Location: Charleston, South Carolina
A young man wanders out of the woods where the trees that once grew are dead and skeletal. The ground is giving way to muck and mud and soon the man finds himself in shoulder-deep, brackish water. The man, dazed, suddenly grasps for cattails and lily pads as the water begins to engulf him. His cry is silent as he disappears under the black water.
Dean walked inside the motel room and shut the door behind him. He immediately walked to the refrigerator and shoved his head into it. Fingers on a laptop behind him stopped moving.
"You're letting all the cold air out," drawled a dry voice.
Dean slowly withdrew his head from the refrigerator and grabbed a beer; he deftly twisted off the top before taking a long swig. His dark t-shirt was damp with sweat, rings of darker cloth circling his armpits and the neck of the shirt, as well as down the middle of his back. After he set his beer down, he wiped his hands on jeans. "I need a shower every time I even set foot outside. I can't seem to get Baby's AC working. What do you have? Make it quick so I can clean up."
A pair of dark blue eyes squinted judgingly in his direction. "Nice to see you, too, Winchester. Mind getting me a beer?" The air conditioning unit made some clunking sounds and then squealed as it cranked up, forcing the occupants of the room to wince.
"Ah, annoyed with me already and I just got here." Dean approached the table with two beers, the unopened one against his forehead. He handed over the sweaty beer.
"Great, thanks," was the sarcastic reply. Dean sat down and leaned in to see the laptop screen; he reeked of sweat and car grease. "And I've been annoyed with you since we were 13."
His lips turned up in a smirk. There was that lovely reminder he was waiting for. "Aw, you love me."
"In your dreams. Anyway, reports of missing people started flowing in about a month ago and haven't stopped. There have also been three drownings reported in the past two weeks, some coinciding with missing person reports."
"And? People disappear all the time and they also drown. It's summer. Lotta people swimming." Dean interrupted.
"Right. But the drownings have all occurred in the same areas. Same with the missing person reports. All of them coming from in and around the same areas and on the north side of the river. I've triangulated the reports of where the missing, and deceased, persons last were seen alive." A click of the keyboard brought up another screen and marked in varying colors were the three items, repeated on the map, and all very close to each other. "And the missing people are all grown men. None of them local."
The laptop was angled more towards Dean, so he could get a better view without leaning in closer. They sat and contemplated the map for a moment and then he stood up and headed straight for the bathroom, peeling his shirt up as he went. "Guess we can check it out."
Christa closed her eyes in exasperation. She'd been sitting here for hours, doing her "homework" and with only a single text much earlier in the day about him finally hitting the road. She expected him hours ago, but had no idea he'd stopped to try to fix his car's air conditioning. Just when she was going to throw in the towel and send out another request for a partner, she heard the Impala pull up. Typical Dean, doing things on his own schedule with no sense of urgency.
Her annoyance with Dean started as a self-defense mechanism. They met at age 13 and she developed a huge crush on him almost immediately. She quickly found out he was what they called a "player;" he always flirted with her when it was convenient, but then would turn his attention elsewhere. Over time, and especially after one night in Omaha, she found his cockiness and charm honestly abhorrent. Now, she borderline hated him and had no issues making sure he was reminded as often as possible. That turned out to be once in a blue moon, though, as she almost always chose Sam or another available hunter to work with, avoiding the older Winchester as much as possible.
When the bathroom door shut behind him, she muttered, "I sure do miss working with Sam. At least he's punctual and considerate." A lot louder, she said towards the bathroom, "Don't use my shampoo! It's expensive!"
Dean vaguely heard her but was already giving approval via a sniff-test. If she was already mad at him, it didn't matter. He shrugged and squirted some into his palms, only mildly concerned that it was bright blue, then lathered up his hair. Cool water felt nice. It had been two weeks in the south eastern United States, now, and he only just arrived in Charleston. Of course, he'd been the closest to her. Sam was supposed to be here, but he was in the middle of a case up in Jersey. If Sam hadn't urged him to come, he would have driven back to Kansas and let someone else handle her. He felt if he didn't leave this humidity behind sooner rather than later, there'd be hell to pay. At least the motel room bill was on someone else for a change.
