Chapter 9:

Dean stared forwards seeing nothing his mind still trying to deny. . . Damn! all this time he'd been blaming himself for not seeing the parallels for dragging Sam here and setting him up as a victim when it had been. . .Damn! When he caught this thing it was so going to die.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice dragged Dean back from his introspection. He looked up meeting and holding his brother's gaze. "You think we were lured here?" he asked unnecessarily, the implication had been clear.

Sam didn't answer, he didn't need to, there was enough communication going on without words. He stood heading for his laptop and Dean followed both their minds too busy now working through the implications of the theory to house any of the recrimination and guilt that had hung heavily in the air only moments before. It would return at some point but for now they both dropped back into a comfortable 'working on a hunt' mode.

"So the only thing I know could influence us both, make us forget. . ." Sam began as he opened the laptop lid and hit the power button

"Is some kind of spell," Dean finished for him.

"Some kind of spell," Sam confirmed. He looked up again at his brother. "You know anything else it could be?"

Dean shook his head. "Not that fit's everything."

"So what are we talking Witch? Warlock? Hoodoo?"

"The way the EMF meter was reading I'm thinking something very black here."

Dean moved to his duffel to dig out his father's journal.

"Yeah 'cos there are so many good witches about." Sam supplied sarcastically.

Dean moved back across the room dropping into the chair opposite his brother as he unclipped the leather strip holding the journal closed and began leafing through the pages. One handed it should have been awkward but Dean had had way too much practise over the years. He rested his injured wrist on the table, the ice wrapping dripped a small puddle around it which Dean seemed to ignore but no water went anywhere near the journal's pages.

Sam tapped at his keyboard, typing in search parameters and pulling up the hunter's version of Google.

"You surprise me Sammy," Dean offered "You don't believe there are any white witches out there casting their spells in the interests of health, healing and good crops?"

Sam shook his head, "When have we ever come across a supernatural influence that wasn't doing harm?"

"That could be because they're the only kind we look for."

Sam gave a shrug turning his attention back to the screen. Dean was studying him now, his father's journal forgotten for the moment. "Seriously Sam. You're normally the poster boy for 'maybe it's not all bad Dean'" He mimicked his brother's speech pattern, "And 'not everything has to be evil, Dean'"

Sam stopped typing and looked up, unable to hide the telling glance at Dean's wrapped wrist, pain and fear flickering in clear dark eyes before he managed to shut it down. "Well this is evil. I can. . ." The pause hung between them as Sam's thoughts spiralled. What? How was he going to finish that sentence. . .sense it? . . .feel it? . . .know it because it's got me trying to kill my own brother, or maybe just knock him out?. . .break a few freakin' bones. . . hurt him . . . when I don't know who. . . "This one's evil," he stated flatly pulling himself back from the seething anger and guilt.

Dean just nodded, regretting pushing it when he knew how close to the edge Sam was.

An hour later Dean pushed himself to his feet; "I got nothin'," he stated dejectedly not that that was even close to true. They had a hundred possibilities; they were just no closer to narrowing them down. He stretched and went to pour himself another coffee, not missing Sam's disapproving look. It was a long time since he'd felt this tired. The couple of hours when he'd lost consciousness no compensation for his continuing lack of sleep. He pulled a bottle of pain pills out of his duffle and stared at it for a moment before reluctantly walking across and handing it to Sam.

Sam gave it a stare too before looking up at Dean's face, Dean challenging him to comment. If Dean'd thought there was any way he could get the top off on his own he would have done but it was one of those childproof caps and Dean knew from bitter experience that one hand and teeth weren't really up to the task, and it seemed churlish to solve the problem the same way he'd solved it last time, which involved an axe and a fun time hunting across the floor for the pills, when Sam was sitting right there and would be more than willing. . .

"You should take a break," Sam stated, "Get some rest. I can carry on. . . "

"Just open the damn bottle Sam," Dean said allowing churlish now. Maybe the axe wasn't such a bad idea, this damn headache, the throbbing wrist, it was taking away his focus and he needed to focus because Sam was in danger and he. . "Thanks," he stated as the pills were dropped onto his hand. He dry swallowed them then went to retrieve his coffee.

