So here is chapter three AKA The Final Chapter of Pilot. I truly miss when everything was all happy and their only goal was TO FIND THEIR DAD. *Sigh* Please R+R
Chapter Three: Constance Goes Home
After they had jumped, Sam and George had managed to get themselves on the edge of the bridge and were hanging on. He pulled himself up onto the bridge and held out his hand for George to grab onto. George took his hand and pulled herself up looks around.
"Dean? Dean!"
Dean was not as lucky. A filthy and annoyed hunter crawled out of the water and onto the mud, panting, "What?"
"Hey! Are you all right?"
Dean held up one hand in an A-OK sign, "I'm super."
Sam laughed, relieved, and scooted away from the edge.
After Dean got back up on the bridgeDean's first priority was, of course, to make sure his 'baby' was ok. He opened the hood of his car to make sure everything was okay and Constance did mess anything up. When he was finally done, he closed the hood of his car and leaned on it, "Your car all right?"
"Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!"
"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure. So where's the job go from here, genius?" Sam settled on the hood next to dean while George leaned onto the passenger seat window. Dean threw up his arms in frustration, then flicked mud off his hands then looks at Dean, "You smell like a toilet."
Dean looked down.
Sam, Dean, and George decided that, since they would be staying here for a while, they would need to check into a motel. Since they had no where to go to wash up, Dean was still filthy. Dean checked in under the name of Hector Aframian, "One room, please."
The clerk picked up the card and looked at it, "You guys having a reunion or something?"
"What do you mean?"
"I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month."
The three looked at each other.
When the three got the room number, Sam picked the lock. Sam hid the picks and stood up, having to kneel down to pick the locks because he's so friggin tall. That has always annoyed George, the fact that Sam is so tall. She would often retaliate by laughing at the fact that she was older than him by nine days so she was the one that got to make decisions when Dean wasn't around. While Sam was picking the lock, George and Dean were playing lookout until Sam reached out of the room to grab his shoulder and yanked him inside, doing the same with George. Sam closed the door behind them. They looked around-every vertical surface had papers pinned to it: maps, newspaper clippings, pictures, notes. There were books on the desk and assorted junk on the floor and bed, including something with a hazardous-materials symbol.
"Whoa."
Dean turned on a light by the bed and picked up a half-eaten hamburger sitting there. Sam stepped over a line of salt on the floor. Dean sniffed the burger and recoils, "I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least."
Sam finger the salt on the floor and looked up, "Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in," Dean looked at the papers covering one wall. George examined the papers on the wall as well. She grew frustrated and scrunched her face together. Not a single connection.
"What have you got here?"
"Centennial Highway victims," George and Dean chorused.
Sam nodded, "I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs-" Sam crossed the room, "-ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"
Sam looked at the papers taped to the other walls. There were papers about the Bell Witch, two people being burned alive, a skeletal person blowing a horn at several scared people with the note "MORTIS DANSE", a column about "Devils + Demons", another about "Sirens, Witches, the possessed", a wooden pentacle, and a note that says "Woman in White" above a printout of the Jericho Herald article on Constance's suicide.
Sam turned on another lamp, "Dad figured it out."
Dean turned to look, "What do you mean?"
"He found the Same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white."
Dean looked at the photos of the victims, "You sly dogs," while George muttered, "Dickheads."
Dean and George turned to Sam, "All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it."
"She might have another weakness," Sam pointed out.
"Well, Dad would want to make sure," Dean crossed over to Sam, George following, "He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?"
"No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband," Sam tapped the picture of Joseph Welch, "If he's still alive," Sam goes to looked at something else.
Dean looks at the picture below the Herald article, of a woman in a white dress, "All right. Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address, I'm gonna get cleaned up."
Dean started to walk away as George sat down.
Sam turned, "Hey,"
Dean stopped and turned back as George looked up, "What I said earlier, about both of Moms and our Dad, I'm sorry."
Dean held up a hand, "No chick-flick moments."
"The golden rule," George laughed.
