Fic: Thirteen at Dinner (10/15)
Masterpost
Chapter VIII: Father Maynard
Chapter IX: Philip Ashby
Sam didn’t struggle, but the officers who came to arrest him took a lot of pleasure in shoving him around and making sure he stumbled into walls as they walked him from Connor and Connor to the waiting squad car. Avery had disappeared along with Dean. Sam tried to be angry with her, but he couldn’t. She must have been terrified - normal people weren’t used to seeing women, even witches, shot right in front of them.
Besides…
Sam sighed and leaned back, making himself as comfortable as he could in the cramped back seat.
Besides, Sam’s own brother had decided it wasn’t even worth listening to anything Sam said. He could hardly expect a relative stranger to stick her neck out to defend him.
Sam was hoping it was all part of some plan Dean had. He’d probably wanted to keep his cover intact, and he’d be at the station to bust Sam out and help him erase the records as soon as the night shift started. Sam had to believe that, because the alternative was that his big brother, the big brother Sam trusted more than anyone else in the world, had turned on him.
The city flashed past. Sam tested the handcuffs. He could pick them easily, but that wouldn’t help him escape and it would probably make the cops double up on security. If Dean… If Dean wasn’t coming for him, he’d have to get himself out of this, and that meant cooperating as much as possible so they’d let down their guard.
When they got to the police station, Sam was manhandled out of the car, and shoved around some more when they frisked him and took his things.
“Can I make a call?” he asked the officer booking him in.
“Sure,” the man grunted. “But there’s a long line, and filthy killers go to the end of it. I don’t know how long you’re going to have to wait.”
Sam looked around the room, empty except for the two men who’d brought him in, and at least three phones on the wall.
“Please - sir, just one call, please. I need to -”
“You need to shut up.” The man was out of his chair, shoving Sam back against the wall. Sam resisted the urge to fight back. It would just make things worse. “I don’t have much sympathy for you.” Cold steel tapped his jaw. “And if you’re not careful, you might have an accident. I’ve got two men here willing to swear you got violent in an attempt to escape and, whoops, maybe our CCTV had a glitch. So if you want to live long enough to face trial, shut your face and go sit in your cell. I don’t hear your voice, I might forget how much I want to put a bullet in your brain.”
“Maybe it was Philip.”
Dean sighed. He’d had a difficult day. When Avery had followed him out of the room, pale and shaking, and asked him to take her to the rec centre, he’d been inclined to refuse. But his brother had traumatized her by murdering a woman right in front of her, so Dean figured he owed her.
That didn’t mean he was willing to listen to her maunder on about who might have killed Ralph Ashby.
“I don’t care,” he told her.
“No, Dean, listen. Before - before Sam killed her, Isabelle said Philip tried to turn suspicion on Frances because he thought Isabelle had done it. Well, we do know he tried to turn it on Frances, but maybe it wasn’t because he thought Isabelle was guilty. Maybe it was because Philip was guilty himself.”
“Why would he kill Ralph? The guy had kids. Philip had nothing to gain.”
“What if Ralph was about to expose Isabelle as a witch? He might’ve told Philip, tried to warn him or something.”
“And Philip went apeshit when his big brother was only trying to help him. Yeah, that sounds like something bratty little brothers do.”
For some reason, Avery cringed. “Dean - you’re going to help Sam, right?”
“Sweetheart, he’s murdered a woman in cold blood in front of a witness. Unless he manages to make puppy eyes at the jury, nobody can help him.”
“But you’ll get him a lawyer.”
“He doesn’t need a lawyer. Went to Stanford, didn’t he? He can talk himself out of trouble. I’m done cleaning up Sam’s messes. And if he’s really turned into the kind of lunatic who kills people because a ghost told him so, it’s probably best for everyone if he gets locked up for good.”
Dean turned to go.
“Wait!” Avery caught his arm. “Here - take this.” She thrust something into Dean’s hand.
Dean looked down. It was an old necklace, thick gold links glinting in the evening light. There was what looked like a fat medallion at the end, carved with a weird, but somehow familiar, symbol chased in silver.
“What is this?”
“The necklace Dad took from the grave. It was on Ms. Velour’s desk. I - I guess he gave it to her for an assessment.”
