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uncouth-the-fifth · 5 months

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pythia, a supernatural rewrite. phantom traveler, p.3

read it on ao3.

words: 14k notes: hello!!! on the wings of an absolute ARMY of betas, here is a fresh new chapter for you!! since the last one was a little short i took the time to really flesh this one out. I'm a shy idiot who is SO bad at responding, but i see your comments and they mean the world to me. i literally have a folder on my computer full of the sweet words this fic has been given, and i think i've re-read the comments in that folder at least a million times over by now. ty so much for reading, and i hope you enjoy!! bloody mary is next! a very special thank you to my beta readers, bear, M, venice, feeb, and daff, who easily made this my best chapter yet. thank you specifically for keeping me coherent and sane lol <3

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 4th.

You don’t have to be psychic to know precisely what your mother is going to say when she answers the phone. She’ll pick up on the fourth ring with an occupied, scathing drawl and say, Look who finally has cell service.

Alright. So you’re not the best, most communicative daughter in the world. You call when you can, you honestly do, but there’s not exactly loads of emotional bandwidth to spare on the road. Peeling off all the layers of case anxiety and Winchester grief takes a while, dammit!

Maybe you’d feel less guilty if you vented to Sam or Dean, but it’s kind of lousy to bitch about Mom-stuff to, uh. Yeah. The boys. You could use a simple, uncomplicated statement like, talking to my Mom reminds me of how much of a disappointment I must be to her, and Dean would hear matricide instead. Sam’s blank, uncomprehending look wouldn’t be much better. Looks like you’re alone on this one.

When there’s a natural break in the day’s long research-fest the three of you are riding, you slip away, pace beside the Impala for a while, then finally bite the bullet and call her. Cars whisk through the slurry of snow on the road. Your phone charms rattle in the icy breeze. One ring, two rings… She knew you were going to call, she could sense it, but of course she has to torture you… three rings, four.

“I didn’t know cell service was so hard to come by in Pittsburg,” Beth greets you, sounding preoccupied. Damn, do you know her well or what?

“Hey, Mom,” you sigh. The wind is loud, so you pull your phone further down your face and try to come up with an excuse that is even halfway reasonable. “Sorry I haven’t called. It’s been ages since I’ve been around the boys, and I guess I get a little caught up with them sometimes.”

This is objectively true. She used to have a rule about you getting your homework done before they came over, purely because you forgot about everything and anything else the second Sam and Dean entered the house.

“Forget those losers. You’re my baby, I love you most,” Beth gushes, and you understand that this is her way of saying that you’re forgiven. Both of you have fallen victim to the Winchester spell before, so she can’t exactly blame you.

You’re a little embarrassed by her mushiness, but a relieved, bubbly laugh jumps out of you. “Alright, consider them forgotten. Now… I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m gonna ask you a question, and I need you not to freak out or overthink it, kay?”

Beth snorts. “You mean my two jobs as a mother? Go ahead, shoot.”

This is not the kind of question that you just “shoot,” though. It takes you a moment to string together how you’re going to ask this, and of course, you’re nothing but graceful and delicate about it. “...What do you know about demons?”

Your mother doesn’t say anything for a long, yawning second. Still, you can sense her rising swarm of questions and outrage all the way from Pennsylvania, and you try to stop her onslaught before it starts. “Hey! No questions! Just answers. I promise I would tell you if this was outrageously dangerous.”

“Then you’ve already broken your promise,” Beth utters, slipping into her Sage Grandmaster Psychic voice. Just hearing it makes you deflate. She predicts, “...Let me guess. You’ve felt nauseous. Suffocated. Hungry, but everything you eat comes right back up again.”

You toe a chunk of ice on the asphalt with your boot, grumbling, “...Yeah.”

“Then you’re lucky,” she reveals, her words still ringing with the same crystal ball clarity from your childhood. “That means you haven’t come into direct contact with it yet. I’d hope you never would, but… you are your father’s daughter…”

You know your mom. You know that’s just her way of warning you about the kind of danger you’re in, here, but all the comment does is bolster your resolve. Damn right. You are his motherfuckin’ daughter.

“Tell me,” you push.

Beth sighs through her nose. There’s a squeak on the other line, and you can imagine her at home, dropping heavily into the massive, millennia-old armchair she always took her readings in.

“Demons… well, I won’t explain to you what you can already guess. They’re unlike most legends we know of, because everything that’s written about them is utterly true. Most spirits that walk the natural earth are here to feed—vampires, werewolves—or to take care of unfinished business. But demons… they come to earth to steal, kill, and destroy.”

Welp. Your mother is truly a pillar of optimism. You’d been hoping she’d say something along the lines of, don’t worry, sweetheart, they’re just really messed up ghosts. Instead of, y’know. The most evil creatures man encountered in the bible. Bible, capital B. An uncomfortable, existential shiver rolls down your spine. Now this was something you could bitch to Dean and Sam about.

You’d grown up surrounded by the idea of demons. Even before you’d fully understood that monsters were real, sometimes you’d slip into your mother’s reading parlor while she was gone and play a game with the strange, segmented star pattern on the giant worn-smooth carpet. Don’t hop on any of the lines! Only step in the points of the star! Or, jump from sigil to sigil!

The one time you’d gotten carried away and played for too long, your mother had appeared through the beaded curtain with a stiff frown on her face. Don’t play on the devil’s trap. It’s not a toy.

There was the fraying devil’s trap in your mother’s parlor room, which was one of the hundreds of sigils burned into your mind at a young age. You’d shaken hands with demon hunters before. Most of the rituals your family practiced were in Latin; and the list went on and on into oblivion. You’d always known demons existed, but as you pace the parking lot and take in what Beth is telling you, the ramifications start to stack. Demons. Actual, literal demons. The thing that took down flight 2485—the suffocating, unimaginable presence from your vision—was a real-life demon. When you’d stood in the skeletal remains of the plane and reached out with your Gift, you’d been sensing the lingering presence of a fucking creation of Lucifer. What the actual fuck.

In a strange, backward way, you’re kind of relieved. Anyone would be fainting all over the place in the presence of an actual, real-life demon. Especially somebody like you, with all their senses turned up to 100. It makes sense that you were having such intense reactions before.

What the fucking fuck. You’re suddenly grateful to be on the phone with your mom.

You wandered toward the Impala, (checked first that you weren’t wearing the kind of jeans with the little studs that would scrape the paint), then leaned against it. “...Um. Okay. That’s just… awesome… How do they get… up here, then?”

“I’m not sure,” your mother hums, thinking. “Your great-great-aunt Miriam wrote in her records that they find their way top-side on their own. Bugs through cracks, that sort of thing. Apparently, there used to be a whole lot more of em’—in Miriam’s day it was a Proctor’s job to shove them back where they belonged, but… I dunno.” Beth helpfully jokes, “Maybe we got most of them.”

You huff out a laugh, but it’s not the most sincere. “Maybe we did,” you cough. “But, um, do we have any Proctor family secrets that could help me out here? Did great-great-aunt Miriam have a trunk somewhere full of demon-killing grenades or something?”

Beth smirks. “Great-great-aunt Miriam turned the house into a brothel and carved terrifying sigils in all the ceilings. That’s all we got from her.”

Of course. How could you possibly forget? “Oh, huh. I was wondering why we have old chains and whips in the basement. That fills in a lot more for me, thank you.”

Your mom barks out a laugh at your joke, which gets you laughing too. The sound trails off. There’s that funny pause where you both remember what you just said, then start giggling all over again—and man, does it feel good to just have a moment with your mom. The boys both have an unforgiving radar for “bonding,” and the second they realize that you love them and they’re your friends, they creep right back into their shells. Neither of them were very good at absorbing that sort of thing.

Your mom is just as skilled at spoiling the moment.

“But, seriously…” She stresses. “Please be careful. Avoid contact with these things at all costs, especially with your Gift. It’s made to find the truth, and demons are made of lies. Not a good mix. They’ll rip into your mind… take you apart if they have to. This is a lot more hands-on than you should ever be with your Gift, ____.”

“...Right,” you say through your teeth.

This is the part where you start awkwardly shoving in a goodbye without coming across as an asshole. You open your mouth, about to say something stiff and unsure, when you sense a spike of alarm ripple out from where the boys are still researching in your motel room.

Phone call forgotten, you jolt off the Impala and whip towards the door. Not a second later, Dean’s slipping out onto the stoop and sweeping the parking lot with a calm, guarded stare. He doesn’t look at you—just gestures you inside, holding the door open. Even from the parking lot, you can make out the insane amount of notes and papers Sam has coated your motel room with.

“Jerry just called,” Dean utters. “The surviving pilot from 2485? Chuck Lambert? …He just went down in a plane crash.”

You snap your phone shut and follow him inside.

The three of you head to the site of the next crash as fast as you can. But first, you have the pleasure of watching the boys play Winchester Telepathy when you insist on coming along. They’re still worried. You would be too, in their position. (In fact, if the roles were reversed, you’d probably chain Sam to a radiator and call it a day.) But Chuck went down in a twin plane, not a massive, two-hundred-person graveyard, so your Gift should have the legs to handle it.

…And knowing what you’re dealing with has steeled your confidence. You weren’t slashing at the dark anymore, even if what was in the dark was, um. Proof that hell exists. After days of being totally screwed over by this thing, you finally had even the slightest leg up on what was going on. You were going to take that win and run with it.

Chuck’s twin plane was hardly a twin anymore; both the engines had been shredded, the white body of the cockpit twisted like a wrung-out washcloth. The plane had dove so hard into the farmland that the snow around it had melted. You still kind of felt like tossing your lunch, but more out of sympathy than psychic backlash. People had been in that plane. The thought made you taste bile.

Sam and Dean only hover a little bit (a lot) while you open your Gift to the wreckage. You take your glove off with your teeth and touch your right hand to the ashen, snow-soaked remains of the pilot’s chair… and there it was again, the leeching, seeping, violating presence from the vision that’d brought all of you to Pittsburg. A demon.

Your Gift wrings out another scraggly, disconnected vision for you. Chuck was beyond anxious to get back in the saddle after 2485. The co-pilot, Lou, had pep-talked him like any good friend would, reassuring him that the flight would go smoothly. After that, everything—gassing up the engine, takeoff, and the brutal, horrific crash—was blotted with poison ink. Every time you tried to steer towards Chuck with your senses, it was as if the strip of film playing your vision had been burned away. His face had been scratched out of every frame. He had become something else; something terribly familiar.

The research Sam had compiled began to link with what you’re seeing. You could feel, even through the leftover wisp of the demon’s presence on the plane, that it had done this many times before.

You jolted to your feet, scrubbing the palm with the eye tattoo off on your slacks. Dean and Sam reeled back, since they’d both been looming an inch behind you as you worked.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Dean said, bracing himself.

You turn from the wreckage and bee-line straight for the road, eager to avoid a repeat of last time. The boys follow your lead. They fall into step on either side of you, and for once you feel like the specialist Sam always said you were, complete with stern-faced bodyguards.

“Full-on Pazuzu, just like last time,” you confirm, cursing. You shove your glove back on and stomp through the snow. “I-I get it now. God, it feels so fucking obvious. It’s—it’s playing. It finds these disasters, or it makes them, and then it picks off all the survivors one by one. Chuck Lambert, George Phelps. It possessed them. Like some sort of twisted cosmic-order thing.”

Sam pulls a face. “Final Destination style?”

“Minus the hot girls and the tanning beds, apparently,” Dean pouts.

“It’s trying to finish them off, boys,” you say, swallowing hard. “That’s something we can work with. If it’s only using disasters to do the job, then…”

“...then we need to see if any of the survivors are flying soon,” Sam realizes, finishing your thought.

The second the Impala’s on the road again, Sam is fishing out the passenger manifests from the first flight and chasing down any phone numbers he can find. There is a part of every hunt where your run is forced to become a sprint, and this is that turn-over moment, tensions ramping high. What once was seven people is now five.

As Dean hauls ass back to Pittsburg, you and Sam get to calling. You thank the Mother Goddess above for shitty, awful customer service, because posing as some lousy Delta Airlines representative has Dennis Holloway sitting in seat 21A and Kathleen Willard (seat 25E) swearing off flying for good. Sam uses a similar tactic on Blaine Sanderson (seat 14D). The two of you take the safe bet that the parents of Ava Struder (seat 1C), an unaccompanied minor, aren’t fucking idiots dumping their kid on another flight the second she survives one. That leaves you with Amanda Walker. A flight attendant on 2485… because of course, this job can never be easy.

Sam tries her phone. While it rings, you cross your fingers and hope that she has quit her job and started a new life as a dedicated couch potato. Sam’s forced to leave a message. He snaps his flip phone shut with a curse and throws it into the footwell, where it clatters against his boots.

You curl a cold hand around Sam’s shoulder, soothing, “Gimme the list, baby. I’ll try her emergency contact, at least find out where she is.”

Sam sulkily passes it to you, never once shifting under your hand. You do get a small, grateful look from him over his shoulder, and the urgency and anxiety there makes your gut twist. It would be more than easy to comfort him, to stroke your fingers through his hair, to rub his collar and tell him everything’s going to be fine.

But you’re a shit liar, so you open up your phone and make the next call. Sam’s lingering gaze ducks back down into his lap.

Of course, your luck continues to flourish. Amanda doesn’t answer her phone. But her sister does, and she informs you that Amanda, being a flight attendant, is in fucking Indianapolis for a flight. Indianapolis. As in, a good five-hour drive from Philly—and in the complete opposite direction of where you were going. Dean barely waits until the road is wide enough to turn the Impala around. The u-ey he hits sends you, and all your stuff, careening from the right end of the bench all the way to the left.

The drive is not fast. Staring ahead and silently revving yourself up can only waste so much time, so you pull out the mini sewing kit from under the seat and do your best to patch a rip in Dean’s jeans, struggling to thread the needle even more than usual. You feel a bit like a bad hunter distracting yourself from what’s ahead, but just one of you stuffing the car with anxious brooding is enough. Sam passes back a sudoku booklet for you and then goes straight back to his thousand-yard stare.

He used to be excellent when things came down to the wire like this. After years spent in empty motel rooms, counting pennies and waiting for John and Dean to come home, Sam’s patience was unimaginable. But losing Jess… had tilted his axis. These last few hunts, you’ve noticed how crazed he gets on the last couple steps to the finish line—when none of you are sure if there’ll be anybody to save. It happens. But you’re scared of what another round of it could do to Sam, even with a stranger like Amanda; he cared so much…

Dean isn’t happy, either, but he at least has something to do. He alternates between playing brain-melting Metallica or forgetting to reload the tape, so the drive is a strange mix of music you can feel in your eardrums and silence that’s just as loud. The first piece of levity you get is thirty straight minutes of Dean over-explaining the album to you. And, thank god you ask, because Dean rattling on about the “bass and drums feeding off each other” and the “musical integrity of a locked-in rhythms section” bring Sam out of his trance. He pries his eyes away from the rolling fields of snow, scrunches up his face, and sighs, “Can we at least listen to ‘...And Justice for All?’”

You’re an excellent tactician, so you use this opening to nudge them both toward the most surefire argument starter in the Winchester handbook: What’s the best album of all time? It would’ve been harder to lure flies into honey. Dean argues more with himself than he argues with the two of you, dancing indecisively between Zeppelin II, Dark Side of the Moon, and at least twenty other albums that you are vaguely aware exist. Sam outlines that there is a difference between someone’s favorite album (Californication in Sam’s case) and the best album objectively by sales (Thriller).

All three of you play into the argument more than usual. Guess you’re not the only one desperate to think about something other than the two hundred other people who might die tonight. By the time there’s enough of a break in the conversation for you to throw your hat into the distraction-ring, you’re thirty minutes from the Indianapolis International Airport.

“Both of you are wrong,” you decide. “There’s only one reasonable answer to that question, and it’s Rumours.”

Dean audibly grumbles, and when the Impala jams to a stop in front of a red light, he dramatically points at you in the rear-view mirrors and declares: “You are obligated by hippie, witchy-girl bullshit to love that album, Proctor. And it’s good, but it’s not the best. It’s mostly…” he flashes you a mean, big-brother smile, “girly music.”

You know you’re right, so his comment rolls right over you. Cooly, you remind him, “Nuh-uh. Sam loves Fleetwood Mac, too.”

You’d figured that was a good counter-point, since Sam was hardly girly. The hand he was using to keep his notepad on his knee was all kinds of veiny and calloused, and on top of being taller than Dean, he was a lot more comfortable with his masculinity. He didn’t have mile-long lashes or glazed donut cheekbones, either.

Sam hums in agreement, like you knew he would; the two of you listened to Go Your Own Way and The Chain endlessly before he left for school. Sometimes he’d even dance around the attic at home with you.

Dean side-eyes his brother, then barks out a hearty laugh. “Case in point.”

Sam elects to pretend he didn’t hear that, and instead turns around to talk straight to you: “I mean, the end of Silver Springs alone…”

…Maybe if Dean listened to more “girly music,” he’d have more women melting over him the way you melt when Sam says that. Even though you’ve gotten used to having him in front of you again, there are moments like these where you’re stunned by how similar the two of you still are. Dreams would play in your attic and Sam would already be offering you his hands, gangly and shy and bright red for you and only you…

You listened to Silver Springs a lot after Sam started dating Jessica.

INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 4th, night.

All three of you must’ve been hyper-planning what to do the second the Impala parked, because you fan out as soon as Dean jams the break.

Sam uncaps the travel-sized hand sanitizer from your purse and empties it out onto the pavement. You’re a little sad to say goodbye to pumpkin cupcake, but then he starts pouring as much holy water as he can into the teeny bottle, and you’re reminded how clever he is. When Dean gives him a weird look, Sam explains, “3.4 ounces or less per liquid item, dude.”

“Shit,” Dean curses. Right. Travel size restrictions. That cuts your only physical weapon against the demon in half—or into a fucking fifth, I guess. But it’s something. “At least he’ll fuckin’ smell good when we send him to hell. Great.”

You give Sam the marshmallow pumpkin latte sanitizer, too. You’re going to look painfully suspicious walking into an airport with nothing but hand sanitizer and an occult journal, but there’s nothing you can do. There’s no time to check bags or trudge through security lines. Hopefully you won’t have to board, but knowing your luck…

You’re about to go peeling out of the parking lot at top speed, when you turn your boot and feel the warm piece of metal pressed against your ankle. Shit. “God, this is stupid,” you curse, and drop onto a knee. You lose the pocket knife in your boot, then dig around for the loose rock salt shells rolling around in your pockets. There’s a visible pout on your face when you abandon your iron knuckles. Anything that’d be caught by security or picked up on a metal detector goes straight into the trunk.

When you pull your butterfly knife out of your bra, Sam is suddenly very interested in the color of the sky.

The boys follow suit. By the time you’re through the doors and among the harried, criss-crossing crowd of travelers, you’ve lost ten pounds in weapons each. Dean grumbles the whole way about feeling naked. Everything in the airport is overstimulating, even at this time of night. The long, endless squares of glass looking out over the runway reflect the too-bright lights in big glossy spots, and the air is flooded with a constant stream of intercom updates and civilian chatter. You duck and weave all the way to the departure schedule, which is just the right font size to make you anxious.

Sam scans the chart. “They’re boarding in thirty minutes.”

Shit. You wrack your mind for something that could coax Amanda off her flight. But the gears in your head are suddenly muddy, and Dean’s faster than you, anyway. His eyes dart around the floor of the airport. “Okay… we still got some cards to play. We need to find a phone.”

Sam and Dean dart off like twin bomb-sniffing dogs. You move to follow them, but something tethers you in place. The buzzing, bustling commotion in the air pitches up, and then your ears are ringing, and your whole body is stinging with the ugly leeching feelings from before. The demon. It’s close.

You blindly walk in the direction your internal Winchester compass gives you, and just when Dean’s about to take a courtesy phone off its hook, your body extracts the phone from his hand on autopilot. For a brief flickering moment, you’re not yourself. Your powers talk through you.

Your Gift foresees, “That won’t work. Your only option is to board the plane.”

The boys exchange an unsettled look. For a second you’re confused why they’re giving you their Freaked Out faces, then you feel the hollow plastic of the phone in your hand, and you realize you’re a whole twenty feet from where you started. Man… you hate the whole psychic-possession thing. Just for fun, your Gift loves to take over and course-correct you when it thinks you’re being stupid. You drop the phone back on its hook with a heavy click. It takes Dean a second to answer, and he’s still giving you that look. After a long pause, he knocks up his chin and not-so-happily mutters, “...Uh, okay.”

Sam, at least, has learned to roll with your weird psychic bullshit. His voice is soft with conviction. “Fine. Plan B, then. We gotta get on that plane.”

You run your palms down your face, then steel yourself. There’s no other way, and no time to second-guess. Even your Gift has decided it’s your best plan. “Okay. Fuck it.”

The usual authority in Dean’s voice hikes up with a note of panic. “Uh, woah. Let’s just hold on a second–”

“Dean,” you wince, and your hands drop heavily at your sides. “We gotta. I’m sorry.”

Sam, per usual, reads Dean’s hesitance as something else. “That plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board. And if we’re right, it’s gonna crash. We have to–”

You watch as they have their usual back and forth; Sam, eager to throw himself at this, and Dean gnawing on the inside of his cheek. It’s easy for you to sense the steam of real, nail-biting terror radiating off your best friend. You feel Dean’s fear all the time–and even then it’s hard for you to picture him being afraid of much of anything, much less planes. It’s even harder for Sam to look past his little brother glasses.

“...Flying?” Sam puts it together. His voice is understanding, but super confused. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Dean flails. He fists his hands as he talks, swaying back and forth to try and work up the nerve. He glances at you, the only other witness to his weakness, just once. “Why do you think I fuckin’ drive everywhere, Sam?”

Sam is genuinely stunned. Slapped-in-the-face stunned. But he takes it in stride, and, also glancing at you only once, he blurts out: “Alright. Uh, I’ll go.”

The anticipation of boarding the flight is making your skin prickle with anxiety, and you can’t help but inch back toward the ticket counter as they talk. But when Sam says this, without question or complaint, you’re instantly stepping up to his side and demanding, “Then I’m going with you.”

You brace yourself to shut down the argument you know is coming, but this Sam continues to be different from the guy you knew four years ago. This answer is just as easy for him, too. “Okay.”

Not, you’re staying here, or even, I won’t let you risk yourself like this. Just a plain and simple, okay. It bugs you. You don’t even have time to dwell on it, though, because Sam’s blatant courage tugs Dean over his fear.

“Man…” Dean utters, face twisted with nervousness. He gives in with a helpless scrunch of his shoulders, and taking that as permission, Sam twists around to buy your tickets not two seconds later.

You both watch him rush off, neither of you over the moon about this situation. Dean’s so anxious that his hands are clammy, and you can tell because he clutches at the sleeve of your jacket like a little kid. He knocks his forehead down on your shoulder with a groan, and your palm automatically loops around to give his back a soothing rub.

“This is fucking… awesome,” Dean gripes. “No guns. Can’t even bring a damn bottle of holy water. Is there some kind of psychic Xanax you can give me?”

Maybe some of your Gift drains into your voice when you promise, “We won’t have to worry about that. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Dean doesn’t make his Freaked Out face this time. He does, however, bump his forehead against your shoulder again, and sink into your touch with a rough sigh.

FLIGHT 424 - Dec. 4th.

You’d felt bad for Dean the whole time he’d struggled to get on the plane. Now, you kind of felt like choking him with your bare hands.

So many people crammed into one space was enough to flatten your Gift with the weight. Adding Dean to the mix, shoved shoulder-to-shoulder against you with his jitters ramped up to eleven, made you feel like picking your brain out with a fork. Your Gift ping-ponged between Dean and Sam, making you bounce between chattering your teeth with fear and thinking things like, wow, I just love the Dewey decimal system.

Maybe it was a good thing. You’d much rather be in one of their heads than yours.

All day, you’d done a pretty good job not obsessing over the things your mom had said over the phone. It was hard with so much time to marinate in the car, but the massive weight of the existence of demons only slammed on top of you once or twice. Boarding had managed to keep you occupied, but then the colossal body of the plane had shuddered and heaved its weight off the tarmac, leaving all chances for escape behind on the ground.

A part of you was resigned to it; it is a simple fact of your life that evil things are real. So what’s one more, right? But at the same time, you thought about the cross Sam wore under his shirt… you thought about being one of those things, being “made of lies,” like Mom had said. That, too, had been gnawing at you—what had she seen to learn all that? How did she know that a demon would “tear into your mind?” The Vague Psychic Thing is fun, until you’re on the receiving end.

“Can you sense who it’s possessing?” Sam’s smooth, calculating voice interrupted your thoughts.

…Oh, right. You’d gotten so swept up in your own head, no doubt influenced by Dean’s incessant foot-tapping, that you’d totally forgotten to scan the plane. Tilting away from Dean and his panic, you subconsciously shifted toward eerily calm, level-headed Sam. Just catching a wisp of the clean cologne he wears cools you down a little bit. Okay. No more freaking out—it’s game time.

You’d hoped that the white noise of the flight would settle your nerves, but the air tasted painfully sterile, dry, and cottony against the back of your throat. Everything felt like cold metal touching an open nerve. If the demon’s influence wasn’t making your powers touchy, then the woman across the aisle definitely was, oozing with homesickness as she watched Indianapolis shrink far below—or maybe it was the guy two rows back, replaying an argument again and again in his head—or maybe the other two hundred fucking people stuffing the plane with their boredom and their tiredness.

You push your knee into Sam’s. He pushes back.

After a tense beat, you whisper to him over the chatter of passengers, “Too many people. There’s no way I can narrow it down to one person—not unless they’re right in front of me.” Sam’s gaze turns expectantly to Dean, who’s still in full-on dissociation mode. He’d spent the whole boarding process humming tracks from St. Anger, and you knew he was really going through it, purely because he’d stopped and restarted Some Kind of Monster three different times now. Poor guy.

One of the things that made the three of you such a natural team was your ability to rotate leadership. In moments like these, with Dean way too wigged out to take charge, you’d usually step into his shoes without much trouble. But Sam has fielded your fainting spells and panic attacks all week, so he’s already got a pep-talk prepared for the two of you.

“...Okay.” Sam checks his watch. His voice still has that touch of classic Sam softness, probably because he knows how hard this is going to sound: “Stay focused. We got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, figure out who it’s possessing, and perform a full-on exorcism.” You’re about to make a comment about how blissfully easy he makes things seem, but Dean beats you to it. He snipes, “Yeah, on a crowded plane. That’s gonna be easy.”

You snap one of your bracelets against your wrist a few times, thinking. “Who would it want to possess?”

This gets Dean’s head in the game. Easily, he recites: “It’s usually somebody with some sort’a weakness, y’know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or emotional distress.”

As he explains this, you unlatch Dean’s claws from their death-grip on your arm and give the top of his hand a little soothing pat. Your gaze remains fixed on the pattern of the seat in front of you. “For a regular demon, maybe. This thing might not even need a chink. It wants maximum damage here—so maybe it’d go for the pilot?”

This is not a soothing thought. Checking his watch again, Sam suggests, “Or Amanda… Surviving a crash like that? I’d be pretty messed up if I was her. We should check both.”

You’re happy to spend the little time you have left wisely, so you’re quick to push out of your seat and get moving. Dean puts on a brave face and follows your lead. There are only two ends of the plane to check—this thing can’t hide forever. Just when you start to do an awkward side-shuffle to nudge Dean out into the aisle with your hip, the whole plane thrashes top to bottom, and there he goes, dropping like a rock back into his seat. His spike of panic is so genuine that you end up dropping with him.

“Come on!” Dean hisses through his teeth. “That can’t be normal!”

You and Sam immediately get to shushing and soothing him, and suddenly you understand how married couples feel when their kid starts crying on a flight. Shifty eyes in other seats pretend they’re not glaring at you. Summoning as much strength as you can to share with him, you drop a hand on Dean’s shoulder and order: “Breathe, dude. You’re okay.”

“I’m not fuckin’ four,” Dean whisper-shouts, sulking flat back into his seat.

“She’s right,” Sam whispers back. Should it be worrying you how much he’s been agreeing with you lately? Stern, he says, “Listen—if you’re panicked, you’re wide open to possession. So you need to calm yourself down. Right now.”

A weird part of you is grateful that Dean is having a rough go of it, because it’s giving you something to focus on. You’re usually pretty good with planes. But for a minute there, when the turbulence had hit, your mind had defaulted to oh shit, this is real, we’re all going to die. A slideshow of the last crash had blitzed through your thoughts. Thoughts that had nothing to do with the anxiety you were picking up from Dean.

You know you despise it when Dean uses his Parent Voice on you, so you try not to use it on him when you urge, “C’mon. I think Amanda’s in the back of the plane. I’ll check up front.”

Dean gives an unconvinced, “I’ll go talk to her,” then makes grabby hands at Sam’s pockets, “pass me one of the hand-sanitizers. Fuckin’ uh, pumpkin latte—don’t gimme that face, _____, not all of us can tell with just a look. What if it’s in her?”

“It’s a bit more than a look—” you begin to clarify, but Sam stops your back and forth with a shake of his head. He pulls out the little orange plastic container of your pumpkin cupcake holy water and passes it to Dean.

“We should try to conserve what we got,” he warns, passing you the only other weapon against the demon (marshmallow pumpkin latte). “Go more subtle—if she’s possessed, she’ll flinch at the name of god.”

Now that you’re running out of both time and options, the second Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out into the aisle on coltish legs, you take the opening and bolt out of your cramped middle seat. Anything you can do to get closer to finding this thing will make you feel loads better.

You start down the aisle. As the chatter of the boys fades into the all-encompassing thrum of the plane behind you, you take slow unhurried steps past each row of seats, soaking up what you can get. A girl listens to music in her headphones. A businessman clicks away at his laptop. Each of them you comb over with your powers, and each pass feels like scooping your hand into a bowl of tacks and waiting to get stabbed.

They’ll rip into your mind… take you apart if they have to, Mom had said. You waited for that moment, steeling your nerves the closer you came to the cockpit. If the demon’s on this side of the plane, and it sensed you, would it immediately press into your mind? Would just being near you snap its presence to you like a magnet? You didn’t like the mental feeling that gave you; the stark secret-seeking white of your Gift clashing with the black choking smoke that’d been chasing you all week. When you spoke to a spirit through your Gift, it felt like you were touching fingertips through a curtain. Would it be like that? Would this demon press its claws through the veil and dig around for something to tear, to grab?

The other flight attendant on board pushes past you with her cart, leaving no barrier between you and the cockpit. Behind you, bobbing in a sea of blurry people, your Gift could distinctly make out Sam (practicing the exorcism) and Dean (talking to Amanda). You’re just a few paces from the front exit of the plane when a man emerges from the bathroom cabin, and—

He twists to meet eyes with you. Expecting you.

You’re flashed a clever, haunting smile, then—a set of glossy void-black eyes.

You wait for it. And in its own way, the presence of the demon does overpower you, bringing the heavy-as-the-sky, parasitic feeling from your visions into the real world. For a long ringing moment, you are blasted with dark leeching power hot enough to singe the entire front of your body—like a nuclear bomb had dropped down just a few steps from you. It is spidery and vicious and knowing and awful—

…but the conquering sensation never comes. Beth had said that it would root into your mind, that just feeling it with your Gift, as you are right now, would tear you to pieces. Yet all that really happens is you staring at it and it staring at you, before it shoulders its way through the cockpit door and disappears inside. The only thing you really experience is the shock of seeing it in somebody, puppeting around a person with dreams and thoughts and memories.

For a few moments, you suck down heaving breaths through your nose and stare at the closed door.

Something about it nagged at you. Besides the obvious—how different it felt compared to what your mother had described—you swear you felt something else, some ringing sense of strangeness that you just couldn’t put your finger on. Maybe it was the fact that you’d just made eye contact with a real creature of hell, an evil spirit, whatever. But you made eye contact with evil spirits all the time. This was… closer to home than that. Underneath the writhing mass of bloody, black ink that made up the demon, your Gift had recognized something unimaginably familiar.

