No One Mourns the Wicked

From left to right: Teen!Dean (young Jensen), Bridget (OFC, Character Model: Actress Arielle Kebbel with blonde hair), Paul and Dean about to kiss, Young Sam (young Jared), and Billy Loomis

No One Mourns the Wicked
A Miracles/Supernatural Cross-over
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

Fandoms: Miracles/Supernatural/Scream Crossover
Rating: Adult17+
Word Count: 55,542 total
Chapters: 1 of 15 (2,555 words this part)
Summary: Dean comes to the realization that the resemblance between Paul Callan and Billy Loomis is significant to the coming Apocalypse, so he tells SQ about the relationship he had with Billy in 1995 and how he tried to save Billy from his downward spiral into infamy.
Pairings: Dean/Billy, Dean/Paul, Dean/Billy/OFC, light Sam/Tatum, Billy/Stu, Party Guests/Other Party Guests (slash, het, het/slash threesomes)
Warnings: **SOME WARNINGS COULD BE TRIGGERING** Spoilers for all three Scream movies. Anal sex, graphic underage sex (all characters are 16), character death (characters who died in Scream still die in this fic), abduction game/simulated murder (to show signs that Billy would in the future become a murderer, I included a scene where he wants to pretend to kidnap and choke a girl to death while having sex with her (the girl he actually does this with is willing to play)), violence, self-harm, suicide attempt, abortion issues, and a couple sex scenes have dubious consent issues.
Beta Thanks: Beta'ed by my friend Sammie. Kudos to her for reading and commenting on this whole thing! Harshini also beta'ed the first couple chapters.
Author's Notes: I stole the last name Macher for an original character of mine in other stories, but she's not supposed to be related to Stu. I have no idea who wrote the Chupacabra song. Some of the names of the party guests come from the actors who played the party guests in the movie. Troy is supposed to be one of the party guests/kids who got expelled in the movie. This story is littered with horror movie/actor quotes/refs and jokes, including the names of all the chapters (thanks to Kaye for helping me come up with movie names). This is a story in a series so there will be references to those past stories. "No One Mourns the Wicked" is also the name of a song from the "Wicked" musical.
There are some AU elements in the story, including: "Afterschool Special" made it seem like Dean didn't get the Impala until sometime after he was 18, but here, he gets it earlier than that; Bill Harvelle is still alive (Jo's journal from the CW website said he died when she was 8 - I don't think the actual show gave us an age); and a season 4 character is used here in an AU way.
Written for [info]crossbigbang.

Chapter 1: A Nightmare on Elm Street

        He could get used to this.

        For the second time in two days, Dean found himself dreaming of sensual food play with Paul. Lying back on the bed, his dark shirt open, Paul murmured words of encouragement as Dean licked the trail of peach juice off his bare chest, working his way up to Paul's neck.

        "Mm... keep going..." Paul said quietly.

        "Wasn't planning on stopping." A rivulet of juice had run down the side of Paul's neck. Dean followed it eagerly, feeling the skin under his tongue tremble. Paul's fingers played through his hair.

        Laughing to himself, Paul said, "You missed a spot," and squeezed a fresh trickle of juice in the hollow of his throat. Dean didn't say a word, just immediately went for it, slurping and licking. They both let out a small moan of need.

        From behind Dean, there came the squeak of a window being raised. Every time that window had been pushed up from the outside, it had made that same noise; Dean recognized the sound instantly. He turned from Paul and looked over his shoulder with a shocked expression.

        It was the window in his bedroom in Woodsboro, California. In fact, the whole room had changed into the room Dean had occupied all to himself for nearly a year, when he was sixteen. Somehow, in dream logic, this transformation wasn't as horrifying to him as who was coming in that window.

        The bottom of the window was four feet off the floor, with Dean's navy blue footlocker centered underneath it. The teenage boy crawled face first through the open window and placed his hands on the footlocker, bracing for balance. His dark brown hair hung in his face.

        Dean heard phantom voices speaking around him. "Are you entertaining guests tonight, Mr. Winchester?"

        A girl's laughter.

        "Shh! My dad's home."

        Dean looked down at himself, realizing that his body had also gone back in time, shrinking a few inches to his 16-year-old height and build. His body felt a little less developed, his hair a little longer and styled differently; already Dean wanted to tilt his head to toss the flip of hair to the other side. In seconds, the old habits came back, and his hand went to his head to push his hair back, which had gone a lighter shade of blond. Dean caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the wall and saw a youthful, fresh face he hadn't seen in a long time, not since the weight of a hundred dangerous hunts had marked it with worry lines. Even if those lines were much lighter than he knew they would eventually be, the difference was still startling.

        How did this happen, that he was sixteen again? Dean watched, bewildered, as the boy coming in the window raised his head.

        He already knew who it was. Only one boy had ever crawled in that window, besides Dean himself.

        Billy Loomis.

        He took in a loud, sharp breath at the sight of Billy's face. It looked like a younger version of Paul's face in every way, except Dean doubted that Paul had ever had a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.

        Blood ran down Billy's face from the spot where Sidney Prescott had shot him, forming trails on either side of his nose and dripping off his chin. How could he be here now, palms braced on the footlocker that Dean hadn't seen in ten years, when Sidney had put him in the ground almost as many years ago?

