**Supernatural does not belong to me, nor do any of it's characters** I'm LOVING seeing where you guys think this is going and thank you for all the great reviews! Note to anyone unfamiliar with the term "poe dunk" but I didn't want to change it, it means small, one-horse town, low population, middle of nowhere, nothin' goin' on.
We're rolling in the plot now, thank you all for sticking with it!
Morgan directed them to the secure, steel double doors next to the cafeteria and Sam immediately began picking the lock, pulling it open moments later. It was dark down the concrete steps, but the glow of a light somewhere else could be seen on the left side. Sam and Dean smirked at each other, glanced at their sister and sighed, both pulling out large machetes as Dean slipped his gun from his waistband, offering it to her.
"Just in case," he clarified, before letting go of the weapon, Morgan had no intention of shooting it and wished the heavy thing wasn't in her hands. What she would give to have her magic back at that moment.
Dean descended first, Sam pulled up the rear with Morgan between them and she mimicked their movements exactly. They slunk down the stairs, close to the wall, at the ready as they entered the dark, cluttered space. Old desks and chairs, gym equipment that had seen better days and stacks of boxes filled the area, but a light was clearly shining around the corner, further into the basement of the school.
She felt herself being gently pushed into a corner behind a stack of desks and boxes, Dean's expression was not one to argue with as he silently ordered her to stay put. Morgan watched as her brothers expertly snuck further into the wide space and disappeared around the corner towards the light. Her phone vibrated and she nearly dropped the gun, careful to hold it correctly as she quickly dug her free hand in her pocket to silence the buzzing.
A text from Shannon flashed on the screen Hey where are you? Morgan sighed, thinking nowhere Shannon would believe if she'd even told her, and shoved the phone back in her pocket after turning it on silent. Cheerleading was the furthest thing from her mind as she stared towards the lightly lit corner and prayed Bryan was alright. What had she been thinking to keep that information from her brothers? Bryan was in danger, or worse, because she'd thought it had been a coincidence and was satisfied with her own crappy detective work. How could she have been so stupid? And who the hell came up with Bill as a shorten version of William?
Her legs were starting to ache from crouching, she couldn't hear or see anything and the dark space reminded her of the closets and basements her Mother had locked her in throughout her childhood. Morgan heard a soft cheer and realized the crowd must be assembling for the game, slipping her phone from her pocket she realized it was after six, and had several missed calls and text from nearly the entire cheerleading squad, except Kelly. Most of them were worried, but Shannon's progressed from concern to anger in the six she'd sent over the nearly three hours Morgan had been crouched on the floor of the school basement, her brother's gun warm in her sweaty hand.
"Morgan!" Dean's bark made her jump, silently screaming a moment at the pain in her cramped legs.
Her brother rounded the corner quickly with a woman in his arms and Morgan hurried towards him in the dark, knocking into a desk and hearing a crash from the other side of the randomly stacked objects. The long blonde hair made her stomach twist and she felt nauseous at the sight of Miss Ellet, her eyes closed peacefully, cradled in Dean's strong arms.
"Is she-" Morgan whispered as Dean passed her towards the stairs.
"She's alive," he confirmed, holding the hand under her legs out for his gun that she eagerly returned, "Go help Sam."
Morgan turned on her heel at the order and ran towards the corner her brothers had disappeared around hours earlier, finding a long, softly lit corridor of doors labeled for storage and maintenance. The door at the very end was open and she bolted towards it, skidding to a halt when Sam limped into the hallway. She gasped at the bloodied face of Bryan, his arm around Sam's shoulder for support as her brother helped the weak young man leave the bright storage room.
"Bryyyan," she sobbed, rushing towards the pair, but terrified to touch him, unsure where all the blood was from and didn't want to hurt him further.
"Hey, man," Sam shook Bryan gently, "Can you walk with her?"
He nodded his bloody head, pulling his arm from Sam with a groan and nearly losing his balance, but Morgan slipped her tiny frame where her brother had been, feeling his weight nearly buckle her knees. She was determined to bear the load and tried to give him a weak smile as they shuffled down the hallway, excruciatingly slow. Sam met up with them before they rounded the corner and Morgan felt the color drain from her face seeing her principal, unconscious in her brother's arms.
"Sam?" she tried.
"Let's get outta here," he said curtly, jerking his head at the stairs.
She watched Bryan's hand shaking as he used the railing to pull himself up, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on her as Morgan pushed him up the stairs, every pained groan she heard stabbed her heart. She had done this to him. Her throat was tight and tears were streaming down her cheeks, but Morgan pushed him as hard as she could, her guilt helping strengthen each step. Dean was running down the hallway towards them when they finally made it to the main level, he jerked his head at Morgan and quickly replaced her under Bryan's arm.
"Okay, kid," Dean's voice was encouraging, "y'r'gonna be fine, let's get'cha outta here."
