Chapter Text
The Darkness was closing in. There was no escaping it now that it had been released. Cain’s curse had been broken but this was only the beginning.
“This place is a wreck,” Dean griped, throwing back another swallow of Malboro. At least those filthy Stynes hadn’t found and dumped his secret stash of ‘provisions’. When he and Sam had stumbled back to the Bunker after getting taken for a ride by that freaky black cloud of Darkness, the place was in shambles. Dean only vaguely remembered ripping the Stynes to shreds and then finding them here burning some of their more valuable resources, trying to slink off with crates of weapons and books. Thankfully, they hadn’t gotten far with their spoils because Dean had been there to stop them, but at what cost? Already, two innocent boys had been slaughtered on the floor at his feet, and that blood was on his hands.
“At least they knew what was important to keep and not turn to ash. Still, whatever was in these books is lost to us now.” Sam scuffed a booted toe against the floor, trying to get just a bit more of the ashy stains out of the tile. They had salted and burned the bodies they found and salvaged what they could. The bastards had been more out to play a cruel and debilitating joke on the Winchesters rather than dig them a hole in the ground to be buried in. Every item of clothing or anything personal the boys owned was burned. At the thought of the picture of him and his mom lying half charred under his pillow, Dean clenched his jaw and took another swig.
It had been a few weeks and even with Sam on the books practically day and night, they had found hardly a scrap of intel on this “Darkness”.
Running a hand through his hair, Sam joined Dean at the table and leaned back with his own drink clasped tantalizingly chilled in a fist. “I don’t know man. There doesn’t seem to be anything out there on this ‘Darkness’. It was hard enough to learn the deep dark secrets of the Mark and that took us nowhere good.” Dean blinked himself out of the daze of picturing that poor kid’s body lying in front of him on the floor and started listening to his brother.
“I was going through the boxes of stuff the Stynes were planning on hauling and found a couple interesting files. Might be worth looking into.” He produced a box that had some scattered files in it from under the table and picked out one in particular that had caught his eye. I mean, with the pictures of whatever data the Men of Letters had been collecting, how could he not take a second glance? The girl was beautiful.
“The Archives? I wonder if that’s another Men of Letters hideout. But what does it have to do with this girl?” Sam rolled his eyes when he saw the pictures. “Story-teller? Sounds like some sort of fairy-tale crap like the land of Oz was.”
“But read here. It says she knew all and saw all. Never aged and they couldn’t figure out why. Apparently, they held this chick here for generations and she never changed. So in theory, she would be as much of a babe now as she was in 1945.”
“Dean, eyes up,” Sam chastised jokingly, pulling the file back so his brother wasn’t staring at it like a porno anymore. Turning a page, Sam’s brows came together in confusion and he leaned his elbows on the table, scanning the pages furiously. “She’d apparently taken more than a sip at the fountain of youth Dean. It says here they even tried to kill her, but she wouldn’t starve, she wouldn’t bleed out if she was stabbed; hell, they must’ve tried everything trying to kill this…whatever she was, and she just wouldn’t kick the bucket.”
“Not a demon, not an angel, not anything they could figure out. But look towards the end,” Dean suggested, knowing Sam would be enraptured by the mystery. This challenge was just the sort of thing to get their minds off their present predicament. Sam flipped to the end, and then back a page, and then to the back again.
“There’s nothing. It just ends.”
“Exactly. Their records were regular, planned, specific. Why would they just stop in the middle of this investigation? It doesn’t say if they eventually killed her, or…”
“Maybe she got away?” Sam wondered.
“Bingo. What if this chick’s still kicking out there somewhere?” Draining his bottle, Dean leaned over the table and plucked one of the headshots of the girl from the file. It was brown and aged around the edges, the image itself a faded version of its former glory, but it would do.
“You want to find her?”
“Sam, if she’s some kind of ‘story-keeper’ - whatever, she probably knows something about this Darkness thing coming. It couldn’t hurt to do a little digging. We’ve tried a million different angles with this thing and we’ve come up dry. Maybe this is our one in a million.”
“Well if we’re headed into battle, we better call in the cavalry.” Sam cocked an eyebrow at his brother as he took the two bottles between his fingers.
“Sam, I’m not callin’ Cas.” Dean shoved away from the table with his ‘end of discussion’ face on.
“Come on man. You know you two need to sort this out. It wasn’t your fault Dean! It was the Mark! Cas will understand. Heck, I bet he’ll even forgive you without a second thought, or he already has.”
