Fic. The Untitled, Indefinitely Tabled SPN Big Bang Story (Unrated, Unbeta-ed) Part 1
Because it's 10,000 words that I did write, I'll post it here for reference later on. Maybe one day I'll come back to it (but it definitely won't be before May 1st this year, unfortunately).
It started, as it always did, with blood.
* * *
The diner was full of early-morning breakfast crowds, people who had nothing better to do than order over-priced food before making their way to whatever boring desk job they called life. Deanna didn't know how they could stand it. Staying in one place, all the time.
Maybe she would have thought differently had her life been different - but now she could barely remember her childhood before the death of her mother at the hands of Azazel. Her memories of her mother, while still around, were vague, and fading slowly. She'd hate herself for losing track of those small details if she didn't have more pressing issues on her mind.
Like the current noise level that was really not appropriate for her hangover.
"Sammy, stop it," she snapped, attempting, half-heartedly to close his laptop screen on his hands. The soft clicking of his fingers on the keys was driving her crazy.
The look Sam shot her was not an amused look, and he rather pointedly kept typing despite her best 'stop it' stare. "Dean," he started, not looking up, "you brought this on yourself. I told you that we should have left -"
"Ah!" She held up a hand. "Don't even start."
"Fine."
"Good."
The harried looking waitress was back at their table with two big breakfasts and looking disdainfully at the laptop blocking the space in front of Sam where his food was supposed to be. She scored points with Deanna for the look, and another set for looking like she'd stepped off the cover of a magazine despite the plain uniform.
"Thanks," she told the waitress, smiling a white smile that meant only one thing.
It earned her a kick in the shin from Sam.
"Stop it," he chided. "That's what got you in this fine mood to begin with."
"What? I'm not allowed to have any fun now?" A look of panic that wasn't entirely forced crossed her face. "Jesus, Sammy. Lighten up."
She stabbed a sausage with her fork.
* * *
They'd finished a job the next town over and without another case to immediately take off to she'd been perfectly fine about taking a few days to get their heads together. Besides, her baby needed a tune-up and she needed a place to do it. She didn't trust mechanics - at least, not mechanics who weren't hunters who she knew.
She didn't know or care what Sammy got up to while she was under the hood. Ever since she'd come back from Hell there'd been a distance between them that hadn't been there before. She hadn't been able to put her finger on it yet, but it sat there in the back of her mind. Nagging.
His incessant need to use his Demon-given powers 'to do good.'
Deanna snorted at the thought. The very idea that anything given by a demon could be used for good contradicted the very nature of the gift. Demons didn't do good. It didn't exist on their radar and they couldn't find it with a map and a neon sign a foot in front of their face. (If they actually had their own faces.) That Sam could rationalise the idea was scary, and showed how far down the slope he'd slipped. The old Sam would have been scared out of his mind by the implications of his current actions.
Fuck, Deanna was scared of the implications.
And she wasn't the only ones. Angels threatening deadly wrath upon her brother was enough evidence for her right there.
She cut her thumb, drawing blood, swearing loudly.
She fumbled around, without looking, for something clean to stem the blood flow.
The miracle of actually retrieving the item meant she wasn't alone and she turned to face Castiel with an annoyed expression. She held out the now-bloodied cloth. "I suppose you want a thank you? Maybe a prayer or two?"
He regarded her with the usual weary stare. It was so familiar she knew exactly how the lines on his host-body's face fell into position. There had to be a special cell reserved in Hell for people who baited Angels.
To his credit he ignored her remark, and actually paid her a compliment. "You did good work with the spirit."
She smirked. "I thought you weren't perching on my shoulder. The whole 'war between Heaven and Hell' thing?"
"We're still keeping an eye on you, Deanna," he reminded her. "You have an important role to play in the future and it is prudent to make sure you stay alive long enough to participate."
Hands on hips, she frowned. "And I suppose you're not here to tell me what exactly my role entails, right?" From the way his lips twitched up into a small smile, she knew it wasn't her lucky day. "Right. Well, then, what is it that you want, Cas?" She nodded to the Impala. "Kinda busy as I'm sure you can see."
"Lillith has broken another Seal," he reported, and Deanna couldn't say she was shocked by the news. They weren't exactly keeping up with the Demon Bitch and her scheme for the end of the world. In true form, life wasn't fair, and Lillith was always ahead of her angelic counterparts, and Deanna and Sam were even further behind.
Of course, once Deanna got her hands on Lillith, the odds of the demon surviving the encounter went down considerably. Deanna had a score to settle, and a lot of determination, and rage, to back it up. She'd kill her if she had to die to achieve it.
She met Castiel's eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that," she told him, and surprised herself with the amount of sincerity she felt in that statement. If Angels and God couldn't stop this from happening, then something was seriously fucking wrong.
"The future is uncertain at this point," he continued, acknowledging her with a small nod of his head. "Our forces are spread across too wide a ground to be effective, and Lillith is a very powerful demon."
"I really don't see how we can help with that," she pointed out. She heard him, really, and she was beginning to wonder whether he actually had information or a mission for her, or whether he wanted someone to talk to. Of the angels she'd met, Castiel seemed the one most likely to want to save humans. He'd already admitted to having doubts about his own missions, and to enjoying watching humans go about their lives. Now, inside a human host body, maybe something was rubbing off.
That was another scary thought.
He nodded his head once more. "Just understand that we won't be around as we have previously. After Alistair-" He cut himself off, and looking away sharply. "You need to be more careful, Deanna."
She bit her lip. "You know, Cas, you're beginning to sound like a broken record."
