Ghosts That Haunt You With Their Sorrow

She’s Got A Shotgun (And She Knows How To Use It)

Ξ August 26th, 2007 | → | ∇ Imitating Angels, Supernatural, fanfic, gen, nc17 |

Title: She’s Got A Shotgun (And She Knows How To Use It)

Author: Astrothsknot

Fandom: Supernatural

Series: Imitating Angels AU

Rating: NC 17 for language, violence and child molestation (Gen)

Characters: Sam, Dean, Joanna, Jessica (OFCs) and Gabrielle (OFC).

Disclaimer: Sam and Dean are Kripke’s. Faith is Joss Whedon’s. Everyone else is mine

Beta by Missyjack. Written for ciela_night’s prompt of Dean and Sam train up their first female hunter after the series ends. Sam and Dean’s daughters meet an abused girl and persuade their fathers to train her up. Futurefic, so it works on its own.

Mrs Weaver uses roll-call to note the demeanour of her pupils. “Jessica Winchester Scott?“

“Here!” Mrs Weaver notes fresh bruises, the arching gash in her hairline, the long sleeves and the way she can’t settle in her seat, because the plastic hits on some new area of pain.

“Joey! Fucking shoot it, Joey!” There’s snarling and the sound of bone cracking, knife stabbing desperately into flesh, yelling and groaning as Dean goes down under the piasa.

“Joanna Winchester Wilkins?” She can see the girl sleeping on the desk, dressed like her cousin. She’d seen her walk in and she’d been moving as stiffly.

No reply. “Joanna?” Mrs Weaver watches Jessica lean across and hit her cousin on the back. The effect is instant.

“Holy Fuck! Jessica! That hurt, bitch!” Then she recalls where she is, slaps a hand over her mouth. “Shit! Here! Sorry Mrs Weaver.” She glares at her cousin, who’s smirking.

“Dad!” Joanna runs, her cousin hot on her heels, reloading the gun as she goes, hears clicks as Jessica does the same. They’re both within firing range and they let fly with the flechettes, almost deafened by the piasa’s screeches as the blades tear through the muscle of the wing. It can’t take off and it’s easy prey.

“Some decorum, please, Joanna. What did you do this weekend?”

“Hunted a piasa with my Dad, Jess and my brothers,” Joanna says, completely matter of factly. She stretches and grimaces as her hoodie rides up, exposing a six pack stomach and some utterly hideous bruising that draws gasps from those that can see it. “Damn thing was meant to be dead, but hit me square across the stomach when I went up to it.”

Mrs Weaver notes, Gabrielle, the new girl, presses her hand to her side, as if in sympathy.

You’d never tell she was lying, thinks the teacher. “Very funny, Joanna. I know your father and your uncle have a sideline in cryptozoology hikes, but save the stories for the tourists.” Mrs Weaver frowns. She doesn’t like how Gabrielle hasn’t taken her eyes off Joanna’s admittedly impressive contusions. “Jessica?”

“Mountain biking in the Cascades,” says her cousin. “Chain came off her bike and sent her flying.”

Dean twists his knife, sliding under the ribcage, looking for the heart, knows he’s found it when the animal flinches. He pulls out the knife jerkily and a rush of blood pumps from the wound as the piasa dies.

There’s another girl in the class who dresses in long sleeves and moves stiffly, in pain from her various injuries. “Gabrielle Zmasda?” She’s new, records incomplete, due to the amount of moving she’s done in her short life.

“Here!” Unlike the Winchester girls, Gabrielle doesn’t seem do very well at school or find it easy to make friends. Not surprising, according to what there is of her permanent record.

“Dad? DAD!”“Dean? Are you OK?” He can hear the worry and adrenaline in their voices. “Stay back! These fuckers don’t go out easy!”

“And Gabrielle? What’s that mark on your neck?”

Gabrielle colours and looks down. “I was…hiking. Fell, hit a stone.”

“Did you fall on scree?” Asks Mrs Weaver. She’s an old hand at this. Knows a lie when she hears it.

“Scree? What’s scr - yeah, I did.” Leave me alone, Gabrielle’s look says. Please.

Mrs Weaver sighs and closes the register. “OK, let’s turn to page 86. Life in the Roman Empire. You’ll see they included the letters found at Hadrian’s Wall in England. Who wants to attempt a translation?” Two hands shoot into the air. “Anyone who’s not J-Squared?”

No one offers and Mrs Weaver sighs again. “Joanna, if you will?”

Joanna snorts. “Thought you’d never ask.” She begins to translate the Latin into English as if it had never been rendered in Latin at all.

Jessica leans forward, pokes Gabrielle in the back. Gabrielle hisses with the pain. “Dude, lies are better if they’re either true or utter bullshit. Next time don’t lie about shit you know nothing about.”

***

Gabrielle’s sitting on the bleachers, alone, reading a textbook. She glances over, every so often at the various groups of friends dotted around the school grounds, watches the athletes do their thing. She sees the smart-assed girl from history class running gingerly, while her sister does some gentle stretches, talking to the coach. Great, so they’re smart and jocks. No wonder they get away with being smart mouthed to the teachers. She goes back to her book. She doesn’t hear Joanna and Jessica until they’re sat down next to her. She cringes for a moment, till she sees who they are.

“Hey, take it easy,” says Jessica, holding up a placating hand. “We don’t bite. We stink -” she points to the stains on their sweats - “but we don’t bite.”

“I can’t believe you can run when you’ve got all that bruising,” says Gabrielle, glad that someone is talking to her, even if Jessica Double-Barrelled is a bitch. “I couldn’t.”

“Stops you stiffening up and keeps you in condition,” says Joanna. “Besides, exercise means you keep a great figure, wear what you want and eat utter shit.” She pulls out a giant bag of M&Ms, puts them on the seat. “Help yourself. What are you reading?”

“The Romans, and a whole load of other stuff that I’m supposed to know,” Gabrielle replies, patting the pile of books next to her. “I hate Washington public schools. They expect you to know stuff. I’ve never been in any school that expects you know so much. I mean, Latin? Seriously?”

“You’ll never know when something will come in handy. Latin is the key to at least four modern languages in common usage.” Jessica rubs at her back. “Fucking pi - bike chain.”

“I thought it was your sister who came off her bike,” says Gabrielle, looking between them, sharply.

“Cousin,” corrects Joanna, smoothly. “Our fathers are brothers. Mine owns Duke’s Pass Auto and hers owns the hardware and sports store.”

“What about your moms?”

“Mine is a NPS ranger and hers works with my Dad at the store,” explains Jessica. “Really, eat the M&Ms. We can’t take them home, cos, Dean’ll flip if he finds out we’ve been eating shit. I’m not losing any money over my grades. Dad and Dean give us money for good grades. Ten bucks for an A, five for a B.”

“I took extra credit classes to get more cash,” grins Joanna.

“You’ll need the money to fix your chain,” agrees Gabrielle. She helps herself to a handful of M&Ms, takes more when Joanna looks encouragingly at her.

“So, what you do to yourself?” Asks Jessica. “That must have been some fall.”

“What? Yeah, it was,” replies Gabrielle. “Slid in the mud, bang right on the tree-trunk.”

“Right. I was going to say, if you want we can come over to your place and help you catch up, if you want,” offers Joanna carefully.

Gabrielle looks pleased, then alarmed. “Um, could I come to your house? My Dad’s on night shift at the mill.”

It’s Jessica’s turn to look alarmed. “We’re not allowed to bring people back. Our parents are really private. We can study over at my uncle’s garage or in my dad’s store.”

“Store would be better,” says Joanna. “My little bro’ll just bug the shit out of us.”

“Crap,” chuckles Jessica. “You’re just worried she’ll eye up Ricky and we’ll get nothing done. That‘s her older brother and holy fuck, but he‘s gorgeous.”

“Either way, he’ll distract you,” says Joanna, rather too quickly. “See you after school then, we’ve got to go get Peter-Sam, but we’ll work when we get to the store. My Dad can run you back.”

Gabrielle thinks about it for a moment, but looks worried. But she nods anyway.

Jessica looks at her watch. “Dude, we’d better get changed. We’ve only got five minutes and I’m not sitting through English Lit dressed like this. Keep the M&Ms.”

They’re gone as suddenly as they came.

***

Gabrielle’s waiting on them at four pm. They’re ten minutes late, when they come running up with a boy of about 11 or 12 in tow. “Sorry, we had to get my brother. This is Peter-Sam,” says Joanna, waving her hand in the direction of the boy. He’s a few inches shorter than Joanna and about six inches shorter than Jessica.

“Hi,” he says. “Sorry we’re late, but Kommandant Jo here was giving me shit for being late. Ow! Joanna!”

“Don’t fucking swear and be where you’re fucking supposed to be! I was about to call Dad when I couldn’t find you!” Joanna snaps, smacking her brother upside the head.

Peter-Sam pales. “You didn’t though, did you?”

Jess smirks. Joanna doesn’t answer. Peter-Sam grabs her arm. “Joey! Tell me you didn’t!”

“Would you really be in trouble? Would it be that bad?” Asks Gabrielle.

“Yes!” The Winchesters answer together.Joanna looks at her watch. “C’mon, we’d better get going. Get ninety minutes done before dinner and maybe an hour after it. We’ll concentrate on that history essay that’s due Friday. You called your folks?”“I don’t have a cell phone.” Gabrielle looks shamefaced.

“Seriously? What, are you poor? Ow! Jess! Stop hitting me!” Peter-Sam yelps.

“You can call from the store, if you want,” Jessica says carefully.

“No, it’s OK. As long as I’m back by eight.”

“Sure.” Jessica and Joanna exchange a pointed look.

It takes about ten minutes to walk to Duke’s Pass’s main streets, Jessica setting a quick pace, despite her aches and pains. Gabrielle’s in agony, but tries to keep up. “Can we stop for a moment?” She asks, leaning on a wall.

“I’m sorry, I forgot. Your fall.” Jessica sits on a fire hydrant.

Gabrielle pulls out the M&Ms. “We can have a little snack,” she pants, clutching her side with her other hand.

“You’ve been eating junk food?” Crows Peter-Sam. “Oh, Dad is so gonna have your ass for that! He’ll make you both clean the guns at the store for the next month!”

“And if I tell him you were late, it’ll be a five mile run for you, ass wipe!” Jessica snaps back.

“You run five miles every morning, can’t be that hard,” Peter-Sam sneers back.

“Fine. Lets all come clean, then.”

Peter-Sam shuts up.

“Your dad’s a hardass, then?” Asks Gabrielle, moving away from the wall. She‘s still rubbing her side. “So’s mine.”

“They all are. It’s like having two mothers and two fathers,” says Jessica. “One says jump and the other knows how high.”

“What did you do to your side?” Asks Peter-Sam.

“I fell hiking.”

“That’s what we tell people, but it’s cr- Ow! Stop hitting me!” Joanna hit him again.

“Rule number one?” She demands. Peter-Sam goes pale, he knows he’s gone too far. “Come on!”

“We do what we do and we shut up about it.” He says this very quietly.

“Don’t you forget it! Do you want to get taken away? That’s what happened to Sam when he was six and it took Dad and Grandad John a week to find him!” She moves off, stomping angrily, Peter-Sam stumbling alongside her as she hauls him off by the arm.

“Well, how did you get the bruises then?” Gabrielle can’t stop herself.

“I didn’t ask how you got yours, don’t ask how we got ours,” says Jessica shortly. She stops in front of a shop doorway, pushes it open. She sneaks passed a tall, muscular man in his thirties, but Gabrielle can’t get a better fix on his age. Jesus, he’s very tall.

“Make a coffee while you’re at it, Jess, for all of us and your friend too.” His voice is deep and gentle, with so much laughter and love in it, that Gabrielle can’t imagine him raising it, much less his fists to his daughter.

“How did you know we were coming?” Asks Gabrielle, when she realises that there’s no way he could have seen them.

