Burn It to the Ground

Kassia’s POV:

The air wasn’t in the least bit humid, nor was I obtaining a petulant heat exhaustion in the middle of summer. This was pretty uncommon, but I wasn’t complaining. What I was complaining about however, was the fact that Michael Taylor would not answer his damn door when I knew quite well he was in his home. “Come on Kassia, we both know the man has obviously been under a lot of stress from all of these deaths. Give the man a break.” Maura’s caring and persuasive voice may have gotten to any normal persons head but I was far from ordinary.

“Mr. Taylor I know you’re in there. We’ll be back tomorrow if you’re not going to talk now!” I shouted at the door angrily, pretty much demanding him to open the door so we can come in. I was acting quite unprofessional for a ‘FBI agent’, so I could understand why he didn’t answer the door of aimlessly attempting numerous times. I sighed hastily and turned around frustrated, heading back to the furious black and gold Firebird. Nothing could ever go right on our portion.

Before opening the door to the car, I pulled out my cell phone to find out I had a new text message. Smiling brightly and heart racing rapidly, Dean’s name flashed on the screen. He had been sending me random messages the whole way to Alba, one with a picture of Sam and marshmallows lodged up his nose. It was priceless. I must have been smiling stupidly, because I got an idiotic smirk from Maura. “We’re supposed to meet them at the closest burger joint,” I told Maura puzzled, leaning up against the side of the car. She opened the driver side door, staring at me baffled. “Where the hell is there even a place to eat in this town?”

“Beats me; hold on let me rely on Google,” I implied smartly, pulling out my laptop from underneath the leather seat and balancing in on my hand carefully.

Maura frowned. “How can you search for a diner on Google in the middle of nowhere?” She had a point but I had my reasons, in more ways than one. “Ah- but it’s easy. Remember, who is the technopathy one…” I announced back to her intelligently, quickly pulling up Google with no problem. In the middle of nowhere like Alba, Missouri, you wouldn’t be able to get very good internet or phone reception, but luckily with me having these great powers there wouldn’t be any nerve-racking issues.

“Whore,” she glowered at me jokingly as I looked up at her blankly. Any other time she would call me that, it wasn’t an insult. She always would call me that when she didn’t get her way. Ever since we stumbled upon that Shape-shifter and I had that gauche, yet powerful conversation with it I took everything in consideration. I mean what if it was right that she honestly thought I was a whore; I don’t know what else I’d do but take it as offensive. Maura looked at me awkwardly, as I just shook my head and continued on with my search. “Here we go, it er-” I grimaced at the scratched screen, realizing that there wasn’t an actually sit-down, sanguine burger joint close by. “There’s a diner about twenty miles outside of town.”

“What kind of town doesn’t have a nice little diner for a cute- eh, scratch that- for an uncanny small town?”

“You got me- but there happens to be a bar a half mile up the road. Maybe we’ll get the chance to talk to some of the civilians about the suicide victims.” I suggested offhandedly, closing my laptop and putting back under the seat before we both got in the car.

Maura sighed loudly, turning the key in the ignition and revving it up, veering out onto the street again. “Yeah, well we didn’t have much luck at the last bar. That owner wasn’t a pocketful of sunshine you know.”

I laughed softly at her clever metaphor. At The Tumbleweed Bar, the owner Walt may have came across to us a bit disturbed when we talked to him back in Cheyenne, but it wouldn’t have been our first we’ve had people like that. “I know but remember we didn’t get very far at the Lovegood’s before Rachael’s husband shooed us off their property. I don’t know how much luck we’re going to have with Michael Taylor, so why not try here?” Maura nodded slightly, realizing that I was most likely right with my inference as she pulled into the parking lot when the bar and the same unique jet black Impala came into view. It came to our surprise that there were a significant amount of ancient vehicles in the parking lot of the Parrot Key Saloon, but for five o’clock in the afternoon where else were these hicks supposed to go and hangout?

The sun was starting to set behind the trees, setting of an orangish-yellow cast around the clouds. It was one of those moments where you just wish you can capture that image and cherish it in your mind for a lifetime, especially when your surroundings are peaceful and at ease- somewhat. Maura and I both decided to change out of our professional uniforms and into something a bit more casual to fit the occasion; tank tops, short jean shorts and knee-high boots- perfect.

I sighed lightly, getting out of the car hastily with my battered laptop in my right hand. The Impala was empty which gave me the impression that the boys were inside already. Maura and I made our way up the sidewalk and through the front doors, immediately having the smell of cigarettes and strong whiskey filling our nostrils. The smoke was that bad my eyes were burning dreadfully; a lot like back at the diner to Cheyenne. Stupid crack addicts; other than that, it was a bunch of rednecks and blue collar men half drunk, and singing a mix of oldies and modern country music. I only knew that because an old friend from high school had me hooked on it- truthfully, it wasn’t that bad as everyone claimed it to be.

