This chapter is dedicated to Ladygreytower, It's first follower. Thank you for your vote of confidence.
Chapter 2
The lobby of the South Hampton Bank was crowded with law enforcement. Flashing a badge had gotten them behind the tape, but Dean had wandered off after ten minutes of listening to the lead investigator cozy up to Mary and Sam's lead FBI personas. He sank to his heals beside the black maw of a tunnel busted into the floor. Dean tugged at his collar, he wasn't in the mood to pretend like he was anything to aspire to. He was struggling to ignore his own crap to work the details of the case. Four bank hits, three bodies dropped, two missing and 1.2 kilos of gold bars vanished. This was way above their normal pay grade. His mother was right to sideline his ass. He kept getting hung up on the minutia. The bodies being gnawed on wasn't anywhere in the lore. Neither was the subterranean getaway plan, but when had these things ever gone to plan?
The edges of the vault's foundations drooped inward into the tunnel. The marble edges had a blistered look, more melted than blasted. Dean flinched at the smell, a heavy unwashed funk with a hint of jock strap and burnt popcorn. Pulling a pen from the inner pocket of his FBI getup, Dean prodded the edge frowning as the stone gave way like melted putty. A cute Junior investigator dropped down beside Dean with a pop of her bubble gum. "Cool huh?" She whispered conspiratorially. "It's totally melted and that's impossible right? It's some kind of hyperactive carbonic acid juiced with Neodymium Iron Boron."
The quirky blond misread Dean's perplexed look as informed disbelief. "Totally rare organics," she cooed in agreement. "Chemical structure hasn't even been patented yet." Dean couldn't help the smile, her enthusiasm reminded him of a certain floppy haired brother who had been more puppy than man at the age of 21. The response lit her up like she had found a new species of microbe to study. She jumped to prove her intelligence spinning theories about bio advancements gone awry and GMO effects of residue pesticides from the nearby Monsanto plant. Somehow she managed to wrap the science in enough pop cultural conspiracy that Dean found himself right there with her. They both jumped as Sam broke the spell with a not so subtle clearing of the throat and knowing look.
Miss junior investigator took one look at Mary and Sam towering over them and gave a soft gasp, "Oh!" Dropping her eyes she shoved a pair of latex gloves into Dean's hands before darting away. Dean stood with an impish smirk in answer to Sam's amusement. "No way," Sam muttered. Mary snatched the latex gloves to reveal a name and number punctuated with a little heart. "Five dead, Dean," Mary reprimanded. Her eyes telegraphing that she expected a little more effort from his upstairs brain.
She turned to study the tunnel in the floor with a frown. Sam reached to touch the edge but Dean smacked his hand away. "Junior CSI says there's still enough juice along the edge to eat your manicure to the bone," Dean offered in explanation. Sam turned a concerned look at Mary. "Acid doesn't fit Leprechaun lore." Mary nodded agreement, "but the timing and target still fits. There's no rule that the Fae can't adopt new techniques. More telling is how the gold vanished. The tracks don't show any evidence of that kind of weight moving." Mary explained. "That kind of weight vanishes without explanation how and you're left with Leprechaun."
"Dragons are known gold diggers and fit the melting architecture and tunnels profile," Dean offered. It wasn't that he doubted the fae's ability to play mad scientist with human invention. Or liked his monster over his mother's. But something still felt off in a way he couldn't explain yet.
"No missing virgins," Mary pointed out. Then giving Dean and his phone number collecting talents a considering look she amended, "None missing by supernatural means anyway." Sam struggled to swallow back the chuckle at his brother's expense. It had been a few days of egg shells in the Impala's close quarters. Dean had been a veritable Houdini at escaping Sam's attempts to talk. But Mary had accepted the invitation filling Dean's void with a passionate intensity that left Sam on the dark side of the moon thinking less sharing would actually have been better. Mary's cautious banter was a welcomed truce. "Plus, that dragon we ran across hoarded his loot rather than vanished it." Sam added, voicing the doubts he read in Dean's eyes.
"Spell work could explain the melting," Mary reasoned.
SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~ SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Mary slid between the Impala's grill and the thick pane of the hotel room window. The block out curtains were drawn against curiosity, but she slowed to study the line of salt trailing the inner length of the white washed sill. It brought back memories of family road trips. A strange Campbell family twist on a white glove inspection. Had she been a fool thinking she could leave her past behind by starting a family with John? Fool or not, it's still not what she wanted for her sons.
Following the salt to it's terminus a worn sagging curtain hook left her a sliver to glimpse inside. Her boys had pulled a sheet from the bed to spread in the center of the floor. They sat back to back, their heads bent in concentration while an alarming collection of weaponry surrounded them. Sam tested the action bar of a sawed off Akkar pump action before offering it for evaluation over his shoulder. Dean checked the sight, the barrel and tested the trigger with a nod of approval that lit Sam's face with a smile. She couldn't hear their conversation, but their companionship made her heart beat.
