Author's Note:

Rebekah and Meredith

Recommended Playlist:

Mumford and Sons – Broken Crown

The Pierces – The Good Samaritan

Ellie Goulding - Home

Chapter Six:

Route 29, Rock Port, Missouri. 10.07 a.m.

Tuesday 23rd September 2008.

"Alright. Okay Bobby – thanks."

Sam sighed, leaning back against the bonnet of the impala as he slid his mobile into his front jeans pocket. His brother was busy stuffing his face with the most disgusting burger he had ever laid his eyes on, a weird looking mess of oozing sauces and foreign looking vegetables that didn't seem to sit well on the greying meat, though that didn't seem to put the somewhat ravenous Winchester off as he continued to make out with the bloody thing.

"Do you want me to leave you and the burger alone for a little while or-"

"You're just jealous."

Sam raised an eyebrow incredulously, "Me. Jealous. Of you and a burger?"

"Your heard me," he muttered, licking liquid-like cheese from his lips. "Jealous."

Sam laughed, crossing his arms over his chest as he observed the lesser-spotted elder Winchester polish off the last of his sickly looking prey.

"I really don't think-"

"It's because you didn't get laid the other night isn't it," he sniffed, sucking burger juices and bun flour from his fingers, "you and that hunter chick – the one whose life you saved."

"If my memory serves me right you didn't get laid either Ronald McDonald," he scoffed, throwing his brother a napkin.

"Yeah – but I'm not jealous of another man's burger – that's just sad."

"Dean-" Sam frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, "that doesn't even make any sense."

"Well I'm past making sense Sammy," Dean sighed, stretching his arms out above his head, throwing his used napkin back in the vague direction of his little brother, "we got about another four hours to get to Bobby's so-"

"Speaking of Bobby-"

Both boys swung themselves into their prospective seats, Dean wriggling about against the black leather of the Impala's driver's seat, spreading his legs for his baby, fingers drumming against the wheel as he made himself comfortable for the journey ahead. Sam on the other hand found himself clearing a path through Dean's leftovers, three burger wrappers and a box of half eaten fries taking his place as shotgun, drinks cans and candy wrappers littering the foot well.

"What about Bobby?" the eldest muttered, swinging the car out of the layby and back out onto the open road.

"Well – get this. He says the girl from last night is a kid called Rebekah Aston – as in the Astons. Dean we're talking about hunting royalty – in this area anyway."

"So – what's your point? I mean – we're hunting royalty – everyone knows us."

Sam sighed, "Dean that's not the point. It's just – cool that's all."

"Anything else then Prince Charming, or did you just want to stalk-"

"The little one is Meredith Parkers – she's a Stalker."

Dean frowned, taking his eyes off the road only long enough to throw his brother his best 'what-the-fuck-you-talking-about' face.

"A what?"

"A Stalker."

"So like you're being with these two random chicks?"

"No," he sighed, resting his chin on his hand, "as in the hunter type Stalker. She tracks and 'relocates' faerie things – bullshit stuff."

Dean snorted, "man – it was worth listening to you talk just to hear you say 'faerie things'. Say it again."

"Bite me."

( )

Route 36, Brookfield, Missouri. 10.12 a.m.

Tuesday 23rd September 2008.

It had been difficult leaving the sanctity of Eliza's arms, Mer barely able to tear herself away from the father she'd somehow managed to adopt overnight. But Rebekah was glad to see the back of Saint Joseph, happy to be out on the road again in the crisp, cool morning, tarmac evaporating under her tires as she sped down the highway as fast as her old home could carry them. They were both exhausted, though it only seemed to show on their exteriors. Internally both girls were gleaming having spent a night pampered and nearly suffocated with love and affection, the childless couple doting on their every whim no matter how fickle it seemed. They asked for none of it but received it nonetheless, basking in the attention they received, the warm baths that were run for them, the machine dried clothes that didn't stink of Laundromat soap, even things as simple as a slice of buttered toast wrapped in a napkin for their journey out, a juice carton or two tucked down the side of the seats or a packet of mints carefully hidden away for them to search for whenever the journey became too tiresome.

