Disclaimer: I do not own the Winchesters but boy, would I like to...
Author's note: Hello all! So my new story is off and running. I will be taking some slight liberties withing this tale: Dean and Sam will learn vampires exist earlier than in the show, my witches will have tangible powers (like Charmed, to some extent), though being Wiccan myself I intend to stay true to the realities/tricks of the trade/beliefs of my kind, etc., but as always I welcome your comments and reviews. Enjoy and Blessed Be!
Chapter One
It had feasted well that night. The hiking party had been easy prey despite their greater number, the humans' fear paralyzing them against the sudden and fierce attack from the shadows.
The Wendigo had taken down the two strongest males first, the third making a valiant but failed attempt to protect the two smaller females. After disabling the third male and one of the females with swift, brutal swipes of its claws, the Wendigo gave chase after the remaining female who had taken off into the woods leaving terrified screams in her wake. The chase was brief, though, and the creature added the fifth human to its cache.
Now, hours later, having devoured its fill for the night, the Wendigo strung up the other meat in its lair to be savored over the next few weeks before settling in for the long winter.
Suddenly the creature felt something sharp penetrate its neck, causing sudden numbness throughout its body. Vision blurring over, it started lashing out with its claws, hoping to make contact with the enemy that had dared to enter its home and attack it. As consciousness seeped away, the Wendigo looked up into the eyes of its foe, another large, male human. Only this one showed no fear, no shock. This one was a conqueror, able and well-prepared to overtake his prey. The Wendigo felt a thick netting fall over its prone form as unconsciousness took over at last.
"Fitzpatrick here," the man reported into a small walkie-talkie. "Target Whiskey 123-13 apprehended. Setting off for rendezvous point for estimated arrival at 21:13, over."
"Confirmed. We'll be waiting. Over and out." the voice on the other end responded.
Will Fitzpatrick placed the walkie-talkie into his jacket pocket, slung the tranquilizer air-rifle over his shoulder and grabbed the end of the Wendigo-filled net in his hands, dragging the beast from its lair. As he left, he glanced over at three hikers – a boy and two girls – hanging from the rafters in the abandoned shaft. He had found the remains of what he believed to be two young men in the corner, and while one of the girls hanging was clearly dead, he noticed the other two were still alive but deeply unconscious.
Or so he thought.
"Please…" Will heard the girl cry out to him in a pained, barely-there plea. "Please help me."
"Sorry, sister," Will said without any resonance of emotion. "Not what I came for." And with that he turned and left, the girl's sobs echoing throughout the shaft behind him.
SNSNSN
Seventeen-year-old Sam Winchester sat at the desk in the motel room staring at the catalog before him. The cover featured a group of happy, bright-smiled teens sitting on the grass in front of a large, impressive-looking building on a bright sunshiny day. Across the top in large letters, a single word: Stanford.
Sam had flipped through the immense catalog a dozen times since picking it up at the college fair his high school had hosted that week. He had grabbed several others as well, but one by one had discarded them in favor of the Stanford one, which offered more and more enticements to him with each reread. Stanford had one of the most impressive pre-law programs in the country, not to mention an unlimited curriculum of interesting subjects, a slew of multi-cultural activities, a bustling, vibrant college town (Palo Alto) and, most of all, scholarship opportunities that were well within his grasp. Sam hadn't struggled to maintain his grade point average and studied furiously for the SAT's for nothing. Certainly not to gain his father's approval.
He knew John Winchester couldn't care less about his academic achievements, just so long as he finished high school. And even that accomplishment the eldest Winchester was making nearly impossible, what with all the moving around they did. Dean had managed to scrape by and graduate, but schooling had never been a priority in his older brother's life. Hell, Sam was certain Dean would have dropped out in favor of hunting years ago, but John had insisted on both boys earning their diplomas. Sam believed it was for his mother's sake. He knew his father still stayed fiercely loyal to her, desperate to make her proud and show her he was trying his best to be a good father. Their sons completing high school was one solid way of honoring her memory.
