Subterranean Homesick Blues

Notes: Here it is, the first chapter of the FTM!Dean fic I've been itching to write for forever; I'd not have been able to do it without 1) my homesickness for Minnesota, 2) the help of Exorcistor, and 3) the week off from work. Also, I promise one of the characters who seems like an asshole /will/ get better. The title, while related to the fic, is mostly there because Bob Dylan is from Minnesota and I wanted a musical title to give the fic a more genuine feel.

If Dean Winchester had to pick any state in the union he hated travelling to, save Alaska and Hawaii, as both of those usually involved planes and were instantly on his most hated list, he'd pick Minnesota. There were a lot of reasons for that; the people were too nice, it made him suspicious. It was cold enough for one to freeze one's nuts, both metaphoric and not, off in the winter and there were mosquitos the size of hummingbirds in the summer. On the plus side, there were always attractive women. Minnesota girls were some of the prettiest in the country, if not the world. The Beach Boys may have spoken of the beauty of California Girls, but Minnesota girls were where it was at.

He was sitting in a bar in Spruce Grove Township, sipping a beer and watching the room. There was a pretty blonde girl with big tits playing pool against a Native guy who was, from the looks of it, her boyfriend. Two older men in feed caps sat talking about the corn harvest or something else stupid Dean didn't care about. He drained his bottle, and then looked up at the bartender.

"'Nother?" the man asked. He was tall and looked older than his years. Dean nodded. He was handed another beer, opened it, then took a swig. "You here to visit family?" the bartender asked.

"Nah," Dean said, shrugging, "For business."

"What's your business if it'd take you up here?"

Dean smirked. "Nothin' you want to hear about."

"Try me."

"You heard about those missing girls?"

"Yeah, I know about them. The three Indian girls from up by Red Lake."

"And four others from elsewhere in the county and seven white girls."

"You working the case?"

Dean pulled out a badge. "Agent Keith Moon, FBI," he said with a nod.

"Where's your suit?"

A smirk crossed Dean's lips, not his usual playful smirk, but the 'FBI' smirk. "If you think I'd drive all the way up here from Minneapolis in a suit, you're crazy," he paused, "Elizabeth Carver, she was here the night she disappeared. What can you tell me about that?"

"Liz was a good girl. A good student. But she was confused."

"Confused how?"

The man shook his head. "I don't want to talk about her. She's a good girl. I don't want her in trouble."

"In trouble how?"

The bartender was silent and it was obvious he wouldn't give Dean any more information, so Dean drained his bottle, gave the man a twenty to pay for all the beers he'd drank and walked out of the bar towards the Impala. Unsteadily, he slid the key into her lock, opened her door and got in. He put the key in the ignition and started to drive to the nearest hotel, back in Bemidji.

When he got there, he rented a room, dropped his stuff onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed, still fully dressed.

His first hunt without his father. Without Sam. Without Bobby. Without Pastor Jim. Alone.

Fourteen girl'd gone missing in the past year. From Bemidji and surrounding areas. The cops didn't notice a trend because the victims, other than disappearing out of nowhere every three weeks, had nothing in common. There were six blondes, eight with dark hair. About half were Native, half white. All between the ages of fifteen and twenty-two. Nine were single. Three had boyfriends. One had a husband. One a girlfriend. But all were missing.

When Dean woke up a few hours later, to the sound of the person in the room next door blasting Maxwell's Silver Hammer, he was hung over and still exhausted, but he took it as a sign he should get up, get dressed, and start working the case. He walked into the bathroom, removed his jacket, his plaid shirt, his white t-shirt, and his binder, and then removed his pants and boxers. He stepped into the shower, turning on the water; it was freezing on his bare skin, but he forced himself to wait under it for it to warm up rather than jerking back.

As he stood under the cool water, soaping up a washcloth, he tried to piece together what kind of creature he could be dealing with. A huldrekall could be a possibility. They liked to kidnap women and they were Nordic, just like a lot of people in the area. It'd make sense for one to come across the ocean, following the people who believed in it. It was the wrong area for a taniwha, but that still had to be a possibility. A leshy was also right for the population of the area.

When Dean got out of the shower, he redressed in clean clothes. His binder wasn't fitting quite right; he'd gained five or six pounds since Sam left and all of it had gone straight to his chest, but it was working he supposed. Or would til he could get a better one. He couldn't wait until he didn't have to wear it any more. Til he could just have surgery. But that wouldn't be for a while.