Sensing the demon in person had reminded you of… of a sensory memory, almost. It smelled like… warm static. The old staticy TV in your house, the ancient one that sat square and unattractively on your Mom’s slanting sideboard in the living room. You remembered her crystal ashtray propped up on the top, the fizzy sound the TV made when you’d shut it off…

On the nights when it was just you and Sam home, and the house felt so big and empty that the silence throbbed in your ears, the two of you would set up a fort in front of that TV and watch old horror movies well past your bedtime. The silly effects and the dated acting were easy to tease together. You’d much rather watch movies on the newer screen in your Mom’s room, but for whatever reason, Sam insisted on the clunker in your living room.

Y’wanna know somethin’ cool? He’d asked you once, running a finger through the film of static bubbling on the surface of the glass. A little bit of the static in TVs is actually radiation leftover from the Big Bang. How weird is that? Something so old and powerful, picked up by this random piece of junk.

Sam always crashed first, leaving you alone with the white static the TV defaulted to when the movie ended. You could vividly remember how your shoulders bumped against the hard floor through the thin sleeping bag the two of you had shared—how Sam’s warmth had seeped into your shirt where he was curled up behind you, his soft sleepy breaths tickling your hair.

When you’d pulled his arm around your waist to snuggle, a spark of static had shocked you through his touch. When you’d closed your eyes and tried to go to sleep, you swore that the ancient, cosmic hum of the static in the TV ebbed and flowed at the same exact time as Sam’s breath.

In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh. Crackling as he breathed.

It wasn’t the demon you were scared of anymore. The ancient, ever-present sting of static you’d felt deep down inside it… that scared you a million, a billion times more, because—

You felt that static every time you felt Sam.

It’s like trying to describe the smell of your childhood home.

Logically, you know your house must smell like something. But when you’re in one place long enough your brain filters it out as background noise, and it becomes something you can only notice after a long time away.

You’d known Sam since you were in diapers. Back then, the meager threads of your Gift were already taking him in and absorbing him into your memory. Eventually, you felt him so often that all the pain and optimism in his core, all the stuff that made Sam himself, had smoothed out into warm, familiar background noise to your Gift.

Then he’d left for Stanford. Four years passed, and the only exposure your Gift had to him was the flimsy thread stretched two thousand miles down to California. Because it’d been so long since you’d sensed him in person, hugging him outside his apartment had been like stepping into your home after a long time away—for a brief moment, the filter over your psychic perceptions of him had lifted. You’d sensed for the first time what had always been there, buried deep. The Static.

At the time, you’d gotten so swept up in Sam, Dean, and the adventure of finding their Dad, that it was easy to get sidetracked. Things came up. You got used to Sam again, and his Static faded to background noise.

Until you’d felt that demon with your Gift.

A demon. A creation of Lucifer. You’d always remember what Sam felt like—you’d never forget the smell of home—but in one of them?

Your mind whirls with so many questions that it flat-out pops, failing you. Pulled along on a cloud of white noise, you somehow manage to turn away from the cockpit and start back down the aisle. The demon is possessing the pilot. You have forty minutes, less than, to exorcize it and save the two hundred people on this flight. These are all truths floating around in your head, but no matter how much you try to circle back to one, the static of the demon overcomes you again.

Static. You think of Sam, the crackle of his soft raspy voice through the phone. Your heart is pounding in your ears, thudding away in your chest like a piston. The static had burned in the demon, burned like busted speakers and smoking plane wreckage. Little pins all over your skin pressing in. The space you have until you make it to Sam’s seat seems to yawn, your footfalls sluggish and shivery. Why do they feel the same? Why does he feel the same? The static of the demon worms under your fizzing skin, bubbling, boiling—

You stop in front of Sam’s row, and he’s already looking at you when you get close. He asks you a question. You stare at him, the whole world filled with that awful roaring buzzing, the air tight and dessert dry in the back of your throat. Even though he’s right in front of you, you feel like you barely see him—just the vague burning outline of him in your powers.

Sam reaches out to grab your wrist, tugging it away from the long marks you’re viciously scratching into the flesh of your arm. The touch of his hand causes a literal static shock to jolt from his fingers to yours. You yelp in surprise, but it’s—

It’s different. There’s a similarity, definitely, between what you sensed in the demon and what’s always been in Sam… but his Static is hot chocolate warm and fuzzy and so good. Melt-in-your-mouth good. Your surroundings filter back in, and there are his soft, worried eyes looking up at you under his brow, and his big hand soothing over the irritated skin you’ve scratched raw. Sam. The same Sam he’s always been.

…Whatever it is, whatever weird connection you’ve just made, you’re sure there’s a lot more to it than Sam having something in common with a demon. Right?

Sam takes one look at you, your insane reaction, and your mysterious reappearance, then easily puts two and two together: “One of the pilots?”

“Co-pilot,” you tell him, and one of your absent-minded hands drifts up to scratch at your arm again.

And again, Sam fishes his fingers around your wrist and pulls it away. Now that you’ve noticed it, you can’t un-notice it. His touch makes your fingertips and the ends of your ears tingle, and not completely in the boy-crush way. In the psychic way.

He asks, “You gonna be okay? We got twenty-two minutes.”

That jolts you back to life. Twenty-two minutes until this plane is smoking ashes in a Pennsylvania cornfield. Though the last ten minutes have easily overcomplicated all twenty-four years of your life, you won’t have a life period if you don’t see this job through. When Dean returns from investigating a very un-possessed Amanda, he feels the exact same way.

Your resolve hardens, and you manage to give Sam an absent-minded smile. “I’ll be fine.”

There’s no time for arguing. Dean and Sam unanimously agree that the only possible place to exorcize the demon would be in the back, where Amanda is, since you can’t exactly jump the guy in the middle of economy. You don’t exactly like the idea of roping her into this, but Amanda’s the only one who could potentially lure that—thing to the rear of the plane. It is the world’s shittiest ambush. But by the time the three of you decide what to do, you’ve burned ten whole minutes on anxious chatter. A shitty ambush is the only plan you’ve got.

Dean starts down the aisle for the back of the plane. You stare at nothing for a beat, and only remember to get out of your seat when Sam nudges your elbow. He presses his lips together like he wants to ask you the million-dollar question (“Are you sure you’re okay?”), but there is literally no time. In a haze, you shuffle out of your seat after Dean and make a feeble attempt to get your head into gear. Sam does not make it easy. One of his broad hands brushes against the small of your back as you both squeeze out of the row, and you feel like you’ve just gone down one of those static-charged plastic playground slides.

Your Gift is exaggerating it. It has to be, right? Making big connections out of little things, picking at a fresh bruise. For weeks, you’ve been crammed into a little car with Sam, into teeny motel beds with him with no room between you. Why hadn’t you felt it? Why now? Not when you were four, napping in the same bed after playtime—not when you were twelve, and Sam was the first person outside your family that your Gift had connected with. Had it always been there, living inside him? Had you missed it?

You reach the back of the plane. Amanda is there, a pale, blonde flight attendant straight out of a commercial. You are dully aware that you have twelve minutes left before the demon makes its move, always on the forty-minute mark (...and you don’t like the line suddenly drawn between Sam and such an old, biblically evil thing).

The boys talk. A familiar conversation occurs over your head, which might be why it’s easy for you to tune out. Your mind returns again to thoughts of Sam, so intense and loud in your head that it all fizzles out to nothing, and you’re left standing there with the air pressure making your ears ring. Sam. The demon. It’s stupid and intangible and you’d have no fucking clue how to explain it out loud, but your Gift is made to find the truth. Something inside that demon exists in Sam, too. Something.

You try to reassure yourself that maybe, just this once, your Gift is wrong. Maybe this is the demon getting into your mind—learning your deepest fears and bringing them to life.

Sure enough, Dean’s charm and Sam’s earnest face must win Amanda over, because she flits out of the back room like a frightened bird. The boys peer through the curtain to watch her go, the two of them as still and sharp-eared as twin watchdogs. You’re slapped back to life by the sudden tension in the room, and quickly scuttle up behind them. Right. Amanda’s getting the co-pilot. These next ten minutes will determine the rest of your life.

In the same beat, you and Dean ready your holy water, and Sam gets the written exorcism from their dad’s journal out in front of him. There’s no need for the three of you to say a word. An understanding passes between each of you, hammered in from years of hunting as a team. Sam slides up next to you and Dean gives you a firm nod, squashing your last wisps of fear. You’re here to do a damn job.

A man’s voice floats toward the closed curtain to the back room, followed not-so-closely by Amanda’s. You’re glad she’s not the first one into the room—because Dean instantly slams a fist into their face.

The co-pilot—or really, the thing inside him—goes sprawling. You’ve got a strip of duct tape bridled over his mouth before he even fully collides with you, and for the blissful moment you have him pinned, Dean gets another fierce hit in.

While he’s still stunned, you whip the co-pilot to the grated metal floor. Dean clambers on top of him and keeps him there with a firm fist twisted in his rumpled button-up.

Amanda panics, “W-what are you doing? Y-you said you we-were gonna talk to him—!”

“We are gonna talk to him,” Dean grits.

Then, you’re hosing him down with holy water, splashing it brutally in the man’s pain-twisted face. Your gut clenches with empathy. Did the demon leave his body already? You’re terrified for a moment that you got the wrong guy… until you smell the smoke. It’s not just sulfur, but full-on dead body bloat, steaming up from the big black boils that spring up where the holy water hits skin. You get a mouth and noseful vile enough to make you gag. This thing fighting you? This is definitely not a man.

Amanda watches the demon’s skin sizzle, the usual terror and confusion on her face. “O-oh my god, what’s wrong with him?”

You pour all the psychic clarity and calmness into your voice when you whip around and tell her: “It’s going to be okay. Be calm, go outside the curtain, and don’t let anybody in. Can you do that, Amanda?”

You don’t stop to listen to her answer. Sam’s already tearing through the opening to the exorcism at ninety miles an hour, his pronunciation punchy and fatally clear. That had been one of the less exciting parts of the five-hour drive here; when Sam had run through it over and over, re-training himself. One misspoken word could get everyone on this plane killed.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

The demon thrashes viciously in your grip, twisting and contorting under Dean in ways the human body can’t bend. Bile rises in your throat as you hear a snap, then two, as the demon does everything it can to buck Dean off. By the time you go to stun it with another splash of holy water, it’s more of a dribble. That’s your first mistake.

Two people are not nearly enough to keep this thing down. It gets a hand loose that instantly sends Dean flying, and before you even see where he lands, it cranks your head all the way to the left in one vicious slap.

Your whole face is blasted with red, stinging pain. You go down hard, smashed sideways into the cramped wall.

The pain stuns you out of the headspace you built to distract yourself, and all at once the presence of the demon is thrust upon you. The black, molten psychic power of it crackles through your body, filling your nose and mouth with the same terror hanging in your visions all week. Until you realize— It fucking backhanded you.

Trying to see past the dots swimming in your vision, you mindlessly shove off the wall, snarling with rage. No fucking way.

And then it speaks (to Sam?), and in the fizzing noise of pressure in your ears you hear it promise, “I know what happened to your girlfriend!” The constant stream of Sam’s exorcism stops cold.

When the demon speaks again, its voice, a spectral twist of the co-pilot’s and something older, drooled with pleasure. “She died screaming,” it rasped, “Even now, she's burning.”

A lot happens in the next precious seconds. First, the little circular light flushed flat to the back cabin’s ceiling explodes. Just—bursts, in shock, spraying sparks and glass all over the little room. You’re stunned enough as it is getting hit in the face, so one more thing to fuck up your vision doesn’t help. But you heard what the demon said to Sam. Through the suffocating evil flooding your mind, you feel the sharp spike of hurt and rage and grief in your best friend—and that’s the precise moment when you decide that you’ve had e-fucking-nough.

These last few days have not been winners. And though you live a pretty shitty life with an impressive amount of shitty days, even before you got to Pennsylvania, your streak of bad luck had only just gotten started. This demon has screwed with your Gift on an unimaginable level. Your last few nights have been plagued with nightmares straight from hell, and your days haven’t been much better, riddled with useless visions that get more and more disconnected every time you faint. It made it even more obvious than usual that you’re deadweight for Sam and Dean. They had to handle your boiling water burns and your freakouts, not to mention your mood swings and your unhelpful visions.

The demon hurt Dean, which is enough to get your teeth grinding. And Sam—it had cut him much deeper.

You wanted to tear it apart. You wanted to reach into it the same way it had reached into you, dig in with your nails, and rip something out. Your mom’s words buzz in your head: contact, truth, lies, rip, apart. Rationally, you know you should listen to her warning. If just looking into its eyes has forever changed your view of the man you’ve loved since you were little, then looking deeper could kill you—scramble your mind. You know that. But beside the rage and exhaustion fizzing under your skin is this desperate need to know.

Demons are made of lies. What if it was lying about Sam? What if it had screwed with your Gift in some new way, tweaking the image of him in your mind? It had to be lying. The Static in him, as warm and as good as you swore it was—it came from something evil. Sam. The man you love, the boy you’d fallen in love with, his soft sleepy breaths as he lays on the floor beside your bed, his freckly arms swimming in his too-big sleeves. How could any part of him be evil? He couldn’t be. N-not your Sam. How could he ever have something like that inside him?

You need to be sure. Consequences be damned.

As the demon rears up to keep snarling in Sam’s face, you slap a hand over its forehead—reach in—and start ripping.

She died screaming.

Sam can’t pull a full breath in. The words burn through his body like a syringe of poison, spreading from limb to limb. The demon snarls up at him, its foamy spit hitting Sam’s face and its teeth snapping around Jess’s name—until.

_____’s hand seals over the demon’s face. The demon’s jaw snaps shut. There is a terrible hanging moment where Sam’s brain struggles to connect the touch to what she’s doing; she never, ever psychically connected with the full face of her palm tattoo. Even with her mom Sam knew she put up a barrier, reading Beth with the smooth back of her knuckles instead.

Shit. Another fresh shot of horror lances through him. What the hell is she doing to it?

The effect is instant. Whatever button _____ had just hit, it activates every horror-movie, Exorcist-level instinct in the demon’s body. Surprised yelps echo down the back of the plane as the lights violently flicker. In electrified, strobing flashes, Sam sees it. The co-pilot’s body is diagonal on the floor one moment, and then it’s arching its back three feet in the air, lurching up into ______’s palm like she’d hit it with a defibrillator. The demon floats up and stays up.

…Until Dean brings it smashing back to the floor again, throwing his weight on top of the co-pilot. He barks, “Sam!” Right. Whatever she’s doing to it, it’s the only working distraction they’ve got. Slapped back to focus, Sam stutters out where he left off: “...O-omnis congregatio et secta diabolica—” It’s a blessing that he makes it through the next lines of the exorcism. Sam pours all of his willpower into keeping his eyes on the stained notebook page it’s written on, no matter how many times his gut begs him to check on her. All he can do is have faith. This is what she does—when Dean’s not strong enough and Sam’s too weak, she finds a damn way, come hell or high water. Sam has always had endless faith in that. So when the whole plane gives that terrible shudder that he was expecting, and then tips, and tips, and tips into a full pitch forward, Sam grips that faith with both hands. The demon’s power ripples through the rest of the plane. Everything descends into chaos. Past the curtain, the lights go out in one silent burst, followed by the explosive, concussive screams of the passengers as the oxygen masks drop. Movies are unfortunately good at capturing this precise moment, but nothing could ever replicate the way Sam’s belly swoops as all five hundred tons of the plane heads straight for the ground. Sam and Dean both go flying, crashing sideways into the walls of the back cabin. The turbulence rips the journal from his hands, and of course, with their fucking luck, it goes skidding through the curtain and down the aisle to ricochet under the seats. “Grab it!” Dean screams.

Sam can’t hear him. He staggers into the open doorway of the back cabin, clutching the frame for dear life. A terrifying, unnatural howl whistles through the cabin, even louder than the wails of the passengers. Its wind flutters his hair around his face and sends luggage toppling out of the overhead bins. For a moment, Sam wonders if the plane’s been hit or the demon has done something—but no. It’s her. He flattens himself to the floor—or rather, gravity flattens him—crawling on his belly towards the shadow of the journal under the seats. The passengers sob and shriek. The air is singed with smoky fear, and riding that same fear, Sam surges ahead, lunging for the book where it’s lodged between tossed luggage. He has to twist to get his hands on it, and it’s then that he feels it.

Down the aisle behind him, the wind drags luggage and loose papers into the void-like darkness of the back cabin—where the great, cleansing, sweeping power of her is fighting the demon. Sam believes in what he’s seen; Sam believes in angels.

She’ll buy him enough time. He knows she will.

Sam’s hands don’t shake as he pries the journal open to the right page.

“Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus,” he shouts, and the words ring as clear and clean as a bell. The plane tries to toss him again, but Sam grits his teeth and persists, “audi nos!”

He waits. Sam sees it more than he hears it. Deep in the blackhole darkness of the plane’s cabin, something red and fiery flashes to life… flickers… and dies.

Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he feels the demon fizzle out. The heaviness in the air melts away. The lights, which Sam realizes had been snapping on and off, turn on for good. The hissing of the turbines spins to its normal hum. The plane swooshes back up with a slow coasting motion, then sets itself back on its peaceful forward track.

Gasps and sobs of relief chorus all around Sam, and sprawled in the middle of the aisle, he finds himself doing the same. Overhead, the pilot’s voice crackles reassurances over the intercom. As big wuffs of air cycle in and out of Sam, he waits for the moment for his heart to stop thumping, for the big “we won” moment to wash over him—but it never really does. It sits with him. For a long terrible moment, he is on the bed in his apartment in Palo Alto, Jessica’s blood boiling holes in his neck.

Even now, she’s still burning.

INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 5th, early morning.

Somehow, amid all the noise of swarming paramedics, feds, airline authorities, and stunned 424 passengers, Sam manages to remain lost in his own head. He clenches his jaw til’ his ears pop. How had it known about Jess?

The terminal is quickly packed. He’s not in airports often enough to know whether they should be packed at one in the morning, but he’s gonna guess not. It is all background noise for him. Passengers whirl past, getting cleared by cops to go home, and Dean subtly nudges the three of them into the leaving crowd. Sam has a vague notion that he’s putting one foot in front of the other, but everything feels distant and hazy. His neck blazes with that terrible tingling feeling, and he digs into it with his nails until Dean stops him.

“Sam,” Dean orders, dipping his head towards the direction of the parking lot. Apparently Sam isn’t cooperating well. “Let’s get the hell outta’ here.” For a brief moment, the awful burning feeling covering him in a fog parts long enough for him to think, and Sam realizes that he doesn’t know where _____ is. Panic lances through his chest so fast that he sobers all at once, and he opens his mouth to panic more—until he sees her, scrunched up behind Dean.

Well, clutching Dean. Left shameless by whatever she saw in that demon’s head, she’s got Dean’s hand and wrist in a deathgrip, trailing him so close that her shoes catch the heels of his boots. She does not look good. Her eyes are big and wide and she looks straight through everyone and everything, still tethered to the other dimension her powers live in. She’s got her elbows pressed into her ribs and her body bunched up so tight that Sam can almost feel her psychic overstimulation from where he’s standing.

“S’okay, sweetheart, ” Dean hushes, the first in a long, quiet string of reassurances.

Sam stares at her. Even if she’s in her own world, she must be able to feel it, ‘cause she physically leans out of his way. That should hurt him—should make him burn with sympathy—but instead, all he can think is, she would know. She would know if the demon was lying. Sam’s connected with her like that—there’s absolutely nothing to hide, even if you wanted to, so there’s no way she couldn’t see if the demon had been telling the truth.

The line of people seeping through security to get out of the airport slows to a stop, making way for the pack of paramedics hauling 424’s copilot away on a stretcher. The black boils from the holy water have left his body entirely.

He’ll ask her once. He has to try. Sam lets the two of them in front of him, Dean, then _____, almost pressing her face into Dean’s back. When they’re stopped in line, Sam lifts a hand to touch her—but stops himself, not wanting her to feel any worse. “_____,” Sam swallows, trying to keep his voice even. “What did you see? H-How did it know about Jessica?”

Before she even has the opportunity to answer, (if she can even hear him), Dean swings around to shoot Sam a pained look. “Dude, look at her. Now is not the fuckin’ time. Let her get a full breath in before you start with the interrogations, okay?”

Sam recoils. The gnashing, rebellious fire he usually saves for Dad pours out here, instead, and before Sam knows it he’s snarling back, “I can’t ask one question about my dead girlfriend?”

It lasts only for an instant, but Sam gets to watch in real time the way that hit lands. He’s aware that it’s deeply fucked up of him to enjoy throwing Jess in Dean’s face, but it is his backward, comforting reminder that she was a real person; not a four-year-long fever dream he invented to escape. No one says her name but him anymore. At least, when he talks about her, someone else is forced to feel something too.

Dean sets his jaw. He makes the mistake of trying to turn towards Sam, which _____ thinks is an attempt to shake her off—and she lets out this awful, hoarse sob sound that stops them both cold.

Sam feels like a rail spike has been driven through his chest. Dean gives him a look, then mercifully drops it.

Immediately, Dean’s wheeling her back in and soothing her. The angle at which she’s clinging to him is awkward for all three of them, so he endures her trembling and hitching little sobs as he peels off her hands and re-arranges them. Dean loops an arm around her back so he can stroke her shuddering shoulders, uttering, “S’okay, kiddo, s’ all over… ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you…”

And of course, because Sam can never exist in peace, he watches the way ______ drops all her weight onto Dean and feels his chest squeeze. Suddenly, he’s very aware of what four years have changed between her and his brother.

The rush back to the car is silent, but for _____’s little sniffling breathes. After making it out of the blistering lights of the chattering airport and out into the peaceful snowy parking lot, things calm down.

Four separate times Sam thinks about reaching out to comfort her. The Gift always leaves her freezing cold, and early December in Indiana on top of that has her making audible little shivering sounds as they walk. Sam’s boiling under his coat. He unzips it, then zips it up again, unsure if she’d even want it. Dean gets her in the car and puts a warm blanket around her before Sam can get over his indecision.

They just saved two hundred people. In hindsight, that’s a massive win. Maybe if the demon hadn’t said what it’d said, and maybe if it hadn’t reduced her to this, Sam could celebrate. Seeing her so messed up always throws him. Less than an hour ago, she was the powerful psychic that used to have Dad clutching his telepathy-blocking charm under his shirt.

Sam scrubs his hand down his face, staring blankly at the trembling lump of blanket lying across the backseat. Now, she’s… whatever she saw in that demon.

Dean tucks her feet up onto the seat, then nudges the door closed with his hip. Sam stares past him, through him, at her silhouette in the Impala’s dark glass, because that’s somehow easier than looking at Dean.

The smattering of snow growing on the asphalt makes the whole world sound muffled. Sam feels like he’s talking to empty air when he croaks, “It knew about Jessica.”

“Sam,” Dean calls, softer this time. Asking for Sam to look at him. When he manages to heave his head up, Dean’s face is firm and reassuring. “These things—they read minds. They lie, just like Beth said. That’s all it was. Don’t let that thing get into your head, okay?”

Sam forces himself to nod. They both spare the shaking shape in the backseat one more look, then Dean’s rounding the car for the driver’s seat, and Sam’s sliding in next to him without another word.

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 5th, night.

Green. It had to be the ugliest color a motel room could be, Sam thought as he stared at the empty room. The walls were this sad limey green color that managed to look awful even in the dark, some parts made even limey-er by the huge neon green vacancy sign right outside their window. Their room was parked right next to it, so there was no escaping the sign even with the curtains pulled shut.

You and Dean, who were positioned right under the ugly green light, had somehow managed to fall asleep anyway. The only sound in the whole world was your soft breathing across the room and the crackle of the ancient TV.

Right now, it was playing a rerun of some televangelist in a big shiny white suit. He paced the screen on mute as Sam watched, curled on his side, laying diagonal to face the screen. Nightmares were so common for him now that the hardest part of the battle was getting to sleep in the first place. His strategy was to get so bored and so tired that his body would simply have nothing else to do but crash. Bored was the key word—Sam had tried reading, sudoku, and counting cars as they whisked by, but all of that occupied his mind too much to work. Tonight was another night where his mind was just too full to sleep.

He hoped Dean was right. He prayed that the demon had just been lying, lips pressed to the cross he kept under his shirt. Most days, Sam dropped into bed and sent off a brief prayer before the fight for sleep began. Tonight, though—tonight was one of those nights where he clasped his cross in both hands and poured his heart out. Sam prayed for his brother, his Dad, and for you, like usual, pleading for protection and strength. Sam prayed for Jessica, too.

(But never for her forgiveness—he knew he didn’t deserve that).

When Sam had first started getting comfortable with prayer, he’d always worried that he was being greedy or selfish by asking for so much. Health, food, lunch money, for Dad and Dean to get home okay. Now, it’s a natural comfort to him. To open yourself up to something higher than you, to give up your pride and ask for help—that is a mark of holiness. Goodness. Sam closes out his prayers and feels clean.

Across the room, Sam hears the covers in the opposite bed shift. He squints sleepy eyes at your silhouette, and even sluggish and drained, the shifting colors from the TV and the vacancy sign illuminate you like something not entirely from this world.

You pad over to his bedside. A soft, ice-cold hand shakes his arm. When you get up close and realize Sam’s awake, you scuttle back in surprise. “Uh.”

Sam shoves his face into his pillow. With his mind still on Jess, it’s hard for him to look at you right now. “What is it?”

It’s funny. From the moment you got off flight 424, you’d been glued to Dean’s side. Sam had kept his teeth pressed together through the entire thing, watching from a distance as you reached for Dean, spoke to Dean, took the food Dean gave you. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d figure you were avoiding him. Now you’ve decided you want something from him?

The second you touch his arm, every wisp of jealousy in Sam dries up. Not at all in the mood to be touched, he squirms out from under your hand and hoarsely repeats, “What?” You speak to him for the first time in hours. You sound rough and broken, and the edge of that awful sob from earlier today threatens to tip into your voice. “Can I…?”

Sam keeps his face planted in the pillow. At first he’s unsure what you’re even asking for—until you drop a hand on the mattress and he feels your weight tilt closer, wanting to… to lay with him. Like when you were little. When you share beds on the road, there’s often space left between you. That’s not what you’re asking for. If that’s what you wanted right now, you’d be in Dean’s bed.

The soft, choked little voice he can’t resist begs, “I just need to feel you.”

The last sliver of guilt and self-loathing that Sam has been holding onto instantly slips out of his grasp, hearing that. For the millionth time since this morning, he’s reminded of how awful he was to you. You’d been brought to the brink with your powers in a way they hadn’t seen in years, and Sam chose that precise moment to freak out. He wished he’d been better to you. Maybe he can’t pray for Jess’s forgiveness, but he can work to earn yours now.

Sam shuffles back on the mattress and opens the covers for you. “C’mere.”

As quiet as a mouse, you duck under his arm and slip under the covers. Sam immediately realizes that he should’ve fucking braced himself or something, because holy shit, you are so close. He accidentally gave you very little room in the already small bed. To keep from tumbling off the mattress and onto the questionable carpet, you reasonably and logically slot right up against him, your back against his chest and your heads on the same pillow. Holy shit, he did not think this through. Sam has very few gentlemanly places to lay his arm. And even if he found one, your icy cold hand picks up his warm one and—right, okay, you take it and wrap it right around your middle. That’s fine too. Cool. Awesome.

Okay. Forgetting every way he could sabotage this for himself for just a moment, Sam realizes that he missed this. God, he missed it so much. You wiggle back into his body and Sam gives you a big, indulgent squeeze around the tummy, earning this watery little sigh that makes his already racing heart zing out into orbit. Friendly snuggling became a lot less friendly when you were pushing seventeen instead of nine, so Sam hasn’t allowed himself to properly, um… cuddle you… in ages.

That isn’t even the best part. That little squeeze makes him realize just how pleasantly cold you are, a wonderful ice cube in blazing hot soup. Sam’s practically cooking under the covers—and that must be perfect for you and your chilly hands, because you make the same pitiful happy noise that Sam does as you get comfortable against each other.

Maybe if this were any other moment, after any other day, that would be something you might laugh about together. Instead, Sam’s prayers are filled with you and your incredible burden. He hesitates to go all in and hold you like he wants to… until your breath makes that tight, hitching sound again, and Sam’s sure you’re holding back tears. Screw it, Sam thinks. He’ll take care of you this time. Sam presses his face into your hair and entwines your hands on your belly, unsure of what to say and yet wanting to say so much. Dean can’t hold you like this—this is something you only want from Sam.

You both go still. Sam feels you hold your breath. His legs are itching to shift under the covers and your hand awkwardly holds his, the two of you afraid to disturb the magic.

Your thumb slowly caresses along the flat side of his hand. His heart leaps into his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to relax. You need this. Finally, it’s his turn to comfort you.

Sam swallows hard. There’s no way you can’t feel his heart thudding away, inches from popping clean out of his chest. Neither of you are stupid. If Dean were to wake up, you know exactly what this would look like to him—to the cleaning lady, to the strangers out on the street. But right now, in this frozen moment, there’s no one awake in the world but the two of you and the TV. It is so, so wrong. But when you touch him, Sam feels clean.

Bit by bit, you adjust to one another. Your breath syncs up. The whole time, your eyes never move from the TV, but if Sam focusses he swears something washes over him—that same great, sweeping, cleansing power from the plane, as light as moth wings on his skin. He has to bite back his smile. If you did that to anyone else, they’d find you creepy as hell.

After what feels like forever, you plainly croak, “It was lying about her. It was made of lies.”

That hits Sam like a slap to the face. That’s… yeah. That sounds right. He absorbs the impact as best he can, because although his faith was thin, Sam trusted Dean’s word and he trusts yours, too. There’s—so much that he feels about that, but he doesn’t want any more of his grief to overwhelm your Gift. Sam’s not naive. No matter how good of a person you are, no matter how considerate and understanding and empathetic you can be, Sam knows that talking about Jessica brings you some level of pain. It hurts him, too. And he has zero clue where that conversation would even begin, so he stores his shame and his loss and gives a shaky nod.

Instead, Sam asks, “...What did you see? When you looked into its head?”

Right. Cause’ that was such a better question to ask her, Sam.

You go silent. It’s a weighty, knowing silence, one that chokes the whole room. Sam readies himself for whatever you’re about to share with him. Admittedly, he’s curious. When the Gift was something new in your life, Sam used to pile on question after question about what the world felt like to you. ‘What does it feel like when Dean’s happy?’ A car motor turning on. ‘What does my happiness feel like?’ Dimples and a mystery being solved. ‘You’re joking.’ Not even a little. It fascinated Sam—how does a demon feel in comparison to a regular spirit?

“...It was just an evil spirit, Sammy,” you dismiss. “That’s all.”

Sam highly doubts that’s true. If it was just a spirit, then why did it screw with you so deeply? What had you seen in its head that had scared you? You, of all people, who was built for this? He knows there’s something more here, but after this week and all the ways you’ve fought to avoid being a burden, the fact that you’d crawl to Sam for comfort is a sign of surrender. You’ve given up. Clearly, you don’t want to talk about it. Sam isn’t going to push you. God knows he’s done that enough.

When Sam doesn’t push you, you shudder out a wet sigh and pick up his hand. At this point, Sam expects you in this state to do something weird—and sure enough, you do. You pick up Sam’s hand and you just stare at it. Just stare. Your thumb presses into the meat of his palm, almost like you’re looking for something. Feeling him. Sam’s heart gives another pathetic, noticeable throb. Feeling him and being close to him is, after everything, still a source of comfort for you. His cheeks burn.

Just to fill the silence, Sam whispers, “I’ve lost a lot of my calluses.”

