Title: Hunter's Crossing
Author: Signs Of Sun
Note: This particular fic so far has had a slow lead in, but trust me don't get comfortable. Let's just say in other fandoms I was famous for my angst. "grins mischievously"
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Hunter's Crossing
Chapter 2
"Where we going? Isn't the town the other way?" Sam asked as Dean steered the Impala into the wide right turn. A promising orange glow had been visible in the sky in the opposite direction. The collective orange hue that numerous streetlights in close proximity to one another creates illuminating the night meant a town and a town held the potential for a motel and, therefore, a hot shower and a bed to flop into. Sam's weary body longed for both.
"It is. We have an errand to run first."
"Oh. What's the errand?" Sam inquired inside an extended yawn.
"Dad wants us to stop by this cemetery outside of town and find a particular headstone."
"Did he say why?"
"It came from Dad, Sam, what do you think?"
"Need to know basis and we don't need to know."
"Bingo."
"I swear that man gets his kicks from being cryptic," Sam commented, shaking his head. To this Dean let out a mild laugh. He had to agree with his brother, John Winchester did seem to enjoy creating an air of mystery about himself and the things he did. He excelled at it and in turn excelled at endlessly frustrating his sons, Sam in particular. It rolled more fluidly off of Dean. Sam was consistently trying to change things and that caused spark filled friction. Dean, on the other hand, had abandoned futile missions at changing things and instead had begun focusing on just keeping everyone in one single piece. That occasionally caused it's own kind of friction, especially when one of the other two men was only seeing the flush red of revenge and forgot they were mortal, or maybe didn't care that they were. Keeping his brother and father intact was a full time job most days. The challenge of that endeavor was a strange mixture of invigorating purpose and insanity inducing frustration. The adrenaline rush always gave way to irritated exhaustion though and the constant up and down of it had worn grooves into Dean, invisible deep trenches where his own emotions seemed to take cover from the warfare.
Dean glanced over to the passenger side of the car, investigating the source of the commotion that had begun there. Sam had his upper body bent towards the top of his jean clad thighs, leaning his chest towards the dashboard. One item at a time he pulled things from the virtual grab bag of junk on the floor around his feet. First an empty Mountain Dew bottle then a crumpled up paper bag then a paperback book and on and on. Each new item apparently not being the one he was searching for he tossed them one after another over his left shoulder and into the backseat.
"Watch your aim there bro!" Dean instructed as one of his own cassettes came whizzing by, nearly smacking him in the right side of the face.
"Sorry," Sam stated without slowing in his mission to find some desired object Dean hadn't been clued into yet.
"Lose somethin'? Or you just in a cleaning kind of mood? Cuz if it's the cleaning thing my car could use a polish," Dean asked causally as his eyes searched the shadows along the left side of the narrow two lane road.
"Aha! Got it!" Sam announced proudly. Dean shifted his gaze over to his brother to find him using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe dirt from the laminated surface of a map of Vermont.
"Dude, I already got directions," Dean offered.
"Where?" Sam inquired and rapidly scanned the upper portion of the front of the car, curious of the whereabouts of the piece of paper that held instructions.
"In here," Dean replied, briefly lifting his hand away from the steering wheel and gesturing to his own head with his index finger. The motion elicited a slight shrug of acceptance from Sam who promptly tossed the map over the front seats and into the back so it could rejoin the family of debris it had briefly been separated from.
"So what we looking for?"
"Greenwood Cemetery. Six and a half miles from the right turn off Route 7. Langley Road. At the five mile mark veer left at the fork in the road. Entrance is on the left. Iron fence along the perimeter and two large oak trees stand at the top of the drive in," Dean rattled off with scarcely a breath.
"Sometimes I swear you had GPS implanted in your head while I was away at school."
"Nope everything up there is all natural," Dean replied inside a grin.
"I've spent more hours in the library at Stanford than even I care to admit and I can still get turned around in the place. I'm willin' to bet if I walked you in there blindfolded then left you on your own to find your way out, you'd be back waiting in the car before I left the building."
"What can I say? I'm talented. Sides I'm sure if I randomly grabbed any book off a shelf while I was in there you could tell me exactly what it was about. Probably even quote it."