        But Billy was here, looking at Dean accusingly. "Why?" he asked. "Why did you leave me there to die?"

        With a shake of his head, Dean stammered, "I didn't know what was going to happen. But I never thought you'd go that far, Billy. If I'd known that was what you had planned..."

        "You should have been there with me, Dean. Not Stu. Loud-mouthed, bumbling Stu." Billy rolled his eyes and sighed. "If you'd been there, I wouldn't be dead now."

        Dean shook his head again in disbelief. "I couldn't have been there at your side, Billy. Not with what you were going to do."

        Billy snickered to himself. "Come off it, Dean. What are you but a killer?"

        "No. Not like that." Swallowing hard, Dean finished, "If I'd been there that night, Billy, I would have been the one to take you out."

        "So apparently, it just depends on what you're killing." Billy grinned with blood-flecked lips, lips Dean had kissed more times than he could count. "I knew for years that I was destined for something great. Only problem is, this wasn't supposed to be it. But I think it was pretty impressive." His eyes twinkled with lethal mischief. "Fame fades, but infamy lasts forever."

        "Wait... what do you mean, this wasn't supposed to be it?"

        Billy grinned again. "Haven't you figured it out yet, Dean? These dreams you've been having about the Apocalypse... I was supposed to be there by your side."

        Stunned, Dean just uttered, "What?"

        "The Inner Circle." Billy motioned with his head toward Paul. "There aren't very many of us left now. But when you see them, you'll know them." He grinned a smile of murder. "The question is, can you get to them before we do."

        "I'll know them when I see them?" Dean repeated. Something compelled him to look behind him, at Paul.

        Now sitting up, Paul stared through Dean with eyes that had gone completely white. Dean could make out the round edges of his irises and pupils, but they were the same color as the whites of his eyes. Despite the overall oddness of seeing Billy crawl in his window with a bullet hole in his head, the sight of Paul's eyes still took Dean by surprise, and he gasped.

        Paul spoke in the slow, mechanical voice he'd used the other morning, when Dean found him sleepwalking around the apartment. The voice of the Forces. The strangest part was that Billy said the words with him.

        "We are all made from the same design," they said.

        Dean awakened, his body jerking in the bed as he took a sharp, startled breath. He felt Paul's head, lying on his shoulder, bobble lightly with the motion of his body. Dean watched him for a moment before carefully extracting his arm, which had been cradling Paul against his chest while they slept. Paul scrunched up his face like he was in pain, made a groaning noise, and settled into the pillow. Dean didn't like how deeply he was sleeping, but there wasn't much he could do about it but let Paul rest.

        When he stepped into the hall, Dean could smell the bacon cooking. He wondered as he stepped into the kitchen if Sam had peeked into Paul's room and seen them in each other's arms. If he had, he didn't show it. "Mornin', Sammy."

        "Hey." Sam used the spatula to push a plate of eggs and bacon toward his brother. "Have some of my breakfast of guilt."

        Although he knew the guilt had nothing to do with him, Dean gladly took the plate and immediately started eating a piece of crispy bacon. "Your guilt is delicious."

        Sam let out a small laugh.

        Sitting at the table, Dean began, "Sammy, you know Paul wouldn't want you to feel guilty about what happened last night. The way it - "

        Sam put up a hand to tell him to stop. "Dean, you know if it had been your pain he took away, you would feel bad. So don't even, okay?"

        "Okay." Dean salted his eggs. "But just so you know, the eggs and bacon were supposed to be for the orphans that Paul takes care of on Thursdays."

        Stopping, Sam dropped the spatula on the stove and looked up at the ceiling. "What?! Are you - " He noticed the grin on Dean's face. "You..." Sam threw an eggshell from the bowl at his brother. "Ha, ha."

        Dean just chuckled. After eating some of his eggs, he said, "You might want to hold off on making Paul's breakfast. He's not up yet. I think he needs to sleep it off."

        "The smell of the bacon didn't wake him up too?"

        "Nah. He's sleeping pretty deeply."

        Sam thought he knew why. "God. Now I feel even more horrible."

        "Don't worry, Sam. He'll be okay." I hope, he added to himself.

        Sam came over to the table with his own plate, piled with eggs and bacon. "Yeah, I guess."

        Knowing there wasn't much else he could do to make his brother stop feeling guilty, Dean did the one thing he could do to try to get him to stop dwelling on it - he changed the subject. "Actually, it wasn't the bacon that woke me up."

        "No? Usually if I wave some fried pork under your nose, you'll sit bolt upright in bed."

        Dean let that one go by without a comeback. "I had another dream, Sam."

        The smile fell from Sam's face. "The Apocalypse again?"

        "Not exactly. It was, ah... it was about Billy Loomis."

        "Billy Loomis? Why - well, we were talking about him the other day," Sam commented with a shrug. "He was on your mind."

        "Yeah, that's true. Still, it was weird. It was almost like it wasn't just a dream." Dean, thinking about it, fell silent for several moments. "Like... Billy himself was trying to send me a message. His ghost."

        Sam considered this before asking, "What did he say?"

        Dean took a second to edit the dream in his head. "Paul was there, and we were... talking... and then Billy came in the window, and the room changed. It became my bedroom in Woodsboro."