That brought a wry smile to his lips and it was a strangely comforting sight. "Perhaps one day you'll listen to me?"
He'd barely finished speaking when he was gone.
She shook her head, sighing. "The scary thing is, I am listening," she murmured.
She'd just turned back to her baby when there was a low whistle behind her.
"Wow, she is a real beauty."
Castiel's words drifted from her mind as she turned around to flash a white smile at the twenty-something guy standing behind her.
* * *
The pounding on the motel room door woke Deanna with a start.
It didn't take her too long to figure out it was Sam. He was calling out loud enough to wake the dead. He was just lucky that most of the rooms were empty or he'd have other paying customers trying to shoot his sorry ass for waking them up at some godforsaken hour of the morning.
She made to roll over and look at the bedside clock and hit a solid body.
Shit.
How 'Scott' had managed to sleep through the racket Sam was raising she'd never know. But the body contact had woken him up, in more ways than one.
"Dean, open the damn door!"
More pounding. Or maybe that was just her head.
"Who'szat?"
She patted Scott on the head. "Just my husband here to ruin my day," she muttered. "'Scuse me."
Deanna rolled out of bed and pulled the comforter of with her, wrapping it around herself. Nothing like sending a clear message to her baby brother. After all, she'd been very courteous these last few months by avoiding Sam and Ruby. The least he could do was return the favour.
She pulled open the door, and the fresh morning air hit her bare shoulders sending goosebumps down her arms. "What?" she hissed.
Maybe he was just getting used to her antics, but he didn't even raise an eyebrow, which was annoying. She didn't get any fun out of him these days. His eyes did flicker past her to the sleeping form on the bed, and then back to her. "We've got a job," he told her.
Despite herself, Deanna straightened, interest piqued. As much as she enjoyed the occasional rest stop, she lived for the hunt. A job, any job, pulled her in quicker than anything else. She blinked. "Did you stay up all night looking for jobs?" she asked, then thought better of it and held up a hand. "No, don't answer that," she changed her mind. She glanced back at Scott-still-asleep-and-hogging-the-sheets, and then looked Sam square in the eyes. "10 minutes."
* * *
By the time she got to the car Sam was already sitting in the front passenger seat, newspaper open. Without even looking she knew it was the daily crossword puzzle. A manila folder on the dashboard would hold any information that he'd pulled on this mysterious job of his.
She threw her backpack over the seat into the back and slid into the car. A quick glance in the rearview mirror told her that she needed to dig out a hairbrush, and she fumbled around for a hair tie, pulling her hair back off her face.
In her head she starts counting.
She gets to two.
"Four letters. Woman who sleeps around."
She glared at him. "Bitch."
"Jerk." Sam clucked his tongue. "And here I thought you could count. I'll give you a clue. It starts with 's' and ends in-"
Deanna punched him in the shoulder. Hard. "Fuck you." She pulled the newspaper out of his hand and threw it over her shoulder. It landed unceremoniously near her backpack. "What's the job?"
Her baby brother wore the same amused smile he always did when he got extreme pleasure out of making fun of her. It hadn't changed much over the years. "Well, since you asked so nicely…" He pulled the file and motioned for her to start driving.
The engine roared into life and she pulled out of the motel parking lot. "Where to now?"
"Colorado." Sam paused, then, "Three dead bodies, found in their homes over three weeks."
Deanna blew out a sigh. "Tell me you got something more than that."
His self-satisfied smirk was all the response she needed. "These bodies - they were, according to police reports: torn to shreds."
She let out a low whistle. "Sounds like our kinda case."
"Thought you might like it."
* * *
There was nothing Deanna found more relaxing than driving. Nothing but herself, her baby and the open road.
Sam riding shotgun. Snoring.
She did the only thing she knew how to do in situations like this.
She turned the radio up. Loud.
Sam just about jumped out of his skin and looked around wildly before his breathing resumed. "Jesus, Dean! I hate it when you do that."
She just laughed. "You really shouldn't keep reminding me," she advised. Sam turned the volume down. Typical. "And you know what else you should stop doing - staying up all night looking for cases. It wouldn't kill you to relax and sleep in an actual bed rather than in my car."
"Don't even start on me," he warned. "Not two weeks ago you were the one gunning for mission after mission and now all of a sudden you want a holiday? What the hell is going on with you, Dean?"
Deanna bit her tongue to stop herself from swearing. It only worked so well. "Damnit, Sammy-!" She kept her eyes forward on the unending road. Looking over at her baby brother and his too wide eyes and pleas for the truth tore at her, piece by piece. He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. No matter how hard he tried.
She didn't know who she was anymore, beyond the hunt.
* * *
South Dakota, 1992
Deanna watched her father pack his gear into his bag. She wasn't in the room; she perched on the edge of the same sofa as Sammy. He was engrossed in the cartoons on the tv.
Nothing could distract her from watching her father.
Sometimes she wondered if she watched him hard enough he'd notice that she didn't want him to leave, didn't want him to leave them alone in a motel in the middle of nowhere. The monsters in the dark scared her, as much as she tried not to be scared, and she felt safer when he was there.
He was her protector.
And when he was gone, she became Sam's. But she was eleven years old, and on her way to being a damn good hunter. But she was just a kid.
Just like Sammy.
"I'm going to be gone a couple of days, Dean," her father told her after calling her into the bedroom. "You remember what to do?"
She stands there, staring up at him, and repeats the instructions she's heard countless times over. "If I don't hear from you in a week, call Bobby. I'll make sure Sammy eats all his vegetables and that he doesn't wander off. If there's trouble, the shotgun is under the bed and the spare rounds are in the dresser drawer."
