Sanctuary Fighting back the darkness with style.

Hi everyone! My name's Belle... This is my very first attempt at fanfic, so be gently please! It's set in the world of the show 'Supernatural' about a month after the events of AHBL 1&2, and contains characters developed by the writers of SN. Characters referred to are (and I'm going off the top of my head, here so I'm sorry if I miss some!): Sam and Dean Winchester, Pappa Winchester, Jess, Bobby Singer (?), Madison... think that's about all.
I also developed my own character called Celeste Williams, another former hunter. More on her later if you like her....
It contains violence, fight scenes, lots of swearing (sorry, I have a potty mouth) and some mild porny bits.... so if you're underage you might wanna miss this one...
Anyhoo... here it is... Enjoy!

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.::~*WILDCAT*~::.

Sam wanted to call Bobby. He wanted in on the search. But Bobby had told him no - it was best if they carried on, he said. For Dean’s sake – Leave old Bobby to do the searching. So off they’d driven, leaving Bobby with his books, and his newspapers, and his tatty old book full of contacts. And now here Sam sat - in the booth alone in the diner on the edge of town, sipping his coffee, waiting for Dean to wake up from his deep slumber back in the motel room.

He rubbed his eyes, a wave of exhaustion rolling over him – even after all this time, after all that had happened, he still couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her face. His Jessica. Sometimes, she was in the kitchen in their apartment in Palo Alto, the sun streaming through the window as she busied herself at the sink. But when she turned around, it wasn’t Jess’ beautiful face he saw, framed by that silky golden hair… It was Madison’s. Her big eyes swollen with tears, and her sad smile pierced his soul the way the bullet he put in her pierced her heart. He looked out the window, swallowing hard, and watched as the sun finally peeked over the horizon and greeted the day.

Suddenly Sam’s phone rang. Startled, he picked it up, quickly glancing at the number, but it wasn’t one that he recognised. He put the phone down again, ignoring it until it rang out.

“Aren’t you gonna answer that, honey?” The waitress asked, filling his cup up again. Sam looked up, startled at her presence, and smiled his small, tight smile, usually reserved for one of Dean’s bad jokes about his hair. He shook his head, and went back to staring out the window, hoping that the waitress would get the hint. She did. She’d worked at that diner for over twenty years and she knew a lonely man when she saw one. She left well alone and walked away, back to her grill and her coffee machine without another thought.

Dean’s dreams were much more peaceful than Sam’s… to a certain extent. The bar was noisy, and the two blondes that sat to his left as he downed his eleventh tequila shooter giggled and chatted loudly. One – he couldn’t remember her name - whispered in the other’s ear – he couldn’t remember her name either – and giggled as they both looked at him, talking behind their hands. Dean smiled and laughed as they took him by the arms barely giving him time to throw a few notes over his shoulder at the bartender as they led him out of the bar and into the street, stumbling and laughing all the way back to the motel room Dean and his brother had checked into hours before. As the three of them burst through the door, knocking a lamp table over in the process, Dean noted that his brother was nowhere to be seen. No sooner had the thought appeared it disappeared again as one of the blondes – whose name he couldn’t remember – tugged his shirt loose from his jeans and dragged it up over his head. Something was ringing as the three of them collapsed on the bed… it was distracting. As the other nameless blonde tugged at his belt, he realised that it was his pocket that was ringing – or rather his phone in his pocket. He drew his arm out from under the blonde tugging at his belt and reached into his pocket, rescuing his cell phone as her friend straddling his legs wrenched his jeans off in one movement, causing him to roll awkwardly and tumble off the bed sending his phone flying. It was still ringing – God it was annoying!

Then he woke up with a shout as he hit the ground.

Dean rolled over onto his back, rubbing his head, and his eyes. Then he realised that his phone was still screeching at him. He searched for it, looking for where it fell when he toppled from the bed. But it was still sitting where he left it the night before – on the nightstand by his head, next to his gun. He quickly reached for it, flipping it open without looking at the number.

“Hello?” he croaked.

“Dean Winchester?” the voice on the other end answered.

“That’s me.” he answered. The voice that answered him, whilst calm and soft, was all business.

