SPN BB: World of Sweets and Sours Pt 3
Master Post | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4
Part 3
Dean stood at the window in the room, looking out at the patch of grass outside and into the wooded area beyond. As the day had drawn on, he'd noticed that the light in the trees never changed. It seemed to be almost always the bright, saturated early morning light, coming in at an angle, never arcing through the sky. He glanced up at the sky, thinking to see something strange and unfamiliar, but there was nothing weird about it. The sun had reached its peak earlier in the day, and was now heading toward the horizon Dean could only assume was on the other side of the house.
"At least he gave me an east-facing room," he muttered.
Just then his stomach rumbled. It was strange how he could go without regular meals for a couple of days, but one decent, home-cooked breakfast at the right time could get his body wanting to be back on a schedule. It had been hours since he ate the plate of eggs and toast, and now he eyed the tray longingly.
Fael had left him alone all day. "Probably a good thing," Dean said to himself, considering the mood he'd been in all day. But now his stomach was feeling like his throat had been cut, and he was feeling parched. His throat was dry from the lack of talking he'd been doing all day. "Dammit," he said, and turned back to the window, trying to figure out what it was about the goddamned trees that was bugging the hell out of him-other than the unchanging light.
There's a part of him that wishes he had a computer. And another part of him, a huge gigantic part that he doesn't talk about ever that would really appreciate it if Sam were there with him. Of course, then they'd both be victims of a psycho kidnapper. Still, having Sam there to bounce ideas off of would be nice. Hell, just having him around would make the whole situation bearable.
He moved away from the window to sit at the foot of the bed.
Sam wasn't there, and from all the info he'd gathered, with what Fael said, and how he'd been zapped from the brink of escape back into this gilded cage of a room, Dean doubted that Sam was going to factor in his getting out anyway. Plus, at least with one of them on the outside, there was the possibility of continuing work on the case that brought them to Jackson in the first place.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Then, turning his eyes heavenward, he groused, "Would it be too much to ask for a regular old salt and burn case? I'm all for having destiny and what not, now that you've all but shoved it down my throat, but could you cut me some freakin' slack here? Not much," he bargained, "just a little? One simple little case, every once in a while; one that doesn't go ass over tea kettle; that's all I'm asking."
"Who are you talking to?" Fael's voice interrupted his impromptu prayer.
Dean jerked around, startled at the intrusion. Glaring at Fael, he said, "You could warn a guy, you know. A knock on the door, clear your throat? Is that too much to ask?"
Fael rolled his eyes. "It's my house."
"And I'm not exactly a guest; I get it." Dean sighed. "What do you want?"
Fael pointed to the chair in the corner of the room. "I thought you might like to shower. I brought you a towel and a change of clothes."
"A shower?" Dean asked. "What? Am I not clean enough for your liking? Is this some ritualistic cleansing before you eat me as a sacrifice." He chuckled mirthlessly. "You know, actually, that wouldn't be real high on my freakmeter, if you must know. Not the first time I've been considered good eatin'."
Fael grimaced and shook his head. "That is appalling. No. I have no intentions of eating you. At least not yet." He grinned. "I'm waiting for you to come around a bit before we get to that."
Dean's eyes went wide at the innuendo of those words. "Is that why you kidnapped me?"
Fael just stared at him, smiling slightly.
"Oh. Well. Ah..." Dean crossed his arms. "What if I don't swing that way?"
Fael chuckled lightly. "You will." He gave Dean a moment to absorb those words. "So. Shower?"
"Seriously? You kidnapped me because you wanted me?" Dean shook his head. "Dude, I gotta tell you, that's a monstrous waste of time. I mean, you can ask my brother, I can be had for the price of a bottle of booze and dinner."
When Fael continued to wait for a response about a shower, Dean rolled his eyes. Considering that he'd been smelling himself for the better part of the day, Dean grudgingly acquiesced. "Fine," he said, "I suppose I could use a shower."
