#1x01x3

[profounddestinyhunter]

Pilot (Part 3): Water Under the Bridge

A/N: A year without posting she comes back with part three! ….Yeah, I’m deeply sorry everyone that I’ve been gone for so long. Life was kinda kicking my ass. I do want to make it clear that I will be continuing this story, it’s still a passion of mine. With that said, I want to thank everyone that stuck with me since the beginning. Thank you, truly, for putting up with me. Please enjoy part three! Word count is: 4,374

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Knowing Sam was now on board with the search, Dean popped the trunk of the Impala and the spare-tire compartment. He propped it open with a shotgun as he dug around the clutter in the arsenal.

“All right, let’s see, where the hell did I put that thing?” Dean voiced to himself.

Sam and you moved closer towards the trunk to get a better view of what he was searching for. Always the curious one, Sam decided to ask something that has been bugging him since his brother told him the news of their father. “So when Dad left, why didn’t you go with him?”

Dean didn’t bother glancing up from his work. “I was working my own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing, down in New Orleans.”

Raising your eyebrows, you couldn’t believe what Dean said. Was he not going to mention that you worked cases with him? Granted the two of you had a sort of falling out and he was probably only informing Sam what he was doing when their Dad disappeared. But still. It stung a little that Dean neglected to tell his little brother that tidbit.

Sam shifted on his feet. “Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?”

Turning towards Sam, he gave him an incredulous look. “I’m twenty-six, dude.”

You rolled your eyes. “Great, and I’m twenty-one. Now that we established that we’re all adults, can you show us the case?”

With a chuckle from Sam and a glare from Dean, the older Winchester pulled out some papers from a folder. He explained how each report was about men who had all gone missing on the same five-mile stretch of road in the past twenty years just outside of Jericho.

Dean picked up a hand held tape recorder and pressed play. “Dean,” John’s voice cut through the static, “something big is starting to happen… I need to try and figure out what’s going on. It may… Be very careful, Dean. We’re all in danger.”  

Turns out there was an EVP on the recording. “All right. I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got,” Dean said.

The woman’s voice cracked through the recorder and eerily whispered. “I can never go home.”

Wanting to look over the case some more you took the files from Dean before he could put them back in the trunk.

“You know, in almost two years I’ve never bothered you, never asked you for a thing,” Dean started as he leaned against the now closed trunk.

That was your cue to give the brothers some time to talk. With papers in hand, you leafed through them as you walked trying to find any kind of connection. This proved rather difficult when the cool crisp air finally hit you. The missing person reports couldn’t even distract you enough from the shivers that kept coursing through your body. Your short trek through the empty parking lot ended quickly and you found yourself heading back towards the boys.

“It’s a law school interview, and it’s my whole future on a plate,” Sam stated slowly, completely done with whatever they were discussing.

Dean nodded his head and smirked. “Law school?”

“So we got a deal or not?” Sam waited patiently for a response he never received.

***

Currently, you were occupying the front seat of the car as Dean stopped for gas and Sam rifled through Dean’s cardboard box filled with cassette tapes. You bolted at the opportunity to sit in Dean’s normal spot so you could catch up with Sam.

“That’s awesome Sam. You’re a shoo-in.” You playfully punched his shoulder in congratulations.

His lips twitched into a sheepish smile. “Well, I’m not a lawyer yet.” Sam paused his digging through the cassette box to fully face you. “So how are you, (Y/N)? You’ve been kinda quiet.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “I’m alright, maybe a little tired.”

Sam tilted his head to the side as he watched you. Even after all these years apart he could still detect when you weren’t yourself. “I hope you’re not pushing yourself too hard on hunts again, (Y/N).”

“Quite the opposite actually.” A nervous laugh escaped through your lips. “I’ve been taking a break from hunting.”

Obviously not expecting that, Sam’s brows shot up in surprise. A bunch of emotions flickered across his face until he settled on confusion.

You cut him off quickly as you saw Dean walking out from the gas station mart. “I’ll tell you later.”

Sam sported a pouty frown but nodded regardless.

