Behind Enemy Lines (Part One)Author: alvara13Pairing
: RWord Count:
I own nothing. Just playing with the boys.Summary: A murder comes back to haunt a punk bar in the deep underground of a heavily populated city, leading the Winchesters into a complex hunt buried in twenty seven years of vengeance and obsession. Sam and Dean will have to go undercover to dig deep into the past of this case, but will they be able to cope when they discover more than just the reason why someone or something is killing every punk in town?
TWENTY SEVEN YEARS AGO
The body slid to a sickening stop at the bottom of the ditch, the thin sheets covering it soaking up mud and water as an arm fell from its folds, blood caked in heavy globs along the skin. The rain plastered the thin fabric to the naked body quickly, thunder booming loudly in the dark twisting clouds above as the three figures stood at the edge of the broken pavement of the rural road. A heavy huff left the shortest one before it turned back to the parked car.
“Seth, are you should we should be doing this?” The tallest man said, turning to Seth as he tugged on the leather of his jacket in an effort to shield himself more from the cold.
“Hey, what they don’t know can’t hurt us, man.”
“Yeah, but he’s just a kid.” The words had barely left his mouth before Seth reared on him, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and yanking the taller man down until he was close enough that the spikes of his snake bite piercings were close to digging into his chin.
“Do you want to go to jail, Hanten?! It’s not just your ass on the line here. It’s mine and Kaz’s too!” Seth pulled harshly on the leather before shoving Hanten back to his full height, and turning back to the car. “Stephen was already a step away from ditching his fat ass of a father. He just decided to run away tonight. Got it?” The last two words were spat through gritted teeth, harsh enough to make Hanten flinch a little.
He nodded, his eyes settling on a puddle forming in a pothole in the road. He jumped a little as a fishnet covered palm landed on his shoulder, lightly giving it a squeeze.
“It’ll be alright, Han. You were just taking care of Sara all night while Seth and I went to the bars. We all have people to vouch for us.” Kaz walked around to flash her flirtatious grin at him, her piercings glinting in the headlights of their car. “Now let’s head back to the Matchbook, listen to some kick ass music, and wind down from how shitty this night turned out.”
“No problem.” She patted his bare chest lightly before meeting Seth in the car already blasting the Sex Pistols loud enough to be heard from across county lines.
Hanten only hesitated long enough to glance back at the mangled body in the ditch before faking a smile and joining his friends.
“Thank you for speaking with me, Miss Brook. I know it’s a difficult time for you but I would like to ask you some questions about your uncle’s death.”
The blond woman nodded, frown lines deep and her eyes red from lack of sleep and mourning. Sam shifted slightly on the tan couch, feeling a bit off balance with interviewing the last living relative of the latest and strangest death out of the group of recent murders in the city. It didn’t help that he was also playing the ‘distraction’ while Dean cased the old man’s house for any reason he was found ripped to shreds outside a local bar with evidence of some pretty foul play.
“He was found outside a local bar in downtown. Did he go there very often or meet with someone there frequently?” Sam wrung his hands lightly, wondering if he should have presented himself as something higher up than state police with the body count this case held.
“No. He would never go there. He hated that place.” Miss Brook bit her bottom lip, looking close to tears again as she glanced at the floor before meeting Sam’s eyes again. “He was a nice man, Officer Simmons. He didn’t do anything to deserve this.”
“Why did he hate the bar so much?” Sam pressed, noticing the young woman looked a bit more fidgety when it was mentioned. Miss Brook hesitated for a long moment, looking around her living room before sighing and giving in.
“He lost his son to a group of punks that hung out there often about twenty or so years ago. He never forgave them when Stephen went missing. Tried to get the police interested in the case but they just dismissed it as another runaway. The place is kind of known for it.” She twisted the tissue she had been using to wipe her tears between her fingers in her pause. “After a while, he stopped trying. He told me that they would get what they deserved eventually.”
“Alright. Thank you for your time, Miss Brook. If anything new comes up or if something that may help our investigation comes to mind, feel free to contact me.”
Sam slid a card out of his jacket pocket, casually checking that the name on it matched his current alias and cell phone before handing it to the grieving niece. She thanked him quietly as he stood and bid her a good evening before leaving the apartment and pulling out his cell, flipping it open and speed dialing Dean’s other other cell.
