Shawn blanched. He almost didn't recognize the two men when they weren't wearing government-style suits. "Really?!"
The so-called 'Agent Utah'- the shorter one- stared. "Okay, this is just creepy! What are you, stalking us or something?"
A car drove by. All four men instinctively crouched lower behind the bushes, waiting to see if the coast was clear. Parked cars lining the street hid them from view.
When it was clear, they stood up, each one staring or glaring at the other side.
"How did you even find this place?!" The tall one, Agent Patrick, whisper-asked.
"Oh, I don't know," Shawn whispered back fiercely. "Maybe because I'm psychic!?"
Shawn had asked Juliet if the victim's car had been located. Just like he suspected, it was still parked in the vicinity of the cult meeting location- if a few blocks away, and out of sight, to protect Stampler's real identity.
But the brothers didn't need to know that.
"How did you find it?" Gus whispered suspiciously.
"Lucky guess," Utah whisper-grunted.
"We'll have you know that Gus and I were here first, fair and square. You'll have to wait your turn to investigate," Shawn whispered intensely.
"Get your own cult to scope out!" Gus whispered.
Utah recoiled. He roughly whispered, "What? No way. We were here first!"
Shawn whisper-glared. "How do we know you're not lying? Brothers Mr. Fakerton and Mr. Fakerton the third!"
Gus poked his head out. "That's right. We know all about you being fake FBI agents!"
The brothers exchanged a sharp look.
Patrick watched them helplessly, speaking quietly, "Okay. Look. Let's just… take it easy, okay?"
Shawn wanted to smirk at throwing the brothers off-kilter. Clearly, they weren't used to losing the advantage. He only faltered slightly as he noticed the tell-tale signs of a handgun sticking out of the back of the shorter brother's jeans. But the gloating would have to wait, he knew. There were much more pressing, much more infuriating, matters to address. Names, specifically.
"Oh, and word of advice," Shawn whispered fiercely, "if you're gonna pretend to be FBI, pick some better names." He practically spat out the words- "Utah? Patrick?! Really?!"
"That's not even a last name!" Gus exclaimed.
Patrick jolted to life. "That's what I said!"
Utah smirked, chuckling.
Shawn shook his head. "Either go full 'Point Break' or don't go there at all!"
Utah's smirk fell. He glared at his brother. "Yeah, well, it's only 'cuz his 'Han Solo' badge nearly got us ganked a couple weeks back!"
"That's a surprise," Shawn muttered sarcastically.
Patrick whirled on his brother, still crouched beside the hedge. "Really? So what- This is payback? Dude, you had 'Booty Inspector' written on our badges!"
"Yeah, and no one noticed until you decided to go all Harrison Ford!" Utah whisper-yelled back.
Gus shook his head. "Two guys and the fake names are 'Utah' and 'Patrick'? That's a missed opportunity if I ever saw one."
Shawn nodded enthusiastically. "Especially when 'Jake' and 'Elwood' are right there for the taking!"
"Or Starsky and Hutch."
"Or Bo and Luke Duke," Shawn said.
"Tufnel and Hubbins, Gus said.
"Nice!"
"Thank you."
Utah's eyes widened. "Wait- From Spinal Tap? I used that one!"
Sam stared incredulously at Dean.
Dean mentally shook himself. "Yeah, well, we still fooled you idiots." There were many, many words he wished to say to the two annoying men in front of them, some of which wouldn't be suitable for daytime television. But one thing remained above all else. It had bothered him for hours, chasing away last night's sleep, and he'd stewed over the utter embarrassment of it.
Now, he had his chance to face those responsible, his eyes narrowing as fire streaked his words. He glared. "Don't you go getting all high and mighty with us! We saw what you did on American Duos."
Shawn watched with an entirely too innocent frown. "You mean our great performance?"
"You're an embarrassment to A-ha!"
Shawn recoiled. "Whoah, now."
"Let's not say anything we'll regret," Gus said.
"Okay… So we might've been a little rusty on the first round," Shawn admitted.
Sam scoffed. "After we watched it, the people next door called in a wellness check. They thought someone died!"
"What'd you do to Nigel? Huh? Blackmail him with your psychic tricks? Bribe him? Drug him?" Dean asked, offended. "He never gives good scores, not ever."
"We'll have you know we were on a case," Gus smiled. "Which we solved."
"And sent Zapato to jail for attempted murder," Shawn also smirked.
