"Who are you?" the man standing behind the safety of his screen door asked the three well-dressed individuals on his porch.
Sam, Dean, and Scarlett had arrived in town a little over an hour ago, but had made quick use of the gas station fifteen outside of Louisville before it as a means of preparing. After all, three people dressed in jeans couldn't just drive into town and exit a restaurant in business attire.
As she exited the Eagle Station bathroom in a black pantsuit with a crimson camisole, Dean handed her a FBI badge of her own that he had made while they were sequestered in Bobby's panic room. Yet, not before making a quip about the irony in her choice of shirt color.
With a roll of her eyes, Scarlett reminded him that a trio of FBI agents showing up to a house was rare. However, Dean knew this. He just wanted to show off his handiwork.
And a few moments later, all he wanted to do was sit down after laughing so hard at her choice of alias.
In a navy suit and matching tie, Dean immediately reached into the inner pocket of his sport coat and extracted his badge. "I'm Agent Nash, this is Agent Young," he stated, tilting his head in the direction of his brother who mimicked his actions. "We're with the Kansas State Police Department. And this," he added, glancing at Scarlett on his right, "Is Professor Deborah Harry of the University of Kansas School of Law."
Scarlett was surprised he was able to keep a straight face. Her attention on the matter at hand, she instantly began to pour on the charm with a kind smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Colt."
And just as she'd expected, Matthew Colt began to melt into putty in her hands. "Please, call me Matthew," he informed her, pushing open the door to allow the trio to enter the house. "How can I assist you today?"
"Well, Matthew," she began, causing the color to creep into his face and Dean to roll his eyes. "There's actually a university matter that brings us here today."
"To Kentucky?" Matthew's eyebrows rose at the notion and he laughed. "Not sure what I can help you with, Professor, but I'll try."
"Debbie," she corrected him, smiling yet again.
Dean picked up where the blonde had left off. "There's a KU alumni who left a significant portion of her estate to the university. Unfortunately, a few of the items willed to the school were missing from her home." He pulled out a small pad and flipped a few pages, his eyes roaming up and down the page that had been scribbled on. "And it seems that all of the items have been recovered except one. We think you might be in possession of this item."
"You must be mistaken," he shook them off. "I've never stolen anything in my life!"
Scarlett took a step forward and placed a hand on the man's arm. At thirty-six years old, Matthew Colt looked good for his age. Sure, he was beginning to develop some of the tell-tale lines that came with getting older, but he was aging well. And the scruff that formed along his jaw-line enhanced his features, if nothing else. "We're not accusing you of anything, Matthew. Often, caretakers, maids, butlers, and other employees take advantage of the elderly whom they work for. In all likelihood, you purchased an item you did not know was stolen."
"So…" Matthew nodded as he walked over to his beige sofa and took a seat. "What is it you're looking for?"
Dean glanced down at his pad once more and looked back at the man. "A Texas Paterson 1836 revolver manufactured by your great-great grandfather."
Matthew Colt instantly froze. "But that's was the first gun he ever made. How could she have it?"
Sam instantly replied, "She is a descendent of its original owner."
"That's impossible!" he exclaimed, leaning forward. "She didn't have any children."
Dean's head immediately cocked to the side and his eyebrows shot towards the sky. "She?"
"Yeah, she," Matthew repeated, now eyeing him. "Surely you know the legend of the Colt!"
"Of course," Scarlett responded, attempting to keep her cool despite her wavering mind. "The benefactor is the great-great niece of the original owner."
"It appears that Professor Harry," Dean said, looking from the woman to Samuel Colt's great-great-grandson, "Is holding out on us. Care to share?"
"Well," Matthew took a breath and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. "My grandmother, Sophie, was his granddaughter and she told me a lot of these stories. But she was an old woman…"
"That's alright, Mr. Colt," Sam replied swiftly, coaxing him on. "Whatever information you have helps."
The man nodded and gestured to the three-seater sofa before him. The trio sat down on the couch, Scarlett on the left end, Sam in the middle, and Dean on the right. "She said that he met this woman while he was over in England in 1834. He had gone to Europe in order to research plans for a gun that would revolutionize the arms industry." He leaned forward, his torso hunching over his knees. "Now, Grandma Sophie said he met her at a pub late one Monday night, which struck him as odd…"
"Because any woman of her age would have been at home with her husband, let alone by herself in a bar," Sam finished for him as Dean continued to write in his pad.