Per usual, his little creep says nothing. You’re still feeling him. Your other hand comes up to investigate too, adding even more soft gentle touching to Sam’s already overloaded system. Your thumbs press into the center of his palm (reading it, maybe?), then over each bump, confirming for yourself that Sam’s real.

Maybe he’d be a bit more resilient if you were doing this to him in a crowded diner or a rowdy college party. Instead, Sam can feel the rise and fall of your breath through your thin shirt, and it’s the only sound in the dead world besides the buzzing static on the TV.

Your gaze turns to the TV. The fingers caressing his hand stop cold.

Sam says your name. He can feel your heart thud thud thudding deep in your chest, like rabbit’s feet hitting snow.

Again, absorbed completely in your own task, you don’t answer him. You roll over very suddenly under the covers. Sam hopes for a minute that being face to face with you will give him some answers, but the flash of your face he sees only serves to scare the shit out of him. You give him no time to process before you’re full-body hugging him, shoving a hand between his side and the mattress and fisting one in his shirt to bodily haul him against you. Sam sputters out a sharp noise and awkwardly slopes his hands down your back. The sudden intimacy gives him a whole world of shameful butterflies and freaks him out enough, but…

You looked terrified. The same bone-deep horror you had on your face after you saw the demon in person—when you trudged up to Sam with those haunting Proctor eyes, staring straight through him and right at his future. What had you seen in that demon?

Sam tries to speak, but you talk over him, just as haunted as you’d been on that plane.

“I love you. So much, Sam. You know that?”

It’s not a sweet, reminiscent kind of question. It is a genuine, unironic, please-tell-me-the-truth, You know that?

Sam’s brain stalls. “...Yeah. O-Of course.”

In case that wasn’t worrying enough, your hands needily grasp at his back, refusing to let Sam go as you duck your face into his shoulder. Sam can feel your entire body trembling from head to toe, can feel your hot breath on his neck choking back tears. “You’re a good person,” you tell him, insisting. “The best to me.”

“That’s—”

“I can feel it, okay?” You snap. One of your hands slips up his chest to smooth over Sam’s heart, and you squeeze him against you, promising, “Here. Right here.”

…Okay. Consider him officially freaked out. Sam manages an unconvinced, “...Thank you.”

You’re so wound up that you’re gritting your teeth, digging your nails into his shirt and clawing him as close as possible. This has to be an effect of what you saw. Which is strange, because that… whatever that was, did not feel like psychic possession or a psychic panic attack or any kind of psychic anything. It felt like you, trying to convince Sam that he’s a good person. It strikes a cold, dark chord somewhere deep within him that he doesn’t like. You’re just… you’re just reacting to what the demon showed you. You’re overwhelmed from stretching your Gift so thin. T-that’s. Yeah. Regardless, you’re scared. You need him. That, at least, is something he can work with.

“Shh,” Sam coos. He rubs a warm hand from the base of your scalp all the way down your back, then up, and back again, repeating the soothing motion until his arm goes numb. “You’re tired. Let’s go to sleep.”

You mumble something non-committal under your breath.

Sam hushes you, blindly reaching for comforting things to say. “S’ okay. You’re okay, baby. You can fall asleep on me.”

Maybe the demon showed you visions of Sam getting hurt. Something. That would explain this, maybe. He fixates on it, purely because it’s a problem in front of him that is much easier to think about than how scared he is for you, and worse, how much he loves this. Being your person. It’s a stupid, selfish thought to have in a moment like this, but—Sam wishes he could take care of you like this all the time.

As your frantic breathing smooths out into a clear, easy in-and-out, Sam wonders, wherever Jess is, what she would think if she saw this.

He closes his eyes and tries to steady his own breathing, the TV still crackling away on the dresser.

In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh.

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydennyy @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #pythia #sam winchester imagine #supernatural rewrite

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foreverwayward · 9 months

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Hello, Wayward Hearts fans!

Many of you know that I have talked about tweaking the series now that I actually know how to actually write and string together a story. The series has now been renamed to "Supernatural: The Series Rewrite", so keep your eyes peeled for the new masterlist that will be coming out. Please note that a lot will be the same, but I will be making some changes to the storyline, make it a little more cannon, and edit any of the horrible punctuation or writing I had done previously.

I had a hard time tagging a lot of people--I'm sure a bunch of y'all have left or changed your username. If you want to be added or removed from the list, please let me know :)

Sam, Dean, and Riley are back on the road. Chapter 1 will be out this weekend!

Here we go!

Series Taglist: @waywardmoeyy @maraudingmeme @arctusluna @salt-n-burn-em-all @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away-blog @becs-bunker @squirrelnotsam @x-waywardaf-x @death-unbecomes-you @themoonandotherslikeit @wndamaximov @flamencodiva @aaspiringhero @gemini0410 @love-nakamura @klinenovakwinchester @cemmia @deans-baby-momma @paintballkid711 @da5haexowin @a-manduhhhhh @winchestergirl82 @spnbaby-67 @sandycub @bunnybaby121115 @erins-culinary-service @lauravic @moonxdance @knights0fkylo @local-anxious-ace @screechingartisancashbailiff @wiredandwayward @the-children-of-the-stars @rosey1981 @mylovelydame21 @titty-teetee @walkingchemicalfire @saaamsayshi @fandom-princess-forevermore @fangirlxwritesx67 @itsafreakingtouque @teddybeardoctorr @janndishsstuff @irelandsharpie @dracosassismine @accioromancff @shira82828 @lostinwonderland314 @teresa-67 @suckmyapplejacks @winchestergatina @ravennnnwinch @winchestersistertho @superdoclock42 @imescullen @cra-zy-vib-es1999 @negansnympho89 @yvonneeeee

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bored-writer101 · 1 year

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Sam Winchester X Reader|Supernatural Rewrite|1.Pilot

A/N: well, the time has finally come. i’m finally posting my supernatural rewrite😂 huge shoutout to @uncouth-the-fifth for inspiring me (she also has a supernatural rewrite that is absolutely phenomenal that you guys should definitely go check out). i’ve been trying to start a rewrite basically ever since i started writing fanfic for this show, but it has never worked out. but i’ve finally figured it out! (kinda lol, i’m doing my best😂😭). i hope you all enjoy! (i wrote this with female reader in mind but i use gender neutral pronouns) {also here’s a supernatural themed spotify playlist if y’all want a soundtrack while you listen <3}

Words: 13,673

Series Masterlist

(image from pinterest)

SIOUX FALLS, SOUTH DAKOTA | October 31st, 2005

"Dad? Are you okay? Dad, please wake up! Dad!"

You jolted upright in bed, panting as you tried to catch your breath and calm yourself down. You didn't get much of a chance to do that though. Your phone began to ring loudly from your bedside table, making you flinch. You reached out and fumbled around in the darkness for a few seconds before your fingers wrapped around the cold metal. You used your thumb to flip it open and held it up to your ear.

"Hello?" you could hear the shake in your own voice.

"Are you alright? Did I call at a bad time?" you immediately recognized the voice on the other end.

"I'm alright, Dean. I just had a nightmare, that's all."

"The usual one?"

"Mhm," you hummed in response.

"Well, we can do all our usual remedies after I pick you up," you could hear in his voice that he had a huge grin on his face.

"What? I thought you were in New Orleans?"

"I was. I had been waitin' on my dad, but he never showed. I haven't been able to get a hold of him for a few weeks," Dean told you.

"So? There were plenty of times that we weren't able to get a hold of him on a hunt when we were kids," you said, skeptical that John was truly missing.

John had always been one to drink a few too many in celebration of a hunt well done. You, Sam, and Dean would think something terrible had happened to him, but he would eventually stumble back in a few weeks later. The longest he had left the three of you alone was almost three months. Bobby stopped letting John take you on hunts after he found out about that.

"This is different. Somethin's happened, somethin' bad, if he's not dead already. I can feel it."

"Are you sure he's not just out on another bender?" you asked, disbelief evident in your tone.

"I'm sure, Y/N. I can explain more after I pick you up. Please, I need you to trust me on this," Dean pleaded through the phone.

You were hesitant to say yes. Usually you'd hop at the chance to go on a hunt with Dean, but this was different. You could hear in his voice that Dean believed that John was missing, and that he was worried. You trusted Dean, but you didn't trust his father. It could be another one of his 'hunter trials' to test if you were worthy to be hunters. He hadn't orchestrated one of those in a long time, but maybe that meant you were due for another one.

"Y/N? You still there?" Dean asked when you didn't respond.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm still here. Just thinkin'."

"Ya' really gotta think that hard about it?"

There was another moment of silence while you desperately tried and failed to find the words. You had so many thoughts swirling in your mind that you didn't even know where to start. Before you could complain that you had just woken up, Dean's voice was in your ear again.

"Come on, Y/N," he was not helping you think.

"Fine! I'll come with you," you relented, giving in to the sad puppy dog eyes you couldn't see, but you knew he was doing.

"Well, good... Because I'm only an hour and a half away," you heard him chuckle, and you decided you were going to smack him upside the head when he got here.

"And what were you gonna do if I said no?" you questioned.

"Kidnap you. Obviously."

"Like I'd let you."

"Whatever you say, kid," he said with a chuckle. "Just be packed and ready, alright?"

"Whatever you say, boss," you mocked him playfully, "See you when you get here."

"See you when I get there," he said, ignoring your teasing.

You heard the click of the call ending, then silence. You were frozen in place at first, and the memories of your nightmare came flooding back; your father's eyes closing and never opening again... You shook your head free of the image before finally dropping your hand holding the phone into your lap. The light from the still open screen hurt your eyes as they tried to adjust to the sudden light. You sat there for a few more seconds before pushing the covers off and forcing yourself out of bed. You got dressed in comfy clothes, knowing that you'd be spending a lot of time curled up in the passenger seat of the impala.

You tried to be quiet as you crept around the house, but you should have known better than to try and sneak around a hunter's home. You were leaned down in front of the open fridge, thinking of what to write on the 'see you later' note you were going to leave behind, when you heard someone clear their throat. You stood up straight and spun around quickly to face them. Bobby had his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you with a deep frown, and furrowed brows that made the creases in his forehead all too prominent.

"Good morning?" you said hesitantly.

"Where are you going?" Bobby asked; he had never been one for nuance.

"Um, out on a hunt," you told him with a little more confidence than before.

Even though you were twenty three, Bobby's gaze made you feel like you were sixteen again. It made you feel as if you were sneaking out to meet Sam and Dean for a late night joyride in whatever rust bucket that Dean had found(hot wired). You knew Bobby wasn't going to stop you from going, but you still didn't want to piss him off before you left. You weren't sure when you'd be back.

"Dean picking you up?" he asked, his tone a bit softer than before, but he was still frowning.

You nodded at his question, "he should be here soon."

"Alright, well, just promise me you'll be careful. And that you won't let Dean talk you into anything stupid," Bobby wagged his pointer finger at you as he said this.

"I'm always careful," you told him, even if that wasn't entirely truthful, but you'd say anything to reassure Bobby you'd be alright; the last thing you wanted him to do was worry his head off, "also I'm usually the one talking Dean out of doing anything stupid," this statement had a little more truth to it.

Bobby didn't look convinced. Not that he ever did, but you didn't want to leave him annoyed with you. You took a couple steps forward and wrapped your arms around him in a sudden hug. It didn't take long before Bobby hugged you back, squeezing you tight.

"I love you, dad. I'll be back before you know it."

Bobby sighed deeply, "I love you too, kiddo," he said before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

Bobby wasn't your biological father, but he had stepped up and been your dad for over a decade. Any other day, he would have scolded you for calling him dad. He would tell you it isn't fair to your father, that you shouldn't try to forget or replace him. You always reassured him you would never forget though. What you don't tell him is that you'll never be able to forget the image of father dying in your arms as you beg for him to keep his eyes open. Before you could dwell on the dark memory for too long, you heard a short honk of a car horn outside. You pulled away and stood up straight in front of Bobby, raising a brow at him as if to silently ask, 'you gonna be alright?'

"Just go. Don't forget to call every once in a while so I know you're still alive" Bobby gestured toward the door.

"I will," you said as you walked to the front door, picking your duffel bag up off the floor, "bye, Bobby," you turned and waved to him with a smile, opting to not call him dad this time.

"Bye, Y/N," he waved back halfheartedly.

You turned back and headed out the front door, a rush of cold air biting at your exposed skin. If you were gone long enough, there would surely be a thick blanket of snow covering the junk yard by the time you got back. You noticed the impala in the driveway before looking up at the sky. You shut the door behind you as you admired the fiery shades of red and orange that were painted across the sky by the sunrise. You admired it for a moment before stepping down the porch steps. The gravel crunched under your boots as you walked over to the passenger side of the impala. You opened the back door and threw duffel bag in before getting into the passenger seat.

"Morning," you said to Dean once you had plopped down.

"Mornin'," he replied, wasting no time in pulling out of the driveway and back onto the road, gravel crunching loudly under the tires all the while, "I brought you some breakfast," he pointed to the fast food bag sitting on the seat next to you.

"Thanks," you mumbled as you grabbed the bag and pulled out the breakfast sandwich Dean had ordered for you.

You unwrapped your food and ate silently, the only sound coming from the Bob Seger tape that was playing softly through the speakers. You recognized the song to be Against The Wind. You thought back to the last time you saw Dean, and you realized it had been a few months. You kept in touch over the phone the best you could, but he had never been good at that, and you weren't much better. The last time you had seen him was about four months ago. You had gotten into a fight over John. Most of your fights revolved around him. It had been a simple misunderstanding during a hunt that made John flip his shit, and you were never one to take shit from him. Dean had barely made a move to defend you, and it hurt. He had apologized to you later, but it had been a Winchester style apology; a halfhearted one. You couldn't help but remember that fight now. Dean cleared his throat loudly, pulling you out of your thoughts. His thumbs drummed against the steering wheel has he hummed along to the music. You crumpled up the sandwich paper and threw it in the bag.

"So, we have a few stops to make," he told you with a grin, obviously trying to diffuse the building tension.

"Oh, yeah?" you replied, raising a questioning brow at him.

"Yeah, the first being a gas station. You can pick out some snacks for our drive."

"Good, because you always grab barbecue chips," you complained teasingly.

"What's wrong with a little BBQ?" he said, enunciating each letter in 'BBQ.'

"There's nothing necessarily wrong with barbecue, but eating them for every road trip can get a little boring."

"Fair enough. You still have to grab me a bag of them though."

"Yeah, will do."

Dean pulled off the main road and into the gas station parking lot. He pulled up to a gas pump and turned off the engine. He took out a few fives from his wallet and handed them to you. You said a quiet 'thanks' before you both climbed out of the impala.

"Don't forget my BBQ!" Dean called after you as you headed into the convenience store while he went to the gas pump.

It was only a few minutes before the two of you were back in your seats. You handed Dean his barbecue chips and a root beer before dropping your own snacks in your lap. Dean tore into his chips like a hungry bear, grabbing a handful and stuffing it into his mouth. You couldn't help but laugh at him as you opened your own snack.

"So, you gonna tell me why you think John is missing?" you asked, once he had chewed and swallowed.

"I know he's missing. He was hunting something that was killing men, and he left me a concerning voicemail that had some EVP," he explained, "I can let you listen to it when we get to our next destination," you furrowed your brows at his words, but you had a sudden realization.

"You wanna pick up Sam," you said simply.

Dean looked over at you with wide eyes, "how'd you know? You read my mind or somethin'?"

"We're gonna be in California, and we're gonna pass his place anyway. Just an educated guess," you shrugged, "also I'm not a mind reader, I'm a medium," you added.

"It's all the same to me," Dean said with a shrug as he started the impala and pulled out of the gas station; you decided not to lecture him on the differences between psychics and mediums.

"What if he says no?" you asked the question on both your minds after a few moments of silence.

Dean didn't respond, but you knew he had heard you. You looked over to see him expressionless, staring out at the open road.

"Dean?"

"You sure you're not a mind reader?" he tried to joke to change the subject, but you didn't laugh, and he frowned at your furrowed brows, "he won't. Dad's missing and we need his help. He has to say yes," you wondered how many time he had told himself that.

You were at an impasse, which frequently happened when you had to get in the middle of Winchester family drama. A part of you didn't want Sam to say yes. You knew he wanted to give up hunting for good, and you didn't blame him. You only wanted what was best for him, but there was another part of you that wanted him to say yes. You missed him every day. You tried to tell yourself you weren't pulling him all the way back into hunting, that you were just looking for John. A small voice in the back of your head knew better though. You knew this life loved to sink its claws in and never let go. Only a lucky few were able to fully detach themselves from the hunting lifestyle. Even then, it was impossible to scrub the stain of the hunting life off your hands. You weren't sure which answer you wanted Sam to give.

You and Dean sat in silence for awhile, both caught up in your own thoughts. You glanced over at Dean as the song that was playing came to an end. You took in Dean's tense posture, and how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. You recognized the beginning of Black Dog by Led Zeppelin playing quietly through the speakers, and you immediately reached out to turn it up. You were the only person Dean allowed to touch his radio. You rested your arm on the back of the seat and leaned your body into his side slightly.

"Hey hey mama said the way you move. Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove," you sang along loudly into his ear.

You played the air guitar and you saw Dean glance at you from the corner of his eye. You could see him trying to hide his smirk.

"Ah, ah, child, way you shake that thang. Gonna make you burn gonna make you sting," you continued to sing along, gently nudging Dean's side with your elbow.

You saw him start to drum his thumbs against the steering wheel along to the beat as you continued to play air guitar.

"Hey hey baby when you walk that way. Watch your honey drip, can't keep away," you and Dean sang in unison.

You sang along to the rest of the song together. You occasionally played air guitar while Dean pretended to play the drums; you had to remind him to put his hands back on the wheel a few times. The song eventually came to an end, and the next song began playing. Dean reached out and turned it down slightly.

"I missed that," you said with a smile.

"Oh, don't get all sappy on me now," he said with a groan.

"What? No 'chick flick moments'?" you said sarcastically, making air quotes.

"Yeah, exactly. No chick flick moments," Dean repeated seriously.

"Whatever you say... Jackass," you said quietly with a smirk.

"Shithead," Dean was quick with his comeback, and he reached over to pinch your side, but you quickly swatted his hand away while laughing.

There wasn't much tension between you to begin with, but the little bit that had been there faded away with the end of the song. The rest of the long ride was filled with boring games of eye spy and spotting out of state license plates. You were glad to be in the impala with Dean again. You wished it was under better circumstances, but you were excited to see Sam again too.

PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA

The sun had long since set by the time you arrived at Sam's apartment building. You had your window rolled down, the humid California night air made your exposed skin feel sticky, but you enjoyed the breeze. Dean pulled into the parking lot and parked up close to the front door of the building. You both unbuckled your seatbelts, but he put his hand out to stop you from opening your door.

"I'll go get him," he said with a mischievous grin on his face, so you nodded and sat back in your seat, "I'll be quick," he said before hopping out of the impala.

You watched Dean creep up to the front door of the building before he slinked inside and out of view. You leaned out of your open window to take in a deep breath of fresh air. It wasn't a great time to be alone with your thoughts, since all you could think about was that you were seeing Sam again after two years. You had kept in touch over the phone, but it wasn't the same as meeting up in person. Living almost across the country from each made it hard to hang out. At least that's what you told yourself. Sam had asked you to come visit a few months ago, but you had declined. You didn't think you'd be able to face him alone.

You didn't have to be left alone for long though. Before you knew it, you could hear the distant sounds of the brothers bickering. You knew those sounds all too well. You could hear them arguing about something, but you couldn't make you any words. You were about to yell at them to come out when the door finally opened. Dean came out first, Sam following close behind. Sam was gesturing wildly with his arms as he spoke, and Dean rolled his eyes. You opened the door and stepped out of the impala, causing both of them to turn and look at you.

"Y/N?" Sam uttered the moment he saw you.

You smiled wide as you shut the passenger door and started walking towards him. It only took Sam a few strides to meet you in the middle with open arms. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tight and almost lifting you up off the ground. You stood on your tip toes and hugged him back just as tight, cherishing your first hug after two years apart.

"It's so good to see you," Sam said before pulling away; his smile was gentle and sweet, and you forgot how much you had missed those dimples of his.

"I didn't get a hug when I picked you up," you heard Dean mumble from behind you.

You turned away from Sam to face him. He was stood there pouting slightly with his arms crossed over his chest. You shook your head with an amused smile.

"Oh, sorry Dean. Did you want a hug? I can give you one too," you said a bit teasingly, but only because no matter what answer he gave, you were hugging him.

"No, it's fine-" you had your arms wrapped around his middle before he could finish speaking.

You hugged him tight, and he wrapped his arms loosely around you. He gave you a quick squeeze before patting you softly on the back. You pulled away and he shook his head at you with a small smile before turning towards the trunk.

"Anyway," he mumbled before popping the trunk and lifting the spare tire hatch inside to reveal all his hunting equipment, "where the hell did I put that thing?" he said to himself as he rummaged around the trunk.

"So, when dad left, why didn't you go with him?" Sam asked as he leaned against the side of the impala to watch Dean rifle through the disorganized mess.

"I was workin' my own gig. This voodoo thing down in New Orleans" Dean replied without looking up.

"Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?" Sam asked, incredulously.

"I'm 26, dude," Dean deadpanned, and you laughed.

Sam looked over at you with raised brows, which made you laugh even harder, "shut up, both o' ya's. Alright, found it," Dean picked up a small manila folder and pulled a small stack of papers out.

"Dad was checking out this two lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy-" Dean handed Sam a piece of paper off the top of the stack; Sam took it and held it out for both of you to see, "they found his car but he'd vanished; completely M.I.A.," there was a photo of a middle aged man next to an article about his disappearance.

"Maybe he was kidnapped?" Sam suggested.

"Kidnapped by a ghost maybe," you joked as you nudged Sam with your elbow.

"Yeah, here's another one in April, another one in December '04, '03, '98, '92," Dean slid a paper off the stack for each year he said, "ten of 'em over the past twenty years," he reached out and snatched the paper from Sam's hand, throwing it back on the stack, "all men, all same 5 mile stretch of road. Started happening more and more, so dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough, and then I get this voicemail yesterday."

Dean reached out and grabbed a tape recorder from off the top of the mess. He pressed play and you could hear John's voice come through the speaker, but it was staticky and garbled.

"Dean.... something-starting to happen...-think it's serious... I need t-... figure out what's going on... Be very careful, Dean.... We're all in danger...," a chill went up your spine as you listened to the message.

"You know there's EVP on that?," Sam said the moment Dean pressed pause.

"Not bad, Sammy. Kind of like riding a bike, isn't it?" Dean said with an amused smirk, and Sam only shook his head at him.

You couldn't focus on their banter, because you knew what was coming next. You stared expectantly down at the tape recorder in Dean's hand. You saw him glance at you in your peripheral.

"You think you'll be able to get anything from a recording?" Dean asked.

"I might get something, we'll just have to see," you replied with a shrug.

"Alright," Dean said before pressing play again.

"I can never go home..." a woman whispered through the static, and you felt another chill up your spine, but this time it was accompanied by a wave of grief and intense anger.

Your hands gripped the edge of the trunk so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Dean looked over at you expectantly but you shook your head at him.

"Nothing helpful," you muttered as you continued to shake your head back and forth, trying to shake away the invasive feelings.

"It's alright," Dean reached out and rubbed your back soothingly for a moment before tossing the tape recorder back into the trunk.

Sam quickly took Dean's place as he wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders and rubbed your bicep gently. Dean closed the trunk and stood up tall. He looked up at Sam expectantly, who only sighed deeply. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your cheek.

"Alright. I'll go," Sam said finally, "I'll help you find him, but I have to get back first thing Monday. Just wait here," he let his arm fall from around your shoulders and you shivered at the loss of his warmth.

"What's first thing Monday?" Dean asked as Sam turned to head back to his apartment.

"I have an interview," Sam said simply as he turned back to look at Dean.

"What, a job interview? Skip it."

"It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate" Sam explained slowly.

"Law school?" Dean asked with a questioning smirk.

"We got a deal or not?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's question.

"Yeah, fine," Dean said after a moment of silence, and you noticed him clench his jaw in annoyance.

Sam nodded and turned to head back into his apartment building. Dean sat on the closed trunk and looked over at you with furrowed brows.

"Did you know about this law school thing?" he asked you.

"Yeah, I did," you told him, honestly.

"You guys talk regularly or something?" you heard a tinge of jealousy in his tone.

"Not all that regularly. We just update each other on major life events occasionally," that wasn't entirely true, but you'd rather not have to sit in a car with the brothers being silently angry at each other.

Dean didn't say anything else, instead he looked down at the ground and nudged a rock with his shoe. You knew Sam and Dean hadn't talked since Sam had left for college. Dean missed his little brother, and you didn't blame him. You just wanted to smack him upside the head for being so stubborn. He certainly wasn't the only Winchester you wanted to knock some sense into.

Sam came back down a few minutes later, emerging from the door of his apartment building carrying a duffel bag that mirrored your own. He tossed his in the trunk as you opened the door to the backseat. Dean furrowed his brows in confusion as he opened the drivers door.

"You don't want shotgun? You had it first, you're welcome to it."

"Nah, I'm alright. Sam always gets shotgun anyway," you said, and Sam shot you a grateful look.

You smiled back at him before getting into the backseat. You pushed your duffel bag to the floor, then you slid to sit in the middle seat, like you always did when it was the three of you. The brothers got into their respective seats before Dean started the impala.

"Alright, get comfortable kids," Dean said as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

A FEW MILES OUTSIDE JERICHO, CALIFORNIA

Your eyes fluttered open to the sound of a car door opening and closing. You blinked rapidly as you tried to let your eyes adjust to the sudden light. You lifted your head up off your makeshift pillow that you had made from your balled up jacket. You rubbed your sore neck as you cursed yourself for forgetting a spare blanket or pillow. You somehow always forgot to bring one.

You looked around at the scenery outside the impala. Not that there was much scenery to speak of. It was a clear day, no clouds to block the sun's warm rays. You turned to your left to see a rickety old convenience store, then turned to the right to see a couple gas pumps that looked like they had seen better days. Sam had his door propped open with his foot as he went through Dean's box of cassette tapes that sat on his lap. You could imagine the disgusted face he was making at all of Dean's classic rock tapes. The warm breeze felt refreshing as you worked on waking up.

"Hey," you heard Dean call out, and you turned to your right to see him through the window, "you want breakfast?" he asked Sam, holding up a few beef sticks and a bag of chips; your stomach growled as you saw the food in his hands.

"No, thanks," Sam said, shaking his head before going back to the box of tapes, "so, how'd you pay for that stuff? You and dad still running credit card scams?" Sam called out to Dean.

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro ball career," Dean replied as he placed the nozzle back in the gas pump.

"You guys probably shouldn't be talking so loud about hunting and credit card scams," you said, loud enough so Dean could hear from outside the car.

The drivers side door opened a moment later and Dean climbed inside, continuing to talk loudly, having not heard or cared about your advice. You looked around and realized there didn't seem to be anyone else at the gas station. You just hoped the clerk didn't hear Dean's noisy confession.

"Y'know, all we do is apply for the cards. It's not our fault they send 'em."

You rolled your eyes at him. He set a soda down in the cup holder, and you reached out and snatched a beef stick from his hand. Dean silently handed you a bottle of water that you hadn't even seen him holding. You took it gratefully before setting it down next to you so you could rip open the wrapper of the beef stick.

"What names did you write on the application this time?" Sam asked, a bit quieter, taking your advice as he swung his long legs back into the car and pulled the door shut.

"Uh, Burt Aframian. And his son Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal," Dean said as he turned the keys in the ignition.

"That sounds about right," Sam said before looking back down at the box of cassette tapes in his lap, "I swear, man. You've gotta update your cassette tape collection," he said with a sigh.

"Why?" you almost laughed at how defensive Dean sounded.

"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes. And two-" Sam paused, grabbing a cassette and holding it up, "Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica?" he held up a cassette for each band he named, "it's the greatest hits of mullet rock," you were a little offended, considering the fact that you loved those bands too, but you knew Sam was only teasing Dean.

"House rules, Sammy," Dean grabbed the Metallica tape from Sam's hand, "driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole," you couldn't stop your laughter as Dean slotted the tape into the radio and pressed play.

Dean dropped the cassette case back in the box before he reached out and snatched the box from Sam. He tossed it back to you. You caught it with ease, setting it in the seat next to you. You smiled at the masking tape labels and crude handwriting on a majority of them. You spotted one that read 'Happy 21st B-Day D!' and it made you smile.

"You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old," Sam started, ignoring your giggles as he turned to Dean, "it's Sam, okay?" he demanded, but in a gentle way that only he could manage.

The music had already began to play, Battery playing softly through the speakers. Dean reached out and slowly turned the knob to increase the volume. Dean raised his voice along with the music.

"Sorry, I can't hear you, the music's too loud!" Dean said as he pulled out of the gas station and back onto the highway.

CENTENNIAL HIGHWAY, CALIFORNIA

Sam gave you the task of calling the hospital in the area for anyone matching John's description, while he called the morgue. It didn't take very long before you hung up the phone, having received the information you needed. You noticed a sign that read 'JERICHO 7' whiz by as Sam ended his call.

"Alright, so there's no one matching dad at the morgue."

"Or the hospital," you added.

"So that's something, I guess," Sam said.

You suddenly felt your chest tighten, and your heartbeat quickened as you seemed to be nearing a bridge. You could see it in the distance, and the only clouds in the sky covered the entire length of it. The dark clouds contrasted against the blue sky. You felt your heart drop at the sight of police cars parked near the bridge. Dean seemed to notice too as he glanced at Sam, then back at the road ahead. You could see a couple cops stood around a blue car that was parked sideways, blocking off the bridge.

"Check it out," Dean said as you neared the action.

Sam leaned forward with narrowed eyes to try to make out more details. As you got closer, it felt like a hand was being wrapped around your throat. You shivered despite the warm California air that was making you sweat. Dean pulled off on the side of the road a couple yards away from the bridge, and you were finally able to take a deep breath. There was a cloud of death that hung over that bridge.

You all sat there and watched for a few moments before Dean turned off the impala. Suddenly, he reached over and opened the glovebox. He grabbed out a small box full of fake ID cards that had his and John's pictures on them. You sighed and leaned back in your seat.

"They're gonna get suspicious if all three of us go up," you said as Dean rifled through the box.

"Then stay in the car," he answered quickly, not looking up.

"I have to get to the bridge to get anything."

"Then just go to the edge of the bridge and do your thing while Sam and I go talk to them," Dean said as he pulled out an ID from the pile before shoving the box back in the glovebox, "let's go," he said as he opened his door and climbed out of the impala.

Sam turned to you with his mouth hung open in surprise, "fake ID's? Really?" he asked, obviously annoyed with Dean.

"They're helpful," you said with a nod, "I don't like using them all that much, though," you added quickly when he shook his head disapprovingly.

The air felt heavy as you stepped out of the impala. You couldn't pinpoint how many people had died on that bridge, but you knew it had to be many. At least one, by the looks of the empty car and confused looking cops. Sam's door shutting loudly made you force yourself to start walking. You and Sam caught up with Dean, and you took your usual place in-between the brothers, walking quickly to keep in stride with them.

"You guys find anything?" you heard a man on the right side of the bridge yell down to what you assumed were men combing the river.

"No! Nothing!" was the distant and echoed response.

Once you reached the beginning of the bridge, you slowed and departed from the brothers, heading to the left. Sam and Dean continued walking toward the blue car and the cops. You heard them begin talking with the officers, but their voices faded away as you neared the edge of the bridge. You reached out and placed your hands on the railing, using them to brace yourself as you leaned over to look down into the rushing river water.