“Ease of long practice,” he says as he turns round. “Hi, I’m Sam Winchester.”

Gabrielle shakes his huge paw, it’s firm but gentle, with the calluses that speak of manual work. There’s grey streaks in the shaggy mop that frames his face. There’s a smile to match his voice.

“Joanna and Jessica have been eating chocolate,” bursts out Peter-Sam.

Sam turns a disappointed face upon his daughter and his niece. They look between each other. “Guns,” they say in unison, but there’s no fear behind it, not like Gabrielle had expected, more resignation.

“And you, young man, will be getting up at six tomorrow. Five miles for the next month. I’ll take you, Dean’s still suffering from the weekend. Luckily, we haven’t got another party booked in until next weekend.”

Peter-Sam looks like he’s going to protest, but Sam just raises his eyebrows at him, creasing his forehead. “Yes, sir,” he says, that same resignation in his voice. “I’ll go and start my homework. I hate when he does that.”

“Trainees or tourists?” Joanna asks.

“Tourists. I’ll need both of you for a recce tomorrow, so if you’ve anything due, you’ll have to do it tonight.”

“Can’t Ricky or Faith go?” Asks Jessica. “We’re pretty busted up.”

“Ricky’s arm’s still broken from two weeks ago and Faith will have to run here. Just spooklights.” A customer comes in and Sam’s entire demeanour changes. “Hey, Brian, how are you? Not seen you for a month or so.”

“Had a little trouble near Holy Hill. You up for a special order?” The man is gruff, businesslike. He’s a hunter, but Duke’s Pass is a Mecca for hunters, hikers and adventure sports enthusiasts.

Sam turns back to the girls. “When are you three breaking for dinner?”

“Six pm,” replies Jess. “We’ll have it in the diner?”

“Take some money out the register. Take about an hour. I know that‘s longer than usual, Brian, but the girls have a study date.” Sam turns back to the guy. “That suit you?”

“Fine. I’ll be in the bar until then.” He tips his cap to the girls. “Study hard, girls. Education is never a waste.”

“Bye Brian.” Joanna catches Sam’s eye. “We’re going!”

***

“Well, think of it this way - who normally gets left out by history?” Joanna is in full on tutor mode. “It‘s normally dates and kings and empires. But who got ordered around by the Kings, who provided the workforce and the armies for these important dates?

“Slaves?” Offers Gabrielle. She can barely be seen amongst the piles of old books in incomprehensible languages. “The Romans had tons of slaves, right?”

“Not exactly,” says Jessica. “History is happening now for us. Who‘s it affecting?”

“Us?” Gabrielle is getting desperate.

“Exactly!” Grins Jess. “Us!”

“But I still don‘t see how that ties in with the Letters at Hadrian‘s Wall or that Egyptian place.” Gabrielle throws down her pen, angrily. “It‘s really great of you to do this, but there‘s just too much for me to learn. I‘ll probably be moving in a few months, anyway.

“Don‘t be so negative,” replies Joanna, keeping a watchful eye on her brother. “No Peter-Sam, that‘s been transposed. Right, archaeologists know all about the Kings and the Empires. What they want to know about are the common people. So anything that can give that info is good. Now take Deir el-Medina.”

“The Egyptian place?”

“Right - Peter-Sam, that’s transposed as well.” Jess takes it up. “It was a home for the artisans who built the Valley of the Kings. It had the best mod-cons that Egypt of that time could offer, health-care, food, housing, education. It also tells us that common belief is wrong, the tombs weren’t built by slaves, they were built by Egyptian conscripts, who usually stayed on after their service was finished. They left written records - primary source evidence.”

“And that’s why the Hadrian’s Wall letters are important,” Gabrielle feels something dawning at the back of her mind. “They were primary source material…”

Joanna smiles and tries to look encouraging.

“…of the normal everyday folks who lived there and how they lived and we can see how ordinary human concerns haven’t changed in 2000 years?” Gabrielle finishes triumphantly.

“Dead on the money!” Grins Joanna.

Sam sticks his head around the door. “That’s six pm. I reckon you should knock off for tonight. I’ll come over and get you at 7, take Gabrielle home.”

They pack up their stuff and as they leave, Brian’s already waiting, patiently on the girls and Peter-Sam leaving. Sam hands Joanna twenty bucks. As they leave, they see Sam’s already flipped the closed sign over and locked the door behind them. Gabrielle watches as they go through into the back office.

“Come on, Gabrielle,” says Peter-Sam. “If we hurry, Enid will give us the apple pie she’s not sold.”

They run into the local diner where a waitress in her mid-forties and looking every day of it comes over. She’s smiling and ruffles Peter-Sam’s hair. It’s lucky she can’t see his face. “Dinner for you folks?”

“Hi, Enid,” Jessica greets her easily. “I’ll have mac and cheese, Joanna will have lasagne, Peter-Sam can have that Tex-Mex rice thing and Gabrielle?”

“Uh, mac and cheese?” It looks like the cheapest thing on the menu.

Jessica catches the look. “Chill, dude. My Dad’s paying,” she says, turning to Enid. “Enid, what pies have you got?”

“You after free pie, Jessica Winchester?” She says, mock sternly.

“Of course.” Jess grins. “I’ve got two surnames, Enid.”

“Your first one is plenty long enough. I got blueberry or apple.”

“Apple!” It’s unanimous.

“Apple it is then. Cream?”

“Oh, hell, yeah. Ow!” Yelps Peter-Sam as both Jess and Joanna thump him. Enid grins and goes to reheat the trays.

“Your Dad’s got a lot of books. I couldn’t even understand most of them,” says Gabrielle.

“There’s more upstairs in the apartment and in the one over Dad’s garage,” says Joanna. “They’re stuffed. Uncle Bobby died four months ago and left our Dads his books and his junkyard.”

“Where do you live if you don’t stay over your Dads’ businesses?” Gabrielle asks.

“Big cabin about ten miles from town, about a mile from the old Nelson place. I hear a new family‘s gone in there.” Jess is balancing forks off the end of the table.

“All together?”

Joanna nods. “One big happy family. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I would. I want them to build another room or Ricky should leave home. I’m sick of listening to your snoring. I never get any damn sleep.” Jessica smiles at Enid as she brings their dinner and their apple pie. “Gabrielle, can you go to the window and tell me if there’s still a light on in the auto shop?”

Somewhat mystified, Gabrielle complies. “Yeah, there is.”

“We‘re OK then,” says Joanna, relieved. “You don’t sleep because you have nightmares. I want another room. Every fucking night I get woken up with you screaming or parading about the cabin.”

Just then the door opens and a man of about 19 walks in, gives Gabrielle a most beautiful smile as he puts a finger to his lips. She never thought guys like that existed outside of films. Brown hair, green-eyed, muscular, chiselled face, full lips. Plaster cast on his left arm. He’s dirty with smears of oil over his face and t-shirt.

He sneaks up to the girls, before booming in a deep, smoky voice, “What the hell have you three been told about eating apple pie?!”

The seated Winchesters jump and almost choke. “Ricky! You bastard! I thought you were Dad!” Snarls Joanna.

He laughs as he fends off her half hearted blows. “Dad’s gonna be a while. He’s arguing with the asshole that’s just moved into the old Nelson place. Guy’s exhaust fell off his truck, Dad drove out, collected it, fixed it, and now he won’t pay up. Something about a dent in the side. Whole fucking thing is a dent in the side. Dad’s not giving it out till he pays up.”

He turns the chair round and straddles it. “Hey, Enid? Got some pie for a working man?”

Gabrielle comes back to the table. “You’re kinda quiet,” says Jessica. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” whispers Gabrielle. “When you’re away tomorrow, shall I get your notes for you?”

“Would you? That would be great,” says Joanna. Enid bustles around the table, giving out more pie. “What the hell does your old man have against apple pie?”

Gabrielle can’t eat it. She stops paying attention to the banter that’s around the table. She hears through a haze Ricky telling his brother he’ll pick him up from school tomorrow. There’s a bang on the window that makes them jump and a man who looks to be in his fifties and not very well kept with it.

“Great,” says Ricky. “That’s him and he didn’t have that black eye before.”

Gabrielle gets up, picks up her bag. “I have to go. That’s my Dad.”

“Are you going to be OK?” Ricky asks. “He doesn’t look too happy. Want me to follow you home?”

“God, No! Please! Really, I’ll be fine,” she says, clearly panicking. She turns and hurries out the diner. The man grabs her by the scruff of the neck and hauls her off in the direction of his truck.

Ricky is half out his seat, fists clenched, when Enid walks up. “You’ll do her more harm than good, son. Sit down and eat your pie. Your Dad’ll be over soon.”

***

Dean’s driven to the ass crack of nowhere. “You can take them off now,” he says as he hands them a map. “Phones working? Got your knives?”

Joanna and Jessica pull off the blindfolds, check their phones and their Bowie knives. “Yeah.”

“You got an hour to find where we started from. Ten bucks each if you make it back within the hour. No torches, remember this is about your night vision. And don‘t do anything stupid. Any problems, you call.” Dean puts the car in gear and drives off into the night.

Joanna pulls out her torch from the pocket of her combats, has a quick look around. She’s alert to the sounds of the forest, but not worried by them. Everything sounds like it should. “OK, five minutes then left, ten minutes then left, then right, three minutes, right, ten, then left.”

Jess has the map and has followed her cousin’s count. “Clear road, mud, but no vegetation. That’s about an hour and a half’s walk.”

Joanna takes the map from Jessica. “It is if you follow the path to the letter,” she says as she points. “Look where he is.” She’s traced the route back.

“The Nelson place. Fuck that. Let’s just go home. We‘ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Last time we did that we got the weight in our backpacks upped. No thanks.” Joanna folds the map in her pocket. “Let’s drop in on Gabrielle, her dad’s working.”

They creep off through the forest, silent and stealthy, eyes adjusting fine to the light and shade that’s given by the moonlight. They hold their knives low, ready to slice the belly of anything that takes the 15 year olds for easy prey. They don’t even need to talk and it’s a weird shorthand that’s part telepathy and part empathy.

It takes them forty five minutes to get to the Nelson place and they can see Dean standing against the Impala, scanning the dark for them. There’s tension in the lines of his body, the way his hand hovers near his handgun, grasps his phone.

There’s a light on in the old house, which is little better than a glorified shack. Joanna gives a brief head bob in its direction; gets a slight nod in return. They sneak up to the window and a quick glance confirms that Dean hasn’t seen them. “I’ll never get why he doesn’t let us walk to school in the morning, but lets us run around forests at night hunting all kinds of nasty shit.” Jess shakes her head.

They’ve made it to a window. The glass is thin enough to hear the male yells and the feminine pleadings…fucking little bitch! Laughing at me with your new friends!? Fucking laugh now, cunt!

Daddy, please I wasn’t laughing! Please! Zmasda has his daughter by the hair and runs her into the door frame. There’s blood left on the frame and it’s dripping down her face from another injury.

Laugh! It’s funny! It’s funny that I’m losing a nights’ pay because I can’t go into work with this! He’s hauled her head back and he’s pointing at his black eye. Dean fucking Winchester’s robbed me blind and I can’t go into work because every motherfucker in this shit hole’s gonna know and what makes it worse…

He pauses his rant to punch her in the stomach a few times. …is that my daughter is laughing her fucking head off with Winchester’s bastards!I didn’t know! She’s sobbing, blood and tears and snot running freely down her face. Neither did they! Daddy, pl-ea-se! Don’t!

Joanna phones her father. “Dad, 200 yards dead in front of you. Gabrielle’s father beating the shit out of - Oh Jesus….Daddy…he’s …” The rest is lost as Joanna throws up. Jess can’t look away as Zmasda forces his bleeding, sobbing daughter onto her knees, tears open his pants and forces her to suck his cock. Her battered hands try to push him away, but he’s got her head, shoving it down.

