That thing is dead. When Dean gets his hands on that murderous, shapeshifting, slippery bastard, he is going to fill it with so much silver, it would make anyone who found the corpse richer than William Phibbs after his discovery of the Concepcion. And Dean is so going to pound on his little brother the next time he sees the kid for making Dean know what any of those words mean. Stupid geek, getting all excited and eager to share his boring history lectures with Dean. A small flash of proud fondness flares in Dean, underneath the mountain of rage, and utter terror that currently has him pressing Baby's gas pedal entirely to the floor, and the car itself rocketing down the freeway towards southern California, heedless of any and all speed limits between South Dakota and Palo Alto, and Dean clings to it desperately. Thinking of how proud he is of the Geek Boy Wonder is helping him not be absolutely petrified of what he is going to find when he reaches Stanford. College has been good for Sam, especially after the fiasco with the vampires. It's grounded Sam, helped him feel safe, and normal again, in a way that Dean doesn't think he or John would have been able to do.
Every time Dean and Sam talk, he sounds better. Stronger, more confident, more… at ease. Like he has found his place. The same way Dean feels with hunting. And Dean couldn't be happier. The geek deserves to be happy. Especially with that beautiful girl that Sam can't stop talking about, with so much sweetness it gives Dean frequent toothaches. He doubts a Trickster themselves would be able to tolerate being around Sam and Jessica. But even as Dean tries to focus on his pride in his little brother, it only serves to make his anger and fear skyrocket. Because he screwed up. Dad screwed up. And now Sammy was in danger. It had already been a brutal hunt. A shapeshifting monster, in every sense of the word, terrorizing families by using the face of a loved one to brutalize another. Torturing and tearing apart his victims. Framing the husband, or son, or boyfriend and leaving them to rot for his crimes. Both Dean and his father had been desperate to stop the creature's rampage, and they got reckless. Cocky. Arrogant. They had baited the thing out, trying to lure it into a trap in an abandoned house. By playing the doting, loving, father-son duo that was exactly the type that this shifter targeted for a few days in the thing's hunting zone, Dean and John were able to lure the bastard to the house they were renting, deciding to use the ruse of Dean heading back up to school as a reason to be chosen.
The shapeshifter would find a way to copy Deans face, and then head to the house to target his father, where both Winchesters would be waiting to ambush it. Of course, there was the tiny flaw in the plan of shapeshifters being able to steal memories and thoughts, but most of the shapeshifters that the Winchesters have hunted have been proud, vain creatures, and his Dad had been positive that the shapeshifter would see their plan as a challenge, and want to outwit them, to prove his superiority. And at first, the plan seemed to go off without a hitch. Dean isn't sure exactly when the shapeshifter stole his face. It could have been the teen that brushed against him at the grocery store, or the flirty bar tender at the local dive who kept touching his hand, or even the little kid who had accidentally run into him as he and his father had been taking a stroll through the park as part of their ruse. Not that it matter.
Both his gut, and his father's told him that the shapeshifter was coming, so they went home and laid the trap. Dean pretended to leave, his impala loaded up with the duffle bags, driving a few blocks away before he parked Baby in a discreet spot and stealthily made his way back to keep an eye on the house. His Dad went about business as normal, or at least, normal business for a suburban guy. Mowing the lawn, taking out the trash, sitting on the porch with a glass of beer. Dean, crouching out of sight in the shadows between two houses nearby, kept a sharp eye all afternoon, until finally he saw a tall figure walking towards their supposed family home. Clad in denim jeans, workman's boots, and a red and black flannel shirt, a spitting image of Dean walked up the street, whistling AC/DC cheerfully. Almost every detail was perfect. Physically, it was like looking in a mirror. Dean's spiky short blonde hair, his emerald green eyes, even the freckles make him look like Dean's identical twin. But there are also signs of what the thing really is that give it away, if one is trained to know what to look for, like Dean and his father were. For example, the glint of malice in the shapeshifter's eyes, deep and well-hidden, but still there. The too-new quality of the clothes, as if they were recently bought.
