Chapter Eleven "Good at Finding People"
Dean kicked a piece of glass back toward the pile in the bathroom. Why did their presence always result in destroyed hotel rooms? And not even the fun kind. Sam and Cas had taken turns explaining what happened, though Dean noticed they left out the part about where they had been before returning here. Sam still held the glove in his hand like he was afraid to let go of it. All that and their description of the intruder raised more questions than it answered.
"You don't think it was Loki?" Charlie asked, eyeing the glove suspiciously.
"He wouldn't have run," Cas replied. "I am becoming more convinced that Loki is trapped or powerless and this man is helping him."
"Why would some dude just help an evil Norse god?" Dean asked.
"Many reasons. In exchange for power, perhaps. Most humans can't jump through glass. Or Loki could be controlling him. We should hope for the latter because it may mean Loki's hold on his minion is tenuous."
"How come we don't get to have minions?" Charlie muttered absently.
"We are the minions," Laurel said. "In the best possible way," she added when Dean glared at her.
"I guess I couple be a pretty good minion," Charlie rambled on.
Dean felt their collective grasp on relevant information was slipping. "We need to plan our next move," he said. "If Cas is right, maybe we can take out Loki before he gets strong. We just have to find him."
"You might all hate me for this suggestion," Laurel said, "but I know someone who is really good at finding people."
"You mean the one Sam went to see this morning?" Cas said in a deliberate tone.
Dean didn't really think about what his next words were going to be, but they were going to be loud. He didn't get the chance to say anything though.
"I didn't go see her," Sam insisted, looking Dean in the eye. "I was in the neighborhood, but I didn't."
Dean turned to Cas. "You went with him?"
"I picked him up. But we are talking about the same person?" Cas glanced over at Laurel.
"Seems like it," she said. "And since Dean is best buddies with the Arrow now, we're not gonna be able to avoid getting their help."
Dean could feel Sam's incredulous glare without having to look. "Before you say anything—"
"No, I think I get to say something," Sam interrupted. "When were you going to tell me about this?"
"When were you going to tell me you were sneaking around looking for Jessica? 'Cause I think that's a little more important, don't you?"
"Except I didn't even talk to her, Dean. And when you were gone so long, is that where you were? Hanging out with your superhero friend?"
Dean put up his hands defensively. "It's not my fault you sent me to his secret lair. And while we're on the subject, I don't think having an extra source of information is a bad thing."
Sam crossed his arms. "Then why wouldn't you tell me about it?"
"You had enough to worry about."
"So you wanted me to look for Jessica?"
"No, I just thought—"
"You thought you'd handle this one on your own because I'm too distracted?"
"I thought maybe you should be distracted. Maybe I should have let you go after her. And freaking out about the arrow thing didn't have to be put on you."
"Why would I freak out?"
Dean grimaced at having to explain himself. "I meant arrow like the sharp, pointy thing that got lodged in my shoulder a couple nights ago. Lately you've been kinda scary about those things."
"He shot you?"
"Under the circumstances, I would have shot me too."
"Is this about what happened while you were... not yourself?"
"Tell me you've moved on." Dean raised his eyebrows, but Sam made no reply. "Tell me you're sleeping. Tell me you look at the world like it's full of sunshine and roses again."
"Dean—"
"I should have told you, okay? But I wasn't trying to cut you out or anything. It didn't seem important at the time."
"You got shot!"
"And I'm fine." As if to contradict him, Dean felt a stab of pain in his shoulder forcing him to visibly flinch. "I think Laurel might be right though."
"Oh, you remembered we're here?" Laurel asked. She was now sitting at the edge of Dean's bed next to Charlie while Cas still stood across the room. Laurel actually looked pleased about the whole situation.
"I'm not sure how well your friend is going to like it," Dean said.
"Oliver doesn't like anything, but I explained what happened to me. He knows you're not crazy."
"The jury's still out on that," Sam said dryly.
~oOo~
It was still early when Felicity left her house. That little scrap of paper spurred her into action much faster than she would previously have thought possible. She dressed practically—not exactly her favorite thing—eschewing her usual heels for flat shoes and favoring pants and a simple blouse over one of her many colorful dresses.
She needed to eat something first. Even though her stomach was doing nauseating flip-flops, she was sleep deprived and hadn't eaten a good meal in a while. She stopped at the cafe with the good muffins and ordered two of them along with a large coffee. She sat down at a table and pulled out her laptop to begin the search she had always tried to avoid. Felicity was under no illusions that it would be easy. She was good at finding people, but there were those who were equally skilled at not being found.
After a few unsuccessful searches, Felicity gulped down some coffee and a few bites of muffin. She leaned back in her chair and stared at the computer screen, telling herself this was all just a long, horrible dream. As if to shatter that hopeful daydream, a man sat down across from and stared expectantly.
He looked disheveled with messy, dark hair and dingy clothes. His hands might have been dirty too, but Felicity wasn't looking too close. She was more occupied with the blue eyes meeting her's in a constant gaze.
"I was sure you'd figure it out eventually," he said, having the decency to look a little sheepish.
"What are you doing here," Felicity asked in a shaky voice, slamming her laptop closed.
"A job."
"There—there are no jobs here. N-nothing that could interest you."
"If you really think that, you're not as smart as I always knew you were."
"You knew nothing—know nothing—about me."
He leaned forward, eyes all earnest. "Something bad is coming, Liss."
"You need to go. You need to leave. Take the Winchesters with you."
"Winchesters? What do you know about them?" It was insincere. He knew very well.
"Are you going to return what you stole from me?" Felicity asked.
"I meant to leave a note," he confessed. That explained the torn paper. "But then I reconsidered, and before I could really decide, you came home. Didn't think you'd want to find me like that, so..."
"So you ran off with..." She wasn't sure what to call those things. Memories?
"I needed to know what your relationship with Sam Winchester really was. It's... important."
"Why? Why is any of this your business? I'm trying to have a real life here, and you... all of you are going to ruin everything."
"Better than the downfall of Western Civilization. I'm sorry, but it's true. I'm not the kind of person who can put one above the world."
"No." Felicity glared at him. "You're not."
"You need to quit your day job. If you want to live through this, that is."
"I'm not sure how dangerous tech support really is."
He shook his head. "That's not your day job."
"I don't think you get to show up after all this time and tell me what to do."
"You always wished I had protected you from all this. It's the least I can do now."
"The least you can do is leave town and never come back. Take the Winchesters and all the hunters, and get the hell out of Starling City. We don't need you here."
He looked at her sadly and didn't speak for a long time. "I can't do that," he finally said, standing up. "It was... really good to see you, Felicity."
As he walked away, she watched him. Her hands were shaking and her mouth was dry. She downed the rest of her coffee and got up from the table.
"So long, Dad," she said to herself.
So sorry to be late again! It's been a tough week so far. I have to clarify that I am way behind on Arrow. I know Felicity's dad shows up, but I haven't gotten there yet, so my portrayal of him will probably be quite different.
