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Apparitions and Their Untimely Returns	By : shallowshadows Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 969 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
A/N: As with most of my chapter fics, I do my best to research as much as I can. I spent quite a bit of time looking into being a detective, the NYPD, and Brooklyn's neighborhoods, hunting down one that supposedly has real Russian mafia. (Admittedly, I've altered things like the Brighton Beach library though.) In the end, however, nothing is better than living it, so if any of you happen to be from Brooklyn or are currently living there and are interested in helping me better this fic, please message me! Thanks a ton!
Also, just to clarify. My heart tends to be open to my favorite characters in more than one pairing, as is the case with Supernatural, where I love Destiel but also Sastiel among a bunch of other pairings with the boys. I wanted to attempt to integrate both of my favorite non-canon pairings into this fic somehow, so let's see how it goes! I hope this doesn't deter anyone too severely who prefers one over the other and you'll give it a read anyway with an open-mind! Enjoy!
Updates every two weeks on Mondays. I'm not sure of the chapter count because I always write more than I expect to from my outlines.

Apparitions and Their Untimely Returns

Chapter 1 Ghosts 'n' Stuff

If it were possible for Dean Winchester to publish a book about his life, he was certain it'd be a best seller for sure. With everything he'd seen over the years as a detective, plus all of the shit Sammy had seen without him, he'd had enough to publish a novel that'd top even the Harry Potter books in page count and certainly be interesting enough to disturb, amuse, and induce just about every other emotion in existence. But Dean didn't write and didn't have the patience to, and he certainly didn't have the time even if he had the patience.
The Winchester brothers had this infamous reputation as cops in Brooklyn, so it came as no surprise the day their co-worker came knocking at their door to eagerly share with them a new case that had just happened. Apparently outside of Oceanview Dental, an elderly man was shot and later pronounced dead at the hospital. Another man in his mid-thirties named Jimmy Novak had been standing beside the elderly man when it happened. Witnesses say the two had just come out of the building and were chatting about children and the weather, all of the typical "normal" person stuff.
And that, just outside 3061 Brighton 6th Street, was where all of their new troubles began.
After Sam and Dean had been approached with the fresh case and accepted, they'd gone straight to the station to gather as much info as they could from what was currently known. That was always their first step—gathering the known facts. And things seemed to be going smoothly as they acquired what they needed and were then off to investigate on their own.
Dean paid a visit to their key witness Novak's house, informing the witness that he needn't come to the station because it lacked the comforts of home, where conversations would be most "casual." At least, this was the typical bullshit Dean spewed to people. And, as per usual after the initial interview, he left to reinvestigate the crime scene in person, trying to remake the events that had occurred in his head.
Meanwhile, Sam had spent a good part of his day handing out condolences to the family of the victim, while also questioning them without much luck. He hadn't been expecting some miracle from the family, just motive. Why was the family's relative fatally shot? Who'd ever want to hurt him that way? What may he have done in his life to anger the wrong people? Or was it all just a random act of hatred, anger, and malice? Maybe a case of wrong place, wrong time? However good Sam was at getting information, the family seemed to have the exact same questions, overwhelmed with sorrow, grief, and confusion, so he ended up leaving them be for now.
By the time they both meet back at the station the next day, that same eager co-worker who informed them of the case in the first place comes barreling toward them, excited and flailing his arms like a kid, which, well, he kind of was. Both of the Winchester boys quirk brows and exchange quick glances. "Dean! Sam! Thank God you're in. I wish you'd been back yesterday. One of the other witnesses came through!" Now this gets their positive attention. "I was going to call you, but I got distracted with paperwork—"
"Get to the point, Kevin, we don't care why you didn't call," Dean snaps, voice low and warning. When he and Sam are on a case, they try to take it seriously. Though they often joke with each other behind-the-scenes to get through the more gruesome things they encounter on a regular basis, they refuse to do so around other coworkers, especially the easily impressionable young newbies. They have a reputation to hold up, after all.
"I, uh, sorry." The man's smile tips upset down and he rubs the back of his neck with one hand as he hands over documents with the other. Dean quickly scans over them while Sam's attention goes back and forth between the two. "You know the receptionist? The one who was working at the front desk of the dentist's office at the time of the shooting? She said there was another witness outside waiting for a bus when it happened."
"Did she remember what this witness looked like? Any identifying attributes?" Sam asks, eyes flicking from the documents in Dean's hand back to the rookie cop.
"Got you one better. The girl was a patient there," Kevin responds, reaching for the documents and flipping them to a specific page. "Receptionist said she was even flirting with what looked like one of the men involved before it all went down."
Dean looks up from the documents and exchanges another look with Sam, their faces unreadable as they seem to know exactly what is in each other's minds without the need of facial ques. The older Winchester hands the documents over to Sam before crossing his arms, eyes accusing. "How'd you even get this intel?"
Kevin grins. "Well, while you guys were out working the case, I decided I'd do some digging of my own." Seeming excited and proud, chest practically puffing like a bird, he goes on to say, "The receptionist is being treated for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder along with other witnesses at Methodist Hospital. I was there earlier today and I got her to talk to me without having another blackout episode. That's why we were having so much trouble getting anything out of her, you know? Her head was blocking it all out."
