A slightly longer chapter this time!
Huge thanks to Nikki and someone who shall not be named for keeping me sane these past few months. I couldn't have done it without either of them.
If you've read the first chapter before I posted the second (this) chapter, I added my AO3 tags in my opening notes in the first chapter. It gives this fic some context as to when it takes place.
New tags: Vampires
A woman in her late twenties opened the door.
"Mrs. De Bruyn?" Dean asked.
The woman nodded so the brothers pulled out their fake badges and showed them to her.
"I'm Special Agent James," he said then pointed to Sam with his badge, "and this is my partner, Special Agent Cornelius. We're here about the disappearance of your daughter, Andrea." Screw Sam for thinking he wouldn't remember their names.
Mrs. De Bruyn blinked slowly, processing Dean's words, before coming back to her senses. "Uh, yes, of course, please come in."
They followed her into the kitchen, where another woman was sitting at the counter, putting out a cigarette in an already filled-up ashtray. Dean didn't blame her one bit.
Mrs. De Bruyn joined her wife and put an arm around her middle for emotional support. "Helen, honey, these men are FBI and they want to ask us some questions about Andy."
The other Mrs. De Bruyn, Helen, blew her nose in a tissue. "What can you ask that the police don't already know?"
"Standard procedure, I'm afraid. The FBI has taken over the case and we have to go over some facts ourselves. Cross some t's, dot some i's." Sam looked between the two women. "Can you tell us what happened?"
They both had read all the reports, including Andrea's, thoroughly, but they knew from experience that there was a non-zero chance a parent would remember something they hadn't previously, especially if Sam used his puppy eyes on them.
Helen swallowed thickly. "She, uh, Andy was over at a friend's house for a birthday party on Sunday. Everything was normal when Poppy," she looked at her wife, who nodded, "picked her up after dinner."
Poppy continued. "They'd been playing all day so Andy was really tired and pretty much fell asleep on the way home. She skipped her current evening ritual. We didn't even get her to brush her teeth as she was sleeping standing up." She produced a watery smile at the thought. "Andy was in bed around 8 and I went to bed not long after. I'm a surgeon and I had a surgery scheduled for early the next day," she clarified. "When I got up at 3:30 I got dressed and while the coffee was brewing, I went to check on her and she was gone. I woke up Helen, we searched the house and then called the police."
"You didn't hear anything?" Dean asked the couple. "There was nothing out of the ordinary?"
Poppy shook her head. "Nothing that I can think of," she said.
Dean prepared himself mentally for the upcoming confusion. "No weird cold spots in the house? No weird smells? Has Andrea been acting different than usual?"
And indeed, the women looked at him as if he had grown horns.
"No? I mean," Poppy looked at her wife, "we try to keep the heat low, even now, but nothing out of the ordinary. And Andrea was just… Andrea. Everything was normal."
Helen nodded, then lit up a new cigarette while she also shook her head. "I sleep in the spare bedroom whenever Poppy has an early start so she can rest," she explained between drags. "I'm quite a light sleeper, but I take a sleeping pill sometimes and they knock me straight out."
"Did you take one the night of the kidnapping?" Sam asked.
Her face contorted and she nodded again.
Sam wrote all of it down on his notepad. "And no one has tried to contact you? No ransom, no demands?"
Tears sprung free from Helen's eyes. Poppy hugged her closer. "No," she said, "nothing." She looked at the brothers, her eyes pleading. "We heard from the police that Andy isn't the only one taken, is that true? Is it the same kidnapper?"
Sam glanced at Dean, not sure what to tell them. They didn't usually deal with kidnappings and didn't have a set action plan for those kinds of situations. Besides, they had no clue yet who or probably what abducted those kids.
Dean put on his big bro pants for Sammy. "Yes, that's correct. It's why the FBI has taken an interest in this case." Which was technically true. People were kidnapped all the time, but rarely did the supernatural have anything to do with it. They were much more likely to be murdered by the supernatural instead. Dean thought it best not to mention that. "We're currently investigating if the abductions are related but we can't say anything conclusive yet."
"Is it… does it include anyone we know?" Poppy asked. She absorbed every bit of assurance that their daughter was alive and well.
Dean didn't think so but then again, his research skills weren't the same as a real FBI agent's. Who knew what fun facts they would uncover. "I'm afraid those details are confidential, ma'am."
She deflated. Dean wanted to say something supportive, but if it really was a monster that had kidnapped those kids, the odds weren't in their favor at all.
Sam knew it too. "Is it okay if we take a look at Andrea's room?" He aimed his puppy eyes at the couple, moving the subject away from their kid's possible death and towards their current investigation.
Helen nodded. "The police already checked it out, but feel free to see if there's anything they missed." She took a long drag of her almost burnt-up cigarette before breathing a waft of smoke away from her wife. She tried and failed to cover up a cough with her hand. "I'm sorry about this, I haven't smoked since before Andy was born."
Sam smiled in a don't-worry-about-it way as Dean held up his hands to stop her from apologizing any further. "We understand. You're in an extremely stressful situation, after all." If only she knew how the Winchesters dealt with stressful situations. Having a few smokes was laughable in comparison, so she really didn't have anything to apologize for.
Sam steered the conversation back to Andrea. "Where can we find her room?"
Poppy gently untangled herself from her wife. Only after she was assured Helen would be okay for a minute without her did she gesture towards the hallway. "Let me show you."
