The Past Never Ends

Dean sighs and rubs a hand across his face. He’s been driving non-stop for the past seven hours and it’s time to take a break, stretch his legs, and get some well-earned coffee.

The landscape around him hasn’t really changed much since he arrived in South Dakota. Endless fields and an occasional forest, abandoned gas stations and run-down houses, small towns that give him a specific strangers not welcome vibe, and more fields. In some other situation, he might actually enjoy it. But not now.

Then again, this isn’t a joyride.

He scrunches his nose, opens and closes his mouth, and shakes his head to keep himself awake, hoping against hope to see an actual, open gas station. When he finally does, he lets out a fake-enthusiastic ”Yay!” and takes a right turn.

It’s late, past midnight, and there aren’t that many customers. Some lone truck drivers having coffee and donuts, a couple of teenagers nursing sodas long gone flat, and a middle-aged police officer filling her travel mug. Dean nods at her when he enters and gathers a shopping basket full of snacks, power drinks, jerky…anything he can think he might need.

”I’ll take these and the gas,” he says and nods at Baby waiting outside. 

The clerk is an overly cheery woman chewing gum with her mouth open. Her name tag says Becky in big, bulky letters and has a kitten sticker on the side. She packs his purchases into a plastic bag and gives him a wide smile. 

”There you go!” she chirps. ”That’ll be $34.97. Can I get you anything else?”

Dean glances at the selection of tourist maps on the counter. ”Do you have anything about Cold Oak? I tried to look for road signs but didn’t see any.” When Becky doesn’t answer, Dean looks up and sees her staring at back at him, eyes wide and terrified.

”We don’t talk about that,” she stage whispers and her eyes flicker around.

Dean takes a look at the other customers. They’re all frozen and staring at him. ”O-kay,” he says slowly as he turns back to Becky. ”But…maps?”

Becky blinks, then opens and closes her mouth a couple of times.

”Thank you, Becky. I’ll take it from here,” a woman says from behind Dean. It’s the police officer. She nods at Becky and jerks her head. ”How about we step outside to talk, sir?”

Dean sighs but follows her. He’s spent enough time around authorities to know when a request isn’t actually a request. He also has a feeling this officer doesn’t take kindly to bullshit.

”Deputy Mills,” the officer says. ”What do you want with Cold Oak, Mr…?” 

”Dean,” Dean says and offers her his hand. She raises a brow at not getting a last name but she has a good, solid grip. A trustworthy grip, his dad would say.

”I’m looking for my brother.”

”And you think he’s here? In Cold Oak?” When Dean doesn’t answer, she gives him a long, considering look. ”Where are you coming from?”

”Um, Lawrence, Kansas,” Dean says. 

Deputy Mills raises a brow. ”That’s a pretty long way to drive after your brother.”

”Big brother duties,” Dean says and shrugs.

”Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” deputy Mills snorts. ”Never had siblings.” She falls silent and takes a long pull from her travel mug, staring at the road ahead. 

Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of if he should just say goodbye and drive off. There’s something that keeps him waiting, though. Something about Deputy Mills. First, she didn’t seem panicked when Dean mentioned Cold Oak and second, she feels…good. That’s about all Dean can say about it.

Deputy Mills lets out a long breath and drops her chin to her chest, closing her eyes. ”I’m not sure if you’re up to something, brave, or just plain stupid, but…I’ll take you to Cold Oak. On one condition.”

”And what’s that?”

She raises her head and gives Dean a level look. ”You tell me exactly why you’re looking for your brother.”

Dean really has nothing to lose.

”Fine,” he says. ”But not here.”

Deputy Mills nods brusquely. ”There’s a motel not far from here. Follow me.”

The motel fits the landscape. It’s more on the sorry side.

Out of habit, Dean asks if Wedge Antilles stayed there recently and huffs a humorless laugh when he hears the positive answer. For some reason, Sam has been using that alias like he’d forgotten everything their dad taught them over the years.

”The room he stayed in, is it free?” he asks.

”111? Yeah,” the clerk says.

Dean nods. ”I’ll take it.”

The clerk gives him a dirty look when Dean hands over a credit card registered for Angus Young but Dean doesn’t give a shit.  

Deputy Mills books herself a separate room and when they have everything sorted out, they make their way into room 111.

”Wedge Antilles?” Mills asks dryly. 

Dean hoists his duffel on his shoulder. ”It’s…an old habit,” he finally says. He’s not sure why deputy Mills doesn’t call him on his con but he decides to take it in a stride. He’ll find out sooner or later anyway.

He opens the door, surprised when the hinges don’t squeak, and gives the room a cursory glance. It’s scruffy and the standard furniture has seen better days, but it’s clean and comfortable. He tosses his duffel on the bed and steps into the bathroom, and bends down to run his fingers along the back side of the toilet seat, telling himself he isn’t disappointed when he finds nothing.

He hadn’t found anything in the previous motels either.

When he steps back into the room, deputy Mills is waiting for him. She’s taken off her gun belt and jacket but her eyes are as sharp as in the gas station parking lot.

Dean sits on the bed, leans his elbows on his knees, and meets her gaze.

”The reason I’m trying to find my brother is because I think he’s going to die.”

Deputy Mills cocks her head. ”Really?”

”I know it sounds weird but…” Dean cards his hand through his hair and huffs. ”I mean, for as long as I can remember, he’s been different. Our dad used to say Sam’s fragile but that might  just be his assholery speaking.

”Things were okay for as long as mom was alive and after, well, it went to shit pretty fast. But we were handling it, even if Dad drank and Sam heard voices. He did pretty well at school, got good grades, and even got a scholarship and all, and then his girlfriend died.

”I think it triggered some kind of a nervous breakdown.”

”Poor kid,” Deputy Mills mutters.

”Yeah,” Dean says. ”He started hearing voices then. Or at least that’s when he started talking about them, I think he’d heard them for a long time by then. Dad pretty much thought Sam lost his marbles and he fucked off. I guess a mentally unstable son wasn’t what he’d wanted, being a tough-as-nails bounty hunter and all,” he says, bitter.

”Your dad sounds like a charming man.”

”He’d lost a lot,” Dean says. ”It still doesn’t make it right, what he said to Sam, but I can kinda understand him.