“Hey! You two want breakfast?” Dean asked with a granola bar sticking out of his mouth and an array of junk food in his arms as he walked up beside the pump the Impala was parked at.

Sam glanced at the unhealthy food choices and rolled his eyes. “No, thanks.”

Dean held up the items directing his gaze at you this time. The car door squeaked open, alerting to him that you wanted breakfast. The granola bar he was holding in his mouth was tossed in your direction, effectively hitting you in the face.

“Seriously, Dean?” You scoffed, moving out of the car to pick up the granola bar off the ground.

“It got you out of the front seat, didn’t it?” He smirked as you slipped into the back of the car.

Still looking at the box of cassette tapes, Sam cut off the comeback you were thinking of giving Dean. “So how’d you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?”

“Yeah, well, hunting ain’t exactly a pro ball career,” Dean replied as he filled the Impala’s gas tank. “Besides, all we do is apply. It’s not our fault they send us the cards.” He placed the nozzle back on the side of the pump after the tank was filled.

“Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?” Sam retorted, letting the box rest on his lap while he shifted himself back into the car and shut the door.

“Uh, Burt Aframian.” Dean climbed into the driver seat, placing his soda and chips down next to him. “And his son, Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal.”

“Hector is a nice name, we should start calling you that,” You teased from the backseat.

A short laugh escaped Sam before he turned to the box on his lap. “I swear, man, you’ve gotta update your cassette tape collection.” He shook his head.

Dean spoke with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “Why?”

“Well, for one, they’re cassette tapes. And two,” Sam held up each tape for every band he named. “Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica?”

Snatching that last plastic case from his little brother, Dean popped the tape from its cover and into the player.

“It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock,” Sam said with finality.

Not wanting Sam to think you agreed with him, you leaned over the front seat right in between the two brothers and cranked the volume almost completely up. Returning to your original spot, you managed to send Sam a mischievous wink.

The older Winchester couldn’t help but laugh at Sam’s face. “Well, house rules, Sammy.” He grinned, starting up the car. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.” AC/DC’s “Back in Black” blared from the speakers as Dean dropped the empty case back in the box.

“You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old. It’s Sam, okay?” He corrected, struggling to be heard over the music.

Dean whirled one of his fingers around his own ear. “Sorry, I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud.” He smirked as he drove off to the sound of Brian Johnson’s vocals and your laughter.

***

Laying your head against the Impala door you watched the scenery and a sign that read “JERICHO 7” whizz by, as Sam wrapped up his phone call.

“Thank you,” Sam spoke, shutting his phone before sharing what he learned. “All right. So, there’s no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue. So that’s something, I guess.”

Dean glanced at his brother for a split second before directing his gaze back on the road. Your eyes flitted between the brothers trying to gauge what they were feeling based on this news. If it weren’t for the music playing, the car would have been dead quiet.

“Check it out,” Dean announced, nodding his head towards the bridge that was ahead. Several policemen and police cars milled around the area. The Impala pulled to a stop and the three of you just watched the scene on the bridge for a couple of minutes. The car shuddered to a stop when Dean turned the engine off and reached for the glove compartment. Upon opening the compartment, Dean revealed a box which contained an outrageous number of ID cards with both his and John’s faces on them. As the older Winchester sorted through all the fake cards, you could’ve sworn you saw a card with Sam’s face that said “bikini inspector” on it.

After being deemed appropriate, Sam and yourself received the cards from Dean. Observing the I.D. you noticed it was an older picture of yourself by how young you looked. You huffed out a laugh at that. “The amount of illegal stuff I’ve done with you two assholes is gonna come back and bite me in the ass, I can feel it.”

“Shut up,” Dean replied with a scoff and an eye roll. He nudged his little brother who snorted at his terrible comeback, smiling in spite of himself. A final shake of the head and Dean voiced, “Let’s go.”

***

The bridge was bustling with officers, the whole place was crawling with men in uniform. Many of them were investigating the car above and some were below searching in the river. So many police officers in one area made you uneasy.

One officer, a Deputy, near the edge of the bridge leaned over and yelled down towards the murky water. “You guys find anything?” He questioned.