“I said no, alright Sam?” Dean’s fists clenched as he fought off his all too eager rage and let his hands fall limp at his sides. He was tired of the brutality. Wanted nothing more to do with it. Especially considering how close he had actually come to killing his brother only a few weeks ago. He still couldn’t forgive himself for even entertaining the consideration of taking that scythe to anyone other than Death himself.
“Dean.” One word uttered by a particularly familiar voice froze Dean in his tracks on his way to his room to sulk. Sure enough, as he turned around, Castiel was there in the flesh, bearing no signs of the brutality Dean had subjected him to not long ago.
Neither of them said anything as they stood there and Sam carefully watched for any kind of tell for what was going to happen between his two brothers. They were always fairly unpredictable but pitted against one another…
They were about ten yards apart when suddenly Cas was three feet in front of Dean with his elbow cocked for a right hook. The latter didn’t even flinch but stared straight ahead until the punch connected with a resounding crack that threw Dean back into a doorframe. He rubbed his jaw with his brow creased and with something like surprise in his eyes.
Neither of the Winchesters had ever seen Castiel throw such a mean punch.
“Hey Cas, I – ” In another blindingly fast movement, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him into a fierce hug. They stood this way, Dean awkwardly flailing for a moment before returning the brotherly embrace. The childish angel’s actions spoke louder than words and told more volumes of the pair’s relationship than had been so recently turned to ash. When they parted, Castiel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder as his brother did the same.
“All is forgiven Dean. You are healed and so am I. All is well.”
“Hate to put a damper on the bro-fest, but all isn’t really well Cas. We got the Mark off Dean, but it turns out there was a catch,” Sam interrupted awkwardly, setting aside the bottles that were suddenly so mundane.
“When is there not with you two?” Cas joked mildly, flexing the hand he had used on Dean’s jaw. “What is the battle we fight today?”
“Well apparently, the Mark wasn’t just some old curse. It was a key that held some kind of ‘Darkness’ at bay. After the Mark was broken, this Darkness was released.” Castiel’s face had gone ashen, even more pale than he normally was.
“How do you know this?”
“It kind of attacked us outside the bar where we killed Death…”
“Death can’t be killed so that wouldn’t have brought about any kind of horrific plague but - ” Castiel mused but Dean cut him off.
“Cas, I stuck Death through with his own scythe. The guy’s dead as a doornail.” Castiel looked about ready to pass out.
“And the Darkness, who told you about this?”
“The deceased himself. Spilled the beans, and he was going to throw me on some planet out there or something to keep the Mark from being broken. Apparently even he was freaked by whatever this Darkness is.”
“But we can’t find anything else on whatever it is,” Sam grumbled. They had all taken seats at the table and Sam gestured to the stacks lying in heaps around the room.
“I can’t imagine you would. Even I don’t know much about the Darkness, only that God was the only one to have faced it. And that was before He even began to form the Earth as you know it.” The angel sat rigid as usual with his brow creased in concentration. He still hadn’t regained the color in his face.
“The only lead we can find is her.” Dean tossed the picture across the table, watching for Cas’ reaction, but he looked more confused than before if anything.
“Who is this?”
“We don’t know. But the Men of Letters had a file on her that the Stynes were trying to get a hold of. It didn’t have a name, only a title: ‘Story-teller’.”
“That…that title is familiar…” Cas wondered, tilting his head curiously while gazing at the woman in the faded image. “You want to find her, and ask about the Darkness? What makes you think she knows anything?”
“Because apparently she’s been around quite a while. As in, generations of the Men of Letters held her in this exact bunker and she never aged a day.” Dean was leaning forward now as the intensity of the situation boggled the angel’s mind.
“And as far as they were able to test, nothing could kill her.” Sam opened the file on the table and pushed it towards Cas who scanned it quickly.
“This is troubling. Could it be some monster they had yet to face but that you two have encountered since then? Much has happened since the original Men of Letters last collaborated.”
“You mean like the Apocalypse and the angels falling and Metatron and the Mark and every other shithole we’ve been dropped down? Yeah, I’d say we experienced a lot, but they freaking went to the Land of Oz. I’d say they had their fair share of crazy,” Dean scoffed, sitting back in his chair and unconsciously rubbing his arm where the Mark of Cain had so recently been removed. “Even so, we should find whoever or whatever this chick is and ask her a few questions. Somethin’ this freaky should be checked out anyway right?”
“Maybe you’re right Dean, but where would we even start?” Sam wondered, doing his best not to reveal the worry still unsettling him whenever it looked like his brother was remembering the Curse or any number of the horrors they had gone through in the past ten years.
