(no subject)
The Family Business
by Harikari
AN: I know, I know. I haven't updated this in a long, long time. I apologize, I do plan to finish this thing. I'm going to skip the excuses and go straight to proclaiming here's chapter two! Hope you enjoy. If you notice any glaring flaws feel free to let me know.
-----
Chapter Two: Meet the Winchesters
Caleb called this morning," said John in a low voice.
Dean looked up sharply. Dropped his fork onto his plate of hamburger helper and hissed, "What?" It was a sudden, gut reaction and he regretted it immediately. He was not one to hiss at his father. He followed orders, he kicked evil ass, he always watched out for Sammy and he sure as hell did not hiss at his father. Even if the man had gone ahead and invited a long lost cousin into their temporary home. A cousin who could oh so easily get hurt or killed or who could ruin everything for their family. Get one of them hurt or killed. Even then.
The eldest Winchester looked up from his own plate, his mouth twisted into something ugly and his eyes narrowed. A warning look. "He and Jim are heading to Moab, Utah. A lot of people have gone missing there and a few of them have turned up dead. Mutilated. Jim thinks it's something big. If he's right they're going to need all the help they can get."
Dean took a deep breath and looked away from his father, back down at his plate. He picked up his fork and stabbed at some pieces of hamburger.
Stab. Stab. Stab.
"Dean."
He stopped the aggressive assault on his dinner and looked up again. Met his father's eyes.
"I'm going to Utah. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. You're going to need to look after Sammy."
No, really? thought Dean. Because wasn't that just the most obvious thing, like, ever? He had pretty much raised Sam. He always looked out for his little brother. Always would look out for him.
"And Xander. I need you to look after both of them while I'm gone. I'm aiming for a week but...you know how it is."
Right. And there it is.
And just as Dean was nodding Sam and Xander, who John had sent to put away Xander's few belongings in Sam's bedroom while he and Dean had dished out the food onto the plates and discussed John's upcoming hunt, stepped into the kitchen.
John stood up, his chair sliding back with a loud scraping noise. He gave Dean's shoulder a firm slap. "Boys. Go ahead and dig in. Dean, it's your turn to do the dishes tonight." And with that he picked up his plate and glass, brushed by the two teenagers hovering near the doorway and left the kitchen.
Sam moved to sit down and Xander took his example. There was a few minutes of nothing but the scraping of forks on plates and chewing.
Then, "So...why isn't Uncle John eating with us?"
Xander.
Dean looked up. The question hadn't sounded accusatory or even genuinely curious. More like the teenager was asking because he was nervous. Like he was saying the first thing that came to mind. Great, thought Dean. He's one of those jokers.
"He has work to do," answered Dean. Maybe a little more sharply than necessary.
Xander nodded and seemed to deflate a little. He reached for his milk.
Sam shot his brother a disapproving look and Dean pretended to ignore it.
"What grade are you in, Xander?" asked Sam.
"Um. Twelfth. I'm a Senior." Xander set his glass back down on the table. "You?"
"I'm a Sophomore," said Sam. "Maybe we'll have some electives together."
Dean rolled his eyes as he chewed. Trust his brother to try and relieve a tense situation with talk of school.
What a nerd.
-----
Xander opened his eyes. For a long moment he stared and blinked at the unfamiliar scene surrounding him. He was on a couch. There was a television sitting on a faux wooden stand across from him and...
Oh, he finally realized when his gaze landed on his backpack. It was on the carpet, tucked close to the single recliner. He had retrieved it from Sam's room the night before when John (Uncle John he reminded himself) had informed him that he would be sleeping on the living room couch. Right. Los Angeles.
He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Lifted his arms in a stretch and yawned. He glanced at his watch. It was fifteen minutes until seven in the morning.
He sat and listened for sounds of movement for a second. Could only make out the faint sound of snoring coming from behind the closed door to his Uncle's bedroom.
They won't mind if I take a shower...will they? They probably wouldn't. After all, John had told him to make himself at home when he had first arrived the night before. And then there was the fact that it was a Friday and Sam had school. That meant everyone would probably be up soon and in need of a shower. It would make sense for him to take one now and get it over with.
