THREE
Arrested Development
.
Dean trudged down the corridor, Sam and Castiel in hot pursuit.
"So you said there'd been like murders here," Dean said over his shoulder. "Don't look like anything's going on to me."
"Two men have died," Castiel said, lengthening his stride to bring him up on Dean's right. "I only saw them being taken away to the place you keep dead people."
"Morgue," Sam supplied from behind them.
"There," Castiel nodded. "It was dark - nighttime. Perhaps there were not many staff here."
"And you think these guys were demons, and something supernatural took them out?" Dean asked. "Based on what?"
"I listened to the paramedics. The injuries from which they died were very deep stab wounds."
"Lots of people murder poor shmoes with knives every day," Dean observed. "But you think this is demons? And you're sure?"
"I believe I have admitted three times that I do not know," Castiel said shortly.
Dean smirked to himself. "I believe you have," he allowed. "No 'feeling's about this one? No funny smells or odd noises? No reason to suspect any of these good people we see working hard around us?"
"I have no reason to suspect one person - it could be any or all," Castiel pointed out. "It could be the two girls we met in the lobby."
"Which is an excellent reason why I should check both of them very thoroughly," Dean nodded to himself, rubbing his hands together.
And in a way that conveyed very well just how much the angel had misunderstood that statement, he replied, "You should do that."
Dean's silent grin emanated enough smugness and private amusement to send tendrils of electric at the eyeballs of his taller brother. Sam's eyes thumbed through the newspaper, found the stock market results and cried out in horror. They jumped off their seats in the expensive men's club and yelled at the top of their lungs, ignoring the butler's attempts to calm them. They wailed and gnashed their teeth at each other before breaking into a run. Dashing to the large fireplace in the Gentlemen's Smoking Room, they flailed in resigned despair as they pounded round the room.
Before they hurtled into a brick wall.
They stopped, panting for breath, to find themselves looking at a set of glass doors and a woman beyond them. For the first time in history, Sam's eye-roll had been rudely and rather ominously interrupted. The eyes decided to let his brain investigate before unleashing Hell, however.
Sam, Dean and Castiel stopped by the glass doors to what seemed to be a conference room, looking in to see a blond woman standing by the window, her arms folded. They crept back, watching from round the side.
Dean looked over his shoulder at the angel and brother leaning on each other, and consequently, him, to see.
"What is this, Scooby Doo?" he hissed. He pushed backwards and they shuffled away from the glass to the opaque structural wall. "Chuck and Becky ain't here. Either they've already split or that Katie girl is still waiting for them."
"Then we ask," Castiel said, stepping round him. Sam and Dean grabbed a holy arm each.
"No," Sam said firmly. "We don't want to get involved here until we know what's going on, or if this is anything to do with the demon case. Demons and murders first, right?" He let go of Castiel's arm. "Right?"
"Right," Dean said, letting the angel's other arm drop. "We find out if Cas really has sniffed out a demon here before we worry about Chuck."
"Or Becky," Sam pointed out.
"Her too," Dean nodded. "Right now, there is somewhere very important we have to swing by."
"Where is that?" Castiel asked.
"Staff room. They gotta have a coffee machine in there," Dean nodded.
He turned to go, just as a bone-chilling scream cut the air like it was warm, soggy butter. The three of them jumped before the Winchesters turned in the direction of the noise. Castiel turned after them, running to catch them up and they tore down the corridor to the door.
Sam barrelled into the door, slamming it wide open. He jumped down the stairs two at a time, knowing his brother was behind him. He hit the eleventh floor and yanked the door open. People were running and calling, a girl screaming as she fled.
Dean came through the door behind him and grabbed a running woman. "Hey! What the hell's going on?" he demanded.
The woman pulled at his hold on her. "She's dead!" she wailed.
Dean held on. "Who's dead?"
But the woman wrenched free and ran. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance before Castiel came through the door to the floor. He looked at both brothers before up and down the corridor.
"Something is here," he announced, a tiny spot of calm in the pervasive cloud of fear.
"What is it?" Sam demanded, already feeling for his gun in his deep jacket pocket. He noticed Dean checking the gun in the back of his jeans.
"I do not know," the angel said quietly. "I think… it could be a demon."
"What do you mean, you think it could be?" Dean asked. "Can't you smell it or something?"