Matthew concurred, clasping his hands together. "He said that she approached him and told him that she knew what he was looking for. She said that she would give him what he wanted, but that the first one belonged to her."
Dean's curiosity was sufficiently piqued. "What belonged to her?"
"The first gun; the first revolver Samuel Colt ever created."
"This woman…" the older Winchester looked up from his pad and focused on him. "Did your grandmother ever tell you her name?"
The Kentucky man shook his head. "No, but she said her grandfather referred to her as Aurum Saeta Fontis," he remarked, carefully annunciating each word of Latin.
"The gold-haired fountain?" Sam's eyebrows furrowed.
"Because in all the years he knew her after they returned to the United States, she was as beautiful as the day he first met her."
"Like the Fountain of Youth," Sam stated and the man acknowledged his correct response with a nod.
As Sam continued the conversation and pressed Matthew for more information, Dean immediately turned his attention towards Scarlett, who was uncomfortably avoiding his gaze at the other end of the sofa. He waited until his brother was done talking before he spoke again. "Well, Mr. Colt, we appreciate your help." He rose to his dress shoes, Sam and Scarlett standing with him. "If you can think of anything else that might be of interest…"
"Wait!" Matthew blurted out suddenly, causing them to stop. "Wait," he repeated, much quieter this time. "I'll be right back."
Dean watched as the man hopped up from the cushion and walked briskly out of the room. As soon as he disappeared up the stairs, his head whipped to the woman on his right. "Seriously?"
"What?" Scarlett shot back, folding her arms over her ample chest.
"You didn't think that maybe, in the fourteen hours we were driving here, you should have mentioned this little fun fact?" he questioned angrily, his voice dropping to a dangerous low, despite his already harsh whisper.
"I didn't think it was relevant," the blonde answered defiantly.
Dean ground his teeth together. "You've got to be freaking kidding me."
Suddenly, they were alerted to Matthew Colt's impending presence in the form of boots clamoring down the steps. Moments later, at the sight of glinting silver, the hunters drew their guns.
"Whoa," Colt froze at the foot of the stairs, his hands, and subsequently his gun, in the air. "I'm not going to do anything, I swear. I just know it belongs to her."
"Put the gun at your feet," Dean instructed him, his own Colt 1911 trained on the thirty-something man. "Now."
Matthew did as he was told and held his hands above his head. "Look, lady… I know it's yours, just take it. I wasn't gonna shoot it."
"Thank you, Matthew." Scarlett took a hesitant step forward. "The university is going to be…"
"I didn't mean the university," he corrected her, looking the woman straight in the eye. "I meant that it belongs to you. It's always belonged to you."
She did a double-take. "Excuse me?"
"I, uh…" He looked down at the floor, whether it was at the gun or his Timberlands, she wasn't sure. "I might have withheld some information about a painting that's been passed down a few generations."
Dean lowered his gun. "So you knew it was her?"
Matthew nodded. "The painting doesn't do you justice."
Scarlett tilted her head to the side inquisitively. "So why didn't you say anything when I first showed up at your door?"
"I didn't know who they were," Matthew responded, gesturing at the brothers and retrieving the gun from the wooden floor. "I was entrusted with the Colt to protect it. I know what it can do and what can happen if it falls into the wrong hands."
"Entrusted?" Sam repeated.
"Yes, a year and a half ago, a man came to my door in the middle of the night. Told me he was an angel," he snorted, as if he was still in disbelief. "It wasn't until I saw the wings that I believed it. He handed me a box. Said he had gotten it back from the demons and I was to protect its contents until its owner came for it. I was only to use it if absolutely necessary."
Scarlett stared off into the distance. "He knew I would come for it."
He bobbed his head in agreement and took a few steps forward, holding out the weapon for her to take. "Here. It was meant to be with you. I'm sorry, I used two of the bullets."
She took the Colt from his hands and opened the chamber. "Two left."
"I used one on a vampire in Louisiana, another for the Wendigo I found last weekend. Couldn't help it."
"It's fine. We're headhunting in Louisiana ourselves after we're finished here." She waved him off and snapped the casing shut, spinning the chambers. "I know how to make more, remember?"
"Right…" Matthew laughed, sliding his hands back into his pockets. "Guess the angel forgot that too. Or didn't want me to draw too much attention to myself."
"This angel have a name?" Dean pressed him impatiently.
