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Worth of a Soul

  • May. 15th, 2008 at 11:23 PM
Midwest tracks
Chapter 7: Priority One
 
“OUT!” Dean seemed to realize the same thing and barked the only order that made sense.
 
Sam wasted no time in launching himself towards the door. As he opened it and flung himself over the threshold, he felt an intense sting in his right shoulder. He ignored the pain as he and Dean scrambled to the impala, wrenched the doors open and piled in. As Sam ducked down in the passenger seat, Dean already had the car in reverse. In less than three seconds, they were flying backwards at 20 miles an hour.
 
Sam heard a ping and glanced towards the noise to see that the rearview mirror on his side had been blown off.
 
“BITCH!” Dean screamed as he hit the breaks and shifted, sending the impala into a reckless spin. As soon as the impala was facing the exit of the parking lot, Dean punched the gas and sent them flying onto the main road. Luckily, no one had been coming at the moment, or they surely would have been hit. With the speed at which they had entered the road, it would have seemed to any other driver that they had appeared out of nowhere.
 
“Holy shit!” Sam said breathlessly, his eyes wide and his body shaking with adrenaline.
 
“I know,” Dean looked crazily into the rearview mirror.
 
Sam still seemed unable to do anything but stare at Dean, waiting for another comment. Instead, he heard himself say, “Dude, holy shit.”
 
“I know.”
 
Sam became aware that something wasn’t quite right and could feel that his body was trying to tell him something. He looked down, sensing pain, but not quite feeling anything yet. Dean noticed Sam’s stiff behavior and turned towards his brother to scan him over.
 
“You alright?” Dean demanded; his voice had become even more enraged.
 
“I—” Sam was still somewhat dazed, but his senses were returning and with them, a searing, stinging pain in his upper right shoulder, “I got shot.”
 
Dean leaned forward to inspect the wound as much as he could while driving. His desire was to jerk the car onto the shoulder and make sure Sam was not seriously hurt, but the professional hunter in him was encouraging him to put some distance between Sam and Adeline.
 
“She is so history,” Dean muttered as he tried to inspect the wound through Sam’s clothes and blood. Not only had that bitch shot his baby, she also had shot his little brother.
 
“Sokay,” Sam said, finally shaking the last of his shock away as he pressed his hand over the wound.
 
Dean was relieved to see blood in the front because it meant the bullet had went all the way through. He grabbed Sam’s shoulder and pushed him forward in order to see the entrance wound. It wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared.
 
Sam shrugged his hand off and instantly gasped in pain from doing so, “Gah,” Dean’s foot went for the brake, but Sam saw this and spoke, “No, man. No hospital. Just go to Hugh’s.”
 
Dean hesitated for a moment before deciding that he could trust his brother to tell him if he needed to go to the hospital, “Alright, but if we look at it and it’s. . . bad, we’re goin’ to the hospital.”
 
Sam’s expression was easy to read. Dean knew it well. Sam was trying not to moan in pain each time they hit a small bump. Instead of trusting himself to talk, Sam simply nodded in agreement.
 
Dean wanted to get to Hugh’s quickly, but going faster made the ride harder on Sam. Dean decided it was time to get to the bottom of Sam’s mystery and the conversation would help take Sam’s mind off the pain.
 
“Sam, we gotta find the demon that’s doing this. We can’t stop her without knowing where she’s buried,” Dean spoke in a low, slightly awed tone.
 
“I’ve never seen a spirit do that—dodge the salt, I mean,” Sam was obviously impressed, but his voice was also strained because of the pain in his shoulder.
 
Dean glanced at Sam again, frustrated, “And you gotta tell me everything.”
 
Sam tried not to react, but his eyes flicked to the window, searching for the rearview mirror to see exactly how much his face was giving away. When his eyes found nothing there, he nearly scoffed in dark amusement, remembering that the assassin bitch from hell had blown it to high heaven.
 
“Somethin’ funny?” Dean sounded incredulous, but was somewhat relieved to see the half smirk on Sam’s face instead of the grimace of pain, “I knew you were hidin’ somethin’ and I was playin’ along, but you gotta tell me everything. This is getting too intense. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what you know.”
 
Sam closed his eyes and shook his head in exhaustion, “Don’t do this.”
 
“Don’t do what?”
 
“Make this about me,” Sam opened his eyes and looked directly at Dean.
 
“This is about you—she’s after you.”
 
“No, this is a case. We’re trying to stop her before she hurts anyone else.”
 
“Before she hurts you,” Dean specified, “And I know that’s not it—you’re not telling me something—something bigger.” Dean fixed his gaze on the road as he spoke. He knew if he looked at Sam, hurt and exhausted, he wouldn’t be able to push him hard enough to get the answers he wanted.
 
Sam whooshed out a breath and sat for a long moment, trying to decide what to say, “Dean, when you—” he broke off, nearly unable to say the word as he had chosen to lock it away in a secret place within his mind and never use it when speaking of Dean, but he forced himself to go on. It was the only way Dean might understand why Sam wouldn’t—couldn’t—let Dean start worrying for him instead of trying to find a way to save Dean’s soul. However, instead of starting with Dean’s death, he spoke of his own first, “Do you remember how you felt—when I died?”
 
It was a rhetorical question—Sam didn’t need an answer—but the question visibly affected Dean. His face darkened and his shoulders lowered as he let out a slow, heavy sigh.
 
Sam had wanted to avoid reminding Dean of his death, but it was the only way to make Dean understand, “When you died, that’s how I felt,” Sam went on, “I can’t do that.”
 
“Sam—”
 
“Dean, I’m afraid of what I might become—without you here.” Sam wasn’t only afraid of it—he’d seen it. When Dean had died on that fateful Wednesday, Sam had lived the next several months without him. He had become a machine, a lifeless tool in an endless means to no end. He could never say it, but Sam feared that if Dean lost his soul, Sam would lose his own consequently because of what he would become without Dean.
 
Dean sighed again and opened his mouth to speak.
 
Sam drove the point home before Dean could claim that the situation was somehow different—that Sam’s pain wasn’t the same as Dean’s, “You told me once that I would never be like Max because I had one thing that he didn’t have.”
 
“I was lookin’ out for you, Sammy,” Dean said. It was clear in his voice that he was hurt by the fact that Sam had insinuated that Dean shouldn’t have made the deal in order to save him.
 
“Dean, if my destiny is to become like Max, or to become evil, I’d have preferred death—even Max had enough sense to make that choice,” Sam finished carefully as he looked over at Dean to see that Dean’s face had changed slightly. He didn’t seem as determined as he had been when this conversation had started. Sam felt a little guilty for bringing the conversation around to this in order to keep Dean from the truth, but he told himself he was doing it to save Dean—that was what mattered right now. “Look, Dean, that’s not the point—I don’t blame you for what you did—I’m just saying I can’t let you die—not for me. So that’s priority one. We can worry about my Anakin potential after we get you outta this, alright?” Sam had used the Star Wars reference in an attempt to lighten the mood and maybe even distract Dean as a bit of a bonus.
 
Dean gave Sam a sideways glance and Sam was glad to see the hint of a smirk on his face, “I didn’t know you watched Star Wars.”
 
Sam smiled stiffly, still uneasy as to whether or not Dean was going to keep trying to get information out of him.
 
“Alright, you win for now,” Dean said after a long pause, “We’re here anyway.”
 
Sam shifted his eyes as they rounded the block and saw that they were indeed at Jake’s house.
 
As the reached the house, Dean was careful to ease the car to a halt instead of swinging into a parking space obnoxiously as he sometimes did. Sam reached across his body with his left hand in order to open the door. Dean quickly exited the car and half-jogged around the front, clearly concerned about Sam’s injury.
 
“I’m fine,” Sam said as he saw Dean approaching. Sam shut the car door and trudged towards the house, not looking forward to cleaning and wrapping the wound, but eager to have it done with.
 
Dean reached the house first. He opened the door and stepped back, allowing Sam to enter first.
 
“It’s us!” Dean called into the house as a precautionary action in order to avoid being gunned down by Jake, who was probably overexcited and anxious to shoot something or someone.
 
Sam felt it before he saw anything—the familiar feeling of his body being pulled and controlled by an unseen force. He managed a strangled “NO!” before he was launched off of his feet and into the south wall. His shoulder flared in pain and his head hit the wall within the same instant. He had to blink away the darkness that threatened to take over his vision as his mind reeled.

