This story takes place in season 2, post Crossroad Blues. The main idea I actually one I've been playing with for a while, probably ever since I started writing fanfiction again, but I couldn't find a way to develop it. This is probably going to be shorter than my previous stories (although that's not a given). I hope you enjoy.
Also, I've updated my profile and made a list of fics grouped by TV show and timeline. That's mostly if any of you folk reading Supernatural fics want to go through them in chronological order (it's not that important, given that, apart from those that are clearly marked as part of a series, the others can stand alone, but it might be fun to have them in order).
More notes at the end.
Chapter 1
Annette looked at herself in the mirror. She could not remember the last time she had been on a date. It must have been at least four years. Of course, this was not really a date, but still the game plan was more or less the same.
"So, you're actually willing to go through with this."
Annette turned around to look at the younger woman who now stood in her doorway.
"You know I don't like you barging into my room without my permission, Klara," she pointed out, turning back to the mirror.
Klara snorted, defiantly taking a step inside.
"That was only when we were kids."
Annette did not say anything. When they had been at school, kids had laughed at Annette when she talked of Klara as her sister. Annette's fair skin and blond hair and Klara's darker complexion showed clearly one of them was adopted, and to some that was grounds for being meaner than they should have. It was their father who once mentioned family was more than conventional blood and DNA ties. He'd kept the family together even during times when anyone else would have given up on the lot of them.
"Netty," Klara said. "This isn't right. This is dangerous."
Annette shrugged.
"What's life without a little risk?"
Klara shook her head.
"This is serious. Dad wouldn't have wanted you to do this."
Annette twisted round.
"Stop talking about him like he's dead. He's not."
Klara smiled sadly.
"He's been missing for two years, Annette," she reminded gently.
Annette nodded quickly.
"You're right. He's missing. Not dead. And until there's a body we can bury, I won't believe he's dead."
Klara tried to put her hand on Annette's shoulder, but Annette pulled back.
"I have to do this," she insisted.
"So, you're going to meet this mob boss."
"He isn't a mob boss. He was one of Dad's informers. And he might know something about Dad's last moves the night he disappeared."
"You won't let this go, will you?" Klara asked tiredly.
Annette's fists clenched. She would never have struck Klara, but she needed to take a deep breath and calm down, otherwise the anger would overwhelm her.
"He never let either of us go, did he? So maybe it's time one of us returned the favor."
She regretted the barb immediately. After all, she definitely wouldn't have wanted Klara in such a dangerous situation, not for anything, not even for their dad. But she still felt she needed to make a point.
Three nights later
Klara was frantic. There had been no trace of Annette since their confrontation that night. No one knew where she was. Klara had talked to the police, but they knew of her obsession in searching for her father and thought she was probably following a lead.
"What if she uncovered whoever led to Dad's disappearance?" Klara asked
The police officer looked at her condescendingly.
"You think a twenty-five-year-old can discover something we missed?"
That evening, Klara was sifting through Annette's research. There were tons of stuff she did not understand, and she was beginning to regret not paying attention to Annette's findings. Back then, she had thought Annette did not need someone to encourage her obsession. She was afraid Annette would spiral, and Annette was all the family Klara had left. She did not want to lose her. It turned out she had lost her anyway.
At first Klara paid no mind to the scratching at the door. They lived close to the outskirts of their small town and raccoons usually prowled the yard at night. Then she realized the sounds were too consistent, too rhythmic. Grabbing a bat, she headed for the door.
Klara gasped when she opened it. Annette stood there, her clothes torn, her hair all askew, covered in bruises. She was panting, exhausted and glassy eyed.
"Netty! What happened to you?"
Annette did not seem to recognize her.
"I ran for a hundred years. She would not let me stop," she whispered.
Then she collapsed.
xxXXXxxx
Dean glanced at his brother who was sitting at the table staring miserably into his beer bottle. Dean scowled. He had actually wanted to go to the bar alone. It had been Sam who had insisted he come along, even if he was clearly being a buzzkill.
It was not as if Dean didn't get what Sam was trying to do. His little brother was oh-so-subtly trying to point out that he didn't trust Dean enough to leave him alone. Not after Dean had all but admitted he had been ready to sell his soul to a demon to bring John back.