”Anyway, the voices: Sam started talking about Cold Oak a lot, you know? He started slipping it into conversation every now and then and when I asked about it, he just brushed it off. But when it started happening more and more, I got curious and Googled it. And it’s a freaking ghost town! So, I asked him why he’s interested in ghost stories, he stared at me for some time and said he needs to go there. ’I need to go home,’ he said. And that’s just freaky.”

”When he disappeared, I contacted his therapist—Sam had made me his emergency contact years ago—and they said he hadn’t been there in months. And that’s when I got worried.”

”But what made you think he’d come here?”

Dean gives Deputy Mills a considering look. She seems trustworthy and something about her just feels…right. Dean’s been around long enough to trust his guts.

”I raided his apartment,” he says bluntly. ”And I found his message board.”

Deputy Mills blinks. ”A what now?”

”Look, ma’am, we didn’t have exactly a conventional childhood. We traveled around a lot and when our dad had a bad spot, he got paranoid. We picked up some things along the way.”

Her lips twitch. ”Ah,” she says. ”Like pop culture reference aliases and message boards?”

Dean nods. ”Among other things. Anyway, I found his board and, well, let’s just say it would put even John Nash to shame.”

”John Nash?” deputy Mills asks slowly.

”Yeah, the guy from the film A Beautiful Mind? The schizophrenic mastermind who saw conspiracies everywhere.”

”That sounds extreme,” she says.

”Yeah,” Dean says and stands up. He walks to the window and leans on the frame, hands crossed on his chest. ”So when his board was full of Cold Oak, what choice did I have but to follow him?” 

”Don’t you have your own life to live? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Dean shrugs and gazes into the empty parking lot. The motel’s sign is broken and blinking in an erratic rhythm. ”Never been much my thing,” he says quietly.

”So…what are you going to do if and when you find him?”

”I have no fucking clue,” Dean sighs.

Deputy Mills is silent for a long time. The room is dim and the flickering sign casts an uneven shadow on the floor that seems to be reaching for the bleak rectangle of light coming through the partially open bathroom door.

”My son,” deputy Mills finally says softly.

”Huh?”

”My son was similarly obsessed with Cold Oak. He started drawing maps and diagrams, trying to find a…some kind of a divine measure in the maps. He didn’t like to be at home, he said it was stifling and he felt like the walls were keeping an eye on him.”

Dean makes a non-committal noise. He has a feeling deputy Mills hasn’t had a chance to talk about this to anyone for a long, long time.

”He was paranoid and sleep walking. And we tried everything: medication, diet plans, therapy… nothing worked.” She falls silent and sniffles a little. ”One day, just over two years ago, Owen vanished. We found his bike in the middle of the road leading to Cold Oak five days later but we never found him.

”My husband—or, well, ex-husband now—blames me. He left when Owen had been missing for two and half months. Sometimes, when he’s drunk off his ass, he calls me and cries about how I ruined his life.”

”Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters under his breath.

”Yeah,” Deputy Mills says. ”Pretty much.”

”So what do you want to do?” Dean asks.

Deputy Mills raises her head and looks him in the eye. ”Isn’t that obvious? I’m coming with you.”

When Dean wakes up in the morning, Deputy Mills is sitting at the table with a stack of papers and two travel mugs. She’s no longer in her uniform but she still has her gun.

Things seem settled.

Dean grunts a greeting and shuffles his way into the bathroom to take care of his business, sparing just a passing glance at his reflection. He looks exactly as he feels: a man in his thirties who’s spent too much time worrying and on the road. He splashes some cold water on his face to wake himself up and rinses his mouth with mouthwash. For a moment, he entertains an idea of a long, hot shower but dismisses it almost instantly. They don’t have the time.

He leaves a message behind the toilet seat. Just a simple ’This is the end. Don’t come after us. Thank you for everything, goodbye. Dean.’

He can think only one person who’d care enough to follow his trail. She’s not only familiar with the Winchester twisted mailing system but will actually respect his request, no matter how stupid she thinks it is.

”So, what’s all this?” he asks when he walks over to Deputy Mills. She’s hunched over the table, shuffling through the newspapers and piling them to several stacks.

”Clues,” she says and pushes the second travel mug at Dean. ”Gossip, tall tales, whatever. I figured you’d be interested.”

”Huh,” Dean huffs and leafs through the stack closest to him. It’s a collection of newspaper clips, all proclaiming some dark mystery hanging over Cold Oak. He blinks and raises a brow.

”Look, I know we’re not in some sci-fi channel supernatural story,” Deputy Mills says. ”But there’s been something going on in Cold Oak, has been for a long, long time.” She taps the pile in front of her and shakes her head. ”I have no idea what, but perhaps you can help me to find it out.”

Dean’s not sure if he’s any help but he shoots an uncomfortable smile at her direction. ”Sure,” he says and turns to grab his duffel. ”Let’s get going, partner.”

Deputy Mills snorts and packs up, slips the files into a practical satchel and grabs her coat.

”You’re traveling light,” Dean muses as they walk to the car.

”I don’t need much,” she says, shrugging off his question. She doesn’t head up to her patrol car but accompanies Dean to Baby. ”We’ll take yours,” she says when Dean hesitates. ”Unless that’s a problem?”

Dean shakes his head. ”Nope, no problems, deputy,” he quips as he walks around the Impala to toss his duffel to the back seat before heading behind the wheel.

”Jody,” Deputy Mills says. ”I’m not in uniform and this isn’t an official trip. You should call me Jody.”

Dean turns his head to give her a long look and nods. The Impala is rumbling, a hungry, low growl eager to eat up miles and she jumps when Dean revs her up and steers her on the road.

”Tell me about Sam,” Jody says after some time.

Curious, Dean looks at her. ”What do you want to know?”

She shrugs, pretending she doesn’t notice him scrutinizing her profile. ”Whatever you want. You said he had a scholarship—for college?”

”Yeah. He was…is freakishly smart. I mean, I know I’m not dumb but Sam’s something else. I’ve never been much into studying myself, getting my GED and a steady job was more than enough for me. Sam though…” He sighs and shakes his head with a small smile. ”He wants to know everything. He can just suck up immense amount of information and somehow combine and categorize it with what he already knows. He’s always been a curious kid, almost too eager for his own good. I remember how he once—” 

Dean stops abruptly mid-word and blinks.