Decision made (if he was going to stay with the Winchesters for a while he couldn't be paranoid about his every move), he got up and grabbed his bag. As quietly as he could he made his way to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and quickly used the facilities, showered, brushed his teeth, dressed and combed his hair. He was careful not to leave the floor wet and stuffed the towel he had used in the laundry basket next to the sink.
When he emerged from his shower Dean was up and in the living room. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and kneeling near the closed front door. Xander couldn't tell what he was doing. Picking something up? Cleaning something, maybe.
"Morning," said Xander as he dropped his backpack next to the couch, making a mental note to put it away when Sam woke up. He thought Dean might ignore his greeting (his older cousin hadn't said anything about it but definitely didn't seem pleased about Xander's arrival). But then...
"Hey," said Dean. "Turn on the news for me. Channel four. And then go eat breakfast. I already made coffee if you want some."
"Yeah...okay," complied Xander. He found the remote. Pressed the power button and tuned the television to channel four. Then he dropped the remote onto the sofa arm and made his way into the kitchen.
He could hear Dean shouting for Sam to wake up already as he stared at the pot of fresh coffee on the counter. There was also a half gallon of orange juice on the table. Xander grabbed a clean glass from the dish rack and poured himself some. He wasn't really a coffee kind of guy. Not unless the coffee tasted like ice cream and had whipped cream and possibly chocolate sprinkles on top.
Sipping his juice, he spotted a box of blueberry pop-tarts sitting next to the toaster. Soon he had two of the pastries toasting and had poured himself a second glass of juice.
Sam walked in just as the toaster dinged.
"Pop-tart?" offered Xander as he plucked one of the pop-tarts from the toaster.
"Good morning. Um...no. Thanks." Sam went over to the fridge and picked up the fruit loops box on top of it, shook it. "Finally," he said and dropped the apparently empty box into the trash before going for a half empty bag of wheat bread. And then in a voice almost too quiet for Xander to catch, "I ask him to buy something other than sugary kid cereal but no."
Dean walked into the kitchen, his hair damp and dressed in jeans and a nondescript t-shirt like his brother. Xander had a second to feel awkward about his own khakis, bright orange shirt and snoopy wristwatch before his older cousin snatched the pop-tart he had still been holding aloft in offer from his hand and bit into it.
"Thanks," managed Dean as he chewed. Xander nodded. Turned to grab the other pop-tart.
"I need to get to school a little early today," said Sam. "There's this project and-"
"I know. You only told me like twelve times yesterday, Sam." Dean, having finished his breakfast, brushed some crumbs from his shirt. "Hurry it up. Both of you."
"Um. What?" asked Xander. Because he wasn't sure what his cousin meant. He knew he wouldn't be able to start school again until sometime next week and hadn't been told he would be going anywhere.
Dean met his eyes. It was as if he was trying to see something behind his words, measure him up. "I'm taking Sam to school. You're coming with me."
It wasn't a question.
Sam popped his wheat bread into the toaster. Xander nodded again and bit into his pop-tart.
-----
Dean had a nice car. A black '67 Chevy Impala that he obviously took awesome care of.
When Xander said he liked it his older cousin broke into a sort of goofy looking grin that showed his teeth (it was the first time Xander had seen him smile like that since his arrival) and turned the volume up on the stereo. The song Free Bird was playing.
Sitting in the passenger seat near his brother, Sam groaned.
When they got to Hemery High Sam said a hurried goodbye, grabbed his backpack and disappeared into the crowds of active teenagers clogging the drop-off area and the front of the school. Xander moved from the back to the front seat of the car and tried to get a look at what would be his new high school. (And he could hardly believe that. Just a few days ago he had been a shiny new Senior at Sunnydale High and now here he was scoping out a new school in another city). He managed to glimpse a variety of average looking teenagers, a collection of square buildings and long stretches of metal fencing before Dean pulled away.
