Gah, sorry I'm so late! First I suffered from a minor bout of writer's block, and to top that off, the season finale came along and holy cow, how am I supposed to function after that? I still haven't fully recovered.
This is where I apologize for the rough edges and lack of editing and way too many words, but you've heard it all before. I'm also promising a quicker next chapter, but you all know how reliable I am.
At 2:05 am, a garbled voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing the arrival of bus 154, with an ultimate destination in California. The handful of people inside the station immediately moved from their tired positions, gathering up their belongings. They trudged their way through the door where the bus waited outside as the voice needlessly repeated itself overhead.
Sam didn't hear the announcement. He was two buildings away, bent over a desk and straining his eyes through near darkness.
He had to pick the lock and dismantle the security alarm to get in. Dean would have been proud – if it had been anywhere other than a library. But Sam needed to use the internet, and it was the closest place with access.
He sat hunched in front of a computer, using the low security lights and the glow of the monitor to read the newspapers he had spread out before him. Between the internet and the newspapers stored in the library, he slowly put the pieces together. It took him much longer than he wanted, but he worked steadily and resolutely until he found what he needed.
Four hours later, Sam flipped open his cell phone and dialed. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the phone to his ear and counted the rings before a voice answered.
"Hi, Lt. Stevens, this is Sam," he started, running a hand through his hair. "I'm really sorry to even ask you this, but…I need a ride."
ooOOoo
Fifteen minutes later, Lt. Stevens picked him up in front of the bus station. Even though they were friends, Sam didn't think it would have been a good idea to tell her he'd just broken into the local library.
By then the sun had already peeked above the horizon. Sam loaded his bags into her trunk, apologizing and thanking her the entire time he was shoving his belongings into place. Lt. Stevens – Elizabeth, she insisted – waved him off, telling him she needed the break, and that she didn't really mind the four hour drive. When Sam's guilty look refused to lift, she added that she had a cousin in Tulsa she hadn't seen in awhile.
Besides, he'd just helped put an end to a two-centuries-long murder streak, so she owed him.
Quickly accepting that, Sam climbed into the front of the car, anxious to leave. From the tense way he was sitting, he felt like he was perched on the seat. But as hard as he tried to feign casualness, he couldn't get his spine to relax back against his seat.
For the first part of their drive, as trees and fields flew past their windows, neither person said much to each other. Sam didn't miss the curious glances Elizabeth shot his way, but he couldn't get himself to explain, not even bothering to make an excuse.
He considered telling her about the case, but it would already be confusing and chaotic enough, and he didn't want to complicate matters any further. Nor did he want to put her in danger by facing a creature she had no experience with.
Before he had dropped him off at the bus station, Dean said he was going to Tulsa to look for a shapeshifter. Armed with that information, Sam had found the stories almost right away in the library's resources. In fact, all he needed to know was Tulsa, because as it turned out, the city's headlines for the past several months were dominated by a string of murders.
The first had been a sorority girl whose throat had been slit. Before the attack, a couple of her friends had seen her boyfriend enter her room. However, the boyfriend's alibi was supported by 30 students and a professor who had seen him giving a presentation in class the same time the young woman had been killed.
The second murder happened in front of an entire party. A man had been talking with his friends when his wife came up to him and started to argue with him, only to draw a gun a few minutes later and shoot him in the chest before fleeing. But his wife, an ER doctor, had been called in to work two hours earlier. She never left the hospital, and in fact had been setting a leg when her husband was wheeled in.
Authorities were called to another home one afternoon, where they found the body of Paul Rodriguez. Eyewitnesses reported seeing a fellow neighbor enter his house just before an argument was heard, a fight which eventually escalated into screams and gunshots. However, the suspect's body had already been found fifteen minutes earlier in a shallow creek, an apparent suicide complete with note that read "I did it."
There had been a half dozen other murders in the area as well, but the police already arrested suspects who had been placed at the scene of the crime. Sam had to wonder how many of them were actually guilty.
Even though Sam had found the articles right away, he spent another four hours trying to pinpoint exactly where he needed to go. It took him the rest of the night before he could make any connection between the outwardly-random crimes. But then he discovered that three suspects and five victims had lived in the same suburb at one point. It was a tenuous connection, but it was all Sam could come up with.
As they sped towards Claremont, Oklahoma, Sam could only hope Dean had come up with the same connection.
