Author's note: This is a story request and idea by TiredChristianGirl2478.
Enjoy. :)
--
Chapter 1: Welcome to the Nightmare
——
-Stanford, California – Halloween Night-
The dream felt so real that Sam couldn't tell if he was awake or still trapped inside it.
Flashes of fire. A woman's scream. A shadow with burning yellow eyes standing in the smoke.
Then—Jessica's voice. "Sam. Hey, wake up."
Sam jolted upright, his breath ragged, sweat cooling on his skin. His eyes darted around their dimly lit apartment as he tried to shake the lingering images. Jessica sat beside him, her hand warm against his shoulder.
"You were dreaming again," she murmured, concern lacing her voice.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "Yeah. Just… one of those weird ones."
Jessica gave him a knowing look. She understood. She knew about his dreams—more than that, she knew about him. About his past. About hunting. He hadn't wanted to drag her into that world, but she'd been relentless, insisting she deserved to know the truth if they were building a life together.
Sam sighed and swung his legs over the bed. "What time is it?"
"A little past two." She leaned back against the pillows. "You wanna talk about it?"
Before he could answer, a noise echoed from outside the bedroom. A dull thump.
Jessica tensed. "Did you hear that?"
Sam was already moving, reaching for the silver knife in his nightstand. He glanced at Jessica, who, without hesitation, reached under the bed for the handgun he'd taught her to use.
Another noise. A floorboard creaking just outside the door.
Sam's grip tightened.
Then—without warning—the door burst open.
A shadow lunged inside.
Jessica reacted first, gun raised—
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" the intruder yelped, hands flying up. "Damn, Sammy, tell your girlfriend not to shoot me!"
Sam blinked, adjusting to the dim light. "Dean?"
Dean Winchester stood in their bedroom, slightly out of breath, his leather jacket hanging off his shoulders. That trademark cocky grin flickered as he eyed the gun still aimed at him.
Jessica didn't lower it. "You broke into our apartment."
Dean let out a short laugh. "Yeah, well, I knocked first. You didn't answer."
Sam groaned, rubbing his temple. "Jess, it's okay. He's my brother."
Jessica hesitated, then finally lowered the gun—but not without a glare. "You're lucky I didn't pull the trigger."
Dean whistled. "Man, I like her already."
Sam scowled. "What the hell are you doing here, Dean?"
Dean's smirk faded. "It's Dad. He's missing."
The room went still.
Jessica glanced between them. Sam's jaw tightened, his posture shifting. He didn't have to say a word for her to understand—this was serious.
Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, waiting for Sam to respond.
When Sam finally spoke, his voice was measured but strained. "Dean, it's been two years."
"I know."
"I'm not in this life anymore."
"I know, Sammy," Dean said, a little sharper. Then his expression softened. "But I wouldn't be here if it wasn't serious."
Jessica watched the brothers, sensing the weight behind their words. She reached out, lacing her fingers with Sam's. He hesitated.
Dean noticed. His gaze flicked between them before he sighed. "Look, can we at least talk somewhere that isn't your bedroom? This is weird for me."
Jessica let out a breath, then nodded toward the living room. "Come on. Before you make yourself too comfortable."
Dean grinned. "Too late."
Jessica switched on the lamp as she and Sam led Dean into the small living room. The apartment was neat but lived-in—textbooks stacked on the coffee table, a half-finished cup of tea sitting on the end table where Jessica had been studying.
Dean took one look around and smirked.
"Man, Sammy. You really went full college boy, huh?" He dropped onto the couch, kicking his boots up onto the table.
Jessica arched an eyebrow. "Feet off."
Dean glanced at her, then at Sam, who just shrugged. With a dramatic sigh, he lowered his boots to the floor. "So, uh… Jess, right?"
She nodded, arms crossed. "And you're Dean. The brother who breaks into places."
Dean grinned. "When necessary."
Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Dean. Focus."
The smirk faded as Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out a battered leather journal.
Sam tensed. He didn't need to open it to recognize it—John Winchester's journal. Their father's lifeline, filled with decades of hunts, lore, and scrawled notes in rough handwriting.
Dean set it on the table and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Dad went on a hunt. A big one. And now, he's gone."
Sam's frown deepened. "Gone how?"
"No calls. No texts. Nothing. I checked all his usual contacts—nobody's seen him in over a week."
Jessica glanced at Sam. Even if she hadn't spent the last two years hearing about his past, she would have recognized the way his body stiffened. The weight of something unspoken settled between them.
Sam hesitated, then finally sat across from Dean, picking up the journal and flipping through the pages.
"What was he hunting?"
Dean exhaled, raking a hand through his short hair. "The thing that killed Mom."
That landed like a punch to the gut.
Sam's fingers stilled on the page.
Jessica swallowed. She had never met Mary Winchester, but she knew what had happened. How a demon with yellow eyes had killed her. How that single night had shaped every moment of the Winchesters' lives since.
Sam shook his head. "You think he found it?"
"I don't know. But he left me a message before he disappeared. Just one word: 'Coordinates.'" Dean dug into his pocket, pulled out a scrap of paper, and tossed it onto the table.
Sam picked it up, reading the numbers. He recognized them instantly.
"It's in Colorado."
Dean nodded. "Jericho. Dad was hunting something there. If we find out what, maybe we find him."
Jessica watched Sam carefully. He was quiet, the journal still open in his lap.
For two years, he had worked to put this life behind him. He had told her how badly he wanted out—the sleepless nights, the constant fear, the weight of his past pressing down on his chest.
And yet, she could see it.
The flicker of hesitation. The pull in his chest.
The part of him that still cared.
Finally, Sam set the journal down and leaned back. "Dean…" He shook his head. "I can't just drop everything and go."
Dean scoffed. "Why not?"
"Because I have a life now." Sam gestured around them. "I have a future. Law school. Jess."
Dean's gaze flickered toward Jessica. "Right. The apple pie life."
Jessica's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Dean held up his hands. "Nothing. Just… Sam's always been the good son. The one who wanted normal. I get it."
Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Dean—"
"You don't have to come back, Sammy. I'm not asking you to start hunting again." Dean leaned forward. "I'm just asking you to help me find Dad."
Silence stretched between them.
Jessica knew what was coming before Sam said it.
Sam hesitated, glancing at her.
This was everything he had tried to leave behind. But the moment Dean walked through that door, the world had tilted—like gravity pulling him home.
Jessica squeezed his hand. A silent question. A silent answer.
Sam exhaled. "Fine. I'll go with you. But just for the weekend."
Dean grinned, clapping his hands together. "Knew you couldn't resist."
Jessica crossed her arms. "Then I'm coming too."
Both brothers turned to her at the same time.
Dean blinked. "Uh, what?"
Sam frowned. "Jess, you don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to," she interrupted. "I want to."
Dean scoffed. "No offense, but this isn't exactly a road trip, sweetheart."
Jessica leveled him with a stare. "Call me sweetheart again and see how that goes for you."
Dean blinked again, then glanced at Sam. "Dude. I like her."
Sam sighed. "Dean…"
Jessica turned to Sam, her expression softening. "Look, you don't have to do this alone. You shouldn't do this alone." She reached for his hand. "I know what I'm signing up for."
Sam searched her face, conflict clear in his eyes. But Jessica had never been the type to back down.
Finally, Sam exhaled. "Fine. But we're taking my car."