Dean’s got there by now and he spins Jess around, crushing her to him so she doesn’t see. Joanna gropes in the dark for her father and Dean grabs her hand, holds tight. They can’t see but they can hear the choking gasps as Gabrielle struggles to breathe.

“He’s broke her nose,” whispers Dean. “That shit’s broke her nose.”

Suck it cunt….Yeah, you thinking about that Winchester boy? You gonna leave your daddy for that robbing fucker’s bastard? 

It takes all Dean’s strength not to go in there and kill Zmasda. He’s shaking with the effort and the muscles in his jaw bunch and knot.

I’ll give you something to think about…Gabrielle’s father hauls her up and bends over the back of the sofa and just because Dean shuts his eyes, doesn’t mean it’s not happening.

Zmasda rips down her jeans, punching the back of her head when she struggles, shoves his dick hard inside her. She stiffens, still begging and pleading, blood bubbling from her nose.

You can pretend it’s Ricky Winchester’s dick filling all that little hole. Forget about Daddy, the stupid bastard who fucking works to put a roof over you and clothes on you.

Every second word is punctuated by his sick rhythm.

Dean’s got his hands over the girls’ ears, but he knows they can still hear it. He wishes fervently that he didn’t have to.

But he fucking can’t work because your boyfriend’s dad’s blacked his fucking eye. I won’t have people laughing at me, you hear me, little bitch? He’s punched her again. Just like your mother. She was a whore too. Fucking behind my back and everyone knew.

He comes, pulls out and leaves her there. Seconds later, the front door opens and Dean hears him get into his truck and drive away. Dean doesn’t know if he’s glad or disappointed that Zmasda never saw him.

Dean would have killed him on the spot.

He loosens his grip on Jessica and Joanna. “Go to the car. Wait there. I’m going to check on Gabrielle.” Jess nods and they stumble to the Impala. Dean tests the window, knows just where to apply pressure and it slides open. He climbs in quietly.

She’s slid down onto the floor and she’s sobbing, wet, bubbling gasps. “That nose is definitely broken,” Dean says aloud, so she can hear him. She startles and tries to stand, but she can’t. “I’m Joanna’s Dad. Want a hand to clean up? I can stitch that gash in your hair. Maybe even set that nose for you.”

“No,” she says thickly. “He’ll know.”

“Can I clean up the room then?” Dean asks, keeping his distance until she invites him closer. “Drink of water? Tylenol?”

“Some Vicodin in the unit.” Dean spends a moment looking for it and then pours her a glass of water. He hands it to her. “Are you sure I can’t help? Call someone?”

“Please don’t tell anyone. He’ll move again and I’ve got friends now. He moves every time someone finds out.”

Dean sighs. “OK, but tomorrow, you make like you’re going to school. I bet you like school; it’s where you get some peace, right?”

Gabrielle nods.

“Yeah, I knew someone else like that,” says Dean. “Instead you go to our cabin. Ricky can handle the garage.”

Her eyes widen at the mention of Ricky. “Don’t worry about him. He’s taken down far worse than your dad. And looked damn good doing it.”

It gets a weak smile. “Tomorrow,” she croaks. “Please, Mr Winchester, before my Dad comes back.”

“I’m sorry,” says Dean, moving towards the window.

Gabrielle shrugs. “He doesn’t need an excuse.”

Dean pauses before getting in the car. They’re sitting in the front seat playing Motorhead. He can hear it faintly. Most kids fall asleep to lullabies. His fell asleep to mullet rock. They’ve seen things that no one should have to see, but they are still children. They look so fragile huddled down in the seat. They can understand what monsters lurk in the night, but they’ll never understand the human monsters.

Shit, even he doesn’t.

Gabrielle - she’s seen pure evil and it wasn’t a demon. But maybe if you fight one, you can fight the other. “Demons I get, people are crazy,” he mutters to himself before he gets in the car.

***

Gabrielle tenses when she hears the running feet behind her, but relaxes when she hears Sam’s voice telling Peter-Sam that he can make it, they’re not far from the cabin now. The feet get louder, then slow. “Hey, Gabrielle,” says Sam. “You need a hand or are you OK?”

“I can manage, thanks. For a minute there, I thought you were my Dad,” she says as she limps towards the cabin.

Sam nods, then turns to Peter-Sam and Ricky, who’s been running with them. The boy is red faced and exhausted. “Ricky, you wanna finish this up?”

“C’mon Squirt,” grins Ricky. “Get movin’.”

The boy looks like he wants to kill him, but hasn’t the strength. Ricky signs something to the child, who brightens, then begins to run, Ricky alongside him.

Sam’s laughing. “Ricky’s just promised him Pop-Tarts if he shuts up and puts up. That’ll teach him to be where he’s meant to be.”

“My Dad would have given me a hiding for that,” she says. “My brother ran away once and my dad whipped him bloody when the police brought him back.”

Sam gives her a quick, inscrutable look. “We’ve never hit our kids, any of them. I mean we were never hit either. My Dad was a marine, so we just got push-ups and things. Boot-camp works better than belting.”

Gabrielle is quiet until they get to the door. There’s a sudden rush of air as Sam opens it and she has the fleeting impression of a woman, long blonde hair walking past her. She shivers. There’s no one there.

Then she sees all the marks on the door, carved into the frame. Some she recognises from the books in Sam’s office. He sees her looking. “Protection symbols,” he explains. “My wife‘s religious.”

That’s all the explanation he offers, so Gabrielle just nods her head. “Watch the saltline,” he says, waiting for her to step over the doorway and a thick line of salt spread along it.

“Is that protection too?” she asks.

“Yeah. Stops the ants coming in.” The door opens right into the kitchen, a rustic homey affair with a huge pine table in the middle. There‘s kids‘ drawings and casual family photographs all over the doors of the units. “Have a seat.”

Dean’s making toast. “Hi, had breakfast yet?”

Gabrielle shakes her head.

“Want some?” It smells delicious. She nods. None of this was what she was expecting. “There’s jelly, butter, honey and PB on the table. Help yourself.”

There’s two women sitting at the table. They nod a hello at her. The oldest one has a strong look of Jessica about her. Sam kisses her, before taking a seat next to her and in the way of married people, continues a conversation that had clearly begun the night before. “No, it’s just spooklights, but it’ll give the tourists a thrill. We go up today; we’ll get everything set up with the hotels and stuff.”

“Not camping out?”

“Not this time. Oh, Faith,” he says, addressing the woman next to her. “Brian Chavelle is coming round for the rest of his order. Twenty silver. It’s in the book and he’s not paid for it yet. He’s paid for the shotguns and cartridges, but not the silver.”

“When’s he coming?” Asks Faith.

“8.30am. Wants to get back over to Holy Hill, something about a beardog.”

Gabrielle eats silently as the family discusses things around her. They seem so happy and relaxed, despite the fact that some of them are not morning people, that she almost believes that Sam and Dean have never hit their children.

Until Ricky walks into the kitchen, fresh from the shower, towel slung low on his hips, ugly, jagged scars meandering across his torso. She doesn’t believe that anyone could get that fucked-up from adventure sports.

He gives her a quick smile, before sitting down. The final places at the table are filled up by the younger Winchesters. Jess just manages a weak smile, Joanna can’t look at her. Shame-faced, Gabrielle just stares at her plate while she’s eating.

“What time will you be back at?” Asks Jess’s mother.

“About 11 or 12. It’s just a recce and the lights don’t seem to be doing anything.”

“What’s crypto…crypto…” Asks Gabrielle, suddenly. “The teacher at school said something about you having that as a sideline. What is it?”

“Cryptozoology? Study of mythical creatures, Bigfoot, that kind of thing. Folk’ll pay big money to look for him and his friends,” says Ricky. “You are allowed to eat more, you know. It’s not rationed.”

“Do you really believe in all that stuff?”

Ricky shrugs. “Doesn’t matter if we do. What matters is other people do and they pay you to find it. All the more money for college funds. Right, Joanna?”

Joanna flips him the bird.

The conversation around the table continues between the adults, none of the teenagers join in. Dean continues to bustle around the kitchen, filling flasks with coffee and boxing sandwiches, all with a slice of toast hanging out his mouth and a tacky apron of a woman’s body in a garter belt and merrywidow.

After about fifteen minutes, the women filter out, Ricky goes to put some clothes on and whispers to his brother to hurry up or he won’t get any Pop-Tarts at the local convenience store. Gabrielle sees Dean hide a smile.

“Yeah, I know they eat apple pie in the diner,” he grins. “Enid tears me a new one every time she fills her car up.”

Sam sends the girls out to check the box in the truck bed. “Dean?” he says softly.

“What? Yeah, right,” Dean says as he comes to stand at the table. In the background they can hear Ricky asking his mother if she wants a ride into work. “Did you get that gash seen to?”

“No,” she replies. “I was going to go the clinic later, tell my dad the nurse had fixed it at school. If he asked,” this last is an after thought. Dean guesses the father doesn’t care as long as there’s beer in the fridge.

“I can do it now, if you want, even that nose, but it’ll hurt like fuck,” he eyes the injuries, considering. “We’ve got some Motrin kicking around.”

Gabrielle feels sick and the buttered toast slides around her stomach. This isn’t really about fixing her head or her nose.

“Hey, we’re not CPS and we’re not going to call anyone,” says Sam. “You’re 15, right?”

She nods. She can’t meet the two mens’ eyes. Dean gets the first aid kit.

“When will you be 16?” Sam continues.

“May,” she replies. “Four months.”

“What are you going to do then?” Dean takes up the conversation. He hands her some tablets, which she takes with her orange juice, before taking out something to bind up her nose with. “Drop out of school? Stay on? Leave home?”

Gabrielle looks up, then, a little bewildered. “I don’t get it…Leave my Dad?”

“You’ll do it one day, either on your own two feet or in a box.” Dean says bluntly. He feels along the bridge of Gabrielle‘s nose. “Break’s clean. He’ll kill you one day.”

“He’s my Dad,” she says, a sob in her voice. Maybe it‘s Dean splinting her nose with small sticks, cotton wool and medical tape. Maybe it‘s not. “I’m all he’s got.”

“So you don’t have a bag packed in your closet?” Cuts in Sam.

She shoots a horrified look at Dean. “I hung around for about an hour, make sure you were OK. I saw where you hid it in your closet.”

“I get…it out…when he…it gets…” Gabrielle’s voice trails off. “I don’t want to end up on the streets. I’m not stupid. I know what happens to runaways.”

“Doesn’t just happen to runaways,” Dean mutters, jaw tightening, his free hand clenching into a fist, before he takes out the thread for the stitches. Gabrielle looks like she’s about to burst into tears. She actually flinches.

“Last year, one of the tourists couldn’t keep his eyes off Joanna,” Sam explains. “He followed her to the latrine. By the time I got there, she’d bust his kneecap and his nose. All she had was a cracked cheekbone and a bruised throat.”

“Really? A grown man?” Gabrielle straightens in her chair. The pain in her nose has eased somewhat. “But she’s…”

“We can show you how to do that, so that if you ever do go, you won’t end up like the kids on the street,” says Sam. “Teach you how to fight and how to make some money so you don’t have to beg or whatever.”

“You could?” And for the first time, she sounds hopeful.

“It’ll give you some options, if nothing else,” Sam points out. He glances at the clock on the wall, 7.30 am. “I have to go. See you all tonight. You have fun now, sorting out all those books,” he grins, dodging the crust that Dean aims at him.

It’s just Dean and Gabrielle now. “You OK? For those stitches?”

She nods. “It can’t be worse than last night,” and she gives a little, but genuine smile.

***

When he’s sure everyone’s in school or at work, Dean drives Gabrielle to Sam’s gun store. They sneak in around the back. Gabrielle’s even giggling a little.

“We really gotta sort out these books. They’ve been here for months,” he says, suddenly sad. “None of us know what the hell any of them are. Bobby had them like this, everywhere, but he could reach out and lay his hand on whatever he wanted. Just like that.”