The highway stretched endlessly before them as each long minute ticked by. Sam thought he should make polite conversation to help pass time, but he was too absorbed in his thoughts and felt selfish enough to spare attention only to the road signs marking each mile.
His mind still seemed to be loading memories, processing those thoughts that were suddenly uncovered. He didn't know what to make of the old, familiar feelings that had suddenly resurfaced in his mind, but he couldn't tear himself away. Fortunately, Elizabeth seemed to sense that and left him alone.
Short memories started to pop up, events he hadn't thought of in years.
He remembered in the fourth grade, he'd scored the highest on a state history test, even though the Winchesters had just moved there three months earlier. In fact, he'd been the only one to get an A, and he missed only one question. Sam blushed red but he was secretly proud when the teacher announced his accomplishment to the class. Mrs. Henson even placed on his test a large baseball sticker with the words "Home run!" written in white bubble letters. He thought he was too old for stickers, but Kimmie, the pretty girl who sat behind him, loved both stickers and baseball, so he peeled it off and gave it to her and thought about her smile and the big red A on his paper for the rest of class.
But then at the end of the school day, Sam accidentally mentioned he had to help his father track down a local werewolf. His father had told him he wasn't supposed to say things like that, but he didn't quite understand that other kids didn't know about the things he knew about. And even though there were a couple of kids who still believed in Santa Claus, Sam didn't realize that believing in werewolves wasn't cooler like he thought it would be. It just made him strange. And Russell Johnson started to call him things like "stupid" and "weird," and Kimmie and a boy named Mark ran home crying. The next day Mrs. Henson had a long, patient talk with him, and the other kids started to look at him different.
Sam remembered when he was twelve and he forgot salt barriers were useless against water demons. His dad yelled at him because, unlike school tests, one mistake could cost lives.
It wasn't the first time Sam had heard that speech, but it was the first time he realized how much his life demanded of them. He wanted to buckle, to throw off that pressure, but his father refused to let him.
He remembered how scared he was when at ten, he first saw his dad get hurt, and at thirteen, when Dean was knocked unconscious and wouldn't wake up, and at fifteen, when Sam himself was trapped in some dark room by an evil spirit who latched onto him, surrounding him, suffocating him and refusing to let go.
He remembered how much he hated hunting. How he watched their lives become more and more messed up no matter how hard he dug his heels in.
If only he had known how much more screwed up his life would get..
Sam felt trapped in the car. If this had been the Impala, and Dean had been driving, they would have been going a lot faster. But he couldn't tell Lt. Stevens that.
They had just crossed the Oklahoma state line when Sam finally spoke up. The sudden sound of his voice was jarring, and it startled both Stevens and him. "When you first met us—"he started, pausing to lick his lips. "What did you think?"
Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. "How do you mean?"
"Just…anything. What were we like?"
Sam barely remembered that hunt when they met Lt. Elizabeth Stevens, just bits and pieces. It had been a few months into his senior year of high school, and their father sent him and Dean on a job while he finished clearing out a nasty poltergeist a few towns over.
They ended up grilling Lt. Stevens, the cop who had found the drained bodies that attracted John's attention. From her descriptions, they figured they were looking for a chupacabra, one that unfortunately attacked the elderly farming couple after weeks of killing off goats and sheep. Sam and Dean hadn't meant for Stevens to find out the truth about their hunt, but they didn't expect the police officer would be staking out the pasture the night they went to catch the creature.
What Sam mostly remembered from that hunt was the bickering. He and Dean fought the entire time, about everything. Most of it revolved around their approach. Sam wanted to trap the chupacabra, and Dean wanted to confront it head on. Either way would have worked, Sam knew now, but he also knew they hadn't really been fighting about strategies. They were just bickering, like brothers do—but they were bickering about hunting a mythical creature when Sam needed to study for a calculus test and Dean wanted to prove himself to their father.
And Sam remembered thinking how he couldn't wait to leave that hunt behind. Normal life finally stood within reach. His acceptance letter into Stanford had arrived just before they left for the poltergeist in Texas, a weekend trip that ended up costing a resentful Sam three extra school days.
Elizabeth frowned thoughtfully as she turned down the radio. "Well, I remember how sweet you were, Sam. I remember thinking how I didn't feel no wrong telling you anything, even the really crazy parts. And Dean, Lord, he was smooth." She snorted. "To this day, I still don't know what was the truth and what was pure bullcrap."