Dean blinked. "Wait, wait. That was you guys? You got him arrested? I knew this was his last season-"
Sam stared at his brother again.
Another car passed down the road. They all ducked in unison, hidden just enough by the hedge. A few heartbeats later, the car was gone. They relaxed.
"Why are you guys here, anyway?" Shawn finally whispered.
Gus narrowed his eyes. "How do we know you're not part of the cult? For all we know you could be in on it, putting on a show to throw the police off the scent! Or planting evidence!"
Dean frowned. "Whoah, whoah, hold on- Planting evidence? Where'd that come from?"
"We're not part of the cult, or whatever's going on here," Sam said calmly. "We're just trying to get to the bottom of what happened, just like you guys. We want to make sure no one else gets hurt. That's all."
The psychic duo watched them suspiciously, contemplative.
Dean shot his brother a questioning look. He had a bad feeling about where his brother was going with that. Sam ignored him. The last thing they needed was to involve-
"We can explain everything," Sam added, his brows furrowing in that sympathetic way that was easily weaponized. "My brother and I. We're sort of… Professional investigators for this kind of thing. The occult. The unusual."
Dean ducked his head forward with a grimace.
Shawn and Gus exchanged a look. "Like Hare Krishna?" Gus asked.
"Or Dolly Parton's hair?" Shawn asked. "It's clearly magic."
Sam let out a sigh. He was getting tired in more ways than one. And his legs were starting to cramp from crouching for so long. "Is there any way- Maybe we could go somewhere else to talk?"
"Sorry, we have a rule to never go to a second location with strange men carrying guns," Shawn said.
Gus frowned. "Since when?"
"I don't know. Forever?" Shawn scoffed.
"Then what about all those other times?!"
"I can't do this with you right now."
Dean cocked his head, torn between scoffing at the exchange or squinting in confusion. "Other times?" he asked, despite himself. "You mean this happened to you before?"
"Maybe," Shawn muttered. He looked over the brothers, taking in new, minor details- they still wore the boots with tinges of white crystals on them, but the clothing was worn, slightly wrinkled. They didn't move like professionals, and in fact, it looked like the taller one was fighting a wince from trying to crouch. There was a pleading to his expression; it seemed genuine enough. For a possible crazed murderer, he didn't seem that bad. Or maybe he had a Charlie Horse. And the shorter one just looked annoyed. There was only one way to know for sure.
Shawn and Gus had taken bigger risks on far less.
He looked at Gus. Gus looked at Shawn. They had an entire conversation, and debate, silently, jerking their heads and making faces, quick-whispering as if it were an alien language.
"Alright," Shawn said. "Follow us, we know a place."
Dean shot his brother a look that was mostly an incredulous glare. Sam ignored it. "Okay."
"Also, don't pull up next to us at any stoplights."
Dean frowned. So did Sam. "Uh… Sure," Sam muttered.
Checking if the coast was clear, Shawn and Gus crouched-ran along the hedge and back towards their car; their limbs chopping at the air in strange angles, their faces the picture of exertion and absurd focus.
The brothers watched them go. Dean squinted. He hated being right. "Are we really doing this? Bringing those guys in on this?"
"Yeah," Sam sighed.
"Those guys? Those idiots?"
Shawn and Gus attempted to do a roll on the pavement, failed, then scrambled behind another car.
Sam winced. "Yeah."
Across the road from a quiet beach sat a modest house. It was covered in white planks with red accents; its boxy upper windows almost like eyes while its spacious porch formed a wide grin. The yard, while nicely kept and tidy, was surrounded by a short white fence. The grass was somewhat patchy with certain areas in need of a trim.
In the living room, dark wooden paneling on the walls mixed with outdated appliances and a prevalent theme of fishing. Not the fun, tropical style- the boring, fishing kind. A tiki bar sat in the corner of the room.
Shawn and Gus stood across from the two brothers in the fish-laden den. It was the only place for a meeting, really, given the inaccessible state of the Psych office. They could hardly talk business knowing that a rat could spring out at any moment.
Gus leaned over to Shawn. "Are you sure it's a good idea to invite two frauds with guns in here?" he whispered.
Shawn glanced briefly at the brothers. They were sitting on the living room couch; the shorter one was leaning forward with his elbows propped up on his knees. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else besides that room.
The taller one looked over a bass figure made of porcelain.
