CHAPTER 1
Owensboro, Kentucky
"Man, this thing is amazing!"
Dean Winchester shoveled the remaining amount of his pulled pork sandwich into his mouth as his brother Sam watched him.
"Yeah, you know, I really couldn't tell that by the grease running down your face and your failure to breathe since you picked it up. This diner is seriously the greasiest one we've been to."
"Hey!" Dean exclaimed. "Quit your whining. Maybe you should start eating like a man, too. All you ever do is order a cup of coffee and read your newspaper. Be a little less predictable, huh? By the way, anything good in there?"
Sam stared intensely into the paper and nodded in response. "Actually, there is."
"Let's hear it."
"'Local man brutally murdered in own home. Officials are baffled.'"
"What's so baffling about that?" Dean asked.
"Well, it says here that his partner found him face down with no trace of injury. That is, until he realized his face was purple. Strangulation, I guess. His name was Mark Poland. I dunno..." He took a minute to scan the remainder of the article. "It doesn't seem so special. Just your cut-and-dry homicide."
Dean could tell from the look in his brother's eyes that he didn't believe the words that he had just said. "You don't think so, do you?"
Sam knitted his brow in thought. "I'm not sure what I think. I'm still wiped from driving 17 hours after our latest case."
"Yeah, me too."
Thinking wistfully about the typical haunted house ordeal they had just solved in Washington, Dean smiled inside. Their lives had definitely not been that easy in a long time. And, they hadn't fought like the good-old days for a while, either.
He guessed things change when both you and your brother go through hell (literally), and lose everyone you ever cared about. You can never be as hopeful as you were when you were a kid.
Dean got up from their table and slammed a 10 dollar bill onto it, shaking himself out of thought. "Where are you going?" Sam asked.
"To question this guy's girlfriend."
Sam paused, unsure of his readiness. "How do you even know that it's a case for us? Shouldn't we just relax for a day and see what we've got tomorrow?"
"No time like the present. Besides, murders like this almost always turn out to be for us. If it isn't, we've wasted about 35 minutes questioning a babe who is single. And, hopefully, looking to mingle. Let's go."
Shortly after, the boys pulled into the driveway of a grand farmhouse, and a heartbroken looking young man answered the door. "Oh." He said, looking at the suits they were wearing. "I suppose you guys are cops."
"Yeah," Dean replied, flashing a fake badge. "We are. I'm Inspector Yelsew and this is my partner, Detective Wilson. Mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?"
The man, who was a bit shorter than Dean with carrot red hair, shook his head. "Sorry, I just finished talking to some others yesterday. Can't you get the notes from them? We're hosting a grief party for Mark. Now is kind of a bad time."
"This won't take long, we promise." Sam assured him. After a bit of thinking, he agreed.
"Okay. But I'd rather if we stayed outside. You know, more privacy for everyone. And, to be honest, cops aren't always our friends around here. It makes for less fuss."
"Sure, whatever is best."
"So," Dean began. "You and Mark had known each other for how long?"
"About 6 years."
"And you found him?"
"Just like the paper had said," The man answered. "His body facing the floor and his face purple. The window was broken into, the table was smashed. Someone didn't like him."
"Do you have anyone in mind?"
"No."
"Nobody at all?" Sam echoed.
Carrot Top was ready to go back inside; he was getting fidgety. "Is there anything else, gentlemen?"
"Yes, there is." Dean answered.
"Did Mark have any hobbies?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Just touching some bases. Y'know, model building, cooking, book club, the occult, knitting...?"
"No," The man replied. "Nothing besides painting lawn gnomes."
Dean smiled to himself.
"And now," He continued. "Since I've had a few days to think about this awful situation, I think it was a hate crime."
"Hate crime?" Dean and Sam said in unison.
"Well..." The man tilted his head toward the porch of the house, where an unmistakable rainbow flag was hanging.
Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh. So Mark was your boyfriend?"
"Yes."
"And cops don't like you because you're..."
"Yes." He seemed to become a bit impatient. "A lot of law enforcement seem to be old fashioned thinkers around this area. But, you know, if you ever need to talk more privately, I can get us in at this really nice Chinese place..."
He then placed his hand on Dean's shoulder.
"Um, not to disrespect you LMNOP folks, but...Me and my partner don't exactly swing that way."
"Dean," Sam whispered. "It's LGBTQ."
"Well, I can assure you gentlemen that anything else you need to know will be fresh in other policemen's minds or databases or whatever else you use to pry into people's lives. If you need anything, please, don't come back."
"One last thing," Sam said. He thought that the redhead might have slammed the door in his face if it weren't for his foot blocking the doorway. "I didn't get your name."
"It's Harold. Harold Nimworth."
"Thanks for your time, dude." Dean said, returning the hand-on-shoulder gesture. "Live long and prosper. Stick it to the man!"
Harold rolled his eyes. "Good day to you, boys." The door was then swiftly shut.
"Stick it to the man?" Sam asked with raised eyebrows as they headed back towards the Impala.
"Words of encouragement for the bereaved soul."
"Just drive the damn car."
