Author: Mirrordance

Title: Less Traveled By

Summary: High school is hard enough without an absentee father, restless spirits, haunted cars, a missing classmate and a sexual predator on the loose. Then again, the Winchesters never did anything the easy way. Dean is 17 and Sam is 13.

Hi guys,

I would like to thank all those who read, alert-ed and favorite-d my fic, and especially all who reviewed the last chapter of Less Traveled By. As always, expect more comprehensive responses to specific queries in the coming days and hours. In the meantime, here's a fairly long-winded new chapter with some more sort-of answers :)

As always, I look forward to reading your c & c's; please let me know what you think of the chapter if you have time. I worry about this story sometimes, and I'll be addressing why in my usual post-fic afterword (which I'm already writing, so you can expect that this fic is nearing completion), so your thoughts are invaluable :) Anyway, without further ado, Chapter 6 of Less Traveled By:

Less Traveled By

6: Checks and Balances

1997

The five thousand dollar check was burning a hole in Dean's proverbial pocket, and thinking about it was giving him a headache. There was something inside him that was keeping the information from his father, and he was struggling with understanding what it was.

If the money had been given to him just a few days earlier, he wouldn't have found it so distracting. But the case was unfolding, and the urgency has diminished for him since his family collectively decided that Linda was a years-old ghost and not some poor girl trapped in a trunk somewhere waiting for a rescue. It was tragic, yes, but there was little that could be done about it now, and the more years he spent on the job the better and better he understood things like that.

As promised, his younger brother came back to visit him early in the morning. Waking up was still generally unkind to his healing head, but opening his eyes to the sight of Sam was almost always worth the trouble.

"Hey, Dean," the youngest Winchester greeted him with a small smile. Sam was sitting on a chair next to Dean's bed, their faces and gazes level to each other.

"How..." he cleared his throat, "How long have you been sitting there?"

"A little over an hour, I think," Sam replied, shrugging, "Not long."

"Creepy," Dean grunted as he shifted in bed, attempting to sit up until Sam put a hand on his arm to stop him, "Hang on, lemme do this."

Dean closed his eyes tightly as Sam raised the head of the bed up at an angle, so that he was sitting more than lying down. He kept them closed as he let his balance and his stomach settle, and opened them only when he felt Sam's weight on his bed.

"You good?" Sam asked, sitting on the bed with his legs crossed, looking at his brother in rapt attention.

"Yeah," Dean winced, looking around the room, "Dad? News?"

"Looking in on a lead," Sam replied, "This is the theory we're working on: Marcus Tenet – then in high school – nabbed and killed a classmate, Linda Carin. He got away scott-free, but the impulse comes again years later when he tries to kidnap Annie Huntington. He stuffs Annie in the trunk, where Annie meets the ghost of Linda Carin, who suffered the same thing about ten years ago. Makes sense?"

"In our world," Dean snorted rubbing at his eyes, slowly becoming more and more alert, "Makes sense? That is so the wrong way to put it, Sammy..."

"So dad and I are thinking," Sam went on, ignoring the quip, "Linda is tied to the car somehow, right? Maybe it's still got some of her DNA, or maybe it's just the sheer trauma of the experience that's keeping her ghost in there. I'm hoping for the former. 'Cos Dean, if the cops find the car and get the traces of her DNA... she could actually have justice. Marcus Tenet will be put away not only for assaulting and attempting to kidnap Annie Huntington, he will be put away for the murder of Linda Carin too. Maybe that will put her to rest."

"They still haven't found the car though, huh?" Dean asked.

"Dad's looking in on that right now," Sam said, "Just earlier today, several hikers reported car tracks leading into the water at the north end of Lake Belkin, a couple of hours away. I guess Marcus Tenet tried to get rid of the evidence by pushing the sedan into the water."

"That son-of-a-bitch is sick," Dean said distastefully, "I guess he's not talking at all, is he?"

"Nope," Sam said, "He insists he had nothing to do with the kidnapping of Annie Huntington, and that he doesn't know anything about a Linda who was stuffed in the trunk with her. He's sticking to the story that he sold the car a couple of weeks ago to this Duane Viner guy, and that Viner must be the one responsible. He's even volunteered for a lie detector test, harping on that he's as much a victim as everyone else. He gave a description of Duane Viner to the cops and they have their eyes open for him but no luck finding him yet, so they're onto Tenet like superglue."

