Chapter One – Night Flight

Kids. It had to go after kids. If there was one kind of case Dean hated the most, it was when kids were involved. No matter what they did, no matter how many they saved, there were already victims that they couldn't help. Shadows that plagued them throughout the investigation. This time the bastard had killed six kids before he and Sam even heard about the problem. They had lost two more before they put the Kappa down. Eight victims were usually enough to crush the Winchester's spirit, but it was always so much worse when it was eight kids.

Kids were supposed to be carefree. They were supposed to run and play and just be kids. They were meant to be innocent and never know about the darkness of the world. They were meant to grow up and live their lives. Now there were eight that would never get that chance, and several more that would now be afraid of every shadow, every weird noise they ever heard. They would grow up afraid. Or they'd grow up like he did, like Sam did. He didn't know which was worse.

Thoughts like these were what brought him to the bar. Sam was back at the motel, packing up what few belongings they had, destroying any evidence of the case they had been working. This was something they usually did together so that they could blow town long before anyone could question them. Be on to the next case before this one could take root in their psyche. Tonight was different; the case had hit Dean hard and he needed something strong to wash it down with. Sam didn't dare complain about Dean drinking, like he would have before. Sam had let a lot of Dean's behaviour slide since he had returned home. Being left behind tonight was almost a relief for Sam. In truth, he needed some time after that case as well, and drinking was not his way of coping with overwhelming cases.

The bar was dark, dusty, and it smelled vaguely of stale beer and smoke. A few of the lights had long burned out, and a few more were flickering on their way. There was an old television set perched on a shelf above the bar, showing nothing but snow and static. Few seats were occupied, and a majority of the patrons appeared to be middle-aged men drinking alone. The jukebox whined through the song 'Take it Easy,' barely recognizable through the static. It certainly wasn't the nicest bar Dean could find, but it would do. He saddled up to the bar and signalled the bartender over. Also an older guy, one that looked like an old biker. Not a hot chick. Damn.

"Whiskey. Neat."

The bartender nodded and tossed down a coaster before going off to retrieve the bottle. In the meantime, Dean took stock of the people in the bar. His eyes scanned for any source of threat, but found none. No one had even looked up when he walked into the bar, which suggested that there were only humans patrons. That was a relief for Dean, but he still kept his guard up. It was something his father had drilled into his head Dean's whole life: never let yourself relax. Staying on guard could be the difference between life and death at any moment, especially when alone. He nodded a thanks to the bartender as his whiskey was set in front of him, thankful for the liquid relief he was about to partake in.

The jukebox skipped twice and came to a halt, throwing the bar into a sad sort of silence. The discomfort that had been present before now hung heavy in the air as Dean shifted in his seat. The only sound now was coming from the two truckers sitting a few stools down, and even that conversation seemed absent-minded at best. Dean could hear every word the two men said, but eavesdropping was not what he was here for. This visit to the bar was all about leaving behind the nightmare that he had just lived through, and hopefully numbing the one he was sure to have the next time he closed his eyes. He took a swig from his glass, swishing the liquid through his mouth before swallowing. It was a vain hope that he could burn away the events of the last two days, but it wouldn't stop him from trying. With not much else to pay attention to, Dean found himself listening to the two men at the bar anyways. It sure beat watching the static on the television set.

From what he could hear, some small town a couple of states over had been taken over by some gangs or something. He shook his head to himself as he took another drink, it was amazing how shitty people could be to one another. Sometimes he preferred demons to humans, at least with demons you could expect to be fucked over. You knew their aim was to cause pain and destruction. With humans you never knew what their motives were, what they wanted. He may have stopped listening then if he hadn't heard the one man mention that one of the gang leaders had taken two bullets to the head and not died. That piqued his interest in the conversation real quick.

"Well I heard he had some kinda deformity and the bullets couldn't get through the scarring," the man in the red plaid vest said.

"What? That's the dumbest thing I ever heard," replied the man with the scraggly beard.

Deformity? Hard to kill? Smelled demonic to Dean, and like a potential new case. A case that could help to leave this last one behind. Maybe a case that could have a smaller dead count.

"Then how do you explain it?" The vested man asked.

"Shit I dunno. Weird crap is supposedly always goin' down in Sunnydale. I think the cops there are just full of it."

Sunnydale? His interest in a potential case was more than piqued now, it was screaming at him. If it was Sunnydale that was in danger, then this wasn't just a potential case, this was a necessary stop and a nonstop drive until they got there. First he needed some information though.

"Sorry to interrupt fellas, but did you say that gangs took over Sunnydale?"

