"I smell strawberry," Gus said.
They had made it four steps into the Santa Barbara Police Station. That's all it took for Gus to catch the scent, stopping them in their tracks within the open Spanish-style hallway decorated in warm yellows and cool blues.
"Strawberry flavor, or actual strawberries?" Shawn asked.
"Who do you take me for?"
"Okay, silly question. What're we talking?"
"Cake- probably a birthday cake."
They moved further into the building, largely unseen or acknowledged by the many officers and staff moving about. Shawn was quick to note the used paper plates and plastic forks scattered on multiple desks. "Aw, man. We're too late," Shawn said.
In a corner they spied Officer McNab, who smiled and started to wave at them- only to freeze and duck from view as Detective Lassiter came into view.
Lassiter prowled like an angry duck woken early from its nap, but not angry enough to infringe on Disney copyright. The colorful building architecture was too cheerful, Lassiter found. He glared at an offending wall for good measure. The stucco and decorative tiles remained stoic under his gaze. This was not surprising, as it was a wall.
He stopped to scoff at the duo. "Oh look, if it isn't Tweedledee and Tweedledum." He brushed past Shawn and Gus with brisk steps.
They turned to watch him move towards the copier, where he looked around for something to write with. He finally found a pencil that was no longer than three inches in size. "Alright, who left out this useless thing?!" he said, staring down anyone within a seven-foot radius. Nearby workers ducked, averting their gaze. They pretended not to hear him. This only seemed to enrage him further, and he cast about another glare before returning to the form. He jotted down notes with the pathetic excuse for a pencil. It worked for exactly ten words until the nub snapped against the surface.
His bottom lip curled up in a snarl. "How hard is it to find something to write with around here?!" he asked, openly daring the entire world at large.
Shawn and Gus discreetly turned around and inched away to the safe refuge of a wall.
"What's gotten into him?" Gus asked.
"Looks like somebody woke up on the wrong side of the crypt," Shawn said.
Just down the hall, Detective O'Hara trudged to her desk while balancing stacks of paperwork, her hair tied in a loose bun.
"Hey, Jules!" Shawn said.
She froze for a second before looking up, sharply, and recognized the two. She sighed, dropping the papers on her desk with an unceremonious 'thud'. "Look, I'm sorry - I really don't have time to chat right now. Please tell me you have something for that John Doe we found."
Gus and Shawn exchanged a look, finding they had several questions in mind. The questions ranged from her choice of shirt that day, which taco place delivered takeout to the station recently, and the merits of motion-activated light-up shoes, but none of those things were relevant to the matter at hand. Instead, Shawn started with, "Why is Lassie acting like the entire town of Footloose?" he paused. "Uh oh. Did someone tell him they discontinued his cologne 50 years ago?"
"More like three," Gus said.
"He's been in a bad mood- We've had a string of leads turn up empty in the past few weeks. Drug busts, theft rings, gambling, things like that. Every time we get close, they don't pan out. Carleton's… not handling it very well," Juliet said.
"Everyone has to mess up some time," Gus said.
"Never fear, Jules, for the spirits have been particularly chatty, as of late. Especially about the recent results on American Idol." Shawn drew a hand to his brow. "I'm sensing… A great mixture of things. All sizes and colors. They're standing on shelves… Unwanted things. I'm seeing money-savvy soccer moms, roving. And it smells of dust and questionable knock-off brands." He winced in mock-pain, an exaggerated expression. "T, and a… J. Off-brand shower sets!'
"TJ Max?" Juliet asked.
"Max… Max…! Max is good. Nay! It's well! Max-well!"
"Oh!" She visibly perked up, pointing an excited finger at Shawn. "That's a name!"
"I think so," Gus said.
"And- that's not all. Mmmm. I'm getting a lot of M's. I see a red man, befriending a yellow one. Or a blue. Mmm… Chocolate."
"M&M's?" Gus asked. "I could go for some right now."
"Mmm. Matt? Matt! Matthew Maxwell," Shawn finished, turning sober and focused on Juliet. "His name is Matthew Maxwell. I believe if you look him up, you'll find your John Doe." He discreetly nodded to Gus with a satisfied smirk.
