Together We Stand - Mature - Puckleberry - Part I [PR Week]
Title: Together We Stand (Divided We Fall)
Category: Glee/Supernatural [Crossover]
Genre: Humor/Drama/Romance
Ship: Puck/Rachel
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
For: Puckleberry Week on Tumblr - Day 5 - Alternate Universe
Warning(s): Coarse Language, Sexual Situations, Violence
Author's Note: The reason this isn't in the crossover section is because it focuses quite a bit on Puckleberry, as well as I was pretty sure there weren't many who looked at the Glee/Supernatural crossover section, or as many Supernatural fans who would be interested.
Word Count: 6,764
Summary: (AU) Sam and Dean Winchester originally wanted to scoop a hunt from so-called rookies, Noah Puckerman and Rachel Berry, but it's not long before teaming up seems like a better option. Between hunting the latest freak-of-the-week, the brothers are soon unwittingly drawn into Puck and Rachel's history of love, death and friendship and find themselves trying to help them cope.
Together We Stand (Divided We Fall)
-Novel-
I.
Sam was sleeping, or pretending to; there was little to no chance of sleeping through the ear-splitting Metallica Dean currently had blasting through the speakers. When he felt his brother shift, like he was going to turn the dial even higher, he couldn't take it.
"Seriously?" Sam sat up, turning a frown on his brother. "How are you not deaf yet?" he wondered, shaking his head.
Dean grinned. With a shrug, he said, "Luck of the draw."
Sighing, he sat back in the seat, arms crossed over his chest, and peered out the window; it was still night and aside from the trees lining the pavement, it was hard to see much else. They were eating up pavement fast though, so he figured they had to be getting close. "How close are we?"
"Just passed the Welcome sign." Dean turned the dial until the familiar growl of James Hetfield was gone.
Sam popped his jaw and tugged one of his earlobes as he still felt the ringing inside. He appreciated the quiet, but it didn't stop him from glaring at the stereo just because.
They were nearly into town when Dean glanced at him and asked, "You get enough sleep, Princess?"
Sam stretched, as much as he could in the confines of the Impala. Rubbing his heels into his eyes, he groaned. "No. Remind me again why we couldn't stop at a motel…?"
"Bobby said there were two others on the way, maybe even already there…" He shrugged. "Didn't feel like being scooped."
"Since when do you care who does the job?" Sam shook his head. "Long as it gets done, right?"
"Yeah, but these two are rookies… Or at least, Bobby doesn't know 'em personally…" He sniffed dismissively. "I don't really feel like heading out here to clean up their mess or bury a couple of new hunters, so I figured we might as well get out here and get it done ourselves."
"And… if we run into them?" He shook his head, brows hiked wonderingly.
"We let 'em know we got it covered and then suggest they see if Walmart's hiring."
Dean turned left onto Main Street and eyed the small brick stores lining either side, all closed at this time of night, a ma and pa set up all around. Sam imagined the majority of them closed their doors at five, six at the latest, and headed home to have dinner with their families. The streets were clean, the sidewalks swept, and everything was put in its place, unlike the unruly chaos of the city.
"'m hungry," Dean said, half-smirking at a little 24 hour diner, a blinking Open sign in the window. It was sandwiched between the post office and a small tool store, and hanging in the window was a sign that boasted they sold the best pie in the state. If there was anything in the world to lure Dean in, it was pie, and this time was no exception. It didn't matter that it was late and they were running on fumes; he was already happy to test a 'best pie' challenge when he saw one. Pulling over to the curb, he put it into park.
"Dean… We can't scoop hunters," Sam sighed, following him out of the car.
"Yeah, 'cause I'm really worried about hurting their feelings." He rolled his eyes. "Sac up, Sammy. Bobby said these two were young, like… twenty-young…" He shook his head. "No way they should be out here playing heroes anyway." He stabbed a finger at him and said all-too-seriously, "We're doing 'em a favor."
Sam followed him across the street, checking either direction for on-coming cars even though it was pretty obvious the town had climbed into bed and shut their doors. "You were hunting when you were twenty," he reminded, lips pursed.
