Not Everyone Trusts Paintings
by Dream Painter
Summary: While awaiting signs of demonic omens, the boys stumble upon a string of murders committed by a shapeshifter. Meanwhile, a local girl may be more than she appears.
Setting:After episode 3x03: Bad Day at Black Rock
Disclaimer: If it were mine, do you really think I'd still be paying off my school loans?
A/N: This is a complete rewrite of a story of the same title that I started several years back. Same idea, but better written, I'd like to think.
Chapter One
0o0
"I'm telling you, Sam, something weird is going on," Dean said as he and his brother entered the small diner. "All those demons escaping through the Devil's Gate – you'd think there'd be more, I dunno, trouble or something."
"Instead, there's been nothing since Lincoln," Sam murmured in agreement. They took a seat at an empty booth, each grabbing a laminated menu from the end of the table.
A girl sitting nearby at the counter was talking on her cell phone, her conversation just audible over the television mounted to the wall. "Yes, I checked," she was saying. "I watched the whole thing – there was no way to tell one way or another." A sigh. "Yeah. I heard."
"What can I get started for you boys?" the waitress asked, coming to stand beside their table.
"I'll take a burger with an order of fries," Dean answered, sliding the menu back into its holder.
"Anything to drink?"
"Coke, please."
"Alright." She finished writing down Dean's order before turning to Sam. "And what can I get for you?"
"Can I get a grilled chicken sandwich and a side of onion rings, please," Sam requested. "And I'll try a glass of your iced tea, also."
"Okay. Let me get these going for you gentlemen and I'll return with your drinks in just a bit."
"Thank you," Sam told her. The waitress moved around the end of the counter, passing the girl on the cell phone.
"Daddy, please," she murmured in apparent protest. "Okay. See you soon. Bye." She hung up as the waitress made her way back with the boys' drinks.
"Can I get you anything else, Leslie?"
"Oh – no, Tess. I'm fine. I'm just gonna finish up here and head out."
"How long you in town for?" Tess wanted to know, pausing for the response.
Dean took this opportunity to start flicking jelly packs at his brother, earning himself what he secretly thought of as Sam's bitch face. And a kick in the shin.
"Ouch," he mumbled, finally ceasing his attack.
"Not sure, yet," the girl, Leslie, replied. "I've got a few things I have to do."
"Well, you be sure to stop in again before you leave, ya hear?"
Leslie turned as Tess continued towards the Winchesters' table. "You can count on it."
"Here you boys are," Tess addressed them, just as Sam returned the last jelly to the basket. "I'll have your sandwiches out to you just as soon as they're off the grill."
"Thanks," Sam said, smiling politely.
Meanwhile, Leslie had risen from her stool, leaving a bill beside her plate. "Thank you, Tess."
"Leslie, don't you go before I get you your change," the woman spoke sternly.
The girl flashed her an unrepentant smile. "'Fraid you'll have to keep it," she said. "Gotta run – things to do." And with that, she exited the diner.
"'Things to do', my foot," Tess muttered, picking the cash off the counter and clearing away the dirty dishes. She returned from the kitchen with Sam and Dean's orders a moment later. On the television, a woman announced the local news.
"Police are still working to identify a possible suspect in the brutal murder of 28-year-old Nicholas Casby, found early this morning. Casby was last seen in the company of an unidentified woman, seen here in the security footage taken in his apartment complex late last night..."
"Sam," said Dean, straightening in his seat.
"I saw it," Sam responded.
"Poor soul," Tess declared, shaking her head. "And he ain't the first, either."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked her.
"Well, there's been four others who've been killed in the past three weeks or so," the woman replied. "Used to be, this was a safe place to live, but not lately, it isn't. Not lately..."
The two brothers exchanged a glance. "Can we get our check, please?"
Tess eyed their scarcely touched meals, but complied nonetheless. Meanwhile, a still from the security footage was on-screen, the woman's eyes shining ominously for the camera.
0o0o0
The door swung open to reveal a young woman with eyes red from crying. "Can I help you?" she asked.
"Are you Brianna Maxwell?"
She eyed the two men warily before giving a reluctant nod. "Yeah. That's me."
"I'm Agent Carlson, and this is my partner, Agent Myers," Sam continued, he and his brother simultaneously flashing their fake FBI badges. "We'd like to ask you a few questions about your cousin, Nick Casby."
"Alright. Come on in." She led them to a rather cramped living room cluttered with various college textbooks. "Can I, uh, get you anything to drink, or..."
"No, thank you," Dean told her, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa as Sam followed suit. "This will only take a moment of your time."
"'Kay, um," Brianna sank into a chair, her hands clasping together in her lap. "What would you like to know? I mean, I talked to the police this morning..."
"We're doing our own investigation," Sam said kindly.
"Oh. Right." She sniffled a bit, bringing a kleenex to her nose.
"Miss Maxwell," questioned Dean, "is it true that you and your cousin grew up together?"
"Yeah. My aunt and uncle raised me after my parents... after they were killed in an accident. Nick was like an older brother to me. We were really close."
"And the woman from the security footage the night he died," Sam prompted, "any idea who she is?"
"No. I'd never seen her before."
"So, Nick never said anything about her?" he persisted. "Maybe told you her name, or where they met?"
