When You're Ready
Faith had endured long car rides before. She had never minded the long trips. She liked to watch the scenery pass by and pretend she was somewhere else – somewhere exciting and kind. A small trip only a state over in a car with working air conditioning and a driver who was happy to stop whenever she wanted to pee was nothing at all.
They didn't just listen to their music and brood – at some point, Toby decided there were some things needed settling before they arrived at their destination.
"Mostly just contingencies," he explained. "You know, if we get separated for any reason."
She paused. "Is that likely to happen?"
"It's been known to happen. If it does, and we can't contact each other by phone, an old hunting trick is to grab the local yellow pages and go to the first motel listed. You'll get there and tell them you're Andre Norton's wife, and if there isn't anyone booked under that name, then book in yourself under the name of Alice Norton."
"Hold up," she said, "who're Andre and Alice Norton?"
He looked away from the road to peer at her like she'd committed a sin. "You don't know how Alice Norton is?"
She frowned. "Should I?"
"She's a grand master of science-fiction? Wrote under a male pen name because her publishers thought it would sell more books? She put out over 130 novels over the span of seventy years? Star Man's Son? Key Out of Time?" Faith shook her head and Toby was aghast. "Tell me you've at least heard of The Scent of Magic."
Faith levelled him with a look. "Toby, you've been training me non-stop for over a month now. Do you seriously think I ever sit still long enough to read cheap sci-fi classics?"
Toby seemed to need some time after that, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to keep from crashing the car out of pure spite. "Anyway," he said sternly, "the point is to remember those are the names we use in an emergency."
"And what kind of emergencies are we likely to come across?"
"The usual," he shrugged. "General separation; loss of phones; arrest…"
She gaped. "Arrest?"
At her shock, Toby seemed amused. "This job is nothing but a never-ending series of felonies, Faith," he reminded her. "Breaking-and-entering, grave desecration, impersonating federal agents, petty theft, arson, use of a weapon without permit… You name a crime, most hunters probably commit it at least once a week."
It wasn't so much that she hadn't been aware of it, but having it put in such plain terms was sort of like a blow to the head. Faith scratched her jaw, taking a moment to swallow that pill. Toby pulled up at a near-empty gas station before Faith could pin together something comprehensible to say.
"We need gas," he explained as they climbed out into the heat of the summer afternoon. "And I need to not be driving anymore."
"Fair enough," she said, catching the keys he threw her way. He went around the back to the bathroom while Faith made her way to the pump. It occurred to her suddenly, as she pumped the car full of gas, that she was entirely vulnerable in that moment. She was alone, far outside of the warding around Bobby's house. There was nothing but her wits and the iron knife in her boot between her and abduction by demon.
The thought was a harrowing one. Faith's muscles locked together, eyes on every shadow, half expecting darkness to form shape and lunge to attack. But the seconds ticked on, and no demons of shadow materialised to steal her away. The pump gave a low click when the car was full, and Toby still wasn't out of the bathroom, so with a deep breath in, Faith made her way inside the store to pay.
The cashier was a young kid, barely out of high school. He smiled hopefully at Faith, who cast him a fleeting glance and went about scanning the aisles for snacks. She found a brand of chocolate bar she liked, but the moment her fingers touched the wrapper, she was hit by an impulse she'd long thought to have forgotten.
Growing up on the streets, stealing became not just a necessity, but a way of life. For a long time, Faith had eaten only what she'd been able to steal or afford from the pockets of others. There was a certain comfort in it now, looking back.
The money in her pocket was getting low – barely enough to cover the gas – so she convinced herself it was simply the logical thing to do, to steal the candy bar. Her fingers were quick and deft, as if she hadn't spent three years paying for every chocolate bar and cup of coffee herself. As if she was still as used to stealing as she had been all that time ago.
The bar slid into her pocket and her heart raced – though not with fear. She kept her gait slow and casual, making a show of searching the aisles for what she wanted, terribly aware of the cashier's eyes following her around the store. It became a game – how much could she steal without getting caught? How far could she go?
But when she went to shove a packet of beef jerky into her pocket and found it already too full to fit anything else, she realised the game was over. She picked a cheap magazine off from the display and smiled sweetly at the boy behind the counter, whose cheeks went pink at the attention.
"Nice wheels," he said, nodding his head at the piece of shit Toyota sat out in the rapidly disappearing sunlight.
"It gets me from A to B," she shrugged. The weight of the stolen candy in her pockets was heavy.
"That guy your boyfriend?" the boy asked, nodding his head out the window where Toby was strolling back from the bathroom, arms held high above his head as he stretched out his stiff muscles.
"He's a friend," she said, meaning to sound firm, but instead just sounding awed. Because she realised, rather unexpectedly, that it was true. Toby had become more than just her Mr. Miyagi – now he was her friend, too.
The cashier didn't look convinced, but Faith didn't particularly care. She paid for their gas, then slipped back out into the cold with a satisfied skip in her step. Getting away with a lift – that was a high in and of itself.
Toby was already in the passenger seat when she reached the car, sliding behind the wheel and starting the engine. They'd only just pulled out of the gas station when the guilt began to hit. Toby said nothing, thumbing through an old map of the area while she drove, but Faith couldn't help the sinking pit that had appeared in her gut.
What was she doing? Stealing for some fleeting high? For a bit of chocolate on a road trip into danger? What would Nate say, if he were here?
It was maybe that question that hurt more than all the others, and Faith pulled the car off the main road and threw it into park. Toby looked up from the map he was studying, casually glancing out the window as though expecting to find them already at their destination. With only trees and darkness as far as the eye could see, it was clear they were in the middle of nowhere.
"Faith?"
Faith abruptly emptied her pockets, pulling handfuls of candy from the depths of her coat and jeans, and dropping them onto the console between them. Toby stared at the small trove of candy with an arched brow.
"This is how you choose to spend your money?" he asked, decidedly unimpressed.
Faith's mouth was dry. "I didn't buy it."
She wasn't sure what she was expecting – maybe some sort of British cuss followed by a slew of rebukes that left her feeling like a misbehaving child put in her place. Instead, the reaction she actually got was enough to leave her stunned.