Matthew turned his focus away from the divine woman whom he had been studying with great curiosity. "Yeah. His name was Gabriel."
Five hours outside of New Orleans, Scarlett sat in the back of the Impala with her legs folded beneath her and the Colt twirling around in her fingertips.
She hadn't seen the gun in ages, not since it had been stolen from her during the Great Depression. More than likely, it had passed through numerous hands, but now, it was resting in those of the original owner.
As the car ventured further and further into the dark abyss of the interstate, she leaned her head against the window. Temple pressed against the glass, and looked up at the stars. One hundred and seventy-four years ago, the very same sky was streaked with the blazing light of Halley's Comet and the iron plating of the 1836 Paterson Revolver had touched her skin for the first time. Yet, April 20, 1910 marked the last time the comet passed overhead while the Colt was in her possession.
"Bring back memories?" the voice that evoked images of gravel interrupted her pensiveness.
Scarlett's eyes flitted towards the back of Dean's headrest. "Something like that."
"Enlighten me," Dean returned with a hint of frustration, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.
"Dean…" Sam addressed him in a warning tone.
"It's fine, Sam." The blonde sighed and straightened up, no longer feeling the cool glass against her forehead. "I was just thinking… the last time I held this gun in my hand was shortly after Black Tuesday. I haven't seen it in over seventy years."
A set of emerald eyes glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "What happened to it?"
"I was in Manhattan when the stock market crashed, attending a symposium. Everyone went crazy, looting businesses, houses, and hotels," she began to explain and noted with amusement that Sam was raptly paying attention. "I always kept the Colt with me, but it wasn't customary for a woman to carry any type of gun in the open. So I stashed it in the safe of my hotel room."
The older brother snorted. "Someone stole it from you? You can move things with your mind, but some average Joe off the street managed to jack it from you?"
"I used to think that's what happened. There were bullet holes in the lock," she answered and then ran her free hand through her caramel locks. "But in the last few years, I've come to the conclusion that Lilith had it."
This time, it was Sam who interjected. "But Daniel Elkins had it, then our father, and then…"
"Bela?" Her eyebrow arched at him. "All true. I think that Lilith had it in the sense that one of her demonic lackeys was holding onto it for her. After Bela took it, I think the same thing happened again, only with a different demon."
But Dean couldn't stay silent for long. "What makes you so sure?"
"The Colt wasn't the only thing I had in the safe. I had other weapons with me; ones given to me by angels, forged by my father's hand. Lately, they've been turning up in the hands of demons."
An unsettling feeling formed in the pit of Sam's stomach. "What kind of weapons?"
Scarlett shrugged. "Pretty run of the mill stuff… guns and knives, some bullets. Only two things in the safe could kill virtually anything."
"So if one was the Colt," Sam continued to press forward. "What was the other one?"
"Well, I should clarify that the knife didn't work on extremely powerful demons." Dean's eyes shifted to the mirror and stayed there a little too long, causing the car to swerve. "Dean!"
"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, adjusting the path of the Impala. "Did the knife happen to have a wooden handle… Enochian symbols on the blade?"
Scarlett's face crinkled and she stopped playing with the gun in her hands. "How would you know that?"
Dean and Sam exchanged looks before the younger brother produced the dagger they had come to refer to as Ruby's Knife. He turned around in his seat and extended his hand over the back of the chair. "Is this it?"
Her eyes instantly widened and she ran her index finger over the carved symbols. "My knife. Where did you…?"
"Ruby," Sam answered softly.
"That miserable, soulless bitch," Scarlett snarled, eyes shooting back up from her tracing.
Dean had to stifle a chuckle. "I see we're talking about the same Ruby."
Sam continued to feel his stomach churn and was anxious to get the knife out of his hands. "Take it. It belongs to you, too."
Scarlett shook her head. "I don't have a need for it anymore. The knife is yours, Sam. And the Colt…" She leaned forward, her forearms resting on her the bench in front of her. "Is Dean's."
"Mine?" His eyebrows furrowed together. "It's your gun. You and Sam Colt made it."
"Dean, I made it for this. I made it for you," she told him, her eyes flecked with gold as they studied the weapon in her hand. "Take it," she added, holding the gun over the lip of the bench.
"Scarlett…" He cocked his head to the side and winced.
"Dean."Her eyes stared at him in the mirror. "Take it. It was meant to be yours for the last hundred and seventy years."
