the lights
@casisms
Special Agent Dean Winchester stared at the notepaper in front of him for a good minute, contemplating. These things invariably turned out to be a load of horsecrap, but there was always that voice inside his head that said that his dad would check it out. John’s ghost was always just out of sight, telling him one day maybe he’d find something.
It was exhausting. Getting past his father’s obsessions was what had sent him from the military police to the Feds in the first place, post-war. The need to do something with his life that wasn’t about chasing little green men all over the country. Hell, Sammy’d gotten out, he was a lawyer in California, nice house, all that. But Dean thought he’d be chasing John’s approval until he had both feet in the grave.
If he was going to check it out, at least he could do it alone. Since his partner had had a heart attack that had put him into early retirement, he’d been flying solo for a few weeks. No telling how long that would last. No one was champing at the bit to find him someone else to ride with, but it was only a matter of time.
He pulled an atlas from the bottom drawer of his desk and searched for the location. At least an hour’s drive away. He glanced at his watch. Yeah, if he left now, he could stop at a diner he knew on the edge of town to pick up a burger for lunch, maybe a slice of pie. For a second, he was disappointed with himself. There’d been a time when he would have felt a sense of urgency, getting out there.
But a new partner might tell him not to bother. After all, between the moonshine trade and illegal gambling, they had their hands full.
“Fuck it,” he said, under his breath. He slipped the notebook into his inside pocket and took his car keys. If he was sneaky, he might not even be asked where he was going.
“Winchester,” came a loud, irritating voice, and Dean swore under his breath again before giving the SAC a thin smile. Guy standing just behind him and to his side was new. Trench coat, bluest eyes Dean had ever seen (weird thing to notice), dark hair that was just untidy enough at the back to stir the imagination… Dean shut his head down. It wasn’t stuff he could afford to think about.
“Sir,” he said, putting on his hat. “Got a call, I need to go.”
“In a minute. This is your new partner. Special Agent Castiel St. Milton. Milton, this is Special Agent Dean Winchester. Winchester – show him the ropes, and try not to give him a heart attack.”
Dean didn’t know what he thought. Hard to get a read on the guy. Which was unusual, for Dean; he had a good eye. He had that look that said he was smart as a pin, but his expression was a little more shell-shocked than Dean liked to see in someone well-armed. Soft mouth, straight back.
He held out a hand. “Well, welcome to the Bureau. Or the… branch. You mind? You can tell me your life story in the car. I got a call.”