"You start school on Monday," said his older cousin after a few minutes of no sound but the classic rock blasting from the speakers. Xander turned from where he had been looking out the window, but Dean had his eyes fixed firmly on the road in front of him. His cousin shrugged. "In case you're wondering. Your mom and your old school...they got all of the paperwork taken care of."
"Yeah," said Xander. And all of a sudden his stomach felt a little funny. "Okay." Monday. His mother had sure moved fast. He swallowed and wondered if it had been Uncle John or Dean himself who had discussed his school situation with the schools and his mother. Dean, maybe. John dismissing himself at dinner the night before, the way Dean had taken so easily to ordering him around and the way his cousin had hustled both he and Sam out the door that morning was giving Xander the impression that he was the one who took care of stuff like that in the Winchester family, that he was the one Xander was going to have to answer to most of the time.
"So...what does your dad do?" asked Xander. It wasn't the greatest conversation choice but he hated the awkward silence and certainly didn't want to talk about school. Not when school made him think about his mother and about how quickly she had forced him out of Sunnydale and out of her life.
Dean seemed to tense in his seat. To hesitate. Then, "Tile."
"Tile?"
Dean nodded. "My dad has his own...tile business. I help him out. Sometimes he has to travel. Or we both have to travel. You know. Because of the tile." He shot a quick look at Xander.
Xander absorbed this information as the Impala pulled into a cramped parking lot fronting two worn looking little shops. One shop was dark and had a FOR LEASE sign in the window. The other shop was not quite as dark and had no sign at all.
Dean got out of the car and Xander followed. They walked the short distance to the second shop and a bell chimed when Dean pulled open the door.
Oh, thought Xander when he entered the store behind his cousin. The cot. His uncle had mentioned something about it the night before, right after telling Xander that he would have to take the couch for the night.
Great. He had no idea how much a cot from an army surplus store (which was where they were, if all the fatigues and tools were anything to judge by) was. He had the forty dollars his mother had handed him in the car when she had dropped him off at the bus station and didn't know if she would be sending him or Uncle John more for his room and board. He doubted it. And he would rather not waste the only money he had on buying a cot.
I need to get a job. Here. In Los Angeles. He quickly pushed the idea aside. He did not want to dwell on school and a part-time job in a city that he didn't think of as home right now.
Dean seemed to know exactly where to go. He made quick work of walking toward the back wall, selecting one of the sturdy folding cots available and then carrying it to the counter. Xander stood next to him as the older man with the Metallica t-shirt standing behind the counter rang it up.
Dean cursed. "I forgot my oth-" He shook his head and patted his pockets as if searching for something. "I forgot my wallet. I'll be right back." He rushed out the door.
Xander bit his tongue. He should really tell his older cousin that he had his own money and that it was enough to pay for the cot. But...
The counter was plexiglass. Under the plexiglass was a selection of knives, all of them displayed nicely on top of what looked like a red velvet cloth. One caught Xander's eye. It wasn't too large or too small, it folded up in such a way that he could easily keep it hidden and the handle and blade looked sturdy and sharp enough that it wouldn't slip in that annoying way if he ever had to whittle a stake with it. His fingers twitched. He hadn't been able to bring a weapon with him to L.A.; his mother had watched him pack and he hadn't wanted to chance her reaction by grabbing a handful of stakes or the mini axe he kept in his sock drawer. "Give me that one," he said. He pointed through the glass, noted the price and took out a twenty.
The old man frowned and shot a look at the door. "Don't you want to look at it first? You can-"
"No," said Xander too quickly. "Thanks. I like it. I want to buy it."
The man didn't bother with the register. He took the twenty and handed Xander the knife. Xander stuffed it into his pocket and a heartbeat later Dean was back in the store.
"Got it," said Dean. And he slid his ID and a credit card across the counter.
-----
"It's cool. That your dad has a business, I mean." Xander started to babble during the trip back to the Winchester's place. He felt nervous and a little guilty.
Dean said nothing.
"My dad doesn't have his own business. I think it would be cool. When I graduate I could work with him and not have to worry about-" He stopped.
Dad. He'd said it without thinking.
