Despite the city's noticeable neglect of the run-down area, DJ felt far more at ease in Ross' neighborhood than he had in the Duval's; or at least he would have, if people didn't keep giving them the hairy eyeball and an over-wide berth.
"Man, we look like the cops," Sam complained, hunching his shoulders in the face of the open antipathy.
"You're the one who didn't want to go back and change first," Cass grumbled, stuffing his tie into his pocket.
"Dad said Ross went to the police academy," DJ pointed out as he scanned the house numbers. "Maybe that's not a bad thing?"
"Doesn't seem like a good thing," Sam muttered, drawing up short when DJ stopped in front of one of the two-flats.
"This is it," he said. "Let's hope he's home."
Cass started up the steps immediately, intent on leading the charge, but Sam caught him by the elbow and tugged him to one side before he could raise the doorknocker.
"Let DJ do it," he insisted, ignoring his brother's scowl. "This guy is a hunter—sort of—and I don't feel like getting shot at today."
DJ wasn't altogether surprised to hear the rack of a slide before Ennis Ross cracked open the door; he'd seen his dad greet unexpected visitors in much the same way. Still, his adrenaline spiked; he took his hands slowly out of his pockets and kept them where Ross could see them.
"Who are you?" the older man demanded, mistrustful and urgent.
DJ had a couple of different IDs on him, but he made a snap decision not to lie to this man.
"My name is Dean Winchester, Junior. My friends call me DJ," he answered truthfully.
"Are we friends?" Ross' eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You, and the wolves lurking at my door?"
DJ glanced briefly over at the twins, who were attempting to look as unthreatening as possible, before turning back to Ross with a shrug.
"My Dad sent me," he said simply. "He said you were the guy to talk to about Chicago's monsters; said you might know why the shapeshifters are working with the vampires?"
"Boy, keep your voice down!" the older man hissed, jerking the door wide and looking nervously up and down the street. "Get your asses in here, before I change my mind."
DJ didn't need to be told twice; he waited only until Ross holstered his weapon before ducking across the threshold with Cass and Sam crowding in after him. The older man shut the door behind them and did up the locks—a setup not dissimilar to the one DJ had back at his apartment— before giving them all an assessing look; the twins shifted anxiously under his prolonged scrutiny.
"You don't look anything like your dad," Ross said finally, giving DJ his full attention. "And what's with the suits?"
"We went to see Julian Duval this morning," DJ continued forthrightly; honesty had been working for him so far.
"Yeah, and he was acting squirrely as hell," Cass chipped in with a snort.
"I'm sorry; who are you?" Ross snapped sharply, dialing up the hostility as he addressed the twins.
"Sam Fitzgerald," Sam said, touching a hand to his chest as he introduced himself. "And this is my brother, Cass."
"Fitzgerald," Ross rolled the surname around in his mouth, and DJ could practically see gears turning in his head. "That's not a name I know; that's not a pureblood name."
"Our dad was bitten," Sam offered. "He was a hunter, before. Mom's a pureblood, though; second generation. Our pack is up in Wisconsin, and we don't eat people."
"Then what business have you got with the Duvals?" Ross demanded, crossing his arms; it was a reasonable question.
"You can't pick your relatives," Sam replied with a grimace. "We needed information, and we thought the Duvals might have it. We still think that, actually," he admitted. "But they're not talking."
"Talking about what?" Ross wanted to know.
While Sam rehashed the case and made inroads with their potential informant, DJ found himself distracted by the familiar low droning and repetitive beeping of medical equipment, emanating from somewhere in the house. He didn't want to be nosy, but he couldn't quite keep his eyes from darting around as he tried to pinpoint the source. Ross noticed him looking and cocked a warning eyebrow at him, but he let Sam finish his account of events.
"Anyway, after Duval kicked us out, we ran into Big Sam at the diner—that's Sam Winchester, DJ's dad—and he's the one who told us we should come and see you," Sam concluded.
"Sam Winchester?" Ross frowned briefly, confused. "That's the tall one?"
"Yeah," DJ confirmed.
"Oh," Ross muttered, mostly to himself. "I thought it was the other one."
He turned to walk down the hall, beckoning them to follow. Cass, who'd been surreptitiously scenting the air, tapped DJ on the shoulder to get his attention.
"There's someone else in the house," he said lowly. "I can smell them."
"Dude," DJ admonished, making a face. "Don't do that; that's creepy."
"It's useful, is what it is," Cass countered, looking around. "They're sick, too; I can smell medicine."
"Cass, stop sniffing the guy's house," Sam whispered furiously. "We need him to like us."
"I'd kinda already figured that out," DJ revealed. "I can hear the monitors."
"It's my pops," Ross broke in as they entered the eat-in kitchen, clearly having heard every word of their hushed conversation. "Monsters didn't manage to kill him, but the cancer's gonna. I'll introduce you, before you leave."
He handed each of them a beer—a peace offering, DJ supposed—and sat down at the kitchen table, gesturing to indicate that they should do the same.
"I've been out of the game awhile," Ross continued as they settled in. "Somebody's gotta look after my old man, and I can't do that if I'm running around fighting a war I was never gonna win anyway."
"War?" DJ questioned, picking at the label on his bottle.
"Boy, the monsters in this city are worse than the mob ever was; we're talking weapons, drugs, human trafficking, cyber crimes, the works. They own the police and the politicians… it'd be easier to make you a list of the things they haven't done. Understand?"
"Yes sir," DJ said quietly, though he was quite sure that he didn't; not really.
"The Duvals and the Lassiters are the worst of the bunch; they've been killing each other off and on since before I was born, probably since before pops was born, maybe even before they came over from the old country. They cost me my dad, growing up; he had to disappear just to keep me safe. He only came back after Tamara was killed, and that turned out to be just a man," Ross paused thoughtfully. "How much did your dad tell you?"
"Uh, the short version, I think," DJ replied. "He said that a shapeshifter fell in love with a werewolf, or something."
"That'd be David, and Violet," Ross nodded. "The real tragedy is what came before, though; what happened between their older brothers, Sal and Julian. Those boys hated each other, or so the story goes."
"Did they… not?" Sam asked delicately.
"Julian will probably take that one to his grave," Ross answered, shaking his head. "What I know is that they sure as hell didn't kill Sokolowski's son; they killed something else."
"Whose son?"
"Something else?"
As the twins voiced their respective attempts at a clarifying question, Ross waved a hand to silence them.
"Let's just get one thing straight, boys," he said sternly, fixing them with a dark glare. "I'm no fan of wolves or shifters, and blood-suckers give me the heebie jeebies. But I've never seen anything worse in all my days than a changeling nest, and I hope I never see one again. Better hope you don't, either."