A/N: Okie dokie, we've finally reached my personal favorite, chapter six! I guess for warnings: spoilers for season four of Supernatural, but if you haven't seen it yet, then stop reading this and watch it now. Also, if anyone was wondering, this takes place after the episode "Criss Angel is a Douchebag" in Supernatural and "The Bottle Job" in Leverage. Thank you kindly to LeeMarieJack, floralisette, Alice of Scots (lovely, dear, beautiful Alice, I was not able to reply to your review, but please know that it brought me much joy), and Murakami no Kitsune. Onwards.
"Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable in a separate room, Mr. Ramone?" Mrs. Franklin tried to peer around Sam, rubbing the top of Mr. Muffin's head. Sam narrowed the gap between the door and the frame with a pleasant smile and soft eyes.
"No, thank you. My, um, wife and I will be just fine in this one. We're on a tight budget," he said. Fine wrinkles in Mrs. Franklin's brown face deepened as she pursed her lips incredulously.
"How nice of your wife," the woman emphasized the word, "to meet up with you and your brother. It's very unexpected."
Sam responded with what he hoped was a convincing laugh. "Ha, yeah, Stevie loves surprises. Thank you again, Mrs. Franklin, and sorry for waking you up."
The owner of the fine establishment the Winchester brothers found themselves in raised an eyebrow. She had a fine idea of what surprises "Stevie" had in store, but other than calling Sheriff Belke on the three of them on charges of suspected prostitution, there was nothing she could do. Besides, it was late and Muffy needed his sleep or he would be unbearable in the morning.
"Good night, Mr. Ramone," Mrs. Franklin said after a brief interlude of disapproving glaring in Sam's direction. "And please remind your brother that this is a Bed and Breakfast not a Bed and All You Can Eat Buffet. I will charge extra the next time he comes back for fourths."
"Got it, thanks," Sam smiled tightly. "Good night." He closed the door on Mrs. Franklin and her growling chihuahua (which really did look like a mutated rat).
Dean and Parker, her wrist cuffed to a headboard, sat on opposite beds, engaging in what could be perceived as an intense staring contest. Dean blinked first. He huffed and flopped onto his back, fingers laced behind his head.
"Dude, this is messed up," he said. "I hate Djinn."
"Dean," Sam hissed, gesturing meaningfully at the blonde on his bed. "Could you filter for once?"
His brother sighed. "What's the point? She's probably read Dad's journal already." And Sam could bitch at him all he wanted, Dean thought, but he'd gotten six hours of sleep in the last forty-eight and needed his full three hours tonight.
"Just tone it down, will you?" Sam grumbled as he sat next to Dean.
"Who's Stevie?" Parker asked.
"You are," the brothers answered in unison. Just like that, she was the center of attention again. Their own personal nightmare wrapped up in a crazy blonde thief who wouldn't let go of John Winchester's journal. Dean propped himself up on his elbow and raised an eyebrow at her. That's just awesome.
Parker shifted uncomfortably under their combined scrutiny. She brushed the spine of the journal; at least she still had that. And she could always taser them. She briefly enjoyed the mental image of the two men twitching on the carpet.
"It's rude to steal from people, you know," Dean told her in a patronizing tone. It was also rude to dig up graves, but he figured that even if his high ground was built on shaky foundation, it was still higher than the thief's and he was going to take it. Besides, she had bit him. He hadn't forgotten that.
"Try illegal," Sam muttered under his breath.
"Saw my Baby sitting there vulnerable and thought you could strip her bare, right?" Dean continued like Sam hadn't said anything. "Tough balls, Barbie, you messed with the FB-friggin'-I."
"Ha!" Parker snorted.
Two pairs of eyebrows shot towards the ceiling. "Don't believe me?" Dean scowled. His hand groped for the badge he kept in his jeans. "How 'bout them apples?" He pushed it into her face. Parker's eyes never left his. She didn't need to look at the ID to know it was a fake.
"I knew a ten-year-old who could make better forgeries."
Sam's head fell into his hands. "Oh, we are so screwed."