"I was just saying if you need a break. . ." Sam offered tentatively, worried by how obviously tired and hurting Dean was. If it was bad enough for him to let it show this much. . .

"I'm fine Sam, I just don't think this is getting us anywhere without more to go on."

"Well if you've got a better idea. . ." Sam began.

"We go back to what we were going to do this morning." Dean stated.

"And that would be?" Sam asked, trying hard not to react to the gut-churning that happened with each reminder of the holes in his memory.

Damn, Dean just couldn't seem to help rubbing Sam's face in what was happening. "We were going to interview Pete. He was a friend of Matt's, works at an autoshop corner of the next block." Dean leaned forward. "Matt was the first victim so if we are dealing with a witch. . ."

"They'd be more likely to know the first victim personally, because that was what started the killing, and once they'd started killing they got a taste for it hence the second victim. That would certainly fit the profile"

"Of what?"

"Of a serial killer who was also a witch."

"I knew I shouldn't have let you watch Criminal Minds and Charmed on the same night."

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

Pete looked suspiciously at the ID and then back up at Sam briefly before his eyes drifted to Dean and his obvious injuries. The Winchester's had done their best to clean up but the bruising on Dean's face was difficult to hide as was the sling which Sam had insisted on before he'd let Dean leave the Motel room. Little brother guilt was something that even Dean couldn't ignore; besides he knew he'd be no use to anyone if he didn't let this wrist heal a little, not to mention that it was far easier to focus when the pain eased, and so he'd reluctantly allowed his brother that concession.

"You two are cops?" Pete asked the scepticism was clear.

"Yeah," Sam, replied smoothly, "My partner here got injured taking down some drug runners, so our captain's got us out running interviews on cold cases see if we can come up with anything new." He gave another flash of a smile. "Sometimes people remember new details, things that we can follow up and it sure beats riding a desk until his," he gestured back to Dean, "injuries heal up."

Dean allowed a glance of pride at his brother's smooth lie, explaining everything from the unexpected visit after six months to his own appearance. He couldn't have done it better himself, impressive in the circumstances.

Pete looked convinced and handed back the ID. "Well, I'll do my best to help of course but I'm not sure that I'll be any more help than I was at the time."

"Just answering our questions will be enough thanks," Sam said following as Pete led them to the back of the shop. It was a small place two cars were up on ramps and there was space for a third. Over on the far side there was a guy, face completely obscured by a mask welding something to the bottom of an Oldsmobile. The other guy in coveralls who had been there when they had arrived had disappeared up some stairs at the back of the shop to what Dean had assumed was an office of some kind and he had yet to reappear.

Pete turned to face them perching on the edge of a pile of tyres as he wiped his hand on the obligatory oily rag.

"So, we're interested in what Matt was doing in the days leading up to his death." Dean stated, "Did you see him, maybe talk to him in that time?"

Pete looked thoughtful. "You think that's relevant? You think he might have known his killer?"

Dean gave a noncommittal shrug. "We're not sure what's relevant that's why we're here, just shaking branches to see what falls."

"OK, well the week before he died I saw him twice, once on the Monday, we went out for a beer, I was trying to get him back out into the world you know after. . . " He swallowed, "Emma's death hit him hard but it had been six months. It had been long enough. . too long really, but he was starting to agree to go out you know?" He looked up questioningly, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "He was starting to come out of it, even had a few laughs that night, and then on Thursday. . ." Pete's voice trailed off and he seemed to concentrate on the cloth that he had been absently rubbing his hands with.

"The day before he died," Sam prompted softly.

Pete looked up met his gaze then dropped the cloth onto the top of the tool chest beside him. "It was like he'd changed completely in those few days. He didn't seem to be grieving any more, if anything he seemed. . . happy, but not," he took a long pause "Am I making any sense at all?"