"Yeah, but I was partnered up with dad." He turned to look at him, his eyes wide. "It's a little different than striking out on your own to play Ghost Whisperer…"
"We don't know their stories," he said, ducking his head slightly as they walked through the door to the diner, a bell jangling above. The scent of old coffee and greasy food hit his senses hard, mixing with the noise of the cook slinging hash and a man at the front counter scraping cutlery across his dish, trying to gather up every last scrap.
Dean's voice lowered enough not to draw attention, but he turned his head to direct his words to Sam just to be sure. "I know they're young and new; that's enough to know they're trigger happy and half-assing it." Taking a seat, he grinned at the buxom waitress who stopped by their table for their order. "Heard you got the best pie in town, sweetheart. Like to see that for myself," he told her.
"Sure thing, darlin'," she said, tucking her pad and pen away. "You wanna coffee with that?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She winked at him before looking to Sam. "And you, dear? The same, or…?"
"Just coffee, please," he said, half-smiling politely before turning his attention back to Dean, who was watching the exaggerated sway of the waitress's hips as she left, looking over her shoulder at him with a suggestive smirk. "Can you focus?" he asked, exasperated.
"Oh, I'm focused…" Dean looked back to him with a grin, but seeing his bitch-face, rolled his eyes. "Loosen up. Pull the stick out and relax already."
"We're on a hunt," Sam protested. "Plus we've gotta find whoever's already on the case… We don't know if they're here yet or not."
"Probably got here yesterday." Dean nodded appreciatively as the waitress reappeared and poured them each a mug of coffee. He grabbed up the sugar from where it sat next to a bottle of ketchup and a tin of napkins. "So we're a day behind. We'll find out what they know and then we'll get to work." He raised his cup and hiked his brows. "Next stop cheap-ass motel central, right?"
Sam gave a short nod before pouring a few opened creams into his coffee. "I still wanna go on record as saying we should give these guys the benefit of the doubt before we go in and pull ranks."
"Noted," Dean said sarcastically.
But before Sam could argue his case, the waitress was back, and she had a large slice of cherry pie in hand.
Dean clapped his hands and rubbed them together. Whistling, he nodded. "Now that's what I call pie!"
He decided to wait until his brother's head was back in the game before discussing it any more.
…
Finding Hitch 'Em Post Motel was easy. It was the only joint in town that rented out rooms besides a couple local-run B&B's that were way out of their price range. And no way in hell were hunters gonna be caught dead in a bed and breakfast unless it was haunted and needed their services. So after pie and coffee, Dean and Sam made their way over to scope out the area. They checked the vehicles in the lot to see if they might spot their fellow hunter, but came up short. They weren't expecting a giant 'we like to hunt baddies' bumper sticker, but maybe something like the Impala.
Given how small the town was, they didn't have much in way of outsiders staying long-term. But there were a few rooms rented at the hourly rates for locals and only three others to people just passing through. The man at the front desk was thin, frail even, with wheat colored hair and a porn 'stache that made Dean's upper lip twitch whenever he looked at it.
"You get much business through here in the last couple days?" he wondered, forcing his eyes away from the thin, chapped lips and even thinner yellow whiskers above them.
"Not a lot," Carl said, shrugging. "Guy came through yesterday, not too talkative, real tough lookin' fella. Mohawk." He shook his head. "Don't usually rent to those types, but I got bills to pay…"
Dean glanced back at Sam as they shared a knowing look.
"Just one?" Sam asked. "He didn't have anybody with him?"
"Nope. Just him." He looked between them, eyes narrowed. "Why?" He reached his hand a little lower beneath the counter, probably feeling around for a stowed gun. "You two ain't lookin' for trouble, is ya? 'Cause I run a clean business and the last people came through here lookin' for a fight cost me a month's business in clean-up charges…" He tisked, shaking his head. "Can't get blood out for nothin'."
"Uh… yeah." Dean's eyes narrowed as he shook his head. "No. Not here for that. Just… Lookin' for a buddy. Wasn't sure if he made it into town yet."
"Well Mohawk's in 2C, no ETA on when he's plannin' on leaving town." He looked between them. "You two stayin'?"
Dean started digging in his pocket for his wallet. "Yeah. Sign us up. Two beds, large if you got 'em."
"You're in luck…" Carl released his handle on his gun and instead turned around to his board full of keys. "I got a room right next door to your friend." He hitched the keys off a peg and held them out for him. "Like I told Mohawk, if you're stayin' indefinitely, it's three days rental fee upfront."
