Hope you all had a lovely Christmas! Here's the next instalment for you. Please feel free to read it while you digest turkey and chocolates!
Mandy, Have you had any news about your job interview yet? Moving sounds exciting. Fresh starts can always be good. Glad you liked Dean's wife. She's definitely quite a character, even if Dean doesn't like her as much as she likes him!
Rebel8954, You're welcome! If it's any help, I laughed at his wife too. I have no idea where she came from, but I just suddenly loved the idea of Dean having all these weird skeletons in his closet. She might be the biggest though!
xXBalorBabeXx, Nah, no love for Dean in this story. This is strictly brother centric. Although, clearly Dean has quite a history with ladies in this AU!
Wolfgirl2013, Thank you and yes, next is a Lauren and Dean story.
Cheryl24, Well we wouldn't want a normal Dean Ambrose now, would we?!
TactfulLizard, Don't worry, Dean and Roman are on the case (oh, and Seth. Seth is there too!)
Skovko, Haha! I thought you might. Annie is definitely the gift that keeps on giving. What a lucky man Dean is to have her as a wife.
XwwecoyoteX, Don't worry, there's still a few more weeks to go, but we're definitely into the last half of this crazy tale and also no, Annie is definitely not the sort of woman to let her American husband go very easily (or ever…sorry Dean!)
Minnie1015, 'Din' does indeed (reluctantly) have a wife. A very strong, very affectionate wife that I probably like as a character way more than I should. Still, at least he married her the right reasons…right?!
HannonsPen, Yay! Welcome back. Sorry to hear that life's been crazy, but I'm glad my equally crazy writing ramblings help a little! Hugs and squishes back!
Phoenix lord of rebirth, Yep, the end is creeping (slowly, slowly) towards us! Things are definitely going to start to unravel (in more ways than one) soon enough. But for now, please enjoy another crazy chapter for the Christmas period!
Merry Christmas…
SEVENTEEN
St Francis Xavier is a one hundred year old building – with soaring marble arches – that apparently doesn't allow dogs, which Dean learns the hard way when he gets to the entrance and is stopped by some blowhard in a white collar,
"That can't come in,"
He's pointing at Seth, who looks suitably respectable and frankly freaking adorable in a doggie bow tie, which had come with pretty much a whole freaking wardrobe from his froufrou former owner. Most of which Dean had thrown out. Well, all except for the swanky bow tie of course and a small leather jacket, which had kind of looked like his.
Because like father, like doggie son and all that jazz.
On hearing himself being referred to as a pronoun, the little white dog jerks his head up and curls his lip, which makes the jittery looking churchman launch backwards in alarm and then draw a hasty sign of the cross over his chest, like he thinks the Pomeranian may in fact be the devil.
Dean gives Seth a nudge and then frowns at him.
Dude, chill.
"Oh, him. Yeah, that's my emotional support dog."
"Your what?" the straight laced clergyman blinks in response, probably at the thought of the tiny little hellhound being a comfort fucking anything.
Dean nods,
"Uh, yeah man – uh crap. I mean father. An' crap, I don't mean crap. I mean poop. Can I say poop? Is poop okay?"
The man lifts a doubtful looking brow in response to him, which seems to imply that no, Dean cannot say poop, or for that matter, any other word he is thinking, which is kind of a bummer.
Wait, is bummer allowed?
The priest sighs,
"Fine, but keep him away from the casket and the family and do not let him go near the mayor."
Dean salutes him,
"Dude, I promise. Like, they won't even know that we're here, right little man? Whoa, Seth, hey. Bad boy."
In the pause the dog has lifted his leg up like he's thinking about peeing right in front of the damn doors, or perhaps the priest's shoes if he can hit the right angle. Bending down Dean scoops him up into his chest and then throws an awkward looking wince at the padre,
"Uh, guess he must be one of those atheist dogs. But anyway listen you have a great show man."
He gives the baffled priest a too hard slap across the back, then bleeds through the doors with the rest of the mourners to try and find a pew – or whatever they're called – somewhere inside. Which shouldn't be too hard because the place is ginormous, with tall blue painted columns holding up the vaulted roof and with white and brown tiles and dark brown wooden benches, which Dean slides himself and Seth into at the back, away from the casket and the mayor as promised but with a good view of Christopher Hurley up front, who is stood staring off into space almost blankly as people file up to give him their condolences and hugs. Probably unaware that they are comforting a killer.
Or a probable killer, which is pretty much the same thing and which is also the reason that Dean is fully glowering at him, like a hawk – no, like a gunhawk – as someone plops down by his side. Someone with pepper pot hair and a moustache, not to mention an unlit but very well chewed cigar.
Dean screws his face up,
"Hackett? What are you doin' here?"
"Funnily enough son I was going to ask you the same thing," the grumpy old timer growls back in response to him before blinking at Seth, "Is that dog wearing a bow tie?"
"It's a funeral," Dean huffs, "I wanted him to look proper, an' anyway, what kind of church doesn't allow dogs?"
"All of them son," Hackett snorts back wryly, before glancing around like he's looking for someone, "The big one not with you?"
He's talking about Roman.
"No."
"What happened? You two boys have a fight, some sort of private eye, lover's tiff or something? Say, that why you're sporting this?" he gives the black eye a tap and Dean nearly shoots off the pew in astonishment. Well astonishment and outrage,
"Ow, dude. What the fuck?"
