Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain from this. No harm or infringement intended.
Thanks to lljn105 for the reviews, and everyone who put an alert on this story - I can't express how much it helps motivate me to carry on writing when I find myself struggling!
The Three Faces of Winchester - Chapter Six
Previously:
A couple of months later and the cell phone rang early one morning, waking Sam from a deep slumber.
"Dean, get the phone," called Sam grumpily.
When there was no response, Sam sleepily reached across and retrieved the phone himself.
"Hello?" he answered blearily.
He sat up in bed suddenly wide awake.
"Dad?"
Sam sat up in the motel bed, running his hand through his sleep mussed hair, while talking to his father on his cell phone.
"Dad, is that you? Are you hurt?"
"Sam," his father sounded relieved, "I'm fine, what about you?"
"We're fine, Dad. We've been looking for you everywhere, where are you?"
John gave a deep sigh before answering, "Sorry, Sammy, I can't tell you tell that. You're gonna just have to trust me."
Sam felt his brother's sudden presence at his side, listening in, as he asked "You're after it, aren't you, the thing that killed Mom?"
John cleared this throat, "Yeah. It's… it's a demon, Sam," he said, his voice catching.
"A demon? Really, are you sure?"
"Oh, yeah," he laughed humorlessly, "Listen, Sam, I… I also know what happened to your girlfriend. I'm sorry, son, I would've done anything to protect you from that, but I think I'm close to finding a way to kill it."
"Let us help!"
There was short pause followed by another deep sigh, "Listen, Sammy, that's why I'm calling - you gotta stop looking for me, alright? Now, I've got a job for you, I need you to take down these details," John answered urgently.
"Dad, talk to me, tell me what's going on," Sam begged.
"Listen, I don't have time for this. This is bigger than you think, they're everywhere. Even us talking right now, it's not safe."
"No! Alright? No way," Sam argued, he'd spent months searching for his father, and he'd be damned if he just let him disappear again without a fight.
"Give me the phone," interrupted Dean insistently.
"I have given you an order. Now, you stop following me, and you do your job. You understand me? Now, take down these names," barked John in irritation at having his authority questioned.
"Dad, it's me. Where are you?" asked Dean, having wrestled control of the phone from Sam.
John paused, his mouth suddenly dry, "Ah, I need you to go to Burkitsville, Indiana. It's the common stopping off point for a number of couples who've gone missing around this time every year."
"Yes, sir. What're their names?" responded Dean obediently, taking down the details.
"Let me speak to Sam," John ordered tersely after the note taking was completed.
Sam took back control of the cell, giving his father a sullen grunt in response.
"Listen, Sammy. It's really important that you do as I ask. And do me a favor, hey? I'm worried about… just, just keep your eyes open, okay son?" to all but the ears of a son who thought he knew better, John sounded shaken and deeply concerned.
"Sure thing, Dad," Sam reluctantly agreed, rolling his eyes.
Later, in the car on the way to Indiana, the brothers had been arguing about the choice of destination.
Sam was sulking, he'd recognized from the caller ID that their father was calling from a Sacramento area code, and so he was all in favor of heading off for California and searching for their dad. Dean had just scoffed at the idea, and had laughingly asked if Sam was just going to drive around on the off-chance he might just accidentally bump into their father. The fact that he realized Dean was right had only wound Sam up even more, and if anything had only made him more determined to do things his way.
"We should be going to California. If this demon killed Mom and Jess, then we should be there, we should help," fretted Sam.
"Dad doesn't want our help, he's given us an order," said Dean absently, concentrating on the road.
"I. Don't. Care. We don't always do what he says. And what's wrong with you anyway? You're even more pig headed about doing what Dad says than usual."
The brothers had then proceeded to say, without thinking, a number of very hurtful things to each other that they both immediately regretted as well as struggled to remember afterwards. Before he was quite aware of what he was doing, Sam had pulled the Impala over to the side of the road and was rummaging for his backpack from the trunk, all the while shouting that he was going to California by foot if necessary.
"Don't be such a girl, Samantha," mocked Dean, slamming the trunk shut, "Don't be stupid, I'm going, I mean it, I will leave your ass here, y'hear me? Sammy, please?"
But Sam had already gone.
