[FIC] SPN: Warm Strangers
Notes: This was written as a pinch hit for
spn_summergen , for
that_september 's prompt: Various people (both canon characters and OCs) that Dean and Sam have saved hold a funeral for them when they hear about the police station from Jus In Bello exploding.
Summary: All of Monument, Colorado grieves when an explosion destroys the local police station and everyone in it. But who shall mourn for Sam and Dean Winchester, the two fugitives also present?
Warm Strangers
Catasauqua, Pennsylvania
Jerry is idly shuffling through the last papers from his inbox and bickering amicably over the phone with his wife about where to go for their next vacation when the flash of smoke and twisted rubble on the news catches his eye. There was some kind of explosion in Colorado; not a plane crash, thank God. Lot of people dead though, and…. Jerry blinks in disbelief as two familiar faces appear on the screen.
He fumbles for the remote in his top drawer; turns up the volume.
"--are among those believed dead. Alleged serial killer Dean Winchester was high on the FBI's Most Wanted list, while his brother Sam was believed to an accomplice in his many crimes, which include arson, grave desecration, and murder. At this time, investigators have not yet determined the exact cause of the explosion which--". Jerry drops the remote with a clatter and closes his eyes.
Dean Winchester, and his brother. Goddamn. Jerry shook his head in disbelief. Those boys were no more murderers than Jerry was. The way Dean and his father helped his family with the poltergeist would convince anyone of that, and then two years ago both of the boys stopped those crazy plane crashes.
"--erry? Can you hear me? Hello?"
Jerry pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a stress headache building. He realizes his wife has been talking all this time, her voice rising in pitch as he stayed silent.
"… Melanie? Sorry, honey, let me call you back." He ends the call and stares at the phone thoughtfully. Demons and ghosts. The world's a crazy goddamn place when things out of horror movies exist and the real heroes are called criminals. Those boys deserve better.
They deserve more.
Making a decision, Jerry dials another number. "Sanjay? It's Jerry Panowski. Listen, I need a favor…." Jerry glances at his watch. The nearest airport to Monument is Colorado Springs. He'll have to remember to schedule a rental car as well. And call Melanie back.
*****
Lake Manitowoc, Wisconsin
Andrea swipes the back of her hand across her cheek, succeeding only in smearing the paint around on her face instead of wiping it off. She sighs. "Do-it-yourself," she mutters. "What was I thinking?" The bathroom remodel is coming along nicely though. It's a project she's secretly wanted to tackle for almost two years, every since…. Ever since she almost drowned. Since Lucas almost drowned. Since her father--well. It had just taken her a while to work up to it.
It'll be beautiful when she's done. The old paneling is gone and she's patched the drywall; scraped and sanded and rolled paint gingerly over the popcorn ceiling. Sprayed the walls with some kind of texture stuff Old Man Gardener swore would cover up any rough patches.
Andrea's currently painting a second coat on the walls of a soothing slate blue, Lucas having been banished to the den to eat his lunch and stop tracking wet blue footprints throughout the house.
The sound of breaking glass from below has Andrea tearing out of the bathroom and down the hallway towards the stairs, forgotten paint roller still in her hand. "Lucas?" she calls. "Honey, are you OK?"
There's no answer, and Andrea feels her chest constrict in a mother's familiar terror. "Lucas, answer me!" She's careening down the stairs two and three steps at a time. She's never forgotten the fear from before, and probably never will. Panting slightly, she turns the corner to see Lucas, staring across the den at the television with a look of horror she hoped--prayed--never to see on her son's face again.
There's a bowl of macaroni and cheese shattered on the floor at his feet. "Lucas." She steps forward, mindful of the glass shards. "What is it?"
His eyes are wide, and his mouth moves silently for a moment. Then he points wordlessly at the TV. Almost against her will, Andrea drags her gaze off of her son and to the news channel. The paint roller drops from her numb hand to land on the carpet below.
It's them. Sam and Dean Winchester.
"Oh. Oh, Lucas." She's suddenly crying, and she pulls her son close to her, hugs him tightly. Lucas doesn't say anything, just rests his forehead against her shoulder. His hair falls against the tacky spots of blue on her cheek. She holds him close, stroking through the fine strands with her paint smeared hands.
Andrea realizes that she hasn't heard Lucas make a sound. She lets out a choked sob. Sam is dead. Dean is dead. Dean saved Lucas; saved his life; and Dean is dead and Lucas isn't talking again, oh God, she can't do this, she can't do this again and….
"M-mom." It's barely whisper.
"Lucas, oh God, Lucas," she cries, half sobbing and half laughing in bittersweet relief.
