Dean squints when he steps into the light. A plain blue sky stretches out to the horizon, the bright color slowly turns pale as it approaches the illusion between heaven and earth. He's outside in the parking lot, which is almost completely filled with cars. It doesn't have the sinister feel to it like it had last night, or should he say this morning. He needs coffee and he needs it bad. For some reason Sam drank it all and he refuses to drink the crap from the machine in the lobby. He left his coat in the motelroom and is wearing a jacket over his shirt, expecting it to be chilly outside, but the sun feels pleasantly warm. He took a warm shower after Sam woke him up by turning up the volume completely as the wolf of Deep Purple started howling on the radio. That didn't wake him up actually, but the drum solo of the song Hush following up did. A good wake up call, he has to admit, but he still feels like he's hung over; tired, hungry and in desperate need of caffeine. Traffic rushes by, most of it entering the city of Rochester. It's a big city, big enough for people to disappear in without others noticing. For a moment he thinks of those the shapeshifter, or whatever it is they're hunting, already took. Sam found a string of at least seven disappearances and that conclusion was drawn from the information he had direct access to from his laptop while Dean was driving up North. These people, they could be anywhere. Dead? Probably. Going to die if they don't find the hide out fast? Definitely. But before he can work, he needs some decent food and decent coffee; Taco Bell and Starbucks, now that would be the ultimate combination. When he asked Sam where Zoë was, all he got was "out", followed by "she's already getting us lunch" when Dean grabbed his wallet and intended to leave. Geek, always staring at a computer screen typing like a psychopath. Dean went out anyway, he needed some fresh air. Slowly he strolls towards his car. The pitch black Chevy Impala blinks in the sun, chrome glisters. Dean smiles; what a sight. He's honored to drive the car Dad gave him a while back. Not just because she's such a joy to ride, but because it was Dad's, Dad's first car. He kind of owes it to his old man to take care of her. It's what he expects him to do; to take care of the family.
"Hey baby", he greets his Chev, letting his hand glide over the trunk.
"Since when have we reached the fase that you call me 'baby'?"
Dean looks over the top of his car and finds Zoë's Harley parked on the other side, but he can't spot its owner. He walks around and finds her, laying on her back on top of a skateboard, underneath her bike.
"Who says I was talking to you?", Dean says, leaning against the hood.
She rolls from under her Road King and observes him for a few seconds, then she grabs a socket wrench ands slips back under.
"Right, men talk to their cars. I forgot they do that", she comments.
Dean decides not to respond; it's still early and he's not sharp yet. The rhythmical sound of the bolt being turned sounds like music to his ears and he suddenly has the ease to get his tools out of the trunk and get some work done himself. But his baby's fine, she doesn't need work right now.
"What's wrong with it?", Dean asks curious.
"I was in a bit of a hurry last night, probably hit a speedbump too fast. It's just the packing, nothing serious", she explains without pausing.
"And what's wrong with you?", he rephrases his question.
"Excuse me?", Zoë asks caught off guard.
This time she does pause, but doesn't make an effort to get from under her Harley.
"You heard me", he doesn't bother to repeat himself.
"There's nothing wrong with me, short buss".
Zoë continues tightening the bolt, faster than she did a moment ago; she's annoyed about the fact that she doesn't know where he's going to with his questioning.
"Then what is that bullet wound doing there?", he asks smartly.
Startled Zoë sits up and hits her head hard the chrome outlet of her bike, causing a loud bang. She curses like a sailor when she lands back on the skateboard. She didn't realize her blouse has crawled up. Dean smirks, but hides his smile when she rolls from under the bike. Irritated she pulls down her blouse to hide the scar. She uncomfortably acts like neither he or she know about it and rolls the skateboard under her Harley again. Dean, of course, isn't going to let it go.
"Did Sam shot you?", he asks.
"What? Sam?", she returns uninterested.
"Last night he fired two bullets at you. Did he shot you?", he repeats.
"Ha, like that's even theoretically possible", she laughs.
"I'm not kidding", he says serious.
She gives the bolt one last turn and appears from under the bike, this time without hitting her head. Annoyed she looks up at him. Crap; how the hell is she gonna talk her way out of this one?
"Don't worry, your bro won't get the credit", Zoë comments sarcastic as she grabs a dirty cloth and cleans her hands, looking away.
"If he didn't shot you, who did?", he asks, clearly not excepting a smart answer.
"What does it matter? It's nothing serious", she muddles as she gets up.
"It is, you got shot, damn it", Dean argues.
"So did you. How's that shoulder by the way?", Zoë quickly changes subject.
"No no no…", Dean shakes his head an grins. "I'm not gonna fall for that. My shoulder's fine, thanks, but you're still answering that question".
She sighs, damn it! Seems like there's no way out of this.
"It's not that bad, it was a clean shot", she insures, still avoiding Dean's question.
"Did you get the bullet out?", he asks.
"Of course I got the bullet out", she answers annoyed.
"Who shot you?", he again questions.
She doesn't answer him and walks over to him after which she leans against Dean's Chevy besides him. Her dark hair is still wet from the shower she took earlier and seems black. When she looks aside, she finds Dean's eyes, waiting for some kind of response. With a sigh she gives him an answer.
