Chapter 14: Dead Man Walking
Throwing on the tired, confused college student mask was easy once Sam had shut the closet door. Looking as if he'd just woken up wasn't an issue when he was still shirtless. He made sure his school materials were properly scattered across the living room for appearance, and after a minute had passed after the initial knock, he went to open the door holding on to the hope he wouldn't be paraded out in handcuffs.
"Um, good morning?" he asked, tilting his head in pretend confusion as he took in the small group standing outside in the hall. He could pick out Jody and Donna in the back glaring at the three people in front of them with equal measures of irritation. The two FBI agents wore the dark suits of their trade, offsetting the gray pantsuit the domineering woman at the forefront wore. He'd never seen her before today, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who she was.
"Samuel Winchester?" Bela Talbot asked, voice perfectly pleasant and professional. Her aura was a marble swirl of ultramarine blue and hazel, the unusual color combo making her eyes stand out.
The detective that kicked Gabe off the case and has been muddling things up from the start with bureaucracy. This should be fun.
"That's me," he confirmed, scratching his neck, "What's this all about?"
The man on the left, whose aura was so pale a gold it was nearly white, frowned and looked at his partner, an older, balding man who returned the loaded look behind Bela's back. The FBI agents, it seemed, weren't interested in him beyond superficial curiosity.
"My associates and I just want to ask you some questions," she said, pulling out her badge imperiously and raising her chin a bit as she flipped it open, "May we come in?"
Sam half shrugged, tugging the door open wider and gesturing for them to step in.
"Sure, Detective Talbot," he said pointedly, smiling just the slightest when the younger FBI agent smothered a laugh at Talbot's expression, "Can I get you guys anything?"
"No, this won't take long," the older FBI agent said authoritatively, brushing past Talbot to take the lead as Sam let them in. His aura brought to mind the color of wet ballpoint ink; a pale blue-green that exploded with sporadic splotches of dark gray at the edges. "We're just entertaining one of the LPD's little goose chases. Wrapping up loose ends, that sort of thing."
Sam arched an eyebrow, ignoring the flare of irritation in Talbot's aura as they all filed into his living room.
"Didn't know I was a loose end. Is this about The Crucifier? I already gave my statement about what happened in the WM."
He kept his eyes fixed within the living room, ignoring the itch crawling up his skin as he thought of Gabe curled up in the storage space not ten feet away from them all. His aura was beginning to seep out of the closet, and it was distracting with all other auras he suddenly had to contend with.
"This is about a little more than that event," the younger FBI agent said before pulling out his badge, followed a split second later by his partner. "I'm Agent Arch, and this is my partner Agent Smith. We're part of the FBI team sent out to take over the serial killer case."
Sam nodded, ignoring the piercing look Talbot was now shooting him.
"Please, get settled. Sorry about all the stuff," he said with a sheepish chuckle, sweeping a couple of textbooks off the couch so Jody and Donna could sit, "Just because the campus is closed doesn't mean I get to slack on work."
"It must be unsettling, having to contend with another serial killer," Talbot said suddenly, striding towards the breakfast bar to settle onto a stool. The FBI agents in tandem to stand by the window, "Are you concerned?"
"Well, of course," Sam said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants and fixing a quizzical look at her, even as he seethed at her transparent reference to Yellow Eyes, "Pretty sure everyone in Lawrence is concerned."
That wasn't the sort of answer she was looking for, judging by her aura, but one of the FBI agents butted in.
"Well, the LPD seems to think you'd be extra concerned," Agent Smith said, picking up where Talbot had left off with a long-suffering sigh, "Something about some nasty business that happened a while back with another serial killer?"
Donna winced on the couch, and Jody's lips pressed into a thin line as Sam turned to give him a sidelong look.
So, he's going to be the pseudo bad cop, he thought, eyes flicking to Agent Arch, whose face gave away how much he disapproved of the whole escapade. And he's the good cop.
"Yellow Eyes? That was a really long time ago," Sam said, putting on an air of extreme confusion tinged by a pensive expression as he leaned against the wall, elbow brushing the TV. "I was just a baby, so I don't remember anything about it."
"Which is to be expected," Agent Arch said, slipping into the conversation before Talbot could get a word out, "I'd like to question you about the events that occurred at the WM library if that's alright. The LPD got their statement from you, but I'd like to hear about it from you directly. I find that going to the source when possible is much more fruitful than reading from files."
Sam studied Agent Arch closely. He looked to be a handful of years older than Gabe and Dean, with dark, swept-back hair and piercing green eyes that held a sharp intelligence that belied his affable manner. His aura, which Sam had pinned down as gold at the door, was actually less gold and more the color of bone, shot through with glittering shades of pale gold and icy frost blue.
