Chapter 2

The business suited Winchesters introduced themselves to the manager of the hunting store owned by David Evans as insurance men, looking to finalise the life insurance policy of the owner. The manager, Warwick Dunn, a young man probably not more than 25, didn't appear to find the visit suspicious and led them to a small office at the back of the store.

As they walked past the hunting equipment, Dean craned his neck trying to take in all the stock, and let out low grunts of approval when he saw a weapon that appealed to him. Sam gave him a stern look, a be professional look, that the older brother returned with upturned palms and an offended drawdown of the eyebrows, always annoyed when Sam tried to assert some authority.

Once settled in the office, the brothers perched on vinyl cushioned, straight metal legged chairs which seemed deliberately uncomfortable, designed to discourage prolonged conversation, Dean explained to the young manager the reason for their visit.

"We need to ask you some questions about Mr Evans in the days before his death. We want to make sure Mr Evans did in fact kill himself. There's a difference in the payout under the policy for suicide and some other cause of death."

Warwick looked between the insurance men in surprise. "He hung himself," the young man stated flatly, clearly implying that such a death could only be suicide.

"Looks like," Dean responded with a wry smile and a darted gaze toward Sam, expressing his silent agreement that the death seemed pretty unambiguous. "But we still gotta be thorough."

"I thought the police had already ruled it a suicide."

"Yeah, well," Dean shifted in the chair, gave a huff of laughter, "the police are keen to close their file, they don't always get the facts." Whatever the police had concluded wasn't a convincing argument as far as he was concerned.

"So you think it was something else?" Warwick frowned, not sure that he wanted to entertain the idea of something else, perhaps his boss being murdered.

Sam quickly jumped in, "We have no opinion on the matter. If the police have ruled it a suicide then it probably was, but we need to get some background information, in case the payout is challenged by any of the relatives."

That made sense. The young manager's head bobbed up and down in response to Sam's explanation and his features relaxed at the idea that his two visitors weren't investigating his boss's death so much as covering their asses.

"What was Mr Evan's state of mind in the days leading up to his death," Dean asked.

Warwick thought for minute. "You know, it's hard to tell with him. He was an odd guy, didn't say much."

"Odd how?"

"I don't know." Warwick fiddled with a pen, reluctant to continue, not wanting to speak ill of the dead, especially if it might get back to the relatives. "He used to spend hours in this office looking at guns and making notes. He was very into guns." The manager gave the boys a knowing look, like an interest in guns signified some personality aberration. The inference offended Dean. "He didn't spend much time socializing with the staff. He was away a lot on hunting trips, he kind of left us to run the place without him."

Dean queried, "Did you notice anything strange around here in the days or weeks before his death?"

"Like what?"

"You know, strange noises, strange smells, power failures, anything out of the ordinary."

There was an uncertain silence from Warwick at the question, his brow furrowed. "Strange smells? What do you mean strange smells?"

"I just mean anything unusual," Dean clarified. Warwick obviously wasn't a hunter or he'd be thinking about sulfur.

"What sort of smells?"

"Don't worry about the smells, just anything unusual."

"You mean like a dead animal or something, that sort of smell?"

"Not necessarily smells..."

"Because sometimes customers bring in a carcass, to show what they bagged. And that can smell."

"It doesn't have to be smells. Forget about smells," Dean cried impatiently. "Forget about smells," he repeated with a chopping motion.

A stunned silence settled over the group. He could feel Sam's eyes boring into him, no doubt with some sort of be professional message blazing in them and he wanted to object how can I be professional when we're dealing with a moron? The hunter took a calming breath, leaned forward intently on his chair and continued with overly precise pronounciation that bordered on insulting, "Was there anything unusual, not just smells, we're moving beyond smells now, anything that happened in the store, which was out of the ordinary, in the days leading up to Evans death?"

Warwick still looked uncertain about what Dean was asking and replied hesitantly, "No."

"Okay, thank you, that's what I was looking for," Dean griped.

"Why would anything unusual happen in the store? This wasn't where he killed himself." Warwick couldn't get a grip on where the line of questioning was going.

"We're just asking standard question," Sam said and gave Warwick a forced smile. Sam could see that they were losing the manager, he was starting to get suspicious and if they didn't wrap it up soon he would be asking about just where they were from. "Was Mr Evans different at all in the days leading up to his death?"