The shorter one glanced over. "Really? Why do you got to touch everything?"
"I'm not touching anything," he said.
"No, but you were thinkin' it. You gotta stop touching every random thing you see."
The tall brother denied it. His brother denied his denial.
Shawn had known nine-year-old girls who were more concerning. Little Cindy, specifically.
He eyed their outfits. Then, he turned back to Gus. "You're just feeling left out because you didn't get the memo on plaid." There was one person in the room not wearing a button-up plaid shirt, and it wasn't Shawn. "Besides, I remember my dad's busy with something this evening."
Behind them, the taller brother cleared his throat. "Uh…"
Shawn and Gus forced smiles and moved to sit across from them.
"Now that we know you're not actually FBI Agents," Gus stared, "Mind telling us who you really are?"
The taller brother spoke up. "I'm Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean."
Dean forced a smile and a curt nod.
Sam took a quick breath. It was never easy to pull the veil away from innocent eyes, to expose them to the harsh world of evil that lurked everywhere. Sam spoke carefully, yet gently. "We're… We're hunters. We go after the unusual and paranormal threats. Things…" he paused, searching for the words, ever mindful of the burden he would cast upon the men sitting across the room. "Things people don't know about."
Shawn and Gus exchanged a glance. It seemed almost skeptical, wary, but also intrigued, as if a switch had been flipped.
"Really?" Shawn asked.
"Go on," said Gus.
"We hunt the crap that goes bump in the night. Monsters," Dean cut in, all too casually, "Demons. Ghosts. Vampires. Shapeshifters. They're real- all of them and more."
"Did you say… Demons?" Gus asked. He all but gulped. "As in… Demon demons? That possess people?"
Something was at war in Gus' mind. There was the terrible, looming reminder of evil beyond the mortal realm for which he really would have preferred to forget. Demons were real, he knew, and they were no laughing matter.
But, on the other hand, there was the prospect of meeting actual demon and monster hunters. It was just the sort of thing a little boy would dream about, along with bounty hunters, cowboys, firemen, and the guy who sold roasted peanuts at the beach. Because, when it came down to it, hunting monsters was cool.
Child Gus warred with the adult, God-fearing Guster.
"And… Did you say… 'vampires'?" Gus asked, deeply interested, even if part of him longed to whimper and hide somewhere. Vampires and creatures were a different matter entirely.
"I did," Dean drawled. "We've dealt with a few of the bloodsuckers. It ain't pretty."
Gus looked at Shawn. Shawn looked at Gus. Both had wide eyes, awed by what they had just learned.
"Dude!" Shawn smiled. "That's awesome!"
Gus smiled. "You're seriously monster hunters?"
"Yeah," Sam said, frowning. "It's what we do," Sam said. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected. But it was better than what he did expect- which was some mixture of skepticism, screaming, or mocking. "We do research and find possible cases of the paranormal hurting people. We go in, figure out what is it, and stop them. We help people."
"Oh, surely you know all about this," Dean said, watching Shawn, a sarcastic smirk in place. "After all, you're a psychic, right? I'm sure this is nothing new to you. Right?"
Sam knew the investigative duo weren't exactly normal, but he expected some kind of recognition from them. Psychics usually knew at least something about paranormal threats, since they were usually able to sense them in some way. Visions were part of that. His eyes narrowed, watching Shawn, unsure of what to make of it. Maybe he really was just a casual, not-very-good psychic.
Shawn scoffed, lightly. "Well, yeah," he said, as if it were obvious. "We've dealt with a couple of ghosts right here! Isn't that right, Gus?"
Gus nodded, frowning. "Uh. Yeah. Just some basic work," he said with a vaguely confident nod. (They hadn't.)
Dean rose a brow, unimpressed. "Yeah? You must've gotten lucky, then. They're a lot better than demons. Demons are a real pain in the ass. Gotta get them trapped before you can exorcise them."
Shawn frowned. "You help them work out? I'm not sure they need it, personally. They're probably not worried about their weight."
Gus glared at Shawn. "Not 'exercising'. Exorcising. As in exorcism, Shawn."
"Like the exorcist?" Shawn asked. His smirk faded.
Sam frowned. "Sort of. It's usually a lot more dangerous."
"What about chupacabras?" Gus asked.
"They're real," Sam said.
"Jackalopes?" Shawn asked. "No! Bigfoot? Have you guys seen him? Also, was he named 'Harry'?"