"Good," Fael said, gracing Dean with a full smile. "I'm sure you're hungry again by now. Dinner will be downstairs when you've finished. Feel free to explore. I won't be here, so you'll be free to roam at your leisure. Won't be able to escape, though."
At the mention of dinner, Dean swallowed again, refusing to admit aloud how hungry he was. He also didn't want to appear too eager for the chance to do some recon while alone in the house. He wondered how long he'd have. "Leaving me alone so soon?"
"I know. I hate it, too," Fael replied, sarcasm dripping from his words. "But I have work to do. I'll leave you to it, then," Fael said, and with an enigmatic smile, he left Dean alone. Again.
After his very quick shower, Dean went downstairs. He hoped, with Fael gone, to be able to find something that would help him escape or at least figure out who or what the guy was. No way was he human. There'd been something familiar, almost, about his eyes. Their cold stare, infinite, timeless. He could almost put his finger on it, but then the idea would slip away and he'd be lost again.
He explored the house but didn't find anything particularly out of the ordinary. It seemed like a typical house of a single guy. Casual comfortable furniture, not too many frills or softening touches like there would be if there were a woman around. The only telling sign was the total absence of photos. No pictures of Fael with anyone, no women's pictures, no parents or siblings. Dean thought of the few pictures he and Sam had. Though there weren't many, they did have a couple they kept on hand. To be in a house that didn't have that sort of personal touch, now that he thought about it, was disconcerting.
Dean thought he'd at least find some clues as to what Fael was. The lack of pictures, paired with his thwarting Dean's escape that morning and his otherworldly glare, provided clear evidence, as far as Dean was concerned that this guy was so not human. So he focused his search on finding any clue that would tell him who or what Fael was. By the second hour of searching the house, though, he was no closer to knowing the identity of his captor than he had been when he woke up that morning.
By the end of the evening, Dean was starving, so he wandered into the kitchen, and true to his word, Fael had left him some supper. There was a pot of slow roasted pork simmering in a sweet and tangy smelling barbeque sauce that had Dean's mouth watering so much he had to swallow quickly before he started drooling. On the counter was a bag of ciabatta rolls, a bottle of the barbeque sauce, and some chips. Dean eyed the spread, skeptical but starving.
"It's like I'm like the fatted calf," he muttered to himself.
Grabbing two of the rolls, he made two sandwiches, doused them liberally with the barbeque sauce, and poured out a large helping of chips. He wondered what there was to drink and thought about raiding Fael's liquor cabinet. Figuring he needed to keep his wits about him, he decided liquor wasn't a great idea and opened the refrigerator. He spied some beer in the back, grabbed a bottle, then took it and his meal over to the table..
"Please don't let this food kill me or make me do strange shit I won't remember in the morning," he murmured, then picked up one of the sandwiches and took a careful bite. He chewed slowly, savoring the flavor and waiting to see if Fael had seasoned the food with anything that might prove deadly. When the first bite went down without a hitch, he shrugged and finished his meal.
By the time he'd finished, he'd polished off three sandwiches, half a bag of chips and three of Fael's beers. Full, he set his plate in the sink-no fuckin' way was he doing dishes for his captor; this guy wanted to keep him, then he could bloody well do his own damn dishes-and made a final sweep of the house, covering any rooms or areas he may have missed in his early search.
By midnight, he figured he'd been as thorough as he could be, and still had not found a clue that would help him either escape or figure out Fael's deal. No freaky talismans or esoteric books. No ritual shrines or burning candles. Nothing that would help him. Ending his futile search, he headed back upstairs to the room Fael had him in. He sat on the end of the bed, and laid back, frustration at his predicament making him sigh.
"Son of a bitch." He closed his eyes, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Deciding he might as well get some sleep, since nothing else seemed to be helpful, he pulled off his button down shirt, and kicked off his boots. Then he peeled his jeans off, but left his boxers and a t-shirt on.
He laid down on top of the covers on the bed, and stared out the big plate glass window at the night sky. "Sam," he whispered into the darkness, "I hope you're having better luck on the case than I am here."
He watched a meteor shoot through the midnight sky, then closed his eyes and, weary and exhausted, fell asleep.