"Yeah he was," the manager replied and that got both brothers attention.

"How?" Sam prompted.

"Dave was usually a depressed kind of guy, didn't say much, didn't smile much but a few days before he died he got himself a girlfriend and he was really into her." Warwick's eyes went wide to emphasize the statement. "I saw Dave the day before he died, he was going out that night with this new girl and he was looking for suggestions about nice places to take her. He was chatty, he was upbeat, he seemed really happy. It was weird."

Without even looking at Sam, Dean could feel his brother's triumphant glare. So Evans wasn't a dateless loser.

Dean asked, "Do you know the girlfriend's name or phone number? We'd really like to talk with her."

"Kimberley something. Sorry that's all I know, they'd only been together a few days. I kind of assumed she must have dumped him and that's why he killed himself, he didn't have a lot of luck with the opposite sex."

It was Dean's turn to fix his brother with a triumphant glare. Oh yeah, dateless loser, what did I say?

"Do you know how they met?" Sam asked.

"Yeah at a bar. Um." Warwick searched his memory and then found what he was looking for. "The Hunter."

Dean nearly choked and tried to hide it with a cough. Warwick misunderstood the start and commented wryly, "Yeah I know, he owned a hunting store and drank at The Hunter. Dave had an odd sense of humour."

The boys stood up satisfied that they had learned all they could from the young manager and thanked Warwick for his help. As they were leaving Dean turned back and said, "Hey listen, on the way in I saw a gun that I wouldn't mind taking a closer look at-."

"Dean." Sam barked and pushed his brother through the door.

As they headed for the car Dean mumbled complaints about being manhandled which Sam ignored. He loosened his tie then commented, "Don't you think The Hunter is a little bit obvious for a hunter to go to? Not exactly keeping a low profile."

"It's probably on Hunter St or something," responded Sam, always the practical one. "Probably doesn't have anything to do with actual hunting."

"David Evans went there" Dean pointed out.

"He probably appreciated the irony," Sam countered.

"We really need to find Kimberley," Dean mused out loud. "I think she's the key to all this."

Sam nodded his head in quiet agreement.

--

At about 9 o'clock that night Sam and Dean made their entrance at The Hunter. It was more of a reconnaissance mission than a fact finding mission. They didn't know Kimberley's last name or have a photo so it was unlikely they would get any leads in that direction, but they thought it worthwhile to get a feel for the place, find out what sort of crowd it attracted. And Dean was keen for a beer. Or two. Sam was here for the job, but Dean was here for some fun, he had to take it where he could get it.

The Hunter was an old building that had been given a trendy makeover. It was mutton dressed as lamb, dimly lit to make the place and the crowd appear more attractive. It seemed to attract a decent sized patronage, Sam estimated there to be about a hundred people in the place, mostly around their age. The boys walked across the wooden floor toward the bar and female heads turned in their direction or inspected them surreptitiously over half full glasses. It made Sam self conscious, caused him to slouch and keep his head down, quicken his pace. Dean, however, drew his shoulders straight, slowed to a saunter, allowed prospective admirers to draw in a long eyeful while he purposefully kept his eyes ahead, playing hard to get.

When they reached the bar, Sam broke away from his brother and commandeered a table in a quiet corner. Dean was pleased to see that the bartender was female. He ordered two beers and while the bartender was pouring he flashed a charming smile and asked matter of factly, "Do you know anyone here named Kimberley."

The bartender eyed him suspiciously. "Cop?"

"God no," Dean responded. He didn't feel the need to elaborate.

The bartender regarded him closely, examining him for any tells that he may be undercover and decided that he looked okay. Actually he looked better than okay, he looked pretty frigging good.

She glanced down at his left hand for a ring before enquiring, "Does this Kimberley work here?"

"I'm not sure," Dean had to concede.

The bartender gave him a wan smile. "Well I don't know of anybody works here called Kimberley and customers don't usually tell me their name." She moved in closer. "But I wouldn't mind knowing yours."

Dean smiled. "Maybe later," he teased. She gave him a wink then moved to serve the next customer.

"Friendly staff," Dean commented as he handed Sam his beer.

"I'm sure," Sam replied with a roll of his eyes.

"The bartender didn't know anyone named Kimberley."

"Yeah." Sam wasn't surprised, without a last name or photo it was a long shot. "We'll go to David Evan's house tomorrow, maybe he has a photo or phone number or something."

