"Victim's name was Holly Beckett, forty-one, single," Dean spoke almost immediately after getting out of the car, his voice hoarse and shoulders tense. I gripped my arms, nails digging harshly into my coat, a vice grip on my upper arms to quell the gentle shaking of my body. The scent of ash clung to my clothes, stuck to my hair, and stained my skin. I wanted a shower, to rid myself of the smell of death.
I always hated that smell. It was putrid, like acid, and made me gag. The stench of death coupled with our sudden lack of a lead was enough to make me dizzy. We were back at square one. If it wasn't Andy, then who?
"Who is she?" Sam questioned, both already focused once more on the case at hand. I lifted my gaze only to find Andy already staring. His cheeks flushed and he looked away quickly. I knew he wasn't quite sure what to think of Andrew and me -- he had just seen us turn into canines after all.
I cast a glance over my shoulder at my companion, Andrew's deep eyes locked on the ground as he fiddled with his hands, as though unsure what he should be doing. Bits of ash sat nestled in the strands of his red hair and a sunken look was etched onto his features. He was shocked, unsure of how to respond to such a brutal death.
I wished he didn't have to be involved in this case - if I could go back now and tell him to stay home, I would have. Hell, I would have gone back four years and told him to skip his stupid basketball game if I had the chance. None of them deserved the title of monster and the pain that came with it, nor the burden of being a hunter.
"Dean called Ash on the way back," I mumbled, barely loud enough for Sam to understand, and leaned against the side of the Impala, arms folded tightly, a stern glare fixated on Andy's sloppy form. "Holly Beckett gave birth in 1983, the same day Andy was born."
Sam did a double-take and spun to face Andy, who was nervously scratching the back of his neck. I could see it in his eyes that he jumped to the same conclusion that Dean and I had. "Andy, you were adopted?"
Andy sputtered, his hands flailing as though he was attempting to convey some sort of message without words. "Well yeah- I mean, it never really came up. I- I never knew my birth parents, and- and like you said my adopted mom died when I was a baby -- do you, do you think this Holly woman could actually be my m-"
"We don't know," Dean interrupted. I shot him a glare for cutting Andy off, who clearly was having a hard enough time getting his thoughts together without Dean abruptly ending them. "I looked for a copy of your birth records, but they're hard-copy only, sealed in the county office. Bit hard to break into."
"Well, screw that," Andy scoffed, his shock suddenly gone. His confidence returned with full force in a matter of seconds, knowing he could finally do something to help. With a few quick strides towards the Impala, he slipped into the passenger's seat and then stuck his head back out the open door. "You guys coming or not?"
---
I passed another file to Sam and Andrew, a notepad between them, from the rather heavy cardboard box on the table. Instead of being on the two boys, my eyes were fixated on Andy, narrowed with interest as he spoke to a security guard. The two walked towards the glass front door of the county office, talking like they had been friends for years.
"Probably shouldn't have left you kids in here," the guard attempted to scold, although his voice came out almost detached like he wasn't quite thinking straight. Andy waved off his concerns with whatever lie he had made the man believe and ushered him out the door with some quick words. The guard nodded, hobbled slowly down the steps, and disappeared from sight.
Andy spun on his heels to face us, a wide grin on his face and arms thrown open in a gesture of success. "These aren't the 'droids you're looking for," he joked, earning an eye roll from myself and an awed laugh from Dean. My lips spread into a grin as Andy laughed playfully once more, looking relieved that the plan had worked. He always looked relieved, as if he expected something to go wrong at any moment.
I frowned at that thought, knowing that was exactly how every hunter felt. That was how I felt. I half expected to turn a corner and find the body of someone I cared for, or perhaps a new threat ready to rip me to shreds. I shivered as an image of red eyes danced across my imagination, bringing with it an onslaught of worry.
I jumped at the feeling of a gentle hand pressed on my shoulder and whipped to face Dean, his eyes narrowed and concerned. His lips moved, obviously saying something, although my brain couldn't process it.
