A/N: Sorry it's taken so long. I have a wonderful case of mononucleosis… (yeah, I know, gross, huh?) and been sicker than a dog. Sore throat, massive headache, swollen glands, fever, aching all over… oh yeah, and my personal favorite, the risk of seizures and your freakin' liver exploding. I never knew that. But I've been working, albeit slowly. (okay, yeah, I'm lying in my bed, with my laptop, but still, I'm trying.)

And …Holy shit… 91 reviews. You guys rock. So I'll quit my damn whining, and thank you.


Thanks to… L'insomnie des etoiles, Lilithxfic, I'mcalledZorro, snchills,angel679, The Emerald Phoenix, adder574, Ghostwriter, JaggerK, Transgenic-girl, StoryDreamer, CylentWind, Rae Artemis, Mystiksnake, Karone Evertree, Larabiehn, SilverKitsune1, Aogail, Minako Mikato, SupRNatural119, and Heart of the Wizard. gaelicspirit, Kylelara, Teranika Meneldil, AbbySomeone, P.L. Wynter, Crescent-Moon-Vixen, Padfoot n' Moony, pandora jazz, Fantastygirl721, FastFuriousChick, shadowhisper, Maze2010, Bamboxler, smlylestrgte5790, Kalistar, winchestergirl196, and last but not least, ShadowMayne.

(If I missed anyone, email my worthless butt, and point out that I'm brain dead and left you out)


Max breathed a sigh of relief as she came into view of 25th Second Avenue… and the Winchester's car was still there.

She didn't know much about cars; but she strongly suspected that the one in front of her was a rare thing. What had Sam called it? Oh yeah, an Impala.

She grabbed her bike, which thank god, was also still lying where she had left it, and hefted it up.

She then went over, opened the Impala's trunk. Carefully placed it inside, but paused as the wheels hit the bottom.

There was a compartment underneath the trunk.

She frowned for a second in contemplation. As she had told Logan, she should keep her nose out.

But curiosity got the better of her, and she felt around the sides of the bottom of the trunk, and found that it lifted up easily… where a safe was hidden.

She debated silently for a moment on whether to open it or not, but once again, the curiosity won.

She placed her ear to the safe, while she moved the dial, and soon had the numbers.

11-2-83

She twisted it, and it opened silently to reveal a cache of firearms and… rock-salt?

She cautiously picked up one of the shotguns, and saw that instead of bullets, it held canisters of rock-salt.

What the hell…?

Max sat it down gingerly, and saw there was other things inside the compartment, too.

News-clippings that had that had many things circled… like obituaries for one, and unknown, supernatural projects. And a battered-looking journal that contained very weird information.

Max's forehead wrinkled. Something strange was definitely going on here.


Alec and Sam were still deep in discussion when Logan strode into the room, holding a sheaf of papers.

Both men paused, and looked up at him quizzically.

Logan's face was impassive as he held out the papers to Sam. "Care to explain this?"

Confused, Sam took them, glancing down.

His face drained of all color.

"Sam? What's wrong?" Alec asked, feeling slightly alarmed for his new friend. He took the papers out of Sam's limp and unresisting hands… and stilled.

As it was a newspaper article from St. Louis, Missouri… headlining about how a string of vicious murders had ended now that the killer, twenty-six-year-old Dean Winchester had been killed while attempting to commit one of the murders.

The other paper was an obituary…

Alec quickly read it.

Dean Matthew Winchester died Thursday, June 13th, 2021, at St. Lucas Hospital, due to complications of a gunshot wound.

Born in Lawrence, KS on January 24th, 1995, Dean was the oldest of the two sons of John and Mary Winchester.

He is survived by his younger brother, Samuel Jonathan Winchester, and his father John Winchester. He is preceded in death by his mother, Mary Winchester.

Funeral Services will be held Sunday, June 16th, 2021 at Mt. Hope Cemetery.

Like Logan, he noticed that the picture was identical to the person lying unconscious in the bed,

But unlike Logan, he was willing to hear Sam out.

Alec raised an eyebrow, and asked. "Information please?"

