Nobody recognizable is mine. Just letting you know. This is being re-updated because my page breaks disappeared and I am fixing it. Just another note for you guys/gals to know…
He never thought it'd end like this. His brother bleeding, slipping away, too far gone to help him. And him, staring down the barrel of a .45, pointblank range, weaponless.
"Don't do this," he begged raising his hands.
"Good-bye," the gun totter said and pulled the trigger...
Four days earlier...
Pulling into town was like entering another episode of The Twilight Zone in Dean's opinion. Something weird was going to happen he just didn't know what exactly. Sam searched all night, throughout the entire drive and bar visit, but found nothing. At the moment, Sam was conked out in the passenger seat, falling asleep after promising that there was nothing there. Dean wanted so much to believe his brother, but a gut feeling told him they missed something.
He pulled up to the only motel in the dilapidated town. The quaint place had seen better days with its peeling paint, grimy windows, and lack of customers. Dean could tell it would be quite a place with a little TLC. Besides, growing up he learned to not be too picky about where he stayed. "As long as it's a roof over our heads, there's no point in complaining about it." he could almost hear his dad say. It wasn't as painful to think about his dad as it had been, but it still hurt nonetheless.
Dean pulled up to the office, a place with windows and a glass door that were full of so much grime that they looked like they were painted the sick greenish-gray. Dean stole a glance at Sam, who was still dozing, breath fogging the glass, and got out of the car.
He was afraid to see his brother alone, afraid the charms Bobby gave them wouldn't work and he'd get possessed again. Just thinking about the past couple of days made Dean's arm twinge with pain. He was due for another bandage change; his last one was at Bobby's before they left.
Inside the office it smelt like musty carpet and old people. The walls were once painted a white color but age, water stains, and smoke seemed to change them yellow. Behind a faded wooden desk sat an old guy, seventy at the most, with two hearing aids, a pair of thick glasses that made his eyes bug out, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He was reading a book, squinting even with the glasses.
"Excuse me," Dean said stopping inches from the desk. The guy didn't look up, just kept reading his book. He absentmindedly tapped the cigarette in an ashtray and stuck it back in his mouth. "Sir," Dean said a little louder. The guy still didn't respond. Finally, Dean reached out, tapping the guy on the shoulder.
"You stealing from me," the guy exclaimed causing Dean to jump back.
"No, I need a room," Dean said loudly running a hand down his face.
"What?" the old guy said cupping one of his ears.
"A room," Dean nearly screamed.
"A room? Jeez, Sonny Jim you don't have to yell," the old guy said getting a shocked look from Dean. "So, you honestly need a room? Man, no one has stayed in this motel in ten years." The old guy took his glasses off, cleaned them on his shirt, shoved them back on, and dug under the desk. When he emerged his cigarette was nearly out and he was holding a very old, much worn guestbook.
He put the cigarette out in his ashtray and said, "You care about paying in cash? It's just I don't trust the damn government and their machines. Aliens is what brought them to this world."
"That's fine," Dean said loud enough that he hoped the guy heard him. It took all his self-control not to start laughing at the guy's paranoid mumble jumble.
"Great, room's sixty bucks a night," the old guy replied lighting another cigarette. The smoke curled through the air, stinging Dean's nostrils. He had never been a big fan of cigarettes, other things were an iffy, but cigarettes just weren't his thing. He tried it once, when he was twelve, and nearly choked on the smoke. It wasn't until he was sixteen that he was introduced to the stronger stuff, and that was quickly taken away when he was nearly killed on a hunt.
"Kid, you gonna pay or just stand there," the old guy's chain smoking voice cut into Dean's thoughts. He jerked back to reality, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. His arm protested in pain, but he ignored it. He opened the wallet and looked down at the freshly won four-hundred dollars in a poker game mere hours before hitting the road for the small town he was in.
"Two nights then?" the old guy asked when Dean threw one-hundred-twenty dollars onto the counter. The old guy collected the money and stashed it in a metal cigar box. He then pushed the guest book at Dean and a pen. "Sign the book."
Dean took the pen in his right hand and signed: Dean Roth. A Van Halen song started circling around his head and he had to refrain from singing it. Before he could pull his hand away, the old guy grabbed it with a strength Dean didn't think he had. He pulled Dean close, his cigarette smoke hitting Dean full force in the face, and said, "You watch out, Sonny Jim. This town isn't as safe as it seems. Remember that." He then let Dean go, backing up to get the keys off a long line of twelve keys.
"Room six is the only room with two beds," the old guy said and held the key out to Dean. Dean didn't quite register what he was saying; he was still slightly stunned by what the old guy had said. "You okay, Sonny Jim?"
Dean snapped back to earth and took the key. He half expected the guy to grab his arm again. Then what the guy said finally hit.
"How do you know I have someone with me?" he asked curiously. He turned to look out the window, which was so dirty it made the room dimmer, and was surprised the old guy could see Sam at all.
"Have a nice day, Sonny Jim," the old guy merely replied. "The name's Stan, you need anything come to me." and he waved Dean out of the office, taking a puff on his cigarette. Still reeling at Stan's behavior, Dean backed away from the desk. He hit the door, making him jump.
Embarrassed he turned around and pulled open the door. He headed toward his car, Sam awake and looking at the old motel with a look of caution and disgust.
"This is the only place you could find?" Sam asked as Dean got in the car to move it closer to their room. Dean didn't reply as he moved the car. "Dude, are you listening?"
"What?" Dean said looking over at his brother.
