Season Three

Episode Twenty: No Excuses

By SnSam

Part Two

Barton Residence

Sam took a step forward, trying to get the distraught, hysterical woman to release the knife from her own throat. He knew from the bloodied, unmoving body on the floor that it was too late for the girl, but maybe they could save Gwen Barton from the same grisly fate. At least he hoped so.

Gwen realized what he was doing and jerked the knife away from her throat to thrust it menacingly at the brothers while taking a couple of steps back. “Stay away from me!” she growled as tears streamed down her face in steady rivulets.

Sam held up one hand in a placating gesture while he holstered his weapon with the other, finally lifting both hands to show her he was unarmed.

“Sam, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean hissed fiercely.

Just shut up for once, Dean, Sam silently pleaded, refusing to answer, which he knew was pissing off his brother. But he also knew Dean would have his back which made this crazy stunt he was pulling even less…crazy?

Screw it—he can kick my ass for it later.

There was no doubt in Sam’s mind Dean would do just that.

“Dude, do you have a friggin’ death wish or something?” Dean asked. “Don’t you know not to tangle with a chick, especially if she’s wielding a knife?”

“Dean…” Sam said through clenched teeth. Then he focused all his attention on Gwen, who was staring at him with wide, crazed eyes. “We’re not here to hurt you, Gwen. We want to help you.”

Gwen barked out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. “Help me? How the hell do you possibly think you can help me? Can you bring me my daughter back?”

Sam eased another step forward. “No, but we’d like—”

Gwen shook her head vehemently as she thrust the knife forward, narrowly missing Sam as he dodged out of the way.

“Son of a bitch, Sam,” Dean muttered. “I hope to hell this wasn’t part of your brilliant plan. Stanford education, my ass…”

“Dean, just chill out,” Sam said, making sure to keep his eyes on Gwen. He wasn’t stupid enough to turn his back on her, considering she’d probably have no qualms about killing him especially after she just stabbed her own flesh and blood.

“Don’t tell me to chill out, Sam,” Dean said angrily. “This chick just tried to make a kebab out of your ass.”

“Helping or hurting, Dean?” Sam bit back.

“I’ll show you how helpful I’ll be after she sticks you,” Dean muttered. “Bet you’ll be begging for it when you’re on the ground bleeding to death.”

Sam ignored his brother and his drama queen antics. He could give Dean a hard time for that later—if he didn’t manage to get himself killed in the next few minutes.

Maybe this is stupid, he thought frantically. Maybe I am an idiot for even attempting this.

Sam shook his head slightly, forcing the thoughts to go away. No way was he about to take the defeatist attitude. They could still save this woman and he wasn’t about to tuck tail and run without giving it all he had to offer.

Sam held his ground as he lifted his hands once more in a peaceful manner. “Tell me what happened here, Gwen,” he prodded gently.

Gwen stared at him in disbelief as another sob wracked her body. “What, are you blind?” she demanded in a shrill voice. “I killed my own daughter—my Daphne is dead! What kind of mother would do that to her child?”

“How do you know you killed her?” Sam asked softly. “She could still be alive.”

The woman stiffened as she glanced behind Sam, and the younger hunter turned around to see Dean kneeling next to the fallen girl. Glancing up at Sam with a saddened expression, Dean shook his head.

Dammit…I was hoping I was right. Sam turned to Gwen just as the woman dropped the knife and collapsed to her knees, sobbing brokenly into her hands. Sam rushed to her side, making sure he kicked the blade out of the way before leaning down to envelop her in a comforting hug.

Gwen clutched onto Sam as if he was her last remaining tether to this world. “Why?” she wailed. “Oh, my God…why would I do this to my Daphne? She was just a little girl for God’s sakes.”

“Shhh…” Sam soothed as he stroked her hair. “It’s gonna be okay.” He shifted his eyes to see his brother was staring at them, clearly uncomfortable with the display of emotion playing out before him. But he wisely remained quiet for which Sam was entirely grateful.

Maybe I’ll let the drama queen bit slide…

“How can you tell me it’s going to be okay?” Gwen demanded, her voice slightly muffled from keeping her face smothered against the young hunter’s shoulder. “Nothing can ever make this okay.”

Sam had no argument for that so instead he pulled her away gently and asked, “Why would you kill your daughter, Gwen?”

