I am re-updating this story because my page breaks are gone. In fact, they are gone in a majority of my stories. It's slow work, but I'd rather fix it now than let it bug me. So, I will continue my re-updating.
I don't own anything remotely Supernatural wise and I'm 12000 percent sure I never will.
If there was one thing Reggie Myer hated, it was being stuck in early morning traffic. She always tried to avoid it, leaving before six every morning, but it was unavoidable that morning. Her sink was clogged and she had to wait for the plumber, then she had to wait for him to look at her sink-plumber crack and all-and then she had to accept the estimate. Then Reggie listened to the guy make a promise-the one that rarely came true-that he'd be back that afternoon. She was expecting him sometime between today and next month.
She was stuck behind a gray Pontiac, the vehicle's driver trying to decide if she should wear pink lipstick or red. The light had turned green moments before, and already three cars behind Reggie had honked in anger. She also heard someone yell, through her open window, "Fucking move, damn it!"
The woman finally made a choice, applied the make-up, and sped off. Reggie pulled ahead and was stopped by the light turning red. She banged her head lightly on the steering wheel, wondering why people were so selfish.
She finally made it to work, pulling into the parking lot. The spot she normally parked in, the one that was close to the door, but not so close she parked into a handicap area, was already filled. She recognized the car almost at once.
I hate you Kathy Nyman, Reggie thought bitterly as she passed her spot. She kept driving, pulling into the parking garage. She hated parking in the garage, always afraid the place would collapse or she would have her car stolen. Out in the open, her desk close to a window, she could keep an eye on her car. In the garage, no such luck.
She parked by a red Corvette, one that was owned by her boss's assistant. Margie got paid more than any other assistant in the building. It wasn't because she was a good worker; it was because she did a lot of overtime. A copious amount of overtime.
"I hope his wife finds out," Reggie muttered shutting her car off. She got out, digging around her purse for something to eat. She pulled out a granola bar and opened it up. Nibbling on the oats and raisins, she stashed her keys in her purse and started walking toward the exit.
She was halfway there when she noticed the blue Dodge van. Her eyebrows rose in confusion, she had never seen that vehicle ever. It stopped next to her, the window rolling down.
"What can I…?" Reggie started but was cut off when a pistol poked out the window and fired at her. She took four bullets to the chest and crumpled to the ground. The granola bar fell out of her hand; her purse was still draped around her shoulder.
The Dodge took no time to peel out of the garage, leaving the woman dead on the pavement.
3 days later…
Sam sat in the diner booth, his head resting in his palm, his elbow sitting on the table. He was reading a long article, absentmindedly picking at his chicken sandwich. The article just didn't make sense. He was just waiting for Dean to come back so they could discuss it.
"How riveting is that article," a familiar voice said. Sam jumped, knocking his Coke over. The brown liquid spread across the table, dripping onto the floor. "Dean, don't do that," Sam snapped pulling some napkins out of the dispenser on the table. He tossed half the pile at his brother while he started cleaning up the mess.
"Sorry," Dean said a grin on his face. He crouched down, cleaning the soda off the floor. Sam picked his glass up, and finished cleaning up the table. He threw the Coke filled napkins on his plate and watched as his brother got to his feet.
Dean threw his napkins on Sam's plate, too, and sat down across from his brother. He waved a napkin in his brother's face saying, "The waitress's name is Valerie. She was more than willing to give me her number…"
"Yeah, and what lie did you tell her to get it?" Sam asked curiously wanting to talk about the potential case, not his brother's habit of hitting on anything that walks.
"I don't lie." Dean started, but the one look from Sam made him smile and say, "I told her I was a talent scout, looking for fresh faces."
Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't push the point further. "I was reading about this woman that lives not far from here." He wasn't even sure if Dean was listening, his brother too busy flirting with the waitress-Valerie-from across the room.
"Hey, Dean," Sam muttered snapping his fingers in Dean's face.
