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Revelations Pt 4

Posted on 2006.05.06 at 17:49

Title: Revelations
Author: warchio
Characters: Dean and Sam
Rated: Adult

Pairing: Dean/Sam in the making

Summary: Dean and Sam are hunting monsters in a small town but their investigation reveals more than one secret..
Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or the Winchesters
Thanks to my amazing Beta, penndragon.  She made this story much better than it would have been if it was left up to me.  Any mistakes are mine, not hers

Sam sat at the back of the library, behind an old, scarred wooden table.  There was a stack of old bound newspaper in front of him.  He had gotten up to Nov 1993.  So far the most interesting thing that had happened was a man had burnt down the local cinema in protest of the films shown there.  He sighed and kept turning the pages. 

At the front desk Dean was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed.  He was flirting with the pretty, young librarian.  She seemed to be enjoying it.  She kept blushing and fussing with her bobbed brown hair.  Every now and again she’d giggle at something he said.  It was getting on Sam’s nerves.

For all the wrong reasons.

His mouth twisted and he looked back down at the papers.  There had to be something in here.  He closed the archive, rubbing his nose when the dust made it itch, and added it to the pile he was finished with.  Then he reached for the next volume.  He stopped with his fingers resting on the cover.  This might be pointless.  There was no history of paranormal events he’d found so far.  So, that suggested Dean was right.  It was something new.  Great, he’d be rubbing that in for months.

If it was true though, he needed to check the more recent papers.

He pushed the chair back from the table and headed up to the front desk.  The librarian gave him a vague smile, held up a finger and went back to making cow eyes at Dean.  Sam clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.  He glared at Dean, who just looked sidelong at him and wriggled his eyebrows.

Sam leant forwards and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” he said.  “I was looking at the newspaper archives.  They only go up to the start of the year.  Do you have any copies of more recent issues?”

The librarian looked at him like he’d asked for a leper’s heart on a plate.

“We just have the loose copies.  They’ve not been bound yet” she said.

Dean leant in, smiling easily.  “We’re doing some research,” he said.  “We’re investigators with a law firm in New York.  It’s to do with an inheritance.  I’m afraid I can’t say anymore.  Confidentiality.”

The librarian’s mouth rounded in a silent O.  She nodded.

“Of course,” she said.  “I’ll go and get it now.”

She disappeared into the back office.  Sam watched her go.  Then he turned and leant back against the counter, crossing his arms.  It wasn’t until he did it that it realized it was a copy of Dean’s posture.  He thought about moving but didn’t.

“How come people always believe you?” he asked.

Dean grinned and unfolded his arms so he could pat Sam’s cheek.  “Because you can’t lie worth a damn,” he said.  “Stick to giving the wounded puppy eyed look.  Did you find anything?”

Sam’s mouth twisted.  “No.  That’s why I want the last few months issues,” he said.  “The deaths only started.”

“Makes sense,” Dean said.

The librarian came into the room carrying a stack of papers.  She handed it over to Dean with a smile.

“Here you go,” she said.

Dean gave her brilliant smile.  “Why thank you, sweetheart,” he said.

She blushed and ducked her head. Her pink nailed fingers tucked her dark hair back behind her ear.

“You’re welcome,” she said.  “If there is anything else you need, just ask.”

Dean’s grin got so wide it had to hurt his face.  “I’ll be sure to,” he said.

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed a bundle of newspaper from the top of the stalk.  He carried them over to the table and started sorting through them.

“Anything,” Dean asked, looking over his shoulder. 

“I only started looking,” Sam said.  “Do you have to flirt with everyone we meet?  You’re going to get your ass kicked by some jealous redneck.”

Dean snorted.  His breath tickled the side of Sam’s neck. 

“Sam?  I throw down with the dregs of the underworld every day,” he pointed out.  “I think I can handle some good ole boy trying to slap me with his beer belly.  So, anything?”