“What about this?” Castiel pointed out a name in the file that was the most repeated. “Theodore Bowen. The name occurs in several places and seems to be called here,” he indicated a section in one of the last entries. “It says that he was the guard of the girl’s cell.”
“Wait I remember something about a Bowen. Wasn’t he killed by Abaddon during that crazy time with Grandpa Henry?” Dean snapped his fingers in concentration.
“Well that’s a dead end I guess. Did he have any family? Any kids that he might have passed the mantle onto?” Sam queried.
“Let me check on it and I’ll let you know,” Castiel announced and was gone in one of those blindingly fast flashes. Dean always wondered if his wings must be ripped or something.
“While he’s doing that, let see what more we can get out of the files here.” For hours, Dean and Sam sifted through old case files, journals, and kill records. They pulled up completely empty. Only the one file mentioned anything about the Storyteller that they could find.
“Well I’m about ready to hit the sack. How ‘bout you?” Dean rolled his shoulders and felt a satisfying stretch in his tense muscles.
“Guess we won’t know anything ‘til Cas gets back,” Sam mused with a yawn.
Dean lay awake for hours that night; his much too recent past haunting him every time he closed his eyes. There were so many people who had died because of him and far too few who had survived an encounter of the supernatural kind. Still, every time he felt the darkness of his soul closing in, he remembered Sam down on his knees completely resigned to whatever fate dealt him as Dean himself held the scythe of Death over his head. Cain had been the one in particular that foreshadowed the murder of his brother from none other than his own hand, but he had proved them wrong. Dean chose family over the world yet again, but what would be the cost he had to pay this time?
Dean had just begun to doze when he realized he wasn’t alone in the room. With his eyes still only barely cracked, he reached for the Bowie under his pillow.
“Dean. I found him.” Castiel was suddenly standing right beside the bed in all his angelic ninja glory. The hunter’s eyes shot open and he sat up on an elbow, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Geez Cas! It’s the middle of the night! You can’t keep doing that man,” Dean growled as he threw off his blanket and went to his bureau to get dressed. An hour or so was good enough to keep him going a while anyways.
“This is an urgent matter and must be handled with all haste. We need to know what this Darkness is and – ”
“Just go wake up Sam. Tell him to meet me in the garage.” The eldest Winchester didn’t even flinch at the breeze that tousled his sandy brown hair; instead, he listened carefully for a moment before hearing a thud from the only other occupied bedroom in the Bunker.
“Cas! What the hell?!” The curse was muffled through the cinderblock walls but it still brought a crooked smile to Dean’s face. Within minutes he had packed a bag of essentials and loaded ammo for any kind of monster. He made a stop in the kitchen to whip up a couple sandwiches for the drive and, having stuffed those in a paper bag, headed for the garage. As the fluorescents kicked on one by one, he paced the line of machines until he came to his baby. She could use a fresh coat of wax.
“I’ll take care of you when we get back, Baby,” he crooned, throwing his bag in the trunk and selecting the keys from the wall.
“What’s going on Dean?” Sam was usually the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed one in the morning. Given, it was only about 3 am but still...He didn’t look all that thrilled but Cas, who was right behind him, had a determined glint in his eyes.
“Toss your stuff in the back. Cas will fill us in on the way. By the way, where to trench coat?”
“Hoover, South Dakota.”
“Better get goin’ then.” Dean slid into the driver’s seat with Sammy riding shotgun and Cas in the back, not wearing his seatbelt as usual. As he turned the key and heard Baby’s engine rumble to life, Dean felt a moment, a fleeting moment mind you but a moment all the same of rightness. This was where everyone he cared about belonged.
“What are we headed for Cas?” Dean sparked up the inevitable conversation as they pulled out of the hidden garage tunnel from the Bunker. Better to get it out in the open now so they could plan, while they were all still awake.
“Ted Bowen had a son, illegitimate but blood nevertheless. His name is Wesley Bowen. From what I could understand of the family heritage, they were endowed with the duty of guarding this ‘Storyteller’. But the tradition goes farther back than the father. Even the grandfather and his father before him guarded this creature. The son had been a transient most of his life, left a mentally unstable mother at home around the age of 16. The mother has since killed herself. I found the boy by using a blood trace from the father, don’t ask,” Castiel rolled his eyes when Dean opened his mouth. There was probably something complicated about getting the father’s blood that the angel didn’t want them to know, so Dean let it drop; for now.