A wave of anger washed over you, similar to the one you had felt before, when you listened to the EVP on John's voicemail. It was accompanied by a bitter sadness, and this time it was much more intense. It suddenly shifted into grief, then all you felt was cold, as if someone had dumped a bucket of the river water on your head. You shivered as a name appeared in your mind. You turned quickly to look for Sam and Dean, spotting them walking back toward the start of the bridge. You began to speed walk over to them. You watched Dean take step in front of Sam, and turned to face him as they stopped walking. They looked like they are arguing again. You shook your head as you stomped over.

"I need a pen," you demanded as you walked up to them.

"Woah, are you okay?" Sam said as he look at you, concern etched into his features.

"I'm fine, I just need a pen," you repeated, "I got a name."

"Y/N, you're crying," Sam said as he pulled his sleeve up over his thumb and wiped your left cheek while you reached up and wiped you right; sure enough there was a trail were tears had streamed down your face.

"I didn't even know I was. I don't think it was really me crying, anyway. She made me feel how she felt before she died, if that makes any sense," you rambled on as Sam wiped the rest of your tears away before taking a step back, and you didn't fail to notice the raised eyebrow look Dean gave you and Sam.

You were about to raise your hand to hit Dean on the arm, but you heard an authoritative voice come from your right that stopped you, "can I help you three?"

You turned to see the sheriff with two tall FBI agents standing behind him. All three of them stared down at you through their sunglasses. You typically didn't let cops rattle you, but the FBI were a different story. You did your best to stand up tall and stare them down right back. The sheriff looked the three of you over, his eyes landing on you.

"No, sir. We were just leaving," Dean told him.

The FBI agents didn't seem to have time for you, as they ignored Dean and walked around him, "Agent Mulder. Agent Scully," Dean joked as they passed him.

You wound back and slapped him in the arm. He laughed and rubbed his bicep as the three of you walked past the sheriff. You could feel his eyes on you as you left. Dean finally pulled out a pen and handed it to you as you walked back to the impala. You spread out your palm and wrote down the name you had been given earlier.

"Constance Welch," you said to them as you held your hand out for both of them to see.

"Who's that?" Dean asked.

"The girl who made me cry," you tried to make a joke out of it, but Sam's lips pressed into a thin line, and his brows furrowed; he never liked when the ghosts affected you like that, "I think she's the spirit that's killing the guys," you added, quickly.

"Well, we'll have to go dig up some more information. They mentioned something about the girlfriend of the kid who died. We can go talk to her and ask her a couple questions, try to figure out why he was killed," Dean explained as the three of you got into the impala.

"Are we gonna go wave fake badges in her face?" you asked, not sure if that was the best idea, "maybe Sam and I can talk to her while you go look up Constance," you suggested, and Dean glanced at you in the rearview mirror before nodding.

"Alright, fine. But I better not get stuck with the busywork next time," he said with a huff.

JERICHO, CALIFORNIA

The sidewalks were mostly empty as the impala slowly rolled down the main road of town. It was still fairly early in the day, but you expected more people to be out. It was the weekend after all. When you saw the sign above the closed movie theater, it made sense why the streets were mostly barren. 'EMERGENCY TOWN HALL MEETING; SUNDAY 8 PM; BE SAFE OUT THERE,' was the message to all the townsfolk.

"I'll bet you that's her," Dean nodded to a girl taping a pink paper on the brick wall just to the left of the theater.

Dean drove a few more feet before pulling up to the side of the road. You and Sam hopped out, and you leaned down to look at Dean through the open passenger door.

"I'll call you when we're done," you told him and he nodded.

You stood up straight and Sam shut his door. You turned and walked the few steps toward the girl. You tried not to seem too intimidating, but with Sam standing at 6'4, that was a bit of a challenge. You hoped his young face and signature puppy dog eyes would help your cause. She taped a missing poster to the wall that read 'MISSING TROY SQUIRE' underneath a smiling photo of Troy. You noticed the other missing posters that were hung up too, and you quickly realized they were all of the pervious victims you had seen in Dean's file.

"You must be Amy," you said as you approached her.

"Yeah," she replied flatly, not looking up as she secured the paper to the wall with another piece of tape.

"Yeah, Troy must have told you about us. I'm his aunt Y/N, and this is his uncle Sam," you explained to the girl with a smile.

"He never mentioned you to me," she said before turning and walking away, but you were quick to walk in stride with her.

"Well, that's Troy I guess," you said, adding in a fake chuckle, "we're not around much, we're up in Modesto."

"We're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking around," Sam said as he took a step in front of her to stop her from walking any further.

Another girl came up to Amy, gently placing a hand on her arm, "hey, are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," Amy said with a nod, never taking her eyes off Sam.

"You mind if we ask you a couple questions?" he asked her, and she nodded.

Amy and her friend, who introduced herself as Rachel, led you down the street to a diner. It was mostly empty, other than an older couple sitting at a booth in the back right. You also noticed a seemingly bored waitress standing by the counter. She barely even noticed the four of you walk in, too busy looking down at her cellphone. Amy and Rachel slid into a booth in the far left of the diner. You and Sam slid into the side opposite them. Amy waved down the waitress and you and Sam ordered coffee, while the girls ordered sodas.

"What happened the night Troy disappeared?" you asked her gently.

"I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did," she told you, on the verge of tears.

"He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?" Sam asked.

"No. Nothing I can remember."

Amy fidgeted nervously with the charm of her necklace; it was a black pentagram. Sam took the words right out of your mouth before you could speak them.

"I like your necklace."

"Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents," She laughed, "with all that devil stuff."

You and Sam both chuckled. He glanced at you, and you shared a look of understanding.

"Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing." Sam explained to Amy.

"Did Troy believe in or practice anything satanic? Or was the necklace just a harmless gift?" you asked her, trying to get any sort of lead.

"It was a just a gift. I think he ordered it off the internet," she told you with a shrug.

"Well, the way Troy disappeared, somethin's not right. If either of you know anything..." Sam trailed off.

Amy and Rachel slowly turned and looked at each other.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk," Rachel replied.

You and Sam spoke in tandem, "what do they talk about?" you'd be lying if you said you hadn't missed Sam always knowing what you were going to say.

Rachel paused, glancing over at Amy before she rested her elbows on the table and leaned in, speaking quietly, "It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago," the name Constance Welch flashed in your mind as Rachel spoke, "Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever," you glanced over at Sam who was listening intently.

"Well, let's hope it's just a legend, yeah? Thank you for answering our questions. If you think of anything else that could help," you paused as you grabbed a napkin from the holder and pulled out the pen that Dean had given you earlier, "don't be afraid to call," you wrote your phone number down on the napkin and handed it to her, smiling warmly.

"Thank you for your time," Sam said and you almost laughed at how diplomatic he sounded.

You and Sam slid out of the booth and headed for the front door. The bell above the door dinged as Sam opened it, letting you go through first. You noticed the sun starting to slowly slip below the horizon. The breeze didn't do much to cool you off, the humid air making your forehead slick with sweat. You used the back of your hand to wipe off as much moisture from your face as you could. You gestured for Sam to follow you as you started walking down the road toward the motel you had seen earlier. You pulled your cell phone out as you walked and flipped it open, quickly finding Dean's contact. You pressed call and brought the phone up to your ear. It rang twice before he picked up.

"You get anything?" he asked you eagerly.

You didn't think twice about his lack of greeting, instead you answered his question immediately, "you probably got more than we did. We got told a local legend of a woman who was murdered on Centennial, and her ghost hitchhikes and picks up poor suckers who never get seen again," you told him, but you had a feeling he was going to fill you in on the missing pieces.

"They almost got it right. Funny how much a story can change over twenty years" Dean said, more to himself than to you.

"Hold on," you said before pulling the phone away from your ear and putting him on speakerphone, "What actually happened?" you asked him.

"She committed suicide. Jumped off the bridge where they found that kids car."

"So it's gotta be her... Did it say why she did it?"

Dean sighed sadly, "the article said she left her kids in the bathtub and they drowned. She had called 911 but it had already been too late. They found her an hour later in the river."

"Geez, no wonder I felt so much grief," you muttered, more to yourself, but Sam heard it all too clearly, "did the article say where she's buried?" you asked, deciding to ignore the concerned look Sam was giving you.

"No, but it had her husbands name. Joseph Welch. If we find him I'm sure he can tell us where she's buried."

"Alright. It's getting late, though. We can meet at the motel we passed earlier and get a room for the night," you said, realizing how much your body was aching.

"Want me to head back and pick you guys up?"

"Nah, we're almost there. I can see it. Just meet us there."

"Will do. See you soon."

"See you soon," you echoed before closing your phone and shoving it back in your pocket.

There was a long pause before Sam spoke, "Are you feeling okay?"

Sam knew how drained you could feel after channeling a ghost like you did on the bridge, especially an extremely vengeful spirit like Constance. The more you thought about how exhausted you were, your limbs felt heavier.

"I'm alright, just tired," you told him, but you could see in his furrowed brow expression that he didn't believe you, "a few hours of sleep should fix me right up," you added, somewhat sarcastically.

You had just made it to the front office when you heard the all too familiar roar of the impala's engine. You turned to see Dean pull into the parking lot and park in the first parking spot he could find. He hopped out with a gloating smile, happy that he had uncovered more than the two of you. You wanted to remind him who got the name in the first place.

"Lets just get a room," you said before Dean could start gloating aloud.

The three of you walked into the office of the motel. An older looking gentleman was stood behind the counter with a polite smile. Dean pulled his fake credit card out of his wallet and dropped it down on the counter.

"One room, please," he told the clerk, his proud smile still spread wide across his face.

The man picked up the fake credit card, looking down at it before glancing up at Dean, "you guys having a reunion or something?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked him.

"I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month," Sam and Dean shared a look.

"Which room was it?" you asked sweetly, hoping the man didn't get too suspicious.

"Number one. I only remember because he was so damn adamant about having it," he told you as he ran Dean's credit card and handed it back along with your room key.

"Thank you," you said before practically dragging the brothers out of the office, "let's get settled into our room, then we can check out John's room in a little bit. That guy might be keeping an eye out."

Sam and Dean agreed. The three of you grabbed your bags from the impala before bringing them to your room. You waited for the sun to fully set before the three of you started getting impatient. You were the first one out the door, checking to make sure that the coast was clear before the brothers followed. You walked down to the door of room one, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dean, your backs to the door as Sam knelt down to pick the lock. It only took him about thirty seconds before you heard the lock click from behind you. You turned as Sam reached out and grabbed Dean's shoulder, yanking him back into the room. You stepped in quickly after. Sam shut the door behind you as your eyes scanned the room.

"Woah," you mumbled as you both looked around the room.

There were newspaper clippings, printed articles, and photos hung on almost every inch of the walls of the motel room. There are books and papers scattered across every surface. Dean flicked a lamp on, leaning down to sniff a discarded burger underneath the light. He recoiled in disgust.

"I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least," Dean observed.

"I think you're right," you replied as you walked to the far wall, making sure to step over the salt line that blocked the door.

Sam leaned down and poked at the salt on the floor, "salt, cats eye shells. He was worried, trying to keep something from coming in," he said as he stood up straight, before walking over to stand by Dean, "what have you got here?" Sam asked his brother, who was looking at a line of papers hung up on the wall.

"Centennial Highway victims," Dean replied, looking over the obituaries to make sure there weren't any he'd missed, "I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities," Sam crossed the room to stand next to you as Dean spoke, "there's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

You and Sam noticed the photos and papers hung on the wall in front of you, and it confirmed what you had already been suspicious of. Sam reached out and turned on the lamp in front of you.

"Dad figured it out," Sam said simply.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked as he turned.

"He found the same article we did. Constance Welch," Sam said, pointing at the article hung on the wall.

"She's a woman in white," you said when Dean's brows furrowed in confusion.

"You sly dogs," Dean said as he looked back at the articles of the missing men.

"The caption of the photo says Joseph Welch was thirty. The article dates to 1981, so he must be..." you paused, doing the math in your head, "sixty-four!" you said, hopeful.

"If he's still alive," Sam spoke what was on all your minds.

"We can worry about it tomorrow. I need at least a couple hours so I don't fall over," you said, a yawn enunciating your words.

"Didn't get enough beauty sleep in the car? You had the whole backseat to yourself," Dean teased as he walked to the door.

"That backseat is not as comfy for sleeping as you think it is," you protested as you stepped over the salt line.

"Better than nothing," Dean was just trying to piss you off, but unfortunately it was working.

"Well, no shit, jackass. But my neck is killing me and I'd love to sleep in a real bed," you pushed past Dean and out the door, checking to make sure no one was outside before leaving.

You got into the room first, taking your opportunity to enter the bathroom and have a quick shower before Dean used up all the hot water. You had the water running and the door closed when you heard Sam and Dean enter the room. You could heard Dean's muffled voice from the other side of the door You heard only a garbled mess of words until you heard your name. You quietly crept up to the bathroom door, pressing your ear up against it. Their voices were quieter now, but you were sure you had heard Dean say your name. You decided it probably wasn't best to ease drop. You couldn't hear what they were saying anyway. You gave up, stepping away from the door and continuing with your shower.

Dean was already passed out in one of the two king sized beds by the time you were out of the bathroom. You chuckled at his loud snoring as you stuffed your dirty clothes into your duffel bag. Sam was sat at the small table near the window, looking down at his phone. You stood awkwardly, wringing your hands as you contemplated what to say or do.

"The bathroom's free if you want to take a shower," you said finally.

Sam jumped slightly, looking a bit startled. He hadn't noticed you come out of the bathroom. Were you that sneaky or was he that distracted? You guessed it was a bit of both.

"Oh, thanks, but I'm good."

"Alright," you glanced at Dean, then back at Sam, "I don't think you'll want to share with him, so you can share with me," you felt your ears warming up but you did your best to ignore it.

"After having to sit in the front seat with him all day, I'd rather not have to deal with him hogging the covers all night. Thank you," Sam said gratefully, but he made no move to get into the bed, instead looking back down at his phone.

You nodded before walking over to the empty bed, laying on the right side. You left the side facing Dean's bed for Sam.

"Goodnight, Sam."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

~~~~~~~~~

You're sat on the floor, your father's head in your lap. Your hands are slick with his blood as you hold the sides of his face.

"Dad? Are you okay? Dad, please wake up! Dad!"

You jolted awake, sitting up straight as you looked around your unfamiliar surroundings. Your eyes met Sam's as he stood next to the bed, his hand on your shoulder.

"Nightmare?" you can barely hear him over your heart pounding in your ears.

You nodded as you took in a shaky breath. Sam's hand moved to your back, rubbing in soft circles. It actually helped ground you, and you were able to catch your breath fairly quickly. Dean came out of the bathroom as Sam let his hand fall from your back.

"You okay?" he asked you and you nodded quickly.

"I'm just gonna get ready," you mumbled, feeling awkward having both of them looking at you worriedly.

You stood and walked over to your duffel bag, grabbing out a change of clothes and heading into the bathroom. You could hear Sam and Dean's hushed voices as you got dressed. They went silent a few moments before you exited the bathroom. Sam was sat on the bed as he listened to a voicemail from who you assumed to be Jessica. You watched Dean pull on his jacket.

"Hey, man, I'm starving. I'm gonna grab a little something to eat at that diner down the street. You want anything?" Dean asked Sam.

"No," he replied.

"Aframian's buying," Dean joked.

Sam only shook his head, and Dean sighed, turning to you.

"You hungry? Wanna go get some greasy diner food?" he asked enthusiastically.

"For breakfast? I'm hoping for some pancakes or something," you said as you looked around for your own jacket, "we'll see you in a bit, Sam," you stopped yourself from calling him 'Sammy,' but you can see in his eyes that he caught your almost slip up.

"Mhm," he hummed in response as you and Dean headed out the door.

You walked with Dean across the parking lot toward the impala. You looked to the right when you felt someone looking at you. You saw the motel clerk talking with a couple cops. The clerk pointed at you and Dean when he saw you.

"Shit," you muttered as you turned to face away from the cops.

Dean mirrored your movements, standing shoulder to shoulder with you as he pulled his phone out, "dude, five-o. Take off," you heard Dean say into the phone.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, "uh, they kinda spotted us. Go find Dad," Dean closed his phone and stuck it in his jacket pocket before the he spun around to face the cops, bumping your shoulder with his to make you turn around too.

"Problem, officers?" Dean said with a shit eating grin that you wanted to smack right off his face.

"Where's your partner?" the cop crossed his arms over his chest as he looked from Dean to you, eyeing you suspiciously.

"Partner? What, what partner?" Dean asked innocently.

The cop jerked his thumb toward your motel room, silently ordering his partner to search the room. He obeyed, walking to the door before opening it and going inside. You felt your palms begin to sweat as you watched him enter the room, worried that he would come back out with Sam in handcuffs. Your eyes darted back toward the cop standing in front of you. He stood still as a statue, staring you down. You did your best to stand your ground and try not seem a nervous as you were.

"So, fake U.S. Marshal, fake credit cards. You got anything that's real?" the cop asked Dean.

Dean paused, as if debating his response, "My boobs," he finally replied with a toothy grin that showed he was satisfied with his answer.

The cop shoved Dean's shoulder roughly, forcing him to turn around. He pressed his hand in between Dean's shoulder blades, slamming him down against the hood of the car with a thud while his other hand went to his belt to grab his cuffs.

"Turn around with your hands against the hood of the car, please," the cop ordered you through gritted teeth.

You did what he said, not wanting to piss him off anymore than Dean had already done. He cuffed Dean before cuffing you, pressing your cheek against the hood of the impala. You must have looked incredibly annoyed, because Dean's slightly amused smile quickly disappeared.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," the cop read you your rights as you continued to glare at Dean.

You always hated dealing with the cops. Everytime Dean got the two of you arrested, you hated them even more. Cops didn't believe in monsters and ghosts, so they were always a hinderance, rather than a help. You had a funny feeling that this sheriff was going to get on your nerves. They had thrown you and Dean in separate interview rooms. The sheriff had asked your name and age, which you gave fake answers to both. He had left you to go interrogate Dean.

He was gone for a few minutes before he entered the room again. He was holding a file box full of papers and folders. You assumed they were the things that had been hung up on the walls of John's motel room. He dropped it onto the table before dropping down a notebook in front of you. You immediately recognized it, but you did your best to make sure your face didn't reflect that.

"So you want to give me your real name?" he asked as he leaned against the table.

"I already told you. It's Sandra Nugent," you reiterated to the sheriff, who was looking increasingly annoyed.

"You could be in a lot of trouble here, you know that? Unless you cooperate with me. If you tell me what your boyfriend and his partners have been doing, maybe I can help you out," you wanted to laugh at how desperate he sounded.

"You don't have any evidence on us," you replied stubbornly.

"Ya'll got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall. Along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. You and your buddy in there are officially suspects."

"Right, because when the first one went missing in '82, before I was even born," you deadpanned.

"I know you've got partners. One of 'em's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So tell me... Y/N is it?" you must have looked surprised, because he opened John's notebook that was sat on the table and began flipping through it slowly, "I thought that might be your name. I got Dean's name fairly quickly, but yours I wasn't so sure about. See, I leafed through this. What little I could make out. I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy," he flipped through until he was almost at the end, stopping and leaning back so you could see the page he had flipped to, "but I found this, too."

You looked down at the page. It was mostly blank other than Deans name scrawled in John's handwriting, along with 35-111 underneath it. The message was circled hastily.

"No one is going anywhere until one of you can tell me what the hell that means," he tapped the message on the paper with his index finger.

"I don't know what it means. It looks like it might be a locker combo or something," you said with a shrug.

The sheriff was getting red faced, and you were sure Dean had told him the same things. This wasn't your first rodeo. Before he could question you any more, there was a knock at the door. It opened a second later. A young cop stuck his head into the room.

"We just got a 911, shots fired over at Whiteford Road," he told the sheriff.

"You have to go to the bathroom?" the Sheriff asked you.

"No," you replied.

"Good."

He promptly cuffed you to the table. You struggled against the cuffs slightly, the metal digging into the skin of your wrist. The sheriff left and shut the door behind him. Through the small window in the interrogation room door, you could see all the cops scrambling to leave. You looked around, trying to find a way out, when you noticed a paper clip sticking out of John's journal.

You reached out and grabbed it. You unbent it and used it to pick the lock on your handcuffs. You did your best to remember what Sam taught you, and soon you were free. You grabbed John's journal off the table and crept over to the door. You peered through the small window and waited until all the cops had cleared out before trying the door. It was surprisingly unlocked. You went to the interrogation room next door, opening it to reveal Dean handcuffed to the table.

"Well look at you, ya' little escape artist! How did you manage that?" Dean asked as you entered the room.

You held up the straightened paper clip for him to see before getting to work on unlocking his handcuffs. He laughed in amusement as you freed him.

"He made it pretty easy," you said with a shrug, handing him John's journal, "now come on, let's get outta here before they come back."

The two of you crept through the police station, careful not to let anyone see you. It seemed like they had all hands on deck though, because the place looked almost deserted. You managed to find your cell phones on the sheriff's desk. You were sure the receptionist would still be at the front desk, so you searched around for window or a back exit. You quickly found a window that let to the fire escape.

You unlocked it and pulled it open before climbing out onto the fire escape. You gestured for Dean to follow, and he did so without hesitation. Dean climbed down first before you climbed down after him. The two of you made sure the coast was clear of any cop cars before walking down the sidewalk, headed for the town exit. You weren't sure which way Sam had gone or where he was, but you needed to get the hell out of dodge before the cops found you again. The sidewalk ended at the exit of town, and Dean pulled his cellphone out to call Sam.

"Fake 911 phone call? I don't know, Sammy, that's pretty illegal," he said as he put it on speakerphone so you could hear Sam too.

"You're welcome," Sam's voice came through the shitty speaker of Deans phone.

"Listen, we gotta talk," Dean started, but Sam was quick to reply.

"Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop," Sam explained.

"Sammy, would you shut up for a second?" Dean tried to stop his brother from speaking.

"I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet," Sam continued, ignoring Dean's words.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you! He's gone. Dad left Jericho."

"What? How do you know?"

"We've got his journal," you told him.

"He doesn't go anywhere without that thing," Sam said slowly.

"Yeah, well, he did this time," Dean said.

"What's it say?" Sam asked.

"The same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going."

"Coordinates," Sam said, immediately understanding what Dean meant, "Where to?"

"We aren't sure yet. We didn't have much time to look while we were running from the cops," you said, annoyance evident in your tone, but it was more directed at Dean.

"I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? What the hell is going on?"

You heard the screech of tires skidding on the road through the phone before a quiet thud.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean yelled into the phone frantically.

"Take me home," you heard Constance's soft voice come through the phone, and your hand flew up to clutch your head as the image of a house appeared in your mind.

"Y/N? What is it? Are you alright?" Dean stopped walking to put his hand on your shoulder.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight as you examined the house. It felt like a memory, but you knew you had never seen the house before. You quickly realized it had to be a memory from Constance. It must be her old house where Sam said she was buried.

"The house," you said, "We have to go to the house. That's where she's taking him," you said as you opened your eyes and lifted your head to look at Dean.

"We don't know where the house is!" he cried out, more in fear than in anger.

"I do. Follow me," you didn't elaborate and instead you turned and started jogging, knowing the house wasn't too far from you.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Dean asked as he easily caught up to jog next to you.

"I'm fine, but Sam isn't gonna be if we don't hurry up," you said before picking up the pace.

You and Dean were now running as fast as your legs could manage. You eventually cut through the tree line, coming out into a clearing. You could see the house in the distance, with the impala stopped out front. You could see Sam sitting in the front seat. As you got closer, you could see the ghostly figure above Sam. You quickly recognized the long wavy hair to belong to Constance.

"Cover your ears!" Dean shouted as you ran.

Your hands flew up to cover ears. You had been hunting with the Winchester brothers long enough to know that if one of them said to do something, you did it without question. You heard the muffled sound of a gun shot as you saw the front windows of the impala shatter. Constance disappeared for a moment before reappearing, turning to glare at the two of you. You felt your spine shudder in fear at the anger that radiated off her. Dean continued to shoot until she disappeared for good. You had just made it to the impala when you saw Sam sit up. He reached out and turned the keys in the ignition, making the car rumble to life.

"I'm taking you home," he said breathlessly before he pressed on the gas.

"Sam!" Dean yelled after him as the impala lurched forward and smashed through the front wall of the house with a loud crash.

You and Dean ran up the porch stairs and through the now giant hole in the side of the house. You stepped over the rubble and toward the impala that had stopped in the middle of what looked to be the remnants of a living room.

"Sam?" Dean called out as he ran to the passenger side of the car, "Sam! You okay?" Dean asked as he leaned in through the window.

"I think..." you heard Sam say from inside the car as you walked over.

"Can you move?" Dean asked as he tried to get the passenger door open.

"Yeah. Help me?"

Dean yanked the passenger door open before leaning inside the car and reaching out for Sam. He pulled him out and up onto his feet and brushed the dust off his shoulders.

"There you go," Dean said.

The three of you turned and saw Constance on the other side of the room, holding a large framed photo. She finally noticed you, glaring daggers as she threw the picture to the floor. It clattered loudly as the three of you stared dumbly. Suddenly, her hand lifted and she made a gesture that caused a dresser to slide across the room and pin you against the side of the impala. The wind got knocked out of you as you tried to push the dresser away, but there was an unseen force holding it in place. Sam and Dean were too stubborn to stop trying. Constance took a step forward, a look of malice in her eyes. You were anticipating her next move, when suddenly the lights flickered and buzzed. You watched Constance turn and walk to the base of the stairs that now had water pouring down them like a waterfall.

"You've come home to us, Mommy," you heard a boy and girl say in unison.

Suddenly, the spirits of Constance's children appeared behind her. They wrapped their arms around her in one final hug as the lights surged. You shielded your eyes as Constance screamed. You watched from under your forearm as the three of their spirits sunk slowly into the floor, disappearing and leaving only a puddle of water behind. Sam and Dean pushed the dresser over, and it clattered loudly to the floor. It kicked up a cloud of dust that made you cough. You walked over to examine the puddle, Sam and Dean close behind you. You all stared down at the floor in silence, trying to collect your thoughts. You were trying to brush off the residual rage that Constance had left behind.

"So this is where she drowned her kids," Dean said, breaking the silence.

"That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them," Sam confirmed.

"You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy," Dean clapped Sam on the chest where Constance had dug her fingers into his chest, presumably to rip out his heart; Sam laughed through the pain it caused him.

"Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?"

"I was just thinking the same thing," you added.

"Hey. Saved your ass," Dean said he walked over to the impala, leaning down to inspect the damage, "I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car?" he turned to point at Sam menacingly, "I'll kill you," Sam laughed as you gave Dean a 'what the fuck?' look.

"You literally shot the windows out! I doubt Sam did more damage than you did to your own car," you said as you walked over to stand next to Dean, noticing the busted out headlight.

Fortunately, the impala still ran. The front windows were shattered, and the right headlight needed replacing, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed. She'd been through worse, is what Dean had said.

~~~~~~~~~

You were leaned over the backrest of Sam's seat, looking at the map he had sitting open in his lap. He was trying to find the location of the coordinates that John had left. It didn't take him long to circle a spot on the map.

"Okay, here's where Dad went. It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado," Sam said and Dean nodded.

"Sounds charming. How far?" Dean asked.

"About six hundred miles," Sam replied.

"Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by tonight!" Dean said excitedly.

"Dean, I, um..." Sam trailed off, and you sat back in your seat, knowing where this was going.

"You're not going," Dean said simply.

"The interview's tomorrow morning. I gotta be there."

"Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home."

You had the sudden realization that your bags were still in your motel room. It wasn't difficult to convince Dean to drive back to the motel. You and Sam managed to sneak in and grab your stuff without being spotted. Dean sped to the highway to make sure the cops didn't catch you again.

None of you spoke for the rest of the drive. It was only a few hours, and the sun had set by the time you had arrived at Sam's apartment complex. Dean stopped out front and Sam opened the door and got out, shutting it behind him. He turned to lean in through the window as you climbed over the backrest to sit in the front seat. Once you were sat, you looked over at Sam, noticing how close he was.

"Call me if you find him?" Sam asked, and Dean nodded, "And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?" his eyes went from Dean to you, and you nodded with a smile.

"Yeah, all right," Dean replied, still frowning slightly.

Sam patted the door twice, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stood up straight. He turned around and started to walk away. Dean set his arm on the backrest behind you, leaning forward slightly to look out the passenger window.

"Sam?" Dean called out.

Sam looked over his shoulder, "yeah?"

"You know, we all made a hell of a team back there," he said with a smirk, glancing at you.

Sam nodded with a small smile before Dean turned back to look at the road as he pressed on the gas. You didn't dare turn to look, instead you tried to catch a glimpse of Sam in the crooked side mirror. You could see his tall figure looming in the shadows. There was a sense of foreboding that you couldn't shake as you drove away. You were only on the road for a few minutes. Sam's apartment building had just barely faded in the distance. You turned and saw Dean's furrowed brows as he glanced between his watch and the road.

"What?" you questioned him.

"I think my watch stopped working."

A wave of dread washed over you as your heart dropped into your stomach. It felt like every inch of your skin was covered in goosebumps. You swallowed hard around the lump rising in your throat.

"Dean, turn around and go back. Now," you said firmly.

Dean didn't have to be told twice. He immediately pulled a u-turn and headed back toward Sam's apartment. You could feel the evil radiating off the building even before you saw it come into view. Dean pressed down on the gas harder, going well above the speed limit. He pulled into the parking lot and skidded to a stop in front of the door. You both hopped out of the impala but he stopped you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

"Stay here, I'll be right back," he said quickly before turning and running into the building.

You looked up to see flames and smoke emitting from an upstairs window. Your stomach churned as you pulled out your phone to call 911. You put the phone to your ear, and spoke to the operator about the fire, who told you they were sending a fire truck. You could hear the fire alarm going off before Sam and Dean even made it outside. Just as your chest was starting to ache with worry, you saw them emerge, Dean practically dragging Sam along. Sam fell into your waiting arms, and you used all your strength to keep him somewhat standing. He had wrapped his arms around you and had shoved his face into the crook of your neck. Dean stood a few feet away, coughing loudly. He put up his hand and made it into a faux phone, shaking it next to his ear with furrowed brows, silently asking if you had called the police. You nodded as you hugged Sam tightly, rubbing his back with one hand and petting his hair softly with the other.

The fire fighters didn't take long to get there. They managed to tame the flames fairly quickly, leaving most of the apartment complex intact. Sam had detached from you before they had arrived, wiping his eyes and sitting on the trunk of the impala. He didn't speak a word to you. Only when Sam was talking with the cops was when you got part of the story from Dean.

"She was... on the ceiling," he told you slowly.

"Like... Like how your mom died?" you asked gently.

Dean nodded and you felt your chest tighten as your heart rate quickened. You shook your head as you looked over to the building. Smoke was still billowing out into the night sky, blocking the few stars you could see from view. You and Dean were stood side by side at the back of the crowd of onlookers that had grown at the edge of the police tape. The red lights of the fire truck were still flashing, and they were starting to give you a headache. You turned away from the building to head back to the impala. Dean had pulled it off to the side of the road a few yards away. Sam was stood in front of the open trunk. You saw him loading a shotgun as you approached.

You didn't want to pity him, knowing it would only make him feel worse. When you saw the tear stains down his cheeks, you couldn't stop the sympathetic smile you gave him. He smiled weakly at you. Dean walked up next, giving Sam a look you couldn't place. You knew all the Winchester looks, but this one was foreign to you. Sam nodded at him before letting out shuddering breath, obviously knowing what his brother's look meant. You appreciated them getting along, but you didn't like to be excluded. Under different circumstances, you would have pestered them until they told you what telepathic messages they were sending each other. Instead, you stayed quiet, watching as Sam threw the now loaded shotgun into the trunk.

"We got work to do," he said before slamming the trunk shut.

