Chapter Text
Take the 95 East and switch over to the 395 once you see the sign for Bangor, Maine. Just before you hit the Penobscot River, get off the 395 and onto the 1A. Head south.
You’ll pass suburbs full of people whose lives are so far removed from yours it’s a little painful if you think about it for too long (so you never do). When you’ve left the rows of cookie cutter houses with identical bright green lawns it’s going to seem like you’re driving on the road to Nowhere, the trees on either side of you impossibly tall and green, the forest stretching out ahead of you as far as the eye can see. If you’re lucky, you might see a few deer, maybe even a moose. Watch out for those — hitting them will cost you your life, not theirs. And after all you’ve been through that would be a pretty shitty way to go, don’t you think?
In about twenty minutes you’ll reach a sign. “Derry Welcomes You” it’ll say. The sign is a lie, and all of the seemingly sleepy town’s residents know this. They’ll tell you that it’s a nice place to live and an even better place to raise a family. This is a lie too, but that’s alright. Though it doesn’t look like it yet, you’ve reached your destination. Perhaps your final one, depending on your luck. Best to keep in mind, though; the longer you’re in Derry, the worse your chances are of ever leaving it.
Give it another minute or two and the forest will open up. You’ll find yourself on Main Street, the longest street in town. Another minute and you’re at the Derry Town House, the best hotel in town. It’s not big, and nobody would call it cozy, with its well-worn mattresses (try not to think about who slept here before you) and downstairs sitting room that’s always empty, but it’s as close to home as you’re going to get for the next few nights, so you’d better enjoy it.
This is where they are, on another hunting trip in just another town that looks so much like all the others they’ve been to. It’s nothing they can’t handle, this they’re sure of. After all, it’s not like anything surprises them anymore. Not after everything that they’ve seen - everything that they’ve experienced. This trip is just like the last, and it will be just like the one that’ll come after it. Drive to a new town that looks a lot like the last. Find a demon or similar creature. Kill said demon or similar creature. Flee the scene of the crime before the real feds show up. Easy as pie.
But Derry is anything but just another town, and the being that they were hunting down is not something that they’ve seen before. Not even close. (Try not to think about how you already know this. Try not to think about what you can feel lurking just underneath the surface of this town. Really, just try not to think.)
“Dean, can you please turn the radio down? I’m trying to focus here.”
Sam Winchester’s been feeling jittery ever since he and Dean crossed into Derry. Something about this place is giving him more of the creeps than normal, and all he wants to do is convince Dean to get back on the road and leave this town behind. (He feels almost itchy, like there’s something under his skin that he can’t quite get at.) He’s been trying to focus on a book that Bobby lent him, but between his brain screaming at him to run away, the too-loud radio (it’s not that loud, really, Sam’s brain is just on overdrive, and he knows this), and Dean’s humming, focusing on anything doesn’t seem like a possibility. There’s just too much damn noise. (Not a noise that Dean can hear though, Sam. This noise is on another frequency. This noise is one only you can hear, and you can thank the yellow-eyed demon for that one.)
Dean, who doesn’t seem to have sensed anything wrong with the small town besides the usual, is sitting at the desk in their hotel room, playing with a paper football he had just made out of the Bible in his bedside table, generously provided by the Grace Baptist Church. Sam briefly wonders to himself if Dean’s angel will give him a slap on the wrist for it. He hopes he will, because that would be kind of funny to see.
“Oh come on, Sammy. We’re not dealing with anything special here. It’s a vampire. We have a body drained of blood, we have puncture wounds on the neck, and most importantly: We have a witness. Of course it’s weird dude, but you don’t need to go freaking out like this every damn time something a little weird happens.” Dean graces his brother with a look up from the riveting game of table football, and seeing the disguised (but not well enough) anxiety hidden under the mask of his brother’s face, decides to abandon his game. His tone changes to something a little bit softer, a little bit more comforting. “If you haven’t noticed by now, it comes with the territory. Nothing we haven’t seen before.”
Sam shuts his book, eyebrows scrunching together as he lifts his hand to put pressure on the spot on his forehead where he can feel a headache coming on. “I know. But I’m telling you Dean, something’s not right with this.”
“And I’m telling you, that nothing is ever right with anything that we stick our noses in.” Dean turns his chair to better face the bed and leans forward in his seat but doesn’t reach out to him, and Sam appreciates that he holds himself back from asking if he needs anything, like he knows Dean wants to. Older brothers. Can’t live with them, can’t survive without them.
(Maybe you need it though, Sam. Maybe you need him to comfort you and then take you out of this fucked-up town. You don’t always have to be put together, Sammy.)
But he does, and he knows this, so instead of letting any more weakness show through the cracks in his mask, he puts on his most convincing I-am-okay-really-I-am face and just carries on.
“No Dean, not the kind of wrong that we usually deal with. There is something seriously off about this whole town. You can’t tell me that you haven’t felt it.” (Do not ask me about how I'm feeling, Dean, please. I don’t know what’s got me so fucked up but I cannot handle you asking me about how I’m feeling.)