The lack of Dean's amulet, given to him by Sam one Christmas, after he had gone to Uncle Bobby for ideas for gifts to give his big brother, and that never, ever came off. Not even when Dean showers. Still, they were subtle differences, and less practiced eyes would definitely not think anything was amiss. Dean watched carefully, and more than a little tripped out, as his clone crossed the lawn of the house, climbing up the porch steps and knocking on the door. His father answered, greeting 'Dean' loudly and happily, and listening to whatever excuse the thing came up with for his sudden return, before he stepped aside to let the thing inside. His eyes found Dean's, before he closed the door and Dean set off immediately, looping around the house to ease in through the side door, which had been strategically left open, to avoid any noises tipping off the shapeshift when Dean was trying to sneak up behind it. The plan had been so simple. John would keep the thing focused on him for as long as he could. They knew Dad should be able to do that fairly easily, since the creature's M.O was to drug his victims with some kind of paralytic, instead of just bashing them over the head, or using some kind of weapon to control them. According to the M.E's, the drug used was enough to completely immobilize his victim, but didn't do a damn thing to prevent the poor soul from feeling any of the brutal actions that would follow. As far as both the M.E's and Dad and Dean could tell, the thing slipped the drug into the victim's food, or a drink, something that they would ingest without question coming from a loved one, if they weren't already aware something was off. Which gave them a distinct advantage.
Knowing not to trust anything that 'Dean" offered to his father, his father would distract the monster, and Dean would come in from behind, gun loaded with silver bullets, and put the thing down. It should have been easy. Only it hadn't been. Because when Dean had slipped into the house, it wasn't to the sound of his father telling long-winded stories, or asking about Dean's job, or classes, or what kind of bone-headed mistake brought him back home so soon after leaving. No, Dean entered the house to sounds of thuds and flesh hitting flesh, and low grunts and loud curses. Picking up his speed, Dean had run down the hall and emerged into the living room to see it transformed into a fighting ring, the copy of Dean holding a wicked looking knife in one hand, his father holding a silver blade of his own. Both were bleeding from several gashes, the ones on 'Dean' smoking slightly. His father was laser focused on the monster, his face neutral and calm, composed, while 'Dean' smirked viciously, eyes gleaming malevolently. Dean had pulled his gun, taking aim, but the bastard was quick and leaped out of the way, taking a small cut to his shoulder as it had grabbed his father, and pulled him in front of the thing, just as Dean had pulled the trigger. He was, barely, able to shift the gun at the last minute, so that the bullet hit his dad's left shoulder, instead of his heart, but that didn't stop the guilt and fury from ripping through Dean, as his father cried out instinctively at the bullet wound. The shifter had then landed a solid blow to the now distracted older Winchester, knocking the man out cold with it's supernatural strength, before turning Dean's own eyes, wide and evil, on him.
"There. Much fairer odds, don't you think?" The shapeshifter had mocked, a knowing, wicked glint in its eyes that Dean didn't trust for a second. Unease had creeped through Dean, but he didn't have time to act on it before the shifter changed it's grip on his father, moving his blade to hold it against John Winchester's throat, pulling the man's head back by his hair. "Drop the gun, Dean." Dean scowled, but he knew what this thing could do with a blade, he had seen the bodies. Not able to risk his father's life, Dean had reluctantly placed his gun on the ground. "Excellent. Now, take out the handcuffs I know we carry in our back pocket, and cuff your arms behind your back, then spin and show me how tight they are." Dean reluctantly obeyed his orders.
"If you are me right now, then you know this won't hold me for long, you sick bastard." Dean threatened. Once he was cuffed to the shapeshifter's satisfaction, the thing dropped his father unceremoniously to the ground, before striding towards Dean, who raised his chin defiantly, refusing to let this creature see how scared he really is, for his dad and for himself. If he was going to die, might as well die pissing the thing off. "Might as well kill us now, because when I get free, and my dad wakes up, we will skin you alive if you don't." The shapeshifter chuckled, taking Dean's laugh and twisting it into something cold, wicked.