Dean gasped in mock horror. "Blasphemy. The Impala is the car."
Jessica smirked. "Oh, I definitely like him less now."
——
By morning, they were packed and ready.
Jessica had insisted on bringing supplies—silver weapons, salt, first-aid kits—while Dean spent most of the time mocking Sam's "college kid" duffel bag.
They hit the road just after sunrise, the Impala rumbling to life as they pulled away from Stanford.
The first stretch of the drive was quiet. Sam stared out the window, lost in thought. Jessica reached over, lacing her fingers with his.
Dean, glancing in the rearview mirror, finally broke the silence.
"So, Jess. You ever actually hunted something before?"
Jessica raised an eyebrow. "Not officially. But I know the lore, I know how to fight, and I know how to shoot."
Dean smirked. "Alright. What's the best way to kill a wendigo?"
Jessica didn't miss a beat. "Fire."
Dean let out an impressed whistle. "Okay, college boy. I take it back. You do have good taste."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Can we just focus on finding Dad?"
Dean's smirk faded. "Yeah. We can."
The Impala thundered down the highway, California's golden sunrise fading behind them. Jessica leaned against the passenger window, watching the scenery blur past, while Dean hummed along to an old Metallica track.
In the backseat, Sam sat unusually quiet, fingers drumming against his knee.
Jessica noticed. "You okay?"
Sam hesitated. "Yeah. Just… tired."
Dean snorted. "You were never good at lying, Sammy."
Sam sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I had a dream last night. Not the normal kind."
Dean's grip on the wheel tightened slightly. "What kind are we talking about?"
Jessica sat up straighter. "Like the ones you've had before?"
Sam hesitated, then nodded. "I know they're just dreams, but… they feel so real."
Jessica frowned. "What did you see?"
Sam exhaled. "A girl drowning. A lake. Something pulling her under."
Dean shot him a glance in the mirror. "That's specific. Could just be a nightmare."
"It wasn't random," Sam insisted. "It felt like it was happening now. And it felt… wrong."
Jessica and Dean exchanged a look.
Dean sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Alright, so we check it out."
Jessica hesitated. "Sam… the dreams are getting worse, aren't they?"
Sam opened his mouth—then stopped.
Because, yes. They were.
The nightmares, sure. The ones about his mom. About fire. But visions? Images that felt like something reaching inside him, forcing him to see?
Those had only started a few months ago.
And deep down, he knew that wasn't normal.
"Yes," he admitted finally, his voice quieter now.
Jessica studied him, brow furrowing. "What if…" She hesitated. "What if these aren't just dreams, Sam?"
A chill ran down his spine. "What do you mean?"
Jessica glanced at Dean again.
This time, Dean didn't brush it off. He was watching Sam closely now, something unreadable in his eyes.
"You ever think about why you're having them?" Dean asked.
Sam frowned. "What are you saying?"
Dean hesitated. Then, with forced casualness, muttered, "Just seems weird. Dad spent his whole life chasing this thing. Now you're seeing things before they happen? Kinda makes you wonder."
Sam's stomach twisted.
Because he had wondered.
But he didn't want to say it out loud.
Because the moment he did, it became real.
Jessica's voice was softer. "Sam… what if this is connected?"
Silence.
Dean shook his head. "Forget it. Let's just get on the road."
But Sam didn't forget it.
Because the question was already there, gnawing at him.
What if these visions weren't just random?
What if they were leading him toward something?
——
They pulled into a gas station on the outskirts of a quiet Nevada town. The place looked like something out of an old Western—dusty roads, wooden storefronts, and a single diner glowing with neon light.
While Dean filled the Impala, Sam and Jessica stepped inside for coffee.
The diner was nearly empty, save for a group of locals huddled at the counter, voices low.
"…Another one gone," an older man muttered, shaking his head. "That makes three this month."
Jessica nudged Sam, nodding toward them.
Sam approached casually. "Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear. Someone's missing?"
The men eyed him warily.
"Who's asking?" one of them grunted.
Jessica smiled, easy and disarming. "We're just passing through. But we heard something about a girl drowning?"
The older man sighed. "Maggie Parker. Seventeen. Disappeared two nights ago near the lake."
Sam's stomach clenched.
The lake.
The man nodded, as if reading his thoughts. "Same place they all go missing. No bodies. No signs of struggle. Just… gone."
Jessica shot Sam a look. His vision.
The bell above the door jingled. Dean strolled in just in time to hear that last part. He raised an eyebrow.
"Sounds like our kind of weird."
——
They pulled up to the local sheriff's office, where Sam flashed his best harmless college kid smile and requested public records on the missing persons.
Inside the car, Jessica flipped through the files, scanning dates and details. "Every victim disappeared near the water. Always at night. And…" She hesitated. "They were all women."
Dean frowned. "So, what are we thinking? Ghost? Water spirit?"
Sam thumbed through their father's journal, searching for similar cases. Then he found it.
"La Llorona," he muttered.
Jessica's eyebrows shot up. "The Weeping Woman?"
Dean looked between them. "Mind explaining for those of us who skipped ghost story class?"
Jessica took the lead. "It's an old legend. A woman drowns her own children—out of rage, grief, depends on the version—then kills herself. Her spirit lingers, taking others as punishment."
Sam nodded. "And according to Dad's notes, she usually sticks to one body of water—one she's tied to."
Dean crossed his arms. "Then we need to find where she died."
——
They went to the lake that night. Mist curled over the water, thick and unnatural.
Jessica shivered. "I don't like this."
Dean smirked. "C'mon. It's just a little fog."
Then Sam froze.
The vision slammed into him—violent, raw.
A girl thrashing in the water. A pale figure dragging her down, its face twisted in sorrow and rage.
Then he was back.
Jessica grabbed his arm. "Sam? What is it?"
Before he could answer, the water rippled.
Then it rose.
A pale, skeletal figure emerged from the lake.
Jessica barely had time to scream before it lunged.
Dean fired salt rounds. Sam yanked Jessica back as the ghost shrieked and vanished into the mist.
Panting, Jessica looked up at Sam. "Next time, maybe warn me before the murder ghost shows up?"
Dean grinned. "Welcome to the job."
They traced the ghost's remains to an abandoned house near the lake. The place was rotting, long forgotten. Beneath the floorboards, they found it—a waterlogged chest.
Inside: bones.
"Time to burn this sucker," Dean said.
But before they could, the spirit attacked.
Jessica was yanked backward, choking as ghostly hands wrapped around her throat.
Sam lunged, slamming into the ghost as Dean doused the bones in salt and lighter fluid.
A flick of the lighter.
Flames erupted.
The ghost let out a final, piercing wail—then vanished.
Jessica collapsed onto the dirt, gasping for breath. Her hands trembled, raw from scrambling against the floorboards. Her lungs burned. The ghost was gone.
But her heart was still racing.
Dean smirked. "You're learning fast."
Jessica barely heard him. She turned to Sam, eyes wide, breath still coming fast. "We just—" She swallowed hard. "We just killed something."
Sam exhaled, nodding. "Yeah."
Jessica ran a hand through her hair, trying to steady herself. "And we could've died."
Dean chuckled. "Yep."
Jessica let out a shaky laugh. "Jesus." She looked at the smoldering bones, voice quieter now. "I thought I'd be more scared."
Sam frowned. "You're not?"
