Chapter Text
Dean reached over and smacked the blaring alarm clock, a groan of complaint sounding from the pillow. He sat up, immediately welcomed by a slobbery kiss on his face.
“Hey buddy!” he exclaimed endearingly. “Good morning.” He buried his fingers in the long, wiry fur of his current source of happiness; Miracle, a stray dog he fell in love with immediately.
He took a vinyl from his collection—Van Morrison’s Hymns to the Silence —placing it carefully into his record player. Ordinary Life began playing. A song that fit perfectly into the day, given they were finally settled after defeating God himself. Dean turned it up so it rang throughout the bunker.
Coffee was at the top of Dean’s priority list, so he sleepily made his way to the kitchen, Miracle instinctively following behind.
Eileen stood at the stove, eggs and bacon cooking in their pans. Dean tapped her shoulder to get her attention, “Where’s Sam?” he asked, taking care to enunciate his words so Eileen could understand.
“Out for a run. I’m making breakfast now so it’ll be done when he’s back.” She checked the food, flipping the bacon when it began to sizzle.
“You are completely out of my brother’s league,” he commented, using a phrase he’d said to Sam’s first love, many years ago. A smile graced Eileen’s face and she scoffed affectionately.
“Coffee pot’s fresh,” she told him and continued cooking.
Dean poured himself a cup and took long sips, savouring every drop. Man. Without coffee, Sam would be dead a hundred times over, he thought.
A couple walked past Sam, the small child toddling happily between the pair. Sam didn’t stare but he looked on longingly. A family to call his own was something he’d dreamed of since before Stanford. Before everything changed. Of course, he had gained that somewhere along the line. Now, however, he had a person to settle down with and live a life where they could be safe.
He paused his music and looked out at the view; a lake, dotted with lilies and wildlife, a public trail where families took their morning strolls, a coffee truck that had only just opened for the day. Fresh air filled his lungs and he smiled, appreciative of the second chance he was given when Jack brought his lover back, along with the rest of the world.
Turning around to make the run back home, Sam bumped into a man with a long coat. Inappropriate attire for exercise, so he assumed this man was taking a walk. Alone.
“Sorry!” He exclaimed apologetically.
“No problem, just watch where you’re going next time. Don’t want to walk into the wrong thing.” Strange phrasing but… okay, Sam thought, nodding and moving on.
“What did you mean-” he asked, spinning on his heels to ask the man a question, but was cut short. He was gone. Not walking away or sitting on a bench. Gone. Disappeared.
Weird.
Miracle barked and Dean got up from the table, checking to see what was going on, relieved to find it was just his brother returning home.
“Perfect timing! Eileen’s putting food on plates.” He walked back into the kitchen, Sam and Miracle with him, just as the toaster popped. Dean grabbed the toast, since Eileen’s back was turned to it, and gave it to her.
Sam put his hand on his partner’s arm and they shared a quick peck before the plates were dished out.
Dean finished his breakfast quickly, giving his leftovers to Miracle discreetly (or so he thought) under the table. Sam used the time to talk and push away his feelings of worry, though they kept forcing their way up, so he ended up ignoring them instead of getting rid of them. He would deal with it later.
When the face of his watch caught his eye, Dean finished cleaning his weapons and put them away. News articles would be updated by now, so it would be easier to find a case.
Miracle sat in a chair beside him as he searched on his laptop. Not for a case anymore, as the man had distracted himself. Now, he was looking at various pies, neatly presented on the screen.
“There’s nothing from police or social media,” Sam said and sat opposite his brother, opening his own device. “Find anything?”
Dean doesn’t respond, as he hadn’t heard Sam’s question.
“Dean?” His brother acknowledged that, bringing his gaze up to meet Sam’s.
“Not just anything, Sammy. Something great.”
The boys drove to where Dean’s ‘something great’ was located. Eileen had offered to look after Miracle while they were out.
“Really, Dean? This is what was so important?” Sam complained, having sat in the car for three hours for this.
“Quiet,” Dean commanded, offended that his brother thought so lowly of his find. “Relish in this beautiful sight.”
“You’re- are you crying?” Sam asked.
