Still Wear that Same old Ring? [Zee/Sam]

[Zee Kerrick]

[zee]Zee leaned back against the bar in the upscale yuppie blues club, a gin and tonic in one hand as she watched the stage. The frontman of the blues band was good-looking, in a way that Zee imagined would appeal to a lot of his audience. Blond, square-jawed, but with a sulky, discontented mouth that some women no doubt found attractive but which rang alarm bells for her. Men with mouths like that were trouble, they were too used to getting everything their way and expected women to keep up the trend.

He was good, though. There was a scratchy, wounded note in his voice as he sang about letting go and failing to let go. The blues weren't usually Zee's thing, but she could hear the talent and skill at work here.

Unfortunately for the singer, she could also hear the note of a beansidhe's wail in his voice. She was holding shredded leaves of eyebright under her tongue, the herb gave a bitter minty tang to her mouth that even the gin and tonic couldn't totally clear, but it kept her immune to fae tricks and she could hear the extra notes, almost like a second voice underneath the singer's words, that was influencing the audience. In a little while he'd give his little speech about being an unsigned artist being rough and encourage people to hit the little table in the back where they were selling CDs and collecting small donations for recording the next album. Perfectly reasonable and standard, except that he was taking in eight to fifteen grand a night. People heard him sing and suddenly they wanted desperately to support this fine musician.

Not a bad scam, he played single night shows and moved on, and he never got too greedy. Except that a few people had started following him from gig to gig, and too much exposure to his power left them sidhe-struck. There had already been two suicides, and the cops had picked up a man who'd been trying to sneak into the singer's motel room and who had died of heart failure when separated from the object of his obsession for 48 hours. Dude wasn't putting any effort into keeping it from happening, whether or not he was doing it deliberately, and that meant he had to be shut down.

So there Zee was on a Thursday night, having left behind her corsets and stompy boots for a night and trying to blend in with the upscale crowd in a pair of those new stretch faux-leather leggings and an openwork knit tank top sheer enough to convince every man who saw her that he could definitely catch a glimpse of nipple if he could just get the right angle and lighting. She could feel the crowd around her reacting to the singer's power, and couldn't quite decide whether she was impressed or worried. Mostly impressed, the clip in her gun was loaded with cold iron rounds that she'd carefully created herself by breaking down and grinding smooth a set of fireplace tools into shaped slugs. Silver was no good at all against the fae, but salt and iron worked just fine and she'd brought plenty of both.

The set wrapped, the singer gave his little talk about how he knew he could depend on his fans, and Zee shot back the last of her gin, put a fresh pinch of eyebright under her tongue, and started moving toward the side of the stage. She was aiming to end up right behind the singer, slip in to the backstage area directly in his wake. And she'd have managed that just fine if she hadn't walked smack into a moose in an ugly flannel shirt who was gallumphing after her target at the same time she was.

There was no moment of not knowing who it was, nothing like that. Who else could be counted on to show up at the exact wrong moment and ruin everything? Zee smacked Sam's upper arm and glared at him as she had to sidestep to keep from actually careening into him. "Back off, Winchester," she hissed. "I got this."[/zee]

[Sam Winchester]

He had spent a lot of time on his laptop in the last week doing research on fae. Their weaknesses, how to go unaffected by their magic, what killed them and every other tiny piece of info he could find. It had taken him a long time to catch the trail of this one and then he'd had to spend time figuring out what he was dealing with and the specific way required to kill it. So, he was exhausted and high on caffeine at the same time. Of course, he had crammed all his research in the week between the fae's last concert and this one. He’d had very short notice for this hunt so he'd read everything. Sam was now a walking, talking faerie trivia master. He knew things that he felt no human should know and still he had questions. Were fae evil, benevolent or neutral? This one was killing people, but he couldn't decide if it was intentional or carelessness on his part.

He sucked on a tiny bit of an herb, he couldn't seem to remember the name at this point, but it was supposed to keep his head clear. Something to do with fae magic, he remembered. He'd remember the name later, at an appropriate time, and he'd stock up on the stuff just in case. Sam kept a wary eye on the crowd, noting how they responded to the singer. The guy's voice sounded off to him and he guessed he was hearing the magic. Which was how he scared up so much money at each concert, he deduced. The fae was, Sam mused, probably what girls of this crowd would find attractive, guys too. To him, the man was too sharply angled, then again, seeing as he wasn't attracted to other men, he was incapable of understanding the magnetism.

