Long Train Running (1/2)
Title: Long Train Running
People: Winchesters, of course.
Rating: R for language.
Word Count: 13,000 or so
Warning: Semi-spoilers? References a few things throughout the years, including the end of Season 4.
Summary: The Boys make their way to Chicago to investigate a series of train accidents. But it's not as easy as they thought it'd be, especially when they meet a girl who takes a liking to Sam and utter dislike to Dean.
Notes: Takes place during the Season 5 timeline, but doesn't follow a damned thing the creators may have mentioned coming up. Title and cut text from Doobie Brothers.
Disclaimer: Absolutely a figment of my imagination
Dean Winchester wasn’t very comfortable having to deal with Andie Carson. He was afraid of all the horrific things she would see in his future and that she'd tell him frame by frame what would happen in the moments of his death. Or Sam’s. They’d both already witnessed the other dying, they didn’t need to deal with it again. Besides that, she was kind of a bitch sometimes.
When she caught them and the Impala camped in the corner of the cul de sac closest to her house, she flipped them the bird - or Dean, really, as she had yet to trade a word with Sam - and went back up the driveway with the morning paper in hand.
“She really doesn’t like you.”
Dean snorted. “Really, Sam?”
Sam returned a pained face but kept quiet.
Dean grunted. “Come on.” Huffing his way out the car and slamming the door shut with a thud, he grumbled some more, but nothing coherent enough to make Sam respond with anything more than the same pained, annoyed expression. “What?”
“What is your problem? You’ve been bitching all morning.”
Dean’s eyebrows furrowed with annoyance. “This job. Fletcher. Her.” He pointed up to the house. “Can’t we find a stripper demon in Tijuana?” After a second, he snapped his fingers across the hood of the Impala. “Models in Miami?”
“Dean.”
“What?”
And really, Dean was at a loss because Sam had about 27 different ways to say his name and mean something different each time. One time it meant ‘Can you not blare Motorhead while I’m trying to read up on this tulpa?’ Another was ‘Look at these blueprints for the warehouse where the death echoes are.’ This time it was ‘You’re kind of a sick bastard.’
Dean tipped his head to the side with a hopeful look. “We can try?”
“That car?” she called out with a huff. “That at the end of my driveway? Kind of obvious.”
As he trudged up her driveway, he looked at his baby then back to her with a part-wounded, part-indignant face. He heard her mumble ‘shitcan’ so he prepared himself to throw off various curses, but Sam tugged on his elbow and gave a warning glance. “Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled at his brother, pulling his arm away.
“We kind of need her help, don’t we?” Sam asked.
“We kind of need to dump her in the river when we’re done.”
“Dean.” That said ‘hey, you’re an asshole.’
“Dude, she’s kind of a bitch.”
“I heard that, dickweed.”
When they reached the front stoop, Andie crossed her arms and didn’t budge. She refused to open the screen door, and refused to stop glaring at Dean who smirked and spoke first. “Morning, Sunshine.”
Her response was a tight, sarcastic smile. “Screw you. It’s five in the morning.”
“Andie? Right?” Sam asked politely, like he always did to balance Dean’s, well, Deanness.
When she glanced in his direction, her face softened just a fraction but turned back to Dean. And then back to Sam again. And she was smiling just a little more.
“Hi,” he smiled in return, appreciating that she wasn’t cursing and seemed a little more comfortable talking to him. “I’m Sam.”
Her eyes floated to Dean, but she still answered nicely. “Yeah, I know.” Her tone went hard as she addressed Dean. “What’s up?”
Dean’s face, stance, and voice read that he absolutely did not want to ask her for help. “You have to do that thing you do.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not that kind of girl. I like dinner and a little hand-holding first.”
Sam’s eyes flew to Dean, who just shrugged in response. He was a little freaked out that Dean possibly messed around with her before getting all the information they needed. Girls weren't usually this bitter with Dean unless he had screwed them over - literally or figuratively. It was kind of an unwritten rule that they could do anyone as long as the case was over. To avoid complications where the resources refused to come through again. You know, like now, possibly.
“Hah,” Dean sounded, pursing his lips. “Cute.”
She flipped an eyebrow with a smug smile. “Yeah, thanks.”
His voice went more amused and playful. “Maybe we’ll just let you die on that train tomorrow.”
“Dean,” Sam sounded through a tight mouth. That one was more obvious between them. ‘Stop being a dick.’
Her eyes kept with Dean’s and she smirked. “Maybe it’s not tomorrow?”
“Andie.” Sam stepped forward. Carefully. “We just wanted to talk to you more about what you know. So that we can be sure it’s not tomorrow.” Her eyes shot to his while he continued. Nicely. “Can you help us? Just talk for a few minutes?”
“It’ll be Thursday,” she said confidently. “And if you guys don’t do something, it’s going to be worse than the last time.”
“How worse?” Dean asked, dropping all nastiness and focusing more on interest.
Her arms crossed again, more in protection of her own words, because she now sounded worried and slightly freaked. “It’s the express. Train is packed and everyone ….” She stops talking and looks immediately to Sam with a quick glance to Dean.
Dean prodded her to continue. “Everyone, what?”
She seemed to flinch just slightly and looked away.
“They die.” Sam said it more than asked.
Andie looked back at him, “Yeah. You, too.”
*
Two Days Earlier
Dean was pretty stealthy at times. He liked to think he blended into a crowd, and when he didn’t, it was totally not his fault that he was a good looking son of a bitch and people liked to look at him. Which was his exact thought when he first caught her staring at him at the Lisle train station. He smirked and continued to watch her, easing his hand away from the inside pocket of his jacket, just where he kept his gun. But when her face dropped into a bit of worry and she ran onto the nearest car, his brain switched into gear and he was pretty certain she was the one.
The one who was terrorizing the Burlington Northern’s west suburban trains and creating not just massive train delays, but some fairly awful havoc in the form of derailing cars and “gate incidents” as Metra so delicately called accidents where people died. A majority of the accidents were occurring between the Downers Grove-Belmont and Lisle stops, and the rest were just beyond Lisle, which bothered the boys. The gate incidents couldn’t be filed away as accidental with passengers rushing across the tracks and finding themselves in a game of chicken with an oncoming train. At Lisle, the station was above street level, meaning there were under-track walkways to cross north and south. People had to want to be on those tracks.
He and Sam were weary to take on the case, considering half of the problem was keeping track of a demon, spirit, whatever, that rode a train 20 miles east to Chicago, then another 20 back out at night with no trail of where it went throughout the day. But Sam’s little bleeding heart and tearful expression convinced him that saving multiple deaths in an intricate case could prove more rewarding than following up on a possible domestic demon in North Dakota that had just two people in its file. And Sam thought it would be a nice break to go suburban rather than backwoods.
He kind of hated Sam sometimes for being so weepy eyed and whiny enough to convince him to do these things.
But anyway. Dean, without much of a thought, jumped aboard the train and tried to follow her, but lost her in the time it took to bump his way through the half-dozen or so riders who decided to stand in the vestibule instead of actually try to find a seat. He grumbled at them quietly and fought his way through a few cars, but no dice.
As the train neared the next station, it began to slow and the lights flickered. People murmured over the incident, but no one seemed alarmed. Except Dean. He quickly glanced out the windows, around the area, trying to make the next car, checking if they had problems. All lights were on in the cars on either side of him.
“What the hell?” he heard to his left. He spotted a few people taping electronic devices, playing with phones that were not working. Then he saw the tiny puffs of cold vapor forming at each mouth.
His heart raced and he flipped around to watch the passengers as the lights continued to flicker. His eyes scoured each face, looking for someone out of place. But the timing between on and off slowed, until the lights came back bright and the cars picked up speed. He continued to look through all the faces, to his left, his right, and above. As the train slowed again with an announcement of the next stop, he saw people moving up top and caught her moving towards the stairwell and through the sliding doors. He followed but was pushed back into the car by boarding passengers. He caught her edging down the platform, staring at the train, seeming not entirely sure about what she was doing.
*
Unable to get off the train at the next stop - again, the new passengers kept him in his place, pissing him off beyond belief because he never knew business people could be so rough in their pushing and insistence on their spots on the train - Dean rode what turned out to be an express train right into the city.
Flipping open his phone, he cursed under his breath as he went through his speed dial and phoned Sam. “Hey, I need a favor,” Dean said, by way of greeting.
“Hmm?” he asked, voice fully sleep riddled.
“Sam!” he said loud enough to get his attention. People looked, and Dean gave a shitty ‘yeah, yeah’ kind of look. Whatever.
“I’m here.” Still sleepy.
