Chapter 5 to The Mark
"Surnames"
Author: Wakingsparrow
Author's Note:
Well aren't I making a liar out of myself? Still no lovely hum of asphalt and wind whipping though our main character's hair yet. Cut me a break! I totally had writers block and my birthday is rapidly approaching (cinco de mayo, bebe!), so no time to indulge in the company of my keyboard. This time, I promise, no…swear, we'll be enjoying some road trip action by next chapter. Hey, I'm gunna be 24! How creepy is that? Yikes! Half the time I get ID'd I hesitate and think I'm still 22! *snort.
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Mist settled over the yard as the sun broke the horizon, rocketing hazy beams off grimy car windows, reflecting onto little lakes of rain from the night before. Sparrows had began their resounding praise of the light from their lofty perches on the metal heaps, and one of the stray tom cats Bobby too offhandedly swore he wasn't feeding slinked under the green Ford truck out of sight. A track of footprints bee-lined up to the house without falter. Who ever they belonged to, they knew where they were going.
The thrumming in Dean's chest rose up to hammer in his ears as he swung open his Chevy's door. He could be walking into a variety of situations: A) It could be a black eyed son of a bitch strapped to a chair undergoing exorcism between gasps of black smoke. B) It could be a kitchen full of blood splatter everywhere and Bobby's lifeless form leaving a red streak down the paper tacked wall. C) It could be the aforementioned old hunter ushering out a confused commoner looking for spare parts…or D) Sam Winchester pulling his standard puppy eyes and filling him in on the hunt they'd shared almost two months ago. Every option had Dean on edge, and naturally he was hoping it wasn't B or D, but appalling enough, D made his blood pressure rush up like a broken dam.
He was at a 50% sprint when he bounded up the steps and skidded past the spring taunt door into the kitchen. The scene before him froze: Bobby was by the stove in the midst of pouring coffee, healthy as ever, flannel looking as dog-eared as the day before. The screened entrance behind him clacked against the wood frame noisily, making his presence better than acknowledged. Dean's head jerked over to register an unfamiliar man leaning back in a chair and mid-pause stirring the similar liquid in a mug. Instantly the heart that was moments before occupying his throat plummeted. He had been so stupid to even give the thought it would be Sam a second. He took a half step back and tried to catch his breath discreetly. It was safe to assume this wasn't a life threatening situation, though it was an embarrassing one. E) None of thee above…He always sucked at multiple choice tests in school.
"Glad you joined us, Dean." Bobby topped up a cup with caffeine and set it on the table space closest to the new arrival. "Got the Impala all set for a trip?"
Still in the doorway, he side-eyed the older hunter. "Yeah, I could be about ready to leave if I had to." That was an understatement, he'd been equipped to jump up and motor off at the drop of a hat for the last two weeks. He took up the coffee in front of him but didn't sit down. The warmth of the drink was absolutely unappetizing and the feel of the room was far too awkward for his comfort, but he knew he couldn't go escape outside now.
"Good." Bobby put the kettle on the burner and wiped his forehead with the back on his hand. "I'll get the names and directions for you two" The man disappeared into the living room.
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You two? What the hell?
.
Only now did Dean become aware that person at the table was brazenly sizing him up. Hazel-green eyes met with russet ones for an ephemeral instant, before they both flicked away. He couldn't read into anything from the fleeting gaze, but now he did have an excuse to actually look at the guy. He guessed he was around Sam's age, though not as tall and a much slighter build. Inky curls were pulled back loosely into a tie and his 5 o'clock shadow had undoubtedly been long forgotten for enough time it had developed into a scruffy short beard. A crude established scar ran just above one of his dark eyebrows and a 9 millimeter Beretta peaked out from under the edge of his jacket. He was a hunter, that much was for damned sure, though he'd never seen him before.
As they both took their time in assessing the other, Dean found he was more or less annoyed he'd been taken off guard. He could feel the dark bags under his eyes grow all the fuller and the gleam of dirt and sweat swathe him. Its not like he'd slept at the Hilton's and dreamed like a school girl. Shit, it had been only a few hours in the back of the Impala chalked full of whiskey that he'd rested. The recesses of his mind purged up his nightmare, but he clenched his jaw and forced the horror back down. Not fucking now.
