fic: how the mighty fall (in love) - 6/6
prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | epilogue
They're packing the Impala-or, rather, Dean is-because Sam is currently stupid and useless and giddy. "Admit it, Dean. You love it."
Dean shakes his head and denies it vehemently even as he lets Sam kiss him, insisting "No, Sam, contrary to popular belief, I don't actually like being forcibly shoved into the hood of my baby so we can make out like fucking teenagers over her."
Sam ignores him and slides his hands down from Dean's shirt to his wrists, trapping him against the Impala before turning his head and very loudly informing the people in the motel parking lot that "Dean Winchester likes being manhandled during sex!"
All three people give them a dirty look, and Dean cringes. "Do you mind sayin' that one more time?" he grumbles, "I think there're a couple camels in the Kalahari that didn't hear you."
Sam sighs, exasperated. "Camels are far more common in the Sahara, Dean," but he's secretly impressed that Dean is even aware the Kalahari Desert exists.
Dean's opening his mouth to say something-possibly brain-related; definitely insulting-when Sam's phone rings. He vaguely recognizes the number flashing up on the screen, but the problem is that he can't remember which alias he used.
So he crosses his fingers and hazards a guess.
"FBI," Sam says, brusquely, "This is Agent-"
"Agent Weine!" comes the tinny voice through the speaker, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief.
"Yeah, that's me. How can I help you?"
"I, uh-don't know if you remember me. It's gotta be, what-bordering on six years now. But this is Chief James Evans?"
Sam doesn't know why he connects the name so quickly, but he has a sudden and vivid flashback to a man with gray eyes and grayer hair. "From Arizona?"
"Bingo. Anyway, I'm sorry to contact you after all this time, but do you remember the Four Corners murders?"
"I think so. Five vics, throat slashed, then the sixth one turned up disemboweled?"
"Yeah, that's the one. It's been a long time, but that BOLO we put out finally turned something up. She's been seen. "
"We'll be right there." Sam says, and snaps the phone shut, his good mood gone.
"What's up, Sammy?"
Sam throws the rest of their stuff into the trunk. "Karma's back."
+ + +
They're back in Scottsdale and pulling up to a building that's familiar in some dreamlike way, and Chief Evans is out in front with his hat on and brim low.
"It's good to see you, Chief," Dean says.
The older man greets them warmly with a smile and a handshake. "Good to see you both, Agent Shreck. Come inside and we'll talk shop."
They follow Evans into his office where he pulls out a folder-it's old and yellowed but obviously sparse, containing nothing but the Four Corners case files and a bare-bones profile for one Karma Hill, former sex worker.
Evans gestures at the papers as Sam and Dean sit in the chairs across from his desk. "Unfortunately, we never did get very far with this case. She made a quick escape-clean-and the only thing we had to go on was that hair in the window. DNA didn't turn anything up except for a familial match to a coroner who used to work in Colorado."
"So-her dad? Did you guys find him?" Sam asks.
"He's dead five years now. Fell down the stairs. The people in the town said he never mentioned a daughter and they never saw one."
"Was there a wife?"
"No, she died before he did, and she was an illegal immigrant. No documents at all. And there's no record of anyone named Karma Hill before she started working at the Dovetail. Her Social
Security was faked."
"Damn," Dean whistles, "we got our work cut out for us."
Evans nods. "She all but dropped off the face of the earth. But like I said, an off-duty officer swears he saw her in the reflection of his car window when he was buying coffee two days ago, and sure enough-Karma slipped up. The café's security cams showed a black-haired woman in the back alley matching her description."
"Do we know where she's hiding?"
"No leads on that, unfortunately."
Dean stands and cracks his neck. "Thanks for all your help, Chief Evans. We appreciate it."
Evans walks to the door, holding it open for them as they exit, and hands them the file. "If there's anything else I can do, let me know."
+ + +
The motel they check into is the same one as last time, and the room is the same, and Sam walks in and just stares for a second, dick hardening, memory flaring up, reminding him of that night.
Dean comes in through the door with his own bag and drops it onto the table, coming up behind him. Dean slings an arm across Sam's chest and holds him there, grinding the heel of his hand into his crotch, the zipper digging in, and Sam sucks in a short breath.
"Kinky," Dean tells him, and Sam snorts; links their fingers for a second before breaking Dean's hold and sitting on the bed with the folder.
"So the bitch is back," Dean says, and settles himself next to Sam with the laptop. "Any idea where to start?"
Sam spreads the files on the bed. "Not much, but I'm thinking Missing Persons. If she's been around town, she must've picked someone up or could be scouting something out. And her vics might not have anything in common, but they're all guys and they live in one of the Four-Corners states, right?"