”Uh…never mind,” he says after an awkward pause. In the silence of his own mind, he curses. What is he doing? Spilling stuff about their childhood to a complete stranger? Why? He spares a glance at her but she doesn’t seem to pay attention to his blunder. 

That, or she’s a really good actor.

”What was he going to study?”

Dean clears his throat. ”I’m not sure, exactly. He’s always been a sucker for justice so perhaps law? Or something to do with human rights?”

Jody lets out a non-committal sound. ”And how did that line up with his message board?”

She’s not even looking at him but Dean feels the need to answer, to explain. It’s a peculiar feeling—he’s usually better at resisting. 

Before he has the chance, Jody points out to the left. ”Take the next out to the left.”

”Okay,” Dean says.

Even though he’s ready for it, the junction takes him by surprise and he has to take a sharp left. Baby’s underside rattles and he winces at the sound, fervently hoping she’ll forgive him this abuse.

The road curves slightly to the left and soon the highway they’d been on vanishes from sight, hidden behind the billows of dust. Jody hums under her breath as she files through her papers, not really looking for anything, just… leafing them. Dean checks her from the corner of his eye and thinks her motions seem too casual, too well-worn to be just for him. It looks more like she’s been doing this a lot lately, leafing through the newspaper clippings and notes.

Perhaps it’s her message board.

Dean revs the engine as the road steeps up a bit and Baby jumps into it, eating up miles with eagerness that has nothing to do with her age. Despite her looks, she’s a good companion: reliable and roomy, and surprisingly accommodating. Baby has seen stuff Dean wishes he could forget but she doesn’t hold them against him. 

He quirks a smile and runs his hands affectionately along the wheel.

Jody cocks her head but doesn’t comment.

”Why Cold Oak?” Dean asks after some time. ”I mean, it’s not the only ghost town in the Midwest. What’s so special about it?”

”I don’t know,” Jody says. ”It was built on ancient Indian graveyard, but that’s old news. All haunted towns are either built on a cemetery or used relics as building material.” She pauses and gives Dean a sheepish grin. ”It’s a quiet town. Besides, scrolling a tablet is easier than knitting.”

”Hey, I’m not judging,” Dean says and shakes his head. ”To each their own, I guess. Hell, I used to collect matchboxes and Sam—whoa!”

He hits the brakes and Baby swerves, groaning as she pulls to a stop, barely missing the road sign fallen sideways on the road.

”The hell?” Jody mutters and opens the door, ready to get up and inspect.

Dean grabs her arm. ”Hey, be careful,” he says, keeping his voice low as he scans the area. 

Jody raises a brow and gives his hand a pointed look. ”I will,” she says slowly and waits Dean to let her go. ”I’m not a rookie, you know? Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m going to run headlong to the danger.”

”That’s not what I meant,” Dean mutters but she doesn’t appear to hear him. He curses under his breath, grabs his shotgun, and follows her.

He’s pretty sure there wasn’t this much fog when they took the turn from the main road but it’s still early and he gives it the benefit of the doubt. And it’s silent, like the woods around them are holding a collective breath, waiting for something. 

Jody is squatting by the road sign and turns to look over her shoulder when she hears his steps. She gives his shotgun a pointed look and Dean gets a stupid need to mutter something about a surprisingly roomy side locker.

”Hey, I’m not judging,” she says, throwing back the words Dean said earlier. ”Good to see someone came prepared.”

Dean decides to ignore the undercurrent of an interested cop in her words and crouches beside her, pokes the road sign with the nose of his gun. ”So, what happened?” he asks. ”It doesn’t seem like something that would just fall over.”

Jody shakes her head. ”It shouldn’t. They’re anchored better than that. Someone pushed this over for a reason.” She takes another look around before she shrugs and wipes her hands on her jeans. ”Well, we better push it up and out of the way.”

Dean nods and sets his gun to the side and together, they manage to move the sign to the side. It’s a surprisingly big, bulky one which means someone had really wanted to get it across to road.

With the sign is neatly out of the way, Dean wipes his brow and turns to get his shotgun, taking a last look at the sign and—stops. 

There’s a sigil on the back of the sign, drawn in wobbly lines with a black marker. It’s achingly familiar, calling out long afternoons of fooling around and waiting for their Dad, the smell of grilled cheese, the feeling of sun beating on their necks, the…

”Dean?” Jody calls, sounding like she repeated his name a couple of times.

”Huh?” he says and sneaks a look at her before glancing back at the sign.

The sigil is gone.

”Dean?” she calls again, careful this time. ”Is everything okay?” 

Dean shakes his head, still staring at the road sign and the place he saw—thought he saw—the sigil. ”Yeah, I’m good. Let’s get going.”

Trick of light, that’s what it was.

So far, Sam hadn’t left him notes. Why would he start now?

They drive slower from there on. The road goes gently uphill, nothing to make things hard for Baby and slow enough so that they don’t realize it until much later when the fog clears up a bit and they see how high they actually are. 

”Have you been here before?” Dean asks, just to relieve the tension. He’s not sure why he’s feeling anxious, he just is, and it’s like this itch crawling under his skin and prickling the nape of his neck.

Jody shakes her head, a small, jerky movement that looks a lot like a wince. ”Yes. After Owen went missing, I was here almost every day after work. I used to drive up here and walk around for hours, calling for him, looking into buildings…” she lets out a breath. ”I never saw him.”

”I’m sorry,” Dean says. He knows it’s a cold comfort but Jody still nods and even offers him a stilted smile.

”Thanks.” 

Then Baby coughs, rattles, and stops.

”What?” Dean asks and turns the key. ”No, Baby, don’t fail me now.”

Baby tries, she truly does, but she only manages a couple of rumbles before she coughs and stops again.

”The hell?” he mutters and squints at the dashboard. ”There’s no way you’re out of gas, you were three quarters full when we started out this morning.”

Baby lets out a pitiful whiny groan and falls silent.

Dean leans forward to rest his forehead on the wheel. ”I hate walking,” he grumbles before he pushes himself up, opens the door, and gets out. ”I also hate carrying all the stuff,” he says as he slams the door shut.