"What?" I asked, eyebrows furrowed. Dean chuckled and gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
"I asked if you were alright," he replied, a cheeky grin adorning his lips. His voice was low so as not to arouse suspicion from our companions as they worked. "You look tired."
I chuckled and turned away from him, eyes back on the boys, watching intently as Andrew rifled through the papers, scanning them with an intensity that rivaled Sam's. "When are we not tired?" I questioned teasingly, glancing at him from the corner of my eyes.
Dean's lips curled into a smile, a movement that had butterflies fluttering about in my stomach. How he managed to look so devilishly handsome at any moment was a mystery to me. It wasn't fair, not to me at least.
"Are you heading home after this?" he asked, just as soft as before. I didn't miss the note of remorse in his words like he didn't want me to go. I didn't want that either. I nodded in response, although I wish I hadn't. Dean looked as though he wanted to say something else, but he didn't get the chance.
"I got it," Sam called, all eyes turning to him with interest. I jumped and spun on my heels to face the two boys. Sam held a file high above his head in triumph then opened it and scanned the loose pages quickly. "Yeah Andy, it's true. Holly Beckett was your birth mother."
I glanced at Andy with wide eyes. He chuckled softly and placed a hand on his forehead, eyes unfocused. "Does... anyone have a Vicodin?" I laughed softly and turned back to Sam, his eyes once more roving over the paperwork as he scattered the pages across the table.
"Dr. Jennings was her doctor too. He oversaw the adoption and everything. You have a solid connection to both of them," Sam continued. He glanced at Andrew who was holding one of the many pages from the pile, inspecting the writing closely.
"Yeah, but I didn't kill them," Andy defended, objecting to what no one had said. Granted, we were all thinking it once, but now it was evident that he really wasn't the killer. Truthfully, the kid didn't have a bad bone in his body. He never meant to hurt anyone with his mind tricks.
Dean sighed and ran his hand through his hair. My eyes followed his movement before flickering back down to the table. "We believe you. Now we just need to figure out who did."
"Uh..." began Andrew and all eyes turned to him. He held one of the pages with poorly masked horror. He spun the page to face us, his pointer finger resting under a few slightly smudged words. "I think I might know... Holly gave birth to twins."
Everyone sat up in shock at that, looks of astonishment on everyone's faces. Andy's head dropped, hands on either side of his face, revelation spreading over his features. "I have an evil twin..." he murmured, saying what everyone was thinking.
It was like something out of a shitty movie.
Andrew handed the page sheepishly to Sam, who quickly turned it over and inspected the information for himself. He exhaled shakily before speaking again, much quieter than before. "Holly put you and your brother up for adoption. You went to the Gallagher family, obviously, and your brother went to the Weems family from upstate."
Dean turned slowly to face Andy, every move cautious so as not to startle him. "Andy, how you doin'? Still with us?"
"What was my brother's name?" Andy questioned, still shell-shocked by the sudden rush of information. I didn't envy him -- finding out you have a sibling can't have been easy, let alone a potentially murderous sibling.
"Ansen Weems. He's got a local address," Sam offered, sliding a page towards Andy. The scraggly boy took the page, eyes scanning over the street address with such intense curiosity.
Dean padded over to the printer off in the corner of the room, the little machine making a mix of whirring noises. "Let's take a look at this kid. I got his picture coming from the DMV." I cocked a brow -- I hadn't seen him use any of the computers.
The printer spat out a few pages of paper and Dean quickly scooped them up. He flipped through the sheets, his eyes widening in shock. With a drawn-out whistle, he passed the papers to Andy. "Hate to kick you while you're freaked man, but take a look at that."
Andy took the pages from him with shaky hands, his own jaw-dropping at the photo on the front page. I narrowed my eyes, expecting him to react to the similarities between them. Instead, my heart nearly stopped when he spoke.
"I know him."
---
The air was tense in the Impala as Sam, Andrew, and Andy frantically flipped through pages upon pages of information in the back seat. I tapped my foot nervously from the passenger's seat, anxiety creeping into my lungs until each breath was shaky. Dean's own hand was tapping against the steering wheel in cadence with the beating of my foot and in turn my heart.