Pale auras weren't very common, and neither were gold auras. Before Gabe, Sam had only ever seen a couple of gold auras in passing, and they'd never been as strong as the P.I's. Seeing such a pale, but intense aura now caught him off guard, but not for long.
"What do you want to know about it?" he asked slowly, tone measured.
"Oh honestly, this isn't what we're here for," Talbot grumbled, and Agent Smith shot her a glare from his side of the room.
"Detective Talbot, we might as well get something out of this fool's errand," he bit out, seeming to be at his wit's end with her, "Mr. Winchester, please answer any questions Agent Arch has, while I talk with the LPD out in the hall."
He jerked his head at Jody and Donna, who only hesitated for a moment before standing. Donna shot him a concerned look, and Sam shook his head imperceptibly, offering a small smile to the two ladies. He'd be alright, and Gabe wouldn't be discovered anytime soon.
Talbot resisted at first but got up with a huff when Agent Smith paused in the entrance of the hall to glare at her. His watery aura churned threateningly, clashing against her marble aura in a manner so hostile that Sam was sure they'd already butted heads multiple times in the short amount of time they'd known each other.
His front door shut hard a moment later, and Sam turned his attention back to Agent Arch, who'd taken a seat in the armchair. The man gestured for him to sit on the couch, which he did, ignoring the creak of the springs beneath him.
"They seem to get along great," Sam remarked, referring to Talbot and Smith, and Arch smiled wryly.
"Fire and oil, those two," he said with a shake of his head, "I'm afraid my partner's grumpier than usual because of all this. He's gotten used to the desk life."
Sam nodded understandingly, and Agent Arch lightly slapped his hands against his thighs, getting himself back on track.
"Right. Well, I'm sorry for all this," he said, chuckling embarrassedly as he gestured vaguely, "I think it's evident inter-agency relations right now are, uh, pretty bad. I mean, you don't even have a shirt on!"
Arch, surprisingly, was genuinely sorry for the interruption. It showed in the way his bone and frost aura churned.
A truly nice person, Sam thought, slightly awed, Holy crap.
"It's alright," he said, waving off the man's concern as he internally freaked out, "If you think you can get anything useful from me, then you might as well go for it."
"I think I can," Arch said, aura shifting peculiarly as he pulled out a notebook from his inner jacket pocket, "It's my specialty."
The shift in the aura looked familiar, and after a moment it hit Sam in a burst of bright clarity. It had taken on a persuasive turn similar to the one Gabe's took when he got persuasive, and his gut twinged in warning as Arch fixed his eyes on him.
I have to be careful with this guy, he thought as Arch smiled and clicked a pen, He's nice, and that nice nature is what makes him so dangerous.
Maybe it was John's teachings that had poisoned him against trusting naturally affable people, or maybe it was just his horrid experience with Jess, who had been so sweet in the beginning. Whatever it was, Sam kept a close eye on nice people, and he wouldn't treat Agent Arch any differently.
"Can you describe what the unsub looked like? I know it was dark and he had a hood pulled up, but any details you could provide would be helpful."
"Unsub?" Sam asked, caught off guard by the technical term before he nodded, "Oh right, the FBI doesn't like using the public monikers."
"Correct," Arch said approvingly, "Law student, right?"
"Yup. Getting there at least," he replied, gesturing to the wok piled on the coffee table, "But as for the "unsub" as you guys like to call him, I really didn't see much. The only notable thing I saw was the ring on his finger."
"Good catch by the way. Can you describe the ring to me? The description was pretty vague in the statement."
"The LPD wasn't really interested in it," Sam said, deciding that he'd get that one jab at the police department in. He had nothing against the good members of it, but overall, the LPD deserved it. "It was gold, with a big blue stone. Sapphire maybe? It was chunky and he wore it on his left hand."
He was going off of his visions as much as the memory of that day when describing it, but Arch didn't have to know that.
The agent nodded as he made his notes.
"Any other details like that you can recall?"
Sam shrugged, stretching an arm back to rest casually on the back of the couch.
"He wasn't big. Smaller than me for sure."
"I'm not sure if that's saying much," Arch said dryly, earning a snort of amusement from Sam.
"I guess not. He was definitely shorter than you," he said, gesturing at the agent, "What are you, 6ft?"
Arch nodded, and he hummed contemplatively as he remembered what he could of Death's physical appearance. Sam was so much more attuned to his aura now that what little he did know of his physical features seemed paltry in comparison.
Raised voices began to filter through his front door. One of them was Agent Smith for sure; the other female. Sam couldn't say for sure if it was Talbot, but chances were it probably was.
"Those two," Arch sighed, rubbing his temple with one long-fingered hand before focusing back on Sam, "So shorter than me?"
