Get It While You Can
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural. All I got to my name is Jayne and Lynn.
Rating: T
AN: Thanks to winchesterxgirl, Firefly Orain Xi-Wang, Nelle07, guardian music angel, tbelle1234, Fragrant Princess, Silent Imagery, and A. Twilight. Love for the reviews!
"Rage"
Chapter 6: Premonition
Stamping Ground, Kentucky…
Thousands of stars blinked in the cloudless, velvety black sky, but the moon was nothing more than a pale, slivered crescent, and it left the deserted barnyard below shadowy and dark. Tall, overgrown grass blew in the wind, clumped around rotted fence posts that no longer held up a fence, and several feet ahead stood an old, dilapidated gray barn in desperate need of a paint job. The old building didn't look very sturdy at all; it seemed to sway ominously with every gust of cold wind. The hinges on the hay loft doors squeaked loudly as the doors flapped in the wind, and the main slider on the ground floor was partially open, letting the air whistle unsettlingly through the building.
The only light illuminating the lawn came from the windows of a nearby tavern, a large, two-story white thing, currently overcrowded with people. Muffled music and laughter echoed from inside, traveling across the yard. The back door swung open, and Lynn Juarez stepped out into the night.
She shut the door behind her, glancing warily to her left and to her right. The wind picked up her black ponytail, whipping her in the face with it, and Lynn drew her denim jacket tighter around herself to ward off the chill. Her breath steamed out before her, in little white puffs. She took another look around, and then she pulled her Glock and a small flashlight from inside her jacket, and started walking towards the barn. Her boots squished in the mud as she tramped over a well traveled dirt path that cut through the long grass, headed straight for the barn doors. Her footsteps echoed through the deserted yard, and her little light bounced all around the large gray barn looming up ahead of her. The old barn was dark and presumably empty, but the loft doors overhead continued to swing eerily back and forth on their squeaking hinges.
Lynn marched right up to the creepy old barn and stepped over the threshold with a confidence that she didn't quite feel. "Hello?" she called, peering cautiously around the door.
No one answered. Her frown deepened as she moved further inside, and she carefully circled the large, cavernous barn, shining her flashlight into the corners, behind large crates and lawn equipment, and up overhead, into the rafters. After several minutes spent in an apparently pointless search, Lynn sighed, shrugged, and gave up, turning back towards the doors.
Suddenly, the doors slammed shut with a bang that echoed through the barn. Lynn squeaked and jumped about a foot in the air. She dropped her flashlight on the ground, and it died instantly.
Boom!
The explosion rocked the earth, echoing through the cold, still night. The music went silent inside the tavern, and people started to shout. Orange and yellow flames engulfed the barn in moments, licking their way up the walls and into the rafters, and thick black smoke plumed up into the dark night sky.
Inside the barn, surrounded by crackling flames and illuminated by their flickering orange glow, Lynn Juarez's very still, black-haired form lay face down on the floor.
Four hundred miles away, Sam Winchester woke up.
He sat up straight in his bed with a loud, terrified gasp. Breathing hard, he glanced around the motel room he shared with his brother in a panic. There was no fire, no smoke, and no Lynn Juarez, only cheap motel furniture and darkness, save for a light from the parking lot that was streaming into the room around the window-shade. The room was silent except for Dean snoring softly in the next bed over.
The courtesy alarm clock on the bedside table was glaring at him with bright, angry red numbers. 3:30 am. Sam sighed, burying his face in his hands, rubbing his temples, and then sliding his fingers back through his hair. He was getting a headache. He cursed quietly and stumbled out of bed, clumsily feeling his way over to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he flicked on the overhead light. He turned the faucet on and bent over the yellowed sink, furiously splashing cold water on his face.
Talk about a nightmare.
He sighed again, rubbing his face dry with one of the old, worn white towels. Then he hung up the towel and blinked at his reflection in the mirror. Maybe it was the harsh lights, or maybe it was the weeks-long lack of sleep, but he looked like a baggy-eyed zombie.
The nightmare had felt so real. It was as if the dream had been really happening, right before his eyes. The last time he'd had such a vivid nightmare had been in the days leading up to Jessica's death; the blood on his face, Jessica on the ceiling, the flames that engulfed… everything. He remembered it perfectly. Of course he remembered it perfectly; ever since the fire, he relived the night Jessica died every time he fell asleep. He was plagued by nightmares, seeing Jessica's death over and over again… but he'd seen it before it happened too, and he'd been trying for weeks to deny it, to tell himself it wasn't real… that it wasn't really his fault… but he never believed it, not really, and now there was this new nightmare. This perfectly vivid, equally horrible nightmare, and this nightmare wasn't even about Jessica – it was about Lynn Juarez, and a barn in the middle of nowhere, and another fire.
What if…?
No. It couldn't be. There was no reason for it to be real… no reason at all, he wasn't a psychic, he'd never been a psychic, never had strange feelings or vibes or weird dreams… this wasn't possible, and it couldn't be happening to him. It didn't make sense. He simply wouldn't allow it to be real.
He shut off the bathroom light almost violently, and then crossed the room as silently as possible, towards his bed. Dean was still snoring, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't have to explain himself to his brother. He climbed slowly back into bed, careful not to let the mattress creak. Then, bundled back beneath the covers, Sam closed his eyes and tried as hard as he could to fall back asleep.
Sleep never came.
The Wyoming wind whistled down the empty interstate, blowing loose strands of Jayne's hair into her face as she stepped down out of Janis. She winced at the cold winter chill and drew her jacket tighter around herself. Her stepsister stayed inside the cab, fussing with her cell phone again, and Jayne slammed the door shut, using the truck as a buffer against the wind as she headed for the pump. The gas station was a rundown, rusty white hunk of crap with a sleazy looking guy in the booth, and Jayne decided she was paying at the pump with one of their credit cards and hoping it hadn't been tagged yet for fraud.
There was nothing but miles and miles of endless blue sky and endless mud-brown flatlands spreading as far as the eye could see, and it made Jayne feel unaccountably lonely as she wrestled the fuel nozzle into her gas tank and filled Janis up. She couldn't say what the hell she was doing out here in the middle of goddamn nowhere. It had been nearly three weeks since she and Lynn had pulled out of Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin, and they were no closer to finding Steve now than they had been before.
The first thing they had done when they got to Palo Alto was head straight to Sunset Blvd, where Dean had supposedly seen Steve's Superbird. When they pulled onto the quiet residential street and saw the burnt-out, blackened shell of a townhouse, Lynn had immediately called Trev.
Jayne remembered parking Janis on the little-used side street, hearing traffic swoop past from the nearby main road, and she remembered marching up the cement walkway, stained with soot and watermarks, into the charred husk of a house that was barely still standing, ducking under the yellow police tape stretched across the front steps. Lynn had been hissing at her to stay out of the there, Jaynie, what the hell are you even doing, but Jayne ignored her and picked her way carefully through the remains of the building while Lynn stood on the street and talked animatedly into her phone, pacing the curb by the truck.
The roof had been lost in the blaze and the blue sky was visible overhead, with tall, black, jagged support posts reaching above her into nothingness. The floor was barely a floor anymore, and Jayne moved carefully across it, sure that one wrong step would send her barreling through the blackened planks into whatever passed for a foundation around here. Everything was sooty and black, or crumbling from water damage, and Jayne found nothing helpful or interesting. She stepped through the remains of the back wall, onto the blackened stones of the back patio, and then she stepped down into the tiny, fenced-in yard.
She glanced over her shoulder at the ruined mess behind her one more time, and then she headed for the chain-link fence surrounding the little patch of grass. She couldn't say what had happened here, or when. She had no way to know if the fire had been natural or not, or if Steve had been investigating it, or if the Winchesters had been investigating it. Hell, maybe the fire hadn't even happened until after they left town, but she was still going to try to figure the damn thing out. Jayne headed for the old, rusty gate, surveying the back walk and surrounding fence with critical eyes as she went, and she stopped short when she disturbed some yellow dust clinging to the rusty metal fence links as she unlatched the gate. Her eyes followed the yellow crumbles as they fell to the sidewalk, and she knelt down at the base of the fence, running her fingers over the line of yellow powder she found there. She lifted her fingers to her nose and sniffed, and filled her nostrils with the unmistakable stench of rotten eggs.
Sulfur.
When Jayne returned to the truck, Lynn was waiting impatiently with her arms folded over her chest, leaning against the passenger door. "Are you done rooting around in burned down buildings with shaky, damaged foundations and potentially breaking your neck?" her sister asked snottily. Jayne rolled her eyes, and Lynn continued to speak without waiting for an answer to her rhetorical question. "Trev matched the address to the owner, some guy named Thomas Snowden, 54 years old. Looks like a local landlord, renting properties like this out to Stanford students, so his identity doesn't really tell us anything. Trev needs more time to figure out when the fire happened, if they've determined a cause yet, and who was living here at the time."
She nodded. Lynn kept talking, wincing noticeably and fussing with her necklace. "He also says the traffic cams in this neighborhood record on an endless loop with a two-week time interval, and that any footage of the night Steve was here, tagging Dean Winchester's car, has already been recorded over."
Jayne cussed under her breath. Lynn nodded, blinking rapidly, and Jayne was relieved when her sister managed to keep it under control. "Yeah," Lynn agreed. "So we're kind of at square one, all over again. Want to poke around, see if we can get anything on this fire, or if anyone remembers Steve…?"
"I found this in the backyard," Jayne interrupted. "Along the gate."
She held out her hand, and Lynn mirrored her. Jayne crumbled the yellow dust into Lynn's outstretched palm, and her sister crinkled her nose at it, lifting it closer to her face and taking a sniff.
"Sulfur," Jayne concluded for her, and Lynn looked at her with big, round brown eyes.
"Sulfur," she echoed. "So… what? Was this a job? Was it Steve's job, or the Winchesters'…?"
"I don't know."
"They didn't say anything…"
"I know."
Lynn sighed heavily, blowing her bangs up off her forehead. "What do we do?"
Jayne headed for the driver's side. "We find out more about this fire," she replied. "And then we go from there."
That had been weeks ago. They still didn't know why that house burned down, or where Steve had gone. They'd poked around in Palo Alto for almost two weeks before they realized there was nothing left to find there, and then they'd headed east. The only thing they managed to find before leaving wasn't even something they'd found. It had been Trev who figured out that the destroyed townhouse had been rented out to Stanford student Sam Winchester.
The sound of the window being rolled down jerked Jayne back to the present. She glanced around the empty, rundown gas station on the side of the desolate highway, and checked the pump. Her truck was fueled, and she immediately went to pull the nozzle and cap her tank again as Lynn poked her head out of the truck window and started talking.
"Trev's still got nothing," Lynn informed her, and Jayne wasn't surprised. "Jaynie… I don't want to give up, but I don't really know where to look next."
