A dark figure stalks toward a house, quickly disabling the alarm and picking the lock before entering. Once inside, he stands still for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the low lighting of the kitchen. He knows that almost every room in the house has a small nightlight turned on because the woman that lives here hates complete darkness, that suffocating feeling of being watched by ghoulies and long-legged beasties. He'd be lying if he said it doesn't help more than the others, not having to rely completely on his slowly-adjusting eyes.
The man starts up the stairs, skipping the one that creaks under too much weight, and goes into the first door to the right. Her room. Memories rush through him, playing out in black and white like an old movie; a pretty blonde dancing in a nearly empty living room, bare feet sliding easily over the wooden floor with her little sister copying her steps, a harsh summer and too-few crops, the sweet perfume that clings to her.
He presses the heel of his hand into his temple, rubbing furiously until he can think again, coherent thoughts he can understand and cling to. With his thoughts back in control, he walks into a bedroom that's lit by moonlight and the small Minnie Mouse nightlight plugged in by the desk. His eyes sweep over everything before they land on the woman lying in bed; light blonde hair, tanned skin—almost too tan for it to actually be natural this time of year in Oklahoma—laugh lines around a lax mouth, and a fluttering of lashes against rounded cheeks.
Laughing softly, he sits next to her on the twin-sized bed and pulls the blanket aside, eagerly taking in her fit form. She's almost an exact replica of Vivian, just like all the others have been, and he will take delight in this.
He gently shakes her shoulder until dark green eyes flutter open, staring up at him in confusion and dawning terror. Those eyes are all wrong, the fantasy marred by small details and the choked gasp that manages to escape before he can clap his ungloved hand over those plump lips.
"Shh, no need to wake the neighbors," he whispers with a grin.
He can see the recognition, the hope that this is all just some kind of bad dream, but that's one of his favorite parts. This is what knits the fantasy together, the fragile tie to times gone by and an echo of Vivian's betrayal. Vivian hadn't expected it either and that had turned out perfectly, his mind conjuring the phantom scratch of her nails across chest and the sting of a slap blooming across his right cheek.
The woman on the bed, Sonya, whimpers as he brings up his gloved hand and lets the sharpened knives trace patterns over her skin, barely hard enough to make the skin redden yet not enough to draw blood. Her thin nightgown is easily cut away to reveal more of her soft curves, an oval-shaped birthmark high on one of her hips.
"Please," she begs into his palm. "Please, I can give you money, just—"
"Stop begging," he hisses. "She didn't beg, she never begged! Don't ruin this for me." But the sobbing pleas only get more frantic and his temper flares, the man seeing everything in shades of red as he brings the glove down fast, feeling blades cut through skin and muscles as he drags them from one side to the other with a delicious heat coiling low in his belly. So disobedient. The next one will do better.
His thoughts turn to the new woman in town, the one that could actually be Vivian reborn even if she's missing some of the natural grace. He's seen her a couple of times since she arrived, talked to her a bit before the jealous man she's with came and stole her away. He'll get her back, though. Vivian Mayson is meant to be his.
"Liza," Dean says, shaking her shoulder impatiently. "C'mon, the cops just got called to another murder." She pulls the covers over her head and curls up into a tight ball with a groan, not wanting to face the sunlight or the stench of a corpse. Too damn early to investigate a murder. "What, are you six? This is your last warning." She keeps her eyes squeezed shut stubbornly until she feels calloused hands grabbing her ankles and yanking her across the mattress.
"Son of a bitch," she yells in surprise as her back hits the carpet. "Why can't people get murdered around nine, so I can sleep in?"
"Sorry the dead aren't a little more considerate," Sam remarks with a wry smile. He helps Elizabeth up off the dirty pink floor and hands her a bottle of pop before she can even open her mouth to ask for it.
"Damn, and I didn't even have to sleep with you to get you to do stuff." Dean chokes on his coffee, spewing the hot liquid all over himself and the table that holds Sam's laptop, his eyes huge as they usually are when he's unprepared for something to happen.
"Choke somewhere else, man, I just got that computer." He holds the laptop against his chest protectively, throwing a handful of fast food napkins at his brother. While the boys have the napkin war to end all napkin wars, Elizabeth grabs her bag and locks herself in the bathroom to go through the usual morning routine. Since a crime scene means dealing with cops, she chooses an off-the-shoulder cream blouse and a black skirt that makes her look a little older, paired with the simple black heels that make her calves look great and her toes feel like they're slowly being cut off.
She walks out of the bathroom with a yawn, shooting a brief glare at Dean before dropping onto Sam's lap and laying her head on his shoulder. Sam's only reaction is to wrap one arm snuggly about her middle, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead as she nuzzles closer. It isn't fair that he got good looks and seems to have an internal space heater. He's such a big 'ol teddy bear sometimes.