Dean's lips pursed but he nodded. "Fine."
Looking pleased with himself, Carl tossed the keys in Sam's direction, who caught them one-handed.
"I'm gonna go check out our room," he said, backing up toward the door.
Dean looked back at him, brow raised. "Alone?"
He half-smirked and said, with a shrug, "He's a friend, right?"
Rolling his eyes, Dean turned back to pay the bill.
After stopping at the Impala to grab their bags, Sam climbed the stairs two at a time. He swung around at the top to walk down the strip of walkway outside each room, keeping close to the rail, eyes wandering over doors and numbers. The curtains were left open in one and he shook his head as he saw a man in just his white boxers and socks, pulled all the way up to his knees. A woman, dressed in black leather and holding a riding crop, walked toward him. "Who's been a bad, bad, mayor?" she hissed.
Lip curled in distaste, Sam walked a little faster, until finally he was standing between 2C and 2D. The curtains were closed in the room next to theirs, but he could see the light of the TV playing over them and the faint sound of a laugh-track. Opening their motel room door, he dropped their bags next to a small table and two chairs. Like every other room before this, it had two large beds covered in ugly blankets and sheets, the walls were dressed in nondescript wallpaper, and vintage lighting gave it all a tasteless glow. The TV was chained to the wall above a peeling brown dresser and from what he could tell, probably only got a handful of bad channels. There was a lamp situated on a table between the two beds, just behind the TV remote, and he would bet his last dollar there was a bible in the drawer.
He cocked his head to see if he could hear anything from next door, but the laugh-track was loud and seemed to drown out all else. Walking back out of the room, he scanned the parking lot for an idea of what might be owned by Mohawk. Every vehicle in the lot was dated, even the supposed mayor's. Beat-up and well used, there was nothing that stood out. The Impala was shinier than most, but he figured that was no surprise since Dean treated it like blood. Speaking of, Dean had just climbed the stairs, pausing momentarily at the mayor's room, eyes wide and head reared back like he'd seen something he wished he could erase. Shaking his head, he started toward Sam, nodding his chin in greeting.
"You talk to him?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "It's one am. He's asleep."
"You kiddin' me?" He walked past him to the door to 2C. "Does it matter?"
"Dean-" He sighed argumentatively but his brother was already knocking on the door.
As they waited, they exchanged irritated glares between them. Dean didn't see why he was trying to be nice to somebody he didn't even know and Sam couldn't understand why his brother was being such an ass to a complete stranger. There was no difference between talking to this guy tomorrow rather than tonight. If anything, he'd be tired and edgy and probably pissed that they'd interrupted his sleep. He knew he was feeling pretty annoyed that Dean had to play his mullet-rock when all he wanted was a few hours of peace.
There was no answer so Dean knocked again, and again, but still nobody opened the door.
Finally, Dean started digging in his pockets, and it wasn't long before he produced a lock-picking kit.
"Dean…" Sam said, shaking his head seriously. "Young or not, he's a hunter."
"Can't tell if you think I should respect him more or be worried he'll gank me when I swing the door open," he muttered, kneeling down and sliding the tools into place. "Don't really care either way…"
It only took him a few seconds to get it open, one eye closed as he twisted and turned until finally the tumblers moved and it unlocked. The door creaked as it opened slowly, showing a dark room, filled with a faint blue glow from the TV. The bed showed a lump in the center, the blankets drawn up high.
Dean reached for the light, but when he flicked it, nothing happened. He tried again, but still nothing turned on. It was just the moving pictures playing over the TV screen that lit up the confines of the room, dancing over the walls and sending shadows moving about.
Frowning, he took a step forward.
Sam's hand grabbed his shoulder and gave him a look that clearly said, 'Are you on a suicide mission?' But Dean shook him off and walked further into the room. As he reached the bed and there was still no stir, it was obvious Dean was chalking this kid up to amateur. He reached for the blanket to draw it back, his free hand reaching for the gun strapped to his side just in case. But as he ripped the blankets back, all they were met with was a collection of lumpy pillows and blankets.
"You lookin' for something?" a deep voice called out.
