The pastor lived right down the street in a two-story ranch-styled home that had Dean shaking his head. "Maybe I should become a pastor, money looks good."
Sam chuckled as he took in the neighbourhood. He could see the church's steeple in the distance and couldn't help but agree with the subtle dig at the pastor. The home was nice compared to the smaller homes that lined the street with broken, fenced in lawns.
They had just stepped onto the white porch when the door opened to see Margret welcoming them inside with a welcoming grin.
"Come in, come in! It's February in Oklahoma, weather ain't the best to be outside." She insisted, closing the door behind them with a sigh of relief. Sam let out a polite smile.
"Agents, this is my beautiful daughter Liza." Margret introduced the girl in the dining room who sported a white blouse and blue jeans. Liza gave both men a smile and offered her hand to them both, Dean eagerly taking the shake first.
"I'm Agent Michael and this is Agent Anthony." Dean's smirk grew at the blush on the younger blonde's face. "But please call us Dean and Sam. It's nice to meet you Liza."
"You too, sir." Her drawl was enough to make Dean smirk over at Sammy while the women weren't looking. His brother rolled his eyes at the salacious look. "Thank you for what all you do."
"Oh, it's a privilege."
Sam pursed his lips and shoved his brother discretely.
"Sam, Dean! I'm so glad you could make it!"
Sam turned towards the new figure entering from the kitchen and smiled at the pastor who no longer was wearing his clerical collar, but a white button down and slacks. He shook hands with the patriarch and immediately sat down where he was gestured to sit.
Meaningless conversation seemed to ensue while Liza helped her mother put the food on the table and Sam was quick to try and help, but ultimately denied with a firm hand on his shoulder by the matriarch. "You're our guests." Was the simply sentence before they were left to finish a conversation about fake lives they created in the spot. The women had just sat down with Pastor Jack handing over his thanks to his wife with a sweet kiss on the lips before clasping their hands in prayer.
Sam and Dean shared a smirk while eyes were closed, Dean rolling his eyes dramatically.
"Lord, we thank You for the food before us, the friends beside us, the love between us; And may Your Presence among us give us peace-"
The front door slammed open and everyone jolted up, the hunters standing in alarm at the sudden noise. At first there was some movement before a figure walked in through the doorway, Dean's hand unconsciously covered his holster in preparation while Sam watched the facial expressions of the family members change to various states.
The figure was a teenage girl in a dark hoodie and jeans that were scraped and torn at the knees. Light red hair pulled up into a pony tail, piercings on either ear, and a worn skateboard held under an arm.
Liza's eyes lit up with a smile as she waved to the girl, the grin falling millimetres as she was ignored for an eye roll. While Liza seemed happy to see the girl, the adults had a different expression. Pastor Jack's hands had clasped together tightly to an almost white knuckled grip while Margret's eyes had turned sharp, chin discreetly moving up to look down her nose at the girl.
- and their two daughters.
"...didn't know we were eating at the table." The girl pointed out sarcastically, already noticing that there wasn't a place for her as she glanced pointedly at the empty spot at the wooden six-seat dining room table. "Mmmm, Ravioli. Looks good."
There was a silence as Sam and Dean stared with furrowed eyebrows, glancing over at each other for only a moment. It wasn't until the frown on Pastor Jack's face was wiped into a wobbly smile, eyes narrowed slightly at the new occupant that seemed to be the opposite of them all.
Jack hesitated before gesturing over to the figure. "Agents, this is my other... daughter. Jezebel." His eyes sharpened at his daughter. "Jezebel, this is Agents Michael and Anthony. You will refer to them as Mister."
Jezebel raised an eyebrow. "Like the guy from Van Halen?"
Dean cleared his throat, offering a tight smile. "Happy coincidence."
"Director has a sense of humor." Tried Sam, elbowing his brother.
"Right." The teen replied dryly as she leant her skateboard against the wall with a sigh. "I'm going to the kitchen."
The air was thick as Sam and Dean slowly sat down in their chairs, a new emotion or two flying in the air that had them both shifting awkwardly in their chairs as the girl disappeared behind them into the kitchen. Pastor Jack licked his lips before turning apologetically to Dean.
"I'm so sorry 'bout her."
"Why?" Dean asked curiously and Jack blinked at the honest question, lips parting to answer before the chair at the end of the table was pulled away and all eyes followed the movement. Jezebel rolled her eyes as she sat at the final seat of the table.
"Don't, uh, don't like ravioli?" Sam asked politely to the girl across from him, glancing at the pre-packaged salad and she raised an eyebrow.
"I'm a Celiac."
"You don't sound European." Dean accused.
Jezebel snorted and Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. A smile tilted onto her lips as she turned to the shorter of the two agents. "I think that's Celtic man."
