Some of you may remember this story from the last time I published it. I lost the story, had no idea where it was going, then I had a dream the other night about it, only with major changes. So it went from being a Gen fic to a slow-building, canon-divergent Destiel. Sit back and enjoy the ride, I think this is gonna be fun. (Just a warning. It will not update as fast as Cooking with Gas did. I have two Big Bangs, a move, and the CWG Drabbles to work on as well.)
It was one of those perfect neighborhoods, straight out of storybook, or a Lifetime movie, and it only took about a minute for his brother to start cracking Wisteria Lane jokes and comparing the ladies' assets to Teri Hatcher's and wonder out loud who had bodies in their deep freeze.
A long, meandering lane, sprawling Antebellum mansions on both sides, huge, beautifully manicured lawns, magnolia trees and live oaks dripping with Spanish moss, with the most perfect people wandering about, everyone seeming to know each other, smiles, handshakes, and pats on the back abounding, and the whole thing was making Sam Winchester's skin crawl.
Misty Falls, Louisiana, perfect little 'burg about twenty minutes north of New Orleans, was saccharin-sweet and picturesque.
In another lifetime, back in the Stanford days, a scene like this would have warmed his heart. He might have imagined walking down the lane himself, the respectable lawyer, his beautiful blonde wife pushing a baby carriage beside him, the little angel inside blessed with Jess's good looks, and Sam's hazel eyes. Uncle Dean would roll up on the weekends, and scandalize the whole neighborhood with his bad boy charm, classic car, and loud music.
Actually, they'd only been there about ten minutes, and Dean was already doing a damn good job of scandalizing the neighborhood.
Dean had rolled all the windows down, and was on the second loop of Metallica's Saint Anger album, on the titular song, and "fuck it all, fuckin' no regrets" was pouring loudly from the POS car-of-the-week's anemic speakers. Several of the neighbors had already delivered withering stares as they drove past, but Sam made absolutely no move to turn it down.
Turning it down would mean a reiteration of what Dean called "The Cakehole Rule" and then he would jack it up even louder. Sam's ears were close to bleeding as it was. Instead, he fixed Dean with his most disapproving stare, hoping his brother would get the message and take care of the volume himself.
But then again, for such a savvy hunter, Dean did have his oblivious moments, and the volume stayed where it was.
And really, Sam knowing where Dean was mentally, he probably wouldn't have said anything, what with Bobby's death, and Sam's near-miss looming in the rearview. And don't, no matter what, bring up Cas. That wound was just far too raw for Dean to even begin to deal with. There was something going on there, something deeper than friendship, and for the first time, Sam really started to wonder about his brother's relationship with the angel.
Something had happened between them, that much was clear, but Cas was back at the hospital where he'd saved Sam, and he didn't know them anymore. And Dean wasn't talking about it.
So if he wanted his music loud enough to hear three streets over, Sam was ok with that. Really, he was ok with anything that offered Dean a modicum of peace, even if it meant making enough noise to drown out the screams in his brother's head.
Dean pulled the rust bucket (Sam didn't even know what kind of car it was) into a parking spot in front of the perfect little diner in the perfect little center of town. Sam unfolded himself from the tiny car, (really, couldn't Dean have jacked something a little bigger?), and stretched out to his full height, ignoring all the cracking sounds his back made.
"Ah, Sammy, small town livin'! Guy could get used to this!" Dean smiled, as he pulled himself out of the car, and caught the eye of a redhead strolling by, in her pretty white dress, but she didn't give him a second look. He sighed. "This car. This friggin' piece of crap. A guy has needs! And this car does nothing for me in that department! Dammit, I need my baby back."
Another adjustment bugging the hell out of his brother: the loss of his beloved 1967 Chevrolet Impala. He'd been advised to get rid of her after a couple of big mouths ran across the country shooting up banks and diners wearing Sam and Dean's faces and driving a perfect replica of Baby.
Apparently, it was Dean's year to have everything he loved stripped away. Everything he had left, at any rate.
Sam pulled open the door to the diner, and held it for Dean, who was still sulking about the slight from the girl. A smell like home-cooked heaven swept over them, and Dean moaned softly behind him.
"God, I smell pie. Fresh pie. Dude." Dean looked around, as if trying to find the source, and a pretty blonde girl in a white fifties-style waitress' uniform walked by them, a whole steaming pie on her tray. She smiled pleasantly at them with cherry red lips and Dean's eyes widened. "Whoa," he whispered reverently.
"Girl or pie?"
"Hmm, girl or pie, pie or girl?" Dean grinned. "I don't know…umm…both?" Dean's eyes followed her across the diner, widening a little more when she bent over slightly and her tiny skirt rode up a bit. "I am definitely choosing both."