"She could also just drop off the grid again," Dean points out. "If she's got the resources, she might know that the police are onto her."
"But she'll stay to finish a kill," Sam says, and takes the computer from Dean. "It's worth a shot."
+ + +
Sam finds a Missing Persons report filed yesterday-Reginald Meyer, thirty-three, a bartender in Salt Lake City who hasn't come into work for the past three days.
They pay a visit to his workplace, a nightclub called Insomnia, and Dean decides to check out the back alley. Sam nods and walks into the club; flashes his badge at the bouncer.
"FBI. Just need to ask some questions."
The bouncer sizes him up and calls someone over, and Sam turns to see a man with dark skin and green eyes come to the door.
"Can I help you?"
"Agent Weine, FBI. Are you the owner?"
"Yeah, that's me. I'm Chris."
"I'm here about Reginald Meyer. I understand he hasn't come into work for the past few days?"
Chris lifts the rope and Sam walks in. "What's this about? It's just a missing persons-isn't it a bit, I don't know, insignificant for the Feds to investigate?"
His accent's rather unremarkable, but there's a hint of something, and it sounds familiar, but Sam can't quite place it. "I can't give you much detail. Did Mr. Meyer have any enemies?"
Chris shakes his head, opening the door to a back room. "Reggie's a good guy. And a damn good bartender-I've had to start doing the drinks myself, because no one else does 'em quite like he does."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"Wednesday. He left in his car with a girl. They'd been talking all night."
Sam pulls out a photo of Karma. "Was this her?"
Chris takes the photo and squints at it. "It could be. The lighting in here is pretty low, and her hair is longer than this-but it definitely looks like her, yeah."
Sam suddenly flashes back to when he worked this case alone; thinks it's a long shot, but asks anyway. "You said your name was Chris?"
"Chris Soriano. Why?"
"You wouldn't happen to know the owner of The Dovetail, would you?"
"Bex Branson?" Chris asks, looking a little taken aback. "Yeah, I do. She bailed me out, years and years ago. What's she got to do with this?"
Sam doesn't say anything at first-isn't sure how to start-but then Chris's eyes widen. "Oh, no. You think Reggie might be part of those murders?"
Dean walks in before Sam says anything, and nods at Chris. "Sorry to interrupt, but we gotta go. I think I found something."
Sam stands up; pushes his chair back, all business. "Thanks for your time, Mr. Soriano. We'll do everything we can."
+ + +
"I found this in the alleyway," Dean says, and holds up a key.
"No way," Sam breathes. "She dropped her key? How do you know it's hers?"
"Building across the street has the most paranoid doorman in the world. He threatened to call the cops on me before I flashed him the badge."
"And?"
"He's been videotaping everything since a break-in a couple of weeks ago. And guess who was on camera?"
"Holy crap."
"Yeah. Never thought I'd say this, but thank god for paranoid little shits. Now all we've gotta do is figure out what door this opens."
"I think I have an idea. She needs somewhere to keep a victim, and we know she doesn't kill them in their own homes…what if she rented a place? Or bought one?"
A few clicks and some furious typing later, Sam's pulled up a list of the most recent buys and sells in and around Salt Lake City. There are only six listings, and Sam's never been more thankful for the bad housing market.
Dean points at a building. "That one."
"The fuck, dude? You didn't even look at all of them!"
"Don't need to. Don't be jealous just because I know how women work."
"There's no way that's the right building! You haven't even considered the variables-visibility, height, escape routes-"
"I'm telling you, that's the one. I'd pick that one. Double or nothing, that's the right place."
"Fine. You're so sure? I'll take that bet."
"The usual?"
"The usual."
+ + +
It takes all of three seconds of showing her picture around the building for several men (and one woman) to nod and say that she moved in a week ago.
Dean crows triumphantly. "Get ready to wear some panties, bitch!"
"Fuck you," Sam says, giving him the finger.
"You'll still have to wear them," Dean laughs, "but we can do that, too."
+ + +
They go back to the building under cover of night, unsuited and armed.
"This is it, Dean. She's in there."
"I know, man. Just stick to the plan. I bust in, you follow, and once you've got the shot-"
"I shoot her through the head."
"You bet your ass you will. You got my back, right, Sammy?"
"Always," Sam tells him, and it's a promise.
+ + +
Dean unlocks the door and slips in. Sam closes the door behind him, soundlessly, and Dean moves ahead towards the bedroom, where he can see light flooding out from under the gap.
