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"You know, he didn't really need my help for that one." Jeremy wasn't completely sure he understood all the details about how John had taken care of the issue in Pennsylvania. The ex priest had been a bust, the owner of the mines has been attacked, and John and Zed blew up the mine field. The culprit had turned out to be, unsurprisingly to Jeremy, the widow of Lannis Cadogan. Turned out, she was a Romani, a witch descended from a long line of dark arts preformers who's magic had grown twice as strong due to the apparent Rising Darkness. Whatever that was. In the end, though, John had taken care of the problem all by his lonesome, as per usual.

Now a week later, Jeremy stood with Chas in front of that old Mill House located seemingly no where in the woods, ready to collect what his old friend owed him for hiring him on the job. It was weird being back at the Mill House after being away for so long; there was that warm, relieved feeling one got when they returned home from a vacation, as if his body were ready to come back, ready to step into the world of demons and darkness again. But there was a lingering tingly sensation, his mind replaying that night on repeat without his permission, reminding him that there was a high possibility that, if he did, it could very well happen again to someone else he cared about. Jeremy wasn't sure he could handle that...

The building itself wasn't much to look at. Just a small structure, no bigger than a square foot on both sides, a massive water mill at the back of the house and a lake that spread out for miles. The house's bricks were chipped, faded and and crumbling like the old place would fall apart at any minute. It was hidden from the naked eye with a shit ton of protection and security spells, but Jeremy doubted it made much of a difference if anyone seen it or not. Any normal person would just walk right past it anyways, he imagined. But Jeremy knew better. He'd been inside that stupid place more than once. And that...that was where the real fun happened.

Chas shrugged carelessly as he passed Jeremy a wad of cash, the latter pocketing it as the pair stood side by side, neither moving to leave. Not just yet. "Honestly, I just figured it'd be the only way to get anyone to talk to each other again."

Jeremy scoffed, rolling his eyes slightly at that remark. Of course Chas would be the one to decide that everyone needed to get their heads out of their asses and make up. He was right, of course. Jeremy knew that, but it wasn't really that simple. Everyone had parted on extremely terrible terms; they'd blamed each other for what had happened in Newcastle. There had even been more than a few death threats thrown around, some of which were from Jeremy himself. It was hard coming back from such a huge falling out.

"It's been nine months, Jeremy," Chas reminded him, as if he had somehow forgotten. As if he could forget. As if in such a short amount of time would somehow be long enough to get over all that had happened. The past, almost, year had been Jeremy's own personal Hell thanks to everything that had happened at Newcastle, and the others weren't much better.

"Yeah, but who's counting, right?" Jeremy tried playing it off, but the joke didn't carry as much weight as it should have, instead dying as soon as it had been spoken.

Chas shrugged, not so much as snickering at the comment. He looked exhausted, like maybe he might have already had this conversation with John. Jeremy imagined that wouldn't have gone much better. "Well, I get the feeling whatever this Rising Darkness thing is, we're going to need everyone to defeat it so..."

"So, you're going to play therapist and force everyone to make up after we all but murdered my daughter?" It came out much harsher than he'd meant it, and Jeremy cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. He just hadn't been prepared for that proposal. The thought of seeing anyone else, the very idea of even considering it, was enough to send his stomach racing towards the ground. He couldn't see them. Not now. Not ever. Because Newcastle was sure to come up, old wounds opening up again for everyone, arguments that should have long been put to rest stirred up once more. Seeing John had been bad enough, but at least he was no more eager to remember that night than Jeremy was.

Chas didn't show any signs of offense though, his face as passive as ever, apparently understanding the reaction. "...I know it hasn't been easy," Chas said slowly. "If it were my daughter..." He trailed off for a moment, shaking his head at whatever he'd been about to say before changing the sentence entirely. "Look, I just think it's something to consider is all."

