Sam ended up taking Sarah for dinner. Which left Dean and I with nothing to for hours. He sat on the bed, flipping through the tv channels, while I sat opposite him, with a laptop. Dean decided that there was nothing worth watching and turned it off, standing up. He made his way over to me.
"What you doing?" He asked, sitting beside me, glancing down at my laptop.
"Just keeping busy until Sam gets back," I stated, knowing he didn't really care. "Why?"
"I just wanted to touch bases with you," He explained, meeting my eyes. "See how you're doing."
I sighed and closed the laptop. "I'm fine, dean." I loved that he was worried, but hated these talks we had.
"No, you're not," Dean stated. "You've had more nightmares in the past week and you're not getting enough sleep..."
I looked down at my hands. Was it that easy to notice? Dean reached down and grab my hand.
"I don't want you to keep things from me, or Sammy," He told me. "Okay, trying to keep quiet after a nightmare or... claiming you're fine."
"I just don't want you guys to worry about me," I explained.
"Hey, we're your brother," Dean told me. "It's our job to worry about you... just like how you worry about us."
I nodded, but stayed silent.
"So, next time you wake up from a nightmare, or feel scared or unsure... you let one of us know, okay."
I nodded. "Okay, I promise," I assured him. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on my forehead, letting it linger a little longer. "I love you," I stated, as he leaned away.
"Love you too,"
After what seemed like forever, Sam finally returned to the room. He had a stack of papers in his hand. The date must have gone well, if he got what he needed from her. After he changed, he sat and went through them, looking for anything that was weird or supernatural.
"So, she just handed the providences over to you?" Dean questioned. He sat, sharpening a knife. I laid on the bed, waiting for Sam to find something.
"Provenances," I corrected, beating Sam to it.
Sam gave me a smile. "Yes, we went back to her place," He explained. "I got a copy of the papers." I could feel Dean's mind working.
"And..." Dean asked.
"And nothing," Sam stated. "That's it... I left."
"You didn't have to con her or do any special favors?" Dean questioned. I shot him a glare.
"Would you please get your mind out of the gutter," I told him. Of course, Dean ignored my plea.
"You know, when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a bit," He offered.
"Why?" Sam asked, even though he knew the answer.
"So you could take her out again," Dean stated. "It's obvious you're into her... even I can see that."
"Me too," I added in.
"Hey, all right, I think I got something here," Sam stated, ignoring Dean's comments.
We stood and walked over to Sam, looking over his shoulder. He held up some papers, and I grabbed them before Dean could. He sent me a look, but I proceeded to read.
"Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910," I read off the first page.
"Now compare the names of the owner's with Dad's journal," Sam stated.
Dean walked over, grabbing the journal. I sat beside him and continued to read.
"First purchased in 1912 to Peter Sims," I looked over at Dean. He pointed to a name in the journal.
"Peter Sims murdered, 1912," He read from the journal. I read the next name and glanced in the book.
"Same thing in 1945," I realized, giving the paper to Dean. "And in 1970."
"Then it's stored," Sam told us. "Until it was donated to a charity auction last month, where the Telesca's bought it." He gave us a look. "So, what do you guys think... it's haunted or cursed?"
"Either way, it's toast," Dean stated.
We got some supplies and headed back to the auction house.
I groaned as I saw the huge metal fence. "Why is it always have to be a fence." Dean ran and hauled himself over it. Sam stayed back, looking at me.
He locked his hands together. "Let's go, come on." I stepped up and he practically threw me over. Luckily, Dean was there to keep from falling on my face.
We got to the building and, after a few minutes of Sam disabling the alarm system, we headed straight inside. It took us few minutes, but we finally located the painting. That thing gave me the creeps. Dean took out his pocket knife and cut the painting from it's frame. We made our way out of the house, making sure everything looked normal, before headed out to a road.
We laid the painting down, and after salting it and covering it in lighter fluid, Dean set the thing on fire.
"Ugly-ass thing," Dean remarked, before throwing the match. "If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor."
"Just get it over with," I told him. We made sure it was destroyed and hidden, before we went back to the room.
That night, I had another nightmare. It went similar to the other ones. Dad showed up, my brothers were no where to be found and I got a bad beating. I sat up in bed, sweat coating my body and tears falling from my eyes. I looked down next to me, seeing Dean still asleep. Although I hated to do it, I had promised him I would tell him. Plus, I needed to get some sleep and there was no way I could fall asleep by myself. I gently shook his shoulder.
"Dean," I whispered. Just because I was waking Dean up, didn't mean that Sam needed to be up as well. "Dean!" I whispered louder.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked, his voice scratchy from waking up suddenly. He turned and propped himself up with his elbows, using one hand to rub his eyes. Now I felt bad.
"I'm sorry that I woke you... but... you said if I had a nightmare, that I should wake you up." I explained. He nodded, sitting up more.
