First Impressions

Chapter 2

Dean Winchester was extremely pissed off. Casper was still loose in the house and having much fun at his expense. He had a new lump on the back of his head to prove it. Who knew that an old shoe could hurt so much?

Gingerly rubbing his head, he began to wonder where his brother was. It shouldn't have taken that long to walk the kid out. Though knowing Sam, he was probably outside still talking to the stranger. His younger brother was almost desperate when it came to trying to make friends. Dean didn't really blame him though. Being raised in motels as their father moved them from town to town chasing down ghosts, werewolves and anything else that even breathed of the supernatural was hard on his normally social kid brother. However, right now, in the middle of a job, he needed Sam to focus. There would be plenty of time for social hour later.

"Sam?" Dean yelled, hearing his voice echo through the house. This particular poltergeist was more a nuisance than a danger – which is why experienced demon hunter John Winchester let his sons handle the job while he stalked a shape shifter upstate – so Dean wasn't too worried that it might have gotten the jump on his brother…yet. "Yo! Sammy!"

Nothing.

His concern rising a notch, Dean moved down the hallway and towards the front door. He checked out each of the rooms along the way, just in case his brother got waylaid by the décor or something. That would be so Sammy.

Frowning when he reached the door with no sign of his brother or the other kid, Dean opened it and stepped out onto the front porch. But still no Sam. Now he was starting to get worried…

"Sammy?" he yelled again and then whipped around, his shotgun up and ready when he heard a sound to the side of the house. A shadow froze and Dean saw a pair of hands raised in the gloom.

"Whoa! Easy," a voice called out and Dean squinted to try and make out the newcomer's face.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Dean demanded, not lowering the gun.

The person stepped out of the shadows. It was a young dark-haired man with piercing dark eyes, probably a year or two younger than Dean himself. The demon hunter cursed as he exhaled loudly and lowered the gun "Damnit. Just what I need…another kid."

"My name's Frank Hardy, and I'm looking for my brother."

"Well what do you know, sport," Dean smart-assed, "so am I." He paused as he sized up Frank for a moment before adding, "Your brother. Is he about my height, blond hair – likes to hang out in closets?"

Frank rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Sounds like him. Joe."

"Joe. Yeah, that was his name." Dean turned around to go back inside the house.

"Wait," Frank called out, hurrying to catch up. He didn't know who this young man was and definitely didn't like how callously he carried that shotgun, but he still followed. If this guy knew anything about Joe – "What do you mean 'was'? Do you know where my brother is?"

"Not anymore," Dean admitted, not bothering to turn around as he marched towards the small room where Sam had found Joe, "But wherever he is, my kid brother's probably with him."

"I don't—"

Dean cut him off, exhaling loudly. He indicated the closet. "Sam found him tied up in there. He walked your brother out of the house and now I can't find either of them."

"Shit," Frank muttered, bending down and picking up the bloodied ropes that had held his brother. He straightened up.

"Come on," Dean offered, moving out of the room again. "They couldn't have gone far – you got one of those fancy coffee houses around— Look out!" Suddenly Dean shoved Frank to the floor as something heavy passed over their heads, crashing into the wall behind them.

"What the—" the older Hardy started to ask, but Dean was already rolling off him, clambering to his feet.

"Move!" Dean yelled, grabbing Frank's arm and hauling him up before shoving the young detective in the direction of the door. "Go! Go! Go!"

Frank's heart was racing as something else was flung at them. He ducked as he ran down the darkened hallway, the stranger right behind him. He'd just raced past an open door, when Dean grabbed his arm again, yanking him into the room.

"What…was…that?" the dark-haired Hardy panted as he watched the stranger checking his gun.

"Poltergeist," Dean said, satisfied with his buckshot. He looked at Frank and flashed a charming smile. "Name's Dean Winchester by the way."

Frank just stared at him for a moment and then scowled.

"What?" Dean asked.

"A ghost?" Frank asked skeptically.

"Ah no. Not technically. This one is a poltergeist. They tend to be a lot more pissed off than ghosts," Dean explained as he patted down his coat and then pulled out a large canister of salt.

Frank wondered briefly exactly where he had concealed that but decided there were just some things he did not want to know.

"I don't believe in crap like that," the young detective said.

Dean raised his eyebrows and then grinned. "Me either." He moved towards Frank and started to sprinkle something on the floor around them.

"What are you doing?" Frank demanded, backing up slightly as he decided this young man was nuts.

"Salt," Dean explained, making a perfect circle on the floor and then stepping inside it. "It repels spirits and other stuff you don't believe in."

Frank snorted. "I don't have time for this. I've got to find Joe." He started to move towards the door.

"Hey," the other man's voice stopped him. "You don't have to believe in this, but you still can't be stupid, either. You want to find your brother and I need to find mine – okay, we can do that, but we got to take care of this first. Now get back in this circle and let me do my job."

"Your job?" Frank was incredulous. "Exactly what is your job?"

"Me, my Dad and my brother are hunters," Dean explained proudly, "we hunt down and kill all those things you don't believe in."

"You can't be serious?" The young detective shook his head but then sighed and slowly nodded his head when he saw that Dean was very serious. "Fine. But can you get a move on? The longer we wait, the harder it's going to be to find them."

Dean nodded, pulled out a ragged old book and started to read in Latin. Frank frowned – what was this? An exorcism or something?

The sound of wind rushing through a tunnel made the skeptical detective step back into the protective circle of salt as all the doors suddenly burst open. His heart pounded as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Something was here…

Dean continued to read, seeming oblivious to the commotion around them as things started to fly from the shelves, doors slammed, chairs got overturned.

Finally, with a loud shout, everything just stopped. Items in mid-air dropped harmlessly to the floor, and the wind was gone as quickly as it came.

Frank turned to look at Dean.

Dean gave him a goofy grin and shrugged as he closed the book. He winked. "Just another day in the incredible life of Dean." His smile faded, his face becoming serious again. "Okay then, let's go get the girls."

When the younger boy just scowled at him, Dean rolled his eyes. "Lighten up, Frankie. I'm talking about Sam and Joe."

"It's Frank," the dark-haired man said curtly as he led the way out of the room. Behind him, Dean grimaced and shook his head.

"Someone just shoot me now….He's Sam."

"You're crazy," the other boy commented as he stepped out of the house and surveyed the area with keen eyes. He pulled out a small flashlight.

"Can't prove it," Dean smart-assed, watching Frank with an odd look on his face as the young detective shone the light over the ground and started to walk away from the house. "Exactly what are you doing?"

"My job." Frank flashed him a knowing smile.

"And exactly what is your job?" Dean ignored the déjà vu.

"Me, my Dad and my brother are detectives," Frank explained, "we're some of the good guys."

Dean glared at him, opened his mouth to retort, but then stopped as the sound of a gun shot sent him and Frank hurtling into the darkened night.