Hey peeps! Been awhile, I know, sorry about that-life get's in the way sometimes. I have been working on this chapter for awhile, and I'm pretty happy with it.
I haven't checked this over too much, so there might be a mistake or two lingering in here somewhere; if you find something please point it out so I can fix it! I'll be doing a check over and fixing up anything that needs fixing later in the week. I wanted to get this posted as soon as I could, so I couldn't wait for measly check overs.
There is a fair amount of dialogue from the show in this chapter too-just thought I'd let you guys know.
Shout out to Bren GailSaraELupinMamaChele81! It was so kind of you to review, thank you so much.
Reviews keep my motivated, so if you're feelin' kind, drop me one.
I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter Seven
"Insanity is everyone expecting you not to fall apart when you find out everything you believed in was a lie." - Shannon L. Alder
Chapter Quote: "Don't ya'll move y' tushies!"
Gabriel leant against the porch railing and watched the tiny blonde bend over to dunk the mustard coloured sponge into the red bucket; giving him a perfect view of her backside before he snapped his eyes away—scolding himself silently while glaring at the bucket. He had been standing there for about ten minutes; observing Wendy scrubbing down the front door of the old hunter's home completely oblivious to his presence in the late afternoon sun while she muttered words under her breath.
"Whatcha' doing there, sunshine?" Gabriel asked casually as if he hadn't been there for a while, and finally letting her know that she wasn't alone.
Wendy immediately straightened, glancing over her shoulder at the angel with wide eyes—acting like she had been caught doing something she shouldn't, before becoming a little defensive of the fact that he was here question her life choices. "Washin' tha' door."
"Uh-huh, I can see that." He commented flippantly, raising his eyebrows at her and lips twitching in amusement at her defensive tone.
"I do what I want." Wendy grumbled softly, brows creased with her nose wrinkled. She turned her back on him, and continued on with her task.
Gabriel happened to peek down into the bucket of water to see green leaves floating on the surface and copped a whiff of mint. "Is that peppermint in there?" He pointed down at the bucket.
"It's for luck." Was all she said.
"Luck?"
"Hunter's need luck."
"They sure do."
It was quiet for a few minutes as Gabriel watched Wendy go through the motions of dunking the sponge, wiping the door and repeating the task over again. It was strangely therapeutic to observe the girl do the simple chore of door washing—hearing the splash of the sponge hitting the minty water and the splat of liquid smacking against the wooden surface.
"If I were ah shifter," The girl spoke suddenly. "I would find'ah place that horses shouldn't be able t' get inta' an' turn inta' ah horse." Wendy let out a giddy cackle, shoulders shaking as she shook her head back and forth.
Gabriel's eyes lit up with delight, smirking at the thought of it and not at all bothered by her abrupt outburst. "That is a fantastic idea." He wanted to try it out, see the reactions the scene caused; give it a whirl on the owner of that Italian place in town that thought it was a great idea to set up cameras in the bathroom stalls of the women's restroom.
The blonde's laughter died down into breathy giggles. Gabriel watched on contently while she proceeded to wring out the sponge and tip the water off the side of the porch, he could hear the sound of the liquid gushing down the water drain that hid behind a metal drum that was being used to stash rusted bits of car. This was the third time he had made his appearance known to Wendy all week. Gabriel decided to stick around once she told him she was alone the first time; the brother's off fucking up somewhere and the old man a state over taking care of a possession. Wendy had told him that she had offered to go with Bobby, which had Gabriel's jaw clenching and physically holding back the protective reprimand he wanted to give her—but Bobby had beat him to it apparently, wouldn't have any of it, saying something along the lines of: "No way in hell am I putting you in the same room as one of those black eyed bastards, you get on their radar and there'd be a feedin' frenzy, girl."
Gabriel couldn't agree more, though he was a little pissed that the three hunters decided to leave her alone even though they knew Wendy was currently being hunted down like an unsuspecting lioness. So he stayed; busying himself by messy around with the locals, popping out whenever the blonde seemed like she needed privacy. Though when he was away from her, Gabriel found his mind wondering again, but instead of thinking of his latest target, the angel's thoughts led back to Wendy. And then he was stuck wondering why he's thinking about her—which only seemed to get him thinking of Wendy even more as he tried to rack his brain for an explanation. It seemed to always occur after a visit, since the hospital they put her in, he hadn't made any contact—just watching from a distance, making sure she hadn't gotten herself into any trouble.