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Worth of a Soul

  • May. 10th, 2008 at 5:39 PM
Midwest tracks
 Chapter 6: Salt Dodger
 
            “A demon,” Dean repeated.
            “Yeah,” Sam closed his eyes and put his head on the back of the seat, exhausted and frustrated with himself for being so exhausted so early in the day, “Watch the road, will ya’?”
Dean ignored Sam’s attempt to lighten the conversation, “How do you know?”
Sam thought back to his encounter with the witch’s coven and what the demon had told him before Dean had showed up. He knew he should tell Dean, but he couldn’t yet. He had to save Dean first or Dean’s focus would shift to Sam’s well being instead of his own.
Sam decided to tell part of the truth, “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Sam chanced a sideways glance at Dean, who’s eyes were staring pointedly ahead at the road, “She works for a bounty—she’s an assassin, Dean, not a vengeful spirit—that’s not how she sees herself. She had never killed after her death until David and Wayne. Something was trying to draw us here and the only thing that could give a spirit anything a spirit would want is a demon.”
Dean slid his tongue over his teeth, as he sometimes did when he was deciding whether or not he agreed with this statement. Sam noticed he was holding his breath and let it out slowly. Finally, Dean nodded, “Okay, but why just you. She turned on you the second you came in. For all she knew, I wasn’t even there anymore.”
Sam spoke carefully, still trying to use the truth, but not reveal all of it, “Maybe she can only have one target at a time.” For all he knew this could be true, “When she went to Hugh’s, she didn’t shoot him because I was her target.”
Dean thought of the few seconds he had been momentarily stunned by her ferocious presence, “You’re right,” he answered, understanding what Sam was getting at, “You were the target all along. It was just another trap. She was holding him there until we came. Dude, this is gettin’ heavy.”
You have no idea, Sam thought to himself, “I know. She was one of the best assassins ever—she knows the game,” Sam paused, “But what if—?” He stopped before he finished the question, not wanting to talk too much about the demon controlling her. Keeping the focus on the spirit was keeping Dean from the truth.
“What if what?” Dean asked, annoyed that Sam seemed to be censoring himself.
“Nothing,” Sam tried to recover, “I have an idea, but I gotta check something.”
“Blah, research,” Dean said under his breath, “Sammy,” Dean spoke louder and glanced at Sam.
“Yeah?”
“Is there anything else?”
“Nah, that’s it. Sorry I didn’t tell you,” Sam had forced himself not to hesitate, then hoped it hadn’t sounded as if he were rushing his words.
Dean glanced at Sam again, and Sam continued to stare out of the windshield, very aware of Dean’s eyes on him. Finally Dean turned his head back to the road and they were both silent the rest of the way to the motel.
 
            Dean packed his things as Sam sat, typing furiously at his laptop and stopping every few seconds to read. Every couple minutes, Dean would hear him mutter a “hm” or a “huh”, but he knew better than to interrupt until Sam had found what he was looking for. Dean was also still fairly sure that Sam was keeping something from him, but berating him about it was tiring for both parties and Dean wasn’t in the mood for the ‘try-to-guess-what-Sammy’s-thinking-while-he-says-something-else’ game.
            After a half an hour, Sam leaned back, “Shit.”
            Dean decided now was the time to go for information—right after Sam had read all the information and before he could decide what to edit out when he told Dean about it, “What?”
            Sam sighed heavily, “I dug a little deeper and found out a couple interesting facts about our favorite assassin. When she’s sent to a place on a kill, she has to stay in that area—according to the legend. She can’t leave until she’s made the kill or until she’s released from the contract by the thing controlling her. That’s why the demon had to send her somewhere that he thought we would go—he didn’t know what motel we were staying at, so the best way to find us was to predict us.”
            “Shit,” Dean added, “That explains the connection to Jake. It’d be easier to predict us if he knew where the leads would send us.”
            Sam nodded, then leaned back in his chair again and stared at the ceiling.
            “But—why use the spirit?” Dean added, trying not to sound as if he was prying for information that he wasn’t sure Sam would give him, “If it is a demon, he could come straight for us.”
            A look of contemplation took over Sam’s face as he suddenly leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on his knees. Dean watched him carefully, trying to decide whether or not he knew more about this than he was saying, but Sam looked sincere enough. Dammit, this boy’s hard to read, Dean thought wearily. Most of the time it was useful, because they were usually trying to deceive someone else, but Dean hated not being able to read Sam when he thought that his little brother was keeping secrets from him.
            After a long moment, Sam spoke, “It’s more convenient to take us out using a spirit and more inconspicuous. Sh—it doesn’t wanna be recognized as a demon by other hunters,” Sam had started to say ‘she’ and had changed it to ‘it’, but he did his best not to react to the mistake.
            To Sam’s relief, instead of reading too much into it, Dean only chuckled and said, “Shit?” 
            “Heh, yeah,” Sam moved on before Dean could make anything of his slip-up, “I say we go back to Hugh’s and get those guys outta town. If the demon can’t get to us by guessing where we are, those guys are—”
            Sam stopped in mid sentence as something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He jerked his head towards the door where a small floating light had appeared. Dean was still looking at Sam, listening intently to what Sam had been saying and hadn’t noticed it yet. 
            Sam immediately jumped up and backwards, colliding with the desk and sending his laptop to the floor as he ended up in a half-sitting, half-leaning position against the desk. In less than a second, Adeline had taken form. Her violet eyes narrowed hungrily as she raised both of her guns. 
            Dean had seen her after Sam, but he reacted first, as Sam seemed to be held in the strange hypnotizing power that she possessed. Dean pulled his gun and fired two shots into her midsection and instantly felt stupid for having forgotten that he had loaded his gun with real bullets.
         “Your gun, Sammy!” Dean yelled, trying to snap Sam out of his trance.
         It worked. Sam blinked and instinctively went for his gun with a speed that Dean had never seen him use. He had the gun leveled in less than a second and, just as Dean had, fired two shots. Adeline vanished, and Sam’s shoulders slumped in relief.  
         The relief was short-lived.
         Before either brother could say anything, she had reappeared near the bathroom door.
         “Jesus!” Sam yelled, caught even more off guard the second time she appeared. He was using the desk for support, but his gun was still at the ready. He raised it and again fired another shot. 
          Again she vanished and reappeared, tight-lipped and displaying annoyance as well as determination. This time her guns were already leveled, having learned from being unprepared. To Sam’s aggravation, the bitch was smirking and had slightly risen one eyebrow, as if Sam’s attempts to shoot her were amusing—just another game to another player.
         Sam realized that he wasn't hitting her at all. She was dodging the salt rounds--disappearing before the rock salt was hitting her.  She had learned that Sam's bullets were harmful to her and had adapted.
         The brothers exchanged a surprised and desperate glance, both communicating in that moment that neither of them had a solution to this surprisingly troublesome and unexpected problem.  If she had learned--and was actually able--to dodge the salt rounds and her remains could not be salted and torched, she couldn't be touched--not by the likes of the Winchesters.

Tags:

Worth of a Soul

  • May. 8th, 2008 at 6:39 PM
Midwest tracks
Chapter 5: Keeping Secrets

                After her terrifyingly determined gaze found him, Sam snapped loose of her hypnotizing hold and fired three quick salt rounds into her chest. As she vanished, her face displayed a look of astonished rage—as if she’d never known defeat and would never settle for it. Sam knew she’d be back. 
To Sam’s relief, he spotted Dean’s brushy hair and the top half of his face peaking over the back of the sofa in the adjoining room and heard Dean’s voice, “Hey bro. I was just gonna—er,” Dean looked around the room, decided not to pretend he’d had a plan and finished lamely, “Glad you showed up.”
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head, but allowed himself to smile. When he looked back at Dean, Sam became aware that Dean was not looking at him. Instead, his gaze was settled warily on Jake and Sam pivoted to stare at Jake, now fully aware that he had completely forgotten about him in the last several seconds. Jake was completely taken aback, but to his credit he had not cut and run as most normal people may have.
“Was that—?” Jake started to speak and stopped in the same second. His mouth opened and closed two times before he decided to leave it closed and simply stare at the two brothers.
Dean flashed a cocky grin and answered the unfinished question, “Yeah, it was. You still gonna shoot us?” He asked rather bitterly, still sour from having been taken hostage by your all American trucker.
To both Dean and Sam’s surprise, Jake seemed to contemplate this for a second, and Sam stiffened. All he had was rock salt. If Jake decided to shoot them all dead and say to hell with all this hokey business, he could clear the room in about five seconds and be on the road in less than a minute. However, he finally answered, “No. I don’t think I will.”
Sam scoffed at this and if he hadn’t disliked Jake before, he was sure he did now. Wild cards are too dangerous when one is dealing with cards that matter this much.
 Sam turned back towards Dean and as their eyes met, they shared a ‘glad-you’re-okay’ nod accompanied by a ‘we-need-to-talk’ eyebrow arch. Suddenly Hugh’s head popped up from behind the couch and Sam had to resist a strange urge to laugh.
Dean motioned towards him and said, “This is Hugh.”
Hugh finally felt safe enough to stand and Sam was unsurprised by his very unremarkable face and plain demeanor.
On the whole, Jake and Hugh were fairly understanding about the entire situation. As Sam and Dean explained Adeline’s spirit, Jake pitched in a few, “I knew someone was setting me up” comments and seemed to grasp onto the idea and even tried to come off as magnanimous for not saying, “I told you so,” even though both boys had known he wasn’t entirely responsible for the deaths in the first place. Due to his utter shock and willingness to let Sam take his own gun into the house—an action that had surly saved at least Sam—Sam had cleared Jake of any blame concerning the deaths, but could not deny that there was still a connection.
As Dean and Sam had explained the spirit, they had drifted into the kitchen, where Hugh had grabbed them all a soda from the fridge, clearly trying for any act of normalcy that might at least partially block out the wild irregularity of having witnessed the same apparition twice in one week.
“So, what do we do now?” Jake seemed anxious to act and his face had changed very much since Dean had seen it last. Instead of small beady eyes that seemed cruel, his eyes were bright and curious. His face had softened somewhat, making him seem much more human and approachable although there was still a wildness about him that Sam didn’t quite trust.
Dean took over the conversation and spoke to Hugh, “What happened?”
Hugh seemed to be pulled out of a daydream, “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Sam raised his eyebrows.
“She came about ten minutes before you got here,” Hugh went on, “She didn’t make a sound—not a single sound—just like in the alley. I kept screaming at her to tell me what she wanted, but she just wouldn’t talk and she wouldn’t let me leave the kitchen.”
Sam nodded, expecting that answer, “What about last week? In the alley?”
“I was walking home from work when I saw a weird light that seemed to be coming from the alley. I stopped and saw her shoot that guy—but the shots didn’t make a sound. Then she disappeared,” Hugh was boring to the last detail. Although the story itself was remarkable, Dean found himself wanting to nod off every time Hugh spoke.
“Well, that’s really helpful,” Dean rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Sam, an unnervingly knowing look in his eyes, "Whatcha think, bro?”
“Split up?” Sam didn't exactly like the idea of splitting up, but he found himself wanting to avoid alone time with Dean in case his older brother was onto the truth after what had just happened.  However, alone time with Jake struck Sam as hazardous to his heath because of Jake's unpredictability, “Someone should keep an eye on Hugh.”
Dean clicked his tongue as he observed first Hugh, then Jake, “You up for that Jake?” This made Sam frown so shifted his gaze to Sam and continued, “I don’t think she’ll be back for Hugh just yet,” Dean said, never taking his eyes off of Sam.
Sam hated that look. It was the look that told Sam that Dean had caught onto a secret—his secret—and he hadn’t been ready for Dean to know. After a moment, Sam looked away towards Jake, who was nodding eagerly, “Yeah,” Jake said, continuing to nod, “Hell yeah, I can do that.”
Dean nodded, “Put a line of salt over any entrances or exits of the house. We’ll leave you a couple guns loaded with rock salt rounds. If she gets in somehow, that’ll hold her off,” Dean paused as grabbed a scrap paper from the counter and a pen from a nearby jar and scribbled his number down, “If you see her, call us and we’ll come back.”
Hugh idly took a swig of his Coke and seemed to be handling the bizarre instructions in the same manner he might listen as if someone were telling him how to cook a casserole. Jake, however, was nearly smiling with anticipation and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the idea of fighting off the blood-thirsty spirit of a ruthless assassin.
Sam took a last look at the unlikely pair and headed for the door, Dean close behind. Just as they reached the door, Jake’s voice stopped them.
“Guys!”
Dean and Sam both turned back.
“Sorry—about before, at the motel,” Jake finished. Then shrugged as if he’d just apologized for stepping on someone’s foot, instead of for nearly killing them unjustly, and turned back towards Hugh to help him get the salt.
Sam gave Dean an amused look, but Dean’s face was all business. Sam knew that look. It meant Dean was going to go ‘Dad’ on him and rip him a new one once they got out to the car.
Dean strode to the back of the impala and opened the trunk. After a moment of digging, he came up with two guns loaded with rock salt rounds and started back towards the house, “Hold up!” Sam called as he pulled Jake’s duffle bag off of the hood. Dean stopped and turned back towards Sam, “Take this too,” Sam said as he tossed the bag to Dean, who was about ten feet away.
Dean caught the bag easily and continued on his way to the house. Sam quickly folded himself into the passenger seat and sighed, dreading the coming conversation. Lately, his focus was on Dean—Dean’s deal to be more specific—and he hated when Dean turned it around and found a reason to worry over him instead. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about Sam’s destiny or future; not while Dean was running out of time. Sam would be the first to admit, at least to himself, that he was terrified of what he might become and even more afraid of what he might do to if he did fulfill his destiny, but there would be time for that after Dean was saved. Dean had given everything to protect the family—to protect Sam. He’d given his freedom, his own happiness and now he’d gone and given up his life. Sam couldn’t let him lose his soul, too. Dean didn’t deserve that.
Sam’s thoughts were interrupted as Dean yanked the driver’s side door open and Sam was surprised and a little troubled that he hadn’t noticed Dean’s return until then. Sam took a deep breath and waited.
“When were go gonna tell me?” Dean wasted no time diving into the argument as he fired up the impala and shifted into gear.
Sam sighed, but didn’t answer. He wanted Dean to keep talking. He wanted to know how much Dean had figured out.
“Don’t fuck with me, man, I saw you. When she turned and said your name, you weren’t shocked—not even a flicker of surprise!” Dean was glaring at Sam and his voice was low and furious. 
Again, Sam opted not to talk—yet.
After a long pause, Dean finally stated the obvious, “She’s after you.”
Sam looked down at his knees, then out the window. By the direction they were traveling, Sam assumed Dean was headed back to the motel. Good, Sam thought. He needed to do some more research into Adeline’s life, “Yeah.”
Dean scowled and shook his head in frustration, but contained himself from starting a yelling contest, as Sam was sure he wanted to do, “They were bait,” Dean continued, referring to Dave and Wayne, “I shoulda known something was up.”
Sam continued to stare out the window and even started to get his hopes up as Dean seemed to know less than Sam feared he would.
Dean continued to talk, almost to himself, “It was just weird enough to get us here, but not weird enough to draw authority attention.”
Sam decided to pitch in, hoping it would make it seem like he’d actually spoken to Dean and therefore had told him everything he knew, “It’s a trap.”
“For you.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, then caught himself and added, “For us.”
“Who would kill two innocent men just to get to us? And who the hell would know enough about us to—?” Dean cut off in mid sentence and whipped his head towards Sam.
                Sam put his hands up, feeling the fury that was coming from Dean in waves at the thought of his little brother being threatened—hunted, “I didn’t know at first, okay? I didn’t wanna tell you if I wasn’t sure.”
                “It’s not a 'who' at all. What is it?” Dean’s eyes narrowed and he reluctantly turned them back towards the road to avoid jumping the curb and flying into a house that, according to the mailbox, belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Hoytt.
                Sam avoided Dean’s face and swallowed.
                “Sammy,” Dean said sternly. 
                Sam hated the ‘big-brother-voice’, but he was well aware that he definitely had it coming this time.
                “A demon,” Sam finally answered and finally brought himself to look at Dean, who was outright gaping at him.

Tags:

Worth of a Soul

  • May. 8th, 2008 at 6:34 PM
Midwest tracks
Chapter 4: The Target

            Sam watched as Dean approached the house, then looked at Jake in the rearview mirror. Jake was nervously glancing between Dean, who was halfway up the steps, and Sam, who sat quietly, unsure of whether or not he was allowed to talk.
            “I didn’t do it, you know,” Jake spoke suddenly, startling Sam.
            Although Sam hadn’t entirely cleared Jake of all charges in his head, he nodded, “We know.”
            “I didn’t shoot them—it’s gotta be some kinda frame-up,” Jake seemed as if he were talking to himself, rather than Sam, “Someone’s out to get me.”
            Sam pulled his eyes away from the face in the rearview mirror to look back at the house. His whole body tensed and he sat to attention as he saw Dean kick in the front door.
            “Hey,” Jake brought the gun up in a threatening manner, “Don’t you—”
            “Dean,” Sam flinched as Jake brought the gun higher to point it at his head, “Look,” he motioned towards the house.
            Jake glanced at the house, taking in the situation, “What the hell?”
            “Come on,” Sam reached for the door handle.
            “Wait!”
            Sam stopped.
            “Is this some kinda trick?” Jake accused.
            Sam turned until he was facing Jake, “No. We gotta help my brother.”
            It was obvious that Jake was contemplating.
            “Please,” Sam said the only word he thought might have an effect.
            Jake rolled his eyes as if he were going against his better judgment, but said, “Alright, let’s go.”
            Sam breathed a sigh of relief and exited the car, then hesitated as several thoughts flew his mind at once. Jake had also got out of the car, and he now stood waiting for Sam to take the lead so he could keep his gun on him. Sam wanted to get inside the house and help his brother, but he knew he wouldn’t be much help walking in there unarmed, and Jake’s gun would have no effect if they weren’t dealing with a person, which was often the case. However, Jake would not understand Sam’s need for a specific gun, either.
            “My gun,” Sam decided to try, “I need it.”
            “No way,” Jake glanced nervously at the house, then back to Sam.
            Sam followed his glance was quite literally squirming with anticipation to get inside the house and help Dean, “Please, Jake. You gotta believe me—I know you didn’t kill those men and we really are trying to help. If we were after you, we’d have pulled the hit right after you got to the motel. You knew we were there, watching you, right?”
            Jake’s eyes narrowed, “Yeah.”
            “If we meant you any harm, we’d have done it then,” Sam again glanced at the house, “Think about it.”
            Jake’s nostrils flared and he reached down to his waist, where his other gun was.
            “I need mine,” Sam said, praying that Jake wouldn’t interrogate him about it.
            Jake frowned again, but moved back towards the car and opened the door. He pulled out the duffle bag out of the back seat and hesitated again, holding it and looking at Sam and obviously wondering what the hell was up with the whole situation. He appeared to see something in Sam’s eyes that finally allowed him to toss the duffle onto the hood of the car.
            Sam rushed to it, pulled his gun out and sprinted for the house, ignoring the fact that Jake was still very wary of him and pointing the gun in his general direction. Sam reached the door in seconds with his ridiculously long stride as Jake tried to keep up. As Sam reached the doorway he stopped and cautiously peaked in. He was worried about Dean, but he wasn’t stupid. There was no sense in rushing in and getting himself in as much or even more trouble than his older brother already was.
           
            Dean had prepared himself, knowing it was possible that Hugh’s screams would be the result of encountering Adeline, but he was still blown away by her appearance.
            Dean had looked over Sam’s shoulder to see her picture the day before, and although she had been fierce in life, it was nothing compared to how terrifyingly stunning she was now. She wasn’t transparent, but she seemed to somehow flicker very quickly—several times a second. She wasn’t really white either, but more of a sterling silver off white. Her eyes seemed larger than they had in the newspaper and they were a violent purple, staring out form beneath furrowed brows with an intensity that was almost overwhelmingly intimidating. Her feet seemed to barely touch the floor, as if they knew that’s where they were supposed to be, but they weren’t supporting any weight. She wore tightfitting clothes and an equally tight jacket and the only weapons or tools for battle that Dean could detect were a gun in each hand and a belt with extra clips.  She was dressed for stealth, not protection.
            Dean had observed the spirit’s appearance in the span of about two seconds, and had to force himself to refocus on the situation. He snapped his head back to Hugh, who continued to stare at the spirit, horrified. Dean noticed that Hugh was standing relatively near an archway that appeared to lead into a den. As Dean glanced back at Adeline, she had brought both arms up and was pointing two large handguns at Hugh. Dean found himself wondering why she hadn’t shot him yet, she’d had plenty of time to do so by the look on Hugh’s face. Dean decided to leave that mystery for later and concentrate on saving Hugh, so he ran at Hugh, who finally noticed Dean’s arrival a split second before the collision. The two of them flew into the adjoining room.
            Hugh flailed helplessly and landed ungracefully on his ass, now confused and bruised as well as still being scared out of his wits. Dean, however, managed to keep his feet—with a fair amount of effort—and turned back towards the kitchen to see that Adeline had turned towards them and was now walking towards them—if you could call it walking. Her feet went through the motions, but she appeared to be walking on water. 
Once again, Dean had to put great effort into concentrating on the situation instead of simply staring at her in awe. He glanced wildly around the room, searching for an exit, only to find that he had tackled Hugh into a dead end and on top of that, Hugh was still being ridiculously helpless.
Civilians, Dean thought to himself as he grabbed Hugh’s arm, yanked him to his feet and threw him behind the nearest piece of furniture—a predictably boring white sofa. The only thing to do now was try to stall for time and hope Jake would allow Sam to come blow this bitch away.
Once Hugh was out of sight, the spirit of Adeline seemed to shiver in displeasure. Her eyebrows drew down farther, making her entire face climax between her two large eyes, which still glowed with an unnerving purple light. Dean considered ducking behind the sofa as well, but knew it would do absolutely no good. He’d rather face her standing and defiant, than cowering behind the couch with Hugh Adams, whom Dean was beginning to regret saving.
To Dean’s utter surprise, he was grabbed by his wrist and pulled down to a kneeling position by than none other than Mr. Adams, “Are you crazy?” Hugh spoke in a hysteric voice, “Get down!”
Dean yanked his arm away and gave Hugh his best ‘can-you-tell-I-think-you’re-a-dumbass?’ look, but did not spring back to his feet. Instead, he peaked over the back of the sofa to continue to observe Adeline’s progress.
Dean had thought he’d been surprised enough in the last few seconds, but he had been wrong. She had stopped advancing on the two of them and now stood in the archway between the kitchen and the den. As Dean watched, her mouth began to move, but there was no sound. Aside from the obvious bizarreness of this fact, her face had also grown confused, which was something Dean hadn’t expected. 
 
Sam stealthily cleared the living room, just as Dean had done and resisted the urge to rush into the kitchen when he heard a commotion from that direction. Jake was about five feet behind Sam with an odd look on his face that seemed to be a mixture eagerness and unpredictability.
Although Sam had been in the last position to command Jake to do anything less than a minute before, he now felt responsible for Jake’s safety and therefore barked an order in his direction, “Stay behind me!”
            Sam did not bother to see if Jake was listening to him. He progressed into the kitchen cautiously, gun first. Just like Dean, he had expected to see Adeline, but he was also taken aback by her appearance. Her spirit seemed to glow with a light that seemed too white. Despite his professionalism, Sam suddenly found himself fumbling with his gun as he stared at her.
Adeline started to turn—slowly at first, but as her head cleared her shoulder, she flickered and spun faster than a solid object would be allowed. She had been a completely silent force up until now—everything about here was calm, stealthy and silent—it was then that the first noise erupted from her, “Sam.” Her voice was like a heavy breath; the most ominous of sounds and her eyes seemed to sparkle at her discovery. She had found her target.

Tags:

Worth of a Soul

  • May. 8th, 2008 at 6:16 PM
Midwest tracks

Chapter 3: Meeting Jake

Sam’s phone alarm went off at 7:00 a.m. and he was instantly wide-awake, reaching for his phone to disable the alarm. Dean stirred at the phone alarm—it was playing a song he’d never heard before and never cared to hear again.

Sam finally found the blasted thing and silenced it. He slowly stood from the bed and arched his back, creating a symphony of small cracks.

“Gah,” Dean groaned. He hated that sound, “You freak.”

Sam smiled over his shoulder, clearly pleased with himself for having annoyed his older brother, “Well if we spent a little more money for rooms with more comfortable beds, my back wouldn’t need popping all the time.”

“Meh, whatever,” Dean also sat up as he yawned, his hair comically askew.

They quickly showered, dressed and armed themselves for the day.

“Bullets or salt?” Sam asked as he held both of his guns in front of him, “Or both?”

“Let’s not overkill, Rambo,” Dean winked, even though he quite liked the idea of double-packing, “I’ll roll with bullets, you take salt.”

Sam nodded, “Good call.”

“We checkin’ out today?” Dean asked as he pulled his jacket on.

“Nah, I think we’ll probably end up stayin’ tonight.”

Dean smiled at the prospect of not having to pack his stuff back up just yet. He nodded and left his belongings strewn across the floor and couch. Sam rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

Dean decided to bring up what he’d been thinking, but not saying when they had been awoken in the middle of the night by Jake’s arrival, “Sammy, why would Jake kill those two guys before he even met with them about shipping their stuff? If he were using his business to get to people, wouldn’t he be goin’ for the score? What’s the motive?”

Sam paused with one hand on the doorknob, “Are you saying you don’t think we’re dealin’ with her?”

“No, I’m pretty sure we’re dealin’ with her—from the witness account and her M.O., but—” Dean paused.

Sam opened the door and they walked briskly to the car, “Then what?” Sam asked.

As they climbed into the car, Dean continued, “It’s this guy. You saw him—he’s like an all American trucker boy—he just doesn’t look like a killer to me.”

Sam sighed.

Dean had just shoved his key into the ignition when he heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath. Dean started to turn his head towards Sam, but felt the muzzle of a handgun on his neck.

Sam and Dean both glanced up into the rear view mirror to see that it was Jake.

