Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed. It was a great start to this project, and I feel really good about the response I've gotten. Y'all are awesome. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and that you get some questions answered. If you're reading this and you haven't read "The World As We Know It" and you have any questions, just let me know and I'll try to answer them for you. Please review!
Dean froze, completely at a loss for words. He was used to thinking on his feet, to knowing exactly what to say to make someone buy whatever story he was selling, but when it came to his brother, he had nothing to say. Since his return from 2014, he had gone out of his way to make sure that his brother didn't know about anything that didn't directly relate to fighting Lucifer, and had thought that he was successful.
"What did he tell you?" Dean asked quietly, finally giving in to the realization that there was no way around the question.
"He told me that Cason Butler is a twenty-four year graduate student at Wake Forest University. Apparently, she was an English major with a double minor in secondary education and religion. Now she's working on a master's. in religious texts—"
That part caught Dean off guard. "A master's in religious texts?"
"Yeah. Why, was that not what you were expecting?" Truthfully, that wasn't what he was expecting, but he let his brother continue. "Her parents are Scott and Katherine Butler, both still alive and kicking in Greenville, South Carolina. I can keep going or is that enough for you?" Sam asked, reading off the sheet of notes in front of him.
"Keep going."
"Fine. Cason Butler has no criminal record, nor has her name come up in connection with any other cases that might be our kind of case. I can tell you that she's the bartender at the bar where Charlotte Preston spent the last night before her attack. That's what Bobby found. He said that he would keep digging and then e-mail me a full dossier. After a quick search on the school website, I was able to find out that she is the head of the English Students Alliance. She's also active in the Wake Forest Catholic Community, and organizes debates for the religion department."
"She's a busy woman," Dean commented, impressed. He remembered that she was a brilliant woman, and great with languages, but hearing the details of it was still very impressive.
"She's also a redhead. She fits our rapists profile to the tee."
"Where did you find a picture?"
"Well, I found one online on the English Students Alliance website, but I've also seen the one that you keep in your pocket."
There were many times that Dean found himself completely in awe of the things that his brother could do, but this moment took the cake. He had made sure to guard that picture with his life; he slept with it under his pillow—right next to his Colt 1911—and woke every morning with his hand curled around it. Despite his terrible habit of sending receipts and various other things that might be in his pockets through the laundry, that had never happened to this picture. He even made sure to take it into the bathroom with him while he was showering so that Sam wouldn't find it.
"How did you—"
"Find the picture? It was a few weeks back. You were unconscious after I stitched you up and your phone started ringing. It was in your coat pocket with the picture. Funny thing is, Bobby and I haven't found anything about her having a kid," Sam said quietly, his displeasure obvious in his voice.
The remark caused a tightness in Dean's chest as memories rolled over him.
He was tucked into the backseat of the Jeep, a thick, wool blanket pulled over him to hide him from sight. As he sat and waited for the rest of the team—namely Cason and his future self—to get moving, he contemplated what she had told him in their earlier conversation.
Kendel. He had a little girl named Kendel. He had yet to catch a glimpse of the child, but he already felt tenderness towards her based solely on the way that her mother had talked about her. There was a fierce protectiveness about Cason when he had told him about Kendel, like she was daring him not to love her daughter. And yet, he had seen the softness in her as she thought of her daughter. How could he not love a little girl that inspired that in a woman like Cason?
And what a woman she was. She had answered all of his questions boldly and without flinching, even when he had asked about Kendel's biological father. He heard her words echoing over and over in his mind.
"After he had his way with me, to put it delicately," she had said. Ryan Hadley, she had said his name was. Ryan Hadley had somehow managed to get a drop on this warrior woman and had raped her; she hadn't let that break her. Instead, she took the gift of her daughter and turned her life into something beautiful in the middle of the end of the world.
When she had visited him earlier, he had promised to change the world, to stop this croatoan-ravaged future from happening. His future self had filled him in on how things were supposed to go, but he wasn't sold on it. There was too much guesswork, too much that could go wrong, and from the way that they were talking, he could tell that they both knew it.
"Mommy and Daddy have to go on a mission. You're going to stay with Mrs. Mel and Mr. Yaeger," Cason was explaining outside the Jeep.
"You're going to have a good time with them," he heard his future self say.
Dean knew that if he peeked over the seat, he would catch a glimpse of that little girl, and he couldn't resist the temptation. Very quietly, he pushed a corner of the blanket off of his head and looked out the window.