"And your glove box is full of badly faked badges," Parker wrinkled her nose. Maybe Hardison's work had spoiled her, but the IDs were amateur at best.
Dean frowned. "Excuse you, I put hours of blood, sweat, tears into making those."
"Dean, you spend twenty minutes in a printing outlet," Sam corrected, pinching the bridge of his nose. The action reminded Parker of Eliot whenever Hardison said something particularly geeky. She felt an ache in her chest at the thought of her friends.
She was probably just hungry.
"So now you're on her side? Are my forgeries not good enough for you anymore?" Dean demanded, half-rising from the bed.
"What?" Sam asked, eyes wide in disbelief, "Are you serious right now? We've just kidnapped some girl who broke into our car and handcuffed her to a bed. And you want to argue about fake IDs?"
Dean huffed. "Make your own damn badge next time," he muttered. Parker's hands itched for her taser.
"Wait a minute," Sam narrowed his eyes at the thief. "We did handcuff her, right?"
Oh. Parker looked down at her blissfully uncuffed hands. Right.
"How does she keep on doing that?" Dean shook his head. He snatched up the cuffs and snapped one ring around her wrist and the other on his. "Stay," he sternly pointed his finger at her.
Sam treated him to a bitch-face. "She's not a dog, Dean."
"Ow!" Dean replied. "She bit me! Again!" He pulled as far away from Parker as the short chain allowed. She smiled sadistically. "Jesus, I'm getting a rabies shot after this is over."
"Okay, this isn't working."
"You think?" Dean said, exasperated.
"She's out again."
Parker waggled her fingers at him and scrambled towards the window; it was time to cut her losses and-
Sam caught her before she could leap from the second story window. He dragged her back into the room, thinking he was acting far too much like the pervy kidnapper Mrs. Franklin most likely suspected he was.
Dean sucked in a breath, then squinted at the blonde. A mischievous look came over his features. "Sam, I'm gonna need some duct tape."
"There is so much wrong with this," Sam told his brother when they had finished. They stood back to admire their handiwork. Parker's wrists were taped behind her back and her arms were pinned to her sides by layers and layers and layers of duct tape. "We're definitely going to Hell."
"Calm down, Sammy," Dean clapped him on the back. "I've already done that. It's your immortal soul you've got to worry about." Sam punched his shoulder half-heartedly.
He tilted his head to the side, examining the solid inch of layered tape that encased Parker. "Don't you think the second roll was kinda overkill?"
"Nope," Dean rubbed his sore finger and tossed the taser they had found on her into his duffel bag. "Not even a little bit."
His brother sighed. "At least we can ask her questions without worrying about her taking a chunk out of you every five minutes."
"Alright, Cujo," Dean leaned forward until he was nose to nose with Parker. He put on his most menacing expression. "Who are you? Do you have a name or do we have to keep calling you Stevie?"
Parker opened her mouth to answer, then snapped it shut and glared sullenly at him. If only she had Sophie to talk her through this, or better yet, Eliot to beat them into two bloody, gooey pulps. She wished now that she hadn't taken out her earbud.
"Dean, back off," Sam said sharply. "She's just a car thief."
Parker's eyes flew wide. "Just a car thief?" she echoed coldly, seething beneath her blank face. "Just a car thief?"
"Um," Sam looked to Dean for support. "A really good car thief?"
Don't blow your cover, Parker repeated to herself. You blow you're cover, you never find Nate. She quivered with rage, her ego smarting from the giant's insult. Oh, forget it. Her lips parted, about to tell them how good a "car thief" she was.
"Lay off Stevie, Sam," Dean shoved his brother off his bed, saving Parker from making an irreversible mistake. "It's been a long day, we'll deal with her in the morning." He shucked off a few layers of clothing before glancing at Parker. She stared at him, head tilted to the side; she wondered how long he would last against Eliot. "This ain't a peep show, lady," he muttered.
Sam shook his head and turned away. "Unbelievable," he muttered. Parker didn't want to look at him, not after his slight, but she still had questions and Dean was... occupied.