Sam laughed and nodded, "All right. Jerk."
"Bitch." Ah, the signature insults. This meant they were really getting along. George had missed this, ever since Sam had left for Stanford.
Sam laughed again. Dean left to go to the bathroom, waiting for him to be done. Sam noticed something, his smile disappearing, and crossed over for a closer look. A rosary hung in front of a large mirror, and stuck into the mirror frame is a photo of John sitting on the hood of the Impala, next to a Dean in a baseball cap with Sam, on John's lap. Sam takes the photo off the mirror and holds it, smiling sadly.
Sam paced, holding his phone, and sat down on the bed. A voicemail message wass playing.
"Hey, it's me, it's about ten-twenty Saturday night-" Jess's voice spoke from the phone.
Dean came out of the bathroom and grabbed his jacket. He shrugs it on one shoulder as he crossed the room, "Hey, man. I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?"
"No."
"Aframian's buying."
Sam shook his head, "Mm-mm."
"Want anything George?"
"Yes, but I'm coming," George said, getting up and grabbing her sweatshirt.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you messing up my order just because I forgot to get you pie ONE TIME."
Dean and George left the motel room. He got the jacket the rest of the way on as they crossed the lot. Dean looked over and saw a police car, and elbowed George to get her to notice it. The motel clerk was talking to Deputy Jaffe and Deputy Hein. The clerk pointed at Dean, then George, who turned away and Dean pulled out his cell phone
Meanwhile, Sam was sitting on the bed, still listening to the message, "So come home soon, okay? I love you," Jess's voice said.
The phone beeped. Sam looked at it and pressed a button, then put it back to his ear, "What?"
Back outside, the deputies were approaching Dean and George.
"Dude, five-oh, take off."
In the motel room, Sam stood up, "What about you?"
Outside, Dean responded, "Uh, they kinda spotted us. Go find Dad," Dean hung up the phone as the deputies approached. George and Dean turned and grinned at them, "Problem, officers?"
"Where's your partner?" Jaffe asked.
"Partner? What, you mean her?" Dean asked, pointing at George.
Jaffe glanced over his shoulder and jerked his thumb towards the motel room. Hein headed over there. Dean fidgeted.
In the motel room, Sam noticed Hein approaching and darted away from the window.
Outside Jaffe was interrogating the two hunters, "So. Fake US Marshals. Fake credit cards. You got anything that's real?"
"My boobs," Dean replied at the same time George said, "My Dick."
They both grinned.
Hein slammed Dean over the hood of the cop car, then handcuffed George to it.
"You have the right to remain silent-"
The hunters were taken to the police department. They were brought into an interrogation room. After a little bit of waiting (Which, if you asked George, was an eternity and a half) Sheriff Pierce entered the room, carrying a box. He set the box on the table where Dean and George were sitting and went around the table to face the duo across it.
"So either of you want to give us your real name?"
"We told you, it's Nugent. Ted and Sally Nugent."
"I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you're in here."
"We talkin', like, misdemeanor kind of trouble," Dean asked.
"Or squeal like a pig trouble?" George finished.
"You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall," Dean looked away, "Along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. You two are officially suspects."
"That makes sense. Because when the first one went missing in '82 I was three."
"And I wasn't even alive," George sneered.
"I know you've got partners. One of 'em's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So tell me. Dean. Georgia," George felt anger bubble at the use of her full name. Only one person was allowed to call her that. The sheriff tossed a brown leather covered journal on the table. John's Journel. Wow, I just did alliteration without realizing it. I'm awesome. "This his?" Dean stared at it. The sheriff sat on the edge of the table, flipping through the journal
Dean stares at it. The sheriff sat on the edge of the table. He flipped through the journal. George knew he wouldn't get anything out of it, it was filled with newspaper clippings, notes, and pictures, "I thought that might be your name. See, I leafed through this. What little I could make out-I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy," Dean and George leaned forward for a closer look, "But I found this, too," He opened the journal to a page that read 'Dean and George 35-111' with nothing else of the page, "Now. You're stayin' right here till you tell me exactly what the hell that means," Dean stared down at the page, then looked up.