Jayne grabbed her receipt from the pump and marched around the front bumper of her truck. Lynn was staring at her when she climbed back into the cab, slammed the door, and started the engine. "Maybe we should look for a hunt," Jayne suggested, in a flat tone. Lynn didn't say anything, just stared. "Maybe we should…"
Her phone started to ring then, and Jayne stopped talking, reaching into her jacket and grabbing her cell. She frowned at the display screen. "Who's calling you?" Lynn asked obnoxiously, and Jayne glared at her.
"It's Rufus."
Lynn blinked, surprised. "Rufus?" she asked, and her tone betrayed a level of hope and excitement that Jayne wasn't sure was warranted. "That's Rufus?"
Jayne ignored her and answered her phone. "Hello?"
"Jaynie," Rufus Hannigan greeted her in his usual stiff, gruff tone. "All right?"
She smirked into the phone at the barely-a-whole-question. Same old Rufus. "We're surviving. How about you?"
"Been well. I called for a reason."
"You usually do."
Rufus Hannigan was an old friend of her stepfather's, and Jayne had practically been raised in his Pub back in Stamping Ground, Kentucky. He didn't believe in small talk or beating around the bush, and it was an attitude Jayne generally appreciated. Today was no different. "I saw your brother," he said evenly, without preamble or hesitation.
Jayne lost her smirk abruptly, her hand tightening on her phone. "What?"
"Steve stopped by," Rufus explained, somehow managing to pull off patient and gruff at the same time. "Dropped into the Pub yesterday afternoon, and pulled out this morning before I even woke up."
Her breath caught unexpectedly in her lungs, and for a moment she felt a little nauseous. "I see," she said after a brief pause.
"What the hell is going on?" Lynn demanded beside her.
Jayne waved her off, ignoring her. "Did he talk to you?" she asked. "Did he say…?"
"He was mum on details," Rufus interrupted. "Mum on a lot, actually. Wasn't like him."
"What did he want?"
"I think you and Lynn should come by," he said, instead of answering her. "We'll talk about it."
There was a long silence as Jayne contemplated the request that wasn't really a request, and she swallowed too hard before replying. "All right," she agreed. "Be there tomorrow morning. Thanks for calling."
"Drive safe."
He hung up before she did. "What's happening?" Lynn asked immediately, the second Jayne ended the call.
Jayne put the truck in drive and pulled out of the station, wheeling precariously back onto the highway. "Rufus wants us to come out."
"Yeah, I got that part. Why?"
"He said Steve came to see him."
The pickup's cab went dead silent, save for the tinny sound of the radio. Though usually glad for some quiet, this time Jayne wished Lynn would fill up the silence with words like she usually did and drown out the thumping of her blood in her ears. Her breath felt too shallow, and her heart was pounding. Someone had seen Steve... there was a lead on Steve... but why was Rufus being so weird about Steve?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lynn asked quietly, "What did Steve say to him?"
Jayne shrugged. Her heart might be going a mile a minute, but outwardly she stayed quiet and calm. The last thing she wanted was to get Lynn all worked up too. "Whatever he said, it must have got to Rufus. He told us to come out and we'd talk about it."
"He didn't tell you?"
She shook her head. "I guess he thought we'd do better to talk it about it in person."
Briefly, there was silence again, but Lynn soon filled it. "I can't believe this," she fairly whispered. "After all the time we spent searching …"
"I know."
Lynn sighed heavily. "Well, at least things seem to be taking a turn for the better," she murmured. "I mean, maybe now we'll have something to go on. Maybe we'll actually have a chance at finding Steve."
"Maybe."
Jayne was quiet again, contemplating what Rufus had said. Lynn scrutinized her from the other side of the bench seat, and Jayne tried to ignore it, focusing on the road. It was, of course, an exercise in futility. Lynn narrowed her eyes at her suspiciously.
"You don't seem as excited by this turn of events as you should be," Lynn observed, and her tone was borderline accusatory. "What else did Rufus say?"
Jayne spared her stepsister one short glance out of the corner of her eye. "He said Steve came in yesterday afternoon and didn't say much about anything," Jayne replied tensely. "And he snuck out this morning before anyone was up."
Lynn appeared crestfallen, and Jayne wished she hadn't told her. But Lynn was like a dog with a bone; she'd known Jayne was keeping something back, and she wouldn't have let up until Jayne told her everything. It was better to get it over with right away, like peeling off a band-aid.
"Well," Lynn said softly, leaning back in her seat. "I guess we'll know more when we get there."
Jayne nodded, staring at the road ahead as the front end of her truck swallowed it, turning up her radio to tune out the sound of her tires on the pavement. "I guess so."
Sam had been awake since 4 am.
He and Dean were camped out in a different town off the interstate, in another cheap motel that barely looked any different from the one they'd stayed at the night before last. The beds were just as lumpy, the window shades just as ineffective against the harsh lights from the parking lot, and the bathroom just as suspiciously yellowed. There was a decent diner next door, however, cheap and greasy but clean, and Sam had ducked in as soon as it opened to grab coffee. When he returned to the motel, Dean was barely finished getting dressed, and Sam still wasn't sure what he was going to do.
He'd had the nightmare again last night. Not the one about Jessica, not the one about the fire and the blood and his girlfriend on the ceiling. It was the dream about Lynn Juarez, and the barn, and the explosion, and Sam didn't want to think it was going to come true. He kept trying to tell himself that it wasn't possible; why would he think that his nightmares were psychic premonitions now, all of a sudden, after living twenty-two years without prophetic dreams?
But the dream was still lurking on the edges of his consciousness, even now under the morning's bright sunlight, and try as he might, Sam could not let it go. It had felt so real. He might as well as have been standing right there in the barnyard with Lynn, watching her walk from the tavern to the barn, sensing her nervousness as she investigated in the dark. The explosion had echoed in his ears, and he'd literally felt the heat on his face from the fire.
Dean whistled suddenly, and Sam started, looking up from the small table by the window, where he'd taken a seat with his coffee. His brother was holding the other to-go cup in his hand, and Sam squinted up at him as Dean waved obnoxiously in his face. "Anyone home?"
"Sorry," Sam said automatically, opening his laptop and taking a gulp from his coffee. "You find a hunt?" he asked, scrolling down on the search results open in his browser.
"Nah, not around here," Dean said, taking a seat across the table from him. "We got to branch out. There was this auto mechanic out in Bixby…"
Dean was still talking, but Sam promptly spaced out on him again. He took another gulp of his coffee and shut his eyes for a moment, trying to focus on finding another hunt, but the dream kept coming back. The barn, the dark, the explosion… Lynn Juarez lying completely still on the barn floor, with fire pressing in on her from all sides, the smoke getting thicker and thicker around her…
Sam leapt to his feet and headed for the door. "I'll be right back," he announced.
He could see Dean's incredulous expression as he passed him and slid out the door. His brother was officially confused and concerned about him, but Sam couldn't worry about that right now. Shutting the door behind him, Sam made his way down the row of motel room doors, headed around the front corner of the long, shabby building and taking refuge beside the rust stained ice machine. Glancing about furtively, Sam dug his cell phone out of his jeans, flipped it open, and scrolled down through his address book to the Ls. Then he dialed Lynn Juarez's phone number.
The phone rang. And rang and rang and rang. Sam started to get nervous, shifting awkwardly against the motel's ancient metal siding. Finally, after about six rings, there was a click, and Lynn's voice asked, "Hello?"
He breathed a sigh of relief. "Lynn? Hi. It's Sam."
There was a short silence, and then Lynn said, "Oh. Hi."
"Hi," he said again. "Um, sorry… I know it's been awhile since we talked… and it's weird for me to be calling you out of the blue like this, but… well, I guess I just wanted to check in on things."
He was scrambling, stuttering, but at least he was only half lying, right? He was honestly checking in on things… weird, nightmare-related things.
"Ok…" Lynn replied slowly, and he could tell she thought he'd lost it. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to hear from you, I just… didn't think you were interested in checking in on things with us. You know, after the incident…"
He forced a laugh. "Right, yeah… well, we managed to finish that hunt together, right? Everything worked out, so… yeah. I just thought…"
"You'd check in on things," Lynn finished his sentence for him. "Like ask how we did in Palo Alto?"
"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Sam replied, half relieved she'd provided his excuse for him. "How was Palo Alto? Did you find anything?"
"Palo Alto was… Palo Alto was extremely unhelpful."
"Oh."
"Yeah. I mean, we found your burned-out townhouse, though… so… I guess now I'm wondering why you never mentioned that."
Shit. Sam winced, slumping harder against the side of the motel. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. I guess I didn't think it mattered."
Honestly, he hadn't thought it mattered, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he should have thought about the fire possibly mattering… but Sam didn't really want to talk to Lynn about the fire. Sam didn't want to talk to anyone about the fire.
"It's fine. I guess it's not our business. It's just kind of a strange coincidence, that's all. Do you know what started it?"
Yeah, actually, it was some kind of spirit or monster or some other kind of evil, supernatural thing and it killed my girlfriend just like when I was a baby and it killed my mom, was not an answer that Sam wanted to give her. Jessica was his business, not Lynn's. "Jury's still out," he replied instead. Then he changed the subject. "I'm sorry you and Jayne couldn't find anything about your brother, though. I know how hard this has to be for you."
"Yeah," she agreed. "I guess you do. Jayne told me about your dad going missing. Have you found anything...?"
"No. No, we haven't. Not yet."
"I'm sorry."
"Thanks."
There was a silence. Sam scrambled again, still trying to work out how he was going to do this... and what, exactly, it was that he was doing. "So… what are you doing now?" he asked.
"Actually, we have a lead on Steve after all," Lynn replied. She sounded overeager, not that he blamed her, but there was definitely some trepidation in her voice. "A friend of my dad's, Rufus Hannigan, called not too long ago. Said he'd heard from Steve. We're on our way to see him."
"That's great!" Sam exclaimed. And yet, he wasn't sure if it was. "Rufus Hannigan, huh? Is he, uh…?"
"A hunter? Yeah. He owns a bar out in Kentucky. Hole in the wall on a dead end street in the middle of nowhere, but… well, we kind of grew up out there, so… it's like home, I guess? It's a hunter bar, you know… hunters swing by when they're passing through, get a drink and trade stories… that kind of thing."
His stomach sank as Lynn described Rufus's bar. "Hunter's bar, huh? That sounds… interesting. There, uh… is there a lot of farmland out there?"
"Oh, um…" Lynn sounded surprised at the question. He didn't really blame her. "Well, yeah, actually. Rufus's place used to be a farm; there's some acreage out there, and he lives in an old farmhouse back from the road a bit… there's even this crappy old barn behind the bar…"
"A barn?" he repeated, and cursed at the way his voice went up a notch too high and broke.