"You stole it?" he asked, leaning in to dig around in the pile as though hunting for a diamond amongst all the Mars Bars and Reese's Cups. "Brilliant. You're gonna be even better at this than I thought."
Faith stared at him, and after a moment he seemed to realise she was gaping like an idiot. His only response was another arched brow, but it was question enough. "You're not going to wag your finger in my face, all English-like, and tell me what a terrible person I am?" she asked.
Toby only seemed amused, and that annoyed her, at which he grew more amused. "Wasn't I only just telling you about how hunting is practically dedicating to a life of crime? Besides, in case it somehow escaped your notice, this job doesn't exactly come with a yearly salary. In most cases, sure, stealing is wrong. But we need to survive somehow. However, next time, steal things with a tad more nutritional value. All this sugar's going to do terrible things to our teeth."
Faith didn't quite know what to make of all that. "You're telling me you're okay with shoplifting?" she asked, feeling like she'd stepped into the fucking Twilight Zone.
She supposed she was just so used to Nate and his moral standards. Her late boyfriend had never stolen anything in his too-short life. He'd never graffitied or illegally downloaded a movie. Hell, he'd never even littered.
He'd loved and accepted her while they were together, but he'd also been intent on turning Faith into a better person. The sort who obeyed rules, and didn't see the law as something to bend, if not just completely break. And she'd liked who she'd been with him – kinder, less selfish.
But at the same time, it had always felt just a little dishonest to herself. Trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. It just hadn't quite…fit.
In the now, Toby shrugged. "We don't get any recognition for what we do. I figure if we take a little here and there, it all balances out. Just try not to steal from small, family-owned businesses. But all the larger chains – well, if you've got quick fingers, why not use them?"
It took her a moment to form words. "You really do have layers, don't you?" she finally asked. Toby shrugged up from where he was struggling to tear the sticker off a packet of Nerds.
She started the car, and they peeled back onto the main road. They were only driving a few minutes before he spoke again.
"Why'd you steal all this in the first place?" he asked quietly. "If you thought it'd make me mad, I mean?"
Faith said nothing for so long he probably thought she was just going to ignore him, but finally, when her thoughts were put into order and her tongue felt a little less like lead, she answered him.
"My life has a Before, and a During," she said calmly, eyes dry as she watched the road. She would not cry. She'd shed enough tears for one lifetime. "Before Nate, I was one person, and that person stole to survive. The During part, the time while I was with him, I was another. The girl I was then didn't need to steal to get by. She worked for what she had, and she even sort of enjoyed it. Now, I've realised there's another quantifier in the mix – an After that I never imagined I'd have to endure."
Toby listened without interruption, for which she was grateful.
"So now, I'm left trying to figure out what to be – because I can't be the During girl anymore. She wouldn't survive in this world. And I can't be the Before girl, because she didn't know how to be afraid of the dark. She wouldn't survive, either. Without them, what's left?"
She was less asking Toby than she was herself, but he answered all the same. "There's just you, Faith," he told her in a voice gentler than any he'd used before. "There's always just been you. You don't have to try and be anyone but who you are."
"Yeah," she agreed hollowly, smiling without amusement. "Only, I've got no clue who that is."
"You'll figure it out," he said, and he even sounded like he meant it. "Besides, maybe it's a bit of both." She glanced away from the road to find his brow furrowed, face just barely lit by the glow of the headlights. "Before and During you, I mean. Maybe who you are now is a mix of all the things you need to be now, to survive. All the stealing and fighting-for-your-life of the Before, and all the logic and compassion of the During."
Faith gave no indication she'd even heard him, but still he continued.
"Only you can decide who you wanna be, Faith. Figure it out, and you'll be okay."
She was silent, and from the corner of her eye she watched Toby smile, a wide, genuine beam. The kind he so often denied himself.
"I have more contingencies to go over with you, by the way," he continued, tossing back a handful of M&Ms.
"There's more?"
"If we're separated and hurt, then we might not always make it to a motel – we might need to go to a hospital instead. We should avoid that when we can, but sometimes it's unavoidable. In that case, use your Shirley Jackson ID – it's the only one with healthcare…"
It went on like that for some time, Toby giving her names and places, contingencies to remember. Eventually, though, they ran out of details to hash out. Which was for the best, as Faith's head felt like a hive full of bees, her brain buzzing, full of too much information for a single day.
Toby slid down in the passenger seat, pulling his jacket tighter around him and popping the collar as he leant his temple against the cool glass of the window.
"I'm gonna catch some sleep. Just stay on the 90 until you get tired, then pull into the first motel that doesn't look like the water will give us hepatitis," he said around a yawn. That was fine with Faith – she could use the quiet time. She had a lot to sort through.
She gave a vague hum of acknowledgement, glancing over to find his eyes already closed. Silence settled in the cab of the car.
Instead of stopping for the night, however, Faith just let Toby sleep and drove steadily towards Riverton. She wasn't afraid, she told herself, but merely cautious. Why stay the night at a seedy motel where all manner of creatures could attack while you slept, when instead you could keep driving and skip the night altogether?
Besides, Faith wasn't tired. She was too lost in her own head to be able to sleep, stuck replaying old memories in her head like they were home movies. Snapshots of Nate's smile and the way he laughed and how he snored when he slept, but only quietly, like a puppy. She had conversations with him in her head, listening to the familiar cadence of his voice as he told her all the things she wanted to hear – and a fair few things she didn't.
Faith drove passed the sign welcoming visitors to Riverton, Wyoming, just as the sun was peeking up from the horizon. The night seemed to have passed in an instant – Faith wasn't even sure she remembered most of the drive. The sunlight pierced the windshield, waking Toby, who flinched at the sudden light and sat up straight in his seat.
"Wha-? Faith! Is this Riverton?" he demanded, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You drove through the night? Why the bloody hell didn't you stop?"
"Wasn't tired," she shrugged. Toby stared at her hard from his side of the car, but she ignored him with ease. "I saw a sign that said there was a motel just up here."
The motel in question was only one storey – as was most the rest of the flat, sprawling town – and it looked so frightfully similar to the infamous Bates' Motel that Faith had to swallow a shudder. "I'll get us a room," said Toby. When she opened her mouth to offer to do it instead, he shot her a scathing glare that immediately had her shutting it with a click.