Sam rolled his eyes, and led the way to the nearest booth, folding his long legs under the table and wincing when his knee made contact with the table's leg.
Sliding into the other side of the booth, Dean snatched a menu out of the condiment tray and disappeared behind it, while Sam pulled his laptop out of the case and powered it up. While he waited for the login screen to appear, Sam took in the diner. By far, it was the cleanest one the Winchesters had ever eaten in.
The walls were painted a soothing soft ivory, with pretty black and white prints of some of the town's landmarks hanging on the walls. The booths were deep red leather with oak tables. Potted plants hung everywhere. The counter was a sparkling mix of chrome, spotless white Formica, and chrome and red leather stools.
A gleaming chrome window presented a view of the perfectly clean kitchen, where a cook in a spotless uniform was putting dishes of the most appetizing food out for the waitresses, who were also spotlessly attired and ridiculously gorgeous. Besides the perfect blonde that Dean was still tracking with his eyes, there was a shapely brunette with peaches and cream skin, and a statuesque African American goddess with a thick mane of curly hair cascading down her back.
"Holy cow. Have you even looked at the menu? The burger selection alone…and the scenery, I mean…damn."
"Do they have a Cobb salad? That's what I want."
Huffing an exasperated sigh, Dean glanced through the menu again. "Yes, Samantha, they have a Cobb salad. You want me to order it with an extra side of prissiness, princess?"
"Shut up."
"Make me, bitch."
"Jerk."
The blonde sidled up to the table, notepad in hand, and smiled down at them, and Sam could see Dean practically melt.
"Hi, boys, I'm Clarissa. What can I get y'all today?"
Dean quickly busted out his lady killer grin.
"Well, hello there yourself, Clarissa, I'm Dean, and this Sasquatch over here is Sam."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Tell me, what is that amazin' smell that almost knocked me over when I came in here?"
Sam wasn't sure, but he thought Dean was actually trying to work in a little southern accent of his own. Like he needed anything else in his arsenal.
"Well, Dean, that would be today's special, our cook's own Etouffee. He makes it fresh on Fridays, with crawfish fresh out of the Pontchartrain first thing this morning." She leaned in, deliberately giving Dean access to the view down her shirt. "Tell me sugah, do you like spicy food? You evah had Cajun cookin' before?"
"Mmm, I think I'd try anythin' you recommend, sweetheart."
Sam shook his head, disbelieving that Dean would actually fake an accent. Like he wasn't going to score the girl's phone number anyway.
"Well, then I will put in an order for you, with some of our homemade French bread. It's delish, and soaks up all the goodness at the bottom of the bowl." She finally turned to Sam, and smiled sweetly at him, but there was none of the flirt that she had been dripping on Dean. "What can I get you sugah?"
"He'll have a Cobb salad." Dean replied condescendingly.
Sam huffed. "Actually, Dean, I was thinking the Etouffee sounds pretty good, so I'll have what he's having, thanks."
Clarissa smiled. "Sounds good, be right up boys." She sauntered off to the kitchen, making it a point to make her walk as appealing as possible, and Dean took notice.
"Oh yeah, I am gonna enjoy this place."
"We do have a job here you know."
"I know."
"Might be good to do a little research."
"Don't worry, Sammy, I am researchin' right now."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude. What the hell is up with the accent?"
Dean finally turned back to Sam, shit-eating grin firmly in place. "She liked it."
"Whatever, man, but this place is just too…I don't know, I just want to get this done and get out of here."
"It's so nice though, maybe we could hang out awhile? Take a break, lay low." Dean's face darkened a bit. "I could use a break."
"That really you talking, Dean?" Sam took a good hard look at his brother, noticing how tired his eyes looked. No matter what Dean tried to hide, his eyes gave him away every time. Dean sighed and ran a hand down his face.
"Yeah, you know…just been kinda rough. Guess I am a little tired. Been a long couple of weeks and I'm just…I'm over it." Dean sighed again, leaned his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. "It's ok, we'll do the hunt and get the hell out here." He looked out the window, and watched a family with a baby carriage walk by, the mom smiling and laughing up at the little boy perched on his dad's broad shoulders. Sam watched Dean watch them, and he was surprised to see the look that crossed his older brother's face.
One might say Dean looked…wistful.
Another second, and his walls went back up, and he turned to grin at Clarissa as she brought over their plates.
"Mmm, mmm, mmm, looks good enough to eat!" Dean flashed his lady-killer smile again, only this time, the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. "Food looks pretty good, too."
Clarissa smiled. "Oh it is, honey, it is indeed." She sat two tall glasses on the table. "And some of our Sweet Tea will be just the thing with that spicy goodness. Let me know if y'all need anythin' else."
"Oh you bet I will," Dean breathed.
Sam sighed.
This was going to be a long couple of days.
