SPN AU: Havdalah
It was the Saturday evening service when the men in the black suits showed up, too nicely dressed for Havdalah services at the tiny Reform synagogue in the Northwest suburbs of Chicago. Which was perhaps the best time--only a few congregants attended, and it was after Shabbos, so the rabbi could do work. Like, apparently, translate the leather-
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The man standing in the doorway is around thirty, a little above average height and lean, with a black braid that hangs nearly to his belt. Multiple silver rings gleam from each ear and one eyebrow, and he's dressed simply in a baggy black t-shirt, gray cargo pants, and black combat boots, an etched leather bracelet buckled around one wrist and a length of silver chain wrapped around the other. Industrial chic at its finest, which looks just a little out of place out here in the middle of nowhere. He breaks into a surprisingly easy smile, though, blue eyes warming when he sees Tuck, and when he speaks, his voice is a mild tenor. "Hey, sorry. Usually not in for about another hour. Been a while, man."
Kicking the door open the rest of the way open with one heavy boot, he holds his arms out for a hug.
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His expression warmed almost immediately when Rhys swung the door open. The healer mage slash bartender was easily one of Tuck’s best friends and he crossed the parking lot to deliver on that hug. “Too long, man. Figured I’d swing through and see how you and the future ex-Mrs. Tucker were doin on my way.” There were also a fresh batch of forged IDs and credentials he had to deliver, but he’d leave those quietly behind the bar for Rhys to distribute later.
The first time Tuck and Ellen Harvelle had crossed paths, he wasn’t sure if he should be afraid for his life or propose. Probably a little of both, in retrospect. So he took to calling her his future ex, and in return, Ellen would roll her eyes and sock him none too gently in the shoulder.
It was an unconvential little family, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Still grinning, Tuck turned towards .. hell. “I’m sorry darlin, I didn’t catch your name. Come on up, this is Rhys, he’ll let us camp out here for a bit.”
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And then she glanced up at Rhys, and stopped flat, taking in the sight for a long moment. He didn't seem as safe, at first glance, as Tuck did. Though appearances were deceiving and she knew better than to judge a book by her cover and what has she gotten herself into?
Her arms crossed over her chest, over the book, and over Tuck's tablet all rather defensively.
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Rhys gives the young woman a faint smile, after he backs up a step from hugging Tuck. It doesn't take any kind of special gift to see she's running on less than fumes, especially when she folds up like that, all guarded. It's something he's seen entirely too many times, and his voice is gentle when he says, "Miss? You're safe here. If you wanna come in for a while, sit, and catch your breath, I'll put on some coffee, get you something to eat." Even if he can't do anything else for her, maybe he can coax her to take a nap in one of the beds in the back before she's back on the road, send her off fed and rested and with a better chance than she had before. He props the door open patiently, waiting for the two of them to come in as though it's a foregone conclusion.
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He turned back to the girl fiddling with his tablet. "Come on, darlin, Rhys here's a giant pussycat, and he makes the best cup of coffee you're gonna get for at least the next thirty miles. I'm gonna head in here with my friend, get something to drink, maybe a bite to eat. You're more than welcome to join us and get a little rest before you pass out where you're standing."
The offer was extended. Tuck knew well enough that with some people, that was all you could do. Extend the invite and see what happened. He also had a feeling that was all he needed to do with her. Let her know it was there and come to the decision on her own.
Clapping Rhys on the shoulder, he turned towards the bar.
The Roadhouse was an older bar, and at first glance, didn't seem any different than any other bar. Warm polished wood, chrome and brass beer taps. Sure, the salt supply was a lot higher than average, and a sharp eye might catch the protection sigils worked into the wood along the doorway, the bar and the crossbeams above them. Because above all, the Roadhouse was always a safe haven for anyone who needed it.
Whether they knew it or not.
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Tuck's tablet was offered back as she shambled behind him, because she realized she was squinting at the screen and not really seeing anything anymore. Blurry, heavy. She was going to break down, no matter how hard she tried, and these men were either going to help her or not. All she could do was pray that she was in a safe place.
"Um...thanks for opening, though."
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Once inside, he bolts the door again, since they're not officially open yet, lets Tuck and Davida make themselves comfortable and heads to put a pot of coffee on. Only half the lights are on, and the bar has a peaceful hush to it, a burned-out stick of incense still sitting on the bar from the previous night. Rhys clears it away on his way by, wiping any stray ashes away with a clean rag, and puts a couple of bottles of cold water in its place, then goes to start getting lunch together from the kitchen, giving the two of them a little time to talk and get situated without having him underfoot.
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The leather satchel he'd been carrying was left on the bar with a brief, but meaningful look at Rhys as he picks up the water. He'll leave him to putter around behind the bar and deal with the delivered IDs while he brought something over to the table where she was all but slumped in a chair already.
"Here you go. Little water to get you started. Coffee is easily the best in the state, too. Not sure if Ellen was the one that cooked up that blend or Rhys had a hand in it, but it's outstanding stuff."
His voice softened a bit. "My name's Bill Tucker. Most folks call me Tuck. Now if you don't mind my sayin so, you look about a hair away from passing out at the table. Is everythin all right? I know you don't know me or my friend from Adam, but maybe we can help."
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"No, everything's not all right. But I don't know that you can help, and I'd rather not get you involved in case it turns out you can't. And I'm sorry, you seem like a nice guy looking to score some karma points, but this isn't some little thing. Okay?"
Desperation colored her words, and there wasn't a hint of anything insincere behind them.
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"I wouldn't be so sure of that. I'm pretty good with things that aren't little in nature. I'll make you a deal. You tell me what's going on and if my friend and I can't help? We'll find someone who can." His smile warmed and he took a swallow of water. "We may not look like much, but we're pretty damned resourceful when we need to be."
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And if it was a book worth dying over, it was also worth asking permission before he examined it any closer. "You mind if I take a look at it?"
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"I'd like to help if I can, but you tell me what you're comfortable with and we can go from there. What I can tell you is that you probably picked one of the safest places in the entire state to pull into. Rhys and Ellen? They're good people. The kind of good you put a capital "G" in front of. I can't speak for them, but I imagine if you need some time to think things over and figure out your next move, you couldn't have picked a better place to hole up in while you did."
It's a safe bet that whatever she's running from is dangerous as hell. Not many people killed over books, especially books that kept pinging a presence in the back of his mind. But he'll sit back and let her come to that decision on her own. She didn't trust him enough to give him her name, so he might be waiting a bit, but that was all right.
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Was that vague enough? Was he going to laugh at her? She licked her lips, pulling the book closer to herself to rest her chin on it, the gesture vaguely catlike.
"I...I'm nowhere near the kind of expert my dad is, but I know enough to know this book's a dangerous thing, and it does need to be protected. What I can read is scary, and what I can't--I don't even know what language it's in."
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"Then you're in the right place, darlin. Rhys is a bit of an expert in medieval texts. You wouldn't know it to look at him but he speaks a few arcane languages on his own, and what he doesn't speak, I've been building translation programs for him to puzzle out. If you'd like, we could take a look, at least let you know what you were dealing with."
He's not going to mention Gabriel yet. That tended to draw surprised looks even from the experienced hunters.
"But it's your call. C'mere, you see those marks up there on the crossbeams near the bar? Protection sigils. There's another one under the doorframe to keep demons out. Trust me, you think this is werid - we're kind of used to weird."
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