"Point taken. So this headstone, whose is it?"
"Some dude named Weller. Lucas Weller."
"And what exactly are we supposed to do at Mr. Weller's headstone?"
"Rub it," Dean stated.
"You're sick, ya know that, right?"
"No, Sam, we're doing a rubbing of the epitaph. I can give you some privacy afterward if you were into somethin' else," Dean threw back with a smirk. Turning his head once again to the driver's side window to survey the roadside he added the last little bit in a muffled whisper, more into the glass of the window than his brother.
"You little perv."
"I heard that," Sam replied and straightened up in the seat. The low black iron fence had finally come into view on the left and the twin trees marking the entrance to the cemetery were at the peek of the slow rise in the road a few yards further ahead. Night had deepened. Even the horizon where the sun's rays had lingered playfully for so long had lost all traces of day. The cemetery grounds were unlit. The expansive rows of markers were bordered on three sides by woods, adding to the shadows, to the depth of the darkness there.
Dean slowed the car and made the left through the entrance, passing between the two old oaks standing guard on either side. The tires of the Impala left the pavement and impacted with the gravel road, sending out a sharp crunch that was loud enough to be heard over the engine and the low hum of the radio.
"We have to go lookin' for it," Dean commented and pulled the car over to the edge of the road.
"You mean you don't know whether it's three rows in and five over or maybe six rows up and two over?" Sam replied teasingly.
"No I don't. How about you psychic wonder, why can't you tell me where it is huh?"
Sam closed his eyes tightly and scrunched up his face, faking intense concentration. He held it for a few seconds while his brother watched on, a very amused grin growing on his face. Sam's eyes popped open and he turned to look over at Dean.
"Yeah I got nothin'," Sam announced with a smile.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. It'd be nice if these abilities of yours came with a few extras, a few fringe benefits for personal use."
"Even if they did we wouldn't be using them to get you dates."
"Did I say anything about using it to pick up chicks."
"Right? And I'm George Washington."
"C'mon George. I have some chalk or maybe a charcoal pencil in the trunk somewhere I think. We just need some paper," Dean responded. Cutting the engine and pulling the key from the ignition he exited the car. Dean headed for the back of the Impala and Sam twisted around in the seat in search of his backpack. Finding it on the floor behind Dean's seat he tugged the top of it open and removed his drawing tablet. After carefully tearing several sheets out of the pad he hopped out of the passenger side and joined his brother by the open trunk.
"I found the paper," Sam stated limply. Being in a cemetery had suddenly magnified tenfold his longing for that shower and hopefully at the very least a semi soft bed. Knee jerk reaction he supposed since most times they found themselves in a cemetery it involved a lot of shoveling.
Dean was head first and half falling into the trunk, reaching for a small duffle that was pushed towards the back and just out of his arm's length.
"Son of a bitch," Dean's voice muttered. It was followed by an irritated growl that expressed a hint of the other curse words that were floating inside his brain, but left unsaid.
The back of Dean's head was just visible and his upper body and the upper portion of his legs were stretched out over the closer part of the trunk. His knees were braced against the bumper. Sam's eyes drifted towards his brother's feet which he found were barely on the ground. He couldn't seem to recall ever seeing his brother on his tiptoes before, but he was now and apparently he wasn't too pleased with the situation. A streak of mischief raced through Sam's thoughts for an instant. It would be so easy just to grab Dean around the legs and flip him into the trunk. But Sam's weariness won out. The aftermath, the payback, for that moment of satisfaction wouldn't be something he could endure right at that moment. So instead of dumping his older brother into the trunk of the Impala Sam, barely leaning in, reached in past his brother and pulled the bag within reach.
"I knew there had to be something those freakishly long arms of yours would be good for," came Dean's muffled response. He then backed slowly out of the depths of the Impala's trunk, bringing the duffle bag along with him.
"Ha. Ha. I got the paper," Sam stated back. It came out limply and Dean glanced his way, investigating the weakness of the reaction to the dig he thrown his brother's way. Dean's eyes quickly scanned him up and down and satisfied that everything on the surface seemed okay he dug verbally.
"You okay, man?" Dean asked as he returned his gaze down into the open duffle bag they'd retrieved.
