A/N: Again - many thanks to all of you out there that are reading this and leaving reviews. I'm sorry I didn't get to reply to everyone after the last chapter, things have been kinda hectic around here. Anyhoo, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you. :)
Chapter 2
Dean had thought that his anxiousness over being wanted by every law enforcement agency in the country, his brother's injury and the fact that they were staying in a cabin that tried to kill them once before should have been enough kept him alert all night so that he could keep an eye on Sam, but he couldn't fight the overwhelming exhaustion that invaded every part of him and his eyes had closed, operating against the explicit orders of his brain to stay open, and he slipped into a deep sleep before he could stop it.
It was clearly morning by the time he woke up. Sun streamed through the cracks in the windowless walls and the rotten, wood door. In the distance he could hear birds chirping and the sounds of the forest waking up to a new day outside, but none of that eased any of the misgivings staying in this remote cabin still gave him.
"Shit …" Dean scrubbed a hand over his stubbly, tired face and smacked his lips, wishing he had thought to grab a tube of toothpaste from the toiletry bag he left in the car.
"Sam?" Dean croaked and turned where he sat, his muscles protesting after the hours he had spent in one position. He had fallen asleep sitting up with his back resting against the side of the cot where Sam slept and his ass was sore from the hard, wood floor.
Sometime during the night, Sam had crawled back under the covers and was fitfully asleep, the blankets pulled up to his chin, shivering slightly.
"Crap …" Dean muttered, raising a hand to Sam's forehead, finding his flushed skin hot to the touch.
Sam groaned and opened his eyes to slits, making glazed eye contact with Dean. "Wha-?"
"Hey … "
"Don' feel so good."
"Yeah … I figured. Let me take a look, okay?"
Sam shook his head and his teeth chattered, "T-too cold."
"It's just for a second – then I'll get you some more medicine and you can have the blankets back, alright?"
Sam's eyes blinked slowly as he nodded while Dean pulled the blankets he had cocooned himself in and pulled them down past his knees. He then lifted up Sam's shirt and began his inspection, beginning by gently pulling off the bandage that covered the bullet wound Dean had so carefully stitched up. Sam hissed as the tape pulled at his skin and ripped away a few hairs.
Dean could sympathize with his little brother for his discomfort and he may have hissed a little as well when he saw that the wound was now a puffy, bright red, and weeping a yellowish fluid. It was clearly infected and while it was not a surprise that it had developed given the less than sanitary conditions in the cabin, Dean was worried by how fast it seemed to be taking hold.
"I'm gonna have to clean this out again." Dean explained, reaching for the pack and pulling out the bottle of rubbing alcohol, frowning to see that the bottle was almost gone. "Sorry, Dude - this is gonna sting–"
Dean soaked a wad of gauze he found in the med kit with what was left of the alcohol and swept into across the hole in his brother's side. Sam sucked in a breath and shook slightly under Dean's fingers as he flushed out the infected areas, working as quickly as possible so as to not cause him any prolonged pain, yet still, by the time Dean had the wound cleaned as well as he could, Sam was visibly quaking and sweating.
"Sorry about that." Dean offered in way of an apology for causing Sam more pain, and then placed a clean bandage over the wound.
"S –s'okay." Sam accepted wearily and pulled the blankets back up to his chin.
Pain management and fever reduction were next on Dean's to-do list, but to his dismay there were only a few pills left in the Tylenol bottle. They hadn't had any time between escaping from jail and running from the police to stock up their med kit and there were no antibiotics, only a few bandages, and they had just run out of alcohol.
Dean swore under his breath before he fed a dose to Sam and figured that he could get his brother through the day with what they had, but if the infection got any worse Sam would need some strong antibiotics and Dean would need to find a way to get the medicine his bother needed.
Not for the first time, Dean wanted nothing more than to say 'screw-it' to this whole running from the law crap and haul his little brother to a hospital even if it meant that the chances of them getting arrested and sent to prison again would sky-rocket. It wasn't worth Sam's life just to stay out of jail.
"I'm not going to a hospital, Dean." Sam announced as if reading his brother's mind, "It'd be too easy for someone to recognize us."
Dean jerked his head up and met his brother's fever-bright, yet willful eyes, "Sam -"
"No." Sam wasn't going to budge on this, no matter what.