Gabriel prided himself on being able to get her out of a pickle. He had a top five: Doctor Larsher being number one and the time that idiot boy named Shaun tried to get handsy with her was number five; made sure every college application he sent out was rejected seeing as Wendy had already dealt the boy a fitting punishment. Gabriel had stayed with Wendy once she'd gotten out of the car, walked the long trek back to the old farm house right beside the little witch as she blinked back tears.
Being tethered to the woman for twenty-two years made looking out for her easier; the string that tied them together giving a little tug whenever she was upset or a mighty yank when scared—it also came in handy when he wasn't with Wendy twenty-four-seven.
The blonde picked up the dirty damp sponge as she walked by him, popping it into the bucket, kicking off her cowboy boots by the door and headed back into the house. Bells that she had recently tied on the door handle on the other side jingled as it swung open, revealing an unusually homey atmosphere to the house that wasn't there a week ago, and with no one there to stop her, Wendy went right ahead and made herself at home. Gabriel had noticed the little changes here and there, but apparently a lot can happen in the six hours he was away from her. The floor was freshly vacuumed, every surface within the home dusted, the books or anything that caused a mountain of mess was placed away nicely.
She was humming quietly as she stood at the stove, a massive pot of something bubbling away while she stirred; standing there in cut-off denim overalls and a bright yellow striped shirt. He wondered if Wendolyn Dawson had any idea of how much of a jackass he felt like when he looked at her, he couldn't deny that she's beautiful. Not pretty or cute, but beautiful and he knows that he's never really thought that before about any other being in his existence. And by beautiful he didn't just mean the outside, but the inside—it had been centuries since he had encountered someone who even tip toed the bar that Wendy had set.
He blamed these thoughts and feelings on that Masovas bullshit.
Ugh. Feelings.
When had those done anybody, ever, any good? He's not really into that shit. But somehow he managed to get suckered into the Valkaras' weird ass drama—and as much as he wanted to write it off to his usual ungodly amount of curiosity, it was becoming more and more clear to him that he was so fucking attached that a day didn't go by without his mind wandering to her.
"I'm makin' supper, y' want some?"
"Sure thing, sunshine."
Supper ended up being Brunswick stew—technically Gabriel didn't need to eat it; he didn't require food to survive, but it was good, so good that he went back for a second helping. As soon as he was finished and just able to stop himself from licking the bowl clean, it was taken from him and a small plate was placed down on the table with a decently sliced portion of chess pie sitting upon it. He gave Wendy a quick thanks while stabbing the creamy desert with his fork and withholding a groan as it hit the tastebuds of his tongue. The slight lemony flavour balancing the sweetness of the dessert; it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"Who taught you how to cook?"
"Marco." She answered while taking a bite of the desert.
"You heard from him?"
"Ah little." The blonde smiled brightly.
"You heard from Grammy?"
Wendy didn't answer straight away, her eyes becoming distant as she fiddled with the teaspoon against the small desert plate. She finally gave a little shake of her head. "I think she's ignorin' me." At the raised eyebrow Gabriel gave her she continued, "I've called an' called, an' called. There's never an answer—she calls Bobby though."
Wendy's eyebrows creased, eyes becoming glassy before she blinked the wetness away and looked down at her hands; picking at the chipped pink polish.
"Hey, maybe she just doesn't want to worry you." Gabriel leant forward and gave the blonde a reassuring smile; in return he received a tiny smile that didn't reach her eyes. In that moment Gabriel wanted to hunt down Eleanor Barrios and force her to call her fucking granddaughter.
The sound of a car pulling up in front of Bobby's house had the blonde tilting her head to the side as she stood at the counter, the knife she held slicing through the pink flesh, coming to a stop when it hit the pit, and listening in to the thoughts that came to her so easily. Placing the knife down beside the cutting board, she grasped the two sides of the furry flesh, twisted and pulled it apart to reveal the small burgundy pit of the white peach. Wendy bit into the fruit, the juices dripping from her finger tips, a trail dribbled down her chin while she glanced over at the kitchen clock that read eleven-thirty; she should really be in bed.
"—think it's really necessary." Samuel was saying as the boys walked into the house, pausing at the sound of the bells jingling on the door handle.
"That. That weird ass shit is why we're back." Dean retorted, boots striding across the floorboards she had just finished mopping after Gabriel left earlier that night. The older of the two came to a stop just before the door way, peeking in to the small living room with Samuel coming up beside him. Finding nothing there, the two turned swiftly to find Wendy standing eerily still aside from chewing slowly on the piece of fruit she held; head still cocked to the side as she watched them unblinkingly.
