DEAN! (hunting_things) wrote in helladjacent, @ 2017-06-22 20:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: dean winchester, character: judith grimes, type: dream |
Who: Dean and Judith
What: Dreaming up an alternate universe
When: Late in the week, night
Where: In their minds
Warnings: Language, violence
Status: Complete
Dean was far more concerned with the state of Baby’s interior than he was with his own. He hadn’t showered in three days, was covered in blood and gore, their dad’s favorite ghoul smashing bat wrapped up in the back seat and tossed carelessly there to avoid the barbwire putting bloody punctures in the leather.
It was after two in the morning when the black impala pulled up into the garage at Carmen’s. Faded business hours printed on the glass said that they were either several hours too late or too early, but Dean knew better when he flashed his headlights.
Dean and Judith were usually pretty careful about running afoul of the law, but they were hunters. Shit happened. People didn’t tend to get very understanding when it came to leaving bodies behind or desecrating gravesites, unless they lucked out and made friends with the locals cops. This had not been one of those times. They’d just have to avoid Florida for a while. Which wasn’t hard. It was Florida. Dean hated Florida.
“Hey, Girl Wonder, you good?” Dean said when he turned the keys in the ignition. He smelled like ghoul, though that had stopped bothering his nose about 400 miles ago.
Judith could not have been happier to be across the state line and away from America’s godforsaken want. As soon as they crossed, she slathered on another layer of aloe to combat a wicked sunburn and passed out in the passenger seat, ears plugged with foam to block out the sounds burned in by the last job. She didn't even twitch until she felt Baby pull to a stop, the subtle jostle of the killed engine pulled her out of another faceless bad dream.
Eyes still closed, she groggily pulled the plugs out of her ears and rubbed her eye with what she hoped was a cleaner part of the back of her hand. It wasn't.
The 'Girl Wonder’ brought her fully back to the land of the living. One eye squinted open first, then the other, once it wasn't glued shut by dried blood.
“Ask me after a shower and twelve hours of sleep,” she muttered, her voice rough. Out the windshield she saw an ancient garage bay door almost taken over by kudzu and honeysuckle. Spanish moss swayed in the trees above, caught in the headlights.
“The hell time is it?”
“Two something,” Dean groaned. “I don’t even need a shower. Just give me a friggin’ hose.” Although a shower would be nicer, he imagined himself with barely enough energy to crawl over to the hose and spray himself down before passing out somewhere. Depending on Carmen’s mood upon being roused in the middle of the night, a hose might be what they got.
The driver’s side door gave a soft squeak as Dean pulled himself out. If flashing his headlights didn’t wake her, he’d go knock. “You think Carmen will shoot me if I try to give her a hug?” he grinned.
“Yes,” Judith answered dryly, like it was a sure thing. “Just watch for the gators if you use the hose out back.”. That was also a sure thing. As she pulled down the tiny vanity mirror to check just how much of a horror-movie she looked like, the aluminum garage door gave a hard mechanical jolt, then started to rise without protest.
Dean gave a big stretch, before opening up the driver’s side with another groan and pulling the impala slowly forward once the garage was open. Once it was inside and easily hidden, Dean cut the engine and stepped back out again.
“Carmen, I’d be giving you a hug right now, but Judith says you’d shoot me so can we get some showers instead?” He was too tired to properly tease Carmen inappropriately. His brain was running at about half speed as it was from the lack of sleep and the hours he stopped even having adrenaline to run on.
Carmen hadn't been asleep when the lights flashed through the red and gold scarves haphazardly draped as curtains in her bedroom- not technically. Dean's text came about two hours ago while she was finishing up some work on the old Dodge the Impala was parked next to in the garage, and she made it a point to stay somewhat awake, but the coffee was wearing off and it’d been a long, hot summer day to begin with. At least she got the AC running again.
“I don't hate you that mu-” she stopped midword, finally getting a look at both of them from where she'd been moving an open tool box out of the way. The overhead light in the garage did not do them any favors. She blinked at Dean, then his sister, then back. “Christ- no, she's right,” she corrected. “Y’all look like roadkill.” It wasn't a compliment, but it wasn't an insult, either.
Judith dragged herself out of the car and slung her bag over one shoulder, sending Bobby's Creole contact a tired 'hello’ in smirk-form.
Wringing her hands in a semi clean rag, Carmen thought better about asking details. She just tipped her head toward the door that lead to the house, a large farm mansion as ancient as the garage itself, also choked by kudzu and night blooming flowers. “Rooms’er ready. Go’on.”
Dean’s heavy feet kept him from walking properly, dragging himself forward, the best snarky line he could come up with to Carmen was a flat: “Marry me.”
Dean and Judith didn’t usually splurge for separate hotel rooms, letting people think they were together and not brother and sister. It wasn’t just for financial reasons, though those helped, it was also for protection. Dean didn’t want to be in the next room over when some angry monster came for Judith. Most hotels came with two beds, it wasn’t a big deal. He was used to it. Dean slept better knowing Judith was safe in the bed next to his.
