Post by anomaly on Feb 27, 2016 0:49:13 GMT
"All I have from him is this card," she said, handing over an FBI business card, and he turned it over in his hands twice. The same number; different Agent name. Ben frowned a little as he nodded to her, slowly. She definitely was someone else Dean had slept with; definitely another in a long line of conquests. Sam, by his estimation, had gone through nearly as many, but all of it was from one year, a number of years back; Dean was slow, steady and consistent, a trail of beautiful women with fond memories and no regrets. Which sounded like bullshit to him, but, charming assholes can be unsurprisingly pretty charming.
Suzy Lee, this busty blonde who was part of a religious support group, explained that they had fought some woman who was a Goddess or something named Vesta. She provided some literature on it. He was appreciative and he was cooperative and he was certainly kind. It was the kind of thing that people responded to, and while he didn't feel too comfortable turning on the waterworks, the gambit had worked well. He'd show a family photo of Dean and himself and his mom, and explain how he hadn't come home, and he was trying to find him.
One person said he sounds just like John which made no Goddamned sense, but he was getting used to people with fragments of the Winchester history. And a quick Google search revealed the ties; John Winchester, ex-Marine, moved his two boys out onto an RV or something probably and toured the country doing contract sales after their house - and mom - burned down. He felt a strange sense of pity. He'd read the story before, but John only tickled the back of his head. It made sense now; they'd been raised in this.
For all Ben knew, he was raised in it too; all he had was fragments of a life that were barely pieced together. All he knew was they had the answers and the best chance of getting his mom out. And that Dean deserved to get punched in the face over and over again. Which he was still annoyed no one agreed with him on, for the most part. Suzy sure didn't, speaking fondly of how attentive and passionate he was, which just made Ben feel really gross the more it was talked about.
"Wait! No, he gave me -- hold on, it's here somewhere." And she rifled through the drawers, before she found it and rushed over to provide it, another piece of paper, hand-written, on the back of another identical FBI card.
"He said for emergencies." Ben's eyes lit up, and he let his face become beatific and sweet, moving to hug her tightly. Her full, heaving breasts sure didn't make it unwelcome. Woman should be in movies, he opined, as he parted from her and smiled, stepping back and holding the card.
"This could be the thing that finds me my dad," he said, his voice intentionally breaking with emotion, as he turned to the door to walk out, gracious and sweet and the moment his back was turned he was only alert and sharp-eyed, dedicated. He was barely back to the van, a rusting and temperament 1984 Chevy C10 Van that enduring had given him quite an experience in motor vehicle repair.
The phone rang, this time; it was not disconnected. A hurried voice answered, and he closed his eyes, as he heard that voice; parcels of video strung together in his mind, and some deep memory from somewhere distant. It wasn't Dean's voice, it... was softer, more gentle, less gravelly.
"Sam?" he asked, uncertain, before offering what he hoped would seal it. "This is Ben... Ben Braeden? And I... remember everything," he lied.
He'd gotten really good at that.
Probably just like his 'dad'.
--
Dean was gone on a case, claiming it was a one-man job, but Sam got it; Dean needed to roam. The man was either out on an actual case, or he was in a bar charming some woman – the second scenario felt more believable to Sam. So here he was, holed up in the bunker reading a book about werewolves, it was interesting how the original Men of Letters had carefully logged their discoveries; however, it wasn’t complete. Sam had a notebook on the table in front of him, he’d write a note or two every time he found an inconsistency in the text – or if he found a gap that would need to be filled. It would eventually be re-written, either on one of the old typewriters that were lying around the place, or on his laptop. He was charmed by the fact that he could use the typewriters if he wanted, it lent a certain degree of authenticity to the materials.
He was in the middle of jotting down something else when he heard the phone vibrate. For a moment, he was split about if he should ignore the phone so he could keep reading, or if he should answer it – it might be Dean. Or Castiel. Hell, even Jody threatening to harm him if he didn’t come out for dinner one night; which meant one of the Waywards needed his intervention. It wasn’t often, but when she did call, it was welcome.
