The beeping of an alarm clock woke her up. Alex sat up, yawning. She glanced at the clock; it read 6:00. She rolled over, a loud groan rumbling through her.
There was a loud knock on her bedroom door a few minutes later. "Rise and shine, Alex." The door was thrown open, and light rushed into her room.
"It's too early." Alex stumbled to her feet and walked out into the hallway. "Morning, Dean."
"And good morning to you." Dean was wearing a pinstripe blue button down, a red tie and red suspenders. He went back into the spacious living room, walking over to the kitchen. A Well Respected Man by the Kinks was playing, and Alex rolled her eyes. Dean poured himself the espresso he had made earlier, glancing back. "Don't give me that look," he told her playfully.
Alex walked over to join him. "Rice milk?" she asked, picking up the container. "I still can't believe you drink that stuff."
Dean just shook his head, running a light hand through his slicked-back hair. "You don't expect me to stay in good shape without eating healthy."
Alex rolled her eyes, smiling. "Whatever." She grabbed a bowl of Lucky Charms and walked over to the couch. She turned on Nickelodeon, settling down. Dean continued to tinker around behind her. Alex simply ignored him.
At six thirty, Dean walked over to her. "I'm off to work." He leaned down and pressed a kiss on her forehead.
Alex leaned back into him, smiling. "Okay. What are you having for lunch?"
"Salad."
Alex shook her head. "Health nut."
Dean chose to ignore that. "Remember to finish your school work," he reminded her as he pulled on his suit coat.
"Okay." Alex put her empty bowl on the coffee table, watching Dean walk over to the door. "Don't stay out too late."
"Yes, mom." Dean grabbed his car keys. "Same for you."
Alex rolled her eyes, smiling. "I don't have a social life, Dean-o."
At that, Dean frowned slightly. He shook it off. "I'll be home around six."
"Okay." When he left, she turned back to the tv.
...
After her show ended, she did the dishes then walked over to the kitchen table. She pulled out her math book and laptop and logged on to her online high school account. It only took her ten minutes to figure out her lesson, and then another ten to finish it. She slid her math book across the table and started on english.
It was almost eleven before she finished all of her homework. She glanced at the clock and rolled her eyes, then reminded herself that she would still be in school if she actually went to one. She returned to the couch and turned on tv.
...
After lunch, Dean called. "Alex?"
"Hey, Dean. How's work?"
"Good. How are you doing?"
"Good. Finished my school work. I've just kind of been hanging out."
She swore she could hear Dean frown. "Have you gone outside?"
Alex curled her lip. "Why would I go out there?" she joked.
"Go for a walk or something."
"Yes, mom." Alex hung up.
...
She did as Dean suggested. It wasn't like Dean was being overbearing, she told herself. He just wants me to be healthy. She had been adopted by Dean Smith several years ago, and was still ever grateful. He could be a little demanding at times, but that's just who he was: a natural born leader. That's how he had gotten his high ranking job at Sandover Bridge & Iron Co, one of the largest construction companies in Ohio. That was three weeks ago.
She rounded the corner, lost in her thoughts.
...
Dean didn't get home until six in the evening. He made dinner, and they sat down at the table. "How was work?" Alex asked, starting up conversation. She dug into the casserole. It was amazing as always, and she told him so.
"Thanks." Dean put down his fork. "Work was good. I, uh, I talked with Mrs. Caron."
"Hm?" Mrs. Caron was the secretary for Dean's floor. "What's up with her?"
"She's doing good." Dean looked up at her. "She's been looking for an intern to help out around the office."
"Oh. Cool."
"Yeah. You start tomorrow."
Alex dropped her fork. "What?"
"You heard me." Dean looked over at her. "You're eighteen, Alex. You need to start getting out into the world."
Alex frowned. "What about school?"
"You'll have a few hours to do it at Sandover."
Alex knew she couldn't win. "Fine," she grumbled. "But don't expect me to wear a skirt."
Dean just shook his head. The conversation died.
...
The girl staggered closer. She stopped near the salt line, looking down at it. A large knife came into view, glinting in her left hand. She continued to stare down at the salt. Then she stepped over it.
Alex was shocked. Ghosts can't cross salt lines.
"I thought you said ghosts couldn't cross the circle!" a woman exclaimed.
"They can't." Alex could tell Dean was doing his best to stay calm. "She's not a ghost."
"Shoot her!" a man yelled. "Shoot her!"
Alex whipped out her gun, flicking off the safety and cocking it. "Dean."
"What?" Dean stepped in front of the family, protecting them.
"Should I shoot her?!" Alex snapped.
The girl stepped forward. Then she charged at Alex, knife raised, a feral scream escaping her lips. Alex pulled the trigger.
...
"Get up!" Dean was knocking on her door. Alex snapped opened her eyes, her dream still fresh in her mind. She shook it off, got up, pulled on jeans and a nice plaid shirt, and braided her long blonde hair before stepping out into the main room.
"Morning," she mumbled, stumbling towards the kitchen.
"Yup." Dean was waring a light blue oxford with a darker tie. "Is that what you're wearing?"
Alex looked down at her clothes. "Do I have anything better?" she finally asked.
Dean's grunt told her she was right. She sat down at the table and ate breakfast.
...
It was a half an hour drive to the Sandover Bridge & Iron Co. building. Alex followed Dean up the elevator, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder. They stepped out on the correct floor. "Mrs. Caron." Dean smiled over at the secretary. "This is my daughter Alex."
"Ah." Mrs. Caron smiled warmly. "It's good to meet you, Alex. I'll show you around."
"Thank you." Alex watched Dean walk away, but refused to show her nervousness. She faked a smile. "Is there a place I can put my bag down?"
"Yes. The break room is in here." Mrs. Caron lead Alex down the hall. "Is that your school things?"
"Yeah. I do online school."
"Hm. Well, you can leave your things in here. It's a very secure room. Now. We're mostly going to be having you do photocopying and filing around here. I'll show you how to work the copier."
...
It was five thirty before they left. They got into the crowded elevator, and Alex sighed. It headed towards the ground floor, then stopped. The door opened, and a man got in. He glanced at Dean, and Alex stopped. He looked familiar. Really familiar. He had long brown hair that stopped halfway down his neck, and greenish-hazel eyes. He caught her eye, and shot her a hesitant smile. When she continued to study him, he shifted nervously. Alex gave up. The elevator door opened again, and everyone except her, Dean, and the strange man got out. Alex stepped closer to Dean.
