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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: In Bad Waters - part eleven Word count: ±4650 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part eleven summary: Now that Laura if after Zoë, the boys have to think fast in order to save her. Will they realize she’s in trouble? Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Stunned, Sam stares at the door of room seventeen. Dean walks down the hallway with his suit jacket hanging over his shoulder, not having noticed anything unusual. But when he doesn’t hear his brother’s footsteps in his wake, he turns around. “Comin’ or what?” Sam places his hand flat on the door, trying to detect any sign of movement on the other side. He feels like something is off, and shifts his gaze to his brother. “The door just slammed in my face.” “It’s Zoë; what did you expect?” Dean returns, being smart. The younger Winchester isn’t convinced, however, and he pounds on the wooden surface. “Zo?!”

But the huntress doesn’t hear him. She seems isolated, as if the grand hotel room is soundproof. The wall lights flicker, buzzing as they do, the designer lamp in the corner doing the same. Every hair on the back of her neck elevates, both from anticipation and the freezing temperature, which causes her exhaled breaths to float in the air like miniature clouds.

Zoë swallows apprehensively, her gaze frantically darting across the room for anything she can defend herself with, while the disturbing image of Laura stares up at the only living being in the room. The little girl’s neck is clearly broken, her head oddly tilted to the right. Skin so pale it hints to a shade of blue, black bruises noticeable on her arms, legs and cheek as well. Laura glares at her next victim, her eyes hidden in the infinite darkness of her sockets. Water drips on the ground from the edges of her dress and soaked through hair, leaving puddles on the floor. The constant drip mixes with the sound of static from the television and the running water in the shower.

Slowly, Zoë backs out. “You don’t want to do this, Laura.” “Or what? You will kill me?” she returns, way too clever for her age. Little smartass, Zoë can’t help but to think. The huntress is the one who needs to start with the smart talk, though. It might be her only way out of this clusterfuck. She needs to distract the ghost, and pray to the God she doesn’t believe in to make it out of this predicament.

“Why are you doing this?” Zoë asks, as calmly as she can muster. “They didn’t stop it,” Laura says, anger causing her voice to tremble. “They all knew, but they didn’t stop it.” “Why are you haunting me then?”

Carefully, Zoë glances aside from the corner of her eye, at the backpack on top of the drawer. She knows it contains a bag of salt and it might just be her only way of saving herself, or at least stall long enough for her hunting partners to realize something is wrong. She could use a Winchester shotgun right about now. That rock salt shooting two barrel would be handy. Laura’s response triggers her to snap her gaze back at the ghost.

“I’m haunting you, because you are trying to stop me. You didn’t want me to kill Mrs. Dawlson.” Zoë backs out further until she feels the drawer against her spine. While talking, one hand noticeably tries to find the bag of salt in the backpack. “Mrs. Dawlson was a good person, with a family. Now I know how you feel about the person who did this to you--” “- Yes, you do know how I feel. Don’t you, Miss Sullivan?” The spirit turns her head in an abnormal angle, the bones in her neck snapping. “You know how hating someone for what they did to you feels like. That’s why you became what you are.”

Startled, Zoë stares at the little ghost. How the hell does she know all this? Is she playing mind games here? It’s scary how Laura stays so well mannered, and Zoë has trouble looking her in the eye any longer. “I know what your father did to you was cruel and unforgivable, but this isn’t you, Laura. You need to let go,” Zoë tells her. “I can’t. You understand that. You can’t let go either. Someone hurt you, Miss Sullivan. It didn’t just happen, he knew and still didn't help you. Don’t you want to kill him?” Laura pressures. “Oh, I do,” the huntress replies honestly. “But grown ups realize what consequences there are to murder.”

In a blink of an eye, Zoë throws a hand of salt at Laura’s face, which causes her to scream and flicker on and off, but only for a moment. Zoë hastes for the door and turns the doorknob, but Laura still has control over the environment and the barrier between her and the Winchesters stays shut. Sensing her presence, the huntress turns around and sees Laura coming at her rapidly, as if she’s watching a video on fast forward. Right under her nose, the child stops and stares up at her angrily. “That wasn’t very nice,” she hisses.

Suddenly, Zoë feels herself being lifted off the ground, as light as a feather. There is nothing delightful about it, though, because a second later, she smashes into the wall on the other side of the room. “That made me feel angry,” Laura continues, her chin propped down as she gazes at her next victim from under her brow.

