The Thousandth Man, Part One
Title: The Thousandth Man, Part One
Rating:PG-13 for language
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Warnings: Spoilers up to season 3.02
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine yet.
Summary: Sam and Dean join Bobby on a desperate hunt for a creature that's been on a killing spree for decades. An act of betrayal turns the table on the hunters and suddenly they become the hunted with Dean as the prize.
It was a sight to behold. A true wonder of wonders. His brother, the fearless Hunter, was celebrating his latest victory by baying at the moon. Sam winced as Dean’s howling grew in volume and surreptitiously glanced about, making sure the noise wouldn’t attract anyone. Or anything.
“That was awesome!” Dean roared at him.
Sam gave a small nod of agreement in return as he quickly pocketed his cell phone, which now held no less than ten snapshots of Dean cavorting under the full moon. Sans pants and boots. Sam bit his tongue in order to hold in his laughter. Initially, Dean’s idea of evening the score with the hillbilly locals had Sam’s hackles up, but now … well, now he was damn glad he went with Dean’s harebrained idea because moments like this one were too few for the Winchesters.
“Dude, you even here?”
Sam snapped a quick nod, “Yeah, the question is are you?”
Dean rooted through his duffle looking for a pair of jeans that could stand another day of usage. “Damn straight I am! Man, that farmer is going to be so pissed when he wakes up!”
Sam ducked his head, pretending to brush off something from his jeans in order to hide his hilarity. “Yeah,” He agreed hoarsely when he caught Dean’s laughing eyes. “It’ll be a sight to behold.”
He didn’t think it was possible but Dean’s grin got broader. “Especially when he sees the bull.”
Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. He sat down on the ground and laughed. Initially it felt almost painful, but after a minute it felt wonderful; like drinking from a creek that just began to thaw from winter. Then he made the mistake of looking at Dean and began howling again as he watched his brother struggled to put on jeans only to realize they belonged to Sam. The trouser’s length had overwhelmed Dean’s legs and the older brother was currently doing a damn good imitation of a penguin waddle as he tried to take off the jeans.
“Shut your hole, you freak.” Dean said without any malice as he finally managed to wiggle out of the trousers.
“Dude, do you know how ridiculous you look?!” Sam managed to gasp out.
Dean gathered his jacket around his broad shoulders with a melodramatic look of hurt. “This isn’t just a fashion statement. It’s my philosophy in life!”
“What might that be?”
“Don’t know yet. Will get back to you once I come up with some cool bullshit.”
Sam’s answer to Dean’s breezy reply was another explosion of laughter. He didn’t see Dean’s wistful smile as the older brother watched him, a helpless captive to the ridiculous situation Dean maneuvered them into.
It was a straight-up salt and burn with the added bonus of the vengeful spirit latched inside a decrepit barn while its corpse was in plain sight and ten yards west of the abandoned building. Once they figured out that part, exorcising the damn thing was easy, especially as they didn’t have to deal with people.
The problem started when they made their way back to the Impala.
In retrospect Sam was surprised they hadn't faced the dilemma earlier in their mordant careers. Smoke would naturally attract curious onlookers, and one originating from an abandoned property would definitely guarantee some rubber neckers, especially in an area that boasted The Annual Maple Parade as its version of Mardi Gras. A gang of local farmers, led by a deputy Sam swore was as a cast member of Prison Break, composed the greeting party by their car.
Sam immediately felt his brother tense up, and hoping to stave off a bloodbath, initiated what he thought was a peaceful conversation. His diplomatic services were thanked with insults to him, Dean, their car and their family bloodline going all the way back to Adam and Eve. Fortunately only ill will and curses were spilt, allowing the Winchester brothers to depart in relative peace, though by the stormy glance Dean threw at the rearview mirror Sam knew things were far from finished.
It was only when during dinner, two towns over, that Dean revealed his plans for revenge.
“What?” Sam echoed, his dinner and coffee all but forgotten.
“We’re going back.”