*****
Sam drove back to the hotel replaying the discussion with Lena over and over in his head. It started out simply enough, getting the details of the night Chandra disappeared, filling in a few blanks that were in the police report. Despite the new information, he was still no closer to figuring out who, or what, had taken the women, or where Dean was. One thing he did begin to consider was that whoever took the women was the same guy who took Dean, and when he found Dean, he'd be that much closer to finding the women-or vice versa.
The odd thing about their conversation was the way Cas had been so quiet through the whole thing, listening, picking up details and turning them over in his mind, looking for clues in what Lena had been saying. Occasionally, Sam would glance over, and the look he'd learned was Cas' 'concentration face' had been present. Sam had questioned him about it once.
"What?" he asked.
Cas frowned at him, questioning.
"You have that look you get. Do you have any idea what she's talking about?" he asked, giving a nod to Lena.
"I hope so," she said, eyes wide. "If you could find Chandra, you have no idea how grateful her family and I would be." She sighed. "The cops keep saying they're looking for her, but without a definite description or any leads, it's going to be hard to find her. Next to impossible, they said, after forty-eight hours." She took a sip of the coffee she had sitting in front of her, grimacing when she noticed it had gone cold.
Sam looked down at his own forgotten cup, and, pushing it away, said, "I know. We're doing our best. That's why we're talking to you. We thought you might be able to give us a bit more information that what was in the police files. So anything you remember, even the stuff that seems impossible, would be helpful." He turned back to Cas. "So? Any ideas?"
Cas gave him an unreadable look. "It needs further investigation. Based on what this woman has told us, I have a place to start."
"You want to maybe share with the class?"
"What class?" Cas asked, momentarily thrown.
Sam chuckled, looking over at Lena, who was smiling down into her coffee cup. Turning back to Cas, Sam said, "I meant, would you tell us," he pointed at himself and Lena, "what you're thinking."
"You could have simply said as much, Sam," Cas said, irritated.
Sam outright laughed. "Yes, yes. Are your people skills still rusty, Cas?" Then, off of Cas's glare, "I'm kidding. What are you thinking?"
Cas looked over at Lena, and Sam followed his gaze. She looked between the two of them with a renewed hope. Sam thought about what they were talking about and decided he didn't want to scare her. Looking back at Cas, he said, "Why don't we take this in the kitchen?"
Cas nodded and followed Sam out of the room. Once in the kitchen, Sam peeked through the kitchen door to make sure Lena was still at the table, then he turned to Cas. "What did you find out?"
Cas started talking. "Based on what she has revealed and on what I discovered earlier, I have a feeling that the power we're dealing with is not a demonic or human power."
Sam was stunned. "You mean it's...?"
Nodding, Cas said, "Only my brothers have to power to alter a person's perceptions so subtly. Demons and witches lack the aptitude and access to a person subconscious while they are awake." He started to walk out of the kitchen. "I need to go and find out who among my brothers has gone missing."
Sam frowned, confused. "Why would the angels be interested in kidnapping women?"
"That is what I aim to uncover," Cas replied, crossing the living room to the front door.
"All right, then. When can I expect you back?" Sam asked him.
Opening the door, Cas turned back to him with an irritated glare. "When I have information."
Sam stayed with Lena a while longer, answering her questions as well as he could, considering how much she didn't-and couldn't-know. When she was finally satisfied that he and Cas would do all they could to find her friend, there wasn't much left to discuss, he decided it was time to leave. He thanked her for the coffee and promised to work hard to find her friend. "Either way, Lena, you're going to know what happened to your friend," he assured her, then left.
Feeling a little more optimistic, he thought he might gather some more intel from the bar they'd been at the night before. He hoped he'd be able to see the guy who had taken Dean out the back door. The bartender he'd spoken to the night before told him that Fael, the one he'd relieved, worked most evenings. He pulled into the parking lot and checked his wallet for cash. No need to give the man any more information than was necessary, he thought. He stepped out of the car and shoved his wallet into his inside coat pocket as he crossed the lot.
