Perfect
Summary: Sam and Dean head to a town from their youth on a case, but find more than they bargained for. Could it be that they've faced the same creature before? Dean-centric
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or anything associated with the show.
Author Notes: Thank you again for reading, and thank you for the reviews throughout. A question posed in one review will be answered in the next chapter ^_^
Set early Season 14.
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Chapter 4
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By early the next morning, when Sam woke, he had expected to find his brother still passed out on his bed wearing the clothes from the night before – exhaustion having taken its toll. But whilst there were some signs that suggested Dean had slept, he certainly wasn't sleeping anymore. In fact, he wasn't even in the motel room anymore.
Sam padded across the floor until he came to the table and the note that sat there. Scrubbing a hand across his face and letting go of a yawn, he took in the quickly scribbled 'gone for supplies' and let go of a scoff. Supplies meant food and coffee, which wasn't unlike Dean. Dean being awake before Sam, however? That was what struck Sam as strange.
Since starting the case, there was a look in Dean's eye that wasn't related to recent events involving Michael. No, it was like he was trying to figure something out or remember something long forgotten, a memory long pushed down in favour of others. Sam knew the look and knew the feeling, because he felt the same way. It was a persistent itch that told him, somewhere in the back of his mind, there was something buried that would have everything clicking into place.
That was why, when Dean did return with his arms laden with food and coffee, Sam was sat at the table with John's journal in his hands and a narrowed gaze as he scrutinised it.
"What you got there?" Dean questioned, raising his head and motioning with his chin toward the book in Sam's hands. He dropped the keys to the Impala on the small shelf near the doorway and closed the door with his foot.
Sam held up the book, letting go of a breath and blinking his eyes a couple of times before focusing on his brother. "Dad's journal."
"Huh," Dean said in reply, pursing his lips and offering up a shrug as he approached the table. "Find anything?"
"Nothing," Sam answered. He pushed back from the table a little and sat up straighter, taking the opportunity to roll some of the kinks out of his stiffened shoulders. "And I've been through it back to front. Dad doesn't even mention of New Hope."
"I'm telling you, Sam, something ain't right." Dean placed the bag he was holding in one hand on the table, and balanced the coffees in the other until he was steady enough to do the same with them. Once both hands were free, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folder. "Couldn't get it out of my head after seeing Williams' file last night so I took a detour whilst I was out getting food and picked these up."
He held out the folder for Sam to take, waiting patiently for Sam to open it up and flick through the photocopied papers inside.
"These are from '93," Sam filled in, with a burrowed brow.
"Same as Josh Williams," Dean added, before returning his attention to the bag of food and starting to unpack it. "Check the month."
Sam's frown deepened. "July…"
"Right about the time we would have been in town with Dad."
"But these murders, they're just like the ones now. There's no way Dad would have missed that."
"So either he got sloppy," Dean supplied, which they both knew was impossible. Not John Winchester.
"Or we're missing something," Sam finished, shaking his head at the file and the papers within it.
Dean bobbed his head in agreement and paused in his movement with his hand wrapped around a plastic box that Sam could already see contained pie. "You know, I just don't get it. If he was on a hunt, why keep it from us? He was already taking us out, training us up."
"Yeah, because Dad was so forthcoming with information like that." Sam raised an eyebrow, his tone dry, the thick sarcasm causing Dean to roll his eyes in response.
"Okay, I get it, the guy had his secrets but this case… I don't know, I've just got a bad feeling." Even as he said it, he was lifting the lid from the pie and searching the bag for a fork.
Sam's lips hitched up into a half smile at the sight of it, and he bobbed his head in Dean's direction. "Yeah, I can see it's really affected your appetite."
"Dude, it's pie – I'm not gonna turn down perfectly good pie."
Sam snorted and shook his head a little, but his attention was soon caught by the light vibration and beep from his cell on the table beside him. He picked it up and let go of a breath, already pushing away from his seat before the next words left his mouth. "Well, it looks like it will have to wait until later. They found another body."
"What?" Dean questioned, his movements paused once more as he stilled mid-motion, about to cut through the pie, his eyes widening and taking on a sheen similar to that of a child who had just had their lollipop stolen by the Grinch.
"I set up an alert system on my phone," Sam explained, holding his phone up for Dean to see before pocketing it and moving off to grab his jacket. "Anytime something pings up in the system, like a dead body, it lets me know."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, it was really simple actually, I just needed to get access to the online databa-"
Dean waved a dismissive hand, silencing Sam, his face turning sour as he closed the lid on the pie and moved to snatch up the keys for the Impala. "Let's just get this over with, so I can get back to my breakfast."
"You mean get back to your pie."
