(Pilot, S1 E1)
The three stood in a motel lobby as Dean checked in.
"One room, please." "You guys having a reunion or something?" The clerk asked as he looked at the credit card Dean gave him.
"What do you mean?" Sam questioned, his hand on Erica's shoulder, softly rubbing the tension out of it.
"I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month."
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Once the three checked into their room and got John's room number, Erica offered to pick the lock on his door.
"Y'know, you're really starting to surprise me, Sunshine." Dean hummed, watching her pick the lock with her pocket knife.
"Why's that?" "You can shoot a gun, you have a hell of a punch, you carry a pocket knife, and you can pick locks."
Erica grinned as she pushed the door open, "I know I'm awesome," her voice was stable, but she had to hide yet another wave of nausea that had tried to overcome her.
"Don't get ahead of yourself." Dean muttered as they walked into the room.
The walls were covered in research and salt lines were drawn at each entrance.
"Damn, somebody call room service." Erica sassed as Dean picked up a burger, sniffing it, and immediately recoiling.
"He definitely hasn't been here for a few days," Sam said, "Salt, cats eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in."
Erica and Dean tilted their heads in unison as they examined some of the papers on the walls.
"Centennial highway victims." She muttered, and Dean looked at her in confusion. "How did you know that."
Erica shrugged, "I heard you talking about it in the library, and I researched it behind your back. You two aren't as slick as you think."
The brothers shared a glance as Erica trailed her finger along the papers.
"I don't get it. I mean, different men,
different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There's usually always some sort of connection, right?" Erica said, thinking out loud, "What do these guys have in common?"
"Dad must have figured it out. He found the same article we did," Sam paused, "She's a woman in white."
"A what?" Erica asked, and Sam sighed.
"It's hard to explain, but she's a ghost. Me and Dean hunt ghosts, our dad hunts ghosts, that's why we had the fake IDs. We're supernatural hunters."
"Like Scooby-Doo?" Erica ventured. "No-, the monsters in Scooby-Doo were just people. What we hunt, they aren't people. The woman in white isn't a person."
The dark-skinned girl shook her head, "You're wrong. I mean, I'm really behind on this whole hunting thing you're talking about, but Constance was a person. With a family, a husband, kids, she lost it all. Hell, I don't blame her for whatever the hell she's doing. She needs to move on."
Dean glanced at Sam, "You're not wrong, but she's a vengeful spirit. We have to salt and burn her bones so she can move on."
"Great, we're on the same page. So let's go burn some bones," She paused, "Oh god, that sounded insane."
"Okay, okay, slow down, Sunshine," Dean looked at Sam, "Dad would have already burnt her bones, right? So maybe there's something left, some sort of weakness. We need to check her grave. Does it say where she's buried?"
"No, not that I can tell. If I were dad,
though, I'd go ask her husband," Sam said, "If he's still alive."
"All right. Why don't you go see if you can find an address, me and Sunshine here should get cleaned up."
"You can go first." Erica assured Dean before he walked into the bathroom, and she sat on the bed, coping with more nausea and ignoring the pain in her rib.
"Hey, Dean?" Sam called, Dean peaking his head out of the bathroom, "What I said earlier, about mom and dad, I'm sorry."
"No chick flick moments." Dean snickered. "All right," Sam laughed and nodded, "Jerk."
"Bitch."
"Dumbasses."
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When Dean was finally done showering and changing his clothes, he walked out of the room to find Erica laying on the bed.
"About damn time." She sassed. "Do you need any help?" Dean asked, admittedly worried about the girl. "I'm not five, Dusky. And you just want an excuse to see me without clothes."
He rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help his smile, "Just let me know if you need anything."
Erica was in the bathroom for no more than five minutes before she was calling Dean's name.
"What's wrong, Sunshine?" He asked, his hand resting on the doornob.
"Get your ass in here." "You don't have to tell me twice- oh."
Erica still had hers pants and bra on, but the lack of her hoodie revealed a large gash running from her rib to mid-stomach. The rag she was holding to it didn't help much as tears welled in her eyes.
"Shit, okay, it's okay. We'll take care of that, I promise. There should be a first aid kit somewhere, just stay here."
Erica nodded as she held the rag tighter against the bleeding wound.
"Okay, I got it. Have you ever had stitches before?" Dean asked, trying to distract Erica. "Yeah, in a hospital room. You know what you're doing, right?" "Believe me, this isn't my first rodeo, Sunshine."
Silence engulfed the two as Dean got ready to start sanitizing the wound, Erica rolling her eyes at the bottle of whiskey he chose to use, yet she couldn't deny the feeling that he knew what he was doing. "I trust you, Dusky."
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The process was painful, to say the least, and Erica was definitely tipsy when Dean finished up. Who knew alcohol could increase pain tolerance so much?
"And.. Done. How's that feel, Sunshine?"
Erica shrugged lightly, "Hurts like a bitch, but that whiskey was theraputic."
Dean smiled, happy that Erica wasn't in intense pain.
"Hey, there's a diner down the street, and I'm starving. Do you want anything? Aframian's buying."
Erica shook her head, the thought of food making her want to throw up. She had drank way too much alcohol.