He'd found a dark corner to linger in, a bottle of beer in one hand. Dean should have been standing next to him. But his brother was halfway across the country dealing with some other issue. And he hadn’t talked to Bobby in days. So, he stood alone, somehow managing to look completely relaxed despite the fact that he was wearing a flannel button-up shirt and jeans while everyone else was wearing their best club outfit. Between his height and the calm confidence that he wore with ease, he caught the attention of several girls. Not that he was noticing, he was too busy studying his prey.

One such girl, after being prodded by her friends, materialized in front of him. “Hello!”

Confused, Sam looked down to find a pretty young thing wearing as little clothing as was legally possible staring up at him with large, hopeful blue eyes. “Hello...?”

“Are you enjoying the music? I think it's fantastic! But you looked all alone over here. You know, standing by yourself? I was hoping I could keep you company.” She sidled closer, her smile turning sly as her barely-covered breasts brushed his arm.

The big man was only further confused. “I'm okay. Really. Um...Don't you think the singer is...handsome?” His offer was awkward at best and not in any way inviting, but she didn't seem to realize that.

She was about to say something when the music petered out and Sam's attention snapped back to the singer onstage, muscles tensing as he made some speech that was sure to garner him a ton of money. Small hands wrapped around his arm, but he paid no attention, not when the fae was now getting off stage. Murmuring something about having things to do, he slipped away from her, mentally checking that he'd loaded his gun with iron bullets hand-fashioned by himself along with a container of salt. And, if he couldn't reach his gun, he'd managed to pick up an iron knife, although he would never admit to anyone where or how he'd gotten ahold of the damn thing.

He was intending to just look natural as he followed after the fae. In fact, he was going unnoticed (probably because of the flannel shirt) and would have had the singer in his grips had a small thing not bumped into him. Because it was his nature to help those smaller than him, especially when they ran into him, he stopped to help the tiny person. Only to get hit for his efforts. It was her voice that clued him in and Sam's green eyes narrowed irritably. “You've got this? Look at you! You're not even five feet tall. You're like a gnat, running into me and then yelling at me about it. If you think I'm going to back off after I spent a week preparing for this, you're crazy. Why don’t you sit this one out, Zee? I can handle him just fine.” Childishly, he stuck his tongue out at her and then tried to brush past her without pushing her to the floor.

[Zee Kerrick]

[zee]Oh hell no. Hell no. He was not stealing her hunt, and he was extra double bonus-level not shoving her aside and making short jokes while he did.

Zee jabbed a forefinger into his chest just below the breastbone, meaning for it to hurt and doing a pretty good job of it. "And you, an actual and for-truly Sasquatch tromping after him, that's going to go over great. No way security's going to be the least bit alarmed by nine and a half feet of gay lumberjack trying to get a quiet word with the talent."

She turned just in time to see the door closing behind the singer and the security guard stepping over in front of it again, effectively cutting off any chance of either of them slipping into anywhere. And one guess who's fault that was. Whirling back to face Sam, she gave him her best glare. Which, Zee being Zee, was damn good. Glaring was kind of her hobby.

"Now look what you did!" She went to brush past him, meaning to head out to the stage door and see if she could flirt her way past the security guard. If somebody wouldn't ruin it all again.[/zee]

[Sam Winchester]

That had hurt. He met her glare, expression turning into a full on bitch face in mere seconds. Gay lumberjack? Was she serious? She was, it seemed, because she was trying to get past him. This was not going to happen. Not like this. He caught her arm, forcing her to twist back to face him. “If I was him, I’d be more afraid of the two foot tall hobbit trying to get into his pants.” They were attracting too much attention, most noticeably from the guy guarding the door their prey had gone through. Realizing that their shared objective was a bust, he wrapped an arm around her waist.

