Are we all ready for the penultimate chapter? I sure hope so!
xXBalorBabeXx, Hmm, I never considered that. But no, I don't think she did. I imagine Christopher paid Henry's real mother off. So let's believe she's alive and well!
Rebel8954, Haha. Well, maybe some of Ella's hair was wrapped up in the bit of scarf Seth brought back too?! As for Dean, well, let's just say there's still another chapter to come!
Cheryl24, Brock and Seth are definitely going to be rewarded for their efforts. In other news, I don't think Dean and Roman are going to have to worry about new cases…
Wolfgirl2013, Aww, thanks!
Mandy, Yep, that last chapter was a Shield reunion (plus a slobbering Brock!) Plus it was about time that Roman did something badass. It had been too long! Fingers crossed that the interview went well. Sending positive thoughts!
Phoenix lord of rebirth, I'm glad you liked it! No story is complete with Roman saving the day in some sense (although, okay, well might have to hand that last one to Seth. He certainly tipped the balance anyway!) Just some loose ends to tie up now.
Skovko, Haha, you did call it. But Brock helped too...sort of...in his own way!
ViolentHugger03, Yep, all the feels! Love me some good bromantic drama (and whatever the Seth-as-a-dog-version would be called...dogmantic? Nope, that just sounds weird!)
Minnie1015, Hey, Roman tried to help. It's not his fault he was upstaged by a tiny but deadly Pomeranian with a killer wardrobe and zero chill, lol!
Martha, Can't have a Roman/Dean buddy story without Roman being all touchy feely somewhere! I think that's what I miss most about them being on tv together, Roman always pawing Dean (thank god for fan fiction writing!)
HannonsPen, Haha, wait for it! But yes, there's definitely more. Got a few loose ends still to tie up, mostly in this chapter, but the final final chapter is going to be the real cherry (I like to think!)
Let's do it...
TWENTY FIVE
Seth and Brock get medals of valor from the city, which is how Brock's real owner eventually manages to track him down. She's a tiny little thing, pushing somewhere around eighty and with a look of Sophia from the freaking Golden Girls whose grandson had apparently lost control of Pumpkin — because no freaking kidding, that is actually his name — when the great big lug had been scared by a car backfiring. Which if nothing else had totally sounded like Brock. Or Pumpkin as Dean would officially never be calling him and not that he'd been happy about the whole thing.
"Oh come on uce," he'd huffed as they had stood in a dog park over on the city's fashionable west side, surrounded by nice big, well-kept looking houses and fancy cars and landscaping and a whole lot of plants, "I mean, how do we know this old broad is who she says she is? I mean, what if she just saw Brock on the news, an' wants him as a guard dog or for dog fightin' or somethin'?"
"Who, him?"
Roman had asked, pointing down at the mutt, who had been busy backing up in blind terror from a Twinkie wrapper that had been blowing his way in the pre-Christmas wind.
Dean had shrugged,
"He's not scared, he's just cautious."
Roman had snorted,
"Whatever you say babe, whatever you say."
In the end however and in spite of Dean's insistence on giving the elderly lady a proper check — and a brief but way too earnest suggestion of making her sit through a polygraph test — all of his doubts had gone out of the window on seeing Brock's reaction.
And the woman's.
"Pumpkin."
Dean had shuddered a little bit at that one and then almost been pulled over as Brock had strained against the leash and whimpered. Dean had never once heard him whimper, which had kind of sealed the deal. Even freaking Seth had gone over and licked her and so had Roman.
Gone over that is. Not the licking her part.
"Mrs Nugent?"
"Oh yes, you must be Mr Ambrose," the white haired lady had beamed, shoving her glasses up her nose and then shaking his hand so hard she'd nearly squashed it, "Thank you so much for looking after my boy. Goodness I've been so worried about him."
Roman had pulled his hand free with a wince,
"Uh, no ma'am, I'm Mr Reigns. Mr Ambrose is that one."
Dean had shuffled forward for some hand squeezing of his own, scratching his head so damn hard in the process that Roman had reached out and had to swat his hand down before the old lady had assumed he'd had fleas, although in the end she hadn't taken his hand anyway, since instead she had hugged him.
Freaking hugged him.
Super hard.
