more fic because you win
Title: Vindicated [4/5]
Fandom: Speed Racer/Supernatural
Pairing: Speed/Dean, Sam/Dean, Speed/X
Length: About 17.5k
Rating: NC-17 for sex and minor violence, and Dean has a truly filthy mouth. In this part, buttsex. \o/
Notes: Check part one.
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five
“So I was thinking,” Speed said as Sam left, “we should head over to the track today.”
Dean smiled. “That’d be awesome.” He made an appreciative noise as Mom placed more pancakes down in front of him, and Mom laughed.
“I remembered you had a big appetite.”
Dean grinned. “You have no idea.”
Speed and Dean were gone by the time Sam got out of the shower, but the other guy - Sparky? - and Mom were still in the kitchen, and the latter looked up as he walked in. “Did you say you wanted to go to the library today, Sam?”
Sam nodded, fingering the back of the chair. “Yeah, I guess one of us had better start working on this case.”
Mom nodded, walking over to the fridge. “Are you going to be able to get there alright?”
Sam shrugged, shifting his weight. “I’ll take the car.”
“Do you want me to give you a lift?” Sparky said suddenly, slamming the paper down on the table. “I’ve got to head over that way to pick up some parts.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
Sparky’s car wasn’t as slick as Speed’s, nor was it as cult as theirs, and Sam didn’t know enough about cars to hope to identify it, but it ran perfectly and did the job. Sam found himself loving it irrationally, trailing his fingers across the hot dashboard. “It shouldn’t take us too long to get there,” Sparky said as he dropped a bag of tools in the back seat and climbed in the driver’s seat, slamming the car door. “I’ll take a roundabout route, but it’ll be quicker, this time of day.”
Sam’s leg jigged as they pulled out into the sunshine, heading left out of the driveway. “So where do you fit into this outfit?”
Sparky snorted, shaking his head as they pulled up to a junction. “I’m just the mechanic.”
Sam nodded, scratching his leg through his jeans. “I know the feeling.”
Sparky laughed. “You’re his brother. I mean, he dotes on you.”
“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Yeah, he does.”
Sparky glanced in the mirror. “Is this about his thing with Speed? ‘Cause, I don’t know anything about your situation and all, but Dean was ten kinds of shit when he got here, and Speed wasn’t much better, and by the time he left, they were both a hell of a lot better.”
Sam scowled in the wing mirror, a big punch of guilt hitting his stomach. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I figured as much.”
They cruised up outside the library and Sparky looked over to him. “Just, don’t be giving him a hard time, okay? As stupid as it sounds, they really did change each others’ lives.”
Sam smiled and shook his head, grabbing his bag. “Thanks, Sparky. And thanks for the ride.” He watched Sparky drive away, slung his satchel over his shoulder and climbed the steps into the library.
They were sat around the dinner table, Sam in silence, Speed and Dean in rapid conversation. It turns out his brother had had quite the day at Thunderhead, even managing to drive the 6 on his own - when the hell Dean had learnt how to be a racecar driver Sam had no idea. Sam’s hadn’t been having quite the same level of fun. After, when they were drifting off and clearing up, Dean made to follow Speed off into his room but Sam caught his arm. “Can I talk to you for a second?” he said softly. “About the case.”
Dean smiled. “Sure, Sammy. Hey, I’ll be through in a sec, okay?” he murmured to Speed, who grinned back.
“Sure.” Speed went off into his room and Dean walked back into the kitchen, Sam trailing behind him.
“So did you have fun at the library, Sammy?” Dean grinned, picking out a beer from the fridge and walking over, perching on a barstool.
“Shut up,” Sam said quickly, pulling out some crumpled papers and spreading them out in front of his brother. “So Bobby’s information was sketchy at best; his friend at the CIB just handed over some information about racecar drivers randomly dropping dead.”
“It’s a very stressful life,” Dean murmured with a smirk, but Sam quietened him with a look.
