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“So get this,” Sam says, looking far too peppy for someone who has had less than three hours of sleep. “An entire family of three disappears in Colorado. They were on a road trip from Denver to Carson city and just never arrived. They definitely stopped off for gas in Arbington, but that’s the last anyone’s seen of them. Car showed no signs of a forced entry. Should be right up our alley don’t you think?”
“Maybe?” Dean grunts, trying to blink his nagging headache away. He signals to the waitress to get him another coffee, dragging Sam’s laptop towards himself. “We’re only about six hours away. Might be worth checking out; I don’t know.”
Sam opens his mouth to ask, his brow furrowing, but seems to think the better of it. Dean’s glad he’s let it go. He doesn’t think he can deal with any of Sam’s concerned questions right now, not when his head’s on fucking fire.
It’s been a week since his encounter with Alastair and Dean’s still reeling from the casual mind-fuckery that Cas dropped on him that night. He’s physically fine - the angel took care of that with a touch of his fingers to the side of Dean’s forehead, but his nightmares are back in full force, and Dean finds himself waking up every night drenched in sweat, his heart pounding, too terrified to even scream.
“Ready to go?” Sam asks him.
Dean sighs, taking another long drain of his coffee.
“Yeah.”
+
“Issac Hogle, 38. Orthodontist. Married to Hailey, 33. They have two children - Patrick, 9 and Sarah, 4. They were on their way to see Hailey’s family in Carson City,” Sam says, reading the reports the Arbington Sheriff gives them. “They stopped off to get gas here and had breakfast at the town’s only diner. Very chatty, kids perfectly behaved.”
“Any history of disappearances nearby?”
“Not really,” Sam admits, passing the files to Dean.
The Hogles are indeed a picture perfect family. Father, mother and kids beam at them from the photographs that are attached to the files and Dean feels a tiny jolt of sadness at their unthinking happiness. It’s been over a week. Any chance of finding them alive is faint.
“Only one thing to do,” he says. “Let’s take a drive.”
+
“Why would they stop off here though?” Dean wonders, looking around at the bland, tree-filled landscape around him.
“Engine trouble, maybe?”
“Car was found fine, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but maybe at the time…” Sam walks around, the gravel under his feet crunching with every step he takes.
“Maybe someone needed to take a leak?” Dean asks him, taking out the EMF meter and turning it on.
Sam ponders this.
“I mean, it was broad daylight when they left town and this spot’s less than an hour away,” Dean says, tapping the EMF meter against the line of trees. “They must have felt safe enough getting out of the car.”
“And what, made it a family activity?” Sam asks him, examining the ground. Dean shrugs.
“Meter says nothing. Looks like we need to do it the hard way.”
+
They split up, much to Sam’s displeasure.
“I know not to get lost, Sam. Dad’s taught us enough. Besides, we have too much ground to cover to waste time going together.”
Sam purses his lips.
“See ya, Sammy. Call if you need me,” he says, “I’ll meet you back here in five hours.”
Sam’s Be careful, Dean is the last thing he hears before he enters the woods.
He searches the surroundings carefully, methodically, like his father had taught him to. There’s no sign of anything - no footprints, no empty pack of chips or random hairpin. The forest is quiet and peaceful, the faint twittering of far-off birds the only sign of life. The minutes tick by as he goes deeper, and the sun is almost about to set when he decides to turn back.
It’s then that he catches a glimpse of the house.
It’s tiny house - brown in color, with a red roof and chimney. He wonders briefly if he should get Sam, but it would take too long to get back here. He runs the EMF meter around the outer walls of the house for good measure, but nothing pings. The floorboards creak a little as Dean steps into the porch, pushing aside a large thorny shrub. The windows are too dirty to see through and he checks the batteries in his flashlight before pushing the door open.
He steps into his childhood home. Dean freezes at the sight of the well-known place and whips around, grappling for the door. It’s no longer there.
“Dean, baby, is that you?” A voice calls from upstairs and he feels himself root to the spot in shock.
It’s his mother’s voice, sweet and soft like he remembers it and he’s almost halfway up the stairs before he stops again, weighing his options. Is it a djinn dream? Yet he feels far too aware for it to really be one, and this is nothing like what he wishes for…
“Deeeeeaaaannnn!!!” Sam’s young voice rings out and he involuntarily takes a step toward it. Had Sam ended up here too?
“Sammy?”
“Dean, come on let’s play!”
The voice comes from the kitchen and Dean fumbles his way to it, keeping a hand on his glock. The door to the kitchen is slightly ajar, Sam giggling uncontrollably behind it. Dean pushes it open and steps in cautiously.
It’s Sam’s nursery. The room looks exactly how he remembers it, with the crib and shelf full of stuffed toys, the mobile on top gently swaying to an unseen breeze.
“Sammy?” he calls out, scanning the room.
“Play with me!”
“Where are you?” Dean calls out, a creeping feeling coming down his back.
“In here. We’re all here. Mommy and Daddy and me, we’re waiting for you! Stay with us, Dean.” Sam’s voice sounds out from the closet.
Dean takes out his glock, clicking the safety off. He holds it firmly before inching his way across to the closet and kick the door open. It’s pitch dark inside and the flashlight he shines reveals nothing.
Stay calm, he thinks to himself before stepping in, ending up in the kitchen.
“Baby?” his mother’s voice floats up to him. “Are you there? I made you some pie.”
Dean ignores it and turns on the EMF meter. Nothing. He roots through the cupboards, hoping to find some salt. The shelves are empty, the smell of rotting wood prevailing above all else.
“Hey sport,” his father’s gruff tone says. “Want to toss around a football? You, me, and Sammy.”