John Winchester ruffled her hair. "Good girl. And the most important thing?"
"Don't leave Sammy alone."
"That's my girl." He thumped her gently on her shoulder and swung the bag over his shoulder. He moved through the hired rooms and stopped by Sam on the couch. Sam barely looked up, half asleep and what little of his attention remained captured by the brightly coloured characters on the screen. "You be good for your sister, Sammy. I'll be back soon."
And then he was gone, and they were alone.
She sat on the couch, curled up next to Sam. He rested his head on her shoulder and she wrapped an arm around him.
"Where's dad going?" he asked her. He always asked her.
She watched the tv without seeing it. "To work."
* * *
Present Day
Sam wakes when the Deanna turns the car off and pulls the key out of the ignition.
"Where are we?" he asked her, voice groggy from sleep.
She offers him a half smile. "Pit stop," she tells him. "We’re not going to make it to Colorado before dawn, so we might as well get a decent night's sleep. And, you know, food."
He looks almost surprised, but doesn't say anything. She can tell from the way his shoulders relax that he's grateful in his own way. As much as the job is important, they've both learnt the hard way that sometimes you need to admit that you're human.
Funny, how dying changes everything.
It wasn't entirely coincidence that Deanna pulled into the Roadside Motel - there's a convenient bar located behind it, and an even more convenient bartender who doesn't look entirely surprised to see them.
"Heya, Jo," she says cheerfully, sliding onto the bar stool. Sam stands behind her, mouth slightly agape. Very unprofessional.
"Deanna, Sam." Jo greeted them with a smile that was both genuine and amused. Finishing up with a customer she made her way over, pulling out a pair of glasses and a bottle of whisky.
Deanna sighed. "None for me, Jo," she told her, wincing internally as the words left her mouth. What she wouldn't do for a drink.
Jo raised an eyebrow.
"I'm on a short leash," she admitted sourly, nodding at Sam who'd finally taken the seat next to her. "We're just here for food and sleep and then we'll be out of your hair."
The younger woman smiled. "Fair enough. I've got a spare room out back if you guys want it. It'll save you the price of the motel."
"Thanks, Jo," Sam nodded accepting on behalf of the both of them. Deanna made a mental note about not making too big a fuss about letting Sam have the bed. The boy looked tired.
When their food was ready Jo pulled up a seat next to them and leaned on the counter. It was getting on in the evening, and most people were starting to make a move after their meals. "You on your way to a job?" she asked.
Deanna nodded. "Sammy found something in the news that sounds like our kind of gig up in Colorado."
"And you took a break just to come see me?" She sounded almost flattered.
"It's a long drive," Sam pointed out, "and we've both had some long nights. We'll head out again at first light and take a look around."
"That actually sounds like a reasonable, rational plan of action. I'm surprised to hear it coming from you two, though."
Deanna pulled a face. "Jo, I'm hurt, really."
"What? Come on, admit it, you two hardly ever take the sensible choice," she pointed out. "It's kind of the Winchester family trait, right?"
"Can't argue with that." Sam took a swig of his beer and Deanna pulled another face. No alcohol until the end of the new case, that was the deal she'd made with Sam on the road. But he was allowed. How she'd let that one slip past was worrying.
"Just watch me," Deanna muttered under her breath. Then, audibly, "Well there comes a point when everything falls into perspective and it changes you." That was as close to philosophical as she was going to get. The fact that she got anywhere near philosophical meant that a change of topic was necessary. "How come you're not out hunting?"
Jo smirked. "Aren't we curious?"
Deanna spread her hands. "Just last time we crossed paths with you, Jo, you were hanging on to Nora's coattails and gung-ho about hunting. And not a month ago your mom mentioned you were back to bar keeping."
"You spoke to my mom?" Jo raised an eyebrow.
"Well, it's kinda hard to get a word in as far as your mom's concerned," Deanna pointed out, "but she asked to be kept in the loop and that's what we've been doing."
"More or less," added Sam.
"Mostly less," Deanna admitted. She shrugged, "It's hard to keep everyone updated. You die a couple of times and suddenly people get clingy."
She didn't miss the way Sam shrank back from her not liking the way she casually brought her 'death' into the conversation, but Jo wasn't about to go asking details. It wasn't her way, and Deanna knew her well enough to trust that the girl would leave well enough alone. Besides, it wasn't her death that Deanna had issues with, it was what had come after.
Jo raised her glass to Deanna. "You'd be the expert on that, I'll take your word for it." She set her glass back on the table. "As for your question, Nora's on the east coast doing a job for a friend. Said she needed to do it alone. And as for me, I didn't realise how much I enjoyed having a home to come back to at the end of the day." She waved a hand to indicate the bar. "I still go out on jobs in the surrounding area, and sometimes further."
Looking at Jo now, Deanna could see that she was happy. Not in the over-the-top-hearts-and-flowers-I'm-happy, but a quiet, contented happy. She'd found what she wanted to do and she'd done it. A twinge of envy pinched Deanna's heart.
Less than an hour later she was curled up on a too-soft sofa with a blanket draped over her shoulders.
Reality shrank back until all she could see in her dreams was a pool of blood at her feet.
* * *
All the references in classical and modern day literature didn't do Hell justice.
There was nothing, nothing Deanna could think of that could encapsulate what Hell was. It was something that had to be lived to understand, and the understanding came at too high a price. No one should have knowledge of Hell and live to try and work it all out.
Colour wasn't colour. There was red and black.
And there was pain.
Physical pain, and the deeper, far more painful mental pain.
Her body screamed at her to wake up, to somehow suddenly find herself someplace safe, far away from the Pit.