"Just tired is all," his brother replied. Dean nodded acceptingly and after a moment of rummaging around inside the bag he was rewarded with both a pencil and a large piece of chalk.
"Yeah I could use a few Zs myself. So let's get to work!" Dean announced. After scooping up their flashlights he slammed the trunk closed and took the lead off into the rows of gravestones. They searched silently for five solid minutes, working a few feet apart. Sam looking on the left half of the section they had arrived at and Dean the right. The heavily weighted sigh from Sam drew Dean's attention away from the stones and over to his left. His brother had stopped a row back and was just standing there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets and his gaze lost off in a distance.
"What's up, Sammy?" Dean called out quietly then slowly closed in some of the physical gap between them. He veered right into the next row just a handful of feet from Sam.
"Isn't this pathetic? I have visions and you're like a walking compass and we can't find one stinkin' stationary headstone that has a name in big letters etched into the front of it."
"it's here somewhere we just gotta keep looking. Don't get your boxers in a knot."
"I'm tired Dean. We didn't even stay the full night at that motel outside of New York yesterday."
"You got some rest in the car right? You didn't seem to have any…you didn't seem to even notice I stopped for gas and food, talked on the phone, and went through more toll booths than I can count."
"Yeah I got a couple hours, but I guess…"
"Guess what?"
"I need to stop moving for a couple days. Even when I'm not in the car I still feel like I am. You know like the momentum of it. I'm still moving."
"Well, as soon as we're done here we already have a place to crash."
"We do?"
"Sweet deal too. Some guy Dad helped out a while back told Dad as repayment we could use his lakefront cabin any time it was empty. Which apparently it is for most the year. We're holdin' up there."
"Serious?"
"One hundred percent. Place is ours so depending on how this job pans out maybe we can stay a couple extra days. I hear the lake attracts a lot of tourists this time of year. I'm sure there will be plenty of college girls on summer break looking for a little entertainment. And Sammy, my boy, I am a fantastic entertainer."
Sam chuckled at the swagger that made its appearance in Dean's walk just then. He looked up at Dean's face and found the dreamy expression he knew would be there.
"Only you could fantasize in a cemetery," Sam commented quietly.
"I'm multi tasking."
"Is that what you call it?" Sam threw back, openly amused. Dean just shot him a look that spoke a reminder to Sam that what was dished out could be thrown back at will. The younger brother chose not to push his luck, returning to visually wandering the dense rows of grave markers. Dean was the first to speak again.
"So this library you spent every waking moment at, any hot chicks there? No, wait, it's a mecca for nerds, I'll rephrase the question. Classy place?"
"Yeah, it was nice enough. I sorta had my own little corner in the archives in the law school library I could pitch camp in. Not a lot of people down there. Lost track of the time most visits. Jess always knew where to find me though and dragged me home eventually or if I had more studying to do she'd make sure I was fed. Bring me food she'd smuggle in her backpack."
"Sounds nice," Dean responded without looking away from scanning the names on each stone they passed. There was a sincerity in his voice that Sam hadn't been expecting. He'd been prepared for a wisecrack and when one hadn't arrived it left a quiet moment between them.
"Hey Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"You ever think of going?"
"To Stanford. Not really my kind of gig, Sammy. Besides I don't think they let people on record as being deceased go to college."
"Not Stanford specifically. I meant college in general."
"Never really thought about it much I guess."
"You're lying," Sam stated with some bite to it. He took the extra long stride that put him in front of Dean, blocking his path forward.
"What?" Dean asked, faking confusion, and stopping abruptly so not to plow into his brother.
"You heard me. I said you're lying."
"I'm not lying Sam. What is your problem?"
"My problem is that maybe I want to know. I try to talk to you and you blow me off ever time. Just like you are now."
"I'm not blowing you off Sam. I don't know if you noticed but we're in a cemetery in the middle of the night looking for some dead guy's name of a slab of stone. Not exactly Oprah time."
"Dean, you could find a headstone in your sleep. Hell, you could find a dozen. We're not exactly overwhelmed with the task at hand here. Why won't you ever just answer my questions?"