So Dean graduated, yes, but with no celebration, no fanfare. They hadn't even been present for Dean to collect his diploma in person. They were too busy hunting down a poltergeist terrorizing a family three states over. After the job, they had returned long enough for Dean to pick up the document before setting out for the next hunt. It was downright depressing, and Sam braced himself for the same treatment when his own graduation day arrived.
But Sam Winchester was looking beyond that. He was looking to college, to a future away from hunting. And he was well-aware of the hellstorm that awaited him when the time came to tell his family his plans. Fortunately, he had a little time to come up with just the right tactic of confrontation.
Sam heard his father swear harshly from the next room and, quickly hiding the catalog in his notebook, went to see what had his father so upset. Entering the adjacent motel room, Sam saw Dean sitting on one of the beds watching his father pace the room, phone in hand, hair running tensely through his hair. Sam mouthed silently to Dean to ask what was happening and Dean shrugged back and waved him over, to which Sam complied, barely getting out of John's way.
John hung up the phone and barely kept himself from throwing it into the wall.
"What is it Dad?" Dean asked, hoping this wouldn't be one of his father's infamous need-to-know-but you-don't-need-to-so-don't-ask moments.
"I have no idea," John said, his frustration evident. "That's the fourth hunt I've had lined up that's turned into a bust."
"Call me crazy, but isn't that a good thing?" Sam asked matter-of-factly. Peripherally he saw Dean close his eyes, a clear indication his brother believed that was so the wrong thing for Sam to say considering the state John was in right now. Dean had been witness to far too many escalating arguments between his father and brother as of late and winced every time Sam asked a question regarding a hunt, knowing it would most likely include a conflicting opinion.
"No, Sam, it's not," John said angrily, glaring at his youngest unapologetically. John was borderline obsessed with ridding the world of as much evil as possible, and for four consecutive hunts to just disappear was unacceptable. It meant he couldn't do his job. And John needed to do his job.
"What happened this time?" Dean asked, wanting to know more and hoping to diffuse the impending debate before it started.
"Same as the last time," John said, plopping down on the other bed with a sigh. "Got a tip about a hunt, people hurt or killed, but then nothing. Like the threat just…vanished."
Sam still couldn't understand why this was bad news. If the evil was gone, that was good. Who cared how it was gone?
"At least we didn't move for nothing this time," Sam said mostly to himself but loud enough to be heard.
"Excuse me?" John said, once again glaring at Sam. Dean suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable. Here we go, he thought to himself.
"It's just," Sam began, his own frustration surfacing. "We've jumped so fast into these last few hunts, regardless of where we were. Even if we were a thousand miles away, we jut packed up and went, no notice, no warning. No chance to…prepare, to…breathe. There are other hunters, Dad, but you lay claim to every single hunt like we're the only ones. And now, with these last few turning out to be wild goose-chases…"
"They are NOT wild goose chases!" John shouted, rising.
"Okay, whatever," Sam placated. "My point is, maybe we should get more information before just barreling in to the next job, see if there really is a hunt."
"See if anyone else dies, you mean," growled John, standing over his son who remained sitting on the bed. Dean shifted his position, ready to intervene if the situation escalated anymore.
"I don't want that and you know it," Sam said, standing to his full height which was just now surpassing his father's.
"Honestly Sam, I don't know what the hell you want these days. What I do know is that your attitude is pissing me off," John growled, eye to eye with Sam.
Dean now rose to his feet, feeling increasingly uneasy. This was usually the time Sam's voice would raise a notch, his chest would puff out and the argument would rise to the next level. To his surprise, though, Sam's shoulders fell a little, he sighed, stepped back and said nothing.
John, who had been waiting for the expected retort, stood his ground. For a moment, no one moved, no one breathed.
Then Sam's eyes dropped to the floor and he went back to the other room, shutting the door behind him, leaving John and Dean standing, surprised.
Dean looked at his father then made his way to the other room to check on Sam. John sat back down on his bed, rubbing a tired hand over his face, relieved that the argument had diffused but feeling like his family was falling apart before his eyes. He felt like he was slowly losing control and he had no hunt to take his frustrations out on. And no beloved wife to comfort him.
