Chapter 4 Digging a little deeper

As usual, SPN and B5 do not belong to me, nor do any recognizable characters. Enjoy.

Zocalo

Dean Winchester thought he was just about to get in touch with his violent side. Not that said side was not always close to the surface and ready to be accessed anyway. But that usually happened when there were monsters to be killed. He could not unleash it on a civilian. He could most definitely not unleash it on a trader in the marketplace of the ultimate diplomatic station. Which was unfortunate.

As he and Sam had agreed in the morning, they were going to have some discussions with any sellers of occult – or so-called occult – objects. When they had started their investigation, Dean had had no idea how many of these actually were in the Zocalo. Even those at the fruit stands had the odd amulet tucked between oranges – "for special customers who understand", as the lady at the stand had told the brothers, meaning for anyone who looked wealthy enough and dumb enough to pay a fortune to buy something that supposedly guaranteed luck at the cards table. But at least the one with the lucky oranges had been hot. The present vendor they had to deal with – Frank Carstairs of Orion 7 - definitely was not.

He was a lavishly dressed man who had supposedly travelled up to the Rim and back – no doubt via a bottle of strong brivari, Dean thought unkindly. According to him, he had learned that way all the secrets the galaxy had to offer – but would not share them with just anyone, and wasn't that a surprise – and had miraculously discovered – i.e. forged or stolen – dozens of objects with amazing magical and mystical powers. Some, he had added in a stage whisper, were the stuff that darkness was made of.

"This, for example," he added, waving a dusty vase in Sam's face (Dean had drawn slightly back, when he had started to feel the urge to smother the man in one of his so called magical and mystical carpets) "This is the bottle of Perdition. The old woman who sold it to me – she was mad, you see and wanted to get rid of the thing and let me have it at only a few credits – she claimed it had a devil inside it. Would you care to open it?"

"No, I've already tried one of those once, thanks," Sam deadpanned.

Dean disguised his snort as a cough – or tried to, he did not think he had succeeded much as the intrepid merchant had just thrown him a dirty look, then turned his attention pointedly to Sam as if to show that he knew who the open-minded one was.

"As for this," he added, digging another object from the haphazard mound on his table. "This is…it is…"

"A lump of rock?" Dean provided helpfully when the vendor paused to draw breath.

Frank looked positively insulted by the suggestion.

"Why, how dare you, Sir?" he spat, his voice shaking in indignation. "That's blasphemy if I ever heard it. This, gentlemen, is the first ever representation of Dro'shalla the Drazi deity. The Drazi claimed that it has been blessed by Dro'shalla himself and by some fertility god of theirs."

"Lucky Drazi," Dean commented drily. "Sammy, what do you think?"

"It's a lump of rock," Sam declared with certainty. "The first representation of Dro'shala is actually a drawing in one of the caves next to the capital city of the Drazi homeworld. I rather doubt anyone would be able to get it out of there without causing an explosion to bring down the walls."

"Thank you," Dean said as the vendor started sputtering, "My thoughts exactly actually. Now, are you actually thinking of tricking some unsuspecting douchebag into paying a fortune for a lump of rock, telling him it's gonna help him get lucky? Dude, that's cold."

"I wonder what the Drazi might think of you taking their god's name in vain for profit," Sam mused, then turned to Dean: "You know," he stated not too quietly. "This would go well in an episode of our documentary."

Dean frowned.

"What, now we're making episodes?" he asked. "One long documentary isn't enough for you anymore?"

"People aren't going to remember every aspect of it like that," Sam argued. "If you have one documentary which tells the story of ambassador Delenn or…or shows the Narn refugees coming to Medlab, who's gonna pay attention to some harmless religious fraud? If you show it in an episode that deals with the deceivers of Babylon 5…"

Dean was nodding now, as if to further emphasize that he had got the picture.

"I see where you're heading," he said, "We do it your way and all those poor sons of bitches we expose are gonna have a really hard time explaining themselves to everyone they'd ever conned…Why, they might need one of their own lucky charms – if these actually worked."

