"So what now?" Sam asked his gaze focused on the house down the street.
"Got me, this isn't exactly our area of expertise." Dean turned slightly to face his brother. "This isn't gonna end well, Sam. Whoever took that baby is long gone by now."
"Yeah, well, we have to do something. We're supposed to help people."
Dean couldn't help but cringe at Sam's hoarse voice. Unable to go back to sleep, the brothers had joined the Mabel sisters in the kitchen to await daylight. Once the sun made its appearance the lone sheriff's car had been joined by a host of state trooper vehicles, including a crime scene investigation van.
Every now and again one of the Winchesters would make their way to the front porch to watch as police swarmed the property and the surrounding neighborhood. As near as Dean could tell there had been little progress.
Now, as the afternoon began to wane the Winchesters stood on the porch and watched as the cops started to slip away one by one. As the last of the state police cleared out, Dean nudged his brother. "Why don't you get some sleep. I'm gonna head out and see what I find."
Sam shook his head his chin clenched in determination. "No, you go I go. I'm fine, there's no reason I can't come with you."
"Yeah, actually there is, Sam. I'm planning on plying the local police force with liquor, that's something I can do better on my own." Dean glanced toward the neighbor's house and noted the sheriff's car pulling out. "Why don't you and the ladies head over to the Thompson's and offer them some cake or soup or whatever the protocol is. You know the family you might be able to learn something useful."
Sam smiled tightly. "Not sure there's a protocol for what food goes with baby snatching, Dean."
"Casserole," Peg replied as she exited the house. "We've already finished it. We were just waiting for the sheriff to leave before we head over."
Dean clapped Sam on the back and said, "See that, casserole." Sam rolled his eyes at him, but nodded in agreement. "Good, you go bat your eyelashes at Emma Thompson and see what you can find and I'll see what the police have so far."
Dean walked to the low brick wall of the porch and leaped nimbly over it, landing on the far side. As he pulled the Impala's keys from his coat pocket he took one last look over his shoulder at his baby brother. "You get down there and get back, Sam. You look like shit."
888
Dean pulled into the parking lot and pointed the car toward the darkest corner of the lot. Once parked, he focused on the police cruiser he'd noticed from the road. It figured he'd find Swan at the last bar he checked. The officer had struck Dean as kind if not very sharp, so it hadn't been hard to figure when faced with a tragedy like the Thompson baby going missing, Swan would want a belt and some company. Hence Dean's bar search. The kicker was Swan had ended up, not in a dive like Jumping Joe's but, in a tiny Italian restaurant in the center of town.
Dean pulled his keys from the ignition and double-checked the gun in his inside jacket pocket and the knife in his boot. Although the place didn't look rough, he'd long ago learned that it was better to be prepared.
As he climbed out of the car and headed for the entrance he had to wonder at his own stupidity. He would never admit it to his brother, but he couldn't help but worry prolonged exposure to Sheriff Swan might make the older man curious about him. The dead version of himself that he'd left behind in Saint Louis made things difficult to say the least. However, when dealing with small town cops it was always easier to work with them rather than against them. They were simply too good a source of information to ignore. So here he was ready to buy a few rounds in order to butter up the locals.
Dean walked into the small stucco building expecting to find a glorified pizza joint. Instead of the red-checkered tablecloths and murals of Venice he expected to find, he was greeted by a large open room scattered about with tables and booths. The walls were a warm buttery color and lined with frame after frame of photographs. The tables and booths were set with snowy white table cloths and linen wrapped silverware. Curious about the pictures, Dean stepped closer and studied one of them. The black and white photo depicted a young woman dressed primarily in black her dark hair draped with a piece of lace. Everything from her clothing to her hair suggested the picture was taken in the early 1900's. The black frame that held the image had a small bronze plaque at the bottom that read 'Allesandra Palmucchi - 1903'
A quick glance at the rest of the framed pictures showed Dean they were all similar. Each one held a photo of one or more people and each frame was inscribed with their names and a date. As he made his way toward the bar in the far corner of the room, he found himself fascinated by the sheer quantity of pictures.