The loud rustling of paper from the backseat caught my attention as Sam slapped a paper down in front of Andy. The page displayed Weems - or Ansen as we now knew - promptly on the front with a wide smirk, as though he knew something no one else did. Fitting. "Tell us everything you know about this guy," Sam ordered.
Andy scratched the back of his neck nervously, struggling to recall as many details as he could. To him, his encounters with his newfound brother seemed meaningless. Nothing more than odd moments. Now, all of those odd moments were beginning to add up. "Well, I mean, not much. I... Weems showed up one day, eight months ago? Acting like he's my best friend in the world. Kinda weird, like, trying too hard, you know?"
"He's got to know you're twins, right?" Andrew questioned, leaning around Sam's much squarer form to meet Andy's wild eyes. "I mean, how could he not know? Why not just tell you?" Andy shrugged and opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by a pained grunt from Sam.
Dean's light pressure on the gas slipped at his brother's cry and the car lurched before slowly regaining speed once more. "Sam?" he questioned, watching his brother from the rearview mirror. I followed his gaze, watching Sam's hunched figure intently.
The Impala swerved as Sam suddenly yelped in panic and gripped the door handle beside Andy, flattening him to the seat. Dean shouted in concern and slowed the car just enough for Sam to barrel out the now open door and onto the asphalt. The car was barely in park before Dean's seat belt was off and he was around the car, hoisting his brother up in a way that wasn't dissimilar to how he held me the night we first saw the demon.
"Dean!" I called, popping open my door and wrenching my seat belt off. The older Winchester held a silencing hand up and pulled his brother to a sloppy standing position supporting most of his weight. "Is he alright?" I questioned, eyes flickering nervously between the brothers and the concerned passengers in the backseat.
Sam gripped Dean's shoulder tightly and pulled himself to a full standing position, his free hand clutching his temple in an attempt to satiate whatever pain hid just beneath the skin. "They're on a bridge - an old bridge, the one just outside of town, over the reservoir."
My brows furrowed at his words - that bridge wasn't far, maybe another five minutes at the speed we had been going. Maybe we could make it and catch him-
"They?" Dean probed, drawing me rapidly from my thoughts. "Who's they?"
"Ansen and the girl from the diner," Sam wheezed out, his hazel eyes meeting Andy's. The slacker's jaw dropped in shock, almost failing to register what Sam had said.
"Tracy?" he demanded, one hand fidgeting with the clasp of his seat belt as though he were about to lunge from his seat and run all the way to the bridge. "He's got Tracy?" Sam nodded, earning a shaky breath from Andy.
I spun back to Dean, whose hand was still resting on his brother's back. A look of concern covered his features, and I knew that he would postpone as long as necessary to make sure Sam was alright. "Get back in the car," I snapped, drawing the attention of both boys. I didn't have to say anything else for Sam to slip back into the backseat with one final worried glance from Dean.
With one last glare from me, Dean rushed to his side of the car and into the front seat. He didn't even bother to put his seat belt before he pressed the gas pedal to the floor, the car taking off at a speed I was sure the engine could barely handle. We raced down the open roads, going much faster than the speed limit - of course, none of us cared.
After several minutes that felt as long as years, the towering bridge and dam below it came into view, the trees parting. Dean slammed on the breaks, everyone rocking forward at the sudden assault. Without a word, everyone piled out, tripping over themselves to get to the back of the car.
Sam popped the trunk, rummaging through the weapons neatly organized under the false covering. He paused his shuffling for a moment and straightened, casting Dean a firm look.
"Dean, you should stay back," he spoke, his tone holding a note of authority that I was positive Dean would want to challenge. I bristled, glancing nervously at the older Winchester.
Dean shrugged and leaned down to reach into the trunk, his fingertips brushing the muzzle of a rifle. "No argument here. I've had my head screwed with enough for one day," he answered with a cheesy grin, making a joke of it as he withdrew the rifle. My eyes widened in shock at his words.
