I don't own Supernatural or any of it's characters. I only own Isabeau and my own original characters.
Isabeau is on her cell phone, leaning against the impala with Dean beside her fidgeting and clearly upset.
"Ellen, it's me again. Any chance you've heard from him?" She asks her godmother, "I swear, it's like looking for John all over again. We're losing our minds here."
She plays with her rosary in her free hand, trying to calm her breathing. She shakes her head, "No, we've called him a thousand times, there's nothing but voicemail. We don't know where he went, or why. Sam's just gone."
Her cell phone beeps, "Hang on." Isabeau looks down at her phone and it shows another incoming call - Sam's Cell. Dean sighs with relief when he sees his name.
Isabeau's breath hitches and she answers it, "Stretch? Where the hell are you? Are you okay?" She furrows her brow, "Hey, hey, hey! Calm down. Where are you? All right, don't move, we're on my way."
Inside a motel room, Sam hangs up the phone slowly, looking numb. His knuckles are bloody.
Dean and Isabeau drive to reach Sam, passing a sign reading Twin Lakes. They arrive at the hotel and park, get out.
Dean and Isabeau walk frantically down a narrow hallway, checking door numbers until they reach room 109.
Dean knocks, "Sam, it's us. Sam!"
Isabeau tries the door; it's open. Inside, Sam hasn't moved, still sitting numbly on one bed.
Isabeau walks in first, followed by Dean who shuts the door behind them. Isabeau frowns in worry when she sees his state, "Sam? Hey." She says softly, crouching down in front of him, cupping his cheeks softly.
She caresses his cheeks, urging him to look at her, but his gaze doesn't move from the ground. "Hey, Isabeau… Dean." He says numbly.
Dean kneels beside him, "Are you bleeding?" He asks, looking at the blood on his knuckles.
Isabeau swallows thickly, starting to move her hands away, but Sam stops her with his own, placing them back where she once had them, "I tried to wash it off." Sam says.
Dean sees Sam's shirt covered in blood and he gropes at it, searching for a wound, "Oh my god."
Isabeau looks down at the blood, fear pooling in her chest, "Sam, are you alright?" She asks, voice shaking.
"I don't think it's my blood." Sam says.
"Whose is it?" Dean asks.
"I don't know." Sam says looking down at his shirt.
Isabeau shifts a little bit closer to Sam, "Sam, what the hell happened?"
Sam finally looks up at them, "Isabeau... Dean... I don't remember anything." His voice cracks, tears in his eyes.
Dean returns to the room, carrying a grocery bag. Sam has changed clothes and is looking a little less out of it. He was keeping Isabeau close to him with his arm hooked around her waist.
"What'd you find out?" Sam asks.
Dean sets down the grocery bag, "You checked in two days ago under the name Richard Sambora. Of course, I think the scariest part about this whole thing is the fact that you're a Bon Jovi fan."
Isabeau gives him a look, "Dean."
Dean sighs, sending Isabeau an apologetic look before speaking, "Your room's been quiet, nobody's noticed anything unusual." He tells Sam.
"You mean no one saw me walking around covered in blood?" Sam asks, agitated.
Isabeau moves her hand to Sam's back, slipping under his shirt, rubbing circles on the small of his back.
Dean purses his lips, "Yeah. That's what I mean."
"Then how the hell did I get here, guys? What happened to me?" Sam asks as dean takes his jacket off.
"We don't know." Isabeau places her other hand on Sam's chest, causing him to look down at her, "But you're, you're okay, and that's what matters. Everything else we can deal with." Isabeau tells him softly.
Sam takes a hold of Isabeau's hand one his chest, "What if I hurt someone? Or worse?" He asks with pleading eyes.
"Sam…" Dean scolds.
Sam looks over at him, "What if this is what Dad warned you about?"
Dean shakes his head, "Hey, whoa, whoa, come on man, let's not jump the gun here. We don't know what happened. We've just got to treat this like, like any other job. What's the last thing you remember?"