But in those rare circumstances they were somewhere safe with someone they trusted, it was kinda nice to have his own room. That was supposed to be the normal reaction, right? Maybe he’d wake up a few times in the middle of the night and feel lost-- but that wasn’t the sort of thing he ever acknowledged or admitted. Dad left. Sam left. Judith wouldn’t leave him.
He was pretty sure.
“Yeah yeah, shower first,” came Carmen's reply, tossing the rag in a nearby bucket before following behind the two drag-footed hunters; a careful and discreet eye tuned to each of them, trying to pick out what blood wasn't theirs, and what was. It was impossible to tell. She cut the lights and followed in behind them, shutting, and locking the door.
“Anybody need sewn up?” she asked before the pair headed up the old stairs. Judith shook her head, briefly eyeing Dean to double check. If he needed patching up, he hadn't said anything about it. He rarely did, unless it was obvious, and Carmen was right. They looked like roadkill.
“Don’t you know that’s what they invented super glue for?” Dean smirked. More like the corner of his lip twitched. When it came to the shower Dean said, “Ladies first.” If he’d been less tired he would have made her fight him for it, lifting her off her feet and pretending to insist on going first. Tonight, he didn’t have it in him.
Judith snorted, also too tired to raise a stink about who got the shower first or why the hell he didn't tell her he'd gone with the super glue again- if he did… she was too exhausted to tell if his sarcasm was automatic or covering for something real.
“I won't be long,” the redhead told him with a pointed look, then lumbered the rest of the way up the stairs. She had dried blood in her sinuses and needed to check if it was from the hard elbow she took to the face earlier anyway.
Carmen's smirk was just as unenthusiastic, but she wasn't nearly as drained as either Winchester. She sighed at him, then turned for the bureau, gathering the mass of her hair into a messy twist and anchored it with an old pencil.
“How the hell are you still breathin’,” she muttered, digging out the First Aid duffle behind the desk. “Your blood’s gotta be thirty-percent super glue by now.”
“I’m actually just a golem made out of recycled ken dolls,” Dean said. “It’s why I’m so good looking.” Dean pulled off his jacket, flannel and then peeled off the t-shirt that was stuck to his body in parts where dried blood and super glue met. It wasn’t too bad. Not bad enough to need the hospital-- not when he could get patched up with some antibiotics without. It was actually just the number of annoying cuts. Deep enough to warrant stitches or risk infection, nothing bad enough to kill him quick. There were three such gashes. He tried turning the clothes inside out so he wouldn’t make a mess in her house.
“Only if you think Ken is good lookin’- leaves a lot to be desired,” she countered, mapping out the deeper streaks or blackish red on his arms and torso among the smeared mess. On better days, maybe she would've detachedly appreciated what she was looking at in a different way, but it was late, and they'd been through a meat grinder. Carmen pulled out two chairs from the dining room table while he peeled off the mess, then dropped down in one, all business.
Almost all business.
“Y’know I prolly shouldn't do this 'till y’all ain't caked in gore,” she said, eyeing him shortly before fishing through the bag for needed things: swabs, alcohol, suture string, new needles. “But I ain't sure you'll last much longer. The fuck did y’all get into…”
“Meth dealing ghouls,” Dean grumbled. “Man, I hate Florida.” Dean sat in the chair and only grunted or hissed occasionally, depending on where or how Carmen poked and prodded him. Other than that, Dean tried hard not to complain. He had his pride.
Carmen made an appropriate face for the news, but kept her words to herself while she was busy cleaning and sewing torn skin. Meth-heads were a big enough pain in the ass on their own, without the ghoul part added in. Tended to triple the risk: hard to kill tweekers, plus body parts, plus the potential for exploding cookeries capable of leveling an entire neighborhood.
“This is why I stay local,” she said, tying off the last stitch. It wasn't the only reason: she'd taken over Pop’s contacts when he kicked it six years ago: there was nobody left since her older brother and sisters tangled with the wrong vampire nest upstate. “Go’on then-” Carmen sat back with a stretch in her shoulders to pull the knot in her lower back. “An’ ain't nobody gonna holler if y’all sleep til sundown tomorrow.”
God knew they needed it.
Dean waited for Judith to be finished with her shower before lumbering in afterward. He hadn't realized how much filth and viscera was in his hair until he rinsed it out. Thankfully it was all blood and guts. Chemicals would have added another nightmare on top of it all.
He didn't have clean clothes to change into, he'd been too tired to haul up his personal bag, and was perfectly content to wear a towel before he lumbered off into his own room and collapsed onto the bed.
When his eyes opened five hours later, his body instantly regretted it. Part of him wanted to get more sleep, and probably should have, but instead he got up and decided to find clothes that weren’t stiff with blood and viscera. He checked the closet of the room he was in, found a t-shirt that fit well enough, rewrapped the towel from last night around his waist and went to go find his personal bag inside the impala, along with the baseball bat to clean her up.
The fact that Dad had left them the impala and a bunch of his best hunting gear did not make the oldest Winchester feel better about being ghosted by his own blood. Judith was still sleeping, hopefully, and maybe Carmen too as he walked through the house back toward the garage.