Despite the situation, Sam muttered, “You were saying?”

“Shut up,” Jake’s voice was firm, but there was also a hint of unease, “Hands on the dash, then don’t move.”

Sam put his hands on the dash as Dean rested his in a loose grip on the steering wheel. Dean glanced around the parking lot to see that there was only one other vehicle on this side of the motel—a Ford F-150—and judging by the mud flung all over the side, the cooler in the back, the spotlight on the dash and rifles in the gun racks, whoever was driving that truck had had a rowdy booze cruising, spotlight hunting night, and probably wouldn’t be getting out of bed any time soon.

Nebraskans, Dean thought to himself. If he hadn't been afraid to move and cause Jake to rashly shoot him, he'd have shaken his head.

“What do you want?” Sam’s voice was calm, but it clearly revealed that he thought Jake was capable of pulling the trigger. Dean had his doubts.

Instead of answering, Jake asked a question of his own, “Why are you guys following me?”

“We weren’t,” Dean tried to sound surprised by Jake’s statement, “We don’t even know you.”

“Bullshit,” Jake pressed the guns harder into both boys’ necks, “I saw your car at my office yesterday. It’s the kinda car you notice. And now you’re in the room two doors down from me.”

Dean decided to stick with his lie, despite the guns, “It’s the cheapest motel in town—we’re short on cash. That’s why we’re here. It has nothing to do with you.” Even as he spoke, Dean could tell that his words sounded rushed and false.

Jake essentially ignored him, “What’d you do yesterday? You weren’t in your car. Did you break into my business?”

Sam swallowed involuntarily, giving them away.

“That’s what I thought.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw a glint of steal as Jake quickly moved the gun from the side of Sam’s neck to the back of his head and pushed it, causing Sam to take in another surprised breath as he was forced to lean forward.

An icy shiver ran down Sam’s neck as he tried not to think about how close the bullet was to his head and what it would do to his head if it were released.

Dean and Sam stayed completely motionless and Dean was starting to believe that Jake would blow their brains out if they gave him enough reason to do it.

“Don’t think I won’t do it,” Jake’s voice became low and slightly desperate, “I got nothing to lose. Everything has gone down the shitter and I don’t know who you guys are but I’d sooner blow your brains out, than wait around for you to take me out instead.”

“Listen,” Sam spoke as calmly as he could manage, but was distinctly aware of the gun pressed to his head, “We’re not here to hurt you—”

“Sam,” Dean warned.

Jake pushed the gun harder into Dean’s neck, causing him pain instead of just discomfort as he yelled at Dean, “Shut it!” He turned his attention back to Sam, “Keep talkin’.”

“We know something’s going on around here—you just said it yourself. We wanna help.”

Jake audibly shifted in the back seat, though neither brother dared move a muscle to look.

Sam waited to see if Jake intended to talk. When he did not, Sam continued, “We know that David and Wayne were both clients of yours—”

“I had nothin’ to do with that!” Jake almost yelled.

Dean decided to pitch in, “We know, Jake. We want to help you find out what’s really going on.”

Again, Jake squirmed uncomfortably, “How?” There was heavy skepticism in his voice, but also a flicker of hope. If they could convince them that they could help, he might allow them to do so.

“We’re investigating the murders,” Sam picked up the explanation, “We’re going to talk to the witness right now to see if we can find any leads.”

There was an uncomfortable, long pause.

“You can come with us,” Sam tacked on, desperate to get the damning gun away from his scalp.

“Okay,” Jake finally said, although he hadn’t removed the guns, “But I want your guns.”

“Alright,” Sam pulled off a strange sort of nod with Jake’s gun still pressed to his head.

As Sam and Dean both started to reach for their guns, Jake warned, “Move like molasses, fellas. If I think for a split second you’re about to try somethin’, I’m pullin’ both triggers and hightailin’ the fuck outta town.”

Sam and Dean managed a glance at each other by barely moving their heads and in that moment agreed that they would not try to overtake Jake. It was too much of a risk with the bullets in his guns only a couple inches from their heads. And even if they did manage to overtake him, it was possible that they would have to kill him, which was unacceptable seeing as he was likely the key to the case.

The brothers very slowly lowered their hands down to their waist lines and pulled their guns out in a pincer grasp. They then both lifted them up until they were about shoulder level and paused, unsure of what would come next because both of Jake’s hands were full.

“You,” Jake clarified that he meant Dean by pressing the gun a little harder on his neck, “You slowly lift yours over the seat and drop it on the floor back here. If your fingers so much as twitch funny, I’ll blow your brother away.”

Dean complied.

“Now you,” Jake turned his voice to Sam, who also did as he was told.

Finally Jake leaned back a little freeing Sam and Dean’s skin from the hated feeling of the guns. They both breathed deeply for a moment and exchanged another worried glance. Jake scooped their guns off of the floor and shoved them into a small duffle bag that he had brought into the car.

“Alright,” Jake said, seemingly a little relieved, “Names?”

There was an awkward pause as the Winchesters realized they were being asked to introduce themselves. Dean motioned vaguely to himself then Sam, “Dean. Sam.”

Jake nodded, “Let’s go.”

o o o o o

The trip to the witness’s house—a man by the name of Hugh Adams—was only fifteen minutes, but seemed much longer due to the tenseness within the impala. Sam and Dean shared several uneasy glances, not sure what would happen once they reached Hugh’s house. They couldn’t very well walk in as two hostages with a guy who looked like he came straight out of Outdoor Magazine.

Dean pulled the impala up to the curb and turned slightly towards the back seat. Sam continued to study the house for a moment. The house was two stories high—tidy, but plain; well kept, but uninteresting. This was not the home of someone who would admit seeing a supernatural entity unless he really believed that he had.

Jake seemed to have been thinking over the same thing that the brothers had been as they had made their way to the house, “Right,” he said, licking his lips, “Dean, you go inside. Get the information we need. Sam stays with me.”

Dean’s brows furrowed as he chanced a look into the back seat, where Jake sat, pointing both of his own guns at the backs of Dean and Sam’s seats. Sam had also half turned to stare at Jake.

“No,” Dean said firmly.

Jake raised an eyebrow, “I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. I’m trying to do you a favor. It’d be much easier for me to kill one of you and use the other—one of you would be easier to control than both. Don’t make me do that.”

Dean and Sam met eyes for a moment. Sam glanced back at Jake, decided that the bastard meant what he said, then turned his eyes to Dean and nodded slightly.

Dean still didn’t like the idea, but he half rolled his eyes, opened his door and climbed out. Before he could shut the door behind him, Jake said, “Wait.”

Annoyed, Dean paused and bent slightly to glare at Jake.

“Get in front of the wheel,” Jake ordered Sam.

Sam wordlessly did as he was told, aware that the gun was pointed between his shoulder blades.

“If I see or hear any sirens, Sam and I are outta here,” Jake finished.

Dean scoffed as he and Sam shared an amused glance, despite the threat. There was no way they would be calling the cops, seeing as how that would mean just as much, or more, trouble for them than it meant for Jake.

Dean straightened up and slammed the door shut out of frustration, and instantly felt a twinge of guilt for having taken it out on the impala. Sorry, baby, I’ll make up for that later, he thought to himself. He kept eye contact with Sam as he crossed the front of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. He noticed, just as Sam had, that the house was very plain and ordinary as he walked up the steps and onto a smallish porch.

Before Dean could knock, he heard someone scream in a terrified voice, “What do you want?”

Instead of bothering with the doorbell, Dean went for the doorknob, only to discover that it was locked. Another yell ensued from inside the house and Dean acted instantly by kicking the door in, leaving it hanging pitifully on its hinges.

The front door opened into the living room, which was predictably spotless and boring. Dean glared from one side of the room to the other, quickly clearing it as he stealthily strode to an archway, which led to the kitchen.

A man in his late twenties, whom Dean assumed was Hugh, was leaning against the cupboards on the fair side of the kitchen, and was clearly terrified of something that Dean could not yet see. Dean cautiously moved forward to see why Hugh was so petrified that he hadn’t even noticed Dean’s appearance.

As Dean finally cleared the threshold, he gasped in horror.

Tags:

Worth of a Soul

  • May. 8th, 2008 at 6:01 PM
Midwest tracks
Here's the next chapter!  

Chapter 2: Motel Time

“Whoa!” Dean said before he could stop himself. He stumbled backwards, nearly ramming into Sam, who had been following him.

The person holding the shotgun was a woman. She was plump—but not in an unpleasant way, yet her round face was set in an ugly scowl. She raised the gun up to her shoulder and closed one eye as if she were aiming, although that was unnecessary seeing as how she was only five feet away from Sam and Dean. Her index finger was wrapped around the trigger and both boys noticed that the safety was definitely off. Her face was hard to read, but it was clear that she would pull the trigger if she felt that she needed to.