"You'd better get two beds," she called after him. He waved her off and walked into the reception. Faith pursed her lips and found a place to park the car.
She wasn't lying about not being tired – she'd had a lot to think about while she drove, none of it particularly relaxing. She felt anxious and keyed up, and not only because she was deep in the throes of an existential crisis powerful enough to run the power-grid of a small country. She was also painfully aware that with every mile she drove, they were getting closer and closer to the answers she sought.
Who was after her, and why? Why had they killed Nate to send her a message? And what did her mother – whoever the woman might have been – have to do with any of this?
Faith grabbed both hers and Toby's bags from the backseat – the trunk was to be avoided. It was where Toby kept their highly-illegal but highly-necessary arsenal – plus all his ancient research books, though she doubted they would raise quite so much of a flag at customs. She was waiting up against the door when Toby reappeared, a room key clutched in his hand.
"Room 07," he told her, shouldering his bag and leading her down the row of doors. Across from the motel sat a gas station and an adult store with gaudy pink advertising. Faith had never been to Riverton before, but so far, her first impressions weren't great.
The room was just as unimpressive. As requested, there were two single beds rather than the dreaded double, and a tiny kitchenette that felt like a luxury after a night in the car. Faith used the bathroom, splashing freezing water onto her face before moving into that kitchenette to make herself a shitty cup of instant coffee.
Toby was sat on one of the beds, swapping out his combat boots for shinier footwear. "If you wanna grab a nap, I can go to the local police station and start-"
"You're not getting rid of me that easily," she told Toby, dumping out the terrible, half-brewed coffee and sweeping towards the bathroom. "Give me five minutes to change."
When she re-emerged from the bathroom wearing the closest thing she had to a suit – black slacks, a blouse, and a blazer that was just a few sizes too small – Toby was already in his own monkey suit, straightening his tie.
"You clean up rather nice," she told him, running a brush through her hair before pulling it up into a hasty but professional-looking bun at the nape of her neck.
Toby didn't bother acknowledging her words. "Are you sure you don't want to take a nap-?"
"Toby, seriously," she said, eyes hard and the line of her mouth harder.
Toby simply tossed her her fabricated FBI badge. She snatched it from the air, flipping it open to eye the card inside. "Think you can remember your name?" Toby asked as he pocketed his own badge. The look Faith sent him was scathing, but he ignored it. "Now, first rule of hunting – you never go anywhere without a weapon," he continued, sliding a pistol into the waistband of his pants.
Faith grabbed the knife Bobby had gifted her, then the handgun that Toby held out in offer, doing much the same.
"Think we'll really need to use them?" she asked, glancing out the window at the early-morning glow. She couldn't imagine they were going to get attacked by anything in such broad daylight, but then again, she'd only been doing this two months and this was her first actual hunt in all that time. Maybe she wasn't the authority on what would and wouldn't attack during daylight hours.
"You never know," said Toby sagely, and left it at that.
Faith's shoes – sensible flats that would be useless if this devolved into a sprint for their lives – squeaked noisily as she followed Toby out of the dank motel room to the car. Once they were driving, heading down the town's main street towards the local sheriff's station, Toby spoke.
"The trick to this is acting confident," he began. "If you act like you belong there, if you act like you have authority, people are going to believe it's true without question. Let me do the talking at first, until you get the hang of it. And if you shake someone's hand, make sure you have a firm grip."
"Are you seriously giving me handshake tips?"
He shot her a sour look in response. "If we get caught impersonating government agents, we'll be so deep in shit we might not be able to dig ourselves out. And I don't know about you, but I'm not particularly keen to try my hand at prison."
"True, you're far too pretty to last any length of time behind bars," she agreed. Toby made a face but otherwise didn't comment. "Look, I can handle this. I've been lying to cops since I was six. You don't need to micromanage me."
He didn't look convinced, but they'd arrived at the sheriff's station and there was no time to argue the point. Faith stepped out of the car, the fabric of her fancy wide-legged pants fluttering in the breeze. Her gun was a cold press of metal against her spine, and the point of her iron knife poked into the soft skin at her ankle. But the weight of the weapons was comforting, a reminder that she wasn't defenceless; that she could look after herself.
The air conditioning was blasting when they stepped through the door, making it feel like winter inside of the sheriff's station, instead of the summer it was everywhere else. Goosebumps tickled Faith's exposed skin and her hands curled into fists.
The receptionist was a woman, maybe only a few years older than Faith with large, square glasses and red hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She glanced up, looking bored, only to do a double-take when she noticed Toby. Faith fought an eye roll as they approached the desk, the woman's attention focused solely on Toby.
"Morning, ma'am," said Toby in a perfectly clear American accent. Hearing him speak now, you'd have no clue he was a Brit. Faith tried not to let her shock show. "I'm Agent Orwell, this is Agent Atwood, FBI."
He flashed his badge and Faith copied him, trying her hardest not to fumble with the unfamiliar gesture. Confidence, she reminded herself. If she believed she belonged there, nobody else would question it. Hesitation was her enemy.
The receptionist blinked in surprise. Faith figured it probably wasn't every day the FBI showed up in their town. "Oh, uh, what can I do for you, Agent?" the woman asked, addressing Toby alone, all but ignoring Faith's existence. But that was probably a good thing. The less scrutiny the better, and if Toby's pretty face turned people's heads, then maybe Faith could fly successfully under the radar.
"We're here about a cold case dating back some twenty-four years," Toby continued in that flawless American accent. Faith crossed her arms and silently scanned the room. No cops in sight, but it was early, and this was a smallish-sized town. They were probably still grabbing breakfast at the local diner. "We were hoping to speak with the Sheriff?"
The receptionist nodded, still staring moony-eyed at Toby. "He's in his office. Give me a moment?"
"Of course, darling," said Toby, shooting her a fleeting smile.
Flustered, the woman stumbled her way into the back room. Faith turned to Toby, incredulous. "Darling?" she echoed, eyebrows raised.
"Never underestimate the power of good manners," he whispered back.
"Manners," she scoffed. "That's not manners. That's flirting." Toby grimaced but didn't comment. "No, no, I'm impressed. I didn't know you had so much as a charming bone in your body."
