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Goodbye Is Never Forever

Chapter Twenty: Last Hope Of A Desperate Man

Missouri - 07:34 PM.

Sam crossed the small motel room and took a seat in one of the chairs at the table, a little lost as to what to do with himself. There wasn't much that he could do. He knew they shouldn't be there, he knew that they needed be at home with their parents, but Dean didn't appear as though he was moving any time soon. He remained exactly where he was, sitting on the floor and leaning up against the bathroom door, as though guarding it. He had barely moved an inch in almost half an hour, miles away in thought, lost. Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know what he had seen in that bathroom, because, whatever it was, it had clearly disturbed him. It was evident in the way his face was still pale, and the look of utter horror that still glistened in his eyes. He looked like a broken man.

Dean wasn't sure what to think. He couldn't think. The bathroom had looked like a murder scene, and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the image from his mind of Alison just lying on that floor, bloody and hurt and not moving. There had been blood everywhere, literally dripping from the walls, pooling on the floor, soaked right through the towels. What was he supposed to make of it? Was he supposed to ignore the fact it was more than likely his sister's blood in there? Was he supposed to hold onto the hope that she was still alive out there somewhere? After everything he had just seen? All signs pointed to her death, and maybe it was time to accept that. Maybe Sam was right, maybe he was in denial, maybe it was time they went home. He didn't want to face it, but maybe this time he had gone too far, he had been wrong, and it was time to turn back.

His thoughts were broken by the sound of shuffling papers, and he could almost hear his brother's brain working on overtime. His eyes flickered towards him, uninterested, and he noted his eyes scanning back and forth as he read whatever was in front of him. He looked confused, concerned, even. "Hey, was Ali writing a book or something?" he asked, so casual he could have been asking about the weather.

But the question took him by surprise, it was so out of the blue, so unexpected, and he looked up to him with a frown. "What?"

Sam shrugged, his eyes still fixed to the papers before him. "Just, she's got a lot of research here, that's all."

It took Dean's interest, and, for the first time in half an hour, he moved. "Research on what?" he pressed, pushing himself to stand.

Sam raised his eyebrows at him. "Vampires." he said, and Dean felt his stomach drop. "Didn't think vampires were her thing. She always said they were lame."

"Ali didn't hate vampires." Dean corrected him. "Ali hated twilight. Not enough blood." Sam quirked a brow, curious, and Dean gave the smallest of smiles. "She said she liked her monsters to be monsters. You know, she loved Dracula. And Blade."

"So, what?" Sam pushed. "Was she planning to write her own script? Some of this stuff is pretty gruesome."

Dean picked up one of the overturned chairs and took a seat at the table with him. He picked up a few of the papers and looked over them slowly, not sure what he expected to find. He had seen them before, he recognized them. But, what did that mean? Did it mean anything? Alison was there to hunt a Shapeshifter, wasn't she? So what was she doing with all the research on vampires? Unless, she had found something else. He turned over another paper and something fell from it, a small scrap of paper. His eyes went wide.

"Sam," he urged, all but shoving the paper towards his brother's chest. "Look at this."

Sam took it from him with a frown. "It's a bill." he stated, uninterested, as though he didn't understand the sudden alarm.

"Yeah, but look at it." he insisted, eyes remaining wide, the look of urgency never faltering.

Sam sighed, his eyes returning to the paper in his hand. "Coffee, candy bar, newspaper, The Notebook?" He frowned, and he glanced to the book lying on the table pointedly. "Pack of bandages, and a six pack of beer." he read aloud, but he wasn't understanding, at all. "So, what? Doesn't mean anything."

"Look at the date, Sam." Dean pushed, impatient. "You're supposed to be the college kid, dude, work it out. This stuff was bought after her body was found. Dylan was right, it's not her in that morgue."

"Dean," Sam shook his head, at a loss. "This doesn't prove anything. Anyone could have bought this stuff, doesn't mean it's Alison. I mean, since when does Ali read the newspaper? Huh? Especially in a town she's never even visited before. Why would she be buying beer? And, more to the point, when has Alison ever sat down and read a Nicholas Sparks novel? Everything she reads is about serial killers and murder."

"She reads them all the time." he admitted. "You know, before I left, she made me sit there with her and watch some stupid movie with that Disney Chick about sea turtles and doomed love because she'd read a Nicholas Sparks book. This stuff is hers, and that means the body they found isn't."