"I did, and don't be sorry," He stated. He looked at me, seeing the tears now. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to lay closer to him. He reached forward, wiping a few stray tears away. "About dad?" He questioned. I nodded, and placed my head in the crook of his neck. I felt his hand brush through my hair. "It's alright, I'll keep you safe."
He kissed my temple and held me tighter. "Just get some sleep, sweetheart." He whispered. "And thank you for telling me."
After few minutes, I fell into a peaceful sleep, knowing my brother would always be there for me.
The next morning, we all got up and began to get ready to hit the road. But of course, something had to go wrong.
"We got a problem," Dean stated, as he came out of the bathroom. "I can't find my wallet."
"How's that our problem," Sam asked, as he put his clothes away.
"Because I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night," Dean explained. I turned from packing.
"You're kidding, right," I hopped it was some kind of joke. He shook his head.
"I mean, it's got my prints, my I.D., well, my fake I.D., anyway, but we got to get it before someone else finds it."
Dean ran out of the room. I turned to Sam. "I swear, Dean is going to be the death of me." He rolled his eyes. We grabbed our bags and met Dean in the car.
We sped of, back to the auction house. We wanted to get in and out as fast as possible, before we could be questioned. I looked over all the tables and under things. Dean was the best hunter I knew, how in the world did he lose a wallet?
"How in the world do you lose you wallet, Dean?" I questioned, watching as he searched as well.
We continued the search.
"Hey, guys," A voice came behind us. We quickly stood, trying to look normal.
"Sarah," Sam commented. We were not expecting to run into her again.
Dean and I waved and said hello. We were not in the mood to chit chat at the moment.
"What are you doing here?" She questioned. Sam looked back at us, trying to think of a good lie.
"We're... we're leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye," He explained.
Dean stepped forward, a smirk on his face. "What are you talking about Sam?" He asked. Here it comes. "We're sticking around here for at least a day or two."
He pulled out something from his pocket. It was his... wallet? I rolled my eyes. I knew Dean wasn't dumb enough to lose it, he just wanted to get Sam to talk to Sarah again.
"Oh, Sam, by the way, I wanted to give you that 20 bucks I owe you." Dean pulled out some cash, handing it over to Sam. He was trying not to look shocked. "There you go." Sam took it. "Well, Cheyenne and I will leave you two crazy kids alone." He grabbed my arm. "We got to go do... something... somewhere." He yanked me out of the building.
Once we got out, I pulled my arm from his grasp and slapped him in the back of the head.
"Ow!" He rubbed his head. "What was that for?"
"For you making me think we could get caught," I stated. "And not telling Sam this dumb plan of yours."
"You think he would have said yes?" He questioned. I made my way to the car.
"That's not the point... you know how Sam feels when you try to "help" his love life," I commented, leaning on the back.
"I'm sure he'll thank me later," Dean assured me.
We sat there for a little while, before Sam came storming out. He looked concerned.
"What's happening?" I questioned, as we walked over to him.
"The painting... it's back," He stated.
My eyes widened. Before we could say anything else, he walked to get in the car. Dean and I quickly followed.
"I don't understand," Sam admitted. "We burned the damn thing."
"Yeah, thank, captain obvious," Dean muttered.
"We just need to figure out another way to get rid of it," I commented, leaning up between my brothers. "This time, for good."
Dean nodded. "Any ideas?"
"Alright, well, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings, it's always the painting's subject that haunts them." Sam explained. I've heard of that.
"Okay, so we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy family in that painting," I stated.
"What were their names again?" Dean asked.
It looked like we had a lot more research to do.
We headed to the local library, asking a man who worked there for anything on the Isaiah Merchant family. He began to bring out multiple books. Most of them looked hundreds of years old, covered in dust.
"You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?" the man asked.
"Yes," I told him. The man nodded.
"I dug up every scrap of local history I could find," he explained. He looked over at us. "So, uh, are you guys crime buffs?"
"Kind of," Dean stated. "Why do you ask?"
"Well," He held up an old newspaper. He pointed to an article titled, "Father Slaughters Family, Kills Self".
"Yes, that sounds about right," Dean stated, reading title.
"The whole family was killed?" I questioned.
The man nodded. "It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself," he explained.
I reached over and grabbed Dean's hand, needing a little comfort at the moment. Cases where fathers hurt family... they just got to me. Dean squeezed back.
The man continued. "Now, he was a barber by trade," he explained. "Used a straight razor."
"Why'd he do it?" Sam asked. The man set the paper on the table.
"Well, let's look." He opened up the paper. "Uh, people who new him described Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament and controlled his family with an iron fist." He read off. I sighed and looked down. Sounded a bit like someone I knew.
Dean glanced over at me. "Why don't you go wait in the car," He whispered, sensing my distress. I nodded and headed outside.
I leaned against the car, my head in my hands. I hated that I couldn't handle little things like that. Even the mention of a father abusing family made my chest tighten. What the hell was I gonna do when we found dad?