Zoë struggles up, but before she can make an attempt to flee, Laura makes a sideways gesture with her hand, sending her victim flying. With a loud bang, she collides with the hard wall on the other side of the suite, the plaster crumbling as she lands on the drawer which breaks through its leg, causing the huntress to glide off the surface and fall down on the floor. Dizzy, she recovers as she feels blood dripping down her cheek, coming from a laceration above her temple. As soon as the black spots disappear from her vision, she glances back up at the disturbing young girl. She points her little finger at her, as Zoë starts to feel an increasing pain in her chest. “Now I’m going to kill you, nice and slow. Just like Daddy killed me,” Laura sing songs eerily. Frightened, Zoë stares at the girl. Before she can blink, the ghost has a death grip on her neck and works her against the wall.

Her efforts to escape have been hopeless so far and with no weapon to defend herself with, the odds are not in her favor. She tries to back out further, but unfortunately she can’t move through walls just yet. It doesn't happen often, but the huntress is in deep trouble. Images of the murder scenes of Laura’s previous victims flash before her eyes; she might end up just like them. In one last desperate attempt to get out of this situation, she closes her eyes, trying to calm herself. In a split second, she pictures Sam Winchester and concentrates. Then she cries out his name.

“SAM!!!”

“Did you hear that?”, Sam asks, alerted on the other side of the door. Dean walks up to him and listens carefully. “Hear what?”

“SAM!!! Get me out!!!”

“There! You heard that, right?” Stunned he stares at the door, then he hits it with his shoulder. “Zoë!!” “I didn’t hear anything. Did you eat mushrooms for lunch or something?” Dean questions, confused. “Dean, you have to trust me! Laura is in there!” Sam cries out.

Without pausing, his younger brother tries to bust the door with a kick, but the lock will not budge. For a split second Dean watches his brother, who keeps going at the varnished wood with everything he’s got. Apparently, he’s not kidding and it puts Dean in hunter mode instantly. It’s not even instinct, more of a reflex. He would follow his brother blindly, he trusts him without a single doubt in his mind. “What is going on here!”, a member of staff shouts at them from the end of the hallway. “Call 911, now!” Dean turns to him and starts running down the corridor. “Where are you going?!” Sam glances aside, out of breath. “I’m gonna try from the outside! Keep going!” Dean commands before he rushes around the corner.

As fast as he can, Dean sprints back to the main hall of the Hampton Inn. While bolting down the stairs to the first floor, he searches for the car keys in his pocket. Very well aware that every second counts, he crosses the lobby towards the parking lot. Quickly, the hunter opens the trunk of his Chevrolet and takes out a shotgun, loading it skillfully. He doesn’t go back inside, instead the hunter runs down the hotel complex, counting the room windows as he passes them.

For once, the universe is helping him, because under Zoë’s suite a van of maintenance crew is parked on the sidewalk. Agile, Dean hoists himself up by the mirror with one hand, climbing onto the roof of the vehicle. Inside, the child ghost has her hands around Zoë’s neck and forces her all the way up to the ceiling, the huntress’ body slack. Laura is about to snap her neck, but then Dean catches her attention. The spirit tilts her head slowly and looks Dean in the eye, then she opens her mouth further than anatomically possible as her eyes sink back in the back of her head.

Knowing no fear for the entity, Dean aims and releases the slug filled with rock salt. It shatters the glass instantly and flies straight through the ghost’s head. As sudden as she appeared, Laura evaporated into thin air with a scream. Zoë collapses down the wall as Sam busts in right at the same time, the vicious spirit no longer locking him out. He stares at his brother through the broken window for a split second and then notices Zoë on the floor, just a heap of fragility. “Zo!” Sam rushes to her and kneels down. Carefully, he cups her face with both hands and taps her on the cheek gently, after which she slowly comes to, coughing. The hunter breathes out, relieved when she opens her eyes. A groan escapes from her lips and she squints as the pain dawns on her. She leans against the wall, out of breath and clearly experiencing discomfort. Blood runs down her neck from a wound on her head, her nose is also bleeding. Several cuts are spread out over her arms and face; she’s a mess.

No wonder, because when Dean steps through the window, he notices that the entire suite is trashed. The table has shattered somewhere during the struggle, glass is scattered everywhere. The couch has toppled over on its back, the TV ripped from the wall and the screen distorted. He crouches down next to the wounded woman, who clamps her hand at her side and takes a careful breath, which obviously hurts her.

“Hey, take it easy.” He puts his hand on her shoulder as she rests her head against the wall again, biting back the pain. “I think I cracked some ribs,” Zoë moans. “What else hurts?” Sam carefully sweeps away her dark hair to reveal the bleeding cut underneath. “The better question is; what doesn’t?” she comments, as she closes her eyes for a second. “That little fucking brat...” “Cursing and angry already. You’re gonna be fine, I see,” Dean jokes, lighting the mood.

