Title: Black Dog - part three
Word count: ±2700 words
Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt.
Part three summary: Two leads point into different directions. Which one are the Winchester brothers going to follow?
Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations.
Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 & @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!
Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist
S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist
Dean gives his Chevrolet Impala a final clean up and looks at the end result.
Ronny nods satisfied, too. “Good as new.”
They mechanics carefully beat out the small dent in the lid and restored the paint with a polisher. The lock of the trunk took some time to replace, but now it closes perfectly.
“Thanks, man,” Dean says gratefully, offering him some money for the work.
“Any time. Put that away. I owe you Winchesters more than that,” Ronny reminds him. “Sure you guys don’t want a beer?”
Dean hesitates, but then shakes his head. “I’d love to catch up, but we should get going. The world isn’t rid of all evil motherfuckers just yet.”
Ronny chuckles at that. “Fair enough. Good to see you again, though.”
“You too. Take care, Ron,” the oldest Winchester brother returns.
The ex-hunter retreats back into his garage, and Dean glances at the trunk for the second time and smiles satisfied. He’s glad he got it fixed. The clunking sound every time they hit a pothole was driving him crazy, and with enough arsenal for a small military operation inside, he wasn’t really keen on leaving it unlocked either.
As he takes a look around the abandoned street, he realizes he’s missing the tall individual that usually occupies the passenger’s seat. Where the hell did Sam go? Instinctively, Dean scans the area, uneasiness evident in his stomach, a sensation which arises ever since he was a kid, whenever he loses sight of his little brother. Then he spots him a bit further down the road. He’s on the phone with someone, and for a second he wonders if it’s Zoë he’s having a conversation with.
Waiting for his brother to return, he leans against his car, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sun feels nice and warm on his back as it burns away the coolness of the night. Now that he has nothing to do for a moment, his thoughts sneak off. He doesn’t like it one bit, but he can’t help but think of the huntress they crossed paths with a little under a week ago. He may pretend that he doesn’t give a shit, but he has to admit that she has been on his mind more than a couple of times. Not that he likes her, fuck no, but Sullivan left an impression that has him wondering. She has been through more in the twenty-five years that she has walked this earth than most endure in an entire lifetime. Maybe that is why he deep down cares; he can relate to her.
Dean exhales, not dwelling too long on the reason behind the intrigue. Instead, he wonders if Sam’s presumption is actually true. The fierce Zoë Sullivan being in deep shit; he can barely picture it. She always seems in control, even when things don't go as planned. She caught him off guard. He, Dean Winchester, can you fuckin’ believe that? The older Winchester sibling rolls his harmed shoulder, testing its mobility. She shot me, for fuck’s sake.
Even though he has been in the field longer than she has, Zoë seems to expertly know her way around the world of monsters that is their reality. She’s a bright girl, skilled, fast, fearless. She has every aspect of a perfect hunter. But after those last words back in Paragould, he was left with the impression that the battle she was going towards, is one she didn’t expect to win. It truly felt like a final goodbye. A disturbing question pops up in his head; did he make a mistake not going after her? The two guys they saved from a werewolf in Waco probably don’t think so.
Dean stares ahead, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth while contemplating his choices. Maybe they should go after her anyway, see if they can pick up her trail. North is indeed a big place, but then again, a hot chick on a Harley Davidson would stand out. It’s a long shot, but if they play this right, they may be able to find her.
The matter escapes his mind when he feels his phone vibrating, the buzzing device startling him slightly. Somewhat annoyed by his own reflex, the hunter takes his Motorola and notices the small icon of an envelope in the right upper corner; he has received a text message. It’s probably Erin, his hook up back in Waco, who had to wake up alone this morning. She must be wondering where the man she met in a bar three days prior has gone. But when Dean opens his inbox, his eyes widen in shock.
At the top of the list of incoming messages, it says ‘Dad’.
Dean’s heart has picked up speed, now pounding twice as fast than it was seconds ago. Last time he checked, his father’s phone was inactive, and now there’s a message coming in from that number? Different scenarios flash through his mind, not sure if he should prepare for good or bad news. With shaky fingers, he opens the text.
Job: 48°13’11.00”N 121°41’4045”W
Dean exhales, still staring at his cell. He can’t fucking believe it. John disappeared from the face of the earth, nowhere to be found, and after all this time he sent a few numbers and letters. The older Winchester brother huffs out a laugh. It doesn’t matter, though. Relief frees Dean from the crippling worry that he has tried to stuff down for over a month now, but kept him up at night nonetheless. This text confirms what he’s been hoping for; Dad is alive.
Thrilled, Dean turns around and glances down the street, noticing Sam, who hastens towards the car. He can’t wait to share the news, knowing they have both been so desperate for a breakthrough.
“We’ve gotta go,” they both say at the same time.
“Me first,” Dean demands, childish.
“What are you? Seven?” Sam huffs, raising an eyebrow to match with the sass. Despite his accusation, he counters in the same manner. “What I’ve just heard is bigger.”
“Bigger than this?” Dean brags while flashing a grin, victoriously handing his brother the Motorola.
Curiosity wins and Sam takes it, attentively reading the message. His eyes narrow, but then his jaw falls open when he realizes who the sender is. John’s youngest son isn’t impressed, though. In fact, what shows on the display infuriates him.
“That’s it?” he scoffs, agitated, giving the phone back to his brother. “After a month of silence, that’s what he gives us?”
“Sam, don’t you realize what this means? He’s okay!” Dean brings to mind. “Don’t bitch about this.”
“Just because he’s able to send us a text message, doesn’t mean that he’s okay. We’re not even sure it’s him!” Sam returns bitterly.
“Oh, come on. This is so Dad. One word and coordinates, that’s straight up Marine Corps right there. It’s more convincing than his fuckin’ signature,” the older brother argues.
“And what the hell are we supposed to do with this? Trust him blindly and do a job he can’t find the time for because he’s hunting whatever the thing is that killed Mom?” Sam assumes, his arms flying up before he lets them come down to his sides again.
“Exactly,” Dean states, matter of factly. “Don’t you see, Sam? This is what I’ve been telling you. He doesn’t want to be found, he wants us to hunt.”
Dean opens the passenger side door and rummages in the dashboard locker. When he straightens his back, he pulls out a brown notebook; it’s John’s journal.