“What? No, I’m not crying. You’re crying.” He looked up at Sam, pride in his eyes from his own comment, before striding towards the event.
The pair were greeted with a banner reading ‘Welcome to the 43rd Annual Akron Pie Fest!’ A banner that put a smile on Dean’s face.
While Dean gawked over the pies, Sam entertained himself by looking around, finding his own that he could bring home to Eileen for dessert later.
He thanked the vendor and took a seat, holding the pie box carefully.
“See, you’re glad I dragged your ass here,” Dean commented, sitting beside Sam with a box containing six slices of pie. Sam didn’t say anything in response, seeing the look Dean shot at him, and elected not to say anything.
“What’s wrong?” Despite the constant joking and teasing, Dean could tell when something was up.
“I’m—”
“—‘I’m fine’,” Dean mocked. “You’ve been spooked since we got everyone back, so don’t give me that crap.”
Sam caved, speaking his mind. “It just doesn’t feel right, you know? Like there’s a catch. I mean, Jack just left after telling us Cas was in Heaven. Something doesn’t sit right with me, and I don’t know what.”
“Cas is gonna be down here when he’s done fixing whatever in Heaven, okay? You got your girl back, and I got my best friend.” Of course, he was talking about Miracle. Dogs may not be man’s best friend, but this one was certainly Dean’s. “So stop being friggin’ Eeyore, and enjoy the little things, like this!” He gestured excitedly to his assortment of pies.
Almost as if on cue, Sam chose that moment to take one of the slices and shove it into Dean’s face, letting out a laugh as he did so.
“You’re right,” he chuckled. “I definitely enjoyed that.”
“You’re sure you’ll be okay here?” Sam signed to Eileen. Hunting wasn’t her profession anymore but it still haunted her. If something happened to her while Sam was working, he’d never forgive himself—still hadn’t forgiven himself for her death three years ago.
It was Chuck’s fault that Sam was worrying so much. He killed Eileen with the snap of his fingers. Jack may have been God, but that didn’t mean something else couldn’t come between them.
“I promise,” Eileen signed back and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll still be here when you get back. It’s less than a day, nothing’s getting me. Not unless it’s old age.” Sam smiled softly, nodding.
“Good. I love you,” he replied, taking his bag and waiting for Dean outside.
“He’ll loosen his grip, don’t worry. Things like this happen and he gets all touchy-feely, scared history’ll repeat.” Dean said, keeping his words clear and understandable to her, then joined his brother.
Despite blood spatter on the walls and furniture, the house’s interior seemed almost impossibly untouched. Save for the dead bodies, of course. Those were a not-so-festive decorative choice.
“Ackles, Padalecki. FBI.” Dean held his badge up to the woman as he spoke, Sam following suit.
“Like the actors?” She asked. “You look exactly like them.”
“Thank you for the compliment, officer,” he said with a prideful smile. “We get that a lot, but I can assure you that if we were actors, we wouldn’t be working crime scenes.”
“Bodies were missing parts, correct?” Sam butt in, trying to diminish the attention drawn to their fake badges. “Eyes, organs, limbs.”
“Yes, that’s right. Not the first scene like this, either. Half a dozen others, making their way up here.”
“You don’t mind if we?” Sam gestured to the scene, getting a nod of confirmation from the police officer.
It was horrific. A couple, their eyes stolen, bodies sliced open without a bother to be stitched up again. Only time they’d seen something like this was… crap .
Both brothers exited the scene, heading straight to Baby, and drove off.
“This isn’t a regular serial killer, Dean. You and I both know it isn’t.”
“Of course I know! These sons of bitches killed Charlie, so yeah, I freakin’ know!” Dean leafed through his own journal—he’d made a habit of it after he got back from Purgatory, to map what he knew about the things he hunted.
“There’s gotta be a reason they’re here, right? I mean, they’ve always been driven by something, all the way from the 1800s to now. There’s a motive.” Dean didn’t respond, reading his writing with a serious look on his face.
“I get how much you hate these guys but you gotta focus, alright?”
“Yeah.” There was reluctance in his tone. “Yeah, I’m focusing.”
“Bullet to the brain, you said that keeps ‘em down, so we’ll do that. Quick and easy.”
