Monachopsis

Chapter XLII: Disappearing, Reappearing Act

Nothing refreshed your morning like a job well done. It didn't help, however, when your brother was sulking--though he was trying very hard to hide it--over his half-packed luggage.His to-go cup of hard begotten cafe coffee sat discarded on the front table. I frowned. Clearly, he'd had no interest in drinking it.

"You okay?" I asked. Sam startled, looking up at me like he'd just realized I was there.

"Yeah," he said casually, and resumed stuffing clothes into his duffel bag. I raised an eyebrow, but didn't respond.

Then Dean stormed in from the bathroom. "We got a problem. I can't find my wallet."

I retrieved my prescription bottle from my bag as Sam paused in his packing, watching Dean was a bundled shirt still grasping in his hand. "How's that our problem?" he asked.

Dean abandoned his frantic search of the bedside tables in favor of scrounging around the chrome bar. "'Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night."

My pill went down hard. I erupted into a coughing fit, pounding my chest as the steroid slid harshly down my esophagus. Because of course something had to go wrong. Anger sparked. I knew it! I should've known. I choked out, "Dammit Dean!"

"You're kidding, right?" Sam's question was obviously rhetorical.

Dean shrugged on his jacket. "I mean, it's got my prints, my I.D.--well, my fake I.D., anyway, but we got to get it before somebody else finds it. Come on."

I groaned, briefly considering just staying behind and packing up the rest of my clothes. But as Sam started following Dean out the door, I sighed. I had no real desire to be alone. So I swiped my jacket from one of the front chairs as I made my way out.

The auction house was open but mostly empty when we arrived. Dean lead the way, moving from object to object like his heels were on fire. Sam and I searched just as frantically, though most of my thoughts involved chucking an assortment of expensive looking auction items at his thick skull.

"How do you lose your wallet, Dean?" Sam demanded. Dean responded with a vague wave of his arms, eyes still sweeping the piles of paintings and furniture.

I huffed as I pulled open the drawers of a chestnut buffet.

"Hey, guys." Surprise jolted up my spine. My heart skipped, and I whirled around. Sarah Blake had a pretty smile on her face as she approached. I quickly shut the drawers I was obviously snooping through and tried to match her expression and thoroughly looking as guilty as I felt.

"Sarah," Sam greeted, going for casual. "Hey.

"What are you doing here?" Sarah asked. I hurried across the isle to join Dean, who had taken to leaning casually against an old radio.

Sam sputtered an answer. "O-Oh...we're--we're leaving town, and, you know, we came to say goodbye."

At his words, Sarah's face fell into a mask of carefully hidden disappointment. My heart ached for her.

Before Sam could carry on with his excuse/goodbye, Dean lunged forward. He cut in awkwardly. "What are you talking about, Sam? We're sticking around for at least another day or two."

I furrowed my eyebrows. Sam looked at him, confusion twisting his face. Dean didn't miss a beat. "Oh, Sam, by the way, I wanted to give you that 20 bucks I owe you."

With infuriating nonchalance, Dean produced his black leather wallet from his belt. Immediately, I was contemplating how much I'd have to compensate Sarah for the heavy Cupid statue standing next to me when I smashed Dean over the head with it. My anger was irrational, but it wasn't because he'd almost given me a heart attack over a wallet that wasn't even missing. It was the smug smile he had as he pulled out a twenty and held it out to Sam. I would have gladly done a couple days in jail to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

Sam stood there, face blank with shock, as he swiped the bill from Dean's fingers. Dean didn't miss a beat, stuffing his wallet back into his jacket. "Well, we'll leave you two crazy kids alone. Me and Gray gotta go do...something...somewhere."

"What?" I blurted. Dean turned to leave, giving me a pointed look as he grabbed my arm and pulled me with him. "Wha--bye, Sarah!" I waved to her over my shoulder. I caught a glimpse of her waving back before Dean yanked me around the corner.

I waited until we were out the door to pull my arm free of Dean's grip. "What the hell, Dean? You had your wallet the whole time?"

"Obviously," he said, scowling. "Look, I needed to get Sam back here, and that was the only way I could think of."

"You almost gave me a heart attack, you ass!" I threw a punch at his shoulder. My knuckles popped and pain ricocheted up my arm, but I had the satisfaction of seeing him wince. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because your acting sucks," he replied. I gasped, offended, but he caught my arm before I could aim another punch at his face. "Okay, alright, look! Just give them a few minutes, okay?"

I relented, taking a step back to get a better look at his face. "Why do you care so much about this, anyway? Since when did playing matchmaker become your new hobby?"

He looked at me, eyes squinted in confusion. "What? I'm not--it's not. Look, just trust me on this one, please?"

I rolled my eyes. I knew enough about him at this point to know he wasn't gonna give me a straight answer. I huffed a sigh and backed off. We fell into a comfortable silence as we waited. I worried we would be standing outside forever, but it wasn't even five minutes before Sam came storming out. His face was a few shades paler.

"Hey!" Dean greeted, oblivious. "So, how'd it go? Got another date?"

When Sam didn't answer, I frowned. My eyebrows furrowed. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"The painting," he said. "The painting, it's back."

"Back?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean, back?"

"I mean, I saw it," Sam said. "It's in there, and it's completely fine. No scorch marks, no tears, nothing. It's like nothing happened."

"That doesn't make any sense!" I said. "I mean, how?"

Dean was already moving. I followed him and Sam across the parking lot, not bothering to ask questions as we slid into the car.

"I don't understand Dean," Sam huffed. "We burned the damn thing."

"Yeah, thank you Captain Obvious," Dean snapped, stressed.

"Well, something must have gone wrong," I said, leaning forward from the back seat. "Maybe we missed something."

"We just need to figure out another way to get rid of it," Dean said. "Any ideas?"

"Bury it?" I shrugged. "It's not as good a fire, but obviously that doesn't work. If we can't destroy it, maybe we can make sure no body else gets hurt."

Dean groaned. "Yeah, maybe. But we can't be sure this thing won't just Houdini itself out of whatever hole we dig. We need something permanent."

"We don't know enough about it to even know what it's capable of!" I argued.

"Okay, alright," Sam said. I could hear the gears turning in his head. "Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings, it's always the painting's subject that haunts them."

"Yeah? Alright," Dean nodded, looking relieved to have something to go on. "So we need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family in that creepy-ass painting."

"Maybe then we can figure out how to destroy this thing!" I cried, catching on. 

The three of us shared a look. Dean turned to Sam. "What were their names, again?"