“This book. This is dad’s single most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. He could’ve taken it with him, but he didn’t. He’s passed it on to us.” Dean looks deep into his brother's eyes while he points at the leather bound book that is the representation of the Bible to the Winchesters. “Dad’s journal, the text... Dad is telling us he wants us to do what we were trained for.”
“You know what I want? I want to find him,” Sam returns determined, handing back the phone.
“And how the fuck were you planning to achieve that, huh?” Dean returns.
“I don’t need a plan, I already know where he is,” the younger brother states.
Puzzled, Dean stares at him, waiting for an explanation. There has been zero contact between their old man and Sam for years, and now all of a sudden he has figured out where John is at?
“How?” he questions, suspicion rising.
“I just received a call. He’s in Tennessee. In Nashville to be precise,” his sibling states.
Dean frowns. “A call? From who?”
The shrug of Sam’s shoulders is nonchalant. “I think she might be a hunter or something.”
“She? Does this mystery lady have a name?” Dean questions further, trying to get details while frustration bubbles in his chest, triggered by his brother’s short answers.
“She didn’t give it, but it doesn’t matter. We’re going to Tennessee,” Sam decides.
Dean laughs out loud, dropping the journal on the passenger’s seat before he turns away. Then he returns to glare at Sam as if he just made a joke.
“You wanna go to fucking Nashville based on an anonymous call? Did the sun fry your brain or something? This could be a fucking trap, Sam!” Dean shouts, indignant.
But his sibling is determined. “I don’t care. If he’s there, I’m going.”
Dean steps closer and halts right in front of him. He has to look up to stare into the eyes of his taller brother, but that doesn’t make him any less intimidating.
“Dad has given us an order,” he growls, his words spoken in a low tone.
“I said: I. don’t. care,” Sam battles him.
“Well I do, you stubborn dumbass!” Dean counters with a raised voice. “What you are planning to do is fucking dangerous! Dad doesn’t want you on his tail, you’ll blow his cover!”
“You’re calling me a dumbass?! Dad is after an incredibly powerful monster by himself, alone! He’s the dumbass for not accepting our help! We already lost Mom, I lost Jess, I’m not going to lose him too. I want answers, I want a piece of that son of a bitch that ruined our lives and I want it right fucking now! If Dad doesn’t want me there, that’s his problem!” Sam shouts angrily.
“You’re going against him?” Dean isn’t impressed with the outbreak, and slightly shakes his head. “Oh right, I forgot. That’s what you always do; the exact opposite of what he asks!” he continues cynically.
“He doesn’t ask. He orders,” his brother corrects. “And you follow those orders like a fucking lapdog.”
“It doesn’t matter how he tells us what to do, Sam! He’s our God damn father, so you better suck it up and fucking LISTEN!!!”
Dean is sure one of Ronny’s neighbors is going to emerge from one of the houses, telling them to shut up and take this argument elsewhere, instead of fighting it out in the middle of the street. He doesn’t care, however. His little brother has forgotten his place, and he needs to set him straight.
“I do whatever the hell he tells me to do because I trust him, because I respect him, which is something I’m gonna strongly advise you to do as well, because your attitude fucking stinks,” Dean lectures, his moss green eyes penetrating, fire burning in his irises. “Now get in the fucking car, because we’re going to drive to wherever those coordinates lead us to.”
Puffing his chest while straightening his back to make himself seem even taller, Sam crosses his arms. His older sibling might think he has all the authority, but he’s not a little kid anymore who he can boss around. Those days are long gone. He thought his departure to Stanford taught Dean a lesson or two, but apparently he needs to remind his brother that he plays by his own rules, and no one else's.
“I’m not going with you,” he decides, standing his ground.
For a moment, Dean just stares at him, giving him a second to reconsider that conclusion, but Sam doesn’t even blink. Their gazes battle, the air between them almost too thick to breathe, rivalry carving a deep canyon between the two.
“I’m gonna give you a choice,” Dean snarls. “You can come with me and solve that case, or you can go fuck yourself.”
Sam gulps, but stands his ground. His facial expression doesn’t change as he steps back, away from his brother, and heads over to the back of the Impala without breaking eye contact, until he opens the trunk to grab his duffel. The glare Dean receives when he slams the lid closed says enough; he’s not coming along for the ride.
Stunned, Dean stares at him and huffs in disbelief. Un-fucking-believable. He has always known Sam was stubborn, but now he takes the cake. Disappointed, the older brother shakes his head. This is the second time Sam has chosen a different path and leaves him without even batting an eye, but it scares Dean just as much as when he left and went to college. He’s not alright with what he’s about to do, but he can’t give in. He has to listen to his father.
Frustratingly, he pulls open the door of the Impala. “Goodbye, Sam.”
Trying to hide his unpleasant surprise, the man left in the road watches him. He didn’t expect this, Dean taking off without him, but then again, how could he not expect a soldier to follow orders from his general? It doesn’t change anything, though. He is dead set on investigating this lead and finding his father.
The man who is about to put a distance between himself and the one person he swore to never part with again, glances in the rearview mirror. He wishes he hadn’t, because the coldness in Sam’s hazel eyes seems foreign, yet familiar. As Dean starts the engine, he realizes he is either having a major deja-vu, or is reliving one of the worst days of his life. Despite the painful pressure that’s building in his chest and the panic that floods his brain, he lowers his right foot on the gas pedal, and the car rolls away. He doesn’t drive off as fast as he normally would, because he’s fighting the urge to turn around. Pained, he glances in his mirror again.
“C’mon, Sam. Move,” he begs.
But Sam doesn’t even lift a finger, and he remains in the exact same spot. Then he does move, but not in the way Dean hoped. His little brother turns his back on him and heads towards downtown Hillsboro, in the opposite direction.
With a deep sigh, Dean shakes his head, clamping his left hand around the wheel until his knuckles turn white.
“Stubborn bastard,” he sighs.
His jaw clenches, as West Elm Street flows over in Route 22 and the landscape around him changes. Small homes and sheds make room for stretched out farmlands. But he doesn’t notice the scenery. His conscience is fighting his heart. He wants to hit the brakes and pull the car into a 180° so badly, but he has to listen to his father. Never in his life has Dean done anything else than that, disobedience not being a word one could find in his dictionary. Yet in this situation, both of the options are pitfalls. It doesn’t matter which way he goes, he will make a mistake either way. Because the one line that his father drilled in his mind over and over again keeps haunting him.