⁂
The girl's bedroom, for all intents and purposes, was exactly like any other kid's room they had seen in their many years of hunting. Dean couldn't decide if the slight mess was left behind by the police or if it had already been there.
Sam sorted through Andrea's toys as Dean checked her bed and closet.
"I don't see anything that a normal kid shouldn't have," Sam commented after a few minutes.
"I also don't see anything out of the ordinary." Dean pushed the hangers around for the fourth time, in case this time he found a secret behind the girl's dresses.
"Did you take the EMF meter from the trunk?"
Dean patted his pockets. "It should be— found it." He grinned as he pulled it free and extended the antenna. He pointed it to multiple objects, anything that might be suspicious, but it didn't beep excessively. The bed, where the girl was taken from, the desk, closet, toys, all of it was safe. "No ghosts. I haven't found sulfur either."
"And I can't find any hex bags. Though the police could have found it before us, so maybe they have it in evidence?" Sam frowned.
"Can a witch make children disappear with a hex bag?"
Sam shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past them, but they'd have to be very powerful to do it."
"Someone like Rowena," Dean said what they were both thinking. If Dean got scared easily, he would have shuddered at the thought. He didn't, though, so he mostly felt annoyed at the witch for getting away. They hadn't seen the last of her now that they knew she existed.
"I'll check the lore when we get back to the motel," Sam promised. "If such a spell or hex bag exists, the Men of Letters must have known about it."
Dean hoped so. The one thing those chalky dead men had done well in their lives was keeping up with that excessive collection of lore in the bunker. That knowledge alone made the bunker worth more than all the money in the world.
He was drawing conclusions too soon, though. "First we should check the other places and the evidence locker," he pointed out. "Maybe it's not her." He really hoped it wasn't, for either of their sakes.
Sam didn't remember their short time together fondly, either. "I almost hope she's lying dead in a ditch somewhere."
Dean guffawed. "Wouldn't that be a treat." He looked around the room one last time and saw no crucial piece of evidence suddenly pop up. "Come on, let's get out of here."
The brothers were seated on a low, fluffy couch that Dean already knew was a bitch to get up from. Though, he had to admit it was a really comfortable couch. They should look into getting one themselves for the Bunker.
Sam had opted to be rude and not accept anything, but Dean was enjoying the coffee and homemade cherry pie he had received. The latter was especially exquisite.
Mr. Van Santen, who had introduced himself as Leonard and had insisted the FBI agents call him as such, was sitting across the coffee table. His wife, he had explained, used her work to distract herself from their awful situation. Their other child, a three-year-old boy named Hunter, was at school and thought his brother was staying at his grandparents' place for a while. The kid didn't suspect a thing, according to his dad.
Leonard, a jovial guy with a hearty laugh despite his missing kid, wasn't as visibly stressed about their son as he described his wife. It was due to his easygoing character, he said. Dean was too busy eating pie to question it.
So far, Sam and Dean hadn't heard any new information. The boys had gotten into a fight the day before the abduction, though that wasn't unusual for the two. They were both big fans of running around and roughhousing. The mom had put them to bed, read two stories, and left the nightlight on. Hunter couldn't sleep without it. She and Leonard went to bed like normal, and one of the boys was gone when they woke up. No clear signs of a break-in, nothing unusual, no weird sounds, and no strange smells. Hunter, who needed to pee during the night more often than not, had slept through the night and hadn't noticed a thing. The police were stumped and no one knew anything.
In the last ten minutes, Dean had probably learned more about this random father than he ever knew about Bobby. Although, nothing Leonard said registered for more than two seconds if what he said didn't relate to his missing son. Speaking of, Dean interrupted the man mid-sentence by broaching the subject that had been on his mind since yesterday.
"Castiel, that's an unusual name." Dean tried to keep his tone neutral, though he couldn't keep his amusement out completely.
Leonard blinked at the interruption but nodded. "My wife and I are avid readers and Castiel is our favorite character from a somewhat obscure book series called Supernatural. Maybe you've heard of it?"
Sam and Dean shared a look of utmost discomfort. Dean wished those books had never come into existence.
"It rings a bell," Sam said carefully, schooling his face into an acceptable and totally not awkward expression. Similar to Dean, he wanted to stay as far away from this topic as possible.
The spark in his eyes shone a little brighter, clearly happy to meet people who knew about the Supernatural books as well. "Actually, that's how we met. We both attended this one-off Supernatural fan convention a couple of years ago, and she stood behind me in line to get our books signed by the great Carver Edlund himself." He smiled at the memory. "She commented on my outfit and there was this immediate spark between us. We've been inseparable ever since."
Dean stopped himself from saying Carver Edlund wasn't all that great. That was one of the many cans of worms he would rather not open. And also, he would rather go back to hell for another forty years than be part of this conversation any longer. Even his time in Purgatory was preferable to this. Dean was useless when it came to small talk most of the time and he was done. He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "I'll leave you two to fangirl. Is it okay if I take a look in Castiel's room?" He stumbled over the name only a little. After so many years, he was so unused to saying 'Castiel' that it felt awkward on his tongue.
Leonard nodded. "Up the stairs, it's the first door on your right."
Sam shot him a look of agony and betrayal. Dean simply shrugged and practically raced up the stairs.