"He'd want me to be brave," Lucas whispers. Andrea nods, momentarily robbed of speech herself. "I want to do something. Mom. We have to do something."
"I know, baby." She squints at the text scrolling continuously at the bottom of the screen.
Monument, Colorado.
*****
Local FBI Headquarters
St. Louis, Missouri
"…therefore, the FBI would like to inform you that you are no longer in any danger of retaliation from either of the Winchester brothers. You're finally safe."
The silence on the other end of the line worries Agent Sorensen.
"Ma'am, are you alright? Miss Warren? Is someone there with you?"
"I… yes. I'm here. They're dead! Both of them? Are you sure?"
"Yes, ma'am, although it's too early for a positive ID on the bodies that have been recovered, the FBI has confirmed that the Winchesters were in custody at the time of the explosion." Sorensen hears a choked off sob from Rebecca Warren. Poor girl's been through a lot. She was lucky to survive what that psychopath Dean Winchester did to her.
"I know it must be a huge relief, Miss Warren." The sound of crying intensifies.
"I… I have to go," Rebecca Warren says shakily. The line goes dead. Agent Sorensen shrugs sympathetically and closes the Warren file before dragging another towards him. He's got a few more people to call and share the good news with.
*****
Grand Junction, Colorado
"Collins! I need those file boxes yesterday!" Her boss is towering over her cubicle, making it seem even more claustrophobic than usual.
"It's my lunch break!" Haley snaps back. "Have Anderson do it." She waves her half-eaten sandwich vaguely in Richard's direction. She ignores boss man's dead fish stare and takes a deliberate bite of ham and cheese, chewing oh so very slowly. The portly man glares at her for another minute before moving off, grumbling.
"Anderson!"
Haley grins behind her hand and twirls triumphantly around in her swivel chair.
The job sucks, but the pay is good, good enough to put Ben through those courses he wanted to take at the local community college. Tom sends money too, enough to make rent on the house, as long as they're careful. In another few months, Ben will get to access his trust fund from their parents. Things will be better then, and maybe she can quit this crap job.
Speaking of Ben, she hasn't checked her email today. Ben was supposed to tell her how he did on that test he was worried about. She looks up at the clock. Seven minutes left of her break… she glances around to make sure no one is watching and quickly pulls up her personal email. She scans her inbox, ignoring most of the new messages in favor of one from her brother.
From: wendigos_suck@aol.com
To: haleygirl334@gmail.com
Date: Tues, Feb 12, 2008 at 6:09 PM
Subject: Fwd: Ben, read this!!!
mailed-byaol.com
haley it's about those 2 guys that helped us. To m saw it on the news and their dead!!
call me ok? Ben
----- Original Message -----
From: "Tom Collins"
To: < wendigos_suck@aol.com >
Date: Tues, Feb 11, 2008 15:09:13 -0600
Subject: Ben, read this!!!
Ben,
I've got bad news, man. Remember Blackridge? The Winchesters? I just saw a report on the CNN website that there was a big explosion at a police station in Colorado and a lot of people were killed. You know that asshat from the FBI that kept calling us? He was killed, and so were the two 'fugitives' he had captured. Yeah, it was Sam and Dean.
Gas leak, right. And I was attacked by a big ass grizzly. Wonder what really happened. Man, I thought those guys were invincible.
Sorry, man. Can you tell Haley?
T.
Haley stares at the screen, sandwich forgotten. Some part of her realizes she's in shock. She keeps reading the words over and over, hoping they will somehow change. Haley remembers Dean Winchester. How could she forget? The cocky grin, the stupid jokes, and the way he still smelled like the best thing ever through all the sweat and dirt and ash, standing there in front of the ambulance that night. She'll never forget the honest, hurt look in his eyes when he talked about his missing father. God.
And Sam, too. He'd been so impatient, barely seemed to acknowledge Haley or Ben while they were looking for Tom, but he still saved them. Shielded them from the wendigo with his own body. Tall and with bangs that made Haley itch for a pair of scissors… and so much pain and rage hidden behind his eyes.
She closes the window.
When the FBI came around, badgering all of them about the Winchesters, they told her they were dangerous. Killers. She and Tom had shared one knowing look before Tom stepped down firmly on Ben's instep to keep their little brother from going off, and dragged him outside to cool down. Haley looked the suits in the eye and told them the same story they'd told over and over ever since emerging from Blackridge. They were two brothers looking for their missing father. They helped find Tom. They helped save all of them from a giant grizzy bear. They seemed like nice guys. No, she hadn't heard from them since. No, she didn't know where they were going. No, they didn't seem dangerous.
They didn't hear anything different from her brothers, when they tried.