The door closed, and, after a second's hesitation, the man turned to Dean. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Look, man," Dean interrupted, "I told you. I'm not into the, uh . . ."
"Oh, dude, come on. I'm not either. I just want to ask you a question."
Dean looked around, then let out a breath. "Sure."
"What do you think about ghosts?"
"Ghosts?" Dean repeated.
"Do you believe in them?"
"Uh, to tell you the truth, I've never really given it much thought."
"Vampires?"
Dean snorted. "What? Why?"
"Because I've been having some weird dreams lately. You know what I mean?"
"I had a weird dream last night," Alex piped up.
Dean quieted her. "You always have weird dreams."
"What was it about?" the man asked.
"I had a dream me and Dean were hunting a ghost. But it wasn't a ghost 'cause it crossed this salt line or something. Then I shot it."
Dean shook his head dismissively. "She always has nightmares . . ." he began.
The taller man studied her. "Have you had any other . . . weird dreams?"
"Alright man." Dean cut him off. "Look. I don't know you, okay? But I'm gonna do you a public service and, uh, tell you that you - you over-share." With that, Dean pushed a button, and the elevator door opened. Dean and Alex left.
...
When they got out to the car, Alex spoke up. "Who is that guy?"
Dean glanced over the car at her. "You mean the tech support guy?"
"Yeah. Does he look . . . familiar?"
Dean got into the car, and Alex did the same. Dean returned his gaze to her. "He asked me the same thing yesterday. I'd never seen him before."
"Hm. Okay."
"Just, just forget about him. How was your day?"
"Long." Alex slumped in the front seat of the silver Prius. "I don't like working. I'm not even getting paid!"
Dean chuckled. "Welcome to the real world."
...
They got back home around six. Alex collapsed on the couch as Dean started on dinner. "You want -"
"Don't talk to me," Alex grumbled jokingly.
Dean walked over to her. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"
Alex didn't respond, and Dean grabbed onto her legs, pulling her towards him. "You know, you got to do this all over again tomorrow."
Alex groaned, rolling off of the couch.
Dean pulled her to her feet. "Come on. Come help me with dinner."
Alex did as he asked. As they worked together, she thought about their relationship. They were very close, and she honestly wouldn't be surprised if someone on first glance thought they were dating. She blushed just thinking about it, but she couldn't deny that thought. There was nothing sexual between them, but they were always teasing each other, or laughing at each other's stupid jokes. They really didn't even flinch at the other's touch. Alex pushed away the thoughts. She would never date Dean. She'd date someone like Dean, but definitely not Dean.
"Alex?"
"Sorry. What?" Alex turned her attention back to her father-figure.
"I told you to go wash up. We'll be eating in a few minutes."
"Yeah. Okay."
...
The next day, she got up early again, expecting another boring day. When they got there, Alex realized she had been wrong. They got there a few minutes late - yes, it was Alex's fault. There were police cars outside, and Dean led the way into the building, frowning. Alex followed. On the third floor was a crowd. Dean pushed his way up to the front, and Alex followed. Suddenly Dean held out his hand, blocking her.
"Dean," Alex complained. "Let me see."
"Stay back there. What happened?" he asked the man next to him.
"One of the tech guys - Paul - he, uh, he killed himself. Police say he put his head in the microwave and fried himself."
Alex grimaced. Gross. She got a glance of a black body bag being wheeled out by several paramedics. They passed Alex and Dean, but Alex hardly noticed. Dean was staring across the room at the man from the elevator yesterday. They seemed to be silently communicating until Dean looked away. "Does something about this seem not right to you?" he asked a man in a suit next to him.
The man looked down at Dean. "Yeah. Try the whole thing. I'm telling you man. I'm never going to eat popcorn again."
"Yeah," Dean echoed. "Right." He turned around. "Come on. Let's go." He had to drag Alex into the elevator. "Sorry about that."
Alex shrugged. "Whatever. It was kind of cool."
"A man died."
Alex dipped her head in apology and said nothing.
...
She worked for a few hours then decided to take a break. She told Mrs. Caron her plans, who readily agreed. Mrs. Caron was really nice. Alex stopped in Dean's office on her way to the break room.
"Two weeks?" Dean was muttering, studying his computer.
"Two weeks what?"
Dean jumped, looking up. "It's, uh, nothing. It's just, this guy who died, Paul Dunbar. He was retiring in two weeks. It seems like kind of a weird time to commit suicide."
Alex plopped down in one of the chairs. "Yeah." She raised an eyebrow. "I bet it was ghosts."
"Shut up."
"Or vampires."
Dean ignored her, and Alex left.
...
She finished some of her homework, then gave up. She walked back towards the reception desk.
"No no no. It's fine. It's fine," she heard Dean insist. She paused, listening. "I just need you to redo one today so I can get the show on the road with this invoicing."
Alex heard a faint, "Oh my God."
"No, it's fine. Just refile it and we're square."
"I can't believe I did this. I can't believe - I can't believe I did this."
Alex frowned, starting to think something was wrong.
"Hey, guy, come on."
"No, no. It, it affects profits. It - I screwed up. I - I can't - I can't - I am so sorry. I - how could I do this? I failed Sandover. I failed the company."
"All right. Why don't you sit down, Ian?"
"No." Suddenly the door was flung open and a man ran out. Alex stood there, dumbfounded.
"Ian?" Dean appeared. "Ian? Hey!" He took off after him.
Alex followed him at a distance, concerned. They disappeared into the men's bathroom, so Alex turned around to leave. She got halfway back to the reception desk when she heard Dean yell. "Somebody help me!"
Alex spun around. She rushed into the men's bathroom, stopping cold. The man named Ian lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Dean kneeling over his body. He was blocking most of the body, but Alex was certain blood was still pouring out of his neck. Dean looked over at Alex, eyes wide. "Call the police," he whispered hoarsely. Alex nodded, hurrying out.
...
Within half an hour, the bathroom was crowded with paramedics. "No, I followed him into the bathroom," Den was saying. "He was, uh - he was standing in front of the mirror and then -" He looked past Alex and paused.