"We already knew the girl was screwed up from what she saw and wouldn't talk. I was only asking how you found out what she saw, assha—" Sam quickly cuts Dean off, shooting him a quick glare before eyeing Kevin with a serious look.
"And you didn't inform one of your superior officers of your actions?"
"Well, no." Kevin's shoulders slump a bit. He glances at anything but the two men before continuing. "But I was off-duty, so I figured no one would allow me to do what I did anyway."
Dean scoffs and Sam glares at him for the second time for being so rude. But Dean, as expected, doesn't care about his brother's ideas of how they should treat the younger officers. "Kevin, look," he starts, staring the rookie officer in the eyes. "I've got mad respect for you for being the youngest guy currently on the force at only 22, but you're still under supervision. When you're off-duty, you're not allowed to be involved with the cases. Those are the rules. We don't make 'em, but we've gotta enforce 'em. If you don't follow them, I'll have to inform the big guys. You got me?"
A small gulp and nod later, and Kevin is apologizing as if his life depends on it, which, well, it may if it came down to their higher ups getting involved. "Shit, I'm sorry—really sorry. Please don't tell Lieutenant Mills. I'll be so toast."
"We'll let it slide, but don't keep doing it or I swear you'll be gone faster than you can eat one of those damn fake hotdog things you like. Now get the hell out of here and go home." Dean's warning seems to settle in Kevin's head immediately and he watches as the younger cop rushes out of the building at a speed that seems only a cheetah can compete with. Only after Kevin leaves does Dean's intimidating expression melt into a wicked look soon mixed with a twisted noise of laughter escaping his lips.
"Oh, come on, that was mean," Sam murmurs, walking with Dean to their desks. He's flipping through the documents Kevin gave them with a look of focus even as he speaks, having mastered the art of multi-tasking at this point.
"Oh, come on yourself," Dean responds, still laughing. "That was freakin' awesome."
Sam rolls his eyes and takes a seat, setting the documents down as he pulls up the digital copy of them Kevin uploaded for them as per usual. By now he is used to Dean's antics, but he isn't any less judging of them. "Well, if you're done messing around, we've got a case to solve."
"Yeah, yeah, Sammy. Getting right on it." The low, unamused response follows as Dean plops down at his own desk, slower to flick on his computer and taking his sweet time. Hey, he hasn't eaten in hours. He works slower on an empty stomach.
Sam takes a moment to respond with one of his typical snarky remarks, finding something really interesting on his screen. He does speak up eventually as his eyes dart across a specific section in the documents. "Why do you insist on still calling me that even after all these years of me repeatedly telling you to st—? Whoa, shit. Dean."
Dean knows that tone. He smirks and rolls his chair over, leaning in. "Sup?"
"So get this," Sam begins, using the mouse pointer to highlight what he was examining. "The girl Kevin was talking about, the other witness? Look at her name."
Dean leans over further, practically on the edge of his chair as he tries to read the smaller print sprawled across Sam's screen. The name he highlighted reads, "Becky Baker." Dean literally falls forward and off his chair from leaning so close to make sure he wasn't seeing things, just barely missing bashing his chin off something and crashing into his brother before recovering. "Jesus Christ, the stalker chick? The one who had pictures of you plastered around her room, some of which were from your private Facebook account and some you never even posted?"
Sam shifts uncomfortably at the memory. "I'd really rather that case stay far in the back of my mind. She was literally the creepiest female our age I've ever dealt with and now we're going to have to deal with her again."
Small bits of laughter escape Dean's lips despite the harsh look now directing itself at him. "God, she had a raging lady-boner for you the size of Baby and couldn't control herself like a sane human being."
"Don't forget she also wrote detailed fiction of us. You and me. Doing it. Which, being that it's some fantasy fiction thing people like, I wouldn't have cared had she not done all of that other stuff that crossed the line." Sam says all of this very matter-of-factly, giving Dean a raised eyebrow look.
Dean only bursts out laughing, leaning back in his chair and slapping a thigh. "Oh, I was just a placeholder for her, man." And he waves a hand dismissively. "If she was really into that fantasy shit the way other chicks are, she wouldn't have made me so girly when I'm not. She would've tried to make me accurate to the hot, macho man I am in the flesh."
"Or maybe you're just really girly and you don't realize?"
"Is my hair long enough to braid or put into pigtails? No, wait, that's you."
Sam's brows furrow and his mouth drops open a bit. "Jerk," he says, a mock laugh-sigh hybrid having slipped out before the word.
"Bitch," Dean huffs back, crossing his arms.
"Well, now that you're satisfied with mocking my pain and my physical traits, I can point out another interesting fact to you." The younger Winchester shifts to click a few pages deeper into the document, pulling up the recent info Kevin had achieved from visiting the hospital. "Notice anything about the witness testimonies thus far?"
Dean squints. "Shit. They all say it looked like the shooter was aiming for Novak."
"Bingo." Sam leans back and places his hands in his lap. "But what I don't get is, if that poor old guy was just a 'wrong-place, wrong-time' victim, then what the hell did Novak do to piss off these guys? He comes off like a devout Christian and family man."
"Never trust the devout Christian family men, Sammy. Never. You know how the saying goes."
Sam's eyebrows angle down and come together. "I thought that was 'the quiet ones,' Dean."
"What?"
