"Thicker Than Water"
By Roby Carr
Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Supernatural or any associated material.
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A small smile curled onto cherry-red lips as a sharp, greenish gaze carefully eyed the picture projecting onto the photo paper beneath her. For a few seconds, she waited, counting off the seconds in her mind as the timer on the enlarger did the same. Then, the light snapped off as the timer ran out and the young woman reached forward, carefully easing the photo paper from its place and turning. She let it slip from her fingers and into the large green basin filled with liquid and neatly labeled, 'Developer'.
As she glanced up, meaning to check the clock to count off the minute and thirty seconds it would take to develop her photograph, a movement in the corner caught her eye. Quickly, her head darted in the direction of the movement, but no one was there and slowly, her smile became uneasy. Lazy, New Orleans-esque jazz piped from the old tape-and-CD player in the corner and the young woman shuddered, all too aware of how eerie the saxophone suddenly sounded.
She turned back to the large metal machine used to transfer photographs from negative to paper and removed her current negative. She began to search the negative for the next photograph she wanted to develop before realizing she had the wrong roll. Quickly transferring her photograph from the developer to the stop bath, she hurried from the room. Nothing would have made her happier than the chance to get out of that room for a moment.
The young woman moved through the darkroom door into the next room over, instantly heading for the black binder sitting on the table. Opening it, the sight of pages and pages of negatives greeted her and she frowned at them for a moment. Every negative in front of her was white in the center, leading to blackened edges, almost like a burned sheet of paper. She flipped to the next page, becoming slightly panicked when she realized every negative was the same.
Instantly, she glanced back at the darkroom door, steeling her nerves. She did not - under any circumstances - believe in ghosts and all those silly things. She was, first, a photographer, and second, a scientist. A skeptic. Ghosts were not real and no ghost was going to decide to harass her by ruining all of her negatives. This was just a silly prank. She'd pulled one on her boyfriend the other day and he was just doing the same. Nothing to be worried about.
"Chill out," she murmured to herself, "You're totally alone in here. Nothing is going to get you."
Her frayed nerves straightened out by the bright lights in this room compared to the red light of the darkroom, the young woman smiled and took a step towards the darkroom door. Then she froze as a loud crash was heard from the room. Taking a moment to consider her options, she sprang into action soon after, quickly moving through the darkroom door to see what the commotion was.
She couldn't have been more horrified by the sight that met her eyes. The entire darkroom had been trashed - the basins of developer, stop bath, fixer, and water tipped so their contents spilt across the tabletop and floor; the enlargers all overturned and left undoubtedly broken; the photo paper fluttering through the air.
The young woman turned on a dime and exited, ditching the photo lab to hide in her dormitory for the rest of the night. No, she still didn't believe in ghosts... she just needed to figure out a good explanation that's all.
Meanwhile, the eerie sounds of the jazz saxophone that flowed smoothly from the small boom box in the corner of the wrecked darkroom continued playing.
"You know, with all the bitching he did about you going off to college, I'd think he'd want to do the school hauntings himself..." Dean sneered as the Impala raced down a dusty road, "And what's the deal with this Morgan Leigh chick?"
Sam couldn't help rolling his eyes as he continued to gaze disdainfully out the window. As much as he enjoyed the desert, he never enjoyed how talkative their longer road trips made Dean. Usually, it was all inane ramblings about how he wished that their father would give them more information about the jobs they were headed out on. Dean would never actually go as far as voicing these complaints in front of their father though... Dean was forever the golden boy in that sense.
"Come on, Sammy," his brother said, reaching over to give his arm a light shove and Sam looked over through the long brown strands of hair that forever covered his eyes, "Lighten up, would you? Just 'cause I'm pissed doesn't mean you get to be."
Ah yes, the logic of Dean Winchester. How he enjoyed it.
"Don't you think that what you should be busy wondering about isn't who Morgan Leigh is or why Dad sent us to a school, but why Dad sent us all the way out to Arizona to investigate?" Sam shot back in an irritated manner. His legs were cramped and his head still throbbed from where he'd smashed it against a tree during their last investigation. The boys hadn't even gotten a chance to heal because the moment they arrived back at the cheap motel, Dean found a text message awaiting him on his cell phone.
