Cowboys and Angels (A Dean Winchester/ Supernatural FanFiction)

Chapter 15: Some Nights

“You are Mark Dilworth, correct,” I inquired, interrupting the silence. The man nodded.

“Yes ma’am, indeed I am,” he replied quietly, his voice seemingly distant, as if he was recalling the incident. I glanced up at Dean. The older brother just shrugged.

“We just came here to ask you a few questions about the incident,” Dean said trying to catch Mark’s attention again.

“And why would the FBI be interested in something like this,” Mark replied incoherently, shaking his head, finally snapping out of his illusion.

“Just a follow up,” I replied. “To make sure everything is as it should be.” Mark’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced between me and Dean, finally nodding and turning, heading back inside his house.

“Come on in, then,” he replied. I glanced up at Dean, somewhat suspicious about the sudden invitation.  The older brother shrugged, making his way towards the interior, stopping in the doorframe and scanning the front room. He seemed to hesitate for a second, but stepped inside. I realized why when I entered the house, closing the door behind me.

Guns lined the walls, everything from hand guns to shot guns, openly on display and all looked to be ready and loaded. My eyes widened.

“What kind of person keeps this many guns,” I heard Dean ask just loud enough for me to hear.

“People like us,” I countered, raising an eyebrow.

“…Fair point.” I smiled, patting him on the back. “But I highly doubt he’s a hunter, so what would he need them for?”

“Maybe it’s a hobby,” I replied shrugging.

“Or maybe he’s a Republican,” Dean cracked. I had to bite down on my tongue to keep from laughing too loud.

We followed Mark into his living room. I had noticed when we had walked in the house smelled strongly of cigar smoke, but the smell in here was almost overwhelming. The man made his way over to a rather decrepit, foul looking recliner covered in stains that was coming apart at the seams. The couches weren’t in any better condition.

Mark motioned for us to sit down. Dean did so somewhat squeamishly. I politely refused, but later ended up sitting on Dean’s lap due to the length of the man’s story.

“Well, it all happened on a regular Friday night. I had just walked out of our local bar, a lady on my arm, might I add,” he started, his chest puffed out proudly. “I noticed on my way in that it had become rather cloudy, and it was thundering when I walked out, but I hadn’t noticed any lightning of any sort—then again I was pretty drunk, so I could be wrong, but I don’t recall any flashing. I was halfway across the parking lot when suddenly bright white light lit up the area. Next thing I knew I was on the ground. I couldn’t feel anything. My nerves were fried. My lady friend had already rushed back to the bar to get help. The last thing I remember was people gathering around me and asking me if I was okay before I passed out.”

“I’m assuming you were transported to the hospital after you passed out,” I asked once he had finished. He nodded.

“That’s where I woke up.” I nodded.

“Do you have any copies of your medical reports from your stay at the hospital,” I said getting up off of Dean’s lap. Mark nodded, getting up from his recliner and heading into the room to our left, which I assumed was the kitchen. There was a quiet ruffling sound, as if papers were being moved. Seconds later Mark reappeared, multiple documents in his hand.

“Here they are. I knew I had them, I just couldn’t remember where I put them,” he said extending them towards me. I took them, giving a small thanks in return. Turning, I offered Dean my hand. He took it, and I pulled him.