"Yeah, somewhere around 5'10 maybe," Sam confirmed, "Leaner too, and young. There's no way he's older than mid-twenties."
A ripple ran through Arch's aura, one of unease. Sam watched it appear with interest as the agent shifted in his seat slightly and grimaced.
"About that…are you positive that he's so young?"
"Fairly sure," Sam said slowly, "Why?"
Before Agent Arch could reply, his front door swung open so hard that the edge of it banged into the closet door.
They were immediately on their feet, and Sam bristled as he strode forward, ignoring the spitfire expression on Talbot's face as she stomped inside.
"For Christ's sake, watch the door! I'm not trying to lose my security deposit," he snapped, fixing a strong bitch face on both Talbot and Agent Smith, who was hot on her heels.
"Detective Talbot, could you please rein in your temper? I know this case is frustrating, but it doesn't do anyone good to take it out on the witness's property," Agent Arch added, brow furrowed as he pinned her with a look of disappointment.
An angry flush stained her face red, matching the odd red tinge that had taken over the hazel in her aura.
"Of course. My apologies," she muttered stiffly as Jody and Donna filed in.
"Jesus Bela," Jody murmured, shutting his poor front door as she let Donna go ahead of her, "Was the door at the station not enough for you or something?"
Talbot turned to glare at her, but Agent Smith was already striding forward into the living room.
"Where were we before we interrupted you?" he asked, cheeks spotted with red from his own anger. He looked exactly as if he wanted to go back to his cozy desk set up at whatever FBI branch office he'd come from.
"I was just having Mr. Winchester describe the unsub. He said he was young, barely in his twenties at most," Agent Arch said with a pointed look.
Smith made a face, and Talbot took it one step further by scoffing and crossing her arms.
"Young? No way," she said, shooting him a look that clearly said that she didn't put much stock in his claims, "That's not what the profile says."
"The LPD's profile," Smith said distractedly, rubbing his chin. From behind him, Donna and Jody shot him loaded looks.
Talbot believes in her profile, but the FBI generate their own, he thought, looking between all the auras and using them to fill in the blanks, And they're stuck between whether or not to believe what I say.
Sam grew a little more irritated at that. He wasn't interested in getting caught between the two agencies, especially when he was only telling the truth. It wasn't his problem if they decided to twist the information they gave him.
"He's in his late-twenties at minimum; this guy's too vicious and good at what he does to be any younger," Talbot continued, oblivious to the looks Jody and Donna were shooting at her, "You must be mistaken, Winchester."
"The other two witnesses said he was young though," Smith pointed out, but it seemed to be more to needle her than any firm belief he had on The Crucifier's age, "I don't think all three witnesses would mess that up."
"They were in shock, and the statements said that they were looking to Mr. Winchester here for support," Talbot said with a sneer, "They could've easily just followed his lead and parroted what he said."
"Kevin and Adam are both capable of thinking for themselves," Sam said, keeping his cool at the blatant disregard she had towards him, "Adam chased the guy. If you don't believe me for whatever biased reason you have, then surely you'd have to believe the person that saw the killer the longest that day."
"I have no bias!" Talbot said defensively, and Sam scoffed.
"Yeah, sure. Because turning up on the doorstep of the guy that's probably the only person in Lawrence to come face to face with a serial killer twice with five members of law enforcement with your suspicions isn't biased whatsoever."
He continued with narrowed eyes, cutting her off from making what would've no doubt retort with some scathing remark.
"I let you guys in because I was tired and hold a certain respect for law enforcement," he said, leaving them to decide which way he really felt about them with his emphasis, "But you don't have the right to throw around baseless accusations, or the right to throw my door open willy nilly as you see fit. I don't need to remind you that you don't have a warrant, do I?"
The tension in the room rose just a bit at the w-word. Law enforcement always got so tetchy when they were mentioned, and Sam watched as Talbot floundered and Smith frowned.
"We don't need to come back with on, do we?" he asked at the same time Talbot finally managed to come up with, "Do you have something to hide?"
Honestly, these two, he thought exasperatedly as he fixed his attention on the agents, I've got nothing to hide.
He thought of the side work he'd been doing with Gabe, and then the P.I himself currently holed up in his closet, before promptly retracting that mental statement.
Ok, only a few things to hide that hold absolutely no importance to them!
"You can stay, as long as you behave a little better and try to keep your bias in check," he said airily, spreading his hands slightly, "The choice is yours."
It was a gamble, and Gabe would bitch about the extra time spent hiding later, but Sam was curious to see how they would react. He wasn't nearly as familiar with how the FBI operated in comparison to the LPD, and he wanted to get a feel for how the agency would act now while they were in a setting he controlled. Better to take risks now in the home field than out in the treacherous waters that the leads inevitably steered them to.
