Sam followed the compass, tracking his brother out onto the freeway. Ahead lay a darkening evening sky filled with billowing black smoke rising from the corn field alongside the highway. Behind him, sirens blared and a glance in his rear view revealed a fleet of fire trucks barreling down the freeway. Sam pulled onto the shoulder, allowing them to pass. He was sick with dread. As soon as he was able, he raced off after the fire trucks, following them down the highway. The blaze came into view and Sam slowed to pass the firefighters frantically working to tame the rapidly spreading inferno.
Sam spotted a lone figure, war torn on the edge of the highway, staring at the advancing flames. Dean's expression was dead and it made Sam feel sick. He screeched to a halt and stumbled out of his car.
"Dean? Dean, what the hell happened?" he demanded.
Dean's eyes slid shut and he took a deep breath. A long moment passed, the air full of the sounds of the fire and those who fought it.
"I lost her."
"Who?"
"Allison. She's gone, Sam."
"What?"
"It killed her. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't do a damn thing."
Sam gaped at his brother silently as chaos raged on around them and the smoke become an unbearable burden. He coughed and grabbed Dean's arm.
"We have to go."
Dean let Sam drag him into the car. Sam took off down the freeway, struggling to clear his head as they raced away from the smoking field.
"Dean, where's Mary?" Sam asked. He felt numb in the wake of the news of Allison's death. It wasn't real yet. Sam pushed forward mechanically, focused on anything that would keep the shock of her sudden passing from fading. He didn't have time to deal with grief at the moment.
"That thing still has her. It got away... whatever it is."
"It's not a shifter?"
"We hit it with three, four clips of silver bullets, Sam. It shrugged it off and walked away like it was nothing. Didn't even slow it down."
"But it did change shapes?"
"It showed up wearing Alice's face and left wearing mine, so... maybe it didn't physically change shapes?" Dean suggested. "Maybe it can project pictures into people's heads. Like a mirage."
"Maybe."
Sam flipped through a mental list of creatures, scratching his brains out trying to come up with something that could do what Dean was talking about while being impervious to silver.
"So it just... took Mary? Why?"
"You know as much as I do at this point," Dean told him.
"Ok. Well we need to get Bobby on the horn, Dean. We need to know what we're hunting before we can take it down."
"I know."
"What about Cas? Or is he still dead to you?"
"The thing took off in my car after we attacked it. All that warding... there's no way Cas'll be able to find them."
Sam shook his head, but bit his tongue. He had long disapproved of all the angel-proof warding Dean covered the impala in, but now didn't seem like the best time to throw an 'I-told-you-so' in his face.
"There's another question we need answered," Sam went on instead. "Whatever this thing is, why does it want Mary?"
Dean shook his head silently.
"We don't have time now," he said. "But when this is over... after we get Mary back... after I kill this son of a bitch... we're gonna need to do something for Allison."
"Yeah. I know."
Nothing else was said on the matter of a memorial for their fallen friend. Loss in the midst of battle was a heartache both brothers were acquainted with all too well. The best way for them to honor Allison's memory was to save Mary. It was her final wish, all she would have wanted from them.
"We'll get her back, Dean."
Sam's assurance was quiet, steadfast. He spoke with the certainty of someone offering the solace that the sun would rise the next morning.
"Yeah. I know."
Dean was shell-shocked and Sam knew from experience that there was no way in hell they would be able to hold a conversation.
"Good."
One Week Later
"I'm only going to ask once. After that, I'm going to start slicing pieces off of you until you spill your guts. Whether you spill them literally or figuratively is up to you. Where is she?"
Dean loomed menacingly over a shifter bound to a chair. Its eyes darted to the hallway behind the hunter, littered with the bodies of her brethren. Sam stalked off, gun at the ready, stepping over puddles of blood as he searched the house for more shifters. The one in the chair was hyperventilating, filled with terror. Dean could tell he'd lost its attention. He flipped the knife in his hand and sunk it into the shifter's shoulder. It screamed and shook, trying in vain to squirm away. The blade wasn't silver. Dean was prepared to be here all day if need be.
He, Sam and Castiel had been chasing the compass needle after Mary all week, but they could never seem to catch up to her. Finally, their search led them here, to a house where ten shapeshifters were holed up. They turned it into a bloodbath, with one exception. Dean was tired of chasing needles. He wanted his daughter back. He wanted revenge for Allison. He wanted it now. While Castiel took the compass and kept up the dogged pursuit on his own, Dean was seizing the opportunity to take matters into his own hands.