Opening the doors, he was surprised by the relative quiet of the bar. He checked his watch, thinking perhaps it wasn't as late as he thought, but it was just after eight, and the bar was pretty empty. There was a bald guy-dark skinned and good looking enough that Sam took notice-wiping down one end of the bar. He looked up as Sam sat down and caught his eye. "Hey. What'll ya have?" he asked.
"Ah, I'll take whatever you've got on tap and some information." Sam said, pulling his wallet out of his jacket.
The bartender cocked an eyebrow. "The draft'll be three seventy-five," he said, flipping a glass over and holding it under the tap to be filled, "and the info goes for a premium."
Sam chuckled. "Like insurance?"
Laughing as he set the full glass down, the bartender agreed. "Exactly. The more detailed, the more expensive."
Sighing, Sam nodded. "I'll take what...fifty bucks will get me," he said and handed the guy fifty-five bucks. "And you can count the change as a tip for the beer."
The guy's eyebrows shot up. "Must need some pretty specific details," he said.
"My brother and I were here last night with a friend. Our friend left early, and when I left to use the restroom, my brother was dragged out the back door by one of your bartenders. His name is Fael. I didn't get a good look at him, and I was wondering if you knew where I could find him."
The bartender nodded. "Hm. Well, I can tell you this much," he said, crossing his arms. "Fael owns the place."
"I know, the guy I talked to last night told me."
"So...he comes and goes as he pleases. Keeps to himself, mostly, and pays his employees enough not to ask questions about where he lives and what he does." He uncrossed his arms, and grabbed the towel he'd set aside and began wiping at the bar again. "So I couldn't help you if I wanted to."
Sam sighed. "Which is another way of saying you don't want to help me."
The bartender shot him a look from beneath his lashes, and his amber eyes glinted in the low light of the bar. "It's my way of saying I can't help you." A pause, then, "I'm sorry."
Sam grabbed a napkin and, in a repeat of the previous evening, jotted down his cell number. "Damn. Okay. I really need to find my brother, so if you see this Fael guy, could you at least give me a call?" He pushed the napkin across the bar.
Taking the napkin and giving it a quick glance the bartender shrugged and said, "Sure. If he shows up tonight, I'll give you a call," as he tucked the napkin into his pocket. He nodded at Sam's beer. "Can I get you anything else?"
Sighing, Sam picked up the mug and said, "No. Think I'll just finish this and head on out."
"You want your fifty dollars back?"
Pausing to ponder the question, Sam finally shook his head. "Keep it. Think of it as incentive to call me if Fael shows up."
In the little bit of time it took Sam to finish his beer, the bar started filling up with patrons, and the music started kicking up. By the time he left, he could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, so he stood out in the fresh air by the car and took several deep breaths. Frustration at the fruitlessness of his efforts for the day, he banged a fist on the roof of the Impala, and almost immediately felt contrite. He apologized, "I'm sorry, Baby," and laughed at himself for talking to the car. "You really are taking after him more and more," he said to himself as he opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. In that moment, he missed Dean like he would one of his limbs. The ache in his chest that had been a dull weight for the last twenty-four hours flared to a white hot stabbing pain, and he leaned his head against the steering wheel. "Dammit, Dean. Where are you, man?"
He felt a prickle at the back of his neck, like he was being watched. He lifted his head again and scanned the parking lot, but saw nothing. So he turned back to the bar. The bar tender he'd spoken with was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, foot propped on the wall behind him, taking a drag off of a cigarette. When he opened his eyes, Sam swallowed hard. Those amber eyes were almost glowing in the neon light from the 'Budweiser' sign behind him, and they were focused, like a laser on Sam.
Spooked, Sam started the car and threw it into gear. He backed out of his spot slowly, careful not to let on that the guy had unnerved him, then with a heavy crunch of gravel, he left the bar and drove back to the hotel.
Once back at the hotel, he tossed the keys onto the dresser, and collapsed back onto the bed and replayed the scene at the bar. It was odd that the bar owner would keep his private life so secret from his employees, and that he paid them enough to encourage their silence. Then there'd been that moment outside.
