Hello my beauties!

I hope all of you are having a very merry Christmas indeed! (:

As promised, here is chapter seven. Only three left, and then the Relapse is done! I've also written one for Wendigo, but I haven't decided if I want to post that one too. What does everyone else think?

As always, reviews are love for me, so leave me some love! :D

Happy holidays!

MD


Sam clung to the pipe she'd grabbed on her way down for dear life, panting hard. She hadn't jumped so far that she got too far out and the small pipe she hadn't known was here ran the entire length of the bridge, and when Sam's had had felt the cold metal, she'd instantly latched on, cutting her hand on some debris she hadn't seen and her shoulder burning with the sudden force of her stop. Dean had flown right by her landed in the water below with a big splash. She was glad he hadn't hit the giant, pointy rocks, but worried there were some under the murky water that weren't visible from the bridge.

With a lot of pulling, and grunting, and swinging around like a piñata, Sam finally managed to pull herself up so that she was sitting on the pipe. She could easily get back on the bridge from here. It was just a small jump – or long step, depending on your perspective – away from her spot on the thin pipe. In fact, there was a giant coil that she grabbed a hold of to steady her balance. Now that she was stable, Sam looked down at the rushing water below, looking for any signs of her brother.

"Dean!" She called out, worry starting to make her stomach twist up in knots. Her brow furrowed. No answer. "Dean!" She tried louder this time. A lot louder. 'Please, oh please, God, let him be alive!' Sam let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and relief washed over her when she saw Dean crawl out of the water, onto the bank and flop on his back, his breathing labored. He looked muddy and extremely grumpy, but she couldn't help but be grateful for him, in all his crankiness.

"What?" He snapped. Sam smiled down at her brother.

"Hey, are you all right?" Dean raised his hand a limply gave her a thumbs up before letting it fall back down to the ground.

"I'm super." Sam giggled softly at her brother's sarcasm and shook her head. Now that she knew he was alive and okay, she noticed that her right shoulder and hand were both throbbing, and the latter stung very bad. She looked down at her palm. There was a long gash cutting across her hand, width wise. Sam squinted in the dark around the area where she thought her hand had held onto the pipe to look for what could have caused her injury. She spotted a sharp and rather long piece of dirty glass embedded in the metal of the pipe and groaned. If her hand got infected she was gonna be pissed. The muscles in her shoulder must have been pulled a wrong way or too hard when she'd grabbed the pipe and put her fall to a very sudden stop. That was gonna be sore for a few days.

"I think your girl's stopped her homicidal tendencies for now." Sam called down. She saw Dean sit up very fast and then glare up at the bridge. A shadow passed over his face and he spluttered in rage. He looked furious, possibly even murderous.

"Bitch drove my car!" Sam bit back her laughter and turned her face so Dean couldn't see her grin. She could hear him starting to stomp up the embankment and back to the highway at the start of the bridge. Sam stood up cautiously, still holding onto the coil and looked over at the Impala.

The lights were off and the engine was silent, but she was still suspicious. Sam placed her foot on the overhang on the outside of the rail cautiously and stood there for a moment. Nothing. Slowly, she swung her legs over, sitting on the rail, and scooted down until there was enough pavement for her to stand on, and lightly jumped off, landing right next to Dean's car. Her brother was jogging over to where his car sat, now completely silent. He stopped next to Sam, in front of the driver's door and put his hand on top of the roof, petting the cold metal affectionately.

"Are you okay sweetie? That nasty ghost didn't hurt you did she? I'll never let anyone hurt you again, baby!" Sam giggled once more as Dean tried to console his car's favor back. Dean turned to his sister at her laughter, his hand still resting on his car. "Shut up, Sammy, this is serious! My baby could be hurt!" Dean gasped at the revelation, his face suddenly terrified. He ran over to the hood and wrenched it open. He didn't even seem to notice that he was dripping wet, or that he was covered in revoltingly smelly river grime. Apparently Jericho didn't keep their rivers nice and clean. Sam could gag at the smell, but all Dean did was stick his head into her engine and start looking for anything out of the ordinary. Lucky for him, Constance had stopped the car right under one of the only working floodlights at this end of the bridge, so Dean had just enough light to peruse over the engine with.

Sam waited until Dean finished and shut the hood. She walked over next to him and sat against the hood.

"Car all right?" She asked. Dean sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair.