'40, -193. Frederickson School for the Arts. Morgan Leigh.'
And that was the only contact they had had with their father since then. No reassurances that he was alright, no explanations as to what his cryptic message had meant. Sam did have to admit to himself that it was quite possibly the longest message they had ever received from their father, but he was in no way pleased with it. At least when he sent coordinates, Sam could usually find some article about an event that was possibly paranormal-related happening in that area. This time Sam's searches had, instead, turned up nothing unusual. A warm, sunny town with the occasional burglary that had had its last murder before the Impala was built. A relatively new art school in the community. A young woman who had won several photography awards.
Damnit. Why couldn't their Dad ever do things the easy way?
"Why did he send us all the way out to Arizona to investigate?" Dean asked, interrupting his musings and Sam turned to look over at him as his brother continued to repeat the obvious information, "I mean, one minute we're laying the smack down on some naiads in Maine and then suddenly he wants us to head down to Arizona for no particular reason? Even if there was a reason, it isn't Dad's style. He'd pick the closest haunting to where we already were - we both know there are plenty - and send us there instead."
Sam's gaze wandered back to the window and he watched the large sign announcing that they had reached the campus of Fredrickson School for the Arts pass by his window. A moment later, it became clear, as Dean pulled into a parking space and both boys climbed out of the Impala, that they were going to have to do some serious footwork to find Morgan Leigh and whatever it was that their father wanted them to hunt. The campus was gigantic, split into two halves consisting of the school itself and the on-campus dormitories.
"Get moving, Sammy," Dean told him and Sam felt the elbow prodding his side irritatingly before he could stop it, "Use that college boy charm to win over these kids, yeah? Figure out where we can find this Morgan chick." When Sam sent him a dubious look, Dean grinned and strutted forward as his brother followed, looking amused. Spotting a gathering of girls curled up on a grassy knoll near the lot, Dean stepped up to them and reached down to tap one on the shoulder, catching her attention. Instantly, the look on his face became earnest and a little embarrassed as he asked, "I'm sorry for interrupting you ladies, but my brother's trying to find his girlfriend and we aren't sure where to look. Morgan Leigh?"
The girl looked pleased Dean had chosen to speak with her as she climbed to her feet and smiled, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "I'm sorry. I've never heard of her." Dean turned to go, hating the know-it-all smirk on his brother's face, until the girl grasped his arm and pull him back. "But you know, I work down at the information center and I would be more than happy to take you guys down there. I can ever look up her dorm number for you."
"That's so kind of you," he replied, glancing pointedly back at Sam as if lording it over him. The girl's eyes never left his lips as they curled into a small charming smile.
"Anything for a new friend," she said giddily and finally glanced down at the group of girls at their feet, all of whom seemed to be wishing Dean had chosen them, "Watch my things. Thanks." An instant later, her French-manicured hand was on Dean's arm and she was guiding him down the slope towards a red brick building, Sam following at a lazy pace. "By the way, my name is Kenzie and I'm going to be at this really great party tonight..."
Dean knocked sharply on the wooden door, glaring at it with disdain. Damnit, if this Morgan chick didn't even bother to answer her door, then how would she be any help in an investigation? Not to mention, Dean felt didn't like that idea of his father, the hunter, hanging around nineteen-year-old college chicks. What would they do? Braid each others hair and have pillow fights? Just the thought of his hardened father giggling over how cute the boy at the mall was made him want to vomit.
"Dean, she isn't home," Sam sighed, nudging his brother away from the door carefully before the blonde broke it down, "We'll check back later. For now, can we just find a motel in town and rent a room?" He matched the irritation look Dean sent him but a short cheerful giggle and a masculine voice from down the hall broke their stand-off.
"Hey Morgan, Gina - I think you have visitors."
They were met with the sight of two young women - one looking a little wary, the other still putting a stop to her giggles - and a young man all watching them. They appeared to be usual college students in every way, a six-pack of cheap beer hanging from each set of hands, but this didn't stop Dean from examining the trio with eyes of a hunter. Okay, maybe he just examined the young man as a hunter and the two females as a guy looking to get laid.
