Disclaimer: I only own Lucy!
~o~
Chapter 2
I'm Coming Home
After Jessica died, Sammy was obviously heartbroken. He tried so hard to hide it away from Dean and me, but his true grief was revealed by the constant nightmares he suffered. I didn't even wanna know what he dreamt of, I just wanted him to be okay. The whole thing sort of freaked me out too. I mean, it couldn't have been a coincidence that Jess died the same way my mom died—and on the same date. It just didn't make sense. But we were the Winchesters. We had to be troopers. And that's what we did. Following Dad's journal, my brothers and I were led to different jobs in the area. Our work was cut out for us—the very first one was one of those ugly ass Wendigos! And let me just say, I hope I never have to see one of those dicks again. We saved a woman and her young son just within the next week. We even dealt with this demon with a thing for crashing planes—first demon I'd ever seen. They're tough little bastards, but watching Dean freak out about flying was worth it.
We learned from a man named Jerry Panowski that he had gotten Dean's phone number from our Dad's voicemail. This was huge! Dad must have set his voicemail recently, indicating that he's at least still alive. Dean dialed his number, and Sam and I stood close to listen into the voicemail.
"It doesn't make sense. I've called his number like 50 times. It's always been out of service," Sam said skeptically.
"So have I, Sam," I shot back. "It's possible, you know, he could have changed it. That can happen." Sam narrowed his eyes at me.
"Hey, you two, shut up," Dean commanded, beckoning us closer to listen.
"'This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. Or my daughter, Lucy. 785-476-1100. They can help.'"
The voicemail stopped, and Dean and I shared a look—a mixture of both surprise and hope. As Sam stopped back into the car, slamming the door shut, I let my relief consume my expression. "He's alive!" I mused with a small smirk. I playfully patted Dean on the shoulder and stumbled back into the back seat, ready to travel to our next destination—knock out our next job. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly enjoying this. I mean, it was a bit frustrating not knowing where Dad was. But I honestly liked hunting. Just counting the amount of people we, together as a family, had saved—it gave me a rush!
Three months had passed when I finally realized that Dad just didn't want to be found. That hurt a bit. But I still wanted to look. I figured that we had to eventually find him one way or another, and that was all that was important to me. I wanted—no, I needed my family back together again.
It was March 26th, 2006; Sam, Dean and I had just finished working possibly the worst case I've ever experienced. A curse was put upon this land that just happened to be the site of new homes galore. This curse sent the "biblical swarm" of thousands of insects to the Pike family living on that land. This would have been a fine, perfectly "normal" case. Except I can't stand bugs.
The second I witnessed the massive cloud of bees and a shit ton of other disgusting little things coming right at us, I realized I was living my worst nightmare. "Oh HELL NO!" I shouted and bolted inside, taking the 16 year old Matt by the shoulders and ushering him inside. I felt a sort of connection with Matt. He reminded me a lot of Sam. We waited out and fought against the insects until the sun rose, carrying away the curse and the bugs with it. The morning after, we were relieved to see that the Pikes were moving far, far away from the newly built houses.
"Never again," I stated once we were on the road once more. "Never, ever, ever, again. I never wanna see another bug in my whole life."
"Not even this one?" Dean asked. It took me less than a second to spot the dead spider he was pushing in my face, and to let out a high pitched scream of terror. Dean burst out laughing, and even Sam—who was giving him a bitchface—couldn't hold back a chuckle. If he wasn't driving, I probably would have punched my oldest brother.
"That—was not funny," I fumed.
"What's funny is your little insect-o-phobia," Dean laughed.
"Entomophobia," Sam corrected.
"Whatever, bitch."
"Jerk."
"Yeah, I'll remember that the next time we're on a plane, Mr. 'Why do you think I drive everywhere'?" I mocked. Dean rolled his eyes.
"Loser," he muttered after a pause.
"Idiot," I smiled.
~o~
March 29, 2006
My eyes fluttered open at the slight movement of mine and Sam's bed, and the sound of his heavy breathing coming next to me. I flipped over slightly to see Sam sitting straight up, looking absolutely terrified.
"Sammy?" I grumbled. My brother jumped a little before noticing I was awake. "You okay?"
