John had been having almost continuous dreams since the night he had woken up with Gabby sitting at the end of the bed. Now was no different.
He was a little boy asleep in bed when smoke, dancing flames, his mother screaming and his father shouting woke him with a start. He ran barefoot out of his little blue bedroom with the airplanes hanging from the ceiling down the hallway and into his brother's room.
"Daddy!"
His father passed a small bundle into his arms. "Take your brother and get out as fast as you can. Now, Dean. Go!"
And so he ran, clutching the precious bundle to his chest as his house burned around him. He was reaching for the doorknob with small, chubby hands when the dream changed.
He was fifteen. His brother was eleven, and starting Junior High. The smaller boy stood by his brother's side, clutching his backpack like a lifeline.
"I don't want to go." He said plaintively.
"Sure, it's a bigger place than the last school you went to, but you'll be fine." He said comfortingly. "A little Young Einstein like you."
The younger boy gave a small smile. "Will you be at the flat when I get out?"
"You bet."
He was walking back to the black car and a brooding figure slumped over the steering wheel when the dream shifted again.
He'd just turned twenty-one. And instead of going out to celebrate, he and his old man were in Manhattan, where there was a troll that was preying on children.
It had gone wrong, and he'd ended up with his stomach gored. His father was sewing him up again, on a dingy hotel bed. His face was creased in a deep scowl and he was making no secret of how disappointed he was.
"The next time I tell you to do something, you do it. Am I clear?"
He balled his fists and blinked back tears. He would not show this man how much he hurt. How weak he was. What a disappointment he was. "Yes, sir." He spat through gritted teeth.
He was there shaking on the bed until the dream shifted once more.
He couldn't see them anymore. He couldn't feel the sun, or the wind. He was taken to a place which was nothing. But he could still hear the scream.
"DEAN!"
John blinked awake, trying to dispel the jumble of emotions that played through his head. He glanced across the bed.
Gabby was sitting up, cross-legged, on her side of the bed. His phone was in her hand.
"What's going on?"
"We need to talk, John."
That's never good to hear.
"What is it?"
"I've just been talking to Sam Winchester." She said. "He's been looking for his brother Dean. I think… John, I think you might be Dean."
The name meant nothing to him. Nothing at all.
"I also read this." Gabby handed him a manila folder with the emblem of Kat's law firm stamped on it. On autopilot, John reached out to flick on the lights. With a slight feeling of trepidation, he opened the file.
And his own picture jumped out at him, albeit a much younger, more carefree model.
"He's wanted. By the FBI." He said tonelessly as he read. "Grave desecration. Murder. Robbery. Armed assault."
"You remember I said that sometimes hunters get in trouble for saving people? You did, and if I'd taken you to the hospital that night you'd have been given the chair or death by lethal injection."
The way she spoke and the words he read only coupled to make him even angrier. "I'm. Not. This guy." He said quietly. "I can't be Dean."
"Can't or wont?" Gabby asked.
"How can you – You know me."
"I know John. Not Dean."
"Gabby…" His anger gave way to sadness. "But I'm not – I can't be – " He closed his eyes. "What did you tell this… this person?"
"That to me you were John no-last-name and no past. And he told me how Dean was a hero. He had given everything for his family. He protects his friends fiercely. And is always there to sacrifice himself for someone he hardly knew."
"Sounds like a nice guy." John said bitterly. "Too bad I don't know him." He flicked off the lights, lay back down and rolled over. This conversation is finished.
Gabby stared at his back. Who are you, John? What could possibly be so bad that your mind completely erases who you are?
There was only one answer she could think of.
He doesn't want to be Dean Winchester.
Kat was tired, and the multiple statements she had to give had her completely knackered, but she soldiered on anyway. That's all anyone could really do. Keep soldiering on one day after another.
It was after lunch when there came a knock on the door before an officious-looking man strode in. He looked down his nose as her and Kat returned his glare soundly.
"I hear your client is getting off."
"You heard correctly, Agent Hendrickson." There were some federal agents that she never minded working with, and there were some who fell into the opposite group. And this guy fell neatly into the 'get-away-from-me-you-creepy-bastard' category.
He was posted out here as soon as Eddie Jenkins' case became public, just in case Ed was a cover for Dean Winchester to start killing again. The man was obsessed with catching both brothers, but the eldest in particular.
The gossip around the lunchroom was that this obsession is what got him demoted, lost his team and lost his wife.
And now there was hell to pay.
"So." Kat said. "It wasn't Dean Winchester." Which was true. Even if John was Dean, he had been with her sister for several days before that cop was murdered. Another part of her was churning. Should I tell him?
She looked up at his satisfied, self-assured smile. And she decided it would stay her secret for a while longer.
"Apparently not." Hendrickson said. "But Dean Winchester has pulled the double-stunt on us before."
"I did read the file, you know."
"I know. You actually became very curious about the Winchesters the other day."
"What-?"
"Don't you think we monitor all logins to the database? I saw how many times you accessed information about that twisted family. I saw what your particular search terms were." He placed his hands on her desk and leaned over her threateningly. "To withhold information from an investigation is a criminal offence, Ms Rosalini."
"And who do you think briefs her clients on that very fact before she takes their cases to court?" Kat too rose to her feet. "Agent Hendrickson, if you have no hard evidence to present to me, if you aren't going to arrest me now, please leave now before I call Security to show you out."
"No need." Hendrickson drew back and smoothed his jacket. "I know where the door is."
"Then if you would be so kind as to use it?"
Hendrickson narrowed his eyes. This girl was quick, but he could tell that she was hiding something. Or at least not telling the whole truth. He gave her a smile.
