SEVEN

Headstrong

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Frost walked into the office and slammed the door behind her. She found the two FBI agents wandering around the room, the taller one with his hands in his pockets, the shorter one rifling through loose-leaf folders absently.

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded.

They looked over at her.

"Chief, look, we know that--" Sam began.

"Agent Peart, forgive me for saying this, but shut it," she snapped. Sam closed his mouth abruptly, surprised. Frost looked at Dean, jabbing a finger at him. "What in the world possessed you to interrogate the distraught husband of the victim!" she shouted.

Dean's eyes narrowed on her. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and put his hands in his trouser pockets.

"You wanna sit around till he feels better?" he accused. "You wanna wait for him to get over the biggest, most horrible thing in his life so he can start talking to us?"

"The least you could do is pretend to be sympathetic!" she shouted.

"Why, what would that get us, except a few hours of blubbing and time-wasting?" Dean shot back. "At least now we know we should be talking to this James Harrison! A fact you neglected to mention!"

"You never said you thought it was someone from the Thirteen!" she argued. "If you had, maybe I could have helped you!"

"Alright!" Sam called over the noise. Dean and Frost looked at him quickly. "There's no point getting angry over it - what's done is done. We have to talk to James Harrison and find out who's left out of the Thirteen, and who would want to hurt any of them - including you, Chief," he added simply.

"You think I could be killing--"

"You could be next," Sam interrupted.

She looked over at him slowly. "I'm not in the Thirteen," she admitted. "Not any more."

"Yeah - and why is that?" Dean demanded pointedly.

"Personal reasons. Ones I don't have to share with the FBI," she asserted. "Anyway," she managed, tugging her jacket straight and straightening her shoulders, "you two wait here while I make a phone call." She turned for the door. "Oh and Agent Lee?" she said suddenly, stopping with her hand on the doorknob.

"What?" Dean asked innocently.

"If I get back and find out you've been going through anything in here, you will spend the next few hours cuffed to the desk while Agent Peart and I make this house call if I can fix it up. Ok?" she smiled sweetly.

Dean's slightly angry face jumped the garden fence and found itself in sarcastic territory. Sam cringed on the inside, fearing the next remark from his brother.

"Well hey, sweetheart, if you want me in handcuffs all you have to do is ask," the elder Winchester winked slyly.

She stared at him for a long moment. Then she shook her head briskly, as if something were stuck in it and she couldn't make it disappear. She turned determinedly and opened the door. "Peart!" she called over her shoulder.

"Yes ma'am," Sam called back.

"Watch him!"

"Yes ma'am," he smiled. He looked at Dean. Dean raised a single eyebrow as the door shut firmly. He pinned Sam with a devil-may-care jaw-jut and put his hand out, lifting the corner of a file.

Sam tutted. "Stop that."

Dean flicked the corner up and down. Sam reached out and slapped his hand.

"Just don't, Dean," he warned him. "You've already pissed her off. Now we have to try and keep on her good side so she doesn't go checking our badge numbers."

"Hey, you were the one who said she'd never arrest us," he pointed out defensively.

"Well you're not helping. Quit it," he snapped irritably.

Dean huffed and they looked at the door, waiting. It was silent for a whole minute. Then Dean's hand went out and flicked the corner open again. Sam slapped it down with force, catching his brother's hand painfully underneath. He hissed and drew it back.

"Dude?" Dean accused.

Sam just moved over and stood next to the pile, leaning his elbow on the files.

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Sam flipped through the notes slowly, the small Maglight in his mouth providing ample light. He sniffed and re-read the last page, looking up at the dark view beyond the windscreen. He closed the loose-leafed collection of papers inside his notebook and took the torch from his mouth. He twisted it to cut the light and sighed, getting comfortable.

"Funny how James Harrison wouldn't see anyone until tomorrow," he mused out loud. "You'd think with all this going on he'd want to get it cleared up as soon as possible. Seeing as you found there is no other coven here, so we could start legitimately start accusing members of his Thirteen now." He sniffed to himself, thinking it through. "You think the Chief will be out here too?" he asked his brother quietly, looking around the graveyard before zeroing back in on the headstone that marked Hannah Barrington's place of rest. There was no answer and he looked over at Dean.

He had long since fallen asleep, his head against the glass. The breaths from his slightly open mouth misted up the window in tiny sagas of wispy births and shockingly boring college lives that led to degrees in Misting and Obfuscating, before getting solid jobs in Fog or Coverage in high-profile companies. After forty seconds of hard work for said company, they retired with their wispy watches before dying dissipating deaths, out-breathed by the next generation.

Sam watched his brother for a moment, then shook his head and looked out of his passenger window. He shifted in the seat to be more comfortable, the Taurus handgun heavy in his corduroy jacket pocket. He took a deep breath, sighing it out and watching it make eerie shadows against the glass. He turned his head to make sure the grave was dead centre of his vision, the list of the Thirteen names Dean had goaded Frost into giving up that afternoon going round and round his head.

Something rapped on the glass and he jumped about six inches in his seat. His panicked hand slapped into Dean's arm automatically. Dean snorted in a sudden breath, twitching.

"Plain yoghurt--" he began. His eyes sprang open as Sam's fist thumped at him again. He looked over at him blearily. "Whut the--?"

He saw the face through Sam's window and relaxed his tensed frame, leaning his head back over the seat.

"Lady, you don't go round scaring people in the middle of a graveyard!" Dean called at the roof lining.

Sam wound his window down quickly. "Chief, what are you doing here?" he asked, pretending he hadn't nearly soiled himself in fright.

Frost leaned on the frame of the open window, shaking her head. She appeared to be dressed in a black t-shirt and a loose fleece, dark jeans barely visible in the pitch night.

"My first guess would be: the same thing you two boys are doing. Only I'm awake." She bent her neck more to look across at Dean. "Run out of coffee, Agent Lee?"

"Hours ago," he admitted, wiping his face.

"You do realise you're going to have to show me your warrant that allows you to park on private ground?"

"You do realise we don't need to show you anything - apart from maybe a warning 'cos you're impeding a federal investigation?" Sam replied rather coolly.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Right," she allowed, with a rather hefty chunk of doubt. "Look, if we're all waiting for Neal to come and try grave-robbing again, we may as well do it together."

"Ok, sure," Dean said brightly. "You wait in your car and we'll wait in mine, together in the knowledge we're all much more comfortable for having distance between us."

"Why, Agent Lee, you're starting to make me think you don't like me," she smiled impishly. She tapped the top of the car soundly before straightening. Sam and Dean exchanged an annoyed glance. "Oh, one thing," she said suddenly, bending down again and flashing her light into the Impala deliberately, "if and when Neal gets here, don't you get in my way again. I'd hate to have to shoot you."

"You took the words right outta my mouth," Dean smiled. It was not a nice smile, in that it only stretched sarcastic lips into an angry thin line. "You're good - my tongue didn't even feel it."

Sam lifted his closed fist and hammered it into the side of Dean's knee. He flinched but Frost just shook her head, snapping off her torch and turning away.

"Dude, why'd you have to get snarky like that?" Sam hissed.

"Why do we have to put up with her sticking her witchy nose in?"

"Dean, she's a Wiccan - or was. It's not like she was conjuring Lucifer or getting dark arts or strength from demons, is it? Probably the worst she'd ever done is try to cause rain in July!"

"I know," Dean grumped. "She just… There's something about her that damages my calm."

Sam snorted in mirth, then looked out of the open window to watch her getting into her BMW not thirty feet away. He looked back at Dean and did a double-take, reading the look on his face.

"Dude," Sam said decisively. Dean tore his gaze from the window and looked at him.

"What?"

"Dude," Sam sighed, shaking his head in pity.

"What!" he cried angrily.

"I can see exactly how she damages your calm," he said slowly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean groused, looking out through the front windscreen to check the undisturbed grave.

"Oh come on," Sam scoffed. "You've got that 'wish I had x-ray vision' look on your lechy face."

"Are you insane?" Dean protested, shifting in the seat to face more toward his side window. "She hates me! She's a police chief! And she knows we're not real FBI agents--"

"--She does not--"

"--She does! And it could be her!"

"You seriously think she's causing zombies to lop people's heads off with a shovel!"

"Maybe! And did you see the gun she's carrying?" he ploughed on.

"No, but I saw you checking out her ass!" he wedged in.

Dean's mouth opened to protest. It snapped shut. Momentarily. He sucked in a breath and started again: "I swear Sam, all this hunting and demonic crap has finally driven you off your nut!"

Sam began to gainsay him, then just huffed and closed his own mouth. He folded his arms resolutely, looking out the front window. It was quiet for a long, tense moment. Finally Sam's peripheral vision picked up Dean's eyes flicking to him and back to the windscreen.

Sam cleared his throat quietly. He kept his voice low, matter-of-fact. "But you were looking. Right?"

A whole minute ticked by, and Sam resigned himself to the fact that he was not going to get an answer one way or the other.

But Dean surprised him.

"I cannot tell a lie," the elder Winchester admitted in a small, clipped voice. "I was lookin'."

"Thought so."

"Be rude not to," he admitted with a slight shrug.

"I get it."

"She has got a real nice--"

"Ok - that's enough," Sam snapped, pouting at the window.

"Ye-ah," Dean said quickly. "I can't believe we're talking about this."

"We're not," Sam pointed out curtly.

"Right." He folded his arms, looking out his side window and wishing he were still sleeping. Silence reigned until his head eventually swung back in Sam's general direction, his eyes on the radio. "So when he gets back here, we're leaving her behind, right?"

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"So when he gets back here, we're leaving her behind, right?" Sam said quietly, watching his elder brother pack the duffle.

"Yeah," he sighed, pulling it shut.

"But I like her! She's our soup angel!" Sam protested in a small voice. Dean looked at him.

"I know. But Dad only went to get supplies while we got ready to go. She lives here, Sammy, she can't come with us," he said patiently.

"But why not? Who's gonna make us soup now?" he wailed, distraught. Dean huffed and put his hand out. Sam leapt off the bed and ran over, his distress prompting him to ignore the offered hand and fling himself into Dean's side, grabbing onto his t-shirt front and back. "Make her come with us!" he begged. "Pleeeeeease?"

"I'll ask her. Again," he said deliberately. "You ready to go?"

"Not without the soup angel," Sam pouted.

Dean put his hand on Sam's head, tousling his mousy brown mop fondly. "I said I'd ask her, right?"

The door opened behind them and Nara walked in. "Are you asking someone something?" she asked with a game smile.

Sam and Dean turned to looked at her. Sam hid his face in Dean's shirt, but Dean looked at her guiltily.

"Sam says… Well, Sammy wants me to ask you to come with us. Again," he added uncomfortably.

Nara smiled widely, crossing to the bed and sitting. Sam ran over and grabbed at her knee, trying to haul himself up. She snatched him up and sat him on her lap as Dean traipsed over more slowly.

"Dean, you know I'd love to come with you. But I have family here, and my friends. I'm sorry - I can't leave here right now," she said quietly.

"It's James, isn't it?" Dean accused. "He wants you to marry him, right?"

She stared at him, taken aback. "How do you know that?"

"I heard 'em talking at breakfast yesterday," he said shortly. "James is ok, but he ain't fun, Nara."

"James is a lot of things, to a lot of people," she said, amused. "Your dad likes him."

"Well you can't marry him," Dean blustered, his face slightly red.

"Oh no? Why not?" she asked cautiously.

Dean walked up and slapped his hands over Sam's ears harshly. Sam shook his head and struggled, but Dean kept a good hold to block out his hearing.

"Cos when I'm eighteen I'll come back here and marry you," he said quickly.

Nara stared at him, shocked. "What?" she dared.

"I'm nearly nine, Nara. And James ain't fun - I'm fun. And Sammy really likes you, and so does Dad. I really like you, even if you are a girl," he added. "And I want Sammy to have--" He bit his lip to stop himself as Sam finally managed to wrench Dean's hands from his ears.

"Dean, I… Well, I don't know what to say," she managed. "It's very sweet of you, and… well, I've never had someone… I mean…" She took a deep breath, watching his eyes reflect the fight for peace in his head. She straightened her shoulders and smiled affectionately. "You're right, Dean. You are fun. Serious fun. And I know that one day you're going to be your town's regular heart-breaker." Her smile died and she looked sad suddenly. "But yes, James asked me to marry him and I said yes. I'm sorry."

Dean sighed and looked at Sam. Sam turned round instinctively, searching out his face. He looked back up at Nara.

"Dean needs a hug," he whispered conspiratorially. Nara looked down at Sam suddenly, as if only just realising he were still there.

"Oh Sammy."

"Sam!" Dean corrected.

"Samuel!" little Sam burbled happily, starting to chuckle. "Hug now please."

"He does need a hug, doesn't he?" she commiserated.

"No," Dean said forcefully, going to the door and pulling it open hotly, "Dean doesn't need anything from anyone. Dean looks after himself."

He disappeared out into the corridor, Sam staring after him forlornly. "Whoops," he observed in a small voice. "Needs more than just one hug."

Nara looks down at the small boy, unable to control her sad smile at the worry and compassion on his tiny face.

"You know, Sammy-Sam-Samuel, you're absolutely right," she sighed.

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Dean stomped down the corridor, dodging the people around him until he came to the front door. He grasped at the handle but something caught his arm.

"Hey," said a friendly voice. "Where you off to, Big Man?"

Dean shook himself free and looked up at the adult. "Put that hand on me again and I'll break it off!" he asserted.

James looked down at him, folding his arms. "Is that so?" he smiled.

"Yeah! Don't think I wouldn't!" Dean hurled. "It's your fault she ain't coming with us!"

"'She'?" James asked. "Are we talking about Nara?"

"Yeah!" Dean snapped. "Sam really likes her, he needs to be her friend, I can make it so she stays with him - but you're taking her away from us!"

"Dean, Dean, Dean," James allowed on a sigh, crouching down. Dean's fists balled but James just smiled slightly. "You're what, eight?"

"Nearly nine!"

"Ok, I'm sorry, nearly nine," he said quickly. "I'm nearly twenty-one. If you wanna go ten rounds then fine. But you know who's gonna win."

Dean pouted for a long minute. "You got a car though, right?"

"Yeah. And?"

"Let's just say I know where the gas tank is at. And I got me a big bag of sugar with your name on it," Dean growled.

He turned and stomped off down the hallway, and it was all James could do to watch him go, unsure whether to be amused or concerned.

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