Juliet sat at her desk and pulled up the database on her computer. "That's great- we've gotten some preliminary reports from the lab, but no luck on the ID. The fingerprints weren't in the system." She clicked about on the computer. Moments passed, with more clicks. The previous excitement faded entirely from her expression in favor of a frown.
More clicks. She shook her head.
The satisfied looks fell from Shawn and Gus' faces.
She sighed. "I'm not finding him in the system."
Shawn scoffed lightly in disbelief, a reflexive move to cover his surprise. "Come again?"
She looked again at the screen. "I'm not finding a Matthew Maxwell in the county- at least, anyone close to who we found today. I can expand the search to a wider area, but so far nothing matches. Nothing in the general age or location ranges fit."
Gus and Shawn exchanged glances.
"Are you sure your vision was right?" she asked.
"Uh. Must be some interference," Gus said as he eyed Shawn.
"Yes… They suspect some kind of voter fraud in the recent round, especially since a Western song was picked," Shawn said. Gus discreetly poked him with his elbow. "The man… Goes by many names. Matthew Maxwell is one. There's also Shaniqua, and Maybelline, although that's only on weekends."
Juliet stared, unamused. "So, it's a pseudonym?"
Gus nodded. "Apparently."
"Unfortunately, that doesn't help us much given there's nothing on that name in the system. Are you sure you don't have another name for the victim?"
Shawn and Gus looked at each other, silently communicating their response and their next steps. It involved stopping for smoothies, first. "…No," Shawn said, carefully, holding the sound far longer than was necessary.
Juliet had already moved on to the stack of papers on her desk. Shawn noted her disappointment and the way her mouth crinkled slightly when she was annoyed. "Okay. Well… If you find out anything else, let us know. Oh!" she froze for a moment before turning back to them. "Shawn- your dad came by earlier looking for you. He said he's been trying to reach you and Gus all day, but you weren't answering your phones."
Gus pulled out his phone and glanced at the display. "Uh-oh. I've got five missed calls from your dad? How did I miss that?"
"Oh, that was me. I put it on silent earlier," Shawn said.
Gus did a double-take. "You what? Why'd you do that? I could've missed an important call. I'm waiting to hear back from my landlady!"
"I need focus, Gus. I can't have your phone going off right now."
"You just don't want to talk to your dad. And it's not my fault you left yours at the office."
"That's irresponsible," Juliet said.
"Thank you," Gus said.
Shawn took a special moment to once again regard Juliet, this time personally and with sincerity. "Don't worry, Jules. Your information is coming. The spirits tell me… This man led a very unusual life, one of mystical abilities; Which I'm familiar with, as you know."
She smiled, barely. It was a small smile that threatened to widen, but was limited by professional pride. Shawn still counted it as a win. "Go talk to your dad, Shawn," she said.
He resisted the urge to sigh. "Okay… Fine, I'll do it. But only because you asked me to."
The smile grew the slightest bit on her face, while amusement shone in her eyes. But only for those who knew to look for it. "Go!"
Shawn managed to turn somewhat respectably on his heel, a move he mentally congratulated himself on, as he fell into step next to Gus.
"That was a bust," Gus said.
"So Louie didn't have the guy's real name. We'll figure it out."
"Or, he was lying."
"Maybe. Still, I know I have the craving for strawberry-flavored something, and that takes priority," Shawn said.
"Waitaminute. What about your dad? He's probably calling about our message. We need to tell him about the rat problem at the office. It was your idea in the first place!" Gus said.
"Yes, well- He's probably going to complain, and say some excuse about why we need to do something ourselves, and he'll probably figure out a way to blame me for being lazy or disorganized," Shawn drawled.
They rounded a corner at the base of the stairs, not far from the entrance. A group of officers were standing across the way with a string of odd-looking gang members wearing studded leathers and neon bandanas, which blocked the path. Shawn and Gus paused where they stood.
"It's for the best, Shawn. The problem just won't go away on its own," Gus said.
"I know, I know… It's serious, this is really messing with our vibe."