“It better be. I’m getting too old for this crap.” Sam made a face, wanting to protest, but the truth was that yeah, Dean was getting to an age where he should actually live his life, not just survive it.
Just surviving is not living, and they both deserved to truly live, especially after all they’d been through—all they’d sacrificed.
“This actually the place?” Dean asked skeptically. It was a barn, too unclean for these people. If you could even call them that.
“Yeah, it is. Eileen figured out the pattern, this is the next place on the list.” Sam trusted her judgement more than he trusted a lot of people’s, including Dean’s, sometimes.
“If you say so.” The trunk opened with a slight squeak, not for lack of care though, and Dean lifted the fake bottom up. “Ohh, awesome.” A box of shurikens (or, as they’re popularly known as: ninja stars) lay there, begging to be used.
“Dude.” Sam didn’t look impressed.
“Come on, just once.” The look didn’t let up but Sam still caved.
“Fine. Don’t lose them. And take the machete just in case.” Dean actually brought the machete, though he’d usually leave it for the sole purpose of defying Sam’s wishes, since it was fun. This time, however, he didn’t screw around.
Moonlight was blocked almost completely by the rickety walls, only allowing small slivers to escape. The floor creaked with every footstep, so the boys concluded that stealth was going to get them nowhere.
“Eyes up,” Dean whispered, gesturing to the room and his lips, telling Sam to stay quiet. Sam nodded in response, his gun trained at eye-level so he was ready for whatever came.
Neither man actually knew what they were getting into, as they’d severely underestimated the firepower of their foes.
Dean was knocked to the floor with a loud thud, a man straddling him with a knife to his throat.
“It’s been five long, long years of searching for you, Winchester. Five years I will never get back.” A foreign accent that Dean couldn’t quite place, maybe German? Or some derivation of it (it was Swiss).
“It’s him—” Sam called before getting pinned to the wall. “Dean, I saw him yesterday!” Dean was struggling against his grip, and Sam didn’t have enough room to move himself.
This man gave Dean a flashy, cocky smile. “The name’s Leon Styne,” he said. Of course! “For the stories I’ve heard, you’re not very hard to handle.”
“Hard to handle, huh?” Dean let out a dry, slightly pained chuckle. “Sorry to uh, burst your bubble, but you’re not really my type.” Hair’s too blonde. Coat’s too dark.
“You truly are hilarious. It’s a shame I will kill you though, but you slaughtered my people. I can’t stand for that.”
“And you murdered my family.” Dean managed to work his hand free and shoot the man in the head, rolling from where the body would drop before it did. “Sam!” He yelled, shooting the other guy.
“Thanks,” Sam breathed. “That was… surprisingly easy, right?”
As soon as the words escaped his mouth, the younger Winchester regretted it. More men invaded—five, to be precise, which for guys this difficult to take down, was a lot.
“Two lives for the price of seven. Hardly seems fair, but it’ll have to do,” another Styne exclaimed, shoving Sam out of the way of Dean, who had just gotten to his feet.
“Fellas, please, let’s just talk this out, huh? Like, uh- like therapy!” Dean dodged a punch and stabbed his opponent, seemingly doing no damage. “Motherf—” he was cut short when a sharp pain jabbed his side, searing straight through. Dean being Dean, however, continued fighting; hopped up on adrenaline.
He took his ninja stars and threw two of them, slicing the necks of his enemies. Actually pretty effective , Dean thought when the men bled out quicker than expected, and threw another at the man Sam was in mid-combat against.
Sam took a knife wound to the arm—though it was only cosmetic, not dealing any mortal damage. His attacker dropped to his knees, crimson gushing from his jugular.
Dean struggled against this next Styne member, his shirt soaking and steeping red. “Sam!” He called for his brother’s assistance, who killed his own opponent before decapitating Dean’s.
“You okay, little brother?” Dean asked through gritted teeth, though he was the one bleeding out against a pillar.
“You- you’re bleeding. Dean, tell me you’re okay. Please.” His voice was pained and desperate.
“Sammy…” He pressed against his side and brought his hand—now imbrued with blood—up to eye-level, a surprised, yet tired, look on his face. “I don’t think that’s good…”