Here we are then. Drama, drama, drama…
xXBalorBabeXx, Well, that's their plan. But as usual, their plans have a way of being interrupted!
ViolentHugger03, Haha, I can confirm or deny nothing (although Dean is going to talk more about it here) and rest assured, there will be more twists before it's over!
Phoenix lord of rebirth, I know, poor old Roman is caught between his loyalty to Dean, his belief in the good of people and his doubts about everything. I know I tend to kind of put Dean through it, but Roman isn't having it easy here either!
Wolfgirl2013, Aww, thanks and I'm glad you had such a lovely Christmas.
Mandy, Oh no, sorry you've not heard yet and that things are getting you down. As someone once said to me, we can only control the things we can control, so maybe focus on the things that are within your power and build your strength from those. Much love.
Rebel8954, Well, Jennifer and Batista being behind it would certainly be a good twist! Not that I'm saying it is...or isn't...in fact, I'm not saying anything at all!
Skovko, Haha, is Lana/Liv vibes a compliment or an insult?! (Better than Lana/Bobby/Rusev though I guess, since that would definitely be an insult!
XwwecoyoteX, Ooh, nice theory! But yes, I agree, poor Mr and Mrs Boseman. Although at least Mrs Boseman got to feed Dean up. That made her smile for a little while. Dean tends to have that effect on the ladies!
Lunatic789, Then wait no longer!
Not-that-kinda-gurl, Aww, don't worry. The holiday season happens so rapidly a week feels like a couple of hours, so I'm not surprised you fell behind on the story. Got a bit of drama for you this week though!
Wrestlingfanforever, Hope you had a good Christmas and I'm really glad you're enjoying the story.
Minnie1015, Haha, the best for last indeed! And as a special reward I'm giving you some much needed drama in this chapter (don't say I never give you anything!)
Hold onto your strawberry shortcakes...
NINETEEN
"No way," Dean says around a mouthful of cheeseburger two hours later in a rundown diner eighty seven miles out of town. Although how he can manage a god damn cheeseburger – not to mention onion rings and a side order of waffle fries – after having scoffed nearly two thirds of a pound cake and five macaroons, Roman has no idea, "I'm tellin' you uce, it was Jennifer that hired me. I don't care what they said about the headscarf. It was her."
To further his point, or else because he's hungry, he dunks a wodge of fries into some barbecue sauce and then crams them into his mouth and keeps talking,
"Like, I can feel it in my gut."
"You sure that ain't just all the cake?"
Dean spreads his hands in response,
"Hey, she offered, an' besides dude, who in the hell turns down cake? I mean, just because their kid is a cold blooded killer, doesn't mean I should freakin' take it out on the apple sponge."
Roman sighs,
"So you still think she did it?"
"Yeah, don't you?" Dean frowns in response, before taking another huge bite of his burger and then reaching for some ketchup on the table next door. Much to the annoyance of the trucker who is sat there with a porterhouse steak and a mac and cheese side.
"Honestly babe," Roman shrugs turning his hands up, "Right now I ain't sure what the hell I believe."
"Which is why we freakin' need to find the roommate already," Dean points out, shoving the rest of the cheeseburger in his mouth and then swiping a napkin from a pile beside the trucker, who looks up with murder from underneath his cap.
Because it is hot in the cramped little diner, Roman has peeled his suit jacket off and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his bicep, which means the hellacious tattoo is on show. He flexes it as he hooks up his coffee, which makes the trucker blink and then finish his steak, before slamming a few dollar bills on the table and then sloping back out. None of which Dean seems to catch, since he's too busy mopping up sauces and cheese grease.
Roman snorts at him.
Idiot.
"Hey, you still got the list?"
"Right here babe," Roman taps his breast pocket where a carefully folded piece of scented note paper is tucked, which contains the names of anyone in the city that Mr and Mrs Boseman thought that Jennifer might know and which is therefore their best and only chance of trying to find her.
Dean balls his grease smeared napkin up,
"Good. Except I figure we're probably gonna have to go through 'em like, one by one or somethin'."
Roman pulls out some notes and starts to count them out on the table while Dean fishes around in his leather jacket for loose change, before pulling out a dime and a couple of nickels.
Roman grins at him,
"Nah, don't worry, I got this babe."
The middle aged waitress who had taken their orders is stood by the doors smoking as they head back outside and into the already thick black winter evening and the bitterly chill thirty five degree wind, although at least on the plus side the trucker has long gone.
The big man throws a smile at her,
"Goodnight baby girl."
"An' besides uce," Dean is busy saying in front of him, as he pats at his pockets and tries to track down their keys, having obviously reverted to their original conversation, "It couldn't have been Ella that night at the park, because of the whole likin' Seth thing, remember? Fuck. Here they are."
He pulls the keys loose and then wrestles his way back into the Buick as a sudden gust of wind tangles his hair,
"Oh come on."
"Need to tie it back babe," Roman grins super unhelpfully as he drops into the passenger side and cranks up the heat. They are out in the rugged countryside just north of Dayton, where the flat Ohioan landscape has risen up into tree lined peaks and undulating hills which are studded by woodland which shelter natural rock formations and hidden waterfalls and streams. All of which make a pretty nice change of scenery from the badly rundown brownstone and Henry Hurley's god damn slum. In fact, it kind of reminds Roman of team visits and travelling in the bus with the rest of the team, since even though Dean doesn't constitute a roster, he certainly chatters enough to sound like one. Which at some point that Roman can't quite put a pin in, has become weirdly comforting. Like a white noise machine.
