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26 April 2009 @ 06:31 pm
Fic: Sister in Blue, Woman in White  
Supernatural fic. Gen. PG.

Summary: Samantha Winchester finds her brother Dean in her Stanford apartment... (or, in fan-speak: Genderbend rewrite of pilot, *g*)

Note: I wrote this awhile back as an exercise for myself, in how the show might've started if Sam had been a girl. It's neither beta'd (sorry) or, honestly, all that different from canon (a lot of the dialogue is lifted directly, and of course, so is the plot). Because I wrote it for myself, I didn't duplicate most of the scenes, just the ones I wanted to. And now that I've completely chased you away, here you go. :)





Sam awoke suddenly, and stayed very still, aware that something was wrong. She held her breath to listen. There was a noise out in the living room. An intruder.

It never occurred to her to wake Jesse, snoring in the bed beside her. Instead, she reached down between the mattress and box springs and pulled out a long carving knife. On silent bare feet, she padded out from the bedroom.

There he was, in shadow, coming from the kitchen. Male, almost certainly. Most likely human, since the window was now standing open.

She shaded her eyes and switched on the overhead lights. "Stay where you are!" she ordered. "The cops are on the way."

Then she frowned in recognition. "Dean?" she asked in disbelief.

He grinned at her. "Hi, Sammy." Glancing at the knife in her hand, the grin turned into a smirk. "Ooo, see the lady with the big knife. What if I'd had a gun, you idiot?"

She glared at him. "You know what I can do with this knife. What are you doing here?"

He gave a half shrug. "I was looking for a beer, and I found nothing but Diet Coke." He made a face. "What kind of bartending coed are you?"

"What are you doing here?" she repeated, less patiently, and made a point of waving the knife a little, so he would notice she hadn't put it down yet. Not that she was going to attack him or anything, but it was the middle of the night, he'd woken her up, and he was being smug and annoying.

But then there was movement behind her. "Sam?" Jesse emerged, with a puzzled frown from her to Dean and back. He certainly noticed the knife. "Everything okay?"

"Jesse, this is my brother Dean. Dean, my boyfriend Jesse." She introduced them, and decided to put the knife down before someone did something stupid.

Dean noticed that Jesse was wearing only boxers and that her camisole and sleep shorts weren't the most modest thing, and his eyes narrowed at Jesse. "Dude, you better be treating Sammy right, or we're gonna have a long chat."

Jesse straightened to his full six-four. "I'm not the one who kicked her out of the family, "dude', so maybe you should go check out the mirror before you start accusing me of shit you know nothing about."

She put her hand on Jesse's chest, and rolled her eyes at Dean. "Chill, you two. I can take care of myself. Well? Why are you here?"

Dean got all shifty and glanced at Jesse significantly. "We should talk in private."

Nice try. She gave him a not smile and didn't budge. "You can talk in front of Jesse."

"Dad's been missing for three days," Dean said.

She kept back a frustrated sigh with some effort. Dad. Of course it had to be about Dad. God fucking forbid Dean should actually just want to visit. "He goes missing all the time."

"Not like this. He was on a hunting trip," Dean said with special emphasis, his eyes meeting hers, testing how much she wanted to say in front of Jesse.

Damn it. She didn't want her fiance to find out any of this supernatural shit. "Jesse, excuse us. Dean and I are going to talk outside." Her voice was hard and tight. She had to give Dean what he wanted, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

She slipped on her jeans from yesterday and a sweater, and headed outside with Dean.

She liked it even less when he told her what had happened but he was right -- Dad wouldn't just vanish like that. It worried her more than she wanted to admit.

"Now are you coming or not?" Dean asked.

"I'm not. I'm done," she said, tucking her hands into her pockets.

"It was bad, but it wasn't that bad."

"No? When other girls were playing Barbie, I was learning to field strip an automatic. Is that what mom would've wanted?" she challenged. "For us to learn guns and knives and kickboxing, and how to make silver bullets?"