”What stuff?” Jody asks.

Dean walks around the car and opens the trunk, using his shotgun as a prop to keep the lid open.

”This stuff,” he says.

Jody blinks and takes a long look at the assorted guns, ammo, knives, and other stuff. ”Okay,” she says slowly. ”I’m just gonna… assume you have the proper paperwork for all that.”

”Actually, I do,” Dean says. He bites back a curse, grabs a duffel, and starts to pack up whatever he thinks he might need. It’s a bit hard because he has no idea what they’re up against but a little bit of everything won’t hurt. Right?

After a pause, Jody follows his example. She checks each and every weapon before packing them, expertly trying out how they feel in her hands and choosing the ones she feels most comfortable with. Dean doesn’t say a thing but he nods, satisfied with her no-nonsense attitude.

They start forward with a gun in hand and a duffel on the shoulder, scanning the area for, well, anything. The fog swirls around their legs like water, pulling away and then slowly pooling back, hanging on their jeans like it wants them to stay put.

After some time, it gets a bit dull so Dean starts talking.

”It’s a fine line, between genius and insanity,” he says. When Jody blinks at the non-sequitur, he huffs and continues, ”Back when you asked about how Sam’s choice of studies lined up with his message board.”

”Ah.”

”Yeah, sorry. I guess it kinda came out of nowhere,” Dean says. 

Jody bats his apology away and shrugs. ”I guess it’s true,” she says as she walks forward. She’s carrying the duffel with a practiced ease and Dean’s backup shotgun fits well in her hands. She looks pretty good, someone Dean is comfortable being out with in a creepy place like this.

”I wouldn’t know,” Jody continues. ”I’ve never been a genius myself. Just…smart enough to make do.” Then she rolls her eyes. ”Not smart enough to pick the right guy, though.”

”It’s not too late yet,” Dean says.

”Oh, please,” Jody snorts. ”I think it’s safe to say that ship sailed a long time ago, besides it’s not like anyone in this town—”

She freezes mid-step and narrows her eyes. Dean doesn’t ask, just zeroes on the direction she’s facing, following her line of sight. The fog distorts things and makes it slightly difficult to see but it’s almost like there’s someone moving, making their way slowly towards them. It looks human in the way that it has a head and four limbs and it’s walking upright but it’s somehow off… wrong.

Dean’s still trying to make out what it is when Jody shoots it.

”Shit!” Dean yelps and shakes his head a bit, trying to get the ringing to stop. 

”Move!” Jody snaps and pushes him to the side. ”It’s not going to stay down for long.”

They don’t exactly break into a run but they hurry towards a big, looming shape that turns out to be an empty house. Jody doesn’t wait around, just checks if the house is empty before she pushes Dean inside and shuts the door after them. They sit on the floor and lean on the wall, catching their breaths and trying to listen if they’re safe.

When Jody lets out a breath, Dean turns to face her.

”What the hell just happened?”

Jody lets her head thump against the wall and closes her eyes. ”So…I might know a bit more about this place than I originally said.”

”Oh, really?” Dean asks flatly.

”Well, first of all, that thing out there? Not human,” she says.

”I kinda figured that out, thanks.”

Jody doesn’t bother with an answer, just turns their duffels around and empties them on the floor. ”Hey!” Dean protests, but she ignores him. She proceeds to draw a circle around their guns and ammo, adds a couple of squiggly symbols, and starts muttering under her breath.

It takes embarrassingly long for Dean to realize she’s blessing their guns.

”What the hell are you doing?”

She spares him a glance from the corner of her eye and goes on.

”Who are you?” Dean asks.

Jody stops, slowly pushes herself to sit up from where she had been slightly hunched over and turns to look at him. ”I’m a cop.”

”Ha-friggin’-ha. You know that’s not what I meant.”

She sighs and shakes her head. ”Look, I’m just a small town cop who jumped on the deep end and had to learn to swim the hard way.” She runs a hand through her short hair and starts packing the guns back into the duffels.

”Like I said, there’s been something going on at Cold Oak for a long time and, well, things like that often attract other things and…”

”One thing led to another,” Dean concludes. 

She nods.

”So, what was that thing?” Dean asks.

”A demon,” she answers. ”And don’t give me that look. I’m not talking about biblical demons here, it’s just a word I’m using for lack of a better one. That thing used to be a human a long time ago. Or, that’s what the stories say. They are humans who were too greedy and selfish, wanted too much and as a result, ended up as restless ghost.”

”Huh,” Dean says. ”So, you’ve met them before?”

She shakes her head. 

”No? And you just decided to shoot it?”

”It seemed like a reasonable thing to do. Besides, we’re supposed to be the only ones here. I checked. This town is officially off limits and people shouldn’t come here anyway.” She shrugs. ”Trespassing can get you shot, you know.”

”You know, you are kinda scary,” Dean remarks.

Jody laughs. ”Thank you.” Then she sobers and nods her head at the door. ”Compliment me in the morning. We still need to survive the night.”

The night is slow and silent. It’s all sorts of creepy, mostly because Dean is used to hearing at least some natural sounds like birds, little animals rustling in the bushes, or at least a damn cricket. Here? Nothing.

It’s unnerving.

Dean takes the first guard and spends it by trying to count the stars. Despite the seemingly perpetual fog clinging to the ground, the sky is clear and he can see more stars than he’s used to. The constellations stretch above him in endless patterns and he follows them with his finger. 

It was Mom’s thing, counting the stars and learning the constellations. Dad never had the patience; he knew the Northern Star and Venus and that’s pretty much it. He always said that Mom was his homing beacon and he didn’t have to know anything else. Mom used to roll her eyes at him but Dean remembers the soft look she got in her eye whenever Dad said things like that.

After Mom died, Dad didn’t look up. Why would he? He’d lost his homing beacon.

Dean had tried to teach Sam about stars but Sammy had had his eyes strained for something beyond. It was like stars were too close, too mundane for him and he wanted to know about the deep that was beyond the stars.

Dean has no idea if that had been the voices or Sammy speaking.

He’s shaken from his musings when Jody clasps his knee.