"After the crime scene, can I take a nap," Elizabeth asks, voice barely heard over the clatter of the ice machine outside.
"Sure, but we actually have to make it to the crime scene first," Sam points out, giving another squeeze before nudging her to get up. It's with great reluctance and a pitiful moan that she flips her sunglasses down and braves the early morning sunlight, navigating her way into the backseat with her eyes closed. "Hey, you think that cop from two days ago will be there?"
"I hope he is. I didn't get near enough time with him." Dean scoffs, shaking his head as he gets behind the wheel. It's satisfying to know the elder Winchester brother can get jealous, especially since he's never seemed jealous of anyone else Elizabeth has been with before. Granted, most of those other people had been drunken one night stands, but the point is still valid.
"The guy reminded me of that freakin' Dollar guy from that dumb book you nerds like," Dean grumbles as he pulls out onto the road, slowly merging with the flow of traffic.
"Uh, it was Dolarhyde and Red Dragon was a good book. Those dumb westerns you like on the other hand…." It's easy to tell the western comment almost causes Dean to have an aneurysm because he slams on his brakes in the middle of the highway and risks having his baby rear-ended. "Jesus, Dean, a little warning next time would be nice!" He flounders a few seconds, too upset to speak until Sam smacks the back of his head.
"Dude, you drive or I will," Sam admonishes with a frown. Dean's head snaps to the side to face his brother, green eyes narrowed before he lets out a huff and faces the road again. If the rest of the day is going to be like this, then they're gonna have to make a run to the liquor store. Now I know why pirates were constantly drunk. "Okay, so the latest victim is Sonya Wagner; twenty-three, blonde, around 5"2, and one hundred and thirty-three pounds."
"You got all that from a call that went out over the police scanner?"
"Uh, no, I got all that by calling in advance to tell the cops that agents Gamgee, Angus, and Young would be stopping by to assist if they could." Hmm, maybe we should do that more often and skip some of the awkward crap.
Elizabeth is wrong, calling ahead seems to have made everything more awkward than usual. The cop outside that's in charge to turning away curious on-lookers takes one look at the trio, rolls his eyes, and raises the tape to let them in without so much as a nod of acknowledgement. Yeah, 'cause that's always a good sign that we'll fit right in.
"Maybe you shouldn't call ahead," Dean hisses at Sam. Elizabeth nods in agreement, lips pursed as she looks around the crowded home. The house itself is a modest, middle-class one with two stories; it's the type of house you'd see in an old movie with the white picket fence and a dog in the front yard.
"Let me guess," states a familiar voice," agents Angus, Gamgee, and Young." Elizabeth turns to the right and finds Clarke smiling at them, revealing two rows of perfect teeth that don't come naturally.
"How'd you guess," she questions with a teasing smile.
"Ya know, guessing names has always been a talent of mine. It's almost like I've been told them before." She laughs, walking over to him with the boys trailing after her. "So, why are the Feds interested in a run of the mill murder case, anyway?"
"Possible serial killer," Dean informs him, coming up to stand on Elizabeth's left. "Is that body still upstairs?" Clarke nods, gesturing for them to follow him up the stairs and to the first bedroom on the right. Inside is a mess; blood soaks the bed and sheets, some splatter on the wall like the killer had tried to paint with it, drying in sticky puddles across the floor. Elizabeth's seen worse things, but this still ranks in the top thirty.
She walks over to the body sprawled across the bed, the disturbing resemblance to herself making her stomach churn. It's bad enough that innocent women are being murdered left and right, but to have them be nearly identical to herself really takes the cake. Elizabeth looks to Dean with wide eyes, nervously chewing on her lip. She hasn't seen pictures of the other victims and she has a feeling that she really doesn't want to.
"Yeah, that's not creepy at all," Elizabeth mumbles, shuddering as she looks back at the latest victim. The remains of Sonya's nightgown are nothing but shredded cloth and the woman's face is frozen in an expression of pained terror. Whoever did this has a sick mind and needs to be buried alive. "Have you talked to the neighbors?"
"Yes, ma'am," Clarke nods. "The lady next door says she saw what appeared to be a young man leaving the scene around the time Sonya was murdered, but assumed that it was just a one night stand type of thing 'til she came to pick Sonya up this morning." She nods, feeling sad that someone so young had to die bloody like this. "You okay? You look a little pale."
"Don't worry, this isn't my first dead body. I just…. I'll have to find a way to get my mind off of it tonight."
"How about I take you out to dinner and we'll talk about anything you want except our jobs? I'll even pay the whole check."
"Alright, sounds like a plan." Beats staying in a motel room with Sam giving her a hard time about sitting out this case. "Pick me up around seven." With that, she leaves the room and goes back downstairs to talk to the next door lady herself.