Dean turned around to face her. "Is that what you want? Some kind of apple-pie, white picket fence normal life?" he threw the words in her face, like they were bad.

"No, not normal. Safe," she answered, and she could tell by the pause that she'd caught him. Because hunting was anything but safe, and he and Dad had always been protective of her, until she'd suffocated.

He rallied, scoffing, "That's why you ran away?"

"I just went to college," she answered. Not that Dad had made it easy on her, with all the moving and the absences. She'd been lucky to graduate properly, not to mention get into Stanford. Her application essay had been more fiction than fact. Good thing she tested well. "Dad's the one who told me not to come back."

Dean opened his mouth to take their dad's side, but he switched to a new plea. "Look, Sammy, he's in trouble. If he's not already dead, he's in some kind of deep trouble or he would've called. I can't do it alone," Dean said.

"Sure you can," she retorted, not buying the big puppy eyes. Other girls fell for his fluttering eyelashes, but she was immune to the Winchester charm.

"Well, I don't want to." He scuffed the ground and wouldn't look at her. Sometimes he was such a boy. But still, she was touched, and gave in.

"Okay fine. I'll go with you, but I've got to be back Monday."

=========

Dean emerged from the gas station mart with a handful of junk food. "Breakfast?"

"No thanks." She sneered at his food choices -- a bear claw that had been in that cellophane at least a month -- and kept digging through the tape box for something she could stand for another two hours. "How'd you pay for those?" she asked as he slid behind the wheel. "You and Dad still running credit card scams?"

He gave her his best boyish grin. "We just apply, I can't help it if they send us the cards. You're looking at Hector Aframian."

She snorted, since he looked less Armenian than she did, which was not much. "When you gonna update your collection? Motor Head? Metallica? C'mon, Dean."

"Says the girl who had a Backstreet Boys poster," he retorted.

"Well, at least I outgrew my teenage lack of taste," she shot back.

He was smiling as he plucked the tape from her fingers. "House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the tunes."

He turned up the volume to some ridiculously bad big hair metal, and she winced. "'Sammy' is a six year old girl with pigtails. It's Sam, okay?"

"I can't hear you, Sammy," he shouted, grinning, and pointed to his ear. "Music's too loud."

She groaned loudly but couldn't help smiling as she leaned back in the seat and let Dean drive. Felt like old times.

=============

Dean glanced at Sam, who'd fallen into a doze against the headrest. God, when had she grown up? But now he looked at her and he couldn't see the little girl anymore. She wasn't gawky, like she used to be. It seemed like it had been more than two years.

Yet he wouldn't have come for her, if he hadn't needed her. She was still his baby sister. As much as he wanted to keep her somewhere close so he could help keep her safe, he also wanted her to be happy. She and Dad had fought all the time, part normal teenager rebellion but also a real longing to be normal which neither Dad or Dean himself had understood.

He saw a glimpse of police lights and slowed down. He nudged Sammy on the leg to rouse her. "Hey, look."

"That's a lot of cars," she frowned at the three police cars at the end of the old bridge.

Dean pulled over and pulled out the box of i.d. cards and badges from the glove box. Riffling through it, he found two matching badges and handed her one. "Here. Let's check it out."

She opened the badge. "John Romero? A Marshal?" she said incredulously. "Dude, on what planet do I look like a "John Romero"?"

He opened his. "How 'bout Michael Logan?" He swapped the badges. "Just pronounce it Michelle. C'mon, let's go." He grinned at her. She rolled her eyes but got out.

The police encounter showed him that working with Sam instead of Dad had him off balance. Not that Dean was going to admit that to the brat.

They found Amy and with some judicious questioning -- most of it by Sam, who was far more patient than Dean could manage on a good day -- heard about the legend of Constance. Woman in White. Yep. Dean was willing to lay good money on it.

When the spirit tried to kill them with his car, he knew he was right, though it wasn't much consolation when he was falling into the river. Spluttering, he got to the bank, thankful that the water was deep but not too fast, even though that also meant it was disgusting.