A dark expression overtook Talbot's face, betraying her intense dislike of how the tables had turned. She had probably expected to waltz in and milk him dry of information he either did or didn't have and present herself as an invaluable asset to the FBI.
Agent Smith smiled dryly. He wasn't pleased with what he no doubt saw as insubordination (he looked old enough to think in those terms), but he liked how Sam had put Talbot in her place, and a grudging respect for that shone through his aura.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, he thought, watching as Talbot moved to sit on her previous stool without a word of acknowledgment, Good to know this is the work dynamic of the people currently tasked with catching a serial killer.
It made Sam feel a lot better about the progress that he and Gabe had made, and the tentative birth of a team with Dean and Cas at the diner last night. Their dynamic left much to be desired, but at least they were making strides towards civility.
"Your father must be proud. It's clear you're a lawyer in the making," Smith said blandly before sitting with a grunt, "At least I'll get some entertainment out of all this."
In some alternate universe he'd probably be proud, Sam thought wryly as everyone returned to something that resembled their original positions. This time though, Agent Smith took the armchair that Arch had vacated when he'd got up to respond to the thrown open door, settling in with a wheeze.
"Damned fieldwork," he muttered, rubbing his chest before pulling out his notebook. Arch looked on from his standing position next to him with no small amount of concern written on his face, "Alright, so let's just get this all out in the open instead of dancing around it. Your mother was the last victim of the serial killer referred to as "Yellow Eyes". We never got called in on that case, as policies were different 20 years ago regarding jurisdiction and authority and whatnot."
"Correct," Sam said slowly, letting his unsaid so far hang in between them.
"But now we have authority, and frankly, the connections you have to both cases make for a coincidence that doesn't sit right with some people," Smith continued, making a show of focusing on whatever notes he was making, "And frankly-'
"It's downright suspect!" Talbot interjected, arms crossed and lips pressed in an angry scowl.
"It's of no use to the case," Jody said, throwing her own opinion into the dogpile as she spoke up formally for the first time. Her forest green aura was swirling with righteous indignation now, making it clear she didn't agree with the conversational trail they were setting foot on, "Correlation doesn't equal causation. He's clearly not The Crucifier since we have multiple eyewitness testimonies from the library, not to mention the fact that he doesn't match either of your profiles at all!"
"Unsub," Arch corrected before they all descended into controlled chaos, leaving Sam gaping at the group.
Do they really think I have something to do with The Crucifier?
He shoved down the ludicrous urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all so he could scan their auras properly and get a feel for who felt what kind of way about the hare-brained theory.
Jody and Donna were not buying it whatsoever, already getting heated with Talbot, who seemed to wholeheartedly believe that at the very least, he was suspicious because of his past and his present actions. Agent Smith just gave off the sense of a tired, aging man who just wanted to retire. He opposed Talbot naturally due to her dislike of her, but his aura showed that he held the common belief of many law enforcement members that coincidences were typically anything but that.
The aura that surprised him most, however, was Agent Arch's. Despite the fact that they barely knew each other, the man seemed to have concluded that he was the furthest thing from serial killer material and looked to be about one step away from adding his own two cents of advocacy.
Interesting indeed, Sam thought, studying the way the bone-white shades comingled with the frosty streaks, Who would've thought all that empathy would've survived FBI training?
Then he tuned back into the actual physical words they were exchanging and couldn't hold back the desire to laugh any longer.
Heads turned to look at him as he lost it, his laughs hearty and loud enough to probably earn him a complaint from his neighbors. Sam didn't care though; the situation had quickly turned from semi-serious to something that he knew he'd have trouble recounting to Gabe later without snickering.
Sam knew that this was supposed to be serious and that the average person wouldn't act so capriciously with so many various law enforcement members in their living room, but dammit, he just couldn't help it. If this was supposed to scare him or intimidate him into revealing some Easter egg, then they were doing a piss poor job at it.
"I'm sorry-you really think I have something to do with all this? That I'm, what, this guy's sidekick cause my mother was killed and I've never been the same since?" he asked as he struggled to catch his breath, clutching his ribs. Some of his laughter probably came from the stress ball he'd been carrying in his chest for the past few weeks, but that was neither here nor there.
Talbot's face said that, yes, she thought it was a perfectly reasonable concept, which only made Sam wheeze as she replied through gritted teeth.
"It must've been a traumatic event. Such things can-affect people," she said, looking him up and down with a gaze that said his laughter had just solidified his suspiciousness.
"I wasn't even a year old. Hell, I was barely half that," Sam replied, wiping at his eyes and gesturing to the FBI agents in the far corner, "These guys will be the first to tell you that that's way too young for anything to stick with me."
Everyone turned to look at the FBI agents, awaiting their input on the subject.
