AN: My depictions of the castle are as correct as I can get them from the information available, but the surrounding area, not so much.
Janice blackmailed (er, encouraged) me to get this chapter finished. She did her beta magic and added some of my favorite dialogue. Of course, then I changed a bunch of stuff and probably made mistakes that she didn't have a chance to catch.
This has a lot of set up stuff (and therefore not my favorite to write though necessary, as the chapter title implies) but I promise mayhem will ensue eventually!
ETA: I've finally responded to everyone who commented on earlier chapters. Thank you for your patience -- your comments inspire me!
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Sam and Dean stayed beyond the line the cops told them to and steadfastly ignored the side eyes they got occasionally. The cops had suggested a few times that they should just go back home and wait for a call that the area was cleared, but they ignored that too. Dean paced and tried to get a better look at what was going on, but Sam simply leaned against the Impala and folded his arms, as befit the persona he'd chosen.
Oh, he'd forgotten something. Sam fished in the front pocket of his jeans and retrieved a hairband. He quickly fastened his hair back in a simple tail. Dean had been pacing and hadn't noticed Sam's actions. He turned back and did a cartoon-worthy dead stop. "What is that?" he demanded, waving a hand at the back of his own head as if Sam wouldn't know what he was referring to.
"What is what?" Sam asked, arms folded again.
"That monstrosity on the back of your head!" Dean exclaimed, still waving his hands around as if overcome by emotion at the sight of the innocent little ponytail.
The most persistent cop stomped toward them again, the look on his face indicating that he wasn't going to be ignored any longer. "Who are you again?" he demanded once he was close enough.
Sam didn't move and didn't answer, doing his best to look bored. After a second, Dean answered. "Wedding planners," he snapped, gritting his teeth through the answer. His irritation made Sam appreciate their role for the first time. He was a little brother, after all. "We were asked to come, and we have a job to do," Dean finished, his annoyance clear.
"Look –" The cop got exactly one word out before an announcement came over his radio.
"Attention all units. The blood has been confirmed as animal. There is no crime scene. Return to your regular patrols."
The cop's mouth snapped shut and Dean smirked at him until he turned on his heel and stalked away. One of the tech types picked up the skull and bagged it, giving Sam his first look at the front of the bone, an angle which allowed him to see in a glance that it was clearly not human.
In minutes, only one police car remained, so the Winchesters got back into the Impala.
"Why'd you leave me hanging out there?" Dean grumped at Sam. "You're the one who knows all the stuff about weddings and shit."
"I'm going to be quiet and broody while you're loud and flamboyant, remember?" Sam said, drawing on all of his considerable experience to keep a straight face. "You agreed."
"I what?!" Dean almost squeaked, his voice a full octave and a half higher than normal.
"You agreed." Sam's stomach ached with the effort of holding his laughter in. "I said, 'if we're supposed to be artistic, I should be quiet and moody while you are loud and temperamental and do all of the talking.' And you said, 'okay.'"
Dean was momentarily dumbstruck. "You...you went on and on about all of the wedding stuff just to trick me into agreeing, didn't you?"
Of course Sam had, though he hadn't really expected it to work. And he sure wasn't going to cop to it, though Dean would know the truth. "What are you talking about? You're paranoid." By this time, they were pulling up to the guard manning the gate, which had been closed again. Dean announced their aliases with a grimace and explained that Charlene North could vet them. The guard soon confirmed and directed them to a smaller gate, saying someone would meet them at the first building on their left.
They were just about to go in when the guard cleared his throat. "Uh, Mr. Sinatra, are you related to –"
"Yeah, I like to call him Ol' Hazel Eyes," Dean answered quickly. "But he doesn't like to talk about it."
Sam bit his tongue. He supposed if he made Dean the one who did all the talking, he'd have to put up with quips like this one.
Soon they were at the building in question, which looked to Sam like a rather nice house – an ordinary one, unlike the castle itself. A woman standing outside waved them down. She had gray-streaked dark hair in a bun with glasses and a modest skirt suit that screamed administrative assistant. She even had a tablet in her hand.
"Mr. Sinatra, Mr. Swift, over here. You'll need to wear these someplace visible while you're on the grounds." She handed over two ID badges on alligator clips with their faces and aliases. "This way, please, gentlemen. Ms. North is inside." Her own badge, outlined in red where theirs were black, proclaimed that she was Nicole Abrams. She was remarkably composed given the way the day had started.