"Dean! Dean!" Sam's panicked voice somewhere up above him shook him into alertness and he waved an arm.

"Here!" he waved an arm.

"Are you okay?" she shouted down to him.

He stood up, trying not to wince at the aches he suddenly found on his legs and ribcage. His feet were squishing in his shoes, and he felt covered in slime. "Super," he called back, aggravated, and she laughed at him.

He hiked back up to the road and Sam met him there, giving him an anxious look over. "You're sure you're all right?"

She looked unhurt, thank God. "I'm fine. Just wet."

She wrinkled her nose. "And you stink."

He rubbed his jacket with one hand and wiped the resulting slime on her shoulder. "Now you do too. What about my car?"

Luckily his car seemed none the worse for wear by possession and they drove away. Next stop was the local motel where he put down Hector's credit card. "Please tell me you have a room," he asked the clerk, who nodded with some sympathy at his damp and smelly self.

The clerk picked up the card and frowned at it. "You guys having a convention or something? This other guy with the same last name's here."

Dean felt a stab of hope and he exchanged a glance with Sam. Dad, it had to be. They'd found his trail.

They knocked once on his door, without much hope there'd be an answer. He let Sammy practice her lockpicking skills to get into Dad's motel room. College hadn't spoiled it, turned out. He slapped her shoulder as she stood up. "Nice to see you're keeping up your skills, Sammy. Doing a little b&e on the side?"

She shot him a glare. "Burglary and ebay, it's what all the college kids are doing." She went in the room, during the moment he was wondering she might be serious. But he'd seen her at the bar where she worked, so he knew how she got money for rent and food. He'd told Dad she worked at the campus coffee shop, knowing Dad would blow a gasket to find out his baby girl was tending bar. Dean hadn't been too happy with her job either, since he knew what guys thought about girls who worked in bars, but after the first fight, he'd given up. Besides, she made a mean mojito.

"Ha, very funny," he muttered and followed her in.

The place was a mess. Walls were covered with newspaper articles, detailing all the victims. There was a half-eaten hamburger on the table, which smelled rancid even from the door.

"Well, it's definitely him," Sam said after a slow turn to look at the whole room.

"He hasn't been here for a few days." Which tracked with that last message Dean had gotten on his phone. Damn it, where had he gone?

He was going to look for a hint, but first things first, he needed to shower and change. The smell was getting worse as it dried, not better.


==============

There was someone in the road.

SHIT.

She stomped on the brakes, knowing she'd never stop in time, and reflexively bent and covered her head, expecting an impact.

But there was nothing. The car went straight through and the tires screeched to a stop.

Heart pounding, Sam had to loosen her fingers one by one from the steering wheel. An apparition. She'd hit Constance.

The car felt icy cold suddenly, and Sam lifted her gaze to the rear view mirror, knowing what she'd see.

A spectral woman with long black hair and a white dress was sitting in the back seat. Her depthless black gaze met Sam's, and she whispered a command, "Take me home."

Sam swallowed hard. Constance had nothing to play with here. "No," she answered.

The locks all dropped down and the car started forward, the gas pedal going down on its own. Sam tried to turn the wheel, but it wouldn't budge.

"Constance! You can't do this!" Sam shouted. "I'm a woman. You shouldn't even appear to me!"

"Take me home," Constance repeated, chill and flat, perhaps not evil, but not far from it either.

"Let me help you!" Sam pleaded. "I'm here to help you. Please let me help you rest!"

But the spirit ignored her or didn't hear her. And Sam couldn't get out of the car.

They were going to Breckenridge Road. Where Constance was going to kill her.

"If you do this, if you kill me, you know what you become?" Sam asked desperately. "You'll kill again and again, anyone who crosses your path -- a mother, her child. Everyone.. You'll be evil, Constance. Please, you are not beyond redemption now. I can help you."

It didn't work.

She kept trying anyway. The car was going slowly, but they reached the house at the end of the road soon enough. The car slowed to a stop.