“You have to come get me.”
“Yeah, okay. Wait,” and Sam yawned. “You have the car, don’t you?”
“No.”
“You left with the car this morning.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said uneasily. Dean really hated having to ask for help. Let alone acknowledging he had done something really dumb.
“How and where do I get you?”
Dean’s voice went into authoritative mode, as if he could not been seen as stupid if he was bossing Sam around. “It’s at the train stop at Main Street. Just walk over and get it. Then come get me.”
It was entirely feasible, with the hotel just a few blocks away, but Sam wasn’t giving in that easily. “Where?”
“Union?”
“Like, in the city?”
“Yeah.”
“Chicago?”
“Yes,” he hissed with anger.
“When?”
Through gritted teeth, Dean nearly barked, “When you wake your ass up and get the car.” Then he got quiet, “Hurry, I don’t want her towed and hurt.”
*
Sam was pretty good at not making Dean feel completely dumb for randomly jumping onto a train and winding up at Union Station without wheels. But he didn’t exactly let it go either. “Why did you not take a train back?”
Dean continued with swift steps into the Grand Hall after they decided they may as well do some digging around at Union Station. In case whatever they were hunting was really rooted there and not in Lisle. Sam was convinced it had a connection in both spots, so why not start there? “I didn’t have any cash on me.”
He could hear the smile on Sam’s lips. “How did they not kick you off the train in the first place?”
“I hid in the bathroom.” Sam made a noise in disgust. “Yeah, I know.”
“I can’t imagine those things are comfortable. Or clean.”
“Dude, it was disgusting. I spent 20 minutes in the other bathrooms scrubbing my jacket down.”
“Wait. What?” Dean didn’t answer immediately, so Sam smirked and continued. “What happened to your jacket?”
Dean’s arms, by reflex, shot out a little, as if literally shaking the memory from him. “I sat down on the seat. And it was not morning fresh.”
“Gross,” Sam laughed. He kind of enjoyed when Dean got himself into a little harmless trouble.
Dean continued muttering on, figuring he’d get it all out since Sam wasn’t totally shredding him. “Yeah, and the bathrooms at Union aren’t much better. A bunch of homeless guys were crawling around, looking for loose change.” Sam laughed and Dean continued on. “One guy was singing. Kept throwing an arm around me, swaying, and insisting we were pretty enough to make cash on the streets.”
Sam laughed again. “I told you you’d like Chicago.”
“Shut it.”
Sam slowed his walking and reached into his jeans pocket. “Here,” and he handed over twenty dollars.
“What’s this?”
The voice came out nearly motherly, but mostly just mocking. “Next time you want to take the big train into the city, just use this.”
Dean snatched the money, because hey, it’s money, and marched off. “I hate you.”
Sam really enjoys when Dean gets himself into trouble.
*
They agreed to split up in the tailend of the day, Sam doing his best research and reconnaissance at Metra’s offices and Dean further checking out the station’s outbound tracks. He hung around the tracks that offered Lisle as a stop in the southbound hall, but found it hard to do much past 4pm when rush hour began and there were flushes of passengers every five to ten minutes.
His patience wore thin when yet another call went unanswered, straight to Sam’s voicemail. But his mind perked up when he caught the girl again, the one from the morning, rushing down the escalators and towards … well not him, but another track that suddenly boasted a Lisle stop and was scheduled to leave in five minutes. He fought with his mind (which said to follow her) and his pride (which didn’t want to jump onto another train without having a ride at the end of the line). He wasn’t sure if Sam laughing at a repeat of the morning incident was worse than Sam’s anger for not chasing the demon.
A minute passed until he grumbled “shit” and ran down the hall and platform and hopped into the first car, following the herd making its way towards the front of the train. Four cars up, he spotted her in the upper deck, right. He smirked and hurried up the left side of the deck, taking a seat a few spots behind so she wouldn’t look across the aisle and notice him. Dean watched her through the whole ride. As she read her book, flashed her train pass to the conductor, and all around seemed pretty innocent. Except when, just minutes before the Downers Grove-Belmont stop, she sat straight up and began glancing around the entire train, keeping her eyes down on the people below. It was then that the lights flickered and the cars slowed.
Instinctively, his hand slipped inside his jacket and began to cradle his gun, finger tapping just next to the trigger. She rose from her seat, leaning over the railing with anxiety clear on her face. Dean began to rise, taking a few steps forward, and then cursed when his movement caught her eye.
Her mouth dropped open and he smirked just enough that she could see it. With the train stopped, people scooted around them on their respective sides and exited the car. All the while, they stared each other down. Once the train started moving, she quickly snatched up her things and raced down the aisle, down the steps, and into the next car. Dean fumbled his way down the stairs, trying to not lose his grip on the gun and was momentarily slowed as he got caught in the sliding doors between cars.
At Lisle, she dashed off the train, Dean after her. But they came to an immediately stop, sliding against the just watered grass when a few screams reached their ears. Dean stood as soon as he had his balance back and saw people crowding at the head of the train, a few women loudly whimpering, men blocking some people’s views, and a few young kids snapping pictures with their camera phones. He ran back towards the crowd and flinched when he saw the body, draped across the tracks and split in three.
Dean groaned, covered his mouth, and rang up Sam. “We got a problem.”
*
As dusk hit, the guys showed back up at the site in suits and ties, doing their best ‘we’re cops’ routine. To their dismay, much of the scene had been cleared and trains were running on the middle and inbound tracks, leaving the outbound rail clear for some final inspections.
“There’s nothing left,” Sam murmured.
“I know. That guy is so screwed out of an open casket.”
He pursed his lips in his typical disappointed look. “I mean to the accident. They’re running trains again.”
“Well, if you hadn’t taken all night to get back out here.”
Sam slowed a little, pushing his shoulders back and complaining. “It was rush hour, Dean.”
“You drive like an old woman is what it was.”
“I’d like to see you-“
Dean cut Sam off, flashing a badge. “Hi there. FBI. Agent Daltry, Agent Moon. ”
“How can I help you?” the officer asked, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, have you identified the victim?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, great,” Dean eased. “We’re going to need to see his records.”
The officer barely flinched. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” he semi-laughed, then leaned towards the main to see his badge. His voice went a bit forceful. “Officer Newsome? We’re going to need your immediate cooperation here. We’d like to see the guy’s file. Talk to any eyewitnesses. The driver.”
Shifting his weight, the officer snorted. “Driver?”
Dean paused, a little nervous to continue, seeing as how this guy was a complete roadblock. “Yeah, you know,” and he wound his hand around a little like he was searching for the rest of his statement in thin air. “The, uh.” He glanced at Sam, pleading for help, who only leaned with his head out with no idea what he meant. Dean quickly spat, “Conductor!” and smacked Sam’s shoulder with a smile. “The conductor.”
The officer nodded, smug as can be. “Yeah, they don’t drive the train.”
He furrowed his eyes and looked at Sam.
“They cruise the cars, collecting fares.
The guys shared another look before Dean continued. “In the movies, like,” and he made the gesture of pulling on an invisible horn beside his head. Dean smiled again, hoping a little bit of fun would win over this guy. But he stayed quiet with a hard face.
Sam spoke up, “Engineer. We need to talk to the engineer.”
Dean glared at his brother, pissed he didn’t help earlier, as the officer replied. “He’s been sent home. Mandatory three-week release.”
“Can we get his information?”
“What’s the FBI want with this?”
Sam saw the opening - at least the guy wasn’t mocking Dean anymore - and continued speaking while Dean caught a girl milling around the parking lot, just one row back from the scene. That girl. He smacked a hand to his brother and pointed in her direction as he began walking that way. But not before she spotted him and quickly jumped into her car and pulled away.
*
They did their best in the short timeframe of evening for research at the Lisle Library, but were unable to find much about past deaths or other incidents outside what they already knew about the past month. They were able to get some bits and pieces on the engineer, but it wasn’t anything to seem important at that time. It would be morning before they could visit with the guy.
“Shis god fumfin dodo wif id.”
Sam watched his brother in a bit of horror. His bacon double cheeseburger was barely staying within the confines of his mouth, grease and cheese and ketchup crowding his lips. But he refused to not talk.
“I jud knof id.”
“Dean.”
“Wha?”
“Swallow?”
He washed the contents of his mouth down with a long pull from his beer bottle before talking more. “Aw, Sammy, I didn’t know you liked that.”
“Gross.”
Dean took another bite, albeit smaller. “Maybe she’s controlling the demon.”
“Like an invocation?”
“Maybe?”
“Did you see her do anything?”
“I saw her on the car with all the trouble.”
