Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the characters. I like Mac n'Cheese.


Chapter Four: River of Lies

By: Zavijah

"Thish ish delishous."

It wasn't blackberry, but it was still one damn good piece of pie. There was no such thing as a bad pie unless someone broke the cardinal rule: only fruit belonged in a pie; nuts were also allowed. The kind Dean was currently shoveling into his mouth was what Mrs. Owens called blueberry-rhubarb. It was tangy, sweet, and tasted absolutely divine on his tongue. The older hunter grinned, his purple stained lips spreading wide as he looked at his brother. Sam didn't return the gesture. Hell, the guy had yet to even touch his own slice of heaven. Sigh. His little brother always had a hard time enjoying the simple things in life.

"Thank you for the hospitality Mrs. Owens," Sam was saying, ignoring Dean's boyish delight. "I'm sorry for your loss. Chester's sudden passing must have come as a shock to you."

"Yes and no," Susan Owens weakly smiled. The puffy quality around here eyes revealed her recent grieving. "We always knew that living out here would be hard. He could have just as easily died from a head cold or getting caught up in a shootout. At least I still have my son, Gene, and he's promised to take me in.. although I would hate to intrude on him and his new wife."

"Sammy you've got to try this pie."

"Sorry," Sam pointedly ignored Dean's earnest comment. "You said shootout? I thought this was a quiet town."

"It is now, we use to get terrorized every other day by a band of desperados."

"One day they just stopped..?" Sam inquired.

"Well yes.. I guess they did. I'd assumed they moved on to torment some other town."

Sam had other thoughts on the mysteriously vanished gang, ideas that he tried to communicate to Dean through a look but as soon as he made eye contact with his brother, Dean pointed down toward his untouched piece of pie. "You going to eat that?"

Dean paid no mind to Sam's frown, a common enough expression on younger brother's face, and refused to take back his ill-timed request. He watched with keen interest as Sam's fingers descended to touch the edge of the plate. One second passed by, two, three, then Sam was sliding the plate – away. Dean's jaw tensed and he lifted his hazel eyes to dagger a glare on Sam's profile. He slowly raised his fork, curling his fingers around the tarnished utensil in a firm grip - a weapon ready to be brandished in the war his brother had just started. Sam had probably only meant to try and force Dean's attention onto the conversation. But he shouldn't have involved the pie. That mistake would cost Sammy.

Fine. Fine. If Sam wanted him to participate in this coma-inducing conversation, Dean was going to make Sam regret it. Swallowing the last bit of the pie lodged in his mouth, Dean calmly set his fork down and turned to regard Mrs. Owens. "Where's the necklace?"

He firmly kept his attention on the woman, not even blinking as both her and Sam snapped startled looks on him. The woman sent a confused glance at Sam before once again staring back at Dean. "I beg your pardon?"

"You loved your husband, right?" Dean waited the long moment it took for the woman to finally nod her answer. "He gave you a necklace, a very nice necklace. Maybe you don't wear it because you're afraid someone might get the idea to steal it from you, but the shirt you're wearing."

The woman, staring with bugged eyes, lifted a hand to rest her fingers against the bare skin of her throat when Dean gestured to the open space between the modest opening in her shirt.

"You were wearing something this morning, weren't you," He didn't wait for a response this time, instead seizing his fork and pointing it at the frazzled woman. "So I'll ask again, where is the necklace?"

Mrs. Owens's hand closed in around the air where the necklace must have rested below the hollow of her throat. Her mouth opened and closed at intervals, but no words came out. She was too well-mannered to demand they leave - her husband likely was the one that handled the confrontational matters. It was villainous of Dean to be so crass with her, but it wasn't her that he was trying to rub the wrong way. Sam, who had yet to remove his incredulous stare from the side of Dean's face, was the intended audience. Dean expected him to snap out of it and begin profusely apologizing on Dean's behalf. Instead the woman's stilted voice broke the silence.

Her face was downcast in shame to hide the tears beginning to well, "I sold it."