He mulled that over for a while, until he couldn't even recall what the bar tender looked like.
He sat up abruptly. It only happened fifteen minutes ago, and Sam had a stellar memory for faces. That he couldn't remember anything about what the bartender looked like seemed, at best hinky, at worst ominous. He got up and grabbed the note pad out of the drawer of the nightstand. He started listing details about his time at the bar. What time it was. What he drank. What the bartender said to him. His replies. How the beer tasted. How he felt. Everything he could think of. Then he tried to describe the bartender. The towel he used to wipe the bar. His hands as he poured Sam's drink. His clothes. Jeans? Pants? A t-shirt or a polo? His hair. Wait. He didn't have hair. Or did he? His eyes. Brown. No, hazel. Wait, maybe green? Dark skinned? That didn't seem right. His voice. Did he even speak?
He paused for a minute, trying to remember. Then looked back down at the list, confused. "What is this?" He read over the list. He couldn't remember doing any of the things on it. "I was at a bar?" he asked out loud. There was the unmistakable aftertaste of beer in his mouth, so he must have been at a bar, but he didn't remember it. He thought about balling up the paper, even had it ripped off the pad and curled into his fist, but then he remembered that Cas was with him. Not at the moment, but would be in the morning, so he set the list on the table and went back to the bed.
Staring at the piece of paper on the table, and exercising a supreme amount of willpower not to just rip it to tiny pieces and throw it away, Sam pulled off his coat, boots and jeans, leaving on his t-shirt and boxers and climbed into the bed. He'd show the list to Cas in the morning; maybe he'll have some clue to decipher what the hell had happened.
*****
Dean woke slowly, the morning sun shining through the open curtains bringing him to slow awareness. He was warm and comfortable, almost soothed. He gave a small "hmm," as he woke, rolling over away from the window. There was a warmth next to his hip, solid and strong. He smiled, still drowsy, and said, "Sam," then snuggled a bit into that warmth.
He felt fingers through his hair, and stretched up into the caress, unable to stop himself. Those fingers brushed over the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw, then traced the shape of his lips. He frowned. That's not something Sam would do. He opened his eyes, blinking against the brightness of the morning sun in the room.
It wasn't Sam smiling down at him. "Good morning," Fael said.
Dean jerked away from Fael's heat and sat up, glaring at his captor.
Fael sighed. "You were sleeping so peacefully; I couldn't help myself."
"You know, that's what rapists say to their victims, 'I couldn't help myself.' You touch me again, and you'll need a lot of help." Dean said, deadly calm.
A stillness settled over Fael and the room, almost as though he pulled the energy from air, and he focused on Dean. It must have been the way the sun hit his face, but Dean thought he saw Fael's eyes glowing. "Why are you so stubborn, Dean? I don't want to hurt you. You liked me well enough at the bar."
"At the bar, I didn't know you were going to take me prisoner. I guess I just don't like being kidnapped." Dean felt compelled to reply.
Fael smiled then, calculating and confident. "You'd have come with me willingly?"
"Have you seen you? Probably."
Dean swallowed, eyes wide. He didn't want to say that! "What are you doing, Fael?"
"Nothing," Fael said, smiling wider. "What stopped you?"
"I didn't want to leave my brother. Or Cas."
Fael's smile faded. "Cas?"
"Castiel."
"You have an angel as, what...your sidekick?"
Dean wanted to ask how Fael knew what Cas was, but couldn't. Instead, he felt the fond smile he reserved for thoughts of Cas dance across his face. "He rescued me a few years ago. Been with me ever since."
He was screaming inside, knowing that he didn't want to say these things, but compelled by something Fael was doing.
"You mean with you and your brother."
"No," Dean said, struggling to stop talking. "With me. We have a...thing. He called it a bond. I don't know. He thinks Sam's an abomination." Dean frowned. No one should know that! Why couldn't he stop talking?
