Chapter Two
"Are you sure it was Jess?" Dean still held a bloody hand towel to his nose. He hadn't taken the news any better than Sam had expected him to. Dean had been quiet for a while, trying to come up with an answer but not able to. Sam had let his brother get dressed and had pulled out the laptop, sitting down at the table and trying to look up Dean's imaginary demon, though he didn't have much to go on. Now, Dean was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder at the pictures that were coming up. None of them seemed to be what Dean had seen. They'd looked through their Dad's journal, but hadn't found anything like it in there either.
"Yes," Sam replied dryly, not wanting to go into detail. He continued to scroll through the pictures of demons, feeling himself growing frustrated. He wasn't sure if he was frustrated because they weren't finding Dean's demon, or because Dean wouldn't drop the fact that Sam thought his dead girlfriend had called, warning him it was going to happen.
Dean sniffed, taking the towel away from his nose. He was happy to see that it had finally stopped bleeding. He threw the towel away and looked half heartedly at the pictures Sam as scrolling through. "What if it was just someone who sounded like Jess?' Dean chanced it.
"I know her voice, Dean," Sam snapped angrily. He took a breath to calm himself. He felt the pain of loss start to creep back into his system and he knew it was time to change the subject. "So all you can tell me about what you saw is that it was a gray demon?" Sam asked, turning to look at his brother. Dean shrugged, tilting his head to the side and sat down on the bed. "That doesn't help much."
"Well that's what I saw," Dean said, laying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Sam watched him for a moment. He knew his brother didn't like this any more than he did. Dean didn't like being kept out of the loop, and with a mysterious gray demon and a phone call from Jess, Sam knew that his brother had never felt so far out of the loop before. It was a bit unnerving.
"You didn't see anything else?" Sam asked and the only response he got was Dean covering his face with his hands, showing his obvious frustration. "No other characteristics? Like horns? Eyes? Wings?"
"No!" Dean yelled. "For fuck sake."
"Well," Sam immediately got defensive, knowing his brother was starting to get angry. "All I'm saying is, how do we even know it's a demon? It could have been a phantom bear or something."
Dean sat up, giving Sam an incredulous look. "Phantom bear?" he asked, making the notion sound ridiculous. "Thanks Sam. That's really gonna help me sleep at night."
"I can't believe you're still afraid of bears," Sam grinned. "You fight demons for a living and you're scared of bears."
"Hell yeah," Dean bobbed his head. He looked at Sam like he was crazy. "I don't think being chewed on by Yogi would make for a pleasant evening."
"So you'd prefer a demon?" Sam asked. It was unbelievable that Dean could have such irrational fears considering what he did for a living.
"I know how to ward of a demon," Dean said defensively. "How are you supposed to ward off a bear? Fetal position? Yeah right."
"You could try shooting it," Sam said, looking back at the computer and scrolling through a few more pictures.
Dean rose from the bed and came over. He stood behind Sam and the brothers were quiet for a moment, looking at what images were coming up on screen. They weren't really anything special. Some drawings done by kindergartners, a few expertly drawn artist sketches of demons and the devil and even one of Bigfoot, though it wasn't really a demon. Dean let out a sigh and Sam knew what was coming next. His brother didn't know when to let something go. "What did she say?" he asked softly.
Sam was quiet for a moment, trying in another search. He answered absently, hoping Dean would get the hint. "She told me she loved me. Then she started babbling, apologized, and said He will see." Sam took a breath as his voice broke at the end. He leaned forward and eyed a picture on the screen. It was someone's rendition of a flying squirrel demon. Sam let out a snort.
"What do you mean, started babbling?" Dean asked.
Sam chewed the side of his lip, really not wanting to talk about it anymore but knowing that his brother wouldn't let it go. "She said things that didn't make any sense." Sam shook his head. "It doesn't really matter, Dean. We're looking for your demon. Are you sure you didn't see anything else?"
"I only saw it for like two seconds," Dean defended before adding, "And it does matter because getting a call from your dead girlfriend isn't something you just brush off." Sam tensed at the word dead, but just grit his teeth together. He really wanted Dean to back down for a while, just until he could think about it and rationalize why it happened. Dean pulled out a chair and sat down, letting out another sigh. "Sammy, if it really was Jess and her spirit's back, we're going to have to deal with it whether you want to or not."
"I know!" Sam spat, a little harsher than he meant to. But Dean didn't look too upset, he was just looking at his brother with an understanding gaze. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat and licked his lips. He didn't look at Dean when he said, "Let's just deal with one thing at a time, okay? Figure out what you saw and we'll go from there." Dean hesitated for a bit before nodding, to which Sam was eternally grateful. He didn't want to believe that Jess's spirit was back. He didn't know if he could handle it. He'd just gotten back on his feet and had learned to accept her death, but if she was back, it would knock him down harder than it had before. And he didn't know if he'd be able to get back up after that.
"Wait, wait!" Dean said, leaning forward and stopping Sam's hand from scrolling any further. Sam looked at the picture that had caught Dean's attention. "That's it," Dean said confidently.
