A/N: Sorry for that evil little cliff hanger. Here you go, the next chapter :) Hope you enjoy it. This one is a bit long too and you'll see some familiar stuff in here ;) (Also, if you did not read the summary, season 2 spoilers start here. So if you're new to SPN, I've warned you.)

Chapter 10: Fate

Struggling will only make me lose oxygen faster, I know that, but it is so very hard not to. The freezing water feels like a thousand knives cutting into my skin. I know I don't have long before I pass out and drown, so pull back against the sticky hide of the kelpie with all of my strength, trying to get my hand free. The kelpie continues to dive deeper and deeper into the water, it is pitch black now. My lungs feel like they are on fire, but I refuse to give up. I jerk my left hand back one more time. To my utter shock, my hand comes free. I quickly realize my hand just came loose of my glove, and I quietly thank the cold weather for saving my life. At least for a few more minutes anyway. Disoriented and with no light to tell me which way is up or down, it takes me far too long to start swimming for the surface. My whole body starts to go numb as I try to swim through the dark water, my lungs aren't though, they are burning. I continue to swim upwards until my body forces me to try to take a breath. Cold water floods into my mouth, burning my throat. Seconds later, darkness even darker than the water envelops me.

There is a dark wood surrounding me, it is nighttime. There is a slight chill in the air, cold enough that I can see my breath. I stand looking down into the trunk of a car, a trunk loaded full of weapons. I start to realize the trunk is familiar even before I hear the voice.

"Lara, pass me that shotgun," Dean says.

I pick up the shotgun from the trunk and hand it to Dean. Dean cocks it with one hand. Beside me, I hear another shotgun cock. I turn and see an older man holding a shotgun.

"Let's go," Dean says, starting to walk away.

We follow him through the thick woods, shotguns held level. Something about this place gives me a bad feeling.

"Bobby, we gotta find him," Dean says, I can tell he is worried.

"I know. Don't worry, we'll find him," the older man replies.

It is then I recognize him as Bobby Singer, one of Mike's old friends. I look around, there is only thick wood and muddy ground. A light rain starts up as we go further into the woods. We round a corner and suddenly the thick wood opens into a clearing. A clearing that has a few old, wooden buildings, buildings that are falling apart. The buildings look like they are straight out of an old Western, a haunted Western at that. Through the clearing appears to be the remnants of a wide dirt road, now edged with brambles and sprinkled with puddles from recent rains.

"Sam!" Dean calls out.

Thunder booms in the distance and the rain starts to pick up. We walk around one of the buildings, Dean and Bobby leading. I am filled with inexplicable relief when I see Sam staggering slowly toward us. I see Dean and Bobby also visibly relax as well. Sam is cradling his right arm, and looks exhausted. We also walk toward him, intending to meet him halfway.

"Sam," Dean says.

"Dean!" Sam says, smiling at his brother, he too looks overcome with relief.

In a split second everything changes.

"Sam! Look out!" Dean yells.

I see him at the same time as Dean, another guy comes up from behind Sam, rushing him. At the exact same time, Dean, Bobby and I run toward Sam. The guy thrusts something into Sam's back and I see Sam's face wrinkle up in pain.

"NO!" Dean yells.

We all run faster toward Sam as Sam collapses on his knees with an audible gasp. Dean runs to Sam, sliding to the ground in front of his brother, catching him before he falls over. Bobby, seeing Dean with his brother, takes off after Sam's attacker who is fleeing rapidly.

"No, Sam!" Dean yells.

I stop cold a few feet behind Dean, my hand covering my mouth in shock. I can do nothing but watch in horror.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sam. Sam! Hey!" Dean says firmly, trying to keep his brother awake.

Sam falls limply forward into Dean's shoulder.

I wake with a start, tears streaming down my face. Bright light floods into my eyes, temporarily blinding me. I have no clue where I am or why I am even here. I should be dead. With every quick, frightened breath I take, my sides hitch up. My whole body is sore, inside and out.

"Hey, hey, take it easy," a familiar voice says from beside me.