“Great.” Dean clutched it in his fist. “This should get rid of Frances.”
“Do you think so? She said she needed to know the truth -”
“You saw where listening to Frances got Sam.” Dean scoffed. “I’ll burn this tonight. If that doesn’t get rid of her…” He shrugged. “Well, we’ll worry about that tomorrow. Let me know if you see Frances, yeah?”
“Sure. Bye, Dean.”
“Hey! Jumbo!” Sam looked up at the officer leering at him through the bars. “You have a visitor.”
“My partner?” Sam asked hopefully.
“Your partner?” the guy mocked. “Who, the other agent? No, we called him. He wants nothing to do with you.” Sam’s heart sank. “We’ve tried to contact the FBI, but no response from them yet, either. I think you’re on your own. This just looks like some old homeless guy. You want to see him?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
The officer led Sam down a passage to an empty interrogation room and cuffed him to the table.
“You be good, now. We wouldn’t want you to have any accidents, would we?”
He left, coming back a minute later with a man who looked like he was in his early forties, wearing ill-fitting clothes, with stringy greying hair and ragged fingernails.
“Couple of low-lifes,” the cop said cheerfully. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be back in half an hour. You.” He clapped the visitor on the shoulder. “Try to help him escape, and you’ll be right in next to him.”
He slammed the door behind him.
“Sam,” the visitor said quickly, as soon as he’d gone, “I don’t suppose you’d recognize me. It’s Steve.”
“Steve - Steve?” Sam stared at the other man in shock. “But - what happened to you?”
“When you killed Isabelle, it broke the spell. Time’s catching up with me. Less than a day and I think I’ve gained fifteen years.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad. Immortality was a curse, Sam, even with eternal youth, and don’t let anyone tell you different. Listen - we don’t have much time. Avery told me what happened. I’m sorry for what she did, Sam. She was terrified, and she’s a sweet girl, but she’s not what you’d call brave.”
“I - yeah, I suppose so. But why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t have time to explain. I can’t stay long, Sam, I have things to work out. But…” He patted Sam’s hand awkwardly. “I’m sorry about Avery, and I don’t regret anything. I need you to know that. I’m glad to die.” He straightened. “Now, there’s one more thing I need to tell you. Avery also told me she thinks Philip Ashby might have killed Ralph.”
“And tried to deflect blame?” Sam said slowly. “Why? For Isabelle?”
“Maybe partly, but there’s more. I still don’t think it was Philip - I knew him. He had faults, but he loved his brother. And… well, you know who I think it was. But that’s not important. You need to find the truth. There’s something else you should know, and I have to tell you now while I still can.”
“What is it? That Isabelle killed Philip? I guessed that already.”
“No. Soon after my grandmother, Frances, died, Philip claimed that Uncle Alexander was really Colum O’Donnell’s son. If he’d been able to prove it…”
“Ralph would have died without a son,” Sam finished. “And Philip could have tried to claim his property. But there was Joyce - your mother.”
“Mother and Father were never very interested in the Ashby property. My family was wealthy. And, to tell the truth, I think Mother felt guilty.”
“Guilty? Did she kill Ralph Ashby?”
“No.” Steve shook his head firmly. “No, I’m sure she didn’t. My mother wasn’t a murderer. She felt guilty about… You need to understand, she was a very young girl, utterly alone. Her father was cruel and abusive, and Uncle Alexander was worse. His wife - do you know how she died? She was pregnant, and he lost his temper - he said they couldn’t afford another child - and pushed her down the stairs.”
“How do you know?”
“I was there. I was young, and scared, and he threatened to kill me if I told anyone. And if you’d known Alexander Ashby, Sam, you would have believed him. He was insane.” Steve laughed a little bitterly. “Cowardice runs in the family. My mother knew Frances Ashby was innocent, but when they questioned her… Well, she said what the authorities wanted to hear. She was terrified of being accused of witchcraft herself, terrified of Isabelle.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because the truth has to come out.” Steve got to his feet. “I have to go now. Goodbye, Sam. And - thank you.”
Melting gold was one of the things Dean actually enjoyed. He got to use the acetylene torch, which was way more fun than just matches. Sam never let him use it just to torch graves.
