Dean/Calleigh - Good People (2/?)
Fandom: Supernatural/CSI: Miami
Title: Good People (2/?)
Author: iluvroadrunner6
Rating: FRT
Characters: Dean Winchester/Calleigh Duquesne, Sam Winchester, Eric Delko, Ryan Wolfe
Content Warning: N/A
Summary: Dean fills Calleigh in on what's going on, and goes to check out the crime scene.
Author's Note: This is, again, a lot of dialouge, but these guys are fun when they talk. So I don't feel so bad about not having a lot of action.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Supernatural or CSI: Miami. They're owned by CBS. However, all original characters are mine, so please do not borrow them without my permission.
Part 1
When Calleigh stumbled into the kitchen to make herself a pot of coffee, and was surprised to find that it was already made, and halfway gone. She stared at it for a second, before turning back towards her kitchen table and seeing Dean sitting there, working on a laptop. He looked up at her and gave her a smile.
“Morning, Sunshine,” he grinned.
“You’re up early,” she commented.
“No offense, but your couch is a bitch to sleep on,” he said, watching her as she poured herself a cup of coffee, “You should put that thing on an automatic timer or something. I had to actually find everything.”
“If the coffee’s already made, there’s no incentive for me to get up now is there?” she said. There was a lull, and Dean watched her as she fixed her coffee.
“You might want to salt your doors and windows,” Dean commented, “Just in case.”
“I already do,” she replied, “I just don’t use salt.”
He tilted his head slightly in confusion, before realization hit him, “Protection spell. You and your voodoo.”
“Me and my voodoo,” Calleigh nodded, turning to face him, a mug of steaming coffee in her hand.
“Well-no offense to your voodoo,” Dean replied, “But I think the guy that’s after us might not be so repelled by a protection spell.”
“If you want the doors and windows salted, Dean, you are more than welcome to do it yourself,” Calleigh replied, “I’m not home enough to safeguard it otherwise.” She glanced over at the laptop, “Doing research?”
“Yup,” Dean replied.
“What are you hunting?” she asked, walking over to the table and leaning over his shoulder.
“Interested?” She gave him a look and he continued with a smirk, “Thought you ‘didn’t do that kind of thing anymore’?”
“Just want to know if I’m gonna have to bail you out,” Calleigh replied, “Like your last visit, where the succubus had you convinced she was Carmen Electra, and really really wanted to have a good time with you?”
Dean just grinned, “I’ve gotten better at distinguishing reality from fiction.”
“I hope so,” Calleigh sighed, “Didn’t answer my question.”
“Don’t know yet,” Dean replied, “But it’s whatever’s living in this house.”
“I know that house,” Calleigh sighed, before grabbing a chair and sitting down next to him.
“You do?” Dean said, giving her a look, and she nodded.
“That house is an open crime scene.”
“One of yours?” he said, a hopeful look on his face.
“Unfortunately for you, no,” she replied, “Which means you’re not going anywhere near it until they catch the guy who did it, or-if in the event that there is something not normal going on-the case runs cold.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because walking onto an open crime scene without the proper identification is grounds for arrest for tampering with evidence,” Calleigh replied, “And getting arrested would break the terms of your being allowed to stay here, which would mean that it’s very unlikely that I’m coming to bail you out. And even if you get bailed out by someone else, you’re still out a place to live.”
“Calleigh-do you know the guy who’s working the scene? Maybe you could get us in.”
“Dean, as I said, I know that house,” she sighed, “This is the first suspicious death that’s ever been logged there.”
“Not true,” Dean replied, before pulling up some of the files he had been looking at, “This thing-whatever it is-seems to work on a cycle. The first family moved in, in eighty-two, and logged complaints of something scratching at their back door at night. Realtors wrote it off as gators, didn’t do anything about it. House was on the market for about three years before it was bought by a single guy, no family.”
“So what happened to him?”