The mother shook her head, perplexed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “One second, I was in the kitchen fixing her a snack and the next, I felt this blinding rage. Then there was nothing.”

“Did Daphne say something to upset you or anything?” Sam inquired.

“Not that I know of,” Gwen stated. “All I remember is hearing all of these noises, clouding my head. I just wanted a release from it so I grabbed the knife off the butcher’s block and came back in here. And then I…” Gwen’s voice trailed off as she began crying once again.

“You stabbed Daphne,” Sam finished for her.

The woman nodded and tried to control her sobbing before answering. “I-I don’t re-remember stabbing D-Daphne.” She took a deep breath and seemed more in control of her voice when she continued. “When I snapped out of it, I was looking down at her and you two came in.”

Sam nodded mutely.

Gwen’s expression became suspicious. “Who are you, anyway?”

“We were passing by when we heard screaming,” Sam answered quickly. He exchanged a furtive glance with his brother, knowing Dean was thinking the same thing—this sounded just like the other deaths.

Sam already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, but decided to go ahead with it and play dumb. “Gwen, by any chance, do you happen to be a recent organ recipient?”

Gwen frowned at the unexpected question but nodded slowly. “Yes…why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Dean said, finally speaking up. Sam was glad his sibling didn’t let loose a smart ass comment, as was his usual answer for everything.

“Dean, do you think you can call nine-one-one?” Sam asked softly, glancing back at the distraught woman he still held in his arms.

Dean nodded silently before stepping out of the room, pulling his cell phone out of his jacket pocket to make the call.

“Can I ask what you received?” Sam asked gently when they were alone.

“Why?”

Sam shrugged casually and waited for her to answer.

“A liver,” Gwen eventually answered. “I was diagnosed with hemochromatosis and the treatments were no longer working for me. It’s a genetic disease that causes me to retain too much iron in my liver. Eventually it just gave out. I got the new one about five months ago after remaining on the donor list for a while.”

“That’s great that they were able to find you one,” Sam said sincerely as he helped her up from the floor and led her to the sofa.

The woman’s eyes filled with tears once again. “I never meant to do this. You have to understand—I would never do anything to hurt my daughter,” Gwen pleaded. “She was the only thing I had left in this world. There’s nothing for me here if I don’t have her.”

Sam frowned, sensing where she was headed with the conversation. “That can’t be true. You have a lot left in this world. If that weren’t true, then I don’t think you would have received your new liver. It was a gift.”

Gwen shook her head. “It was for Daphne. I got this because she still needed me in her life.” She looked down at her daughter’s body. “She needed her mommy.”

Dean returned to the room just as Gwen broke down once again. Shooting Sam another uncomfortable glance, he waited for his brother to join him before he said anything. “The police and ambulance are on their way, which means we need to bail.”

Sam nodded before looking at Gwen. “Do you have a neighbor who can stay with you, Gwen? I don’t feel right about leaving you alone.”

Gwen nodded as she kneeled down and scooped her daughter up in her arms, rocking her gently. “Denise—my sister. She lives next door. Her number is by the phone.” She glanced down at Daphne and began to hum, seeming to tune out everything else around her.

“I’ll give her a call,” Dean excused himself.

Sam said nothing as he turned away to give Gwen the privacy she needed with her daughter. The next ten minutes passed in a blur as a frantic Denise joined the fray and sobbing and wails filled the air.

Somehow, the brothers managed to escape before the police swarmed the neighborhood.

Edd’s Drive-In

Dean sat in his car outside the hopping burger joint, trying in vain to drown out the bubblegum pop issuing from the establishment’s outdoor speakers with his own radio. It really shouldn’t have surprised him, considering most of the people here were college kids, but there had to be something better than this crap. Still, he tried turning up the volume to the local classic rock station, but it was quickly losing the battle. Somehow, the new Acorn or Achin’ or whoever the hell it was, was finding its way through the classic guitar riffs.

Giving up, the hunter turned off the radio, instead letting his thoughts wander as he waited for his order to be called. Glancing out the window, he looked with unfocused eyes at the passing diners—including some very hot college chicks—as his mind played out what they knew so far.

Which admittedly wasn’t very much to gawk at.

They knew that people were dying—organ recipients taking out their loved ones before offing themselves. So far, the only connection seemed to be that the recipients received their organs around the same time—five to six months ago. Other than that, they had nothing until Sam could come up with something better.

