Pairing: Eventual Dean x Reader
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: angst, canon violence
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The only reason you got a motorcycle in the first place is so that you can be on your own without anyone in the passenger seat telling you what to do. When Dean broke up with you, that was the first thing you bought. It felt nice to be on your own. When you found out Sam was alive, you continued to use it because you were skeptical of hunting with Samuel in the first place. You were still kind of on your own. Yes, you miss riding with Dean in the infamous Impala, but being on your own is nice. It's making you realize just how independent you can be.
It's why you brought it with you on this hunt. Sam in his car, Dean in his, and you on your bike. Though, because of Dean's competitive nature, he has to prove that he's the best in everything. Much like now, when he comes racing right in front of you and Sam who are just inches away from him. You have to go to Officer Colfax's house to interview him, and Dean just had to beat you two there.
You get off your bike at the same time Sam and Dean get out of their cars.
"Were you, uh... were you racing us?" Sam asks.
"No, I was kicking your asses," he smirks.
"Very mature," you cough. You walk up to the Officer's house and knock a few times before saying his name. "Officer Ed Colfax?"
The door opens slowly, and the officer is standing there in the worst shape a person could possibly be. His skin is pale and sickly white, his eyes are sunken in, dark circles rest just below his eyes, his hair is greasy, and his teeth are yellow. It looks like he's very irritable about something. Even in full uniform, which he's in, looks terrible.
"Whoa. Looking sharp, Kojak," Dean whistles.
"Who the hell are you?" he mutters.
"We're the Fed, Ed. We're here to ask you a few follow-up questions about your partner's death," Sam presents his badge.
"Don't worry about it. It's nobody's business."
"Officer Colfax–"
"Don't worry about it!" he yells and slams the door in your faces.
You didn't expect this reaction out of him. He's hiding something, and you're going to find out what it is. Sam is getting sick and tired of his behavior, and he kicks the door in. Dean jumps back from the shock, but you're used to it by now. Ever since Sam got back, his temper has been short–too short.
"Dude!" Dean hisses, but Sam walks right in without another word.
"He's been like that since he surfaced. His temper is very thin. Let me tell you, whatever happened down there, it seriously changed him," you shrug.
You follow Sam inside with Dean hot on your heels. The atmosphere of this place is thick with tension, and you can feel a shift in temperature the deeper you go into the house. The walls are lined with family pictures, and it would be a sweet gesture, but the faces are scratched out. Every single face has been scratched by either a knife or some other type of very sharp object. Who violates their family pictures like this?
You follow Sam into Ed's office which is in the back. He's sitting at his desk, scratching a picture of him in his police uniform with a screwdriver. Well, we know who damaged the pictures on the wall. He's picking at the picture with the tool, not really minding that Sam broke into his house. It's like his mind can only focus on one thing at a time.
"Officer Colfax?" you ask slowly.
"Hey, man, you alright?" Dean follows up.
"Don't worry about it," Ed mutters distractedly.
"Right. Look, Officer Colfax–Ed. We think that your partner died of unnatural causes," Dean began. The police officer scratches at his hat as if it were itchy. You think he's trying to scratch at his head but won't move the hat to get to it. "Did he have any enemies that you know of?"
"You might say that."
"Oh, yeah? Who's that?" Sam asks.
"They both had it coming. Me too. I'll be the next to go, then it'll be over, and God will be satisfied," he chuckles and pours himself a glass of whiskey that just happened to be on the table with him.
"Why does God want you all dead?" you wonder.
"'Cause of Christopher Birch," he replies and knocks over the bottle of booze. The liquid starts spilling onto the floor, but Ed doesn't pick it up. Instead, he just watches it fall. "Oh, damn it."
"Who's Christopher Birch?"
"He has no face," he mutters as he continues to watch the alcohol fall onto the floor.
"Ed?"
"Officer are you alright?" you ask and take a few steps towards him. The sudden change of distance causes him to snap out of it and right the bottle. "Who is Christopher Birch, Ed?"
"Ed!" Dean yells.
"Christopher Birch is a kid with no face, and a planted gun."
Blood drips from underneath his hat and down his cheek, and you wonder what might be going on under his hat. If he was seriously hurt, he wouldn't be out of it–he would be panicking.
"You got a little something..." Dean trails off and points to his own head.
"Damn," Ed sighs as he touches the blood with his fingertips, "My head's been itching like a dirty jock."
Suddenly, Ed falls forward, and his face plants right on the broken glass of the picture frame in front of him. You and the brothers exchange confused glances before you take a few cautious steps towards him. He hasn't moved since he collapsed, and when you put two fingers to his neck, you understand why.
"He's dead," you frown.
"What the hell just happened?" Dean asks, but no one answers. There is a buzzing noise coming from underneath Ed's hat–almost like the sound of bugs. "Do you hear that?"
You take a deep breath and lift up Ed's hat only to reveal locusts crawling out a huge hole in his head. You immediately drop the hat and step back from the dead man. You can't stand the thought of bugs and have had a fear of them ever since that bug case about five years ago. Just thinking about it makes you shudder.