The hunter bent his arm back and reluctantly allowed her to place the gun in his outstretched palm before placing it beside him on the seat. "Creepy," he blanched.
The Impala rolled into the French Quarter of New Orleans shortly after the clock on the St. Louis Cathedral struck two in the morning. While in most towns they traveled to, the wee hours of the morning meant nothing but trouble, NOLA was still bustling with people.
Scarlett gazed out the window at the brick-faced buildings and let out an audible sigh. "I remember when this city was nothing but wood-paneled buildings, pubs, and whorehouses."
"Sounds like a place I would have loved," Dean noted with a smirk as he slowed the car to a stop at a traffic light.
Sam rolled his eyes and scanned the street. "Any idea where to start?"
"What street are we on?" she asked in response, craning her head slightly in an attempt to read the street sign above the light.
The younger Winchester read it aloud with ease, "Decatur."
The blonde nodded in recognition. "Go to 1039 Decatur… that's the best place to start."
Dean sauntered down the avenue, his boots tracking across the concrete still moist from the previous afternoon's thunderstorm. Something was off about the city and it was something he couldn't put his finger on.
Vampires were hiding in New Orleans, that much he knew, but they weren't the reasons he was harboring a strange feeling in his gut. Turning the corner, he decided it wasn't a sense of foreboding, nerves, or fear of any kind. It was… different, something he had never felt before. It was as if he knew something big was going to happen.
Maybe it wouldn't be at that exact at moment in time, or in the minutes thereafter, but he was pretty sure – no, certain, - that before he left New Orleans, something major was going to go down. He just didn't know what.
But as he approached the concrete building with the white and green striped awning, the unfamiliar feeling in Dean's stomach was replaced with one that he knew quite well: irritation.
"No, we're still waiting for one more. He'll be here any minute, just parking the car," Scarlett informed the petite brunette waitress who nodded politely and retreated from the table. Her attention turned back to the man in front of her. "Again, I'm sorry."
Sam's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "For what?"
She shrugged. "Is everything a good enough answer?"
He let out a low chuckle. "That is kind of vague."
"Right." She let out a half-hearted laugh of her own and began playing with the napkin at her place setting. "Well, I guess if I had to sum it up… it'd be for not telling you everything."
Sam leaned in and whispered, "You're two hundred and seventy six years old. There's a lot to everything, now isn't there?"
As he pulled back, she mulled it over for a few seconds. "Yes, but some are more important than other parts. I should have shared with you the important parts, the ones that matter. Well, the ones that would matter to you, anyway… it's just that they matter to your brother too and sometimes, I don't want to tell him those things. But I can't talk to you that often without talking to him." She paused and shut one eye, scrunching up her nose. "Wait, that didn't make sense."
"I got it," Sam answered, laughter racking his body. "You know, I like it when you do that."
"Do what?" she asked him curiously, her head tilting to the side.
"That." He smiled at her, leaning against the straight-backed chair.
"Ramble?"
"No, act human."
Scarlett opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again as an infuriated Dean Winchester stormed over to the table. "Scarlett, what the hell?"
"What?" she shot back defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.
Dean's hands found their way to the back of the open chair tucked beneath the circular table and gripped it tightly. "A coffeehouse? You make me park four blocks away so we can sit in a coffeehouse? Why not just go to a Starbucks? I'm sure there's a shitload of them here…"
"First of all," she began, her teeth clenched in a smile. "It's a café, not a coffeehouse. Second of all, sit down. You're making a scene."
His green eyes flickered around the room briefly, only to discover that nearly half of the patrons were now staring at them. With a huff, he pulled out the chair and begrudgingly sat down. "So why are we in a…" he began, raising his hands to form quotation marks in the air with his fingers, "Café?"
Scarlett chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Right now, this place is going to do us a lot more good than any bar. Café du Monde has been open since 1862 and never closes, except for Christmas." The waitress returned, seeing they had settled in, and the only female member of the trio immediately placed their order. "We'll have three café au laits, make theirs on the strong side, and a plate of beignets." She nodded and immediately left them to their banter once more.
"I could be doing body shots in a brothel right now and you're busy ordering me fruity drinks in a café," Dean pointed out with a grumble.
"Oh for Christ's sake, it's just coffee, Dean!" she sniped at him, completely losing her patience.
A satisfied smirk crossed the elder Winchester's face. "You just used your brother's name in vain. I'm proud of you."