⁂
The boy's room looked exactly how Dean imagined a room would look for a four-year-old boy. The kid was spoiled too — Dean noticed several stacked clear boxes filled to the brim with toys, and an impressive rainbow-filled bookcase. He refused to let himself be jealous. Surely his childhood bedroom had been as cool as this one. He just couldn't remember it.
He pulled out the EMF meter and checked every corner and object in the room, but the meter didn't detect anything remarkable. Not that Dean expected there to be anything, but it was good to be thorough. Then he searched every nook and cranny for a hex bag and, again, found nothing that indicated anything supernatural happened.
When he was done and couldn't think of anything else he could do up here, he counted to ten very slowly. Then he did it a second time and a third. Only when he couldn't postpone it any longer did he go back downstairs.
⁂
Sam was nodding along to something Leonard said, still having that deer-in-headlights panicked look on his face. When he noticed Dean, his face lit up. Had he been any happier, Dean would have felt like Prince Charming, swooping in to save the day.
Dean shook his head and that light dimmed slightly. Yep, this was another dead end. Leonard hadn't noticed him yet and continued talking to Sam, who had completely stopped listening.
"Mr. Van Santen," Dean announced his presence, interrupting the man mid-sentence. He descended the stairs like he was the popular girl dressed up and ready for prom. "We won't hold you up any longer. Thank you so much for your time."
Leonard turned at the sound of Dean's voice. He smiled, eyes hopeful. "Did you find anything?"
"Nothing conclusive, I'm afraid," Dean admitted. It felt too harsh to say this visit was a complete waste of time apart from seeing Sam squirm. That nearly made this ordeal worth it.
Leonard didn't seem too bothered. "Okay. I'm sure there'll be an update soon enough."
Dean wasn't sure whether Leonard was just that laid back or whether there was more going on. Familial relationships weren't his problem, though. It wasn't like he was getting paid to be the man's therapist.
"If you think of anything else, this is where we're staying locally." Dean handed Leonard his current FBI business card. For a second, he feared he had given out the wrong one, because Leonard was looking at it a bit too long and too intently, but then he smiled gratefully and pocketed it. Dean breathed a tiny sigh of relief.
"Is it only for business?" Leonard addressed Sam. His eyes drifted toward a bookcase with his proudly displayed Supernatural books. Dean hated that he recognized them from that distance. "Or can I also call non-business-related topics? It doesn't happen very often that I meet a fellow fan, you see, and I'd love to talk theories with someone."
Sam cringed away from him ever so slightly. "Only business," he rushed to say before Dean could embarrass him again. And he was right to do so because Dean was about to.
Leonard's excitement dimmed somewhat. "Oh. All right, yes, I understand."
They quickly said their goodbyes and as they left, Sam just about ran out the door. Dean, left to wonder how bad the conversation between the two had been, followed with an amused smile.
Jody picked up Sam's call just as they pulled up at the police station. Sam put her immediately on speaker.
"What's up, fellas?"
"Any news?" Dean asked. A part of him still wanted to drop everything and help her out. He liked Jody, and he didn't like many people.
They heard Jody sigh. "Well, they found a second body last night. I already visited the morgue with my partner and it looks to be the same killer."
Sam grinned. "I'm sorry, but did you say 'partner'?"
Dean could almost hear Jody's eyes roll in exasperation.
"The sheriff of Hibbing made us partner up during the retreat." She sighed again. "I felt like the loner kid that's picked last for dodgeball."
Before Dean could ask what dodgeball had to do with her partner, someone, presumably the aforementioned partner, on Jody's end spoke loud enough for the brothers to hear.
"Jody-o, you take sugar?" The stranger asked from far away. Maybe Dean imagined it, but their voice sounded strangely familiar.
"No, no sugar," Jody called back, her discomfort audible.
Sam laughed, clearly enjoying Jody's quiet distress.
"Jody-o?" Dean couldn't keep the amusement from his voice.
"It's a—" Jody started, but gave up. "Don't ask."
Sam tapped Dean's arm with the back of his hand to get his attention. "Wait a second. Didn't that sound like, uh, Donna?"
Dean only needed half a second to know who Sam was talking about. "Fat-spa Donna, yeah." No doubt about it. That peppy but self-conscious sheriff was hard to forget. Dean was suddenly glad they were far away from Hibbing. He could tolerate only so much positivity in his life.
"Right," Sam grinned. Obviously, he was thinking the same thing.
"You guys know my stalker?" Jody's accusatory tone translated very well through the phone. A little too well, perhaps. Sam's grin grew wider.
"She nearly blew a case for us last time," Dean went straight into defensive mode as Sam fumbled for an answer. "We didn't let her get mixed up with our crap." It hadn't seemed worth it and in hindsight, Dean stood by their decision to keep her, ironically, in the dark.
"Yeah, I haven't been able to shake that ray of sunshine since I got here. She's actually been pretty helpful," Jody admitted, "but, you know, it's just tough keeping her out of this nightmare stuff. I'm doing my best, though."
"Let's just try to keep it that way." Dean didn't know what the dark side of their moon would do to Donna and he wasn't keen on finding out.
"Anyway," Jody pushed all of them back on track, "the flesh was eaten off the second vic, too. And get this, both vics were also mugged. The first is missing his belt, the second his wallet."
Sam frowned. "A belt? So, what, we have monsters eating and then robbing people?"
"Seems like it."
