Dean frowned and was about to retaliate but Warren held up a darkened hand.
"And I know you fixed things, so don't bite my head off. In fact, I have a lot of respect for you and your brother. The things you blokes've been through..."
Dean was slightly confused, but took a breath and began.
"This might sound a little strange, but have you seen an Impala and a half build Harley Davidson suddenly appear around here?"
Warren smiled, showing teeth that had seen better days. "Oh, that's yours?"
Dean's lips twitched at the corners in the ghost of a smile.
"Next question. Have you seen Sammy?"
Warren lifted a hand to his chin and thought for a second.
"Sam Winchester? I may have connections, but I don't monitor every hunter that enters the country. But I can ask Johnson," said, almost more to himself. Then he stopped. "I thought he was dead?"
"Yeah he was but he's been... sighted. On a flight to Melbourne, but all flights were grounded here."
The hunter shrugged. "So, what do you need?"
Dean shuffled. "I'm in a new country. I don't know where to begin. How many hunters are in the area for a start?"
"You are in luck. Would you believe some of our coppers are hunters?"
Dean was surprised.
"We have to have them in the force. How else are we gunna get information and let fellow hunters fly into the country? You think you would've gotten through like you did without a Visa or nothin'?"
Dean knew Warren was right. His passport was improvised and he didn't even think about a Visa.
"You're gunna need more money than you have, a place to park, paperwork, weapons..." Warren mumbled, steadily getting quieter until Dean couldn't hear what he was saying. He even thought the hunter was talking more to himself than to Dean. Suddenly, Warren stood up and walked around the back of the pub. Dean followed, and they found themselves in a scrap yard. And, there under a dust cover, Dean made out the shape of his Impala.
"There you are baby. Have I missed you," he said and pulled the dustcover from the car. She was still shiny and sleek, her glossy paint protected from the orange dust by the calico. Dean rubbed a hand along the roof and gave her a pat.
"Thanks man. I owe you a beer," he said to Warren, who just laughed.
"Wait until you see the bike."
The two of them continued through the scrap yard until they reached a small shed. There, in the shadows, was the Fat Boy, in its glorious wholeness. Dean looked from the bike to Warren.
"Did you finish building it?"
"Nah, Johnson did. He doesn't have much of a job at the moment, so he just builds things. It was like Christmas when that thing dropped in," Warren said, then turned curiously to Dean.
"How did ya get 'em here anyway?"
Dean winked and grabbed the bike's handlebars. He wheeled it out of the corner and allowed her to stand and taste the sunlight.
"Ok, now go get your bags."
Dean looked at Warren, then nodded. He checked the fuel gauge on the Harley and on the Impala. Both empty. Warren saw the expression on his face and threw him a set of keys.
"Here are your keys. But we're taking my Ute. And I'm drivin'."
The white Hilux was not the smoothest ride, much less Dean having to sit in the passenger's seat, which he could feel was actually some kind of square box stuck in front of a board to make it look like a seat. The two hunters didn't start talking until ten minutes after leaving Noonamah.
"So, have you heard anything about the crocodile attacks recently?"
Warren glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "Which ones?"
Dean frowned slightly. "Three people in two weeks? Aint that a little out of the ordinary?"
Warren shrugged. "Nope. Tourists just swim in the wrong places," he joked darkly, meeting Dean's eyes with a sparkle of mischief. "Besides, the job you're lookin' for is the one I'm on."
"What do you mean? Man eating crocodiles not enough for you?"
"There are a lot of nasty things around here, mate. Our harbour is one of the only places in the world where man-eatin' crocs, man-eatin' sharks and box jellies swim around together. Couldn't imagine why anyone would want to go swimming in our beaches," he said with a serious frown, paused, and added with a laugh, "There's no surf!"
"Ha ha. What's the job, I mean?"
"Oh, I think you call it a... Skinwalker? Yeah, that's it. It's been hanging around here for years, but because people actually get attacked by real crocs 'n' sharks or just go missing in the bush, it's hard to track. But I think I might've caught its trail."
"Is it a local creature?"
"Not that I know of. Not too many legends about shapeshiftin' Indigenous..." he replied, trailing off at the end as if he'd forgotten something. He shook his head and indicated to change lanes.
"Any way I can help?"
"Yep. I'm not helping you out for nothin'," he grinned, "And in actual fact I'm going to sign you up to the Force."
Dean looked at Warren wide eyed.
"Are you mad? I think you know how much trouble I'm in with the cops in the States!"
"Come on mate, think. You think I would put 'Dean Winchester' on the forms? Hell no! But I need you to be legit so I can register your car, bike and get you a bloody licence."
"So what, you gunna put 'John Smith' on the dotted line?"