”What’s up?” she asks in a low voice.

”The stars,” Dean answers and grins at her eyeroll. ”Nothing. I haven’t seen or heard anything. Whatever is out there, they don’t bother us.”

Jody gives him a disbelieving look and stretches, wincing at the series of pops from her back. ”I’m getting too old to sleep on the floor,” she mutters and yawns. 

”Do you have any idea where we should head tomorrow?” Dean asks.

”Forward,” she answers. ”This house is in the outskirts of the town. I don’t think anything will happen here anyway.”

”Yeah,” Dean sighs and settles down for a couple of hours of uneasy rest. ”I thought you might say that.”

He nods off soon after into a grey haze that offers no real rest and when Jody shakes him awake, he feels groggy.

”We have company,” Jody whispers and nods at the window.

Dean gets up, curses at the crick on his neck, and peeks out of the window. 

He can’t see the ground for the fog but he doesn’t have to: several grotesque human-ish things stand on the yard, staring at the house they’re in with vacant eyes.

”Shit,” he mutters and slides to sit down on the floor. ”How the hell did that happen?”

”No idea,” Jody says. ”They just… were there.”

”Is there another way out?”

She shakes her head. ”No. Or, well, yes, but there’s several of them by the back door too. I suppose the only way out is through them.”

”Great.”

He takes one look around the musty room before raising his eyes to meet Jody’s. ”How about we just make a run for it?” he asks. 

She holds his gaze for a long time and then she nods and stands up. ”Sure, why the hell not?”

It takes them a little time to figure out the best way to juggle guns, extra ammo, and the duffels to the most effective way but they manage and with a last, grim look at each other, they open the door. Running is ineffective with the things lurching around so they concentrate on just shooting their heads off and moving at a brisk pace. The things—demons Jody had called them—aren’t exactly very fast but there’s a lot of them and they seem to be drawn to the sounds of shooting and the smell of death.

When they finally break free, they don’t stop but keep on going further into the empty town, eager to put as much space in between them and the humanoid things as possible. The streets are eerily empty and they see absolutely nothing, no people, no animals, not even insects. It’s like the whole town is dead.

”Yeah, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean mutters under his breath as they peek around yet another corner only to see an empty alley. ”What the hell happened here anyway?”

They stop eventually in front of a barber shop that looks like it belongs to a cheap spaghetti western movie and groan as they sit on the porch.

”Are you hungry?” Jody asks.

Dean shakes his head. ”No, not really.”

”Huh,” she answers and wipes her face. ”Me neither. Odd, isn’t it?” She takes a pull from her water bottle and swallows it in small increments while her eyes jump from window to window, looking for… something.

”Yeah,” Dean says. ”We should eat something anyway. There’s some jerky and chocolate bars on my bag.”

Jody nods and rummages for a chocolate bar, snaps it in two, handing Dean the other half. They eat in silence, lost in their thoughts.

And then they hear a crash from behind them. They barely manage to jump up and out of the way when something huge barrels through the window and roars.

”Jody, RUN!” Dean yells and leaps forward, holding on his shotgun for his dear life. He sprints forward across the yard and towards an empty alley that doesn’t seem to be a dead end.

He spares a glance behind him and sees Jody running after him. She looks determined despite a gash on her temple and a trail of blood across her cheek. 

”COME ON!”

It’s a mad dash with no idea where they’re running and what they’re running from but they make it, through the alley and into the other side, past empty houses and vacant parking lots, the sounds of the…monster speeding their way. Dean takes a sharp right, sparing only a fleeting glance at Jody to see she’s still following and then he’s forced to skid and jump to avoid running headfirst into upended trolley someone left in the middle of the road.

”Watch out!” 

It’s a bit late and he winces when he hears her curse when she trips. He turns around to help her up but she’s already back up and running, circling from the other side of the yard to meet him in the middle.

”Come on! Almost there!” Dean shouts even though he’s not sure where they are.

Then he hears a sickening sound of something breaking and Jody screams and—

Dean whirls around. Where Jody was supposed to be is a hole. A fucking hole in the middle of the street and Jody fell right through it. He blinks and wipes his brow, looks frantically around to check if they’re still being chased and runs back to where she fell down, goes down on his knees and then crawls forward to avoid falling into the same hole with her. 

”Jody? Jody!”

”Dean?” Her voice is muffled and she sounds small but it might just be the distance. ”I think this is a well or a sewer or something like that.”

Dean lets out a relieved breath. ”Are you okay?” 

”Well, as okay as I can be after falling into a damn hole,” she bites back. ”I think my wrist is broken but otherwise I guess I’m okay.”

”Okay, okay, good.” Dean rubs a hand across his face. ”Look, I’ll… I’ll think of something to get you out of there, okay?”

”No!” The vehemence in her voice takes him by surprise. ”No, Dean, you need to move. It’s not safe up there.”

”I can’t just leave you there,” he snaps.

”Yes, you can. And you will. I’ll find you, okay?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck… Dean closes his eyes and grits his teeth. This wasn’t how he was supposed to handle this whole thing. He was supposed to go and find Sam, persuade him to come back home and that’s all. He wasn’t supposed to be chased by some friggin’ monsters and lose his only help in a fucking well!

Something roars from across the yard and Dean scrambles up, his eyes flickering between the hole on the ground to a vague shadow looming from behind the house they ran from.

”Dean, GO!” Jody shouts and Dean scrambles back, grabs his shotgun, and runs.

He has no idea how long he runs. The fog swirls around him and the sun above is shielded with clouds, painting everything in an odd, opaque light. His thigh holster rubs and the bandolier smacks him on the face but he ignores them. He has no food and no water and all his spare weapons are lying around in front of the barber shop on the other side of town.

He’s dead tired and when stumbles on his own feet, he decides he needs to rest before he falls over and shoots himself in the face by accident. There’s still something chasing him and in a mad dash, he dives under a porch to hide behind the stairs. He grips his shotgun and wills his heartbeat to slow down and his panicked breathing to even out and, eventually, they do.