"That's weird." While Sam was visibly racking his brains on what sort of creature would do this, Dean came up with nothing.
Jody snorted. "Tell me about it."
Dean had to be certain. "You sure you don't want our help?"
"Want? Always. Need? No thanks, I got this covered," Jody said with confidence. Donna's voice was getting closer, talking to herself as she approached. "All right, I got to go."
"Good luck, Jody. Call us if you need to get rid of the body of our second favorite sheriff," Dean joked.
"Will do," Jody responded, her tone all serious. She hung up before the brothers could reply.
"I'm half convinced she was serious," Sam admitted with a laugh.
"Knowing Jody, she wouldn't need our help getting rid of a body," Dean said, not answering Sam's half-asked question if she was. Hunting was a prideful job and no hunter liked asking for help.
That knowledge relieved the last tension in Sam's face. "True."
⁂
The inside of the police station looked like an almost exact copy of every other police station they had ever been in. They flashed their badges to the guy behind the front desk, who directed him to the captain's office.
Captain Watson, a man who looked twenty years past retirement, was chin-deep in his lasagna when Sam and Dean entered. The smell made Dean's stomach complain about the fact that he hadn't had lunch yet. Breakfast had also been lacking, so he needed something to make up for it. He promised himself they would go looking for some food as soon as they were done here. For now, all he could do was yearn for the captain's food.
"Captain Watson?" Sam asked, mostly as a formality. His name was painted on the door and the man was wearing a uniform with his name stitched on.
The captain nodded and wiped his face clean with a napkin before getting up to shake their hands.
"Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"
"We're, uh, a bit early. We have an appointment in half an hour, but Steven said you wouldn't mind," Sam explained. They showed their badges, which the chief didn't inspect too closely, and introduced themselves.
Watson put his lasagna to the side with a mournful look. He moved his attention back to the FBI agents in front of him. "Oh, no, of course. Anything for the FBI. I was wondering what that booked time slot was about. Please, have a seat." He gestured to the comfortable-looking chairs in front of his desk.
"Again, how can I help you, Agents?" He looked at them expectantly. It was obvious Sam hadn't scheduled the appointment with him but with an assistant or something. The fact that he didn't know they were coming definitely didn't earn the captain any brownie points. The fact that he sacrificed that perfect serving of lasagna for them, however, did. Personally, Dean would have told the FBI agents to back off and let him eat in peace.
"We're here about the missing person's cases of Andrea De Bruyn, Castiel van Santen," Sam stumbled over the name as Dean had, "and four other children that have gone missing since, uh, November 16th." He checked his notes for the correct date.
Dean cleared his throat to cover up his amusement hearing Cas' name again in this context. "The FBI has taken a special interest and we're here to take over the case."
Captain Watson blinked. "You're here to… take over? After us low-life nobodies have done all the legwork these past few weeks?" He seemed more embarrassed than angry. He probably didn't want two strangers to come swooping in and save the day and make the captain look like an idiot in the process. It was a valid fear, in any other instance than when the supernatural was concerned. Dean wanted to tell him they weren't here to play heroes. The old man would probably have a heart attack if he learned about everything that was going on in the dark.
This wasn't going very well, so Dean softened the blow, much to his own chagrin. "Our apologies, Captain. We just go where they send us." Dean hoped being polite would do the trick and prevent the situation from escalating. They absolutely didn't intend to piss the captain off before he had helped them. "We would appreciate your full cooperation." Being so nice made him want to take a shower and wash the stink off if he were honest. He wasn't made out of candy canes and teddy bears, oh no, he was made out of beer and bullets.
Watson thought about it for a moment, but agreed after some consideration. He deflated slightly, an invisible burden falling off his shoulders. Dean suspected it had something to do with the fact he and Sam weren't the dicks the captain might have expected from a random duo of FBI agents. And all that it took was an apology and a slightly better-than-normal attitude. If only everything in life were that easy.
Watson sat up a little straighter. "We're at your disposal. What do you need?"
Dean could have sworn that, despite his initial reaction, the captain almost seemed relieved that he could dump the responsibility of the missing children on someone else. Dean didn't want to strain the man any more than he needed to in case he decided to drop dead right where he was sitting. By the looks of it, that could happen any day now. For now, he deserved the benefit of the doubt.
"We want all the files you have on the kids and all your evidence." Sam went straight to the point.
Dean eyed the lasagna. He was famished. It felt like his appetite had returned tenfold after his stint as a Knight of Hell. The perpetual hunger in itself was hell all over again.
Captain Watson nodded. "Consider it done."
"We talked with some of the parents already," Dean started. A thundercloud passed over the captain's face for a split second before it was gone again. That man really didn't like people questioning his authority. He continued unfazed. "And none of them have had any contact with the kidnappers." It wasn't as much a question as it was a statement.
Watson held up a hand to shush the brothers while grabbing some sort of intercom and pressed a button. "Carla, bring me all the files on the missing kids for me, please?" he asked the person on the other side.
"Sure thing, boss," a young voice, presumably Carla, sounded through the thing.
Watson used the time they were waiting for those files to explain that no, no one had had any contact with the kidnappers, they hadn't found any evidence or people of interest, and if he were honest, he couldn't even prove the kids hadn't just run away on their own.