Dean looked at him then. A glance sideways. "You can call your mom when we get home." His eyes were fixed again on the bumper of the car ahead of him. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and sat up straighter in his seat. "If you want to."
Xander's throat felt tight. He didn't reply. Didn't know if he could reply if he had wanted to.
Instead, he turned to stare out the window at the city rushing by. At the unfamiliar buildings and the unfamiliar people.
Right, he thought. When we get home.
-----
Spike was angry.
"Hunter," said the Codger demon at his side. His name was Charlie and he owed Spike a favor. A rather large favor. "That's what me and the boys figure. Someone new is in town. And it's not an amateur judging by some of the crazy strong demons he's done in." Charlie's strange, white eyes met Spike's.
The vampire took another pull of his cigarette. Dropped it to the asphalt and stepped on it. He rolled his shoulders and looked around at the alley the demon had asked to meet him in. They were standing next to a bloody trash bin and he could smell it.
"Hunter?" he asked, his voice low and (he knew) dangerous sounding. "That's the information you have for me?"
Charlie lifted his arms in a sort of surrender gesture. "And something else," he said quickly. "We've figured out that it isn't only a hunter. This is what's weird. Something else, something that's using some dark and powerful magic is operating around that high school. You know the one. Next to that damn witch lady's shop. The real witch lady."
Spike considered the information. Nodded and then pointed a finger at the wrinkly and now nervous looking demon. "Fine. You can go now. But you still owe me, you bloody skin bag. Something really juicy next time."
Charlie made an excited little sound and hurried away.
That high school. It was Hemery High School if he wasn't mistaken. He'd eaten there a few days before. A tasty, ripe cheerleader who had been the last one out of practice.
Spike licked his lips. He had to go to Hemery High. He had to find out who this new hunter in town was and kill him. And he had to find out where this powerful magic was coming from and what its purpose was.
But now. Right now he was hungry.
In the distance he could hear laughter. A pair of young women, it sounded like. Out for a night of drinking or shopping or dining or all three, maybe.
Grinning with anticipation he strolled away, leaving the alley dark and empty behind him.
by Harikari
AN: I know, I know. I haven't updated this in a long, long time. I apologize, I do plan to finish this thing. I'm going to skip the excuses and go straight to proclaiming here's chapter two! Hope you enjoy. If you notice any glaring flaws feel free to let me know.
-----
Chapter Two: Meet the Winchesters
Caleb called this morning," said John in a low voice.
Dean looked up sharply. Dropped his fork onto his plate of hamburger helper and hissed, "What?" It was a sudden, gut reaction and he regretted it immediately. He was not one to hiss at his father. He followed orders, he kicked evil ass, he always watched out for Sammy and he sure as hell did not hiss at his father. Even if the man had gone ahead and invited a long lost cousin into their temporary home. A cousin who could oh so easily get hurt or killed or who could ruin everything for their family. Get one of them hurt or killed. Even then.
The eldest Winchester looked up from his own plate, his mouth twisted into something ugly and his eyes narrowed. A warning look. "He and Jim are heading to Moab, Utah. A lot of people have gone missing there and a few of them have turned up dead. Mutilated. Jim thinks it's something big. If he's right they're going to need all the help they can get."
Dean took a deep breath and looked away from his father, back down at his plate. He picked up his fork and stabbed at some pieces of hamburger.
Stab. Stab. Stab.
"Dean."
He stopped the aggressive assault on his dinner and looked up again. Met his father's eyes.
"I'm going to Utah. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. You're going to need to look after Sammy."
No, really? thought Dean. Because wasn't that just the most obvious thing, like, ever? He had pretty much raised Sam. He always looked out for his little brother. Always would look out for him.
"And Xander. I need you to look after both of them while I'm gone. I'm aiming for a week but...you know how it is."
Right. And there it is.
And just as Dean was nodding Sam and Xander, who John had sent to put away Xander's few belongings in Sam's bedroom while he and Dean had dished out the food onto the plates and discussed John's upcoming hunt, stepped into the kitchen.