At that point, Carmen had been up for an hour. She didn't sleep much to begin with, and having others in the house compounded the old instincts of a woman who'd grown up with a large family; the smell of strong coffee permeated the entire first floor, brewed in what had been a higher end machine back in the 90s. Just like everything in that house, it still worked like new even at twice it's normal shelf-life. The DeSoto household was a shrine to the Vintage, a cult of Cajuns and Creoles stretching back several generations who believed in nothing more than fixing everything.
Now Carmen was the only one left, buried to the waist under the hood of the Dodge in a pair of cut-offs and a wife beater that had only been white for a day back in the early 2000s. The garage stereo was jerry rigged to her laptop, playing the grungy southern gothic mix of blues and rock.
“Hey,” Dean greeted. He was tired and subdued still from his normal levels of arrogant dick. Given the way he was moving, he was allowing himself to feel the damage done just a little. Not that he wanted to really show how much he was hurting, he knew he was safer to do here.
He picked out his bag and searched Baby to make sure Judith had gotten her things, otherwise he was bringing it up with him.
“The coffee smells freakin’ fantastic,” he added with a mumble.
Carmen popped up from the hood, not having heard Dean come through the house door, though thankfully not startled enough to smack her head on the hanging light. It was only half past seven, but the garage reflected the days coming heat, weighing bits of her black hair down on her neck and shoulders, escaped from the messy bun held up at the crown. She huffed, leaning the butts of her hands on the chassis, looking him over.
“Still look like roadkill,” she lied. He looked beat to hell, but worlds better than last night. “Go get some- then maybe help yerself to Pop’s dresser upstairs. Might have some pants so I don't gotta burn that towel.”
“I got some in my bag,” Dean said. “‘Sides, you weren’t supposed to be up.” He carried his and Judith’s bag inside, not feeling the slightest amount of shame for walking around the garage or her house like a caveman in a loincloth. “Gottah stop skimping on the beauty sleep or you’re gunna end up looking like me,” he teased.
He hoped his sister was still asleep. He’d drop off her stuff just outside the room to her door. Maybe he’d get dressed and drink some coffee or try and get a little more shut eye. It wasn’t like they had another case and they could spend a day without looking and getting on Carmen’s nerves, especially if they spent it sleeping.
Judith slept about as much as her brother did on average, for obvious reasons; they worked together, ate together, fought together, and rarely slept more than ten feet apart, save for the occasional night they had a good week, either she scored big cleaning house at poker or he swept some idiots at pool and they ended up in separate rooms- sometimes with company. Still, she was on his schedule regardless or where they slept; when Dean was awake, usually she followed soon after.
The door to the room she stayed in was open when he came back with the bag, where it had been closed ten minutes earlier. Judith was leaning over the vanity inside with her face close to the mirror, examining a tooth that hadn't been chipped last time she looked. She was wearing her emergency set of clothes, a threadbare tank top and pair of modest black boy-shorts to ward against the heat.
She turned at the sound of the bag hitting the floor, the light threw a hard light across the small bruise on the outside of her right eye.
“I smell coffee?” She called back at Dean, knowing he was in ear shot. No use obsessing about the tooth- it was a back one anyway. Judith padded barefoot to the hall and grabbed her bag in search of a clean pair of jeans.
“Carmen made some. It’ll still be there. Why don’t you get a little more shut eye?” Dean knew it was probably hopeless asking her to go back to sleep. When they were younger, he’d always kept her close. John said it was Dean’s job to protect his brother and sister. He’d taken that responsibility seriously.
He went to throw on his cleaner clothes that weren’t covered in guts. That only took him a minute before he was back out in the hallway, traded a sigh for a tired half smile instead, and waited for Judith to get dressed so they could go downstairs and get breakfast.
“Why don't you take your own advice?” She snarked at him from the bedroom, wiggling into her pants. After the drive across state lines last night, and how many hours in clothed stiff with viscera, clean anything felt like a slice of Heaven. She was picking apart the braid she set her hair in after the shower last night when she joined him at the kitchen table.
Judith peeked toward the garage door as she poured herself some coffee. Music was playing, and over it, the shrill buzz of an air-tool. She thought back to the last time they were here, maybe two years ago? Less than that. Someone had died… there was a funeral. There were more people in this house.
“I think I got knocked harder than I originally thought,” she said, easing into the chair across from him with a small wince. The throbbing in her head was leftover concussion: she'd had enough to know what it felt like. Would explain the fog in her brain.
“Once we get Baby cleaned up, we’ll find a place to lay low for a few days. Get our research in ‘fore we find the next hunt. Stay the fuck out of Florida for the rest of the year.” Dean held up a finger in a gestured promise. Once she sat down, he was up to get her a glass of water and a cup of coffee, then helped himself to the rest of Carmen’s kitchen to see what he could scrounge up for breakfast.
“I texted Dad. Let him know what happened.” That was all Dean said about that. He wasn’t sure if Dad was even getting the texts anymore because he sure as hell didn’t respond. Dean was convinced there was a reason, he drove himself crazy thinking it over. It’d come out eventually.
Judith's eyes flicked up from her black coffee. Every finished job, another text to Dad, another week or month or two of never hearing back. Like Dean, Judith knew there had to be a reason for the radio silence, but she was a lot more convinced it was something permanent. She didn't say anything though, not then and not now: this was Dean's ritual, his visiting the grave.