"For one reason, you ask a lot of damn questions. And, second, why do you want to know, Sam? What does it matter if I ever thought about going to college? What does discussing this do, Sam? Huh? What purpose does it serve?"
"Because I want to know."
"Why? Why is it so damn important to you?"
"Because I missed so much."
"What are you talking about? Missed what?"
"I've realized something over the last year we've been ridin' together. I've realized I can predict your next move and the one after that or guess the words that will come out of your mouth five sentences from now and I thought I knew you better than I knew myself. But over the last year there have been moments when I realized there's whole sections of your life that I'm not clued into. And, sometimes, it makes me feel like I was wrong, that the one thing I knew so well, knew better than myself, has more dimensions to it that I don't know anything about."
"I could say the same about you."
"It scares me, Dean! You were always the one constant, the one thing I was crystal clear on, and over the last year it's been laid out before me that there were aspects I wasn't seeing…like it was an illusion that what I saw was all there was. All I saw was what I wanted to see. It kind of ripped that sense of security away from me. There was no longer anything I was crystal clear on. And I felt like I'd lost something, something important, and I wanted it back."
Sam let his gaze drift from Dean to the earth under his feet as the last few words slipped out from between his lips. He hadn't intended to spill it out all at once like that and if he was truthful with himself he hadn't even put it all together in one piece like that in his own thoughts. Out of the blue the words had found their own way to one another and attached themselves to his voice. But now that he heard himself say it, reality sunk in. It was the truth. Dean was his one constant that was true and grounding and clear. Everything else was tainted in one way or another.
Sam's heartbeats counted out the tortuous seconds' long silence when he was done confessing to his brother. He managed finally to lift his gaze from the grass and soil in front of his feet. He was surprised to find Dean looking straight at him. Sam had anticipated for some reason that he would be looking away, focusing on some nonexistent emotion free place off in the distance he longed to be in. His brother's features were sculpted into an expression so unique, so solely Dean, Sam searched for but couldn't find the name of the emotion they were made of. Dean seemed stunned, frozen in his intent gaze at his younger brother. And oddly, amongst the deep well of emotions churned together on Dean's features, there was one thing that struck Sam most intensely. Even in the shadows shrouding Dean's face, Sam saw those green eyes full of love, and awe, and respect.
"You're an incredible person, Sammy. You see the world in a way that few do. But most of all you have the courage to put it out there without being afraid of saying it and it being heard. And I…respect that. And I'm sorry if you feel like I blow you off, but you've gotta understand….Sam, there are places I just don't wan…can't go. And I'm asking you as my brother to please don't make me, okay?"
Dean's voice was verging on trembling as he drew his response to a close and Sam knew, truly understood as fact, that at that moment it would be cruel to push his brother any harder. It was territory that Dean couldn't cross with someone else yet. He needed to journey it on his own first, to scout it out, and then maybe someday guide someone else through. Sam seriously doubted if his brother would ever allow himself that release, that companionship through a place so scarred and possibly beyond repair.
So he simply nodded and stepped aside, allowing his brother passage beside him on the left. And Dean seized the chance he was given and quickly moved along, continuing to search through the darkness for their destination.
Sam trailed behind him, slightly fearful of suffocating his brother if he made his presence too close, too overwhelming. Dean had an innate sense of direction and Sam took advantage of that, letting himself glance around the cemetery and its surroundings instead of reading names etched in stone. The grounds went on row after row until they seemed to melt into the cover of the trees in every direction except off to the northeast. Set back amongst overgrown grass sat two buildings, a house and a two story barn. They were dark and rundown and sad looking. Houses like that always trickled a little sadness through Sam's heart. Somewhere in the past the building had been someone's home, had held the things dear to them, had provided shelter from the darkness.
"Lucas, my man, why have you been so shy? We've been looking for you everywhere," Dean's voice chimed out. The words drew Sam's eyes from the dilapidated buildings over to his right. Dean was ten feet and one headstone away, crouched in front of a small stone. Sam forced his body to pick up the pace a little and within a few seconds he was standing at Dean's left side.
"Maybe he was hiding from you because you said you wanted to rub his stone," Sam snorted out. Exhausted or not there was always energy for those rare moments that his older brother left the door so wide open for verbal attack.
