A/N: Okay so this took a long time and I'm really sorry! I've made a lot of changes to the story-changed Grace's name to Jace, changed the story's title to Grace Under Pressure, switched back to past tense, made the prologue a separate chapter. I also planned on this chapter being longer-I ended up splitting it into two chapters. I didn't want to spend this long on the pilot, but shit happens I guess. There's other reasons for why this took so long but I won't go into them.

Anyway, I'm super sorry. On my profile is a link to an explanation for the name changes. Thanks for being patient with me, everyone, and if you have the time I'd love to hear your thoughts! I already have the next chapter scripted so hopefully it won't be that long. Also, I'd like to thank January Lily for making the new story cover! You should all go check out her sisfic, Us Against the World, it's fantastic!


Chapter Three

"They all got the same heartbeat, and hers is falling behind."

-Cool Kids/Echosmith

"You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?"

Ring ring.

Sam wanted to ignore the call at first. Honestly, he didn't really want to be distracted. He was set on finding dad and then getting back to school as soon as possible. But at the look the sheriff gave him, it occurred to him that he was breaking character-that as far as sheriff Jaffe knew, he could very well be ignoring Official Federal Marshal Business. John would never have slipped up like that. Sam really was out of practice.

He excused himself and stepped away to check his phone. It was Jess on the caller ID. A pang of worry hit him, and he quickly answered, catching the call on the last ring.

"Hey, Jess. Everything alright?"

"Why'd you lie?"

Sam blinked, taking this in. That was Jess; she didn't like games, didn't like beating around the bush. A knot of dread was quickly forming in his stomach. What had Jace told her? How much had Jace told her?

"...What?"

"You said you were going to a cabin in the mountains, right?" There was a note of hope in Jess's voice. Like she was hoping he'd say "No, I said something similar, but totally different that totally lines up with whatever Jace told you." So she could say "Oh, I must have heard you wrong." Jess didn't shy away from conflict, but she didn't particularly like it, either.

In any case, Sam couldn't help but relax. This was certainly not the worst thing Jace could have let slip. "Oh. We're thinking maybe he's somewhere else now. We're looking for him."

Then something else occurred to him.

"Jess," he said suspiciously, "Where's Jace?"

Jess ignored his question. "She didn't know that," she pointed out. "You told me you were going to a cabin, and then you left, and then she told me you were going to Jericho." And then, more quietly, she added "Sam, just tell me what's going on. Please."

Sam sighed, running a hand down his face. As much as he lied to her, he didn't enjoy it. He never had. "Dean...traced the call from our dad. And it came from Jericho."

It took a long time for Jess to respond. "Fine." But it wasn't fine, and they both knew it.

Sam looked down, scuffing his shoe on the ground. "I'll make this up to you when I get home, okay?"

"Okay. Just...hurry back, okay? I'm worried about you."

Sam smiled sadly. "I will. I promise." After a beat, he added "Love you." It was like a question.

"I love you too."

He waited for Jess to hang up first, and almost pocketed his phone when she did, before realizing that Jess never answered his question. His worry switched from Jess to his sister, and he dialed Jace's number quickly, vaguely wondering if her number had changed.

It hadn't.


Jace vaguely considered dodging Sam's call. She'd known the call was coming, and she wasn't nervous. Just still annoyed with him. But she decided to be a grown-up and pick up anyway. She switched off the radio and picked up the phone. "Hello?" Her tone was mock-innocent.

"Where are you?" Sam asked.

"In my car. Why?" She knew that he knew what she'd done from his tone, and she wasn't trying to hide it. She just didn't want to make this conversation easy for him.

Sam sighed, sounding exasperated. "Why aren't you with Jess?"

"Because I can help. I know what dad was doing here. And he's my dad too."

Sam bit back a comment at that. No one was forgetting that John was her dad, too. Although John would never admit it, it was clear that Jace was his favorite. This didn't bother Sam, not like it bothered Dean, but Jace's lack of self-awareness could be frustrating.

"Jace, you need to turn your car around and go back to Jess. We can do this on our own."

"It'll go faster with me there. And we don't know where dad is, how much time we have."

He sighed again. "Jace." He knew he couldn't talk her out of it, not at this point. Jace was rarely this stubborn, but when she was, she was completely incorrigible. There was no middle ground.

"Sam," she repeated, mimicking his tone.

He shook his head. "Dean won't be happy."

"Dean is never happy. He's like a grumpy old man."