The shifter shrieked, wounds healing as fast as Dean dealt them. He slashed and stabbed, expressing his anger and frustration with the blade while he kept his face blank.
"Who?! Who?! I don't know who you're looking for!"
Dean held his silence. He hacked off fingers, gouged out an eye, spilled guts and twisted the knife behind the shifter's kneecap. The ear-splitting symphony of its agony echoed through the desolate house, vibrating through the old wood and creating ripples in the pools of shifter blood that decorated the floors.
"I don't know who you're looking for! I don't know who you're looking for! I don't know!"
Blood spattered, dousing Dean and his carefully maintained expression of cold indifference. The shifter begged and shouted but Dean didn't let up. Dean stripped away skin that immediately grew back, pried off fingernails, snapped tendons and sunk the knife into all the most painful joints on the shifter's body. A veritable lifetime in hell left Dean with one gift, one parting benefit that didn't make up for all the torment, but sure came in handy at a time like this; Dean knew a million and one ways to tear someone apart, a million and one places you could stick a knife to exact the greatest toll on body and mind. Thanks to his thirty years in the hotbox, Dean understood something that most of the living never would, never could. True torture was three parts mental, one part physical. Pain didn't break people; Fear broke people. Hopelessness. Nothing in existence was more horrifying than the moment when you realized no one was going to save you.
Despite Dean's resolve and experience, the shifter refused to break. Sam returned, watching the scene unfold from the doorway. Dean was too focused on his work to notice his brother's arrival. He looked on, wordless horror welling up in him at the things he saw his older brother doing. He felt no pity for the shifter, but he realized he was bearing witness to a side of Dean that was usually locked away. Sam watched his brother become a monster and he said a silent prayer that when this was finally over, Dean would come back.
"Dean, this isn't getting us anywhere," Sam finally said. He was hardened to violence after a lifetime immersed in it, but the things he was seeing were sickening enough to turn even his stomach. "It's time to move on."
Dean stopped sawing vertically through the things thigh just long enough to meet Sam's eyes. Its agonized screams tapered off into whimpers during the brief respite. Sam shuddered under Dean's intense gaze. He felt like it was tearing him apart, nevermind the fact that he was just a bystander. Sam saw fury, determination, and something even scarier. Something he hoped he was misreading.
Sam thought he saw crazed, manic glee in his brother's eyes.
"You're right," Dean said. Sam felt a little relief. He was glad he'd been able to talk Dean into letting it go. For a minute, he'd been afraid his brother was enjoying this.
"This is child's play. I don't know what I was thinking, going so lightweight. She'll never talk at this rate. It's time to get serious."
Sam's heart dropped into his stomach. He cleared his throat.
"Well, that's not what... I mean... get serious? What are you-"
"You freaks are gonna rue the day you screwed with my family," Dean promised the shifter, rolling his sleeves up. He grabbed her by the chin, tilting her face up. She sobbed and squirmed against the ropes binding her.
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Dean-"
"Look at me!" Dean barked, loud and sudden enough to make even Sam jump a little. "Look at me, bitch, or I'll carve your eyes out with silver!"
Shaking, whimpering, the terrified shifter met Dean's gaze. Hell burned behind his icy eyes, horrible and framed with splashes of her blood. Dean released her and took a step back.
"Dean, what-"
"Animam ad animam," Dean recited. "Cor ad cor. Tenebrae ad tenebrae."
Sam frowned. The incantation sounded familiar. He translated the phrase in his mind, trying to work out its meaning.
Soul to soul. Heart to heart. Darkness to...
"Dean, what are you-"
"You're already dead," Dean informed the shifter, unsheathing a silver knife. He nicked her cheek with it. She cried while the wound steamed and blood dripped in a thin line down her face. "Tell me where she is, and you can be dead fast. Keep me waiting..."
Dean fixed her with an intent glare and her shrill, earth-shattering screams ripped the house apart. Sam flinched away and covered his ears with his palms, wincing as her shrieks only intensified with every second that ticked by. It had been a very, very long time since Sam had seen a Torxing. Not long enough.
The shifter arched violently and the chair tipped dangerously, threatening to fall over. Without breaking his concentration, Dean leaned forward, putting all his weight on the arms of the chair and the shifter's wrists, holding it down while she howled. Blood soaked through her sleeves and dripped slowly to the floor while Dean's old Torxing marks opened as Sam watched. Blood poured down Dean's arms, mixing with the shifter's and pooling on the floor at their feet. The puddle grew at a pace that alarmed Sam.