The voice is familiar, yet not Mike's.

"You'd better lay back down there, lass. You gave me quite a scare, I thought you weren't going to make it."

My eyes finally adjust to the light, and I realize I am in a small hospital room. The voice I have been hearing belongs to Hamish Muir, who stands next to my bed. I lean back in the hospital bed.

"Ugh, what happened?" I ask, still confused about how I am alive.

Hamish moves closer to me and lowers his voice.

"I saw everything that happened. I wasn't quick enough to stop you, but I dove in after you. I pulled you out and brought you here, where they could help you. They're going to release you later today, why don't you come talk to me at my house. I think you probably have more questions."

I look him in the eyes and I see a gentle kindness behind them I didn't notice before. He hands me a small paper with an address on it.

"Thank you. You saved my life, thank you," I say, trying to put all of my gratitude into words.

"No need to say anything, lassie, it's what any person would have done. Now get some rest."

He walks out of the room, turning the main light off as he passes.

I feel like I have been out for days. My head is swimming, my mind is groggy and I feel so lost to what has happened. The most pressing thing in my mind is the dream I had about Sam. Though, as I think back, it may not have been just a dream. It had all of the vividness of the visions I keep having. I really hope it was just a dream, but, deep down, I know it wasn't. I fall back into a more peaceful sleep.

I am woken later when I feel someone place a hand on my arm. I slowly open my eyes, my whole body still extremely sensitive, and see Mike sitting next to me.

"Lara, what the hell were you thinking?" he says softly.

He is not angry, he just seems relieved to see me.

"Hey, you said you wanted proof. I think this counts," I say with a smile, sitting up.

"I didn't mean I wanted you to risk your life getting it."

"Sorry, occupational hazard. But, hey, I'm alive."

"Barely."

The doctors run a few more tests and release me a few hours later. Once we are back in the motel, I tell Mike what happened. He listens and is finally able to accept my conclusion about the kelpie being our monster. I did not intend to risk my life getting proof, but either way it worked. I tell him about Muir as well, how he saved my life and what he said to me.

"So you think he believes this thing is real?"

"I do. He did have that book."

"A lot of people think they believe something is real, but when it comes down to it, they don't. You know that."

"I think he knows these things are real. He could really help us. I shot that thing with silver, but it didn't kill it. He may know how to kill it."

Mike thinks it over before responding. Despite all of this, he is still being his stubborn self.

"Fine. Tell him the truth, he could be a useful ally. I'll go to the local library, see if I can't find something. Please, stay out of trouble this time."

I smile and grab up my bag.

Hamish Muir's house is simple, a single-story brick house with a small driveway. There is a small, well-kept garden near the front door. There are only a few small, winter plants growing. I knock on the white, wood door and look around while I wait for Hamish to answer. He lives away from the town's center and significantly further away from the lake than anyone would expect a dock master to live. I hear a lock slide back and the door swings open.

"Agent Waller, good to see you back on your feet," he says with a smile. "Come on in."

The inside of his house is just as simple as the outside, a few pieces of furniture, a kitchen and a single hallway leading to back rooms. One of the features that stands out is a rather large sword mounted above the fireplace mantle. Hamish motions for me to sit in one of the chairs in his living room area, he takes a seat opposite of me.

"Would you like some tea, coffee, water?" he asks.

"No thank you, but that is very kind of you."

"I'm sure you have many questions," Hamish starts.

I can tell he is trying to be reserved in breaking the news to me that monsters are real. I do not intend to lead him on with this facade I have put up.

"Probably not as many as you think," I say.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not really FBI, neither is my 'partner.'"

Hamish looks slightly confused for a second, "Then who are you?"

"My name is Lara, my friend's name is Mike. We're called hunters. It's kind of like normal hunting, except with monsters, ghosts, other paranormal beings..."

"You hunt monsters for a living?"

"Yes. Usually I have to go through breaking the 'monsters are real' news, but I know you already know that much."

He looks at me like he is scrutinizing my every word.

