So, welcome one and all. Here we are again, with part two of this crazy little world I have created. For all of those wondering if this is just going to be more Dean whumping then...yes...uh, yes it is. What can I say? I like angsty Seth and Roman. So sue me. Actually, no please don't. Anyway a bunch more cameos in this one, so if you're all good and ready let's dive right in.

NB: Following on from using Kinks song titles in the last one, in this story they are all songs by the mighty Fleetwood Mac, including this one...

Heroes Are Hard To Find

They had been sitting in the surveillance van for almost six years. Well alright, three hours which was basically the same thing.

Dean was bored – no, he was worse than bored.

He was child-in-the-backseat-on-a-long-car-journey bored which meant fidgeting, sighing, drumming his fingers and generally being a pain in the ass. Really, it was only a matter of time before he got a rise from someone and predictably – as he had hoped – Seth was the one who bit,

"Jesus Dean, sit still will you? You're driving me crazy. Stop kicking the god damn back of my seat."

To make the point that he was unhappy – like his teammates didn't already know – Dean said nothing but kicked again harder, so that Seth bounced forwards and dropped his phone,

"Dean – ,"

"M' bored," he put in, sullenly like a child as Seth groped around in the footwell in the half-light, cursing him and trying to track down his cell,

"We're all bored damn it. Think I'm having fun here?"

"This assignment sucks."

It really did.

The case was what they referred to as a Stephanie Special, meaning it wasn't necessarily in their ballpark but that she couldn't find anyone else to take it on.

It centred around an unlikely individual who went by the name of Gentleman Jack. Although really, who the hell had that sort of nickname when they worked in the drugs trade? Because that was what he did. His bad cuts of drugs had left two people dead and a pretty seventeen year old high-schooler in a coma. It was bad press for the city which meant bad press for Vince and on that basis alone, Stephanie wanted the guy shut down. Frankly, Dean figured they could have brought him in for a host of things, from having a moustache that curled at the ends to dressing like he'd stepped out of a fucking time machine. Who wore a pocket square and a waistcoat out in public? How had he not been beaten to a pulp?

He lived on the lower West Side of the city in a penthouse apartment in a not-so-bad spot. There were certainly enough blue-collar types and families to make it seem like a respectable place. In fact it seemed the only downside of living there were the unsavoury types that turned up looking for Jack.

"There goes another one," Roman rumbled flatly and they all turned their attentions to look at the guy. Dean slid forwards from his place on the backseat to hang across the console, forearms leant on the front headrests.

The newcomer was bulky but baby-faced looking, with long limp hair that hung past his shoulders and smattering of chin whiskers that were essentially fluff. It sort of looked like he'd missed it while shaving – like he'd left a pan on, rushed out of the bathroom and then for some reason forgotten to go back. More notably however, it was a face Dean recognized and he let out a sigh and rolled his blue eyes,

"Fuck."

"What?" Seth responded, lifting up his camera and taking rapid-fire pictures to add to their growing stock. It was fast becoming a compendium of scumbags, so Stephanie would be happy even if her go to team were not.

"You know this guy?" Roman asked, turning to look at him and taking in his teammate's weary looking nod,

"Yeah, Bo Dallas, busted him a bunch of times. Low level guy. Not that bad, y'know?"

"Well for someone not that bad, he sure keeps crappy company," Seth snorted, putting the camera down as Bo disappeared inside. Dean shrugged his shoulders and sat back in his seat again, absently worrying at a hangnail on his thumb,

"He's pretty fuckin' harmless, just can't keep it together. Hadn't seen him for a couple 'a months so kinda thought he might'a managed to get out for good this time."

Dean rubbed a hand across his eyes.

Clearly not.

"Still," Roman shrugged, "Could be a good thing."

Dean blinked back at him,

"Good thing how?"

"Well we needed a way in, right? Think this Bo dude might help us? You said you knew him – ,"

"I don't know, I guess he might. 'M gonna need like an incentive or somethin' though. Make it seem more attractive to the guy."

Pushing the camera up onto the dashboard and lazily hooking his feet up alongside, Seth blew out a breath and adjusted his baseball cap, suddenly sounding as bored as Dean felt,

"Better talk to Stephanie, see if you can get her to loosen up the purse strings."

Dean shook his head.

