{SPN RBB} Entwined: Chapter 2 of 3
Chapter Two
“So you’re saying that some fugly has a grudge against all of these hunters?” Dean asks, skeptical as he takes a large bite out of his burger.
“Well, what other explanation do you have for hunters dying in the same town, in the same motel, in a span of a month, Dean?” Sam argues, his salad laying untouched.
Dean opens his mouth to argue back and then closes it, grumbling under his breath. “Fine, I get your point. But does that mean we just head into town with no clue what we’re getting into?”
“We do that all the time, Dean. We don’t go into a hunt knowing exactly what the goddamn thing is, do we?”
“That’s not the point, Sam,” Dean snaps. “Six hunters have been killed. Perfectly good hunters. What’s the guarantee that we don’t end up like them either?”
Sam grits his teeth. “So you’re saying we just let hunter after hunter go there and end up dead, yeah?”
Dean stays silent and Sam knows he’s right. “Look, I know this is dangerous, okay?” Sam says. “But if we don’t even try, then we’re just letting all these people walk into their own graves, Dean. I know we could get killed. But it’s a chance I’m willing to take if it means that we stop this from happening to anyone else.”
Sam watches what looks like Dean having an inner turmoil. He knows that Dean gets how important this is, but he also knows how protective Dean can be. Sam’s pretty sure that Dean’s worried about him.
“Look, I know that I’m not always....here. I know I’m fucked up, okay? But it’s not like I’m going alone on this. At least, I won’t be if you come with. Besides, we’ve been rotting here in this motel room for a while, man, with next to nothing on Roman. So why not just get this case done with and then we can hunt for Dick all you want,” Sam suggests.
Dean chuckles. “Hunt for Dick? Great choice of words, Sam.”
“Shut up, you know what I mean.” Sam meets his brother’s gaze. “Please, Dean? A lot more people could die.”
Dean finally throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Fine. But we leave tomorrow morning. I ain’t driving when either one of us could fall asleep at the wheel.”
Sam smiles. “Sure. Deal.”
Dean yawns, stretches out his arms as he gets to his feet to head into the bathroom. “Okay, I’m gonna head to bed. You are gonna finish your dinner before I even allow you to hit the sack.”
Sam laughs. “Okay, mom,” he teases as he finally picks at his salad and starts eating.
A while later, the room is in darkness as Sam watches Dean sleeping peacefully on the bed next to him. He wishes he didn’t have Lucifer hanging over him all the time. He feels exhausted. The most he’s managed to get is about six hours two days ago.
Sam sighs as he turns to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling. At least he’s not seeing meat hooks hanging above him for once.
We could fix that if you want, Sam.
Sam flinches as he sees Lucifer sitting at the foot of his bed. Heart racing, Sam jabs his thumb into the scar on his hand and breaths out heavily in relief when Lucifer vanishes.
“Stone number one,” Sam mumbles to himself, looking towards Dean.
He then turns over again to face Dean, and let’s himself relax.
Dean is real. Dean is here. I’m okay. I’ll be okay. Sam thinks to himself as he falls asleep.
~o~
Dean grits his teeth and struggles to get the car back onto the lane. Breathing heavily he looks towards Sam. “What the hell, dude? Give me some warning!” he snaps. He then sighs. It wasn't Sam's fault. Things had been peaceful until Sam had yelled and flinched horribly scaring the crap out of Dean.
“Sorry,” Sam mumbles, but Dean doesn't miss the look of fear in his eyes.
“Don't be. It's fine. You okay?” Dean asks.
Sam nods.
“Bullshit.”
“Dean - “
“Sam, no hiding anything. Remember? Look, I don't know how bad it is for you. Not unless you tell me.”
“It's nothing, Dean. I'm fine, it's no big deal. Just...stop asking me, please.”
Dean opens his mouth to argue but decides otherwise seeing the look of pain on Sam's face. He focuses on the road, making a mental note to talk about this again when Sam's calmer.
“Okay. I won't. How much farther from here?” Dean asks, changing the subject.
Sam looks relieved and opens up the map. “Not much. We'll be there in fifteen minutes, tops.”
“You sure you up for this?” Dean asks, worried. He's been worrying about taking any case ever since he found out about Sam’s hallucinations.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Sam says with a finality in his tone.
Dean understands that Sam doesn’t want to talk about it anymore and let’s go of the subject. If Sam says he’s sure, then Dean will trust him, and have his back like always.
~o~
“Why would the F.B.I. be interested in this case?” asks the man, craning his neck to look up at the two alarmingly tall men in front of him.
Dean sighs inwardly, wondering if every cop in the world is taught to ask this question. “We were passing through. Got a call to check this out as it was on the way. Hope you don’t mind, Officer…?”