"The saying you were referencing. It's 'Never trust the quiet ones.'"
Dean's lips purse in thought before he responds. "Well, it applies to everyone in our profession, really. Doesn't matter what the original saying is. Stop going all Stanford on my ass, you bitch."
The younger Winchester rolls his eyes and entire head like he would never be used to the ridiculous things that come out of his brother's mouth. But Dean was going to be Dean and they did, despite their differences, work extremely well together versus anyone else. In other words, Sam wouldn't replace Dean for anyone even if the department raised his pay tremendously, and he was sure his brother felt the same.
Dean suddenly flinches when his phone goes off, blaring some old rock song from the 80's loud enough to blow the speaker out, which causes a chain-reaction in Sam. Dean shifts and picks the phone up, smirking at Sam's huff of air purely through his nose. "Hello?"
"Dean? It's Ash."
"Oh, awesome!" Dean can't help the flicker of excitement that rushes through him whenever their favorite lab techy gives them a call. "Any word back yet on the bullet?"
"No, sir. Gonna be a while still. But I did hear from Jo when she came by to drop off some other case's evidence to the lab."
The small disappointment is met with curiosity. Why hadn't Jo been calling him then? Dean glances up to find Sam staring straight at him, waiting patiently and giving him that eyebrow look thing he gives when expecting Dean to spill the beans. He mouths a few choice words to Sam which earns him an impatient look. "Yeah?"
"She said she can't call you back yet 'cause Ellen's on her ass about workin' this case with you. Ellen seems to think it's another one of those ones like what killed her hubby. Overprotective mama bear mode, y'know." Ash pauses, as if contemplating and Dean can hear a slight bit of laughter before he continues. "But anyway, Jo said that she managed to gather intel from some credible people. Looks like Novak may have owed the Volkov family money. And no, I don't mean the big name philanthropist couple that owns all the charities and builds parks around the city. I mean their estranged relatives."
"The fucking Volkov's?! The Russian mob Volkov's?!" Dean literally jumps out of his seat and Sam's eyes widen as he follows suit after hearing the name said aloud. "Are you shittin' me?!"
"I wish I was, Dean. I remember what happened to you two the last couple of times. But Jo's intel is pretty solid, you know she's good on it. The one problem is that things like that are hush-hush 'cause nobody wants to be known as the traitor and get blasted in the back of the head for it, so good luck findin' a lead beyond this and some solid proof. I gotta go now; boss is on my ass. Ain't in the mood for it. Good luck and I mean that."
"Thanks, Ash," Dean murmurs, hanging up and eyeing Sam in disbelief like the two of them were just smacked upside the head with the information they'd been given.
Mafia. Russian mafia. Jesus Christ as if this case couldn't have gotten any worse. Typically they could deal just fine with news of small town gang or cult violence, but mafia? Nothing but bad memories and luck. Those were the two cases Dean and Sam barely escaped from alive, with their bones and skulls hardly intact. It was dangerous territory for any cop, and the entire New York Police Department would need to be involved in some way if it were truly that kind of a case.
Dean slowly puts his phone down, sits, and rubs his temple, feeling a huge headache coming on. "So Novak could potentially owe the underworld Volkov's money," he begins to explain, not sparing his brother any of the important details as he also sits back down. "Trouble is it's mafia, so Jo's intel, however good they are, are being a bunch of chicken shits and won't give more than that."
"Shit," is all Sam can mutter in response, visibly nervous with the news. He clears his throat after a brief moment of silence before asking, "Do you think maybe you want to drop this and let the big guys handle it?"
"What, the FBI? They'll get involved regardless of what we do if it gets out of hand. I don't know. Maybe it's better that way."
Dean shifts in his seat, a leg bouncing up and down. Sam opens his mouth to speak more, but doesn't, closing it and looking away with his hands balled into fists. The two stay in silence for a while, the only sounds being other cops working on and chatting about other cases through-out the building. Neither wants to end up in the situations they'd been in in the past where a small mafia case like this blew up and almost got them killed. They had never dealt with the Volkov's personally, but they sure as hell knew those folks had a reputation like the families of their past and they aren't sure they want in with that.
The quiet would've stretched on if not for Dean's phone ringing again, the obnoxious sound of music echoing through-out their workspace. Dean slowly exchanges a glance with Sam whose former frustrations at their new discoveries turn to pure annoyance at Dean's damn ringtone. Well, at least something is going right—his successful "annoy-the-piss out of Sam" purposeful tactics, that is.
Dean finally picks the phone up after it had been ringing for a solid thirty seconds and doesn't check the name. "Hello?"
"I know you've got yer phone out, y'idgit. Why the hell did you make me wait?"
"Oh, hey, Bobby." Dean makes sure his smirk can be heard and he presses the speakerphone on this time. "I've got you on speaker so Sam can hear. Shoot."
"Jody contacted me sayin' you boys might be gettin' in over yer heads again. She just felt it and we all know she's got good intuition or she wouldn't have been a sheriff elsewhere."
"And?"
"And? Christ, yer manners never change. And are ya? You boys know I'm here for any help you may need, retired or not."
Even though they'd just found out their case could be potentially mafia related, the flood of relief that goes through both Dean and Sam is incredible. Bobby had a way of making them feel at ease no matter how bad their situation got because he had been a damn good cop—and an even better dad to them where theirs had failed.