Gabrielle picks up one of the books. It’s written in one of the languages that are around the door of the cabin. “Did he have an index?”

“Not that I’ve found, it would make too much sense.” Dean sighs. “I can read Aramaic, Latin and Greek, so we’ll start by grouping them together. Leave the other stuff for Lily and Sam. I’ll move them, you write the index.”

They work until lunchtime, when Faith comes through. “Hey, there’s some space in here. Who knew?” She grins and Dean slaps her ass as she goes to the kettle. Something is behind the books by the kettle, so she pulls it out. “Pack of cards, not even opened. Who’s up for poker?”

“Count me in,” says Dean. “Ever played?”

“No,” replies Gabrielle.

“It’s easy, and it can make you a bit of money,” explains Dean. “Damn, when was the last time I played for money?”

“Couple of months ago,” replies Faith. “I get a call at four in the morning asking me to come and get you; you were too drunk to drive back from the bar.”

“Oh, yeah. I was dying next day and you paid the kids to make sure I wouldn’t die in peace,” Dean mock pouts. “You’re evil, and you’ve made my kids evil as well. I swear, Gabrielle, she turned them into a herd of yaks and had them tramp through the bedroom, all damn day.”

He catches Faith’s eye and grins at her. She grins back and winks. “Right, poker.” He opens the cards, shuffles them hand over hand, before passing them to Faith, who does all manner of fancy tricks, cutting the pack and twirling it over her hands and flicking them into each other. Gabrielle is mesmerised.

Faith hands her the pack. “You give them a shuffle.”

Gabrielle tries, but her bruised fingers are too stiff, and she drops them on the table. “I’m sorry!” she whispers, suddenly scared.

“S’OK,” says Dean, reaching to pick up the cards. He shuffles them again, before dealing out five cards, face down. “OK, you put in a bet first - the ante, then you hide your cards from us, while you sort out your hand. You’re trying to get the best hand you’ve got with the cards you have. Now you can either keep it to suits, in which case you want a run - that’s cards of the same suit in numerical order, say 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 - or you want all the same number in the different suits, like all four 7s.”

He’s sorting out his hand as he speaks. They wait while Gabrielle painfully sorts her hand. She bites her lip while she concentrates. It’s an endearing mannerism just now. She looks up when she’s done.

Dean nods. “OK, now we bet.”

Faith’s gone through to the shop and come back with a box of matches and puts in one each in the centre of the table. “We’ll call’em nickels. I‘ll see you a nickel.”

“See you the same,” he says and puts in a match. He motions to Gabrielle to do the same. “OK, now you bet like this, you see the bet, which means you put in the same as the last person. Or you can raise, which is when you put in the original bet, plus a higher amount. Most games have a fixed raise, so we’ll say never more than a dime.” He puts in two matches. “Now you can raise me or knock, which means you aren’t going to put any money in, but you’re not folding, which is quitting.”

“I’ll see you. That’s two matches, right?” Gabrielle can’t pick them up. Dean waits while she struggles. It takes a minute, but she manages to get two matches in the middle of the table.

“OK,” Dean’s smiling at how fast she’s picking this up. “Now, you can dump up to three cards and take new ones from the pack, but not the discarded pack.”

She looks at him uncertainly.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to and it doesn’t really matter what your hand is, as long as it’s what I explained earlier.” Both adults are swapping cards between the piles. “Poker isn’t about the cards you hold. It’s about the cards people think you hold.”

“I’m fine with these,” she says.

“Now we’re basically betting in turn for what we think the others have,” he says. “See you a nickel.”

Dean watches as Gabrielle lays her own bet, raising Dean a dime. Faith raises again by a nickel, Dean by a dime, Gabrielle by a nickel, and so forth for a minute. She’s concentrating like she’s performing brain surgery. She looks very young under the bruising around her eyes, so utterly vulnerable and for a moment Dean sees her as others would. Some would want to protect her and some will want to - well, she’s there already and she knows that her father wouldn’t be the only one.

The trick will be teaching her who will be who and how to use that knowledge to come out on top.

“I’m folding,” says Faith, breaking Dean out of his reverie. She puts down her hand.

“Damn, Faith, that’s a good one,” he gasps and it is, 10, Jack, Queen, King of Spades. “That’s what we mean when you say, it’s not the hand you have, it’s the hand we think you’ve got.”

Gabrielle nods. “That’s what people mean when they bluff?”

“Exactly.” He plays on for a few more bets, before folding. His hand sucked, three fours. “You win. Pot‘s yours. Play again?”

Gabrielle smiles slowly as she realizes she’s won. “Yeah, let’s play.”

They play for the rest of the afternoon and by the end of it, Dean has stopped letting her win. “You’re starting to pick up the strategy, what to bet, when to hold and most importantly, when to quit. Not enough people know that one.” He looks thoughtful for a moment when he pushes the cards towards her. “Take them home, shuffle them each day, it’ll make your fingers more flexible. You’re gong to need that. There’s a reason that most casinos have women croupiers. They have more sensitive fingers.”

***

Gabrielle can’t go to school for a week. It’s not the first time that’s happened, but it’s the first time she’s enjoyed it. She comes every morning for breakfast at the Winchesters’ cabin.

“You might as well get used to the time keeping, for when you get the stitches out,” Sam points out on the third morning when she asks why he insists on her being present at the Winchester breakfast table. “You’ll be training with the rest of us.”

Her days are spent in the back of the shop, going over the work that Joanna and Jess bring home for her. When the shop’s quiet, he sits with her and tutors her. That or she plays poker, marvelling as her stiff fingers begin to flex around the cards.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Gabrielle asks him at lunchtime on the second day. She shuffles the cards, painfully and clumsily, but she doesn’t drop any. “They’ve never healed this fast before.”

“My Dad thought it was important that we know about languages, history, religion, folklore, science, that kind of thing,” Sam replies. “He’d spent time in the Marines and he was always impressed by what the British soldiers knew and that was just from a public school. So he made sure knew the same stuff. And we made sure our kids did as well.”

“And all the fitness stuff and fighting?” Gabrielle has the feeling that Sam’s not telling the whole truth, the way she does when they try to pass off their injuries as sports accidents.

“Dad was a survivalist and a hunter. I guess he just wanted to share his passions with his children. Renaissance Men,” Sam says as he shifts in his seat. “It was important to him that we be ready.”

“What for?”

“Hard world out there,” he says, suddenly self-conscious as if he knows he’s said more than he means to, than he should.

“Do you hunt?” She asks. “It’s just that I don’t see any trophies around here.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, we hunt. Puts meat on the table, but we don’t need to show off what great shots we are.”

“That’s kind of weird. I mean, you’ve got a hunting supply shop,” Gabrielle says, stitches pulling as she wrinkles her face in confusion.

“Hey, we don’t just sell guns. We got bikes, camping and hiking stuff. There’s even fishing tackle as well.” He gets up and taps her workbook. “Now get on with your studies. The teachers will leave you alone if you can keep up with your work.”

***

On the tenth day, she’s looking at the photos on the walls and doors. There’s one picture, old now, on the wall in the kitchen, of a man in flannels with a boy of about ten, holding a boy of about six. Dean comes in and sees her looking. “That’s me, Dad and Sammy, ‘bout thirty five years ago. Sit down and we‘ll get those stitches out.”

“Mr Winchester said something about your Dad being a hunter.” She sits facing the pictures. Dean carefully cuts the first stitch. Gabrielle winces.

“We spent a lot of time with Dad’s hunting buddies, backwoods cabins, that kind of thing. Grew up in places like this all over the country. Guns, crossbow, you name it, we can shoot it.” He cuts out another stitch.

“Is that your mom?” She asks, pointing towards a picture of Dean’s father dressed as a Marine, smiling as he puts his arm around a laughing blonde woman.

“Yeah. She died when I was four.”

“You look like her. I don’t know where my Mom is.” Gabrielle sees a few other old pictures of Sam, Dean and their father, amongst pictures of Sam, Dean and their families. There are lots of pictures of the kids and they’re smiling in every one, even in the snapshots when they don’t know they are being captured for posterity.

“No?” There’s a snip of scissors. Dean keeps his voice neutral. “What happened?”

“She left him, but he found us. He got me from school, but he wasn’t fast enough to get my brother. I hope he’s alright.”

“Maybe one day you could look for him,” says Dean, still in that neutral tone. “Your Mom, too.”

“I don’t think I could face her. I don’t want her to know.” Tears well up in her eyes, fall down her cheeks, but she doesn’t sob.

“Take it from me, she won’t give a shit. She’ll just want to see you and that’ll be enough.” Dean hands her a mirror. “Looks OK. Healed nicely and it’s straight.”

Gabrielle has to admit that it does. “At least my hair’ll hide it. Can I wash my hair now?”

“Not till you get the splint off your nose.” He pauses. “How’s things been at home?”

“When it’s this bad, Dad leaves me alone. At least this time I’m not stuck at home with the TV.” She shrugs. “When he remembers to pay the bills.”

Dean says nothing.

“Thanks for not saying anything to CPS, Mr Winchester.” Gabrielle can’t look him in the eye, so she points to another picture. It’s of Dean crouched down, taking a tyre off the Impala in a junkyard. It’s a beautiful day and Dean’s t-shirt is dark with sweat. He’s turned to a little boy of about four, who’s clearly Ricky as he passes a wrench to his father. Joanna is on his other side, in her buggy, covered by a parasol. She’s also covered in oil, because she’s got her hands on a red rag.

“That was when we took the kids to Bobby’s so that he could see the baby. She pulled the rag I was using to wipe my hands outta my back pocket. Faith went apeshit because she got covered in oil.” Gabrielle can tell he’s smiling. “You can’t see it, but Faith was sunbathing on top of the car. I love that picture. That was one of the happiest days of my life. Never thought I’d have a family and just be with them. Neither of us did.”

His tone changes as he refers back to the earlier conversation. “Stop calling me Mr Winchester. My name’s Dean, my brother is Sam. And like you say, turning you in would do more harm than good. Turn around and I‘ll take that splint off your nose.”

It’s a clean heal. There are still some yellowing bruises around her eyes. Dean looks at his handiwork, feels along it and nods. “Looks good. Get you started on the good stuff when you‘ve gone and washed your hair.”

“There’s barely a bump,” Gabrielle gasps, pleased. “You’d never tell it was broken.”

“I’ve set a lot of bust noses in my time,” says Dean, putting away the first aid kit. “I’ll set a few more yet. Ever fired a gun before?”

Gabrielle looks at him sharply, can’t believe her ears. “A gun? Never. Why do I need to shoot a gun?”

“Well I didn’t think you needed to either, but Sam suggested it before he left last night,” he says as he runs the water to wash the breakfast dishes. “He’s right. You’ll find out why in a minute.”

“I don’t understand…” Gabrielle starts, still mystified. “I just need to be able to survive. I’m not going to go robbing stores.”

“Go and wash your hair,” replies Dean, with a bit of a twinkle in his eye. “Ask Jess for the towels and her hairdryer. Scoot.”

There’s a pool table in the living room where Jess and Peter-Sam are playing a game. She’s beating her cousin, but not easily. Gabrielle watches them until there’s a break in play.

“Your Dad said I could wash my hair?” Gabrielle points to the greasy mess on top of her head.

“Yeah, that’s the worst thing about head injuries.” Jessica puts down her cue. “I know where all the balls are, Peter-Sam, so don’t even think about it.” She turns back to Gabrielle. “C’mon, you can use my bathroom.”

Gabrielle follows her down the hallway for a bit, before Jess stops at a door with a poster of Colby Paul on it. She turns round and grins. “What? He’s gorgeous!”

Gabrielle grins back. “I know. I saw Precipice three times. You going to see Time Slip 2?”

“Hell, yeah! Three of us could go together,” Jess says as she slides back the door. “In you go.”

