I stand with my arms crossed, looking sideways at the screens in the British Men of Letters' base. The Winchesters and I were called here. I still hate it, that we're working with them, but I'm trying to give it a chance. For Sam.
"All right, that's it," Dean decides impatiently, after checking his watch. "I'm waiting in the car."
"Dude, wait a second," Sam gets up from the seat he found at the table.
"No, you know what?" Dean starts. "Getting jobs from these dicks is one thing, but I didn't sign up for this "reporting for duty" crap. Especially when they're late."
"Sorry I'm late." Behind Dean, Mick Davies walks inside the door. "My report to the home office ran long. We've had our hands full since..." he pauses, looking down at the blood stain on the floor. "Well, best not to dwell on that."
"Well, that is some world class repression," Dean says. "You are British."
"We prefer to call it stiff upper lip," Mick says. I actually smile at this. I know I shouldn't. I'm supposed to hate him. In a way, he's different than Ketch. I have a hate for Ketch in every bone in my body. But this guy seems harmless.
"Okay, okay, enough," Sam says, trying to keep them from fighting. "Mick, what's the deal with the Bat-signal?"
Mick places the folder in his hands down on the table. "There was an incident in Wisconsin. "Animal attack." A girl named Hayden Foster is in the hospital, and her brother lost his heart. Looks like a werewolf."
"Well, they don't usually leave behind survivors," Sam says.
"Freak probably got spooked before he could finish the job," Dean says.
"Perhaps," Mick says. "But it usually takes more than a fright to put your average werewolf off his supper."
"Oh, you'd know that, would you?" Dean asks.
"Actually I would," Mick says. "I did extensive research into lycanthropy at Kendricks."
"Kendricks?" Sam questions.
"The Kendricks School," Mick says. "It's where the British Men of Letters train their operatives. It's like our—"
"Hogwarts?" Sam says.
"Exactly," Mick says. Sam turns to look at Dean, a little impressed. "Kendricks has the largest collection of occult lore in the world."
"Cool," Sam says, turning to look at Dean, only to get a deadly bitchface.
"So, when it comes to werewolves, I'm not entirely ignorant," Mick claims. "For example, we know that last night's attack didn't happen on a full moon, therefore we're looking for a pure blood."
"You think?" Dean says. "Looks like a milk run to me."
"Then you don't mind if I tag along," Mick says.
Dean doesn't look like he wants that at all. I'm glad that Sam answers before Dean does.
"Listen, I don't think hunting is really your kind of thing," the younger Winchester says.
"Well then maybe it should be," Mick says. I'm a little surprised he said that. "I had the best team. But, most of us, we were thinkers, not fighters. And let's be honest, you and your mum, you're the only reason I'm still alive."
"So now you wanna be like us?" Dean asks.
Mick shakes his head. "No. I just wanna be ready for whatever's next."
Sam and Dean look at each other a moment before walking away to talk in private. I linger around Mick. He seems like an okay guy.
"They'll bring you," I say, my arms crossed. "Dean won't a hundred percent agree with it, but he'll still give you a chance."
"I hope so," he says, putting files and stuff away.
Dean tells Sam that if Mick's coming, that Sam can babysit him.
I doze off for some of the trip, but wake up and hear the boys talking to Mick. "Wait, this lore dates back to the sixteenth century?" Sam is asking.
"Yeah," Mick says. "Well, in Europe, everything's old. Though we do have our fair share of new tricks for dealing with wolves. Sulfate has, silver nitrate lethal injection."
"Take a handful of silver bullets over any of that fancy crap," Dean grumbles.
"Yes, well, thanks to that 'fancy crap', Britain's last werewolf outbreak was in the 20's. We rooted them out, bitten and pure blood alike."
"Wait a second, you killed them all?" Sam questions. "Even the ones that weren't hurting anyone?"
"Sorry?"
"I mean, werewolves aren't like most monsters," Sam says. "Some can control it. I mean, we have a buddy who got bit, nothing but beef hearts ever since."
"And you trust him?" Mick asks, surprised. "Well, killing is a fundamental need for werewolves, and monsters don't just stop being monsters."