"Dean? Sam?"
The older Winchester sighs and swaps another look with Sam, who decides to talk in his place. "Yeah, we're still here, Bobby. We found out our case could be mafia-related."
Bobby grows quiet on the other end, but the small shifting noises here and there hint he is looking for something. His house is filled with books, research, and plenty of useful gadgets like police radios and testing kits, so despite his status as a mechanic now, he is still a cop at heart. "I guess Jody's gut was right. Elaborate what you need, boys, and I'll be on it. The G-men are going to get involved if it goes beyond a routine case, so you should nip it in the butt while you can. Solve it fast. Get the force in and keep it open to the whole team."
"You think we should still take the case?" Sam's eyebrow can't go any higher or else it'd fly off his forehead. Bobby knows what had happened before and had been the one to call them "idjits" for the extent of their involvement. So why in the world is he so on board with them taking this case?
"I think this is an opportunity for you boys. You've learned enough to better deal with cases like this and you know when to get out now. Our profession is dangerous, that's just how it is. Don't let certain incidents and mistakes forever mess with your chance of a big break."
Dean clears his throat and Sam nods, even though Bobby can't technically see either of them. "But the thing is, even if we know when to get out, what if that's not enough to be safe?"
"Keep it open, is what I said, boy. Have the entire department involved, make sure everyone knows everything. Don't go anywhere without someone knowing. Don't piss off the wrong people unnecessarily. Trace your footsteps. Don't let your guard down. Simple as that."
"But we—"
Bobby groans on the other end, interrupting Sam and sequentially Dean before either has the chance to argue. "Look, boys," he says, tone changing from annoyance to something neither of the two can quite put a finger on, "don't make this more complicated than it is. You're the best in that department, New York, and potentially the whole damn East Coast. You can do this and do it right."
"But what if we screw it up like the last couple of times, huh?" Dean interjects. "What then, Bobby?"
"Like I said, y'idjit. You've been . With two different families. You've learned." He pauses, voice softening the slightest. "I have faith in you both. I don't think this case will be better in anyone's hands than yours. Call it intuition or blind faith; I know you boys'll be the best for this job. Don't hold yer past mistakes against yourselves. What's done is done and you'll do better this time around."
Both Sam and Dean shift in place, perhaps even reading the other's discomfort with the level of faith Bobby announces he has in them. Certainly they are aware of their reputations they worked hard to achieve, of their accommodations and skills, of their pure love of the job and helping people, but even the best cops have fears, and Sam and Dean know their limits as humans.
"Boys, just tell me what you need."
Dean nurses his bottom lip, eyeing Sam expectantly. "'Kay, Bobby," the younger Winchester begins, leaning to speak clearly into the phone resting on his desk. "We'll give you a call if we need help. For now we're going to get our heads together and figure out if we really want to do this."
"Alright. I'm going to give some of my contacts some calls regardless. And either way, you boys be careful. I've got more than a few scars, physical and mental, from my own mob encounters over the years. See ya."
"We will. Bye."
Dean doesn't say a word, simply reaching his hand over and pressing the "end call" button, his lip becoming irritated from the constant chewing. He locks eyes with Sam after a few moments and they have a silent conversation without the need of anything more than the emotion splayed across their features. This lasts at least until Sam decides it's enough.
"I mean, Bobby's right," Sam says finally, leaning against his desk. "This could be the big break we're looking for. But even if we take all of the necessary safety precautions—"
"We just don't go too deep is all. If it's bigger than Novak having just owed them money or we venture into the crimes of the family as a whole, then we're out. Simple as that."
A look of surprise moves across the younger Winchester's face, having expected the exact opposite response judging by the one of uncertainty on Dean's. "You sure?"
Dean seems lost in thought for a good while. That was what happened the last time and the time before that; they'd gotten too deep, having gone beyond just solving the case at hand and venturing into taking down each entire organization. They hadn't been able to resist the urge to end it all despite the danger, and it had gotten both of them extended hospital stays. "Yeah."
Sam takes a deep breath before plopping back down into his chair. "Well, okay then. But if I die first, I am so haunting your sorry ass."
"As if I'd let you die before me, Sammy." Dean's grin extends across his features and Sam feels a bit of relief at the normalcy they always manage to achieve despite how bad their situations get. "You're not getting out that easily. Big bro needs someone to annoy day to day who can handle me, and like hell Kevin fits the bill. The kid weighs 90 pounds and squeals like a pig when a spider crawls across his desk."
"You're really mean, you know that?"
"And you're a pissy bookworm. Your point?"
"Fair enough," Sam laughs, looking back through the files open on his computer. "So given what we know now, why don't you go and try interviewing Novak again? It's obvious he lied about more than a few things."
"'Kay." Dean shifts and tucks his phone into one of his pockets. "And what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to the library. There's someone I want to talk to there, you know, the receptionist from the dentist's office. She frequents it around this time everyday according to our files; it's one of the places she said she could be found if she's needed for additional questioning when on lunch break. Plus, it's a good place for me to wind down and get focused."
"Aww, but Sammy, don't you want to talk to your girlfriend instead? After all, we weren't the lucky ones who initially tried to question her."
