Things that Go Bump in the Night (2/4)Fandom:
Supernatural and X-men crossoverWarnings:
Bad language and sexual situations Rating:
Adult (Teen this part)Summary:
Nothing is ever simple in New Orleans.Disclaimer:
None of the lovelies are mine. But I have enjoyed playing with them! A/N:
Many thanks to worlddescending
for the beta and the title! This is dedicated to windiain
who helped break writer's block by suggesting that I write Dean/Remy and "salt and burn." I hope you enjoy it! (Also, this bunny took control and it's going to be longer than I anticipated. I think only 4 chapters, but maybe 5?
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1
A buzzing sound pulled Dean from sleep and he rolled to his side, reaching automatically for his cell phone. Grabbing it from the nightstand, he gazed blearily at the numbers on the screen. Grimacing, he flipped it open. "Hi, Dad."
"Dean." John Winchester's voice was reserved and quiet. Dean closed his eyes and braced himself. "You were supposed to call me when the job was done."
"It's not done yet, sir." Dean flopped back on the bed and threw his free arm over his face, burying his eyes in the crook of his elbow.
There was a heartbeat of silence and Dean sighed. "Dean, if you can't handle a simple..."
"I can handle it, Dad. There was just a slight... hiccup." Remy's eyes flashed into Dean's mind and he shook his head. "Nothing I can't handle."
"What kind of hiccup?" John was using his military commander voice and Dean sat up, feeling strangely more in control in a sitting position.
"There was a civilian who interfered." Dean thought briefly about admitting that said civilian stole the Impala, but thought better of it. "I couldn't finish with him there. I'll go back tonight."
"A civilian?" John had caught the slight hitch in Dean's voice. "Interfered how?"
"It's kind of funny, actually." Dean tried for levity. "He thought I was a grave robber."
"You're sure he's human?" John demanded bluntly. "Maybe I need to come down there."
"Dad, no. I've got it under control." Dean swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. "It's just a simple salt and burn, and yes, I'm positive this guy is human." Mutant.
Dean corrected himself silently, but he really didn't want to have to get into the details. Explaining that the so-called civilian had kicked his ass would be hard enough on his ego without admitting that part of him had almost enjoyed it. Or would have, had they not let some evil Voodoo Hoodoo loose on the city.
"Dad, I've got this. I'll call you tomorrow."
"You call me as soon as you’re done. I want a full report after you go back into the cemetery. Is that clear?"
“Dean? Be careful.”
“Yes, sir.” Dean rolled his eyes and flipped the phone closed. Standing, he grabbed for the jeans he'd thrown on the floor the night before. Eyeing them critically, he decided the dirt stains added character and pulled them on.
Going into the bathroom, Dean glanced in the mirror and made a face. His forehead was bruised, but not too badly. It looked more like dirt than like anything serious. Snagging his toothbrush, Dean made liberal use of the Crest, trying to erase the memory of Tabasco off his tongue.
It was no good. No matter how hard he tried, Dean couldn't forget the feel of Remy's mouth on his own. The other man was about as tall as he was and they had fit together in a way that would have made Dean blush, if he were the sort to blush. Scratchy 2 a.m. shadow aside, Remy had been a damn good kisser - soft lips, hot mouth, skilled tongue.
Spitting, Dean turned on the faucet and rinsed his teeth. Splashing the cold water liberally into his face, and making a mental note to stop by one of the local Catholic parishes to replenish his Holy Water supply, Dean forced all thoughts of the Cajun from his mind, save the rather tantalizing thought that it would feel amazing
to beat the tar out of the other man for stealing the Impala.
That thought made Dean happy, and didn't threaten to overwhelm him with other feelings he wasn't ready to face yet. Not without breakfast. Not without coffee.
Not without his goddamned car!
And not to mention that, thanks to the Cajun's interference, Dean not only had to salt and burn Kalila Keskeya, but also track down some sort of Voodoo demon thing and destroy it, before his father found out about it.
Right. First things first. Coffee. Thankfully, the motel that had accepted his check in at 3 a.m. without luggage, without transportation, but with a Visa Card in the name of one Geraldo Sayers, was located next to a diner that promised hot coffee and pie 24 hours a day. Tugging his shirt back over his head, Dean gathered the toothbrush and other toiletries he'd bought the night before, and left the room behind without a second thought.