"Mmmgggdddsoooogggdddddd. Mmmmm."
"Really?"
"Smmygttatryyythss."
Dean's had three pieces of pie. He's had Apple, Cherry, and is halfway through a piece of Pecan. His appreciative moans became more and more orgasmic in nature as he ate, and Sam was so embarrassed, he wanted to go hide in the car.
Dean smacked his lips, the last piece finally gone, and he grinned happily at Sam.
"Dude. I feel like I just got bitch slapped…except I liked it!"
Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes again. He'd been trying so hard to get Dean to focus on the job they had come to town for in the first place. Dean seemed like he planned on parking at the diner all day and eating the "on the house" pie slices Clarissa kept bringing him.
"Dean, we really need to get going. The job's the next town over, and we still need to find a place to stay."
"Are y'all going to Coburn? There ain't no lodgin' over there. Be better off stayin' here in Misty Falls." Clarissa refilled their tea glasses from a glass pitcher, smiling at Dean the whole time. "Mrs. Lucille's is a good place to stay, and she doesn't charge much. You just tell her Clarissa sent y'all over."
"See, Sam? We should just stay here. No rush to leave." Dean gave Clarissa his most dazzling grin, and she fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, just like she had the previous twelve times he used it on her.
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. He might as well not even be sitting at the table. Dean only had eyes for Clarissa, or was at least pretending he did, and she'd only talked to Sam out of politeness. Sam shut his laptop with a grunt of frustration. There was no point in trying to get Dean to focus on a hunt in this mecca of pie and attractive women. He decided they'd go find "Miss Lucille's" and maybe once they were settled, he could get through to Dean.
Clarissa laid the bill on the table, with a huge smile for Dean included, and sure enough, her number was scrawled across the bottom. His brother paid the bill with cash, leaving a monster tip, and Clarissa thanked him prettily.
"So where can we find Miss Lucille's?" Sam asked.
"Just head out of here, and make a right, it's about a block down." She leaned over the table, her skirt reaching obscene levels, and whispered something in Dean's ear that made him blush slightly and grin like an idiot.
That's it. Sam had finally had enough, and he shoved all of his stuff back into his laptop bag. With a solid huff, he launched himself out of the table, and stalked to the front door, hoping Dean would follow.
She watched them from across the diner, her elegant fingers grasping the long handled ice tea spoon, stirring the liquid in the glass idly. Long, glossy black curls rolled over her shoulders, and her blue-violet eyes were cool and calculating as she silently observed them.
They were both attractive in the physical sense, well built, young, tall, and handsome. Both would make perfect additions to the town, really, but it was only the slightly shorter one she was interested in. There was something about the taller one that was off-putting. There was a darkness in his aura that troubled her. A taint, almost, and it was something she didn't think she could work around.
A shame really, he was incredible to look at. Very, very tall, broad shoulders and solid arms, muscles thick and well-defined, almost shoulder-length chestnut brown hair, long lashes framing eyes that were a beautiful hazel shade, green in some light, dark blue in others. At the moment, he was casting a disapproving look at his companion, whom she had deduced was his brother.
And that's who'd caught her attention.
The brother glowed. Like a house afire, a pure, white light shining from every aspect of him. His aura glittered in a rainbow of aqua, green, and softest pink. He was something incredibly special. And it wasn't just the glow, he was beautiful. His eyes were green, intense and fiery, and lined with the longest lashes. He had the prettiest mouth she'd ever seen on a man before, thick, full lips that tilted into a sexy grin or a cute little pout. A trail of freckles ran across his nose and cheekbones, and as he laughed at something the waitress said, he brushed a hand through his spiked light brown hair self-consciously, his cheeks turning slightly pink. There was something deeper to him as well, something lying under the surface that made a lie of his cheerful, carefree attitude.
He'd had his heart broken. And recently.
No matter, she could fix that. She could fix anything. Sure, he was a little rough around the edges in his worn jeans and old t-shirt, but she could work with that.
He was perfect. He was exactly what she needed.
And she fully intended to claim him.
Miss Lucille's turned out to be a lovely two-story brick home just about a block west of the diner. It was surrounded by a small yard with a white picket fence. The yard was completely full of flower beds, with one large magnolia tree filling one side. There was a large wrap-around porch with old fashioned rockers lined up in a neat row against the house's front wall.
Sam led the way up the stairs, happy that Dean had followed him out of the diner with a minimal amount of complaint, and he had to admit, Clarissa was right, this did look like a nice place to stay. If they could afford it.
An older lady met them at the door, white hair piled into an elegant bun atop her head. She had on horn rimmed glasses, a simple blue flowered dress, and her brown eyes sparkled as she held open the screen door for Sam, craning her neck to peer up at him.