“I started looking into the racers’ lives, stuff that’d been happening, the usual MO, and I found all of them had been blessed with incredible good fortune just around the time of their deaths.” He pressed a finger onto one of the pictures of the racers. “Wesley here had started going from DNF to third or second in his runs.”
“Wow,” Dean murmured, looking over all the pictures. “And similar stuff with all of the others?”
“Yup,” Sam nodded, gathering all the pictures into a pile again. “And what kinds of creatures grant wishes?”
“Shitloads,” Dean grumbled. “And none of them with no strings attached.”
“So, I started researching, trying to narrow the field down.”
Dean grinned. “That’s my boy!” He slapped Sam on the shoulder, but it just provoked a horrid, gutwrenching twist.
“And then, I came across an old Mexican legend.” He pulled out a picture, stamped in shitty printer ink. “This is Santa Muerte.”
Dean did a double take. “Santa?!”
“It’s Mexican, you idiot,” Sam snapped, glaring. “It means saint. Literally translated, it’s Saint Death. People pray to her for good luck, protection, all that shit.”
“And let’s say someone starts praying to her for good luck and getting it,” Dean nodded, slapping the bench. “And more and more people start doing it. Well, it fits. What now?”
“Well, in cases like this, it’s usually a demon posing as the saint, getting people to get into contracts with them by their prayers, and then when their luck’s gone through coming back and reaping the rewards.”
“In this case, their ever-fucked souls.”
“Yup.”
“So,” Dean said thoughtfully, scratching the back of his head. “Find the demon, stop them making the deals.”
“Easy as.”
Dean snorted. “If only. Where d’you reckon the demon’s dive’s gonna be?”
Sam paused, running his fingers across the wood. “Well, I was thinking, because it’s targeting racers it’s most likely gonna be hanging out at a track, so I thought I’d head over to Thunderhead, poke around, see what I could find.”
Dean slapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Top job, Sammy. You let me know if you need me, okay?” he called as he walked across the room towards Speed’s bedroom.
“Yeah,” Sam replied softly as he heard the door click shut. “Yeah, I will.”
Sam couldn’t sleep. The night before - not that Dean knew about it - he’d had another nightmare, and it hadn’t been pretty. The problem often with his nightmares wasn’t the whole waking up, oh shit moment, it was the fact he then became too scared to sleep the next couple of nights. He was the grouchiest guy ever when he was sleep-deprived. Normally, Dean could get him back to sleep, but…
Sam walked into the silent kitchen and rested against the table, staring at the door to Speed’s room. It’d be rude, to just, to just barge in, but… as much as he hated it, he needed his big brother. He slipped silently across, grasped hold of the handle and pushed with the faintest click.
They were fucking.
This wasn’t to be unexpected. It hadn’t really been an option in Sam’s head, which was really, really stupid in retrospect. Speed hadn’t noticed him enter; his head was thrown in the other direction, and Sam suspected his eyes were shut, anyway. Dean did, though. Dean did.
Dean looked over to him and glared at him, and Sam’s breath wheezed out of his body ‘cause it’d felt like a goddamn punch. Dean glared at him with a look of absolute hate, of disgust, pushing Speed’s legs further up around his hips, wrapping his arms around Speed in a motion which was all protective, all possessive, all he’s mine, Sam, and I’m not yours. And Sam knew he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it, and turned around and left.
There was, unsurprisingly, silence around the breakfast-table the following morning.
Well, Speed was totally oblivious. But Sam couldn’t bring himself to look at Dean, and his brother didn’t seem to want to fucking try, either. Sam ate as quickly as he could before prowling off into the garage, skulking around the back, watching Sparky work on the 5. “I need to get into Thunderhead,” he said suddenly, and Sparky looked up. “For this thing I’m looking into, I need to get into Thunderhead. Can you help me?”
Sparky straightened up, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. “Sure I can. I’m a mechanic, I can get into pretty much everywhere. I could give you my pass, explain it - ”
“No,” Sam interrupted. “I want you to come with me.”