Wendy could taste the tension from the two brothers as they stared back at her, and it wasn't due to their distrust of the blonde. The raw emotion rolling off the two barrelled into her; coursing through her body—her fingers twitching uncontrollably as she tried to not let it consume her and drag her into the pit of their despair. Images and thoughts seared into her mind, giving her a view to their adventures the last few weeks. Demon blood and fist fights, yelling and arguing. Around and around it went, almost too much to concentrate on anything else. She had gotten sloppy, weak during the time she was practically alone—cooped up in the deteriorating house with nothing and no one to keep her company but her own thoughts and memories replaying on repeat; the visits from Gabriel helped ease her on the days she became incredibly outlandish. Wendy didn't like Gabriel seeing her that way though, un-hinged and erratic; sometimes she wanted to tell him to leave, to go somewhere he couldn't see her unravel—but he calmed her like no one else, so it stopped her voicing her wants even though she was embarrassed to have him see her act oddly when she was in a downward spiral.
The three stood in silence for a moment too long before Wendy finally inhaled sharply—quietly, thankfully not inhaling the piece of fruit while she got control of the anger, calmed it until it no longer resided within her, only simmering within the other two. Building the walls up took a little effort, but she pushed them out, and had her shield remain strong. Blinking quickly her neutral expression morphed into one of open friendliness, giving the boys a soft smile.
"Hello."
"Hey," Samuel spoke for the both of them, clearing his throat as he tried to nonchalantly take in the clean room for anything suspicious.
"Bobby's lookin' for demons." She explained, watching Dean's boots carefully as he slowly entered the room. "I offered t' go with 'im, but he said 'no'." She paused, mouth thinned out as she continued to stare at the boots. "Ya'll better not be tracking dirt in 'ere."
"What?" Dean retorted, caught off guard by the question, and lifted his left foot to check. "No." He glanced up at the blonde, eyes wide like a child being scolded by their mother before he came back to his senses—focusing on who he was speaking to.
"Good . . ." Wendy trailed off in a murmur, taking a step towards the two, gazing at the boys—but unable to see them as her stare seemingly became faraway and distant. The witch cocked her head suddenly in a bird-like fashion, as if she had just overheard something, and Samuel had the inkling suspicion she was digging through their heads. His suspicions were confirmed when those silver eyes focused back on him. "I don't like her."
"Who?" Dean questioned before Samuel could change the subject and drag the conversation to something a little less tense.
"Ruby."
"Ruby?" The older brother repeated, frowning at the witch while taking a step towards her. "How the hell do you know about Ruby?" Wendy didn't say a word, her gaze flicking over to Samuel's briefly—managed to notice that the younger brother had his jaw clenched, before she met Dean's stare head on.
Dean began to chuckle, which was concerning because Wendy knew he was furious. The older brother gave his head at small shake, eyebrows raised and a sarcastic smile upon his lips as he turned to look at Samuel who stood a pace behind him. "You told her but not me." If the question wasn't rhetorical, Wendy might've answered, but Dean didn't want an answer—he already had it; the room was silent which only seemed to antagonise Dean further. "You told her, but not me!"
"I didn't tell her anything, Dean!" Samuel defended; his voice equally as loud.
They argued, back and forth—bickering really, a little annoying but nothing she couldn't ignore. And ignore them she did, padding around the kitchen in her fuzzy pink socks, grabbing two bowls and filling them with the meal she and Gabriel had for supper; re-heating the meals in the tiny microwave that was hidden behind a box of cereal. Wendy had just finished making herself a tea when she became aware of a question being directed at her.
"You read his mind?" Dean asked with suspicion so clear in his voice that Wendy didn't need to let her walls down to feel it.
"Yes," A simple answer for a simple question, that was fair. Wendy placed the faded and discoloured oven-mitts upon her hands—musing that they were probably a pink colour years ago but had faded over time, and placed the steaming bowls onto the tiny kitchen table that already had cutlery waiting to be used. "When we first met."
"That." The older brother pointed his finger at her. "That right there is why I don't trust you."
"Tell me," Wendy picked her steaming mug up from the counter and sat at the kitchen table, gesturing from them to do the same while sipping from the hot tea. "That ya'll wouldn't have done tha' same thang in my shoes." The pair didn't move as she stared them down unblinkingly. "Go on, lie t' me." The blonde provoked.
"You're right," Samuel finally agreed, ignoring the irritated look his brother was giving him. "We would've."
Wendy gave him a dreamy smile then gestured towards the bowls, "Supper, there's plenty left, plus somethin' sweet for after."