“I heard that part,” Sam snapped. “It’s what came after that I don’t get.”
“What’s not to get? We find the fuckers, and if they own any cows - tip them over.”
“How … what … Dean! We’re not abusing … what the hell is that anyway?”
“Cow tipping,” Dean explained with a frown. “You never heard of it?”
Sam’s eyebrows met his bangs, which wasn’t too far a trip north, then proceeded to valiantly make their way to his hairline. “Cow tipping?”
“You seriously don’t know?” Dean asked with a wide grin.
“No, I can honestly say I have never heard of it.”
Dean then went into excruciating detail of the requirements necessary to fulfill the prank. And Sam knew Dean was being so thorough because he was taking too much enjoyment watching Sam gape at him in unadulterated shock.
“We are not doing it, Dean.” Sam firmly said after listening to Dean’s flourished description.
“Oh yes we are.”
“No we’re not. We could get arrested. Hell, we could get shot if one of those farmers decide to blast first and ask never.”
“Sam, they insulted the car.”
Sam forcefully restrained himself from making a sarcastic comment of the fact that Dean described the Impala as 'the car'. He made it sound as if it was the last functioning specimen of the entire automobile industry. In fact, Sam wouldn’t be least bit surprised of Dean actually did think his car was the only decent thing to come off the factory floor in the last fifty so-odd years.
“No, Dean, we’re not. We’ve got a haunting in Concord, and who knows how many poltergeists there are in the State of Massachusetts.”
“Commonwealth.”
“What?”
“Commonwealth of Massachusetts.” Dean corrected. “Get your vocab right if you’re gunning to be the geek freak.”
“We’re still not going cow tripping.”
“Tipping,” Dean corrected. “Man, eat your Wheaties or something ‘cause you’re flailing over there.”
Sam’s reply was a tight-lipped glare.
In retrospect, and Sam’s been having way too many of those since his return to the Hunt with his brother, he should have kept arguing with Dean if only to occupy his brother’s mind. That way they might have stood a chance of getting out of Thurston County before midnight. Unfortunately Sam decided to take the high ground which led to the middle of a pasture loaded with cows. He could have actually enjoyed the tranquility of the scene: the bright moon, the peaceful ambience the cows generated with their soft breaths and gentle wooshes of their tails if it weren’t for the fact they were standing ankle deep in cowshit.
Sam had no idea that you could smell a cow field miles before actually seeing a single cow. That newly discovered fact was nothing compared to the mystery of how Dean could keep from heaving his dinner with the aroma currently wafting around them and doubtlessly saturating their clothes and hair. As Sam watched Dean scout the crowded field he could feel his brain starting its usual imitation of a landmine that just got stepped on. Field of landmines actually. And Dean, his fearless and Future-Darwin-Award-Winner brother, was about to do the cha-cha across the said field.
Dean, without hesitation but with a lot of brunt force, tipped a small heifer. Sam watched agog as the innocent bovine just slumped over. The older Winchester repeated this process three more times before turning his attention to an enclosed field.
Sam stared at what caught his brother’s interest. “Oh hell no, no fucking way,” Sam swore loudly. “You’re going to get killed!”
Three hours later Sam had to admit when it came to pranks Dean was a pro through and through. He also had a good laugh at the thought of the farmer happening upon his bull in the morning. Sam had no doubt this particular mayhem will become a town legend, spawning generations of copycats, to the dismay of local farmers and law enforcement.
They shared a cup of lukewarm coffee after Dean finished putting on his clothes and shoving the smelly used jeans into the laundry duffel. He gave a nod towards the reddish horizon and said, “Come on, sun’s rising and we got miles to burn.”
Sam smiled and got into the Impala. The sound of the engine soon lulled him into light sleep until the ringing of his cell woke him.
“Bobby, what’s up?” Sam asked, rubbing his eyes.
“I got a problem,” Bobby said. “A friend of mine found a hunt and I decided to come along. But I’m starting to think it’s bigger than either of us can handle. We sure could use your help.”
