Fic - Andover, Chpt. 2
Title: Andover, Chpt. 2
Rating: PG-13 to R, language and violence
Pairing: None
Spoilers: The whole enchilada up through Shadow.
It was an hour and a half drive from Portland to Andover, and Dean pulled up in front of the Town Clerk's office at 9:00 a.m. on the dot.
Putting the car in park, he turned to look at Sam, brows drawn together in concern and an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face.
"Okay, you've got an hour until check-in, got it? I'm going to drive by 13 Oakwood Drive--that's what her address was listed as--and see what's there. Try to keep a low profile. And if anything seems out of the ordinary--anything at all--you call me."
"We've been over this for the last hour and a half. I think I've got it." Sam softened his reply with a smile, but it did nothing to relax his older brother; if anything, the furrow between Dean's brows deepened, and his knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
"Yeah, well, this is--I've just got a funny feeling about this is all," Dean muttered.
"Hey, I'm the psychic, remember?"
"The amazingly unreliable psychic, yeah," retorted Dean automatically.
"Look, it's broad daylight, it's one hour, and then we're out, okay? It'll be fine, Dean. No one will even know we're here, and if there is someone around who's involved with this demon, we'll be long gone before they can do anything." Sam gave his brother his best reassuring smile, and Dean's death grip on the Impala's steering wheel lessened fractionally as he nodded.
Sam opened his door and got out. He leaned in through the open window as he closed the door behind him, and added, "This will be worth it, Dean, you'll see." Dean nodded again and shifted into drive, pulling smoothly away from the curb as Sam straightened and headed into the clerk's office.
A smile, cover story about a geneaology project and a flash of a student I.D. card got Sam access to the records he needed, and he worked quickly, keeping one eye on the clock. Forty-five minutes later, Sam had what he'd come for and he gathered his notes and left, mentally congratulating himself on a job well done. The vision hit him as he exited the records building.
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Fifteen minutes after dropping Sam off, Dean turned the Impala onto Oakwood Drive, which was located in a middle-class suburban development near Phillips-Andover Academy. "Sam would have loved it here," Dean thought, taking in the manicured lawns and neat rows of houses. An elderly lady was out walking a german shepherd, and she gave him a friendly wave as he passed by, eliciting a forced smile and a nod from Dean. The smile faded abruptly as Dean found what he was looking for.
"Or maybe not," he said aloud, pulling up in front of what was once number 13 Oakwood Drive and exiting the Impala. Dean whistled under his breath as he took in the charred ruins of what was once a house just like the others on the street. The main structure of the two-story colonial seemed mostly intact, though badly discolored, but the roof was completely gone and the interior gutted by fire.
"It's a real eyesore, isn't it?" the old lady and her german shepherd had caught up to Dean as he stood staring at the remains of Meg's house, and he startled, whipping around to look at her.
His expression must have given the woman cause for concern, because she frowned at him and laid a hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry, son...is something wrong?"
Dean merely gestured at the house, clearing his throat. "I, uh, I think I knew someone who lived here from a while back. Lost touch, though. So I was just passing through and thought I'd surprise her, you know?"
If anything, the elderly woman's frown deepened. "Oh, I am sorry. You knew the Masters? Such a tragedy about that family." She turned to look at the house, missing the sharpening of Dean's gaze.
"I knew Meg," he said cautiously. "Do you know what happened?"
The woman sighed. "That poor girl. Lost her mother in a fire when she was just a baby, and then her daddy in this one just six months ago. Electrical both times, they said. What are the odds?"
Dean nodded, swallowing. "Yeah," he managed, "that's some rotten luck."
"Oh, and that's not the half of it. Her poor brother, barely made it out alive," her voice lowered to a conspriatorial whisper, the woman continued, "He blamed Meg for the fire, you know. I think the burns and the loss just pushed him over the edge. Poor Meg just couldn't take it anymore--she ran off not too long after the fire, leaving her brother with no one to look after him."
"Brother?"
"Yes, they were fraternal twins. Mark's his name. He's still down in Boston at the burn center...Son? Where are you going?"
But Dean was already in the Impala and heading back for Sam.
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There was a man in an electric wheelchair, looking out the window of a hospital room. He had his back to Sam, but the hunter could see that the man's head was wrapped in gauze. As the door to the room opened behind him, Sam watched the man move a heavily bandaged hand to the chair's controls and maneuver it around to face his visitor, and by extension, Sam. The man's face looked as though someone had stretched a too-tight mask of scar tissue across it--the eyes were mere slits, the nose a nub, and the mouth permanently drawn open in a rictus of pain.
"Burn victim," thought Sam, as he turned to look at the opening door.
The man in the wheelchair hissed in anger at the person entering his room. "You've got some nerve," he said viciously.
Sam gasped as Meg Masters strolled right up to the figure in the wheelchair and sat on his lap, causing him to gasp in pain.