“Killed in his sleep,” Dean said with a smirk, “Fell asleep in his recliner, there was a hole in the bottom of the screen door-cops attributed it to gators.”
“The markings of the killing were probably consistent with that of an alligator,” Calleigh sighed, “And the cops would have no reason to consider it suspicious.”
“Says here the cops searched for a gator population in the area, couldn’t find any signs that there had been any,” Dean said, turning back to the screen, “They figured it was a lone ranger, and once it had been cleaned up, declared the house sellable again, and put a better watch on the gator population.”
“So what makes you think this is your kind of problem?”
“This time the ‘gator’-and I use that term loosely-didn’t stop with the poor sucker in the recliner,” Dean replied, “Slaughtered an entire family of five asleep in their beds. That’s a bit much for a regular scaly reptile, don’t you think?”
“This time we don’t think it’s a gator,” she sighed, “We think it’s a person.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s either,” Dean replied, turning to face her, “I think it’s my kinda problem.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said, giving the other man a look, “And until I’m more convinced-you aren’t going anywhere near that crime scene.” She moved back over into her kitchen, and left her mug in the sink.
“I’m going to work,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair, “Try not to get into too much trouble, alright?”
“I will,” Dean said, waving her off dejectedly as he went back to his computer. He heard the door close behind her, before getting up and walking into her brother’s bedroom. Sam was still sound asleep in bed, and he shook him roughly. Sam sat straight up.
“Whu-huh?” Sam frowned, glaring at his brother.
“C’mon,” Dean sighed, “We’re going down to that house.”
“Calleigh gave us the OK?” Sam yawned as he started to get dressed. Dean paused slightly, but not long enough for his brother to notice.
“Yeah-sure,” he said, throwing clothes at Sam, “Just get dressed, alright? We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Alright, alright,” Sam replied, pulling a shirt over his head, “I’m going as fast as I can. You wake up on the wrong side of the couch or something?”
Dean’s response was throwing his jacket at his brother’s head.
***
“And you know what’s weird about last night?” Sam sighed as they started to sneak around the back of the house.
“No, Sam, I don’t,” Dean said, really not interested at all, “What was so weird?”
“I slept well,” Sam replied.
“Well, I find that not so hard to believe, considering that you got a nice big bed all to yourself, while I got stuck with that torture rack Calleigh calls a couch.”
“No, Dean, I mean I slept,” Sam sighed, and Dean turned to him with a look, “No visions, no nightmares, no nothing. Best sleep I’ve gotten in years.”
Dean was silent for a second. Calleigh must have had some kind of anti-nightmare spell or remedy on her place for her own reasons, and it must have affected Sam as well. He hadn’t told Sam Calleigh had been a hunter yet, just like he hadn't told her about Sam's abilities, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to unless absolutely necessary. He really didn’t intend on dragging her into this mess without having a really really good reason. Aside from the fact that she was probably pretty rusty, she didn’t want to come back, and he wasn’t about to force her.
“Must be a pretty nice bed,” Dean sighed, before looking up at the window over them, “That window’s open. Give me a boost.”
“You said Calleigh OK’d this, why don’t we just go in the front door?” Sam asked, and Dean didn’t respond. Sam’s eyes went wide, “You didn’t clear this with her, did you?”
“She-she wasn’t quite convinced it was our kind of problem-”
“You gotta be shitting me!” Sam raged, “You know how much trouble we could get it for this?!?!?”
“Oh, come on, dude,” Dean said, giving his brother a look, “It’s not like we haven’t done something like this before.”
Sam grumbled slightly before bracing his fingers to give Dean a boost. The shorter man pulled himself up to the windowsill and cringed when the window creaked as he opened it.
In one of the other rooms, Ryan looked up from the evidence he was processing. He turned to Delko, and raised an eyebrow. “You hear that?”
Delko nodded, reaching for his sidearm, before leading the way into the other room. Dean was straddling the window sill at this point, and looked up in alarm when he heard the footsteps coming from the other room.