Agent Smith shifted in his armchair enough to make it creak. His grimace said it all, but Agent Arch was the one to speak.
"Mr. Winchester's right," he said, continuing on through Talbot's sound of disbelief, "While young children are extremely impressionable, there is a point where they are too young for such things. Considering the details known of the event and the fact that he was six months old, the only thing that would've registered for him was the cold and probably hunger."
"You sound like you've read the case file," Sam remarked.
"Detective Talbot brought it to our attention when we first arrived," Arch said slowly, wary of seemingly angering him, "Of course, considering there's just about no similarities between these two serial killers, I didn't see the point."
He shot a glare more heated than Sam expected towards Talbot, who held his gaze for a moment before looking away.
"I'm rather glad you've called us in actually," Arch continued boldly, an irritated look crossing his face for a brief moment before it was replaced by a more professional mask, "Serial killers are very hard for local police departments to handle."
Sam held in his impressed whistle at the undercurrent of frostiness in his otherwise pleasant tone of voice. Agent Arch, it appeared, was perfectly capable of following up his bark with a bite.
"Now, now, let's all try to relax here," Agent Smith said in an extremely disingenuous, unhelpful manner, "Let's not make things worse than they already are between us."
"You make up a good portion of the problem," Talbot muttered, and with that, they descended right back into heated squabbling that was quickly growing ridiculous.
Sam rolled his eyes as he was once more forgotten in the face of inter-agency hostilities and decided that now would be a good time as any to make himself some coffee and throw a shirt on.
No wonder John and Dean loathe law enforcement.
He managed to get a shirt on and his coffee machine halfway through the process before Talbot realized he had gone into the kitchen. Her aura swirled with brief surprise, and Sam relished being able to spook her just a bit. He was quickly beginning to dislike her.
She turned in her seat and pinned him with a calculating stare, rapping her nails on his counter. Up close, he could see that despite looking overworked, she was pretty in a way that he knew would've interested his brother once upon a time.
"Got tired of walking around shirtless?" she asked. She didn't sound like she was trying to lead him on into another topic; if anything, it sounded perfectly normal.
Sam kept one watchful eye on her aura to track her intentions (if he had the ability he might as well make use of it), while he kept the other on the filling coffee pot.
"I figured since I'm in the presence of law enforcement I should put my pecs away," he replied sassily.
Talbot actually snorted at that before looking betrayed at her reaction. Sam wisely hid his smirk as she cleared her throat.
"What's up with the tattoo?" she asked, nodding at his chest.
Her aura didn't reveal any dishonest intentions behind her question save for procedural curiosity that she probably displayed a lot while working. Sam was left to wonder at the 180-degree mood shift, replying carefully as he waited for his coffee.
"Just something me and my brother share."
"Hmm," she hummed, her nails pausing in their rhythmic tapping, "You're not anything like I imagined."
Sam arched an eyebrow questioningly as she flushed with embarrassment.
"I'm aware of your…brother," she muttered, eyes darting to the side before returning to his face, "He's…quite the character."
Her aura rippled in a telling way that Sam didn't want to see, and he held back a groan as he turned to the completed coffee. No wonder she'd asked about his tattoo.
Damn it, Dean, he thought furiously, nearly spilling the scalding beverage on his hand in his hurry to pour it, When you said you knew of Talbot, you didn't say that you'd hooked up with her!
After mentally raging at Dean for a few more seconds, he turned around with what he knew was a perfectly maintained, if marginally suspicious look on his face.
"Let me guess. You hooked up with him, wanted maybe more than one night, and when he did his whole 'I don't do commitment' spiel, you got bitter," he said bluntly, dragging it all out into the air, "Or maybe you found out about his record? Either way, it didn't end well."
Talbot's cheeks grew even redder as she scowled at him, but she didn't deny any of it.
Sam sighed, rubbing his temple where a headache was beginning to form. Things made a lot more sense now that he had some context for Talbot's unreasonable hostility, but really, why was it that he always had to get caught up in the backlash of Dean's idiocy? It was like high school all over again.
"Of course. It was probably the record. You seem like you'd care about something like that," he muttered, taking a long sip of coffee. Dean had one count of assault on the books from when he was 18, but it had never gone anywhere since Mayhem Arena had subtly stepped in and taken care of it. No way would they have let anything happen to their star moneymaker.
"Wouldn't you?" she asked, and Sam blinked before shrugging.
"Maybe, maybe not. Point is, you don't gotta take it out on me. You guys must've hooked up ages ago."
"It wasn't that long ago," she hissed defensively, but her aura gave her away.
"Mhmm," Sam hummed, unconvinced, "I may not be like my brother, but I'm still pretty damn close to him. If it makes you feel any better, you're not the first he's done that too."
