December 24th, 2042
"I'm just saying," Cass pointed out, thumbing powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth. "No fucking way are we gonna be able to get close enough to overhear what they're saying; he'll be able to smell us coming a mile away."
"I'm sure we can figure something out," DJ countered, persistently optimistic now that he was sufficiently caffeinated. "We have plenty of time to do a little recon."
"Especially you, dude," Cass continued, talking over him. "You smell amazing."
"Cass," DJ sighed, exasperated, "I'm trying to be serious, here."
"So am I," the other man said, passing DJ their bag of pastries and the second cardboard drink carrier so that he could swipe the key card. "This Costa dude might be a cop, but he's human, and his advice is shit. Nobody shoot!"
He addressed that last to the crack in the door of their room, the only warning the occupants got before he kicked it all the way open and barged inside.
"Okay, so we cover our scent," DJ reasoned, carefully rebalancing his armful of breakfast as he stepped across the threshold. "We could try dad's vampire hunting salve."
"Ew, no," Sam objected, seamlessly interjecting himself as though he'd been present for the entire conversation. "I don't even know what we're talking about, but that shit smells like burnt tires and ass."
"Costa called," DJ explained, shutting the door with his elbow. "Duval and Lassiter are having a meeting this afternoon."
"So?" Sam said, making grabby hands for the coffee. "You better have brought me a bearclaw."
"So," DJ continued, rolling his eyes as Sam relieved him of some of his burden, "He told us where, and when, and seemed pretty sure that we would want to be there."
"How the fuck are we supposed to sneak up on a werewolf who already has our scent?" Sam demanded, cocking a dubious eyebrow as he dug through the bag.
"That's what I said!" Cass exclaimed, taking another bite of his donut. "Did mom and dad go back to their room?"
Sam froze with his coffee halfway to his mouth and grimaced.
"Okay, look," he began, extending a conciliatory hand towards his brother. "Don't freak out."
"Sam," Cass said, a warning in his voice. "What's going on?"
"Oh good; you're back," Dad cut in, emerging from the bathroom with damp hair and a freshly shaved face.
"I thought the shower was occupied?" DJ blurted, confused.
"Where's the hunter?" Cass snapped, glaring back and forth between Sam and dad.
"Dude, relax," Sam said placatingly as dad shook his head like a dog. "Mom and dad took him."
Predictably, Cass did not relax.
"Took him where!?" he snarled.
Dad rolled his eyes, ignoring Cass' vicious swearing and furious pacing, and took it upon himself to fill them in. Apparently, a decision had been reached during Cass and DJ's absence. To cover all their bases—his injuries, the gaps in his memory, the destroyed phone, even his damp and dirty clothes—the Fitzgeralds planned to stage a car accident for Wyatt Harris down in Lawndale. With the roads as slick as they were, it was unlikely that the police would even question it. Whether the ruse would fool the Duvals and the Lassiters was another matter entirely.
"I can't believe you're just gonna let him go!" Cass growled, fists clenched at his sides.
"I bought us some time," Dad said firmly, unimpressed by Cass' posturing. "And not much of that; we need to figure out what's going on, here."
"About that…" DJ murmured, making pleading eyes at Cass as he angled his body between his friend and his dad. "We got a tip from Ennis' cop buddy, just before we left."
"Yeah?" Dad prompted, folding his arms over his chest.
DJ explained quickly, leaving nothing out, not even the twins' misgivings.
"Well, that's easy enough," Dad shrugged when DJ had finished. "Julian Duval's never met me."
And that was how they ended up down the street from the Duval-Lassiter rendezvous point, loitering as unobtrusively as possible in an idling minivan.
"Mom texted," Sam informed them, holding up his phone as he climbed back into the van after feeding the meter. "She says it went off without a hitch; they're gonna meet us back at the motel."
"Great," Cass said flatly, obviously displeased. "Awesome."
"Cass…" DJ sighed heavily, "We couldn't just kill him."
"I know!" Cass bit out, slouching in the passenger seat. "I know, okay? Can we just fucking focus, please?"
DJ was more than willing to go another round with his friend regarding the moral ramifications of killing even a despicable man in cold blood, but Sam preferred a more direct approach—namely, thumping his brother on the side of the head.
"Stop pouting," he ordered, reaching between the front seats to crank the heat. "You're not even the one who got shot."
"Shh!" DJ implored, cutting off Cass' retort as his phone began to buzz. "It's dad."
"I'm in," Dad said quietly when DJ answered the call. "I'm gonna sit at the bar until I see them come in. Remember to mute yourselves; I've got my headphones in so that it won't look like I'm listening, but I don't want any distractions. Got it?"