“Laying low might have to take more than a few days…” Judith moved the conversation on. “That tweeker Sheriff put all my ID’s in the system while I was waiting for your ass to come get me outta redneck jail. We gotta burn’em.”. Which meant buying new IDs, which meant making money for new IDs.
Dean nodded. “Yeah, okay. I got some credit cards. Uh… we’ll make it work.” Logistics. Judith was better with them than Dean was, so he didn’t argue with her. It wasn’t that he couldn’t when he had to, he just preferred to let someone else deal with it. “You want eggs?” he asked. “I got eggs. This fridge is seriously sad. No bacon in sight. I gave Carmen like two hours advanced warning. It’s like she’s trying to make sure I wither and die.”
Judith would’ve rolled her eyes if she wasn’t afraid that it would make her head hurt more. Instead, she scoffed faintly, through her nose, as she was taking a sip from her mug; the air puffed ripples over the strong brew.
“Why don’t we go pick somethin’ up- bring her back a ‘thank-you’ for dealing with the horror-show,” she suggested, brows raised as her coffee lowered. “Plus- there’s no way in hell I’m lettin’ you put our clothes in her wash the way they are. May as well burn those, too.”
Not that she didn’t want to accept Carmen’s hospitality- they both did last night, pulling into her garage like Sanctuary, showered, and passed out on actually comfortable beds- Judith was just trying to minimize their impact on the woman’s home turf. It was a trait she picked up by necessity, always being opposite the one who always got the lion’s share of attention, no matter where they were. A trip around the tiny backswamp burg Carmen lived in might jar her memory a little more, too.
“I knew I shouldn’t have worn my lucky boxers,” Dean said. “Then again, maybe they were lucky, and that’s why we got out as clean as we did.” Dean’s face lit up triumphantly as if Judith hadn’t thought of that. “You finish your coffee. I’ll go clean the car and we can go into town and get Carmen some real food.”
Washing the car, fixing the car, these were other rituals for Dean, post hunt. Anything bad that happened to his baby, and Dean had to take care of her. Nevermind it was his dad’s car and there was a lot more emotion tied into that connection than he cared to admit.
While Dean was getting Baby ready, Judith took her coffee back upstairs, gathered all their bloody clothes in a trash bag, paid a little attention to Carmen’s ancient gray haired tabby that had slept next to her and had yet to move, then made her way back to the garage. The blast of heat that hit her out of the air conditioning dragged a huff from the back of her throat; she really hated the South in the summer.
She tossed the trash bag of clothes at her brother when he opened the trunk, then immediately piled her hair into a twisted knot off her neck, tied with a band that had seen better days.
“I dunno how you live down here, Carmen-” Judith had been in the garage less than a minute and was regretting the choice to wear jeans. Carmen was on a roller on the floor, digging through a toolbox for something specific and elusive when she just scoffed back.
“S’in the blood, cherie.”
“Hey,” Dean said, still working on the backseat and making sure any trace of blood was gone. “Don’t go around telling my sister to steal blood. She’s at a very impressionable age. Honestly, Carmen, I expect you to be a better role model. Talk about boys or something.”
Dean thought he was funny. Carmen and Judith shared a look.
“He get hit on the head or somethin’-? I think he’s got some wires loose.”
Judith snickered and made a face that very clearly agreed. “He doesn’t want to acknowledge you’re only three years older than me.” See- Judith had details, they were just taking a little longer to find in the heat. At least the coffee was helping her headache.
“Acknowledge what?” Dean said.
“Nothing, Dorkface.” Judith bumped him lightly on her way around the Impala toward the passenger side. “You need anything while we’re out, Carmen? We’ll pick up breakfast-”
Camen smirked a little, watching the pair with a passing- but deep- appreciation for the whole sibling bond. It left a sweet, but sharp taste in her mouth- like black coffee loaded with sugar. She shot them both a close-lipped smile and waved off the offer.
“Somethin’ with lots’a syrup,” she said, then sent them off with a small wave before ducking back underneath the Dodge.
Once the car no longer looked like it belonged to a serial killer and Dean was satisfied, he nodded to Judith and got back in the driver’s seat. Judith did drive Baby, but whenever Dean could help it, he was behind the wheel. He only had one true love of his life.
“Pancakes or french toast?” he asked Judith. Carmen said she wanted something with syrup, and those were the first two things that popped into his head. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. With pancakes came Dean’s multiple disasters to make pancakes for Sam and Judith when they were kids. Dean was convinced he could make them Mickey Mouse pancakes-- how hard could three circles be? But apparently the ripe old age of eleven was too early for such an attempt.
“Why not both?” Judith lolled her head towards him from the passenger seat, the wind from the open window giving only a small amount of reprieve from the heat. She didn’t realize how hungry she was until they started talking details about food. “Maybe ...shit, what was that thing I had back in Savannah…” She steepled the fingers of one hand on her temple trying to think. “It had french toast and sweetened cream cheese and… y’know, maybe I dreamed that…”
Dean snorted. “I would never believe you eat as much as you do if I didn't live with you. Let's stick with French toast. You wanna go to crazy town and put some cream cheese on there, you do you.”