"Nah, leave it to me,"

A plan of action was already fast forming and it wasn't money-based, well, not in a pay-off sense. Bo Dallas was essentially an overgrown child and from experience, Dean knew how to make the man tick,

"You sure?"

He nodded,

"I know the right angle."

If Roman and Seth were curious however as to what that angle was then they chose not to ask and instead – in lieu of any other shady visitors – they went back to sitting around being bored.

Great.

They made it perhaps another seven minutes before Dean decided he'd had enough. He couldn't take one more moment of silence and so he purposefully sat forward and roughly cleared his throat,

"Savin' Private Ryan."

"What?"

The sound of surprise was almost reward enough and as his teammates exchanged equally baffled looking glances, Dean grinned proudly and repeated himself,

"Savin' Private Ryan, your turn."

"My turn?" Seth barked, "I don't even know what's happening – ,"

"Come on. You've never played this game before? I say a movie and you say one that's connected, like, by the actor or the director – that sorta shit."

In response Seth simply blinked through the windshield, like he was struggling to work out what his teammate was getting at. Dean knew why – the younger man was in work mode and when Seth was on the job, his lighter side died – but he wasn't about to give up easily, which was why his smile widened when Roman replied,

"Apollo Thirteen."

Seth let out a groan,

"You guys, we're supposed to be watching the building – ,"

Dean kicked his seat again,

"So? We can do both."

"Fine," Seth groaned, "What the hell do I know? I mean, it's not like we're being paid or anything here – ,"

"Just pick a fuckin' movie Seth,"

"Aliens, there. Are you assholes happy now?"

Dean grinned back at him,

"Cherry Falls and yes."

Roman snorted loudly and twisted round in the driver's seat, the big brows narrowed close together in a frown,

"Cherry Falls? Dude, what the hell is that?"

"Slasher film," Dean shrugged, "Like, genuinely horrible. It's so bad it's almost kinda good, y'know? This girl – who's actually a guy in a hairpiece – goes around killin' virgins from the local High School. There's orgies and everythin', you gotta see it man,"

Roman pulled a face,

"Think I'll skip it, thanks."

"This mean you forfeit the game then Big Man?"

"Only because you cheated,"

"What?" Dean's disbelief was so shrill – by his standards – that he actually disturbed a nearby cat, which had been happily washing its paws on the stoop beside them but stood up and bolted at the single-worded shout,

"Dean," Seth hissed, like he was scolding a child, although as usual it had precious little effect,

"How did I cheat?"

Roman spread his hands out,

"By choosing a film you knew neither of us have seen."

"That's the game Roman, I'm tryin'a win here. Fact, that's why it's called a game."

Despite the needling and irritated nature, there was something sort of comforting about the teasing gone awry. The three of them were distinct personalities and no way in hell did they always get along. The terse sounding banter was their substitute for arguments. A way to clear the air to stop the rub from getting worse. It meant the mood between them was sometimes kinda fractious but it also meant that when they needed to, they could function as one.

Family.

Dean kept repeating.

Family.

It felt kind of strange to have one of those again.

"Alright you two," Seth groaned, "Knock it off. We're all tired and hungry and pissed off here, right? No point in making this thing any worse."

For a second the surveillance van was shrouded in silence, which took Dean straight back to fidgeting again. His thumb and his forefingers flicked out a rhythm, rubbing up and down like a grasshopper in heat. That soon developed into tapping against his kneecaps and soon his boots were thumping out a beat.

It was telling that neither Seth or Roman reacted. Either they had silently decided they weren't biting or they had reacclimated themselves to his ticks. Because that was the thing, he wasn't trying to annoy them, he just wasn't good at sitting still for too long.

Glancing down at his watch, Dean groaned.

Only thirty fucking seconds since he'd last looked at the thing?

Seth's mention of food had got his stomach growling and so letting out a sigh, he turned and slid wide the door. The jarring grating of metal against metal cut through the silence a little like a bomb and both men up front turned quickly back towards him, startled and alarmed in one blended stroke,

"Whoa," Seth barked, "Where'd you think you're going?"

"You're hungry, right?" Dean shrugged back at him, grabbing his leather jacket up off the backseat, "I'm gonna get some supplies. Roman, you comin' or what?"

Stepping out of the cramped surveillance van was like inflating a beach ball that had been flattened in a case. He could positively feel himself unfurling and his cramped muscles screamed in relief one by one.

Yes.