"You're such a dick, you know that?" She shook her head in utter disgust.
He shrugged nonchalantly, watching as the apron-clad brunette returned with a serving tray and a look of slight fear in her eye. "I've been called worse."
The woman placed down a cup and saucer filled with a toffee-colored liquid in front of Scarlett first and then two more with a darker substance in front of the brothers. Hastily, she clinked down a plate of powdered sugar-coated doughnuts and scurried away from the table.
"That doesn't surprise me," Scarlett muttered and took a quick sip of her drink. As the cup connected with the small plate beneath it, she noticed the stares had returned. "This was a mistake. I'm going to grab the bags from the car and find us a hotel. I can't be in the same room with you right now."
Dean's emerald orbs glinted mischievously. "Why, you going to kill me? Daddy wouldn't be too happy with you for that. Taking his prodigal son's name in vain… and then breaking a commandment? For shame."
Scarlett stood and picked up a beignet from the table. "Make a wish."
"Excuse me?" He eyed her in confusion.
She smiled at him forcedly, raising the pastry to her lips and blowing a gust of air that caused the powdered sugar to fly off the doughnut and coat Dean from head to shoulders. Satisfied with the dusting of sweetener taking residence on his father's leather jacket, Scarlett took a large bite of her beignet. "Sam, I'll text you when I pick a place."
And with a smoldering glance at Dean, the blonde turned on her heels and exited the café.
Frozen in place, Dean looked down at his jacket and then over at Sam. "What the fuck just happened?"
"It's tradition for first-time patrons," he explained to him, biting his lip to hold back the impending laughter threatening to burst from his body. "Um…" he trailed off, reaching for a triangle of fried dough and holding it up to Dean. "My turn?"
Still seething, Scarlett kicked the door shut behind her and threw her plastic key card onto the first bed she saw. She didn't care if Dean had a thing about sleeping next to the door, she was going to do what she wanted and didn't give a damn what the Winchester with the middle name of Asshole wanted.
Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket and she quickly pulled it from her jeans, flipping it open to view the most recent text message.
Dean's checking out some bars on Bourbon St., I'm still working Cafe du Monde. Should be back within the hour. – Sam
Snapping the phone shut, Scarlett checked the clock on the nightstand as her mobile joined the keycard on the bed. The time read 3:19 am, which meant Sam would be back no later than 4:20 unless he got a good lead. Unfortunately, knowing what she did about the café, that there was a pretty good chance that happened and that meant only one thing: alone time with Dean.
Yet, the only thing worse than alone time with Dean Winchester at the moment would be alone time with a drunk Dean Winchester. And that was even more likely.
Groaning in disgust, she hoisted one of the black duffel bags onto the awful floral-patterned comforter. However, after unzipping the fabric, she realized that she had picked up the wrong duffle bag and was about to re-zip it in search of her own, when something shoved next to a pair of jeans caught her eye. Careful not to disturb anything else inside, she reached into the bag and pulled out the leather-bound journal.
Scarlett's hazel eyes stared intently at the snap of the tan-colored covering, debating as to whether or not to open it. After much hemming and hawing, she decided that her life had been enough of an open book to the Winchester brothers and it was time she learned about their past.
Hesitantly, she pulled on the strap and the journal opened with a low pop.
The first thing she laid eyes on were John's military photos and medals, four in total that she immediately recognized as the USMC Expert Rifle Badge, Bronze Star, Purple Heart, and Vietnam Service Medal. Tucked into the front fold, she found some old postcards and envelopes, as well as newspaper clippings. The further she rifled, however, the more drawings she uncovered. Some belonged to John for certain and a few probably belonged to Sam. She couldn't see Dean drawing anything more than stick figures in his entire life.
After a few minutes, Scarlett turned to a page that was in handwriting that appeared to be in all capital letters. Judging by the words accompanying some of the sketches, she recognized it as belonging to John Winchester.
Her eyes shifted to the clock once again. 3:31 am. She had a little over forty minutes until Sam arrived back at the hotel room and until then, Scarlett decided she was going to do all of the research that she could, even if none of it actually pertained to the New Orleans vampires.
November 6, 1983
I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don't believe it. Last week, we were a normal family… eating dinner, going to Dean's T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… when I try to think back, get it straight in my head… I feel like I'm going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out… I'm wandering around, alone and lost and I can't do anything.