Of course, now that Sam was probably going to be spending the next twenty years in jail, nobody was going to get prissy on Dean and lecture him about fire hazards. He could use the acetylene torch all the time if he wanted. He could carry it around with him and aim at every monster he saw.
When he turned off the torch and used the tongs to carefully tilt the crucible, the bottom was a sheet of liquid gold - except for a large lump.
Dean reached in with another pair of tongs and took out the lump.
It was the medallion. It was still in one piece. As gold dripped off it into the crucible, Dean saw that it hadn’t melted even a little. It hadn’t even gone soft.
He studied the engraved symbol. That was probably the reason it was fireproof, but he had no idea what to do about that. That sort of thing was usually Sam’s job. Or it had been, before Sam decided to go darkside.
Dean sighed. He was tired - it had been a long day. He’d deal with the medallion in the morning.
He made the drive back to the motel as quickly as he could, the medallion in his pocket. It was cool, not showing the slightest sign that it had just been subjected to temperatures that should have turned it into goo.
His phone rang as he was getting out of the car.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Agent Newman? This is Officer Paulson. We have your partner under arrest.”
“Ex-partner.”
“Ex-partner. Just a head’s-up, we’re shifting him to a different facility for the night. We’ve scheduled his bail hearing tomorrow if you want to come.”
Dean barked a short laugh. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Whatever you say. He’s been asking for you…”
“I don’t have time for murderers, and you can tell him so.”
“Sure thing.”
The line went dead.
Once he was back in his room, Dean wasted no time stripping off and getting in the shower. It was great not to have to argue about who got first shower, and not to have to worry about Sam bitching at him if he used all the hot water. He took his time, not moving until the water had started run cold.
He padded back into the motel room wrapped in a towel, pulled on a sleep shirt, and was out before his head hit the pillow.
“Hey!” Sam looked up, hoping Dean had finally called or come for him. “Orders. You’re being transferred.”
“What? Why?”
“Because the chief says we don’t have the facilities to hold murder suspects. We were going to wait until tomorrow, but Mr. Mathieson had a word with the commissioner. He thinks it’s better to move you tonight than wait for the van, so we’re doing this. Come on, on your feet, hands where I can see them. The sooner we get you in a real cell, the sooner I can go home.”
“What about -”
“Your partner?” The officer laughed. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull that he’s not coming for you? We told him we’re moving you, and we told him your bail hearing’s tomorrow. He doesn’t care. He’s not coming. Now get moving.”
“He’s not coming,” Sam repeated, finally allowing the fact to sink in.
Dean wasn’t coming.
“Move!”
Sam let the officer shove him out of the station and into the squad car. He barely noticed where they were going, his mind stuck on the fact that Dean had abandoned him.
Dean had abandoned him.
Tears pricked at his eyes. He blinked them away angrily. He wasn’t going to give up. Even if he had nothing and nobody, even if he had to stand trial and be his own lawyer, he was going to get out of this.
Brakes squealed.
Sam looked up in time to see the view through the windscreen sway wildly as the driver swerved to avoid a female figure in the middle of the street -
Frances.
The car screeched to a halt. Fortunately, the road was deserted, though Sam could hear a vehicle approaching from behind them.
“What the hell?” the driver gasped. “Who is that?”
The other officer was leaning out of the car. “She’s gone… Another car’s coming, though.”
“Some kind of robbers?” the driver asked. “They might be doing some optical illusion crap to make us stop and then…”
His partner hefted his gun. “If that’s what they’re going to do, they’re about to learn a lesson.”
Without warning, the door next to Sam was wrenched open and a figure threw itself in. Sam just had time to register that it was Steve, before the other man said, “I’m sorry about this, Sam,” leaned across him to open the far door, and shoved him out of the car.
Sam hit the ground hard. He stayed put for a moment, winded, before he staggered to his feet. He was fine, other than a scraped elbow, but as he scrambled to get off the road, one of the officers fired in his direction, making him dive to get out of the way.
Then the other car was there, horn blowing, driver wrenching the wheel to avoid the police car parked sideways across the road.
Sam knew it was going to hit him a fraction of a second before he felt the impact. The world went dark.
Dean Winchester rolled over in his sleep as his dreams of a happy time with the waitress at the last diner he’d visited turned into nightmares of blood and fire and screaming.
