ONE

Head Start

Pahrump, Nevada. 1987

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John killed the engine and turned to his left, looking at his two boys. He eyed the smaller one apprehensively, slumbering comfortably. He adjusted his gaze to the older one.

“Right. Now I’ll only be gone a few minutes, in that shop across the way. Think you can look after Sammy till I get back?” he asked innocently.

Dean turned his head from the dark passenger window next to him. He looked at his father, then down between them, taking in the snoozing sibling confidently.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Good boy,” John nodded, reaching a hand out and tousling the mousy hair. “Don’t get out of the car for anything, and don’t let him play with any of the switches.”

“Yes sir,” Dean sighed, wholly resigned.

John’s smile slipped a little. “I’ll be right back.”

“Yup.”

John sniffed and opened the car door, sliding out and shutting it firmly. He bent down and tapped on the window, attracting Dean’s attention. The young boy looked over. John smiled at him encouragingly. Dean had a half-second to realise it was meant for him, and this time it was for free. At least, he wasn’t aware of anything he’d done for such a reward. Then it was gone, along with his father, into the night.

He waited, counting the seconds, and when he reached sixty he smiled. He leaned forward, dislodging Sam from his left arm as he snapped on the radio quietly. There was a cassette tape stuck out of it and he automatically pushed it in. It thunked in with a very satisfying jolt of plastic and moving parts, and then some music he vaguely recognised as his father’s favourite form of relaxation came streaming quietly from the front speakers.

Sam mumbled something and grasped his elder brother’s arm tightly, squirming. Dean looked at him and sat back, waiting for him to get comfortable. But Sam opened an eye and looked around blearily, turning right round to look at the driver’s seat.

“Daddy?” he murmured, finding it empty. “Daddy?” His weary little face turned red and his breathing started to hitch in his throat.

“Sammy,” Dean said quickly, grabbing his hand to distract him, “Sammy, he’s coming back. He won’t be long.”

“Daddy!” Sam wailed, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging wide open in a manoeuvre that only really small children can pull off without hurting themselves. Dean looked around, first out of the front window and then his side one quickly.

“Sammy, please shut up,” he said warily, eyeing the darkness outside.

Something made the hair on the back of his neck want to stand up. The longer Sam’s shrill wailing went on, the more Dean realised the darkness had its own strange, silent roar. Not really knowing why, he found it unnerving.

“I don’t think we should be noisy round here, Sammy,” Dean said fearfully, fighting a rising tide of disquiet. “I don’t think we should be round here at all.”

Sam continued to bawl and Dean felt an icy chill go up his spine. His eyes darted from his side window to the windscreen.

There’s something out there watching us but it ain’t Dad.

He kept staring, but his hands went out to Sam in slow motion. Sam wailed and sobbed, but Dean hardly heard. He put his hands under his baby brother’s arms and lifted him slowly, all the while staring over his head to the windscreen. He sat him on his lap and Sam immediately squirmed round to throw his arms round his neck and cling on for dear life. He thrust his wet, snotty face into his throat and continued to wail.

“Sammy, really, you gotta be quiet,” Dean whispered hoarsely, the hair on the back of his neck now stiffening upright in patent alarm. Sam hiccupped and his sobs became noisy breathing instead. “That’s it, see? Crying don’t change anything, right?” he added with forced cheer, moving his gaze to the side window. He wrapped an arm round his brother and tried to shake off the feeling of being watched.

Sam gradually stopped hiccupping, as if he too were listening intently. Dean stared relentlessly into the night.

This is a long couple of minutes, he couldn’t help thinking. C’mon Dad, where are you?

His brother’s head fell slightly, proof he was asleep, and Dean turned to the door. He pushed the knob down and locked it. He lifted Sam slightly, shifting them along the bench seat to reach the driver’s door.

He pushed the knob down and swallowed, looking out again.