The young man's gestures was quick and sharp as he reached up and nervously brushed fingertips against the side of his dirty blonde fauxhawk, the strands that had escaped in front sliding before lazy, dark blue eyes. His shirt - one of those far too popular Led Zeppelin ones, this one black with white words and pictures scrawled on it - was a little too tight in all the wrong places, making him look slightly thin and bony. He was pale, but not eerily so and as his hand fell, it tucked itself carefully into the pocket of his camouflage cargo pants.
'Something to hide,' the hunter in Dean thought as he registered the gesture and ran through the list of interpretations his father had taught him, 'A secret. A liar. Reaching for a weapon.' He disregarded the movement when the young man slid his hand right back out with a cigarette in one hand now, moving it up to his mouth and clutching it between his lips. A moment later he'd lit it with a lighter from his back pocked was drawing in deep breaths to fuel a nicotine craving.
Dean's blue-eyed gaze settled on the young man's two female companions and his mood instantly perked up. Both were pretty, not especially so but not hideous in any manner. One was still stemming her chirp-like giggles as her murky-green gaze flickered between her two companions as if there was a joke only she knew. Short breaths escaped between the fingers - complete with fingernails painted black - that covered magenta lips. Her bubblegum pink pixie cut was now becoming just shaggy enough to cover her forehead. Her chest heaved with contained laughter beneath a white polo shirt and, when she noticed Dean's gaze on her, she dropped her hand to fuss with the edges of her plaid miniskirt her eyes moving to examine the candy-striped Chuck Taylors on her feet.
The other young woman's wide greenish eyes were still locked on Dean and Sam, scanning them sharply like she could tell there was something about them not to trust. Short and scrawny described her easily, her especially pale skin stretched over the tiny biceps not covered by her entirely-too-obscene t-shirt. A small, familiar smirk crossed cherry red lips and like the boy, she reached up with one hand, though she slipped off the hair tie that was holding her long, straight black hair into a low ponytail. Almost absentmindedly, she redid the ponytail with one hand before her hand slipped to the frail, silver chain around her neck that held a pentagram pendant, and finally disappeared to did in the pocket of comfy-looking, old jeans.
Again, Dean was on the defensive. Hand-in-pocket could equal weapon and, now that he thought about it, they never actually confirmed that Morgan Leigh (as he assumed this young woman was her) was one of the good guys.
She didn't removed a weapon, but instead a set of keys, charging forward to unlock the door and finally acknowledging the boys with a swift, "What do you want?" A glare was shot to Dean for an instant as she passed him and he couldn't help feeling annoyed by her simple brush-off.
"Oh, chill out, Leigh. They haven't said bloody anything and you're instantly attacking the boys," the other young woman reprimanded in a thick British accent as she moved forward and smiled at them, "Sorry about that, chums. Morgan's been a bit of a loose cannon all night, you know? She's really quite the doll-" The door was audibly flung open behind them and the young man grinned a lazy half-smile. "Oi, Liam. Could you-"
"Taken care of," Liam replied and he paused to coax the six-pack from her tight fist when he passed by them on his way to calm Morgan's frazzled nerves.
"I'm Gina," the young woman said, reaching out with a now-free hand to grasp each of the brothers' hands in turn, "I assume you already know Morgan-"
"Actually, the thing is that we don't," Sam interrupted the vivacious chatter and Gina looked utterly confused, glancing from one brother to the next for an answer, "We were sent to come see her and we figured that she'd know why. John Winchester is-"
"He thinks he can send a couple of cute rentboys out here and win me over that easily?" came the snarl from inside the room and, sure enough, Morgan stomped out, Liam following her and puffing sluggishly at his cigarette. Her face was red with a mixture of fury and embarrassment as both brothers shot her insulted looks and Gina looked horrified at the accusation Morgan had made.
"Damnit, Morgan," Dean shot angrily, silently fuming over the fact that she was female. Why couldn't she be male? If she was just a guy, he could deliver a swift right hook to her jaw and then they would be done with the whole thing, but she just had to be a chick. Damn coincidence. "We aren't fuckin' prostitutes. We're John's sons."