“Dean, my name is Celeste Williams. I’m the manager at Cougar Pass Ranch. I need your help…”

Twenty minutes later, Sam saw Dean stomp down the steps and into the morning, sleep still evident in the lines on his face. He clomped into the diner, looking around until he saw his brother sitting to the far right of the entrance. He gestured to the waitress and she met him at the table wordlessly pouring him a coffee.
Sam watched as Dean took a sip of the brew, relaxing immediately as the caffeine leached into his system.

“Sleep well?” Sam asked.

Dean smiled, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Like a baby.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam started to argue: “You know you never had a chance with those two…”

“Oh, C’mon!” Dean interrupted. “I was so in.”

“Dean, they had boyfriends! Big ones. With pool cues…”

“Yeah, and if you’d stuck around grandma, you would have seen me whip both their asses with those pool cues.” Dean answered, smiling in satisfaction, taking another sip of his coffee.
Sam shook his head incredulously. His brothers ability to find trouble wherever he went amazed him sometimes. He quickly changed the subject.

“So, where do you want to go?” He pulled out a paper. “Those damn demons that escaped through that Hell Gate have gone to ground – there’s nothing in the papers that even resembles anything suspicious or supernatural. No cattle mutilations, no possessions, no suspicious deaths. Nothing.”

He threw the paper down in front of Dean.

“Funny you should mention that.” Dean quipped. He pulled out a road map he’d grabbed as he’d left the motel room.
“I think I might have a lead.”

Sam sat up straighter as Dean folded the map out, and pointed at Montana.

“Cougar Pass Ranch.” He pointed to a spot on the map in the middle of nowhere. “A bunch of cattle mutilations, odd sightings…”

“Sightings of what?” Sam interrupted.

“Big cats. Big as a bear.” Dean replied without skipping a beat. “…and then, last month – two ranch hands disappeared. Same area, same time of day. Rangers, the feds… they’ve searched the whole place. Neighbouring properties too – came up with squat. I think it might be our kind of gig.” He sat back and let Sam digest his words.

“Dean, how do you know about this? There’s nothing in the papers, and you’ve ignored anything that wasn’t demon-related for months… and now you wanna go hunting… what? A giant mountain lion? A cougar? A pack of wolves? C’mon Dean! Let’s just go back to Bobby’s and help him search…”

“No Sam! There are evil things out there we need to kill – that’s our job. And we gotta do it… no matter what. Besides, I don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna have to face Bobby and his shotgun again… he would have shot us you know…”

“Dean, you don’t even know if it’s our kind of thing!” Sam caught his voice as he realised it was escalating. He looked around. Talking in a hushed tone, he started again.
“We can’t drive over 700 miles just to check something out. We can’t afford to waste time! If Bobby calls…”

“It is our kind of gig.” Dean cut in. “I’m sure of it.” He grabbed the keys to the Impala before Sam could protest, slid out from the booth, and stalked out of the diner, leaving Sam to pay the bill and tip the waitress.

Less than thirty minutes later they were back on the road, cruising north in silence.

“Dean…” Sam started. “Why are you so sure that this isn’t just some grizzly attack or rogue cougar – something the wildlife service can handle?”

Dean was silent for a moment. He stared straight ahead, avoiding Sam’s demanding gaze. “Because I got a call.” He finally confessed. “Someone called one of Dad’s contacts, and they gave her our number.”

“Her? Who? Oh man,” Sam demanded. “Dean, if we’re driving 700 miles just so you can get laid I’m going to kick your ass so hard…”

“I’m not cruisin’ for a hook-up Sam, someone really needs our help!”

Sam sighed, and stared harshly at his brother. Dean took it as a sign to continue.

“Celeste Williams. She called Marshall Brooks in Seattle and he said it was more of our thing. Apparently he was more of a ghost hunter in his day. Do you know he helped out on that office block job a coupl’a years ago? Twenty spirits in four days… Man I would have sold my soul to be there…”

“Dean that’s not even funny.”

“Yeah it is. Well, maybe it is a little… But you gotta admit, that woulda been a fun job…”

“Dean… Montana. Now. Focus.”

“Oh right. Where was I? Oh, yeah… Well, Marshall gave her our number and she called this morning. She said she called you first. Didn’t you have your phone?”

Sam recalled the number he ignored earlier that day.
“Mustn’t of…” he mumbled. Dean continued his ramblings.