"Yeah, whatever she did to it, it seems all right now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!" Dean shouted this last word and Sam grinned, rolling her shoulder. She walked back to her bag, still in the backseat and pulled out her small first aid kit.

"Thank God I brought this along…" Sam muttered. She unzipped the small case and pulled out some hydrogen peroxide and tissue. She unscrewed the cap with her left hand and poured a little bit of the liquid onto the cut on her hand. She set the bottle on top of the car and gingerly cleaned her hand with the tissue.

"She doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure." Sam muttered thoughtfully. Dean nodded as she pulled out a large band aid from her kit. She opened the wrapping and pulled it out. She put the band aid on and examined her work. Good enough. She crumpled up the wrapper and used tissue, shoving them in her pocket until she could get to a garbage can and put the peroxide and first aid kit away. Sam walked over to sit next to Dean on the hood of the car once more as her brother let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"So where's the trail go from here, genius?" Sam raised an eyebrow questioningly at her brother. He simply threw his arms up in the air. Finally, Dean noticed how filthy he was and looked at his hands and then his clothes in disgust, groaning. Sam sniffed pointedly a couple times at her brother. "You smell like a toilet." Dean looked down at his clothes again and then over at Sam, hanging his head.

Sam shook her head and chuckled. She stood up and walked around to the passenger door and opened it. "Come on, Dean. Let's go find a crappy motel so you can shower and I can sleep." Dean slid in next to her and gently turned the car on. The sound of the engine reminded Sam of the Impala's recent possession, and she laughed nervously. Dean patted his car twice before pulling away and heading back for Jericho. It would be morning when they finally got back in to town, and then they had to actually look for a place to stay. Sam hoped the adrenaline in her system from her scare with the car and seeing Constance wore off soon; she wasn't used to pulling all-nighters anymore.


It took a little bit, but by 7:45, Dean was pulling into the parking lot of the only skeevy motel in town. Sam got out of the car blearily and stumbled after her brother, doing her best not to trip over her own feet. She shoved her hands deep in her pockets and grumbled at how bright the sun was this morning. She hadn't been able to get any sleep on the way back into town. Dean held the door open for Sam and she bumbled on in to the small room where an elderly and balding man was reading a book behind the reception desk, looking quite bored with himself.

Dean walked up to the counter and stood there for a moment. The man didn't look up from his book, seemingly not catching on to his waiting customers. Dean gritted his teeth and scratched at the crusted grime on his skin. He had dried off for the most part a little while ago, but that only made the filth itchy. When the old man still hadn't noticed the two people before him, Dean pulled out his wallet and "Hector Aframian" credit card and set it down on the counter in front of the guy.

"One room, please," said Dean curtly. The old man blinked at the credit card and looked at Dean and Sam seeing them for the first time. Sam blinked, her eyes feeling heavy, and swaying on her feet slightly. The old man looked back down at the credit card and squinted at the name.

"You guys having a reunion or somethin'?" he drawled. Dean raised an eyebrow at the name.

"Whaddya talkin' 'bout?" Sam slurred. The man looked up at the pair and began to book them a room.

"That other guy, Bert Aframian." Sam and Dean perked up slightly at the name. "He came in and bought out a room for the whole month." The man handed Dean back his card along with keys to room two. Dean took them and looked over his shoulder at Sam. He raised his eyebrows pointedly. She nodded.

"And, uh, what room did you give him?" The guy gave Dean the once over, taking in his haphazard appearance and narrowing his eyes. However, right when it seemed he wasn't going to tell them, he shrugged and picked his book up again.

"Number four."


Picking a lock was, probably, one of the only things Sam had taken away from "the life" and carried over to her college life. She was good at it – better than Dean was anyway – and hey, who thought that picking locks wasn't a cool trick to have? Besides cops. So, it was Sam who crouched down in front of hotel room four's door and jimmied with the lock in the doorknob until she heard the satisfying click.

She cracked the door open when she'd finished with the lock and stuffed the tools into her jacket pocket, standing up and stepping into the room. She gulped and whirled around and grabbed Dean, who had been keeping a look out, by the back neck portion of his jacket and yanked him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Dean stumbled and almost tripped over his own feet, and probably would have yelled at her if he hadn't been stopped by what he saw on the walls.

Articles, personal notes, pictures and masking tape labels covered almost every inch of open wall space. Books were stacked all over the floor and on two chairs by the only window, some open to certain pages, some thrown haphazardly around the room, some left untouched in piles. An empty and open suitcase rested on the unkempt bed along with several shirts and scattered files. Candles and vials of what looked like different oils were all over the room, and several more files were spewing their guts on the dresser.