Sam couldn't help but smile at this. "How far out are you?"

"Like twenty minutes I think? I didn't leave that long after you guys did."

Sam shook his head, unsurprised. "Okay. Where do you wanna meet up?"

Jace smiled to herself. She'd known Sam would cave, but she didn't think it would be that easy. Sam had mellowed out at college, she realized. "Stagecoach motel. Room 106. That's where dad and I were staying."

"Alright." Sam sounded resigned. "I'll tell Dean. You better prepare yourself for whatever arguments he's gonna throw at you."

"I'm not afraid of Dean." This was not 100% true, actually, but that was not the point.

Sam chuckled. "I'm just stating the obvious. See you soon?"

"Okay. See you soon." As irritated with Sam as Jace was, she was excited to see him. She missed him. And he'd changed. She wanted to know why. She suspected it had something to do with Jess's presence in his life, and maybe something to do with John's absence.

Maybe hers, too.


Dean walked up just as Sam hung up the phone. "Who was that?"

"Jace. She wants us to meet up at some motel." Sam's tone was neutral, betraying no feeling either way. Sam may not have been happy about Jace's presence in Jericho, but Dean and Jace's relationship was strained as it was. Sam had his suspicions as to why, but either way, he didn't want to add fuel to the fire.

Dean paused, his hand on the Impala's door handle. "Wait, she's here? In town?"

"About twenty minutes out."

"What the hell?" Dean didn't sound angry so much as aggressively annoyed. He got into the car, slamming the door afterwards. "D'you tell her to drive her ass back to Stanford?"

"I did," Sam said, getting into the passenger seat. "She didn't listen."

"Unbelievable," Dean muttered. "Where's she headed now?"

"Stagecoach motel. Apparently she and dad were staying there when he sent her away."

Dean grunted noncommittally. This was good information, but no way would he admit it.

The first thing Jace noticed when she got to the motel room was that the walls were bare. Gone were the various articles that had papered the walls. For a moment, she thought John must have taken them down before he left-but no. There they were, spread out over the bed she'd slept in just days ago. Her brothers stood over said bed, looking over the display; Sam had a few papers in hand and was flipping through them.

Sam was the first to notice her. He looked over, nodded in recognition, and then nudged Dean to get his attention. Apparently, Dean's anger had burned out in the last twenty minutes, because he hardly glanced at her. "You're not supposed to be here," he said, but his heart wasn't really in it. It was like he was saying it out of obligation.

Still, it was grating.

"Well, I am," Jace replied. "Any sign of him?"

Dean shook his head. "No," he said. "He hasn't been here for a few days." He pointed at a trash can. Looking over, Jace saw the burger she'd brought John half-eaten and moldy.

"He must've left right after you," Sam added.

"Left for where?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

Jace nodded a little and went over to look more closely. The papers on the bed were all recognizable-nothing new that she could see. "What are we thinking?"

"Don't know yet," Dean said.

"We're going through everything he had on the walls. Trying to figure out what he was thinking."

This seemed obvious to Jace, but she ignored it. "I could tell you that. It's mostly just stuff about the case." She picked up an article about Constance Welch. She'd printed it out herself at the library, less than a week ago; John respected technology, but from a distance. "Constance Welch. She's a woman in white. The story is that she killed herself after her kids accidentally drowned, but I talked to her husband, and he said he was cheating on her when she was alive."

"He said that?" Dean glanced at her.

"Implied," she said, waving a hand. "Whatever."

Dean brushed this off with a tt. Sam didn't reply at all. The rejection was almost palpable. She pursed her lips.

"Were you talking to the police earlier?"

This finally got a reaction from Sam. He glanced up at her. "What?"

"When we were on the phone. I heard Dean talking to someone. Sounded like a cop."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean looked up. "What do cops sound like."

"You know what they sound like. They just got that cop sound to their voice. Like...gravel, and cynicism."

She wasn't sure, but she could've sworn Dean almost smiled at that.

"We talked to a guy on the bridge, yeah," Dean said.

"There was another vic last night," Sam added. "Troy Squire."

"Huh. Women in white usually wait longer between victims. Constance has, up 'til now."

Dean shrugged. They'd barely looked at her through this conversation-just kept shuffling through the articles on the bed. The silence that fell was heavy, and kind of loud in it's own way. It felt like her ears were about to pop. Like there wasn't enough air in the room for her. Just them.

