Wind Your Way Down (1/4)
Title: Wind Your Way Down
Author: tekuates
Pairing: no pairing
Rating: PG-13 ish
Word Count: 14, 671
Warnings/Contains: [spoiler for fic (click to open)]major character death, general darkness, some creepy imagery
Summary: Things hunters are good at: shooting guns, saving lives, thinking on their feet. Things hunters are bad at: moving on. Moving forward. Living life.
Notes: Written for the 2014 Sam Dean OTP Minibang! Title from the Gerry Rafferty song "Baker Street". Art made by the fantastic angelus2hot.
It wasn’t raining, but Sam wished it would. The February light was cold and clear, though the sky was cloudy. It was the kind of chilly that demands a long, lazy day of sitting by a fire, dozing off into a book, maybe a mug of hot chocolate sitting nearby, sending off slow curls of steam into the air. And the rain, hammering out a rhythm on the roof and making strange patterns down the windowpanes. But it wasn’t raining, so Sam just stared out the window, at the back parking lot of this week’s rundown motel, wrapped in the thin polyester comforter. It wasn’t a fire and hot chocolate, but it was as close as Sam was going to get.
“Hey,” Dean said from the other bed, breaking the silence that had been going on for at least an hour.
“Hey,” Sam replied, not turning away from the window. There were a couple crows perched in the branches of a rickety looking walnut tree. As Sam watched, one flew up and perched on a telephone wire, leaving the other to look around confusedly before joining it with a small crah-crah-crah. The first crow ruffled itself all over, then smoothed its feathers down with a shake of its head.
“Could you -“ Dean sounded vaguely amused. “You wanna come out of your nest there so I can actually hear you?”
Sam scowled at the crows, then rolled over so he was facing Dean. This only wrapped the blankets around him even more, swaddling him like an infant. Dean was nearly smiling. The cold grey light cast his face into sharp relief; he looked thin and tired, despite his expression of near amusement.
“Where do you want to go next?” Dean asked. His hands moved restlessly over the keyboard of the laptop, fidgeting but not really typing. Sam made a mmmph sound and buried his face briefly in the covers.
“Um. What?”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Sam said.
“Do what?”
“I just want to go to sleep and you’re planning our next case. I don’t know where you find the energy.” He couldn’t help the slightly
biting tone on the last sentence, because he knew Dean didn’t have the energy.
“It’s two in the afternoon, Sam. You’re not eighty years old.”
Sam shrugged, which probably wasn’t visible outside his cocoon. “It’s that kind of day. Can’t you just, you know, relax for a while? We can plan a case later.”
Dean rubbed the back of a hand over his mouth, a tired, precise gesture he had started doing at some point. “Fine,” he said, putting his hand back to the laptop. “You sleep the day away, and I’ll do all the work.” The words were joking, but his voice wasn’t. It wasn’t angry either, though; just neutral.
“Sounds good to me,” Sam replied, and let his eyes slide shut. Despite the lack of rain, after a few minutes of listening to Dean typing, he began to doze off, a thick and inviting tiredness sweeping over him.
The crows were back.
They were in the tree again - but it wasn’t small or brittle-looking anymore. It was a huge, ancient oak. Though it was dark outside, the branches seems illuminated, but by no light source Sam could see. High in the gnarled limbs, he thought he could see hints of gold and silver catching the light. A breeze ruffled through the leaves and Sam could feel it because -
- he was suddenly outside on the tarmac of the parking lot, looking up at the tree and the two birds perched in it. Up close, Sam was struck by the size of the crows. And now they were looking at him, glittering eyes fixed on him.
He walked closer until he was only a few feet away, hesitated, then reached out and put a hand on the cool, ridged bark. The moment his fingers touched the tree, one of the crows let out a harsh caw, leaping into flight, and Sam jerked his hand back in surprise. It flew higher - then, with a suddenness that took Sam a moment to register, it took a sharp turn and hit the motel window full force.
The crow didn’t make a sound as it tumbled to the ground, except the thud as it hit the tarmac. A stray feather wafted into the air, then floated slowly back down onto the pavement.
The second crow made a quiet raaarrk sound, and flew over to its fallen companion, alighting beside it on the ground. It inspected the other crow, nudging it with its beak. When the fallen crow didn’t respond, the second one began cawing, over and over, hopping around the corpse in distress.
At that moment, the window of the room next to his and Dean’s exploded outward in a shower of glass and fire. Sam threw a hand up instinctively at the brightness, staggering slightly from the shock wave.
“Dean,” he gasped - or tried to, but no words came out. He ran full-tilt across the parking lot, throwing open the door to his room.
The wall between the two rooms was already on fire, but Dean was just lying there on the bed. In a panic Sam ran to him and tugged on his arm. Dean opened his eyes and smiled, his eyes sparkling.
“Oh, there you are, Sammy,” Dean said. “Come to see the show?” He nodded to the burning wall, and Sam saw that the TV was still on, playing some soap.
Dean, he wanted to say, and Are you crazy? But no words would come out, as before, so he just tugged on Dean’s arm again, urgently.
“Hey,” Dean said. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”
Sam shook his head, and kept trying to pull Dean off the bed. Dean allowed Sam to pull him into a sitting position and put a hand on either side of Sam’s face.
“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy. Calm down, just take a breath.” Dean was still smiling, just a little. Sam heard a caw, and realized the crow was in the room, perched on the desk lamp. It was staring right at him, almost accusingly.