        "What room was it before, when you and Paul were... talking?" As soon as Sam said it, he wished he hadn't, but only a little. The brief look of panic on Dean's face made him feel smug and guilty at the same time. He took a moment to wonder how long this game of 'I know more than you think I do' was going to go on before either he let Dean off the hook or Dean just admitted what he and Paul were really doing when they were supposed to be 'talking.' "I mean, were you in another room or something?"

        Until Sam had continued, Dean thought maybe he knew more than he was letting on. The way he mimicked Dean's pregnant pause... "No. We were talking here, in Paul's apartment. And... Billy had a bullet hole in his head."

        Sam sucked air in through his teeth. "Ooh, harsh." He knew that Dean agreed with what Sidney Prescott had done to protect herself and the other survivors of Billy's three-day massacre, but that couldn't be an easy thing for Dean to see. Such haunting sights in Dean's dreams had to be a byproduct of the guilt he felt. Resisting an urge to reach out and hug his older brother, Sam repeated, "What did he say?"

        "Well... first Billy said that he actually wanted me by his side when he killed all those people, instead of Stu Macher. I guess he thought because we were a hunting family that I'd have no problem killing innocent people as well." Dean made another one of those thoughtful pauses. "I guess he didn't know me at all."

        "You told him... what we hunt?"

        Absorbed by the emotions swirling through him at the memories, Dean didn't realize what Sam was asking at first, but after a moment, his head snapped abruptly in Sam's direction. "Oh... I never told you that?"

        "No." Shaking his head, he added, "Dean, you haven't really talked about it much at all."

        "Oh. Uh... there came a moment when it just made sense to tell Billy the truth, so I told him that Dad hunted monsters. That monsters were real." Dean shrugged awkwardly.

        Considering his body language, Sam sighed and huffed, "I know you're not telling me everything."

        "Sammy... it's a story for another time. Okay? Stop getting me off the subject." Dean picked up some bacon, giving his hands something to do, and chewed on it. "Anyway, Billy said that originally he was supposed to be by my side, and that it had to do with the Apocalypse and something called the Inner Circle."

        "That phrase was in your last dream. It's significant."

        Dean nodded. "It seems so. He told me that there weren't many of them left, and he was going to get to them before I did."

        "Many of who left? The people in this Inner Circle?"

        "It makes sense, doesn't it? Then... I turned to Paul, and his eyes... they'd gone completely white. I could see the outline of his pupils and the colored part," Dean made circles with his finger in front of his eye, "but the rest was white."

        "Freaky," Sam commented. "Like light was coming out of his eyes?"

        "Yeah. Yeah, that's a good description of what it looked like." Another thoughtful pause. "Paul spoke in that voice that he used when he was sleepwalking the other day, the spookyass, mechanical voice, and he and Billy said together, 'We are all made from the same design.' What do you think of that?"

        "'We are all made from the same design'..." Sam repeated, thinking it over. He didn't want to state the obvious, but it did seem the most logical answer.

        Dean said it instead. "All the members of the Inner Circle look like Paul."

        Nodding, Sam added, "It would explain why Billy and Paul look so much alike." They were both quiet for several seconds, wheels turning in their heads. Sam said what they were both thinking first. "There are more of them out there. These doppelgangers."

        Dean nodded vigorously. "And Billy's going after them. Somehow, they need to be there when the Apocalypse comes. Billy was supposed to be on our side, but he was... he was turned."

        "Like Chad Goodwell."

        Dean didn't say anything, just nodded absently as he tried to decide how to handle the situation. "As much as I hate to admit it, we need Keel in on this. He knows a lot about the occult, probably as much as Dad." He started to shovel what was left of his eggs into his mouth. "You stay here and look after Paul. I'm going down to SQ to let Keel know what's going on. He wants to interview me anyway."

        Sam understood most of what his brother had said around mouthfuls of eggs, but he still looked confused. "Shouldn't I go too? It was my vision last night."

        "Let's not give the man too much info at once, okay? I'll talk to him first, and you can fill in the details tonight." Dean chugged a small glass of orange juice. "I'm going to get dressed; you finish your breakfast."

        Although he sighed, Sam could see Dean's point, and stayed right where he was. His brother had a novella of things to talk over with Alva Keel. Things they hoped an older, more experienced adept could sort out.

        Dean peeked his head back into the kitchen. "Oh, one last thing," he said, and then burped, "See ya."


Chapter 2: When a Stranger Calls

Chapters: 2 of 15 (5502 words this part)

        "Ah, Mr. Winchester." Sitting at the conference table, Alva peered around Dean's immediate area. "Paul and Samuel are not accompanying you this morning?"

        "Not currently." He took a good whiff of the aroma coming from a back corner of the office. "Is that coffee?" Dean addressed Evie directly. "Can I have a cup?"

        "Your legs broken?" she asked without looking up from the newspaper.

        "You know, I would have been disappointed if you'd just gotten it for me. This little hard-to-get routine we've got going is exciting."

        "I'm so glad you're enjoying it."

        Tapping his fingers on the table, Alva watched as Dean headed for the coffee pot. "Where are Paul and your brother?"

        "That's kind of a long story," Dean replied, pouring himself some coffee in one of Evie's wide, colorful mugs. "Sam had another one of his visions last night, and was it ever a doozy. They give him bad headaches. This one was really, really bad, worse than I've ever seen. And, uh... Paul felt sorry for him. So he took the pain away."