Of course, Sam being a Winchester, he was not trying to communicate whatever was bothering him with Dean – especially since he rightfully guessed Dean would shut him down in no time. Because Sam had no idea why Dean had been so ready to give up his life like that. To leave Sam alone.
Dean had not told him the truth – how could he? He had not told him of the terrible responsibility their father had placed squarely on his shoulders alone, that he had tasked Dean with killing his brother, if he could not save him. At times Dean wished to bring back John only for that. Only to have John deal with the mess and see how he felt about the prospect of killing Sammy.
Dean knew it wasn't fair to their father and it wasn't fair to Sammy. Still, there were times when he felt he had nothing more to give – when the only thing he wanted to do was to step out of this role and put aside his burden, if only for a little while. And how was he supposed to explain all of that to Sam, without mentioning their father's ultimatum?
He shrugged and headed back to the table, beers in hand. Sam looked up questioningly when he took his seat.
"You were gone a long time," he observed neutrally.
Dean bit back the remark that came to his mind about clingy little brothers.
"I was talking to the bartender."
Sam nodded.
"I noticed. I didn't think she was exactly your type. So, I was wondering…?"
"You mean, was she a demon tempting me to make a deal?" Dean asked bluntly.
Sam's face fell.
"Don't even joke about that, Dean."
Dean shrugged.
"It wasn't anything like that. She was telling me about some weird happenings in the area. The last one was in the next town, actually."
Sam looked at him blankly.
"A hunt?"
Dean rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, Sam. A hunt. You know, our job. That ring a bell to you?"
Sam huffed.
"Yeah, I just thought…" he paused and shrugged. "Never mind. What case?"
"Apparently there's this woman who disappeared. Came back three days later nearly dying from exhaustion saying she ran for a hundred years and adding some very weird stuff that made no sense."
"Could it be drugs, though?" Sam mused. "It doesn't necessarily have to be our kind of thing."
Dean nodded, conceding this.
"Yeah, except the bartender knows her and said she never had anything to do with drugs. Cop's daughter and all. Also, apparently this area has a disappearance problem, always around this time of year."
Sam frowned in concentration.
"And do they all return after three days?"
Dean shook his head.
"Some never come back. Some have their bodies found later on. And some, apparently, come back wrong. They get nightmares. Paranoia, suicidal tendencies, the whole package."
Sam's eyes darkened.
"Charming," he muttered.
Dean shrugged philosophically.
"It's the job, Sam."
Sam did not look relieved.
"Right. Of course. The job."
Dean was about to say something, but then decided to cut Sam some slack. After all, he was man enough to admit to himself that, had the roles been reversed, and Sam had been the one confessing he had been considering a demon deal, no matter the payoff, Dean would have been furious.
"Meet you in the car," he said, slapping Sam on the shoulder.
The air outside was cold and smelled strange to Dean. He could feel a tension in the atmosphere, like an approaching storm. When he looked up, though, the sky was clear.
xxxXXXxxx
The town they had been directed to was an hour and a half's drive away.
"This means this area of disappearances is quite widespread," Sam commented.
Dean nodded. He had noticed that, too.
"Probably why no one managed to connect them before."
Sam had that frowny look on his face, the one that told Dean his thoughts were going a mile a minute.
"You'd better start talking before your brain explodes," Dean advised. "It would be messy. Gray matter all over my upholstery and all that."
Sam gave him a disgusted look.
"Do the places where the disappearances happened to have anything in common?" he asked.
Dean shrugged.
"How should I know? I just know what that bartender chick told me. Woman vanishes, she's not the first, plenty of people have been vanishing during this time of year for as long as they can remember."
Sam rubbed at his forehead.
"It's close to Halloween," he muttered. "Lots of strange stuff happening now."
Dean eyed him carefully.
"And your question about the places having anything in common?"
Sam grimaced in frustration.
"Just something teasing at the back of my mind. I can't put my finger on it yet."
Dean eyed him with concern.
"Something like…you know…?"
"My freaky powers?" Sam deadpanned not noticing Dean's wince. "No, not this time. It's more a memory thing. Uhhh…I think Dad looked into something similar once."
Dean ignored the stab at his heart when Sam mentioned John.
"What, you mean here? Why don't I remember?"
"That's the problem. I don't think it was an active case, at least Dad didn't think it was an active case. You might not know about it because it was a research thing. He gave me some points to look over, but I don't think I found anything of note. I was fifteen, though. My research skills weren't exactly scintillating."