The music being blasted from next door wasn't something tolerable anymore. Some cheesy pop music. He threw on a pair of shoes, grabbed his keys from the table, then walked next door and knocked.

A boy opened the door. He had a chubby, almost feminine face and he was short. He didn't look much older than fourteen or fifteen. He wore a stocking cap. "Yeah?" he asked. His voice was high pitched, like he hadn't gone through puberty yet. Or he was like Dean, just, you know, new at it.

"Boy, you need to either change to better music or turn that shit you're blasting dow-" Dean noticed the papers on the boy's wall, photos of the missing girls. "Who are they?" Dean asked, pretending he didn't know as the boy walked over to the stereo and turned it off.

"Girls who went missing. One's my girlfriend," the boy mumbled. He looked at his feet.

"And you're trying to find them?" Dean asked amused. "Me too. Want to compare notes?"

The boy nodded. "Go get them; I'll show you what I got if you show me what you do." He smiled.

Dean walked back to his room, pulled his file with the information about the cases off the table, walked back outside and handed it to the boy, who took it. "Come in."

Dean did as he was instructed. The kid walked over to his luggage and pulled out a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush. Pink. Odd color for a boy. Maybe it had been his girlfriend's.

"Would you mind if I brushed my teeth?"

"Not at all." Dean pointed to a label on the purse on the cabinet by the bed. "Theresa?" The name didn't ring any bells. She wasn't on the list of reported victims.

"Ma copine." The kid picked up some toothpaste and a toothbrush out of the bag and walked over to the bathroom.

"In English?" Dean crossed the room to better hear the voice muffled by the paste.

"My girlfriend. We were camping in the wood when she disappeared. We'd been hitching down to Saint Paul. She's got an aunt up there. Was going to let us stay with her."

"And you didn't ask your parents for a lift why?"

"We're two lesbians living in the Midwest. Why do you think?" The kid walked out of the bathroom, a small dab of toothpaste by the corner of her mouth.

"You're a girl?" Dean asked.

"You're a real braniac. I'm surprised you haven't found my girlfriend yet," she said mockingly. Then her tone changed. "Yeah, I'm a girl. What, you thought I was a transboy? I'm not. Thank goodness. If things are tough here for dykes, they're worse for transkids."

She was right about that, the Midwest being bad if you were trans, if one didn't pass the way Dean did, but he didn't say anything about it. "So, why haven't you reported her being missing to the cops?"

"Because that'd require reporting to the cops that we were both thrown out of our houses for being a couple, which would have her siblings taken from her parents by CPS. All in all it'd be bad news. So I moved to town to look for her myself. I'm better off just looking for her instead of getting the cops involved."

"If she's alive. What's your name?"

"Call me Kat. And she is alive."

"Dean." He eyed her up. Eyed up her room. Unlike his usually was after a few days, there were no signs of pizza boxes empty all over the floor. The microwave in the corner looked unused. All there was in the trash were a few sardine cans. "When's the last time you ate, Kat?"

The girl was silent, lips pursed together firmly.

"I asked a question." He kept his tone neutral.

"This morning, if you must know. I had some ramen." She was a terrible liar.

"Do you want to go out for breakfast? My treat. We can discuss the case."

"I can pay for myself, thank you very much," she said proudly, crossing the room to pull a wallet out of her bag.

"I didn't say you couldn't. It's just you know more about the case than I do. Want to pay for your knowledge."

Kat set her wallet back down and looked up at Dean. "Alright."

"Come on, this way. We'll take my car into town." They walked to Dean's car.

"Can I use your phone to call someone first?"

He looked at her quizzically, but nodded. She dialed a number, spoke for a few minutes, giving Dean's description and license plate number to whoever was on the other end, and then hung up. "A safecall," she explained. "In case you're not what you seem to be. So my friend can call the cops if I don't call her back within twenty-four hours. Me and Theresa do it when we're hitching. To make sure we don't end up on 'Unsolved Mysteries' or something." Kat smiled, more genuine then before.

"It's a good idea," Dean praised, getting into the car. Kat followed him, studying the inside carefully.

"Expected it to smell like cigarettes," she admitted as they pulled out of the hotel parking lot.