"Yeah…" Lynn said slowly. "Sam, are you ok? You're being really weird."
"Yeah, fine, I just…" Sam scrambled a third time for words, or ideas, or excuses... and then all of a sudden the metaphorical light went on over his head. "You know, a hunter's bar might actually be helpful for me and Dean. Maybe we could ask some questions, see if anyone knows anything about our dad…"
"Are you asking to meet us there?"
"No," Sam said too quickly. "I mean… maybe we could go there ourselves… or something… where is it again?"
"Stamping Ground, Kentucky," Lynn replied, sounding bemused. "It's called Hannigan's Pub. Sam, is something going on?"
"Um… I got to go, actually. Dean's, uh… it was nice talking to you!"
"Sam?"
"Bye!"
He hung up too fast, silently cursing at himself for being an awkward idiot, and he stared at the cell phone in his hand for a moment, chewing on his knuckles. Lynn was going to a bar… in the middle of farm country... where there was a barn... a barn that, according to his nightmares, was slated to explode on her.
"Ok," he whispered to himself. He glanced around the motel parking lot, letting his hand fall away from his mouth. "Ok."
Then Sam turned and ran back to the motel room.
As soon as he opened the door, Dean looked up from the computer and greeted him with, "There you are. I think maybe the case in Bixby is our best bet. If we leave tonight, we'll be there by…"
"We're not going there," Sam interrupted, marching over to his bed. He yanked his luggage out from underneath it and dropped his duffel on the mattress, tugging open the zipper.
Dean raised an eyebrow, watching his brother. "Ok…" he said, with the slow, careful tone people used on the crazy and dangerous. "Then where are we going?"
"Stamping Ground, Kentucky," Sam announced, dumping clothes into the bag.
Dean's incredulous face was actually a little funny. "Where?"
"Stamping Ground, Kentucky," Sam repeated himself.
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I think something might be going on out there."
"You think?" Sam merely nodded in reply to his brother's question. "And what exactly do you think is going on out there?"
Sam heaved a harassed sigh, shrugging. "I don't know."
Dean looked ready to kick his ass, and Sam winced a little. "You don't know?" Sam shook his head in reply. "Well, I'm sorry, Sam, but 'I don't know' isn't good enough. Where the hell did you even come up with this place? I didn't see it pop up on any of our searches…"
"Well, that's because I didn't find it on any of our searches," Sam admitted. Dean stared at him, thunderstruck, and Sam rolled his eyes. "What?"
"What do you mean what, Sam?" Dean retorted. "You clomp in here and randomly announce we're going somewhere in Kentucky, no explanation, no weird thing to investigate… or if there is something happening out there, you're apparently not going to tell me about it…"
"Look," Sam said suddenly, looking up from his packing and meeting his brother's eyes. "I know it sounds crazy. But I was just talking to Lynn…"
"Lynn Juarez?" Dean cut him off. Sam nodded, and Dean automatically sighed. "Are you kidding me, Sam?"
"Would you just hear me out?" Sam asked. "Look, Dean, she knows a hunter out there named Rufus Hannigan who says he's talked to their brother recently. Apparently he owns a bar that caters specifically to hunters. So they're going to go check it out, and I think we should too. Maybe this Rufus guy doesn't know anything about Dad, but there could be someone there that does."
"Oh, hell no," Dean returned, and even though Sam knew Dean was going to fight him a least a little on this, he hadn't expected such immediate, vehement refusal. "You want to march into some hunter joint and start dropping Dad's name all over the place? That's a terrible idea, Sam, and if Dad knew, he'd be pissed."
"Who says?" Sam countered. "I mean, do you even know what Dad gets up to when we're not around? Who's to say he doesn't go into hunter joints all the time? Maybe he's even been to this one! Maybe he's been there recently!"
Dean rolled his eyes. "So what if he has, Sam? You think he handed the bartender his itinerary for the next three months, and this Rufus guy can tell us exactly where he's going next?"
"Of course not!"
"Then why are you so jumped up about this place? What do you think you're going to find out there?"
"I don't know!" Sam shouted, backed into a corner and subsequently losing his temper. "Ok? I don't know. Maybe someone there saw Dad, maybe he dropped them a hint about where he's been, or what he's planning… maybe someone there knows something about Jessica's killer."
Dean's shoulders slumped a little, and he exhaled shortly, staring at Sam a long moment before rolling his eyes and turning back towards the table. He didn't say anything, but Sam thought maybe that was a good thing.
"Dean," he pressed. "We're going. At least, I'm going."
Dean sighed in exasperation, scratching the back of his head.
"And you can either come with me," Sam went on. "Or you can go hunting somewhere else. Alone."
There was a long pause. Sam stared at Dean, and Dean stared at the table. Finally, his brother shook his head and heaved another exasperated sigh. "Fine," Dean said. "We'll go."
"Thank you," Sam replied.
Dean nodded, and started packing. Sam moved a little bit faster. There was no way to know if his nightmare was just a nightmare, or a warning, and if it did come true, there was no way to know when it would happen. But if Sam's nightmares really weren't just nightmares, and something was going to happen to Lynn, he wanted to be there to stop it.
He couldn't just ignore it, and let something terrible happen all over again.
Nearly four hours west of Stamping Ground, Kentucky, Lynn hung up her cell phone and frowned down at it. She briefly considered the conversation she'd just had, strange as it was, and then a small, uncertain smile twitched around the corners of her mouth.
She tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and pushed herself off the exterior wall of the gas station, shifting the drinks and pretzels she'd bought in her arms as she crossed the cracked and crumbling asphalt. The gas station was only the latest in a long line of them since they'd started the even longer drive from Wyoming to Kentucky the day before, and Lynn swore they all looked the same. The white paint on the building was peeling and stained with rust. Two of the six pumps had red out-of-order covers on the nozzles. Wind whistled in from the highway and whipped up her hair, making her shiver at the sudden blast of cold.
Hearing from Sam Winchester was strange and unexpected, and considering the little they had learned in the past few weeks, Lynn figured she ought to be suspicious… and yet, she was smiling. Lynn tucked the smile away as she reached the truck. Jayne was finished fueling up poor old busted Janis, and as Lynn came around the corner of the pump, she tossed her the keys. "Your turn," she grunted.
They'd been driving since early the day before and through the night, and Jayne had done the bulk of it, so Lynn didn't complain. She handed one of the drinks to her stepsister, clambered up into the cab, and then adjusted the bench seat. Jayne joined her moments later and Lynn started the engine.
Jayne looked as tired as Lynn felt, with dark purple shadows under her eyes, and she leaned back in the seat, closing her eyes. Lynn made short work of changing the music and pulling back onto the highway. Her thoughts began wandering back to Sam Winchester almost immediately. She still wasn't sure why he'd called her, why he'd asked about her and Steve and Palo Alto. Just checking in, he'd said, and after the incident in Lake Manitoc, she was surprised he cared enough to bother.
Although, she considered, he'd been pretty overdramatic about said incident. Even Dean, the actual victim of the incident, seemed like he was pretty much over it already. Maybe Sam had decided the whole thing was bygones, and he wanted to return her olive branch.
Her phone buzzed suddenly in the cup-holder. "Jaynie, can you check that?" she asked. "It might be Trev. I told him we were coming into town."
Jayne grunted, but did as requested. "He says he can't meet tonight because of his shift, but he'll drop by the Pub in the morning. He thinks he'll have something for you by then."
"Finally," Lynn grumbled. "Maybe he actually finished running checks on the Winchesters like I asked him to do a million years ago. I swear, for being Mr. Big Time Hacker Guy, he sure takes forever to do the simplest things."
"I wouldn't bitch if I were you," Jayne drawled. "You don't pay him. Beggars can't be choosers."
Lynn made a face at Jayne's admittedly good point, mockingly echoing her stepsister under her breath. If Jayne noticed, she ignored her. They lapsed into silence as a few more miles of highway whizzed past.
"Why do you keep smiling like that?" Jayne asked suddenly, sounding suspicious.
Lynn froze, honestly unaware that she'd been smiling, and quickly tried to school her face into a calm, blank mask. Predictably, she failed. "Am I?" she returned innocently.
Jayne rolled her eyes, heaving a harsh sigh. "Yeah. What's up?"
"Nothing."
Her stepsister just stared at her, wrinkling her brow. Lynn waited her out all of thirty seconds, and then she caved. "If you must know, Sam called."
Jayne kept frowning at her. "Sam?"
"Yeah. Sam."
"Sam Winchester?"
"Yes, Jaynie."
"Why?"
"I don't really know," she returned breezily. "He said he just wanted to check in, see how things were going on the Steve front…"
"Did you ask him about the fire?"
Lynn froze again, and all traces of her smile left her face. "Yes."
"What did he say?"
Lynn shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "They still don't know what started it."
"And did he mention why he never mentioned it?"
She made a face at Jayne. "He just said he didn't think it was important."
"Huh."
"Yep."
"Did you ask about the sulfur?"
Lynn sighed, good mood officially gone. "No."
"So you got nothing out of him," Jayne concluded. Lynn glared at her. "So, why are you smiling?"
She sighed, harassed, and shrugged. "I don't know, ok! I just thought he didn't want anything to do with us after the incident…"
Jayne scoffed. "Are you still calling it that?"
"And then he called and was nice and asked nice questions, and I just thought it was nice, ok? I'm just glad we didn't burn that bridge. That's all."
Jayne made a face at her. "That's all."
"That's all!"
She could tell Jayne didn't believe her, and she really hoped her stepsister wouldn't press the issue. If Jayne pressed the issue, she'd have to admit that she found the younger Winchester to be extremely doable, and had wanted to jump his bones since she'd run into him at that bar back in Colorado, and was secretly hoping he'd started to think the same thing about her.
Ugh, get that thought out of your head, she silently scolded herself. Until she knew more about the fire and her brother and the Winchesters themselves, she couldn't afford to think like that.
Fortunately, Jayne didn't press the issue. She just rolled her eyes and settled back against the seat again. Soon Jayne was asleep and the cab was silent save for the radio. Lynn focused on the road and tried not to think about the Winchesters. It was easier than she'd thought; the closer they got to Stamping Ground, the more her thoughts centered around Steve and the Pub and why Steve might have stopped there… and most importantly, what he might have said to Rufus. The miles flew by, and hours passed, and before she knew it, she was following the main road through the middle of the tiny town, and then she was at the outskirts and pulling off on a side road, driving over ruts and through mud and into a veritable sea of tall brown grass and twisted black trees.
Lynn squinted through the windshield of Jayne's rusty old pickup truck as they rambled down the private dirt drive, turning the wipers on low to deflect the light, misty drizzle coming down from the steely gray sky. She steered the truck past crooked trees and battered fencing and tall, tall weeds before she finally hit the large circular dead end. Lynn parked on the matted brown grass that grew in tall, thick clumps around a large, white, weathered two-story building, with a wide front porch that jutted up right against the road. Painted above the porch in large, faded black letters were the words "Hannigan's Pub."