Dean simply glared, grabbing one of the coffees from the table for on to the go. "And the difference is?"
"I'm just saying, I don't think pie is exactly the healthiest breakfast option."
"You say that like I care?"
The bickering continued on, even as they left the motel and climbed into the Impala, both brothers barely missing a beat at their familiar song and dance routine. Sam would have dropped the matter, but the stubbornness in him couldn't let it go.
"You know, it wouldn't kill you to eat an apple once in a while, Dean."
"There's apple in my pie."
"And about a billion other things that are bad for you."
"Says the guy that views kale as a food group."
"What's wrong with kale?"
Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam and turned the engine over before answering. "It's a garnish, Sam. A garnish."
"It's good for you."
"So is my pie."
Sinking in his seat, Sam let go of a breath. It was going to be a long drive.
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The newest body had been found on the outskirts of the woods, the crime scene so fresh that officers were still setting things up and ensuring the tape cordoning off the area was tight and secure. Dean's eyes wandered over the scene as he pulled up, taking in the little details here and there, from the morbidly curious bystanders that just so happened to be in the same area as the crime scene, along a remote stretch of road by the woods, to the officers standing by a plain sheet, coffees in hand and looking more than a little flummoxed by the whole situation.
Luckily, Dean noted, as he switched off the engine and pulled himself from the Impala, there was no sign of the coroner or any morgue technicians as of yet, which meant the FBI badges already out and ready in their hands, would be a good enough cover for gathering information. If this body was anything like the ones they had seen the day before, and Dean had no doubt it would be, then Game Warden wasn't going to cut it.
A young rookie, who looked ashen and sickly, held up a hand as they approached, but was quick to raise the tape and let them pass under once they flashed their badges. From there, they headed to the two officers by the sheet, which definitely had a body-like shape beneath it.
"Can I help you?" the older officer questioned, turning to face the pair with raised eyebrows and a stoic look on his face that suggested they best make it quick because he was fast losing patience with the whole situation.
"Agents Sullivan and Smith," Dean said, holding up his badge a moment longer before slipping it away.
The officer looked them up and down. "You don't look much like FBI to me."
Sam snorted and offered up a polite smile, pocketing his own badge. "We were caught off guard. We didn't expect another body to turn up so soon."
"But you did expect one?" The man narrowed his eyes and looked between the pair of them. If he had any other suspicions, he kept them to himself.
"You mean you didn't?" Dean challenged, and the man said nothing in reply, but turned his gaze away enough to suggest he had, despite maybe hoping there wouldn't be one.
"Mind if I take a look?" Sam motioned to the body, and the younger officer glanced toward her superior, and upon a brief nod from the older man, lowered herself to pull the sheet back.
Whilst Sam busied himself with the body, Dean focused on the two officers, pulling out a pad and pen from his pocket. "Has the victim been identified yet?"
"Bert Newman, poor son of a bitch… Looks like he never saw it coming." The older officer scrubbed a hand over his face before glancing down at the dead man Sam was currently looking over. "Still, probably better than what was coming to him."
It was Dean's turn to narrow his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"He just got diagnosed with leukaemia. Stage four, but the doctors reckoned he wouldn't live through the next year. I guess they were right."
"You seem to know an awful lot about him already…"
"We were drinking buddies," the officer answered with a growl, clearly not appreciating any possible accusation written in Dean's words or expression. "Besides, it's a-"
"Small town," Sam finished for him, pushing up and away from the body and dusting himself off. "Yeah, we've heard."
"We gonna have a problem here gentlemen? Because I got to say, I don't appreciate the feds coming down and trying to take over when I ain't even asked for their help."
"No, no problem," Sam placated. "If anything, we need your help. You see, we came here chasing a lead for a killer we've been hunting since some pretty nasty business in New Orleans." The lie slipped so easily from his tongue, and it never ceased to amaze Dean how well Sam fit into the role of FBI agent. Even without the suit, he played the part so well that it scared Dean sometimes. "I couldn't see any signs of struggles on the body. Has anyone picked up on any blood trails to suggest that something was maybe taken?"
"You mean like the others?" the female officer questioned, her voice meek in a way that suggested the very idea horrified her.
Sam merely nodded in reply.
"Well," the older officer answered, voice dripping with sarcasm so thickly that Dean could practically feel it rolling over him, "nothing has turned up yet, but when the coroner performs the autopsy, I'll make sure you boys are the first to know the results."
Dean would have reacted and rose to the bait, had he not been distracted by the familiar face in the crowd of bystanders down from the crime scene, the familiar dirty coat turning away a moment later. Dean nudged Sam with his elbow and made a brief motion to the crowd, knowing Sam would spot Driscoll also.