"I guess," Jeremy shrugged. He couldn't really dismiss the idea, after all he still knew next to nothing about the Rising Darkness. Maybe it would be so dangerous that John and Chas would need all the hell they could get, but Jeremy wasn't sure the others would be at all willing to come back, especially since he himself had absolutely no intentions of sticking around long. He'd actually been planning on leaving as soon as he'd gotten his money, but now that he was there... He wasn't sure what it was. Something about the Mill House...it really was an enticing little place, practically begging him to step inside, if not just for a moment, one last time.

He glanced around the forrest area they'd been standing in, trying not to look at the dumb building, hoping he wouldn't be sucked in. Not again. "What does the boss say?"

It was Chas who rolled his eyes this time, letting out a soft scoff at the comment. "John only thinks he's the boss." He didn't answer the question though, which must have meant that John had completely ignored Chas' idea. Not all that surprising.

Jeremy snickered slightly in agreement. Then, he noticed there was something missing. "Where's the Checker?"

"In the shop." Chas' voice took on a slightly annoyed edge. "Got all bent up thanks to an electrical demon."

"Jeez." Jeremy shook his head. Demons really were a pain in the ass.

Before the conversation could continue, a truck pulled into the drive way of the Mill House, parking right in front of the door as if it belonged there, like the driver had been coming there for as long as they had. Chas and Jeremy exchanged looks with one another before approaching. A woman, the same one from Pennsylvania actually, sat in the driver's seat of the truck, her curly hair tucked behind her ear as she scanned over the map she'd been looking at.

"You Zed?" Chas called out as the two men came to a stop outside her vehicle. "John said you might show up." His voice was cool, collected, but even so Jeremy could sense the unease in the other man's stature. "Kinda hoped you wouldn't..."

Zed glanced up, flashing the two men a cheeky smirk as she leaned back in her seat nonchalantly. "I gathered, seeing as how he didn't actually give me an address."

"How did you find us?" Chas wondered.

Zed rummaged around in the seat next to her for a moment before holding up a sketch pad, a perfect duplicate of the Mill House drawn on to the page as if she had just copied and pasted it right there. "Not a lot of mill houses in Atlanta."

Jeremy shared an impressed look with Chas, sort of finding the woman's determination amusing. John was really getting a run for his money with this one.
Chas shrugged after a moment. "John did say you were persistent."

"Yeah well..." Zed slipped out of her truck, slamming the door shut behind her. "I found a place to live downtown, so you better get use to me."

Chas frowned, ignoring her statement. "Zed. That means zero, right? What kind of parents would name their kid that?"

"Who says my parents named me?" Zed smirked, already heading towards the entrance of the Mill House as if she owned the place herself.

"Go on then," Chas quipped. "Let's say hi to His Satanic Majesty." Before following her, he turned to Jeremy. "Are you coming?"

"Uh..." Jeremy glanced behind him, taking in that old Mill House one last time, allowing that tugging sensation to latch on to him, beckoning him inside even just for a moment. He averted his gaze, forcing down the temptation, knowing that if he caved now he might never get out of that life ever again. "No. I'll...see you around, Chas."

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Not even an hour after Jeremy touched down in Central City did his phone start ringing with a call from Chas. Jeremy groaned, already regretting giving the other man his number before leaving Atlanta. He answered the call with an exasperated sigh. "When I said I'd see you around, I meant a few months from now, not five seconds after parting!"

"I need you to look into something for me," Chas said, getting straight to business, blatantly ignoring Jeremy's annoyance.

"Again?" Jeremy complained as he stepped into his office; he held his breath hoping Ralph hadn't destroyed it too much. "Seriously?" That second out burst was at the state of the office. Ralph had, indeed, fucked it all up. The lamps were thrown across the room, completely shattered, beer cans and plastic red cups scattered all over the floor. Someone had even knocked over the billboard with Ralph's Green Arrow investigation, leaving an unidentified sticky substance smeared all over its surface.

"John wanted to see if there's anything on Zed," Chas said a bit defensively, apparently thinking the second out burst of annoyance was directed at him.