Sam and Dean instantly raised their hands, palm out, as to not provoke an itchy trigger finger.

“What are you doin’ here?” She demanded sternly in an unusually deep voice.

Sam’s brain went into overdrive, “We came to see Wayne.”

When Sam spoke, the barrel of the shotgun swung to point at him instead of Dean. Dean instinctively shifted, readying his body to leap in front of Sam to block Sam from the shot or to take action against the woman if necessary. Sam gave Dean a warning look, and barely shook his head. He was almost certain he could talk his way out of this one if no one acted rashly.

Dean shot a glance sideways at his brother, catching the familiar 'I-got-this-don't-be-an-idiot' look', and decided to roll with whatever was going on in that freakish mind of his, although he was thoroughly uncomfortable with the fact that the gun was being aimed directly at Sam's head. Dean displayed his most innocent smile and said, “Is he home?”

The woman seemed perplexed at this as she opened her other eye, righted her head and squinted suspiciously at them. The barrel of the shotgun came down about a foot so that it was now aimed at Sam's chest and her finger still gripped the trigger as securely as ever, “What do you mean, ‘Is he home?’”

“We’ve been in contact with Wayne over the internet,” Sam rushed into his explanation as Dean tried not to appear clueless. Unlike Sam, he had no idea that Wayne had made a living off of selling things via the internet. Sam continued quickly, “We’re into the internet business, too. We came to see about buying some DVDs in bulk.”

The burly woman's eyebrows came down even more, but Sam could tell he had her. There was only one thing that probably didn't make sense to her, but if he was convinching enough, he could explain that away too if he had to, “You tellin’ me you just walked in after no one answered the door?”

Damn! It was the question had hoped wouldn't cross her mind, but he had already prepared a lie in case she did, “Well, we had set a date to meet him here—for today—but he hasn’t been online for about a week, so when he didn’t answer the door, we thought something might be wrong.”

The shotgun was still pointed at Sam’s chest and Sam could feel the tenseness coming off of Dean in waves. If he didn't get that gun off of him, Dean was going to do something, which could be disastrous for everyone. He inwardly grimaced as he intentially tried to look as sincere as possible, knowing that he was giving the puppy dog look that was a constant source of teasing for Dean, “We came in to make sure he was okay. I swear.”

Dean glanced at Sam, clearly concerned, and Sam feared that he would make a lunge for the gun. The woman didn't appear as if she was about to shoot, but Sam knew that it was almost more than Dean could stand to allow a gun to be aimed anywhere near his little brother.

Finally, the woman lowered the gun so that it now was pointed in the vicinity of Sam’s knees and her index finger slide off of the trigger. Sam heard Dean let out some of the breath he must have been holding, but he was still visibly irked that the gun was still aimed in Sam's vicinity. She still held it ready enough to bring up in a flash, so Sam and Dean decided not to lower their hands just yet. She studied them for a moment, then finally spoke, “Well, boys, I hate to be the one to tell you this. Wayne’s dead.”

Sam did his best to gape at this information and was annoyed with himself for glancing down at the gun, “When?”

“’Bout a week ago—shot to death downtown,” she gave the boys one last scrutinizing look and finally shifted the shotgun so that the barrel was pointing towards the ceiling. After another heavy moment, she set it just inside the doorway.

Dean and Sam lowered their hands slowly, both of them breathing a sigh of relief. They shared a relieved look and Sam realized that Dean must have been holding his breath the entire time because his face was pale and he had to take two deep breaths just to bring any color back. Sam hadn't felt as if the woman would have shot them but maybe Dean knew something he didn't.

“We’re very sorry,” Sam finally said to the woman, unsure of what she expected of them.

To his surprise, she laughed, “I’m just the landlady, sugar. Only time I saw him was the time I showed him the place. Since then, he’s just been another check in the mail.”

Sam and Dean exchanged an amused look. So much for compassion. Dean decided he rather liked the old, plump broad, even though she'd nearly killed his younger brother. He couldn't forgive her for that, but he found himself liking her for reasons unknown to him. She reminded him of someone.

“I’m sorry for you boys, I guess,” she went on, aware that the conversation was getting slightly awkward.

Sam shrugged and chuckled, “Hey, to us, he was just another username on a computer screen.”

The three of them laugh together briefly before the awkwardness returned. She decided to pull it into the comfort zone with something that always seemed to work, "You boys wanna beer?"

Glancing towards Dean, Sam saw that he had already donned his goofy smile and was about to accept the invitation, "Actually, we were in a bit of a hurry to get back to town," Sam spoke over Dean's quieter, "That'd be awesome."

"Oh," the woman seemed rather let down, as she had perhaps hoped for some handsome company to pop a few tops with, "Alright."

Sam instantly felt guilty for refusing to stay and was avoiding Dean's disappointed glare, “Thanks anyway, and, er, you have yourself a nice night.”

The woman slowly moved out of the doorway and let the brothers pass.

Dean turned towards Sam as they neared the impala, "Dude, one of the first lessons of actually being cool is 'Never turn down free beer.' No wonder you're such a geek.

Sam couldn't help letting a smile take over his features as he shrugged, "One of the first lessons of actually getting a job done is 'Don't get hammered'. No wonder you're no good at this hunting gig."

Dean stopped with his hand on the door handle of his baby and nearly gaped at Sam. Mocking was a constant between the brothers and one of the most insulting teasing had to do with the their abilities to do their job effectively. In fact, the only thing Dean considered worse was a diss on his mother and since both boys shared the same mother, jokes about Dean's hunting abilities was about as low as Sam could sink. There was nowhere to go from there. Dean continued to glare at Sam, who continued to stare back, expectedly.

"Got nothin'?" Sam mocked.

Dean finallys hook his head as he opened the door and lowered himself into the driver's seat. When Sam followed suit, Dean turned towards him and inquired, “What’s a ‘username’?”

o o o o o

“Shit,” Dean sighed as they neared Jake Cord’s Trucking, “Looks like we missed him.”

The building was dark and obviously deserted for the night. Dean checked his watch to see that it was 6:10 p.m. They had been cutting it close before the gun-toting landlady had slowed them down. It was really no surprise that the business was shut down for the day.

“Yep,” Sam glanced around the street, searching for any sign of life that could later serve as witnesses against them, “Should we check it out?”

Dean chuckled, “Since when are you so eager to break the law?”

Sam threw Dean a look before climbing out of the car and Dean followed the example. The boys walked casually through an alley south of the main entrance, searching for an inconspicuous way in. They found it in the form of a good-sized window about halfway towards the back of the building. Without speaking, Dean dug out his pocketknife and slipped it through the crack of the window, nudging the latch out of place and getting that slightly giddy feeling he always did when he triumphed over the window latch. Once the window was open, Sam helped Dean in first and followed stealthily.

There was absolutely nothing unusual about the place. As one would expect, there were three red trucks parked inside the main garage area, all with “Jake Cord’s Trucking” painted largely on the sides. Sam and Dean strolled towards the front area of the business where there were likely offices and more useful information.

After skimming through several files and browsing around the offices, Dean was beyond bored and finally spoke, “Dude, this place is totally typical. We’re not gonna find anything here. We need to talk to this Jake guy.”

To Dean's great relief and surprise, Sam only hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement, “Yeah, we should probably just come back tomorrow.”

“Motel time?” Dean asked hopefully.

“Motel time.” Sam confirmed.

They exited the way they had come in and were soon back in the car, searching for a motel.

“How ‘bout that one,” Dean nodded his head to a hotel that made Sam wrinkle his nose. It was a one level L-shaped motel that he could imagine he and his friends from Stanford referring to as "ghetto".

“That place might as well be advertising, ‘Stay here and take home free bedbugs!’” Sam answered.

Dean didn’t openly argue, but he sighed out a breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Pussy."

Sam ignored the insult as he looked back towards the motel, spotting something that surprised and excited him, “Wait! Pull in there.”

“Why? You wanna pet bedbug?" Despite the fact that Dean had just made fun of his younger brother for not wanting to stay at the motel, he did have to admit it was a real shit hole, "Dude, I’ll get you a fish or somethin’,” he scoffed, but then he saw it. A large red truck with the words “Jake Cord’s Trucking” on the side, “I’ll be damned.”

“If we stay here, we can keep tabs on him."

Dean pulled up to the front office, noting the room that Jake’s truck was parked in front of: 127.

