Chapter Five

Two hours later, Dean and Buffy were standing across the street from Bob Sherman’s two story Dutch Colonial house in Oread, ready to talk to the man’s grieving family to determine some connection between him and Warren Benson.

When they’d first talked about this in Dean’s motel room, it had seemed easy enough to do. However, now that the moment had come, she was apprehensive. During her time as Slayer, she had been called to do many things. However, impersonating the law so they could get past the front door of a victim’s family to question them was a first. 

As it was, she ran a critical eye over herself and had little faith in the navy blue suit she had worn to play the part required to convince Mr. Sherman’s family to talk to them. Before today, Buffy had only ever worn the thing once and that was during her interview for her job at the high school. Since then, it had been languishing in a forgotten corner of her closet until Dean Winchester had told her that in order to impersonate an FBI agent, she needed to look the part.

When he’d picked her up at the apartment after she’d left their motel room to go home to change, Buffy found herself staring at him, jaw agape at the transformation. While she felt drab and uncomfortable in her suit, he on the other hand looked amazing. Buffy had already decided that the man was a hottie when he wore that beat up leather jacket of his but in a suit, he ramped his attractiveness to a whole new level. Looking as crisp as newly minted bill, he was all shades and G-Man like in his dark suit with tie knotted perfectly.

It was just typical that he’d look like something out of GQ while she looked like something out of the Pennysaver. 

“You ready for this?” Dean asked, sensing some hesitation in her manner when they stood at the sidewalk next to the parked Impala.

“I guess,” she answered, trying to dispel her anxieties before staring at him intently, “you sure this is going to work?"

Dean grinned confidently, dropping his hand to the small of her back before leaning down to whisper in her ear, "Trust me baby, I've done this a hundred times before. I'll be gentle."

Buffy let out a groan of exasperation not only because his touch with her back was very distracting but also because he had utterly no shame. “Not helping,” she retorted, punishing with him a glare. 

Dean laughed, certain that she would do fine even if he was taking her out of her comfort zone. Then again, he rather enjoyed getting her flustered because she did that pouty that was unbelievably hot. It made him wonder what she would look like when he finally got her into the sack, whether she’d still wear that flushed look when he was inside her. Forcing away the tantalising image because it was scrambling his concentration, Dean returned his focus to what they had to do right now. 

“Come on Counsellor,” Dean steered her across the street, his tone a little more serious. “Just think of it like you’re trying to get a messed up teenager to talk about her skipped period or something.”

“God!” Buffy shot him an aghast look, unable to believe the man could be so cute and crass at the same time. “You are so….I can’t even say it.” Her words sputtered into a shake of her head in resignation. “Okay, let’s do this. Who are we again?" She asked deciding the best way forward was to get this over and done with.

"Agent Kurt Hammert and Dave…I mean Dee Mustaine," he answered proudly until he saw the blank expression on her face. “Metallica?”

“Is that like a car paint?” Buffy returned. 

Now it was Dean’s turn to be appalled. His mind near overloading from the outrage, he turned away instead, muttering to himself, “I can’t believe you just said that…”

******

In retrospect, Dean hadn't given her bad advice in how to approach Bob Sherman's widow once they'd been allowed entry into the family home. When Warren Benson had been killed, Sam and Dean had interviewed his grieving fiancée a few days after the fact. There had been enough time for the woman to overcome her initial shock at her loss and start to face the world again. In the case of Terry Sherman, Bob's wife of 20 years, it had been only a matter of hours since her husband had been murdered. When Buffy and Dean faced her, she was barely holding it together.

They'd been shown into the living room by the eldest Sherman child, a 15 year old teenager named Jonathan who was coping with suddenly becoming the man of the house and struggling to rise to the occasion. Managing his own grief, the boy’s coping mechanism was to put all his energy into supporting his grieving mother and younger sisters in facing their sorrow at losing their father. Dean admired him for that.

"We won't take too much of your time," Buffy assured the woman after they had been seated. Terry was curled up on her sofa, clutching her sodden handkerchief. Her eyes were red and her skin pale. The dark circles under her eyes told Buffy the woman had probably not slept a wink since learning of her husband’s death. Dean had sat next to her but was allowing Buffy to take the lead since he suspected Terry would react better to Buffy than she would to him. “We're investigating the possibility that someone has illegally imported some high dangerous spiders into this country and your husband may not be the first victim."