Morgan froze at Dean's words and he glanced over at his brother, wondering why the news was so shocking to the black-haired young woman in front of them. Instead of explaining though, she just stumbled back into Liam and managed to snap, "You just stay away from here, you got that? I don't want anything to do with John and that means I don't want anything to do with you." With that, she shoved past Liam and hurried into her room, the young man heading after her with a tilt of his head towards Sam and Dean.
Gina glanced awkwardly at the duo before smiling weakly and saying, "Look, I'm not sure what's going on, but Morgan's obviously not in the mood to see you. Let me get a pen and write down your phone number at least. I can try to convince her to call." Nervously, the Brit ran a hand through her short, pink locks as she headed through the doorway too, reappearing moments later with a scrap of paper and a gel pen.
Dean relayed his number to her and she scrawled it down on the paper before shooting him a small smile, apologizing again, and returning to the dorm room. Quickly, the door was shut in their faces and the brothers headed back down the hallway. Sam looked dubious and Dean couldn't help elbowing his brother.
"Yo, man. Don't look like that. Dad knows what he's doing, okay?" Dean told him and Sam rolled his eyes in response.
If she wasn't on a date, Gina Warner's Saturday nights followed a strict schedule. Liam and Morgan were always out doing something together on that night - it was sickly how routine their relationship had become - so the dorm room was Gina's to do as she pleased. This consisted of an hour of cleaning the entire room followed by emailing everyone she knew back in the UK. Then she changed into a pair of plaid sleep pants and a worn-out t-shirt and moved down the hallway to the community bathroom when she brushed her teeth, shook off Harvey McManus' advances, scrubbed her face clean of any make-up, shook off Harvey's advances a second time, and returned to the dorm room she shared with Morgan to sleep.
It wasn't the most adventurous night, but Gina took advantage of the daytime hours for her mad-cap adventures. She rather liked the comfort of her routine when it came to the night and currently she was taking advantage of that.
"No, Harvey," she laughed, brushing her bubblegum-pink hair away from her forehead. Was it getting too shaggy? "But I'm just not in the mood for 'a night of passion and romance' with you. My apologies." And with that, Gina picked up her bag of toiletries and bathroom supplies before returning to her dorm room, shocked to find a figure cloaked in black standing in middle of the room. She couldn't tell whether it was looking at her, but the minute it spoke, she was frozen in one spot.
"Where is she? Tell me where she is..." the creature hissed and Gina couldn't help the terror that arose in her. The figure scared her more than anything she had every seen before, more than anything she had read, or seen in a movie. Without asking, she knew what it meant when it asked about 'she', but Gina slowly found herself shaking her head. She wouldn't let this... this... this thing get to Morgan, whatever it took.
"No. Go away." Her fingers balled into fists at her sides so tightly her knuckles turned white.
The figure didn't surprised at all that she didn't falter, but persisted, its voice twisting around her and making her shiver. "You are not a part of this. Tell me, Gina, and you will be spared..."
Her eyebrows furrowed and she felt a sinking feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. It knew her name. God, this sinister, evil being knew her name and it was trying to convince her to make a deal with the devil and... Gina watched, horrified as the creature reached out to her in what may have been a gesture meant to be calming.
"No!" she replied, refusing to scream. She wanted to be strong.
Gina knew she had wasted two chances already; only one was left.
The creature stepped forward and her eyes darted around the room, wanting to look at anything besides the being, the demon, that tried to convince her to betray Morgan. It took her face in its... she didn't even know what to call them. Not claws as she imagined a creature like this would have, but certainly not hands. She would not... She would not let Morgan be hurt by this demonic spawn...
"She would not protect you... She would let you die..." Gina winced as the accusations poured from the thing and her mouth began to open before snapping shut resolutely. It was not done, though. "She hates you. Tell me where she is, Gina, and save yourself as she would."
"No!" she cried and stumbled back from the demon, tripping and landing on the ground behind her. She stared up at the creature with wide eyes, waiting for the punishment she was sure would come.
Then she screamed so loudly not even death would claim her.