If it was up to Dean, they would have already packed their bags and motored. He just didn’t see where there was a hunt here. His humble opinion—people were going stark raving mad and the organ transplants were just a coincidence.

A big coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless.

But Dean wouldn’t bail because he could clearly see that Sam thought there was something hokey going on. He knew there would be no swaying his little brother’s mind, especially after what happened a couple hours prior. Which reminded Dean that he so needed to kick Sam’s ass for that little stunt he pulled.

Maybe some hot sauce all over his burger. Or I could always stop at the drug store and pick up some Ex-Lax to put in his drink….

Dean knew his sibling was willing to go to great lengths to save an innocent life. Hell, Dean was willing to do the same thing, too. But going at a psychotic woman armed with a knife while you remained unarmed? Hell-friggin-no.

And Dean knew a thing or two about a pissed off woman, considering he’d left his fair share in his wake. Give him the demons and monsters, but leave the schizo women for someone else—it was a rule Dean Winchester lived by…religiously.

Oh, do we need to bring up Mia, then?

“Shut the hell up,” Dean muttered to the nagging voice in his head. “That was different.”

You wanna explain that one there, hotshot?

“Not particularly, no.”

The case wasn’t the only thing that was bothering Dean. He couldn’t help but wonder about the hang-up calls he’d been getting recently. It had been occurring for the past two weeks or so and it was turning into a head-scratcher for him. Dean believed what he’d told Sam though—it wasn’t their father.

So then who the hell was it?

Dean wasn’t one to give his number out. In fact, he could probably count on one hand how many people knew his digits, though his overflowing phone book in his cell phone would tell a different story.

Try as he might, Dean tried not to worry about the mysterious phone calls, but he couldn’t help it. It had never been stated that Dean Winchester liked the unknown—quite the opposite. Even though he worked with it on a daily basis, it didn’t make it any easier. He just wished to hell whoever it was would have the stones to actually say something to him.

Letting out a weary sigh, Dean glanced at his watch, noting that he’d been sitting in the parking lot for fifteen minutes now.

“What did they have to do? Slaughter Bessie the Cow in the back or something?” he wondered.

The sudden chirp of his cell phone startled Dean, causing the hunter to jump. Digging into his pocket, he jerked it out neglecting to glance at the screen, figuring it was Sam with some news.

“Whatcha got, Sammy?” Dean asked as way of greeting.

“Hello, lover,” purred a female voice.

Okay, definitely not Sam unless he’s been loading up on the estrogen.

Then it hit Dean like a wave of ice cold water.

“Mia.”

“Nice to know I’m still on your mind,” Mia cooed and Dean could practically hear the smile in her voice.

Dean said nothing as he tried to get over his initial shock. He figured he shouldn’t really be too surprised—it’s not like he didn’t know she was still out there.

“No witty remark, Dean?” Mia asked. “I’m disappointed. I always took you for a man who didn’t know when to shut his piehole.”

Dean felt anger course through his body as she threw back one of his favorite words back at him. “Where the hell have you been hiding?”

Mia chuckled. “What makes you think I’ve been hiding, Dean?”

“You haven’t shown your demonic ass around lately.”

“Does that mean you’ve been missing me? Aw, I’m flattered, Dean.” Mia let out a hearty sigh. “Actually, I’m enjoying the sights of Tahlequah right now. Interesting town. It makes me wonder why I never made it here before, considering Warner never had much to wink at.”

“Yeah, I can see how slaughtering innocent people could take away from that.”

The demon hybrid chuckled, ignoring Dean as she continued. “I gotta say, the Wagon Trail Inn definitely has a lot to offer in the form of sights.”

Dean felt as if someone punched him in the stomach at the mention of the Wagon Trail Inn. The bitch knows where we’re staying. Sammy’s sitting in there all alone—unprotected. And I left him there. Way to friggin’ go, Dean!

She could be lying though, Dean argued with himself. She could just be screwing with me. But am I really willing to take that chance? Hell no—I made that mistake with her once and no way in hell am I doing it again.

“Room fifteen is looking particularly delicious, Dean,” Mia purred.

“You bitch…you better stay the hell away from my brother,” Dean growled through clenched teeth. He could hear his phone creaking as he gripped it tighter to his ear and he had to force himself to relinquish some of his hold on it.