It must work, because Dean just rolls his eyes at him. “Yeah, because there’s something weird going on. Their weird, our normal. But that’s not-”
“What about the kids, Dean?” Sam is moving down the bed to sit on the edge of it, picking up the notebook that he’d abandoned earlier in favour of Bobby’s book and opens it to the most recent page, where he’s scribbled down everything that he can find on Derry, which is honestly not all that much. A little bit of history, mainly about freak accidents, and a really disturbing high death rate and child disappearances is really all there is on the web. “What about what happened to them? All of those disappearances, all those accidents? You don’t think that’s weird?”
(It’s weird Dean, it’s more than weird. I can feel something going on here but I can’t tell you that because then you’ll freak out and I just… please, just believe me!)
“Sammy, it’s a vampire. A weird vampire, sure, but we’ve met plenty of those.” Dean stands up then, grabbing his keys off the desk and clasping a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he makes his way to the door.
(You can’t think that’s all this is please don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to believe that’s all this is Dean there is something Wrong here.)
“Do you really think that’s all it is? Come on, man, there’s no way you think that all we’re dealing with is one vampire. The kids, the accidents, the maulings, and you think all we’re dealing with is one vampire?” He’s irritated, and maybe a little desperate, and he knows this. Knows that he probably shouldn’t be pushing when he’s irritated and Dean’s hungry because it doesn’t usually end well, but Goddammit Dean please see what I’m seeing here .
“I think that’s the only thing here in our department, yeah. People are fucked up, Sam. We know that better than anyone. We also know that there’s a vampire here. We have the body, and we have a witness. Now come on. I’m hungry and you’re starting to piss me off. Let’s see if we can’t find some decent food here.”
He opens the door and walks out, end of discussion. He heads towards the stairs without looking back to check if Sam’s following him because he knows that he will. Setting his notebook aside, Sam gets up from the bed to do just that.
He’s irritated (and maybe a little bit scared) and he can feel his headache getting worse and for fucks sake sometimes it’s like Dean doesn’t even want to see what’s right in front of him! Doesn’t want to even consider the possibility that what’s going on could be more complex than they first thought, and Sam’s sure that this is going to be more difficult than a single vampire could be.
He closes the hotel door behind him and starts making his way downstairs, all the while thinking: Something is wrong here. The kind of wrong that runs true and deep and completely. Something is here, and Sam just knows that they’re walking straight into a fight that they aren’t prepared for. If Dean could just listen , then maybe… but Dean never fucking listens - that’s the problem!
(Can you blame him though, for not wanting to entertain the possibility? After everything he’s seen? After everything that you’ve seen? Can you blame Dean for wanting this just to be a monster hunt? No seals broken, no angels around, no impending apocalypse to deal with? Can you blame him Sammy? You just got him back Sammy, don’t ruin this Sammy.)
----
A quick trip to the morgue confirms what Sam and Dean already knew - they’re hunting a vampire. (For the love of God, that’s all that it is, Sam.) The torn-off leg had been concerning, sure, but the puncture wounds in his neck were a perfect match. An even quicker trip to the Derry PD tells them that the police are completely useless, which is another thing that the boys already know. And now, sitting in Mrs. Kersh’s apartment, they’re finally learning something new. Dorothy Kersh might have seen a vampire, but she’s also completely crazy.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kersh. I don’t think that I’m following.” Dean’s sitting on the most ridiculous floral pink couch that he’s ever seen in his life, a cup of tea sitting in front of him in a cup and saucer that match the couch. The print is disturbing, really, and the woman who chose it just seems crazy. Honestly, Dean has half of a mind to just walk out of her apartment and not come back. Even though she’s a witness, she’s definitely batshit, because this vampire that she’s describing just doesn’t seem, well, real.
“I’m telling you, young man, that the fellow who… well who ate the poor boy looked exactly like Dracula! Well, until he… well you know.” Mrs. Kersh is sitting very primly in her floral armchair, a perfect match for both the sofa and the teacups. She takes another sip of her earl grey in what seems like a move to try and postpone the inevitable.
“We’re really sorry to have to put you through this again, Mrs. Kersh, but we do need to know exactly what you saw.” Sam’s putting on his comforting we-know-this-is-hard-for-you face, and Dean is sure that even with her failing vision, Mrs. Kersh can see the soft look Sam is giving her. Fucking puppy-dog eyes bullshit.
“Look, boys. I really don’t know what else to tell you. I mean, I know you say that you want to hear exactly what I saw, but to be quite honest I’m not all that certain you’ll believe me. And it was…. well it really was terrible.” She sets her teacup down as she’s speaking, clasping her hands in her lap. Probably to keep them from shaking, Dean thinks. (And if Dean were in her position, his hands would probably be shaking too.)
Sam looks over at Dean and gives him a come on kind of look, and Dean makes a face at him before reaching over and putting one of his hands on top of Mrs. Kersh’s in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. He smiles at her in what he hopes is a comforting look (he’s not quite sure he even knows how to make those comforting faces anymore).