"Dean! Dean! STOP!" Sam yelled. He rushed forward and shook his brother, breaking his concentration long enough for the shifter to catch her breath. It wasn't the shifter Sam was worried about.
"Sam, get off me!" Dean shouted, shoving Sam back hard. He stumbled, nearly hitting the wall from the force of the push. "I'm breaking this bitch if it's the last damn thing I do!"
"Dean, I want to find her as bad as you do, but this is too much! You're losing a lot of blood, man!"
"If you don't like it, you can leave!"
"There are other ways-"
"Sam, I'm fine!"
Dean whipped back around to the shifter and grabbed her by the throat, tipping the chair onto its back legs as he pressed the tip of the silver knife to her eye.
"I can do this all day!" he hissed. "Tell me where she is!"
His brow furrowed and the shifter screamed again. This time, words fell from her lips amid the echoes of her pain. Dean let up, allowed her to catch her breath.
"B-basement! Basement! She's in the basement!"
Dean shot Sam a wide-eyed glance.
"I didn't find a basement," Sam frowned.
"Kitchen, b-behind the fridge. There's a door," the shifter groaned.
Dean was already on the move.
"Watch her!" he ordered Sam in passing.
Dean raced down the hall.
"Dean! To the left!" Sam called.
Dean changed direction on a dime, tearing through the house and sliding into the kitchen. He pushed the fridge aside, heart leaping as he found the door. It was padlocked, but Dean wasted no time, kicking it in. The wall mounted lock was ripped free of the frame and the door flew open so violently that it smashed against the wall and bounced back, slamming shut again. Dean threw it open and drew his gun, hopping down the stairs a few at a time into the darkness below. The light streaming down from the kitchen was enough to illuminate a figure curled up on the floor in the corner, chained hand and foot, and a pull cord for a single bare bulb dangling from the ceiling.
"Mary?! Mary, is that you?!"
Dean yanked the string and harsh white light flooded the concrete basement. It glinted off pristine, bright silver chains that made Dean's stomach turn. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized something that made his heart drop. Whoever this prisoner was, trapped in the stark, bloodstained concrete basement, it wasn't his daughter. It was a grown woman, barefoot and stripped down to her underwear. She cringed away from the light, hands flying up to shield her eyes, baring Torxing scars on her arms that matched Deans. Her dark blonde hair was a wild, tangled mess, matted in places with blood and dirt.
Dean lowered his gun, disappointment buried under a cascade of other emotions that battled for the lion's share of his attention. The woman on the floor was battered, bruised and covered in cuts that must have been inflicted with silver. Slowly, she peeked out from between her fingers with bright hazel eyes that Dean would have recognized anywhere.
"Alice."
Anger. Happiness. Relief. Disappointment. Bitterness. Forgiveness. Hurt. Empathy. Hate. Love. Confusion. Regret.
Conflicting emotions flashed through Dean in brief, intense pulses, collecting at the bottom of his heart like cars sliding into a catastrophic pileup. He hadn't seen Alice Smith, the real Alice, in seven years. They had a lot of unfinished business, a lot of lingering tension. Dean didn't have time to think about it at the moment.
All Alice saw was blinding light and a blurry figure standing over her. Her eyes couldn't adjust fast enough for her to see who it was, but she would have recognized that voice anywhere.
"Dean."
They were both still for a long moment, both frozen by identical internal firestorms. Questions demanded answers, years worth of unresolved, long repressed emotions suddenly surfaced and demanded satisfaction. Demanded resolution.
Now wasn't the time for satisfaction or resolution.
Dean was the first to move. He shrugged out of his jacket and offered it to Alice.
"Keys?" he asked.
She reached up with shaking arms to take the jacket and point to the opposite wall. There hung the keys that had taunted her for... she didn't know anymore.
"How the hell did you find me?" she asked as he retrieved the keys and crouched down to free her. Silver shackles fell away, revealing raw, burning ankles, flesh bubbling and peeling from the sustained contact with her kryptonite. "Hell, how... how did you even know to look? What, did Sam need help on a case?"
"We're looking for someone else," Dean said. His words were clipped, his tone sharp. Alice was finally able to make out his face, but whatever he felt at their unexpected reunion, he was keeping it well hidden. Still, Alice knew there was only one person Dean could be talking about. Only one person Dean and the shifters would share an interest in.
"Your daughter."
Dean's silence was confirmation enough.
"What happened? They took her?"
Beginning to recover from the shock of finding Alice, Dean began to put some pieces together. He'd wondered all week how the shifter that had taken Mary had found them, how it had even known she existed. Anger bubbled up in him as he finally formed a theory.