Arriving at last in Burkitsville, Indiana, Dean's stomach growled long and loudly at its need for food so he pulled over at the first diner he found, a Mom and Pop style affair. He felt strangely alone without Sam's presence - in the last months they'd spent every moment together, like conjoined twins, inseparable as when they were children. Apart from when Sam went to college, he thought with dread as an unexpected chill ran up his spine.
He pulled out his cell phone and just looked at it, thinking about calling Sam, but not knowing what to say to close the gap that had seemingly grown between them since they'd been hunting for their father. Finally he changed his mind and snapped closed the phone, shut off the car and got out.
The locals as it turned out were even more creepy than the townsfolk in the horror pulp comics he and Sam had learned to read from as children, and having driven through miles upon miles of dry dust-choked fields it hadn't taken long to realize there was something unsavory going on in the vast fertile apple orchards that were still being harvested in April.
Dean sat in the car watching over the orchard looking for any sign of trouble, stomach for once groaningly full from the truly epic quantities of apple pie he'd consumed. Finally, not able to keep his eyes open any longer, he slipped into a heavy slumber.
Sam walked along the long empty road, the atmosphere dry and airless. He was almost in a dream state where he felt like he could have equally been walking for many years or merely minutes.
Slightly ahead of him, Sam saw a fellow hitchhiker; a pretty, petite young woman with a blonde pixie-like haircut. She had an innocent, yet strangely sultry look about her. Not seeing her headphones he called a greeting; when she didn't respond he placed a hand on her shoulder, making her yelp loudly in alarm.
"You scared the hell out of me," she hissed, as she spun round. She practically did a double take as she looked up, and up, taking in his appearance.
"Oh, sorry, sorry," replied Sam apologetically, holding his hands up, "I just thought you might need some help."
"No," she said sounding slightly sarcastic. She seemed to catch herself, "I'm good thanks," she added with a smile.
Sam suddenly felt awkward, "So, er, where're you headed?"
"No offense, but no way I'm telling you that, you could be some kinda freak. I mean, you are hitchhiking," she answered.
"Well, so are you," replied Sam slightly defensively, not quite sure if she was teasing him or not.
The blonde woman laughed, and at that point a van pulled over, its driver offering her, but not Sam, a lift.
Sam waved goodbye and carried on walking.
A couple of hours later and Sam finally arrived at the bus station, there is, he realizes, a disadvantage to his great height; the seeming reluctance of any passerby to offer him a lift, and he pondered briefly on the perceived causal relationship between size and serial killers.
Sinking gratefully into one of the uncomfortable plastic molded seats Sam soon recognized blonde-pixie-hair woman from earlier, "You didn't get very far," he said coming up behind her and making her yelp in surprise.
"So when you're not following me around and scaring the life out of me, where are you off to?" the young woman asked while jokingly holding her hand to her heart,
"California. I'm meeting up with my Dad," explained Sam.
The woman blinked in surprise, "Me too," she said, "Not seen the old man in an absolute age – but in that case we're both out of luck, the next bus to California isn't until tomorrow afternoon. I'm Meg by the way."
"I'm Sam," he said with a broad grin, while thinking that there was something about her that just seemed to 'click'.
Sam and Meg had pooled their cash and bought themselves a wide selection of drinks and snacks to help while away the time as they settled themselves down in the dubious comfort of the waiting room to wait for the next California-bound bus.
"So are you on vacation?" asked Meg, not really interested, just making conversation.
"No, I had an argument with my brother and walked out," admitted Sam shamefacedly.
"Older, yeah?" asked Meg, and when Sam nodded in confirmation, she continued, "I have a twin brother who's barely a minute older than me, but I swear he seems to see that as an excuse to boss me around and try to control my life."
Meg looked up in sudden realization, "Hey, I thought you said earlier that you were going to see your Dad."
Sam groaned, "I walked out on him about four years ago when he tried to stop me going to college instead of joining the family business."
Meg winced in sympathy, "What about your Mom?"
"She… died when I was just a baby, it's… complicated," Sam said sadly.
"Sorry, I should know better than just to assume," said Meg awkwardly, filling the silence, "I never knew my mother either, she died in childbirth."
Meg gave a long sigh, "My father, he never got over her, she was the great love of his life, but his family hated her and thought she was beneath him. My grandfather's a real old-fashioned patriarch-type – not that I've ever properly met him – he cast my father out. Even after my mother died, he still wouldn't take my father back or accept me and my brother.
