Annville, Home of the Flavour Station (Gen, Supernatural/Preacher)
word-count: ~1,400
characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jesse Custer
genre:gen, pg-13
warnings: off-screen violence
story summary: The Winchesters come to Annville, Texas.
smooches to my darling beta quickreaver
"So what're we thinking? Witch, demon, some kinda spell?" Dean slowed to a stop at the red light, behind the sheriff's car.
Sam shrugged. "Any of the above, all of the above. So far we've got three witnesses, one of whom was drunk and high when he talked to us."
"Cassidy? I liked him."
"Pretty sure he's a vampire, Dean." What with the sunglasses and the hat, and the way he'd side-stepped the sunlight, it seemed obvious.
"They're not all bad."
"True." Sam yawned, in dire need of coffee. "Well whatever the case, this preacher's been putting the whammy on people. Making them do things."
"Think he's gonna whammy us?" Dean asked.
"Let's not give his reason to."
#
The sheriff led them in, showed them to a booth and then walked over to the counter, where Preacher Custer was talking to a woman behind the counter.
"These gentlemen from the government need to talk to you," the sheriff said.
The preacher straightened, gave a nod to the woman who said, "Talk to you later, Jesse," and headed back into the kitchen.
Dean elbowed Sam in the ribs. "Ow, what?"
"Can't believe I didn't think of this before! Jesse-the preacher's name is Jesse!"
"Yeah...so?"
"So-that was the antichrist kid's name, too."
"Cambion."
"Whatever. That kid could make people do anything. His wishes all came true. So maybe he-he wished himself older. I mean look at that hair! Does that look natural to you?"
Sam looked at the preacher again, objectively. It was, in fact, a damn good head of hair. Still. "Dean, that's a completely different person."
"You got a better idea?"
The sheriff walked over to Sam and Dean's booth, with Jesse Custer by his side, and tipped his hat to them. "Gentlemen. Preacher." Without another word, the sheriff headed for the door.
Custer sat in the booth, across from them, and gave them a smile. "How can I help you?" Not a trace of apprehension.
Sam held out his hand. "Preacher Custer, my name is Agent Barnes, this is Agent Rogers. We've been investigating some unusual reports in the area."
"Yeah? What kinda unusual?"
The waitress stopped by with a tray: three waters and two coffees. "I'll come back later to take your order."
"Thanks," Dean said, and grabbed for the sugar.
"Thanks Em," Jesse said, winking at her.
Sam ignored his coffee for the moment. "Terri Loach claims her comatose daughter opened her eyes after you prayed with her."
"That's right," Jesse said. "Small progress. Wish I could do more for them."
"How did you get her to open her eyes?"
"I prayed with her."
"I see." Sam forced out a polite smile. "If you don't mind me asking...what kind of prayer?"
"A prayer to God, for her recovery. And then I asked her to open her eyes."
"Her mother made it pretty clear she's unresponsive to verbal stimulus. What made this time different?"
"You tell me." Jesse took a sip of water, watching Sam across the rim of the cup. Sam looked away, put cream and sugar in his coffee instead. There had to be a way to get actual answers out of the man.
Dean cleared his throat. "There's also a bus driver whose had limited amnesia since you, quote, 'barged into his house, and baptized him in his bathtub.'"
Jesse frowned, and there was a warning there. Sam had seen it in Dean often enough, had felt it in himself too many times to count. Push further and violence was guaranteed.
But Dean kept pushing anyway,."Also, there's the case of Ted Reyerson, who killed himself in Sarasota, Florida by cutting out his own heart. He was a member of your congregation too, wasn't he?"
"He was." Jesse brow furrowed. "What happened to him was a tragedy."
"Lots of tragedy here, huh?" Dean was intentionally goading him now.
"I'm sorry, what's your point?"
"My point is that all of these tragedies lead back to you. To your church."
"Lots of people come to church. Folks need guidance, need saving."
"And that's what you're doing...guiding them, saving them?"
"Says so in the job description."
"What kind of guidance did you give Mr. Reyerson?"
Jesse narrowed his eyes. "Ted had a lot of issues with his mother. I told him to be brave, to tell her the truth. To open his heart to her."
"Seems like he took that pretty literally." Sam kept his voice soft, eager to defuse the situation.
"I've just got one more question, Preacher," Dean said.
"All right," Jesse settled back in his seat eyes sill in Dean, "but first, tell me who you really are."
"We're federal agents," Sam said.
"We're hunters," Dean said. "Monsters, demons, witches, you name it."
"Dean-" Sam started, but the second he saw Dean's expression, he knew it was pointless.
Jesse's eyebrows crept up. "And what do you think I am?"
"Not sure yet. I'm thinking monster. Maybe a cambion."
"I don't know what that is."
"Did you wish yourself old and give yourself awesome hair?" Dean asked.
"What?"
