Laramie

"I cannot believe you fell for that, Dean. I mean, you really need to be more careful." I pushed the door of the Impala and it opened with a groan, the mild, summer evening stirring the bushes outside the bunker door.

"I didn't fall for nothin'! I was Mr Can't Do Anything Wrong that whole hunt. Nobody can dupe me. I'm undupe…able?" Dean's door shut with a slam, but I could see a grin threatening to ruin his mock-serious face.

"Oh really, remember the time you got Han Solo'd by a werewolf?"

He pursed his lips. "What about when you dropped you own gun on the floor then tripped on it?"

"I don't think we really need to talk about that…" I pulled open the huge bunker door, letting Dean go in first with the bags.

"No?"

"No… not really… pertinent…to the discussion,"

"Hmm. That's convenient."

"I don't think so…?"

"Bickering already? You've only just got home. How was the hunt?" Sam was sitting at the table in the war room, sipping coffee and reading a paper.

"Some high-school kid picked up an antique Spell Book from the library, summoned some low level demon. Easy-peasy… until Dean got grifted."

Sam's face lit up. He turned to Dean for confirmation.

"I did not…" he held up a finger. "I did not get grifted. There was no grifting…."

"So how did he get grifted?" Sam turned to me, expression rapt, like he'd never heard such happy news.

"Stop saying grifted! Who says grifted anymore?"

"So how did he get conned?" Sam asked again, a smirk playing on his lips.

Dean rolled his eyes and sat down, huffing.

"Some college guy in a bar, told him he had some information about the murders, keep stringing us along, telling us to meet him at different places, yada yada yada… anyways, finally tells us he wants five hundred bucks and he'll talk… so genius over here agrees…"

"You make it sound like it's a big deal… it's not a big deal!"

"I know it's not a big deal… but how in the hell do you expect me and Sam to not wield this against you for the foreseeable future?"

He sighed. "I don't… laugh it up, go on, laugh at my foolishness."

"Thank you." I licked my lips in satisfaction. "We can stop now you've relented, though, you know that, right?"

Sam held his hand up to pause whatever Dean's witty retort would be. "Hate to break up the party, but I think we gotta case. Couple of women went missing in Wyoming, CCTV from the apartments has them going into their homes, then never coming back out again. Sounds like our kinda gig."

I sighed heavily, my bones feeling like they should be creaking, and nodded. "Guess we're going to Wyoming, then. Please god, let me shower first."

"I second that motion." Dean stood up, taking my hand to pull me up with him. "We'll meet you back here in forty-five, ready to roll."

The sun was setting as we piled into the impala, pink sky mottled with clouds like smoke. I took the back seats so I could stretch out, Dean took the passenger seat and Sam took the first stretch of road. The car was warm, but a breeze reached me through Sam's window. Dean was asleep within an hour, and my eyelids started to feel heavy not long after. Sam had put on a talk radio station, and it was humming over the engine.

"How you holding up, Maya?"

I shifted in my seat to look at Sam in the driver's seat, his hands loose on the wheel. "I'm good, Sam. Really good actually."

"You don't feel weird without your mojo?" He shot a quick glance my way.

"I mean, pickle jars are more of an issue now, but not really. It was like it was never there." I smiled to myself. "I'm just glad I'm back to normal again…. I am however constantly awaiting an angel attack as revenge for that accidental genocide I committed…"

Sam let out a snigger from the front seat, and Dean stirred. "I think you've scarred them for life…" He paused for a moment, as if he was considering what to say next. "Dean's been good, too. I think… I think you're just what he needed."

"A doctor?"

Sam watched me smirk through the rear-view and shook his head. "Somebody to.. somebody who's there for him, you know? Different to how I'm there for him. Somebody who…"

"Yeah." I interrupted. "I know." Somebody who loves him. I hadn't even thought about it before, about love, about what our relationship was, I didn't know if Dean had either. Sam obviously had. He didn't say anything else, and in the warm car and comfortable silence I drifted off to sleep.

"Wakey, wakey sleepy head. We got a job to do!" I started awake, Dean's hands on my shoulders, roughly pulling me into the world of the living.

"Mmmf-I'm-up I'm up!" Dean's hand helped me out the back seat and I tried to stretch the knots out of my body.

"Welcome to Laramie, Wyoming. Population: two less than there was last week."

"Dean!" I smacked him on the arm and he recoiled, smirking.