"I don't know how many times I gotta tell you. It's my high school locker combo," Sheriff Pierce was still interrogating the two over the 'Dean and George 35-111' PAGE.
"I do't think two people of different ages and genders have ever shared a locker. We gonna do this all night long?"
A deputy leaned into the room, "We just got a 911, shots fired over at Whiteford Road."
"Either of you have to go to the bathroom?"
"No," they both replied.
"Good," The sheriff handcuffed Dean, then George to the table then left. Dean saw a paper clip poking out of the journal, pulled it out and looked at it. He picked the lock on the cuffs, then gave the clip to George so she could pick her lock. Dean and George watched through the window in the door, then both ducked out of sight as the deputy approached the door, and waited. Once the coast was clear, they climbed down the fire escape, carrying John's Journal. Sounds like a brand name.
George and Dean managed to find a phone booth. The idiot police just had to take their phones. Dean picked up the phone and called Sam while George stood outside, listening in and playing lookout, "Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I don't know, that's pretty illegal."
Sam was driving the Impala, "You're welcome," Sam grinned.
"Listen, we gotta talk."
"Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop."
"Sammy, would you shut up for a second?"
"That's never gonna happen," George mumbled loud enough for Dean to hear.
"I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet."
"Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho," Dean told him.
"What? How do you know?"
"I've got his journal," Dean replied.
"He doesn't go anywhere without that thing," Now that was true. George doubted he even went to the bathroom without that damn journal. Of course, if anyone were to find that, most likely John would've been: A: Locked up in an asylum or B: Dead.
"Yeah, well, he did this time."
"What's it say?" Sam asked.
"Ah, the Same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going."
"Coordinates. Where to?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?" Sam looked up and slammed the brake, dropping the phone. Constance had appeared on the road in front of him. The car passed right through as Sam brought it to a halt.
"Sam? Sam!" Dean yelled into the phone. George looked at him.
"Whats wrong?"
Back inside the car, Sam breathed hard. Constance was sitting in the back seat, "Take me home."
"Take me home!" Constance demanded.
"No."
Constance glared and the doors locked themselves. Sam struggled to reopen them. The gas pedal pressed down and the car begans to drive itself. Sam tried to steer, but Constance was controlling the steering wheel too. Sam continued to try to get the door open. In the back seat, Constance flickered.
The car pulled up in front of Constance's house and stopped. The engine shut off and so did the lights, "Don't do this," Sam pleaded.
Constance flicked, voice filled with sadness, "I can never go home."
"You're scared to go home," Sam realized.
Sam looked back and Constance wasn't there. He glanced around and back and saw her in the shotgun seat. She climbed into his lap, shoving him back against the seat hard enough to recline the seat. Sam struggled, "Hold me. I'm so cold."
"You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!" Sam pointed out.
"You will be. Just hold me."
Constance kissed Sam as he continued to struggle, reaching for the keys. She pulled back and disappeared, a flash of something horrible behind her face as she vanisheed. Sam looked around for a moment, then yelled in pain and yanked his hoodie open. There were five new holes burned through the fabric, matching to Constance's fingers: she flickered in front of him, her hand reaching into his chest. Two gunshots went off, shattering the window and startling Constance. Dean and George approached, still firing at her. She glared at him and vanished, then reappeared, and Dean and George kept firing until she disappeared again. Sam managed to sit up and start the car.
"I'm taking you home," Sam drove forward. Dean and George stared after the car. Sam smashed through the side of the house. The two hunters hurried through the wreckage to the passenger side of the car.
"Sam! Sam! You okay?"
"I think..."
"Can you move?" George asked, her face filled with worry.
"Yeah. Help me?" Dean leaned through the window to give Sam a hand.
Constance picked up a large framed photograph with Constance and her children.
Dean helped Sam out of the car, "There you go."