"Do you at least want to come?" Dean asked, hoping to spend more time with her. "I suppose, since your so desperate," She replied with a smirk, "But I need to change first. Does your dad have anything I could wear?"
Dean nodded, "I'll go look. Will you- will you need help?" "And let you see me nude? I'll pass." Erica replied, and Dean chuckled as he left the bathroom.
After a couple of minutes, Dean came back with a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a jacket. "Thanks Dusky." Erica hummed, kissing his cheek before shutting the door on him.
Dean stood outside of the door for a moment, his hand on the place Erica kissed him, and a giddy smile on his face.
After Erica changed, and the two left the motel room, they cursed in unison at the sight of two police officers talking to the hotel clerk.
Dean instantly pulled out his phone, calling Sam.
"What's up?" Sam asked.
"Dude, Five-o. Take off." Dean told him, the police officers noticing the two.
"What about you guys?"
"They already spotted us, Sammy. Take care of the ghost chick, and if we're not with you by then, come save our asses." Erica informed, her hand on Dean's shoulder so she could better lean towards the phone.
Once Dean hung up, the couple started walking towards the cops.
"Problem, Officers?"
"Where's your other partner?" Jaffe
asked, "And who's the chick?"
"What?- What other partner? And her- she's just- well you know how it is. I'm on break.-"
"Any explanation, fake US Marshal, for your fake credit cards? You got anything that's real?" Jaffe asked, staring intensely at the two.
"My boobs." Dean sassed with a grin, making Erica elbow him in the rib.
Jaffe, and the other Officer, Hein, pressed Dean and Erica against the hood of their cop car.
"Hey!- Be careful with her, she has stitches!" Dean hissed as the officers cuffed them. "I'm okay, Dusky." She affirmed, but she winced as the officer pulled her up and put her in the back of the cop car.
°•■•°•■•°•■•°•■•°
Sheriff Pierce walked into the room where Erica was, her head resting on the table as she tapped her finger anxiously.
"So.. Are you gonna give me your real name, or are you gonna be annoying like your hubby?" He asks.
"Ew, okay, for starters, he is not my 'hubby'. And yes, I am gonna be annoying like him." Erica sassed. She knew it wasn't the smartest move in the book, to be sassing a police officer like this, but she was still tipsy, and the more the alcohol wore off, the more her rib hurt.
"You and that guy know how much
trouble you're in?" Pierce asked.
"Like jail time kinda trouble, or steal a cookie out of the cookie jar before dinner kinda trouble?"
"Damn. You two are really similar. Siblings? Accomplice's? Dating?" He listed off.
"Not siblings, not dating, just- just friends."
"You got ten missing persons posters taped to your wall. Plus, all that Satanic stuff. You're a suspect." Pierce stated, ignoring her last comment.
"Do I really look like I have anything to do with this? I left with Dean thinking this was going to be a quick little getaway before I had to go back to school. Now here I am, in a damn sheriff's office, cuffed in a locked room, with friggin stitches!" Erica ranted, silently cursing as she realized she said Dean's name.
The Sheriff looked her up and down, spite in his eyes, before dropping a leather journal onto the table, "You wanna tell me what this is?"
"Never seen it." She replied with a shrug.
Pierce fliped through the pages and
stopped at a page that had Dean's name with 35-111 under it.
"Now, I leafed through this, and there's mentions of a few women. You think you're any of them?"
"Sir, with all due respect, I am not in that damn book. I don't even know who the hell owned it." Erica snapped.
He let out a sigh, as he pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket and started listing off names, "Mary Winchester, Kate Milligan, Erica Sullivan, should I go on or is one of those pretty names yours?"
Erica stayed silent for a moment, contemplating why the hell her name was in that journal. She could only assume that it was John Winchesters. The boys had definitely failed to inform her about it.
"Is one of those names yours?" Pierce growled, slamming his hands against the table and leaning close to her face.
"Suck. My-"
The deputy burst into the room, "Sir, we just received a 911 call at an address on Maple."
Pierce sighed, his anger prominent, "I'll be back for you."
"Can't wait." Erica replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Once she was sure the officers were gone, she used her chin to get the journal left on the table closer to her.
"John, you dick, if you don't have a damn paperclip somewhere in here-" Erica muttered before pulling out a paperclip and using it to pick the lock on the handcuffs restraining her hands.
Once she got her cuffs off, she grabbed the journal and snuck through the office to find Dean's room.
"Oh- I was wondering when you were gonna show up." Dean said with a smirk on his face.
Erica looked him up and down, snickering at the thought of him being stuck in handcuffs, "Now, I could let you out, but you look pretty hot like that." "Erica." He warned, but he didn't stop smirking.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." She muttered as she dropped John's journal on the table and began to pick Dean's lock.
"Sweet friggin relief," Dean groaned, stretching, "Now let's get the hell outta here."
Erica couldn't help but smile as she grabbed the journal and began walking to the door with Dean, until suddenly something fell out of it. Her brain told her to just let Dean grab it, but curiosity got the best of her. The piece of paper was old, definitely older than her, and the words were clearly written with a quill and ink.
"What's it say?" Dean asked, his head on her shoulder so he could see it.
"'Sullivan, Diety?'" "What the hell does that mean?"
Erica tilted her head to look at him, their lips a little too close for comfort, "Does it look like I know?"