If it had just been Judith, Dean would have gone with both. Since Carmen was there, one would be good enough.
“Don’t hate-” she smirked at him proudly, like she’d just beat him at pool. “Just ‘cuz my metabolism’s way better than yours.” Occasionally they ate somewhat balanced meals with actual vegetables, but for the most part both of them ran on burger protein and energy drinks. If they didn’t get as much physical exercise as they did… Judith didn’t think about that.
Same way she tried not to think about how deep he’d gotten cut, how many times, and why he didn’t bother to tell her- again. That thought happened a lot more often. Judith looked back out her open window, watching the oaks choked by spanish moss and thick bayou edge-forest rush by.
“So how many stitches this time?” she asked, not looking at him.
“I'm fine,” he said. “Nowhere near breaking my record.” He may have allowed himself to limp a little in front of Carmen, he did not do so in front of Judith. When he pulled up into the parking lot he flashed her the I’m okay smile. The same smile he’d always flashed her and Sam since Dean went on his earliest hunts. It wasn't always a lying smile, but it was always the same smile no matter what.
That was the problem; no matter how bad a shape he was obviously in, there on cue whenever she asked- or demanded- a status report, was that smile. So often had she seen it through split lips and bloodied teeth that Judith had long ago associated that smile with the opposite of his intent.
The problem was even though Dean knew that, he kept smiling anyway.
“I'm not getting out until you tell me,” she said on principle. “I don't give a damn if it's two stitches or a shattered spleen- you gotta tell me these things, Dean.”
“You’re worse than Sam. Stay here then. I'll get the groceries.” Dean got out of the car and walked into the mom and pop store to go pick up what they needed.
She wasn't worse than Sam, though. Judith had never run away. Judith hadn't left for school. They may not have been related by blood but she was the closer sibling.
Judith huffed at him before he could shut the car door- and after, for herself. Being stubborn was one thing, but Dean’s level of personal pride was more than just frustrating. It was blinding. And it was too damn hot in the black Impala for her to care if he called her bluff or not.
Five minutes after him, she crossed into the powerful air conditioning of a neighborhood grocery store. She could’ve kept the argument going after tracking him down the baking aisle, but the wind had been knocked out of her sails; there were better places and better ways to fight rather than in a tiny Piggly Wiggly, getting stuff to make breakfast.
Dean saw the evaporated expression on his sister’s face and reached over to put an arm around her shoulders and give her a half hug. “It was just fourteen,” he said. “You’re violating my HIPPA rights or whatever, you know that?” Dean kissed the top of her head. “Your head feeling any better?”
He had a plastic basket with bread, eggs, bacon, syrup and cream cheese in it already. “We need some milk.”
“Pretty sure hunters don’t have HIPPA rights,” she mumbled, but didn’t shake off his arm, because he technically did -finally- tell her. In the meantime, she stooped down to the shelf at thigh level, grabbing three cans of pie filling; cherry, peach, and apple. “Milk and OJ… and more coffee.” She loaded the pie fillings in his basket, careful not to crush the eggs. “As for my head, the bell’s still ringin’, but it’s not as loud. And the fucker chipped my tooth.”
Dean grinned at her. “Smile.”
He was such a nice older brother. A nice older brother who nearly got his ribs elbowed.
“It’s a back tooth-” she groused at him with a glare that didn’t go deeper than the surface.
“Aw, see! That doesn’t count then.” Dean nodded matter of factly. “Next time, if they get one of the front ones, then we can call you Teeths McGee. You haven’t earned the nickname yet.”
Dean picked up a couple different kinds of coffee. He had no idea what Carmen liked and just because he wasn’t going to go too out of his way for her, didn’t mean he couldn’t go out of his way a little. With the cans of pie filling, milk and orange juice, plus the giant bag of frozen hash browns he added to the mix, he was starting to wish he picked up a cart instead of a basket, but didn’t complain.
Once they had everything, Dean walked out with Judith to the Impala and loaded everything up for the drive back.
“Where you wanna lay low? I was thinking we could make it like a mini vacation. Anything you wanna see?”
Judith bumped the back door shut with her hip while her hands cracked open a condensing bottle of Diet Cherry Coke. The sun blared off the car roof, lighting her face in a way that forced heavy squintage, and reminded of her fading sunburn.
“I’m pretty sure there’s nothin’ to see here but gators and rednecks who kill gators,” she said as she dropped into the passenger side, then pulled the door shut. “I dunno- maybe New Orleans?” Though as they both knew, the Big Easy was basically a buffet of hunting jobs at any given point- it just mattered where you stuck your hand in the mess.
“Nah, I was thinking more like… we could go to the Grand Canyon or pick a random ass baseball team and pretend to give a fuck. New Orleans is too…” It would turn into a work trip. Dean was trying to avoid that. “Boston. What about Boston? Pick a city with less history… Hell, we could even go for Canada after we get new IDs. Montreal could be like New Orleans but colder and maybe less ghosts.”