Dean sighed and shook his head at his brother's stubbornness. He was left now with only one option: he was going to have to leave Sam and go to the nearest town to get what they needed all while flying under the radar and not being seen.
But that also meant that Sam would be alone out here, hurt and sick. But what choice did he have? He was out of options and just like the last time they had visited this cabin, they were so screwed.
OOOOOO
Chaos erupted like a volcano and a hurricane that married and had babies. The walls shook violently - so much so that Dean was sure they might collapse around them. An ear-piercing howl filled his ears just as the first of many objects started sailing through the air, zinging over his and Sam's heads.
"NO!" A high-pitched and unearthly voice shouted, "STAY!" To Dean's ears it sounded distinctly feminine.
The can of peaches Sam had found earlier suddenly became airborne and flew in their direction. Dean ducked, but not fast enough and he felt the can connect with the side of his head. Pain burst through his temple and he fell to his knees, his vision swimming, going in and out of focus.
"Dean!" Sam yelled and pulled on his sleeve, dragging him across the floor, "the table!"
Dean felt a warm wetness trace its way down his face and he wanted nothing more than to just lie down and give into the encroaching darkness, but Sam was yelling at him to get up, yanking frantically on his sleeve.
Bottles of water, cans, the leftovers from their meal, even the knife Sam had left sitting on the table flung around the small confines of the cabin and there was no escape – the only exit sealed by whatever power was behind the maelstrom. Sam pulled on him until they both reached the table and Dean felt his little brother shove him up against the wall before upending the plywood tabletop and pulling it backwards until he was shoulder to shoulder with Dean, flush against the wall, the table top serving as a lean-to shield against the objects being hurtled at them.
Things pounded into the wood, creating a cacophony of noise. Sam held on tight to the wood as the slamming continued, his face tight under the strain. Dean managed to shake off some of the fuzziness in his head to lend a hand when just as suddenly as it started, everything came to a crashing halt. Cans clattered to the floor and objects that had once been floating in mid-air dropped in a series of thuds.
Dean panted while his heart thudded in his ears and his head strummed in time to its rhythm. Except for the heavy breathing of his brother, Dean heard nothing after that and silence took over. He glanced at Sam whose eyes were wide as he kept a death grip along the edges of the plywood.
"You okay?" Dean finally managed to speak.
Sam nodded quickly, looking at the side of Dean's head, "You?"
"I'll live." Dean assured him even though he was still having a hard time seeing straight.
"You think it's done?" Sam questioned warily.
"I dunno … stay under the wood. " Dean ordered as he carefully poked his head out from their shelter.
"Dean, don't" Sam warned, but Dean was already getting a good look at the damage. Things lay on the floor strewn about, the cot was upended and lying on its side and even Sam's pocket knife was embedded in the board protecting them, but whatever it was that attacked them seemed to be gone … at least for now.
Dean ducked back under the plywood; Sam's mouth was still hanging open almost comically, "What was that?" Sam breathed, "some sort of spirit?"
Dean looked at his brother like he had just grown a set of horns, "Gee, ya think?"
Sam's face suddenly switched from shock to anger and if his skull had been transparent, Dean believed that he would have been able to see the gears turn and snap into place in his little brother's brain. "I can't believe this …" Sam seethed, "I should have known –"
"Known what?" Dean demanded.
"Don't you think that it's more than a coincidence that Dad just happened to send us out to a cabin that turns out to be haunted?" Sam asked.
"So?" Dean still wasn't thinking straight and his head felt like it had a jackhammer drilling into it, but he really didn't like what his brother was trying to explain.
"Don't you get it?" Sam kept going, "This is no happy, brotherly bonding trip into the woods, Dean. Dad didn't send us out here to just hunt rabbits – this is a job. Dad sent us on a freaking hunting job and didn't even bother to tell us."
OOOOOO
Sam wasn't getting any better and no matter how many times Dean tried to clean wound, it just got redder, hotter, and more foul. He was barely coherent as he shivered and shook under the covers of the blankets, his eyes bright and glassy with fever, but Dean knew what he had to do.
"Don' go." Sam pleaded while his face went into full-on puppy-dog mode. "What if someone – what if someone recognizes you?"
"This isn't up for debate, Sam. You need medicine, period."
"Jus' gimme a couple a days and … I'll be fine." Sam panted as though talking was exhausting him, "Can't let you get caught."