His future patchwork family was standing beside the car. He could see his future self standing there, a little girl in his arms. She had a head full of bouncy red curls and chubby cheeks that were begging to be pinched. Her eyes were wide and filled with tears as she clung to his future self, begging them not to go.
"I don't want you to go," she begged, hugging him tighter.
"Sweetheart, we have to go. I don't want to, but sometimes…sometimes we have to do things that we don't want to do. But that doesn't mean that we love you any less, okay? Your father and I love you very, very much. More than anything else in the world," Cason told her.
"Rots and rots?" Kendel asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Rots and rots," he answered, kissing her lightly on the forehead. "Can I get a good luck kiss from my girl?" She nodded and kissed her father on the cheek. "Give your mom one, too." She kissed her mom and clung to her dad, not wanting to let him go. Watching the scene, Dean felt a pang in his chest.
"I don't want you to go…"
A tightness rose in his throat as he thought about Kendel begging her parents not to leave her. Of course, the fact that he had been holding her as she said those goodbyes made it all the more heart-wrenching for him to think about. It took him several moments and several deep breaths before he was able to speak again.
"She doesn't have a daughter."
Sam stared at him long and hard, clearly expecting an explanation. Dean sighed and stared at his hands, wondering if there was any way for him to get out of this without spilling his guts. Seeing her just an hour ago had shaken him up, and he still wasn't ready to share his feelings, not after he had fought so hard to keep them locked up.
"When Zachariah sent me to the future, Cason was my second-in-command. The other me, I mean. The future me. She had a little girl."
That was all he could bring himself to say, and thankfully, Sam didn't push it. He had known his brother long enough to know exactly what that look in Dean's eyes meant. It was the kind of look that said it hurt too damn much to talk about, and that's all she wrote. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder and didn't speak, didn't ask for any further clarification. Yeah, he still didn't know everything, but his brother's reactions were enough to tell him everything.
"Well, I went to talk to Charlotte Preston. She pretty much told me exactly the same thing that she told police. She was getting into bed, saw the bright light and then knew there was someone in the room with her. The only thing that differs from the other reports is that she said she heard a loud noise outside her window, like a bird's call," Sam said.
"A bird call?"
"That's what she said. I've got the computer searching for any connection between the fire and the bird call. I also found that Charlotte Preston wasn't the only one who was at that bar the night she was attacked. Three of the five were there before they were attacked, and the other two worked there. They were attacked on their night off."
"Shit. How come we didn't see it before?"
"No one put it in each of the files. I didn't find out until I asked the officer in charge, and that was the first time he had thought about it."
"Damnit…okay. We've got to head back to the bar tomorrow—"
"Yeah, we've got to look at all the staff. There's a strong possibility that it could be one of the people who works there, or hangs out there—"
"She works there, Sam."
Sam didn't bother to ask who he was talking about; after the conversation they just had, he already knew. He also knew that it would be pointless to suggest that his brother go to sleep, because there was no way in hell that was going to happen.
"She fits the pattern of victims, doesn't she?" Sam asked, glancing at the picture of her from the ESA website.
"Yeah. And she's head bartender at the bar where all of our victims have worked. She's on duty right now. The bar closes at two."
"And you want to stake out the bar until the window of opportunity passes?"
"Damn right. You coming with me?"
Sam grabbed his jacket and the files and headed out the door. Ten minutes later, they were sitting outside the bar, watching a slew of people come and go. Now that it was later, the rougher crowd had shown up and when they left, they weren't exactly in a good way. When closing time finally rolled around, the drunks were exiting in droves. A small armada of taxis pulled up in front of the bar, where Cason was waiting to put her drunken clientele safely inside.
"That's her?" Sam asked quietly, pointing at Cason.
"Yeah, that's her."
"God, she's just his type. She's…small, red-haired. Does she have—"
"Green eyes? Yeah, she does."
"And don't look now, but she's is headed right for us," Sam murmured, suddenly very interested in the file in his lap.
A few seconds later, there was a tapping at Sam's window. Not surprisingly, Cason was standing outside the car, looking in. Sam quickly rolled down the window.
"Sorry guys, bar's closed. We're open from 4 PM to 2 AM, if you want to come back tomorrow—"
"Hey, Miss Butler," Dean said, leaning across the seat so that she could see his face.
"Agent Winchester," she answered, an edge of worry in her voice. "What are you doing here?"