"Never mind," Sam said, annoyed. Dean wasn't doing them any favors. Of course, he couldn't help himself. "What are you trying to accomplish? What's your goal, here?"
"I'm just a man doing the Lord's work."
"There's a force inside of you, something you didn't have before, right?"
Jesse arched a brow.
"Educated guess," Sam continued, "Seeing as how these incidents just started happening here, shortly after you came back to town."
"What's your point, exactly?"
"That power inside you? That's called possession. Demons possess people, that's what they do."
"I'm not possessed by a demon."
"You sure?" Dean scoffed. "Because making somebody cut out their heart sounds pretty demonic to me."
"That's not what I told Ted to do. Not my fault if he...misinterpreted it."
"Forcing people to do what you want them to isn't exactly holy," Sam said. "We know quite a few people who got that kind of power from demons."
"Well that's not what this is."
"No? How can you be so sure?" Sam was taken aback by the certainty in the preacher's voice more than anything. He wasn't lying to them. He had no reason to, not in his mind.
"Because I didn't make a deal with anyone. This was given to me, by God."
"I see." Dean's smile went thin. They'd tried the 'let's be reasonable' approach, but clearly that wasn't going to cut it. Not with this man.
"I'll be more careful."
"Sorry but that's not good enough," Sam said. "Whatever's inside of you, we have to get it out of you before you do something else. Something worse."
"No. I'm keeping it."
"We can't let you do that."
"Let me?" Jesse smiled, a slow showing of teeth. "You're not letting me do anything. Here what's gonna happen. And I'll be real specific this time. You're gonna stay here, have some dinner and forget you ever saw me. You're gonna forget everything you heard about me, you're gonna forget about Reyerson and anyone else from Annville that you read about or interviewed. You came here for dinner, that's all. And when you're done, you're gonna leave a nice fat tip for Emily. Then you're gonna hit the road, and never set foot in my town again."
The diner door closed with a soft tinkling of the bell.
"Hey can we get some menus here?" Dean asked. "I'm starving," he added, turning to look at Sam. "Why're you sitting next to me? Get on your own side, you weirdo."
#
"Why'd we stop here again?" Dean squinted at Sam as he pulled the Impala's door shut.
"We were hungry." Sam leaned back in his seat. The food had been pretty subpar, but the waitress had done a really great job.
"This place is a real shithole."
"Yeah. Let's go somewhere else to sleep," Sam said as he watched Annville fade into the distance in the car's side mirror. He couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something.
characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jesse Custer
genre:gen, pg-13
warnings: off-screen violence
story summary: The Winchesters come to Annville, Texas.
smooches to my darling beta quickreaver
"So what're we thinking? Witch, demon, some kinda spell?" Dean slowed to a stop at the red light, behind the sheriff's car.
Sam shrugged. "Any of the above, all of the above. So far we've got three witnesses, one of whom was drunk and high when he talked to us."
"Cassidy? I liked him."
"Pretty sure he's a vampire, Dean." What with the sunglasses and the hat, and the way he'd side-stepped the sunlight, it seemed obvious.
"They're not all bad."
"True." Sam yawned, in dire need of coffee. "Well whatever the case, this preacher's been putting the whammy on people. Making them do things."
"Think he's gonna whammy us?" Dean asked.
"Let's not give his reason to."
#
The sheriff led them in, showed them to a booth and then walked over to the counter, where Preacher Custer was talking to a woman behind the counter.
"These gentlemen from the government need to talk to you," the sheriff said.
The preacher straightened, gave a nod to the woman who said, "Talk to you later, Jesse," and headed back into the kitchen.
Dean elbowed Sam in the ribs. "Ow, what?"
"Can't believe I didn't think of this before! Jesse-the preacher's name is Jesse!"
"Yeah...so?"
"So-that was the antichrist kid's name, too."
"Cambion."
"Whatever. That kid could make people do anything. His wishes all came true. So maybe he-he wished himself older. I mean look at that hair! Does that look natural to you?"
Sam looked at the preacher again, objectively. It was, in fact, a damn good head of hair. Still. "Dean, that's a completely different person."
"You got a better idea?"
The sheriff walked over to Sam and Dean's booth, with Jesse Custer by his side, and tipped his hat to them. "Gentlemen. Preacher." Without another word, the sheriff headed for the door.
Custer sat in the booth, across from them, and gave them a smile. "How can I help you?" Not a trace of apprehension.
Sam held out his hand. "Preacher Custer, my name is Agent Barnes, this is Agent Rogers. We've been investigating some unusual reports in the area."
"Yeah? What kinda unusual?"
The waitress stopped by with a tray: three waters and two coffees. "I'll come back later to take your order."
"Thanks," Dean said, and grabbed for the sugar.
"Thanks Em," Jesse said, winking at her.