The truck was right next to the side of the porch, barely a foot away from the peeling latticework around the bottom, and it was one of the only cars parked outside, save for an ancient white Oldsmobile and a shiny black Harley. Behind the Pub was a dilapidated gray barn, and even further behind that, hiding behind old, tall trees, was the Hannigan's big, blue and white farmhouse, with its own massive front porch. It was so far back from the road, it looked like a little Monopoly house.
The farmhouse looked dark, but Lynn could see light peeking out around the vinyl blinds on the Pub's big windows, and she smacked her stepsister on the arm. Jayne jolted awake. "We're here," Lynn announced, smiling sweetly, and Jayne glared at her.
"Ok," she grunted and then she swung open the passenger door, stepping out into the cold and the drizzle. Lynn rolled her eyes and got out of the truck too, following Jayne as she clomped up the wide front steps. The temperatures were dropping, and it was gray and damp and gross out. Lynn wrinkled her nose as she followed Jayne through the swinging saloon doors.
Inside, the Pub was large and open, spanning almost the entire lower level of the building, with an impressively high ceiling. It was all hardwood floors and exposed rafters and thick wooden support columns, with tables cluttering the floor, all the chairs currently up on top of them, and at the very back of the bar was an old, shiny, rainbow colored jukebox. All the lantern-style lights had been turned down low, leaving the room dim and dull, and Lynn had to squint through the gloom to find an actual person. A pretty, petite redhead with a curly, chin-length bob stood behind the long, dark paneled bar that stretched across the entire right wall. She looked up from cleaning glasses when she heard them enter, and a big, excited smile split her pale, freckled face.
"Lynn! Jaynie!" the redhead called, her voice loud and booming and throaty, and it didn't quite match her tiny frame. "Is that you?"
"Hey, Deedee!" Lynn greeted her enthusiastically. Jayne offered Deedee only a jerk of her head, and a small smile.
Delilah Hannigan was Rufus's daughter. She was younger than Lynn and Jayne, actually right around Steve's age, and she'd been tending her father's bar since she was eighteen years old, legal or not. She was wearing a frayed denim miniskirt and knee high boots, with an oversized flannel shirt she'd left hanging open over a tiny white tank top. Lynn shook her head, smiling ruefully as Deedee came running around the corner of the bar and attack-hugged her, practically tackling her to the floor. Deedee embraced her much too tight and dramatically rocked her back and forth, and Lynn laughed out loud as she returned the hug just as tightly.
"Missed you too," she joked.
Deedee rolled her eyes. "Of course you did," she returned, and then she grabbed Jayne next, enveloping her in the same overenthusiastic, rocking bear hug. Lynn snorted when Jayne grunted at the impact and grimaced, awkwardly patting Deedee on the shoulder.
"It has been too long," Deedee informed them when she finally released Jayne. "Months, actually. This is an unacceptable amount of time away from me. Next time, do better!"
"Sorry," Jayne grunted again. "We've been… busy."
"Right," Deedee rolled her eyes, and then she sobered. "Hunting. Then looking for Steve. I know." She turned away from them and headed towards the bar. Lynn and Jayne followed her, sliding onto old barstools at the counter with worn red leather cushions. Deedee bent over a small cooler behind the bar and grabbed three beers. "How was the drive?"
"Long," Jayne returned shortly. Deedee laughed and Lynn made a face at her stiff, business-only stepsister. Jayne ignored her. "Where's Rufus?"
Deedee sighed and shook her head again, this time in annoyance. Then she sashayed over to the counter and served their drinks. "One word: Danny."
"Isn't it always Danny?" Lynn retorted. Danny Hannigan was Deedee's older brother, and he'd been a wild card since he was in elementary school.
"You know, it kind of always is," Deedee agreed.
"What'd he do this time?" Jayne asked knowingly.
"Bar brawl."
Jayne snorted. "A bar brawl?"
"Yep," Deedee replied. "In here, too, with a customer. A real customer, not some drunk hunter. We'll be lucky if the guy doesn't sue the shit out of us."
Lynn frowned. "Well, what happened? Why was he fighting?"
Her old friend shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is Danny got his ass arrested and he's locked up at county. Daddy went to post bail and try to talk the guy into dropping the charges." She sighed then, screwing up her face. "It's strange actually; he's a pain in everyone's ass at the best of times, but the last couple of days he's gotten into a record amount of trouble. Personally, I think he does it for the attention. Sad to say about a twenty-eight year old man." She sighed again, affecting an air of long-suffering. "It's so hard, being more mature than my older brother."
"I know the feeling," Lynn smirked at her stepsister.
Jayne rolled her eyes. "Please," she retorted. "You are one hundred percent the baby in our dynamic."
"Am not!"
"Yeah…" Deedee drawled, raising her eyebrow at them both. "I'm so not touching that. I guess we can stop beating around the bush now, though, and talk about why you two are really here. It's because of Stephen, right?"
Lynn exchanged a look with her sister. Jayne nodded at Deedee. "Rufus said he was here."
"He was."
"Did you see him?" Lynn asked eagerly. "Did he talk to you?"
Deedee shook her head. "I saw him," she said. "For a minute. Then he went right in to see my dad. Barely spoke two words to me." She frowned at the bar, slapping her rag down on the counter and scrubbing at a spot that wasn't really there. Lynn could read the hurt in her expression. "It was kind of weird, you know? We used to be so close."
Close was putting it mildly. Steve and Deedee had once been practically inseparable. It had been right after their high school graduation, when Steve finally went full-time into hunting. The two of them got hot and heavy, too fast, and their nauseating PDA ended as quickly as it had begun, but no matter what their relationship status, there had always been a lingering closeness between the two. It was definitely odd that Steve wouldn't confide in her... but nothing surprised Lynn anymore. It all seemed to fit with Steve's recent behavior. He'd ditched his sisters, cut off all communication like an asshole, tagged the Winchesters with the tracker, freaked out Rufus enough that he'd called them, and now he was ignoring Deedee, who had probably been the first girl he'd ever loved. Lynn still didn't know what Steve had said to Rufus, but as anxious as she was to hear it, knowing that he'd chosen not to talk to Deedee was frightening enough that she almost didn't want to know.
"Well, what did he say?" Lynn asked anyway, because as worried as she was starting to feel, she really did want to know.
Deedee shrugged, still wiping down the already immaculate counter. "Don't know. Daddy wouldn't tell me. All I know is Stephen asked him not to tell anyone he was here. Said it was just between the two of them. But you know Daddy: I swear, the man thinks he's the Godfather or something. He was all 'Family is family. They need to stick together,' and 'If he thinks I'm not going to tell those girls where he's been, he's got another think coming.' As soon as we realized Steve had snuck out on us, he was on the phone calling you two."
Lynn's fingers found her necklace and she started to fiddle, taking a long drink from her beer as she tried to stay positive about all of this. Jayne was frowning at Deedee, surveying their old friend critically as she pretended to clean the bar. Lynn watched Jayne study Deedee, and then she followed her stepsister's eyes, taking another good look at the redheaded bartender. She watched the way Deedee worried at her lower lip with her front teeth. The way Deedee's dark hazel eyes bored holes into the countertop, and the way she refused to look at them.
There was something Deedee wasn't telling them.
"What's wrong?" Jayne demanded.
Deedee started and looked up at her. "Nothing," she replied far too quickly.
Jayne raised an eyebrow.
Deedee sighed. "Am I that transparent?"
"Yep," Jayne replied bluntly, giving her a single nod.
Deedee sighed and looked at Lynn for help, but Lynn wasn't giving her any. "Sorry, Dee, but it's obvious something's up," Lynn told her. "And if it's about Steve… I'm going to ask and pester and maybe hit you until you cave and tell us."
"Ugh," Deedee rolled her eyes, slapping down her rag. She leaned on her elbows over the countertop. "You two are pains in my ass. Fine, but you won't like it and probably won't buy it, and you're going to give me crap about it."
"Just tell us," Lynn retorted.
"You know how my Dad started Danny hunting when we were real young?" Deedee asked. "Kind of like Russ did with you guys, but for some reason, he never really seemed to want me involved, and after a while I started looking at other stuff, like the hoodoo protection charms…"
"Of course we remember," Lynn interrupted impatiently. "What's your point?"
Deedee glared at her. "Patience is a virtue, Lynn Juarez. Anyway, remember when I got interested in spirit photography?"
Jayne snorted into her beer. "I remember."
Deedee glared at her too. Lynn sighed heavily, shaking her head at Jayne. "I remember too," she said quietly. "I also remember your dad wasn't real supportive."
"Yeah," Deedee agreed ruefully. "He still isn't. Says it's all just bunk. But I know different."
They were quiet. Lynn and Jayne stared at Deedee expectantly. She was clearly uncomfortable. "Look," she said suddenly. "When I first got into spirit photography, I used to take a lot of pictures around our property: the Pub, the house, the barn… and I never found anything. As far as I know, there's never been anything to find. There's never been anything creepy lurking around this place."
She paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, and mussed up her red curls with one hand. "Sometimes I still take pictures around the property," she went on. "Just to check, I guess. Or maybe to keep in practice, I don't know. Anyway, my point is that last night, after your brother left, I did one of my photo rounds on the property. And, well…"
Deedee trailed off. She glanced furtively around the bar, but Lynn couldn't say why. They were alone, and they'd been alone since she and Jayne had walked in through the front doors. Finally, she sighed and headed towards the cash register hiding behind the bar, in the middle of the long counter. Lynn frowned at her as she dug around the shelves and drawers underneath it, and then she glanced at Jayne. Her sister shrugged unhelpfully, and then she took a drink from her beer.
As suddenly as she'd walked away, Deedee returned with a brown manila envelope in hand. "These are the pictures I took after your brother left," she announced, sliding the photos out of the envelope and fanning them out on the bar. Suddenly, she looked even more nervous. "Take a look."
Lynn leaned over the bar, sliding her beer bottle to her left, away from the photographs. Jayne pulled a couple photos towards herself, frowning at them. Lynn studied the photos closest to her. The first picture had been taken in one of the guest rooms over the Pub. Lynn immediately recognized it as one of the rooms she and Jayne would stay in whenever they came to visit the Hannigans. There was a small double bed in a bright yellow room, covered in one of the hand-woven quilts made by Deedee's late mother, and lacy white curtains on the window. Hovering over the bed, almost as if it were emanating from the wood-paneled wall behind the headboard, was a large, brown, unnatural-looking mass.
"Look really close," Deedee instructed her quietly. "See the face? It doesn't even look human."