Gabrielle’s face lights up. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. Here,” she says as she hands Gabrielle a towel from her closet, points to a door with another poster on it. “Bathroom’s through there.”

It doesn’t take Gabrielle long to wash her hair, after picking one of the myriad bottles on the shelf. She wraps her blonde hair in the towel, walks back through to the bedroom. Jess is underneath one of the double beds in the room, clanking around a drawer. “I don’t know where the hell the dryer is,” she mutters as she stands up. “I’ll go and get Mom’s.”

Gabrielle can’t help it. She starts to pry. It’s a fair sized room, but the two double beds fill it. There’s no other furniture apart from a shelf with a TV/DVD combi and two laptops on it. One wall is taken up with the huge fitted closet that Jess had pulled the towel from and there’s a full length mirror stuck to the door. There’s a line of salt on the window sill and some carved letters. A dreamcatcher hangs from the rod that holds the drapes. There’s also a horseshoe hammered into the wall above the window. The walls are covered with more posters for bands and actors and photos of the girls and their family.

“You can use my brush,” Jess yells from somewhere. “It’s clean.”

“Thanks,” Gabrielle calls back and starts looking for a brush. She can’t see it and even though the closet is barrack-room tidy, despite the amount of stuff that’s in it, DVDs, memory cards, knives, books, two shotguns and a box of ammo, clothes, shoes - there’s no shoes, it’s all boots of some description.

Wait - what the fuck? Shotguns and ammo? Gabrielle can see herself in the mirror, a plump, tired looking girl, with bruises and shapeless clothes, her mouth a perfect O of shock.

Jess comes back in with a hairdryer. “I found my Mom’s - oh…”

Gabrielle jumps guiltily. “I was looking for your brush,” she stammers, face going red.

Jessica reaches in and passes it to her. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, warily. “You’ve got your secrets and I’ve got mine. At least we‘ll be able to fix yours.”

They come out the room a few minutes later, to Dean having picked up Jess’s game on the pool table. He’s showing Peter-Sam where to hit the balls with the cue ball, pointing to the exact spot, telling him how hard to hit. “Real gently son, just kiss it here on the side.”

The 11 year old bites his lip as he concentrates, then hits the ball far too hard. He looks at his father, unsure and slightly annoyed.

Dean pats his shoulder. “It’s OK, Squirt. It’ll come.”

They watch for a moment and Gabrielle can’t help herself. “I don’t get your family at all.”

Dean hears her and laughs. “Neither do we.”

***

Dean lines up the bottles on the fence at the back of the cabin, that divides the Nelson place from the Winchester cabin. He passes Gabrielle a shotgun.

“That’s a twelve-gauge. Point it the wrong way and you’ll take a foot or a hand off. You open it like this-” he pulls a small lever on top of his own weapon, waits on Gabrielle doing the same, passes her two sizeable red cartridges.

She waits on Dean inserting them into the shotgun, copies his movements exactly. He snaps the gun shut firmly, she does the same. “Hold it to your shoulder, look down the sight to the target…wait.”

Dean takes a rag from bag next to him, folds it up into a pad which he places between the butt of the shotgun and Gabrielle’s shoulder. “Plant your foot. Hold the gun firmly, but the trigger gently. Just a little squeeze and it’ll fire. Ready?”

“Yes, Mr Win- Dean.” She gives him a quick glance out the corner of her eye.

“Then fire.”

Gabrielle aims and then pulls the trigger. It all happens at once - the bang, the flash of light and her ass hitting the ground. She sprawls there as she tries to take in what happened.

Peter-Sam giggles. Even Dean’s got a smile on his face, as he helps her up. “You pulled the trigger too hard and the recoil knocked you on your ass. Happens to us all in the beginning.”

“Did I hit anything?” She asks.

“Only your ass,” grins Jessica. “My go.” She takes her shotgun, loads it quickly and nimbly, more elegantly than her uncle, whose fingers looked like he was forcing the shells into the barrel.

Poker fingers, Gabrielle thinks. Dean’s clearly got forty years of experience on the girl, but she swears Jess loaded faster. There’s a pain in her shoulder and she rubs it.

“Not used to the recoil,” says Dean. “It’ll bruise, but we’ve got something for that.”

“Dean, can I shoot now?” Asks Jessica. He nods. She aims and fires, hitting three of the bottles in the first squeeze and two with the second. Peter-Sam goes next, hits four.

Gabrielle looks over to Dean, sees him beaming with pride, but there’s a little bit of sadness there too.

“Set up some more bottles, Peter-Sam,” Dean tells his son.

“That’s a lot of bottles,” Gabrielle comments as they watch him set up the bottles.

“Ricky’s screwing a waitress from Soldier’s Leap. They don’t put a lot of glass out for the recycling.” Peter-Sam has walked away from the fence. “Ready to go again?”

Gabrielle thinks about how the shotgun felt in her hand, how alien and unnatural.

And how powerful and right it felt when she pulled that trigger.

Dean’s looking at her expectantly.

“Yeah,” she nods. “I’m ready.”

Dean passes her two more shells and she tries to load them as delicately as Jessica, but in the end settles for just getting them in without blowing herself up. Peter-Sam passes her the pad this time, helps her get the positioning right. She thanks him and he blushes.

Dean hides a smile. “Plant your feet this time. Fire when you‘re ready”

Gabrielle carefully plants her feet, aims and squeezes the trigger again. She lands on her ass again, but somewhere midst the noise and the thump and the pain in her shoulder, she’s sure she heard glass break.

“I told you to plant your feet,” chuckles Dean.

Gabrielle looks over to the fence. “At least I hit something.”

“You sure did.” Dean looks at her speculatively. “Two weeks ago, you’d have apologised for missing the rest.”

Gabrielle looks at the gun in her hands and the broken shards. She can’t stop the laughter from bubbling up.

“Now you know why Sam thought you should learn to shoot,” Dean grins back.

***

“Where’re been, fuckin’ lil’ whore?” Zmasda slurs as soon as she gets through the door.

Gabrielle’s stomach drops. Don’t hurt me. Please, God, I’ll take anything, just don’t let him break anything.

Then she remembers, I shot a gun today. And it was fucking brilliant.

“I’ve just been out with some friends. Study group from school.” She keeps her voice like she always does, pliant and reasonable. “If I can keep up with my work, Daddy, the school doesn’t care.”

“Don’ care ‘bout what?” He’s spoiling for a fight, she can see it, knows what’s coming.

Gabrielle takes a deep breath.

I can do this. I shot a gun today.

She walks over to her father. “We don’t want everyone in our business, do we, Daddy? You got your job at the mill, and your drinking buddies. Everything’s working out.”

He punches her stomach and she drops between his knees. She’s feeling sick, but she can do this. “I’m not going to leave you, Daddy.”

Gabrielle’s hands are shaking as she reaches for his belt.

I loaded it and squeezed the trigger.

She pulls out her father’s cock. “We don’t need them knowing about us, do we?”

“Shotguns,” Dean explains after lunch. “Are like spray paint, they’ll hit a wide area and are best used close up. The shot scatters too far once you get to about thirty yards.”

He passes them all .45s. “This is like a pen. It‘ll hit a small area and your aim has to be exact. Same goes for rifles”

Gabrielle’s lips close around her father’s dick and she fights down the nausea as she begins to lick around the head.

“You’ve already got basics of aiming a gun -”

“Point and shoot?” Breaks in Peter-Sam and Dean ruffles his hair. “Yeah, Squirt, point and shoot, but aiming a handgun needs a little more finesse. Go set up more bottles.”

He slips the clip out the handgrip, shows Gabrielle how to load the bullets in. He passes her a clip, slides his own back in.

She copies him exactly, as she slides hers into the gun.

“Now chamber a round, pull back this part. Hear that click? You’ve now got 10 rounds in there. 9 in the clip and one in the chamber. Fire in short bursts of three or four.”

Zmasda grunts, pushing his daughter’s head further down. She’s sucking now, playing her fingers along the base. She’s choking, but she hides it well. “Horny little bitch, aren’t you?”

“This the safety?” Gabrielle indicates a small lever on the left, just above the handgrip.

“Smart girl. Jess and Joey picked all this up faster than the boys. I guess girls don‘t fuck around the way boys do. OK, now aim and fire when you’re ready.” Dean’s got a calming voice, with just a hint of laughter in it.

Peter-Sam looks indignant. “I don’t mess around, Dad!”

“Never said you did. I just said that the girls picked this up within a day. Took you and your brother two days.”

Gabrielle can tell her father is close to the edge, his balls are drawing up. She’s been digging her nails into her palm, she’s sure she’s just felt one of them pierce her skin.

She takes the same stance she took with the shotgun, planting her foot, relaxing her arms to absorb the recoil, gently squeezing the trigger.

She fires.

“Aw, bad luck. You’ll get the next one,” says Dean as he pats her on the uninjured shoulder.

“At least I’m still standing,” Gabrielle grins.

“Yeah, there’s that.” Dean winks at her. “Jessica? You’re up. Hit four.”

Jess runs through her steps quickly, efficiently, elegantly. She hits four bottles in the same style.

It takes Gabrielle another hour to hit the bottles and after that, she only misses every fourth bottle.

Her father spurts in her mouth. She swallows and pulls away. It takes her a minute to get her face arranged properly. “Can I get you another drink?”

The fight has gone out of him. “Sure.”

She’s shaking as she gets him another beer out the cooler. “Night, Daddy,” she says as she leans down to kiss him goodnight.

She makes it to her room, before she pukes out her window. Gabrielle takes her bag out the closet, sits with it for a moment, before she puts it away.

She remembers how the gun felt in her hand, how it felt when she bullseye’d her first one, the smash, how it flew apart.

It felt fucking brilliant.

And she’s still in one piece. The only things broken are the beer bottles.

I can do this. I can fucking do this.

***

Gabrielle’s woken up by a light tapping noise. There’s someone at the window. That’s her first thought.

Her second? Absolute, motherfucking agony. Every breath hurts, her arms are killing her and that much pain in her shoulder can’t be natural.

The window slides open and Jess pops her head through the window. “Feel like you’ve been kicked in?” She grins.

“Stop grinning like a Cheshire Cat. How come you’re not suffering?” Reality kicks in. “My Dad! He’ll hear us!”

“Doubt it. He’s passed out in front of the TV.” Jess pushes up the window more, so she can get in. She’s nimble, despite the gap only being a foot, folding herself into an almost impossible contortion to step lightly into the room. “Anyway, my Dad’s outside. You really think your Dad’s going to risk a run in with him?”

“Jessica! Move your ass!” Sam hisses from outside. “She coming or not?”

“What time is it anyway?” Groans Gabrielle. She starts hunting out clothes to wear.

“Just gone 6.15. Ready for a bike ride?”

“I haven’t got a bike.”

“Joanna’s old bike. She got a new one for Christmas. You can have this one, it’s just going to sit in the garage otherwise,” Sam explains from the window. “I’ve worked out a schedule for you. Give it to you at breakfast.”

Gabrielle shimmies out the window, landing in an undignified heap at Sam’s feet. Her face colours as Jess folds herself through the gap, as easily as getting out of a car door. Sam holds out his hand and helps her up. He’s hiding a smile as he asks, “You OK?”

“I haven’t ridden a bike in years.” Gabrielle eyes the bike with trepidation.

Sam pushes it over to her. “You’ll be fine. It’s not going to bite you.”

Sighing, Gabrielle gets on. She’s shaky at first, but finds her rhythm. She’s out of shape and it’s not long before it starts showing. Sam slows down a little to keep pace with her. “We can stop for a while if you want. This was only going to be a three mile ride anyway.”

It’s so tempting, when Sam says it in that gentle, comforting voice. She‘s not used to men talking to her like that and the idea that she might disappoint him makes her want to cry. “No,” she gasps, red-faced and lungs bursting, determination firing through her body. “I want to do this. I can do this.”