He took a seat at the bar careful to nod in acknowledgement to the sheriff and two men that sat in the seat opposite him. As he waited for the bartender, a grizzled older man, he put his back to the wall and looked out at the restaurant. His plan was to get the sheriff to talk to him, rather than the other way around, people always offered more if they initiated the conversation. Content to wait, he decided to take a look at the menu. If he was going to be here for a while he might as well eat.
"What can I get you, son?"
Dean perused the menu for only a moment before he shut it. He had a feeling the food would be good whatever he ordered so he went with something different. "I'll take whatever you have on tap, and the calamari."
"You got it, kid," the old man said as he turned to pour Dean a draft. After placing the beer before Dean, the bartender stepped out from behind the bar and disappeared into the kitchen. As Dean sat, nursing his beer, he found his eyes drawn to the pictures once again.
"It's our own version of Ellis Island," the bartender said as he slipped behind the bar once more.
Dean focused on the older man and asked, "What do you mean?"
"Each one of the people in the photographs came from the old country and settled in this area," the bartender said with a look of pride.
Dean looked about in surprise. He found it hard to believe that such a small town could boast such a large number of immigrants.
"I'm Frank, by the way, this is my place." The bartender held out his gnarled hand to Dean.
"Dean," he replied as he carefully shook the older man's hand. "Nice place you have here."
"Yeah, well I'd ask if this was your first time in here but seeing as you're staying with the sisters I know it is."
Dean took a swallow of his beer before asking, "Why's that?"
"Well, hell, if the Mabel sisters are cooking there's no reason to be eating at a restaurant. Those old broads could put me out of business tomorrow if they chose to open their own place."
Dean had to snort at Frank's use of the word 'old', after all, he had to be right up there with the sisters in age. "Gotta admit, their cooking is one of the reasons I'm in no hurry to go."
"How's that brother of yours doing, he feeling any better yet?" Frank asked as he reached out to place another beer in front of Dean.
"He's coming around." Dean was unsurprised at Frank's knowledge, after all, most bartenders prided themselves on knowing what was going on in their towns.
"Good, glad to hear it. From what I understand he was pretty bad off."
A few moments later Frank came out from behind the bar and headed back toward the kitchen. Dean turned slightly on the pretense of looking at more of the pictures and noted the Sheriff and his buddies quiet conversation.
Frank emerged from the kitchen, carrying a huge platter. As he set it in front of Dean, the older man said with pride, "Now, Floss is good, but even she'll admit my calamari is the best."
"Better stop your bragging, old man. If Floss were to hear you, you'd be in a world of trouble," Sheriff Swan said as he stepped up to the bar a grin on his face.
Frank scowled a bit and muttered, "I ain't like you boys, I'm not scared of a couple of old ladies."
Sheriff Swan laughed and nodded. "Yeah, is that right? How about get Peg on down here and you can tell her that yourself."
Frank flushed slightly and turned from the bar. Putting his back to the sheriff, he muttered, "Aw, mind your own business."
Sheriff Swan was a small man, he stood a good couple inches shorter than Dean. His sparse brown hair was trimmed short and his face was clean-shaven. To Dean he looked like he'd once been fit but had let himself go in the last couple of years. Though he wasn't fat, his beer gut was beginning to put a strain on his shirt buttons.
Over at the Thompson's place he'd seemed fairly competent, though grossly out of his league in dealing with the apparent kidnapping. Dean had met a lot of law enforcement in his years and had become something of an expert. The best he could say about Thompson was that the man hadn't made things worse.
"We're gonna take that bottle now, Frank. How about fixing us up with a plate of that squid it's looking mighty tempting."
Frank turned to face the sheriff and shrugged. "You're out of luck tonight, Paul. He got the last of it."
Dean never one to pass up an opportunity, pushed the plate toward the sheriff. "You guys want some? I'll never be able to eat this much on my own."
The sheriff focused on Dean for a moment, and the younger man held still. Careful to remain cool, he waited to see what Swan would do.
"Sounds good. Why don't you get that beer refilled and come join us. It's been a shit day and I plan on knocking back a few." The sheriff lifted the plate and his re-filled beer and headed toward the back booth.