“Anyway, he’s been living in this particular town for almost a year; already quite considerably longer than anywhere else.”
“Do you think he might be a hunter who hung up the belt?” Sam rubbed his eyes, blinking widely and trying to focus.
“It’s possible, but I couldn’t find out for sure. He was hard enough to track down, let alone divine his entire life story.”
“Alright you two. What else can you tell us Cas?” Dean butted in before the grumpy kids could really start going at it.
“He’s married.” There was a pause of silence in the car that hovered over the edge of something before crashing with the sound of Castiel’s sigh. “That’s all.”
“Well, looks like we’re flying by the seat of our pants for this one. Get some rest Sammy. It’s a long drive.” Dean nudged his kid brother’s shoulder as he tried in vain to stifle another yawn.
“Wake me up when it’s my turn to drive.” About ten hours later, the glossy black Impala rolled into the lot of a motel called the Kirby Inn.
“Cas, can you check out Wesley, tail him for a bit. We’ll set up camp here and follow you pretty quick,” Dean whispered and the angel left in a gust of wind. The breeze woke Sam who rubbed the sleep from his eyes and froze.
“Dean, where are we?” The elder brother didn’t answer as he swung open the door and stretched his stiff legs. “Are we already in South Dakota?”
“Dude, we’ve gotta break you of that snoring habit. And what is a grasshopper sock by the way?” Sam followed Dean to the back of the car and grabbed his bag, slamming the trunk closed.
“How about you go get lunch and we’ll call it even?” Rolling his eyes, Sam tossed his bag at Dean who caught it and set about getting a room. By the time Sam returned, he had checked and cleaned his .45 Colt as well as lined up a decent array of possible elements the female might be weakened by. They unfortunately had to go by trial and error with this one. But they had to find her first, and their only lead was this Bowen. Sam eyed the arsenal and glanced at his brother’s stupid, satisfied grin before handing him a bag.
“They had pecan? This time of year? Jackpot!” Dean’s grin widened as he tore open the pie first and munched it like a piece of pizza. The pure bliss on his face spoke volumes and Sam shook his head.
“You and your pie,” he chuckled, pulling out a grilled-chicken wrap of his own.
“Learn by example Sammy. Eat some pie and you’ll grow up big and strong like me!” The two shared the meager lunch before Sam wiped his face and tossed his garbage into the
bin for a nice off the rim shot.
With a competitive grumble, Dean wadded up his bag and lobbed it, swishing the plastic bag with a satisfying thunk at the bottom. Holding up both hands in victory, Dean scoffed at Sam who just shook his head.
“We should probably get on over to the Bowen place; have a little chat with Mr. Wesley,” Dean suggested, rolling his shoulders in anticipation. As the pair drove up to the small suburban home, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“What do we do? Just go up there and knock on the door? Say ‘hey, we’re hunters and we’d like to talk to you about a girl your family is supposedly keeping captive’?”
“That might not be the smartest plan you’ve ever come up with,” Castiel’s voice suddenly coming from the back of the car startled both boys. Why it still made the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stand up he would never know. Shouldn’t they have gotten used to his antics by now?
“And what would you suggest?” Dean queried, craning his neck to scope out the general layout of the house. It was an unassuming single-story with white siding, an attached garage, and a shed it looked like in the back.
“Straight-forward but subtle. Don’t say hunters, tell him you’re from the Men of Letters. If his father did pass on any superstitions from his past, the hunters were brainless pawns in his day.”
“Gee Cas, thanks,” Sam harrumphed good-naturedly.
“Here goes nothing I guess. Cas, why don’t you stay in the car? Best not to reveal our ace in the whole right at the start.” With a nod, Castiel sat back as Dean and Sam swung open the doors and approached the house, no disguises on, just themselves. This was risky. Dean cracked his knuckles, taking a deep breath, and knocked.
“Coming!” It was a man’s voice. The men on the porch braced themselves as the target answered the door, only opening it a fraction when he saw the two giants on his porch.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“Hi Mr. Bowen? Wesley Bowen?” Sam asked.
“Yes. Who wants to know?”
“I’m Sam Winchester. This is my brother Dean. We’re with the Men of Letters and thought you might be able to help us.” At the mention of the Order, the man’s eyes lit up instantly; no mistaking it.
“Honey, there are some gents here from work. I just have to take them around back and explain some filing work to them. Won’t be long!” he called over his shoulder, stepping out onto the porch and leading the way around the back of the house. The Winchesters followed and watched curiously as the man pulled a key from his pocket. It was attached to a belt loop with a chain. Guess he didn’t want to lose it, or have anyone else getting a hold of it.