Sam looked down for a moment, trying to take in what he was being told. But his mind seemed far away from the scrap of paper in his hand. He looked hurt, disheartened. "You know, I always thought I knew my sister so well, but," He sighed, saddened. "I'm starting to think I didn't really know her, at all. It's like every day since she's been gone I'm learning stuff about her, like she lived a whole other life outside of the one we knew."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I get that. Look, when I found out, I thought she was high, or wasted, or losing her mind. But this is Alison. I know it's her."

"And, even if it is, why the hell would she have all this stuff about vampires?" he pressed, perplexed. "Why would she care?"

"Because they're real, Sam. And I bet you anything that's what has her." He looked back to the newspaper, because he knew his brother was right, she wouldn't have bought it simply to read. And, right there on the page open was a red circle around one of the articles. "Says here there were some murders next town over, bodies found drained of blood. I'll bet any money she came here to hunt that shifter, and then she found this. That's why she didn't come home. That's why she never checked out. She's still here, Sammy. She never tried to go home again. She was gonna stay and hunt these things down. They must have gotten the jump on her, that's why mom never heard from her, that's why she called the cops, and then they tracked her up here and found that dead shifter. They thought it was over, they thought they'd found her body, so they stopped looking. It all makes sense." He spoke quickly, barely taking a breath, and Sam was struggling to keep up with him. He couldn't even pretend like he was following.

"How does any of this make sense, Dean?" He pulled a hand down his face, shaking his head. "This is insane. How are you still going along with any of this?"

"Because this is what we've been looking for, Sam." he said, his voice low, serious. "You need to trust me. I know we can find her."

"Alison is dead, Dean." Sam blurted out. He hadn't meant to, but it was time his brother faced the truth. It was horrible, it was insensitive and it was harsh, but things were getting ridiculous, he needed to see it. He needed to understand. "Mom identified her body. They're at home planning her funeral. A receipt from a store and a motel in a fake name doesn't prove anything. I know it's awful, but, Dean, it's true. And it's time we went home."

Dean looked down, and for a moment Sam dared to hope that some sort of reality was sinking in. But when his eyes raised to face him they were hard, dark. "You heard that guy." he persisted, maintaining his stoic front. "There are things in this world that aren't human. I mean, we're talking about our sister being alive here, Sam, why can't you just have a little faith? Why are you so against the idea?"

Sam scoffed, incredulous. "You think I'm against the idea of Alison being alive?" He sounded outraged, offended. "Dean, I would give anything to see my sister again. But, this? Chasing around after monsters that don't exist, making up stories that she's been taken by vampires? It's insane. And I'm not gonna buy into the hope that she's still alive when I know I'm just gonna lose her all over again. None of this is real."

"Yes, it is." he replied simply. "I've seen it for myself."

"You've seen a vampire?" Sam raised his eyebrows, dubious. How far was he really willing to take it?

"No, but I've seen other stuff with her." He sighed, desperate. "Please, Sammy, please. I need your help. I know she's out there somewhere. I can feel it." He looked away for a moment, and his face changed. "I can't lose her."

Sam was sympathetic, he was, but he couldn't take anymore. He couldn't keep going along with this. "Dean—"

"Don't do it for me." he stopped him. "Do it for Alison. You back out now and you're gonna regret it for the rest of your life, Sam. You'll always have that voice in the back of your head, what if Dean was right? What if Ali really was out there somewhere and we just left her? Are you telling me that you can live with that? Because I can't." Sam said nothing, but he could tell that he was listening, he was thinking hard over something. "Look, we'll check it out, and, if I'm wrong, we'll go back home. I promise. But we need to do this. You know we do."

Sam nodded, reluctant. "Okay, alright. Fine." He nodded. "What do we do?"

Dean looked around the room slowly, shaking his head. "I got no clue." he admitted.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Face it, Dean, even if you are right about this, we have no idea what we're doing here." he told him. "If Alison's out there somewhere, if she's in danger, if someone has hurt her, we need to tell the cops."

But Dean shook his head, he wouldn't even consider it. "We can't go to the cops." he warned. "Not about Ali."

His eyes narrowed, suspicious. "Why?"

"Because, for one, if she's alive and she found out, she'd probably punch me in the face for it. And," He paused, he didn't know what to tell him. "Look, we just can't, okay? We can't be sure what she's been doing in this town, and if she's done something—"

"Something?" He frowned. "You're talking about her like she's been breaking the law." It was supposed to be a joke, a lighthearted comment, but the look on his brother's face never changed, and he knew. "Oh my god."