"You always were a sore loser, big brother," she said, and then smiled, lifting the knife and bringing it down in one fluid motion.
Dean pulled up just in time to see Sam grab his head and drop to his knees on the sidewalk, papers scattering everywhere. In a flash, the elder Winchester was out of the car and kneeling by his brother's side, grasping Sam's upper arms and bracing him as his little brother's eyes focused on something only he could see.
"Sam? What's happening?"
"Meg..." Sam gasped out and Dean reacted automatically, hauling Sam to his feet and practically dragging him to the car.
"We're outta here," said Dean, guiding Sam to the passenger seat and settling him in it.
"The research," began Sam.
"Screw that--we know all we need to!" Dean got into the driver's seat and gunned the engine, intent on putting as much distance between Sam and Andover as humanly possible. By the third stoplight Sam had recovered enough to speak again.
"Head to Boston," said Sam, but Dean just looked at him.
"I'm not heading anywhere until you tell me what you saw."
"Meg's alive, and she's going to murder her older brother in the hospital," said Sam.
"Twin brother, and he's in a burn center," corrected Dean, and Sam's eyes widened. Dean quickly filled his brother in on his visit to the remains of the Masters' home.
"Well, there's an hour of research I'll never get back," muttered Sam.
"Yeah, record halls have nothing on busybody neighbors, bro."
"So, Boston," began Sam.
"No, Sam."
"Dean, Meg is going to kill her brother and we can stop it!"
"Meg is also apparently a super-powered demon bitch who doesn't die! What are we gonna do, break an invalid out of a burn center and take him with us on the road? Bring a duffel bag full of weapons into a medical facility and hope we can take her out without killing everyone else in sight?"
"If we get there in enough time, maybe we can lure her away--finish her off before she gets inside."
"With what?"
"Silver bullets, holy water, and a big-ass sword, for starters!" cried Sam, frustrated. At Dean's flabbergasted expression, Sam added an irritated, "What?"
"When did you start channeling me, dude?"
"Since there's someone out there gunning for us, and helping the thing that killed mom and Jess! If we wait, she's only going to get more powerful with each kill she makes--that's the way demons usually reward their acolytes."
Dean sighed. "And decapitation is usually the remedy of choice for demonic servants. Okay, we'll go down there and stake the place out. But if it looks like she's onto us, or you get even one bad vibe, we're gonna rethink the plan." He took the ramp and got on Interstate 93, heading south.
Rating: PG-13 to R, language and violence
Pairing: None
Spoilers: The whole enchilada up through Shadow.
It was an hour and a half drive from Portland to Andover, and Dean pulled up in front of the Town Clerk's office at 9:00 a.m. on the dot.
Putting the car in park, he turned to look at Sam, brows drawn together in concern and an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face.
"Okay, you've got an hour until check-in, got it? I'm going to drive by 13 Oakwood Drive--that's what her address was listed as--and see what's there. Try to keep a low profile. And if anything seems out of the ordinary--anything at all--you call me."
"We've been over this for the last hour and a half. I think I've got it." Sam softened his reply with a smile, but it did nothing to relax his older brother; if anything, the furrow between Dean's brows deepened, and his knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
"Yeah, well, this is--I've just got a funny feeling about this is all," Dean muttered.
"Hey, I'm the psychic, remember?"
"The amazingly unreliable psychic, yeah," retorted Dean automatically.
"Look, it's broad daylight, it's one hour, and then we're out, okay? It'll be fine, Dean. No one will even know we're here, and if there is someone around who's involved with this demon, we'll be long gone before they can do anything." Sam gave his brother his best reassuring smile, and Dean's death grip on the Impala's steering wheel lessened fractionally as he nodded.
Sam opened his door and got out. He leaned in through the open window as he closed the door behind him, and added, "This will be worth it, Dean, you'll see." Dean nodded again and shifted into drive, pulling smoothly away from the curb as Sam straightened and headed into the clerk's office.
A smile, cover story about a geneaology project and a flash of a student I.D. card got Sam access to the records he needed, and he worked quickly, keeping one eye on the clock. Forty-five minutes later, Sam had what he'd come for and he gathered his notes and left, mentally congratulating himself on a job well done. The vision hit him as he exited the records building.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fifteen minutes after dropping Sam off, Dean turned the Impala onto Oakwood Drive, which was located in a middle-class suburban development near Phillips-Andover Academy. "Sam would have loved it here," Dean thought, taking in the manicured lawns and neat rows of houses. An elderly lady was out walking a german shepherd, and she gave him a friendly wave as he passed by, eliciting a forced smile and a nod from Dean. The smile faded abruptly as Dean found what he was looking for.