"Just give me the paper," Dean griped and glared up at Sam looming over him. Sam smiled down at him, victory painted on his face, for a beat before sensing if he let it go any longer he would regret it. He surrendered the paper and in turn Dean handed over his own flashlight to his brother. Now a flashlight in both hands Sam provided the light while Dean completed several rubbings of Lucas Weller's epitaph. Dean finally stood up and for a moment both he and Sam looked down at the stone and the words there. "Lucas Mathew Weller, October 24 1902-November 22 1934, A soul this world should have been blessed with longer. You washed away the darkness. And fought the good fight."
"Well, somebody thought highly of Lucas here," Dean commented.
"Looks like. Awful lot of words for an epitaph. Fills up most of the stone too."
"Yeah it is a bit wordy. But it doesn't look like it was done by a professional."
"I wonder why Dad wanted a copy of his marker?"
"Not a clue. I'm sure he'll tell us if wants to."
"Yeah and only if he wants to."
"Don't start Sam."
"Fine!" Sam grumbled out and stalked away from the grave. Dean watched him go for a breath then looked back over to the words etched into the stone. Just for the briefest of flashes Dean envied Lucas Mathew Weller. The words scribed so deeply into that stone echoed so loudly that the man had made an impact in his short life. Dean hoped that when he went someday that he too would leave a dent in the darkness. He had no desire for words to be written out in stone, simply that it be the truth of his life.
"Hey Dean!" Sam's urgent voice tore his attention from the stone and back to his brother. Sam was back out on the path that divided the cemetery into two halves. Dean quickly made his way to his right side and followed the line of his younger brother's sight. Set back past the northeast corner of the graveyard sat a pair of old buildings, one a house and the other a barn. The windows of the house were illuminated with a very faint orange glow. Outside a form, a human looking form, stood on the porch lit by the glow from the house. The distance was too great to see any detail of the features of the form, but when it vanished and reappeared two times over any possibility that it was still amongst the living were eliminated.
"We should go check it out," Sam whispered without taking his eyes off the house. Before Dean even could exhale to respond Sam had started off down the path.
"Stop!" Dean called authoritatively after him.
"What?" Sam asked, pivoting around so he was now facing his brother, but very slowly moving backwards.
"We need weapons just in case. Stay put. I'll be right back," Dean threw back, but didn't move until Sam conceded.
"Fine," he stated with slight irritation and stopped. Dean headed back down the path to the Impala, twice glancing over his shoulder to check that his brother was still planted in the same spot. Both times he was and Dean moved quickly unlocking the trunk and retrieving the shotgun. Within a few brief minutes he was on his way back through the cemetery. Thankfully his eyes had adjusted to the darkness seeing as he was without a flashlight. Sam still had them both in his possession. He made fairly good time considering and as he approached the spot where he had left his brother he found it abandoned.
"Damn it Sam!" he spat out under his breath and increased his pace into a faint jog. Dean's eyes fixed on the old house as soon it came into view. The orange glow still illuminated the windows but even with the very faint moonlight trickling through developing clouds there was no trace of his brother. Dean's jogging strides broke freely into a run, covering the distance from the middle of the cemetery to the overgrown yard of the house in only a handful of heartbeats. Part of Dean wanted intensely to call out to his brother, to connect with him verbally, but there was a wild electricity in the air closer to the house that instinctively made him suppress the urge. Sticking to the heavier shadows on the outskirts of the yard Dean hurriedly headed for the porch. No trace of Sam anywhere outside, Dean raised the gun and climbed the steps noiselessly. The front door stood a quarter of the way open and he only needed to nudge it with his right elbow to open it enough to slip in.
Darkness submerged him again. Dean's eyes had adjusted to the faintly moonlight night outside but the interior of the house was much darker. The orange glow that had filled every window had vanished once he reached the entryway. Weapon still raised he lingered just inside the doorway for a few breaths until his acuity sharpened, assisted by a shred of moonlight filtering through the dust covered windows.
A sharp creak of the floor boards deeper back in the house triggered Dean into a faster pace of motion. Several more extended creaking sounds resonated through the air and then the echo a few rapid footsteps. Having skimmed the wall of the entryway Dean progressed closer to the source of the noise. Finally through the he caught sight of the beam of a flashlight panning around and bouncing off the walls of a room at the end of the hall. At this Dean allowed himself a deeper breath. It was probably Sam, who was about to receive an earful from his big brother and the meaning of the phrase following instructions.