Frank was watching the exchange fearfully. Things were happening too fast for him to really process how it had all gone from a harmless talk about spiritual items to him being exposed as the con artist he knew he was. Still, he prided himself in being a businessman. He was in big trouble, but he was confident he could get out of it. Since the two were mentioning all those things in front of him it meant they would not actually expose him – if offered the right price.

"All right!" he interrupted the two with a nervous chuckle. "All right guys, you got me. How much do you want?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

"Hear that, Sammy?" Dean inquired and he sounded indignant. "He's offering to buy us off. As if we'd be interested in profit over here."

"We're not," Sam stated steely. "But that does not mean he can't do something for us."

"Anything," the vendor said quickly. "Name it. Only, have a little pity guys. I've got debts to pay."

"We want to know if there's anything in the pile of junk you sell that's actually genuine," Dean demanded.

The vendor's eyes widened. That was all?

"Well," he spoke slowly wondering if the truth would work or if this was not yet another trap, "Well, nothing of what I have has actually been tested to see whether they really have any powers or not…"

"Got it," Sam cut him short. "You've got nothing genuine. Do you know anyone here who does?"

Frank was becoming more and more puzzled. This was not about him then. The two so-called journalists – they had started out acting as journalists but now their demeanor had changed frighteningly – needed information on something specific. That was why they were bothering him. To make him talk.

"Look," he said nervously, "Everyone claims they have the genuine article to the competition. That does not mean the competition believes them. As far as I know there's no one here who actually has any mystical objects…except…"

He paused chewing his lips. Sam noticed his hesitation and nodded encouragingly.

"Come on," he urged. "Except…? Except what? Who's the exception?"

The vendor scratched his head thoughtfully.

"There's this guy," he said in the end, "Pops up from time to time. He doesn't have a fixed place in the market, though. He carries a bag about him with all kinds of creepy stuff. Sometimes he stops people in the Zocalo and shows them what he's got. Then he leads them away so no one here's seen him actually making any transactions. Those happen in secret. I think – I'm not sure, but I've heard he has the genuine articles. Talismans, amulets, cursed stuff, you name it."

"This guy," Dean prompted. "He human?"

The vendor shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess," he answered. "His face is damaged though. Like it's been burned. Probably been in the war. And he moves funny. I haven't been near him, though. He creeps me out."

"And the ones he makes transactions with," Sam wanted to know, "they human too?"

"Not only," the vendor replied quickly. "Most of the time it's aliens. Centauri usually. Lately a few Narns. A Drazi or two. The only race I've never seen him approach is the Minbari. Which is why I think he's one of those who haven't gotten over the war. Or maybe because the Minbari are genuinely snotty and Minbari dignitaries even more so. Like I said, I haven't talked to him to ask him for reasons."

Dean met Sam's eyes. The other gave an imperceptible nod. This strange person the vendor was telling them about, he had a lot of chances of possessing the object they had been sent to find.

"All right," Dean said cheerfully. "How do we get him to talk to us?"

Frank snorted.

"No offence, folks," he told them, "But you're hardly the type of people he'd approach. I know you wannabe show-business types like to see yourselves as ruthless, but just no. You're not that kind of ruthless – you know, the one that starts wars and brings about assassinations and all that jazz. In other words, your game ain't big enough for him."

"We'll see about that," Dean said. "Well, thanks, dude. You can keep selling your clumps of rocks. You've been helpful enough."

Dean turned around, steering Sam with him. As they moved away from the stall, Sam glanced at him.

"Well played out there," he congratulated.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "You too. It got us what we needed."

Ambassador Delenn's quarters

Delenn inspected the Brakiri dignitary who had just entered her quarters. He had identified himself as Kullenbrak, said he occupied a minor position in the ambassadorial staff and that his ambassador had sent him to fulfil Delenn's rather unusual request. He said all that while he was looking around him, a curious expression on his face. No doubt, he had never seen a Minbari room before.

"You wanted to hear about Hunters, Ambassador," he began. "And more specifically about the Winchesters. Is that correct?"