"I don't need these to hold forever." The shapeshifter said, grabbing Dean's arm and forcefully steering him across the room towards where his father was laying on the ground, bleeding and unconscious. "See, Deano, originally I was going to gut your old man wearing your face. Once I realized you were hunters though, and not just any hunters but the freaking Winchesters, I just had to dig around your memories just a little bit more." The unease in Dean grew, the malice and sadistic delight in the monster's voice making his skin crawl, as a horrible idea began to form in Dean's mind as the thing pulled off Sam's amulet, and grabbed his wallet, keys and weapons off of his body so quickly Dean couldn't do anything more than blink in surprise. "Obviously, I saw what you were planning. But then I saw something much better. I've killed father's before, and even sons. Recently, even, in fact. But you know what I haven't killed in a while? A brother." Anger and terror had surged in Dean, even as excitement gleamed in his copy cat's eyes, the monster's hand closed around Dean's throat. "So this is how this is going to work. I am not going to kill you. Or even Johnny here. Instead, we are going to play a game. I am going to go pay our little brother a visit in California. I am sure, despite how little we seem to communicate these days, that he is desperate to see us. Especially considering Mom's death anniversary is coming up. If you stop me before I kill him, you win. But, you boys weren't playing fair, before. You knew all about me, and spotted my patterns… but I didn't know you were here. That's an unfair advantage, don't you think? So I am afraid, I am going to have to penalize you boys this round." The shapeshifter dropped Dean, and pulled out a matching set of handcuffs to Dean's, from his father's pockets, attaching Dean's cuffed hands to the couch legs, before patting Dean's head condescendingly. "I'd say a good… oh, I don't know, twenty-four hour head start seems fair, don't you?"
"I'll be out of here a lot sooner than that, douchbag." Dean snarled. The shapeshifter laughed, pulling out a needle from his back pocket, waving it in front of Dean's face.
"I wouldn't count on it, Dean." The shapeshifter sneered, before plunging the needle into the side of Dean's neck. He squirmed, trying to get away from it, but between the way his hands were bound, and the way the monster was crouching over him, there was nowhere for him to go. He scowled as the shapeshifter plunged the needle down, and something icy cold began to swim through his veins. Almost immediately Dean felt his body go limp, his muscles relaxing against his will, and a heavy fogginess descending over him. The now blurry figure of the fake Dean stood up. "It's two pm now… good luck, Deano. I'll tell Baby Brother you said hi." That was the last thing Dean had heard, before the fogginess gave way to a crushing, irresistible wave of black nothingness. Two pm, on October thirty-first. Halloween. By the time the sedative or whatever it was that the monster injected Dean with, wore off, it was nearly two pm on November first. But Dean didn't wake up on the floor of the house he and his father had been renting. He woke up on the couch in Bobby Singer's living room, with his father and the older hunter sitting nearby, his dad's injured shoulder already cleaned and patched up, and Bobby's hurried assurance that the impala had been brought back with them, and was sitting outside in the driveway.
Apparently, after drugging Dean, Bobby had gotten a call from 'Dean' saying his dad had been attacked, and the something was breaking into the house. Bobby had hightailed it from Sioux Falls, down to Sioux City, where they had been hunting the shapeshifter to begin with, and got there just as Dad had been stirring. Bobby had patched his father back up, and then gone to get the impala, while his Dad had gotten Dean free of the cuffs. They then had gotten Dean into Bobby's truck, and hightailed it back to Bobby's place, having the impala towed while his Dad had brought his own truck. After they filled Dean in on what he missed, Dean's anger and agitation growing the entire time, Dean had filled them in on his conversation with the shapeshifter, and the threats he had made towards Sammy. As soon as he mentioned that, his dad and Bobby had leapt into action, racing to gather any silver weapons they could find, while Dean had shaken off the last of the drug induced sleepiness. And then the three of them had hit the road, Dean in the impala, and Bobby and his Dad following in Dad's truck, both vehicles whipping down the highway heading West. That was yesterday. And they are still on the road. Aside from stopping only for gas and absolutely mandatory bathroom breaks, they have been driving straight through across several state lines, and not even coming close to obeying the speed limit unless the traffic around them forces them to, trying to shave off the thirty-two hour drive as possible. And no matter how hard Dean tries to think about something else, his thoughts always come back to Sammy, alone and vulnerable at Stanford, with a monster barreling straight for him. And he couldn't even call Sammy to warn him.