"Not that it'll do any good lookin' her friends up," Dean huffs as he pulls the Buick back onto the road, it's ancient headlights sort of flickering with exertion, "Uh, Jennifer I mean. Crap. What is wrong with the fuckin' lights? Because she's probably like out of the country already, in one of Hurley's beach houses in freakin' Bali or some shit, just like, waitin' for the storm to blow over so she can come waltzin' back an' be Mrs Hurley number two. We should probably get onto like freakin' Interpol or somethin'."
Roman pulls a face at him,
"Look, I don't know babe. I mean, not that I doubt you or anythin' here, but the Jennifer her folks were describing to us back there doesn't sound much like a girl who would turn on her best friend."
Dean rolls his eyes,
"Dude, like yeah, of course they think that. I mean, they're her parents, they're meant to think she's totally innocent, that's their job. Well, I mean, unless you're my parents, because in that case you get wasted five nights of the week and spend the other two tryin' to beat the crap outta me, but look, whatever dude, the point is she's their kid, so no way are they ever gonna think she's a murderer, or a freakin' adulterer or whatever she is."
Roman blinks at him,
"Your folks used to hit you?"
Dean shrugs,
"I mean, when they could catch me then yeah, like, where do you think I got this runner's physique from?"
"Babe," Roman puts a hand out and ruffles his hair, which the younger man blushes and then tries to squirm away from, but which doesn't work too well since he's all buckled in,
"Hey whoa, easy big guy, m' tryin' a drive here remember? An' besides, what is this? A special edition of Doctor Phil? Get a hold of yourself dude, we're freakin' tryin' a solve a murder an' what the hell is this guy's problem?"
Roman knits his brows,
Huh?
Because at some point in between Dean's broken childhood revelation and Roman trying helplessly to make it okay, a dark SUV has come flying up behind them on the near deserted road and taken root in the trunk, like it thinks the clapped out Buick is holding up their journey.
Or more likely because the driver is drunk.
"Dude, go around," Dean grunts rolling down the creaky window and then sticking a hand out in a mime to overtake, since no way can they speed up without the engine overheating, or the ancient windshield cracking or possibly losing a wheel.
"What the fuck is wrong with some people?" Dean huffs, as the black SUV drops back and then comes alongside them with a roar from the engine. In response, Roman shoots a quick glare to his side, expecting to see a bunch of idiot frat boys, or some businessman asshole with too much money to burn.
Only, nope.
Because instead staring back through the window is a guy with a ski mask pulled over his face, who looks at the bigger man dead in the eyeballs and then suddenly jerks the wheel.
Roman braces,
"Look out babe."
Dean frowns,
"Look out for wha – fuck."
As the black car swings in and swipes itself hard against them, Dean lets out a bark and then grapples with the wheel, which seems determined to put them right into a treeline, or the ditch running along the opposite side of the road and neither of which are a very good option.
He cranks it back again,
"Whoa, what the fuck is goin' on? Why the hell is this guy tryin' a ram us? Fuck."
The second swipe hits the Buick nose on, which Dean fends off by turning into the movement and hitting the car back so that they're locked side by side, which brings Roman so damn close to the driver that he can practically see the eerie whites of his eyes, plus someone else in another ski mask beside him, trying to help control the wheel.
Dean grins in triumph,
"Ha. That'll freakin' teach you come an' try mess with my car."
"Uh, babe?" Roman grunts, pointing suddenly ahead of them, where a minivan has come unawares around the bend and is heading their way oblivious to the chaos, or that fact that there are two cars right in the middle of the road.
"Crap."
With the SUV still pushing against them and the minivan slamming on its brakes too damn slow, Dean has little choice but to bail off the asphalt and straight towards the ditch at the edge of the trees, which Roman knows is going to be bumpy before it even happens.
Dean yells,
"Hold on uce."
But not even that softens the blow of the impact as the Buick careers wildly across the uneven ground and then hits a bump which pitches them upwards and nearly slams Roman's damn head into the roof before dropping them down, nose first into the gully which throws them both forwards.
Then nothing.
"Holy fuck."
Well, okay, so almost nothing.
Roman puts a hand out,
"Babe, you okay?"
Dean is sat braced hard against the dashboard with his scruffy off blonde hair hung down half over his face, which kind of underlines the whole need-to-tie-it-back thing. Not that Roman mentions that part.
The copper blonde nods,
"Fuck. Yeah, I mean I think so," he lifts up a hand to swipe at his face, which is when Roman sees the bright smear of red painted across it and has a god damn heart attack.
Well, another heart attack that is.
"Babe, you're bleeding. Hey, where are you bleeding from? Babe, come on, talk to me, we need to find it and put pressure on it."
"Uh, Roman?" Dean blinks as the big man paws at him and the shirt beneath his jacket which is smeared with more red.
"It's okay babe. You're gonna be okay, you hear me?"
"I know I am," Dean shrugs, "Because it's strawberry shortcake."
"What?" as Roman's head springs up in confusion, Dean pulls a parcel from his leather jacket folds and unwraps it to reveal a very smushed looking pastry, the red preserve layer of which has pretty much exploded out to paint his clothes and his hands and his features a very bloody shade of red.
Roman blinks at it,
"Oh. Ho thank god," he pulls Dean towards him and then tucks the scruffy head down into his chest, before banging his partner so hard on the ribcage that it actually makes the younger man cough. Not that he seems to notice it too much.
"Fuck," he huffs, "What the freakin' hell was that?"
He isn't talking about the whole impromptu hug thing, he's talking about the car that had run them off the road and which has evidently sped back off into the blackness. Behind them the minivan has screeched to a halt too and Roman can see a worried couple bailing out and coming their way holding cell phones and blankets. Except weirdly the crash isn't his biggest concern, since Roman can feel something far more unsettling churning around in his stomach and he doesn't like it one bit.
His promise to his wife rings loud in his eardrums.
"It looks like someone doesn't want us on the Hurley case."
Damn.
Next week, Roman has to make a difficult decision...