Take care of Sammy.
He grinds his teeth, but continues to drive further and further away, his upbringing leaving him no choice. The hunter has made his decision; he’s going to find the location of those coordinates and do the job his Dad has given him. He knows what he’s doing, he’s just hoping Sam does too, because if something happens to his little brother, Dean knows he will never be able to forgive himself.
Well, shit. The boys have gone separate ways. Who do you think will find what he’s looking for?
Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)
Title: In Bad Waters - part eight
Word count: ±2900 words
Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline.
Part eight summary: Zoë might have accepted the boys help, that doesn’t mean they get along. If the hostility between them isn’t enough, Sam and Dean have some unresolved issues of their own.
Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.
Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.
Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist
S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist
A little less than an hour later, Sam, Dean and Zoë are sharing a table in In-N-Out. All three scheduled in some time to trade their business suits for their everyday clothes. The boys are comfortable in plaid shirts, worn jeans, and dusty old shoes, while Zoë looks like a totally different person now that she left her black pumps, blazer and dress pants in her hotel room. She’s wearing her hair down, her blown locks playfully curled up after last night’s shower. Her grey shirt has the famous Pink Floyd logo on it; a ray entering a triangle and breaks off into a rainbow when it exits. The brand new biker jacket hangs over the back of the bench while she plays with the loose tie of her All Stars shoe, wiggling her foot rhythmically.
U2’s Beautiful Day is playing in the background. It fits, considering the clear blue sky and warm sun outside. Satisfied, Dean and Zoë devour their burgers while Sam has settled for a milkshake, since they don’t have salads at this restaurant. Stunned and a little disgusted, he watches how Zoë intends to break the world record, tailed by Dean. The younger Winchester stares at them both, as the huntress swallows the last bite of the massive Animal Burger and starts on an additional cheeseburger she ordered. Apparently, Zoë doesn’t feel the need to hold back, despite having company, but then again, she wouldn’t change her demeanor for anyone.
Dean doesn’t even notice her manners as he shares her appetite. He’s more annoyed that she finished her burger before he did. He looks up for a moment as she licks the sauce from her fingers after finishing, then continues eating even faster than he did a moment ago.
“Dude! Seriously, a food race?” Sam chuckles.
“Wholth?” Dean says with his mouth full.
He swallows his bite, which apparently was a little bigger than he anticipated. He coughs and hits his chest with his fist, Zoë can’t help to laugh when she sees tears appear in his eyes.
“What are you? Fuckin’ five years old?” she grins.
“I wasn’t racing you,” he mutters hoarse.
“Oh, you so were.” She sniggers, dipping one of Dean’s fries in mayonnaise. “Are you gonna eat that?”
Obviously enjoying herself, she waits for his reaction. He watches her move the fry to her mouth with a look of shock and repugnance on his features. How dare she?
Zoë chews on the snack provokingly. as expected he goes for the counter attack.
“Don’t touch my fucking food,” he warns, pulling his portion of fries to his side of the table, clearly annoyed with his colleague stealing. “And I wasn’t racing you, ‘cause if I did, you would be many burger lengths behind, woman.”
“That’s what’s bugging you the most, isn’t it? Dean Winchester just got defeated by a girl,” she nags.
“I can take you with ease,” he claims, confidently.
She laughs in return.“You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Knock it off, you two.” Sam breaks it up and looks from one to the other. “Now, could we concentrate on the case? We all got better things to do.”
“I have better things to do. You on the other hand just have an unhealthy obsession with helping me,” she corrects, as she drinks from her milkshake through the straw.
“Whatever,” Sam counters with a huff. “Let’s focus here. We’re dealing with a frustrated child spirit most likely on a killing spree.”
“Yeah, but how the hell is she still here? I already burned her bones,” Zoë brings to mind.
“She must be connected to some kind of object then, are you sure you burned everything?” Dean checks.
Zoë slightly tilts her head and glares at him with an attitude. Is he fucking kidding?
“We’re sure, I was there with her,” Sam confirms, jumping in before the huntress can snap at his brother.
“Nothing more romantic than a night at the graveyard,” Dean comments with a little grin, earning a death stare from Sam, and so he continues seriously. “We need to figure out what’s keeping her here before she goes all Mike Tyson again.”
“She probably targets the people who are directly or indirectly responsible for her death. I don’t think she’ll rest until she kills every single one of them unless we do something about it,” Zoë speaks up.
“So, who could be her next target?” Sam wonders.
“It could be anyone, but the biggest candidates for a one way ticket to the land of the dead are probably Mrs. Shire and her son, maybe even Mrs. Dawlson,” Zoë realizes.
“Who?” Sam and Dean question at the same time.
“Her teacher at Elementary School. She knew about the abuse,” she informs, sipping her shake.
Dean seems confused. After all, he knows Zoë only arrived here last night. “How do you even know that?”
“Because I had a fucking chat with her, asshat,” she claims, snappy.
Dean bites his tongue and shakes his head slightly, letting a silent sigh slip from his lips. This woman is unbelievable. If it wasn’t for Sammy being so dead set on helping the bitch, he would get the hell out of dodge.
Ignoring her comment, he picks up a few fries and stuffs his mouth full, not noticing the exchange of looks between Zoë and Sam. As soon as the youngest Winchester makes eye contact, he knows she didn’t talk to Mrs. Dawlson; she saw something in one of her flashbacks.
“There could be a dozen more possible victims we don’t know about,” Sam states, quickly filling the void before it becomes noticeable.
“True, but to figure out who might be next, we need to find more info on what happened to Laura,” she declares.
“We already know what happened to her. Her dad abused her till death followed, nothing to add to that,” Sam says.
“No, I mean after that.”
Zoë leans forward, snitching another fry from the hunter across from her, who snaps his head up to her, staring her down and wondering where she got the nerve to steal his food twice.
“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that no one found out about this murder yet? Because that what it was; murder. Her father killed her. Child services should have been all over this, especially with another minor in the household. Laura was buried without a conviction, while she obviously did not die of natural causes,” the smart woman brings to mind. “Why is that?”
“I mean, the system is flawed. Maybe they missed it?” Sam suggests.
“No, I don’t believe that. She must have been a mess, considering what her victims look like,” she ponders.