Chapter X: Peter Winn
Chapter VIII: Father Maynard
Chapter IX: Philip Ashby
Sam didn’t struggle, but the officers who came to arrest him took a lot of pleasure in shoving him around and making sure he stumbled into walls as they walked him from Connor and Connor to the waiting squad car. Avery had disappeared along with Dean. Sam tried to be angry with her, but he couldn’t. She must have been terrified - normal people weren’t used to seeing women, even witches, shot right in front of them.
Besides…
Sam sighed and leaned back, making himself as comfortable as he could in the cramped back seat.
Besides, Sam’s own brother had decided it wasn’t even worth listening to anything Sam said. He could hardly expect a relative stranger to stick her neck out to defend him.
Sam was hoping it was all part of some plan Dean had. He’d probably wanted to keep his cover intact, and he’d be at the station to bust Sam out and help him erase the records as soon as the night shift started. Sam had to believe that, because the alternative was that his big brother, the big brother Sam trusted more than anyone else in the world, had turned on him.
The city flashed past. Sam tested the handcuffs. He could pick them easily, but that wouldn’t help him escape and it would probably make the cops double up on security. If Dean… If Dean wasn’t coming for him, he’d have to get himself out of this, and that meant cooperating as much as possible so they’d let down their guard.
When they got to the police station, Sam was manhandled out of the car, and shoved around some more when they frisked him and took his things.
“Can I make a call?” he asked the officer booking him in.
“Sure,” the man grunted. “But there’s a long line, and filthy killers go to the end of it. I don’t know how long you’re going to have to wait.”
Sam looked around the room, empty except for the two men who’d brought him in, and at least three phones on the wall.
“Please - sir, just one call, please. I need to -”
“You need to shut up.” The man was out of his chair, shoving Sam back against the wall. Sam resisted the urge to fight back. It would just make things worse. “I don’t have much sympathy for you.” Cold steel tapped his jaw. “And if you’re not careful, you might have an accident. I’ve got two men here willing to swear you got violent in an attempt to escape and, whoops, maybe our CCTV had a glitch. So if you want to live long enough to face trial, shut your face and go sit in your cell. I don’t hear your voice, I might forget how much I want to put a bullet in your brain.”
“Maybe it was Philip.”
Dean sighed. He’d had a difficult day. When Avery had followed him out of the room, pale and shaking, and asked him to take her to the rec centre, he’d been inclined to refuse. But his brother had traumatized her by murdering a woman right in front of her, so Dean figured he owed her.
That didn’t mean he was willing to listen to her maunder on about who might have killed Ralph Ashby.
“I don’t care,” he told her.
“No, Dean, listen. Before - before Sam killed her, Isabelle said Philip tried to turn suspicion on Frances because he thought Isabelle had done it. Well, we do know he tried to turn it on Frances, but maybe it wasn’t because he thought Isabelle was guilty. Maybe it was because Philip was guilty himself.”
“Why would he kill Ralph? The guy had kids. Philip had nothing to gain.”
“What if Ralph was about to expose Isabelle as a witch? He might’ve told Philip, tried to warn him or something.”
“And Philip went apeshit when his big brother was only trying to help him. Yeah, that sounds like something bratty little brothers do.”
For some reason, Avery cringed. “Dean - you’re going to help Sam, right?”
“Sweetheart, he’s murdered a woman in cold blood in front of a witness. Unless he manages to make puppy eyes at the jury, nobody can help him.”
“But you’ll get him a lawyer.”
“He doesn’t need a lawyer. Went to Stanford, didn’t he? He can talk himself out of trouble. I’m done cleaning up Sam’s messes. And if he’s really turned into the kind of lunatic who kills people because a ghost told him so, it’s probably best for everyone if he gets locked up for good.”
Dean turned to go.
“Wait!” Avery caught his arm. “Here - take this.” She thrust something into Dean’s hand.
Dean looked down. It was an old necklace, thick gold links glinting in the evening light. There was what looked like a fat medallion at the end, carved with a weird, but somehow familiar, symbol chased in silver.
“What is this?”
“The necklace Dad took from the grave. It was on Ms. Velour’s desk. I - I guess he gave it to her for an assessment.”
“Great.” Dean clutched it in his fist. “This should get rid of Frances.”