They turned quickly and Dean's gun rose up, thumb on the safety. They breathed a half sigh of relief on spotting a guy, early-twenties, sporting a Mohawk and a scowl. He was tall, wide-shouldered, and looked like he could handle himself easy enough in a fight. There was a giant chip on his shoulder, that was easy enough to tell. His eyes passed between them suspiciously, narrowed as if he was taking their stock, seeing which was the weaker, how he might attack, what his chances of survival were. Maybe he was young, he might even be new, but Sam was still pretty sure he was as deadly as they come.
"Yeah, a hunt," Dean finally said, raising his brows meaningfully.
Mohawk's posture relaxed only slightly. "You find one?"
"You tell me…"
Sam looked between them and then rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm Sam, and this Dean. We got a call there was something worth looking into here and we headed out…"
"Yeah, well, it's being taken care of." He motioned a thumb behind him. "So you can leave the same way you got here," he returned, lips pursed petulantly.
"Listen to this kid," Dean snorted. "Hey, Sundance, we're all hunters here. So put away the attitude, all right?"
"You're lecturing me on being polite?" he scoffed, brow raised. "You came in here thinkin' you could take my job from me." He shook his head. "Not how it works, Abercrombie."
Dean's head reared back, offended. "Did he just…?"
"Imply you were pretty?" Sam asked, amused. "Yeah."
"All right." He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and then stabbed a finger in Mohawk's direction. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that…"
"You want me to thank you?" He took a step forward challengingly. "'Cause listen, Grampa, you wanna go, let's do this." He twirled a finger in the air. "This ain't my first rodeo, pops, so I'm not afraid to break your hip."
Dean scoffed. "Listen to Tyler Durden over here… What a piece of work."
"I think we all need to just calm down," Sam sighed. "Look, we're not here to scoop you."
"Hell we aren't," Dean argued.
Sam waved a hand at him to tell him to shut up before paying all of his attention to Mohawk. "We heard you were new, Dean was a little… concerned this might get messy. So yeah, we're here, to help, not to take over."
"Sam!" his brother barked.
Sam shook his head, eyes wide and questioning as he continued to stare at Mohawk. "You have any idea what it is you're looking for?"
Lips pursed, he cast his eyes away thoughtfully, before finally saying, "I don't do partners."
"Think of us as… consultants," he suggested, nodding.
He scowled, but after a minute of hesitation, he finally gave a short nod. Walking further into the room, never giving them his back, he took a seat at the table. "I'm Puck," he told them, dropping the bag in his hand on the table.
"Better than Mohawk," Sam said, before motioning to the free chair in askance.
Puck gave him a short nod.
Taking a seat, he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So…" He held his hands, palms up, "Any idea what you've got here?"
His jaw ticked. "Four deaths… Coroner didn't think they were linked… Everybody knows everybody around here though, so it's hard to pin down a pattern between them."
Arms crossed over his chest, Dean asked gruffly, "Coroner got a cause of death?"
He sighed, looking frustrated, and scrubbed a hand down his strip of dark hair. "One drowned in her bathroom, in her own damn tub, bubbles and all. Another was electrocuted, the only guy was hung, and the last lady was stabbed through the heart multiple times and left in a park…" His lips pressed into a thin line. "Couple of kids found her."
"Foul play though? No chance the guy committed suicide or the girl just had faulty wiring?" Sam wondered.
He shook his head. "No, no way, not with the way his neck was snapped, or the man-made claw marks on his neck…" He stared out the window beside him hollowly.
"And the girl?"
"House was clean. I checked…" He leaned back in his chair and fiddled with what looked like a guitar pick, flipping it over and over with the pad of his forefinger hooking around the corners. "Besides, it was the coffee maker that got 'er…"
"Coffee maker?"
He nodded. "Yeah, chick went to plug it in and zzttt, dead."
"And none of these chicks were in a-a book club or something?" Dean wondered, head shaking.
"Two were in the PTA together, Jenna Clark and Dana Humphris; had kids at the same school, same grade even. The other girl, Leslie James, knew them from church. And the guy…" He shook his head. "Older, just about sixty, Jim Beeson, he ran the local library, so everybody knew him."
"You learned a lot in a day and a half," Dean noted.
"Yeah, well, I had a little help," he admitted, shifting in his seat.
"Thought you didn't do partners?" he reminded, frowning.