Lynn leaned closer, squinting at the photo. Now that Deedee mentioned it, she could see the face. It was like an angry, pointy Scream painting, and Deedee was right; it did not look human.
"That's what worries me the most," Deedee went on. "That it doesn't look human. See, I usually capture spirits on film: the ghosts of humans. When you can make out their faces, they're undeniably human-looking. And they're usually white, or at least a light color. This is neither. Which makes me think…"
She hesitated, shaking her head, wrinkling her brow in worry. "What?" Lynn asked. "What does it make you think?"
"Maybe it's not a spirit," Deedee whispered. "Maybe it's something worse."
Lynn's stomach turned, and she shivered, even though the furnace was on full blast, and the bar was plenty warm. There was a lump in her throat, and it stayed there even though she attempted to swallow. Something worse. What could be worse than some ghost creeping around the Hannigan property? She turned to Jayne, fingers fumbling for her necklace again, but her sister was staring Deedee down, eyes narrowed, as though she were annoyed or offended or pissed.
"What do you mean something worse?" Jayne demanded.
Deedee didn't answer the question, ducking her head and biting her lip again. Instead, she started pushing more of the photos at them. "I took this one outside of the barn," she said, tapping on one closer to Jayne.
Lynn leaned in to look at the picture. There was another dark mass, turning the corner of the photo into a blurry brown mess. It was next to the worn old barn behind the Pub, and it looked like it was floating over the sagging old fence popping out of the overgrown grass in the barnyard. The face was less noticeable in this one, but it was there all the same, and there was nothing remotely human about it.
"Wow," Lynn whispered. "Deedee, these are… these are… what do you think this is?"
Deedee shrugged. "Well, it's obviously some kind of entity. Normally, I'd say spirits, but… what kind of ghost just moves into a property for no apparent reason? This place hasn't been haunted for my entire life. Nobody's died here recently. It doesn't make sense. It has to be something else… I don't know, maybe it's something demonic?"
"Demonic?" Lynn repeated incredulously.
"Maybe? I honestly don't know."
"So, what are you saying?" Jayne asked, and Lynn flinched when she heard the hard, angry note in her sister's voice. It wasn't necessary; Deedee hadn't said or done anything to warrant it, but somehow Jayne had taken offense. "That Steve brought these entities with him somehow?"
Deedee met Jayne's hard gaze without flinching. "Jaynie, don't look at me like that," she pleaded. "You know how I feel about Stephen. I don't want anything to happen to him. I'm not saying that he's in league with these entities or something equally insane like that."
"Then what are you saying?" Jayne cut her off.
"Jayne," Lynn admonished her softly, but Jayne ignored her, still glaring at Deedee.
Deedee lifted her chin, not remotely scared of Jayne's glower. "Come on, Jaynie. You and Lynn have to have some sort of theory about why Steve took off in the first place. I know he goes off on his own all the time, but like this? No note, no voicemail, no text? Ditching his phone completely? Purposely sending you on a wild goose chase? I just think… and I kind of think you'll agree with me… that maybe Steve was running away from something."
Jayne didn't react, but Lynn bit her lip and inhaled through her nose, knowing Jayne had drawn similar conclusions even if she didn't want to admit it to Deedee.
"And now that Steve has been here," Deedee went on carefully. "And these… things… showed up right after him, well… maybe whatever's following him is finally catching up."
Lynn swallowed too hard, tugging on her necklace. Her sister didn't have a response for that, dropping her eyes to the counter and glaring at it. "That's… unsettling," Lynn murmured.
She hated the idea of something chasing Steve – something supernatural and predatory and, according to Deedee, possibly demonic. She liked the idea of this thing (or things) catching up to her little brother even less. Deedee looked at her sympathetically, twitching her lips up in a small, apologetic smile. "I think," her friend said carefully, "That maybe we need to be poking around this place, seeing if these things – whatever they are – are still around."
Lynn nodded, swallowing again. "Right," she agreed hastily. "You're right. We can do that tonight."
Jayne nodded too, although she wasn't nearly as quick or enthusiastic about it. "Yeah," she agreed, her tone terse. "After we talk to Rufus. When's your Dad going to be back, Deedee?"
She shrugged. "Depends. I think Danny might be in a lot of trouble this time."
They lapsed into a long, tense, awkward silence. Lynn took a deep breath, and broke the tension the best she could. "All right then," she announced. "We'll do it tonight, after your shift, Deedee."
Deedee nodded, giving her a quick smile, and then she gently squeezed her wrist. "I made up your usual room," she said. "You guys are staying upstairs tonight?"
It was supposed to be a question, but truthfully, it sounded like an order, and Lynn didn't think Jayne would like that. Sure enough, right on cue, Jayne shot back without skipping a beat, "That depends on what your dad says."
Their old friend grimaced good-naturedly at Jayne, and Lynn tamped down a sigh, her eyelashes fluttering as she tried unsuccessfully to disguise her eye roll. "Probably," she cut in, feeling the need to smooth things over in the wake of her prickly stepsister's blunt, abrupt answers to perfectly harmless questions. "Thanks, Deedee. I'm really glad to see you again."
"Yeah, yeah," Deedee waved her off, but she was smiling. "Go take a nap or something, will you though? You two look like a bad Halloween costume."
Jayne definitely gave her the finger before heading for the Pub's front door, presumably to grab their stuff from the truck. Lynn made a face at Deedee as she got to her feet, intending to help her sister with the bags and then take the suggested nap. "Ha. Ha."
Deedee laughed and went back to cleaning glasses. Lynn smiled to herself and headed back out in the cold and the damp. When she reached the truck, Jayne tossed her duffel at her, and she barely caught it before it hit her in the face.
"What is your problem?" Lynn demanded.
"Nothing."
"You're being all prickly and weird and defensive. You clearly have a problem."
Jayne tensed with her back to Lynn, pausing momentarily as she hauled her own bag out of the bed of the truck. "Rufus isn't even here," she said tightly. "And now Deedee's going on about the dust spots on her camera lens like they mean something, like Steve brought something here…"
"Deedee's just trying to help," Lynn pointed out softly. "And maybe you think those orbs and masses are dust spots, but she doesn't and I'm willing to look into it. For Steve's sake, I hope you are too."
Jayne sighed quietly through her teeth, and then swung her bag up on her shoulder. "Yeah," she replied. "I am. Sorry."
She didn't sound particularly sorry, but Lynn chose not to comment. Instead she watched her stepsister climb the front steps and head back in to the Pub, still tense and sour and on her guard, and Lynn couldn't help feeling a little sad. The Pub was basically the only thing that looked like home to either of them, and Jayne was acting like she was marching into battle rather than just taking her stuff upstairs to their guest room.
Whatever Rufus had to say, Lynn could only hope it would put things right rather than make things worse. Truthfully, she wasn't optimistic. The deeper they went into their search for Steve, the more questions and bad feelings they got, and Lynn was really starting to wonder when the hell they were going to get some answers instead.
It was pitch black out when Sam and Dean reached Stamping Ground and turned onto the nothing little road that supposedly led to Hannigan's Pub. Sam watched out the passenger window as they rumbled past trees and tall grass and empty expanses of field. Dean grimaced and grumbled as he steered his beloved baby over the dirt road, which was full of ruts and turning to wet and soggy mud in the misty rain.
"Are you sure we're going the right way?" he demanded, annoyance clear.
"Yes," Sam returned tightly, his own annoyance equally obvious. "For the hundredth time, Dean, this is the road."
"Not much of a road," he grumbled, and Sam rolled his eyes.
But soon they'd reached the end of the road and Sam smirked smugly at his brother as the Impala rolled to a stop outside a large, old white building with 'Hannigan's Pub' written above the second-story windows in tall, black, peeling letters. The sign was barely readable under the yellow glow of the lights hanging from the eaves of the roof. Sam was vividly reminded of a saloon in an old Western, complete with swinging saloon doors, except there were no other bars or shops beside it; the building was almost entirely isolated. The round circle of dirt at the end of the road was littered with cars, trucks, and motorcycles, parked every which way, filling up the circle, lining the road, and taking over the grass. All the windows in the bar were lit up, warm and yellow against the dark and the cold, and Sam could hear shouting and clanking and an old classic rock song playing loudly inside the crowded bar, turned up to max volume. It sounded vaguely like George Thorogood, but Sam couldn't be sure. Dean was the classic rock expert, not him.
Dean pulled the Impala into the grass and parked next to a familiar, rundown gray pickup truck. "Well, I guess they're already here," Dean announced, shutting off the ignition.
Sam nodded mutely, staring at the building before him. There was a long silence, probably too long, and Sam figured he'd been eyeing the Pub for longer than what would seem normal. There was nothing he could do to stop it, though. He felt a little sick to his stomach, and he couldn't seem to make himself get out of the car. A couple hundred miles ago, he'd been convinced that coming here was the right move. Now that they were here, he was second guessing himself.
"Hey! Ground control to Major Tom," Dean barked, waving his hand in front of his face, and Sam jumped.
"Uh, sorry," he replied, still distracted as his eyes swept the road and the bar and the barely visible land behind it. Sam swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. He recognized his surroundings, and that just wasn't possible. He'd never been here before, and yet it all looked familiar. Everything looked exactly like it had in his dream. Maybe his nightmare was coming true after all. He didn't want it be true, because that meant he had to go inside and confront Lynn and her stepsister. What would she say when she saw him there? It wasn't like she was expecting him.
She was going to think he was some crazy stalker. What was he going to tell her, the truth?
It'd be nice if he could tell her the truth. It would definitely save him a lot of time and embarrassment. But the problem was that the truth sounded something like this: I had a nightmare and in it, you died in a fire. It happened in that barn right outside. Want to hear the best part? I think sometimes my nightmares come true.
Yeah… he definitely couldn't tell her the truth.
"Sam!" Dean snapped, and Sam jumped again. The impatience on his brother's face suggested he'd been trying to get Sam's attention for quite awhile. "Are we going in or what?"
"Oh, right, yeah. Sorry," Sam replied, all too quickly and without making a move to get out of the car.
Dean was staring at him with an incredulous expression on his face. Sam wished he would quit it. "What?" he demanded.
"What do you mean what?" Dean retorted. "You're the one who wanted to come here, Sam."
"I know!"
"Then why are you just sitting there?"
Sam's leg twitched nervously. His fingers pounded relentlessly on his knee. He stared straight through the windshield. "It's… nothing…"
Dean groaned loudly, clearly irritated. "I know you didn't just drag me off to BFE, Kentucky to make me sit in my car, man," he pressed, shaking his head.
Sam turned and met his brother's eyes. Dean gave him another 'Well? What are we waiting for?' look. He sighed and said, almost painfully, "I didn't tell Lynn we were coming."
His brother simply stared at him for a moment. Then: "What?"
"I didn't tell Lynn we were coming," he repeated himself.
