Disclaimer: I am not fortunate enough to own the rights to any part of this world. Anything you recognize is not mine. I'm just a mad scientist experimenting in her literary lab!
Title: Legacy: The Hound of Hell
Summary: Dean & Sam Winchester have lived their lives surrounded by the dark forces of the world, pushed and pulled and forced to bend in their mission to rid the world of evil and save innocent lives. Learning that they are the heirs to an extinct organization dedicated to chronicling the supernatural world was just another day at the office. In reviving the Men of Letters, however, they find they are not as alone as originally thought. Joined by Erica, a fellow legacy seeking her own answers within the walls of the bunker, the brothers dive headfirst into a world of nigh-impossible trials and ancient magic when given the chance to close the gates of Hell and forever remove demons from the face of the Earth. But as they learn that Erica's ties to their quest run deeper than they could possibly imagine, Sam & Dean must consider the long-reaching consequences of this endeavor and whether they are willing to pay the cost. Perhaps, in the end, a legacy of blood and death is all that awaits the Winchesters.
Timeline: AU Season 8 beginning post-8x13 "Everybody Hate Hitler"
Warnings: Show-level depictions of Violence, Gore, Torture, Trauma, Language, and Adult Content
A/N: Hello, everyone! Welcome to my newest project! This is actually a revisited old project, but the story has changed so much since then that it certainly feels new. I've loved Supernatural for years and was inspired to come back and rework this story after the announcement that the show would be ending with season fifteen. What a crazy and amazing ride it has been!
Anyway, I hope you all will enjoy my contribution to the fandom! I'm hoping to be able to update this story monthly for the time being, but will warn you in advance that those plans could be completely derailed depending on how things evolve with my school and work loads.
If you are interested, you can also follow my Tumblr page at username star-linedsoul to see updates and insight into the story, though I warn you that there is the certainty of spoilers should you choose to do so.
I also extend my deepest gratitude to InfinitySpring and The Tinglenator for their amazing work as betas to make this story the best it could be!
Enjoy and please drop a review and let me know what you think! :)
Lauren
Legacy
Part I: The Hound of Hell
Chapter One: Intruder Alert
"There it is, Sammy…home sweet home."
A shiny, black Impala slowed to a stop in front of a towering building of stone and brick. No normal person would think to call an aging, Depression-era power plant home. No normal person knew the importance of the rundown building settled on the banks of White Rock Creek, north of the small town of Lebanon, KS. But the Winchesters were not normal people—though practice had made them capable pretenders.
From his place in the passenger seat, Sam Winchester noticed the small grin crinkling the corners of his brother's eyes. "Is that what we're calling this place now? Home?"
"I dunno, man," Dean returned with a shrug, ducking his head as if self-conscious of his word choice. He killed the car's rumbling engine. "It's just nice to have something that's ours, you know? Beats some janky hotel room every night."
Sam wished they had elected to stay in a hotel room rather than drive straight from Pennsylvania back to the disguised supernatural treasure trove that now served as their base of operations. He was getting too old to spend twenty-plus hours on the road. Especially after getting knocked around by secret Nazi necromancers. He wouldn't tell his brother that, though. It was rare for Dean to be enthusiastic about anything anymore. So, when he had suggested—with poorly-disguised excitement—that they drive on instead of stopping, Sam had agreed. If his brother wanted to think of this place as home, he wouldn't stop him. With his spine cracking as he climbed out of the car, he bent and twisted every which way, loosening the tension his body had collected over the course of the drive. He wouldn't mind when the "new home" sentiment wore off enough for Dean to allow layovers, though.
"Having a central base could definitely be a good thing." The pair circled the vehicle to grab their bags from the trunk. Lifting his face to the late afternoon sun, Sam stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, warding off the February chill while Dean fumbled with the keys. "It might make it easier to respond to cases, for one. Did you know we're only a couple miles off the geographic center of the country? The contiguous part, anyway. Equal distance from the east coast and the west."
"Yeah, because the geography is the selling point of the place." Dean chuckled, slinging his well-worn duffel bag over one shoulder and slamming the trunk shut once Sam had claimed his own bag. As they approached the small flight of concrete steps leading to the bunker's heavy iron door, he continued, "I just think it's awesome having our own place! We haven't had anything permanent like this since…well, ever. It's—"
"Awesome," Sam finished with a grin. "So you said. Are you gonna unlock the door or leave us standing out here in the cold all day? Because I'd really like to get some rest."