A few minutes later, sitting in a booth with a sticky table and tears in the red vinyl seat, Dean winked at the waitress who promised to bring him coffee and biggest piece of apple pie that she could sneak away from her manager. Then he turned his thoughts to what he needed to do next.
After staring at the ice that was slowly melting in his water for a few unproductive minutes, Dean had to admit that he had no idea. He didn't even know what
he was hunting, let alone how to kill it. Research wasn't one of his usual duties. He was more of the "point and shoot" type. Sammy had always been the one to figure out what they were shooting at - at least he had before he'd left for college. Afterward, John had gone back to the tried and true method of tracking it down and then seeing what it was.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a newspaper article that was part of what brought him down to New Orleans in the first place. A grainy photograph of Kalila Keskeya smiled back up at him. The black and white photograph did little to hide the dark shine of her skin, even though it had obviously been taken inside. Even though he’d read it before, Dean skimmed the article. Keskeya had been found murdered in her home. The local police had never come up with a suspect, reporting only that the room where the murder had occurred had been partially destroyed by the violent crime and that the doors and windows of the house had been sealed from the inside. Keskeya's husband had died two years before and she lived alone.
Dean flipped the article over and read a name off the back. Adrien Ducet.
It was followed by a phone number. The waitress brought over the pie and coffee and Dean looked up from the newspaper clipping to give her a grateful smile. A movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked to the left in time to see Remy flash him an amused grin.
“You got Remy pie,” Remy slid into the booth across from him. “Merci.”
“Touch that pie and die,” Dean threatened, picking up his spoon and stirred sugar and cream liberally into his coffee. “And my car had better be in the parking lot.”
“You worry too much, mon ami.”
“Dean.” Dean smacked the back of Remy’s hand with the spoon when the Cajun tugged the pie towards him. “Get your own piece.”
Remy’s grin widened and he pulled his sunglasses off so that Dean could see him run his eyes over what he could see of Dean’s body. “I see the piece I want. Dean
Dean scowled back and took a drink from his coffee. Belatedly, he wondered if every woman he’d ever hit on felt both a simultaneous jolt of arousal and skepticism. Then he closed his eyes and shook off that thought. “Your approach is sort of direct.”
“But effective, non?” Remy managed to snake Dean’s pie away from him and stole his fork. Taking a big bite, he chewed slowly, licking his lips and laughing at Dean’s expression. “So, what do we do now?”
Dean’s eyebrow shot up and he stared at Remy incredulously. “We
do nothing. You
give me my car back and then never let me see you again. I
fix what I broke last night.” He stabbed the spoon into the pie, blocking Remy’s fork. “And I
finish eating the pie that I bought for breakfast. You
get your own.”
“Dis plan won’t work, homme.” Remy shook his head regretfully. “You weren’t de only one in de cemetery las’ night. You weren’t de only one who let dat… t’ing loose.”
“No, but I’m the only one who knows how to put it back.”
Remy leaned back and studied Dean curiously. “How do you plan to do dat?”
Dean’s lips tightened and he glared back at Remy for a moment before admitting with a sigh, “Dude, I have no frigging clue.”
Remy grinned. “Dat’s what I thought. You need my help.”
“Look, Remy, no offense, but…”
Remy reached over the table and caught Dean’s hand. Pressing it lightly, Remy shook his head. “You can’t get rid of me anyway. Might as well enjoy it, non?”
Pulling his hand back, Dean shook his head. “Whatever. But you’re really going to have to get your own pie.”*************************
Dean let out an audible groan when he saw the Impala in the lot. “Baby, did he hurt you?” He ran his hand over the hood, fingers tracing the lines of the curves all the way to the door. He glared up at Remy, prepared to launch into a scathing verbal take down, but stopped at the pained look on Remy’s face.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Rien. It’s nothing.” Remy blew out a slow breath. “I’m just wondering if you touch everyt’ing wit dat much… care.”
Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked at the Cajun. “Depends on how much I like it?”
“You like Remy, non?”
“Non.” Dean shook his head, but he had to work to hide a real grin. “Dude, you stole my car. I spent most of the night dreaming about pounding you into the ground.”
This time it was Remy who made a noise in his throat. “We can talk about who pounds who later, mon ami.”