“The fire can’t hurt us. You know that. We’re already dead, you and I,” Dean said, and Sam tried to wrench away, but Dean just held him there, staring at him with eyes that were now cold and empty and utterly uninterested in Sam’s fear. Sam felt something collide with the back of his head and realized after a moment that it had been the crow. All he could hear was the sound of flapping as the crow flew at him over and over again, buffeting Sam with its wings. In between the beating wings, all Sam could see were Dean’s hollow eyes. One of the crow’s talons scraped across Sam’s face and Sam cried out and it was silent and loud all at once and -
- and he was in his motel bed, his feet tangled in the sweaty sheets, breathing fast and shallow. Sam’s mouth was dry and his tongue felt huge and hot. He sat up slowly, a headache beginning to pound behind one eye.
“I was just about to wake you,” Castiel said from the other side of the room, and Sam jerked in surprise, almost knocking over the plastic cup of water on his bedside table. “I need to speak with you and Dean.”
“What about?” Sam asked, then drained the cup of lukewarm water. A stray drop fell from the rim of the cup and ran slowly down his chin and kept going down his neck, leaving a trail of coolness behind. He looked at the other bed, which was empty. “Where is Dean, anyway?”
“In the parking lot,” Castiel said, trailing off in a suggestive way. Sam stared at him, and Castiel grimaced slightly. “Smoking,” Castiel finished reluctantly.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Of course he is. Did he ask you not to tell me?”
“No. He did not see me. I suspect, however, that he did not want me to tell you.”
“No kidding,” Sam said, just as the door opened and Dean came in, trailing gloom behind him. His hair looked wet. Sam kicked off the covers entirely and stood. “Hey, is it raining?”
“Drizzling,” Dean said, “and I think it’s turning to sleet.”
“So, Cas has something he wants to ask us.” He sank back down on the bed, still feeling groggy.
Castiel stepped forward. “Yes. There is a matter - a matter I would feel more at ease knowing that you two were keeping track of.”
“What is it?” Dean asked.
“Nothing concrete,” Castiel said. “I’ve been hearing rumors. A new hunter. Or - not new, exactly.” He was silent for a moment.
“You wanna give us a little more to go on?” Dean said.
Castiel shook his head, seeming far away. “Yes. My apologies. This hunter was known before now, but for the usual hunting work. She was quite adept at it. But now she has begun targeting angels.”
“Angels,” Sam said, “why angels? They’ve hardly been in the game lately.”
Castiel shrugged, a gesture recently learned and still a bit stiff. “I don’t know. She has not, as yet, managed to kill any of them. But her attempts are growing more fruitful.”
Sam didn’t say anything more as Dean got the rest of the minutiae from Castiel. Sam was watching Castiel, because all of this sounded strange to Sam. Some piece of information that was missing and shouldn’t have been, something that Castiel clearly knew. Castiel was not good at hiding things, except, of course, when he was.
“Alright,” Dean said, and Sam focused again. “We’ll look into it - I found another case in that area anyway, so we can check both out.”
“A case?” Sam said, trying to keep the whine out his voice, probably failing. “I thought we weren’t gonna work a case for a little while.”
“Funny, isn’t it,” Dean said, “that when you sleep all afternoon, other people get to make the decisions.” Sam scowled. Castiel chose that moment to disappear, the inrush of air ruffling Sam’s hair.
“Where are we going?” Sam asked. It probably wasn’t worth it to argue; in the end they’d be on the case anyway, but in angry silence, and Dean stayed pissed off for a long time these days.
“Do you pay attention to anything anymore?” Dean said. His tone should have been biting, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t much of anything. Before Sam said anything, Dean went on, “It’s in Vermont. If we get moving now, we can make it by late tonight, so get your ass in gear. I’m gonna go check out and shit.” Dean clomped off without waiting for an answer.
Sam sighed, then got up and retrieved his duffel bag from the desk. He went through the room quickly; they had been there for a few days, but there wasn’t much left out. Just a toothbrush (his - Sam wasn’t too sure how often Dean brushed his teeth) and an aging tube of toothpaste were on the sink, and a book lay on Sam’s side of the bedside table. He tossed them into his duffel bag without much care, and was out the door.
Dean was already in the car, sitting sideways in the driver’s seat with the door open. As Sam approached the car, Dean swiveled to face forward, slamming the door shut. Sam put his bag into the trunk and slid into the passenger’s side.
Dean started the car and pulled out of the parking lot smoothly, making a left onto the road. As he did, Sam caught a glimpse at his watch.
“Holy shit, it’s four o’clock?”
“Sure is. That’s what happens when you dream the day away, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Weird,” Sam said. “I didn’t think I was asleep for that long.”
Dean shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “So, you wanna hear about the case? Since you were apparently checked out at the time.”
“Sure, hit me,” Sam said.
“This town in Vermont, I forget what it’s called - “
“Yeah, I can tell you were paying a ton of attention,” Sam said.
“Shut up. I know how to get there, that’s all that matters. Anyway - “
The upshot was that a river near this town, the imaginatively named Green River, has had an abnormal amount of suicides. Four so far, all in the same place - or, at least, they all ended up in the same place, even though they had jumped in at various points along the river.
“So what?” Sam said at this point. “The current could have carried them to that spot. Maybe the river narrows there or something.”
Dean shakes his head. “One of the people jumped in downstream from the place. Still ended up there, and no evidence that someone physically picked them up and moved them.”
“It’s probably just an angry spirit,” Sam said. “Dean - “
Dean didn’t say anything, waiting for Sam to continue. “What, Sam,” he said, after Sam doesn’t.
Sam wanted to ask why, why are they taking this case, Castiel had just given them a case and this one was weak tea by comparison. There were enough hunters in the world now that they didn’t need to deal with every stranded spirit they came across. Sam and Dean’s talents were better suited to things that others couldn’t deal with. But Dean looked tight, like a wire, and Sam knew why they were taking this case. Dean wanted the easy familiarity of hunting something down and then killing it, like the old days. It made Sam crazy. He wanted to yell at Dean that he was pretty sure that once they stopped the apocalypse, once they had both gone to Hell, nothing was going to be the same, that Sam wasn’t who he had been two, three years ago. But Sam said instead, “Did you get a weird vibe off of Cas?”