        Brow knitted, Alva asked, "What do you mean?"

        "He took Sam's pain onto himself," explained Dean, motioning with the mug in imitation of the pain going from one person to another. "One second, Sam was in pain and Paul was looking at 'im with sympathy in his eyes, and the next, Paul had keeled over in pain. Sam was fine after that. He called Paul a 'fully functioning empath.'"

        Now even Evie was paying attention. "Is Paul alright?"

        "I think so. He was sleeping when I left the apartment."

        "Was he unconscious at any time?" Alva queried with alarm.

        Dean shook his head. "No, just his head hurt. We sent him right off to bed."

        "I'll go over and check on him." Evie stood and retrieved her coat and purse.

        Alva marveled, "Fully functioning... I've heard of it, but I've never seen that type of empathy up close. How did Paul do it?"

        With a shrug, Dean explained, "It was like he... he willed it to happen. Paul said he didn't even know what he was doing; he wanted to take away Sam's pain and next thing he knew, he had."

        "Remarkable..." Alva murmured.

        "Are you coming?" Evie said to him.

        "No, I need to talk to you," Dean protested. "I've got to tell you about Sam's vision, and some other things. Really important stuff. You wanted to interview me anyway."

        "Oh, you're right, I did. Well, Evie..."

        "We can all meet up at dinner, granted Paul's in any condition to go." She dug her keys out of her purse. "Now we'll see if my mother's hangover cure works for empathy headaches. Alva, you call me later, and - " Evie watched as Dean wrapped his lips around the rim of her mug and sipped some coffee out of it. "That's my cup."

        "Took you long enough to notice," he replied with a grin.

        She growled, pretending to wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze. "I won't get mad, that's what you want. Just delouse it when you're done with it, okay?"

        Dean provocatively licked all around the rim.

        Once Evie had left, Alva absently commented, "I think you and Evie are going to be great friends one day."

        "Hey, I didn't know you could be sarcastic. Good one."

        "Well..." Alva began poking around for his mini-tape recorder, which it turned out had just needed new batteries. "Shall we get to it?"

        "Let's talk somewhere where I can get some decent coffee. I know a sports bar on the other side of the highway. There's a corner booth where all the noise of the main room doesn't really reach you, but the crowd is rowdy enough that no one will hear what we're talking about." Taking another sip, Dean made a face. "Did Evie make this?"

        Alva couldn't help but grin. "It's decaf."

        "Decaf?!" The look on Dean's face spoke volumes for how crazy he found the very idea of decaffeinated coffee. "No wonder. You're going to have to buy me some chicken wings to wash that taste out of my mouth."

        Alva put on his coat. "They won't be serving lunch for another two hours yet."

        "That's okay. With all I've got to tell you, we'll still be there by then."


        A pot of coffee and one beer later, the clock struck noon, and Dean's chicken wings were brought to him, while Alva had the soup and sandwich combo. He'd finished the story of Sam's vision and was just getting to what he'd left out of his dream when Alva stopped him with an upraised hand. "Hold on, let me get this down," he said as he took shorthand notes.

        "I'm surprised you've lasted this long without at least going to the bathroom; you helped me finish off that pot of coffee, after all."

        "I'm fine for now," he said.

        "Yeah, well, I'm not." Dean hopped up and sprinted for the men's room.

        When he came back, he counted his chicken wings, and gave Alva a look. Alva only smiled politely at him. "Wing thief."

        "Never mind that. You were saying?"

        "Oh... yeah. There's a detail I left out of my dream yesterday because I didn't want Paul to hear it." Dean pointed to the tape recorder. "You can't let Paul hear this tape. This is really... it's..." He tried to find the words. "It could destroy him, Keel."

        Taking this in, Alva paused, pen still. "I won't let him hear it. Not until he needs to know." He put the machine on record again.

        "I appreciate that. Uh, when we approached Paul's father, at the fountain, he wasn't alone." Not even Dean was eating as he told Alva this explosive truth. "There was a woman at his side. The guiding voice in my dream told me her name was Theresa."

        Swallowing hard in dread, Alva said, "Paul's mother was named Theresa."

        "I know. He told me." Dean wrung a napkin in his hand, not even aware he was doing it. "The framed photo on the wall by Paul's kitchen... the dark-haired woman... that's Theresa. Is it...?"

        Alva, stunned, nodded his head. "The woman in that photo is Theresa Callan. Paul's mother."

        Dean flopped back against the booth as if he'd deflated. "Oh man. This is fucked up."

        Nodding again, Alva agreed. "That it is."

        "So, what? Paul's father knows how to raise the dead?"

        "Either that or she's some kind of look-alike."

        "Shit." They both said nothing for almost ten seconds, contemplating the situation. "So what do we do? Paul's dad is going to use her as some sort of bargaining chip to try to get Paul to turn back."

        "I suppose there isn't much we can do until we learn who Paul's father is and..." Alva seemed to lose his train of thought, eyebrows furrowed, expression confused. "...and what he's capable of."

        Dean watched him. "What?"

        Alva suddenly looked up. "Hm?"

        "Did you just remember something? You seemed distracted."

        Another bewildered pause. Alva heard the licking of flames in the back of his mind, in a space where there used to be critical knowledge. "No. Just hungry, I guess." He started to eat his soup.