"She isn't a partner. She's a… friend." He shook his head, sighing.
"She a hunter?"
He scowled. "Unfortunately."
Dean and Sam exchanged a look. "That's why Bobby said there were two of you in town… He figured you were working together."
"Well, we're not." He shrugged. "Sooner she gets outta the game, the better."
"So what's this chick know about hunting? And how'd she get so much info?"
"She got here a couple days before me, and she was sent over 'cause she's got a source that follows this kind of thing." He sat forward, resting his arms on the table, scratching at his temple. "She gets the heads up before just about everybody. So usually when I roll into town, she's already there."
"She know anything else?"
He nodded. "Probably." He glanced at the clock. "But you're not gonna get anything out of her tonight." He shook his head. "Princess probably already hit the sheets for her beauty rest…"
Dean frowned. "You serious?"
"She's at a B&B on the outskirts of town… She doesn't do motel sheets."
Dean's brows rose. "And this just keeps getting better and better…" he scoffed.
Sam half-smiled at him in amusement before looking back to Puck. "Why don't we meet up tomorrow? You can introduce us to… your non-partner and we can start figuring this all out, all right?" He started to stand.
"I'm not new to this," he said, making them pause.
Dean looked back. "Yeah? What are you, twenty? Twenty-one?"
"Twenty-two," Puck corrected, eyes turning off to the right as he shrugged. "And I started hunting when I was sixteen."
"That young?" Sam asked, head drawn back in surprise.
Licking his lips, Puck frowned, seeming to weigh his options for a moment. Grinding his teeth, he finally said, "Had a sister… She was nine…" He swallowed tightly, brow raised as he stared at a far-off point. "Shtriga rolled into town and started making midnight snacks out of the local kids." He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Didn't even know he was in the room next to mine, mowing on my sister, 'til it was too late…" He licked his lips. "I figured out how to kill him, consecrated iron round while he was sucking the life force out of a neighbor. But Becca got sick, came down with pneumonia... Died in the hospital not long after." His hands twisted, squeezing into fists. "After that, just made sense… Nothing else worked for me. I started off just in town, y'know? Research, kept my eyes open…" He glanced at them. "Ma wasn't the same after that though…; started drinkin', lost her job…" He scrubbed a hand down his neck. "I ran into some trouble, got picked up for a B&E when I was checking out a job, record bit me in the ass and I got tossed into juvie for awhile. When I got back, she wouldn't stop talking about how Becca was the good one; should'a been me…" He cleared his throat. "So I hit the road…" He nodded. "You pick up things, you know…? Learn techniques, figure shit out… So I did."
Dean stared at him a long moment, before finally nodding. And Sam knew that Puck had just earned a little more respect; family was family. There was nothing more important. Especially, a sibling. They might have their issues, but Sam always knew that Dean would go to every length to keep him alive and safe.
"We'll meet you tomorrow… Ten good?" Sam asked, breaking the silence.
Puck nodded. "I'll be there."
With that, Sam and Dean left, closing the door before making their way into their room.
"What d'you think?" Sam asked him.
Dean glanced at him and then turned his gaze toward the wall separating the two rooms. "Kid's damaged," he said, voice low.
"Then he'll fit right in…"
Snorting, Dean grabbed up his bag and started for the bathroom. "Yeah," he muttered.
They turned in for the night not long after. Sam drifted away in his motel issue bed, just a little too soft to suit him, and wondered what Puck's female counterpart might have to offer. It wasn't too often they ran into women hunters and from the sounds of it, she wasn't like the rough and tough Jo and Ellen, who he was pretty sure wouldn't ever pick a B&B over a motel room. Comfort was a luxury most hunters just couldn't afford. And for those that could, he had to wonder why they'd ever give it up for a life on the road.
…
Dean was rubbing his eyes as he breathed in deep over his coffee. "The hell's wrong with noon?" he wondered, yawning.
"We've got a lot to catch up on," Sam reminded, stirring his coffee.
He frowned, grumbling, "And it couldn't wait two more hours?"
"People are dying, Dean. I don't think we've got two hours to spare."
"Untwist your panties, Sammy," he muttered.