Dean gazed at the ceiling of their dark hotel room, replaying the scene from earlier that day in his mind. Yes, he was angry that Morgan had left them standing hallway with no explanation for her outbursts, but more than that, his mind has caught up on how odd it was that she hated their father so much. Even stranger was that their father sent them to see her. John had a habit of leaving the people who disliked him behind and preferring to forget about him as if that would make their hatred disappear.
He turned onto his side, glancing across the room where the artificial light from the laptop screen illuminated Sam's tired face from across the room. His younger brother was, as usual, feigning insomnia to avoid his nightmares and taking advantage of the free time by doing research. The perks of it included that Dean didn't have to do the work and that, oftentimes, Sam found some sort of information that would prove to be all-too-useful in their current case. But it usually meant that Sam would also be a cranky, little bitch when the sun came up - something Dean had experienced several times firsthand and liked to avoid if he could.
"Get to bed, Sammy," Dean groaned, squirming in his bed for a moment until he was settled with the sheets wrapped loosely around his waist in a way that wouldn't impede movement if a spirit made it past the wards on their doors and windows.
Sam grunted, obviously absorbing some article, trying to pick out which parts could be important. "Hey Dean, you know that site, MySpace?" he mumbled. Dean's ears perked up at the sudden sounds in the darkness and he had a feeling he would be treated to one of Sammy's more long-winded theories. "Morgan's got one apparently. I recognize her from the pictures. Says on here that she considers herself Wiccan even though she stopped practicing almost two years ago. Maybe Dad was in her good graces until one of her friends who practiced started messing around in some of the darker stuff out there and went bad or something. If Dad had to take out one of Morgan's friends, I'd imagine she'd be pretty pissed off."
"Wait, you saying we're got a pissed off witch on our hands?" Dean sat up, disturbing his perfectly wound sheets and standing, walking to where Sam sat. For a moment, he read the highlighted part over Sam's shoulder.
Sam, however, felt the need to clarify. "There's a major difference between a witch and a person who's Wiccan," he explained, "In fact, there's actually a pretty big difference between a practicing Wicca and a non-practicing Wicca. Witches are serious bad news, dark magick and other stuff to that effect. The Wicca base their spells in protection, healing, growth, nature, things that are inherently good. Even if a person was only schooled in Wicca and not a practitioner though, I would imagine they would know most of the stuff we do about wards and protection spells. Nothing too powerful, because that takes a lot of spiritual energy that people often have to meditate to build. Get it?"
Whether or not Dean was listening was dubious because an instant later his cell phone rang and headed back to the bed, picking it up off the nightstand and lifting it to his ear. There was a loud commotion on the other end, but one voice rang clear among the havoc.
"Hello? Has someone picked up?" Morgan's voice managed to ask, fragile and terrified on the other end of the phone line, "Put John's son on. I need to talk to John's son."
"Morgan?" he replied and there was a shaky sigh of relief on the other end. Dean glanced up and Sam's eyes caught his from over the top of the laptop, "This is Dean."
"Dean... I need you. Something happened and Gina... Oh God..." the young woman choked out before heaving a gigantic sob, "Everything is so messed up and I need you and your brother to be here, now. I don't know what to do and, oh God, Dean..." Her voice cracked as she murmured his name and Dean was immediately at attention.
"Sam and I will be there in ten minutes," Dean said, picking up a pair of jean from the floor and attempting to get into them using only one hand, "Are you somewhere safe?" There was a muffled confirmation. "Good. Don't move and wait for us." Morgan hung up and Dean tossed his cell phone onto the bed, finally pulling the jeans up to encase his legs. Sam, already fully dressed, merely stood as Dean pulled a t-shirt over his head and eased on his leather jacket. Slipping his cell phone safely in the pocket, Dean checked for his key and glared at Sam. "Get to the car."
"What's going on?" his brother asked, snatching his own jacket up from the chair before heading out the door.
Dean's face was like stone as he slammed the door behind them. "I'll explain on the way."
When the pair of brothers arrived at the dormitory, the sight shocked them. Four police cars parked on the grass and an ambulance was pulled up. Even from twenty feet back, Sam could make out the young woman sitting hunched over in the back of the medical van, every once in a while shooting up a greenish gaze to glare vacantly when the police officer nearby tried to comfort her. Her hands rested on her knees, twitching and fussing in terror and she kept her eyes turned away from the large building behind her as if she couldn't stand to think of the horrors held within it.