He was saved from answering when the receptionist reappeared, smiling shyly. "Sheriff Gaines is free, if you just wanna duck back there," she said, still with eyes only for Toby. Faith smothered a smirk as Toby thanked her smoothly and made his way into the back of the station.
It was little more than a room stuffed with overcrowded desks, but a door in the back led to a single office with the name Gaines etched into the glass in fancy script. Toby shot her a glance as if to ask if she was ready, and at her scowl he rolled his eyes and knocked on the glass.
A voice beyond called for them to enter, and so they did.
Sheriff Gaines was a man in his late thirties, with neatly trimmed brown hair and an immaculate uniform, the little golden badge gleaming proudly on his chest. He looked between them with an open expression and Faith got the sense this was a friendly man who handled his town with joviality rather than the typical firm hand of the law.
"Not every day we get federal agents in our town," he greeted them happily, thrusting a hand into the empty space between them. "Sheriff Gaines, and you are-?"
"Agents Orwell and Atwood," said Toby, still in that ridiculous but flawless accent, confidently shaking the sheriff's hand. Faith took it next, shaking firmly and meeting his eyes without so much as a blink of hesitation.
"Paula said you're here about a cold case?" he asked once she'd let go, gesturing for them to sit in the chairs on their side of his desk, which was piled with so many photo frames it was practically an art gallery.
"The Gilbert barn massacre in '82," said Toby with a nod as he smoothly unbuttoned his suit jacket and took a seat. Faith tried to look sure of herself as she sat down in the chair on his left.
Gaines seemed bemused. "Why would the FBI be interested in that old case?"
"There have been a string of similar cases over the last few years, but this seems to be the first in the trend. We thought we'd come take a look at your hardcopy evidence, see if we can't put the pieces of this puzzle together before even more people get hurt," lied Toby like a fucking champion.
Faith was begrudgingly impressed.
Gaines lifted a hand to scratch at the barely-there stubble on his jaw. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said, and it sounded like he meant it. "That case is something of a local legend round these parts. My uncle – the sheriff during the year it happened – he spent years trying to figure it out. Nothing ever came of it. The mystery nearly drove the poor guy insane. Came up with all sorts of crackpot theories about the case – cost him his badge, in the end."
"Well, it's a mystery we hope to uncover," said Toby with a patient smile.
Gaines leant back in his chair, springs creaking and groaning under his weight as he steepled his hands in front of him. "It's a real head-scratcher, I'm telling you. Just over a dozen men dead of heart failure, and one woman dead from blood loss – and she'd been writing strange symbols in her own blood."
The sheriff seemed utterly flummoxed. Faith didn't blame him – it was a rather peculiar case. Toby cut her a look, as if worried she might be sensitive to the blunt nature of her mother's gruesome end – but Faith had never known the woman. You couldn't feel grief over a mother you didn't even remember. For all intents and purposes, Emily Jett was just a stranger with some shared DNA.
"What's the leading theory?" Faith asked the sheriff curiously.
Gaines rocked back and forth in his chair a few times, thinking. "Well, you ask any local and they'll happily tell you stories of the cult run out of old Gilbert's land. Gilbert denies it, of course. To this day claims he knew none of the individuals involved and had no ties to such a thing."
"He's still alive?" Toby asked, pulling a notebook from his jacket pocket, along with a little pencil, and beginning to take notes. Faith thought he was maybe laying it on a bit thick – but she certainly wasn't the expert here.
"He is. Getting on in years, though. Dementia's beginning to set in," the sheriff told them conversationally. "Even has an age-care nurse dropping in on him five days a week. You probably won't get much out of him; or, at least, nothing new."
"We'll follow up with him, just to make sure," said Toby sweetly. "We're very thorough."
Gaines lifted his hands in surrender. "Be my guests."
Faith leant forwards in her seat. "Can we take a look at that hard copy evidence?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager. If she did, the sheriff didn't seem to notice.
"Sure thing," he said, dragging open a drawer and digging through its contents until he pulled free a set of keys and climbed to his feet. "We only got our computer system up and running a couple of months ago – we haven't had time to digitalise the files yet. Otherwise, you probably wouldn't have had to make the trip all the way out here," he chattered easily as he led them from his suffocating office and across the main room.
Another door led to their file storage, the room bigger than the sheriff's office. When he unlocked the door and waved them inside, Faith realised it looked even more cluttered than his desk. There seemed to be no sensible filing system, and while Faith had never been a stickler for organisation, she had to admit it was irksome.
How were they supposed to find anything in this mess?
"It's a little disorganised," Gaines admitted sheepishly. Faith swallowed back a scoff. Understatement. "But the files you're looking for should be towards the back, behind all the pink paper stacks."
"Pink?" asked Faith, and immediately regretted it.
"It's a funny story, actually. The receptionist at the time was in charge of ordering our paper supply, and she wasn't very good at ordering by catalogue, so by some mistake we ended up with pink paper for a whole year-"
"Thanks, Sheriff," Toby cut him off, thrusting a hand towards him. "We can take it from here."
Surprised by the brush off, the sheriff shook his hand, nodded politely at Faith, then said, "Give us a shout if you need anything."
"Will do."
He left them alone and Faith immediately shucked off her blazer, throwing it over a nearby filing cabinet which had begun to rust with age. "Where do we even start?" she asked, bracing her hands on her hips as she eyed the mountains of loose folders and papers that made up the station's records.
"Where he said, behind the pink stacks," Toby ordered her. But looking at the stacks, it became very quickly clear that this would be no easy task. It was a literal sea of files, stacked precariously atop one another like the low-budget version of Jenga. "There doesn't seem to be a system, but they should at least be grouped by date. Look for any files from 1982; it should be nearby."
They said nothing as they painstakingly sifted through the files, both very conscious of the thin walls and unfamiliar surroundings. There was no way to know if they were being eavesdropped on, so talking wasn't an option if they wanted to maintain their cover.
It took nearly an hour, but finally Faith's eyes caught on a familiar name.
Victim: Emily Cordelia Jett
Age:27
Cause of death: Severe trauma and blood loss-
"Got it," Faith said, holding up the file which wasn't quite as thick as she'd have liked it to be.