Dean didn't move, but after a moment Samuel walked over and took a seat to Wendy's left; beginning to eat. Dean followed after Samuel's third spoonful—hanging his jacket upon the back of the chair and tucked into the meal, finishing before his younger brother and helping himself to seconds. The three were silent as the brothers ate, not that Wendy minded. The blonde sat between the two happily enjoying the company of anyone but herself. Having Gabriel stop by was a blessing, but Wendy assumed that the angel turned trickster had more important things to do then keep her company.
"Thanks for the food," Dean began, shifting in his seat before standing; refusing to meet her eyes—uncomfortable with having to thank her for anything. "But we're gonna' head off."
"Dean." Samuel muttered; his eyebrows pinching together as he looked up at his brother in disbelief.
"What? We came to check on Bobby, he's not here. We're good to go." Dean shot back, shrugging on the leather jacket he had draped over the back of the kitchen chair.
"Ya'll are just gonna' leave?" Wendy asked, shooting up from the chair, the hasty motion almost making her spill the hot tea in her hands. She placed the mug gently upon the table and turned back to the eldest brother. "Do y' have t' go? Can't ya'll stay awhile?"
"Uh, no. Got a case to look at over near Maumee." Dean dug into the pocket of his jacket for his car keys. "C'mon Sam."
"No, no. Please stay, it's too quiet here." Wendy panicked a little. She didn't want to be alone again. Being cooped up in the house was slowly driving her crazier then she already was. However, Wendy didn't know if she could be any crazier—or crazy for that matter as she remembered a man once telling her that crazy people didn't know they were crazy, and thought they were sane. So was Wendy sane and everyone else was crazy? Or was that just completely insane? "Y' can tell me what ya'll've been up t', and I'll make somethin'—ah pie! Right now." The flustered blonde glanced over at the kitchen clock that read quarter to twleve. "I'll start right now!"
"Dean, we can stay awhile." Samuel interjected quietly, breaking the blonde from her ramblings and shooting her a gentle smile.
"No Sam, we can't." Dean shot back angrily, turning his green gaze upon Wendy; watching her flutter around the kitchen, grabbing a mixing bowl from one the cupboards and piling ingredients onto the counter. Dean huffed in exasperation—his tone becoming annoyed, "Look, blondie—we've got better things to do then babysit. You stay here, okay? It's for your own protection."
The bag of flour Wendy had held in her hands tumbled to the laminated floor and she whirled on Dean at lightning speed, "Oh, oh!" Wendy's voice rose in pitch, she watched absently as the siblings eyebrows hiked up at her sudden outburst; her emotions running wild, shields leaking away to have the brothers anger enter her system. "For my protection! Gosh, that's jus' so darn considerate of y'. Silly me." Wendy spat angrily, stepping away from the mess she had made and pacing the length of the kitchen, before coming to a sudden stop. Inhaling deeply had the anger that grabbed on to her, leak out of her body and allowing her to replace her shields.
Wendy walked out of the room without a word, avoiding Dean as she strode down the hallway to the little laundry that she had placed the dustpan and broom in. She was back in the kitchen as suddenly as she left, and began tidying the mess she had created.
A clearing of the throat sounded after she placed the spilt flour into the bin underneath the sink. "Look, until we get this whole witch thing sorted, you got to stay here. We had a deal with Eleanor, and we're gonna' stick with it."
Wendy narrowed her eyes at the eldest brother before they softened after a moment. "What my grandmother an' ah lot'ah other people don't seem t' realise is that I can take care of myself."
"Come with us." Samuel said suddenly, standing to his full height and digging his hands into his pockets.
"Sam—"
"What? Dean, being cooped up in here would drive anyone a little crazy." Samuel argued and then gestured towards the young woman. "Let her tag along for a bit. Stretch her legs, fresh air and everything. And when you're ready to come back," He directed at Wendy, "we'll drop you off back here."
Wendy's face brightened admittedly, "Really?"
"Sure, why not?" Samuel smiled back at her, and shot a look at Dean that had his older brother reluctantly nodding along with a grunt; rolling his eyes.
"Thank ya'!" Wendy darted for Samuel, wrapping her arms around his middle, his tall form towering over her small height, before she released him swiftly and gave the same treatment to Dean. "Thank ya', thank ya'!" Wendy stepped away from Dean, fidgeting as she looked around the kitchen hastily. "We'll take left-overs, an' I'll go pack. Don't ya'll move y' tushies!"