Dean accepted his own glass from Frank and followed the sheriff. Of the two men that sat in the booth with Swan, the one wearing the deputy uniform was the younger. Probably close to Dean's age, he looked a bit worse for wear. Pale, with dark circles ringing his eyes, he kept his hands clenched around the beer that sat on the table in front of him. Dean had seen the deputy a couple times coming in and out of the Thompson's and he knew the guy was one of the three men under Swan's command.
The other man was older, heavyset and probably closer to Swan's age. He sat nursing a beer, a half-eaten bowl of pasta in front of him. At the Sheriff's approach both men looked up.
"Guys, this here fine fellow has agreed to share the last of Frank's calamari with us," the sheriff said as he placed the plate on the table and slid into the booth.
"Guess he's never tasted it before if he's willing to share," the heavyset guy replied. "I'm Jimmy, this here kid's Tommy," he said as he gestured toward the deputy.
"This is Dean, Him and his brother are staying with the sisters. They're doing their best to fatten him up like a Christmas goose," Swan said with a laugh.
"He ain't kidding, kid. You watch out or else you'll find yourself served up on a platter. Those two ladies have spent their lives just reeling men in with their cooking."
Dean, here under a direct order from the sisters, could only smile grimly at Jimmy's all too apt words. Satisfied that he'd gotten his opening, he reached out and picked up a piece of the fried squid an popped it into his mouth. With a groan of delight, he picked up another.
Frank's, 'told you kid' was the only sound heard, other than the occasional groan, for the next few minutes as everyone enjoyed the calamari. Dean was content, he'd made it farther than he could hope and had yet to show his hand at all. Dean had learned that fishing for information was often like a hand of poker. You needed to be aware of the undercurrents at the table, and you needed to conceal your own hand, offering up only the information you wanted known and keeping the rest to yourself.
At last the plate was nearly empty and everyone needed refills on beer. Dean stood intending to buy the next round when the Sheriff placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back down into his seat.
"Hey, Frank, give us a bottle," he called out to the bartender.
"Boy, you are gonna tie one on," Jimmy said as he leaned back in his seat.
"Damn, straight, after the day we had..." Swan's voice trailed off as he met his deputy's gaze. The kid blanched a bit, and drank down the last of his beer.
It was then Frank appeared at Dean's elbow a bottle of clear liquid in his hand. Dean very nearly groaned as he read the label.
"You ever drink Anisette, Dean?" Chief Swan took the bottle and the glasses and poured a dram for each of them.
"Yup, I have actually," Dean answered trying to block the images of the puke fest the clear liquid induced in him the last time he'd tried the licorice tasting liquor.
"Good man," the sheriff said as he raised his glass. "Salude"
"Salude," the other man echoed.
Dean lifted his glass in acknowledgment and took the obligatory sip of the clear liquid. Careful not to grimace he looked up at the others and noticed they were staring at him. It was obvious they were testing him, trying to decide if he was to be allowed in the inner circle. Dean had no intention of backing down, if he was going to help the Thompsons he needed an in with the sheriff's department.
It was only later, as the men continued to bullshit refilling their glasses again and again, Dean began to wonder if he was wasting his time. Perhaps he'd read the situation wrong and the men were simply blowing off steam rather than gathering for the pow-wow he'd hoped for.
It was well past ten p.m. when the last drop of anise was poured. Dean had been carefully judicious in his drinking, he had no intention of losing control here. He had to admit, he was impressed by both Paul Swan and Jimmy Fitzwater. Both men had downed more than Dean and yet neither one seemed at all affected. Tommy, the young deputy, was nearly comatose. He'd long ago given up drinking and now sat in the booth his head resting on his arms. The slight snore that issued forth was the only indication he hadn't dropped dead.
"Frank, bring us a bottle of the red and an order of rings," Jimmy bellowed. The noise caused Tommy's snoring to stutter a bit, but still the kid slept on.
Frank brought a heavy dark green wine bottle to the table and set it down. There was no label to be found, though Dean assumed it was indeed wine. What threw him off was the appearance of tumblers similar to what they'd used for the anisette. Dean never drank wine. The idea of actually ordering a glass without falling down in laughter or blushing in embarrassment had ensured that.
As Paul filled the three tumblers Dean was reassured that at least he needn't worry about getting drunk. There was no way he'd end up on the floor over a bottle of red wine.
