Kodachrome, Season 3, Episode 2

[Dean Winchester]

A shaft of white light cut through the dark shadows of the mausoleum, the unsettled dirt dancing through the air like minuscule pieces of glitter. He coughed a few times, waving his hand back and forth as his eyes tried to blink away the dust. Lungs wracked harder as the seasoned hunter bent over at the middle, trying to regain control over his senses.
"You ok in there?"
"cough, cough-Yeah, I'm ok. Watch that first step, smacked my head on a low beam climbing down here." Dean called back, shuffling further inside.

Panning the light back and forth, the elder Winchester's eyes studied the small dank room. At first glance it was just like any other crypt he'd broken into; dark, dusty, a smell of mold and moisture not dissimilar to that of an earthen basement. The critter factor was at a minimum, normal given its age, despite what the Hollywood experts were prone to fabricating. Without care, he pushed aside the long abandoned spider web that cast over the arched inner sanctum.

Brow knit together as his flashlight washed over something unfamiliar. But there it was, a plain as the nose on his face; a brand new mag lock, clamped down on the far right grave. Reaching out he moved into inspect closer when he heard a crunch. Glancing down he lifted his boot, uncovering a dented metal lens cap. Unique to an older styled Rolleiflex.
"Hey Sammy take a look at this…" Dean crouched, picking up the item.

[Sam Winchester]

Denim pressed tightly down against the damp blades of grass that managed to grant the graveyard with the little life it could. Weapon’s bag remained slumped against the protruding concrete where Dean had left it before venturing in first. Fingers wrapped about the strap before, lightly as he could, tossing it down into the deeper hue of darkness. Boot clad footfalls regained balance as body returned to standing position. Sight had adjusted to the night sky long before the two men made the late night visit to the rows of graves. Leaving the crypt for a moment sight wandered about the various stone creations reaching out from the hard surface of well kept landscape.

Ghost like fog danced from his lips as the nocturnal chill still loomed about the air. Lungs continued to inhale the crisp sensation as glance returned to the crypt once auditory senses picked up the heavy coughing coming from within. Palm fell along the cracked concrete as slender frame leaned forward throwing a question of concern towards his older brother, “You okay in there?” Sam squinted as if that would help him see within the endless shadow but worry departed with more coughing which dispersed into words, “Yeah, I’m ok. Watch that first step, smacked my head on a low beam climbing down here.”

Well worn boots took the steps easy as warned. Sam’s stature even took the precaution of bending down knowing he had a certain amount of height on his brother. Moving within the younger Winchester reached for his own flashlight clicking its glowing beam to illuminate his brother. Lips pulled back into a grin as Dean gave a wave of annoyance before it slipped into a motion for his baby brother to venture over, "Hey Sammy take a look at this…" Lower limbs worked over to where Dean was crouched the light from his flashlight fell upon what looked to be a lens cap before scaling over to the shiny new lock donning the crypt. “Wow, a cap to a lens and a lock. By golly Sherlock I think you’ve done it again!” Dean didn’t throw his younger brother a glare but went on with a sarcastic flare to his tone, "Yeah brand new lock by the looks of it. Which leads me to believe there's something in there worth our time. You wanna do the honors?” Brow lowered as Sam shook his head, “I don’t know, you seem more the type… Dean smash. Break good!”

Dean moved toward the lock, crowbar in had, allowing his shoulder to slam into the younger Winchester. "Just hold the light." Sam gave a quick grin towards his brother before hovering the beam from the flashlight over the lock in question. He couldn’t deny that his beliefs in this case were anything less then just humoring his older brother’s notions that his was in fact a case worth checking up on. It would take more then a few words from Dean to make Sam believe this was anything more then some tabloid. Echo of lock giving in echoed the confines of the crypt seeded with the cries of pain of Dean’s knuckles slamming into the wall, "Damnit!" Trying not to laugh at the misfortune of his brother, Samuel Winchester brushed past him patting his shoulder lightly. Just as he rounded Dean laughter seeped from his lips as slender build walked into the black.