Both his and his father's phones had disappeared from their pockets, and while Bobby had tried once to call Sam from his home phone, Sammy hadn't answered. And they couldn't have him call from the road, because Bobby's cellphone had been broken on a black dog hunt two weeks ago. Dean tried not to think of what it meant that they hadn't gotten a hold of Sammy. On the one hand, not even a shapeshifter can make a thirty-two hour drive in twenty-four. So it was highly unlikely that Sam hadn't answered Bobby because he was hurt, or taken, or… worse. But, on the other hand, it has now been well over forty-eight hours. The shifter has definitely reached Stanford by now, was probably there last night. And Dean is still four hours or so out from Sam's student housing, even at the rate he is going. They have been able to shave a little time off, so he is arriving at seven-thirty, maybe eight, instead of ten or eleven, but it is still far, far too late. The shifter could be doing anything to Sammy. And on today, of all freaking days. What a wonderful way for him and Dad to honor Mom's memory, by sending a sadistic, psychopathic shapeshifter after his little brother. His civilian little brother. His already severely traumatized by vampires little brother. What a bang up job he and Dad were doing of keeping Sammy safe, the one thing they always promised they would do. And the worst part was… they weren't supposed to be in Sioux Falls to begin with.
They weren't supposed to be on this hunt at all. Both dad and Dean had agreed to spend November second in Palo Alto this year. To reach out to Sammy, maybe do something as a family. Grab a beer, maybe find a pool hall. Be a family, and remember Mom together. And even if Sam didn't want to, or couldn't, meet up, they would at least be able to keep an eye on him from a distance, and watch over him the way they both promised Mom's memory that they would. But then Bobby had called, and it turned out that the hunter who was supposed to be handling this case, some guy named Gordon Walker, had been caught up tangling with a nest of vampires in New Orleans. Dean and Dad both thought it would be a quick hunt, in and out, with plenty of time to make it to Stanford. Turns out, not so much. Dean tries to shake it off. It doesn't matter that the shapeshifter got a head start. It doesn't matter that it got the best of Dean and his father. Sam is going to be okay. He will. He has to be. Dean pushes even further down on his gas pedal, driving Baby past her limits as she flies down the highway. In his rearview mirror, he sees Bobby driving just as fast, just as focused. At this pace, they manage to shave off another thirty minutes of the drive, only slowing down once they reach the limits of the city of Palo Alto. Knowing the way to Sam's like the back of his hand at this point, Dean navigates onto Stanford's massive, and beautiful, campus, driving carefully around the students, and shuttles, as usual evening bustle of the college, gritting his teeth all the while. Usually, he actually enjoys driving across Stanford.
The campus is full of life, and normalcy. Just kids, living life and having fun, being young and care-free. It radiates comfort and safety, at least from the things that go bump in the night. Or, it used to. Now there was a sense of dread, of panic, in the air, or at least there was to Dean. His stomach twists and turns in knots, and his hands grip Baby's steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white. Finally, the crowds part and Dean can pick up the pace, until he skids to a stop in front of Sam's building. Sliding into the first place he can find, he arms himself with several silver blades all over his body, and two guns full of silver bullets, before turning Baby off and leaping out of the car. Dad and Bobby meet him on the sidewalk, similarly armed, even if the weapons are hidden, and the three of them storm into the building. All three men know exactly where Sam lives, having visited, or dropped by enough to keep an eye on the kid. Heading straight to the door, Dean knocks loudly twice. And then two more times when there is no response. Unease and panic fueling him, Dean takes a step back and goes to kick down the door, only to be stopped by Bobby's hand on his shoulder.
