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) See Chapter 1 for all Warnings and Author's Notes. Rating: Adult17+ Chapters: 14 of 15 (3,643 words this part) Chapter 14: The Omen         "I never saw Billy alive again," Dean said. His demeanor had grown more subdued, almost depressed, the closer he got to the end of the story. "We moved that Monday and I've never been back to Woodsboro since."         "How long was it before the other murders?" Alva asked.         "Almost a year. I kept in touch with Bridget to make sure she was still steering clear of Billy, and as far as I know, she was. About a month after we moved, Casey Becker walked in on Billy and Stu... um, they were... she said they were engaged in oral sex." Dean's eyes darted from person to person; he didn't like having to tell the truth on any part of the same sex activities, but what he was about to say next wouldn't make much sense without this detail.         Evie's eyebrows went up. "Wow. So Billy found that partner he'd been looking for."         "Right. Stu was always really concerned with keeping Billy happy, and... well, as you can see, he'd do just about anything to accomplish that. Casey told the whole school. I think that's why she and her new boyfriend became Billy and Stu's next victims," Dean explained. "The first murders took place on December 16th, 1996. I was seventeen by then. As soon as I heard Casey Becker and Steven Orth were killed, I knew Billy did it. They were both violently gutted and Casey was hung from a tree. It reminded me of Billy's drawing of the girl against the tree with her middle torn out. And the killer wore a Halloween costume... of a ghost.         "I figured Stu must be helping him. It's easier to overcome multiple people like that if you have help. It either had to be Stu or Billy's demons," Dean said.         "Perhaps this Alistair came back," Alva threw in.         "It's always possible. Stu definitely was involved, but I had no way to prove it at that time. As soon as I saw the news reports, I tried to call Tatum; her brother is a police officer. But she wouldn't talk to me. I worried over what to do that whole day. I had to do something, you know? But the next night, someone tried to kill Sidney Prescott. Billy was caught at her house and they took him in, suspecting he was the killer. I thought it was over."         Sam cut in with, "That's when our dad heard that Neil Prescott was missing. The police started to think that he might be the murderer, but Dad knew that couldn't be true. He knew Neil just wasn't that type of man."         "My dad and I both thought about heading back to Woodsboro, just to see what we could do. But at that time, I really thought they had their killer in custody and Mr. Prescott would turn up somewhere. That's when Billy was released," Dean revealed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Casey had been called on the phone and taunted by her killer before they murdered her. Billy's cellular phone bill was clean of any calls to her home, so the police let him walk out. My dad was really distracted by his current case and just couldn't decide if there was anything he could do to help Neil, especially with the cops already deep in it. But I wasn't waffling on the issue at all. The morning I heard Billy had been released, I got in my car and took off for Woodsboro."         "I was ready to skip school and go right along with him," Sam said a little guiltily. "For me, it was more about not wanting to be left behind. Practically begged Dean to take me with him."         "Did you have an intuition about what was happening?" Evie asked.         Shaking his head, Sam said, "Not really. If Dean thought it was Billy doing these killings, then I believed him. I was more worried that..." He looked at Dean. "...that I wouldn't see my brother alive again."         Now Dean looked guilty, his eyes full of sadness.         "I mean, he was going into this situation where people were being killed. I wasn't thinking that I was only thirteen at the time myself; I only wanted to help."         Evie patted his back.         Dean took up the story again. "I told Sammy to stay home. I'm not sure what I had planned to do once I got there, but I did take two of my guns. I suppose if I'd taken a plane, I could have gotten there faster, but... uh, I'm afraid to fly."         Surprised, Paul said, "Really?"         Dean nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. I didn't have any money for a ticket anyway. The drive was a good 20 hours, but I hoped I could make it before anyone else died. The night of the 18th, I stopped at a motel to sleep for just a few hours. I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore, and I almost went off the road. I wish I could have just kept on. I don't think I would have made it in time anyway." Head down, he looked sadder than ever.         "When Dad got home from working on his case, he asked where Dean was and I told him. I actually hoped he would go after him so he could keep him safe," Sam admitted. "He was behind by about eight hours, but Dad went after him. I insisted on coming too."         "Kinda good that you two did." Dean's voice cracked. He took a moment to compose himself. "Around six in the morning on the 19th, I had a dream. Billy was in Hell. There were demons all around him. He had a hunting knife in his hand; it was smeared with blood. The demons imprisoned him in a cage made of cinderblocks. The blocks were on fire. Billy started to try to chip his way out, and the fire was burning him. But he kept slashing at those flaming bricks and screaming. He was screaming in fury. The demons were keeping him there until they needed him; I couldn't tell you how I knew that. I just did.         "One demon stood out. He looked at me with these piercing silver eyes and did this." Dean curled his finger in a "come here" motion. "He said, 'Aw, sleepyhead. People died on your watch tonight. Didn't they?' And then I could hear Billy screaming for me. Just kept screaming, 'Dean, Dean! That bitch killed me! Sidney shot me in the head!' I woke up with the smell of burning brimstone in my nostrils. I woke up, and I knew."         "Do you think the demon was Alistair?" questioned Alva.         Dean just nodded. "I turned on the news. The news confirmed what I already knew. More people dead. Several stabbed and shot. And Billy and Stu, dead. Before Sidney killed them in self-defense, they confessed to the murder of Maureen Prescott the year before. I knew. I knew. But I let myself be deluded into not believing what should have been obvious to me."         "Dean..." Sam began. His brother always went back to blaming himself every time he told this story. Sam wanted it to stop, for Dean to stop feeling guilty.         "Let me finish," Dean snapped. "Alright?"         "Okay, finish."         Swallowing hard, Dean tried to go on. "The newscaster named every person who had been killed. Casey Becker. Steven Orth. Arthur Himbry. Kenny Jones. Tatum Riley. And the year before, Maureen Prescott. Those names will be with me forever, you know?"         Everyone nodded in sympathy, even Evie.         "I still don't get why they had to kill Tatum. I guess just because she was there," lamented Sam. Evie patted his back again.         Paul brought up something he'd been wondering ever since Dean had talked about Billy's murder game. "What about Bridget?"         That was one thing Dean could smile about. "She didn't go to the party where the last of the victims were killed. I spoke to her on the phone the day after, and she said she'd seen Billy in a video store the day of the party. He asked her to come. It was the first time they'd talked in a really long time, and he asked her to come to the party. If Bridget had gone, they might've killed her too."         Paul sighed with relief. Bridget had been Dean's friend, and she was one less dead body over which he could feel guilty.         Licking his lips nervously, Dean attempted to finish the story. "Because I'd stopped to sleep, my dad caught up with me, but not before..." His voice broke with threatening tears. Dean struggled to hold them back. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this. I can't do this with you here." He looked at Evie, then Alva.         They shifted awkwardly, unsure what Dean wanted them to do. "Do you... want us to leave?"         "Paul can fill in the rest for you. If you'll just go in his bedroom and wait... there isn't much left to tell."         Neither was sure if it was more awkward to wait in the bedroom or be present while Dean Winchester cried. They simply nodded and filed out of the room.         While Alva took a seat in the armchair near Paul's bed, Evie closed the door. It came open again, just a little. "The latch is broken," she remarked. Spying Dean's bag on the floor next to the bed, Evie nosily leaned over and peeked inside. All she could see was some clothes and... Evie curiously picked up a leather cuff with studs and jewels on it, one of them in the shape of a heart. "What the heck do you think this is?"         Dean barreled ahead, to just get this horrible story done. "When I realized that it was all over and... and I hadn't made it to Woodsboro in time to stop it, I just couldn't live with it at all. If I hadn't gotten sleepy and stopped for the night, maybe I could have..." He swallowed down the lump in his throat. It didn't help.         It was Paul reaching out and touching Dean through the empathic link that finally let down the gates to his emotions; the touch attempted to be soothing. The fact that anyone could still love him after how he'd failed made Dean burst into tears. "I didn't know most of them that well. And I never even met Kenny Jones. But I still felt so guilty. If I'd only told someone what I knew about Billy, maybe his parents would have gotten him some help. I just watched him pretend to choke Bridget and listened to him rage about how much he wanted to kill Mrs. Prescott, and I told no one!"         