THREE
Cedar Grove Apartments
Pierre, South Dakota
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
1:19 PM
As the door to Bryan Jackson's apartment drifted open, Dean could hardly stand the smell that wafted out into the quiet afternoon breeze. In his time, he had been in the midst of various foul odors, most of them created by bodies that had been left to rot or creatures that had used some sort of horrible stench to mark their territory, but this was worse than anything he had ever encountered.
In the minutes that it had taken Dean to pick the front door's lock, Sam had given him enough of an overview on the guy to know his story. Apparently, according to the research Sam had conducted before they had left for Pierre, Bryan Jackson was a divorced bachelor who had had various reports filed on him at work—tardiness and lack of get-up-and-go being the two major ones, along with a singular incident of the man coming in drunk. As he listened to his brother spout off information he didn't particularly care to know, details about the divorce agreement and the custody hearing over the once-couple's daughter, Dean had already managed to form an opinion of the guy, though his assumption hadn't included hygiene habits.
From what he could see, among the acrid smell of old cigarettes, moldy beer cans, and building dust, Bryan Jackson lived up to be everything Dean had supposed: a man who lived alone and cared about nothing at all. Though that was a harsh conclusion to draw, especially given the fact that Dean only knew what Sam had told him, he couldn't help but feel as if he knew the type, Dean having entered many places like this before that had been owned by someone exactly as he presumed their latest victim to be.
Heading inside the apartment, Sam and Dean fanned out as soon as the door was shut behind them, both brothers taking separate spaces and searching high and low for something that would give them a clue as to what might have happened the night before. While Dean was still disbelieving that there was a case here, he was still curious enough to look, the idea of going through someone else's stuff tantalizing to him, no matter the reason. However, as soon as he began searching through drawers and cabinets in the kitchen while Sam checked out the living room, Dean could feel his thoughts float away from the task at hand and back toward something else.
Sam and Dean had met Ellen and her daughter Jo, as well as their friend Ash, back at the Roadhouse out somewhere in the middle of Nebraska, the woman leaving a voicemail on one of Dad's phones that the man had saved for months. Though Sam had been curious enough to investigate, even urging his brother to come along, Dean had been hesitant, only wanting to stay where he was and finish his work on the Impala rather than get tangled up with some woman who apparently knew Dad but didn't know them. While they had been there, during Sam's fit in trying to appease their father's memory by doing everything he thought the man would want him to do, the brothers had taken a case from the woman, Ellen applauding them for their good work once they were done, and even offering up a couple of beds in case they wanted to stay the night, a request Dean had politely turned down.
Ultimately, though, Dad-approved or not, Dean wasn't up to trusting any more people or welcoming them into his life, especially not now. Taking a case from someone who they hadn't known for more than minute was grounds for Dean to be suspicious, despite the fact that Ellen had proven to be trustworthy so far. With everything that he had learned about demons since what had happened with his father, Dean wasn't about to go rushing into a job head-first without being apprehensive—Sam taking the opposite stance and apparently throwing caution to the wind, confiding in these people as soon as he had met them. Though that had yet to turn out to be a bad thing, with Ash helping the brothers decoded their father's demon-tracking chicken scratch, Dean knew it was only a matter of time. Nothing good ever happened whenever Hunters teamed up, especially not ones who hardly knew one another.
Focusing back in on what he was doing, Dean kicked his thoughts away and continued his search of the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator door and recoiling as soon as the smell of rotten fruit carried out like a cloud of horrible musk. Gagging and burying his nose in the crook of his arm, Dean slammed the door shut and deemed the kitchen finished, every nook and cranny more or less inspected. Heading into the living room just as Sam was pushing the solitary chair in the middle of the floor back into place, Dean shook his head as his brother did the same, Sam's eyes traveling down the hallway as though indicating where they should go next.
From what Dean had heard, Bryan Jackson had been found in the apartment's one bathroom, the police having paid special attention to it and saying as much in the article Sam had all but read aloud before getting into the car on the way over. If that was true, that the cops had scoured the room up and down, that meant Sam and Dean were in for hell, every officer they had ever met always messing up every supernatural crime scene the brothers had encountered, the uninformed police always wiping away important evidence that could turn a case on its head. Though Dean wasn't too excited to search the bathroom, especially given the filthy condition of the rest of the house, it was their next step and probably their last, the living and kitchen areas important to check first in case there were signs of a break-in that the cops had missed—such as sulfur that would signal a demon in the windowsill or ectoplasm leaking in through the faucet hanging over the sink.