Jeremy waded through the mess of alcohol and shattered glass, letting out a heavy sigh. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he happened upon an unconscious Ralph, laying flat across their desks like a bed, using Jeremy's laptop as a pillow and the spread sheets as a blanket. "Yeah, fine. I have a detectives down at CCPD who owe me favors. I'll see what I can do."

"Great. Thanks."

"Chas," he added before he could hang up. "You're paying me for this one too!"

"Yeah, yeah." With that, the line went dead. Jeremy shook his head, stuffing his phone in his pocket before shoving Ralph off the desks roughly. "Get up, ass hole. We have work to do."

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Central City's police department was pretty big compared to most; one had to take an elevator up from the lobby to get to the main floor where all the detectives' desks and the captain's office was located. On the back wall there was a painting of who Jeremy supposed was supposed to be the Twelve Olympians from Greek mythology, if the old tunics, spears, and arrows were anything to go by. He'd never understood the point in that thing...

As soon as they arrived, Ralph let out a scoff, rolling his eyes childishly. Jeremy followed his gaze, spotting Allen and Detective West talking over a case, and he rolled his eyes too, albeit for an entirely different reason. "Oh, grow a pair and get over it already, Ralph."

"I'm not just going to get over it!" Ralph protested with a slight hiss. "I wouldn't have even been allowed in this building if it wasn't for you being here too. And it's all that guy's fault." He pointed at Allen.

"Whatever. Stay here and sulk for all I care," Jeremy sighed before making his way over to the detective and the CSI.

"...haven't found any sign of an oxidizing agent" Allen was telling West. "It's as if the floor just blew itself up. Things don't just blow up." West gave a brief nod of agreement, and Allen went on. There's no footage, but there might be something else. Some kind of small charge blasted the doorknob off."

"Any idea what's missing? My guess is one of these files."

"It's gonna take days to figure out which one." Allen winced at his own statement, apparently regretful he couldn't find the information sooner, but he nodded in greeting as he spotted Jeremy. "Hey, man, what's up?" He wasn't acting too awkward so Jeremy could only assume that Ralph had already made himself scarce before Allen even realized they were in the same building.

"Well, I was just passing by, thought I'd stop by," Jeremy told him as West gave his own nod of acknowledgement. "Oh, and I need you to run these prints through the police database."

West chuckled lightly. "How did I know you were going to say that?" He took the prints from Jeremy as the latter retrieved them from his coat. "Could be a while, though. There was a bombing earlier today on 8th and Pass. We're on the case."

"Ah." Jeremy nodded, not really in much of a hurry to get his hands on the information. It was never anything all that interesting anyway, usually something like: she ran away from home due to bad parenting or she ran off because she found herself a lover. (Then again, Zed was associating herself with John, so it couldn't be that boring of a back story.) "Is that why Singh is having a party over there?" He tilted his head towards the captain's office, where a group of people in green military camouflage were gathered.

"Yeah," Allen agreed. "What's going on?"

"No idea," West shrugged. "But they came in here like they own the place. Been talking to Singh for the last half hour."

Allen's face contorted worriedly. "That can't be good..."

Almost as if the universe took that statement as a challenge, the army men and Singh stepped out of the office just then, marching right up to the three of them. Singh glanced at one of the army men with white hair and a mean snarl that made it look as though he'd have no problems crossing a few lines to get what he wanted. "General Eiling, this is Detective West," Singh said, tilting his head at the man indicating. He didn't acknowledge Allen or Jeremy.

The army general, Eiling apparently, glanced at West somberly. "Detective," he greeted.

"What's this all about?" West demanded, jumping straight into business.

"The army's taking over the boomerang investigation," Eiling told him. "I'll need everything you have: physical evidence, photographs, witness interviews, and all your personal notes."