"Alright, alright," Dean pulled a gold box from his jacket pocket, dismantling it with already-practiced movements to reveal the bunker key. "We wouldn't want the princess to miss any beauty sleep, now would we?"
Sam rolled his eyes, pressing forward as Dean pulled the door open and waved him in with an exaggerated flourish. He descended the narrow metal stairs inside to reach the bunker's second door and waited for his brother to finish locking the first behind them, before snatching the key out of the air as Dean tossed it down. Pushing this door open, he handed the key back to his brother and stepped over the threshold onto the bunker's main landing, only to pull up short.
His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the brightly lit control room and the library visible beyond. "Did we kill the power when we left?"
"Pretty sure, yeah," Dean confirmed from behind his left shoulder. "Why? Oh."
Wasting no time, the eldest Winchester stepped around Sam, dropping his duffel bag on the landing and drawing his pistol from inside his jacket. Slow, deliberate steps carried him down the metal stairs in silence as sharp eyes skimmed familiar surroundings. Matching Sam's low, cautious tone, he asked, "No one can get in here without a key, right?"
Sam nodded as he drew his own weapon, then remembered that Dean couldn't see him as he followed his brother downstairs. He thought back to his disastrous visit with a former member of the Men of Letters and the valuable information he had imparted a few weeks before. "That's what Larry said. This place is supposed to be warded; nothing gets in unless we let it."
"And we're the only ones with a key."
It wasn't a question as Dean switched off his pistol's safety, head on a swivel as he paced through the control room, searching for anything out of place. Sam mirrored his brother as they entered the library. Each took a side of the room and paced between the shelves, checking each nook for intruders or clues.
As Sam approached the middle reading nook on the right side of the library, he found his first confirmation of an intruder in their new base; stacks of books and papers littered a small study table, which Sam knew neither of the brothers had used yet. Dean hadn't been much interested in the library archives at all, preferring to explore the bunker's many other features while Sam had been doing his own reading on the larger center tables where he could spread multiple books for easy reference. Even if he had used the more private area provided by the reading bays, he had spent all his time researching the Men of Letters and their various allies around the world. As he skimmed the gathered titles and a few passages that had been bookmarked—a pencil in one, a receipt for ten bucks worth of fuel in another, a shamefully dog-eared page in the last—he noticed they all pertained to demons and summoning rituals.
"Someone's been here."
"You sure? I thought maybe this was yours," Dean called. Sam found him standing at the center table, a black leather jacket hooked on one finger that was obviously too small for either of the brothers to claim.
"You're hilarious," Sam said dryly, abandoning the study area to join his brother.
"I know." Dean broke into a self-satisfied grin before draping the jacket over the back of one of the chairs. Returning to business, his lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced around the library. A series of hand gestures directed Sam to search the right wing while Dean took the left.
Tightening his grip on his pistol, Sam nodded his agreement, slipping past his brother back toward the main entrance.
"Sammy?" The low note of warning called his attention to where his brother still lingered at the head of the library's center table. "If they can slip past the wards, there's no telling who or what they are."
Though it was unnecessary, Sam understood the unspoken message there. Be careful. He nodded once again before padding back through the control room and angling right into the maze of hallways and storerooms beyond. Pressing his back against the wall and sliding forward on silent feet, he kept his gun at a ready level, angled toward the ceiling. He may not have known what he was hunting, but he would be ready for them, regardless. He considered who or what could have gotten into the bunker in the first place. It'd been confirmed that the Men of Letters had gone extinct, along with most of their allies. No one should have known the place existed, much less been able to penetrate the warding! The implications made his skin crawl.
Dean checked the infirmary and lab first, finding them untouched. He then followed his nose to the kitchen. There was no one inside, though he found more clues that narrowed down his mental list of who or what had invaded his new home: dishes were neatly arranged on the drying rack mounted above the sink—but he knew he had put everything away before he and Sam left, since he couldn't be sure how long they would be gone. A saucepan full of still-hot soapy water sat alone in the sink.
Shifting his attention elsewhere, Dean eyed the kitchen's stainless-steel island and the ingredients neatly organized there: freshly sliced okra, packages of shrimp and crabmeat, and a variety of seasonings and sauces from bay leaves to Tabasco. Whatever was in their bunker needed to eat. He crossed demons and angels both off his mental list with some relief. If it needed to eat, it was mortal—which meant he could kill it. Crossing to the stove top where a pot simmered over low heat, he lifted the lid and inhaled deeply. Dean's stomach growled as the authentic mix of spices and sauce teased his senses in all the right ways. Maybe he would make whoever it was finish cooking the gumbo first.