"And our ability to do anything."
"Yes, that too," Shawn said.
"We can't even use the office."
"Rats can be disruptive that way," Shawn said. "Sneaky devils. The only acceptable rat is Rizzo. And, possibly one of his hundreds of siblings."
Gus hummed in agreement. "The sooner he's dealt with, the better."
"How do you know it's a 'he'?" Shawn scoffed. "That's sexist."
"Okay, then. He or she needs to be dealt with soon. Otherwise, we can't really work on the case."
"Well, we're certainly not going to deal with it ourselves, I tell you that."
"Best to leave it up to the experts," Gus said.
The gathering of officers and criminals had thinned out by then. They continued onwards through the station doors.
Unbeknownst to them, the figure of one Carleton Lassiter stood just out of sight but well within earshot. He remained where he was, alert, his ears straining to fully absorb every word. Lassiter leaned out from behind a stucco column, his mind abuzz as he analyzed their words with expert precision.
"Of course…" He muttered, to no one but himself. "That's it," he said, now with renewed purpose and drive. He moved from to stand in the hallway, giving him full view of the station and the many people within it. The many unsuspecting and very suspicious people, he thought.
"Now…" He scanned the room with trained and practiced ease. The kind that made children cry and women uncomfortable. "Which one of you is the rat?"
Gus allowed Shawn to borrow his phone, briefly, and under his direct supervision. They lingered outside the station as Henry's irate voice was heard over the speaker.
"Shawn, I've been trying to get ahold of you or Gus for hours. Where the hell have you been? What's going on? Why isn't anyone picking up?"
Shawn sighed. "I lost my phone, back at the office. And… Gus was busy." He ignored the glare Gus sent him.
"You can't keep doing that, Shawn, you- you call me up, saying there's a problem, and then you disappear for hours on end. For all I know you could be kidnapped or lying somewhere in a ditch."
"Dad, come on! This is me you're talking about. And Gus would never let that happen, he cares about the crispness of his linens too much."
Gus nodded.
There was a frustrated sigh over the line. Shawn could picture his father bringing a hand to his brow, massaging his temples. "Shawn, just tell me what's going on?"
"Thank you!" Shawn shook his head, pausing to look at Gus and point to the phone. "We have a bit of a problem down at the office. Particularly of the small rodent variety, and possibly an issue with Feng Shuei."
There was a pause. "What do you mean, 'small rodent variety'?"
"Yes, they're these small furred creatures with long, skinny tails, and long noses, and their paws… their paws are deceptively small and cute. Sometimes they have a preference for martial arts and turtles, or French cooking and mind control," Shawn said.
"I know what a rat is, Shawn. Are you saying this whole thing is about a rat problem?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
There was a puff of air heard through the speaker, undoubtedly from a frustrated sigh. "Shawn, I don't have time to play exterminator for you. Either call a professional or get the supplies and do it yourself. Heck, I'll even let you borrow what I've got in the garage if it means you take responsibility for something. For once."
Shawn shot Gus a look, boasting silently that he was right, and pointed at the phone for emphasis. Gus shook his head.
Shawn was undeterred. "I don't think you understand, Dad. These are rats we're talking a-"
"Hire someone, Shawn. That's what exterminators are for. Sometimes you just need to hire an expert."
"…Well, that's disappointing-"
"Goodbye, Shawn." A quick 'click' sounded over the line that was followed by silence.
"Dad? He-Hello? Are you there?" Shawn pulled the phone away from his face, then back. "Are we still on for dinner next week?" Only a dial tone greeted him.
Gus shook his head. "I don't think he's there."
"Dad? …Dad?"
Friday morning came, and with it Dean's gastrointestinal health. He sat up on the bed, one foot propped up on the palm-tree-patterned comforter, tying his shoes with vigor.
"See? What I'd tell ya. Stomach of steel," he said confidently.
Sam bit back a snort. "Yeah, after twenty-four hours."
"Hey, anyone else eat that thing, I guarantee they'd be down a lot longer," Dean said.
Sam remained silent instead of voicing his doubts, partially distracted by the laptop in front of him on the table. He sat hunched in his chair engrossed in something on the screen- something with a lot of words, and no pictures, which didn't interest Dean.