The man before him, however, looked all fresher with the seven AM hour. His clothing was dark and worn and he presented himself with ease, tilted back in the chair as if he were in his own home. He tasted his drink casually and met Dean's eyes once more. It was again an illegible connection, but much too severe and cognizant for the weary hunter's state of mind. Dean already didn't like this guy's attitude; he was too exhausted and pissed to put up with any bull from visitors, even if they hadn't done a thing.
It appeared as though the other was on the verge of speaking, mouth agape with words, when Bobby emerged from the next room and cut short the strange exchange of judgments. He spread out a roll of paper onto the smooth timber to reveal a lengthy list of names jaggedly connected by lines.
"The family blood runs dry 'cept for this." He ran a finger down a bending trail that ended with two names. "We've got William Tenser - a plumber, suspiciously widowed with two sons – and his older brother Amon Tesner, a banker who's been recently separated and's barren thus far. It was their sister that got all mauled up in the woods when they were kids, so that leaves us with the next part of the pattern."
Dean leaned back against the counter. "Well, who doesn't sound like our cursed target?" He swallowed the bitter coffee and contorted his mouth. "Geez, Bobby, make it a little stronger will yah? You could stick a spoon in this vertical." Remembering he shouldn't be so lax with new company around, he shifted upright. "So where they at?"
…
Though his cup was drained by the end of the conversation, he felt more jittery than alert. His unwanted companion had been silent the entire time, simply nodding to make mental notes about the hunt ahead. Only after the brief hushed pause when Bobby's lecture was over, did he excused himself to dig though his pickup for necessities.
Though the fog had lifted though the shuttered windowpanes, the heat of the day began to make it's self know with each bead of sweat that emerged onto Dean's freckled features. The storm, with its gracious cool the night before, had doubled back on its self to renew the failing summer's humidity. Distant clanging and thuds of baggage encouraged him to finally speak freely. As frustration bubbled up in Dean like a geyser, he turned his elder with tense shoulders.
"What the hell Bobby? We finally find a job and you stick me with a total stranger? Let's hit the road! I can hardly work with someone I know, let alone this guy! It's you and me, Bobby, let's get it done."
The other man stared back wordlessly with knowing solidity behind his eyes.
"You can't be serious!" Dean started again, exasperated. "I'm not a freakin' babysitter here. You know the details, I need you on this."
He longed to bring his fist to something solid, but knew it would hardly help his point. His temper generally never convinced anyone to change their mind nicely, despite his consistent efforts.
"Dean, I've got more people counting on me than just you, yah know. I'd love to go with your sorry ass all the way to Texas, but the fake FBI doesn't run its self."
The ball-capped man sorted through a pile of paper and turned over a book. "Look, I know you're not all that thrilled about this, but I want you to know this isn't some sort of punishment I'm putin' on you. I'm the only one you've talked to in weeks. Might be good for you to deal with someone else for a while."
A thud from outside - perceptibly metal against soil, timed between the words prophetically.
"I talked to Sam."
Dean swore his heart suddenly went into atrial fibrillation.
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Shit. No no no. Not right now. I can't deal with this.
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"He didn't say much about you two or what happened, damn Winchester shut-mouths, but from what I gathered, I can't go and let you take a job alone right now. I know 'this guy's' family. He's a decent hunter, comes from a few of them. You won't be doing and babysitting, I'll promise yah that."
Dean didn't want to give up the argument, but he was terribly relieved Sam was well and had the tact not to divulge more to their surrogate father of anything else. At least it was clear what had happened stayed between the two of them.
He ground his teeth and emptied the last drop of coffee onto his tongue as a distraction. "Whatever. I don't even know the guy's name."
Bobby handed him the book he'd dug up.
"Sylas."
He gave him a satisfied crook of a smile, knowing he'd gotten the younger man to concede to the trip. The other took the hardback and flipped through the pages slowly.
"Sylas Mordel."
Dean's face fell rapidly at that.
Mordel.
That was a name he sure as hell hadn't forgotten.
Well this should be an interesting hunt.
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Reviews for my birthday? Pretty please?