Dean grabbed both badges. "There is no way the big guy will wear that," he said decisively. "It would ruin his aesthetic. But I'll wear both and we'll average one badge per person." He leaned closer to Nicole and added in a stage whisper, "He's been just giddy over our invite to the castle and we don't want anything to ruin that, do we?"
Nicole glanced between them for a moment, clearly nonplussed by Dean's words and thrown out of her professional mien. Sam pretended not to notice her stare, tracing the roof of the castle with his eyes and keeping a look of ennui on his face. No gargoyles, he noted absently. That was one thing they could probably check off the list of potential suspects.
"Er, giddy?" Nicole finally settled on, maybe having decided that the badges weren't worth arguing about.
"Oh yes. That's his happy face. He hasn't smiled like that since Denzel Washington got the top billing in The Manchurian Candidate."
Nicole blinked. Blinked again. "That's, uh, nice, but security says –"
"It's fine, Nicole. Thank you." Charlene emerged from the building. "Thank you two for coming. Would you like to come in or shall we begin walking the grounds right away?" She exuded professionalism and competence, but up close, Sam could see the lines of stress around her eyes.
"We need to see it all!" Dean decided, throwing his arms wide. Sam had to cough to cover a laugh. Clearly, Dean had decided to call Sam's bluff by embracing the role he'd been given. It was a win-win for Sam; if Dean had chickened out, he'd be on laundry duty for a month by long-standing agreement. Once you agreed to an alias, you had to stick it out, even if your brother made you a bikini inspector or something equally ridiculous. If he went through with it, Sam would have constant entertainment.
"This way, then," Charlene directed, taking the theatrics in stride with nothing more than a quirk of the lips. When they were out of earshot of her assistant, her stance relaxed. "You have no idea how grateful I am that you're here," she said, turning toward them. "I'm basically responsible for the people here, and every time someone gets hurt, it's on me. And honestly, I haven't felt safe since I got here...until now."
Sam shifted a little, a bit uncomfortable at the gratitude on her face. They hadn't actually done anything yet and didn't have a clue what they were up against. "We'll do our best to keep your people safe," he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "How are you holding up after the scare this morning?"
"Alright," she said with a sigh. "Mostly grateful that there's no human blood or bones. The security team is trying to figure out how anything got past all the cameras." She shrugged. "Again, I am really glad to see you.
"It's good to see you again, too, Char – Charlene," Sam answered, feeling for her. "I'm glad things worked out well for you after what you went through. We don't often get to see what happens to the folks we, you know…"
"Save from some gruesome fate at the hands of monsters out of urban legends and fairy tales?" She finished wryly.
"Yeah, that," Sam responded with a smile.
"And ghosts," Dean added. "And Hitler. And undead Nazi necromancers."
Charlene looked at him clearly confused, but before she could say anything, Sam just shook his head. "It's a long story. Don't ask. Please."
"Well, whatever it is you do, thank you both for doing it."
"Why don't you show us where the attack on the groundskeeper happened?" asked Dean, just as ill at ease with the praise as Sam.
Charlene nodded, a soft smile on her face. "You two – in some ways you're so different from before, but some things are the same, too." Without explaining further, she indicated the way they were heading and led the way.
It was quite a walk. (Sam manfully ignored Dean humming These Boots Are Made for Walking.) At one point, a man whose stance and alertness immediately proclaimed that he was security respectfully suggested they stay close to the main building, but when Charlene told him, without explanation, that it was necessary, he nodded deferentially and let them go. (He did look pointedly at the two ID badges on Dean's chest and give Sam an unamused look, but when Dean just gave him an exuberant smile and Sam ignored him, he let that go too.)
"So you're the bigwig here, huh?" Dean asked. "Sure you can't get us a place to stay right here?" He waved a hand to indicate the size of the grounds and the many buildings it contained.
"I'm the most senior person on site," Charlene admitted modestly. "But the one thing I can't do is overrule security on the big decisions when there's clearly a threat here."
"Not even if we say we can't get the feel for the soul of the place unless we sleep here and let it seep into us?" Dean asked with an over-the-top affect that made it clear he was joking.
"Oh, I couldn't agree more!" called a man breathlessly, running up from behind, clearly taking the words seriously. Sam and Dean both took a protective stance for a second, then relaxed when Charlene didn't react except with a look of resignation.
"Bernard," she greeted with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "What do you need?"
"First of all, to meet your bodyguards!" Bernard, who was wearing a tailored, deep magenta sport coat, came only up to the bridge of Charlene's nose. His wide eyes looked up at Sam and Dean like they were some mythological giants, his gaze darting all over them and taking in every detail. "How do I get one of those?"