The temperature never changed.
Searing heat. Hot blood dripping down from her wounds, splashed across her from the torture of others.
The only sound was screaming.
And the chilling sound of laughter.
* * *
They arrived in Yellow Ridge before lunch and Sam insisted on driving by the houses of the first three victims. There was nothing out of the ordinary - which was usually the case if one didn't look closely. It was amazing the details that people overlooked because it just didn't make sense.
Deanna was quite pleased with herself that she'd never been one of those 'people'. Overlooking anything in her line of work was tantamount to suicide by ignorance. She might be willing to die to keep other people safe - to keep her little brother safe - but she wouldn't die as a result of stupidity. That much she'd promised herself.
"Samantha Longton," Sam informed her as they passed the third and final house. "Found four days ago by her neighbours after they noticed her mail hadn't been collected."
She winced. "That wouldn't have been pretty."
Her brother shook his head. "The coroner's report states that her time of death was twenty-four hours prior."
"And going by the track record of whatever this thing is, it should be looking for its next meal, or whatever, in the next couple of days."
"Yeah. I'm still working on making a connection between the three individuals. There's nothing at first glance," he admitted, sifting through papers.
This time Deanna shook her head. "There's always a connection, Sam. We just need to find it." She saw the sign of the motel, and turned into the parking lot. She pulled the key from the ignition, and slid out of the car, leaning back through the open driver's side window. "I'll get as a room, you collect your stuff. We need to work on a plan of attack."
"Plan of attack?" Sam scoffed.
Deanna clucked her tongue. "Mock all you want, Sammy boy, but this is what we do, remember."
'Amanda' at the front desk had smiled brightly when Deanna walked in, apparently cheered by the break in the monotony of the day, and started chatting. She kept shooting glances at Sam through the front windows.
"We have a honeymoon suite available," she suggested when Deanna asked for a room with two single beds.
Deanna tried not to choke on the air she'd sucked in. "We're not married," she replied, forcing a smile on her face.
Amanda was not to be deterred. "It's not just for married couples," she pointed out, "and it has a lovely ensuite with-"
Deanna looked back over her shoulder at her brother through the glass. He was going to kill her. She looked back at Amanda. "I'm his parole officer," she replied seriously, leaning on the counter. "I'd appreciate the discretion. One room, two singles. Thanks." She handed over the latest in her credit card collection, and got out of there as soon as was humanly possible.
She tried not to look at Sam too closely when she threw him the key and grabbed her gear from the back of the Impala before following her brother into the room.
By the time she'd showered and changed, and dug through her pack for a chocolate bar, Sam had covered his bed with the newspaper clippings from his file. He had his laptop out, and a notepad with his illegible scrawl spread across the top page.
He didn't look up as he caught her up. "So we have three victims so far. Milton Finn, age fifty-six, accountant." He held up a picture to illustrate his point. "He came home from work, and one of his co-workers called past his house when he didn't show up for work the next day. He told police, and I quote, 'I saw pieces of Milton in the hallway and called you guys.' I was able to hack into the Coroner's database and pulled up the autopsy report. Milton Finn was ripped into pieces - eight pieces in total."
Deanna pulled a face. "Wow, he must have really pissed someone off."
Sam ignored her. "The second victim, William Blythe, age thirty-eight. Moved to Yellow Ridge to take over management of the local bar three years ago. Divorced, with two kids - a boy and girl - who spent every second holiday with their dad. They currently live in…" He flipped through a couple of pages, "Chicago," he finished, finding his information. "He was found by his neighbour, who heard a disturbance the night he was killed and went over to check that he was alright. His body was dismembered, but not as completely as Finn's, leading police to suspect that the neighbour, Mary Blake, interrupted the killer."
"Great, dismembered corpses," she sighed. "Houses drenched in blood, werewolves or beasts or shape shifters…" Deanna shuddered at the thought of a shape shifter. If she never saw another shape shifter ever again it would be too soon.
Her brother shook his head. "I don't think so," he told her. "Only the last attack occurred on a full moon, ruling out werewolves, and it doesn't feel like a shape shifter's style."
"And you can't rule out beast because everything we go up against falls into that category," Deanna pointed out. She held out a hand for the information on the third victim. She looked her brother in the eye, "Samantha Longton?"
"Thirty-one, local dentist," Sam replied, passing over the report on Longton's death. "Engaged to be married next month to Richard Blume, a teacher at the local high school. He was out of town for a conference in California, which is why her neighbours found her four days after she was killed."
Deanna clucked her tongue. "An accountant, a bar owner and a dentist. Wow, that's a real clear connection," she muttered sarcastically, letting the files drop to the bed. "So Longton was torn asunder, too, I presume?"
Sam nodded. "And the most interesting fact of all, there's a distinct lack of blood at all the crime scenes." He passed over a series of crime scene photographs he'd pulled from the police reports and she looked them over with interest.
They were gruesome, images of dismembered body parts and chunks of flesh. But Sam was right; the house was almost devoid of blood. And anything that had torn those victims apart would have left one hell of a blood trail unless-
She looked up, mouth set in a firm line. "Vampires?"
She still felt ridiculous talking about vampires. They belonged in urban legends and works of fiction.
And they were a pain in the ass to kill once they knew they'd been found out.
"Looks like," Sam agreed, his mouth set in a similar line.
"Vampires would drain the blood alright, but Dad never mentioned vampires tearing people to shreds," she pointed out. "And besides, they're a dying breed. Why would they draw attention to themselves like this?" The look on Sam's face when she finished was almost priceless. "What?"
