Author's Note: Alright :D Got some of you interested, and that's all I ask for! Thank you for the kind reviews and as always, I hope you enjoy greatly.
Secondly…anyone else disappointed by 7x17? I ended that episode trying not to throw my remote at the tv…
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, and this chapter has swearing, and Dean being…well…Dean.
Chapter Two: In Wine, There Is Truth
Sam never really liked sleeping. It hadn't been kind to him since he'd watched Jess burn above him back when he had his old life...the one where Demons and blood and monsters didn't fill every shadow. Now though, sleeping was almost akin to torture. Every time he managed to drift away, it was Jess, it was Dean, beat to shit in a hospital bed fighting off a reaper, or, the worst of it, Sam and his father screaming at each other during that last fight, and then seeing his father on the ground after, not breathing. Dead, just like that, and Sam's last words to the man were allegations that he didn't give two shits about his kids.
He flinched as the sleep was dispelled from his system, and a short dose of adrenaline replaced the darkness. With a groan, he lifted his groggy head away from the window of the Impala, and tried to stretch himself out. He was too big for this car...or any car for that matter.
Sam glanced over to the driver's side, and noticed it was devoid of his brother, but the keys were still in the ignition. With a yawn that had earned his nickname 'Moose', he glanced out the window and was met with the mini migraine that came with staring directly into cheap Neon.
Lucky Draw Motel.
Ah, this week's home sweet home. Sam frowned as he ran a hand over his face, feeling the imprint of the Impala's leather interior on his face. Awesome.
He popped the trunk, and went to open the door when he was smacked across the face by the bitter cold that instantly engulfed him in an annoying embrace. "Holy Shit." he hissed as he reached back for his jacket before leaving the car. He went back and grabbed his bag and laptop case when he heard boots approaching him.
"Sleep well little Angel?"
"Shut up Dean."
"What? It's a fair question! You were seriously out too! I had Enter Sandman on full blast for like five miles before Igot a headache."
"Yeah well, guess I was just tired." Sam supplied as he blew into his hands. "Shit, let's get this stupid hunt over with. It's cold as all Hell here."
Dean nodded his agreement, and grabbed his bag. "Yeah no shit. Boston isn't exactly a winter hotspot, ya know." He tossed his bag over his shoulder, grabbed the keys, and lead Sam upstairs to a room on the far left. The younger Winchester glanced at the room number, or lack of one...
"Ace of Spades?" he questioned as Dean shrugged.
"What? It's a good song." he defended as he pushed the door open.
Inside, the boys took in the wallpapered walls that displayed the four suits of a card deck in a never ending pattern across the room. The twin bed's comforters were done up like A Queen of Spades, and even the pillows were shaped like spades. Sam looked at Dean, who just grinned back. "Feel like gambling yet?"
"Shut up Dean."
An hour and a half later found Dean singing Ace Of Spades as loud as he possibly could in the shower, while Sam sat at his laptop, hair drying in curls around his head. Eyes scanned the news for anymore mention of Tomas McMullen. He happened upon the website that looked credible enough, and he read through the words.
Tomas McMullen is a published author of two bestselling books in the Chained series. The Ireland born Bostonian's life was recently cut short by an unexpected and tragic suicide, before he could complete the fourth book in the series. Fans everywhere mourn the loss of both the author, and the fate of his beloved characters.
Man, something had to be off about that. It didn't make sense, this guy was racking in dough, but he threw himself off a building. Even if he was depresssed enough, he'd have the means to kill himself in a less painful way. But it didn't seem likely that an author would leave his fans screwed over like that.
Sam shook his head and looked up a couple of Boston's newspapers, and looked for the story about Tomas' death. As he reread the article, his checklist formed in his head.
Check the body
Find out what he could about Tomas
Find this Kevin Tyler, and find out who was with him.
Whoever she was, she saw something with red eyes, and if the information was right, she might have seen some pissed off Demon.
Which reminded him...he'd need to see if there was a crossroads around Tomas' house.
Dean walked out of the bathroom then, pulling on a black shirt. "Find anything?"