Dean snorted. Sam's research skills had always been spot-on. He had good instincts, geeky knowledge, and the ability to form quick connections in his mind. John Winchester had recognized that and had not hesitated to use it.
"Who uses scintillating anyway?" he said instead of the praise he never could quite formulate to Sam. "What, are you competing for sap of the year?"
Sam made a distracted swat at his head. He did manage to hit him without much effort.
"Sometimes I think you feel threatened whenever I use words of more than two syllables," he said.
Dean smirked.
"Oh, not threatened, Sammy. Just worried your nerdy brain is gonna short-circuit with too much geekiness."
Sam rolled his eyes, but he looked more relaxed than he had in days. It was the first time they had dared to banter since the crossroads revelation. Dean hoped that meant they were burying the problem and Sam would stop insisting on asking Dean for something he did not think he could give.
xxXXXxxx
They parked in front of a motel at the edge of town. It didn't look half bad from the outside, and Dean guessed they had enough funds to stay for a few days without resorting to fake credit cards – always a risky thing in a small town, especially if they wanted to investigate the surrounding towns as well. If things got rough, Dean could also check out the pool scene at the local bar. That always brought them good money.
Sam was dozing by the time Dean pulled into the motel parking lot, but he woke up on his own when the car stopped.
"Are we stopping?" he asked.
Dean nodded.
"I figure this place is good enough. Doesn't look like Roach Central and it's far enough that we can leave town quickly if something goes wrong."
Sam nodded, opening his door. He exited the car and Dean joined him. He frowned as he saw Sam stagger and grab the car door.
"Sam?" he asked, worry making his voice sound almost harsh.
Sam shook his head.
"I'm fine," he assured Dean. "I must have got up too fast. I wasn't awake yet."
Dean nearly allowed Sam's explanation to calm him down. Then Sam gasped and grabbed his head. Dean's heart sank. He knew what was happening.
xxxXXXxxx
Unexplained flashes. Pain. Howls in the distance. Something after him. Sam could not comprehend the images and sensations that were bombarding him, hurling themselves against him and threatening to swallow him whole. He gasped. He might have called out to Dean. He did not remember. The pain had taken over and he was carried away against his will through a parade of images he could not really identify.
Then everything settled. He was in a hallway of an unfamiliar house. He took several steps and found himself in the living room. The place looked cozy, the kind of house Sam sometimes imagined he and Dean would have grown up in, with pictures on the mantelpiece and funny knick knacks. The sofa cushions matched the carpet, and Sam could picture Dean's snort of derision if he had been there to spot them.
Two women were sitting on the sofa. The youngest was probably of Middle Eastern descent, the oldest was tall and blonde and she looked as if she had been to hell and back. There were scrapes on her forehead.
The blonde woman got up, staggering slightly. The younger one watched her, warily.
"Annette, I don't think you should be up. You barely got out of the hospital."
"I'm fine, Klara," Annette said, distractedly.
Klara shook her head.
"No, you're not, Netty. You won't even talk to me. You won't tell me what happened. And the things you said when you came back…"
Annette twisted round. Her eyes were like ice.
"Don't ever talk to me about that again. Got that?"
Klara seemed to shrink.
"Annette, you're not yourself."
Annette smiled.
"On the contrary, I've never been more myself. I ran for a hundred years, Klara, and I felt alive. Can you understand that?"
Klara shook her head.
"I'm sorry, I…"
Annette nodded impatiently. She was behind Klara, and her fingers gently caressed the wooden statue of a horse placed on the mantelpiece. She picked it up.
"Of course you don't understand," she said stonily. "That's why this has to happen. I'm sorry."
Klara did not have time to turn around before Annette swung the statuette at her head. Several times.
xxXXXxxx
Unspeakable pain. A wrath that could not have been his. Fear the likes of which he had never felt before. Sam felt as if he was alternating from the point of view of one woman to the other, as he felt emotions both from the victim and the perpetrator. It was too much. He fell to his knees on the cold sidewalk. Dimly, he thought he screamed, but it was hard to tell if that was really him.
Then, the sensations faded into even more confusion. The taste of blood and death vanished. The pain in his head doubled though, as if something was trying to drill its way out of his skull. He did not think he could see anymore.