"Lass, if you are poking fun-"

"No, no, no! I would never do that, you saved my life. I'm telling the truth, I promise. How else would you explain what happened to me last night? I know how you feel. I don't often tell people the truth, so when I do I expect to be taken to a mental hospital, trust me. It is very hard to get people to believe monsters are real."

Hamish nods, "I'm glad to know someone doesn't think I'm crazy."

I smile, but I notice through his words he is implying someone has called him crazy. Without warning, he jumps into his story.

"When I was a wee boy in Scotland, so many years ago, my mum told me stories about the kelpies. I was a rambunctious young lad, so were my closest mates. We loved playin' down by the loch and my mum, she was just worried. At least that is what we thought. One day, me and my two mates, decided to go down and play by the loch. We slipped out while our mums were cooking. We had been playin' for a while when James saw this girl walking down the shore. We didn't know her, we had never seen her before. James got closer to her to ask who she was, but she walked back into the water. He followed her and tried to stop her. As soon as he touched her, she turned into this massive horse. He tried to get away, but his hand was stuck. He screamed as the thing dove into the water with him. We never saw him again. Will and I tried to tell our parents what happened, that the stories about the kelpies were true, but they didn't believe us. They simply thought James drowned and we, being so young, were just trying to come up with some story to cope with it. I became obsessed with finding a way to kill the kelpie. Seeing as I was having such a hard time with my mate's death, my parents decided to move us here."

When he finishes, I see Hamish is clearly upset at bringing up these old memories. I completely empathize with his childhood trauma, but this is not the time to bring up my own misfortunes.

"I am so sorry about your friend," I say.

"It was a right tragedy, but I have had plenty of time to come to peace with it. That is, until I started getting the suspicion that these drownings here were not random. I thought the thing had followed me here, but it turns out Scottish settlers brought this one here. One man and a box with the kelpie's bridle in it, that's all it took."

"Bridle?"

"In some of the myths, a kelpie has a bridle that, if taken from it by someone, makes it obedient to whoever has the bridle. The kelpie just becomes a regular horse with the strength of ten. Seems this man lost possession of the bridle and the kelpie was not happy about being a common slave horse."

"Right. So did you found a way to kill one? All of my sources said silver, but I tried a silver bullet and all it did was make it angry."

"Aye, silver weakens it. I suppose that is one way you were able to escape it. However, if you want to kill it, you have to use a pure silver claymore."

"A what?"

"It's a Scottish two-handed sword. Also, a perfect mantle ornament," Hamish says pointing to the sword above his mantle. "After James, I wanted to hunt down that kelpie and kill it. I researched everything about the creatures, spent months finding all the information I needed. But the thing never showed itself again."

Hamish gets up and walks toward the fireplace. He takes the claymore down from its mount and walks it over to me. I stand up, silent in astonishment as he hands the claymore to me.

"I know this isn't the same kelpie that killed James, but it will still be justice for him and for all of the people it killed. If I can be of any assistance just tell me."

"Actually, I believe you can," I say, handing the sword back to him.

After I explain my plan to Hamish, I call Mike, half expecting him to be neck deep in research. I tell him the short version of what Hamish told me.

"So you have a way to kill it?" Mike asks.

"Yeah, a pure silver claymore."

There is a pause on the other end of the line.

"A what?"

"It's a type of Scottish sword."

"Where the hell are you going to find that?"

"I'm looking at one."

"Oh, our resident Scot came through. So what's the plan?"

"I expect this thing is pretty mad at me, I did escape it. I'll also go as far as to say it probably wants to finish the job. With your help and Hamish's, I'll draw it out and when it thinks it has me, it will be vulnerable and Hamish can kill it."

"Use you as bait? I don't think so," Mike says firmly.

"We don't have another choice. There is no other way to draw this thing out. Besides, you and Hamish will be there. I'll be fine, I won't touch it."

After an even longer pause, Mike agrees to meet Hamish and I down at the lake shore.

