Oops. *facepalm* I'm sorry if anyone got excited about two chapters in two days; that was actually just me fixing my chapter break. I didn't realize until I sat down to make edits that I had posted 16 & 17 all in one chunk. To make up for faking you out, I've gone back and added some additional content; enjoy!
A chill ran down DJ's spine as Ross took a long, brooding pull on his beer. Changelings were rare—exceptionally so—and while nearly everything he knew about them came from an online novel he wouldn't admit to reading under threat of torture and dismemberment, he knew enough to feel suitably disturbed by Ross' intimation.
"The Rapture," Sam said suddenly, spitting out the headline that had made international news. "All those kids that just up and disappeared in Thirty-Four; that was you?"
"The warehouse fires, too," Ross nodded grimly. "We lit that bitch up; finished what Sal and Julian started. Or tried to start, anyway."
"Duval and Lassiter were working together to go after the changelings?" Cass asked, his face the picture of puzzlement as he tried to keep the story straight.
"Mhm; the feud complicated things, though. It's hard to set aside your hatred for the bad guys, even when you need their help to get to the worse guys, but they made it work; kept up appearances. Obviously, they couldn't let their people find out that they were working together," the older man replied.
"So they were friends?" DJ tried.
"Partners, I guess," Ross shrugged. "Or at least they were, before Sokolowski got to Sal. He died in my arms, you know. Apologizing to his brother for fucking up his chance to be happy."
"David," Sam nodded. "Big Sam said you might be able to put us in touch with him, so we could find out more about what the Lassiters are doing with the vampires."
Ross drank down his last swallow and shook his head.
"I haven't heard from David in years," he said slowly. "He probably skipped town; it's easy to do that when you can change your face like you change your socks. But it's no surprise to me that the shifters are working with the vamps; shifters are born, not made, and they're so set on keeping the blood pure that their numbers are down to almost nothing. If Margo's making a play, she'd need to cut a deal with a family that could provide the manpower to pull it off. The vamps have that, if nothing else."
"But why ship their fresh turns across the country on trucks?" Cass questioned. "That doesn't make any sense."
"I don't know anything about that," Ross admitted with a sigh, scratching at his neck as he stood up from the table. "But I can ask; Costa's got a soft spot for me. Put your numbers in there; I'll call and let you know what I find out."
DJ set his half-finished drink in the middle of the table and accepted the phone the older man handed him, making yet another executive decision to input only his number and his dad's number, since the twins never answered their phones anyway.
"Winchester," Ross chuckled softly when DJ gave it back, thumbing through the newly-added contacts. "I've heard stories about what those guys got up to after they left Chicago. Any of 'em true?"
"More than you might expect," DJ said, smiling crookedly. "Thank you, Mr. Ross."
"Ennis," Ross insisted. "Mr. Ross is my father. Speaking of which—"
He slid open the set of pocket doors separating the kitchen from what had once been a sitting area, but was now clearly a set up for home-based end-of-life care. Ross' father reclined comfortably in a home hospital bed, receiving assisted ventilation and intravenous pain management. At this point, it was almost second nature to check the vitals on the monitor, but DJ shifted his gaze back to Mr. Ross' face.
"Hey pops," Ennis said softly, taking his father by the hand. "This is Sam Winchester's boy, and a couple of his friends. They just wanted to say hello, before they head out."
"Hello, sir," DJ greeted him, echoed quietly by Cass and Sam.
Mr. Ross didn't speak—DJ suspected that speech was difficult or even impossible for the old man—but his eyes were bright, and he inclined his head slightly to acknowledge their presence before squeezing Ennis' hand. That small gesture had DJ swallowing heavily around a lump in his throat; there was so much trust and understanding in it.
"I'll be right back, pops," Ennis reassured him. "I'm just gonna walk the boys out."
DJ's general feelings of disquiet persisted all the way back down the hall, through bidding Ennis farewell, and out onto the cold and windy street.
"I really hope that Costa guy comes through for Ross," Sam was saying, either ignoring or oblivious to DJ's preoccupation. "This could be a big break in the case."
DJ hummed noncommittally, checking his phone and digging for his keys as they approached the van.
"No fucking way," Cass snarled abruptly, nostrils flaring as he stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk.
DJ's head snapped up; the last time he'd heard Cass make that sound, a time-traveling demon had interrupted their dinner.
"Oh shit," Sam growled, making a grab for his brother. "Cass! Don't!"
But Cass was already gone; he was across the street in a flash, ripping open the driver's side door of a beat-up old pickup truck and slinging its occupant out onto the slushy pavement, where he proceeded to start beating the hell out of him. Sam pounded after his brother, and DJ thanked his lucky stars there wasn't far to go; he was no match for the twins when it came to speed.
"Goddamnit, Cass!" Sam roared, dragging Cass off the guy.
"Let go!" Cass snapped, gnashing his teeth. "I'm gonna kill him!"
"No you fucking aren't! It's broad daylight; what the fuck is wrong with you!?"
While Sam grappled with his sibling, DJ knelt quickly next to Cass' unconscious victim and felt for a pulse, which he thankfully still had. The man was bleeding from half a dozen superficial wounds, and his nose was probably broken, but he'd live. DJ turned, ready to start in on Cass himself, when his friend's next words took the wind right out of his sails.
"What's wrong with me!? This motherfucker almost killed you, Sammy!"
Sam's grip went slack, and Cass wrested himself free, golden eyes gleaming.
"I know, Cass!" Sam ground out, panting a little. "I know! But you can't just—" he cut himself off, groaning in frustration. "We have to be smart!"
"This is the guy?" DJ interrupted, glaring down at his patient.
"One of 'em," Cass rumbled, bristling.
DJ was knew damn good and well that it was a monumentally stupid idea to plant oneself between a werewolf and their prey, but that's exactly what he chose to do. He threw one arm across the downed hunter and caught Cass' eye.
"Sam's right," he said. "You can't just kill him. He might be a bigoted piece of shit, but he's also a lead, Cass. And right now, he's the best lead we have."
Cass tilted his head, considering, then bared all his teeth in an ugly sort of grin.
"Fine," he bit out savagely, dropping to his knees next to DJ and pulling that god-forsaken tie back out of his pocket. "We'll take him with us."
"Oh, now he can tie knots!" Sam threw up his hands, exasperated, as Cass turned their captive over onto his front to start trussing him up.
Heart racing, DJ took stock of their surroundings; miraculously, there were no cell-phone wielding witnesses to the whole fiasco. He fumbled for his key fob as he straightened up, listening for the chirp that would indicate that he'd managed to successfully press unlock.
"You keep an eye out," he said over his shoulder to Sam as he hurried back across the street. "I'll pull the van around."
Yes, DJ has read the Carver Edlund books. The Winchesters are Very Bad™ at talking about their sordid pasts and their complicated emotions; in my mind, it's only natural that DJ would be curious, and that he would want to know more than the heavily redacted version of events he's sure to have heard from his dad.