"Fuck off, Dean," Sam grumbles, shrinking in his seat. "We've got enough out of Becky from what Kevin's said. Besides, there are other cops on this case, let's leave her to them."
A teasing smirk remains on Dean's face even after he moves to get his stuff together, but he doesn't dare say another word or risk one of Sam's "bitch faces" turning into something more dramatic, such as a coffee over Dean's head or worse—his Busty Asian Beauties monthly magazine showing up in his trash can shredded again.
"So I'll be over at Novak's. Not sure how long it's going to take me with traffic and his annoying habit of rambling. Give me a buzz if you need me."
Sam simply nods and hands Dean a MicroSD card, his eyes not leaving his computer screen. He's skimming through file after file while they load onto his personal tablet, which an amused Dean mentally notes has a new case that now lacks the shorter man's sharpie doodles and the poorly written "Sammy's Shiny Magic Lightbox." "It has all of the case files thus far on it. I figured this would be easier than a flash drive since you seem to lose anything not loaded onto your phone. Just don't lose your damn phone and you're golden."
"Gee, thanks, Lisbeth Salander."
"Dean, just shut up and go to Novak's house already."
x
As expected, New York traffic delays Dean's time to Jimmy Novak's residence more than his patience can handle. By the time he's out of the city and into the suburbs, he's made a mental list of at least fifty people he wants to run over, bring back to full health, and then run over again. No matter how used to city life he's gotten, Dean still misses Delmar and its laidback southern style, where he and Sam would play on the old tire swing in Bobby's backyard and their dad actually drank a little less on those days because, for a brief moment in time, he'd not dwell on their mother's murder. Ah, yes. Good ol' Delmar.
Dean pulls his Impala in front of the Novak's duplex and casually parks, not caring much for the dirty look he receives from the little old lady that lives next door. He'd told her he hadn't meant to hit her trash barrel last time he was there and he'd meant it, but she just really hates his guts it seems. Regardless, all he cares about is that his precious Baby stays safe from little old lady wrath. Who knows what she'll do to her with that cane? Dean shudders at the thought.
Before he even steps outside of his car and closes the door, Dean already notices a few suspicious things. For one, there are no cars in the driveway and most of the blinds are shut. Of the few that are rolled up, no signs of movement or light show through the glass. Then there's the issue Dean takes with how the front yard has quite a few torn-up areas of grass that he assumes were made from furniture or other heavy objects being carried and accidentally dragged here and there across the lawn. Furthermore, what is up with the shed on the side of the yard? It's left open and empty.
When he glides across the walkway, up the stairs, and onto the porch, he notices the front door has been freshly painted and his suspicions jump. These people are clearly not simply renovating their home; they've been plotting to get away and are likely in the process of it right now. Naturally it'd make sense to be terrified after a close-call like the one Novak had, but this, this screams, "We really do owe them money and now they're after us and we've gotta get the hell out of here," especially when Dean considers how those involved are under police protection at this point.
But if that were the case, why paint the front door? Belongings he gets and they were clearly being taken away in a hurry, but spending the extra time to paint the front door of the house? What exactly is the purpose of that? Sure, it might make selling a house easier if needed, but typically if people screw to get away from the mob they don't bother with Mickey-Mouse'd home fixer-uppers.
Dean lifts a hand and bangs on the door several times, shouting the typical "NYPD, I'd like to ask a few questions" crap, but all he receives is silence. Clearly his knocks are being ignored or unheard after the 5th time he tries and still hears nothing. He peers in through the little front window but sees darkness and stillness. Nothing. Nothingness. Nada. Zip.
A frustrated grumble slips past his lips as he turns to leave. Well, this was a complete and utter waste of time that he wishes he hadn't bothered with. He's already in a bad mood over finding out the old man was completely innocent, but now discovering he'd braved New York traffic for close to nothing? He really wants to run over that old lady's barrel on purpose now.
Dean shoves his hands into the pockets of his suit and steps toward the edge of the porch—only to almost place his foot down on top of something someone else clearly let out a buttload of their own frustrations on. A phone, crushed and broken into pieces, lays off to the side on the second-before top stair, a few bits of paint and plastic chips stuck into the vertical panel of the step above it, broken glass from the screen scattered around. Dean bends down to examine the ruined device further and realizes, realizes he recognizes this phone.
He swears he's seen it before, not because of the model or type being the most popular right now and spread across and in the hands of hundreds of people on New York's busy streets. No, but because of his career as a cop Dean remembers the little things quite well, such as how this particular phone has a red butterfly sticker folded along the right back corner, several small shapes making an intricate design on the wings and sparkles signaling that a child likely placed it there.
Jimmy Novak has a daughter named Claire who happens to love butterflies, Jimmy had said as much during Dean's initial interview with the man. And Jimmy Novak has, or well, at this point had, the latest of one of those fancy Android-powered phones that the TV commercials keep rubbing in everyone's faces, pressure for an upgrade eminent.
Dean takes his own phone and snaps some pictures, several up close, one from a medium distance, and another from father away to show the phone's exact placement. He notices the bend of wood in the backdrop, pushed in and a little rough, another sign the phone was likely chucked then stomped on. Clearly someone, Novak, his wife, a family friend, a neighbor, someone, wrecked that phone intentionally and Dean suspects it has something to do with this case. Whether it be that something was on the phone or that it was destroyed out of pure frustration over all of this, he intends to find out.
