The Hardest Thing is Living
By Woman of Letters
Chapter Seven: A New Case
Later that night, Dean checked in with Frank from the pay phone down the road and came back, frustrated.
"Nothing?" Sam asked, but one look at his brother's face and he knew the answer.
"Just more of the same," he admitted, flinging himself onto the bed.
"Well, I think I've found something for us, and it's not too far from here." Sam had the laptop open on the table. "In Detroit." Dean noticed the brief look of pain that flashed across his brother's face. Detroit would never be a good place for Sam, not after what had happened there.
For Sam, it would always be the city of the Devil.
Dean wished he could erase his brother's pain. Failing that, he could distract him. "A case?" he prodded.
"You tell me. Stephanie Thompson, 14 years old, found in an alley with her face chewed up. Just last night."
Fourteen years old... Sam remembered Buffy's words about a fourteen-year-old girl who had just died, and wondered if there was a connection.
"So...wild animal attacks. How's this our kind of gig?" Dean reached under the bed for his duffel and pulled out the cleaning rags and two or three guns. Only then did Sam see the extent of his brother's frustration. Cleaning the guns was a sure sign that Dean was tightly wound; it was one of the few things that could soothe him when tensions ran high. When things were really bad between Sam and John, before Sam went off to Stanford, Sam remembered his brother spending hours cleaning the guns. That or working on the Impala. Except now Dean's Baby was hidden, and neither of them could use it for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention. Sam loved the Impala, but not like Dean. The separation was hard on his brother. Just another thing you'll pay for, Dick Roman.
He didn't say any of this to Dean, of course. Dean would just shrug and make light of it. And immerse himself in a bottle. His brother had done more than enough of that in the bar, thank you. Sam wasn't going to push him in that direction.
But maybe this case would distract him. "What kind of wild animal snaps a girl's neck first and then chews her up?"
"Good point. Any witnesses?"
"One. Some drunken college kid..." Sam consulted his notes, "one Sheila Raymond, was out at a nearby bar and then witnessed the girl fighting with some other girl in the alley."
"Some other girl..."
"Right. The police report says the witness was raving about the other girl's sharp teeth, puts the whole thing down to alcohol-induced fantasies."
"Peachy. We'll have to question her. So...any other close family or friends?"
"Family lives out of town. She was a student in some kind of boarding school nearby. The Artemis Academy for Girls." Sam wrinkled his nose. "Artemis..."
"Wasn't she that Greek goddess who had all these girls following her?"
"Greek goddess of the hunt."
"Right. And she made them all swear off men. I saw this on pay-per-view."
"Dean!"
"Hey, you can learn a lot on pay-per-view. Some of those chicks..."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Strange name for a prep school, don't you think?"
"Yep. Makes you wonder what they're teaching these girls. Probably a lesbian incubation center."
"Right," Sam said, determined not to get into another argument about lesbians. "Well, we've got lots to do tomorrow then."
"Sounds good to me."
Sam printed out Stephanie's picture, a couple of newspaper clippings about her murder, and the police reports he'd hacked. For a few minutes, Dean immersed himself in cleaning the guns but kept glancing at Sam intensely and then looking away.
Sam sighed. "Would you stop that?"
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me like I'm gonna go postal, Dean."
Dean put the guns on the bed and gazed at his brother intently.
"So when did he come back, Sam?"
I so do not want to have this conversation. But Sam knew it was useless; when it came to his well-being, his brother was like a dog with a bone. He would worry it and chew on it, and then Sam really would be crazy. Crazy from reassuring his brother and rehashing it, over and over and over...
"I'm fine, Dean."
"The hell you are!" The anger in his brother's voice made Sam flinch. "You told me you'd stopped seeing him."
"I had. Well...mostly. I was seeing him but I was able to keep him contained." He showed his brother the wound on his palm. "You know, the wound? The pain always sends him away."
"Then what happened tonight? What if we'd been fighting some hell-thing, Sam? You could've ended up dead!"
"I don't know." Sam didn't want to tell his brother that Dean's face had been plastered on everyone at the bar. His brother would go ballistic, maybe make him stop hunting. And right now, he needed to hunt. "Maybe I drank too much...not clear-headed enough to fight him."
"You drank too much..." Dean sighed, letting it go. Sam obviously wasn't ready to talk about this. Damn it, Sam. When will you trust me? "Always were a wuss when it comes to liquor, Sammy. Better stay sober."