“Hey, did you ever notice how Sammy gets this little crease between his eyebrows when he’s in deep concentration? It kind of makes a girl wonder how easy it would be to slip inside and gut the cute little geek like a pig.”

“Mia…”

The girl ignored him. “Tell me something, Dean—how hard would it be to get baby brother’s blood out of the motel linens and carpet? I hear that cold water works like a charm on set-in stains like that.”

“I’ve got an order for four cheeseburgers—two with extra onions—two fries, and a chocolate milkshake!” a female voice called out and Dean realized it was his long-awaited order.

Ignoring it, Dean thrust the car into drive and tore out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. He usually was one who wouldn’t be so hard on his baby, but this was one of those rare occasions where speed was more important that his girl’s wellbeing.

Son of a bitch! Why did I have to find a damn diner that was fifteen freakin’ minutes away from the motel? Stupid, stupid Dean!

“You might want to watch that speed, Dean,” Mia taunted.

“Yeah? You might want to kiss my ass.”

“Temper, temper, Dean. Besides, I’ve already had the pleasure of kissing every part of your body,” Mia said, laughing as she heard Dean’s grunt of disgust. “You know, rage and speeding is never a good combo when it comes to driving. Are you really willing to risk an innocent person’s life in order to save little ol’ Sammy?”

“I swear on everything that’s holy, Mia, if you touch one hair on that kid’s head, I will hunt you down and tear you limb from limb.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t believe in all that holy crap, isn’t it?” Mia asked snidely. “You know I don’t have to touch Sam, Dean. I will admit, it does kind of take the fun out of it, though, since I have a lot of toys I never got to play with when I had you…”

“Mia…” Dean warned.

“Who the hell am I kidding, Dean? I’m not worried about what you can do to me,” Mia replied. “You couldn’t find me before this and you won’t find me now.”

Before Dean could reply, the click on the other end of the line told the hunter that the girl was already gone. Quickly dialing Sam’s number, Dean became worried when it went straight to voicemail.

“Come on, dude…don’t do this to me now,” Dean pleaded as he dialed again.

“This is Sam. Leave—”

“Dammit!” Dean screamed as he hit the steering wheel in frustration. There were plenty of explanations as to why Sam wasn’t answering his phone—he could be on the other line, it could be dead, Mia could be killing him right now…

That last possibility had Dean putting on even more speed as be raced back towards the motel, praying to the very holy things he’d threatened Mia with that the police were taking the night off.

Wagon Trail Inn

Sam Winchester was a man on a mission as he scribbled furiously into the notepad sitting on the table between him and his faithful laptop. Ever since he got back from the Barton home over half an hour ago, he was focused on getting together any information he could about the case and he hadn’t stopped yet. Some people would categorize that behavior as obsessive while Sam would argue that it was passionate.

He needed to get to the bottom of this before anyone else had to go through the same misery Gwen Barton was now facing. Sam knew in just the short time talking to her that she never wanted this to happen, not in a million years. There had to be something else going on and Sam would be damned if he wasn’t going to find out what it was.

The four or five pages of notes, not to mention the pile of printouts, would show just how determined the young hunter was.

“And topping our news this evening…”

Sam stopped his writing and turned to face the small television as the anchorman continued with the newscast.

“The police are investigating the death of a nine-year-old girl. Gwen Barton has been arrested for the fatal stabbing of her daughter, Daphne. We now join Amy Miller who is on the scene—Amy?”

“Thank you, Tommy,” the petite blonde said as she stared into the camera with a somber expression. “As you can see behind me, the police are still working the murder scene and have not been able to offer up a motive for the slaying. Earlier, I spoke to a few of Gwen Barton’s neighbors and they all claimed pretty much the same thing—that she was a caring, polite woman and someone who was completely devoted to her daughter. The investigation is still in the very early stages and when we’re able to find out more, we’ll let you know. Back to you, Tommy.”

“Thanks, Amy,” Tommy said with a nod. “The governor held a press conference today—”

Sam shut off the television with a sigh, feeling sorry for the incarcerated woman. A small part of him wished he could just tell the media and the police the truth, but not only would they not believe him, he would be in a heap of trouble, not to mention most likely locked up in an asylum for the rest of his life.

Instead, he would just keep working on his research and hope he could find something to help not only her, but the remaining two people as well.