As he listened to her words, Sam stared ahead at the road that raced underneath their car. When she didn't continue, he glanced over at her. "What else?" he prodded. He didn't want to sound demanding or desperate, so he forced a shrug and a tiny smile. "I'm just curious how…someone from the outside might see us."
He remembered the strange questions they had to ask the police woman, forcing her to describe the mutilated bodies of people she knew. He remembered the way they ran across the pastures that night, chasing and shouting after the four-foot creature like crazed maniacs. He remembered the dangerous firearms they waved about as if they were only props, not because they were careless but because they were comfortable and confident with them.
"I'm not sure what you're lookin' to hear," Stevens said. But she must have seen something in his face because she went on anyway.
"You both were so young. Still are. But hell, you were both in your teens, weren't you?" Dean had been nearly 21, but that wasn't important. "You seemed so much older, though. Old and young at the same time, you know? I felt bad for you before I even knew why."
The chupacabra had panicked when they finally managed to corner it. Sam remembered seeing the needle-like claws puncturing Dean's forearm. He could still feel those claws stabbing into his own ankle. It was a nasty little creature, not too difficult to dispatch, but difficult enough to be annoying as it scrabbled and shrieked at them.
That hunt certainly hadn't been their most graceful. The sun had started to rise by the time they limped back to the car, bleeding and tired and pissed.
"I was so impressed by you two, though," Elizabeth said, shaking her head thoughtfully. "When I saw you in action--When that thing leapt at you, I noticed how Dean stepped in front to guard you. But it was so smooth and instant, like he didn't even have to think about it."
Sam blinked as the memory suddenly filled his mind. He'd forgotten that.
"And when it latched onto his arm, you jumped forward and just yanked it off like it was only a tick—and not this crazy-looking monster who just slaughtered Mr. and Mrs. Sanderson."
That was right, Sam had done that. It attacked his ankle when he flung it to the ground.
"You were both so young, but so…strong. No hesitation. You just attacked, guns a'blazing. Who knows how many more people would have been killed, how much livestock would have been lost - but you all just came in and did your thing without being asked, without getting any kind of reward."
She shook her head, glancing over at Sam. "I know I'm sounding a little overdramatic, but you just don't see that very often. Reminded me of old westerns in a way, you know? You both have that quiet strength, that dangerous power…Y'all were sneaky, of course, and you played dirty, but still…there was somethin' so noble in the air around you."
Sam was surprised by her words because that hunt hadn't been much at all compared to all of their other hunts. There was no big save, no dramatic heroics, not even a formidable foe. And she had seen their bickering, their faults, the darkness that seemed to hover over everything they did.
But he realized he wasn't shocked because her words echoed his own feelings when he had first met "John." When Sam didn't have these memories, when he couldn't even remember who he was or where he came from, he felt much the same way.
"You seemed so normal, but so different at the same time," Elizabeth told him. "I could tell what you guys do isn't easy. When you two drove off into the horizon, I kept thinking how I was supposed to take my own niece to early cheerleading practice, and I had to wonder where you were headed off to."
Even though Stevens was usually a friendly, talkative person, he knew she was saying more than she normally would have - laying it on extra thick - but maybe she could see the thoughts in his face. Maybe she was trying to say every little thing she could think he wanted or needed to hear. As impassive as he tried to be, he knew he wasn't fooling her. He wouldn't ask her early in the morning to drive him four hours away unless something was up.
He was grateful she never asked why he needed the ride.
"Hell, you even saved Gracie's cat," she finished. Sam snorted to himself, suddenly remember the tabby that had inadvertently became their bait. Elizabeth glanced over at him. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"
Sam shook his head. He'd heard enough. "Thank you," he told her softly.
His back sank against the seat and he turned his gaze out the window.
"Does that help you any?" Elizabeth asked him.
"Maybe," Sam replied. It was as honest and complete an answer as he could give. He didn't know where he was, not yet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth nod and reach to turn the radio volume back into audible level.
Despite the thoughts swirling in his mind, exhaustion finally overtook him. The 24-hour nap he'd just woken up from seemed so long ago. The events from the past few days overwhelmed him, and it was too easy to fall into the gentle motions of the rumbling car engine.
Rather than figuring what he would say to his brother, he let himself drift away.
Sometime later, Elizabeth nudged him awake, announcing they were just minutes from Claremont. Sam immediately felt guilty for falling asleep. But that guilt was quickly replaced with anxiety as his focus shifted to outside.