Sparky put down the rag he was using to wash his hands and looked at Sam. “You’re not coming to me just because you want to fuck Dean but can’t, ‘cause he’s off with Speed?” he asked softly, and Sam started. “’Cause I don’t appreciate being anybody’s pity fuck.”
“No! No, no, of course not.” He paused. “You do know we’re brothers, don’t you?”
Sparky shrugged. “I know the way you look at him.”
“I’m asking you,” Sam said softly, running his fingers through his hair, “I’m asking you because there really isn’t anyone else to ask, and I’m feeling more than a little alone right now. I’m asking you as a friend.”
“Alright,” Sparky murmured after a long sigh. “Let’s do it.”
They were in the locker room of Thunderhead, Sam realising that his EMF really wasn’t going to be much help there, what with all the readings from the track nearby. It was going to have to be the good old-fashioned way. Luckily, he had more than one pair of eyeballs. “Hey, Sam?” Sparky called, and Sam turned round. “I think I found something.”
Sam walked over, looking where Sparky was pointing, and let a hiss go through his teeth. He dabbed at the familiar yellow powder but knew what it was before he smelt it. “Sulphur,” he sighed, straightening up. “So we’ve definitely got ourselves a demon.” Sparky nodded. “So now it’s a matter of who it’s possessing. Have you seen anyone acting oddly, lately? Not being themselves?”
Sparky shrugged. “If the demon’s hanging around the locker room they’re possessing a racer, not a mechanic. You’d be better off asking Speed, not me.”
“No,” Sam said quickly, before he flushed and looked at the floor. “Just tell me anything you know.”
“Well,” Sparky frowned, “there is C-ball.”
“C-ball?” Sam queried, and Sparky looked apologetic.
“Sorry. Cannonball Taylor, he’s a racer, he’s just got out of prison after five years for fraud, embezzlement and that kind of shit. Speed was saying how weird he was acting, how different he seemed.”
“Awesome,” Sam nodded. “Do you know where he lives?”
“No,” Sparky replied. “But I know someone who does.”
Sam sat in the offices of the CIB, Sam jigging his leg. Sparky was waiting out in the car, seeing as it would seem a bit weird for him to be messing around with a supposed federal agent. “Detective Bloom?” A European man stuck his head out of an office door and Sam stood, straightening out the cricks in his legs. “Please, come in.”
Sam entered the office, walking up to the chair in front of the desk and sitting down, shaking hands across it. “Inspector Detector,” he said with a smile. “Thanks for finding time for me.”
“Anything for a Fed,” Detector murmured, and nodded behind him. “X, the door, if you please.” Sam turned around in time to see a suited man close the door behind them, resisting the urge to jump; he’d had no idea they weren’t alone. “So, Detective. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been looking into the deaths of some of the racers at the local track, Thunderhead, and my investigation’s started to steer in the direction of Jack Taylor. I was just wondering if I could have access to some of his personal files, past history, where he lived, that kind of thing.”
“Of course.” Detector stood and opened a filing cabinet behind his desk, flicking through the files and pulling one out, handing it to the dubious man by the doorway. “X, could you get these copied for me?” Aforementioned dubious man slunk out silently, and Detector was sat again. “Do you mind if I ask how your investigation turned to Taylor?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Sam said, shrugging. “New regs, I’m not really meant to tell you anything. But if I can go talk to him, hopefully some of the evidence I have will come to light.” X re-entered the room and handed a bundle of papers to Sam, who smiled thankfully at him. “Thank you for your time,” he said to Detector as he stood, shaking his hand again. “I’ll be sure to get in touch if I need anything else.” He walked out of the office with a smile.
When the detective left the room David went immediately to the phone, flicking through his contacts on-screen to find the number. “What are you doing?” X said softly, coming to stand behind him.
“Checking up on him,” David murmured. “I was going to call the Feds. Something didn’t seem quite right.”
“No, you’re right, but don’t check up.” X paused when David turned round, giving him a puzzled look. “I think he was a hunter.”
David’s eyebrow rose. “Bobby didn’t mention he’d passed the case on.”