Paul lifted his glass and sipped the dark liquid. "So, Jimmy, my favorite brother-in-law, what're my choices?"
Dean focused on the two men surprised to find that Jimmy and Paul were related. Neither one had made any mention of it over the last couple of hours.
"Shit, Paul, I may be the district attorney but that doesn't mean I know any more than you do." Jimmy's affable face sagged into a frown as he contemplated the drink in his hand. "I just can't believe it, I mean I know she had that trouble years ago, but still."
Paul ran a hand across his face and groaned. "If I hadn't found that poor little babe laying in the woods I never would have believed it myself. But, I did. And I'm telling you the room was clean. No one went in and no one came out. Well no one other than Emma."
Dean wanted to howl in anger as the Sheriff's words sank in. "You found the baby." It wasn't a question but a statement.
"Poor little thing was lying in the woods a couple hundred yards from the back of the house," Paul's voice was ripe with pity as he gulped down more wine.
"The husband?" Dean questioned. Keen to avoid scrutiny he took a drink of his glass surprised to find the dark red liquid was not at all fruity as he'd thought it would be. Instead it was dry and strong. Grateful for the warmth that stole through him at the first sip, he took another.
"Alibi's tighter than a frog's ass," Paul answered.
"So you're thinking it was the mother," Dean supplied a feeling of true regret flowing through him. Though he couldn't say he was honestly surprised he couldn't help feeling angry and disappointed.
"Well, between her history and the lack of evidence pointing to anyone else, I don't see that there's any other option," the sheriff said.
From his tone, Dean understood that the sheriff wished he could point the finger at someone else, anyone else. Dean couldn't blame him, he was in no rush to go back to the b&b and explain this to the sisters and Sam.
888
Sam awoke with a start. Unsure of what was wrong, but certain something was off, he sat up. He'd fallen asleep on the couch shortly after five pm. He must have slept for a while because the room was completely black. Reaching out he fumbled with the tableside lamp and switched it on.
"Argh..."
Sam jumped a mile at the sound. "Dean?"
There on the recliner across from him, looking the worse for wear, was his brother. Springing lightly to his feet, Sam hovered over the elder Winchester. "Dean, what's wrong? What happened?"
"Calm down, Sammy. 'm fine. Just wasn't expecting the light."
"Where the hell have you been?"
"Out schmoosing the locales," Dean groaned as he sat up a bit straighter.
Sam took a step back, giving his brother some room. He couldn't however force himself to sit back on the couch, at least not as long as his brother looked as if he was gonna fall down dead any minute. "Just how much schmoosing did you have to do, Dean? You look like shit."
Sam had to admit to himself he was surprised by Dean's condition. Though his brother could drink with the best of them, he never got drunk on a job. His older brother was an expert at pretending to lose control, but he never actually lost it.
"Yeah, well you'd look like shit too, if you'd spent the day trying to prove to a bunch of old men you can hold your liquor." Dean followed this statement with a groan.
Sam, reassured that nothing was wrong, collapsed onto the couch. "Yeah, well I've spent the day being browbeaten by a couple of old ladies."
"Good point, I won't complain. So what'd you find out, anything?"
Although Dean kept his eyes closed while he spoke, Sam could tell by the tone of his voice that he was troubled. That didn't bode well for the Thompson family. Sam sighed and said, "Not much. I managed to get 'lost' coming back from the bathroom and ended up in the baby's bedroom. There was nothing to show, no EMF, no sulfur, nothing. The Thompson's seem on the up and up, they were both completely devastated."
"Yeah, maybe," Dean said his eyes opening a fraction.
"No, maybes, Dean. Emma's heartbroken and Evan keeps blaming himself."
"Why's he blaming himself?" Dean asked.
Sam had a feeling Dean knew more than he was letting on, and he spoke carefully so as not to add to whatever his brother's working theory was. "He wasn't home. He was away on business and only got back this morning. His alibi's tight though, he was traveling with a co-worker."
"Yeah, I'd heard his alibi was good."
His brother's emphasis on the word 'his' wasn't lost on Sam. "Dean, don't. I saw her, hell I spent two hours sitting right next to her. She's not the bad guy here." Sam felt himself growing angry with Dean's insinuations.