“No! Nothing!” The police diver shouted up as a response.

The officer turned his attention away from the water to the car sat in the middle of the bridge. Judging by the police tape surrounding it, you assumed it was missing person’s ride. A second Deputy was rifling around at the driver’s side of said car when his colleague approached him.

“No sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints. Spotless. It’s almost too clean.” He explained as the three of you approached, the boys exuding a lot more confidence than you. You let out a shaky breath, suddenly nervous. The months of not hunting finally catching up to you.

The Deputy outside the car decided to strike up a conversation. “So, this kid Troy. He’s dating your daughter, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s Amy doing?”

“She’s putting up missing posters downtown.”

You made a mental note of that name just as the boys and you approached the car. Dean took the lead and spoke first. “You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn’t you?”

The Deputy turned at the new voice. “And who are you three?”

Swifty, the three of you flashed your badges in unison. You shocked yourself by how smooth that went. Thank God for muscle memory.

“Federal marshals,” Dean explained, putting away his badge.

“You three are a little young for marshals, aren’t you?” The Deputy questioned suspiciously.

With a short laugh, Dean brushed it off quickly. “Thanks, that’s awfully kind of you.”

Well, fuck. If he thought Sam and Dean looked young, you were screwed. You tried not to squirm under the scrutinizing gaze from the Deputy. Gathering yourself, you followed the older Winchester’s lead. “You did have another one just like this, correct?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. About a mile up the road. There’ve been others before that.”

“So, this victim, you knew him?” Sam threw in as his brother circled around the car trying to examine it.

The man nodded again. “Town like this, everybody knows everybody.”

Still looking at the car Dean asked, “Any connection between the victims?”

“Besides that they’re all men?” You added.

“No. Not so far as we can tell,” He responded with a shake of his head.

“So what’s the theory?” Sam questioned, moving over to stand beside Dean across from you.

“Honestly, we don’t know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” The Deputy listed off the potential possibilities.

“Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I’d expect out of you guys.” With a tight-lipped smile, you continued to stare straight ahead pretending that you didn’t just hear Dean say that. Trying to regain hold of the conversation you sent a desperate look towards Sam, hoping he could fix this situation. Unfortunately, Sam only made things worse by being very obvious and stomped on Dean’s foot. After you witnessed this happen, you could feel your eye twitch as you held onto the last of your composure.

“Thank you for your time. Gentlemen,” Sam smiled forcefully, starting to walk away with Dean on his heels and you in tow. You were still acting casual in case the Deputies were watching. No need to attract any more attention to yourselves.

“What the hell, De-” You started, but were cut off after Dean smacked the back of Sam’s head.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“Why’d you have to step on my foot?”

“Why do you have to talk to the police like that?”

“Knock it off you two!” You hissed, having had enough of their childish behavior. Walking ahead, Dean turned and stopped in front of Sam. This caused you to stumble into Sam’s back when he paused.

“Come on. They don’t really know what’s going on. We’re all alone on this. I mean, if we’re going to find Dad we’ve got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves.” As Dean ranted, he had failed to notice a Sheriff and two FBI agents looming behind him. The older Winchester spun around after Sam cleared his throat and you kept throwing glances over his shoulder.

“Can I help you boys? Ma’am?” The Sheriff asked, brows raised and a nod of acknowledgment in your direction as he spoke.

“No, sir, we were just leaving,” You answered. The brothers followed behind you, as you lead them back to the Impala.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head as you heard Dean mutter behind you. “Agent Mulder. Agent Scully.”

***

The next stop on the list was downtown Jericho. The three of you hoped to find Amy, the missing man’s girlfriend, and ask her what she knew. You were in luck because you had spotted her putting up missing person posters by the Highland Movie Theater.

Amy had agreed to answer some questions with her friend Rachel after you had convinced her that you were Troy’s Aunt and Uncles. At first, she was a little confused why Troy had never mentioned any Aunts or Uncles to her. Thinking on the fly, you reassured her that the three of you lived up in Modesto and weren’t around much.