With his search not finished, Dean reluctantly stepped away from the stove and its tantalizing contents. "I'll be back for you."
It felt wrong stalking the halls of his own home as he moved from the kitchen and into the labyrinthine corridors of the dormitory wing, but the eldest Winchester was thorough. It was a relief each time he searched a room, one by one, and found nothing disturbed.
Approaching the last unchecked room in this wing, his pulse quickened. Not my room, he prayed inwardly. Not when I just got my own space. Every muscle in his body was coiled to spring as he reached for the door handle and gave it a quick turn. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, his gun at eye level while pivoting into the room. He swept every corner with a wary eye. A breath of relief whooshed from his lungs when he found it as empty as the rest. Suddenly exhausted, he sank down on the edge of his bed. Massaging his fingers into his temples, the hunter took a moment to refocus and decide what his next logical step should be before retrieving the cell from his jacket pocket.
Food in the kitchen but nothing in the dorms. Heading to the garage level.
Dean waited for a text from Sam acknowledging his report before climbing back to his feet. He shook his head at how ridiculous it was to be playing hide and go seek in his own home—without knowing who he was looking for—and proceeded to securely latch the door on his way out of the bedroom. No one was violating his space more than they already had. Not if he had anything to say about it.
The hunter crossed the corridors on silent feet, every sense tuned to pick up the slightest sign of the bunker's mystery guests. He knew he had finally struck gold as he entered the hall leading to the garage. Amid the funky rhythm and melodic vocals of what his ears immediately recognized as the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the metallic clang of tools clattering together sang through the air. He knew that sound well. Pressing his back against the wall flanking the stairs into the garage, he texted Sam to let him know he had found something.
Dean ascended the first few stairs, stopping when he was high enough to see over the concrete walls of the motorcycle bays flanking the stairwell. Scanning the open garage, he found all of the cars and bikes still in their places, with the sounds coming from the corner workspace at the rear. He ducked back down out of sight as he caught movement between the shelves separating the work area from the rest of the garage. Bingo.
Smart enough to know better than to engage an unknown party without backup, the hunter waited not-so-patiently until his phone vibrated with Sam's confirmation that he was on his way. Only then did Dean climb the stairs and enter the garage. Prepared to duck out of sight should someone else appear, he stayed close to the vehicle bays, his gun low but ready as quick strides carried him toward the corner where a single figure was silhouetted behind the shelves.
Several choice curses punctuating Anthony Kiedis' melancholic crooning through "Californication" had Dean categorizing this particular intruder as female, and he absently wondered if this was the owner of the jacket he and Sam had found in the library. He was given time to survey the scene, going unnoticed by the target thanks to the loud music masking his footfalls while he approached the gap opening the workspace to the rest of the garage. The woman stood at the near end of a worktable on which rested a black and chrome motorcycle. Her back was to the hunter as she leaned one shoulder against the bike's rear tire to hold it in place and struggled to install its axle with her free hand.
"Come on, girl," she growled between the dull thuds of a rubber mallet knocking the axle into place. "Stop being such a bitch!"
As if the bike heard her, the shaft found its seat. Dropping the rubber mallet to the table, the woman rested one hand on the reinstalled tire, running her other hand through choppy black hair as she muttered, "Finally!"
Deciding to press his advantage while the woman was still unaware that she was no longer alone, Dean reached over and shut off the small stereo on the shelf next to him. The hunter raised his pistol to the ready position as the music abruptly cut to silence. "Nice bike."
With a loud gasp, the woman whirled around, swiping the mallet from the table once again and adopting a defensive stance in a single, fluid motion. Spotting the gun leveled at her chest, however, all color drained from her face. Narrowed eyes widened in surprise and a crinkle formed along her brows, her knuckles white from gripping the mallet in her hand.
"Who are you?"
"Funny. I was planning on asking you the same thing." Dean gestured to the woman's hands with the barrel of his gun. "Drop that mallet and kick it under the table. Keep your hands where I can see them."
The hunter thought the woman was going to try something stupid. Like a cornered animal seconds away from bolting, her entire body was drawn and tense. Dean wondered if she might try to charge him since he had left her nowhere to run. Though he had her unquestionably outmatched in size, fear made people do crazy things. It was lucky that she proved to be a bit more sensible. Her muscles remained taut with tension and her eyes were glued to him. However, she crouched and placed the mallet on the floor, then raised her hands in a gesture of surrender as she rose, kicking the mallet away.
