AN: A heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone that has been reading my story, especially Haru Maru Salvatore, Ange De La Misericorde, HikariYamino, YaoiIsMyDrug.23, anneryn7, The Purple Jade, 'Guest' and Sherlyn -Queen -B for brightening my day with their wonderful reviews! :D
Answer to the anonymous review from 'Guest': Thanks! ;D Can't wait for their first encounter myself, hehe xD *wants to hit myself for being so slooow*
Chapter Three: Patience Is A Virtue
If there was one thing Dean hated in this world, it was to dress up. He absolutely loathed the torture devices called 'suits'. Seriously, what kind of idiot came up with the bright idea to put any self-respecting man in those restricting garments? It was ridiculous, really.
These thoughts - and about a dozen similar ones – circulated in the hunter's brain as he adjusted the collar of his stiff, white dress shirt for the fiftieth time. He'd gladly take on thirty vengeful ghosts or an army of wendigos any day of the week, rather than the agony of wearing these pristine pieces of cheap cloth.
His younger brother wore his one-more-word-from-you-Dean-and-I-can't-be-held-responsible-for-the-fate-of-your-beloved-Impala expression – courtesy of the older brother for spending the whole morning loudly complaining about every inch of clothing covering his body, all the way from his too tight dress jacket to his holey left sock – which matched his awful attire perfectly.
Unfortunately for Dean's sense of self, there was not much he could do to get out of it – it was not like he could pass off as a proper FBI Agent in front of a Sheriff in his usual worn jeans and jacket.
Outside the Sheriff's office the customary secretary greeted the two young men with a 'Good morning!' and a thorough and not at all subtle visual scanning of their suit-clad bodies.
Dean, of course – ever the womanizer - couldn't resist the temptation of flirting with any new, female face on his way, much to Sam's eternal frustration and embarrassment.
"Hey," the older man paused briefly in search of a name tag on the young woman's chest, gaze lingering a little longer than appropriate on her slightly exposed cleavage. "Cindy. I'm Special Agent Dean Johnson of the FBI, this is my partner Samuel Johnson, and I'm wondering what a beautiful girl like you are doing in a place like this?"
With an eye roll and an expression of impatience the younger man pushed his incorrigible brother aside to take control of the situation. Dean straightened his jacket, looking quite pissed at the taller man's interference.
"We'd like to see the Sheriff, please," Sam requested politely, with an air of professionalism.
"The Sheriff's not here at the moment, but if you'd like to wait, I'm sure she'll be back any minute," the girl replied unsurely, somewhat intimidated by the more serious of the two newcomers as she gestured awkwardly towards the beat up old couch in the far corner of the waiting room.
"Right," he uttered in a flat voice, displaying his forced, fake smile – for the umpteenth time in his twenty-five years long life – simply for the sake of being polite.
Damon Salvatore was reclining in a comfy chair in front of the fireplace at the Boarding house, sipping blood from a glass of crystal, his mind all but lost in contemplation. The microwave heated blood from the hospital tasted slightly off. The dark-haired vampire swirled the viscous liquid around the edges of the glass before taking another sip. The blood bag had probably been laying aroung way too long. He would have liked to have something fresh for once. He had been living off of the 'frozen food' for quite some time now. It would have been so good to sink his fangs into the slender neck of some poor, oblivious human being right about then.
To hear the heart start racing. To feel the pulse upon his lips. To taste the delicious flavour of fear in the rich blood.
He missed it. Truly missed it.
There was not much he could do about it, though. Not here. Not now. He had enough to do without having to cover up his own dinners as well.
What he really could use was some semi-willing – meaning, someone willing after he'd put his talents of persuasion to good use – blood donor to satisfy his thirst at any time of the day.
His dear, little brother and his little human girlfriend would probably band together in protest if he acted out on his thoughts, though, along with vampire Barbie and her mongrel – and that he did not need at the moment. Alaric most likely wouldn't give him too much grief about it, even if he didn't necessarily like or approve of the lifestyle.