“Atta girl! But don‘t hurt yourself. It‘s not a race.”

“I know,” Gabrielle pants. “But I’ve got through worse than this.”

Sam doesn’t bring it up again.

Forty minutes and three gasping, tortuous miles later, they pull up outside Dean and Sam’s cabin. She looks like a wreck, hair plastered to her skull with sweat, marks staining her clothes, at least the parts of Gabrielle that aren’t covered in mud. She falls down in the cold February snow. She’s shattered.

There’s movement out the corner of her eye, as Dean comes to the door. He regards her for a moment. “She make it?”

“Yeah. Never stopped once,” Sam confirms. He sounds impressed.

“I’ll go kick Joanna out the shower. The girls’ll have some sweats that she can change into.” Dean goes back inside.

Sam holds out his hand for Gabrielle to pull herself up. “OK?” He asks.

She nods, then copies Sam as he stretches. They share a grin as Dean and Joey begin arguing over the shower, then a screech. “He’s turned the water cold on her. It’s the only way you’ll get her out of there.”

“I swear she’s part mermaid,” Dean mutters as he comes back out, eating a bacon sandwich. “Breakfast’s going to be ready in about five minutes.”

***

“Thought you were never getting out of there,” says Joey. She’s got a fresh black eye, a swollen lip and there’s a rope burn around her neck. Her voice is hoarse and strained.

“Say the same thing about you, Mermaid,” grins Ricky, smoothing a hand through his hair, before picking up the plate that his father has prepared for her. He sets it before her with a wink. Gabrielle colours and looks down at her breakfast.

“How you feeling?” Asks Sam. He’s had a shower as well and there’s bruises and scratches along his arms.

“Like my legs are made of jello and my chest is killing me.” She looks at Joey. “How can you do it all the time?”

“They grew up doing this, just like us. They’re just used to it, that’s all,” replies Sam. “Six weeks and you’ll be just like them. Seriously.”

Gabrielle looks over at Joanna, noting the dark-haired girl’s muscular arms and recalling the perfectly flat stomach - even though it had been covered in bruises - from the day they’d met. The sweats she’s borrowed are tight and cutting into her.

She shoots Sam a disbelieving look and he laughs. “OK, don’t believe me. You‘re gonna hate me though. Here‘s your schedule.”

He slides a piece of paper across the table to her. “It’s the same one we all follow.”

“I’ll never manage this!” Her every waking hour is accounted for. Runs and cycles in the mornings, target practice with bows, guns and knives three nights a week, self-defence the other four. “What’s ‘misc’ meant to be?”

“Oh, various stuff. How to get out of ropes, hotwire cars, pick locks, that kind of thing.” Sam shifts in his seat. “Goddamn wisps,” he mutters under his breath.

“Are you OK?” She asks, concerned. “Will I need that kind of stuff?”

“Tough weekend. Still, gave the tourists a show.” He grimaces. “Getting out of handcuffs if you get arrested and they’re going to send you back to your father? Yeah, I figure you’ll need it.”

“And I’ll pick this up in six weeks?” She says, doubtfully.

Sam nods. “The basics, yeah. Everything else is just practice.”

“It’s going to a looong six weeks,” grins Ricky.

***

Gabrielle’s Schedule

Ricky wasn’t lying. Gabrielle has never been so tired in her life.

She’s never had so much fun in all her life.

0600 hrs - 12 mile bike, 6 mile run or 1 mile swim.

“We swim in Deer Creek Lake. Get you a wetsuit, you’ll be fine,” says Sam, oblivious to her look of horror.

There’s silence for a full minute, until Peter-Sam can’t hold it any longer and starts laughing.

“There’s a reason he’s not allowed to talk to cops,” says Dean through a mouthful of sausage.

***

For the first week, she follows the workload of the first day. Her reactions are much the same. Red-faced, sweat-soaked, bone-crushing exhaustion.

“There’s no God,” Gabrielle manages to gasp out to Sam on the tenth day. “If there was, he’d let me die.”

Sam holds his stretch. “You just did four miles. Last week, you were doing three.”

“Four miles?” She squeaks. “For real?”

“You didn’t notice?”

She shakes her head. “Damn.”

***

She doesn’t notice in week six when she manages twelve miles on the bike in 1hr 10 mins. She’s too busy trying to stop her sweats from falling down.

Sam fixes it with a safety pin.

***

0700 hrs - breakfast

“Breakfast,” says Dean. “Is the most important meal of the day. Body can’t function, brain can’t concentrate without it. And it’s got to be balanced. Carbs, not sugar.”

“Oh, Christ, we’re about the get the muffins are cakes, not a breakfast monologue again,” groans Jess. “Mom, make him stop.”

“Shut up, Dean, or I’ll summon something nasty.” Lily reaches for more toast - wholemeal of course. “You’d never think that you lived off diner specials and takeout until you were 27.”

“And he hated every second of it,” grins Sam. “He dreamed constantly of home cooking and vowed that his children wouldn’t suffer like I did.”

“Sammy is the name of a chubby 12 year old,” Dean retorts. “So I must have been cooking something right.”

Sam turns up the radio. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, THE MUSIC’S TOO LOUD.”

Gabrielle smiles down at her plate. She still can’t believe that people can say these things to each other without a huge fight.

Still doesn’t explain the bruises, though.

***

0800-1600 hrs - school

Gabrielle is used to being the new kid, never making any friends, too nondescript to be noticed, too shy to get noticed. The work’s always just beyond her grasp because she’s moving or absent and the teachers can’t be bothered to make an effort when they know she’ll be off somewhere else in a few months. She’s never there anyway.

She’s been the butt of jokes, the strange girl sitting alone with her book, until someone decides to look big in front of their buddies by harassing the new chick. She’s not going to do anything about it anyway and it’s just a bit of fun.

Now? Would you piss off the friend of the girl who broke the knee of a would-be rapist?

***

1615-1800 hrs - homework

Four weeks in, Gabrielle gets one of her assignments back. She can’t stop staring at it, she’s still staring at it when she walks into one of Sam’s displays.

“She got a B,” says Joey as she vanishes through into the back of the shop. “Who’s going out with that party of tourists next weekend?”

“Faith and Ricky are doing that one.” he sets the display back up. “Lily, Jess and Peter-Sam are doing that job in Seattle.”

“But I was supposed to go! Frances Cobain‘s band plays in one of the Starbucks! I wanted to see that!” Joey protests.

“Dean, me and you have got a job in Colorado.”

“Oh,” says Joanna, brightening. “Are you still looking at that assignment?”

“I never got a B before.” Gabrielle sounds like she’s about to cry.

“Yeah, so? It won’t be the last. Calm down.”

“Highest mark you’ve ever got?” asks Sam.

She nods. She can’t speak.

Gabrielle never gets lower than a B- after that

***

1900-2100 hrs - self-defence, target practice, misc.

Learning to fight, despite her new found fitness, comes harder.

Gabrielle picks up the basics well enough, plant your feet, jabs, left hooks and right crosses, blocks and guards. Front kicks and back kicks and where to apply them for maximum damage.

She just won’t fight back. It drives Dean nuts.

***

“Got the torque lever in? Now rake the lock.” Sam passes Gabrielle a wide-headed tool.

She jams it. “Sorry.”

Sam grits his teeth and un-jams the rake. “Try again.”

***

She’s standing with Sam over the body of a dead turkey. “Don’t worry, I’ll pluck it.”

“Sam, I was supposed to hit the target, not the turkey.”

“Guns are fairly easy to pick up, knives are a little harder.” Sam nudges the turkey with his toe. “Just takes practice. Look on the bright side, now Dean can cook his world famous Texas BBQ turkey.”

“I think maybe I should practice with spoons for a bit.” She sighs.

Sam nudges the turkey’s head. “Gobble, gobble!”

***

“Gabrielle, just fucking hit it! I know it’s just a punch bag, but one day it could be some guy who…you really want to end up like those kids on the milk cartons?” Dean holds the bag steady. “Now, guard up, left hook, right cross!”

The bag barely moves. She isn’t used to fighting back.

***

“Fucking expect me to eat this slop? I could shit better!” Zmasda throws a plate at her, covering her in BBQ turkey. She yelps as the plate hits her head, even though she’s curled up in a ball.

He kicks her a few times for good measure, before dragging her out of the corner by her hair as she screams and cries. She gets her head smacked off the table a couple of times for her trouble.

She isn’t used to fighting back.

***

“Steady,” Sam cautions as Gabrielle’s hands shake as she puts the torque lever in the lock.

He passes her the rake and this time she does it perfectly, turns the torque lever a little bit. She passes Sam back the rake through the small window beside the door. He passes her a pick.

“Is he still asleep?” She asks, nervously.

Sam checks through the living room window. “Like a baby.”

Gabrielle presses the farthest pin up carefully, listening for the click that tells her it’s flush. She hears it and turns the torque lever. Despite the bruises on her fingers, her hands are deft. It takes her another five minutes to coax the lock open and she sneaks out her father’s house.

“Here’s your lock picks,” she says as she passes them back to Sam. “All that poker came in handy.”

“Why do you think we had you shuffling cards for hours on end?”

***

Gabrielle doesn’t care how you slice it. Pool is not training. Pool is fun, plain and simple.

For a family with all the latest TV and gaming gadgets, they don’t actually play them much. Much more time is spent on board games, darts, cards and pool. She’s sure they make up the questions in Trivial Pursuit and Clue. She’s fairly certain that Colonel Mustard wasn’t killed in the kitchen by a poltergeist with a possessed lamp.

Or that animators use rosemary in their resurrection ointment. And Manaanganaal got quite a high score for Ricky in Scrabble.

There’s usually much arguing between the teams and consultation of thick books with yellow pages or weird sites on the Internet, but it’s still fun.

And there’s the long-running argument about cavemen and astronauts.

Gabrielle thinks the cavemen would win. Peter-Sam doesn’t care as long as there’s cake.

***

Gabrielle’s fighting for breath as Sam pins her up against the wall, one knee between her thighs, a hand tight around her throat. “I could rape you now,” he hisses and it’s ugly.

She’s scrabbling ineffectually at her throat, he’s pressing tighter. “Or kill you.”

“Everything is bigger, stronger, faster than you.” He moves a hand over her mouth and she’s terrified at the sight of it. It’s big enough to block off her breathing, nose and mouth. “You’ve got maybe ten, fifteen second of advantage if you’re jumped and most guys won’t be expecting you to fight.”

Sam covers her nose and mouth and presses, hard. Gabrielle begins to panic as her lungs start to burn, but finds herself working on instinct. She smashes her fist into Sam’s nose, the other hand smacks into his throat.

He drops her, choking, blood streaming from his nose. They both gasp for breath as Gabrielle stands with her guard up, ready for fight or flight. Sam nods, smiling, as he says thickly, “Ten, fifteen seconds. So make them count.”

***

Gabrielle fights properly after that. She gets her fifteen second headstart up to twenty, twenty-five seconds.

For the first time, she doesn’t try to hide her bruises. She’s rather proud of them. Sometimes she even tells the truth about how she got them.

***

Sam slams down the phone as Gabrielle walks in with Jess and Joey.

“Are you sure you can’t get time off?” He demands of whoever’s in the back of the shop.

“No, I bloody can’t!” Snaps Lily as she comes out the back carrying a tray of hot drinks. “I’m the boss and I have to go to this conference.”

“I haven’t seen you since this promotion.” Sam takes a mug of coffee from his wife and goes back to leaning on the counter.

“Yeah, you have. You’re going to have to decide quickly who’s going on this trip, because I have to get these filed by the end of today.” Lily taps some paperwork on the counter. She passes drinks to the teenagers.

“Thanks, Mom. Aren’t you going on this trip?” Jess can’t keep the disappointment out her voice.

“No, she can’t. She’s working.” Sam snaps. “And no, breakfast doesn’t count as seeing you.”