"What," Dean snapped disgruntled. He turned his attention to Sam and the younger hunter continued. "A woman, Reggie Myer, was shot in the parking garage of her work…"
"That's sad for her family, but what does that have to do with us," Dean asked digging an ice cube out of his glass. He spun the cube between his fingers, watching the ice spin in a fast circle.
"She was shot, in the chest, by four silver bullets," Sam replied slowly looking up at his brother through his curtain of dark hair. Dean's eyebrows rose in wonder and he asked, "Where's this place?"
The Winchesters walked up the steps of a small, white two story. They were wearing their suits, Sam snapping at his brother to stop messing with his tie. Dean glared at Sam, but didn't say anything as a red head answered the door.
Her red-rimmed gray eyes swept passed both brothers not revealing her interest or dis-interest on her face. Dean was debating whether she was Jessica Alba or Jessica Biel hot. He was aiming for the latter when the woman opened her mouth, interrupting his thinking, and said, "Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I'm Agent Stanly, this is Agent Simmons," Sam responded. He pulled his badge out, showing the woman it. Dean did the same. The woman studied the two badges, neither Winchester putting them away until she was satisfied with their authenticity-or lack thereof.
"We're here to speak to you about your sister Reggie's death," Sam continued when Dean failed to say anything.
"Okay, come in," the woman said and stepped back to allow both Winchesters into her house. They walked through a small foyer, past her living room, into her kitchen. A set of stairs led up, but neither Dean nor Sam took much notice.
"Please, sit," the woman said. She sat directly across from them, wringing her hands; she averted her eyes, looking at the table. Dean could still see her eyes filling with tears and allowed Sam to take the lead. He just wasn't good with overly emotional people.
"Do you know why anyone would want Reggie dead, Ms. Myer?" Sam asked giving the red headed woman a sympathetic look. The faces he can pull off would fill a book, Dean thought holding back an eye roll.
"Call me Rachel," Reggie's sister murmured. "And n…no, everyone loved R…Reggie. She was s…so sweet and kind t…to everyone."
"How far apart were you and Reggie," Sam asked quietly.
"We were ten m…minutes apart," Rachel stammered taking a shuddering deep breath. "S…she seemed to always know w…what I was thinking."
"Was your sister, by any chance, mugged anytime before her death?" Dean chimed in. he was thinking hunters killed Reggie Myer.
"Of course not," he said under his breath.
"What," Rachel asked missing the comment.
"Nothing," Dean replied giving her, what he hoped, was a sympathetic smile.
"Thank you for your time," Sam said as he got to his feet, Dean copied him. Sam pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling his cell phone number on it. "You think of anything else don't hesitate to call." He handed the paper to Rachel and headed toward the door.
"Sorry," Dean mumbled and quickly followed.
Once they were outside Rachel's house Dean said, "So much for the werewolf theory."
"Do you honestly think hunters came after Reggie?"
"Yeah, I do," Dean replied opening the Impala's door. "Who else would take the time to melt silver into bullets?"
"Good point," Sam muttered getting in the car. Dean copied him, starting the car. The engine purred to life and they pulled back onto the road.
"So, you want to check out this girl's apartment next. Maybe something there could help us," Dean suggested coming to a stop at a stop sign.
"That's fine," Sam said chewing on his fingernail.
"What?" Dean questioned noticing the start of his brother's brooding face.
"It's just; this girl probably didn't have to die. Maybe it was like Gordon. Maybe these hunters are killing innocent people, figuring they're evil. You know?"
"Yeah, I know. So, where did Reggie live?"
"Midway Apartments," Sam replied referring to the news article.
"Let me guess, it's in the middle of town?"
"That's exactly where it is," Sam replied wearily.
"Don't see why the FBI's interested in a small town murder," Glenn Andrews said as he led both Winchesters up a set of stairs.