She followed Dean's gaze, and came to rest on the stranger from the elevator.
"Continue, sir," the officer told Dean.
"And then he stabbed himself in the neck," Dean finished shakily. "I'm sorry. That's when, um . . ." he trailed off, shaking his head.
When Alex looked back behind her, the man was gone. She frowned, and left the room.
A few minutes later Dean found her. "My office. Now."
Alex followed him in, shifting uncomfortably. She waited for him to start talking about what she had seen, but he said nothing. He sighed, then started unbuttoning his shirt. He tossed it onto his bag and pulled on a new one, buttoning it up absently.
There was a knock on the door, and that one man entered.
"Come in," Dean told him. "Close the door." When the man did, Dean continued. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm not sure I know," the man said slowly.
"What the hell does that mean?" Alex knew Dean was starting to freak out.
"Sam Wesson," the man said. "I started here three weeks ago."
"All right. You cornered me in the elevator talking about ghosts and now . . ." Dean trailed off.
"Dean," Alex began.
"Be quiet, Alex."
There was a pause.
"Now, what?" Sam finally said.
"Now nothing. I, uh . . . so you started here three weeks ago, huh?" When Sam nodded, Dean let out a breath. "Yeah. Me too." He unscrewed the cap of a clear water bottle that was filled with an pale opaque liquid. "It's the Master Cleanse," he explained. "You tried it? Phenomenal. Detoxes you like nobody's business." He took a sip.
Alex was still studying Sam. He looked down at her. "Uh, yeah?"
"You look really familiar. Have we met? I mean, before here?"
Sam shook his head. "I don't think so." Alex frowned. Sam turned back to Dean. "When you were in that bathroom with Ian, did you see something?"
"I don't know." Dean took another sip. "I don't know what I saw."
"Wait. Are you saying that - did you see a ghost?"
"I was freaking out," Dean defended. "The guy penciled his damn neck."
"You did, didn't you? Okay, listen. What if these suicides aren't suicides? I mean, what if they're something . . . not natural?"
At that, something sparked in the back of Alex's mind. Something familiar. She reached back, digging. She found nothing, and let out a frustrated noise. What was she forgetting? It's like there was a wall there, blocking it.
"So what, ghosts are real?" Dean's words broke her thoughts. "And they're responsible for all of the dead bodies around here? Is that what you're telling me?" He sat down, and Sam did the same in time with him.
"I know it sounds crazy, but yes. That's what I'm telling you."
"I agree with Sammy," Alex suddenly said.
Both of the men looked over at her. "Sammy?" Dean finally said, voice taut.
Alex shook her head to clear it. "Sorry. Mr. Wesson. Not sure where that came from. I . . . " She trailed off confusedly.
Dean turned back to Sam Wesson. "Ghosts? Based on what?"
Sam sat quietly for a second, thinking. "Instinct," he finally said.
Dean looked down at his head, shaking it slightly. "I've got the same instinct," he admitted slowly, looking back up.
"Seriously?" Sam looked interested, almost happy. "You know those dreams I was telling you about? I was dreaming about ghosts."
Alex walked over to sit on the desk next to Dean. "Me too," she said. "They're terrifying."
"Yeah." Sam brushed her off. "And now there turns out to be a real ghost."
"So you're telling me your dreams are special visions and you're some kind of psychic?"
"No. I mean, that would be nuts. I'm just saying something weird is definitely going on around here, right?" Sam dug into his messenger bag. "I've been digging around a little." He pulled several papers out of the bag and slid them over to Dean. "I think I found a connection between the two guys."
Dean took the papers and studied them. He looked up at Sam. "You broke into their email accounts?"
"I . . . used some skills that I happen to have to satisfy my curiosity," Sam stumbled defensively.
Alex let out a small laugh. He was witty, she'd give him that.
Dean seemed slightly impressed. "Nice."
"Yeah. Okay. So it turns out both Ian and Paul got this same email telling them to report to HR, room fourteen forty-four."
Dean frowned. "HR's on seven."
"Exactly."
"Should we go check this out?"
"Like right now?" Sam's eyes lit up with barely disguised interest.
Dean looked over at Alex. "No. No. It's getting late. You're right."
"I am dying to check this out right now."
Dean looked like he wanted to agree, but he looked back up at Alex. "No," he began.
"Come on, Dean," Alex begged. "Please? I mean, come on! I real, live ghost? Seriously? There's no way in hell I'm gonna pass this up."
"Language," Dean warned sharply.
Alex just glared before dipping her head apologetically.
Sam watched them curiously. "Sorry. Are you two . . ?"
"I adopted her," Dean quickly explained, standing up. "And you're going to stay right here while Sam and I check this out."
"Dean! Please? I'd be safer with three of us. I know things, Dean. I mean salt, and uh, iron." The word 'iron' was out of her mouth before she knew it, and she stopped, confused. "I mean, I've had dreams about hunting ghosts -"
"And that's all they were. Dreams."
"Sam!" Alex turned to the tech guy.
Sam shrugged, having no say in the matter.
"It's Mr. Wesson." Dean's tone told Alex she was beaten. "You can either stay here, or I'll lock you in this room."
Alex frowned angrily. "Fine," she hissed. "I'll stay here." She watched as Dean and Sam left the office, and Dean closed the door behind him. There was a click, and Alex jumped up. "Dean!"
"I know you, Alex." Dean's voice came through the door. "I'm not taking any chances."
Alex let out an angry breath. Footsteps walked off, and she sulked in the room.
...
No more than ten minutes later, both Sam and Dean came barreling into the room. "What happened?" Alex demanded.
Dean didn't answer. He grabbed his bag and his keys. "Come on."
Neither Sam nor Dean answered any of Alex's questions until they were in the car. Alex was bumped to the backseat, which she silently protested. Only when Dean had pulled out of the parking lot was she told what had occurred.
He and Sam had gone up to room fourteen forty-four. They had heard a scream, and had rushed to the door to find it locked. Sam had apparently kicked it in, and they had found another man from tech support laying under a collapsed shelf. The monitors on the shelf had all been on, and Dean had been thrown backwards by a ghost that had suddenly appeared. The ghost had been an old man, the same man Dean admitted he had seen in the bathroom. Then Dean hit the ghost with a wrench, and the ghost had disappeared.