Christa finished her beer after a nice long stretch. She was ready for the night, when she operated best.
Dean didn't take long to shower. Christa closed her laptop when she heard the water shut off. "I'm going for food and beer," she announced.
Dean glanced at the bathroom door, having heard "beer," and "food," and toweled off. "Sounds good," he called back through the door.
Christa sniffed and then rolled her eyes. "You used my shampoo, didn't you?" She asked across the motel room. She couldn't see it but Dean rolled his eyes and silently mimicked her.
After a lengthy sigh, she grabbed her key and left the room. As soon as she walked out, the humid, heavy, sticky air encompassed her. She was a native to the south, but this humidity would make anyone miserable. The worst part was that the air got thicker without getting much cooler as the night wore on. And the sun had only just set. She set off across the parking lot to the dive bar across the highway.
Dean finally emerged and his face contorted into a scowl when the humid air seeped into his clothes once again. "Never getting used to this." He shook his head and headed towards a flashing neon sign that had to be proclaiming the bar she had spoken about.
He pulled his phone out of his back pocket before crossing the highway and shot a text to Sam, cursing him for making him come to Charleston.
It was noisy. It wasn't extremely crowded. It was dark. It was also air conditioned. Christa nodded her approval and swooped onto a seat at the bar that another patron had just vacated. If she ended up having a difficult case, then it would be a long few days, and she wasn't ready to expend too much energy deflecting Dean's sad attempts at being charming. Originally, she had asked for Sam, who apologized profusely and sent Dean, instead. Sam owed her one, big time. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Dean stroll in and mentally played out his next moves: jukebox, drinks, food. He was certainly a creature of habit.
Sure enough, after placing an order for a tallboy and some chicken tenders, she glanced in the mirror behind the bar and saw Dean heading straight for a neon-colored box filled with CDs.
Once he selected a few of his favorite classic rock songs, Dean headed straight for a recently-vacated high top bar table and waited for service. It's not that he didn't like Christa, but she was one of few women who weren't susceptible to his charms or good looks. And she was damn good looking, herself, but Dean would never admit it to her. Having not seen her in person for a few years, he was a little surprised at how attractive she was. It was hard enough not pushing her buttons, as it seemed to be easier to do every time they crossed paths. He thought they hadn't gone an hour being awake without arguing about something in probably over ten years.
A memory surfaced and Dean grinned inwardly. His dad had dragged him to Nebraska to help with a hunt and had left Sam with a friend so he could take his exams. Christa and her mom had done the preliminary work. The kids were eighteen and had procured a few beers, which seemed to mellow Christa out and make her find him less annoying. Dean made a move and was surprised Christa was so receptive to him. The adults were out for the night, hunting, and Dean and Christa hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. Their make-out session got hot and heavy, but right as Dean was about to take off her pants, she pulled away. It was part of the reason he felt like Christa was his personal challenge to get her to like him. She did once, maybe she would again.
Dean took a gulp of his drink and glanced in Christa's direction. He was a bit surprised she was alone; surely she had someone in her life. If so, it must be someone who didn't know what she did, considering she was on her own more often than not. Dean's mind wandered, more curious about his current partner than he'd like to admit. Most women he hunted with were either married to another hunter or had sworn off relationships aside from familial ones. Christa seemed to be the exception in that she had never expressed any interest in joining a group or him and Sam permanently.
Not surprisingly, Christa overheard the older Winchester drop a line with the cute bartender. There wasn't much of a younger crowd to choose from and Christa had already eyed the same bartender a couple times. She thought about seriously hitting on her but wagered Dean would take it as an invite to a threesome. Still, Christa flirted with her a little bit, trying to get a read on her. The bartender was fairly short, but she was really cute – expressive eyes, nice lips, and a smattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose.
After she downed another beer, Christa paid her tab; the bartender wasn't interested. She walked right past Dean without even acknowledging him. They'd have to talk plenty tomorrow, as they worked out if there was a case here.