The desk clerk was an attractive woman in her early thirties with dirty blond hair and no distinguishing features. Her face was set into a look of concentration as she worked on the computer. She was not stikingly beautiful, but pretty and very friendly looking. They approached the clerk, who’s nametag revealed that she was Sandy. As Sandy looked up from the computer, having heard the boys approach, her face instantly changed into a look of surprise and pleasure before transforming into a 100 watt smile, which immediately made her ten times more attractive. She eyed the boys in an almost hungry way, making Sam feel decidedly uncomfortable, "How can I help you fine gentlemen?" Her grin intensified as she emphasized the word 'fine.'

"Just need a room for the night," Dean stepped in front of Sam, clearly enjoying the fact that she was obviously attracted to him.

Sandy gave Dean a close mouthed smile and put on a pouty expression, "Just one night?"

Dean raised his eyebrows and flashed his crooked smirk, "Ya' never know. Might depend on the rates."

At this, Sandy seemed pleased, "Oh, our rates are very low," her eyes traveled down Dean's body and back up.

"How low can you go?"

Sam could take no more and stepped forward, “Miss?”

Annoyed, Dean gave Sam a glare, but allowed him to step closer to the desk as Sam continued, "We'd like a room near 127. Our friend is staying there."

Sandy had difficulty pulling her eyes away from Dean as she finally looked at Sam with the same sort of glare Dean had given him, only less intense, “Let’s see,” Sandy flipped open a three ring binder with rather more force than was necessary and ran her finger down the page until she got to room 127, “Those rooms are available, but they’re all single queen size beds.

Dean grimaced as Sam answered quickly, "That's fine."

Sandy’s expression was visibly disappointed, “Oh,” she said as if she’d just understood something, “Okay.”

Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, but caught Sam’s sharp look. Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes, but remained silent.

Sandy took her time finding the key as Dean admired her tight ass. She finally turned away from the key rack and back towards Dean, whose head snapped up to try to hide what he'd just been doing. She handed the key to Dean, again wearing her sexy smile.

“Thanks,” Sam mumbled as he turned and headed for the door.

When he became aware that Dean was not following him, he turned to see Dean writing on a piece of paper. He then slid it across the counter and winked at Sandy before turning to catch up with Sam.

As the exited the office, Sam grumbled, "Tool."

Dean instantly came back with, "Cockblock."

After wordlessly climbing back intothe impala and rounding the corner to their room, Sam groaned, “Damn!”

“What?”

“He’s gone.”

Sam was right. The red truck was nowhere in sight.

Dean and Sam glanced around hastily, trying to catch a glimpse of the truck, but street that the exit from the motel led onto was the main road in town. If he’d left even a minute before, they’d have no chance of seeing where he had gone.

"If you hadn't spent so much damn time flirting with that chic--"

"Hey, it's not my fault she thought I was hotter," Dean shrugged and smirked again, “We’ll have to wait here."

“What if he’s out there hurting someone, Dean? We have no idea how he's connected to this!" Sam felt anger and desperation rising in his chest. Lately he had felt as if they weren't doing their jobs because people were still getting hurt and killed.

Dean instantly recognized the look on Sam's face and said calmly, “There’s nothin’ we can do. He’s gone.”

Sam was tempted to begin an arguement about trying to find Jake or merely waiting for him to come back, but as he looked into Dean's calm eyes, he was able to get ahold of his emotions and settle himself, at least partially. Dean was right. Even if Jake did intend to hurt someone tonight, there was no way of telling where to find him or what they were up against. They were too unprepared to be able to find a lead and follow it in time to find Jake and even if they did, they weren't entirely sure how he was connected to the case or how to stop Seville's spirit. Sam finally nodded, “Okay, let’s just get our crap in there and get some rest.”

o o o o o

Sam awoke with a start and glared wildly around the room, searching for the source of the noise that had awoken him. A light flashed across the window, making shadows dance around the room ominously.

“Augh,” Dean’s muffled voice came from somewhere underneath the covers from the small couch in the room. He had offered to sleep on the couch, as there is no such things as ‘couchbugs’. Sam had begun to object, but was unsure as to whether or not Dean was joking and decided it was better left alone.

“Dean!” Sam whispered as loud as he dared.

The lump on the couch suddenly seemed to spasm to life, “M'up! Wha'samatter?” it grumbled as it hastily tried to free itself of the comforter. Sam caught a brief glance of Dean’s ‘Oh shit’ face as he fell off the couch, then all that was left to see of Dean was his bare feet.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Sam allowed himself a bemused chuckle.

Again, Dean’s voice came through the fabric with a muffled, “Shuddup!”

With renewed energy Dean struggled out of the blanket and shot a brief glare at Sam, who was on his feet, gun in hand. Dean bent to his bag and retrieved his gun as well.

Both brothers were suddenly all business as they slinked to the window and peered through the curtains.

The large red truck had pulled up two spaces down from the impala. A good-sized man—most likely Jake—exited the truck, pulling a duffle bag with him as he did so. He was probably a little shorter than Sam and was very broad shouldered. His clothes were so cliché for a trucker, it was almost comical, from the flannel shirt, to the worn jeans to the flat-topped ball cap—he was the epitome of an American trucker. It was difficult to see his face as his head was slightly tipped down in a way that was certainly intentional. As he shut the truck door and started for the room, he stopped in mid step as his beady eyes fell on the impala, clearly appreciating her beauty.

Sam felt Dean tense like a boyfriend ready to pounce on a guy for eyeing his girlfriend at the bar.

It was still nearly impossible to make out his features, but Sam could tell that his jaw was broad and his eyes seemed slightly too small and too close together.

Jake took a step towards the Impala and Dean’s hand tightened on his gun, “In your dreams, asshole.”

Sam allowed himself a small smile.

Jake finally turned as if he'd suddenly remembered he'd been in a hurry and fumbled his room key into the lock of the door. After he had entered his room, both brothers relaxed slightly and took a deep breath.

Dean floated back towards the couch, muttering something that sounded like, “Sleep is good.”

“You think that’s our guy?” Sam asked as he glanced at the clock to see that it was 1:30 a.m.

Dean sunk into a sitting position on the couch and seemed thoughtful for a moment, “I dunno, man. He doesn’t seem like the type that would be summoning a merciless assassin spirit.”

Sam was thoughtful for a moment before nodding, “We’ve seen stranger things happen.”

Dean recognized that Sam was about to rationalize why Jake would do something like this and wearily glanced at the alarm clock, “I know.” Better to agree for now and get some more sleep.

Sam approached the small desk in the corner of the room and hit the shift key to wake his laptop out of standby. The web page he’d last been reading popped up automatically—a picture of Seville accompanied by the full article of her death. The article claimed that she was credited with over 100 kills, ranging from international political icons to harmless celebrities.

“Someone’s pulling her strings. The lore says that she only kills in order to gain something,” now Sam was just thinking out loud and Dean was starting to lean towards the couch, “but what could a ghost possibly want from humans?”

This sparked Dean’s curiosity and he offered, “Has it ever happened before?”

Sam snapped out of his thoughts, “No. It’s not in any records.”

“How do we know it’s her?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense according to the witness account,” Sam answered, still a little distracted, “Alright, tomorrow, we’ll go talk to the witness and see how genuine his account really is.”

Dean pointedly glanced at the alarm clock, “Okay, Watson, could we get some sleep now? You don’t get my kinda good looks from staying up all night.”

Sam closed the laptop and muttered, “I’m not Watson—you’re the sidekick. . .” he trailed off as he lowered his long body back into bed.

Dean chuckled as he once again lost himself in his covers. Sam’s breathing soon became deep and steady, indicating that he’d already fallen asleep. Dean lay awake for a while, but sleep found him soon enough and before long they were peaceful in the only way their lives allowed them to be—asleep.

o o o o o

Jake pulled up to the motel and parked in front of his room. He was overly alert and glancing in every direction as he quickly unloaded his duffel bag and exited the truck. As he stepped around his door and slammed it shut, his eyes fell on the nearest car. ‘Car’ was actually almost an insult—she wasn’t just a car, she was a machine—a purring beauty of a 1967 Impala; jet black. But her beauty wasn’t the only thing that had caused his reaction. He had seen this very beauty parked outside his business just after he’d left from work earlier that day.

Jake suddenly felt as if he were being watched, so he snapped back into hustle mode and unlocked his door as quickly as he could manage. He knew there was a chance that he was being paranoid, but he couldn’t afford to take that chance. Something very strange was going on and it was too dangerous to blame coincidence for any of it. He’d have to get to the bottom of this mystery as soon as possible.

Thinking that he may have awakened the owner of the beautiful car, Jake waited in his room, sitting at the foot of his bed in silence. After 30 minutes, he stood, walked stealthily to the door and exited the room.

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Worth of a Soul

  • May. 8th, 2008 at 5:50 PM
Midwest tracks

 This fanfiction takes place between the episodes Mystery Spot and Jus In Bello. I don't own any part of Supernatural or our boys.  Feel free to comment or review if you like.  Reviews feed the muse!

