Racks of potato chips.
The same old song and dance of Gas-N-Gulp Twinkie packages, 24 hour hot dog rollers, and Dentyne Ice. Meals were created from the most obnoxious of sodium levels. She stared at the packages with a bit of stomach exhaustion. Out of the three of them, Sam usually picked the more… healthy options. Allie's choices consisted of three popular picks: Milkshakes, club sandwiches, steak and eggs.
Convenience stop options were less appetizing. Dean often grabbed at random. Candy, chips, cookies - anything that looked, or sounded, like a teenagers dream while their parents went out of town. Groceries be damned, it was cake and pizza every night in a 15 year old's dream.
"Salt-n-Vinegar, Original, Bbq." The blonde spoke into a burner phone that connected her ear to her shoulder. "Real Sophie's Choice," a short sigh and she continued on. "Pick your poison." Her eyes darted to the sleek black banshee of a Chevy outside, ensuring her posse was still close by before Dean's voice came through.
"BBQ." He instructed while leaning against the frame of Baby, turning back to look at Sam, who was once again lost in his emails, little stencil moving across the screen like the nerd he was. Dean whistled out for a moment and patted him on the shoulder, pointing from the phone to the first gas station they had seen in miles, only to receive a shake of shaggy brown hair before the younger Winchester turned back to his newfound priority, old school friends. Kind of a drag, really. Realistically the normies knew nothing about their lives at all, yet Sam still seemed hellbent on driving 400 miles back the other way just to check on them. It would be noble if it didn't take them completely off track.
But Dean caved. Only a short look up and an indignified expression from his brother, that's all it took. "College-boy doesn't want anything. Get me some of those uh… whatever they're called. They look like miniature cornucopias." He scratched at his head in thought. "Fuck… what are they called… you put 'em on your finger, you know."
"Bugles?" She replied while picking a few packages from the shelf and moving her phone from one shoulder to the other to free up her right hand. Juggling had become a prominent skill in the past three months. No point in waiting for his reply, though. She hung up pretty fast after that and approached the counter as if the place had been ransacked, opening her arms to release a mountain of sweet and savory debris.
LETTER OF POSTPONEMENT. The subject line acted as a heavy anchor of reality. The official noting of dropped classes, the promise of 'in the future'. Next semester, next year, next two years. Sam wouldn't graduate pre-law with many of his abandoned peers. The email sat beneath his unwavering gaze for a moment too long, burning itself into him - into his own indecision on whether to return upon finding their father, or stay in the grips of the hunt until the monster that killed Jess was found. Decisions, decisions. He leaned heavily to one side. After all, what was justice without revenge?
On the other hand, the whole point of leaving was to pave his own way in the world, to find peace in the fire and start anew from the ashes of the past. Apparently there were no ashes. The history on the shelf repeated itself. Like the pages of an ill-forgotten book, literature he read over and over again in biblical fashion. He knew the play off by heart until the scenes rolled into nightmares, only to ignore the signs and allow HER to burn up.
"Sam?" A wavering, echoing voice came into his thoughts, ripping his attention away from the unread email. He hadn't noticed Dean slide into the driver's seat, or Allie's questioning that peppered at the window.
"What?" His listening skills were honed in only minutes ago, able to take both Dean's incessant talking and the honest pain from Rebecca, one of his old friends who noted that her brother was being held for murder - Rebecca maintained a convincing argument that she was sure he didn't do it.
"I asked if you're sure you don't want something to eat? Looks like this will be the last stop until we get to Tucumcari. You aren't hungry? Or… want an ice tea, something?" Allie held up one of the chip bags, alongside a whole almonds Hershey's bar. "I got you Fiji." The least she could do. It didn't feel right to leave the store empty handed, even if Sam denied any sort of human-needed sustenance. The artesian water bottle was handed to him.