Back inside, he could hear Roman mumbling in his low tones, checking that Seth would be fine on his own. Realistically they all wanted to be the one to take a breather, but since Seth was their camera and technology expert it was probably for the best that he stayed put as their eyes.

"Bring you back somethin' good man," Dean drawled lazily, coming up alongside. The passenger window was cranked fully open and so he rested his arm against it and peered in with a smile, "One of those big greasy burgers you love so much,"

Seth rolled his eyes,

"Fuck you Dean, Roman – ,"

"I know, I know," the Big Man answered shortly, clambering from the van with an unhappy groan, "We'll get you your god damn salad, don't panic."

"With a shit ton of mayonnaise."

Seth glared,

"You dare Dean – ,"

Stepping away from the side of the surveillance van meant that Seth couldn't shout after him and knowing it, Dean held his hands up and smirked a little, teasing the probability of bringing back fatty food. Seth had always been anal about calories and even after having eaten prison food, that seemingly hadn't changed. It had sort of been a grounding experience to offer Seth a donut and watch him recoil. It was one of the things which had made life feel good again.

Made him feel good about being with them.

"Come on," Roman chuckled, catching him by the jacket cuff and spinning him up the sidewalk, "Stop getting him all riled up."

Despite the fact they were in sort of a nice area, their options for fast food dinners weren't all that good. There was an unappealing looking Turkish Grill place – with rusted looking shutters and food strewn round the doorway in what was clearly just the start of several serious hygiene violations – or a fried chicken shop that was bigger and mildly cleaner but still made the dumpsters look like a reasonable third choice.

Since they were starving however – which it certainly felt like – Dean simply followed Roman inside, his keen eyes drinking in those standing in line waiting and appraising each one with a long-time policeman's eyes.

There were a cluster of teenagers, the troublemaker looking type like he had been when he was a kid. All piercings and baggy pants and giggling between themselves, thinking they were the shit because they had some inside joke. One of them – a raven haired girl – caught Dean glancing and jutted her chin out,

What are you looking at?

Dean merely smirked back, effortlessly casual and seeing he wasn't frightened of her she quickly lost her nerve.

That's it sweetheart, don't be a hero.

There were a couple of other patrons around them, including a grey haired man who was reading the day's paper and a woman who looked like she lived entirely on fast food, the waistband of her stretch pants buckling so violently that Dean was worried about losing an eye.

"Seth ain't gonna be happy with this," Roman murmured from somewhere alongside him, staring at the menu, arms folded across his chest, "Guess we'll get him the grilled chicken salad and hope he doesn't throw a bitch fit at us."

"Nah," Dean snorted, "I vote we go all in and order him the twelve piece, watch him have a heart attack just thinkin' about the carbs."

As Roman grinned and stepped up to the counter – teenagers falling away from him in waves – the door swung open a couple of feet behind them and a figure tripped up the step and clumsily staggered in,

"Damn it."

If the guy had styled it off he might have survived it, but his angry sounding shout made everybody look. Predictably the rebellious looking kids began to cackle and several even sent up a rowdy fucking cheer. Christ, it was like they were back in fucking High School, which – based on their age range – they probably were. Well, when they could be bothered to turn up to lessons. Dean didn't hold out much hope for their collective attendance scores.

The newcomer righted himself, red-faced and awkward then just sort of stood there, like he didn't know what to do. He had the look of a lost child about him, although in reality he was probably the same age as Dean was, maybe even a year or two older for all his flushed pouting and petulantly drawn brows. He was bulky but muscular, like he went to the gym but was the sort of guy naturally predisposed to extra weight. He had short cropped hair and borderline-crazy beard growth, that encircled his jawline and bled up around his lips. Without it, he would probably have looked like a teenager but with it he looked older, if not slightly unkempt.

Not that Dean had problems with unkempt.

It described his own style down to a tee.

"Have a nice trip?"

It was one of the teenagers, bellowing across the shop floor with a sneer. Her friends responded by screaming with laughter, like it was easily the most original thing they'd heard all year. Maybe it was, which was a tragedy really. If they were the generation that was taking over after them, then it was safe to say the world was fucking doomed.

"Babe?" Roman turned, stepping up to the counter as the man with the newspaper shuffled aside, "Know what you're having?"

"Hot wings, lots of 'em."

Roman grinned at him,

"Sure."