John stood up, his chair sliding back with a loud scraping noise. He gave Dean's shoulder a firm slap. "Boys. Go ahead and dig in. Dean, it's your turn to do the dishes tonight." And with that he picked up his plate and glass, brushed by the two teenagers hovering near the doorway and left the kitchen.
Sam moved to sit down and Xander took his example. There was a few minutes of nothing but the scraping of forks on plates and chewing.
Then, "So...why isn't Uncle John eating with us?"
Xander.
Dean looked up. The question hadn't sounded accusatory or even genuinely curious. More like the teenager was asking because he was nervous. Like he was saying the first thing that came to mind. Great, thought Dean. He's one of those jokers.
"He has work to do," answered Dean. Maybe a little more sharply than necessary.
Xander nodded and seemed to deflate a little. He reached for his milk.
Sam shot his brother a disapproving look and Dean pretended to ignore it.
"What grade are you in, Xander?" asked Sam.
"Um. Twelfth. I'm a Senior." Xander set his glass back down on the table. "You?"
"I'm a Sophomore," said Sam. "Maybe we'll have some electives together."
Dean rolled his eyes as he chewed. Trust his brother to try and relieve a tense situation with talk of school.
What a nerd.
-----
Xander opened his eyes. For a long moment he stared and blinked at the unfamiliar scene surrounding him. He was on a couch. There was a television sitting on a faux wooden stand across from him and...
Oh, he finally realized when his gaze landed on his backpack. It was on the carpet, tucked close to the single recliner. He had retrieved it from Sam's room the night before when John (Uncle John he reminded himself) had informed him that he would be sleeping on the living room couch. Right. Los Angeles.
He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Lifted his arms in a stretch and yawned. He glanced at his watch. It was fifteen minutes until seven in the morning.
He sat and listened for sounds of movement for a second. Could only make out the faint sound of snoring coming from behind the closed door to his Uncle's bedroom.
They won't mind if I take a shower...will they? They probably wouldn't. After all, John had told him to make himself at home when he had first arrived the night before. And then there was the fact that it was a Friday and Sam had school. That meant everyone would probably be up soon and in need of a shower. It would make sense for him to take one now and get it over with.
Decision made (if he was going to stay with the Winchesters for a while he couldn't be paranoid about his every move), he got up and grabbed his bag. As quietly as he could he made his way to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and quickly used the facilities, showered, brushed his teeth, dressed and combed his hair. He was careful not to leave the floor wet and stuffed the towel he had used in the laundry basket next to the sink.
When he emerged from his shower Dean was up and in the living room. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and kneeling near the closed front door. Xander couldn't tell what he was doing. Picking something up? Cleaning something, maybe.
"Morning," said Xander as he dropped his backpack next to the couch, making a mental note to put it away when Sam woke up. He thought Dean might ignore his greeting (his older cousin hadn't said anything about it but definitely didn't seem pleased about Xander's arrival). But then...
"Hey," said Dean. "Turn on the news for me. Channel four. And then go eat breakfast. I already made coffee if you want some."
"Yeah...okay," complied Xander. He found the remote. Pressed the power button and tuned the television to channel four. Then he dropped the remote onto the sofa arm and made his way into the kitchen.
He could hear Dean shouting for Sam to wake up already as he stared at the pot of fresh coffee on the counter. There was also a half gallon of orange juice on the table. Xander grabbed a clean glass from the dish rack and poured himself some. He wasn't really a coffee kind of guy. Not unless the coffee tasted like ice cream and had whipped cream and possibly chocolate sprinkles on top.
Sipping his juice, he spotted a box of blueberry pop-tarts sitting next to the toaster. Soon he had two of the pastries toasting and had poured himself a second glass of juice.
Sam walked in just as the toaster dinged.
"Pop-tart?" offered Xander as he plucked one of the pop-tarts from the toaster.
"Good morning. Um...no. Thanks." Sam went over to the fridge and picked up the fruit loops box on top of it, shook it. "Finally," he said and dropped the apparently empty box into the trash before going for a half empty bag of wheat bread. And then in a voice almost too quiet for Xander to catch, "I ask him to buy something other than sugary kid cereal but no."