"Well, yeah," Brianna said. "I mean, he said he'd met someone, but you gotta understand. Nick... Look, I loved my cousin, okay? I did. But Nick – he was always meeting someone. It was like 'flavor of the week', and after a while, I just... I couldn't bring myself to care anymore. It wasn't like Nick even cared about any of them. So, when he mentioned he'd met someone a few days ago, I didn't even ask.
"Now, he's dead." A sob escaped her lips and her eyes filled with fresh tears. "He's dead and she probably killed him and the authorities don't even have a name because I couldn't be bothered to ask."
Not much else was forthcoming as the young woman promptly burst into tears. They did manage to get Brianna to write down a list of the places her cousin had liked to visit, but it wasn't as short as they would have liked.
"Checking out all these places could take days," said Dean, handing the list to Sam as they climbed into the Impala. "We need to talk to some of the other victims' families or friends, see if we can't narrow it down."
"Yeah," Sam agreed, studying the list as they pulled onto the road. "Definitely could save us some time."
0o0o0
The rest of the afternoon passed and the two hunters were no closer to finding the killer than before. Evening found them in a small bar called Robby's, where Sam sat in the corner researching on his laptop while Dean mingled with the other patrons to see what he might be able to find.
"Nothing," the elder Winchester muttered after a couple of hours, plopping down in the seat across from Sam. "Isn't there anyone in this town who knows anything ? I mean, come on!" He took a drink and sat his glass on the table. "Find anything?"
"Not much," Sam responded. "I dunno, Dean. With the exception of Nick Casby, it seems the shapeshifter is mostly picking off people who keep to themselves. I mean, Jenna Adamson: championship rider, spent all her time caring for her horses; Noelle Manning: obsessed with running her restaurant."
"Not to mention Mr. Home-made Art Museum and Miss University Swim Team," added Dean.
"Neither of which had any family in the area."
"So, how is this thing choosing its victims? I mean, shouldn't there be some sort of pattern or something they all have in common?"
"I don't know, Dean. Maybe, it's picking them up at the same place."
"Which leaves us with the list of places Nick Casby used to visit and no idea what the thing looks like."
"Pretty much," Sam agreed.
"Friggin' shapeshifters," Dean grumbled. "I hate the damn things." He finished off his drink and rose from his chair. "I'm getting another drink. Want anything?" he asked.
The younger man shook his head. "No. I'm good, thanks."
"Suit yourself."
As the bartender got him another beer, Dean glanced at his surroundings. Most of the bar's patrons were seated at tables or playing pool in the back. Two people were seated at the bar, itself. One, a middle-aged man, sat gazing somberly into his half-empty glass of whiskey. The other, a young woman, sat at the far end of the counter, apparently writing notes on a stack of papers in some sort of daybook. She was pretty, in a small town sort of way, with dark, wavy hair and light skin. Dean thought he'd seen her before, but it wasn't until she looked up to address the bartender and he got a clear view of her face that he remembered where.
He made his way towards her.
"No, I've just been busy," she was telling the bartender, "traveling and stuff. Nothing exciting."
"Exciting enough that you never call," the man replied, a faint British accent shaping his words.
She snorted. "Good god, Robby. What are you – my dad?"
"I am merely an old classmate concerned for your welfare," said Robby.
"Uh-huh." Her tone was rife with sarcasm. "No doubt, your motives are entirely pure."
Robby put a hand to his chest. "You wound me," he declared.
"Deal with it," she grinned back. He shook his head and left to tend another customer.
"Mind if I sit here?" Dean asked, gesturing to an empty stool.
The girl shrugged. "It's a free country," she stated. She tucked her papers into the daybook and closed it, setting it aside.
"That's what I keep hearing," the hunter remarked, taking a seat. "So. You must be from around here."
She smirked in amusement. "Because I know the bartender?"
"Well, that, and you're on a first name basis with the waitress at the diner up the street," he pointed out.
"Oh, right," she said, looking him over. "Burger and fries with coke. Seated across from grilled chicken with onion rings and iced tea."
"You were on the phone," he said accusingly.
"Good hearing," she replied, then offered her hand. "Name's Leslie. And I did grow up here."
"Dean," he returned. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise." Leslie tossed her head and Dean noticed the amulet hanging about her neck. A forlorn-looking girl with a shackle around her wrist was etched on its surface.
"I like your necklace," he said.
Her hand went to the pendant. "Thanks. My mom's kind of pseudo-religious. She had it made for me when I was fifteen."
"It's nice. Silver?"
"Palladium, actually. You sure ask a lot of questions. What about your necklace? Seems like a rather unique pendant."
Dean fingered the small piece of metal. "Yeah. My brother gave it to me when we were kids."
"And you still have it," noted Leslie. "You must be close."
"We are."
"Must be nice," she said, thoughtfully turning her glass between her hands. "I wish I had siblings, sometimes. Then, again, it's probably better I don't."
"Let me guess," said Dean. "You don't play well with others."
Leslie laughed. "Something like that," she agreed. Finishing off her drink, she dug a bill from her purse and put it on the counter.
"Leaving so soon?"
"I've got an early day tomorrow, so I'd better call it a night. Maybe I'll see you around."
"Guess we'll have to wait and see," Dean returned. Grabbing her daybook, she gave him a parting wave and left, leaving him to ponder his current job once more.
0o0
To be continued...