"Got it," DJ said, biting his lip. "Be careful, dad."
"You know, this is really stupid," Cass commented as DJ obediently turned off his mic.
"What?" Sam asked, humoring him.
"It's stupid for Big Sam to go in there without backup," Cass reiterated with a huff.
"He knows what he's doing," DJ mumbled; he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Cass or himself. "He'll be fine."
"Oh, that was very believable," Crowley mocked, appearing in the second captain's chair.
"Jesus Christ!" Sam yelped as he spun in the demon's direction.
"I prefer 'King of Hell,' actually," Crowley said, smirking at DJ in the rearview mirror while Castiel glowered deeply from the third row bench.
"Don't do that!" Cass snarled, twisting in his seat and hooking one arm behind the headrest to glare at the demon face to face. "And I hear Hell has a queen, these days, douchebag."
"Well," Crowley sniffed, fluffing his scarf. "I do look spectacular in drag."
"What is going on?" Castiel demanded. "Why does Sam need backup?"
"Oh nothing," Sam said sarcastically, recovering a bit. "Just spying on the heads of two crime families, who also happen to be powerful supernatural creatures."
"That doesn't sound like nothing," Castiel intoned seriously, brow furrowing. "That sounds very dangerous."
Cass gave DJ a meaningful look, his concerns validated by his namesake's assessment of the situation.
"Would everybody just shut up!?" DJ raised his voice, a little desperate. "I can't hear a damn thing!"
Briefly cowed by his outburst, his passengers piped down; for several minutes, DJ listened intently to the ambient sounds of the bar—the soft clinking and clunking of tables being bussed, low strains of classical music, dad quietly ordering an Old Fashioned. DJ checked the time; they were expecting Duval and Lassiter any minute now.
"Not that this isn't fascinating—" Crowley began, sounding bored.
"Lassiter just came in," Dad muttered directly into the receiver, interrupting. "Duval can't be far behind; I'll ask for a table once they're seated."
The boys waited with bated breath, listening as dad first sipped at his drink, then wheedled and cajoled his way into a table near the nefarious pair. DJ chewed anxiously on the inside of his cheek; Sam leaned forward again, setting a bracing hand on his shoulder.
"Waste of bloody time," Crowley bitched under his breath.
"Be quiet, Crowley," Castiel admonished sternly.
There was brief scuffling and tapping on the other end of the line as dad settled into his new seat and pretended to do something on his phone; the conversation from the table beside him came through clear as day.
"Margo; you look well," Duval greeted, slick and flattering.
"What's so important that we had to meet in person?" a feminine voice—Lassiter—demanded briskly, ignoring his pleasantries.
"Straight to the point, as always," the werewolf sighed resignedly. "The Grantsburg pack is in the city; they're asking questions."
"Those backwoods hippies?" Lassiter scoffed. "Hardly a threat."
"Maybe not," Duval allowed, "But they know about the vampires, and they haven't left town."
"So take care of it," the shifter said dismissively. "You have hunters for that."
"I have Harris keeping tabs," Duval said, a begrudging admission.
"Harris couldn't hit the broad side of a barn door," Lassiter sneered.
"I didn't order a hit ," Duval snapped, unexpectedly defensive. "They're good people, Margo."
DJ frowned, and the werewolves exchanged a puzzled glance; they definitely hadn't gotten the impression that Duval held them in such high regard.
"They're werewolves," Lassiter rejoined, voice dripping with disdain.
"So am I!" Duval snarled, too loud for their supposedly private conversation.
"And whose fault is that, David?" Lassiter said coldly.
"Oh shit," Dad breathed, barely audible.
DJ mind whirled. It was like tilting a kaleidoscope; they still had all the same pieces, but an entirely different picture was emerging. The twins stared at one another, gaping in stunned disbelief.
"You turned your back on this family," Lassiter continued cruelly. "And it came back to bite you, literally. That's on you; we told you all your life that werewolves couldn't be trusted. But did you listen? No."
"Give it a rest, Margo," Duval—David!?—grumbled resentfully. "What do you want from me?"
"A little goddamned gratitude, for starters," Lassiter retorted, still pissed. "I let you come back, despite my reservations. And I let you stay, even after I found out you'd let that bitch poison your blood. Putting down a few stray mutts is the least you can do."
Cass growled softly at that, and Sam's grip on DJ's shoulder tightened almost painfully. The silence on the other end of the line felt strained; DJ could almost imagine the pair of them glaring at one another.
"It might not be that simple," David said finally, forcing the words between his teeth. "One of them used to be a hunter, and they brought a witch with them."
"Did they?" she couldn't have sounded less interested if she'd tried. "That should be a nice challenge for you; keep you sharp."