"Puh-lease," Warren responded, and Dean caught that same spark of mischief in his eyes. "I'm going to put 'Thomas Jones'."
"Dude, you might as well have put 'Jack Johnson'. What, did you pick these names out of a list of most common?"
Warren feigned hurt. "That man built your Harley, thank you very much!"
Dean scowled. "You named a hunter Jack Johnson?"
Warren smiled, pretending to be very proud of his choice. Dean couldn't help but feel lighter when around Warren and his sense of humour. In the back of Dean's mind however, was the thought that Lucifer could be riding around in Sam's skin, or worse, that Sam had embraced his possessor. Dean was quiet for the rest of the trip into Darwin.
Dean ran into Michele when he was checking out.
"Dean! You leaving now?" she called. It was around six o'clock and her shift was just about up.
"Oh hey. No, I'm just relocating, actually," he replied, conscious of the stare Warren was giving him from one of the tables. Michele tilted her head and made a fuss about him staying in Darwin longer.
"I'm not leaving town. I've just caught up with a... cousin of mine, distant, who happens to have a spare place I can crash in."
"That's a relief. I was gunna invite you to a get-together me and some friends are having. Down at Berry Springs. I would love it if you could come," she asked, her eyes pleading. Dean nodded. How could Dean turn down those pleading eyes? Who cared if she was married? He could look!
"Great. See you down there Sunday! We're having a Barbie, so bring something," she said before whisking out the door. Dean stared after her for a second, before meeting the eyes of Warren, who was trying to speak in some kind of eye movement language. Then he realised he was indicating the woman checking him out, which Dean thought sounded funny but dared not say anything, was holding a pen and notepad towards him. Dean signed out with a smile and deftly lifted the duffel bags onto his shoulders.
"Took you so long? Couldn't remember which name you had to sign?"
"I remembered. That woman who just left, she invited me to 'Berry Springs' on Sunday. Do you know where that is?" Warren rolled his eyes.
"What is it with you Americans? Even the German tourists know where that is."
Dean ignored this comment and trudged off to where the Hilux was parked. Dean was recognising that the Toyota Hilux, white and dirty, was the inconspicuous car of the Territory. Half the population had one, and Dean knew how much the Impala would stand out. The two hunters drove back out to Palmerston and pulled into the Police station. Warren got out of his Ute and strolled right into the station. Dean tried to follow confidently, but he knew how many cameras were watching, and he knew that someone watching might recognise him. It didn't matter he was a foreigner; he never felt good heading into a hornets nest.
The two men reached the counter inside and Warren smiled at the receptionist.
"G'day darl'. Is Egan here today?"
The receptionist looked up at Warren with tired eyes.
"Hey Gould. Steve just won't sit down. He's been ginning around all day, and it's driving me bananas. But he might be in his office now. Go on through."
Warren tipped an imaginary hat and walked down a hallway. Dean walked through after him, not before waving at the receptionist, startling her. The halls were plain and white, with little framed photographs of social gatherings and parades hung up here and there. There were doorways set at regular intervals, revealing either empty offices with telephones ringing, or offices full of people talking on telephones. They reached the end of the hall and Warren knocked on the closed door. A voice called out for them to come in, and Warren opened the door.
Sitting at the desk was a short, round man with quite the receding hairline. His round cheeks and squashed nose was accentuated by the walrus' moustache that wiggled about on his upper lip.
"Gould!" he exclaimed, not at all seeming tough or intimidating. His eyes even looked to Dean like those of a frog; too big and bright to fit on such a small, round face.
Warren nodded seriously. "Egan. I have here with me the one Bobby Singer called about."
The round man stopped smiling and looked down his nose at Dean, which required him to tilt his head back a bit.
"Winchester. What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to-" Dean began, before Warren coughed and butted in.
"He's here on a hunt. He needs to pass as a local... well, local-ish, and he needs to have the required equipment."
Dean looked from Warren to Egan. He was confused at how the two police officers interacted, but remained silent. Too much was at stake, stepping on the wrong toes in a strange country, no less a police station.
Egan smiled and clapped his hands.
"Alrighty then. Dean, come up with a name and I'll have my secretary get you the paperwork. I suppose you know how to drive already?"
Dean knew he didn't need to answer, as Egan had turned away to pull out a pen from his desk.
"Ok, you need a Visa, rego, couple a credit cards, money, clothes, licence, birth certificate and police ID."
Dean frowned and looked at Warren who was nodding slightly. Dean got the message.
"Yeah. And I need a motorcycle licence."
Gould just nodded and turned back with some papers in his stubby hands.
"Just write your name there and I'll tell Katie now."
Dean took the pen, paused for a second, and then scribbled a name on the paper. Egan snatched it up and smiled.
"Good to have you, Mr Dean Young."