Toby dropped the file he was holding and picked his way through the minefield of paper towers to reach her. He removed the pile of paper from atop a waist-high filing cabinet, clearing her a space to work. She nodded in distracted thanks.
The file told her nothing she didn't already know – a woman, Emily Jett, was found dead in the middle of a group of random, unrelated men. She'd died from blood loss, and while she'd been bleeding out, she seemed to have drawn strange symbols into the concrete with her blood. They'd sent photos of the drawings to every translator that would take them – nobody could translate the symbols.
"It says here that she was seen around town by multiple witnesses," she read, running a finger down the information on the page as she read it so fast her head began to spin. "Says she was asking questions about some shady activity out on the Gilbert farm in the days leading up to her death."
Faith went to move the paperwork, searching for the crime-scene photographs attached to the file, but Toby's hand on hers brought her to a stop. She looked up in question, finding him frowning warily. "I don't think this is something you need to see."
She glared at him. "I can handle it. It's not like I actually knew the woman."
"Still, Faith… It's your mother…"
Faith's only answer was to bat his hand away from her and wrench the file open wider to get a good look at the photos Toby thought she shouldn't see.
They were graphic in the way that most crime-scene photographs were. Lots of dead bodies, a whole lot of blood, and absolutely no dignity given to those dearly departed. Faith's eyes immediately caught on the only woman in the pictures – she looked so different to the image of the person in the photo Bobby had given her two weeks ago. But despite the disconnect, it was still unequivocally the same woman.
She was laid, lifeless, on her stomach in the middle of a large circular drawing made in her own lifeblood. The same blood that coated her fingers like a paste, proving she'd been the one to use her last moments of consciousness to etch the senseless symbols onto the concrete floor.
There was a close up of her face – Emily Jett, the woman who gave her life but hadn't stuck around to watch that life grow. There was dried blood smeared on her ashen skin, and her eyes were open, staring unseeingly up at the camera, a subtle film covering what should have been a whiskey shine.
Faith didn't realise she was frozen, staring at the image wordlessly, until Toby called her name. She looked up from the picture like she'd been caught doing something wrong, finding him frowning at her in concern. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Do you recognise these symbols?"
She shuffled through the hefty amount of photographs filling out the rest of the aged manilla folder, finding a few good ones of the symbols themselves. They were smeared onto the concrete in a circumference around Emily, as if she'd needed to make the shapes as large as possible but hadn't had the strength to move beyond where she lay.
To Faith's relief, Toby finally stopped fretting over her emotional state long enough to take the pictures she held out, scanning them with a furrowed brow. "I don't recognise them specifically," he admitted. "But they look similar to some styles I'm familiar with."
"We have to make copies," she said, shutting the file with a snap. "We can get a closer look back at the motel."
The copy machine was as ancient as the rest of the building, but Toby was able to make it work, painstakingly copying out each individual picture until they had a pile of their own. Then they photocopied the paperwork and reports from the officers on-scene, put them in a spare manilla folder and returned the originals to the terribly organised record room.
Sheriff Gaines was in his office when they were done, and they stepped inside to thank him for his cooperation. "Any time," he told them with a friendly smile. "How long will you be in town?"
Toby and Faith exchanged a glance. "We're not sure," Toby answered him evenly. "We want to poke around a bit. We still want to visit the old Gilbert farm; see the area for ourselves."
"Sure thing," said the sheriff. "But do me a favour and go easy on old Pete? Like I said, he's not doing so great these days, and he can be easily upset."
"We'll be gentle," Faith assured him, only to grimace at the questionable wording.
Gaines didn't appear to notice. "Well, don't be shy. If you need anything while you're here in town, just give us a holler. Oh, and if you could sign a release with Paula at the front desk, just to keep the chain of evidence clear, y'know?"
"Will do, Sheriff. Thanks again," said Toby, shaking his hand once before they turned to leave.
The receptionist – Paula, the sheriff had called her – seemed to be eagerly awaiting Toby's reappearance. Faith noticed she'd put makeup on – mascara and a truly frightening shade of lipstick. Her shirt was tugged a little lower, too, and she was leaning forwards to make her cleavage pop.
Toby didn't appear to notice any of it, expressionless as he approached the counter and said, with simple politeness, "Sheriff Gaines wanted me to sign a chain of evidence form? We made copies, rather than take the originals, but it's best we note it anyway."
"Of course," said Paula, batting her eyelashes and leaning forwards even more to reach for the right paperwork. The last thing Faith wanted was to sit around and watch Toby score, so she wandered over to the water cooler in the corner, pouring herself a cup and taking her time drinking it.
She finished one cup, then had another, because Toby and Paula were still talking. Finally, she decided she needed to step in. Toby could flirt all he liked – but on his own time, not when they were on the job. She reached them just as Paula handed Toby a card with her name and number scrawled in loopy handwriting.
Toby smiled, but it was more perfunctory than anything else, and he left the receptionist with a vague goodbye and strode immediately from the office. Poor Paula seemed stunned by the abrupt disappearance, so Faith muttered something about her partner getting cranky when he was hungry and quickly followed him out into the light of day.
She found Toby just in time to see him rip the little card in two and toss the pieces into a trashcan with a deep grimace set into his face. Faith stared at him, the reaction unexpected. "Well, I didn't think she was that awful," she finally said, and Toby stood up straight, as if he hadn't realised she was there.
"We should get going," he said briskly, and she was relieved to find his English accent back where it ought to be, just as smooth and irritating as ever. "I want to compare those symbols in the pictures to reference books I keep in the car."
He began to walk towards the car so quickly, Faith had to jog to keep up. "I know we're here for a job, but if you wanted to take the night off – y'know, get to know the locals – I wouldn't hold it against you. I can make myself scarce."
"I'm not interested," he grumbled.
"I know she seemed high-maintenance, but isn't that the beauty of this line of work? The fleeting stays in towns like this one? I'd have thought you'd want to take advantage of the opportunity-"
Toby whirled around on her with fire in his eyes. "I'm not interested, Faith."
Faith blinked, stunned by the sudden force of his ire. Toby seemed to realise he was acting weird and the anger in him – whatever its cause – faded away from his eyes until there was only exhaustion and regret left behind.
"Come on," he finally said, jerking his chin in the direction of the car. "We're burning daylight."
