NINE
Like A Hole In The Head
.
"I'll remember you said that," Dean allowed with a slightly pointed eyebrow, and Frost grinned wickedly. "Never was one for running a tab, though."
She felt his hand in her hair, pulling her face closer to his. He reached out for her with his chin and she leaned on him heavily.
The adrenaline rush the smell of him triggered was nearly too much - but she dared to control her electric nervousness.
Closer - closer - closer, she willed, leaning into him. Closer - closer - closer --
A pair of bright headlights cut through the rear windscreen suddenly, causing them both to wince and look round into them.
Bloody hell! she protested.
Dean let his hand drop and Frost pulled herself away smartly as the Impala chug-chugged her way up alongside the BMW. The lights dimmed and went out, the engine silenced soon after.
She heard Dean clear his throat but she turned and swung out of the car. She walked round to the other side and opened the door, perhaps a little harshly if anyone were counting. Dean put his hand on the roof and hauled himself out, finding himself steady on his feet. He looked across the roof and blinked at the front doors to the hospital.
Sam appeared out of the far side of the Impala.
"Do we have to do this?" Dean grumped.
"Yes," Sam called firmly. "Don't whine."
Frost hid a smile at Dean's expense, her amused eyes catching Sam's matching face. He sniffed and came round the car slowly, looking at them both.
"You sure you need to come in? I can take care of him," he said to Frost.
"Hey, I can do it," Dean protested.
"Well…" Frost havered, "if you're sure he can walk ok."
"He? He? I'm right here!" Dean pointed out.
"He'll be ok. He's had worse," Sam nodded. "Thanks, though. You've been really… uh… co-operative," he managed.
"Right," Frost said knowingly. "At long as I'm 'co-operative' and he gets some medical attention, everything will be fine, eh?"
Dean raised his right hand in a decidedly half-hearted gesture. "Still here," he sighed.
Frost turned to him suddenly, simply eyeing him. "Get in there and make sure they check your head."
"Alright! Just stop talking about me like I can't hear you!" Dean cried.
She grinned, her gaze on him for a long moment. Sam cleared his throat, looking out over the roof of the Impala, and she let her hand drop swiftly.
"Go," she advised.
"Yeah," Dean said hurriedly, turning away.
Sam stepped back to let him walk off toward the main doors. He looked back at Frost, nodded his thanks, and followed his elder brother across the dark car park.
They heard Frost open her car door and get back in, the engine starting. Sam looked over his shoulder as the champagne BMW pulled out of the car park.
"So," Sam said clearly, "she's sweet on you," he teased.
That ain't the problem. "Dude, I know. I'm not an idiot," he snapped defensively.
"The suspected murderess," Sam added maliciously.
Neither's that. "Shut up."
"The Wiccan Witch of the Watch who's picking coven members off one by one!"
And that is about as far from the problem as it could get. "Sam. Piehole: shut - it." They reached the main doors and Dean grabbed the handle.
"But this is a good thing - you can stop her from reporting us to the real Feds if she finds out we're not--" Sam began.
He was forced to stop abruptly as Dean slammed the door into his front to walk through. He grinned as he stepped around it and followed him into the reception of the hospital.
"It was the handcuffs line, right? Right?" he pressed maliciously as Dean walked toward the counter.
Hardly. If you even remembered Nara, you'd have a problem too. "Dude, one more crack, I dare you," he warned.
Sam bit his lip and was content to smile at the nice young nurse on the desk.
.
.
Three hours later and Sam was driving them back to the motel, one hand on the wheel, one on the window block. He had his hand up, sliding his fingers over his lip as he thought about the night and everything that had happened so far.
"So… Annette was decapitated, and then she springs up not six hours later, bashing you over the head with a spade," he muttered. There was no answer from the passenger side and Sam looked over. "Dean."
"What?" he asked quickly, turning from his inspection of the roadside through his window.
"Are you listening?"
"Always," he blustered. He paused, thought about it, and frowned to himself. "What were you talking about?"
"Annette having no head. And then getting it back again," he said clearly.
"Oh. Yeah." Dean sniffed and looked back out of the window. It was silent, save the rumble of the Impala and the occasional squeak. Sam looked over at his brother, then back to the road. He waited.
"And?" he pressed.
"And what?" Dean asked, his gaze still on the window.
"And what do you think is going on here?" he demanded.
Dean turned his head and looked at him. "Calm down, Sammy. I'm thinking," he said reasonably.
"About what? The case? Or Chief Frost?"
"Sam," Dean tutted.
"It's the Chief, isn't it?" Sam fumed. "God. Can't you keep your pants zipped up for one case?"
"Woah woah woah - who flattened the battery in your laptop?" Dean protested defensively, glaring at him.
"Look, we're supposed to be finding out who's causing these zombies to kill people, and we haven't even got a way to connect all the victims yet."
"The coven is a good place to--"
"Neal wasn't even in the coven!" Sam reminded him. "And Annette was new, only in cos Hannah died! Not exactly a contender for someone with a long history of grudges against her, is she?"
Dean looked back out of the window. "Just let me sleep on it," he offered quietly. "Ma head hurts."
Sam looked at him, his eyes running over the small white patch in Dean's hair, currently covering the damage caused by a large spade, and then his eyes darted back to the windscreen. He sighed, letting his anger slip slightly.
"What is there to think about?" he allowed with a definite air of dejection, the lack of leads jumping up and waving for his attention a second time.
Dean didn't answer, but when Sam glanced at his big brother, he saw very clearly that he had already slipped back into the strange haze, causing consternation and concentration to crease his older features.
Sam shook his head and drove on.
.
.
Frost rapped on the door loudly, chewing her lip. She waited impatiently, pretending she was adjusting her jacket because it was habit.
The motel door opened and Sam looked out in his shirt and trousers. "Oh!" he managed. "Er… hey, Chief. It's… early."
"It's nine thirty, Agent Peart," she pointed out, pushing past him and into the room.
"You might wanna wait--" Sam began.
Frost stopped dead. Her eyes refused to bend to her will and close. Or even blink. Dean was standing in just his black suit trousers, bending over the bed to reach the white shirt on it. He turned at Sam's voice, finding the police chief stood watching him with an unreadable expression on her face.
"Chief," he nodded, snapping the shirt out efficiently and pulling it on one arm.
Sam closed the door and went in his bare feet to the far bed, plonking himself down and finding his socks.
"Ah… I just came to find out why you weren't already at the station," she said smartly. "We did agree to see James at ten."
"Is it ten yet?" Dean pointed out, pulling on the other shirt sleeve.
"No. But it's a twenty-minute drive to his place."
"Wow. Well I'm sure we'll be there on time," Dean sniffed, buttoning the shirt.
"James doesn't like to wait," she commented, folding her arms.
"Well James can bite me," Dean said politely, doing up the buttons on the shirt cuffs. She raised an eyebrow at him, a lip jutting out in unamused disapproval, and Sam looked up from his newly-dressed feet.
"We'll be ready, Chief," he reassured her. "You want to wait here, or in the car?"
"Do you have any coffee?" she asked, her unimpressed gaze still on Dean as he looked around for his duffle, and by extension, socks.
"Nope," Dean announced. "Made a jug but we drank it."
"Then I'll be outside," she said to Sam, nodding slightly. She turned and walked out, closing the door behind her.
"Woah," Sam snorted, getting to his feet and straightening his tie.
Dean unbuttoned the top of his trousers and started pushing his shirt tails inside. "What?"
"She's a different person in the morning," he observed.
"So am I. It's probably a coffee thing," Dean muttered, buttoning himself up again and finding his socks on the bed.
"I'm sure," Sam smiled, turning for his jacket and slipping it on.
.
.
She stopped the BMW right outside the house, and it seemed to the Winchester boys that she paused, staring at the house for a long moment.
"Ready?" Sam asked, already climbing out of the back seat.
"Of course," she said quickly, opening her door and getting out. She closed the door slowly, waiting for Dean to vacate the car before locking it up. She turned back to the house, and there was something resolute in her walk as she led them up the stoney path.
Sam and Dean fell into step behind her, taking in the very pristine front of the house and the perfectly manicured lawn. They stopped as she stepped up to the door, ringing the bell. There was nothing but birds and far away traffic until the door clicked and opened.
"Yes?" a man asked. Tall and lean, with a wiry look of caution about him, he stood in the doorway with his dark hair and eyes. He, too, looked perfectly groomed.
"James," she said warmly.
"Jo! Of course - ten o'clock, right?" he smiled. She nodded and he stood back from the door, waving a hand for her to come in. "And these are your FBI friends?"
"You're half right: they're FBI," she said with a broad smile as she passed him to go into the house.
James looked back at the two Winchesters, politely waiting for an invitation. "Well come on in, then," he said pleasantly. "Jo's bark is worse than her bite," he added conspiratorially, then turned to see where Frost had gone. Sam nudged his brother maliciously, but Dean appeared to be staring aimlessly at the spot which had until recently sported James' head.
Sam nudged him again, slightly worried. Dean jumped slightly and stepped in through the door. Sam followed and they walked in, following Frost into the front room of a plush, comfortable home. She swung her arms, banging her fists together, looking around in a large, slow circle. Sam watched her surreptitiously as Dean and James entered the room too.
"So then. You said this was about Hannah and Annette?" James said, closing the door to the front room and gesturing them to sit.
Frost went to the single chair, sitting in it but sliding forward to perch on the edge. She put her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped together.
"Yes," she said clearly. "And that's all it's about."
"Ok," James allowed, waving to the sofa. Sam and Dean parked themselves on the large piece of furniture, still taking in the room.
"These two gentlemen think perhaps someone is targeting the Thirteen," she said quietly.
"Really?" James asked, looking over at Sam. "And why's that?"
"Hannah was the first victim," Sam said carefully, noticing Frost's worried glance at the door. "And then Annette. We think someone might be working their way down the list of members."
"Right. Do you have a list of members?" James inquired politely, but there was an element of bemused dislike hiding just underneath the surface.
"We do. Chief Frost was good enough to supply us with it," Sam nodded.
"Then I don't really see what help I can be, gentlemen."
"What? Someone's killing your coven off one by one and you don't see what help you can be?" Dean protested.
"Oh, so now we're a coven, are we?" James asked, amused. "Quaint. And why would someone be after us?"
"You're supposed to be telling us that," Sam allowed.
"Do I get an FBI badge and some danger money if I do?"
"James," Frost snapped, and he looked at her. "Don't be an ass. Are you going to help me-- us or not?"
"I said I always would."
Sam noticed the guarded look of annoyance Frost sent him, and then Dean cleared his throat suddenly.
"You can answer me a question that's been nagging at me all morning," he said politely.
"And what's that? What a pants press is for?" James asked with a wide, unctuous smile.
Dean's right eyebrow took it upon itself to arch, giving off the same aura of danger as a coiled snake.
"No, see… Well, this is Agent Peart's department really, he knows about these pagan things," he said deliberately slowly, "but I was just wondering how a Wiccan Thirteen has a man as their priestess. Y'know, the big girl in charge."
There was a long, awkward silence.
"I took the job on after my mother passed away," James said stiffly.
"Really," Dean oiled, nodding understandingly. "No other girls could do the job, huh?"
James looked at Frost suddenly, his face blank. "Apparently not."
Frost let her gaze wander sideways across the room, as if she had suddenly realised that the front windows held the secrets of the universe. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, just as the sound of the front door opening and closing jumped for their attention.
James looked to the door. "Oh. That was unexpected."
The door opened suddenly and a woman walked in. She was shorter than Frost by a head, her long brown hair twisted back in a safe bun, her face wearing the kind of expression Sam had seen many times on his father after he'd found his young boys covered in mud, playing on the Impala's rear seat.
"James?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Who are these--." Her voice stopped dead as she caught sight of Frost. "What's she doing here?"
"Not now, not here," James sighed. "Kitchen?"
"I should think so," she snapped. James looked back at Frost, then to the other woman. He walked out, ushering her with him. Frost got to her feet, looking at the boys apologetically.
"Give us a minute," she said quietly. Sam nodded politely, but Dean looked preoccupied.
Frost walked out and shut the door, leaving the fake FBI agents to the front room. Sam looked at his brother.
"What's with that face?" he asked.
"What?" Dean blurted, looking at him.
"What did you see that I didn't?" Sam pressed.
Dean looked over at the door, then around the room slowly. "I've just got this weird feeling…"
"Like too-many-shots weird, or she's-rattling-under-the-hood-again weird?" Sam asked quickly.
"Like… I-think-I-know-that-guy weird," Dean admitted.
"James Harrison?" Sam prompted. "How?"
"I've met him before," he muttered, his face twisted in deep thought. "And something tells me he's always been a dick."
"No argument there," Sam snorted. He got up, looking around the room, and they heard raised voices in the kitchen. They exchanged a glance and then Sam put his hands in his pockets. "Y'know, I think it's possible Mrs Harrison doesn't like Chief Frost," he mused.
"Maybe Chief Frost was playing away with Mr Harrison, and Mrs Harrison found out," Dean offered.
"Chief Jo doesn't seem the type," Sam put in, turning to look at the photographs on the top of the mantle piece. "Hey, look at this. Annette and Cole Watts with James and his wife at some barbecue, last year."
"Fascinating. Does James have 'future murderer' stamped on his forehead?" Dean asked, getting to his feet.
"Not that I can see. Maybe it's in invisible ink," he smiled.
"Maybe." Dean looked around the room as they again heard insults being shrieked at someone in the kitchen. Dean huffed. "Right." He strode over to the door, his hand on the knob before Sam noticed.
"Woah Dean - where are you going?"
"To be Dad," he grumped, opening the door quickly. He walked out and Sam closed his eyes, listening for the fall-out.
Dean walked round the doorjamb and went left, following the sound of voices. He pushed the door open and stood in the doorway, looking round at them.
"You Nevada lot have some pretty weird customs!" he called harshly. "Are we doing this murder investigation, or are we just gonna scream and throw plates at each other till someone else is dead?"
Frost opened her mouth but it was the wife who answered.
"Who the hell are you to come in our house and--"
"FBI?" Dean interrupted. "Mean anythin' to you, lady? Now I swear, if someone don't start giving us information on the dead people the Chief's got mounting up in her morgue, I'm gonna start bookin' and interrogatin' till something shakes loose. Do you get me, sweetheart?" he demanded.
Mrs Harrison opened her mouth. Dean raised his chin high and his head tilted to the side, daring her to continue. She closed it again quickly.
Dean's head sank down again in vindication. "Thought so. Chief? A minute?" he asked politely, but there was something else in there too.
"Of course, Agent Lee," she allowed, pushing past them. Dean turned to go.
"It's ok, Nara. We'll sort all this out," James said quietly.
Dean stopped dead in alarm. He turned quickly, bumping into Frost. "What'd you say?" he gasped.
"Nothing important," James shrugged. "Why?"
Dean stared at him for a long moment, then looked at the wife. He blinked long lashes at her, turning it over in his head.
"Nara?" he dared. "Nara?"
"What of it?" she snapped resentfully.
Dean stared for a long moment, looking her up and down. Frost pushed on his arm quickly, looking back at James.
"I'm sorry. We'll go," Frost said curtly. "If you need to pass on any information, just call me."
"He'll do no such thing!" she protested.
"Then call the station!" Dean called over her attempt to start grumbling.
Frost pushed at his arm and then used both hands to force him out of the doorway. He stumbled but caught his footing, letting her push him on down the corridor.
"Peart! We are leaving!" she called as they passed the door to the front room.
Sam walked out and followed them, turning to pull the front door shut behind them, an apologetic smile on his face.
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A huge THANK YOU! to everyone and anyone who's left a comment thus far. Ta very much - every one is very much appreciated!