When they finished the story, they had arrived at their apartment. As they walked up the stairs, and Dean let them in. Sam leaned against the couch, and Den paced back and forth, his Master Cleanse in hand.
Finally Dean spoke. "Holy crap, dude."
"Yeah. I could use a beer."
Dean stopped pacing. "Oh, sorry, man. I'm on the cleanse. I got rid of all the carbs in the house."
"Most of the carbs," Alex reminded. "And, yeah, it's not been fun." Dean's glare silenced her. He walked into the kitchen.
Sam frowned slightly. "Hey. How'd you know that wrench was going to work?"
Dean walked back over and handed Sam a bottle of water. "Crazy right?"
Alex glanced at Dean. "Was the wrench iron?" she asked somewhat smugly.
One again she was ignored. "And nice job kicking that door in," Dean continued. "That was very Jet Li. What are you, like a black belt or something?"
"No. I have no clue how I did that. It's like . . . like we've done this before."
"What do you mean, before? Like Shirley MacLaine before?"
Sam shook his head. "No. I just can't shake this feeling like I - like I don't belong here. You know? Like I should be doing something more than sit in a cubicle."
"I think most people who work in a cubicle feel that same way," Dean said dryly. Alex let huffed in amusement.
"No. Well, look, it's more than that. Like, I don't like my job. I don't like this town. I don't like my clothes. I don't like my own last name!"
"It's better then Smith," Alex pointed out dryly. "Want to trade?"
Once again, she was ignored. "I, I don't know how to explain it, except that . . . I feel like I should be doing something else. There's just something in my blood. Like I was destined for something different. What about you? You ever feel that way?"
Alex agreed with Sam immediately. "I don't believe in destiny," Dean finally said. "But I do believe in dealing with what's right in front of us, though."
Sam sighed. "All right, so what do we do now?"
"We do what I do best, Sammy. Research." Dean stood up and walked towards the kitchen.
"Okay. Did you just call me Sammy?"
Dean stopped, confused. "Did I?"
"I think you did. Yeah." Sam shared in Dean's confusion. Then he gave up. "Don't."
"Sorry." Dean walked over to his desk in front of his workout machine. He sat down and powered up his laptop.
Alex watched him. "You sure you're good at research?" she asked, joking only a little. "Maybe me and Mr. Wesson can help."
Sam looked over at her. "You can call me Sam."
"No you can't," Dean called from behind his screen. "Respect. Learn it."
Alex wandered over to him. "I am respecting him. I'm respecting him by respecting what he wishes to be called."
Dean glared at her with fake anger, and Alex smirked. "You win this one," he grumbled light-heartedly. Alex sat down beside him. She put her head on the table, letting out a long sigh. Dean put his hand on her head and pushed her away.
Alex dramatically fell off of her chair, rolling on the floor. Remembering that Sam was here, she got up and walked over to the kitchen like nothing had happened. "Hungry?" she asked.
Sam shook his head, following her. "No thanks. Do you even have any real food?"
Alex sighed, turning her head to look at the tech guy. "Dean got rid of most the good food. But, uh, I kept some of it stashed away." She pulled out a box of Lucky Charms and shook it. The cereal rattled around. When Sam shook his head, she pulled out the milk and poured herself bowl. Then she sat down at the breakfast bar. "How's it going, Dean?"
Sam was sitting at the table, laptop out. Alex frowned and took a bite of cereal. Then her frown deepened. She had left her bag at Sandover. Her bag with her laptop. She let out a huff off disappointment.
...
About half an hour later Dean spoke. "Oh. Jackpot."
"What?" Alex left her empty bowl on the island and walked over to him.
Sam did the same. "What you got?"
"I just found the best site ever. Real, actual ghost guys are genius. Check it out."
Alex shifted so she could see. Dean had a video open on a website titled, Ghostfacers. The name made Alex doubt their credibility. "Ghostfacers?" she asked. "Have we heard of them before? They sound really familiar." Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she knew them. She reached back, trying to place it, but came up empty.
Dean played the video, and Alex turned her attention to it. "We know why you're here," a man with curly brown hair insisted, pointing some metal antennae at them.
"You've got a problem," his companion added. He adjusted the large glasses on his face. Alex was pretty sure they were fake. The glasses probably were too.
"A ghost problem."
"A ghost related problem," the second man added. "A ghost - it's like a ghost-adjacent pr - it's like a problem that's - and the ghost is -"
The first, taller man cut off the second. "Whatever. You've come to the right place. The only decent place, really, because the Ghostfacers know how to solve it."
"Period."
"Watch and learn."
"See, the first step in any supernatural fight:"
"Figure out what you're up against," both exclaimed at the same time. Yellow letters appeared on the screen, and Alex rolled her eyes.
Dean paused the video, looking up at Sam. He walked back over to his laptop. "I was looking into the history of the building," he explained.
Dean pointed to the screen. "That's him. That's the ghost."
Sam nodded. "P. T. Sandover. Died in 1916. Devoted his life to his work. No wife, no kids."
Alex hurried over and saw the webpage Sam had up. An old man was off to the left, and next to the picture was a paragraph. The words 'Room 1444' caught her eye, and she began to read.
'Office 1444 was considered to be the center of the company's operation, with Sandover himself
overseeing any details of any construction project the company overtook. Considered to be a
difficult person to work for, P. T. Sandover had an exceptionally high standard of quality, often
marching onto construction sites and halting all work until he personally inspected each aspect of
the structure. Aiming for perfection is perhaps why the Sandover legacy is so impressive,
dominating the industry with the scale and scope of its projects.'
"Used to say he was the company," said Sam, "and his very blood pumped through the building."
"Wow, okay. So slightly workaholic. Maybe he's still here, you know, watching over the company, even killing for it."
"Plus, it turns out this isn't the first time people started killing themselves in the building. 1929."
"Yeah, but lots of guys jumped off lots of high rises that year," Dean reminded him, and Alex recalled that that was during the Great Depression.
Sam looked up at Dean. "How many companies had seventeen suicides?"
"Oh. Okay, so, P. T. Sandover, protector of the company. His ghost wakes up and becomes active during times of grave economic distress."