“Like what kind of weird vibe?”
“I don’t know. But I got the feeling he knew more about this hunter than he said. He seemed - I don’t know. Strange.”
“You could be right,” Dean said. “Only way to find out is to follow any leads we find. And hope it isn’t the kind of thing that’ll get us killed.”
They were silent for a long while after that. Sam found himself dozing despite his earlier two hours of sleep. It wasn’t a restful sleep, or at least Sam didn’t think it was. But by the time he woke up all the way, it was getting dark. The sky was a deepening blue, the clouds looming black-grey. It looked like a watercolor painting. Dean had that look, too, in the driver’s seat, the occasional headlights flickering over his face.
Sam had been slouching against the door; now he pushed himself upright, brushing his hair out of his face.
“How - “ he began, but his voice was very rusty and nearly inaudible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How far are we?”
Dean startled slightly and looked at Sam for a second. “Not far,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hushed. “Few hours, less if I speed.” One side of his mouth quirked up.
”Nah,” Sam said. He was looking out the window. There was forest everywhere, and mountains were beginning to form out of the gloom, huge and impassive. The road was nearly empty, just a semi a while ahead, and the occasional car in the other direction. “I like the drive, no need to cut it short.”
Dean smiled at that, a real smile though small. Sam could tell he agreed. Dean liked driving more than most things; he seemed to derive a strange sort of energy from it. Truthfully, Sam liked it too, the way the tires ate up the road in front of them, racing to get over the next hill, the road stretching and bending ahead of him. Sam always mocked Dean for speeding, but the truth was that he was the speed demon of the two of them. Dean would happily drive at an even fifty-five miles per hour, but Sam would often find himself going eighty-five with no recollection of speeding up at all. While Dean got exuberant from hours of highway driving, Sam felt intoxicated, loose and relaxed.
The moon was swollen that night, hanging low and flushed in the darkening sky. Sam watched it follow them through the sky, and almost didn’t notice drifting off to sleep again.
Dean’s voice woke him this time, a low “Sam.” Sam startled awake.
“Yeah,” he said roughly, dragging himself upright, not yet fully awake. “Whassup?”
“We’re here,” Dean said. “Come on, time to sleep in an actual bed.” Sam nodded, though Dean probably couldn’t see him in the dark of the car. He sat a moment before he got up and headed around to the trunk to get his bag. Sam took a deep breath. It was cold, of course - February in Vermont - but the air felt good. The sky was clear now, stars like dim jewels against it, that huge moon seeming to drip light onto the trees that lined the horizon. Sam gazed upward for a moment and then, hoisting up his bag, he followed Dean, his boots crunching on the snow-encrusted asphalt.
The hotel was not their usual fare; it was a large colonial style house, with shutters and columns and the works. Sam gave Dean a look as they approached. Dean shrugged pointedly.
“It was all I could find at short notice. Should go along with your, ah, aesthetic, huh, Sammy?”
“Whatever,” Sam muttered, not entirely sure what that meant, but sure that it was meant to be insulting. “We could have left tomorrow morning, gotten a less - quaint place to stay.”
“Could’ve, but it’s in the same area that this hunter was last sighted. And Cas sounded pretty worried.” Dean sounded abruptly defensive.
“Or you just wanted to drive, you weirdo,” Sam said. Dean said nothing, only smiled a tight half-smile. It wasn’t that these new expressions of Dean’s didn’t seem genuine to Sam. Rather, it seemed entirely possible that a half-smile was just all Dean had in him these days. Sam would rather have him being a lying bastard any day. Dean could run hot and he could run cold; though hot was much more intimidating, it was the cold that was impossible to penetrate. Or it was just a skill Sam hadn’t mastered yet. Either way, walking in to the hotel - bed and breakfast, actually, Sam learned - checking in, and heading up to their room was all done in silence.
The room was done in chintz all over, blue and white and pale green. Instead of the plastic cups that frequented the motels Sam was accustomed to, a small tea tray sat on the carved desk. Sam briefly considered belatedly smacking Dean for his comment about Sam’s aesthetic, but decided against it. Dean was in a reserved mood; Sam would be more likely to receive a chilly smile than anything else.
Instead, Sam dropped his bag onto the desk and then sat down on the edge of one of the beds, this time the one further from the window. He toed his shoes off tiredly, slipped his watch over his hand and dropped it onto the side table. He had slept too much today already, but he could feel exhaustion folding softly around him. Sam sighed and stood, stripping down to boxers and undershirt, slid into bed, and was asleep in minutes.
The moon was so bright.
Moonlight often felt cold to Sam, distant; but not tonight. The moonlight was scorching in its intensity, silvering everything it touched and leaving heavy shadows in the places it could not reach.
They were standing underneath the tree, him and Dean. Dean was looking at him, and his eyes were practically glowing with reflected light.
“Heya, Sammy,” he said, and his tone was rough and amused. He smiled, that crazy light in his eyes, that enthusiasm that Sam hadn’t seen in - hell, in years.
“Dean,” Sam said, “what are we - why are you - “
Sam broke off. Dean was looking at him, but Sam was looking into the tree, the twisted old branches reaching and reaching for the light. He was struck with a sudden joy at the sight of the tree, filled with exhilaration as the leaves began to shake in a building wind.