Zoë looks up at him, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. He might say so, but she doesn’t feel so good. Carefully she touches her nose, from which blood still drips to her lips and down her chin. “Broke it?” Dean checks. “I don’t think so.” She sniffs. “I swear, if she kills me, I’ll haunt her sorry ass, ten years old or not.” Dean grins at that comment and looks away, but Sam isn’t set at ease yet. “Where’s that ambulance?” he asks his brother. “Ambulance?” Zoë repeats, annoyed. “Yeah, you know. One of those minivans who hurry injured people like you to a hospital,” Dean nags. The huntress glares at him and then turns back at Sam. “I don’t need no ambulance.” “Nope, you’re absolutely fine. You don’t need our help either,” Dean rubs in with a sarcastic tone. “Shut up,” she mutters.

The oldest of the brothers rights himself, smiling victoriously, because for once the huntress doesn’t have a comeback ready. He moves to the doorway to meet the authorities, sirens already blaring in the distance. As soon as Dean is out of sight, Sam cocks his head at Zoë, astonished, his eyes piercingly demanding answers. “I heard you,” he whispers. “I figured,” Zoë responds, carefully removing the blood from her upper lip. “No, I mean...” He pauses and glares over his shoulder to make sure Dean is really gone. “I heard you in my head. How the hell did you do that?”

Zoë glances at the young hunter. It’s clear as day that he’s intimidated by this bizarre turn of events. Honestly, she was just as surprised when she felt Laura’s grip on her loosen. Why she did it? Instinct perhaps. It was her last attempt to connect with anyone outside this room. How she did it? She’s still trying to wrap her head around that one. “I don't know, I just…” She presses her palm against her forehead, this headache is killing her. “That bad, huh?” Sam sighs sympathetically. “Dude, I feel like I’ve been used as a boxing bag.” She pulls back her hand and is unpleasantly surprised by the crimson on her fingertips.

Sam cannot stop worrying, she can see it. Not just about her, but about this telepathic intermezzo they had just a few minutes ago. “It’s probably nothing, Sam. We’re both sensitive to this psychic stuff. It’s no big deal,” she tries to comfort. But the concerns don’t wear off. Not that he can ponder on it for long, though, because a moment later, paramedics rush in.

Some time later, Zoë is uncomfortably sitting in the back of the ambulance. The police have also arrived; several cars are parked on the sidewalk. Officers and forensics are examining the crime scene for traces of the assaulter, which of course, they will never find. The paramedics took care of her head wound and several other minor injuries the huntress suffered. Her face feels like Mohammed Ali himself threw a few punches at her, and to top it all, Detective Lee is standing right in front of her for the third time this day.

“Are you sure you didn’t see anything?” Lee checks, after he wrote something down in his notebook. “Not a thing. It attacked me from behind and knocked me unconscious,” she lies, without batting an eye. “It?” The officer looks up at her, a bit indignant by her choice of words. “You know, he, she, whatever,” Zoë mutters, pretending to be casual. Lee watches her for a moment and puts away his notebook. “Off the record,” he starts. “Do we need to put a lot of effort in this case or can I tell my sheriff that the FBI is taking over?”

A little surprised by the new direction of the detective, she looks back up into his eyes, then chuckles. He has a point; right now they are busy questioning each other instead of actually solving the case. They are working the same terrain here and neither of them are helped by that matter. “I’ll spare you some trouble. We’ll take over,” Zoë states. He nods as a sign of agreement, realizing that this is probably for the best. They have no sense of direction on this bizarre case and every lead they do have runs directly towards a dead end. The FBI has more experience with this kind of abnormal. “We’ll be at your service if needed. I hope you’ll catch our killer, this town can’t afford more crimes like these,” the officer ponders. “Neither can I,” Zoë half jokes with a huff, rubbing at the dried up blood on her chin, which is starting to itch. “Good luck,” he wishes her. “We’ll keep in touch.”

Zoë watches him head back for his car as he gestures to his partner to follow him, who was asking Dean some questions. After all, he did demolish a hotel window with a shotgun, but it seems like he’s cutting him some slack. Good for him, because even though she doesn’t like the idea, he did save her ass.

The oldest of the Winchester boys remains standing on the sidewalk. He takes a moment as he looks around. The PPD start to gather their belongings and the first police car leaves the scene. Sam is in the room, looking for leads. Then Dean spots Zoë inside the ambulance and saunters over. “Hate those damn interrogations,” he mumbles as he leans against the left door of the van. “Right there with ya, but they won’t bother us anymore,” she states. “Good riddance,” he comments as he watches the cars leave, then he turns to Zoë, observing her for a moment. “How do you feel?” “I got my ass kicked by a ten year old. How do you think I feel?” she returns snarky.