Sam shrugged. "Well, I mean, the worse time we've seen since the Great Depression -"
"Is now," Dean finished, nodding. "Yeah, now sucks. My portfolio's in the sewer. I don't even want to talk about it."
"So Sandover's helping the bottom line -"
" - by zapping some model employees."
"Yeah, I mean, Ian and Paul. It's like he turned them into different people."
"Perfect worker bees, exactly. So devoted to the company that they would commit hara-kiri if they failed."
Alex finally piped up. "All of the vics were tech supports, weren't they? That must mean something. Like, his M.O. or something."
Sam looked up at her. "Vics?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "She's been watching too many crime shows."
Alex frowned. Had she picked up that from a show? She backed up. What was she forgetting? There was something back there. What was it? She wanted to scream in frustration.
"Alex?"
Alex looked over at Dean. "Sorry."
"There's one more interesting fact. The building wasn't always this high." Sam clicked on another open tab. "Used to be fourteen floors. And the room where the ghost attacked, room fourteen forty-four. Once upon the time, that was the old man's office."
Dean let out a grunt, and walked back over to his desk, and restarted the video. Alex and Sam followed.
"One you got the thing in your sights," the curly haired man said, "You kill it!" both exclaimed in unison. "Using special ghost-hunting weapons," the first man added.
"First, salt. It's like acid to ghosts." At those words, both Sam and Dean looked at Alex. She shrugged, blushing slightly.
"Burn-y acid."
"Not LSD."
"No. It's a bad trip for ghosts. Next up, iron."
This time, Sam and Dean looked at each other, and Alex shifted uneasily. Okay, so she had been right.
"That's why the wrench worked," Sam said quietly. "She was right."
"Pure power in your hand," the second man was saying.
"Dissipates ghosts instantly," the first added.
"Next trick. We learned this from those useless douchebags -"
"That we hate," the curly haired man added.
"The Winchesters," the second agreed, adjusting his fake glasses.
For some reason, Alex took offense. "They can't be that bad," she said quietly.
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Just, uh, Winchesters. Sounds really familiar." This was starting to badly annoy Alex.
"Shotgun shell." Alex missed part of the dialogue, and turned back to the video. "Pack it up with fresh rock salt."
"Very effective," the first added.
"Very effective," the second echoed.
"Winchesters suck ass, though."
"Affirmative. Suckage major."
Dean paused the video.
Alex spoke up. "We have those iron pokers by the fireplace." When Dean nodded, she walked over there. "Get the duffle bags in the closet," Dean added.
Alex ran up the stairs and over to the hall closet. She pulled out a black duffle bag and ran back. She tossed the bag to Dean before returning to get the pokers. Sam was rifling through the pantry, and came back with a large container of salt, as well as all of their salt shakers.
Dean shoved it all into the bag. Then he zipped it up and looked at Sam. "Where do we even get a gun?" he asked.
"Gun store?" Sam tried.
"Isn't there some kind of a waiting period or something?"
"I think so."
"Then how in the hell -"
"I know. Seem's pretty impossible, honestly."
"Right."
"So, uh," Alex began. "How exactly do we kill a ghost?" Something deep inside her mind sparked. "I think it involves fire? Are ghosts scared of fire?"
Dean and Sam shrugged. They walked back over to his laptop and sat down. Sam did the same. Alex followed, leaning against Dean's shoulder. He clicked the 'play' button, and the Ghostfacer's video started up.
The second, shorter man with the false glasses started talking. "The aforementioned super-annoying Winchester douche-nozzles also taught us one other thing. You have to burn the remains."
Dean paused the video. "Have you seen this before?"
Alex shook her head. "No."
"Then how do you know this?"
"I . . . I just do." Alex scratched her head in pure confusion. "I - something isn't right. There's something in my mind I can't reach. Something important." She looked up, scared. "What am I forgetting?" She took a step back. "I, I don't even know if this is real! Who the hell am I?" She stepped back again, starting to seriously freak out.
"Alex. Calm down." Dean stood up, hands held out non-threateningly. "Deep breaths, okay?" His voice softened. "You're Alex Smith, remember? You're eighteen years old, you live with me. You're my daughter."
"Am I?" Alex's voice shook. The more she kept digging in the back of her mind, the more she knew something was wrong.
Suddenly Dean stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. Alex relaxed under his touch, and she let out a shaky breath.
"She's right." Sam said quietly. "Something isn't right."
Dean just shook his head. "Come on. It doesn't matter. We've got a job to do, okay? Let's focus on this first."
Alex nodded, swallowing thickly. "Yeah, yeah. You're right." Like always. She watched as the two men walked back to their chairs. She followed, and Dean restarted the video once again.
"Okay. This next part gets a little gross," the first man began. "Sometimes you might have to dig up the body. Sorry."
"It's illegal in some states," the second added.
"All states," the first corrected.
"Possibly all states."
"Sandover was cremated," Sam said quietly.
"What? So what do we know now?" Dean looked over at Sam, but refused to make eye contact with Alex.
"Now," the video continued, "if the deceased has been cremated -"
"Don't panic." The second man finished the first's sentence, making a large gesture.
Don't panic," the second repeated.
"Just gotta look for other remains."
"A hair in a locket, maybe. Fingernails. Baby teeth."
"Milk teeth."
"Genetic material. You know what we're talking about."
"Go find it."
"Fight well, young lions."
"Godspeed."
The video ended. Dean sighed and closed the tab. "We should go. Stop this thing tonight before it kills again."
Alex nodded. "Yeah. Good plan." She walked over to the door and slipped on her shoes before grabbing the duffle bag. "When do we leave?" Dean stood up, and Alex recognized that face. "Dean . . ."
"No. You are not coming with. No. Nonnegotiable."
"Dean!" Alex dropped the duffle bag and crossed her arms. "Why not? I know things. I can help!"
"We know everything we need to. We just watched the video -"
"Dean!" Alex voice rose in frustration. "Please! I want to help. People are dying."
"I think she should come," Sam said quietly.
Dean spun around. "You don't have a say," he spat. "This is my daughter and I don't want her risking her life hunting down ghosts! You've seen what it can do."
Sam flinched. "I just feel like it would be safer with three of us instead of just two."
"What if she dies?!"