“MDPD! Who’s there?”
“Shit,” Dean hissed, before leaning back out the window and waving Sam away from the window so that they wouldn’t see him. He heard the click of two safeties being pulled back and spun around with a jerk. When he saw the two men standing in front of him, he gave them a friendly smile, and raised his hands in the air, “Mornin’ officers. What can I do for you?”
“Slowly get away from the window, hands above your head,” Delko ordered and he did, moving until Delko reached forward and pulled him away, pushing him against the wall. Ryan moved over to the window and studied the ground below them.
“Who were you waving away?” he asked, and Dean shrugged as the taller man cuffed him.
“I wasn’t wavin’ away anyone,” he said with his nicest smile, “I had dirt on my pants.”
“You are aware that this is a crime scene?” Delko asked him and Dean gave them a surprised look.
“Crime scene?” Dean sighed, “Hey I’m just looking for my stuff. Damn bitch wouldn’t give it back.” He gave Delko a smile, “I’m sure a good looking man like yourself knows how that is.”
Delko nodded slowly, “Was she pretty?”
Dean sucked the air through his teeth as he continued, “On the outside maybe, but when she was pissed-hell hath no fury, ya know?”
“Funny,” Ryan said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “The Robertsons didn’t have a daughter. Only three teenage boys.”
Dean blanked at them for a second, “I guess I could say this now because one of ‘em’s probably dead and it won’t matter-but I was doing the Mom, dude.”
Delko gave Ryan a look, before the squeal of tires was heard outside the house. Both men flew to the window, gun drawn, and Dean shot them a look.
“Don’t shoot it, damnit!” he said, running towards the window, “That’s a sixty-seven Impala! That’s a classic car!”
Both men turned and gave him a look, and he shrugged, again, “I saw it when I was heading up. Gorgeous car.” Ryan and Delko then spun him around by the shoulder, and pushed him towards the door.
“You’re going downtown.”
Part 3
Title: Good People (2/?)
Author: iluvroadrunner6
Rating: FRT
Characters: Dean Winchester/Calleigh Duquesne, Sam Winchester, Eric Delko, Ryan Wolfe
Content Warning: N/A
Summary: Dean fills Calleigh in on what's going on, and goes to check out the crime scene.
Author's Note: This is, again, a lot of dialouge, but these guys are fun when they talk. So I don't feel so bad about not having a lot of action.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Supernatural or CSI: Miami. They're owned by CBS. However, all original characters are mine, so please do not borrow them without my permission.
Part 1
When Calleigh stumbled into the kitchen to make herself a pot of coffee, and was surprised to find that it was already made, and halfway gone. She stared at it for a second, before turning back towards her kitchen table and seeing Dean sitting there, working on a laptop. He looked up at her and gave her a smile.
“Morning, Sunshine,” he grinned.
“You’re up early,” she commented.
“No offense, but your couch is a bitch to sleep on,” he said, watching her as she poured herself a cup of coffee, “You should put that thing on an automatic timer or something. I had to actually find everything.”
“If the coffee’s already made, there’s no incentive for me to get up now is there?” she said. There was a lull, and Dean watched her as she fixed her coffee.
“You might want to salt your doors and windows,” Dean commented, “Just in case.”
“I already do,” she replied, “I just don’t use salt.”
He tilted his head slightly in confusion, before realization hit him, “Protection spell. You and your voodoo.”
“Me and my voodoo,” Calleigh nodded, turning to face him, a mug of steaming coffee in her hand.
“Well-no offense to your voodoo,” Dean replied, “But I think the guy that’s after us might not be so repelled by a protection spell.”
“If you want the doors and windows salted, Dean, you are more than welcome to do it yourself,” Calleigh replied, “I’m not home enough to safeguard it otherwise.” She glanced over at the laptop, “Doing research?”