Jessica hesitated, then shook her head. "I mean, yeah, I was. But when it lunged at me, I didn't freeze. I didn't run. I just—" She exhaled sharply. "I fought."
She turned to Sam, something flickering behind her eyes. "I think I want to keep fighting."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Didn't expect that."
Jessica crossed her arms. "I don't want to be some helpless tagalong, okay? If this is my life now, I'm not just going to sit on the sidelines while you two play hero."
She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling. Her fingers still shook—not from fear, but from something else. Adrenaline. The rush of it all. The crack of the shotgun in her hands. The fire swallowing the ghost whole. The way her body had moved without hesitation.
She thought she'd be terrified. That she'd freeze.
But she hadn't.
Jessica caught her reflection in the Impala's side window.
The girl staring back wasn't the same one who had kissed Sam goodbye at their apartment just days ago. Her hair was tangled, her skin streaked with dirt, and her eyes—God, her eyes.
There was something different there now.
Not just fear.
Readiness.
Two days ago, she'd been studying for midterms.
Now, she was burning bones and fighting ghosts.
She swallowed hard and turned back to Sam. "I need to learn more."
Sam studied her carefully. "Jess… are you sure?"
Jessica met his gaze, steel in her eyes. "I almost died twice in the last forty-eight hours. If I don't learn how to do this, next time I won't be lucky." She exhaled. "So yeah, I'm sure."
Dean let out a low whistle. "Damn. She's got more guts than you, Sammy."
Jessica smirked. "You're just realizing that now?"
Sam sighed, rubbing his temple. "Alright." He looked at her seriously. "Then we do this the right way. You don't just jump in to hunting. You train. You learn everything before we face anything like this again."
Jessica nodded. "Deal."
Dean clapped his hands together. "Well, this is gonna be fun."
-On the Road Back-
The drive back to Stanford was quieter than before.
The Impala hummed steadily along the highway, but the usual brotherly banter was absent. Jessica sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the dark road ahead, fingers tapping restlessly against her knee. In the back, Sam was lost in thought, while Dean kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming idly to the rhythm of classic rock.
It wasn't just exhaustion from the hunt.
The silence carried weight—unspoken questions, unresolved emotions, and the lingering tension of what they'd just faced.
Jessica broke first. "So, that was… intense."
Dean snorted. "You could say that."
She turned in her seat to look at Sam. "Are hunts always like this?"
Sam hesitated. "Not always. But more often than not, yeah."
Jessica exhaled. "I don't know how you grew up with this."
Dean glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "You get used to it."
Sam shook his head. "You shouldn't have to get used to it."
Jessica folded her arms. "Well, I kind of already did. I mean, I just got attacked by a vengeful spirit, nearly drowned, and watched you set human remains on fire. I feel like there's no going back now."
Dean smirked. "See? You're a natural."
Jessica shot him a look. "That's not a compliment, Dean."
Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Jess… I told you before. This life—it's dangerous. I don't want you in the middle of it."
Jessica frowned. "So what, I'm supposed to just pretend none of this is real? Go back to midterms like ghosts don't exist?" She shook her head. "I chose to come with you, Sam."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "She's got a point."
Sam shot him a glare.
Dean shrugged. "Hey, I'm just saying. You wanted her to know the truth. Now she does. You don't get to put her back in the dark."
Jessica leaned forward, her voice softer now. "Sam, I love you. And if you think I'm just gonna sit at home and wait for you to come back from things like this—" She gestured vaguely, indicating the last forty-eight hours. "—then you don't know me as well as you think you do."
Sam looked away, jaw tight.
Dean sighed, breaking the tension. "Alright, lovebirds, let's table this for later. We're almost back, and I need coffee. Good coffee. Not the crap we've been drinking on the road."
Jessica rolled her eyes, but Sam took the out. He wasn't ready to argue about this. Not yet.
Because deep down, he knew Jessica was right.
There was no going back.
——
It was nearly dawn when they pulled up to Sam and Jessica's apartment. The street was quiet, bathed in the faint glow of streetlights. Sam yawned as he stepped out of the Impala, stretching sore muscles.
Jessica fumbled for her keys. "I don't think I've ever been this happy to see my own bed."
Dean scoffed. "Lightweight."
She shot him a glare. "Excuse me for not being accustomed to ghost-hunting all-nighters."
Dean just grinned.
Inside, Jessica headed straight for the bathroom, muttering something about needing to shower off lake ghost residue.
Dean looked around the apartment with mild curiosity, hands on his hips. "Huh. Nice place. Cozy. Almost too normal."
Sam exhaled. "That was the point."
Dean nodded, then plopped down on the couch, stretching his legs out. "So. What now?"
Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"
Dean gave him a look. "You really gonna pretend that was a one-time thing? That you're just gonna go back to law school and act like none of this happened?"
Sam hesitated. "I told you. I came with you to find Dad. We didn't find him."
Dean leaned forward. "Not yet. But we will."
Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Dean, I can't just pick up hunting again. I have a life here. A future."
Dean's gaze darkened. "And what if that future isn't what you think it is?"
Sam frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Dean hesitated, then shook his head. "Forget it."
Before Sam could press him further, Jessica returned, toweling off her damp hair. "Okay. I feel human again." She eyed Dean, who had made himself way too comfortable on their couch. "So, uh… you planning on staying?"
Dean smirked. "You kicking me out?"
Jessica shrugged. "Just wondering if I should grab a blanket or just shove you out the door."
Dean chuckled. "I like you more and more."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, go get a motel."
Dean grinned, standing up and stretching. "Fine, fine. I'll crash somewhere nearby. But I'm not going far, Sammy. We're not done."
He clapped Sam on the shoulder, then headed for the door. "Get some sleep. You look like crap."
Sam muttered something under his breath as Dean disappeared down the hallway.
Jessica watched him go, then turned to Sam. "He's not gonna stop, is he?"
Sam sighed. "No. He never does."
Jessica hesitated, then took his hand. "Do you want him to?"
Sam swallowed hard, meeting her gaze.
He didn't answer.
Because he wasn't sure anymore.
-That Night-
The dream came slowly at first—like slipping beneath deep water, the edges of reality warping and distorting.
Sam was standing in his apartment. The dim glow of the streetlights filtered through the windows, casting long shadows. Everything looked normal. Too normal.
Then, a single drop of blood hit the hardwood floor.
Sam's breath caught. He looked up.
Jessica was on the ceiling.
Pinned there by an unseen force, her golden hair hanging in waves, eyes wide with terror. Her lips parted as if she wanted to scream, but no sound came.
Then came the flames.
They erupted suddenly, engulfing her in an instant. Fire spread like living veins across the ceiling, licking the walls, filling the room with thick, suffocating smoke. The heat was unbearable. Sam tried to move, tried to scream, but he was frozen. Helpless.
Jessica's eyes met his.
Then she was gone.
Sam gasped awake with a choked breath. The nightmare clung to him like smoke. His chest heaved. His skin was damp with sweat.
Not just a nightmare.
His mother. His childhood home. And now Jessica. Every time, it was fire. Every time, he was too late.
It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
But the dream felt different this time. Too sharp. Too much like the others.
Then he realized—he could still smell the fire.
He blinked, heart hammering. No. That wasn't possible.
The dream had been too real—too much like his past visions. But this wasn't just a lingering sense of fear. The room felt off. The air was thick, heavy, pressing against his skin like an unseen weight.