“Come in.” The man’s tone had changed dramatically from that of a mild-mannered financial consultant to that of a calculating, analytical hunter. This man knew things. After he closed the door and flipped on a light, the brothers were astounded to see maps and strings and pictures and all other manner of pins.
“Looks like you’re on quite the hunt,” Dean mentioned, taking in every detail. His interest spiked when he glimpsed a picture of the girl; in fact, now that he was looking, there were quite a few of the same girl.
“This one has led me on quite the merry chase, but I’ll get it in the end.”
“What is it you’re hunting?” Sam asked, glancing at Dean. He knew as well that this was a man on a mission. They had to tread carefully if they were going to get information about the hunt that was his life’s work without giving themselves away. Bad things happened to hunters who got in the way of others in the business.
“An ancient creature. Moves around a lot. Smart. But it’s always the same one. No spawn or anything, just the same one for generations. My grandfather even hunted this thing.”
The man seemed to have become lost in his thoughts as his eyes glazed over while he stared at a certain map. It seemed newer than the others with a ton more pins in it. “Internet makes things a little easier for my part though. I’ve been so close to catching it so many times, but every time I get close, it slips through my fingers,” his tone darkened before he cleared his throat and turned back to the two tensing brothers.
“Forgive me,” he chuckled, brightening instantly as soon as he turned away from that map. “I don’t run into many other hunters, or Men of Letters I should say, at all. No one to compare notes with. I lost the trail about a year ago. Haven’t been able to pick it up again, but I think I might have a new lead.”
“We had a similar case a while back. A real hard creature to find. Had to bind death to finally nab the sucker,” Dean joked, only stumbling a little over the title of the big boss Reaper who he had put down. Bowen burst out laughing, pretending to wipe a tear from his cheek.
“Bind Death? You guys are too much.” He chuckled a bit longer before settling down and motioning to a couple other seats in the shed. “So how can I help you guys?”
“We were wondering about your father actually. What can you tell us about him? Some of our records were destroyed and you know the code of the Order is to gather intel on all things supernatural,” Dean covered. He already had the map memorized, if only he could find the pattern.
“Oh of course!” For the next half hour, Dean and Sam listened and pretended to take notes on the stories Wesley Bowen was retelling, but the moment Dean saw the lead that would take them straight to the storyteller, the only reason he could sit still was that the ever darting glances of Bowen were making him nervous. It was as if he sensed something was off.
“Thank you for your time. We’ll be sure to get all this logged and put in the books.” Sam smiled and held out a hand which was accepted and the men shook amiably.
“Come back anytime boys! My wife would love to have you stay for dinner next time you’re in town.”
“Sure man. We’ll see you around.” The Winchester’s rose and exited the shed, Sam catching onto Dean’s apprehension instantly but they walked as placidly as they could back to the car. Only once they were all in and driving away did Dean finally breathe easy.
Wesley Bowen watched them drive away after he locked up the shed. His wife was still in the kitchen when he returned and he wrapped his arms around her, but barely felt the warmth of her skin.
“I have to take a trip for work, honey.”
“How long is the company sending you away this time?” she whimpered, leaning back into her husband.
“Only for about a week dearest. It should be an easy hit. A couple of buffoons just made a bad move and I need to clean up their mess.” By sheer force of will, Wesley kept his hands from noticeably shaking with the rush of being on the mutant’s scent trail pumping through his veins. Those blockhead hunters claiming to be “Men of Letters” had made a huge fumble in their interrogation. That shorter one was too obviously studying the maps of his target.
“We didn’t ask him about the girl. He’s got a whole shed dedicated to generations of Bowens who have hunted whatever this girl is,” Sam explained to Cas as he settled back into the Impala. Dean was speeding back to their motel.
“Yeah, not to mention he was a nut!” Dean snapped nervously. “That guy was all kinds of crazy. You should have seen that tactical shed he had locked up nice and tight.”
“I must confess, I disobeyed.” Castiel’s pathetic tone made both Winchesters turn to the man in the trench coat hanging his head like a child. “I did not remain in the car. I followed you but hid myself in the spiritual plane so you could not sense my presence.”
“Cas, you child,” Dean chuckled, reaching back and ruffling the angel’s hair. “Glad you had our backs.”
When they reached the motel, Dean pulled out a US map and began circling cities with a black marker.