"What would you have done if you had come here willingly?" Fael asked, and part of Dean was relieved to be off the topic of Cas and Sam.
"Anything you wanted," Dean said, appalled at himself. He tried lifting a hand to cover his mouth, maybe muffle the responses Fael was somehow dragging out of him, but his arms wouldn't move.
"And if I wanted you?"
Dean shook with the effort to not respond, but his mouth opened and the words tumbled out. "You could have had me."
"What about now?"
At last an honest response Dean could give willingly. "You could do anything you wanted right now, but I'd prefer you didn't."
Fael reached out again, and touched Dean's face. "You want your autonomy, don't you?"
Dean nodded, stiff with unexpressed anger.
"You see how easy this is for me, controlling you, taking what I want from you?"
Another nod, accompanied by a curl of Dean's lip.
Fael leaned in, close enough that Dean could smell the hint of whiskey and beer still on his clothes and the cologne against his skin. Fael's lips brushed over Dean's cheek, not a kiss, just a whisper of a touch, before he whispered in Dean's ear. "I could have you now, Dean," he said, his breath hot against Dean's ears, "But I want you willing."
Fael pulled back slowly, catching Dean's eye, then whatever he'd done, whatever spell or power he'd cast, fell away. Dean reared back, sharp as a lightning strike, punched Fael in the jaw.
Fael's head snapped around with the force of the blow, but he chuckled. "I'll give you that one, boy," he said, turning back to Dean and moving his jaw as though stretching out the pain. "But no more."
"Fuck you, you sadistic piece of shit," Dean muttered, flexing his fingers to work out the pain in his knuckles.
Smacking his thighs, and standing, Fael said, "In due time, Dean." Going to the bedroom door, he pointed at a tray on the dresser. "I brought you breakfast. Don't throw this one, please?" Then he left, leaving the door open behind him.
Dean eyed the tray and briefly thought about tossing it out into the hall, but he knew he'd be hungry in a bit, and with the very persuasive demonstration of Fael's power just now, he didn't want to risk pissing the guy off. He rubbed his hand over his face, stilling it over his mouth.
How did he always end up like this? Stuck in some godforsaken place with people and things he didn't understand and couldn't fight. He supposed it could be worse; Fael could just tie him up-probably to the bed and naked, based on what just happened-but he'd left Dean free to wander.
He climbed out of the bed and pulled on his clothes, leaving his feet bare. When he was dressed, he checked what was on the tray. Some more eggs, toast, and an apple. Some juice. Still no coffee. "Great. Looking forward to that headache when it comes," he muttered, picking up the tray and heading back to the bed so he could eat.
After his breakfast and a very long shower, Dean headed back downstairs again. He'd searched the house thoroughly the day before and found nothing that would tell him what sort of creature he was dealing with. He'd noticed in his search, though, that the guy who held him was a blues man, from the state of his music collection and the art on his walls. Bored as he was, not to mention unnerved, he thought maybe listening to some good music would help him focus on escaping.
The house was silent as he wandered downstairs. Dean figured Fael was out, doing whatever it is he did, and he breathed a small sigh of relief at the measure of privacy. He went into the living room where he'd seen the collection the day before. This time he paid closer attention to what he was looking at. On the walls and shelves, there were old sepia photos ranging from what Dean could tell the early days of the Delta blues all the way up to more modern guys that even Dean listened to. From Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, and Buddy Guy to B.B. King, Eric Clapton, and Stevie Ray Vaughn. He let his fingers drift reverently over a signed photo of John Lee Hooker. He tamped down a flare of jealousy before moving over to the music collection.
He flipped through the records, every now and again pulling one out and scanning the track listing. He had a few records picked out and was putting one on the player when Fael spoke.
"Impressed?" Fael asked, leaning in the opening of the room.
Dean shrugged. "Decent collection," he stated.
Fael laughed. "I like it. Been around a while and heard all kinds of music, but this.... It's visceral." He shook his head. "Nothing like it. Not anywhere, not anytime."
"I'm a classic rock guy myself," Dean said.