The two men turned to face Dean as he pulled up the stool next to them and nodded their heads.

"A-yup. That's the word anyways," the bearded man replied.

"Been all over the news that people aren't supposed to go even near SunnyD until they get a handle on the mess," the vested man added. "Our routes both took massive detours. Such a pain in the ass."

Dean flashed his FBI badge from his pocket, "I've been looking into the situation. As far as you know, when did this all start?"

The men looked at the badge, thankfully not too closely as he wasn't actually sure if he had his own badge or his brothers again. It had happened more than once that the wrong badge ended up in his jacket. Regardless, Dean was grateful that it was something that had become a permanent fixture in his jacket's pocket. Asking too many questions as a G-Man was normal, people were willing to share more information. Be too inquisitive as a civilian, however, and people start to suspect that something is out of the ordinary. That was a really good way to tip off the authorities, and that was something any hunter wanted to avoid, especially a Winchester.

"Well weird stuff has always happened in that town, this is really nothin' new," the vested man supplied, taking a pull from his beer.

The bearded man chimed in, "The cops there are full of shit. It's a sleepy town. This started just this past week. It was the damnedest thing, a couple of gangs showed up all at once."

"Town's been burnin' since."

Dean nodded along, "Anything else you gentlemen can tell me?"

The man in the red vest started to shake his head and then added on, "I guess the gang leaders have some sort of deformity or somethin' that make them hard to kill."

The bearded man rolled his eyes and continued to drink his beer.

"Well thank you gentlemen. You've been a big help."

Dean pushed the stool away and headed back to his own seat. He quickly gulped back the last of his whiskey and slammed some cash down on the bar. A case like this would be enough to get them on the move normally, but Dean would usually hold off on traveling until the morning. The last case had not yet been washed away, and both of the hunters could really use some rest before taking on another one. Knowing that it was Sunnydale that was in need of help was enough to push Dean to action tonight. He was grateful that he had chosen a bar close to the motel, making for a quick return, but still found himself practically running back to the room his brother was no doubt fast asleep in. Dean wanted to waste no time, especially knowing how far they were from California. They had to get on the move now if they hoped to make it there by the next night.

"Sam!" Dean crashed into the room, flipping the lights on.

Sam, who had been peacefully sleeping jumped awake, instantly grabbing his gun from under his pillow and leaping to his feet.

"Damnit, Dean!" Sam relaxed his stance, sitting back down on the bed, "you gotta stop doin' that." He took deep breaths to slow his heart rate.

"Sorry Sammy," Dean had given his little brother shit over the years for doing the same thing. "I know we agreed to spend the night, but I got wind of a new case."

"Great. It can wait 'til morning. I'm spent, Dean, so are you. Plus I can smell the booze on your breath from here."

"It was one drink, and no it can't. Get up, we're leaving now."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean was already out the door. He cursed to himself and dragged his feet after his brother. The keys to the Impala were tossed to his hand as Dean slouched into the passenger seat.

"Great, good thing I'm wide awake now," Sam grumbled to himself as he slid into the driver's seat. "Where to?"

"California," Dean mumbled absentmindedly, eyes trained out the side window.

"That's easily a 20 hour drive, Dean!" Sam hoped that his brother didn't expect to get there overnight. South Dakota was not exactly a neighbor to California.

When Dean didn't reply, Sam realized that this drive would be in silence. Again. It was something that Sam had been getting used to, ever since Dean had been back. Sighing he turned the key, bringing the Impala to life with a roar. He pulled out of the parking lot, radio blasting some song of Dad's. Without a voice to distract him, Sam slipped easily into his own thoughts as he cruised down the dark highway, the only light to illuminate his way coming from the moon and the odd streetlight as his headlights led the way.

Ever since Dean had returned from Purgatory he had been different. Sam had expected that, but he never would have expected some of Dean's behaviour. Sam was anticipating that Dean would be tired, slowed down, and probably done with hunting after everything he would have seen. He had expected a cold Dean, one who was distant and maybe even a little cruel. Cas had warned Sam that it was likely that Dean would be broken, and nothing like he had remembered him to be. In truth, Dean had been more committed to the hunt than ever, and he had been more than ready to return to the road. Angels and all that bullshit be damned, they were back to helping people, chasing down cases all across the country. It was what they were good at, and it was what they knew best.

Sam also noted that the fatigue that would have been understandable was nowhere to be seen. Sam feared that Dean wasn't sleeping much at all, making the lack of fatigue even more concerning. There were more nights than he could count in the last months that he had woken in the middle of the night to find Dean hunched over the laptop, pages flipping past his face a mile a minute. Whatever he was doing, he didn't want Sam to know. The history was cleared before Sam could ever get close to the laptop again. For that reason Sam figured it wasn't late night porn surfing; Dean wouldn't care enough to hide that.