"Whoa," Sam breathed. Dean walked over to a lamp sitting on the dresser and turned it on. Sam looked down at the floor and inspected the white half-circle enclosing the door. Dean picked up a half-eaten burger, sniffing at the rancid meat, and gagged, tossing it in the trash.

"I don't think he's been here for a couple days, at least," Dean remarked, looking once again at the walls. Sam picked up some of the white grain and rubbed it in between her fingers. Well, that was interesting. And unsettling.

"Salt." Sam glanced over at the chair next to her. "Cat's eye shells. Dad was scared of something. He was worried, trying to keep something from coming in." Sam stood up and brushed the salt grains off on her pants, walking over to where Dean squinting at a map with several seemingly random places marked in an 'x' with red marker. Her sleep deprived brain complained at the loud color. "Whaddya got?"

Dean shook his head and shrugged. "Nothing I can make out. I swear, the guy still lives like a Marine; he writes in friggin' code." Sam wasn't surprised, honestly. Her dad was the most paranoid man she'd ever met, and that said something because she'd met some pretty paranoid people when she had still been a Hunter.

She left Dean to stare at the map and walked over to the adjacent wall. Dean was right. Pictures, references, notes, everything was put together in ways that made no sense, but Sam knew that it made sense to the old man. Strangely, though, the only thing that pertained to the case in town was a printed version of the same article they're read in the library her dad had taped to the wall. The area around it was blank. No notes, no nothing; not any clues on anything to do with Constance Welch. The only evidence that her dad had even read the thing was a big red circle around the picture of Joseph Welch. So if that article was the only case-related thing… then what the hell was the rest of the crap on the walls? Sam blinked her eyes, a small flicker of annoyance speaking up before snuffing out in the face of her fatigue. She was too tired to be angry at her dad right now. She just wanted to get all this talking shit over with and then fall on that bed and go comatose, become dead to the world. Preferably for a good ten hours.

"I think we should go talk to the husband. If he's still alive," Sam tapped his picture thoughtfully. Dean walked up behind her and stared at the article for a moment. He patted her shoulder and walked farther back into the room, heading for the bathroom. Good, the guy needed a shower something awful, and that would give her time to pass out.

"After some food and sleep. Why don't you see if you can find an address? I'm gonna get cleaned up." Sam nodded, if only to shut up her brother. She had no intention of looking up this Joseph Welch right now. The pillows and dirty motel sheets were calling her name. Sleep sounded superb right now. Sam's thoughts wandered as her brother turned to walk away, and she thought for a moment of the car barreling towards them and how Constance had taken control. Sam shivered when she remembered Constance. Her stare had been unlike anything Sam had ever experienced. To think that a person could have that much anger, even in the afterlife was rather shocking. Although, thinking back to the argument she'd had with Dean last night, maybe it wasn't so big of a shock after all. Sam bit her lip, looking guiltily at her brother's short dirty hair and lightly-freckled nose.

"Hey, Dean?" Dean stopped and turned to his sister. "What I said earlier, about you having no emotions, I'm sorry, I–" Sam stopped when Dean held up his hand and shook his head slightly.

"No chick flick moments." Sam rolled her eyes, grinning and threw up her hands in defeat. Friggin ridiculous, that's what her brother was. Strong, yeah. Smart, it's been known to happen. Easy to talk to? HA. Try eating yourself out of a stone prison, and then maybe you'll understand a fraction of the difficulty that is having a heart-to-heart with one Dean Winchester.

"All right. Jerk." Dean lowered his hand, his eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief.

"Bitch." And with that he walked over to the bathroom and shut the door, smirking the whole way. Sam snorted and shook her head. Here she was, trying to give him an honest apology for once and he just shrugged it off with a joke. Whatever, he could be all macho for as long as he wanted, she wanted some sleep.

Sam shoved the suitcase and papers littering the bed onto the floor and stared at the sheets suspiciously. She weighed how tired she was against the possible diseases that could be infesting the blankets. She decided she was too tired to care and flopped down on the bed, pulling the blankets up to her shoulders and turning away from the window and the light streaming through the curtains. Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her last thought before she slept was how she hoped she didn't have a nightmare this time, she could do with some actual rest for a change.


Reviews? Much appreciated!