"This is good, I'm good." Sam spoke somewhat half-heartedly, only listening on the surface while his mind continued to play out Rebecca's messages over and over, alongside his own thoughts in regards to canceling his classes. Fiji was a nice change of pace though.
"That shit's expensive, Allie!" Dean called out and yanked the plastic from Sam's lap, turning it around in his hand. "It's water. The whole mountain thing is probably a hoax to get more sales."
Allie groaned before tossing the potato chips clear into Dean's lap. "Bugles, potato chips, cookies, pre-packaged ham and swiss sandwich. Need I say more?" The items were used as examples while she flung them his way in defense of getting Sam something minor that would hopefully improve his mood somewhat. "And don't crap on Fiji! It's… smooth." Odd way to describe water, but the 'artesian' factor did seem to play a part in the overall enjoyment of sweet, sweet H2O.
With that, Baby pulsed into action with tires screeching as Dean made a sharp turn in their new direction.
Rebecca was hospitable. Allie noted her insecure stance, the way her eyes darted around the room, and she leaned on things over casually. She was distressed, though attempting to keep the amount on the down-low. The prior connection to Sam obviously played a part in her fast and loose trusting of Sam's declaration that Dean was, in fact, a cop. Allie clocked the needy desire for things to be repaired almost instantly. The way she hugged Sam, the open ended conversation of missing him. A woman in need was a pal indeed.
So, while the brothers watched the tape of Zach going into the crime scene, Alice hung back and entered the kitchen with Rebecca to grab a few beers and make soft chit-chatting.
"So, you knew Sam from Stanford?" See, that was a fact that Allie already knew the answer to. However, she was perceptive. People generally enjoyed talking about themselves in any given circumstance. Keeping the discussion focused on Rebecca would ease her into being more vulnerable. Best way of directing a conversation? 70% percent them, 30% you.
"Yeah, we used to hangout sometimes. The four of us would go on daytrips to San Francisco," Rebecca replied. Somehow the time felt so long ago. Within months everything changed, for all of them.
"The four of you?" That had Allie a little off kilter, it was simply an unexpected addition of knowledge.
"Sam, Me, Zach... and Jess." Rebecca's eyes fell to the counter. She set the beers down and rubbed at her arms in a small act of self-soothing. Her voice was quiet in an effort to not be overheard by Sam, lest he hear and take the blow to his chest.
Well, Allie felt like somewhat of an ass for that one. She glanced around the room while the gears in her head churned on what to say, how to compromise and connect with the other woman in front of her. "I went to Stanford too." A change of subject seemed like the best way, in the vein of not wanting to trigger the poor other girl into tears.
"Oh, Is that how you know Sam? I don't remember us meeting. Lot's of people though." The back and forth grew somewhat tense. Not in a purposeful way, more so an undercurrent of the tragedy that befell both of the students in the house.
"Uh... It's a little complicated. Long story. I won't bore you with the details." Rather than nod for a beer while Rebecca went to open them all, Allie shook her head no. "Makes sense we didn't cross, I was in nursing. No law for me!"
It was at that time where Rebecca gave her a weary look, as if understanding something but leaving the full truth unsaid.
"Actually... you do look a little familiar. What did you say your last name was?"
The words formed sweat at Allie's spine. The bead of anxiety rolled down along her vertebrae. She could feel each and every centimeter as it slid down along her barely tanned skin. "I didn't." In a quick manner of persuasion, she acted as though she was going to speak again - only to land on the photo on the fridge, which she pointed at with a manicured index fingernail. Cherry red. Now the shade seemed ironic. "That's the three of you?" She glided over as if her footsteps were lighter than air, a dancer out of ballet shoes.
"Mhm, we were on the quad that day," a smile came to Rebecca's face as she thought back to the memory. Only a few months into school, Sam was one of the first friends that she made. Well, initially her brother met him. After that they became a trio in high spirits together. "Nice day, sunny." The flashback was a decent respite from her recent sadness and fear over her brother's false tribulations.