Throwing her over his shoulder none-too-gently, he carried her through the crowds of raving fanatics, his solid frame more than sturdy enough to remain standing despite the pushing and shoving. He was silent as he worked his way to the front door and stepped outside. It wasn’t until he was several yards from the door that he stopped and set her down again. “You can be as mad as you want, Zee, but it was a lost cause. We both knew that the moment we ran into each other.” Because he was not taking the blame for the run-in.

“We’ll have to find another way to get to him. And I’ll be the first to ask you to work with me. You’re not going to give up. I’m certainly not going to give up. Might as well team up this one time and get rid of him. Once he’s gone, we go our separate ways and say the hell out of each other’s jobs.” Maybe. It was a promise he wasn’t likely to keep. As annoying as the tiny hunter was, she was also a friendly face after weeks of loneliness. And god, but he needed someone friendly at the moment, more than he was willing to admit.

[Zee Kerrick]

[zee]A shriek of outrage when he picked her up, Zee squirmed and kicked the whole time he was carrying her and landed one or two decent blows along the way. And, okay, maybe she hadn't hit with her full strength, but that was only because she didn't want him to drop her. Only reason. Definitely.

Now, why she didn't punch him the moment he set her on her feet again she chose not to examine. Not that it kept her from glaring at him again and declaring, "Way to fuck up any hope of a Plan B. I still could have maybe talked my way past the stage door if you hadn't gone all Captain Caveman."

But he was right in one thing, at least. Now that he'd blown her chances of getting this guy at the club she'd need to find another chance. And like it or not, Sam Winchester was a damned good hunter. Good enough that she had to grudgingly admit that he was right and they ought to work together.

"Fine." Ungracious as always. "I'm driving." She stomped off to the Challenger and lit a smoke as soon as they were inside. She didn't comment on it, made no indication that she was even aware of it, but the state of the Challenger spoke louder than any words to declare that Paul was gone. All these years and Sam had only rarely seen Zee in the next block from her supposed-uncle, much less in the next town. But that was Zee's purple MP3 player mounted in the dock under the dash, her bags tossed into the backseat, the air smelled of pink grapefruit air freshener and Marlboros, no hint of the bay rum and gun oil scent that hung around the rangy old hunter.

Taking a drag of her cigarette, Zee informed Sam that, "I know the motel he's staying in tonight. We can go check into a room there and wait for him." And then, both because she was curious and because she didn't want to talk about Paul, she asked, "How'd you get turned on to this guy?" She always found it interesting how other hunters found their leads. Proud as she was, Zee was willing to learn good tricks from others.[/zee]

[Sam Winchester]

Sam had a theory that Zee was incredibly violent to make up for just how ridiculously short she was. And wouldn’t that be just fitting? Her blows did little to harm him, she was ineffective at actually bruising him badly enough for him to pay more attention to her than he would an annoying gnat. He liked that. Maybe he’d tell her she was a gnat the next time…He was momentarily distracted by someone standing just behind Zee after he set her down. He entirely missed her grouching about Plan B. However, he managed to focus on her again only to find her marching off without him. Half-remembering something about driving and the Challenger, he trailed behind her, actively working to get his head back on straight. No need to let her in on his secret.

If he noticed the differences in the car – and he did – Sam was clever enough not to comment. He could put two and two together just like anyone else, probably better than some. Sam also kept his mouth shut about her smoking, they’d argued about that in the past, it hadn’t made a difference then and he suspected that it wouldn’t do a damn thing now. So, he focused on her question instead.

“Caught onto the string of deaths he leaves behind three states over about a week ago. Almost ignored the first one, but I decided to do some research and found others just like it, in a pattern…a line. A traced that line and found his band. Started digging, came across the word faery and dug deeper. I’ve pulled every single bit of information I could get my hands on and then some. I don’t think I know enough, but I took what I could. I made fashionable bullets for him and wore something suitable.” He pulled out a vial of the plant he’d been chewing on. “Dean and I ran into the fae a while back.” When he’d been soulless, but that wasn’t pertinent to the moment. “So, that helped a small bit.”