“Not a problem. Where are you?”
“A town called Fore Hills in Washington. It’s located in Columbia Valley. I’ll text you driving instructions. I really need you guys to step on it. The body count’s already too high.”
“Done.” Sam said, now awake and concerned. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“What’s up?” Dean asked when Sam finished the call.
“It’s Bobby. He stumbled onto a bad hunt. I’m getting driving directions now.”
“Where to?”
“Columbia Valley, Washington.”
Dean gave a curt nod and stepped on the gas. Sam anxiously waited for Bobby’s e-mail, not liking the deep worry in the man’s voice. When someone like Bobby mentions high body count Sam calculated the numbers to be at least in the twenties if not higher.
Dean gave a whistle when he saw the imposing two-storied hunting lodge. “You sure this is the place? Doesn’t look like something Bobby can afford.”
Sam compared the address Bobby texted to the house that passed off as a seasonal vacation home. “Yeah, it is.”
Their confusion dissipated when a familiar beaten blue truck waited for them in the driveway. As they got out of the Impala Bobby opened the door and gave a friendly wave of recognition.
“Bobby!” Dean barked, “Moving up in the world, I see.”
Bobby shook his head, “Nah, it’s a loaner from someone who owes me a favor.”
Before Dean could continue his teasing a stranger joined them.
“This is Mac Hathaway,” Bobby introduced his younger companion. Sam calculated the man to be older than Dean by a decade, but it was hard to tell with the baby face complete with baby-blue eyes and receding blond hair.
“Thanks for coming,” Mac said. “We got lunch ready in case you guys haven’t eaten.”
Dean turned to him and asked, “Were you with Jordan when she came across that basilisk?”
Mac smiled, “Yeah, that was me. She told me about you. Said you were one crazy bastard but damn lucky one. Jordan still can’t believe you survived the fire.”
Dean chuckled, “Had no idea the house would go up that fast. It did the job though.”
“I’m sure the people at Norfolk would be glad to hear it. If they ever find out you were responsible for stopping the killings.”
Sam’s curiosity was perked from the moment Dean engaged the conversation. He knew his brother had to have worked with other hunters but Dean was strangely tight-lipped about it. Sam figured it was because so many hunters died that Dean didn’t want to talk about someone who, in all likelihood, was buried in a pauper’s grave or worse.
The group stuck to small talk as Sam and Dean ate. It was only when the meal was done that Mac restarted the conversation about the hunt.
“I know about Dean and your father, but I didn’t know you were a hunter too, Sam.”
Sam blanched a little, “I was away at Stanford for three years.”
“You didn’t graduate?”
“No, I returned to hunting before I could finish my studies.”
“Stanford? Must have good head on those shoulders.”
Bobby saved the brothers from continuing the awkward conversation. He placed a large map on the table, “Here, these red clusters represent the hikers missing just this year.”
Dean whistled, “Six? The total … Bobby, there are more than twenty people who disappeared over the last seven years.”
Sam shook his head, “How could the authorities miss this?”
“We calculated in variables the cops didn’t consider. We also cross-checked the dates of the disappearances with all the calendars we could get our hands on. There are no correlations between the dates. This is purely random.” Mac explained, frustration plainly coloring his tone.
Sam shook his head, “I don’t think so. Maybe we don’t have all the information yet but there’s got to be a pattern.”
“Bobby and I really did our work,” Mac replied sharply.
Dean immediately jumped in, “Not saying you guys didn’t, but Sammy’s got a mind for these things. Why don’t we let him have a swing at it?”
Mac had the grace to look chagrined, “Of course. Hey, if you could find something I’ll be more than grateful.”
“Good, meanwhile I’ll take a spin with the locals, find out what they know.”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “You mean check out the local talents?”
“Bobby, I’m a consummate professional.”