Allie inspected the photo for a few seconds. Sam's souvenired smile rose his cheeks and gave his features a lighthearted expression. He looked happy. There was an unclouded bubbliness to his eyes, head tilted into the frame and close with the other two. And there was a sad realization in her that Sam looked nothing like himself, at least not the version of himself that she knew. This Sam, in this photo, was free. He was unchained to the life and not necessarily untraumatized, as Allie could only assume, but at least unbothered by the weight he now carried. Sam had a magnificent smile. In that moment, Allie could see clear as day why Jess fell in love with him. He looked soft. The kind of person that helped you feel at home no matter what room you were in, emotionally available, understanding.
She half desired to reach out and touch it, maybe shove it into her pocket without Rebecca realizing - just to have it, and know that it existed for a time. Maybe he could get back to that place. The picture alone foretold that they had more in common than she originally thought. In some old book somewhere, a photo album, potentially in her mom's retired storage unit that still charged Allie's bank simply because she didn't have the heart to go, but wouldn't give it up to auction - there was a smile. A bubbly, outgoing one in high pigtails and high school stripes across her cheeks with pom pom's hanging from stretched up hands. A time before, a time where innocence beat in her heart and the soul inside her remained untainted. Back then she thought different morals, walked in a different stride, held a different idea of herself and what was wanted. The world - uncluttered.
Then the snapping of Dean's voice came from the other room and Allie took a step back. Both of the girls exited the kitchen in silence.
Shapeshifter.
The revelation led them into the sewers of the city. Forgotten underbellies, smelly, damp, strangely textured. Moving through the area was an exercise in patience and unwavering loyalty. Pieces of shed skin were in laden piles over various pipes, on the ground, stuck to the walls. The consistency was that of goo, a slime project gone awry. And God! It smelled like pure bile, like rotten flesh. Oddly, the mixture looked unrelated to muscle or any other internal layers. The trio poked and prodded at a few of the small mountains to gather any sort of insight that they could. All they got was mush. Ears, lips, teeth, fingernails, and mush.
They were making their way through a tight passage between more open halls when he came. The shifter knocked Dean up against a wall from behind and Sam fired three shots before they took off in a run after their target, only to loose him through the manhole that released under to over. Cars honked and people walked by while they climbed out, apparently unphased by three unidentified adults just marching their way out of the sewers.
He was gone. So close, but so far.
Dean gripped at his shoulder as sharp stings radiated through his arm and up into the nape of his neck. Each slight movement caused him to wince. "Son of a bitch!" He tore out in a frustrated yell. At that point, passerby's let their eyes turn to watch by the peripherals, only to continue on down the sidewalks. "Ah, fuck!" He clutched and bent over his knees for a minute, trying to shake off the pain and keep on the hunt before standing up straight. The three of them stood together, guns at their side while taking a sharp glance around the pedestrian heavy areas. No sign of the shifter. That only made his frustration grow. They were on a limited battle, currently on the losing side. At any time the shifter could change and the hunt would be restarted as they sought a new face. The pain sucked a mountain of dicks, but they had a job to do and so he shook his neck and grinded his teeth together.
"Let me check it, is it broken?" Allie moved to reach out to him in empathy, noting the way he struggled to get out of the manhole with one arm out of commission. She took a step closer.
"It's not broken. Just fucked up." He seethed. Not at her empathy, but at the course of the night and how things had taken a negative turn so suddenly. "We'll check it after."
"Dean-" She tried to press forward, focused completely on confirming that he wasn't undermining his injury and trying to force his way through a broken arm.
"It's fine, after. After." He calmed a bit and breathed out, an effort to ease her concern. Bigger things at play that needed attention. "I've broken it before, can still move it. I'll let you check it after."
She conceded after that with a unenthusiastic nod, but he was right. The three of them agreed to split up across town to hit as many points as possible in a short time. With one last word, they were sprinting off in separate directions.
