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To Touch the Stars with You - A Sam Winchester fan fiction

Chapter Text

If you unknowingly wandered into the old warehouse, it was unlikely you'd ever notice anyone was there. Even if you brought a flashlight and really craned you neck to peer into the darkest shadows, it would be almost impossible to see the two teenage girls sat cross legged at the back of the room; sisters, one a handful of years older than the other. "This is a bad idea, Valeria," the youngest said uneasily, looking down at the paper her sister had gripped in her fist.

Valeria smiled. "Don't be stupid, Beatrice," she said in the know-it-all way that older sisters do, "it's only a dumb urban legend."

Beatrice inspected the words a little closer. It was a Latin passage she had found on some creepy chatroom, and upon showing Valeria, the older had demanded she copy it out. Beatrice should have known it would end like this, in a warehouse in the dark. Valeria loved tricks and pranks, but like now, often took them too far. "Please, Val," Beatrice tried again, placing a hand on her sister's forearm as though to pull her towards the exit. In response, Valeria laughed.

"Stop being so childish!" She berated her. She lifted up the paper and squinted, trying to adjust to reading the passage in the dark, and then read the Latin words aloud. Her pronunciation was a little off, but it was enough to strike fear into Beatrice's heart. When done, Valeria looked up expectantly, but nothing happened. Beatrice almost breathed out a sigh of relief, but her face fell even further when the window above them smashed, and as glass rained down upon them, black smoke shot into the room.

Valeria swore loudly, a word Beatrice had only heard her mother use when drunk. The older girl shouldered past her sister towards the warehouse exit. "Valeria!" Beatrice screamed as she stumbled, struggling to catch up.

Valeria ignored her. She grasped the door handle and pulled open the door, but as she did the smoke bypassed Beatrice, drifting by her head, and it forced itself into Valeria's open, screaming mouth and down her throat. As her eyes flashed black and a nasty grin twisted her face, her body jerked and twisted unnaturally and then her head jerked violently to one side. Beatrice heard every bone in her neck break simultaneously. The body crumpled, and as it did the black smoke escaped through her nose and flew back through the window, leaving Beatrice alone in the dark.

“Valeria?” Beatrice whispered, placing a tentative hand on her sister’s shoulder.

Valeria didn't move. Her eyes were glassy and unseeing and, as Beatrice met her unfocused gaze, she realized with a harsh pang that her sister was dead; and it was all her fault.


Beatrice Di Angelis awoke in a cold sweat. Inside her chest, her heart thundered so violently she was worried it would burst straight through her rib-cage and onto the motel sheets, though they were so dirty, one more bloodstain was unlikely to make much of a difference. She cursed under her breath, collapsing back against her pillow as she tried to assure herself that it had only been a dream; even though she knew, it wasn't. Her sister was dead. It was her fault.

The motel room was dimply lit only by the dull glow of a laptop screen that her roommate and best friend was hunched over and she realized he was in fact sleeping, and not working like he should have been, when she heard him snoring. "Dean?" She sat up in bed, pushing her hair back from her eyes. "Dean, wake up."

He bolted upright from a dead sleep, near enough knocking his laptop from the table onto the floor. "What? Who died?" He asked almost comically, looking around the room in a half asleep daze. Beatrice rolled her eyes and got out of bed. She stood behind his chair, reaching over him to close the lid of the laptop, plunging the room into darkness.

"No one died, Dean," she said, "just a bad dream."

"Ah. Right." Dean nodded knowingly. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his flannel sleeve; the same flannel he had been wearing for three days. "Your sister?" He asked, and Beatrice nodded mutely. "We're gonna put an end to this soon, I promise."

Beatrice hummed in response. After a moment of quiet, she said, "thank you Dean, really. For everything.”

"You're welcome," he yawned, twisting around in his chair to throw an arm around her waist and draw her into his side, almost pulling her over in the process. "It's my job to look after you. You're like... the little sister I never wanted."

Beatrice rolled her eyes playfully and threw his arm off. "Any word on Sam?"

Dean nodded and got up from the table, stretching his back out and glancing at the clock on the wall opposite. "If we set off now we could reach him in a couple of hours."

Beatrice nodded and threw a jacket on over the clothes she had fallen asleep in. "Alright. Then let's get going."

She locked the motel door behind them and then waited by the side of the Impala for Dean to drop the keys off at the front desk, even though it was late and there was likely to be no one there. He appeared after a moment and got in the driver's side while Beatrice slid in shotgun. "Ozzy?" He asked, holding up a cassette tape.

Beatrice grinned. The years she had spent hunting with Dean and, once upon a time his Father, had really shaped her music taste. "Good call," she affirmed. Dean grinned back and slid the tape into the player. "Alright," Beatrice said, sinking down comfortably into her seat, "let's go."




"Dean," Beatrice's voice was weary as she addressed him. They had been driving for hours and now, on the other side, she watched Dean attempt to shimmy awkwardly up the drainpipe towards Sam's window. "I don't think you're going to achieve anything by breaking in. Maybe... I don't know, /knocking/ would work better?"

