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Goodbye Is Never Forever
Chapter Nineteen: Broken Hope
Missouri - 06:12 PM.
Things weren't going to plan. At all.
Dean came to an abrupt halt, unexpected enough to cause Sam to almost crash straight into his back. He stood with his hands on his hips, frustration evident in his face, and he looked up and down the street. He was lost. He didn't know what to do or where to go, the idea of finding his sister had seemed so much easier on the drive there. He couldn't seem to make his brain work, he couldn't think. What should have been the obvious solution just wouldn't come to him. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting to find there, whether he had ever had a real plan in his head, or whether he had assumed it would all just come to him once he was there, but he was stumped. He looked up and down the road once again, as if a new detail would jump out at him and present itself as the answer he was so desperately searching for, but there was nothing. At least, nothing he could see. The town was so normal, so boring, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on there that he could tell. He didn't even know what he was supposed to be looking for. He clearly wasn't the detective his sister had been. She had made it all look so easy, always knowing where to go and who to talk to, but he couldn't form a plan to save his life at that point.
"Dean," Sam sighed, he was trying to be patient, to let his brother realize the truth on his own, but that was easier said than done. How long was he supposed to let this go on for? He was wandering around a strange town in no real direction looking for their dead sister, just a mile away from where her body had been found. He was looking for clues and answers that Sam was sure didn't exist. He had to step in at some point. They needed to be home with their parents, not there. "Look, maybe we should head back." he offered, hesitant, because he already know how badly the suggestion would go down with him.
As he could have expected, Dean's only response was an impatient sigh. He was already struggling to keep a straight thought together, and his brother wanting to bail on the whole thing was only making it harder. "Sam, for the last time, I know what I'm doing." But they both knew that was nothing but a blatant lie. Sam opened his mouth to respond, but he didn't get the chance. He was pretty sure by now, Sam assumed he was having some kind of mental breakdown. "Quit looking at me like that, I'm not crazy, alright? There's something in this town, something we're missing, we just need to find it."
"I never said you were crazy." Sam replied, automatic. Struggling, yes. Knee deep in denial, no doubt about it. But, crazy? No. His voice was soft, understanding, and that was only spurring Dean's irritation further. "I just think we need to be at home. With mom."
Dean opened his mouth, more than ready to have the same argument they'd had before they had set off, but a voice stopped him.
"Hey, sorry, 'scuse me." The voice came from behind Sam, and they both turned, frowning between each other. A man approached them, and he didn't look to be much younger than they were, probably around the same age. He wore some dark jeans and a grey hooded jacket. His blonde hair was spiked and a duffel bag was hung over his left shoulder. Neither brother recognized him. "Are you guys from around here?"
Dean looked him up and down slowly, throwing him a distrustful stare. "Why?" he pressed. "Who are you?"
"Uh," The man seemed a little taken aback by his tone, and he blinked, as if debating with himself whether to continue, but he didn't back down. "I'm just looking for a friend of mine, she's missing." he persisted. "I was hoping maybe you'd seen her around."
Sam sighed, a little more commiserative, and he nodded. "Sorry man," he apologized, sincere. "What's she look like?"
Dean glanced up at his brother, one eyebrow raised. He wasn't even sure why he had bothered to ask, they had been in that town for little over an hour, what were the chances they had seen anyone around? How did they have the time to be searching for a stranger's friend when they were supposed to be looking for their own sister? But that was Sam, he was kind, he was sympathetic, and he knew, should his sister have been there with him, she would have asked the exact same thing.
The man before them seemed to relax a little, and he sighed in relief. The concern was clear in his features as he spoke about her, and it crossed Dean's mind that he was probably in the same boat as them, he probably felt the same fear and worry for his friend that they were feeling for their sister, and he regretted the tone he had used with him. "Uh, she's blonde, green eyes, pretty girl. Hold on," He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a photograph, holding it out to them. Sam's face completely drained of colour, and Dean's stomach dropped at the sight.
Sam looked more than confused, perplexed, concerned, but, he noticed, Dean seemed to have more of an idea of what was going on. He didn't look surprised by the picture. "You're Dylan, right?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. He knew exactly who the man standing in front of them was, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
Dylan's brows knitted together in confusion. "Uh, yeah." His eyes narrowed, studying him, as though to put a name to his face. "Do I know you?"