"I won't get caught." Dean tried to plant a mischievous smile on his face. "I'm awesome, remember?"
"Breaking into a pharmacy? - it's too risky."
"Yeah well, I'd go and buy the things you need on one of our credit cards ... but oh wait - they're all flagged by the FBI. So, stealing it is."
Sam gave Dean another pitiful face and Dean hurried to reassure him, "Look,Sam ... the nearest town is a tiny podunk. Chances are the local pharmacy doesn't have any security better than lock on the door. I'll be in and out in minutes – nothing to worry about."
"Maybe … I just don't like this." Sam looked up at Dean and he saw that no matter what he said or how many assurances he gave his little brother that he would make it in and out of town without being noticed, Sam would fret and worry himself into frenzy.
"Sorry, dude." Dean said sincerely, setting several bottles of water on the floor and Sam's gun beside the bed where he could reach them, "Just stay in bed, drink plenty of water and try to get some sleep, okay?"
"Dean –"
"I'll be fine … promise."
"You better." Sam mumbled, his eyes sliding closed as sleep overcame him.
Dean figured if he hurried, he just might be able to get to town, get the meds, get out and be back to Sam before he woke up.
Piece of cake …
He hoped, anyway.
OOOOOOO
"What are you talking about? Dad would have said something if he knew this place was haunted." Dean derided Sam's epiphany, defending their father, "And even if he did, he had to have had a good reason for keeping it from us."
"You mean like he wanted to test us?" Sam spit back, fuming.
"No … as in maybe he thought we could handle this – that we could work together to waste this mother."
Sam snorted and shook his head, but Dean cut off any further arguments his brother had lined up against Dad by raising his hand, "We don't have time to wonder if Dad knew if this place was haunted or not – we got to find out what we're dealing with here and figure out a way to kill it."
"Fine … " Sam cooled down visibly now that Dean had given him something else to focus on besides their father's true intentions, "Got any ideas? 'cause I'm all out."
"Well … it's quieted down for now. You stay here, I'll try the door and see if it's still got us in lockdown or not."
Sam made it clear that he wasn't thrilled with this plan, "You're hurt, Dean … I'll go." "I'm fine, Sam. Just stay under the board, got it?"
"Don't be an ass, I can – " Dean wouldn't let him finish his argument and was already scooting out from under the board, "Deeean."
Ignoring his brother's protests, Dean quietly snuck out completely, exposing himself to whatever was in the cabin that had a bone to pick with them. Crouching low, he crept his way to the door. It was only a few feet to his side, but expecting to be attacked by canned peaches at any moment made it feel like it was a mile away, and when he finally reached it, he let out the breath he had been holding.
Cautiously, he tried the door. Again, the doorknob turned, but it refused to open no matter how much he swore, kicked at it, or slammed his shoulder into it. They were stuck, and there was no way out.
As if to prove that they weren't going anywhere, the nearly full bottle of Glenfiddich that Dean had every intention of keeping suddenly flew in his direction. He ducked just before it could smash into his head then watched in dismal horror as the 30 year old scotch connected with the door frame and exploded in a shower of glass.
He almost cried.
OOOOOO
Dean had been right about one thing; the nearest town to the cabin was a Podunk and it was small, even by small town standards. It consisted of nothing more than a little greasy-spoon, a gas station with ancient-looking pumps, and a mom and pop grocery store.
One business it was also glaringly lacking however, was a pharmacy.
"Do people not get sick in this town?" He groused to himself, driving down the quiet, deserted main street under the cover of night. Where was he to get the meds Sam needed without a pharmacy?
He was just about to give up on this place and drive another twenty miles south to the next town when he caught sight of a large, Victorian-style house with a sign dangling from the roof of a wrap-around porch:
Dr. T.S. Miles, MD. Family Medicine
The lights were off in the house and Dean thought he might have hit the jackpot with this. A family medicine practice was almost guaranteed to have all of the supplies and meds he would need to bring to Sam and this place looked like an easy score. He'd be in and out in no time.
Dean parked the car where it would be least likely to be noticed – behind the gas station and between two other half-rusted vehicles about a block away from his target. No one was out at this time of night and Dean got the sense that this was the kind of town that closed down as soon as the sun went down. Plus, it was nearing 2 AM, so chances were that he'd never see anyone and no one would see him.