Sam sighs, sitting down, taking Isabeau with him, "Just me, you and Isabeau, just, in that motel room in West Texas, going out to grab some burgers, and…"
Isabeau furrows her brow, "West Texas? That was, that was over a week ago."
"That's it." Sam says.
Dean and Isabeau are stunned at Sam's words.
Sam bites his lip, "Next thing I knew I was sitting here... Bloody. Felt like I'd been asleep for a month."
"Okay. Retrace your steps. The manager said you left yesterday afternoon and he never saw you come back, so." Dean pulls back the curtain and he finds a bloody fingerprint on the window, "Hey."
Sam, Isabeau and Dean walk outside the motel; Sam is now holding onto Isabeau's hand.
"Recognize anything?" Dean asks, stopping for a second.
"Not really." Sam answers.
The three go towards a parking garage out back. "Wait." Sam says, stopping.
Isabeau glances up at Sam, "What?"
"I think I was here." Sam says.
"You remember?" Dean asks.
Sam shakes his head, "Not really, it just... feels familiar, you know?"
Dean shrugs, goes to the nearest garage. Sam looks over to the second and points, "Try that one. Yeah."
Dean tugs on the padlock, "Okay. Beau, you're up."
Isabeau was about to walk over, but Sam tightened his grip on her hand, "Wait."
Sam digs in his pocket, frowning. He pulls out a key and gives Dean and Isabeau a significant look.
Dean opens the padlock with the key, raising his eyebrows at Sam. He pulls the garage door open to reveal a filthy, beat-up VW Beetle, "Oh, please tell me you didn't steal this." Dean begs.
Isabeau rolls her eyes, "Not the time to make comments about other cars, Dearie."
Sam fidgets as Isabeau let's go of his hand. They go into the garage and open both doors of the car, Sam on the driver's side. He touches the wheel, shows Dean his stained finger, "More blood."
Isabeau points to the backseat as she stands next to Sam, "Sam. Back seat."
Sam reaches down, picks up a blood-stained knife that sticks to the floor of the backseat. He stares at it, "You think I used this on someone?"
Dean pauses, "I'm not thinking anything."
Sam looks around, rubs the knife handle off on the inside of his jacket. Isabeau tilts her head at a certain object in the car. She waves her hand andthe object flies into it; it's a pack of cigarettes.
She frowns, "Okay, now, this is disturbing. Come on, Sam, this couldn't have been you. Had to have been someone else, somebody who, uh…" Isabeau sniffs the pack, "Smokes menthols."
Sam picks up something, "Here. Gas receipt. Few towns over."
Sam, Isabeau and Dean pull up in front of a small gas station. Dean looks down at the receipt, "All right. Receipt's for ten gallons at pump number two. You getting any, uh, any goosebumps yet? 'God, this looks familiar', deja vu vibes?"
Sam shakes his head quietly.
Isabeau frowns, "Maybe someone inside'll remember you. Come on."
The three get out of the impala; Sam still keeps Isabeau close to him by holding onto her hand.
They go into the convenience store and the clerk looks up in shock, then anger, "You. Outta here now, I'm calling the cops." He tells Sam.
They all blink in surprise. "You talking to him?" Isabeau asks, pointing at her younger boyfriend.
The clerk nods, "Yeah, I'm talking to him. Jerk comes in yesterday, stinking drunk, grabs a forty from the fridge, starts chugging."
"This guy?" Dean glances at Sam, "You're drinking malt liquor?"
The clerk scoffs, "Not after he whipped the friggin' bottle at my head."
"This guy?" Isabeau asks again, not believing a word of what he was saying.
"What, am I speaking Urdu?" The clerk asks sarcastically.
Sam shakes his head, "Look, I'm really sorry if I did anything-"
"Tell your story walkin', pal, okay? Po-po will be here in five." The clerk says, going to dial the phone.
"Wait, wait, he's leaving, he's leaving. Put the phone down. Sam, go wait in the car. Isabeau, go with him." Dean demands.