“Oh, that makes sense,” she nodded. “We should talk somewhere more private.” All in agreement with that suggestion, the five of you made your way to the little diner that was down the street.

Sam slid into the small booth first, followed by yourself, and then Dean. Rachel and Amy settled opposite from the three of you.

“I was on the phone with Troy.” Amy began, “He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and… he never did.”

“He didn’t say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?” Sam asked.

Amy shook her head in response. “No. Nothing I can remember.”

While Sam was conversing with Amy, you couldn’t help but stare at her pentagram necklace. About to question her about it, you were silenced when Dean leaned forward and squished you more into Sam’s side.

“Here’s the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something’s not right. So if you’ve heard anything…” He prompted.

The two girls exchanged a knowing glance with each other, which indicated that they clearly knew something.

“What is it?” Dean questioned.

After another look from Amy, Rachel spoke up, “Well, it’s just… I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.”

“What do they talk about?” The three of you asked in perfect unison. There was an awkward pause as Dean glanced at you and Sam. Shrugging your shoulders you gestured for Rachel to continue.

“It’s kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago…” Rachel explained, “Well, supposedly she’s still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

It was clear at that moment that this was definitely your kind of gig. Hopefully, the information the girls provided would be enough to aid the Winchesters and you in research.

***

The three of you made a beeline to the Library not long after the conversation at the diner. Idly spinning around in your chair, you watched Dean struggle to come up with any search results for “Female Murder Hitchhiking”. Dean tried again by replacing a few words, only to end up with the same lack of results. Sam finally lost his patience when Dean attempted another search for what seemed like the millionth time.

“Let me try,” He said, reaching towards the keyboard, only to be smacked away by Dean.

“I got it,” He assured before Sam completely pushed his brother’s chair away from the computer.

“Dude!” Dean protested, smacking his little brother’s shoulder. “You’re such a control freak.” He muttered. The boys continued to harass each other while you took the opportunity to scoot closer to the desk.

“So, I’ve been thinking. Angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?” You started, gaining both Winchesters attention. Receiving a noise of confirmation, you continued. “Well, maybe it’s not murder.”

Sam nodded in understanding, realizing where you were going with this. Typing rapidly you replaced “Murder” with “Suicide” in the search box. The computer finally produced an article titled “Suicide on Centennial” after three excruciating minutes of loading. Turning your chair slightly you threw a cocky smile towards Dean. His only response was an irritated eye roll.

“This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.” Sam scrolled through the newspaper article, eyes searching for more information.

“Does it say why she did it?” Dean asked, leaning closer trying to see the computer.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, “An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently, her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren’t breathing. Both die.”

“Jesus,” You murmured.

Dean hummed as Sam quoted part of the article. “'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn’t bear it,’ said husband Joseph Welch.” The man mentioned in the paper was pictured next to the Sylvania Bridge, which you recognized as Troy’s crime scene.

“That bridge look familiar to you?” Dean knowingly asked.

“Let’s check it out,” You announced, automatically standing.

***

The Sylvania Bridge at night was a stark contrast to the one you visited during the daytime. There was no longer any police officers yelling or blocking off access to the bridge. The three of you were currently stopped near the side of the bridge. You could clearly hear the roar of the murky water below as you leaned over the metal railing.

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean commented.

Sam turned to look at Dean as you continued to try to make out anything through the fog that appeared. “So you think Dad would have been here?” Sam asked.

“Well, he’s chasing the same story and we’re chasing him,” Dean responded, moving away from the railing and slowly making his way across the bridge. Sam, eager to figure out what’s next, closely followed his older brother with you not trailing far behind.

“Okay, so now what?” Sam questioned.

“Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while.” Dean answered. Sam immediately stopped walking, Dean and yourself pausing too.

“Dean, I told you, I’ve gotta get back by Monday-”

“Monday. Right. The interview,” Dean interrupted.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I forgot. You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? You think you’re just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?”

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam shrugged.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you’ve done?”

“No, and she’s not ever going to know,” Sam said seriously, taking a step closer to Dean.