Both boys nod as a sign of agreement; she has a point. Dean rubs his chin as he thinks. Then his facial expression changes, the metaphorical light bulb switching on in his brain. He glances up at the woman opposite of him, who watches him questioning.
“Dr. Hughes”, he says out of the blue.
“I know that name,” Zoë realizes, trying to remember where she has heard it before.
“It’s the doc from the morgue that we talked to,” he fills in. “He did the slicing on Shire’s dead body and also mentioned Ronald was a friend of his. I thought he responded weird when Sam mentioned the Hobbit dude.”
“Is the Methodist Medical Center the only dead men’s storage in town?” Zoë asks the whizkid on Dean’s right.
“Not sure. Let me check.” Sam takes out his laptop and sets it up on the table. As he works the computer, Zoë continues their brainstorming session.
“One way or the other, we need to get our hands on Laura’s death report and we need to figure out who wrote it. I’m guessing someone covered for Shire,” she speaks up.
“How is that even possible these days, with all the paperwork and the forensics?” Sam rubs his temple, taking in Zoë for a second, but then returns his gaze to the laptop screen in front of him.
“You think we’re the only ones who lie and deceive?” Zoë returns, smartly.
“We need to talk to more people. Someone who was there and experienced the abuse first hand and might know more about the cover-up. The Shire dude’s wife maybe?” Dean suggests.
“We can’t turn up on her doorstep and confront her. If she doesn’t know her husband possibly erased evidence, it’s just gonna bring a shit ton of drama and a hell of alot explaining to do when she starts asking questions,” Zoë makes clear.
She forks her fingers through her hair and checks her phone for the time; shit. It’s almost 1 PM. Frustrated about the many blank pages of this case, she sighs, pulling at the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. There’s so much about this job that doesn’t add up.
“I don’t get how she could still be here. There was nothing left of her remains,” she sighs.
“There has to be an explanation for that,” Sam ponders, as he stares at the address on display. “Anyway, there are no other morgues in town besides the one at the hospital on W. Kingshighway.”
“I tell you what.” With a neat throw Zoë tosses her empty plastic cup into the garbage can across the aisle. “Sam, you keep an eye on the Shire family. Dean’s gonna have a chat with Dr. Hughes, see if you can get some info on the death report. I’m gonna tail the teacher for a while,” she decides.
Sam nods approvingly before his brother can object. He folds down the laptop screen and gets up. “Sounds good to me.”
“Make sure you keep your eyes open, that little pain in the ass manages to beat up grown ups without the people next door noticing,” Zoë warns as she picks up her helmet from the bench.
“You think this is our first rodeo?” Dean responds with a scoff.
“You didn’t see me coming the other night in Rochester,” she counters sassy.
As she passes him she pets his shoulder, the one she put a bullet in only two nights ago. Dean flinches when a dim pain shoots through his arm again. That fucking b--
Before he can call her names, she exits the fast food restaurant, probably expecting the Winchesters to follow like obedient dogs. Stunned, he watches her walk over to her motorcycle, huffing in disbelief. First she doesn’t want their help, and now she’s giving out orders like she rules the fucking world. He didn’t think it could be possible, but his detest for her just grew to an all time high.
“Mark my words, one of these days I’m gonna shoot her down,” he announces frustrated.
“Ahuh,” Sam responds, cynicism on his tongue as he puts the laptop in his backpack. “Just make sure you don’t pull a gun on her in public, will you?”
“Can’t make any promises.” His brother huffs. “Anyway, you can have the car if you drop me off at the hospital. Let’s get this over with so that we can put some distance between us and the Wicked Witch of the West.”
Sam’s lips form a constricted smile, luckily his brother doesn’t notice. He has to admit that he’s enjoying the fact that his big brother is being told what to do by a girl, while normally he only takes orders from one person and one person only; their dad. What he finds interesting, however, is that despite a few muttered objections, Dean actually follows through with it.
“And you know what’s the fun part about all this?” Sam nags as they exit In-N-Out.
“What?” Dean responds, annoyed, scanning the parking lot in order to spot Zoë’s Road King.
“You have to dress like a penguin again.” The younger Winchester grins as he opens the door to the passenger’s seat.
His brother stares at him over the top of the car, realizing he’s going undercover as the FBI Agent Young once more.
“Ah, come on! Can’t we trade?” he asks desperately.
Sam laughs and sits down. “No way, dude.”
Dean does the same and closes the door, complaining. “Man, I hate suits.”
“You think I’m comfortable in one during these temperatures?” Sam returns.
“Sam, even if I’d be freezing my ass off, I will never be at ease in that ridiculous outfit,” Dean states while turning the ignition, allowing Gimme Three Steps by Lynyrd Skynyrd to play on the cassette deck.
“I’m not trading places. I can work some stuff out while I’m guarding the house,” Sam explains, looking outside the window, squinting his eyes to protect them from the sun.
“What stuff?” Dean questions, making sure it’s not just some lame excuse.
Sam looks aside and hesitates for a moment, but then tells him anyway. “I want to call some friends of Dad,” he admits.
He feels Dean’s piercing gaze, but doesn’t look up. It’s only a matter of seconds before Dean pops the first question.
“Why?” Dean asks sternly.
“Why?! I don’t know about you, Dean, but I wanna find him,” Sam returns defensive.
Dean grips the wheel a little tighter; as if he doesn’t want to find Dad. Seriously? “So do I, but I don’t think it’s wise to start calling random hunters to ask where he is, Sam.”
“I won’t call ‘random’ hunters. I’ll call a few old friends, and why the hell not?” his brother questions.
“Because Dad doesn’t want to be found,” the oldest of the two claims.
“How could you possibly know that, Dean?! Seriously, do you have some kind of telepathic connection with the guy or what?” Sam reacts.
“Hey, you’re the psychic one, not me,” Dean counters. “If Dad wants us involved in his hunt, he will contact us one way or the other. You know that.”
“No, I don’t! I haven’t heard a word from him since I left for Stanford. I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man,” the younger brother argues.
“You were the one who fucking left, Sam. And let me tell you somethin’,” Dean pauses to enforce his words. “I trust him because he’s a damn good hunter.”
“He’s human! He makes mistakes just like anyone else, only this time you won’t be around to back him up. It’s not some monster that he’s hunting, this is the monster! The one that killed Mom, that killed Jess!” Sam adds up.
