A/N: Well, this chapter is a day late, but in my defense, I haven't had internet connection since Friday. So this chapter goes out to wifi miracles, everyone's had them at some point, when you get internet in strange places when you need it most. Also, a huge thank you to LeeMarieJack, Murakami no Kitsune, floralisette, and Alice of Scots. Onto lucky number seven.
Parker woke with a sharp pain in her chest, numb tingling in her hands, and off-key singing in her ears. The voice was low and soft, and what it lacked in tone (or skill) it made up for in enthusiasm. She opened one eye and squinted into the morning light that streamed through the window. Dean sat on the edge of his bed and tugged on his boots, humming a song Parker vaguely remembered hearing in the Impala. It was almost soothing, and the thief, in her semi-unconscious state, was inclined to pretend to sleep and listen to the nearly on-key baritone for a while longer. Dean, however, had other plans and prodded her with his toe when he saw her eyelids flicker. Parker lifted her head off the floor and glared at him.
"Rise and shine, sweetcheeks," he winked, stretching his arms up and arching his back like a cat. Parker heard a series of pops and cracks. She rolled up to a sitting position and leaned against a bed, moving her hands as best she could to get some feeling back into them. The pins-and-needles sensation was just beginning to get uncomfortable when someone knocked rhythmically on the door. Dean groaned, rubbing the crease in his brow. "I said Smoke on the Water, Sammy, not Another One Bites the Dust."
"Shut up," Sam said and slipped into the room. "You're just lucky I wasn't Mrs. Franklin."
"I think the whole world is lucky you aren't Mrs. Franklin."
"That wasn't- I- you don't- Can we figure out what to do with the girl we're holding prisoner in our room?" Sam sputtered and started pacing. He crossed the room, pivoted, and went on in the opposite direction.
Dean winced and rubbed the back of his neck. "It sounds creepy when you say it like that, Sam."
"That's because it is."
"What?" Dean said, looking at Parker for confirmation. "No, it's not."
"Little bit," Parker said hoarsely. "Little bit creepy."
"So?" Sam asked, pausing to face his brother. "What do we do now?"
Dean stared at Parker for what seemed like an eternity. "We," he said slowly, "are going to eat breakfast."
"I hate you," Hardison told Eliot.
"Thanks, Hardison."
"No, I actually, genuinely hate you."
"That's awesome, man."
"I don't think you understand how much I hate your guts and hair right now."
Eliot narrowed his eyes at the hacker, and heaved himself over the edge of the old quarry. "What the Hell does my hair have to do with it?" So apparently Nebraska had old quarries with steep cliffs that came out of nowhere and apparently it was somehow his fault that Hardison had fallen over one such cliff into one such quarry. But did he get any credit for climbing down and helping the computer geek out? No, of course not.
"You know, what? It's pissing me off, that's why," Hardison grumbled. He lay sprawled on his stomach, grasping and clutching the dry grass like a lifeline. "Wakin' me up at five in the morning and drivin' me out to Shaggin' Peak like it's nothing. Didn't even buy me dinner first."
"Hey, Hardison?"
"Yeah?"
"How 'bout you shut up?" Eliot shouted the last words. Sophie winced and rubbed her temple.
"Boys," she said softly. "That's enough." Both men looked away guiltily. "Much better. Now, I think we can all agree that Nate isn't here."
Eliot looked over the edge into the pit of exposed limestone. "There's a few caverns down there-"
"That a two-year-old couldn't squeeze through," Hardison interjected.
"I don't know what you were looking at while I saved your ass-"
"Well, last time I checked, it was your fault my ass needed saving to begin with."
"If you've got something to say, just go ahead and say it," Eliot snarled, clenching his hands into fists. "Either stop whining about it or man up, Hardison."
"Okay, yeah, I got something to say," the hacker rolled and got to his feet in the most uncoordinated way he possibly could. "I don't see why you're calling the shots all the sudden. Why are we frolicking through Nebraskan prairies and falling into quarries when we should be backing up Parker? Those guys knew something and we left her alone with them."
"She asked for us to leave her alone," the hitter forced himself to take a deep breath. "And she hasn't checked back in."
"And shouldn't we be, I don't know, worried about that?" Hardison took a step forward, his own hands curling into inexperienced fists.
Eliot's resolve to be calm broke. "You think I'd let her take that risk if I didn't know she could handle it? We gotta trust her on this, like Sophie said. Just because you've got a stupid crush on the woman doesn't mean we can stop looking for Nate!"
"Eliot," Sophie said sharply. "I said that's enough."
Eliot hesitated, stuck between the coiled spring of his anger and the soldier in him that recognized a command. Eventually, the soldier took over and he stood down, eyes staring unseeing past Sophie and Hardison.
"Look at yourselves," she hissed. "Fighting like children. That isn't going to help Parker and it certainly isn't going to find Nate. Hardison, Eliot is taking the lead on this because it's his job. Remember? Hacker," she pointed to Hardison, "grifter," she pointed to herself, "retrieval specialist," she gestured finally to Eliot. "He does more than punch things, you know." Before Eliot could look too smug, she rounded on him.
