DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sam, Dean, or the Supernatural universe. If I did, I can think of many things to do... that my husband almost certainly wouldn't approve of. But, that's what fanfic is for!
P.S. Be kind. I've never posted here before.
Sam and Dean Winchester pushed against the factory door, opening it wide. The rusted hinges groaned in protest, and the faint light from a streetlamp illuminated dust particles as the two brothers cautiously entered. Sam, a tall man, was more suited to academia than the life of adventure he found himself leading. Dean, a little shorter than his younger brother, had the build of a man born to be either a cop, or a rake. This factory was the location of three suspect deaths, and almost ten missing people. Three days of research and asking questions had led the brothers to believe there was more than just a bad vibe here. Crossing the small reception area, a secretarial station was covered in papers and memos, as though whoever worked there had just stepped out for coffee and never come back.
Looking through the old memos and faded post-its, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that they were going to find more than they expected in this factory. Dean watched his brother, trusting Sam's instincts. Catching his eye, Dean raised his eyebrows in question, and Sam simply shook his head and shrugged, unsure how to express his thoughts. A sudden draft blew some of the papers off the table, and both brothers turned toward the source, noticing for the first time the two doors that beckoned into the gloom. Each man looked to his brother for an opinion, and moved as one toward the passages. Sam stared down the hallway closest to him, and Dean watched him closely.
"Okay, dude, split up or stay together?" Dean checked that his shotgun was fully loaded. Sam looked from one door to the other, grabbed the holy water from the backpack, and the handgun from Dean's holster. Locking eyes with his brother, Sam takes a deep breath. Dean raises an eyebrow and gives Sam a crooked smile. "Split up, then. Be careful, Sam. You know how the ghosts seem to like you."
Sam grimaced as Dean laughed. Each brother turned to a door, pulled out a flashlight and illuminated their path before cautiously going forward into the black.
Sam made his way forward slowly. He shone the beam from his flashlight on the floor, the walls, and even up onto the ceiling. He had no doubt Dean was right. Whatever there was here would probably come for him, but he had faith in Dean's gun.
That's a scary thought.
Smiling to himself, Sam found himself at a door. The hallway had dead-ended without him really noticing. He tested the knob, and, finding the door unlocked, pushed it open wide, remaining in the hall. Sam poked his head into the room and moved the beam around to determine if he wanted to go in. Seeing nothing too strange, beyond the old-fashioned designer's dolly, Sam entered the room and checked the corners. Another door across the room was propped open by a cinder block. On a desk in one corner, Sam found more papers. Nothing really grabbed him as crucial, but he got the feeling once more that everything had been left by the employee with every intention of coming right back.
"What happened here?"
Dean stared with awe and dismay at the cavernous factory floor. The hallway he had chosen immediately became a staircase that descended almost three flights to the heart of the factory, which he now had to investigate. Walking forward, Dean swung the light from side to side, checking his angles and taking in his surroundings. Moving the light up the inner wall, lights from the windows behind him showing a little of what was revealed by the flashlight's harsh glare, a balcony was revealed, with a door that led into a room, the door held open by a cinder block. A light glowed dully. Dean watched for a moment, debating whether to try and find a way up, but a sneeze from the room changed his mind.
"Sam!" he called out.
Sam appeared in the doorway. He looked around with a "wow" expression before he noticed Dean standing down amongst the tables. His older brother looked miniscule, like a doll, amongst the rows and rows of tables with sewing machines on top, some still with pieces of cloth under the needles.
"Anything?" Sam called down.
"Nah," Dean returned. "You?"
"No," Sam called down. "There's something here, though."
Dean nodded. "Be careful!"
Sam nodded in agreement and went back into the office. Dean continued his tour of the work floor.
Sam walked back to the desk. There was a small planner that looked like it might have some information. Sam perched on the desk, gun tucked in his pants at the small of his back. Flipping through the pages, he noticed that whomever this office had belonged to, had frequently had lunch at a local hotel. Interesting detail, but otherwise no use.
"Come on. What happened here?"
"We paid for his crime."
Sam jumped at the voice and turned toward the balcony door. A small woman stood there, looking perfectly normal, until Sam realized that the entire right side of her body was burned and charred, bits of flesh and cloth hanging off her. He backed away only to bump into something crunchy. Jumping away, he whirled around to face another woman, her entire face, except her mouth and one eye, burned away, her body blackened with soot.
"He sinned. We are trapped."
"We can't get out. A man has sinned. The women have died."
A third woman spoke in his ear, so close that Sam could feel her breath on his neck. He spun to face this new speaker, and backed away, trying to keep all three women in his sight. Breathing heavily, he fought to make his voice work.
"Shotgun," he whispered. "Gun," he said, reaching for the revolver. "Dean!" he shouted, aiming the gun from one woman to the next. "Dean! Shotgun!"
Down on the factory floor, Dean turned toward his brother's voice.
