Dean woke up slowly. First was the smell. Like fresh bread, only sweeter. The aroma wafted down the hall, twisting and turning, filling every crevice. It made its way into his room, mocking him and pulling him towards consciousness. Next came the cold; biting at him and surrounding him with its frigid grasp. He wrapped himself tighter in his cocoon of blankets, attempting to drift back to sleep. But the smell was so heavenly... his stomach growled, pleading for him to allow it to taste whatever caused a smell so wonderful. He gave up. Sitting up, he stretched his arms and legs, joints popping and cracking. He stood up, quickly threw sheets together and made his bed semi haphazardly. Eager to find the source of the smell, he pulled on a pair of jeans and plaid button up over his T-shirt, not even bothering to button it. He stepped into the hallway, letting his nose guide him to the kitchen.
There stood Amy, attention focused on the stove and a pan perched on top of it, filled with a circle of tan ooze that was bubbling slightly. Beside her sat a silver bowl Dean didn't even know they had filled with a substance the color of sunscreen that he assumed to be batter. On her other side was a platter stacked with about three or four already finished pancakes. As he walked up, Amy glanced over, only wavering her focus on the griddle for a second.
"Wondering when you'd get up, it's almost 9:00," she said cheerily, flipping the pancake over, hiding the liquid-y surface and revealing a steamy, golden jewel on the other side. The newly flipped pancake released a volley of new smells, all fighting for Dean's attention.
"Sam up yet?" He asked, slightly surprised his brother wasn't already feasting.
"Nah. Must've had a tough night? Research wise I mean...?" She suggested, waiting for Dean to confirm or correct her.
"Yep. This case is..." He faltered, chuckling slightly, "it's something else. Must've stayed up till around 5:00." Amy nodded sympathetically. She fished out the cooked pancake with a quick shove of her spatula and flopped it down on the stack, like a totem pole of deliciousness. Just the sight of them made Dean's mouth water.
"Pancakes?" She offered, seeing his hungry face. She predicted his answer, already scouring the cupboards to find a plate. Dean stood, determined to help her find the correct door.
"Here..." He said, walking to one to the right of her. He opened it, and extracted three plates.
"Silverware? Oh hold up, that one I know..." She said, heading for a drawer at waist height. Apparently she'd already found it on her quest to find pancake making supplies. Together they cleared a space on the cluttered table, shoving books and papers to the side. She gingerly placed the stack of six pancakes in the center, Dean putting plates, forks, and knives all around.
"He better hurry, they'll get cold." She said, eyeing her creations protectively.
Dean sighed and mumbled, "I'll get 'im." He watched the pancakes for a second, reluctant to leave them behind. They were golden and fluffy, steam curling lazily above them. They looked so delicious, sitting on the platter like that. Maybe just one first...
"Dean." Amy said, jerking him back into reality. He realized he still hadn't moved.
"Right. I'll go, uh, okay." He said, quickly turning away, embarrassment creeping into his composure. He shook it off, walking over to Sam's room.
Sam was sleeping peacefully, blankets half covering his torso. He was brutally jerked from his slumber by a knock on the door.
"Sammy? Get up," a voice said. He grunted.
"C'mon Sammy." It said again. Why couldn't it just go away and let him sleep?
"No. Go away." He managed to groan, sleep slurring his words.
"You brought this upon yourself." The voice said, and the door opened, shining in a blinding light to Sam's eyes. The light was blocked momentarily by a dark figure. Sam tugged the covers over his eyes, providing slight cover from the light. All was quiet for a moment, only hearing the soft squeak of feet on floorboards. Suddenly, felt a crushing weight on top of him and heard the faint squeak of bed springs. He felt the outline of a body lying on top of him, arms splayed to the side.
"Get up Sammy," Dean said practically into his ear, his voice strong with a hint of amusement.
"Dean, what the hell! Get off." Sam said, startled by the sudden bulk, and very annoyed.
"Only if you get up." He replied. Sam groaned.
"Fine." Dean rolled off the bed, taking the sheets with him. Sam, however, remained on the mattress, eyes closed tight.
"C'mon Sam, get up." Dean sighed, exasperated. Sam refused, so he decided to break out the big guns.
"She made pancakes." With that remark, Sam opened his eyes, and jerked awake, sitting up in a flash of cotton pajamas.
"You could've lead with that, y'know." He grumbled, rushing around to dress himself and make his bed. Dean grinned to himself as he exited the room. He hurried back to the kitchen, eager to feast upon the lovely breakfast awaiting him. He reached the high ceilings of the room, to find Amy already picking out one pancake from the top of the stack and placing it on her plate.