Turning back to his computer once again, Sam was about to jot down some more notes when he heard what sounded like a thump coming from the bathroom. Frowning, he pushed away from the table while at the same time palming his gun that was sitting next to the laptop.

Sam figured it may be something from outside the room or a next-door neighbor banging up against the wall, but in his line of work you just could never be too sure. That kind of attitude could get you killed in an instant, considering the creatures they dealt with on a daily and nightly basis. Lord knows there were a lot of them out there anxious to get their hands on any of the Winchester clan.

Stopping at the closed door, Sam took a deep breath, steadying himself for whatever may be in there. Reaching out a hand, he turned the knob slowly and flung it open, causing the door to slam against the wall. A cool breeze met him and Sam frowned as he spotted the open window in the faint glow of the moonlight.

“What’s that doing open?” Sam wondered aloud as he reached over to turn on the light. The sudden brightness had him blinking, and when he could see clearly, he spied an overturned bottle of shampoo in the bathtub. I guess the wind must have knocked it over.

“That still doesn’t explain how the window got open,” Sam muttered as he lowered his weapon. “I guess Dean must have opened it he took a shower.”

Before Sam could give it any more thought, the door to the room burst open with a loud bang. Not hesitating, the young hunter turned into the room, gun raised once again, startled to see Dean aiming his Colt 1911 at his chest.

“Dean, what the hell?”

“Sammy, are you okay?” Dean lowered his gun slightly.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam replied as he put his down.

Dean shot a pointed look at Sam’s gun.

The younger Winchester shrugged sheepishly. “I thought I heard something in the bathroom.”

Without a word, Dean pushed past Sam and entered the bathroom, sweeping the tiny space with a cautious eye. “Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone when I called you?”

Sam frowned as he dug his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s dead,” he answered simply.

Dean shot him a surprised look.

“I thought the battery was still strong on it. I guess I was wrong.” He nodded towards the window. “Dude, why did you leave the window open? You’re usually more cautious than that.”

Dean’s expression became hard. “I didn’t.”

Sam watched, confused, as Dean breezed by him and into the room once again. He could tell by Dean’s attitude that there was definitely something more going on. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

Sighing deeply, Dean tossed his gun on his bed and collapsed down next to it. “We’ve got an unwelcome visitor in town.”

Sam sat down across from Dean. “What do you mean?”

“Mia—she’s been my mystery caller.”

“Are you serious?” Sam asked, his blue-green eyes widening.

“Dude, you think I’d really joke about something like this?” Dean asked, arching a brow. “She called me again—just now. She said she was in town and that she was watching you. The bitch said she was gonna carve you up.”

“Is that why you decided to go Rambo on our door?” Sam teased.

“This isn’t something to joke about, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was like stone.

“Sorry,” Sam murmured, knowing that his brother was secretly freaked about this latest development. “I guess that explains the open window.”

“Probably.” Dean let out another sigh. “Were you able to find out anything?”

Okay, obvious subject change, but I’ll let Dean have it.

Smiling, Sam got up from the bed and collected his notebook and printouts. “I found out who our mystery donor was.”

“Really?”

Sam nodded as he sat down on the bed once again. “It was a guy by the name of Peter Hines.”

“I thought you said those records were confidential?” Dean pointed out. “How did you get your hands on them?”

“Because I’m brilliant,” Sam answered. “And it’s not too hard to get them if you know what you’re doing.”

Dean frowned. “That would have been nice to know back in high school. It would have saved me a lot of grief over my grades.”

Sam grinned. “Dude, I could have given you straight A’s and it still wouldn’t have made a difference given with how much trouble you stayed in. Don’t you still hold the record for the most detentions in a single year?”

“Believe me, it was a lot better than spending all of my free time in the library every single day,” Dean retorted.

“Someone had to study up and be the brains of this messed up outfit.”

“Can we just move on, please?”

Sam chuckled. “So, ten years ago Peter Hines was arrested and convicted for the torture and murder of ten people and subsequently sentenced to death for his crimes.”

“What kind of psycho freak are we talking about here?”

Sam thumbed through the papers before handing Dean a stack he’d obtained from the local law enforcement’s database. “We’re talking Hannibal Lector psycho here—he wasn’t picky about the sex of his victims, but the age mattered to him. He’d only take people between eighteen and twenty-five. After he’d take them, he would torture them for days before finally dismembering them—while they were still alive, albeit barely.”