The older Winchester worries his bottom lip for a moment before quickly texting Sam with an update, informing him he's going to meet him at the library if he's still there. He doesn't say too much because they're cops and that's never a good idea to do over texts. Things just keep getting better and better.
x
If not for the fact that they have established themselves so well here in Brooklyn Dean swears he'd move back to Delmar in a heartbeat. After he's gotten back into the city he wants to run over several dozen more people and resists the urge due to his conscience and the fact that he's a "good guy," cops for justice and all that. Sometimes he wishes he wasn't so inclined to do the right thing thanks to Sam's influence; other times he is glad for it because he knows without his younger brother he'd likely be one of those rogue cop types everyone in the force wouldn't trust. That would suck.
He hasn't heard back from Sam since he was stuck in traffic, the longer-haired Winchester informing Dean that he'd be stepping out for food with a fellow cop and would meet back up with him there later for sure. It was one of their "go-to" spots because of Sam's researcher nature and how they both kind of liked the quiet atmosphere in comparison to their noisy lives. And while Dean definitely didn't mind that he'd likely have to wait around for a while if he were lucky enough to escape the traffic early, Sam's desire for food awoke a beast inside of Dean's own stomach.
Dean kicks a barrel outside of Brighton Beach's library branch while cursing several times at pigeons that won't seem to leave him and his Dunkin' Donuts sandwich alone, something he feels he's inclined to enjoy after his mostly shit luck day. The server he'd gotten was clearly having a bad day as well because he hadn't managed to get her to crack even the slightest of smiles. To boot, the people behind him stepped on his heels at least eight times and a guy slammed head-on into him on his rushed way out, so Dean ended up leaving there in even further aggravation, not to mention physical pain.
Thus, he certainly isn't in the mood to defend his meal from angry feathered street fiends. He proceeds to swing at the group of pigeons stalking him and shoos them off with his sandwich gripped protectively in one hand. Dean doesn't care if anyone judges him for the weird noises coming out of his mouth as he yells at them either. It's his sandwich dammit. God, he hates birds.
"You know, if you swat at them like that they're just going to come back anyway," a voice says from his left. "They're city birds and not afraid of people at this point in time."
Dean turns and his eyes focus in on a man sitting on a suitcase. He's going through a bag of groceries, one of those reusable totes, and pulls out a six pack of some sort of fruity-looking drinks. Dean can tell it's not alcohol. Well, dammit again, a beer would be nice right about now. "Huh. Didn't notice you there."
"No one really notices me in general," the man responds, hood of his wash-faded sweatshirt slipping off as he turns to look at Dean as well, big blue hues reflecting sunlight from passing cars. "I'm one of those people that fade into the background. I was the quiet one in school, you see."
"Oh, the weird ones people warn everyone about—?" Dean interrupts himself when he examines the face staring back at him. What the hell was Novak doing at a library of all places when he's been apparently scrambling to get out of town and wrecking his carefully cared for lawn in the process? Was he really so stupid to stick around at a public place? And why wasn't he freaking out at Dean's presence?
"Hmm, I suppose some do turn out to be dangerous, so I see the stereotype. People shouldn't assume though. Some of us just didn't feel the need to talk much unless prompted is all, such is the case with me."
"Huh. Didn't think of it that way." Dean decides to play along to get his answers, hands tucking into his pockets as he gets closer to the man speaking with him as if they're on casual terms and not in the middle of a murder investigation. He peers down at the drinks Novak's fiddling with and quirks a brow. "You drink that crap too?"
"Huh?" The older man looks up at Dean with a sincerely confused face.
"V-8," Dean clarifies. "My brother likes it too."
"Oh." Novak looks back down at the six pack of cans in his lap and frowns a bit before pulling one out then putting the rest back into the tote. Dean can't help noticing the glimmer of sadness there and wonders why he feels a little bad, why he almost wants to apologize even despite thinking the emotion has little to do with what he said and more to do with deeper issues.
When he opens his mouth to add something and gets cut off, he's surprised for more than one reason. "I'm a vegetarian."
An eyebrow skyrockets up once more on Dean's forehead and he leans against the wall. "Really? After all of that junk I saw you eating yesterday?"
"I need a pick-me-up in the afternoon that's not coffee and this tends to do it."
"Yeah, well, I feel you there. Too much of the McD's and coffee has the opposite effect. All those burgers you nervously scoffed down while chatting with me was crazy, man."
"Caffeine makes many people tired after the initial jolt, so that's not surprising—what?"
"Our conversation at your house yesterday, you know, early in the afternoon," Dean says, cool as can be and switching into his tough-guy detective mode. His eyes dart down to stare directly into the bewildered look he's receiving, not caring to be gentle or polite when he continues to speak. "I'm sure you're not suffering from short-term memory loss suddenly, Novak, so let's cut to the chase. Where were you in such a hurry to scurry off to after I spoke with you? Strip club? Or maybe the mistress? That fresh coat of paint on the front door looks good, at least. Can't say the same about your lawn though."
The man looks down before sighing. "You mean my brother Jimmy."
"Brother?" Now it's Dean's turn to be confused. "You think I haven't heard that kind of crap before during cases?"
"It's the truth."
