Sam answered, shifting. "Help me?" Dean leaned through, reaching for his brother.
"That had to suck to say." Dean commented with a small chuckle.
Constance picked up a large framed photograph, of a woman and two children, Constance and her son and daughter.
Dean, meanwhile, helped Sam out of the Impala.
"There ya go." He grunted, closing the car door. The brothers turned to see Constance; She looked up, glaring at them and threw the picture down. A bureau slid across the floor, pinning Sam and Dean against the their car, lights flickering. The woman looked around, scared, as water began to pour down the staircase. At the top were a boy and a girl, the same ones from the photograph. They held hands and spoke in chorus.
"You've come home to us, Mommy."
"Talk about creepy." Bobby said, barely suppressing a shudder. Kid ghosts were always eerie as it was, but two of them, talking at the same time made it even worse. John nodded in agreement, as did the boys, and it made him want to chuckle that the one thing they could all agree on was the creepiness of ghost children of all things.
Constance looked at them, distraught. Suddenly, they were behind her. They embraced her tightly and she screamed, her image flickering. In a surge of energy, still screaming, Constance and the two children melt into a puddle in the floor.
Sam and Dean shoved the bureau over and go to look curiously at the spot where the spirits vanished.
"So this is where she drowned her kids." Dean confirmed with an odd look on his face. Sam nodded.
"Oh god.. I do become that guy who points out everything obvious." Dean moaned, throwing his head back in an exaggerated motion.
"That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them." he explained.
"You found her weak spot. Nice work Sammy." Dean complemented, pride in his voice. He slapped Sam on the chest, where he'd been burned, and walked away. Sam laughed harshly through the pain.
"Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you." He pointed out. "What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak." He teased.
"Hey," Dean objected, chuckling. "Saved your ass." He leaned over to look at the car. "I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car.." he threatened, trailing off and turning to look at Sam. "I'll kill you."
Sam laughed.
The Impala tore down the road, right headlight out. Inside, Sam had his father's journal open to the 'DEAN 35-111 page and was finding coordinates on a ruler, a flashlight tucked between his chin and shoulder.
"Okay, here's where Dad went. It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado." He traced his finger along the map.
Sam was kinda proud of himself. He'd just now been taught to read maps, and they were short five minute lessons from Dean sometimes. He'd never been very good at it, and it often took too long and Dean and his dad often got impatient waiting for him to figure something out. It made him feel a little bit better to know that, at least in the future, he'd get better at it, and had also learned to find coordinates.
Dean nodded. "Sounds charming. How far?"
Sam thought for a moment before answering. "About six hundred miles."
The older brother shrugged, considering. "Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning." Sam looked at him, hesitating for a moment.
"Dean, I, uhm.."
Dean sighed, glancing to the road and back. "You're not going." He said it like he already knew it, as a statement and not a question.
"The interviews in like, ten hours. I gotta be there." Sam explained, imploring his brother to understand. Dean just nodded, disappointment clear in his features, attention returning to the road.
"Yeah, yeah whatever." he replied halfheartedly, casting a glance at his little brother. "I'll take you home."
Dean frowned, looking down. It was hard to imagine Sammy living a separate life from him and Dad. He'd always just imagined his future as him, Sam, Dad, and the Impala. It was hard for him to stomach the fact that Sammy apparently wouldn't be apart of that future. He was proud of Sam for getting into college and all, he was, but he didn't like the idea of being away from him. It was always Sam and Dean or Dean and Sam. Saying, or even thinking, one name without the other was odd, and the thought of not being with Sam was comparable to losing a limb.
Sam picked up on his brother's stress and tilted his head, scooting toward him a bit so his right side pressed against his brother's left leg. It wasn't much, Dean didn't like big displays of emotion anyway, but it seemed to be enough to remind his big brother that he was still here now, because he smiled a bit.
Sam turned his flashlight off.
Back at the apartment building, Dean pulled the Impala into the front lot, still frowning. Sam got out and leaned forward to look in through the passenger window.
"Call me if you find him" He asked, and there was genuine concern in his voice. Dean nodded. "And maybe I can meed up with you later, huh?" The suggestion hung in the air for a moment, and even to Sam, it didn't sound like an actual possibility.
"Yeah, alright." Dean finally responded.
Sam patted the car door twice, almost fondly, before turning away. After a second, Dean leaned toward the passeneger door, one arm going over the back of the seat as he did so.
