Case 3: Saving Private Cas
Dean, Sam, and Xander had run out of Los Angeles like a bat of out of hell. No time to say goodbye to friends and no time to really get their shit together. They simply leapt into the Impala, put the pedal to the floor, and were gone.
Dean didn’t want to leave, but knew it was wiser to run than fight an angel of the Lord right now.
Operation Saving ( Read more... )
Dean didn’t want to leave, but knew it was wiser to run than fight an angel of the Lord right now.
Operation Saving ( Read more... )
He sauntered up to the bar, digging around in his pockets for an id as he waved down the bartender. "Excuse me!" Dean called over the music wailing from the jukebox. "We're researchers from a university out west. This is my research assistant Sam Brown and I'm Dr. Dean McCrea. We're looking into local legends around the Great Lakes Region. Though The Soo would be a pretty decently place to look around, what with being at the heart of it."
The bartender blinked at Dean as he was polishing glasses. From his expression, this wasn't anything new. "You one of those New Age Pagans?" He demanded.
Give the man a cookie. Dean frowned. "No. Not really. But if you know some here tonight, we'd love to meet them."
The bartender bore his gaze into both men. "Order a few drinks and I just might send them your way." He groused. Dean placed and order and picked up two long necks.
Dean lead the way to a table out in the middle of the open area and set one down before Sam as the younger Wincester took a seat.
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"He's going the distance, he's going for speed. she's all alone, all alone in her time of need." Dean crooned with song. "because he's racing and pacing and plotting the course, he's fighting and biting and riding on his horse, he's going the distance."
He grinned at Sam, taking a sip of his beer which brought him to silence as the song continued to play.
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Dean pointed to the bartender, who lifted his chin at him in response. "That nice guy right there is going to send us his happy 'new age pagans' this way to join us for a chat." The older Winchester pointed out. "But if you want to go work the room, be my guest. I'm having a beer."
He sat back, nursing the long neck as water began to condense to the surface of the glass container. It left a rings of water on the tabletop which would dry in the warm summer heat after a little while.
He was still wired though, sitting in the middle of the bar and drinking a beer. Dean looked like he was relaxed but his mind raced to all corners of the universe with a thousands thoughts. They had to find Cas. They had to get back to LA. There was a demon who knew or had the Colt and they needed it if they were going to kill the Devil himself. What did the demon want for it? He was mum on the topic until Dean showed up in person. Had to deal with Zachariah and his agenda. Keep Sam safe and out of harm's way...because every hunter with half a brain like Gordon is going to be gunning for him and the angels don't have a purpose for him any more. There was a hunt in Texas. Was Jo and Bobby alright? Did that Faith chick leave anyone to die yet?
Dean was pulled from his thoughts at the emptying of his beer. He stared down into the bottle and decided then and there that tonight was just not the night he wanted to risk getting drunk or even a little buzzed.
That was when two more bottles appeared on the tabletop next to him and Dean looked up to realize it wasn't from a waitress.
It was a man, dressed in a white pin striped button down, his collar undone slightly. He wore black shoes and dark pants, adorned his wrist with a nice silver watch that looked pricey and what appeared to be a wedding band on his left hand. He was clean shaven with an angular face and gifted with a full head of feathered light hair for a man in his early 30's. Dean was pretty sure he also knew the man's weight and high within a five percent variance too.
"The 'tender said you were doing research on local legends." The man said with a flash of teeth. "I'm Norman Grist with Lake Superior State. Are you Brown and McCrea?"
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But, he said, "That's us, Mr. Grist. Are you a local legends kind of man?"
He leaned back, feeling the press of the gun against his back, and relaxed a little. Not like they weren't prepared.
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"So what are you working on?" He asked, pulling up a seat. "A paper? Course development? What university do you hail from?"
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Sam twirled the beer bottle slowly on the table, bit of a nervous habit, and smiled at Dean.
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When Sam shot into the conversation with the name of a university, Dean peered over his beer at his brother and smiled both to cover up his surprise in his brother's choice and in amusement to being called his adviser.
He set down his drink and nodded. "I'm on sabbatical. Got a grant for research and decided to bring along some company." He deepened his fake smile as he fished around his coat and produced his own personal notebook. "So Norman, what do you know?"
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"Well the region is full of burial grounds. Old native tribes lived all around the Great Lakes Region. The Iroquois and Algonquins were one of the largest out in New York and New England. Here we had the Chippewa and the Sioux." Norman explained. "Many of the tales are usually old ghost stories and stuff the medicine man would tell you after passing the pipe."
He shrugged as he focused on a particularly difficult peanut to shell. "The New Age stuff though only started in the last fifty years. The ley lines are the biggest draw. The Soo has the honor of being at the heart of where they all converge."
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"So, the Soo being here in the middle of the ley lines, is that by chance, or is that intentional? You'd think with all the power, supposedly, being drawn here, that people would be inclined to set up civilization."
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"What I know about Ley Lines is most what everyone else who cares about them does. The Soo is the center of the Lakes." He shrugged. "I think it was just a matter of circumstance that geological points that make up the lines fit perfectly over such a vast area. And if you believe in the stories from the Keys of Solomon and that the 'Devil's Trap' the intersecting lines form...well..." Norman sat back and looked around the bar. "Then we are completely free of demonic elements or...we're keeping one in."
He grinned and shook his head. "It sounds like fairy tales though. The city is nice enough, not a lot of crime. I will say I have noticed it going up in recent years outside of the area...but things have been pretty much the same." The man leaned forward again and looked straight at Dean as he then said, "In some ways, this place is sort of like a paradise."
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All the time Dean had been away (was how he preferred to think of it), wrestling with demons hadn't been the only thing he'd worked on. But messing with telekinesis and reading thoughts, like the other Kids had done, opened vulnerabilities in his mind. Sam carefully and methodically checked the perimeters as he took another slow sip of beer. Nope, walls still in place, no indication of any kind of strange infiltration.
Maybe this guy was for real. Knew what they knew. Thought it was bullshit, like everyone did, but understood the other-worldliness of it anyway.
Still, the way he looked at Dean-- purposeful, intentional-- made Sam suspicious.
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Son of a bitch, this guy's got eyes like Jimmy Novak. Dean thought as he paused in his writing. He was making some notes during the conversation. He had written the bit down on crossroads and had underlined it several times. Like Sam he was finding this to be an interesting conversation, even though the guy dismissed the occult lore like a fairy tale.
Dean looked away first, clearing his throat and taking a long swig from his beer. The guy didn't believe it, he was just regurgitating data that made the co-eds pay attention in class.
"So." The green-eyed Winchester glanced at his notes. "Crime rate around this town is pretty dull?" He asked skeptically. If they had found a place were demons didn't dare tread, he'd probably buy the whole bar a drink if he had the money...but Dean needed to get back on track.
"What's the usual kind of crime around here?" He asked, tapping his pen on his notebook.
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