X shrugged. “I don’t know, I just got this vibe. Let him be for a bit, see what he does, then call up the Feds.”
David nodded, span in his chair and closed down his computer. “Okay.”
“Did you get it?” Sparky asked when Sam climbed back in the car, and Sam grinned, dropping the file onto the space in between the seats.
“Yup,” he grinned. “He’s mainly located in Pontiac, Michigan, but he’s got an apartment right across town. With the major race tonight the odds are he’s staying over there.”
“Awesome,” Sparky grinned. “Let’s go catch us a demon.”
Taylor opened after a couple of knocks, and found himself immediately with a gun shoved in his face. “Down on your knees, now!” Sam yelled, entering the apartment swiftly, Sparky shutting the door behind them and hanging warily around the entrance. Taylor dropped down slowly, wrapping his hands behind his head. Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flask of holy water, splashing it over Taylor’s face and shouting “Christo!” for good measure.
Taylor flinched, but there was no smoke, no hissing, no response.
Shit.
Sam’s gun wavered before he let it drop, placing it back in his pocket and stepping back from Taylor. “What are you doing?” Sparky shouted, walking up beside him and looking confused as hell.
“It’s not him,” Sam called, shaking his head, and Sparky swore softly.
Taylor stood up, glancing between the two of them. “What the hell is going on?!”
Sam garbled, groping in his pocket for his badge. “Hey, sorry, I’m a Fed, I’m looking into the deaths at Thunderhead, and I was led to believe you were responsible - ”
“Why did you have to soak me?” Taylor asked incredulously, shaking his head.
“Um, it’s complicated, it’s just, you’ve been acting weirdly, and - ”
“Acting weirdly?” Taylor echoed, and shook his head. “I’ve just spent five years of my life in prison, kid,” he said softly, rubbing his eyes. “I think I’m entitled to act a little weirdly. Now, if you’re quite finished, I’d like you to leave.”
“Well, that went awfully,” Sparky said as they climbed back in the car, and Sam laughed, shaking his head.
“You reckon?” He frowned as Sparky started up the engine, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Taylor was our best lead,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Now we’re back to square one.”
“You’re gonna have to talk to Speed,” Sparky said softly, and Sam sighed, staring out of the window.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Well, shit,” Dean laughed, shaking his head. “You got into his flat and everything?”
“Yup,” Sam grimaced. “Had a gun to his face and everything.”
Dean grinned again. “So what now?” he murmured, reaching down to take a drink.
“Well,” Sam said slowly, looking out of the window. “I need to check if there are any other people who’ve been acting weirdly. And… I was wondering if I could talk to Speed.”
Dean shrugged. “Sure. Hey, Speed!”
Sam stared. “You’re not going to freak out?”
“Why should I?” Dean frowned. Speed walked in and Dean smiled, reaching out an arm which Speed walked into. “Sam wanted to ask you some questions, see if you could help with the investigation.”
Speed shrugged. “Sure. How can I help, Sam?”
“Well, I’m looking into a potential demonic possession, so I was wondering if you’d noticed anyone acting differently suddenly, not being themselves, that sort of thing.”
Speed frowned for a bit, before slowly shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so… sorry.”
“What about six months ago? Did anything weird start happening sixth months ago?” Dean asked suddenly, and Sam’s eyebrow rose. “That was when the first death happened,” he clarified, and Sam felt a sudden burst of wriggling joy - Dean was looking into the case, so he wasn’t just here for Speed, so -
“Yeah,” Speed said, frowning. “I mean, a couple of things. I won the Vanderbelt cup, Taylor got released from prison…” He laughed. “I mean, Trixie even got back from college.”
Sam and Dean froze and shared long, knowing looks. “Trixie?” Sam queried softly.
“Yeah, she’s my ex… why?” Speed frowned. “You don’t think she’s messed up in this, do you?”
“More than you could possibly guess,” Trixie said behind them, perfect eyes black, raised a hand and slammed Speed telekinetically into the wall.