Something creaked to his left. His head snapped round to look out of the driver’s window. He realised he was holding his breath and made himself let it go. There was a knock on the boot lid and he jumped, unconsciously gripping more tightly to Sam. He could not bring himself to turn his head when he heard the slight squeak of something sharp against paintwork.

He slid down in the seat silently until his head was lower than the back. He held his breath, counting the seconds and closing his eyes.

He felt Sam shift. Dean opened his eyes quickly, finding his younger brother watching him with interest.

“Whatcha doin’?” Sam asked drowsily.

“Uh - hiding from Dad,” Dean said quickly. “We gotta be real quiet and hide down here. When he comes back it’ll be this big surprise. Ok, Sammy?”

“Big suppise?”

“Big surprise. Ok?”

“Okie-dokie,” Sam chirped. He lowered his forehead and proceeded to butt Dean in the chest on each excited syllable: “Oh-kie-doh-kie!” he giggled.

Dean put a hand up and slapped it over his mouth. Sam struggled and looked up at him, all of his righteous indignation in his little eyebrows.

“Quit it!” Dean hissed. Sam’s face changed as Dean let go of his mouth. He sniffed and his face turned pale, nervous. “What now?” Dean demanded edgily.

“You’re scared,” Sam whined. “I don’t like it. I’m scared.”

“I am not scared. I’m…” Dean searched his eight year old brain for a good alternative. “I’m… worried Dad’s gonna hear you.”

“No,” Sam said quickly, shaking his shaggy head, “you’re scared and I don’t like it. I want Daddy.”

“He’s coming, Sammy. Just wait.”

“I wan’ him now!” he whined.

“Shush!”

“No fair! I want--”

There was an unearthly squeal. Something flung itself up against the driver’s window.

Sam screamed blue murder. He clutched at his brother. Dean was already shouting in fear. He grabbed Sam and scrabbled over to the passenger side. He looked at the window. He found the head and shoulders of someone grey and splattered with blood. They clawed at the glass. They squealed and growled.

There was another slam from behind Dean. He jumped about four inches off the seat. He turned instinctively. He yelled for his life as another grey and red man scrabbled at the window. Sam screeched in absolute fear. Dean grasped his hair and turned his head forcefully into his front, effectively blocking his vision. He heard himself screaming in horror. He shifted them both into the middle of the seat.

The car rocked as the people outside pushed and hissed. Dean closed his eyes and made sure he had a tight hold on Sam. He knew the younger boy was screaming in fright against his t-shirt. He knew he was screaming too. But he couldn’t stop.

Suddenly the rocking ceased. Sam’s muffled screams still filled the car but Dean had run out of breath. An overpoweringly morbid urgency to listen had silenced his efforts to scream again. He forced his eyes open and looked at the passenger window: empty. He turned to the driver’s door as the door handle lifted on the inside.

The door was rattled in its housing but didn’t open. Dean screamed again, matching Sam’s expulsion of abject fear.

Then he saw John’s face in the window. He looked panicked, stricken.

“Dean! Dean! You ok?” he shouted through the glass.

Dean managed to stop screaming and stared.

“Dean! Answer me!” John shouted, this time angry.

Dean felt his head nod. His throat was still raw, his eyes still jammed open. Sam was wailing into his shirt but he didn’t even feel it.

“You sure you’re ok, buddy?” John asked, starting to look relieved. “How about unlocking the door for your old man?”

Dean thought for a long second. “How do I know - know there ain’t - ain’t more of them people?” he managed, and John’s heart skipped several beats at the horror in his son’s voice.

Calm down, calm down, calm down - then calm him down, John ordered. “I told ‘em if they got in there with us, they’d have to listen to my Zeppelin tapes too,” he stated, his pointing finger indicating the radio. Dean looked over at it, hearing Sam’s wailing tail off.

“Maybe they’d like it,” Dean accused forcefully.

John cocked an eyebrow at him. “Well I ain’t in the mood to share it with ‘em. Are you?”