Dean knew the latter was a load of bullcrap. There was no way kids that age could have pulled such a convincing disappearing act without any outside help. The fact that so many of them had supposedly run away in such a short time frame was also a huge red flag. Maybe the old man needed new glasses to see it.
Carla announced herself with a knock and a bright "hello, Captain" and entered without permission. Captain Watson didn't comment, so it was probably a common occurrence.
"I have those files you asked for, sir." She approached from behind the brothers and when she came into view, Dean had to do a subtle double take. With her bright, multi-colored hair and multiple facial piercings, Carla stood out like a rainbow on a stormy day. Dean admired her looks. It really suited her and she seemed comfortable in her skin. That made one of them.
She handed over the files to the captain and received a "thank you, Carla" in return.
When she didn't immediately leave, Watson looked at her with a frown. "Is there something else?"
Carla wrung her hands, eyes shifting between her boss and the two strangers in the room. "I was going to wait until after your break, but, uhm, Sergeant Zimmermann wanted to speak with you."
He looked at her, waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he grew impatient. "About?"
Carla threw another nervous glance in Sam and Dean's direction, who watched it all unfold in silence.
The captain must have caught on because he — quite literally — waved her worries away. "Go on," he said at length.
She shrugged. Clearly, she wasn't paid enough to disobey a direct order from her boss. It wasn't her problem if Watson's two guests heard information they weren't supposed to hear. "Two brothers were reported missing by their partners this morning. They went on a fishing trip last week, bought a new boat and everything. Even named it after that boat from Jaws." She checked a note she grabbed from her pocket. "Yeah, the Orca. They were camping near Lake Michigan, and were supposed to return two days ago. No one knows their exact location. One of the men sent his girlfriend a text that they would be home soon four days ago and no one has heard from them since. They aren't responding to texts and calls, hence the missing person's report."
Dean regarded the scene with only vague interest. Unless these disappearances were somehow related to the missing kids, which was unlikely, he couldn't make himself care. He couldn't solve all crime now, could he? He wasn't a damn miracle worker.
"I'll talk to Zimmermann later," Watson sighed, dismissing Carla in the process. She nodded and turned on her heels, but Watson spoke again. "Oh, and Carla?"
She turned back to him with a raised eyebrow.
"Can you make sure all evidence pertaining to these cases will be available to these gentlemen when they're done here?"
Carla regarded them coolly. Dean flashed her a smile. She held his stare a beat too long for it to be comfortable, but couldn't detect anything malicious in his face. "Give me fifteen minutes," she said. "I'll take it to the conference room."
"Thank you, Carla," the captain repeated.
Once she closed the door behind her, the brothers went back to business. Sam leafed through the files, while Dean spoke with Watson.
"Are there any connections between the kids? Same school? Sports club? Church? Parents share a book club?"
Watson shook his head. "We haven't found anything to connect the missing kids. They go to different schools, live in different parts of the city. As far as we know, none of them have ever even met."
So the kids probably weren't followed home from a specific location. Dean was crossing monsters off in his head. Ignoring the unexplainable breaking and entering, werewolves usually hunted in a specific area, so they were probably out. Vampires could track a scent from miles away, so if they were really motivated it could have been them. Dean put them in the 'maybe' column. It wasn't a ghost. If it was a witch, it would be Rowena. Dean wasn't sure what she would want with a bunch of kids, but he couldn't rule her out completely.
It was the same as with the parents they had talked to — Captain Watson couldn't give them any new insight. Not that Dean had expected him to, because he and his people didn't know what they were looking for, but it was still aggravating. It wasn't often that they had so few clues to work with and Dean was itching for a nice little breakthrough.
The brothers were running out of things to ask when they were interrupted by a knock on the door.
"What?" Watson sounded like he was losing his temper at the second disruption in a short time. Dean didn't feel charitable enough to point out he himself asked for the first interruption, though his abandoned and now cold lasagna was probably to blame for this slight outburst. The man had to be starving.
Dean turned at the sound of the door opening and a head appeared. "Captain?" He noticed the two strangers in suits in his captain's office. "Oh, I didn't realize you were busy. I thought you were on break right now."
Watson sighed with an eye roll, obviously ready for his afternoon nap. "What is it, Zimmermann?"
The rest of the body joined the head in the room. The sergeant was built like a beanstalk, maybe even taller than Sam despite his towering height. Dean, still seated, had to crane his neck uncomfortably high to study the man's face. Sergeant Zimmermann was so pale that Dean guessed he needed SPF 2000 when the guy even thought of summer. The moon paled in comparison to his sallowness. Such fair skin was one thing he was glad he didn't have. Even with their job taking place in the dark most of the time, neither he nor Sam got sunburned easily. He always accredited it to good genes. And this guy had not won his genetic lottery.
Dissimilar to what he did with Clara, Captain Watson introduced the pretend FBI agents to the sarge. They nodded their hellos, said their "nice to meet you's" and Zimmermann went right back to business.
"We busted Trevor again with weed. He claimed it's for medicinal purposes but couldn't explain why he was smoking pot behind a Biggerson's at three in the morning." Zimmermann addressed Watson with the same casual respect as Clara had. "I called his mom and she said to let him stew for another day and she'll pick him up tomorrow morning bright and early for school."
Watson exhaled so deeply Dean feared he would never inhale again.
The name rang a bell, though. "Trevor? Not Trevor Stacy? I thought he was one of the missing kids." They hadn't discussed Trevor's missing persons case yet, but Dean thought they just hadn't gotten to him yet.