Dean ran a final mole skin over the etched barrel of his colt before passing it under his arm to Sam for inspection. He tugged the collar of his worn Henley up to rub the bridge of his cheek unaware of the grease it left. Then reached for the stock of their father's M14. Sam gave the colt a practiced once over "Nice. I just wish you put the same effort into your personal hygiene." Dean's hesitation was enough warning for Sam to duck the elbow Dean threw. With a chuckle, Sam gave Dean's back a shove with his foot as he sprang back with devious glee.
Dean spun up into a crouch, "Oh, we'll see who's laughing when I put that mop you got to good use." Sam reached out and whipped a bed pillow which Dean caught one handed. "Pillow fights? Really Sandra D?
"Yadda yadda… So what, you're suddenly a motor mouth? All talk and…" Sam ribbed hurtling the other pillow at his target. Dean moved faster than Sam expected. Proof that Dean's new early morning PT habit was paying dividends. The bed frame caught Sam across the back of his calves toppling his center of gravity. The mattress shifted and capsized. Sam slide to the floor beneath Dean's weight just as the room's door opened. Instantly Dean was gone, diving for the weapons pile before either of them registered that it was Mary.
The bright afternoon light left Mary silhouetted in the doorway, her expression shrouded. But her amusement at breaking up a brotherly wrestling match quickly soured, faced with the state of the room and the shotgun pointed at her. Another reality check on the life her boys led and the everpresent danger. Ignoring both of them Mary marched into the room and dropped an envelop on the table. "The girl at the front desk has a side hustle with the US Census."
Sam got to his feet and shut the door unsure where this was headed. He checked the salt line before glancing at his brother. But Dean was heads down again working to get their weapons ready for the morning. Sam pushed the bed back together and warily approached his mother who was standing over his computer. "Tell me you at least finished up the research before goofing off like a pair of six year olds." Mary pleaded.
With a tap, Sam brought up the blue prints for the Federal Reserve on LaSalle St. "Geological thermal imaging shows layers and layers of sewer and infrastructure tunnels beneath the Millennium Park district. So this is the mark, if it's happening." Sam answered.
Mary sighed, "That's practically on top of the parade route." Sam's eyes slid to his brother. The combination of St Patricks day and Winchester luck giving him heart burn. "What are our alternatives?" Mary asked, tapping the table top as she thought through possibilities.
"Call in the right kinda bomb threat and it'll be a ghost town," Dean offered studying the way the bristles of his round brush emerged from the left barrel of Stoager 12 gauge.
"How do you expect us to work the job with that much heat?" Mary asked.
"We don't," Sam read from Dean's non verbal shrug. Mary's jaw dropped, "And what, call it a St Patty's mulligan?"
"Dean!" Sam coaxed, putting everything he had behind the pleading look in his eyes. Dean yielded with the enthusiasm of Eeyore. "Fine," Dean gave putting aside Mary's coach gun. "I buy that the little man needs a pot of green to lock down the misses, but this Irish prick's up half a billion in gold already. People gloss over a dead body with it's heart eaten or a poltergeist throwing crap at their head but that kind of wealth vanishing doesn't go unnoticed. Hell, people are still looking for Mantezuma's lost load. Not to mention Black Beard's payday and the Nazi "Ghost Train". Let's say we pin all those on Irish short stack Bonnie and Clyde wanna be's. Either this guy's money shot is already in the can or this pass prevents casualties until we get another shot at these gold diggers in 50 years – give or take."
Sam and Mary stared at Dean in stunned silence. Sam was chewing past the allegory to weigh the strategy. Mary didn't know which way to fall. Shock at Dean's trailer park colloquialism? Awe over the audacious suggestion? "So what, we gift wrap it for the Leprechaun?" Mary voiced faintly. No question, every Campbell just rolled over in their grave. She had never heard of a hunter clearing a path for the rampaging monster. "Look, I'm all for cock blocking the fairy…," Dean held his hands up in surrender. "It would end the hunt without another death," Sam finished for his brother. "The dowery must be met or close to it." Sam looked at Mary and something John had drilled in him since the cradle came out, "Saving people is what this is all about."
Mary shook her head, "Won't that be calling the authorities down on our own heads?" Dean's casual nod lit her mothering instincts on fire. "No," Mary commanded. "This reckless behavior has got to end." She stepped to tower over Dean. "You may not care about building a future for yourself, but now you're talking about bringing Sam and I down with you."
