This is undeniably a rather rough version of this chapter, one that I just now finished typing at 4:30am and haven't yet had edited, so I'd appreciate people pointing any mistakes or rough patches out to me! To understand the entity of references, both the Trixie Belden series and the Supernatural series do have to be known, but you can probably muddle through without them. Hope you enjoy!
Wimpy's just wasn't the same when it was the middle of an endless Summer and they'd spent the week before that gorging themselves on Moms' hamburger patties by the lake, but then that body had been found at Ten Acres and now Wimpys was the only place they had left. Frankly, it just plain rankled Trixie Belden.
This was a mystery and the first she'd had in a long time, otherwise locked away in her studies, researching and writing about cases when she'd solved those that were so much more exciting. And now, she was home, with an actual mystery practically in her backyard and she wasn't allowed to so much as look at it; both Moms and Sergeant Mollinson had been perfectly clear about that.
Perpetually summer-tanned legs kicking out and around the legs of her chair, Trixie blew her sigh through her straw, watching as her milkshake bubbled up the sides of the glass in turn. "Say, Honey," cerulean gaze flickered up, judging her best friend for her willingness to answer the question that had been nearly perpetual from Trixie's lips since they'd all been piled in the BWG station wagon that morning, asked to drop Bobby off at the Lynches on their way in to town where they were to occupy themselves for the day. Despite being adults and despite Trixie's reluctance because she hadn't had a decent mystery all summer, they had complied and spent the morning window shopping, with Trixie plying Honey and Jim with all the questions that she could.
"Trixie," amusement dances into Honey's voice, where on near anyone else's there would be annoyance. That is why she's Trixie's best friend though, because she knows that her curiosity is such an innate part of her that to grow annoyed at it is to stifle the curly haired blonde, "You know I've told you everything I know." She after all, had been privy to information when Trixie hadn't been, the property belonging to her adopted half-brother and still signed over into her father's trust by Jim. So it had been the Wheelers that had answered Sergeant Mollinson's questions that morning while Trixie watched on from the edge of the garden, telling Moms that she was getting the chicken eggs so that she wouldn't be stopped for just five minutes. From that far away, she'd been unable to either hear, or see anything that might have been of use and instead, probably as Moms had planned, she'd had to turn back inside all too soon, with the beginnings of a mystery coiling uneasily in her stomach.
Yet for Trixie, Honey didn't know nearly enough, the blonde pouting at the response and her legs kicking impatiently again and blue eyes slightly sulky. "I can't believe this," Trixie was prone to over dramatics when the time suited and she didn't disappoint now, curls bouncing as she expressed her disappointment loudly, "There's a real mystery, a real honest-to-goodness mystery at Ten Acres, Honey and we've been sent out here like we're nothing more than Amateurs."
"Technically Trix, we are," Honey didn't sound so amused anymore, but she certainly didn't sound as upset as Trixie had been and that was like it had always been; she'd followed he friend to Jim, to trouble and out of it, to university and now, if Trixie had her way, to this.
She was quick to argue anyway, pout perching itself on rough bitten lips as she rushed to point out all the ways in which they were [i]not[/i] amateurs and honestly, didn't Mollinson know by now that Trixie was born for this? And hadn't she helped him out enough by now that he wouldn't try keep her away? Yet, that was exactly what he'd done, going through her parents this time instead of just warning her away himself, and effectively stalling even the idea of investigation the way that he'd never managed to do when she'd been a teenager.
"Ugh," there was a pause, Trixie draining the rest of her milkshake and casting a critical eye over Honey to check that she'd finished eating, "Let's just head back to the farm, yeah? I'm sure Moms is more than ready for someone to come reign Bobby in about now."
