Disclaimer: Nope, nothing's mine. (I'm not crediting the actual writer of the poem to keep from spoiling anyone who hasn't read it. But it isn't me.)
Casefic! With many thanks to Cheryl for not wigging out on me with the amount of stuff I've been sending her lately.
Warnings: Language and Dean being Dean. Nothing stronger than what's on the show.
Summary: A phone call, two accidental deaths and a mysterious woman Dean meets at a museum add up to trouble for the world's best hunting duo. Set mid-Season 1.
Chapter I: The Owls Have Awakened
'Tis the middle of night by the castle cock
And the owls have awakened the crowing cock;
Tu-whit! Tu-whoo!
And hark, again! The crowing cock,
How drowsily it crew.
It all begins with a phone call at midnight.
Sam's asleep, and that's a rare enough occurrence that I hurry to grab the phone before it can wake him.
"Hello?"
Bobby's on the other end. "You think you boys can take a case for me?"
"What kind of case?" I ask. I don't want to take on anything dodgy, not with Sam's weird psychic thing acting up at odd times. "And where?"
"Seems like a straightforward vengeful spirit to me," Bobby says. "You just need to figure out who it is and clean up the mess. It should be an easy job."
I really should say no, if only because Bobby's gone and jinxed it by calling it easy, but I don't. Sam's been having a rough time lately, and because he's Sam I can't cheer him up by taking him to a bar the way I would a normal person. Spending a few days doing some research for an open-and-shut case is exactly what he needs.
"Sure," I say. "Tell me what you know."
A few hours later, I'm repeating the details to Sam over breakfast. The case is in Washington DC. Two deaths in the past four days. The deaths themselves are perfectly natural – one woman was run over by a bus when she ran across a busy street without looking, and a teenage boy fell foul of a violent mugger. Tragic, but not necessarily our thing.
What Bobby thinks makes it our thing is that a friend of his, who was in town to take down a witch who decided to interfere a little too much with her neighbours' lives, noticed high levels of EMF around both bodies when he was in the mortuary looking at the witch's victims. He thought at first that these two wereher victims too, but apparently they had nothing to do with her, or with each other.
It could be our kind of thing.
Sam agrees quickly enough. Not because he's trying to be helpful (like he ever would) but because there's some exhibition at the Smithsonian that he wants to see. Something to do with British poets. I don't know what the hell it's about and my first reaction is to point out to Sam that I have more interesting things to do than watch him drool over Byron's handwriting. But he makes those big, sad eyes, so of course I'm going to the Smithsonian with him and I'm going to let him lecture me about whatever he thinks is important about British literature.
When we get there after two days' driving, it's ten at night, and even Sam isn't weird enough to want to break into a museum after he's spent two days cramped in the Impala. So I book us a room and we crash.
Sam sleeps like a baby, waking up only when I come back from the coffee run in the morning and blinking up at me sleepily from his cocoon of blankets. Other than the fact that the bundle of blankets is a lot bigger, he looks exactly like he did when he was six.
On reflection, it's probably best for Sam to be an insomniac. My little brother can be evil, and if he knew exactly how little resistance I have when he looks drowsily at me like that (which, when I think about it, he probably does) and if he were capable of sleeping enough to pull it off more often, I'd be spending a lot more time in museums and libraries and a lot less meeting women in bars.
"Here," I say, holding out the coffee.
"Latte?" he asks.
"Yup."
"Decaf?"
"Yes."
"Vanilla?"
"Yes, Sam."
"Awww, Dean," he teases. "You remember what I like!"
"Shut up." I smack the back of his head and sit on the edge of my bed. "So how are we doing this?"
"We need to visit Anne Lawson's husband, Trey Marsh's parents, the hospital, Anne's office and Trey's school." Sam counts them off on his fingers. "We could split up."
"Why? So you can be the next one to have a mysterious accident? I don't think so."
"I can take care of myself," Sam protests. "Besides, if we split up, we'll be done sooner, and then we can go to the Smithsonian today."
"No." Sam tries the eyes. I shake my head. "Come on. You know perfectly well that isn't going to work when it's a question of your safety."
"But –"
"Stop arguing and start getting dressed and we might still be able to make the Smithsonian before it closes."
We're out of the room in record time.
I can't help thinking that a lot of the tension of our childhood might have been avoided if Dad had tried motivating Sam with museums instead of vengeance.