"You told them about her, didn't you?" he hissed, hesitating with the key near Alice's hands.
"I didn't tell them anything!" Alice growled. She thrust her wrists toward him, demanding freedom.
"How else could they have found us?!"
"My guess? The Alpha found out about her after he took on my form looking for more creative ways to torture my ass," Alice spat. "Whatever happened to you, to your kid, it wasn't my fault!"
"Good old Alice," Dean chuckled spitefully. "Nothing's ever your fault, is it?!"
"Can we do this after you spring me?"
"Whatever you were doing that got you tossed down here, I hope it was worth it!""
"Dean-"
"You think all they did was take Mary?! You think I'm just gonna set you loose and you can walk away from this like nothing happened?!"
"Do I LOOK like I've been a guest of honor?! My time here hasn't been silk sheets and caviar! I'm sorry your kid's missing, but-"
"Allison's dead!"
Dean hurled the words at her like a punch and Alice flinched harder than she would have if he had just hit her.
"What?"
Dean stood, taking the key with him. Alice gawked up at him, shuddering as she wondered if he was going to leave her here. His words echoed through her head, burned themselves into her heart like a brand.
"She died trying to get Mary back. She died because of you, and... whatever the hell it is you were doing here. So I hope it was worth it, Alice. I really, really do."
Disdainfully, Dean tossed the key at her feet and walked away, leaving her to contend with the aftermath of the grim news. He stomped up the stairs slowly, consumed with hatred. He knew it wasn't fair to hate Alice for this, got the feeling that whatever had happened here had been out of her control, but he couldn't help himself. Truthfully, it felt good in a savage, painful way to be able to blame someone for the mess. It solved nothing, offered no solace, only a pointless outlet for all his grief and rage and guilt. A pointless outlet was all Dean really needed.
Dean made his way back to Sam and the tied up shifter.
"Well?" Sam demanded.
"Mary wasn't down there," Dean sighed. He drew a silver knife and advanced on the shifter. She trembled and whimpered as he approached, cringing away as he pressed the tip of the blade to her heart. "Wrong girl. I'm looking for Mary Grace Winchester. She's seven years old. She's my daughter and I swear to god, I'll kill every single damned one of you evil sons of bitches if that's what it takes to get her back. Can you tell me where she is, or not?"
"I don't know where he's taking her!" the shifter sobbed. "I know he's trying to outrun you, but that's all I know! I swear, that's all I know!"
Dean examined her for a long moment. Finally, he nodded with a small, empty smile. He patted her shoulder with his left hand, the gesture devoid of any of the comfort or reassurance it was meant to convey.
"I believe you."
He slid the silver knife through her chest. She cried out one more time as the blade sunk into her heart. Dean felt its final beats, vibrating through the knife before it stilled and the shifter slumped in the chair. Dean pulled the blade free and wiped it clean on her shirt before sheathing it. Sam watched wordlessly, waiting for Dean to meet his eyes. He didn't know what to say to his brother, couldn't find words to express the horror he felt at the side of Dean he had just seen. So he didn't say anything. He just followed Dean out of the house.
"We'll find her, Dean," Sam assured him as the approached the front door. "We'll meet up with Cas, we'll keep following the compass... he can't run forever."
"Dean! Wait!"
Alice's voice came from down the hall, stopping Sam in his tracks. Dean ignored it and strode out the door, but Sam turned to greet Alice with shock as she limped toward him.
"Alice?! What-"
"Stop your stupid brother," Alice interrupted him, grimacing in pain as she pushed past him. "He's gonna want to hear what I've got to say."
Sam rushed past her, spotting Dean just as he got into the car. He rolled the window down and beckoned Sam.
"Come on! Let's get out of here!"
"Dean, hold up!"
"Get in the car, Sam!"
"Dude, just wait a minute!"
"Get in the car or I'm leaving without you!"
Sam stalled Dean just long enough for Alice to stumble around to the driver's side. She tapped on the window and Dean ignored her. Sam rolled his eyes and reached into the car, hitting the button to roll the window down.
"Sam-"
"Dean-"
"Dean, just hear me out!" Alice begged. "Please! I can help you!"
"I don't want your help!"
"Yeah, well you're a jerk and I won't be thrilled to be working with you again either!" Alice growled. "But I can help you find your kid, ok? And gank the thing that killed my sister."
"Not a chance!"
"Dean-"
"No way in hell, Alice!"
Sam tried to butt in.