“Yeah,” Sam said weakly, not convinced.
“Lights going crazy, cold clouds. And she rode the same train back that hit that guy.”
Sam pulled some files into view, glancing through them and answering as he considered all the notes the police had put to paper. “They said he was already there. Before the train came.”
Dean wasn’t listening. “And she was hanging in the parking lot when we were there. Like she’s watching the scene.” He snapped a few greasy fingers together. “They always do that.”
“They?”
“Killers.”
Sam was absolutely skeptical. “Like serial killers?”
“Yeah, the ones who enjoy watching their own work? They show up at the funerals and shit?”
“Dean, we’re talking demon or a spirit. Who can go wherever and whenever. They don’t take the train to work and they don’t run away in cars.”
Dean gave a thoughtful glance then took another large bite of his hamburger.
“Did you see her with anything?”
“Lih wha?” he munched around food.
“I dunno, a spell book or a talisman or something?”
“Nah dad I member.”
Sam sighed. “You’re a lot of help.”
*
The next day, Sam rode the same train, keeping a less obvious but still critical eye on her. He watched as she napped on the train, folding herself against the window of her upper deck seat. There were no incidents and Sam called Dean as soon as he was in Union Station. “She’s not doing anything.” He sighed. “Did you find anything?”
“Downers Grove Library,” he crowed little quietly, restraining himself within the quiet building. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m going to follow her, see where she goes. I don’t think she’s part of this, Dean.”
“Get this,” Dean said, ignoring Sam’s words. “David Fletcher, died ten years ago in a train accident. Guess what happened?”
Sam continued “What?”
“Playing around with some friends, they pushed him near the tracks. Train comes. Road Kill.”
Sam winced with Dean’s words. “That can’t be too good for anything.”
“Split across the tracks. Three pieces. Just like our guy last night.”
“So now what?”
“We find Fletcher, soak and roast him.”
Sam sighed, and then started when the lights in the hallway nearest the food court started flickering. He slowed and edged to an alcove near the bathrooms and looked around. “Uh, Dean.” That one meant he might be in trouble.
“It says he’s buried at Woodhaven, we can run over there tonight.”
As Sam lifted his head to fully view the tiny cold vapor rising from his mouth, he caught her across the hallway, looking scared and completely unsure of what to do. “Dean,” he tried again, but then called to her. “Hey!” They caught each other’s eyes and she immediately booked it, running down the hallway towards the nearest exit. Sam chased her, and holy shit, he was not keeping up with her. When he reached street level, he saw her charging across the river, weaving between people and basically getting away. It was hurting his pride a little because he knew Dean wouldn’t let it pass that he let a girl outrun him.
His phone rang seconds later. While huffing, “Yeah?”
Dean barked, “What happened?”
“She’s fast.”
“Please tell me the end of that sentence is ‘and easy’?”
“She’s gone.”
*
Dean picked up Sam an hour later and they made their way to the engineer’s home. He was visibly shaken - and a bit drunk, letting them in without much question or care or enough brain to realize that the FBI wouldn’t really investigate this.
“It’s never happened before. Well, to me. I know a lot of guys have had problems this week.”
Dean asked, “What kind of problems?”
“Lights and the engines shutting down. Temperature won’t stay.” When Dean’s eyebrows rose in question, the guy continued on. “It gets too cold too quick. It’s freakin’ spring, air shouldn’t be hard to regulate.”
“Have you seen anything else strange?”
He kind of shrugged uneasily, taking a healthy sip from his short glass of liquor. The guys tried to pry more information out him, but he just shrugged again. Until finally … “I haven’t seen it. Some other guys have. These are all just stories, boys.”
Sam smiled with comfort. “We’re listening.”
“Sometimes they see stuff in front of the tracks. Not regular stuff.”
“What kinds of things are they seeing?” asked Sam.
Another big gulp. “People” he replied, obviously uncomfortable.
Dean asked, “Like pedestrians? Passengers?”
“No, like.” Another drink. “They’re just watching the trains. Not moving.” He finished the glass off. “Like zombies or something.”
*
Dean and Sam returned to the Lisle train station, hoping to get some clues on the case. They watched a few trains come and go, watched some of the passengers, and all around came up with nothing of significance.
They were heading back to the car when Sam noticed her. He smacked Dean’s arm “Hey!” He took a few steps and was immediately stopped by Dean’s hand.
“I’ll go. Don’t want you to be asskicked by a girl twice in one day.”
“Dude,” he complained, but Dean was already hurrying off.
He was getting closer to her as she headed east along the tracks on a paved walkway towards a far parking lot. As people thinned out, heading to other nearby parking lots, he was walking faster, catching up. She turned slightly and slowed, spotting him. She took a few more quick steps before breaking into an all out run. “Son of a bitch,” he cursed, taking off behind her.
As the walkway curled around a bracketed driveway, he was within steps and wrapped himself around her, tumbling across the grass. She was immediately punching at him, kicking, yelling, anything to get him off. Dean sat up, straddling her waist, holding her shoulders down. Fighting against his body, she grabed his arms at the elbows, the furthest she could reach.
“Shit,” he muttered as he felt her gaining some movement away from him. So he took both hands in one of his own and pinned them to the ground above her head. Using his free hand, he pulled out a small flask, unscrewed it with his teeth and sprinkled holy water down on her.
She shrieked, turning her head away. Then she stopped, looked at him, and spit the water back at him.
He frowned, realizing it had no effect on her. Other than pissing her off.
“Get off of me.”
He leaned back, letting her hands go, and grabbed her bag. He riffled through it to her wallet. “Andie Carson.”
“Whatever.” And she finally pushed him away and grabbed her bag while standing.
Dean was livid, confused, and kind of amazed with this girl. With as level a voice as he could manage, he asked, “Who are you?”
“Seriously? You tackle a girl and then ask her name. Classy.” He didn’t say anything, so she continued. “Who the hell are you?”
He flashed the badge from the day before. “FBI. Agent Daltry.”
“What?” She looked at his outfit then closer at his badge. “Daltry?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dean sounded a little too proud in that moment, but he didn’t care, really.
She turned away and started walking. “Get the fuck out.”
Dean caught up with her, yanking an arm hard enough to pull her towards him. “Hey, we need to talk.” She wrangled her arm away and kept walking, but not so fast that he couldn’t keep up. “What do you know about the train accidents?”
“I know that they’re happening.”
Okay, he was mostly annoyed with her and her pissy attitude. “What else do you know?”
She laughed. “That you’re not FBI.”
He gave a haughty laugh. “Really?”
Turning back to him, she put her hand out. “Lemme see your badge again.” Once she had it, she glanced between him and the badge, and then laughed. “Roger Daltry? Right.” She tossed it aside and kept walking.
He cursed, picking up the badge and continued to follow her. She stopped at her car, unlocking it and was about to get in when he held the door open. “Wait a second. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Really? You gonna arrest me with your Who badge, or just tackle me to the ground again and spray me with water?”
He pursed his lips, ready for a shitty response when his phone rang. Flipping it open, he spoke, “Yeah, what?”
“Where are you?” Sam asked. “I’ve been driving around this area and can’t find wherever you are.”
“Whatever, I’ll be there in a minute. Follow her car.” Dean walked around the back before getting into the passenger seat. “New impala. License Plate ZG 869.” When he sat down and closed the door, he smirked a little. “Nice car.”
*
“You see things?”
“I guess. Like scenes.”
A few minutes in the car, and Andie had calmed down enough to answer Dean’s questions with a little less bitterness. He was entirely too thankful for it. “So, you’re a psychic?”
She snorted. “Uh, no.”
“You see things happen.”
“They’re more like premonitions. Future things.”
“Right, so you know what’s going to happen.” She didn’t respond, so he said again. “Like a psychic.”
“Do you see me with a crystal ball?”
Dean sighed. He wasn’t that thankful. “Alright, whatever. How do you do it?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes it just happens. Sometimes I think about it. I don’t know.”
“What do you see with the trains?”
“I saw the guy from last night. I saw last week’s derailment.”
Dean nodded. “Killed four.”
“Injured twenty. Luckily it was a late night milk run.”
“Milk run?”
Andie huffed a little, annoyed at having to explain. “Later at night, the trains make all the stops. Not many people make it through 15 stops before Lisle.”
“You see the next accident?” After a small silence, she nodded. “You know what’s going to do it?”
She went a little serious. “Not exactly. But I can see what cars are having problems.”
He was interested to know about each car. “It’s not the whole train?”
She shook her head. “Tomorrow it’ll be the fourth car on the 8:10. A guy rolls under it.”