As he ran down the deserted street, Dean wondered how anyone could stand living in a little town such as this. There was no bar, no movie theatre, not even a McDonald's – he'd probably shoot himself in the head out of sheer boredom if he had to live here.
Dean stayed in the shadows of the trees he passed as he approached the doctor's house. It probably belonged to some old, country saw-bones who lived in the same house he practiced medicine in, so he was quiet as a church mouse while he pulled lock picks from his pocket and got to work on the back door.
As expected, it was an easy break-in and he walked in silently, finding himself in a hallway with several doors on each side. He pulled out a flashlight then walked towards the first door and opened it.
It was a small exam room, probably meant for children given the posters of Elmo on the wall and the box of toys in the corner. He didn't give much hope in finding what he was looking for in there, so he moved to the next door in the hall.
The next two rooms also appeared to be exam rooms, but the door after those was more promising. He found himself in what might be some kind of lab with a microscope sitting on top of a counter next to a sink and above those were a series of glass cabinets installed into the wall. Dean saw right away that the cabinets were stocked full of supplies.
"Bingo." Dean whispered as he made for the cabinets. He silently and methodically opened the doors, looking for the items on his mental list; grabbing bandages, gauze, and anything else he thought might come in handy and stuffing them into his pockets. His most important task though was to find where the doctor stored his medications and he turned around, scanning the room until his eyes landed on a large, steel locker.
Unlike the cabinets with the bandages, this one was locked.
A good place to keep the meds, Dean figured and he was soon putting his lock-picking tools to use once again. He was easily inside it in under a minute, swinging the doors wide open. It may not be as well stocked as a Walgreens pharmacy, but it still had enough drugs in a multitude of bottles with names Dean couldn't pronounce to make finding what he needed a slow procedure. It took a while for him to find a bottle of pills with a name he recognized as anti-biotics and after taking it from the shelf, he closed the cabinet back up and locked it again. Hopefully, the doctor wouldn't even notice that anything had been taken.
It was just as he was about to pocket the bottle of pills when the overhead light suddenly flicked on and the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him echoed off the walls.
OOOOOO
"Okay … so we're stuck here." Dean reported, running back under the piece of plywood where Sam was still hiding, "I guess whatever was pitching that hissy fit really doesn't want us to go."
"Well whatever it is, we can't stay under here forever."
"No … but let's give it a few minutes and if it stays quiet, we might as well try to search the cabin, maybe we can find some clues about who owned this place or whoever's spirit is here."
Dean's head ached mercilessly and he wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep for the next day or three. He leaned his head back against the wall behind him and attempted to not look as wretched as he felt.
"Your head's still bleeding," Sam so helpfully pointed out, as if Dean didn't already know that. But, when his little brother dug into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it over for him to staunch the blood, he felt some of his crankiness melt away.
"Thanks." Dean took the hankie and pressed it to his temple.
"Sounds like it's quiet again. Think we should try looking around?"
"Okay, but be careful - and if anything goes hinky, come right back here and hide under the board."
"Duh …" Sam agreed, albeit somewhat snottily.
Simultaneously, Sam and Dean scooted out from under the plywood and stood, both of them keeping a wary eye on all of the objects in the room. For now, it was still quiet and nothing was airborne, so both he and his brother began to tear the place apart for anything that might help them figure out what the hell was going on.
Sam searched through the cabinets again while Dean took the rest of the cabin, starting near the fireplace. There was barely any light to speak of with the fire down to just embers and it was making the process all the more difficult. Dean would have thrown another log on the fire, but seeing as how they were out of wood and they had no way to go outside and get more –
"These cabinet doors are wood – we could burn them." Sam called out from across the room. He must have had just as much fun fumbling around in the dark as he did.
"Good idea."
Sam set about removing the cabinet doors and soon the fire was burning bright once again and they could see a little better to continue their search.
Strangely however, the spirit or whatever it was, remained quiet. That is until Sam came near the door.
The walls began to shake once again.
Sam stepped away from the door.
Everything stopped.
He stepped closer to the door and the vibrations started up again.
Sam stepped away and everything went back to normal.
"huh …" Sam muttered.
Dean was about to throw something at his brother himself, saving the spirit the trouble, "Will you cut that out?"
"It doesn't like us coming near the door. I think as long as we stay clear of it, we'll be okay and it won't attack." Sam explained.