Then the air changed. The room, once warm from sleep, turned unnaturally cold—a sharp, electric kind of cold, like the moment before a lightning strike. The hairs on Sam's arms stood on end. A strange, acrid scent—something between burnt ozone and decayed wood—curled at the back of his throat. His ears popped, the air pressure shifting, like something heavy had just entered the room.
Then he heard it.
A faint crackling sound.
Sam's breath hitched. He turned his head toward the ceiling.
And froze.
A shadow moved. Not a person—something darker, wrong. It rippled, bending unnaturally against the ceiling, curling toward the corners of the room.
His stomach twisted. It wasn't just darkness. It was watching him.
Sam grabbed Jessica's wrist. Hard.
"Jess," he whispered, his voice raw. "Wake up. Now."
She stirred, groggy. "Sam?"
Sam swallowed hard, his grip tightening. "We have to go."
Jessica frowned. "What? Why?"
Then—
A low, unnatural whooshing sound. Like a breath being sucked from the room.
And then the fire started.
It didn't start small. It didn't creep. It exploded.
Flames burst from the ceiling like living veins of molten gold, twisting unnaturally, as if they weren't just burning—but hunting. The air thickened in an instant, suffocating, scorching hot. The temperature in the room skyrocketed.
Jessica barely had time to scream before the lights shattered overhead, raining down shards of burning glass.
Sam yanked her off the bed as the fire leapt across the ceiling, spreading too fast, too deliberately. It was wrong—moving like it had purpose, like it was alive.
Then the smoke hit.
Thick, black, clawing down their throats. Sam coughed violently, his eyes stinging, his lungs screaming for air. His grip on Jessica tightened.
The fire twisted again, spiraling along the walls in long, unnatural shapes. Then, for a split second, something appeared within the flames—
A silhouette.
A figure. Tall, unmoving. Watching.
Sam's blood turned to ice.
The demon.
The thing that killed his mother.
"MOVE!" he shouted, shoving Jessica toward the door.
But the fire curled ahead of them—blocking the exit in an instant.
Trapping them.
Jessica coughed violently, stumbling. Sam caught her before she could fall. His mind raced. Think. Think. There had to be another way out—
Then the fire laughed.
Not a real sound. Not something human. But deep in the roar of the flames, a voice slithered through.
Low. Mocking. Familiar.
Sam's breath caught in his throat. His legs locked.
No. No, no, no.
Then something behind them cracked—wood splitting from the heat. A beam overhead groaned, and Sam realized—
The ceiling was about to collapse.
"WINDOW!" he shouted.
He didn't wait. He grabbed Jessica, half-dragging her toward the window. Flames licked at their heels, heat searing his skin. The smoke was a wall now, pressing down, suffocating them—
He grabbed a chair and hurled it at the glass.
It shattered.
Cold night air rushed in.
Jessica hesitated. "Sam—"
The ceiling gave a final, agonized groan.
Then—
CRACK.
A burning beam snapped, crashing downward. Sam barely had time to shove Jessica through the window before—
Something slammed into him.
A force. A weight. Not just fire—something unseen. Something grabbing him.
He choked as the heat pressed down, crushing, drowning—
And then, just as suddenly—
It threw him.
The force flung him forward, hurling him through the broken window like a ragdoll.
Sam hit the ground hard, pain flaring through his ribs. His ears were ringing. His skin burned.
Jessica was already pulling him up. "Come on!" she gasped.
Then—
BOOM.
The entire apartment erupted.
Flames surged out of the windows, a shockwave knocking them backward as glass and debris rained down. Heat blasted across their faces. The fire raged, consuming everything—
And somewhere, deep within the inferno—
Sam swore he saw those yellow eyes.
Jessica grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the burning apartment. "Come on! We have to move!"
Sam staggered to his feet, breathing hard. He turned back, watching as flames consumed everything—their home, their life—just like in his vision.
Just like what had happened to his mother.
His stomach clenched. This wasn't just a fire.
It was him.
It was his past catching up to him.
They stood across the street, watching the fire rage out of control. Sirens wailed in the distance. The glow of emergency lights painted the street in red and blue as firefighters arrived, shouting orders, dragging hoses toward the blaze.
Jessica clung to Sam's arm, shivering despite the heat. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with shock.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "Sam, we—" She turned to him. "We almost died."
Sam swallowed hard, still staring at the fire. His heart pounded against his ribs, not from fear—but from certainty.
This wasn't an accident.
It was the same thing that had happened to his mother. The same thing his father and Dean had spent their whole lives chasing.
And now, it had come for him.
Jessica turned to him, gripping his arms. "Sam. What the hell just happened?"
Before he could answer, a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
"Sammy!"
Dean.
Sam turned to see his brother shoving through the growing crowd, eyes wild. He barely gave Sam a chance to react before grabbing him by the shoulders, scanning him for injuries.
"What the hell happened?" Dean demanded.
Sam could barely find his voice. "Dean… it was the same thing. The fire. The way it spread. It was him."
Dean's face darkened. "Yellow Eyes."
Jessica looked between them, confusion and horror mingling in her expression. "Wait. What are you talking about? Who—?"
Dean didn't answer. His jaw clenched. "We need to go. Now."
Sam hesitated, glancing back at the burning building.
Everything he had built here—his future, his normal life—it was gone.
Jessica tightened her grip on his hand. "Sam," she said softly.
He met her eyes.
Then he nodded.
Dean didn't waste time. He led them toward the Impala, his expression grim.
Sam climbed into the back passenger seat. Jessica slid in beside him, still in shock but holding tight to his hand.
Dean started the engine, and as they sped away from the burning wreckage of Sam's old life, only one thought filled his mind.
This wasn't over.
This was just the beginning.
The Impala sped down the empty highway, the glow of Stanford fading behind them. The fire was still burning, but they hadn't stayed long enough to watch it die.
Inside the car, no one spoke.
Jessica sat in the back seat, wrapped in Sam's reassuring embrace, arms tightly folded around herself. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow. Sam kept glancing at her, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.
Dean drove in silence, his grip tight on the wheel. His jaw was clenched, his usual smirk replaced with a hard, unreadable expression.
Sam sat stiffly in the passenger seat, staring at the road ahead but not really seeing it. His mind was racing. Images of the fire—of her pinned to the ceiling, just like his mother—flashed behind his eyes. His hands were still shaking, but he clenched them into fists, willing himself to hold it together.
He had seen it before it happened.
Just like his nightmares. Just like every other vision.
And he still hadn't been able to stop it.
Dean finally broke the silence. "You alright back there, Jess?"
Jessica didn't answer at first. When she did, her voice was hoarse. "I just lost everything I own, so… no."
Dean winced but nodded. "Fair."
Jessica exhaled sharply, closing her eyes. "I just keep thinking… if we hadn't gotten out in time…" Her voice wavered. "We would've—"
Sam shifted in his seat. "But we did get out." His voice was firm, but gentle. "We're okay."
Jessica looked at him then, her eyes red-rimmed. "Are we?"
Sam swallowed hard, unable to answer.
Dean cleared his throat. "Look, I know this is a lot, but we need to figure out our next move. We can't just sit around waiting for this thing to come back."
Jessica let out a bitter laugh. "Oh yeah? And what exactly is this thing? Because unless I'm losing my mind, that was not a normal fire."
Dean and Sam exchanged a glance.
Jessica caught it. "Oh, don't do that. Don't shut me out." She leaned forward. "You know what that was, don't you?"
