Dangerous (Supernatural - Winchester Sister 1) *EDITING*

Busted

The car jolted as Dean slammed the hood of the Impala down with an irritated groan. "Is the car alright?" I asked, jumping up to sit.

"Yeah," he answered, "whatever she did to it seems all good now." Dean sighed and leaned against the bumper next to me. "That Constance chick. What a bitch!"

"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure," Sam stated.

I scoffed in reply and turned to Dean. "So, where's the job go from here, genius?"

He threw his hands up in frustration.

"Dean? You smell like a toilet."

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The lobby of the motel was like an eyesore on this run down town. It smelled of mothballs, cigarettes and thirty-year-old carpets. The beige paint was on the verge of chipping, while the windows had faded to the point there barely any light came through.

With a friendly smile from the clerk, Dean presented his MasterCard to her. As she was running it, she took a quick glance between the three of us. "You guys having a reunion or something?"

At this, Dean furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I had another guy. Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a whole room for a month."

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The first things that were noticeable were the lines of salt on the floor, the newspaper clippings along the dark wall, and the smell of a rotting half-eaten burger that made Dean recoil in disgust. "I don't think he's been here for a couple of days at least."

I took a long glance around the room, picturing our estranged father sitting on the edge of the bed with his worn hands wrapped around the back of his neck as he stared at the clipping plastered on the wall with frustration in his aura. "The salt and the cats-eye shells... He must've been worried," I pointed out, taking a seat on the edge of the bed just as I imagined Dad would.

"He was probably trying to keep something from coming in," Sam said, looking around a desk that had two piles of five books on folklore.

Dean blocked my view of the clippings and studied them with curious eyes and a head tilt. "I have Centennial Highway victims." He paused and shook his head as I came up to stand beside him. "I don't get it. I mean-"

"Different men with different jobs, ages, and ethnicities?" I questioned, reaching out to pull an article flat that curled up.

"There's always a connection, right? So what do these guys have in common?"

Across the room, Sam scoffed. "She's a woman in white."

Together, Dean and I looked back at the articles. The puzzle pieces began falling into place. There's your connection. "You sly dogs," we said in unison.

"But if we're dealing with a woman in white," Dean began, "Dad would've found the corpse and destroyed it by now."

I scrunched my nose up at the thought of a corpse.

Sam shrugged, "she might have another weakness."

"No, Dad would have made sure."

We gathered around the desk in the corner of the room and flicked through the books.

"He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?"

I picked up a loose article that wasn't joined with the others on the wall and an obituary. "Not that I can tell. If I were Dad though, I'd go ask her husband," I said, blindly handing it off to a brother.

Sam muttered to himself, tapping the tips of his fingers together. "If he's still alive, that is. He'll be at least 64 by now."

Dean let out a long exhale, "why don't you two, uh, see if you can find an address. I'm gonna go get cleaned up."

He went to disappear into the small motel bathroom, but Sam stopped him short. "Hey, Dean? What I said earlier about everything, I'm sorry."

Dean held up a hand. "No chick-flick moments."

"All right... Jerk."

"Bitch." And with that he smirked and disappeared.

Sam and I both gave a soft laugh and headed out towards our rented motel room. With my hands in my pockets, I felt the note with Koda's number on it and immediately remembered the boy that complimented my sketch yesterday afternoon. With a heavy heart, I threw the note in the nearest trashcan. I didn't have the time or lifestyle for a friendship.

Later that evening, Sam and I found ourselves engrossed in books of two different genres. His of a mythical genre while I found my imagination running wild with two characters - a cryptologist and a symbolist - in Paris on a trail to find the Holy Grail. Robert Langdon's eidetic memory was as unbelievable as his Mickey Mouse wristwatch, and Sophie Neveu's mysterious persona was alike to the smile of the Mona Lisa. "Y'know," I began, sitting up and stretching my neck still occupied by the mystery unfolding in my hands. "I bet the Catholic Church was not happy when this was released."

Sam glanced up quickly, "what is it?"

"The da Vinci Code by Dan Brown," I answered. "And, yes, I did take the five finger discount. The main character is a Harvard professor and he's summoned to Paris before a business associate is murdered. So he has to solve all these puzzles and riddles about Leonardo da Vinci to stop the killer. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if they made a movie out of this."

Sam's lips curled into a staccato of a smile, tight and flat lipped before returning to the book we took from Dad's motel room.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, lying back on the bed to continue reading.

There was a moment of silence between us. "For what?" he asked.

"You're concentrating. I shouldn't have interrupted."

"No, it's not that, Em." He trailed off, but I didn't want to push him. I may be one for not being left in the dark, but there are things that people need to keep to themselves.

Mid morning faded into afternoon; the midday heat came and went with the typical sibling bickering and laughter than came with it until Dean finally announced he was heading off to grab bites to eat for the three of us. Through the curtain, I watched him head for the Impala. His movements froze for a fraction of a second before he turned and held his phone up to his ear. Almost on cue, Sam's cell began to ring. Reaching for it tiredly, listening to Dean's voice on the other end immediately made him perk up. "What about you?"

As quickly as the response came, a local police officer made his way towards our motel room so I ducked under the window and stared expectantly at my older brother.

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Status: Rewritten