Sam wasn't proud of the way Dean handled relationships (he'd been especially upset when he'd first found out that he and Lisa were splitting), but he couldn't blame his brother too much for it. The way they'd been raised just about ensured that the relationships they had would be less than typical, but sometimes, Dean could just be a straight-up asshole.
"I guess," Talbot groused, deflating like a hot air balloon as the last of her irrational aggression towards him faded away, "I just-ugh, it's been a long week."
She rubbed her face tiredly, and for the first time since she'd shown up at his door, Sam started to feel some empathy for her. Sure, she had been a straight-up bitch, and she definitely didn't come off as the easiest person to work with, but he could relate to feeling worn out by the case.
"This whole situation is highly irregular," she said, frowning as she seemed to realize the whole snafu she'd brought upon him.
"Yup," Sam replied helpfully, "If you leave now, you can probably scrape together enough pride to keep the FBI from kicking you off the taskforce."
He nodded to the FBI agents now muttering amongst themselves across the living room. He wasn't sure why he'd decided to throw her a bone. He couldn't be certain if it was the wisest course to do so when Talbot was this hard to deal with, but the best reasoning he could come up with was that the devil you knew was better than the one you didn't.
Gabe's familiar enough with her, as well as Jody and Donna, he thought, looking at the ladies shooting him concerned looks from the couch.
Sam shot them a reassuring smile, and their ruffled auras settled down. Honestly, those two were more mother hen like than he'd originally pegged them for. He appreciated their presence and knew that it must've been no easy feat to worm their way into this endeavor, since Jody very clearly didn't like Talbot.
"How would you know how the FBI works?" she asked, eyes narrowed.
"Aspiring law student, remember?" he replied smoothly, tamping down the urge to reveal that he knew Gabe and was more than aware of the animosity between them.
And that you kicked him off the case.
He was still irked at her for that, but he wasn't as mad at her as he once was. The truth was, her dismissal of him had led them down a whole new path that Sam was enjoying very much, even if it made some things harder than they had to be.
"Right," she said slowly, "But you have a point."
She stood crisply just after the FBI agents did. It appeared as if they'd come to the decision that he had nothing to do with The Crucifier in a criminal capacity. Arch gave Talbot a wide berth as he came over, extending his hand over the counter.
"It was good to meet you, Mr. Winchester, despite the circumstances," he said, flashing him a pearly white and completely genuine smile, "If you have any questions or information for us, please don't hesitate to call."
He slipped him the usual FBI card, and the rest of the departures were conducted from there. Agent Smith grudgingly gave him his own, and Talbot shot him one final look that was loaded with a lot less suspicion than it had when she'd walked in.
Sam managed to herd them all out of his door with reasonable speed, nearly collapsing with relief against it when they finally left. Honestly, at one point he'd thought he'd never be rid of them.
A glance down at the FBI cards revealed that Agent Arch's first name was Michael and that Agent Smith's was Zachariah. Sam decided that Michael suited the former agent better than Zachariah fit the latter.
He exhaled hard enough to make his fringe flutter a bit before he moved towards the closet, a sudden bolt of anxiousness turning his stomach as he opened the door. Gabe had been in there for a long time, and while the trace amounts of his aura that had poured through the cracks showed he was alright, Sam couldn't help but be concerned.
"You ok in there?" he asked as he opened the door.
"Peachy keen," Gabe replied dryly, kicking out his feet to stretch his legs as soon as the door was open enough, "What did you do, serve them a four-course meal?"
"Sorry," Sam said, deftly ducking one of the P.I's awry feet, "They were very persistent. Do you know Talbot was half convinced I was The Crucifier's sidekick? But I think that was mostly due to her hating the fact that I'm Dean's brother."
"What?"
Sam got Gabe down first before he retold the events that had occurred. The man's aura fluctuated as expected, going from a livid, fiery red at Talbot's antics to a disbelieving pastel hue of lime green when Sam explained how Dean tied into all of it.
"Your brother has no sense of self-preservation, does he?" he asked incredulously.
"Apparently not," Sam, rubbing his temples, "God, a detective?"
"It is pretty ironic," Gabe mused, "But in a really bad way of course!"
Sam snorted softly at the P.I's quick attempts at reassurance before pulling out the FBI cards.
"I also got these, so that's great," he said, tossing them onto the coffee table, "You should've seen the way Agent Smith interacted with Talbot; I wasn't sure who would tear off whose head first."
"Yikes," Gabe winced, "Bela's never been good at playing well with others. The FBI coming in is probably a big dent to her pride. I'm not surprised she lashed out at you."
"Still makes it pretty sucky," Sam said, flopping back onto the couch with a great big thud to tilt his head up towards the ceiling, "It's weird to think that the department's pulled up the Yellow Eyes case and my name's back out there in people's minds, even if it's just the LPD."