"I won't die!" Alex felt her anger starting to boil over. "Dammit! Something isn't right, okay? There - there's something in the back of my head that's telling that all of this is wrong. And this is the only thing that feels right."
"You're not going, and that's final!" Dean stepped towards her menacingly. "I will personally handcuff you to your bed, do you hear me?"
"I'm eighteen. I'm an adult -"
"You're still under my roof. Dammit Alex, what am I going to do if I lose you?"
"And what am I going to do if you don't come back? What happens if you die? How am I going to keep living if you die and I know I could have stopped it?"
Dean's eyes softened. "And what if you die?" he asked quietly. "How will I live?"
"Please, Dean. You, you have family. If I die, you'll have them. If you die, where do I go? I have no one. Please. Let me come."
Dean looked over at Sam, who had been standing their uncomfortably. Sam nodded, and Dean closed his eyes. He sighed. "Fine. Fine. But you're not to get involved in any direct confrontation, you understand?"
Alex nodded. "Yeah. I get it."
"Fine. Let's go." Dean led the way out of the apartment. Alex turned off the lights, glancing back into the room. Then she shut the door.
...
Half an hour later, they were walking through the halls. Dean led the way into room 1444. He walked through the room, flashlight dancing over the shelves. He disappeared down one isle, and Sam started rifling through the things in the middle. Alex worked with him, not really sure what she was doing.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Sam and Alex jumped. Dean ducked down out of sight. A flashlight shone on her face, and Alex squinted to see the guard standing behind it.
"Nothing," Sam insisted, putting what he was studying back on the shelf. "I just -"
"Come with me." The guard stepped in and grabbed Sam's arm, pulling him out of the room. Alex stood there, dumbfounded, until a hand grabbed hers and yanked her after them.
"Man, listen," Sam began, "it's okay. I - we work here."
Alex hurriedly voiced her agreement.
The guard shook his head. "Tell it to the cops."
Alex glanced behind her, looking for any sign that Dean would help them. She saw nothing. They rounded the corner and stepped into the elevator. It hummed to life and began to descend. Alex nervously glanced up at Sam. His composure remained one of false indifference. Alex focused her attention on the monitor on the wall, studying tomorrow's weather.
Suddenly, the screen flickered into static. Alex shivered. Then she realized she had shivered because it was cold. She let out a breath, watching the condensation hang in the air. She looked up at Sam; he had noticed it to. Her mind knew exactly what it was: ghost. The elevator screeched to a grinding halt, and Alex shifted closer to Sam Wesson.
The guard grumbled obscenities under his breath. He used his card to open the doors. They were stuck in between two floors; there was enough room for one to crawl up into the upper level. The guard struggled to open the second set out outer doors, and, with a final grunt, pulled them open. "Well, come on."
There was a creaking sound, and Alex hesitated.
Sam shared in her unwillingness. "What?"
"Last time this happened, it took two hours for them to get here." The guard started to pull himself up and out of the elevator.
"Let's just wait."
The guard didn't listen. He crawled out. Sam recoiled as a boot almost caught itself on his face. The guard turned back to Sam expectantly.
"Seriously. I'll wait."
The guard leaned back into the elevator. "Look. I don't have the rest of my life," he said impatiently. The elevator jerked downwards. Blood sprayed Alex and Sam, and Alex screwed her eyes closed as the guard's decapitated head landed on the ground near their feet. Red hot fear shot up her spine, and Alex forced herself to breath as her chest tightened with fear. She wanted to scream, but couldn't find her voice.
No one said anything for a while. Then Sam's phone rang. He answered it. After a second's pause, he spoke. "Call you back." He hung up and looked over at Alex. "You okay?"
Alex nodded. "I'm fine," she said, her voice slightly hoarse. The elevator continued to descend before stopping on the third floor. The door opened, and Alex glanced up at Sam. He hesitantly stepped out. Alex followed at a faster pace, not giving the elevator doors any chance to close on her.
Sam led her up the stairs to his cubicle. He slipped into a room and came back with two small towels. Alex immediately began toweling off her face.
Sam pulled out his phone. "Dean, you there?" A pause. "Okay, yeah, Just, uh, take the stairs." He hung up. "Floor twenty two. Dean's got something."
Alex let out a long breath. "That's nineteen flights of stairs."
"Then we should probably start moving."
...
Sam quickly outpaced Alex, who had fallen behind. She was panting, and looked up the stairwell to see how much father she had to go. She rolled her eyes. Sam was already two floors ahead of her. "Come on," he called down.
"I'm coming, I'm coming." Alex picked up her pace. When she reached floor twenty two, Sam was already heading down the hall. She hurried after him as he rounded the corner.
"Whoa," she heard Dean's voice. "That's a lot of - Alex!" Panic filled the man's voice.
"She's okay," Sam said quietly. Alex rounded the corner.
Dean's eyes grew wide at the sight of her, and he walked over to her. He pulled her into a tight hug. "You okay?"
Alex nodded. "I'm fine," she promised. "It's, it's not mine."
"I see that." Dean walked back over to the display case he had been standing by. "Like I said. You shouldn't have come." Then he pointed into the glass case. "Look. P. T. Sandover's gloves."
"Yeah. How much you want to bet that there's a smidgen of DNA in there? You know, like a fingernail clipping or a hair or two?"
"Or skin," Alex suggested. "That'd have more DNA than fingernails." She walked over to them as Dean dropped the duffle bag.
"So you ready?" Sam asked Dean.
"I have no idea."
"Me neither."
Dean handed one of the iron pokers to Sam, and a container of salt to Alex. She immediately began pouring it on the floor.
Dean stopped her. "What are you doing?"
Alex looked up at him, now confused herself. "I don't know," she admitted. "A salt circle? Ghosts can't cross that."
Sam studied her. "Yeah, yeah, I think you're right."
Alex continued what she was doing.
"Go for it," Sam said.
"Okay." There was the sound of shattering glass, and suddenly the room felt cold.
"Dammit," Alex cursed. "You're suppose to wait till I'm done." She stood up to face Dean, only to see him being thrown across the room. She turned back, and her blood froze. An old, grayish man stood there, one hand outstretched. Electricity sparked from his finger, reaching for her. Alex froze. Suddenly the ghost dissipated, and salt grains hit her blood-soaked shirt and pants. Alex looked over at Sam, who was holding a salt container. "Thanks."
