longsufferingly

Title: Jersey Devil
Author:

chash
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Past Sam/Dean.
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: AU, non-related Winchesters.
Word Count: 1300 words.
Summary: Sam and Dean head to New Jersey in search of clues.
Notes: Previous parts here. There will be one more story in this "episode" (episode 2!); ideally, it will go up tomorrow.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.

Sam's quiet for most of the drive, leaning his head against the window and only piping up when he has to for navigational help. It would be nice, if Dean wanted time to think, but he really doesn't.

When Dean wanted to piss himself off, he'd tell himself that Sam probably had found another boyfriend, or a girlfriend, just someone else, anyone else. Someone who fit into the new life Sam wanted so much; someone who mattered. And Dean can't deny the warmth that spreads in him, knowing he was wrong. Knowing Sam never could give him up.

But then he hears John Winchester's last message in his head and really wishes Sam was conscious enough to distract him.

Sam does perk up as they get closer to Jersey, giving Dean more instructions. He;s still quieter today, though, and Dean wonders if it's sinking in, what's happened, or if it's all the hangover. He hasn't seen Sam deal with real grief before, and he doesn't know how to recognize it or how to help help. And the things he does know, he doesn't want to do.

It would be so easy to reach over, squeeze Sam's shoulder, pet his hair, anything.

Instead, he pulls into a motel and gets them two queen beds.

"You can have first shower," he says. "Perk you up."

"Thanks," says Sam, shuffling off.

Dean leans back on the bed, pulling out his phone.

The message is short, John's voice breaking up a little as he talks, dropped syllables but the message is still clear. Dean half wants to erase it, except that he's already memorized it, and it wouldn't make any difference.

Dean, it's John. I've...ound something. I don't know wh...call again, I need you to listen to me. Save Sam. And if you can't save him, you have to kill him.

*

"The Jersey Devil," says Sam, flipping through a book at their diner, "is supposedly between three and seven feet tall with a long neck, wings, and hooved feet. Beyond that, there isn't a lot of consistency in the legends."

"You sure we should be focusing on the Jersey Devil?" Dean asks, taking a gulp of coffee. "Maybe there's a vampire problem."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Vampires are extinct, Dean."

Dean smirks. "They are not."

"What? Since when?"

"Me and Bobby found a nest of them outside Colorado a few years back."

Sam looks impressed. "How is Bobby, anyway?" he asks.

"Same as ever," says Dean. "He took out that shapeshifter."

"By himself?"

"Bobby's a badass," Dean replies.

"Right," says Sam, smiling a little at his plate. "Yeah."

"So," says Dean, mostly to distract himself from how fucking cute Sam Winchester still is, "Jersey Devil. Why're we sure?"

"We're not," says Sam, sighing. "But the area's right, we've got significant lore, and no other leads. Even if it's not what we're looking for, I'd say it's our best place to start looking."

"Because they're not gonna run us out of town?" asks Dean.

"Exactly. No one's going to think twice if we're looking into the Jersey Devil. And if we go from there into unexplained deaths..."

"Right," Dean nods. He risks a smile. "Kind of like riding a bike, isn't it?"

Sam flushes. "Yeah. Guess so."

*

"Weekly World News?" asks Sam, squinting at his ID. "Didn't they shut down?"

"I hear they're making a comeback. Besides, I haven't got any other press badges with your name on them."

"Hate to break it to you, Dean, but my name isn't Luke Hamill."

"Shut up. Where are we going?"

"Sheriff?"

"You really think the sheriff's gonna talk to us about the Jersey Devil?"

"We're not going to get much about unexplained deaths from the New Jersey Devil Hunters."

Dean raises his eyebrow. "Is that a real thing?"

"Very real."

"Okay, fine, sheriff. Just let me do the talking, okay?"

"Right behind you, Mr. Ford," says Sam with a smirk.

Dean snorts. "You wish you could come up with codenames this cool."

*

"The Jersey Devil?" asks the sheriff, looking dubious.

"Our readers are very interested in supernatural deaths," says Dean. "Anything you could tell us about--"

"Boys," says the sheriff, hitting Dean with a measured glare, "we don't have any deaths caused by the Jersey Devil."

"Not even cattle?" asks Sam. Dean's impressed--he hadn't even thought of cattle mutilations. If it is a demon that John was tracking, dead cows would be a pretty big tip-off.

The sheriff leans back, steepling her fingers. She reminds Dean, uncomfortably, of his mother. "Our area has its share of mysterious injuries, gentlemen. Everywhere does. But none of them are caused by any devil, boys."

"Do you know anyone who's reported seeing anything unusual recently?" asks Sam. "Someone who could give us a testimonial."

That's how they end up at a guy named Hank Oliver's house, banging on the door. It turns out--unsurprisingly--that getting older hasn't killed Sam's puppy-dog charm even a little, and even the sheriff finally melted. Dean's glad Sam's mostly on his side. The kid's dangerous.

"Who're you?" asks Hank Oliver. He's about thirty, on the pudgy side, with thick glasses. A total dweeb, Dean thinks.

"I'm Sam," says Sam, before Dean can stop him, "this is Dean. We're looking in to recent Jersey Devil sightings."

"Yeah?" asks Hank. "Why?"

"Grad school paper," says Dean. "Heard you might be able to help us."

Hank gestures them in. "Guess I can. I've been looking in to it a lot myself, since I saw what I saw. I never really believed in it much, you know? Heard about it, but...I never thought..."

"What exactly did you see?" asks Sam.

"Something like everyone says. Tall--taller than you, I think," he says, gesturing to Sam. "Black wings. Head like a horse."

"What did it do?"

"Do?" asks Hank, measuring Dean with his stare.

"Yeah," says Dean. "Attack you? Howl? Polka?"

Sam elbows him. "What Dean means is--we've heard the Jersey Devil isn't dangerous to people. But you seem pretty shaken up."

Hank laughs. "Like anyone knows anything about what that thing is. Look, it--" he holds out his arm, rolls up his sleeve to show off thick, deep gashes. "It jumped on me, flew off."

Sam's looking at the cuts, probably trying to estimate what kind of claws would make that kind of wound. "Why'd it run?" Dean asks. "You do anything?"

"I gasped," says Hank. "It was freaky."

"Anyone else with you?"

"No," says Hank. "But I thought I saw it holding something. A kid. But--it was pretty dark. I was pretty scared. I don't know. I could have been wrong."

"Where was it?" asks Dean.

"A little ways out of town," he says. He gives Sam the directions, and Sam dutifully writes them down, saying he'll compare them to the other reported sightings for the paper. Sam lies easier than he used to--Dean shouldn't be surprised.

Once Sam's done with his notes, he smiles encouragingly, nods once. "Thanks for your time, Mr. Oliver. We appreciate it."

"Are you going to go looking for it?" asks Hank.

"Why?" asks Dean.

"It's dangerous," says Hank.

"We'll be careful," Sam assures him, smiling his reassuring smile, and Dean tries to remember how he and John and Bobby got along without anyone with people skills.

It's going to be important, when Sam leaves again.

"It's not the Jersey Devil," says Sam when they get to the car.

"Oh, so when we had no evidence whatsoever, it was the Jersey Devil, but now that we have an eyewitness who saw it, it's something else."

"Every account of the Jersey Devil has hooved feet," says Sam, sliding into shotgun. "There were four clawmarks on his arm, Dean--claws."

"So it got him with its hands," says Dean.

"It was jumping on him to take off, it would've used its feet."

"So what the hell is it?" asks Dean.

Sam holds up his piece of paper. "Let's go find out."