"It just seems weird, her death," Sam replied glancing back at his brother. Dean was trying to keep up with both superintendent and his brother. Both Glenn and Sam were several inches taller than Dean and with the elevator broken there was only one way up.
"Weird how? She was shot, it's not like she was eaten by termites or something," Glenn said slowly, finally coming to a stop on the fourth floor. He led them down a hallway, right to apartment 4G.
"She lived here," the oldest man said unlocking the door. He allowed both Winchesters into the place and continued, "Always paid her rent on time, never had one complaint made against her." Glenn sniffed, wiping his slowly tearing eyes with his sleeve. "I'm going to miss her."
"Everyone seemed to have loved this girl," Dean commented looking into the older guy's eyes.
"Everyone did," Glenn muttered. "Be sure to lock up when you're done." The older guy walked away, leaving the Winchesters alone to continue their investigation.
Both brothers walked into the apartment, getting their first glimpse at Reggie Myer's living quarters. Her apartment was small, her kitchen overlapping into her living room. She had a bookshelf full of books: from Stephen King to V.C. Andrews.
"Indecisive much," Dean muttered. Sam thought for a moment that Dean was talking about the books; he was surprised his brother even knew who V.C. Andrews was. But when he turned around he found his brother looking at Reggie's movie collection.
"We aren't here to look at her DVD collection," Sam hissed heading down the hallway. He pushed open Reggie's slightly ajar bedroom door and walked in. Her bed was unmade, her blankets in a heap in the middle of the bed.
Her vanity table had books on it instead of the normal make-up. Her dresser was also piled with books, along with her nightstand. Sam was beginning to like Reggie Myer more and more.
He walked out of her room, heading towards her bathroom. He flipped the light on, noting the sky blue paint -so glad Dean cannot read minds. Sam walked around the room, ignoring his reflection in the mirror as he passed it. He stopped at the bathtub, finding nothing, and was about to walk out of the room when he noticed the thing in the drain.
Kneeling down, he pulled out his pen and started digging around. He pulled the pen out, an oozing strip of skin sticking to it.
"Dean," Sam called getting to his feet. His brother was at his side in seconds; his speed had nothing on vampires when Sam's voice rose above normal levels.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked looking around warily, weapon at the ready.
"This," Sam replied showing Dean the skin on his pen.
"What the hell," Dean muttered studying the skin closely. "This case just got weirder."
Sam nodded in agreement. He wrapped the skin in a piece of toilet paper, pen and all, and both brothers left the apartment.
"A shape-shifter," Bobby questioned over the phone.
"Yeah, a shape-shifter," Dean replied looking at the puke induced skin sample sitting on the table.
"Are you sure?"
"We've got the skin sample to prove it. We figured Reggie was killed by freaks, but apparently she was the freak."
"Was there any criminal activity in the town before Reggie died?" Bobby asked. Dean turned to Sam and said, "Was there any crimes in this town before Reggie died?"
Sam had been pursuing everything on Reggie Myer and the town, hoping to come up with a timeline from when she was herself and when she ended up switched with the shifter. Sam looked up at Dean and shook his head, "There was no huge crime at all. Other than someone J-walking."
"Unless this shape shifter had a motive to just piss people off by walking in front of them while they drove, then no," Dean replied slowly. He rubbed the back of his neck, at a loss to what was going on.
"Maybe this shifter was biding its time, trying to figure out when to strike," Bobby suggested. Dean could almost see the older hunter rub his eyes with his hand.
"Maybe," Dean muttered.
"Be careful boys, and call me if you need anything."
"Okay, bye." Dean hung up tossing his phone onto his bed. He ran a hand through his hair and turned back to his brother. "Are you sure there were no crimes at all?"
"Yeah, I'm sure," Sam muttered closing his computer with a snap. He stood up, stretching his arms over his head until his shoulders popped. He walked across the room, settling on his bed.