"We would appreciate any help you can give us," Sam spoke up, so polite he almost sounded sincere as he dug into his pocket and pulled out a business card to hand to the officers. "Thank you."
Dean was already making his way toward the crowd, catching up with Driscoll just as the older hunter was about to enter his truck. In a swift move, Dean reached out and pushed the door closed before Driscoll could make any attempt to climb inside.
"Heya, Eddie!" Dean greeted, false cheer seeping through his false smile.
Eddie grunted and scowled at him before glancing behind to where Dean felt Sam's presence arrive. "I thought I told you to leave town."
"You know we can't do that, Eddie," Dean continued, before narrowing his eyes on the elder hunter. "How'd you find out about the body?"
"I have my ways," Driscoll answered, but the faint chatter and static of a police radio inside the truck gave him away and Dean pulled back a little, no longer holding the door closed.
Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, the intention clear. Being aggressive was getting them nowhere, not that Dean believed playing nice with the man would do them much better. For whatever reason, Driscoll had decided he didn't like them and it came off of him in waves, which, in turn, only served to increase Dean's own dislike of the man.
But, he reigned himself in and took a figurative step back, allowing Sam to proceed. Good cop, bad cop.
"We're all here hunting the same thing, so we might as well work together," Sam tried. "Look, we already know this isn't the first time this thing has been on a spree, but if we pool together, we can get it before it drops off the map."
Driscoll scoffed. "You think you have things figured out? You have no idea. I've been waiting years for this to show its face again."
"And why is that?" Dean questioned, unable to stop the hostility dripping through on each word. "Did it murder your pet rabbit all the way back in '93?"
"If you must know, I owe someone a favour. A hunter. And me killing this thing, this will even us out once and for all."
"Good friend?"
"Good hunter, not the type you want to be 'friends' with… but he saved my ass and I owe him one."
"We know the type," Sam answered, but his voice was tight in such a way that had Dean knowing the same name and face had just crossed his little brother's mind.
The infamous John Winchester.
"From what I hear, you are the type," was Driscoll's quip in return.
Dean clenched his jaw, but instead of retaliating, he reached passed Driscoll for the door handle to the truck and opened the door with a sharp tug, the message clear. They were done, and it was clear by the irritated look in Driscoll's eyes that he was too.
Driscoll grabbed the door from Dean's grip, but decided to leave just a few more parting words before climbing in. "Like I said yesterday, you should really think about leaving town 'fore you mess things up."
With that, the door was closed and he turned his engine over. It wasn't until he had pulled away and the truck was well on its way that Dean managed to shake the antsy feeling that had set him on edge upon seeing the guy.
He pointed to the disappearing truck and looked to Sam. "I really don't like that guy."
"Well, I don't think he likes us much either, Dean," Sam scoffed, with a faint smile and light shake of his head.
Dean rolled his eyes and pushed away further thoughts of Driscoll in favour of looking Sam up and down, taking note of small flower in his brother's hand. "You find something?"
"Nothing to suggest it's linked to the others, but I found this stuck in the vic's collar." He held the red flower up and twisted it from the stem between his thumb and forefinger, his brow burrowed. "I'm thinking either the killer was disturbed, or something went wrong."
"Great," Dean answered, the word short and clipped, a dry growl. His gaze moved off down the road that Driscoll and his truck had disappeared down, his mind wandering with it. "Kind of makes you wonder what our overly friendly hunter is keeping from us, such as where he was last night with that rife of his."
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John's Journal – July 1993
I had to make a few calls about this one. At first I was thinking it was a Doc Benton copycat, what with the missing body parts, but now I'm not so sure. Whatever it is, it's smart and it knows what it's doing. Another body turned up yesterday morning with parts missing that have no right being missing. Is it a ritual of some kind? I've got Caleb working on a few leads; hopefully he'll get back to me before anyone else dies.
The boys are getting suspicious. Sam barely even tries to hide it. He's not even a teenager yet but he's already got all the attitude. Even so, it's Dean I have to watch. I can feel his eyes on me, but when I turn around, he's got his head in a book. Doesn't matter he's been on the same page for an hour at a time – he thinks I haven't noticed. But then I'm just as foolish for believing, no – hoping, he wouldn't know something was going on.
All I can say is thank the Lord for his new love. I don't know if it's the girl or the pie, but he keeps asking to go back to that diner in town. How can I say no? At least it keeps him distracted and when he's stuffing his face with pie, he's not trying to read my notes over my shoulder or giving me the side-eye.
You used to make us pie, Mary. I think he misses that. He misses you. We all do.
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A/N: Thank you for reading! More to come soon!