Sam was only right on one account. The distance was expected, he had just gotten back from an unimaginable world. They had both survived hell, but Purgatory was something different entirely. Dean wasn't tortured directly, as far as Sam knew, but he had spent an interminable amount of time fighting for his life. Dean would have been surrounded by things that wanted him dead, and Sam knew that meant that Dean would have been running and fighting for nearly every second that he was in Purgatory. Dean had only been gone a couple of months, much less time than he had spent in hell, but no one knew how much time that translated to in Purgatory. Sam had no idea what Dean had lived through while he was gone, but he knew that Dean was coping in his own way. For once the distance he felt with Dean, and the way he was coping, was not what worried Sam.

His worry came from the anguish that Sam could see just behind his brother's eyes. He couldn't place it, couldn't figure out what it was. Anger he would have anticipated, and that he could understand completely. Sam imagined that he would have been consumed by anger if the roles had been reversed, and anger was one of Dean's most basic reactions. The hurt that Dean was trying to hide was nothing that Sam had seen before, not since Lisa anyways. Why Purgatory would leave a similar mark on Dean, Sam wasn't sure. Whatever the source of the pain, Sam knew that Dean would not only not answer his question, but punctuate his 'no' with a fist. A strike to his jaw was not worth trying to satisfy his curiosity. Sam would wait.

Twelve hours of driving brought the brothers close to their target, but both knew there was no way they could continue on without some sleep. Neither had slept since before they got wind of the case in South Dakota, and it finally caught up with them somewhere in Utah. Dean had put up a fuss about stopping as soon as Sam had mentioned it. The quarrel continued as Sam pulled into the motel, signed in, and as they climbed the stairs to the room they had paid for. The argument finally ceased when Dean sat down on the bed to take off his boots and fallen asleep before he had even loosened a lace. Sam smirked smugly to himself as he curled into his own bed. He hoped that this time he wouldn't be woken by Dean hollering about having to leave right away.

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As soon as the hot water hit Dean's skin he felt instantly better. The tightness and concern of the previous few days seemed to be washed away. That shower did a better job than the whiskey could have ever done. Dean succumbed to the water, leaning his hands against the tile in front of him and letting the water run down over his face. He hated to admit it, but Sam was right. Stopping for the night was the best idea last night. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had felt that tired.

"Yes you do, it was before you found Buffy."

The thoughts of Purgatory were hard enough to ignore, but memories of the slayer raised the difficulty level vastly. The little blonde seemed to haunt him everywhere he went, especially now that he was on the way to her home turf. Hunters may not be allowed, but he was not letting her town be torn to shreds because she wasn't there to protect it. All she had asked of him was to make sure that Dawn was safe, but Dean knew that she cared about her town, too. All she wanted was her home to be protected. Sunnydale needed help, and they had lost enough time by stopping for the night. Dean shook himself out of his own thoughts and turned the water off before blindly grabbing for the towel that was resting just outside of the shower curtain.

With the towel firmly wrapped around his waist, Dean stepped out into the steaming room. Standing at the mirror, all Dean could make out was the dark outline of the tattoo on his chest. His eyes traced the shape, thinking about all the times that it had saved his ass. It was crazy that just a bit of ink had protected both him and Sam so completely over the years. Dean used the palm of his hand to clear a streak in the foggy mirror. He hadn't expected to find someone standing behind him.

"Gah!"

Dean spun around frantically, coming face to face with a trench coat wearing angel. He huffed and puffed, trying to regain his breath.

"Cas, man, we talked about this."

"Hello Dean, I'm sorry to have startled you, but I needed to talk to you," Cas stated, matter-of-factly.

Cas was standing just behind Dean, and Dean had no idea for how long.

"Great, could it have waited until after my shower?"

Cas's brow furrowed, "I did wait until you completed your shower."

Dean indicated his towel around his waist, "showers are not 'complete' until I am dressed and out of the bathroom, Cas."

"I am sorry, but we needed to speak immediately."

Dean sighed, tightening the towel around his waist. "Fine, whattya need?"

"I know what you're planning. You're going to Sunnydale."

Exasperated, Dean threw his head back and rubbed his hands down his face revealing a look of defiance.

"Ya, so?"

"Do not go to Sunnydale, Dean."

"Why not? The town is overrun with demons. They don't have a slayer anymore, if you'll remember she's kinda trapped in Purgatory 'cause you won't help her. The town needs help."