        Following his lead, Dean began to devour the chicken wings one by one. "I'll tell you one thing we're going to do and that's build up our forces. If big badass demons like Azazel are in on this, you can bet he's building an army."

        Alva wasn't sure what to make of that. "What forces? There's just the five of us. I suppose we could... hmm."

        "There are more of us, though. That's the next thing I needed to tell you. I had another dream last night."

        "Oh? Well then, tell me about it."

        "I gotta give you some background first. It was about a boy I used to know, when my family lived in Woodsboro, California for just under a year."

        "When was this?"

        "It was 1995. I turned sixteen that year." Dean never knew if people were going to recognize Billy's name or not; he was right when he said he was infamous, but Dean didn't think Billy was quite as infamous as he wanted to be, judging by how many people didn't know who he was until they were told. Still, he tried it. "His name was Billy Loomis."

        Alva's knowledge apparently didn't extend to knowing the names of every psychopathic teenager who went on a killing spree, as he just stared at Dean, expecting to hear more.

        "After the dream I had last night, I'm certain that Billy was supposed to be there to help us when we face the Apocalypse, and I'm also convinced there are more men out there like him. I don't usually believe in things like fate and destiny, but..." He sighed. "...the fact that I knew Billy Loomis and now know Paul, it's just too weird a coincidence. I think there are agents of fate at work here to bring us together. And something is working against those agents to rip us all apart."

        Confused, Alva leaned forward and asked, "Why do you think such things?"

        "Because..." Getting out his wallet, Dean slid his fingers into a seldom-used pocket, withdrawing some old dog-eared photographs he only brought out when he was in a dark fog and wanted to brood over his failures... and remember some good times. He put one of those photographs on the table where Alva could see it, then leaned back, his arm draped over the back of the booth, and waited for the reaction. "...this is Billy."

        His spoon halfway to his mouth, Alva simply dropped it into the soup bowl in amazement, his mouth still open. He snatched up the photo and stared at it. "This... he..." His mouth worked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't yet find the words.

        "Yeah. Exactly."


January, 1995

        For the first time in years, the Winchester family had just about emptied one of their storage spaces across the country and were unpacking box after box of belongings, things they could not carry with them in the car. What was more amazing was that they had a place to put all of these things, a house. Fifteen-year-old Dean Winchester could barely remember living in a house all his own. He had the members of a particularly slippery Chaos cult to thank for all this.

        His own room, even. And he'd get to spend his sixteenth birthday in this house. A real home. Dean secretly hoped his father wouldn't catch up to that cult for several years to come.

        They'd followed the cultists from Florida all the way to California. Over a year of work that John Winchester wasn't about to throw away without finishing things.

        The only person who wasn't happy about this was Sammy.

        Dean looked over at his little brother now and watched him absently unpacking a box of kitchen items. Sammy still had that sad look on his face, his mind back in Florida where he'd left three or four friends from the Math Club. Soon enough, Dean thought, Sam would settle in and see how much better it was to have a house in California than a rat's nest apartment in Florida. And he'd make new friends. California had to have Math Clubs as well.

        "You boys get a move on," John commanded upon reentering the house. He had brought in a map of Woodsboro and the surrounding cities from the car. "You start school tomorrow morning."

        Sam waited for John to head off toward the master bedroom before he let out a weary sigh. "Another school."

        Spying a box marked 'Kitchen,' Dean picked it up and plopped it down next to the one Sam was unpacking. "At least we know we're going to be here for a while." He dug his fingers under the tape and ripped the top of the box open.

        "Yeah, but we're starting in the middle of the year. And we're not even going to the same school," complained Sam.

        "Go in there and show them how smart you are, geekboy. They'll promote you to high school in a second."

        "Ha ha."

        "Who says I'm kidding?"

        Sam just scoffed, brushing off his brother's attempts to cheer him up. He moved his box to a counter closer to the stove and continued unpacking. "It doesn't work that way."

        "Sure it does. I hear of kids skipping grades all the time." Following him, Dean also moved his box.

        "Yeah, like that wouldn't make me even more of an outcast, to not only be the new kid but the ubersmart new kid."

        Dean rolled his eyes. "You sure are hard to please. Quit your whining, okay? It'll be alright." He gave Sam a playful shove with his shoulder.

        "Shut up." Sam bumped him back.

        "Hey, I know what'll make your panties wet." Dean brought a piece of folded paper out of his back pocket. "While Dad and I were at the store, I found this flyer on a bulletin board. There's going to be a science fair at your school in a few months. Do people actually start getting ready for these things this far ahead of time?"

        Taking the flyer, Sam read it. Despite his desire to stay in his funk and really make their dad sorry, he couldn't help but smile. "First prize is a thousand dollars."

        "Yeah. Pretty cool, huh? I mean, as much as a science fair can be cool."

        Sam just grinned and read the flyer over again. He was already forming his potential project in his head. A model of a DNA strand. Or... an atom.


        Dean found it hard to pay enough attention to his chicken wings to eat them before they got cold while recounting how he met Billy Loomis and Stu Macher on his first day at Woodsboro High. Being the new kid had never been as hard for him as it had been for Sammy because he didn't let it get to him, how the kids stared, how they talked behind their hands and giggled when he passed. There were always the girls to make him feel welcome. Their stares were different.