He turns and signals to Sam, who nods, and Dean kicks the door in to see Karma leaning down to untie the last restraint from an unconscious Reggie. She doesn't so much as twitch, which Dean resents, and she turns to look at him, letting Reggie's head drop from her hands and onto the bed.
"Hiya, dollface. So nice of you to drop by. Where's your rude little brother?"
"It's just me today," Dean shrugs. "Sorry to disappoint."
"Pity," Karma sighs. "I was willing to give him a second chance. We'll just have to make do with a party of three, then."
"Yeah, well, party's over, bitch." Dean says, and cocks his gun. "Step away from the bed."
"Oh, Dean, where did your manners go?" she asks petulantly and shifts so that Reggie's head is in her lap, and there's suddenly a wicked-looking blade in her hand, curved metal glinting in the light from her lamp. "I think we need to lighten the mood in here. Let's get happy," she says, and slices into either side of Reggie's mouth.
Reggie wakes up instantly, his eyes flying open, and he screams as Karma starts breaking his fingers and the cuts at his mouth extend up into his cheeks as the muscles contract; permanent Glasgow smile that Dean knows will never fade.
"Why don't you put the gun down, Dean?" Karma asks, calm in the face of the blood getting all over her face and hands. "Or I'm going to have to start gutting dear old Reggie here, and as much as I'd love to do that, it's not a party if we're not all having fun."
Dean knows Sam can't get a clear shot at Karma while her head is bent and the rest of her body is covered by Reggie's screaming, writhing body, so he tries to pry him from her while keeping her focus away from where Sam is hiding.
"Okay, okay, we'll do it your way," he says and glances in Sam's direction; split-second slip-up that he can't help and can never help, because Sam is and always will be his weakness.
Karma catches it, of course; looks back from him to the doorway to him again, grin widening like the San Francisco fault.
"There's our darling little Sammy," she says, and rolls off the bed as she pushes Reggie into Dean; lithe little movement that throws Dean off-balance and he crashes to the ground as Karma hauls Sam into the room and throws him against the wall.
Sam hits the wall with a loud thunk, the back of his head making a sickeningly loud cracking noise and he slumps down.
"I think he'd make a perfect target for 'pin the tail', don't you?" Karma asks and produces three more blades from her dress.
"Sam!" Dean shouts, rolling Reggie onto his side. "Sam, get up!"
Sam shakes back to reality, but he's too slow-head pounding; lightheaded and woozy from getting thrown into the wall-and Karma throws the knives just as Dean shoves her over. She turns, furious, and body-checks Dean into the dresser, punching him in the jaw before pulling him to her and holding a knife to his throat.
Sam's up now although he's seeing double and his vision is fuzzing at the edges, but he manages to figure out where Karma is standing with Dean trapped against her. "Move a muscle," he snarls, raising his gun, "and I swear to God I'll shoot."
"Are you now?" she sneers, and her smile is cold like the ice in Sam's chest. "I don't believe you. You don't have the gu-"
BAM!
Karma falls and Dean's body tumbles, too-Sam drops the gun as he runs to shake his brother awake, the only thing in his mind an endless litany of deandeandeandeandean.
"Sam?" Dean asks, disoriented, and makes a move to get up before he holds a hand to his head and groans. "Man, this is going to bruise. She packed a punch."
"You okay?" Sam asks as he tries to help him up.
"I'm fine," Dean insists, slapping his hands away. "Seriously, dude, I'm good. Get off me. Jesus. Go fuckin' help the guy on the floor with the six broken fingers and blood coming out of his mouth, why don't you."
+ + +
They stand there after Reggie gets carted away by EMS, contemplating the perfect circle of the bullethole in Karma's forehead.
"It's off-center."
Sam smacks him on the shoulder. "It's fuckin' perfect. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Nope," Dean shakes his head. "Look, right there. It's closer to that eyebrow than it is to that one."
"Bullshit. Her eyebrows must be crooked."
Dean crosses his arms; admits, grudgingly: "Fine, good shot, okay?"
"Thanks," Sam chirps and grins brightly at Dean until he rolls his eyes.
There's another silence until Dean suddenly twitches like an ice cube's been dropped down his shirt.
"What?" Sam asks.
"Nothing, just-people, man," Dean shudders. "Sometimes they're even skeevier than witches."
Sam nods somberly, then sniggers. "Dude, admit it. Right up until she slipped you a mickey, you were so gonna bang her. You have the worst taste in women, you know."
Dean smiles, a ha-ha-you're-so-funny sarcastic twist of the lips, and cheerfully advises Sam to shut the fuck up.
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