He must doze off because when he jerks awake at the sound of slow steps crunching on the gravel. It’s night—or whatever counts as night in this place— there’s no moon or stars in the sky, just oddly muted darkness and silence. Carefully, he crawls forward to peek from between the steps into the empty yard in front of him. He sees no monsters, no shadowy figures, no odd humanoid shapes. Instead, there’s a lone figure slowly walking up from the alley to his right, stopping midway across, head slightly tilted to the side. 

He—and it is a he—seems to be listening to something.

A short moment later, someone smaller (a child?) walks up and they talk for a moment. It’s too quiet for Dean to hear anything but muffled murmurs, but the man seems to like what he hears as he straightens up and ruffles the child’s hair. The child bats his hand away in the universal move all kids seem to share before turning and walking back into the shadows.

The man stays and looks up in the sky. 

Dean cranes his neck as if he could then better see the sky from under the porch. He almost loses his balance and has to grab the side of a step to not topple over and the resulting sound echoes loud in the silent yard.

The shape freezes and then slowly turns around, looks unerringly straight at Dean.

It’s Sam.

But it’s not the Sam Dean is used to seeing. There’s something cruel and dark about him, in the way he cocks his head and stares at Dean. He swallows and squeezes his eyes closed, willing the monster to vanish and Sam to come back.

When he opens his eyes, the yard is empty.

”What the fuck,” he whispers to himself and blinks rapidly, as if extensive blinking would somehow clear his head and help everything make sense again. ”What the hell is going on here?”

Slowly, he pushes himself out of under the stairs and walks to the yard, looking wildly around. He sees no monsters, no kids, and no young man who looks so much like his little brother and yet is nothing like him.

He closes his eyes and swallows, pushing down a tide of panic. It’s not like him to lose his cool but then again it’s not exactly like him to see…whatever he’s been seeing since entering this damn ghost town. ”What the hell am I supposed to do now?” he mutters under his breath. 

Should he try to find his way back to get his weapons and food or just keep on going? 

He takes a couple of steps to the direction he’s pretty sure he ran from and peeks a glance at the alley. It looks exactly like every other alley he’s seen so far.

How is it possible to get this lost in a town so small? Cold Oak isn’t a big place but Dean has a feeling he wouldn’t find his way back even if he tried. He heaves a sigh, shakes his head, and kicks at a pebble as he turns around and decides to just…walk. Any direction is as good as any other, right?

As he slowly trudges on, he thinks about Jody and the guns. She’d either prayed or intoned a spell or something and as ludicrous it had seemed at the time, he can’t help wondering if she knew what she was doing. The things at Cold Oak aren’t normal or natural and Dean has a sick feeling he’s out of his depth.

Had Sam been kidnapped or lured in by a psycho cultist, Dean is pretty sure he could handle it. But monsters?

Monsters aren’t real.

Right?

It’s at some point in the late afternoon when Dean stumbles and almost falls over. He curses aloud, too tired, pissed off, and thirsty to care if someone hears him or not. And then he hears it.

”Dean?”

He whirls around so fast he almost stumbles again.

”Sam?” he whispers. ”Sammy, is it really you?”

Sam frowns and shakes his head, his face scrunching up in what Dean has learned to be his bitch face. He glances around and hurries to him, grabs his arm in an almost too tight hold, and drags him to the side.

”Dean, are you fucking insane?” Sam hisses. ”What are you doing here?”

”What do you mean?” Dean asks. ”I’m here to take you home.”

Sam draws back with a curiously confused look. His hold on Dean’s arm loosens but he doesn’t let go. ”What do you mean? I am home.”

”Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but we’re leaving,” Dean says and yanks his arm free, grabs Sam’s hand and starts towards what he thinks is the direction of the car. He stops short when Sam doesn’t move.

”Sammy, come on,” he growls and tugs, but his brother doesn’t budge.

”Why?”

Dean gapes. ”What do you mean, why?”

”Why should I come with you?”

”Because— Sam, what the hell?” Dean exclaims and throws his hands up. ”I looked for you for months. Months! I drove around, spent money we don’t have, and gave up sleep and food to get to you. And you ask ’Why?’”

Slowly, Sam tilts his head to the side and gives him a considering look. ”Your plans don’t include me,” he said quietly.

”Excuse me?”

”You never ask me,” he says in an oddly detached voice. ”Isn’t it curious, Dean? You make plans, try to build up your own little family from the torn fragments you have left. It never works and still you try.”

”Sammy, this isn’t you,” Dean says, urgent and low, and takes a step forward, reaches out for Sam’s hand. ”This place is messing with your mind, it’s…wrong and we need to leave. Now.”

Sam smiles. It’s chilling. ”You think running will help?” he asks, gently. ”Take a look at yourself, Dean. You’re exhausted. Why don’t you come with me and rest?”

Dean swallows and releases Sam’s hand. He blinks and realizes he sees shadows lurking around, the same monsters he saw before.

”Sam,” he says carefully and takes a step back. ”Don’t move.” He moves his hand slowly to grab his gun and the shadows grow restless.

Sam sighs and shakes his head, condescending and fond, raises his head and takes a look around. ”I wouldn’t do that,” he chides. ”They don’t like guns.”

”Well, I don’t like dying,” Dean hisses, his hand frozen.

”They’re not going to kill you,” Sam says and rolls his eyes.

”No, but they will eat you,” Jody snaps from somewhere behind Dean a split second before gunshots ring out. ”RUN!”

Dean doesn’t think, he reacts. He barely registers two shadows falling down a couple of feet from where he stood seconds ago, and then he’s running, dashing towards Jody who is standing her ground like an avenging angel, shotgun in her hand, dried blood on her face, and wild fire in her eyes.

He hears Sam roar but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t look back. He runs from the yard, from the chill smile on his brother’s face, from the cool voice that sounds nothing like the brother he knows. He runs and hears Jody running after him, through the alleys and across abandoned yards, past rusty swings slowly swaying in the nonexistent wind. 

’Your plans don’t include me.’

What the hell was that supposed to mean? All Dean had ever done was with Sam in his mind. When Mom had died and Dad had slid down the path paved with Johnny Walker and bitterness, Dean had been there to feed Sam and to read him a bedtime story. When Dad had gone hunting criminals with the single minded purpose of bringing down some son of a bitch even sadder than himself, Dean had been there to make sure Sam had done his homework and had his lunch money for the following day. When—

When Jess had died and Sam’s mind had finally cracked and Dad had said he’d had enough, Dean had been there to hold Sam through the nights of catatonic grief and self-blame, to rescue him from the seedy bars he’d run off to to drown his anxiety in the liquid oblivion running through his veins.