“Yeah?” Dean’s voice crackled through the bad connection, sounding a bit wary in the way he usually did when he found something bad.
“So get this, the vic had some beef with some punks down at the Matchbook bar a few years ago. Seems like Mr. Brook tried to pin the disappearance of his son on them.”
“Sounds like a vengeful spirit alright.” Sam stopped just outside of the Impala, pausing and adjusting the phone against his ear as he opened the driver’s side door.
“What makes you think they’re dead? Could be hoodoo or-”
“While you were out being all Mr. Sheriff, I managed to case the guys house pretty good. Turns out the guy had a few skeletons in his closet.” Dean grimaced as he glanced back into the closet and caught a whiff of the smell inside again. “Like try a ripe rabbit skull and some fucked up writing in blood covering half of the inside of the dude’s closet.”
“Hoodoo?” Sam climbed inside of the Impala, slowly turning the ignition before focusing on Dean’s reply.
“If it is, it’s not local. I’ll snag some samples of the writing and meet you back at the motel.” Dean took a few steps to the side, trying and failing to escape the rotten musk coming from behind the old man’s suits. He suppressed a gag before he found his voice again. “What I don’t get is why the old man’s hoodoo bit him in the ass. Some thing this heavy duty calls for experience and it certainly looks like he knew what he was doing.”
“I’ll get on figuring out who exactly was Mr. Brook, starting with his son. The kid’s disappearance sounds shady at best. Maybe the old man had a hand in it somewhere.”
“Alright. Meet you back at the motel in fifteen.” Dean glanced out the window, checking for anyone that might find a strange man exiting the house suspicious.
Sam was the first back to their motel room. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of one of the chairs around the tartan cloth covered table. He was starting to get tired of the color already. The entire motel’s theme was overwhelmingly Scottish, right down to the decor, including bagpipes hanging on the wall across from the green tartan beds.
He thought about possibly saying something smart about the increasingly weird motel rooms Dean seemed to find in every town or city or even rural foxhole in the ground that they stayed in, but he doubted it would do anything but redouble Dean’s efforts to find such places.
He dug around in his duffel, finding his laptop and setting it on the table before rolling up his sleeves. He sat down in the creaky chair, wondering if Dean was going to pick up dinner on his way back from Mr. Brook’s house on the side of the city or if he should grab something from a local convenience store to tide himself over for the night. He would need at least something and a few cups of coffee if research was going to keep him up as long as it usually did, which would be most of the night.
Sam glanced out the grimy window, the sun already low in the sky as he stretched his neck a bit and set himself to typing on the laptops keyboard. Pulling up a local police stations records, he hacked his way through a weak firewall and password protection to Mr. Lars Brook’s files.
He flicked through them, frown deepening as the niece’s stories checked out along with one or two recorded offenses for disrupting police procedure during the investigation surrounding the disappearance of his son. Mr. Brook had been very insistent that two men and a woman were responsible for the disappearance. Deeper files showed a history of alcoholism, nothing violent, but it seemed Mr. Brook had a habit of getting drunk on public property just before his son went missing.
Sam took down the names of the three people Mr. Brook had filed more then twelve reports against - ranging from kidnapping to murder - but no evidence along with his previous relationship with Jim, Jack, and Jose had killed Mr. Brook’s case before the police even considered looking into it.
He looked up from the screen and motel notepad he was scribbling on just as Dean walked in to their cramped room, a takeout bag from a local sub shop swinging slightly in his left hand and a cheap cardboard tray holding two tall cups of coffee in his other as he kicked the door shut behind him. His older brother grinned at him as the smell from the bag started to fill the room, making his stomach growl softly at how good it was.
“I must be spoiling you, Sammy. A whole night of research, coffee, and the healthiest looking sub they sold in this little shop down forth street. Am I the greatest older brother ever or what?” Dean wiggled an eyebrow almost suggestively as he set down their meal next to Sam’s laptop.
“Or what.” Sam smirked as he grabbed one of the coffee cups and took a long sip from it. Dean smacked him lightly in the arm as he put it back down on the table, smile still gracing their faces.
Dean grabbed his sub from the bag, moving to sit on the bed closest to the table as he unwrapped the greasiest meatball sub Sam had ever seen in his life, and that was saying something with all the greasy food his brother scarfed down while they were on the road. Dean didn’t mind, if the pleased moan leaving the back of his throat after his first bite was anything to go by.