"Your music is built on this, Dean."
"Yeah? Everything's built on something else, these days. I don't need a lesson in the history of rock and roll, man."
Fael held up a hand, warding off Dean's irritation. "Not offering. Just making an observation."
Sniffing, Dean nodded. "You know, I almost expected to have to replace some hairs on doorknobs, coming down here."
Fael clapped once as he laughed aloud. "If I promise not to cut off your feet, will you loosen up a bit?"
"I doubt it, considering the nature of my...visit." Dean murmured, immediately on edge again.
Fael sighed, laughter dying down to an exasperated smile. "That's too bad," he replied, moving farther into the living room. "I was coming in to put on some music. I see you beat me to it."
He crossed the room to stand next to Dean at the stereo, then laid the needle on the vinyl. There was a soft crackle through the speakers, then Etta James' Born Under a Bad Sign came thumping out. Tilting his head, he listened to the music, eyes closed, for a moment. Then he said, "I suppose, from your point of view, you're a captive here, but that dynamic isn't really what I want between us."
"Well, buddy, it's all you're gonna get. Especially after that performance this morning."
Fael turned up the volume, then turned to face Dean, waving his arm in an encompassing gesture. "Do what you want, here, Dean. There's nowhere for you to go, nowhere to run, no one to run to. Not even your precious Sam or Castiel. You can fight it all you want. I'll just be here, waiting until you come around." He turned to leave. "And you will come around."
Dean followed him out. "And what makes you think that?"
"Because you want to," Fael replied, calmly. "You want to, and you're curious about me." They made a turn into a bright, spacious kitchen.
"True," Dean said, nodding. "I'm right fucking curious about the man who hit on me-and don't think I don't know that's what you were doing at the bar-drugged me and snatched me. You're goddamned right I want to know who or what you are."
Fael pulled a couple of glasses out of the cabinet and turned back to Dean; his dark eyes glimmered with satisfaction in his smooth ebony face. "That's more like it, Dean," he said, smiling. "Since you're coming around to some understanding, I think it only fair to tell you this. Any supernatural means you and your friends have devised to locate you in emergencies will not work here." He let that sink in for a bit, then turned back to the counter and the bottle he had waiting. "Drink?" he asked, then, not waiting for an answer, poured two fingers of bourbon in each glass.
"You know what I am, what I do," Dean said, somewhat more cautiously, taking the proffered glass.
"I do. It's one of the reasons I took you," Fael said. "Cheers."
"Hm," Dean downed the bourbon with a grimaced and hissed at the burn of it. "Question, then."
"Shoot."
"If you know what I am, do you know why I'm here?" Dean asked, eyebrows high.
"Here, as in my house? Or do you mean why you're in Jackson?"
"Does it matter?"
"Touche." Fael poured himself another shot, and swallowed it down. "I presume you and your brother are here hunting whatever has taken those five young women." He looked down into the empty glass. Dean watched him for a moment.
"You know something about that," he said quietly.
The record in the living room switched, Strange Fruit by Billie Holiday started playing, and Dean huffed a laugh.
"You think this song is funny?" Fael asked, curious.
"Nope. Not funny. Just...fitting, I guess."
"Hm." Fael rinsed his glass and put it into the dishwasher. Then he nodded at Dean. "You're welcome to more, if you want," he said, indicating the bottle still open on the counter. "I'm going to start dinner. You can help or not, as you see fit." He opened the refrigerator and pulled out some vegetables and a package of brown paper wrapped meat.
Dean poured himself one more shot, then closed the bottle and put it away. Seeing the knives tucked into their block, Dean smiled grimly. "I'll chop," he said, grabbing the onions and peppers from his...he'd have to call him 'host' now. "I take it the conversation about the missing girls is over?"
Fael unwrapped the steaks and put them on a platter before adding salt and pepper. "I can tell you that they aren't dead. Other than that, I think we need to get to know each other a bit more before we start sharing state secrets, yes? Just quarter the onions, no slices."