Sam gave a small smirk but kept his peace. By the time he heard the Impala rev up he was already lost in the information spread out in front of him. Even though supernatural creatures didn’t work within a recognizable frame of human logic, they tend to function with a specific purpose - even if only to spread chaos and fear. As he studied the topographical maps of the area he made a mental note to physically visit the spots where the hikers vanished. There was nothing like old-fashioned reconnaissance to jog one’s imagination.
Dean looked at the store with open amusement. It was a one hundred percent, honest-to-goodness general store, just like the one he remembered from Little House on the Prairie. He strolled inside, half expecting bolts of fabric and wooden barrels full of feed and seed. Instead he was greeted with neat rows of cans and non-perishable items alongside an entire wall of refrigerated goods. To Dean’s relief the woman behind the counter looked more like Xena, the Warrior Princess than Mrs. Oleson.
He strolled around, picked up some medical supplies to replace the ones they used up. To his surprise the back wall was lined with small wine barrels, filled with fresh produce and vegetables. Dean smiled and filled his basket with apples and nearly punched the air with glee when he saw a bin filled with concord grapes. As far as he was concerned they were nature’s version of M&Ms. He made another thorough round of the aisles, wondering if he should bring Sam next time. Dean knew his brother would get a kick out of a place like this.
“Excuse me,” a feminine voice said from his left.
Dean turned to face a woman whose features were so breathtaking he forgot to reply.
“I need to get that,” the woman said, pointing at a jar of hot sauce after a long moment of silence.
“Sorry,” Dean replied, blushing.
“Not a problem,” was the stranger’s polite reply before walking away.
Dean didn’t bother to hide his interest as he checked out the lovely woman. Waist-long curly hair gathered into a neat ponytail, a heart-shaped face dotted with freckles and possessing vivid blue eyes. The package was complete with natural confidence Dean always found alluring.
He also knew he would have no chance with her. She wore expensive clothes and shoes, costly because they were of good quality, not because of the brand. And though they were worn, it was obvious she took good care of them, which meant she had the common sense to appreciate what she had. He figured just her shoes would cost more than his entire wardrobe.
With a small sigh he walked up to the cash register. Hell, he might never have the privilege of checking out if she freckled elsewhere but at least he could enjoy her presence for few minutes longer.
“Did you hear about the last hiker that went missing?” The cashier asked.
“I just heard,” the woman replied. “Another child?”
“Eleven-year-old named Sarah. Came up here with her parents for a weekender. Damn shame.”
“How many is that, Beth?”
“Seven now.”
“Dear God, please tell me the sheriff’s office is taking this seriously. I remember the two last year!”
Beth nodded, “Oh they are now, believe me. I just wish they were earlier. Might have prevented this entire mess.”
“My dad’s never going to let me hike alone now.”
“Sounds like a damn good plan to me. And how is the old tiger these days?”
“Still growling like a wet cat.”
“Don’t be so mean. Your daddy is one fine specimen of manhood,” Beth gave a pointed glance at Dean. “Unlike some.”
Dean managed not to grimace. Obviously his charms would be lost to Xena, the Cashier Princess.
“It’ll be twenty dollars even.”
The woman smiled and handed over cash. Out of habit Dean took a glimpse inside her purse to check the contents.
Definitely out of his league.
“So, what’s your name, stranger?” Beth asked.
“Dean.” He answered swiftly.
“You one of those bounty hunters?”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s a lot of reward money so we’ve had all types rough people come here,” The pretty woman explained patiently. “They do nothing but stir up trouble.”
“Nope, not me. Don’t want to mess up this pretty face.”
“I have to agree with you there.” She answered with an open smile.
“My brother and I are trackers. We also do some hunting for the states and private companies on the side.”
“What kind of hunting?”
“Some people don’t have the common sense to let Nature be, and unfortunately the animals are the ones who end up paying the price for it. We make it fast and painless. And if there are babies we take’em to a sanctuary. They can’t survive in the wild without their mothers. Some folks sell them as pets but that’s just insane. My brother once said it’s ‘perpetuating a vicious cycle’ and he’s right.”