"Easy there, boy." He says gruffly. "Don't want to go attracting the wrong kind of attention." Dean groans, not giving a damn about any witnesses at the moment, knowing that Sam's safety is on the line, but Dad shoots him a sharp look and he backs off anyways. They are probably right about keeping a relatively low profile, even if Dean's worry and anger can't let him feel the same way just yet. So Dean steps back, as Bobby pulls out a lockpicking kit and gets to work on Sammy's door. Within a minute he has the door unlocked, and pushed open. All three men grab at the weapons in their pockets, before easing into the dark apartment. Almost immediately, a horrible stench reaches them, one that all three hunters are, unfortunately, all too familiar with. Blood. Decay. The beginning stench of decomposing flesh. Dean's stomach drops, and mindless fear wipes out every thought from Dean's head as he bursts further into the tiny apartment, his eyes flashing over everything. He takes in the comfy, aging couch, and cheap coffee table, the mountain of textbooks and notebooks and papers scattered around, the mix-matched decorations of the small space. He takes in two coffee cups on the counter next to a box that, when Bobby flips it open, reveals a dozen muffins.
And, more importantly, he takes in the body on the floor. The blonde, female body. The tiniest flash of relief courses through Dean, immediately swallowed by utter horror, grief and guilt. Guilt over being glad it isn't Sammy on the floor, chest soaked in blood from a shot to the heart. Grief, over who the woman is. Sam has shown him pictures, though they had never officially met. Jessica. He would recognize the blonde hair, and the kind face anywhere, even if that face was twisted into confusion and fear, and the once bright and lively eyes are now dull, empty. Lifeless. Horror, because there is no sign of life in the apartment besides the three hunters. Sammy isn't here. As those three emotions warred inside him, fighting for dominance, his dad moved over towards Jessica Moore's body, reaching down to her wrist, even though it was clear she was dead.
"Jessica?" Dad asks gruffly, glancing at Dean. He can see the same grief in his father's eyes for the poor woman as he himself is feeling. Swallowing back either bile, a rising tide of emotion, Dean honestly isn't sure which, he nods once, sharply. "Damn."
"Do… do you think… do you think Sammy… knows?" Dean manages to stammer out, torn between the horror of Sam having had to witness Jessica's murder, or having to be the one to tell him if he didn't, unable to decide which is worse. But there is no doubt in Dean's mind who did this. The shapeshifter was definitely here. The shapeshifter murdered the girl Sammy loves.
"I think so." Bobby says grimly, taking in the crime scene with heavy, furious eyes. "This bastard gets off on making people watch him kill their loved ones, right? I imagine he made Sam watch." This time Dean can't hold back his bile, and he darts to the kitchen sink, vomiting horribly as his stomach cramps and twists. He feels Bobby and Dad throwing him sympathetic gazes, as they discuss what to do. When Dean finally resurfaces from expelling everything possible from his stomach, his eyes flit around the kitchen, before landing on a phone, resting almost tauntingly on the counter next to him. Dean frowns, grabbing the phone and easily recognizing it. Sam's. His instinct starts to sound off about a red flag, and he flips the phone open, going to the messages. But the phone has been wiped clean. He checks the phone log, but that too is gone. Checking the contacts list next, he feels a wave of fury sweep through him. Every contact has been wiped out except one. Dean's. Specifically for the phone he had stolen off of him by Dead Shapeshifter Walking. Standing up straight, Dean dials the number, his free hand curling into a fist by his side as he holds Sam's phone to his ear with the other. The line rings only twice before it is answered.
"Deano!" His own voice crackles merrily through the connection, gleeful. Dean's insides burn with rage and he struggles with the shaking of his body, fighting back the urge to crush Sam's phone, or throw it across the room.
"Where is he, douchebag?" Dean demands, and he feels both his father's and Bobby's eyes snap towards him.
"Did you get my little present?" The shapeshifter asks, disregarding Dean's question. "I have to say, Deano, you have wonderful aim. It was a beautiful shot. Clean. You'll be happy to know it was a very quick death, she barely felt a thing."
"You are going to burn for that, you sick son of a-" Dean snarls.