        One of them demonstrated this point in English class when her eyes moved down the curve of his back and gave his butt a mental squeeze. She wanted him to notice. Dean smiled back at her, using all the seductive power of his crystal green eyes. First day and already he had a potential -

        "No man, you're wrong. No one who was on a show like 'Little House on the Prairie' would ever be in a slasher flick," a rather loud boy on the other side of the room was saying, interrupting Dean's thoughts.

        "I'm telling you, Stu, it happened," another boy said back. Dean had heard one of the girls call that guy Randy, and apparently, these two were into horror movies. A subject Dean knew a lot about.

        He glanced around the room. The teacher had made a trip to the A/V office to see what was keeping the television and VCR she'd ordered to show the class a movie about the life of Shakespeare, and the student she'd left in charge wasn't doing a thing to keep the class quiet, as she'd become engrossed in a book about the band Nirvana. Dean moved a little closer to these boys, Stu and Randy. He already knew the answer to what they were arguing about.

        Another boy with dark brown hair was sitting close to them, but not paying much attention to their conversation, or so it seemed. He was drawing something in his spiral notebook.

        "Who?" Stu challenged, putting his foot up on his seat and leaning on his knee.

        "Pamela Roylance. She played Mrs. Carter in the last season."

        "Oh come on, that doesn't even count. The last season sucked."

        "What, did you watch 'Little House,' Stu?" Billy questioned without looking up from his drawing.

        Backpedaling, Stu replied, "Only when I was, like, four. My mom made me."

        "Uh huh."

        Randy pointed and laughed at Stu. Stu smacked his finger hard and laughed back with his mouth wide open and tongue sticking out. "Okay, smart guy, you know so much, what slasher movie was she in? Huh?"

        "Sorority House Massacre."

        "No, it was Slumber Party Massacre," Dean blurted.

        All three boys looked at him, staring. Stu scoffed at him. "Oh sure, you know better, huh newbie? What was your name? Dean?"

        "Yeah. So?"

        "Well, Dean, if Randy says it was Sorority House Massacre - "

        "Then he'd be wrong," Billy cut in. He looked at Dean with a small, predatory smirk on his face. "Dean's right, it's Slumber Party Massacre."

        Dean didn't like how Stu looked at him, how he spoke to him. He began to run off at the mouth, anything to wipe that superior, sarcastic look off Stu's face. "The guy who played Albert was in Deadly Friend, also. And Melissa Sue Anderson was in Happy Birthday to Me."

        "Wow, you know your horror movies." Billy extended a hand to him. "I'm Billy Loomis. This is Randy, and that's Stu."

        Dean grabbed the offered hand in his fist and they both squeezed. "Dean. Dean Winchester."

        Stu blew out through his mouth, causing his lips to vibrate. The action made a sound of obvious scorn. "That's gotta be an alias."

        "No, if I was going to have an alias, I'd pick something like Freddy Krueger." Dean grinned at Billy when he said it; although he'd never choose something so obvious for a fake name, he knew the reference would impress the other boy. And for some reason Dean didn't understand yet, he wanted to impress Billy Loomis.

        Billy grinned back at him, chuckling. "Yeah, nobody would recognize that," he said with sarcasm.

        Dean laughed too.

        His eyes passing from one boy to the other, Stu broke in, trying to get Billy's attention. "I know all the movies. You know I do, Billy. That one just snuck past me."

        "Sure, sure," Randy threw in, rolling his eyes. Stu scowled, hissing, and raised his hand in a claw, imitating a classic movie vampire.

        "Well, maybe we need a refresher course. Horror marathon at my house tonight?"

        "Ohhh YEAH!" Stu slapped Billy's upraised hand.

        "You wanna come, Dean?" asked Billy.

        This caught Dean off guard; it almost startled him. "Uh, maybe. I'll have to ask my dad first." He peered over Billy's shoulder at what he was drawing. "You're really good. What movie is that from?"

        Billy had drawn a naked girl skewered by long tree branches through various parts of her body. Her torso, from just under her ribs to her hips, had been torn away and hollowed out, so nothing was left but her spine. "It's not from any movie. It just came out of my head."

        "That's pretty grotesque, but in a cool way."

        "Thanks. I've got a whole sketch book full of stuff like this, if you ever wanna look at it." Smiling, Billy tore off a corner of the page. "I'll give you my number. Call if you're coming over, okay?"

        Stu didn't say anything, just watched the exchange with a pouty expression.


        "Did your father allow you to join them?" Alva was asking, trying to finish his sandwich between his own comments.

        "Yeah. He was kinda surprised that I made friends so fast, but he let me go. Gave me his lecture about not getting too close to anyone in case we had to move again, but he said I could go." Consumed by the memories, Dean wasn't much interested in his food anymore; he just wanted to get this all out. He forced himself to nibble at the chicken wings that were left, knowing he'd be hungry within a couple hours if he didn't. How was he going to tell this story with all the most pertinent details left out? Dean couldn't tell Keel everything. Would the man understand how connected Dean felt to Billy Loomis without knowing that they were lovers? "Billy and I were fast friends. Over the next few weeks, we spent a lot of time together, mostly watching horror movies. I watched his favorites and he watched mine. There were a ton that we each knew about that the other hadn't seen, and it was fun springing them on each other." Dean chuckled to himself, remembering.