Sam stares at his brother, "But Dean-"
"Go wait in the car!" Dean repeats.
"Come on, Sam." Isabeau urges Sam. Sam sighsand leaves with Isabeau.
"Okay, look, man. I just want to talk to you, that's it. Okay?" Dean asks and the clerk hangs up the phone.
Dean points in Sam's direction, "Now, when he took off yesterday, which way did he go?"
The clerk shakes his head, "Why don't you ask him?"
"'Cause I'm asking you. Now please, you'd be doing me a huge favor."
The clerk nods, "Oh, do you a favor? Well, that is what I live for. You know, your buddy didn't pay for the booze. Okay? Or the smokes, which he also illegally lit up."
Dean pauses, "You saw him smoking?"
"Yeah. Guy's a chimney."
Dean looks out the door, seeing Sam and Isabeau talking next to the car. Sam has his hands cupping Isabeau's face and says something to her. Isabeau smiles softly at him and Sam leans down to place a loving kiss on her forehead. He pulls her slowly into his chest, arms wrapping around her and resting his chin on top of her head.
Dean clears his throat and pulls his wallet out, places some bills on the desk, "This, uh, ought to cover it."
The clerk hums, "Hmm. It's, uh, it's coming back to me now. He took two packs."
Dean pulls out more money, "Of course he did."
"He went north. Route 71, straight out of town." The clerk recalls.
Dean nods, grabs two candy bars and leaves with a smirk.
Dean is driving down a dark road,Sam is staring out the window and Isabeau is sitting in between them.
Dean glances over, "What's going on with you, Sam? Hm? 'Cause smoking, throwing bottles at people, I mean, that sounds more like me than you."
Realization crosses Sam's face, "Dean, wait, right here. Turn down that road."
"What?"
"I don't know how I know, I just do." Sam admits.
Dean turns down a back road and onto a private property. It is a large house with plenty of emergency lighting and security cameras outside.
The three step out of the impala and walk up to the front of the house. "Whoever lives here, I'd say they don't like surprises." Isabeau comments.
They walk forward, climbing up the steps on the house and to the front door, "Should we knock?" Dean asks.
"Yeah. I guess." Sam agrees.
Dean knocks on the front door with Isabeau while Sam pokes around the corner. "Hey, guys." Sam waves his flashlight at a window. It's broken, the ledge covered in shattered glass.
Dean and Isabeau walk over. "I'm surprised the cops didn't show. Place like this you'd think it'd have an alarm." Dean says.
Isabeau walks away from the two, finding a disabled alarm on the wall, "Yeah, you would."
They go into the house and the floor is covered in broken glass and scattered items. In a back room, they come across a body on the floor.
"Hit the lights." Dean says.
Sam turns the lights on as Isabeau kneels behind the body. She places a hand on it and turns it over; it is a middle-aged man with a deeply cut throat. He is dead, his eyes staring.
Isabeau looks away and Dean puts a hand over his own mouth.
Sam looks horrified, "Guys, I did this."
"We don't know that." Dean says.
"What else do you need? I mean, how else do you explain the car, the knife, the blood-"
Dean looks over in frustration, "I don't know, man, why don't you tell me?!" Dean pauses, "Look, even if you did do this I'm sure you had a reason, you know; self-defense, uh, he was, he was a bad son of a bitch, something!"
Isabeau pats down the body, "He doesn't have any ID." She stands up.
"I need your lockpick." Sam states, walking over to the double-door closet.
"What?" Dean asks.
"I need your lockpick." Sam restates.
Isabeau sighs, "We don't need a lockpick." She waves her hand, eyes glowing violet briefly and the lock of the doors unlock with a click. Her eyes stop glowing and Sam opens the double-door closet in the room. Inside the room, one wall is covered in firearms, the others in charts and clippings.
Dean stares in shock, "Holy... Either this guy's a Unabomber-"
"Or a hunter. Guys, I think I killed a hunter." Sam interrupts.