"But that doesn't mean you aren't being foolish, Eliot! Stop picking fights with your team, for one," Sophie scolded. "I don't know what happened in that warehouse, but whatever it is, don't you dare let it hurt this team. If you're distracted, it could mean a lot worse than falling into an old quarry next time. Understand?"
Eliot locked his jaw and nodded once.
"Good. Hardison?"
"Yeah, I get you," he muttered.
"Glad we got that settled," Sophie said drily. "Now if we're done here?" She looked expectantly at Eliot, who nodded again. "Then I say we deserve a break. Come on, boys, I saw a quaint little diner back in town."
The fact that the quaint little diner was called Sal's D'er because the middle letters had fallen off the sign didn't deter Sophie in the slightest. She walked in like she was born and raised in Wiggins Peak, like she belonged, and was pleasantly surprised to find the interior of Sal's clean and inviting.
The morning rush was starting to ebb when the three thieves settled into a booth in the far corner. Within seconds of sitting down, a young waitress with auburn-dyed hair zeroed in on them. "SHELLY" was printed on her name tag.
"Alright, what'll it be, strangers?" she flashed a tired smile and took out her notepad.
"Coffee for me," Eliot said, maneuvering himself so he could watch the door. He coldly ignored the rest of his team and focused on the patrons walking in and out. Hardison flicked through the menu the waitress had handed out and hummed indecisively. Sophie glanced at the breakfast selections with a look of horror.
"So much meat," she murmured, shaking her head.
"What was that, ma'am?" Shelly asked politely.
"I was admiring your meat-lovers' selections," Sophie flawlessly mimicked the woman's accent. "It's so... extensive."
"Best beef in the county," she confirmed with a nod. "The bacon's award-winning too."
"Lovely," Sophie said through a forced smile. She laid down the menu and folded her hands neatly over it. "I'll have the veggie omelette. No onions, please."
"And for you, good lookin'?" Shelly gave a suddenly rejuvenated grin to Hardison. He started, wide-eyed, and pointed a finger questioningly at himself.
"Uh, biscuits an-and gravy," he stuttered. "Please?"
"I'll have that right out for you," the waitress replied, jotting something down in her notes. The three thieves watched her hips sway conspicuously as she walked away.
"What just happened?" Eliot voiced what they were all thinking. The team stared at one another, all tension forgotten.
"My," Sophie laughed, breaking the dumbfounded silence, "things have changed since I've been gone."
"Yeeaah," Hardison grinned and raised his fist. "That happened, give a brother some love!" Eliot half-heartedly fist-bumped him, though a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Cheer up, man," Hardison continued, "I'm pretty sure I saw the fry cook checkin' you out." Eliot tapped Sophie on the shoulder and nodded towards the front windows that allowed customers a lovely view of the parking lot.
The grifter froze. "Hardison-"
"What, can't I celebrate the small things in life?"
"Hardison-"
"Y'all just jealous. Well, buck up, cowboy. The pretty waitress hit on me."
"Damn it," Eliot swore. "Turn around, Hardison."
"What are you," Hardison twisted in his seat just in time to see a black Impala back out of Sal's parking lot and hightail it down the street. "Talking. About. Was that...?"
"Yeah," Eliot got his coat.
"Should we...?"
"Definitely," Sophie left a twenty dollar bill on the table.
Parker sighed in relief as the last of the duct tape was cut from her torso. Her wrists felt like they were being attacked by fire ants and without the bindings around her ribs the pain was intensified, but all things considered she was fine: great, even. That is, if the word "great" meant "pissed as Hell", then yeah, Parker was great.
She poked a finger at her injured side, hissing a bit. She measured how much pressure was needed to irritate it and decided it wasn't a major concern. She'd had worse.
Just. Great.
"Hey, you alright there, princess?" Dean asked gruffly, clapping her on the back a little harder than necessary and handing her over to Sam.
"Peachy," Parker gasped. "So peachy it hurts."
"Awesome," Dean smirked, grabbing his leather jacket from the floor. He glanced at his brother, who looked like he was trying to pass a kidney stone. "Sam, when you walk down, don't be weird about it. She's your wife, remember?"
Sam, to his credit, was attempting to act like Parker was his lawfully wedded wife and not his illegally held hostage. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, wrapping an arm around Parker's shoulders and smiling tightly. "We're the freaking Brady's," he said through clenched teeth. Parker grimaced; her ribs were not liking married life so far.
Dean raised an eyebrow at the unhappy couple. "Just, try not to make it look like she's a hooker. Okay, Romeo?"
Everyone thought she was a hooker. From the road-tripping family of four, to the traveling salesman, to Mrs. Franklin herself. And if Mr. Muffin could have spoken or thought cognitively beyond running excitedly about, smelling everything, and dry humping the shih tzu next door, the little rat would have thought so too.