"Dean, maybe we should-"
"This whole damn thing is your fault!" Dean shouted. He stormed out of the car to bear over Alice, backing her against the car in his anger. "All you ever do is wreck my damn life! Every time you get near me, you poison everything I have that's any good! Hell, this time you managed to turn my world upside down from what, seven hundred miles away?! You want to help me?! Get the hell away from me, stay away from my family!"
Alice was silent while Dean said his piece. He was too enraged to notice. When he was out of breath, she straightened, tightened his jacket around her body and brushed her hair out of her face.
"You done?" she asked, voice steady.
"Done with you, sure!"
"Take a breath, Dean. Think it through for a minute. Blame me til the cows come home if it makes you happy. But do you even know what you're hunting at this point?"
"A... a shapeshifter."
"Sure, but I'm guessing my sister is dead because you guys went after it guns blazing, silver bullets flying. 'Cause neither of you knew silver doesn't hurt this bastard."
Dean didn't respond. Alice had rendered him wordless, not with anything she was saying, but with her demeanor. Something was different about her. Dean looked her over, scrutinized her carefully. Alice had never been one to back down from a fight, never been one to concede an argument. She was even more hard-headed and hot tempered than her big sister had been. Alice had never been one to make peace, but if Dean didn't know better, he would have sworn that was what she stood before him trying to do.
"The thing that took your daughter isn't your run of the mill, rank and file shifter," Alice informed him. "You're dealing with the Alpha."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It's the first of its kind."
"You mean..."
"Yeah. Every shapeshifter in the world can trace its family tree back to him. He's stronger than any of his children, faster, and silver's about as harmful to him as a pinprick to a tiger."
Strangely, Dean found himself having a hard time maintaining his anger toward her. She looked pitiful, dirty, covered in cuts and shivering with only his jacket to shield her from the chilly late January air. The difference in her demeanor was jarring as well, throwing him off kilter. Dean searched her mismatched hazel eyes and realized something was missing. There used to be a spark there, a fire that never stopped burning. That light was absent now. Alice's eyes were calm, deep pools of green and olive, flecked through with spots and specks of golden brown. Dean had never seen her so tame. It was almost like he was looking at a stranger.
"How do you know all this?" Sam asked from the other side of the car, interrupting Dean's tense examination of his old lover.
"I've been hunting shifters down for a few years now," Alice replied. She repaid Dean's scrutiny in kind. Stress had aged him prematurely since last she'd seen him. He couldn't be more than thirty-seven by now, but gray was starting to creep in at his temples and the corners of his eyes were creased with worry lines. Still, his eyes held hers with the same defiant determination as always. Time hadn't stripped him of his stubbornness, of the black and white worldview he'd always fostered, the one that so often verged on hypocrisy. It only took one look for Alice to realize that she was looking at the same old Dean. Time hadn't changed him one bit. It was a bittersweet revelation. Alice wouldn't trade Dean for the world, but part of her had been secretly hoping he might have changed enough to finally make them compatible.
Nothing wrong with a girl dreaming, she sighed internally.
"I probably know more about these shape-changing bastards than any other hunter on the planet," she bragged, pushing emotion aside and focusing on the case. She needed to stay professional about this. It was the only way forward. "I was already going to wipe them all off the map, Dean. What do you think I'm gonna do now that I know they killed my sister, huh? I'm hunting this son of a bitch down with or without you. We can combine resources, get it done together, get it done efficiently, or we can go our separate ways and step on each other's toes at every turn. Your choice."
Dean wanted to recapture his fury, wanted to be angry with her. He wanted to take her words as a threat, wanted to snap at her, but she was too earnest. He couldn't justify blaming her for what had happened anymore, couldn't deny that what she was saying made sense.
"I can't believe I'm saying this," Dean scoffed. "Fine."
Alice nodded, but Dean wasn't done. He stuck a finger in her face severely, paired with a fierce, forced scowl.
"Make me regret letting you in on this-"
"Yeah, it'll be the last thing I ever do, yada yada, blah blah," Alice sighed wearily. "You done? 'Cause I'd like to get my hands on some clothes and something hot to eat. You buy and I'll tell you everything I know about the Alpha."
Dean nodded, feeling like he was making a pact with the devil. Still, it wasn't an offer he had the luxury of refusing. Not with his daughter on the line. As wary as he was of Alice, he couldn't deny that she was a hell of a hunter. Assuming she hadn't lost her edge since last he'd seen her, she could be just what they needed to tip the scales of this hunt in their favor.
"You've got yourself a deal."