The car came to a stop while she unlocked the doors. Dean looked up, spotting the hotel in front of them, then his Impala passing them as Sam parked in a spot near their room. He looked at her and she looked back without a word. He hadn’t expected to be back at his hotel. “I didn’t even - ” He didn’t even tell her where it was.
With a cocky smile. “I see things.”
“I have more questions.”
She leaned across him, opening the door for him. “I have to go.”
He chuckled with a bit of attitude. “Andie.”
With her hand resting on the wheel, she stared him down. “Yeah, no. I have to go.”
Dean exited the car, slamming the door behind him and watched her watch him.
“Hey,” she called out. He glanced back, a little hopeful he could get another answer. “Can I have my license back?”
He snorted, reaching into his inside jacket pocket and eyed her license before handing it over.
She muttered “Jackass.”
“Bitch.”
*
At night, they pulled into Woodhaven Cemetery, armed with shovels and a duffle bag with salt and lighter fluid.
“Jackpot!” Dean called out when he found the Fletcher tombstone, which read ‘Taken but not gone forever.’ He smarted, “Not forever, man.”
But when they got to the bottom of the grave, opened the casket, and found it empty, Sam and Dean started at each other with a crack of fear showing.
“Taken,” Sam repeated from the headstone, sounding tired.
“Man, they ain’t kidding.”
“What now?”
“I don’t know,” he huffed, annoyed just as much.
“No bones.”
He threw down the shovel. “Yeah, I see that, Sam.”
“You didn’t see anything when you found his name in the records?”
His voice went mocking, “Did I see something in the records?” Sam gave his typical pained expression. “Yes, Sam! I saw that he was buried here.” He slammed the casket shut. “Damnit.”
“Dean.” That one meant he didn’t know what they should do and he wanted an idea.
He crabbed, stomping his feet just a little, and throwing his arms out in anger.
Sam knew this meant Dean knew what to do, but didn’t like it. “That girl?” he asked, referring to Andie Carson.
“Fuck!”
*
They pulled down the dead end of Andie’s street, bringing the car to a stop in the cul de sac and turning off the lights.
“She can see things happen?” asked Sam.
“Yeah.”
“Huh,” he sounded thoughtfully. “Like a psychic?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but don’t call her that.”
“What?”
“She’s kind of touchy about it. I guess she doesn’t like beads and turbans.”
Sam kind of huffed. “Dean, we know plenty of reputable psychics. None of which fit the bill of what you see on TV.”
“Whatever.”
“Not to mention that I’ve seen things.”
His reply was a little “Hmm.”
“You ever waste all night watching me?”
“What?”
“You let me help out when I could, you didn’t just stalk me.”
Dean chuckled. “Right, Sam. I let you help until you let Lucifer out and almost ended the world. Good analogy.”
“Whatever,” Sam sighed.
He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, keeping his eyes on her house. “She sees things and knows all about this train stuff. There’s something with her.”
Sam nodded, giving a careful glance. “Huh.”
“What?”
He sounded interested. “You haven’t stopped talking about her since she dropped you at the hotel.”
Dean grumbled, crossing his arms tighter. “Oh, absolutely not.”
With a smile, “You sure you don’t like her?”
Another angry glance and Dean kept quiet. He sat up a little then smacked Sam in the shoulder. “Hey, look.” He pointed back at the house, focusing on the lower left window. They saw Andie, popping in and out of sight, on a treadmill. “She’s a runner. Now you don’t have to feel so bad about being burned by a girl.”
“Dude,” Sam began to argue.
Dean smirked, glad the attention was off him.
*
When Andie first ran into Dean Winchester he was hanging around her train stop. She had been riding that train about five days a week for the past two years, but that didn’t mean she knew every single person to stand on the platform. She was pretty sure that none of them wore what equated to ‘loner gear,’ frequently rested a hand across their chest, and/or cased every single person in the area. He might’ve been a cop, constantly patting his piece. Or a lunatic. She’d seen (and moreso heard) both make appearances before.
She had been pretty freaked in general, because, yeah, it was likely a gun. And the Metra authorities announced on every train ride ‘If you see something, say something.’ But when she caught his face, she froze and couldn’t stop staring. Not so much because was attractive - oh, holy hell, he was kind of beautiful and rugged and had a totally kissable mouth, and her stomach turned but really, it was because - because she had seen him before.
Just last week, riding the train home, she had one of her not-so-welcome, but oh-so-frequent-of-late visions. He and another guy were riding her train home when she saw them interacting quietly before jumping up from their seats, then running between the cars carrying guns in their hands. They were chasing a regular pinstriped suit guy who would randomly throw people behind him to slow the guys from catching up. The train came to a screeching halt, lurching passengers this way and that before she heard gunshots and everyone kind of freaked out when the train sped off and eventually ...
She wasn’t entirely sure on what had happened next as the vision went fuzzy, but she had a very solid rock in her stomach since then, and she was pretty sure the ending involved a few dead people and pinstriped suit AND those two guys getting away.
Then last night, or this morning, whatever, it was 3 or 4am, she woke with a start and waited for the new vision to creep in. The one she felt warming her eyes. It was the guys again, talking, using names, and fighting over the next steps of the train events. She could see Dean being crabby and Sam constantly defending himself, which was really no surprise to her after her experiences with Dean.
And now they were parked outside her house, on their very own stakeout. As she crept down the driveway to gather the morning paper, she picked up a small rock and lofted it at the car, pegging the passenger window. Both heads popped up and saw her grab the papers and give them the finger.
She was a little smug about that move and continued to the house, even when she knew they were following her. It wasn’t hard being nasty and hard on Dean. He was kind of a jackass, who had also tackled her, ruined her work clothes, and tossed water in her face. But Sam, his brother, she was more than happy to talk to him. He was nicer and seemed more concerned about the train problems than being a dick. Plus he was pretty, well, pretty himself. Which was why she allowed them into her home on the condition that Dean didn’t talk too much.
*
“I know this sounds crazy, but we think there’s a spirit doing all this.”
Andie had to swallow the comment in her mouth because that kind of attitude had been reserved for Dean. Sam, she would be semi-serious with. “I don’t know. I mean, I see shit, I don’t know what crazier things could be.”
“Do you see him?”
She looked from Sam to Dean, and back to Sam. “Him, who?”
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance before Dean went on. “David Fletcher.”
“Who’s that?”
Sam continued on in his careful, nice voice while Dean roamed her living and dining rooms. “He died about ten years ago on the tracks.” Andie shrugged. “Did you ever hear anything about him?”
Another shrug. “I’ve only been here a few years. I don’t really know many people who have been here that long.”
His face lifted on one side in confusion and yet acceptance. He realized Dean was gone, so he asked softly. “When you see things? What is it?”
She smirked, “What, like crystal balls and séances?”
He squirmed a little and smiled lightly. “No. I know you don’t like that. I mean, what do you see?”
“Just scenes.”
“How?”
“With my eyes.” Sam watched her smile, and smiled himself, knowing she would have smarted off to Dean. He kind of liked being the one who was able to help most here.
He leaned forward against the table. “What happens?”
“Why?” she asked slowly. He tried to answer he was just curious but she interrupted him. “No, you seem awfully curious. Why?”
Sam scratched a finger at the table and watched the motion. “I, uh. I used to have visions.”
“Like a psychic?” she asked playfully.
The corner of his mouth turned up, enjoying her tone. “Nah, just scenes,” he repeated. They shared a smile. “But nothing else happened?”
“Like what? Telekinesis?” she laughed.
His eyebrows dropped, as well as his smile. “Nah, nah. I mean, well, when I got them, they were these awful headaches.”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Andie combed through her hair, pushing it away from her face. It wasn’t very easy talking about this stuff. Especially with someone she just met. Especially someone who looked like Sam. “I just sort of get it? There are warnings, with my eyes sometimes. And then it just comes. Like I have to download it or something,” she joked lightly, but it didn’t really work because she was still uncomfortable.
Dean re-entered and effectively killed the conversation. Sam and Andie both gave him annoyed looks before she rose to refill her glass of water. “What does this Fletcher guy have to do with it?”
Sam, much against Dean’s protest, gave Cliff Notes on what they had found out and what they were doing the evening before, finding Fletcher’s empty grave and needing to take care of the bones.
Her eyes fixed on them, surely thinking they were crazy. “You light the bones?” They exchanged a look and she continued on. “I mean, seriously, that’s pretty sick.”
Dean asked, “But, you … didn’t see that?”
She watched Sam’s confused look then crabbed at Dean. “No, sorry. I didn’t follow you into the cemetery.”