"You ever get this far south when you were at Stanford?" Dean asked.
Sam paused. "Once or twice. We… A couple of trips, actually."
Dean finished with his shoes and plopped down in the chair opposite Sam, leaning back with an arm draped over the back. "Cruisin' the beaches, taking in the scenery- I get it."
Sam didn't look up from the screen. "It was with Jess, actually," he finally said.
Dean inclined his head with interest, careful to walk the line between attentiveness and light, casual indifference. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," Sam said.
There was a pause as Dean weighed pushing him further. He didn't want to leave his brother hanging when he could be dealing with something- but he couldn't appear too invested, either. Dean was an expert. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. Even he knew the topic of Jess, and Sam's love life as a whole (or lack thereof) was a touchy subject. Jess, whom Sam had planned to propose to, had unfortunately been killed by the demon with yellow eyes in a fiery blaze while held aloft against the ceiling. Later, the last girl Sam had opened up to and gotten intimate with turned out to be a werewolf. And then they had to kill her.
It wasn't the best track record, all things considered.
Sam resumed his work on the laptop and began typing furiously.
Still, that wouldn't stop Dean, who was determined to help his brother the best way he knew how. That didn't involve sitting around a tacky hotel room with no Pay-per-view and staring at a laptop. "Hey," Dean started in a casual, light tone. "What do you say we hit the beaches later and pick up some hot chicks in bikinis?"
Sam stopped typing. "What?"
"You know… Go scope 'em out, see what we can find. Make it a real vacation!"
Sam scoffed, finding the idea both typical of his brother and poorly timed. "Now?"
Dean faltered, slightly. "Yeah, well… Maybe not right now, you know. Later."
Sam didn't look up from the laptop screen and gave no sign of hearing him. "Hey, you listening?" Dean asked.
"Hm?" Sam glanced up, hesitant, finding it difficult to look away from the laptop. "Sorry. It's just…"
"What is it?"
"…I'm not sure."
Dean frowned. "What does that mean 'you're not sure'?"
Sam started to speak, but the words died in his mouth. He struggled to begin. "I think I might've found a case. Check this out."
Sam rotated the laptop on the table so they could both see it. The page had a news article- local, by the look of it- with an unexpected headline.
Body of Possible Cult Victim Found at Santa Barbara Docks
Dean raised a brow.
"Apparently, they found a body that was abandoned. Reportedly the victim was covered in 'occult-like tattoos'. Whatever that means," Sam said.
"What do you think? Demons?"
"Something like that."
They both knew it was a possibility, more so now than it had been even a year prior. Several months ago they had taken part in (unintentionally) opening the gate to hell (located in Kansas) and subsequently released an untold number of demons back into the world. As bad as it was, they had also closed the gate. They figured that had to count for something. Unfortunately, the good deed did not cancel out the bad one, in that case.
Knowing that, they had seen firsthand the uptick in demonic activity during their travels across the U.S. The demons lurked, hidden in plain sight, but managed to avoid notice even as they tainted the innocent human lives around them.
Hidden, except from hunters like Sam and Dean.
"That's not all," Sam continued. "I did some digging- apparently Santa Barbara's had a string of unusual things happen over the years. Out of all the major cities in the US, it's ranked as the 13th highest for murders per capita. It's like they find a body every week." Sam switched windows to other news articles, all relating to Santa Barbara or related areas, of murders, deaths, or accidents that were later revealed as murders.
"They even had a judge on the show American Duos nearly killed while he was here. Then, a Spanish soap opera star was killed while recording an episode… The list goes on."
Dean considered. "Hey, I think I saw that one."
Sam made a face in disbelief. "You watch Mexican soaps?"
"No!" Dean said, offended. "That American Duos show. The one when they sing or something."
Sam turned to stare at his brother, failing to keep the amusement from his voice. "Oh, yeah, that's much better."
"Shut up," Dean grunted.
"So… What do you think?" Sam asked.
Dean cracked a confident smirk. "Looks like we got ourselves a hunt."