"Thank you Mr Ambrose, thank you for saving him."
"Uh," Dean had winced, because Christ she'd been strong, "No, no problem. I uh, brought him like a going away burrito. Because they're his favorite or whatever."
He had offered out a bag and the almost ungodly strong Mrs Nugent had taken it and then pinched his cheek,
"You're a very sweet man."
Not that it had made the goodbye any easier as Roman and Seth had stood back and watched and as Brock had sat and tried to lick his own ballsack, which had seemed fitting really.
"Uh, see ya round dude. An' just, try not to get yourself into any more trouble, 'kay?"
Brock had put a massive beige paw on his wrist, which Dean had taken to mean, same for you buddy and then planted a drool of slobber over his face as sweet old Mrs Nugent had chuckled at him in the background,
"Ooh, he must really like you."
"Feeling's mutual," Dean had huffed, as Roman as stepped forward to slap him on the shoulder and pass Seth across, which had actually kind of helped. As had the two thousand dollars she had given them.
"A finder's fee," she had grinned as they had gasped. Or as Roman had gasped, Dean meanwhile had rifled in the envelope to make sure that the whole two thousand was there.
"Oh, ma'am," Roman had shaken his head, "That's real good of you, but we couldn't take your — ,"
Dean had elbowed him in the ribs and then swung him around in the direction of the Buick, which Hackett had managed to have towed from the ditch for him and which had, inexplicably, still worked.
"Okay, you take care now you crazy kids. Don't be strangers."
"Ambrose."
"Keep walkin' big guy."
That had been a week ago and while Dean still kind of misses having Pumpkin, not having to clear up the extra drool is kind of nice and the two thousand big ones had sure come in handy. Split two ways evenly between him and Roman of course.
Which is why come Monday morning — eleven days since the incident — he is sat looking smug in front of Detective Hackett's desk, with Seth and his medal perched sphinx like on his kneecap holding a flask of real coffee from his brand new coffee machine, which lives on top of the cabinet that Roman has cleared up for him. Because, oh yeah, Roman still works with him too and is even thinking of getting his PI licence. Well, once the office is all tidied up and filed of course.
Clamping a cigar between his lips with a grumble, Hackett leans back and makes a steeple of his hands, before shaking his head and blowing a sigh out,
"Plea bargain."
"What?"
"Ella Hurley," Hackett offers, as if maybe they're there to talk about someone else and he needs to narrow down the list of potentials, "They offered her a plea bargain late last night. Conspiracy to commit fraud and kidnapping charges in return for the Boseman murder charge being dropped."
Roman nearly chokes on his own flask of coffee. A Latte Macchiato. Still nothing fancy, which is okay, since Dean wouldn't want some froufrou coffee drinker as his partner in crime.
Or, well, the opposite of crime.
"She what?"
"But you can't freakin' do that," Dean chokes out, "Jennifer was fuckin' murdered and she did it."
Hackett sighs and then takes the cigar from his mouth to raise a brow at them, since he apparently can't quite manage to do both those things at the same time.
"Listen boys," he grunts, "I know that and you know that. I mean hell, we all know that. But it is what it is. The corner's report on Boseman came back inconclusive, so if we want to make sure Ella Hurley is locked away, then the things we can prove are the best way to do that."
Dean slumps back,
"Well it still fuckin' sucks."
"Yes it does," Hackett nods in agreement, "Which is why I wanted to tell you both myself and add that Mrs Hurley and that damn idiot Doctor boyfriend are looking at between thirty and forty years. Each. Which should be something at least."
Dean shrugs,
"I mean I guess so."
"Not so sure Jennifer's parents will agree," Roman winces in sympathy beside him, which the two of them know a damn site better than anyone, since they were the ones who had been to see the Bosemans to tell them what had happened to their poor little girl. Which had sucked just as much as it had done letting Brock go.
Hackett clears his throat.
He sounds gruff,
"I know, I know. But Christopher Hurley has already been in touch with them about creating a memorial garden at Blue Skies and he's restarting that whole Global Fund thing."
Dean looks up in surprise,
"He is?"
"Yeah, him and that god damn dopey ass son of his are going to run it together. Hold on, they gave me a card," Hackett starts to fumble around on his desktop, feng shuing bits of paper and case files from side to side and then patting at the pockets of his motheaten jacket, "Now where in the hell did I put the damn thing?"