Dean continued to stare. "You didn't tell her we were coming."
"Nope," Sam said. He tried to smile. He failed.
Dean shook his head and turned in his seat to look out the windshield. "Why the hell not?"
Sam sighed again. "Honestly? I don't know. She was talking about this place, and I asked where it was, and she asked if I was planning to meet her out here and… I just said no. Then I decided that I did want to come here, and… I don't know, Dean, ok?"
"Well, that's just great, Sam," his brother snapped. "You convince me to drive out to the middle of nowhere over some crap about finding Dad and getting information at some hunter's dive, and then you don't even have the stones to tell the chick who gave you the tip that you're coming out here?"
"Shut up."
"So, what's the plan?" Dean kept poking at him. "You're just going to spend the night out here in the car like a douche?"
"Of course not!" Sam snapped back.
"Yeah?" Dean retorted, not sounding convinced. "Are we going in, then, or what?"
"Of course we're going inside!"
"Yeah? When?"
There was a brief pause. "In a minute," Sam mumbled.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable," he announced. Then he got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him.
"Dean!" Sam exclaimed as his brother stormed off towards the bar. "What are you doing?"
"I need a drink!"
"Dean!"
"Are you coming or not?"
Sam sat there in the passenger seat a moment longer, his leg still twitching and his fingers still beating his knee. "Crap," he finally hissed, swinging the car door wide open and then racing after his brother, who was almost to the entrance now. His sneakers squished in the mud, and his breath formed little white clouds in the cold. Sam followed Dean up the steps to the large front porch and through the swinging saloon doors, into the warmth and the noise of the Pub.
"All right," Dean grinned as they stepped inside. Sam trailed on his heels, his eyes darting about nervously. The place was packed, wall to wall, with huge, unfriendly leather-clad bikers, and road weary, flannel wearing characters, some with ball caps tilted over their eyes. On their left was a pool table, surrounded by people, and the clacking of billiard balls almost drowned out the jukebox. Clouds of cigarette smoke puffed up from a few dark corners, and the smell traveled all over the room.
"Nice liquor collection," Dean observed, and Sam's eyes followed his to the enormous long bar on the right, with a customer on almost every stool, and the endless shelving behind it, over a large, wall-length mirror, illuminated by bluish tract lighting. Every brand a person could think up was on full display. "Dirt cheap prices... and George Thorogood on the jukebox… this place is kinda awesome."
Sam wrinkled his nose, looking around the Pub again. He wasn't so sure he agreed. Dean tilted his head, amending, "Kind of a sausage fest in here, though."
He scoffed at Dean's back. His brother was already walking away from him, leaving Sam standing awkwardly in the entranceway, under the wooden ceiling beams. "Where are you going?"
"I'm getting me one bourbon, one Scotch, and one beer," Dean said, giving his little brother a wink.
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean smirked, and then he stopped short, eyes sweeping the bar again. "Whoa, I take it all back, Sammy," he said, and Sam shook his head in annoyance. "Check out the bartender."
Sighing heavily, Sam followed his brother's gaze. Behind the bar was a petite and pretty young woman with short, curly red hair, pouring shots for a couple of balding old bikers. He rolled his eyes again. "Seriously?" he asked.
Dean shrugged. "What?"
"Sam? Dean?"
Both Winchester brothers whirled around at the familiar voice. Standing right beside them with a beer in her hand and a shocked look on her face was Lynn Juarez. Sam fumbled, opening his mouth and closing it again like a dying fish, not expecting to see her so soon when he hadn't yet figured out how to explain his presence.
Dean gave his younger brother a pointed look, which wasn't helping. Sam swallowed. "Hey, Lynn," he said, forcing a smile.
Lynn stared at him. "Hi," she replied, faintly incredulous. "Uh… so… don't take this the wrong way or anything… but what are you guys doing here?"
Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. Lynn frowned, tilting her head. Her glossy black ponytail brushed her arm. Dean openly checked her out, his eyes roving over her from boots to jeans to her low-cut sweater and lingering too long on the swell of her breasts in the deep V-neck, and Sam kind of wanted to hit him.
Lynn raised her eyebrow at Dean, obviously noticing, but Dean didn't look remotely embarrassed. He just looked at Sam, smirking. "Well, Sam?" he prompted.
Sam glared at him. "Well…" he said slowly. "Um… you mentioned it was a hunter's bar, and… and I thought maybe someone here knew something about our dad?"
She stared at them both some more. "So, when I asked if you wanted to meet us here, you… couldn't have just said yes?"
"Uh…" Sam said, trying to smile, trying to say something more eloquent than 'uh,' but he couldn't think of anything else to add. Lynn raised her eyebrows again, her lips twitching up into a small, slightly amused but still incredulous smile, and Dean smirked again.
"Well, I'll leave you two crazy kids alone," Dean announced, winking as he smacked Sam on the shoulder. Before Sam could even open his mouth to retort, Dean was halfway across the pub, making a beeline for the redheaded bartender.
Glaring after his older brother, Sam searched his brain for a reply to Lynn's question. "Sam?" Lynn asked again. "Um… seriously, why didn't you just tell me you were coming? You know, instead of shouting no at me when I suggested it, and then hanging up almost immediately after that."
Sam winced. He had done that, hadn't he? He turned back to her. She looked confused, which Sam supposed was understandable. She also looked a little weirded out, which was also understandable. "I just, uh…" he trailed off uncertainly. Lynn kept staring expectantly at him, but Sam didn't know what to say. Lie? Tell the truth? A compromise somewhere in the middle? "I, um… well, honestly, I didn't think I was going to come out," he admitted finally. "And, you know… Dean. I had to talk him into coming out here at all first, before I did anything, so… yeah."
That sounded good. At least, he thought it sounded good. Admittedly, he hadn't really explained anything, and he was still lying through his teeth, but… Lynn didn't really have to know he'd had a nightmare about her. Right?
Lynn was still staring at him with an odd expression on her face. Sam shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. Finally, a slow smile spread across her face and she shrugged nonchalantly. "All right, then."
He nodded, relieved. He gave her a small, quick grin. "So, uh… did you find anything out about your brother yet?"
Lynn sighed and shook her head. "No, not yet. Rufus hasn't been around to tell us anything. He's been stuck down at the county jail trying to bail his son out."
Sam blinked. "Oh."
"Yeah," she said, blowing hair out of her eyes. "Danny's a real winner."
They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Then Lynn gave him another slow, dimpled, almost mischievous smile, looking up at him through her long dark lashes, and Sam swallowed as a pit suddenly developed in his stomach. "So, Sam. What do you drink?"
He forced a smile back. "Anything, really."
"Let's get you a beer," she said, turning and walking towards the bar. Sam's smile slipped as he followed her, his eyes trained on the ceiling to avoid the sway of her hips.
He might have made a mistake.
Dean ducked around the people crowded into the Pub as he crossed the room, eyes fixed on the redheaded bartender moving back and forth behind the bar, serving drinks and snagging cash. He took a seat on one of the rickety stools along the counter, watching her. She bent over, and his eyes traveled up her pale, freckled legs, landing on her tight denim skirt. Dean watched as she straightened up and delivered a beer to someone a few seats down. Then she finally approached him with a rag in her hand, looking distracted, with her plaid shirt slipping down her arm and revealing a narrow, white, lightly freckled shoulder.
"What do you need?" she asked, her voice deep and throaty, the way he imagined a sexy lounge singer would speak.
He flashed a winning smile at her. "I'll start with a beer," he said.
The bartender turned around and bent over the cooler to get the requested beer. A grin spread across his face as he checked her out again. She straightened and slid the bottle across the countertop.
"So," he asked, still grinning. "What's your name?"
She raised her eyebrow and finally looked him in the eye. Dean smirked at her, winking, and her eyes traveled over him very, very obviously. The returning smirk that spread across her pretty, freckled face was half amused and half flirtatious."What's your name?" she countered, tossing her rag over her shoulder.
He grinned as she leaned over the counter, bracing her hands on the edge, and gave him an excellent view down her barely-there white tank top. "Tom. Tom, uh… Springsteen."
"Springsteen."
"Yeah. Like The Boss."
"The Boss," she echoed, nodding slowly. "You're not from around here, are you Tom?"
"No," he agreed. "I'm not. Just passing through, actually."
"How was the ride?"
"Cold. Lonely."
"Looking for some company?"
"Why, you offering?"
"Oh, for crying out loud," another voice said from beside him, snorting derisively. Dean froze on his barstool when he recognized the voice, his beer bottle halfway to his mouth. "Deedee, tell me you aren't buying this crap before I lose all respect for you."
Dean turned his head in surprise. Lounging on the barstool next to him and nursing a beer of her own was a long, lean blonde, her hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head, and a large nose ring in her right nostril. Jayne Gibson narrowed her eyes at him and gave him a dirty look, and Dean smirked right back at her. "Well, well, if it isn't Goldilocks."
"His name's Dean," she went on, taking her eyes off him and addressing the bartender instead. "Dean Winchester. And he probably has herpes."
"Hey!" Dean protested, offended. "I don't have herpes!"
Jayne rolled her eyes and jerked her thumb at him. "He says."
The hot redhead's eyes had been swinging back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match, and now she laughed brightly, moving away from Dean and closer to Jayne. "I take it you two know one another," she observed unnecessarily.
"Unfortunately," Jayne drawled, taking a sip of her beer.
"Yeah, it hasn't exactly been a picnic for me, either," Dean retorted.
She laughed again, tossing her red curls back from her face. "I'm Delilah Hannigan," she announced, balancing her hip against the bar as she extended her hand to Dean. "But everyone calls me Deedee."
Dean shook her hand. "Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Deedee," he grinned, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
Deedee smirked at him, but this time she looked far more amused than interested. Then someone called her name from down the bar, and Deedee rolled her eyes. "Sorry, guys," she said. "Duty calls."
She disappeared, intent on waiting on another customer. Jayne took another swig of her beer. Dean smirked over at her again. She was staring at the shelving behind the bar, leaning sideways against the counter, and Dean's eyes swept her involuntarily, roving up the long, long expanse of her legs in her tight, tight jeans… and then he reached the ugly, oversized brown flannel and the mean look around her eyes, and he promptly pushed any thought about her long lean legs out of his head. Quickly, he averted his eyes, looking back at his beer. "So…" he began, but Jayne cut him off.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked rudely.
He was rather taken aback by her bitchiness, but on second thought, decided he really shouldn't be. "Why am I here?" he repeated, still smirking. "Well, according to Sam, I'm here because this is a gathering place for hunters, and there might be someone here who knows something about my Dad."
Jayne nodded, studying Dean carefully. She didn't look surprised, and he assumed her stepsister had already recounted the phone conversation she'd had with Sam earlier in the day. "So, according to you, why are you here?"