They were such good people – too good for the likes of her and her family.

But Brookfield was on the horizon, the two of them screaming internally as the name first appeared on the road sign fifty or so miles back. And now Rebekah and Meredith could see buildings on the not too distant distance, hope and excitement beginning to curdle the very pits of the hunter's stomach as she turned her truck onto West Helm Street, the first farm and outlet buildings passing them by as blurs of brown and grey.

"We're almost there Mer."

"Are your cousins gonna' be there?"

"All five of them – yeah. And," she sighed, resting her head against the cool glass of the window, "you'll be stayin' far away from at least one of them."

"What d'you me-"

"I love my family more than anythin' Mer you know that – but Shane has a habit of takin' to pretty little things like you and well-" She smiled slightly as she spotted her friend hiding the blush that painted her porcelain cheeks petal pink, Meredith turning her head away from view though Beck could still catch a glimpse of her in the reflection of the window, her lips pressed together in a thin line to try and stop herself from beaming. "Well – we'll see."

"I'll behave," she heard her say, a finger twirling a stray stand of her hair.

"It's not you I'm worried about," the hunter snorted, snapping herself a cube of chocolate from the bar at her side and popping it on her tongue. "It's-"

Her immediate thoughts rested on her cousin, the likes of whom would take to Meredith's innocent charm like a house on the fire. However, the more she thought the darker her mind's suggestions became, and all too soon the darker dregs of her world were seducing her little bird, breaking her wings, snapping her neck. Rebekah shook her head, neck still aching from the accident the other day. All of a sudden, she was back to thinking of wrapping her in bubble wrap – miles of the stuff.

"What happened the other day?"

Two cubes of chocolate. "What?"

Meredith shot her an accusing glance, book open on her knees, fingers mindlessly plucking at a dog eared corner.

"You know what I'm talkin' about Nebraska."

She sighed, "I know."

"And-"

"I don't wanna' talk about it."

She didn't keep much from Mer and usually, if she didn't tell her verbally, the girl would figure it out by herself. They talked about death as though it was the weather, sex as if it was a television programme and family like a family member – but Beck knew there were some things Meredith Parkes could not understand, not with all the knowledge she possessed inside her pretty little head, her own brothers sweeping the memory under the carpet, especially after Joe died. The youngest Aston had decided a long time ago never to talk or even think about that night all those years ago, and it was established a little more recently that Meredith would never know, never get told, never even be allowed to look into it for fear of what she might find.

In the end though, Rebekah simply said "it's a Sight thing."

That didn't sate the girl's appetite but it ended the topic, exactly what the young hunter hoped would happen. She was too tried to explain the complexities of her family's life, tribulations that barely made any sense to herself let alone an outsider, someone who hadn't been there all those times their luck had swan-dived into a cesspit of shit, someone who couldn't even begin to comprehend all of the things they had seen and, even worse, the things they had done just to get by in the business.

"You liked him – didn't you?"

Despite her mood, the hunter smiled. "Didn't you?"

"That wasn't the question."

Rebekah smiled, swallowing the sweet thickness in her mouth, feeling it slide warmly down her throat.

"Oh Mer – what would I do without you?"

It was only later that night, as she lay in bed, that she came to realise Meredith had never specified which – yet she'd answered all the same. That really did give her something to think about.

(*)

Route 29, Beaver Lake, Missouri. 11.37 a.m.

Tuesday 23rd September 2008.