"I don't smoke; neither did my dad or my brother…He's not much older than you."

"Your father?" Kat asked, confused.

"My brother. He's away at school. College. He's eighteen. How old are you?"

"Old enough."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

Dean smirked. This girl may have been an absolute asshole, but he couldn't help but like her. She had spunk.

"You a throwaway or a runaway?"

"Bit of both; my parents gave me the choice. I could stay and go to some bullshit ex-gay camp or I GTFO."

"GTFO?" Dean asked.

"Get the fuck out."

"How you affording the hotel room? They give you money?"

"Fuck no," Kat said with a snort.

"Then how?"

"Well, I'm a young, sexually liberated female travelling the highways and byways of this country and I am quite a looker when I'm dressed in my normal clothes. How do you think?"

Whoring. Well, that was…Dean would not go off on a lecture. She didn't trust him and giving her a lecture would make things worse. "So, you don't usually dress like that?" he gestured to her baggy jeans, plaid button down, ski cap and sneakers.

"Fuck no. These are Terry's clothes. I dress… super girly. Have you heard of Lolita?"

"That book where the guy rapes his stepdaughter? I seen the movie."

"No. It's a type of fashion; combine that with, like, fifties housewife shit and you get how I'd want to dress if I could afford it. I still got long hair and everything under this hat. I'm just dressed like this because guys are fucking asshats if I don't. When Terry gets back, she's gonna go back to dressing like this and faking being my boyfriend." She had her ankles crossed and her right hand placed on her right shoulder, tapping out a beat.

"If you want to pass, don't sit like that," Dean chastised.

"Like what?"

"Crossed ankles for one. And your hand on your shoulder."

"Why not?"

"It's girly."

"Is not."

"When we get to the restaurant, look at guys. Look at how they sit. They spread their legs. Women sit like they want to take up as little space as possible."

"Bull."

"Truth. Look when we get inside."

They stopped at a place called 'Minnesota Nice Café'. Dean got out and stretched. Kat followed him inside, standing at his left shoulder like some kind of trained dog. They were led to a table and they sat down.

"So, what's your theory?" Dean asked, the moment he was sure no one was able to hear their conversation.

"Don't think I'm crazy, but I'm not sure whatever it is was human." Her hand was on her shoulder, tapping again.

"Hand," he prompted. Kat quickly removed it. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, I didn't see it, but if it were human, one, Terry'd have called me, done a safecall, either with her phone or the stranger's. And two…"

"Two?"

Kat pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, pressed a few buttons, then handed it to Dean.

'Hey baby' the voice on the other end said. She sounded nervous. 'I have a bar for like a second. The thing got us, but we're safe. We're…in the woods somewhere. She's very hot. I got a tale to tell…,' then the voice was disconnected.

"What'd she mean by 'I got a tale to tell.'?"

"I don't know. If she had a story, she'd have just started to tell it, not prefaced it."

"'She's very hot'. The creature is a woman."

"Or one of the other girls was overheated."

"What if she was saying I got a /tail/, T-A-I-L, to tell because she wanted to tell us the creature had a tail?"

"Why wouldn't she just come out and say that?"

"If it were a huldra, that would get her killed. They have foxes' tails, but otherwise look like attractive women. The huldra kidnaps men and forces them to have sex with her. Those who are good at it, she keeps, those who suck, she kills."

"But Terry's not a man."

"Most of the guys around here wouldn't sleep with a random woman alone in the woods. They have morals. What if she's targeting lesbians?"

"If she were targeting lesbians, then why would four of the girls be in straight relationships?"

"Bisexual women? Women scared to come out?"

Kat's head swiveled from side to side as though it were a scale, weighing this option. "I suppose. How do you kill it?"

"Not sure. I'll call someone and have them research it."

"If you give me three hours and access to a computer, I can do it."

Dean nodded. "Alright."

Their food came a few minutes later. Kat pulled out a small notebook and a pencil and began to write a note inside it.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked curiously.

"Listing my caloric intake for the day; want to look good when Terry comes home."

Dean took the notebook away and placed it in his pocket, ignoring the girl's protests. "You're going to be hunting. You need to eat and eat as much as you can." He eyed her single egg and two slices of toast, then his own breakfast, far larger and picked up his plate. "Gimme your plate. You're taking some of my hashbrowns."

Kat didn't protest, but she did glare at Dean.