The thought of food – especially since it was imminent – made Dean's stomach start to churn and growl, his brain delivering images of batter and fries that soaked greasy stains clean through the paper towels.

As Roman placed the order – and to speed things along a bit – Dean moved down the counter to the condiment stand, collecting three straws, a bunch of napkins and some sauce packets before wickedly grabbing some mayonnaise for Seth.

He was still debating physically spreading it on the salad when he heard one of the teenagers call out again,

"Hey man, what do you think you're starin' at?"

Uh oh.

Those were never words that preceded a good time and sure enough, when Dean spun back round again, the unhappy gang were back to scowling at Awkward Guy.

"I said, what do you think you're starin' at, huh?"

The speaker was a kid of about eighteen and quite frankly, far too lanky to be as ballsy as he was. The boy was like a beanpole that had been dressed in a hoodie and allowed to dye his hair jet black. There was an ear gauge spike in his left lobe – rock on man – and a chain through his belt loops that he clearly thought was cool. Everything about him screamed rich and disaffected but as he stepped towards the new guy, it screamed volatile as well.

"What's the matter? Don't you talk? Why were you starin' man? Answer me."

"I – I wasn't – I didn't – ,"

The newcomer was flustered, words stuttering out and then dying a death, his cheeks flushing so red he could've guideddamn planes in and his gaze rising and falling as he tightly clenched his fists.

"Yes you were. What? You some sort of pervert?"

Dean rolled his eyes,

Christ Alive kid.

"N-no – ,"

"Yes you are, you're a fuckin' pervert."

Edward Scissorhands Lite was clearly warming to his theme and to further make his point – and to prove he was a tough guy – he threw his arms wide and began to swagger across the floor.

Shit.

Heaving a sigh and stepping into the growing tension, Dean intercepted him before he got that far, grabbing up a handful of prep boy hoodie and backing him up a step while wrestling free his badge. Sure, he wasn't technically a detective any longer – the Shield worked outside the jurisdiction of the law – but since he was still on the force he got to keep it and it certainly came in useful in times of all-out war.

"Hey man, what the fuck – ,"

The badge glistened brightly and as the kid clapped eyes on it, his pale face fell.

Yeah.

"We got a problem here?"

Dean's voice was cool as he shot across the question and he bit back a grin as the boy sort of winced. From up where he was still placing their order, Roman turned round and offered him a look, one part bafflement to two parts amusement and it made Dean's snarl turn into a smirk.

"No man," Grumpy Teenager Number One mumbled back at him, "No fuckin' problem."

"Then get out of here and don't swear."

The last part tumbled out before he could stop it and he bit back a groan.

Really?

Don't swear?

At some point in the intervening year since he'd turned thirty, he had somehow morphed into someone's elderly Gran. He couldn't hold his drink any longer, he'd started referring to those in their twenties as kids and seemingly now he was opposed to public cussing. He just needed a cat and some knitting and he was set.

Behind him he heard Roman choke a laugh-come-cough out and rolled his eyes knowing he hadn't heard the last of that. Fortunately however, his grandparent stylings achieved the desired effect on the teens, who stood for a second looking shifty and embarrassed before one of the girls let out an angry huff,

"Come on, I don't want no dumb chicken anyway."

Dean blinked back.

Line of the night right there.

Together the conglomeration of disaffected teenagers huffed and muttered and death-glared towards the door, several of them purposefully shoulder bumping the awkward man and one of them surreptitiously flipping a finger at Dean. Still, they were leaving and that was the main thing so Dean was happy to take what they threw.

"Have a nice night guys," he beamed at them broadly, enjoying the added fury the wide smile drew, "Don't do anythin' I wouldn't do, okay? So no havin' sex in a patch of poison ivy, or gettin' a tattoo, or like, lickin' a frog. I'll see you in juvie in about twelve months. I look forward to pickin' this conversation back up."

To make his point, he swung the door behind them and let it bang shut the second they were gone. Up by the counter, Roman was still chuckling and shaking his head in a form of brotherly fond but before he could join him and revel in the moment, Dean's path was blocked and his hand was firmly grabbed,

Huh?

"Thanks man, thanks, I – I really owe you. That was the nicest thing anybody's ever done. I mean, the way you handled those guys – that was awesome. I owe you dude, I totally owe you one."