"Vaughn and Diamond are convinced he's their guy?" Dean asked.

"They've got no one else," Sam shrugged, "And he's got no alibi; like dad said, he does seem like the loner-type. He has been for a long time, from what I've seen on his bio. Marcus Tenet came from a pretty well-off family. He lived under the radar in high school both in terms of grade and popularity, he was a normal guy. He got older and slid off the wagon though, got into the usual: gambling, drinking... It's at least believable that he'd sold his old car to get some money, but in the absence of a better lead... it's one of those cases that would just have to head for court. From our end, though... dad and I are pretty convinced. It's hard not to be, when he may have a history of past behavior, from that classmate of his who went missing."

"Are the cops looking in on that at all?" Dean asked, "Are they beginning to link Marcus Tenet to Linda Carin's disappearance in the 80s?"

"There's been talk, sure," Sam replied, "But not a lot, not with Annie insisting Linda was picked up that same morning and that they were talking in the trunk. Last I heard, they're thinking of bringing Annie in to talk to Tenet, to try and plead with the good side of him to give up the information and tell everyone where Linda is."

"And how's that goin'?" Dean asked.

"The detectives are trying to weigh if doing that will make Tenet talk," Sam answered, "Or if he'd turn defensive and shut up more. But Annie's got spunk, she's scared but she's willing to give it a shot."

Dean winced a little in thought, "You know once this entire thing unravels it's gonna be real weird for Annie. If Tenet talks and the cops find out that Linda has been dead for years... what will that mean for Annie, after she insisted someone was inside the trunk with her? People will think she's nuts."

"They'll just say she got PTSD or something," Sam shrugged, "Or that maybe she read about the disappearance from years ago and it seeped into her subconscious. They'll say it's the drugs too, maybe. There's always an excuse, Dean. When you start talking 'ghost,' that's when you're the crazy dude - ironically."

"I guess," Dean sighed, "So when should I tell the cops that I didn't really see anyone in that trunk?"

"You might not have to if you don't want to," Sam said, "I mean the cops are already digging up that car and looking high and low for a body... they'll find whatever they'll find, I guess."

Dean's eyes lit up with an idea, "Hey, you think we can try and get in on that interrogation action if they decide to push through with it? I hate it when we're working on a case and it feels... far, you know?"

"I think the Huntingtons will give you half the family fortune if you asked, Dean," Sam said.

"Speaking of fortune," Dean said, and glanced at the door of the room nervously before leaning over the side of his bed to the nighttable and grabbing the envelope Jed Huntington had given him. He tossed it Sam's way.

"What's this?" Sam asked as his long fingers unfolded the envelope and he peered inside. His eyes widened comically, and he looked up at Dean in excitement.

"It's from Annie's dad," Dean explained, "He uh... he shoved it in m'hands and made a quick exit. I dunno what to do with it."

"We're rich, Dean!"

Dean actually chuckled at that, "Sure, squirt. We never have to work again."

"What did dad say?" Sam asked.

Dean pressed his lips together. Generally speaking, he didn't display dissent against his father to Sam. It was unproductive, and he didn't think it was his place. But there was something about this damn money, and he was trying to put a handle on why he'd been keeping his mouth shut about it.

Sam's eyes widened even more in realization. He looked genuinely surprised at the rebellion, "You haven't told him."

Dean scratched his cheek, glanced at the door again, "I mean I'm gonna... maybe. But... I don't know. I was uh... I was thinking of giving it back."

"But we need the money," Sam argued, "You know it like I do."

"You can keep yers if you want-"

"But I'll look like a jerk," Sam pointed out, "Come on, Dean... they can afford it, we need it, and we deserve it. What are you on?"

"You'll look like a jerk," Dean scoffed, and Sam just rolled his eyes at his older brother. But Dean understood; no matter which way you turned the world over, shook it and looked at it, his kid brother was still really just thirteen years old and yeah, he'd care about that. So sue him.