"No, not won't, I can't help her, I have told you that. You needn't worry, though. There are plans in motion. You going to Sunnydale will only interfere with what is meant to happen."

"Ya, well I'm really good at that, and we're going."

"Dean, please do not. You do not understand what is at stake here. There is nothing you can do to change what is to happen," Cas paused, his face hardening. "I asked you as a friend, and now it is an order."

"An order?" Dean looked skeptical, "well, good luck with that. Now get out."

"Dean – "

"Out!" Dean yelled loud enough to draw Sam's attention.

Sam knocked on the door, "you okay in there?"

Dean turned to the door and answered, "ya, I'm fine."

When he turned back the angel was gone, and Dean was alone. Cas didn't want them going to Sunnydale, and he couldn't help but wonder why he was so adamant that Dean and Sam would be interfering with something. He really didn't care, either. They were going to Sunnydale, because he'd be damned if her town was going to go to hell for her friends and family because she wasn't there. Dean pulled on his jeans and t-shirt and rushed out of the room.

"Get your stuff, we gotta go."

Sam was just pulling on his shirt over his head, "right now? Who were you arguing with?"

"Yes, right now. Let's go."

"No, Dean! Damnit," Sam had had enough, "you still haven't told me why we're going all the way to California. You know there are cases between here and there, so why are we bypassing them for this one?"

"We can talk about this on the road, but we gotta go, Sam."

Sam crossed his arms, strengthening his stance. Dean had been avoiding any questions that Sam had had since he returned from Purgatory, and Sam couldn't explain why this time bothered him as much as it did, but it did. They had been on hunts non-stop since he and Dean had reunited, and Sam had let that go, but this was different. There was something about this case that was getting to Dean, something that was driving him to practically run to California. Sam needed to know why.

Dean sighed, he knew he needed to explain to Sam why they needed to be in Sunnydale, but now was not the time. Unfortunately he wouldn't be able to get by without giving some information to Sam. He had been grateful that Sam hadn't asked him about the late night research he had been doing, but his luck had finally run out. Dean hoped that giving Sam at least part of the truth would get him off the hook for now.

"There's this town, Sunnydale? It's been overrun by demon gangs. They need help."

"Gangs? As in plural? Why are we going alone then? Shouldn't we be calling for back up?"

"And who should we call? Hm? Dad? Ellen? Jo? Bobby?"

Sam felt a pang straight to his heart at the mention of the hunters they had lost over the years. Each name felt like a personal attack, but Sam knew his brother was right. There was no one to call anymore. They were on their own. Again.

"We don't know anyone else, Sammy. We're all we got."

"You're right. Okay. You say it's a priority case, then I'm with ya," Sam nodded.

"Thank you. I'm driving, let's go."

Dean grabbed the keys off the night stand and threw his duffle bag over his shoulder. They had wasted enough time stopping for the night, they weren't about to lose more time arguing about the case.

"Do we have time for breakfast first? I'm starving."

Dean looked back, annoyance obvious on his face, but the growling in his stomach found him agreeing with Sam. Breakfast was definitely a priority suddenly.

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"So, what do we know about this Sunnydale? It's not in Dad's journal, but there's gotta be a reason that demon gangs came to it."

Dean took a sip of his coffee, "I dunno Sammy, maybe they just realized that it was a town not on the hunter radar." That was close to the truth, and Dean hoped that Sam wouldn't pick up on the half-truth.

Sam swallowed his bite of toast and wiped his hands, "Okay. Did you hear anything about how many demons?"

If Sam did pick up on the half-truth he didn't let on. Dean was relieved as he continued to drink his coffee.

"No," Dean shook his head, "no clue."

"Great. This sounds wonderful," Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean knew it wasn't a lot to go on, and the situation could be a lot tougher than expected, but they had to go. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her friends, or to her sister, if he could have stopped it. Hunting monsters is what they did, and this was no different. If they left now they could make it to town as the sun set. Not ideal for their own safety, but it definitely made the hunt a lot easier to carry out without prying eyes. Neither Sam nor Dean knew what they were walking into, but Dean did have an unfair advantage. He knew that Sunnydale was the hellmouth, and because of that, the situation could be a lot more dire than either of them expected. That thought was worrisome, but telling Sam that information would bring questions that he wasn't ready to answer, that he didn't know how to answer. It led to questions that would lead Sam to Buffy. That was too much to deal with quite yet.

Despite that extra knowledge that Dean had, nothing could prepare them for what they would find.

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"Osiris, release her!"