[Dean Winchester]

“Laugh it up, but I’m telling you this has creepy written all over it. Why else would there be a fresh padlock on this crypt?”
Shouldering past his kid brother, Dean shifted higher his grip on the pry bar, setting it just behind the arched steel of the Master Lock®. He always found it amazing, the level of ‘trust’ most people had in padlocks and just how simple it was to circumvent them. However in this case, Dean hadn’t expected it to give quite as easily. Knuckles banged hard against the concrete wall of the crypt grating open flesh and causing him to curse a mild complaint.
“Son of a----ow!”

Dean shook his hand, features twisting into an expression of annoyance; the somewhat concealed laughter from his younger sibling making the expression deepen. Dean chose not to react as he wanted (ie smacking Sam across the back of the head) and instead refitted the pry bar behind the cement sealer; wrenching again. The groan of metal bolts and the crackle of concrete echoed loud in his ears, and before long the crypt was open, gaping and dark like the rotted hollow eye of a long dead corpse.

Reaching inside, Dean pawed around for the handle of a coffin, evidence that he was right.
“Heh heh heh… didn’t I tell you Sammy…”
Dean gloated as he dragged something toward the mouth of the opening. But his boastful laughter stopped as soon as he saw the butt of a wooden crate. This wasn’t at all what he expected. Pulling harder on the box Dean removed it entirely from the mausoleum. Dust twinkled up in the illumination of Sam’s flashlight beam. Reaching down the elder Winchester brushed off the top of the crate revealing a faded stamp which was unmistakably legible. ‘Plan 9 Studios’

“…the hell?” Color was rushing into Dean Winchester’s cheeks as realization washed his mind. They’d just broken into a small-time production company’s movie set. It was coincidental perhaps that it was being shot on location in a real graveyard, but not unheard of for a small budget job without the funding for sets or half the time props. Still didn’t change the fact that Dean felt like a first class imbecile for having been duped by the newspaper’s promotional stunt.

[Sam Winchester]

Atmosphere within the aged crypt wasn’t as musky as the usual line up of mausoleums. The air didn’t seem to be overbearing towards a living person’s lungs and there really was no lingering stench of death. Inhaling at an even pace Sam moved around the broad shoulders donning a handed down leather jacket. Boot clad footfalls scuffed at the concrete making up the crypt floor. Flashlight rolled in his palm, causing beam of light to bounce about the room in unsteady sweeps for a moment. Something was off about their current situation but he couldn’t quite grasp a handle on it. Perhaps it was just the shear fact he believed this lead to be nothing but a drawn out waste of time.

Illumination swept across the floor, catching the uneven dust collection that lined the décor encasing them inside. Brows furrowed as perplexity swallowed facial features before attention was detoured with auditory senses picking up on a heavy object dragging against concrete and his brother’s voice. “Heh heh heh… didn’t I tell you Sammy…” Dean’s upper torso continued to pull at the wooden box with what, in the dark, seemed like a signature grin of anticipation draw across his features. Sam just shook his head and pushed past his brother’s typical boasting as touch slipped against the opposite end of the crate, helping in its aid out of the mausoleum.

Clicking the flashlight back on Sam let the illumination cast against the crate’s surface as Dean wiped away the slight amount of dust shading the crate’s surface. His older brother must have spotted the text reading ‘Plan 9 Studios’ just as he did. “…the hell?” Lips silently quirked back into a grin as the obvious showboating came to a complete and abrupt stop. Dean almost seemed disappointed as he knelt in silence, if only for a moment, as it sunk in. “Oh God Dean, do you know what this means… we’re hunting a B-rated movie. Our true arch-nemesis.” Serious expression which had quickly overtaken him was gone just as easily with soft laughter.

Without any hesitation Dean reached into his favored leather jacket, retrieving the lens cap found just moments earlier. Flicking it with precision at his younger brother’s forehead. Hand reached up quickly in reaction of sudden sting against flesh. Dorky smile started to fade as something deeper clawed at him. Fingertips applied pressure against brow as eyes winced shut in pain. Soft grunt of discomfort grew as denim clad limbs took a step back. “Quit your bitching Sammy it wasn’t that painful.” Samuel was too preoccupied with the abrupt vision to try and draw his brother's attention away from the crate.