“There isn’t even a pattern,” Sam worried, but his brother was deep in thought. Capping the black marker, he pulled out a red and chewed on it thoughtfully. Sam began unpacking while Cas stood awkwardly looking over Dean’s shoulder when suddenly, the eldest Winchester slammed a fist down on the table and shouted triumphantly.
“What the - ” Sam growled, stalking over when Dean gestured.
“Watch this,” Dean traced several lines between the points until a shape began to take form. When he stepped back, there was a distinctive shape, like a lion, but it was missing a paw. Leaning forward, Dean circled an area in Kansas and capped the pen. “If she’s holding to pattern, she’ll be somewhere in here.”
“How do you figure?” Castiel still looked thoroughly confused.
“Japanese zodiac. It’s the year of the lion.” Both Sam and Castiel glanced at each other disbelievingly but Dean saw and just rolled his eyes. “Just because a guy happens to check his horoscope in the paper doesn’t mean I’m dying!”
“So according to this, the girl is in Kansas? She’s been right under our nose the whole time? How could we not have noticed or heard something?” Sam shook his head and tucked a strand of loose hair behind his ear. It was probably about time he got a trim, but Dean could go a little wild with those scissors.
“Apparently. Get some rest and we’ll take off in the mornin’,” Dean instructed, tugging off his own boots. “Cas, you - ”
“Don’t worry Dean. I only just got my grace back so I’m resting up as well but I can stand watch outside.” Without another word or fuss, the angel vanished, leaving the Winchesters stunned for a moment.
“Do you think something was off with the Bowen guy? He seemed a little nutty to me,” Sam confessed as he pulled out his toothbrush.
“There was something there. Couldn’t place it though. I’m just wondering if we tipped him off enough that he’d follow us, or go after the girl himself,” Dean worried, shedding his outer layers and dropping back on the lumpy motel mattress. With a grimace, he realized just how spoiled he and Sammy had become living in the Bunker.
“He’d have to figure out the trail first; and if he’s settled down enough to take a wife and a mortgage, I’d say he’s been off the scent for a while,” Sam mumbled through the fluoride foam. That boy and his habits drove Dean up the wall with his salads and even folding his damn socks in his drawers back home.
“S’pose you’re right.” Something still seemed off to Dean but he suspected it was just anxieties about being out on the road again. Pulling the Bowie from his overnight bag, he slipped it under his pillow and flopped face-first into the scratchy sheets, using his feet to shuffle at least part of the blankets over himself. He was out like a light in seconds.
“What if - ” Sam cut off when he saw his brother already slack-jawed and wiped a towel over his mouth, tossing it into the sink. Shaking his head, he carefully pulled the blankets from around Dean’s legs and draped them over his back. His older brother barely budged. As Sam sat on the opposite bed, he couldn’t help just staring at Dean for a moment: his arm carefully under the pillow where he kept hold of a knife even in his sleep, the other arm draped over the side of the bed where the Mark of Cain had so recently been removed, and the tiniest creases where the stress of being a hunter were just beginning to show but were gently eased while he was asleep. Dean had known no other life than that of a hunter while Sam had gone off to college and lived a fairly normal life even if it was just for a couple years. They were all each other had left, brothers til the end, and their family had grown for a while but no one seemed to last when they came in contact with the Winchesters. Everyone they loved had died at least once, and the pain of Charlie…that one was on his hands. Charlie was dead and Rowena roamed free.
As Sam lay back on his pillow on the side nearest his brother, he realized that sleep was not going to give him rest tonight. Still, it was a comfort to close his grip around the Glock he had secreted away under his pillow. And then there was Cas somewhere nearby so, with a grin, Sam let his eyes drift closed at least for a few restless hours.
The trio pulled into Winona, Kansas around six that evening and stopped in at the Springhill Motel, renting a room and dropping their stuff before heading off to the nearest bar
for dinner. It was also a decent place to start digging for information. Castiel had mysteriously gone out scouting when they stopped at the motel so it was just Dean and Sam walking into Harvey’s Bar and Grill and they sat down at the closest empty table.
“What can I get you fellas?”
“Whatever’s on tap and a burger for me.”
“Tap for me as well and I’ll just take whatever ham and cheese sandwich you’ve got,” Sam nodded politely to the waitress who grinned appraisingly at him. She wasn’t too bad with that jean skirt and curly blonde hair pulled over her shoulder. As she left, Sam thought she might be swaying her hips a little dramatically to not be noticed by even the next three tables. Glancing back at Dean who was raising and eyebrow mockingly, Sam said, “Shut up.”