Dean eyed the blade in his hand, skimmed his thumb along the edge, testing its sharpness. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he was surprised at the smile playing about Fael's mouth. "Don't even think about it," Fael whispered, shaking his head.
Dean nodded and peeled the skin off of an onion before cutting it in half. "If you did something to those girls, Fell..."
Fael smiled, a sad twist of lips. "I know. You'll have to kill me."
"To be fair, it's my job."
"Is it?"
Dean frowned. "You just said it's one of the reasons you took me."
"True," Fael said, licking a bit of salty steak juice off his fingers. "I just wonder if this 'job,' as you call it, is what you really saw yourself doing when you were younger."
Dean's knife paused in the middle of an onion half. "It's all I've ever known."
"That's not what I wondered."
Sighing, Dean resumed cutting, movements sharp and precise through the vegetable. "Did I always want this?" he shrugged. "I don't recall ever not knowing this is what I'd be doing. If you're asking me if I wanted a normal life..." The knife scraped hard across the cutting board. "Well, that's not in the cards for me, so I try not to let things I can't do anything about bother me." He paused in his cutting, and laughed at himself. "Why am I telling you this?"
"I can honestly say I'm not making you, this time," Fael said, hands up in a warding gesture.
"No. I know. It's different." He shook his head, confused. After a moment he resumed cutting the onions.
"Does that work? Not 'letting it bother you'?"
The knife slipped. "Shit!" Dean put his knuckle into his mouth, sucking at the stinging wound. He walked over to the sink and ran the cold tap, feeling Fael's deep gaze on him the whole time. He put his finger into the stream of water, and looked up at his captor. "No," he said, spitting out the word. "It doesn't always work. But there's nothing I can do about it. This is the job. It's sacrifice and hurt and not knowing where or when Death is going to take me."
Fael's eyebrow quirked at that. "You know, most people don't put the capital D on his name," He observed.
"Yeah? Well, I'd wager that most people haven't met him, or taken his place for a night either. My job is...cake...compared to his." He pulled his finger out of the water and looked it over. "You got any bandaids? I'd normally just let it go, but you've got me chopping, and I don't want pepper juice getting in this."
Fael laughed and pointed at the cabinet next to the sink.
"You're laughing at me," Dean complained as he rifled through the cabinet for a bandage.
"Not because you're injured, but because you'll do anything to avoid conversation," Fael clarified.
"Yeah. I'm a master evader," Dean said with an eye roll and wrapped a bandage around the cut before returning to the cutting board. "So, yeah. I...had the normal life, or whatever the hell you call it. Nothing about it was normal. Still waking up at three in the morning making sure salt lines are laid, and the Devil's trap under the front door rug is unbroken. Still chasing shadows in the garden and shooting at opossums thinking they're imps. Normal, Fell, is overrated, and really, probably doesn't exist."
"I won't argue with you," Fael said, then paused. "Well, except for one thing."
"Not gonna change my mind," Dean said, slicing the top off of a red bell pepper.
"Don't want to change your mind, but you, my hunter friend, keep butchering my name."
"Never was very good with names," Dean said, dismissing the complaint.
Footsteps on the tile floor alerted him to Fael's progress across the floor. Then a warm breath fluttered against his neck. "Listen, Dean," Fael whispered. Then he whispered his name into Dean's ear, drawing it out, lengthening the 'a' just enough to make it noticeable. Dean shivered and turned his head slightly to the side and repeated what he'd heard.
"Fail."
"No, again," and the name was whispered again, shorter, harder, and Dean finally heard it.
"Fael."
"That's my boy," came the whispered compliment and warm lips settled for an instant on Dean's neck. "Knew you'd get it."
Dean closed his eyes and swallowed. "What do you want from me?"
"Right now," Fael said, breath still hot on Dean's neck, "I want you to finish cutting that pepper and bring it and the onions out to the deck." He backed away from Dean and grabbed the plate of steaks from the counter before heading to the wide French doors that were open onto the deck. "We're grilling, in case you couldn't tell."
"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered and made quick work of the prep before heading out after Fael.
Master Post | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4