"No," Dean shook his head. "But, I think you know my sister." He nodded down to the picture in his hand. "You know Ali."
Dylan's face completely dropped at that, and a sense of realization visibly washed through him. "Oh. Did you say sister?" He nodded to himself. "Yeah, she told me about you. You're the one who's in the army, right? Dean?" His eyes flickered towards Sam. "Which makes you Sam. The Law student."
"Look," Dean held up a hand to silence him before he could continue, before his brother could even think up a response. He was impatient, and all he wanted was answers. "Let's cut the crap. I know what she did. I know what you taught her to do. Level with me here, is she really dead?"
"I don't know." Dylan told them, remorseful, apologetic. "I saw a news article online, said that she was, but," He shrugged. "I'm not so sure. I was actually tracking her here, which, I guess, if you're here, you're doing the same. I saw your mom had identified her body, so I went to take a look at it. Whatever body they have in that morgue, it's not human. I mean, it looked like her, identical, but it wasn't your sister."
Dean's heart skipped a beat, he had known it all along. If it wasn't Alison's body they had found, that meant she could still be out there somewhere. But Sam looked lost. He wasn't following, at all. "Wait," He frowned. "If that's not Alison's body, then whose body is it?" he asked, bewildered. He was more confused as to why his brother seemed to be following what was being said. They both seemed to know something that he didn't. Nothing they were saying made any sense to him.
"That thing in the morgue was a shifter." he told them. "Which makes sense, she called me the week before to say she was up here hunting one." But he could see now that even Dean seemed to be struggling to take in what he was being told. "These things, they can transform themselves into anyone, anything. And, when you kill them, they die looking like the last person they changed into. Which, obviously, was Alison. And I haven't heard of any other hunters being up here lately, so I'm guessing it was her that killed it. So, somewhere between taking out that thing and leaving town, she's gone missing."
"And then the cops found the shifter's corpse." Dean finished for him, and Dylan nodded. "They've matched the description of the body to the missing persons our mom put out on Ali, and she's identified her." He sighed, because he knew it wasn't good. Either she was alive out there and they had no clue where, or she was dead somewhere and they had no clue where. Either way, they were losing. "So, you think something has her? Or something killed her?"
"Honestly, man, I don't know." He threw them an apologetic look. "I wish I could tell you more. I don't know where she went after here, that's what I'm trying to find out. So far, I've met a couple of people who remember seeing her here, but it's not much."
Dean narrowed his eyes, interested, at that point he would take anything. "What'd you find?"
"Uh, old lady, said Alison helped her carry some groceries home for her, and a guy who served her in a bar. But no one I've met has seen her in at least a couple weeks." He shrugged. "For whatever that's worth." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pen, scribbling something down on the back of the picture he still held of Alison. "Here," He held it out towards Dean. "This is my number, give me a call if you need anything, if you find her. I'll keep tracking her, I'll let you know if I find anything."
He gave a short smile and turned to walk away.
"Hey," Dean stopped him before he could go anywhere. "Why do you care so much?" Dylan frowned, as if he didn't understand. "You spent like one weekend together, right? Why do you wanna find her so bad?"
The words stopped Dylan for a moment, and he smiled a little. "Because, your sister's a good kid, Dean. And she's a good hunter." He shrugged. "It might have just been one weekend, but that doesn't mean she didn't make an impression. I know why she's been doing this job. Some hunters, they want revenge, some of them are brought up in it and know nothing else, and some of them just like to take out monsters. But some of them really do wanna help. Your sister would drop everything to help someone, I'm sure you know that. Maybe it's time someone helped her out." He paused for a moment, and he narrowed his eyes. "How much did she tell you? About that weekend?"
Dean shook his head. "Not much." he admitted. "She just said you'd saved her from some ghost and she'd helped you get rid of it."
Dylan scoffed. "Figures." he muttered. "She did more than that. You sister saved my life that weekend. I showed her what I was doing, which, probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, and she went on her way. I thought that was the end of it. And then, I was in this graveyard, digging up a corpse, you know how it goes, and I got knocked out, out of the blue, she was there, I don't know how, or why, she just said she'd had a feeling." He smiled. "If it wasn't for her, I'd have been screwed. She didn't even know me, hell, she probably thought that I was crazy, and she risked everything to come and help me. That's why I wanna help her."
Dean frowned a little, taking in his words, and he nodded. "Thanks, man." he said genuine. "I appreciate it."