"Uh…" Sam frowned. People usually didn't view their jobs in a positive way, let alone excited. Part of him wanted to appreciate the brief moment of recognition. Part of him just felt uncomfortable. He wondered if they were just mocking them. But… That didn't seem to be the case. Were they really that dim? "Those aren't real, actually."
For a moment, Shawn and Gus looked crestfallen. Then, they exchanged a confused glance.
"Question. Do you have special outfits?" Shawn asked.
"Do you use special guns?" Gus asked.
"Or other special tools? What about crossbows? A spear?"
"Or a crucifix gun? Maybe a wooden stake belt?"
"Oh! A holy water gun!"
"Neck guards? Silver-plated armor?"
Dean mustered a forced smile, shaking his head. "Okay- this isn't some joke, alright? It's mainly guns. Holy water. Stakes. Silver. Salt." He paused. "Hey, the holy water gun's not bad," he smirked at Sam.
Sam's face twisted in lost confusion.
Gus side-eyed Shawn, who returned the look, which showed considerably less excitement than earlier. They frowned. "Really?" Shawn asked. "Nothing?"
"Not even proton packs?" Gus asked.
"That's not real," Sam said dryly. "That's just a movie. In real life you just have to salt and burn the remains, usually. Or an item that a spirit has attached itself to."
Salt. The word triggered something in Shawn. In his mind, he remembered a line of white crystals was spread across the threshold of a house.
'Careful,' Big Louie said. 'Don't break the salt line.'
Shawn's face fell, slightly, as realization threatened. Concepts started to connect that harkened of otherworldly, darker things, which he swiftly ignored.
He remembered the salt crystals on the brother's shoes. He raised a hand to his temple. "I'm sensing you use salt to keep evil at bay. Not just for burning… But on the ground, in a line. For protection."
The brothers blinked and shared a surprised glance. "That's right," Sam said, faintly impressed.
"The 'salt of the earth'," Gus said, "Of course!"
Shawn stared.
"It's from the Bible, Shawn," Gus said with a look.
He tried to process all the information. It was like trying to make sense of 2001: A Space Odyssey. There was a vague semblance of understanding, but too many things seemed flashy and random. He also didn't understand why the monkeys were so angry.
"Let me get this straight," Shawn said with an awkward chuckle, as if telling a joke."You guys are monster hunters, you go around taking out ghosts, vampires, demons, scary curses- but not bigfoot- and you basically just use guns, water, and salt? No special armor? Or… Or gear?" Shawn forced an awkward smile, chuckling. "I mean… It's not like you hunt monsters just wearing jeans and plaid, right?"
Shawn laughed. So did Gus.
The words hung in the air, as a seemingly new perspective dawned on the brothers, and in the most uncomfortable way possible.
Shawn's smile wavered. "…Right?"
There was a terribly long pause.
Sam grimaced, faintly, as he struggled to find the words. "It's- It's not that-"
"What?" Dean finally scoffed, a little too loudly. "No! We have the weapons too, okay? And special… sigils. And charms, and crap."
Shawn and Gus forced painful, polite smiles, chuckling in a pale imitation of good humor. "Right!" Shawn uttered.
"Of course," Gus said through a brittle smile. They both chuckled.
Gus smiled, "Would you excuse us for a moment?"
He and Shawn turned around in unison and huddled together at the other side of the room.
"Those guys are nuts!" Gus whispered.
"You said it," Shawn said while matching his low tone. "Bigfoot is obviously real!"
"Exactly! And they don't even have a wooden stake belt! It's practical and stylish."
"And no crossbows? Or silver chains?" Shawn scoffed.
"I bet they weren't even wearing crucifixes!"
"Maybe they're Jewish?"
Shawn could only shake his head. It was all preposterous, of course. He didn't believe in practically anything the brothers talked about- spirits, the undead, and anything superhuman simply didn't exist, so of course they couldn't be hunting them.
He did, however, occasionally believe in bigfoot, jackalopes, and other certain mysterious creatures of fame. Nessie, especially. He dreamed of befriending her. His Christmas cards would be next level. But his belief in anything remotely paranormal varied depending on the week. And the day. And what he'd eaten within the past few hours.