"It means she's allergic to gluten." Liza provided helpfully and Jezebel refused to acknowledge the look her way. "I-it comes from wheat. Breads, cereal... pasta—"
"So... why the hell are we eating gluten?" Dean asked baffled, slightly moving the plate of pasta opposite of her direction as if even seeing the dish would kill her.
"W-well we just weren't..." The father seemed to struggle with a reason as he looked at his wife for help. "We thought she'd be gone." Liza quietly looked down at her plate and Dean looked across the table at the eldest sister.
"A-anyways..." Margret cleared her throat with a hesitant smile, looking over at Sam. "Please, eat! There's plenty to go around!"
"Boys as big as you must need plenty of protein!" Jack jumped in hurriedly. "Please, eat. We have pie to eat."
At the very mention of sweets, Dean accepted the topic change, diving into his plate of food happily and successfully cutting the thick atmosphere down into a fraction of what it was before. Next to him, Sam eyed Jezebel waiting for her to provide input in the different conversations that fluttered through the table.
But she said nothing.
And when her salad was done, Jezabel left the table, disrupting the lively atmosphere for only a moment before the family was quick to make small talk in effort to distract. An announcement of pie and questions of vanilla ice cream filled the spaces in between while Sam couldn't help the bed of his lips as he examined the mysterious teen during her silent departure.
"Oh, Jezebel, dear."
His eyes widened at the symbol on the back of her hoodie as she slowly turned around and stared fully at her mother.
"The garden needs watering."
Jezebel nodded once and Sam kicked his brother's foot, nodding to the back of the girl and watched his brother's breath hitch.
Who would of thought?
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"A random teen in Davis, Oklahoma wearing a hoodie with an Anti-demon possession symbol?" Sam blurted out as soon as the front door was closed and they were alone in the cool night air.
"Seems like trouble." Dean grumbled out with a stretch of his back. "Won't even talk to her family?"
"Her family made an entire dinner she couldn't eat." Sam pointed out. "Doesn't that seem weird?"
"Eh, we're not child services. She's got a roof, clothes, and food. That's all a kid needs."
Sam stared at his brother with disbelief. "You're unbelievab- where are you going!?"
Dean paused to turn with an exasperated look, gesturing to the side of the home he had just began to walk to. "Investigating." His tone was patronizing.
"Dean you can't— Dean!" Sam hissed as he followed quickly behind his brother. "We could get in a lot of trouble—!"
"Shh!" Dean whacked the taller of the two in the stomach, gesturing harshly to behind the home. Sam pushed down the desire to retaliate and instead glanced in the direction of the small wooden shed where Liza's sister Jezebel stood, staring out at the forest.
"Think she's... witchy?" Dean whispered lowly, eyes accusing, but Sam only frowned.
"No, I just think she's your average troubled teen, Dean."
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Jezebel violently twisted up the water hose back onto its holder, a tingling in her veins so fiery that she felt she'd combust if it weren't for the water that drenched her. A hole in the hose unknown to her had her clothes sticking to her body in an uncomfortable fashion and the cold chill of the night blew harshly, nearly freezing her. Her least favorite chore during her least favorite time given by her least favorite people.
With a huff, she finished wrapping up the now taped up hose and leant against the side of the shed, a coldness pricking her skin that wasn't from the windy, cold weather of February in Oklahoma.
Jezebel stared into the woods behind her childhood home as she carefully reached into her hoodie, routinely pulling out her pack of cigarettes and fishing one out. With the stick between her lips, she brought out her red bic and carefully lit the end, breathing in a deep breath of nicotine and sighing out the smoke as it warmed the coldness inside.
She stood there for a few minutes, looking out into the branches as they stood naked in protection against the harsh air, and finishing up the addiction that fed her veins.
Her stomach was growling in protest yet her blood called for more as she took the final smoke before putting it out in the dirt, wrapping the yellowed-butt in a tissue, and shoved it down in her pocket. The smoke both made her feel better and worse, but there was a life expectancy attached to it that didn't concern her. She parted her lips to speak.
"Smoking under age is a crime, y'know."
Jezebel's stomach dropped at the voice, tending and turning with fists clenched to see the FBI agents in front of her strolling over, the shorter of the two looked at her accusingly while the tallest looked annoyed.
"I'm 18." She replied sourly.
"You sure about that, kid?"
"You sure you're a cop?"
The silence was aghast.
"Where'd you get that hoodie?"
Jezebel's lips tightened and thinned, her hands clenching the ends of her sleeves protectively. "None your business." She snapped aggressively.
"You can't talk to an agent that way!" The brunette barked like a marine and Jezebel took a step back, but allowed no fear to show on her face. Only righteous anger and aggression.
"You're harassing me. Go away." The teen demanded with a curl of her lip, brushing by the two roughly to quickly get back to her home. She made a pit stop at the trash can, throwing the butt inside a tissue away before scowling at the two men in her backyard. "It's best if you leave."