Some time later Allie woke up to a blaringly evident headache, sight unfocused and blood staining the back of her blonde tresses. Her neck wavered from left to right while her focus faded in and out of consciousness. The lighting, what lighting there was, was awful. It barely got the room out of starch blackness. Shadows moved and soon the rancid smell of rotting bile came flooding back into her nostrils. She coughed at the off-putting scent. Snorting vividly, as if to force the sense out of her nasal passage.
The silhouette of a figure approached in candlelight. The apparent darkness was becoming more evident now. One side of her was lit, the other not quite reached by small flames that scattered the lair.
"Well hello gorgeous!" The figure came into view and knelt down to meet her eye-level. Familiar green eyes stared back at her, amulet swinging lightly from the adjustment in height. Right off the bat his demeanor was different, more taunting. Not in the bantering way, in a mocking way. A villainous, misogynistic way.
"You should work on your acting, amateur." Allie groaned out, coughing a bit while leaning her head back against the pipe she was not acutely aware she had been tied up to. Blue irises flashed up to stare at the ceiling of the sewer. She grimaced at the sight.
"That's no way to talk to your mentor." He stood, irate from her lack of attention. A bowie knife was tapped against his head in thought. "We're just havin' a little teacher-student rendezvous, Alls."
The words draped off of his lips in a primitive double entendre. The course of his thought process brought her hands to a strategic wiggle in the rope bindings, forcing a rash to quickly gather at her wrists as the friction rubbed away at her skin. "Yeah, well, I'm not much of a teacher's pet." Allie spat out, scrunching her nose in disgust.
The shifters irritation grew. Certain assumptions were made about wearing Dean's skin. He was a decent lookin' guy, not to mention an easy connection to Rebecca. Alice was just the same type, too. Blonde, young, fertile... That's all he wanted. To be loved, understood, to reproduce. Unfortunately, he also had temper issues. Anger sort of got in the way of getting the good stuff. He was quick to it. Sue a guy! Or girl, whatever his flavor of the night was. He was a monster. Flaws were kind of baked in to the DNA description.
"He sure likes you." The back of the knife was used as a mechanism to turn her face while he knelt back down. Dean's memories pulsed forward at that and the shifter gripped at his head, losing control for a moment and yanking the knife, only to slash a bit at her jaw before he settled back down. A download of the past, those were the hardest moments. They moved quickly but the few seconds did hammer inside of his head like a battering ram. Newer ones came first, the older the memories, the longer it took for them to hit his own little version of a hard drive.
"Frisky women," the shifter choked out. "And you're as frisky as they come, ain't ya?" The blood that trickled down her neck gave a rush of thrill in him, small payback for her quipping righteousness.
"You should hear his thoughts." Dean's false face mimicked his voice like the wearing of a suit, a whole person started as an enigma and soon began to fall into place. Within minutes he could play the role convincingly. "Wonders how tight it is. You seem pretty wound up." His face grew closer, other arm shooting up to press against the pipe and pin her in place. "I could loosen you."
Allie's jaw clenched and an involuntarily noise of revulsion left her. She attempted to turn her face away from his all-seeing, piercing eyes. That was it. The imitation was all in the eyes. See, Dean had depth. They rarely moved into uncharted territories together, but when they did those moments were glorious. The first time they met - everything was surface level. Their bond grew in time and although their friendship may have appeared strange to nearly anyone, what with the constant bickering and bantering, it was unique - and meaningful. The forest that constantly looked back at her had much more than just modern cowboy bravado. They both knew it, even if they didn't talk about it. At the end of the day there was a reason that they ventured the USA together and felt comfortable with their lives in each others hands. Trust, and understanding.
"You know, if she's tight - you ain't doin' it right." Allie grinned in mocking at him. "Something tells me you're all bark, no bite." She continued, her tone now ruthless. "In fact, you can wear his face - doesn't mean you're not a one pump chump. You know, just because he has it - doesn't mean you will." Rather than stick with his stupid endeavors in trying to fit with her back and forth with the real Dean, Allie decided to viper in on him - her tone venomous and unrelenting.