His eyes traced the faint spiderweb cracks in the ceiling and remained there when a familiar hand clasped his.
"I'm sorry kiddo," Gabe said softly.
Sam turned his head, lips quirking in an accepting smile as he tightened his grasp on Gabe's hand.
"It's alright. It's inevitable since the news always likes to throw Yellow Eyes into the reports nowadays," he replied, "They're milking this for all its worth."
He hadn't caught much of the news since the case had begun, but he'd hear snippets of it every so often, either on TVs he walked past or on the rare occasion his own TV was tuned to the news. Just about every time they were covering the case, or somehow managed to work their way back to the case.
"They really are. Who know reporters were so…vicious here?" Gabe asked, and Sam frowned.
"Have some personal experience?"
The P.I shrugged casually, even as his aura rippled with distaste.
"That night Olsen was killed, the reporters arrived extremely quickly. I ran into a couple, and…let's just say it wasn't very pleasant."
"But forget about that!" he exclaimed, letting go of his hand and reaching into his jacket, "You need to read this. It's serious."
Sam took the letter with interest, unfolding it and skimming it, which wasn't hard to do since it was barely half a page long.
S.W
The timetable for the distribution of demon blood is moving up. What looked like early summer is now looking like spring, really a matter of weeks at this point. Everyone is in a frenzy over it too. I don't know why it's moved up, but if I had to take a guess the guy behind the drug wants to take advantage of the chaos right now.
The Arena now wants a piece of the pie too. The King thinks it'll make a good steroid to juice his fighters up, but I don't think it'll go well.
The Dead Eyes are falling apart. Too many are hooked on the drug, and it's making the half of the gangs that aren't on the drug wary. There's massive profit in it, but the risk is insane. It's a miracle the LPD hasn't picked up on the drug's presence yet. A few people have already died from it.
If you're ballsy enough to go past the Parallel now, be careful. I'm still with B right now, but I'm thinking of leaving before everything explodes.
-M
Sam ran a hand over his face, studying the scrawled handwriting as he absorbed the information Meg had given him. This…wasn't good. She'd confirmed what Dean had said last night about Crowley, but he hadn't expected the part about the timetable moving up at all.
A finger poked his cheek, drawing him from his thoughts before he could try to piece together the puzzle.
"Hey, no zoning out on me," Gabe said, crossing his arms and fixing him with an 'I-didn't-sit-in-a-storage-space-for-a-hour-puzzling-over-this-for-nothing' look.
"Gang war looks like it'll be any day now. Dean's going to have a tough time in Mayhem Arena," Sam said, running his hand over his face.
"How so?"
"Mayhem Arena is like the Switzerland of the crime world," Sam explained, tossing the letter onto the coffee table, "But gangs sometimes like to pitch pseudo fights there. Gang A will put a member up to fight against Gang B, and while Crowley usually regulates it, those sorts of fights draw in money."
"But danger too. People get riled up," Gabe said, beginning to understand.
"Dean's a known neutral figure with no gang affiliations, and he has a lot of respect there, but it'll still be tough. I'm not sure if Crowley's greed or desire to keep things tidy will win out right now."
Sam had the foreboding sense that greed might win out. If Crowley was so interested in demon blood to give his fighters an edge, then why would he stop at letting the gangs letting their representatives duke it out in his territory?
"Maybe we should meet with Meg," Gabe suggested.
"No, not right now. Something's changed, and she's not telling us," Sam said, watching the last of her aura curl off of the page and into the air, "She might think it's too dangerous for us."
"How can you tell?"
"The way it was delivered. She got Kevin to deliver the first one, but it's clear she got someone else to do it this time," Sam explained, "Probably Benny. Kevin's still a kid, and she would only let him take so much risk."
"But what could she not be telling us? She seems to have been pretty forthcoming so far."
Sam snorted, tossing the letter onto the table, "Yeah, but that's the problem. Meg is only as forthcoming as she thinks is necessary. She always makes sure to hold some cards to her chest."
Gabe frowned, and Sam sighed.
"Meg is…a character. I can tell she's helping right now, but she's always got a backup, and she's got a bloodhound's nose when it comes to danger. Right now, she's close to some risk, and this is the highest she's raising her head for us before she goes back to hiding out in the sand."
"So, no visiting," Gabe said decisively, and Sam nodded.
"I'll have to let Cas know. Maybe those two can have a reunion before Meg ultimately dips from Lawrence."
"With Benny?"
Gabe's tone made Sam roll his eyes before elbowing him.
"You're such a romantic."
"Am not! I just think it's very gallant of Benny to not only take Meg in but to also potentially run off with her into the sunset!"