Though it was the result he had wanted, something didn't sit right with Dean. He couldn't quite explain what it was. Maybe it was that this was too easy. Maybe it was that the intruder seemed to be trying too hard to appear normal. This woman before him had somehow managed to infiltrate their bunker—which was supposed to be secret and hidden—and yet she was tinkering in the garage instead of robbing the place of its virtually priceless collection. Nothing about her appearance suggested she was anything other than average. Surely no older than thirty, she wore a plain black T-shirt, faded form-fitting jeans, and scuffed biker boots, with no logos or embellishments visible that might be traced back to a store. No charms or amulets decorated her wrists or hung around her neck, nor were any weapons visible that might suggest she was a hunter. And yet there was something unsettling about her. About how quickly she had picked up the mallet and prepared to defend herself only to disarm just as fast. About how she looked as submissive as possible, wide-eyed and with her hands in the air, and yet her entire body was tense as if ready for a fight.
Remaining on alert, Dean stepped closer to the woman only for her to back away until she hit the far wall. "What do you want?"
The hunter was sure it was meant to be a demand, but her voice was too shaky for it to have the desired effect. "Hey, you're the one in my home without permission, sweetheart. I'll handle the questions." Before she could protest further, Dean closed the distance between them, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her to turn around. "Hands on the wall. Keep 'em where I can see 'em."
Though she complied easily enough, the hunter kept his pistol ready in one hand in case she got any funny ideas. Starting at her torso, he skimmed his free hand over the woman's lean frame. He brushed down one denim-clad leg, confiscating the switchblade tucked into her boot. On the way up the other leg, he swiped the leather wallet from her back pocket.
"Hey!" she protested, whirling back around and reaching for the wallet. "Give that back!"
Dean dodged easily. "Don't worry. You'll get it back so long as you don't do anything stupid." He could tell she didn't like his answer as her hands tightened into fists. Green eyes fixed him with a scorching glare, which he elected to ignore as he flipped open the wallet to check for ID. "Got any friends with you?"
"It's just me." Dean glanced up at the woman's wooden tone, but he found she wasn't looking at him, fixed on a spot behind his left shoulder. Then, faintly, "Oh…there's two of you."
Following her stare, Dean found his brother surveying the scene, eyes alert and pistol lowered toward the floor. About damn time. "Hiya, Sammy. So glad you could join us."
The younger Winchester answered with a curt nod, glancing between his brother and the woman he'd cornered. "What's going on?"
"I'm just getting acquainted with our new friend here." Dean made a show of holding up the ID he had pulled from their guest's wallet, keeping his tone casual. "Meet Erica Jackson from Seminole, Oklahoma. She's a…let's see, carry the one, thirteen minus seven…twenty-six year old Gemini and"—he raised an eyebrow, looking at the woman's choppy black locks—"a blonde?"
She shifted her weight to one leg, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry, is dying hair a crime these days?"
Dean definitely didn't like her snippy tone. "No, but breaking and entering is. So give me one good reason why you're in my garage and I'll think about letting you walk outta here."
"I-I didn't know anyone lived here." Erica had the decency to at least pretend to be remorseful, tucking her hair behind one ear and scuffing one toe against the concrete as she glanced between the brothers. "The place was empty when I found it."
"And you just decided to move in?" Sam inferred, still uncertain as he hovered near the worktable.
"No, of course not!" Erica returned. But she faltered, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. "Well, kind of, I guess…" She huffed. "It's a long story."
"Well, we're all ears."
Sam countered his brother's gruff tone with the gentler and more quiet suggestion, "Why don't you start by telling us how you got in here?"
"I used the door. How else?" Erica arched a single brow with a face that said Sam had asked the most idiotic question possible. As the brothers donned matching skeptical looks, she put her hands on her hips. "Wait, you're serious? What, you think I slipped down the chimney like Santa Claus?"
"Don't get smart with us," Dean warned before gesturing between himself and his brother with the hand still holding the woman's wallet. "We know for a fact you need a key to get in here, and we're the only people that have one."
"A key like this?"