Dean walked into the kitchen, his hair damp and dressed in jeans and a nondescript t-shirt like his brother. Xander had a second to feel awkward about his own khakis, bright orange shirt and snoopy wristwatch before his older cousin snatched the pop-tart he had still been holding aloft in offer from his hand and bit into it.
"Thanks," managed Dean as he chewed. Xander nodded. Turned to grab the other pop-tart.
"I need to get to school a little early today," said Sam. "There's this project and-"
"I know. You only told me like twelve times yesterday, Sam." Dean, having finished his breakfast, brushed some crumbs from his shirt. "Hurry it up. Both of you."
"Um. What?" asked Xander. Because he wasn't sure what his cousin meant. He knew he wouldn't be able to start school again until sometime next week and hadn't been told he would be going anywhere.
Dean met his eyes. It was as if he was trying to see something behind his words, measure him up. "I'm taking Sam to school. You're coming with me."
It wasn't a question.
Sam popped his wheat bread into the toaster. Xander nodded again and bit into his pop-tart.
-----
Dean had a nice car. A black '67 Chevy Impala that he obviously took awesome care of.
When Xander said he liked it his older cousin broke into a sort of goofy looking grin that showed his teeth (it was the first time Xander had seen him smile like that since his arrival) and turned the volume up on the stereo. The song Free Bird was playing.
Sitting in the passenger seat near his brother, Sam groaned.
When they got to Hemery High Sam said a hurried goodbye, grabbed his backpack and disappeared into the crowds of active teenagers clogging the drop-off area and the front of the school. Xander moved from the back to the front seat of the car and tried to get a look at what would be his new high school. (And he could hardly believe that. Just a few days ago he had been a shiny new Senior at Sunnydale High and now here he was scoping out a new school in another city). He managed to glimpse a variety of average looking teenagers, a collection of square buildings and long stretches of metal fencing before Dean pulled away.
"You start school on Monday," said his older cousin after a few minutes of no sound but the classic rock blasting from the speakers. Xander turned from where he had been looking out the window, but Dean had his eyes fixed firmly on the road in front of him. His cousin shrugged. "In case you're wondering. Your mom and your old school...they got all of the paperwork taken care of."
"Yeah," said Xander. And all of a sudden his stomach felt a little funny. "Okay." Monday. His mother had sure moved fast. He swallowed and wondered if it had been Uncle John or Dean himself who had discussed his school situation with the schools and his mother. Dean, maybe. John dismissing himself at dinner the night before, the way Dean had taken so easily to ordering him around and the way his cousin had hustled both he and Sam out the door that morning was giving Xander the impression that he was the one who took care of stuff like that in the Winchester family, that he was the one Xander was going to have to answer to most of the time.
"So...what does your dad do?" asked Xander. It wasn't the greatest conversation choice but he hated the awkward silence and certainly didn't want to talk about school. Not when school made him think about his mother and about how quickly she had forced him out of Sunnydale and out of her life.
Dean seemed to tense in his seat. To hesitate. Then, "Tile."
"Tile?"
Dean nodded. "My dad has his own...tile business. I help him out. Sometimes he has to travel. Or we both have to travel. You know. Because of the tile." He shot a quick look at Xander.
Xander absorbed this information as the Impala pulled into a cramped parking lot fronting two worn looking little shops. One shop was dark and had a FOR LEASE sign in the window. The other shop was not quite as dark and had no sign at all.
Dean got out of the car and Xander followed. They walked the short distance to the second shop and a bell chimed when Dean pulled open the door.
Oh, thought Xander when he entered the store behind his cousin. The cot. His uncle had mentioned something about it the night before, right after telling Xander that he would have to take the couch for the night.
Great. He had no idea how much a cot from an army surplus store (which was where they were, if all the fatigues and tools were anything to judge by) was. He had the forty dollars his mother had handed him in the car when she had dropped him off at the bus station and didn't know if she would be sending him or Uncle John more for his room and board. He doubted it. And he would rather not waste the only money he had on buying a cot.
