Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Supernatural. But a girl can dream, can't she?
Author's Note: Sorry about forgetting to put a disclaimer on the first chapter, in all my excitement, I forgot it. Hope ya'll enjoy. By the way, I've never actually been to Maine, I just picked out a town, so sorry if I offend anyone…
Chapter Two: Dreamscapes and landmarks…
It was dark, pitch black, and he was cold. With each passing moment, it got colder and darker. His body shook with cold, and he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face.
"Sam!" he heard a voice call out of the darkness-a female voice. "Sam!"
He spent seconds groping around in the darkness. It was the same place as before, he was sure of it. And he was searching for the same girl. Out of the dark behind him, a hand grabbed his arm and he spun around to face it, whatever it was.
"Sam, you have to save Dean. Don't worry-" her words were cut off by the shaking.
Sam opened his eyes and sat up, Dean's hand still on his shoulder. "She had green eyes," he whispers.
"What? Another dream about Jess?" his older brother inquires, eyes back on the road.
"Huh? No, not Jess. Someone else."
"You're dreaming about someone else? Sammy, that's an occasion. Who is it?" Dean smirks.
"I don't know. I feel like I know her in my dream, but I've never seen her face, but this time I could see her eyes, and they were green. Bright green. Gorgeous," Sam muses.
"Sammy, I haven't heard you sound so infatuated with someone since your first crush in junior high. And to think, you don't even know who she is," he chuckles.
"How many times do I have to tell you…it's Sam," he rolls his eyes. "And I'm not infatuated with her. Just intrigued. It all just seems so real. Like it's happened…or is going to happen."
"That's great. And probably nothing to worry about. We're here. Now, where do you think the best place to ask questions here in Ashland is?" Dean asks, looking out at the quiet street.
"How about the diner," Sam suggests, pointing a little ways ahead of them.
Walking into the quiet diner, the boys are met with stares from all of the ten people-at the most-scattered about at tables, booths, and sitting at the counter. Sam follows as Dean claims a stool at the counter.
"How can I help you boys?" an older gentleman asks. He's got a sort of charisma about him, his hair is white and quite thin on top, and he shows indications of having been a farm boy, stocky and solid.
"Well, we're only here for a few days. We work for the FBI, and we're here to ask around about these mysterious deaths and disappearances," Dean suavely states.
"You must be talking about the stuff over at the Williams' mansion," the man replies. "Now that's a strange story. I've lived here my whole life and have never understood it."
"Yeah, the Williams' mansion, that's the one. What can you tell us?" Sam pipes up.
"I don't know much more than what the town rumors and the papers say. But I do know someone who can help you. Mikey Williams," he states, running his hands over his white apron.
"Can you tell us where we can find this Mikey Williams?" Sam asks.
"Yep. I can help you out." Moving away from them down the counter, he leans over it, and calls to a booth in the back corner, where someone sits behind a newspaper, "Mikey! There's some boys here that wanna talk to ya!"
"Charlie, I've done enough talkin'," a voice replies, the paper never moving.
"They're Feds, Mikey!" Charlie retorts, a pleading tone inching into his voice.
"Fine," Mikey sighs, lowering the paper.
"Wait, 'Mikey' is a girl?" Sam whispers to Dean.
"From what I can see, that's a definite yes," Dean grins widely, surveying the petite figure.
Mikey stands and walks toward them, her long, wavy, jet black hair frames her soft face, her olive skin giving her an exotic quality. Her brown sweater is worn and a bit tattered, overlapping her tiered, olive green and brown paisley printed skirt that ends at her knees, where it meets a pair of brown leather stiletto boots.
"Mikey Williams is the last living descendant of the famous Williams logging family. Mikey, these boys want to know about the deaths and disappearances," Charlie reiterates.
"I'm Sam, and this is Dean. We're from the FBI," he states, holding out his hand for her to shake.
She takes his hand, smiling graciously at both gentlemen. For the first time, Sam notices that she's wearing fingerless gloves. "Charlie, why don't you get these boys a couple of coffees. And me a cheeseburger and fries." Charlie nods his response.
"I like a girl with a healthy appetite," Dean muses, only loud enough for Sam to hear.
Sam, however, couldn't share the joke. Something about this strange new girl was familiar. Suddenly it hit him…her eyes, they were the most unique he'd ever seen. Green…bright green.
"Why don't we move over to a booth. They're much more comfortable." The brothers follow her to a booth back toward the corner. "So, what can I do for you?" she asks in an overly sweet tone.
"So, Mikey-you know that's kind of a unique name for a girl," Dean leans toward her across the table.
"It's short for Micah," she answers shortly as Charlie brings the three of them coffee.
"So, Micah, you're the last-"Sam begins, but she cuts him off.
"Look, I don't know what kind of scam you guys are running, but the FBI already came around, and they all spoke to me. Now, if you know what's good for you, you'll turn around and go back to wherever you came from," she says fiercely, her green eyes flashing.
"Well, Micah, they sent us in to do some follow up work," Dean covers.
"Please," Micah sighs, fed up. "Don't try to pull this over on me. You're not FBI agents, and you can't honestly think that anyone could fall for that."
Dean is caught off-guard by Micah's frankness, and Sam can tell that they're not going to be able to hold up this act any longer. As the three sit in silence, Charlie brings Micah's food, and Sam watches as she slips off her brown wool fingerless gloves.
"Okay, so we're not Feds," Sam admits once Charlie is out of earshot. "But we're here to help."
"Look, I don't know who you are, but you don't have a clue as to what's going on here. This town does not need the help of two strangers looking to be heroes. So, like I said, why don't you just go home and leave the people of Ashland alone."
"It's not that easy, Micah," Sam begins. "You don't understand. We do know what's going on, and we can help. That is, if you're willing to let us."
For several moments, they sit in silence, Micah looking from Sam to Dean and back again, unsure of what to do or what to say. Her green eyes show uncertainty, unsure of whether or not to believe them and accept what they're saying.
"Micah, please," Dean finally speaks up. "There's no reason for anyone else to die. Let's stop it before someone else gets hurt."
She hesitates yet again, looking down at her small hands on the table. "Okay, I'll help you," she finally gives in.