Erica moved to sidestep the elder Winchester, but both brothers lifted their guns once again with matching speed, Dean pivoting to keep the woman point-blank in his sights. Raising her hands in submission, Erica pressed herself against the wall once again, glancing between the two pistols and the duo wielding them. "Whoa! Alright, take it easy. Check in my bike's left saddlebag. Front pocket."
Dean glanced at his brother and nodded. While Sam cautiously closed the gap between himself and their unwelcome guest's motorcycle, lowering his weapon but keeping it at the ready, the elder Winchester guarded their intruder. He noticed with no small amount of suspicion that, while wary eyes focused on the gun barrel still leveled at her chest, Erica lacked true fear. A cautious expression complimented his own stony glare, but her stance was solid and unyielding despite the surrender suggested by her raised hands.
Dean waited to hear the metallic zip that would indicate Sam's opening the pocket Erica had indicated. He had not anticipated, however, the dread-inducing sound of Sam's breath catching in his throat. His mind immediately leapt through an array of worst-case scenarios from hex bags to cursed objects.
"What is it, Sammy?" Dean asked, not liking the silence that followed but reluctant to divert his attention from their intruder. If he didn't hurry up and answer—
"It-it's a key. Our key," Sam finally breathed.
"What?" It was enough for him to turn his head to see his brother standing beside the motorcycle, his brows deeply furrowed as he studied the familiar gold box clutched in one hand. "Are you sure?"
Sam held it up so his brother could see for himself. Scuffed and worn, it appeared older than the one Dean could still feel in his pocket. More concerning, it was unmistakably identical down to the six-pointed star engraved into the surface. Slow and meticulous, Sam dismantled the box to reveal it, too, housed an iron key engraved with the Aquarian star. As his brother looked at their guest with a newly burning curiosity, Dean recognized the expression of a man with a thousand questions jostling for position as to which should be asked first.
Sam's voice was almost reverent as he asked, "Where did you get this?"
"It was my dad's. He left it for me before…" Erica trailed off, seeming uncomfortable. There was no way to be sure whether it was Sam's penetrating scrutiny or the fact Dean still had her lined up like a target that made her so uneasy. Either way, she cocked her weight to one hip and huffed in exasperation. "Look, keep the key if you want. Just let me go. I'll leave and I won't bother you again. I swear I didn't know anyone lived here or else I wouldn't have stayed."
"Alright, take it easy," Sam said. Releasing the hammer on the pistol hanging slack at his side, he made a show of holding it up so Erica could see it had been disarmed, returning it to his inside jacket pocket before raising his hands in a placating gesture. "No one is going to hurt you."
Erica looked pointedly at Dean and the pistol still levelled at her chest. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."
"Dean, maybe put that away?" Sam suggested with a sigh, looking to his brother. "She is cooperating. And she obviously didn't break in."
The eldest Winchester tensed, still certain he should not be letting his guard down, key or no key. He knew, however, that Sam wouldn't accept it without him being able to explain why. Seeing no other options, he reluctantly engaged his pistol's safety and lowered it in time with Erica dropping her hands. He wasn't going to be relaxing yet, however, and he noticed Erica wasn't either. Her body language still suggested she was on high alert, and sharp eyes glanced down at the gun to clearly notice he hadn't put the weapon away.
"So, your dad," Sam began, calling Erica's attention. "Was he one of the Men of Letters?"
"The what?"
"The Men of Letters," Dean echoed. "That's what this place is…it was their base of operations." He waved an arm to emphasize the room around them, but it clearly had no effect as Erica simply offered him a blank stare. "None of this ringing any bells?"
"Nope." She popped her 'p' and shook her head. "My dad left when I was a kid. He never mentioned this place."
"How did you find it, then?" Sam asked.
"I was cleaning out my mom's basement and found a box of my dad's things. There was a package with my name on it"—Erica gestured at the box Sam still cradled in his hands- "and inside was that key and a letter with coordinates leading me here." She crossed her arms over her chest protectively, her face going oddly blank. "I'd hoped maybe I would find him here—or at least a clue about what happened to him.
"But I see now that was a mistake," she added, refusing to meet either of the brothers' eyes as she ruffled her already messy hair with one hand. "I'll put my bike back together and get outta your way."
"Yeah, sounds like a great idea," Dean agreed as he handed Erica's wallet back to her, equally as eager for her to leave as she seemed to be. Anything to ease the anxious feeling coiled in his gut. He noticed she still held out one hand, despite having already returned her wallet to her back pocket. "What?"
"My knife," she noted plainly, quirking one eyebrow.