'Yes because by Thursday Matt was under the spell of some sort of witch and seeing his dead girlfriend,' both Winchester's thought it, but it was Sam who came out with the reassurance in a form that wouldn't instantly convince the guy that they were both crazy. "Yes, perfect sense," Sam stated, because he understood completely what had happened. "You think he only seemed happy, there was something wrong. He was distant maybe?"

Pete nodded his agreement.

"Almost like he was under some sort of spell?" Dean asked innocently.

Pete glanced down looking past the rag that was no longer being used to wipe hands so much as to give an outlet to the kinetic manifestation that accompanied the emotions being dragged back to the surface. Lost in memories for a moment he failed to see the 'what the hell are you doing glare' that Sam gave Dean because that question was too close to the truth, was too close to getting them both declared crazy and no more questions answered. Dean replied with a 'what' shrug of his shoulders and a look that would have convinced anyone apart possibly from teachers and police officers that Dean was completely guileless, and of course Sam, because Sam knew his brother too well.

The exchange of communication by glare would have continued but Pete was speaking again. "Yeah, exactly like that." Pete looked up forcing both of them to school their expressions back to the serious. "Like he was just saying and doing what I expected him to do. . how I expected him to be when Emma. . .before. . ."

"Did he mention seeing Emma again?" Dean asked earning him the full 'What the HELL are you doing!' glare from Sam, behind Pete's back as a startled Pete turned to look at Dean.

"What do. . ."

"What he means is," Sam tried to interject and pull Dean back from this line of questioning that was definitely going to get them both thrown out of there with nothing more to go on and God Sam needed something more to go on. "Was he seeing anyone. . ."

As Pete's head turned Sam got the guileless 'what?' expression from Dean and then he was interrupting again. "What I meant to say is, we have a witness who claims that Matt thought he saw Emma again. In the days before he died, said he claimed to be spending time with her."

"Spending time with. . . " Pete had gone a little paler and was staring at Dean now. "He thought he was seeing his dead girlfriend," A pause for loss of focus, memories, eyes moving restlessly around in sockets but not seeing. "That would explain.. . . .No! that's crazy," and now Pete's focus was fully back. "Why would he think he was seeing his dead girlfriend he wasn't crazy. . .He didn't. . . . He was murdered, the police, the coroner they were quite clear on that. It wasn't. . ."

"It's OK," Sam soothed, because the emotions were clearly tearing ragged holes in the control of the man in front of him, Matt and Pete had been close. "We know it was murder no one is trying to suggest anything else."

"Then why. . .?"

"It's just," Dean answered, exchanging 'what?' and 'I told you so' glares with his brother. "We have a witness who says. . ."

"Who?" Pete demanded bluntly. "Who told you that. . .Who would. . . ?" but he didn't wait for an answer his eyes flashing with realisation, then anger. "It was her wasn't it, Tiffany?" His eyes now betrayed hate. "It was Tiffany Mahers."

Dean nodded, slightly non-plussed by the reaction.

"That witch, that complete and utter. . .she. . ." whatever other insults he was throwing were lost in the grinding of teeth and the agitated pacing that turned his back on the brothers. This time the 'what the hell' exchange of looks came from both of them before their attention was focussed back on Pete.

Pete turned looking at each of them in turn, visibly reigning in the anger. "She. . .she's a real piece of work, can't leave him alone even after he's dead. I always told him. . ."

"You didn't like her?" Sam asked, it was stating the obvious but they needed to keep him talking, find out the basis for emotions this strong.