He watched Dean consider this. Then the boy slid over to the driver’s door and his hand went out. He grasped the knob, then looked up at his father fearfully.

“It’s ok, sport. It’s just me.”

“Why you got blood on your shirt?” Dean whispered.

“Dean… Look, we have to leave right now. This is not a nice place to be so late.” He put his hands out innocently. I should just use my key. But he would never trust me again. “Can we go now? You want to stay here after what you just saw? We need to get out of here.”

Dean swallowed, then unlocked the door. John opened it quickly and slid in, closing it quickly behind him. He slid his keys into the ignition and the engine growled into life.

Without even looking at his boys he swung the car out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

Dean sat deathly still, staring out of the passenger window, still clutching Sam against him. Sam was alert, awake, but he had his eyes screwed shut, gripping onto his older brother for all he was worth. He neither whimpered nor shifted, but Dean recognised they were as tightly wound as each other.

John drove fast, his hands clamped on the steering wheel. He pulled over suddenly, bringing the car to an abrupt halt by the side of the road, the wheels skidding in the gravel. He turned to look at his boys.

“Dean,” he said quickly. “I need to make a phonecall. You see that phone out there?” he demanded. Dean didn’t move and John felt himself huff. “Dean,” he said forcefully, nudging the boy’s shoulder. Dean turned his head and stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.

John felt the urgency and panic slip away. Instead he felt guilt and blame closing over his head. He made himself look away from his son’s pale face and look at the phone by the driver’s door.

“That phone. I’ll be at that phone. For one minute. I can see you two the whole time. You got me?” he breathed.

Dean just nodded once. John nodded back, turning and leaping from the car.

Dean’s gaze followed him as he hurried to the phone and slammed money in the slot, picking up the receiver.

“Deeeean,” Sam whispered, his face still in his shirt.

“Yeah,” Dean whispered back.

“We good?” he dared.

Dean swallowed, then took a deep breath that Sam felt but didn’t understand. “Dad’s here. I’m here. You’re here. We’re good,” he said confidently.

“Ok,” Sam whispered. He held on tighter to his brother as Dean watched his father speak quickly into the roadside phone.

“Yeah - goddamn things must be tracking me - they jumped the car. What the hell kinda zombies track people?” He paused. “Well of course they were! What was I gonna do, leave them in some motel room? For Christ’s sake, Bobby!” he spat at the phone. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got to find the ringleader and stake him first, then take care of the trackers.” He paused, listening. “I got no idea, man. Why trackers? Who knows.” He sighed. “Yeah. Anyway, we’re on the way to a motel. I’ll call from there.”

He hung up abruptly and stomped back to the car. Dean jumped slightly as he felt his father’s anger slide back into the car with him.

He looked over at Dean and caught the look of apprehension and fear on his small face. He made himself calm down, taking a long, relaxing breath. He put his hand out slowly, smoothing it down the back of his eldest boy’s head and holding it there.

“We’re good, champ. We’re good,” he reassured him. Dean simply nodded.

John gunned the engine and made himself drive off slowly and without sign of his roiling inner turmoil. It was silent in the car for a long time.

Eventually the Impala stopped and John pushed her into Park. He turned in the seat deliberately, looking at the pair of them.

“Dean,” he said quietly. “Dean, we’re here. We’ll get out, go into the room, and then get some hot food. What do you say?”

Dean didn’t move, didn’t answer, and John sighed. He wiped his face with a cold hand, searching for something to say.

I never wanted you to see this. This was never meant to happen. This was never how you were supposed to find out.

He let his hand drop, studying the two of them in the cooling car. He put a hand out slowly, laying it on Dean’s shoulder.

“You… You were a hero tonight, Dean. You do know that?” he asked quietly.

Dean didn’t move for the longest time. Eventually he turned his head, lifting his chin over Sam’s hair and then down again to look at his father.

“A hero?” he asked timidly.