“Dean, Dean, the wind!” Sam said. In the tree now he could see the two crows. They made no aggressive movement towards him now, just looking at him, their eyes dark and aware. Sam laughed, unable to help it at the feeling of the tremendous wind sweeping through his hair and tugging at his clothes. One of the crows cawed, and the air threw the sound into the sky, made it huge. It could have been frightening, but Sam had the feeling that they understood his joy and were responding in kind. Sam nodded to the crows, and to his astonishment, the two of them bent their heads back at him.
He looked back at Dean, who was still watching him, his eyes like stars in the night.
“Did you see them?” he asked.
Dean shook his head, and Sam thought the movement seemed abrupt, tense. “Dean, what’s wrong?”
“They don’t want me to stay,” Dean said. He was shivering a little bit in the cold air. “They said I have to go with them.”
“Do you want to go?” Sam asked.
“I have to stay,” Dean said, “I have to stay here with you.”
“Yeah, but Dean, if you want to - “
“Don’t matter what I want, Sammy, I’ve got to stay, you know I do,” Dean said, the happiness, the wildness leaving his face. He looked drained and grey and tired, or maybe that was the moonlight, which had soured somehow, seeming less silver than a harsh grey-yellow, highlighting every leaf on the tree in unpleasant detail.
“Not if you don’t want to,” Sam said. “Dean…”
“No!” Dean said, shoving Sam away from him. “Just shuddup, okay? Just shut up,”
“Come on, what’re you - “
But Sam stopped what he was saying as he saw the crows, no longer in the tree. One was on the ground again, the other hopping around the corpse futilely, nudging it at first, but then tearing savagely at it with its beak in an effort to wake it. As Sam watched, the one left alive turned to look at him. The aware, almost friendly intelligence had left its eyes; it looked mean and stupid and angry, and it hurled itself into flight at him and Dean, faster than was possible, and Sam could only see its beak opening hugely wide in the grey-yellow light, and its dark beating wings and -
“Sam.”
Sam floundered between sleep and waking for a moment. “Whuh?” he said.
“Sam, wake up. Jesus. How much sleep can one person need?” Dean said. He added, an afterthought, “Even one as gigantic as you.” He tossed a pair of jeans onto Sam’s stomach. “Come on. Time’s a’wastin’.”
“Coming,” Sam said, or a grunt that sounded approximately the same.
“What were you dreaming about, anyway? Usually you just snore, not jabber away in some made up gibberish language.”
Sam frowned, trying to think. Light, light -
He shook his head. “I can’t remember.”
“Well, come on, dude, rise and shine.”
Fifteen minutes later, Sam slid into the chair opposite Dean at the table, showered, dressed, and halfway through a cup of coffee, unfortunately in one of the tiny flowered teacups. The chair creaked worryingly under Sam’s weight; maybe it was actually as old as it looked, not an imitation.
“So what’s the deal?” Sam asked.
“Some kind of spirit, I think. River must be haunted by something - something that’s pulling people to it. Or that one part of it, at least.”
“You think the river is causing people to kill themselves?”
Dean shrugged, typing busily. “Not sure. It’s definitely pulling their bodies to that one place, but I don’t think it’s causing people to be suicidal. Otherwise why didn’t they just jump in right there? There’s plenty of hauntings that kill people in one spot. But this is grabbing them after they bite it. Maybe there’s just a lot of depressed people lately, and the spirit’s taking advantage.”
“Maybe it’s just not a strong enough force to be accurate. They were all fairly close to that one place.”
“Maybe.” Dean hit enter, clicked on something. “Okay. So, one of the people, Mark Weissmann, lived alone, no family in the area, plus his was a while ago. Probably nothing to go on there. Then a girl, about seventeen - looks like the family moved away, being here reminded them of their kid, blah blah blah.”
“Don’t be a dick,” Sam said. “Losing a kid does worse to families all the time. It’s hard.”
“Whatever, dude. Anyway, the last one is the one I think we’ll get something out of. Young girl, really young. Twelve, I think. This was the most recent one, recent enough that we won’t completely freak out the family by asking questions. Or,” Dean tilted his head, his mouth twisting ironically, “we will, but they won’t think it’s out of the blue.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “So what do you think’s haunting the river?”
“Don’t know. I was thinking we could go to the river, see what’s up, then go from there.”
“Alright, sounds good,” Sam said.
They drove to the river and parked in a snowy parking area next to it. The path down to the river was steep; Sam slid down most of it, grabbing a tree at the bottom to stop himself from being launched into the river.
This bank of the river was, according to a guidebook they had found in the hotel, comprised of wide, flat boulders, not that they were visible under the snow. Sam followed Dean out to the edge, sinking slightly with each step. A thin, fragile layer of ice was forming at the very edge of the river.
“So where’s the spot?” Sam asked.
Dean pointed to a bridge fifty feet or so upstream. “The far bank right after that bridge. That’s where all three bodies were found. Here’s where the youngest girl jumped in.” He pointed at a higher boulder a little way upstream. “Kara. Someone saw her jump in from there, and ran down here to try and get her out. By that time, she was under. They didn’t find her body for another couple days - by that time, it was at the hot spot.”
“Twelve years old, Jesus,” Sam said. Dean grunted agreement.
“Any connection between the three?” Sam asked after a moment.
“Some, nothing much. The guy, Mark, was a guidance counselor at the local high school; the seventeen-year-old, Tina, was one of the kids he met with. And Tina knew Kara’s family somehow. But it’s a small town, so it might not be a pattern.”
“I guess we’ll have to see if we can find anything more significant when we talk to the family.”
“Yeah.” Dean looked out at the river for another minute, then at Sam. “Family, then breakfast?”
Sam nodded absentmindedly. He could feel an idea taking shape, as he looked at the bridge one last time before heading to the car. But it was still vague and nebulous, so Sam left it alone for the moment.