"Ah, ah, ah." The shapeshifter cuts him off. "Watch your language Deano. I am not a fan of cuss words. They make me mad. And, unfortunately, the only one around here for me to take my anger out on is little Sammy Winchester. Although, honestly, little is not even remotely accurate. What did you and Johnny feed this kid?" Dean freezes at the confirmation that Sam is in the hands of this monster. That he probably has been, for as long as Jessica has been dead. And, judging by how congealed the blood is on and around her, how pale the skin is, and the level of decay Dean can smell, has probably been all day.
"I swear to God." Dean says in a low, deadly voice, anger turning into murderous intent in his blood as he slips into his hunter mode, letting all doubts and hesitations disappear as he sets his sights on his prey. "If you do anything to hurt him… if you touch a hair on his head…" A cold, cruel laugh echoes across the phone.
"Oh, don't worry. I haven't done anything to him yet." The voice says, and the sadistic glee Dean can hear makes him want to vomit again. Unfortunately, Dean thinks the shapeshifter is being honest, and it just makes it all the more horrible, because it means the monster has another agenda going, besides physical torment. The shapeshifter confirms Dean's theory a moment later. "Sammy hasn't actually been with me, really. Not since I blew a hole through his little girlfriend's heart this morning right in front of him. Or, rather, since his brother blew a hole through his girlfriend's heart this morning." Dean squeezes his eyes shut, grief and pain and anger tearing at him. "That's right Deano. He watched his precious big brother take away the love of his life. The one he was planning on asking to marry him." Dean's eyes flash open at that, and pure hate for this horrendous creature fills his veins like a poison. Dean embraces the darkness, lets it fill him, fuel him, as he starts debating all the ways he is going to make this bastard pay. "Poor tiger completely shut down, went full catatonic from the shock. He's having a little trouble processing."
"You are going to pay for this." Dean hisses vehemently. "In blood. I am going to gut you myself. Do to you everything you did to all those people."
"I'd like to see that, Winchester." The shapeshifter purrs over the phone. "Why don't we see if you can keep your word? Why don't you and Johnny come meet me and Sammy? Looks like the kid is finally coming back to the Land of the Living, I am sure he would love to see you. Oh, and don't worry, I already gave him a crash course on shapeshifters. For a Winchester, he seems surprisingly uneducated about monsters Deano. If you get Baby Brother back, you and John should probably fix that." Dean grits his teeth, pacing restlessly.
"Where are you?" He asks, choosing to ignore the taunts, for now, but committing them to memory. He wants to remember them, when he is bashing this evil bastard's face in with a silver baseball bat. Or crowbar maybe. Both seem like solid choices.
"I'll text you an address." The shapeshifter says glibly. "Your move, Winchester." The line disconnects. Dean swears loudly, flipping Sam's phone closed and slamming his fist on the counter. Dad and Bobby watch him warily.
"What was that all about?" Bobby asks.
"The bastard has Sammy. Shot Jessica right in front of him, and then took him. And he's using my face still." Dean reports bitterly. Wrath fills both older hunter's expressions. "So Sammy saw me kill his girlfriend. Oh, and apparently knows all about shapeshifters now."
"Did it say where they were?" Dad asks, his voice deceptively calm, composed. His soldier's face is on, his hunting instincts taking over, but Dean knows his father well enough to see the righteous fury bubbling beneath the surface. This shapeshifter has no idea the kind of Hell that is in store for him because of this stunt. And if Sammy isn't in one piece when they find him… Dean looks down as Sam's phone buzzes, a text with coordinates coming through.
"Yeah, just sent a text. It's obviously a trap. He wants us there so we can watch him use my own freaking hands to torture Sammy." Dean spits out. Unlike his father, he has never really been able to mask his rage, especially when it comes to Sammy, or someone hurting Sammy.
"Trap or not, we are going in." Dad says firmly. Dean nods, in full agreement. They underestimated this douchbag once before. That is not going to happen again, not with Sam on the hook now. Still, Dean hesitates slightly, moving back over to where Jess is laying exactly where the monster left her. Dean wants to move her, make her more comfortable, close her eyes even, if for Sammy's sake more than anyone else's, but he knows better than to leave that kind of evidence at a murder scene.