“Heck yes,” John grinned. “And heroes get pineapple on their pizza.”

“If it’s all the same,” Dean managed quietly, his face white, his eyes hopeful, “can I just get the bed you already checked under?”

John squeezed his shoulder. “Well hey, I think you can get the bed you already checked under tonight,” he grinned. “Nothing’s gonna mess with you two.”

“Really?”

“Really,” John nodded, hating himself for the fear in his son’s eyes. “So, we ready to go in?” he asked, patting gently.

“No,” Dean mumbled.

“Why not?”

“Can’t make my legs go,” he admitted, his little face reddening with shame. “They don’t wanna go.”

“Cos they know Sammy’s still sat on you, that’s why,” John said charitably. He reached over and lifted Sam, but as Dean found himself free he turned and slid over the seat quickly. He put both arms round his father and held on, pushing his face into his leather jacket. John set Sam on his knee and then curled an arm round Dean’s back, pulling him into him warmly.

Sam just looked up and around blearily, caught sight of his father, and smiled with sudden delight.

“Daddy!” he said happily, and it was as if the sun had cut through the rain clouds.

“Hey Sammy,” he grinned, pinching at his tiny nose, “how’s my little man?”

“Tired,” Sam nodded energetically, bouncing in his father’s grip.

“You sure?” John asked, confused over the conflicting signals. But Sam put his little hand out and grasped at John’s sleeve. John let his wrist be pushed and Sam made it land on the top of Dean’s head, still buried in his side.

“Dean’s tired,” he said wisely.

John smiled. “So let’s get in the motel room, huh?”

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Present day

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“So let’s get in the motel room, huh?” Dean yawned, opening the heavy door on the Impala.

“Ok, I’m just saying I need time to look at these notes.”

“You’ll have time, Sammy - in the motel room.”

Sam watched his elder brother leave the driver’s seat empty, then sighed and turned to his door. He opened it quickly, pushing himself out and standing in the cold night air. He looked over at the flashing neons and empty parking spaces around and nodded to himself.

Dean was already lifting duffles from the boot and closing the lid. As Sam closed his door and walked around, Dean tossed his duffle at him and shouldered his own. He walked off and Sam followed, rubbing his eyes as he heard his elder brother opening the door to reception.

Ten minutes later and they were already throwing duffles onto beds to mark territory and pulling off boots and jackets.

While Dean was content to liberate the nearest of the six beer bottles he had brought with them from the cardboard carrier, Sam was flipping through his notebook. He sat on his adopted bed, pulling the pillows around behind him to make his position more comfortable.

Dean was already pointing the remote at the TV set six feet from the end of the beds.

“Ooh look, we got HBO,” he muttered, letting go of the remote to slide his ring under the bottle cap. He wrenched it off and flipped it at the bed, sipping at the bottle with appreciation. He sniffed and picked up the remote again.

“That’s great,” Sam muttered, immersed in his notes. “So you got any early thoughts?”

“Ooooh yeah,” Dean grinned, and Sam looked up to find him paging through a whole list of porn channel names and prices.

“About how we start tomorrow?” Sam added wearily. “It says this girl, Hannah Barrington, died in an alley way, apparently murdered by a dead man. She’s being buried at the cemetery tomorrow.”

“Well then we start at the cemetery,” Dean shrugged. He paged past the porn channels and instead landed on some black and white film. “Cool!”

Sam looked at the film, but apart from spotting Jimmy Stewart, didn’t recognise the scene. He got up and went to his laptop, lifting it from his bag to the wooden table between the beds. He opened it up and set about finding power points.

Dean finished his beer, mouthing along to the film that he apparently knew backwards and forwards: “Your brother, Harry Bailey, broke through the ice and was drowned at the age of nine.” He paused to take a swig from the beer bottle. “That’s a lie! Harry Bailey went to war - he got the Congressional Medal of Honour, he saved the lives of every man on that transport!” He grinned to himself, taking another sip. “Every man on that transport died! Harry wasn’t there to save them, because you weren’t there to save Harry!”

