A/N: So. In case you hadn't guessed, this author is on crack of some type. There is no reasonable explanation for this.
Generally, Dean didn't mind being the scout that took a cursory look at the scene of the 'crime'. It meant he could stretch his legs, get out of the confining hotel room, and give Sam some peace. Kid was still adjusting to hunting, to sharing a tight and small space with someone who knew him possibly better than Sam himself did. Sam wouldn't ask for the space himself, but Dean knew he craved it. It was a big brother thing to know.
And generally, Dean liked walking around, because it meant women dressed in low cut shirts that all but begged your eyes to be directed there. The situation worked out for the both of them.
Generally. Today didn't fit into 'generally'.
For one, it had rained all morning, and was still sprinkling now. For another, there was a small breeze that was bringing in a cold draft, the kind that went straight through your shirts and into your skin. Despite the fact that it was in the low 70's, the cold wasn't expected, and Dean rubbed up and down on his arms to stop the goosebumps from rising.
He glared at the pond in front of him. There was nothing in the water that he could see. No weird prints around the base, no drag marks, nothing. People were still disappearing, though, all around the pond's general area, and appearing three to four days later dead, soaking wet, and slightly chewed on.
Sam was researching the bites from the coroner's images back in the hotel room. The warm, cozy, dry hotel room, and Dean shrugged his jacket on a little higher. Time to head back to the room; Sam'd had over a half hour to himself.
Generally, Dean'd give him at least an hour. Generally, however, it wasn't freezing-ass cold outside, and there were hot women wandering around.
The only woman Dean could see was the old, haggard one on the park bench who kept giving him the evil eye. More than time to head back to the room.
He bunched his arms in close to his sides, stuck his hands in his pockets, and headed back down the path towards the main street. A faint sound caught his attention, and he paused, trying to place it. It stopped seconds after he did, and he frowned, then continued on. The sound started up again, and Dean stopped once more, this time turning around to view the person following him.
Then he frowned and had to look down. Two big, blue eyes stared up at him hopefully, before the little lips parted and asked in a high, tiny voice, "Fissy?"
Dean raised an eyebrow at the little one. She couldn't have been more than three or four, tops. Her blonde hair was raised into two pigtails that were both short and wavy. The breeze swept through again, coaxing her tiny bangs into her face, and she impatiently pushed them away. "Fissy?" she said again.
"Uh, no fish here," Dean said, raising his hands to show her they were empty. "Go back to your mommy, kiddo."
He turned and walked away, and moments later, the sound of crunched pebbles started up again from behind him. He turned around again, and she diligently stopped, gazing up at him through her long lashes. "Fissy?" she asked again.
Right. "Okay honey, let's find your parents," Dean said cheerfully. He stepped back towards the park, and the little one trailed after. One small detour, and then he could get back to the hotel room with Sam.
The knock at the door made Sam pause at his laptop. Dean had a key, which meant it was either room service or someone else. Cautiously he rose, smoothing out the frown that had grown at the sound, and opened the door slightly.
Then he opened the door all the way, his frown returning, when he caught sight of his brother. "You forgot your key?" Sam asked. "I thought you took it with you."
"I did," Dean said, the frustrated smile on his face not fading away. "We have a guest."
Sam frowned further. "We do?"
Dean's answer was to step to Sam's right, revealing a small girl with two tiny pigtails. The little girl glanced up at Sam and blinked. "Fissy?" she asked.
Sam slowly swung his bewildered gaze over to Dean. "She won't say anything else," Dean grumbled, stepping into the room. The little one followed right behind him, leaving Sam standing in the doorway, still trying to figure out how to talk.
When he remembered how, the first word that came out was the intelligent, "Huh?"
Dean snorted and flopped back onto the bed. The little one took a seat on the floor opposite the bed, her floral pink skirt fanned out around her. She was gazing patiently at Dean, and Sam finally regained full use of his brain enough to shut the door. "Dean, who is she?"
"No clue," Dean muttered as he threw his arm over his eyes. "She kept following me around the park. I spent a good forty-five minutes extra out there, trying to find her parents. No one's seen her."
"And they just let you take her home with you," Sam finished, raising his eyebrow.
Dean lifted his arm enough to glare at him. "One, she wouldn't stop following me or saying that word of hers, and two, no one seemed to care except me. It's cold out there, she can't be more than three or four, and at least with us, I know she'll be safe. It's not the smallest of towns, so I'm not really surprised no one knew who she was."
Sam bit his lip but was forced to agree. While the temperature wasn't close to freezing, and the little one was wearing a pink coat, it was way too chilly out to leave someone so little exposed for so long. Sam had been surprised Dean had even left, but Dean had insisted. Personally, Sam thought it was because Dean was trying to give him space still, more than it was about looking at the place people had been disappearing. His big brother was sort of persistent that way.
Still...Sam glanced over at the little one still seated on the floor. She had her legs out in front of her, bright white tights a sharp contrast to her little black shoes. She was wiggling her feet and apparently amusing herself by it.
Cautiously Sam approached and crouched down near her. "She's too young to be in school yet," he decided. "No luck there."
"Perfect," Dean said with a long groan.
His groan managed to capture the attention of the little one, who immediately turned to Sam. "Fissy?" she asked.
"Fishy?" Sam asked back. "Is that what you're saying?"
His question went unnoticed, but his initial response certainly caught on. She laughed and clapped her hands, bouncing up and down slightly. "Fissy!" she exclaimed. "Fissy, fissy, fissy..."
"Great," Dean said, even as she continued repeating her word. "Now you've encouraged her."
She tapered off about ten minutes later, after Dean turned the television on and lifted her onto the bed facing the screen. "You're rotting her brain cells at too early an age," Sam complained, but not as heartily as he would've. Dean was fairly certain that anything which got the ever enthusiastic chorus of 'fissy' to stop made Sam pretty happy.
Dean gave him a knowing look. "You were watching at two, and you turned out okay. Shut up and don't bug her."
"We could play a game with her," Sam protested, and his tone was all Dean needed to hear to know he'd won.
"Only game I'd be willing to play with her and you is if we played hide and seek, and I got to hide. Go find some cartoons."
An hour later of research in both the creature and the little one yielded nothing. Sam couldn't make heads or tails out of the limited amount of knowledge they had to go on, and Dean couldn't find anyone who was missing a child. No one had put in any reports to the police, no preschool or daycare was missing one of their numbers.
Lunchtime rolled around, and the little one popped off the bed and over to Dean and Sam. "Fissy?" she asked, tilting her head in question. The coat had long since been shrugged off, which had revealed a long sleeved pink tee with teddy bears on the front.
"Lunch it is," Dean declared, rising quickly from the table. It was Sam's turn to give him a look that knew too much, but Dean didn't really care. Sam still had forty-five minutes with her to make up in order for him to match evenly with Dean's time. He crouched down in front of the little one, and watched her eyes track him all the way down. "What would you like to eat?"
"Fissy!" she stated with a small head bop and a large bright smile. From behind the laptop, Sam snorted, and Dean glanced up quick enough to spot the grin before Sam managed to hide it.
Yeah. More than past time for Sam to babysit her on his own. "Yeah, I don't think you want fish for lunch, kiddo." He directed his next words to Sam with a too sweet smile. "I'll be back, but I don't really know the town that well. So I might get a little lost."
There was no trace of a grin on Sam's face now. "You wouldn't," he said, voice low.
Dean merely collected his coat before leaning down next to the little one and saying, "Fishy."
Sam's heated glare and her enthusiastic, repeated chorus of "Fissy!" were both cut off by the door being shut behind him as he left the room.