Mary used to write in these books she kept by the bed. She said it helped her remember all the little things, about the boys, me… I wish I could read her journals, but like everything else, they're gone. Burned into nothing. She always wanted me to try writing things down. Maybe she's right, maybe it will help me to remember, to understand.
November 13, 1983
Nothing makes any sense anymore… my wife is gone, my sons are without their mother… the things I saw that night. I remember hearing Mary scream, and I ran, but then… everything was calm, for just a second – Sammy was fine – and I was sure I had been hearing things – too many horror movies too late at night. But then there was the blood, and when I looked up, my wife….
Half our house is gone, even though the fire burned for only a few hours. Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe – the safe with Mary's old diaries, the boys' savings bonds, what little jewelry we had… all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?
I want my wife back. Oh, God, I want her back…
Scarlett wiped at her eyes, a familiar pain ripping at her chest, and suddenly, she found herself relating to John Winchester. She too had lost the love of her life in a fire that took virtually everything that meant anything from her.
The house had been rebuilt years later, but the memories were still there. The pain that only dulled, but never faded was still there. Most importantly, her mother, her father, and Andrew were not.
And no one understood that sense of loss like John had, not even Sam or Dean.
December 4, 1983
Last night I was sitting in Sam and Dean's room, in the dark, and I heard these noises… Mike said it was the wind, and okay, maybe it was, but it sounded almost like whispering, like someone was whispering a name, under their breath, again and again… like something is out there in the dark, watching us… I stayed up all night, just watching them, protecting them. From what, I don't know. Am I protecting them? Am I hurting them? I haven't let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side – or from his brother. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he's trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.
Sammy cries a lot, wanting his Mom. I don't know how to stop it, and part of me doesn't want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won't remember her at all. I can't let her memory die.
And then there was Dean again, creeping back under her skin like he always managed to. It was incredibly frustrating, having someone you so badly wanted to trust and to understand repeatedly hurt you the way he constantly did to her, whether he realized it or not.
Scarlett understood that a lifetime of broken promises, constant loss, and perpetual sacrifice had done that to him. But it didn't make his words sting her any less.
December 11, 1983
Sammy has finally started sleeping through the night, and now that Dean shares a bed with him, he's out like a light as well. But me… I close my eyes and she's there. It always starts the same, I'm seeing her as she was before that night, beautiful and happy and alive. And I'm not seeing it, I'm living it, it's like I'm there… it's so real, I know I can reach out and touch her. And so I do… I reach out… and suddenly I'm back to that night, to the blood and the fire and Mary, Mary is on the ceiling, and how did she get on the ceiling… she can't be on the ceiling…
Here's the weird part. When I wake up, sweating and panting… I swear there is something there. I can feel it, hovering over me, over my boys. It's watching, it's waiting, I think it's even mocking me… You couldn't stop this. You couldn't keep her safe. You can't keep them safe.
Got a few things from the house today… couple of photos, a toy or two the firemen recovered. They saved one of my guns… an antique single action revolver. Won't really do much damage… but I plan to put it under my pillow tonight just the same.
Sitting at the small table in the far corner of the room, Scarlett exhaled deeply and let the open journal rest on the wood once more.
Sammy.
In all of this, he was forgotten. Sure, the apocalypse was as much about him as it was about Dean. Castiel's constant presence in their lives, as well as her own, was a persistent reminder of that. But in the wake of the time-old battle of Heaven and Hell, little Sammy Winchester, the six-month-old boy who would grow up without a single natural memory of his mother, was forgotten, glossed over. Swept under the rug like he'd never existed at all.
No, there was only big, bad Sam Winchester… the six foot, five inch twenty-something who had been possessed by a demon and nearly killed Jo Harvelle, become BFF's with a demon bitch, and brought on the Apocalypse.
And for that alone, Scarlett's heart broke for him more than she thought it ever could again.
December 25, 1983
Didn't sleep again last night. Woke up in a cold sweat and realized it was Christmas. Where's Mary? That was my thought all night, and it stayed in my mind all day. Christmas without my wife seems unreal. Out celebration was clumsy… a crooked two foot tall plastic tree, a bunch of junk food stuffed in the stockings, and a pile of sports equipment for the boys… football, basketball, soccer. My attempt to bring back some normalcy. Already Dean is too big for T-ball, this year we'll be going to real Little League games. Or rather, I'll be going to the games. Alone.