Ache clouded his mind. A wide open lake surrounded with hints of evergreen still remaining took on focus. Though it blurred out almost as quickly as it came. Sam stepped back again this time almost falling backwards over a headstone. “Come on Sam, seriously?” Dean must have looked up just as Sam’s form swayed with another flash of the lake, this one closer. A hole within the thick plot of ice with a few surface cracks reaching out as if to further the puncture. Denim knee took to the ground hard as the rush of pain serrated nerve endings. Physique of a woman seemed to run across the ice towards the gaping hole revealing the freezing water’s darkness.

Eyes opened to Dean’s silent screams towards him and he could almost make out the tightened grip along his shoulders. Wincing again the frozen sheet of ice returned, palm slamming against the fogged texture of ice. Face of a woman holding her breath until she no longer could. Bubbles surrounded her face as lungs finally gave into the struggle. Her cobalt stare faded as hand slowly receded from view. Faint echo of Dean’s voice rang in his ears as repeated blinks brought sight back into focus. Upper torso burned as lungs struggled for air, leaving Sam with the unwanted feeling it had been him trapped underneath an icy tomb.

[Dean Winchester]

As they walked up and out of the crypt, Dean was reeling to try and rationalize what they found, but coming up empty. Sam was right to gloat about this one and Dean felt forty times over the idiot. Digits fished into his coat pocket, casually winging the disk at his little brother's head. The arc was perfect, the landing solid to his forehead. And although Sammy was at first smiling, the expression shifted to one of pain. His step faltered.

Dean's eyes rolled skyward.
“Quit your bitching Sammy it wasn’t that painful.”
He was taking on the all too familiar tone of the older brother. Sam had his laugh about the honest mistake; there wasn't any reason to turn it into an argument. If anything Dean should have been the one pissed off, he'd just blown about a hundred dollars in gas to fuel the Impala for this wild goose chase.

He glanced over again to see Sam continuing the act.
“Come on Sam, seriously?”
He didn't retort. If anything it looked as though he was having another episode.
"Sam?"
Dean stepped closer, closed the gap between himself and his brother. Sam went down, hard, both knees slamming divots into the wet grass. Dean's hands found purchase on his brother's shoulders - tried to hold him up as he studied Sam's face with concern. They were getting worse; the visions. Dean's biggest fear was that one day they would be the death of him. There was only so much the human mind could take and lately it seemed that Sam's visions were being cranked to eleven.

"Sammy!" The gravel of emotion was near breaking point. How much time had passed? A minute? Two? How much more was Sam supposed to friggin endure? The elder Winchester's baby blues widened as he saw that most of the color was gone from his kid brother's face. And Christ… his lips were turning blue. He wasn't even breathing! Instantly regretting the decision, Dean did the only thing he could think of and slapped Sam hard across the cheek trying to wake him up from whatever vision had dragged him down within itself.
"SAM!" He barked, shaking his shoulders hard. "Come on man…." His eyes closed, fearful.

[Sam Winchester]

The icy chill slowly made its way across flesh in small sections throughout the course of the vision. In all honesty, Samuel realized he had lost the little control he had over the process. Midway through the picture abruptly fuzzed out like a busted television set but senses remained attentive to the channel regardless of the white snow. Thoughts slipped underneath the rhythmic sounds of waves crashing beneath the semi-thick sheet of ice. Lungs burned while they strained with the need to inhale as the phantom sensation of water filled his lungs. Sammy had felt this before on another hunt, of course the only difference then was he was actually being dragged beneath the surface of water. Now he was within a graveyard beside his older brother, at least that’s where he had been before the pressure enclosed him on all sides while he sunk into the depths of forfeit.

