“I don’t understand,” You said into the phone. It was wedged precariously between your ear and shoulder as you fiddled with your keys. “I was told the delivery of monkswood and silver would be here before opening.” The wooden door swung open finally and you shuffled in with your baggage. Breathing in the familiar scent of hardwood and spices you placed your bags down before turning on the lights. “I see. . . A mudslide? Yeah I understand. . . No I have a bit left I should be good till tomorrow. Right. Goodbye.” The phone went silent and you let out a long sigh. Dealing with hunters was bad enough but dealing with their suppliers was even worse.
‘Wait,’ You thought. ‘I’m a supplier now too aren’t I.’ Another sigh escaped your lips at the realisation. It had been almost a year since you set up shop here in Mystic, Connecticut- yes, the name of this picturesque town did play a small part in choosing it- and you’d dealt with your fair share of hunters in your time. Hell, sometimes even the stray witch or demon. It wasn’t always easy work but it was what you knew, what you were good at. With practiced steps you put away today’s packages before flipping the closed sign on the window. Hopefully today would turn out better than you expected.
-- Meanwhile --
The doors on the Impala shut with a familiar metal thud. The boys had just gotten back from their latest crime scene and were thoroughly stumped. This was the second body they’d found since getting into town and they weren’t getting any closer to finding the creature responsible. The bite marks and the mauling of the victim were all signs of a werewolf but the heart was still intact.
Sam sighed and slumped back in his seat. “Maybe it’s a ghoul?” He suggested halfheartedly, earning a scoff from Dean.
“There weren’t any signs of a struggle, and ghouls usually don’t leave that much of a corpse behind. And the claw marks?” He ran a hand over his face tiredly. “I think we may have to call Bobby on this one, Sammy.” The taller Winchester could only give a defeated nod as his brother pulled out his phone.
Bobby answered after the second ring, thankfully he’d been at his desk, the wheelchair made it difficult to move around his cluttered home with any speed. “What?” He answered coarsely.
“What?” Dean repeated. “Well it’s good to talk to you too Bobby.”
“Can it, idjit. It’s been a long day, what do you boys want?”
“Well we’ve got a bit of a situation here, Bobby. We’re in Mystic, Connecticut, looking into the maulings-”
“Yeah, the werewolf, right?” Bobby interrupted.
“About that. . . It’s not a werewolf. The heart was still in this last victim and there was so much of it left. We’ve ruled out most of the common monsters, ghouls, vamps, the works.” Dean explained. “And before you ask there wasn’t anything on or around the bodies. No sulfur, no EMF, no nothin.” Dean heard Bobby sigh over the phone and he could picture the exasperated look on the man’s face.
“Alright I’ll look into it. You boys should check in with a local hunter. (Y/N)(L/N), she runs the Morning Star, good place for any hunters passing through.”
“Okay, thanks Bobby. And hey, if you need to talk. . . You know you can call us, right?” Dean told him, voice hushed. There was silence on the line for what seemed like forever before Bobby croaked out ‘right’ and hung up. “Well. . . That went well.”
“He did just get paralysed.” Said Sam as his brother started the engine. “Maybe we should give him a break.
“Yeah. . . Yeah.” Dean sighed. “Let’s just go talk to this hunter chick and see where that gets us.”
Minutes later the impala pulled up beside a small brick shop, the words ‘Herbs & Tea’ were painted underneath one of the windows. The boys got out, still in their FBI suits, and strode towards the door. Sam got there first, looking down at the silver door handle before glancing back at his brother. They stepped in and were greeted by the jingle of a bell and the smell of a spice rack. The shop had rows of bookshelves lining the walls, some filled with mason jars others with books. The brothers walked up to a wooden desk and Dean immediately reached out and slammed the bell on the counter.
“What?” He asked incredulously. “It says ring for assistance.” His brother gave him his trademark stare as a, slightly disheveled, girl made her way out of a back room. Dean straightened up, a cocky smirk on his face, as he saw her- or as I should say- you. He leaned against the counter seductively. Ready to pull out his FBI badge which, in his mind, always impressed the ladies.
“Hi! Sorry, just putting away some tea filters.” You said. You let your eyes wander over the two men all hopes of them actually being paying customers gone when you saw their faces. “Sam and Dean Winchester? Really?” You slumped back against the wall, arms crossed. “Is this about the freaking werewolf? Isn’t that a little lowbrow for you guys?”
“Again with the- It’s not a werewolf okay?” Dean looked shocked for a second before his outburst. Sam gave you a tight lipped smile at his brother’s antics.
“Yeah. You must be (Y/N).” Observed Sam. “I’m guessing you know us through Bobby?”
“Mhmm. Bobby’s a good friend, I’ve helped him and he’s helped me. I’ve heard enough about you two to know if you’re here then something’s up.” You looked between the men briefly. “So if it’s not a werewolf what is it? More apocalypse stuff?”
“Maybe, we’re not entirely sure it’s a werewolf.”
“Yeah I got that.” You chuckled. “How so?”
“Didn’t take the heart. That and everything’s too clean.” Dean finally piped up.
“That is strange. . .” Your (E/C) eyes moved from the hunters to the door you came from. “I suppose we better get down to business.” Motioning for the boys to follow you made your way back into the store’s private library. They trailed after you, albeit cautiously, and were surprised by how organised everything was. The wooden bookshelves from the public face of the store continued into the back only this time they were absolutely stacked with books and scrolls. “And of course by ‘business’ I mean research. I’m sure Bobby’s doing the same thing right now but it never hurts to put a little extra work in.” The two Winchesters put up less of a fight then you thought they would, opting to grab a stack of books each with grimaces on their faces. “I’ll go grab us some tea.”
“Coffee?” Dean asked hopefully.
“Tea.” With that final word you left the boys to deal with the mass of literature alone, at least until the kettle boiled.