Dean gave her another smirk. "Because my brother is desperate, and reckless, and weirdly enough, possibly wants in your stepsister's pants." He considered the last thing for a moment and added, "Don't tell him I said that."
Jayne actually laughed. It wasn't much more than a short, stilted chuckle and she still looked a little mean around the eyes, but a laugh was a laugh and he'd take it. He'd kind of meant it, anyway; Sam hadn't looked twice at a woman the entire time they'd been on the road, not since his girlfriend passed, but what other explanation could there be for this side trip to the middle of nowhere? Sam could say what he wanted about looking for Dad and asking about the thing they were hunting, but Dean wasn't buying it.
He pushed thoughts of Sam out of his head and focused on Jayne instead. "You know, if I remember correctly, you were the one being a pain in my ass the last time we met, not the other way around," Dean pointed out. "So… I don't know, maybe you should try being a little nicer to me."
Jayne's face was a mixture of annoyance and begrudging acknowledgement. "Pass," she said anyway, even though he could tell she knew damn well he had a point.
He was going to tell her off, but a loud whoop! echoed through the bar right about then, and then a deep, masculine voice bellowed out, "Is that Jaynie Gibson?"
Jayne stiffened a little in her seat, but he saw her smirk. She didn't turn around, but Dean did, wanting a look at whatever yahoo was shouting in the bar. He saw an extremely tall, muscular young man at the entrance, shrugging out of his flannel jacket and tossing it at the nearest patron. The guy shouted something at him, obviously annoyed, and Mr. Muscles - seriously, the guy was built like John Cena - threw his head back and laughed. He had bright red hair buzzed close to his scalp, thousands of freckles, and his nose was a little crooked.
He trained his eyes on Jayne's back as he raced across the bar. Dean watched wide-eyed as the man grabbed Jayne around the waist in a tight bear hug that actually looked more like a wrestling hold, lifting her off the barstool and swinging her around.
"Ugh, get off, Danny!" she snapped at him, elbowing him in the ribs.
He put her back on the ground, but didn't stop hugging her. "I knew that was Jaynie Gibson!" he practically crowed.
"Stop hugging me."
"I knew it! Ha! How's my best friend!"
"I am not your best friend. Jesus, would you get off?"
"No! Never! God, it's been forever!"
"I will kick you in the nuts so hard."
"All right, all right," he relented, releasing her. She slugged him in the chest and he grunted, clutching his chest in mock pain. She glared at him as she sank back down on her barstool. "Sheesh, Gibson. When did you get to be such a stick in the mud?"
Jayne kept glaring at him in a way that suggested she wasn't anywhere near upset. He smirked at her, his grin as crooked as his nose. "And for the record, you are my best friend. Out of all my friends, I like you best. That makes you my best friend. What you mean to say is that I'm not your best friend."
He leaned down close to her as he finished his last sentence, resting his hip on the bar, directly behind her barstool. Jayne made a face, shaking her head. "That's kind of sad, Danny."
Danny looked at Dean then, narrowing his light blue eyes, and asked aggressively, "Who the hell are you?"
Dean blinked, taken aback by the other man's belligerence, seemingly unnecessary and unprovoked. Jayne just rolled her eyes, as though she were used to him. "His name's Dean Winchester," she introduced him. "He's a hunter. Dean, Danny Hannigan."
He forced out a tight smile for the other man. "Nice to meet you," Dean said, trying to play nice, but he didn't really mean it. Danny Hannigan seemed like he was kind of an a-hole.
"Is he bothering you?" Danny asked Jayne, ignoring Dean entirely.
"Generally," she grumbled, reaching for her beer.
Dean nearly jumped off his barstool and slugged the guy when he brushed around Jayne and made a beeline for him, his eyes deadly. Jayne caught him before anyone started throwing punches, shoving Danny back with a hand to his chest. "Joke, Danny," she snapped, widening her eyes incredulously at him. "You need to chill. I thought you'd calm down after a night in prison, not become a bigger asshole."
Danny scoffed and smacked her lightly in the arm. "Shut up."
She smacked him back.
"And I was in a holding cell, not prison," he added.
"Tomato, tom-ah-to. You've been getting into bar brawls, huh?"
"You know me, Gibson. I live life on the edge."
After saying that, Danny turned to Dean, who had been watching this exchange the whole time with a fairly incredulous look on his face. He rested his elbow on Jayne's shoulder like she was some sort of arm rest. Dean raised an eyebrow as Danny stared at him. "So, you're a hunter, huh, Winchester?" he asked. "How do you know Gibson?"
"We met on a job," Jayne answered for Dean. "Out in Lost Creek, Colorado. Lynn and I were hunting a wendigo, and we ran into Dean and his brother."
"Yeah?" Danny replied. "What's he doing here now?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Dean cut in. "I thought I'd be working a spontaneous combustion case right about now. Coming here was my brother's idea."
"Who's your brother?"
"His name is Sam," Jayne replied. "I think he's stalking Lynn."
"Want me to kick his ass?"
"Nah. I'm pretty sure she likes it."
Danny snorted. "She would."
"So, can I get you another beer?" Deedee's voice asked suddenly. Dean looked up in surprise to see the pretty little redheaded bartender with the excellent rack sidling up to him on the other side of the bar.
He made eye contact, grinned, and pointed at a bottle on the shelf behind her head. "Whiskey. Jack. Double shot."
She grinned back. "You got it."
Danny frowned at his sister's back as she got Dean's drink. He kept frowning at her as she passed by him without acknowledgement and slid a shot glass into Dean's waiting hand. "Hey!" he shouted indignantly. "No hello? Where's my damn drink?"
"You don't get one," Deedee retorted, leaning on the bar, her cleavage popping out of her tank top again. Dean was immediately very thankful for the invention of the low-cut shirt. Deedee smirked at her older brother. "We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. Felons are on the list."
Danny snorted. "I'm not a felon!"
"Not yet."
He scoffed at her, glanced at Dean, and then he demanded, "Are you looking down my sister's shirt?"
Dean blinked at him, a little taken aback. "Uh... erm... no?"
"Maybe I want him to look down my shirt," Deedee told her brother.
Dean cringed, closing his eyes and cradling his forehead in his hand. "Are you trying to get me killed?" he asked her.
She smirked at him. Danny snorted. ""Relax, Winchester," he waved Dean off. "I'm not going to bust your head for giving my slutty sister the attention she wants." Then he leaned further into Jayne, draping his arm lazily around her shoulders. "But hands off Gibson. She's mine."
"Get off me," Jayne returned flatly, picking up Danny's arm and removing it from her shoulders.
"She just doesn't know it yet," Danny smirked. Then he frowned at his sister again. "Button up your shirt, Dee, geez!"
It was Deedee's turn to scoff at him. "Half the time you can't even keep your shirt on, Danny! You don't get to tell me how to dress!"
"Well, if you're going to make me look at that, at least get me a damn drink!"
"Nope! Not a chance!"
"I'm telling Dad!"
"After the shit you pulled last night? Daddy will agree with me."
He glared at her. "You're the worst sister ever."
She smirked again. "And you're the worst brother ever."
Danny glared a little while longer, and then smirked back. "You know, maybe we'd do better business if our bartender served all our patrons, including her older brother, instead of flirting with the fresh meat."
Deedee didn't appear even remotely embarrassed. "I do serve all our patrons," she returned triumphantly. "We'd do better business if you'd stop beating them all up."
"That was one guy!"
"One guy is enough. You'll give us a reputation, Danny, and then what are we going to do? The hunters who stop in here aren't enough to pay the bills; we need the locals to stick around too!"
Danny slumped, somehow looking small under his tiny sister's glower, and pouted at the floor. "It was one guy," he said again.
"So far," Deedee retorted.
Dean shifted uncomfortably on his barstool and considered getting up and finding Sam again. He hadn't asked to get sucked into some family argument, and he didn't feel like watching it either. He glanced over at Jayne, who was intently drinking her beer and studying the shelf behind the bar, obviously as uncomfortable as he was, and she actually knew these people.
"Whatever, Dee," Danny replied. "Dad got the asshole to drop the charges, so don't get up my ass about it."
"Lucky you," his sister returned, eyes hard. "Do you think he'll manage that next time? Or are you going to stop being such a dick?"
"What are you going to do about it?" Danny demanded, slamming his fist down on the counter. "Huh? Who made you boss around here?"
"Knock it off," Jayne grunted, getting off her barstool. "Both of you! What the hell is going on around here, anyway?"
Both Hannigans were still glaring at each other over her head, and Dean wasn't really sure what was going to happen next. Then someone loudly cleared their throat behind them, and he turned to see a tall, broad shouldered man with a huge beer gut and a head full of thick, graying red hair. He had a full red beard and mustache that hid most of his lined and weathered face, and he was as freckled as Danny and Deedee. He frowned down at all of them with his arms folded over his chest.
"Rufus," Jayne murmured, her eyes widening in surprise.
Deedee smiled big and wide for the older man, twisting the bar towel in her hands. "Hi, Daddy!"
"Don't 'Hi, Daddy' me, young lady," Rufus groused at her. Danny smirked triumphantly at his sister, and earned himself a knock on the back of his head from his father. "Don't you start nothing either, son, you're already in a heap of trouble."
"Sorry, Dad," Danny mumbled, at the same time Deedee murmured, "Sorry, Daddy."
"Get back to work," Rufus grunted at his daughter, and she ran off to follow orders. He glared at his son. "No booze. Got it? Go pull up another case of beer; this place is crowded."
"Yes, sir," Danny said, and he practically ran out of the bar, disappearing behind the counter and down a dark hallway that led into what Dean presumed were offices and storerooms.
He watched the overgrown ginger disappear into the back, and then he looked back over at Jayne. She was staring at Rufus, and the older man's grumpy face broke into a genuine smile for her. He held out his beefy, freckled arms. "Well, get on over here, Jaynie, and give me a hug."
To Dean's surprise, she smiled back at Rufus and stepped right into his arms. He hadn't pegged her for the hugging type, but she sure hugged Rufus tight, and he hugged her back like a long lost daughter. Dean looked away, suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable than he'd been before. It was odd to see such a big and genuine smile on Jayne's face. In their admittedly short acquaintance, he'd rarely seen her smile, and when she did it was usually small and ironic. Dean couldn't help thinking when she smiled like that, she was actually pretty, which wasn't really the first word he'd pick to describe the usually quiet, sarcastic, tomboyish Jayne.
"It's good to see you, Jaynie," Rufus said, finally letting go.
Jayne nodded. "Right back at you."
Both their smiles faded. Rufus glanced at Dean. "Friend of yours?"
Dean lifted his eyebrows and gave Jayne a shit-eating smirk. She glared at him sideways. "Sure," she replied tightly, and Dean almost laughed. "Dean Winchester, Rufus Hannigan."