"Listen, Sam. You can't go through life believing that everyone's innocent. Shit like this happens everyday."
Dean's world weary tone stopped Sam from raging at his brother. Dean had grown up in a world where very little good ever happened. The Winchesters had spent their formative years living in low rate motels, boarding houses and cheap rentals. During his younger years, Dean had done everything possible to protect Sam from the hasher realities so often seen in places like that. The problem was there had been no one to protect Dean. His brother's view of humanity, low to begin with, had become pretty black indeed. It seemed only children escaped Dean's pessimism. Well, children and maybe seniors, Sam thought as he considered his brother's fondness for the sisters.
"I know it happens, Dean. I do. I don't live in a bubble like you seem to think. It's just in this case I really do believe Emma. She couldn't have done it."
"Well, you're the only one that believes her, tomorrow morning she's being taken into custody for questioning."
"Oh my, that poor baby."
Sam turned his head to see Floss and Peg making their way downstairs. Despite the late hour both sisters were fully dressed. He had to smile at his brother's heartfelt groan as the sisters moved into the living room.
Sam exchanged glances with his less than sober brother. Dean lifted an eyebrow asking for Sam's opinion. Sam had no doubt his brother had bad news, but he couldn't see anyway to avoid telling the sisters. Besides, in every likelihood the women would hear it from someone else even if Dean could manage to evade their questions.
As the sisters took seats Dean sat forward all traces of his hangover gone. It was hidden behind the same mask that concealed his sorrow over the news he was about to impart. Though Dean didn't believe in the innate goodness of humanity he always seemed to take it personally when he was proved right.
"I tracked down the Sheriff," Dean said his voice low and grave. "It wasn't hard, after the night he'd had old Swan headed straight for the nearest bar."
"Allegro," Floss stated.
"Yup, I wandered in and struck up a conversation with the Sheriff and his buddies."
"Humph, struck up a conversation. Now, I know those boys and what you're trying to say, oh so delicately, is that they threw down the gauntlet and you accepted," Peg said her irritation clear.
Dean groaned at the reminder, "Damn, Bastards, set me up."
"What did they get you with, the anisette or the red?" Peg asked one brow raised in question.
Dean swallowed thickly before answering, "Both."
"It's a wonder you're still standing," Floss replied a bit of awe in her tone.
Sam glanced toward his brother unsure of what was going on. "Dean?"
"It was nothing, Sammy, just a test. I had it under control," Dean shut his eyes and clenched his jaw for a moment before continuing, "Though, I have to admit that homemade red wine's a killer."
"We pride ourselves on our wine, it might taste like crap, but it's got a kick," Floss said as she sent a sly glance toward Peg. "Doesn't it, Peg?"
Peg coolly ignored her younger sister, but Sam could have sworn he detected a slight blush making its way up her slim neck. He found himself momentarily distracted by the idea that the ever upright Peg might have a less than perfect past. Dean seemed to be on the verge of questioning Floss farther when Peg brought them all back to the subject at hand.
"Well, now that we've discussed your drinking habits I'd love to know what you found out."
Dean stared hard at the elderly ladies for a moment before he spoke, "They're keeping it quiet until the morning, but, they found the babe."
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, a shaft of sorrow piercing his chest. Though his brother hadn't spelled it out, Sam had no doubt what he was saying. The babe had been found, but not in time.
"Where?" Sam asked his only thought now to find the bastard that was responsible.
"A couple hundred yards from the back yard, she never stood a chance," Dean said as he met Sam's hard gaze.
Again, Sam heard what Dean left unsaid. Not only was the baby dead but she'd suffered. Swallowing, Sam ground out, "Leads?"
"Only one. The place was clean."
Sam stood and moved to the window. Placing his hands on the window sill, he found himself wishing they'd never come to Revere.
"Wait, I don't understand, if they found the baby then..." Floss's words trailed off as she grasped what Dean hadn't said. "Oh, no," she sighed softly.
Sam turned from the window only to meet Peg's steely gaze. If it was possible, the older woman looked even harder than she had only hours ago. He could see her determination grow right before his eyes as she considered all Dean had said and left unsaid.
"They're blaming it on Emma. They think that poor woman killed her own baby," her tone made it clear she wasn't asking, she already understood the situation.
"Yeah, well they've got pretty good reason," Dean said his own jaw tight with tension. "I don't know how much you know about your neighbor but the sheriff's not so far off base."
Peg sneered and said, "Oh, of course you'd side with him. I really expected better of you, Dean."
Sam stared in confusion as the two older siblings had a silent battle of wills. Their gazes locked, neither one seemed inclined to back down. It was Floss that finally broke through to both of them.
"Peg, he doesn't know. He's just a baby, he can't understand."
Peg blinked several times as if she was trying to regain her focus and stood. "Come on, Floss, let's get some sleep, we're going to need to get over there first thing. Evan shouldn't have to be alone."
Peg stood without another word and left the room. Floss stood and moved toward Dean. Reaching out, she cupped his chin gently and tilted his face up to meet her gaze. "You're a good man, Dean, and Peg knows it. It's why she asked you for help. Don't let the sheriff color your investigation. You owe it to Emma to decide on your own."
Floss smiled softly and left the room. Sam stood, arms folded and stared at his brother. Even in the soft light of the living room, Sam could see just how worn down he was. Moving over to Dean's side, Sam held out his hand, "Come on, let's get you to bed."
888
Dean awoke to the harsh sounds of Sam's coughing. With a grimace he stood and quickly pulled on a pair of jogging pants. He'd learned to keep a pair on the floor by the side of his bed for just such emergencies. It was only prudent after he'd had Floss catch him in his boxers one night when he'd gone downstairs for a glass of water for Sam.
"Sam, come on, Sammy." Dean stood up and moved to his brother's bed. Sam lay curled up on his side, his sides heaving as he tried to clear his lungs. Dean felt less panic than he had before simply because Sam's coughing was no longer a dry wheeze but a deep sounding rattle. It was obvious the infection in his lungs was at last beginning to break up. At this point a productive cough was a good thing.
After a moment of nearly continuous coughing, Sam at last got it under control. " 'm Okay," he said as he began to sit up.
Dean hooked a hand under his arm and helped the younger man into a seated position. He then set about getting Sam a glass of water. As he held out the glass to his brother he asked, "You wanna do another steam bath?"
Sam shook his head, "Naw, I'm okay. I actually think I'm getting better."
Dean nodded and settled back into his own bed. Leaning against the headboard he lay with his legs crossed and his hands resting on his stomach. Closing his eyes against the pain in his head, he agreed with his brother, "Yeah, I think you're starting to cough some of it out."
"You feeling all that wine, huh?"
Dean couldn't help but hear the snicker in his brother's voice. "Yeah, well laugh it up, Chuckles, next time someone has to take one for the team I'll make sure it's you."
"You kidding me, I know my limitations, Dean. I wouldn't have lasted past the anisette."
Dean grimaced and swallowed hard. "God, I hate that crap. Do you remember the last time we drank it?"
Sam's laugh was low and hoarse. "Remember? Hell, how could I forget? We stole it out of Bobby's liquor cabinet. I thought Dad was going to kill you."
Dean couldn't help but grin at the memory. It had been his eighteenth birthday and he'd wanted to celebrate it in style. Stuck at Bobby's on a job he'd snuck the bottle out of Bobby's stash and had talked Sam into tying one on with him. They'd ended up on Bobby's front end loader tearing up the salvage yard and singing the 'Pina Colada' song at the top of their lungs. Needless to say it was a birthday Dean would never forget. Every now and again when he was completely exasperated with the brothers, Bobby had a tendency to hum the song, drawing a blush from both him and Sam.
"She didn't do it, Dean. I know she didn't. Just meet her, that's all I'm saying. Just meet her and decide for yourself. If you do and you still think she's guilty I'll roll over."
Dean sat, eyes closed, and contemplated his brother's request. Though he had little doubt after talking to the sheriff that the woman was guilty he found he couldn't shoot his brother down. Sam was so hell bent on saving the world he'd forgotten that sometimes the world wasn't worth saving. "Okay, Sam. We'll keep diggin'."