“Anyway, it’s got the locals real freaked out. No one wants to work, and apparently she has cattle far out in the hills that she want’s bought in before winter sets in. So she wants this thing gone. That…” Dean punctuated his sentence with a pointed finger skywards and a happy grin on his face. “…that is where we come in, Sammy.”

“And do what, Dean? We gunna go herd cattle? Because seriously… I don’t think chaps really suit you, dude.”

“Shaddup smartass.” Dean threw his takeaway coffee cup at his brother. “No. We’re gunna go hunt us a big cat.”

“The Big Cat legend? Might not be a cat, Dean. And besides, drunken old farmers and scared campers have been seeing these things all over the US since the early 1800s… There are millions of versions of the legend.”

“I know – but it’s the logical place to start.”

“Since when have you been logical, Dean? You start big and work your way backwards through the weapons trunk!”

“Biggest guns are at the top. I can’t help it.”

“No, you just have a big-ass shotgun fetish.”

“Awww Sammy. Someone tell you size doesn’t matter again? Coz you know they have pills for that these days…”

“It’s Sam. Now shut up and drive… Jerk.”

“Whatever you say… Bitch.”

Staring straight ahead, neither of the brothers saw the other smile slyly. Things were finally starting to go back to normal. Whatever that was.

***

670 miles and five coffee breaks later, Dean steered the big, black Impala through the big wooden gates and up the long winding driveway towards the homestead, a vast and sturdy wood home surrounded by yards and a multitude of sheds and barns. Pulling to a stop in front of the house, Dean turned off the car and looked around him as he climbed out – the place seemed deserted.

Suddenly there was a shuffling sound coming from the largest barn. Dean spun around in the direction from whence it came. He nodded silently to Sam, who reached back into the glove compartment of the Impala and pulled out a small pistol. Moving quietly, Dean followed his little brother as they both crept across the yard, the pistol aimed and at the ready. They were just about to enter the big structure, when the voice came out of no where and nearly made them jump out of their skin.

“Drop the gun and put your hands on your head.”

They both spun to their left, and Dean immediately raised his hands when he saw the two barrels of the shotgun pointed directly at them. Sam instinctively trained his weapon on the owner of the shotgun – a petite red-head wearing dusty jeans, a black tank-top, work-boots, and a hard stare aimed directly at the trespassers. She threw a nod at Sam.

“Drop. The. Gun.” she repeated. Sam bent to throw the pistol on the ground, conceding defeat in the face of twice the amount of barrels.

“Slowly!” the girl cautioned. Sam slowed his actions, not taking his eyes off her.

“Kick it over here.” she instructed, and Sam obliged. Holding the shotgun with one hand, and without taking her gaze from her captives, she picked up the pistol and tucked it into the back of her jeans, quickly and with one movement that had her free hand back on the shotgun and aimed at the boys within seconds. The three stared at one another in an awkward standoff, neither willing to make the first move.

“Settle down a second.” Dean finally said. “We’re here to help.”

“Why you tryin’ to break inta my barn then?” the girl cut in.

“We heard something, we thought someone was in trouble…” Dean started, but she interrupted him.

“ ’Part from a few pregnant mares, ain’t nothin’ troubling in that barn. What business you got comin’ here?”

“Look sister…” Dean started with an uneasy smile, stepping forward and lowering his hands peacefully.

“Hands on your head, honey, or I’ll blow ‘em off.” she cocked the shotgun once more. The smile disappeared from Dean’s face, and his hands returned to his head.

“We’re not here to hurt anyone,” Sam calmly began. “I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean. We’re here to see Celeste. Are you Celeste Williams?”

After a few moments, the girl finally lowered her gun, and fishing the pistol out from behind her back, she walked forward and handed it to Sam with a smile.

“That I am.” She slung the gun back over her shoulder and offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you finally. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Dean raised his eyebrows slightly. Why does that not surprise me? He thought.

Sam took the proffered hand, and started slightly at the firm handshake that accompanied her soft features. There was something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on – there was a grit there, a resilience and toughness about her character that seemed to belie her years. She shook Dean’s hand and then gestured with her free hand.

“C’mon. I’m beat – let’s grab a beer. I’ll tell you all about it.”

Dean was the first to follow, throwing a raised eyebrow over his shoulder at his brother, who just rolled his eyes.