What the hell am I doing, Mary?
SNSNSN
Dean found Sam lying on his bed against the window, his back to him. As he sat down on his own bed, he looked over sadly at his little brother, who he knew had been growing increasingly distressed the past few months.
"You okay?" Dean asked quietly.
"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said dejectedly.
"Not that I'm not relieved to be spared World Winchester War 23, but you don't usually back down from Dad like that. What's going on with you?"
"I'm just tired, that's all."
"Not good enough, Sam. Not buying it. C'mon." Dean pressed.
Sam turned onto his back with a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. "We've been moving around so much lately, Dean. Much more than usual. I feel like the minute we get somewhere we're off again with barely a breath. And now we're doing it without there even being a hunt…"
"There are hunts, Sammy," Dean cut in. "It's just, something weird is going on. I mean, how can a Wendigo just suddenly stop killing before its hibernation period? Or a Rawhead or a Yenaldooshi or a Bearwalker, for that matter? You'd think if hunters were taking these things down Dad would have heard about it from one of his contacts, right? Someone would have to know something. But for them to just be…gone…it doesn't make sense. I think there's something bigger going on here and I think Dad thinks so too and he's worried."
Sam looked at Dean with interest. "Bigger like what?"
Dean looked back at him. "I don't know, Sammy. I don't have a clue. Just got a bad feeling, you know?"
Sam knew Dean hated not having answers and gave him a sympathetic nod. He also consigned himself to try and not give John unnecessary grief until they had a better idea of what they were dealing with. It was the least he could do for Dean, to whom he owed so much.
SNSNSN
Fitzgerald's truck pulled up to the compound and pushed in the code on the remote keypad, opening the outer iron gates. Floodlights came on as the vehicle moved forward into the front yard, coming to a stop by a large loading platform. Will got out and went to the rear of the truck, opening the back hatch and climbing in to retrieve the Wendigo, still encased in its net. The large compound doors opened and Will dragged the Wendigo inside, hurrying as he felt the creature beginning to regain consciousness. Pulling the net down a long hallway, he stopped before a large cell and pushed another code into the room's keypad. The glass door slid open and Will pulled the Wendigo in and released it from the netting. He exited the cell and the door slid shut just as the creature awoke and made a leap for him.
"Nighty-night, Wendy," said Will with a taunting wave. He collected up the net and made his way to the end of the hall, entering a large room at the end.
The room was large and filled with computer equipment, monitors and filing cabinets. Will went to the main computer console, logged in and typed in information about his latest capture.
Howard Erksine, a smaller, weasel-like man sitting at the next console over, turned to him, hands folded on his chest.
"Any problems?"
"What do you think," Will bit back, offended that anyone would dare to ask that of him.
The other man held up his hands in a placating manner. "Sorry, pal. Just hoping for some stories, you know? A little action."
"You want action, get up off your ass and get some for yourself."
"No thank you! I'm just fine sitting right here living vicariously through masters like yourself. I just wish you'd share some exciting details with me every now and then."
Will smirked. "I'll see if I can't get the bitch to give a little fight next time, will that work for you?"
"Thank you!" the man said with a smile. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."
Suddenly the main monitor came on, revealing a silhouetted figure.
"Any complications?" an ominous voice asked.
Despite the fact that the figure on the screen, known to them only as The Collector, had asked Will the very same question, Howard knew Will would answer with only the highest level of respect and compliancy.
"None. The creature is settling into Cell 18."
"I have a new subject for you to retrieve."
"Yes sir."
"I've decided to add a hunter to my collection."
"A hunter, sir?"
"There are a few of exceptional skill I've taken note of, one in particular. He's successfully destroyed many of the types of beings we have here with us. I wish to watch him do so in person."
"Yes sir. Give me a name and I'm on it."
Both Will and Howard could almost make out the unseen, malevolent sneer emanating from the silhouetted being on the screen. "Winchester," said The Collector. "John Winchester."