Sam nodded and withdrew two handguns from the car. He quickly attached one to his belt and held the other in his free hand. I stepped around him, ignoring the sound of Andy's voice as he protested something. Whatever argument he was making, I was sure Sam could handle it.
With a wave, I called Andrew over to me as I bent over the trunk, inspecting the multitude of weapons and items that littered the cramped trunk. He shuffled over, shoulders tense and head bowed in nervousness.
"Do you know how to use one of these?" I asked him as he moved to stand by my side. His eyes fell on the small pistol beneath my fingertips, the silver engravings catching the moonlight. He shook his head no.
I lifted the gun and handed it to him, resting it in his hands. His palms lacked the firm callouses that I wore with pride, although his fingertips were rough from years of work in the kitchen, using god knows what utensils. I was never much of a cook.
"You turn the safety here," I said, demonstrating moving the little lever. He jumped at the click, his shoulders relaxing as I clicked it back into place. "Lift it up and point at the target. Extend your arms and get ready for some kick-back," I order, showing him how to hold the weapon while still aiming it at the ground. "Keep it level, don't let it sway."
He nodded along with my words, eyes fixated on the barrel of the gun. I doubted he had ever been near a pistol, let alone touched one. The day was full of new experiences for him. I passed the weapon to him, holding it by the barrel so he could grip the handle.
I paused for a moment, watching him inspect the cool metal beneath his fingertips with interest, lost more in the pattern than the thought of holding the deadly weapon. "Andrew," I mumbled, watching as his eyes met mine. "If things go south, I want you to run, OK?"
He froze, eyes wide. I shook my head before he could speak. "I don't think it will, but in case it does-"
"It won't," a voice interrupted. Both our eyes snapped up to meet Dean's, his expression stern and mouth set in a grim line. "It's going to turn out fine -- always does." He grinned at the scowl I cast him. His smile fell once more as he turned back to Andrew, who gazed at him with wide eyes. "I want you to stay by the car, alright kid? Don't get too close."
Andrew nodded and dropped his gaze, thumb running over the safety. I cast him one last glance before sidestepping around him and striding towards Dean. His rifle rested against his shoulder, one hand buried in his pocket while the other hand held the rear end of the gun. The sights pointed upward, making him look rather ominous. At that moment, he looked more like John than he ever had before.
"You ready?" he asked as I approached. I stopped only a pace away from him and nodded my head, folding my arms to mask the heavy rise and fall of my chest. My heart was beating loud, my shoulders shaking ever so slightly in the cold night air.
"Ready as I'll ever be," I replied with a weak smile. My heart fluttered as he flashed one back, a confident and charming grin, one that I had grown to adore. "How 'bout you?"
He chuckled, a breathy sound that brought a warm feeling to my chest. How he always managed to do that, I would never understand. He was the only one who ever could.
"No one's ever ready for stuff like this," he replied with a lopsided grin. "Monsters I can handle, but people... people are different." I turned my head away from him with a scowl, nodding along with his words.
"Sometimes I think people are crazier than monsters..." I mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. He nodded slowly to my words, watching intently as I turned once more to face him. His green eyes met mine with an interest that I couldn't quite decipher. "Stay out of trouble, Winchester. I'd rather not have to save your life again," I teased.
Dean laughed, drawing a chuckle forth from my own chest. "Sure thing, Fido," he joked back. I grinned and took a step back from him. With a quick roll of my shoulders and a pop of my back, I shifted. It was a relief to feel the tension wash away as my paws hit the ground, all the nervousness fading into the background. It was a simple case. Nothing we couldn't handle.
I brushed past Dean, rubbing my furred cheek against his arm affectionately as I moved to trot up a nearby hill. From there I'd have a clear vantage point. I knew Sam and Andy were already on the move so I had to get into position fast. My golden eyes sought Andrew's form, who leaned haphazardly against the side of the Impala. He looked relaxed, but I knew that was just an illusion.