Dean closed the car door. They looked around and see Constance; she looked up. She glared at them and threw the picture down. A bureau scooted towards the trio, pinning them against the car. The lights flickered; Constance looked around, scared. Water begans to pour down the staircase. She went over. At the top are the boy and the girl from the photograph, her children They held hands and speak in chorus, "You've come home to us, Mommy."
Constance looked at them, distraught. Suddenly they were behind her; they embraced her tightly and she screamed, her image flickering. In a surge of energy, still screaming, Constance and the two children melted into a puddle in the floor. Sam, Dean, and George shoved the bureau over and went to look at the spot where Constance and her children vanished.
"So this is where she drowned her kids," Dean said.
Sam nodded, "That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them."
"You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy."
"Not so rusty after all," George complimented.
Dean slapped Sam on the chest where he'd been injured and walked away. Sam laughed through the pain, "Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freaks?"
"Hey. Saved your ass," Dean looked over to look at the car, "I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car?" Dean twisted around, "I'll kill you," Sam laughed.
"We mustn't split up the beautiful romance that is 'Dean Winchester, and the Impala'. Coming soon to a theater near you," George joked, causing Sam to laugh harder and even Dean cracked a smile.
When they drove off in the car Dean was driving, Sam in shotgun, and George lying down in the back. Sam had the journal open to 'Dean and George 35-111' and a map open on his lap and was finding coordinates with a ruler, a flashlight tucked between chin and shoulder, "Okay, here's where Dad went. It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado."
Dean nodded, "Sounds charming. How far?"
"About six hundred miles."
"Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning."
"Maybe even before if we're lucky, but, then again, when are we ever lucky," George said.
Sam looked at him, hesitating, "Dean, I, um..."
Dean glanced at the road and back, "You're not going."
"The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there." George frowned. She had hoped that Sam would've realized how much he missed hunting and was eager to join back in it, but, she shouldn't have gotten her hopes high.
Dean nodded, disappointed, and returned his attention to the road, "Yeah. Yeah, whatever," Dean glanced at Sam, "I'll take you home."
Sam turned the flashlight off.
They pulled up in front of the apartment, Dean still frowning. Sam got out and leaned over to look through the window, "Call me if you find him?"
Dean nodded.
"And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?"
"Yeah, all right," George climbed into shotgun seat with a frown on her face.
Sam patted the car door twice and turns away. Dean leaned toward the passenger door, one arm going over the back of the seat while George leaned out the window, "Sam?" Sam turned back, "You know, we made a hell of a team back there."
"Yeah," Sam agreed.
The duo drove off. Sam watches him go and sighs.
Sam let himself in. Everything was dark and quiet, "Jess?" Sam closed the door, "You home?" Sam noticed a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table, with a note that read 'Missed you! Love you!', next to a National Geographic. Sam picked one up and ate it as he sneaked into the bedroom, smiling. The shower was audibly running. Sam sat on the bed, shut his eyes, and flopped onto his back.
Blood dripped onto Sam's forehead, one drop, then another; he flinched and opens his eyes. He gasped in horror: Jess was pinned to the ceiling, staring down at him and bleeding from the belly, "No!" Sam shouted. Jess bursted into flame; the fire spread across the ceiling.
Dean kicked the front door open with George behind him, "Sam!"
Sam raised one arm to shield his face, "Jess!"
Dean and George came running into the bedroom, both shouting, 'Sam!' they both looked up and saw Jess.
"No! No!" Sam shouted. Dean grabbed Sam off the bed and they both bodily shoved him out the door, Sam struggling all the way, "Jess! Jess! No!"
Flames engulfed the apartment.
Once the three of them got out of the building safely, there were already fire trucks parked outside the building, firemen and police keeping back gawkers. Dean and George looked on, then turned and walked back to the Impala. Sam was standing behind the open trunk, loading a shotgun. Dean looked at the trunk, then at Sam, whose face was set in a mask of desperate anger. Sam looked up, then sighed, nodded, and tossed the shotgun into the trunk, "We got work to do," Sam shut the trunk.