Story [Supernatural] Pre-Series -- Knocking -- Updated 11/9

Author's Note: This one has been rattling around my skull for some time now. I still haven't seen the last half of season five, so if anything in there contradicts this, forgive me for not knowing and just call it AU. I don't own any of the Winchester boys, I'm just borrowing them for a little while.




Knocking



Marcus Billings glanced at his map once more before checking the GPS. It showed he was still south east of his intended destination, but by less than a hundred feet, if the map was accurate. Since the map was a copy of one nearly a century old, he had his doubts, but he also wasn't in a hurry to be anywhere else. Tucking away map and gadget, he took a firm grip on the oak walking stick he'd started using about six years before and resumed his progress.

He was aware that many of his generation looked down on PDAs and iPods and the like, but he loved technology. For one thing, it made tramping through the mountains in any direction he liked so much easier. Certainly he still kept track of land marks and direction, but knowing that he had the GPS and his satellite phone, just in case, made his daughter fret less. And to be perfectly honest, it meant that he didn't have to let small lapses of memory weigh on his mind or curtail his favorite way to pass the days since his retirement.

Salt Creek had once been a much bigger town, catering to the miners that had crawled over these mountains, pulling precious metals from beneath the earth's skin. When the mines had played out the miners had left, most of them anyway, leaving behind dark holes in the ground and a lot of empty buildings. The holes had been closed up, and the buildings had been pulled down when the price of their upkeep outstripped their historic value.

Over the years since his retirement, Marcus had done some research and found who technically owned the few mines in the area that actually sat on personal property. He'd written for permission to explore them, stating his willingness to accept responsibility for any damage he took while on someone else's property. It irked him that in this day and age one had to explicitly take responsibility for one's own actions. When he'd been growing up that had been a given, something no one would have thought needed saying.

The mine he was looking for now actually belonged to Millie Lowry and her husband, who lived a couple miles outside of town. Her family had never left Salt Creek, even after their mines were closed, which made getting permission to explore that much easier.

When he found it, the mine entrance wasn't much to look at. The iron gate was thickly scaled with rust, though the chain and lock were new enough. Millie said that her father had replaced the lock and chain to keep kids from simply breaking the old ones and sneaking in. There was some brush and a small sapling growing at the base of the gate, but he'd come prepared for that.

Marcus dropped his pack, then stretched a little before pulling out the loppers he'd brought. The brush would be easy to clear, but the sapling might require the hacksaw. There was no way the gate would open with all that plant life in the way. Tipping his hat back on his head, he started his attack on the greenery guarding the entrance.

An hour later he had the entrance cleared. He could have stopped at half, and only opened one side of the gate, but his father had always said a half-assed job was no job at all, and Marcus hadn't even considered stopping before the job was done.

Now he stood back, stretching again to keep his muscles loose, and stared at the gate, letting his anticipation build. This was the best part, when he first stepped in, with all the possibilities still before him. Only once so far had he found any worthwhile ore in an abandoned mine, but that was enough to keep him going. It gave him an excuse to tramp across these mountains, poking his nose into old holes. More than once he'd found names carved into support beams. After the first time he started bringing a dig

 

Uh-oh. Red shirt alert!! Something Bad is about to happen to poor Marcus, I'm sure...

 

I don't watch Supernatural, but... interesting.

 

A non-lurking reader! Yay!!! Thank you for dropping in and replying. I hope you enjoy the story.

Here's the next post.


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"Get the hell out of my pub, Winchester."


Dean Winchester stopped dead on the threshold, muscles tightening. Being shouted at was not uncommon, but he hadn't done anything to deserve it yet, at least not in this town. The building he?d walked into bore the simple sign ?Pub?, and it had seemed like a better bet than the overly fruity, health conscious diner he?d tried for breakfast. Time to re-evaluate that choice. His eyes darted this way and that, but they?d not adjusted yet to the dimmer light inside after the bright summer sun that baked the ground outside.

"Not my fault Rafe hits like a girl, Barry."

The mild reply had come from the girl halfway between Dean and the bar. He?d missed her at first glance, but now that he could see clearly, he took a moment to really appreciate the view. Most immediately apparent were the long, long legs, fully exposed from rolled socks and hiking boots clear up to the ragged hem of her short, short cut-offs. A slim waist showed in the gap between the top of her faded denim shorts and the bottom of her neatly hacked off flannel shirt. And hanging down nearly to that waist was a tumbling fall of light brown hair that showed generous sun-streaking from extensive time spent out in the healthy sunshine. Legs and arms both showed the lean musculature of someone who kept too busy doing real things to waste time in a gym.

"Get out, I said."

Barry, standing behind the bar, looked fit to pop a vein and definitely wasn?t addressing the young man standing in the doorway. Dean spared him a glance before letting his eyes return to watching her cross the rest of the distance to the bar. This just makes the whole day worth while.

"You know what I?m here for."

"And I got the right to refuse to serve anyone I plain don?t like. Get out of here, Winchester, before another one of your victims follows you in." The man?s eyes flickered to Dean standing in the doorway. "I got customers waiting."

The girl glanced over her shoulder, giving Dean a glimpse of a face that had won the genetic lottery. Then she turned back and pulled a fold of bills from a pocket. "Then sell me a bottle of Jack and I?ll get out of your hair."

Not that Barry had a lot of hair. The short buzz was half way to steely grey, though still thick. What he had in spades was dark circles under his eyes, lines of worry and grief etched deep in his face, and the hard glitter of bitter, grinding fear buried everywhere but in his dark eyes.

"You arrogant, selfish, uppity bitch!"

The girl tilted her head, leaned one elbow on the bar, and clapped quietly with hands covered in thin, black driving gloves. "I?ll give you an eight for feeling, but Rafe?s still ahead of you on the technical and old man Billings is in the lead with a perfect ten for artistic interpretation." Without another word, she held out the folded green between two fingers.

Face twisted by frustration and defeat, Barry jerked a bottle from under the bar and slammed it on the polished wooden surface hard enough to make Dean wince in anticipation of a cruel and senseless waste of good booze. The bottle survived the impact. Barry snatched the cash from her hand with unnecessary roughness and stomped away to the register at the end of the bar. The girl watched him for a moment before straightening and grabbing the bottle by the neck.

"See you tomorrow, Barry."

"Screw you, Winchester."

"Only in your dreams, Barry."

She smiled sweetly at Dean as she slipped past him and out the door. He stood staring after her for a moment, then let the door swing closed, shutting out the intrusive, overly bright light of day. Light that bright had no business in a place like this. When he turned back to the bar Barry was watching him.

"Dude, you kicked something that looks like that out of a place that sells beer? You looking to start a riot?"

Barry grimaced at him, s