"Ms Rosalini."
"Get out." Kat finally snapped.
The next day, Gabby went about as if their conversation the previous night had never happened. And that was perfectly fine with John.
Later they both walked up to the city lookout. It was a climb to get to the top, but once there it was worth it. John whistled. "Good thing I'm not afraid of heights. Or at least I can't remember whether I'm afraid of heights."
Gabby smiled. From her bag she pulled something wrapped in a length of cloth. She unwrapped it and pulled out a stick that was forked on one end.
"What's that?"
"A diviner's rod." She said. "It used to be used to find water and energy. Some say they're also drawn to ley lines, thought I wouldn't know for sure. I do know if you concentrate hard enough, it can point to other things."
Gabby held the rod by the forked end and stood with her arms out straight. As John watched, she closed her eyes and slowly moved the stick from side to side, eventually completing a full revolution.
John could hear her muttering place names under her breath. Vegas, Los Angeles, New York, Iowa, Philadelphia… It was like she had temporarily become a conduit for the rod's divining. He sat down and watched her curiously. It competed another revolution before it stopped, quivering. Gabby's eyes snapped open.
"It's still here." She said. "It's gone to the docks."
Agent Hendrickson stood on the observation deck among the haggard parents bringing excited children to peer out over the city.
He had spent several hours outside Katherine Rosalini's place that morning, just waiting. Finally his silent vigil bore fruit when a tall man stepped onto the porch and stretched. He smiled when a woman came out behind him and touched his hand as she teased him lightly.
What do we have here? Victor had thought. He watched as Dean Winchester opened the garage door and the girl wheeled out a motorcycle. Dean secured a backpack to the bike before getting on behind the woman, his hands winding around her waist. She opened the throttle wide and the two were gone.
Well. Clyde's gone and found himself a Bonnie. Hendrickson pulled out of his park.
For a moment Victor thought he had lost them, then he spotted them joining the ranks of sightseers heading to the lookout. Dean was making no attempt to disguise the fact he was there, thought the woman did seem slightly anxious. You arrogant bastard. Victor thought disbelievingly.
Hendrickson scowled. He fingered the knobs on his radio. He should really call this in. He should. But this was his case. And it was more than a little personal.
You ruined my life.
And so he waited for Dean and the woman to come back down from the very top of the lookout. Little did he know, he wasn't the only one watching something.
A blonde woman walked across the deck, her hair flying in the wind. Victor first noticed the walk she had, a sort of strut. She swaggered. She was good looking, and she knew it too. His gaze slowly broke away from the track as he watched her pass. For God's sake! She could be your daughter!
Even so, he couldn't help but watch as she bent over to retie her shoelace. She straightened and took off her jacket, tying it around her waist. He swallowed as he saw how low-cut her shirt was. She sat down on the bench and slumped over as she worked the tangles out of her long hair.
Suddenly there was a roar of an engine and Victor's head snapped around. He caught sight of the back end of a motorbike disappearing out of the entrance. He snarled and shot to his feet.
The blonde, too, was gone.
Hendrickson's hands clenched into fists. The blonde must have been working for him, which meant Dean knew that someone was on his tail.
He should have known that all the greatest criminals came in packs.
Composing himself, he went back to his car with as much dignity as he could muster. If Winchester had others working for him, then there was bound to be someone else, watching. See me? I don't care that he got away this time. I'll just pick up the trail again.
Little did Victor Hendrickson know that if he had turned around at that precise moment, he would have seen the woman who had temporarily blinded him with her feminine assets slip into the door of the awaiting getaway vehicle.
"I am a disgrace to the feminist movement." Jo said, pulling her jacket back on and zipping it up to the top. "Germain Greer is going to kick my ass all the way back to Australia." She glared accusingly at her companion. "You know what you just did? You visually pimped me out to some guy. I feel all sullied now."
"It was for the greater good." Sam said, working on stopping his face from breaking into a stupid grin. Jo would have been able to distract any male, unless they happened to be gay. Even he didn't mind her act. But there was no way he was going to tell her that unless she took it completely the wrong way.
"Hey, you pervert." She pinched his arm. "Are you going to sit there fantasising about me or what? Heck, you could rule the world with the right sets of T&A."
Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably as Jo sat back and crossed her arms across her chest. He pulled out. "We couldn't risk Dean being caught." He said. "You understand that, don't you?"
"Yeah." Jo sighed. "I guess. I just don't know why I'm always the bait, always the distraction."
"Because you're so good at it."
"Oh, drop dead."
"I hope you don't get seasick."
John shrugged. "I have no idea."
"Of course." Gabby rolled her eyes.
"What?" John suddenly felt defensive.
"John, this Bourne Identity act is starting to get old very quickly." She sighed. "You talked in your sleep last night."
"What did I say?" His mouth suddenly went dry.
"Something about a woman. Burning on the ceiling. And you called for someone called 'Cassie'."
Cassie. The first time he had let himself reach out to someone in a long while. He didn't even know what happened to her after he left her, that time when… He shook his head and the images were scattered. "No." He said.
"No, you don't remember, or no, you don't want to remember?" Gabby asked him, her eyes determinedly scanning the dock. "We are who we are, and we can't just erase that knowledge because we don't like it. We need the mistakes, and the heartache. They help make us who we are. And they make us stronger."
John was silent. He felt like Dean was there, just beyond his reach, waiting to retake control.
Dean, who drank and swore and slept around, just wanting to be normal, just wanting to be held. Alone, so alone. Always alone. And John, who had found friendship, a new lease on life, and maybe even love.
"I can't become him." John said quietly. "You don't understand."
We're not the same person anymore.