Our first visit is to Theo Lawson.
Because it was an accident, we can't get into his house with FBI badges. Instead, we pretend to be employees of the hospital where Anne was taken after the accident and claim we need some paperwork signed. Theo's a little puzzled but he seems too caught up in his own grief to think very much about it. I feel a twinge of guilt, but I suppress it. People are dying; we can't afford to be pansy about Theo's feelings.
I'm not sure how to bring up the subject of the circumstances of Anne's death, but Theo saves me the trouble and does it himself.
"It wasn't like her," he chokes as he signs the papers Sam shoves under his nose without even bothering to read them. "She was so careful, always so careful."
Sam makes a sympathetic noise.
"It… It feels like the world is empty," Theo goes on.
"I understand," Sam says quietly.
"Do you?"
Sam ducks his head. "I… My girlfriend died a few months ago. It's not the same thing, of course, you were married to Mrs. Lawson for thirty years, but I think I understand, a little."
I move closer to him. There was a tremor in his voice, and I don't know if he's faking it.
"Oh," Theo says, just as quietly. "I'm sorry." Then, "How did you find a reason to keep living?"
"My brother. He made sure I ate and slept and he kept me going. He gave me a reason to live." Sam looks at Theo earnestly, but he also relaxes into the hand I rest on his shoulder so I know he needs it. "You shouldn't be alone now, Mr. Lawson. Isn't there someone who can come? Children?"
"Justin's in the army… In Iraq. I don't think they've even managed to get word to him yet. My… My sister will be here tomorrow. She's devastated by this, too. She and Anne were close."
"Mrs. Lawson must have been a special lady."
"She was," Theo chokes. "Oh, she was. So beautiful. And so good with the children."
"Children?" I ask.
"She was a teacher."
"A teacher?" Sam says softly. "I didn't know that… I thought she was a lawyer."
"It was her day job. She taught in the evenings, on weekends sometimes. Underprivileged kids. Anne had the biggest heart, she wanted to do everything she could to help them. She tried to get me in on it, too, but I'm a horrible teacher. They'd probably fail their SATs."
Theo's voice breaks. I look away uncomfortably. I never know what to do when witnesses get this upset. I never know what to do when anybody gets this upset. Well, unless it's Sam.
Sam hands Theo a tissue. Theo accepts it, mumbling thanks.
"Her students sent flowers," he says thickly. "So many flowers… They're all in our bedroom. I've – I've not slept there since – I – I couldn't." He glances at Sam. "Would you… Would you like to see it?"
Theo isn't kidding about the flowers. There are so many that the scent is overpowering. Roses, lilies, carnations, flowers whose names I don't even know, bouquets and wreaths and baskets of them. They fill the bedroom, covering the bed, the windowsill, the dresser, the chairs, and a large part of the floor.
"Which is the one from the students?" Sam asks.
Theo indicates a huge wreath of lilies hanging on the back of the door. Sam looks at it.
Then he looks at me, in the way that means he's found something.
"What?" I ask as soon as we're outside.
"The wreath from the students. Dean, Anne Lawson taught at Jackson Memorial."
"Trey Marsh's school," I say.
This is definitely our kind of thing.
Sam and I don't talk much as I drive to Jackson Memorial High School. It's in a seedy neighbourhood, and somehow I can't quite reconcile it with elegant and beautiful Anne Lawson, Attorney at Law, with her triple-string of pearls and her corner office with a view of the river.
At Jackson we're police officers ruling out the possibility that Trey's death was anything more than a random mugging. The principal isn't too eager to let us talk to the students, but Sam's earnestness convinces her that we don't mean any harm and she begrudgingly sets us up in the counsellor's office and pulls Trey's friends out of their classes. She doesn't call the parents. Sam makes a face, muttering about children's rights, but I point out to him that neither of us is violating the kids' rights so there really isn't a problem.
He doesn't buy it, but he stops complaining.
The kids are willing enough. They clearly want to talk and haven't had anyone willing to listen to their side of the story. Sam is young enough – and looks young enough – that they see him as one of them and there's not much for me to do but stand by the window and take notes while they pour out their hearts to him. A lot of it is useless bitching about how that skank Avery always had it in for Trey ever since he broke up with her last year and I'm telling you man, it was Mike from basketball that did it because Trey snitched on him selling pot.