Part 2 | Masterpost
Author: tekuates
Pairing: no pairing
Rating: PG-13 ish
Word Count: 14, 671
Warnings/Contains: [spoiler for fic (click to open)]major character death, general darkness, some creepy imagery
Summary: Things hunters are good at: shooting guns, saving lives, thinking on their feet. Things hunters are bad at: moving on. Moving forward. Living life.
Notes: Written for the 2014 Sam Dean OTP Minibang! Title from the Gerry Rafferty song "Baker Street". Art made by the fantastic angelus2hot.
It wasn’t raining, but Sam wished it would. The February light was cold and clear, though the sky was cloudy. It was the kind of chilly that demands a long, lazy day of sitting by a fire, dozing off into a book, maybe a mug of hot chocolate sitting nearby, sending off slow curls of steam into the air. And the rain, hammering out a rhythm on the roof and making strange patterns down the windowpanes. But it wasn’t raining, so Sam just stared out the window, at the back parking lot of this week’s rundown motel, wrapped in the thin polyester comforter. It wasn’t a fire and hot chocolate, but it was as close as Sam was going to get.
“Hey,” Dean said from the other bed, breaking the silence that had been going on for at least an hour.
“Hey,” Sam replied, not turning away from the window. There were a couple crows perched in the branches of a rickety looking walnut tree. As Sam watched, one flew up and perched on a telephone wire, leaving the other to look around confusedly before joining it with a small crah-crah-crah. The first crow ruffled itself all over, then smoothed its feathers down with a shake of its head.
“Could you -“ Dean sounded vaguely amused. “You wanna come out of your nest there so I can actually hear you?”
Sam scowled at the crows, then rolled over so he was facing Dean. This only wrapped the blankets around him even more, swaddling him like an infant. Dean was nearly smiling. The cold grey light cast his face into sharp relief; he looked thin and tired, despite his expression of near amusement.
“Where do you want to go next?” Dean asked. His hands moved restlessly over the keyboard of the laptop, fidgeting but not really typing. Sam made a mmmph sound and buried his face briefly in the covers.
“Um. What?”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Sam said.
“Do what?”
“I just want to go to sleep and you’re planning our next case. I don’t know where you find the energy.” He couldn’t help the slightly
biting tone on the last sentence, because he knew Dean didn’t have the energy.
“It’s two in the afternoon, Sam. You’re not eighty years old.”
Sam shrugged, which probably wasn’t visible outside his cocoon. “It’s that kind of day. Can’t you just, you know, relax for a while? We can plan a case later.”
Dean rubbed the back of a hand over his mouth, a tired, precise gesture he had started doing at some point. “Fine,” he said, putting his hand back to the laptop. “You sleep the day away, and I’ll do all the work.” The words were joking, but his voice wasn’t. It wasn’t angry either, though; just neutral.
“Sounds good to me,” Sam replied, and let his eyes slide shut. Despite the lack of rain, after a few minutes of listening to Dean typing, he began to doze off, a thick and inviting tiredness sweeping over him.
The crows were back.
They were in the tree again - but it wasn’t small or brittle-looking anymore. It was a huge, ancient oak. Though it was dark outside, the branches seems illuminated, but by no light source Sam could see. High in the gnarled limbs, he thought he could see hints of gold and silver catching the light. A breeze ruffled through the leaves and Sam could feel it because -
- he was suddenly outside on the tarmac of the parking lot, looking up at the tree and the two birds perched in it. Up close, Sam was struck by the size of the crows. And now they were looking at him, glittering eyes fixed on him.
He walked closer until he was only a few feet away, hesitated, then reached out and put a hand on the cool, ridged bark. The moment his fingers touched the tree, one of the crows let out a harsh caw, leaping into flight, and Sam jerked his hand back in surprise. It flew higher - then, with a suddenness that took Sam a moment to register, it took a sharp turn and hit the motel window full force.
The crow didn’t make a sound as it tumbled to the ground, except the thud as it hit the tarmac. A stray feather wafted into the air, then floated slowly back down onto the pavement.
The second crow made a quiet raaarrk sound, and flew over to its fallen companion, alighting beside it on the ground. It inspected the other crow, nudging it with its beak. When the fallen crow didn’t respond, the second one began cawing, over and over, hopping around the corpse in distress.
At that moment, the window of the room next to his and Dean’s exploded outward in a shower of glass and fire. Sam threw a hand up instinctively at the brightness, staggering slightly from the shock wave.
“Dean,” he gasped - or tried to, but no words came out. He ran full-tilt across the parking lot, throwing open the door to his room.
The wall between the two rooms was already on fire, but Dean was just lying there on the bed. In a panic Sam ran to him and tugged on his arm. Dean opened his eyes and smiled, his eyes sparkling.
“Oh, there you are, Sammy,” Dean said. “Come to see the show?” He nodded to the burning wall, and Sam saw that the TV was still on, playing some soap.
Dean, he wanted to say, and Are you crazy? But no words would come out, as before, so he just tugged on Dean’s arm again, urgently.
“Hey,” Dean said. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”
Sam shook his head, and kept trying to pull Dean off the bed. Dean allowed Sam to pull him into a sitting position and put a hand on either side of Sam’s face.
“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy. Calm down, just take a breath.” Dean was still smiling, just a little. Sam heard a caw, and realized the crow was in the room, perched on the desk lamp. It was staring right at him, almost accusingly.