"I love my Dad and all, but he definitely has a temper like his own father – not that I'd ever dare tell him that - and he can be really controlling. If he says 'Jump', then you better be asking 'How high?' on the way up," she laughed humorlessly, "I swear I could write a book on my family issues."
Meg took a deep breath, seemingly surprised by her own admission, "Phew, I'm sorry. The things you say to people you hardly know."
"No, no, it's okay. I know how you feel. My family, it's kind of the same deal," reassured Sam.
"Well, here's to us. The food might be bad, and the beds might be hard," she said slapping the back of the plastic seating, "But at least we're living our own lives and nobody else's," she declared as they clinked beer bottles in agreement.
Sam had spent much of the night thinking long and hard about how similar his situation was to Meg's and yet, no matter how bad the disagreement, he knew he couldn't just turn his back on the brother that had always been there to protect him as a child. He tried phoning Dean again and, receiving no answer for at least the fifth time in as many hours, proceeded to leave yet another message.
"Hey, our bus just came in," called Meg, busy gathering her things together.
Sam stood slowly, pulling on his backpack, "You better catch it. I gotta go," he sighed.
"Go where?" Meg frowned, perplexed at the unexpected answer.
"Back, to Burkitsville. I've been trying to call my brother for hours and I'm just getting his voicemail", Sam explained apologetically.
"So? Maybe his phone's turned off?" she scoffed.
"No, that's not like him. Meg, I think he might be in trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"I can't really explain right now. I'm sorry. Look, I don't want you to miss your bus."
"I don't understand, you're not making any sense. You're running back to your brother because he won't pick up his phone?" Meg spat angrily, before closing her eyes briefly and seeming to take a calming breath, "Sam, please, come with me to California. Please…" she begged.
"I can't. I'm sorry."
"Why?" Meg asked, her eyes glistening.
"He's family."
It's not long before Meg's abandoned the bus, and is instead hitching a ride with another shady van driver who can't keep his hand to himself, when she feels the physical pull of a summons from her father.
It doesn't take much in the way of acting ability to encourage the van driver to pull over. Before he realises what's happening, Meg has slit his throat and collected his blood in a bowl she's pulled from the depths of her shoulder bag. A brief Latin incantation later and she's talking to her father via satanic telephone.
"Sorry Father, I failed you," Meg apologized. If she could still have truly experienced the depths of human emotion, she'd have being feeling cold dread right now.
"Getting rid of Dean would have been a nice to have, but keeping Sam out of California is for the best at the moment," replied a deep gravelly voice from the bowl, sounding uncharacteristically philosophical, "I'm having problems getting through to my vessel – things are not quite ready.
"But the delays may have worked to my advantage. I think I'm getting nearer to the Colt."
"That's a risky course of action," Meg answered in surprise at the good news.
"It's not without its dangers," agreed the voice, "but if it comes into my grasp the benefits would be immense. It would seem that the pieces are all gradually falling into place."
Dean's sole purpose in life had been protecting his younger brother, and he's not about to let an argument derail that. Once he'd cooled down, it had been an easy task to track down Sam's likely whereabouts. He approached the woman behind the ticketing window in the bus depot.
"Hello, there. I'm Special Agent Kirk Hammett, FBI, and I'm conducting an investigation into the disappearance of a young man. I'm going to need to see your CCTV recordings," said Dean, flashing a fake ID.
Minutes later Dean was ensconced in a tiny, hot office and fast-forwarding through the film of the last couple of hours of bus travelers.
From the tapes, he soon recognized the gargantuan-sized figure of his brother talking at length with a young woman. Dean watched with growing unease as he realized that some sort of electrical distortion obscured the faces of both Sam and his companion throughout each recording.
Feeling nauseous, Dean headed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. As he looked up at himself in the mirror, he suddenly caught sight of his reflection as it truly was.
Running his hand through his long dark hair, Sam turned away from the mirror, and stepped out into the light of day and the long walk back to Burkitsville. He had a good feeling he was going to find his brother.
Phew, finally. Still, I guess I had to let the cat out of the bag at some point.
In the show it becomes obvious over time that Meg was just feeding Sam a line about her family, I wanted to see what it would be like if she was more truthful – although for the same ends – and also make her family more central to her character and the plot.