#userbored-writer101 #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural season 1 #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester #john winchester #bobby singer #supernatural rewrite #supernatural x reader rewrite #pilot #female reader #gender neutral pronouns

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lailawinchesterr · 7 days

Text

Part two, Kidnapping

Summary: The girls get the conversation they've been wanting four years for.

series masterlist

"Hey, girls, how you holdin' up?" As Mel drives her beloved 69' Camaro convertible, the speakers of her car come to life with Bobby's voice. She turns up the volume.. The wind whips through her hair, the sun shining down on her as she cruises down the open road. She can't help but smile as she remembers why she got this car in the first place - the freedom and joy that comes with driving a convertible. The experience is like no other, and she's grateful to be able to enjoy it in her own classic ride.

"Doin' fine, Bobby. You?" she asks, hoping to convey her sincere interest in his well-being. Despite the sweetness of her tone, they both know that things aren't going well for either of them right now.

"Just peachy," he scoffs.

"Oh yeah?" She teases since it's the only thing she can do. Bobby's not a 'let's talk it out' kind of guy. She respects that.

"Yeah, idiots, quit worrying. Where you headed to?"

The younger one quickly steps in, "Check outside, old man."

Both girls smile at each other, quickly checking their back pockets through the leather of their jackets, and walk to the door.

"Hey, girls." Bobby half smiles as the door flies open, greeting each girl with a hug. "I've got company, but come in." They look at him with a strained smile. They truly loved Bobby with everything they had, but they needed to do this.

"I'm sorry, Bobby." Mary whispers and just as he's about to ask what's wrong, she takes the hand he had on her shoulder and forces them into handcuffs. His eyes widen but before he can yell for the two boys, Melissa slams a syringe full of a sedative into his arm.

The brunette slowly lets Bobby rest on the ground as she closes the door behind her and Melissa makes her way over to the living room to greet the Winchesters, but when she steps inside and it's empty, she halts in her movement, "Hello, boys." She smiles as she feels a shotgun to her head.

"Who are you, what have you done to Bobby?"

"Nothin'," she smiles sweetly but Dean doesn't seem satisfied because he pulls the trigger, not a single trace of amusement on his face, wish we could say the same about our sweet Mel though, "I don't know why you've got your panties in such a twist," she scoffs, still with her honey voice, "we love the old man, we'd never hurt him. It's just something to knock him out while we talk."

"Yeah? Well, talk." Dean's voice is, in Melissa's words, smokey, almost throaty, and sure, it does stuff to her but she's far from admitting it.

"I'm sorry, mister, but I don't usually talk with a shotgun to my head." Amid the chaos Dean had forgotten to tell her to keep her hands up as the hand on the opposite side from where he was standing reached into her back pocket for her knife and she pressed it to his throat.

"Hi, gorgeous. I'm gonna excuse your poor welcome on the fact that it's seven in the mornin', but we're gonna need you to cooperate now."

"Who the hell is 'we'?" Dean warned, apparently not getting the memo that he was the one being attacked.

"Me." Mary walks into the living holding Sam's hands behind his back. "I was just fetching a little souvenir."

"So," Mel muses, "now that we have that out of the way, let's all put our weapons down." She snatches the handgun from Dean and lets the ammo fall to the ground, throwing the gun even further.

She looks at Mary for confirmation and both nod, putting their weapons in their back pockets. The boys let out a sigh of relief.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Mary and Melissa Rhodes." The boys stare at them, waiting for further explanation.

But it clicks for Sam. "Wait, Rhodes? Like Carly and Loren Rhodes? Are you their—"

"They were our parents." Mary cuts him off, an edge to her voice Dean didn't seem to like. Mel didn't like the way the older hunter was looking at her sister so she took a step towards him so they were face to face, too close almost.

"You need to calm down. We have the guns here, we're the ones with the upper hand, you don't get to look at her like that. Not when you already killed our parents." Dean suddenly looks confused, walking back with his hands up in defeat.

"We didn't kill your parents, lady." Sam glares at him, then looks at Melissa with sympathetic eyes.

"We're sorry for your loss, truly. Our dad was at the funeral but we couldn't make it." Mel scoffs, a small laugh coming out as she puts a hand in her back pocket, probably to take out her knife but Mary quickly steps in to tell her to calm the hell down.

"Thank you, Sam, unfortunately, your adorable faces and pretty words don't make up for the fact that you did kill our parents. Chicago, August of 2007."

Sam seems to remember as he recalls the memory, "Right, we were working the demon case and we found a couple of other hunters, remember?" He asks his brother.

"Not ringing any bells." Melissa is nothing if not a hot-headed woman and she is certainly not beyond killing humans if they annoy the living hell out of her. So she does the obvious, throws Dean against the wall, her arm around his neck. Sam jolts towards his brother but the younger sister tsk's and holds his arm back.

"You're gonna be real respectful, Dean, you got that? We're not talking about a couple of vampires here, I'm asking about my parents, shut up and listen." He nods once and when she lets him go he pants looking at his brother with a this bitch is crazy look.

"Anyways," Sam continues, "we were on the hunt and there were more demons than we anticipated. We all ran out of there and we said we'd regroup the day after but they never showed up. They said they had an emergency with their daughters."

Mel furrows her brow in confusion and blurts out, "That can't be." Dean's gaze immediately darts towards his gun, which lies on the floor, and his blade is still tucked away in his boots, too far to reach in time. Mel notices, "Don't think about it, man."

"Yeah, well now you know we didn't kill them so—"

"Let's practice that respect I was talking about—"

"I'll be respectful when you and your girlfriend—"

"Sister, you asshole." They're both throwing insult after insult, comeback after comeback, and while Sam now has the opportunity to snatch his blade from his back pocket, he doesn't feel the need to, instead he watches the exchange.

"Only one of us is the asshole for holding two strangers hostage."

"You think you're mister tough? Mary slices through an inch of Sam's skin and you'll be screaming like a little kid." Her taunting makes Sam more aware, his hands slowly moving towards his back pocket but the brunette stops him, twisting his arm and he groans.

"Hey, you bitch!" Dean yells, but it falls on deaf ears and she goes a little harder, mostly because he tried something, but partially because she wants justice for her parents, and she isn't letting up.

"You keep your hands where I can see them, handsome." Her taunting proves to be much much worse than Melissa's and it makes the older sister proud. Dean though, he's this close to punching a girl and he isn't proud of it.

"Listen, sweetheart," With a scowl on his face, he confronts Mel, "I don't think I've ever hit a girl, but you will gladly be the first if you don't get the hell out of here."

"Big talk for someone who hasn't even checked whether or not me and my sister are human. I don't know what kind of hunters you are, but not the smart kind, I'll tell you that."

"That's enough," Sam tries, "we don't know what happened to your parents, they left before we saw them and that's the only time we've ever seen them. Ask Bobby."

"I'm sorry it came to this, Sam. I really liked you, but you already saw our faces, I hardly think Dean would let this go, right?" Dean almost growls at her, his face scrunched up and damn near breaking.

"We don't care, we don't kill people, of course we'll let it go."

"That might be the deal with you, but your brother's more than happy to take our heads. Besides, I'd feel infinitely better if you guys were dead anyway, principle and all. We've been doing our research the last couple of years and it turns out that what happened was that you left my mother behind with those demons while you dragged my dad out. The next day he also died while you guys defeated the demons. Which— yepee! Great for you, I'm sure you did lots of people a solid, but I'm not so certain I care. My parents have hunted with a plethora of hunters, some of the dumbest being on that list and no one has ever left them for dead, why do you think you could, huh?

"This whole, I'll protect you till the end of time bullshit you spew to each other, do you ever think that maybe you're hurting other people? You stopped Sam from locking every demon into hell. Every single demon! Do you know how many hunters would still be alive if you hadn't done that? Do you know how stupidly selfish you both are?"

Both men seem to have forgotten how to use their words, only looking at each other. After their silent conversation, Dean jumps into action, punching Melissa harshly so she loses consciousness. Mary screams when Dean knocks her sister out but quickly notices Sam's attempt at doing the same to her. She dodges it and punches him square in the face, and because he didn't expect it, the tall Winchester falls onto the floor and Mary picks him up to hold a blade to his throat.

"Stay back, pretty boy." She tells Dean, pressing it closer to his skin. He wants to ask how her grip is as tight as it is because he's twice her size but losing air faster than he ever has before.

"Hey, listen," Dean says slowly, walking towards him but when she takes a warning step back and almost draws blood, he stops. "I just wanted a conversation without your sister. Can we talk? Without the weapons. We don't even have ours." Mary considers it for a moment before looking down at the man whose neck she's holding.

"No, thanks. Dumah, get down here please!" Someone suddenly appears in the middle of the room. An angel, the boys recognize, though they don't know who.

"Yes, love." He takes a look around and begins to understand the situation. "Ah, Sam and Dean, I've heard a lot about you."

"All scary, I hope." Dean says with a slight smirk though he only does it to hide the fact that he's praying too. If angels came out to play, he has one up his sleeve too.

"None of the sort. All of Castiel's stories, who you're praying to right now, are wonderful. Castiel is taking care of an issue upstairs so I don't believe he'll be here. In the meantime, let's go somewhere."

And the Winchesters see black.

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x oc #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural rewrite

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calibrationneeded · 1 year

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Long Post - Supernatural AU comic

Oh my God I'm finally done. okay so now that this comic is done I want to take a little short amount of time to kind of explain this AU. in this story when Cas brought Dean back from hell in order to make him whole so that he wouldn't come back a shell of his former self. Cas, against the orders of Heaven removed part of his own grace and used it to glue Dean soul back together leaving Dean as a not quite human not quite angel creature. Cas doesn't tell Dean that it's his grace and he doesn't tell Dean that he wasn't supposed to do that, and now because he's done this Heaven has tasked him with basically being Dean's babysitter.

I thought this would be a really fun way to kind of mirror Sam with the demon blood, and also would just be a really cool opportunity to have Dean really look inside of himself and figure out what it means to be human. This version of Supernatural is supposed to be primarily about identity and what it means to be good and what it means to be evil. A massive part of the story is also about recognizing the cycle of abuse and breaking it, as well as breaking toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia.

Okay so that explanation wasn't as short as I wanted it to be, so if you read that thank you so much it means a lot. Supernatural has been a huge part of my growing up, and I find some kind of catharsis in mending the story that I loved so much when I was younger.

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hey-dont-touch-that · 1 year

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Supernatural rewrite where Michael leaves Dean, he takes his memories with him.

Michael figures out how to turn Dean’s body against him and leaves him with a dying body and no recollection of how or why this is happening.

When Sam and Cas and Jack go to help him, Dean panics because he doesn’t know who any of these people are what’s going on or where he is. For all he knows these people may have kidnapped, poisoned him and are now taking advantage of his amnesia. He collapses soon after.

After getting him to a hospital and seeing Cas for the first time for Dean’s mind, Cas discovers that he remembers nothing from the bunker. He thinks Michael is the name of his captor and that’s why everyone is cautious about saying his name. Dean thanks the detective for saving him and apologizes for not remembering anything.

Cas visits him everyday explaining that’s he’s not a detective or nurse or memory doctor. That first time Cas breaks down in front of Dean and explains in tears that they’re in love and have been together for years and has stopped the end of the world ten times over, and talked about packing up, driving away and get married as a way to start a new life.

Dean gently takes his hand, looks at him with the softness buried deep inside that is reserved for Cas, smiles sweetly and says, “I’m sorry I don’t remember you even though you visit every day and stay to the very last minute and you ask how I am, and you eat with me and tell me grand stories of your adventures. I see how you look at me like you expect me to join in of correct you and I would love to but I can’t and I - I don’t know. I feel bad because you’re nice and caring and I don’t want to break your heart. Whoever you’re in love in is incredibly lucky because you’re really amazing.”

Cas wipes the tears from his eyes and Dean’s grips tightens as he seizes and Cas doesn’t leave until he’s rushed into emergency surgery.

When Dean returns comatose, Cas uses his powers to enter Dean’s mind and through a series of mishaps he finds Dean and explains what’s happening to his body in the real world and he agrees to come back on the condition that they finally get married.

When Dean wakes up, they get married the next day in the hospital room with Sam officiating and Jack as the witness.

#supernatural #supernatural rewrite #destiel #destiel headcanon #destiel fanfic #long post #sam winchester #jack kline #dean winchester #castiel #dean x castiel #castiel winchester #destiel wedding

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spn-rewrites · 2 years

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01x01 (PART 1)

Season One Episode One: Pilot

A/N: hey guys, I re-edited the pilot and am going to work my way down and because they weren’t originally posted on this account, I’m gonna re-post them here - all tags will stay in tack.

Summary: Dean and Y/N go find Sam

Word Count: 3.1k

Part 2 Part 3

It’s been a few years since you and Dean let Sam run off and go to college. He wanted out of this life and there wasn’t really much you could have done to stop him, so you and Dean went off on your own. You took up Sam’s position, doing research and finding jobs. Sometimes you followed leads from John, but it really was just the two of you.

For ten years you had been hunting things with these boys. It wasn’t your first choice of a life, much like it wasn’t Sam’s. But you learned to embrace it because like Dean, you owed your life to John Winchester.

The flames were behind you, englulfing the only home you had ever known, and you were sitting on the side of the road with your knees pulled up to your chest praying to a God you no longer believed in. That’s when an older, scruffy haired man kneeled down in front of you and put his hand on your knee. “I’m John Winchester, a friend of your mom’s. We’re gonna take care of you, okay?”

You weren’t sure how you knew you could trust him but something in his eyes told you that you could. You had seen photos of him and your mom around the house - it was a vague memory but it was there.

The boys behind him didn’t look familiar but John introduced them to you as his

sons and the older one immediately took you under his wing and the younger one made you a bowl of cereal when you got back to the hotel that they were staying at and a few months after your fifteen birthday, you were learning about the lore of demons.

That’s how you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala that Dean loved so much, on your way to Standford to go get Sam from college. He made a noble choice, leaving the hunting life. One that maybe you could have made if leaving Dean behind didn’t feel like ripping out one of your own ribs.

However, John was on a hunt and hadn’t come back yet. Being gone a few days at a time without hearing a peep wasn’t unusual, but it had been weeks at this point and Dean was getting worried, so you guys packed up to go collect Sam in hopes he’d help you find him. You had tried to silently protest involving the younger brother, knowing he didn’t want to, but Dean wasn’t one to argue with.

“What is it with you? You don’t want help?” Dean accused, glancing at you from the road.

“That’s not it, I just-”

“You just what, Y/N?” He interrupted you. Your eyebrows raised and you took a breath, ready to fight back. Sometimes Dean just knows exactly where to push your buttons.

“Sam doesn’t want this, Dean. What part of that don’t you understand? He’s happy, he’s got a girlfriend,” you blurted out, your words stopping in your throat as soon as you said it. That was not something that Sam wanted you to tell Dean, but it was too late now and Dean just stared at you. “Her name is Jess,” you sighed out.

“Jess? Seriously? He didn’t think to tell me this?” The Impala started driving faster, picking up speed down the road.

“Can you slow down?” You braced yourself out of habit, used to Dean driving reckless as hell but when he got mad, the reckless seemed more dangerous.

“I’m just pissed, okay?” Dean snapped. You held your hands up in defense and Dean pulled back, taking a deep breath and letting his foot off the peddle. You drove the rest of the way in silence.

You stood outside of the apartment complex that Sam lived in and tried to investigate a way to get inside. “We could use the fire escape,” you suggested. Dean looked down at you with a grin growing on his face, “what?” You deadpanned, still kind of irritated by your last conversation but Dean was smiling now so maybe it was over.

“I like the way you think, kiddo.” Dean patted your back and he started scaling the fire escape, you followed him until you reached a window. The hallways were dark and damp and you wondered how Sam even lived in a place like this before you remembered that this was an upgrade compared to the hotels the boys grew up in.

Dean shushed you as he slowly opened the door to the apartment, and you followed him inside. There was a rustle coming from the other side of the room, a door cracking and then you saw a shadow emerge, most likely Sam.

Sam caught Dean off guard, trying to get him from behind but Dean was not that easy to take down and the two brothers began fighting, Sam blocking Dean’s punches and Dean trying to tackle him to the ground. Eventually, the bigger of the two pinned the smaller. “Whoa, easy, tiger,” Dean grinned.

“Dean?” Sam exclaimed, looking up at his brother and then seeing you. “Y/N? You scared the crap out of me!” Sam was breathing heavier now as you stood next to the two boys, looking down at them with a smile on your face.

“That’s 'cause you’re out of practice,” you said smugly, although you didn’t do any of the fighting and had no reason to be except to push Sam’s buttons. Sam grunted and flipped Dean over, now pinning the older brother.

“Guess not,” Dean sighed. “Get off of me,” he groaned and pushed Sam off of himself and almost into you, but you put your hands out to stop Sam from falling and as soon as he felt your touch he turned around, a smile plastered to his face.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he wrapped his arms around you tight, your heart fluttering at his nickname for you as you hugged him back.

“Sam?” You let go of him as a figure came out of the shadows, Jess you assumed. Sam had told you a lot about her the past year or so, as you guys were in constant contact unlike Sam and Dean, however, you had never met the girl. She was a lot prettier than you imagined, a blonde bombshell.

“Hey, Jess,” Sam said, his face almost seemed disappointed that he had to introduce you and Dean to her finally. Part of you wondered if he wanted to keep his family at an arms length for the rest of his life. “This is my brother Dean and my friend, Y/N,” he introduced.

Dean clearly noticed how pretty Jess was, his eyes falling on her face and then her chest. “I love the smurfs,” he smiled, referring to her pajama shirt but also only noticing because of her boobs. “I gotta tell you, you are completely out of my brother’s league.” Dean flirted, Jessica’s face unamused.

“Well, let me just put something on,” Jess said, turning to walk away, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

“No, no. I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean protested. You snorted from behind Sam and Dean turned around to glare at you. You smiled back and Dean turned his attention back to his brother. “However, I do have to steal your boyfriend here to talk about some private family business, but nice meeting you.” His last words had a flirty tone to them and you smacked Dean in the arm when he finished.

“What is your problem?” You whispered to him but he just smiled and raised his eyebrows because he knew that you already knew exactly what his problem was.

“No,” Sam said, his tone was suddenly more serious. “Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her.” Sam moved to stand next to Jess, wrapping his arm around her waist. That was a bold move for the younger Winchester and you sucked in a deep breath.

“Okay, um, Dad hasn’t been home in a few days,” Dean said with no hesitation.

“So, he’s working overtime on a ‘Miller Time’ shift, he’ll stumble back in sooner or later.”

“John’s on a hunting trip, Sam.” You said, putting emphasis on the word ‘hunting’ causing Sam’s face to drop and dismissing Jessica from the conversation. You waved goodbye to her as she went back into the other room.

Sam thought it’d be better to talk outside, so you followed them down the stairs, your little feet having a hard time catching up with theirs and being a whole flight of stairs behind them, you only caught a small amount of their conversation - Dean begging Sam to help us find John. “Dad’s missing. I need you to help us find him.”

“You remember the Poltergeist in Amherst or the Devil’s Gate in Clifton? He’s always missing and he’s always fine,” Sam said, their voices getting louder as they stopped at a landing and waited for you to catch up. You were out of breath when you reached them, “and you said I was the one out of shape?” Sam joked as you put your hands on your knees to help catch your breath. You fake laughed as Dean kept going.

“Not for this long, now are you going to come with me or not?”

Sam started following Dean and you hesitantly chased after. “I’m not,” Sam’s words made you stop, although you knew that that would be his answer.

“Why?” You asked. Sam turned around to look at you, his features suddenly softened.

“I swore I was done hunting, for good.” Sam sighed and you almost took a step towards him, but you stopped yourself.

“Come on, it wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t that bad.” Dean said, but you knew that that was a weak attempt to make Sam change his mind about coming with us. Dean turned and walked away, but you only followed after Sam did.

“Yeah? When I told Dad I was scared of the monster under my bed, he gave me a .45,” Sam said as we started to exit the building.

“Well what was he supposed to do?” Dean said. You chuckled and looked at him, cocking your head to the side wondering what it was that Dean thought John was supposed to do. Sometimes, you thought Dean was just so delusional that he thought all of this was normal.

“Seriously Dean?” You asked, knowing full well that Dean would do and say anything to defend his father’s name, even to Sam.

“I was nine years old,” Sam said, his voice going quieter and you bit your lower lip. You felt sad for him for a moment, never really understanding how traumatized Sam was with his growing up. For you, it started later. You knew it wasn’t normal and you knew how life was supposed to be for a kid but Sam never got that and his yearning for it was clear. “He was supposed to say, ‘don’t be afraid of the dark’”

“Don’t be afraid of the dark? You should be afraid of the dark!” Dean’s voice got louder, “you know what’s out there. Look at Y/N for Christ sake, she didn’t get a .45 and look what happened to her.” Dean mumbled and pushed open the gate and went outside. You were taken aback by Dean’s words, gasping a little. He had a tendancy of saying things he didn’t mean but he didn’t bring up your past very often.

“What the hell is your problem?” Sam tried to defend you but you grabbed his arm, making him stop. Dean threw open the front door of the building, the traffic from outside coming in for a brief morning until the door closed behind him. “What? That’s not okay!” He snapped back at you, but sighing and letting out a breath when you looked at each other.

You nodded, “I know, but just let it go.” It took a second, but Sam finally agreed. You motioned for the front door and with a deep breath, Sam pushed it open and you followed him outside. With the cold air hitting your faces, Sam continued to fight back with Dean like nothing happened.

“Dad’s obsession with killing the thing that killed mom, the way we grew up, killing everything we can find because we can’t find it,” Sam argued.

“We save a lot of people, Sam.” Sam just scoffed at his brother’s reply.

“You think mom would have wanted this for us? You think Penelope would have wanted this for Y/N?” Sam made Dean stop dead in his tracks and he turned around to face his brother, anger in his eyes. “The weapon training and melting silver into bullets?”

“So you’re just going to live some normal, apple-pie life?” Dean snapped.

“No, not normal. Safe.” Sam spat as you three got to the car, your mind still reeling. You put your hand on the door handle as they argued. You wished you could just disappear, any mention of your mother makes you wanna die. You weren’t sure you ever fully got over her death and accepted the fact that this was your new life now, hunting ghosts and demons and any other creepy crawling that lurked at night.

“Dad is in real trouble right now, if he’s not dead already. I can feel it,” Dean pleaded. His whole demeanor changed, sometimes at an astonishing rate.

You pushed yourself away from the car, forgetting about the pounding in your head and put your hand on Dean’s shoulder. “He’s not dead, Dean.” Dean just looked at you, sadness in his eyes and you felt bad for him. Maybe that was the reason you could never actually stay mad at him, because no matter what he said to you, you knew he never meant it.

“We can’t do this alone,” Dean said. “We don’t want to,” his voice softened when he said this and you looked up at Sam, a small smile playing on your lips.

Dean popped the trunk to the Impala and started looking for John’s files while Sam and you leaned against either side of the trunk, looking in. You remembered the basics of John’s hunt so you started talking, not waiting for Dean anymore. “He started to look at this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California.”

“About a month ago, this guy,” Dean found the file and handed Sam a picture of the guy who went missing, “they found his car but he’d vanished.”

Sam looked at the photo and speculated, “well, maybe he was kidnapped.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the next photo from the file in Dean’s hands, “here’s another one in April, and then December ‘04, ‘03, ‘98, ‘92… 10 of them over the past 20 years.” Dean handed Sam all the articles and photos belonging to the cases you just listed off. You both looked at him smuggly, knowing that you debunked his speculations.

“All men, too. All the same 5-mile stretch of road, it started happening more and more so Dad went to go dig around,” Dean said.

“That was three weeks ago, we haven’t heard from him since,” your voice softened as Sam looked up at you. You held eye contact until Dean spoke.

“And then, we get this voicemail.” Dean pulled out his phone and played the voicemail that John left you last night, the whole reason that you booked it to go get Sam.

“Dean, something is starting to happen..I think it’s serious

I need to try to figure out what’s going on. Be very careful,

Protect Y/N. We are all in danger.”

You watched Sam the whole time as he listened to it, his facial structure not really changing. “You know there’s EVP on that,” Sam said, nodding to the recording.

“Not bad, Sammy. Kind of like riding a bike isn’t it?” Dean smiled between his brother and you but then continued to explain to Sam how you slowed down the tape to find out what that EVP was saying. When Dean played it back, all it said was “I can never go home.”

Sam whispered it back to him while Dean slammed the trunk and then leaned against it. You walked over to stand in front of him, your arms crossed, “we really need your help, Sam.” You begged.

“In almost two years, we never bothered you or asked you for a thing,” Dean tried to guilt trip Sam which you did not agree with but it was hard to stop Dean from doing what he wanted. Sam sighed, finally agreeing to go.

“I’ll help you find him, but I have to get back first thing Monday morning.” Sam warned but you didn’t wait for him to finish speaking. You ran to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and he couldn’t help but chuckle and hold you up by your waist. You were excited that Sam was coming back, if only for one hunt. Although you and Dean had become the best of friends over the years, Sammy always held a special place in your heart. He was kind and sweet and quiet, just like you used to be before your mother died. He reminded you of your youth.

“What’s on Monday?” You asked as you pulled yourself away from Sam and he started walking back into the apartments to collect his stuff.

“I have an interview,” Sam said, looking at Dean.

“A job interview? Skip it,” Dean shrugged his shoulders but after Sam said ‘interview’ you remembered exactly what he meant. Sam had told you just a few days ago that he had gotten an interview for the Stanford Law School and that was on Monday.

“No, it’s a law school interview,” you whispered, looking at Dean. Dean’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked at you.

“It’s my whole future on a plate,” Sam explained, Dean giving him the same confused look he gave you. “We got a deal or not?” Sam asked, Dean eventually nodded and Sam left to go get his things while the two of you stayed in the Impala and waited.

“You knew about all of this and didn’t tell me?” Dean asked, his voice sounded a mix of anger and disappointment but you didn’t know what to make of it.

“Sam asked me not to and all this stuff is important to him, Dean.” You explained yourself, throwing your hands towards the apartment building where Sam was building a life.

“We were important to him at one point, too, Y/N.” You sighed, knowing Dean was right but you still defended Sam.

“Drop it, okay? You know now and that’s all that matters.” You knew that wasn’t going to fly especially when Dean scoffed and looked out his window instead of at you.

Tags: @ kaelyn-lobrutto24

#supernatural #supernatural rewrite #01x01 #spn #spn rewrite #sam x reader #dean x reader #supernatural pilot #season one episode one #spn fic #spn imagine #reader insert #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader

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mybisexualconfessions · 2 years

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Supernatural Finale Thoughts

If Dean was going to die young of unnatural causes, it would have been more poetic to have had him die in a car cash.

He was supposed to die as a result of the crash at the end of season 1, but John made a deal to save him. He also died in a car accident on the first redo Tuesday in “Mystery Spot.”

They could have brought out the original Baby from that first crash and that could have been the version that Sam kept all those years.

Would also make a bit more sense why Baby was in heaven too. Just drives her right into heaven. (And of course, sees Cas on the road like he did after Purgatory. Drive into the sunset together).

But I digress.

#supernatural #spn #spn finale #supernatural finale #supernatural headcanon #supernatural rewrite #dean winchester #sam winchester #baby #supernatural baby #destiel #destiel is canon #castiel

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carryonwaywardkansas · 2 years

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Carry On Kansas

Chapter Two: Bend and Break (Part Four)

Summary: The following day it’s a face off like Riley Thomas has never seen before.

Warnings: General Supernatural warnings apply. Read at your own discretion.

A/N: anybody have Dean Winchester shamelessly flirting on their 2022 bingo cards?

Morning arrives unhindered. Riley wakes with ease, nestled in the soft space at Deanʼs back. She doesnʼt remember how she got there, or why he let her stay, but sheʼs grateful all the same. Sam hasnʼt said a word since the brothersʼ return to the campsite, only offering disinterested nods of his head when asked if heʼs all right. Riley chooses to ignore the sound of her heart breaking in favour of channeling the bitterness into her tracking skills.

Neither one moves at first, whether it’s because they don’t want the other to know they’re awake or because they’re content to lay in each other’s presence, Riley isn’t sure. Whatever it is, she’s sad when the moment ends and Dean rises for the day.

She watches him pace back and forth behind Hailey and Ben who have finally woken; their fears and anxieties over what waits for the day ahead, making it difficult for the siblings to sleep. Riley’s heart aches for them, as well as the brothers. She hasn’t spoken to Sam.

Hailey sits on her knees outside of Tommy’s abandoned tent, Riley’s suggestion floats through her mind as she addresses Dean for the first time that morning. “I don't― I mean, these types of things― they aren’t supposed to be real.”

“I wish I could tell you different,” Dean says. Riley can see by the look on his face, it’s an earnest answer.

“How do we know it’s not out there watching us?” she asks.

“We don’t,” he says, squatting down next to her. He glances over his shoulder at Riley. She tries not to think about the way he’s looking at her―like they share a secret between them that he feels burdened with. “But we’re safe for now.”

I gave him that burden, she thinks, dropping her eyes to the ground.

“How do you know about this stuff?” Hailey asks him. And Riley tries to ignore the strange pull in her chest. She told her to go for it, after all.

She sees Dean pause and wants to change the subject if only so that stupid smile will return. . .

“It kind of runs in the family,” he says, looking up into Hailey’s eyes before standing up as Sam enters the middle of the campsite.

“Hey,” Sam greets. He spent the night keeping watch on the other side of the site, refusing to face Riley or his brother once they returned. Riley didn’t ask why.

Sam. They haven’t spoken since their fight yesterday. She doesn’t even want to at this point, but she’s stuck in the woods in the middle of nowhere and her options for good conversation are limited. She sure as hell doesn’t want to watch Dean flirt with Hailey all day. But making nice with Sam is even less appealing than that.

“So, we’ve got half a chance in the daylight,” the younger Winchester says. “And I, for one. . .want to kill this evil son of a bitch.” Sam is changing right in front of her and she doesn’t know how to process it all.

“Well, hell, you know I’m in.” Dean smirks at his baby brother and Riley wonders if he knew this was coming. He hands Sam their dad’s journal and crosses the campsite to sit next to Riley. “So,” he begins, “you wanna tell me why you’re sittin’ here alone, staring daggers at the back of my brother’s head?”

“Because he’s stupid,” she signs, never taking her eyes off Sam’s back. She doesn’t consider that Dean has no clue what she’s saying, just continues with her rant all the while imagining punching her best friend in the face. Her hands move quickly, her face twists in anger, and Dean continues to sit. “He left me alone in the woods. He keeps leaving me. He left on my birthday, he left on Halloween, he left when Jess died. . . He blames me and I. . .”

Riley clenches her hands into fists; Dean stays silent. He doesn’t know what she’s saying but he recognizes the pain in her eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, just takes hold of her hands and begins changing the bandages on her burns. They look better, much better. When he’s done, he gently pats her knee and waits for her to face him. That’s one thing Riley gives him credit for that Sam doesn’t do: he gets her attention before he speaks, even with her hearing aids in. “It’s okay, you can hate him,” he chuckles.

Riley blinks a moment, then smiles. “I don’t,” she answers. They both know she’s lying.

“You do, but I won’t tell him.”

“You are a pain in my ass, Winchester.”

“If that’s what you want me to be, Sweetheart,” he winks.

She shakes her head, shoving his shoulder. Laughing with Dean feels good.

“Come on, you need to hear this, too.”

Riley lets Dean pull her up and lead her back to the group. She tries to ignore the weight of his hand in hers, tries to focus on listening to the information Sam’s giving but all she can think about at the moment is how calming Dean’s presence is.

“Wendigo is a Cree Indian word. It means, ‘Evil that devours.’”

“They’re hundreds of years old,” Dean says. “Each one was once a man, sometimes an Indian or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter.”

“How’s a man turn into one of those things?” Hailey asks, skeptical of the situation before them.

