Chapter 3

Sam returned to the silent vigil over his brother, as he had done so many times before. He checked on him one last time, then crawled into his own bed, watching the news with boredom. He was growing sleepy when his attention was grabbed at the mention of their names. He listened intently to the report, unnerved at seeing their mug-shots flashed across the screen. What was it about mug-shots, or driver's license photos, for that matter; that made even the most normal people look like grim sociopaths? He turned the TV off after the report. Had to call Bobby anyway.

Bobby answered immediately. "So?"

"Well, you know what happened from the news reports. I don't know why we were ID'd. We were just about ready to go; Dean was just dumping the garbage when they called him out. He dove into the car and we took off, but they were so fast. He was hit twice before he was even in his seat."

"How bad?"

"One deep graze over his ribs and one hit him lower in his left side. We got the bullet out and everything's stitched up. He's out now...I'm just watching for fever."

"Shit! So you got medical help?"

"Sort of. He was adamant we not go to a hospital. I had to call a vet, for shit's sake; nobody else would come out."

Bobby was silent for a moment. "Yeah, after the news report, and with everybody on alert, you'd have been picked up for sure the second you got in the doors. Don't feel bad, Sam; he wouldn't be the first hunter to be patched up by a veterinarian, and a lot of those guys are better than some of the hockey-glove wearing docs out there. You sure the guy knew what he was doing?"

"She; it was a woman, and yeah, she was top rate; nerves of steel. She saved his ass for sure. She even drove us to this place afterward, she said the Impala was too well known."

"Well she's right about that. What about you? You sound shaky."

"I am. I still haven't recovered from the whole shooting thing, let alone everything else. God, Bobby, how did they know? It was going so great lately, we had five good hunts without any problems, and two were paid jobs even. And now this."

"Mmm. I don't know what's going on with that. Somebody had to have tipped them off somehow, or it was just the lousy luck that somebody recognized you from a picture. What about that car, then? Is it safe somewhere?"

"No. Well, not for long. It's still hidden in the barn where the Doc fixed Dean up. I took most of our hardware, and hid the bigger stuff in the straw. I'm without wheels, here."

"I'll come out with something for you to drive for now but I'd better get my ass out quick or they'll find that car before I can load it. Gimme directions."

"Wish you didn't have to, Bobby, but thanks. We're sitting ducks right now."

Sam relayed the info, and Bobby promised to get out there within three hours. "Keep me posted, Sam."

"I will. See you, Bobby, and thanks again."

He put the phone down, frowning. He really didn't like having to drag Bobby out again. It was a risk for him to associate with them as much as it was for anyone else. But he was a good friend; Sam couldn't have dissuaded him anyway. His attention was diverted by a sound from Dean. "Hey, are you ok?" he asked, testing his temp with a hand to his forehead.

Dean opened his eyes and tried hard to focus on Sam's face. He was somewhat flushed and sweating. "Thirsty." he whispered.

Sam had anticipated that; he had a glass of water ready. He held it for him until it was empty. "Better?"

"Yeah." He laid his head back down. "Any aspirin or anything?"

Unfortunately the first aid kit was still back in the car. And the bourbon was somewhere in the straw. Sam had to break it to him that there was no relief at the moment. But it was hardly an issue as he'd drifted off again almost immediately. His forehead was hotter than normal but it was to be expected. As long as his temp didn't shoot up to dangerous level, he seemed to be heading toward healing. The knot in Sam's gut loosened a little. Dean always healed fast, thank god. He returned to his own bed, and spent the next while trying to understand how the policewoman could have known they would be there. He knew for a fact that they hadn't been tailed; Dean would have picked up on it. Was it just bad luck? That was never far away in their experiences; good luck was a rarity for them. But even so, she could hardly have identified him so fast from that distance so it wasn't a sudden recognition on her part. And even if it had been, was she so familiar with his exact appearance that she could have known him instantly? No, she knew who he was; it was almost as if she had some premonition that they'd be there at that moment. And as far as he remembered, the guy at the gas bar was completely unconcerned about them, there was no hint that he was nervous or fearful. None of it made sense. it was frustrating, and it unnerved him deeply. He tried to put it out of his mind and relax. He had a few hours until Bobby's arrival; he needed to use them to uncoil his tightly twisted nerves.

- Three Years Ago-

Laura Brennen was a tender nineteen when her sister was murdered. She and Karin were inseparable, as twins often are. They grew up in a rural hamlet, and there weren't many kids around so they relied on each other for company. They were a contented trio, the twins and their father. Their mother had died at their entrance to the world.

Will Brennen was an uncomplicated man, a mix of Irish and Welsh. He had an acerbic and dead-pan wit; a characteristic that both girls inherited. People often had no idea what to make of him, when they first met him. But soon they recognized the slight curl to a corner of his mouth, the raised brow, the playful twinkle in his eyes. And he was grumbling putty in the girls' hands.