"Not much." Sam admitted. "We need to find out some more about this guy though-"
"Way ahead of you little brother." Dean assured him. "Get a jacket, we're going deeper into Southie."
"What? It's like midnight."
"Yeah, and when I checked us in, there was a sexy little thing talking to the clerk about a bar that's giving Tomas a sendoff tonight. So I chatted her up a bit, and I'm supposed to meet her there tonight. It'll be a boatload of information."
Sam frowned. "You think that's a good idea?"
"Oh yeah. She had an Irish accent, and a tongue ring Sammy. A tongue ring. Damn you ever gotten sucked off wi-"
"So not what I meant Dean. I mean is it a good idea for you to go to an Irish bar?" He shook his head again, ignoring his brother's faraway look. "Aren't like the English unwelcome there?"
"Come on Sammy, does this look like the dark days? I think I'll be fine gathering information with my new Leprechaun friend, and maybe some time after..."
"Yeah well, you information gather on your own. I call dibs on the room."
"Dude you can't call dibs!"
"You call dibs every day! It's so my turn!"
"Call dibs on something else man! I need the room!" Dean slammed his hand down on the dresser. "Tongue ring Sammy! Tongue. Ring."
"Well Dean, if you really do got a leprechaun, then she'll fit in the Impala." Sam threw his legs up on the slightly sticky coffee table and looked pointedly at his brother. "And decide quick, cuz it's past Midnight there, Cinderella."
"Sammy, dude. You are such a bitch."
"You raised me, jerk."
The cigarette snuffed out with a small curl of smoke as the blood reached the dying ember. Erin's body shook as she gazed and the mangled mess of flesh that lay only feet from her. Tommy, Tommy had just jumped from a window, and landed.
She screamed, and leaped for the body, but Mr. Tyler's arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her back. "No! You can't touch him!" He ordered, as she struggled towards him. "You can't touch him or the police will think you were involved!"
Erin froze then, that word echoing through her head louder than any of the screaming.
The police.
"Oh no Mr. Tyler, no. Ye can't call them!" She ordered as her body went slack in the older man's arms. "Ye can't call them."
"I have to Erin, I can't just leave him out here like this!"
"Wait then, please just wait. I need…I have to be gone when they get here." She briskly explained as his arms around her were released. "I don' think my papers check out, and me an' Mitch, we ain't livin' on books either." Her words traveld out of her mouth like vomit. She couldn't control herself anymore.
Mr. Tyler only nodded, and jerked his head back towards there building. "I'll wait five minutes. Make sure you're warm in your bed by the time you hear the sirens. I won't tell them who was with me."
"Thank ye." She almost sobbed as she threw her arms around the other man. He only nodded, and Erin took off at a run. Looking back only once to see Tommy's dead eyes staring at her. There was no fear, or sadness. He looked almost…better than he had in years.
She knew Erin thought as the steps between her and the body multiplied. Whatever the hell that creature was…she knew this was going to happen.
And even though she felt almost feverish between the running, and the energy buzzing under her body, Erin shivered.
Erin O'Conner gave yet another massive jerk as her mind tried to escape the visual of Tomas' body breaking on impact with the spray of blood that decorated the ground beneath him.
The sight of blood snuffing out the dying cigarette on the road.
Her hands fought against thin sheets and the one throw blanket her and Mitch owned. She thrashed against the fabric constraints and woke only when she felt her body impact with the artic feel of her apartment's concrete floors. Her eyes flew open, and she coughed out a swear, and tried to pull herself up.
"Awh fuck me." She growled and got up, bringing the blanket around her. "Aye, 'M sorry Mitch. I must be keepin' ye up-" She turned to face her boyfriend, and was met with an emtpy matteress. Her eyebrow's knit together and she looked towards her door. "Mitch?" she called out, and was recieved with a quiet muttering.
