New story, hope you all enjoy!
Dean had been driving for miles and miles across the states, the windows were constantly filled with bucolic sights and the rural backgrounds of the Midwest. He felt the fresh air on his skin as his arm rested against the open window frame and the wind blew past his speeding Impala.
Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody played softly on the radio and Sammy in the passenger seat was reclining back and sleeping. His tall, lanky body stretched across the whole damn car like he was a prince. His long brown hair fell over his face like a curtain and his arms were draped across his plaid flannel and puffy beige jacket.
"Sam?" Dean looked over, "Hey, Sammy."
No response. They could've driven past a marching band and he still wouldn't have woken up.
Dean turned on Freddie Mercury's voice a little higher (who was he kidding-he turned it a lot higher) and the Impala speakers boomed with the high pitch screams of Queen's music.
Sam jumped awake and banged his head on the car's ceiling doing so.
"Ow! What the hell, Dean!?" Sam shouted.
He looked to his left and saw Dean laughing his head off and lowering the volume, "Come on, Sam, it's a classic!"
"Dean, you're so immature," Sam huffed and crossed his arms.
"Sam," Dean looked at him, he still had that crooked smile on his face.
"No," his brother looked to the passing road.
"Sammy?," Dean kept smiling.
Sam's eyes looked at his older brother and he smiled, "You're such an idiot."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
There was a pause for a moment as Sam turned his head to see his older brother with a stupid goofy look on his face.
He laughed, easing the tension out of his shoulders, "So, where we going?"
"New Mexico," Dean said casually, the leather steering wheel of Baby fitting under his hands like a glove.
"New Mexico?" Sam yawned, "Why?"
"Because we got a hot shot, Sammy," the older Winchester threw a few newspaper clippings on his younger brother's lap, "I don't know what it is yet, but the son of a bitch is definitely making himself cozy."
"Four deaths so far," Sam read the clippings, "one witness?"
"Yup," Dean smiled, looking ahead at the winding road through the American countryside.
"Where is she now?"
"Santa Fe Mental Institution."
"Figures," Sammy huffed, "when you tell the authorities that a demon possessed your friend at a murder scene, there isn't much you can do at that point."
"So we got to get to her," Dean started,
"Before our demon does," Sam finished.
Dean nodded, a crinkle in his eye as the smile slowly faded from his lips. He raised the volume of the music as a new song came on. The guitar solo ripped through the air like an electric screech.
"Hey, Dean," Sam's eyes brightened, "it's, uh, it's Free-free something…"
"Free Bird, Sammy," Dean narrowed his eyes in mock anger and disappointment, "Lynrd Skynrd, how dare you?"
"Whatever, Dean," the younger Winchester rolled his eyes and laughed, "that song is as old as this Impala."
"Never talk about Baby like that," Dean gasped then whispered lower, "it's okay, darling, he didn't mean it."
They kept flying through the countryside like a bullet as the speeding black car took the miles through the states to Santa Fe, New Mexico.
They arrived well after dark; the sleezy motel they pulled into a haven as Dean and Sam switched seats as the driver to stay awake.
"Damn, that was a long drive," Sam stretched as he took his long legs out of the car and opened their armored trunk.
"I know," Dean cracked his back, "better be worth it."
"Trust me," Sammy shut the trunk as he pulled his bag over his shoulder, "those four people that died wouldn't have in vain."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Dean nodded as he fished the motel room keys from his pocket and fit it into the slot. They stepped inside, locked the doors, demon-proofed the room, and crashed into their beds to fall straight to sleep.
"I've got eyes on the targets," a man spoke into his receiver in his ear. His black gloved hands held binoculars as he stared through the glass window pane to the slumbering forms of the Winchester brothers sprawled in their beds, "do we move in?"
"Hold your team," the voice of his authoritative commanders on the other line rang in his ear, "we don't want to scare them off just yet."
"Understood, heading back to base," the man signed off, packed his binoculars away, and climbed off the roof of the neighboring building as silent as a cat.
The Winchester Boys wouldn't get away this time.
"Dean, wake up," Sammy threw his brother's shoe at him on the bed. Dean jumped awake, his disorientation making the room spin. He remembered they pulled into the motel late the night before in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
"Sammy? What time is it?"
"8 AM."
"8 AM?!" Dean flopped his head back on the pillow, "Jesus, Sam, give a guy a break."
"No, Dean, our demon could be getting closer and closer to our eyewitness at the mental hospital, we got to get there before it does."
"Ugh, fine," the older brother hoisted his sore body off the motel bed and sat up, scratching the back of his neck.
"I already got the scrubs from the back of the Impala, Bobby packed us a few new pairs just in case," Sammy held up a pair of white puffy scrubs that the nurses wore, "what do you think?"