None of that mattered, however, because such petty details like 'not believing in ghosts or demons' were irrelevant when faced with the prospect of meeting monster hunters. Hunting monsters was cool. Everyone knew that. But monster hunters didn't dress like they were living in a cabin in Oregon. And they certainly would've believed in normal, everyday monsters like bigfoot.
On top of it all, they weren't even wearing trench coats. They were no Hugh Jackman or Kate Beckinsale.
Shawn scoffed. "The only thing these guys hunt is the clearance rack at Bass Pro Shop. And maybe the guns. And… Perhaps the pralines-"
"Shawn!" Gus whispered fiercely.
"So, what, they're just two guys who go around pretending to be other people, asking questions and solving cases?"
Gus leveled an incredulous stare. "Uh. That's what we do every day."
Shawn considered. "Good point. Except, they have guns."
They peeked a glance over their shoulders, armed with exaggerated smiles and forced waves. The brothers watched from across the room, frowning.
Shawn and Gus turned back around. Their smiles vanished. "These guys are crazy. And they have guns," Gus rushed to whisper.
"This is true," Shawn said patiently. "I also don't have the heart to tell them to leave."
"Me neither," Gus said. "The tall one has sad puppy eyes! But- What if they really do know something about demons, cults, and curses? We should still hear them out for the case."
Shawn sighed. "What good would that do, Gus? It wasn't a demon or a curse. Those things aren't real!"
"Then it wouldn't hurt to listen to what they have to say, now would it?!" Gus asked.
Shawn's shoulders sagged. He didn't see the point, but there was always the chance of learning something useful. "Ugh. Fine," he scoffed.
Gus and Shawn resumed their seats in the living room. Both wore tense smirks.
"Are you guys okay?" Sam asked gently. "This is a lot to take in."
"Nah, we've got this," Shawn chuckled. "Gus here has been memorizing Bible verses for the past twenty years. And, he can sing all harmonies of Amazing Grace."
Sam squinted, confused. "That's, uh, not really helpful."
Shawn found it all increasingly absurd the longer the conversation went on. But he had to play his part. "So… You guys sneak around, solving cases, shooting monsters, and exercising demons?"
"It's exorcising, Shawn," Gus said.
Shawn paused in thought, remembering the clang-bump he heard in the back of the brother's Impala. He placed a hand to his temple. "I'm sensing you do a lot of… digging?" he asked.
"Yeah," Sam said, impressed. "Sometimes we have to salt and burn remains in order to stop an angry spirit. That might mean digging up a grave."
"That's if we're lucky," Dean said. "It's a hell of a lot easier compared to hunting down some item left in the attic somewhere. Spirits can get attached to almost anything. Curses, too."
Gus let out a faint whimper. His face tensed as he fought a desperate battle to keep his expression calm. "Oh? Is that so?" he managed to say.
"So, you dig up graves and go around impersonating federal officials. Isn't that all highly illegal?" Shawn asked as casually as he could. His disarming smirk had been perfected years ago.
Dean and Sam exchanged a knowing glance. Dean smirked. "Yeah… We don't exactly work above board. Workin' like the A-Team, have to stay outside the suits and cops."
Sam leaned forward with a hand raised in reassurance. "Sometimes we work with local law enforcement. But, it's rare. Usually it's best for us to work on our own and avoid attention. Knowing about all this… It's a lot to deal with. We don't have time to explain it to everyone involved in a case. Not unless it's absolutely necessary, or if they're in danger."
Dean shook his head, remembering their most recent encounter with the feds. Getting arrested in Colorado had led to a terrible siege of demons in a small-town sheriff's office, and they'd had to enlist the help of the officers and an FBI agent. No one believed them, of course, until someone was literally possessed and exorcised before their very eyes.
At the end of the day… Only the brothers had walked out alive. Dean ignored the thought.
"We try to avoid cops. They cramp our style," Dean said casually. "Cops just think you're crazy. Or that you're a serial killer. Sometimes both. They can't get it, they won't get it. Not unless they see something for themselves. Even then, you're lucky if they decide to actually listen to you. By the time that happens, someone's already gotten killed."
That wasn't the answer Shawn hoped to hear. Police were, in his experience, usually trustworthy- the ones in Santa Barbara, anyway. Although he tried to picture how Lassie would react to what the two brothers said. He withheld a wince at the thought. Some creative insults would most definitely be involved. Perhaps they had a point.
"It's part of the territory," Sam said with a thoughtful frown. "A lot of times there are people in danger. These hunts can get really messy. We have to bend the rules in order to keep them safe. That's what it's about, at the end of the day. Helping people."