Karin was preparing to go to college that fall, she wanted to become a teacher. Laura was going as well, enrolled in an fine arts program. The future was set, and they waited in happy anticipation for the day school would begin in September.

But that day would never come. A different day would rise in ugly august sunday when he came into their lives. He was a vicious young drifter. When he came across the pleasant little house, he watched from a hidden vantage point until he knew exactly who lived there, and how easy it would be to get what he decided he wanted. They never would know his name.

Will was first. He answered the door just past noon, and likely never knew what hit him. Karin was behind him, in the kitchen, preparing lunch. She dropped her tray of sandwiches and screamed in terror when she heard the first shotgun blast. The dog was snarling and barking in fury. Laura was upstairs. She heard it all; the shots, the barking, the screams. Torn between her fear and her family, she panicked and crawled under her bed.

She would never forget those sounds. When she finally dared to leave the safety of her hiding place it was dark. The house was silent, the door left open.

She called for her father and sister, but there was no answer. The dog didn't come at her voice. When she dared to turn on the kitchen light, the scene that greeted her was one of pure horror. Her father was sprawled on his back, eyes wide, and very clearly dead. The dog was a few feet away, it too lay lifeless. Blood was spattered over everything. Gagging, she fled the scene, and ran from room to room in search of Karin, screaming her name until she was hoarse.

Karin wasn't lying dead like their father. But she was gone.

Laura prayed and prayed in those following days. Staying with friends, awaiting news of Karin, she prayed so hard that she didn't even notice when her fingernails pierced the palms of her tightly clenched fists. She squeezed her eyes shut so hard in her fervor that she saw stars. But still no word came. No divine help brought her sister back to her.

When the police tape came down, Laura returned home. It had been several weeks, and the dust lay thick on everything. The house still smelled like stale disinfectant from the clean-up. She was struck by an absurd and abstract thought; the kitchen floor had never looked so good. She wandered around the rooms, numb, deafened by the silence.

She was alone. Dad was gone. And Karin…

They had found Karin's body exactly one week after she was taken. Forensics determined that she'd survived six days at his hands. Six days. Laura couldn't think of anything except that they'd missed her by a day, and that the police had said...well they spared her the specifics, but Karin had suffered terribly in that time. Laura leafed through the pile of mail, listlessly. Cards of condolences she'd never open. The usual flyers and bills. And a letter from her college, welcoming her to her first semester.

But Laura's creative spirit was now as dead as her loved ones. She tore the letter up, letting the pieces drop to the gleaming kitchen floor, and retreated to her bed. Art and beauty were no longer alive within her, but the void that remained was quickly filled by a powerful new force; one that lit a dangerous and unstable fire within. Revenge.

As she lay on her bed, sleepless, bitter, and hollow inside, Laura Brennen made a decision that would give her a feeling of control over her ugly new world. No one would ever get away with hurting someone like Karin was again, not while she could do something about it. She vowed she would search until her dying breath for the man responsible for shattering her life and family, and kill him with her own two hands. And along the way, she'd punish anyone else who thought they would entertain themselves in a similar way. She decided she would apply to the police academy. Tomorrow.

-Six Months Ago—

In her fledgling career, Officer Laura Brennen had already had the pleasure of arresting three separate men accused of harming women. They were not easy arrests; all three had come in requiring serious medical attention. Resisting arrest, threatening behaviour, attempts to flee; all legitimate reasons for using force. She was never questioned regarding the state of her captives; rather, she received citations of merit each time. She was quickly earning a reputation as a smart, tough, and uncompromising police officer.

When the details came down the wire about the murdered girl in St Louis, she tucked the printout into her pocket. This one was hers. She was starving with need to punish someone again for that day, and this particular case, the tortured girl, the description of the man...well it all fit. She made it a personal crusade to track the bastard and make him pay. In her twisted and angry imagination, she had found Dad and Karin's killer.

She burned the details into her mind, keeping close watch for any one or any thing that sounded like it could be significant to the case. With those other three, she barely had a chance to satisfy her need for retaliation; there were too many people around—and she had her career to think of. But it fed her hate just enough to make her hungry for more. She spent many months searching; a starving fox with the scent of the rabbit maddeningly close, but her prey elusive. The accused in this case, this Dean Winchester bastard; seemed determined to stay out of reach. She searched and hounded, but consistently came up empty. She used every police resource available to her, spent her evenings at home poring over notes, newspapers, the internet. But she was despairing. It wasn't working, he was just out of reach; taunting her, eluding her, and the need in her was growing to dangerous levels.

When she couldn't take it anymore, Laura Brennen, for the second time in her life, turned to prayer. She prayed hard and passionately, begging for help, offering everything she had for that. But this time she didn't direct her prayers towards the heavens.

And this time...they were answered.