Wendy rushed upstairs, leaving the brothers to bicker amongst themselves. She stepped into the small bedroom that Bobby had kindly given her and began shovelling the clothes she had put away in the tiny closet back into her large overnight bag. Wendy pried her fluffy socks from her feet, stuffing them into one of the side pockets; telling herself that'd she'd wash them later. Hastily she dressed herself into a pair of thick maroon stockings and threw on the first item of clothing she found, which just so happened to be a dress covered in different types of birds that she had worn the other day—though it didn't seem to be dirty. Wendy finally finished tying the collar together when she noticed the drop of barbeque sauce staining it, she frowned at the offending spot—had the thought of changing before disagreeing with herself; believing that neither brother would appreciate waiting longer for her.
Hurrying back down stairs with her bag slung over her shoulder, Wendy met the brothers back in the kitchen and found that one of them had already packed the food into a few containers. The blonde smiled, grabbed a plastic bag to carry the food within before Samuel reached over to take the item from her hands.
"Got everything?" Samuel asked with a smile.
"Mhmm." Wendy nodded happily, turning off light switches while making her way to the front door, grabbing the house keys that sat upon the hallway table so she could lock up. She slid her feet into her cowboy boots that were still waiting for her on the porch while the brothers shuffled out of the house.
Dean walked over to the car, ahead of his brother before swiftly turning to grab Sam's arm and stopping him from jumping into the vehicle. He glanced over at the blonde witch, watching as she locked the door, "I don't trust her." Dean kept his voice low.
"Okay Dean," Sam sighed. "Any particular reason?"
"Alright listen, I just want to keep an eye on Blondie. Don't look, Jesus. Discreet isn't your middle name is it?" Dean scolded, a frown marring his features as Sam rolled his eyes and glanced over towards Wendy again. She placed the keys in an old pair of work boots that sat on beside the door before turning towards them.
"Ready!"
"I've never been t' ah morgue before." Wendy murmured, not expecting either of the brother's to respond as she followed Samuel and Dean down a corridor of the hospital towards the autopsy room to see the coroner. The three of them were wearing matching black suits, Wendy preferred wearing a skirt over pants, but relented to wearing the latter as they would be easier to run in, but had paired it with dark red heels. Dean wanted her to change them before they left, but Wendy refused, so Dean threatened to leave her at the dingy motel, but then Wendy had reminded him that she was their lie detector. The Valkaras had won.
Wendy wasn't particularly fond of hospitals; always becoming rather uncomfortable if she had to go to one—thankfully that didn't happened often. Though, Wendy reassured herself that they wouldn't be here for long, seeing as it was to only be a quick trip to see the body of a man whom the brother's had decided died suspiciously.
The trio came to a stop at a door that read 'Mortuary', Samuel pushed open the door and held it for both Dean and Wendy; the woman smiling up at him as she passed. The pathologist turned upon their entry, standing beside a sink and drying his hands with some paper towel; a frown marring his face.
"Can I help you?" The doctor asked as he reached for a pair of gloves, the latex snapping against his skin as he put them on.
"I'm Agent Tyler," Dean began, showing his fake badge along with both Samuel and Wendy. "This is my partner, Agent Perry and our trainee; Agent Rosenberg. We're here to look at the body of Frank O'Brien."
The pathologist frowned, was about to question why the FBI would be interested in seeing the body of a guy who had a heart attack, but Wendy quickly dispersed her shields and dampened his curiosity, replacing it with acceptance; the doctor didn't question them. "Well, alright. He's right over here." The doctor chuckled a little, moving towards the examination table that held a body bag upon it and handed a file over to Samuel who immediately opened it.
"Agents, meet Frank O'Brien." Wendy was stood beside Samuel just as the doctor opened the body bag. Looking down at the cold corpse in morbid fascination, Wendy found it unusual when she couldn't see the shining blue of Mr. O'Brien due to him being, well—dead. Out of the corner of her eye, Wendy watched as Dean grimaced down at the body, but then quickly wiped the expression from his face.
"He died of a heart attack, right?" Samuel inquired, shuffling on his feet and placing a hand into the pocket of his suit pants.
The coroner gave a nod and added, "Three days ago."
Samuel hummed, "But O'Brien was forty-four years old, and according to this," He opened the file the doctor had given him once more; Wendy peeked from beside his form to look at the pages within, "a marathon runner."
"Everybody drops dead sooner or later. It's why I got job security." The doctor retorted, clearly bothered by their line of questioning, though Wendy couldn't tell why unless she peaked into his mind—but, she didn't feel the need to pry into the man's head.