“But what are you doing here?” Beth asked, her hostility gone in the face of Dean’s earnestness.
“One of the families hired us. We’re not here to catch the sick monster that’s doing this. All we’re here to do is track down the missing person and then call in the law if necessary. We’re trained to catch wild predators of the four-legged kind. We leave the two-legged ones for the law.
“By the way, name’s Dean Fallston. My brother’s Sam, and since we’ll be running our asses off searching I can pretty much guarantee we won’t be bothering anyone, maybe ‘cept for a doctor. Hopefully that won’t be necessary.”
Beth gave her friend a glance and something passed between them. Dean waited patiently. He’s seen this before: where the locals judge you to be trustworthy enough to take into confidence, or not.
The pretty woman introduced herself, “My name is Abigail Carnegie, no relation.”
“Relation to who?” Dean asked, puzzled.
The woman’s smile grew blinding. “Don’t mind me; it’s an old joke around here.”
“Let me show you something,” Beth said and unfolded a detailed map. She circled a large area, “This right here’s been dragged through. Ain’t nothing there that’s not been turned over twice. So you might as well look elsewhere.”
Abigail pointed at a lake, “This is where my father’s house is. It’s not a large development but there is a steady stream of seasonal vacationers and visitors because of the wine country. So far we’ve had no trouble but as you can see this eastern section borders on the woods where the disappearances have occurred. From what I’ve heard there’s some interest in this area near the river. Why, I can’t tell you. Beth, do you know why?”
“That’s where the body dump was found. Just some, not all as the sheriff's office has been saying.”
“Have all the bodies been found?”
Beth shook her head, “No, and with this kind of wilderness they probably never will.”
“But like you said, this is wine country.” Dean said, “And with all the tourists, wouldn’t it make sense that someone saw something?”
Abigail shook her head, “Each vineyard has hundreds of acres, some bordering on pure wilderness. There isn’t nearly enough manpower to keep watch. And because we have so many seasonal vacationers the influx of people varies greatly, week by week.”
“So, there’s a good chance more people are missing?”
Beth gave a grim look, “Yeah, something the sheriff’s office won’t even think about. We got enough problems with the ones reported missing.”
Abigail sighed, “She’s talking about gypsy workers, mostly illegal immigrants. Not everyone hires them but some vineyards and a lot of the farms depend on them. Otherwise the grapes and vegetables, not to mention the local apple orchards, wouldn’t be able to survive for long.”
“Because there is no local manpower to meet the demand,” Dean finished the explanation.
“There are mechanized ways of harvesting, of course.” Abigail hurriedly added, “but a few good teams of dozen pickers are unbeatable. Not even the machines can compete with them. And if you’re lucky you get the same families visiting year after year so they become familiar with the area.”
Dean sighed, “They sound like easy targets.”
“They are,” Beth said grimly. “They’re no saints but the ones I know - they’re good people. They sure as hell don’t deserve to be torn apart and left for scavengers to feed on.”
“Have you heard anything from them? Something they can’t or won’t say to strangers?”
Abigail shook her head, “They were too scared. By the time the second hiker disappeared they all left. I guess they were afraid of being made scapegoats.”
“And they must have put the word out ‘cause we haven’t had any new workers come by.” Beth added, “We’re hurting already because of it.”
“Winters here can be ferocious and unpredictable,” Abigail explained. “When the cold snap hits it could wipe out an entire crop overnight.”
Dean shook his head, “Bad business all around.”
“You can say that again,” Beth sighed then folded the map and handed it to Dean. “Good luck to you. I hope you find something ‘cause if it were my boy out there - I’d be in a padded room by now.”
“Much appreciated,” Dean answered before looking at Abigail. “And I suggest you take your father’s advice. Stay out of the woods until this mess is cleared up.”
“I will,” She replied. “The last thing my father needs is more stress. That’s why he moved here.”
“You’re not a local then?”
“No, just visiting. I work in Portland. Where do you live?”