Castiel's head swayed to one side slightly and his nose released a huge puff of annoyance at the Winchester, making it clear he had picked up Dean's best annoyed head-tilt and Sam's most frustrated huff somewhere along the way. His delivery of the Powered-Up Fight Combination Move obliterated both boys' best Playstation special moves and left them K.O.'d on the mat, GAME OVER written in large letters over their sprawling characters. The Winchesters stood and stared, humbled. Castiel looked back down the corridor quickly.
"That way," he nodded. He turned and walked off.
The two men shared a single look that communicated their entire conversation on how, when and why Castiel had seen fit to emulate their trademark tells of frustration and annoyance. They turned and followed with a heavy tread.
The angel was already turning a corner and coming to a stop, his hands up, talking calmly to two tall men in grey Security uniforms.
"Where have you come from, sir?" one was asking.
"The stairs," Castiel replied, innocently confused.
Sam and Dean rounded the corner and appeared round his shoulder. They eyed the two security men and then straightened as best they could.
"Sirs, please wait," the man said. "Do you work here?"
"Uh - no, no, we're just--" Sam began.
"Where have you come from?" the other man asked. "Which floor?"
"Twelve," Dean replied. "We heard this girl screaming and came running."
"You ran toward the screaming?" the taller man asked scathingly.
"Oh, well, we couldn't tell where it was coming from," Sam nodded with an apologetic smile. "We thought we were heading away from whatever it was." His smile widened, his eyes sagged, his eyebrows hitched themselves up at the perfect angle and suddenly he radiated more innocence than a puppy sitting next to a wet patch on a new rug.
"Ok. Well, don't leave the building, the police are on their way and they'll have to talk to everyone," the security man said. "Can you wait in there, please, gentlemen," he added, waving to another large conference room. "Just until the Blues arrive? Then they'll do statements or whatever they do." He ushered the three of them toward the glass doors already stood open, nodding in a friendly manner. "Thank you, gents. Much appreciated."
Sam, Dean and Castiel wandered in before Dean stopped dead.
"Oh hi," he said accusingly, folding his arms over his chest in a way that spoke volumes on whose arse he was about to tan and how many inches it would bring the owner closer to the end of their life. "What's up, Chuck?"
Chuck Shurley and Becky Rosen looked up from their seats by the windows on the far side of the room. Other people were milling about, wringing hands or whispering into mobile phones, but as far as Dean was concerned, the only person who existed in time and space was the pulp fiction writer.
Chuck lifted a hand weakly. "Hey," he acknowledged. "I want you to know I'm here against my will."
"Yeah?" Dean threatened, letting his arms drop before he began to walk around the table. "You're gonna be against something else when I get--"
"I'm sorry, who are you?" came a sharp voice.
Dean slowed to a stop, his eyes narrowed rather like a cheetah's as it checked for gazelles in the distance. "Who wants to know?" he barked, turning on the owner of said voice.
A woman got to her feet, her hands going to her pinstripe suit to pull the jacket straight. "Katie Frye, Head of Programming Development," she said firmly. "And you are?"
Sam came forward, looking at Chuck and then patting his brother's shoulder heartily. "We're… here to see Chuck," he smiled.
"Who do you work for?" Katie asked slowly, looking both Winchesters up and down. "Do you have names?"
"Win-- ahm," Dean stumbled, before spotting a film poster on the wall. "Harrison," he read aloud.
"Is that your first or your last name?" she smiled, folding her arms slowly as she raised appreciative eyebrows at them both.
"Last," Sam put in. "Luke," he added, putting his hand out. She came over and shook it firmly.
"Nice," she commented. "And you?" she asked, putting her hand out toward Dean.
"Ha--. Harry," he amended, covering his near-miss with a small cough. His other hand went into hers and she squeezed warmly, shaking.
"Wow. Harry Harrison. Your parents must have had a real sense of humour. Or they saw Soylent Green too many times," she observed. She let their hands drop. "So are you two… together?"
"What? No," Sam protested quickly, raising his hands.
Becky put a knuckle in her mouth, biting hard. Chuck leaned over and put a hand on hers in her lap, patting gently. Becky controlled her silent whimper and cleared her throat.
"Cousins," Dean said, affronted. "Jesus, don't you have relatives with the same name in this state?"
"No, this is LaLa Land," she pointed out. "No-one uses their real names any more."
"That is fraud," Castiel said, marvelling at the room at large.