Watson's eyebrows came dangerously close to his hairline. "Not at all. Trevor's a good kid, but he has his own personal circumstances. He disappears to a friend's house roughly once a month, where he'll stay for a few days. We try to respect him and he tries his best not to make our jobs more difficult." He shrugged. "Trevor and his mom, Patricia, don't have the best of relationships, and if he doesn't tell her where he is daily, she files a missing person's report. It's a bit unorthodox, but it's important to all of us that Trevor's safe, even if he's temporarily staying elsewhere."
"'Unorthodox' is one word for it. What if he's really in danger?" Sam scoffed.
The question surprised Dean a little. Did he worry about the kid because he cared about what happened to a random teen who didn't have a good relationship with their parent? The immediate answer was that Sam had always cared. Not just the troubled teens but everyone. Sam was meant to save people. Maybe in this case, it hit a bit too close to home. Weed aside, Sam probably recognized himself in this kid somehow, or perhaps he remembered the time he ran away on Dean's watch and the guilt Dean had confessed to many years after the fact. Dean wouldn't admit it out loud, but that memory still stung a tiny bit. He forced himself back on the right thought-track. Irregardless of his reasons why, Sam would want to advocate for this teen's safety no matter what.
Sam didn't seem to notice Dean's internal monologue. He looked at Watson intently, waiting for an answer.
Watson's expression turned to steel. "Trevor's a good kid, smart too." He left no room for debate. "There's nothing sinister going on. Of course, I don't approve of him smoking weed, but he had his reasons and we tolerate it." He looked at Zimmermann, who nodded in affirmation.
The sergeant took over the explanation. "We have Trevor's and his friend's contact information, and they have ours. If there's anything, they know they can call us. As for his current situation, it's happened a few times before. He knows it'll have to stop once he turns eighteen."
Sam accepted the explanation, though he wasn't too happy about it. Dean knew in his bones there was more going on than what they let on, he just couldn't put his finger on it. The explanation was there, just out of reach. He doubted he would get it out of either the captain or the sergeant and honestly, it wasn't his business.
Maybe Sam was already preparing a rant about the kid, which he would unleash the moment they were alone. Something, something, irresponsible adults, child abandonment, something. Dean usually tuned them out for the most part. Sam knew about this — Dean considered it a personality trait of his at this point — and cared more about having the semblance of a listening ear than having an actual one, or so he had once told him. Either way, Dean considered it a small price to pay to listen to Sam's ramblings if it made him feel better. He regarded it as one of his big bro duties and he took those very seriously.
When Watson's face didn't relax, Dean saw it as their cue to get the hell out of there. He slapped his knees, like a middle-aged dad at a birthday party. "I think that's all, isn't it? Thank you for your time, Captain." He left no room to argue as he stood to shake the captain's hand. Sam followed seamlessly.
"It's been a pleasure, Agents," Watson lied through his teeth. His face betrayed his cooled feelings. "Let us know if you require any assistance."
Dean was unbothered by the man's attitude. "Will do," he promised. He gave Watson his business card with the usual spiel.
Watson barely glanced at it. "Sergeant Zimmermann will take you to the conference room. Have a good day, Agents."
As Dean turned to leave, he saw Watson grab his lunch and shove a bite in his mouth with a miserable expression. His stomach grumbled again and he realized they had to go over the evidence first before they could leave. He groaned, soft enough that only Sam could hear who frowned at him with a question in his eyes. Dean merely shrugged.
When they exited the captain's office, Zimmermann took the lead and led them to the conference room. There, several boxes were waiting for them, courtesy of Carla.
"Each kid has their own box," the sergeant said. "If you guys need anything, Carla can help you. She'll be at her desk." He left, not waiting for them to respond.
Dean sat in one of the chairs and pulled a box to him. "They don't like us much, do they?"
Sam shrugged. "All the more reason to get this over with." He took a seat a few chairs away from his brother, giving the both of them some space to work with, and opened the closest box.
Dean couldn't agree more. There were about ten million things he would rather be doing than going through a bunch of files. He didn't think he could escape it this time, so he picked a random folder and started reading.
"Well, that was a bust," Sam complained as they left the police station. Pessimism didn't suit him. Dean made a mental note to try to cheer him up. It was second on his to-do list, after he fixed them a decent meal. They deserved a nice treat after all that grueling investigating.
Even though he agreed with Sam, he didn't say it. Either the police were absolutely incapable around here, or whoever had done this were master evaders. Or a bit of both. Anything was possible these days.
When they reached the car a sad thought occurred to Dean. "I miss those moments where someone would question who we really are and we would hand them our business card and instead of Director Whatshisface, they'd talk to Bobby." He spoke in a rush. "We really should have someone like Bobby again to take our calls to legitimize our credentials." As he said it, Dean was reminded of that time Kevin had to improvise for the brothers' sake and it had gotten a little too close to going awry. The thought just made him miss Kevin. Dean shook it off.
Sam smiled a nostalgic smile at the mention of Bobby. "He cussed us out but he did it all the same, didn't he?" He sighed. "Almost makes me wish Garth was still in the game."