Following his brother's lead down the short hallway, Dean and Sam stopped shoulder to shoulder in the archway squaring off the bathroom, the linoleum floor that had once been colored a tan and white pattern stained red with blood and brown with dirt. Taking a minute to survey the scene, and noticing that the bathtub had a disgusting ring of gunk around it as well as the mirror being covered with black spots that signaled mold, Dean pursed his lips before heading in, Sam staying out in the hall since the room was only big enough for one of them.
Checking every crevice, and lifting up old newspapers that had become glued to the built-in magazine rack beneath the basin, Dean wiped his hands on the thighs of his jeans when he was done, his gaze stuck on scanning the floor as if his mind was telling him that he was missing something. Furrowing his brow as Sam shifted his weight out in the hall, Dean bit his lip as he spotted an object behind the base of the toilet, the idea that he didn't know what it was causing him to not want to grab for it, his track record with these things always resulting in Dean bathing in Purell afterward. Snagging a couple of tissues out of the box on the counter, Dean bent down to reach for the black object that seemed to have skidded into a tight corner, the thing easy enough to pick up as soon as he wrapped his fingers around it.
"Check this out," Dean said as he stood up, his eyes glued to the thing as soon it settled into the tissues in his outstretched palm. From what he could see, the thing in question seemed to be an onyx arrowhead, carvings embedded in the side in a language that Dean couldn't read, the sharpened edges of the once-weapon dulled down from age.
Taking it from Dean in its wrapping, Sam eyed the arrowhead before frowning, nothing about it seeming to come to mind and causing Sam to narrow his gaze in confusion. Folding the thing into a small package, Sam placed it in his sweatshirt pocket before stepping back out into the hall, making enough room for Dean to get by as they both stood in the corridor, Dean giving the one bedroom beside them a visual once-over, having already deeming it not worth a search as soon as he noticed that it contained nothing more than a bed and a set of clear plastic drawers that looked better fit for a college dorm. Turning his attention back to the thought of the arrowhead, Dean cleared his throat just as something heavy thudded upstairs, the sound reverberating down through the ceiling as though someone had dropped something substantial, an angry male voice following quickly behind it.
"Martha, what the hell did I tell you about that radio? You drop it one more time and I'm gonna make sure you don't forget what I said again!"
"Classy place," Dean commented with a smirk as Sam sighed.
"Yeah, I can see that."
"You wanna get out of here?" Dean asked just as the smell of the victim's apartment vaporized again, causing his stomach to churn. "Maybe get some grub? There's a diner here that apparently serves the best burgers in the state and I want to check it out."
Grimacing as Dean started toward the door, Sam furrowed his brows in concern and disgust, Dean turning around for a moment to catch the stare and grinning to himself while Sam spoke, closing off Bryan Jackson's apartment behind him. "How can you even think about food in the middle of Joe's Roach Motel, Dean? Everything about this place makes me not want to eat for a week."
Trying not to laugh at his brother's revulsion, Dean shook his head and dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans as he headed across the lot, retrieving the keys to the truck and popping open the vehicle's door, the repugnance of Bryan Jackson's apartment already erased from his memory and replaced with the thought of biting into a juicy cheeseburger. In the past few weeks that he had been at Bobby's, the man had insisted that the brothers eat normal food for a change, Bobby cooking up tacos and sandwiches as though he had been some kind of master chef before becoming a Hunter. Though Dean had eaten everything that had been given to him without complaint, Bobby's greasy meals better than having to fry something up at a mini-mart, he had been craving hamburgers for the past week. Unfortunately, Sioux Falls had some of the worst fast food places on its side of Texas, leaving Dean with nothing but a promise to himself to head down to one of the better burger joints across the country as soon as he got the chance.
Slipping behind the wheel just as Sam got into the passenger's seat, Dean started the engine and backed out of the stall he had parked the Ranger in, the old truck stammering for a moment before kicking into gear. Recognizing that as one of the many reasons behind his longing to have the Impala up and running before he took another job, Dean shifted into drive and headed for the main road that would take them deeper into town, the thought of food calling his name more alluring than the case at hand.