The whole situation bothered Dean more than it should have – he knew that. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease, the feeling that something was wrong, that there was something he was missing or had looked over or had let slide. It was driving him crazy. He picked irritably at his top lip, other hand resting lightly on the wheel of the car as they sped up the interstate faster than he probably should have been driving though the idea of being caught by the police didn't bother him anywhere near as much as the events of the last few days. It was random yes – bumping into a couple of hunters in the middle of a job. The chances were just – it just didn't happen, especially when there wasn't anything in the area that even hinted of a possible hunt, especially a demon. And then there was that, the demon, the demon Sam had sworn he'd exorcized but the girl who'd actually been there said didn't exist. But then was it too random to simply be a coincidence? Everything was so beautifully set up like a set of dominoes, one toppling to set off a chain of events that resulted in one big hunter versus scumbag smack down, forcing the two parties together, Winchester saving Aston, Winchester saving Parkes – the two girls being some of the biggest names in their field in their area. Was that too perfect to be random? Was it all – oh it was doing his fucking head in.

His eyes glanced over to the sleeping form of his brother, the idiot snatching more rest than he'd had in the past few nights but still managed to find it in him to sleep away another few hours whilst he drove, alone with his thoughts, alone arguing with himself over and over again because his fucking mind and his freaking brain couldn't seem to draw a sane conclusion out of it all. You know who could have figured it all out – that bloody calculator with wings Castiel. That trench-coated douchebag was about as logical as they came, he'd have an answer for him in seconds, though he'd decided at around four o'clock that morning that he'd rather take another stint in hell than ask that little duckling for help with his problems. Dean took a swig of cola from the can between his legs, shoving a chip or two down with it. The whole situation was fucking ridiculous and didn't bare thinking about, but it didn't stop it playing on his mind.

"Sammy," he muttered, flicking a chip at his brother's head. "Sam – wake up. I need to talk you."

"What Dean – what do you want," his brother growled, sound muffled by the seatbelt.

"I wanna' know what happened the other night."

Sam rolled his head onto his shoulder, regarding his brother through half-closed eyes. He seemed serious and, Dean being Dean, he didn't wear that expression very often. The younger of the two yawned, stretching out his limbs as best he could, one hand reaching beneath his collar to massage out the crick in his neck.

"What d'you wanna' know?"

His brow furrowed, "what happened – the other night?"

"I guess you're referring to the night before?" he sighed, leaning back in his seat, taking down a mouthful of water.

"I am."

Sam shrugged, "like I told you yesterday. There was a demon, she drew a demon trap and it got stuck and I ganked the thing with the knife… why?"

There he went again, same old story, no plot holes, no changes, the same thing he'd told him twice already. Dean pursed his lips and kept his eyes on the road, mile after mile devoured by his baby's wheels, observing his little brother out of the corner of his eye. He ran a hand roughly through his hair, still questioning the situation over and over again. His mind was running wild with him, so much so he'd even consulted Bobby – though the old geezer had simply called him an irrational old biddy and told him to have a drink or two to calm down. But he was not calm – he was so far from calm.

"It's funny," he sniffed, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, "well it's not really – it's actually nowhere near fucking funny."

"Dean? What-"

"She said there was no demon Sam. Nothing – nada – zilch. Said you were mistaken. Do you know what that's doing to me?"

"Dean-"

"And you know somethin'? I'm inclined to believe the crazy bitch – and that's really fucked up Sam – like seriously. That I'd take her word over yours. Because I would – I mean I am."

He wasn't looking at him –refusing to. Sam pressed his lips together to stop himself from shouting, trying his best to keep his cool, though he could feel something bubbling up inside of him that was out of his control, something feral and beyond him. He thought through his words carefully, organising his thoughts, letting himself cool off a little before responding to his brother's accusations, making a conscious decision not to let the older hunter have any idea how much those allegations actually hurt him.

"There was a demon Dean – why would I lie?"

Dean smashed the heels of his palms against the wheel, "I don't know Sam! Don't you think if I knew that-"

"Then what's the fucking problem Dean!"

"The problem is I can't trust you anymore Sammy – I can't trust anything anymore!"

He could barely contain himself, felt it bubbling up inside like sickness. He felt the need to hit something, to gank something, to destroy something – someone – anything just to get rid of all the pent up whatever he had rattling inside his gut. It didn't seem to want to go, it never went away, just manifested until he couldn't take it anymore- had to feed – had to see Ruby, have sex, feed more, kill something.