Part Five
Fandom: Speed Racer/Supernatural
Pairing: Speed/Dean, Sam/Dean, Speed/X
Length: About 17.5k
Rating: NC-17 for sex and minor violence, and Dean has a truly filthy mouth. In this part, buttsex. \o/
Notes: Check part one.
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five
“So I was thinking,” Speed said as Sam left, “we should head over to the track today.”
Dean smiled. “That’d be awesome.” He made an appreciative noise as Mom placed more pancakes down in front of him, and Mom laughed.
“I remembered you had a big appetite.”
Dean grinned. “You have no idea.”
Speed and Dean were gone by the time Sam got out of the shower, but the other guy - Sparky? - and Mom were still in the kitchen, and the latter looked up as he walked in. “Did you say you wanted to go to the library today, Sam?”
Sam nodded, fingering the back of the chair. “Yeah, I guess one of us had better start working on this case.”
Mom nodded, walking over to the fridge. “Are you going to be able to get there alright?”
Sam shrugged, shifting his weight. “I’ll take the car.”
“Do you want me to give you a lift?” Sparky said suddenly, slamming the paper down on the table. “I’ve got to head over that way to pick up some parts.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
Sparky’s car wasn’t as slick as Speed’s, nor was it as cult as theirs, and Sam didn’t know enough about cars to hope to identify it, but it ran perfectly and did the job. Sam found himself loving it irrationally, trailing his fingers across the hot dashboard. “It shouldn’t take us too long to get there,” Sparky said as he dropped a bag of tools in the back seat and climbed in the driver’s seat, slamming the car door. “I’ll take a roundabout route, but it’ll be quicker, this time of day.”
Sam’s leg jigged as they pulled out into the sunshine, heading left out of the driveway. “So where do you fit into this outfit?”
Sparky snorted, shaking his head as they pulled up to a junction. “I’m just the mechanic.”
Sam nodded, scratching his leg through his jeans. “I know the feeling.”
Sparky laughed. “You’re his brother. I mean, he dotes on you.”
“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Yeah, he does.”
Sparky glanced in the mirror. “Is this about his thing with Speed? ‘Cause, I don’t know anything about your situation and all, but Dean was ten kinds of shit when he got here, and Speed wasn’t much better, and by the time he left, they were both a hell of a lot better.”
Sam scowled in the wing mirror, a big punch of guilt hitting his stomach. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I figured as much.”
They cruised up outside the library and Sparky looked over to him. “Just, don’t be giving him a hard time, okay? As stupid as it sounds, they really did change each others’ lives.”
Sam smiled and shook his head, grabbing his bag. “Thanks, Sparky. And thanks for the ride.” He watched Sparky drive away, slung his satchel over his shoulder and climbed the steps into the library.
They were sat around the dinner table, Sam in silence, Speed and Dean in rapid conversation. It turns out his brother had had quite the day at Thunderhead, even managing to drive the 6 on his own - when the hell Dean had learnt how to be a racecar driver Sam had no idea. Sam’s hadn’t been having quite the same level of fun. After, when they were drifting off and clearing up, Dean made to follow Speed off into his room but Sam caught his arm. “Can I talk to you for a second?” he said softly. “About the case.”
Dean smiled. “Sure, Sammy. Hey, I’ll be through in a sec, okay?” he murmured to Speed, who grinned back.
“Sure.” Speed went off into his room and Dean walked back into the kitchen, Sam trailing behind him.
“So did you have fun at the library, Sammy?” Dean grinned, picking out a beer from the fridge and walking over, perching on a barstool.
“Shut up,” Sam said quickly, pulling out some crumpled papers and spreading them out in front of his brother. “So Bobby’s information was sketchy at best; his friend at the CIB just handed over some information about racecar drivers randomly dropping dead.”
“It’s a very stressful life,” Dean murmured with a smirk, but Sam quietened him with a look.
