The story of how Sam and Dean met their long-lost sister, as told in conversations.
[Drabbles, written almost exclusively in dialogue. Rated T for language. Gen.]
"Could you give us your parents' names, please?"
I looked at them strangely. "Why?" I asked bluntly.
"We just need verification," replied the one with long hair (surprisingly long for an FBI agent).
I gave him a blank stare. "Yeah. I actually figured that part out. What I meant was, why do you need verification? What the hell do my parents have to do with this? I don't even know what I have to do with this, for chr-" don't swear. Be nice.
The long-haired FBI agent's (what's his name again?) eyes became rounder and softer. "We understand this is a lot to take in at once," he (Morrison, Agent Morrison) said. "But with your help, we can catch this guy before he does any more harm."
"Harm?" My voice was sharp and strident (caution. Stay calm. Apologize for your lack of composure). "Sorry." I tried to throw them a small smile. "I guess there's just something…invasive…about a serial killer attack in your own apartment building."
The one on the right, shorter of hair and of stature than his partner, watched me quietly. He hadn't said a word since he introduced himself (ah, crap. Now what's this one's name again?).
Whatever. Just send 'em on their way, Sarah (it's not like you need law enforcement interested in you, anyway). I took a breath. "Okay. My mother was Lonnman, Carol."
"Alright," Morrison said, nodding and writing it down in his notebook (cheap, battered, kind of memo pad you can buy at a drug store. Is that FBI standard?). Oh, shut it. What the hell would you know about the FBI's choice of notebooks?
"And father?" He looked up expectantly.
"Winchester," I said. "John."