“Do you think so? She said she needed to know the truth -”
“You saw where listening to Frances got Sam.” Dean scoffed. “I’ll burn this tonight. If that doesn’t get rid of her…” He shrugged. “Well, we’ll worry about that tomorrow. Let me know if you see Frances, yeah?”
“Sure. Bye, Dean.”
“Hey! Jumbo!” Sam looked up at the officer leering at him through the bars. “You have a visitor.”
“My partner?” Sam asked hopefully.
“Your partner?” the guy mocked. “Who, the other agent? No, we called him. He wants nothing to do with you.” Sam’s heart sank. “We’ve tried to contact the FBI, but no response from them yet, either. I think you’re on your own. This just looks like some old homeless guy. You want to see him?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
The officer led Sam down a passage to an empty interrogation room and cuffed him to the table.
“You be good, now. We wouldn’t want you to have any accidents, would we?”
He left, coming back a minute later with a man who looked like he was in his early forties, wearing ill-fitting clothes, with stringy greying hair and ragged fingernails.
“Couple of low-lifes,” the cop said cheerfully. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be back in half an hour. You.” He clapped the visitor on the shoulder. “Try to help him escape, and you’ll be right in next to him.”
He slammed the door behind him.
“Sam,” the visitor said quickly, as soon as he’d gone, “I don’t suppose you’d recognize me. It’s Steve.”
“Steve - Steve?” Sam stared at the other man in shock. “But - what happened to you?”
“When you killed Isabelle, it broke the spell. Time’s catching up with me. Less than a day and I think I’ve gained fifteen years.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad. Immortality was a curse, Sam, even with eternal youth, and don’t let anyone tell you different. Listen - we don’t have much time. Avery told me what happened. I’m sorry for what she did, Sam. She was terrified, and she’s a sweet girl, but she’s not what you’d call brave.”
“I - yeah, I suppose so. But why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t have time to explain. I can’t stay long, Sam, I have things to work out. But…” He patted Sam’s hand awkwardly. “I’m sorry about Avery, and I don’t regret anything. I need you to know that. I’m glad to die.” He straightened. “Now, there’s one more thing I need to tell you. Avery also told me she thinks Philip Ashby might have killed Ralph.”
“And tried to deflect blame?” Sam said slowly. “Why? For Isabelle?”
“Maybe partly, but there’s more. I still don’t think it was Philip - I knew him. He had faults, but he loved his brother. And… well, you know who I think it was. But that’s not important. You need to find the truth. There’s something else you should know, and I have to tell you now while I still can.”
“What is it? That Isabelle killed Philip? I guessed that already.”
“No. Soon after my grandmother, Frances, died, Philip claimed that Uncle Alexander was really Colum O’Donnell’s son. If he’d been able to prove it…”
“Ralph would have died without a son,” Sam finished. “And Philip could have tried to claim his property. But there was Joyce - your mother.”
“Mother and Father were never very interested in the Ashby property. My family was wealthy. And, to tell the truth, I think Mother felt guilty.”
“Guilty? Did she kill Ralph Ashby?”
“No.” Steve shook his head firmly. “No, I’m sure she didn’t. My mother wasn’t a murderer. She felt guilty about… You need to understand, she was a very young girl, utterly alone. Her father was cruel and abusive, and Uncle Alexander was worse. His wife - do you know how she died? She was pregnant, and he lost his temper - he said they couldn’t afford another child - and pushed her down the stairs.”
“How do you know?”
“I was there. I was young, and scared, and he threatened to kill me if I told anyone. And if you’d known Alexander Ashby, Sam, you would have believed him. He was insane.” Steve laughed a little bitterly. “Cowardice runs in the family. My mother knew Frances Ashby was innocent, but when they questioned her… Well, she said what the authorities wanted to hear. She was terrified of being accused of witchcraft herself, terrified of Isabelle.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because the truth has to come out.” Steve got to his feet. “I have to go now. Goodbye, Sam. And - thank you.”
Melting gold was one of the things Dean actually enjoyed. He got to use the acetylene torch, which was way more fun than just matches. Sam never let him use it just to torch graves.