Next
People: Winchesters, of course.
Rating: R for language.
Word Count: 13,000 or so
Warning: Semi-spoilers? References a few things throughout the years, including the end of Season 4.
Summary: The Boys make their way to Chicago to investigate a series of train accidents. But it's not as easy as they thought it'd be, especially when they meet a girl who takes a liking to Sam and utter dislike to Dean.
Notes: Takes place during the Season 5 timeline, but doesn't follow a damned thing the creators may have mentioned coming up. Title and cut text from Doobie Brothers.
Disclaimer: Absolutely a figment of my imagination
Dean Winchester wasn’t very comfortable having to deal with Andie Carson. He was afraid of all the horrific things she would see in his future and that she'd tell him frame by frame what would happen in the moments of his death. Or Sam’s. They’d both already witnessed the other dying, they didn’t need to deal with it again. Besides that, she was kind of a bitch sometimes.
When she caught them and the Impala camped in the corner of the cul de sac closest to her house, she flipped them the bird - or Dean, really, as she had yet to trade a word with Sam - and went back up the driveway with the morning paper in hand.
“She really doesn’t like you.”
Dean snorted. “Really, Sam?”
Sam returned a pained face but kept quiet.
Dean grunted. “Come on.” Huffing his way out the car and slamming the door shut with a thud, he grumbled some more, but nothing coherent enough to make Sam respond with anything more than the same pained, annoyed expression. “What?”
“What is your problem? You’ve been bitching all morning.”
Dean’s eyebrows furrowed with annoyance. “This job. Fletcher. Her.” He pointed up to the house. “Can’t we find a stripper demon in Tijuana?” After a second, he snapped his fingers across the hood of the Impala. “Models in Miami?”
“Dean.”
“What?”
And really, Dean was at a loss because Sam had about 27 different ways to say his name and mean something different each time. One time it meant ‘Can you not blare Motorhead while I’m trying to read up on this tulpa?’ Another was ‘Look at these blueprints for the warehouse where the death echoes are.’ This time it was ‘You’re kind of a sick bastard.’
Dean tipped his head to the side with a hopeful look. “We can try?”
“That car?” she called out with a huff. “That at the end of my driveway? Kind of obvious.”
As he trudged up her driveway, he looked at his baby then back to her with a part-wounded, part-indignant face. He heard her mumble ‘shitcan’ so he prepared himself to throw off various curses, but Sam tugged on his elbow and gave a warning glance. “Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled at his brother, pulling his arm away.
“We kind of need her help, don’t we?” Sam asked.
“We kind of need to dump her in the river when we’re done.”
“Dean.” That said ‘hey, you’re an asshole.’
“Dude, she’s kind of a bitch.”
“I heard that, dickweed.”
When they reached the front stoop, Andie crossed her arms and didn’t budge. She refused to open the screen door, and refused to stop glaring at Dean who smirked and spoke first. “Morning, Sunshine.”
Her response was a tight, sarcastic smile. “Screw you. It’s five in the morning.”
“Andie? Right?” Sam asked politely, like he always did to balance Dean’s, well, Deanness.
When she glanced in his direction, her face softened just a fraction but turned back to Dean. And then back to Sam again. And she was smiling just a little more.
“Hi,” he smiled in return, appreciating that she wasn’t cursing and seemed a little more comfortable talking to him. “I’m Sam.”
Her eyes floated to Dean, but she still answered nicely. “Yeah, I know.” Her tone went hard as she addressed Dean. “What’s up?”
Dean’s face, stance, and voice read that he absolutely did not want to ask her for help. “You have to do that thing you do.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not that kind of girl. I like dinner and a little hand-holding first.”
Sam’s eyes flew to Dean, who just shrugged in response. He was a little freaked out that Dean possibly messed around with her before getting all the information they needed. Girls weren't usually this bitter with Dean unless he had screwed them over - literally or figuratively. It was kind of an unwritten rule that they could do anyone as long as the case was over. To avoid complications where the resources refused to come through again. You know, like now, possibly.
“Hah,” Dean sounded, pursing his lips. “Cute.”
She flipped an eyebrow with a smug smile. “Yeah, thanks.”
His voice went more amused and playful. “Maybe we’ll just let you die on that train tomorrow.”
“Dean,” Sam sounded through a tight mouth. That one was more obvious between them. ‘Stop being a dick.’
Her eyes kept with Dean’s and she smirked. “Maybe it’s not tomorrow?”
“Andie.” Sam stepped forward. Carefully. “We just wanted to talk to you more about what you know. So that we can be sure it’s not tomorrow.” Her eyes shot to his while he continued. Nicely. “Can you help us? Just talk for a few minutes?”
“It’ll be Thursday,” she said confidently. “And if you guys don’t do something, it’s going to be worse than the last time.”
“How worse?” Dean asked, dropping all nastiness and focusing more on interest.
Her arms crossed again, more in protection of her own words, because she now sounded worried and slightly freaked. “It’s the express. Train is packed and everyone ….” She stops talking and looks immediately to Sam with a quick glance to Dean.
Dean prodded her to continue. “Everyone, what?”
She seemed to flinch just slightly and looked away.
“They die.” Sam said it more than asked.
Andie looked back at him, “Yeah. You, too.”
*
Two Days Earlier
Dean was pretty stealthy at times. He liked to think he blended into a crowd, and when he didn’t, it was totally not his fault that he was a good looking son of a bitch and people liked to look at him. Which was his exact thought when he first caught her staring at him at the Lisle train station. He smirked and continued to watch her, easing his hand away from the inside pocket of his jacket, just where he kept his gun. But when her face dropped into a bit of worry and she ran onto the nearest car, his brain switched into gear and he was pretty certain she was the one.
The one who was terrorizing the Burlington Northern’s west suburban trains and creating not just massive train delays, but some fairly awful havoc in the form of derailing cars and “gate incidents” as Metra so delicately called accidents where people died. A majority of the accidents were occurring between the Downers Grove-Belmont and Lisle stops, and the rest were just beyond Lisle, which bothered the boys. The gate incidents couldn’t be filed away as accidental with passengers rushing across the tracks and finding themselves in a game of chicken with an oncoming train. At Lisle, the station was above street level, meaning there were under-track walkways to cross north and south. People had to want to be on those tracks.
He and Sam were weary to take on the case, considering half of the problem was keeping track of a demon, spirit, whatever, that rode a train 20 miles east to Chicago, then another 20 back out at night with no trail of where it went throughout the day. But Sam’s little bleeding heart and tearful expression convinced him that saving multiple deaths in an intricate case could prove more rewarding than following up on a possible domestic demon in North Dakota that had just two people in its file. And Sam thought it would be a nice break to go suburban rather than backwoods.
He kind of hated Sam sometimes for being so weepy eyed and whiny enough to convince him to do these things.
But anyway. Dean, without much of a thought, jumped aboard the train and tried to follow her, but lost her in the time it took to bump his way through the half-dozen or so riders who decided to stand in the vestibule instead of actually try to find a seat. He grumbled at them quietly and fought his way through a few cars, but no dice.
As the train neared the next station, it began to slow and the lights flickered. People murmured over the incident, but no one seemed alarmed. Except Dean. He quickly glanced out the windows, around the area, trying to make the next car, checking if they had problems. All lights were on in the cars on either side of him.
“What the hell?” he heard to his left. He spotted a few people taping electronic devices, playing with phones that were not working. Then he saw the tiny puffs of cold vapor forming at each mouth.
His heart raced and he flipped around to watch the passengers as the lights continued to flicker. His eyes scoured each face, looking for someone out of place. But the timing between on and off slowed, until the lights came back bright and the cars picked up speed. He continued to look through all the faces, to his left, his right, and above. As the train slowed again with an announcement of the next stop, he saw people moving up top and caught her moving towards the stairwell and through the sliding doors. He followed but was pushed back into the car by boarding passengers. He caught her edging down the platform, staring at the train, seeming not entirely sure about what she was doing.
*
Unable to get off the train at the next stop - again, the new passengers kept him in his place, pissing him off beyond belief because he never knew business people could be so rough in their pushing and insistence on their spots on the train - Dean rode what turned out to be an express train right into the city.
Flipping open his phone, he cursed under his breath as he went through his speed dial and phoned Sam. “Hey, I need a favor,” Dean said, by way of greeting.
“Hmm?” he asked, voice fully sleep riddled.
“Sam!” he said loud enough to get his attention. People looked, and Dean gave a shitty ‘yeah, yeah’ kind of look. Whatever.
“I’m here.” Still sleepy.
“You have to come get me.”