"Dude, don't mess with me. I've got more than enough reasons to drag your ass back to the station right now."
"We're twins, identical twins."
Dean is taken aback by the calm words that trigger a memory, particularly the second part. He thinks back to when Sam was doing some research on the case yesterday at their apartment, tapping away on his computer when he stumbled across something not obvious on the surface level. He'd called Dean over and showed him immediately, at which point both Winchesters had to exchange looks with "huh, well, okay then"-faced nods.
"Twins? Twins. I remember when Sammy and I read about that. Shit, no way. You're his brother? So you're not just Jimmy messing with me and trying to get away?"
"I assure you I am serious and can provide proof if needed. I have no issues with cooperating."
Dean shakes his head, feeling like an idiot, though he makes a mental note to himself that identical twins are easy to mix up. Even family members have difficulty telling the difference. "Nah, that's all right. No need. You'd be running if you were him. The guy's afraid of me."
"Are you looking for him, detective? The things you were saying, I can't help but wonder, is he in trouble again? There are quite a few reasons I don't really speak with him."
"How'd you know I was—?"
"You are Dean Winchester, are you not? I recognize you from my female co-workers' obsessive swooning over your brother and yourself on a regular basis," the man says quite matter-of-factly, the can he's holding rolling between his hands in a bored manner.
"Not surprised by the girls, but am surprised by your memory and ability to put two and two together."
"Narcissism is unflattering, detective."
"Oh, come on. Not even a 'thank you' for that compliment?" If the look Dean's receiving isn't annoyance than he doesn't know what is. A smirk the size of the Brooklyn Bridge perks up the corners of his cheeks and Dean lifts himself from his wall-pose to walk in front of the other man. "Sam and I? We get girls ogling over us all of the time. We're used to it because we're popular, young, good detectives. There's nothing narcissistic about that, right?"
It's when the man's eyes follow him with a continued irritation, focused on Dean like a cat would a red laser light trailing across a floor that Dean realizes this man is clearly not Jimmy Novak and there is no proof in the world he needs to acknowledge that. It's his eyes that really get Dean. Jimmy Novak's are also blue, but not anything like the deep blue ones that stare back at him with a look hinting at the many layers upon layers waiting to unfold with this man's personality and life. It's then that Dean realizes something else—they're actually kind of beautiful.
"I'd rather not speak my opinion on the matter any further. You'd think overly pushy and rude of me." Those are the only words he finally says as he shifts his weight on his suitcase and takes a long swig of his drink.
"Dude, come on. You told me you're a vegetarian; I'm already going down that route of thinking. Speaking of which, you're the polar opposite of Novak personality-wise, and it's completely weird."
"Oh," the man says, tipping his head and narrowing his eyes with a mocking grin, "so you're one of those people."
"See? I'm right, aren't I? That's why you're getting defensive. And by one of those people do you mean the kind that judges you meat-deprived bastards? Because in that case, yeah. I am."
The man actually laughs this time, albeit a tad bitterly, looking down and shaking his head. He tips back a bit on his suitcase, seemingly being careful not to fall over, but not avoiding the risk entirely. "Well, kindly, you're wrong. I'm not that type of person. I don't shove my diet down others' throats and try to harshly convert them."
"Those exist?" Dean asks half-serious, half-joking.
"Yes, detective." Novak's twin laughs again, seeming genuinely amused at this point, though his words are serious and clarifying with a little of the annoyance present when someone is stating the obvious. "They exist just as religious people who don't shove their beliefs down others' throats do."
"Well, shit. Now you make me feel like a judgmental ass. Sorry, I guess."
The other man laughs again, further amused with the older Winchester's confession and half-hearted apology. "It's all right. What I meant though, detective, was that you're the kind of person surprised when some identical twins aren't at all alike except in looks."
Dean laughs and the man grins. "Boy, you sure are good at making people look like idiots."
"It's a specialty of mine or so my elder siblings say."
If not for the large hand being placed on his shoulder and sound of his younger brother's voice, irritated and low, by his ear, Dean would've gladly carried on the conversation he was having with Novak's look-a-like sibling. He turns, eyes meeting Sam's with surprise and apology. He hadn't realized how he'd actually been enjoying himself so much that their conversation had been going on for quite a while.
"Dean. I texted you like, seven times. What the hell have you been doing?"
"Sammy! Uh, I got distracted. Look! Jimmy's twin, the one in the file we read about. Bumped into him and we started talking. Small world, right?" He glances to Novak's twin, then back to Sam, who's giving him an "I'm-going-to-punch-you-in-the-stomach-for-making-me-wait" face. "Sorry."
Sam's gaze trails to the man on the suitcase who smiles softly and lifts a hand to briefly wave. "So I see," the taller detective says, returning a polite smile before grabbing Dean by the shoulder and attempting to haul him towards the door to the library. "If you excuse us, we're on the clock and Dean's typical blabbermouth is wasting time. No offense intended towards you, of course. I'm sure you're very pleasant to talk to."
The man quirks a brow, eyes trailing up and down Sam like he's a very enticing piece of art, and Dean really, really doesn't like that for some reason he can't quite put a finger on. It's definitely not the big brother protectiveness because he's never had a problem with non-creepy people checking Sam out. It's something else, something strange and familiar and Dean's head struggles to find the word for it.