"Buck up Sammy, this should be an easy case for once," smirking from the driver's seat, Dean turned to his brother for a moment before moving his attention back to the unfamiliar road in front of him, navigating the Impala up an unfamiliar stretch of driveway. There was no response beside him save the shuffling of papers, the younger, dark-haired boy studying the information they had so far so that they'd be prepared as possible when they stepped out of it. The amount of information they did have was truly a luxury that had become rare in recent years. Sleepyside was a small town and they'd only needed to open the rather rudimentary website that held the online edition of its paper to find a starting point. The location – a place called Ten Acres – was being redeveloped and the ground had been broken the day of the first murder and the property owner, a James Winthrop Frayne, seemed to be beloved in the town, with a little digging on him bringing up a history of fundraising and seemingly sainthood. The boy was a fucking boy scout and Dean had scoffed at it to start with; no one could be that squeaky clean. But if he had secrets, they couldn't find them and the only connection he had to the dead man was as employer; he could barely be connected and he'd be surprised if the local police attempted to forge one.
There was definitely something that seemed unnatural about it though, a kind of intuition that had twisted in Dean's gut when Garth had phoned it in, backed by the fact that for all his oddities, Garth had come a long way in the self-fashioned role he'd taken after Bobby's death. The man knew what he was talking about, more times than not. Especially so when he was passing a case off and especially so when it was to Dean he was talking to.
With a final crunch of gravel, the Impala came to a stop and Dean took one last look in the rear vision mirror, craning slightly upwards this time and adjusting his tie before nudging Sammy, just in case he'd gone too far in his head again, before clambering out of the car, one hand already reaching for his badge. Practiced ease flicked it open for the first person that he came across, his peripherals showing Sam doing the same beside him and soon enough they were directed to the officer running the show for the moment. "Agents Smith and Thompson," Dean still hates using these names, because there's no soul, no personality to them and he feels slightly lost without the personas and identities he'd cultivated through a shared love with his father, but they've become used to them by now and he can't deny that they're harder to track. Even in the FBI there's likely a dozen agents with the names they give them and if tracked, they'll be harder to pin down as fake. And then they'll be harder to find.
Here though, it's tempting, because the man doesn't even blink before offering his hand gruffly, "Sergeant Wendell Mollinson. You guys are out here because Wheeler's kid owns the land, right?" Dean's eyes slide sideways to Sam for a moment, because they'd come across the name Wheeler in their articles, but they'd assumed it had talked about the girl – Honey – a name that had brought a smirk from Dean instead of a snort, especially when printed right alongside Trixie. They sounded like his kind of girls. The Sergeant didn't seem to be talking about her though and he could only assume that yes was the right answer to give, Sam just beating him to the, 'The Sergeant didn't seem to be talking about her though and he could only assume that yes was the right answer to give, Sam just beating him to the, 'Yes,' that did indeed prove to be the right one.
"Kid's had enough trouble getting this off the ground already, if you ask me," information came forwards wrapped in a gruff voice that reminded Dean vaguely of all too many men in his life, the ones that had all seen too much, "Council didn't want to rezone the land for his school and once they got that sorted, they couldn't get most of their equipment going. Phones still tend to bug out," there was more, after that, but Dean had stopped listening, because they had the proof that something supernatural was here and now they only needed to find out what and where so they could gank it and move on. They'd be here a few days, tops and it would almost be a vacation for the pair of them.
"So you think that this crime is related to Mr. Frayne then?" Sam had always been better at talking to the police than Dean was, because he didn't lose his patience in the same way and the elder Winchester was already champing at the bit, ready to get out there and probably not likely to be nice to the Sergeant if he kept warbling his answers the way he was now.
"Had to be. The victim, well, we haven't identified him yet, but definitely not from around here. Quite a few ring ins for this project. Jim wanted to keep it local, but just not enough trained men."
"And any enemies? Anyone that might wish to cause Mr Frayne or his project harm?"
The moment of hesitation was clear before the police officer offered up information, although Dean didn't think that he was lying when he did. "Anyone that would's locked up by now. But the only real one would be his stepfather; nasty piece of work he is, in jail like the rest of them. The others, well they're probably more concerned with the Belden girl." There's something in his voice that Dean can't quite place, a mixture of concern and something sounding almost like disdain (although he supposes that he can almost understand, some of the stories that they'd come across with the name Belden attached had been crimes that a group of teenagers had solved, rather than the local police) but he jumps on the latest piece of information, with a hurried, "Think we could talk to her then? Anything could be a clue at this stage."