Faith didn't know what to do other than follow him silently to the car. The ride back was fraught with tense silence, and eventually Faith could take it no longer, reaching forwards to turn on the radio. Some current pop song began playing from the speakers, but it felt tacky and shallow to her ears. Too awkward to turn it off again, Faith grit her teeth and endured it.
Back at the motel, Faith watched as Toby made sure they were alone in the parking lot before he opened the trunk to reveal his weapons cache. With all manner of rifles, knives, crossbows and flare guns, it was a collection large enough to maybe take over a small country. But Toby didn't reach for any of the weapons, instead grabbing the false bottom of the inside of the trunk and lifting it to reveal a huge array of dusty old books.
There was – arguably – more books than there were weapons.
"Why am I not surprised?" she wondered aloud.
"I can't always rely on a phone call to Bobby to solve a problem on the road," he explained without having to be asked, already beginning to sort through the various tomes stuffed like sardines into his trunk. "It's helpful to have research materials of my own to refer to."
"There's this wonderful new invention," she began teasingly, "don't know if you've ever heard of it. I believe it's called a…computer? I hope I'm pronouncing that right."
Toby ignored her, but some of the tension still lingering in his shoulders melted away like magic, and she knew she'd accomplished what she'd set out to. Sometimes it wasn't about simply pissing him off at all; sometimes it was just as much about reminding him she was there to rely upon, even if it was just for a sarcastic comment.
"Computers can be hacked," he told her over his shoulder. "Books can't."
She snorted. "What are you, eighty?"
His glare could have cooked a chicken at five paces. "I'm cautious."
"Paranoid."
"Smart."
"Overbearing."
He made a rude gesture before heaving up a small selection of the heavy tomes and propping them up on his hip. Then he shut his trunk with a thump and began heading towards their room. Gripping the precious files to her chest, Faith followed him into the relative safety of their motel room.
"You hungry?" Toby asked as she kicked off her shoes and took a seat at the small table near to the kitchenette, where he'd just set down all his musty old books.
She hadn't noticed how hungry she was until he'd asked, her own needs going forgotten in lieu of the mystery before her. "Starved."
"I'll head back out and grab us some lunch," he offered.
She frowned. "Should I come?"
"No, you stay here and get a head start on research." At her wary look, Toby took a step forwards and lowered his hand to her shoulder. "You're in a locked room, and nobody knows you're here. Besides, you're armed to the teeth. You're gonna be fine."
She nodded once and Toby mirrored her, scooping up his keys and heading for the door.
"Any requests?" he called over his shoulder.
"Something hot!"
He didn't answer, but he didn't really have to. Faith heard the door shut with a click, and then she was left with the resounding knowledge that she was entirely alone for the first time in weeks. She wasn't scared, necessarily, but it was certainly a harrowing thought.
Faith had always done well on her own – or at least, she had until she'd met Nate, and hadn't needed to be alone often at all. After they'd moved in together, he'd always been there – if not in body, then in spirit. His scent and belongings would surround her, and Faith would never feel alone.
Then he'd died, and she'd immediately been taken under Sam and Dean's wing, and then Bobby's, and then Toby's… And apart from bedtime at Bobby's house, she wasn't sure she'd even had a moment to herself since Nate's death.
Now she was alone completely, and the emptiness of the room seemed to echo and scream. The door was locked, but she knew enough about the world now to know that a lock wasn't going to do shit against something that really, truly wanted to get in.
Her hand drifted to her knife, fingers curling around the hilt. It was warm from being pressed against her hip and she gripped it tight, letting herself simply breathe. It took a moment, but eventually she was able to let it go and focus on the task at hand.
She arranged the crime-scene photos so they were splayed across the table for her to see, then cracked open the closest book (Demonic Rituals and Banishing Spells) and began to flip through the pages, looking for anything even slightly close to the symbols smeared on that cold concrete floor nearly exactly twenty-three years ago.
Faith didn't know much about history, but she'd spent enough hours over the last eight weeks at Bobby's, poring over tome after tome on witchcraft and ancient rituals, to know Latin when she saw it. Or rather, some of it was Latin, mixed throughout a myriad of unrecognisable symbols that could have been the language of the lost city of fucking Atlantis, for all she knew.
She picked up a stray notepad Toby had left behind and a pen, beginning to trace the symbols onto the paper, just to familiarise herself with their shape. But no matter how many times she traced over the curves and dips of the symbols, they didn't make any more sense than they had before. She kept scanning the book, but there was nothing – barely any sketches in it at all, so even if it was something to do with the symbols, she wouldn't know unless she read every goddamn line.
Latin mixed with something else. But why? For what reason? Why would her mom use her dying breath to trace these symbols into the ground? Was it a message? If yes, then for who? For Faith herself?
She threw the pen in frustration, watching emotionlessly as it soared across the room and clattered against the floor.
Faith had never been the type to like to admit when she didn't know something – it made her feel vulnerable, to admit she was somehow lacking. It was sort of an unspoken rule for herself, growing up. When in doubt, fake it till you make it. Because if someone thought you had no power, if they saw you had a weakness, they would do everything in their power to take advantage of that weakness.
But suddenly, Faith was neck-deep in a situation – in a world – that she knew next to nothing about. It was impossible to fake it now, because faking it got you killed. You had to be capable, you had to know everything, or at least be willing to admit when you didn't, or it literally put your life at risk.
It was with that humbling thought in her head that Faith crossed the room to dig in her discarded coat for her phone. Pulling it free, she began to pace the length of the room, barefoot and a little bit too warm, as she scrolled through her meagre list of contacts until she reached the S's.
Her finger hovered over the button for Sam's number, and as she hesitated, she wondered what she might say. She didn't know Sam – or Dean – very well at all. And just because they'd saved her life once, it didn't mean they wanted her calling them at all hours of the day to whine or ask for advice.
But she'd felt a bond with them. Maybe it was just some fucked up type of hero worship, or maybe they were just cool guys that made it easy to feel like they were your friends. Maybe all of it was in her head, but other than Toby – and maybe Bobby, if he counted – she didn't have any friends. Except, possibly, Sam and Dean.