He pulled his cell phone out, but a few minutes later, he was shoving it into his bag and cursing under his breath.
"Still no answer?" Elizabeth asked him.
Sam shook his head, his teeth clamping together. Before he had hoped his brother wasn't answering because of the time of day, but now that it was after ten, that weak hope fluttered away. Dean wasn't one to ignore phone calls, no matter who was calling. And after spending the entire night trying to get a hold of him, the battery was now dead.
As they drove through Claremont, Sam vowed to place a tracking device on Dean's car the first chance he could. Since he hadn't yet, they had to roll up and down each street in a systematic fashion, starting from the west and working their way east, combing the small town for Dean. Elizabeth offered to call it in, but she didn't look surprised when Sam turned her offer down.
Finally they found the familiar Impala, parked on a quiet neighborhood street rather than in a motel parking lot as Sam had been desperately hoping.
After making sure Sam had her number, Elizabeth let him off at the corner closest to the Impala. Sam stood on the sidewalk, his bags at his feet, watching silently as she drove away.
Once she was out of sight, he picked up his belongings and stalked to the Impala. With his spare key, he unlocked the door and threw his stuff into the backseat. Then he popped open the trunk and took out a handgun which he quickly loaded with silver bullets. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that Dean's favorite gun and its own silver bullets were already missing.
Even as he received no answer from Dean's phone, he'd been hoping he could find Dean without jumping into a hunt. He wanted to talk to Dean, needed to talk to him so he could get his thoughts in some kind of order. But now that he was standing there next to the empty Impala, his stomach twisted with worry and he knew his thoughts would have to wait.
He didn't want to be here. He wasn't ready yet. He'd only meant to track his brother down. But he didn't realize that meant immediately jumping into another hunt.
How did Dean get so deep into a hunt so soon? He only had a few hours head start.
Sam should have known though. In fact, a part of him already had. That was why he'd broken into the library instead of waiting for morning.
As Sam stood on the sunlit sidewalk, staring at the middle class neighborhood that surrounded him, he almost wanted to panic. He remembered St. Louis now. He now knew the bruises that had covered Rebecca. He could see the dead body that had Dean's face. He heard Dean's voice taunting him.
Another, more irrational fear made his heart pound. The last time he had been on a hunt with Dean, his brother could barely move, and he couldn't hide the pain that twisted his face. He knew Dean was healed now, he'd seen "John" in action. But he couldn't forget the last real hunt he'd been on with the man he knew as his brother. He didn't want to see that again.
But Sam had no choice, and he no intention of stopping. He pushed his new fears aside and let lifelong training and experiences take over.
Hedecided to check the sewers first, but they turned up empty. He found no evidence suggesting any type of lair, nor – thank God - did he see any piles of shed skin. He even called out for Dean, but there was no answer.
Once he was sure this hunt didn't involve a sewer-dweller this time, he gratefully climbed back up to the surface. His next step was the explore the homes that lined the streets.
The neighborhood was a typical, unassuming one, and quiet at the moment. He assumed most of the residents were away at work or out running daily errands. Unfortunately, none of the homes looked peculiar in any way, and not a single one stood out from the others.
But Dean somehow figured the shapeshifter was near. Sam sighed to himself, deciding to look at each house individually, hoping he could narrow the search down.
Dean would never park directly in front of the house he meant to visit, so Sam skipped that one. The house closest to him had toys littered in the front yard. Sam couldn't rule it out, but he decided to save that for later, thinking it was highly unlikely to be the home of a serial killer. The home next to that one was a duplex, and while it wouldn't have been impossible, he figured a killer wouldn't want to be in such close quarters with anyone else.
As he walked to get a closer look at the fourth home, the dog chained in the front yard started barking at him. Sam, who hadn't noticed the mutt, jumped at the sudden noise, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun.
He immediately relaxed when he saw the dog, but the dog didn't stop. It snapped and snarled at him, straining against its leash, and Sam frowned, instantly thinking of the dog he'd noticed back in St. Louis.
Just then, the front door opened and a woman walked out, climbing down the porch steps and on the concrete path that led to her driveway. "Sandy, stop it," she growled, her voice clearly irritated, as she walked past the agitated animal. It stopped barking, but a low, continuous growl made his throat rumble.
"Sorry," Sam called to her from the sidewalk. "Your dog doesn't seem to like me much."
She looked up and flashed a crooked grin at him. "Not your fault. Sandy doesn't seem to like anyone much."