The sound of shattering glass had my ears up and swiveling, attempting to locate the source of the sound. My eyes tracked down the hillside to several figures surrounding a car, rather small from that distance, near the edge of the dam. Standing on the ledge was a slim, dainty figure haloed by the white slip she was wearing.
So far, everything was going smoothly.
Suddenly, the largest figure - who I assumed to be Sam - fell to the ground with a rather cacophonous thud that I felt rumble through my paws and into my chest. I whined, ears flattened back against my skull, and moved a few steps forward.
My paws wouldn't move. I couldn't lift them from the ground, and instead, my eyes remained forward, latched onto the mess of shadowed figures and a lone woman in a white gown. An itchy feeling crawled up my paws and across my skin, my mind fuzzy and unfocused. Something prodded me in the back of my mind, a foreign presence.
Shit.
I watched in horror as Tracy shuffled backward to stand on the ledge, eyes flicking between Andy and his brother shouting at each other while she pinwheeled by the edge, her sobs echoing across the road. Were they going to stop her?
I was half-conscious of Dean, moving to some far-off place. I couldn't see him, I couldn't hear him, but he was there.
Stay away, I thought, shaking with fear as my fur bristled at the prickly feeling on my skin. Don't do anything stupid.
Weems' eyes flicked up, and even in the darkness, I knew where he was looking. My eyes snapped towards Dean, revealing his shadowed hiding place that wasn't so well hidden anymore. My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding.
Let go, I demanded, pushing against the invisible barrier that kept me in place. My muscles twitched, pushing against the invisible weight that held me down until one shaky paw rose into the air.
My heart stopped as Dean's rifle whipped around to face him.
My scream came out as a howl, one that ripped across the valley until my whole body was trembling and fighting against whatever psychic force it was that held me there. My body moved, slowly, sluggishly at first like I was dragging lead weights behind me, but I was moving. I howled again and charged across the clearing, weighed down by fear and a foreign presence.
My legs extended, stretched out fully until I was flying across the ground, the invisible force doing everything in its power to drag me back. My paws thundered across the ground, tearing up the dirt and leaves.
And then everything stopped as I collided with Dean. The rifle twisted from his grip, falling to the ground and releasing an almighty explosion, a bullet embedding itself into a nearby tree. Dean toppled, my furry form tumbling over him until we were both sprawled on the ground.
Before I even had a chance to pull myself to my feet under the invisible weight, the wind was knocked out of me by a firm fist, a hand digging into my scruff. I snarled and lashed out with a paw, smacking Dean in the ribs. He crumpled under the blow and I lunged forward.
I snarled, one paw pressed firmly to his chest, holding him down. He held a fire in his eyes, one that wasn't his own. I hated it.
My fur receded, my snout shortening and ears folding. My eyes held the same glow as I hovered over him, hands moving to grip his wrists, hips flush with his and pushing him into the dirt.
"Snap out of it!" I shouted, nails digging into the soft flesh of his forearms and wrists, he remained eerily silent, thrashing beneath me. I leaned forward with another rough snarl, hair that had gotten far too long framing his face.
And just like that, the fighting ended. A shot rang out in the darkness, my ears ringing with the impact. I felt like I could stand up straight again like I could put one foot in front of the other without something dragging me back.
Dean's thrashing ceased, replaced with the sudden heaving and erratic rise and fall of his chest, skin damp with sweat as though he had been fighting with himself and me. He coughed as I fell forward, elbows knocking against his ribs and arms wrapping around his torso. His own arms through themselves lazily over my back in some odd sort of hug.
"Don't ever do that again," I mumbled, heart hammering to the tempo of his own and head buried in the crook of his neck. He laughed, a worn-out, hoarse sound not unlike how he sounded fresh out of the hospital.
I sat up sharply, startling him so much so that he met my gaze with wide green eyes. With a stern glare, I smacked his shoulder with a shaky, adrenaline-filled hand.
"Why am I always the one that has to save your ass?"
4314 words.
Edited 05/08/22.