The picture was hideous. No wonder Dean had had such a scare. It was a drawing, done by a sketch artist, of a man who was laying on the ground with his arm held above him protectively. The creature stood over him, at least seven feet tall. Wings spread out at least seven feet wide. It was a dark rendition, but the artist had done a good job making it look terrifying. It had a face, but the face was so distorted and hideous it was hard to tell what was what. The only thing Sam could see in the face were the eyes. Two blood red eyes in the middle of a fleshy red face. Teeth barred out at odd angles. "Are you sure?" Sam asked, glancing at his brother. Dean looked worried, a small trace of that lingering fear played across his eyes. But he took a breath and it was gone before he nodded.
Sam clicked on the picture and immediately an article came up. He read the title and leaned back in his chair, feeling like they'd gotten tricks instead of treasure. Sam heard Dean give a small whine next to him and knew his brother was thinking the same thing.
"We're not going to like this, are we?" Dean asked, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hands, staring at the screen as if it had just reached out and kicked him. Sam shook his head. No, if this was what Dean had seen, they were not going to like this. Not at all.
"Mothman," Sam muttered, disgusted. "Dean, it can't be. That was an isolated incident." Sam shook his head, looking over at his brother.
Dean shrugged and sat up. "They never caught it, Sammy. It disappeared right after the whole thing."
Sam rolled his neck, not liking where this was headed. If it really was the Mothman, they were in way over their heads. "Yeah, disappeared for forty years. Dean…"
"Sam," Dean broke in. "That is what I saw," Dean said strongly, pointing at the monitor. "I know it. And…" Dean paused, breathing through his nose. Sam already knew what he was going to say. "It would explain the phone call." Sam knew the story of the Mothman. A lot of people did. It was famous. The Mothman had been a myth started in Point Pleasant, West Virginia in 1966. Eye witnesses had reported seeing the creature, along with strange lights, mysterious phone calls, loud noises, unexplained screaming, and blood written messages, regularly between November 1966 and December 1967. But through it all, the Mothman had never hurt anyone, which had kept the community from panicking. But it hadn't saved them. On December 15, not even a few days after the last sighting, a bridge that connected Point Pleasant to Ohio had collapsed unexpectedly during rush hour, killing 46 people. The Mothman sightings, and all the other unexplained events, had ended after the tragedy. It was one of the great unexplained phenomena in the world. Sam had seen the movie and he'd read the books.
But it didn't make sense. That had been nearly forty years ago. Forty years without a sighting. Every ounce of common sense and experience that Sam owned was screaming at him that this wasn't right, that it couldn't be. He didn't doubt that his brother had seen something, but he did doubt it was the Mothman. The Mothman was gone and had been for half a century.
"Maybe it was something that looked like this, Dean, but I'm having a hard time believing this is what you saw." Dean's eyes widened and he held a hand out in front of him.
"What the hell, Sam?" Dean spat. "I know what I saw."
"You said you only saw it for two seconds," Sam shot back. Dean's temper was rising, but Sam's was also and there was no way he was going to back down from this one. Dean had a tendency to get something in his head and never let it go. Sam wasn't going to let him do it with this. He was going to make Dean listen and they would figure this out rationally. "You just got done saying you didn't have a clue what you saw."
"Well now I do!" Dean yelled, standing up and staring down at his little brother. "What's your problem, Sam
"My problem," Sam growled, getting to his feet as well. "Is that you don't think about things like this. You jump to conclusions with out any sort of proof. You had, what, a two second flash of a face in the mirror? Dean, that could be anything!" He was shouting now.
Dean's face drew tight and he breathed out hard through his nostrils. Sam half expected his brother to take a swing at him, but he didn't. Instead, he said in a calm, yet stressed voice, "Just because you want Jessica to be alive doesn't mean that she is." It was worse than any fist or kick his brother could have thrown his way. Sam stood stunned for a moment, staring hard at Dean, trying to keep his temper in check. He couldn't believe Dean had struck so hard below the belt. It hurt to know his brother could get to him so effectively when he wanted to be hurtful.
Sam didn't expect it when Dean let his shoulders drop and sighed. He didn't expect the words that followed, either. "Sam, I know you miss her," he said softly. Sam wanted to scream at him that he didn't know anything. That he didn't know what it was like to love someone as much as he'd love Jess and to watch her die. But he didn't trust his voice at the moment and it took everything he had to keep the tears back. "But you can't let it cloud your judgment. There's things out there that will use it against you."
"Like you just did?" Sam spat, glaring Dean in the eye. He couldn't help but feel betrayed. And he hadn't ever felt betrayed by Dean. Not even when Dean hadn't stood up for him when their father had told him not to come home. This hurt worse. This hurt worse because Dean wasn't standing by silently, he was the one spitting the insults.