"What would we even say, huh?" Dean challenged. "Hi, Officer, we think our dead sister might have been kidnapped by some vampires. How's that gonna sound? We'd be thrown into a padded cell before they'd even asked her name. There has to be something else." He once again looked around the room, hoping something would jump out at him. And it did. His attention came to the bag, just under the bed, and he frowned, curious. He stood from the chair and pulled it out.

"You're not seriously gonna go through her stuff." Sam stated, watching him curiously. "That's so wrong."

Dean huffed, impassive. "Wouldn't be the first time, Sammy." he commented. He unzipped it and glanced inside, not sure what he expected to find. With her, it could have been anything, he'd learned that the first time he had made her empty it in front of him. He pulled out a laptop and a smirk came to his face. "Bingo."

He moved back to sit at the table and opened it up. It hadn't been turned off, simply closed, and it required a password.

Sam looked to him, expectant. "You know it?" he asked.

"No, but I know Ali." he said, confident. He tried, and he tried, and then he tried again. But no luck. And then he thought, really thought, feeling his brother's eyes burning into the side of his head as he did, and something struck him. He smiled, and he typed in eight letters. "Nice try, kiddo." he muttered, smug. "She never could outsmart me."

There was a web browser still open, as if she had slammed the lid closed in a hurry, and the page that came up wasn't one that filled him with confidence. It was an article on vampires. "Here, look." he pointed to the screen. "Vampires; the undead, a corpse which subsides by feeding on the life essence of the living, usually by drinking the blood." he read aloud. "That's comforting."

"Dean," Sam nodded towards the screen. "There are other tabs open."

Dean opened one, and his stomach turned. Treatment of stab wounds. His mind wandered to the pack of bandages on the receipt they had found. "I don't think we need to read that." he muttered, closing it. He opened the next one, the same article that had been circled in the newspaper, and he simply closed that, too. But the third one interested him. It was a map of the town, and there was a location pinpointed. "It's the same farm as where the bodies were found." he commented. "I think we've just found our vampires."

"And, what are we supposed to do when we do find them?" Sam asked, curious. "How are we supposed to beat them?"

The question took him by surprise, because it was the first time he had shown any interest in going along with the idea. "I don't know." he answered honestly. "If we're going by the movies, wouldn't it be a stake through the heart? Or garlic?"

Sam shot him a look, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"Well, what do you suggest?" he countered. "If you've got a better idea, I'm all ears." And then he noticed something, lying on the table in plain sight. Her journal. It was the same one he had found in the woods. He pulled it towards him and opened it, and, just as he remembered, every page was filled with her handwriting, with newspaper clippings, pages printed from her laptop. He flipped through it, needing to find something. "Here," He stopped a few pages in, his eyes scanning the words quickly. "Most of the lore on Vampires is crap. A cross won't repel them, neither will garlic, sunlight won't burn them and a stake to the heart won't stop them. Vampires need fresh blood to survive. They were once people, and they turn others through blood. Vampires nest in small groups, and they head out to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks."

"I think we've heard enough." Sam interjected.

"Listen," Dean stopped him. "To kill a vampire, right here, underlined, capital letters, decapitation."

Sam's face paled. "What?"

Dean shrugged. "That's what it says."

"That was written by a nineteen year old girl, Dean." he snapped. "How do we even know that's true?"

For a moment Dean looked confused, and then offended. "That nineteen year old girl is your sister, Sam." he stated simply. "Ali knew things. And if I was gonna trust anyone's word on a monster, it'd be hers."

Sam stood from his seat, pulling a hand down his face. How had it come to this? He wasn't sure what he had thought was going to happen when he'd accompanied his brother there, but it sure as hell hadn't been this, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take. At what point did he draw the line? When did he decide that it was all too much? When did he take the lead and tell him that they needed to go home? He felt sick.

Dean didn't notice the look on his brother's face. Because this was how they were going to find their sister. He tore a clean page from the back of the book, and he scribbled down the address of the farm, barely paying attention to anything going on around him. There was a new found hope in him, and this time he truly believed that they might find her, that they could bring her home, that she could be safe.

Too lost in his own thoughts, too busy reading every last word his sister had written about the creatures they were preparing to hunt down and fight, he barely registered the sound of a door opening behind him. It took him a moment to realize what was happening, but, when he did, he felt his heart stop, his stomach turned, and his eyes widened. He turned around sharply, almost losing his balance as he did, but it was too late. The bathroom door was open, and his brother was already facing the horrors behind it.

