Without A Trace >> Dean Winchester

24 | Man's Best Friend with Benefits [ Burden ]

24 | Man's Best Friend with Benefits [ Burden ]

"GENTLEMEN," Sam greeted, walking towards Ed with Josh standing beside him outside a room just by the corner of the hallway

"Still investigating this crappy little case? I'm awed the Bureau has so much time on its hands."

"Right. We have some individual discretion to pursue cases." Sam said, but his smile, which was rather forced, fell when he eyed the folder Ed's assistant was holding. Clarissa caught his gaze and gulped when she saw the folder labelled as 'James Frampton'.

"I'll catch up later, Ed." Josh says, exiting the conversation and left.

"Yeah, but at some point, cases like this go cold. As I'm sure you're aware. Just not enough to keep them floating — that's all."

"Sure. No new leads, then?" Clarissa inquired.

"No. And it's drifting towards the back burner, really. We just don't have the manpower." Ed says, feigning hopelessness.

"It must be tough, then, to lose a valuable resource like Lieutenant Frampton. See, he and my partner caught a case together while back." Sam said.

Ed tugged on his jacket closer, "Well, he's not lost to me—he's on leave."

"I remember he said he was the youngest guy here to ever make lieutenant." Clarissa chuckled, "must've made a few waves."

"Nah. This place is run like a dogsled. No stars, just grunts. One mutt goes lame, another one pops up and slugs through the slush." Ed spared Sam and Clarissa one last glance and excused himself with an "agent," and walked off.

Clarissa waited until Ed took a right turn, completely exited the hallway when she discretely placed a hand on the knob of the door Ed and Josh were standing in front off, rattling the handle only to discover it was locked. She sighed annoyingly and pressed her lips into a straight line.

x x x

Dean stepped out of the Impala after shutting the engine off, his eyes wondering around the surroundings, "So this warlock we're meeting, he's a snitch?"

"Cops have snitches all over town. James uses Drexyl when he suspects someone in the community."

Dean nodded, digging their hands deeper into their coats when they heard the purring of an engine in a distance. The car stops right in front of them and Drexyl steps out. He had shabby, messy hair— dressed in layers to probably shelter himself from the cold weather.

"Drexyl. This is Dean." Portia says.

"Wiccan. Detroit. I heard. So here's the deal," he began, "absolutely no word on the street about any witch hexing another one."

"You sure there's not any kind of spell?"

"Look, Detroit. I pride myself on reliable sourcing." He sassed. Drexyl looked over to Portia, "There is, however, a lot of chatter about our James."

"What kind of chatter?"

"That he's gone ripper."