“How come you don’t moan about my job when permits need signing?” Lily shoots back.

“Because we need those for college funds and ammo.” Sam smiles and Lily snorts. It’s clearly an old joke. “C’mon, Petal, when are we going to get away, just the three of us? We could go see Duncan before going to Mexico. Pyramids? Aztecs?”

He leans in towards her, voice dropped into a low tone that Lily clearly can’t argue with. She bites her lip as she sorts through something in her head. Sam winks at his daughter. Lily sighs, before admitting, “I guess I could get a few days off at the end of the month. Maybe a week.”

Sam grins and kisses her as Jess gives a mock cheer. “But that still doesn’t solve the problem of next week. Who’s going on the trip?”

Jess pushes Gabrielle forward. “She can do it. It’s just tourists, right? Not trainees?”

Sam looks up at Lily, uncertainly. “Well, yeah, but I don’t know.”

“Dad, she’s been doing everything we’ve been doing for the past four months.”

“Not everything,” Joey points out. “And maybe she doesn’t want to go.”

“I’d love to go, Sam, if you really don’t mind.” Gabrielle is holding her breath.

“Near as dammit, and it’s tourists. It’s a hike, not a hunt. What could possibly go wrong?” Jess is warming to her subject.

Sam and Lily share a brief glance. Lily gives a barely-there nod. Sam picks up the phone. “If Dean says no, that’s it.”

Dean doesn’t say no.

***

“I like the name of the town. Ivanhoe. It’s like something out of a romance novel.” The teenage son of one of the tourists comments, his remark aimed squarely at Jess. She just rolls her eyes as Sam doesn’t know whether to laugh or scowl at the teenager.

He glances at Dean, who shakes his head. “She can handle it.”

“That’s my worry.” Sam leans back in his chair, watching the eldest Chavez boy fawn over his daughter. “Maybe I should remind him that she’s got a shotgun in her closet…and so have I.”

“Sam, just one look at us is enough to scare most boys away,” says Dean. “He’s keen. You’re not going to get rid of him that easily. Besides, he seems like a nice kid.”

“Gee, thanks for the support, Dean. Can tell it’s not your daughter he’s making come hither eyes at.” Sam takes out his knife, his whetstone and begins to carefully sharpen it.

“You should have some sympathy with the poor guy,” grins Dean. “You know what it’s like to have your father-in-law wish you’d die in a fire.”

They’ve taken over the King George over in Soldier’s Leap and everyone is chatting amiably enough in the lounge. There’s an older couple, the Masons, who are trying a different kind of hike. Three college students who are UFO enthusiasts, sporting some wild theories about Bigfoot being an escaped alien pet. The other five are the Chavez family who have an interest in all things unexplained. Once you get around the idea that there are two Mrs Chavez and the three teenage boys, Sam figures they’ll be interesting to talk to.

Of course, that’s assuming that they’ll still be talking to him when he kills their eldest and hides the body.

Gabrielle sits with Joanna, Jess and the Chavez boy, Augustin, rapt as the other three bounce theories off each other about Chuapcabras and Bigfoot and other things of that ilk. They clearly know what they’re talking about, discussing old cases and recent discoveries as earnestly as most other teens would discuss boys and fashion.

Most of it makes no sense to Gabrielle, but she never lets on.

***

“And this is how you make your money?” She says to Joanna as they get ready for bed that night. Jess is on her cell to Augustin.

“No, it’s how we make some of our money.” Joey leafs through a film magazine, stops at an article with Colby Paul and shows it to Gabrielle, before carefully pulling it out. “I’m having that picture on my wall. Spook tours. Huge market for it. Covers a multitude of sins.”

There’s a knock on the door and Gabrielle opens it to let Sam in. “Everything alright in here?”

Joey doesn’t look up. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“Where’s your cousin?”

“Jess? Climbed out the window to meet that Costa Rican boy. Said something about picking the locks of the minivan.” Her voice is still hoarse from the rope burn on her neck.

Sam clenches his jaw. “You’re not funny. Where is she? Gabrielle, stop laughing. You‘re just encouraging her.”

“She’s in the bathroom, phone attached to her ear.” Joey doesn’t look up as Sam strides over to the bathroom door and hammers on it. “I bet she’s climbed out the window.”

“Jessica! Open this damn door!” He bangs on it again. “Before I kick it in!”

Gabrielle stops laughing and finds herself shrinking into the wall. She’s horribly aware of how Sam fills the doorframe. Joey just carries on reading her magazine.

It’s a minute before the door opens to the words “It’s just my Dad being a pain in the ass. Convinced I’m going to run off and get myself knocked up. You’d never guess that I’m only here because there was a power-cut when my parents were drunk.”

“There was a power-cut and then we got drunk,” Sam corrects as he calms down. “Night September.”

“Augustin,” snaps Jess. “No, it’s my Dad, still being an ass.”

“You love me really,” grins Sam, leaning down to kiss his daughter on the cheek. She gives a little smile as Sam wishes the other two good night.

Gabrielle collapses on her bed, drained.

Jess hangs up her phone. “Now do you believe he’s not hitting us?”

***

“Rise and shine!” Jess slams on all the lights in the room. There’s a faint glow around the curtain, but it’s not yet light. A quick look at the bedside clock shows it to be 4.55 am.

Gabrielle groans and looks over at a bed-headed Joanna. “No, she doesn’t sleep. Did you think I was joking?” Jo pulls the quilt back over her head.

“Come on! Shake a leg! We’ve got around twenty miles to do today.” Jess is stuffing things into a large backpack. It’s the size of a small trash can. “Dad likes to be ready to move out right after breakfast, which is in five minutes. We’ll be out in the woods in thirty minutes.”

“Twenty miles?” Groans Gabrielle. “You’re kidding. I’ll never manage that!”

“Sure you will. Give us a hand.” Jess moves to the head of Joanna’s bed, points to Gabrielle to get hold of the bottom of the mattress. She mouths one, two, three, then they tip a shrieking Jo on the floor.

***

The party of twenty is chatty as they move away from the road, further and further away from civilisation. Mrs Chavez the folklorist has caught up to Sam and is chatting merrily on the subject of mapinguaris and chupacabras. Snatches of the conversation drift back to Gabrielle as she walks in the middle with the UFO enthusiasts. Most of their conversation is going right over her head.

The Masons are bringing up the rear with Dean and other two Chavez teenagers. Jess and Agustin are walking with her father.

“We’re saving to go to Australia, Tasmania to be exact. I have a theory that the Tasmanian Tiger and the Chupacabra are very much one and the same.” Mrs Chavez is in full swing on her subject. Sam’s right, she is very interesting to talk to. He takes her arm over a particularly difficult patch as she speaks.

“Really? I always wondered. Cryptozoology world went nuts two years ago when it was proven that they weren’t extinct after all.” Sam tries to ignore Augustin’s hand lingering in the small of Jess’s back as she climbs over a fallen log.

“If you look at the similarities between the descriptions of the animals - and I do believe it’s an animal, not some alien experiment as those young gentlemen would have your daughter believe.” She indicates back to where Joanna is trying hard not to laugh at the UFO boys. Gabrielle just looks utterly bewildered, when she’s not concentrating on keeping on her feet under her heavy backpack.

“Joey’s my niece. Jess here’s my daughter. I’ve seen the footage of Ben,” agrees Sam. “Wide gape, stiff walk, stripes on the rump.”

“You see how it matches the more sensible eye-witness accounts of the creature? It’s not unfeasible that the thylacine survived on this continent in one form or another.” Mrs Chavez is plainly warming to her subject.

“Well, we’ve got possums and other little marsupial things, from when the continents were joined,” cuts in Jess. “Makes sense we’d have some kind of thylacine as well.”

Mrs Chavez smiles. “You have a very smart daughter.”

“Yeah, she’s sharp as a knife,” Sam grins, ruffling Jess’s hair. Jess glares at him, while Augustin sniggers.

***

They’ve been going for about eight miles before Dean pulls the party to a halt. “Remember what I said about the motion-sensitive cameras and the fur trap? Well, we‘re about to set one up.”

He crouches down, dropping his backpack on to the ground and pulls apart the undergrowth to reveal a case with a lens. He opens it up, showing a camera and a small LCD screen in the top of the case. He presses a few buttons, taking out a memory card before replacing it with another. “We’ll look at this when we get to camp. Gabrielle, you’ve got the wire and the catfood. Augustin, you want to give her a hand?”

Joanna already has her multi-tool out as Gabrielle passes her a pair of leather gloves, before taking a pair for herself. She passes a final pair to Augustin. Joey takes out a roll of barbed wire as Gabrielle holds on to the bag. “Where’d you want it, Dad?”

Dean considers the angle of the camera, before pointing to a thicket opposite the camera. He keeps watching the camera as they string the wire around two of the small bushes. “You getting this?” Asks Joey.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” replies Dean. “Mr Mason, if you could go into Gabrielle’s bag and pull out some tuna and catfood and mix it up in that plastic baggie, put it under the trap?”

“Won’t the wire harm the wildlife?” Asks Mrs Mason.

“No, ma’am, the animals leave behind their fur on the wire, which we’ll remove tomorrow when we head back this way and pick up the cameras. Anything we get, we’ll send to the labs.”

“What do you normally get?” Asks the other Mrs Chavez.

“Bear, mostly, but sometimes we get something that can’t be identified.” Dean packs up his rucksack, swings it back on his back.

“That’s the trouble with cryptoclids, for all our technology, we never manage to land a live specimen,” Sam cuts in as the party moves off again. He ignores the UFO Boys whispering amongst themselves about some conspiracy theory. “We have friends in the NYPD, they’ve hiked in forests all over and plenty times they’ve been followed, heard noises and when they’ve back-tracked they’ve found foot prints they can’t identify. But they’ve never been fast enough to get pictures.”

“They’d just dissect it anyway,” says the youngest Chavez boy. “It’s safer out here.”

Nobody disagrees.

***

They set up another camera and trap at 16 miles, walk another four, then set up camp for the night.

Dean helps get the tents set up before looking at the memory cards from the cameras. The two youngest Chavez boys are helping him. They’re giggling because so far, Dean’s got a puma, some hikers, deer, some guy taking a leak and a squirrel.

Sam sets up a fire, eagerly aided by Augustin. Sam accepts his help with a bad grace, while the three girls almost cripple themselves with laughter. The boy is discussing - or trying to - possibilities for Bigfoot and the Yeti. “I think Gigantopithicus survived the last Ice Age. Did you hear about the group who went looking in Bhutan for the Migure - their word for the Yeti? They came back with primate hair that couldn’t be identified as any known primate. What if it’s some new variety of Gigantopithicus? Wouldn’t that be cool? You said you got unidentified hair.”

“So what do you think?” Jess nods over to Augustin and Sam.

“I think Sam’s going to leave him as bear bait,” replies Joanna. “You really think he could be the one?”

“Why not? He’s cute, he’s fit and I’ve got condoms.” Jess shrugs, as if it’s a stupid question. “After this weekend I’ll never see him again. Perfect.”

“I think you’re nuts.” Joanna feeds the tent pole through the porch of the tent that the girls will be sharing. “He could be a serial killer. And where do you propose to do the dirty deed? In a fucking tree? You know Dad and Sam wake up if mice fart. They’ll hear you wandering off and if you take too long, they’ll come looking.”

“Well, I can’t use anyone from school. None of them will go near us. Besides, I don’t want talked about the next day. Ready?” Jess secures the poles and the geodesic tent springs up. “And you two are going to be my look outs.”

Any further conversation is interrupted by Dean calling out. “We got something!”

Everyone scurries over to the laptop sitting on Dean’s backpack. “It’s from the second trap we set up.”

Everyone watches as an upright shadow passes over the trap, with the creature that’s casting it staying just out of sight. There’s an impression of grey as it passes in the vegetation at the back of the scene, but nothing concrete.

“What do you think that could be?” Asks Mrs Chavez. “A bear?”

