Chapter 2 of Cupid, Stupid
bloodwritesChapter 2
"It could be anyone," Dean says. "Half the town was in the bar last night. The other half were probably at church on Sunday. How are we supposed to know which asshole is our witch?"
"We cross reference," Sam says. "Get a list from the church, take it to the bar, see who was in both places. Check off the ones we know have been hit. Eventually we'll narrow it down."
"Meanwhile, people die." Dean sighs. "Suit up, Sammy. We're going to church."
"We need a list of your congregation," Dean says to the harried young priest. "Everyone who was present for the last two Sundays, at least."
"I've spoken to the police already," he says. "They didn't say anything about sharingâ"
"The police have no idea what they're doing," Dean says. "We're not police. We're FBI, and you are required to hand overâ"
"This isn't about Father Theodore," Sam interrupts. He speaks slowly, in a low, soothing voice. "There's something happening to people in this town, people are dying, lives are being destroyed. We need your help to stop it."
If they'd actually been FBI, maybe they could have compelled the guy to hand over the files, but he turns them away.
There are other ways to compel someone, of course, but even Dean draws the line at pulling a gun on a priest.
"Some of these couples, Sam. They're illegal, or immoral, they're twisted and fucked up in some way. Bestiality. The pedo priest. Jukebox guy. A barstool? And incest, Sam. Incest. What the fuck are we doing here? We're this witch's whole M.O."
And, fuck, he said it out loud, said that word out loud, the one that's been rattling around in his head for years. It shocks him, and he takes a step back, and anything else he was going to say dies in his throat.
Sam doesn't seem to notice, doesn't even blink.
"We can't just walk out, Dean," he says. "People are dead. People's lives are ruined. What if she's not done? More people will die. We have to stop it."
Sam's incensed, and he's radiant with it, and he's right.
"Okay," Dean says. "We'll find this bitch, and we'll waste her. It's what we do. But we gotta be careful, and we gotta find her first. So, what've we got?"
"There must be a special level of hell for people who break into churches," Dean whispers, fidgeting impatiently as Sam works to pick the lock of the office door.
"I didn't think you cared about stuff like that," Sam says. The lock clicks and the door swings open.
"I care about where I end up." Dean goes for the desk, starts shifting papers around, not knowing what he's even looking for. "Again. You think church break ins warrant minimum torture?"
"Doubt it." Sam's popped the lock on an ancient metal filing cabinet, and he's riffing through the files, hair hanging in his face. "Red hot pokers all day long."
It's a marvel they can joke about Hell, let alone even mention it, with what they've each been through. Sometimes it just helps. Both of them know there's no special cage for those who defile churches. They've been there.
Sometimes the only thing you can do is laugh.
"Got it," Sam says, pulling a sheet of paper out of the cabinet, slamming it closed, and heading for the door.
Dean glances back down at the desk. He should probably hide his tracks. Not make it too obvious they've been here, but he's got no idea how it was before he started fucking with it.
A leather-bound journal catches his eye. Dean grabs it, for no real reason but that if he'd had more time, he would have opened it.
He tucks it into his jacket and follows Sam out, pulling the door closed behind him.
They head back to the bar, Sam with the list of congregants folded and tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.
Dean spots the two guys that were slow dancing the night before, and he grabs Sam by the elbow and draws him toward the two men.
"Hey guys," Dean says. "Mind if we have a word?"
The contrast between these two men and the men in the police cells is vast. The kind of stigma they're dealing with isn't really that different, not here, but their reaction is entirely opposite.
"We've been best friends since middle school," Noel says. "Went into business together a few years after we graduated high school. We were like brothers."
"What kind of business?" Sam asks.
"Construction," Harvey says. "Anything that's been built in this town in the last 20 years, we had a hand in."
"Hello."
Sam and Dean both turn. It's the bartender, and he's holding a beer in each hand.
"Drinks for our friends from the FBI," he says, and puts the bottles on the table, then he claps Sam and Dean both on the shoulder. "On the house."
"Good man, Jackie," Harvey says.
The bartender grins and wanders away, hands waving as he greets his customers.
"He's a character," Dean says, and then turns back to the table. "You said you were like brothers." He glances at Sam, and he wonders what kind of spell or curse could change their relationship so significantly that they wouldn't be brothers any more. Dean has, for years, had feelingsâburied deep, but they never ever went awayâabout Sam that are decidedly unbrotherly, but being Sam's brother has always been the most important thing. "What did you mean by that?"
"A couple nights ago," Noel says, and he gazes at Harvey with an emotion so palpable that Dean can feel it, he recognizes it, because he's felt it, but he's witnessed it, too. A moment from his past flashes behind his eyes.
He was in another bar. There were two men, a bartender and his patron, and they were watching some shit on TV, and they looked at each other in the exact same way.
"Everything changed," Harvey continues.
"And where were you?" Sam asks.
"Right here," Noel says. "We were right here."
"It's a cupid," Dean hisses, as he drags Sam out of the bar and into the night. "It's not a witch. It's a fucking cupid."
"Wait, what?" Sam grinds to a halt, stopping Dean with his hands. His open palms rest on Dean's shoulders, and his eyes flick down to where he's touching his brother, then drift back up to his face. "Like, a cherub?" He seems distracted, a question in his eyes, as though something is suddenly dawning on him. "The guys that engineered Mom and Dad so we would be born?"
"Yep." Dean pulls Sam toward the car. "Those guys, Sam. Noel and Harvey. I've seen this shit before. We gotta get out of here."
They shouldn't be here. They're the last two people who should be working this case.