He felt hands clutching at his shoulders, and he tensed, ready for a fight. It did not take long for Sam to realize he knew those hands, though. He knew their owner would never hurt him, that he would die for Sam if need be. Sam tried to reach out and make contact with his brother's arm. He latched onto it.
"Dean?" he gasped.
"Sammy, come on. Focus on me."
Sam wanted to. He really wanted to focus on Dean and on the voice and touch he knew so well that had always caused the world to make sense instead of the pain and the fear that were swirling around him – that weren't even really his.
"Dean, there's…there's…"
"Just keep breathing, Sam," Dean ordered him.
Sam would never admit to Dean how much he admired that in him: the way his brother could take charge despite his obvious fear and offer hope so readily, so selflessly. Sam took a deep breath feeling himself calm down little by little.
"I saw them," he said.
The hands clenched on his shoulders.
"Saw what? No, never mind. Not now, Sam. We need to get you up…"
Sam shook his head, wincing as the movement seemed to drive spikes in his head.
"No, Dean, listen. The…the woman who disappeared. She's gonna kill someone."
"You had a vision of our case?" Dean asked skeptically.
Sam meant to say something, then groaned as a car full of teenagers passed them, music cranked up to the maximum. The pounding of the bass battered itself against Sam's skull.
"Alright," Dean said, and his tone had taken on that determined "Sammy is in pain, and I'm gonna do something about it" note. "I'm gonna get us a room and get you inside…"
Sam tried to shake his head again, only Dean's hand suddenly restricted any movement.
"Dude, stop doing that," Dean hissed irritated. "You've gotta realize by now you're only making the pain worse. What, are you enjoying it?"
Sam huffed.
"Dean, there's no time…"
"I'm making time, Sam," Dean interrupted harshly. "Right now, all I give a damn about is getting you to safety, so be a good boy and shut the hell up."
Sam was about to continue his protests, and he would have kept arguing with Dean until Dean caved in out of exasperation alone. However, a voice close by interrupted them:
"Is he OK?"
Sam squinted towards the voice. A middle-aged man was approaching from the motel. He must have noticed Sam's collapse from inside.
"I assume you came for a room," he went on. "I'm the manager. Is your friend OK?"
Sam had felt Dean tensing the minute the newcomer had arrived. Dean had never liked it when others were around to see either of them vulnerable. He liked it even less when they drew attention to it.
"Brother," Dean said tersely. "He's fine, he's just…"
Sam braced himself for whatever embarrassing explanation Dean would offer now. Dean was a master at them: hangover, drug binge, anything that would have made the interlocutor horrified enough to leave them alone and gave Dean the satisfying amusement of humiliating Sam. However, this time the motel manager seemed to have his own ideas:
"Migraine, right? My eldest son has them, and I couldn't help recognizing the signs."
Well, Sam thought, at least that was way less embarrassing than anything Dean could have come up with. And having the motel manager sympathetic towards them wasn't exactly a bad thing…
"Listen," the manager said, taking charge of the situation. "I'll lead you to one of my best rooms. Don't worry, I won't charge you in full. But your brother needs peace and quiet and he won't get that in our regular, low-price rooms. I'll take you there, leave you to it, and you can come check in after you get him settled. How's that?"
Sam hoped Dean was not going to protest – due to their father's influence, Dean was notoriously suspicious of charity. However, he usually was not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth when it came to Sam's wellbeing, either.
"Heard that, Sammy?" he asked helping him up. "We're moving on to better things."
Sam teetered on his feet, the pounding in his brain protesting against being fully upright.
"Keep your eyes closed," Dean urged curtly, but Sam could sense the worry beneath the brusqueness. "Let me guide you."
"Do you need help with him?" the well-meaning motel manager asked.
Please say no, please say no. It wasn't as if Sam thought the manager was a demon in disguise, but he could not stand the thought of having a random stranger's hands on him at that moment. He could not have stomached even people he trusted, such as Bobby, when he was that vulnerable. Only Dean. Dean had been the only one Sam felt safe enough to drop his guard around him. That was why it was so important that Dean stayed with him instead of making risky deals for people who had made their choices long ago.
"I've got him," Dean said politely, but firmly. "I know how to handle him."