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Because you have to figure out why Ed died with grasshoppers in his head, you have to take them back to the motel room for observation. There is no way in hell you'd do something like that, so Dean offered to do so. Once back to the motel, you begin to theorize what might be happening to the people in this town. Dean's seated at the motel table looking through some papers, Sam is on the other end of it on his laptop, and you're lying upside down on the bed with your arms crossed over your stomach... thinking
"Blood, boils, and locusts. Three of the most famous Egyptian plagues," you comment.
"Yeah, but these guys," Dean picks up the mason jar containing the bugs, "ate their way out of a cop's melon. I don't quite remember that in King James."
"Meanwhile," Sam interrupts, "a kid named Christopher Birch was shot in the head last month after a vehicle pursuit. Hatch, Gray, and Colfax were the three officers involved, and they all filed the exact same police report."
"What does it say?" you ask.
"Suspect exited vehicle brandishing a firearm. We were forced to fire. Just a kid with no face and a planted gun," Dean reads. "Bunch of dicks. So they pop the kid, plant the piece."
"Maybe Colfax is right. You know, maybe heaven has a hate-on for bad cops," Sam shrugs.
"There is no way that Angels aren't involved in this. Lucifer and Michael are stuck in the cage, and Heaven is panicking. Without a leader, things go haywire," you sign and sit upright.
"We should call Cas," Dean suggests and gets a beer from the refrigerator.
"You're kidding, right?" Sam scoffs just as Dean took a seat next to you. "Dean, we tried. It was the first and second and third thing I did as soon as I got topside. Son of a bitch won't answer the phone."
"He won't even answer me," you sigh.
"Well, let's give it a shot," he shrugs and closes his eyes dramatically. You look at Sam with a shake of your head. "Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here."
"You're an idiot," Sam scoffs.
"Stay positive."
"Oh, I am positive."
"Come on, Cas! Don't be a dick. We got ourselves a plague-like situation down here, and–do you copy?"
"Like I said," Sam clears his throat, "son of a bitch doesn't answer." As soon as the words left his mouth, the angel in question appears right behind Sam, and you and Dean stare at him in shock before returning your gaze to Sam. "He's right behind me, isn't he?"
"Hello," Castiel grumbles.
"Hello?" Sam gasps.
"Y-yes," Castiel furrows his brow.
"Hello," Sam imitates him once before returning to his normal voice. "Hello?"
"Uh, that is still the term?"
"Are you serious right now?" you ask angrily. "Sam and I have spent this entire time trying to get through to you. Dean calls you once, and it's 'hello'?"
"Yes."
"So, what, you like him better or something?"
"Dean and I do share a more profound bond," he shrugs and turns to the older Winchester. "I wasn't gonna mention it."
"Cas, I think what they're trying to say is that Sam went to Hell for us. I mean, he really took one for the team. You remember that? Then he comes back without a clue, and you can't take five fucking minutes to give him some answers?"
"If I had any answers, I might have responded," he says in a stern tone. "But I don't know, Sam. We have no idea who brought you back from the cage or why."
"So, it wasn't God?" you ask.
"No one's even seen God. The whole thing remains mysterious."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"What part of 'I don't know' escapes your understanding?" he glares at the younger brother.
"Cas, look, if Sam or Y/N calls, you answer. Okay? You wing your ass down here, and you tell them, 'I don't know'. Just because we have some sort of a–a bond or whatever–"
"You think I came because you called? I came because of this," he walks over to the table where Dean's research is open.
"Oh, well, it's nice to know what matters."
"It does help one to focus."
"Wait, you're saying you or Heaven aren't the cause of these killings?" you wonder.
"No, but they were committed with one of our weapons. There's only one thing that could have brought this into existence. You call it the Staff of Moses."
"The Staff?" Sam questions.
"It was used in a dominance display against the Egyptians, as I recall," Castiel mutters and picks up the jar of grasshoppers.
"I thought the Staff turned a river into blood, not one guy," you ask confusedly.
"The weapon isn't being used at full capacity. I think we can rule Moses out as a suspect," he says seriously.
"Okay, but what is Chuck Heston's disco stick doing down here, anyway? I mean, don't you guys put away your toys?" Dean asks.
"Before the apocalypse, Heaven may have been corrupt, but it was stable. The Staff was safely contained," the angel sighs. "It's been chaos up there since the war ended. In that confusion, a number of powerful weapons were stolen."
"You're telling us your nukes are loose?" you cross your arms.
"Yeah, I'm afraid so. But you've stumbled onto one of them. We must find the weapon that did this. I need your help."
"That's rich. Really," Sam scoffs loudly.
"Sam, Dean, Y/N, my 'people skills' are 'rusty'. Pardon me, but I have spent the last 'year' as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. Believe me, you do not want that weapon down here. Help me find it, or more people will die," Castiel says while using air quotes during this.
"Okay, fine, but if angels aren't the cause of this, then we're back to the motive. Why kill these cops? Who's killing them?" you ask. "Right now, we have three dead cops. The only thing that's linking them is this."
You hand the brothers an article off the table and show them the headline on the front page. "Father of slain suspect calls in for investigation".
"Talk to him and you'll find the person who's doing this," you shrug.