Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
verymature) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
self_inflictedexhile2011-04-16 05:19 pm
verymature) wrote in self_inflictedexhile2011-04-16 05:19 pm
[central indiana] i knew that she was different from the rest
On one hand, Dean knew that he could just let the whole mess drop. The girl who'd known his life story was miles behind him and hadn't shown any signs of following, nor had he been set upon by whatever mooks she probably had under her command when he'd stopped to get gas, so he was probably in the clear. He was an hour and some change away from Lisa and Ben's now, somewhere between towns on the interstate, and he could be at her place faster than that if he pushed it, all the weirdness of the day and his life forgotten in a heartbeat.
On the other hand, though, the weird waitress chick had had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. You didn't just quit this stuff cold turkey, and it was only a matter of time before, whatever she was in reality, Cordelia came after him. Or some other big bad did. It was like he had a friggen bulls-eye tattooed on his back, and while he had promised Sam he wouldn't go back to it, he wanted to make sure he didn't involve Lisa and the kid in all of this. Or, if he did, that he could make a short affair of it -- a one time deal -- rather than the grueling, uphill battle fraught with casualties his life had been for the last few years.
Plus, well, he had to admit a part of him was at least somewhat curious, and between that and the need for information on the situation to keep it from becoming a situation? It probably explained why he pulled over to the side of the road, reached for his phone in the glove compartment and dialed Bobby's number.
The phone rang several times before Bobby bothered to answer. "Hello?"
"Hey, Bobby."
There was a long pause, and then incredulously, "Dean?"
"Yeah, uh, hi." He hesitated, passing the phone from one hand to the other before cutting to the chase. No sense beating around the bush with pleasantries -- he was pretty sure Bobby knew how he was holding up. "Look, I need you look into a couple've things for me."
"Christ, boy, you just disappear off the damn map, and then you call me to look into somethin'?"
Dean huffed out a sigh, a ghost of real anger rising up in his chest, and scrubbed a hand over his face. Regardless of those pinpricks of righteous indignation, however, when he answered, he sounded nothing short of defeated. "It's only been a couple of days, Bobby, and Sam's friggen dead, so excuse me if I wanted to take some time to myself to wrap my head around that."
Another long pause -- Dean presumed that Bobby was trying to decide whether or not to press the issue -- and then he sighed, too. " ... what is it you wanna know?"
"You know anythin' about Cleveland?"
"I know it's in a bad way." There was a shuffling of papers, faint but audible, on the other end of the line. "F'you bothered to check in two days earlier, I wouldn'tve been here. I went down to Dayton to help a friend with a rougarou problem, and ... " Dean could almost hear him shake his head. "Word is the whole damn city's shut down, and that whatever's on the inside's keepin' a lid on things."
"You check it out?"
"The entire town's full've demons, Dean -- Cleveland's on some kinda ley line that attracts 'em on their way outta Hell. Most've the boys are too chicken shit to take a group up there, and that's what you'd need to do a lick of good up there. A group." He paused, as something occurred to him, and then sternly, "You're not thinkin' of doin' somethin' stupid, are you?"
"No." He wasn't sure, but it wasn't a flat out lie, either. "I just -- I stopped to get breakfast and got chased out the door by this crazy waitress chick who said I might find what I'm lookin' for in Cleveland."
"You get a name?"
"Cordelia ... somethin'." Bobby grunted disapproval; Dean made a face. "I was kinda freaked out, okay? Usually when people start spittin' out pieces of my life story, they're not on the level, and considerin' all the crap I've been through lately? I'd like to have five friggen minutes to myself."
Bobby remained silent, and Dean made another face, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, hoping that one or the other would help jog his memory. To his surprise, it did. "She mentioned somethin' about bein' in LA when somethin' and, uh, Heart nuked it?"
"Wolfram and Hart?"
"That's the one."
"They're a law firm, and they're bad news, Dean. No one really knows the specifics, but ... general opinion is that they're into all kinda nasty stuff -- and I'm not just talkin' occasionally forgettin' to pay their taxes or shopliftin' from the corner store. People they don't like just up and disappear. People they do end up goin' from rags to riches over night. And they've gotten more than one murderer off with a slap on the wrist."