Dean had been there to see him through, and it had all been for nothing?

He stumbles and falls, hits his knees on the gravel and feels the sting, grounds himself on the biting pain of torn skin. Jody grips his shoulder and says nothing as he dry heaves on the ground, blinking against the blur in his eyes.

Some while later, Jody sighs and claps him on the shoulder. ”Come on,” she says. ”We need to move.”

”Why?” Dean asks, leaning his hand on the ground. ”What’s the point?”

”Because we need to finish this.”

He turns to give her an incredulous look. ”Finish what? The monsters? The ghosts, or, whatever the fuck lives in this town?”

She spreads her hands. ”I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what’s going on but I know we need to do something about it. Kill the big boss, torch the place—I don’t know. But I sure as hell won’t sit on my ass and give up!”

Dean grits his teeth, ready to snap her head off but she’s already stomping forward. He glares at her back but forces himself to stand up and follow her because she’s right.

They have a job to do.

When the night falls, they stop and make camp to the side of an old building that looks like a store of some kind. Dean’s not hungry—hasn’t been the whole time—but he’s thirsty and aching. He contemplates on trying to find water but abandons the idea almost outright. He has no idea how long Sam’s been in here but he’s not that keen on experimenting how soon he himself falls under the same weird mind control as his little brother.

He probably can go on for some time before dehydration really kicks in.

Hopefully.

To distract himself, he watches Jody tinkering with the guns. She’s opened several shotgun cartridges and is muttering at a low voice, something that has a cadenza like a spell or a poem. Dean sits cross-legged and leans his back against the wall, loses himself to the easy rhythm of whatever Jody is intoning.

”It’s a blessing,” she says after some time.

Dean frowns. ”What is?”

She nods at the cartridges on her lap. ”What I’m doing to the bullets. I don’t know what good it’ll do but some stories say it should work.” She looks up and meets Dean’s eyes, sees the question there. ”My research,” she says as if it explains everything. 

Dean makes a ’go on’ motion with his hand.

”Remember the stuff I had in my satchel?” she asks. ”Some stories claim that…whatever this is, is susceptible to certain things, like Holy Water or iron.”

”Holy water?” Dean asks slowly.

”Hey, I didn’t make this up,” she says and shrugs. ”So I gathered that if blessed water works, why wouldn’t blessed bullets? It can’t hurt, right?”

Dean nods and looks away. ”Yeah.” He watches the odd mist gather and slowly swirl around the bases of the houses, painting the ground milky white.

”I think I met him,” he finally says, quietly. ”The big boss, I mean.” He glances at Jody who nods. ”And I saw a kid,” he adds.

Jody blinks and swallows. ”Okay,” she says.

”Okay,” Dean echoes.

They don’t talk more during the night.

The next morning, the wake up to bleak light and grey landscape, like Cold Oak had been bleached and soaked in muddy water and then left out to dry. It’s silent as always but something about it feels even more surreal than before. Perhaps it’s the lack of colors, perhaps the fact that they now have a mission that ends in blood.

There’s no need to run. They start at a steady pace, walking side by side. They don’t talk about where they’re going or question if they’re headed to the right direction. It’s like they’re being pulled forward, towards closure, and it’s okay.

At some point, Dean feels eyes following them, but when he glances around, he sees no-one. 

The streets grow slowly wider even though he’s sure there isn’t supposed to be that many houses to make the town as big as it appears. It’s almost like it’s expanding to accommodate them and it makes him nervous. 

The houses fall back gradually to reveal a church. It’s small and modest, a sturdy looking structure with a stained glass rosette decorating the bell tower in the front and the front door wide open, inviting them in. The stairs leading to the door are empty as is the parking lot beside the church, not even one monster waiting for them.

They share a look, raise a set of brows, and shrug before starting up the stairs. 

Dean’s heart is hammering in his ears and he clutches the shotgun in his hands. It’s loaded with blessed bullets like Jody’s gun, and they both have a handful of blessed bullets in their jacket pockets. 

When they peek inside the door, the church is empty. A blood red carpet leads to the altar that’s filled with candles, and the shadows flickering on the walls are writhing shapes that make Dean’s head hurt if he watches them for too long.

So he doesn’t.

When he turns his eyes back towards the altar, the man wearing Sam’s face is standing in the middle of the aisle, his hands relaxed by his side. He’s wearing a white suit and a smile.

”Welcome, Dean,” he says softly.

”Where’s Sam?” Dean nearly snarls but the man tuts and shakes his head.

”Don’t worry, Sam will be here,” he says. 

Beside Dean, Jody lets out a strangled sound. Dean whirls around, alarmed that she’s in trouble, but she’s standing stock still, staring at something approaching from behind the fake Sam. It’s the kid Dean saw the first time he saw the fake Sam.

He has a sick feeling he knows who the kid’s pretending to be.

Jody grounds her teeth loud enough that Dean hears it. ”You’re not real,” she whispers and raises her gun.

The kid walks slowly forward, raises his arms and pleads, ”Mom? Mom, it’s me! I’ve missed you so much! Mom, please!”

From the corner of his eye, Dean sees the white clad man open his mouth as if to interrupt and then rein himself in.

”Mom?” the kid says again and looks at Jody with wide, pleading eyes, cocking his head when Jody turns off the safety, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She shakes her head. ”I’m not your mom,” she chokes out and shoots. 

The shot echoes throughout the church and the kid’s head explodes in a spray of red and white. Jody flinches as something hits her on the chin but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t hesitate. She walks forward with her lips pressed together in a tight line and shoots again, reloads, and shoots, finally stopping to stand above the mangled corpse that was wearing her son’s face.

”Go to hell,” she whispers and shoots one more time, straight through the place where Owen’s heart would’ve been had he been human.

Dean watches with morbid fascination how the red carpet sucks up the blood like it’s hungry for it, absorbing every last drop until all that remains is the corpse, sprawled on the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

Jody lets out a breath and straightens herself gingerly, like moving physically hurts her. She meets Dean’s eyes and he swallows at the emptiness he sees.