"He's coming." Dean announced as he entered the room. She nodded her understanding, and sat down. Dean reached his chair and sat, eagerly selecting two pancakes from the dwindling stack. He flopped them down on his plate, one by one, and slathered a pat of butter over the top. In his rush to see if the pancakes tasted as good as they smelled, he realized he forgot a drink and stood.
"You want anything?" He asked Amy, noticing she too had neglected to select a drink.
"Happen to have anything non-alcoholic?" She asked, somewhat smarmily. Dean thought a moment.
"Well, got coffee. And I think Sam has some orange juice in here somewhere..." He said, disappearing into the kitchen. Amy followed, keen to see as much of the bunker as she could and curious as to what she would drink.
"OJs good then." She said as Dean grabbed a mug and a cup. He filled the glass with the orange liquid, and programmed the coffee maker to the desired settings. Just as Amy returned to the table, Sam stepped into the room.
"Morning, Sleepy. Doc is in the kitchen making coffee." She said with a warm smile on her face. But somehow, the smile seemed hollow and fake, like she was using it as a curtain to hide her true feelings.
"Smells good," he observed, locating the source of the smell with his nose. She nodded, looking less enthusiastic about her food than the day before. She slumped, setting her glass on the table next to her. Her elbow made its way onto the wood, propping her head on her fist. She picked up a fork and began playing with her pancake, breaking it into increasingly smaller pieces. Her smile had faded, leaving her face forlorn and disheartened.
Sam stood awkwardly by the table for a moment, then made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed his own mug from the cabinet and set it down next to deans, waiting for the pot to finish.
Dean grinned like Cheshire Cat and said, "Sleep well?"
"So funny I forgot to laugh. Dean, I think you need to talk to Amy. She seems sad." Sam said, leaning his forearm on the countertop.
"You talk to her." Dean shot back, and Sam huffed an exasperated breath.
"Why won't you do it? Is big ol' Dean scared of a teenaged girl...?" He said in a mocking baby voice.
"Well, you can't really blame her, I mean she's separated from her entire family and might not be able to see them again if we can't find whatever brought her here." Dean fired back.
"Yeah. She could still use some Dean Therapy essions though…" Dean scowled and hesitated. Then he turned towards Sam with his hand balled into a fist. Sam scoffed, but made a fist as well. They raised and lowered their hands thrice, simultaneously. Then, on the third drop, they each formed different shapes with their hands. Sam threw paper, and Dean threw scissors. The second they had time to register the results, Dean groaned and Sam raised his arms in victory a grin plastered on his face.
"Rock beats scissors Dean. Go comfort her." Sam gloated.
"But you're supposed to be the sympathetic one here. You'd be better." Dean suggested. Sam shook his head.
"Sorry dude, lost the game. Now go talk to Amy." At that moment, Amy walked in carrying her empty glass. She stopped dead in her tracks.
"Talk to me about what?" She said, placing her glass on the counter and freeing her arms. She crossed them and squinted her eyes suspiciously.
"Well, uh, you seemed kinda sad today. What's up?" Dean asked innocently, glancing at Sam incase this went south. Amy stared at them both for a minute. When she spoke, all of her bottled up anger and frustration spilled out.
"Well, let's see. I was just transported into a freaky-ass world with some really fucked up crap, leaving my friends and family whom I may never get to see again. I mean, everything is real in the television show that was literally created to SCARE PEOPLE. I am now living with the guys that all said crap is trying to kill. Again. Also, knowing your reputation, I am probably going to die in the next year, month, maybe even week. So yeah, excuse me for being a little bummed." She finished. Her volume had increased throughout the outburst so by the end she was almost yelling. The brothers cringed and recoiled, regretting confronting her like that. She was panting slightly as she glowered at the brothers with her best death-glare. Her eyes stared into their souls with a gaze as hard as diamond and silently dared them to retaliate. Both boys looked like kicked puppies, betrayed and guilt-ridden. After a minute of silence, her steely gaze faltered and she stared at her shoes.
"Sorry. Shouldn't have snapped at you, it's not your fault." She said, allowing the brothers to relax slightly.
"No, it's okay. If anybody's got a right to vent, it's you." Sam said, phrasing his words cautiously in case she exploded again. She shook her head.
"Nah. Sulking around isn't gonna do any good. If I want to see my family again, the best thing for me to do is hunt down that bastard." She replied, determined.
"Damn straight." Dean said, pleased she chose the path of action rather than wallowing in self-pity. Comforting is not his strong suit. But hunting, on the other hand… She nodded and opened the refrigerator and refilled her glass with orange juice.
"What's the plan for today?" she asked with her attention trained on the carton of juice in her hand.