Allen and Jeremy exchanged confused looks. Why would the army need to be bothered with something like this? Evidently, West thought the same thing because he said, "I've been on the job nearly twenty years, and never heard of the army investigating anything civilian."

"Well, it's not civilian," Eiling said, just as much bite in his words as the detective's. "She's one of ours."

West stared at him for a moment, and Jeremy could tell he was contemplating whether or not he should fight this. "...we'll send over everything we've got," he decided.

"Very kind of you," Eiling said, though his words lacked conviction. "I think we'll take it now though."

"Give them what they want, Joe," Singh ordered, sounding as if he just wanted this whole thing to be wrapped up already.

"You heard him, Joe," Eiling said smugly. "Give me what I want."

Joe stood stalk still for a moment, clearly not liking his case being taken away from him, before turning and leaving to do what his captain had asked him to do. Meanwhile, Allen shifted awkwardly, turning to Jeremy. "So...apparently we're not working the bombing case," he said a bit stiffly. "So, uh, I guess we'll get those prints done a lot faster now."

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It was only maybe a day later, Jeremy was back at CCPD up in Allen's science lab staring disbelievingly at the computer monitor. "How'd you get this done so fast? While I was out of town did you get super speed or something?"

Allen suddenly fumbled with the telescope he'd been working with while Jeremy read over what he'd found, nearly falling right of his seat; West, who'd been standing near by, began choking on his morning coffee. He had to pat himself on the chest several times before regaining his composure.

"...Damn, it was a joke. Calm down," Jeremy told them.

"That...that was, uh, that was a, um, oddly specific joke," Allen stuttered nervously.

Jeremy shrugged it off, glancing at the computer screen again. "So, Mary?" That was the name printed over the monitor, the person that the prints apparently belonged to. Mary Winchester.

"Y-yeah," Allen nodded. "I mean, we tried finding that name you gave us, Zed. But..."

"Nothing," West finished the thought. "No records, birth certificates, nothing. Zed Martin doesn't exist."

"And these prints don't match anyone with the description either. Mary looks like..." Allen pulled up an image on the computer. "This." It was a completely different woman. White. Blonde. Blue eyes. Definitely not Zed. "I think whoever gave you the case gave you a fake name. Maybe fake finger prints too. But I don't understand why someone would go through so much trouble to hide who they are." There was an odd tone in his voice that Jeremy couldn't quite place.

"Well someone's hiding something," Jeremy said, still staring at the monitor like that would somehow help him make sense of everything.

"Huh? Wha-what do you mean? No one's hiding any -- oh wait, you meant Zed," Allen panicked.

Jeremy raised a curious eyebrow at him, not missing the warning glare West was shooting him from behind the PI. Something was going on between the two of them...

"Okay, then?" Jeremy brushed off the odd behavior, shaking his head. He'd rather not get in to anyone's business unless he was getting paid for it. Otherwise, they could keep their little secrets, whatever it might be. The pair of them could be running a mafia/drug cartel for all he cared. It didn't matter the slightest bit to Jeremy. "I guess that's that. I'll just let you two get back to...whatever it is you're going to do since you lost your bombing case."

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"Wait so there wasn't anything at all?" Jeremy and Chas had been on the phone all of thirty minutes as the former recounted the findings at CCPD to him. The latter was completely baffled. How did someone have finger prints of an entirely different person? And how could there be absolutely no records of them anywhere?

"Yeah," Jeremy sighed. He leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk for a moment as Ralph struggled to get the broom between the furniture in a misguided attempt at sweeping up all the broken glass in their office. (Jeremy had made him break out the broom and dust pan, ordering him to tidy up the place before their land lord could see the place in such a state.) "She's a ghost."

"Well hopefully not an actual one," Chas mumbled. "Anyway, I'm going to Chicago now. John and Zed tracked down the acetate of Willie Cole." Jeremy winced at the sound of that, getting an odd look from Ralph as he graduated from sweeping to fixing up the billboard at the opposite end of the room. Jeremy ignored him, though. He remembered the legend of Willie Cole -- a man who soled his soul to the devil to make at least half way decent music. His last record, the acetate, was said to have picked up on the devil's voice itself.