Later That Night…
Dean scowls, watching Elizabeth as she struggles into the ridiculously high heels she'd magically pulled out of her duffle. If he wasn't so worried about her getting murdered, he'd probably wonder a little more if she's secretly Mary Poppins because there's no way that bag is big enough to hold all the crap she's pulled out of it.
"This is bull," he complains. "You shouldn't be going out without one of us tailing you. I mean, you saw that body and I can't be the only one that noticed the resemblance."
"Sammy, would you zip me up," she asks, completely ignoring Dean. Sam is also doing a good job of ignoring the stink eye Dean's sending his way, walking over and zipping up the back of the low-cut dress Elizabeth has on. It's the fancy designer kind, black and off-the-shoulder with a trim of black lace along the sleeves and the scooped neck of it. "Okay, I should be back around nine and I have my pistol in my purse in case I need it. No more worrying from either of you." Dean rolls his eyes, flopping back on the bed.
"Do either of you realize how insane this is? It's like walking into a wolf den and being surprised when one of them tries to eat your face." Elizabeth just shakes her head and pulls the motel door open, Clarke filling the doorway. He isn't necessarily broad, but there's light muscle and he has the height to be intimidating if he wants to be.
"Hey," he greets with a smile, blue eyes taking in the legs that her shoes enhance. "Um, you l-look…." He clears his throat, giving her a toothy grin.
"Alright, Romeo," Elizabeth grins, nudging his arm," let's go before you break something trying to come up with a description." Dean waits until he can't hear the click of Elizabeth's heels before pushing the curtain aside just enough to see the parking lot. So far, the only thing Clarke has going for him is that he holds the car door of his Mustang open for Elizabeth.
"You're gonna tail them, aren't you," Sam asks from where he's settled down at the table. His feet are propped up on the seat across from him and a book is propped on his knees, twitchy fingers pulling on the string of his hoodie.
"Just as soon as these fuckers pull out of the lot," Dean confirms. It won't be the first time he's trailed after people, though it is the first time he's done it to Elizabeth and he really hopes she doesn't catch him because she can get downright creative with her revenge. Last time he'd pissed her off, she'd dosed him with Benadryl and then covered him from head to toe in Hello Kitty band-aids, so many fucking band-aids. "Alright, c'mon."
"Dude, my book's finally getting good—" Dean doesn't even let him finish, grabbing the book out of his brother's hand and heading out to the Impala. "Hey! Man, that's not cool!"
He makes sure to keep at least half a block between the cars at all times, practically riding the breaks to keep from being too obvious until he can park across the street from a nice restaurant. Dean glowers at the happy couple, watching on as Clarke lets Elizabeth sample something off his plate. He grumbles under his breath when Elizabeth gives the cop a genuine smile usually reserved for the Winchesters or family.
"Bullshit," he grumbles under his breath.
"When are you gonna admit you're jealous," Sam asks when nearly an hour has passed. Dean glares at his little brother for a moment before going back to glaring at the couple across the street.
"I ain't jealous, I'm worried." Sam scoffs at that, going back to reading his book, not having the slightest interest in what their friend and the cop are doing at that moment. "Why the hell would she dress like that when she knows for a fact that there's some weirdo out there murdering women that look like her?"
"Maybe she thinks she can stab him in the eye with one of those heels." He isn't even looking up from his book, like he doesn't actually care that the woman he considers his sister is currently competing for America's Next Top Murder Victim. The book is thrown on the dash with a huff a moment later and Dean figures he's gotten to the part where Ned is accused of treachery. From what Elizabeth had said a few months ago, no one is safe in A Game of Thrones, least of all important and likable characters. "Anyway, I'm sure she'll be fine considering she has a cop with her."
Just then, Elizabeth and Clarke come out of the restaurant, hand in hand and heading towards the beat-up Mustang. Dean starts up the Impala and waits five minutes before following them back to the motel.
"About time, it's almost ten," Dean grumbles. The drive back in as uneventful as the drive to the restaurant, and he's quick to take a short cut that gets him back to the motel first so that Elizabeth won't suspect anything. His leg hair still grows in patchy and he doesn't want to get on her shit list with a Walgreens so close by.
His fists clench the steering wheel tightly when he sees Elizabeth kissing the cop—not an innocent peck on the lips, either—before the pair breaks apart and Elizabeth hurriedly unlocks the spare room Bobby had booked, leading Clarke inside by his tie with a coy smile. "Well, at least one of us is getting laid."
"That's— She's— I," Dean stutters, face a light shade of red.
"I'm gonna go take a shower, but feel free to stick around and watch if you want." Dean's eyes grow wide and he bangs his head a few times on the steering wheel before just letting it stay there.
I am not jealous, I'm just trying to protect her.