Sam nodded, rubbing his hands over his face. He sure didn't look okay. "Yeah, Luce, sorry. I'm fine. Just—"
"Was it another nightmare? Sammy, seriously this is—"
"Really," Sam interrupted, lying back down. "It was nothing. Lucy, I'm fine. I promise."
I stared at him for a bit longer, unconvinced. "Okay," I said doubtfully. I rested my head on Sam's shoulder and eased myself back to sleep.
"All right," Dean started the next morning, "I've been cruising some websites. Think I found a few candidates for our next gig. A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali. Its crew vanished."
"Sounds fishy to me," I commented, resting my chin against the back of Dean's chair.
"That was a terrible pun," Dean remarked.
"Shut up, I'm hilarious."
Dean snorted. "And we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas. Hey!" I looked over to where Sam was sitting on the bed, invested in some sort of drawing thing he was doodling. "Are we boring you with this hunting evil stuff?"
"No, I'm listening. Keep going," Sam reassured, heading back to his paper.
"Yeah—you look really intrigued, Sam," I joked sarcastically. Sam glanced up for a split second to roll his eyes at me.
"And here a Sacramento man shot himself in the head," Dean continued, holding up three fingers, "three times." Sam gave no response. Dean waved the fingers at him in an attempted to get his attention, eventually lowering two fingers so he was only holding up a middle finger. I snorted into my coffee. "Any of these things blowin' up your skirt, pal?"
Sam was silent for a moment, still devoted to the doodles he held in his hands. "Wait, hold on. I've seen this before." I raised my eyebrows as I watched my brother pull out our Dad's journal and eagerly flip through the pages. Neither Dean nor I said a word as Sam found what he was looking for, an epiphany blooming on his face. "I know where we have to go next," he declared finally. I motioned for him to continue. "Back home. Back to Kansas."
I felt a start of surprise. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that. "What, why?" I inquired.
"Yeah, seriously, random," Dean added.
"Um, well…" Sam began, moving closer to where Dean and I sat. "This photo was taken in front of our old house right? The house where mom died?" I examined the picture when Sam set it down on the table. It was an old picture, taken near evening on the day I was born. A 7 year old Dean and a 3 year old Sam all huddled around Mom and Dad, who were holding me. I was just over 16 hours old.
"It didn't burn down completely. They rebuilt it, right?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, I think so," I answered curiously. I was interested in where he was going with this.
"What the hell are you talking about, Sammy?" Dean asked, sounding much more exasperated than excited. That was understandable. He had the most memories of the house and of Mom.
"Okay, look," Sam started. "This is gonna sound crazy; the people who live in our old house, I think they might be in danger."
"Why would you think that?" Dean asked, while I furrowed my eyebrows.
"Um…I just—you just gotta trust me on this, okay?"
"Trust you? Come on, man, that's weak," Dean prompted.
"If there's something going on, Sammy, you need to tell us," I said defiantly.
"Look, guys. I just can't explain it is all," Sam said.
"Well tough!" Dean shot back, exasperated. "We're not going anywhere until you do."
Sam sighed, turning around to face Dean and me. I raised a brow, impatient but concerned. "I have these nightmares," Sam began. I snorted.
"Yeah, no shit," I smirked.
"Will you let me finish?" my brother sassed. I beckoned him to continue.
"These dreams…sometimes they come true," Sam finished. Dean and I shared a glance with each other, similarly skeptical and confused. Typically, my oldest brother and I would have deemed this a supernatural matter and would have taken the victim and locked them away in case they went bat-shit or demonic. So a mere statement like this worried me a bit. From what I've seen before, these nightmares were obviously frightening Sam. And maybe this was why. "I, um. I dreamt about Jessica's death days before it happened."
"What, you think you had like—like a psychic premonition or something?" I questioned cautiously. Dean let out a soft chuckle.
"No, come on, Luce. Sam, look man, people have weird dreams. I'm sure it's just a coincidence," he countered, sitting on the closest bed. I scoffed.
"Dean, when is shit like this ever a coincidence?" I argued.
"I'm with Lucy on this, Dean. I mean, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything and I didn't do anything because I didn't believe it. And now I'm dreaming about that tree, our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean—our house. That place, that's where it all started. That's gotta mean something, right?" Sam inquired.