Erin's blood froze, and she lost her breath. That creature with the red irises and streaming tears flashed through her mind once more before she steeled herself. No, it wasn't real. No way was it real. It was just her overtaxed mind creating something out of nothing. Afterwords, she'd barrowed her boss' computer to look up the idea of seeing things randomly, and honestly, it had given her a pretty convincing argument. It had been dark, late, cold and she had been alone. Erin was practically the opening scene in every scary movie with that walk home, not to mention the fact that she'd just gotten off work, and had been bone tired since she'd started taking over her and Mitch's shifts separately. So, no matter what her brain wanted her to believe, it hadn't really happened. What was real, was Erin's obvious need for some rest. But that thing she'd believed that she saw?
It wasn't real.
Erin's feet padded against the floor as she walked into the small living room that made up most of their place. Mitch stood on the center of the room, his blonde hair sticking every which way, and paint covering his exposed chest and sweatpants, and most of their furniture. She stood in shock at the sight, and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. "Mitch?" This wasn't exactly uncommon. It was a side effect of living with an artist. They were prone to random hits of creative intellect.
"Hm." He answered, not turning towards her.
"What're ye doin'?" she asked, eyes narrowed. He turned around and looked almost through her.
"I can see it luv. I can see wha's gonna make us rich!" He gave a vacant grin and gestured to his canvas. "I promised ye everytin', and I'm gonna give it to ye!"
Erin merely rolled her eyes. Yeah, she'd heard all that before. T'was the same snake oil talk that had convinced her to leave the Isle in the first place. "Get ta sleep Mitch. We got a funeral in da morning."
"Huh?"
"A funeral. Fer Tommy? Remember? Our friend fuckin' jumped to his death in front'a me!" Erin yelled, and a foot in the apartment above them beat down on the ceiling.
"Oi! Keep it down!"
"Awh stove it up yer ass ye bogtrotter!" Erin called heavenward. "And ye," her eyes cut to her boyfriend's vacant eyes. "git yer ass inta bed, and be ready fer da funeral tomorrow." She turned on heel, and headed toward her matteress. She fell in face first, and took up as much space as she possibly could now that she knew she had the room to do it.
She hated this, hated everything about it. She closed her eyes and wished it away, the best she could, but when she opened her eyes, she was still staring at her own sad face in the reflection of the glass, and another face was right behind her.
Red irises filling with tears.
"Come on now boyo, ye ain't even had close ta ten." The pair of emerald eyes glinted at Dean as she tossed back another shot. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember her name. He'd just taken to calling her Shamrock after the sexy little stud that danced across her tongue, and his too, when she talked.
"Calm down girl. Not all of us have this running through their veins." He laughed as he saw a group of men a few tables over chant something in a language he couldn't understand, and then an echo of 'To Tommy' followed closely. Actually, all night he'd been hearing chants and cheers like that, and he found it safe to say that he'd found a bar pretty close to where the dead guy had liked to hang his hat.
And Sammy thought he couldn't work and drink at the same time.
"So who's Tommy?" Dean slurred as he looked back over at Shamrock, who played with her red hair that definitely came out of a box.
"He's a friend in dis neighborhood. An' he went an took a dive out his window. "She crossed herself. "God rest his soul."
"That's a shame." Dean frowned. "They think he got pushed? Got a hit out or something?"
"Nah! Everyone loved Tommy. Never hurt a soul! Plus, anyone that read th' books loved him. Everyone loved him..." The girl's face fell, and her eyebrows knit together, comprehension dawning on her face the way it only does when drunk.
"What?" Dean asked.
"Well, he did have a lass, an' it was pretty serious. But she's been in da Isle fer the last year or so, ye know, family problems...but...according ta Erin, he'd been seeing a different lass on th' side." Shamrock whispered. Dean raised his eyebrow. Well, that changed the game.
"Oh really?" Dean asked. "Was it that Erin girl?"
"Oh fuck no." Shamrock shook he head before taking a shot. "Erin's th' usual barkeeper here. She was workin' two nights ago when Tommy died. She's gonna be a mess tomorrow."
"What's tomorrow?" Dean asked, attention span slipping. His gazed traveled from her eyes, down to the cleavage that was peeking out through her sweater.
"Tommy's funeral." She whispered. "Life's short."
Funeral huh? Well, that was going to make viewing the body hard. Sammy was going to throw a fit over that. Unless...
"I sure would like to pay my respects." Dean mentioned, trailing his fingers up the girl's leg. She shivered.