“Yeah, okay. Wait,” and Sam yawned. “You have the car, don’t you?”
“No.”
“You left with the car this morning.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said uneasily. Dean really hated having to ask for help. Let alone acknowledging he had done something really dumb.
“How and where do I get you?”
Dean’s voice went into authoritative mode, as if he could not been seen as stupid if he was bossing Sam around. “It’s at the train stop at Main Street. Just walk over and get it. Then come get me.”
It was entirely feasible, with the hotel just a few blocks away, but Sam wasn’t giving in that easily. “Where?”
“Union?”
“Like, in the city?”
“Yeah.”
“Chicago?”
“Yes,” he hissed with anger.
“When?”
Through gritted teeth, Dean nearly barked, “When you wake your ass up and get the car.” Then he got quiet, “Hurry, I don’t want her towed and hurt.”
*
Sam was pretty good at not making Dean feel completely dumb for randomly jumping onto a train and winding up at Union Station without wheels. But he didn’t exactly let it go either. “Why did you not take a train back?”
Dean continued with swift steps into the Grand Hall after they decided they may as well do some digging around at Union Station. In case whatever they were hunting was really rooted there and not in Lisle. Sam was convinced it had a connection in both spots, so why not start there? “I didn’t have any cash on me.”
He could hear the smile on Sam’s lips. “How did they not kick you off the train in the first place?”
“I hid in the bathroom.” Sam made a noise in disgust. “Yeah, I know.”
“I can’t imagine those things are comfortable. Or clean.”
“Dude, it was disgusting. I spent 20 minutes in the other bathrooms scrubbing my jacket down.”
“Wait. What?” Dean didn’t answer immediately, so Sam smirked and continued. “What happened to your jacket?”
Dean’s arms, by reflex, shot out a little, as if literally shaking the memory from him. “I sat down on the seat. And it was not morning fresh.”
“Gross,” Sam laughed. He kind of enjoyed when Dean got himself into a little harmless trouble.
Dean continued muttering on, figuring he’d get it all out since Sam wasn’t totally shredding him. “Yeah, and the bathrooms at Union aren’t much better. A bunch of homeless guys were crawling around, looking for loose change.” Sam laughed and Dean continued on. “One guy was singing. Kept throwing an arm around me, swaying, and insisting we were pretty enough to make cash on the streets.”
Sam laughed again. “I told you you’d like Chicago.”
“Shut it.”
Sam slowed his walking and reached into his jeans pocket. “Here,” and he handed over twenty dollars.
“What’s this?”
The voice came out nearly motherly, but mostly just mocking. “Next time you want to take the big train into the city, just use this.”
Dean snatched the money, because hey, it’s money, and marched off. “I hate you.”
Sam really enjoys when Dean gets himself into trouble.
*
They agreed to split up in the tailend of the day, Sam doing his best research and reconnaissance at Metra’s offices and Dean further checking out the station’s outbound tracks. He hung around the tracks that offered Lisle as a stop in the southbound hall, but found it hard to do much past 4pm when rush hour began and there were flushes of passengers every five to ten minutes.
His patience wore thin when yet another call went unanswered, straight to Sam’s voicemail. But his mind perked up when he caught the girl again, the one from the morning, rushing down the escalators and towards … well not him, but another track that suddenly boasted a Lisle stop and was scheduled to leave in five minutes. He fought with his mind (which said to follow her) and his pride (which didn’t want to jump onto another train without having a ride at the end of the line). He wasn’t sure if Sam laughing at a repeat of the morning incident was worse than Sam’s anger for not chasing the demon.
A minute passed until he grumbled “shit” and ran down the hall and platform and hopped into the first car, following the herd making its way towards the front of the train. Four cars up, he spotted her in the upper deck, right. He smirked and hurried up the left side of the deck, taking a seat a few spots behind so she wouldn’t look across the aisle and notice him. Dean watched her through the whole ride. As she read her book, flashed her train pass to the conductor, and all around seemed pretty innocent. Except when, just minutes before the Downers Grove-Belmont stop, she sat straight up and began glancing around the entire train, keeping her eyes down on the people below. It was then that the lights flickered and the cars slowed.
Instinctively, his hand slipped inside his jacket and began to cradle his gun, finger tapping just next to the trigger. She rose from her seat, leaning over the railing with anxiety clear on her face. Dean began to rise, taking a few steps forward, and then cursed when his movement caught her eye.
Her mouth dropped open and he smirked just enough that she could see it. With the train stopped, people scooted around them on their respective sides and exited the car. All the while, they stared each other down. Once the train started moving, she quickly snatched up her things and raced down the aisle, down the steps, and into the next car. Dean fumbled his way down the stairs, trying to not lose his grip on the gun and was momentarily slowed as he got caught in the sliding doors between cars.
At Lisle, she dashed off the train, Dean after her. But they came to an immediately stop, sliding against the just watered grass when a few screams reached their ears. Dean stood as soon as he had his balance back and saw people crowding at the head of the train, a few women loudly whimpering, men blocking some people’s views, and a few young kids snapping pictures with their camera phones. He ran back towards the crowd and flinched when he saw the body, draped across the tracks and split in three.
Dean groaned, covered his mouth, and rang up Sam. “We got a problem.”
*
As dusk hit, the guys showed back up at the site in suits and ties, doing their best ‘we’re cops’ routine. To their dismay, much of the scene had been cleared and trains were running on the middle and inbound tracks, leaving the outbound rail clear for some final inspections.
“There’s nothing left,” Sam murmured.
“I know. That guy is so screwed out of an open casket.”
He pursed his lips in his typical disappointed look. “I mean to the accident. They’re running trains again.”
“Well, if you hadn’t taken all night to get back out here.”
Sam slowed a little, pushing his shoulders back and complaining. “It was rush hour, Dean.”
“You drive like an old woman is what it was.”
“I’d like to see you-“
Dean cut Sam off, flashing a badge. “Hi there. FBI. Agent Daltry, Agent Moon. ”
“How can I help you?” the officer asked, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, have you identified the victim?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, great,” Dean eased. “We’re going to need to see his records.”
The officer barely flinched. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” he semi-laughed, then leaned towards the main to see his badge. His voice went a bit forceful. “Officer Newsome? We’re going to need your immediate cooperation here. We’d like to see the guy’s file. Talk to any eyewitnesses. The driver.”
Shifting his weight, the officer snorted. “Driver?”
Dean paused, a little nervous to continue, seeing as how this guy was a complete roadblock. “Yeah, you know,” and he wound his hand around a little like he was searching for the rest of his statement in thin air. “The, uh.” He glanced at Sam, pleading for help, who only leaned with his head out with no idea what he meant. Dean quickly spat, “Conductor!” and smacked Sam’s shoulder with a smile. “The conductor.”
The officer nodded, smug as can be. “Yeah, they don’t drive the train.”
He furrowed his eyes and looked at Sam.
“They cruise the cars, collecting fares.
The guys shared another look before Dean continued. “In the movies, like,” and he made the gesture of pulling on an invisible horn beside his head. Dean smiled again, hoping a little bit of fun would win over this guy. But he stayed quiet with a hard face.
Sam spoke up, “Engineer. We need to talk to the engineer.”
Dean glared at his brother, pissed he didn’t help earlier, as the officer replied. “He’s been sent home. Mandatory three-week release.”
“Can we get his information?”
“What’s the FBI want with this?”
Sam saw the opening - at least the guy wasn’t mocking Dean anymore - and continued speaking while Dean caught a girl milling around the parking lot, just one row back from the scene. That girl. He smacked a hand to his brother and pointed in her direction as he began walking that way. But not before she spotted him and quickly jumped into her car and pulled away.
*
They did their best in the short timeframe of evening for research at the Lisle Library, but were unable to find much about past deaths or other incidents outside what they already knew about the past month. They were able to get some bits and pieces on the engineer, but it wasn’t anything to seem important at that time. It would be morning before they could visit with the guy.
“Shis god fumfin dodo wif id.”
Sam watched his brother in a bit of horror. His bacon double cheeseburger was barely staying within the confines of his mouth, grease and cheese and ketchup crowding his lips. But he refused to not talk.
“I jud knof id.”
“Dean.”
“Wha?”
“Swallow?”
He washed the contents of his mouth down with a long pull from his beer bottle before talking more. “Aw, Sammy, I didn’t know you liked that.”
“Gross.”
Dean took another bite, albeit smaller. “Maybe she’s controlling the demon.”
“Like an invocation?”
“Maybe?”
“Did you see her do anything?”
“I saw her on the car with all the trouble.”