"I don't think white's your color," Dean huffed as he walked closer to his brother, "but these look pretty legit."
"Yeah, Bobby really upped his game," Sam smiled.
"I'll go."
"What?" Sam's brows furrowed as he held the scrubs closer to his chest, "No!"
"Sammy, this isn't a game of dress-up, okay?"
"I never said it was."
"Look, you are better at the research, I'm better at the in-the-moment kind of things. Hand me the scrubs, I'll go check out our witness."
"But, Dean, this requires gentleness and care-"
"What? I could be gentle!"
Sam fixed him with a glare, Dean rolled his eyes.
"Seriously, Sam, I've got it. You stay here, look into the crime scenes, head to the police station, gather evidence. We'll need it if we're going to get this thing."
"Fine," Sam begrudgingly handed over the white scrubs to Dean who went to the bathroom and started changing into them. Sam pulled out one of his many suits and looked through their little box of fake IDs, badges, and tags.
"Looks like I'm going as Robert Deer today," he smirked as Dean came out in his puffy, white outfit. Sam laughed.
"What?" Dean protested, "I happen to think I look very good in white!"
"Oh, yeah, you're so angelic."
Dean blinked once, "Shut up."
"Alright, alright," he finished laughing, "I'm gonna change and head down to the station, call me after you talk to the witness."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean went to the bed and grabbed his leather jacket, shrugging it onto his white scrubs and jumping into his Impala before anyone could see his ridiculous outfit.
He pulled up to his destination with Baby parked perfectly into a spot. Dean took off his famous brown leather jacket, clipped his ID tag onto his pocket (courtesy of Bobby Singer) and walked inside. As he stepped through the doors, he kept his head low and walked swiftly passed a nurse's station, picking up a bare clipboard as he did so to add to his disguise. On his hand the name scribbled was June Baker, the name of their witness.
"Excuse me?" Dean took a deep breath and flashed his winning smile as he approached the young dainty woman at the front desk.
"Hello, sir," her eyes sparkled as the handsome man in front of her approached. He looked absolutely dashing in his white scrub outfit, a uniform that most male nurses were unable to look good in, "what can I do for you today?"
"There's lots of things I'd like to ask you," his eyes glimmered as he nonchalantly placed his arm on the desk, "but duty calls. I was wondering if a smart girl like yourself could tell me what room June Baker is in?"
"Of course," she batted her eyelashes and typed a few keys into the computer, "it looks like she's in room 221."
"221, thank you, darling," he winked.
"Before you go," she fixed her hair, "is there anything else you'd like to ask me?"
Dean was too focused on writing the room number on his paper, he completely forgot his act, "No, that's all, thanks."
He gave her a farewell smile, noting the disappointment on her face, and went off to the elevators.
"221, 221, 221," he said under his breath not to forget.
The door appeared before him as he made twisting turns and ups and downs between floors. The name plate read correctly: June Baker.
He knocked twice on the door, "Excuse me, Mrs. Baker, can I come in?"
There was no reply, but he opened it anyway.
Sitting in the dim light at the far corner of the room, was an older woman with cropped red hair, a hospital gown on, and she was saying something under her breath.
"Mrs. Baker? Hi, my name is Michael," Dean started as he approached her, her back was facing him as she looked vacantly out the window, "I was sent by your doctor to administer some medication, is that all right?"
"Y-yes," her airy reply was good enough for Dean as he just pulled out a syringe of water from his pocket as "medication".
"Mrs. Baker, I was reading your chart," he began expertly, "and I'm sorry to hear about the unfortunate death of your family."
She didn't reply, her empty eyes still looked out the window at the gloomy sky below. Dean puffed out a breath but kept going as he neared her IV.
"It would be all right, Mrs. Baker, if you wanted to talk to someone about it," Dean cleared his throat, "our entire staff is professionally trained, I'm here whenever you need."
"M-Michael?"
"Yes, my name, Michael," Dean was plunging the water solution into her IV, it wouldn't harm her at all, just used for the disguise.
He suddenly jumped back as her hand flailed out and held a death grip on his forearm. He tried to pull free but to no avail, those scary eyes staring straight into his own like vacuums.
"I-It was horrible," she gasped, fear taking hold of her as her long nails began to dig into Dean's skin, "those eyes, those black eyes! Gerry, he was possessed, black smoke everywhere!"
"Yes, yes," Dean nodded, "the black smoke, what about the smoke? Did he say anything? A name?"
"Gerry, he-he killed Teresa with his own hands! Teresa, my poor baby!"
"Teresa, Gerry, okay, good," Dean was trying to pry her claws out of his arm before she drew blood, "where was this?"