Delenn inclined her head.

"Yes, that is so," she admitted. "But let us start with the basics. What can you tell me about Hunters? The person who mentioned them to me the first time…he was not exactly specific."

"No one likes to be specific about Hunters," Kullenbrak admitted. "Most think it's bad luck – or bad form. Hunters are necessary. They follow the things that hide in shadows and they take them down. They live on the fringes of society, moving from here to there, tackling the unexplainable. Most fear them. The Brakiri do too. Unlike others, though, we do not reject them, because we need them. We even pay for their services. We offer them supplies when they arrive on our planets. But that's all. We do not want to think too much about them. Or, at least, those that have not used them do not."

"But you did use them," Delenn concluded. "And you do not shun them. You think differently."

Kullenbrak lowered his eyes. He shook his head slowly, as if to show he had not really thought much about how he felt.

"I do not know what to think," he admitted. "A couple of years ago, something dark and terrible was in my house. I do not know what it was. But I was sure I'd have need of Hunters to get rid of it. And they did get rid of it. They saved my life and my family. Of course I am grateful. How could I not be? I'm going to be eternally grateful to them, despite what other people say – about Hunters in general and about these two in particular."

"You are talking about the Winchesters," Delenn discovered.

The Brakiri nodded emphatically.

"I am," he replied. "They were the ones who came in answer to my call for help. As I said, we Brakiri might fear Hunters, but we know how to make use of them. We keep in contact with them. Well, with their headquarters, at least, if you could call them that. There is a man on Mars that we call and he is the one who sends the nearest Hunters our way. For people always on the run from their authorities, they have a very efficient system.

"Anyway, the nearest Hunters, in my case, happened to be the Winchester brothers. I do not if I would have let them into my house had I known in advance. Even I had heard rumors about them. People said they were damned, that one of them was tainted and the other had made a deal with darkness. It was said they would break the world."

Delenn tilted her head curiously at that.

"The world is not broken," she pointed out.

The Brakiri shrugged at that.

"Not yet," he said, "Anyway, Ambassador, that was what people said about them. That is what they saw in Dean and Sam Winchester. But that is not what I saw. That was not what I saw at all."

Kullenbrak paused. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Or maybe he was just searching to describe something he had not intended to put into words until then.

"I had never seen too people more independent and strong-willed and yet at the same time more tied to one another," he said at length. "Sometimes, the tension between them was so thick you had to wonder how they managed to be in the same room without something exploding. Yet when it was necessary they behaved like a single unit. And they did not even need to say anything to each other. They carried entire conversations just with one look. The rest of us around them were just…we felt as if we were only part of the décor.

"I wondered about all the rumors I had heard about them, then. I tried to tie these rumors to the young men that had come to help me. For they looked very young then. And yet there had to have been some truth to the rumors. Because they seemed to have a darkness about them. Actually, they seemed to have the entire world on their shoulders. It was painful to watch. These two, I reminded myself, are said to be the ones who could end the world."

"Did you still believe that after you saw them?" Delenn asked.

Kullenbrak paused. Delenn noticed that he was carefully considering how to answer the question. Apparently, a plain answer could not be enough. Things then were far more complicated than the Markab had been implying.

"I do not know," Kullenbrak said at length. "They could do it, yes. Would they break the world intentionally? Maybe not. It was not that kind of darkness they had in them. But could they be led to do it? I really do not know. I wonder."

Delenn thought whether he should ask the other if he would be able to recognize the Winchesters if he saw them. If he identified the two so-called journalists as actual Hunters then at least Delenn would have an answer to her puzzle. Still, it did not seem fair to go that far. Delenn had, after all, told Dean he could come to her with the truth. Whether it had been interpreted as a threat or as the offer for help it had actually been, the choice belonged to him – and his brother.

Note: Kullenbrak was Ambassador to B5 in 2262 – so, post- Shadow War and about two years after the events of my story. He might not have been a member of his predecessor's staff, but I figured if Londo Mollari promoted his attaché to Ambassador, others could do the same.