"I wanna give it back," Dean said quietly, "I wanna give it back 'cos... 'cos I think it's too much. I mean, we'd have done it anyway."

"You'd keep the money if they gave you less, like four grand?" Sam asked.

"No."

"At three...?"

"No."

"At two-"

"Sam, shut up," Dean growled at him, "I don't know, all right, it doesn't have to make sense, I just don't want their damn money. I don't care that we need it, I just don't like feeling that I'm backed into a corner with my life so I just gotta take it. I haven't told dad 'cos... 'cos..."

Why hasn't he told dad...?

Sam looked at him expectantly, brow arching as if he was asking, Well?

"The way I see it," Dean took a deep breath, "It can only go down two ways: one, the moment he knows, he'll spend it all on ammo. He's long past that luxury, you know, that he can say no to this. He'll blow it on ammo 'cos he's got to, it's for the job. I don't mind it usually, but I don't have to like it all the time... like now. I wanna give the damn money back, just 'cos I still can, all right?"

"But it doesn't even have to be for ammo, Dean," Sam implored him, "We need it just to sleep somewhere decent and to eat and get clothes. Simple stuff, normal stuff."

"That's the other thing," Dean said quietly, "I open my mouth and tell dad we gotta keep the money 'cos we need 'to sleep somewhere decent and to eat,' and he's gonna feel like the scum of the earth."

Sam just looked at him pensively.

"Then again," Dean sighed after a moment of thought, "Maybe it's my banged-up head dicking me around. I mean look at me, saying 'no' to free money."

"Well I'm not saying 'no'," Sam pointed out.

"You ah..." Dean asked, "You telling dad about your check? 'Cos it is yours, you know that, right? It doesn't have to go into the pooled income of the borderline-destitute Winchesters."

Sam pressed his lips together, and it was his turn to glance warily at the door, as if he was afraid that their father was going to walk in any moment now, "I kinda wanna start saving up my own money. For emergencies and stuff."

"Now you look like a jerk," Dean teased him.

"And..." Sam hesitated, "And college, you know, if I decide to go. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna need stuff."

"College, huh?" Dean asked, brows rising, "Really?"

"I'm good in school so I think I got a shot," Sam shrugged, "And so do you," he added pointedly.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean waved the issue away, "You can quit it with the motivational speech already, Mr. Higher Learning, and just focus on solving us this job."

It was an ancient question for a hunter when it came to dealing with restless spirits from the victims of violent crimes: do you give them peace or do you bring them justice? Do you salt and burn a body or piece of DNA that could be vital evidence, or do you bring in the cops and let the law deal with the crime?

John mulled on this as he watched the scene investigators work on the extraction of the white car from Lake Belkin.

There were no hard and fast rules, and there was a heck of a lot of discretion involved. Once in awhile he'd get a call from a hunting buddy on advice about such things, and sometimes he called others. Today, it was Bobby Singer on the other end of the phone call.

"I'd leave it alone, John," the more-seasoned hunter told him.

"Yeah?"

"Well the perp will be behind bars a long time for the charges on Annie Huntington alone so he won't be a goddamn menace to anyone anymore," Bobby replied, "And what's there to salt and burn when you don't know where he stashed the body of Linda Carin anyway? You can always try and snuff out the car, but it's evidence now, and you don't wanna get your grubby hands on wrecking that especially since it's linked to an active case. Linda Carin's ghost will just have to stay on in that trunk... she doesn't really harm nobody anyway. It's tragic for her but what can you do? Maybe one day someone will find something in the car or in Marcus Tenet's place that can give her justice. It's all you can do, Johnny. 'Sides, why borrow trouble? Your boys are hurting, you take care of your own first."

"I was thinking along the same lines," John commented with a wince, "But when it comes to things like this, I sure 'preciate hearing it from someone else too."

"So uh..." Bobby hesitated, "I'm gonna be in the area on a job in a couple of days. I was thinkin' of swinging by, make sure that guy I hooked you up with on fixing up Dean's car doesn't rip you off. Is that all right?"

"I don't know," John huffed, "You lying about actually having a job here?"