“Well, is always the same. During some harsh winter, a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help ― becomes a cannibal to survive, eating the other members of his tribe or camp.”

“Like the Donner party,” Ben says, speaking for the first time since they arrived.

“That’s right,” Sam affirms. “Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities ― speed, strength, immortality.”

Dean looks past Sam’s shoulder to where Riley stands just behind him. “If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less-than-human thing. You’re always hungry.”

Riley notes the piece of cloth in Dean’s hands along with the two bottles he picked up moments before, she raises her eyebrows at him, though she’s positive she knows what he’s doing. From research she’s done on her own surrounding ancient tribal mythology and lore, she knows the only way to kill a wendigo is with fire. And, if her knowledge of the brothers from her time with them proves correct, Dean’s in the process of making Molotov cocktails.

“So, if that’s true, how can Tommy still be alive?” Hailey wonders.

Dean looks to Sam who nods, then turns back to the young woman. “You’re not gonna like it,” he warns.

“Tell me,” she orders.

“More than anything, a Wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time. When it’s awake, it keeps its victims alive. It, uh, stores them so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother’s alive, it’s keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. And we gotta track it back there.”

“And then how do we stop it?”

“Well, guns are useless ― so are knives. Basically. . .” Dean moves behind them, holding up the items he gathered from around the campsite. His eyes meet Riley’s and he nods, telling her that her assumptions are correct. “We gotta torch the sucker.”

Riley follows along silently. Dean and Hailey head up the front of the group and Riley’s nerves tingle beneath her skin, she knows what’s coming even if the others don’t. Before leaving the campsite, she and Dean discussed what to do in the event her premonitions come to pass ― his instructions have left her feeling weary. Sam hasn’t noticed.

In the weeks that have passed, she’s come to trust Dean more than she thought possible considering their rather tense introduction to one another. Dean gets her in ways Sam doesn’t, effortlessly and without restraint. They’ve settled into an unspoken routine, Riley and Dean, and she isn’t sure what it means. So far, though, it seems to work.

“Dean,” Sam calls after they’ve been walking through the woods for a few miles and have nothing to show for it. He stands near a group of trees, all marked with claw scratches and dried blood.

“What is it?”

A chill runs down Riley’s spine. She turns around and comes face to face with an apparition of Dean, her breath catches in her throat. What does this thing want with you, Dean? She’s too engrossed in the vision of Dean’s ghost to hear the growling that surrounds the clearing.

“Too easy. . .” she mumbles. “This was too easy.”

Hailey lets out an ear-piercing scream, Riley’s hearing aids whine and she rushes to turn the volume down. She whirls around to see the others backed against a tree, Roy’s body on the ground before them.

“Dean! It’s happening!” Riley runs to his side. “The Wendigo, it led us here. It’s trying to pick us off!”

Sam’s voice sounds in her ear, “Wait, you knew about this?”

“Not now, Sam,” she scolds.

“Run, run! Go, go, go, go, go!” Dean fumbles behind him for Riley’s hand and catches her wrist, he pulls her with him and doesn’t look back.

Riley isn’t sure where Dean’s leading her, she isn’t sure she wants to ask. They crash through the trees, and she can’t see Sam or Hailey or Ben. This is exactly what she was afraid of ― it knew exactly how to lure them out to get what it wants. Staying together is their only chance at survival but Riley knows something horrible will happen before then.

Dean speeds up and her wrist slips from his hold, she runs after him. They crest over a small incline and she feels the ground behind her shake, glancing over her shoulder, she finds Dean on the ground.

“Get up, get up, get up!” She grabs for his arm and yanks him up. “Hailey,” she says.

His eyes sweep over her face, and he almost reaches out to touch her cheek. “Short Stack, find Sam and Ben. Stay with them, you know what to do.”

“But Dean,” she protests.

“Riley, go! Sweetheart, I will find you when this is all over,” he promises.

She nods. “Not if I find you first, Winchester.”

She runs in the direction she last saw Sam. I won’t let it take you, too. “Sam!”

“Riley!”

“Sammy!”

Much like yesterday, Riley crashes into something hard. It knocks the breath from her lungs; she staggers backwards, but a hand at her back keeps her from falling. Sam.

Hailey’s scream cuts through the air. Riley bristles. I will find you when this is all over. . . Riley replays Dean’s promise over in her head, it’s the only thing that brings her comfort now. Sam holds tight to Riley’s hand and they follow Ben through a clearing of trees, the direction of Hailey’s scream. They break through the thicket and find nothing.

No Hailey. No Dean.

“If it keeps its victims alive, why would it kill Roy?” Ben asks as Riley and Sam lead him through the woods. The important thing now is to regroup, track the Wendigo to its hideout, and save the others. But Sam has no idea where to even begin.

“Honestly?” he says, looking between the young boy and his best friend, “I think because Roy shot at it, he pissed it off.”

Ben continues forward. He drops to the ground, focusing on something hidden in the dirt. When he stands, he hands whatever he picked up to Sam. “They went this way,” he says, and there’s a certainty in his voice they hadn’t heard from him before now.

“What is it?” Riley asks. Sam gently squeezes her hand.

“It’s better than bread crumbs. Tink, remind me to thank you for buying Dean the large bag of peanut M&M’s.”

Riley smiles. “See? I told you they’d come in handy.”

Sam doesn’t tell her how much he misses her smile. There’s a lot he hasn’t said. Truth be told, he’s wrestling with the feeling of wishing he’d forced her to stay behind at Stanford. He can’t bring himself to admit that seeing her every day just breaks his heart all over again; it shouldn’t have been Jessica, he tells himself thousand times over. But then, does that mean wants it to have been Riley instead? Whatever the answer, Sam knows this small moment between them, this one second where everything feels normal again isn’t meant to last.

He drops the M&M back to the ground and follows the trail of them littered in the dirt, he doesn’t hold her hand now. His focus is solely on finding Dean and Hailey and with any luck, Tommy, all of them alive. Time passes slowly, without remorse as the trio treks through the woods, silent and without a clue as to what awaits at the end of Dean’s trail.

“An abandoned mine?” Riley says as Sam inspects the rundown building in front of them. “Dean’s trail led us here?”

“This is where the M&M’s stop,” Ben tells her. She gives him a small reassuring smile.

Sam pushes his way through the entrance and beckons Ben and Riley after him. The light from outside stops just beyond, and he switches on his flashlight. It’s dark and dry and so far, there are no signs of Dean or Hailey anywhere. Sam’s heart plummets. He can’t do this without his brother.

He leads Riley and Ben down the mine, checking over his shoulder every now and then to make sure Riley is still with him. The darkness makes signing impossible. Dean says it’s his responsibility to keep her safe, but he’s done a shit job of it and still isn’t doing that much better now.

Growling somewhere in the distance pulls Sam’s focus back to the task at hand. He pushes Ben and Riley behind him and they scoot off to the side, pressing themselves as close against the wall of the mine as they can get. Leaning around the corner, Sam sees the shadowed figure of the Wendigo leave through the entrance and knows this is their opportunity to find the others. Once it’s gone, he leads them around the corner where the Wendigo appeared and they continue their search.

Light filters in through small cracks in the mine, and Sam glances at Riley. The determination in her eyes is something he isn’t used to seeing. It’s a strange mixture of resilience and defiance and. . .anger. He wonders briefly if she is angry with him and decides that she has every right to be. He hasn’t been acting like her best friend in the last few days.

The floor beneath them creaks; before Sam can warn them to get back, they fall through to the ground below.

Ben looks up startled at the pile of bones they’ve landed on and jumps back, scrambling to get away. Sam’s there to comfort him.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he says softly.

Ten feet away, Dean and Hailey hang by their wrists. Sam considers the Wendigo probably went out to look for the rest of them. In his relief at finding his brother, he forgets to check on Riley.

“Dean,” he says. “Dean. Hey, you okay?”

Dean groans, he wakes at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Ugh, yeah.”

“Hailey. . . Hailey, wake up,” Ben tries. “Wake up.”

Sam cuts the rope tying Dean to the ceiling and helps him down. “Gotcha. All right.” He sits Dean against the wall. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods. “Where is it?”

“It’s gone for now.”

Tommy gasps. He’s in worse shape than Dean and Hailey put together, having been strung up there for days before anyone was able to find him. Hailey looks over her shoulder at the brothers. “Cut him down.”

“Check it out,” says Dean, smiling.

Sam returns it with one of his own. “Flare gun. Those will work.”

Dean’s eyes sweep over the group, searching. He frowns. “Where’s Riley?”

“Riley?”

“Yes, Sam. Riley. Riley. Your best friend, Riley. Short Stack, Sam! She’s about this high with brown hair and piercing grey-blue eyes and an annoying knack for always being right! Where is she?”

It’s then, Sam realizes, he hasn’t seen her since they fell through the floor. His face pales. He was so wrapped up in finding Dean, in killing the Wendigo, in reuniting Hailey and Ben with their brother. . . He forgot about Riley. . .again. He panics, his heart leaps into his throat. The rage that flashes in his brother’s eyes is enough to punch a hole through his chest.

He stutters. “I-I― I don’t―”

“Damn it, Sam! Where is she?” Dean roars.

Sam rises from the floor. He’ll find her, he has to. He turns back toward the hole; he remembers falling, and picking Ben up from the pile of skeletons, and. . . He never checked for her.

Dean sees her body before Sam does. “There.” He gestures to the bones, and nestled among them is that familiar head of chestnut brown curls.

Sam sprints across the room. “Riley?” He can’t lose her, too. “Ri? You gotta wake up, Tink.” He pulls his hand away from the back of her head and it’s coated in blood. He chokes down a sob.

“You don’t get to die on me, Hot Stuff,” Dean says kneeling beside his brother, and Sam ignores the pang of jealousy that springs up in his chest. Dean replaces Sam’s hand with his own, this is not the time to stop himself from touching her. He applies pressure to the back of her skull, just enough so the bleeding slows. “We haven’t made it through that The Best of Kansas tape yet. No way I’m lettin’ you check out before then.”

Riley stirs; the brothers breathe.

“You are a terrible tour guide. I oughta kick your ass,” she says breathless.

“Atta girl,” says Dean. “How about we get you outta here first? I’ll let you kick my ass all you want after this is all over.”

She smiles, and Sam’s heart stutters in his chest. “Deal.”

“You okay up there?” Dean asks, looking up at Riley on Sam’s back. It’s the only way to make sure she stays with the group. He won’t risk leaving her behind a second time; he makes his brother do the work.

She nods her head, and Dean can see the exhaustion in her usually bright grey-blue eyes. “Mmhm,” she assures.

Growling down the mine alerts the group of the Wendigo’s return. Sam gently sets Riley on the ground, aiming his flare gun out in front of him.

“Looks like someone’s home for supper,” says Dean, scanning the mine shaft.

“We’ll never outrun it,” Hailey’s voice shakes.

Dean’s eyes pass over Tommy and Riley, they’re too injured to run even with help from the others. Dean thinks. They’ve made it this far, he refuses to give up now. He turns to his brother, calculating.

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“All right, listen to me. Stay with Sam, he’s gonna get you outta here.”

Hailey stares back at him. “What are you gonna do?” He doesn’t answer.

His gaze meets Riley’s and he knows what she’s thinking. Of all the stupid things she’s watched me do. . . This is just the tip of the iceberg. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t smile, just stares into those gunmetal blue eyes. I will find you when this is all over, it’s a promise he knows he can keep.

He runs in the opposite direction without looking back. “It’s chow time, you freakin’ bastard! Yeah, that’s right! Bring it on, baby! I taste good!”

Sam watches his brother walk away and remembers all the times when they ere kids, when he wanted to grow up to be just like Dean. His strength, his fearlessness, his resilience. . .everything about Dean that makes him who he is, Sam isn’t sure he even has a modicum of the skill Dean has. But Dean is counting on him, and Sam refuses to let him down.

He ushers Hailey, Ben and Tommy forward, reaches behind him for Riley’s hand and feels the weight of it against his palm. How did things get so fucked up so quickly? He can’t even begin to figure out what he needs to do to make things right with Riley again or if he even can.

“Right over here!” In the distance, they hear Dean’s shouts to lure the Wendigo away from their location and Sam hopes his brother’s plan will work.

“All right, come on. Hurry!” Sam clears the next hallway and motions for the siblings and Riley to follow along. Riley’s slowing down and Sam knows it’s due to the wound on her head, he’s not sure how much blood she’s lost and she must make it out of the mine.

As quickly as possible, he continues to lead them through the twists and turns of the mineshaft toward the entrance. With the growling up ahead, Sam has no choice but to send them on without him and help Dean dispose of the Wendigo. It’s not the plan his brother had, but he won’t let him face off against that thing on his own.

He turns to Hailey and Ben. “Get them out of here.”

Hailey protests, “Sam, no.”

“Go. Go! Riley, go with them.”

“Not a chance in hell, Winchester.” She grits her teeth and pushes off of the wall. “You’re not leaving me behind this time.”

Her words cut through him like a knife. Of course, she’s still hanging onto that. Why wouldn’t she? She could’ve died, almost died, twice now, because of him. He knows better than to argue, especially against Riley once she has her mind set. He nods. “Okay.”

They back up against the wall, waiting. It’s still too dark for Sam to sign, all he can do is hope she follows his lead on this. He waits. Heavy footsteps echo around them, Sam turns his head to the left. The Wendigo stares them down. He points the flare gun and pulls the trigger, the Wendigo dodges the projectile. Sam grabs Riley’s hand and pulls her after him toward the exit.

“That was your brilliant plan?” she scoffs.

“We got away, didn’t we?” he answers.

“Sam! Riley!” Hailey yells.

They turn down another tunnel and meet up with the Collins siblings, they haven’t made it far without Sam’s help. But at least he’s bought them more time.

“Come on! Hurry, hurry, hurry! Go!” He pushes them forward. If they make it out of this, Sam vows to do better by Riley. Taking another turn, they’re met with a dead end as the Wendigo closes in on them. Sam us he's the group behind him, close to the wall. “Get behind me.” He feels Riley grip the back of his jacket.

If someone is going to die today, it’ll be Sam. The Wendigo stops mere feet in front of them, its large figure rears back and roars viciously. Sam swallows, his last act of heroism will be staring down the eyes of this monster before he lets it take Riley and the others. I owe her this much, he thinks.

“Hey!” Suddenly Dean’s there. He draws the Wendigo’s attention away from his brother and their friends, pulls the trigger and sends a flare directly into the center of its torso. It lights up from the inside out as the flare burns away its flesh. Dean looks up at the group. “Not bad, huh?”

Riley Thomas can’t believe the turn her life has taken in the last month. From studying for exams at Stanford, celebrating Halloween and Sam passing his LSATS, to following Sam and his estranged older brother across California to look for their father, meeting a ghost with a penchant for killing adulterers, almost dying, and now this. If anyone were to tell Riley Thomas that the true test of her life had only just begun when she met Sam Winchester three years ago, she would’ve scoffed in their faces. Now, it’s the only thing she’ll believe.

She sits on the hood of the Impala outside the Lost Creek Trail Ranger Station watching Sam help Ben give his statement to the authorities. It’s weird to think that after everything they witnessed, they have to cover their tracks with a lie. No one in their right minds will believe half the shit they tell them; she wouldn’t if she hadn’t seen it for herself.

Down the way, Dean walks with Hailey. She wrestles with the feelings of jealousy stirring in her gut. She told Hailey to go for it and that’s what she’s doing. Dean doesn’t belong to her, he doesn’t belong to anyone. The moments between them in the forest were just that, moments. Pieces of time that exist and are left behind, never to be breached again. Maybe that’s how they should stay.

The boys return to the car and Riley decides she’s fine with that. She has to be if she’s going to spend her time travelling across the country with the Winchester boys in search of their dad.

The brothers sit on either side of her and she takes a moment to be grateful that they all made it out of Black Water Ridge alive.

“Man, I hate camping,” Dean says.

“Me, too,” says Sam.

Riley hums.

“Sam, you know we’re gonna find Dad, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Riley isn’t sure she believes him, she isn’t sure he believes himself. “But in the meantime. . .I’m drivin’.”

Riley gapes at Dean as he tosses Sam the keys. He winks at her and she scoffs. “Excuse me, what happened to letting me drive?”

Dean shrugs. “Sam called dibs.”

“Dibs? Dibs?”

“Dibs,” he nods, holding the rear passenger door open for her. “Besides, Sam drivin’ gives me more time to check out those cute little hiking shorts you’ve been wearing all weekend.”

Riley’s cheeks warm at Dean’s flirting, but she quickly scowls to cover it up. “In your dreams, Romeo.”

“Dean, quit flirting with my best friend,” Sam warns, pulling out of the parking lot.

Riley Thomas decides then, that being stuck with Dean Winchester isn’t so bad.

Taglist: @iwantthedean @atc74 @nyotamalfoy @kazsrm67

#carry on my wayward queue #supernatural rewrite #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction

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taino-ti · 30 days

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SUPERNATURAL REWRITE SERVER

Recently I've been publishing a revised version of my Supernatural Rewrite Project on Ao3, which is a project I've been working on for a few years now and have decided to revive recently. This project is focused on novelizing certain episodes of Supernatural from seasons 1-15, with special focus to certain aspects of the show which many audiences have agreed should see more attention. With special attention to issues of diversity within the shows canon, I've opened up a Discord Server where people can hang out, talk about the show, and talk about the project. I am also looking for people interested in conversations regarding representation for disabled people, people of color, transfeminine folks and more, so I would really appreciate all the input possible! Id really love for this project to deliver on a lot of the cool concepts Supernatural built up to but perhaps didn't particularly deliver on, so I love to hear what the fans have to say about this! So whether you have your opinions on certain episodes (e.g Bugs, Route 666), certain plot lines (Bobby's disability, Sam's blood powers).

Haven't Seen Supernatural?

No problem! The intention of this fic almost akin to a reboot, where I redeliver familiar concepts from the show in a fresh framing as fresh concepts. You do not have to watch Supernatural to read my works, so if the concepts ever interested you, feel free to check out the first installation (Woman in White), The project, or the server!

Hope to see y'all around!

#Supernatural #SPN #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #Lorelai Winchester #SPN Rewrite #Supernatural Rewrite #NYMSPN #sef speaks

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uncouth-the-fifth · 1 year

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pythia, a supernatural rewrite. phantom traveler, p.2

read it on ao3. masterlist.

words: 4747 notes: HI FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HELLO. uni is finally no longer kicking my ass, so here is a pythia update! since it's been an embarrassing amount of time since I last posted, i rly wanted to get something out for u guys - and as a result this chapter is shorter than what I'd like, but I hope still fun and silly ;) thank you so much for holding on with me and i can't wait to hear your thoughts! p.s - sam and dean are extra sweet this chapter bc i want all of u to love me again >:)

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 3rd, midday.

George Phelps was Max’s passenger, and, among other things, a loving and committed husband. He lived in a quaint little house in the suburbs, where his wife put his picture on the mantle and refused to say much to you. She didn’t have to. Just looking up at their house from the curb, decorated with soft glowing Christmas lights and silver crosses, you knew George Phelps wasn’t your guy. Maybe Max had seen him pry open the emergency exit on the flight, but you seriously doubted a dentist with acid reflux was behind the deaths of two hundred people.

Sitting in George’s living room and speaking with his wife, you swore that there was almost something there, but it was neutral enough that you doubted it was anything more than the wisps of George’s presence in the house. Fresh grief always felt the same.

You didn’t like how this hunt had been gnawing on you. The visions always itched you in their own way, but this time was distinctly, uncomfortably different, and you just couldn’t pin down why. It was your job to take the weird inclinations the Gift gave you and turn them into something usable. Somehow, you couldn’t even manage that.

You were the first one out of George Phelp’s stifling house and the first one into the Impala. In the safety of the backseat, you curled your nails into the upholstery until your fingers hurt and just felt. What were you missing? What were you recognizing, but failing to remember?

The thing you were hunting was big game. You’d had hundred-year-old vengeful spirits in your head, and they couldn’t even glimpse the kind of hatred you were dealing with here. It affected audio recordings, had loads of strength, and took a metal bat to your Gift every time you even thought about it. Somehow, it manifested with or connected to normal people. None of this rung any bells with you. Which was ridiculous, since it felt more and more familiar the longer you rolled your vision over in your mind—beyond close, like it was within arm’s reach.

Sam, in the Impala’s passenger seat, started giving you cautious looks in the rear-view. Dean had been halfway through griping about this case when Sam finally spoke his mind: “____… What exactly did you see in your vision?”

Both of the boys shared a furtive glance, then turned to look at you as one.

You must’ve shown the panic you were feeling on your face, because Dean’s clammed up with awkward sympathy. “...I know this one was tougher n’ usual, but I need you to buck up a bit, okay? This thing’s got nothing on you. C’mon.”

When you frowned, there was a bitter tang growing on the back of your tongue. You weren’t six. You didn’t need someone to coax your nightmares from you, and you definitely didn’t need anyone telling you to put your big girl pants on. Dean didn’t have to ask Sam to toughen up, even four years off his game, and you doubted he ever told himself to. Grr.

“Just start driving,” you gruffed, and failed to stop your lip from curling.

The arm Dean had hung over the front seat slouched into his lap. “...Sure thing. What’d you see?”

He turned the key and got you on the road again, joined, right on cue, by Sam’s kicked-puppy look swaying back to the windshield. You reminded yourself that the only reason you were pissed was because of how awful these last few days had been, and explained yourself.

“It was intense. Way more intense than most visions I’ve had. Not because of anything I saw—though the crash was… awful—but because of the feeling it gave me. Even when I got out of it… it just filled my head, I guess. This thing has a seriously powerful influence.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “Did you see it at all?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, reminded again of how little you were helping. “Most of it was just flashes of the passengers. The plane going down. Before that, I saw a man’s hand grab the handle to the emergency door, the pilots talking about a flight out of Pittsburg, and then smoke. Loads of it.”

The car sunk into a heavy, thought-honed silence that only served to ramp up to your anxiety. You kept the case on your mind for all of two seconds, then were pulled to the ceaseless clicking of Dean’s turn signal and how scratchy your bandages were. Your suit sat too stiff on your body for you to relax into your seat, squeezing your empty belly in the worst way and chaffing on Baby’s leather. The cold air was too dry and your eyes and throat burned with the strangest pressure. Not a sick pressure, but a living one, pressing in. Black smoke. Your pain meds were wearing off too, so the sinew in your body felt taut and worn on an unfamiliar skeleton.

You stared dead-eyed at nothing for a minute longer, then Dean hauled the Impala up to the curb again and declared: “Fuck it. We’re getting lunch. What are you in the mood for, baby?”

“That’s a weird way to say the car needs gas, Dean,” you managed.

“No—not her-Baby, you baby!” Dean flushed, and honestly, he deserved some serious points for scrounging up any humor right now. Again, he tossed an elbow over the seat and threw a dazzling, morale-boosting grin at you. “What do you want to eat, darlin’? We can go to a sit-down place, have an actual meal. Or we can just grab something from the store. Anything.”

You hesitated to answer, and caught Sam’s grimace—you were way too poor right now to go for anything beyond instant noodles. “...We can wait til’ later, Dean. I don’t really have an appetite right now,” you lied.

Dean never begged, but forever reason he was willing to today. Maybe you seemed even worse off than you’d thought. “...C’mon, kid, you’re killing me here. Whatever you want. My treat.”

Again, you didn’t jump at the chance to answer. Truth be told, you could eat a grocery store whole right now, but the three of you did not have the budget. Dean was insane and devoted enough to steal lunch for you, too, and you didn’t feel like bailing him out of jail right now. Just the idea made your wallet tear up.

You opened your mouth to try and be realistic, only for Sam to interrupt you.

“Ice cream,” he read your mind. “She wants ice cream. The big grocery store tubs.”

Dean didn’t wait for any objections. He whipped the Impala out of park, jerked back into your lane, and peeled away toward the nearest store. “Ice cream! Hell yeah. I could fuck up some cherry garcia right now. Sam? Could you fuck up some ice cream right now?”

“Me? Oh, big time,” he lied, catching your eyes in the rearview again. You’d maybe seen Sam eat ice cream twice in your entire life. Again, he was probably hiding that he was lactose intolerant.

You had only a sliver of fight left within you. “Boys…”

“Yes?” They chimed. In their own ways, their voices dared you to resist, but the combined power of both Winchesters was too strong to withstand.

You bit down your grin and fell silent.

A few minutes later, Dean pulled into a thirty-year-old mini-mart that looked it’s age. Of course, he parked the Impala as far from the other cars as possible, so the mile-long walk through freezing, finger-numbing winds put everyone in the mood for ice cold ice cream. The first euphoric rush of interior heating made you sigh out loud. When Sam and Dean had swiped the snow off their blazers, you made an attempt at leading them toward another toastier, cheaper snack.

“You want ice cream,” was all Sam said, shrugging, and scooped up a basket for the three of you to use.

Either you were predictable or he could read minds, because even with the snowy weather you were more than ready to fuck up some ice cream. Just thinking about it made your bandages feel less scratchy. Lounging on the couch and plowing through a tub was a privilege the road really didn’t allow, so you were pretty sure you hadn’t even had any ice cream since October. Since you’d actually lived in your apartment.

“How did you know?” You asked him, out of honest curiosity.

Sam gave you a mysterious smile instead of an answer, swiped some snow off your jacket, then tilted his head after Dean in an unspoken come on. His brother had already caught the scent of the frozen treats section, so you both hurried to catch up with him. You stole glimpses of Sam as you wove your way to the back of the store. He was a little taller than the aisles, and his loafers cleared the age-stained linoleum in half the time your heels did. For whatever reason this is when your heart decides to remind you how absolutely spellbound you are by him. He takes a turn around an endcap of Little Debbies to find Dean, and you float right after him, orbited by cartoon hearts.

Maybe that’s intentional on Sam’s part, since you forget all about money and budgets right up until you’re staring down the row of smudged freezer doors. Dean’s already hefting his tub of cherry garcia overhead when you approach, and after a lot of fake stadium-cheering and whooping, he free-throws it with a perfect swish into Sam’s basket. Then, he slides aside and unveils the mini-mart’s slim selection of ice creams to you. Unfortunately, you’ve been trained from birth to think Dean’s funny, so you bite down on your cheek-aching grin and take a look.

“I dunno…” you say, even though you’ve already come this far. The math is starting to stack in your head. One tub is fine, but one for each of you builds up, and that cuts into real food money and motel money and gas money and—

“How about this,” Sam interrupts your mounting anxiety, voice smooth and anticipatory. “Dean gets his and then you and I get one to share. Sound good?”

You thank him with a small smile, imagining the face he’d make if you yanked him down by the lapels and kissed him for knowing you so well. Sam was a great kisser.

“That’d be perfect.”

Instead of going for your favorite, you swipe the dairy-free cookies and cream.

Dean shoos Sam further down the aisle, and his brother props up the basket like a hoop and starts serpentining between the frozen pizzas, the two of them beaming like rowdy middle school boys. You turn your tub over in your hand and line up your shot. Dean’s taunting and pinching is ultimately fruitless—the victory grin is already comfortable on your face when your ice cream swishes flawlessly into Sam’s basket. Sam whoops.

“Not bad, Slayer,” Dean approves. He gives your shoulder a playful budge, and you budge him right back on the way to the registers.

With your bad mood successfully thawed, you’re easy to distract while Dean sneaks away to (hopefully) pay for your plunder. One minute you’re in line with them, and in the next Sam is coaxing you away to poke around the value movie bin, hypnotizing you with a few well-placed, dimply grins. You forget altogether that ice cream costs money. You’re only just remembering what money is when Dean reappears, shoving a receipt in his pocket and jabbing a thumb toward the bakery.

“Cashier lady said they got spoons over there,” Dean explained.

You paused. “Don’t we have, like, a gazillion in the car?”

“You mean the car with the heater that takes ten years to start?” Dean sassed back, which instantly dissolved into one of his cheesy, goading grins. He started to rifle through the grocery bag for his flavor, half-walking and half-wrestling with it. “We’ll eat in here. Don’t worry about it.”

Somehow, you didn’t worry about it. Dean cracked jokes about adult freedoms and whole sleeves of raw cookie dough, Sam rubbed his belly like just the thought made him nauseous, and you giggled at every little thing they did. You were still laughing when Sam parked you by one of the bakery’s vents, the two of you crowded close to get as much warm bread fog as possible. Dean went over and bartered for three plastic spoons. The whole time he stole glances at you loudly giggling with his brother, and patted himself on the back for his job well done.

Dean wiggled closer to you both to be under the warmth of the vent. Now equipped with a way to get this ice cream into your ice-cream-ready belly, you borrowed Sam’s pocket knife to shred the plastic seperating you from your treasure. There wasn’t really a contactless way to hold the tub between you both. While Dean ravaged his cherry garcia, you and Sam tried, and failed, to preserve your personal space, only to lazily gravitate closer to each other with the first glorious spoonfuls of cookie-dough. The first bite balmed your sore throat and your sensitive burns. It was sweeter than you were expecting for dairy-free ice cream, but the surprise was welcome.

Dean stabbed his spoon into his cherry garcia. Then, he gave you another welcome surprise. He dropped his hand in your hair, smoothing it back, and asked around a mouthful of cherry flavoring, “Good?”

You couldn’t help but beam. “Yeah. I’m good.”

NTSB EVIDENCE WAREHOUSE, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 3rd, midday.

The next step in your investigation, naturally, was to break into a government warehouse, slip past security undetected, and hopefully learn something useful from the wreckage without being caught. No amount of ice cream could make that easy, but you couldn’t let your anxiety get in the way. The heart attacks you had showing your fake badge to the security guards were nausea-inducing, but the overpowering psychic weight of a disaster this fatal was going to be a thousand times worse. You steeled yourself.

Before you’d been a hunter, you’d come from a long line of spiritualists and occultists who made death their livelihood. They communicated with the spirit world, they studied life after death, they made the passing of old souls easier. Even before your Gift opened up you’d had similar connections to death. Beth, eyes gleaming with pride, used to tell stories about you at four, talking to the darkness of the attic’s crawlspace like there was someone there. Dean got head to toe heebie-jeebies when you brought that up, but a connection to the other side at such a young age was a Proctor mark of pride. The first time you’d ever seen an apparition had been celebrated as a milestone of womanhood. Death was your older sister, so you shouldn’t have been afraid of her.

You’d sensed her just a few miles out from the warehouse. It was gentle at first, seeping into your ears like a shift in air pressure, then gradually filling up your other senses. But over two hundred real living people—people who loved and were loved like you loved Sam and Dean—had died in that crash, so in no time you were squeezing your eyes shut and plugging your nose in the backseat. You felt Death every day in small doses. In Sam, restlessly watching the ceiling of your rooms at night, in your motorcycle, in the graves you dug up and the homes you questioned civilians in. Your sister sat beside you in the back of the Impala every day.

But two hundred whole people. You dug the nails of your right fist into your palm until it burned, thinking, desperately, about ice cream.

The closer you came to the scene, the more overwhelming the sense of death became. You were almost swaying on your feet flashing your badge at the security desk, who, of course, have to remind everyone of how useless you are.

“FBI? Don’t you guys usually work in pairs?”

Sam gave a tight smile. “She’s our aircraft specialist, thank you.”

A security clerk from the main office drove you out to the right hangar on a golf cart. Dean laid his action movie smolder a bit thick on the guy, but he at least could’ve passed as a trainee. By comparison, Sam at twenty-two and you at twenty-four were round-faced babies, too young to play agents on TV, nevermind in real life. The two of you squished together on the back bench of the cart and sat ramrod straight the whole ride, refusing to turn around. The less people who could remember your faces, the better.

When the warehouse was unlocked and the three of you were inside, your sister struck.

There was so much death. Great mouthfuls, lungfuls, chestfuls of it in the air, diffusing through your nose every time you breathed. You gagged on the psychic taste of it until your eyes watered.