Sam chuckled, glad for the lighter mood. "Well, one of us has to drive." Sam closed his laptop, searching for something else to distract his brother. "Time to get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow. This case and then Buffy..."
The change of subject seemed to work.
"So when are we gonna talk about her?"
"What do you mean?"
"Here you are, my 'let's talk about our feelings' brother, picking up some strange chick at a bar... and you're not talking."
"What's there to say?"
"What do we know about this girl, Sam?"
"She's good."
"And you know this how?"
"A feeling."
"A feeling." Dean laughed. "She has you by the balls, little brother!"
"She does not."
He waggled his eyebrows. "Hey, it's okay. This chick is really into you, too. I can tell." Dean smirked knowingly at his brother. "Buffy and Sammy...a match made in Heaven. If you want, bro, I can stay home. Claim I'm sick or tired."
"No, Dean...it's not like it's a date. She asked for you too."
Dean felt an odd sense of relief at Sam's words. Hell if he knew why, but he really did want to see this chick again.
"Fine, if you insist."
"What worries me is her mention of yellow eyes in her ex. Do you think she's been stalked by a demon?" It was obvious Buffy could take care of herself, but Sam still didn't think she was any match for a demon like Azazel.
"I don't know, Sam. Azazel's dead." I killed the yellow-eyed sonofabitch.
"But this might be another demon out there, on the same level." Sam was wearing his worry lines again.
"It might just have been a trick of the light. Like how hazel eyes sometimes look different at different times of the day?"
"True."
"Besides, Sam, she said she hasn't seen him in months. And they haven't been together in years."
"All right." Sam let the tension go. There really was nothing he could do about the situation, anyway. He didn't even know the name of her ex. "One thing I don't get, Dean. We're taking her to a fancy restaurant. Where are you getting the money from? I made you give back all the winnings."
Dean pulled a wad of cash from the inside pocket of his jeans. "Never put your winnings in one place."
Sam just shook his head ruefully. Typical Dean.
He was fast asleep in a minute, unaware that his brother stayed awake half the night, worrying.
X X X
The man that the world knew as Dick Roman sat back in his pristine office. Clean and cold, the way he liked things. Everything in its place. He fixed his chief scientist with a cold stare. "She what?"
"She snapped her neck." Da'asra, who was currently taking the form of one Uther P. Gutthrey, the head scientist of Roman Industries, tried not to show his fear. One never showed fear in front of the boss; that was a good way to become lunch.
Don't mention the chewing, he thought. Unless you want to become a chew toy yourself.
"She was supposed to bring the girl here, not snap her neck. I thought you said the program would take." Roman tapped his pencil coldly against a notepad on his desk. His people knew him as The Leader, the Boss, and sometimes, as God. Few had the temerity to call him by his given name. And the Leader kept that secret safely hidden. Names were power, after all.
Da'asra began to sweat. The program had been going well, he thought. This should have been so easy. But these creatures...more than human, and their blood so much richer. But also so much more willful.
"I thought we were there, but it seems more testing is needed before we can attain a good prototype," he admitted. "Their willpower makes the process that much harder."
"Step up the testing then," snapped Roman. "And get more test subjects, if you need."
"Yes sir, but we need to go slowly. These aren't the cattle we're used to. They're worse than the Winchesters, I've heard."
"Is that fear I hear from you, Uther?"
Da'asra shuddered inwardly. To be called by the name of the...animal...he was posing as... It was the ultimate insult. "Of course not, my leader. Just being cautious. It would be better for them to find out about us when we are ready to strike, not before."
"And understand this, Uther. If you don't have a successful prototype in one month's time, if you delay this project any further," the Leader snapped the pencil in half, "I will find someone else to become Uther Gutthrey. And you will serve us in...other ways." The Leader grinned at Da'asra, the smile of a shark who knows the fish before him will end up between his teeth.
X X X
A/N Thank you to the FICWISE Writing Group for all of your input, but especially, a big thank you to all of my readers! Your reviews inspire me to continue and they let me know if I'm on the right track. Thank you!
I'm going to be taking a short hiatus and the next chapter will be posted either Wednesday or Thursday, April 3rd or 4th, which is after Passover. There is just too much preparation for the holiday.
To all my readers- a Happy Passover or Easter, or whatever spring holiday you celebrate.