Mary will never see Dean hit a home run. She'll never see Sammy walk, or hear him say his first words. She won't take Dean to his first day at school, or stay up all night with me worrying the first night he takes the car out. It's not right that she's not here, and that's all I could think about today. I'm so angry I can barely see straight – I want my wife back.
The police have officially declared our case closed. What a Christmas present, huh?
"What the hell are you doing?"
Scarlett's head whipped up at once, catching sight of an enraged pair of viridian eyes. She hadn't even heard the door open. Then again, maybe he'd intentionally entered that way. Only one word managed to escape her lips. "Dean…"
"Where did you get that?" he growled at her, slamming the door behind him and causing the cheaply framed pictures of the Louisiana coast to rattle against the even tackier moss-colored wallpaper.
"I…" she stammered, caught off-guard by both his presence and her newfound information. "Um… found it accidentally."
"Accidentally?" Dean scoffed. "You went through my shit, Scarlett!"
Shakily, she rose to her feet, the journal still clasped firmly between her slender fingers. "No, I didn't! I unzipped the wrong bag and- "
"You just thought you'd poke around," he finished for her bitterly. "You had NO right, Scarlett! God's daughter, the second coming… whatever you are! It doesn't give you the right…"
She nodded defeatedly, her blonde hair hanging limply in the air. "I know."
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Dean suddenly turned vindictive.
Her head shot up. "W-what?"
His eyes bore into hers as he approached her predatorily. "Did you at least get to the good part?"
"Dean, I-I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come on…" Dean goaded her belligerently, his jaw clenching. "Sad old man drowning his sorrows over his dead wife in a bottle of whiskey while his boys sleep in the bed next to him. Surely, you read that part." Judging by the look of sorrow in her eyes, he knew that she had. His gaze moved to her index finger, still holding the place of the last entry she'd read. "Oh, don't you give me that look. I don't need you to pity me, Scarlett," he spat as though her name was the most revolting thing on the planet, ripping the journal from her hands. "Look, you've only got one entry left!"
"Dean," her voice wavered unsteadily, on the brink of tears. "It's enough…"
"Come on, you're getting to the big finale! You can't stop now!" he boomed at her, clearing his throat. "January 1, 1984… Today a new year begins. Mary loved this time of year; she loved the idea of a fresh start for everyone. She always made a resolution, one a year, and unlike most people, she kept hers. And every year she tried to talk me into making one, but I could never see the point. I wish I could have seen her diary. Maybe it would help me remember her. Maybe it would clue me in to some over her secrets. Maybe that's the point of a diary. Keep your stories, your life, from dying. So that other people don't forget. God I wish the boys could have known Mary for longer." He paused for a second and his eyes flickered up at her again. "And here comes the big twist…" Dean returned his gaze to the aged paper. "This year I'm making a resolution. I'm going to find out what happened to my wife."
Concluding the last journal entry, the hunter snapped the book shut and dropped it onto the bed. "Are you happy now, Scarlett? Feel better about your Daddy issues now that you know mine was a drunk, obsessed with finding his wife's killer at the expense of his own sons, the last pieces of her he had left? So much so that he drove one away?" Dean's hands balled into fists at his sides, the rage building up in his body. Fury oozing from his pores, he reached for the first thing he could find, an ashtray, and hurled it at the mirror hanging on the wall above the dresser. As soon as it connected with the glass, it shattered and shards rained upon the teal carpet. "Why did He have to take everything from us, Scarlett? Why did your father take away my mother from me, from Sammy, from my dad? And then just when we were starting to be a family again… why did he have to take Dad too?"
"I… I'm sorry, Dean," Scarlett whispered, tears carving lines down her flawless face.
"You know what… you can tell me that you're here to help us all you want. But in the end, you've got just as many issues as I do and you didn't even have to go to Hell to get some of them." Dean ran a hand, still shaking with anger, over his face. "But He can't have me and he sure as hell can't have Sam. So you can tell your father whatever you want. I'm out, Scarlett…" He held up both of his palms and stepped backwards until he reached the door. "I'm done."
She pressed her lips together, still trembling. "You don't mean that."
"Really?" he challenged her, pulling open the door. "Try me."
And with a slam of the door, Dean disappeared into the night.
A/N: I think this chapter was emotionally charged enough for you guys. If this isn't enough to get you lurkers to review, I don't know what is. Oh wait, yes I do. Nevermind.