A smarter person would’ve stayed in the safe bubble between Sam and Dean, but you’re done being babied. You break ranks the first chance you get. While the boys take slow steps around the perimeter of the wreckage, you gravitate toward the split-open center of the fuselage. All that remains of the plane’s body are a few rows of seating, gutted curves of scrap, and long tangles of roasted wires. There was so little left that you had room to walk through the middle, down the same path the passengers had taken to board.

When the ringing in your ears was too loud to hear over and you felt like a massive fist had closed around your chest, you stopped. Reached out. Felt, beyond the veil, the mark of the thing that had done this. It hung over this warehouse like a funeral shroud, but you felt it first through its spider web, which kept the last impressions of over two-hundred different people tethered to this place by invisible strands. None of the people—the spirits from the crash had manifested yet, but every living thing left an impression of itself behind. A footprint.

You pulled at different strands of the spider’s web for a while, sorting through the last memories of those on the plane for something useful. It was just as terrible as you’d expect. Mothers held their children, husbands clutched their wives, everyone wailed and screamed. This many people should’ve made up a whole nebula of different feelings, but instead you sensed just one: absolute, incalculable terror. With every passing moment the fear pressed in closer, but you ignored it. You pushed yourself deeper. Max Jaffey gasped into his oxygen mask. The seat in front of him was empty, and he was looking at someone—you reached and reached—across the aisle, a man sobbed and pressed his girlfriend’s trembling hand into his heart—you were going to die you were all going to die—

You’re ripped out of the swarm of memories.

For the millionth fucking time, you come out of the vision on your ass with the boys hovering over you. You’re slow to remember where you are and what’s going on, but the shame is there waiting for you, like always.

“—okay, just breathe, you’re okay—” Sam is telling you, soft and unbelievably patient, considering the number of times he’s had to do this.

His heart is full-on pounding like it’s gonna punch right out of his chest, and you wonder why you know that until you glance down. He’s got your wrist fished in his hand, pressing your palm to flat to the crisp chest of his suit, and it’s just plain embarrassing at this point how much it pulls you back to earth. Your dignity wants you to rip yourself away from him, but, luckily, Dean does it for you. He pushes Sam back and kicks a box of wires neatly between you, just in time for his premonition to come true: your twisting stomach makes its move, and you promptly throw up into the box like a sick toddler in a ball pit. Dean could always tell.

“Touchdown,” he winces.

This is it. You’ve reached the final level of humiliation you can stand. No matter how hard you try, every pathetic dive you’ve made to be useful to the Winchesters has ended with your face in the mud. You can’t even wipe your face right. Sam ends up doing it for you with his sleeve, and sighs, out loud, just to add insult to injury: “Poor baby.”

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 3rd, evening.

Two hours later, you’re back in the motel, sitting criss-cross at the end of Dean’s bed and contemplating what color you’re going to dye your hair. You’ve already landed on what your new legal name will be—Elizabeth Ripley. Elizabeth as in Pride and Prejudice and Ripley as in Alien. Sam would appreciate a Jane Austen reference and Dean would appreciate anything Alien related, so everyone would be happy.

You’re not sure where this plan to change your name and face came from. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, after you gracefully threw up everywhere and failed to learn anything new about the case, the real FBI showed up. Like. Real, gun-slinging, tie-wearing FBI agents. And they may or may not have chased you out of the warehouse. (Which you would’ve seen coming, by the way, if you hadn’t royally exhausted your powers). Just in case all that was enough—while you were off being useless, Sam and Dean got a potential sample from your mystery monster. An actual workable lead.

Fucking great.

The two of them are deciding what to do with you. If you were to look beyond the lens of your self-hatred for a moment, it’s more likely that the boys are worried about you and trying to figure this out. But you feel embarrassed and gross and unhelpful, so you strain to pick up every word you can and glare a new hole into the wall. They’re going to tell you to stay behind. Well that, at least, is something you can beat them to.

Ever since you were little, the three of you had a very special rhythm together. Sam was the mind and Dean was the heart and you were the subconscious. Each of you was important, and though you could work on your own, you were so, so much better as a system. With you sending out fucked-up signals, the two of them would be down a crucial piece.

Whatever. They’d probably function just fine without you on this one.

Of course, Dean sics his little peacekeeper on you. The door clicks open. You smear the last of your frustrated tears on your sleeve and talk before Sam can say anything: “Hey, is it okay if you guys take that sample to Jerry without me? It’d probably be good for us to get a leg up on research, and you guys don’t exactly need me there.”

Sam comes toward you, his voice extra soft and placating. Since, y’know, you’re a shitty timebomb that needs to be handled with kid gloves. “...Alright. That’s a good idea. That’d help out a lot.”

He says that specifically because he knows you feel unhelpful. He gives you those dewy, understanding Sam eyes and puts his big Sam hand on your shoulder, and all it does is piss you off. You hate how easily he can read you, and how much you want to listen to him. None of this should be such a big fucking deal. You’re twenty-four—you should have a handle on your Gift by now. Sam’s been back at this for, what? Two months? Nobody’s treating him like he can’t handle the pressure. He’s not being haunted by visions twenty-four-fucking-seven or dealing with stupid burns or—or being creeped on by random hunters! Or throwing up at crime scenes!

Your eyes start to burn. You glare harder at the wall, and force yourself not to take this out on him.

Sam’s hand goes to move off your shoulder, but something changes his mind and he keeps it there for another lingering moment. “Look at me a second.”

You force yourself to look at his face. As mad as you are, the boy-crazy teenage girl in your head gets one look at him and squeals into her pillow.

“Go easy on yourself,” he says, softer than before. “Really. Nobody’s built for this kind of thing.”

You want to scream. Me! I am! I’m built for this! But you’re not a teenager anymore, so you compose yourself, sigh, and tell him, “...I’ll try.”

Instead of getting up, Sam stares at you for a long beat. There’s something in his eyes you can’t describe, and his hand is still on your shoulder, tethering the two of you to each other. Your mental teenage girl is about to succumb to romantic psychosis when Sam’s greenish eyes find something else to look at, and he passes you something from his pocket.

He mutters something like feel better and gets up, leaving you with a shard of metal about as long as one of your fingers. He doesn’t explain what it is to you. He doesn’t tell you what to do with it. Because you’re a hunter, dammit, and Sam knows you can handle yourself. His warm, calloused palm slips off your shoulder and you get the impression that he was never using any kid gloves with you to begin with.

Sam leaves. You stare at the shard as the Impala slinks out of the parking lot. Just by touch, you know it’s a piece of flight 2485’s fuselage.

…You do as Sam asked, and go easy on yourself. After a shower, a little teeth-brushing, and a lot of mints, you’re feeling way less gross and a lot more like a hunter. The whole time you pour through research on your laptop, you rub the shard of flight 2485 between your fingers and sort through what this thing could be. Inhuman strength. Uses a vessel. Black eyes. Black smoke.

Nobody’s built for this kind of thing, Sam had said, and he’d been wrong. You’d been honing this Gift before you’d even known you’d had it. Most of your life had been spent learning every kind of divination under the sun, so there was no way this thing could hide from you.

You started easy, reading the shard through psychometry. The nauseous feeling rose up inside you again, and again, you heeded Sam’s warning and chose to push away from it. You tried numerology, which felt like a push in the right direction; 2458 wasn’t relevant, and though 7 survivors could mean something interesting (luck, the union of the physical and the spiritual, yadda yadda), your gut told you it was something else. The plane crashed 40 minutes in. Biblical numerology, maybe? Promising. But also potentially terrifying.

When your bone casting read felt flat and uninspired, you defaulted to the simplest method you could think of. Tarot.

The first time you’d seen an apparition, your mom had scooped you up into a massive hug and paraded you around the house, declaring to the spirits of the underworld that a new heavyweight champ had entered the ring. (This became a lot funnier the older you got). You were bought ice cream and root beer and told in a thousand ways, subtle and unsubtle, that this was a good thing. One of the ways Beth convinced you was with her childhood tarot deck, which she’d gifted you that day.

You turned the cards over in your hands, imbuing the worn-smooth texture of the paper with the feelings from your vision. The first card you pulled was done on nothing but pure instinct. And the second. By the third, you shuffled the deck as thoroughly as possible, but the answer was still the same every single time. You’d never pulled the same exact card three times. All at once, things pulled together—the overwhelming sense of evil, the human host, the numerology, the way it sucked up death like a goddamn sponge—no survivors, it’d said on the EVP. Holy shit.

You were dialing Dean’s number the second you set the card down. He answered on the second ring, and spoke at the exact same time as you—

“It’s a demon."

Underneath the illustration were two blemished words. The Devil.

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looouou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoonn

NEXT PART: phantom traveler, p.3.

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester fic recs #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #pythia #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural rewrite

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foreverwayward · 9 months

Text

Supernatural: The Series Rewrite

S.1 Ch.1 “It Runs in the Family”

Series summary: As Sam and Dean begin the search for their father, a chance encounter with another hunter will change the roads ahead. Riley Munroe is a hunter, raised by her father after her mother tragically died when she was an infant. Brought together by loss, grief, and the family business, Sam, Dean, and Riley join forces. They’ll find that their stories are intertwined and lean on each other as they search for answers and to avenge those they’ve lost. They’ll face evil, darkness, and Hell itself…as a family.

*NEW SERIES*

SERIES MASTERLIST

Word Count: 10k+

Content Warning: language and violence

**GIFS AND IMAGES ARE NOT MY OWN**

-----

The apartment door swung open as the dim hallway lights spilled into the pitch black room.

Stepping inside, Sam put his keys and bag down. He was exhausted and sore from the hunt, a fatigue and pain he was all too familiar with.

"Jess?" He called out as he closed the door behind him. "You home?"

As he walked further inside, waiting for a response, Sam noticed a plate of chocolate chip cookies on a nearby table. He lifted the note beside it that read: "Missed you! Love you!"

Sam smiled to himself as he picked up a cookie and took a bite. It was the perfect way to come home after his last hunt with Dean.

He walked into the bedroom still chewing on the sweet cookie. The room was completely dark except for a sliver of light coming out from under the bathroom door. Sam could hear the shower running and he figured Jessica was getting cleaned up for the night.

Sam plopped down on the bed onto his back. For the first time in days, he sighed and tried to let go of it all.

Of course, Dean was going to find John, he always did. Even still, it no longer felt like Sam’s problem. He decided then and there that he would never hunt again and that he would move on, hoping that one day Dean would understand.

Things were going to be okay. The Lady in White was put to rest, he had an interview with an incredible law firm in a few days, and soon he would be falling asleep in his own bed while holding the woman he loved. There was hope in Sam’s future and it filled him with contentment.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Although Sam knew he would always carry the weight of being a hunter, of being a Winchester, he believed he could leave the job behind and live his life. If he just held onto the future and let go of the past, Sam thought he could finally be happy.

A soft smile curled up on his lips as he slowly began to fall asleep.

Sam's face twitched at a sudden wet sensation dropping against his skin. As another drop fell onto his face, Sam opened his eyes.

With horror, Sam gasped as he saw Jess pinned to the ceiling, her body sprawled out as if lying on the floor. She was in her pajamas and her face was pale and vacant. A large gash poured blood from her belly as her empty dead eyes pleaded for help.

"No!" he screamed.

The ceiling instantly burst into flames, consuming Jess' mutilated body.

"Jess!" Sam's guttural cries strangled his throat. He froze on the bed, anguished and unable to process what was happening.

The flames grew quickly around him, the room becoming a blazing tinderbox.

The door abruptly whipped open, having been kicked in by Dean.

"Sam!"

Dean's eyes were wide with panic as he watched what was left of Jessica's charred body disappear into the fire. For a brief moment, he was lost in the thought that he was watching Jess meet the same horrific end his mother had.

Snapping back into the moment as the heat swirled around them, Dean's attention shifted to see Sam still lying on the bed, frozen. Dean rushed over to him, grabbed Sam, and began to yank him away.

"No!" Sam cried out. "No! Jess!"

"Sam! Sam! We have to go!" Dean shouted with urgency over the roaring fire.

Dean practically dragged Sam out of the burning apartment as his little brother cried out for the woman he loved.

-----

Outside the apartments, the streets were lit up by siren lights as firefighters tried to put out the blaze. Police set up a barrier to the scene to keep back the local gawkers. The smoke filled and thickened the air.

Dean stood quietly as he watched the chaos, his face glowing from the red and blue lights. He wondered if Sam's loss would send him spiraling out just as it had their father. He knew nothing would ever be the same for his brother, or the family.

Turning around, Dean walked over to the Impala as Sam stood behind the open trunk, loading a shotgun. His face was set in a mask of desperate anger.

"Hey..." Dean started. "How you doing?"

Sam sighed. "I'm fine."

He knew what monstrosity murdered Jessica; it was the same beast that stole his mother in the same nightmarish way. Sam was broken in unspeakable ways but knew that if he cried, he may never stop. He would have to grieve later because his sole focus had to be killing the demon, no matter the cost.

Sam knew he couldn’t keep hiding from the life of a hunter or from his family. His future no longer held ambitions of being a lawyer and building a family with Jessica. Everything had changed.

In that moment, Sam accepted that he was a hunter and always would be, that he could never get away. Now, all that mattered was destroying the one thing that stole everything from him.

He tossed the loaded gun into the trunk as he stared into a hunting weapons cache. Sam’s entire childhood flashed before his eyes; the childhood that brought him nothing but pain and misery.

Like it or not, Sam knew he would never have the life he wanted, that he would forever be a prisoner to the hunt.

----

A black 1965 Mustang hummed down the road as the sign ahead read: ‘Welcome to Lawrence, Kansas’. The driver's window was down and the song ‘Bad Company’ played on the stereo. It was less than two weeks after Halloween and the autumn air hung briskly in the wind.

As the breeze blew through her dark auburn hair, Riley had one hand on the wheel and the other in the golden hair of the canine co-pilot that laid peacefully in her lap. She knew she would never make it alone during the endless hours on the road if she didn’t have Finn by her side.

Riley smiled like a kid as she plowed through puddles still left from the recent rainfall.

At 22, Riley had been through more than anyone should have to endure in a lifetime. Though her face was young, her aged soul showed. She was mature beyond her years in both the best and worst ways. Riley always tried to appear a little rough around the edges even when she wasn’t. How jaded she was still showed, but she lived with her heart as her compass; that’s how her father raised her.

She wasn’t tall by any means. Being under 5′5″ didn’t give her much of an edge, but she never let her smaller stature stop her from anything.

“You don’t need to be a man to kick ass,” Dad used to say.

Riley smelled of her favorite black leather jacket that she always wore along with the only perfume she ever used. A simple, silver ring on her right hand, which she never took off, glistened in the light. It was the only thing she still had left of her mother.

It always felt so good to come home, she only wished it was under better circumstances. Riley tried to brush off the thought that evil had come to her hometown and focused on the quiet roads ahead. Every time she came to town, it felt as if she had never left. Nothing ever really changed in Lawrence and it was the only place she ever felt that she truly belonged. Small ‘mom and pop’ shops lined the street and the trees had begun to litter the ground with colored leaves.

She couldn’t wait to get to Debbie’s. It had been too long since her last visit with her aunt and the idea of home brought warmth to her chest. But first, Riley wanted to stop by the local florist to pick up Deb’s favorite flowers.

She knew lilies always made her aunt smile.

Riley slowly pulled into a parking spot before bringing the car to a stop and patted Finn on the head.

“Be right back, buddy.”

Once she closed the door, Finnick stuck his head out the window, enjoying the scents in the air.

Closing the door behind her, Riley began to walk towards the shop.

A husky voice to her left spoke up and caught her attention.

“That’s a great car.”

Riley turned to the stranger to see a tall man in a brown, worn leather jacket.

There stood Dean with his hands tucked into his pockets. He stared back at her as he leaned against a gorgeous, black, classic car.

A smirk curled up on his face and Riley smiled back.

“Thanks,” she replied. “I can say the same for yours. That’s a beautiful Impala--a ‘67 right?”

Dean smiled, clearly impressed, and a spark lit up in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s right. So, you know your cars, huh?”

Riley walked closer to him and crossed her arms as the cold breeze hit her. “Dad was a bit of a grease monkey. Cars were something he could never shut up about.”

At a closer glance, Riley saw his hypnotic hazel-green eyes and the small freckles that peppered his face. His hair was a shorter, sandy blonde and fit him perfectly. His full lips caught her eye and she had to force herself not to gawk at him. Riley’s eyes drifted for a brief moment as she noticed how his jeans hugged him just right.

Dean let out a throaty chuckle and said, “my dad too. Looks like we were raised right. I’m Dean by the way.”

He reached his hand out for hers and she took it in return.

“Riley.”

Her name struck something in Dean and he was instantly captivated. Her piercing blue eyes stared back at him and for a second he was lost in them. Something about her was intoxicating.

“So, you from around here?” he asked.

“Yeah. Lawrence is home, just came in for a visit. You?”

“Used to be home--been a long time though.”

Dean hadn’t been back to Lawrence since he was a kid. He had been avoiding it all those years knowing the reminders would be too painful. Being home again didn’t quite feel like home anymore, nowhere did.

Looking around at the downtown strip, he remembered his mom taking him for ice cream--one of the few memories he had left.

Riley instantly made Dean nervous, but in a way that made him want to ride out the high she gave him.

Dean couldn’t help but take in every part of her; from the way her stray hairs blew around her face to how she curved in all the right places. Her intoxicating smile already had Dean drunk by her presence alone.

“Well, I gotta run an errand and get going. It was nice to meet you, Dean.” Riley began to walk away, her boots softly crunching the leaves beneath her.

Dean didn’t want her to go, he had to get to know her. Somehow he knew she was something special.

“Hey, Riley!” Dean called out as he jogged to catch up to her.

She turned to him with a smile, trying to hide how glad she was that he didn’t just let her leave.

“I’m gonna be in town for a bit and have some time to kill. Would you maybe want to get together later? Dinner?”

Riley’s heart fluttered as she tried to conceal her excitement. “Sure. Do you know Debbie’s Diner?” she asked.

“Hell yeah. Best burgers in town. They make a mean apple pie.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Wanna meet me there around seven tonight?”

Dean flashed a smile that made her weak in the knees. It reached up his face and made the corner of his eyes crinkle.

“It’s a date,” Dean replied.

She smirked back at him, revealing dimples that he immediately fell for, “see you then”. Riley turned to walk away, making sure to saunter just a bit to keep his attention.

Dean couldn’t help himself as he watched her walk into the florist shop. She was a knockout.

Filled with anticipation for the night to come, he hopped into the Impala and backed out of his spot.

Dean wished he didn’t have to wait another minute to see Riley again. With a grin on his face and a fire in his eyes, he eagerly imagined the night to come.

-----

Grabbing her duffel bag and the new flowers from behind her seat, Riley got out of the car.

Finn jumped out right behind her. His tail wagged with excitement knowing exactly where they were.

She walked to the back of the diner and went through the employee entrance. A small break room, that looked more like a family room, was warm and simply decorated. A couch and loveseat, a TV, a coffee table, and a rug took up most of the room.

Riley pointed to the sofa and Finn hopped on. She briefly rubbed his ear before walking into the back entrance of the diner by the kitchen.

As she took a step onto the tile, the familiar smell of Debbie’s pies filled the air. The hiss of the fryer in the background making her famous fries made Riley’s mouth water. As soft music played overhead, she was reminded of all the time she had spent in that diner growing up.

She took a deep breath and let out a sigh as she whispered to herself, “home”.

Riley saw Debbie and quietly crept up behind her. “Surprise!”

Debbie let out a small yelp and turned around. Her eyes widened and her smile grew too big for her face.

“Riley!” She embraced her niece tightly and didn’t want to let her go.

Riley was the daughter she never had and Deb missed her so desperately when she was gone. She ached with worry every day.

After a moment, Debbie let go and gave a small tap to the side of Riley’s head. “You scared the crap outta me.”

Riley chuckled. “Sorry, Deb. But...I come bearing a peace offering.” She handed her the lilies knowing her aunt could never stay mad at her.

“Oh, honey, I missed you so much," Debbie said lovingly as she touched Riley's cheek. "I didn’t even know you were gonna be in town. Why didn’t you call?”

“Well, I came in for work and thought I’d surprise you.”

Debbie’s joy fell knowing exactly what ‘work’ meant. She hated what her niece did. The job had stolen her entire family from her and the idea of losing Riley made her lose sleep at night.

Suddenly, Riley could feel the pain swell in her aunt. It turned her stomach and she felt fear, concern, and sadness all at once. She was left dumbfounded, unsure of what was happening as she heard Debbie's voice.

“This isn’t the life I wanted for her. I’m never going to be able to convince her to stay.”

Riley froze realizing that Aunt Deb didn't speak a word. In fact, her lips never moved. She was rattled, uncertain of what had happened, before shaking it off and blaming it on exhaustion. Riley had been driving for a full day, of course, she was tired.

“Well, I gotta get these into a vase. Make yourself at home, but don’t think I won’t put you to work later.”

Riley chuckled, “yes, ma'am. Uh, Deb? Do I smell fresh--”

“You and your pie,” Deb cut in. “I’ll grab you a slice.”

Riley grinned from ear to ear and gave her another hug. She took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of fresh food and her aunt’s vanilla shampoo, one of her favorite scents.

“I’m so glad to be home, Deb.”

-----

Dean was nervous and it had him on edge. He wasn’t used to the knots in his stomach. Dean was good with women and he knew it, but Riley was somehow different. She did something to him and Dean was dying to find out what it was.

He let out a heavy exhale of nerves. Getting out of the car, he straightened his jacket and headed towards the diner.

“It’s just a date,” he muttered to himself. “It’s just another date.”

Dean’s phone vibrated and he answered the call. “Hey, Sammy.”

“Dean? Where are you?” Sam asked, sounding flustered with his brother. “We shouldn’t even be here. We know Dad’s not in Lawrence and we’re wasting time.”

“Dude, we talked about this.”

Sam scoffed. “No, you talked about this. This can’t be our priority, Dean. We need to be going after the demon--we need to find Dad.”

“Look,” Dean said, a little more gently. “I want that son of a bitch dead too, alright? And I want to find Dad as much as you do, but that call we got about this case was weird as hell and we gotta check it out.”

“Exactly. We don’t fucking know who that guy was--even if he did claim to know Dad. How do we know it’s not a trap?”

“We don’t. But it’s the best lead we’ve got right now, okay?”

Sam’s sigh sounded obviously irritated.

“I got a date tonight. We’ll get on the case first thing tomorrow and get back on the road as soon as we handle this shit, alright?” Dean hoped his words were enough to soothe Sam just for the night.

Trying not to be angry with his brother wanting to go on a date with everything that was going on, Sam bit his tongue. “Yeah…talk soon.”

Dean flipped his phone closed and took a deep breath to recenter himself before walking up to the diner. He opened the door and a soft bell jingled.

He didn’t see Riley and was happy that he had gotten there before her.

There was a sign that read: ‘Please seat yourself. We’ll be with you shortly.’

He found a booth in the corner and sat down on the red padded seat. Fiddling with his hands and looking out the window, he was hoping she wouldn’t blow him off. Dean had been looking forward to seeing Riley again since the moment she walked away.

As he mindlessly tapped a brief drum beat on the table, a familiar and appealing voice spoke out that brought him back into focus.

“Hey, glad you made it.” Riley looked at him with her arms crossed and a flirty smile.

Dean looked up to see the same big blue eyes that he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t made Riley up in a dream.

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Dean replied.

“Want a beer?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

Riley walked away and went behind the counter.

Dean watched her with his brow arched, confused as to why she was just helping herself. He saw Riley grab two bottles and pop them open, bringing one to her lips and taking a sip as she came back.

She put the bottles down and sat across from the smile that gave her butterflies.

Dean looked at Riley and chuckled, “ya know, they don’t like it when you serve yourself.”

Riley tried to stifle a laugh while taking another sip from her beer. “I probably should have mentioned, this is my Aunt’s diner--it's kind of like my home.”

“Well, that makes a lot more sense. I was thinking you might just be a little wild,” he smirked.

“Oh, honey. You have no idea.”

Dean’s eyes widened at her response and he bit his lip. Her confident banter was beyond sexy and made her only that much more enticing.

Debbie walked to the table and pulled a pad and pen out from her white apron. “Hey, Riley. Want to introduce your friend?”

“Of course. Debbie, this is Dean.”

Dean shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, ma'am.”

“Ma'am? Damn. When did I get old?”

They all let out a small laugh before a look of recognition came over Debbie's face. Though she thought she might have known the boy at some point, she didn’t want to embarrass Riley and ask too much.

Debbie pushed aside the thought and asked, “you kids wanna order?”

Dean motioned to Riley for her to go first.

“Just the usual, Deb. Cheeseburger and fries.”

Dean loved that she didn’t order a salad or something ridiculous and tasteless. A woman who appreciated good food was a turn-on all on its own.

“And for the handsome one?” Debbie asked, looking at Dean.

Riley rolled her eyes and pulled her lips together. Of course, Deb would say something like that.

Dean looked down and let out a shy laugh. Turning back to Deb, he gave a soft smile and said, “I’ll have the same.”

“Coming right up.” Debbie shot the two a wink and quickly returned behind the counter as she tucked her pad away once more.

The two were finally alone. There was a moment of silence where they both smirked at each other, trying to hide their nervousness.

“So, tell me about yourself, Dean,” Riley said in a calm and flirty tone.

“Well, uh--like I said, I’m from here--originally. I have a little brother, I love cars, and I may have a slightly unhealthy obsession with classic rock.”

Riley laughed and replied, “I’m the same way. I’m a sucker for when music was actually good, ya know? Def Leppard, AC/DC, Guns 'n Roses, Led Zeppelin…I have too many favorites to name.”

Dean couldn’t believe his luck. She was the perfect woman.

“You know,” he said coolly, “Not a lot of girls are into all of that. I’m pleasantly surprised.” He took a sip from his beer with a flirty brow.

“Well, Dean. I’m definitely not like most girls.”

Her smirk was trouble and he loved it.

“My dad and I were always listening to music together," Riley continued. "It was something that we both loved. Some of my best memories are of us belting out our favorites during our long drives.”

“Sounds like you and your dad are pretty close, huh?” Dean asked.

Riley’s eyes cast down and her face changed. “Yeah...we were. Dad, uh--he passed away about a year ago now.”

Dean saw the pain on her face and felt guilty for even asking the question. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks--definitely miss him,” she said, choking on a lump in her throat. Riley downed a large swig of the beer, put it on the table, and spun it around in her hands.

Riley needed to change the subject. “What about you? You close with your parents?”

Dean sighed and wasn’t sure how to explain his relationship with his dad. God only knew how complicated that was.

“Uh--Dad and I are kinda close, I guess. He raised me and my brother--mom died when we were kids.”

“I lost my mom as a kid too. It was just me and Dad. Now, Deb is all the family I got. Well, her and Finn.”

“Finn?” Dean asked.

“Finnick--my golden retriever…kinda my partner in crime. He’s in the back. Can’t have dogs in the diner," she added playfully as if somewhat mocking Debbie's rules.

Dean let out a soft chuckle.

They soon were lost in conversation, talking about anything and everything.

He made her laugh, and she needed that. Riley loved that he thought she was funny and his laugh was genuine; it ran up her skin like a warm hug.

Time stopped and the two let go of the world for just a little while.

After the burgers and fries were demolished and multiple beers were downed, Debbie stopped by the table with two pieces of fresh pie.

Dean’s eyes lit up. “Oh God, yes,” he mumbled with anticipation as the smell wafted his way.

The two ate their dessert and Dean finally gathered the courage to ask what had been on his mind. “So, Riley, how the hell is it that a girl like you isn’t already spoken for?” He didn’t notice that his mouth was still somewhat full as he spoke.

Riley giggled. “And what makes you think I’m not ‘spoken for’?” she teased.

Catching the game she was playing, Dean retorted, “well, I mean--you did take up an offer to go to dinner with a total stranger.”

Dean was a well-trained flirt, that much was clear.

Riley smirked, finding him and his sense of humor endearing as she took a bite of the warm pie. Swallowing her food, Riley added, “well, I guess I just don’t stay in one place long enough. Kind of hard to build a relationship when you’re always on the road.”

Dean felt like she was singing his song. Somehow, she understood him. “I know that feeling all too well. Work keeps me traveling a lot.”

“What do you do?” she asked.

Careful not to reveal too much he answered, “uh--it’s a family business. We do a little bit of everything.”

Riley scoffed with a smile. “Well, that was vague.”

He laughed. “What can I say? I like to be a little mysterious. What about you?”

It was her turn to omit her full truth. “We’re kind of a family business too. Odd jobs here and there--just all over the place.”

He looked at her and felt she was hiding something, just like he was, but Dean decided not to press it further.

After their plates were finished, they both stood up to leave.

Riley hugged Debbie and told her she’d be back soon.

“Be safe, sweetheart,” Deb told her niece. “It was nice to meet you, Dean.”

“Likewise, ma'am.”

“Oh, for the love of God, please call me Debbie.”

Dean smiled and put his hand out to give her some cash. “The food was delicious by the way.”

“Oh no, honey. It’s on the house. Here, I packed you a pie to-go. Seems like you enjoyed it.”

Dean was all too happy with his gift. “Thank you, Debbie. I’ll definitely be back for more.”

With a final wave, Riley and Dean walked out of the diner and slowly meandered toward his Impala.

Walking side by side, they took their time with every step, not wanting to say goodnight. Normally, Dean would have already offered to take her back to his room, but not with Riley, she was different from the rest. She wasn’t just some ‘chick he wanted to have a one-night stand with’. Dean wanted to see if there was something more and that thought alone was enough to terrify him. He just didn’t want to admit it.

The parking lot behind the diner was poorly lit and next to a quiet alleyway. The moon gave more light than the street lamps, but it was still somehow the perfect setting.

Dean leaned against the car and looked up at the stars. One of his favorite things about Kansas was you could always see the night sky.

Riley gazed up as well and they both sighed feeling the comfort of home.

“Dinner was great. Your aunt sure knows how to cook,” Dean said as his take-out bag crinkled in his hand.

“Yeah. She’s amazing. She seemed to really like you.”

“Good. ‘Cause I, uh--I don’t always do great with first impressions.”

“Well, you did just fine with me.” Riley bit her bottom lip, a smile showing through.

Dean let out a breathy laugh and their eyes locked. He was lost in hers and her in his.

There was an electricity between them and it was as if an invisible force was pulling them together.

Riley took a step closer to him and Dean’s free hand brushed her hair behind her ear. She was so beautiful and Dean felt his stomach flip as he glanced down at her lips.

“I had a really good time tonight, Dean.”

“Me too.”

It was then that they realized the gap between them had closed. They quietly looked at each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

Dean put a hand gently on the side of Riley’s face and her breath hitched. Her hands found his chest and felt his cool leather jacket against them. The two inched closer, both feeling lightheaded as their lips ghosted over each other, barely touching.

A sudden, loud crash came from the alley, causing both of them to instantly pull away and look in the direction of the sound.

It then went quiet, eerily quiet.

The silence was abruptly broken as a horrific, snarling creature with long fangs shot out from the darkness, ready to attack. The vampire was practically foaming at the mouth.

Charging at Dean first, the vampire went straight for his neck.

Dean absently dropped his bag and punched the creature in the face, causing him to stumble. He then shoved the monster away with full force.

Both Riley and Dean shouted to each other in unison, “get behind me!”

They shared a look of confusion but knew any questions would have to wait.

Just as the monster got to his feet to lunge back at them, two more vampires came out from the shadows behind Riley and Dean. They were outnumbered.

As Dean went for the two to his right, Riley went for his original attacker.

Dean pulled out his gun, but before he could shoot, he was grabbed and thrown onto the hard asphalt, the gun falling out of his hand.