The crash of his backhand against her cheek brought forth a triumphant smile. "I'm beginning to think you aren't my type," He sneered. The forcefulness of the hit caused her head to audibly smack back against the pipe and he watched as her head slumped down, presuming her to be knocked back out. "Too mouthy." He continued, though the lights were out and it seemed no one was home at that moment. "You're all the same. Every time. Can't even tell you what I want, always screaming, turning away, acting too good for me! Like you're better than me!" He began to yell at her folded over body. "You're not better than me just because you're human!" His hand jetted out, grabbing her by the hair and smashing her head against the pipe.
It was nearly an hour later when Dean came to her side. The candlelight barely lit up her body, they almost missed it. The shifter placed her on the other side of the room, most likely on purpose. The dried blood that pooled at her hair had him in a rush to untie her. As he worked on the ropes, his arm quivered from the pain that still shot through it. Once the ropes were slacked he knelt in front of her, catching her body as it fell forward. "Al, hey! Hey! Wake up!" Dean shook her gently, left hand rising to feel at the pipe in comparison to where the injury was at the back of her head. It seemed localized to a tiny portion, as though it had just caught the side of her skull.
He moved to lay her down, opening her eyes to check beneath the lids. They looked responsive, a little. "Allie!" The older Winchester gave her light taps on the side of the face, bringing her back up to the current moment as he stared down in concern while Sam watched from behind. "Common, Blondie. Your dad'll kill me if he finds out you got hurt on my watch. Can't let that happen, right? Who will make me second guess all my choices, huh? Who's gonna ream my ass when I fuck up?"
"I'll ream your ass. It's gonna hurt, too. I'm not gentle." The words came out in a sort of slur. Truly, she barely was cognisant of what he said. She caught reaming ass and that was about enough to bring her into a focalized state of being. That's when the intense, ungodly pain erupted from the back of her skull. "Ahhh!" The tense cry left her and her eyes fluttered around the room, overtaken by her poor health and aching wounds. "Fuck!" The agitation was quick to take over. "He's wearing your model face." She gurgled out, albeit confused.
"Model face?" Dean grinned, rubbing it in, even if she was a little out of it. He hadn't gotten a win in a while. If they were to keep score on a whiteboard, well, Allie was actually pretty good at one-liners. That often meant he had to work extra hard to get anything sensitive out of her, or remotely indicative of depth toward him. "Is it the jawline? Do I look like I could be the next Chad Michael Murray?"
"Shuuuut upppp!" Allie groaned out and finally sat up, still clutching at her head while Dean and Sam assisted with helping her stand up. The three of them stood for a moment, all catching their bearings before the world stopped spinning around them and they were able to head up and out of the sewers.
In a titular show of dominance and true skill (not obtained through identity theft), Dean found his false self on the scene with Sam in an intense battle. Allie, on the other hand, was left outside. Dean was exceptionally pissed off at the thought of the shifter roaming around and driving his metal sweetheart. The truth was - Allie couldn't be much help. She was concussed, weak, injured otherwise... So the boys went on alone, an act of protection. The thoughts didn't really lie in lack of faith over what kind of assistance she had the ability to offer, they were entirely centered on making sure she wasn't injured further.
Crying shame too, given that both of them were beaten the shit out of. The shifter did have a decent amount of good moves. He was a stone cold piece of monstrous shit. Ended up shot to high heaven though, Dean took glory in the way his alter bounced off the wall like a ragdoll once the bullet slammed into him. There was something exceptionally offensive with the fucking thing wearing his amulet, too. He yanked it off as if it was the one thing still holding the shapeshifters soul to earth, and damn if Dean didn't want him to take a life long vacation down to the seventh layer of Hell.
As above, so below.