"Oh God!" Terry said shuddering, trying to combat a fresh bout of tears at the mention of her husband being called a ‘victim’ and was temporarily overcome with emotion. She turned her face away as she struggled to regain her composure and Buffy felt another pang of guilt at putting her through this so soon.

Instinctively, Buffy reached for the woman’s hand and squeezed. She wished they didn’t have to put this woman through this but Dean was right, they needed answers to ensure another family didn't lose a loved one. When she was the slayer, she would have made that call. 

"Can you tell us anything about his movement in the last week? Anything out of the ordinary?" Buffy asked gently.

From the corner of his eyes, Dean saw Jonathan retreating into the hallway. Making his excuses that both the widow and Buffy would have seen through as wanting to leave them alone, Dean departed the room, letting Buffy do her thing. Instead, he stared down the hall to see where Jonathan had gone and followed the young man. He found the teenager in the kitchen a few seconds later. Jonathan appeared in the process of brewing his mother some tea. 

A good kid, Dean thought.

The boy was facing the counter when Dean entered the kitchen. The older Winchester saw the teenager hastily wiping his eyes before turning to face him. His red eyes gave him away but Dean so no reason to call him up on it. Besides, guys didn’t talk about stuff like that. Well guys not named Sam, Dean thought. 

“Can…can I get you a cup of coffee Agent Hammert?” He asked quietly. 

"I'm fine thanks," Dean shook his head and then asked, "How are you doing?"

Dean was unsurprised when the boy seemed surprised that anyone was interested in his state of mind when his mother and sisters were the ones who really needed the support. However, Dean was accustomed to this too. In his youth, he'd been the glue that held the Winchester family together. Often standing between his father and Sam during their fights, it was Dean who reminded them that they were family, that all the anger and fiery words meant nothing in the face of that bond. Losing his dad had nearly broken Dean. It had left him adrift because for the first time, he didn’t know. There was nothing to fix and being so helpless had nearly driven him crazy.

"Okay I guess," Jon answered finally, shifting the position kettle of the cooktop once its whistling had reached climax. Leaning against the counter, he met Dean’s gaze, his attempts at a stoic demeanour crumpled as he was overcome by a surge of grief. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he said, choking out the words. 

Dean nodded in understanding, having been there too. The disbelief was one of the hardest things to overcome, the realisation that the worst that happened no matter how true it was. “I felt the same way when my dad died," Dean confessed and then added, "but I got through it and you will too."

Jonathan shook his head, more tears filling his eyes and he wiped these away with the back of sleeve before asking, “How did you do it? I can't think straight from it hurting so bad."

Dean sighed and offered what insight he could. The truth was, there was no magic pill to diminish the pain and whoever said time heals all wounds was talking out of his ass. It had been nearly seven years and no wounds had healed because Dean still felt like crap, still missed John Winchester every damn day. 

"I looked after my family," Dean answered firmly. "All I had left is my little brother and I had to take care of him. That was my job." What that responsibility had cost him was something no one would ever understand and he wasn’t about to impart that to this grieving boy. Returning to the moment, he continued, “I didn’t think about my own pain, my own anger, I just concentrated on what my brother needed, put all that anger and rage into something good. You can do the same if that’s makes it better for you. Your mom needs you and helping her get through this can sometimes help you get through it too."

Jonathan seemed to absorb the words and Dean hoped the advice given was of some use to him. People were different in how they handled grief and Dean got a sense that Jonathan was one who would become stronger for it. 

There was a noticeable pause as they stood across each other, neither making eye contact until finally, it was Jonathan who broke the silence. 

“Thank you,” he said appreciating the effort of this stranger who seemed to understand and didn’t try shielding him from what was coming. He was the first person that Jonathan felt he could talk to about this. “He's only gone a couple of hours and I still can't believe it. I mean it was only yesterday we were talking about planning mom's birthday party. He was going to close off the Saloon for the night and invite all our friends and family. We'd even gone and picked up present at the antique store, it was one of them real old brooches, you know?"

“I know the type,” Dean replied, keeping to himself that those old fashioned brooches were notorious for being cursed and were usually the first things he and Sam torched when dealing with an unhappy spirit. He was still thinking this when suddenly, something the boy said made him stop short. "Did you say antique store?"

"Yeah," Jonathan nodded, “we all call it the Lawrence Antique Store but the name on the door says Antiquities, guess that makes it sound classy or something. Anyway, me and my dad went there at lunch yesterday and found mom this brooch.” 