        "So it was all fun at first."

        "It was all fun for quite a while. But that didn't mean it didn't get weird pretty fast as well."

        "How so?" questioned Alva.

        "Uh... I mentioned to Billy that the 24th was my birthday. The 24th of January." Smirking, Dean let out a small laugh. "He decided to get me a present. And he wasn't the only one."


        Although he complained behind John Winchester's back, Sam really did enjoy it when his father drank. Even Dean could tell that his brother was faking the indignance just to keep up a front that he rarely liked anything their father did. That was just Sammy's way of getting what he wanted, or, at least trying to, anyway.

        Bobby Singer had come into town. They said to help with getting John's case off the ground, but Dean knew it was more than that. The two men were currently meandering around the house, more than a little tipsy on rum and Coke, with Sam following after them. John showed off his new house like it was a prize antique gun or the head of a supernatural beast he had just killed.

        "And this, this is the wet bar," John said, spreading out his arm in the general direction of the small bar area off the living room. Several bottles of liquor lined the counter in front of the back wall, reflected in the mirror behind them.

        "Wet bar? Why do they call them that anyway?" Bobby looked the bar over. "It doesn't look wet."

        Both men tittered, hissing through their teeth. Sam had to giggle at how slurred their speech was. This is why he had such a good time when their father drank, especially with Bobby - the alcohol made John funny, affectionate, and generous. If he'd had something to drink after a successful hunt, he'd always come home with great presents, and sing and tell dirty jokes all night. The thing that Sam liked most was that it was one of the only times John didn't act like a gruff drill sergeant.

        Even as an adult, Sam still made cracks about Dad's drinking, but it had never been the way he made it out to be. Dean grinned and shook his head as he looked through John's records, amused at how hard his father and Bobby were laughing at that mediocre joke.

        "You know what else isn't very wet?" asked John. He raised his glass. "The backs of my son's ears!"

        Dean looked up from the records again.

        "Oh?" Bobby acted like he didn't know what John was talking about.

        "Yeah... my eldest is sixteen today. Golly gee, sixteen!"

        Bobby clapped his hands together. "Me oh my, sixteen and never been kissed!"

        Both men slapped Dean on the back and laughed like they'd never heard anything funnier. They shook each of Dean's shoulders until he smiled and laughed too. Puckering his lips at the boy, Bobby commented, "We can fix that right now, though. Come on, princess..." He made kissing sounds.

        Dean swatted at him. "Ew, old man funk! Get off me!"

        John, putting Dean in a headlock, dragged his son up off the floor, taking him over to the wet bar. Dean didn't fight him, but he did smack playfully at any spot he could reach. "Daaaad..."

        Sam began to laugh.

        "It's time we break in this wet bar. And as it is my eldest's birthday, I declare that he must have his first drink!" As one arm was wrapped around Dean's neck and the other hand had a glass in it, John gestured with a free finger. "Oh Sir Bobbith, will you pour my offspring a shot of our best Jack?"

        "Of course, your Majesty!"

        His voice muffled against his father's side, Dean joked, "All that drinking you guys have been doing and that bar ain't broken in yet?"

        Sam watched Bobby try to keep the bottle steady enough to pour a little Jack Daniels into a shot glass, but he wasn't very successful. "Quit movin'," he said to the glass.

        "Why don't you let me do that?" Sam asked.

        "You?! You're just a kid; I can't let you pour Jack Daniels into a shot glass," Bobby slurred incredulously.

        "What, do you think I'm going to miss it? Can't do any worse than you right now."

        "Let the kid pour the drink," Dean said. "I'd like to get out from under my dad's arm before the smell kills me."

        "He's too young to die!" Sam cried.

        "Alright, alright." Handing off the bottle, Bobby saluted him and clapped Sam hard on the shoulder. "Just don't drink any of it."

        To tease him, Sam put the bottle near his lips and pretended to drink. "Glug glug glug." With another giggle, he poured a generous shot and slid the glass in Dean's direction.

        "Okay, Private Dean. Are you ready?" John bellowed.

        "Ready, sir."

        John released him. Dean smoothed down his hair with his hands, then crinkled his nose and fanned it as if reacting to the odor of John's armpit. Holding up the shot, John said, "We hereby christen this not-so-wet bar in the name of evil-fighting, goodie goodie do-gooders everywhere." He handed the shot to Dean. "My son, you are a man."

        Sam added, "Don't choke on it."

        After tapping the shot glass to John's drink and saying, "Tink," Dean placed the glass to his lips and tipped it back until all of the Jack was gone. He put the glass down on the bar hard, uttering, "Ahhh, smooth." Everyone watched him with mischievous looks. A second later, Dean's face crumpled into an expression of distaste and he groaned, "GuuuuAAARRRGH!" sticking out his tongue. "That goes down burny," Dean rasped, thumping his chest with a fist.

        "Wuss," Sam said.

        "Oh yeah? Watch me; this time, I won't gag." He reached for the bottle of Jack.

        John smacked his hand away. "That's enough for you. Come on over here. We got you a present."

        "Oh boy, for me?" Dean rapidly clapped his hands together several times in an over exaggerated, joking manner. His father took him to a wooden box sitting on the coffee table. Half of its top was made of wire mesh. Dean tried to peer inside, but he couldn't see anything.