"What kind of shape shifter kills a girl just to take her life? I mean the one we fought in St. Louis wanted to murder. The one in Milwaukee wanted money. This just doesn't make sense." Dean sat on his bed putting his face in his hands. After a minute, he looked up to see his brother shrug and bite his lip.
"Maybe we could talk to the sister, again. Maybe she knows something," Dean suggested wishing there was more he could do.
"What if she doesn't…?" Sam said avoiding his brother's eyes.
"Then we would be back to square one." Dean replied and then added, "Not that talking to the sister would even remotely move us from square one." He let out a sigh of frustration and lay back on his bed, "Every shape shifter we've come across, everyone, has had an evil, human motive. Everyone. So this one had to of had one, too, right?"
"Maybe," Sam said skeptically.
"Are you honestly skeptical about this case?" Dean asked turning to look at his brother.
"What do you want me to say, Dean? That I don't think this shape shifter was evil, that I don't exactly believe everything we come across is evil…"
"You don't think its evil? Sammy, it could have possibly killed a woman just to take her life. Don't tell me that's not an evil motive."
"Maybe there was another reason," Sam pressed trying to flash Dean the puppy dog look. Dean jumped to his feet, grabbing his jacket. "Where are you going," Sam asked abruptly.
"Out, I just need to clear my head," Dean said and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Sam watched Dean backup out of the parking space and speed away from the motel. He had a feeling his brother was going to a bar-more than a feeling, you freaking know, a small voice said in the back of his head.
"He gets drunk I am not feeling sorry for him," Sam muttered shoving his hands in his pockets. He started pacing, something about the case not settling with him. Why would a shape shifter kill a girl just to become her? It doesn't make sense. Sam checked his watch, noting it was too early for Reggie's sister to have gone to bed. Grabbing his jacket, glad it was the middle of the spring and not winter, he left the motel. He decided not to leave Dean a note, if his brother got worried he could call.
Sam began the long walk to Rachel Myer's house. He wasn't sure if the woman would be home on a Friday, but was banking on her being there if her sister-potentially not her sister-had just died.
He stuffed his hands in his pocket, letting his mind wander. He went back to their first meeting with Gordon. He was killing those vampires without a second thought if they were innocent or not. If it wasn't for him and Dean-his brother taking some time to convince-Lenore would have been another dead innocent vampire. And now they may be dealing with another case like that. Not all shape shifters were evil, they couldn't be.
He was brought back to reality when he noticed a blue van drive past him. He watched it cautiously, not liking the vibes that rolled off of it. That was all he needed, a couple of guys jumping out of the van and attacking him. The van disappeared around the corner, the taillights slowly fading from sight.
Taking a deep breath, chastising himself for being so paranoid, he kept walking. He turned the exact corner the van did, Rachel Myer's house a good fifteen feet away, and was suddenly blinded by a pair of headlights flicking on.
"Ah," he hissed trying to shield his eyes. It wasn't helping in the slightest, the light still blinding him. Then he was blindsided, someone weighing a good fifty or sixty pounds more than he did, slamming into him. He fell to the ground, his elbow slamming into the sidewalk. His arm instantly went numb.
He was pulled to his feet, his assailant pulling his left arm behind his back. He kicked him in the back of the legs, bringing Sam to his knees. The younger hunter tried to swat the guy with his other arm, but it was still numb. The guy chuckled darkly, pushing Sam into the ground.
Sam grunted in pain, trying to get up. A knee was pressed into his back, his other arm pulled back to meet his left. A thing of rope was tied tightly around his wrists, cutting off his circulation almost instantly. Before the guy pulled him to his feet, he slammed the younger Winchester into the ground. The air was knocked out of Sam in one swift whoosh.
"Get him in the van," a feminine voice said. The guy manhandled Sam to the van, pushing him through the door. Before his eyesight could get used to the now darkened area, he felt a cloth pressed to his face.
The sweet smell of chloroform tried to push its way to his lungs, but Sam refused to breath. He knew he couldn't keep that up, and when someone slammed their fist into his stomach he was forced to take an involuntary breath. His head started to spin, the van getting hazier and hazier, and then everything went black.