Hand swiftly reached upwards through the cold embrace of water, falling hard against Dean’s chest. Slender digits gripping into lapel of worn leather jacket. Sight lingered along stature before him but Sam saw nothing but enduring darkness. Sturdy jolt of pain sideswiped his face shifting back the unseen waves. Lungs heaved outward in hopes of grasping the air they seemed to be restricted access to. Deep cough pushed from the hollow of throat as body was rocked inward. Grip along shoulders tightened as murmur of words could be heard just beyond unbalanced ear.

Cough grew heavier as inhale was greeted with the relief of oxygen. Exhale only seemed to cause backfire resistance as throat tightened but it was better than nothing. Lips shivered as breath felt almost frigid along revival. Coughs remained persistent as Dean barked more words of question towards his brother, hoping it would aid to pulling him through. Interior of throat felt shredded and raw as younger Winchester swallowed. “Sammy, Jesus are you alright? You were really out of it -- hell for a few minutes there I thought you weren’t coming back.” Jade laced orbs caught his brother’s as hand motioned up as a sign he was alright and that it would take a moment before he could venture words.

Palms spread out along the blades of grass as breathing restored to normalcy. Shoulders rolled back against nearest tombstone as lower limbs pushed him against. Head arched back allowing a slow form of relaxation overtake distraught physique. Swallowing once again Sammy looked over towards his awaiting brother. Dean had backed off a bit but still remained close enough, as if worried about a relapse. It was obvious the visions had taken a turn for the worse, figures. Now all Sam awaited was words of warning and a ’I told you so’ from Dean but only silence came. “I saw a girl underneath a frozen lake…” Exhaustion read heavily along his eyes as they found the worried stare of his older brother. Sam almost seemed lost within himself, for even with the extreme measures the vision took he had no concrete direction to point them towards. “I… I don’t know where.”

[Alex Sutherland]

Fingertips pushed through dark near raven curled tresses. Action drawing curls back from her forehead pushing until the cascades fell behind her round shoulders. Full mauve lips parted in the sigh that stole air from her lungs and escaped from the confines of chest. Mascara coated lashes fluttered as orbs flecked with blue and green danced over to the wall mounted clock. Hand patted the denim jacket pocket to search out the small flip phone, pulling it from the confines eyes looked down at blank cell display. Orbs once more rolled upward to the movement that was visible beyond the high stainless steel counter.

Hanging above were little bits of paper on a circular spinner. On occasion bell would ring, a plate would be whisked away to its waited destination. Alex could feel her stomach growl. Once more the flicker of her visual sense brought focus up to the waitress standing before her. “I’ll take the house special. Extra bacon over sausage, eggs scrambled, sourdough toast, steak medium rare and orange juice.” curvature of lips pulled upwards toward the working woman before eyes found the clock once more.

“You always were a hearty eater. It still surprises me you never turned into one of those heavy women.” heel of hand came to rest upon the formica countertop. Form spun around on the barstool to the voice resonating behind her. “Disappointed I’m not? I know how you like robust women, it’s why you never liked me.” “You were always chasing your demons, still running?” the brighter look in her eyes seemed to fade and diminish as she looked upon the darkened features of a past. “It’s not running.” lean frame of the hunter settled back around as the masculine form took place beside her.

His long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail distinct beaded necklace around his throat. “Have you gone on the reservation to see your grandmother?” pang of guilt traveled through thinking on the elderly Indian woman who in part raised her. Who’d shown her a great many things. Head echoed the sentiments slipping past her lips. “No. Not yet.” New Mexico had been her home. The place she spent a good portion of her life growing up. Sights flicked back to the Indian man beside her. A good friend. Confidant.

The chance of a friendly and light conversation had always been over-shadowed by the truth. Reason why she was here. One of few people knew her truth of the life she led. “It’s Paige. I’m worried about her. She called me last week said she was seeing, Standing Bear…” “His spirit might be here, but you know his physical end.” “I know, but that’s not all…she seemed…second guessing. Have you seen her? She didn’t leave me a message of where she was.” silence fell between the pair seated in old run down diner on an off beat highway in the desert. “I need to know where she is, I have a bad feeling…” “She left, two days past, for the mountain lake.”