“So what’d you find so far?” Dean asked as Sam made a face from how the words were muffled slightly by him talking while he was still chewing.
Sam took a bite of his own sub, surprised that it was actually full of tomatoes, lettuce, and what tasted like banana peppers and teriyaki chicken instead of something disgusting that he expected Dean to get him. He made sure to swallow before he talked, regretting finding something now that he had to choose between his brother pestering him over the info and finally eating something that didn’t taste like it was made in a convenience store microwave.
“Turns out our Mr. Brook had a heavy drinking problem. At least four arrests for public intoxication in the month before his son’s disappearance. He also set out to have three people in their twenties arrested for kidnapping and possibly murdering his son.” Sam typed in one of the names he listed on the notepad, snorting lightly as Dean moaned again from another bite of his sub. “You two need some time alone?”
Dean only smirked at him before taking a large bite, following it with an exaggerated moan as Sam shook his head and browsed through the police database. He stopped when he got to a news article with the three names he was searching for highlighted at the top, letting out a huff of surprise as he skimmed through it.
“What’d you find?” Dean asked, pausing in his downright filthy enjoyment of his sub sandwich to listen and take a few sips of his coffee.
“The three kids he hated so much all died in a car crash just a week after his son disappeared.” Sam looked over the names again, double checking and confirming they were the same as the ones on his notepad. “Seth Patricks, Karen Gilmore, and Kyle Hanten.”
“First vics?” Dean raised an eyebrow as he returned to his sub, stalling his moaning that bugged Sam for the moment. “He’s got a motivation for casting whatever hoodoo on them. Maybe the other deaths are because he still didn’t feel like he had his revenge.”
“Could be. We should find out more about how the other victims died. Make sure what ever Mr. Brook let loose is gone or if it’s still roaming the streets.” Sam clicked through the database more, finding the case reports of the last few murders that had spiked to an all time kill count for the city. “Says here that most of the bodies were found around this bar called the ‘Matchbook’. We should check it out.”
“Yeah, right. A few sheriffs wandering into a punk bar. That’ll end well.” Dean rolled his eyes, taking a short sip of his coffee. “We won’t get anything out of them. Doubt they’ll talk to anyone who doesn’t have half a dozen holes in their face and ‘Sex Pistols’ tattooed on their ass.”
Dean laughed quietly to himself as he took another bite of his sub and moaned once more for effect. When he looked up, he met Sam’s eyes that held that look that always ended up with him in a situation he’d rather never be in and a big smirk on his little brother’s face.
“What? I have something on my face?”
Sam sighed as he leaned against the frame of the bathroom door, checking his watch again before staring at the wood separating him and his brother. Dean had disappeared inside of the motel bathroom with a few large bags from the downtown district hours ago, refusing to let Sam in to help with anything. He realized too little too late that Dean had stolen his laptop into the bathroom before locking the door as well, leaving him stranded in the motel room without any means to look into the smear of bloody writing Dean had left him on the table by the door.
“Dean, are you sure you don’t need help? You’ve been in there for two hours.” Sam knocked on the door a few times before crossing his arms again. He knew Dean was pissed that it had to be him, but the asshole didn’t have to steal his laptop to punish him.
“Can’t rush perfection, Sammy!” Dean called from behind the door - and Sam could hear the smirk in his voice - just before the soft click of the lock sounded and the door swung open.
Sam exhaled in relief, tired of waiting for his laptop while Dean set up his undercover look for hitting the bars that night. He opened his eyes quickly when he heard Dean lean against the door frame across from him, jumping as he caught sight of his brother grinning at him. Apparently, the bags had held more than the clothes Sam had guessed were inside them.
Black henna tattoos twisted in curves and sharp edges down the left side of his neck, looking tribal as it trailed down his bare chest and around his anti possession tattoo. His right arm had a design from a Led Zeppelin album on his bicep, not looking too bad for a free handed job in the bathroom with a cheap kit.
Sam’s eyes widened at the new piercings Dean now sported - a nose and labret adorning his face, with two small hooped earrings in his left ear and one in his right with a pinna in the top curve. The slight irritated look of the skin around the metal made Sam want to punch him for being enough of an idiot to do it on his own.