"Yeah maybe," Dean answered distractedly, his attention taken by a beautiful woman walking across the room. He took a swig of his beer and unashamedly stared, appreciating her curves and motion, his eyes languidly working their way up and down her body, not flinching when she caught his gaze. He straightened though, tempered the lecherous look with guarded caution when she stopped at the table, unsure what reaction he was going to receive to his open appreciation.

"Hi, I'm Casey," she purred, her eyes on Dean, leaning toward him on the introduction before flicking her eyes to Sam. "I saw you guys come in and I wanted to come over and stake my claim before someone else did."

Sam's eyebrows twitched in displeasure, he was taken aback by such forwardness, found it unattractive, but Dean's eyes shone with amusement. "I see. Just who are you staking your claim on?" Dean asked with a half smile.

"I'm not sure yet," she replied, the tip of her tongue making a quick flirtatious appearance on her bottom lip. "Depends on which one of you wows me."

Sam broke away from the young woman's gaze, shifted his eyes to the beer in his hand. He found Casey's confidence off-putting and was politely expressing his disinterest. He hoped Dean would do the same, but a sidelong glance told him that his older brother was keen and Sam sighed inwardly. It would be nice if for once they could go to a bar without Dean hooking up.

"If it's a wowing you're looking for, you'll want to direct your attention this way," Dean said with a casual self assurance that made the woman smile. "I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam."

"Hey Sam," Casey said dismissively, giving the younger Winchester the briefest of looks, before drawing a chair close to where Dean sat.

"Hey," the young hunter replied half heartedly, feeling the evening closing in around him as he took on the role of third wheel.

As Dean and Casey flirted, Sam surveyed the bar, looking for something distinctive about the place or the people who frequented it. As far as he could tell it was your typical middle class bar, much nicer than some of the dives they had been to on their journey. Crowd was normal, place was normal, whatever happened to David Evans, didn't look like it had anything to do with this place.

Sam was trying to ignore the whispering and giggling coming from his left. Talk about awkward. He didn't know whether to try and engage Casey in conversation, involve himself in the group dynamic, or just find an excuse to leave? He was pretty sure there would be no objections to his leaving. Sam's dilemma was resolved by the sound of chairs being pushed back as Dean and Casey stood.

"We're going to find somewhere a bit more quiet," Dean explained to his brother, with suggestively raised eyebrows that added don't wait up. "Are you okay to get back to the motel?"

"Yeah sure," the younger man replied with a false smile. You can strand me here while you go and have fun with some random bimbo, no problem. That was fast work, even for Dean, he hadn't even bought her a drink yet. He watched his brother leave with an arm loosely draped around the shoulders of his new conquest and wondered how Dean could find any comfort in such shallow encounters. They were very different men.

Sam finished his beer then played with the empty glass for a few minutes, before deciding to leave. A bar wasn't his scene. And he couldn't find any professional reason to stay, there was no more information to be gleaned tonight.

He stood outside in the night air assessing where would be the best place to hitch a lift from when he heard a crash in the alley behind him. He looked around and in the dim light he could see Dean being held by the throat against the wall by his beautiful friend.

"Hey!" Sam called.

Casey looked his way, her eyes narrowed as she considered him. Dean was gasping for air, clutching at the hand at his throat, trying to loosen the grip. Sam prepared to barrel tackle the woman, took a few steps toward her, but she read the intent in his eyes and threw Dean between them before bolting down the dark alley. Sam tried to catch his brother, made an awkward fumbling grab to prevent him from hitting the ground, but he was inches short of the mark, and Dean landed heavily on the concreted path.

The older man slowly rolled onto his hands and knees sucking in air as his younger brother stooped at his side.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean managed to choke out.

Sam grasped Dean's upper arm and pulled him his feet, firming his grip when Dean swayed on unsteady legs. The older Winchester panted, swallowing large gulps of air, trying to catch up on the oxygen that had been denied and find his normal breathing pattern.

Sam wound his arm around his brother shoulders in order to support him, but Dean pushed him away. The night had already been a humiliation he didn't need it compounded by having his brother carry him to the car.