“I started looking into the racers’ lives, stuff that’d been happening, the usual MO, and I found all of them had been blessed with incredible good fortune just around the time of their deaths.” He pressed a finger onto one of the pictures of the racers. “Wesley here had started going from DNF to third or second in his runs.”
“Wow,” Dean murmured, looking over all the pictures. “And similar stuff with all of the others?”
“Yup,” Sam nodded, gathering all the pictures into a pile again. “And what kinds of creatures grant wishes?”
“Shitloads,” Dean grumbled. “And none of them with no strings attached.”
“So, I started researching, trying to narrow the field down.”
Dean grinned. “That’s my boy!” He slapped Sam on the shoulder, but it just provoked a horrid, gutwrenching twist.
“And then, I came across an old Mexican legend.” He pulled out a picture, stamped in shitty printer ink. “This is Santa Muerte.”
Dean did a double take. “Santa?!”
“It’s Mexican, you idiot,” Sam snapped, glaring. “It means saint. Literally translated, it’s Saint Death. People pray to her for good luck, protection, all that shit.”
“And let’s say someone starts praying to her for good luck and getting it,” Dean nodded, slapping the bench. “And more and more people start doing it. Well, it fits. What now?”
“Well, in cases like this, it’s usually a demon posing as the saint, getting people to get into contracts with them by their prayers, and then when their luck’s gone through coming back and reaping the rewards.”
“In this case, their ever-fucked souls.”
“Yup.”
“So,” Dean said thoughtfully, scratching the back of his head. “Find the demon, stop them making the deals.”
“Easy as.”
Dean snorted. “If only. Where d’you reckon the demon’s dive’s gonna be?”
Sam paused, running his fingers across the wood. “Well, I was thinking, because it’s targeting racers it’s most likely gonna be hanging out at a track, so I thought I’d head over to Thunderhead, poke around, see what I could find.”
Dean slapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Top job, Sammy. You let me know if you need me, okay?” he called as he walked across the room towards Speed’s bedroom.
“Yeah,” Sam replied softly as he heard the door click shut. “Yeah, I will.”
Sam couldn’t sleep. The night before - not that Dean knew about it - he’d had another nightmare, and it hadn’t been pretty. The problem often with his nightmares wasn’t the whole waking up, oh shit moment, it was the fact he then became too scared to sleep the next couple of nights. He was the grouchiest guy ever when he was sleep-deprived. Normally, Dean could get him back to sleep, but…
Sam walked into the silent kitchen and rested against the table, staring at the door to Speed’s room. It’d be rude, to just, to just barge in, but… as much as he hated it, he needed his big brother. He slipped silently across, grasped hold of the handle and pushed with the faintest click.
They were fucking.
This wasn’t to be unexpected. It hadn’t really been an option in Sam’s head, which was really, really stupid in retrospect. Speed hadn’t noticed him enter; his head was thrown in the other direction, and Sam suspected his eyes were shut, anyway. Dean did, though. Dean did.
Dean looked over to him and glared at him, and Sam’s breath wheezed out of his body ‘cause it’d felt like a goddamn punch. Dean glared at him with a look of absolute hate, of disgust, pushing Speed’s legs further up around his hips, wrapping his arms around Speed in a motion which was all protective, all possessive, all he’s mine, Sam, and I’m not yours. And Sam knew he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it, and turned around and left.
There was, unsurprisingly, silence around the breakfast-table the following morning.
Well, Speed was totally oblivious. But Sam couldn’t bring himself to look at Dean, and his brother didn’t seem to want to fucking try, either. Sam ate as quickly as he could before prowling off into the garage, skulking around the back, watching Sparky work on the 5. “I need to get into Thunderhead,” he said suddenly, and Sparky looked up. “For this thing I’m looking into, I need to get into Thunderhead. Can you help me?”
Sparky straightened up, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. “Sure I can. I’m a mechanic, I can get into pretty much everywhere. I could give you my pass, explain it - ”
“No,” Sam interrupted. “I want you to come with me.”