"I can always make it true," Bobby laughed gruffly, "'Sides... so I wanna see for my own eyes that the runts are all right, what's it to you?"

"They're usually happy to see you, Singer," John told him, "God knows why. I guess I just gotta live with it."

"You know it."

John thanked the other hunter and hung up the phone.

As far as he was concerned, this hunt was done.

The decision of ending the hunt was strangely... nerve-wracking.

John Winchester seldom ended hunts with resignation and trust that someone else – this time the cops, he supposed – would take over. But he was a logical man too, had been in the game long enough to know where things started and where things ended in terms of what he was capable of doing.

Used to being perpetually busy, though, he decided to turn to more productive things. He moved his family out of the dingy sublet and back into the motel nearer to the boys' school. He also called up Vaughn and Diamond to let them know that Sam had been released from the hospital and told them where he and the boys would be staying. He also verified with them that they were sure the boys were no longer in any danger as witnesses to this whole debacle.

That settled, he called up Doctor Bradley and asked about when he thought Dean would be released. The doctor also informed him that his eldest child was well enough to start doing light schoolwork.

That bit of information led him to making a phone call to the boys' school principal, who eagerly gave him an immediate appointment, or any appointment at his leisure. He decided to go see the man that very afternoon.

"Principal Strauss," John greeted the administrator in his office. The last time they saw each other was when John enrolled his children in the school a couple of months ago.

"Mr. Winchester," Strauss said with a huge smile as he led John to sit in a couch in his office, and not by the forbidding-looking desk. He sat just an arm away from John and leaned forward earnestly.

"It's good to see you. And how are Dean and Samuel?" he asked.

"They're good," John said, taken a little bit aback by the other man's eagerness and warmth. Strauss had certainly been stony that first meeting, John remembered, set apart behind his cavernous desk as Sam, Dean and John answered his prying questions before he admitted them to the school.

"Healing," John went on, "They'll be ready to head on back in no time. Which is why I'm here."

"Their teachers are well-aware of the situation," Strauss assured John, "And have already prepared packets for the boys at my behest. These contain notes on what the children have missed so far, and what else they may miss in the coming days. These also hold reading assignments and homework, and contact details of each of their instructors in case they require clarification or particular assistance. I guarantee you that your boys will have no problems returning. Not only are we ready to accommodate them, they are whip-smart to begin with. It has not escaped my attention that they adjusted quite well and quickly since joining us; I am certain catching up will be of no consequence to them."

Strauss handed John two long, thick brown envelopes labeled for each of his sons. "Mr. and Mrs. Huntington were here on a similar capacity earlier today," he told John, "For their daughter Annie. And so we thought it best to prepare the same thing for your sons in the event of your arrival."

"Comprehensive," John commented, impressed. He doubted Dean would be, though. The damn envelopes were heavy, and looked like a hell of a lot of work.

"It is our pleasure," Strauss said, "And we are especially grateful; you know the Huntingtons are wonderful benefactors to the school, and we are all relieved at the safety of Annie and your own children. It is the least we can do for any of you for your help."

"I'm worried about one more thing," John said, "There's reporters camped out at the hospital, and I'm thinking you might get the same problem here when Annie and the boys go back to school."

"The security issues will be handled appropriately, Mr. Winchester," Strauss answered, "Your boys will be well-looked after when they return. We will also align with the school nurse to be aware of what medication they may still be taking for the injuries and what-not if you like. You just have to call me - " A calling card appeared out of nowhere like goddamned magic - "and inform me of their precise schedule of return."

"Sounds good to me," John said, taking the card and pocketing it, "Thank you."

The thing with hospitals, Dean reflected glumly, is that after the fear and the shock and the hurt that brought you in there is eased by the relief of eventual healing, there's a lot of boredom between then and freedom.

He was asleep most of the time but unquestionably getting better, and he knew he was near to being released when his father brought in his homework.

"Seriously?" Dean asked John when he dropped a massive envelope on his swiveling dining table and dropped another one by Sam's lap, "Dad, come on. I have a head injury."

"Now you do," John said sarcastically. Sam was already eagerly opening up his package, "Get to reading, soldier, you have a lot of school to catch up on."