--

Half an hour later they were back at the motel. Dean lay on the bed with a hand over his eyes eager for Sam to turn out the light so the day could be laid to rest. He ached all over. His head was pounding, his throat felt sore and his shoulder kept twinging where he had hit the ground. The night's encounter kept running through his mind. He'd been attacked by a woman. A beautiful woman - which for some reason made it worse. A beautiful woman he thought was into him.

It was all so terrible.

"Did she ask for your money?"

Sam had been asking questions all the way back to the motel, trying to understand what had happened in the few minutes that Dean had been out of his sight. He paced the room restlessly, moved the puzzle pieces around in his head and vainly sought some explanation for what had occurred.

"No."

"Did you offend her?"

"No."

"Did you go too far….you know, um, sexually?"

Dean took the hand away from his face so that he could give his brother a look of disbelief. That question sealed it, it was officially the worst night ever. Not only was Sam asking a question of a sexual nature, which was horrifying, but he seemed to be insinuating that Dean had somehow provoked the attack, that he had lost control or pushed his luck. Christ that was insulting.

Sam could see in his brother's face that he was offended and tried to backtrack on the question. "I don't mean you meant to go too far, I just meant-" but he couldn't find a way to amend that question without it being offensive.

The older hunter put up his hand to stop Sam saying any more. He'd had enough of the conversation, enough of being insulted.

"Sam I told you what happened. She pulled me into the alley way, told me I was bad, which I thought was good, then she started choking me. That's it. End of story."

"So inside the bar conversation is normal, then outside she wants to kill you."

"Yes."

"No explanation?"

"No."

Sam thought about that for a minute. "A little odd don't you think?"

"Yes, Sam, of course it's odd," Dean retorted, eyes narrowed at Sam like he may be an idiot.

"So why do you think she did it?"

"I don't know. PMS?"

Sam looked at his brother quizzically, not sure if he was joking or offering a serious suggestion. In the end he pretended that he hadn't heard. "Do you think she was possessed? She seemed pretty strong."

"I don't know. Maybe," Dean answered doubtfully. "Maybe she just works out."

"So what did you talk about in the bar?"

"You were there," Dean snapped, exasperated. "You heard what we were talking about. Nothing special."

Dean doubted that continuing the speculation would arrive at any logical explanation for the incident, it was just one of those things, an aberration of human behaviour, he didn't particularly want to get to the bottom of it, he just wanted to stop talking about it, put it in the past and move on.

"We have been over this, I have told you everything I know. Would you just drop it."

"But Dean this could be related to how David Evans died. I mean Evans dies after meeting a woman at a bar and then you nearly get killed by a woman you met at the same bar. That's some coincidence."

"Yeah, huge coincidence."

"No it couldn't be," Sam's hands waved around in emphasis of his words. "I mean it was, but it's too much of a coincidence, they've got to be related."

"No Sam, they don't!"

The flatness of Dean tone, the finality to the statement, the undercurrent of anger, convinced Sam it was time to leave the subject alone. His brother's limit had been reached and trying to pursue the conversation further was only going to end in disagreement, possibly violence.

Sam sighed and dropped his head in resignation. He wanted to get to the bottom of this, it made no sense. Casey had been keen on his brother, she'd come up to him, so what was behind the attack? Robbery? Mistaken identity? Psychopath?

And what would have happened if Sam hadn't decided to leave when he did? That was a sobering thought. If Sam hadn't intervened, hadn't happened upon the scene when he did, his brother could have been killed.

The young man threw himself onto his bed, reached over and turned out the light, but stayed seated upright, leaning against the headboard with arms crossed against his chest. His mind whirled under a barrage of unanswerable questions and a simmering dissatisfaction that discussion had been prematurely closed down. He cast a sidelong glance at his brother through the darkness, and noticed Dean was laying with his hands folded under his head, staring at the ceiling. He was still ruminating over what had occurred, despite his reluctance to discuss the subject and it almost made Sam reopen the conversation but he figured he would be better to leave the topic for now and raise it again later.

He kicked off his shoes, undressed a layer of clothing and made himself comfortable in the bed, although he didn't feel at all tired and knew sleep wasn't going to come easily.

Dean was silent, didn't offer a goodnight in fear that Sam would interpret it as an invitation to start talking. He needed to think things through alone, logically and objectively, reach his own conclusions without Sam trying to guide or persuade him, because he knew that come morning, what had occurred with Casey was going to be a debated topic and he wanted to be ready with some theories.