Sparky put down the rag he was using to wash his hands and looked at Sam. “You’re not coming to me just because you want to fuck Dean but can’t, ‘cause he’s off with Speed?” he asked softly, and Sam started. “’Cause I don’t appreciate being anybody’s pity fuck.”
“No! No, no, of course not.” He paused. “You do know we’re brothers, don’t you?”
Sparky shrugged. “I know the way you look at him.”
“I’m asking you,” Sam said softly, running his fingers through his hair, “I’m asking you because there really isn’t anyone else to ask, and I’m feeling more than a little alone right now. I’m asking you as a friend.”
“Alright,” Sparky murmured after a long sigh. “Let’s do it.”
They were in the locker room of Thunderhead, Sam realising that his EMF really wasn’t going to be much help there, what with all the readings from the track nearby. It was going to have to be the good old-fashioned way. Luckily, he had more than one pair of eyeballs. “Hey, Sam?” Sparky called, and Sam turned round. “I think I found something.”
Sam walked over, looking where Sparky was pointing, and let a hiss go through his teeth. He dabbed at the familiar yellow powder but knew what it was before he smelt it. “Sulphur,” he sighed, straightening up. “So we’ve definitely got ourselves a demon.” Sparky nodded. “So now it’s a matter of who it’s possessing. Have you seen anyone acting oddly, lately? Not being themselves?”
Sparky shrugged. “If the demon’s hanging around the locker room they’re possessing a racer, not a mechanic. You’d be better off asking Speed, not me.”
“No,” Sam said quickly, before he flushed and looked at the floor. “Just tell me anything you know.”
“Well,” Sparky frowned, “there is C-ball.”
“C-ball?” Sam queried, and Sparky looked apologetic.
“Sorry. Cannonball Taylor, he’s a racer, he’s just got out of prison after five years for fraud, embezzlement and that kind of shit. Speed was saying how weird he was acting, how different he seemed.”
“Awesome,” Sam nodded. “Do you know where he lives?”
“No,” Sparky replied. “But I know someone who does.”
Sam sat in the offices of the CIB, Sam jigging his leg. Sparky was waiting out in the car, seeing as it would seem a bit weird for him to be messing around with a supposed federal agent. “Detective Bloom?” A European man stuck his head out of an office door and Sam stood, straightening out the cricks in his legs. “Please, come in.”
Sam entered the office, walking up to the chair in front of the desk and sitting down, shaking hands across it. “Inspector Detector,” he said with a smile. “Thanks for finding time for me.”
“Anything for a Fed,” Detector murmured, and nodded behind him. “X, the door, if you please.” Sam turned around in time to see a suited man close the door behind them, resisting the urge to jump; he’d had no idea they weren’t alone. “So, Detective. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been looking into the deaths of some of the racers at the local track, Thunderhead, and my investigation’s started to steer in the direction of Jack Taylor. I was just wondering if I could have access to some of his personal files, past history, where he lived, that kind of thing.”
“Of course.” Detector stood and opened a filing cabinet behind his desk, flicking through the files and pulling one out, handing it to the dubious man by the doorway. “X, could you get these copied for me?” Aforementioned dubious man slunk out silently, and Detector was sat again. “Do you mind if I ask how your investigation turned to Taylor?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Sam said, shrugging. “New regs, I’m not really meant to tell you anything. But if I can go talk to him, hopefully some of the evidence I have will come to light.” X re-entered the room and handed a bundle of papers to Sam, who smiled thankfully at him. “Thank you for your time,” he said to Detector as he stood, shaking his hand again. “I’ll be sure to get in touch if I need anything else.” He walked out of the office with a smile.
When the detective left the room David went immediately to the phone, flicking through his contacts on-screen to find the number. “What are you doing?” X said softly, coming to stand behind him.
“Checking up on him,” David murmured. “I was going to call the Feds. Something didn’t seem quite right.”
“No, you’re right, but don’t check up.” X paused when David turned round, giving him a puzzled look. “I think he was a hunter.”
David’s eyebrow rose. “Bobby didn’t mention he’d passed the case on.”