The room was surprisingly packed with nearly every stool at the bar taken with a wide range of occupants; mostly male Dean noted. “You take a lap and I’ll hit the bar, see if anyone recognizes her.” Dean held up the picture he had snatched from the file from his pocket and let Sam take a shot of it with his phone.
“Got it.” Dean finished his burger quickly and claimed a recently vacated bar stool, folding his hands on the counter.
“What can I get ya?” A middle-aged woman with a rag over her shoulder and rough looking features halted Dean’s scan of the bar occupants.
“Beer’s good.” The woman ducked behind the counter and retrieved a nice lager, popping off the top for him, but before she could disappear, Dean added, “And some info if you’ve got a second.” The woman shrugged, wiping the counter in front of him and waiting. “I’m looking for someone. A girl.” The woman scoffed but narrowed her eyes when he pulled out the picture. Dean saw the spark of recognition and realized instantly they had found the right place.
“Looks like a pretty old photo you’ve got there, or is that just for effect?” She was fishing. She knew something but wouldn’t let on without a little convincing. Dean knew the type.
“Yeah it does don’t it. My brother and I just blew into town but we heard this was the place to come if we needed directions.” Dean put a twenty discreetly on the bar and slid it over under his empty first bottle. The woman chuckled, shaking her head, but it was a dry laugh. She grabbed the glass, tossed it under the counter, and slapped her hand down on the bill, glaring at Dean.
“Don’t try this stuff with me again. I don’t appreciate the stereotypical easy barkeep moves.” She shook the bill in his face but tucked it inside her bodice anyway. “But I think I might be able to help you anyway. You seem like nice kids.” Dean signaled Sam from across the room and he instantly stopped flirting with the blonde waitress and wove his way through the crowd.
“The girl you’re looking for, she’s here. Right over my shoulder.” The Winchesters glanced that direction and saw a grinning row of grizzly old men; on the near side of the bar across from them was a woman with brown hair and a sweet smile. She looked too innocent to be a barkeep in a place like this. Dean moved to go over to her but the lady bar owner snapped his hand with the towel. He gave a startled yelp but Sam sat him back down with a wary glance at their neighbors.
“Wait just a minute now! I said you looked like nice boys, but you’re going to have to prove that to her.”
“What do you mean?” Sam queried, leaning a bit closer on the edge of the bar. Dean clenched his jaw to keep from snapping at this stranger; instead, he focused on the smarting welt on his hand.
“Now she’s one of the best barkeeps I’ve had come through here. Even keeps that old grouch on the end there, Richard, happy.” The man she nodded towards was nursing a thick glass of dark whiskey beneath a peppered beard down to his chest, but as they watched the girl, she spoke to him, touching his hand and throwing another shot into his cup. She put a finger to her lips and nodded over her shoulder at her boss and surprisingly, the Winchesters watched as a half-grin noticeably brightened the man’s features for a moment.
“Sure she throws a few drinks out to people here and there, but she pays it all back out of her tips. Tries to do it when I’m not looking.” The woman claimed their attention again, rubbing a sore spot on her shoulder. “She’s a good girl, and I won’t have you scaring her off. Now she’s easily spooked, but if you can come back for two more days, she’ll come to you; and I promise, you’ll get a lot more info out of her. It’s up to you.”
“Will you put in a good word and tell her to keep an eye on us or something?” Dean asked. This woman was acting like a protective mother hen and it caught him off guard. You didn’t find many people today who looked after anyone but themselves; especially in a bar in some random town off the beaten trail.
The woman grinned and even chuckled as she went back to serving her other customers. “She already knows you’re here.” Sam and Dean exchanged a glance as they returned to their table.
“What do you think Dean?” Sam tipped back his beverage of choice, staring at the girl who continued to quietly serve drinks. The waitress he had spoken to had recognized the picture and pointed the girl out immediately, almost without looking and when he asked about that, she explained that the girl hardly ever came out from behind the bar. She was a quiet, dependent type of girl; for some reason, popular with the out-of-towners. But the account they had gotten from the owner shed a whole different light on the girl. This case was ridiculously confusing.
“Let’s stick around for a while and come back tomorrow. I know we’re on a time table but she did look pretty flighty. Wouldn’t want to scare this thing off too soon.” Dean tipped back in his chair with a sigh. Despite his normally abrupt, brash nature, he knew good advice when he heard it, especially when it was given with conviction. Besides, this thing hadn’t dropped any bodies that they could find account of so there wasn’t any real danger to the civilians.