“Gary,” the man says, cheerful. “Sheriff’s right hand man, if you will. Sheriff might not admit it, but we could use all the help we can get.”
Dean is amused at the eccentric nature of the slim, greasy haired, bespectacled man in front of him. The man doesn’t look any older than thirty, Dean assumes.
“How about I get you the coroner’s reports? Maybe you two can spot something we missed.”
Before Sam or Dean can answer however, Officer Gary is on his way to fetch the reports.
“Weird little guy,” Dean mutters, earning a chuckle from Sam.
“Well, at least he’s cooperative,” Sam remarks.
“He’s one of my best,” says a voice from behind him. They turn around to look at an aging man, probably in his mid-forties to early fifties. He holds out a welcoming hand which Dean shakes. “Sheriff Donovan.”
“I’m Agent Winters, so is he, no relation,” Sam introduces them both as he too shakes the sheriff’s hand.
At that moment, Gary walks in carrying a box. He hands it to Dean. “These have all the necessary files for the case.”
“Thanks. We’ll get back to you if we figure something out,” Sam says.
They both exit the police station, heading back towards the motel. Seeing as it isn’t far off, they had arrived on foot and head back the same way.
“Sam, I’m on board with you wanting to do this case but was it necessary to stay in the same freaking motel as all these dead hunters?” Dean asks.
“Trust me, that wasn’t my intention either. Apparently this is the only motel this town has.”
Dean’s jaw drops in disbelief. “What? And you decided not to tell me that?” he growls, anger evident in his tone.
“Would you have agreed to come along, if I did?” Sam counters.
“Damn it, Sam.”
Still fuming, and very worried for their lives now, Dean hurries up ahead of Sam, reaches the motel room door, unlocks it and locks it up behind him as he enters the room. He hears Sam’s sigh as he tries the door only to find it locked.
“Dean, stop being childish.”
“We agreed to not hide shit from each other, dude. And this applies to that.”
“Dean just let me in please,” Sam says. “You wouldn’t have listened. Besides, it’s not like we have anywhere else to stay at this point.”
“We have the Impala,” Dean mutters under his breath as he opens the door.
“I’m sorry, okay? But I feel like we really need to solve this. I can’t explain it. I just know that we have to.”
Dean takes a deep breath. Sometimes he wonders how he puts up with the shit in his life. “Fine. I get it. How about I go get some grub while you open up these files?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sam agrees.
“And geez, keep your eyes peeled, would you? We don’t need our names being added to the list of dead hunters,” Dean warns as he proceeds to change into casual clothes.
Sam’s eyes are fixed on the now large pile of papers and open files in front of him as he nods.
“Geek,” Dean teases as he puts on his jacket, snags the motel room keys off his bed and heads out the door.
~o~
Sam doesn’t even realize that Dean’s back until he feels a tap on the shoulder. “Whoa!” Sam exclaims as he jumps at the unexpected touch.
Dean holds his hands up in surrender. “Take it easy. It’s just me.”
“Sorry. It’s just…” Sam gestures to the mess of files and reports and photographs on his bed. “Dean, this is worse than we thought.”
“What do you mean?”
Sam picks up the picture nearest to him. “That’s Kyle,” he says grimly, feeling nauseated. The picture shows the hunter massive welts and bruises painting almost every visible part of the skin. The picture shows him lying just inside the door in a motel room. “Whoever, or whatever did this, isn’t just killing for fun Dean. This is a whole lot messed up that I thought.”
“Again, what do you mean, Sam? Get to the point,” Dean says, sitting opposite Sam on his bed.
“I read the police reports, post mortem reports, and saw the photographs. Dean, these people were…alive. When those…when they were being beaten up, or rather, tortured they were alive. See the mark on their neck?” Sam points to the picture of Kyle in Dean’s hand.
“That’s heavy duty wire. These guys were strangled to death after all this.”
Dean’s eyes widen in horror, his mouth falling open.
“What I don’t get is that if this is something supernatural, then why would it go through all the trouble? No body parts were missing, no weird symbols were found, there’s nothing to indicate this could be a case except for the fact that all these people were hunters,” Sam voices.
“Sacrifices?” Dean suggests. “I mean, we’ve seen weirder.”
Sam shakes his head. “This doesn’t look like sacrifices, Dean. This is different. It’s more…personal. It feels like that.”
“How can you say that?”
“I don’t know. It’s just…none of it makes sense otherwise. And whoever did this, somehow lured these hunters someplace else because according to the report for Rita, the motel manager saw some guy in a mask drop off her body in her motel room at like three am. Says he didn’t get a close enough look.
“He’s going through all this effort to stay hidden. Torture these people, strangle ‘em to death and then drop their bodies back to the motel room. It’s almost like he’s - “
“Trying to make a statement. Or maybe lure more hunters out here,” Dean finishes for Sam, a look of understanding now on his face.