"Uh, nothing. It's just… I thought I was supposed to be the rational one?"
Deanna frowned. "Maybe you're rubbing off on me." She shuddered. "Fuck. Stop it."
It started, as it always did, with blood.
* * *
The diner was full of early-morning breakfast crowds, people who had nothing better to do than order over-priced food before making their way to whatever boring desk job they called life. Deanna didn't know how they could stand it. Staying in one place, all the time.
Maybe she would have thought differently had her life been different - but now she could barely remember her childhood before the death of her mother at the hands of Azazel. Her memories of her mother, while still around, were vague, and fading slowly. She'd hate herself for losing track of those small details if she didn't have more pressing issues on her mind.
Like the current noise level that was really not appropriate for her hangover.
"Sammy, stop it," she snapped, attempting, half-heartedly to close his laptop screen on his hands. The soft clicking of his fingers on the keys was driving her crazy.
The look Sam shot her was not an amused look, and he rather pointedly kept typing despite her best 'stop it' stare. "Dean," he started, not looking up, "you brought this on yourself. I told you that we should have left -"
"Ah!" She held up a hand. "Don't even start."
"Fine."
"Good."
The harried looking waitress was back at their table with two big breakfasts and looking disdainfully at the laptop blocking the space in front of Sam where his food was supposed to be. She scored points with Deanna for the look, and another set for looking like she'd stepped off the cover of a magazine despite the plain uniform.
"Thanks," she told the waitress, smiling a white smile that meant only one thing.
It earned her a kick in the shin from Sam.
"Stop it," he chided. "That's what got you in this fine mood to begin with."
"What? I'm not allowed to have any fun now?" A look of panic that wasn't entirely forced crossed her face. "Jesus, Sammy. Lighten up."
She stabbed a sausage with her fork.
* * *
They'd finished a job the next town over and without another case to immediately take off to she'd been perfectly fine about taking a few days to get their heads together. Besides, her baby needed a tune-up and she needed a place to do it. She didn't trust mechanics - at least, not mechanics who weren't hunters who she knew.
She didn't know or care what Sammy got up to while she was under the hood. Ever since she'd come back from Hell there'd been a distance between them that hadn't been there before. She hadn't been able to put her finger on it yet, but it sat there in the back of her mind. Nagging.
His incessant need to use his Demon-given powers 'to do good.'
Deanna snorted at the thought. The very idea that anything given by a demon could be used for good contradicted the very nature of the gift. Demons didn't do good. It didn't exist on their radar and they couldn't find it with a map and a neon sign a foot in front of their face. (If they actually had their own faces.) That Sam could rationalise the idea was scary, and showed how far down the slope he'd slipped. The old Sam would have been scared out of his mind by the implications of his current actions.
Fuck, Deanna was scared of the implications.
And she wasn't the only ones. Angels threatening deadly wrath upon her brother was enough evidence for her right there.
She cut her thumb, drawing blood, swearing loudly.
She fumbled around, without looking, for something clean to stem the blood flow.
The miracle of actually retrieving the item meant she wasn't alone and she turned to face Castiel with an annoyed expression. She held out the now-bloodied cloth. "I suppose you want a thank you? Maybe a prayer or two?"
He regarded her with the usual weary stare. It was so familiar she knew exactly how the lines on his host-body's face fell into position. There had to be a special cell reserved in Hell for people who baited Angels.
To his credit he ignored her remark, and actually paid her a compliment. "You did good work with the spirit."
She smirked. "I thought you weren't perching on my shoulder. The whole 'war between Heaven and Hell' thing?"
"We're still keeping an eye on you, Deanna," he reminded her. "You have an important role to play in the future and it is prudent to make sure you stay alive long enough to participate."
Hands on hips, she frowned. "And I suppose you're not here to tell me what exactly my role entails, right?" From the way his lips twitched up into a small smile, she knew it wasn't her lucky day. "Right. Well, then, what is it that you want, Cas?" She nodded to the Impala. "Kinda busy as I'm sure you can see."
"Lillith has broken another Seal," he reported, and Deanna couldn't say she was shocked by the news. They weren't exactly keeping up with the Demon Bitch and her scheme for the end of the world. In true form, life wasn't fair, and Lillith was always ahead of her angelic counterparts, and Deanna and Sam were even further behind.
Of course, once Deanna got her hands on Lillith, the odds of the demon surviving the encounter went down considerably. Deanna had a score to settle, and a lot of determination, and rage, to back it up. She'd kill her if she had to die to achieve it.
She met Castiel's eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that," she told him, and surprised herself with the amount of sincerity she felt in that statement. If Angels and God couldn't stop this from happening, then something was seriously fucking wrong.
"The future is uncertain at this point," he continued, acknowledging her with a small nod of his head. "Our forces are spread across too wide a ground to be effective, and Lillith is a very powerful demon."
"I really don't see how we can help with that," she pointed out. She heard him, really, and she was beginning to wonder whether he actually had information or a mission for her, or whether he wanted someone to talk to. Of the angels she'd met, Castiel seemed the one most likely to want to save humans. He'd already admitted to having doubts about his own missions, and to enjoying watching humans go about their lives. Now, inside a human host body, maybe something was rubbing off.
That was another scary thought.
He nodded his head once more. "Just understand that we won't be around as we have previously. After Alistair-" He cut himself off, and looking away sharply. "You need to be more careful, Deanna."
She bit her lip. "You know, Cas, you're beginning to sound like a broken record."
That brought a wry smile to his lips and it was a strangely comforting sight. "Perhaps one day you'll listen to me?"
He'd barely finished speaking when he was gone.