Of course, now that Sam was probably going to be spending the next twenty years in jail, nobody was going to get prissy on Dean and lecture him about fire hazards. He could use the acetylene torch all the time if he wanted. He could carry it around with him and aim at every monster he saw.
When he turned off the torch and used the tongs to carefully tilt the crucible, the bottom was a sheet of liquid gold - except for a large lump.
Dean reached in with another pair of tongs and took out the lump.
It was the medallion. It was still in one piece. As gold dripped off it into the crucible, Dean saw that it hadn’t melted even a little. It hadn’t even gone soft.
He studied the engraved symbol. That was probably the reason it was fireproof, but he had no idea what to do about that. That sort of thing was usually Sam’s job. Or it had been, before Sam decided to go darkside.
Dean sighed. He was tired - it had been a long day. He’d deal with the medallion in the morning.
He made the drive back to the motel as quickly as he could, the medallion in his pocket. It was cool, not showing the slightest sign that it had just been subjected to temperatures that should have turned it into goo.
His phone rang as he was getting out of the car.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Agent Newman? This is Officer Paulson. We have your partner under arrest.”
“Ex-partner.”
“Ex-partner. Just a head’s-up, we’re shifting him to a different facility for the night. We’ve scheduled his bail hearing tomorrow if you want to come.”
Dean barked a short laugh. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Whatever you say. He’s been asking for you…”
“I don’t have time for murderers, and you can tell him so.”
“Sure thing.”
The line went dead.
Once he was back in his room, Dean wasted no time stripping off and getting in the shower. It was great not to have to argue about who got first shower, and not to have to worry about Sam bitching at him if he used all the hot water. He took his time, not moving until the water had started run cold.
He padded back into the motel room wrapped in a towel, pulled on a sleep shirt, and was out before his head hit the pillow.
“Hey!” Sam looked up, hoping Dean had finally called or come for him. “Orders. You’re being transferred.”
“What? Why?”
“Because the chief says we don’t have the facilities to hold murder suspects. We were going to wait until tomorrow, but Mr. Mathieson had a word with the commissioner. He thinks it’s better to move you tonight than wait for the van, so we’re doing this. Come on, on your feet, hands where I can see them. The sooner we get you in a real cell, the sooner I can go home.”
“What about -”
“Your partner?” The officer laughed. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull that he’s not coming for you? We told him we’re moving you, and we told him your bail hearing’s tomorrow. He doesn’t care. He’s not coming. Now get moving.”
“He’s not coming,” Sam repeated, finally allowing the fact to sink in.
Dean wasn’t coming.
“Move!”
Sam let the officer shove him out of the station and into the squad car. He barely noticed where they were going, his mind stuck on the fact that Dean had abandoned him.
Dean had abandoned him.
Tears pricked at his eyes. He blinked them away angrily. He wasn’t going to give up. Even if he had nothing and nobody, even if he had to stand trial and be his own lawyer, he was going to get out of this.
Brakes squealed.
Sam looked up in time to see the view through the windscreen sway wildly as the driver swerved to avoid a female figure in the middle of the street -
Frances.
The car screeched to a halt. Fortunately, the road was deserted, though Sam could hear a vehicle approaching from behind them.
“What the hell?” the driver gasped. “Who is that?”
The other officer was leaning out of the car. “She’s gone… Another car’s coming, though.”
“Some kind of robbers?” the driver asked. “They might be doing some optical illusion crap to make us stop and then…”
His partner hefted his gun. “If that’s what they’re going to do, they’re about to learn a lesson.”
Without warning, the door next to Sam was wrenched open and a figure threw itself in. Sam just had time to register that it was Steve, before the other man said, “I’m sorry about this, Sam,” leaned across him to open the far door, and shoved him out of the car.
Sam hit the ground hard. He stayed put for a moment, winded, before he staggered to his feet. He was fine, other than a scraped elbow, but as he scrambled to get off the road, one of the officers fired in his direction, making him dive to get out of the way.
Then the other car was there, horn blowing, driver wrenching the wheel to avoid the police car parked sideways across the road.
Sam knew it was going to hit him a fraction of a second before he felt the impact. The world went dark.
Dean Winchester rolled over in his sleep as his dreams of a happy time with the waitress at the last diner he’d visited turned into nightmares of blood and fire and screaming.
Chapter X: Peter Winn