This is a lie, he thinks to himself, closing his eyes briefly. This is a lie, this never happened. I need to burn this house down.
He charges out through the kitchen, heading toward the front door. It opens into Dean’s old bedroom. His parents’ bedroom. The kitchen again. Sam’s nursery. The garage. Door after door after door, ending up nowhere. And his family’s voices calling out, pleading with him.
“Play with me, Dean!”
“Dinner’s on the table, sweetheart. Don’t you want to stay?”
“You’ve been such a good boy, Dean. I’ll take you out for a ride.”
He races frantically through the house, all semblance of calm crumbling.
“Stay with us, Dean. It’ll be so much fun!”
“I missed you so much, baby.”
“I’d glad you’re home, son.”
His heart is racing as he tries to throw open the windows. They don’t budge. He shoots at the latch. Over and over again. Nothing happens.
“Deeeeeaaaannnn! I’ve been waiting for sooo long for you to come home!”
He takes hold of one of the dining room chairs and swings it hard toward the window.
“I’ve made your favorite meatloaf. Come to the table before it gets cold.”
The window stays intact. He smashes it over and over again, the sweat running down his back.
“You’re home now, son. We can be a family again.”
The chair finally breaks in his hands, the wood splintering, cutting his hands open.
“Dean you promised you’d play…”
“Not you.” Dean hisses, grabbing another chair. “You’re not Sam. You’re not him.”
Sam was out there, worrying about him, probably searching the forest for him. Sam needed him.
“It is me, Dean.” Sam’s high voice starts sobbing, the little hiccuping breaths making him pause in his breaking down the window despite himself. “You promised you’d stay. Stay with us, Dean.”
“We can be so happy, darling,” his parents’ voices cry out. “We’ll be together - a real family.”
“No,” he snarls, snatching up the chair and rushing out the door. It’s Sam’s nursery again. He dashes through the house again, looking for a weapon, something, anything. He tries to turn on the stove in the kitchen. It doesn’t work.
“Please Dean, please. I’m scared, Dean. Help me.” Sam’s wailing is plaintive and getting louder by the second.
Dean shuts his ears and slumps down on the floor, trying to take deep breaths.
Focus. Think. Just calm down and think. There must be a way out. There must be…
“Stay with us!”
Sam was out there.
“Deeeeeaaaaannnnnn!!!”
Sam needed him.
“I love you, baby. I’m so happy you’re here.”
There was an apocalypse to stop.
“Stop it,” Dean mumbles, curling into himself, “Stop talking.”
“Just say you’ll stay, baby. We can make all the pain go away.”
“No, no, no, no, NO!!!” he gasps out. “You’re not real. None of you are.”
“Don’t go, Dean. You promised you won’t leave me alone anymore….”
Sam’s voice sounds so young and scared, so like him when he was eight or nine, shaking in his little bed from the nightmares. Dean feels the tears rise unbidden and fights to suppress them. His head is pounding and it’s getting difficult to breathe. He tries to stand up, tries to stumble his way across the room. It’s getting darker, the lights flickering.
“Let go, sweetheart. We’ll take care of you.”
He collapses against the front door, drawing in great gulps of air. There’s a suffocating feeling in his chest.
“Help me,” he whispers. “Someone help me, please.”
A flash of dark hair and blue eyes comes to mind.
“Cas. Castiel. Help me, please.”
The shadows draw closer, the squeezing feeling increasing.
“Cas,” he chokes out once again. “Please.”
There’s a faint fluttering sound.
“Dean?” Castiel’s gravelly voice calls out from the approaching darkness.
“Cas. Cas. Where are you?” he gropes around blindly.
Firm hands land on his shoulders, hauling him up from the floor. Dean collapses into the angel’s arms, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his coat. Castiel presses him into his chest, deep voice rumbling against Dean’s ear.
“Shut your eyes, Dean. Don’t be afraid.”
He blacks out just as the flash of light threatens to blind him.
+
“Dean.”
There’s a low voice in his ear, a deep and familiar one. Dean struggles to open his eyes, his head swimming. There’s a soft touch to his forehead and the ache eases, helping him focus.
He’s lying on what appears to be Cas’s lap. The angel himself is bent over him, his big blue eyes concerned.
“Cas?” Dean croaks, the relief flooding him. “Where’s Sam?”
“Your brother is fine and on his way back to your car. You very nearly died.” the angel says gently. “How are you feeling?”
“I…” Dean trails off. “What was that?”
“A pair of Bauchans. I had to smite them,” Cas says, his fingers stroking gently through Dean’s hair. “They’re hobgoblins, and tend to guard and stay with a chosen human family and their descendants. This house,” he points to the remains of the smoking farmhouse a few yards away. “It seems to have belonged to their family. Perhaps they died without children years ago, and the land lay abandoned. The Bauchans were looking for a new family to protect.”
“And the Hogles?”
“Dead. Bauchans are tricksters - masters of deceit and illusion - dangerous, but fiercely loyal to the people they swear to protect. They were lying in wait all these years, but no one came near. The Hogles were unfortunate enough to stop their car nearby and were probably lured here when they did so. Bauchans cannot leave the house on their own, they have to be bound to a family. The Hogles refused their hospitality, so they killed them and dismembered the bodies.”
Dean lets out a long breath. Cas says nothing, the drag of his fingers soothing.
“Do not blame yourself,” Cas says softly. “There was nothing you or Sam could have done. The corpses I found were over a week old and I took care of their disposal. Rest assured, their souls are in heaven now and at peace.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he sits up slowly. There were many, many things he had to think about, but he was alive and for now, that was enough.
“Thanks for helping me, Cas.”
The angel smiles a little, just a gentle curve of the mouth.
“Always.”