"Morgan!" Dean shouted hoarsely and, for a moment, Sam got the impression that his brother had actually been worried about this young woman. Dean shot forward to the ambulance and Sam followed at a jog, reaching them just in time to here Dean's final words to the police officer, "-yeah, man. Someone radioed in what had happened and the Arizona Bureau of Investigation sent us right on out. We'll take over here."
Morgan looked like she might say something, baffled at the obvious lie for a moment, but her mouth snapped shut, much to Sam's delight. He really wasn't really to be taken downtown to spend the night in jail anytime soon, thank you very much. The police office nodded at Dean, obviously not the kind of man who wanted to be working the late shift out on an investigation when he could be eating donuts at the nearest Krispy Kreme instead, and turned and walk back to his fellow law enforcement officers.
"I didn't think you'd really come," Morgan murmured quietly, her voice trembling and Sam's attention went back to the scared young woman as she smoothed out the fabric of her jeans, "I mean, after the way I treated you..." She trailed off, meeting Sam's reproachful eyes and she shrunk, trying to crack a smile but heaving a dry sob instead. "Blood's thicker than water though, right?"
Sam raised an eyebrow and glanced at Dean who was giving him the same look. Neither young man understood exactly what she meant by that and Morgan seemed to interpret their looks correctly as understanding crossed her face.
Cracked lips, now rid of any make-up, pursed and she groaned, "He didn't tell you, did he?"
Sam cocked his head to the side, crossing his arms as he examined the look on her face and then he realized what that slight dancing amusement in Morgan's eyes was but Dean never gave him the chance to confirm if with the young woman. Instead, his brother stepped forward, disregarding the cryptic comment and placing a sturdy hand on her shoulder as if trying to be coaxing.
"Why don't you just tell us why you called us?" Dean invited and she choked on another sob as fresh tears trailed down her cheeks.
"It wasn't my fault," Morgan tried and sniffled, her red-eyed gaze turning up to Dean and Sam, "but I found her and now they keep asking me what happened. I... I don't know!" Dean's hand drew back as she reached up and wiped away her tears. "I just came home around two like I said I would and... Oh God... I saw this pool of red on the floorboards so I looked up and..." She choked again and fell into a half-silent bawl, but Sam swallowed hard, shaken by the story. She didn't need to finish for he and Dean to both understand what had happened.
"Who was it?" he found himself asking, pictures of Jessica above him... flames licking at her skin as she bled.
"Gina. My best friend," Morgan curled downward, clutching her stomach as if she felt sick, "And I'm so certain it's all my fault." She let out a heavy, tired breath, moving to lay her head in her hands as if it would stop the emotional pain Sam was certain she felt.
For a moment, he wanted to help too, but the last comment made him curious and Sam prompted, "Why? Why is your fault?"
"Mom... She died the same way. On the ceiling with fire all around her body and bleeding down on my crib and I don't know how because it just isn't logical." She hurried, her hands twisting around each other. "My first memory is of waking up to her scream and seeing her above me. I... How could it be coincidence? My best friend and my mom both died in these completely illogical ways and no one caught their killed."
Sam was wide-eyed and he glanced away before nudging Dean carefully. His brother turned his blue-eyed gaze on him questioningly and Sam just nodded in Morgan's direction, refusing to look at her face and he muttered, "Take her on up to her dorm and get her stuff. We're taking her with us and we're leaving town tonight." Dean looked slightly surprised, but Morgan stood, still wiping away tears.
"What the hell are you talking about, Sam?" his brother quipped and Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, still avoiding Morgan's all-too-familiar greenish gaze.
"Just take her, alright?" he shot back irritatedly and Dean was about reply when Sam's eyes caught his. Dean froze at the seriousness and Sam icily muttered, "She's our sister, Dean."
Dean looked like he though his brother was crazy and snorted, glancing at the young woman beside them, her eyes still reddened as they darted away from him guiltily. "Not funny."