"They aren't bodyguards," Charlene corrected. "They're local wedding planners here to share their experience because they've had an event at an actual castle before." She inclined her head in polite dismissal but Bernard ignored the hint, his smile getting even wider.
"Oh, fan tastic!" he gushed. "I can't wait to hear all your insights!" He put a hand on his chest. "I'm a designer myself. I'll be handling the clothing and helping with the flowers." Sam didn't dare look at Dean lest he fall completely out of character by laughing.
Bernard held out a hand. "I'm Bernard Wolcott."
"Dean Swift. This is Sam Sinatra," Dean answered, shaking the hand briefly. "Don't mind his sour look. The best is yet to come." Sam just nodded, biting his tongue (again – he was in danger of actually biting the end off at this rate) so he wouldn't say something scathing to his brother.
"We're looking at the grounds now, not anything to do with clothing," Charlene said again, a hint of steel in her voice. "I'm sure Sam and Dean will share their insights with you later."
Bernard again ignored Charlene's unspoken message. "Having the name of someone famous can be such a trial, can't it? If I hear one more Pygmalian joke, I think I'll just die!"
Sam blinked. It took him a second to figure out that he was referring to the play by George Bernard Shaw. He could hardly imagine anyone making the leap and joking about it. "If you want original conversations, you better go talk to yourself?" he asked dryly, quoting a different work by the same playwright.
Bernard's whole face lit up in recognition. "Exactly!"
"Sam loves hearing about his famous name!" Dean smirked.
"I just try to shake it off," Sam answered, mentally awarding himself a point for that answer.
"Alright then," Charlene said, speaking quickly. "Sam and Dean want to see everything, so we need to keep moving."
Whatever Bernard was going to say was cut off when the thick cherry laurels just behind him began to rustle and a growl came out of the spot. Acting on instinct, Sam grabbed his arm and moved him away from the spot, inserting himself between the designer and the sound. He noted that Dean had similarly moved to protect Charlene. Neither pulled a weapon, not wanting to advertise that they were armed unless it was absolutely unavoidable.
There was another rustle, then a red-faced woman stumbled out from the hedge with a curly-haired puppy in her arms. She was maybe 40, wearing gardening gloves and blue jeans. There was a twig in her hair, and she seemed a little out of breath.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I hope we didn't scare you! I was working in the rose garden when Chloe here chewed right through her leash." The pup was utterly adorable except for the fact that she kept growling. "I'm so sorry, Ms. North."
"It's no problem, Cindy," Charlene said graciously though Sam had noticed how badly she'd startled. To Sam and Dean, she explained, "Cindy and her husband work and live here at the castle. She's a renowned flower specialist. She's agreed to work with our team to make sure things are blooming right when the wedding takes place. Cindy, you know Bernard. Sam and Dean are here to offer some wedding design suggestions."
"I'll get out of your hair. Sorry again," said Cindy, struggling with the animal wiggling in her arms. "She's either the sweetest creature you've ever seen, or she's a total terror like now. There's no in between and no telling what's going to set her off. And she's very strong for a cockapoo!" With those words, the dog escaped again. She hit the ground running and took off like a shot to their left, the direction that Charlene had been leading them.
Without thinking, Sam yelled, "Stop!" To his surprise, the dog stopped and dropped to her belly like she'd been shot. Charlene, Cindy, and Bernard all stared at Sam with their mouths hanging open, while Dean cocked an eyebrow in a nonverbal you go, Sammy.
Glancing at Cindy for permission, Sam trotted over to the dog and carefully picked her up. Not only did Chloe not fight him, she snuggled up, little tail wagging like crazy. Sam walked back to the little group more slowly than he'd left, feeling a bit self-conscious from the way they were looking at him. Cindy in particular was still staring like he'd performed some extraordinary feat.
As Sam walked past Dean, the dog's tail began to wag even harder, but she growled at the other three, even her owner.
"Sorry again," Cindy mumbled, taking her pet back. "Cockapoos are supposed to be so sweet and friendly, but our girl is...still learning." She kissed the pup's head, apparently used to Chloe's attitude. She excused herself, this time keeping a firm grip of the canine.
"Sam, that was amazing," Bernard breathed. "You saved me then you just ordered that dog to behave and it did!"
Dean snorted and Sam elbowed him hard enough to turn it into a wheeze.
"Bernard, we are way behind schedule," Charlene said sternly.
Bernard actually wrung his hands. "Just...just tell me one tip or something you're thinking," he begged.
Sam looked pointedly at Dean. "Dean has some ideas already. I can tell."