"Great … " Dean grumbled, "but, that still means we're stuck in here.".
"Yeah - " Sam continued to muse, "But, with us trapped in here it could take us out easily, but it hasn't. Doesn't sound like a vengeful spirit to me …"
Dean's snort from that comment made his head throb, "Yeah… tell that to the dent in my skull."
"I don't think it meant to hurt you … what if it just wanted our attention."
"I think locking the door and sealing us inside is attention enough, don't you? It didn't have to go and throw crap at us."
"It's just an idea," Sam shrugged, "Let's keep looking."
"Don't see what we're gonna find ... There's nothing here - We're so screwed." Dean couldn't help but feel a little pessimistic about finding a way to escape the cabin as tried to step around all of the clutter strewn about the floor. With the lighting still dim, even with the fire blazing, he failed to see the dark-colored pack lying on the floor in front of him until it was too late and his foot caught underneath it. With a curse, he tripped and fell forward, flinging his hands out in front of him to catch his fall.
His hands hit the large, round stones that lined the left side of the fireplace and he felt one of them come loose and drop just before he fell hard, barely missing the floor with his face.
"You okay?" Sam asked, by his side suddenly, grabbing Dean around the bicep and helping him back up.
"Yeah, I'm fine … stupid pack … stupid cabin …"
Dean would have gone on and on about how stupid everything was, but he looked at Sam whose attention was drawn to the fireplace, "What?" Dean asked.
"Look—" Sam pointed to the hand-sized stones mortared around the fireplace that Dean had unsuccessfully tried to catch himself with and saw the hole that had been created when one of the stones had come loose and fallen.
Sam stepped closer to the hole and peered inside, "There's something in there ..."
OOOOOOOO
"Don't move." A woman's voice ordered from behind Dean's back, "Turn around."
"I thought you didn't want me to move." Dean snarked with his hands still in the air.
"You know what I mean," She came back with heated exasperation, "Just turn around so I can see you."
Dean slowly pivoted to face the woman in a knee-length nightgown, holding a rifle against her shoulder and aiming for his chest. To his surprise, she wasn't too much older than him, maybe no more than 30 with long, red curls that bounced messily from her head down to her shoulders.
Piercing blue eyes locked onto him in a not-so-friendly manner. "What are you doing in my office?" She demanded to know, her eyebrows coming together in unmistakable anger. Which made perfect sense to Dean; after all, she had just caught him breaking into her place at 2 am trying to steal medicine from her.
With that gun still aimed squarely at him, Dean had only one weapon left in his arsenal to get him out of this jam: his charm.
He cocked a sheepish grin and raised his hands a little higher to show her that he meant her no harm, "So … you must be the good doctor."
"And you must be the asshole breaking into my place." came her fiery reply.
Dean couldn't really argue with that, "Touché."
Her eyes left Dean's face and went to the pockets he had stuffed full of supplies and she dipped her head towards them, "What's in your pockets? Empty them out."
Dean slowly lowered his hands and brought them down towards his pockets and then as if remembering that she didn't know what he had hidden in them, she took on a deadlier demeanor, "Don't try anything funny like pulling a weapon on me … this rifle isn't just for looks, ya know. It's loaded and I guarantee you I know how to use it."
"I thought doctors were supposed to do no harm?" Dean quipped, turning the charm on as far up the dial as it would go.
"I'd never harm any of my patients … but home intruders? The Hippocratic oath doesn't say anything against that."
Carefully, Dean followed doctor's orders and started emptying his pockets out, dropping rolls of gauze, tape, bandages, alcohol swabs and the bottle of antibiotics to the floor.
Her eyes dropped to the supplies on the floor and Dean had to fight his instinct to grab the gun while she was distracted, but he didn't want to hurt her – she was still an innocent civilian even if she did had a gun trained on him. Besides, he still had a chance to talk his way out of this.
She looked up to his face again, "You broke in to steal gauze and antibiotics?"
"Look … I know –"
She stated as she looked him up and down, "You don't look hurt to me. "
"It's not for me …"
"Then who's it for?"
Dean debated with himself over what sort of story he should cook up for her, but he decided to go the route he usually avoided at all costs: the truth.
"My brother … he's hurt and he needs this stuff."
"There's a hospital not twenty miles from here, why don't you take him there instead of stealing from me?"