"What's a Djinn?" she asked after mentally debating who she should taser first. The giant, she decided, then the other if he pursues. Sam looked caught up in the middle of his own internal dilemma.
"Nothing," he said too quickly, "it's just a story."
Parker rolled her eyes. "You're lying. Badly," she added. "Really badly."
"Why should I tell you anything?"
Parker's shoulders slumped. Good question.
He had caught her trying to steal his father's journal, he didn't owe her any kind of explanation. But what was it Nate had once told her? That the strongest lies were based in truth? It was worth a shot.
"My..." she started, wondering how much she could safely give away. What would Sophie do? She would make up a story about Nate being Parker's missing father or uncle, but that didn't feel right. "My friend is missing. And after reading what I did..." Parker tried to look as honest and innocent as she could. It was exhausting.
"You just want to know the truth," Sam finished for her, softening immediately. "I'm sorry."
Dean smiled when he saw his brother fall under the spell of the woman's puppy dog eyes. He was glad to see that Sam wasn't immune to his own tricks. Now freed from most of his clothing, he slid under the blankets, feeling clean sheets devoid of questionable stains. He shifted on the comfortable mattress and didn't feel a single lump or spring digging into his back.
This is worse than Hell, he thought gloomily. He missed all the discomforts of motel-living.
"Djinn are like the genies in stories, but instead of granting wishes, they make you hallucinate that your deepest wish comes true," Sam was telling the thief. "They feed off the blood and emotions of the people they trap."
"Like a spider," Parker said slowly. "How do you stop them?"
Sam choked down his surprise at her question. "Silver blade dipped in lamb's blood," he answered without thinking. After Dean's personal experience, Sam had read up on the lore and committed it to memory. Which reminded him... "Dean, have anything to add?"
Dean opened his eyes and looked solemnly at Parker. "If a Djinn touches you, you're toast. Not many people survive the blood loss, and even if they do, some never wake up. Sometimes," he said even softer, "sometimes the dream is hard to let go and it's easier to just go on being content even when you know you're dying. Reality's a bitch." He quickly added the last bit before the moment entered heart-to-heart territory.
Parker bit her lip. "Oh." But she had nothing to worry about, Nate would never leave them, right? Right? "Are you going to find it?"
"We will, we just need to figure out where it's hiding." Sam replied confidently and started going through his nightly routine. Emotionally numb, Parker sat uncomfortably on the floor while her (very broken) rib started to throb painfully. It was one thing to read about monsters, but to hear it from another person? She shivered and wiggled against the duct tape.
Dean seemed to notice because he stole some pillows and sheets from Sam's and his beds and made a nest for Parker between the two. Neither spoke and Dean's small gesture of kindness towards the thief was never mentioned again.
When Sam came back from the bathroom, he found Parker curled up in a tight ball in the middle of a pillow nest and Dean reclined in his bed, innocently reading from the Gideon Bible that Mrs. Franklin stocked in each room.
"Your face will stay like that if you're not careful," Dean warned him, not looking up.
"Like what?"
"Like I just shoved your gerbil through a woodchipper."
"What?" Sam found himself chuckling, though the mental image of that scenario was bound to scar him for life. "I don't have a gerbil."
Dean rubbed a tired hand over his stubble. Damn, he needed to shave. "Never mind." It was easier that way. He didn't want to talk about how things had been between them since he returned from Hell, or how freakin' angels had gotten him out of Hell in the first place. And he really didn't want to talk about how his little brother had screwed (and possibly was still screwing) a demon while he roasted in the Pit.
"Okay?" Sam said quietly and carefully stepped around Parker. His gaze slid guiltily off her duct tape-restrained body as he got into bed. "Uh, good talk, Dean. Night."
"Yeah," Dean turned on his side to face away from his brother. "Ditto." With a small sigh, he let himself relax a little and settled into pillows softer than moon beams. He froze.
Softer than moon beams? He inwardly shuddered, horrified that he had just made that comparison. He needed a bad night's rest in a crappy pay-by-the-hour before this B'n'B permanently tarnished his soul with all its homey comforts.