"Like I said, your sister is a good hunter." He offered them a reassuring smile. "I'm sure she's handling herself fine out there."
Dean tried to believe him, but he knew the odds were stacked against her. "Yeah, let's hope so."
Dylan nodded in agreement, and, with that, he turned to walk away, never looking back.
Dean watched him go, silent for a long moment, shifting the photograph of his sister between his fingers. Sam, however, frowned. He was more than confused, he was beyond perplexed, but he noticed his brother seemed to be thinking hard about something, almost as if he had understood anything that had just been said to him. They were talking about monsters, and hunting? What was that? What did it mean? And what had their sister been doing with that guy? What had Dean meant when he'd said he knew what he'd taught her to do? What had she been doing in that town? Was it all a part of the big secret Dean claimed to know about her? Why did Dean know who Dylan was? And why did he know them? Dean might have wanted answers, but so did he.
"What the hell was all that about?" he pressed. "What's a shifter? Who was he?"
"Doesn't matter." he murmured, his thoughts clearly miles away from there. "But it's just given me an idea. Come on."
Sam barely had the time to react, because Dean was already halfway across the street, determination in his stride. He jogged to keep up with him, wondering where they were going. He had no idea what was happening around him anymore, and the level of confusion only seemed to be increasing by the minute.
He looked up at the old, decrepit building before them. It was a motel, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what was going on in his brother's head anymore. He was past trying to understand, because he knew that he couldn't. What did he really expect to find there? Was he still considering the insane idea that their sister was alive? Was he still running on blind faith that the body their mother had identified hadn't really been her? How could she make that kind of mistake? How could she look at someone's body and believe that it was her daughter if it wasn't? There was no chance. So, why couldn't Dean see that? Why didn't he understand?
"Dean, what the hell are we doing here?" Sam hissed, his voice rushed as he followed him through the door into the office. "We cannot stay in this town. We need to go home."
"Shut up." Dean threw over his shoulder. "I know what I'm doing."
Sam seriously doubted it, but he said nothing. The last thing they needed was to get into a fight.
Dean crossed the office in three long strides. It was small, and Sam couldn't imagine anyone, especially his sister, wanting to stay there. The man behind the desk barely even glanced up from the newspaper in front of him as they approached, but his brother didn't seem concerned. "Hey." he said pointedly, and, reluctant, as if it took all his effort, the man looked up. "I was wondering if you've had a girl stay here the last few days? Blonde hair, nineteen. About 5'5."
The man narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious of them. Not that Dean really blamed him. "Who are you?" he asked, gruff.
Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam got there first. "We're her brothers." he said, and Dean groaned inwardly, that wasn't the story he'd been planning to go with. "We're just trying to find our sister. Please. Her name's Alison Winchester."
Something about Sam's face seemed to register with him, and, with a sigh, he pulled the large black book on the desk towards himself. His eyes scanned it quickly, and he shook his head. "Nope." he muttered. "No Alison Winchester."
Sam wasn't surprised, at all, and he turned, ready to leave, but Dean didn't budge. "What about an Ashley Scott? Or a Natalie Smith?" he pressed, and Sam found himself wondering what his brother knew that he didn't.
The man behind the desk raised an eyebrow. "Those your sister's, too?"
Dean smiled, and he took out his wallet, dropping a fifty dollar bill to the desk. "For the purpose of this conversation, yes."
Without breaking the eye contact Dean held with him, he picked up the money and placed it into the top pocket of his shirt. His eyes fell back to the book and his eyes once again scanned the page. "I got no Ashley Scott. But I got a Natalie Smith." he confirmed. "She was staying up in room twelve. Booked for the week, she's supposed to check out tomorrow. Asked not to be disturbed, can't tell you if she's still here or not, though."
"Right," Dean nodded, this was the break they'd been searching for. "Thank you."
And, with that, he turned to leave, Sam right behind him. The door hadn't even closed before he turned on him, expectant. "Who the hell is Natalie Smith?" he pressed. It was a name he had never heard before, and he couldn't even imagine who she was.
"Alison." Dean stated. "That's one of the names she used when she..." He paused, because now wasn't the time. "Doesn't matter. Come on."