"Dude… that was a little insensitive." Sam looked at Dean, eyebrows touching in a manner most disapproving.

I smirked. "Ok… game plan time. We get the basics first, regroup for lunch, then start the real work. I'll take the local PD and…. Give me a minute…" I took my phone from my pocket and started tapping. "You two check out the apartments. I've texted you the door numbers."

"Right. Call us when you're done talking to the cops, we'll regroup." Sam patted down his pockets, checking for his phone and fake I.D.

"Got it. Be careful."

I sat on one of the decrepit chairs inside the police station, the midday sun streaming in through the large windows, blinding me.

"Agent Rourke?"

"Detective Mitchell, hi."

He offered a large, warm hand to me. "Sorry for the delay. I had to take a phone call. Please, follow me."

I obliged, struggling to keep his with his long strides as he led me down a harshly lit corridor to his office.

"You're here about the missing girls, huh? How come?"

"The Bureau has reason to believe that these women were taken out of state. There've been similar cases throughout the Tri-State area; one of the vics was found two states over." I lied.

"Alive?"

"Barely. So anything you can tell me about these women would be greatly appreciated."

"'Fraid there's not much to say. Nothing at the crime scenes: no sign of a struggle, the doors and windows were intact- it's like they vanished. That's the weird thing 'bout this case. Nobody was seen going in or out of the apartments…"

"There are ways around CCTV footage, Detective. We'll look into it. What about the women themselves?"

He went over to a filing cabinet in the corner of the room, clicking his tongue as he sifted through a drawer.

"Here y'are. Laney Holden and Jennifer Woods." He handed me two thin manila files.

From the file photos of the two women, they were both beautiful. Both brunettes, perfect button noses and full lips. I had an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach.

"Did the women know each other?"

"Far as I know they were friends. They moved into the building around the same time, neighbours say they're often coming and going together."

I looked back to the files. "Laney was an athlete- a long distance runner?"

"Yep. Jennifer's a gymnast. That's where they met, some sporting event or other."

"They good?"

"Apparently they're very good. Really racking up the medals; sponsors are coming in left right and centre according to their friends."

I licked my lips. "Hmm. Well, thank you so much for your time, detective. Do you have another copy of these files?"

"You can take 'em, we got copies"

I handed him my fake card. "Let me know if you think of anything else that might be useful. Thank you for your time, Detective."

"No problem, Agent. I'll walk you out."

"Dude. This is nice building. The elevators actually ding!" Dean eyed the elevator's clean mirror and fully illuminated floor buttons, tapping his brother as the doors slid open with a 'ding', right on cue.

Sam coughed, eyeing Dean with mild concern. "You wanna split up or…?"

"Let's split. I'll take this floor; you head up to the seventh. Call me if you get in any trouble."

The doors slid shut again and Dean was alone, his feet sinking into the plush, stone coloured carpet. He smiled.

The hallway was wide and long with cream wallpaper, tastefully decorated with modern artwork in carefully considered intervals between the doors. There was even a smell, something that Dean couldn't put his finger on, but it was fresh and clean, and apparently being pumped through the vents. The door to room 401 was thankfully unguarded, but there was yellow plastic on the frame from where police tape had been pulled off. With deft fingers he picked the lock, and the door swung open with a welcoming creak.

"Bingo."

Laney Holden's apartment was bright and spacious, huge windows letting the sunlight spill in unhindered. It was decorated like one of those hip bars that were cool for a week until a new, hipper bar came along and stole its thunder: a glass coffee table and glass cabinets, sitting below huge mirrors and cold, white couches. Dean shuddered a little.

The apartment seemed extraordinarily ordinary: there was no EMF, no smell of sulphur- nothing that jumped out at him. There should be, though, he thought. There was still the fact that these women were not in their apartments but didn't leave them. The only remotely interesting thing about this whole place was the trophy room. Shelves upon shelves of medals, plaques and bronze trophies in various running positions. He nodded his appreciation. Running sucked.

Dean slid his cell out of his over coat's pocket, pacing to the large windows and taking in the town from up high.

Sam's voice came through the phone. "Got anything?"

"Nada. Less than nothing. Negative nada." He sighed, forehead crinkling.

"Same here," His voice was terse. "Call Maya, we'll get some lunch and find out what she's got."

"Hopefully more than us."

They didn't have to wait long to find out. As soon as Dean ended the call his phone trilled in his hand.

"Yeah?"

Maya's voice was sharp and terse. "We've got another one."