“Maybe there’s something in the old records. Like newspapers or something. I’ll head to the local library. Saw it when we drove into town. Maybe we’ll find more answers,” Sam says, talking more to himself than Dean.
He gets to his feet, starts sorting out the mess of papers into neat piles after which he piles them into the box. He then picks up his jacket, puts on his shoes and grabs the box, heading for the door.
“Dude, wait. The library can wait. You haven’t eaten in hours, man. We stopped by diners twice on the way here and all you did was hunch over your friggin’ laptop.”
Sam looks at the bags of food on the table and gulps. “I wasn’t hungry. And to be honest, seeing those pictures kind of killed my appetite. Maybe later? We can reheat or something,” Sam suggests, pointing to the microwave in the far corner of the room.
Dean nods. “Okay. Here,” Dean throws the keys to the Impala to Sam. “Be faster if you drive. I’ll go talk to the manager, see if there’s something he didn’t tell the police.”
Sam nods and clutching the keys more firmly in his hand, heads out the door.
~o~
Exhausted, eyes burning, Sam trudges the few feet from the car to the motel room, feeling disgruntled at his lack of findings. He had been hopeful for something, the tiniest little detail, but so far, after about four hours of leafing through all town records and newspapers for any clue, Sam had come up empty handed. He’d borrowed the last few newspapers which he still had to go through so he could do it sitting on a somewhat comfortable bed than a hard wooden chair back at the library.
He knocks on the door, and judging by the look on Dean’s face as he opens the door, Sam realizes Dean probably hit a dead end too.
“Please tell me you got something,” Dean pleads.
Sam hangs his head in defeat. “Nope. Nothing. Got some newspapers back that I haven’t gone through yet but I’m not hoping to really find anything.”
Dean gestures towards the newspapers offering to take a few. Sam hands some over and heads over to his bed. As he starts sifting through the first newspaper in his pile, Dean walks over and hands over a plastic box.
“Your rabbit food. Eat. If we’re gonna hunt this whoever or whatever this is, I can’t afford to have your loud ass rumbling stomach give our position away.”
“Asshole,” Sam takes the plastic container from Dean and opens it up. He absently munches on his sandwich and salad as he reads through various articles on the newspaper.
About thirty minutes later, Sam puts his fourth newspaper aside, completely worn out. He just wants to get a little shut eye at this point.
Oh come on, Sammy. Stay up with me. We can have a slumber party! Dean’s not invited though.
Sam flinches as he hears Lucifer to his left. He turns his head to find Lucifer stretched out on Dean’s bed.
Not real, not real. Sam thinks as his hands automatically clench around the scar on his hand.
Aw, come on, buddy. Don’t do that.
“Not real,” Sam mutters under his breath as he tightens his fist, digging his fingers into the scar. He lets out a shaky breath as Lucifer disappears.
“Sam, you hearing me?” Dean’s voice filters through the pounding in his ears.
“Huh? Yeah. Sorry.”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. So, did you find something?” Sam asks.
“I think. Come here. Does this look familiar to you?”
Sam walks over to the table. He frowns at the picture of a run-down barn Dean is pointing at. He then spots the article under it. At the end of which is a picture of the inside of the barn around which are scattered a total of ten dead bodies.
“Looks like a massacre,” Sam says, an involuntary shudder running down his spine.
“That’s not the weird part, as disturbing as it sounds. On examination they found a corner of the barn with a pile of what looked like skin. And they found silver bullets in each of the dead bodies.”
Sam eyes rise in recognition. “So, what? A clan of shifters? It fits with the skin and silver bullets.”
“Maybe.”
“But how does it relate to what’s going on right now?”
Dean pulls over his father’s journal. “I remembered seeing something in Dad’s journal.” Dean flips to the end of the journal and pulls out a few old, folded pages from the back pocket of journal.
“See. Dad was part of this hunt. Judging by what he’s written here, these shifters were causing trouble in town. Killings, people disappearing, shifters probably using them as their meat suit of sorts at some point. Apparently Terrence lived here. Tried taking on them alone but realized he was outnumbered and so called out for help. Dad had been in the area so he’d dropped us off at Bobby’s and headed out to help.”
Sam takes the paper from Dean’s hand, reading his father’s notes himself. “Oh, God.”
“Exactly.”
“These are the same people that got killed,” Sam says, turning to Dean.
“Which makes your idea of this being personal, the highest possibility on the list of, well, possibilities,” Dean explains. “Also, looks who’s left.”
Sam frowns, and then it dawns on him.
“Dad. Dad would be the next target. His last target.”
“But he’s - “
“Gone,” Sam interrupts Dean. “Which makes - “
“Us. We’re the next ones, Sam.”
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