"Or maybe not," he said aloud, pulling up in front of what was once number 13 Oakwood Drive and exiting the Impala. Dean whistled under his breath as he took in the charred ruins of what was once a house just like the others on the street. The main structure of the two-story colonial seemed mostly intact, though badly discolored, but the roof was completely gone and the interior gutted by fire.
"It's a real eyesore, isn't it?" the old lady and her german shepherd had caught up to Dean as he stood staring at the remains of Meg's house, and he startled, whipping around to look at her.
His expression must have given the woman cause for concern, because she frowned at him and laid a hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry, son...is something wrong?"
Dean merely gestured at the house, clearing his throat. "I, uh, I think I knew someone who lived here from a while back. Lost touch, though. So I was just passing through and thought I'd surprise her, you know?"
If anything, the elderly woman's frown deepened. "Oh, I am sorry. You knew the Masters? Such a tragedy about that family." She turned to look at the house, missing the sharpening of Dean's gaze.
"I knew Meg," he said cautiously. "Do you know what happened?"
The woman sighed. "That poor girl. Lost her mother in a fire when she was just a baby, and then her daddy in this one just six months ago. Electrical both times, they said. What are the odds?"
Dean nodded, swallowing. "Yeah," he managed, "that's some rotten luck."
"Oh, and that's not the half of it. Her poor brother, barely made it out alive," her voice lowered to a conspriatorial whisper, the woman continued, "He blamed Meg for the fire, you know. I think the burns and the loss just pushed him over the edge. Poor Meg just couldn't take it anymore--she ran off not too long after the fire, leaving her brother with no one to look after him."
"Brother?"
"Yes, they were fraternal twins. Mark's his name. He's still down in Boston at the burn center...Son? Where are you going?"
But Dean was already in the Impala and heading back for Sam.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a man in an electric wheelchair, looking out the window of a hospital room. He had his back to Sam, but the hunter could see that the man's head was wrapped in gauze. As the door to the room opened behind him, Sam watched the man move a heavily bandaged hand to the chair's controls and maneuver it around to face his visitor, and by extension, Sam. The man's face looked as though someone had stretched a too-tight mask of scar tissue across it--the eyes were mere slits, the nose a nub, and the mouth permanently drawn open in a rictus of pain.
"Burn victim," thought Sam, as he turned to look at the opening door.
The man in the wheelchair hissed in anger at the person entering his room. "You've got some nerve," he said viciously.
Sam gasped as Meg Masters strolled right up to the figure in the wheelchair and sat on his lap, causing him to gasp in pain.
"You always were a sore loser, big brother," she said, and then smiled, lifting the knife and bringing it down in one fluid motion.
Dean pulled up just in time to see Sam grab his head and drop to his knees on the sidewalk, papers scattering everywhere. In a flash, the elder Winchester was out of the car and kneeling by his brother's side, grasping Sam's upper arms and bracing him as his little brother's eyes focused on something only he could see.
"Sam? What's happening?"
"Meg..." Sam gasped out and Dean reacted automatically, hauling Sam to his feet and practically dragging him to the car.
"We're outta here," said Dean, guiding Sam to the passenger seat and settling him in it.
"The research," began Sam.
"Screw that--we know all we need to!" Dean got into the driver's seat and gunned the engine, intent on putting as much distance between Sam and Andover as humanly possible. By the third stoplight Sam had recovered enough to speak again.
"Head to Boston," said Sam, but Dean just looked at him.
"I'm not heading anywhere until you tell me what you saw."
"Meg's alive, and she's going to murder her older brother in the hospital," said Sam.
"Twin brother, and he's in a burn center," corrected Dean, and Sam's eyes widened. Dean quickly filled his brother in on his visit to the remains of the Masters' home.
"Well, there's an hour of research I'll never get back," muttered Sam.
"Yeah, record halls have nothing on busybody neighbors, bro."
"So, Boston," began Sam.
"No, Sam."
"Dean, Meg is going to kill her brother and we can stop it!"
"Meg is also apparently a super-powered demon bitch who doesn't die! What are we gonna do, break an invalid out of a burn center and take him with us on the road? Bring a duffel bag full of weapons into a medical facility and hope we can take her out without killing everyone else in sight?"
"If we get there in enough time, maybe we can lure her away--finish her off before she gets inside."
"With what?"
"Silver bullets, holy water, and a big-ass sword, for starters!" cried Sam, frustrated. At Dean's flabbergasted expression, Sam added an irritated, "What?"
"When did you start channeling me, dude?"
"Since there's someone out there gunning for us, and helping the thing that killed mom and Jess! If we wait, she's only going to get more powerful with each kill she makes--that's the way demons usually reward their acolytes."
Dean sighed. "And decapitation is usually the remedy of choice for demonic servants. Okay, we'll go down there and stake the place out. But if it looks like she's onto us, or you get even one bad vibe, we're gonna rethink the plan." He took the ramp and got on Interstate 93, heading south.