"Yeah," Dean grimaced, " almost." In all honesty, he was glad Garth had gotten out. So few of them did and, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone but Sam, he never knew if he could trust Garth's hunting skills. Logic said no but his heart told him Garth was a much better hunter than anyone gave him credit for, including Dean. He had an unusual set of skills on top of his hunting skills and despite his success rate — he wasn't dead yet after all — he found it hard to get used to Garth's way of thinking, which could only be described as 'unique'.
His mind wandered and when it went there, he was thankful that their Dad and Garth had never met. That absolutely wouldn't have gone over well. Though, all things considered, Dean was glad John had never met any of the people currently alive that he and Sam considered family. He wouldn't come out of it alive. Or he would die from shock when he found out how close the brothers were to certain angels and demons. That would also be a fun one to explain.
Dean stopped himself from going down that rabbit hole. He opened the door to the driver's seat. "Come on, let's go. I'm starving."
Dean scarfed down his burger like his life depended on it. Sam, on the other hand, regarded Dean with something close to disdain.
"It's not going anywhere, you know," he offered, leaning away as far as he could from this dinner carnage.
"Dude, they used real cheese." Dean spit out tiny pieces of his food as he spoke. "This stuff's amazing." Dean would be lucky if a monster killed him before his perpetual and continuous overdose of cholesterol did. It was as good a reason as any to carpe the hell out of the diem. If that meant burgers with real cheese, he had zero regrets.
Sam recoiled and his face turned as green as the depressing salad he was eating. "If you say so."
Dean inhaled his last bite and washed it down with a large swig of beer. "Okay, so," he started, "I talked to the other parents. Nothing unusual there. They all said the same thing, no forced entry, no noises, and nothing else missing aside from the kids. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary."
"It's weird that they, whoever 'they' are, didn't leave any evidence."
Dean nodded. "No broken doors or windows, no alarms that went off, nothing. They simply vanished into thin air."
"So what are you thinking?" Sam asked, "Vampires?"
Dean leaned back with a deep sigh. "I don't know, man, wouldn't it be weird that they left the parents alive? I mean, free food."
Sam accepted that logic without argument. "If it's not vampires, what then? It's not werewolves, they don't kidnap kids as far as we know."
"And no dead people or missing hearts, either," Dean added. "And, again, they wouldn't leave the parents alive."
"Changelings, then?"
Dean thought back to their last encounter with those little bastards. "The kids are missing, not replaced." He shook his head. "And as far as we know the mothers don't have those suction marks."
"What about Skinwalkers?"
Dean had to check the reports. "None of the families have pets, so unless there's one that can change into a fly, it's not a Skinwalker."
Sam shook his head. "That wouldn't explain how they could get the kids out of the house."
"Okay, so that's also a no."
Sam pushed his empty paper plate away and rubbed his eyes. "There wasn't any EMF so no ghosts are involved. Ghouls?"
"They usually go for dead meat. And, like before, parents are still kicking." Dean racked his brain and came up empty. "We didn't find any cursed objects, no one was possessed…"
"Oh, I have something that might help." Sam pushed away from their table to rummage through his bag. When he reemerged, he was holding a tablet.
Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable explanation.
"Charlie used a list to cross off possible monsters, remember? She sent it to me in case it could come in handy."
Dean watched as Sam tapped the screen a few times. Sam laughed at something and being the curious cat that he was, Dean scooted his chair over to see what was so funny.
Sam put the tablet on the table so they could both see the screen. He had already crossed off werewolves, vampires, and a few other monsters that weren't relevant to this case. He pointed at what made him laugh, causing Dean to join in.
They were looking at a picture of a random truck, probably referring to that one time Dean almost died because of a racist possessing his old truck. He silently cursed Charlie for reading the Supernatural books and knowing every little detail about them. Thinking of her, Dean hoped she was doing well in Oz, and wished he could call her, if only to know if she would be coming back soon. He missed his spitfire of an honorary little sister.
Together they worked through Charlie's checklist. The Scandinavian scarecrow, Leviathans, ghosts, zombies, ghouls, and fairies were among the immediate nos.
After several rounds of eliminating possibilities, Sam suddenly sat up straighter. "What if it's angels?"
Dean looked from the list to Sam and back to the list. "We could call Cas and ask."
Sam grabbed his phone from beneath a stack of papers and selected Cas' name from his contacts list. "He's not answering," Sam said after a minute of awkward silence.
Dean's sigh was aimed at the angel. "I don't see why angels would kidnap a bunch of kids, anyway. They can't teleport anymore, and I can't think of a reason why the kids would be on angel radar. It doesn't make sense."
"None of this makes any sense," Sam corrected him.
"Hah," Dean laughed without humor, "you're right."
They stared at the table in silence for a few minutes.
"What if," Sam started, "what if vampires kidnapped the kids for livestock?"
"Then why not kill the parents?"
"I don't know. Maybe some weird moral code? Or maybe they were in a hurry."
"Each time?" It didn't exactly sound plausible.
"I mean, maybe? Otherwise, I have nothing."
Dean knew they were both grasping at straws, but this was also the best idea they had had so far. "So, vampires. I saw a bar a little further down the street, maybe we should ask around there?"
"You just say that because you want something stronger than this." Sam waved with his near-empty beer bottle.
Dean produced a smile that could have meant anything. While he craved a few kegs of something stronger than beer, he didn't admit it to Sam. His brother was already worried enough as it was, he didn't want to add to that worry.