***

Dean took the beer bottle and settled back into the comfortable chair. He looked out over the yard in front of him, where the last rays of sunshine glinted on the grill of his car. Celeste sat opposite him, sprawled in the rocking chair, her legs over one arm and her torso resting easily on the other. She was relaxed but cautious, he noticed - he’d used that stance often. Her thick, auburn hair was now swept up into a messy pony-tail and she was barefoot. Yeah, she was hot, he concluded. But there was something he couldn’t quite pin down. There was something she wasn’t saying. And her accent. It was like nothing he’d ever heard before. English? No – it was too clipped, the ends of her words too rounded.

Sam sat in the chair to his left, leaning on his arm, also studying their newest case. He sipped his beer.

“So,” he started. “How do you know Marshall?”

“I worked for him for a while when I first left home. He needed a hand in his workshop, I needed a job – Match made in heaven. One night I was workin’ late on a job and he came in all beat to hell. I patched him up… he was hurt pretty bad. Madness, if you ask me… a man his age out huntin’ spooks. I patched him up and got him back in the game. He couldn’t get rid of me then.” She smiled. “I was his little nurse.” she laughed as all manner of mental pictures ran through Dean’s head. He smiled to himself as she continued her story.

“When he hit 65 he decided to scale down. He quit the huntin’, as you well know, and downsized his garage. I hit the road, and ended up here. I started out three years ago as stablehand… Hit ranch manager eighteen months ago when ol’ Mr Ruthers lost his wife and moved into town. He didn’t want to sell so I said I’d run the place for him… so here I am.”

“So here you are…” Dean repeated. His eyes met Sam’s. They warned him to keep quiet.

“Tell us about the deaths, Celeste.” Sam asked gently.

Celeste looked down at her hands, swallowing hard. Sam saw her battle with her emotions for just a second. Then she looked up, smiling tightly.

“Are you hungry? I bet you are… driving all that way. I’m starved. We should eat first before we talk business.”

“Sounds good to me!” Dean leapt to his feet, kicking his boots off at the door as he followed Celeste inside.

Within minutes they were feasting on salad, cold roast chicken and vegetables, sitting around the dining table sipping beer and shovelling food into their mouths, laughing at recalled exploits of shared acquaintances. Sam watched Celeste, waiting for the moment to ask her again. When the mood settled and they sat eating in satisfied silence, Sam cleared his throat.

“Celeste, we really need to know about the ranch hands…” The mood immediately darkened once again.

“Yeah… about that.” She started. She played with her beer bottle, peeling away the label. Sighing, Celeste began her story.

“It started about seven months ago… Started with odd stories from some of the wranglers; being followed by something, being stalked by huge, dark cougars. We thought it was nothing – too much whisky in the hip flasks, y’know? Then we lost some cattle up in on the plateau - they just disappeared without a trace. We thought they may have been taken by hungry cougars – there’s a few out here – but they don’t normally bother us or the stock. So when we went looking for signs of the cougars or the stock, we thought we were safe…” she laughed bitterly, her voice breaking off. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and continued.

“We headed out on the Wednesday night, and headed north-west. Two days we were out there… nothing. So we gave up Friday night and made camp on the plateau – it was only six hours ride, but the guys were exhausted so I insisted we make camp and settle in for the night, get an early start for home on the morning. We ate, bedded down… and then…” another deep breath. “… and then it came. Outta nowhere. One minute Steve was there and then he was gone. I went to grab him… but I was knocked out of the way in the struggle and I hit my head… when I woke up I was laid up in bed. The parks service got us out, but never found Steve. I don’t remember much. Roars and howls and screams… so much screaming. Everyone was…”

She looked up suddenly. Directly into Sam’s eyes, the intensity making him flinch.

“Two weeks later, Benny disappeared. Headin’ out to get some stragglers out bottom of the west paddock. Never came back. Now Benny was our best shot – shoot a thumbtack off’a fence post at a hundred paces. No way somethin’ coulda got him without him puttin’ lead in it. But they found his gun – fully loaded and unfired. Next to his horse. Poor Sal – gutted like a fish… not like any cougar attack I’ve ever seen. That’s when everyone left. Got the hell outta Dodge… It’s just me now.” She sat back, quickly finishing off her beer.

“So that’s it. That’s the story.” Avoiding their eyes, Celeste gathered Sam and Dean’s plates and empty bottles and cleared the table.