Well, maybe the second one isn't that far-fetched.
It isn't until we see Trey's girlfriend that we get a breakthrough.
She's pretty, although she's got on a lot too much makeup for a fifteen-year-old. Big blue-green eyes and blonde hair that probably isn't natural. Her nails are long and bright pink. She starts tapping them nervously on the table as soon as she sits down.
"You're Doreen?" Sam asks gently.
"Yeah," she mumbles, not looking at him.
"Hi, Doreen. My name is Sam. This must be a difficult time for you. I'm so sorry to have to bother you."
She shrugs. "Don't know who did it."
"Do you know who might have wanted to do it?" Something flashes in her eyes. Sam leans forward and says softly, "Doreen, you can tell me. Just between us."
"It was that bitch," Doreen mutters. For a second I think we're back on Avery, but then Doreen adds, "Not from around here. I don't know where Trey met her but everything went to pieces as soon as he started hanging out with her."
"Who, Doreen? Do you know her name?"
"Something fancy. Trey just called her Dina. She was… Well, our age, maybe a little older, I guess. Sixteen, seventeen. But she looked a lot older."
Sam and I exchange a glance. That's something, coming from a high school student who's managing to look twenty-five.
"What do you mean, older? How old did she look?"
"Oh, she looked sixteen. Just… you know… Like she'd seen a lot. She looked sad sometimes. I think that's how she got Trey on her side about… everything. Made him get all protective."
"Do you have a photograph of Dina?"
"No." Doreen makes a face. "Wouldn't want her photograph. Not after what she did."
"Doreen." Sam looks as non-threatening as he can, which means he looks like an overgrown puppy that wants to play Fetch. "Did you suspect Trey was… unfaithful?"
"Did he cheat on me, you mean?" Doreen laughs. "Oh, yeah. He tried to deny it, but I knew. I could see it in her eyes." She laughs again, but it turns into a sob. Sam passes her a tissue and waits.
When she's settled down, he says, "Doreen, just one last question. Did you have any classes with Anne Lawson? She taught here, didn't she?"
"Mrs. Lawson? Yeah, she came in the evenings. Special coaching in the evenings for people who want it." Doreen looks unhappy. "It's awful. Talbot was on and on about it the day after it happened, about how it's a tragic loss. First time people actually listened to him." She shrugs. "Mrs. Lawson taught me and Trey History. Whole bunch of us in that class. Don't know who's going to take it now. Probably Talbot, and he can make anything boring."
"Thanks, Doreen," Sam says, and the girl's gone.
"So what do you think?" I ask when the door's shut behind her. "Woman in White?"
"That wouldn't explain Anne Lawson. Besides, a Woman in White doesn't usually hang around long enough to make the acquaintance of the girlfriend."
"And we don't even have a full name."
"Maybe Dina has nothing to do with it. Trey was a high school kid and from everything we've heard he wasn't a saint. There might be no more to it than that."
"C'mon," Sam says. "Let's go meet the parents."
Trey's parents aren't thrilled to have to talk to us. His dad looks wasted, and from the hollows under his eyes and his sunken cheeks it isn't the first time. His mom is tiny, harried, and terrified of her husband.
When Mr. Marsh – Chuck – sees us, his eyes go narrow and he studies us carefully, like he's trying to decide whether we'll help him set up a meth lab.
I feel an irrational urge to tell Sam to go wait in the Impala.
But he's not a kid now. He's twenty-two and taller than me, so I let him sit next to me, knee bumping mine under the tiny table in the Marshes' dining room, and glare at Mr. Marsh when he brushes Sam's sleeve to get to his own chair.
They feed us the usual story. Trey was wonderful. Good grades, never got in trouble, always hardworking and respectful.
They've heard of Dina, too, but they never met her. Trey said she was from one of the fancy schools, daughter of a foreign diplomat. They don't know which country. Trey didn't like being asked questions. Trey liked hanging out with her, was flattered that she wanted to hang out with him, but Trey's mother assures us, with the first sign of spirit she's shown, that there was nothing between them. Trey was in love with Doreen and he would never have cheated on her.
The EMF meter hidden in Sam's briefcase registers nothing, and I hustle him out of there and away from Chuck Marsh's predatory gaze as quickly as I can.
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