"What about Jess?" Dean asks, his voice shaking slightly as he looks down at the poor girl, the one person who had brought his brother some measure of happiness, and peace, in the last few years. Now nothing but a cold corpse, bled out on the floor of their home. Bobby moves to his side, gripping his shoulder.
"You boys go deal with the shapeshifter." Bobby says gruffly. "I'll handle things here. Make sure she is found, and that neither you or your brother has her murder pinned on you."
"Thank you, Bobby." Dean says gratefully. Bobby just nods, though his eyes are as heavy as Dean's and his father's. Bobby knows how much Jess meant to Sammy, how hard this is going to hit the kid.
"Go, save the kid." Bobby says, nodding towards the apartment door. "And then you Winchesters come stay with me. I have a feeling he isn't going to want to stay around here, and he's going to need his family."
"We owe you one, Singer." Dad says, his voice just as gruff as Bobby's. Bobby just waves him off dismissively. Catching Dean's eye, Dad nods towards the door, and the two Winchesters step out of the apartment, leaving Bobby to clean them out of the space, and to make sure Jessica is found. Dean scowls as he thinks about her last minutes, of the thing using his own visage to destroy his little brother's whole world. Violent thoughts of revenge fill Dean's head as he and his father exit the student housing, and make their way towards the impala. Wordlessly, they climb in, Dad taking the driver's seat while Dean slides easily, and without complaint into the passenger seat. They pull away from the building, from the shattered remains of Sam's college dreams, as Dean pulls out his phone, and a map of the city, directing his father to the coordinates that they were sent, though those are the only words spoken. His father is silent beside him, and steady, but Dean knows him well enough to sense the rising storm inside of him.
A pang of sympathy hits Dean as he glances at his father, because his dad can fully empathize with Sammy. He also lost the woman he loved to something supernatural. He knows exactly what kind of pain Sam is going to be feeling. If he wasn't feeling so murderous himself, he might actually feel a little bad for what is coming to the shapeshifter. But then he remembers what the shifter said, about how Sam was planning on asking Jess to marry him. Even Dean didn't know that. But maybe Sam had wanted to tell him. And, when 'Dean' showed up this morning, maybe the sudden reunion gave Sam cause to finally reveal this secret. And not knowing any better, Sam told the thing, thinking he was sharing the moment with his big brother. The big brother who might have, in a different world, been the best man at their wedding. Who could have been an uncle to Sam and Jess' future kids. Who could have been brought back into his brother's world. Oh yeah. The shifter is definitely getting skinned alive for this. Flayed. Maybe Dean can build a rack for the monster. Or buy one, Craig's List has weird stuff like that. Or maybe he will go the traditional route and just burn the bastard alive. Drown him in melting silver. No matter what though, it won't be enough.
Nothing will ever be enough to make up for what this thing has done to his little brother. After what feels both like no time at all, and an eternity, his father pulls into a driveway just outside the city, a long, winding path that leads to an abandoned looking farmhouse. A complete cliché from every horror movie in existence. His father cuts the engine, stopping about half way up the drive, and both he and Dean exit the car, guns drawn and knives at the ready as they take in the two story, ready made murder house set ahead of them. With what probably used to be white walls, now peeling and stained and torn apart by probably decades of abandonment, and gaping holes in the shingled roof, blown out windows that are nothing more than yawning holes in a crumbling façade, and an overgrown lawn so wild that it could pass for a forest's glade, the entire place screams creepy, evil, uninviting. Surrounded by tall, barren trees, with a harsh, bitter cold wind starting to drift around them, Dean can feel the bad vibes of the place, the disease of the monster who has infected the place carrying on the wind, even out to where they are.
But, it isn't like that has ever stopped a Winchester before, and with Sammy inside, it isn't going to today either. So, ignoring the 'Get Out!' energy both men can practically taste, they each take one cautious step up the gravel drive, before a horrendous, agonized cry splits the night air. A sound of utter heartbreak, and an abyss of grief, of loss so overpower it shreds someone from the inside out. It is the sound of someone shattering apart. Of Sam, shattering apart.