The grouchy looking priest who had glared at him earlier is stepping through the door as the f-word bellows out and then bounces off the blue painted walls and the vaulting so that everyone can hear it. He narrows his eyes and Dean holds a hand up then grins,
"Crap, my bad."
"Smooth kid," Hackett grunts, as the blonde drops back down and then presses a hand to his swollen eye tenderly.
Seth keens up to lick it,
"The hell is wrong with you dude? You don't just go around freakin' pokin' folks like that, an' no it wasn't Reigns. For your information I got jumped."
"Lemme guess here," Hackett snorts around the tip of his stogie, "By some schmuck you caught bangin' his pretty secretary, right?"
"No, an' anyway, they prefer to be called office managers."
Hackett blinks back at him,
"They what?"
Dean shrugs,
"I don't know, it makes 'em sound more or important or somethin' an' – look man, forget it. Are you gonna arrest him or not?"
Hackett blinks again, but this time like he thinks Dean might actually be crazy, which, okay, so he sounds like he is, even though the truth is he's never been more focussed.
Or sure that he's right.
"Who?"
"Christopher Hurley," he groans back, "Look, come on dude, keep up with me here, it's simple. Christopher Hurley is broke – like, flat broke. The guy's got people showin' up to take his furniture away. Which is why he killed his wife, so he could cash in her life insurance. An' that's why he got her roommate from rehab to help. So that she can make it look like a suicide. Except that I'm like, way too smart to fall for that, which is why I'm out walkin' the dogs a couple nights back an' BAM," he mimes getting punched in the face, which upsets Seth who starts to bark at him.
A woman from the church comes striding over,
"Excuse me sir."
"What? Who said that?" Dean instantly puts his hands out and she stops herself at once and then flushes bright pink,
"Oh my. I'm so sorry I didn't realize you were, um," she falters, then smiles again as Dean gropes across the pews, upsetting a bible and a hymn sheet for the funeral, "Forget I said anything."
"Uh, okay," Dean nods, watching from the corner of his eye as she creeps away from them before turning back to Hackett, "So are you arrestin' him or not?"
"On the day of his wife's funeral with, hmm, let me see here, zero shred of credible proof, except the word of a man who just pretended to be blind so he could sneak a damn rat wearing a bow tie into a cathedral? Wow, lemme think this through for a second here. No. Oh, and faking a disability is a federal offence son."
Dean decides it's best to keep quiet about the Polish wife thing and about the thing with the monkey and pretending to be a florist to get into Hurley's house.
He frowns instead,
"But, we freakin' got proof dude. Or like, we will have, as soon as we track the roommate down."
Which is the reason that Roman had stayed in the office, so he could call Jennifer's old address and try and work out where she'd gone, or to see if the people who lived there had kept her contact details. Not that the Samoan had been exactly happy about letting Dean go off to the funeral on his own, given the whole being jumped in a park thing and the fact that the killer would probably also be there. Hence Dean having to take Seth along with him, oh and hence him wearing Roman's jacket as well, since apparently a beaten up old biker leather had not been funeral attending attire.
Who knew?
Hackett lifts a brow in confusion,
"What roommate?"
"The lookalike one," Dean says with a huff, because really, for a cop he's pretty slow on the uptake, "He was screwin' around with her. Uh, like Hurley was I mean. Even though he freakin' says it was an accident, an' look man, whatever. Hurley did it. He killed his wife."
In pretty much the same second that Dean makes the statement, there is a sudden loud wail from the front of the church as the grieving widow-slash-possible-murderer, flings himself across the flower laden coffin and starts to sob. Hackett takes the stogie from his mouth and points it at him,
"Yep. Because that is a hard bitten killer right there."
"I'm tellin' you man," Dean grunts as his phone rings. The priest from before shoots him an unimpressed glare, then goes back to trying to coax the wailing the billionaire upright so they can start the damn service, "He freakin' did it. Hello?"
Roman's deep voice rumbles back across the line at him,
"Babe?"
"Hey uce, find anything out?"
Beside him Detective Hackett reinserts his cigar tip, then puts out a weathered looking hand to stroke Seth, who curls up his lip and tries to take a chunk out of him. Probably for not believing his genius owner, Dean likes to think.
Roman sighs like he's spent too long in front of the computer, which is probably because he has.
"Yeah, but it's like we thought babe, the address on Jennifer's driving licence is an old one. Managed to get in touch with her parents though. Pair of them live a couple hours out of town. Figured we could maybe have ourselves a little road trip and see what they can tell us?"
Dean nods,
"Sure, sounds good."
"Speaking of good, how's the funeral going?"
"Uh – ,"
Good question.
Dean glances towards the front, where not only the grouchy priest but the turncoat bodyguard Batista and the god damn mayor are trying to drag Hurley back. A woman passes by wearing a hat with a feather on it and Seth starts to yap at her which makes the woman shriek and then crash back into a tall plinth of flowers, which tumbles over and hits an elderly man across the head.
"Jesus Christ," Hackett shouts in astonishment, which promptly echoes back off the columns and the vaults and makes all the mourners not dealing with Hurley or the flower thing gasp.
Dean shrugs,
"Yeah uce. S' goin' good."
Next week (which will be 2020. Happy New Year!) Roman and Dean get a few more answers about the elusive roommate. Be there or be square!