"But dad," Dean complained, "If I'm well enough to read, I might as well be working on the case-"

"There's nothing to be done on it now," John told him with finality. Sam's head shot up at the announcement.

"What?"

"There's no body to salt and burn 'cos no one knows where that kid dumped Linda Carin," John replied, "And we can't interrogate Marcus Tenet to find out 'cos he's in police custody. We can't raid his house either because they're all over it, and they have a hell of a lot more resources for a comprehensive search than we do. We cannot salt and burn a body we cannot find, boys. And we sure as hell ain't torching a car that's in evidence linked to an active case. The hunt will have to sit, for now. 'Sides, Linda isn't harming anybody being tethered to that trunk."

"But dad," Sam protested, "Linda is a victim too. When we send these ghosts off, it's not just for the people they're haunting, right? The job's also about sending them to the light... or whatever."

"The job's about what to do with what you got, Sam," John explained, "Marcus Tenet won't be hurting anyone anymore, Annie Huntington is safe, Linda Carin's ghost is harmless in that trunk and the cops are looking for her body. You do what you can, son, and then you move on and help someone else. You can't get caught up in the things you can do nothing about. This hunt is done, Sam. What you boys gotta do now is heal up and catch on with all your schoolwork."

Dean exchanged a look with his brother before saying, "What if Marcus Tenet talks, and spills the beans on where the body's at?"

"Then that is her justice," John said, "If she still needs salting or burning later, we can accommodate. But other than that, we're out of this one, and that's final. Dean: no more bull. Get that started."

"But what's it all for anyway?" Dean mumbled, miserably opening up his envelope, "It's not like I'm gonna go to college or anything like that."

Sam's head shot up again at the rebellious tone.

John frowned, looked at him flatly, "Dean."

Dean sighed, "Yes, sir."

He did as he was told.

Of all things right and holy, he was done with homework and catching up with school in no time at all. The headache that has been nagging him since he woke up in the hospital days ago was laying low, quiet from the meds he was on, so even pain wasn't a distraction nor was it a motivation to force himself to sleep. Besides, he'd been mostly asleep for days so he felt restless, just eager to get out of there. He was shifting and shifting, and his bed squeaked irritably. He growled under his breath.

"I wanna get outta here," he said.

"I can tell," his father told him mildly, before getting back to reading the daily.

The three Winchesters were cooped in the room, reading, doing homework, watching daytime television, talking and taking naps at random intervals all throughout the day. Dean was not assigned a new roommate, so Sam was on his belly on the bed parallel to Dean's, going over his own schoolwork.

"I think I need some fresh air," he said a couple of hours in, getting up from his borrowed bed and springing to his feet. Sam bounced a little, and Dean glowered at him in envy.

"Why don't you take your brother," John suggested to him mildly, "He's simmering like a black hole over there."

"I can go out?" Dean asked hopefully.

"On a wheelchair you can-"

Dean groaned, "Dad-"

"Dean come on let it go, we'll get some air," Sam said, not waiting for a response. He was already out the door, and Dean could hear him talking animatedly to a nurse.

"Why is he so impatient?" Dean sighed at his father, "You staying here?"

"Everyone keeps askin' me that," John said, "Yes. Yes, Dean, I'm staying, I'm not going anywhere until-"

"I meant here, in this room," Dean clarified, frowning at him a little. John just blinked at him, so he filled in the quiet and asked, "You want us to bring you back anything? A soda, coffee, anything?"

"I'm good, Dean," John told him, "Thanks."

Sam wheeled his brother out along the hospital corridor, humming a little to himself as he pushed at the wheelchair. The humming was as melodically vague as always when it came to Sam's musical prowess, but he was in a good mood. Dean, on the other hand, was hunched on the chair miserably, swathed in a robe and tethered by his IV.

"I really coulda just walked," he mumbled.

"But I'm a good driver," Sam told him lightly. He took Dean down the corridor and into the elevator. The brothers stopped at the 6th floor, where the cafeteria and an open courtyard was. The brothers bought ice cream and settled outdoors, watching the sun set. They tried to pay for their food, but the cashier knew who they were and wouldn't take their money. Other than that, though, they were glanced at but essentially left alone.