“Yeah,” Sam said weakly, not convinced.
“Lights going crazy, cold clouds. And she rode the same train back that hit that guy.”
Sam pulled some files into view, glancing through them and answering as he considered all the notes the police had put to paper. “They said he was already there. Before the train came.”
Dean wasn’t listening. “And she was hanging in the parking lot when we were there. Like she’s watching the scene.” He snapped a few greasy fingers together. “They always do that.”
“They?”
“Killers.”
Sam was absolutely skeptical. “Like serial killers?”
“Yeah, the ones who enjoy watching their own work? They show up at the funerals and shit?”
“Dean, we’re talking demon or a spirit. Who can go wherever and whenever. They don’t take the train to work and they don’t run away in cars.”
Dean gave a thoughtful glance then took another large bite of his hamburger.
“Did you see her with anything?”
“Lih wha?” he munched around food.
“I dunno, a spell book or a talisman or something?”
“Nah dad I member.”
Sam sighed. “You’re a lot of help.”
*
The next day, Sam rode the same train, keeping a less obvious but still critical eye on her. He watched as she napped on the train, folding herself against the window of her upper deck seat. There were no incidents and Sam called Dean as soon as he was in Union Station. “She’s not doing anything.” He sighed. “Did you find anything?”
“Downers Grove Library,” he crowed little quietly, restraining himself within the quiet building. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m going to follow her, see where she goes. I don’t think she’s part of this, Dean.”
“Get this,” Dean said, ignoring Sam’s words. “David Fletcher, died ten years ago in a train accident. Guess what happened?”
Sam continued “What?”
“Playing around with some friends, they pushed him near the tracks. Train comes. Road Kill.”
Sam winced with Dean’s words. “That can’t be too good for anything.”
“Split across the tracks. Three pieces. Just like our guy last night.”
“So now what?”
“We find Fletcher, soak and roast him.”
Sam sighed, and then started when the lights in the hallway nearest the food court started flickering. He slowed and edged to an alcove near the bathrooms and looked around. “Uh, Dean.” That one meant he might be in trouble.
“It says he’s buried at Woodhaven, we can run over there tonight.”
As Sam lifted his head to fully view the tiny cold vapor rising from his mouth, he caught her across the hallway, looking scared and completely unsure of what to do. “Dean,” he tried again, but then called to her. “Hey!” They caught each other’s eyes and she immediately booked it, running down the hallway towards the nearest exit. Sam chased her, and holy shit, he was not keeping up with her. When he reached street level, he saw her charging across the river, weaving between people and basically getting away. It was hurting his pride a little because he knew Dean wouldn’t let it pass that he let a girl outrun him.
His phone rang seconds later. While huffing, “Yeah?”
Dean barked, “What happened?”
“She’s fast.”
“Please tell me the end of that sentence is ‘and easy’?”
“She’s gone.”
*
Dean picked up Sam an hour later and they made their way to the engineer’s home. He was visibly shaken - and a bit drunk, letting them in without much question or care or enough brain to realize that the FBI wouldn’t really investigate this.
“It’s never happened before. Well, to me. I know a lot of guys have had problems this week.”
Dean asked, “What kind of problems?”
“Lights and the engines shutting down. Temperature won’t stay.” When Dean’s eyebrows rose in question, the guy continued on. “It gets too cold too quick. It’s freakin’ spring, air shouldn’t be hard to regulate.”
“Have you seen anything else strange?”
He kind of shrugged uneasily, taking a healthy sip from his short glass of liquor. The guys tried to pry more information out him, but he just shrugged again. Until finally … “I haven’t seen it. Some other guys have. These are all just stories, boys.”
Sam smiled with comfort. “We’re listening.”
“Sometimes they see stuff in front of the tracks. Not regular stuff.”
“What kinds of things are they seeing?” asked Sam.
Another big gulp. “People” he replied, obviously uncomfortable.
Dean asked, “Like pedestrians? Passengers?”
“No, like.” Another drink. “They’re just watching the trains. Not moving.” He finished the glass off. “Like zombies or something.”
*
Dean and Sam returned to the Lisle train station, hoping to get some clues on the case. They watched a few trains come and go, watched some of the passengers, and all around came up with nothing of significance.
They were heading back to the car when Sam noticed her. He smacked Dean’s arm “Hey!” He took a few steps and was immediately stopped by Dean’s hand.
“I’ll go. Don’t want you to be asskicked by a girl twice in one day.”
“Dude,” he complained, but Dean was already hurrying off.
He was getting closer to her as she headed east along the tracks on a paved walkway towards a far parking lot. As people thinned out, heading to other nearby parking lots, he was walking faster, catching up. She turned slightly and slowed, spotting him. She took a few more quick steps before breaking into an all out run. “Son of a bitch,” he cursed, taking off behind her.
As the walkway curled around a bracketed driveway, he was within steps and wrapped himself around her, tumbling across the grass. She was immediately punching at him, kicking, yelling, anything to get him off. Dean sat up, straddling her waist, holding her shoulders down. Fighting against his body, she grabed his arms at the elbows, the furthest she could reach.
“Shit,” he muttered as he felt her gaining some movement away from him. So he took both hands in one of his own and pinned them to the ground above her head. Using his free hand, he pulled out a small flask, unscrewed it with his teeth and sprinkled holy water down on her.
She shrieked, turning her head away. Then she stopped, looked at him, and spit the water back at him.
He frowned, realizing it had no effect on her. Other than pissing her off.
“Get off of me.”
He leaned back, letting her hands go, and grabbed her bag. He riffled through it to her wallet. “Andie Carson.”
“Whatever.” And she finally pushed him away and grabbed her bag while standing.
Dean was livid, confused, and kind of amazed with this girl. With as level a voice as he could manage, he asked, “Who are you?”
“Seriously? You tackle a girl and then ask her name. Classy.” He didn’t say anything, so she continued. “Who the hell are you?”
He flashed the badge from the day before. “FBI. Agent Daltry.”
“What?” She looked at his outfit then closer at his badge. “Daltry?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dean sounded a little too proud in that moment, but he didn’t care, really.
She turned away and started walking. “Get the fuck out.”
Dean caught up with her, yanking an arm hard enough to pull her towards him. “Hey, we need to talk.” She wrangled her arm away and kept walking, but not so fast that he couldn’t keep up. “What do you know about the train accidents?”
“I know that they’re happening.”
Okay, he was mostly annoyed with her and her pissy attitude. “What else do you know?”
She laughed. “That you’re not FBI.”
He gave a haughty laugh. “Really?”
Turning back to him, she put her hand out. “Lemme see your badge again.” Once she had it, she glanced between him and the badge, and then laughed. “Roger Daltry? Right.” She tossed it aside and kept walking.
He cursed, picking up the badge and continued to follow her. She stopped at her car, unlocking it and was about to get in when he held the door open. “Wait a second. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Really? You gonna arrest me with your Who badge, or just tackle me to the ground again and spray me with water?”
He pursed his lips, ready for a shitty response when his phone rang. Flipping it open, he spoke, “Yeah, what?”
“Where are you?” Sam asked. “I’ve been driving around this area and can’t find wherever you are.”
“Whatever, I’ll be there in a minute. Follow her car.” Dean walked around the back before getting into the passenger seat. “New impala. License Plate ZG 869.” When he sat down and closed the door, he smirked a little. “Nice car.”
*
“You see things?”
“I guess. Like scenes.”
A few minutes in the car, and Andie had calmed down enough to answer Dean’s questions with a little less bitterness. He was entirely too thankful for it. “So, you’re a psychic?”
She snorted. “Uh, no.”
“You see things happen.”
“They’re more like premonitions. Future things.”
“Right, so you know what’s going to happen.” She didn’t respond, so he said again. “Like a psychic.”
“Do you see me with a crystal ball?”
Dean sighed. He wasn’t that thankful. “Alright, whatever. How do you do it?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes it just happens. Sometimes I think about it. I don’t know.”
“What do you see with the trains?”
“I saw the guy from last night. I saw last week’s derailment.”
Dean nodded. “Killed four.”
“Injured twenty. Luckily it was a late night milk run.”
“Milk run?”
Andie huffed a little, annoyed at having to explain. “Later at night, the trains make all the stops. Not many people make it through 15 stops before Lisle.”
“You see the next accident?” After a small silence, she nodded. “You know what’s going to do it?”
She went a little serious. “Not exactly. But I can see what cars are having problems.”
He was interested to know about each car. “It’s not the whole train?”
She shook her head. “Tomorrow it’ll be the fourth car on the 8:10. A guy rolls under it.”