“You think I don’t realize that?” The car stops at a traffic light and Dean turns to him, his piercing green eyes judging his brother, the same way John so often has. “Of course I’d rather be backing him up right now, but he decided to do this alone and I accept that.”
“Why the hell, though? Just because he says so?” Sam huffs, shaking his head disappointed.
“Hell yes, because he says so!” his brother snaps. “He leads this mission, and we stick to the orders he gives us. It’s about fucking time you show him the respect he deserves.”
“He has to earn that first,” the younger Winchester responds.
“He earned that a long time ago. Every time he protected you, protected us. Everything that we were taught, all the skills that we’ve learned. You were so caught up in the illusion that school was gonna work out, that when he objected because he didn’t want you to be on your own, you cut all ties,” Dean barks at him as he accelerates faster than necessary. “Why the hell do you want to find him so bad if you hate his guts, huh?”
“I don’t hate his guts,” Sam says, his voice a lot less hostile than a moment ago.
Dean takes his eyes off the road again and glances at the passenger, noticing the defeated expression on Sammy’s face. Annoyed with himself he looks ahead again, shutting his eyes for a second when a pang of guilt distinguishes the anger in a matter of seconds. He meant to give his little brother a reality check, but all he did was hurt him.
“Sam, I get you want answers. But calling his friends isn’t the way to do it. We just gotta be patient.”
His brother's jaw clenches and he looks away, not denying nor confirming that Dean is right and that he himself will listen. It doesn’t matter anyway; there’s no way he can turn his brother’s mind around. And Dean claims Sam is the one who is like their old man? Just now he was sure to sit next to a younger version of Dad.
He can't agree with the reasoning behind Dean’s actions, though. His older brother dragged him out of school to find Dad and now that it’s coming down to that, he doesn’t want to go out on a search. Sam on the other hand, he has to find him. Not only does he have some unresolved issues with his father, John is also the only hunter who has been tracking the thing that ruined their lives. He is the key to finding answers. It’s all he can think of; hunting down the bastard that killed Mom and Jessica.
Without saying another word, Dean drives his Impala to their motel, convinced he made his point, even though he hurt his brother’s feelings to get the message across. But Sam isn’t going to let go, neither will he trade places with Dean on their jobs. During his hours of watching the Shire family, he’s gonna make those calls and he is going to find their father. Whether Dean likes it, or not.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).
Title: In Bad Waters - part eleven
Word count: ±4650 words
Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline.
Part eleven summary: Now that Laura if after Zoë, the boys have to think fast in order to save her. Will they realize she’s in trouble?
Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.
Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.
Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist
S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist
Stunned, Sam stares at the door of room seventeen. Dean walks down the hallway with his suit jacket hanging over his shoulder, not having noticed anything unusual. But when he doesn’t hear his brother’s footsteps in his wake, he turns around.
“Comin’ or what?”
Sam places his hand flat on the door, trying to detect any sign of movement on the other side. He feels like something is off, and shifts his gaze to his brother. “The door just slammed in my face.”
“It’s Zoë; what did you expect?” Dean returns, being smart.
The younger Winchester isn’t convinced, however, and he pounds on the wooden surface. “Zo?!”
But the huntress doesn’t hear him. She seems isolated, as if the grand hotel room is soundproof. The wall lights flicker, buzzing as they do, the designer lamp in the corner doing the same. Every hair on the back of her neck elevates, both from anticipation and the freezing temperature, which causes her exhaled breaths to float in the air like miniature clouds.
Zoë swallows apprehensively, her gaze frantically darting across the room for anything she can defend herself with, while the disturbing image of Laura stares up at the only living being in the room. The little girl’s neck is clearly broken, her head oddly tilted to the right. Skin so pale it hints to a shade of blue, black bruises noticeable on her arms, legs and cheek as well. Laura glares at her next victim, her eyes hidden in the infinite darkness of her sockets. Water drips on the ground from the edges of her dress and soaked through hair, leaving puddles on the floor. The constant drip mixes with the sound of static from the television and the running water in the shower.
Slowly, Zoë backs out. “You don’t want to do this, Laura.”
“Or what? You will kill me?” she returns, way too clever for her age.
Little smartass, Zoë can’t help but to think. The huntress is the one who needs to start with the smart talk, though. It might be her only way out of this clusterfuck. She needs to distract the ghost, and pray to the God she doesn’t believe in to make it out of this predicament.
“Why are you doing this?” Zoë asks, as calmly as she can muster.
“They didn’t stop it,” Laura says, anger causing her voice to tremble. “They all knew, but they didn’t stop it.”
“Why are you haunting me then?”
Carefully, Zoë glances aside from the corner of her eye, at the backpack on top of the drawer. She knows it contains a bag of salt and it might just be her only way of saving herself, or at least stall long enough for her hunting partners to realize something is wrong. She could use a Winchester shotgun right about now. That rock salt shooting two barrel would be handy. Laura’s response triggers her to snap her gaze back at the ghost.
“I’m haunting you, because you are trying to stop me. You didn’t want me to kill Mrs. Dawlson.”
Zoë backs out further until she feels the drawer against her spine. While talking, one hand noticeably tries to find the bag of salt in the backpack.
“Mrs. Dawlson was a good person, with a family. Now I know how you feel about the person who did this to you--”
“- Yes, you do know how I feel. Don’t you, Miss Sullivan?” The spirit turns her head in an abnormal angle, the bones in her neck snapping. “You know how hating someone for what they did to you feels like. That’s why you became what you are.”
Startled, Zoë stares at the little ghost. How the hell does she know all this? Is she playing mind games here? It’s scary how Laura stays so well mannered, and Zoë has trouble looking her in the eye any longer.
“I know what your father did to you was cruel and unforgivable, but this isn’t you, Laura. You need to let go,” Zoë tells her.
“I can’t. You understand that. You can’t let go either. Someone hurt you, Miss Sullivan. It didn’t just happen, he knew and still didn't help you. Don’t you want to kill him?” Laura pressures.
“Oh, I do,” the huntress replies honestly. “But grown ups realize what consequences there are to murder.”
In a blink of an eye, Zoë throws a hand of salt at Laura’s face, which causes her to scream and flicker on and off, but only for a moment. Zoë hastes for the door and turns the doorknob, but Laura still has control over the environment and the barrier between her and the Winchesters stays shut. Sensing her presence, the huntress turns around and sees Laura coming at her rapidly, as if she’s watching a video on fast forward. Right under her nose, the child stops and stares up at her angrily.