He sighed. "Can we talk?"
"Um…yeah, sure. I haven't locked up yet. Come on in."
They quickly climbed out of the car and followed her into the bar. In the light of the streetlamps, Dean could see the outline of a gun tucked into the waistband at the back of her pants. It should have made him feel better about her security, but how many women wore their pistols tucked into the back of their pajamas?
Cason immediately took her place behind the bar and began cleaning up, while Dean and Sam sat at barstools on the other side of the bar. Sam took a moment to study the woman that had somehow managed to bewitch his brother—not literally, of course. She moved with confidence around the room, owning anything and everything she touched.
"I'm Cason Butler," she said, extending her hand to Sam. "Though I'm sure you already knew that."
"I'm R—"
"This is my brother and my partner, Sam Winchester," Dean explained, quickly cutting off his brother. Cason eyed them curiously, but she let the lapse go. As she turned her back to put up a bottle of bourbon, Sam gave Dean the "what the hell are you doing giving her our real names" look.
"Brothers and partners, huh? I bet that makes for interesting Sunday dinners."
"If we had Sunday dinners, yeah," Dean answered with a small grin.
"You realize that there is a serial rapist on the loose, right?" Sam commented dryly. "And that you fit his profile to a tee?"
"I thought I already went over this with your brother. I'm not letting him affect me. It's my life, and I'll live it how I please. Now, I'm sure that you didn't come to hang out and ask me the same questions that your brother did earlier."
"Did you know that all of the victims have either worked here or spent the evening before their attack here?" Sam asked.
"I knew about Katherine and Lindsey. Your brother told me about Charlie earlier this evening. I took more precautions after Katherine was attacked and we keep more security on staff. We've tried to be more cautious about how many drinks we're serving and who we're serving them to. No one had mentioned it being a pattern, and I didn't really think about it because we're a pretty popular bar. We've had to turn people away before because we're overcrowded," she answered quietly.
"I saw you calling taxis for some of your patrons. Is that something you usually do?"
"When I first started working here, not so much. I mean, we would if someone was really bad off, but mostly we would just try to put them on a bus or call someone to come get them. But when Boston took over a year ago, we started cleaning up a little more: calling taxis, more security cameras, more lights in the parking lot."
"Boston?" Dean asked as Sam jotted the name down in his little notebook.
"His real name is Stephen Philips. He's originally from Boston, and he's got the accent to show for it. He's usually around and in the house from when we open at four until nine or ten on Mondays, Wednesday, and every other Friday," she explained as she wiped down the counter and scraped some trash into a bucket.
"That's a weird schedule."
"He owns another bar in Greensboro, so he spends time there, too. I manage the bar when he's not here and close on nights when I work."
"And you're not the least bit worried for your own safety?" Sam asked skeptically.
"I didn't say that I wasn't worried," she said, putting her pistol on the bar. "I said that I wasn't going to let him—whoever he may be—change my routine. I've just taken some safety precautions."
"Do you mind if we come in tomorrow night and have a look around?"
"It's fine with me. Boston will be in tomorrow, so you can talk to him if you'd like. Or I can give you his card."
"Can I have one of his cards?" Dean asked. She nodded and grabbed one of his cards off of the counter.
"Is there any way we can have access to your security footage?" Sam said, eyeing one of the cameras mounted in the corner.
"The police came in shortly after you left and took the footage from yesterday. They've also got the stuff from Katherine's attack. Lindsey was attacked on her night off, so we don't have any useful footage."
"How about footage from the night before last, and then the day before and of Lindsey's attack? Can we have that?" Sam asked, his mind working in overtime.
Cason seemed to think about it for a minute before throwing caution to the wind. "What the hell? If Boston doesn't like it, he can go to hell. If it could help catch this son of a bitch, you can have it. You'll just get a warrant anyway. I'll grab it for you." She headed into one of the back rooms, leaving Sam and Dean alone at the bar.
"Whatever play you're planning on making, you do realize that it could blow up in your face, right?" Sam said to his brother as soon as Cason was gone.
"I'm not going to make a move on her, Sam. Jesus," Dean snapped back.
"Are you kidding me? You were grinning at her and turning on the charm!"
"I am not!"
"You don't even realize that you're doing it, do you?"
"Sam, I just want to keep her safe, okay? She's stubborn as hell and it's going to get her killed if she's not careful," he answered quietly. The look Sam gave him showed just how much he didn't believe him, but neither of them said anything.