"At the shipyard," she cried, her chin quivering, "G-Gerry, he used to work there, we-we were just taking a walk along the docks!"
"Okay, the docks," he made a mental note to tell Sammy, that's where he'd check next, "okay, Mrs. Baker, it's alright, shhh," he tried to calm her down, getting all the information he needed. It was definitely a demon and these poor people were paying the price.
Dean-or Michael-backed out of the room as June Baker lay mumbling in her chair, continuing to stare out the window blankly.
The docks, the old shipyard. Dean walked out the mental institution, shedding his white scrubs the moment he got inside his Impala. He fitted himself into actual clothes, his boots, and leather jacket. Much better.
The engine revved like she was ready to take off into the day.
Dean picked up his phone and dialed the only number he called.
"Sammy," he spoke once his brother picked up on the other line.
"Dean? How's it going?"
"Jackpot," he smiled, "our witness, June Baker, was taking a nice family stroll with her husband and daughter by the docks at the old shipyard when they were attacked by a demon."
"But she just walked away?" his skeptical brother asked.
"I don't know, I guess," he shrugged.
"Doesn't that seem a little weird, Dean?" Sam's voice was doubtful, "I mean why leave her alive?"
"Demons do all kinds of crazy things, Sammy, you learn to live with it," the older brother answered.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Sam conceded.
"Of course I am, now how is it going down at the station?"
"Not bad, I just talked with one of the officers at the scene of the crime, got a few names. I'm heading back to the motel to do some more research to figure out what we're dealing with."
"Good, let me know if you find anything," Dean concluded,
"Got it," his younger brother hung up the line and the call disconnected.
"Let's go, Baby," Dean petted the side of his Impala and pressed down hard on the gas. She went speeding down the road towards the docks.
The Chief Officer Henry Stanley at the Santa Fe Police Station waited will "Robert Deer" left his office before reaching for his phone and picking up the receiver. The man was very tall, with a thin but strong build, long brown hair, and blue green eyes. He got a photo faxed in this morning from a certain FBI chief agent named Victor Henrikson. They were scratchy images of two men named Sam and Dean Winchester. The long-haired one came in, but he had yet to see his smug-faced older brother.
There were specific instructions given to him when he talked to Henrikson earlier that morning that he will not engage. Stanley was confused and a little irritated by the black-suited FBI agent who thought he could boss him around but he had prompt orders that couldn't be ignored.
"Why, sir?" he asked the agent, "Why can't we engage if he freely walks into our own precinct. There are dozens of highly trained officers in here, what is one man?"
There was a slightly bemused chuckle from the other end of the line, "Look, Officer Stanley, this isn't a question of me underestimating the talent of your officers, but these two have escaped government hands not once-not twice-but three times. If 40 armed FBI agents couldn't trap these boys, what makes you think a dozen mid-west sheriffs could do."
"We have weapons, he won't be expecting it either," Stanley rebuked.
"Look," Henrikson sighed, "I'm sure you do, but this has been an ongoing operation for almost a year now. Now I finally have the Winchesters right where I want them. It took a lot of money and favors in high places to get them here because these boys have been living on the run their whole lives, fending for themselves with fake IDs and twisted minds about demons and satan worship, Officer. Do you want these two dangerous criminals roaming the streets any longer? No, they are practiced. Sam and Dean have a routine, one I've been analyzing for months now. We follow the routine before they get suspicious, okay? This must seem like one of their own jobs before we move in."
"Okay, sir," the chief nodded, "I'll give you a call if this Sam comes in."
"Thank you, Officer Stanley, you'll be doing your country a service."
He had seen this Sam Winchester with his own eyes, and he must admit that he was quite convincing. Stanley had seen countless criminals during his career, ones that impersonated certain personalities, but Sam had to take the cake. The way he carried himself in, a confident aura in his black pressed suit, like he had done this countless times. He had legitimate questions like he was interested, evidence, a badge, and a contact number just in case. This guy was prepared.
"Excuse me," Stanley cleared his throat, "Agent Henrikson?"
"Officer Stanley," Viktor greeted with anticipation, "what have you got for me?"
"Sam Winchester," he uttered in his gruff voice, "but, sir, I don't know if it was him."
"What? What do you mean by that?"
"It's just..this guy was a professional, sir."
"Oh," came the knowing reply, "these boys are trained, Officer, they are cunning, tricky, and manipulative. The faster we get them the better, before they disappear again."
"Okay, what do you need me to do next, sir?"
"Wait there," came the hurried reply, "I'll be there in a few hours."
The call disconnected and Officer Stanley was left gazing at photo of the innocent looking Sam Winchester.
Don't own any Supernatural content or characters, hope you all enjoy!