"Looks like you need to get an office manager," Dean grins smugly,
Hackett grunts,
"How about yours? Whaddya say Reigns? Fancy working for the police force?"
Roman smiles,
"Nah. I think I'm good where I am thanks."
"Plus he'll be taking his exams in a few months, then he won't be an office manager any more. He'll be a proper PI, just like I am."
"Oh great," Hackett drawls, "Another one you of yahoos. Aha."
Pulling a card with a flourish from his pocket, along with his car keys and a large white handkerchief, the detective passes it over the desktop and then gives Seth a scritch as he does, which the dog accepts, because ever since having been in battle together some sort of a grudging truce has evolved between the pair. Which is probably better than Seth biting a policeman, so Dean kind of figures that it's really a win-win. Roman picks up the card and reads it,
"The Jennifer Boseman Memorial Fund, helping people get access to mental healthcare. Christopher Hurley, president in chief. Henry 'Gunhawk' Hurley, co-president."
"Pair of them stopped by yesterday morning," Hackett chips in, "Wanted me to give you this."
Opening the creaky top drawer of his workspace, he pulls out an envelope with Dean's name scrawled on the top, along with a note that has been scribbled along the back, presumably to make sure he reads it before opening.
"Dear Ambrose. Please find enclosed as promised. Thank you for all your help," the scruffy PI shares a quick look with Roman, "What d' ya think it is?"
"Beats me brother," Roman shrugs, scooping Seth up off his lap and then cradling him so that Dean can open the envelope up. Hackett is smiling like he already knows what's in there, which he probably does since he's a cop after all. Although it means he has probably misused police equipment or some sort of body scanning device to find out. Sliding his finger along the seam super clumsily, Dean rips it open and then pulls a check out, which he has to blink at to make sure he's not seeing things, but still thinks he is.
He slaps himself,
"Fuck."
"Babe?" Roman frowns from beside him, "What is it?"
"It's a check for fifty thousand dollars."
"It's what?" sitting forward so sharply that it flings Seth onto the desktop, Roman reaches over and snatches the bill up, managing not to freaking slap himself like Dean had, but evidently not a whole hell of a lot further off.
He grins,
"Damn uce. You got enough to move offices, or maybe buy Seth another couple of bow ties."
"Or it's enough to pay off your mortgage," the private eye shrugs back, reclaiming the check. But only because he needs to have another look at it, or possibly pinch himself or it to make sure it's real.
Roman snorts at him,
"Nah. I got another idea on that one. I'll tell you about it later."
Hackett clears his throat,
Ahem.
Seth has at some point crossed over the desktop and planted himself down onto the gruff detective's lap, which the older man is patently pretending hasn't happened, even though he is absently brushing through the dog's fur.
"Well now, if you two boys have quite finished with the god damn tea party or whatever this is, there is another reason I asked you to stop by here."
He slides a casefile over the desk, which Dean pulls closer and then flaps open to reveal a grainy image of a young boy grinning back. Based on his sweater and the hideous bowl cut Dean guesses the photo must be twenty years old, although he doesn't have any idea who the kid is. He slides the file to Roman to have a look at, then shrugs.
"Uh, that some relative of yours or somethin'?"
Hackett rolls his eyes in long suffering,
"No son. That kid there is little Johnny Pickering. Eight years old. Been missing since nineteen eighty five. Last week the department decided to close his case down. But his mom still wants answers and I happen to know she'd pay if someone was willing to chase the loose leads up. Someone reputable, someone she could trust."
Dean blinks,
"Wait, you're giving us work now?"
"Call it a professional favour if you will. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, or you know, rally the troops in the middle of the night when one of you morons has been kidnapped by a dead broad and is being held captive in the middle of a church. Except don't make a habit of that type of crap son. Because let me tell you, it gets real old, real fast," Hackett sits back, "So, what do you think boys? Can the two of you pains in my ass handle this?"
Dean looks at Roman and Roman looks back at him, then reaches out and sweeps the file up off the desk. Their first official assignment together.
As partners.
Dean grins,
"Ambrose and Reigns are on the case."
One more chapter to go now folks. See you back here next week!