Dean cringed as he looked through the crime scene photos. “That’s just sick and deranged and only proves what I say about people.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed as he took the pictures from Dean. His brother wasn’t lying about the murders—each photo showed the victims in various stages of dismemberment, intricately laid out, blood coating everything.

“You would think this guy would clean up a little better before the police showed up,” Dean commented.

Sam shook his head. “Apparently, Hines liked the shock value he caused. He was careful not to leave any forensic evidence behind before personally calling the police to tell them where they could find the next body.”

“Ballsy,” Dean said, eyebrows shooting up in shock. “So, how did he get himself caught?”

“He got careless—or rather, full of himself. A witness saw him carry in a girl,” Sam explained. “The police acted quickly and busted him just as he was beginning to torture her. Luckily, she lived through the ordeal.”

“Maybe not so lucky if she had to live with that nightmare for the rest of her life.”

Sam didn’t have an argument for that. “Six months ago, Hines’ due date comes up, but two days before the state can carry out his execution, he takes himself out. The doctors tried to save him, but he did a pretty good job of slashing his own throat—there was nothing they could do.”

“There was probably nothing the docs wanted to do. The bastard deserved to die.”

Although Sam agreed completely with his bother, he just shrugged. “Hines was an organ donor. His organs went to a number of people, mostly in Oklahoma, but some surrounding states as well.”

“Are those recipients the same as our murder-suicides?” Dean asked.

“They are.”

“I’m not saying it’s happening, but if it is, then we’re dealing with a very pissed off spirit that’s taken the term ‘possession’ to a whole new level.”

“I agree.”

Dean smirked. “You know this is sort of like The Eye.”

Sam frowned. “You’re actually kind of right about that, except for the whole freaky death vision thing.”

“I know a thing or two about some stuff,” Dean said, grinning cockily. “So, do you have any idea where Norman Bates may be buried?”

Sam shook his head. “I haven’t gotten that far yet, but I do think we need to check on our remaining two names on the list before it’s too late.”

“I think you’re right,” Dean answered and the brothers grabbed their jackets and guns before rushing out to the Impala.

“Hey, I thought you were supposed to bring us back some food?” Sam commented as they got inside.

Dean glared at his sibling. “Dude, I was kind of freaking out about a demonic bitch coming after your tall ass.”

“Wow,” Sam said with a chuckle.

“What?”

“You chose me over food. I gotta say—I’m touched.”

“Why don’t you just bite me already?” Dean grumbled as he turned the key, but the car remained silent. “Son of a bitch.”

“What is it?”

Dean didn’t immediately answer as he continued to try to start the engine. “What the hell is going on here? I just drove it not even twenty minutes ago.”

Sam remained silent, knowing nothing he could say would make Dean happy, especially where his baby was concerned. Not unless he wanted to ride in the trunk or walk for the rest of his life. Instead, he got out of the car and joined Dean who was peering under the hood.

“Did you find out what it was?” Sam asked quietly as Dean fiddled with the battery.

Before Dean could reply, the sound of approaching sirens cut through the quiet night. A convoy of fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars sped by fifteen seconds later, causing the brothers to exchange anxious glances, both afraid to voice their fears.

“The damn battery cables were disconnected,” Dean muttered, fixing them.

“How did that happen?” Sam asked as they raced back into the Impala.

“Beats me,” Dean griped as he started the car. This time the classic Chevy roared to life with a throaty grumble. Just as he threw it into reverse, his phone began to go off.

Yanking it out of his pocket, he glared at the screen before giving it to Sam. “Looks like we know who screwed with my car.”

Sam frowned as he read the text message out loud. “Run, run, run as fast as you can…you couldn’t save me and you can’t save them.” Sam looked over at his brother. “It’s Mia, isn’t it?”

Dean’s jaw was clenched as he said nothing and continued to race in the direction of the squadron. Finally, after a few more minutes of driving, they arrived in a neighborhood lit up by the strobe lights of the emergency vehicles.

“Tell me this isn’t the address we’re looking for,” Dean said quietly.

Pulling the sheet of paper out of his pocket, Sam glanced at it before nodding. “It is.”

The brothers could only watch in horror as the house before them was engulfed in flames.

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