Sam sighed and picked up the phone, he knew better than to ignore it. After answering, he heard a voice that he needed to place. A frown danced across his features while he shifted back in his chair, who the hell knew it was him? `This is Ben` got a loud exhale from him, he moved again to stand. Where was Dean? This was… Dean needed to know.
“Everything?” Sam repeated before pausing and clearing his throat, “okay.” He frowned, rubbing at his face with his free hand as he tried to think of something to say. This was certainly unexpected. “Okay, first off, where are you?” He started to pace the floor near the table, he wasn’t sure exactly what he needed to do – he thought that everything had been taken care of and that Ben wouldn’t be a problem anymore. “And what do you need?” He said the next question gently.
--
The man bought it and he breathed a sigh of relief, not even trying to disguise it. This asshole on the other line with the douchey too-long hair, which he realized as he looked into a window is something that sneaks up on you, took it at face value. And he sounded surprised, but not shocked. So he knew. He knew everything and kept it from Ben. He wondered if him coming out here was just to scrub his mind of what he had picked up, bitterly, but he marshalled himself before answering. That heavy sigh of relief could be what it was; exhaustion and satisfaction for finally getting a hold of these two nomads.
"I'm in Hartford, South Dakota. I just got done talking to Suzy Lee. Uh, blonde woman... uh... impressive blonde woman. There was a Goddess here named Vesta, which it says is the Roman Goddess of the Harvest? She was killing people who broke vows of chasity? I'm walking to a diner on 5th now, on the corner across from the church."
And he was speaking as he was talking, heading in exactly that direction as his words fell easily from his lips, sticking to the truth until he had to lie again. Skill didn't replace using valid truths to get what he needed out of this. "I'm trying to find Dean, or you, because my mom's in trouble."
Not strictly a lie, but he was definitely not portraying it entirely accurately. He had no idea of most things-- he had rebuilt a lot of information from eyewitness reports, but those only covered the surface. There was all too much just missing from the story now to put it all together, even still. Most importantly: how they took his memory, why, and what they'd do if they found out he had it again.
He had no idea that Sam championed against the mindwipe; that Sam had promised Dean, against duress, to never even say Ben or Lisa's name again. Dean had walked away from everything he wanted, trying to save them, spare them.
And it clearly did not work.
--
Sam nodded as he was able to place Suzy Lee, after Ben described her and the case they worked. That had been one of the interesting ones. “Oh yeah,” he gave a soft chuckle as he stopped pacing for a moment, running his hand through his hair. “Vesta,” he felt like he was being a parrot right now, repeating everything Ben said. His mind was racing as he tried to decide what he needed to do; he knew Dean needed to hear about this, but he also knew that he couldn’t talk to Dean about this. He could talk to Castiel, but then Castiel would be equally as upset. It was a situation where he knew it’d blow up in his face regardless of what he chose.
“Lisa’s in trouble?” Sam frowned at the air, shaking his head, “Dean’s…” He trailed off, unsure how much he should say. “Dean’s off on a business trip,” he finally decided, it wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth. He furrowed his eyebrows, he had questions, but he wasn’t sure if he should ask them over the phone or wait until they met in person. That was if Ben wanted to meet in person, the kid was probably mad. Or scared.
“What can I do to help?” Sam found himself saying before he had even made up his mind. “Do you need me to come meet you?” He shifted away from the tables, already choosing to walk towards his room to throw together a bag.
--
"She is in serious trouble and I need more help than I can figure out on my own," he stated, being sure to tell the truth and mean it; meaning all the deception inside of it, as well, with the practiced sincerity of a man who looks people in the eyes and plays on their emotions every day to try to get closer to his goal. He'd come looking for answers, and stumbled on monsters, lore, mechanical skills, weapon skills, hunting tricks, and had become a very skilled liar.
Life on the road -- and a life following the trail of the Winchesters -- was a really weird one that took you a lot of interesting places.
"I can come there?" he offered, "or you can come here. Whatever. But I need your help, Sam. Or else I don't know if I can get her back."