Sam flipped the pages quickly, scanning the articles.  He sifted quickly through the papers.  A local girl had gotten to the regional finals of some hair product beauty contest.  There had been an infestation of wasps in the high school.  A farmer had chased off a dog that had been savaging his herd.

Sam stopped on that page.  The attack had happened at night, with the Kludde hunted.

“There’s this,” he said.  “Dog attack, it happened about a week before the first death.”

Dean draped himself over Sam’s back to read the story.  It didn’t mean anything.  Dean had always been casually tactile but it still made Sam’s skin twitch with electric awareness. 

“Most demons and spirits prefer human flesh,” Dean said.

Sam shifted to the side, out from under his brother’s arm.  He had a moment’s relief.  Then Dean took him moving as an invitation to sit down on the edge of the chair.  His hip and the length of his thigh pressed against Sam’s.

“If you’re right,” Sam said.  “They were moving.  Maybe they hadn’t had time to hunt and just took what they could?”

Dean thought about it and then nodded.  “Could be.”

He sounded grudging.  Sam tapped him in the ribs.

“You’re not the only one that comes up with ideas,” he said.

“I’m the only one that comes up with good ideas,” Dean said.  He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb.  “It just feels...off.  We’re missing something.”


This time it was Dean’s turn to elbow Sam.  “If I knew I wouldn’t have missed it.”  He stared at the papers and then shrugged and pushed himself to his feet.  “Let’s go.  The dust has gotten into my brain.”

He left Sam to gather up the papers.  That was typical.  Sam closed the newspapers, smoothed out the crumpled paper and gathered the papers together.  He picked them up and carried them back to the desk.  Dean was already outside, leaning against the bumper of the Impala and looking impatient.  Like Sam was dawdling. 

Sam sat the papers down.  The librarian was talking on the phone and barely looked up.  She made eager little gaspng sounds and murmurs.  Sam wondered if she’d make the same sounds when she was having sex.  He let his mind linger on the thought and felt the familiar heavy weight thicken his groin.  It was a relief, for a minute.  Then Dean slid into the picture.  The cause of those wet, gaspy moans.  Sam had to push the thoughts aside before he embarrassed himself.

Being perverted was bad enough.  Being a pervert who got hard in libraries like a fifteen year old was worse.

He cleared his throat.

The librarian looked up at him.  She looked irritated at the interruption.

“Hold on,” she told the person on the other end of the line.  Then she covered the phone with her hand.  “What is it.”

Sam put a large hand on the top of the newspapers.

"We're finished with these," he said and tried out a smile on her.  The frown softened, lines smoothing out, and she smiled back.

"Thank you for bringing them back," she said.  "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Sam hesitated.  "Yes and no."

She smiled again and then back to her call.

"Really?" she said.  "I can't believe it.  He was always devoted."

Sam started to walk away and then stopped, his attention caught by the librarian's next words.

"Well, I can't think of any GOOD reason why he didn't come home last night," she said.  She picked up a pen and flipped it against her fingers, nodding and ahuming to the phone.  "Did she check the hospitals?"

Who, Sam urged her silently.  Say who it is.  The librarian looked up and saw him.  He pretended to be engrossed in a leaflet about some local band's gig at the bar. From the corner of his eye he saw her squint at him and then go back to her conversation.  She dropped her voice, just in case he was eavesdropping.  Luckily Sam had good ears, despite Dean's taste in music.

"You don't think-"  She started the sentence but didn't finish it, letting her voice trail off in relished horror.  There was another silence.  Sam turned the leaflet over and squinted at the photo on the back.  The band looked six weeks dead and hard done by.  He switched his attention to the librarian.  She nodded, tucked her hair back and sighed.  "Someone should call the sheriff and tell him to look up there," she said.  "Mary-Beth isn't going to want to think of it."

Sam stuck the leaflet in his back pocket and left.  He doubted he'd hear anything else useful.  Dean scowled at him.

"Took you long enough," he said.  Then he grinned.  "Did you get her number?"

Sam blushed, which made Dean grin wider, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"No," he said.  "She was on the phone.  Apparently, Mary-Beth's husband didn't come home last night."


