"Damnit, Christine!" my father roared.
I silently cowered in my place in the corner, clutching my knees to my chest as I waited for the inevitable.
"Why can't you just do something right for once?" he continued.
"I-I'm sorry," seven-year-old me stuttered, choking back tears, "I didn't m-mean to, I-I-"
"Enough!" he bellowed, raising his hand. I flinched out of habit. "You shouldn't have touched that gun, Christine. It broke the window. Now people are suspicious of us. Damnit…!"
His hand whipped down and connected with the left side of my red, tear-stained face. The force of the blow threw me against the wall, causing a loud thump. My eyes peeled open, sending a jot of throbbing through my head. I saw my three-year-old sister, Becca, cowering behind the couch.
"You're absolutely useless, you brat," I heard my mother sneer. She must have entered the room while I was hitting the wall. "Honestly, if Rebecca turns out as worthless as you I don't know what we're going to do." At this my father sighed and left the room with his hand on his forehead. My mom glared at me.
"Maybe if we didn't have to deal with you all the time we'd actually be happy for once."
"Christine!"
I woke with a start, bolting upright in bed. The image of my mother gradually melted away and was replaced with the musty old motel room my sister and I had checked into earlier that day. Now it was pitch black, and the clock said it was 2:47am.
"Christine?"
I glanced to my right as I steadied my breathing, seeing Becca looking at me with her trademark concerned look from her own bed.
"You okay?" she asked, keeping her look but smiling softly at me.
I forced myself to smile back at her. "I'm fine. Just a bad dream." I finally started to feel my heartbeat slow, approaching its normal pace.
"You…" she began quietly, averting her eyes by looking down, "You were apologizing. A lot. And crying. It…It was about mom and dad, wasn't it?"
I knew there was no point in lying to her. We knew each other too well. "Yeah."
"They're not a part of our lives anymore, Christine," Becca told me pointedly for about the millionth time, "They can't hurt us anymore. They can't hurt you."
"I know," I sighed.
"I don't care what they told you," she continued, coming over to sit beside me on my bed, "You're not worthless."
"We don't need to have this conversation again, Bec," I sighed with exasperation.
"Apparently we do," she said sternly, "Chris, you've helped so many people. You're a great hunter, and you've saved countless lives. Do you know how many people would be dead right now if you weren't here? And don't forget about what you've done for me. You were my only support in that hellhole we called home. All those years with mom and dad, you protected me. You always took the beatings for me and never let them lay a finger on me. And best of all, you got me away from them. And you've done a hell of a job taking care of me."
"Yeah, yeah…" I mumbled, trying to take her words to heart. I plopped back down on the bed and pulled the blankets back up to my shoulders. "Thanks, Bec. Now go to sleep."
"Fine," she sighed, getting up and climbing back into her own bed.
"Goodnight, Becca," I called out sincerely.
"Goodnight, Chris."
"Check this out, Chris," Becca called from her laptop in the front of the motel room as I exited the bathroom. I made my way over to her and peered down at the screen.
"Three murders in the past week and a half," my sister informed, "So far all of the victims have been middle-aged women. All of them were found in their homes burned to death… on their stovetops."
"Gross," I shuddered, seeing the pictures on her laptop, "And their families didn't hear any screaming or anything?"
"Nope," she replied, "It seems like they all did it willingly…"
"So, maybe possession then?" I proposed. Becca nodded. "Any other connections?"
"Not that I know of," she told me.
"Lansing, Michigan, huh?" I sighed, "Well, let's get going."
"Lansing, Michigan, huh? Dean Winchester sighed as he and his brother, Sam, entered the town in their impala.
"Yep," Sam replied, "There should be a motel around the corner here.
"So, these women have anything in common?" Dean asked Sam after they had settled into their motel room.
"Nothing I can tell from the internet," Sam replied, "Besides their similar ages. We'll have to interview their families."
"I guess it's time to suit up, then," Dean smirked.
Once they were properly dressed in their suits and looked like actual FBI agents, they got back into the impala.
"I say we head to Janie Woods' house first. Her husband should be home with their kids," Sam said as they pulled out of the parking lot, "The address is 34w272 Water Ridge."
"Ok," Dean replied, "This was the house of the first victim, right?"
"Yep," his brother confirmed, "Her two kids found her… now it's just them and their dad."
"Poor kids…" Dean muttered.
They arrived at their destination fairly quickly. Both of them adjusted their suits as they approached the white door of the Victorian style house. Dean rapped on the door firmly. A middle-aged man with faded brown hair answered the door. The very noticeable dark circles under his eyes gave away his exhaustion.
"Can I help you?" he asked, his tiredness showing again through his voice.
"Good afternoon, we're agents Huntley and Johnson," Dean greeted as the boys held up their fake FBI badges and IDs, "We'd like to ask you a few routine questions about your wife's ordeal."