Haley waited until the agents were leaving before leaning against the screen door and saying, "Agent Henriksen?" The large black man turned, a gleam of near-obsession in his eyes. "Whatever you think the Winchesters did, they're innocent. Sometimes… things aren't how they appear. They saved me. They saved my family. Surely you can see that?"
Henriksen glowered at her. "No, Miss Collins. I can't. If the Winchesters contact you in any way, I expect a phone call." He turned on his heel and marched away.
Now, sitting at her tiny cubicle, Haley half wishes she'd let that fleeting attraction to Dean Winchester run its course. She wonders if they ever found their dad. If their dad knows his sons are dead.
Will anyone even care that Dean and Sam Winchester are gone, besides her and Tom and Ben?
She pushes her hair back and snatches up her purse and keys. She dashes out, ignoring her boss's irate shouting. "I gotta go. Family emergency."
*****
Monument, Colorado
A chain link fence effectively separates the mourners from the law enforcement and rescue/ retrieval teams currently digging through the rubble. To Cassie's practiced eye, the deliberately steady pace lacks the kind of urgency that would mean they expect any survivors. The very air smells rotten; sulfuric, with nauseating undertones of roasted flesh and chemical burns. It's easy to imagine there has been a gas leak here. It's what she would have believed, before she believed in Dean.
Cassie turns her attention to the fence and those keeping vigil near it. Looks like damn near everyone in town has shown up to mourn, not surprising in such a small town. There are hundreds of people, many holding candles or praying. Signs of support and prayer are hung from the fence, along with dozens of photos of some of the victims and heaping mounds of flowers and other offerings. It's a makeshift memorial. She moves closer.
It had been easy to convince her editor that the paper needed to feature a memorial article for the victims of the tragic explosion--the sheriff who was killed had originally hailed from Cape Girardeau and some of his cousins still lived in Missouri. She'd been on a red-eye flight to Colorado Springs almost before she had time to pack.
Certainly before she'd had time to mourn. To regret. Cassie suspects she'll have plenty of time for that before it's over, even if she never manages to answer the questions that will always haunt her about Dean and his brother's deaths.
Cassie wanders through the crowds until she's closer to the fence and can look more closely at the memorials being erected. Cassie speaks to a few people along the way, but mostly leaves people to their grief. She takes a few pictures, mostly of the area dedicated to the sheriff, and more of the busy workers and volunteers in the rubble.
She's walked almost the entire length of the fence, stopping every so often to touch a photo, a teddy bear, to say a prayer when she reads a particularly heart wrenching message lovingly scrawled by family and friends.
And no one at all to remember the Winchesters. "Fuck it," she whispers, hot tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. Just like that, she's angry, her Daddy's famous temper rising up and making her clench her fists tight. All these people, and not a one of them give a damn about two so-called serial killers and fugitives. Cassie takes a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. It wasn't fair… wasn't right. But it's the way the world is.
"I'm here," she mutters under her breath. "I care." She pulls a wrinkled photo out from her purse, thumb brushing over Dean's smiling face. They'd taken it at a fairgrounds. Dean in the photograph looks much as she remembers him from the last time she saw him, if younger and happier. She's sorry she doesn't have a picture of Sam too, but this is better than nothing.
She tucks the photo up into several links on the fence and rests her palm over the top of it. "Rest in peace, Sam Winchester. Rest in peace, Dean." A wizened, liver-spotted hand drops onto her forearm and Cassie lets out a startled squeak.
"Excuse me," Cassie turns to see a frail-looking old man in a casual suit. "I couldn't help but overhear. Did you know Dean Winchester?" He squints at the photograph and smiles at her kindly. "Nevermind, I see that you did. I'm Richard. I knew the Winchesters too."
"Cassie Robinson," she says automatically, before her mind catches up to her mouth. "Wait, you did?" Cassie exclaims. "How did you meet them?"
Richard takes the photograph down before Cassie can protest. "That, my dear child, is a long story. A very long story. I'll tell you all about it, if you'll walk with an old man. I think you'll want to put your picture up over with the others." He offers Cassie his arm.
"Wait, what others?"
"You'd be surprised, Miss Robinson. Those young men helped quite a few people, from all over the place. We have a little memorial set up too, on the end over there."
Dazed, Cassie assisted Richard to the far end of the fence that she hadn't gotten to yet, where a small group of people was gathered.
*****
Becky can't believe how many people came to remember Sam and Dean. When the FBI had called, she'd flown to Monument, not even sure exactly why she was coming but knowing she had to. She'd already met several other people who knew Sam, or knew Sam and his brother.
It was so weird, talking to people about the crazy things that happened around the Winchesters. Ghosts and demons. This one old geezer even told her about the time Sam and Dean had saved him from some kind of sea monster, back when they were just teenagers. Incredible! She'd never believe any of them except wasn't her story even crazier? Shape-shifters. God, all those things out there and she'd had no clue. None of them had, except Sam.