As Jonathan continued speaking, Dean tuned out a moment, remembering what Diane Lee had said about the shopping spree she and Benson had been doing hours before he died. They were shopping for sheets or something and had gone to a couple of places that day. Hadn’t they also gone to an antique store too? 

Keeping his tone neutral and devoid of the excitement that this could be something important, Dean asked, “Hey that sound real nice, mind if I take a look? The brooch I mean."

"It’s not here," the boy replied, oblivious to his interest. "It’s still at the store. We were supposed to go back next week to pick it up. It was getting cleaned and engraved."

Dean frowned. It wasn't even on the guy? Most cursed objects needed to be at least within reasonable proximity to work. However, Dean knew from experience that there were charms that needed only brief contact to cause mischief. If this one hadn’t even left the shop, it was powerful enough to cross the distance between itself and its new owner. Assuming it was the brooch and not the store, which was also a strong possibility. It was definitely worth looking into either way, now that they knew about it. 

"I'm sorry," Dean apologised to Jonathan, empathising with the young man but also wanting to get to back to Buffy now so they could go check this out, not to mention contact Sam so that his brother could meet them at the store. "I better get back," he said tilting his head in the direction of the door. “You take care okay?”

“Yeah I will.” Jonathan said with a nod but Dean could see that he was not going to be okay, not for a while. He hoped for the boy’s sake it wasn’t too long a time. 

*****

When Dean returned to the living room, he arrived to see Buffy and Terry Sherman locked in an embrace. It was obvious that Terry had lost her composure again and Buffy was doing her best to console the woman. He stepped out into the hall for a few minutes, allowing Buffy to do her thing until the woman had regained control of her emotions and the slayer was able to extricate herself to make her goodbyes.

Leaving the house, Buffy was glad to be away from all that sorrow. She’d given the woman the name of a grief counsellor she knew in town and hoped Terry would call if she had difficulty coping. Stepping out into the sunshine, she soaked in the warm air and let the serenity of the morning centre her once more. Reaching behind her head, she released her hair from the bun it had been confined in and let gold hair spill over her shoulders, before running her fingers through it. It was a ritual to discard the persona she’d been wearing this morning. 

Dean watched her in silence, secretly mesmerized as she did this. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair himself, wanted to know if it felt like the gold silk it so resembled. Every time, he told himself this thing he was feeling for her was just his hormones on overdrive for a hot chick, she'd do something and he'd know he was kidding himself. For the first time, in too long, it occurred to Dean that leaving this one would actually be kind of hard. 

"You okay?" He asked her, no of innuendo and cockiness in his voice. What she’d gone through was hard and usually Dean left Sam to handle the emotional stuff because he simply didn’t have the disposition to offer comfort the way his brother and this slayer did. Resting his hand on her back once more, he ignored how right it felt to touch her and noted that she hadn’t swatted it away, a sign she felt the same too. 

Buffy allowed her own emotions to show when she turned to him. "They'd been together for 20 years with three children. They were happy Dean,” she said sadly. “They knew each other since grade school. They were high school sweethearts and were married almost straight after.” Her jaw tensed and she shot him a look of menace, “I want to kill this damn thing." 

Dean hid how seriously turned on by her comment because he shared the same sentiment. When he saw families busted up like this the way that yellow eyed son of a bitch had destroyed his own family, he wanted to lash out and kill something too. “Well Merry Christmas Counsellor because I think the kid may have given us a lead. 

“Oh?” Buffy glanced at him briefly as they crossed the street towards the Impala. “What lead?”

“Well looks like Sherman went to the Lawrence Antique Store yesterday and I remember Benson’s fiancée saying that on the day he bought it, they’d gone shopping and had stopped at the same place. It ain’t much of a connection I grant you but antique stores are filled with junk people don’t think are dangerous until it bites you on the ass. Still, it’s the best link we’d found so far between the two.”

Buffy had to agree with that sentiment. The number of times she’d come across a demon or a monster that had been unleashed because someone bought an object that appeared completely harmless only to discover that it was fatally not so. 

“So,” she said batting her lashes at him in teasing, “we’re going antiquing honey?” 

For some reason his expression soured and he replied, “As long as it with you and not Sam.”

*****

Once they’d left Oread, Dean drove the Impala back to Massachusetts Drive after calling Sam and telling his younger brother what they had learned. Sam had finished talking to the staff of the Dynamite Saloon and could meet them at the antique store in question as it was only a few blocks away from where he was. 