“Found them,” Maura pointed out gleefully and interrupting my thoughts, as a brief smile coiled on her face at the Winchester’s gathered at a high table with a round of beers in their hands. Maura marched off towards them before I had a chance to think straight, but the deep fog of smoke was obstructing my mind. I let out an annoyed grunt, weaving my way in and out of drunks and tipped-over chairs across the scuffed up hardwood floor.

As soon as I found my way to the table of our attractive men, Dean smiled at me faintly clearly acknowledging my grim face. I guess I wasn’t having the greatest day after all. “Hey, why the low face? Perk up a little,” he stated cheerfully, grasping onto my hand and pulling me in closer to him. He wrapped his strong arm around my waist, making me smile briefly as I placed my laptop down on the table. Maura, who was standing across from us, was propping her arm on Sam’s shoulder and staring Dean and I, kind of hawk-like but slightly grinning.

“Oh thanks, you got me a beer,” I stated, grinning a bit more as I reached over to pick up Dean’s beer and pressing my lips to it, chugging it wildly. “Hey, hey, hey, that’s my beer! Get your own,” he declared, ripping the beer bottle from my hands. I glowered over at him and pried his hands off of me, as he gave me a disapproving stare. I didn’t want to have a bitter night all because of the smoke killing me by the second, and having Michael Taylor not answer his door. I was going to get drunk so I wouldn’t have to worry about those issues, even if it meant stealing other people’s beer.

“I’m going to have a word with that cute bartender over there. Maybe he’ll share his beer with me,” I said nattily, as Dean smacked my ass playfully and sending me a puzzled expression. After I let out an innocent chuckle, I pranced off to the bar counter to try and have a word about the deaths that went on in the eerie little town.
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Dean’s POV:

My eyes were glued on Kassia, swaying her hips elegantly across the bar floor and leaning over the counter to get the male bartender’s attention, who was probably around his mid-twenties. I don’t know if it was jealousy or regret for not telling her I was kidding about the whole ‘not sharing my beer’ episode. As joking as she may have been, I sort of took it hard as I watched her talking casually with the young man behind the counter, getting pretty chummy with him.

Suddenly, a hand collided with the back of my head a little more than just a love tap. I jerked to my left to see Maura, glaring at me fiercely. “Oww?” I confusingly said, rubbing the back of my head. She continued to give me a lethal stare. “What?” I added, as she was now starting to alarm me a little more than before.

“My sister; her ass; don’t give her any more ideas than what’s already going on underneath that red hair of hers.” She replied, her seriousness overpowered her calm tone. I couldn’t help but smirk at her remark. “Ha- you have no clue sister,” I replied, implying on mine and Kassia’s little mishap that morning while her and Sam were out and about doing who knows what.

She rolled her eyes inconsiderately. “I’m watching you Dean Winchester; I always will be.”

“You don’t scare me.” Lie.

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” Yet, another lie.

Sam cleared his throat violently, endeavoring to get our attention to end our little feud over Kassia. “So, what did you girls dug up?” He turned to Maura sheepishly, changing the subject and hoping to keep it that way.

She sighed and sat down on the chair in between Sam and I. “Nothing,” she replied, as a female bartender placed another round of beers on the ribbed table, thanking her and taking a swig. “Kassia aimlessly tried to get Michael out of the house so we can get some answers out of him, but I guess the man is just as stubborn as her.”

“Sam and I will head out there tomorrow,” I proclaimed, pressing the bottle to my lips as Maura and Sam both stared at me stupidly. Why was I the one everyone seemed to dislike- or just didn’t agree with?

Maura shook her head, snickering sarcastically. “Like hell you are-” she snapped back hastily. “Kass and I can take care of Michael. Did you come up with anything?”

“We went down to the police department. Sheriff Summers seemed to know Elizabeth pretty well,” Sam stated firmly, folding his hands on the table. “He didn’t want to get into anything- he also mentioned how Michael shouldn’t be hammered with questions.”

“And has that ever stopped us before?” I piped in as Sam glanced at me briefly. “As fruitless these people may be about these ‘suicides’, we’re going to hound them with all we got until we find something out.” Both Sam and Maura had blank looks on their faces, which I couldn’t determine whether it was that they agreed with me or were ignoring me.

As modest as I was feeling sorry for Michael Taylor and the rest of the town, this was a job that needed to get done. We didn’t have much time to waste with no answers for what we could be going after. We needed to talk with Michael Taylor, even if it was the last thing I could do.