She and Dean had gotten along well, and maybe it would have been easier to talk to him than Sam – but the fatal flaw in that was that Dean didn't like Chick Flick Moments. And she wasn't about to call him and bother him with mushy stuff that would only make him uncomfortable. No, Sam was her best bet.
She didn't realise she'd hit the button until the phone began to ring. With a muffled curse she lifted the phone to her ear, heart racing. It rang for long enough that she began to think Sam wouldn't answer – but then it connected, and she felt a rush of relief, only for it to freeze into panic when she realised it wasn't Sam who had answered the call after all.
"Sammy's Crematorium, you ghost 'em, we'll roast 'em," came Dean's gravelly voice, jovial and impish like a kid on his first crank call.
"Dean," she said, like an idiot. "Hi."
From the other end of the call, there was a beat of silence, then Dean said, "Faith?"
She wasn't sure why it surprised her that he remembered her by voice alone, but it did. Another beat passed and neither of them spoke, and just as it began to get awkward, Dean broke the quiet.
"You needed to speak to Sam?" he asked.
"Yes – well, no. Needed is a strong word," she said awkwardly. "I just – he's the researcher of the two of you, isn't he?"
They hadn't told her as much, but she'd always been good at reading people, and Dean hadn't really seemed the sit-still-and-read type. "Yeah, usually he is," Dean told her after a beat.
"Well, I'm finding myself in something of a pickle – research-wise – and so I thought I might see if he had any advice for long nights when you have more questions than books," she laughed, wondering if Dean could hear the nervousness in her voice.
A moment, some rustling on the other end, then Dean said, "Well, Sammy's out…uh…well, working might be an overstatement. Hey, unrelated question – do you have any idea what to do when the computer tells you it has network connectivity issues?"
Despite herself, Faith laughed. "Did you try turning it off and on again?"
"Yeah. Twice."
Faith sat down at the table again, a little bit of that restless energy leaking from her body. It was possible to sit still again, and she leant back in her chair as they talked.
"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," Dean said, and maybe it was strange that she knew what he meant without having to ask.
"Toby and I came over to Wyoming to look into my mother's death," she told him freely. If Dean was surprised that she said it so bluntly, he didn't let on. "He's gone to grab lunch while I read the old books he keeps stashed in his trunk."
"Toby?" Dean asked curiously. "Oh, Tobias Monroe, right? I remember Sammy asked me about him a couple months back."
"Yeah, Bobby called around to all the hunters he thought might be willing to take me on. Toby was the only one who actually answered him."
"Lucky you," drawled Dean. "From what I've heard, Tobias is kind of a wet blanket. His hunting partner, Oliver, sounds like a bit of a dog, so I'd watch out-"
"It's just Toby," Faith said quickly, glancing at the door, half expecting Toby to come bursting through it to berate her for even allowing Dean to say Oliver's name. Whatever had happened to the faceless hunter, she got the sense it wasn't anything good. "I think Oliver might have…" her throat grew tight, and for a moment she felt a grief that wasn't entirely her own. "Well, it's just Toby." She finished decisively, "And he's not so bad."
A pause. "That's too bad about Oliver," said Dean quietly, and they sat in silence for a moment, allowing the fallen hunter the respect they knew he deserved – even if they'd never met him. "What about Tobias, though? Is he as much of a wet blanket as the rumours suggest?"
Faith laughed softly, leaning back in the seat and kicking her feet up onto the chair opposite her. "Maybe a little, but in a good way, I think. He's taught me heaps already, even if he is working me to the bone. I feel like I'm at army bootcamp. I dunno how you learned how to be a hunter, but did it by any chance involve burpees?"
Dean's chuckle was like whiskey poured over fresh ice. "No, it didn't. I'd say I lucked out in that regard. Anyway – what's the beast?"
"Beast?"
"That you're hunting? The one you're researching?"
"Oh, there isn't one. I'm pretty sure Toby thinks I'm not ready to actually test my newly learned skills in the field," she said lightly. "I used my fake FBI badge for the first time today, though. That was fun."
"Don't ever say this job's without its perks."
She smiled, and if it was a little wider than necessary, well then, nobody had to know. "We managed to get a hold of the crime-scene pictures from the day my mom killed all those demons in that barn," she told him conversationally. "She used her dying breaths to draw senseless symbols on the floor in her own blood, and so I'm hitting the books, trying to figure out what they mean."
"Theories?"
"I'm thinking some sort of spell or ritual, but Toby doesn't recognise it, and I can't find anything that matches it in his books, either."
"You try searching it online?"
"That's next on my list. I was calling Sam in the hope that he would be able to give me the will to press on," she said wryly, tracing her fingertip over the shapes on the note page in front of her. "I was never great at school – even on the rare days I actually showed up."
Dean huffed out a laugh on the other end of the call. "Yeah, I've been there," he said, sounding amused and more than a little understanding.
"What about you?" she asked, because suddenly she was sick of talking about herself. "Tit for tat, right?"
"Well, not much happening up here. We're taking a few days off, actually. Hanging out in upstate New York," Dean told her.
"Days off?" she asked because she wasn't aware hunters took sick days.
"You know how it is," Dean drawled. "Boy meets girl, girl nearly dies, boy sticks around to celebrate the beauty of life."
Faith wasn't sure what to say to that. It took her a moment to form words. "You're saying you hung around to get laid?"
"Well, not me," he said with a laugh. "Sammy. I tell you, the kid's learnin'."
This time it was Faith who laughed, shaking her head even though he couldn't see it. "How long until you're back on the road?"
"I'm hoping to leave tomorrow, if I can pull Sammy away from this Sarah chick long enough to show him the case I found over in Nebraska."
"Oh yeah, what's it look like?"
"Just your typical salt and burn, I think. Won't know till we get there, though." There was a pause, then Dean said, "Isn't it weird for you? Going from being normal to talking about ghosts like it's the weather?"
Faith's smirk was wry as she tipped her head back to stare up at the ceiling. "What is 'normal', anyway? Whatever it is, I don't think I was ever it. Weird as it sounds, all this stuff, it makes sense to me… Besides, clearly, I have some role to play in all of this. I'd rather take this thing by the horns than wait for it to come find me."
Dean huffed a quiet laugh. "Well, I can't blame you there."