“I mostly travel around, but I’m from Kansas.”
“You know, I think you’re the first Kansan I’ve met.”
Dean chuckled, “Well, hopefully I did my home state justice. I have to go now. You ladies take care.”
Both women watched Dean get into the Impala and drive off.
Beth turned to Abigail and said, “If you don’t tap that I swear I’ll do it myself, Ethan be damned.”
Abigail laughed, “My dad will be heartbroken to hear that.”
Beth gave a snort of disbelief and waved farewell as her young friend left the store.
Abigail reached her father’s house and noticed he had left all the windows open to enjoy the balmy fall weather. She sighed in relief: that meant he was not itching for another round of father-daughter discourse which inevitably led to verbal spats.
She was putting away the groceries when her father entered the kitchen.
“I guess I owe you an apology,” Ethan said.
For a moment Abigail stood still. She then turned to her father and said in a light tone, “Don’t worry about it, dad. You have every right to say what you did. We both know you’re not totally off the mark.”
“Oh, sweetie. Don’t do that to yourself.” Ethan sighed and hugged his daughter. “I just get so twisted inside, thinking about what you’re putting yourself through.”
“There is also the fact I’m your only child so there’s only one way for you to get a grandkid.”
“Cheeky thing,” Ethan said with a smile before kissing Abigail on her forehead. “I’m an old man. I’m allowed to henpeck my daughter into giving me a grandchild to spoil rotten. It’s law.”
“I know,” Abigail said. “I’m sorry about Jerry. I really thought he was … well, you know.”
“Sweetheart, Jerry likes to consider himself a ‘metrosexual’. Whatever the hell that is. I just can’t imagine you spending the rest of your life tied down to a man who has more expensive pedicures than you do.”
Abigail laughed, “That’s so mean.”
“Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll take it back.”
“You know I won’t.” Abigail said then gave her father a sly glance.
“What?” Ethan said warily. “What now? Please tell me you didn’t invite him here!”
“No,” Abigail replied. “I met someone.”
“Oh, hell no. Not another wine-sipping, foie gras nibbling…”
“Dad!”
“Daughter!”
“He’s a tracker and a hunter. One of the families hired him and his brother to find someone.”
“Any names?”
“No, Dean was cautious about that. Didn’t want to reveal any information about his client.”
“A hunter? Not your usual dish, is it?”
“He’s different.”
“How so?”
“Just … different. You have to see him, Dad. He reminds me of old stock. You could place him hundred years back and he would fit.”
“Really? That is new for you. I’m guessing he’s good looking.”
“I think the word ‘dreamy’ might be appropriate. But there’s so much more to him than just a pretty face. I wish you were there, you would’ve liked him.”
“Any chance I might still meet him?”
“Maybe. He’s staying around town so we’ll definitely bump into him.”
“Well, then, I’ll be on the lookout for one dreamy-from-the-days-of-yore Dean.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Abigail, now that we had our heart-to-heart will you eat something? You haven’t touched anything since yesterday.”
“I will. Could you make some coffee for me? I bought the kind you like.”
“Consider it done. Eat! Unlike what the magazines claim no man likes their women skinny as a stick. Bony asses are not attractive.”
“Dad!” Abigail cried out in mock outrage as her father snickered.
She made her way into the hallway behind the kitchen and opened a well-worn door with a new bolt. She didn’t need to turn on the switch to climb down the stairs as the open doorway introduced enough light. Abigail made her way into the corner of the basement where a small cage sat. Eyes bright with fear and pain greeted her.
“Hi, Sarah.” Abigail said, her charming smile turning feral. “How are we doing today?”
The girl was unable to respond as her vocal cord had been neatly crushed when Abigail kidnapped her the night before.
“Don’t play with your food!” Her father scolded from upstairs.
Abigail’s smile grew wider and wider until her lips looked like gashes on her face. Then her tongue snaked out and lasciviously licked the bloodless lips.
“You heard what my father said. It’s time to eat, bring on the meat.”