She shook her head, sighing. "The scary thing is, I am listening," she murmured.
She'd just turned back to her baby when there was a low whistle behind her.
"Wow, she is a real beauty."
Castiel's words drifted from her mind as she turned around to flash a white smile at the twenty-something guy standing behind her.
* * *
The pounding on the motel room door woke Deanna with a start.
It didn't take her too long to figure out it was Sam. He was calling out loud enough to wake the dead. He was just lucky that most of the rooms were empty or he'd have other paying customers trying to shoot his sorry ass for waking them up at some godforsaken hour of the morning.
She made to roll over and look at the bedside clock and hit a solid body.
Shit.
How 'Scott' had managed to sleep through the racket Sam was raising she'd never know. But the body contact had woken him up, in more ways than one.
"Dean, open the damn door!"
More pounding. Or maybe that was just her head.
"Who'szat?"
She patted Scott on the head. "Just my husband here to ruin my day," she muttered. "'Scuse me."
Deanna rolled out of bed and pulled the comforter of with her, wrapping it around herself. Nothing like sending a clear message to her baby brother. After all, she'd been very courteous these last few months by avoiding Sam and Ruby. The least he could do was return the favour.
She pulled open the door, and the fresh morning air hit her bare shoulders sending goosebumps down her arms. "What?" she hissed.
Maybe he was just getting used to her antics, but he didn't even raise an eyebrow, which was annoying. She didn't get any fun out of him these days. His eyes did flicker past her to the sleeping form on the bed, and then back to her. "We've got a job," he told her.
Despite herself, Deanna straightened, interest piqued. As much as she enjoyed the occasional rest stop, she lived for the hunt. A job, any job, pulled her in quicker than anything else. She blinked. "Did you stay up all night looking for jobs?" she asked, then thought better of it and held up a hand. "No, don't answer that," she changed her mind. She glanced back at Scott-still-asleep-and-hogging-the-sheets, and then looked Sam square in the eyes. "10 minutes."
* * *
By the time she got to the car Sam was already sitting in the front passenger seat, newspaper open. Without even looking she knew it was the daily crossword puzzle. A manila folder on the dashboard would hold any information that he'd pulled on this mysterious job of his.
She threw her backpack over the seat into the back and slid into the car. A quick glance in the rearview mirror told her that she needed to dig out a hairbrush, and she fumbled around for a hair tie, pulling her hair back off her face.
In her head she starts counting.
She gets to two.
"Four letters. Woman who sleeps around."
She glared at him. "Bitch."
"Jerk." Sam clucked his tongue. "And here I thought you could count. I'll give you a clue. It starts with 's' and ends in-"
Deanna punched him in the shoulder. Hard. "Fuck you." She pulled the newspaper out of his hand and threw it over her shoulder. It landed unceremoniously near her backpack. "What's the job?"
Her baby brother wore the same amused smile he always did when he got extreme pleasure out of making fun of her. It hadn't changed much over the years. "Well, since you asked so nicely…" He pulled the file and motioned for her to start driving.
The engine roared into life and she pulled out of the motel parking lot. "Where to now?"
"Colorado." Sam paused, then, "Three dead bodies, found in their homes over three weeks."
Deanna blew out a sigh. "Tell me you got something more than that."
His self-satisfied smirk was all the response she needed. "These bodies - they were, according to police reports: torn to shreds."
She let out a low whistle. "Sounds like our kinda case."
"Thought you might like it."
* * *
There was nothing Deanna found more relaxing than driving. Nothing but herself, her baby and the open road.
Sam riding shotgun. Snoring.
She did the only thing she knew how to do in situations like this.
She turned the radio up. Loud.
Sam just about jumped out of his skin and looked around wildly before his breathing resumed. "Jesus, Dean! I hate it when you do that."
She just laughed. "You really shouldn't keep reminding me," she advised. Sam turned the volume down. Typical. "And you know what else you should stop doing - staying up all night looking for cases. It wouldn't kill you to relax and sleep in an actual bed rather than in my car."
"Don't even start on me," he warned. "Not two weeks ago you were the one gunning for mission after mission and now all of a sudden you want a holiday? What the hell is going on with you, Dean?"
Deanna bit her tongue to stop herself from swearing. It only worked so well. "Damnit, Sammy-!" She kept her eyes forward on the unending road. Looking over at her baby brother and his too wide eyes and pleas for the truth tore at her, piece by piece. He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. No matter how hard he tried.
She didn't know who she was anymore, beyond the hunt.
* * *
South Dakota, 1992
Deanna watched her father pack his gear into his bag. She wasn't in the room; she perched on the edge of the same sofa as Sammy. He was engrossed in the cartoons on the tv.
Nothing could distract her from watching her father.
Sometimes she wondered if she watched him hard enough he'd notice that she didn't want him to leave, didn't want him to leave them alone in a motel in the middle of nowhere. The monsters in the dark scared her, as much as she tried not to be scared, and she felt safer when he was there.
He was her protector.
And when he was gone, she became Sam's. But she was eleven years old, and on her way to being a damn good hunter. But she was just a kid.
Just like Sammy.
"I'm going to be gone a couple of days, Dean," her father told her after calling her into the bedroom. "You remember what to do?"
She stands there, staring up at him, and repeats the instructions she's heard countless times over. "If I don't hear from you in a week, call Bobby. I'll make sure Sammy eats all his vegetables and that he doesn't wander off. If there's trouble, the shotgun is under the bed and the spare rounds are in the dresser drawer."
John Winchester ruffled her hair. "Good girl. And the most important thing?"
"Don't leave Sammy alone."