"John Winchester is my father," she confirmed softly and glanced up meekly as if it would explain everything and when Dean still looked unsure, she added, "I don't know much about the relationship between my biological mother and him - just that John left her a few months pregnant. He actually tried to contact me earlier this month and said he needed to warn me about something but I blew him off. I thought he was a complete psycho, but now... Now, I don't know what to think. I was angry when you came, but if I leave with you... Maybe no one else will be hurt, you know?" Morgan reached out, her hand resting on Dean's forearm carefully. "I would do anything to protect Liam."
Sam watched as Dean pulled his arm away from her touch and glanced up at the building. "Follow me. We'll get your things and we'll leave town. It isn't safe here anymore. We'll head for the East Coast and wait for Dad's next text message there."
Dean glanced to his right to the young woman that had called shotgun. Though Sam had seemed annoyed at first, now the young man was now sleeping comfortably on the backseat, his head resting on Morgan's duffel bag. Their half-sister herself was much farther from sleep, curled up with her face pressed against the window as she watched the empty fields pass by her window with sharp greenish eyes.
To tell the truth, he felt a little guilty for not realizing that she was related to them straight off. It was a serious blow to his hunter instincts, now that he thought back on their conversations and even just glanced at Morgan's face. She shared the same set of greenish eyes as Sam did, her lips had curled into the same smirk Dean saw when he looked in the mirror, the shock at finding out they were his sons, and finally that comment...
'Blood's thicker than water though, right?'
Dean shook off the shiver that crept up his spine. There wasn't a thing about Morgan that didn't scream "Winchester!" at the top of its lungs. Even when they had returned to her dorm room, her eyes darting to avoid the blood spattering the floor, she packed as if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life. Just a duffel bag with a few of those obscene t-shirts, some socks, underwear, more worn jeans. A hairbrush and her bag of bathroom supplies. A bright orange trucker's cap. A slightly-too-large, faded army jacket. Finally, that camera that seemed to be so precious to her was packed away and she zipped up the bag, slinging it over her shoulder and picking up a cell phone from the desk.
A hunter, through-and-through.
"You going to be alright?" he found himself asking, his tone rough, and he saw the young woman next to him wince a little at the noise, clutching her bag tighter.
"No offense, but does it really matter?" Morgan replied and Dean froze before letting his breath escape slowly. He wasn't used to people reading him that easily.
"I guess not. You should get some rest."
Things became silent as she rested her head against the window again when suddenly her voice broke through.
"Your car smells funny."
Oh yeah, Morgan was already used to hitting where it hurt.
A Winchester, through-and-through.
a/n; Well, this lufferly storyline is my attempt to respond to the challenge posted by Garnet Lees on the Supernatural forums. I've never done a challenge before, but I'm pretty please with the result that I came up with. The challenge was pretty specific about the details and vague where it counted, so I apologize if it ended up tweaked. I changed her favorite type of music and, sadly, I actually missed a bunch of the last episodes of Season One of Supernatural including Devil's Trap so I just had this taking place at some random point during the first season. The exact words of the challenge were as follows:
I REALLY like 'sister' stories...so here is my challenge:
Timeline: Post "Delvil's Trap"
Story Idea: John breaks it to the boys that they have a 19 year old sister named, Morgan. Her mother was just killed by the same demon that killed their mother and Jessica. The demon found out about John's third child, and went looking for her---but she was away at school. So John wants Morgan to join her brothers on their hunting trips.
Morgan's Personality: Morgan goes to Art School(you pick her specialty)--and she is slightly goth...I think of her as a combination between 'Veronica Mars' and 'Abby' from "NCIS"--more of a 'Veronica Mars' look, but with dark hair...and 'Abby's' tastes in music...favorite band being Disturbed(thats my fav band). Morgans birthday is Halloween.
This is an option...its cool if you can add it creatively: Morgan was raisd Wiccan...but hasn't really been practicing all that much the past couple of years. She can make things happen with spells but does not really have any powers herself...her mother 'cloaked' her while she was away at school and that's why the demon couldn't 'find' her.
I did my best, so I hope every enjoyed it. Review if you did, because I'm considering writing a multi-chapter fanfiction to continue the adventures of the Winchester brothers and their half-sister, Morgan Leigh. All I need to decide is this - gremlins or harvest spirits?
- Roby Carr