"Why?" The taller one demanded in a kinder voice than his partner. "We just want to help."
"Help?" Jezebel scoffed, kicking the dirt at her feet with a sarcastic smile. "Davis is beyond help." Her lips fell into one of sadness, a terrible one that had Sam surprised with her age. Carefully she opened the back door and her eyes flickered from the woods to the two men in front of her. Her voice softened, a bare graze of a whisper flying through the air. "Maybe it's for the best."
—————
"Witch." Dean said decisively, throwing his coat onto the bed. "Let's gank 'er and go."
"Dean." Sam admonished with a shake of his head. "She's not a witch!"
"She smokes!"
"We were drinking in our preteens and she smokes at the legal age."
"W-well! Doesn't matter." Dean grumbled out. "We need to find out who else was on that trip and start interviewing."
"Why not start with the pastor's daughter, Liza?" A salacious grin grew on Dean's face and Sam groaned. "Dean, she's in high school."
"I didn't say anything."
"Wish you'd do that more often..."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
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Wednesday: Day 2
"Rachael Jenkins. One of the Chaperones for the camp out last weekend." Sam pointed out as they hopped onto the steps of the old wooden home miles away from the nearest business. A couple of horses lurked in the fields surrounding them with blankets over them, the same as a few cows wandering even deeper on the large property. "Not sure her deal, but she was the on the scene."
Sam took a moment to examine the old door before knocking on it firmly. At first there was nothing, but before he could not again a faint curse sounded inside the home followed by some tumbling. Sam made eye contact with his brother before the door opened to see who he suspected was Rachael Jenkins.
"Uh, are you Miss Jenkins?"
The woman scoffed as as she crossed her arms. In her later 30's she wore a white t-shirt with a thick flannel and old Levi's with stains and wear on the ends - definitely a woman who worked outside.
Her eyes narrowed at the two men. "Depends who's askin'." Her voice was clipped as she openly glanced up and down at the two men, arms crossed, chin raised just a little to look down her nose.
Just as a hundred times before, Dean and Sam pulled out their badges to show off their rehearsed song and dance. Rachael allowed the men their scene before sighing and gesturing them into her home with a short grumble as she closed the front door.
The living room that Sam and Dean were bearded to was well-used, worn, loved, and just messy enough to feel like a home with books on the night stand, blankets on the couch and chairs, and a small antenna TV that sat on a table in the corner of the room next to a record player. Dean couldn't help eyeing the taxidermy buck head that hung tauntingly over a rifle on the wall.
"You hunt?"
Dean smirked a little shrugging.
"I dabble."
Sam snorted.
"Right." Rachael drawled out suspiciously, her lip curled up just a bit. A neigh of a horse outside the window got their attention, but Rachael didn't even glance over as handed over some sealed water bottles to her guests.
"You were the counsellor for the trip this past weekend, yes?"
"Unfortunately." Rachael sighed out, shoulders dropping as she took a sip from her glass of scotch. "It's been a while since I've seen... that."
"What do you mean?"
Rachael didn't answer for a moment as she hid behind her glass, before setting it down with a worn exhale. Without any words, she carefully pulled up her right pant leg and nodded to the thin metal that was in place of flesh.
"Marine for a decade and all I got was this metal leg." Her voice was dry as sandpaper, but there was a smirk on her lips that came with dark humor. "Came home, got my medical retirement, and now I'm here."
Another bright and Sam's elbow had Dean's stare moving sheepishly to the woman. "Uh, sorry, I-"
"Pah." She interrupted, waving her hand dismissively and letting her not fall down naturally. "It was the leg with my exes name on it, so it worked out."
Eventually, after what seemed like a deliberate awkwardness handmade by Rachael Jenkins, they were able to pull out more information regarding what the woman had seen. She claimed to be first on the scene, waking up the nearest teen as she called 911 while checking to see if there were any girls alive.
When asked about the symbology and if that bothered her Rachael only shrugged, leaning back in her seat with almost a far away look as she stared at a folded flag on the wall in front of her. "I've seen men and women kill under all kinds of symbols." Was all she said and they spoke for only a few minutes more before leaving to interview one of the younger girls.
"Think she had anything to do with it?" Sam asked in the Impala. Dean shrugged.
"Doubt it, but I also doubt she was a hundred percent truthful with us too."
"I was thinking the same thing."
Sure, she had been like steal and seemed impenetrable, but there had been small hiccups of her story, shifting in her seat, but not enough to appear malevolent. Just... dishonest.
"Who's next?"
"Veronica Blakenship." Sam replied, quickly pulling out the stack of papers and clearing his throat with a sip of water from the plastic bottle given to him. "Junior, secretary of the Ruth's girls, and the one to talk to 911 while Rachael tried to find life."
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