"Dean and I were thinking about visiting the crime scenes again to make sure we didn't miss anything. Maybe the small stuff, like a missing necklace or something minor that people would overlook."
"Sounds exciting," Amy said sarcastically, "a truly exhilarating task fit for any thrill-seeker. I look forward to learning from the masters." Sam and Dean exchanged glances. The lack of a reply caused Amy to look up.
"What?" She said.
"Look Amy, I know you want to help out and do as much as you can. But it's just that we don't want you to get hurt, and there's a big difference between watching a show and actually hunting." Sam said, still wary of another outburst.
"I won't get in the way. And I know how to use a gun, if the need arises." She replied, setting the jug down with a hollow *clunk*.
"Still, it's dangerous. If we ever end up catching the guy who summoned you here, I don't want you to miss the opportunity 'cause you decided to hunt and got hurt." Sam said.
"But today you're not even searching it out! You're just going to be snooping in some lady's apartment. Why can't I help?" She said, determined to sway them.
"Because if we let you come this time, then soon you'll want to come again and again. Then you'll want to help fight it. And that's not gonna happen." Dean said, just as determined to break down her argument bit by bit.
"I told you, I just want to help. This is probably the only time in my life that I'm ever going to make a difference in somebody else's, and I'd like to take advantage of it. If we find the guy who brought me here, I'll go back to a mediocre high school where I'll graduate, go to a mediocre college, work at a mediocre job and live a mediocre life. I just want to help." She said. Dean still looked determined to discourage all thought of hunting from her mind, but Sam gave in.
"Okay. You can come." He said, somewhat solemnly. Amy smiled and nodded her gratitude. Dean wheeled to face Sam.
"Sam! I thought we were trying to NOT kill any more innocent teenage girls?!" He said feeling betrayed.
"Dean, she says she can use a gun, she knows loads about our methods, were not even confronting the spirit today, she'll be ok!" Sam rebutted.
"So? You and I both know anything can happen on a case like this where we've got close to nothing on why or how it's here." Dean fired back, less heatedly.
"We'll be with her! I mean, she's not gonna be alone like she would be here. We can protect her if we need to." Sam said. Amy cut in.
"Again, I CAN use a gun, so..." She said. The room was engulfed in silence for a moment. Sam added one final point.
"We don't have to worry about her getting sucked into the lifestyle, if she gets back home it won't be real." Dean sighed, defeated.
"Alright, fine. But if you so much as scrape a knee, you're coming right back here." He said reluctantly. The corners of Amy's mouth tugged upwards in a smile, despite her wishes to seem collected and resolved.
"Thank you." She said to Dean and Sam. The former lowered his eyes to the ground, as if ashamed of his decision. Sam, on the other hand, smiled back at Amy. He knew she wanted more than what her normal life can give, and this might be the only chance she can get it. Although he and Dean both felt the exact opposite, Amy did not share this desire. Deep down, Dean and he longed for an apple pie life, with a normal job, friends, maybe even a family. The coffee maker finished its routine, and they all headed back to the table.
Both Winchesters soon forgot the debate as the warmth and velvety goodness of Amy's pancakes occupied all of their thoughts. Dean savored the taste and texture, in case he never ate anything as delicate and delicious again. Sam did the same, letting the bite melt on his tongue. Dean wished to complement her, but it seemed his vocabulary wasn't profound enough to accurately describe the sensation he was experiencing. He settled on something simple.
"This is really good." He said, stuffing his mouth with another colossal bite.
"You don't need to say that every time…" Amy replied, blushing slightly. Dean could tell she was secretly glowing with pride at the compliment. They ate the rest of the meal quietly, only speaking to ask for the syrup or butter.
After the meal, they all piled into Impala. Amy grinned as soon as she spotted the car, causing Dean to raise his eyebrows at Sam. She opened the left hand door to the back, holding her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. The brothers in turn opened their doors with a familiar creak, and ducked in. Sam had to bow his head to an almost impossible degree, as to not hit it on the well-cared-for frame. As soon as Dean took his seat he started the ignition and the engine roared to life with a low grumble. As soon as the car revved, music began to flood through the car. The speakers hummed out a Led Zeppelin song, and Amy started to tap her fingers to the notes. Dean pulled out onto the highway which was relatively desolate. The song reached its chorus, and the brothers could hear Amy singing under her breath in the background.
"Well, at least she's got good tastes." Dean mumbled to Sam. Sam scoffed.
"Likes old cars, old music and can cook? Yeah, you two are practically made for each other."
"Dude, she's like sixteen." Dean said.
"Never said anything about dating. You guys can be besties." With this comment Dean scowled and made a rude gesture with his hand.