“Yup,” Dean replied.
“What are you hunting?” she asked, walking over to the table and leaning over his shoulder.
“Interested?” She gave him a look and he continued with a smirk, “Thought you ‘didn’t do that kind of thing anymore’?”
“Just want to know if I’m gonna have to bail you out,” Calleigh replied, “Like your last visit, where the succubus had you convinced she was Carmen Electra, and really really wanted to have a good time with you?”
Dean just grinned, “I’ve gotten better at distinguishing reality from fiction.”
“I hope so,” Calleigh sighed, “Didn’t answer my question.”
“Don’t know yet,” Dean replied, “But it’s whatever’s living in this house.”
“I know that house,” Calleigh sighed, before grabbing a chair and sitting down next to him.
“You do?” Dean said, giving her a look, and she nodded.
“That house is an open crime scene.”
“One of yours?” he said, a hopeful look on his face.
“Unfortunately for you, no,” she replied, “Which means you’re not going anywhere near it until they catch the guy who did it, or-if in the event that there is something not normal going on-the case runs cold.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because walking onto an open crime scene without the proper identification is grounds for arrest for tampering with evidence,” Calleigh replied, “And getting arrested would break the terms of your being allowed to stay here, which would mean that it’s very unlikely that I’m coming to bail you out. And even if you get bailed out by someone else, you’re still out a place to live.”
“Calleigh-do you know the guy who’s working the scene? Maybe you could get us in.”
“Dean, as I said, I know that house,” she sighed, “This is the first suspicious death that’s ever been logged there.”
“Not true,” Dean replied, before pulling up some of the files he had been looking at, “This thing-whatever it is-seems to work on a cycle. The first family moved in, in eighty-two, and logged complaints of something scratching at their back door at night. Realtors wrote it off as gators, didn’t do anything about it. House was on the market for about three years before it was bought by a single guy, no family.”
“So what happened to him?”
“Killed in his sleep,” Dean said with a smirk, “Fell asleep in his recliner, there was a hole in the bottom of the screen door-cops attributed it to gators.”
“The markings of the killing were probably consistent with that of an alligator,” Calleigh sighed, “And the cops would have no reason to consider it suspicious.”
“Says here the cops searched for a gator population in the area, couldn’t find any signs that there had been any,” Dean said, turning back to the screen, “They figured it was a lone ranger, and once it had been cleaned up, declared the house sellable again, and put a better watch on the gator population.”
“So what makes you think this is your kind of problem?”
“This time the ‘gator’-and I use that term loosely-didn’t stop with the poor sucker in the recliner,” Dean replied, “Slaughtered an entire family of five asleep in their beds. That’s a bit much for a regular scaly reptile, don’t you think?”
“This time we don’t think it’s a gator,” she sighed, “We think it’s a person.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s either,” Dean replied, turning to face her, “I think it’s my kinda problem.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said, giving the other man a look, “And until I’m more convinced-you aren’t going anywhere near that crime scene.” She moved back over into her kitchen, and left her mug in the sink.
“I’m going to work,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair, “Try not to get into too much trouble, alright?”
“I will,” Dean said, waving her off dejectedly as he went back to his computer. He heard the door close behind her, before getting up and walking into her brother’s bedroom. Sam was still sound asleep in bed, and he shook him roughly. Sam sat straight up.
“Whu-huh?” Sam frowned, glaring at his brother.
“C’mon,” Dean sighed, “We’re going down to that house.”
“Calleigh gave us the OK?” Sam yawned as he started to get dressed. Dean paused slightly, but not long enough for his brother to notice.
“Yeah-sure,” he said, throwing clothes at Sam, “Just get dressed, alright? We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Alright, alright,” Sam replied, pulling a shirt over his head, “I’m going as fast as I can. You wake up on the wrong side of the couch or something?”
Dean’s response was throwing his jacket at his brother’s head.