"Oh, I don't think so, honey." Dean patted the pocket of his jeans where he had tucked the black-handled switchblade he'd confiscated. "I'll be holding onto that until you're ready to leave. A man can never be too careful."
Erica looked like she wanted to protest but thought better of it, puffing her cheeks out in a huff. "Fine. But don't think you're keeping it."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Dean returned as Erica checked him in the shoulder, sweeping past him and back to the worktable and her partially dismantled bike. He decided to let it slide. Anything to get her out of his bunker faster. "Need any help with this?"
"No, thanks," Erica declined a little too quickly. "I manage just fine on my own."
"Suit yourself." Dean shrugged. As long as it meant she'd be gone soon. Besides, there was a service staircase at one corner of the garage that would offer a vantage point to keep an eye on the stranger. And she'd never even need to know he was there so long as she was being honest about fixing her bike and leaving. "C'mon, Sammy. Let's leave her to it."
"Hold on a minute, Dean." Sam set the box he'd pulled from Erica's bag on the table near her elbow. "Your dad must have been connected to this place somehow if he had this."
Erica didn't look up from where she was already running a new chain through her bike sprockets, so she didn't see the puppy eyes Sam was warming up. This isn't going to be good, Dean thought, already dreading whatever his brother was about to say.
"So?" Erica's tone was dismissive, which gave Dean hope. Maybe Sam would be discouraged enough to give up on whatever he was scheming. "I already told you, I don't know anything about your little book club."
"Then why were you researching demons in the library?" Sam inquired.
"Who says I was?"
"Well, I know neither me nor Dean pulled out that stack of books I found, so unless you wanna mend your claim that you're the only other one here…" Letting the implication hang in the air, Sam leaned back against the table and tucked his hands in his pockets in a clear sign he wasn't going anywhere. "Look, I'm just saying maybe we can help you find whatever it is you're looking for."
"I don't remember asking for anyone's help."
Give it up, Sam. Erica clearly wasn't biting, not even bothering to look up at the man still hovering at her shoulder as she worked on securing the new chain to her bike. And Dean was fine with that. Perfectly fine. Ecstatic, actually. Especially since Sam was deliberately ignoring his glare that clearly told him to cease and desist running that oversized mouth.
"Fine. It's your choice." Sam shrugged. "But I've been going through the Men of Letters' files. They kept detailed records on everyone involved in their organization at every level. If they worked with your father—which, obviously, they did in one way or another—it's documented here."
"Why?"
Finished with installing her bike's new chain, Erica finally turned to face Sam directly. Though still guarded from the arms crossed over her chest to the legs crossed at the ankles as she leaned her hip against the worktable, the question meant that she was listening rather than simply reacting. Dean knew his brother well enough to know the shift would keep whatever Sam was scheming afloat. He cursed under his breath.
"Why what?"
"You and your brother were perfectly fine putting me at gunpoint two minutes ago," Erica reminded Sam. "Why offer to help me now?"
Because he's an idiot, Dean thought. It probably helped that she was also easy on the eyes—in the keys-cars-and-slashes-tires-after-a-break-up kind of way. Sam's track record with women had always been questionable at best.
"Two minutes ago, we thought we were the only people in the world who could possibly know about this place," Sam returned, his tone apologetic. "Dean and I are new to this Men of Letters thing ourselves. We understood the whole organization to be extinct."
Try completely annihilated. An involuntary shudder coursed down Dean's spine as he recalled the savagery with which the demon Abaddon had executed the last two Men of Letters. Larry Ganem, who had already been blinded by the demon's previous attacks, had entrusted Sam with the secrets of the bunker before finally falling prey to Abaddon's bloodthirst. Henry Winchester, their grandfather who had been displaced from his own time by half a century in his attempt to escape Abaddon and protect the order, had sacrificed his own life to give the brothers the opportunity to bring the demon's path of destruction to a permanent end. This left Sam and himself as the only ones who knew of the society and their mission to observe and chronicle the supernatural world. Or so they had thought.
"Until me," Erica inferred, tilting her head as her critical expression softened.
"Until you," Sam confirmed. "Now I'm thinking there could be more to this than I thought." Fully-powered puppy eyes launched a brutal assault. "Maybe we could figure it out together?"
Erica didn't immediately turn Sam down, biting her bottom lip as she considered the suggestion. Nope. No way. Incomplete pass. No points awarded.