"We shoulda grabbed some of that pie too then," Dean said pensively as he gamely took down a generous spoonful of his chocolate sundae, "I can get used to this."

"To what?" Sam asked, as he munched on a vanilla cone.

"Free stuff," Dean wiggled his eyebrows at his little brother.

"I'm glad you're in a better mood," Sam said.

"I guess I just needed to get out of that room for a little bit," Dean took a deep breath, "This was an awesome idea, Sammy. All this air is helping me think. Our end of the hunt is done. We saved a hot girl from the clutches of an evil perv, said evil perv is behind bars, dad's sticking around watching awful daytime shows with us, we get free ice cream... I guess this is a good day's work, man."

Sam grinned at him a little, "Now we just gotta break you out of here."

"True that," Dean affirmed, "Say... how far do you think you and I can get on this baby before they realize we're out?" he asked Sam, patting at the wheels of the wheelchair.

"Not very far," Sam laughed. It was a good sound, Dean thought, and he almost regretted having to join in the laugh and obscure some of it.

"You're right," Sam said after a moment, "It's a good day."

After Sam and John left, Annie Huntington came in to visit him with a few minutes left to spare of the regulated hours.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" he teased her, before she raised her head and he checked himself; her eyes were watery and red-rimmed, and she was shaking. He made an effort to sit up, push himself to his elbows. The flimsy hospital clothes made him feel very exposed, so he pulled the blanket up over his chest too.

"Hey," he asked her quietly, "Annie, what's going on with you?"

"It's been days since I was kidnapped," Annie began shakily, sitting on the chair next to Dean's bed, "And the guy, you know, the guy who took me... they found his car and looked at his house and the places around it and anything else he owns and they just... they can't find Linda. No one's telling me so, but I think they think she's already lying around dead somewhere."

Dean bit his lip at this remark, and just let her talk.

"He's not talking," she went on, "He insists he doesn't know me, has no reason to take me. He insists he didn't kidnap me and Linda and shoved us both in the trunk. He's just sticking to his story: he sold the car to someone, and that guy must be the one behind everything."

The tears that have been welling in her eyes spilled over now, "The detectives brought me in to talk to him, to try and plead with him to just tell us where the other girl is. But he kept saying he didn't know me, he wouldn't take me, he didn't shove two girls in the trunk of his car... I... I failed her, didn't I?"

Dean took a deep breath and blew it out in a long exhale. God, where should he start? The girl was obviously killing herself with guilt that by all rights did not belong to her. They were both years too late in helping Linda. They were years and years too late, and the only good thing they could do now is to make sure Marcus Tenet was put away for the rest of his life. Putting Linda Carin's soul to rest was a different job for a different day, and likely even falling to a different person.

"You're still hurt," she said, spitefully wiping at her eyes, "And I can't believe I'm bothering you with this but I can't... I can't talk to anyone else who would understand just how... how responsible I feel for her, you know? Do you know what I mean?"

"Annie..." Dean hesitated, wanting to knock her out of her misery by telling her the truth but at the same time, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would think he was crazy.

"This isn't your fault," he grated out of his tight throat, "Sick people do sick things, and we're just caught in the landslide. You did what you could for Linda; you fought like a maniac in that trunk, and you told the police what you knew right away so that they could look for her. No one can ask you for anything more."

"I couldn't get him to talk," she said, "I couldn't... I begged him to just tell us where she was but he wouldn't... I failed her. I can still hear her crying... I'll always hear her crying..."

The statement sent warning bells ringing in Dean's head. "You hear her crying like... like in a memory, or like... like she's just... around?"

Her face twisted disdainfully, "I don't understand..."

He was asking her if she was haunted by her memories of a ghost or if a ghost had actually latched on to her, that was the question. But how the hell was he supposed to put the words together to-

"Oh to hell with it," Dean muttered to himself. His head was hurting again, and there was never really any delicate way to wrench open someone's eyes into the dark world of supernatural things. In many ways, Annie Huntington's wake-up call was kinder than most; when the supernatural made its way into Dean's life, for instance, it had robbed him of his mother.