"Hm." Sam picked up iron poker he had dropped. Dean got up and hurried toward them. "Dean!" Sam tossed the poker at Dean. "Behind you!"
Dean caught it and spun. The iron cut through the apparition like butter.
"Nice catch," Sam said, surprised.
Dean grinned. "I know, right?"
Alex hurried towards the case, grabbing the pair of gloves. She dropped them as she was thrown backwards. Her head hit the wall, and her vision swam. She saw Sam and Dean, iron pokers in hand, back to back, dispelling the ghost. She struggled back to her feet, staggering over to them.
Sam and Dean reached the gloves when suddenly, both of them were thrown to the ground. Sam hit his head on the display case and slumped to the floor. Dean tried to get to his feet, but the ghost appeared in front of him, blue sparks jumping from his fingers.
Alex ran. She crossed the room in two steps. She dove for the duffle bag, pulling out a lighter. Then she grabbed the gloves. Sam crawled over to her as Alex tried to light the lighter. He grabbed it from her, and, with one quick flick, flames leapt onto the gloves. The ghost turned angrily. Then it exploded into fire. Alex hurried over to Dean, ignoring the pain in her head. He was laying on the floor, breathing heavily. "You okay?" she asked.
He nodded, standing up.
Sam shook his head, getting up as well. "That was amazing," he finally said.
"Right?" Dean was grinning. "I - yeah." He cleared his voice and looked over Alex. "Come on. First aid kit's in my office." They packed up and he led the way down the stairs.
...
Dean flicked on the lights, stepping in to his office. He hurried over to his desk and pulled out a white container. "Man, I got to tell you," he began. "I've never had so much fun in my life."
"Me neither."
"You're both insane," Alex joked, sitting down on the desk. But they were right. Her adrenaline was pumping, and she felt like she could run a mile.
"Was a hell of a workout, too, wasn't it?" Dean added.
Sam nodded. "We should keep doing it."
"I know." Dean dug through the medicine kit and pulled out several gauze pads. He handed on to Sam, who placed it over a cut above his eye.
"I mean it. There's gotta be other ghosts out there. We could help a lot of people."
"Right. We'd be like the Ghostfacers," Dean joked, not taking Sam seriously.
"No, really. I mean, for real."
That made Dean look up, a small frown forming on his face. "What? Like quit our jobs and hit the road?"
"Exactly."
Dean looked over at Alex, who shrugged. "Could be cool," she admitted.
Dean frowned. "How would we live?"
"Uh . . ." Sam looked confused.
"You're kidding me. How would we get by? With stolen credit cards? Huh? Eating diner foods drenched in saturated fats? Sharing a crap motel room every night?"
"That's just all details," Sam started.
"Devil's in the details," Alex pointed out. "And how do I know you won't kill me in my sleep?" she added jokingly.
Dean turned to her. "You won't be going."
"What! Dean!"
"No. None - none of us are going."
"Um, all right. Confession."
Alex turned her attention to Sam. "What?"
"Remember those dreams I told you with the ghosts?"
"Yeah?"
"I was fighting them."
Dean blinked. "Okay."
"With you. We were these, hunters, and we were friends. More like brothers, really. And, and Alex was there too, kind of. I mean, what if that's who we really are? I mean, you saw us back there, working together. The ghost was scrambling people's brains. What if it scrambled ours?"
Alex squeezed her eyes shut. What was wrong? What was wrong? Sam and Dean. Sam. And. Dean. Winchester. Winchester. "Winchester."
"What?" Dean looked over at her.
Alex looked up. "Sam and Dean Winchester. Brothers. Hunters." Her eyes met Sam's. Everything was making sense. "That's - that's -" It was gone. Dammit.
"What?"
"I, I don't know." Alex clenched her fists frustratedly. "I, I - what am I forgetting?"
"Look. Maybe she's right," Sam told Dean. "All I know is this isn't who we're suppose to be."
"That's insane." Dean stood up, shaking his head. "I mean - no. No. I'm Dean Smith, okay? Director of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father is Bobby, my mother is Ellen. I have a sister named Jo, and Alex is my daughter. I adopted her two years ago."
"When was the last time you talked to your family?" Sam persisted. "Any of them?"
"Okay. What are you saying? Are you trying to say my family isn't real? Huh? That we've been injected with fake memories? Come on."
"All I know is, I got this feeling in my gut. And I know - I know that deep down inside, you got to be feeling it too. We're suppose to be something else. You're not some corporate douchebag. This isn't you. I know you."
"Sam's - I think Sam's right," Alex agreed quietly. "I feel it, too."
Dean let out a long breath. "I think you should leave," he finally said.
Sam left.
"Dean . . ."
"We're going home."
...
And that's where they went. That night, Alex dreamed of two hunters named Sam and Dean. There were monsters, and demons, images quick and fleeting. Werewolves, demons, humans, hunters, names and faces. There was one face she knew she recognized. A blue-eyed angel in a trench coat.
She woke up with the face in mind. "Castiel."
"Huh?" Dean rolled over to face her.
"What?" Alex looked around. She must have crawled into Dean's bed at some point.
"You said, 'Castiel'."
"Castiel." Alex repeated the name, familiar on her tongue. "He's an angel."
Dean snorted. "Just because he's cute doesn't mean he's an angel." He got up out of bed.
Alex sat up. "No. I mean, a real angel. With wings and a - trench coat?" She trailed off confusedly. "Sorry."
"Must have been one hell of a dream. Come on. We're leaving in half an hour."
...
Work was impossible to focus on. Alex spent the whole time in some sort of a daze, not really doing much of anything. A man walked into Dean's office, and Alex froze. She tore down the hall, skidding into Dean's office. The man was sitting on the corner of the desk, talking to Dean. Both looked up when Alex entered.
Alex stared into the man's face.
"Alex," Dean started uncertainly. "This is Mr. Ad -"
"I know you." The words were out of her mouth before Alex could stop herself. "How do I - oh." Something in her mind snapped. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. "Oh."
The man approached, holding out a hand. "Mr. Adler."
"No. Zachariah." Alex refused to shake his hand.
"Alex," Dean warned.