Constance murmured, "I can never go home." And she disappeared.

Sam glanced at the house, wondering. "Never go home". Why?

But Constance was there, suddenly, on her lap, colder than ice, and her hands turned into claws digging into her chest. Oh God, it hurt.

"NO!" Sam yelled, reaching for the keys to the car.

Constance was nothing but a skeletal spirit, rags hanging off her, and her spectral fingers digging into Sam like like knives. Trying for her heart.

Sam's fingers brushed the keys, but then fell back as the pain grew.

"SAMMY!" she heard Dean shout just before he pumped three rounds into Constance. The ghost flickered and vanished. Sam grabbed the keys and turned the engine on.

Constance came back, screeching. Dean shot at her again, but this time, Constance just flickered and clawed at Sam.

She stomped on the gas to take Constance home. Praying that she was right, or she was shortly going to be as dead as poor Troy and the men before him.

The car crashed into the old house, smashing through the front wall. Beams and bits of plaster went flying and Sam slammed into the steering wheel.

"Sam! Sam!" Her brother's voice stirred her. "Are you okay?"

"Uh yeah, I think so," she straightened slowly, touching her chest. It felt raw but there didn't seem to be any blood.

Dean was there, at the passenger side. "Can you move?" he asked, anxious, and opened the door, holding out his hand to help her. She put her hand in his and God, his hand was so warm. She still felt cold.

He pulled her from the car and she saw that it wasn't over. Constance was there, across the room, looking at a photograph. She threw it on the ground and didn't look at them, before the credenza slid across the floor and pinned them.

A different voice said from the top of the stairs. "You've come home to us, Mommy."

Then the children were there, behind Constance, faintly glowing with spectral light. Constance looked terrified and screamed, as the two children laid hands on her and dragged her into the floor, still screaming.

Then everything grew quiet and suddenly the credenza was movable. She and Dean shoved it away.

He gave her an approving look. "Nice work, Sammy."

"Thanks, Can't say the same for you, though," she said. "what the hell were you thinking shooting her, you idiot?" she demanded.

He just shrugged. "Saved your ass didn't it?"

Okay, he had a point.

He looked at his car and then back at her. "And one more thing, if you screwed up my car, I'm going to kill you."

Some things never changed. She laughed, and went to help him clear all the mess off the car.

==================


Dean pulled the car up in front of her building. She hated his sullen silence. It wasn't as if he'd made his disapproval unclear on the drive all the way home.

But she didn't want to leave without something. "So, you'll, uh, call me if you find out something?" He nodded. "Well, then, okay. Maybe I can join you later?" she offered.

"Sure," he said.

"Okay," she said, unsure whether to get out or not. Then, with a mental shrug, leaned forward and gave him a hug. He kinda sat there at first, before he hugged back.

He pulled back. "No more mushy stuff. I'll see you."

She nodded and got out, expecting him to drive off the minute her door closed. But instead he called after her, "Hey Sam?"

She turned, and he was smiling at her through the window. "We made a hell of a team."

Smiling back, she nodded. "Yeah, we did. You take care of yourself." She waved and could feel him watching as she went up the walk, digging out her keys. He didn't start the car until the door was open. She turned and waved again, before letting the door close.

Inside her apartment, she hesitated. Jesse must have left a window open overnight. The hall was freezing. "Hey! I'm home!" she called. There was no answer. "Jesse?" She dropped her bag on the floor and her keys and cell on the hall table. She went to the bedroom, expecting him to be there asleep.

The bed was empty, but the shower was running. Smiling, she flopped into bed to rest and wait for him to get out. Hopefully she could get a few hours sleep before the interview. Eyes closed, she breathed deeply and coughed. There was a smell, one of those so nasty it sort of coated the back of her throat. Maybe Jesse had forgotten to put the garbage in the dumpster.

Something dripped on her forehead.

She opened her eyes. At first, the image made no sense. Jesse was on the ceiling, right above her. His eyes were open, staring at her. And there was a long line across his stomach, bleeding.