“That wasn’t very nice,” she hisses.
Suddenly, Zoë feels herself being lifted off the ground, as light as a feather. There is nothing delightful about it, though, because a second later, she smashes into the wall on the other side of the room.
“That made me feel angry,” Laura continues, her chin propped down as she gazes at her next victim from under her brow.
Zoë struggles up, but before she can make an attempt to flee, Laura makes a sideways gesture with her hand, sending her victim flying. With a loud bang, she collides with the hard wall on the other side of the suite, the plaster crumbling as she lands on the drawer which breaks through its leg, causing the huntress to glide off the surface and fall down on the floor. Dizzy, she recovers as she feels blood dripping down her cheek, coming from a laceration above her temple. As soon as the black spots disappear from her vision, she glances back up at the disturbing young girl. She points her little finger at her, as Zoë starts to feel an increasing pain in her chest.
“Now I’m going to kill you, nice and slow. Just like Daddy killed me,” Laura sing songs eerily.
Frightened, Zoë stares at the girl. Before she can blink, the ghost has a death grip on her neck and works her against the wall.
Her efforts to escape have been hopeless so far and with no weapon to defend herself with, the odds are not in her favor. She tries to back out further, but unfortunately she can’t move through walls just yet. It doesn't happen often, but the huntress is in deep trouble. Images of the murder scenes of Laura’s previous victims flash before her eyes; she might end up just like them. In one last desperate attempt to get out of this situation, she closes her eyes, trying to calm herself. In a split second, she pictures Sam Winchester and concentrates. Then she cries out his name.
“SAM!!!”
“Did you hear that?”, Sam asks, alerted on the other side of the door.
Dean walks up to him and listens carefully. “Hear what?”
“SAM!!! Get me out!!!”
“There! You heard that, right?” Stunned he stares at the door, then he hits it with his shoulder. “Zoë!!”
“I didn’t hear anything. Did you eat mushrooms for lunch or something?” Dean questions, confused.
“Dean, you have to trust me! Laura is in there!” Sam cries out.
Without pausing, his younger brother tries to bust the door with a kick, but the lock will not budge. For a split second Dean watches his brother, who keeps going at the varnished wood with everything he’s got. Apparently, he’s not kidding and it puts Dean in hunter mode instantly. It’s not even instinct, more of a reflex. He would follow his brother blindly, he trusts him without a single doubt in his mind.
“What is going on here!”, a member of staff shouts at them from the end of the hallway.
“Call 911, now!” Dean turns to him and starts running down the corridor.
“Where are you going?!” Sam glances aside, out of breath.
“I’m gonna try from the outside! Keep going!” Dean commands before he rushes around the corner.
As fast as he can, Dean sprints back to the main hall of the Hampton Inn. While bolting down the stairs to the first floor, he searches for the car keys in his pocket. Very well aware that every second counts, he crosses the lobby towards the parking lot. Quickly, the hunter opens the trunk of his Chevrolet and takes out a shotgun, loading it skillfully. He doesn’t go back inside, instead the hunter runs down the hotel complex, counting the room windows as he passes them.
For once, the universe is helping him, because under Zoë’s suite a van of maintenance crew is parked on the sidewalk. Agile, Dean hoists himself up by the mirror with one hand, climbing onto the roof of the vehicle. Inside, the child ghost has her hands around Zoë’s neck and forces her all the way up to the ceiling, the huntress’ body slack. Laura is about to snap her neck, but then Dean catches her attention. The spirit tilts her head slowly and looks Dean in the eye, then she opens her mouth further than anatomically possible as her eyes sink back in the back of her head.
Knowing no fear for the entity, Dean aims and releases the slug filled with rock salt. It shatters the glass instantly and flies straight through the ghost’s head. As sudden as she appeared, Laura evaporated into thin air with a scream. Zoë collapses down the wall as Sam busts in right at the same time, the vicious spirit no longer locking him out. He stares at his brother through the broken window for a split second and then notices Zoë on the floor, just a heap of fragility.
“Zo!” Sam rushes to her and kneels down.
Carefully, he cups her face with both hands and taps her on the cheek gently, after which she slowly comes to, coughing. The hunter breathes out, relieved when she opens her eyes. A groan escapes from her lips and she squints as the pain dawns on her. She leans against the wall, out of breath and clearly experiencing discomfort. Blood runs down her neck from a wound on her head, her nose is also bleeding. Several cuts are spread out over her arms and face; she’s a mess.
No wonder, because when Dean steps through the window, he notices that the entire suite is trashed. The table has shattered somewhere during the struggle, glass is scattered everywhere. The couch has toppled over on its back, the TV ripped from the wall and the screen distorted. He crouches down next to the wounded woman, who clamps her hand at her side and takes a careful breath, which obviously hurts her.
“Hey, take it easy.” He puts his hand on her shoulder as she rests her head against the wall again, biting back the pain.
“I think I cracked some ribs,” Zoë moans.
“What else hurts?” Sam carefully sweeps away her dark hair to reveal the bleeding cut underneath.
“The better question is; what doesn’t?” she comments, as she closes her eyes for a second. “That little fucking brat...”
“Cursing and angry already. You’re gonna be fine, I see,” Dean jokes, lighting the mood.
Zoë looks up at him, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. He might say so, but she doesn’t feel so good. Carefully she touches her nose, from which blood still drips to her lips and down her chin.
“Broke it?” Dean checks.
“I don’t think so.” She sniffs. “I swear, if she kills me, I’ll haunt her sorry ass, ten years old or not.”
Dean grins at that comment and looks away, but Sam isn’t set at ease yet.
“Where’s that ambulance?” he asks his brother.
“Ambulance?” Zoë repeats, annoyed.
“Yeah, you know. One of those minivans who hurry injured people like you to a hospital,” Dean nags.
The huntress glares at him and then turns back at Sam. “I don’t need no ambulance.”
“Nope, you’re absolutely fine. You don’t need our help either,” Dean rubs in with a sarcastic tone.
“Shut up,” she mutters.
The oldest of the brothers rights himself, smiling victoriously, because for once the huntress doesn’t have a comeback ready. He moves to the doorway to meet the authorities, sirens already blaring in the distance. As soon as Dean is out of sight, Sam cocks his head at Zoë, astonished, his eyes piercingly demanding answers.