When Cason returned, she finally broke the silence. "Here you go. This should be everything that you're looking for. Is there anything else you need?"
"No, that should be everything," Dean replied. "If we need anything else—"
"You know where to find me. Now, since we're done, I'm heading home," she finished for him.
"Let me walk you to your car," Dean offered. Cason smiled and let him walk her across the parking lot. The lights were on, but her car was parked in the back of the lot to make room for customers to park closer to the building.
"That's your car?"
Cason grinned. "That's my baby," she said as they approached her cherry red 1965 Mustang. "He's probably not the most practical with gas prices being what they are, but I love him. It was a project for me and my dad to work on when I was in high school."
"It's nice. The trunk's a bit small—"
"What are you keeping in your trunk? It's plenty big," she answered. As they got closer to the car, a look of shock and disbelief came over her face as she noticed that all four of her tires were flat. "Son of a bitch! That's going to bend the rims!"
Immediately, Dean knelt beside the car and studied the tires. They hadn't been obviously torn open, but there were several small slashes. He noticed that she had several nails in the tire.
"This wasn't an accident," he told her. When he looked back at her over his shoulder, she already had her pistol out and at the ready. Clearly, she agreed with him.
"Did they have to ruin my tires and my rims? Whatever happened to the good ole' lurk-in-the-shadows-and-knock-her-on-the-head technique?" she quipped, an edge of anger in her voice, though Dean could tell that it was to cover her fear. He knew better than anyone that it was easier to be angry than afraid.
"He wants you conscious."
"What?"
"All the victims of this guy have been awake when they were attacked. He wants you scared," Dean said quietly, pulling his gun as well.
"Fantastic." She quickly pulled out her phone and called the police department. Normally, she would be more annoyed than worried, but with the way things had been going for red-headed women, she was feeling more cautious than usual.
The police sent a squad car out to the bar to look around and take pictures; the entire time, Dean and Sam stayed with Cason—not that they she needed them for moral support. She handled the questions with patience and confidence. No, she didn't have any enemies that would do this to her car. No, she hadn't noticed anyone out of place at the bar tonight. Yes, she knew of the recent rash of sexual assaults against women fitting her physical description.
By the time the police were finished with their questions, it was after four o'clock in the morning.
"Would you like a ride home?" one of the police officers asked her quietly. She glanced at Dean, who nodded quietly.
"No, that won't be necessary. Thank you, though," she whispered.
Dean led her to the Impala, where Sam was waiting for them. There were dark circles beneath his eyes—Dean and Cason had some to match. They were all exhausted, and it was written all over their faces.
"Nice car," Cason said quietly as she listened to the engine roar.
"Let me tell you about it when you'll actually remember it. Where to?"
"I'm not going back to my apartment. There's a hotel on University Parkway. I'll stay there for the night and go home in the morning."
Sam gives Dean a pointed look, just in case his older brother had forgotten that this was the hotel where they were staying. Dean hadn't forgotten, but having her that close to them was not bothering him the way it was his brother. Neither brother said a word to Cason until after they got her checked in.
"This one's yours," Sam whispered, before heading back to their room, leaving Dean and Cason alone. They walked to her room in silence.
"If you need anything, Sam and I are in a room downstairs. Room 123."
She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "You weren't going to tell me that this was your hotel until after I checked in?"
"Maybe I should remind you that you picked the hotel?" Cason shrugged. "And I figure that it can't hurt for you to be close to us. Maybe when he sees how close you are to us, he'll be less likely to try to attack you."
She grinned, though her exhaustion made it look more like a grimace. "Soon you'll be telling me that you'll be able to keep me safer if you're in my room."
The words hit Dean hard as he remembered part of the conversation he had had with her future self, and the grin was gone from his face. Yeah, he wanted her. He had history with her…a future with her? It was all too complicated for him to think about. But however he looked at it, he knew things about her that she didn't know that he knew, and that put them on uneven footing. He had an advantage over her that he wouldn't ever act on.
"I'll never try to trick you into doing something you don't want to do," he said quietly. She stared at him to a long moment, unsure of why their conversation had taken a turn for the serious. She could see the tension in his body, but didn't understand it. But whatever the reason for it, his words were odd, but comforting.
When she didn't answer, he continued, "If anything seems out of the ordinary, we're right downstairs. Don't hesitate to call."
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for everything."
"Anytime."