"Yeah, so?" He wasn't so sure about the disappearances and the random good luck, but lawyers got bad people off all the time. It was generally what those schmucks paid them for.
"So, lawyers are good, but they're not that good. This goes beyond just havin' a solid lucky streak."
"Okay ... " He filed that away and then shrugged, leaning back in his seat a bit. "Well, either way ... you think you could find out who my mystery chick is? Find a list of people who survived the whole LA thing or whatever? I mean, it's not like Cordelia's really all that popular a girl's name, right?"
"I might be able to," Bobby agreed, "but it's gonna take time. I'll call you back when I've got somethin'." There was a pause, and then tersely, he added, "And answer your damn phone this time, boy."
"I will." He couldn't really be blamed for putting his phone on silent when he'd hit the road, could he? "Thanks, Bobby."
Bobby made a noncomittal noise at the back of his throat and hung up. Twenty minutes later, Dean was still parked on the side of the road and Bobby had called back. "I found somethin' on your girl, but you're not gonna like it much."
Dean grimaced -- he'd been expecting this. "Tell me anyway."
"She's dead, Dean. Has been for five years, accordin' to the records I dragged up. I couldn't find much else you'd be interested in, but that stuck out like a sore thumb."
"Great." Of course she was. It was the story of his life.
Sighing, he muttered another thank you to Bobby and hung up, shooting a glance over his shoulder at the road he'd traveled to get here. He didn't want to be involved in this, but ... whatever it was that was wearing the crazy chick's skin needed to be dealt with before he went on to Ben and Lisa. If he didn't do something, he'd be forever looking over his shoulder, just as he was now, waiting for something to happen, and when it did -- and it would -- with his luck, his to-be family would end up dead. And he couldn't do that, not to them.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head, hoping Sam would forgive him this. Then, without waiting for some kind of biblical response, he put the car in drive and, ignoring sounds of protest from the horns of the other drivers, swung the car around in a wide arc, crossing over the grassy divider and onto the other side of the highway, and started back the way he'd come.
On the other hand, though, the weird waitress chick had had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. You didn't just quit this stuff cold turkey, and it was only a matter of time before, whatever she was in reality, Cordelia came after him. Or some other big bad did. It was like he had a friggen bulls-eye tattooed on his back, and while he had promised Sam he wouldn't go back to it, he wanted to make sure he didn't involve Lisa and the kid in all of this. Or, if he did, that he could make a short affair of it -- a one time deal -- rather than the grueling, uphill battle fraught with casualties his life had been for the last few years.
Plus, well, he had to admit a part of him was at least somewhat curious, and between that and the need for information on the situation to keep it from becoming a situation? It probably explained why he pulled over to the side of the road, reached for his phone in the glove compartment and dialed Bobby's number.
The phone rang several times before Bobby bothered to answer. "Hello?"
"Hey, Bobby."
There was a long pause, and then incredulously, "Dean?"
"Yeah, uh, hi." He hesitated, passing the phone from one hand to the other before cutting to the chase. No sense beating around the bush with pleasantries -- he was pretty sure Bobby knew how he was holding up. "Look, I need you look into a couple've things for me."
"Christ, boy, you just disappear off the damn map, and then you call me to look into somethin'?"
Dean huffed out a sigh, a ghost of real anger rising up in his chest, and scrubbed a hand over his face. Regardless of those pinpricks of righteous indignation, however, when he answered, he sounded nothing short of defeated. "It's only been a couple of days, Bobby, and Sam's friggen dead, so excuse me if I wanted to take some time to myself to wrap my head around that."
Another long pause -- Dean presumed that Bobby was trying to decide whether or not to press the issue -- and then he sighed, too. " ... what is it you wanna know?"
"You know anythin' about Cleveland?"
"I know it's in a bad way." There was a shuffling of papers, faint but audible, on the other end of the line. "F'you bothered to check in two days earlier, I wouldn'tve been here. I went down to Dayton to help a friend with a rougarou problem, and ... " Dean could almost hear him shake his head. "Word is the whole damn city's shut down, and that whatever's on the inside's keepin' a lid on things."