I stared at my brother, subconsciously gulping. He was right. This could be huge for us. If he was implying what I think he was—if this was truly it—we could end this. We could stop this son of a bitch demon from killing anybody else. Dad would stop searching for it and come back to us. We could all be together again.
"I-I don't know," Dean said, overwhelmed. My oldest brother wasn't thinking the same way I was. I could tell he was scared. I could read him like an open book and he was scared freaking shitless. I grabbed the picture from the table, my gaze falling on upon the soft, cheerful faces of my family members. It was hard for me to imagine that my family was once like this, if only for a short while. Even back then, Dean's cheeks and nose were scattered with freckles and there was a childlike gap between his teeth. Sam's dark brown hair reached to his shoulders, much like it did now. Everything about Dad looked younger and happier, the weary lines gone from his face and a content, eased smile on his face. And Mom…Mom was stunning. Her soft blonde hair tumbled down her back and her bright green eyes sparkled with laughter and beauty.
"Sam," I started, my voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think this might be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?" Dean stood from the bed, frustrated.
"Alright, just slow down okay, both of you," Dean interjected. "I mean, first you're telling us that you've got the shining…and then you tell us that we've got to go back home? Especially when…"
He trailed off, seeming to try to collect himself again. He was on the verge of tears. I furrowed my eyebrows, concerned for my brother. "When what?" Sam urged.
"When I swore to myself that I would never go back there."
I stared at my brother sadly. I understood. He was seven when that night happened—when Mom died. He remembered it the most clearly out of the three of us. I felt truly sorry about that, I couldn't even imagine what that would have been like to experience. I moved close to Dean and put a comforting hand on his arm.
Sam wore a sympathetic look but continued softly, "Look, we have to check this out. Just to make sure."
Dean laid his hand softly over mine from where it was still grasping his upper arm. He was silent for a long time, before finally answering, "I know we do." Sam quickly nodded, giving Dean a small smile and began packing the bags we needed. I followed Dean outside to the Impala.
"If you're really not okay with this, we don't have to go—"I started.
"No. No, Sam's right. Freaky shit's going on, that woman could be in trouble. Kinda our job definition, no matter where," Dean said, attempting to push aside his emotions. I gave him a small half smile, and wrapped my arms around him. He pulled me close, burying his face in my blonde hair.
"That's my little trooper," I teased in a baby voice.
"Shut up," he grinned. He pulled away and shrugged. "Man, I know you don't remember anything about that night or anything. Just—be happy for that." I shifted uncomfortably, attempting a smile.
"Yeah. Right. Lucky me," I agreed nervously. Sam emerged from the hotel room with our bags, a ready and determined expression on his face. And we were off.
Neither of my brothers knew. Not even my dad knew. It seemed impossible. I mean, I was exactly a day old when my mother died. Born in the early morning hours of November 1, 1986 from right at home. I had less than 2 days with my mom. I wasn't able to remember certain things I wished I could, like my mother's face. I could only picture it because of photos Dad carried with him. I didn't remember my home whatsoever. However, the thing was—I did remember something from that night. Three things, actually.
It should have been impossible to remember at only a day old. But, I remembered the bright orange of the flames along with the blazing heat that emanated from it. That heat! It was awful. I remembered the faint outline of a face. And it wasn't my dad's, I'm sure of it. The face wasn't one of evil. In fact, it was—angelic, in a way. Of course, I didn't have the ability to recall every feature of his face, but I remember it as a kind one. Impossibly, I felt like I could recall his soft voice too. Soothing, with an aura of playfulness. And lastly, I remembered a blinding white light. My dad had told me that I had begun to cry in the middle of the night which is what woke him from his slumber in the downstairs living room. I assumed this was caused by the white light. When I close my eyes sometimes, that's what I can see. A pure, white, angelic light. And it confused the shit out of me.
~o~
There it was. The old house was right in front of me. I gazed at it with interest as my brothers and I pulled up to it. It mirrored the pictures I had seen of it, even after the fire. This is where it all happened. Hey, this place was even where I was born! I should have been terrified, but I was fascinated.
"You gonna be all right, man?" Sam asked Dean. I knew he shared my secret excitement to see the house, but neither of us wanted to express this in front of our older brother.
"Let me get back to you on that," Dean answered, stepping out of the car. Sam and I followed, approaching the house quickly. Sam knocked on the door and less than a minute later, the door opened to reveal a pretty woman in about her late 20's.