And that was entirely true, because the way he saw it, they're the only ones who knew what really happened there other than the killers. Killers he would hunt and find if he could, and was trying to deduce just how one could. But they could give him that pointer; and maybe those killers wouldn't be his to kill because they'd be able to go to prison in her place. And that seemed like a worthwhile sacrifice for vengeance - getting his mom back.
"How long's the drive?"
Suzy Lee, this busty blonde who was part of a religious support group, explained that they had fought some woman who was a Goddess or something named Vesta. She provided some literature on it. He was appreciative and he was cooperative and he was certainly kind. It was the kind of thing that people responded to, and while he didn't feel too comfortable turning on the waterworks, the gambit had worked well. He'd show a family photo of Dean and himself and his mom, and explain how he hadn't come home, and he was trying to find him.
One person said he sounds just like John which made no Goddamned sense, but he was getting used to people with fragments of the Winchester history. And a quick Google search revealed the ties; John Winchester, ex-Marine, moved his two boys out onto an RV or something probably and toured the country doing contract sales after their house - and mom - burned down. He felt a strange sense of pity. He'd read the story before, but John only tickled the back of his head. It made sense now; they'd been raised in this.
For all Ben knew, he was raised in it too; all he had was fragments of a life that were barely pieced together. All he knew was they had the answers and the best chance of getting his mom out. And that Dean deserved to get punched in the face over and over again. Which he was still annoyed no one agreed with him on, for the most part. Suzy sure didn't, speaking fondly of how attentive and passionate he was, which just made Ben feel really gross the more it was talked about.
"Wait! No, he gave me -- hold on, it's here somewhere." And she rifled through the drawers, before she found it and rushed over to provide it, another piece of paper, hand-written, on the back of another identical FBI card.
"He said for emergencies." Ben's eyes lit up, and he let his face become beatific and sweet, moving to hug her tightly. Her full, heaving breasts sure didn't make it unwelcome. Woman should be in movies, he opined, as he parted from her and smiled, stepping back and holding the card.
"This could be the thing that finds me my dad," he said, his voice intentionally breaking with emotion, as he turned to the door to walk out, gracious and sweet and the moment his back was turned he was only alert and sharp-eyed, dedicated. He was barely back to the van, a rusting and temperament 1984 Chevy C10 Van that enduring had given him quite an experience in motor vehicle repair.
The phone rang, this time; it was not disconnected. A hurried voice answered, and he closed his eyes, as he heard that voice; parcels of video strung together in his mind, and some deep memory from somewhere distant. It wasn't Dean's voice, it... was softer, more gentle, less gravelly.
"Sam?" he asked, uncertain, before offering what he hoped would seal it. "This is Ben... Ben Braeden? And I... remember everything," he lied.
He'd gotten really good at that.
Probably just like his 'dad'.
--
Dean was gone on a case, claiming it was a one-man job, but Sam got it; Dean needed to roam. The man was either out on an actual case, or he was in a bar charming some woman – the second scenario felt more believable to Sam. So here he was, holed up in the bunker reading a book about werewolves, it was interesting how the original Men of Letters had carefully logged their discoveries; however, it wasn’t complete. Sam had a notebook on the table in front of him, he’d write a note or two every time he found an inconsistency in the text – or if he found a gap that would need to be filled. It would eventually be re-written, either on one of the old typewriters that were lying around the place, or on his laptop. He was charmed by the fact that he could use the typewriters if he wanted, it lent a certain degree of authenticity to the materials.
He was in the middle of jotting down something else when he heard the phone vibrate. For a moment, he was split about if he should ignore the phone so he could keep reading, or if he should answer it – it might be Dean. Or Castiel. Hell, even Jody threatening to harm him if he didn’t come out for dinner one night; which meant one of the Waywards needed his intervention. It wasn’t often, but when she did call, it was welcome.
Sam sighed and picked up the phone, he knew better than to ignore it. After answering, he heard a voice that he needed to place. A frown danced across his features while he shifted back in his chair, who the hell knew it was him? `This is Ben` got a loud exhale from him, he moved again to stand. Where was Dean? This was… Dean needed to know.