Dean looks up, seeing a security camera near the ceiling, "Let's find out."
Sam is sitting in front of the desktop computer with Dean and Isabeau standing behind him. He cues up the security tape, "Here we go."
On the tape, Sam is fighting the same man who lies dead on the floor behind them. The fight moves off camera and Sam drags the man back into the frame; he kneels, the man pulled up against his legs, and slits his throat.
Sam stares in shock as Dean pulls back from the screen and stands straight, looking at Sam.
Isabeau places a hand on Sam's shoulder, not looking away from the footage as Sam looks down.
Sam is sitting at the computer desk, staring at a page in his hand. Dean and Isabeau bustle around behind him, cleaning up.
Dean comes over, pointing at the computer, "How do you erase this? Huh? Sam, come on, we need your help."
"I killed him, Dean. I just broke in and killed him." Sam says, numb.
Isabeau walks over, crouching down beside him, "Listen to me. Whoever this guy is, he's a hunter. Which means that other hunters are going to come looking for his killer, which means we've got to cover our tracks, okay?"
This wasn't the first time Isabeau has done this. She still even does it now. Most hunters didn't care that Isabeau was a hunter herself, just the fact that she was a supernatural creature, which meant run or be killed.
"His name was Steve Wandell. This is a letter from his daughter." Sam tosses the letter on the desk.
Dean looks from Sam to the letter, then makes a decision. He grabs the CPU, lifts it above his head, and smashes it to the floor, stomping it with his boots for good measure. Isabeau flinches at the noise.
Dean looks at Sam, still sitting there despondent and tosses a rag to him, "Wipe your prints, then we go."
Sam precedes Dean and Isabeau into the motel room. "All right, we get a couple hours sleep and then we put this place in our rearview mirror." Dean says placing his bag on the bed, "Look, I know this is bad, okay? You gotta snap out of it. Sam, say something!"
Isabeau leans against the table in the motel room, watching her two boyfriends.
Sam rubs his temples and looks back at Dean, "Just get some sleep and leave in the morning? Murder, Dean. That's what I did."
Dean hunts for words, "Maybe."
Sam scoffs and Isabeau bites her lip.
"Okay? Hey, we don't know... shapeshifter!" Dean says.
"Oh, come on. You know it wasn't, you saw the tape. There was no eye flare, no distortion." Sam says.
"Yeah, but it wasn't you!" Dean exclaims, "All right? I mean, yeah, it might have been you, but it wasn't you."
"Well, I think it was." Sam sits down on the bed, "I think maybe more than you know."
Isabeau's eyes widened, "What the hell does that mean?" She asks quietly.
Sam looks away from her, "For the last few weeks I've been having... I've been having these feelings."
Dean walks to the bed to sit opposite of Sam, "What feelings?"
"Rage. Hate. And I can't stop it. It just gets worse. Day by day, it gets worse." Sam explains.
Isabeau comes over, crouching down in front of Sam, taking his hands in hers, "You never told us this."
Sam frowns at Isabeau apologetically, caressing her cheek softly, "I didn't want to scare you."
Dean nods, slaps his knee and stands up, "Well, bang-up job on that."
"Dean, the yellow-eyed demon, you know he has plans for me. And we both know that he's turned other children into killers before, too." Sam says.
Isabeau shakes her head, "Sam, the yellow-eyed demon has his eyes set on me too. He can't control me and nobody can control you but you."
Sam sighs, "It sure doesn't seem like that, Isabeau, it feels like no matter what I do, slowly but surely I'm, I'm just becoming…"
"What?" Dean shouts.
Sam shrugs, "Who I'm meant to be. I mean, you said it once yourself, Dean. I gotta face up to who I am."
"I didn't mean this!" Dean shouts again.
Sam stands up, guiding Isabeau to stand up as well, "But it's still true. You know that. Dad knew that too." Sam steps away from Isabeau, "That's why he told you, if it ever came to this…"
"Shut up, Sam." Dean glares at his brother.