Someone pushed their chair back from the table, though as far as DJ could tell, neither of them had eaten a bite.
"Let me know when it's done," Margo instructed crisply; then, as an afterthought, "Merry Christmas, David."
The sharp click of her heels faded as she made her departure, apparently leaving her dining companion to pick up the tab; a waiter approached to ask if any further service was needed, but David just sighed and asked for the check.
"That was well done," he said after a moment, unmistakably addressing dad. "You had Margo fooled, anyway. But Julian would have made you the second he walked in; you reek of wolves."
He spoke casually, but DJ prickled with unease.
"I don't like this," Cass hissed, reaching for the door handle. "We should go in."
"Wait!" Sam let go of DJ to grab hold of his brother. "Maybe he can help."
"Occupational hazard," Dad said gruffly, abandoning all pretense of listening to his headphones.
David snorted, clearly not buying it.
"I always wondered why you never came back to Chicago," he said, tone accusatory.
"I've been busy," Dad evaded, "And things have been relatively quiet."
"Quiet?" David huffed bitterly. "Sure; no thanks to you two."
"If you're wearing Julian Duval's face," Dad mused aloud, ignoring the jab. "Then I assume he's dead. You kill him?"
This time the rumbling growl didn't come from the passenger seat; instead, it came crackling across the line, making DJ's adrenaline spike.
"You stood by while this city burned," David spat, furious. "You don't get to judge me."
"What happened to you, David?" Dad tried again, earnest and persuasive. "You never wanted this life."
"Well, we don't always get what we want," David snapped. "Just stay out of this, Sam. It's none of your concern."
"Your sister just ordered you to kill my friends," Dad said bluntly. "That makes it my concern."
"Of course; they're your friends," David sighed, audibly frustrated. "Look, if they had just left it alone—even now, if they would just go home—"
"That's not gonna happen," Dad cut him off. "Those vampires are killing people, and you're helping them do it."
"Then I have no choice."
There was an awful screeching sound as a chair scraped across the floor, followed by a loud crash as something heavy tipped over; after that, the audio went static and muffled, but they could still hear shouting in the background.
"Goddamnit," Sam swore as Cass practically threw himself out of the van..
"Fuck!" DJ echoed the sentiment, scrabbling for his own door handle.
"I think that's my cue," Crowley drawled, vanishing.
An instant later, dad wrenched the side door open and shoved Cass bodily back inside.
"Go, go, go!" he commanded urgently, leaping into the passenger seat.
Crowley reappeared, unruffled, on the bench seat beside Castiel; DJ only noticed because he had whipped around to check for oncoming vehicles before pulling away from the curb. Flight instinct demanded that he floor it, but he wrestled his lizard brain into submission and went with the flow of traffic instead, trusting in the intrinsic inconspicuousness of minivans to provide enough cover for their getaway.
"What the hell!?" Dad demanded of them sharply. "How did you mistake a shapeshifter for a werewolf!?"
"He is a werewolf," DJ insisted, voice cracking. "Dad, I swear, he wolfed out right in front me; eyes and teeth and all."
"And he smells like a werewolf," Cass contributed, somewhat indignant.
"Am I the only one who heard what Margo actually said ?" Sam wanted to know. "David's girlfriend fucking turned him; I didn't even know it was possible to turn a non-human."
"Jefferson Starships," Dad murmured incredulously, rubbing his face; his glasses seemed to have disappeared.
"What?" DJ queried, bewildered.
"Ugh…." Dad groaned behind his hands. "Hybrids; they're a blend of more than one monster. I haven't dealt with any in a long time."
"And you shouldn't be dealing with them now," Crowley broke in, caustic. "We've got bigger fish to fry, in case you've forgotten."
Dad straightened up to glare at Crowley in the rearview mirror.
"I'm not leaving Chicago," he said tersely, setting his jaw. "Not until this is done."
"I think what you meant to say was, 'Thank you, Crowley, for saving my giant arse,'" the demon rolled his eyes reproachfully.
"Oh god," Sam gasped suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. "Big Sam, David said he could smell us on you; he's gonna know where that hunter's been."
"Shit!" Dad burst out, frantically patting down his pockets only to realize he'd lost his phone in the chaos. "Call your parents; now."
So sorry about my extended absence; this chapter fought me every step of the way, but it's finally done! Just two more chapters to go.
Sam Winchester's vampire salve is an improvement on John Winchester's method of tossing dried saffron, skunk cabbage, and trillium into a campfire to mask one's scent while hunting vampires. However, dabbing some on for a hunt would not be a pleasant experience; the aroma profile also includes notes of wet dog and rotting meat. Gag.