And he never told them. Not even Jessica.
Becky isn't stupid. She knows now that something caused Jessica's death, not some freak electrical fire. Even if Sam wouldn't talk about it, she still knows.
And now Sam is dead too, in another 'freak accident' explosion. She'll probably never know what killed Jessica, not really. And now she'll never know what killed Sam either.
She sighs and uncaps a permanent marker that some guy that looked like a biker offered her when she'd been fishing about in her purse for something to write with. She kneels down and writes on the Stanford jersey she'd brought with her.
'Sam, you're with Jessica now. We love you.'
She pauses for a moment, indecisive, then she scribbles another brief message to Dean before signing her name and capping the marker.
Becky scoops up the jersey and tucks it into the links of the fence, under the few photos that people have added. There's already an amazing amount of stuff piled up. Flowers, of course. But other things too: an antique looking porcelain doll left there by a tired looking woman and her daughter, a bag of M'n'Ms currently listing against the fence as it melts, a few old records--things like AC/DC and Blue Oyster Cult. There's some kind black box that the airline guy left, that he said came out of a plane that crashed. Her Stanford jersey.
Becky moves aside with a sad smile for another woman, dark haired and a little too thin, who is leading her long-haired son up to the fence. The boy is carrying several sheets of paper with crayon drawings on them, and as Becky watches, he places them carefully into the fence.
Becky holds out her hand to his mother. "Becky Warren."
She shakes Becky's hand, one eye still on her son. "Andrea Barr. How did you know them?"
"I went to Stanford with Sam," Becky offered. "How about you?"
"Er…." Andrea looks hesitant.
Becky guesses why, and laughs mirthlessly. "Let me guess. Something strange happened, something really crazy. Something you can't tell people or they'll think you're crazy too. Something that Sam and Dean helped you with."
Andrea looks both relieved and alarmed. "Yes, exactly. There was a ghost of a little boy haunting the lake. It killed… some people. My husband and my father."
Becky gasped in sympathy. "I'm so sorry!"
"It tried to take Lucas too," Andrea continued, "But they saved him. Dean gave him mouth-to-mouth, and… well. I just can't believe they're gone."
"I know."
Both women turn to watch Lucas, who reaches into his pocket to retrieve a handful of army soldiers. He arranges them in front of the fence carefully before trudging back to Andrea.
The boy scuffs his shoe against the concrete. "Mom?"
"Yes, Lucas?"
"Do you… do you think Dean and Sam are still here? Do you think they're angry?"
"What, you mean like… ghosts? Like Peter was?"
Lucas nods, a stricken look on his face.
"I don't think so, baby. I'm sure wherever they are, Sam and Dean are at peace."
Becky prays that Andrea is right.
*****
Wagon Trail Motel, Room 12
Somewhere Outside of Monument, Colorado
Sam barely waits until Ruby is gone before punching the wall in frustration. "She's right. You know she's right." Sam strides over to his duffel and grabs out a change of clothes, his movements fast and full of suppressed rage.
"No," Dean says. "I don't."
-- Lilith killed everyone--
"We're at war, Dean. And it's a war we've gotta win."
--next time, we go with my plan--
Sam slams the bathroom door behind him.
--your plan was the one with the body-count--
Dean sits very still, head bowed, staring at his clasped hands.
--strike fast and you don't leave any survivors--
After a moment, Dean looks up and gazes sadly at the closed bathroom door. "Not like that, little brother."
END
End Notes: Writing the story was also something of a carthesis for me. I recently lost someone in my own life and one of the things that struck me, and has stayed with me during and after that time, was the surprising number of strangers and near strangers who showed up at the memorial service, who were honestly grieved by his passing and shared a story or two of the ways he touched their life that I had no idea about. Surely the Winchesters, who touch so many lives in their travels, would garner the same reaction from those they helped.
I've been going through some rough times lately-- a second death in the family after this story was written has made my world become very small. I've been largely lurking on LJ for a while, but I'm trying to get back in the swing of things, starting with posting this story. I've only changed a few things from the original, which you can read here. Many thanks to all those who read and commented on the story at the community.
ETA: This story has been remixed as part of remixredux09! Please check out Warm Strangers (The Next of Kin Remix) by dsudis! It is a wonderful counterpoint to this story, from Bobby's POV.