"Yeah, but Frank kicked it here." Dean jumped in, "Now, just yesterday, two perfectly healthy men bit it in Maumee. All heart attacks, you don't think that's strange?"
"Sounds like Maumee's problem to me." The doctor scoffed, frowning at the three. "Why's the FBI give a damn, anyway?"
"Tha' FBI ah looking inta' these death's t' see if they're related." Wendy answered, soothing the doctor's irritation and once again manipulating him to become more agreeable. "It does seem awfully suspicious now, doesn't it?"
"Mm, well—when you put it like that." The doctor nodded along, thoughtfully.
Dean leaned around Samuel to frown at the witch, and then turned back to the doctor. "We just want to see the results of Frank's autopsy."
The doctor frowned once more, looking quizzically at Dean; no longer irritated with his insistence due to Wendy's gentle influence. "What autopsy?"
"The one you're gonna' do."
"Well, let's open him up." The doctor let out a giddy chuckle, moving towards a cabinet to gather equipment that would assist with the autopsy. He cheerfully hummed to himself, not thinking anything out of the ordinary as Wendy twisted the emotions he held inside. "You might want to put on some gloves, maybe an apron—it can get pretty messy."
The three followed the doctor's suggestion, with Samuel eyeing the coroner, then gave Wendy a look; his thought flittering through her mind: You did something? The blonde gave him a tiny smile and moved back towards the table just as the coroner settled his tools beside the examination table. Wendy stood in between the brothers, watching on in interest as the pathologist made a swift slice down the middle of the chest to open up Mr. O'Brien.
"First dead body?" The coroner asked, pulling the flesh away from the torso to expose the ribs.
"Far from it." Dean replied with folded arms as he looked down at the corpse. Though Samuel didn't seem to be holding up as well as his older brother; the younger of the two shuffling his feet with a creased brow.
"Oh, good. Because these suckers can get pretty ripe—hey, hand me those rib cutters, would you?" The doctor gestured towards the metal tool with a slightly bloodied hand. Samuel took a fortifying breath before Wendy decided to calm his disgust by twisting and pulling at it until he finally stopped squirming, none the wiser to her actions. Dean handed the cutters over to the coroner, whom set to work cutting the ribs open with Wendy leaning forward to study his movements in curiosity; the bones snapping with each press of the cutters.
"Is that from a wedding ring?" Dean commented and gestured towards the tan line around O'Brien's ring finger that suggested the man was once partnered. "I didn't think Frank was married."
"Ain't my department." The pathologist commented, prying the ribs apart—the crack resounding in the cold sterile room.
"Any idea how he got these?" Sam inquired, looking away from the doctor's handy work to pick up Frank's arm which was covered in deep scratches; like someone went at the skin with a cheese grater.
"You know what?" The doctor asked rhetorically, sarcasm leaking into his tone. "When you drop dead, you actually tend to drop. Body probably got scraped up when it hit the groun—huh . . ."
"What?" Wendy lent forward, trying to see why the coroner seemed confused all of a sudden.
"Well, I . . . I can't find any blockages in any of the major arteries . . ." The doctor murmured, brows furrowed before smoothing out and gripping the corpses heart, breaking it off, and looked at it critically, then handed the organ to Dean as Wendy lent away from the body; eyeing the heart in a reluctant Dean's hand while he gagged—trying not to vomit. "Heart looks pretty damn healthy."
Samuel's amusement at his brother predicament knocked on Wendy's wall and she had to force herself not to smile along with Samuel's emotion. The pathologist made another cut within the body; blood suddenly spurting upwards and hitting the side of Samuel's face. Wendy's hand's flew up to cover her mouth, eyes wide and hoping Samuel didn't have the unfortunate luck of getting the liquid in his mouth.
"Oh, sorry. Spleen juice." The coroner didn't seem at all sorry, fighting against smiling at Samuel's predicament.
"Y' got ah little—right here." Wendy gestured to her cheek, and stamped on Dean's foot when she heard him snigger.
The trio sat in the chairs provided at the sheriff's station, the deputy's desk right in front of them with said Deputy standing there and smiling at Wendy whenever he happened to meet her eyes. Wendy crossed her ankles, humming quietly as she sat and waited beside Dean; his fingers tapping out the beat of the Pink Floyd song she was humming, seemingly without him consciously knowing it. The moment was broken by the door to the sheriff's office opening.
"Hell's bell's Linus," The sheriff grumbled, stomping into the waiting area, "have you seen my—who are they?" The older man paused in his reprimanded, facing the three in confusion.