Dean nods in agreement, being able to imagine that, a smirk adorning his features. “At least you didn’t get killed,” he argues. “You’re the first to survive an attack like that.” “True enough,” Zoë agrees.

Silence follows, the huntress taking the opportunity to take in the guy in his mid twenties. The suit he’s still wearing looks good on him. At first sight you would think he’s comfortable in one, but the loosened tie gives him away. The warmth of midday plus the action, caused beads of sweat to form a trail along his hairline, his skin shimmers. His strong features stand out against the blue sky. With his lips slightly purged, he watches the scene, the sun catching the apple green of his irises. Zoë might not be able to stand the older Winchester brother, but he certainly is handsome.

She isn’t the type of person to apologize, but does realize that his quick thinking saved her life. Strangely enough, that never happened to her before. She never needed to be saved, she was always able to take care of herself. Or is it that there never was anyone there to save her, and she had a little luck with getting out of sticky situations?

“Hey, Dean?” She hesitates. He turns his head to face her, waiting for what she was about to say. “I just wanna say, uh...” she speaks with difficulty. “You kinda saved my ass out there, so--” “Don’t mention it,” he responds before she finishes her sentence.

Dean watches her and smiles slightly when she averts her gaze. Seems like she might start to realize that she can’t always make it on her own. He relieves her from the confronting words, though, he knows it’s difficult to say them out loud.

As the huntress slips off the gurney, she flinches and puts her arm around her side when her ribs ache. Dean tries to make eye contact. “Sure you can hunt like this?” “Of course I can. I had worse,” she snaps, the peaceful moment gone in an instance. Dean shows his hand in innocence, burying the other in his pocket. “Just askin’.”

At that moment, Sam walks up to them, hopefully with some new information. His identification hangs from his neck, so that the police still at the scene know who he pretends to be without asking. “Smart move, Zo,” he compliments, crumbling salt between his finger and thumb. “Where did you find that?” Dean asks, curiously. “On the windowsill. I always salt every entrance of a place where I dare to close my eyes”, Zoë explains before Sam can. “No idea how she got inside in the first place, though.” “She could have come in through the vents,” Sam considers. “I’ll just sleep in a circle of salt next time then,” the huntress mutters. “What did you find?” “Nothing. Same situation as the other three incidents, only you survived.” Sam claims. “I keep wondering, though; how is she able to relocate? I’ve never seen a ghost jump houses like that before, unless they are tied to an object, but you didn’t bring back anything from the crime scene, did you?” Zoë shakes her head. “No, I didn’t. The only explanation I can think of is that she latches onto the person who was there when she manifests, but even that doesn’t add up. “Did Laura say anything?” Dean wonders.

The huntress breaks eye contact with the older Winchester brother. Oh, Laura said something, alright. Something she will not forget anytime soon. Ghosts have the ability to see right through people, sometimes even read their thoughts and memories. The deepest secrets aren’t safe when the afterlife sets in. It scares her that Laura knows about her, about the demon. About John.

“She mentioned something,” she brings up, leaving the personal stuff out. “She kept saying ‘they didn’t stop it’.” “I heard her say that too,” Sam admits. “In your vision?” Dean checks. Sam confirms with a nod and turns back to Zoë. “Did you see anything else?” Sam questions.

The young woman looks away while she ponders. What other details could be of importance? By replaying the moment in her head, she tries to remember every particular detail. “Her hair was drenched,” she recalls with closed eyes. “Water was dripping on the floor. She was wet through.” Both boys frown at that. How does that fit their theories? “That doesn’t make any sense,” Dean comments. “Ghosts look like that when they went for a swim and didn’t come back up, not when they got killed in a beating. Water had nothing to do with her death, she broke her neck.” “I know, another clue of which we have no idea of what the hell it means,” Zoë sighs.

All three fall quiet, trying to figure out what they are missing. Before they can brainstorm further, one of the two paramedics approaches them. The hunters keep their mouths shut when he gets close enough to pick up on any conversation, careful not to talk about the supernatural when unknowing people are around. “Mrs. Evans? I’m afraid we have to take you to the St. Bernards Medical Center in Jonesboro,” he tells her. “What? Why? The AMMC is right around the corner,” Sam jumps in before Zoë refuses to go to any hospital at all. “The ER has been closed down, Sir,” the paramedic answers politely. “For what?” Dean likes to know.