"Dean, you promised him. You promised me." Sam reminds him.
Dean shakes his head, scoffing, "No. Listen to me. We're gonna figure this out. Okay? I mean, there's gotta be a way, right?"
"Yeah there is." Sam takes a handgun from his duffel, shoves it at Dean, "I don't wanna hurt anyone else. I don't wanna hurt you."
Sam looks over at Isabeau with a sad smile as she looks at him in fear, "And I don't want to hurt Isabeau."
Isabeau shakes her head, walking to stand in front of him, next to Dean, "Sam you could never hurt me. I know you won't."
Dean looks down at the gun Sam is handing him, "You won't. Whatever this is, you can fight it."
Sam tears up, "No. I can't. Not forever. Here, you gotta do it."
They stare at each other for a long moment then Sam grabs Dean's right hand and places the gun in it.
Isabeau tears up, "Sam, please-"
Sam steps forward, interrupting her by placing his lips on hers, falling into a passionate kiss. They pull apart, leaning their foreheads against each other's, panting from the kiss. Sam wipes away one of Isabeau's tears, "I love you." Sam whispers.
Isabeau couldn't bring herself to say it. She couldn't say those three words that she holds dear to her heart. She wasn't going to give up on Sam.
Sam steps back, shaky and upset and Dean doesn't move, just stares at Sam in shock, "You know, I've tried so hard to keep you safe."
Sam nods, "I know."
Dean shakes his head no, "I can't. I'd rather die." Dean drops the gun on the bed and shoulders past Sam.
"No. You'll live." Sam picks up the gun as Dean turns to face him, "You'll live to regret this."
Sam pistol-whips Dean, who falls to the floor unconscious. "Dean!" Isabeau shouts.
Isabeau's eyes widened, "Sam?"
Sam turns around to face Isabeau with a smirk, his eyes turning an inky black, "My Isabeau." Before Isabeau could react, he pistol-whips Isabeau and he catches her in his arms as she falls unconscious.
Sam stares down at Isabeau's face with a smirk, brushing away some stray hairs away from her face with the gun, "How I missed you." He shifts her unconscious body over his shoulder and walks out of the motel room.
An insistent knocking awakens Dean to realize that he is on the floor of the motel room. The motel manager, who has been knocking, opens the door, "Hey. It's past your checkout."
Dean gets up, very groggy, "What?"
"It's past checkout, and I've got a couple here needs your room." The motel manager repeats himself.
Dean sees an embarrassed businessman with a hooker, "Yeah, I'll bet they do. What time is it?"
"Twelve-thirty." The manager responds.
"That guy and woman who was with me, have you seen them?" Dean asks.
The manager nods, "Yeah, he left her over his shoulder before dawn in your car, and you should have gone with them, because now I'm gonna have to charge you extra."
"Oh, son of a bitch." Dean mutters. His heart was pounding in his chest, worried for his brother and Isabeau. Why would Sam take her with him?
"It's just policy, sir."
"I need to use your computer." Dean says.
"Now, why would I let you use my computer?" The manager asks.
The manager is counting a stack of cash in the motel lobby as Dean talks on the phone behind him, in front of a desktop computer, "Hi, uh, so sorry to bother you, but uh, my son snuck out of the house last night and, uh, went to a Justin Timberlake concert."
Dean pauses, "What? Yeah. No, Justin is quite the triple threat. Uh, anyway, he's not back yet, and, and I'm just, I'm starting to worry."
Dean nods, "Right. Yeah, boys will be boys. But see, Sammy is uh uh uh, a diabetic, and uh, if he doesn't get his insulin, I just, I have to find him. Please, I'm begging you. Yeah, no no no, I"m on the website right now, I just need to activate the GDS in his cell phone."
Dean enters a password; his GPS screen shows the name DEAN J. MAHOGOFF, mobile phone number 785-555-2804, "Yeah, right there. Duluth, Minnesota. Yeah, that is a long way to go for a concert. I appreciate your help."