She ran a hand through her hair frustratedly. "I'm gonna go get food."

"Grab me a burger," Dean called after her. Her only answer was the door slamming behind her. She'd end up getting his burger anyway, though. She always did. Her anger always seemed to burn out just as quickly as it flared up. She shoved her hands into her pockets and took off down the sidewalk, ignoring her car. Hopefully the walk would calm her down.

There was a diner she'd seen on her way, just a couple blocks from the motel. That was her destination, but at the last intersection she turned. Ordering food when she was pissed off wasn't a good idea. Refusing to eat always felt like taking revenge, somehow; so did overeating until she threw up. No. She'd walk off the tension and then go get food.

On the next street, two girls were putting up flyers. They looked about sixteen, and despite the heat, they were wearing all black. Jace thought about walking by, but her curiosity got the best of her. She sped up a little until she reached the first flyer on the street.

A picture of a teenage boy was centered on the page. Above, it said MISSING in block letters; below, the name Troy Squire was printed, along with a number for the police department.

Jace turned and spotted the girls, standing just outside a cafe. She jogged to catch up. "Hey."

They turned to face her. Up close, she could see that their whole goth look didn't end with their clothes. They both had heavy eyeliner and dark lips.

Jace pointed at the flyer in one of the girl's hands. "You know this kid?"

The girl looked sort of suspicious, but kind of curious. Almost hopeful. "Yeah. I'm his girlfriend, Amy. This is Isabel." Isabel waved slightly.

"Oh, you're Amy!" Jace extended a hand. Playing characters was so easy for her. Playing herself was harder. "Hi. Sorry, I'm Jace. I'm Troy's cousin."

"He never mentioned you," Amy said. Less hopeful, more suspicious.

"Really? Because he talks about you all the time."

Amy seemed pacified by this, or at least willing to listen.

"So, um, have you guys heard anything about his disappearance?" She pocketed her hands and shifted, looking stressed and uncomfortable. This was easy, really. She was already stressed and uncomfortable pretty much all of the time anyway. It was like turning something inside out. Turning a weakness into a strength.

"No," Isabel spoke up. "My dad's the sheriff, but he doesn't talk to me about this stuff anymore, not after-"

Amy hit Isabel's arm, and she shut up quickly. Jace glanced between the girls before asking "Do...you wanna sit down?" She jerked a thumb at the restaurant. "Lunch is on me."


Lunch was actually on Priam Aframian, but Amy and Isabel didn't need to know that. Judging by the way they chose a booth right by the door, the way they sat shoulder to shoulder in the seat across from her, she could tell they didn't quite trust her yet. Which was probably a good thing.

"I was on the phone with Troy," Amy was saying. "He was driving home. He said he'd call right back, but he never did."

"He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?"

Both girls shook their heads. A silence fell then-not as consuming as the one from the motel room, but not comfortable, either. Then Jace noticed Amy's necklace. It was a pentagram, almost identical to the one hanging around Jace's neck. Amy's was a little bigger, a little newer, but still.

Jace smiled and held hers up. "We match."

Amy smiled back and looked down. "Troy gave it to me."

"Mostly to scare her parents-" Isabel added,

"-With all that devil stuff," Amy finished.

The way they finished each other's sentences made her smile. She'd always wondered what it would be like to have a female friend like that. She had Aiden, of course, but no real close female friends to speak of.

"It's actually the opposite," Jace said. "Early Christians used it as a symbol for the five wounds of Christ. Before that, the Sumerians used it-" she cut herself off, shaking her head. It was something she'd read about in one of Sam's books, the ones he'd left behind when he left for Stanford. John had wanted to pawn them, but Jace insisted on keeping them, partly out of a love for books and partly out of a love for Sam, and partly out of this feeling that intersected the two.

"It's a really powerful protection symbol," she finished awkwardly. "I mean, if you believe in that stuff."

Both girls shifted uncomfortably at this last line, and Jace recognized the significant look that passed between them.

"Do you?" Jace asked gently. "Believe in that stuff?"

There was another uncomfortable pause.

"I'm gonna go use the restroom," Amy said, standing up. She shot something that, to Jace, seemed like a warning look at Isabel before walking away.

"I think it's hard for her to talk about," Isabel said apologetically. "She's really wound up over Troy going missing."

Jace nodded. "Of course."

"There's this local legend," Isabel explained. "This girl got murdered out on Centennial, like, ages ago. And some people say she's still out there."

"What do you say?"