"Well, Garth did," Dean says.
Mick doesn't say anything, except for telling Dean where to turn. We pull up to a tall building, which says Wild Elk Lodge. It's WAY fancier than anything we normally stay in. Once we get out of the car, I take a look at it, a little excited to be staying here.
"This place, uh, seems a little–" Sam starts.
"Shabby?" Mick finishes. "Yeah, three stars was the best I could do. At least our bean counters will be happy. Booked us all suites."
"Wait you... we're in separate rooms?" Sam asks. Mick looks confused.
"Yeah of course."
"Did you say three stars?" Dean asks. "So we talking fresh towels, little baby shampoos?"
"Uh Huh," Mick nods. "And I believe there's a pool."
Dean's smiling now. He tosses Sam the keys. "Get the bags," he says, walking inside.
"You'd think it was Christmas," I laugh and help Sam with the bags. "That's kind of a waste."
"What?" Sam furrows his eyebrows.
I shrug. "Separate rooms." He looks at me for a moment, not saying anything. Then he grabs the last bag from the car.
I expect him to say something about sneaking into each other's rooms, but he doesn't. I don't know, maybe he's just focusing on the case. Well, I'll focus on getting a good night's sleep. It'll be nice to get some privacy for once, anyway.
The next morning we all meet out in front. "Man, those pillows, right?" Dean says, still totally in awe over the place. "The little chocolates that they put on em. I'm ruined, Sam. These limey sons of bitches ruined me. I even took a swim this morning."
"You brought a swimsuit?" Sam asks.
"No."
Sam groans, not wanting to hear that.
"What did you guys get up to?" Dean asks. I raise my eyebrows. I didn't do anything but sleep and watch television. I texted Sam a few times, but must be he was preoccupied because he never answered me.
"I read through more of Mick's lore books," Sam says.
"Really? Wow those three stars are wasted on you," Dean says.
"Anyway, listen to this, it's crazy," Sam says. "So apparently back in the 30's, they were working on this treatment for werewolves. This like, blood therapy—"
"Plasma therapy," Mick corrects him as he comes outside. "Useless, I'm afraid." Sam doesn't say anything. "So, how were your accommodations?"
"I've had better nights' sleep in my baby," Dean says as someone brings his car up. Mick looks a little disappointed to hear that. "Get in. Let's go," Dean orders. "Not gonna give him the satisfaction," Dean says quietly to Sam after Mick got in the car.
•••
"Talking to a grieving family, it's tougher than you think," Sam tries to get Mick to stay outside while we go in the hospital room to talk to the mother. She's sitting next to her daughter who is still unconscious.
"Well, I'm a quick study," Mick say, trying to go in. Dean stops him.
"Well good for you," he says. "Stay here, keep watch. Anything comes up, I don't know, whistle."
"Miss Foster?" Sam says. "Sorry to bother you." We all hold up our badges and introduce our fake selves. "We'd like to ask your daughter a few questions."
"She's sleeping," the mother says.
"We'll be quick," Dean says. "Promise."
"I said 'no'," she repeats, more firmly. "Hayden needs her rest, she's..." the mother stops talking. Her face is wet with tears. I feel sorry for her.
Suddenly Mick comes in wearing a doctor's coat and carrying a clipboard. "Good morning and how is our patient today?" He asks.
"I'm sorry, who are you?" The mother asks.
"Dr. Buckingham," Mick answers. "Hayden's attending, Dr., uh, Markham asked me to look in on her. Um, would it be okay to ask you to step outside for a moment?"
"I- um... of course, Doctor," she gets her purse and stands from the chair. The boys give him a weird look.
"I'm sorry about all that," the mother says as we stand in the hallway. I got her some water which she thanked me for.
"Oh, please, after what you've been through, you have no reason to apologize," Sam sympathizes.
"I just... I don't even know what my kids were doing out there," she says, beginning to cry again. "You know, Hayden was supposed to be sleeping at her friend's house. And Ben..." she breaks off, putting a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry." She sighs. "I just keep thinking this is a nightmare. You know? That I'm gonna wake up. I'm just glad the FBI is here. Not those crazies."
"Crazies?" Dean asks.