Gus and Shawn exchanged a look. That part they could understand, at least. And it seemed to be genuine from what Shawn could tell. Gus was right- Sam did have a certain sad-puppy-dog look to him. "Okay. That's fair," Shawn said.
"What are you doing looking into this case?" Gus asked. He gulped. "Do you- Do you think it was some kind of… demon? Or… Or a curse?"
"Something like that," Dean said all too easily.
Sam leaned forward. "We think the victim was a hunter, like us. It looks like he got killed when he got too close to something he was tracking. That's what we're trying to figure out," Sam said.
Shawn inwardly scoffed. A hunter? In Santa Barbara? Chris Stampler? That was a wild idea- He flashed back to the study of the Stampler home, and the small mountain of research into strange things, the scary-looking books and notes that would've been at home on the desk of Jack Skellington. "What makes you think he was a hunter?" Shawn couldn't help smirking. "Just because he had weird reading habits doesn't mean-"
Dean tugged down the top of his shirt enough to reveal a tattoo just below his collarbone. It looked like a black pentagram-type star encircled by a ring of fire. "He had one of these. Anti-possession tattoo."
Shawn instantly matched it to one of the tattoos on the victim. 'Magic' tattoos that Big Louie was an expert in. The room suddenly felt chilly. "I have a tattoo myself," he managed to say with a chuckle. "A little butterfly, on my hand. But only sometimes."
Dean glared at him with a raised brow. "You think this is funny?"
He scoffed. "No! Of course not," he said, even as he fought desperately to keep his voice casual, even as his hands felt clammy.
"Anyway… There's the tattoo, the sulfur, what we learned about his research, and the fact that he seemed to be infiltrating the cult. That's hunter behavior. He found something, apparently."
"Sulfur's the trademark of demons," Dean said relentlessly. "Finding that on the body? There's no way that's a coincidence."
Gus stared with wide eyes. "Oh. So… You think a demon was behind it?" he asked.
"We're not sure, actually," Sam said. "There's evidence of that- but we also found evidence of a curse of some kind. We found some delivery workers who delivered a package to the cult building several months ago. Ever since, they've had a string of unusually bad things happen to them. We think something in the package was cursed."
Shawn now understood how the brothers found the cult building. But the thought offered no reassurance. In fact, he wished he hadn't learned that part.
"What could've been in the package?" Gus asked with a tremble in his voice.
Sam winced. "It could be anything, really. It could be some item a spirit attached itself to before it died. Or… Or a cursed rabbit's foot, for example."
Big Louie leaned forward with a sober, almost paranoid expression. 'Just before he died… He gave me something, said to keep it safe.' He revealed a small white rabbit's foot dangling from one of the chains around his neck.
Shawn froze. He exchanged a sharp look with Gus. Gus gulped.
Shawn managed a broken chuckle. "I'm sorry, did you say… 'rabbit's foot'?"
Sam nodded, frowning. "Yeah." His gaze flickered in alarm. He straightened, his shoulders tensing. "Why? Did- Did you see one?"
Gus let out a small whimper.
"Oh, don't tell me…" Dean leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Shawn smiled in a way that fooled no one. "That's- That's funny," he said tightly. The room started to tilt. Gus looked sick to his stomach.
They both shot up from their seats and huddled at the far end of the room.
"He said a rabbit's foot, Shawn," Gus whispered desperately, the words coming out in a strangled rush. "A rabbit's foot. Just like what the victim was wearing when he died!" He shook his head, and his face had gone just a shade paler than normal. "This is spooky stuff, Shawn! I told you this was for real!"
Shawn's mind raced as he tried to reconcile it all with the real world. Plenty of people carried around rabbit's feet. That's all it was, he told himself. "I don't know," he huffed, gritting his teeth. "It's- it's just a coincidence! Are you trying to tell me a rabbit's foot killed our guy? And that you believe these so-called hunters? Really?!"
But even as he spoke the words, the eerie details of the case taunted him. There was an air of mysticism and unknown evil looming over all of it from the start, from the tattoos, to the cult, to the strange research- and now demon hunters? But how could they know about the rabbit's foot? What were the chances? He swallowed.
Gus glared, whisper-yelling. "Coincidence my foot! I told you from the start-"
"Heh. Nice," Shawn gave a strangled chuckle.