"No," he said instead, in the most condescending tone he could muster, one that he knew would annoy Sam, "if we want to know for sure it's vamps, we need to ask around."
Sam still didn't look too convinced, but also didn't protest when Dean grabbed his stuff.
Dean was almost out the door when he looked back at Sam, his ass still in his seat. "You coming?"
Sam sighed so deeply Dean was worried it would never stop, but he put away his tablet in his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "All right, let's go."
Dean was on his third glass of whiskey when he finally started to feel something. He welcomed the buzz with open arms while he chatted with Alice, the cute bartender in front of him. Meanwhile, Sam was trying to gain information by talking to a group of locals while playing cards. Dean didn't know what lie Sam had told them, but Sam said something inaudible and the rest of the group laughed. Knowing Sam, they were probably swapping tips on which green leaf tasted better. Dean decided he preferred his current company much more.
Alice was talkative. Dean hadn't had to say much to learn she was taking a gap year before finishing up her degree in biochemistry, she had her own apartment where she lived with her two cats, and she was currently single and ready to flamingle — her words, not his. She had applied for this job to meet new people and, well, Dean considered himself one of those people.
"What kind of job does one get with a Biochem degree?" Dean asked out of genuine curiosity.
"I want to get a job in forensic science to help catch criminals." Her excitement bounced off of Dean's social mask like a wall.
If only she knew. Dean grimaced internally. "So you'll be looking at DNA profiles all day?"
"Not exactly," Alice smiled, undoubtedly used to people not knowing what forensic science entailed. Or maybe she thought Dean only acted clueless when in reality, he had no idea what those people did day in, day out.
"Well, I definitely wouldn't mind swapping DNA profiles with you." Even he couldn't believe he said that with a straight face. Somewhere behind him, Sam choked on something, but Dean's smile didn't waver. He was in his element so Sam could choke for all he cared.
Alice laughed, a pretty sound Dean wanted to hear again.
She left him momentarily to serve another customer but returned straight away. "So, Agent James, what brings you to the area?"
"Please, call me Dean." He offered her his most charming smile. "And I'm afraid that's classified. All very top-secret stuff." He emptied his glass, which Alice refilled without prompting. He had used his current alias, not having the energy to come up with a more elaborate lie. Besides, they still had an investigation to conduct. It was time to put his FBI hat on.
Despite what he said a second ago about secrecy, Dean leaned forward. "Can I, uh, can I confide in you about something?"
Alice mimicked him. She leaned her elbows on the bar, her low-cut top sliding slightly lower, her eyes watching Dean as if he were the most interesting person in the world. Their faces were only inches apart. God, he enjoyed this part of the job, no matter the circumstances. "Of course. Anything."
"You see, my partner and I, we're looking for someone or maybe a small group that might have moved here a few weeks ago. They would have a very active nightly lifestyle and might be hardcore partiers. Does that ring a bell?"
Alice considered his question a moment. She looked around until she was satisfied no one else was listening to their conversation. "Holland is a big city, people come and go all the time. But," she held up a finger when Dean opened his mouth, "I did serve a strange couple a few nights back. A man and a woman. Real shifty types."
Dean's interest was piqued, though 'shifty' could mean anything. He took out his notepad from his jacket's inner pocket and clicked the pen, ready to take notes. "They were strange, how?"
"They kept to themselves, and every time someone tried to talk to them, the couple would cuss them out. Loud. And," Alice lowered her voice to a whisper, "they tipped like crap."
Dean nodded as he wrote everything down. Her info wasn't that conclusive, but he felt he was on the right track. "Can you describe them for me?"
"The guy's white, really skinny and with black hair. Greasy. Late twenties, early thirties maybe." Alice rattled off facts like she saw him right in front of her. "He kind of looked like an Ichabod Crane impersonator, you know?"
Dean grimaced. A certain hunter came to mind. "I know the type, yeah. What about the woman?"
"Much younger, she looked to be barely twenty, if that." Alice scrunched her nose in a way Dean found adorable. "Absolutely too young for him, but who am I to judge? Uh, dressed like it was high summer, similarly skinny, and she had a mouth on her. Bigger than his. It was quite impressive, actually."
Dean finished writing his notes and flashed Alice a smile. "Anything else you remember?"
She grabbed Dean's hand and stroked the back of it gently. "Actually, I can do you one better." They both looked down at their touching hands.
"And what would that be?" Dean swapped their hands' positions so he was the one touching her. He kept repeating the motion while Alice stared at it with a dazed expression.
"Well, Dean," she emphasized his name, clearly happy to be on a mutually first-name basis, "they paid by card. I can get you that info in a sec."
That certainly was good news. It meant they might have a way to track where they had been staying. And where those children might be.
"That's very helpful, thank you." Dean put his notepad back in its designated spot. "Now," he grabbed her other hand too, "how can I ever thank you for helping me?"
"How about we find someplace quiet and exchange our DNA, as you so nicely put it?" Alice winked.
Hell yes. Dean absolutely caught her drift and smiled that charming smile of his again. "That's the least I could do."
Alice broke eye contact to tell her fellow bartender that she was going on a break. When their eyes met again, her gaze was heated. "Follow me."
Dean happily followed, both Sam and the case temporarily forgotten.
Oh man, I have so much respect for everyone who writes consistently/often! I write maybe two lines and need an hour-long break after...
Please keep reading because things will get even more interesting (●'◡'●)