The boys stopped at the copy shop, oddly quiet. Dean pulled out a laminated, blank death certificate that he borrowed from the local library, then sat it on the copier. Sam pulled out a black pen and a copied death certificate from one ‘Patricia Monroe’ and practiced forging the coroner’s signature on a blank sheet of paper.
“So, uh, this (F/Name) girl seems like she could be a good hunting buddy,” Dean started, watching the light of the copier. Sam looked at his older brother, before glancing back down at the paper.
“She’s got the brains of a good hunter. But she seems a little, I dunno, hasty. Forgetful,” he replied, scratching the signature again. “But she’s definitely turning out to be very helpful.”
“And she’s cute.”
The younger Winchester set the pen down and glared at his brother. “Dean, come on, just because she’s cute by your standards doesn’t mean you need to get close to her.”
The blonde sent a confused stare to his brother. “You tellin’ me she’s unattractive? Because I really disagree.” He lifted up his hand, three fingers raised. “She’s got a good figure, though she covers it up.” He lowered a finger. “She’s pretty in the face, and those glasses make her slightly more attractive.” Another finger. “And she’s doesn’t seem to be afraid of fighting back.” He lowered his final finger.
Sam shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I mean. Yes, she’s attractive. I just...”
“You just don’t want to become friends with her because you’re scared something bad will happen to her.” The copier beeped and Sam scooped the warm paper up, filling it out with the proper information. He nodded, though. “She’s a hunter, Sammy. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
You don’t exactly remember what happened after you had left the diner. They just drove off, leaving you in your bug and sitting alone. A few men have approached you since then, each asking you why someone like you was alone. You were confused, Someone like me? What? But you just let them slide away with the threat of, “I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to demons in hell.”
After what seemed like an eternity, your phone rang and startled you out of your sleepy state. You picked it up. “Y’llo?” you asked, rubbing the grogginess from your eyes. You heard Dean laughing, but ignored it. “Sam?”
He sighed into the phone, “(F/Name)?”
“Can you possibly get on the Hell Hound’s site and come to their HQ’s address?” You nodded, but then realized he couldn’t see you. You tilted your head.
“Why? Are you there? Can’t you just give me the address?”
“Yea, I didn’t think this through. Okay, got a pen?”
“Yea!” You pulled a notepad and pen out of your bag, flipping to a random page and uncapping the writing utensil. He gave you the address, and you scribbled it down, repeating it. You smiled into the phone, laughing, “You just saved me ten minutes of looking up information. Which means that I can be with you two to investigate ten minutes faster!”
He sucked in air, and you could tell his was happy when he said, “I guess you can be here ten minutes faster. See you soon.” With that, he clicked off. You flipped your cell phone close and placed it back in your bag. then you looked down at the address.
“Trinity Park, huh? Sounds like a Trailer Park. That certainly narrows things down.” You started your baby and pulled out of the restaurant’s parking lot. You smirked, “I hope something good happens!”
You arrived at the address as the boys were walking away from a silver trailer. You followed the geeks, who were following them, then pulled past them and next to the Impala. You rolled down your window, listening intently. “It’s a death certificate. From the thirties,” Sam explained as Dean pulled a piece of paper from his pockets and unfolded it. You watched with amused eyes. “We got it at the library. Now according to the coroner, the actual cause of death was a self inflicted gunshot wound.” Oh, now I understand why they needed to go to the copy shop! Haha, smart boys, smart boys.
“That’s right,” the blonde brother interjected, “he didn’t hang or cut himself.”
“He shot himself?” one of the geeks--Harry, if I remember correctly-- asked.
“Yup. With a forty-five pistol. To this day they say he’s terrified of them.”
“Yea, as a matter of fact they say that if you shoot him with a forty-five with these little rot iron rounds, you can kill the son of a bitch.” You decided to step out of the car, stalking up to the boys and playing along. You snatched the paper out of the ginger’s hand, glaring at them.
“I thought we said we wouldn’t give this to him!” you hissed. The ginger grabbed it and glared at you.
Sam looked down at you, “Well, they agreed to shut the site down.” You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes.
“They better,” you grunted, leaning on the hood of the Impala. “Or I might just--ugh!” You threw your hands in the air to give the illusion that what you planned on saying was terrible and glared into the back of Dean’s jacket. “We worked hard for that, too.” Harry started running back, a smile on his face, while the ginger slowly worked his way back. “That was a fake death certificate, right.”
They had offered to buy you food. After you had just eaten those fries, they were offering to buy you more food. Who am I to say no? you asked yourself. They were offering... And so what if it went against your rules. This could be considered an awkward three-way date.
You shrugged as you followed them to another restaurant, hands gripping the steering wheel and knuckles nearly white. This case has got me on edge and I need to calm down... Actually, scratch that, the Winchesters have me on edge. You shook your head, the picture of Sam in a towel appearing in your mind. You closed your eyes, savoring the image, but they popped back open when a car honked. You slammed your brakes, inches away from the Impala’s bumper. A sigh passed your lips, relieved, and you placed your head against the steering wheel. The boys turned into a simple diner, you following, and you parked next to them. They glanced back at you, you staring at the ground. “Sorry for almost rear-ending you,” you whimpered, looking down.