As expected, he hadn't learnt any more than the fact that Bob Sherman was liked by his staff, could be a hard ass with misbehaving customers but had offended no one to the point of deserving the death he had suffered the night before. 

Despite its presence in the mall, it was not easy to find the antique store. It’s presence on premises seemed almost an afterthought, as if a vacant store front had existed and the mall owners hadn’t cared who occupied the space since it was a stand out among all the specialty store. Tucked away at the rear of the mall, the entrance to the premises announced itself with a sign that simply stated ‘Antiquities' in old Copperplate Gothic font and ‘the Lawrence Antique Store’ in smaller print beneath. The frontage was two sections of paned glass walls divided by an old wooden door. It looked like something out of a Dickens novel. 

In the window display, dressmaker's mannequin stood in headless and armless glory, clad in a white gown of lace and satin. It stood watching over the display case carrying with old jewellery including the brooches that Bob Sherman had undoubtedly bought for his wife, inviting patrons inside for further investigation. Once the bell on the door had run and they’d entered, they saw the interior was a clutter of old furniture, books, brass ornaments, statues and faded paintings. While there was an aisle meandering through the rows of shelves and display cabinets, it was easy to get lost in the place. 

Buffy wrinkled her nose as she stepped inside, immediately likening the musty odour of the place to Giles’ library with its ancient books that she, Willow and Xander handled during their Sunnydale days. Dean led the way and Buffy had given up minding this since she suspected he’d break something if he had to give up his pack leader status. Meanwhile Sam trailed behind her and Buffy had the sneaking suspicion they were flanking her because she was the girl in their trio. 

Men, she thought to herself. 

"If if someone tries to sell you something that can’t be fed after midnight, can’t be exposed to sunlight or can’t get wet, say no. I don’t care how cute it is.” He winked at Buffy. 

Buffy was having none of that. "Hey if I see one of those cute little critters in here, I am so buying it." She flashed him her brightest smile. Behind her, she heard Sam snigger while Dean rolled his eyes and continued forward.

"Well if there's a cursed artefact to find in town," Sam said leaning forward to say quietly in her ear, "this would be the place."

“No kidding,” Buffy agreed by just the sheer number of bric-à-brac on the shelves. They all looked old and exotic. Never a good combination, she thought. 

"Can I help you?" A heavily accented voice asked. 

The man who stood in front of them was in his sixties and Dean swore that if Death had a brother, this guy would be it. He had the same dour features, the long straight nose, dark eyes and hollow cheeks. Instead of wearing his hair long like the Horseman, this man's hair greying was cropped short against his scalp and he wore a knitted sweater vest over a white shirt and dark slacks. 

"We're with the FBI," Dean introduced himself. "We're here tracing the last known whereabouts of two people who died under mysterious circumstances in the last few days. They were seen visiting the store shortly before their deaths."

"Oh yes," the man answered nodding, "but I have already spoken to the police." 

“Well we have some follow up questions,” Dean lied and gestured furtively at Buffy and Sam to check out the store while he distracted the owner with questions. 

Taking his cue as Dean launched into his performance as FBI Agent Hammert, Buffy and Sam took the opportunity to browse the store, in search of something that might have caused Warren Benson and Bob Sherman’s death. They walked down the aisles flanked by statues, display cabinets and pieces of old furniture, including a spinning wheel and what look like a butter churn. 

“Any idea what we’re looking for?” Buffy asked Sam. “It’s been three years since I’ve done this so I’m out of practice.” 

“That’s how long you’ve been retired?” Sam looked back at her from his survey of the store’s merchandise. He was fascinated by the fact that the Buffy had been able to turn her back on the life and start a new one, devoid of monsters, demons and mayhem. Sam had tried doing it this year when Dean had been languishing in Purgatory but it never took, even though he had really, really wanted it to. Even now, he still missed Amelia even though he knew she was better off with her husband. 

“Yeah,” Buffy shrugged it off as no big deal but really it was. She let her fingers grazed across the spines of the books on a shelf as she walked by. “Just decided one day that I need to get on with my life. I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen and I realised if I didn’t start living, I never would. What about you?” She asked, pausing as they reached a juncture and she spotted a table filled with ornaments. “You ever think about giving this up?” 