She'll just have to fricking take it, Dean resolved.

He pushed himself up to sit, and then swung his legs over the side of the bed. The world swam around him as he struggled up, but he was determined to get across the room.

"Dean-" her tears stopped momentarily in her confusion about what it was he was trying to do, "Dean, what are you-"

Dean hung onto his IV pole and used it to keep himself up as he walked carefully - heavy-footed, unsteady but unquestionably determined – to the closet where Sam and his father had left a couple of the documents from the now-abandoned hunt.

"I can get it if you just tell me-" she stammered. He ignored her, so she just rushed over to help him. She placed a hand underneath his free elbow and helped him move forward.

He growled in dismay at the vertigo, but kept on walking and then raked through the papers in the closet until he found what he wanted. He shoved it in her hands, and then sank like a rock on the nearest seat he could find.

"What am I looking at?" she asked him.

"About ten years ago," Dean closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair as he tried to look for some balance, not to mention look for the right damned words, "Marcus Tenet was in high school when one of his classmates went missing. No one ever found a body, and no one ever found out what had become of her. Her boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, mother's boyfriends, her teachers, her friends, people who worked near her house, neighbors... the search was exhaustive, and the cops tried their best checking out everyone connected to her, but they couldn't get anything."

"Linda Carin," Annie whispered out the name from the paper, "Her name... Linda."

"Linda Carin was leaving her house for school one morning in the late 80s," Dean told her wearily, opening one eye, "And was never seen again."

Her brows furrowed, "What are you saying? That... that Marcus took her ten years ago? Then how'd she end up in the trunk with me? What are you saying, Dean?"

"Annie..." Dean licked at his lips nervously, "You're not gonna believe me but I'm gonna answer your question in a sec. But there are a couple things I gotta ask you first. One – do you think I'd deliberately say shit just to hurt you?"

"Of course not, I-"

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

"No-"

"Can you trust me?" he asked her.

She held her breath a little, before admitting, "I don't really know you."

"Fair enough," he muttered, before making his voice louder, "Two out of three ain't so bad. Tell you what. When I took that drive down Daffy-Ashland trying to remember the things I saw... I remembered not just the plate number of Marcus Tenet's car, I also remembered what I didn't see. Annie... my headlights were right on you and right on that trunk. I couldn't have missed anything. When you jumped out of the trunk, it was empty. There wasn't anyone else in there."

"What are you-"

"Do you believe in ghosts?" he asked her, straightforwardly.

Her expression filled with fear at the possibility of the truth of his statement, and then darkened in rage before she closed her eyes and composed herself. When she opened them again, they were steely-cold.

"I wasn't gonna say anything," Dean told her earnestly, "And I know you can't believe me now, but I'm telling you this because you have to know: there's nothing you could have done. I think Marcus killed her a long time ago. By the time you were put in the trunk with her... you were years too late. She wasn't in there anymore, Annie, not all of her, just... a part got left behind, and that was the only part you met. I'm sorry."

She stepped away from him abruptly, and let go of the paper she was holding as if it burned her hand. She was shaking, and he realized she was deathly angry at him.

"Don't you be mad at me," he implored her, "But you're killing yourself with this guilt at the very least, and at worst... I gotta know if she's haunting you now or if it's just your memories of her. If it's the latter, I can help you-"

"I'm not..." she cut him off but hesitated after he stopped talking, "I can't disrespect you, not after what you and your brother have done for me. And I'm t-trying t-to skip being pissed about this nonsense and just... just get to the part where I should be worried because... because y-you're still hurt and... and what I guess what I'm saying is: you should literally get your head examined."

She left the room in a huff.

"Fair enough," Dean said again, as he looked at his bed blearily, and with far too much longing than was healthy. It looked so damn far, and he was so damn tired.

TO BE CONTINUED...

... In the coming few chapters, the boys go back to school as heroes and feel the love - just before everything goes crazy again (typically!). I hope you stick around for the second installment of angst and h/c to come, haha... and note: one of the core questions Less Traveled By aims to answer is why Dean didn't finish high school so we'll be getting to that. 'Til the next post!