The sensation of his body relaxing down from its tensed state vanished instantly when a loud injured grunt emanated from the room Dean was now only a few feet away from. It was a very human sound. The sound of the human body releases upon receiving a harsh blow. It was immediately followed by a crashing sound. Now acutely on guard Dean burst through the doorway into the room where the noises he originated from. Shotgun raised and ready he panned his gaze frantically around the room, expecting to see something evil that needed to meet with a whole lot of rock salt. The room was seemingly empty, but there was one place left uninvestigated, an open doorway off the room he stood in, which appeared to have been kitchen at one time. Beyond the doorframe was pitch blackness.
The fear was rising up in Dean's heart. The longer he went without locating his brother the better the odds something could happen to him With that thought flooding into his mind Dean headed for the doorway, taking the long way around so he would come at it from the side and not face on. The chances of being undetected at this point were slim, but it might give him a fighting chance. Arriving with his back against the wall just to the right of the doorframe Dean stopped, held his breath, and listened intently. Nothing. He inhaled and exhaled once, renewing his oxygen supply and then repeated the process. Still nothing. Then on the silent count of three he sprang out, weapon raised up at chest height, out in front of the open doorway. Emptiness met him, just that endless pitch blackness. Dean let his right hand take the sole position holding the weapon as his left fished around into his pocket for his lighter. He longed for his flashlight, the flame from the lighter would not provide him much warning for whatever he came upon. But Sam was here somewhere and it would have to do.
Shotgun in one hand, the lighter in the other he crossed over the threshold of the doorway and found himself on a landing at the top of a staircase. The glow from lighter only reached a few steps down and created the illusion that the stairway melted into a void. His heart pounding inside his ears and his breath locked up inside his chest he made his way slowly downward.
Three steps from the bottom he saw it. The motionless body of his brother lying face down on a dirt floor. An ache shot through Dean's heart and his voice broke the still.
"Sam! Sammy!" he cried out as his body nearly flew down the remaining steps. A pained grunt came from Sam just as Dean reached him and dropped to his knees at his side.
"Sam, you alright? Sam answer me!" Dean demanded rather harshly.
"I…I think I fell down the stairs," Sam mumbled out.
"Yeah that would be my guess. Anything broken?" Dean asked. With his lighter still in his left hand he glanced for an instant around the room they were in, a dirt floored cellar. No windows and only the one exit. But nothing harmful visible anywhere. Laying down the gun near his right leg Dean used his one free hand to help his brother sit up.
"Nothing's broken. But I'll be some intense shades of black and blue tomorrow."
"Well, I'd rather have you black and blue and still breathin' then your normal shade and not breathin'."
"Me too."
"What happened?" Dean asked, but the chance of any answer coming was stolen away. An intense screeching cut through the air of the room and Sam and Dean jerked their gazes in its direction. There was no time for effective reaction, not even time for Dean to scoop up the shotgun not a foot from his fingers. The tall thin ebony form was right there, mere inches from them, diving at them. Just before it appeared the evil entity would impact with their bodies it shot straight upward and at that instant Dean felt an invisible blow plow into his abdomen and chest. It was so dead on and brutally hard the breath departed his body and he was thrown backward. His body met roughly with the front of a large wooden chest. His back crashed bitterly with the solidness of it and his neck snapped back, slamming the back of his head into the wood.
Sam witnessed the attack and in his dazed state it seemed to take minutes to transpire, even though somewhere a corner of his brain registered it had all happened in a second. Until the instant Dean's head smacked harshly into the wooden chest and his body went limp Sam had been trapped, tied up in his body's own sluggishness from the fall he taken.
The image that met his eyes next washed every shred of its residue from his body though. Where his brother had been seeming to fall in slow there was now real time. His brother's body went limp and his intense grip on the lighter released. The Zippo dropped straight down, landing on the fabric of the button down shirt Dean wore over his t-shirt.
And in the next breath Sam's brother was on fire.
To Be Continued….