"Well, aren't you a tall drink of water!" Her smile was genuine, and Sam couldn't help but smile back. "You must be Sam," she looked down at Dean, who had a duffle slung over his back, and a big grin on his face, "and Dean? Clarissa said y'all were coming."
"See? We should totally stay here! Everyone in this town is like…I don't know…awesome." Sam shook his head, and chuckled at Dean's inarticulate description.
"Well, that depends on how much it costs."
"Oh, now don't worry about that. Clarissa says you have a job in Coburn, and there ain't anywhere to stay over there, so you'll be staying here, simple as that. You can afford $20 a night? If not, I could take $10."
Sam's eyes widened. He'd had no idea it would be that affordable. Maybe Dean was right about this place. "No, it's fine, we can handle $20. Are you sure?"
"Yes, honey, I'm sure. Come on in now, I'll show you to your rooms."
Sam turned to Dean, who looked equally stunned, and silently mouthed rooms? to his brother.
An hour later, Sam sat down at the table in his room and opened his laptop.
He looked around his room again, still finding it hard to believe that not only was his $20 a night paying for this beautiful room, but for Dean's equally nice room next door over. There was a large bathroom between the two rooms, and the doors were both open. He could hear Dean's TV in the other room, and his brother happily singing Metallica songs under his breath.
The room was nice. Hell, it was better than nice. Miss Lucille had given him "The Blue Room", so named because the walls were painted a soft powder blue. There was a wide window with white lace curtains on the wall across from the bathroom, and all the wood furnishings looked to be antique and were of a dark stained wood, Sam thought it might be oak.
What caught his attention was the massive bed. For the first time, in a very long time, Sam would sleep in a bed big enough for all 6'4" of him. No sleeping sideways across the bed here! The fluffy duvet and sheets were pure white, and there were accent pillows in the same shade as the walls. Normally, a room like this would have seemed very fussy, but here, it was simply warm and welcoming.
Dean came through the bathroom, still singing, and dropped some clothes on Sam's bed, then sat at the table across from his brother.
"Nice place, eh Sammy?"
"Yeah, it's pretty good. Especially for us."
"You're welcome."
Sam looked up. Dean had his legs crossed, his bare feet propped up on the table, and his hands behind his head. He had the smuggest smirk on his face. Sam sighed. "Ok, ok, you were right, staying here was a good idea. You want an award or something?"
"Nope. You admitting it is good enough. Although I should make you do laundry or something for the next month."
"Yeah right. You don't let me do the laundry anymore because of that one time."
"Dude! You forgot the softener. My jeans were crispy!"
"Exactly." Sam winked at Dean.
"You did that on purpose?"
Sam burst out laughing. "That was three years ago, and you just now figured that out? Ha!"
Dean glowered for a moment, then sat up straight, Sam's laundry crimes apparently pushed aside.
"So the job?" Dean grabbed the notes Sam had made, and flipped through them.
"So Coburn has a house that was briefly used as a hospital during the Civil War. It sat vacant after the war, then was purchased by the town to use as a library in 1924. The first librarian noted that she felt a "presence" amongst the stacks, but the ghost seemed plenty friendly enough.
"Turned out, one of the original owners of the home was a college professor, and seemed to approve of his former home being used as a library. He worked the friendly ghost angle for years. Then in the last year, Coburn realized they couldn't afford to run the library anymore, and decided to turn the place into a clinic.
"Apparently, the ghost did not agree, and several of the construction workers had terrible, unexplained accidents, including the foreman being decapitated by an encyclopedia."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "An encyclopedia?"
"An encyclopedia."
"Hmm." Dean looked almost impressed. "So this looks like Casper the unfriendly ghost then?"
"Yeah, that's what I am thinking." Sam rubbed his eyes, tired of looking at the screen.
"So salt and burn?"
"Yup. Needed to find the grave of one Terrance Patrick Coburn, member of the original family that settled the town, and his grave is right behind Coburn's only church. Looks like it's going to be an easy one." Which was good, because now that they'd settled in, Sam realized he was just as exhausted as Dean.
"Ok, well I have a date, so I am gonna hit the shower." Dean hesitated a moment, like he was waiting for Sam to argue with him.
"Ok?"
"Yeah, I have a date." Dean almost looked a bit confused, like he wasn't sure what to do.
"So go on your date, then."
"You won't be mad?"
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Dude. Why would I be mad? Go, have fun, and stop acting so weird."
Still not looking convinced, Dean walked into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.
"What the hell was that all about?" Sam asked the empty room.
She watched him leave, followed the trail of his pretty aura with her eyes as he walked up the street and back to the diner, although he seemed slightly troubled, like there was something else he'd rather be doing. He must be going to see Clarissa, she realized, and decided she needed to have a chat with the girl immediately.
She wouldn't have anyone else touching her property.