Sam huffed in annoyance as his brother continued his way towards the room. He was getting irritated with the amount of answers he wasn't getting from him. Dean clearly knew something more than he was letting on. He knew something about Alison he wasn't willing to share. He couldn't even begin to imagine why his sister would be checking into motels in strange towns under fake names. And, more to the point, he didn't understand why Dean already knew the names of her aliases. What had been going on between them while he had been away at college?
Dean knocked loudly, impatiently, on the door of the motel, so hard that the brass numbers that indicated twelve rattled under the force. He waited a few seconds, barely enough time for anyone inside to even make it to the door, and he shrugged. "Guess nobody's home." he muttered. He glanced back over both shoulders, ensuring that no one, namely the man inside the office, was watching them, and he brought up his leg, effortlessly kicking the door open. The wood at the lock snapped, and it sent splinters flying in all directions.
Sam looked on at him, eyes blown wide, as if he couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. Honestly, he couldn't. "What are you doing?!" But Dean had already stepped inside, disregarding any concerns he had. Not only had they bailed on their grieving parents, they'd now broken into somebody's motel room. He could just imagine the wrath that should come should they have to call home and explain why they had been arrested. But, despite himself, he found himself following his brother. He pushed the broken door closed behind himself and turned to the room, frowning. The scene before him took him by surprise. Whether it had been their sister's room or not, something bad had gone down there. "Looks like there was a struggle." he commented. "Are you sure this was her room?"
Dean's eyes scanned it slowly, and he narrowed his eyes. His brother was right, there had definitely been some kind of fight in there. One of the chairs at the table was overturned, the large mirror on the wall was smashed right through the middle, as though someone had been thrown straight at it and glass littered the floor beneath it. There was a lamp smashed on the carpet, knocked from the table beside the unused bed, and he noticed how the covers seemed to have been pulled sharply at one of the corners, as if someone had tried to grab a hold of it but had been pulled away.
Curious, he took a step further inside, looking for something, anything, to indicate that his sister had been there. Just because there had been a struggle, it didn't necessarily mean that Alison had been involved, or so he hoped. There were a couple of coffee cups on the table beside some old papers, one of them still half full, and a pen was thrown down beside them as though whoever had been using it had suddenly stopped, maybe due to a knock on the door, he thought. It was evident that the bed had never been slept in, and the light was still on above them. There was a black hooded jacket draped over the back of the only chair that remained upright, and a dull thought reminded him that he had once owned one very similar, one that his sister had borrowed and never returned. None of that was what stood out at him, though.
Something else had caught his eye, something that confirmed his dark and unwanted suspicion that she had been there. He crouched down slowly, tentative, and picked up the silver locket that lay abandoned on the carpet. The clasp was snapped, as though it had been ripped from her neck, and he closed his eyes. He had never seen her without it before. She hadn't taken it off since the day he had given it to her. It had been the last day he had been at home, and her response had been simple when he had handed her the box; shouldn't it be me giving you a going away present, since, you know, it's you leaving. He turned it over and looked at the engraving on the back, four little words, goodbye is never forever, and, at the time, he had thought it would always be true. It never occurred to him that day that there would come a time that they wouldn't see each other again. But now, he wasn't so sure.
Two years earlier — Lawrence, Kansas — Home.
Dean headed up the stairs, a small smile on his face as he headed down the hallway towards his sister's bedroom. Her door was open, the way it usually was, and he had learned in his time that there were only four real reasons she would ever close it; either she was changing, she was on the phone, usually to Chloe, she was sleeping, or she was in a really, really had mood. As he approached he saw her, sitting on her bed, her eyes scanning the pages of the book in her hands, and, from the position of it, he could already read the title, and he rolled his eyes.
"You gotta stop reading books about serial killers, sis." he observed, coming to a stop at her doorway. "One day you're gonna turn into one, and I'm not so sure that you'd cope in prison. You know they don't get Netflix in there."
"What makes you think I'd get caught?" she pondered, never looking away from the pages she seemed so engrossed in.
Dean chuckled. "Just a feeling." he quipped. "They always slip up eventually."
Alison looked up at him with a smirk. "Well, if I were to become a serial killer, I hope you'd buy the book. I could sign it for you."
Dean huffed a laugh. "You know I'm not one for reading." he commented. "I'd definitely watch the movie. I'm thinking Emma Watson to play you."
"Emma Watson?" Alison raised an eyebrow at him. "She looks nothing like me."
"No, she doesn't." he agreed. "But she is hot, and she's British, and it might be the only chance I get to take her out for a beer, so would you hurry up with your murder spree, please?"