Sam pulled out a laptop from his bag and began tapping away, probably looking for more signs of the Darkness. It had been unnaturally quiet since it was released. Dean, however, studied the girl at the bar. If she was the target, he would do his own research. Though the owner had said the girl already knew they were there, Dean couldn’t help doubting. She didn’t even glance their way the rest of the night and when she went on break, she practically disappeared into thin air.
That night, Dean’s subconscious plagued him with images of Charlie in the bathtub at that dump of a motel where the Stynes had cut her up to get information, but the brave girl hadn’t caved. Around sunrise, Dean woke with a start in a cold sweat and dabbed at his nose. There was blood dripping so he shuffled to the bathroom and leaned over the sink. He looked at himself in the dark mirror, hesitating momentarily for fear that he would once again see those inky depths staring back at him. Part of him remembered being a demon, but the part that was very much human trembled at the same memory. Rinsing the blood from his hands and face, he waited for the drops of red splashing against the cream porcelain to stop before returning to his bed with a groan. He could never have imagined his future seeming even more hopeless than before back when he and Sammy were just hunting the things bumping around in the night. Being a hunter meant you didn’t live long and you usually died bloody, but he had died and come back a long time ago and now realized there were worse fates.
“I’m headed back to Harvey’s. You coming?” Dean tugged on his boots and tightened the laces that evening.
“Yeah sure. I could use a drink.” The brothers climbed in the Impala and made the short trek. “Have you seen Cas around?”
Dean shrugged and wet his lips, anxious to have a nice glass of whiskey neat clasped in his hand. “He said he was going scouting yesterday. Maybe he found something to keep him occupied for a while.”
The bar was still relatively full when they arrived and the owner greeted them with a nod, setting up a couple beers on the bar and beckoning them over.
“Good to see you’re taking my advice. Here’s another bit for you: don’t get drunk tonight and watch for what isn’t there more than what is. There’s more to this girl than just what you see.” With that bit of enigmatic counsel, the Winchester boys took up residence at their table from the night before and sat back for the monotonous show.
While Sam was lost in cyberspace, Dean caught the eye of a girl with long blonde hair over by the pool tables and grinned.
“I’m gonna see if I can get any more intel from the locals,” he coughed, sauntering over. His brother rolled his eyes but continued working.
But something strange did happen that night. Around 10, a guy in his mid-twenties caught the younger Winchester’s attention as he pushed his way up to the bar where the girl was working and the man wore a totally wasted grin.
“Hey, when do you get off?” he chuckled smoothly. The eye rolling of everyone in the joint was practically audible. Dean had noticed by this point as well. The girl just turned away to serve a different customer. “Hey lady I’m tryin’ to ask you out,” he slurred and grabbed the girl’s wrist. Even Dean was caught off guard by the instantaneous reaction of all ten guys sitting at that bar. The nearest one grabbed the drunk and twisted his wrist so he was forced to release the girl’s. As he stumbled backwards, another guy helped him along with a savage punch in his jaw that sent the man tumbling to the floor.
“Hey! What’s going on here?” the bar owner snapped and charged over to the scene like a grizzly.
“I got it Pat,” the scruffy man on the end rose from his stool and drained his glass, wiping the back of his hand across his peppery beard. In three steps, he was standing over the drunk with a look Dean instantly recognized. Their father had worn the same look whenever something got close to him or Sam back when they were kids. He usually let the devil lose at that point, figuratively. “Come on boy. You’ve had plenty.” The man dabbed at his bloody lip but his reaction time was too slow and with surprising swiftness, the guy with the beard grabbed the man by the back of his jacket, hauling him up and practically dragging him out the back door.
Conversation resumed steadily soon afterwards but there was definitely a shift in the atmosphere.
“Tom, come here,” the girl’s voice was quiet but its soothing tone carried over the alcohol drenched air. Dean and Sam watched as the man who had socked the drunk turned back to the bar and grudgingly held out his fist for the girl’s examination. She produced an icepack but even though it looked like he was going to refuse at first, the man reluctantly took it.
“What happened here?” Cas’ gravelly tones startled Dean out of his tunnel vision as the angel appeared beside them at the table.
“Looks like we might have a bit more trouble with this woman than we expected. To get to her, apparently we have to get past her bodyguards,” Sam explained with a nod towards the bar.
“These aren’t just a bunch of regular drunks. They’re all hunters,” Dean muttered under his breath. The idea had been growing in his mind as he took in the bar and its occupants. There were certain types of eyes you looked for in his kind of people. He could pick them out of a lineup: those who’ve seen and killed what no one else could even fathom in their darkest nightmares.