"Hey," Sam jumped up from his seat as if his mother had physically slapped Dean. Mary pointed, pinning Sam in place. Her emotional hold over him as effective as any demon's otherworldly force. Sam looked to his brother but Dean wasn't raising to the challenge. "Do you see the common theme?" Mary demanded and Sam could feel the conversation suddenly shift back to Dean's expulsion for NW University. "A college degree isn't the only way to build a good future," Sam defended Dean.
Mary nodded, striding back to the table to fling the US census envelope towards Dean. "Sherry from the front desk wrote her cell number on the envelope. I hope you use protection and at least thank the girl before checking out." Mary said before turning to Sam, "And how can you make that argument when his idea of commitment is a 30 minute fling in the back room of a bar?"
Sam went cold with fury. His vision tunneled, blocking out everything but the threat. His voice gathered volume with his attack. "You don't know!" Sam struggled, words warring with the need to lash out. "Dean is loyal, committed…" Sam moved in on Mary, "If not for me he would still be with Ben and…" Suddenly a freight train hit Sam square in the chest driving him back against the wall. Dean was in his face breathing heavily and Sam could feel the trembling beneath Dean's bravado. The realization of how close Sam had come to breaking his promise to never mention Ben and Lisa left him lightheaded. It took several counts before Dean was convinced Sam understood and the two stepped apart. In perfect coordination they looked to their mother to assess the damage.
Mary stood slack jawed with her hand at her lips in surprise. Sam frowned working on Dean's non verbal demand to make this better. "Ben?" Mary mouthed looking at her eldest with new understanding. "I didn't know," she said completely unprepared for the direction her thoughts were leading. She blinked and looked at Sam begging for some stage cues. Her Campbell training kicked in refusing to retreat. "So the women are just a diversion?" Mary couldn't help the tear that escaped at the thought that her eldest wasn't comfortable coming out of the closet to her. Obviously, Sam knew about the taboo subject of Ben. "Dean," Mary said Dean's name like a cry for mercy. Dean didn't respond, but Sam sensed his brother was wound close to breaking. Mary looked away, feeling rebuffed. "Ok, this… I'll finish cleaning the weapons, could you go grab us some dinner?" She held the Impala's keys out like an entreaty. Dean hadn't been allowed behind his baby's driving wheel in days and he felt no shame at snatching the opportunity to escape.
Dean grabbed the keys and threw over his shoulder, "Text me the order," as he walked out the door. Sam looked at his mother in disbelief at what he was picking up from her. It was bad enough when strangers assumed Dean and he were a thing. But he would rather be back in the cell with Lucifer than in a room with his mother discussing his brother's sexual exploits. Mary was practically bouncing with the need to ask her questions. He couldn't stay. Sam scrambled desperately to catch Dean before Baby pulled away from the parking curb.
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7AM at the St Patrick's day parade.
The crowd surged and Sam stumbled to keep his feet. The streets of Chicago were drowned in green and gold revelers. Couples, families, college kids, balloons, costumes, parade floats; all soaked in Guinness with faint notes of cabbage and boiled spuds. Even the river was sporting a festive Kelly green for the occasion. Sam swallowed against his stomach's uneasy response. "Sobriety's gonna be a B!ch" Dean observed from his right. Sam tried to smile, acknowledging his brother's effort to be less distant. But even as a college student Sam had struggled in situations that embraced Bacchus debauchery; raves, rush parties, Bar crawls... they drew close to the supernatural for him to feel comfortable. But now the "very normal" crush of humanity congregating together in a public celebration of a recognized holiday felt like the last place he wanted to be. It wasn't that he had simply accepted his fate of abnormality.
Dean watched the drama play across Sam's face from the corner of his eye. "Don't you dare make a "Kids these days" comment," Dean growled in warning; effectively breaking free a soft chuckle from Sam's distress. Dean turned back to the crowd. Finding "their" monster in this crowd cover was going to be challenging. Dean tuned out the particulars of the terrain. Look for the anomaly; Ignore the leaves and twigs or in this case st patties bowlers and Chicago sky scrapers to find the true oddity lurking beneath. For the most part, the crowd of humanity moved with synchronized similarity. You could track the gusting wind through the street by the predictable flutter of streamers and tug of balloons. Laughter was contagious and you could track it's movement through the crowd like a current. Dean concentrated on the gaps, the singularities.
Mary slid in between her sons wishing she had their height advantage. "Here," She commanded, shoving small envelopes at each boy. Dean kept an eye on the crowd as Sam peeled his open to identify the contents. "Really?" Sam couldn't stop himself from asking, staring at the delicate silhouette of a pressed four leaf clover. "Take every advantage available," Mary instructed. She glanced at her eldest dreading but hoping he would comment, but Dean wordlessly tucked the envelop into a pocket his eyes trained outward rather than straying to her. "Hey," She grabbed Dean's arm forcefully to get the attention she had a sudden irrational need for. "No stupid heroics today. No going off on your own. Sam and I take lead and you cover our backs." His eyes didn't give her anything. Momma's perfect tin soldier complete with a smoothly delivered "Yes, Mam." Sam stepped between them giving her a disapproving look that said more than enough as he broke the connection. "Let's go," he deflected, taking point. Falling in on Sam's heels, Mary glanced back to find Dean following orders, but the density of the St Paddies day crowd quickly cut her sight line of him.