“I heard you,” he whispers.
“I figured,” Zoë responds, carefully removing the blood from her upper lip.
“No, I mean...” He pauses and glares over his shoulder to make sure Dean is really gone. “I heard you in my head. How the hell did you do that?”
Zoë glances at the young hunter. It’s clear as day that he’s intimidated by this bizarre turn of events. Honestly, she was just as surprised when she felt Laura’s grip on her loosen. Why she did it? Instinct perhaps. It was her last attempt to connect with anyone outside this room. How she did it? She’s still trying to wrap her head around that one.
“I don't know, I just…” She presses her palm against her forehead, this headache is killing her.
“That bad, huh?” Sam sighs sympathetically.
“Dude, I feel like I’ve been used as a boxing bag.” She pulls back her hand and is unpleasantly surprised by the crimson on her fingertips.
Sam cannot stop worrying, she can see it. Not just about her, but about this telepathic intermezzo they had just a few minutes ago.
“It’s probably nothing, Sam. We’re both sensitive to this psychic stuff. It’s no big deal,” she tries to comfort.
But the concerns don’t wear off. Not that he can ponder on it for long, though, because a moment later, paramedics rush in.
Some time later, Zoë is uncomfortably sitting in the back of the ambulance. The police have also arrived; several cars are parked on the sidewalk. Officers and forensics are examining the crime scene for traces of the assaulter, which of course, they will never find.
The paramedics took care of her head wound and several other minor injuries the huntress suffered. Her face feels like Mohammed Ali himself threw a few punches at her, and to top it all, Detective Lee is standing right in front of her for the third time this day.
“Are you sure you didn’t see anything?” Lee checks, after he wrote something down in his notebook.
“Not a thing. It attacked me from behind and knocked me unconscious,” she lies, without batting an eye.
“It?” The officer looks up at her, a bit indignant by her choice of words.
“You know, he, she, whatever,” Zoë mutters, pretending to be casual.
Lee watches her for a moment and puts away his notebook. “Off the record,” he starts. “Do we need to put a lot of effort in this case or can I tell my sheriff that the FBI is taking over?”
A little surprised by the new direction of the detective, she looks back up into his eyes, then chuckles. He has a point; right now they are busy questioning each other instead of actually solving the case. They are working the same terrain here and neither of them are helped by that matter.
“I’ll spare you some trouble. We’ll take over,” Zoë states.
He nods as a sign of agreement, realizing that this is probably for the best. They have no sense of direction on this bizarre case and every lead they do have runs directly towards a dead end. The FBI has more experience with this kind of abnormal.
“We’ll be at your service if needed. I hope you’ll catch our killer, this town can’t afford more crimes like these,” the officer ponders.
“Neither can I,” Zoë half jokes with a huff, rubbing at the dried up blood on her chin, which is starting to itch.
“Good luck,” he wishes her. “We’ll keep in touch.”
Zoë watches him head back for his car as he gestures to his partner to follow him, who was asking Dean some questions. After all, he did demolish a hotel window with a shotgun, but it seems like he’s cutting him some slack. Good for him, because even though she doesn’t like the idea, he did save her ass.
The oldest of the Winchester boys remains standing on the sidewalk. He takes a moment as he looks around. The PPD start to gather their belongings and the first police car leaves the scene. Sam is in the room, looking for leads. Then Dean spots Zoë inside the ambulance and saunters over.
“Hate those damn interrogations,” he mumbles as he leans against the left door of the van.
“Right there with ya, but they won’t bother us anymore,” she states.
“Good riddance,” he comments as he watches the cars leave, then he turns to Zoë, observing her for a moment. “How do you feel?”
“I got my ass kicked by a ten year old. How do you think I feel?” she returns snarky.
Dean nods in agreement, being able to imagine that, a smirk adorning his features.
“At least you didn’t get killed,” he argues. “You’re the first to survive an attack like that.”
“True enough,” Zoë agrees.
Silence follows, the huntress taking the opportunity to take in the guy in his mid twenties. The suit he’s still wearing looks good on him. At first sight you would think he’s comfortable in one, but the loosened tie gives him away. The warmth of midday plus the action, caused beads of sweat to form a trail along his hairline, his skin shimmers. His strong features stand out against the blue sky. With his lips slightly purged, he watches the scene, the sun catching the apple green of his irises. Zoë might not be able to stand the older Winchester brother, but he certainly is handsome.
She isn’t the type of person to apologize, but does realize that his quick thinking saved her life. Strangely enough, that never happened to her before. She never needed to be saved, she was always able to take care of herself. Or is it that there never was anyone there to save her, and she had a little luck with getting out of sticky situations?
“Hey, Dean?” She hesitates.
He turns his head to face her, waiting for what she was about to say.
“I just wanna say, uh...” she speaks with difficulty. “You kinda saved my ass out there, so--”
“Don’t mention it,” he responds before she finishes her sentence.
Dean watches her and smiles slightly when she averts her gaze. Seems like she might start to realize that she can’t always make it on her own. He relieves her from the confronting words, though, he knows it’s difficult to say them out loud.
As the huntress slips off the gurney, she flinches and puts her arm around her side when her ribs ache.
Dean tries to make eye contact. “Sure you can hunt like this?”
“Of course I can. I had worse,” she snaps, the peaceful moment gone in an instance.
Dean shows his hand in innocence, burying the other in his pocket. “Just askin’.”
At that moment, Sam walks up to them, hopefully with some new information. His identification hangs from his neck, so that the police still at the scene know who he pretends to be without asking.
“Smart move, Zo,” he compliments, crumbling salt between his finger and thumb.
“Where did you find that?” Dean asks, curiously.
“On the windowsill. I always salt every entrance of a place where I dare to close my eyes”, Zoë explains before Sam can. “No idea how she got inside in the first place, though.”
“She could have come in through the vents,” Sam considers.
“I’ll just sleep in a circle of salt next time then,” the huntress mutters. “What did you find?”
“Nothing. Same situation as the other three incidents, only you survived.” Sam claims. “I keep wondering, though; how is she able to relocate? I’ve never seen a ghost jump houses like that before, unless they are tied to an object, but you didn’t bring back anything from the crime scene, did you?”
Zoë shakes her head. “No, I didn’t. The only explanation I can think of is that she latches onto the person who was there when she manifests, but even that doesn’t add up.
“Did Laura say anything?” Dean wonders.