“Everything?” Sam repeated before pausing and clearing his throat, “okay.” He frowned, rubbing at his face with his free hand as he tried to think of something to say. This was certainly unexpected. “Okay, first off, where are you?” He started to pace the floor near the table, he wasn’t sure exactly what he needed to do – he thought that everything had been taken care of and that Ben wouldn’t be a problem anymore. “And what do you need?” He said the next question gently.
--
The man bought it and he breathed a sigh of relief, not even trying to disguise it. This asshole on the other line with the douchey too-long hair, which he realized as he looked into a window is something that sneaks up on you, took it at face value. And he sounded surprised, but not shocked. So he knew. He knew everything and kept it from Ben. He wondered if him coming out here was just to scrub his mind of what he had picked up, bitterly, but he marshalled himself before answering. That heavy sigh of relief could be what it was; exhaustion and satisfaction for finally getting a hold of these two nomads.
"I'm in Hartford, South Dakota. I just got done talking to Suzy Lee. Uh, blonde woman... uh... impressive blonde woman. There was a Goddess here named Vesta, which it says is the Roman Goddess of the Harvest? She was killing people who broke vows of chasity? I'm walking to a diner on 5th now, on the corner across from the church."
And he was speaking as he was talking, heading in exactly that direction as his words fell easily from his lips, sticking to the truth until he had to lie again. Skill didn't replace using valid truths to get what he needed out of this. "I'm trying to find Dean, or you, because my mom's in trouble."
Not strictly a lie, but he was definitely not portraying it entirely accurately. He had no idea of most things-- he had rebuilt a lot of information from eyewitness reports, but those only covered the surface. There was all too much just missing from the story now to put it all together, even still. Most importantly: how they took his memory, why, and what they'd do if they found out he had it again.
He had no idea that Sam championed against the mindwipe; that Sam had promised Dean, against duress, to never even say Ben or Lisa's name again. Dean had walked away from everything he wanted, trying to save them, spare them.
And it clearly did not work.
--
Sam nodded as he was able to place Suzy Lee, after Ben described her and the case they worked. That had been one of the interesting ones. “Oh yeah,” he gave a soft chuckle as he stopped pacing for a moment, running his hand through his hair. “Vesta,” he felt like he was being a parrot right now, repeating everything Ben said. His mind was racing as he tried to decide what he needed to do; he knew Dean needed to hear about this, but he also knew that he couldn’t talk to Dean about this. He could talk to Castiel, but then Castiel would be equally as upset. It was a situation where he knew it’d blow up in his face regardless of what he chose.
“Lisa’s in trouble?” Sam frowned at the air, shaking his head, “Dean’s…” He trailed off, unsure how much he should say. “Dean’s off on a business trip,” he finally decided, it wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth. He furrowed his eyebrows, he had questions, but he wasn’t sure if he should ask them over the phone or wait until they met in person. That was if Ben wanted to meet in person, the kid was probably mad. Or scared.
“What can I do to help?” Sam found himself saying before he had even made up his mind. “Do you need me to come meet you?” He shifted away from the tables, already choosing to walk towards his room to throw together a bag.
--
"She is in serious trouble and I need more help than I can figure out on my own," he stated, being sure to tell the truth and mean it; meaning all the deception inside of it, as well, with the practiced sincerity of a man who looks people in the eyes and plays on their emotions every day to try to get closer to his goal. He'd come looking for answers, and stumbled on monsters, lore, mechanical skills, weapon skills, hunting tricks, and had become a very skilled liar.
Life on the road -- and a life following the trail of the Winchesters -- was a really weird one that took you a lot of interesting places.
"I can come there?" he offered, "or you can come here. Whatever. But I need your help, Sam. Or else I don't know if I can get her back."
And that was entirely true, because the way he saw it, they're the only ones who knew what really happened there other than the killers. Killers he would hunt and find if he could, and was trying to deduce just how one could. But they could give him that pointer; and maybe those killers wouldn't be his to kill because they'd be able to go to prison in her place. And that seemed like a worthwhile sacrifice for vengeance - getting his mom back.
"How long's the drive?"