“Well, that’s healthy,” Dean retorted. “You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you’re going to have to face up to who you really are.” The older hunter turned and started walking away from Sam. You watched silently as the discussion quickly turned into a heated argument. For a moment you considered intervening but thought better of it.

“And who’s that?” Sam asked, a couple of steps behind his older brother.

“You’re one of us,” Dean said like it was obvious.

Sam stormed in front of his older brother, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “No. I’m not like you. This is not going to be my life. (Y/N) doesn’t want this to be her life either.”

Dean’s eyes flickered in your direction for a brief second before he focused his attention on Sam. “You have a responsibility to-”

“To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren’t for pictures I wouldn’t even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom’s gone. And she isn’t coming back.”

As true as Sam’s point might have been, it was still a shock to hear. A gasp flew from your lips as Dean suddenly grabbed the front of Sam’s hoodie and shoved him against the metal pillar of the bridge.

“Guys, that’s enough!” You shouted, finally leaving your spot and hurrying over to where the two men stood. “Knock it off, Dean,” You hissed, attempting to get him to let go of his younger brother. He didn’t budge at your words. With a huff, you decided to try to pry his fingers off with force.

Dean was silent as your nails clawed at his hands; he was too preoccupied glaring at Sam. “Don’t talk about her like that,” He growled, breaking the silence, not before releasing his brother’s hoodie and stomping off.

Ignoring the fuming Dean, you directed your attention to the younger hunter. “You okay?” You asked Sam, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He nodded at you in response.

“Sam. (Y/N),” Dean called.

Turning around to face the direction Dean was, your eyes scanned along the bridge for what he could possibly be looking at. Then you saw it. Or rather her. Lightly smacking Sam on the arm, you pointed out what could only be described as an apparition. There in all her glory was Constance Welch. Despite the obscuring fog, you could tell it was her based on the picture from the article you read. Her face was blank, partly covered by a mass of tangled dark hair. Her long white dress whipped against her ankles and the railing she stood on.

For a brief moment, her empty eyes bore into yours as if she was trying to say something. Without a sound and no hesitation she let her body fall off the bridge and plummet into the awaiting river below.

The three of you raced over to where Constance previously was, searching to find a trace of her. “Where’d she go?” Dean asked, eyes straining to see in the dark.

“I don’t know,” Sam mumbled.

You sighed, “I think she’s gone, guys.”

As if responding to your statement, two bright headlights were shone at the three of you, illuminating your silhouettes against the otherwise dark bridge. The Impala’s engine suddenly roared to life, startling you. Glancing at the boys, you noticed they were just as confused as you were.

“What the f-” Dean trailed off quietly, drowned out by the constant rumbling of the car.

“Who’s driving your car?” Sam directed at his brother. Wordlessly, Dean dangled the car keys between his fingers, jingling them slightly to prove he had them. He slipped them back into his jacket pocket as his and two other pairs of eyes continued to watch the car with increasing worry.

With a jolt, the Impala surged forward, its intent to run the Winchesters and you over.

Panic flooded through you, the beloved Impala which you considered a safe haven was possessed and speeding towards you. With a rough tug on your jacket, you were pulled out of your thoughts and into motion.

“Go! Go!” Sam yelled, prompting Dean and yourself to run even faster.

You sprinted across the bridge, a couple of steps behind the hunters. Your hair blew rapidly behind you as the cold wind stung your cheeks. Sam and Dean would occasionally look back to see where the car was, while you focused on getting away from said car.

Literally running out of options, you stupidly went the only way you could at this point: off the bridge. The Impala was licking at your heels just as the three of you vaulted over the side of the railing.

Flinging your body sideways, you blindly made an attempt to grab the railing last minute. The rusty metal dug deep into your hands, cutting them like a knife through butter. You screamed as you lost what little grip you had on the railing as the weight of your body pulled you down.

Frantically you reached for something, anything, to latch onto. You had to force your eyes to remain open, otherwise, you weren’t sure you’d be able to open them again.

Your body collided heavily with an iron pole, nearly knocking the wind out of you. You landed painfully on your back an instant later.

From somewhere above, you vaguely heard the car’s tires squealing to a stop, having achieved its goal.