Sam snapped to attention. His brows peaked together in puzzlement, "Your husband passed away last night, and you sold the necklace he gave you this morning?"

"You have to understand," Mrs. Owen's voice came out softly. "We have debts. I don't want my son inheriting them and ending up in the same position Chester and I were in - I was offered a deal. I feel my son's future is more important than a necklace."

Sam shifted closer to Dean to murmur, "What kind of bastard makes a widow sell her valuables before her husband is even in the ground?"

Dean shrugged, reaching around Sam's arm to snag the small plate of pie. He smiled pleasantly as he dragged it over to himself. The fork descended and once again Dean was disinterested in the conversation. The woman he had upset was Sam's responsibility. The rest of the conversation was tuned out. Mostly. The older hunter still picked up on something being said about an old country trader. Even with the pleasurable taste of blueberries on his tongue, Dean grimaced. Old country meant some pompous cock that Dean would no doubt want to bust the nose of by the end of the night. With a grumble another forkful of pie was crudely shoved into his mouth. The conversation droned on without any further input from Dean. His second piece of pie was long gone by the time they left.

As soon as the door to Mrs. Owen's house closed, Sam's fist impacted against Dean's upper arm. The older brother recoiled, grasping his wounded limb even if the pain was fleeting. Not even registering by the time he settled the glare on his counterpart. "Ow! What was that for?"

Sam looked stern, but said nothing.

"How about a thank you. A little gratitude would be nice. I only just found a possible motive for murder."

Sam swung again, but this time Dean was quick enough to dodge it. He countered, pulling his tall brother into an awkward headlock. It wasn't easy. Sam bucked about like a wild colt. "Say thank you." A muffled refusal sounded through his arm. Dean tightened the hold as his boots fought for purchase in the dirt. "Say it!"

Their scuffled brought them out into the street. Dean was reduced to hoping along on one foot. Sam had captured the other in an attempt to tackle him. Instead Dean kept a firm grip around Sam's head to keep upright. He was enduring weak hits to his sides as Sam refused to yield. Each hit came with a grunted word. "For. Taking. My. Pie."

"Gentlemen."

Both men stilled - stubbornly keeping a grip on the other - and canted their heads up to view their audience. The red-headed server from the saloon smiled boldly at them both. Dean's hazel traced down the shape of her legs, disappointed to not find her in the hiked up skirt he'd seen her wear while working. The woman, noticing his wandering gaze, arched a brow. Her smile remained confident, "Having troubles?"

Dean's arm eased from around his brother's neck, "I was just showing Sammy here how to–"

And suddenly he was staring up at the crisp blue sky unable to draw in a proper breathe. He sucked in the air, feeling nothing in his lungs. Above him two faces hovered far away, standing on legs as long as stilts. The air was knocked out of him from the fall, and his head was swimming from the sudden change in perspective.

"Nicely done," The woman complimented before giving Sam an appraising smile.

"Yeah - Thanks." Flashing a thinner smile, as if embarrassed, Sam quickly doubled, seized Dean's hand, and hauled his older brother back into a vertical position.

Dean gripped Sam's forearm to keep balance. His breath came in short, stuttering gasps. Each one burned on the intake. It took him a moment to regain all of his composure. All the while he was faced with the red-head's amused smiled. Dean scraped together his pride, lifted his chin and firmly patted Sam's arm. "Good job Sammy." The words came out strained. "Just like that - yup."

He was so going to kick Sam's ass later.

"And how are you today, Miss..?"

"Please, call me Anna."

"Anna," Dean felt his confidence return. He smiled wide and what he'd been once told was a charming fashion. His hazel eyes tracked once more along the woman's body. He'd noticed she wasn't in working attire at the start, but now he saw that instead a modest dress she wore pants. It was an unusual - at least as far as social norms were concerned. Dean had met his fair share of different women, and the ones that wore pants, usually packed a gun and a hell cat attitude. What didn't quite match the wild fire image Dean was creating in his mind about Anna, was the small hand basket she was carrying. A red flannel cloth covered the contents from view. He was just riling himself up to be suspicious when Anna noticed, once again, where his eyes had wandered to; she flipped the cloth backwards to review the half dozen muffins inside.