"No." Alex glared up at the man. "I - the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Alex!" Dean stood up angrily. "Be quiet!"
"No, no. It's fine." Mr. Adler held out a hand to stop Dean. "She remembers. Now, tell me." His voice lowered so only Alex could hear. "What's going on in your head? I couldn't get in. There's a wall in the way, and not even I can break through. I actually had to take the time to build a second wall around that one to keep those memories in."
"What the hell do you want?" Alex spat. The memories were pouring back now. Zachariah. Angel. Douchebag.
"This had nothing to do with you. Now, if you don't mind, I wish to finish talking with Dean."
Alex balled her fists, but acquiesced, knowing it wasn't smart to pick a fight with an angel.
Zachariah walked over to Dean, who sat back down at the desk. "You look a little tired. Been working hard, I gather."
Dean glanced at Alex, who was still staring at the angel defiantly. "Yeah," he mumbled, embarrassed at his daughter's behavior.
"Ah. Don't be modest. I hear everything. And I'm pleased with what I'm hearing." He sat down in one of the chairs. "That's why it's important to me that you're happy." He reached over the desk for a pen and paper, and scribbled something down. He showed it to Dean. "How's that for a bonus?"
Dean seemed quite surprised. "That's very generous," he said slowly.
"Purely selfish." Zachariah put down the paper. "Wanna make sure you're not going anywhere."
"Wow. Are you sure?"
"Positive. You're real Sandover material, son. Real go getter. Carving your own way."
"Well, thanks. I try."
"Yes, I suppose you do. I see big things in your future. Maybe even senior VP, Eastern Great Lakes Division. Don't get me wrong; you'll have to work for it. Seven days a week, lunch at your desk, but in eight to ten short years, that could be you."
Dean took off his headset. "Um, well, thank you. Thank you, sir. It's, um . . . but . . ." He slid the paper back over to Zachariah. "I'm turning in my notice."
"This is a joke. You're kidding me, right?" Zachariah seemed genuinely surprised.
"No. I've - I recently - uh, very recently realized that I have some other work to do. It's, uh, very important to me."
"Other work?" Zachariah frowned. "Another company? We can give you more; more enough to put Alex through college."
Dean's determined gaze faltered as he looked over at Alex. She shook her head. He still seemed torn, but turned back to Zachariah.
"No. It's, uh, hard to explain. Um, it's just that this - this is - it's just, this isn't who I'm suppose to be."
Zachariah grinned.
"What?" Dean looked from Alex to his boss.
"Dean, Dean, Dean. Finally." Zachariah stood up, reached forward and lightly pressed two fingers against Dean's forehead. The atmosphere changed immediately.
Dean looked around wildly. "What the hell?" He looked down. "Why am I wearing a tie? My god, I'm hungry."
Zachariah laughed. Alex pursed her lips angrily.
"Welcome back," the angel chuckled.
Dean stood up, casting a quick glance at Alex. "Wait. Did I - did I just get touched by - you're an angel, aren't you?"
"He's Zachariah," Alex growled, crossing her arms.
Zachariah nodded. "Very good," he praised her. "How'd you know?"
Alex shook her head.
Dean groaned. "Oh great. That's all I need is another one of you guys."
"I'm hardly another one," Zachariah informed him. "I'm Castiel's superior. Believe me, I had no interest in popping down in one of these things," he motioned to the person he was wearing, "but after the unfortunate incident with Uriel, I felt it necessary to pay a visit. Get my ducks in a row."
"I'm not one of your ducks," Dean snapped.
"Starting with your attitude." He glanced back at Alex. "Both of yours."
"Oh, so, what? This was all some sort of a lesson? Is that what you're telling me? Wow. Very creative."
Zachariah smirked. "You should see my decoupage."
"Gross. No thank you. So what? I'm just hallucinating all this? Is that it?"
The angel shook his head. "Not at all. Real place, real haunting. Just plunked you in the middle of it without the benefit of your memories."
Alex tipped her head. "Are you a seraphim?" she asked. "Or just a normal angel?"
"Alex," Dean snapped angrily.
Zachariah turned to face her. "I'm a seraphim," he nodded. "How did you know?"
Alex shrugged. "Castiel must have mentioned it," she said, feigning confusion. "Yeah, that's probably it."
"So why'd you do this?" Dean changed the subject. "Just to shake things up? Hm? So you guys can have fun watching us run around like ass clowns in monkey suits?"
"To prove to you the path you're one is truly in your blood," Zachariah snapped. "You're a hunter. Not because your dad made you, not because God called you back from hell, but because it is what you are. And you love it. You'll find your way to it in the dark every single time, and you're miserable without it. Dean, let's be real here. You're good at this. You'll be successful. You will stop it."
"Stop what?" Dean snapped back. "The apocalypse, huh? Lucifer? What? Be specific, man."
"You'll do everything you are destined to do. All of it. But I know, I know. You're not strong enough. None of you are," he added, casting a glance at Alex. "You're scared. You got daddy issues. You can't do it. Right?"
Dean balled his fists. "Angel or not, I will stab you in the face," he warned.
"All I'm saying is it's how you look at it. Most people live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things."
Dean just turned away.
Zachariah continued. "Save people, maybe even the world. All the while you drive a classic car and fornicate with woman. This isn't a curse. It's a gift. So for God's sake, Dean, quit whining about it. Look around. There are plenty of fates worse than yours. So are you with me? You want to go steam yourself another latte? Or are you ready to stand up and be who you really are?"
...
Alex blinked. The angel was gone. Dean cursed, turning back to Alex. She shrugged, letting out a long breath. "Damn angel," she muttered. Then she looked up. "We should go find Sam."
As she spoke, the door burst open. "Dean!"
"Sam." Dean glanced at his brother.
"What the hell?" Sam looked wildly around.
Dean huffed. "Angels."
Sam frowned. "What?"
"Some douchebag angel put us here without or memories. A, uh, test or something." Dean stormed out of the room. "If he's hurt my Baby," he warned.
Alex cast an amused glance up at Sam. She was ignored, and trailed after the Winchesters.
...
Dean hurried out to where he had parked the Toyota this morning. He stopped, relieved, as he saw the Impala in its place. "Come on," he grumbled. "Let's get the hell out of here."