"It's uh …well … complicated."
"I get it. You're a thief and a criminal and you don't want to get caught by checking into a hospital, am I right?"
Dean was hesitant to reply, looked quickly down at his feet, letting his silence speak for itself.
"I should call the cops." She stated and Dean started a litany of curses up in his head until she spoke up once again, her tone softening unexpectedly, "But … something tells me you're not lying. "
"What makes you say that?" Dean asked, "You don't know me from Adam. I could be a serial killer for all you know." He added, immediately regretting his decision to try and talk his way out this – he always managed to say the wrong thing. Sam was much better at the talking crap and Dean couldn't pull off the manipulative puppy-eyed thing as well as him, but he gave it his best shot anyway, hoping that she would see that he wasn't a threat.
She nodded slowly and cautiously, "I suppose you could be, but I read people pretty well and I know when I'm being played. There were plenty of narcotics and controlled drugs in that cabinet you could have stolen yet you only took a bottle of antibiotics. That tells me that you weren't coming in here to get a fix or to score drugs to sell. It makes me think that you really do need these supplies."
She paused for a beat, "This brother of yours … how is he injured?"
"He was shot. I took care of it, got the bullet out, and stitched him up, but he's got an infection now … he's pretty sick." Dean couldn't believe he had just laid out the truth to her like that, but something in her eyes told him that she could handle the truth.
"Shot? And you just stitched him up and that's it? You make it sound like you do that sort of thing on a regular basis. Bullet wounds aren't something that you can just play doctor with – "
"Look – I know … believe me, I do." Dean came back, cutting off the rant she was starting, "But getting him to a hospital just isn't in the cards right now."
She stood eyeing him, quiet for a moment as she appeared to struggle with some internal dilemma before coming to a decision and speaking again, "Fine … put the stuff back in your pockets." She ordered coolly, the gun still raised and aimed in his direction.
Dean wasn't expecting that, he was just hoping to get out without getting shot. "You're gonna let me keep all of this?"
"Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty pissed that you saw it fit to break into my home and office and there's not a snowball's chance in Hell I'm lowering this gun until you are far from my door …"
She quirked a faint grin, "but I understand the need to take care of others when they're hurt – it's kinda my job and somehow I get the feeling that it's your job too. "
OOOOOOO
Sam carefully reached into the hole and pulled out several rolled up papers.
He handed the stack off to Dean who unrolled the papers and got an eyeful of awfulness.
"Uhhggg, this is sick." Dean felt like losing his lunch.
"What is it?" Sam asked, looking over his shoulder.
On the parchment pages were drawings – many, many drawings, all made with the same kind of discolored, brownish ink that were meticulously detailed and realistic, created by someone with a true, yet gruesome gift for art.
Each of them was apparently of the same person; a woman, naked, bound to a cot, gagged, and bleeding - her eyes wide with fear and terror. Each individual drawing had the woman in a slightly different pose and in various stages of rape and torture – in some she appeared to be screaming and crying but in the last three drawings, her eyes were closed and if Dean had to guess, he'd say that she was already dead when those pictures were created.
Dean shifted his focus from the artwork towards the cot across the room and shuddered – it looked an awful lot like the one in the drawings; in fact, all of the backgrounds looked like the rest of the cabin's interior.
The artist appeared to also take pride in his twisted work, signing his name with a flourish in the right-hand corner of each piece: James R. Jackson.
"God, Dean – These are …" Sam swallowed, at a loss for words, "Who would draw something like this?"
"A sick bastard, that's for sure." Dean snarled.
"You think these are of a real woman?"
"Makes sense … a woman gets tortured and killed out here in this cabin by some psycho, Van Gogh wannabe and now we got a pissed off spirit on our hands, what do you think?"
Sam nodded in agreement, his face pinched in empathy for the lady in the pictures, "She must be tied to the cabin if she's able to lock us in – that means there must be some of her remains in here somewhere."
"Where would that be, genius? We've already searched the whole damned place, " Dean looked down at the floor, "then again, if she's buried under the floor -"
"She's not under the floor…" Sam whispered, his gaze fixed on drawings, inspecting them so close that he practically had the sheets in his face.
"How do you know?"
Sam made intense eye contact with Dean and lifted the papers, giving them a little shake, "Because, she's here … she's the drawings."
TBC ...