"Pull over," he managed, so low he began to wonder if his brother had even heard him.

"What?" he spat incredulously, car swerving slightly in the road.

"I said fucking pull over Dean."

He needed to get out. The Impala had always been such a safe haven throughout his early years, even now when the world outside seemed too big and far too much for him to handle, the doors, the leather seats, the shiny black paint seeming to be the only things that could protect him from everything – even himself. But it was a cage now, and Sam couldn't take it – needed out – needed to breathe. The Impala hurtled into the gravel at the side of the interstate, the cars behind them whining pitifully as they passed them, stones pinging off the paintwork – something Sam knew Dean would make him pay for later. That didn't matter though – the only thing that mattered was getting out.

The ground was firm beneath his feet; the sound the door made as it slammed shut even making him wince despite his mood. He heard the other door open but kept walking, immersing himself in knee-high grasses and grains as he took his chance to escape, to breathe, to rid himself of the soul-crushing feeling of hate he had coagulating in his chest and veins, an anger that set his blood on fire. He wanted to feel small and open and insignificant and he did, an ant beneath the mass of the blue sky that yawned above his head, engulfing them both, two brothers in the middle of the pettiest of arguments but an argument that meant the world to them nonetheless.

"Sam! Sammy – get back to the car – stop being so fucking-"

"Fucking what Dean?" he shouted, turning on his heel to face his older brother. "Fucking what? Hurt? I'm your brother-"

"Don't you think I know that you freakin' moron? Don't you think this hurts me more knowing that you're lyi-"

"I'm not lying to you Dean!" he barked, throwing his arms in the air as if to emphasise the point, "you're supposed to take my word – that's what brothers do!"

They took a step towards each other, Dean's hands itching to gather themselves in his brother's shirt to shake some sense into him. They twitched at his sides instead, every instinct telling him to go for his gun, the pathetic excuse for an organ in his chest the only thing reminding him that the irrational, lying son of a bitch in front of him was his brother. He hated looking up to him, hated that Sam could look down his nose at him. But, even with the height difference, deep down the eldest still knew who held the authority. He shoved Sam back, forcing him to stumble on his feet, the older of the two basking in the glory of his blatant dominance.

"What brothers do – brothers don't keep secrets – they don't skulk around the pissing dark fucking about with demonic sluts and going dark-side Sam! That's not what we're about – that's not how dad raised us – that's not what he fucking died for!"

The look on his brother's face put a pressure on his chest that was incomprehensible, a weight that nearly had him gasping for breath. He looked shocked, more vulnerable than he'd seen him since – well since that son of a bitch had slammed a knife in his back all that time ago, back when he'd sold his soul for the man standing awkwardly in front of him, the stranger he called blood.

"Dean-"

He was already stalking his way back to his baby, back to his sanctuary. He didn't care how long Sam sat outside, how long it'd take for him to cool off, for him to deafen and paralyze himself with his dad's music until all sense of feeling subsided. Only when he was numb enough to drive without distraction would they leave for Bobby's, music still blaring over the stereo making no room for conversation. He was one hundred per cent done with the whole situation as he slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, leaving Sam standing alone in the midst of the corn and the grass, tears in his eyes, tears stinging his own though he wiped what little there was away as soon as he could with the sleeve of his jacket.

He was getting too old for this shit.

( )

Route 36, Brookfield, Missouri. 10.23 a.m.

Tuesday 23rd September 2008.