"Thanks," Bryan mumbled, "my, uh, my Mom, I gotta go home."
Morgan saw Dean and Sam share a solemn expression briefly before the oldest muttered, "Let's get goin'."
They followed Dean to a side door, she could hear the crowd loudly outside, they were around the corner, just out of sight from the football field. Where she was supposed to be, but the thought didn't even enter her mind. The Impala idled powerfully right next to the door, Miss Ellet was laid in the backseat across the passenger side of the bench.
"How're we gonna fit everyone?" Sam asked, lifting Mrs. Morris in his arms a little.
"We'll, uh," Dean thought, looking at the group and then the Impala.
"I need my car," Bryan told him simply.
"Kid, right now-" Dean began.
"Sir," Bryan ground out, pushing himself to stand alone, clearly using as much energy as he could muster, "I need my car."
Dean set challenging eyes on the young man, who returned the gaze equally, and finally the oldest Winchester offered a relenting sigh, "Look, y'can't drive right now, but I'll take it back for ya."
Bryan's expression told them he didn't like the arrangement, but couldn't argue the reality of the situation and grudgingly pulled his keys from his jeans pocket with a shaky hand, offering them to Dean.
"She's my baby," the young man told him.
"I understand," Dean smirked, glancing at the rumbling sedan, "she's in good hands."
Bryan nodded, but looked no more reassured.
"Sam," Dean turned to his brother, "take 'em t'the bunker, I'm right behind you."
"I gotta go home," Bryan insisted, "My Mom, if they found me," he squeezed his eyes tightly, "she's in trouble."
Again, Sam and Dean glanced at each other and Morgan's stomach sank, she knew that look.
"Bryan," Dean began, but could hardly look at the young man and she knew what he was about to say, willing him not to say it, "I'm really sorry, we, uh, we figured out who y'r'mom was before we figured out who you are, 'n, uh, we," her brother took a deep breath, "I'm sorry, kid, she was gone when we got there."
The only sound that could be heard was the crowd as the group stood next to the Impala and watched Bryan understand that the mother he'd said good-bye to that morning was dead. His face paled behind the blood, his jaw hanging open in shock, but he'd stopped swaying, standing straight on his feet and breathing heavily. Morgan's stomach turned, the guilt propelling the contents of her stomach upwards and she turned to the bushes behind her.
"Shit," she heard Dean and felt his hand gently moving up and down her back, she wished he'd stop, she didn't deserve comfort.
"Bryan," Sam began, "I'm so sorry, man, we didn't want t'tell you like this," the young man stayed silent, "c'mon, please, we're goin' somewhere safe."
The doors to the Impala creaked and slammed while Morgan wiped vomit from her mouth and tears from her eyes, Sam was leaving the curb as she shakily stood to her full height. She saw Bryan in the passenger seat of the black sedan, staring straight ahead, his face still blank with shock. Dean smirked sadly down at her and she averted her eyes to the ground, she had caused all of it, Bryan's mother was dead because of her stupidity.
"C'mon," Dean jerked his head towards the parking lot and Morgan moved to follow him, but both stopped at a loud, jeering call.
"Hey, who made the bitch cry?!" Patrick laughed loudly with a small group of football players as they walked around the corner of the school. He looked much larger in his shoulder pads, his helmet at his side did nothing to cover the bruise on his right cheek.
"Is that him?" Dean snarled, Morgan couldn't help a sob and that was answer enough for her brother as he approached the group, "Hey, Patrick! I wanna talk t'you."
"Who're you?" the lineman scoffed.
"I'm the bitch's brother," she heard the scary calm voice and knew he was about to explode, "I just gotta question. How old 'r you, kid?"
"Eighteen," Patrick answered almost proudly.
"Good," Dean nodded and landed a hard punch to the bridge of the young man's nose, another to his stomach made Patrick drop to his knees and Morgan barely heard her brother as he leaned over threateningly, "You touch my sister again, I'll kill you, 'n you won't be my first," and pushed the beaten young man roughly by his head to the ground.
She saw the fear on the other players' faces as Dean turned and silently gestured her to walk with him to Bryan's car in the now very full parking lot. Patrick was groaning on his side, holding his stomach with one hand and catching blood from his nose in the other. Morgan thought she should feel satisfied at the repercussion her attacker had suffered, but her mind was swarming with guilt over Bryan and his mother.
Dean unlocked the black coupe, running a finger over the pristine paint and smirking before he dropped behind the wheel. Morgan had never been in Bryan's car, she'd hoped if she had it would've been with the owner driving, not her brother. The soft, black leather seats reminded her of the Impala, worn and comfortable from years of use, and the powerful growl of the engine vibrated below her like the homey sedan as he turned the ignition over. Her brother threw the center console shifter into reverse and left the parking lot quickly, fishtailing on the road and accelerating so fast Morgan's head hit the seat at the force.
