Disclaimer: I don't own anything that's familiar.
Author's note: This is my first story, hope you like it, please review... you know, the usual.
Channel Winchester, "Chapter" one.
There are plenty of places where one would expect to see two neat, tall, young men in suits. At a formal event with a senator, on the steps of a big, white, building (refusing to comment on an ongoing investigation), or even in the midst of a busy street in an important city, all these were perfectly normal places for such a group, but in a run-down motel, in a god-forsaken city in the middle of nowhere, well, frankly, this was simply unacceptable. The two aforementioned gentlemen were getting ready to go, cocking their guns, and checking their suits, all the while talking about something, which, judging by their expressions, left them disgusted. As they stepped out of their room, one stuck out his foot and tripped the taller one, who retaliated by punching his assailant in the shoulder.
These two handsome fellows were becoming more mystifying by the moment. What were they? Tax accountants with guns. Not likely. FBI agents? Well, even that theory seemed like it required some work.
As I observed them throughout the day, I noted that the two acted almost synchronized (although they did seem to argue incessantly...), and I realized that they must have worked together for a very long time. The taller one was also the less experienced and evidently followed the other's lead. This second one was a bit of a riddle. He acted like he had not a worry in the world, like he cared about nothing, and like everything was a joke, but at odd periods he became more serious and tense. He seemed exhausted, but kept up appearances for his partner's sake. I also noticed that aside from all of the casual practical jokes and bickering, they seemed to care for each other quite a bit. Perhaps they were old army buddies...
In addition to their variety in clothing (the suits had been discarded for a couple of tattered leather jackets and jeans), and their choice of places to visit (a house, some cheap diners, the motel, and the morgue), they managed to surprise me another time by leaving the motel and heading for the morgue in the middle of the night again. Not very many people surprise me more than once. I was starting to like this.
When I came back after my week-long coffee break, the duo was two states away, in the middle of a swamp. I was absurdly relieved that they weren't wearing suits, but still a little shocked to see them with silver daggers in their hands, ready to plunge the things into the first thing that came by (this eventually turned out to be an invisible crocodile under the spell of a powerful three-year-old). As I was settling down in front of the screen (right, I forgot to explain. I like watching humans going about their daily business when I'm just bored), I saw the two exchange glances and shift their position. I suppose it's time to admit that my 'FBI agents' theory wasn't just in need of "some work", but was completely off...
Lost in my thoughts, I failed to see what happened next, only realizing that something, had, indeed, happened, when I saw the crocodile become visible, and the tall one rush to the side of the other, who for some reason was now on the ground. Something was obviously wrong as the man's green eyes widened and his mouth formed what was supposed to be a mocking smile, but more closely resembled the look a child gives his mother when she forces some disgusting medicine down his throat. The other man shook him, muttering the name, "Dean," over and over again. A dark stain was appearing on Dean's clothes as his eyes closed and his tense body became limp as a puppet whose strings have been cut. His partner tried to shake him again, to wake him, to get a reaction from him, and, as I watched, for the first time in over a millennium, I was sad.