“The fire can’t hurt us. You know that. We’re already dead, you and I,” Dean said, and Sam tried to wrench away, but Dean just held him there, staring at him with eyes that were now cold and empty and utterly uninterested in Sam’s fear. Sam felt something collide with the back of his head and realized after a moment that it had been the crow. All he could hear was the sound of flapping as the crow flew at him over and over again, buffeting Sam with its wings. In between the beating wings, all Sam could see were Dean’s hollow eyes. One of the crow’s talons scraped across Sam’s face and Sam cried out and it was silent and loud all at once and -
- and he was in his motel bed, his feet tangled in the sweaty sheets, breathing fast and shallow. Sam’s mouth was dry and his tongue felt huge and hot. He sat up slowly, a headache beginning to pound behind one eye.
“I was just about to wake you,” Castiel said from the other side of the room, and Sam jerked in surprise, almost knocking over the plastic cup of water on his bedside table. “I need to speak with you and Dean.”
“What about?” Sam asked, then drained the cup of lukewarm water. A stray drop fell from the rim of the cup and ran slowly down his chin and kept going down his neck, leaving a trail of coolness behind. He looked at the other bed, which was empty. “Where is Dean, anyway?”
“In the parking lot,” Castiel said, trailing off in a suggestive way. Sam stared at him, and Castiel grimaced slightly. “Smoking,” Castiel finished reluctantly.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Of course he is. Did he ask you not to tell me?”
“No. He did not see me. I suspect, however, that he did not want me to tell you.”
“No kidding,” Sam said, just as the door opened and Dean came in, trailing gloom behind him. His hair looked wet. Sam kicked off the covers entirely and stood. “Hey, is it raining?”
“Drizzling,” Dean said, “and I think it’s turning to sleet.”
“So, Cas has something he wants to ask us.” He sank back down on the bed, still feeling groggy.
Castiel stepped forward. “Yes. There is a matter - a matter I would feel more at ease knowing that you two were keeping track of.”
“What is it?” Dean asked.
“Nothing concrete,” Castiel said. “I’ve been hearing rumors. A new hunter. Or - not new, exactly.” He was silent for a moment.
“You wanna give us a little more to go on?” Dean said.
Castiel shook his head, seeming far away. “Yes. My apologies. This hunter was known before now, but for the usual hunting work. She was quite adept at it. But now she has begun targeting angels.”
“Angels,” Sam said, “why angels? They’ve hardly been in the game lately.”
Castiel shrugged, a gesture recently learned and still a bit stiff. “I don’t know. She has not, as yet, managed to kill any of them. But her attempts are growing more fruitful.”
Sam didn’t say anything more as Dean got the rest of the minutiae from Castiel. Sam was watching Castiel, because all of this sounded strange to Sam. Some piece of information that was missing and shouldn’t have been, something that Castiel clearly knew. Castiel was not good at hiding things, except, of course, when he was.
“Alright,” Dean said, and Sam focused again. “We’ll look into it - I found another case in that area anyway, so we can check both out.”
“A case?” Sam said, trying to keep the whine out his voice, probably failing. “I thought we weren’t gonna work a case for a little while.”
“Funny, isn’t it,” Dean said, “that when you sleep all afternoon, other people get to make the decisions.” Sam scowled. Castiel chose that moment to disappear, the inrush of air ruffling Sam’s hair.
“Where are we going?” Sam asked. It probably wasn’t worth it to argue; in the end they’d be on the case anyway, but in angry silence, and Dean stayed pissed off for a long time these days.
“Do you pay attention to anything anymore?” Dean said. His tone should have been biting, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t much of anything. Before Sam said anything, Dean went on, “It’s in Vermont. If we get moving now, we can make it by late tonight, so get your ass in gear. I’m gonna go check out and shit.” Dean clomped off without waiting for an answer.
Sam sighed, then got up and retrieved his duffel bag from the desk. He went through the room quickly; they had been there for a few days, but there wasn’t much left out. Just a toothbrush (his - Sam wasn’t too sure how often Dean brushed his teeth) and an aging tube of toothpaste were on the sink, and a book lay on Sam’s side of the bedside table. He tossed them into his duffel bag without much care, and was out the door.
Dean was already in the car, sitting sideways in the driver’s seat with the door open. As Sam approached the car, Dean swiveled to face forward, slamming the door shut. Sam put his bag into the trunk and slid into the passenger’s side.
Dean started the car and pulled out of the parking lot smoothly, making a left onto the road. As he did, Sam caught a glimpse at his watch.
“Holy shit, it’s four o’clock?”
“Sure is. That’s what happens when you dream the day away, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Weird,” Sam said. “I didn’t think I was asleep for that long.”
Dean shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “So, you wanna hear about the case? Since you were apparently checked out at the time.”
“Sure, hit me,” Sam said.
“This town in Vermont, I forget what it’s called - “
“Yeah, I can tell you were paying a ton of attention,” Sam said.
“Shut up. I know how to get there, that’s all that matters. Anyway - “
The upshot was that a river near this town, the imaginatively named Green River, has had an abnormal amount of suicides. Four so far, all in the same place - or, at least, they all ended up in the same place, even though they had jumped in at various points along the river.
“So what?” Sam said at this point. “The current could have carried them to that spot. Maybe the river narrows there or something.”
Dean shakes his head. “One of the people jumped in downstream from the place. Still ended up there, and no evidence that someone physically picked them up and moved them.”
“It’s probably just an angry spirit,” Sam said. “Dean - “
Dean didn’t say anything, waiting for Sam to continue. “What, Sam,” he said, after Sam doesn’t.
Sam wanted to ask why, why are they taking this case, Castiel had just given them a case and this one was weak tea by comparison. There were enough hunters in the world now that they didn’t need to deal with every stranded spirit they came across. Sam and Dean’s talents were better suited to things that others couldn’t deal with. But Dean looked tight, like a wire, and Sam knew why they were taking this case. Dean wanted the easy familiarity of hunting something down and then killing it, like the old days. It made Sam crazy. He wanted to yell at Dean that he was pretty sure that once they stopped the apocalypse, once they had both gone to Hell, nothing was going to be the same, that Sam wasn’t who he had been two, three years ago. But Sam said instead, “Did you get a weird vibe off of Cas?”