The implication of Remy’s words caught Dean by surprise and he ducked into the car to hide his flush. Breathing out, he cursed himself for suddenly being so damn… girly
. He’d never had this sort of reaction to anyone before, let alone to a man. Breathing deeply again, he waited until Remy climbed into the passenger seat. The Cajun was openly laughing and Dean scowled at him. “Don’t be so cocky.”
“Non, Remy would never do dat.”
Dean put the car in reverse, aware that he was being studied by a pair of red on black eyes. “Dude. Quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Remy was definitely laughing at him now.
“Like…” Dean glanced over at him, putting the car into drive and pulling out into the street. “Like… you’re imagining with my clothes off.”
“But I am.” Remy’s laugh got louder when Dean cursed under his breath. After a moment of awkward silence, Remy cleared his throat. “So where are we going?”
“Don’t know yet.” Dean decided that he could ignore the other man’s advances by sheer force of will and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out his cell phone. Stopping at a red light, he dialed the number and held the phone to his ear while it rang. “Hi. Can I speak with Adrien Ducet?”
He glanced over at Remy while he waited, noting with a strange mix of pleasure and discomfort that the Cajun was studying him just as intently. When their eyes met, Dean felt a jolt in his stomach and he was relieved when the voice on the phone recaptured his attention.
“Dis is Monsieur Ducet.”
“Mister Ducet? This is Dean Winchester.”
There was a hitched breath over the phone that made Dean frown and suddenly he was completely focused on the man on the phone.
“You weren’t supposed to contact me.” The rebuke was harsh and Dean frowned, brows gathering darkly.
“Well, things didn’t exactly go according to plan. I need to ask you some more questions.”
“Can we meet in person?”
The silence was so long this time that Dean moved the phone away from his face to doublecheck that they were still connected. “Mister Ducet? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Fine. Dere is a coffee shop on de corner of Congo Square. You meet me dere.”
“I’m on my way now.” Dean promised, hanging up the phone. He glanced over at Remy and noted with some approval that the other man seemed to be serious. “That was our contact.”
“Adrien Ducet?” The French sounding name rolled off Remy’s tongue musically and Dean nodded, refusing to be distracted. “I’ve heard his name before.”
“He’s the one who contacted my… me to come and deal with Keskeya.”
“How’d he find your… you?” Remy asked pointedly and Dean shot him a sharp look.
“There’s circles, dude. It’s not like he pulled out the yellow pages. People in my line of work operate under the table.”
“He pay you?” Remy asked skeptically and Dean shook his head.
“Why’d he call for help?”
“That, Remy,” Dean stressed the Cajun’s name, testing it on his tongue, “is what we are going to find out.”
“You don’t know?”
“You know everything behind what you do at your job?” Dean hesitated, giving him a curious look. “What do you do for a living anyway? Besides freelance graveyard security, I mean.”
“Family business,” Remy looked away for the first time and Dean sighed.
“I can relate.”
They drove the remaining distance in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Dean wondered, briefly, if he should be alarmed at the ease with which the other man had gotten through his defenses, but he shrugged off the concern. Remy was right about one thing – Dean couldn’t get rid of him easily, so he might as well enjoy it.
There was a parking spot on a side street and Dean pulled into it easily. He gave Remy a sharp look. “Do I need to worry that you’re going to steal my car again?”
Remy grinned, his earlier reserve melting away in the sun as he climbed out. “Non. Your bebe is safe.”
“She’d better be.” Dean muttered darkly, not completely sure he believed Remy. How could the other man be so confident?
“Oui.” Remy’s smile widened. “Remy promise’ you could take it from his hide oderwise, remember?”
Dean remembered, all right; lean muscles, soft lips, and the hint of Tabasco. “Whatever.” He looked away, keenly aware that Remy was laughing at him again. “Let’s go before our contact spooks.” His lips quirked up. “That’s a joke.”
“Oui.” Remy nodded solemnly, but his eyes were twinkling before he pushed his sunglasses into place. The coffee shop had a small outdoor patio. Ceiling fans spun lazily, even in the fall weather. Dean scanned the crowd, eyeing two college girls appreciatively, skipping over the family with small children, and the group of tourists exclaiming loudly over some voodoo trinket being sold from a bin. His gaze settled confidently on a middle aged black man, who was wearing a suit despite the fall heat, complete with a fedora type hat.