"Then ye should. He deserves to be celebrated." She slurred and grabbed Dean's hand. "So let's go celebrate him."
"Let's do it."
Even with a snowy walk of shame to endure, Dean felt pretty satisfied with himself. Not only had he gotten information on Tommy's other woman, but he'd also discovered when his funeral was. And, of course, the tongue ring. Not a bad haul for one night's work, and he'd even made it back to Shamrock's place, and avoided having to use his Baby. Not that the car hadn't done in a bind or two, but it had been cold as hell, and he didn't exactly want to die with that chick.
The freshly fallen snow crunched under his feet as he headed back towards his motel room. He paused for a second, then reached down and grabbed a fist full of the powder. While he walked up the stairs, he manipulated the snow until it was a nearly perfect sphere. Quickly, he unlocked the room, and found Sam still asleep, mouth hanging open and hand hanging off the bed. Dean lifted his hand to throw the snowball, then Sam whimpered, and Dean second guessed himself. Sleeping, visions, that kid just never slowed down, and now? Now they were just working a case in between trying to find that Yellow Eyed Sum'bich, and it seemed like Sammy was getting tired. Not that Dean could blame him; Dean was tired too, and getting pretty close to being sick of this whole thing. And all they had to show for their hard work was a possible crossroads demon.
But Sammy needed him to be strong, and so, that's what Dean would be. With renewed vigor, Dean took aim and let his perfect snowball fly. It landed perfectly on the exposed side of Sam's face and he enjoyed watching his brother jump eight feet in the air and scream. While Sam was freaking out, Dean was bent over, laughing his ass off. Sam wiped some excess snow off of him, and stared at him. Dean only shrugged. "Snowed last night Sam."
"Dude, what the hell?" Sam asked, looking at his brother in shock. Dean only smiled and sat down on the other bed.
"So how'd the research go?"
"Damn it." Sam muttered as he wiped the rest of the snow off his face and chest. "Well, I found out where Kevin Tyler lives, and we'll be taking another trip down to Southie. And, we should probably head down to the police station and see what they have, and then the coroner. We'll need to take a look at Tomas' body, see if anything on him makes him look like a Hellhound's chew toy." Sam finished. "But that's really all I could dig up on the guy, the rest was just useless."
Dean stretched, and looked at his brother. "Oh yeah, by the way, it might not be a Crossroad's Demon."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, I got it on good authority that Edgar Allen Poe was screwing someone on the side, while his girl back home in the land of Guinness. She's supposedly coming back soon, so, maybe he told the new girl this, and she got mad. Little bit of witchcraft going on here."
"Yeah," Sam rubbed a hand over his face. "That could make sense too…either way; we should check the body, and then his place. You know, for signs of either."
"Well, we can go check out his house all we want, but they're burying McMullen today over at Gate Of Heaven church, so, I highly doubt that you're going to get to view the body." Dean tossed out, and Sam accepted the information with a bitchface.
"Fuck, seriously?"
"Yeah, but don't you worry none. My friend from last night asked me to be her date…so…"
Sam winced. "Please don't say what I think you're going to say."
"Suit up Sammy, we got us a funeral to catch."
Thank yous!:
mb64: Ah! Thank you! I knew there was a typo in there, I just couldn't find it! Thanks for the review! I'm glad you liked it :D
Kjdw: Yes! I don't know how many chapters exactly, but this will have a few more! Thanks for the review!
Kathleensmiles: You'd think pie would be the first thing he'd think of xD Silly Sammy
Awh, it's set in season two xD I don't think there is Cazzy in here :(
And yes xD Dean is awesome...but I'm still a Sam girl xD
Thaks Kathy :)
Chemical Imblance: Why thank you! Hope you enjoyed the update! Sorry if it was a little short!
UrWorstNightmare97: Ah, Dean does love pie. It is pretty fantastic though, so who could blame him? and thank you xD As always Nightmare.
Playwithfire97: I'm not sure yet, I'll have to see what Sam and Dean say abut that xD But I think Erin might be around to stay!
Thanks guys :D Don't forget to review!