Sam hesitated.
Dean exhaled. "It was a demon."
Jessica stared at him, waiting for the punchline. When it didn't come, she laughed—short and disbelieving. "A demon?"
Sam nodded grimly. "The same one that killed our mother."
Jessica's expression shifted from disbelief to something closer to horror. "Wait. You mean this—this thing has been after your family for decades?"
"Yeah," Dean said. "And now, for whatever reason, it came for you and Sam."
Jessica sat back against the seat, eyes darting between them. "Jesus Christ."
Sam rubbed a hand over his face. He didn't blame her for reacting this way. It was too much.
She had known about hunting. She had accepted that Sam had grown up in a world of monsters. But it was one thing to know about it—another thing entirely to be hunted by it.
Dean pulled off onto the side of the road, killing the engine.
Sam frowned. "Why are we stopping?"
Dean turned to face him. "Because we need a plan. And we're not doing this while I'm trying to drive."
Jessica shivered slightly, still wrapped in Dean's jacket. Sam immediately pulled off his hoodie and handed it to her. She hesitated before taking it, slipping it on over her t-shirt.
Dean leaned back in his seat, looking at both of them. "Okay. We know it was him—Yellow Eyes."
Jessica frowned. "Yellow Eyes?"
"The demon," Sam clarified. "It's what we call him. We don't know his real name."
Jessica let out a breath. "And he—what? Decided to just… burn me alive?"
Dean and Sam exchanged another glance.
Jessica noticed. "Okay, seriously, stop doing that. If you know something, just say it."
Sam hesitated before speaking. "Jess… he doesn't just kill his victims. He—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening.
Dean finished for him. "He chooses them."
Jessica's eyes darkened. "What do you mean?"
Sam's throat was dry. "The people he goes after… they're connected somehow."
Jessica paled. "Connected to what?"
Sam hesitated. He didn't want to tell her.
Because he didn't know how to tell her.
Dean sighed. "Look, it's complicated. And we don't have all the answers yet. But one thing's clear—this wasn't random."
Jessica's hands clenched into fists. "So you're saying this demon targeted me?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. And the real question is why."
Jessica was silent for a long moment.
Then she exhaled, looking at Sam. "If I hadn't been with you… would this have still happened?"
Sam felt like he'd been punched in the gut.
Because he knew the answer.
Yes.
Dean answered before Sam could. "We don't know."
Jessica turned back to the window, her fingers gripping the edge of the jacket. "I need air." She pushed the door open and stepped outside.
Sam immediately followed.
The night air was cold against his skin, but he barely felt it. Jessica was pacing near the guardrail, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
"Jess—"
"I just need a second," she said, her voice shaking.
Sam hesitated. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.
Jessica exhaled sharply. "This was my home, Sam." Her voice cracked. "I lost everything."
Sam's chest tightened. He had wanted to protect her from this life. From all of it. And now, because of him, she had been dragged into the same nightmare.
Jessica turned to him, her eyes glassy. "Tell me the truth. Did you know something bad was going to happen?"
Sam hesitated.
Jessica saw the answer in his eyes.
She took a step back. "Jesus, Sam."
Sam's hands clenched at his sides. "It wasn't clear. It was just a dream."
"A dream?" Her voice was sharp. "You knew, and you didn't say anything?"
Sam swallowed hard. "I didn't know it would happen tonight."
Jessica shook her head. "But you knew something was coming."
"I didn't want to scare you," Sam admitted.
Jessica let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, right. So instead, I almost burned alive."
Guilt twisted in Sam's stomach. "Jess, I am so sorry."
Jessica ran a shaky hand through her hair. "What the hell do we do now?"
Dean's voice cut through the night. "We hunt the bastard down."
Jessica turned as Dean approached. He looked between them, his expression unreadable.
"This thing has been after our family for years," Dean said. "And now, it's after you." His gaze flicked to Jessica. "Which means, like it or not, you're part of this now."
Jessica looked at him. Then at Sam.
Then she nodded. "Then let's find this son of a bitch."
Dean grinned. "Now that's what I like to hear."
Sam exhaled, a mix of relief and apprehension washing over him.
There was no turning back now.
And something told him this was only the beginning.
——
Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a cheap roadside motel just outside of Sacramento. The neon vacancy sign flickered against the dark sky, casting an eerie glow over the cracked pavement.
The fire had happened just hours ago. They were still running on adrenaline, exhaustion gnawing at their edges, but there was no time to stop.
Jessica climbed out of the car slowly, still wrapped in Sam's hoodie. The reality of everything hadn't fully sunk in yet. One minute, she'd had a normal life—a home, a future. The next, she was a refugee in a war she hadn't even known existed until Sam entered her life.
Dean headed to the motel office to get a room, while Jessica and Sam leaned against the car, watching him go.
Jessica exhaled. "So… this is my life now?"
Sam glanced at her. "Jess…"
She shook her head. "I'm not saying I regret leaving. I just… I didn't think it would feel this real."
Sam wanted to tell her it would get easier. But he knew that would be a lie.
Instead, he reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She squeezed back, but her grip was tighter than usual—like she was holding on to something slipping away.
Dean returned, tossing a key to Sam. "Room 12. It's got two beds, a crappy TV, and probably some questionable stains, but it's home for now."
Jessica sighed. "Fantastic."
They grabbed their bags—what little they had—and stepped inside.
The motel room was exactly what Dean had described. The walls were an unpleasant shade of yellow, and the air smelled faintly of mildew.
Jessica dropped onto the nearest bed, rubbing her temples. "I miss having a couch."
Dean snorted. "You get used to it."
She shot him a look. "That's not comforting."
Sam sat on the edge of the bed beside her. "We won't be here long."
Dean flopped onto the second bed, kicking off his boots. "That depends on how fast we find our next lead."
Jessica sat up. "Right. That." She looked between them. "So where do we even start?"
Dean grabbed their dad's leather journal from his duffel bag and flipped it open. "Well, since Dad decided to hunt solo, we do what he'd do. We follow the trail."
Sam frowned. "And what trail is that?"
Dean held up the journal. "Last thing he was hunting was the demon. He left me coordinates, remember? That took me to Jericho. But whatever he found there, it wasn't enough. So we backtrack. We look for any signs of demonic activity in the last few months."
Sam leaned forward. "You think he left clues?"
Dean smirked. "I think Dad never did anything without a reason."
Jessica frowned, glancing at the journal. "So what are we looking for? Murders? Weird disappearances?"
Dean nodded. "Demonic activity usually leaves a mark. Electrical storms. Livestock deaths. Unexplained fires."
Jessica flinched slightly at the word fire.
Sam noticed.
Dean kept flipping pages. "Alright, last place Dad was definitely spotted was in Sacramento. He talked to a hunter there. Some guy named Elijah Kane."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "You know him?"
Dean shrugged. "Never met the guy, but Dad trusted him."
Jessica leaned over the journal. "Does it say how to find him?"
Dean smirked. "Nope. But I know where to start looking."
Jessica glanced at Sam. "Is this always how it works? Just… throwing darts and hoping they land?"
Sam sighed. "Pretty much."
Jessica exhaled, rubbing her temples. "Awesome."
Dean grinned. "You're catching on quick."
——
The next morning, they drove into Sacramento.