"Sam," He pushed himself up, wary, and crossed the room. "Come out of there."

"Dean..." Sam's voice was small, shaky, timid. "What... Oh my god..."

"Sam," He came to a stop behind him, and the scene before him became fresh in his mind. "That's not her blood."

"Dean—"

"Sam, please." he pressed. "Come out."

But Sam ignored him, or maybe he didn't hear him, and he took a step further inside, something Dean hadn't been able to do. He looked around slowly, trying to make sense of the scene around him, but he couldn't. He shook his head slowly, and he now understood the look on his brother's face when he had left. His eyes took in every last detail, and there weren't words for how horrific it was.

His gaze fell to something behind the door, and he felt as though he could throw up right there. "I don't think we need to look anymore." he said quietly, and his breath was caught in his throat as he spoke. The words barely came out.

Dean frowned at him. He barely wanted to ask. "Why?" he pressed, nervous. "What is it?"

Sam reached down behind the door and picked up a small, grey jacket. It was one that he had seen his sister wear a million times in the past. She wore it everywhere. He held it up, his hands shaking, to show his brother. The front of it was covered in blood, the same as the rest of the bathroom was. It was screwed up and stained with dirt and soil. "This was Ali's." he said softly. "Dean, this is her blood. There's no other explanation. It's over."

"No," Dean shook his head, turning from the bathroom. They had come too far not to find her. "No, it's not. We don't know that it's Ali." he stated, defensive.

Sam shook his head, there was no getting through to him. "Are you serious? Dean, it's her motel room, it's her jacket that's literally dripping with blood." He took a breath, calming himself a little. "Dean, we need to call the police, we need to call home. We need to do something."

"What we need to do is check out that farm, we need to make sure that she's not there." he pressed. "Sam, please."

Sam scoffed, incredulous. "I don't believe you." he muttered. "How the hell can you explain this?" he pushed, frustrated. "How can you even begin to reason that she's still out there when you're looking at this? How are you even hanging on to hope? Look around you, Dean, no one could have survived this."

"Because she's my damn sister!" Dean finally snapped, his voice was hard, loud, unforgiving. "That's how I'm holding onto hope, Sam. You tell me how I'm supposed to go home and just accept that she's gone? How am I supposed to accept that she's dead when I have this feeling that she's alive. I need to do this, Sam. I need to be sure. And, you know what, if you're not in this with me, maybe it is time that you went back home."

"Are you kidding? I'm not gonna leave town without you, Dean." He sighed, shaking his head. What more could he say? Dean was determined, he was prepared to carry out whatever plan he had alone, but he knew he couldn't abandon him. Not the way he was. "We check it out, but then we're done. We go home, and you need to let go of this."

Dean nodded, reluctant. "Fine." he agreed. "Let's get the hell out of here."

But the sound of his phone ringing stopped him in his tracks, and his heart skipped a beat. For a second he let himself believe that it could be Alison, that maybe she had found her way to a phone and she was calling him for help. He almost ripped it from his jacket pocket, but, just as quickly as he found the hope, it was extinguished, and his stomach dropped at the name on screen. Dad.

His stomach turned. "Shit." he muttered. His thumb hovered over the ignore button, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He hadn't told his parents where they were going, that they were even leaving. He could see his mother, going out of her mind with panic, worrying that the same thing that had happened to Alison was happening to them. He had to answer it. "Hello?"

"Dean." His father's voice was hard, relieved, angry, nothing like it had been earlier. "Where the hell are you and your brother?" he demanded, impatient.

Dean sighed. "Dad, we—"

"Your sister has just died, Dean." he said bluntly. He really was pissed. "Do you really think this is the time for the two of you to go running off? Get your asses home, right now."

"I can't, Dad." he said, apologetic, hating every moment of it. "Just, trust me. I can fix this."

"Fix it?" he pressed, and he could hear the confusion in his voice. "What are you talking about?" His voice softened. "Dean, please, come home. Your mom needs you right now."

"I'm sorry, Dad." he said, genuine. He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "I need to go."

"Dean—"

But Dean ended the call before his father had the chance to say anything more. If he was right about this, he could fix everything. He could find his sister, he could bring her home. He could fix his broken family. He could stop them all from hurting, he could end the pain that haunted them.

He could make it all alright.