"Apparently, Jasmine Fell made a deal with a demon called Anton to save her husband who was dying from cancer," Chas went on, "but Pappa Midnite interjected, tried getting his hands on it." Midnite was an old enemy of John's, a voodoo con artist who roped suckers into paying him to screw with their loved ones after lives. The whole concept had always seemed dangerously disrespectful to Jeremy, but he'd never actually spoken with Midnite himself so it hardly mattered.

"Someone brought it to a club. No survivors...well, one survivor, which is weird. Oh, and of course Midnite tried to kill John." Jeremy wasn't sure why Chas was telling him any of this, maybe it was some kind of effort to make him come back; but Jeremy wasn't sure he could. "We're meeting at the club." The hint was obvious this time, and Jeremy cringed, opting to blatantly ignore it.

"Right, uh, well...good luck with that." Chas didn't say anything for several beats, and Jeremy could feel the disappointment radiating from the other end of the phone.

"Yeah." The line went dead after that; Jeremy tried not to worry too much about whether or not Chas was pissed at him for ignoring his hints. It didn't matter anyway. That would be the last they'd seen or heard from each other for a long while. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

Something must have shown on his face though, because Ralph flashed him a concerned look, which really broke his playboy 'I don't give a crap' demeanor that he kept desperately trying to pull off. "Is everything okay between you and your, uh, friends? Cause that's twice in just as many weeks that they've asked you for help, but I keep getting the feeling you don't want to help them for some reason."

Jeremy sighed, tossing his phone on his desk as he sat up a little. "Ralph --"

"Don't say it's nothing either, because that tension the first time was so thick I could cut it with a knife. So, I know it isn't nothing."

"...I couldn't even begin to explain all the details to you, man. You wouldn't even believe it if I did."

Ralph shrugged. "Ever since the Particle Accelerator explosion, unbelievable things have been reported all over the city," he reminded him. "I mean, what could be more mind boggling than a man running at the speed of sound?"

"A demon killed my daughter." The words were out before he even registered in his mind, a completely impulsive action, something Jeremy didn't normally do. He liked to consider the pros and cons of every consequence before making his choices, but he supposed seeing Chas and then subsequently John was enough to put him completely off kilter.

Ralph stared at him, blinking once, mouth open the slightest bit. After a moment, he spoke, scrunching up his nose. "What?"

"Told you you wouldn't believe me." Jeremy got to his feet, making to move along with his daily routine. Maybe now that the Cadogan case was closed things would be getting back to normal... But Ralph wasn't quite ready to let Jeremy's statement die yet.

"Wait. Whoa! Where are you going? You can't just say something like that and then walk away!" Ralph jumped in front of him, stopping him in his tracks and only receiving an annoyed sigh from his PI partner. "Are you trying to tell me that there's little red people with horns and pointy tails running around with pitch forks?"

"Uh, no." Jeremy shook his head, a heavy weight already placing itself at the center of his chest. This is exactly how things like Newcastle started. You invite one person in to the demonic little life and they're trapped for life. "They're not really red. Most of them don't have horns."

"And really what do you think we'd do with a pitch fork?" Jeremy and Ralph jumped, turning towards the opposite end of the room; sitting on top of the desk, still wearing that tight leather dress, was the demon from Pennsylvania. Groves.

✧ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ✧

I'm sorry if this isn't good, I'm just using writing as a distraction because we're putting my dog down and I'm very upset about it so...yeah. I'm not really sure about the end. Ralph wasn't gonna find out about demon stuff until later but...I don't know. This chapter seemed boring and so it just kind of happened. I really don't know what I'm doing in all honesty but I hope you like the story so far nonetheless. See you next time!

✧ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ᴀʟʟ ғᴏʀ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴛᴏᴏᴅʟᴇs!✧

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