The young man sighed. "It's going to sound crazy."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Any crazier than kids made in a lab and raised to be soldiers?"

"I don't know… it depends. And maybe we should wait for Max, so I don't have to repeat this."

As if on cue, she appeared in the doorway. "I'm already here. And does it have anything to do with secret compartment in your trunk? A secret compartment filled with guns loaded with rock salt, of all things-"

"Wait a second. You got in past the trunk? That's what the lock is for." Sam said.

Max tapped her ear. "Super-sensitive hearing, remember?"

"It's also called invasion of privacy."

"Whatever. Just answer the question. Guns loaded with rock salt, knifes, machetes, newspaper clippings, and a very weird journal."

All three of them saw Sam's face tighten when Max mentioned the journal.

"Did you read it?" he asked, after a moment's pause.

"Glanced at it. Didn't really read it," Max cocked her head to the side. "Now are you going to tell us what up with you guys?"

Glancing over at Dean, Sam sighed and started their story.


Sam shut his eyes tightly. "You researched us, so you know that Dean and I were born in Lawrence, Kansas. It all started there… twenty-two years ago. I was just a baby, Dean was four…"

Sam looked at them, brown eyes hard. "You wanted to know what was going on? We're hunters… only we hunt the supernatural. Demons, ghosts, poltergeists, shape-shifters… and a whole lot more."

He was met with silence. Then he heard a raspy, yet familiar voice, slightly filled with annoyance. "Telling tales outta school, Sammy?"

Sam was on his feet instantly. "Dean! You're awake," he frowned. "I didn't expect you to wake up for at least four more hours. You all right, man?"

"I'm good, Sammy," Dean eyes happened to stray over the where their little group had congregated… and his eyes landed on Alec, and went so wide, Sam was sure they were going pop out of his head.

"Sam? What in the hell is going on? Who… or what is he? Ah, hell Maya was right, I should've listened. This is fan-fucking-tastic, another goddamn shape-shifter-"

Sam interrupted his older brother's rambling, gently grasping his uninjured shoulder. "Dean, hey, relax all right? His name is Alec, and no, he isn't a shape-shifter. Remember those news reports we saw about that place called Manticore?"

Dean, even though he might not have been operating at completely 100 percent, but his mind was still sharp. Scarily so, Sam noted, as he replied. "Yeah. Kids were raised to be soldiers… genetically enhanced. They escaped when it burned down a few months ago."

Raised to be soldiers… just like us. The thought passed briefly through Dean's mind.

Sam extended a hand, encompassing both Alec and Max. "Well, that's where they came from."

Although I have no freakin' idea how one of them ended up looking just like you…


Max listened curiously as the brothers conversed.

It was actually Dean's reaction that convinced her that they were telling the truth.

The guy had just woken up after being stitched together; and was undoubtedly still feeling the effects of the morphine Dr. Carr had administered to him.

Yet when he had spotted Alec, she had caught the look that came over his face. A mixture of sick horror and recognition, and he had started asking his brother about… shape-shifters.

One of the creatures that Sam had mentioned.

So she continued to listen, unabashedly.


"Uh… why exactly are you telling these guys… about us?" Dean asked Sam, his green eyes locking with his brother's.

"Logan Cale dug up the obituary on the shape-shifter… and naturally came to a erroneous assumption."

Dean blinked, feeling the effects of the morphine, but it still wasn't as bad as he expected. Usually when he was under the influence of the narcotic, he was foggy and thick-headed, that thinking was virtually impossible.
But he was clear-headed… remarkably so…

"Sammy… I'll tell 'em what's going on."

"I'll explain… as best I can. Besides, you need to rest. How you're even coherent is a mystery to me."

"I'm good, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. Only Dean could claim that he was "good" after having seventy-five stitches put in his body, and multiple broken bones.

"Sure you are."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Are we gonna sit here and argue all day, or should I start talking?"

"Be my guest. But you're not leaving that bed, not even sitting up," Sam stared down hard at his older brother. "Okay?"

"Yes, Samantha… I got you. Cut the drama, all right?"

Then he settled in for what was definitely going to be a long and painful discussion.


More coming up... if you guys still want it.