"That's my girl." He thumped her gently on her shoulder and swung the bag over his shoulder. He moved through the hired rooms and stopped by Sam on the couch. Sam barely looked up, half asleep and what little of his attention remained captured by the brightly coloured characters on the screen. "You be good for your sister, Sammy. I'll be back soon."
And then he was gone, and they were alone.
She sat on the couch, curled up next to Sam. He rested his head on her shoulder and she wrapped an arm around him.
"Where's dad going?" he asked her. He always asked her.
She watched the tv without seeing it. "To work."
* * *
Present Day
Sam wakes when the Deanna turns the car off and pulls the key out of the ignition.
"Where are we?" he asked her, voice groggy from sleep.
She offers him a half smile. "Pit stop," she tells him. "We’re not going to make it to Colorado before dawn, so we might as well get a decent night's sleep. And, you know, food."
He looks almost surprised, but doesn't say anything. She can tell from the way his shoulders relax that he's grateful in his own way. As much as the job is important, they've both learnt the hard way that sometimes you need to admit that you're human.
Funny, how dying changes everything.
It wasn't entirely coincidence that Deanna pulled into the Roadside Motel - there's a convenient bar located behind it, and an even more convenient bartender who doesn't look entirely surprised to see them.
"Heya, Jo," she says cheerfully, sliding onto the bar stool. Sam stands behind her, mouth slightly agape. Very unprofessional.
"Deanna, Sam." Jo greeted them with a smile that was both genuine and amused. Finishing up with a customer she made her way over, pulling out a pair of glasses and a bottle of whisky.
Deanna sighed. "None for me, Jo," she told her, wincing internally as the words left her mouth. What she wouldn't do for a drink.
Jo raised an eyebrow.
"I'm on a short leash," she admitted sourly, nodding at Sam who'd finally taken the seat next to her. "We're just here for food and sleep and then we'll be out of your hair."
The younger woman smiled. "Fair enough. I've got a spare room out back if you guys want it. It'll save you the price of the motel."
"Thanks, Jo," Sam nodded accepting on behalf of the both of them. Deanna made a mental note about not making too big a fuss about letting Sam have the bed. The boy looked tired.
When their food was ready Jo pulled up a seat next to them and leaned on the counter. It was getting on in the evening, and most people were starting to make a move after their meals. "You on your way to a job?" she asked.
Deanna nodded. "Sammy found something in the news that sounds like our kind of gig up in Colorado."
"And you took a break just to come see me?" She sounded almost flattered.
"It's a long drive," Sam pointed out, "and we've both had some long nights. We'll head out again at first light and take a look around."
"That actually sounds like a reasonable, rational plan of action. I'm surprised to hear it coming from you two, though."
Deanna pulled a face. "Jo, I'm hurt, really."
"What? Come on, admit it, you two hardly ever take the sensible choice," she pointed out. "It's kind of the Winchester family trait, right?"
"Can't argue with that." Sam took a swig of his beer and Deanna pulled another face. No alcohol until the end of the new case, that was the deal she'd made with Sam on the road. But he was allowed. How she'd let that one slip past was worrying.
"Just watch me," Deanna muttered under her breath. Then, audibly, "Well there comes a point when everything falls into perspective and it changes you." That was as close to philosophical as she was going to get. The fact that she got anywhere near philosophical meant that a change of topic was necessary. "How come you're not out hunting?"
Jo smirked. "Aren't we curious?"
Deanna spread her hands. "Just last time we crossed paths with you, Jo, you were hanging on to Nora's coattails and gung-ho about hunting. And not a month ago your mom mentioned you were back to bar keeping."
"You spoke to my mom?" Jo raised an eyebrow.
"Well, it's kinda hard to get a word in as far as your mom's concerned," Deanna pointed out, "but she asked to be kept in the loop and that's what we've been doing."
"More or less," added Sam.
"Mostly less," Deanna admitted. She shrugged, "It's hard to keep everyone updated. You die a couple of times and suddenly people get clingy."
She didn't miss the way Sam shrank back from her not liking the way she casually brought her 'death' into the conversation, but Jo wasn't about to go asking details. It wasn't her way, and Deanna knew her well enough to trust that the girl would leave well enough alone. Besides, it wasn't her death that Deanna had issues with, it was what had come after.
Jo raised her glass to Deanna. "You'd be the expert on that, I'll take your word for it." She set her glass back on the table. "As for your question, Nora's on the east coast doing a job for a friend. Said she needed to do it alone. And as for me, I didn't realise how much I enjoyed having a home to come back to at the end of the day." She waved a hand to indicate the bar. "I still go out on jobs in the surrounding area, and sometimes further."
Looking at Jo now, Deanna could see that she was happy. Not in the over-the-top-hearts-and-flowers-I'm-happy, but a quiet, contented happy. She'd found what she wanted to do and she'd done it. A twinge of envy pinched Deanna's heart.
Less than an hour later she was curled up on a too-soft sofa with a blanket draped over her shoulders.
Reality shrank back until all she could see in her dreams was a pool of blood at her feet.
* * *
All the references in classical and modern day literature didn't do Hell justice.
There was nothing, nothing Deanna could think of that could encapsulate what Hell was. It was something that had to be lived to understand, and the understanding came at too high a price. No one should have knowledge of Hell and live to try and work it all out.
Colour wasn't colour. There was red and black.
And there was pain.
Physical pain, and the deeper, far more painful mental pain.
Her body screamed at her to wake up, to somehow suddenly find herself someplace safe, far away from the Pit.
The temperature never changed.
Searing heat. Hot blood dripping down from her wounds, splashed across her from the torture of others.