Riley unsheathed a knife from her boot and brought it up ready to fight. The creature then pinned her to the wall as they both fought for power over the blade.

A deep and concerned voice rang out from somewhere nearby, “Dean!”

Sam came sprinting into the fray with a machete ready to aid Dean. He quickly came up behind the third creature and sliced its head clean off.

Dean grabbed his gun again and fired several rounds into one of the vampires; it fell to the floor in agony.

Dean yelled out with worry, “Riley!” and ran in her direction.

Riley finally overpowered the creature and stabbed him in the gut, which only slowed it down. She pushed him against the wall and immediately grabbed the lid from the metal trash can next to her. With all her might and a forceful grunt, Riley plunged it into the vampire’s throat, decapitating the monster.

Dean stopped in his tracks with a look of utter disbelief.

As she wiped off the blood that had splattered onto her face, Riley turned to Dean.

All three were out of breath, not sure what to make of what had just happened.

The remaining vampire laid on the ground, groaning in agony.

Dean and Sam sauntered over to it and hovered above.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” the monster snarled.

“Those are dead man’s bullets, you son of a bitch.”

Without a word, Riley strode in between the two boys, and with that same lid, she slammed it down and separated the creature’s body from its head.

Riley stood up as everyone looked at each other, panting from the fight.

Dean turned to Riley. “You’re a hunter?!”

“You’re a hunter?!” she replied in shock.

“Yeah. We came into town hearing about a vamp nest nearby.”

“Me too.” Intrigued, her curiosity unable to resist, Riley questioned, “dead man’s blood?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s uh--something Dad figured out. Bullets dipped in the blood of a dead man. Doesn’t kill ‘em, but it’ll hurt like hell.”

“Huh,” she replied in a thoughtful tone. “Thought only Dad and I knew that little trick.”

Still catching their breath, no one knew what to say until Dean finally motioned to his partner. “Oh, this is my brother Sam. Sam, this is Riley.”

She looked up at his brother. He looked so young, handsome like Dean, but in his own way. He had soft hazel eyes and his brown hair swept over his forehead.

Though Dean was much taller than Riley, Sam practically towered over her smaller stature. It was strange though, somehow, it felt as though she knew him.

It was then that Riley had a realization that struck her like a bus. “Wait--Sam and Dean? As in Sam and Dean Winchester? John’s kids?”

The brothers stared at each other and Sam finally spoke up with an incredulous look.

“Uh--yeah. Do we know you?”

“Your dad was my dad’s hunting buddy.”

“Who’s your dad?” Dean asked.

“Jackson Munroe.”

Dean’s eyes grew. “Jack Munroe? He and Dad hunted together for years. Damn, he was a hell of a hunter.” He let out a heavy exhale of disbelief. “Man, I can’t believe you’re Jack’s daughter.”

“Dad didn’t do too well hearing about Jack last year. I’m so sorry, Riley,” Sam added.

Riley nodded in gratitude as she pulled her knife from the vampire’s corpse. She cleaned it on the creature’s shirt and sheathed it again.

“How’s your dad by the way? I haven’t seen John in a while.”

Sam scoffed, “yeah, join the club.”

Dean scowled at Sam and then turned back to Riley. “We’re actually looking for him right now. He went on a hunting trip and we haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“It’s John Winchester. I wouldn’t be too worried,” she said.

They found themselves in that familiar silence again.

“Well,” Riley went on. “I don’t know about you two, but I could use a drink. My aunt has an apartment above the diner and I happen to know that she has some whiskey hidden away upstairs, if you’re interested.”

“I'm not gonna turn that offer down,” Dean answered with a tired smirk.

While Riley dragged one of the corpses off to the dumpster, Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulder and turned him towards him.

“Guess it’s a good thing I decided to go for a walk tonight.” Sam paused and looked in Riley’s direction. “That’s the girl you went out with tonight?”

“Yeah. Did you see her? Dude, she’s a total badass.” Dean smiled like an excited kid as he tapped his brother’s chest.

Sam let out a breathy chuckle in agreement as they both went to help Riley remove the evidence of their violent supernatural encounter.

-----

The three hunters stepped into a small apartment, it felt cozy and welcoming. Pictures of the Munroe family made it feel like a real home, one that neither Sam nor Dean had ever experienced.

Riley closed the door behind them and a happy dog came running to her. He jumped up to hug her and she rubbed his back. “Hey, Finn. You been a good boy?”

Finnick got down, stood next to her, and observed the strangers.

Sam crouched down and Finn went to smell him. As he pet him, the dog wagged his tail in appreciation.

“What a beautiful dog,” Sam told her. “I always wanted one. But, uh--Dean’s not exactly a huge fan of dogs.”

Dean gave Sam a nasty look and then shot back at Riley with a big cheesy smile. “I like dogs--I do. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

As Riley turned with a questioning expression on her face, Dean slugged Sam in the arm.

“Dude, not cool.”

Riley went to the kitchen, grabbed glasses from the shelves, and found the bottle of whiskey stashed under the sink. Finn settled next to her chair and laid his head on her feet.

Sam and Dean joined her at the table, letting out small huffs of tired air as they sat down.

As Riley poured the glasses, Dean let out a scoff. “Man, what are the odds? I mean, it’s Lawrence--small town…but still.”

Taking a drink, Riley sighed as it burned in her throat. “You’re not wrong.”

Sam let out a throaty chuckle. “Life’s funny that way, I guess.”

The front door opened and Deb walked in, her apron draped over her arm as her fingers tried to take her hair out of its tied-up bun.

Finn ran to greet her and she rubbed his head before looking up.

“Oh, didn’t know we were having company. Dean, nice to see you again.”

“You too, Debbie," Dean replied. This is my brother, Sam.”

Her eyes grew wide and Riley chuckled before telling her, “yup, Sam and Dean Winchester.” She turned to the brothers. “And yes, Deb knows everything.”

“I knew I recognized that face. Dean, I haven’t seen you since you were a kid. And Sam…my god, you were just a baby.” Deb pulled up a chair and joined the group. “Now that love of pie makes so much sense. You were the same way as a little boy,” she said, eyeing Dean.

Dean let out a small gasp of frustration as he remembered his forgotten to-go bag. “Dammit! I dropped my pie back in the alley.”

Debbie laughed, “don’t worry, honey. There’s plenty where that came from.” She got up and grabbed two pies from the refrigerator along with some forks before bringing them to the table. “Dig in. We don’t need plates when we’re with family.”

Dean lit up with excitement and went straight for the pie as Riley did the same.

“So, the Winchesters are back in Lawrence. Is your dad with you?”

“We’re only in town for the case. Dad’s out kind of doing his own thing right now,” Dean said with a full mouth.

“You boys came in for the vampire nest, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sam chimed in.

Dean shook his head with his cheeks stuffed, “mm-mm. She doesn’t like that. Gotta call her Debbie.”

Sam, being slightly embarrassed by his brother, returned to his conversation. “So, hunting runs in your family too?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replied. Deb lifted a small bite of pie to her mouth, chewed, and swallowed, followed by a soft sigh. “My brother was a hunter, it cost him his damn life.”

Sadness fell over Riley’s face. She hated that her aunt still hurt so deeply over the loss of Jackson; not to mention how disappointed Debbie was that Riley was following in her father’s footsteps.

Deb took a breath and continued, “he was gone so much. Riley was just a baby and spent a lot of her time with me--I practically raised her. Whenever Jackson would come back home, he would teach her everything he could about hunting. I hated every second of it. Watching her learn to handle a gun when she was only in kindergarten made me sick. But, Riley wanted to be a ‘hero’ just like her daddy. I knew I couldn’t stop her, no matter how hard I tried.” She grabbed her glass and downed the last bit of whiskey, trying to stifle her emotions. "And then one day, 'Riley was old enough to hunt’,” Debbie scoffed in annoyance. “She was just a child, but she didn’t want to be away from her father and wanted to help him find the thing that killed her mom.”

“Deb, I didn’t want to leave, but I had to.” Riley reached her hand to Debbie’s and squeezed. “You were like a mom to me, that never changed.”

Deb returned the loving gesture and exhaled.

“So, you hunt alone now?” Dean asked Riley, surprised at the thought.

“Yup. Well, Finn comes too...sometimes. He’s mostly there for the company on the rides and in the motels, but he’s saved my life a couple of times. He’s the only partner I’ve ever had besides Dad.”

She reached under the table and pet the sleepy dog.

After a quiet moment, Sam looked to Debbie. “We were all so sad to hear of Jack’s passing,” Sam added. “If you don’t mind me asking, we never really heard what happened...”

Riley put her fork down, ran her hand through her hair as it fell back in her face and she took a deep breath. Running her finger around the rim of her glass, she looked over to Sam and Dean.

“Dad had been hunting down the thing that killed Mom for as long as I can remember. That’s why he became a hunter. I don’t even remember my mom, I was only a baby when she died. But, the night Dad died,” Riley paused as she swirled the liquid in her glass. “He didn’t tell me anything was wrong. He said 'he had to handle some business’ and went alone. I would have never let him go if I had known something was gonna happen.” Riley choked back tears and cleared her throat before her jaw twitched with a hint of anger. “God help that yellow-eyed son of a bitch if he’s what took my dad from me.”

“Wait a minute. Was Jack after a demon? A demon with yellow eyes?” Dean asked eagerly.

Both Riley and Deb’s faces went white. They looked at each other and then back at Dean as they both froze.

Debbie’s voice cracked in her throat. “H--how did you know that?”

“Because that’s the same thing that killed our mom too. Riley...how old were you when your mom died?”

“I was exactly 6 months old,” she told him.

Trying not to show the shakiness in his voice, Sam replied, “...I was 6 months old to the day when our mom was murdered too.”

Debbie grabbed Riley’s hand in anxiety. “What the hell is going on? How can this even be happening?” She shook her head and gulped, almost afraid to ask. “Sam…was there a fire in your nursery?”

The brothers went quiet before Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

Sam was completely taken aback. The conversation brought him back to the fresh memories of losing Jessica. The images that plagued his mind flashed and it was if he could still feel her warm blood fall on his face.

He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet and refused to bring her up. Sam did his best to pull himself out of his thoughts.

Dean was on edge too, both shocked and confused as to how it was all connected. He was left at a loss for words.

“Dean," Sam said as he turned to his brother. "Jack must have been working with Dad on the case the whole time. We always knew they went on hunts together, but Dad never really talked about them.”

“Hunters always have their secrets, kids...always.” After a moment, Debbie sighed as she stood up.” Well, I have to go close the diner for the night and clean up. Riley, you’re off the clock tonight. Stay here and enjoy the rest of your night.” She kissed Riley’s head and looked at the boys. “It was nice to see you both.”

“You too,” replied Dean. “Thanks for everything.”

Debbie gave a half-smile and headed out the door.

Riley stood to clear the table and Sam stopped her.

“I got it,” he told her. Sam put the dishes into the sink and turned to the others. “Well, I’m gonna head back to the motel. Thanks for everything, Riley. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too, Sam.”

The brothers exchanged looks and Dean nodded in his direction as if to say, ‘I’ll be there in a bit’.

Sam acknowledged the notion, patted Finn's head, and left.

Finally, Dean and Riley were alone again.

“Come on.” Riley grabbed her glass and led Dean over to the living room couch as he held his drink in hand as well.

The couch was soft gray and incredibly clean. Dean was impressed with how tidy Deb kept her home.

They both sat down and looked at each other, somewhat unsure of what to say.

“I gotta admit, Winchester, I did not see tonight going the way it did.”

Dean let out a throaty laugh. “Yeah.” He searched for the right words. “You’re something else though, Riley. You just keep surprising me.”

“In all good ways, I hope," Riley said with a smirk.

That small smile gave Dean chills up his neck. “In all the best ways,” he replied.

Riley smiled again and took a drink.

Pausing, Dean gathered the courage to keep talking. “You were right, you know? You’re not like most girls. I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you.” He looked up and caught her eye as the charge surging between them only grew.

“Listen,” Dean said, taking her drink and putting them both on the coffee table. “I gotta do this before something stops me again or I know I’m gonna regret it.” He pushed her hair away from her face before taking her chin in his hand.

Slowly, they leaned in towards each other and their lips barely touched.

Finn suddenly jumped up on the couch between them, knocking over one of the glasses as he did.

"Oh, Finn..." Riley said with a sigh. "What am I gonna do with you?"

The dog panted with what seemed like a happy grin, eager for attention as he stared into Dean's eyes.

Riley got up to grab a kitchen rag to clean up the mess and Dean looked back at Finn, disappointed at yet another interruption.

Finnick grew excited and his tail wagged as he began to lick Dean's face.

Dean scrunched his face in disgust, trying to put some distance between himself and the all-too-friendly pup. He stood up from the couch and looked at Finn who had sprawled himself out on the couch on his back, practically smiling at Dean.

Dean muttered under his breath as he wiped the slobber from his face.

"Fucking dogs..."

------

The next morning, the boys drove down the main strip of town, the sound of the Impala rumbling beneath them. That Chevy was the only home Sam and Dean had ever known, the only constant in their lives besides each other.

Dean flipped open his phone to reveal a message from Riley:

‘Come in through the back. See you soon’.

A Blue Oyster Cult song played softly from Dean’s go-to cassette tape.

Sam broke the silence between them and asked, “so, you sure you wanna see again Riley after your night together? I mean, I've never seen you do that before. I'm not even sure how many times I've seen you even call a girl back." He chuckled to himself.

Dean knew he was right. “It’s not like that, Sam."

"Wait a minute..." Sam said with a thoughtful smirk.

"What?"

"...are you trying to tell me that nothing happened between you guys?" When Dean didn't answer, Sam took a second to absorb his brother's strange behaviors and chortled as he looked over at Dean. "You really like this girl, don't you?"

Trying to not let his brother think he was right, Dean scoffed. "'I like her'? What are we 12 years old?"

Sam laughed. "Whatever, dude. You got it bad."

Ignoring Sam's commentary, Dean pulled the Impala into the diner parking lot.

After turning off the engine, Sam and Dean stepped out of the car, the doors creaking behind them as they slammed shut.

As the brothers walked around the back, they saw the diner in the daylight. Memories from the night before played in their minds; remnants of blood that couldn’t be scrubbed away were still staining the concrete.

Opening the back door, the two stepped inside.

Riley was sitting cross-legged on the couch with papers, newspapers, and a map sprawled around her on one side and Finn on the other.

She glanced up, trying to not seem too eager to see Dean. “Hey, guys. Good morning.”

“Morning,” they both replied.

Dean sat on a single chair close to Riley and Sam made himself comfortable on the longer end of the sofa as he greeted Finn. The golden pup was already a fan of the youngest Winchester.

Riley sipped her coffee and nodded toward the side table. “There’s a fresh pot if you want some, help yourselves.”

Dean got up and poured two mugs full, giving one to Sam and then returning to his chair. The heat from the warm drinks danced in the sunlight that shined through the window.

He looked at Riley and studied her. She was just as beautiful in the morning as she was the night before. Her hair was in a messy bun, twisted together quickly after waking up. She was wearing sweats, a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and socks.

Riley didn’t even have to try to impress Dean, it happened naturally.

“So, whaddya got?” Dean asked.

“Well, looks like all the attacks have been up north on the furthest skirts of town towards the city of Midland,” she answered.

Sam chimed in. “I did some digging and I haven’t seen a single attack here before the recent ones this last week. It’s so weird that they just showed up in Lawrence out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, but with the death toll piling up, and the visit from our friends last night, I’d say it’s a safe bet we have a full-blown nest now. Now where they came from, I don’t have a damn clue.”

Riley pushed everything to the side to focus on the conversation and the warm coffee in her two cupped hands. She always joked about how the smell of coffee would ‘wake up her soul’ as she was most certainly not a morning person.

"So, are we just going to gloss over the fact that a case brought all of us back home to Lawrence at the same time?" Sam asked. "I mean, what are the odds of that?"

"Yeah..." Riley replied. "I was kind of wondering the same thing."

"How did you hear about the case?"

Riley took another drink. "I got a call from another hunter."

Both Sam and Dean turned to look at each other.

"What?"

"Who was it that called you?" Dean asked somewhat earnestly.

"That's the weird part," she started. "We got cut off before he could tell me his name. I wouldn't usually follow a lead like that, but when I checked some local records, it all panned out. I knew I had to come home." Riley paused. “He said he knew my dad too.”

"We got the same call," Sam told her.

"Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah--the quick info, no name, that he knew our dad, the sudden hang up..." Dean answered, looking back over at Sam again. "Someone wanted us here...together."

"...but who? Why?"

"Damn good question. And the fact that our moms died the same way when you both were the same age...” Dean thought for a second. “Why didn’t Dad tell us about that?”

“My dad didn’t either.” Riley couldn’t understand why Jackson had kept something so big from her. She thought they didn’t hide anything from each other, especially not when it came to finding the demon. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. He didn’t even mention the fire--done by the same evil bastard too. It just…doesn’t make any sense.”

“Remember what Deb said?” Dean asked. “Hunters always have their secrets.”

Unsure of how to answer any of the questions in front of them and itching to get back on the road to find those answers, Sam switched the subject again.

"Well," Sam leaned over towards the coffee table to study the map again. "We're here and Lawrence has a vamp problem. No matter who got us here, we have to handle it."

He was eager to get the job done. As soon as the nest was handled, Sam and Dean would be back on the road again to keep looking for John.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Dean asked while he sipped at his warm mug.

“I say we stake it out tonight,” Riley answered. “If we think we can handle it, we go in. If not, we gather intel and we’ll regroup for tomorrow. At least if we’re there, they can’t leave without us knowing.”

“Sounds good to me. Guess we have the day to kill,” Dean said with a playful shrug.

Sam knew where his brother’s head was and smiled at the thought of Dean being so keen to be with this new girl.

“Well, let’s go grab some breakfast and we’ll make plans from there. I am in dire need of more coffee. I’ll go change and meet you in the diner.” Riley got up and patted her side for Finn to follow.

“Great! I’m starving” Sam shot out in response.

“Meet you in ten,” she called back as her voice faded further away.

Dean watched her disappear up the stairs, his eyes locked on her.

Once she was gone, Sam snickered.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Dude, could you be more obvious?”

“...shut up.”

------

After a day of lounging in Deb’s apartment, an abundance of delicious food, and a couple of classic movies, it was time for the hunters to head out.

Grabbing her gear and giving a kiss on Finn’s soft head, Riley followed the boys to the car.

Dean popped the trunk to check on their supplies while the sun set softly behind them. The sky was softly lit with beautiful orange and yellow light just peeking over the horizon.

Riley peered down into the trunk and was thrilled with all the different ‘hunter toys’ it held.

“Oh, my God.” She pulled out a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and grinned as she admired it. “This is so badass.”

Dean laughed softly under his breath, admiring the weapon as well. “That’s one of Dad’s favorites.”

“Don’t think I won’t be taking a swing with this baby at some point.”

Sam let out a playful sigh. “My god, there’s two of them.”

After Riley and Dean exchanged a flirty glance, they shut the trunk and walked around the Impala.

Sam went to the front passenger door and opened it for Riley.

“Such a gentleman,” she teased.

After all three were in the car, Dean started the engine and cranked up the music.

“Let’s do this.”

------

Night had fallen as the Chevy’s lights shut off and rolled to a stop; it hid behind some brush just shy of a rusted metal gate that led up to private property. From there, the hunters could still watch to make sure no one tried to leave the cabin on the hill.

A beat-up old van was parked in front as warm lights seeped out of the house windows nearby.

The still night’s silence surrounded the car with only the sound of crickets chirping around them.

“Do we know if there’s a way out on the other side?” Riley was frustrated that she wasn’t able to find any records on the old property.

“No,” Sam responded. “We’re going in blind.”

She sighed as she tried to scan their surroundings in the darkness.

Dean saw an opportunity to get a moment with Riley and formulated a plan. He put his arm over the seat and looked back at Sam. “Well, Sammy, how about we stay here and you do a little recon? You can come back and let us know what you find.”

A look of ‘play along’ sat eagerly on Dean's face.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure. Why not?” he said with an annoyed tone.

Grabbing a flashlight and packing his gun into his hip, he got out of the car and tried to close the door gently.

Dean peeked his head through the crack in the window and whispered, “take your time. No rush.”

Sam rolled his eyes again and began his trudge down the road.

With Sam no longer in view, Riley and Dean were alone again. They both had been hoping all day for the moment that would happen.

It went quiet for several minutes as they both struggled to speak first.

“Listen," Dean started. "At the risk of sounding like a complete idiot, I had a great time with you last night. Even if it was interrupted by blood-thirsty monsters.” They both let out breathy laughs. “But had that not happened, I may have never seen what a kick-ass hunter you are.”

Riley’s stomach flipped. Knowing that she impressed him filled her with pride. Watching him in the fray the night before turned her on and she couldn’t wait to see him in action again.

“I can say it was definitely my most interesting date so far.” She tried to not come off too flirty, but with him, it was hard not to.

Dean’s lips pressed together while a smile grew behind them. She looked so perfect. There hadn’t been a moment since they met that he didn’t think so.

Riley bit her lip, catching his gaze and the tension grew.

With heated eyes, Dean leaned in and Riley began to meet him as they inched towards the kiss they had both been wanting.

The back door of the Impala opened and the two turned at the sound as Sam got in with a tired huff.

Both Dean and Riley looked back at Sam in a way that made him realize his entrance had been somewhat of a disappointment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, should I come back?” he asked sarcastically.

“Shut up, Sam," Dean retorted plainly. "What’d you find out?”

“This is their only way out. If they leave, we’ll know it. I was able to get a view into the window and heard them talking. They’re pissed about the three vamps we took out last night. Losing them brought their nest down to four. They know it happened behind the diner and they plan to hit it hard.”

Riley’s eyes grew with anger and a hint of panic at the thought of Debbie getting in harm’s way. “That’s it. I say we handle these bastards now. No way in hell am I letting them near my home.”

Dean loved seeing that side of her, the hunter side. She was always ready for a fight. It made her that much more attractive.

With Dean’s mind set on being at her side and raring to go, he looked at her and then Sam.

“Agreed. Sam, you in?”

“Let’s go,” Sam replied.

The three got out quietly and grabbed their gear from the trunk. A gun on each of their hips, knives hidden in boots or sheathed in jackets, and a machete in hand.

Riley reached for the bat and studied it in her hands. She gave a fiery look that sent chills up Dean’s spine, diving him wild, while her hands tightened their grip around it.

With purpose and intensity, Sam, Riley, and Dean marched up the hill, ready for whatever awaited them behind that cabin door.

The remaining four vampires sat in the main room venting their anger in front of a roaring fireplace.

Thirsty for blood and revenge, one of the men with black hair and a large build hissed under his breath. “I’m not waiting. Those fuckin’ hunters took out our kin. They die tonight.”

With the rest of the nest in agreement, they got up, ready to leave.

Just as their decision was made, the door was kicked open. It swung with force and slammed against the wall. Chips from where the door met the frame splintered out.

Riley stepped between the Winchesters and went in first, ready to take the lead.

Taking large, controlled strides into the house, she swung the bat with abandon and hit the black-haired monster in the head, caving in the side of his skull. He hit the floor and Riley swung another two times ensuring that he was down, blood splattering from his fresh wounds.

Dean and Sam went in opposite directions to take their part in the fight. Punches were thrown and Sam took a blow to the jaw that caused him to falter back, but he quickly shook it off and charged back at the creature.

On the other side of the room, Dean faced off with another vampire in a leather vest.

As they both danced around a bit, each trying to corner the other, Dean looked the monster over with a chuckle. “Dude, you know, you reek of 'douchebag’, right?.”

The man let his rage take over and rushed at Dean, creating the perfect opportunity for him to duck away.

Dean spun around and with his blade at the monster’s neck, he shoved it through the vampire’s throat. The creature’s head fell to the floor, followed by what was left of its body.

Turning around while still riding the high of the kill, he then removed the head of the other monster that was fighting his brother.

Riley, face to face with the only remaining creature, was met with a monstrous woman with a pixie haircut. Her teeth were bared and she snarled at the hunter.

“You, bitch!” she spat. “You come into our house and kill my family?”

A cocky smile grew on Riley’s face as she tensed around the bat and jested, “better yours than mine.”

After a couple of swings and misses, the vampire lost her step and was met with a swipe to the side of her face. She hit the ground, blood dripping from her head as she realized she could no longer stand.

Riley took her time and walked behind her. She reached out her hand to trade her weapon for Dean’s machete. Grasping it firmly, Riley moved back to the beaten monster who was leaning onto her hands.

Barely able to get out words the woman hissed through her breaths, “you…hunters…you’ll never win. There’s too many of us. We’ll always…come for you.”

With one final look, Riley answered, “and we’ll always be ready.”

------

The Chevy pulled up to the front of the diner late into the night. Debbie had already closed up for the night and must have gone to bed as all of the lights were out.

Exhausted, covered in blood, and still coming down from the adrenaline of the tussle, the car was quiet.

“You know, Riley, you’re a damn good hunter,” Sam admitted from the back seat.

“He’s right,” Dean added. “You kicked serious ass tonight."

Riley sighed. “This was the first time I hadn’t gone on a hunt alone since I lost Dad.” Her voice trailed off, not wanting to share how terrified she had been for anyone else to die. Riley’s head fell slightly and she knew that if she got too close to the boys, odds were, she would lose them too.

“Hey,” Dean said, waiting for her to look up at him. “Look, this job sucks. We’ve lost more friends and family than we ever care to admit. It hurts every damn day. And the thought of losing more? Honestly, it’s almost too much to live with. But this ain’t a one-man show, sweetheart. We survive because we do it together.”

A small smile came over Riley’s face and she knew he was right.

Sam leaned towards the front seat as Riley turned to him. “Riley, I don’t know how we got here or why. All I know is that every single day all I can think about is finding that demon, which means we gotta find our dad…and I think we could use all the help we can get. We can go after Yellow Eyes together.”

The idea thrilled Dean to his core and he couldn’t help but grin. Regardless of his interest in Riley, he knew it was going to take more than just the two of them to finish what John had started 22 years ago, to end the nightmare that had haunted their family.

“...so, whaddya say, kid?” Dean asked.

A million thoughts ran through Riley’s head while she tried to fight her fear of getting too close to anyone. “I--I need to think about it. I know you guys are headed out in the morning. So...I guess I’ll let you know then.” Riley’s uncertainty kept her hesitant, afraid to make the wrong decision.

Both brothers nodded while a swell of comradery swept through the car. Whatever her decision, a bond had been formed.

Riley looked at Dean and then back at Sam, “goodnight, guys.”

Getting out of the car and swinging her bag over her shoulder, she disappeared into the back of the diner.

Sam moved from the back to the front passenger seat next to his brother.

Dean’s eyes had watched her every move until she was out of sight. He couldn’t help but hope she would say yes and that the three of them could find the answers they’ve waited for their entire lives, and that this wasn’t goodbye.

-----

It was a brisk morning and more leaves had covered the streets and sidewalks of the quiet street. The mood in the town had shifted and even the air felt lighter.

Evil had left Lawrence, for the time being.

Dean parked the car and immediately set his gaze on the diner door. He had tossed and turned all night worried that he would have to say goodbye to Riley, and he just wasn’t ready.

Although he never said it, Dean knew he was a player. He had a tendency to meet a new woman everywhere he went, sometimes more than one. Each time, they almost always ended up back in his hotel bed. Being so infatuated with someone like he was with Riley was driving him crazy and constantly occupying his thoughts.

After waiting for a while, Sam saw the concern in Dean’s eyes.

“She still might come, Dean. We’ll give her a few more minutes.” Even Sam was keeping his hope that the new friend he had made would be leaving with them. Sam wanted to believe that together there was a way to avenge Jess, his mom, and his entire family.

Dean’s heart sank and with a heavy sigh. Reluctantly, his fingers grabbed onto the keys to turn the ignition.

As he did, he heard the soft jingle of the diner’s bell behind him. Dean beamed when he saw her.

Riley was grinning from ear to ear, a bag over her shoulder, and a guitar case in her hand. Finn and Deb followed close behind.

“Still got room for one more, Winchesters?”

“Hell yeah.” Dean hugged her and happily took her things to put in the back seat.

Sam went to her and embraced her tightly. “You play guitar?”

“Oh, honey, I’m full of surprises.”

Riley walked over to Finn and got down to his level. With a tear in her eye, she pet him and rubbed his ears while she looked him over.

“I love you, buddy. But we’re going after something too big and I can’t risk you getting hurt. Aunt Deb’s gonna take good care of you. I promise I’ll be back soon.” She wrapped her arms around the whining dog and kissed his head. “I love you.” Tears crept up in Riley’s eyes and the lump in her throat threatened every breath she took.

Getting up, Riley squeezed Deb in a loving embrace.

Her aunt whispered in her ear while her voice broke and held back tears with each word. “You come back to us, you hear me?”

“I promise. I love you so much.”

The two tried to pull themselves together as Riley stepped away and walked towards the car.

Debbie hugged both of the boys and handed Dean a large bag. “It’s filled with food for the road. I made sure I packed some pie in there too.” She winked and Dean’s smile was beyond enthusiastic.

“You take care of her,” Deb told him softly, a somewhat desperate look in her eyes.

“Thank you, for everything. I promise to get her back to you.”

The trio got in the car with Riley and Dean in the front again and Sam in the backseat.

A silent tear rolled down Riley’s cheek and she discreetly brushed it away before waving one more time. She had no idea how long it would be until she would be with her family again. Being on the road meant never knowing when she'd come back, and this time was going to be different; this time she knew she might not make it back at all.

Riley hoped she had made the right decision to leave as she wiped any remaining tears off her face.

Dean backed out of the spot and headed on the road.

Finn and Debbie were right where Riley had left them as they faded in the side mirror.

“You good?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Riley took a deep breath and tried to soothe herself. “Music?” She asked as she turned the dial, hoping to take her mind off it all.

Nothing took her mind off things like the beautiful sound of memories. That’s what music was; it was solace, it was Dad.

Bob Seger’s ‘Night Moves’ came through the speakers and it was as if Jackson had sent a message just for her. It was their song and Riley smiled from ear to ear, knowing that in some ways he never truly left her.

“I love this song!” The music swept through her and Riley sang to the tune. “I was a little too tall, could’ve used a few pounds. Tight pants, points hardly reknown. She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes. And points all her own sitting way up high…”

“Woah, she sings too,” Dean teased as he soaked up every beautiful sound that she shared.

“Always the tone of surprise with you, Dean. Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy. Out in the back seat of Dean’s '67 Chevy. Workin’ on mysteries without any clues. Come on, boys!”

Dean watched her as a grin stretched over his face. Every word and ridiculous sway she made in the front seat of his car was magic, she was magic.

The brothers chuckled and joined in as they all sang in unison.

“Workin’ on our night moves. Tryin’ to make some front-page drive-in news. Workin’ on our night moves in the summertime…in the sweet summertime.”

For that moment, as they drove past the sign reading: ‘You are now leaving Lawrence, come back soon’ and lost in the night moves, the three of them let the weight on their shoulders fall. Being together felt right, even if none of them could explain it.

Sam got comfortable in the back seat as Riley gazed into the horizon, imagining the roads to come.

That day was the start of something bigger than the three hunters could ever have known. Call it fate or destiny, but Sam, Dean, and Riley’s lives would never be the same.

“I woke last night to the sound of thunder. How far off, I sat and wondered. Started humming a song from nineteen sixty-two. Ain’t it funny how the night moves when you just don’t seem to have as much to lose? Strange how the night moves...with autumn closing in.”

-----

Note: Not sure if I’ll do the gifs and images for each chapter but I’m sure as hell going to try. Welcome back, everyone!

P.S. sorry to those who wanted to be tagged and weren’t, but Tumblr wouldn’t allow me to find the link for some people. We’ll keep trying!

My taglist is always open--just let me know if you want me to add or remove you :)

Chapter 2 will be out soon! I’ll keep you all updated!

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