Dean held out his hand and Rufus shook it. "Nice to meet you."
Rufus nodded in acknowledgement. "Hunter?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," Dean nodded.
He thought Rufus might have had more questions, or at least more to say, but it was difficult to be sure. The man was gruff and taciturn, and didn't seem like much of a talker. At any rate, Jayne quickly steered the conversation away from Dean and back to her brother.
"You said to come out, so we're here," she announced. "What did Steve tell you?"
"Where's that stepsister of yours at?" Rufus inquired, instead of answering.
Jayne grimaced at the man, but she swallowed down whatever she wanted to say and jerked her thumb towards the end of the bar. "Down there somewhere."
He sighed heavily. "Well, you best go get her. We got lots to talk about."
"What did he tell you?" Jayne asked again, almost desperately. "Is he all right?"
"Go on and get your sister," was all Rufus would say. "We'll talk in my office."
The aging hunter made his way behind the bar and headed down the dark hall, same way his son had gone. Jayne watched him go, her jaw locked up tight and her fists clenching at her sides. Dean didn't really want to get involved, but he found himself staring at her anyway. When she met his eyes, he almost flinched.
"I suppose you're sticking around," she drawled.
He nodded and gave her another shit-eating smirk. "For at least a few hours, yeah."
She nodded back tightly, working her lower jaw in small, almost unnoticeable circles. "I can't promise there's anything for you to find here about your father," she warned him.
"Honestly, I don't think there is," Dean returned easily. "This was all Sam's idea."
She nodded again. "If I'm wrong, I'll keep you in the loop."
He blinked a little at that, not expecting her to be borderline accommodating about the whole thing, and then Jayne was gone, weaving through the loud, drunk crowd, presumably to find her stepsister before meeting up with Rufus.
Dean watched her go and then shook his head, draining his whiskey. He hoped Sam knew what he'd gotten them involved in this time, and he hoped Sam was almost finished dicking around here, because Dean was ready to bail.
Lynn hopped up on an unoccupied barstool at the far end of the bar, by the front door, and leaned way far over the sticky, dark countertop, trying to catch Deedee's attention. The Pub was packed and her tiny friend was running around like a madwoman, trying to serve all the bikers and hunters and locals clamoring for drinks. Beatrice Mullins, the Pub's other bartender, was there as well, running just as ragged. Affectionately termed Aunt Bea by Danny, she was a middle-aged woman sporting blue-black eyeliner, with her dark hair done up in a bad, feathered eighties perm, and her breasts were practically spilling out of her black tank-top.
She supposed Beatrice could serve them just as well as Deedee, but she'd rather introduce Sam to her childhood friend than Aunt Bea.
When Deedee finally caught her eye and came sashaying down the bar, Lynn grinned at her and immediately introduced them. "I want you to meet Deedee Hannigan," Lynn announced. "Deedee, this is Sam Winchester."
Sam smiled awkwardly at Deedee, but he shook her outstretched hand nonetheless. "Nice to meet you," he said.
Deedee smiled back, surveying Sam's tall frame, and Lynn gave her a warning look when she got a predatory gleam in her eyes. "Sam Winchester, huh?" she asked. "You know, I just met your brother, Dean."
Lynn rolled her eyes. She could only imagine how that had gone down. Sam seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Oh yeah?" he asked, clinging dearly to his smile.
"Yeah," Deedee replied, smirking, one eyebrow arching dangerously towards her hairline. "He tried to tell me his name was Tom Springsteen. Like The Boss."
Lynn groaned, rolling her eyes, and Sam gave Deedee a half-hearted grin. "He does that sometimes."
"Is it always Springsteen?" she asked. "Or does he switch it up?"
"He switches it up," Sam admitted. "But Springsteen does seem to be a favorite."
Deedee snorted. "Well, you can tell him most girls aren't attracted to liars."
Sam repeated his half-hearted grin. "I'll definitely pass that along."
Deedee got serious then, and Lynn almost felt worried when her friend directed the serious gaze at her. "My dad just showed up," she told her. "Be on alert, because he's probably going to take you back to his office soon. He already saw Jaynie." Here Deedee smirked at Sam again. "She's sitting down the bar with your brother, and she's the one who told me his name isn't actually Springsteen… which, der, I already figured out."
Sam gave her another wincing smile. Lynn grimaced. "They're sitting together?"
"Yep. She also told me he might have herpes."
Sam laughed out loud, sounding honestly, shockingly amused, which Lynn supposed was a better reaction than he could have had. "Ugh, sorry," she said, although she wasn't sure who she was apologizing to: Sam or Deedee. "Is Danny back too?"
"Yeah, and he's up there with your sister and Tom Springsteen." Deedee rolled her eyes, and flipped her rag over her shoulder. "What a guy."
Someone hollered from down the bar then, and Deedee rolled her eyes again. "Sorry guys, on the clock and all." She bent over the cooler under the counter and pulled up a beer for Sam, sliding it across the counter to him. That predatory gleam reappeared in her eye again, and Lynn had to bite her tongue. "On the house, cutie-pie," she told Sam, winking at him. Sam flushed noticeably. Then Deedee was off and running to serve the next customer.
"Wait!" Lynn called after her. "You still want to do a search of the property tonight?"
"Sounds good!" Deedee called over her shoulder, and then she was gone for real this time.
"Search of the property?" Sam asked.
"Yeah," Lynn replied, turning to him and taking a gulp from her beer. "Deedee's into spirit photography. She thinks something weird might have followed our brother here and then settled in. After he left, she took some of her pictures and picked up on what might be some demonic entities." Lynn shuddered, grimacing, wishing she hadn't said that out loud. "Jaynie thinks she's full of crap, so… anyway, we're going to check it out, but it probably won't amount to anything."
Sam nodded and stared at his beer. Lynn bit her lip, studying him. "Sounds cool," he said, but he didn't sound like he thought it was cool at all, which was why Lynn was surprised when he asked, "Mind if I come with you?"
Lynn blinked at him. Sam stared back at her, still trying to smile and not quite pulling it off. She stared at him for a moment, and then very slowly, a gentle smile spread across her face. "Sure. I'd like that."
He nodded, squeezing a quick grin out for her, and then he looked back down at his beer again. Lynn still wasn't sure what his angle was, but she thought she might have a good idea, and she certainly wasn't complaining about it. Her smile felt stuck on her face, too wide and too big, but she couldn't seem to wipe it off.
Sam Winchester liked her. That was the only real explanation for this, and Lynn had to admit, she'd been checking the guy out since Colorado. The attention was definitely welcome. Too bad he was so shy and stuttering and awkward about it… but honestly, that only made him cuter. Lynn let her eyes sweep him again, from the way his hair swooped up at funny angles, to his strong jaw, and down his tall frame, and she smiled a little more.
There was always the chance that Trev was going to dig up some dirt on Sam and his brother that would send her running for the hills, but Lynn was starting to think that wasn't going to happen, and there was really no reason she couldn't indulge her attraction to the guy, right? Especially if he was feeling the same way. Why else would he come out here like this, practically unannounced, bumbling around all awkwardly…?
"Hey," Jayne's voice sounded in her ear, and Lynn jumped, startled out her reverie. She swiveled around to find Jayne standing next to her. "Rufus is back. He wants to talk to us in his office."
"Oh," Lynn said, guilt taking over as she remembered her real reason for being at the Pub in the first place. Sam Winchester could wait; Steve was more important. "All right. I'll be right there."
"Hurry up," Jayne replied. She turned away and headed for the back. "Hi, Sam," she said shortly as she passed him.
Sam watched her walk away. "Hi, Jayne," he replied bemusedly, even though she was no longer in earshot.
Lynn rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Sam. She's got a one track mind. See you later. We'll take another walk!"
She grinned at him as she hopped down off her stool, and Sam actually laughed again. "Yeah, let's hope it ends differently this time."
Lynn slugged him playfully in the shoulder. "Ha, ha."
Then she headed in the same direction her stepsister had gone, leaving Sam at the bar and to Deedee's mercy. She sighed and shrugged, refocusing on the meeting with Rufus. Steve needed all her attention at the moment. Lynn fought her way through the crowded tavern, sidestepping bikers and puddles of spilled beer as she made her way towards Rufus' office. As she rounded the bar and passed the Pub's rear entrance, she happened to glance out the window.
A dark shape flitted across the yard.
Lynn froze. She looked around her, but no one else seemed to have noticed. She stepped up to the window and peered out into the dark, trying to see where the shape had gone.
There was nothing in the yard.
She glanced over her shoulder towards Rufus' office. She knew Jayne and Rufus were waiting on her, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. Her gaze returned to the window.
Again, a dark shape scurried through a patch of moonlight and disappeared into a shadow.
That was it; she was investigating. Lynn opened the door cautiously and stepped out into the yard. She regretted it when the cold hit her, and she jumped, startled, when the door banged shut behind her. It was eerie out there in the seemingly empty yard, with only a little light from the sliver of moon in the sky. It cast unnatural shadows on the buildings and over the tall grass. She couldn't hear a sound other than the ruckus coming from the bar, and that struck her as odd. It was much too quiet out there.
Lynn considered going back inside and getting Jayne. But then she looked across the overgrown yard and noticed that the doors on the old, dilapidated barn were wide open, both on the ground floor and in the loft, and the loft doors were swinging back and forth, creaking in the wind. One of the main sliding doors wobbled on its track, bouncing slightly, as though someone had brushed past it on their way inside.
She dug her tiny pocket flashlight out of her jacket, and then, on second thought, pulled her Glock too. Slowly, apprehensively, she headed across the lawn. Her breath puffed out in front of her, and Lynn wished she'd grabbed a warmer jacket. At least the gross, misting rain that had been falling all day had finally stopped, and now the sky was clear. She picked her way through the mud and the tall grass, ducking through a gap in the decaying fence, and finally marched up to the barn.
"Hello?" she called, poking her head in the door.
There was no response. Lynn hadn't really expected one, and now that it was too late to take it back, she decided calling out like that had been a dumb idea. She rolled her eyes at herself and walked into the barn, circling the building and shining her flashlight into the corners and around all of Rufus's junk that he'd stored inside. It was quiet in the barn too, and it made her nervous. Her hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end, her heart was beating inexplicably fast, and she felt goosebumps crop up on her arms.
But there was nothing and nobody lurking in the dark barn. Lynn stopped her circling dead in the center, biting her lip, and suddenly she felt ridiculous. The dark shape had probably been nothing but a wild animal. A raccoon or something. She turned towards the barn doors and made her way to the exit. By now, Rufus and Jayne were probably beyond impatient, and her stepsister was probably going to kick her ass.
The barn doors suddenly slammed shut, cutting off her exit route, and Lynn accidentally let loose an embarrassingly loud, girly squeak, jumping in fright and dropping her flashlight.
That's when the barn exploded.