“Like what kind of weird vibe?”
“I don’t know. But I got the feeling he knew more about this hunter than he said. He seemed - I don’t know. Strange.”
“You could be right,” Dean said. “Only way to find out is to follow any leads we find. And hope it isn’t the kind of thing that’ll get us killed.”
They were silent for a long while after that. Sam found himself dozing despite his earlier two hours of sleep. It wasn’t a restful sleep, or at least Sam didn’t think it was. But by the time he woke up all the way, it was getting dark. The sky was a deepening blue, the clouds looming black-grey. It looked like a watercolor painting. Dean had that look, too, in the driver’s seat, the occasional headlights flickering over his face.
Sam had been slouching against the door; now he pushed himself upright, brushing his hair out of his face.
“How - “ he began, but his voice was very rusty and nearly inaudible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How far are we?”
Dean startled slightly and looked at Sam for a second. “Not far,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hushed. “Few hours, less if I speed.” One side of his mouth quirked up.
”Nah,” Sam said. He was looking out the window. There was forest everywhere, and mountains were beginning to form out of the gloom, huge and impassive. The road was nearly empty, just a semi a while ahead, and the occasional car in the other direction. “I like the drive, no need to cut it short.”
Dean smiled at that, a real smile though small. Sam could tell he agreed. Dean liked driving more than most things; he seemed to derive a strange sort of energy from it. Truthfully, Sam liked it too, the way the tires ate up the road in front of them, racing to get over the next hill, the road stretching and bending ahead of him. Sam always mocked Dean for speeding, but the truth was that he was the speed demon of the two of them. Dean would happily drive at an even fifty-five miles per hour, but Sam would often find himself going eighty-five with no recollection of speeding up at all. While Dean got exuberant from hours of highway driving, Sam felt intoxicated, loose and relaxed.
The moon was swollen that night, hanging low and flushed in the darkening sky. Sam watched it follow them through the sky, and almost didn’t notice drifting off to sleep again.
Dean’s voice woke him this time, a low “Sam.” Sam startled awake.
“Yeah,” he said roughly, dragging himself upright, not yet fully awake. “Whassup?”
“We’re here,” Dean said. “Come on, time to sleep in an actual bed.” Sam nodded, though Dean probably couldn’t see him in the dark of the car. He sat a moment before he got up and headed around to the trunk to get his bag. Sam took a deep breath. It was cold, of course - February in Vermont - but the air felt good. The sky was clear now, stars like dim jewels against it, that huge moon seeming to drip light onto the trees that lined the horizon. Sam gazed upward for a moment and then, hoisting up his bag, he followed Dean, his boots crunching on the snow-encrusted asphalt.
The hotel was not their usual fare; it was a large colonial style house, with shutters and columns and the works. Sam gave Dean a look as they approached. Dean shrugged pointedly.
“It was all I could find at short notice. Should go along with your, ah, aesthetic, huh, Sammy?”
“Whatever,” Sam muttered, not entirely sure what that meant, but sure that it was meant to be insulting. “We could have left tomorrow morning, gotten a less - quaint place to stay.”
“Could’ve, but it’s in the same area that this hunter was last sighted. And Cas sounded pretty worried.” Dean sounded abruptly defensive.
“Or you just wanted to drive, you weirdo,” Sam said. Dean said nothing, only smiled a tight half-smile. It wasn’t that these new expressions of Dean’s didn’t seem genuine to Sam. Rather, it seemed entirely possible that a half-smile was just all Dean had in him these days. Sam would rather have him being a lying bastard any day. Dean could run hot and he could run cold; though hot was much more intimidating, it was the cold that was impossible to penetrate. Or it was just a skill Sam hadn’t mastered yet. Either way, walking in to the hotel - bed and breakfast, actually, Sam learned - checking in, and heading up to their room was all done in silence.
The room was done in chintz all over, blue and white and pale green. Instead of the plastic cups that frequented the motels Sam was accustomed to, a small tea tray sat on the carved desk. Sam briefly considered belatedly smacking Dean for his comment about Sam’s aesthetic, but decided against it. Dean was in a reserved mood; Sam would be more likely to receive a chilly smile than anything else.
Instead, Sam dropped his bag onto the desk and then sat down on the edge of one of the beds, this time the one further from the window. He toed his shoes off tiredly, slipped his watch over his hand and dropped it onto the side table. He had slept too much today already, but he could feel exhaustion folding softly around him. Sam sighed and stood, stripping down to boxers and undershirt, slid into bed, and was asleep in minutes.
The moon was so bright.
Moonlight often felt cold to Sam, distant; but not tonight. The moonlight was scorching in its intensity, silvering everything it touched and leaving heavy shadows in the places it could not reach.
They were standing underneath the tree, him and Dean. Dean was looking at him, and his eyes were practically glowing with reflected light.
“Heya, Sammy,” he said, and his tone was rough and amused. He smiled, that crazy light in his eyes, that enthusiasm that Sam hadn’t seen in - hell, in years.
“Dean,” Sam said, “what are we - why are you - “
Sam broke off. Dean was looking at him, but Sam was looking into the tree, the twisted old branches reaching and reaching for the light. He was struck with a sudden joy at the sight of the tree, filled with exhilaration as the leaves began to shake in a building wind.