***
“And you know what’s weird about last night?” Sam sighed as they started to sneak around the back of the house.
“No, Sam, I don’t,” Dean said, really not interested at all, “What was so weird?”
“I slept well,” Sam replied.
“Well, I find that not so hard to believe, considering that you got a nice big bed all to yourself, while I got stuck with that torture rack Calleigh calls a couch.”
“No, Dean, I mean I slept,” Sam sighed, and Dean turned to him with a look, “No visions, no nightmares, no nothing. Best sleep I’ve gotten in years.”
Dean was silent for a second. Calleigh must have had some kind of anti-nightmare spell or remedy on her place for her own reasons, and it must have affected Sam as well. He hadn’t told Sam Calleigh had been a hunter yet, just like he hadn't told her about Sam's abilities, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to unless absolutely necessary. He really didn’t intend on dragging her into this mess without having a really really good reason. Aside from the fact that she was probably pretty rusty, she didn’t want to come back, and he wasn’t about to force her.
“Must be a pretty nice bed,” Dean sighed, before looking up at the window over them, “That window’s open. Give me a boost.”
“You said Calleigh OK’d this, why don’t we just go in the front door?” Sam asked, and Dean didn’t respond. Sam’s eyes went wide, “You didn’t clear this with her, did you?”
“She-she wasn’t quite convinced it was our kind of problem-”
“You gotta be shitting me!” Sam raged, “You know how much trouble we could get it for this?!?!?”
“Oh, come on, dude,” Dean said, giving his brother a look, “It’s not like we haven’t done something like this before.”
Sam grumbled slightly before bracing his fingers to give Dean a boost. The shorter man pulled himself up to the windowsill and cringed when the window creaked as he opened it.
In one of the other rooms, Ryan looked up from the evidence he was processing. He turned to Delko, and raised an eyebrow. “You hear that?”
Delko nodded, reaching for his sidearm, before leading the way into the other room. Dean was straddling the window sill at this point, and looked up in alarm when he heard the footsteps coming from the other room.
“MDPD! Who’s there?”
“Shit,” Dean hissed, before leaning back out the window and waving Sam away from the window so that they wouldn’t see him. He heard the click of two safeties being pulled back and spun around with a jerk. When he saw the two men standing in front of him, he gave them a friendly smile, and raised his hands in the air, “Mornin’ officers. What can I do for you?”
“Slowly get away from the window, hands above your head,” Delko ordered and he did, moving until Delko reached forward and pulled him away, pushing him against the wall. Ryan moved over to the window and studied the ground below them.
“Who were you waving away?” he asked, and Dean shrugged as the taller man cuffed him.
“I wasn’t wavin’ away anyone,” he said with his nicest smile, “I had dirt on my pants.”
“You are aware that this is a crime scene?” Delko asked him and Dean gave them a surprised look.
“Crime scene?” Dean sighed, “Hey I’m just looking for my stuff. Damn bitch wouldn’t give it back.” He gave Delko a smile, “I’m sure a good looking man like yourself knows how that is.”
Delko nodded slowly, “Was she pretty?”
Dean sucked the air through his teeth as he continued, “On the outside maybe, but when she was pissed-hell hath no fury, ya know?”
“Funny,” Ryan said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “The Robertsons didn’t have a daughter. Only three teenage boys.”
Dean blanked at them for a second, “I guess I could say this now because one of ‘em’s probably dead and it won’t matter-but I was doing the Mom, dude.”
Delko gave Ryan a look, before the squeal of tires was heard outside the house. Both men flew to the window, gun drawn, and Dean shot them a look.
“Don’t shoot it, damnit!” he said, running towards the window, “That’s a sixty-seven Impala! That’s a classic car!”
Both men turned and gave him a look, and he shrugged, again, “I saw it when I was heading up. Gorgeous car.” Ryan and Delko then spun him around by the shoulder, and pushed him towards the door.
“You’re going downtown.”
Part 3