I can't say much about Abandon All Hope other than it killed me. I bawled through the second half of the entire episode. I used up half a box of tissues, too. Well done, Mr. Kripke. Well done. And if you REALLY want to try to give Jensen an Emmy, my speech is yours if you want it. Jensen and Dean can have it.
Remember to check after all of my review responses for deleted scenes and spoilers for the next chapter!
Shouts Outs:
Klandgraf2007 – I think that Scarlett's bout with Victor and the inmates really made her feel her impending mortality. She's going to get to Maryland and have to fight the baddest angel in the land… and no longer be invulnerable. And that scares her.
Chocolatemud – I was a little better this time around. This chapter took a while to write and even longer to perfect. But it had to be just so. I need it to be exactly how I wanted it. And yeah, it is sad, but something is going to come of her planning in the next couple of chapters that's going to change a lot of things. MAJOR things.
Mahlia – Whoa, Molly! Long review ahoy! I LOVE IT! I'm glad that you liked the Colt and approved of my ending choice. I think the structure/length of this chapter made up for it. The idea of Dean being a womanizer by choice rather than habit intrigues me. It is very sad that he views his life as being solitary, save for his brother. The threat of losing Sam, or Sam losing him, is very real to him. I don't think he wants to add to that. In fact, I think he's really fearful of that. I can't even begin to tell you how much the fact that you love Scarlett means to me. I struggle with balancing her humanity and divinity and towing that line, so it does mean a lot. If you think about it, she's really half-human, but she thinks of herself as being human. It's just that she needs certain things to constantly remind her of such. Part of being human, in the real world, is the ability to feel pain and emotion, as well as possess mortality. Since she can only do two of the three things, she wants to remind herself of her humanity as much as possible. I think that, prior to this chapter, she thought she had Dean figured out. But now, this encounter with the journal really changed her perspective of him. Thanks for the great review! I hope you liked this chapter too!
TwilightEclps – Alright… I'm back at work! Hope you enjoyed!
Deansqueen4 - Yeah, Scarlett moved him in the middle of the night. And Dean was pretty silly not to think of that when she gave in quickly! She never does anything without a reason.
Angelofthenight - THANK YOU! I wasn't optimistic at all. Thinking about it, the two deaths were pretty safe bets. One couldn't go on without the other. And the way she went was gutwrenching, but fitting. Both of their deaths were. I'm glad Bobby made it out alive, though.
Mrs. Sam Winchester – Haha, Abby… I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. Just joking. And it didn't come off as insulting at all… glad I'm accurate. Not sure if he experienced anything similar… but I can tell you that feeling wasn't anything supernatural, divine, or magical.
Winchesters Are For Lovers – This was even heavier. But you did get some banter in there. Don't worry, their relationship is perpetually evolving in ways I never even expected.
JuliettaGabbana – Don't apologize for the long review… I THRIVE off of long reviews. I wish I got more. And yes, thanks again for your pairing names. Perfection! Jo and Scarlett's meeting is going to be very interesting, but that won't happen until we get closer to the end of the story. And a lot of things will have gone on since they spoke on the phone. Plus, I don't think Jo likes Scarlett very much after that whole spiders incident. I purposely tried not to go into specifics about Episode 10 of this season because it's a big game changer and I want you to be surprised! What country are you from??!!?
Lemonwedges4 – I know, like I said… cried my eyes out!
Tiny – Aww, thank you! That makes me smile.
Midnight LeAnn – I'm sure you'll agree that this chapter was substantially heavier. By A LOT.
Light The Dark – Oh, yay! It really is a high compliment when a fellow fan refers to my story as a personal drug! I'm glad you think my characters are true to form and I'm interested to see if you thought that during Dean's rampage, he was true to character. Hope you like this chapter!
SEGMENTS
Cutting Room Floor: The chapter was going to end with a hysterical Scarlett calling Sam. But I like the way this one ended.
Spoilers: Word of advice to Dean… when you decide to hunt a next of vampires without the telekinetic chick, you're to find yourself in way over your head.
Well, that's all, my friends. Keep checking my Twitter for further updates! I've begun posting the songs I write the chapters/scenes to as I'm writing them, so be sure to check on that too via my Twitter, a link to which is on my profile page.
Peace, Love, and the Metallicar!
Danielle
PS: I'm majorly depending on your reviews for this one! So please review!