"-Don't go punning on me, Shawn! This is serious. I don't play with demons. Or curses. We can't take this lightly. Not anymore."
Gus found it typical Shawn. His friend always had an obtuse view of anything even remotely supernatural. This was far from news to Gus, who had simply accepted it in Shawn years ago, as he did the myriad of other things that came with being his best friend. But that didn't make it any less frustrating.
Shawn swallowed. He inwardly dismissed the concerns; They could figure out anything, he knew. It might just take them a little while to do it. And to remember the relevant movies to fit the case for that week. He was awesome at this kind of thing. So was Gus.
But then a little voice in the back of his head- which happened to sound exactly like Michael Keaton- said in a mystical voice, 'You've figured out everything so far, but that won't last forever. What if? What if this is something you don't know? What if there's more to the case than you realize? What if you're stumbling in as ill-prepared as a Canadian tourist going to the beach in thick pants, long sleeves, and nary a bottle of sunblock to be had?' What do you know about magic tattoos? Demons? Curses? Mystical barriers?
What if it wasn't a normal murder done by human hands? What if? What if it were something else? Something beyond the normal realm of understanding; something evil. Something that couldn't simply be convinced with some clever words and a smile. Humans? Shawn only needed some time to talk. They could get out of anything.
But dark spirits from beyond the mortal plane? It was the unknown- the chilling, veiled unknown, which existed beyond the mortal rules Shawn had learned to bend so well.
He shook his head and desperately pushed away the thought. He thought of fluffy kittens. Juliet smiling. Rufus giving a thumbs up in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. "No way," he muttered, his voice shaky for some reason."Right? But- What about the- guy? In the house? And-"
"You mean the guy connected to the cult? Where a man died while holding an apparently cursed rabbit's foot?" Gus challenged, his voice a terse whisper, even as he shook slightly with the impulse to run out the front door. "I think we're in over our heads on this. We don't know what we're doing- what do we know about curses? Demons? Cults?!"
Shawn opened his mouth. "Well-"
"And, no. Your dad's Monarch Lodge does not count. Those were just a bunch of old white guys playing golf!"
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying we could really use some expert advice right about now. This is weird stuff, even for us," Gus gave Shawn a hard look; it was the look of a person being pushed out of their comfort zone, onto a busy road, while strapped to a lawn chair. "If only Father Westley was here, he'd know what to do."
Shawn could only stare helplessly as Gus' words washed over him. He wanted to scoff and dismiss it, still, but the denials simply wouldn't form, and his smirk had deserted him.
With a deep breath- and losing some of his pride in the process- Shawn nodded. "Okay, buddy. I hear you." He patted him on the shoulder. "We'll let them help out. And, they have guns. We'll just shove them in front of us if there's any danger. Don't worry, we got this, man!" Shawn said with a confidence he only vaguely remembered.
He was relieved to see Gus nod, his expression softening ever-so-slightly. And he hadn't disappeared straight out the front door, either, so Shawn considered that a win. He clung to the thought. At least one thing had gone well.
When the two returned to the living room, both men had mustered a sliver of courage, enough to stand up straight and appear mostly composed. Although Gus' lip still quivered.
"Okay," Shawn said with a deep breath. "Our firm has discussed your proposal, and we've decided to accept your help with this case."
Dean scoffed. "Glad to see you've finally come around," he smirked.
"It's for the best," Sam said with an encouraging smile. "We're professionals. You just need to tell us what you know. Anything you can think of- no matter how strange or small it might seem."
Shawn and Gus exchanged a reassuring glance. The disturbing realization from moments ago still clawed at them, dampening their spirit. "Sure thing," Shawn said. He managed a reflexive smirk. "We, uh, might've-"
A truck engine could be heard behind the house, growing louder until it was just outside. It stopped.
"You expecting anyone?" Dean asked.
"Uh oh," Shawn uttered.
Gus stared incredulously. "I thought you said he had plans!"
Shawn blinked. "He does. And… I just remembered what they were."
"Who? What plans?" Sam asked.
A door opened in the house. "Shawn? Gus?" An older male voice rang out unseen from the kitchen. "You guys are early. I'm not cooking dinner any earlier just because you're here early, we've been over this! And what's with that old Chevy in the driveway?"
All eyes turned to Shawn. He huffed an awkward laugh, before yelling, "Hey, Dad!"