“Dean, Dean, the wind!” Sam said. In the tree now he could see the two crows. They made no aggressive movement towards him now, just looking at him, their eyes dark and aware. Sam laughed, unable to help it at the feeling of the tremendous wind sweeping through his hair and tugging at his clothes. One of the crows cawed, and the air threw the sound into the sky, made it huge. It could have been frightening, but Sam had the feeling that they understood his joy and were responding in kind. Sam nodded to the crows, and to his astonishment, the two of them bent their heads back at him.
He looked back at Dean, who was still watching him, his eyes like stars in the night.
“Did you see them?” he asked.
Dean shook his head, and Sam thought the movement seemed abrupt, tense. “Dean, what’s wrong?”
“They don’t want me to stay,” Dean said. He was shivering a little bit in the cold air. “They said I have to go with them.”
“Do you want to go?” Sam asked.
“I have to stay,” Dean said, “I have to stay here with you.”
“Yeah, but Dean, if you want to - “
“Don’t matter what I want, Sammy, I’ve got to stay, you know I do,” Dean said, the happiness, the wildness leaving his face. He looked drained and grey and tired, or maybe that was the moonlight, which had soured somehow, seeming less silver than a harsh grey-yellow, highlighting every leaf on the tree in unpleasant detail.
“Not if you don’t want to,” Sam said. “Dean…”
“No!” Dean said, shoving Sam away from him. “Just shuddup, okay? Just shut up,”
“Come on, what’re you - “
But Sam stopped what he was saying as he saw the crows, no longer in the tree. One was on the ground again, the other hopping around the corpse futilely, nudging it at first, but then tearing savagely at it with its beak in an effort to wake it. As Sam watched, the one left alive turned to look at him. The aware, almost friendly intelligence had left its eyes; it looked mean and stupid and angry, and it hurled itself into flight at him and Dean, faster than was possible, and Sam could only see its beak opening hugely wide in the grey-yellow light, and its dark beating wings and -
“Sam.”
Sam floundered between sleep and waking for a moment. “Whuh?” he said.
“Sam, wake up. Jesus. How much sleep can one person need?” Dean said. He added, an afterthought, “Even one as gigantic as you.” He tossed a pair of jeans onto Sam’s stomach. “Come on. Time’s a’wastin’.”
“Coming,” Sam said, or a grunt that sounded approximately the same.
“What were you dreaming about, anyway? Usually you just snore, not jabber away in some made up gibberish language.”
Sam frowned, trying to think. Light, light -
He shook his head. “I can’t remember.”
“Well, come on, dude, rise and shine.”
Fifteen minutes later, Sam slid into the chair opposite Dean at the table, showered, dressed, and halfway through a cup of coffee, unfortunately in one of the tiny flowered teacups. The chair creaked worryingly under Sam’s weight; maybe it was actually as old as it looked, not an imitation.
“So what’s the deal?” Sam asked.
“Some kind of spirit, I think. River must be haunted by something - something that’s pulling people to it. Or that one part of it, at least.”
“You think the river is causing people to kill themselves?”
Dean shrugged, typing busily. “Not sure. It’s definitely pulling their bodies to that one place, but I don’t think it’s causing people to be suicidal. Otherwise why didn’t they just jump in right there? There’s plenty of hauntings that kill people in one spot. But this is grabbing them after they bite it. Maybe there’s just a lot of depressed people lately, and the spirit’s taking advantage.”
“Maybe it’s just not a strong enough force to be accurate. They were all fairly close to that one place.”
“Maybe.” Dean hit enter, clicked on something. “Okay. So, one of the people, Mark Weissmann, lived alone, no family in the area, plus his was a while ago. Probably nothing to go on there. Then a girl, about seventeen - looks like the family moved away, being here reminded them of their kid, blah blah blah.”
“Don’t be a dick,” Sam said. “Losing a kid does worse to families all the time. It’s hard.”
“Whatever, dude. Anyway, the last one is the one I think we’ll get something out of. Young girl, really young. Twelve, I think. This was the most recent one, recent enough that we won’t completely freak out the family by asking questions. Or,” Dean tilted his head, his mouth twisting ironically, “we will, but they won’t think it’s out of the blue.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “So what do you think’s haunting the river?”
“Don’t know. I was thinking we could go to the river, see what’s up, then go from there.”
“Alright, sounds good,” Sam said.
They drove to the river and parked in a snowy parking area next to it. The path down to the river was steep; Sam slid down most of it, grabbing a tree at the bottom to stop himself from being launched into the river.
This bank of the river was, according to a guidebook they had found in the hotel, comprised of wide, flat boulders, not that they were visible under the snow. Sam followed Dean out to the edge, sinking slightly with each step. A thin, fragile layer of ice was forming at the very edge of the river.
“So where’s the spot?” Sam asked.
Dean pointed to a bridge fifty feet or so upstream. “The far bank right after that bridge. That’s where all three bodies were found. Here’s where the youngest girl jumped in.” He pointed at a higher boulder a little way upstream. “Kara. Someone saw her jump in from there, and ran down here to try and get her out. By that time, she was under. They didn’t find her body for another couple days - by that time, it was at the hot spot.”
“Twelve years old, Jesus,” Sam said. Dean grunted agreement.
“Any connection between the three?” Sam asked after a moment.
“Some, nothing much. The guy, Mark, was a guidance counselor at the local high school; the seventeen-year-old, Tina, was one of the kids he met with. And Tina knew Kara’s family somehow. But it’s a small town, so it might not be a pattern.”
“I guess we’ll have to see if we can find anything more significant when we talk to the family.”
“Yeah.” Dean looked out at the river for another minute, then at Sam. “Family, then breakfast?”
Sam nodded absentmindedly. He could feel an idea taking shape, as he looked at the bridge one last time before heading to the car. But it was still vague and nebulous, so Sam left it alone for the moment.
Part 2 | Masterpost