Then two police cars rush by. A bit startled, Zoë glances around the van to see what’s going on, as another car stops. She’s surprised to see that Detective Lee rolls down his window. “Federal agents,” he greets them with a nod. “We have another one at the Medical Center.” Their eyes widen and Zoë’s jaw drops. Another one? How did that happen so fast? Dean is the first to recover from the unexpected news. “We’ll be right there,” he states.

Lee rolls up his window and accelerates. Sirens scream through the street as they drive up the road. The hunters watch the convoy take off, still taken aback. They don’t need a name, they already know who Laura killed. “Hughes,” Dean knows. “Yep,” Zoë sighs and gets on her feet. “Mrs. Evans,” the paramedic objects. “I don’t need to go to hospital. I’m fine, thank you,” Zoë ensures. The first responder insists, however. “I really recommend you to come with us.” “I’ll sign the AMA, thank you,” she returns, her tone stern yet polite. “We’ll take care of her,” Dean backs her up

Sam eyes him, unpleasantly surprised; how could he agree with that? She almost got killed by a ghost, broke her ribs and now she doesn’t even want to be checked out? When he gets a warning glare from both his brother and the huntress when he is about to object, he closes his mouth again. What’s the use anyway. They are both stubborn as hell.

Moments later, the paramedic returns with the Deny Medical Treatment form, which Zoë signs under her false name. Leaving the paramedics behind, she shuffles across the parking lot of the Hampton Inn, reluctantly accepting a supporting shoulder to lean on offered by Sam when he detects she’s still feeling dizzy. “You’re nuts, you know that?” Sam scoffs. “Completely aware,” she answers, this not being the first time someone calls her crazy. “You’re not alright, Zo,” Sam presses. “You’re talking like I’m halfway dead!” she cries out. “Well, you came pretty damn close!” he snaps. “Dude, chill. I know you’re worried about your little girlfriend here, but she has to stay with us,” Dean brings to mind as they reach his Chevrolet. “Excuse me, dickhead, but I’m not little and I’m certainly not his girlfriend,” Zoë corrects, offended.

Before he can respond, Sam also objects. “Why does she have to stay with us?” “Because if she doesn’t, she’ll be alone and Laura will attack her again. We’re not leaving her out of our sight.” Dean opens the door to the backseat of his precious Impala and makes a gesture to Zoë. “Get in.” he orders. “What, in that?” Zoë chuckles as she glares at Dean’s baby inferiorly, letting go of Sam to stand on her own feet. “No thanks, I’ll take the Dave.” “You’re not getting on a bike,” Dean makes clear before she intends to head over to her black roadrunner, irritated by her tone. “It’s not a bike, it’s a Harley Davidson Road King,” she corrects snobby. “If I ride, I ride my Dave, no way you’ll get me in that car.” “That car is a ’67 Chevrolet Impala”, he counters, his face contorting after her insult. How dare she? Zoë pretends the older Winchester brother is non-existent and walks on, while Sam laughs silently as Dean grinds his teeth and watches her leave. “Wipe that damn smile off your face and get in,” the oldest orders his brother.

Sam doesn’t stop smiling, but he does get into the classic as Dean settles in the driver’s seat. Frustrated, Dean starts the engine and roughly drives up to Zoë, then he brings his car to a stop between her and her motorcycle. By this time he has already rolled down his window and now stares up into Zoë’s dark eyes.

“You know just as well as I do that riding that Harley in your condition would be close to suicide. Quit being so fucking stubborn and get in the fucking car!” he commands. They stare at each other, their eyes battling in silence. Huffing in disbelief, she averts her gaze, shaking her head as she attempts to tame her anger. How dare he speak to her like that? “Zo, c’mon. We just want you to be safe,” Sam offers, taking a more gentle approach.

The huntress shifts her focus to the youngest brother, his warm eyes begging her to just get in and stop acting tough. Of course she knows it wouldn’t be an easy ride on her bike and that being driven in a car is far more responsible than riding down the highway herself on a two-wheel vehicle. It’s admitting this to Dean that she detests. Nevertheless, Zoë lets out a sigh, thick with annoyance. Reluctantly, she reaches for the door-latch, but she’s not willing to give in without having the last word. “I thought you said it was a ’67 Chevrolet Impala,” she recalls, using air quotes, as she sits down in the back seat.

Dean rolls his eyes, ignores her comment with difficulty, biting the inside of his cheek to distract himself. As she slams the door, he accelerates. While they exit the parking lot of the Hampton Inn, Dean once again realizes how badly he wants this case to be over, because if Laura does not succeed, he would like to break Zoë’s little neck himself.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter twelve here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean fanfiction #Sam fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #SPN #Dean x OFC #Sam x OFC #Dean angst #sam angst #Dark!Supernatural

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