This time it was Sam's turn to smile.  He looked expectant and waited.  In all fairness, it didn't take Dean long to catch up.  His green eyes widened and he slapped Sam's arm.

"Good word, baby brother," he said.  "Eavesdropping on a private call.  We'll make a Winchester out of you yet."

Sam resisted rolling his eyes, but only just.

"Thanks," he said.  Dean laughed at him.  "But don't get too excited.  I couldn't exactly ask any questions about the conversation I'd been eavesdropping on so, we've only got Mary-Beth's first name."

"Shit."  Dean chewed absently on his thumbnail.  Then he cocked his head to the side.  "What else did they say?"

"Well, I could only hear one side of the conversation," Sam said.

"Smartarse," Dean said.  "Just tell me what you heard or I'll noogie you into submission."

Sam shifted his weight onto one leg and snorted.  "Like you could reach."  He chewed his lower lip and replayed the conversation in his head.  He summarised it out loud for Dean.  "He didn't come home last night.  They've always seemed devoted.  She suggested he might have been killed-"

"She was right," Dean commented.

Sam gave him an annoyed look.  "Could you keep that to yourself?  He was probably an upstanding member of the community or something."

Dean snorted softly.  "When he wasn't eating people and worrying cows."

"Shut up," Sam said.  "And, that's it.  Then the librarian suggested someone should call the Sheriff because Mary-Beth probably doesn't want to think about that."

Dean's face brightened.  "Good," he said.  

He got into the car and started the engine.  Sam thought about asking what he meant but that was Dean wanted.  So he just jogged around the car and folded himself into the front seat.   Dean barely waited for him to slam the door before pulling away from the kerb. 

They drove out of town.  Dean drove about a mile and then turned the wheel sharply, sliding the Impala onto the side of the road.  He killed the engine and got out.  Sam waited, drumming his fingers on his knee, until Dean popped the boot.  He still hadn't explained what he was doing and Sam was tired waiting.  He got out and followed Dean to the back of the car.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding your Mary-Beth," Dean said.  He shifted to the side so Sam could see the police scanner.  "What else?"

Sam batted a bug from in front of his face.

"So what?" he asked.  "We follow the police car to the house of the man we might have killed?  Talk about returning to the scene of the crime."

Dean looked up from fiddling with the scanner.  He levelled a finger at Sam.

"First, it was a demon not a man.  This isn't even one of those grey area situations like when you're not sure some guy's a vampire or just a goth."

"Happened once," Sam sighed.  He sat down on the bumper, his back resting against the car's sunwarmed metal. 

"Yeah, but it was priceless," Dean said.  "Secondly, we've never been to her house so we're not returning anywhere."

"You know what I meant."

Dean shrugged.  Before he could answer the scanner cackled to staticy life.

"…go to 912 Suville Drive.  Apparently her husband didn't come home last night.  She's not made a report but with all those murders…"

Dean flipped the radio off.  He gave Sam's ankle a kick.

"Up and at 'em, Sammy," he said.  "You heard the man, 912 Suville."


Sam stood up and grabbed the trunk, slamming in shut just short of catching Dean’s fingers.  The trick earned him a scowl.  He smiled slightly.

“Do you know where Suville is?” he asked. 

The minute the words left his mouth he knew the answer was yes.  Dean had that beautific, smug look on his face.  The one he always got when he outdid, or thought he had, his little brother.

“Yep,” Dean said.  Then his smile slipped, just a little, and he looked back at town thoughtfully.  “More or less.  I drove down it earlier when I was cruising for a burger place.”

“More or less,” Sam repeated.

Dean just shrugged.  “I can find it again,” he said.  “Come on.”

They got back into the car.  Dean swung it around, leaving a double crescent sliced into the mud, and headed back to down.  He flicked the radio on.  The opening notes of Highway to Hell pumped through the speakers.  Sam hunched his shoulders and tried to ignore the chill clawing its way down his spine.

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