As such, Parker wasn't surprised when she was ushered out of the building as fast as possible. Or when she was shoved into the back seat of the Impala next to Sam. Or when Dean told her he was dropping her off at the nearest bus station with a one-way ticket to Anywhere Else.
But hitting an invisible monster in the parking lot of a family diner? That had thrown her.
"Shit!" Dean exclaimed when the front wheels rolled over something large as the Impala pulled into the lot. "What was that, a freaking elephant?" He slammed on the brakes and put the car into park before jumping out to inspect the damage. Sam sternly told Parker not to run before following his brother out.
"Nothing's there," Sam said, looking under the wheels.
"Well, it wasn't a speed bump."
Sam shrugged. "What else could-" A low growl that belonged somewhere far more infernal than Wiggins Peak interrupted him. "Uh," Sam backed away from the front of the Impala where the sound came from. "That's not a good sound."
"Sammy," Dean breathed, not moving an inch, not taking his eyes from the large dent in the front bumper, "get in the car. Now." The color drained from his face.
Sam noticed the change and wasted no time in falling next to Parker and pulling her down to the floor.
"What's happening?" she whispered, trying to peer over the seats. "Did we hit someone? Are they dead? Can I see the body?"
Sam shushed her and placed a large palm over her mouth. "Don't. Speak." He commanded quietly. Parker resisted her instinct to bite him and run, and stayed still. Dean suddenly dove into the drivers seat and backed out of the parking lot like all of Hell was on his heels.
Or, more specifically, a vaguely dog-shaped part of Hell that smelled of sulfur and wet fur and that enjoyed barking at the souls of the Eternally Damned for sport.
"What's a hellhound doing here, Sam?" Dean yelled as he pushed eighty miles per hour in a residential area.
"How should I know?" Sam shouted back, pulling Parker and himself back on the seats.
"Research is your thing, man!"
Sam really wanted to hit something. "So what, I need to look for signs of crossroads deals everywhere we go now?"
"That'd be awesome, yeah," Dean snorted and rummaged in the glove compartment with his free hand. "Damn it, where's the goofer dust?"
The younger pursed his lips at his brother's hectic behavior. "Trunk, I think. Look, we don't know what it's here for."
Parker blinked at the very empty road behind them. "We're being chased by an invisible dog?" That was new.
"It's not just a- Sam, fill her in before I friggin' shoot her," Dean ground his teeth and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. "I'm taking us to that warehouse. We can hole up there until we figure out what poor bastard is that thing's new chew toy."
"Why don't we head back and take it down before it hurts someone?" Sam suggested, tactfully avoiding an emotional confrontation with the skill of someone who's been doing it his whole life.
Dean slammed a hand against the steering wheel in frustration, but pulled onto the shoulder of the road. He squeezed his eyes shut, definitely not remembering shadowy creatures tearing through his body like it was tissue paper. He took a shaky breath.
"Is he okay?" Parker whispered loudly to Sam. "In the head?"
"Thanks, Vicky," Dean chuckled humorlessly. He opened his eyes and met Sam's gaze in the rear view mirror. "I'm fine."
Something heavy landed on the hood of the Impala, gouging parallel marks into the metal right where two massive front paws would be.
"Okay, not fine," he hissed, glaring at the damage to his baby. "Really not fine."
Dean grabbed a sawn-off from under the seat and tossed it back to Sam. A deep rumbling filled the air and seemed to vibrate in Parker's chest. Then as suddenly as it had started, the beast fell silent.
Nobody moved. Parker didn't think she breathed.
Sam cocked the shot gun and pointed it at the windshield. Dean lowered his handgun a bit and craned his neck to look at his brother while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the invisible hellhound whose breath was fogging up the outside of the glass. Sam nodded grimly and tucked Parker behind him. The thief made herself as small as possible by curling into a tight ball. A small object in her jean pocket painfully protruded into her hip bone.
Dean steadied his aim.
Parker fumbled with her pocket, trying to get the pointy thing without bumping into Sam. Her fingers pinched grooved metal and Parker stopped squirming, her mouth parted like an "o".
The hellhound growled again, deep and foreboding. It was the sound of thunder before a hurricane and the rumbling of an earthquake before the house collapsed on top of you. Then, as Dean turned purposefully towards the noise, it cut off sharply and was followed by a low whine. Sam got the impression that the hound had its head cocked to the side, listening.
The beast huffed loudly, blowing condensation onto the windshield, then sat. The Impala's hood groaned under the sudden stress and hollow thunking rhythmically filled the silence. Just when things couldn't get more weird, they did.
It barked.
Not "ominously howled" or "growled dangerously": the hound straight from the fiery pits of the Inferno barked.
Dean blinked, minutely lowering his arm in surprise. "What the Hell?" he said through clenched teeth. He twisted around only to find Sam as confused as he was.
"Is it," Sam paused, unable to believe what he was hearing, "wagging it's tail?"
"Why don't we ask the helldog whisperer?" Dean growled, training his gun the blonde head that peeked around his brother's shoulder. Parker let the silver whistle fall from her lips and raised her hands above her head in the universal sign for don't shoot!