The sun is starting to descend in the sky when we all meet on the lake shore. Mike greets us with a gruff expression, I can tell he is still not happy with this plan. We go over the plan one more time to be sure and we all take our positions. Just as the last light from the sun is stretching over the lake, a horrible wind picks up. Small waves start to rise up in the lake and they grow as the wind continues to get stronger. The wind makes me uneasy, I know what it means, I read the lore. Hamish stands further back from the shore than me, but still close enough to act. Mike stands behind me, his gun loaded with silver bullets. A light fog starts to roll across the lake, shrouding the water but not the shore. My eyes dart in all directions to prepare for the attack that is sure to come. The temperature drops about ten degrees seconds before the kelpie emerges from the fog-covered water. It is in its massive horse form and looks just as it did the night before, skin rippling the same color as the windswept waves. It strides toward me in a slow walk, its burning, red eyes locked on me. As it gets closer I start to take a step back for every two steps it takes toward me. I maintain the same distance from it until it is right where I want it. I stop, letting it move closer and closer toward me. When it is only a few feet from me Hamish runs up beside it, wielding the claymore. He swings the blade down behind the kelpie's shoulder. The kelpie, though taken by surprise, is still able to sidestep before the blade touches it. Hamish stumbles forward from his momentum and in the unstable, sandy ground, slips. The claymore drops out of his hands, striking the sandy shore. I fear what the kelpie will do to its attacker, but it surprises me by turning away from Hamish. It locks its eyes on me once more and starts toward me. It doesn't get very far before gunfire sounds off in the otherwise silent night. It is enraged when Mike's silver bullets hit their mark, stomping its dark hooves into the sand and tossing its head. I look at Mike in shock, the bullets haven't even slowed it down. It is right on me and makes a motion of throwing its shoulder into me in an attempt to trap me once more. Without hesitation, I duck under it, rolling between its front legs into the sand. The sand feels like a million tiny pieces of ice. I quickly crawl out from under the kelpie and dive for the claymore, which still lies in the cold sand. I grab the leather-wrapped hilt just as the kelpie's hooves strike the sand beside me. I look up to see the underside of the kelpie directly over my head. I grab the claymore with both hands and thrust the blade into the kelpie's belly. The kelpie rears up, yanking the blade out of my hands. It gives an eerie, high-pitched wail and disintegrates in a huge explosion of water that drenches me. The claymore falls from where the kelpie once was back to the sand.

The temperature returns to a normal cold and the wind dies down. The fog starts to fade away, revealing the now calm surface of the lake. I walk over and pick up the claymore from the sand. The night is once more silent and calm. Hamish and Mike both quickly walk over to me.

"You alright?" Mike asks.

"I'm drenched and freezing, but otherwise, yeah, I'm fine," I say.

"Let's get you inside and in some dry clothes, okay?" Mike says.

I look at Hamish and hand him the claymore.

"Thank you, for all of your help," I say.

Hamish takes the sword and nods. Mike ushers me quickly back to the motel, worried as usual. I am grateful for the warm shower and the comfort of dry pajamas. I flop down on my bed in the motel room, the exhaustion of the day finally hitting me. Mike sits up in the bed next to mine, reading a book.

"You did good," he says, giving me a small smile.

"Thanks."

I curl up under the warm sheets, ready to lose myself in sleep. I find I am hesitant to close my eyes, afraid of having another horrible vision. My body takes over anyway and soon I am in a deep sleep.

Early the next morning, Mike and I pack up the car to leave South Haven. We are almost finished when a familiar face walks up.

"Did you think you were leavin' without letting me know?" Hamish says.

I place my bag in Mike's truck and walk out to greet our new-found friend.

"Hamish, how are you?" I ask.

"Much better now that there are no more monsters in my town," he says. "And you?"

"Oh, nothing a hot shower and dry clothes couldn't fix."

I notice he is holding a large cloth-wrapped object in his hands. He pulls the claymore out of the cloth.

"Here, I want you to keep this," he says, handing me the sword in its scabbard.

"I couldn't-" I start to say.