"Hi Miss, we're with the federal—"Dean began, before Sam interrupted.
"I'm Sam Winchester. This is my older brother Dean, and my little sister Lucy. We, um, used to live here." I turn to give my brother a surprised look. We almost never gave out our real names. Dean wasn't pleased. "You know, we were just driving by, and we were wondering if we could see the old place."
A ghost of an interested smile appeared on the woman's face. "Winchester," she repeated. A full smile formed. "You know what's so funny. I think I found some of your old pictures last night." My eyes lit up.
"Really?" I said brightly. "Old pictures?" Dean nudged me gently in the side. "Right, sorry."
The woman looked a bit confused but still smiled. "No, I mean, it seems only right you should take them, it's no big deal." I smiled at her. "Oh, sorry…come in. I'm Jenny by the way." She opened the door wider for us. We stepped through the front door and I immediately took in my surroundings. It seemed like a perfectly normal house. If I didn't know the history behind it, I would have assumed that.
We were led into the kitchen, where we found two small children; a young, excited little boy and an older girl doing homework at the kitchen table. I didn't consider myself particularly good with children, but I couldn't help but smile at the young, adorable siblings.
"That's Ritchie," Jenny introduced, smiling at her son's antics. "He's kinda a juice junkie. But hey, at least he won't get scurvy." She handed him a small juice bottle and moved towards the kitchen table. "I love your sweatshirt, by the way. Sari here's a big Disney fan herself," Jenny added, pointing to my grey Disney sweatshirt. I smiled.
"Sari, this is Sam, Dean and Lucy. They used to live here," Jenny told her daughter. Sari shyly greeted us. In a bit of small talk, we found out that Jenny and her family had just moved to the house from Wichita in need of a fresh start. She explained that the house was having a few issues she assumed was due to its age. Such as rats, flickering lights and a backed up sink. But my brothers and I knew better.
"Mom," Sari spoke up. "Ask them if it was here when they lived here." That sparked my interest.
"If what lived here, Sari?" I asked softly.
"The thing in my closet," she answered, looking up at me. Her mother shook her head gently.
"No, baby, there was nothing in their closets. Right?" She looked up at us, hoping for the answer she wanted.
"Right, no, of course not," Sam played along. Jenny tried to explain that Sari had a nightmare, but the girl piped up again quickly.
"I wasn't dreaming. It came into my bedroom, and it was on fire!"
My green eyes widened. It couldn't be. It just fit so perfectly! Sam and I exchanged a shocked and slightly excited look. "It was on fire?" I questioned the little girl. Dean cleared his throat sharply.
"Alright, Sam, Lucy, I think it's about time we be going. Jenny, thank you for letting us see the house, but I think it's time for us to hit the hay—we had kinda a long drive."
"Oh yeah, of course, no problem. Oh, um, do you want your pictures?" Jenny asked, pointing up towards the basement.
"Oh, we'll just come back for them," Dean said, before I could get in a word. He bid goodbye to the family for Sam and I and gently ushered us out the door, being as unsuspicious as possible.
"You hear that?" Sam exclaimed once we were outside. "A figure on fire!"
"And that woman Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," Sam said. "And you hear what she was talking about—scratching, flickering lights? Both signs of a malevolent spirit."
"This has gotta be it, guys. This has gotta be the thing that killed them. Mom, Jessica, who knows who else!" I cried, rushing in front of my brothers. Sam nodded along enthusiastically, while Dean looked frustrated.
"First off, we don't know that!" Dean snapped. "It could be something else entirely. And secondly, I'm freaked out that your weirdo visions are coming true." Sam ignored the comment.
"Forget that—what's most important is that those people are in danger and we need to get them out of there!" Sam declared.
"And we will," Dean sighed. I could sense he was getting more exasperated by the second. As anxious and excited as I was, I took my oldest brother's feelings into consideration and tried to calm Sam a bit as he argued.
"No, I mean now!"
"Well she sure as hell won't believe us if we tell her the truth. I guess we just kinda got to think about this for a second," I reasoned. The three of us fell silent. Sam nodded, giving in.
"Alright. So," Sam started, opening the passenger side door, "let's think." I shared a look with Dean, and we both popped into our respective seats. I watched the house fade from view as Dean drove away.
~o~