And then the mock Sam huffs out a breath, strides to her and promptly snaps her neck.

Dean sways, takes a side step to stay standing, and stares wide-eyed at the man who drops Jody like a sack of potatoes and wipes his hands on his pants.

Dean feels his lips draw into a snarl and he whips his gun up.

Mock Sam gives him a curious look and cocks his head. ”What do you think you’re doing, Dean?” he asks, amused. ”Do you think you can bring a God down?”

”I can sure as hell try,” he snarls and shoots, hitting him right in the middle of the forehead.

The man stops and frowns, a bit like he was trying to take a look at the bullet hole in his head. In some other situation, it might’ve looked decidedly hilarious, but now all Dean feels is rage. Rage at the thing that dares to wear his brother’s face, rage at Jody who was forced to shoot something that looked like her long lost son, rage at this motherfucking place that makes them all crazy.

Slowly, the man starts to sink down. He falls on his knees first, the surprised look at place, before keeling over in slow motion. He stays in a crumpled heap, a wide white stain on the red carpet. There hole in his head doesn’t bleed, instead it seems to crack from the center, black lines spreading from the bullet hole across his face.

”What have you done?”

Dean looks up, dazed. Sam’s standing in between the rows a little to his right, dressed in the same plaid in which Dean had seen him before. 

”I—I shot him,” Dean stammers. Sam doesn’t answer so Dean gets bolder and repeats, ”I shot him. Now, we can go home.”

Sam shakes his head. ”No, Dean,” he says and raises a hand when Dean’s about to protest. ”Did you really think it would change anything? You can’t stop what will be.”

”But… he’s dead!” Dean insists, gesturing at the corpse on the floor. ”He’s not holding you here anymore. For fuck’s sake, Sam, just… let’s go. Please?”

”He?” Sam echoes. ”Did you think it was him holding me here?” He laughs, an unironic chuckle that seems to shake him from the toes up.

”It was never him,” he says. ”It’s her.”

Dean doesn’t get it and Sam can probably read it from his face. 

”Nobody leaves,” Sam says. ”It won’t let anyone leave. We’re all afflicted and we’re staying.”

”You’re not making any sense,” Dean bites out. ”Who’s not letting us leave? If it’s the monsters, we can outrun them.”

”Monsters,” Sam huffs. ”They’re as much monsters as you and I. They’ve just been here longer.” He sighs and pushes his hands into his pockets and treads his way towards Dean who gets an unbidden need to raise his gun and point it at Sam. He pushes the feeling down with ruthless efficiency and points the gun into the floor instead.

”What do you think about Cold Oak?” Sam asks as he steps over the mock him corpse and stops beside Dean, staring out from the door.

Dean glances at him from the corner of his eye but keeps his face towards the altar. ”It’s…interesting,” he says finally, wondering where Sam’s aiming at.

”It’s one way of putting it,” Sam says and raises his face up. His eyes are closed and he seems like he’s listening to a song only he can hear. ”You cannot give up on the past when the past never ends,” he intones softly and turns to face Dean. ”And now the dead that you raised live in me.”

”What?”

”Did you know that this whole area used to belong to one man?” he asks, then continues without waiting for an answer. ”The state wanted to develop the place but he wasn’t willing to sell. Tribal lands, ancestral burial grounds, sacred space, or just plain strong headedness, nobody knows. They didn’t take a no for an answer so they decided to kill him, thinking nobody would miss a single man.

”Had they killed him off nice and clean, everything would’ve been fine. But they fucked up and he managed to curse the place before he died.” Sam cocks his head and gives him a stilted smile. ”You killed the previous guardian, brother of mine,” he says. ”And Cold Oak needs a guardian. Or a friend, however you want to think about it.”

Dean grits his teeth. ”It’s a town,” he says. ”It doesn’t give a damn whether you’re here or not!”

”You really shouldn’t say things like that,” Sam chides. ”She usually doesn’t bother with people but she doesn’t like disrespect.”

”It’s not alive!” Dean yells.

The ground rumbles and groans and Dean stumbles, barely staying on his feet. 

Sam raises a brow. ”You sure about that?” he asks and inclines his head.

”Son of a bitch,” Dean curses under his breath. ”This isn’t real—this can’t be real!”

”Reality is flexible and prone to subjective interpretation,” Sam says. There’s a cruel curve in his smile, something Dean had never seen before.

Or perhaps he had and had just ignored it.

He closes his eyes and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. He wishes it was all just a dream, a nightmare he could force himself to wake up from. Perhaps it was. Perhaps he’d wake up any moment now, brew a pot of bitter second grade coffee and stare it drip while he munched soggy cheerios with milk that tasted too much like the fridge to be good but that he ate anyway because he had no other option.

Does he have an option now?

His car is broken and the police officer that had accompanied him is dead. He had found his brother but had perhaps lost his mind on the way, or at least that’s what it feels like. 

Dean lowers his hands and looks at Sam, casually leaning on one church bench, his hands loosely crossed on his chest. He looks the same and yet different, like the anxiety he’d carried for so long had dissipated, leaving behind something else.

What choice does he really have? To return to his empty life—assuming he even has a life after Jody’s department learns she’s dead—waiting for something, anything to happen to prove he’s alive, that he has a reason to get up from  the bed every morning.

If he doesn’t have Sam to look after, does he have a reason to live?

He looks at his brother in the eye and lets out a breath.

”You do understand you can never leave,” Sam says. ”It won’t let you.” He doesn’t question his decision, doesn’t ask if he’s sure.

Dean shrugs. ”Well, it’s not like there was a reason to go back,” he says and faces Sam’s mocking eyes. He doesn’t let himself to dwell on people he’d once known and places he’d visited, knowing it’s of no use.

Because Dean’s life has always revolved around Sam. Sam’s his sun and center and Dean is the comet at his orbit, trying to flee and always returning, slowly burning away his halo until nothing else remains but a cold stone, endlessly continuing on his elliptical orbit, circling closer and then farther again, never quite meeting but always coming back.

Because there’s no life for Dean if there’s no Sam.

He drops his shotgun.

It’s time to let go.