"No, no. The only reason I got this thing was to avenge James' death and, well, I think that has been done. You killed the kelpie, you deserve this. Besides, its my way of thanking you for all of your help. It'll come in handy if you ever run into another one out there."

"Thank you, I'll take really good care of it," I say, taking the sword from Hamish.

I open the large lock-box in the bed of Mike's truck ad place the sword inside along with the other weapons we brought. I close and lock the box again, but Hamish was able to catch a glimpse of some of the weapons.

"How many different monsters do you hunt?" he asks with a small chuckle.

"All of them. There are quite a few, plus if we keep discovering things we didn't know existed, a lot more."

"Well, I thank you, for the whole town. They may not know what you did for them, but I do. They would be grateful too, if they knew. So, you're just leaving?"

"It's better to leave before questions start getting asked. Then we would either have to lie some more or go with the whole people thinking we're crazy thing."

"Right, then it's probably for the best," Hamish says.

"Thank you, again, for all of your help. We wouldn't have been able to kill it without you, and I would probably be dead too."

Mike walks out of the motel with the last of our stuff and places it in the truck before walking over to us. He shakes Hamish's hand.

"Thank you for saving Lara's life and for everything else," Mike says.

"It's what any person would have done," Hamish says.

"You'd be surprised," Mike comments. "Well, we'd better get going."

"If you ever have any monster trouble, give us a call," I say, handing him a slip of paper with our real, non-FBI cell numbers on them.

"I will," Hamish says, taking the paper.

Mike and I drive off, Hamish waving at us as we go. We quickly put the town in our rear-view and head for Wichita.

Once we are on the road and I'm alone with my thoughts as Mike concentrates on driving, my concern over my visions takes hold of me. I know I should tell Mike about them. He has been hunting most of his life and knows far more than I do. It takes me a few hours of driving to finally muster up enough courage to say something.

"Mike, I know I should have said something about it sooner, but I was scared of myself. I didn't know what was happening and I was afraid."

Mike gives me a quick glance before returning his attention to the road.

"They've started, haven't they?" he says.

"What?" I reply in shock, there is no way he knows.

"The visions, they've started?"

"How in the-"

"Eric had them too. He said almost the same thing to your dad and me when he finally decided he wasn't some freak. We thought it might only be a matter of time until you got them too. He started getting them some time after your mother passed and it really messed him up not telling anyone about them. He went around convinced he was some sort of monster or psychic or something. He wasn't, of course. We never said anything to you because we didn't know if you would get them for sure."

"And what he saw, did it all come true?" I ask, worried about my vision of Sam.

"Not always and when they did, they didn't always go exactly as he saw them. It got him into a lot of trouble, trying to change those visions when sometimes they shouldn't have been changed-"

"He had a vision of that night, didn't he?" I say looking out of the car window, trying to keep my emotions low.

"...Yes, he did," Mike answers somewhat solemnly. "He was never clear on what he did see, but it made him seek out that demon. He tried to keep it from your father, but-"

"But dad went anyway," I say. "Sounds like dad."

Mike smiles a bit, "Your stubborn father. Oh, yes, you're just like him. Going to that lake alone, at night. Almost getting yourself killed to prove a point."

"Yeah, I get it. I screwed up. But, hey, we killed the thing, didn't we? And no one else had to die. I'd call that a success. What about Ethan Bunker's family, will they know?"

"Yeah, I called his wife as soon as I knew and told her, she'll make sure he gets a proper hunter's funeral. She's a hunter too, you know?"

"No I didn't, that's good, I guess. It's a shame he had to die when the answer was in the town the whole time."

"Yeah, it's best not to dwell on what could have been. I guess it's all up to fate, isn't it?"

"Fate, destiny, whatever. Life is up to you. We of all people should know that," I say.

Mike nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. I look out of the window for most of the ride, lost in thoughts of my brother and father.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed that. As always, comments are greatly appreciated, I like to hear the thoughts of my viewers, feedback, whatever it may be. I'll be getting back to the Supernatural timeline soon enough, so hang in there just a bit longer. I'll post as soon as I have the next chapter finished.