As Awkward Guy continued to pump his hand readily – a little like he was trying to draw up water from a well during a dry spell out on some frontier desert – Dean tried to bite back a wince of alarm. The grip was so tight his fingers were throbbing and the handshake showed little sign of actually slowing down,

"Uh, sure, don't mention it man, anytime."

"You're my hero dude, I mean that – you're my hero. My name's Kevin by the way, Kevin Owens, that's me."

"Kevin," Dean repeated vaguely, finally managing to pull free his hand which slid from the newcomer's strong but clammy palm with a dull but very wet suckering sound.

Gross.

Wiping it off on the thigh of his jeans, Dean looked up and then started a little as he realized for the first time how close Kevin was. The pair of them were practically eyeball to eyeball and wisps of the guy's beard hair tickled at his chin. It didn't help that he didn't seem to be blinking much either, which was always a deeply unsettling sign and although Dean in no way condoned the earlier actions, Kevin was just a guy who threw up weirdo signs.

Coming from him – who was by no means a people person or liked to stick to the accepted social norms – that was saying something and then some.

Poor old Kevin was just a fucking odd guy.

"Didn't catch your name man."

"Didn't give it," Dean responded, taking a step back in the hopes of creating some breathing room, "You can just call me Detective, alright man? Don't need to thank me either – just doin' my job."

The look he got in return was baleful, almost like he'd kicked a fucking puppy and it made Dean feel bad, well, for about three seconds. Adulation just wasn't his style and nor was hero worship. All he was wanted was his bucket of hot wings.

Everything else could go take a running jump.

Fortunately however, either through knowing it or else by some miracle of impeccable timing Roman chose that exact moment to hail him, offering a barked hey across the shop floor and gesturing to a tempting smelling array of packets being placed down in front of him on the countertop,

"You gonna give me a hand over here?"

Dean didn't need to be asked about it twice, turning and stepping away from Kevin without so much as another muttered word. Ignoring the boxes of chicken and the salad – who ordered salad from a god damn fast food joint – Dean swept up his precious hot wing bucket and juggled it with a soda, the fries and the straws.

"Hey, food, come to daddy."

Collecting their receipt – to chalk up to expenses – Roman let out an amused sounding snort and attempted to pick up the rest of their grub. In the haze of fried goodness and sugar and condiments, Dean had forgotten about Kevin almost at once but as he turned away from the counter and off towards the door, he collided with him again,

"Whoa – ,"

"So look man, I'd like to make it up to you somehow,"

Dean frowned back at him inarticulately,

"What?"

"You know, like – like take you for a beer or something, shoot the breeze a little – ,"

Dean continued staring.

What was wrong with the guy?

All he did was chase away a few sullen teenagers and now suddenly he was practically being asked out on a date. If he was honest then it was all just a little bit unsettling how fucking keen this Kevin dude was. The man was all big eyes and constantly twitching fingers, with a sheen on his forehead that dripped down into his brow.

"Look man – ,"

"Seriously pal, I'm buying. That's the least I can do for a friend."

Friend?

When had they bridged that gap? He only had two friends in the world and that had been a fairly on-and-off thing. Fortunately however, these days it was on again and as Dean felt Roman loom up somewhere behind his shoulders, he lamented again on what a good thing that was,

"What's going on?"

Kevin seemed to bristle,

"Me and my buddy here are going out for drinks."

Dean shook his head.

This whole thing was crazy and it was definitely time to shut it right down.

"What? No, look, come on, I get that you're grateful and wanna thank me or whatever but seriously dude, that's it, alright? Come on Roman, let's get back to the van already, my stomach's eatin' itself over here."

"But – ,"

As he shifted towards the doorway, Kevin stepped with him and held out a hand as if to grab at Dean's sleeve. Roman stopped it happening by inserting himself between them and then flanking Dean bodyguard-style out of the place. He waited until they were back on the sidewalk and striding their way towards the truck before he spoke, the smell of chicken wafting up into his nostrils and tempering the weight of his semi-concerned frown,

"What the hell was that about uce?"

Dean rummaged around in the depths of his bucket and pulled out a hot wing, hissing at the heat,

"No idea, was kinda fuckin' weird though, y'know?"

Roman's expression darkened exponentially, a feeling settling over him,

"Yeah, you're telling me."

Sooo? How are we feeling after the opener? Excited for what's to come (I really hope the answer's yes!) As ever, please let me know what you're all thinking and I will see you in three days for the next update.