"The shapeshifter".
Dean needs a moment to analyze her words, he doesn't know which question he needs to ask first.
"So it is a shapeshifter", he concludes. "You ran into him?"
Again she looks aside. Should she tell him everything? She knows he will keep digging till he does, but she could lie. Oh what the hell, she might as well give him the whole story.
"Yeah, yesterday evening. I had an appointment with a possible next victim, this guy called Cliffer or something. Turned out the son of a bitch already shed into him…", she explains, but Dean intervenes.
"Wait, Cliffer? As in Terry Cliffer?", he asks.
"Yeah", suspicious she looks aside.
"Oh crap, you're Sharon Evans", he rubs his face, realizing what is going on.
"What? How the hell do you know my fed ID? " Zoë asks puzzled, already with a tone.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but I think Sam did got you shot", he starts off hesitating.
"Excuse me?", she cries out, turning at him completely stunned.
"We rang Cliffer round five yesterday afternoon, to make an appointment", he admits.
She stares at him as the missing links connect.
"Let me guess! FBI agent?", she places her hand in her side and bites her lip; she's pissed.
"Yeah… He asked if Sam was Sharon Evans' partner or something. We didn't realize we were on someone else's case", he admits.
"You son of a…", she swallows down the last words and turns around furiously.
That's why he changed! She didn't gave herself away, they did! It's a bit of a coincidence that two FBI agents call one day after the other, being on the same case without knowing if from each other. The shapeshifter was tailing Cliffer already, she was suspecting that, but when he heard about the appointments, he changed shape quicker than planned. He knew from that point on that there's at least one hunter in town, he's on to them.
"Crap!", she curses out loud.
Mad she turns away and walks back and forth between Dean's car and her bike. Dean's just follows her with his eyes, not saying a word. He knows that everything he'd say, even if it isn't even a smart attempt to lighten the mood, will only make her angrier.
"The bastard knows, that's why he's one step ahead", now that she knows, she's pissed she didn't see this before. "What time's that appointment?"
"Five thirty", Dean answers shortly.
"Where?"
"Beetle's Bar or something?", he hesitates, not sure if the information he's sharing is right.
"You don't know?", she asks annoyed.
"Sam knows, he's the geek, not me", he says offended.
Zoë closes her eyes and forks her fingers through her hair, staring at the passing traffic for a moment. She doesn't seem amused.
"I don't see why this is a bad thing", Dean doesn't get her sudden mood change.
"Why it's a bad thing? It probably means the real Terry Cliffer is dead!", she snipes, after which she lowers her voice as guests walk out Motel Six.
"You don't know that", Dean argues.
"Not for sure, but he's not exactly happy at home with his wife and kiddies either, is he?", her eyes penetrate his.
"Maybe not, but the shifter doesn't know that we've met. That gives us the advantage, he doesn't know we know about him", he looks back.
"What was your major plan then, Hannibal Smith?", she likes to know.
"I don't have plan, like I said…"
"Sam's the geek, I know. Djees, seems like your folks saved the brains for the second kid", she sighs and finds her own balance again instead of leaning against the black car.
Dean rolls his eyes and glares at her, but she already turned her back on him. She picks up the tools she just used on her bike and puts them back in a small case, resting on the saddle. As she cleans up she tries to figure out some kind of plan, but if she's not even sure with who Sam actually made that appointment, then how can she work out a plan? She stops with what she was doing and stares at the asphalt. Her eyes say nothing, just an empty gaze, going through the scenarios. Dean observes her for a moment.
"Did you eat?", Dean asks out of nowhere.
"No", she answers confused; what does that have to do with anything?
"Then how the hell can you think properly?", he questions.
She shrugs, only just now realizing that her stomach sounds like as if there's a war going on inside. It's no fun to admit it, but Dean has a point.
"You're right, I'm off", she throws her right leg over her Harley and lands in the black leather saddle.
She picks up her old biker jacket from the steer and puts it on.
"Can I come?"
The way he asks is like a little boy would ask his father to come along for the ride. She chuckles and shakes her head.
"Sorry Dean, I fly solo".
Her engine starts with a satisfying spur instead of the louder sputter it produced earlier on. She smiles contended and puts on her helmet. Dean on the other looks at her just like that little boy would do, disappointed. Then she takes off and exits the parking lot. Just before she turns on the parallel road to the 52 highway, she glances over her shoulder with a grin on her face.
"Thanks for lunch!", she shouts to overrule the sound of her Harley.
Lunch? Puzzled Dean watches her drive off. He feels his pockets, knowing he's missing something. Then the identical roar seem to come closer again; he looks up. The Harley Davidson isn't exactly coming back, but drives down the 52 into Rochester. She heaves her hand victoriously holding his wallet as she drives by. Dean's eyes follow her, his mouth half opened, completely flabbergasted. Dirty little thief, she just stole his wallet! He sighs pissed as Zoë and her Harley merge in the busy traffic in the distance. How could she…? When did this...? Stunned he stares and chuckles. Unbelievable. He, a Goddamn hunter, got pick-pocketed. While shaking his head he turns around and walks back to the lobby, muddling softly.
"Son of a bitch"…