Yes, you do. That's why I want you with me. Sam shuddered and Dean clutched him harder.
They got moving and, even though Sam did not remember much about the journey from the car to their rooms, he knew Dean did not let him go until they were inside when he deposited Sam on the furthest bed. The manager left them to their own devices and Dean could finally concentrate only on Sam.
"Dean, she's gonna kill someone," Sam mumbled.
Dean forced Sam to lie down, then gave him some water and painkillers. Sam shook his head.
"No, they're too strong," he protested. "They'll…"
"They'll stop that heavy metal concert that's going on in your head right now," Dean pointed out. "I say that's a good thing."
"But I saw it, Dean. I'm sure it was our missing woman. Her name was Annette, she was with someone called Klara, and she bashed her over the head over and over. She's gonna kill this person, Dean."
Dean sighed, looking suddenly immensely tired.
"I'll take care of it."
Sam eyed him in alarm.
"You can't go there alone, Dean."
"I'm not going anywhere," Dean said. "I'll put in a call. You just sleep for a while, alright? You'll be as good as new and ready to face the world again tomorrow."
Sam took the pills but refused to give in to the wave of drowsiness that came over him. He clutched Dean's hand with unexpected urgency.
"And if I go to sleep you won't…well…"
He regretted his words when he noticed Dean's frown.
"No, Sam. I won't trade my soul for dad's when you're not looking," he said sharply, then added on a much gentler tone. "Go to sleep, Sam. Stop worrying."
Sam muttered a sleepy "Wouldn't trade you for anyone." He'd blame it on the painkillers later and be so mortified he was going to have trouble looking Dean in the eye for a long time. But for now he could have sworn he heard Dean's surprised chuckle and knew his brother was actually pleased by the sentiment.
xxxXXXxxx
As soon as Sam was asleep and no longer channeling whatever Hallmark movies he watched in secret when Dean wasn't around, Dean set to work on making true on his promise. He researched the disappearing girl's full name, then found the number of the local sheriff and placed in a call.
"Hey, this is Agent Hatfield. I'm looking into a couple of missings and I think I might have tracked down a connection you might be aware of. Do you know anything about a Ms. Annette Walker?" He paused and listened to the voice on the other end. What he heard made his blood run cold. "Are you sure?" he finally asked. "When was this?"
When the conversation ended, Dean put down the phone, stunned. Annette was dead. She had hit her adopted sister Klara over the head with a statuette twenty times – just like Sam had hinted when he mentions his vision – then she had shot herself with her father's service weapon. It had happened three hours ago, so before Sam had been given the vision. And was it technically a vision if Sam was not seeing the future but the past?
Dean glanced at Sam. He was fast asleep, knocked out both by the pills and the headache. A headache that had refused to go away and only became worse – unlike Sam's usual post-vision symptoms. What did that mean? Was it something new? Was it something unrelated to the demon?
And that was why Dean had wanted to trade for his father – one of the reasons. John had known things. John had more information than Dean. Of course, Dean thought unkindly, John also knew shit, as he had been so sure Dean would actually have any inclination to kill Sam instead of trying his damnedest to save him. And even if Sam did go dark side, well, Dean intended to try his damnedest to rehabilitate him instead of killing him. Nothing Sam could do could ever be unforgivable. If John had not known that, then maybe it was better he was no longer responsible for Sam.
I wouldn't trade you for anyone, Sam had said, and Dean tried to put himself in Sam's place. He tried to imagine how things would have been like if he had been standing there with his father instead of his brother. It wasn't a surprise that, however much he still missed and loved John, the idea didn't feel right at all.
"Likewise, Sammy," he muttered. "I just don't know how to say it." His face darkened as he remembered once again the burden John had laid on him. "I don't know how to say the rest of it, either."
In case you haven't noticed, this fic will have lots of the stuff that I enjoy: angst for both brothers, parallels between their story and the lives of the people they encounter, intriguing OCs, and many many other things.
Now, here's a good news bad news situation. The good news is, Chapter 2 will be posted on Friday. The sort-of bad news is, Chapter 3 will be posted on January 8. I'm going to a concert, then spending the holidays back home with my folks, which includes New Year in a cabin in the mountains, with no laptop in sight. So brace yourselves for a bit of a break after chapter 2 (sorry, but you won't have that long to wait ;) ). See you on Friday.