"It's not a problem. I understand." Novak's twin smiles again and catches Sam's eyes as he drags Dean off. "Perhaps when the two of you are off-duty we can continue our little chat and you're welcome to join us."
By the time they're inside and have made it to their typical reserved private study spot in the back of the library, all Dean can think about is Novak's twin and why the hell he feels so weird about what just happened. But Sam, on the other hand, has lost his patience for dilly-dallying and is already trying to get the two of them back on track.
"Okay, so what is it you wanted to tell me?" he asks, taking a seat at their usual table while Dean joins him. He places his laptop bag onto the surface, some books and print-outs scattered across it that he hadn't bothered cleaning up yet since they reserved the entire room as usual.
"You know he was checking you out, right?"
"Dude, really? Seriously?" Sam gives Dean an aggravated look and he pulls his computer out, setting it down and flipping it on from sleep mode. "Just tell me what you originally texted me about."
"Like, I think he's into dudes, maybe both. Who knows? Definitely the opposite of Novak though. Novak likes just chicks."
Sam slams a book down onto the table and despite being behind a closed glass door a few workers outside of the room look up. Dean makes a surprised face and looks out the large window there, mouthing an apology that is met with a finger-hush by a woman putting books away. "Dean, for the love of God, will you shut up about his twin already? I'm sure he's an interesting and nice guy, but we've got a case in need of solving. From what we know he wasn't even raised with Novak, nor has much to do with him even these days."
"Yeah, but forget the case for a moment." Dean shifts in his seat and leans over the table, getting up in Sam's personal space with a teasing grin. "My little bro is getting man-crushed on. That's a big deal. Means you're so hot even dudes like you. I'm so proud of how you've matured—"
A swift kick to his shin makes Dean curse and back off. He gives Sam a pouty look which the younger Winchester ignores. "So the text. What'd you find out at Novak's?"
"You're no fun today," Dean murmurs before finally responding to the question Sam's been asking. "When I got to Novak's place, not only was he and his family absent, but there were more than a few suspicious things."
"Like?"
"Like a fresh coat of paint on the front door and drag marks across the front lawn. Oh, and there was this." Dean pulls out his cell phone and swipes his finger across the screen until he's reached the photos of Jimmy's destroyed device.
"Whoa. Is that—?"
"Jimmy's phone? Yeah. And take a look at this shot. There's a dent in the wood. Looks like it was chucked. Think Jimmy or someone else was trying to hide something? Texts? Pics?"
Sam takes Dean's phone from him to look more closely at the photos and Dean feels a headache coming on as he zones out momentarily. Even the murmuring of Sam trying to inform him of a theory goes unnoticed as he rubs his forehead, eyes focusing in on a printed article lying upside down in front of him. He turns it around when he notices the picture on it and the headline.
"Our Beloved Volkov's: A Real Asset to Our City," it reads, preceded by a photo of the Volkov couple and their children. Dean instantly recognizes Novak's twin, standing quietly to the side, the arm of one of his adoptive siblings hooked around his shoulder. He looks so much more handsome in person, Dean thinks, believing the photo doesn't do him justice.
It's then Dean remembers he didn't actually get the guy's contact info so they don't technically have a way to meet-up to chat again. He curses himself mentally when he realizes how absorbed his head is with the thoughts of another man, the last time when he stayed up late to watch that Doctor Sexy marathon last summer. God, that man is a genius.
"…ean! Dean!" Another book slamming down onto the table makes Dean flinch. He looks up to find Sam giving him a "Seriously?" face, eyebrows scrunched together. Someone clearly didn't have their share of fruit shakes today. "Earth to Dean, your phone's ringing."
The younger Winchester points to the device across the table he'd slid back to Dean a little while ago and Dean pulls it closer, taking a peak at the name on the screen. An eyebrow rises on his forehead. "It's Garth," he says, noticing the voicemail notification go off not long after the phone stops ringing. He lifts the phone to his ear to listen to the message.
"And?" Sam asks after a bit.
Dean furrows his brows and lowers his arm, staring at the screen. "He says it's urgent. Apparently his private investigating is getting tangled up in our case unintentionally."
"What? How is that possible?" Sam asks, sliding the book he'd hit on the table to the side. "How does he even know about our case?"
"Bobby. He's one of Bobby's trusted contacts, so he probably contacted him. He did say he'd contact a few."
"Okay, I get that now. But what did he say other than that he's getting involved in our case?"
Dean slides his thumb across the screen and goes to Garth's contact information. He debates calling him back, eyes shifting from his phone screen to Sam back to his phone screen, chin propped up on his free arm. Dean settles on waiting and he places the phone back down onto the table. He decides answering Sam first is the better option. "He said he was hired to investigate someone weeks before the murder—Amelia Novak."

A/N: As an additional note, I currently have eight different SPN fics planned with ideas ranging from as far back as January 2013; in order of ideas, "Apparitions" is actually fifth on the list. I just went with whichever fics, this and "Ah! My Angel," I was in the mood to write first. It's been a while since I've written and generally worked on chapter fanfics (the last time I touched my Hetalia ones were April 26th, 2012 and May 3rd, 2012 according to the files), so it's going to take some getting used to, especially considering I wasn't a regular updater. In other words, please have patience with me!
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Apparitions and Their Untimely Returns