13×01 coda

grey2510:

It’s a few weeks before Sheriff Christine Barker can return to work full time; Clark is ok, but the road to recovery for a stabbing wound like that is long and what kind of mother would she be if she didn’t care for him?

She hadn’t let the time off go completely to waste. After all, there had been quite a lot of downtime while Clark rested and watched TV or played video games. 

She’d had research to do. Research that probably wouldn’t be approved by taxpayers if she’d done it at work. Looking up known criminals (even if they were long dead, according to the records) was one thing, but looking up monsters and angels and demons? No way to explain that one away without losing her position.

It’s hard to track down the Winchesters–the reports are often contradictory or incomplete, and she doesn’t have access to the FBI files. There are two names the often come up with them as associates: James Novak and Robert Singer. Novak, it seems, is even more squirrelly and difficult to pin down, having walked off from his family years ago. The mother and daughter have also fallen off the grid in recent years. Robert Singer, however, is more consistent, having owned a house and business in South Dakota for years before his death.  

Well, that’s assuming he’s actually dead. Clearly Dean and Sam are not. She also doubts they’re the serial killers that were plastered on the news a few years ago, or if they are, then there’s more to the story about the victims.

She shakes her head, presses fingers to her temple. Good thing no one can hear her thoughts.

There’s a name in her notes on Robert Singer. A number, too. 

Taking a deep breath, she picks up the phone, glancing at the office door to make sure it is, in fact, closed. 

“Sioux Falls Sheriff’s Department, how may I direct your call?” a professionally cheerful voice answers.

“Um, hello. My name is Sheriff Christine Barker, out in North Cove, Washington. Is Sheriff Mills available?”

“Lemme check. She might be in a meeting right now. Can I ask what this is about?”

“I have some questions about a former resident of Sioux Falls. Robert Singer? I think he was known as Bobby.”

The line goes quiet for a moment. “I’ll–I’ll get the Sheriff right away.”

There’s some rustling and a click and then silence. Christine taps her pen on the desk calendar nervously. Another click. 

“Sheriff Mills speaking.”

“Hello, I’m Sheriff Christine Barker. North Cove, Washington,” she repeats, although she’s sure Mills has been told this information. “Did you know a Robert Singer? I have records saying you were the arresting officer a few times.”

“I arrest a lot of people. Not like we send each other Christmas cards after.”

Christine sighs. “But–”

“Bobby Singer is dead. Why are you calling?”

She swallows the lump in her throat, suddenly hit with the image of Clark being stabbed by that woman who wasn’t a woman, not really. Being thrown against the vending machine by Jack. The dead look in Dean Winchester’s eyes when he’d told her all about his day job. 

“I-I…” She’s not sure what to say. What if this Jody Mills doesn’t know about the monsters? What if she thinks she’s crazy? She squares her shoulders, then adopts the most neutral and professional tone she can. Keep it factual. It’s just another case. “Just a case out here, Sheriff, nothing to worry about. Been looking into two men’s history and Robert Singer was a name that kept popping up. Figured it was worth a phone call.”

Sheriff Mills pauses before she answers, cautiously. “Sam and Dean Winchester?”

Christine blinks. “You know them?”

Mills huffs. “Yeah, I know ‘em. If you’re worried about them, they’re good men. Some of the best.”

“I, uh, I got that,” Christine murmurs. “Sheriff Mills–”

“Jody.”

“Right, Jody. Do, ah, do you…” 

Jody saves her from having to explain. “Yes,” she says simply. “I know about it all. I’m gonna give you my personal number. You call if you need it, ok?”

“Thank you.” There’s more relief in her voice than she’d like to admit.

“I might be out of line here, but are you ok? Did someone get hurt?” Jody’s voice has a softness in it, the softness of someone who understands all too well.

“My son,” she confirms. “Doctors say he’ll be alright.” She rubs her eye, tries for a laugh. “Probably more upset I took all his pills with me while he’s home. Said the walls were purple yesterday.”

Jody snorts. “Yeah, that sounds familiar.” A beat. “Sheriff Barker, you’re gonna be ok. You got a pen?”

“Yeah.”

“Lemme give you that number.”