The city was still waking up, the streets mostly empty except for the occasional jogger or early commuter. Dean navigated through the quieter neighborhoods until they pulled up in front of a dingy bar on the outskirts of town.
Jessica eyed the neon sign. Rusty's Tavern. "Classy."
Dean smirked. "Hunters aren't exactly five-star types."
They stepped inside, the air thick with the smell of whiskey and old cigarette smoke. A few grizzled men sat at the bar, nursing their drinks despite the early hour.
Dean approached the bartender, flashing his most charming grin. "Hey, we're looking for someone. Elijah Kane. Know where we can find him?"
The bartender barely glanced up. "Who's asking?"
Dean leaned against the counter. "Friends of John Winchester."
That got the bartender's attention. He gave Dean a long, considering look, then jerked his head toward the back. "Booth in the corner."
They turned.
A man sat alone in the dimmest part of the bar, nursing a glass of bourbon. He was in his late forties, his face lined with old scars, his eyes sharp and calculating. He didn't look up as they approached.
Dean slid into the seat across from him. "Elijah Kane?"
Elijah finally looked up, his gaze flicking over them. His eyes lingered on Jessica, then moved to Sam. "Winchester boys."
Sam frowned. "You knew our dad?"
Elijah took a slow sip of his drink. "Knew him. Didn't always like him." He tilted his glass toward Dean. "But he always talked about you. Said you had a talent for pissing people off."
Dean grinned. "I like to think it's a gift."
Elijah's expression didn't change. "You didn't come here to reminisce. What do you want?"
Sam leaned forward. "The demon. The one our dad was hunting."
Elijah studied them. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Your old man came to me about a month ago. Said he was getting close to something big. Asked if I'd heard about any demonic omens."
"And had you?" Jessica asked.
Elijah exhaled. "There was a town. Coldwater, Colorado. Weird things started happening a few weeks back. Cattle deaths, electrical storms, a house fire that killed an entire family."
Sam's stomach clenched.
Jessica paled slightly.
Dean nodded. "That's our kind of weird."
Elijah slid a napkin across the table. A set of coordinates was scrawled on it.
"If your dad was onto something," Elijah said, "this is where you'll find your next clue."
Sam picked up the napkin, studying the numbers.
Jessica exhaled. "So… we're really doing this."
Dean grinned. "You in or out, sweetheart?"
Jessica didn't hesitate. "I'm in."
Sam turned to her. "Jess—"
She met his gaze. "Sam, I made my choice when I got in that car. I'm not backing out now."
Sam swallowed hard. Part of him wanted to argue. Wanted to protect her from this.
But another part of him—the part that had always known Jessica was stronger than she looked—knew she meant it.
Dean smirked. "Alright then. Let's go hunting."
Jessica tightened her grip on Sam's hand.
And just like that, she was in.
-Later-
They left Sacramento at dawn, the Impala cutting down the highway at a steady pace. The air was crisp, the sky still tinged with the last remnants of night.
Jessica sat in the back seat, legs curled up beneath her, staring out at the endless stretch of road ahead. She hadn't said much since they left the bar.
Dean glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "You good back there?"
Jessica blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
Dean smirked. "Thinking's dangerous."
Jessica gave a half-hearted chuckle but didn't respond.
Sam sat beside Dean, staring at the map in his lap. The coordinates Elijah Kane had given them pointed to a small town in the middle of nowhere—Coldwater, Colorado. Population: barely over a thousand.
Jessica finally spoke again. "So, what's the plan when we get there?"
Dean shrugged. "Same as always. We go in, ask some questions, pretend we're normal, then track down whatever's leaving a trail of bodies."
Jessica frowned. "So just… fake it?"
Dean smirked. "Welcome to hunting."
Jessica let out a breath. "Right. Sounds easy."
Sam turned to look at her. "Jess, if you're having second thoughts—"
"I'm not," she interrupted.
Sam hesitated. "This won't be like the last hunt. It could be worse."
Jessica met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "I know, Sam. But I'm not walking away."
Dean let out a low whistle. "Man, you sure know how to pick 'em."
Jessica shot him a look. "And you sure know how to push your luck."
Dean chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter.
Sam sighed, turning back to the map.
He couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming.
Something big.
They had been driving for hours when it happened.
The highway stretched on, empty except for the occasional truck passing in the opposite direction. The gentle hum of the engine and the lull of the road had settled them into an easy silence.
Then Sam's vision hit.
Pain. Sudden and sharp, like a knife slicing through his skull. The world blurred. The road disappeared. A high-pitched ringing filled his ears, drowning out the rumble of the Impala's engine. The air around him felt thick, heavy—like he was sinking into something dense and suffocating. And then—just as suddenly—he was somewhere else.
And suddenly—
A small, empty town.
Buildings dark, abandoned. Storefronts broken. The wind howling through the empty streets.
Then—screaming.
A woman running, her blonde hair whipping in the wind. Tears streaking her face. She was terrified. Desperate.
Something chased her.
A shadow. No—a presence.
Its voice slithered through the air, deep and unnatural.
"You can't run from me."
Then—fire.
Everything burned.
The woman's screams turned into silence.
And then—
Sam jolted awake with a gasp.
He was still in the Impala, Dean's voice sharp in his ear.
"Sam! Sam!"
Jessica was leaning forward from the back seat, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Oh my God, Sam, what was that?"
Sam's breathing was ragged. He pressed his palms against his temples, trying to shake the lingering echo of the vision.
Dean's knuckles were white against the steering wheel. "Was it another vision?"
Sam swallowed hard. "Yeah."
Jessica hesitated. "What did you see?"
Sam took a deep breath, steadying himself. "A town. Coldwater, I think. It was abandoned. And… there was a woman. She was running from something. Something bad."
Dean frowned. "Bad how?"
Sam shook his head. "I don't know. But it—" He hesitated, his stomach twisting. "It spoke."
Dean's expression darkened. "Demons talk, Sam."
Jessica leaned forward. "Did it say anything else?"
Sam hesitated, his skin crawling. "It said, 'You can't run from me.'"
The words hung in the air like a curse.
Dean exhaled sharply. "Well, that's not ominous or anything."
Jessica's voice was quiet. "Sam… you think this thing's already there? Waiting?"
Sam clenched his jaw. "I think it's hunting."
Dean nodded. "Then we better get there before it finds its next victim."
Sam nodded, but the uneasy feeling in his chest didn't fade.
Something was waiting for them in Coldwater.
And he wasn't sure they were ready.
——
By the time they crossed into Colorado, night had settled over the landscape.
Coldwater was a ghost town.
Not literally—at least, not yet—but it felt empty in a way that set Sam's nerves on edge.
The streetlights flickered weakly, casting dim pools of light onto the cracked pavement. Storefronts were boarded up, and many of the buildings looked abandoned. The only sign of life was a single diner at the far end of the street, its neon sign buzzing faintly.
Jessica shivered. "This place is creepy."
Dean pulled the Impala into a parking spot. "Small towns give me the creeps."
Jessica raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy who grew up in them."
Dean smirked. "Exactly."
They climbed out, stretching after the long drive. The air was colder here, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and something metallic.
Sam inhaled slowly. Something about this place felt wrong.
Dean glanced at him. "You getting anything?"
Sam shook his head. "Not yet."
Jessica looked between them. "So… what now?"
Dean nodded toward the diner. "We start with the locals."
Sam exhaled, pushing his unease aside. "Alright. Let's go."