Chapter 1: The Assassin

Sam closed his eyes and rolled his head around his neck for the third time in two hours. Dean glanced over from the driver’s side, curious about his brother’s restlessness. He’d become increasingly fidgety as he researched the current case.

It was midday and the sun seemed overly bright. Both brothers had found a pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment. Dean’s were relatively normal, as he had declared that the driver not only picks the music, but also the sunglasses. Sam was wearing a very old pair of aviators that Dean had expected to look goofy, but had been disappointed when he found that Sam was actually pulling off the ‘state trooper’ look.

“Well?” Dean finally spoke, annoyed that he couldn’t read the computer screen and drive at the same time, “What’s it say?”

Sam continued to read to himself for another moment, then spoke, “The first victim was killed about a month ago. It wasn’t solved, but it wasn’t all that unusual either—not in our way—just three gunshots: one to the left shoulder, one to the right shoulder and one to the heart.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and nodded. It sounded like an execution.

“The next victim was last week and that murder had a witness who claims that the killer was an apparition.”

“An apparition?” Dean scoffed.

“A ghost—”

“I know what an apparition is,” Dean said indignantly.

Sam ignored Dean and continued, “The witness said that a woman appeared out of nowhere and shot the guy three times,” Sam paused for a moment as he read, “And he said that the shots didn’t make any sound—three rounds into the victim and the witness didn’t hear a sound.”

“And?”

“Then she disappeared.”

“How do we know we’re not dealin’ with an overexcited witness who convinced himself that he saw a ghost?”

Sam clicked on a tab at the bottom of the screen and another page popped into view. It was a surveilliance still of a woman who would have been beautiful if not for the fact that hatred seemed to radiate from her violet eyes and her face was set in a glare of rage. Dean found himself thinking that he would not have been surprised to see smoke coming from her flared nostrils.

Dean raised his eyebrows, “Who’s that?”

“That was Adeline Seville and she was one of the most infamous assassins in U.S. history. She grew up in Kearney, Nebraska, but ran away when she was 16. After a few years of run-of-the-mill crime, she must have gotten bored and eventually started killing for money. She was good at it. After a few years she made quite a name for herself.”

Dean had a vague smile on his face as he slightly nodded his head and raised an impressed eyebrow, “That is badass,” he said, just loud enough for Sam to hear.

“She became one of the highest paid and most reliable assassins in history. For a long time she was a ghost—”

Dean snorted at the irony.

“You know what I mean,” Sam also smiled, “But eventually the FBI was able to figure out who she was. After they knew, they kept constant surveillance on her mom’s house. Eventually, she made the mistake of coming home.”

Dean glanced at Sam, correctly assuming that the punch line was near.

“They cornered her there. She wouldn’t go with ‘em alive, so they took her out dead.”

“Where’s she buried? This might be a quick one if we can just find the body and take care of it,” Dean said.

“Doesn’t say,” Sam sighed, “Her mother had her buried privately and never told a soul where it was because she didn’t want any of the victim’s relatives or anyone else to desecrate her grave. So her mom's the only one who knew where she was buried,” Sam paused as he read farther, "And her mom's dead."

“Damn,” Dean bit the inside of his lip, “I guess we gotta start with the humans then. That’s interesting. And you’re sure it’s her?”

“It’s her signature: a shot to each shoulder and one to the heart.”

“Copy cat?”

“Not if the witness isn’t a lunatic.”

“Motive?” Dean again glanced at Sam.

Sam squirmed a bit before saying, “If she hasn’t changed her ways, she has no motive against the victims, themselves.”

Dean again arched his eyebrows. This was getting more interesting by the second, “A human controlling her—paying her?”

Sam’s brows furrowed as if he was thinking carefully before answering, “Someone must be paying her.”

“What do you pay a friggin’ ghost?”

“I dunno,” Sam glanced out the window, “But I bet we’ll find out.”

“Okay.” The explanation was good enough for Dean. He gave his baby a little more gas in order to fast-forward the ever-boring sand hills, “Kearney, it is.”

o o o o o

Dean shook Sam’s shoulder, “We’re here, man.”

Sam blinked his eyes open and looked around dazedly. They were sitting in front of a smallish house with white paint and blue trim. Sam yawned and turned towards Dean, “Is this David Schmidt’s house?”

“Yep.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

The brothers got out of the car and stretched for a moment, “Anybody home?” Sam asked Dean.

“Nope. The guy lived with a dog and two cats. I think we’re good to go.”

They ducked under the crime scene tape and entered the house as nonchalantly as they could manage. The more comfortable they looked with entering the house, the more likely anyone who saw them would think that they belonged there. It was about 4:30 in the afternoon and although the cozy neighborhood was void of much traffic or people for the time being, neighbors would likely be coming home after 5:00 p.m. and they couldn’t afford to get caught investigating a dead man’s house.

As they entered, Sam immediately saw a spatter of blood on the opposite wall. There was the outline of where David’s body had fallen, but no other evidence that anyone—or anything—had been there.

“EMF?” Sam asked.

Dean looked down at the EMF detector and nodded, “Oh, yeah.”

“That’s probably about all we need to know,” Sam said, glancing around the small home, “Let’s give it a once over anyway, and then get outta here.”

Dean nodded and moved towards the west side of the house. Sam went the other direction. After about 20 minutes, Sam found Dean in the office, flipping through the pages of a day planner, “Come on, we should take off before suburbia picks up out there.”

Dean looked up and nodded as he pocketed the planner and followed Sam out the door. Sam led the way as they walked back out of the house, trying to appear natural about it in case there were anyone already home from work, or nosey housewives who had nothing better to do than spy on their dead neighbor’s house.

As they climbed back into the car, Dean spoke, “We could go to Wayne Ferret’s house. He lives in the country—no neighbors to worry about.”

“He wasn’t killed there,” Sam said, hoping to avoid a fruitless investigation of an empty house in which nothing had happened.

“We can’t go to his crime scene,” Dean answered thoughtfully, “He was killed downtown and it’s rush hour. We’d have to wait til the middle of the night to check that out. And if it’s anything like this crime scene, we’re not gonna find anything.”

Sam saw Dean’s point and realized they probably wouldn’t need to go there at all unless every other lead was a dead end, “Alright, let’s go.”

Dean removed David’s day planner from his jacket and tossed it on the dash. After a few minutes of riding, Sam snatched David’s pocket planner and thumbed through six months’ worth of plans, some that had already happened; some that never would.

Wayne’s house was about ten miles out of town. The impala purred to a stop in the gravel driveway and the boys climbed out, glancing around for any signs of life. There was a garage full of scrap metal, old car parts and an ancient truck that didn’t look like it had been driven anywhere during this decade.

They relaxed slightly as they walked up the porch steps and into the house, which was unlocked. Once again, they split up to cover the house in less time. Seeing as how there were two floors, Sam took the upstairs, Dean the downstairs.

At the top of the stairs was a hallway that was about 20 feet long. Sam opened the first door on the right to find that it was a well-furnished office. Sam had skimmed the articles and he now remembered that Wayne had sold a large amount of supplies—mostly DVDs, CDs and books—over the internet.

Sam walked to the desk and scanned over the computer, desktop appliances and the desk calendar. As he skimmed the events on Wayne’s calendar, he read “Jake Cord Trucking” written on March 13, which was the next day. Sam hastily reached into his jacket pocket to pull out David’s day planner. He thumbed the pages until he found March and shook his head as he saw that David’s planner also referred to the trucking service, except that it was scribbled out as “Jake’s Truck” instead of the full name and it was on March 18.

Sam quickly covered the rest of the rooms upstairs before heading back downstairs to tell Dean about the connection he had discovered. Dean was idly studying the family pictures that hung on the wall and sat atop the piano. He hadn’t heard Sam approach and his face was set in a bitter smile, admiring a life that he had never had and probably never would.

Sam cleared his throat as he approached, which caused Dean to do the same and turn to face his younger brother.

“Got a connection between the victims,” Sam hurried into the conversation, wanting to skip an awkward moment, “They both had appointments with a private trucking service—some guy named Jake Cord.”

“Get a number?”

“Yeah.”

Dean pulled out his phone and glanced at his watch, “What is it? They might still be open.”

Sam rattled off the number as Dean dialed. When a man answered the phone, Dean asked when they closed, listened for a moment, then offered a polite, “Thank you,” and hung up.

“They close at six,” Dean said, already headed for the door, “We can make it back to town in time if we hustle.” As he neared the door, he turned slightly back to Sam, “You got the address right?”

Sam just smiled in reply.

“Thatta boy,” Dean said as he opened the door to find himself suddenly face-to-face with the barrel of a 12-gauge shotgun.

*Author's Note* Thanks for reading! More coming soon!

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