“I know this is difficult for you, but I promise that we do believe you. Just between us, we’ve seen a lot of strange things.”
And the comforting smile must work some, because Mrs. Kersh sighs and says, “Well, alright boys. But I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“We never do.” Sam replies. And that, Dean thinks, is the honest-to-God truth.
Mrs. Kersh takes a breath in and, her hands trembling slightly under Dean’s, starts.
“You seem like nice, charming young men, and I truly hope that you don’t judge me for what I’m about to tell you.” She laughs then, a low, nervous chuckle, and Dean gives her another small smile. (Jesus Christ lady, come on.) “The first thing you need to know, boys, is that this town is not normal. Now don’t get me wrong, I love it here! I’ve lived here since I was born and I’ll live here until I die, but…” She shakes her head. “It’s not a normal town. There’s… well, I suppose that’s a bit beside the point.
“Now about Donny Harland. Poor boy… Sweet boy, too. Grew up on this very street he did. He would help me with my groceries and always said yes to any favours I might ask of him - you know the type, I’m sure. Stayed that way as a teenager, too. Some boys get all surly, you know, but not Donny. Poor boy…
“Well, I was just out getting groceries - Tuesdays are always the best days to go, I think. Not as many people - and I was walking on home down the left side of Centre Street.” She gestures past Sam to where Dean assumes Centre Street is.
“I saw Donny standing in the alleyway, and I knew it was him because he was wearing that baseball cap of his. It’s a Patriots cap, you know. Dark blue, logo just on the front… He always wanted to get out of Maine and go to Boston. I never knew what it was about Boston specifically that he fell in love with but… Well, I suppose that’s beside the point, isn’t it…”
She looks at them, uncertain, and Dean gives her that same reassuring smile. (Come on lady, we don’t have all day.) After another deep breath, she continues.
“He was in the alleyway, and… and… there was… well it looked like a vampire. Like Dracula, straight from those movies that used to scare me silly as a kid. Except this man wasn’t in a movie, he was real . And Donny looked… Goodness, Donny looked terrified, standing there in his Patriots cap… I had never seen him look like that before. I hate to think… Well, then I screamed. I think I… I think I scared him, the vampire fellow, and… I dropped my groceries, you know. All over the pavement… it was one big mess… All that produce just - poof! Out of the bag - I always bring my reusable bags to grocery stores you know, and-”
Dean squeezes her hands slightly, just enough to get her to look back up at them instead of at the floor, and he hopes this will get her back on track. She does look up, and she smiles weakly at him - a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, which are filled with a look of, well, fear. He doesn’t think he can blame her.
“Well, I screamed, and the groceries aren’t important because… because that thing looked at me, and it had the most piercing yellow eyes I’ve ever seen… Goodness, they were just… terrifying. And I… well I’m ashamed to admit it, I really am, but - I ran. I turned around and I ran right back to the grocery store, and… You know, if my husband had been there he wouldn’t have run. John would have stayed… but I suppose I’m not John, and he wasn’t there with me, so… I ran, and when I… The body… Oh goodness!”
Mrs. Kersh lets out a sob and brings her hands from out underneath Dean’s to cover her face. Dean looks at Sam, panic in his eyes. Vampires don’t have yellow eyes, but he knows something that does. ( Jesus Christ please don’t let this be the yellow-eyed demon. I mean, it isn’t the yellow-eyed demon, because that son of a bitch wouldn’t do something like this. Unless he was toying with them, but… Get it together Dean. This isn’t a demon. Just a weird vampire.)
Sam looks back at him, the same panic in his eyes, and shakes his head slightly, because Mrs. Kersh is still crying. (Not the time. We’ll talk about it later.)
He reaches into his pocket and offers Mrs. Kersh a handkerchief. (Where the fuck did Sam get a handkerchief from? Does he always carry them around? Fucking nerd.)
But it helps, and Mrs. Kersh offers Sam a thankful, shaking smile, taking the handkerchief. Once she’s calmed herself down, Sam smiles softly at her.
“We really appreciate you talking to us, Mrs. Kersh. You’ve been a great help, really. If I could just ask one more question?”
“Of course dear,” Mrs. Kersh says, blowing her nose and offering Sam his handkerchief back. Sam puts a hand up as if to say No, really, you keep it . “What is it?”
“You said something earlier, about how Derry isn’t normal. Can you elaborate on that?”
Mrs. Kersh looks a little surprised that that’s the part that he’s stuck on, and Dean is actually in agreement with the old bat. The lady says the vampire looked like Dracula with yellow eyes, and Sam’s really focusing on the town being weird? Yeah, no shit Sherlock.
“Oh, well, you know… there’s just always been something… different about it. Never been anywhere quite like Derry. Always been a bit… strange. We have quite a few accidents for such a small town, you know. Of course, I’m not the best person to talk to about Derry’s history.” She smooths the handkerchief on her lap, and Sam and Dean exchange a look before saying together:
“Who is?”