She was asleep again, the gentle rise and fall of her chest in beat with the mist of her breath against the window pane, Axel curled in her lap, head on paws, small bubble of snot appearing from his left nostril every now and again, whenever he exhaled particularly deeply. Meredith looked serene in her sleep, porcelain cheeks slightly pink as though touched by petals, painted lips puckered and slightly parted. Rebekah envied her brand of beauty, a softness that had all but vanished from her sun-bleached body, a body hardened and worn ragged from years of riding horses and herding cattle in between hunting, both occupations which somehow managed to leave their mark in different ways, scars caused by farming equipment frighteningly discernible from the precision cuts and bullet holes from hunts and enemies past. Rebekah, driving once again with her knees, leant carefully over, delicately shifting a strand of hair that had taken residence against Mer's nose, making her twitch like a rabbit. She was precious, a gem, something that hadn't yet been damaged by the life she led even despite the various cuts and bruises she wore clearly against her skin. She'd rather die than have her sucked into her world, rather die than have her damaged to an extent where there would be no turning back.

Beck settled herself back in her seat, Alistair's head against her thigh, eyes fluttering beneath his lids, mere slits of hazel in amongst the caramels of his fur. She scratched him absentmindedly between his ears, the shudder his body made at her touch a sign that he both acknowledged and accepted it. She knew there was no going back once it had you, no returning to your old life or whatever it was you considered 'normal'. Once you knew the truth about life there was no way of unseeing it, no way you could ignore the signs you'd had trained in to you, no way of dampening down the instinct that forever bubbled inside your gut. It wasn't just something you could switch on and off at your leisure, it was something you had to dedicate your life to, no matter how involuntarily that dedication turns out to be. And then you live on with the knowledge that you'll someday die bloody, taken out by the things you spent your life destroying, another line in the hunter's books of comrades fallen in action.

As Rebekah turned into Jewel Drive and up onto the road that'd take them past the lakes and towards her cousin's ranch she glanced yet again at her sleeping companion, her fringe and eyelashes fluttering in the breeze that had somehow managed to force its way through a tiny slit in the window, pastel pink eye shadow tainting her lids. Did she know there was no going back? Did she even think about that? Beck shook her head, riding out the small potholes in Julian Drive as they made their way up the winding lane. She highly doubted it – knowing full well that choosing her life wasn't actually a conscious decision. You were either forced into it like her brothers or born into it like she'd been, the latter forever being known as the child of catastrophe, the child that'd be born out of and into a broken family tainted by spilt blood and tragedy – the sort of thing that would allow the former to occur. Meredith was just another pawn caught up in the great scheme of things, playing a tiny role just like she was, a dust pan and brush turning up willingly to a scene of an earthquake, doing what they could before moving on to the next calamity.

The previous days' events played on her mind, the girl's sense of focus not on the blur of the blue waters as they sped by City Lake but on the dark tendrils of doubt that clouded the very edges of her mind. Alistair had long ago opened his eyes, his attentions drifting from her to elsewhere, the thoughts of a creature that had seen as much as her if not more. He didn't have an age to his name like she did, her twenty five years baring no comparison to the however many seasons he himself had survived through, living far longer than any dog should, far longer than a lot of people she had known. And he knew why she'd slammed on the brakes; been there at the time, lived it, breathed the moment that had scarred her mind and body more than all the hunts she'd hunted combined. But they'd come out of it in one piece, at least from the outside. And they were still there, still kicking.

Beck sighed and, driving once more with her knees, broke the last line of chocolate in the bar into four, three for herself, one cube settling itself on the great shaggy thing's tongue as he took it down in one. She knew she shouldn't do it but he never seemed to mind and he was still alive so – well she took that as confirmation that Alistair was just an anomaly and could actually handle the damning effects of chocolate. That seemed to sate him, his muzzle once again coming to rest in her thigh, pink tongue lapping once at the tattoo at her hip before he settled back into his semi-conscious state, always aware, always alert – a dog on standby.

Her mind wandered, the glare of the sun off the waters of the lakes forcing her to squint, the hunter resorting to pulling down the sun-shield from the roof, a packet of mints bouncing off Ali's head only to fall into her lap, a small smile playing on her lips as she carefully placed them on the dashboard. She had a lot to think about, a lot of thoughts her mind had stashed away to make room for the peace and tranquillity she'd had forced onto herself by her family's friends. Now that that had faded, they seemed to be in the process of rearing their ugly heads from the depths of her mind, places she'd refused to access when curled up in the guest room in Saint Joseph.