Sam immediately put on his innocent expression, the one that gave him the best results. "Has she always been this grouchy?" he asked, sounding openly curious.
The woman shrugged, and Sam knew it worked. "She has ever since we brought her home three weeks ago." She looked at the dog with a frown. "She seemed so sweet at the pound, too. I think we should take her back, but my husband doesn't want to give up yet." She rolled her eyes, obviously annoyed by her husband's attitude, as she continued her way towards her driveway.
Sam wasn't finished yet, and he took a couple quick steps to keep the lady within earshot. "Sometimes dogs can be picky about who they like, you know? Maybe you have a neighbor, anyone nearby, who's making her uncomfortable," he suggested hopefully.
The woman tilted her head. "She does go crazy whenever she sees our neighbor, George. I don't really blame her though, the guy's creepy." As she spoke, she gestured at the house next to theirs, on the opposite side from where Sam came from. "I think he kinda hates us, actually," she said with a laugh.
"Well, there you go," Sam replied. "Maybe he's causing it."
"Maybe," the woman agreed with a shrug. "But what can I do about that?"
Sam studied the house, searching for signs of movement. "Do you know if George is home, by any chance?" he asked.
She cocked her head, startled by the question. "Why do you ask?" she asked. "Do you know him?"
The lie came disturbingly easily. "He used to work with my father," Sam replied.
Her eyes widened and she rushed to apologize. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect," she said hastily. "Just forget what I said. I think George is trying to change, you know, be more friendly, so..."
"Oh? How do you mean?"
"Well, he's been hanging around with us, my husband and me, a lot lately. Trying to be more social, I guess. I'm sure he's great guy, just got off on the wrong foot, that's all."
Sam gave her a friendly grin. "Don't worry, I won't tell him you said anything."
Her shoulders visibly relaxed and she let out a breath. "Thanks," she replied with a relieved smile. "Anyway, I'm afraid you missed him. I caught him leaving maybe an hour ago. He doesn't seem to have a schedule though, so he could be back anytime."
Sam frowned at the dark house. Was Dean inside? Did he get there before or after George left? Sam suppressed a sigh. He didn't even know if George was the right man. Just because a dog barks at a man, doesn't mean he's evil.
He turned back to the woman. "Well, thank you for you help. It was nice meeting you, ma'am."
"Alice."
Sam smiled. "Sam," he replied.
Alice gave Sam a short, friendly wave as she walked down to the end of her driveway to shove a letter into her mailbox. Sam kept a polite smile on his face, impatiently waiting as she went back to her house.As soon asshe was inside, he walked towards the modest, single-story house where "George" lived.
The closer he got, the more he started to believe he had the right place. Or maybe it was just his nerves.
Sam snuck around to the back, peeking through each window he passed. When he saw no movement in the shadowed home, he used a paperclip he'd swiped from the library to unlock the back door. As the door swung open, he knew there was no turning back now.
His senses heightened and his guard on alert, he crept through the house, his gun clutched ready in his hand. The silence unnerved him, and he knew he could be walking straight into a trap. But he had no other choice. If George was the murderer, then Dean was probably somewhere in the house. Sam wanted to call for him, but he resisted the urge.
As he searched, hewas forced to wonder if he really had the right place. There were no piles of skin and other bodily remains as there had been in St. Louis. When the first floor proved empty, Sam started for the basement. He walked down the wooden stairs, stepping near their sides to lessen the chance of creaking.
Sam shivered, remembering the last time he had climbed down basement stairs to look for his brother.
This basement had a lower ceiling, and the room was lit by the small windows that rested just above ground. The main room was mostly unfinished, with a concrete floor and exposed beams and pipes in the ceiling. A couple of closed doors and the angles of the walls told him there were other rooms. The only rooms he had left to check.
The first door wasn't completely closed, and it led to a water heater.
Only one other room remained, and if there were anything to find in the house, it would be in there.
Sam stalked towards the simple wooden door and, since he knew it was near impossible to turn a knob without drawing attention, yanked it open with a violent twist.
Dean stood on the other side of the door.
At Sam's entrance, his head jerked up in surprise, revealing a black eye and a cut near his temple. His eyes widened and a flurry of emotions twisted and stretched his face for a brief moment.
"Dean!" Sam gasped, instantly relieved as he rushed forward.
And then Dean's left arm came up and he punched Sam right in the face.
Next chapter coming soon.