"I'm on my way to see Mrs. Owens. It seems you two beat me to it."

"Yeah," Sam replied while easing back a step. "Paying our respects. We were just leaving though so –"

"–off to see some trader," Dean added, for little other reason than wanting to have more control of the conversation - and by default Anna's attention.

The woman's eyes flickered with something, interest perhaps, but it was there and gone before Dean could grasp it. He was more taken in by the gentle curve of her lips as she spared a smile just for him, "What trader is that?"

"A... mister.. uhm.." Damnit.

"Roché," Sam supplied on cue.

This time Dean was certain he saw Anna's green eyes sharpen, there in the vivid depths the gears were rapidly spinning with thoughts left in silence. She adverted her gaze, glancing down at her basket as she fixed the cloth to once again cover the freshly baked muffins. Dean's smile momentarily waned before doubling in force. His head playfully canted to one side, "Do you know him?"

"Me?" One word and Dean already knew the next words out of her mouth would be a lie. Anna didn't notice her mistake. "I guess I know just about everyone in town by name, but if you mean do I know him personally, the answer is no."

Dean held his gaze on her - wishing that for once he could just look at someone; watch until something inside of them swelled and burst open to let the truth came spilling forth. He hated being lied to - worse that he knew a person was lying to his face and he wasn't going to do anything about it but pleasantly smile. Oh he knew that people lied. Constantly. Anna wasn't the first woman to lie to him, nor would she be the last. Dean had just been hoping, for some damn reason, that she would be different. He wasn't yearning to make a connection, but it would have been nice to have had something uncomplicated for once. Dean had too many secrets in his life. He didn't want to deal with someone else's closet of skeletons.

"Well," Dean nodded politely. "Have a nice day."

The older hunter turned with a somewhat confused brother trailing along at his side. Sam's brows were creased in a painstakingly familiar show of concern, "That was sudden. Normally I can't pry you away from a woman until you've arranged some midnight rendezvous."

"She's lying to us Sammy. Everyone in this damn town is lying right to our faces and I will bet you that this son of a bitch trader is going to be a king of liars. I'm about fed up with this town and I haven't even been here a full day." His fingers passed through his honey-blonde hair in frustration. "I get the little lies, but no, this is something bigger. There is something going on here that I just can't put my finger on. I tell you what Sammy, I'm about ready to set this whole place on fire to smoke out the truth of it."

Sam's hands lifted in a calming gesture, "Alright. How about I go talk to this Roché guy and you can go back to the room and see if you can find anything else written on banshees?"

The offer did well to cool Dean's heels. The older brother considered the options, but it was no surprise that he eventually nodded to Sam and they parted ways. Sam headed toward the large house at the edge of town while Dean returned to the saloon. He needed to wet his whistle before he delved into any books. His eyes widened. Suddenly he was reminded of his question toward Castiel early that morning. He didn't know why the raven haired bartender was reluctant to reveal what his late night reading material included, but Dean was certain to find out.


Read? Curious? Review!

A/N: Asialisek! You haven't watched Supernatural? And you are reading a fanfic based on it? You're crazy! In that light, I am honored that you are reading it. You will really have to let me know how I'm doing. I've always felt writing fanfiction is like using a crutch. I get to skip all the detailing because people who have watched the show already know what the characters look like, how they sound, and generally how they behave. The readers often do all the hard work for me. And egads, if you are an old fan from my old stories.. that was six years ago! It's insane. And make me giggle with delight.

Rei! You are the best cheerleader. I know you sort of asked about demons - don't worry. I adore Crowley, so no doubt there will be demon love. All in due time ;3

Blurb: Supernatural seems a hard area to break into as far as reviews go. I think I lose audience a bit since I don't rush to the "good" stuff. Don't worry! It's coming. I don't know when - but no need to rush it! Delayed gratification, right? This is a short chapter to keep the updates going. More to come!