The huntress breaks eye contact with the older Winchester brother. Oh, Laura said something, alright. Something she will not forget anytime soon. Ghosts have the ability to see right through people, sometimes even read their thoughts and memories. The deepest secrets aren’t safe when the afterlife sets in. It scares her that Laura knows about her, about the demon. About John.
“She mentioned something,” she brings up, leaving the personal stuff out. “She kept saying ‘they didn’t stop it’.”
“I heard her say that too,” Sam admits.
“In your vision?” Dean checks.
Sam confirms with a nod and turns back to Zoë. “Did you see anything else?” Sam questions.
The young woman looks away while she ponders. What other details could be of importance? By replaying the moment in her head, she tries to remember every particular detail.
“Her hair was drenched,” she recalls with closed eyes. “Water was dripping on the floor. She was wet through.”
Both boys frown at that. How does that fit their theories?
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Dean comments. “Ghosts look like that when they went for a swim and didn’t come back up, not when they got killed in a beating. Water had nothing to do with her death, she broke her neck.”
“I know, another clue of which we have no idea of what the hell it means,” Zoë sighs.
All three fall quiet, trying to figure out what they are missing. Before they can brainstorm further, one of the two paramedics approaches them. The hunters keep their mouths shut when he gets close enough to pick up on any conversation, careful not to talk about the supernatural when unknowing people are around.
“Mrs. Evans? I’m afraid we have to take you to the St. Bernards Medical Center in Jonesboro,” he tells her.
“What? Why? The AMMC is right around the corner,” Sam jumps in before Zoë refuses to go to any hospital at all.
“The ER has been closed down, Sir,” the paramedic answers politely.
“For what?” Dean likes to know.
Then two police cars rush by. A bit startled, Zoë glances around the van to see what’s going on, as another car stops. She’s surprised to see that Detective Lee rolls down his window.
“Federal agents,” he greets them with a nod. “We have another one at the Medical Center.”
Their eyes widen and Zoë’s jaw drops. Another one? How did that happen so fast? Dean is the first to recover from the unexpected news.
“We’ll be right there,” he states.
Lee rolls up his window and accelerates. Sirens scream through the street as they drive up the road. The hunters watch the convoy take off, still taken aback. They don’t need a name, they already know who Laura killed.
“Hughes,” Dean knows.
“Yep,” Zoë sighs and gets on her feet.
“Mrs. Evans,” the paramedic objects.
“I don’t need to go to hospital. I’m fine, thank you,” Zoë ensures.
The first responder insists, however. “I really recommend you to come with us.”
“I’ll sign the AMA, thank you,” she returns, her tone stern yet polite.
“We’ll take care of her,” Dean backs her up
Sam eyes him, unpleasantly surprised; how could he agree with that? She almost got killed by a ghost, broke her ribs and now she doesn’t even want to be checked out? When he gets a warning glare from both his brother and the huntress when he is about to object, he closes his mouth again. What’s the use anyway. They are both stubborn as hell.
Moments later, the paramedic returns with the Deny Medical Treatment form, which Zoë signs under her false name. Leaving the paramedics behind, she shuffles across the parking lot of the Hampton Inn, reluctantly accepting a supporting shoulder to lean on offered by Sam when he detects she’s still feeling dizzy.
“You’re nuts, you know that?” Sam scoffs.
“Completely aware,” she answers, this not being the first time someone calls her crazy.
“You’re not alright, Zo,” Sam presses.
“You’re talking like I’m halfway dead!” she cries out.
“Well, you came pretty damn close!” he snaps.
“Dude, chill. I know you’re worried about your little girlfriend here, but she has to stay with us,” Dean brings to mind as they reach his Chevrolet.
“Excuse me, dickhead, but I’m not little and I’m certainly not his girlfriend,” Zoë corrects, offended.
Before he can respond, Sam also objects. “Why does she have to stay with us?”
“Because if she doesn’t, she’ll be alone and Laura will attack her again. We’re not leaving her out of our sight.” Dean opens the door to the backseat of his precious Impala and makes a gesture to Zoë. “Get in.” he orders.
“What, in that?” Zoë chuckles as she glares at Dean’s baby inferiorly, letting go of Sam to stand on her own feet. “No thanks, I’ll take the Dave.”
“You’re not getting on a bike,” Dean makes clear before she intends to head over to her black roadrunner, irritated by her tone.
“It’s not a bike, it’s a Harley Davidson Road King,” she corrects snobby. “If I ride, I ride my Dave, no way you’ll get me in that car.”
“That car is a ’67 Chevrolet Impala”, he counters, his face contorting after her insult. How dare she?
Zoë pretends the older Winchester brother is non-existent and walks on, while Sam laughs silently as Dean grinds his teeth and watches her leave.
“Wipe that damn smile off your face and get in,” the oldest orders his brother.
Sam doesn’t stop smiling, but he does get into the classic as Dean settles in the driver’s seat. Frustrated, Dean starts the engine and roughly drives up to Zoë, then he brings his car to a stop between her and her motorcycle. By this time he has already rolled down his window and now stares up into Zoë’s dark eyes.
“You know just as well as I do that riding that Harley in your condition would be close to suicide. Quit being so fucking stubborn and get in the fucking car!” he commands.
They stare at each other, their eyes battling in silence. Huffing in disbelief, she averts her gaze, shaking her head as she attempts to tame her anger. How dare he speak to her like that?
“Zo, c’mon. We just want you to be safe,” Sam offers, taking a more gentle approach.
The huntress shifts her focus to the youngest brother, his warm eyes begging her to just get in and stop acting tough. Of course she knows it wouldn’t be an easy ride on her bike and that being driven in a car is far more responsible than riding down the highway herself on a two-wheel vehicle. It’s admitting this to Dean that she detests. Nevertheless, Zoë lets out a sigh, thick with annoyance. Reluctantly, she reaches for the door-latch, but she’s not willing to give in without having the last word.
“I thought you said it was a ’67 Chevrolet Impala,” she recalls, using air quotes, as she sits down in the back seat.
Dean rolls his eyes, ignores her comment with difficulty, biting the inside of his cheek to distract himself. As she slams the door, he accelerates. While they exit the parking lot of the Hampton Inn, Dean once again realizes how badly he wants this case to be over, because if Laura does not succeed, he would like to break Zoë’s little neck himself.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).