Isabel bit her lip. "I mean-people go missing on Centennial all the time."

"Including Troy."

Isabel nodded. "It's weird, you know?"

"It's definitely weird." You have no idea, she thought. "So...this girl. Do you know how she died?"

"Well...some people think she was hit by her boyfriend's car. Other people think she got pushed off a bridge." She paused, and it took Jace a moment to realize that Isabel was waiting for her input. She got the sense that Isabel was used to being brushed off when she talked about this. Which Jace understood.

"What do you think happened?" Sometimes when she did this, she felt like a therapist. Asking leading questions, giving her own opinion as needed.

"I think it was the bridge," Isabel whispered.

"Why?"

Isabel studied her, like she was deciding whether to share this information. Despite her hesitance, she didn't seem ashamed. If anything, she gave off a sort of plucky girl detective vibe. Finally, she said "The last guy who went missing-Amy and I wanted to know what happened, but my dad wouldn't tell us anything. So we went to the police department, and I distracted him while Amy broke into the records room."

Jace raised a brow, biting back a smile. "Go on."

Isabel leaned forward. "The guy's car was on the bridge, but the body was in the water. And there were these ligature marks on his feet. Like something had dragged him down."

"Damn," Jace murmured. Isabel nodded.

"So then we snuck out the next night, and went to the bridge, and there were these two lights."

"Not like streetlights."

"No. They were just...floating, and moving, like they wanted to talk to us."

"Did you follow them?"

Isabel shook her head. "No. We ran like hell."

"Good."

Isabel tilted her head slightly. "Do you know what it means?"

Jace nodded a little. She didn't often reveal this much to witnesses-such as they were-but Isabel reminded her so very much of herself. She couldn't make herself shut this girl down.

"They're called will-o'-the-wisps. Don't follow them."

Isabel nodded solemnly, and Jace turned to look out the window. The wheels were turning in her head, slowed down by the memories she was trying to set aside. Something else she'd read in one of Sam's books.

Rusalka.

It took her a moment to realize Isabel had said something. She turned to face her. "I'm sorry?"

"Do you think Troy might still be alive?" Isabel asked hopefully.

Troy was most definitely not alive. Rusalka didn't take prisoners; they killed at first opportunity. So did weeping women. There was no way this ended with Troy surviving.

But she didn't say that.

"I hope so." She smiled.


Jace didn't knock before coming into the motel room. Her brothers were still going over the case-Sam was on the bed, clicking away at his laptop, while Dean flipped through more articles at the table. For a second, it seemed like she'd been sent back in time to four years ago, except that Sam was taller and his laptop was newer.

She set the food down on the table.

"It's not a weeping woman," she announced.

Sam looked up curiously; Dean was more interested in the food. "What took so long?" he asked.

Jace ignored him. "At least...I don't think it was. I think it was a rusalka."

"The hell's a rusalka?" Dean asked through a mouthful of food.

"It's a Russian water spirit," Jace said. "It's when a woman commits suicide by drowning because of an unhappy marriage."

"They drown men by dragging them into the water with their hair," Sam added.

"After seducing them."

"Right." Sam turned back to Jace. "What makes you think it's a rusalka?"

Having this much attention on her was oddly nerve-wracking for her. She tried not to stutter her way through the explanation of what had happened while she was gone. Tried to sound as confident as she'd felt before she walked in the door.

Dean shook his head. "Dad said it was a weeping woman. No offense, kid, but I think he'd know what he's talking about."

Jace ran a hand through her hair. "He does, usually. But he was...off, those last couple days. Distracted. He could've missed something."

"Look," Sam said. "We're gonna go to the bridge tonight. Let's see what we can see. Maybe we'll find more proof."

Even so, he was humoring her, and Jace knew it. Dean wasn't even trying to hide his skepticism; it was written all over his face.

But she didn't argue.

"Fine," she sighed. "Whatever. I'm gonna take a nap. I feel like I've been awake for like three days."

"Not actually that far off the mark," Dean commented. "Get some sleep, kid."

Jace nodded a little and collapsed onto the free bed. As stressed as she was-over John's disappearance, over her brothers' doubt, she didn't know if she'd be able to sleep at all. But after sleeping only a collective six hours since John had gone missing, the hard motel mattress seemed like memory foam, and the sheets still smelled like her dad, like leather and gunpowder and graveyard dirt. Maybe it should've been worrying, but it wasn't. It was comforting, and she quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.