Contrary to what Sam thought, Dean did not go to the bar. He just drove to the gas station to pick up some sandwiches, chips, beer, and soda for dinner. He wasn't sure why Sam's suggestion bothered him so much, it wasn't like they never came across an un-evil, evil thing before. Lenore's vampire pack wasn't evil and most of their kind was evil.
Of course, who's to say some of those vampires weren't evil, Dean thought grabbing a six pack of 7Up from the fridge. He closed the door just as the lights in the building went off. Raising his eyebrows, Dean looked around. The 7Up was cold against his hand, but he ignored it. He closed his eyes, listening to any sounds he might have missed. All was quiet, but Dean didn't trust it at all.
He set the 7Up on one of the selves, taking his gun out of his coat pocket. He started to head toward the front, but stopped when he heard a squeak of a shoe coming from behind him. Dean spun around, slamming his fist into the person's face.
"Ow," a familiar voice said. It was the clerk, the man having greeted him when he walked in.
"Sorry," Dean muttered quickly stashing his gun in his pocket before the owner saw it.
"I was just going to check the fuse box," the clerk replied pushing past Dean. The hunter made to turn around, but froze when he heard a gunshot ring through the station. There was a gasp of pain and the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor.
Dean rushed to the clerk's side. He crouched down next to the man, pressing his fingertips to his neck. The guy was dead. Dean jumped to his feet, straining his eyes to see who had shot the man. His gun was in his hands again, still not seeing anything.
Another shot went off, missing his ear by inches. He dropped to the ground, glancing back and forth for the gunman (or woman, Dean added as an afterthought. Maybe one of those women I left tracked my ass down).
He listened closely, but the station could have been empty for all Dean knew. He crawled toward the edge of the shelves, stopping a few inches from the dead clerk. He looked around the corner and quickly pulled his head back as another gunshot went off.
Breathing heavily, wondering if the gunman had night vision goggles on or a heat sensing scope on the gun. Who in their right mind would go to the trouble of trying to kill me, Dean thought his mind immediately going to Henrickson. Suspect number one.
"If I wanted to kill you, Dean, you'd be dead right now," a girl's voice said and he heard her put her gun down on the counter. "Why don't you come out so we can chat?"
"I'd much rather sit, thanks," Dean called back still wondering if one of his flings had claimed revenge or something. With the Winchester luck the way it was, it was a possibility.
"Get up or I make a call to an associate of mine. He's ready to kill Sammy in a millisecond." That got Dean. He stood up quickly, stepping over the dead clerk to get a better look at her.
She was standing in the shadows, her hands clasped behind her back. "I'd kick your gun over here if I were you," she informed him sounding about as casual as if they were discussing the weather. Taking a deep breath-knowing Sam's life hung in the balance-he dropped his gun to the floor and kicked it over to the girl.
"Nice," she commented picking his Colt up. She stashed it next to her own weapon and smiled his way.
"You hurt Sam in any way…" Dean started the words dripping like venom from his lips.
"Don't worry, he's fine," the girl said. "So, Dean Winchester. I've heard a lot about you. A whole lot."
"Yep. Your mother died when you were four, Dad died a few months ago. Like I said 'a whole lot'." Dean was taken by surprise. He didn't like when complete strangers talked about his parents, especially ones who threatened his little brother.
"You stalk people, is that it?"
"Not really," the girl said softly. "I just listen to people when they talk."
"Uh huh, do you now."
"Yep, my ears are the best in the hunting community. Better than yours." And before Dean could really establish what she said, he felt a cloth cover his mouth and nose. He tried to fight, but the sweet smell made his limbs immediately turn to jell-o. He fought to keep from breathing, but someone slammed their fists into his back and he took a breath. Jell-o limbs aside, the girl became just another shadow and he slipped into unwanted unconsciousness.