Evie had taken a seat on the end of Paul's bed, but now she jumped up and went to the door to listen. Because the door wouldn't stay latched, and Dean was sobbing rather loudly, she could hear everything well enough to alarm her.         "Evie, don't eavesdrop," Alva scolded. "We should respect his privacy."         "How do we even know that's Dean crying? It could be Paul," she said, and began listening at the door.         Alva didn't fully trust Dean yet either, but he doubted that was Paul sobbing out there.         Sam came over and sat on the other side of his brother. "Dean, you were just a kid. You've gotta stop blaming yourself."         "How can I not feel responsible with all I knew? I mean, come on, Sammy!"         "You've beat yourself up enough over this. Dean, you tried to kill yourself. It's time to stop feeling guilty." *****         Dean's body went numb, sitting on the end of the motel bed with the newscaster in the red blazer running down the names of the dead once again.         He heard the words from his nightmare in his head over and over.         Aw, sleepyhead. People died on your watch tonight. Didn't they?         Dean! That bitch killed me! Sidney shot me in the head!         Dean didn't know how much time went by before he was able to feel anything again. Tatum was the hardest one to take. He had tried to warn her.         Should've tried harder, a voice of self-doubt said in his mind.         Maybe if you'd told someone, you could have saved Billy too, said another.         Unable to hold it in anymore, Dean began to cry, almost too hard to breathe. For a while, he laid across the end of the bed just sobbing to himself. Those voices wouldn't shut up. They just wouldn't stop.         Aw, sleepyhead. People died on your watch tonight. Didn't they?         Maybe if you'd told someone, you could have saved Billy too.         You don't deserve to live, one last voice said.         Still sobbing and stumbling around the room, Dean scrawled out a note.         I'm sorry, I failed, it said. I love you Dad. I love you Sammy. Please don't hate me for what I've done. Dean.         Then he wrapped his belt around his neck, heading for the bathroom.         Someone began to knock loudly at the door. "Dean? Dean, let me in!" John's voice demanded. "I know what happened, son. I heard it on the radio. Let me in. It's not your fault. Dean?"         Wide-eyed, Dean tried to move faster. Dad couldn't be allowed to stop him. He didn't deserve to live. All his guns were out in the trunk. This was the only way he could get it done.         "Dean, the people at the front desk told me you were in there. Open the door, son." And when there was no answer... "Dean, open the door!"         "Dean, please open the door!" Sam's voice pleaded, and he banged on the door too.         God, no, Sammy was out there too. Dean didn't want Sammy to see this, but... what other choice did he have? He hooked the belt around the shower curtain rod, twisting it so it formed a figure eight, and, closing his eyes tight, Dean relaxed his legs and fell off the edge of the bathtub.         The lock rattled as John worked feverishly to pick it open. His son hung for four tense, strangling seconds before the tension rod gave under his weight. Dean and the rod clattered to the floor.         When John and Sam rushed into the motel room, the first thing they heard was Dean coughing violently on the bathroom floor. John knew exactly what his son had tried to do when he saw the belt still wrapped around his neck and the red welt forming there. "Oh, Dean," he said, and hugged him to his chest.         "They're dead," Dean rasped out, crying again. "My fault."         "Don't talk," commanded John. He began to rock his son like he used to do when Dean was a baby. "It's not your fault. Do you hear me? You didn't kill anybody. Those boys in Woodsboro did. You tried to stop it, but nobody could stop it, alright? You don't deserve to die over this."         "Dad, I knew stuff," Dean sobbed in a tiny, barely audible voice. "Knew stuff and didn't tell you."         "Shhhh. It's not your fault. It's just something that happened."         Sam knelt on the floor, starting to cry too. "Please don't kill yourself, Dean. I know you feel bad, but you can't leave us like this."         "Sammy..." Dean grabbed his brother with one arm and they hugged, sobbing together.         John held his sons and thanked whoever was up there listening that the curtain rod had given way. *****         Now, the brothers were hugging and crying again. Paul was on the verge himself, watching and listening to them. He rubbed Dean's back.         At first, Dean had tried to push Sam away when he hugged him, but Sam just wouldn't stop. Dean gave up after his second try to deflect his brother's love, love he didn't feel he deserved right now, and allowed Sammy to comfort him.         "Nobody blames you, Dean. No one but you," Sam said.         Dean had handfuls of Sam's jacket, now clutching at him like a lifeline. "But I knew things I didn't tell anyone. Sometimes I wish that curtain rod hadn't given way."         Evie looked back at Alva. There were tears in her eyes. Something in what Dean had said had touched her in a place few could reach, few could understand. Without a word, she opened the door and went into the living room.         Everyone was surprised to see her there, but no one more than Dean. She instantly went right to him and knelt in front of him. "Dean, listen to me."         Sniffling, he said, "What are you doing here?"         "You have to forgive yourself for what happened," Evie told him. "You were only sixteen. Sometimes, we're confronted with things we don't know how to deal with and we just become so scared that we don't know what to do. So we do nothing, hoping that an answer will come or someone else will make the decision for us. This is never truer than when you're a kid. Even an adult would have been lost for knowing what to do to help Billy Loomis. If one of my childhood friends had exhibited that kind of behavior in front of me... I probably would have tried to rationalize it too. It's not so weird. He's just going through a phase. I hope this just goes away. Even if someone had gotten him into therapy, it might not have done any good. The kid was messed up, Dean. I know you wish you could have saved him, but ultimately only he could have done that. More supportive parents might've helped, too."         "Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked.         She tried to smile a little to show that her intentions were sincere. "Because no matter how much we fight, you're still a human being. I need to try to remember that. And... because we all have gotten into some situation where we didn't know what to do and thought in hindsight that maybe we could have made a different decision or done more. I'm not immune to that." Evie swallowed the lump in her throat. "When I was fourteen, I got into a bad situation and I didn't know what to do. My parents made my decision for me. Sometimes I still feel like I murdered someone. But we didn't murder anyone, Dean."         "Murdered someone?"         "I had an abortion. I've been working on forgiving myself for years. Some days, I think I've just about done it." Two tears rolled silently down her face. "But it's a daily struggle."         For the first time, Dean reached out and patted her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. "I guess it's something I need to work on too."         "Finally, I make some headway through that thick skull of yours," Evie joked. She sniffled and wiped her eyes.         Dean chuckled. "We're not going to start being nice to each other all the time now, are we? 'Cause I kinda like this petty bickering thing we've got going."         With a wicked grin, she replied, "Of course we'll still fight. Wouldn't want to disappoint you."         "Yeah you would," he said, and winked. *****         Later that night, Dean found himself sitting on Paul's couch staring at the digital display on his cell phone at who was calling him.         Sam looked at his brother. It turned into a glare. "Are you going to answer that?"         "I thought maybe I slipped into the twilight zone," Dean replied, and flipped the phone open. He looked right at Sam when he said, "Well, well, well. Hey Bridget, how you doin', sweetheart?"         Sam's mouth fell open.         "My God, Dean! I finally found you!" she cried with relief and enthusiasm. "I started calling every Dean Winchester in the book today until I remembered that you sometimes use an alias just for fun."         "Sure, that's right. Just for fun." He opened his mouth as if to say Uh oh, I just fibbed!, mugging for Sam.         "How are you doing, baby?"         They chatted about their lives for fifteen or so minutes before Bridget got to her real reason for calling. "Really, the Homicide division of the Los Angeles police? I never figured you for a five-oh, Bridge."         Sam mouthed, "Ouch!" and then pantomimed that he was laughing hysterically and pointing at Dean. "Cop magnet," he whispered.         "It just kinda happened, I guess," she snickered, then said, "There is a serious reason that I called you, Dean. It involves your line of work."         "What are you talking about? I joined the circus."         They shared a good chuckle before she continued. "Seriously, you're still hunting and all that, aren't you?"         "Yeah. Did something weird happen in Los Angeles?"         Bridget laughed again. "Would you stop? It's about your footlocker."         "Wow, I had nearly forgotten that you even had that thing." The footlocker wasn't something he thought of very often, but after the story he'd told that day, it was already on Dean's mind. "What about it?"         "I still have it. I couldn't bear to just throw it out or something; it wouldn't be fair to you. I've never opened it, but I figure you've got some important things in there."         "Yeah, yeah, I do. Thanks for hanging onto it all these years."         "No problem. It's been sitting in my den since I got this place. Anyway, I went in there this morning and... I think this has to do with Billy, Dean," Bridget said, her voice growing serious.         He should have been surprised, but somehow, this was to be expected. "What is it?"         "There was something written across the top of the footlocker. And a handprint. It looks like chalk, but it has a, a glow to it, and it won't wash off. It's almost like it's been branded into the footlocker." Bridget paused to consider how crazy this sounded, but she knew Dean would understand. "I took a picture with my phone."         "Send it to me now," Dean said.         Yes, it was Billy. The message he'd written this time was different, but again, not unexpected.         Dean thought of him in that cinderblock prison, and the blocks breaking open in a shower of flames and brick.         Dean, they finally let me out. Notes: The leather cuff that Evie takes out of Dean's bag is a reference to another story of mine, "Unspoken." It's a cockring that Dean put on Paul. XD I couldn't resist. ***** Chapter 15: Stir of Echoes Chapters: 15 of 15 (462 words this part)         Paul looked up quizzically when Dean came in and took a seat on his bed. "Can I help you?"         With an amused snort, Dean wrote something else on the small pad of paper in his hand, and then smiled at him. "Sam kicked me out of bed. Says the air mattress isn't big enough for the both of us. And that you wouldn't mind if I shared your bed with you another night."         "Hmm... smart guy, your brother." They grinned at each other like two people sitting on a lovely secret. "Whatcha writin' there?"         "I'm drawing you dirty pictures."         Paul peeked over his shoulder. "You are not."         "I'm making a list of all the things we have yet to figure out. These other Pauls, how we capture the Mothman, all that."         "I highly doubt they're all named Paul." He took a seat on the bed next to Dean. "Are you okay?"         "Yeah. Pretty much." Dean put his pad on the bedside table.         "You wanna snuggle?" Paul asked, mischief in his voice.         He smiled gently at that thought. "Sounds good."         Shirtless under the sheets and comforter, they laid face to face in Paul's bed and kissed for a while, arms about each other loosely. "Things weren't all bad with Billy, if you loved him," Paul said suddenly, knowing it was still on Dean's mind.         "No, it wasn't all bad. Sometimes, it was really nice." Dean rubbed his nose against Paul's.         "What kind of stuff do you remember about him? The good stuff?"         "Well..." He gave it a little thought. "He always smelled good, like you. And he loved grapes, and cherry snowcones. Even when it was nippy outside, Billy wanted his mom to break out the snowcone machine and make him one. It looked like Snoopy."         Paul laughed. "I remember those things."         Dean chuckled too. "The snowcones would turn his tongue bright red. We'd stand there with our tongues out, going, 'Ahhhhh.' My favorite flavor turned mine purple. Then we'd go down to the store and try to get the girl running the express lane to page Mike Hunt."         Laughing again, Paul cuddled up to him and kissed his mouth. "You're so bad."         "Are you, um, like totally grossed out by the fact that I've had chlamydia?" Dean asked, sheepish over the whole subject.         Paul shook his head. "No. It's in the past, and I'm sure you've been treated."         "Doctor cleared it right up," he replied, and raised his hand. "Scout's honor."         "Good. Well..." Now it was Paul's turn to be a little sheepish. "There's no subtle way to go from that subject to this one, so I'll just say it... I owe you a blowjob," he whispered. "You in the mood for it?"         "Uh huh."         "Good, 'cause I'm really in the mood to give it. You better put the comforter over your head so Sam doesn't hear you."         Lowering one eyebrow at him, Dean joked, "You really think you're that good?"         "Hey, I know I didn't finish that one time, but you remember how amazing those first few minutes were," Paul said with a grin.         "Oh, yes... now I remember."         Paul began to kiss his way down Dean's chest. Dean, with an aroused grunt, threw the comforter over his head. No One Mourns the Wicked is (C) 2009 Demented Stuff/The Pleasure of the People Miracles is (C) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment and Touchstone Television Supernatural is (C) 2005+ Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland, & Warner Brothers/The CW Television Scream is (C) 1996 Dimension Films Comment on these chapters on LiveJournal Comment on these chapters by e-mail Back to The Stories or Back to Brokeback Mothman