The inside of the diner was just as eerie as the town itself. A few scattered patrons sat at the counter, nursing cups of coffee. A tired-looking waitress glanced up as they entered, her expression wary.
Dean, as always, led the charge. He slid into a booth, motioning for Sam and Jessica to follow.
The waitress approached, pulling out a notepad. "What can I get you?"
Dean flashed a charming grin. "Coffee. And maybe some information."
The waitress raised an eyebrow. "That so?"
Dean nodded. "We're looking for someone. Blonde woman, mid-thirties. Might've come through town recently?"
The waitress frowned. "You feds or something?"
Dean smirked. "Nah, just concerned citizens."
The waitress hesitated. Then, lowering her voice, she said, "You don't wanna be lookin' for anyone in this town."
Sam leaned forward. "Why?"
The waitress glanced around, then whispered, "People go missing in Coldwater."
Jessica's stomach clenched. "Missing?"
The waitress nodded. "Last month, it was a farmer and his wife. Week after that, a gas station attendant. And just two days ago…" She swallowed. "Maggie Reese. She was the last one. No one's seen her since."
Sam felt his pulse spike. "Maggie?"
The waitress nodded. "She was real sweet. But she started saying crazy things. Said something was following her."
Jessica shivered. "What kind of something?"
The waitress hesitated, then whispered, "She said it had yellow eyes."
Sam's blood ran cold.
Dean stiffened beside him.
Jessica's eyes darted between them. "That's him, isn't it?"
Dean exhaled sharply. "Yeah. That's him."
The waitress shook her head. "If you're smart, you'll get out of Coldwater."
Jessica sat back, her face pale. "What do we do?"
Sam's hands clenched into fists.
There was only one answer.
"We find Maggie," he said.
Dean nodded. "And we kill that son of a bitch."
Jessica swallowed hard but nodded, too. "Then let's get to work."
Sam exhaled slowly, but the weight in his chest didn't lift.
The hunt had begun.
The diner felt smaller now, the air thick with the weight of what they had just learned.
Jessica's hands were wrapped around her coffee cup, though she hadn't taken a sip. Her knuckles were white.
Sam sat across from her, still reeling from what the waitress had said. Yellow Eyes. He had been here. And if Maggie Reese was still alive, she might be the key to figuring out what the demon wanted.
Dean leaned back in the booth, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had barely said a word since the waitress left, but Sam could see the storm building behind his eyes.
Finally, Jessica broke the silence. "So… where do we start?"
Dean exhaled sharply. "We talk to the locals. If Maggie really thought something was following her, she probably told someone else before she vanished."
Sam nodded. "The waitress said she was acting strange before she disappeared. If we can figure out what she saw, maybe we'll know what we're dealing with."
Jessica hesitated. "And if we do find out?"
Dean smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Then we kill it."
Jessica swallowed hard but nodded.
Sam looked at her. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
Jessica met his gaze, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "We already lost our home, Sam. I'm not losing this fight too."
Sam exhaled, nodding.
Dean slapped his hands on the table. "Alright, then. Let's split up. I'll check out Maggie's house. Sam, you and Jess can hit the gas station. If Maggie was paranoid, she probably didn't stay in one place for long."
Jessica raised an eyebrow. "And what, we just… ask the cashier if they've seen anything demonic?"
Dean grinned. "You'd be surprised how much night shift workers notice."
Jessica exhaled. "Fine. Let's do this."
——
Sam and Jessica pulled up to the only gas station in town. It was small, the kind of place that probably hadn't been updated since the '90s. The lights flickered overhead, and a single attendant stood behind the counter, flipping through a magazine.
Sam glanced at Jessica. "Let me do the talking."
She raised an eyebrow. "You think I can't handle small-town charm?"
Sam smirked. "I think you tend to threaten people before they even have a chance to be useful."
Jessica crossed her arms. "One time."
Sam shook his head, smiling, before pushing the door open.
A bell jingled as they stepped inside. The attendant—a lanky guy in his twenties with a name tag that read Ray—glanced up. "Hey. Need gas?"
Sam pulled out his phone, bringing up a photo of Maggie Reese that he had pulled from a local news article. "Actually, we're looking for someone. Have you seen her?"
Ray barely glanced at the photo before shaking his head. "Nope."
Jessica narrowed her eyes. "You didn't even look."
Ray sighed, setting his magazine down. He studied the photo, then frowned. "…Wait. Yeah. She came in a few days ago."
Sam's heart pounded. "What happened?"
Ray scratched the back of his neck. "She looked… rough. Kept looking over her shoulder like something was after her. Bought a ton of salt."
Jessica blinked. "Salt?"
Ray nodded. "Whole bag of it. And she was muttering something under her breath. Something about…" He hesitated, as if saying it out loud made it worse. "Something about the shadows moving."
Sam exchanged a glance with Jessica.
Ray shifted uncomfortably. "She asked if I had a Bible."
Jessica frowned. "And?"
Ray exhaled. "I gave her an old one we had in the back. She flipped through it like she was looking for something specific. Then she left. That was the last time I saw her."
Sam's stomach twisted.
Jessica leaned forward. "Did she say where she was going?"
Ray hesitated. "…Yeah. She said she had to find holy ground."
Jessica frowned. "What does that mean?"
Sam's mind was already racing. Holy ground. A church. A cemetery. Somewhere blessed.
He turned to Ray. "Is there a church in town?"
Ray nodded. "Yeah, but it's been abandoned for years. No one goes there anymore."
Sam exhaled. "Then that's where we need to go."
——
The abandoned church sat on the outskirts of town, half-hidden by thick trees. The wooden doors were warped and weathered, the stained-glass windows cracked.
Dean was already there when Sam and Jessica arrived. He leaned against the Impala, arms crossed. "Took you guys long enough."
Jessica raised an eyebrow. "How'd it go on your end?"
Dean sighed. "Maggie's house was trashed. Something got to her before we did."
Sam's stomach clenched. "So she's already—"
"Not necessarily," Dean interrupted. "She's not dead. Not yet, anyway. If she was, we'd have heard about it."
Jessica glanced at the church. "Then maybe she's in there."
Dean nodded. "Only one way to find out."
They approached the entrance cautiously. The doors groaned as Sam pushed them open, revealing the dark interior.
The pews were covered in dust, a thick, undisturbed layer that whispered against their boots as they stepped forward. The air smelled stale, laced with something faintly metallic—like rust or old blood. Every footstep sent a hollow echo through the empty church, as if the walls themselves were listening.
And then they saw her.
Maggie Reese.
She was huddled near the front, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her blonde hair was tangled, and her clothes were dirty, like she had been running for days.
Jessica inhaled sharply. "Maggie?"
Maggie's head snapped up. Her eyes were wide, wild with fear. "No," she whispered. "You shouldn't be here."
Dean stepped forward. "We're here to help."
Maggie shook her head violently. "You don't understand. It's here."
A chill ran down Sam's spine.
Then the candles on the altar flickered.
The shadows shifted.
And then the voice came.
"You can't run from me."
Jessica gasped.
The room turned cold. The air grew heavy, pressing against their chests.
Sam barely had time to react before Maggie screamed.
Her body lifted off the ground, her back arching as an invisible force slammed her against the altar.
Dean grabbed his shotgun. "Sam!"
Sam didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, grabbing Maggie's wrist, trying to pull her down—
But a force threw him backward.