"Federal agents. I, uh—" Linus stumbled over his words, nervousness over coming the younger man.
"And you kept them waiting?" The sheriff said looking quizzically down at the Deputy.
"You, you said not to disturb—"
"Come on back." The older man cut him off and gestured for the trio to follow him into the office, but not before quickly halting them, "Shoes off." Wendy frowned down at her shoes, not too fond of walking around bare foot with no socks to cover her feet. Samuel and Dean kicked their shoes off without hesitation—like people asked them to do it often and walked into Sheriff's office; Wendy quickly followed—losing a few inches after toeing off her heels.
"Al Britton. Good to meet you." Sheriff Britton introduced himself, shaking their hands—though frowning down at Wendy as she tried to keep herself from letting her shields down at the physical contact, and accidentally absorbing something she didn't want. He finally gestured for them to take a seat, but with there only being two seats, Wendy opted to stand, wandering over to the shelving to look at all the personal items the Sheriff had placed there. Wendy counted fifteen softball trophies, a picture of his wife and children, but he had several photos of himself with a small group of men—one of those men being Frank O'Brien.
A potent smell of alcohol perfumed the air causing Wendy to look over towards the group of men, seeing the Sheriff squirting a large amount of hand sanitiser into his palm, and slathering it upon his hands and past his writs. Anxiety consumed the Sheriff, his thoughts and emotions managing to slip into Wendy's mind and informing her about all the diseases that could be transmitted through a simple hand shake. Wendy fought off the urge to snatch the sanitiser and rub the gel into her own skin to fend off any germs that lay upon her hands; hastily reinforcing her shields so it wouldn't happen again. From the corner of her eye Wendy watched Dean shoot Samuel a quick glance, lips pulling downwards to form an odd look on his face.
"Okay. So, what can I do for uncle Sam?" Sheriff Britton asked, popping the sanitiser back into his top drawer.
"Y' knew Frank O'Brien." Wendy stated plainly, pointing towards a photo watching the Sheriff's face fall at the mention of the man as Samuel and Dean turned to face the blonde. Dean looking at the picture she pointed out with a thoughtful look.
"Yeah, what of it?" Sheriff Britton answered curtly, his forehead wrinkling together as he glowered at the young woman. Wendy stared back, allowing her shields to fall away too easily to listening in on the thoughts of the Sheriff. Britton didn't like her, which was obvious and not really all that surprising considering he didn't think females should be working within law enforcement, thought that that kind of work should be 'left up to the men'. Wendy felt his annoyance towards her grow, but did nothing to quell it, not wanting to waste her energy on a walnut like him.
"We're looking into the death of Frank O'Brien. We understand some of your men found his body." Samuel interjected, which had the Sheriff breaking eye contact with Wendy. Samuel shared another look with his brother before both eyed off the sheriff.
"They did." Sheriff Britton responded slowly. "And yeah, me and Frank—we were friends. Hell, we were gamecocks." Dean snickered, which earnt him a frown from Samuel and Wendy while the Sheriff gave him a stern look; his eyebrow raised. Dean opened and closed his mouth; embarrassment washing over Wendy as she wandered over to his chair, and stood beside it as Dean helplessly stared wide eyed at the Sheriff.
"That's our softball team's name." Sheriff Britton went on, grief becoming clear in his features, the emotion washing away Dean's and sliding over Wendy's skin. The blonde's silver eyes prickling with tears that she had to force herself to blink back; shoving the emotion from her person before taking a deep breath and leant a hand on the back of Dean's chair. Wendy watched as the older brother nodded along to the Sheriff, possibly not wanting the older man to kick them out or think that Dean was causing further offense. "They're majestic animals. I knew Frank since high school. To be honest, just this morning I got up the strength to go see him. Frank was. . . He was a good man."
Dean hummed in agreement, smiling a little, "Yeah. Big heart." His comment earned a flick of the ear from Wendy that the Sheriff didn't notice, but made Dean flinch and tighten his jaw.
"Before he died, did you notice Frank acting strange? Maybe scared of something?" Samuel inquired, ever the professional and ignored the pair beside him.
"Oh hell, yeah." Sheriff Britton leant forward, folding his hands upon his desk. "Real jumpy."
"You know what scared him?"
With a shake of his head, the Sheriff answered, "No . . . wouldn't answer his phone. Finally, I sent some of my boys over to check on him, and well—you know the rest." The older man finished, coughing a little and reaching over towards his top drawer, pulling out the sanitiser once again and pouring a hefty amount onto his hand. Wendy's brow creased while she watched the Sheriff rub the gel into his skin.