Sam logged onto the internet, tapping away as he cast his elder brother amused glances, listening to him announce every line along with the film. He looked down at the internet, reading slowly.

“When’s the last time we were here?” he asked suddenly.

Dean didn’t tear his eyes from the TV set. “Whut?”

“I said, when was the last time we were here?”

“In this motel?”

“In Pahrump,” Sam prompted.

Dean’s gaze flicked to the ceiling for a long moment, then back down again. “No idea.” He watched another minute of film before curiosity hijacked the entertainment value of the next scene. “Why?” he asked abruptly, looking over at Sam.

“It’s just… weird. The name sounds familiar.”

“Oh.” Dean bent all his attention to the TV again.

“We’ve never been here, have we?” Sam asked presently.

“Whut? I don’t know,” Dean shrugged, pre-occupied. “Unless it was with Dad. I never really paid attention to place names anyhow.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam allowed, smiling slightly.

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The morning air was dreary and wet, the carefully manicured lawn transferring as much night rain to the boys’ shoes as possible as they trudged through the cemetery.

Sam stopped by a large tree, looking out over the graveyard. A small group of people were gathered around an open grave, the requisite church heads doling out blessings and condolences to the assembled mourners. Dean stopped behind him, bumping into him slightly as he looked round his taller shoulder.

“Any idea who we should be talking to?” Sam asked quietly, from the side of his mouth.

Dean scanned the funeral guests carefully, his head tilting slightly as he encountered one woman near the grave edge. Sam turned slightly and saw him staring. He followed his gaze back and guessed he would be looking at the only female guest under fifty.

“Let me guess, you want to start with her?” he sighed.

“Nope,” Dean said suddenly, and Sam’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He turned to look at him, but Dean’s gaze stayed on the funeral party. “She did it.”

“She did it?” Sam gaped, then turned and looked over them again. “You mean she killed the eighteen year old? Why?”

“I don’t know. But… she did it,” Dean said uncomfortably. Sam thought for a long second before he turned around again. He eyed Dean’s sudden discomfort.

“And you’re basing this hunch on…?”

“I don’t know. She just… skeeves me all to Hell, man,” he shivered.

Sam’s face went overly innocent and he turned round again. He watched the funeral party move slightly outwards as the coffin was hoisted and began to move toward the grave.

“She looks… normal,” he managed.

“So do shapeshifters,” Dean grunted. Sam snorted in amusement, watching the people with their eyes fastened on the coffin.

“Well we’re here cos this Hannah girl was walking home and got jumped by someone, identity unconfirmed, and was killed by blunt force trauma to the head. The DNA they got from the victim’s wounds came from her ex-boyfriend, Neal Perry, except he’d already been dead for a week. So how does this have anything to do with that woman over there?” Sam shrugged.

“You ask her. I’ll wait here.”

Sam chuckled and turned, his mouth open ready to ask. But as he caught sight of Dean’s face his smile faded.

“Seriously?” Sam asked.

“Seriously,” Dean nodded.

Sam eyed him until Dean noticed and dragged his gaze from the woman. He stared instead at his younger sibling. “What?” he demanded.

“What is it that freaks you out?” he grinned.

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s what freaks me out,” Dean muttered, his face dark. Sam shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Ok. I’ll go talk to the woman who ‘skeeves you all to Hell’ and you go… do something else useful,” he allowed.

“I’ll start with that dude,” Dean said firmly, nodding. Sam looked at the group.

“Which one?”

“The guy that works for the cemetery,” he said. “He’s gotta know all the gossip, right?”

“Right,” Sam nodded. “Meet you back here in an hour. If I don’t come back, load the shotgun and come looking for me. I’ll be the one hypnotised to death by the innocent brunette.”

“Not funny, Sam.”

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