ETA2: cookiemom6067 was awesome enough to create an audiobook version of Warm Strangers along with a audiobook of dsudis' remix! You can download an anthology podfic version of both stories here, or separately here and here. Thank you so much, and also to cybel for uploading to the archive and compiling the anthology!
spn_summergen , for
that_september 's prompt: Various people (both canon characters and OCs) that Dean and Sam have saved hold a funeral for them when they hear about the police station from Jus In Bello exploding.
Summary: All of Monument, Colorado grieves when an explosion destroys the local police station and everyone in it. But who shall mourn for Sam and Dean Winchester, the two fugitives also present?
Warm Strangers
Catasauqua, Pennsylvania
Jerry is idly shuffling through the last papers from his inbox and bickering amicably over the phone with his wife about where to go for their next vacation when the flash of smoke and twisted rubble on the news catches his eye. There was some kind of explosion in Colorado; not a plane crash, thank God. Lot of people dead though, and…. Jerry blinks in disbelief as two familiar faces appear on the screen.
He fumbles for the remote in his top drawer; turns up the volume.
"--are among those believed dead. Alleged serial killer Dean Winchester was high on the FBI's Most Wanted list, while his brother Sam was believed to an accomplice in his many crimes, which include arson, grave desecration, and murder. At this time, investigators have not yet determined the exact cause of the explosion which--". Jerry drops the remote with a clatter and closes his eyes.
Dean Winchester, and his brother. Goddamn. Jerry shook his head in disbelief. Those boys were no more murderers than Jerry was. The way Dean and his father helped his family with the poltergeist would convince anyone of that, and then two years ago both of the boys stopped those crazy plane crashes.
"--erry? Can you hear me? Hello?"
Jerry pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a stress headache building. He realizes his wife has been talking all this time, her voice rising in pitch as he stayed silent.
"… Melanie? Sorry, honey, let me call you back." He ends the call and stares at the phone thoughtfully. Demons and ghosts. The world's a crazy goddamn place when things out of horror movies exist and the real heroes are called criminals. Those boys deserve better.
They deserve more.
Making a decision, Jerry dials another number. "Sanjay? It's Jerry Panowski. Listen, I need a favor…." Jerry glances at his watch. The nearest airport to Monument is Colorado Springs. He'll have to remember to schedule a rental car as well. And call Melanie back.
*****
Lake Manitowoc, Wisconsin
Andrea swipes the back of her hand across her cheek, succeeding only in smearing the paint around on her face instead of wiping it off. She sighs. "Do-it-yourself," she mutters. "What was I thinking?" The bathroom remodel is coming along nicely though. It's a project she's secretly wanted to tackle for almost two years, every since…. Ever since she almost drowned. Since Lucas almost drowned. Since her father--well. It had just taken her a while to work up to it.
It'll be beautiful when she's done. The old paneling is gone and she's patched the drywall; scraped and sanded and rolled paint gingerly over the popcorn ceiling. Sprayed the walls with some kind of texture stuff Old Man Gardener swore would cover up any rough patches.
Andrea's currently painting a second coat on the walls of a soothing slate blue, Lucas having been banished to the den to eat his lunch and stop tracking wet blue footprints throughout the house.
The sound of breaking glass from below has Andrea tearing out of the bathroom and down the hallway towards the stairs, forgotten paint roller still in her hand. "Lucas?" she calls. "Honey, are you OK?"
There's no answer, and Andrea feels her chest constrict in a mother's familiar terror. "Lucas, answer me!" She's careening down the stairs two and three steps at a time. She's never forgotten the fear from before, and probably never will. Panting slightly, she turns the corner to see Lucas, staring across the den at the television with a look of horror she hoped--prayed--never to see on her son's face again.
There's a bowl of macaroni and cheese shattered on the floor at his feet. "Lucas." She steps forward, mindful of the glass shards. "What is it?"
His eyes are wide, and his mouth moves silently for a moment. Then he points wordlessly at the TV. Almost against her will, Andrea drags her gaze off of her son and to the news channel. The paint roller drops from her numb hand to land on the carpet below.
It's them. Sam and Dean Winchester.
"Oh. Oh, Lucas." She's suddenly crying, and she pulls her son close to her, hugs him tightly. Lucas doesn't say anything, just rests his forehead against her shoulder. His hair falls against the tacky spots of blue on her cheek. She holds him close, stroking through the fine strands with her paint smeared hands.
Andrea realizes that she hasn't heard Lucas make a sound. She lets out a choked sob. Sam is dead. Dean is dead. Dean saved Lucas; saved his life; and Dean is dead and Lucas isn't talking again, oh God, she can't do this, she can't do this again and….
"M-mom." It's barely whisper.
"Lucas, oh God, Lucas," she cries, half sobbing and half laughing in bittersweet relief.
"He'd want me to be brave," Lucas whispers. Andrea nods, momentarily robbed of speech herself. "I want to do something. Mom. We have to do something."