Katie peered round Dean and found the angel looking at everyone with a mixture of distrust and disappointment on his countenance. "Oh, hello," she said suavely. "And who are you?"
Castiel opened his mouth but a police officer walked in the door and waved his hands at those assembled. "Ok, people, thanks for waiting. We need to talk to someone called Miss Katherine Frye?"
"Guilty," she said, raising a hand. "Oh - of the name, nothing more," she added, coming forward.
"Right," the officer allowed. "Well we just needed to tell you that we've taken Bob Pattinson into custody. He has been placed under arrest and he has asked for his attorney. I'm told he's on his way," he added.
"He's under arrest? What for?" she cried, aghast.
"The murder of Amy Levus. She died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, approximately ten minutes ago," he said sadly.
"What?" Dean interrupted. "So is this what it's all about? What happened?"
"I can't tell you any more at this stage, sir. You'll have to wait for the Captain to get round to you. Now please, stay here for the time being. We'll be along to take statements as soon as we can." He backed out of the room again, closing the doors between them.
Katie watched him walk away, biting her lip. "Amy," she whispered.
"Did you know her?" Sam asked quietly, coming up beside her.
"Uh… kind of," she admitted. "She's been working in this office for years… She was… Well, she was one of the top people…" She wandered back and sank into a chair. "This doesn't make any sense! Why would Bob Pattinson kill her?" She paused. "Oh shit!" she snapped suddenly.
"What?" Becky demanded.
"Damn! If he gets convicted and sent to prison, we've lost a possible actor we had for one of the lead characters!" she cried, alarmed. "Then again, he wasn't exactly good…"
"They will put him in prison?" Castiel asked, confused. "I did not know bad acting was a felony."
"Cas," Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead.
"Cas?" Katie remarked. "You never did say, who are you?" She turned and considered the angel with an appreciative eye. The other eye was busy taking down details, just in case the first eye found him employable material.
"His name's--. Clarence," Dean said quickly. "He's--"
"Castiel," the angel interrupted.
"Yeah - he's from Castiel - it's in Switzerland," Sam said hastily. "Nice place. Got a big flag with St George killing the dragon on it."
"Whatever," she waved. "So, Clarence from Switzerland… Have you ever worked in TV?"
"Oooh no no no no," Dean said quickly, waving his hands in negation and walking toward Castiel. "They don't have TVs in Sweden."
Sam put a closed hand to his mouth. "Switzerland," he coughed urgently.
"There too," Dean nodded. "He's just… a friend of ours. Visiting."
"Is he a fan of the Supernatural books?"
"I admire Chuck's work," Castiel nodded.
"You do? Great!" Becky grinned. "See? Everyone loves your books!" she gushed.
Chuck wiped a hand over his face. He looked up at the room. "When can we go home?" he asked on a sigh.
"Chuck, can we have a conversation?" Dean asked patiently with a wide, sunny smile, his eyebrows attempting to look bemused.
The writer looked up, took in the look of overly-polite cheer on the eldest Winchester's face and felt the rolling thunder of doom approaching at speed. He got up dutifully and Dean put a hand on his shoulder, walking him to the far end of the room.
Sam turned to see Becky watching him surreptitiously. "Hey," he nodded.
"Hi Luke," she winked. "By the way, you know that's canon now, right? I'm totally putting that on the forum tonight."
"Whatever," Sam sighed.
"Forum?" Katie asked, her ears pricking up.
Martin shot forward from the background, opening up his folder instantly. "I've found no less than fourteen forums dedicated solely to talking about Chuck's books," he supplied. "There's Novels Without Pity, Supernatural Bookcase, SPN-Obsessed, SupernaturalVille: The Vaults, but they're more about discussing their own fan-fiction based on the framework set up by canon in the books, and then there's--"
"Yes yes, alright," Katie said, waving a hand. "What you're saying is, we already have a fanbase who might be kindly disposed to a TV show based on their favourite novels… If we do this right," she mused, mostly to herself.
"And if we're not arrested for Amy's murder," Martin said off-hand. "Or murdered next. She was the third, you know."
"Martin," she sighed, looking up at him, "you have a wonderful gift for putting the heebie-jeebies up everyone by just stating facts."
"I do?" he asked. "They are?"
"Yes," Castiel confirmed ominously.
Martin took one look at the angel and closed his folder with a snap. "Coffee time," he declared with bravado.
.
.
Thanks for reading - hope you're enjoying it so far. :)