"Shut up," Dean grunted with the effort of pulling himself up onto Sam's fire escape. He reached down and grasped Beatrice's outstretched hands to pull her up. "You got a knife?" He asked as she dusted herself off.

"You came unarmed?" She whispered back, taking her switchblade from her back pocket and handing it to him.

"Armed with guns, sure," he said as he wiggled the knife under the latch, "but guns ain't gonna do a whole lot of good breaking into an apartment, not unless we want Sammy to call the cops." The latch popped open and the window slid loose. He held it open for her while she climbed in, and then landed beside her with an unruly crash, making her cringe.

"Nice job," she berated him under her breath. Dean rolled his eyes and pulled himself up to his feet. A creak came from somewhere across the room but before her eyes could adjust to the dark and make out the source of the noise, Dean was on the ground, atop a tall, gangling figure who stared up at him, stunned, the baseball bat he had been armed with discarded somewhere under the coffee table.

"Easy tiger," Dean grinned down at his brother.

"Dean?" Sam cried. "you scared the crap out of me!"

"That's because you're out of practice," Dean shot back. Sam scowled, throwing Dean off and pinning him by his shoulders. "or not. Get off me." He shoved his brother onto the floor with his knee and then got to his feet.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam demanded as Dean crossed the room towards the fridge. His gaze was drawn from Dean to Beatrice, who lingered awkwardly still by the window. "And who the hell are you?"

“Well, that's Bea. And I'm getting a beer.”

“It’s just Beatrice.” She corrected him but both men ignored her.

“But what the Hell are you doing here?” Sam reiterated, visibly frustrated.

"Okay, alright, we gotta talk," Den admitted defeat, glancing up at Sam as he opened his beer on the side of the counter. Sam stared at him like he'd grown a second head and folded his arms defensively over his notably broad chest. Beatrice found herself struggling to focus on his face, before silently reprimanding herself. They were there on a job. Dean caught her staring and he smirked devilishly at her, but she pretended not to notice.

"The phone?" Sam suggested.

"If I'd have called, would you have picked up?" Dean countered. Behind him, a pretty, blonde girl appeared in the doorway, sleepily rubbing her eyes.

"Sam?" She said quietly. Beatrice shot a glare in Dean's direction, an expression that cried, 'you failed to mention her'.

"Dean, Bea, this is my girlfriend Jessica." Sam introduced them with a smile on his face, but Beatrice see how strained it was and could hear the contempt in his voice.

"Wait, your brother Dean?" Jess smiled and turned to Beatrice. "You must be his girlfriend."

"That's right!" Beatrice said brightly, cutting in before Sam or Dean had a chance to. "We're sorry for dropping in so late but we were driving through the area and, well, Dean and I just couldn't resist paying Sam a visit. Isn't that right, Dean?" She stared over at him intently but he was looking at Jess, seemingly in a daze.

"Oh, I love the smurfs," he said dreamily, noting the design on her pyjama shirt, "you know, I gotta tell you, you are way out of my brother's league."

Jess' smile became a little awkward. "I'm gonna go put something on."

"Oh no, I wouldn't dream of it. Seriously. Anyway, we gotta borrow your boyfriend here to talk about some private family business."

"No," Sam said firmly, "anything you want to say, you can say in front of her."

Dean stared at his brother for a moment, visibly swallowing any frustration he had briefly allowed to rise. "Alright. Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

"So he's working overtime on a miller time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later." Sam said with a roll of his eyes. Dean laughed, but the sound was hollow.

"Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days."

Beatrice could almost see through Sam's skull into the mechanics ticking away in his brain. His hazel eyes narrowed in thought, and then he placed a gentle hand on his girlfriend's shoulder, offering her a warm smile. "Excuse us, Jess," he said, "Dean and I have to go outside."

"I'll just... stay here, I guess." Beatrice sighed, though no one really paid her much attention. She made herself comfortable at the table and began worrying a loose thread at the hem of her shirt. Jess sat opposite her, flashing her an awkward smile before looking around the room, trying to focus on anything other than making eye contact, let alone conversation, with Beatrice. A few moments passed, and then the awkward silence was broken as Sam and Dean returned, their expressions grim.

"So, you're taking off?" Jess asked before Sam could say anything. "This about your dad? He okay?"

"Yeah. You know, just a little family drama."

"Your brother said he was on some kind of hunting trip."

"Oh, yeah. He's just deer hunting up at the cabin. He's probably got Jim, Jack, and José along with him. I'm just going to bring him back."

"What about the interview?"

"I'll make the interview. I'll only be gone a couple of days."

"Sam!" Jess called. Sam stopped by the door, craning his neck to look back at her over his shoulder. "I mean, please. Just stop, for a second. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"It's just.. you won't even talk about your family. And now you're taking off in the middle of the night to spend a weekend with them? And with Monday coming up, which is kind a huge deal..."

"Hey, everything's going to be fine," Sam assured her, stooping to press a kiss to her cheek, "I will be back in time, I promise."

"At least tell me where you're going!" Jess cried, but by the time she'd finished, the three of them had gone.