Angels Take Milwaukee (A SuperWho Crossover Fanfiction)

Part 1: An Interview With The Vicar

"I  still don't think it's angels, Sam," said Dean as they rolled into the  churchyard. "True, they're a bunch of winged a-holes, but—come on, man!"  They climbed out of the Impala in unison. "Did you see the scratches on  that body? We're dealing with some big-ass monster for sure!"

Sam sighed as they crossed the stony churchyard. "I'm just saying, we should not ignore all the witness accounts," he said.

Dean  snorted. "You mean the rumors? Remember that nobody we can find has  actually seen whatever did this. Have I ever said how much I hate these  'no-one-lives-to-tell-the-tale' cases?"

Sam glanced toward the  walls of the church, where statues of angels gathered in recesses around  the stained-glass windows. Some had their eyes covered as if weeping,  some held their arms outstretched. He shook his head and followed Dean  inside.

They made it to the middle of the foyer before the sound  of the pastor's footsteps echoed in the stillness. The two brothers  turned to greet the grey-haired man in the black suit and square collar.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" He asked.

"Father  Tim?" Dean verified. When the man nodded, he flipped open the badge and  gave the customary cover. "I'm Agent Spencer, this is Agent  Guster—we're here about the recent animal attacks?"

The pastor  blanched just a little at the mention, but recovered himself. "Ah, yes; I  was just praying about that very thing. Poor soul!"

"Can you tell  us what happened?" prompted Dean. "We visited the morgue, but the  examiner could not shed much light on what could have killed the  victims. He gave us your name, since the latest attack was here at your  church. Was there anyone around at the time of the attack?"

The  pastor raised his hand sheepishly. "I stay late sometimes; the research I  do in preparing for sermons can lead to some lengthy hours in  unexpected tales of exploits in early history—" He trailed off, as if  expecting them to be uninterested.

Sam nodded appreciatively,  "Yeah," he said, thinking of the wealth of records still untouched in  the Bunker, "I know what you mean..."

Dean stared at him with a  raised eyebrow. "Ahem!" He coughed. "Can you walk us through everything  that happened that night, Reverend?"

Father Tim shrugged his  shoulders. "Well, last night was a quiet one; to my knowledge all of the  parishioners had left except Florence—that's Florence Finchley, my  secretary; she elected to stay at home today, poor girl, but I can give  you her address—and I was deep in thought, right here in front of my  lectern." He gave a sheepish smile and gestured to the empty pews.  "Sometimes I imagine seeing the faces here, and it helps me plan my  sermons." He cleared his throat, "Anyway, I was right in the middle of  meditation when—" His eyes fell on the wide church doors and his voice  caught. The horror of the memory showed plainly on his face.

"I  heard him scream. That was all; just one terrified, awful scream, and  then complete silence." An intense shudder rattled the elderly man's  frame. "I ran outside as fast as I could, and there he was, just  stretched out and bleeding." The Father shook his head and frowned. "I  must have yelled when I saw the body, because next thing I know,  Florence was screaming and crying and calling the cops to report it...  But you know what was the thing that I will never forget? It was his  eyes: they were frozen wide open, and he died right there on the  ground."

Dean scrunched his forehead officiously and pursed his  lips and nodded and doodled in his notebook like he was taking the  pastor's story seriously. "So... No signs of any kind of a scuffle? Just  one scream, that was it?"

Father Tim shrugged, "I admit I almost  convinced myself that I hadn't heard anything—but it's a good thing I  second-guessed my first instinct!"

Dean nodded absently, "Oh yeah, good thing. So, uh... What can you tell us about the victim?"

"Stan?  Not much; he was pretty regular in his attendance. I just wish I knew  what he was doing here in the church yard so late at night." The  reverend sighed.

"What did Stan do for a living?" Asked Sam.

"He  was the town handyman. Real good worker, skilled hands. Anything needs  doing, if Stan's on the job, you know it's done right."

"Any family?" Dean had stopped pretending to take notes, but his keen eyes watched the old reverend closely.

Father  Tim nodded slowly. "A wife, Judy. I had to call her this morning." He  glanced between the two brothers. "She's already been to see the body."

Dean nodded; he knew that this meant they were free to talk with her about her husband's personal life if they needed to.

"Did  Stan ever... I mean—" Sam stumbled over his words as he tried to phrase  the question in just the right way, to get the information they needed  without raising any suspicions. "Did you ever receive any indication  that, uh, that your congregation might be in danger?"

Father Tim  snorted. "You mean, did I know of any wild, vicious animals roaming the  woods near the church, waiting to attack? None, Agent Guster." He looked  at Sam firmly. "If anything like this had happened before, you can be  sure that I would do whatever it took to keep my flock safe!"

Dean  shoved the notebook in his pocket, "All right, Father, calm down! My  buddy and I are just trying to get a sense of all the angles. Now, if  this was just an isolated incident, a freak attack, then we'll  investigate those woods. But just to be sure—did Stan give any  indication like he knew what was coming for him?"

Father Tim's face melted in a mask of horror. "You don't think—"

Sam stepped forward to reassure him. "Like my partner says, we are just making sure we cover all the angles."

The  older man sighed heavily. "No; there was no warning that something like  this would happen." He reached forward and gripped Dean's arm. "Stan  was a good man, Agent Spencer. He attended church regularly, served his  town, loved his wife—heck, they were trying to have a kid, those two!"  Father Tim's eyes got a little misty, and Sam could tell he was having  difficulty dealing with reliving the emotional trauma. He gave Dean the  "wrap-it-up" look.

Luckily, Dean took the hint. "Well, Father, thank you for your help. We will get to the bottom of this, I can promise you that."

Father Tim bowed his head. "Thank you, gentlemen. Will that be all?"

Sam nodded as the two brothers shook hands with the reverend. "For now," he answered.

"Good luck on the investigation."

As they walked out of the church and into the courtyard, Dean gave a violent shiver. "Man, did you—"

"Yup." Sam's stony expression spoke of his discomfort as much as Dean's convulsions.

Dean wagged his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "There is something weird about that church, I swear!"

Sam  glanced back at the grouping of angel statues. For the first time, he  noticed that one of the "weeping" statues stood separate from the rest,  nearer to the front gate. He peered at it as they passed. Its dead  stone eyes seemed to follow him as he left the church yard.

"I guess we'll see," he said to Dean as they pulled away.

"What  say we give Miss Florence a visit tomorrow morning?" Dean suggested.  "But tonight, let's see what kind of nightlife Milwaukee has to offer!"

As the Impala pulled away, Father Tim happened to glance out into the courtyard.

That  was odd; in all his years as pastor of the church, he never noticed the  angel statue perched on the top of the wall, reaching outward to  welcome the incoming worshippers—or in this case, toward the receding  tail lights of the black car.