Christa was happy to have the bathroom for awhile. It was going to be a long few days sharing space with a stubborn Winchester who loved greasy food and alcohol. She took her time showering, as she was sure Dean would find something to distract himself. Afterwards she turned on the TV, muted it, and changed into a clean tank top and underwear and climbed into bed. Before she shut off the lamp, she shot Sam a text of a winking smiley face and a very sarcastic having the time of my liiiiiiife!, set an alarm, and closed her eyes.
Startled out of a very explicit sex dream starring none other than Dean Winchester, Christa sat bolt upright and snatched her phone to shut off the alarm as it repeatedly blared. She hastily adjusted her tank top as Dean opened one eye.
"Morning," came the gruff voice from the bed beside hers.
"Coroner's office today," Christa replied. "Mind getting some coffee going?" She swung her feet to the floor and then got caught in a stretch. Dean's eyebrow lifted as he watched her back arch and arms bend behind her head. When she finished, he made eye contact and then motioned for her to go to the bathroom while he rubbed his eyes with his other hand. She climbed out of bed, grabbed her "work clothes," and shut the bathroom door behind her.
Dean checked his phone for messages, then stretched and got out of bed to brew a pot of coffee and get dressed. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it aside.
Christa juggled her coffee cup and briefcase as she slid onto the already-hot front seat of the Impala. They left as soon as she put the address of the coroner's office of Charleston County, South Carolina into her phone.
Upon arriving, they presented SCBI badges and declared they were agents "Cobain and Love." Autopsy reports were copied for three recovered drowning victims and skimmed by "Cobain" before being tucked into her briefcase. When they finished with all the formalities with the coroner, they took their leave.
They next stopped at the local police precinct and got copies of all reports of missing men, aged 18 and up, within the past month. A few cops milled about, and Dean hung back while Christa flirted with them to get more information about the missing people. It didn't take long, because it was a very slow day for the police due to the extreme heat. One of the cops nudged Dean as Christa tossed her head and laughed at a terrible joke another deputy made, then grinned and gestured at Christa. Dean grinned back at him and tilted his head in agreement.
Back in the Impala, Christa removed her suit jacket and tossed it in the backseat. He, too, pulled off his jacket and loosened his tie. It was only 11AM and he was sweating just standing outside. "I don't know how you live like this," he said to his partner, glancing over at her again. "The air is 90% water," he finished. She had unbuttoned sleeveless blouse a couple buttons and her arms were already covered in a glisten of sweat.
She merely grunted in reply, already reading the files and making notes on them. It was going to be a long day.
When they got back to the motel, Christa fought with the air conditioner until it put out a decent amount of cool air. She couldn't concentrate in this heat and she didn't want to listen to Dean complain. When the unit finally sputtered out a constant stream of air, Christa sat down at her laptop and started pulling up files as Dean reviewed the autopsy reports. He had stripped off his tie and dress shirt and un-tucked his undershirt. Christa unbuttoned her blouse more, fanning cool air onto her chest. Her skin seemed to stay warm no matter what she did and she was trying not to think about how good Dean's cologne smelled.
"So this all started about a month ago? And all the vics are men, all went missing near water, and all were from outside the area." He paused. "And they all had similar markings on their forearms," he trailed off, reading her margin notes. He looked up at her and watched her fan herself with one hand and type with another. The AC unit started to whine and cough, so Dean got up and banged on it. It kicked back on and he sat down across from Christa, studying the markings more closely.
"I'm not finding anything," Christa sighed after several minutes. "No other occurrences of this happening so much. In fact, the last time several men went missing so quickly was the early 1800's. We might be dealing with a bog witch, or even ghost lights."
Dean looked up at her and then went to his bag and dug out a few books. "The markings might help," he said. He sat back down and started flipping through the books. After several minutes, he threw up his hands. "I got nothing. Were there hex bags recovered off the bodies?"
Christa pulled up her reports again and shook her head. "Nothing I have mentions anything like that. What does the mark look like, again?"
Dean described it to her and she put the description into Google. Two hits came back and had nothing to do with her input.