Judith snorted. “Pick a city with less history- and you suggest Boston? Why don’t we just go to New York or Chicago-” Sarcasm; all of it. She took a quick drink from her soda, tentatively swishing it to the back of her mouth where the chipped tooth was, expecting to be hit with nerve-pain. Thankfully, nothing, which meant no dentist for her.
“The Grand Canyon doesn’t sound too bad…”
“Grand Canyon it is!” Dean said. He sounded way too excited about that, but didn’t bother hiding his glee. They didn’t get to take breaks very often, and Dean was going to use every bit of this opportunity to do so. He had his father’s work ethic, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Just because John never took them to a baseball game or a tourist trap, didn’t mean he couldn’t take Judith to one.
The impala pulled back into the garage. They may have been out of Florida, but he was going to feel safer when they had a couple more states behind them.
Unfortunately, the vacation would have to wait.
Carmen was waiting for them when they pulled in, not busy doing a hundred things as usual, but with the straight face of attention and alarm of one who’d only just gotten very, very bad news. Judith noticed the look on the other woman’s face immediately; a glance at Dean showed her he had too.
His face fell, then steeled, then he got out of the car with a bag in hand.
“We got you groceries.” He would have said breakfast, but he had a feeling they were about to turn around right then. Seemed mean to promise breakfast if they were just about to leave. “What’s up?”
Judith followed her brother’s lead, standing over the open car door with careful eyes on Carmen’s face.
“It’s Bobby-” Carmen hardly ever minced words, and especially not when it mattered. She went right to the point, meeting Dean’s eyes as she fished for her phone in her back pocket. “I shot’im a text when y’all got in last night as a courtesy. Got nothin’ back so I sent ‘Lijah Cummings out to his place…”
Slim, grease-blackened fingers brought something up on her phone screen before turning it around to hand to Dean.
“He sent back pics’a Bobby’s place… Can’t find’im anywhere.”
Dean steeled his expression, trading out the bag of groceries for the phone to look through pics, before putting her phone back in with the bag of groceries. “Thanks for having us,” he said. Dean looked back at Judith.
“We’re leaving, grab your stuff. We can grab some fast food on the way.” Dean gently bypassed Carmen to go into to the house to grab his bag of clothes. There was no panic. Internally, Bobby had been like an uncle to them. In some ways, a better parental figure than their dad ever was. Dean couldn’t help Bobby if he panicked, so he didn’t.
It took him less than a minute to gather everything he needed and consider himself ready to go. Judith had been right behind him, tossed their bags in the back seat, and was on her phone texting feelers out to every other contact they had out Bobby’s way.
Carmen knew the drill- more than that, the old hunter meant something to her as well. Maybe not to the extent he did to the two Winchesters, but she’d known him for as long as she could remember, even if he and her father’s relationship wasn’t exactly all wine and roses.
“Keep me in the loop,” she told Dean before he got back in the car.
Dean nodded, but didn't say anything. The engine of the impala roared to life and the two of them were back on the road again. It was a 30 hour drive. Dean was happy to blame the long trip on his fear of planes, but the reality was with all of Judith’s IDs being burned they couldn't risk getting pinched at the airport.
The only stopped for gas. Which meant eating whatever crap they found at gas stations, and switching off drivers occasionally. Not that either of them were in great shape to drive.
“We pull Bobby’s ass out of the fire, then vacation,” Dean promised.
-------------
After three days of driving, broken only by a stop at Bobby's to pick up the next leg of the trail- a lead on another seasoned hunter named Grayson- they arrived in a one-horse mining town on the Montana border. Apparently Dogwood had been a boom town back in the sixties before the silver vein dried up. Driving through it now, noone would've guessed it once boasted a population of over five thousand.
Now, there were quiet buildings, empty parking lots, and a single stop light that no longer seemed to work.
Judith spun her favorite short-handle jack-knife between her fingers, watching the scene pass by the window until they reached the only motel still listed as open according to Google. The man who checked them in did so without much talking, but did plenty of leering from behind heavily mirrored sunglasses.
Dean noticed. He did this thing where he squared his shoulders and put himself in between the jackass he was about to deck and his sister. It was silent, but the unimpressed expression on his face said plenty.
Stepping out of the office with the door key, Judith glanced over her shoulder at him with a clear ‘look’.
“Could you be anymore obvious?” she muttered with mostly harmless snark, letting them into the room. “You gonna stare down every random that looks at me funny?”
“Yep,” Dean said without hesitation. “Dude was a creep.”
All motel rooms basically looked the same. They had the same mattresses, the same questionable comforters that were never washed, the same white sheets. Some places may have looked more questionable than others, but all and all, Dean had a baseline expectation. The nice thing about motels is no matter where they stayed they all kind of felt like home to him, in a weird, not at all messed up way.
“So, since we’re dealing with vampires, lets do all our sniffing around during the day. We don’t have to make it any easier on these freaks. Sunlight may not kill them, but they’re not exactly day people either.”
Judith was probably a little old to be quizzed on. For things like ghosts, demons and her knowledge of Latin, he didn’t. But vampires weren’t run of the mill. They were supposed to be extinct during the 80s. So, she got quizzed.
“Weapon?” he prompted her. They’d go through the drill.