He hit the ground hard, pain flaring in his ribs.
Jessica screamed as the shadow in the corner of the church moved.
Yellow eyes flashed in the darkness.
Dean fired his shotgun. The rock salt hit something, sending it recoiling—but it wasn't enough.
The demon laughed.
Then Maggie collapsed.
The room went still.
Dean rushed forward, checking her pulse. He exhaled sharply. "She's still alive."
Jessica was shaking. "What the hell was that?"
Sam pushed himself up, his breathing ragged. He looked at Maggie—her face pale, her body limp.
Then he looked at the darkness where the demon had stood.
It was playing with them.
And next time, it wouldn't let them walk away.
The air inside the church was thick with dust and lingering fear.
Maggie Reese lay motionless on the altar, her breathing shallow, her body limp. The last traces of whatever had held her—whatever had hunted her—had vanished, but the room still felt heavy.
Sam's ribs ached as he pushed himself to his feet. Jessica was kneeling beside Maggie, one hand hovering over her arm, as if afraid to touch her.
Dean stood a few feet away, shotgun still clenched in his grip, his jaw tight. He was watching the shadows like he expected something to lunge from the darkness.
Maggie stirred with a quiet groan.
Jessica exhaled in relief. "Maggie? Can you hear me?"
Maggie's eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Then they snapped wide, her whole body tensing. "No," she gasped. "No, no, no, you shouldn't be here."
Sam crouched beside her. "Maggie, it's okay. You're safe now."
She shook her head violently. "Safe? You think I'm safe?" She grabbed his arm with surprising strength, her fingers digging into his skin. "You don't understand. It's not over."
Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"
Maggie's gaze darted around the church, as if she expected something to come lunging from the shadows at any second. "It let me go," she whispered. "It wanted me to lead you here."
Jessica stiffened. "Wait. You think this was a trap?"
Maggie let out a breathless, humorless laugh. "Of course it was."
Sam exchanged a glance with Dean. That was a demon's style. It played with its prey. Drew them in.
Maggie clutched Sam's wrist tighter. "It knows you, Sam." Her voice was sharp, desperate. "It's been waiting for you."
A chill ran down Sam's spine. "Waiting for me why?"
Maggie's breathing was uneven. She swallowed hard. "I don't know. But I heard it talking. It said—" She broke off, shuddering.
Dean's jaw clenched. "It said what, Maggie?"
She hesitated. Then, slowly, she met Sam's eyes.
"It said you were one of his."
Sam swallowed, but his throat was dry. His pulse pounded in his ears, the weight of those words pressing into his chest like a stone.
She had to be wrong. She had to be.
But then—
Memories surfaced, unbidden.
Flashes of childhood.
Him and Dean, running through some nameless motel parking lot, playing tag—until Sam tripped. He should have hit the pavement, scraped his hands raw, bloodied his knees. But he hadn't.
Instead, he'd landed on his feet. A perfect, impossible catch.
At the time, he'd laughed, thinking it was luck. But now…
Another memory clawed forward.
A hunt with Dad when he was barely eleven. A werewolf. Sam had hidden behind a crate, a useless silver knife clutched in his sweaty grip. But when the thing lunged at John, something else had happened.
The werewolf had stopped mid-charge. Not because of Dad. Not because of a bullet.
Because of him.
It had hesitated—just for a second. Just long enough for John to take the kill shot.
Dad had barely noticed. Dean had chalked it up to dumb luck. But Sam had felt it. That strange, creeping wrongness in his chest.
And now Maggie had said it out loud.
"You're one of his."
Sam clenched his jaw, forcing the memories back down. Now wasn't the time.
But the thought wouldn't leave him.
Had the demon always been watching?
And what if Maggie was right?
What if, deep down, he already knew?
"Sam…" Jessica's voice pulled him back, hesitant and uncertain. "What the hell does that mean?"
Maggie shook her head. "I don't know. But he's been watching you, Sam. And he's not done yet."
Silence settled over the room.
Sam exhaled, trying to steady himself. His visions. The fire. The way the demon kept circling closer and closer.
Dean's voice was hard when he spoke. "Where did it go, Maggie?"
Maggie closed her eyes, like she was trying to remember. Then she exhaled. "South. Toward New Mexico." She swallowed. "It said something about a town called Red Hollow."
Dean nodded. "Then that's where we're going."
Jessica blinked. "Wait. That's it? You're just deciding to follow it?"
Dean gave her a look. "That's what we do."
Jessica exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "Right. I forgot. You just throw yourselves into the fire and hope you come out the other side."
Dean smirked. "Sounds about right."
Sam looked back at Maggie. She was shaking now, exhausted, barely holding herself up.
"You can't go after it," she whispered.
Sam swallowed. "We have to."
Maggie's gaze was distant. "Then it's already won."
——
They left Maggie at the hospital.
She didn't argue. She was too tired, too broken. She only whispered "Be careful" as they helped her inside, then disappeared down the sterile hallway.
Dean pulled the Impala onto the highway, heading south.
The tension in the car was thick. Jessica was in the back seat, staring out the window, arms crossed. Sam sat in the passenger seat, gripping his knee, lost in thought.
Dean finally broke the silence. "Let's talk about it."
Jessica crossed her arms. "About the part where a demon knows Sam by name?"
Sam exhaled. "I don't know what it means."
Jessica gave him a sharp look. "But you knew it was after you."
Sam clenched his jaw. "I suspected."
Jessica let out a bitter laugh. "Great."
Dean cut in before they could spiral. "Sam, think. What if this is about your visions?"
Sam tensed.
Jessica's eyes widened. "Wait. You think the demon and the visions are connected?"
Dean shrugged. "I think it makes sense."
Silence.
Jessica inhaled slowly. "Then we need answers."
Sam's hands tightened into fists. He hated this. Hated that he wasn't sure.
Jessica looked at Sam, her voice softer now. "If there's something more going on… don't you want to know?"
Sam exhaled. "Of course I do."
Dean nodded. "Then we keep moving. And we find out."
——
They stopped at a roadside motel near the Colorado-New Mexico border.
The air was cold as they stepped outside, stretching their legs. Dean grabbed a room key, and they hauled their bags inside.
Jessica sat on the edge of one of the beds, running a hand through her hair. "So what now?"
Dean flopped onto the other bed. "Now? We get some sleep. And tomorrow, we hit Red Hollow."
Jessica nodded, but she didn't look convinced.
Sam sat beside her. "You okay?"
She let out a breath. "I don't know."
Sam hesitated. "If you want out, Jess, I won't blame you."
Jessica gave him a sharp look. "That's not what I'm saying."
Sam frowned. "Then what are you saying?"
Jessica exhaled. "I just… I didn't expect it to feel this personal." She met his gaze. "I thought we were hunting some random demon. But it's not just a demon. It's your demon."
Sam swallowed.
Jessica reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "And if I'm in this, I need to be all in."
Sam searched her face. "Are you sure?"
Jessica nodded. "I'm sure."
Dean whistled. "Damn. You're tougher than you look."
Jessica smirked. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
Dean chuckled, sitting up. "Alright, then. Team Winchester is officially on the hunt."
Jessica rolled her eyes. "Don't call us that."
Dean grinned. "Too late. It's happening."
Sam exhaled, squeezing Jessica's hand.
They were in this.
And tomorrow, the real hunt would begin.
-To Be Continued-