The disdain curls its way onto Mollinson's face this time, even as he raises a hand to gesture down the hill, "Lives right down there. Well, on the holidays anyway, she's off at University now. And that's her car turning in now, if I'm not mistaken," the man sighs, his head shaking slightly, "She's supposed to be in town. Else she's just going to come sneaking up here for clues in a minute."
"Well we have some questions to ask for her," it was Sam again, diplomatic as always when really all Dean wanted to do was point out that she'd made more headway on cases than Mollinson had in the past and she'd probably do the same just sneaking up for clues, "perhaps we can give her something else to occupy her as well then?" And keeping her otherwise occupied was in their best interests too, because they didn't need her getting in their way when something supernatural had started killing people. Especially when it was possibly someone that had a bone to pick with her. Mollinson grunted his approval, shoulders shrugging as if passing responsibility of keeping this Belden girl under lock and key over to the pair of them. Fair enough, Dean had a few tricks up his sleeve that he was fairly sure this man couldn't even conceive of trying.
"There's another car up there," Trixie's tone carried a great deal of petulant resentment even as Honey directed her gently into the house. It had been the first thing she'd locked eyes on the moment she'd stopped her own car, too far from the action for her to be pleased in the slightest. And that there was someone else up there – clearly not a car from the police office's, nor any that she'd ever seen in the town, nor at any crime scene and therefore not one that she should have ever seen at Ten Acres when she wasn't allowed near it was unacceptable. Especially because she didn't know the reason for it being parked up at Jim's place and she wouldn't trust its appearance until she did know. Honey was more accepting, as always, but she allowed Trixie to express her frustration, because there would be no stopping her, no matter how hard she tried to. Instead, Honey busied herself with looking through the Belden's fridge, despite the fact that they'd both just eaten. Perhaps food would calm Trixie down, even if it was a ploy that seemed more suited to her brother.
Trixie didn't quite stop when Honey found the cookies, but she did slow slightly, reaching for one even as she kept her gaze firmly locked on the window and the sliver of Ten Acres that was available to her. "You know this is so unfair right, Honey?" she bit into her cookie with another sigh, spitting crumbs as she continued, "I mean, we know Ten Acres better than anyone! And we're nearly honest to goodness detectives! I mean, in a couple of years we'll be qualified and have our own practice and no one will be able to stop us then!" But they could now and they would and Trixie was just going to die if she had to be this close to a mystery and wasn't able to help solve it.
"Hey, they're leaving!" Trixie sounded infinitely cheerier with the observation, watching the black car pull away from Jim's property, "I bet Mollinson told them to get lost. He can't take anyone solving a mystery before him."
A cozy, two story building, Crabapple Farm was everything a home should be to the boy that hadn't had once since he was a child. It radiated warmth and love and even the chickens clucking faintly in the background weren't something that was annoying him just yet. It was the kind of life that he could have had with Lisa and Ben if… well if Sam hadn't come back and even if he hated that asking Cas to wipe the memories of a family that he'd created for himself, he'd have hated not having Sam even more, so Dean couldn't complain too much. But he could be jealous of this house and the fact that a family lived here, with scattered gumboots by the door and the wheel of a bicycle poking out from the garage.
Dean couldn't allow that jealousy though, mouth set into a line of determination, both for the job at hand and the need to distract himself from the direction his thoughts would otherwise turn in. From the sounds of it, Trixie Belden was going to be more than enough of a handful without him battling a jealousy for her two living parents and relatively normal upbringing. At the very least, the trouble that she'd been involved in seemed to be mostly instigated by her. Not by demons or angels or wars that Dean was sick to death of. They had an easy case though and he sucked air through clenched teeth repeating just that to himself as crossed the yard, reaching once again for his badge.
It was Sam that reached the door first though, having had the head start while Dean locked the car and it was his voice that rang clear, even above the pounding of his fist against the door.
"FBI. We've got some questions for you."