"I know, baby." She squints at the text scrolling continuously at the bottom of the screen.
Monument, Colorado.
*****
Local FBI Headquarters
St. Louis, Missouri
"…therefore, the FBI would like to inform you that you are no longer in any danger of retaliation from either of the Winchester brothers. You're finally safe."
The silence on the other end of the line worries Agent Sorensen.
"Ma'am, are you alright? Miss Warren? Is someone there with you?"
"I… yes. I'm here. They're dead! Both of them? Are you sure?"
"Yes, ma'am, although it's too early for a positive ID on the bodies that have been recovered, the FBI has confirmed that the Winchesters were in custody at the time of the explosion." Sorensen hears a choked off sob from Rebecca Warren. Poor girl's been through a lot. She was lucky to survive what that psychopath Dean Winchester did to her.
"I know it must be a huge relief, Miss Warren." The sound of crying intensifies.
"I… I have to go," Rebecca Warren says shakily. The line goes dead. Agent Sorensen shrugs sympathetically and closes the Warren file before dragging another towards him. He's got a few more people to call and share the good news with.
*****
Grand Junction, Colorado
"Collins! I need those file boxes yesterday!" Her boss is towering over her cubicle, making it seem even more claustrophobic than usual.
"It's my lunch break!" Haley snaps back. "Have Anderson do it." She waves her half-eaten sandwich vaguely in Richard's direction. She ignores boss man's dead fish stare and takes a deliberate bite of ham and cheese, chewing oh so very slowly. The portly man glares at her for another minute before moving off, grumbling.
"Anderson!"
Haley grins behind her hand and twirls triumphantly around in her swivel chair.
The job sucks, but the pay is good, good enough to put Ben through those courses he wanted to take at the local community college. Tom sends money too, enough to make rent on the house, as long as they're careful. In another few months, Ben will get to access his trust fund from their parents. Things will be better then, and maybe she can quit this crap job.
Speaking of Ben, she hasn't checked her email today. Ben was supposed to tell her how he did on that test he was worried about. She looks up at the clock. Seven minutes left of her break… she glances around to make sure no one is watching and quickly pulls up her personal email. She scans her inbox, ignoring most of the new messages in favor of one from her brother.
From: wendigos_suck@aol.com
To: haleygirl334@gmail.com
Date: Tues, Feb 12, 2008 at 6:09 PM
Subject: Fwd: Ben, read this!!!
mailed-byaol.com
haley it's about those 2 guys that helped us. To m saw it on the news and their dead!!
call me ok? Ben
----- Original Message -----
From: "Tom Collins"
To: < wendigos_suck@aol.com >
Date: Tues, Feb 11, 2008 15:09:13 -0600
Subject: Ben, read this!!!
Ben,
I've got bad news, man. Remember Blackridge? The Winchesters? I just saw a report on the CNN website that there was a big explosion at a police station in Colorado and a lot of people were killed. You know that asshat from the FBI that kept calling us? He was killed, and so were the two 'fugitives' he had captured. Yeah, it was Sam and Dean.
Gas leak, right. And I was attacked by a big ass grizzly. Wonder what really happened. Man, I thought those guys were invincible.
Sorry, man. Can you tell Haley?
T.
Haley stares at the screen, sandwich forgotten. Some part of her realizes she's in shock. She keeps reading the words over and over, hoping they will somehow change. Haley remembers Dean Winchester. How could she forget? The cocky grin, the stupid jokes, and the way he still smelled like the best thing ever through all the sweat and dirt and ash, standing there in front of the ambulance that night. She'll never forget the honest, hurt look in his eyes when he talked about his missing father. God.
And Sam, too. He'd been so impatient, barely seemed to acknowledge Haley or Ben while they were looking for Tom, but he still saved them. Shielded them from the wendigo with his own body. Tall and with bangs that made Haley itch for a pair of scissors… and so much pain and rage hidden behind his eyes.
She closes the window.
When the FBI came around, badgering all of them about the Winchesters, they told her they were dangerous. Killers. She and Tom had shared one knowing look before Tom stepped down firmly on Ben's instep to keep their little brother from going off, and dragged him outside to cool down. Haley looked the suits in the eye and told them the same story they'd told over and over ever since emerging from Blackridge. They were two brothers looking for their missing father. They helped find Tom. They helped save all of them from a giant grizzy bear. They seemed like nice guys. No, she hadn't heard from them since. No, she didn't know where they were going. No, they didn't seem dangerous.
They didn't hear anything different from her brothers, when they tried.