Sometimes, if the circumstances weren’t so dire, he’d get a little teenage sass or scoff- this time, Judith went along like procedure by hoisting up a recently cleaned and oiled machete in answer to his question. The other hand held a large gauge syringe containing a dark, thick substance; dead man’s blood.
If the circumstances weren’t so dire, Dean might have smiled or given her brotherly praise. Instead, he nodded and proceeded to the next question: “Best way to locate their nest?”
Judith slipped her machete into the cut lining of her jacket, then the syringe, capped with a break-away top for easy access, into her pocket. “Track the younger ones bringin’ in the ‘food’- somewhere underground, guarded.”
“If we’re lucky, they’re still bleeding Bobby and we can get him out alive,” Dean said. He actually allowed himself to hope, even if his expectations weren’t high. Each day that passed without locating the nest, the chances of getting to him alive diminished considerably.
Judith didn’t say anything about how high or low the odds were of finding Bobby alive; she didn’t need to- it practically hung in the air between them. Hope wasn’t her strongest asset- even at seventeen, she considered herself more of a realist, but as a realist, she also knew the value and drive hope could add to otherwise fubar situations.
“You wanna split the town or go together?” she asked, pulling her coat around her shoulders and freeing her ponytail from the back. “You got a starting point in mind?”
“We’re sticking together. The whole time on this one. I mean it,” Dean said. They knew the theory behind vampire hunting but had never done it in practice. He knew vampires were tough to kill and they had no idea how many they were facing. He wasn't even sure if Dad had bagged a vamp before.
Bobby would be pissed if they got themselves killed trying to save his ass, so as much as he wanted to go in guns blazing, he was determined to play it smart.
Judith wasn’t planning on arguing that; she’d looked over so much lore and old hunter notes on the gruelling drive up here, she was dreaming about vamps, but book smarts was a whole different world from the actual thing. She nodded, checked her phone one last time before stuffing it in her back jeans pocket, and huffed out the rest of the nerves, and waited for her brother to take point- as usual.
There were a few places to check out-- disappearances that fit the profile of a hunt. Dean and Judith checked them out during the day. Dean may have had more experience with Dad hunting, but Judith had a natural gift for tracking. He stayed close to her and voiced his thoughts outloud.
“So between this and the last place we checked out, if you were a vampire, where would you put your nest?” Dean muttered. His thumb rubbed idly against the handle of his machete strapped to his side.
By the time they had enough to make an educated guess in the short amount of time they had in this tiny burg without being noticed, the sun was already getting low in the sky. They had about an hour of daylight left. Judith squinted at it, as if intimidation might buy them a little more time.
“My money’s on the storage units,” she said quietly, clearly not particularly liking their options. From the passenger seat of the Impala, she broke her gaze from the sunset and set it on Dean. “It’s on the edge of town, controlled entry, and a distinct lack of windows.” Not to mention it was tactically a death trap for anyone trying to get in when they weren’t wanted, with the high wire fence and grid-layout. Everywhere was a hiding spot, and nowhere was- depending on which side you were on.
“We’re too close to nightfall,” Dean growled. It would be safer for them to wait another day. Bobby didn’t have another day. If he wasn’t already dead, he would be. “Damnit.”
Were it Judith or Dad, there would be no question. Bobby may not have had any living family anymore, but that just made it worse. The other hunters were his family.
“We make this fast. Catch them by surprise. Come on.” If Judith disagreed, Dean would pull back. He had a habit of charging full speed ahead, tampered only by Dad’s orders, Sam’s bitching or Judith’s common sense. Dean wasn’t an idiot but sometimes he suffered from too much heart.
He got in the car, waited for Judith, and sped for the storage units.
Technically, the gate was still open for operational hours; the bored-looking employee at the front desk had definitely seen them the first time around. After a short discussion down the street, they both agreed being seen a second time was too risky. They found a back-alley route to the small lot behind the fence, and left the Impala parked where it wouldn’t draw attention.
Being such a small town and not exactly a big name company, Judith didn’t figure they had cameras around- she’d made a sweep for them when they visited earlier, but there hadn’t been a lot of time. If they got caught on camera, they’d have to deal with it later, but as they snipped the cage with wire cutters and slipped inside, she was riding on the merit of an educated guess.
The first place they headed was the storm cellar stairs tucked between two end units near the office.
Everything they did, they had to do perfect and quietly. Dean ignored the sensation of feeling his heartbeat in his ears. He didn’t think it was like those crappy Anne Rice novels his eighth grade girlfriend for a week was into where the vampires would be able to hear it a block away, but it didn’t give him a lot of reassurance, either.
Dean wondered if the bored kid working security was on the take or just an idiot. He was pretty sure the answer would disappoint him either way.
Once they silently broke into the storm cellar, Dean had his machete out and ready.
It was a typical commercial basement; plumbing, wiring, and ventilation innards snaked along narrow hallways lit by unflattering lighting for ten or fifteen feet beyond the stair landing before one hallway T-sectioned into two. That’s when the smell hit them; a combination of metal and humidity, and ozone- a primeval smell of caves prey animals knew better than to explore.
It wasn’t mildew.