Her mouth opened and she was screaming, staring up at him. She couldn't move.

Even when fire billowed out from his body, she could only look up at him and scream his name. Terror was ice inside, keeping her in place.

"JESSE! NO!"

She'd seen this before. This couldn't be happening. Not for real. It was a dream, it had to be a dream. She'd fallen asleep and she was dreaming this again.

If she could just wake herself up, it wouldn't be happening.

"Sam!" The bedroom door crashed open and Dean was there. "Sam!" He glanced up at Jesse, before rushing to her side and grabbing her arm. "Sam, come on. Sam!"

He pulled her, and she let him, as the heat from the fire glowed against her cheeks. "Jesse, no!" If only she could get him down... But he was engulfed, nothing more than a shadow inside the flame.

Dean dragged her from the room. He threw her bag over one shoulder, slipped her phone into his pocket, and yanked the fire alarm in the hall before pulling her to the stairs.

Still seeing her bedroom in flames, she followed into the cold air.

=================

Dean sat by her, feeling rather helpless, as Sam had to deal with the questions from the fire inspector and the hovering Palo Alto policemen. He didn't much like the idea, but Sam had insisted they stick around. This was her real life, not a name on a credit card, and she couldn't just walk out on it and expect to come back. So he stayed.

She had a blanket around her shoulders and her face was ashen, her eyes too wide and staring. "We were just gone the weekend. I have an interview tomorrow -- today -- so we came back for that. Dean walked me up, and I went in. The bed -- the bed was on fire --" her voice cracked and he put her hand on his shoulder. "And Jesse was there. He was -- And then it all, it exploded - in the walls and the ceiling. Dean kicked in the door and carried me out."

He squeezed her shoulder. God, she was in shock and yet still managing a story that didn't involve a body pinned to the ceiling.

And he was not thinking about what that meant. Not yet.

She turned into his shoulder and he held her, looking at the questioners. "Is that all?" he asked, doing his best protective-older-brother glare.

"One more. Was Jesse a smoker?" the fire inspector asked.

Sam let out a barely audible sob in his ear before straightening and looking up. She nodded once, biting her lip. "He said he quit, 'cause he knows I hate it. But I know he sneaks them sometimes. Maybe that's what --" Her voice caught and she turned her face back into his shoulder. "Fuck," she whispered and shuddered under his hand. "Fuck it all."

The inspector wrote something in his notebook and then shut it. "Okay, we're done for now. I'm sorry about your boyfriend, Miss Winchester," the inspector said, with some attempt at being nice and he walked off. The police followed.

"Hey, Sammy, how you doing/" he asked her softly when they were alone.

She whispered, "It’s not his fault. He's dead and he can't defend himself. I am such a bitch. He didn't do anything wrong."

He stroked her hair gently. "Sammy, you did good. You couldn't tell them the truth. And I'm sure that wherever Jesse is, he would agree."

She pulled away from him, her face still pale but set now, her eyes without tears. "It was the same thing that killed Mom."

He nodded, though it wasn't a question. "Yeah." The odds of two mysterious demons with the same M.O. targeting the Winchesters were pretty much nil.

"Then we're gonna hunt it down." Her eyes met his, pale and glittering in the odd light from the fire trucks.

"We will," he promised.

"And I'm going to kill it."

"We will kill it," he corrected gently. "You, me, and Dad. We've all got a score to settle with this thing."

She didn't say anything, disagreeing with silence. She stood up and stalked over to the car. He followed, hoping he'd have a chance to call Dad soon. He was feeling a lot out of his depth, and as much as Dad and Sam could argue over nothing, he was sure his dad could help now.

Sam stared at the window where her bedroom had been, still pouring smoke as the fire trucks pumped water inside. Her hands loaded one of the shotguns, and he was sure she didn't know what she was doing.

Her face was blank, and her jaw set. But shock had already passed for nothing but pure cold fury. "Let's go. We have work to do."