“No, it was upright,” says one of the UFO boys. “Bigfoot?”

“It was grey, Bigfoot’s probably brown. Maybe it was an alien?” Suggests another.

“Too tall,” replies Dean. “ I reckon it must have been around six feet, easy.”

There’s much further discussion as the clip is endlessly rewound and paused. Sam tries to enhance it as best he can on the PC.

Eventually it’s time for bed - everyone is shattered following the 20 mile hike. Sam calls over Joanna and Gabrielle to remind them that they go to the toilet in threes and they take their satellite phones.

***

The sound of the tent door being unzipped wakes up Gabrielle as Augustin tries to slip in quietly. It doesn’t work as he’s flung to the ground by Joanna and Jess, who’s got a knife at his throat for good measure. “It’s just me!” he squeaks, terrified.

“Fucking hell! Don’t do that!” Pants Joanna as she pulls back. “You scared the shit out of us!”

“I scared the shit out of you? I’m the one with the knife at my throat!” He scrambles up.

“What the fuck do you expect, creeping into strangers’ tents at 1am?” Jess snaps as she checks her watch. “My Dad catches you in here, he’ll tear your head off with his bare hands and I’ll get sent to Tehran to live with my Grandad! Chador doesn‘t suit me!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Asks Augustin.

“Cute and stupid. You’ve picked a winner there, Jess.” Joey puts her knife away. “What do you want anyway?”

“I came to see if Jess wanted to go for a walk.” Augustin says shyly.

“No, I fucking don’t. I was sleeping and so should you be.” Jess lies back down. “Situation’s changed from earlier.”

“I don’t…we don’t…have to…” Augustin stutters. “I just want to talk to you. Even if your sister and your friend want to come too. I know we’re not supposed to go out with less than three of us. I’m not stupid, I know it’s dangerous out there.”

“Cousin…why do I bother? No, I don’t want to go for a walk. I want to go back to bed.”

“Fine,” says Augustin. “But I’m going back to that camera just in case that thing comes back. I want to get proper footage of it.”

“You can’t go alone,” says Gabrielle.

“Watch me.” He starts to leave the tent.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” mutters Joanna. She looks around the other two girls. “Wait! We can’t let you wander around the woods on your own. You’ll get eaten.”

It takes them two minutes to get dressed - Gabrielle doesn’t comment when she sees them pack handguns in their pockets - another three to sneak out of the camp and find the path back to the camera.

***

“Sam! Sam! Wake up!” Dean shakes Sam into consciousness. “I forget what it’s like sharing with you. You were dreaming.”

Sam’s soaked to the skin with sweat, but he begins to pull on his combats and his boots. “The kids…they’ve left the camp.”

Dean gets dressed and follows Sam out to the girls’ tent. “Maybe they’re taking a dump.”

Sam feels the bags. “Too cool for that. They’ve gone walk about.”

Dean quickly checks the Chavez teens tent. “Son of a bitch! Augustin’s gone as well. I‘ll help you kill him.”

“Dean, if I find him with his hands down my daughter’s pants right now? I’d hug him.” Sam’s face is grim.

“Christ, what the hell did you see?”

***

They make it to the camera in about an hour, Augustin talking excitedly the whole time about the mystery animal. He’s got great plans for his footage. “Then after we’ve got it on YouTube - hey, the food’s still there.”

He points to the trap. There’s hair on it, but nothing that’s wanted to eat the food.

“We should probably climb a tree,” says Gabrielle. “Just in case something wants to eat us.”

“You climb a tree,” says Augustin. “I’m going to take a look at where that animal was.”

He walks over to the other side of the trap and begins to examine the undergrowth. “Hey, it’s been really trampled here.” His flashlight swings up. “There’s claw marks here, five of them. Bigfoot can’t be a bear. Bears don’t have five foot pads.”

Jess walks over to where he’s standing, looks at the marks and the broken vegetation. She sweeps her fingers over one stalk. “It’s fresh. This is recent. I really think we should…”

“Holy shit!” Screams Augustin as the long, skeletal fingers reach for him and his flashlight illuminates the gaping, hungry maw in a face that looks like it’s been drawn by a child. “Run!” Jess screams as she fires at it. The bullets hit home and the creature howls, but it makes no odds. It doesn’t bleed, doesn’t fall. It knocks out Augustin before reaching for Jessica.Gabrielle takes off as Joanna runs to aid her cousin, the sound of Jess screaming fuelling her flight.***

It seems like forever before she sees the two bobbing flashlights in the distance and she hurries towards them.

They must have seen her, because they bob faster.

Gabrielle just keeps running. There’s noise behind her…Fuck, is it following her? She stumbles, but keeps her feet before barrelling into solid muscle, blinded by panic and flashlights in her eyes.

“Gabrielle? What’s happened? Where’s the others?” Huge hands close around her shoulders, holding her up.

“C-camera…Christ, Sam it w-was huge…” She’s panting so hard, coherence isn’t coming easy.

“What did it look like? Gabrielle, focus!” Dean snaps, grabbing her head and forcing her to look into his eyes. Dean’s terrified, but he’s forcing it down. Seeing that helps the teenager who clears up the house when she’s beaten and bleeding.

“It was big, big as Sam, grey, looked like a giant alien. Jess shot it, but it didn’t go down.” She’s a little calmer.

The brothers share a brief, panic-stricken glance. “Wendigo? Oh, Christ, Dean - Jess shot it.”

Sam swings his pack around onto one shoulder, tearing it open and reaching in. He comes out with two large guns and passes one to Dean.

“It’s got our kids. It’ll know we’ll come for them. She’s alive, Sam.” Dean says as he takes it from his brother. He goes into his own backpack and pulls out another gun. Dean hands Gabrielle one of the guns as Sam explains, “This is a flare gun. Dean and I will draw him off, you find Jess and the others. If you see that ugly fucker, shoot him. I need you to do that for me. Can you do that?”

“What is it?” She asks, staring at the gun in her hand.

“Not now. Just do your job,” replies Dean as they begin to jog back to the camera. Sam checks it quickly when they get there, but there’s nothing other than a struggle and screaming off screen. Sam quickly examines the crushed undergrowth, runs a hand over his face as fear quickly bubbles up to the surface.

There’s a hell of a lot of blood.

“Leads off here,” growls Sam, not looking at either of them, as he runs the flashlight along the trail. He follows it without looking back.

It leads downhill about a quarter of a mile to a cave. They enter it cautiously, Sam first, Gabrielle in the middle. Dean brings up the rear. They clear each corner like the police officers that she’s seen on TV.

Sam stumbles at one point, tripping over something she can’t quite see, but it looks like bones. “Shh. I think I can hear - ” His voice trails off and muffled grunts can be heard faintly. They creep closer.

“Think it’s the Wendigo?”

Sam shakes his head. “I can’t tell. Wait! I think I can hear swearing.”

They’re silent for a further moment, as the grunts continue, slightly louder, interspersed with sobs and expletives. It’s a female voice.

“Oh, thank God,” breathes Dean, relief heavy in his voice. “It’s Joanna.”

“Could be the Wendigo,” cautions Sam.

“Naw, that’s Joey. She’s hurt.” Dean doesn’t move. “Where do you think it’s coming from?”

“Straight ahead.” Sam waits another few minutes and sets off down the shaft.

“What if it’s waiting?” Asks Gabrielle.

“Take that chance,” replies Dean. “Deal with it if it’s there. Get the fuck out quick if it‘s not.”

The closer they get, the more carefully they move, even as the gasps and sobs sound from the small cavern at the bottom of the shaft. They’re straining their ears for other movements and sounds, but there’s nothing.

Dean motions to Sam that he’ll stand look out. Sam gives a brief nod, then creeps into the cavern, Gabrielle close behind him.

“It’s clear,” whispers Joanna, tear tracks shining on her cheeks. All three teenagers are strung up by the wrists and there‘s blood running down from one of Joanna’s. Her bonds have been slightly loosened, there‘s blood on her mouth and rope fibres between her teeth. “There’s a passage behind those stalactites. It went out there a while ago.”

“Gabrielle, check on Augustin, then get Joey down.” Sam orders as he goes to his daughter. Cutting her down, he checks her quickly, but carefully for injury, before gathering her up in his arms, wrapped in his jacket.

“How is she?” Asks Dean from the opening.

“She’s breathing, barely. Lotta blood. Think she’s in shock.” Sam gets up, looks to where Gabrielle has cut down Joey and Augustin. He says nothing, just takes his place in the middle of the party. Joey’s holding her left arm close to her body and her shoulder is misshapen. She moves to Dean’s side where her father quickly kisses the top of her head before the party cautiously begins to move out.

Jessica whimpers slightly in her father’s arms. “You’re OK, honey,” Sam soothes her, but the fear in his voice has broken through again. “Christ, Dean, she’s so cold.”

“She’ll be OK, Sammy. She’s tough,” Dean replies, grimly. “You hear that?”

They can hear the Wendigo returning, the sounds loud and echoing down the passage.

Sam hesitates for a moment, before turning to Augustin. “Can you carry her?”

Augustin looks like rabbit in the headlights. “W-what?” he stammers.

“Take Jessica, yes or no?” Snaps Sam

To his credit, the boy nods and holds out his arms for her. Sam passes her over. He hands his flare gun to Joey. “Gabrielle, Joanna, get back to the camp, try to keep everyone in the symbols, call an ambulance. Don’t tell them anything.”

“You know I’m as big a bullshitter as Dad.” Joanna smiles weakly, before setting off.

Dean’s already got another flare gun out his pack and thrown it to Sam. They move stealthily back down to the cavern as the Wendigo shuffles back in. It hesitates for a moment when it sees its food stores have inexplicably vanished.

That’s all the brothers need. They leap out and fire in tandem, Dean hitting it square in the stomach, Sam getting it in the chest. They watch as flames engulf the screaming monster.

As the flames die down on the dead beast, Sam speaks and his voice is strained. “No smart-ass quip?”

“No. It‘s dead. Let’s go.”

***

The walk back and the ride to the hospital in the helicopter pass in a blur.

Sam spins some bullshit to the cops and the rangers or wildlife people - she doesn’t know who - about the kids wandering off on their own, y’know what kids are like, young, dumb and full of come. Managed to get themselves attacked by a bear. Me and my brother killed it when we rescued the kids. Figured they’d pull a stunt like this, tracked them down. Well, they’re teenagers. They’ll do stupid things.

They seem to like that explanation. No one asks how the victims have rope burns on their wrists from a bear attack.

Dean comes up to Gabrielle as she’s watching Sam. “People like nice, neat, plausible explanations. If it makes sense, they’ll ignore the holes you can get a tank through.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” she agrees. “What’s happening?”

“Yeah, I guess you already know that one.” He sighs. “Jess is in surgery, she’s got a lot of internal injuries, lost a lot of blood. They think she’ll pull through. We breed ’em tough. Joey‘s waiting on the drugs to kick in before they set her shoulder. I hate that part. They‘ll call me back for it.”

“Can’t stand seeing her in pain? She’s lucky.” Gabrielle says this sadly.

Dean catches what she means. “Yeah,” he agrees softly. “We are.”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“You did good out there.” He says eventually.

“I didn’t do anything, except nearly get myself killed,” Gabrielle replies.

“You kept your head and did what you were told. No freak outs. Valuable skill. Think you could do it again?”

Gabrielle looks sharply at Dean. “This is your business, isn’t it, hunting these things? All those tours are covers for hunts.”

“Not quite,” replies Dean. “About two thirds of the tours are real tours. The rest are hunts or where we train up people to be hunters.”

“Could you train me?” Asks Gabrielle.

Dean laughs. “Honey, we already did. Now you just have to pick up some experience. We’ll need someone to pick up the girls’ slack for a few months. You in? We’ll pay you.”

“Yeah,” she nods a wide smile spreading slowly across her face. “I’m in.”

 

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