Pete shook his head. "She's a selfish, manipulating. . .the only thing that's important to Tiffany Mahers is getting what she wants. She set her sights on Matt and it killed her when she couldn't get him. When he asked Emma to marry him I think she actually did turn a shade of green, not that she ever let Matt see it. To him she was the sweetest, most supportive, two-faced lying bitch you could ever hope to have as a friend. She did everything she could to break them up without ever letting Matt see what she was doing, to the extent that if any of his real friends tried to tell him it looked like we were the crazy ones. Then when Emma died she didn't even wait for the funeral before she started making her play. Can you believe. . . ." He looked at Dean directly. "No, you've met her right? And if she was playing you she came across as really sweet and nice and upset about Matt right?" He waited the moment it took for Dean to nod an acknowledgement, finally throwing the rag to the floor in frustration. "Of course she did, but she wasn't upset at all. At the funeral she called me over to whisper something to me, so that the others wouldn't hear. You know what she whispered? 'He got what he deserved; if he'd loved me he'd still be alive,' and then she laughed, more like giggled as though she'd told me something funny." He took in the gazes of both brothers. "So anything she told you. . .well I wouldn't put too much faith in it. In fact if she didn't have an alibi with like twenty witnesses who saw her on the other side of town I could almost believe that she. . ." He shook his head, "Not that I believe that anybody could. . .I mean what was done to Matt." And then he was lost in the emotions of memories that would haunt him for a while yet.

Sam turned the page on the pad he had been taking notes on. He scribbled a name and cell number before ripping it out. "We didn't mean to upset you again," he stated gently, understanding the effect of the memories on the young man in front of him. "If you do think of anything else that may be relevant then please give us a call." He held out the torn sheet.

Pete took it, nodding. "I will. I hope. . .I hope you get somewhere this time."

"We'll let you know if we do," Dean stated.

They were outside and across the street before either of them spoke. "It can't be that easy," Dean said.

Sam turned to look at him. "He did just call her a witch."

"Yeah, I know but he didn't mean. . . not literally. I mean he couldn't. He doesn't know. . .It was me leading him into it, talking about spells. I. . ."

"Doesn't mean he isn't right," Sam said reasonably.

Dean studied him for a moment. "So we should check her out?"

Sam nodded. "Unless you have something better?"

Well a couple of Tylenol, an ice pack for his wrist, a long sleep in the hope that the pounding in his head would go away would be a good start. "No, let's go, I still have her address."

Sam insisted on driving. It was a short argument; even Dean had to admit that a concussion and swollen wrist versus no injury was really no contest. He tossed Sam the keys and headed for the passenger door.

"Dean!"

The sharp shout had him heading back round to Sam's side, the ever present fear that he'd been holding in check rushing to the surface with the pounding adrenaline. "Sam what? What's wrong?" he shouted as he ran back around. His hand was on Sam's arm, staring at the slightly lost expression on his brother's face, the fear doubling as he recognised the look, his brother staring through him. "Sam!"

Sam saw something; it scared him. He called his brother, and then there was no reason for fear because she was there, Jess was there, as beautiful as ever. He could just go to her. She wanted him, needed him. 'Get in the car sweetheart.' The whisper was in his ear, the soft caress on his neck. ' I'm taking you somewhere special, don't be long,' and then she was gone.

"Sam?"

Sam could hear the panic in his brother's voice. He looked at him, met his gaze, shaking his head, not quite remembering why Dean was there in his face. "Dean?"

The relief registered in Dean's entire body language as he visibly relaxed "Sam, you back with me again?"

"Yeah," he shook his head, "Yeah, I'm fine, what happened?"

"You phased on me there for a moment." Dean studied him. "You OK now?"

"Yeah, let's get moving."

Dean looked at him sceptically. "You sure you're up to driving."

"As opposed to how fit you are?" Sam asked raising one eyebrow.

Dean didn't accept it quite so easily this time. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." He turned and opened the Impala's door, climbing into the driver's seat. Dean watched until he was seated and the Impala's engine started up with its characteristic low rumble, his gaze drifting across to where Sam had been looking before returning worriedly to his brother. He'd been convinced for a moment that he'd lost Sam again. He shook his head, the only option was to keep working this like a regular hunt even if it was as far from a regular hunt as it was possible to be.

He moved quickly round the front of the car but it wasn't quick enough. He registered the change in tone of the engine just before the car lurched forward. Instinct allowed him to throw himself forward but he wasn't quick enough, didn't have the time. The front wing clipped him and threw him across the ground as Sam peeled out of the lot leaving his brother rolling across the tarmac.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .