Hey… uh, funny thing… I got writer's block, and then life got very busy… and then, to be honest, I lost motivation for a while. I can apologize, but it doesn't change the fact that I haven't posted in practically a year. Even when I did try to write this chapter, for a while, it would just come out wrong, and I can't post something unless it's at least moderately good, in my opinion. So, after over five times of writing and trashing, this came out. It's sort of filler, but it leads into the next plot arc. Woo for that!
I would like to thank Saiyagirl95 and Phantom of the Tech Booth. Phantom, you are phenomenal, and your encouragement and support has been a wonderful help when it came to writing this, along with your revising. Thank you for your time and advice.
THANK YOU ALL FOR OVER 100,000 HITS! YOU GUYS ROCK!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to either Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do thank the wonderful creators of each series for making such amazing stories for us to enjoy and play with. I do own all of the other characters in the following and previous chapters, such as Frank and Josie Millerton, Sandra, Brent, Lena, Jared, and Jason. I do not own the Hardy Boys or Brutus.
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Last Chapter: Sam and Dean travelled with Castiel to the old house in which Harry was being held. After some snooping around, Dean overheard some information from the werewolves, but then his presence was discovered, leading into a fight with many werewolves, which both Sam and Harry (after getting away from the infuriated werewolf from upstairs and snatching his wand back from Lena) later joined. After the fight, Harry asked Sam and Dean to not kill Sandra, the werewolf who had provided the bobby pin which helped him to escape the cage. The brothers reluctantly agreed.
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The next morning, when Harry woke up, it was somewhere near noon, and he was surprised that he hadn't woken up earlier. The fight had taken a lot out of him, but he had been patched up by Sam as soon as he and the Winchesters had arrived back at the Salvage Yard via Castiel's angel powers.
Dragging himself out of his temporary bed and putting his miraculously intact glasses back on, Harry found his wand just where he had left it the night before - on the nightstand next to the bed. He had briefly considered sleeping with it under his pillow, before he considered the magical repercussions of having a nightmare with his wand so close to his hand. It seemed too risky to hide the wand away, out of reach, and so on the nightstand it went.
With a sigh, Harry realized that he had not bothered to change his clothes before going to bed. Looking around his room, he remembered one of the reasons why: he didn't know where his bag was. He hoped that it was still sitting outside, but he hadn't seen it last night...perhaps he had just been too tired to notice it.
Harry glanced into the mirror and saw a smear of dried blood on his face. He frowned. His hair was, as always, unmanageable. Still, he tried to card through it with his fingers, just to tame it a little; his pillow had pushed the hair on the upper back of his head straight up. Despite his hopes, he could not get the tuft to stay down. There was little he could do about it, except to shave his head…sometimes he thought Aunt Petunia had had the right idea.
He sighed and made his way down the hall to the bathroom to clean his face before lightly treading his way down the stairs, which creaked slightly under his footsteps. He could already hear voices coming from the kitchen.
"The kid's gotta have some clue what's-"
Dean's words cut off as the subject of his sentence came into the kitchen looking not that much greater than he had the night before.
Suddenly, the room was filled with a silence that was suffocating, and Harry had to wonder what Dean had been about to say before he had cut himself off.
Bobby was the first to decide that he'd had enough of it.
"Well," he said loudly, "you look... slightly better."
Harry looked down at his torn shirt. Through the rips, he could see the medical tape that had been wrapped around his torso.
Sam seemed to be looking at the same thing. "You'll need to get that bandaging changed soon," he told Harry, who nodded.
"Yeah, infections are a bitch," agreed Bobby with a slight nod, "but let the boy eat first..." He looked at Harry again, his gaze catching on the teen's sad excuse for a shirt. "...and then maybe change them rags he's got on."
"Yuh-huh," said Dean, before he nodded over to Harry and let loose a small smirk that didn't completely reach his eyes. "Nice hair."
Harry let out a small sigh of annoyance, his hand once again trying to smooth down the stubborn patch. His eyes scanned the room, searching. "Er, do any of you know where my bag is?"
Sam and Dean shared a glance, while Bobby just nodded his head and stood up from his chair, absentmindedly wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Found it outside," he said as he made his way into the next room. After a few ticks of the clock, he came back into the kitchen with the brown bag in his calloused hands.
"So," Bobby said, placing the bag on the table in front of him, pulling it just out of Harry's reach as he leaned forward to take it. "You keep all your stuff in here?"
Harry nodded slowly. "I don't have much," he said by way of hopeful explanation.
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "So, that outfit you had on two days ago - that in here, too?"
To Harry's ears, that question seemed like a trap. The way it had been voiced, though meant to sound casual, reminded Harry a bit of the way that Snape would speak when he was luring a student into a trick question in order to humiliate them. However, Harry doubted that the slight inflection of Bobby's tone was in place just to goad him into humiliating himself. Bobby wanted him to slip up. He wanted information.
Harry couldn't lie - if he claimed the outfit to be elsewhere, considering his luck for things like this, he'd easily be asked to go fetch the outfit. So he just nodded.
Bobby got a glint in his eyes, and Harry was now one hundred percent sure that he was being set up. "Well, then," said the older man. "Seeing as it's doubtful that you've somehow also got a washing machine and dryer in that bag of yours, and it ain't good to go around stinking up the place in dirty clothes, let's get 'em cleaned while you're here. Any other clothes you got, you might as well pull out, too. Get it all done in one go."
With that, Bobby released his hold on the bag, pushing it across the table to Harry. However, as the bag slid across the worn wood table, the older hunter's eyes did not leave Harry's.
Both Sam and Dean seemed just as keen as Bobby to watch him intently as Harry reached his hand into his bag.
'Harry, if you think that someone is analyzing your movements, they probably are,'he could recall Hermione saying in his head. 'I'm not saying that you should be paranoid… but, well, with you, it's best to simply go with your instincts. More often than not, they're usually right.'
Harry ignored the pang of longing to see his friends and focused on the task at hand. He pictured a couple of things in his mind, so there was a shuffling sound as he rooted around. Just to complete the image, he pulled out a shirt that wasn't the one the others wanted, before shoving it back in and pulling out the right clothes.
"The clothes from before were taken care of by Josie," he said awkwardly as he passed the clothes along to Bobby.
Dean was staring at the bag very intently. "What." The way he said it, it wasn't even a question.
Bobby scoffed. "That bag was empty when I handed you it to you."
"...you went through my things."
Sam at least had the decency to look kind of ashamed and apologetic. Dean just shrugged, like going through other people's personal property was commonplace.
"Yeah."
Harry expected him to say more, but the older brother seemed to care little about explaining himself.
"That bag of yours is far too light to hold much of anything. Made us wonder," explained Bobby. "And since we are still wondering," he drawled out, "you'd better start explaining."
Harry looked down at the bag.
"I got it in the void."
Dean rose a skeptical eyebrow, with a frown marring his face. "Dude, is that just your excuse for everything?"
Harry scowled. "You wanted the truth. I gave it to you."
Why was it that when Harry did decide to share something with an adult, they assumed he was lying?
Sam finally decided to speak up. "Actually, it would make sense. I mean, if you're going to drop a kid into a different universe, it's kind of logical to give him some sort of supplies."
"Yeah," said Bobby reluctantly, "but a bag that eats bottles and whatever else you toss into it?"
"Does it never run out of space?" Sam asked, absentmindedly looking toward Bobby.
"Boy, don't look at me," said the oldest hunter with a shrug and a shake of his head. "I ain't got the answers."
And suddenly the attention of the three hunters was back on Harry.
"Well, kid," said Dean. "Looks like it's time for show and tell." He let loose a cocky grin. "Class is eager to learn."
"How does it work?" asked Bobby, ignoring Dean.
Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure. I just know that it gives me what I need, and it holds my clothes and whatever else I want it to hold."
"And eats bottles," repeated Bobby.
"I guess... if you put them in there, yeah." With that, Harry narrowed his eyes a bit at them. It was pretty obvious that they were all hung up on the fact that the bag could "eat bottles," or at least, Bobby seemed to be. Just to spite them, Harry reached into the bag and thought, 'I want the bottles that Bobby keeps mentioning.' His hand only landed on one, and by the weight of it, it was empty. He pulled it out, to the surprise of the three men watching him, and slid it across the table to Bobby.
Bobby was staring at the bottle. He then picked it up carefully, like it might bite him or something equally absurd.
Looking back up to Harry, he declared, "Well, I'll be damned!" Nodding his head back toward the bag, he asked, "Does it do that for everything you put in it?"
Harry nodded.
"And you can just put anything in it?" prompted Dean, getting a curious look on his face.
"Anything that fits, I suppose," answered Harry.
"You suppose?" Dean looked like he could barely believe what he was hearing. "You mean you were given a freaking magical, possibly endless bag, and you didn't test it?!" When Harry just shrugged, Dean gaped at him. "Dude, who the heck are you?!"
When Harry was silent, Dean gestured to the empty bottle that Bobby had set on the wooden table in front of him.
"What about that?" he asked gruffly, gesturing to the empty bottle in front of Bobby. "How'd you get it back out?"
"I just thought about it," Harry explained.
Dean scoffed. "You just - and that works? What? It just magically pops into your hand?"
Harry shrugged again. He seemed to be doing that a lot around these hunters. "That's how it's worked for me so far."
Dean then got an inquisitive look on his face. "What else have you got in there? Just clothes?"
"Whatever I need to carry around," answered Harry slowly.
"Like?" prompted the older Winchester.
Harry just shook his head. "Just stuff. Sometimes a snack. Some change."
Dean stared. "So...," he said, looking around at the others, "how come we never got a Mary Poppin's bag from Cas?" He turned to Harry. "You got yours from the angel in that thing, right? You know how useful one of those bags would be? For weapons?"
Sam nodded. "It would be useful. It would make carrying them around a lot easier."
"Not only that," Bobby added, leaning back a bit into his wooden chair. He pointed to the bag. "With that, you could even carry around medical supplies. Maybe you boys can finally stop using my house as a damn sickbay." He leaned forward again, settling his gaze on Harry. "So, what Sam said earlier - is it endless?"
Harry shook his head and shrugged. "I actually don't know. Like I said, I've not really done much with it."
Sam spoke up. "We could try putting as much as we could into it, but-"
"I got things to do. I ain't gonna spend my time shoving things into a bag," said Bobby quickly, cutting Sam off.
"Okay, but I was just thinking, if we could use that bag…," Sam said thoughtfully, at this point turning his gaze from Bobby to Harry so that he could give a prompting, curious look.
Harry looked down at the bag. It would be useful and helpful if he let the hunters make use of it. However, he didn't want to just give the bag to them - it was holding his magical items. Then again, he did want to earn the Winchester's trust. Showing them that he could be trusted would be useful when they found out about his magic, and he had no doubt that they would eventually find out - with the way things were going, he was going to need to be armed, and he didn't fancy using a gun, since they pretty much gave the option of killing or maiming the opponent, and he preferred not to kill as long as it wasn't necessary.
"You can use the bag," he said quietly but with conviction, emphasizing the next bit, "If I'm the one who carries it. It has to stay with me."
Sam smiled. "Deal."
"Wait, what?" asked Dean. "We only get to use it if you're holding it? Are you gonna have to get our stuff out for us?"
"Dean," Sam interjected calmly. "It's his bag. You said you wanted one, right? It's not like we really need two."
Dean gave Sam disbelieving look. "And what if it's an emergency, and he won't give me my weapons?"
"I'm not going to do that!" exclaimed Harry in his own defense.
Sam just gave a small laugh. "Don't act like the weapons in the bag would be our only weapons. That'd be plain stupid."
Dean scowled. "Excuse us," he said calmly to Harry. "Me and Sammy here need to have a little talk." With that, the older Winchester grabbed his brother, who was looking at him questioningly, and pulled him into the other room.
When they were out of hearing distance, Dean said seriously, "Dude, I don't wanna give the kid weapons! What if he decides he's on the wrong team and pulls a Brutus?"
"Look, Cas said he can be trusted, right?" asked Sam.
Dean looked skeptical. "That's pushing it a little, Sammy. He just said the kid was important."
"Yeah, well, how is Harry supposed to trust us if we don't trust him? I doubt he'd betray us-" Dean shot Sam a flat look, but Sam ignored it and continued, "-but by keeping stuff like knowledge and, yes, weapons, away from him, he'd be even more likely to decide that the other side might be offering a better deal," Sam explained. "Trust me, if you keep that stuff away from him, he'll just dislike you even more. Teenagers don't like to be coddled."
Dean just scoffed, looking to the floor, then back up at his brother. "You think I don't know that?" He let loose a small grin. "Who do you think had to deal with all your bitching when Dad left us behind?"
He sighed then, wiping a hand across his brow, as the small smile fell off of his face. "Fine," he said, striding back over to the door to the kitchen. "Fine," he repeated as he passed through the doorway, to Harry. "You'd better not give me any reason to doubt you."
Harry didn't say anything until he noticed that the man seemed to be waiting. "Yes, sir," he said hesitantly. He wasn't going to screw with a suspicious Dean Winchester. He didn't know if it had been the right thing to say, but Dean had simply nodded his head and then looked off, his gaze resting on one of the cabinets, his brows furrowed in thought.
"So…," Sam said, pulling out his previous chair and settling back into it, "I was thinking, we could go on another hunt while we wait for the demons or whatever to make their move."
Harry looked at Sam in surprise. Sam gave a small, apologetic smile. "Not you," he said to Harry. "You'll have to stay here with Bobby."
"You know, cause I ain't got enough stuff to do already. What makes you think I want to play babysitter?" grumbled the oldest man with not just a little bit of frustration.
"No, Sam's right," interjected Dean. "He doesn't know how to hunt. He'd probably get hurt, or held for leverage or something. That's too much to worry about." Not to mention that Dean didn't know Harry well enough to trust him with his life on the job.
Harry, in the meantime, was stewing. "Wait, don't I get any say in this?" he bit out angrily.
"No," said both Sam and Dean at the same time.
Harry scowled at both of them. "Neither of you know how long I'll be stuck here. How am I supposed to help with the apocalypse if I can't even go on a job with you?"
Bobby pointed lightly at Harry. "He's got a point."
Sam frowned disapprovingly at Bobby before turning to Harry. "Even if that were why I wanted you to stay here - and it's not - we wouldn't be keeping you out of stuff unless there were a reason."
Dean did a little roll of his head. "And that reason is?"
With a scoff, Sam pointed out, "Dean, he's got a gouge in his gut. Things like that tend to affect maneuverability."
"Been there, dealt with crap," acquiesced Bobby, nodding his head sagely.
"It doesn't even hurt that bad!" protested Harry, shoving back the part of his mind that pointed out that the wound was giving off a dull ache.
"Yeah, sure, until you rip it open doing a surprise side-dive," said Bobby acerbically. "You ain't doing much strenuous stuff here in the kitchen. Out there? Different story. 'Sides, we still gotta change them bandages. You'll probably reconsider just how much that scrape of yours hurts after it's been unwrapped, cleaned, and bound again."
Harry mentally pictured his wound once more. Last night, when Sam had pulled out the medical tape, Harry should have expected it to hurt, but his exhaustion had lulled him into a false twilight. He had been in for a nasty shock when, before Sam even got to the bandaging, Bobby had walked into the room holding a bottle of what looked like an alcoholic beverage. He had handed it over to Sam.
"This is gonna hurt," Sam said semi-quietly, "but it'll clean the wound. We don't have any disinfectant."
"Here, bite down on this," was Bobby's suggestion as he had held out a rolled up piece of cloth.
When Harry stared at Bobby with wide eyes and inquired with no small amount of shock if it would really hurt that much, the older man's response had been, "Depends on your pain tolerance."
Apparently, Harry's pain tolerance was not what he thought it was. Dudley's beatings were nothing compared to the burning of alcohol as it ate its way through the wound, killing off bacteria. It wasn't the Cruciatus, but it still hurt.
Harry did not look forward to doing that again. He was shaken out of his thoughts, though, when Bobby said thoughtfully, "C'mon, we should probably go change those now."
And Harry grimaced.
"It won't hurt as much this time around," came a surprising reassurance. "The alcohol killed most of the bacteria last night. Besides, if you really are gonna be tag-teaming with us, you're gonna have to get used to pain."
It was Dean who had spoken. Harry looked at the man's face. He still had a stern look about him that he had carried since Harry had entered the kitchen earlier. But... there was a glint of understanding sympathy in those green eyes. Real sympathy.
Up until then, Dean had joked around a bit with Harry, and he had smiled, but each one still held a guarded tinge. It wasn't the same smile Dean had when he would chuckle at something that Sam or Bobby would say, or the same as the grin that he always wore when he was about to say something cocky.
Apparently, Sam noticed, too, because he broke into a grin. Dean's eyes turned to glare at his brother.
"What?" he demanded sharply.
Sam backed up, still grinning, his hands held up in the universal 'innocent surrender' position. "Nothing, nothing!"
Dean just huffed. "I'll get the alcohol and the gauze," he said, already making his way out of the room. Apparently, the alcohol they used for cleaning wounds wasn't the same type as the alcohol they kept in the fridge.
When Dean came back in, Bobby held his hand out, and Dean obligingly passed over the 'medical supplies.'
"Come here," the older hunter said, waving Harry over to the chair next to him. It was the one on which Dean had previously been sitting.
"Take off your shirt," Bobby said. When Harry did so, Bobby stared at his stomach for a second.
"You really need to eat more," he said, looking back at the teenager's face. "A toothpick figure ain't gonna do much for you in a fight, 'cept get you a broken bone. You need muscle."
The older man then looked back at the wrapping and hesitated. "Actually, stand up while we unwrap the wound."
After the wound was unwound, Harry looked down at it and flinched. It looked disgusting. While it had been a clean cut, it went deep, and there was a bit of puss.
Bobby whistled shortly and shook his head. "This one's gonna need a daily check." He took some clean wrap, opened the bottle of alcohol, and tipped it onto the cloth a couple of times.
"Sit down and lean back."
When Harry had done so, Bobby started to pat the wound with the cloth. Harry's body was completely tense, and he was pretty sure that he was holding his breath. It still hurt like hell, but not as bad as when the alcohol had been poured onto—
"Ahhh!" Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth. Bobby had just squeezed some of the alcohol out of the cloth and onto the cut. Still, Harry was relieved to note that it still wasn't as bad as it had been the previous night.
Bobby then moved on to wrapping the wound. He handed Harry the frayed end, then he wound in circles around the teen, tight enough to hold securely, but not so tight as to be overly painful.
And while Harry was wondering over the pain, the minds of the three hunters were on a quite similar topic, because they were noticing, once again, what had become obvious the night before. The kid had quite the pain tolerance already. He was fifteen, having alcohol poured onto a wound, and the worst he had yet to do was exclaim in shock and hiss a bit at the pain. Most kids his age would be whimpering or screaming. But not Harry. What had he been through?
"There you go," said Bobby, patting the wrapping on the side of Harry's torso which wasn't injured. Verbally hearing that the cleansing and wrapping was finished, Harry let out a grateful sigh of relief.
"Awesome," Dean said. "Now that that's over, and we've finished playing twenty questions, I'm gonna eat."
Bobby nodded before looking back toward Harry. "Son, you'd better go put on some clean clothes."
Harry nodded stiffly, picking up his bag and heading into the bathroom to change. When he had finished - not without trouble from the cut on his abdomen - Dean was making pancakes, and Sam miraculously had his laptop out again.
"So, I was thinking we could-" the younger Winchester started, but suddenly the room became occupied by five rather than four. Standing by the door, Castiel was in his trench coat once again, and Harry wondered if he always wore a trench coat.
Bobby had tensed upon the sudden appearance of the angel, and Dean had turned around when his brother had cut himself off.
"Cas?" asked Sam curiously.
"You need to go to Hibbing," was all the angel offered, looking at them in all seriousness. His blue eyes shifted to land on Harry, and Harry almost shuffled out of awkwardness, but he caught himself and instead squared his shoulders just slightly, looking the angel straight on.
"Hibbing...?" Asked Dean slowly, pausing, before turning back to the stove for a couple of seconds to flip two of the pancakes.
Castiel moved his gaze away from Harry, much to the teenager's relief, and looked at the back of Dean's head, his expression intense and focused, as if he could see all the way through the older Winchester's skull and somehow make eye contact, which was ridiculous... but that was how it looked.
"It is a city in Minnesota. You need to go there."
Dean scowled. "Wow, thanks, Cas. Look, I know where Hibbing is. We've already been there."
Bobby turned to Dean, an eyebrow raised.
Dean shrugged and then frowned. "It was like three years ago or something. Bunch of freaks kidnapped Sammy, wanted to play hunter - cannibal style - as a family activity."
Sam, who still had his laptop on and open in front of him, glanced at his brother before turning his attention to Castiel. "Why do we need to go back to Hibbing?" He frowned. "Is there something going down there?"
Castiel just stood still for a second, his eyes trained on the shelf behind Sam, though it was the kind of locked gaze that people would wear when they were zoning out or in intense thought. However, it was not long before his eyes were back on Sam.
"I am not permitted to tell you details."
Sam sighed, leaning forward a little. "Of course," he said with a hint of annoyance.
Dean was once again turned toward the angel. "Wait," he said, subtly cutting his hand through the air in an unconscious motion, "You just want us to hop to town and go Hardy Boys without any explanation?"
Harry was watching the back-and-forth with moderate amusement, because, if he didn't know any better, he would almost say that the others had forgotten that he was in the room. He found himself wondering who the Hardy Boys were, but he didn't actually bother to ask.
Sam, meanwhile, found it a bit ironic that his brother would question the orders of an angel but would blindly follow the orders of their dad without any qualms. He felt out of place, since Dean was supposed to be the good soldier.
Castiel actually gained a slight look of regret, before his face cleared again to a slate, only the slightest hint of curiosity visible on his otherwise blank visage. He looked down, then back up at Dean. "You could use...," he started, trailing off with a frown of confusion. "...the Google?"
There was a beat of silence.
"The Google," echoed Dean, his face slowly breaking into a small grin. "Dude," he said to Cas, shaking his head ever-so-slightly, "It's just Google. There's no 'The.'"
"Forgive me," the angel said bluntly (but not unkindly) with a nod. Then, without preamble, the angel cut across the room to where Harry was standing, the eyes of the three other men in the room following him as he went.
As the blue-eyed angel reached out a hand to brush across Harry's forehead with a frown, Harry shrunk back a little. He didn't like it when people suddenly touched him. Even Mrs. Weasley's hugs (the ones that Ron acted like he hated but that everyone knew he secretly appreciated) had always taken him by surprise. With his relatives, the touches Harry received were never gentle - Uncle Vernon would grab Harry's arm in an iron-grip and yank him over to the cupboard, where he would be locked in. Dudley only touched Harry when he was using him as a punching bag. And Aunt Petunia… Well, Aunt Petunia just went out of her way to avoid touching her nephew as much as possible. Sometimes when he had been little, Harry had wondered if she had thought that by touching him, his freakishness could spread like a disease.
Before Harry could even stop his initial disturbance at being touched, Castiel had already moved his hand away.
And then Harry's bright green eyes widened as he noticed that his wounds were healed. The dull, throbbing ache of the slice on his abdomen - the ache that he had already grown used to, that he automatically pushed to the back of his mind so that he wouldn't be constantly be lingering on it - was gone.
Standing up, Harry lifted his shirt, grabbing the wrapped gauze.
"Kid, what are you-" Bobby started with an undignified scowl before Harry cut him off.
"It's healed," he said dumbly, his hands still fumbling to unwrap the stupid medical tape. When he finally pulled it off, there was just skin. Smooth skin. Not even a scar. It was like the healing potions and salves that Madam Pomfrey kept stocked in the hospital wing that healed wounds in just minutes, except it was instantaneous.
Harry looked back up to Castiel (to thank him?), but the angel wasn't there. He wasn't even in the room anymore. Looking at the others who were actually still in the room, Harry noticed that while Bobby looked a bit surprised, Dean looked unphased as he continued making his pancakes, and Sam was once again on his laptop.
Bobby's mild surprise shifted on his face. "Balls," he said in frustration. "Damned angel waits until now to heal the kid? He couldn't have done it when he was zapping you all over here last night?"
Dean just shrugged, and Bobby let out a grumble about a "damned waste of my time."
Sam, meanwhile, was half tuning the others out. On his laptop, he had opened a new tab in the browser and was already looking up Hibbing, Minnesota. Results: There was some craft fair coming up in two weekends... no, Sam didn't care about that. Politics? No. New restaurant opening within the month - don't care. And... Bingo (or, as Dean would say, Yahtzee).
"Here we go," Sam said, leaning in to better read the small font. He glanced up to find three gazes moving to rest on him. "There was one murder last night, caught on tape, but it says there was no visible suspect. Guy knifed in the chest outside of a bar."
Dean by now had finished making the pancakes and had turned to lean against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest and his posture semi-relaxed.
"Caught on tape?" he asked with a frown. "How do you catch a knifing on tape and not see who the culprit was?"
Sam shook his head. "Says here that the guy was faced away from the camera but that both of his hands were visible, so he didn't go slasher on himself." He shrugged. "Video just shows him staggering out of the bar before suddenly falling over with a knife wound to the chest."
Dean moved away from the counter. "Let me see," he said, standing right over Sam's shoulder. The younger Winchester rolled his eyes and obligingly angled the laptop more toward his brother.
Dean reached over his brother to scroll up and down the web page. He frowned. "Where's the video?"
Sam shook his brother off of his shoulder and turned the laptop back toward himself. "It's not posted," he explained. "Confidential."
"Awesome," said Dean. "The police could be completely missing some important detail." He sighed. "We need to see the actual recording. For all we know, we could have another Max Miller on our hands."
While Sam and Dean were discussing this, Harry was deep in thought, his mind caught on what Sam had said.
There was no visible suspect.
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So, there's chapter ten. Again, I apologize for the horrendous wait. Please review if you have a moment. Tell me what you think! Trust me, I probably want to know. ;) Reviews are phenomenal when it comes to motivation. If you find any mistakes, please inform me so that I may fix them.
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!