Best Served Cold

Supernatural Sequel to The Halliwell Death Trap
Revenge is a dish . . . best served cold.

Chapter One - A New Case

Fall 2012

Tears ran down the teenager's face as he wrapped a rope around his neck. "I want to live," he called out to the person on the other end of the room. On the ground at his feet Sam Winchester lay, blood seeping out his forehead. "Please, let me live," the boy begged, terror filling his voice even as he climbed up on to the chair and swung the rope over a rafter beam.

Trembling, he pulled the rope taunt and threw it over, again. He looped it through itself and pulled it tight. "Please, let me stop. Let me live. I want to live."

He stepped to the edge of the chair and walked off, the rope pulling taunt as he went down.

Two Days Previous

The unseasonably cold night air impressed upon Dean Winchester the importance of three things: a warm jacket, windows that rolled up tight, and heaters that worked. Until he got a look under his baby's hood, he'd have to make do with two out of three.

"Turn here," his brother, Sam, instructed him from the passenger side. The map in his hands trembled between two gloved hands. He shivered within his warm winter jacket, recently purchased from a big department store with a fraudulent credit card and fraudulent ID. "Why can't we ever get a case in Hawaii?" he complained.

"My baby can't drive there," Dean reminded him as he made the turn.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, at least I'd like to be somewhere that doesn't feel like it's about to snow."

Dean chuckled. "We can't always have sunshine and home-cooked meals."

"And what a meal!" Sam licked his lips as he remembered the food they had eaten earlier that week after helping some witches in San Francisco. It was still odd several days later to have met supernatural beings and witches at that, who were good, but it had also been rather nice.

Dean stopped the Impala in front of an old run down house. If it hadn't been for the lights on inside, Dean would have wondered if anyone even lived there, but according to Bobby's information, not only did someone live there, but the deaths had started around the same time the family had shown up six weeks before.

He zipped up his jacket and opened the door. He shivered as she cold air hit his face, but he ignored it and closed the door behind him. He walked around the car and surveyed the house. The more he looked, the more he was convinced that it wasn't fit for human habitation.

Realizing the passenger side door hadn't opened, Dean turned around and looked at his brother through the window. "Are you coming, Sam?"

Sam shook his head and made no move to open the door. When Dean made a move to open the door himself Sam hit the lock button.

Dean shook his head and started digging for his key.

Sam scowled and opened the door. "It's cold out here, Dean. Have a little pity."

Dean shook his head. "My little brother is turning into a wuss. Unbelievable."

Sam rolled his eyes at him and stepped onto the sidewalk. "What are we looking for exactly?"

Dean shrugged. "Anything freaky or weird."

Sam ignored him. He looked at the house and shrugged. "I just don't see it. There's a car in the drive, lights on in the windows, toys in the yard. Maybe it's just a coincidence that they moved here when this started.

"They didn't move here," a voice behind them informed them.

The Winchester brothers turned around to look at a young man behind them. He was probably about fifteen or sixteen and looked like he'd seen too much in his life.

"You really shouldn't be here," he informed them. "It's spooky."

"Spooky," Dean chuckled at that. "He thinks this is spooky."

"I don't find that funny," the young man glared at him.

"Dean Smith," Dean informed him. "And this is my partner, Sam Johnson. We work for the . . ."

"I'm not stupid, you know," the boy interrupted. "I know those aren't your real names."

Dean glanced over at Sam. In unison they dug into their pockets and pulled out IDs.

The boy took Dean's out of his hand. He looked at it closely and handed it back. "Decent fake. I've seen better, but not much."

Dean stared at him startled. "It's not fake."

"Yeah, yeah," the boy blew him off. "I don't care, okay. Are you here to investigate the family living there?"

"Who are you, kid?" Sam asked, looking at him curious.

"Dale Mickey," the boy announced, "and I'm not a kid. My family moved here six years ago, here being next door, and people like to talk about the old residents. They say the girl went psycho and killed everyone."

"Ever hear a name put with that?" Dean circled around the boy, trying to figure out what to make up him.

"Na," Dale denied. "Never cared enough. Nothing weird ever happened there. It was just an old run down house. Or it was until six weeks ago when they suddenly showed up. I went to bed one day and the house was empty and woke the next to next door neighbors that acted like they'd been there all along. The boy gives me the creeps. I'd stay away unless you plan to find out what's up with them. And even then I'd be careful."

"Right," Sam agreed hesitantly. "Are we done here, Dean?"

Dean nodded. "We're done here."

Sam glanced at Dale and sighed. He climbed back into the Impala and shut the door behind him.

"Thanks for the warning," Dean called over his shoulder as he headed around the car.

On the sidewalk Dale watched them leave, a scowl on his face. He kicked the air and headed back toward his house. Under his breath he mumbled, "No one ever listens."

He didn't notice the face looking out one of the upstairs windows of the house, a thoughtful expression with calculated eyes taking in everything going on in front of the house.

For those of you who have read my crossover with Charmed, "The Halliwell Death Trap", this story takes place less than a week later. The other sequel, "Invisible" follows the Halliwells after that story. I hope you enjoy them both.