[Zee Kerrick]

[zee]She nodded, frowning out the windshield as she drove. "Paul ran into 'em up in Canada about twelve years ago, he got some good data on them. I've been watching for some activity in the north-central ever since that big fairy ring turned up in Minnesota at the beginning of the month." God love the internet, where you could actually find websites of people tracking the appearance of mushroom circles.

Glancing over at him she asked, "You using eyebright or St. Johns Wort? Or something else?" Again with the willingness to pick his brains. Paul had taught her a lot, everything she could soak up in four years beside him. But four years wasn't a lifetime, not nearly enough, and there were always holes. It was why she had to be a little picky with her cases, only go after things she could be pretty sure she understood. She felt guilty about that sometimes, but she had neither the background nor the resources that some hunters did. Much as it galled her to admit to to herself (and Christ knew she'd never admit it to anybody else), Paul had been right. She wasn't ready to be out on her own.

Also, in the interest of them working together Just This Once and all she added, "I've got iron and salt and some herbal stuff that'll mess up their shit. This one's a beansidhe, I'm 99%, so I brought a comb made out of rowan wood." She sort of half-grinned, half-scowled, "Thing cost a fortune, but apparently if you can get it into their hair they lose their voice."[/zee]

[Sam Winchester]

[sam]So, past experience on her side too. He hadn’t yet decided conclusively how he felt about the fae as a whole. So far, he’d run into some bad nuts, but did that mean the whole of the race was hunt-worthy? Something to muse over when he was alone again. Finding things to think about, to really focus on, helped. Hunting alone was destroying him, though he’d never admit it in the few calls he and Dean were able to make. For his brother, he could be strength, for himself it was a lot harder. Tonight would be a nice reprieve from the norm of recent days. He’d have Zee and the Fae to focus on. Just arguing with her was a relief.

“I believe it was St. John’s Wort, couldn’t find any eyebright on such short notice.” Finding out about the two plants had been new, there’d been no such information when he’d dealt with the Leprechaun. If there were other plants, Sam hadn’t had the time to find them in his research. He almost smiled over at her and managed not to comment on her amazing ability to reach the foot pedals. That would surely get him kicked out of the car and he needed this hunt badly. He could not go back to an empty motel room right now.

“I’ve got some iron and salt on me. Didn’t find anything about herbal remedies or combs. I figured out he was a fairy and tried to comb through the many legends, but I got overwhelmed. When my brain started losing information, I was forced to end my research and just act.” Which had been last night. He hadn’t spent a lot of time in the past week sleeping, partially because of the research and partially for other reasons. “Remind me, what the hell are beansidhe? Which ones are they? I got the voice bit, but right now I’m struck dumb by information overload. Hand me a gun and point me in the right direction and that’s about all I might be useful for. Sad, but very true.”[/sam]

[Zee Kerrick]

[zee]"Picked it up at a Chinese apothecary," she explained, concentrating more on his next question. "They're where the American banshee legends come from. Over here, banshees are death omens, but originally it just meant 'fae whose power is in their voice'. Most of the legends say they're women, but I found a couple of references to males, they just apparently are more sneaky than the chicks."

She thought about what she'd read, trying to organize it in her head. It was something Zee always had trouble with, she could read all the books and retain the information just fine but laying it back out in an organized way that anyone else could follow was somehow difficult for her. "The rowan comb thing is that they comb out their hair with silver, something about the silver imbuing them with their power. The rowan wood apparently reverses that, sucks the power right out of them into the comb." She shrugged. "Sounds stupid to me, but let's face it? Half of what works against these ancient monsters makes no sense."

They pulled up to a mid-priced motel and she parked the Challenger under the overhang outside the office. "Dude's in 107," she pointed to the room's door across the parking lot. "You want to check us in, ask for the room on the end?" Which would put them two down from the musician and thus in a good spot to watch for him.[/zee]

[Sam Winchester]

[sam]Banshee, now there was a word he vaguely recognized as something he had legitimately heard of in legends. Not fun creatures, he remember from his readings. And, even in his reading on fae, they had mostly been referred to as female. That Zee had found any reference to them as male was amazing to him. He respected her for it.

"Good point. Rowan comb it is, then. Not much better than spilling salt and making them count each grain. I caught a leprechaun that way. Looking back, it was both amusing and rather bizarre." So a rowan comb wasn't much worse, in his mind. Bizarre weapons for bizarre creatures.