Dean smiled but there was death in his eyes. "Sure. Sure. Er, so this is a castle, and it's, uh, fancy and shit."
Sam stared at his feet and discretely dug his fingers into his arm to keep from laughing out loud. He'd have to check his boots for nasties for a couple days until Dean forgave him.
"Anyway," Dean continued, discretely stepping on Sam's foot. "You ever see a beautiful, old classic car that some clown has stuck extra chrome or spinning rims on? It looks ridiculous, cuz it can't compete with what's already there, and it might even mess with her lines. A castle's like that. You can't try to fix it or fancy it up, just, uh, shine what's there, you know? And maybe, cuz it's a wedding, you can have a spot of somethin' special and very different, just for emphasis, but most of what you bring in has to bring attention to the castle, cuz if you try to outshine it, you're gonna lose."
Sam was...impressed, actually. Enough that he decided to give Dean a little help when he petered out. "Work with all of this," he said. "Not against it."
Bernard was quiet long enough that Sam had enough time to imagine him calling them out as fakes. Then he looked up with something like adoration in his eyes. "And here I thought you might be provincial hacks who would just repeat whatever the cheap wedding magazines are saying," he admitted. "But you're brilliant! Brilliant! Work with the castle. Be dramatic without jarring. Allow the bride to shine all the brighter because of her surroundings. Brilliant!" For a nervous moment, Sam thought he might hug them. Instead, he hurried away without a good-bye, muttering to himself about color schemes and nature-inspired palettes. Sam let out a sigh of relief.
"That's one excited dude," Dean noted, shaking his head. "And I think he has a bit of a Sammy-crush."
"I don't know," Sam countered. "I think he's a little starstruck by your design acumen."
Dean literally lifted his upper lip in a sneer. "You're his big hero, protecting him from evil puppies and scary hedges."
Charlene laughed aloud and it was nice to know she was getting even more relaxed. "I guess brothers will be brothers, no matter their ages," she said.
"Are you saying we're too old to do the job?" Dean accused lightheartedly. "I'll have you know Barb is old enough to be our grandma, and she still kicks ass."
"I bet she does!" Charlene agreed. "Oh, she said I had to tell you two that I'm engaged but when you two find nice girls of your own, you need to bring them to her house for dinner. I take it Barb is an exception to the 'don't stick around when the job's done' rule."
"She's the exception to a lot of rules," Dean answered, and Sam couldn't disagree.
They congratulated Charlene on her engagement and she explained that when the boss's daughter was married, she was going to quit and find a job near her fiance, who played minor league baseball in Minneapolis. Sam and Dean glanced at each other. It was a nice reminder of just why they did what they did.
A little way past the edge of the hedge line was a group of about thirty trees. They weren't as manicured and carefully spaced as the landscaping they'd seen so far. They appeared very old, and all seemed to be fruit-bearing. Sam saw mostly apple, but some pear, at least one cherry, and possibly peach. Thick, gnarled grape vines grew up the trunks of some of the trees, and berry bushes of all different kinds filled in much of the space between trunks. "This looks like part of a really old orchard," he observed.
Charlene nodded. "It is. It's all that's left from the original orchards that were the family's main source of income in the early 1900's, and they are very protective of them." She pointed to where the growth was the thickest. "This is where the attack came from," she said. "Once it was determined to have been an animal, police took down the crime scene tape and agreed that they didn't need to take any of the dirt or anything else for evidence. Animal control looked around but didn't find anything."
Dean pulled out an EMF reader and Sam began to inspect the trees for anything carved on them, as various groups from witches to druids would sometimes harness the lives of trees to anchor spells or, rarely, curses. "We got this," Sam said to Charlene. "It could take us a while, too, so you can get back to work if you want." He didn't want her to feel like she had to leave, but they always preferred to work without an audience, and they didn't want her in danger if there was something lingering.
"Good. I have so much to do," she smiled ruefully. "I've told security that you have clearance to go anywhere the family that owns the castle allows us to go. They're the ones with brown badges, and any of them can tell you what is off limits or give you directions. Let me know if you need anything. Oh, and we have a big meal served in the building where you met me from noon to 1:00 and again 6:00 to 7:00 – feel free to take whatever you'd like. I'm afraid everyone who isn't sleeping here has to be off the grounds by 9 pm or so."
"Nice to have someone on our side," Dean commented when she'd headed off. The EMF reader was giving off consistent low-level readings, higher than expected for a spot so far from any power lines but too low to really scream 'ghost.' "And free food – bonus! Hopefully it's not weird vegan crap or something.