"So, maybe it really is nothing? Maybe the marks are from them dragging the river for the corpses. I don't know what else it could be," Dean said. He was confident that, despite the strangeness of the markings, there wasn't a case here except for a bunch of stupid guys ending up dead.
Christa rolled her eyes. Leave it to Dean to find an easy out. "Don't be lazy. There's something going on."
Dean shrugged and shook his head. "So what do you suggest we do?"
He watched her pace the room, muttering to herself as she tried to find a break in the case. Her mind was like a steel trap, Dean thought; she retained an insane amount of information. But the marks were new to them; they'd never seen anything like it before. She was crossing off items on a physical list every few minutes as she stopped to fan herself. Her blouse was damp with sweat under the arms and down her back. If he was miserably hot, he knew she was, too.
He leaned back from the laptop and looked out the front window. The motel was deserted aside from the two of them. "Can we take a break? This heat is killing me."
"And do what? The Impala doesn't have working air and the bar doesn't open until 5PM." Christa snapped because he'd interrupted her thought process. She hated that. Sam usually waited until she was done before approaching her. She really missed the younger Winchester; they worked together much better.
Dean shrugged. "There's a pool."
"You actually brought a bathing suit?" Christa asked him incredulously.
Dean shrugged again. "No, but who's gonna care? There's nobody here but us." He gestured to the window and Christa walked over and looked out from across the tiny table they were using as their research area. It was a little strange that they were the only ones here, but she decided a swim would at least let her think in peace.
He watched her do laps, giving her credit for how in shape she must be to tirelessly swim back and forth. After several minutes, he closed his eyes and sank back. A scene from a campy film entered his brain – some nerdy kid had almost drowned and then tricked the hot lifeguard into a kiss as she administered CPR. It was far too juvenile a move for Dean Winchester to make, but the thought of Christa hovering over him and pressing her lips to his mouth was not a bad thought. It was a shame she disliked him so much – they could have some real fun together if she'd just relax.
Thirty minutes later, she unabashedly pulled herself out of the water, squeezed the excess water from her bra, and grabbed her towel. "I'm going back to research, more. Police scanner might also have something."
Dean nodded and waved. He lingered for awhile longer before rejoining her in their room.
Christa sat at the table, hair in a towel, going through every website and every connection she knew to find the meaning behind the marks. Dean was in the shower, rinsing off. He'd made a quip about them showering together and Christa rolled her eyes at him and shut the bathroom door in his face.
Her mind wandered from the task at-hand and briefly imagined him naked. Christa shook her head to clear that thought and made a face. She wouldn't let Dean Winchester get to her. She hadn't, yet.
The water turned off and Christa realized she was staring at the bathroom door. She turned back to her computer and started pulling up online libraries. The mark had to be documented, somewhere.
Over an hour later, Dean groaned and rubbed his face, setting aside yet another book of symbols. He looked up at Christa and noticed her wide blue eyes, staring over his shoulder blankly. He wondered what she could possibly be thinking about; then he got up and retrieved a couple beers. She didn't respond when he first held it out to her, so he nudged her gently with the cold bottle and then she seemed to snap out of it.
Somewhat startled, she nodded her thanks and took it from him and took a long, deep gulp. If anyone was going to crack this case, it was her. She was very smart, almost intimidatingly so, and her intuition was almost flawless. He had never seen her so stumped. A smirk tugged at his lips as he sat back down and he couldn't help himself. "We could always distract ourselves for a little while; get our minds off the case. Got anything you want to bounce off me?"
Christa's eyes narrowed and slowly met his as she set her beer down. "Just my fist, Winchester. I know we're getting close. Just… focus, please."
He slumped a little bit and opened a book of arcane symbols in front of him.
They were each devouring their third slice of pizza when a report of a body found near the Ashley came over the scanner. Christa jotted down the descriptors as fast as she could, as well as the longitude and latitude of the last-known sighting. Dean perked up and came around to the other side of the table, leaning over her, as she plugged in the coordinates. It was a solid match for all the other disappearances. She turned to him, made a disgusted face, and shoved him away. "Don't chew next to my ear, Winchester. That's gross."