Stepping forward and offering a loud chuckle that was false even to his own ears, Dean clapped Sam firmly on the shoulder. "You'll have to forgive my brother. He gets over-excited about research projects. I've been trying to tell him he needs to get out more, but he doesn't listen. Sammy, could I talk to you in private for a minute?"
Without waiting for a response, Dean steered Sam out of the workspace and into the main garage, moving until he was sure they were out of earshot. He glanced back toward their guest to find her returning her attention to her bike with a shake of her head, uninterested in their conversation.
"What the hell are you thinking, Sam?" Dean demanded, keeping his voice low in case she was more subtle than he thought.
"What?"
"We don't know anything about this girl!" The eldest Winchester brandished an arm back toward the corner. "You can't invite her to stick around!"
"Why not?" Sam returned with a shrug. "What do you want to do? Shove her out the door and tell her never to come back?" He scoffed as his brother seemed to actively consider doing just that. "She has a key to the bunker, Dean. She's already tied up in this!"
"She doesn't know the first thing about this place. If she keeps digging, she'll wind up getting herself killed or worse, and you know it!"
"So we help her." Sam clearly thought it was the most logical conclusion, his face a stony broadcast that his mind would not be changed. "Like it or not, she is proof we need to find out more about the Men of Letters. There could be others who survived Abaddon's attacks!"—he raised an eyebrow as he pointedly looked at his brother—"Could you really feel secure here not knowing if there are others like Erica running around with keys to our supposedly secret base? If there's anyone else who knows about this place, we need to find out. And she is as good a place to start as any."
Sam noticed Dean's defenses wavering, lips pursing slightly and head tilting to one side as he seriously considered their options. The younger Winchester pressed his advantage a bit further, softening his voice and arranging his most convincing face. "Besides…a missing father? Coordinates to a last-known location with no instructions as to what to do once she got there? Doesn't that sound familiar?"
"What? Dad?" Dean accented his correct conclusion with a scoff. "This ain't the same, Sammy. Dad was missing for a few weeks…her Pops has probably been gone more than a decade!"
"So there's no chance of finding him alive," Sam conceded with a nod. "But we could help her gain some closure." He read the hesitation still lingering in his brother's face. "It's the right thing to do and you know it. And if we gain something from it, too...well, that's even better!"
"Why are you pushing so hard for this, Sam?"
"Why are you so against it?"
Dean opened his mouth to respond, but no words would come. Snapping his mouth closed, he dwelled on the unsettled feeling broiling deep in his gut. He honestly couldn't explain why he felt so uncomfortable with this. There was only this visceral feeling of wrong that he couldn't give a distinct voice, centered around the young woman still tinkering in their garage. Despite what Sam assumed, it was more than simply inviting someone new into their circle. It was the instinctive notion that there were things Erica wasn't saying. Important things.
Though, a more logical side of his brain which often sounded like Sam suggested that this was more reason to allow the woman to stay. Her reaction to his brother's questions about her chosen research suggested Erica knew more about their world than she was letting on. The brothers would be able to figure out over time if she were lying or keeping secrets. That was their job, after all. But there were massive risks in dealing with this kind of unknown. She could be dangerous, weaving some elaborate scheme to gain their trust and betray them. The list of enemies—both monster and human—the Winchesters had gained over time wasn't exactly short. If they managed to determine her motives before she was capable of making her move, however, they could potentially head off the danger before it reared its ugly head.
"Fine, she stays. That doesn't mean I like it," Dean declared, keeping his voice stern. He poked his brother in the chest to emphasize his words. "But none of this we stuff. This is your idea and your research project, which makes the tourist your responsibility."
"Fine," Sam grumbled.
"Fine."
The matter was settled. Dean would let Sam have his little research project, and he would keep a close watch for anything suspicious. Before he could change his mind, the eldest Winchester marched back to the workspace where Erica had her full weight thrown against a torque wrench. She was quick to notice their return, standing straight and scanning them with cautious eyes.
"Alright, you're in luck," he began. "My geek brother is gonna help you track down your dad."
Erica didn't seem surprised by this information, glancing between the brothers as Sam flashed a small smile. "When do we start?"
"Don't get too excited. We have some conditions," Dean warned, crossing his arms over his chest as he decided he might as well press the advantage while he had it. "About that grub I spotted in the kitchen…"
A/N: Thanks again for joining me on this ride! It's going to me a blast! Drop a review and let me know your thoughts and opinions-good? bad? OOC? I wanna know ALL the things!
Lauren