"Never mind," Sam muttered. Opening the door as soon as the car came to a complete stop. He shouldered his computer bag and headed to the trunk. Dean tried to shake off the weirdness from Stan's words.
"Dude, you gonna open the trunk or do you need a formal invite," Sam said opening his door and making him jump. Sam stepped back saying, "What's gotten into you?" he looked slightly hurt that Dean reacted to him like that. Almost as if his brother still believed he still had Meg possessing him.
"Nothing, it's just something that guy said."
"The one in the front office. He…he said something weird. It's probably nothing." Dean didn't want to scare Sam anymore than he was. He had never been possessed himself, but by the looks of it, it had to suck. And it definitely left his little brother in a state of panic.
"Okay," Sam replied, voice thick with skepticism, but he didn't press the point. Dean silently thanked whoever was listening for his brother's silence. What's the worse that can happen in a small town like this, he thought having no idea that he just condemned himself to a whole lot of bad luck.
Frank and Danny Bridges had known Steve Wandel since they were kids. Frank had been Steve's best friend, had been there when Steve needed him the most. Especially after Steve's wife Annie died. A werewolf had attacked her, turning her into one of them. Steve didn't have the heart to kill her, so Frank stepped up and did it for him. Or, at least he thought he did. He had fired an entire clip into Annie's heart, thinking it'd kill her, but it just pissed her off.
Danny, who was into all that supernatural crap before he even got into hunting, pulled out a silver letter opener and drilled it into Annie Wandel's heart, killing her instantly. Afterwards, Steve had been forced to raise their only daughter, Laurie, all alone. Danny and Frank had helped as much as possible, but hunting had driven a wedge between all three and they just weren't as close as they used to be.
They hadn't heard from Steve in a while and decided to visit Steve, see if he was okay. Laurie had just gone off to college, planning to study history, and he had never been good at being alone. Steve had been so glad that Laurie wanted to go to college, though; his biggest fear was her becoming a hunter like him. They took one look at Steve's house and knew for a fact that something was up.
They entered the place, glass and papers everywhere. Both followed the trail to Steve's den, running into their friend, who was dead. Frank was frozen in the doorway as Danny ran in and checked him over. He declared that Steve had had his throat sliced open.
Frank snapped back to reality and rushed to Steve's computer, knowing for a fact that his friend had had surveillance cameras all over his house. Hunting had made Steve paranoid and Frank knew how cautious the guy was.
Problem was, whoever killed him broke the computer's tower. Danny crouched next to the broken tower, coming to the obvious conclusion that the thing was totaled.
Frank was pissed, but he still had enough sense to take out his cell phone and call one of his buddy's. He told the man that Steve had been killed and told him to spread the word, try to get answers. After the phone call, both brother's collected Steve and took him out to the backyard. Giving him a hunter's funeral, they left his charred body and headed out of town.
That had been two days before hand. Frank had been searching the maps around Steve's house, trying to figure out where his murderer could be. He came across a small town called Twin Lakes and thought maybe he had gotten a clue.
He left his brother asleep at his computer, the kid needing the sleep after two sleepless nights, and headed toward the town. He stopped, first, at the local gas station. Behind the counter was a young guy, a few years older than Danny, with a beard and dark hair. He was helping a burly truck driver, giving him directions out of town. When the trucker left, Frank stepped forward.
"Hey, I'm Agent Fitzgerald," Frank said extracting a fake ID badge. He was using the name of one of the authors his dad used to read to him. He liked using book authors as his aliases, it made him feel closer to his dad.
"What can I do for you, Agent," the guy asked as Frank put his badge away.
"Well, I heard from reliable sources that some strange men may have come into town. Do you know anyone like that?"
"Um… no. Unless, you count the drunk guy a few days ago."
"How many days?"
"Like four days," the clerk replied scratching his head. "He went north in a blue bug…"
"What did he look like?" Frank asked taking into consideration the fact that Steve's house was north.
"Um… he was tall, hazel eyes. Maybe in his early twenties. He had shaggy brown hair, smoked menthol. He then came in the following day with a shorter guy."
"What'd he look like?" Frank recognized the description, but he wasn't sure if it was who he thought it was.
"Stockier than the tall guy, with short, brown hair. He was older, probably twenty-eight. His eyes were green, I think. He told the other guy to go wait in the car while he talked to me. I told him where his buddy went and then he left, taking a couple of Twix with him."
"Anything else?" Frank asked starting to form a picture of who he was dealing with. The two boys sounded so familiar, two kids he had met only once in his life.
"Yeah," the clerk announced snapping his fingers. "The stocky guy called the tall guy Sam. That's about it. Does that help?"
"That helps a lot," Frank said and thanked the guy. He exited the station, stopping by his car. He pulled out his phone and dialed his brother's number. After three rings Danny answered sounding groggy.
"Yeah, I know who killed Steve," Frank said slowly, trying to keep his anger in check.
"Remember that guy we met about ten years ago. He had those two boys…?"
"John Winchester?" Danny asked curiously.
"I thought he was dead?"
"Yeah, but his boys ain't. One, possibly both, of them killed Steve?"
"Which one for sure?"
"Sam," Frank replied as he got in his car. "Look, they've got about a three day head start on us. Call Spencer, tell him to track down those boys, and I'll pick you two up in a few."
"Okay, Frank," Danny said and hung up. Frank snapped his phone closed and threw it in the seat next to him. He started his car and sped out of the station's parking lot. He had a hunter to find and kill.