Dean wrapped his arm around your shoulders, “What’s got you down, Princess?” It’s not ‘what’s got me down,’ it’s ‘what’s got me distracted,’ the answer being you two. You shrugged his arm off and walked into the restaurant. A forty-something looking waitress gave you one look, your eyes locking with hers, and she glanced at the two men behind you. She looked back at you and gave you two thumbs up, nearly spilling coffee on a man in the process.
She mouthed to you ‘you go girl’ to which you mouthed back ‘I know right’. The red-haired women meandered over to where you stood and led you three to a table. “What can I get y’all to drink?” she asked, a southern drawl in her tone.
You opened your mouth to say ‘one cola please’ but Dean butted in with, “Three beers, ma’am.” The woman--whose name was Miranda by the looks of her nametag--scribbled the order onto the notepad she held, distributing menus to the three of you. You glanced over it, a majority of the food looking disgusting, but stopped on a simple BMT sandwich. The picture next to it looked appetizing, and your mouth watered.
“Oh man guys,” was the first thing you muttered to them since you walked in. “I think I’m getting a BMT. But I still want lettuce on it.” You smiled happily, rubbing your stomach. You glanced next to you, realizing that the blonde brother was seated there, and smiled at him. “What are you getting?”
“I have no clue. Usually when we’re out I just say ‘surprise me’ and wait,” he responded as Miranda returned with the three uncapped beverages. You each took one, sipping from it and thanking her. Then she asked for your orders, which you all readily gave her. She collected the menus and waltzed off, winking back at you after giving you another thumbs up.
Sam pulled out his laptop, leaving you and Dean in silence. He tugged on the string of a hanging... you don’t know what to call it... and it laughed. Maniacally. You winced at the evil sound, and he pulled the string again, which made the laughter stop. After a few minutes of silence, you pulled out the Nintendo DS you had stored in your bag, opening it up and starting your game of Pokemon. It was Emerald version, and your starter was your forever favorite Mudkip. You giggled as the blonde brother looked at your screen, examining the small pixelated female character running through the bushes. You had only recently bought the game, so it was no surprise that you were attempting to raise the water type Pokemon. Another giggle escaped your lips as Dean pointed to the female lead. “She looks great,” he teased. You swatted his hand as the battle music started.
Sam looked up, “Is that Pokemon?” You nodded, mashing the keys and easily defeating the low leveled Zigzagoon. “What are you doing with Pokemon?”
“It’s how I let off some steam when I’m stressed, okay?” you responded, your pixelated character running into the town of Oldale. You ran into the Pokemon Center, eagerly healing your injured Pokemon. You smiled again, running out of the center and back into the bushes. Dean snatched the DS from your hands as you entered a battle, and he reviewed the attacks.
“What the hell kinda attack is mud slap!?” he laughed, pressing ‘A’ and causing the small creature to release a mud slapping attack. You grabbed the portable game station from his hands and stuck your tongue out.
“Mud slap is a very awesome attack, thank you!” you shot back, the next turn starting. You selected water gun and watched as the Pokemon you were versing fainted. A smile spread over your face as Mudkip leveled up, and you giggled when the brothers both glanced at you. “Oh man I am going to be such a Pokemon master,” you giddly stated, saving your game as Miranda returned with your food. You turned off the DS and placed it back in your bag. Eagerly, you started feasting upon the BMT sandwich. The boys started eating as well, and soon your plates were bare.
The blonde stood up, “I’m going to the bathroom.” You slid out of the booth, and he walked past you. Sam chuckled, pulling the superglue you had given him earlier out of his pocket and grabbing his brother’s beer. You giggled, and he looked over at you with a smile. Watching him cover the bottle in glue.
When Dean sat back down (after you had moved, of course) he pulled on the string, let it laugh for twenty seconds, then pulled on it again. This continued for a good five minutes. He tugged on the string again, but Sam grabbed it and turned it off. “If you pull that string one more time, I’m going to kill you.”
“Plus, it freaks me out.” The brother duo turned to give you a ‘what?’ look. You shrugged sheepishly, “What, just because I can handle the supernatural doesn’t mean that freaking laughing fisherman things don’t scare me.” Looking at you, then at his brother, Dean tugged on the string again. You leaned over him and turned it off. He chuckled.
“C’mon, guys, need a lil’ more laughter in your life, y’know? You're way too tense.” Distracted. Sam took a long drink from his beer, set it down, the turned back to his laptop. “They post it yet?” The taller brother turned the computer around, letting you read the page. “‘From reputable sources that Mordecai Murdock has a fatal fear of firearms.’”
“Alright, cool, we got it up. We should be able to kill him tonight, right? That should be enough time for this to spread, right?” Sam nodded, chewing on his food and taking a sip of his beer.
“I figure by nightfall iron rounds will work on this sucker.” He held the glass bottle out, and you clinked yours against it.
You giggled when Dean picked his own bottle up and clinked it against Sam’s. You and the tallest started chuckling into your glass bottles, the blonde examining his bottle when he set it down. He couldn’t take his hand off of it. He looked up, surprise in his eyes. “You didn’t.” He turned to you. “You didn’t let him do this.”
“Oh, but I did.” Sam held up the superglue, laughing. He reached over and tugged on the string, making the fisherman thing laugh again.