Before Sam could argue, he noticed a familiar Mohawk approaching the diner. In ripped jeans and a leather jacket over a vintage Blue Öyster Cult t-shirt, he looked like he might just fit in better with Dean than first expected. The petite brunette at his side made Sam's eyebrows hike, however. In a blue dress with small white polka-dots that cinched high at her waist and floated down attractively to mid-thigh, where a long pair of tanned legs were on display, she looked very unlike a hunter at all. In fact, he was pretty sure no hunter in all of history ever wore a beret. But there she was, with one white as snow, perched on top of her shiny, dark hair, woven in braids that knotted together at the nape of her neck.
"Sam?" Dean asked, getting no reply. "Sammy?"
The door swung open, the bell jangling, and the girl at Puck's side could be heard saying, "You're being ridiculous!"
"I'm being ridiculous?" Puck scoffed. "Me?"
"Yes, you! You, you, you!" She turned and stabbed a finger at his chest. "Ever since you got here, you've been up my butt about not participating, but two new… people arrive in town and suddenly you're very interested in my help and expertise." She raised a brow at him. "Which is it going to be, Noah? You either let me help you and accept the inevitable or you…" She sighed then, trailing off.
"Can ya can the crazy for awhile?" He put a hand to the small of her back and leaned forward slightly so he could say, a little quieter, "We'll talk about it after, all right?"
Arms crossed, she wrinkled her nose. "You always say that. How convenient that later never has a specific time or date." Not waiting for a reply, she marched away from him, eyes scanning the room and falling quickly on Sam and Dean. With Sam staring, he imagined it was pretty obvious they were who she was looking for. Lips pressed in a line, she walked right up to their table. "He might've fallen for the 'consultant' line, but if you think I'm handing over this case to your lumbering hands, you have another thing coming, buster!" Fists on her hips now, she tapped her foot. "It was my hunt first and Noah already butted in; I think I'm all full up on testosterone, thank you."
Now that Dean had laid eyes on her, he was taking her all in with wide-eyed surprise, from the beret to her small flat shoes with tiny white bows on top. "Nice to meet you too, sweetheart," he said, brow raised.
She turned dark eyes on him. "Firstly, we don't know each other, so I'd prefer if you kept your petnames to yourself." She raised her chin. "My name is Rachel Berry, kindly use it. Secondly, it is not nice to meet you, seeing as I didn't want to meet you. I'm fully capable of this hunt without either of your services and would appreciate it if you would simply vacate the town so I could continue. And you…" She turned quickly to face 'Noah.' "Can leave with them."
"C'mon, Rach…" Puck sighed, hands on his hips and head cocked in exasperation. "I get it, you're pissed. But we're seriously not scooping your hunt, all right?" His brows hiked. "I offered to help. I know from personal experience you're a ninja under all the girly shit. And these guys…" He shrugged, motioning at them. "Hey, what's wrong with having a little experience on your side, right? Batman and Robin here've made the rounds; they probably have something to offer. And hell, we're not having any luck figuring out who or what's killing these people, so why not pool our brains and figure it out, a'right?"
Arms crossed atop her chest once more, Rachel stared up at him in irritated frustration, tapping her fingers.
Sam glanced at Dean, who instead of being worried about what she might decide, mouthed, "I'm Batman."
Rolling his eyes, he turned his gaze back to Rachel, who after taking a moment to think it over, finally sighed with resignation. She stared speculatively between them. "You've been doing this very long?"
"Our whole lives," Dean said with a sarcastic smile, obviously not happy he had to answer to a mouthy young woman on a power-trip.
"And you're… good?"
He snorted. "The best."
She stared down her nose at him. "We'll see," she said simply. Turning her eyes back to Sam, she said, "Fine. We'll work together. But-!" She pointed a finger between them, "-if at any point I think you're hindering my hunt, I demand the right to ask you to leave."
"You can ask," Dean said, leaning back in his chair. "No promises we'll listen."
Rachel looked back at him, brow raised, and leaned forward to say in a calm, warning tone, "You mistake my petite size for a lack of strength, Mr. Dean. But I have been doing this since I was thirteen. Fair warning…" She stared at him searchingly. "I've taken out monsters bigger than you and I can take you down if I have to."
His jaw ticked as he stared at her thoughtfully.
"Now." She turned a look up at Puck before surveying the other two. "Would you like to see the bodies?"
Silently, Sam and Dean stood from their table to join her.
