Control - Dean Winchester [1]

17 ; Feigned Friendships Mask Sinister Intentions

I WANT TO THANK EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU WHO CHOSE TO READ THIS STORY AND GAVE ME 10.2k READS! THAT IS ABSOLUTELY INSANE AND I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS! I DIDN'T THINK THIS WOULD EVER HAPPEN TO BE QUITE HONEST! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND THANK YOU :)

Odessa, with a gleaming grin, snickered alongside Sam Winchester while they entered the suffused establishment. The Guardian comfortably evaded the intoxicated shoves and lustful gazes, merely pushing the stumbling men and woman away with a nudge. Her attire consisted of her usual color palette; charcoal and ashen grey, though she replaced her six-inch bondage boots with combat boots. Sam said something, she wasn't entirely sure because of deafening music playing over the speakers and the hundreds of clamored conversations, and her attention was directed elsewhere. Her eyes flickered from the mass of drunken adults to Dean Winchester's charming demeanor instantaneously. She looked. He was already staring. She motioned for him to follow both her and Sam to an empty table.

She perched herself on the stool beside Sam, watching as Dean ambled in their direction with a prideful expression. "I talked to the bartender." Odessa toyed with her necklace, eyeing the intricate designs embedded into the cadaverous gold. Sam was unfolding patches of cut-up newspaper, hazel eyes flickering back and forth as he read over the article. Sam's eyes remained on the article as he nonchalantly replied. "Did you get anything besides her number?" Odessa clenched her jaw, exhaling sharply.

Dean feigned an offended expression. "Dude, I'm a professional. I'm offended you would think that," He fumbled over his own words. Noticing both Odessa's and Sam's bland stares, his authentic grin revealed as he displayed the neatly written digits on a napkin. "All right, yeah." Odessa rolled her eyes, settling her elbows on the tabletop as she leaned forward.

"Thinking with your downstairs head already, and it's only 9:43," She teasingly pointed out. "Though it's I suppose it's fine because that's the only head you have that isn't hallow." Sam chuckled, and Dean glared while laughing mockingly. 

Fiddling with his napkin tainted with Sharpie, Dean shrugged. "There's nothing to find out. Meredith worked here. She waited tables. Everyone here is her friend. Everyone says she's normal. She didn't do anything or say anything weird before she died." Odessa pursed her lips into a thin line, sighing as the lack of evidence made the case much more burdensome. "What about that symbol? Did you find anything?" He asked.

Odessa raked her fingers through her hair, shaking her head 'no'. "Nada, absolutely nothing in your father's journal or the usual books. We're just gonna have to search a bit deeper." Dean's dazed expression as he peered down at the bartender's number was beginning to irk her, so with an innocent smile, she harshly kicked his shin. He winced, crumbling the napkin back into his palm and tossing it aside. "There was a first victim, right, before Meredith?" Dean questioned. Sam nodded, fumbling through the heap of folded newspaper and passages of messy handwriting from their father. 

"Right, yeah. His name was Ben Swardstrom. Last month he was found mutilated in his house," Sam said, handing Dean the newspaper. "Same deal. The door was locked. The alarm was on." Odessa peered over her shoulder, winking flirtatiously at a bundle of average-looking men. She wiggled her finger 'hello' and flashed them her notorious grin before returning her gaze back to the pile of papers. Dean was glancing at her questioningly, then behind her, scoffing before returning to his reading. "Is there any connection between them?" He asked.