X shrugged. “I don’t know, I just got this vibe. Let him be for a bit, see what he does, then call up the Feds.”
David nodded, span in his chair and closed down his computer. “Okay.”
“Did you get it?” Sparky asked when Sam climbed back in the car, and Sam grinned, dropping the file onto the space in between the seats.
“Yup,” he grinned. “He’s mainly located in Pontiac, Michigan, but he’s got an apartment right across town. With the major race tonight the odds are he’s staying over there.”
“Awesome,” Sparky grinned. “Let’s go catch us a demon.”
Taylor opened after a couple of knocks, and found himself immediately with a gun shoved in his face. “Down on your knees, now!” Sam yelled, entering the apartment swiftly, Sparky shutting the door behind them and hanging warily around the entrance. Taylor dropped down slowly, wrapping his hands behind his head. Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flask of holy water, splashing it over Taylor’s face and shouting “Christo!” for good measure.
Taylor flinched, but there was no smoke, no hissing, no response.
Shit.
Sam’s gun wavered before he let it drop, placing it back in his pocket and stepping back from Taylor. “What are you doing?” Sparky shouted, walking up beside him and looking confused as hell.
“It’s not him,” Sam called, shaking his head, and Sparky swore softly.
Taylor stood up, glancing between the two of them. “What the hell is going on?!”
Sam garbled, groping in his pocket for his badge. “Hey, sorry, I’m a Fed, I’m looking into the deaths at Thunderhead, and I was led to believe you were responsible - ”
“Why did you have to soak me?” Taylor asked incredulously, shaking his head.
“Um, it’s complicated, it’s just, you’ve been acting weirdly, and - ”
“Acting weirdly?” Taylor echoed, and shook his head. “I’ve just spent five years of my life in prison, kid,” he said softly, rubbing his eyes. “I think I’m entitled to act a little weirdly. Now, if you’re quite finished, I’d like you to leave.”
“Well, that went awfully,” Sparky said as they climbed back in the car, and Sam laughed, shaking his head.
“You reckon?” He frowned as Sparky started up the engine, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Taylor was our best lead,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Now we’re back to square one.”
“You’re gonna have to talk to Speed,” Sparky said softly, and Sam sighed, staring out of the window.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Well, shit,” Dean laughed, shaking his head. “You got into his flat and everything?”
“Yup,” Sam grimaced. “Had a gun to his face and everything.”
Dean grinned again. “So what now?” he murmured, reaching down to take a drink.
“Well,” Sam said slowly, looking out of the window. “I need to check if there are any other people who’ve been acting weirdly. And… I was wondering if I could talk to Speed.”
Dean shrugged. “Sure. Hey, Speed!”
Sam stared. “You’re not going to freak out?”
“Why should I?” Dean frowned. Speed walked in and Dean smiled, reaching out an arm which Speed walked into. “Sam wanted to ask you some questions, see if you could help with the investigation.”
Speed shrugged. “Sure. How can I help, Sam?”
“Well, I’m looking into a potential demonic possession, so I was wondering if you’d noticed anyone acting differently suddenly, not being themselves, that sort of thing.”
Speed frowned for a bit, before slowly shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so… sorry.”
“What about six months ago? Did anything weird start happening sixth months ago?” Dean asked suddenly, and Sam’s eyebrow rose. “That was when the first death happened,” he clarified, and Sam felt a sudden burst of wriggling joy - Dean was looking into the case, so he wasn’t just here for Speed, so -
“Yeah,” Speed said, frowning. “I mean, a couple of things. I won the Vanderbelt cup, Taylor got released from prison…” He laughed. “I mean, Trixie even got back from college.”
Sam and Dean froze and shared long, knowing looks. “Trixie?” Sam queried softly.
“Yeah, she’s my ex… why?” Speed frowned. “You don’t think she’s messed up in this, do you?”
“More than you could possibly guess,” Trixie said behind them, perfect eyes black, raised a hand and slammed Speed telekinetically into the wall.
Part Five