Nothing like a handful of corpses to top off breakfast.
…
The ride over to the coroner's was short. Rachel's red Prius looked ridiculous sandwiched between Dean's boat of an Impala and Puck's blue Ford Bronco. But she hopped out daintily and walked up the stone walkway between all three men as if she wasn't the least bit out of place. Taking from her purse, a laminated name tag, she pinned it to her dress and walked inside the office with a smile.
"Hello Davis, lovely weather we're having, aren't we?" she greeted the man working the front desk.
An awkward looking man, his outfit just a little too large on his small frame, he just about shot out of his chair to greet her. "Hey there, Miss. Lupone, it sure is nice out." He grinned, nodding at her.
"It's too bad I'll be cooped up with the deceased on a day like this," she said before shrugging gently. "But what can you do, really?"
"That is a shame," he agreed.
"I hope you don't mind, but I brought a couple associates with me," she said, motioning to Puck, Sam and Dean. "They're specialists and only arrived late last night. I'm just having a terrible time figuring out what that pattern was on the epidermis behind Miss. Johanson's ears. You don't mind, do you, Davis?" She smiled at him sweetly.
"Well, Miss. Lupone, Doctor Reggie likes me to be extra-careful who he lets inside…" he reminded, eyes darting from her to the door nervously.
"Well that's why this will just be between me and you, won't it, Davis?" She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the countertop between them. "Doctor Reggie is taking a well-deserved vacation, which is why he had me come in… I only want to do my very best so he doesn't have to worry." She stared at him from beneath long, dark lashes, batting them slowly in a come hither manner. "You wouldn't want me to disappoint him, would you?"
"Well, n-no, ma'am. I- I would not…"
"Fantastic." She stood up straighter. "Then I'll just take my associates with me into the back and I promise you we will treat everything with the utmost respect." She started toward the two doors leading further inside the building. "You'll be here when we're done, won't you?"
"Of course!" he agreed happily.
"Wonderful. I'll see you in a few hours then." Wiggling her fingers in farewell, Rachel walked through the doors with the men at her back, staying silent until they were far enough away that smitten-Davis wouldn't hear.
"The hell was that?" Puck wondered.
"My superior acting skills at work," she boasted, taking a sharp right down a hallway. "And don't pretend you've never flirted with women to get what you needed." Turning her head back to look at each of them, she raised a brow. "I bet all three of you have done your fair share."
Dean shrugged. "More than."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Davis is a nice man… He should just be more careful about checking into the background history of who might be coming in to replace his boss… Especially since Doctor Reggie was victim number five, and really just gave me a convenient way in…" As she backed into the laboratory where the bodies were being stored on pull-out steel beds inside the freezer, she pulled on a pair of latex gloves from a wall-dispenser and caught the surprise on their faces.
"You created this whole… elaborate job out of one of the victim's deaths?" Dean asked, staring at her in shock.
She grinned. "Well, I was only doing my research, really. I stopped by the doctor's house to see if I couldn't act my way into some important information, and there he was…" She shook her head, nose wrinkled. "I don't think I've ever seen somebody burned alive before…" she mused. With that, she paused to pull on a lab coat and then turned on her heel and walked to the wall of stainless steel doors. Checking the numbers, she pulled out one near the center, showing them the charred remains of a body, gnarled and misshapen, the skin of which had long been burned away or blackened by the fire.
"This is Doctor Reginald Weaver," she told them. "TOD, approximately five in the afternoon, this most recent Tuesday." Her nose wrinkled. "It was really quite unfortunate, especially since I would've loved to pick his brain for anything he might have on the victims…" She pushed the steel bed back inside and closed the door. "Fortunately, Reggie kept precise notes on all of his work…" She walked to a desk layered in folders and papers. "He even noted how peculiar it was how many people had died in such a short amount of time. With a town as small as this, the death rate seems much smaller. Natural causes is the most common, although there have been a handful of murders over the last twenty years, and a sorely high rate of deaths while under the influence." She picked up the last four folders and walked back toward them. "You can take them with you if you like, I have them memorized."
Sam took the folders from her outstretched hands and skimmed through them. "Have you found anything? Something that jumped out?" he wondered, glancing up from the papers that were carefully highlighted in pink, which he assumed rightly was her doing.