Alison regarded him for a long moment, amused. "You are one on your own, Dean Winchester." she muttered, closing the book and tossing it aside. "What do you want, anyway? Thought you were going out?"
Dean smiled as he walked into her room, and she followed him with her eyes. "Something for you, first." he said, leaning against her dresser. "Little going away present."
Alison huffed. "Shouldn't it be me giving you a going away present, since, you know, it's you leaving." Dean smiled, and he tossed her a black box, one that she caught easily. Her eyebrows raised, and he could tell when he had said going away present she had been expecting something stupid, probably a punch in the arm to leave her with a bruise. "What's this?" she pressed, curious.
Dean shrugged. "I don't know," he commented, sarcastic. "Open it, you'll find out." Alison glanced down at the box, and she opened it slowly. Her eyebrows raised in surprise at the sight of the necklace there. It was a silver heart locket, and the tip of her finger touched it gently, turning it over. On the back, four little words were engraved; goodbye is never forever. "So, when you miss me, which you will because, you know, I'm awesome, you have something to remember me by."
"Wow, Dean." she commented, looking a little lost for words. "It's beautiful, thank you."
"Okay, let's not make a big soppy thing about it." he quipped. "But, you're welcome."
Dean was dragged back from his thoughts by a sound behind him, and it was only then that he remembered he wasn't alone, and he remembered the question he had been asked minutes ago, the one he still hadn't answered. "Yeah, Sammy. It was her room." he said quietly, straightening himself up. "She was taken from here."
Walking further inside, something stopped him dead in his tracks. It was only out of the corner of his eye that he saw it, the thing that made him feel sicker than anything he had ever seen in his life. It was visible through the slightly ajar bathroom door, and he felt his stomach sink. Apprehensive, holding his breath, he pushed the door open a little further. He knew he didn't want to get a closer look, but, if she was in there, he had to find her. She took a short step into the bathroom and he grimaced. There was blood everywhere, it covered the white bathroom completely. It was splattered across the tiles on the wall and floor, and bloody water filled the bathtub and sink. There was no one in there, and he wasn't so sure if that was a good or bad thing. It looked like a murder scene. He didn't even want to think what had happened in there, or who it had happened to. Was he supposed to believe that his sister had something to do with it? Did he want to believe that? He glanced to the once white towels, now soaked with a deep crimson liquid and thrown to the floor, and he felt sick.
"Where are you, Ali?" he whispered to himself, shaking his head slowly. That was enough for him. He had seen enough.
The blood wasn't Alison's. It couldn't be. He needed to find her, because she couldn't be dead.
Could she?
The thoughts of doubt were creeping into his head, and he found that, this time, he couldn't just simply ignore them or will them away. He couldn't silence them. There was so much blood. There was no question that it had been her room, or that she had at least been involved in the fight that had taken place there. There was a feeling in his stomach that told him something was wrong, and he didn't know how to deal with it. Everything was finally sinking in, if she was dead, how was he supposed to live with it? Alison had been one of the very few things that had kept him going while he had been away, and, when things had gotten rough, when it was late at night and he found himself wondering if he could do another day there, she had been one of the main reasons he had managed to keep his sanity. Alison was the only person who he had been able to talk to about his time away, she was the only one he trusted in to make it seem better. She couldn't be gone, he needed her, more than he wanted to admit. But that amount of blood was impossible to ignore. Someone, or something, had died in that bathroom. He just prayed it hadn't been his sister.
"Dean?" The sound of Sam's voice made him jump, and he looked up to face him, startled. "Wha—"
But Dean slammed the bathroom door closed before he could get close enough to see anything inside. "Don't go in there." he warned, his voice was low, and it cracked slightly as he spoke. Sam frowned at him, questioning. "Please."
"Dean? What's going on?" he pressed, cautious, because he didn't like the look on his brother's face one bit. He looked shattered, despondent, and tears filled up in his eyes, threatening to fall. He looked helpless, defeated, and, more than that, he looked broken.
But Dean simply shook his head in response. "I don't know." he admitted, his voice was quiet, little more than a whisper.
For the first time since he had arrived home, he looked like someone who had lost someone they had loved.
Dean looked like a man who had just lost his little sister.
His back came into contact with the bathroom door, and he slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. His head fell forwards to rest against his hands, and he took a short, shaky breath. He really didn't know.