"Sammy!" Dean ran toward the wall, but there was no staircase or elevator to get up there. "Damn," he muttered to himself. He would have to go back up the three flights of stairs. Dean took off for the door he had entered, sprinting.
Sam's hand shook as he tried to take aim. He had encountered ghosts and the undead before. Sometimes they were pissed, sometimes they just wanted help, but these women were empty. There was no rage- no pain- and yet they were going to try and kill him all the same.
He fired one shot into the first woman who had spoke to him, but the shot went wide as he was jumped by yet a fourth woman from behind. The gun fell from his hand and spun away across the floor. Sam rammed himself backward into the wall and flipped the woman over his shoulder. She rolled away and Sam began inching toward the door, all our women advancing slowly, his attacker in front.
"Dean!" He shouted over his shoulder. "A little help, please!"
The woman jumped toward him, and Sam bared his teeth, eyes half closed, and threw his hands up to fight her.
Sam's eyes flew open to see his assailant sail backward into the other women, disintegrating before his eyes. He exhaled and turned to thank his brother only to see a small woman shoving a second rifle into his arms.
"Fire!" she shouted and pulled a pistol from somewhere on her body. Sam spun and fired two rounds into the next attacker. His savior quickly dispatched the other two, holstered her pistol, grabbed him by the jacket, and proceeded to drag Sam out of the office.
"We have to cross the factory floor!" she ran ahead of him. "They've blocked off the reception area, and if we don't get to your brother first, he won't be able to fight them all off!"
They burst into the reception room, and Sam saw she was right. The doorway was blocked by at least a half dozen of the undead women, and they all seemed interested in him.
"Sam!" she called to him. He blinked and turned to follow her into the corridor his brother had taken.
Dean panted from exertion. He looked up the last flight of stairs with frustration. He had heard the gunshots, and only the first had been Sam's pistol. He pushed forward to climb the stairs, desperate to get to Sam.
"Hang on, Sammy," he panted. "I'm coming."
Dean turned the corner at the top of the flight, and took two steps toward the next flight when a body crashed into his. They both flew back into the wall, and an arm reached out around him to grab the railing to keep them both from falling any farther. Out of instinct, Dean had grabbed hold of the other person, but slowly his mind registered that it wasn't Sam. The body pulled away, and Dean had half a second to register it was a girl.
"Keep moving," she said tersely, and pushed Dean back down the way he had just come. "Sam, hurry up!"
She passed Dean on the stairs, and he reached out to stop Sam.
"Who's she?" he asked in a whisper.
Sam shrugged. "Lara Croft?" he replied, before hurrying after the girl.
Dean looked after the two of them, then down at the stairs.
"Aw, man," he groaned, and followed his brother down the stairs.
The door burst off its hinges outward into the parking lot, Dean and Sam following it to the ground. Looking up to the building the brothers' eyes followed long lean legs up to a small waist and… healthy profile.
"On your feet!" she shouted, stepping over the Winchester boys.
"She's like Dad," Dean groaned as he rolled onto his knees. Sam merely gave a pained laugh in agreement.
"Only hotter," he replied. Dean laughed at his brother as they balanced each other to stand. The young woman strode before them across the courtyard toward the chain link fence. Dean looked around at the sun shining brightly in a clear sky, and breathed deeply as his nerves began to calm.
"Move your asses, Winchesters!" The girl holstered her shotgun beneath the long braid that hung down her back and turned back to face Dean and Sam. "A jacket," she demanded. Sam pulled off his flannel shirt and tossed it to her.
"Dude," Dean mumbled and elbowed his brother in the ribs. Sam shrugged in reply. She threw the shirt up and over the barbed wire topping the high fence, giving them all a safe place to exit. Without looking back, she climbed the fence, swinging her body over the top like a gymnast and jumped down to the street on the other side. The Winchester men followed suit, albeit somewhat less gracefully.
"Well then," she smiled at them as they pulled each other off the pavement. "I'll see you around then." She turned and walked away.
"Whoa, whoa!" Dean called after her. "Who the hell are you?"
The girl turned around and seemed almost to glide back. Her movements were like those of a cat, graceful with a hint of the dangerous animal barely concealed. This was a woman well aware of her body's every movement.
"Who am I?" A hint of an accent floated on her voice like honeysuckle on the wind. An accent Dean only ever heard in Texas, but the voice tugged at something in the back of his mind. A memory of some sort.
"I am the girl who just saved your butts." She turned away again and called back over her shoulder. "I'll call you if I ever need you to return the favor." Stopping suddenly she spun around to face Dean and Sam. "Until then, stay out of the factory. I've had to get three Winchester men out of there now. If there are more of you," she paused, laughing to herself. "I won't be around to help them."
The girl stepped off the curb and crossed the street to a black vintage Mustang. She climbed in, brought the beast to life, and pulled away as though Mario Andretti was coming up behind her.
"Did she just say three Winchesters?" Sam asked. Dean just stared at the retreating stallion.