"You do realize I'm right here…" Dean coughed awkwardly and returned his gaze to the road. Sam sniggered and looked out the window. Dean, much to Amy's annoyance, felt the need to prepare her for any possible circumstance they might encounter at the apartment. He rambled about wiping prints, being walked in on, and meeting a ghost. Amy began to tune him out, occasionally nodding or agreeing to satisfy him. They reached the apartment after a little over 15 minutes. It was a grey, 4 story building, with at least 8 other cars in various locations around the parking lot. The front door had a small walkway with a crimson awning stretching over the top, providing a miniscule but refreshing amount of shade.
They walked through the door, and found an elevator to the right. They pressed the button and only had to wait a few seconds for the carriage to slide into place. They stepped into the cramped area. Dean pressed the button with a 4, and the elevator swung upwards, compressing their bodies.
Must not remember elevator fics, must not remember elevator fics Amy thought desperately. She could feel her cheeks blushing slightly, and hoped nobody else noticed. She cleared her throat awkwardly, and could feel the brothers' eyes on her. Much to her relief, the doors opened and they stepped out into a carpeted corridor.
"What's her room number?" Amy asked, searching the various doors for signs of a crime scene.
"419." Sam replied, motioning to a door with yellow crime scene tape crossed over a door in the hallway. Together they walked to 419, Dean ripping the tape down as Sam looked for possible witnesses in the hallway.
"Mr. Benson is living with his mother and the police are done with the place, so we should be interrupted." Dean said. They opened the door. Inside, it seemed relatively normal, except for the indicators and crime scene tape decorating the dwelling. The unfortunately bright shade of yellow clashes unattractively with the color of the apartment, a calming yet chic color scheme of white and navy. Stylish but not expensive furniture was placed in the dining room, kitchen and bedroom, and shaggy carpeting.
Pictures of happy moments once adorned the walls and tables, but are now gone; a birthday party in a box, a wedding photo in a stack on the floor. The pictures have been stripped from the walls and tables by the police, leaving patches of wallpaper less faded than the rest. This residence was filled with memories and life, but it has been rid it of that by the supernatural. There will no longer be the happy wedding anniversaries and birthdays which were present not so long ago. The creature took Mable's future, but the police took her past.
The Winchesters walk to where the yellow seems most highly concentrated, which happens to be the dining room. Amy follows, and if she feels any emotion, it is hidden from her face. She carriers her body like a marionette, with her subconscious pulling the strings. She didn't expect this. She didn't think Mable, a victim, would have such a full life. She didn't think there would be so much evidence of a happy life. Mable lived with an immense accumulation of emotion and thoughts, filled with meaningless inside jokes and thoughts that terrified her and left her thinking deep into the night. She had a constant flow of thoughts and emotion, which was brutally ended. She is dead now; gone, ceased, no more. She simply is not.
She was vaguely aware that the Winchesters were discussing something, and she focused on their voices. She returned herself to the present as one might emerge from water to air.
"I vote we split up, you take the dining room, I'll take the bedroom and she can take the kitchen." Dean said to Sam. He nodded.
"Sounds good to me." Amy said, attempting to shake off any shakiness her voice might have. They all turned their separate ways, Sam to the dining room, Dean to the bedroom, and Amy to the kitchen. She stepped into the tiled room, and realized she had no idea what to do.
"Um… what am I looking for again?" She asked. Sam poked his head in, and replied.
"Basically anything strange: sigils, notes, something that should be there but isn't, the usual."
"Got it." She said, turning to the sink. As good a place as any to start. She crouched so she was eye level with the doors that gave access to the space below the sink. She opened them, revealing a pipe, various cleaning products, and a yellow bucket. She removed the bucket, which was under the pipe. She glanced down at it before putting it down next to her. She did a double take. In the bottom of the bucket were a few drops of a black liquid. She dipped her finger in it, and found that it was still wet and about the thickness of maple syrup. She studied the pipe and found a small leak. The liquid was coming from there. She straightened up, and tested the knobs to the sink. Instantly, liquid ran from the pipe, but where there should have been water, the black goo flowed freely.
"Hey guys? Pretty sure this isn't normal…" She called, and a few seconds later both brothers walked in next to her. They all stared at the sink for a moment, before Sam shut off the tap.
"I thought the police shut off water?" Amy questioned, hoping against hope there was a logical explanation other than something paranormal. Her efforts were to no avail.
"They did." Sam said apologetically. He touched the accumulating liquid in the bottom of the sink, and raised his finger.
"Ectoplasm." He said after studying it for a second.
"It's really fresh too…" He continued. A crash resonated around the room. Dean was the first to connect the dots.
"We're not alone."