I need to get a job. Here. In Los Angeles. He quickly pushed the idea aside. He did not want to dwell on school and a part-time job in a city that he didn't think of as home right now.
Dean seemed to know exactly where to go. He made quick work of walking toward the back wall, selecting one of the sturdy folding cots available and then carrying it to the counter. Xander stood next to him as the older man with the Metallica t-shirt standing behind the counter rang it up.
Dean cursed. "I forgot my oth-" He shook his head and patted his pockets as if searching for something. "I forgot my wallet. I'll be right back." He rushed out the door.
Xander bit his tongue. He should really tell his older cousin that he had his own money and that it was enough to pay for the cot. But...
The counter was plexiglass. Under the plexiglass was a selection of knives, all of them displayed nicely on top of what looked like a red velvet cloth. One caught Xander's eye. It wasn't too large or too small, it folded up in such a way that he could easily keep it hidden and the handle and blade looked sturdy and sharp enough that it wouldn't slip in that annoying way if he ever had to whittle a stake with it. His fingers twitched. He hadn't been able to bring a weapon with him to L.A.; his mother had watched him pack and he hadn't wanted to chance her reaction by grabbing a handful of stakes or the mini axe he kept in his sock drawer. "Give me that one," he said. He pointed through the glass, noted the price and took out a twenty.
The old man frowned and shot a look at the door. "Don't you want to look at it first? You can-"
"No," said Xander too quickly. "Thanks. I like it. I want to buy it."
The man didn't bother with the register. He took the twenty and handed Xander the knife. Xander stuffed it into his pocket and a heartbeat later Dean was back in the store.
"Got it," said Dean. And he slid his ID and a credit card across the counter.
-----
"It's cool. That your dad has a business, I mean." Xander started to babble during the trip back to the Winchester's place. He felt nervous and a little guilty.
Dean said nothing.
"My dad doesn't have his own business. I think it would be cool. When I graduate I could work with him and not have to worry about-" He stopped.
Dad. He'd said it without thinking.
Dean looked at him then. A glance sideways. "You can call your mom when we get home." His eyes were fixed again on the bumper of the car ahead of him. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and sat up straighter in his seat. "If you want to."
Xander's throat felt tight. He didn't reply. Didn't know if he could reply if he had wanted to.
Instead, he turned to stare out the window at the city rushing by. At the unfamiliar buildings and the unfamiliar people.
Right, he thought. When we get home.
-----
Spike was angry.
"Hunter," said the Codger demon at his side. His name was Charlie and he owed Spike a favor. A rather large favor. "That's what me and the boys figure. Someone new is in town. And it's not an amateur judging by some of the crazy strong demons he's done in." Charlie's strange, white eyes met Spike's.
The vampire took another pull of his cigarette. Dropped it to the asphalt and stepped on it. He rolled his shoulders and looked around at the alley the demon had asked to meet him in. They were standing next to a bloody trash bin and he could smell it.
"Hunter?" he asked, his voice low and (he knew) dangerous sounding. "That's the information you have for me?"
Charlie lifted his arms in a sort of surrender gesture. "And something else," he said quickly. "We've figured out that it isn't only a hunter. This is what's weird. Something else, something that's using some dark and powerful magic is operating around that high school. You know the one. Next to that damn witch lady's shop. The real witch lady."
Spike considered the information. Nodded and then pointed a finger at the wrinkly and now nervous looking demon. "Fine. You can go now. But you still owe me, you bloody skin bag. Something really juicy next time."
Charlie made an excited little sound and hurried away.
That high school. It was Hemery High School if he wasn't mistaken. He'd eaten there a few days before. A tasty, ripe cheerleader who had been the last one out of practice.
Spike licked his lips. He had to go to Hemery High. He had to find out who this new hunter in town was and kill him. And he had to find out where this powerful magic was coming from and what its purpose was.
But now. Right now he was hungry.
In the distance he could hear laughter. A pair of young women, it sounded like. Out for a night of drinking or shopping or dining or all three, maybe.
Grinning with anticipation he strolled away, leaving the alley dark and empty behind him.