With a quick nod, more to himself than her, he climbed out of the car and booked them the room on the end as she had suggested. When he returned with keys in hand, he smiled as he climbed back into her car. "Room 109 tonight." It didn't take the two of them long to unload weapons from the Challenger into the hotel room, there wasn't much to actually use. Sam settled down near the window, unwilling to fuss over his guns too much lest he do something stupid.[/sam]

[Zee Kerrick]

[zee]Zee spread a bath towel out on the foot of the bed nearest the door and arrayed several odd-looking weapons on it, ranging from bundles of herbs wrapped in Kleenex and tied off with twist-ties, a hunk of cold iron in the middle of each one to guarantee that when they were thrown the impact would be solid enough to tear the tissue and send the salt and herbs scattering everywhere, to her very favorite hand to hand weapon--a cold iron fireplace poker that she had painstakingly wrapped in a loose spiral of silver wire, taking it down with soldered flux here and there to keep it in place.

Then she sat herself down on the edge of the bed up near the pillow, letting Sam take first watch as she lit a cigarette and started loading up a Mossberg with rounds filled with salt, snipped iron and clary. "So tell me, Moose, how were you actually planning to get within five feet of the fae without him knowing you for what you are?" It was flat-out antagonism, but Zee didn't know how to deal with Sam Winchester if she wasn't fighting with him, whether they were working together on this one or not.[/zee]

[Sam Winchester]

[sam]Her comment had him whirling to face her, bitch face pushing the limits of safety. He opened his mouth with a retort already on the tip of his tongue.

Two hours later, they'd been bickering and picking each other apart until they were both sour and irritable. Sam hadn't moved from his post near the window, having argued that it was his when Zee had made mention that she would do better at watching. He was lucky to glance back outside just as car pulled over. Silently, he waved her over to him so that could peer out the window too. His hand tightened around the gun he'd started cleaning mid-arguement.

However, it appeared the fae was not remotely unaware of them. For, as he reached the door to his room, he paused and actually turned around. Sam locked gazes with him for only a moment, but he saw something in those eyes, an unnatural flare of color. The man had said something, but with a window a measure of space between them, the youngest Winchester had no clue what exactly it was.

Dumbly, he watched the fae man slip inside his room, struggling to comprehend the fog descending on his brain.[/sam]

[Zee Kerrick]

[zee]Zee was reaching for the poker. Her brain said she was 'lunging' for it, but it felt like her body was moving much slower than that, like she was more 'meandering' toward the weapon. Moseying. Lazing. Dawdling. And then the door was opening and she hadn't made it even halfway across the three-foot gap between her and the safety of cold iron.

The beansidhe was smiling, his eyes seemed to be changing somehow. The irises pinwheeling down until you couldn't see the pupil at all, just a sickening and beautiful twist of silvery blue. And then, grotesquely, he winked at them and started to sing.

Looking back later, Zee would decide that the song itself was basically irrelevant. An old Scottish lament about a war mostly forgotten. She looked it up afterward, scoured through the history and lyrics trying to find a meaning, but eventually she had to decide that it was simply the first thing that had popped into the fae's head.

But the notes coiled around them, tangible and insidious. No amount of eyebright was going to fix this, this was the full, directed power of a fae in the height of his power and she and Sam never had a chance. The music brought a coiling warmth in the pit of her stomach, a familiar soft wetness between her thighs. Her mouth went slack, her breathing shallow as the song writhed inside her. And as some long-dead moralist wept for the irrevocable step taken Zee was already turning away from the weapons and toward Sam, and she was vindicated but not surprised to find him reaching for her, too.

Their hands locked together, pulling forward. Sam had all the strength, he tugged and she ended up straddling his lap on her knees. His hands were on her ass, hers were in his hair and they were kissing like they'd crawl right through one another. Like nothing else would keep them alive past the hour, and maybe nothing would. Zee ground down against him as she licked and bit at Sam's bottom lip and nothing had ever tasted better, felt more right.

They didn't even notice the beansidhe leave.[/zee]