"Bigfoot truthers," she says. "Calling, sending emails. I mean, they thought Hayden was... Like I said, crazy."
"Huh."
"Some girl even came by here saying she was from the Fish and Wildlife service," she says. "Barely as old as Hayden. I mean, like I'm gonna buy that." The three of us look at each other, having some idea of who it is.
"Do you remember what she looked like?" Sam asks.
"Yeah, blonde. With a bad attitude. I actually, I have her card right here."
A few moments later Mick comes back out. "Is she...?" The mother starts.
"Wounds healing up nicely," he says. "Nothing too serious."
"That's... thank you so much," she says, relieved.
"Pleasure."
"Excuse me," she walks away.
"Doc?" Dean asks mockingly when the mother walks away.
"So?" Sam asks.
"Was Hayden bit?" Dean asks.
"No," Mick says. "No, she's a lucky girl."
"Good," Sam says. "What about uh, Fish and Wildlife service? Think it's another hunter?"
"Young, blonde, pissed off," Dean says. "Sound like anybody we know?"
•••
"So, Fish and Wildlife Service? Really?"
"Claire, what are you doing here?" Sam asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
"Same as you. Werewolf case."
"Now, beers all around," Mick says, bringing beers over the the table in between the two couches we are sitting on.
"Who are you?" Claire asks.
"Mick Davies," he says, reaching forward and shaking her hand a little too enthusiastically. "Men of Letters. British." Claire just looks at him as he moves over to another couch.
"Long story," Dean says. "And like, Downton Abbey boring, so..." Claire reaches forward to grab a beer but Dean takes it from her.
"Okay," she says, not fighting him for it. "Anyway, I've been on this a day, and guess what? The girl, Hayden, her story about what happened the night of the attack, one big lie."
"Her mom said the same thing," Sam says.
"Where was she?" I ask.
"She was at the local dive bar getting trashed," Claire says. "I tracked her phone and asked around and... bartenders love me. It's a gift."
"Right," Sam says. "You get anything else?"
"The guy I talked to was a scumbag," she says. "Tribal tat, motorcycle, grabby."
"Grabby?" Dean repeats, going into protective mode. It's kinda cute.
"I'm a big girl," she says. "I handled it."
"Right, I think I'm gonna call it a night," Mick says, getting up.
"Dude, it's 5:30," Sam says.
"Yes but my report's due at six o'clock sharp," he says. "All work, no play. Nice meeting ya."
"So your foreign exchange student it totally lame," Claire says.
"Yeah, he's Sam's best friend. They're like nerd soul mates," Dean says.
"Anyway, why are you alone?" Sam asks.
"Jody's busy with sheriff stuff," Claire says. "She said to call if I found anything."
"So you called her?" Sam asks.
"You called first," she argues. "And she's great, by the way. And so is Alex. So should we go to the morgue?" She asks in a hurry.
"Take it easy, Clarice," Dean says. "The morgue is closed."
"By the way, when's the last time you had a hot meal that didn't come from a gas-n-sip microwave?" Sam asks.
"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Dean says defensively.
"It's been a while," Claire admits.
"Well," Dean picks the menu up off the table and hands it over to Claire. "Go nuts. It's on, uh, Harry Potter."
She smiles and takes it. "Cool." Then she looks like she remembers something.
"There's something important I need to show you, Bailey," she says, taking a folded up piece of paper out of her pocket and handing it to me. I raise an eyebrow and take it, unfolding it. "I found that in the library a couple weeks ago and printed it up."
I turn to her. "Why am I looking at this again?" It's an outline of a bunch of names. I know right away that it's supposed to be a family tree. I recognize my own last name on there, along with my parents and the name Novak. Claire's last name.
"Bailey, it says we're cousins," she points out like it's a big deal.
"Well, that explains a lot," Dean says.
"You two are actually related?" Sam asks.
"My mom and her mom were sisters," I explain. "This is the first you know of this? Wow." I told the paper back up and hand it to her.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because you... don't... like me?" I answer. "Why would you want to find out we're related?"
"Why wouldn't I?" She argues. I roll my eyes.
"I'm tired. I need a nap."