Sam didn't expect his brother to look so hurt by the muttered response. Dean's face softened and he took a deep breath, before giving a crooked, sad smile. "I'm going to Point Pleasant," Dean said calmly. "You can do what you want. I'll be leaving in five minutes." Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket and grabbed the only remaining bag in the room, making sure to remember the knife that was beneath his pillow. He stopped after he zipped it up, standing with his back facing Sam. Sam was watching him, wondering if his brother would really just leave it like this. They'd never had a fight so bad where Dean was willing to leave, willing to let him go. Dean's shoulders shuddered and he whispered, "I can't do this without you, Sam. I didn't mean to hurt you." He left, closing the door behind him.
It was suddenly too quiet in the small room. Sam sat staring at the door, wondering how this little spat had escalated so out of control. Of course he wouldn't let Dean leave by himself. They both knew that. They just needed time for things to cool off before they could figure out what to do. Sam, with every ounce of his being, wanted to believe that it was Jess who had called. But, even though he hated to admit it, Dean was right. The phone call could have easily been brought on by a spirit or a demon. Hell, maybe Dean was right about the whole Mothman theory, but Sam still needed more to believe that. Whatever was behind it, it had gotten the job done. It had caught their attention.
Sighing, Sam stood and grabbed his laptop before he headed out the door. The Impala was running and Dean sat in the front seat, hands gripping the steering wheel. Biting his lips, Sam walked around and climbed inside without a word. He got settled and the two sat in silence for a moment. Sam hoped Dean would just put it in drive and go. He didn't want to fight with his brother anymore. And he sure as hell didn't want to come out and apologize right now. Dean had been out of line, they both had been out of line. Sam wasn't ready to talk about it yet. They both knew that the wounds were still open. No need to rub salt in them.
"Are we good?" Dean asked, not looking over at him.
Sam sighed, rubbing his hands together. He turned and looked at Dean. His brother looked almost scared, as if he hadn't expected Sam to come out. Sam's earlier anger was forgotten. As much as they fought, Sam had hoped that Dean had gotten over his fear of being left alone. Sure they fought, and sure sometimes Sam wanted to strangle his brother for being so stubborn and thoughtless, but he would never leave him. Not again. Apparently, Dean still had some of that old fear left in him.
"I'm gonna need more proof to believe it's the Mothman," Sam said slowly. Dean nodded, accepting the answer for what it was: a silent apology. Sam gave a small smile and his voice sounded lighter when he said, "It's a little far fetched."
Dean looked over then and a small smile broke onto his lips as well. Sam felt himself relax. They were good again. That's all that mattered right now. Something strange was going on and they needed to work together on this. Both of them knew that.
"We need some serious couples counseling," Dean joked and a genuine smile broke out on Sam's face. Leave it to Dean.
"So, Point Pleasant?" Sam asked, reaching to the glove box and pulling out the map.
A few hours later, Sam found himself starting to drift off. He was slumped in his seat, head against the car door, trying to find a comfortable position. It had grown dark out and there weren't any other cars on the road in the wee hours of the night. The car ride had been pretty silent, except for a few quips from Dean, joking about the scenery or whatever random thing had happened to find its way into Dean's head. Dean had turned down the radio a little when Sam had first started to drift off. It was playing softly now. As soft as heavy metal could be played. Sam was almost afraid to go to sleep. He'd done a lot of thinking about Jess that day, and he was certain it would come back to haunt him in his dreams.
He shifted his position for the umpteenth time and he heard Dean groan. "Sammy, stop fidgeting and go to sleep."
Sam turned his head and glared at him. "Shut up," he snapped.
Dean grinned. "Feisty." Sam rolled his eyes and leaned closer into the door. He just couldn't get comfortable. He didn't know what it was. Too many things on his mind maybe. Maybe it was the seatbelt. But he didn't really feel like taking it off. Dean glanced over at him again. "I'm serious, Sam," he said. "Get some sleep. I may need you to drive later." That struck Sam as odd and it gave him a small spike of fear. He turned and looked at Dean, wondering if his brother was okay. But Dean just turned and grinned again. "Just in case I get another nose bleed."
Sam gave a disgusted scoff and turned back towards the door. "Idiot," he whispered.
But Dean wasn't paying attention anymore. The radio had started to go in and out with static. Dean reached and fiddled with the knob for a second. It did nothing and he smacked it. It came back for a little bit and Dean gloated in triumph. But not five seconds later it started again. "Fucker," Dean cussed and reached down to repeat the process, his eyes darting between the road and the radio.
After the third round of Dean cussing at the radio, Sam finally looked over and eyed it. "Maybe you should changed the station," he said, hopeful that he'd be able to get Dean to listen to some good music for a change.
"This is a tape," Dean said. Sam turned a bit more towards his brother.
"Think it's reading EMF?" he asked, suddenly not sleepy anymore.
Dean shook his head, looking away from the road to stare at it hard. "I don't know," he said honestly. He fidgeted with it again before looking back up at the road.
Sam only had half a second to register his brother's hissed curse as the car suddenly jerked violently to the side. Sam felt himself thrown against the door, his head smacking the padded interior with a crack. He heard the wheels grind on something, gravely maybe, and suddenly they were spinning.
It lasted for only a few seconds before the Impala came to a loud and powerful stop against a tree.