"You check it out?"
"The entire town's full've demons, Dean -- Cleveland's on some kinda ley line that attracts 'em on their way outta Hell. Most've the boys are too chicken shit to take a group up there, and that's what you'd need to do a lick of good up there. A group." He paused, as something occurred to him, and then sternly, "You're not thinkin' of doin' somethin' stupid, are you?"
"No." He wasn't sure, but it wasn't a flat out lie, either. "I just -- I stopped to get breakfast and got chased out the door by this crazy waitress chick who said I might find what I'm lookin' for in Cleveland."
"You get a name?"
"Cordelia ... somethin'." Bobby grunted disapproval; Dean made a face. "I was kinda freaked out, okay? Usually when people start spittin' out pieces of my life story, they're not on the level, and considerin' all the crap I've been through lately? I'd like to have five friggen minutes to myself."
Bobby remained silent, and Dean made another face, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, hoping that one or the other would help jog his memory. To his surprise, it did. "She mentioned somethin' about bein' in LA when somethin' and, uh, Heart nuked it?"
"Wolfram and Hart?"
"That's the one."
"They're a law firm, and they're bad news, Dean. No one really knows the specifics, but ... general opinion is that they're into all kinda nasty stuff -- and I'm not just talkin' occasionally forgettin' to pay their taxes or shopliftin' from the corner store. People they don't like just up and disappear. People they do end up goin' from rags to riches over night. And they've gotten more than one murderer off with a slap on the wrist."
"Yeah, so?" He wasn't so sure about the disappearances and the random good luck, but lawyers got bad people off all the time. It was generally what those schmucks paid them for.
"So, lawyers are good, but they're not that good. This goes beyond just havin' a solid lucky streak."
"Okay ... " He filed that away and then shrugged, leaning back in his seat a bit. "Well, either way ... you think you could find out who my mystery chick is? Find a list of people who survived the whole LA thing or whatever? I mean, it's not like Cordelia's really all that popular a girl's name, right?"
"I might be able to," Bobby agreed, "but it's gonna take time. I'll call you back when I've got somethin'." There was a pause, and then tersely, he added, "And answer your damn phone this time, boy."
"I will." He couldn't really be blamed for putting his phone on silent when he'd hit the road, could he? "Thanks, Bobby."
Bobby made a noncomittal noise at the back of his throat and hung up. Twenty minutes later, Dean was still parked on the side of the road and Bobby had called back. "I found somethin' on your girl, but you're not gonna like it much."
Dean grimaced -- he'd been expecting this. "Tell me anyway."
"She's dead, Dean. Has been for five years, accordin' to the records I dragged up. I couldn't find much else you'd be interested in, but that stuck out like a sore thumb."
"Great." Of course she was. It was the story of his life.
Sighing, he muttered another thank you to Bobby and hung up, shooting a glance over his shoulder at the road he'd traveled to get here. He didn't want to be involved in this, but ... whatever it was that was wearing the crazy chick's skin needed to be dealt with before he went on to Ben and Lisa. If he didn't do something, he'd be forever looking over his shoulder, just as he was now, waiting for something to happen, and when it did -- and it would -- with his luck, his to-be family would end up dead. And he couldn't do that, not to them.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head, hoping Sam would forgive him this. Then, without waiting for some kind of biblical response, he put the car in drive and, ignoring sounds of protest from the horns of the other drivers, swung the car around in a wide arc, crossing over the grassy divider and onto the other side of the highway, and started back the way he'd come.
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Not that he had any problems with dying -- he'd been there and done that, and without Sam, there wasn't really much worth living for at the moment, anyway. He just figured that arguing back was better than punching her, like he'd decided he wanted to, or worse yet, shooting her.
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She rolled down the sleeve of her jacket. Cordelia had had worse things done than getting shot, but she was done trying to be his force of guidance. He was acting like a dick, and she was right -- it was his choice. She would deal with him when he had less of a stick up his ass. She smoothed the material down and started to walk away. "Have a nice life, Dean. Hope it works out for you."
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He sighed, his anger ebbing away slowly. "Yeah, thanks for that."
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