"What happened?" she breathed quietly.
"Those subs were vampires," he said simply and her eyes widened at him, "havin' a little fun too, assholes, when you told Sam their names were Stoker 'n Rice he started figurin' it out."
"Why?" she shook her in confusion.
"Bram Stoker wrote Dracula," Dean continued, "an' Anne Rice was a huge vamp novelist back in the day, thought they were bein' funny," he shook his head angrily, "bitch was laughin' when I took her head off."
"Wait?!" Morgan gasped, "Are there bodies in the basement?"
"We set it up to look like they all offed each other," Dean shrugged nonchalantly, "or the cops'll think there's a maniac on the loose, either way."
"All?" she questioned, ignoring his bluntness towards death, she was used to it.
"Rice, Stoker 'n, uh," Dean grimaced, "a bigger lady in gym shorts and a sweatshirt."
"Mrs. Olin," she breathed, "my gym teacher."
"She didn't make it," he said sadly.
"Miss Ellet 'n Mrs. Morris?" she asked quietly, afraid of the answer.
"Mrs. Morris needs rest, 'n maybe a pint 'r two'a blood," Dean sounded hopeful, "but she'll be fine."
"Miss Ellet?" she insisted, despite Mr. Kirk being nice to look at, Miss Ellet was easily her favorite teacher.
"She'll be okay," Dean seemed to be trying to assure himself as much as he was his sister, but the engine revved harder and they pushed faster down the country road.
"It's his baby," Morgan reminded him with a smirk.
"She loves it," Dean smiled, caressing the steering wheel.
"He races it sometimes," she told him and wasn't sure why.
"Yeah, I would," her brother scoffed lightly.
Morgan's stomach twisted again thinking of Bryan and what he must be going through at that moment, her throat tightened and tears started falling before she could stop them, turning towards the window to hide her face.
"Hey," Dean said gently, putting a hand on her knee and she promptly tore her leg away.
"Don't," she sobbed, shaking her head, "don't be nice t'me, this, this was all my fault, Bryan's hurt, his Mom," she sobbed again, burying her head in her hands and felt the car slow to a stop.
"Morgan," her brother tried to pull her chin gently to look at him, but she wrenched away, "should you've told Sam 'n me Bryan's last name, even if y'thought it was a coincidence? Damn right, y'shoulda, but that doesn't make what happened here your fault. Bryan's house had warding, salt on the doors and windows and demon traps under the rugs, they've been runnin' 'n hidin' a long time. His mother died with a meat cleaver in her hands 'n managed t'take out two of those blood suckin' freaks before they got'er. This was not your fault, blame Daniel Elkins or his son f'r'gettin' in the game t'begin with, it always ends the same."
She thought on his words for a moment, they hardly made her feel better, "But they might've been safe if I'd told you guys last week."
"Might've," Dean nodded in agreement, "might not've, I'm not gonna say y'didin't screw up, royally, but this is not on you, you didn't do this, Morgan."
"I feel like I did," her words were hushed and solemn.
"Y'didn't help," he shook his head, "but, from the looks'a Mrs. Elkin's set up, she's been waitin' f'r'somethin' like this, prob'ly tryin' t'give her son the most normal life she could, but it was pretty obvious she knew they had to look over their shoulders. Truthfully, if she'd kept movin' they might'a had a shot, settin' up in a poe-dunk town 'n too proud to change their name were the factors at fault here, and freakin' monsters, goddamn freakin' monsters."
She nodded slowly at him, only slightly alleviated of her guilt, pulling at the hem of her short skirt.
"Hey," Dean gently got her to meet her his matching green eyes, "are you okay?"
"Yeah," she scoffed, she had no right to sympathy at the moment.
"That football player," his nostrils flared a little, but his tone was caring, "had no right t'touch you, 'n I am so, so sorry you went through that. I wish-"
"Dean," she forced a weak smile, "I know, 'n thank you, I mean, that, back there, was freakin' awesome."
"He had it comin'," Dean smirked, "Prob'ly should'a done worse, but it, uh, looked like y'r'a buddy already warmed him up f'r'me."
"Yeah, that was a hard hit," Morgan grimaced remembering the sound of Bryan's fist connecting with Patrick's skull.
"Good," her brother nodded almost proudly, "an' you bit him?"
"He was shovin' his tongue in my mouth!" she burst out, blushing and biting her lips instantly, watching the vein in Dean's forehead throb.
He glanced behind them the way they'd come from, "If there wasn't about t'be a swarm'a cops at that place, little fu-, y'shoulda bit it clean off, what kinda," then he just growled for a few seconds and threw the shifter in drive before fishtailing down the open country road to the bunker.
I hope you all liked this chapter and I wonder if anyone's thoughts have changed on where the story's going... Thank you for reading!