Title: This is one of those typical conversations where we're all open and sharing our innermost thoughts and it's all bullshit and a lie and it doesn't cost you anything (1/1)
Author: Dea Brynhild Ensomhet
Fandom: Supernatural/Joe Versus The Volcano
Characters: Dean, Angelica Graynamore, Sam.
Timeline: eh, doesn't matter. We'll say s2 for fun.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: Don't own any of the Supernatural or Joe Versus The Volcano cast/crew/characters/plotlines/etc. All hail Kripke and whoever owns the rights to the movie. Please don't sue.
Warnings: A few swear words, but nothing else I can think of. No pairings, a little flirting, no slash.
Summary: The boys are investigating some disappearances and Dean questions a witness.

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Even though Angelica Graynamore was like no other woman Dean had ever met, the first time he saw her, he felt like he'd seen her before. She was waitressing in a small coffeehouse a few hours outside of L.A., and Dean had driven down to interview her while Sam researched water spirits and ocean currents. He'd introduced himself as Special Agent Hanks and before he could even ask about her missing half-sister, she'd cut him off with a breathy gasp.

"You're FBI? How dangerous and exciting your job must be." He shrugged and was about to say something witty, but she abruptly continued, "Don't tell me anything secret and important - I'm totally untrustworthy." She winked at him, her voice lowering to a conspiratory whisper, "I'm a flibbertigibbet."

Dean grinned despite himself. This was exactly why he liked to question the witnesses.

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Dean bit back a sigh and tried not to let his friendly smile look too fake. This was exactly why he hated questioning the witnesses. After three hours of probing Angelica, all Dean was able to find out was that her father hired her half-sister to sail one of his employees to some undisclosed location. She didn't know where they were going, and she didn't know anything else about the employee, Joe Banks, other than he was very wise and had a terrible taste in fashion.

"He's the one who convinced me to stop taking Daddy's money and move," Angelica said for about the third time so far in their conversation. "We only knew each other briefly, but he changed my life."

"So I see," Dean answered politely, but Angelica was already speaking again.

"Although you can see how far I got. Living on my own is so expensive, I have no idea how Patricia has been able to do it for so long. I had to give up painting for now, until I have enough money to buy oils again. Do you paint?"

Dean blinked, "No, not since high school."

"Did you always want to be an FBI agent?"

The abrupt change of topic made Dean scramble for an answer, "Uh, yeah, I guess, although my guidance counselor always said I should look into acting."

Angelica stared at him, "I have no response to that."

The conversation died so quickly that Dean didn't have another topic prepared, so he said the first thing he could think of, "You like painting?"

"Painting is wonderful," Angelica easily picked up from her previous tangent. "It really frees your soul and lets you see the truth and beauty in the dreary mundaneness of grueling daily life."

"Um, that's great," Dean said awkwardly.

"I still write," Angelica continued, and Dean cursed himself. He had no idea how he had lost control of the conversation, and no hope of getting away from Angelica any time soon. Unless... "I'm a poet. I'm not a good one, but I've been told I write well, and sometimes the words just come to me and I'm helpless to do anything but write them down. Do you want to hear one of my poems?"

Dean slipped his phone out of his pocket, the motion hidden under the table. "Sure," Dean kept his eyes on Angelica as he flipped open the phone, dialing Sam by touch. He counted to three and then closed the phone quietly, hanging up.

"Long ago, the delicate tangles of his hair," she spoke slowly, pausing for emphasis, "covered the emptiness of my hands." There was a longer pause, and Dean wondered if that was it. "Do you want to hear it again?" Apparently it was.

"Okay," Dean clutched his cell phone tighter, praying for Sam to hurry his ass up.

"Long ago, the delicate tangles of his hair covered the emptiness of my hands." Another pause, and then Angelica looked at Dean intently, "What do you think?"

Dean was saved from providing constructive criticism by the ringing of his cell phone. He was so grateful that he almost dropped it in his fumble to get the damn thing open and against his ear. Offering Angelica an apologetic smile, he said, "Hello?"

"Dude, what the fuck? Why'd you call and hang up?" Sam sounded bitchy and annoyed, and it was the best thing Dean could remember hearing in his entire life.

"Of course, Agent Ryan. That's good to hear," Dean ad-libbed, standing up. Angelica stood up also.

Now Sam sounded confused and worried, "Agent? Wha--Are you in trouble?"

"No, it's no trouble at all, I think we're finished here. I'll be right over to assist you with your investigation," Dean snapped the phone closed and slipped it into his pocket. "Ms. Graynamore, I'm so sorry to cut this short but my partner may have a lead that requires my assistance." He offered a hand and Angelica shook it, "I'll be sure to call you if we have any further questions."

"I'm sorry I've been so inattentive, dominating, opinionated, and loquacious," she held onto his hand for a moment too long and Dean had to almost yank his hand back before she released it.

"It's okay. You have a good day," Dean said as he left, forcing himself to walk briskly and not run away. Next time he was totally gonna force Sam to interview the whack-jobs while he stayed back at the hotel with the laptop and surfed for porn.

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