"Really?" Sam hissed at his mother when he got his ire under control. "Really," Mary echoed, "I thought we were on the same page about the unnecessary risks Dean takes on a hunt." Mary linked her arm in Sam's to keep them from being separated as a stumbling booster club streamed past. "Plus, if I'm wrong about this being a Leprechan, this puts him in a position to fix the mistake before anything gets bloody," Mary answered. Sam blinked and looked back to reassure himself Dean was there before turning to focus on the hunt. Quickly he and Mary began to fan out.
SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Dean watched Sam weave deftly between the brass section of a marching band to cross the parade route. Mary's blond head dropped in and out of sight as she wove through the crowd several yards in front of Sam. Dean teetered on the sidewalk ledge mapping his own crossing when a lumbering shape moving against the foot traffic to his left caught his attention. A squat Kelly clad shape complete with an o'Mally green bowler shambled away on a pair of bowed legs. Dean was about to turn away to follow his family's wake when the figure jostled into an opening in the parade watchers above a radio flyer wagon. The dark figure shadowed a pair of tow head toddler's absorbed with the melting of their ice cream cones. Something about the proximity to the kids caused Dean's hackles to rise. He drifted from his post, edging closer as the Irish clad figure reached to embrace the children's motherly sentry. The leprechaun wanna be swung the woman into an embrace, locking lips. But as the engagement drew out her fingers dug at the hefty shoulders in distress and Dean found himself pulling the weight of his gun from his waist band. The pair bucked and Dean sped up realizing the woman's struggles had shifted from indignation to desperation. With a shudder she went limp and the creature released her form to slump brokenly over it's fore arm. The furtive glance of the predator hunched over it's prey was devoid of humanity. It's silvery reflective eyes zeroed in on Dean's interest and reached for the wagon's handle.
Crap! Dean broke from cover of the parade crowd to make ground running along the street gutter. The creature slung the woman's limp arm over it's shoulder and plowed it's way into the crowd. The sight of the wagon carrying the two young boys getting sucked into the wall of humanity sent Dean into overdrive. Dean leaped and shoved his way through to the crowd's outrage. He didn't hesitate, cold cocking anything that wouldn't budge. The wagon made tailing the creature easy and as the canyon of city architecture opened up for the river, Dean got his chance. One of the young boys tumbled to the cement with a wail causing the crowd to part. The green clad form hoisted the mother's form over it's shoulder and snatched the remaining boy by his pale curls. Without hesitation, Dean swung his firearm up and shot. Pop, pop, pop… The crowd dropped, the beast's shoulder ruptured, and the panicked screaming started.
The thing hissed, curls of smoke writhed from the darkening spots eating away at it's Irish frock. It dropped to all fours and barred rows of yellowed teeth. Dean leap frogged huddled parade watchers closing the gap. With a shudder the creature burst it's Kelly green camouflage. Ruddy tufted muscle rippled beneath. The lead slugs hadn't done anything more than catch it's attention. Plan B – Dean palmed his pistol's twin aiming for a head shot.
"Chicago PD, drop your weapon!"
Some how the words registered over the panicked wail of the crowd and Dean hesitated. The creature grinned wolfishly. Shifting back to a two legged stance it pulled the brim of it's felt bowler down in a mocking salute. "You gotta ask yourself a question," it ground out in a rough brogue. "Do you feel lucky, punk?" The damn thing was quoting Dirty Harry to him, Dean wanted to shoot it on principle alone.
"Drop the gun, Now!"
Slowly his arms came up over his head. It was the best Dean could do, his fingers locked up refusing to leave the trigger. Most of the spectators had scuttled from the bridge like town folk clearing the street as gunfighters squared off for a draw.
The creature hesitated, squinting like it had difficulty with the sunlight. "Lead?" it barked. "I'm not a purebred" It taunted, stepping forward, the toddler writhing in it's crushing grip. "Your toy gun ain't gonna save you."
"Keep barking all you want, little man. The cop is the only thing stopping me from dropping your ass right here." Dean replied. The creature shifted, zeroing in on the position of Dean's voice. "You have no idea what you've stepped in. You're gonna die with your eyes wide open," it promised tossing the squirming child to the side.
"Yeah, yeah - a little less conversation and a little more action," Dean replied fighting to keep it's attention on him rather than the crumpled child.