The only sound was screaming.
And the chilling sound of laughter.
* * *
They arrived in Yellow Ridge before lunch and Sam insisted on driving by the houses of the first three victims. There was nothing out of the ordinary - which was usually the case if one didn't look closely. It was amazing the details that people overlooked because it just didn't make sense.
Deanna was quite pleased with herself that she'd never been one of those 'people'. Overlooking anything in her line of work was tantamount to suicide by ignorance. She might be willing to die to keep other people safe - to keep her little brother safe - but she wouldn't die as a result of stupidity. That much she'd promised herself.
"Samantha Longton," Sam informed her as they passed the third and final house. "Found four days ago by her neighbours after they noticed her mail hadn't been collected."
She winced. "That wouldn't have been pretty."
Her brother shook his head. "The coroner's report states that her time of death was twenty-four hours prior."
"And going by the track record of whatever this thing is, it should be looking for its next meal, or whatever, in the next couple of days."
"Yeah. I'm still working on making a connection between the three individuals. There's nothing at first glance," he admitted, sifting through papers.
This time Deanna shook her head. "There's always a connection, Sam. We just need to find it." She saw the sign of the motel, and turned into the parking lot. She pulled the key from the ignition, and slid out of the car, leaning back through the open driver's side window. "I'll get as a room, you collect your stuff. We need to work on a plan of attack."
"Plan of attack?" Sam scoffed.
Deanna clucked her tongue. "Mock all you want, Sammy boy, but this is what we do, remember."
'Amanda' at the front desk had smiled brightly when Deanna walked in, apparently cheered by the break in the monotony of the day, and started chatting. She kept shooting glances at Sam through the front windows.
"We have a honeymoon suite available," she suggested when Deanna asked for a room with two single beds.
Deanna tried not to choke on the air she'd sucked in. "We're not married," she replied, forcing a smile on her face.
Amanda was not to be deterred. "It's not just for married couples," she pointed out, "and it has a lovely ensuite with-"
Deanna looked back over her shoulder at her brother through the glass. He was going to kill her. She looked back at Amanda. "I'm his parole officer," she replied seriously, leaning on the counter. "I'd appreciate the discretion. One room, two singles. Thanks." She handed over the latest in her credit card collection, and got out of there as soon as was humanly possible.
She tried not to look at Sam too closely when she threw him the key and grabbed her gear from the back of the Impala before following her brother into the room.
By the time she'd showered and changed, and dug through her pack for a chocolate bar, Sam had covered his bed with the newspaper clippings from his file. He had his laptop out, and a notepad with his illegible scrawl spread across the top page.
He didn't look up as he caught her up. "So we have three victims so far. Milton Finn, age fifty-six, accountant." He held up a picture to illustrate his point. "He came home from work, and one of his co-workers called past his house when he didn't show up for work the next day. He told police, and I quote, 'I saw pieces of Milton in the hallway and called you guys.' I was able to hack into the Coroner's database and pulled up the autopsy report. Milton Finn was ripped into pieces - eight pieces in total."
Deanna pulled a face. "Wow, he must have really pissed someone off."
Sam ignored her. "The second victim, William Blythe, age thirty-eight. Moved to Yellow Ridge to take over management of the local bar three years ago. Divorced, with two kids - a boy and girl - who spent every second holiday with their dad. They currently live in…" He flipped through a couple of pages, "Chicago," he finished, finding his information. "He was found by his neighbour, who heard a disturbance the night he was killed and went over to check that he was alright. His body was dismembered, but not as completely as Finn's, leading police to suspect that the neighbour, Mary Blake, interrupted the killer."
"Great, dismembered corpses," she sighed. "Houses drenched in blood, werewolves or beasts or shape shifters…" Deanna shuddered at the thought of a shape shifter. If she never saw another shape shifter ever again it would be too soon.
Her brother shook his head. "I don't think so," he told her. "Only the last attack occurred on a full moon, ruling out werewolves, and it doesn't feel like a shape shifter's style."
"And you can't rule out beast because everything we go up against falls into that category," Deanna pointed out. She held out a hand for the information on the third victim. She looked her brother in the eye, "Samantha Longton?"
"Thirty-one, local dentist," Sam replied, passing over the report on Longton's death. "Engaged to be married next month to Richard Blume, a teacher at the local high school. He was out of town for a conference in California, which is why her neighbours found her four days after she was killed."
Deanna clucked her tongue. "An accountant, a bar owner and a dentist. Wow, that's a real clear connection," she muttered sarcastically, letting the files drop to the bed. "So Longton was torn asunder, too, I presume?"
Sam nodded. "And the most interesting fact of all, there's a distinct lack of blood at all the crime scenes." He passed over a series of crime scene photographs he'd pulled from the police reports and she looked them over with interest.
They were gruesome, images of dismembered body parts and chunks of flesh. But Sam was right; the house was almost devoid of blood. And anything that had torn those victims apart would have left one hell of a blood trail unless-
She looked up, mouth set in a firm line. "Vampires?"
She still felt ridiculous talking about vampires. They belonged in urban legends and works of fiction.
And they were a pain in the ass to kill once they knew they'd been found out.
"Looks like," Sam agreed, his mouth set in a similar line.
"Vampires would drain the blood alright, but Dad never mentioned vampires tearing people to shreds," she pointed out. "And besides, they're a dying breed. Why would they draw attention to themselves like this?" The look on Sam's face when she finished was almost priceless. "What?"
"Uh, nothing. It's just… I thought I was supposed to be the rational one?"
Deanna frowned. "Maybe you're rubbing off on me." She shuddered. "Fuck. Stop it."