Sam ignored his coffee for the moment. "Terri Loach claims her comatose daughter opened her eyes after you prayed with her."
"That's right," Jesse said. "Small progress. Wish I could do more for them."
"How did you get her to open her eyes?"
"I prayed with her."
"I see." Sam forced out a polite smile. "If you don't mind me asking...what kind of prayer?"
"A prayer to God, for her recovery. And then I asked her to open her eyes."
"Her mother made it pretty clear she's unresponsive to verbal stimulus. What made this time different?"
"You tell me." Jesse took a sip of water, watching Sam across the rim of the cup. Sam looked away, put cream and sugar in his coffee instead. There had to be a way to get actual answers out of the man.
Dean cleared his throat. "There's also a bus driver whose had limited amnesia since you, quote, 'barged into his house, and baptized him in his bathtub.'"
Jesse frowned, and there was a warning there. Sam had seen it in Dean often enough, had felt it in himself too many times to count. Push further and violence was guaranteed.
But Dean kept pushing anyway,."Also, there's the case of Ted Reyerson, who killed himself in Sarasota, Florida by cutting out his own heart. He was a member of your congregation too, wasn't he?"
"He was." Jesse brow furrowed. "What happened to him was a tragedy."
"Lots of tragedy here, huh?" Dean was intentionally goading him now.
"I'm sorry, what's your point?"
"My point is that all of these tragedies lead back to you. To your church."
"Lots of people come to church. Folks need guidance, need saving."
"And that's what you're doing...guiding them, saving them?"
"Says so in the job description."
"What kind of guidance did you give Mr. Reyerson?"
Jesse narrowed his eyes. "Ted had a lot of issues with his mother. I told him to be brave, to tell her the truth. To open his heart to her."
"Seems like he took that pretty literally." Sam kept his voice soft, eager to defuse the situation.
"I've just got one more question, Preacher," Dean said.
"All right," Jesse settled back in his seat eyes sill in Dean, "but first, tell me who you really are."
"We're federal agents," Sam said.
"We're hunters," Dean said. "Monsters, demons, witches, you name it."
"Dean-" Sam started, but the second he saw Dean's expression, he knew it was pointless.
Jesse's eyebrows crept up. "And what do you think I am?"
"Not sure yet. I'm thinking monster. Maybe a cambion."
"I don't know what that is."
"Did you wish yourself old and give yourself awesome hair?" Dean asked.
"What?"
"Never mind," Sam said, annoyed. Dean wasn't doing them any favors. Of course, he couldn't help himself. "What are you trying to accomplish? What's your goal, here?"
"I'm just a man doing the Lord's work."
"There's a force inside of you, something you didn't have before, right?"
Jesse arched a brow.
"Educated guess," Sam continued, "Seeing as how these incidents just started happening here, shortly after you came back to town."
"What's your point, exactly?"
"That power inside you? That's called possession. Demons possess people, that's what they do."
"I'm not possessed by a demon."
"You sure?" Dean scoffed. "Because making somebody cut out their heart sounds pretty demonic to me."
"That's not what I told Ted to do. Not my fault if he...misinterpreted it."
"Forcing people to do what you want them to isn't exactly holy," Sam said. "We know quite a few people who got that kind of power from demons."
"Well that's not what this is."
"No? How can you be so sure?" Sam was taken aback by the certainty in the preacher's voice more than anything. He wasn't lying to them. He had no reason to, not in his mind.
"Because I didn't make a deal with anyone. This was given to me, by God."
"I see." Dean's smile went thin. They'd tried the 'let's be reasonable' approach, but clearly that wasn't going to cut it. Not with this man.
"I'll be more careful."
"Sorry but that's not good enough," Sam said. "Whatever's inside of you, we have to get it out of you before you do something else. Something worse."
"No. I'm keeping it."
"We can't let you do that."
"Let me?" Jesse smiled, a slow showing of teeth. "You're not letting me do anything. Here what's gonna happen. And I'll be real specific this time. You're gonna stay here, have some dinner and forget you ever saw me. You're gonna forget everything you heard about me, you're gonna forget about Reyerson and anyone else from Annville that you read about or interviewed. You came here for dinner, that's all. And when you're done, you're gonna leave a nice fat tip for Emily. Then you're gonna hit the road, and never set foot in my town again."
The diner door closed with a soft tinkling of the bell.
"Hey can we get some menus here?" Dean asked. "I'm starving," he added, turning to look at Sam. "Why're you sitting next to me? Get on your own side, you weirdo."
#
"Why'd we stop here again?" Dean squinted at Sam as he pulled the Impala's door shut.
"We were hungry." Sam leaned back in his seat. The food had been pretty subpar, but the waitress had done a really great job.
"This place is a real shithole."
"Yeah. Let's go somewhere else to sleep," Sam said as he watched Annville fade into the distance in the car's side mirror. He couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something.