He left those kinds of thoughts at that and got up to get a refill of his drink. After all, he had all eternity live life – pun intended. There was no rush. None at all.
Any minute became fifteen minutes, became half an hour, became two hours, and still the elusive Sheriff of Mystic Falls had yet to show up at the station.
The two fake FBI agents were way beyond sick of the wait by that point, and – had they not been lying when they claimed to be FBI – would have been about ready to file a complaint against the place. But seeing as they weren't – and it would be a snowy day in hell before either one of them would ever even consider the idea of signing up for such a job – they'd just have to suck it up and try to make the best of it.
And that was exactly what Dean was doing as he lay sprawled on his back all over a flower patterned, two seater couch underneath the room's only window. He had one arm placed strategically under his head – cushioning it against the the armrest that wasn't even close to being able to go for a comfortable pillow – while the other one was busy, idly flipping the pages of his seventh gossip slash fashion magazine. Somehow, over a two hour timespan, his tie had ended up halfway beneath the couch – only a few inches of the thin end sticking out – his shirt had become all wrinkly and had loosened considerably around the neck. His shoeless feet were haging over the edge of the opposite end of the couch, dangling freely in the air near a similarly patterned chair occupied by his younger brother.
Sam sat quietly in a haze of calm and patience, lost in his own world with only his new smartphone – which apparantly could do anything – for company. His extreme aptitude for patience was enough to impress anyone – except Dean, that is. To his older brother, who hardly knew what the word even meant himself, it was just a cause for extreme annoyance.
The younger one truly wouldn't have minded the wait all that much if it weren't for the fact that his insufferable brother kept making smacking sounds with his tongue every few minutes. An hour earlier the guy had spent his time incessantly humming and singing silently, but enthusiastically to himself while playing imaginary drums with great gusto.
"Hey, Sammy!" Dean called without lowering the magazine from in front of his face, kicking Sam's arm to get his attention, causing the other man to drop his precious phone to the floor. "Did you know that mayonnaise does wonders for wrinkles?"
Sam inhaled deeply to hold back his aggravation, then bent down to pick up the phone off of the dusty linoleum floor, giving it a quick once over to check for possible damage.
"That's awesome! Right, Sammy?" Dean continued with a lighthearted chuckle, oblivious to the potent death glare his brother was giving him, threatening to burn holes straight through the poor, innocent magazine that unwittingly acted as a temporary shield for the older hunter. "Now you don't have to worry about that, eh, Sammy?"
And with his next action he triggered the other man to the point of explosion: he kicked him again, leading him to drop his phone again.
"Dean, stop it!" the now furious hunter shouted in anger, causing his confused brother to finally lower the damned magazine with a questioning frown.
Now, if looks could kill Dean Winchester would be decomposing by now. Seemed like he could easily irk his baby brother without even really trying. Fortunately for Dean and – according to the man himself – the entirety of the world's female population, they were interrupted before the situation had a chance to escalate into something truly nasty.
Quite fittingly, the Sheriff's long awaited arrival were a real lifesaver.
When the two young men entered the Sheriff's office after the extended wait, it was to the sight of the woman herself standing up from behind her semi-tidy desk to greet them.
Sheriff Forbes took her time to study the two strangers as she shook their hands; the tall, long-haired one looking all prim and proper like a real man of the FBI, and the other one. She didn't quite know what to think of the the shorter, short-haired one. He looked like he had just left a particularly wild and long-drawn-out dinner party, with his loose, untucked shirt and missing tie.
Dean delivered his most sheepish grin at the inspecting and sceptic look the Sheriff was giving him, seeming to be in the process of deciding whether or not it was supposed to be a particularly bad kind of joke.
Sam could practically feel the odds of easy cooperation from the Sheriff dropping by the second. All because of his brother's inability to stay impeccably dressed.
"Can I see some badges, please?"
AN: I feel like patting myself on the back for finally finishing another chapter xP
Review, anyone...? I'll beg if I have to!