While silently deciding which way to go, the beam of Judith’s small flashlight caught a thin black void running from ceiling to floor- it was a door made of grated metal, like the kind that blocked off electrical panels or storage areas in large garages, and it was open. She nudged Dean on the elbow and pointed at it.
There were storage areas to look through, but first Dean wanted to make sure there were no survivors or vampires. Clear the monsters, save anyone left to be saved, then go through their leftovers.
Dean went down the hidden hallway first. First in, last out. It was an age thing. Judith was still his kid sister. His very capable, very smart kid sister that could kick just about anyone’s ass, but still. Maybe it’d change when she was older, for now Dean was stubborn.
He kept his light pointed toward his feet and prayed that the vampires weren’t early risers. More than half the vampires slept in hammocks, but a few slept on mattresses on the floor. Two versus six. If they could keep the element of surprise and kill the first half quiet enough…
Dean crept into position and waited for Judith to do the same before making the first strike, just in case things went bad.
Judith forced her breaths into a slow, methodical process to counteract the inevitable adrenaline feeding into her veins; her pulse had been picking up since they first caught the scent of the nest, but actually finding it opened the flood gates. She nodded at Dean’s direction, adjusted the bandana tied around her neck over her nose and mouth bandit style, and pulled the machete from her jacket. A coordinated blitz was probably the way to go; dead man’s blood wouldn’t do much besides slow one down, and it would take a few seconds to take effect. Plus, they only had enough for three, maybe four.
Gripping the handle with both hands, Judith took extreme care to make sure she had the right angle and strength to get through the neck in one swipe; the difference would be three suddenly awake and pissed off vamps to fight for each her and Dean- versus only two.
As soon as the blade dropped, the screeching started.
Between the noise, the crack of bone under metal, the darkness, and the sprays of blood, more than once Judith swallowed the panic of thinking one of her swings might accidentally catch her brother- or vice versa. Her breath was mostly held behind the makeshift mask, getting slick and heavy with vampire blood, and by the time the last body fell her lungs were on fire, but she was alive, and in one piece- if once again bruised and battered from a few fists and the occasional steel-toed boot. One managed to sink a bite into her shoulder through the jacket, but it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse. A flashlight beam smeared with blood found Dean had come out the same; only then could she finally breathe.
Dean moved while trying to catch his breath. It was a skill he’d picked up after years of practice. There was still more to do and they couldn’t celebrate their victory yet. Dean looked over Judith while Judith looked over Dean and when they were both satisfied neither of them were going to keel over, then they traced their steps back to the storage at the start of the cellar.
That’s when he found Bobby’s hat.
Dean frowned. There was a bunch of hunter stuff in there. Dean found a couple of hunter journals like their Dad’s and took them to see if there was anything that might tell them what was going on but, as far as he could tell, they were both too late.
They made their escape and went back to the hotel to wash off and get some sleep.
“I ever tell you what a badass you are?” Dean grinned to Judith. It wasn’t empty praise. His sister never stopped to amaze him. He absently went through the hunter journals he collected, trying to see if there was anything about their last hunts.
Finding Bobby’s hat in the haphazard hoard of discarded belongings had been a more painful blow to Judith than the teeth marks in her shoulder; they hadn’t seen him among the dead vamps after the carnage, which meant they’d have to scour the town or surrounding area for his body and give him a proper send-off- and any other unfortunate hunters they happen to find in the process. She knew that’s what kept both of them silent on the way back to the hotel, and while they cleaned themselves from the last bloody hour.
She was walking out of the bathroom, twisting her hair in a towel when Dean finally broke that silence, which she answered with a small, but appreciative smile- the same one she gave him every time he said it.
“So long as it’s not baby badass anymore,” she murmured, wandering toward her bed in clean-ish sleep shorts and a cotton tanktop that came in a pack of six. The wound in the meat of her shoulder had already been cleaned and the skin pulled back together by three butterfly bandages. The others were open, and would scar, but weren’t deep enough to need stitching.
“No, it’ll never not be baby badass. That’s what makes it funny,” Dean grinned. He tried not to think about Bobby. It was easier with Judith and the fact that in the dream. Bobby died before he really became a replacement father figure for Dean. For now he was an old friend. It was sad that he was gone, but it was enough to know that the things that killed him would be gone.
They could look for where they buried the bodies later. Tonight they earned their sleep.
“I mean, seeing you take down some douchebag three times your size will never not make me laugh.” Monsters didn’t really count. Life and death situations were too serious. But seeing some fratbro get what he deserved always made Dean chuckle.
Judith just snorted at him, but that was her usual way of accepting the praise that came from her adoptive brother, who by plenty of standards had a bigger hand in raising her than anyone. She dropped down on the cheap mattress and scratchy bedding, loosely braiding her hair so it wasn’t a nightmare in the morning.
“It’s easy ‘cuz they don’t see it comin’,” she dismissed it easily, but there was an appreciative tone to her words. Judith wasn’t just used to being underestimated because of her stature, she’d worked it into her entire strategy- not just for hunting, but for every aspect of life. ‘Work with what you got’ was a mantra when you barely crossed the five-foot mark wearing heavy boots, but she was fast, flexible, and good at getting under people’s skin.