"You're late."

Late for what exactly? Rebekah sucked thoughtfully on one of the mints, passing another to the dog at her side and another to the sleepy boxer in Mer's lap, one hand on the wheel, another combing its way through her hair. She knew what it was, had her suspicions. But they were ludicrous, far too farfetched to hold a speck of truth. But she remembered well the black feathers that had cluttered her brain upon awakening, could still hear the flutter and flap of wings. It was the only conclusion she could draw from what she had Seen, and if it hadn't been at that level of importance it would not have come to her. But thankfully, somewhere in the course of that day or the one previous, she'd made the decision that she would meet with the Angel that had come to her in her dreams, and so the wave of reminders that washed over her sun-warmed body as she turned the final corner onto her cousin's drive did not come as a shock, the feelings that only ever came when she recalled upon a Vision. In her mental diary she put a cross over the 3rd of October, booked in her meeting, the time and the place, gooseflesh rising on her bare arms at the thought of such an encounter. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that she'd ever come across but – well it would make the top five.

There were a million other things on her schedule; the identity of the two boys that had saved their lives, the demon that hadn't been a demon, the aftershocks she knew would arise from the Sight that had caused the crash. But it was not the right time, and so these thoughts turned to the depths of her mind unrequited, skulking back into their holes as they waited in a buzzing trepidation to be remembered, though the hunter did not know or cared even less when that'd be. Such dark things were quickly banished by the golden gleam of the ranch's gates as she pulled up into the drive, the lodge just about visible amongst the thick trees that hugged the edges of the lake, wood smoke thick on the air as the youngest Aston rolled down her window.

"Aston Lodge-"

"Lil? Lil is that you?"

The intercom buzzed ferociously as a multitude of bodies crashed somewhere in the background, Beck wincing at the sound of furniture being overturned, swear words and curses exchanged as people tried to right themselves using human bodies as support.

"Beck?"

"You gonna' let me in or am I gonna' have to sit 'ere all day on your lovely drive?"

There was a click of a button as the gates spread their welcoming arms, Beck revving the truck and beeping the horn long and loud, both Axel and Meredith coming awake with a jolt, faces startled, eyes wide with fear and from awe as they passed beneath the gleaming golden arches, intricate metal making way for the soft and gentle curvature of the trees they passed beneath, bodies bent inwards to create an almost living tunnel, the canopy of which shivered green above their heads, dappling their bodies in light and in shadow. Dogs ran themselves ragged either side of the truck, tongues and saliva streaming behind them as they galloped to keep up with them, Axel's face already smushed up against the window in greeting to the friends and family he hadn't seen since his birth. Only when their wheeled home came to a standstill did Beck wind down the window enough for the little boxer to jump out, his lanky body engulfed by gargantuan creatures of all colours and breeds, the animal disappearing from view for far longer than his master was comfortable with.

She only smiled, shouldering one of her bags as she kicked open her door and slid out onto the gravel, Alistair at her side, Meredith mirroring her and doing the same, her neck aching as she attempted to take everything in all at once. Great wooden beams met jovially with massive expanses of brick and stone, great arches of grey rock rising into the sky, belching out smoke that smelt more like home than anything Beck had ever experienced in her life, walls made of pure glass reflecting their faces, mouths wide, bodies slack as they basked in the warmth and the glory of the great structure. Beck turned her head, catching her companion's eye, a most sincere smile sitting proudly atop her lips.

"Welcome Mer."

"Yeah – Beck – I think we're here."

Rebekah sprinted into the arms of her family as they engulfed her, tears stinging her eyes as faces, both old and new, blurred into her line of sight as she was crushed between a mass of bodies, lips kissing her, arms embracing her, hands patting her and ruffling her hair. All around her there was noise and life, smells so familiar they hurt, sounds she hadn't heard since her childhood. The things that had haunted her before were long gone, replaced with a single thought that rang in her head as clear and as loud as the toll of a bell.

I'm home.