Approaching slowly, Dean gauged this man and had to hide his frown. His father had told him that their contact was a local mystic, who had become aware of a haunting and managed to find out who it was, but couldn’t handle it himself for whatever reason. This man looked more like a shyster than a holy man, and he was big enough that Dean would have hesitated to get into a fight. “Mister Ducet?”
The man looked up, then stood and Dean had to resist the urge to stare. This man would have given Sam a run for tallest man alive. “You John’s boy?”
Dean ignored the look Remy shot him and stuck out his hand instead. “Yeah. Dean Winchester.” He nodded to Remy. “This is…”
“Oh, I know who he is.” Ducet’s voice was far from friendly and Remy carefully stood out of reach. Dean filed the hostility away for future exploration.
“Good, saves the need for introductions. Why don’t we sit down?”
“Remy get coffee for us.” Remy spoke softly, moving away before Dean could respond and Dean shrugged.
“I didn’t expect you to be keeping company wit his kind.” Ducet growled and Dean frowned at him.
“With all due respect, I don’t really care what you think.” Ducet turned his full attention on Dean now and Dean leaned forward, uncowed. “I only care about one thing – Keskeya.”
Ducet blinked and leaned back, mulling something over. Finally he nodded. “You’re right. Worry about on t’ing at a time.”
“Who was she?” Dean demanded, ignoring the last comment completely. Whatever problem this man had with Remy was Remy’s problem. At least it was until it became Dean’s problem.
Ducet smiled and Dean had to resist the urge to shiver. “She was a Voodoo priestess.”
“Yeah.” Dean sighed, leaning back and crossing his legs. “I figured something like that.”
“How’d you know?”
“I tried to do the job last night. Something was protecting her.” Dean leaned forward, noticing that Ducet was suddenly sweating. “What is it?”
“Kalila was a very respected priestess in our community.” Dean didn’t mess the way Ducet claimed to be a part of the voodoo community and he filed that away as well. “She came to me, about a year ago, wanting to do a ritual.”
“What sort of ritual?”
“A ritual to unite her wit de lao – de spirits. It would give her untold power.” Ducet leaned forward, his face earnest. “She needed my help.”
“Why did she need your help?” Dean shook his head. “You said she was respected. I’m guessing that meant she was good at her job.”
“Oh, yes. Kalila was very good at her job. But to do de ritual she wanted, she needed a man – a priest – as well. De gods are sometimes fickle about de genders.”
Recalling his unexpected reaction to Remy, Dean shifted uncomfortably and offered a weak smile. “Sometimes we all are.”
“De lao can be violent. De spirits can kill a priest or priestess who is not strong enough if dey are chosen to be vessels, to be ridden by de gods.”
“And that’s how she died?”
“Yes.” Ducet leaned back, coffee forgotten. “Now her spirit, it cannot pass over. She has become a chauchemar.”
“A what?” Dean racked his brain trying to remember if he’d ever heard his father talk about a chauchemar before.”
“She was a witch in life. She is a witch in death.” Ducet struck the table with his fist. “When an evil witch dies, a witch who has sinned by presuming to be more dan she is, she returns as a chauchemar.” Ducet’s mouth curled into a snarl, his teeth gleaming white. “A nightmare witch.”
“And that’s what we saw in the cemetery?” Dean asked carefully.
“Yes.” Ducet wiped his face with his palm. “De chauchemar is a sneaky creature. It attacks victims as dey sleep. She pins dem down, freezing dem so dey can’t move. You can't scream, you can't move at all!” Again he emphasized his point by slamming the table. “Den, once she has you, she rides you like a horse.”
Dean snorted. “So far, this doesn’t sound too awful.”
Ducet glared at him and stood up, making Dean tense. Instead of lashing out, the other man shrugged out of his jacket, and unfastened his sleeves. “It’s not funny, what de chauchemar does.”
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing welts going up and down his arms. “She beats you, wid a whip you can’t even see. You can’t escape, you just lie dere and pray for it to end.”
Dean stared at the welts in morbid fascination. “She came after you?”
“Do you know how to stop her?”
“Non.” Ducet deflated, sitting down and pulling his sleeves down again. “Dat’s why I call for you.”
Dean blew out a slow breath. “Right.” He stood up. “Put salt along your windows and doors at night before you go to bed.”
“You can stop her?”
Dean grinned. “Sure I can.” He turned and walked away. “I just have to figure out how.”