Haley waited until the agents were leaving before leaning against the screen door and saying, "Agent Henriksen?" The large black man turned, a gleam of near-obsession in his eyes. "Whatever you think the Winchesters did, they're innocent. Sometimes… things aren't how they appear. They saved me. They saved my family. Surely you can see that?"
Henriksen glowered at her. "No, Miss Collins. I can't. If the Winchesters contact you in any way, I expect a phone call." He turned on his heel and marched away.
Now, sitting at her tiny cubicle, Haley half wishes she'd let that fleeting attraction to Dean Winchester run its course. She wonders if they ever found their dad. If their dad knows his sons are dead.
Will anyone even care that Dean and Sam Winchester are gone, besides her and Tom and Ben?
She pushes her hair back and snatches up her purse and keys. She dashes out, ignoring her boss's irate shouting. "I gotta go. Family emergency."
*****
Monument, Colorado
A chain link fence effectively separates the mourners from the law enforcement and rescue/ retrieval teams currently digging through the rubble. To Cassie's practiced eye, the deliberately steady pace lacks the kind of urgency that would mean they expect any survivors. The very air smells rotten; sulfuric, with nauseating undertones of roasted flesh and chemical burns. It's easy to imagine there has been a gas leak here. It's what she would have believed, before she believed in Dean.
Cassie turns her attention to the fence and those keeping vigil near it. Looks like damn near everyone in town has shown up to mourn, not surprising in such a small town. There are hundreds of people, many holding candles or praying. Signs of support and prayer are hung from the fence, along with dozens of photos of some of the victims and heaping mounds of flowers and other offerings. It's a makeshift memorial. She moves closer.
It had been easy to convince her editor that the paper needed to feature a memorial article for the victims of the tragic explosion--the sheriff who was killed had originally hailed from Cape Girardeau and some of his cousins still lived in Missouri. She'd been on a red-eye flight to Colorado Springs almost before she had time to pack.
Certainly before she'd had time to mourn. To regret. Cassie suspects she'll have plenty of time for that before it's over, even if she never manages to answer the questions that will always haunt her about Dean and his brother's deaths.
Cassie wanders through the crowds until she's closer to the fence and can look more closely at the memorials being erected. Cassie speaks to a few people along the way, but mostly leaves people to their grief. She takes a few pictures, mostly of the area dedicated to the sheriff, and more of the busy workers and volunteers in the rubble.
She's walked almost the entire length of the fence, stopping every so often to touch a photo, a teddy bear, to say a prayer when she reads a particularly heart wrenching message lovingly scrawled by family and friends.
And no one at all to remember the Winchesters. "Fuck it," she whispers, hot tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. Just like that, she's angry, her Daddy's famous temper rising up and making her clench her fists tight. All these people, and not a one of them give a damn about two so-called serial killers and fugitives. Cassie takes a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. It wasn't fair… wasn't right. But it's the way the world is.
"I'm here," she mutters under her breath. "I care." She pulls a wrinkled photo out from her purse, thumb brushing over Dean's smiling face. They'd taken it at a fairgrounds. Dean in the photograph looks much as she remembers him from the last time she saw him, if younger and happier. She's sorry she doesn't have a picture of Sam too, but this is better than nothing.
She tucks the photo up into several links on the fence and rests her palm over the top of it. "Rest in peace, Sam Winchester. Rest in peace, Dean." A wizened, liver-spotted hand drops onto her forearm and Cassie lets out a startled squeak.
"Excuse me," Cassie turns to see a frail-looking old man in a casual suit. "I couldn't help but overhear. Did you know Dean Winchester?" He squints at the photograph and smiles at her kindly. "Nevermind, I see that you did. I'm Richard. I knew the Winchesters too."
"Cassie Robinson," she says automatically, before her mind catches up to her mouth. "Wait, you did?" Cassie exclaims. "How did you meet them?"
Richard takes the photograph down before Cassie can protest. "That, my dear child, is a long story. A very long story. I'll tell you all about it, if you'll walk with an old man. I think you'll want to put your picture up over with the others." He offers Cassie his arm.
"Wait, what others?"
"You'd be surprised, Miss Robinson. Those young men helped quite a few people, from all over the place. We have a little memorial set up too, on the end over there."
Dazed, Cassie assisted Richard to the far end of the fence that she hadn't gotten to yet, where a small group of people was gathered.
*****
Becky can't believe how many people came to remember Sam and Dean. When the FBI had called, she'd flown to Monument, not even sure exactly why she was coming but knowing she had to. She'd already met several other people who knew Sam, or knew Sam and his brother.
It was so weird, talking to people about the crazy things that happened around the Winchesters. Ghosts and demons. This one old geezer even told her about the time Sam and Dean had saved him from some kind of sea monster, back when they were just teenagers. Incredible! She'd never believe any of them except wasn't her story even crazier? Shape-shifters. God, all those things out there and she'd had no clue. None of them had, except Sam.