“I do,” Sam admitted, “I tried it but I couldn’t stay away for long. I’m too used to riding shotgun with Dean. He’s made for this life, I’m not.” He paused suddenly, realising that perhaps this was information Dean would not want Buffy to know about him, at least not without telling her himself. “Well I’m sure Dean would quit if there was a good enough reason…” he added immediately. 

Buffy chuckled, recognising the obvious attempt to protect his brother and allayed his concern. “It’s okay, I kind of guessed that already. I don’t mind. He is good at it and I like that it’s not just the rush but the need to help people. Faith, the other slayers who’s been around as long as me, she’s a lot like Dean. She loves the fight.” 

“So does Dean,” Sam agreed, “he’s the best hunter I know. Better than my dad but you didn’t hear me say that.” It was true. Dad was obsessed, single-minded but he was reckless. Dean was not. Dean never sacrificed the people he was with for the easy kill nor did he shield them either. By just those two traits, Dean was light years ahead of John Winchester. 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Buffy assured him before picking up an ornately designed cube no bigger than her palm and casually examined it. “Dean says that you two have been doing this since you were kids, is that true?” She knew Dean had a tendency to let his ego embellish some of the facts he’d told her but even she couldn’t imagine starting off so young in this life. At least she had some semblance of a childhood before she was called to be Chosen One. 

Sam was skimming a shelf full of old books, mostly first editions and leather bound copies of books that varied in value when he looked over his shoulder at her. “Pretty much. After mom died, dad was obsessed. He was determined that we were safe above all else. Safe and normal life didn’t mix as far as he was concerned. 

“That’s tough,” she commented, still playing with the cube which she had determined to be some kind of puzzle box though she hadn’t determine the configuration to open it yet. “Damn, I thought I had it that time.” 

“Well we’ve helped a lot of people,” Sam said straightening up and turning back to her, noting her interest in the thing she was hoping. “Here, let me show you,” he took the thing from her and examined it. 

“I’ll bet you’ll figure it out in a second,” she pouted. 

“Never happen,” Sam replied, liking this girl and seeing now why Dean was so taken with her, especially since this was the first female Dean had shown a more than passing interest in.

“Oh please, you got genius guy all over you.” She insisted, looking at the other objects on the shelves. Some of them were seriously ugly, she thought. 

“I’m not a genius,” Sam protested and deciphering it fairly quickly once he noted that the darker lines of the exotic design concealed the segments the cube was cut into. “See, you got to turn it about in a certain way to open it,” he explained turning the segments this way and that for a few seconds and then finally, pushing down on the circular design that sat on top. Upon doing that, the cube opened like a flower. 

It revealed a small compartment. The metallic scrape of a clockwork mechanism could be heard as the figurine in the middle of compartment began to dance. The figure looked ancient, resembling a fertility statue with a mishappen body and exaggerated sex organs. Its silent dance was somewhat eerie. 

“The music part must be broken,” Buffy remarked coming back to take a look and thinking that the dance didn’t look so much as graceful as it appeared vulgar.

“Yeah,” Sam replied studying the thing closer, “the mechanism must get wound up when you make the correct sequence of movements to open it.” He offered it back to her so that she could look. 

Buffy took it in her hand and looked at it before saying to Sam. “See, you are a genius.” 

He laughed softly and for a moment Buffy stared at him making Sam uncomfortable. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she shook off the observation and then added, “You remind me of someone.” 

It had occurred to Buffy then that Sam’s mannerisms reminded her a lot of Angel. He possessed Angel’s quiet but studious personality. He was probably just as capable as his brother in this gig but you’d never know it by just looking at it because Sam Winchester was all about subtlety. He was the one you’d never see coming because no one expected the nice guys to have the worst demons. Which was case in point with Angel. 

“Hey, you guys find anything?” Dean’s voice interrupted the moment and Buffy forgot all about Angel and put the cube down again. 

“Nothing except ugly puzzle boxes?” Buffy said staring at Dean. “You?” 

“Well both of them were here,” Dean confirmed. “Benson and his fiancée, Sherman and his kid. Diane bought some vase and Sherman bought a brooch for his wife for her birthday. Benson took his vase but Sherman’s brooch is still here. I think this is place is what connects them but not necessarily what they bought here. I say we come back tonight,” he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, “and give the place a real once over.” 

“Wow, my dream come true,” Buffy retorted. “Breaking into a mall after hours.” 

Dean shook his head, women.

TO BE CONTINUED