"Sam?" The taller Winchester turned back. "You know, we made a hell of a team back there." He pointed out.
"Yeah." Sam replied, like he wasn't sure what his brother expected to come out of the observation. Dean drove off without another word, and Sam watched him, a sigh that was a mix of relief and wistful.
There was a thick pause in the room as Sam turned and walked back inside his apartment. They knew that it all supposed to be safe and whatnot now, but none of them could quite shake the feeling that there was more coming.
He let himself in his apartment, where everything was dark and completely silent. "Jess?" He called out, shutting the door behind him. "You home?" He noticed a plate a cookies on the table, along with a note that read, "Missed you! Love you!" He smiled, picking one up and eating it as he snuck into their bedroom.
John almost smiled. Despite the odds, it seemed that his youngest son had managed to find a life of simple domesticity, one that reminded him of himself and Mary before her death. He seemed happy, almost deliriously so.
Bobby couldn't help but think back to his wife, with a pang of sadness, as he saw Sam return home to his own girl. He couldn't help but feel proud. Sam had gotten out, had a life, had a girl who loved him waiting for him at home. He got the life that no hunter ever did.
The pride of both men was short-lived.
The shower audibly running, he sat on he and Jess' bed, shutting his eyes and flopping down on his back. A few silent seconds later, and a dime of red appeared on his forehead.
"No.." John breathed, realizing what was about to happen.
"Oh my god.." Dean choked.
And then another. He flinched and opened his eyes. He gasped in horror, eyes filled with stomach wrenching terror. Jess was pinned to the ceiling, staring down at him and bleeding from the belly.
"NO!" He cried out in an agonized voice, as Jess burst into flame, fire spreading across the ceiling. And for a moment, Sam looked just like John, terrified into not moving.
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
John felt like he was about to throw up, because it was Sam's eyes he saw filled with fear and panic.
Dean burst open the front door, calling for his brother and running into the apartment.
Sam raised an arm, shielding his face from the god-awful heat. "Jess!" he yelled over the roar of the flames.
Dean got to the bedroom. "Sam!" He screamed for his brother, before looking up and seeing Jess.
"No! No!" Sam pleaded for it to all be in his head, imaginary. Before he realized it, his brother grabbed him and bodily dragged him from the room. He fought back the entire way, only wanting to get back and save Jess.
"Jess! Jess! No!" He cried as flames engulfed the apartment.
After the fire, it was almost exactly as Dean remembered it being as a child. A fire truck was parked outside the building, fireman and police keeping back gawkers. He looked on for a moment, before walking back to his car. Sam was standing behind the open trunk, loading a shotgun with learned expertise. Dean looked in the drunk, then back to his brother, whose face was set in a desperate sort of anger, much how he remembered his father's being. Sam looked up, sighed, nodded, and tossed the shotgun back into the car.
"We got work to do." He growled, voice hollow with a dangerous edge. The ambulance lights lit up his face, an echo of his father's.
He slammed the trunk.
The silence was deafening.
John stared, seeing in his son what he saw when he looked in the mirror, and that was terrifying. He'd held out hope for Sammy, and apparently it'd all been in vain, because whatever this thing was that'd destroyed their family, wasn't going to let any of them have any type of happiness. They were in this for good, there was no doubting that now.
Bobby stared at the then black screen for several seconds. He was angry at himself for even thinking that it was possible for a hunter to escape the life. Of course there could be no reprieve, for any hunter, especially the Winchesters.
Dean shuddered a little bit, because damn it all if Sam didn't look and sound just like their father. And so, he couldn't help but think, the cycle continues.
Sam just trembled.
So, I've gotten a couple PMs and questions, asking about which episodes I'm doing and which ones I'm skipping, so I made a list. Since I plan on doing each season in a different work, the episodes I'm doing for Blank Disc goes as follows: Pilot, Wendigo, (I'm debating on Phantom Traveler), Bloody Mary, Skin, Hook Man, Home, Asylum, Scarecrow, (Debating on Faith and Route 666), Nightmare, (Debating on The Benders), Shadow, Hell House, (Debating Something Wicked), Provenance, Dead Man's Blood, Salvation, and Devil's Trap. If there are some you want included, or don't, just let me know, and I'll consider changing. ~TheFallenArchangel
Reviews, PMs, Faves, and Follows are very much appreciated, and, as always, see ya next chapter!