And he never told them. Not even Jessica.
Becky isn't stupid. She knows now that something caused Jessica's death, not some freak electrical fire. Even if Sam wouldn't talk about it, she still knows.
And now Sam is dead too, in another 'freak accident' explosion. She'll probably never know what killed Jessica, not really. And now she'll never know what killed Sam either.
She sighs and uncaps a permanent marker that some guy that looked like a biker offered her when she'd been fishing about in her purse for something to write with. She kneels down and writes on the Stanford jersey she'd brought with her.
'Sam, you're with Jessica now. We love you.'
She pauses for a moment, indecisive, then she scribbles another brief message to Dean before signing her name and capping the marker.
Becky scoops up the jersey and tucks it into the links of the fence, under the few photos that people have added. There's already an amazing amount of stuff piled up. Flowers, of course. But other things too: an antique looking porcelain doll left there by a tired looking woman and her daughter, a bag of M'n'Ms currently listing against the fence as it melts, a few old records--things like AC/DC and Blue Oyster Cult. There's some kind black box that the airline guy left, that he said came out of a plane that crashed. Her Stanford jersey.
Becky moves aside with a sad smile for another woman, dark haired and a little too thin, who is leading her long-haired son up to the fence. The boy is carrying several sheets of paper with crayon drawings on them, and as Becky watches, he places them carefully into the fence.
Becky holds out her hand to his mother. "Becky Warren."
She shakes Becky's hand, one eye still on her son. "Andrea Barr. How did you know them?"
"I went to Stanford with Sam," Becky offered. "How about you?"
"Er…." Andrea looks hesitant.
Becky guesses why, and laughs mirthlessly. "Let me guess. Something strange happened, something really crazy. Something you can't tell people or they'll think you're crazy too. Something that Sam and Dean helped you with."
Andrea looks both relieved and alarmed. "Yes, exactly. There was a ghost of a little boy haunting the lake. It killed… some people. My husband and my father."
Becky gasped in sympathy. "I'm so sorry!"
"It tried to take Lucas too," Andrea continued, "But they saved him. Dean gave him mouth-to-mouth, and… well. I just can't believe they're gone."
"I know."
Both women turn to watch Lucas, who reaches into his pocket to retrieve a handful of army soldiers. He arranges them in front of the fence carefully before trudging back to Andrea.
The boy scuffs his shoe against the concrete. "Mom?"
"Yes, Lucas?"
"Do you… do you think Dean and Sam are still here? Do you think they're angry?"
"What, you mean like… ghosts? Like Peter was?"
Lucas nods, a stricken look on his face.
"I don't think so, baby. I'm sure wherever they are, Sam and Dean are at peace."
Becky prays that Andrea is right.
*****
Wagon Trail Motel, Room 12
Somewhere Outside of Monument, Colorado
Sam barely waits until Ruby is gone before punching the wall in frustration. "She's right. You know she's right." Sam strides over to his duffel and grabs out a change of clothes, his movements fast and full of suppressed rage.
"No," Dean says. "I don't."
-- Lilith killed everyone--
"We're at war, Dean. And it's a war we've gotta win."
--next time, we go with my plan--
Sam slams the bathroom door behind him.
--your plan was the one with the body-count--
Dean sits very still, head bowed, staring at his clasped hands.
--strike fast and you don't leave any survivors--
After a moment, Dean looks up and gazes sadly at the closed bathroom door. "Not like that, little brother."
END
End Notes: Writing the story was also something of a carthesis for me. I recently lost someone in my own life and one of the things that struck me, and has stayed with me during and after that time, was the surprising number of strangers and near strangers who showed up at the memorial service, who were honestly grieved by his passing and shared a story or two of the ways he touched their life that I had no idea about. Surely the Winchesters, who touch so many lives in their travels, would garner the same reaction from those they helped.
I've been going through some rough times lately-- a second death in the family after this story was written has made my world become very small. I've been largely lurking on LJ for a while, but I'm trying to get back in the swing of things, starting with posting this story. I've only changed a few things from the original, which you can read here. Many thanks to all those who read and commented on the story at the community.
ETA: This story has been remixed as part of remixredux09! Please check out Warm Strangers (The Next of Kin Remix) by dsudis! It is a wonderful counterpoint to this story, from Bobby's POV.
ETA2: cookiemom6067 was awesome enough to create an audiobook version of Warm Strangers along with a audiobook of dsudis' remix! You can download an anthology podfic version of both stories here, or separately here and here. Thank you so much, and also to cybel for uploading to the archive and compiling the anthology!