The car came to a stop while she unlocked the doors. Dean looked up, spotting the hotel in front of them, then his Impala passing them as Sam parked in a spot near their room. He looked at her and she looked back without a word. He hadn’t expected to be back at his hotel. “I didn’t even - ” He didn’t even tell her where it was.
With a cocky smile. “I see things.”
“I have more questions.”
She leaned across him, opening the door for him. “I have to go.”
He chuckled with a bit of attitude. “Andie.”
With her hand resting on the wheel, she stared him down. “Yeah, no. I have to go.”
Dean exited the car, slamming the door behind him and watched her watch him.
“Hey,” she called out. He glanced back, a little hopeful he could get another answer. “Can I have my license back?”
He snorted, reaching into his inside jacket pocket and eyed her license before handing it over.
She muttered “Jackass.”
“Bitch.”
*
At night, they pulled into Woodhaven Cemetery, armed with shovels and a duffle bag with salt and lighter fluid.
“Jackpot!” Dean called out when he found the Fletcher tombstone, which read ‘Taken but not gone forever.’ He smarted, “Not forever, man.”
But when they got to the bottom of the grave, opened the casket, and found it empty, Sam and Dean started at each other with a crack of fear showing.
“Taken,” Sam repeated from the headstone, sounding tired.
“Man, they ain’t kidding.”
“What now?”
“I don’t know,” he huffed, annoyed just as much.
“No bones.”
He threw down the shovel. “Yeah, I see that, Sam.”
“You didn’t see anything when you found his name in the records?”
His voice went mocking, “Did I see something in the records?” Sam gave his typical pained expression. “Yes, Sam! I saw that he was buried here.” He slammed the casket shut. “Damnit.”
“Dean.” That one meant he didn’t know what they should do and he wanted an idea.
He crabbed, stomping his feet just a little, and throwing his arms out in anger.
Sam knew this meant Dean knew what to do, but didn’t like it. “That girl?” he asked, referring to Andie Carson.
“Fuck!”
*
They pulled down the dead end of Andie’s street, bringing the car to a stop in the cul de sac and turning off the lights.
“She can see things happen?” asked Sam.
“Yeah.”
“Huh,” he sounded thoughtfully. “Like a psychic?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but don’t call her that.”
“What?”
“She’s kind of touchy about it. I guess she doesn’t like beads and turbans.”
Sam kind of huffed. “Dean, we know plenty of reputable psychics. None of which fit the bill of what you see on TV.”
“Whatever.”
“Not to mention that I’ve seen things.”
His reply was a little “Hmm.”
“You ever waste all night watching me?”
“What?”
“You let me help out when I could, you didn’t just stalk me.”
Dean chuckled. “Right, Sam. I let you help until you let Lucifer out and almost ended the world. Good analogy.”
“Whatever,” Sam sighed.
He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, keeping his eyes on her house. “She sees things and knows all about this train stuff. There’s something with her.”
Sam nodded, giving a careful glance. “Huh.”
“What?”
He sounded interested. “You haven’t stopped talking about her since she dropped you at the hotel.”
Dean grumbled, crossing his arms tighter. “Oh, absolutely not.”
With a smile, “You sure you don’t like her?”
Another angry glance and Dean kept quiet. He sat up a little then smacked Sam in the shoulder. “Hey, look.” He pointed back at the house, focusing on the lower left window. They saw Andie, popping in and out of sight, on a treadmill. “She’s a runner. Now you don’t have to feel so bad about being burned by a girl.”
“Dude,” Sam began to argue.
Dean smirked, glad the attention was off him.
*
When Andie first ran into Dean Winchester he was hanging around her train stop. She had been riding that train about five days a week for the past two years, but that didn’t mean she knew every single person to stand on the platform. She was pretty sure that none of them wore what equated to ‘loner gear,’ frequently rested a hand across their chest, and/or cased every single person in the area. He might’ve been a cop, constantly patting his piece. Or a lunatic. She’d seen (and moreso heard) both make appearances before.
She had been pretty freaked in general, because, yeah, it was likely a gun. And the Metra authorities announced on every train ride ‘If you see something, say something.’ But when she caught his face, she froze and couldn’t stop staring. Not so much because was attractive - oh, holy hell, he was kind of beautiful and rugged and had a totally kissable mouth, and her stomach turned but really, it was because - because she had seen him before.
Just last week, riding the train home, she had one of her not-so-welcome, but oh-so-frequent-of-late visions. He and another guy were riding her train home when she saw them interacting quietly before jumping up from their seats, then running between the cars carrying guns in their hands. They were chasing a regular pinstriped suit guy who would randomly throw people behind him to slow the guys from catching up. The train came to a screeching halt, lurching passengers this way and that before she heard gunshots and everyone kind of freaked out when the train sped off and eventually ...
She wasn’t entirely sure on what had happened next as the vision went fuzzy, but she had a very solid rock in her stomach since then, and she was pretty sure the ending involved a few dead people and pinstriped suit AND those two guys getting away.
Then last night, or this morning, whatever, it was 3 or 4am, she woke with a start and waited for the new vision to creep in. The one she felt warming her eyes. It was the guys again, talking, using names, and fighting over the next steps of the train events. She could see Dean being crabby and Sam constantly defending himself, which was really no surprise to her after her experiences with Dean.
And now they were parked outside her house, on their very own stakeout. As she crept down the driveway to gather the morning paper, she picked up a small rock and lofted it at the car, pegging the passenger window. Both heads popped up and saw her grab the papers and give them the finger.
She was a little smug about that move and continued to the house, even when she knew they were following her. It wasn’t hard being nasty and hard on Dean. He was kind of a jackass, who had also tackled her, ruined her work clothes, and tossed water in her face. But Sam, his brother, she was more than happy to talk to him. He was nicer and seemed more concerned about the train problems than being a dick. Plus he was pretty, well, pretty himself. Which was why she allowed them into her home on the condition that Dean didn’t talk too much.
*
“I know this sounds crazy, but we think there’s a spirit doing all this.”
Andie had to swallow the comment in her mouth because that kind of attitude had been reserved for Dean. Sam, she would be semi-serious with. “I don’t know. I mean, I see shit, I don’t know what crazier things could be.”
“Do you see him?”
She looked from Sam to Dean, and back to Sam. “Him, who?”
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance before Dean went on. “David Fletcher.”
“Who’s that?”
Sam continued on in his careful, nice voice while Dean roamed her living and dining rooms. “He died about ten years ago on the tracks.” Andie shrugged. “Did you ever hear anything about him?”
Another shrug. “I’ve only been here a few years. I don’t really know many people who have been here that long.”
His face lifted on one side in confusion and yet acceptance. He realized Dean was gone, so he asked softly. “When you see things? What is it?”
She smirked, “What, like crystal balls and séances?”
He squirmed a little and smiled lightly. “No. I know you don’t like that. I mean, what do you see?”
“Just scenes.”
“How?”
“With my eyes.” Sam watched her smile, and smiled himself, knowing she would have smarted off to Dean. He kind of liked being the one who was able to help most here.
He leaned forward against the table. “What happens?”
“Why?” she asked slowly. He tried to answer he was just curious but she interrupted him. “No, you seem awfully curious. Why?”
Sam scratched a finger at the table and watched the motion. “I, uh. I used to have visions.”
“Like a psychic?” she asked playfully.
The corner of his mouth turned up, enjoying her tone. “Nah, just scenes,” he repeated. They shared a smile. “But nothing else happened?”
“Like what? Telekinesis?” she laughed.
His eyebrows dropped, as well as his smile. “Nah, nah. I mean, well, when I got them, they were these awful headaches.”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Andie combed through her hair, pushing it away from her face. It wasn’t very easy talking about this stuff. Especially with someone she just met. Especially someone who looked like Sam. “I just sort of get it? There are warnings, with my eyes sometimes. And then it just comes. Like I have to download it or something,” she joked lightly, but it didn’t really work because she was still uncomfortable.
Dean re-entered and effectively killed the conversation. Sam and Andie both gave him annoyed looks before she rose to refill her glass of water. “What does this Fletcher guy have to do with it?”
Sam, much against Dean’s protest, gave Cliff Notes on what they had found out and what they were doing the evening before, finding Fletcher’s empty grave and needing to take care of the bones.
Her eyes fixed on them, surely thinking they were crazy. “You light the bones?” They exchanged a look and she continued on. “I mean, seriously, that’s pretty sick.”
Dean asked, “But, you … didn’t see that?”
She watched Sam’s confused look then crabbed at Dean. “No, sorry. I didn’t follow you into the cemetery.”
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