“Cel… It wasn’t…” Dean began.

“It’s Celeste.” She interrupted. For a moment – just a moment - Dean looked taken aback. But he continued, nonetheless.

“Celeste… None of this is your fault. None of it. But you can do something… you can help us find it, and you can help us kill it. Now with your experience with hunting with Marshall, and the way you know this land… you can help us. A lot.”

Celeste considered Dean’s words whilst fetching three fresh beer bottles from the refrigerator, handing one to each of the boys. Finally, she smiled.

“Nothing would make me happier.” Offering her bottle up, they clinked their agreement with a drink.

“There is one thing…” Celeste started. “I can’t pay you. But I can offer you lodgings and food for as long as this takes. It’s not much but the wranglers quarters are dry and warm and safe. Besides…” She grinned.

“I’m a great cook.”

Sam laughed, relieved not to have to drive the forty miles back into town to find a motel. Although he didn’t entirely trust his brother to keep his relationship with Celeste purely professional, he like the idea of having a woman around again, even if it was only for a couple of days. Nonetheless, he didn’t want to be a burden.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and he ignored Dean’s incredulous look that he caught out of the corner of his eye.

“Absolutely.” Was her reply. “Makes no sense to go all that way back into town. And besides,” she glanced shyly at the brothers.
“It’ll be nice to have someone around to keep an eye on things. It gets… tiring.” She rubbed her forehead, with a little tired and slightly embarrassed laugh.

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Sam’s eyes warned Dean to let it go. Luckily for him, Celeste piped up again, preventing Dean from putting his foot in his mouth.

“I expect you’re tired from your drive - I’ll show you the wrangler’s quarters.”

Grabbing her beer, she led them out the front door, helping them get their bags out of the Impala. She showed them across the yard and into the small, two bedroom bungalow right next to the main house. Throwing open the door, she easily swung the bag Dean had handed her into the sitting room and onto the small couch. He was impressed – she was stronger than he’d given her credit for, having deliberately handed her the heavier bag.

“Bedrooms are down that way, linen press is first door to the right if you need extra bedding. Bathroom is opposite the linen press…” she pointed as she spoke. “Any thing else I can get you?”

“Another beer would be nice.” Dean quipped.

“Don’t push your luck mister.” She replied quickly with a smile. “Besides, I want you sober in the morning – We got an early start.”

Great, Dean thought. I hate early mornings. He forced a smile as Celeste slid past them and back out the screen door.
“Oh,” she threw back over her shoulder as she strode across the yard. “Breakfast’s at six. In the am…” She smiled and jogged back into the homestead. Dean groaned out loud, despite his best efforts to stifle it. His brother slapped him over the back of his head.

“Ow!” he hissed. “What was that for?!” He met Sam’s flashing eyes directly, rubbing his head.

“Ever heard of the saying ‘Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Dean? Don’t be ungrateful.”

“I’m not being ungrateful! And Gimme a coupl’a days… then I’ll bite that hand. And then I’ll bite her…” he was cut off by the towel that hit him in the face as Sam began to unpack his belongings.

“Upstairs brain, Dean. I know you have one. You got too many smart ass comments not to…”

“Oh ha ha… Aren’t you the comedian today? She…” he pointed in the direction Celeste had gone. “is hiding something. Just what it is…” Dean smiled. “That’s your department, little brother. You’re the trusty side-kick geek boy.”

“And you’re the B and E expert, Dean. I think we need to get inside that barn - there’s something in there she doesn’t want us to see.”

“And I think you’re right. But that can wait til tomorrow - It’s too risky tonight – with her history she’s probably gonna have her eye on us the whole time, whether we know it or not. Right now… I’m gonna get some shut-eye... I’m not biting the hand that feeds me.” He smiled cheekily at Sam. “Yet.”

“My god, Dean. Get over it already. At least try and focus on the job.”

Sam grabbed his knife and fastened it into its pouch above his ankle. He watched as Dean settled down onto the couch, his feet up on the arm, draining his beer to the last drop, and dropping the bottle on the floor. Sam sighed, and went back to unpacking his things “Alright. I’m going to get into that barn. Tonight. With or without your help.”

“Without.” Dean interjected from the couch, his eyes closed. Sam stood for a moment, then shook his head and carried his bags to one of the bedrooms at the back of the little bungalow.