"Gallant?"
Gabe huffed, and Sam slung an arm around his shoulders before he could get too worked up. His aura was shifting towards orange but changed to happier hues of yellow and peach as he pulled him in close.
"Call Cas now to let him know. I don't want him huffing and puffing at me again," Sam shuddered.
"Oh, terrified of Mr. Academia now?" Gabe teased.
"Just call him," Sam said, twirling a finger through one of the curls on the back of Gabe's neck.
His boldness rewarded him with a rosier aura and prompt action on making the phone call. Luckily, Cas was one of the few people Sam knew that consistently answered their phone (unless it was just with them; he had a feeling the statement not might hold true in other instances), and he understood that the circumstances surrounding the second letter might lessen his chance of meeting with Meg.
"I just want to see her one more time before she leaves, if she does leave," he said wistfully, "We parted on less than good terms, but I want her to know that I've always considered her my best friend."
"That's so sweet Cassie," Gabe cooed, and Cas huffed.
"I'm sure you and Sam have a very similar, if not deeper bond. Should I call you sweet in return?"
"Not if it'll make your boyfriend angry. He's not around, is he?"
There was a long pause on the line, and Sam had to stifle a snicker at Gabe's expectant expression. Honestly, he enjoyed poking bears with sticks way too much for it to be healthy.
"Dean, who is not my boyfriend, is not here at the moment," Cas said curtly before his voice lost the edge, "I think he's working at Bobby's today."
"Well, that's nice for once," Sam quipped, and Cas hummed.
"Indeed. I don't have to patch him up for once. Oh, and Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for being there for Meg. She must've considered you a friend to entrust you with these letters."
Cas' words left Sam pondering. He didn't think Meg had ever seen him as anything more than a coworker (a preferred coworker to slog through a shift with, but a coworker nonetheless), but maybe Cas had a point. There had been several points before he'd helped her ditch her abusive boyfriend that they'd helped each other. Before her car broke down, she'd give him rides now and then, and Sam had given her some of his old CDs. Like Gabe, she'd had a prolific collection, though it tended to steer more towards heavy metal than cheesy 80s stuff.
Maybe she did consider me a friend.
Gabe left shortly after receiving a call from Jody. It was all hands on deck down at the LPD sorting through calls put through a hotline they'd set up for tips on The Crucifier, and the plan was that in all the work chaos Gabe could be slipped some more files.
"Hopefully nothing happens tonight," he said as Sam walked him to the door, "At the rate he's killing…"
"But he can't reach Hoffman, right? He's guarded better than Fort Knox right now," Sam said, trying to ignore his gut. It was twinging enough that he had his doubts, but if Gabe thought Hoffman would be alright, then surely The Crucifier wouldn't get him.
A shadow crossed Gabe's face, and Sam's gut stirred harder as the P.I paused in the doorframe.
"I don't know. He's a pretty determined guy," Gabe hedged, rubbing his jaw, "If he's insistent upon keeping the kill order, and if we're right about Hoffman being next in this supposed kill order, then theoretically he'd stay on it like a dog with a bone. Who knows what he'd do to get Hoffman?"
Anything.
The word hung unsaid between them before Gabe shook his head and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his waist.
"Try not to worry about it too much kiddo."
"I'll try," Sam said, squeezing him back.
His gut was telling him otherwise, and it plagued him for the rest of the day. Hoffman was currently under heavy-duty LPD protection, and no one would believe him if he tried to say that the poor guy was going to be killed tonight for certain.
Frustration overwhelmed him at the futility of the situation. He'd never liked Hoffman, but that didn't mean he deserved to be slaughtered. Maybe they could move him out of the city using the FBI's resources and put him in Witness Protection or something.
"If they weren't too busy squabbling over who got what in the case," Sam muttered as he threw himself into his homework.
No matter what Sam thought of, there was no viable solution. He grudgingly had to concede that everyone was doing their best now, and the best was all they could do.
For the first time in years, Sam went to bed early, using breathing exercises he barely used nowadays to lull himself to sleep. There was only so much distraction that homework and household chores provided, and Sam had the sneaking suspicion that he'd be awoken in the middle of the night by the call that The Crucifier had struck.
Hoffman was a dead man walking, and there was nothing he could do about it.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Yeah you bet I threw Michael in there! Finally got to introduce him now that the FBI are involved. He'll be a way bigger figure than Zachariah just fyi.
Thank you for all the support by the way. It really means a lot! I'll get Chapter 15 up, and then take a break from Reactivity for a while and work on other stuff. One-shots, short stuff like that. I won't disappear off the face of the earth, I promise! I'll just be putting out different stuff and exploring ideas.
Also brace yourself because the next chapter is going to be a doozy. So hang in there!