The door to their motel opened and Faith dropped her feet to the floor and sat ramrod straight like she'd been caught smoking by her foster parents – again. But it was just Toby – of course it was, who else would it be? – and as he shut and locked the door behind him, he raised a single brow and nodded at her cell phone in question.
"Hey, Toby just got back with lunch, so I'd better go," she told Dean hastily. It felt weird to continue her conversation with Dean while Toby was around – like talking to her boyfriend with her guardian listening in. Not that Dean was now, or would ever be, her boyfriend. As if.
"Yeah," he agreed. "I've gotta go find Sammy, anyhow."
"I'll…um…" she was going to say 'see you', but she wasn't so sure she would.
"See you later," said Dean before she could figure out what to say instead. "You give 'em hell, yeah?"
Again, he'd wrung a smile from her even when she didn't mean for him to. "You too. Oh, and Dean? Stop answering Sam's phone like an asshole. You're gonna get yourself hit."
His laugh echoed in her ear as she pulled the phone away and hung up, tossing it onto the pile of books sat atop the table.
"Hard at work, I see," said Toby dryly, all the while beginning to clear off the table, moving all his precious books to the closest bed where they would be safe from grease stains from the food.
Faith stood to help him. "I decided to use up my 'phone a friend' lifeline," she snarked as she carefully put all the crime-scene pictures back into their folder and laid it gently atop her pillow.
"And are we now any closer to figuring out what these symbols mean?" Toby asked dryly. Faith made a face that was all the answer he needed, and with an exasperated look, he muttered, "That's what I thought."
"Quit being a sanctimonious bastard and give me my food," she demanded grouchily, making a grabby motion with her hands. He rolled his eyes but handed over her hot carton of sweet-and-sour pork all the same.
"Have you learned anything?" he asked as he took the seat opposite her, cracking open the soda he'd picked up and digging into his own carton of steaming sesame chicken.
"Why d'you have to say it like that?" she griped. "'Anything'. As if I've been sitting here painting my nails. You were the one gone for close to an hour."
"The first three places I stopped at looked like they were one surprise health inspection away from getting shut down."
"You're such a baby," she teased. "Seriously; how do you even survive? You probably even use those disposable toilet seat covers they have at public restrooms."
Toby looked scandalised. "You don't? Honestly Faith, it's a miracle you've made it to twenty-four."
She snorted into her food. "We hunt monsters as our day job, and you think germs are going to be the thing that does us in?" Toby made a face but otherwise didn't react. "In regard to the topic at hand," she began, pulling the notepad closer and holding it up for him to see, "I've figured out that some parts of it are definitely Latin."
"And did you translate it?"
"They don't exactly keep Latin-to-English dictionaries in motel bedside tables."
"You don't speak Latin?"
"Why in the living fuck does that surprise you?" she shot back. "A week before I met you, I was a waitress in a diner that got held up at gunpoint every other month. Where would I possibly have learned Latin?"
Toby shook his head in exasperation, but when he spoke, his words were unexpectedly serious. "It's hard to remember you haven't always done this," he told her honestly. "Oliver and I have been working together since-"
He cut himself off abruptly, pain exploding like the bang of a gun across his face. Faith said nothing, watching as he pretended to dig into his meal with enthusiasm. She kept staring, and he kept eating as if his life depended on it. Finally, Faith couldn't take it anymore.
"Are we ever going to talk about it?" she asked, voice softer than usual.
Toby stopped stuffing food into his mouth long enough to cast her a warning look. "Faith," he said, both an order and a plea.
"You can't just keep avoiding it, Toby," she told him, ducking her head to try to catch his gaze. "Something happened to your partner – something happened to Oliver, and if you don't talk about it, it's just going to get worse-"
"You're not exactly the best person to be lecturing me about grief, Faith," said Toby sharply.
She reeled back as though slapped. "What does that mean?"
"You think this path of vengeance will bring Nate back? You're only becoming a hunter to deal with your bloody survivor's guilt."
Her jaw went hard as steel. "We're not talking about me right now."
"No," he agreed. "We're not talking about either of us. So drop it, okay?"
"Toby-"
"Faith," he said, and when he finally met her eyes, his own were filled was desperation. "Please."
He looked broken, all of a sudden. Fragile in a way she hadn't seen him – in a way she hadn't realised he'd known how to be. He stared at her, blue eyes anguished and lined with silver. Faith swallowed back the stubborn argument burning on the tip of her tongue and forced herself to nod her head. "Okay," she said quietly. "When you're ready."
Toby didn't argue, but he didn't agree, either. He simply turned back to his food and went about eating like there was nothing wrong. Faith made a conscious effort not to watch him, forcing herself to eat normally and keep her foot from tapping anxiously against the floor.
They finished their lunch, then Toby stood to toss their empty food cartons in the trash before walking over to his things and re-emerging with a laptop held in one hand.
"And here I thought you were a giant technophobe," she said, glad when her voice came out even.
"It's true, I prefer books," he allowed even as he glowered down at the laptop like it had wronged him somehow. "But I'd be an idiot not to utilise every advantage I have."
Faith arranged her face into an expression of exaggerated concern. "Do you need me to press any of the noisy buttons for you?"
His eyes cut to her, and everything between them was put right again, like magic. "Shut up," he said without heat. Faith smirked. "Would you rather book or laptop duty?"
"I get a choice?"
"We're heading into deep-research-mode," he said. "It's your first time, so I'm being gentle."
She made a face. "Cute."
"Laptop or books?"
"Laptop," she said, making another grabby gesture at the computer he held. Rolling his eyes, he handed it over before collecting all his reference materials once more, spreading them out across the small kitchen table they were using as a workspace. "Can I guess your password? Wait, let me get into your mindset. Hmmm, tea and crumpets and scones. Doctor Who is the pinnacle of television. God save the queen."
"I hate you," said Toby without looking up from his books. "The password's zmf45soe2."
"Ugh," she groaned. "You're so boring."
Toby's only response was a single finger aimed in her direction, but Faith didn't mind, because balance had been disturbed and all was right in the world once more. And if she had to listen to music in bed that night to keep Toby's sharp words from echoing like gunshots in her head… Nobody needed to know that but her.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed this one – more Toby, as requested. I really love writing their dynamic. Would love to hear your thoughts :)