"Hey, I wonder if they used to bury the black sheep of the family out here. You know, you sucked when you were alive, but at least you make good fertilizer."
Sam snickered. He wasn't finding anything on the bark of the trees, but he saw what looked like blood in the dirt and crouched down. "I wouldn't put it past them. Some super rich people are really weird. Remember the crazy Lacroix family?" It was a rhetorical question; neither of them could forget that dysfunctional group.
Dean snorted and put on his most snobbish voice. "It's okay. I hunt pheasant!"
Sam laughed, and then looked around the area again. "You know, I wonder if Chloe could smell the blood and that's why she was so hyped up. Or maybe sensed something supernatural."
Dean joined him and looked over his shoulder. The EMF seemed to get marginally louder near the blood, but maybe that was wishful thinking. "I know you're a dog whisperer and all, but don't get any ideas about adopting one," he warned. "Even one with the good taste to prefer Winchesters to anyone else."
"Never, ever, ever, Dean Swift?" Sam teased, then suddenly tensed. "Dean, I'm pretty sure these new shoots are all yarrow plants." He quickly glanced around. "And I don't see them growing anywhere else. I don't smell sulfur or see anything that indicates a summoning, but it looks like this isn't just some cryptid." Their eyes met and Dean looked grim but determined.
"We need to check out all that blood by the entrance," he said, making a moue of disgust. "Witches or demons. I don't know which is worse."
"If it's demons, I give you permission to kick Crowley's ass, just because," Sam promised.
"Damn straight."
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AN: Look, Ma, no cliffie!
Frank Sinatra was sometimes known as "Ol' Blue Eyes," which is where Dean's first nickname for Sam comes from. He was also called "The Big Guy" sometimes, which Dean snuck in there too. His daughter Nancy sang These Boots Are Made for Walking. Also, Frank starred in the original version of The Manchurian Candidate. The Best is Yet to Come is one of his biggest hits.
Shake it Off is one of Taylor Swift's hits. In her song We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, the like "never, ever, ever" is repeated many times. I'm so sorry. I can't seem to help myself.
Sam's quote, "If you want original conversations, you better go talk to yourself" comes from Shaw's Candida. I don't like the play, but I adore the quote!
sylvia37: Hehe. It's a fun situation to write!
Jenjoremy: I can't take credit for the wedding planner idea or the aliases. (But it sure was a trip to figure out a way to make them work!) I firmly believe that a dose of Crowley makes just about any story better. I thought it was in character for Dean to wing it and Sam to research. LOL
muffinroo: With the aliases, the back story practically wrote itself! And now I can't seem to stop with the Sinatra and Swift jokes. Hehe.
Colby's girl: Whatever incantation you found for the weather seems to have worked. Thank you, gracias, merci! Hope the chapter gave you a smile.
Shazza19: The plan was for Barb to only be in the very beginning, but I may have to have her appear more. I think she would be very amused by the boys' aliases and fake jobs!
Christine: One of my favorite little moments in SPN is when Cas and Crowley are standing together and Crowley says, "Together again." and Cas goes, "Yay." super flat. Hehe. Also, holy cow, Dean-as-Michael truly did have a Sinatra vibe! I never thought of that.
Guest: Thank you for the comment! I'm glad you were amused by the chapter. Also, I can't take credit for much of the situation the boys find themselves in...creative readers chose a bunch the details. Thanks again!
Timelady66: Ha! Hysterical! Now, there's some sign that there might be demon activity...who knows? Maybe it was a deal after all. Think some great-great-lotsa-greats-child renewed a deal? Or maybe it's an evil tree god like the one in Burkittsville in season one. Or Bernard made a deal to have two handsome body-guards show up. Ha!
stedan: The storm hasn't arrived after all.And I didn't pick the monster this time – but it's a doozy! My weirdo sense of humor is really coming out in this story, and I'm definitely messing withthe guys. No cliffie on this chapter...how odd. But the night will definitely not be nice and quiet. (Wow, you are getting lots of little hints!)
sfaulkenberry: Wait, what? You want whumpage? I had no idea. I love that ep too. Just for the record, you are welcome to send me prompts and ideas any time too. (Hint, hint.) Bampot is one of those words that I fell in love with the first time I ever heard it.I adore Crowley and think he'll definitely have more moments in this story.
Kathy: I couldn't call her Charlie without thinking about theotherCharlie. I'm not sure what it says about me that I could think up the kinds of things they claimed to want to do to Crowley, but they made me laugh anyway! The guys won't be staying an hour away – I can promise that. And they won't have a nice, quiet night either. Hehe.