Dean scrunched his face and gnashed the rest of the food with an open mouth and audibly swallowed. "My bad, princess. I'll go get dressed." He grabbed his suit and changed by his bed while Christa got a few things together. She changed out in the open, also, since there was no time to waste with modesty. They were ready in ten minutes and on the highway headed toward the location from the scanner.
The scanner was perched on the dash and on, just in case. Sure enough, right as they were turning off the highway, EMTs were reporting a living John Doe that matched the description being taken to the nearest hospital.
Dean pulled a hard u-turn and Christa cussed him out as she was flung against the passenger door, her papers going everywhere as her briefcase flew open. "Oops?"
The hospital was relatively quiet as "Cobain" and "Love" found their way to the recovery room. Minor procedures of a couple stitches and some excess fluids being drained meant the victim was awake and could talk. He smelled briny, but also a bit like liquor and peat.
It reminded Dean of some of his worst hangover days.
Christa let him do most of the interviewing with the doctor and nurses, but she started with the patient. She seated herself next to his bed and gently touched his arm to get his attention. She smiled at him and introduced herself. "I'm Agent Cobain with the SCBI, and just need to ask you a few questions."
"SCBI? Do I need a lawyer?"
Agent Cobain paused and Agent Love swooped in. "We're just trying to gather facts of what lead up to your near-drowning. We have reason to believe there was foul play."
The man scoffed and then turned away, obviously formulating his thoughts. Cobain looked more closely at his forearm and saw no sign of the mark matching the other victims. "Where are you from, Mr. Burns?"
"Uh, Spartanburg. I come out here to fish, sometimes. Mostly with friends but this time I came alone." Agent Cobain looked pointedly at Love, again. He scratched his chin and nodded, looking around the hospital room for clues.
"So nobody else was with you all evening?" Agent Cobain pressed. "You didn't meet up with anyone or see anybody? Do you have any enemies by chance?" She sat back, waiting for him to answer.
"No, nobody. I… I don't think I have enemies?" His eyes flicked from one agent to the other. "Do you think somebody… is somebody trying to kill me?"
"Not that we know of," Agent Love interjected. "Just narrowing down the possibilities."
"Do you remember anything else about the river? Was it especially cold in some areas? Did it smell like rotten eggs, at all? Did you see weird lights or noises?" Cobain pressed.
"I don't remember," Mr. Burns admitted. He hung his head and closed his eyes. They reopened a moment later. "Wait, yes. I… I did feel something cold. It was like a cold breeze suddenly came by and that's all I remember. One minute I was on the bank of the river, the next, in an ambulance." He was staring at Christa, now. Dean quietly sifted through his belongings and came up empty handed. "And I thought I had a dream…" his voice trailed off and his face suddenly became flushed. "Um, never mind. Must just be oxygen deprivation," he quickly corrected himself.
Agent Cobain nodded and gently touched his arm again, "Thank you Mr. Burns. We'll be in touch if we need anything else."
Christa nodded at Dean and they began to leave when Mr. Burns let out a hoarse chuckle. "I just got it: Cobain and Love. They stick you together on purpose?"
Agent Love cracked a smirk and shook his head, "They have a sick sense of humor over at the Bureau. Goodnight, sir."
Dean drove the Impala straight to the dive bar across the highway from their motel after the interview. He was interested in seeing if the cute bartender was working again because he didn't need pent up frustration driving him crazy or he might do something stupid. Christa protested and said she needed to put her notes on her laptop and wanted to change her clothes. His response was to shrug and suggested she hoof it if she didn't want to come in. He tossed his suit jacket into the backseat and loosened his tie as he checked himself out in the rear-view.
Christa, knowing she was getting closer to cracking the case, walked back to the motel and typed up her newest notes. Never had a case frustrated her more. There had to be something on that damn symbol. She checked her phone, seeing if anyone else had something for her; nothing. She sighed and checked her email; there was something from someone she didn't know. The subject read, "Mystery Mark," so she opened it and her eyes went wide. She made a note to find the email sender and thank them, later.