"But I already spoke with the FBI this morning," the man complained, "There were two women here. They already asked me your 'routine questions'."
The brothers were taken aback. After a few moments, Sam asked, "Oh… What sort of questions were they asking?"
The man looked vaguely pissed off. "Just the usual ones. If she had any enemies, relations to the other women… They did ask a few weird ones, though. If she had been acting strange, if the lights had been flickering or anything…"
The hunters glanced at each other. They lights? Why would they ask about that? Unless…
"So, were there any relations between your wife and the other victims?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," he replied, "What I told your FBI buddies this morning. They were all in the same cooking club."
"I see…" Dean said, "Well, we're very sorry for troubling you, sir."
"It's fine," the man said with a sigh, "Have a nice day." With that, he closed the door.
"Well, he was a ray of sunshine," Dean said sarcastically as they headed back to the impala.
"His wife just died, Dean," Sam replied with a pointed look, "Cut him some slack. Besides, I think we've got more important matters to deal with right now. I think… I think there are other hunters working this case."
"I heard there are other FBI agents in town," I told my sister once we met up again in our motel room.
"Yeah?" she asked, looking up at me from her laptop with her concerned look, "Do you think they're the real deal?"
"I don't know," I replied, "Actually, some of the locals said they were asking some pretty weird questions… like if any of the victims had been acting strange or if anything weird has been happening in the town."
Becca cocked her head. "You don't think…?"
"I think we're dealing with other hunters."
"What are we going to do about our… coworkers?" Becca asked me. We were sitting in a bar later that night, trying to figure out our next move.
"I say we should just keep working the case," I proposed, "Maybe we'll run into them along the way. If they're decent hunters, then they should have noticed someone else is on the case by now. Maybe they'll be looking for us too."
"Sounds like a plan," she agreed, taking a sip of her beer. She may have only been 20, but that didn't stop her from drinking. It wasn't like she was an alcoholic or anything, and she's one of the most responsible people I know. It was easy to make a simple fake ID when your job requires fake FBI badges.
"So, are we gonna look for these hunter chicks?" Dean asked, gulping down a sip of his beer. They had gone to a local bar to plan out what to do next.
"I figure that if we keep on working the case, we may just run into them," Sam told his brother, "Who knows, they may even be looking for us. They seem to be good hunters, so it'd surprise me if they haven't noticed that they aren't the only ones on the case."
"Agreed," Dean said. He then glanced up at the bar and got a crooked grin on his face. "Speaking of chicks… I'm gonna go have a little fun."
"Go ahead," Sam laughed, watching his brother approach two girls with dark brown hair who were sitting at the bar.
"Hello ladies," Dean purred, walking up behind the two girls he had seen from his table. The one on the left, presumably the older one, rolled her eyes.
"I suggest you keep walking, hotstuff," she said with a smirk.
"Aw, come on," he complained, "I was just saying hello."
"Yeah, I'm sure," the younger one said with an eye roll identical to the other's. They looked strikingly similar, so Dean assumed they were sisters.
"Let me get you some more drinks," he proposed, sitting in the empty seat beside the older one, waving down the bartender, "Three beers, please."
"So what lovely names match these lovely faces?" Dean continued, flashing a smile at them.
The girls seemed to decide to play along. "I'm Christine," the older one said, "This is my sister, Rebecca." Just then the bartender handed them their drinks.
"Like I said," Dean flirted, "Lovely names."
Rebecca smirked. "Thanks," she said sarcastically, and then turned to her sister, "Chris, I think I'm going to head back and get some sleep. I'll see you."
"Alright," her sister replied, "Be careful."
"I'll be fine," she insisted before walking out the door, taking another swig of her drink.
"I guess it's just you and me now," Dean said, resting his arm on the table.
"I never caught your name, hotstuff," Christine flirted back.
"Dean," he informed her.
"Well, Dean," she said, "Thank you for the drinks."
"My pleasure," Dean purred, "So, what brings you and your sister here to Lansing? You live here?"
"No, we're here visiting some family," Christine explained, "Our aunt and uncle live here. It's sort of a family reunion." She shook her head and took a sip of her beer.
"Ah, a family reunion," Dean said sarcastically, "That sounds like fun."
"Always," she joked, "Tension-filled houses that always end up involving some sort of fight are definitely my idea of fun."
"Well, I know how to relieve some of that tension," Dean said smoothly, edging closer to Christine.
"Oh really…?" she purred allowing Dean to move his face closer to hers. Their lips were about an inch away when she smirked and pulled away.
"Sorry, not tonight, hotstuff," she laughed, standing up and grabbing her black leather jacket, "I'll see you around." With that, she left a very confused and disappointed Dean Winchester sitting alone at the bar.