        Giggling, Sam covered his mouth with his hands. He knew something, but just what it was, Dean couldn't tell.

        John gestured toward the box with his half-empty glass. "Son, now that you're older, and we have this house for an indefinite period of time, we all thought you should have a pet of your very own."

        "A pet? What kind?" It must be something small and furry, to be kept in a wooden box. Aw, he would have wanted a big dog.

        "Well..." John put a hand on his shoulder. "...because of the line of work we are in, Bobby and I were able to trap you a very special pet. A pet no other kid in the world has. At least, as far as we know."

        "Who else would be crazy enough to give their kid one of these?" Bobby brought up a foot and poked at the side of the box with the toe of his shoe. From inside the box came a series of growls and snarls, each one more rabid-sounding than the last.

        His eyes wide, Dean asked, "What is it?"

        "It's a chupacabra," John replied. He spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, as if to speak too loudly would somehow anger the creature.

        "Is that safe?" Dean said. "I didn't even know they really existed."

        "Apparently, they do. This one's a lot tamer than he sounds. Why don't you take him out and let us all pet 'im?"

        Sam tittered again, quickly stifling himself by biting his bottom lip.

        "Uh... if you say it's okay." Dean tentatively lifted the catch on the top of the box and started to open it, intending to reach his hand in and pick up... whatever he'd find in there. He'd never even seen a real chupa -

        That is when the furry ball with the tail leapt out at Dean, thumping squarely in the middle of his chest. He let out a brief, startled scream and pinwheeled his arms before grabbing the thing and tossing it anxiously across the room. Dean was only slightly aware that a flash had gone off somewhere in there; he was too busy trying to get his heart out of his throat and back where it belonged.

        The creature was growling again. Just as he was trying to figure out where the chupacabra had gone, Dean realized that Sammy was holding a camera and everyone was laughing. He spotted the furry ball sitting on the floor near the back door. It was just a toy, and he now saw that the box even had a spring-loaded trap door in the top that would throw the toy at you when you tried to open it. "Oh ha, ha."

        John and Bobby began to sing while they did the Macarena dance side by side. They did the arm motions, arms crossed, then hands behind the head, the whole nine yards. "There's a buggy-eyed creature that they call the chupacabra. Four feet tall like a mutant winged Chihuahua." They spun around, putting their hands on their hips, then back behind their heads while shaking their butts. Sam laughed loudly and doubled over with a hand to his stomach. "In Mexico, Chile, Puerto Rico, Nicaragua. Heeeey chupacabra, aiii-ite!" Chuckling and snickering, John and Bobby leaned on each other.

        "You guys are a riot." Even Dean couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. They really were a couple of cut-ups when they'd been drinking.

        Holding up the camera, Sam assured him, "I got a real good picture of your face when you screamed," and then ran when Dean swatted at him. Sam picked up the "chupacabra" and shook it. The toy made a growling sound.

        Rolling his eyes, Dean couldn't believe that ridiculous thing had fooled him. A ball of fur with a box in it that made fake snarling sounds? "I'm so smooth," he sighed.

        "Seriously, Dean, that's not your present. Your present is outside." John topped off his announcement with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

        "Outside?" A smile spread across Dean's face.

        A new black truck sat in the driveway.

        Both Dean and Sam goggled at it. Not even Sam knew about this gift. "Oh Dad, a truck! It's beautiful!"

        "Isn't it, though? I thought so too when I bought it for myself." John waited long enough for Dean's glare to turn from shock and disappointment to bewilderment. "The truck's not yours. You get the Impala." And he tossed Dean the keys.

        It took Dean a second to realize that his dad was serious. He stared at the keys in his hand like they may evaporate. "Really?"

        John nodded.

        "Oh, Dad!" Without a second thought, Dean hugged him around the neck. "Thank you! I've always wanted the Impala!"

        John patted his back when he hugged him. "You're welcome, son."

        Excited, Sam jumped up and down. "Dad, can Dean and I take a ride around the block?"

        "Yeah. Just come right back so we can cut the cake."

        "Who said I wanted to take you for a ride?" Dean asked his brother, tweaking his ear. He turned to John. "After we have cake, can I take the car over to Billy's and show him?"

        "He's seen it before."

        "Yeah, but it wasn't mine then. Besides, he knows it's my birthday and he said he might have a party." Hopping on his heels a little, Dean said, "Come on, Dad..."

        "Alright, but be careful. Just because I made you that license doesn't mean you should invite the police to stop you and look at it." John smacked playfully at Dean's head, flipping the part in his hair from one side to the other.

        "Who's Billy?" asked Bobby.

        "Dean's new friend."

        Bobby also made a target out of Dean's hair, ruffling it as Dean tried to swat him away. "Awww, Princess, have you got a friend?"

        "Dean, pleeeeease take me for a ride around the block," Sam begged. "Please, please, please?"

        "Alright, geez."

        As the boys were pulling out of the driveway, John and Bobby, their arms around each other, serenaded Dean, more than comfortably off key. "Happy birthday to you, you live in a zoo, you look like a monkey, and you smell like one too!"

All of "Billy's drawings" are concept art from Scream.

On to Chapter 3.

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