“I know, I make this look good.” Dean grinned, fluttering his eyelashes mockingly and drawing Sam’s attention to the eyeliner he was shocked that Dean had even thought of putting on. Dean pushed past his stunned brother and walked back into the main room. He bent to grab one of his black shirts out of his duffel, the torn jeans hugging his ass catching Sam’s eye as he did so.
Sam shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware that he was just staring at his brother’s ass. He cleared his throat quietly, mentally arguing that Dean didn’t exactly look like himself so it was perfectly normal to not be able to drag his eyes away. It didn’t help that he pulled off punk better than Sam had ever expected. His eyes snapped up as Dean pulled on the tight shirt, running a hand through the fauxhawk he had managed with his short hair, the dark blue streak he had put through the center of it standing out against his natural hair color.
“Geez, I know I look hot but you don’t have to stare, Sammy.” Dean’s grin slipped slightly as he pulled the shirt down, a sliver of black ink catching Sam’s eye just as it was covered up. His grin light up full force again as he caught where his brother was looking. He lifted the back of his shirt up again to show off the marking. “Like it?”
“Wait,” Sam’s breath caught in his throat for a second but he quickly covered it up as shock. “You gave yourself a tramp stamp of my name?!”
“What? I thought you’d love to have your name on my ass.” Dean winked exaggeratedly for effect before pulling his shirt back down, covering the tribal curves of ‘SAM’ that were surprisingly well done for having been made looking in a mirror.
Sam swallowed, tearing his eyes away from Dean’s new persona long enough to disappear into the bathroom and grab his computer. He shut it on the website for tribal tattoo ideas, not bothering to close the window as he shook his head before walking back into the motel room. Dean didn’t look like Dean, but that wasn’t any reason to suddenly eye his ass in the ripped jeans, no matter how high the tears went up his thighs.
He set up his laptop back on the small table near the window, trying not to seem obvious in avoiding eye contact with his punked out brother leaning against the table with his arms crossed. Sam would be dead before he admitted there was a reason other than research and messing with his hair that he wanted Dean to go undercover instead of him.
“So, what am I looking for tonight?” Dean asked before letting his tongue go back to playing with the back of the labret in his sore bottom lip, the taste of the vodka he gargled to prevent infection from the at-home job still heavy around the metal. He had spent a while on his look and it was easy to say that he was pleased with what he had come up with. And even though it was more noticeable and ‘out there’ than his usual attire - an uncomfortable feeling for someone used to avoiding attention wherever possible - he had to admit that he made punk look hot.
“Anyone who knew a Katelyn Hoff, Jeremy Ross, or Elena Jameson. They were the last killed before Mr. Brook.” Sam re-opened his laptop, closing the windows Dean had open with a roll of his eyes at finding BustyAsianBeauties.com open with them. “Knew you were taking too long in there…”
“A guy has needs, Sammy. That, and there was a lot of waiting with the henna crap and hair dye.” Dean shrugged off the eye roll sent his way, smirking lightly as he caught Sam’s eyes after it and watched them linger for a second longer before they snapped back to the computer. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No.” Sam said pointedly, the answer leaving his lips too fast as he quickly returned to the case files on the last few deaths. “All victims were found dead from an undetermined cause with evidence of foul play that was connected to several different people. No victim was with any one person and all claim it to have been consensual.”
“So find any friends or playmates they were with that night. Got it.” Dean leaned up from leaning on the edge of the table, moving to grab his amulet and jacket from where they’d been tossed on his bed. “I’ll call if I find anything. Don’t wait up, Sammy!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam avoided looking up as Dean grabbed the Impala’s keys, deliberately ignoring the grin that Dean was giving him. He couldn’t help but glance up when Dean tugged on his jacket though, his tight shirt moving with the motion just enough for Sam to get a glimpse of his own name marring the pale flesh of his brother’s lower back before it was quickly covered.
The motel door shut loudly behind the older hunter, leaving Sam to let out a breath he hadn’t know he’d been holding. He tugged the sheet of paper with the smeared spell that Mr. Brook had done closer to him, setting his mind to research instead of down the road that he thought he had gotten over at Stanford.
Being the nerd with a stereotypical bad boy kink never exactly helped in his studies when he was too busy fantasizing about playing tonsil hockey with anyone who had a tongue ring to pay attention to them.