Clasping her hands in front of her, she chewed her lip. "As I'm sure Noah informed you, the way Mr. Beeson's neck was angled, how it was snapped, was unnatural. If he'd hung himself, it would've shown up differently. But I've gone through the x-rays and I've checked for myself, and it's simply not right. Plus, there was skin under his nails; his own, I believe. He was clawing at his neck to get free…" She shook her head, lips pressed together sadly. "And Leslie, she's the drowning victim, there was bruising on her hands and cuts on her fingers… It's my judgment that she was trying to draw herself out from the tub, where she was drowning. Her fingernails were cracked; a few of them even pulled up… I honestly think she was trying to fight her way up and she lost…"
"So are we talking murder or what, here?" Dean wondered, brow cocked.
"Kind of but not completely. I believe it's something else…" She bit her lip. "The pattern of death, the way they're killed, it doesn't have the same feel to it…" She began pacing, shaking her head. "It's as if there are five separate murderers, one for each of them, all with the same agenda…"
"So what, a mass murdering club?" he scoffed.
"No…" She waved a hand dismissively. "But what if each murderer was possessed…?"
"But why?" Sam wondered. "What's the point?"
"Sometimes there isn't a point," Rachel whispered, her eyes falling as her face tightened with a memory. The haunted look she displayed was nothing new to Sam; he'd seen it in every hunter before her. The reason behind taking the job in the first place. "Sometimes it's just in their nature…"
"So how do we track it then? If it doesn't have a pattern, how do we know who it'll hit next?" Dean wondered.
Puck grimaced. "We don't."
"There has to be a pattern…" Rachel's brows furrowed. She tapped her chin. "The first three were women; they knew each other from the PTA and church…" She shook her head. "But Beeson was different… Unmarried, kept to himself, a generally nice man, if a little lonely…"
"And the coroner?" Puck glanced at the door leading to his burned body. "Why him?"
"Cover up?" Sam suggested. "Maybe Reggie was starting to figure it out?"
"Small town like this? Who would believe him?" Dean wondered, shaking his head.
"You said he was unmarried," Sam said, looking over to her. "The three women were?"
"Yes." She nodded. "But Reggie was divorced and Beeson was perpetually single."
"You've spoken to their husbands?"
She frowned. "I haven't had time. I only just finished with the paperwork and looking over the bodies for clues…" Her brow furrowed. "Although…"
"Light bulb," Puck said, half-smiling at her.
She smiled at him briefly. "I noticed none of the husbands have come asking questions."
"Grief?" Dean suggested.
"Which would be excusable, of course. Two out of three of them likely believed their wives were the unfortunate victims of accidents, but…" She shook her head. "Jenna Clark was stabbed multiple times in a local park." She looked between them. "If somebody I loved was thoughtlessly murdered that way and I lived in a town this small, making the perpetrator somebody they almost definitely knew, I would be hounding people for answers…"
"All right, it's a lead." Dean nodded to his brother. "We'll check out the husband; you got an address on him?"
Rachel pointed at the folder. "All of their personal information is inside. If you have time, you might want to check out the other two husbands." She motioned to her left. "Noah and I will check Beeson's and Reggie's places again, just to make sure we didn't look over anything."
"Great. You wanna meet back up, exchange details later?" Sam wondered.
"Sure. The motel this time? Somehow I don't think bringing our work back to the diner will be in our favor."
He snorted lightly. "Agreed." He dug his phone out to get her number so they could let each other know where they were before they parted ways.
As Sam and Dean were walking down the hallway, Dean glanced back over his shoulder. "She's a real piece of work…" he said.
"She's smart," Sam replied. "And she seems to know what she's doing."
"Just because she can read notes and check a body over for fishy injuries doesn't mean she's an ace hunter, Sam…" He slapped his shoulder. "You see the legs on her though?"
Snorting, he rolled his eyes. "Hard to miss."
With a grin, Dean nodded. "What are the odds Mohawk's hitting that?"
Brows raised high, he looked over at his brother knowingly. "High."
Smirking, he shoved through the front doors and out into the sunlight. "Figured you'd say that…"
"Dean…" he sighed, following after him toward the Impala. "Just don't do anything stupid."
His brother didn't reply, but the self-satisfying smile he wore was warning enough.
[To be continued: Part II.]