"So," Sheriff Britton began once he was satisfied with his handy work; deeming his hands officially sanitised. "Why the Feds give a crap? You don't really think there's a case here?"
"No, no." Dean answered hastily, "It's probably nothing. Just a heart attack."
They left the Sheriff's station after that, not wanting the stick around for too long; mostly because they didn't want questions directed at them when they didn't have the answers to those questions. Wendy trailed after the brothers, making their way over to the Impala, and thinking through the encounter with the Sheriff. The man was most definitely grieving, which had Wendy assuming he had nothing to do with Franks death, but the Sheriff was jittery—anxious, he didn't strike Wendy as a neat freak or a germaphobe, and for someone to play sports; which equalled dirt and sweat, it would be very unlikely for that person to be so concerned with germs.
"No way was that just a heart attack." Dean stated as the trio crossed the quiet street, heading towards where they had parked the Impala with the accompaniment of Wendy's heels clicking as they walked.
"Definitely no way." Samuel agreed readily, "Three victims, all with those same red scratches. All went from jittery to terrified, to dead within 48 hours."
"Something scared them to death?" Dean suggested shrugging his shoulders, avoiding a man who brushed pass him.
"All right, so what can do that?" Samuel asked.
"What can't? Ghosts, vampires, chupacabra? It could be a hundred things." Dean listed, becoming a little exasperated by the whole situation.
"Yeah. So, we make a list and start crossing things off."
"Alright, who's the last person to see Frank O'Brien alive?" The older sibling probed.
"Uh, his neighbour, Mark Hutchins." Samuel replied.
"Ya'll don't think that tha' Sheriff was actin' ah little . . . off?" Wendy finally interjected, coming to a halt, the brothers copying her actions. She was looking across the street at the park that had children squealing and running around—parents watching on from the sidelines. Wendy felt the urge to amble over and join in with the carefree fun they were having; she wondered what it would feel like to just be a child, a child who couldn't do the things she could do. Though, she supposed she'd never know—she was stuck with who she was and Wendy wouldn't give it up, because if she did it would only lead to someone else taking her place and being forced to be slowly driven insane by what she was able to do. And Wendy wouldn't wish that fate upon anyone.
"What'd'ya mean?" Dean shot back at her; pulling Wendy out of her own head. She looked towards him and found Dean eyeing her with his brows raised.
Wendy gave a sleepy blink, "Well, he was anxious—an' tha' sanitiser an' everythin' jus' seemed ah little odd." Wendy stumbled with her words, becoming a little unfocused by the overwhelming amount of people around her and winced when a car horn sounded not too far from the trio; the sudden noise jarring her and echoing in her ears.
Dean shrugged, looked over at his younger brother then back to the blonde, "Yeah, sure—the guy was a little weird. Maybe's he's got a thing about germs."
"I dunno', Wendy's got a point. He did know Frank." Samuel interjected, frowning off into the distance as he thought.
"Okay, so we keep an eye on him. He starts acting weirder, than we do something about it." Dean turned to start walking again, only to take a step before pausing—stopping Wendy with a hand upon her shoulder from strolling on. "Hang on, hang on."
"What's wrong?" Wendy asked, watching the eldest sibling fidget, green eyes flicking over towards the Impala that stood a few meters away, before they quickly became downcast. Wendy felt the prickle of embarrassment and anxiety roll through her which had her frowning in concern at the older sibling.
Facing Samuel, Dean leant closer to the two and spoke quietly, "I don't like the looks of those teenagers down there." Wendy and Samuel spotted the teens hanging around about a foot away from the car, looking to be doing nothing more than talking to each other.
"Oh, darlin'." Wendy sympathised, grabbing a hold of Dean's hand and making sure not to let her walls slip; the skin contact helping her focus in weaving his emotions and drawing the unnecessary anxiousness out of his body. "There ain't nothin' t' be scared about." Wendy tugged Dean along once she felt him relax, though he still seemed a little reluctant, but followed after the tiny blonde as she paved the way through the teenagers and towards the car.
"I wasn't scared." Dean grumbled, squeezing her hand like he was terrified she'd let go.
Fun Facts: Wendolyn
- Doesn't watch a lot of television.
- Is overly affectionate and a 'glass half full' type of person.
- Favourite movie/book is The Wizard of OZ
- Comes from a long line of powerful witches.
- Grandfather died in a car accident when she was fourteen.
- Has a very nurturing personality.
- Born on the 27th February, 1986.
- Is a Pisces.