Chapter 9

Grace

"So where are the invoices from March and April?" I asked, leaning over my third cup of coffee. "There's February right there and May is over there, but we're missing the months in between."

Dean turned in a full circle, staring at the papers that littered the floor of his office. We had been at this for what seemed like hours and we were no closer to being prepared for the tax appointment we had with the business loan department of the bank three days from now. "I don't know," he whined, rubbing his face. "I feel like that's when all that shit went down with Ouriel."

Hearing his name stung and reflexively, I reached down to touch the cursed-blade scar that was etched through the sugar skull tattoo on my hip. The missing paperwork was from when Dean had been in the clutches of the demon spell and we were close to getting him back. I had no idea where I had put the missing months, but they had to be in this room somewhere.

A quick knock on the open door brought both of our gazes up to Stuart once more. "Hey, guys," he started, smiling. "There's a girl here that wants to see you, boss man."

Dean sighed and popped his neck. "Yeah, alright," he said, glancing at the clock above his desk. It was close to closing time. "I'll be right back, Gracie. Try that cabinet over there." He pointed to the corner of his office where a tall filing cabinet stood, covered in drawings from the waist down. It looked like one (or more) of our kids had taken a permanent marker to it.

As he left the room, I stood and stretched, stepping carefully so that my bare feet would not mess up the neat piles of chronologically stacked paperwork. Making my way over to the cabinet, I also extended my senses to listen to the newcomer to the shop, curiosity taking over me. If I was going to be Shop Wife, I needed to know our clientele.

I pulled open the top drawer and as I thumbed through the files, I could hear my husband greet her and introduce himself. I listened, barely paying attention to what I was looking at.

"Hi," his deep voice wound its way through my mind as I closed my eyes. "Welcome to Winchester Auto Body. I'm Dean. What can I help you with?"

She seemed to sigh a breath of relief, "You're Dean? Dean Winchester?" Her voice was young and exhausted and sounded more than weary. She leaned towards him, almost like she wanted to touch him, to make sure that he actually existed. "I can't believe that you own an auto shop. You own it, right?"

"What?" he asked, confused.

"I'm sorry, I've been looking for you for weeks. So far, three dead ends, and a fraternity brother at Kansas State that thinks mighty highly of you, taking on more than your name."

"Dude," Dean started, backing away from the counter. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm running a business here, so…"

"No, no, no," she cried, holding out her hand, trying to stop him from continuing his path back to me. "Please, just…just wait. Hear me out."

Dean took a deep breath and crossed his arms in front of his chest. I could feel the caution dripping off of him, deciding what to do about the girl that had thrown herself into his path. She couldn't have been more than a teenager.

"Hear you out?" he asked, doubt filling his voice. "Hear you out about what?"

She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him and I could see her through his minds' eye. Her brown hair was stick straight and falling into her face. She was small; the clothes she wore were obviously not fitted for her own lean frame, leading Dean to consider that this girl had been on the run. Her boots were muddy and there was dirt under her fingernails. Now, as he stared at her, he realized that she needed something other than car parts or an overhaul.

Barely above a whisper, she continued, "I need your help. You and your brother…you're the real monster hunters, right?"

Dean's breath caught in his throat and he mentally reached out to me immediately. Are you hearing this? He thought, glancing up in my direction as I still stood in front of his kid-graffiti'ed filing cabinet. I nodded at him, taking a step backwards so that I was in his line of sight.

He lowered his voice and glanced behind him at the guys milling about in the shop. "Yeah, look, we're…we're kinda out of the game."

"No," she pleaded. "You hunted a restless spirit a couple of weeks ago…in Old Town. You were there, I saw you in the paper."

"In the paper?" he repeated, whining. Taking a step back, he shook his head in disappointment. "Gettin' sloppy…" he sighed. "Look," he gestured to their surroundings. "I don't know what you've heard, but I don't think we can help you."

The young girl looked like she had been slapped in the face, shock lined in her delicate features. "But you're Dean Winchester," she repeated.

Dean didn't respond. He simply stared at her, his face sympathetic.

"My brother…my dad. The whole town…they're all…different. I don't know what else to do. Everyone else thinks I'm crazy and they don't even want me around anymore." She ran a hand through her dirty hair, continuing mostly to herself. "If I found you, I never expected you to say no."

Dean's green eyes flicked towards me again and I tilted my head, knowing that as far as she was concerned, she was telling the truth. The images I saw floating through her mind were of people she knew and loved, but they acted as if they didn't know her. She seemed lost and she had no idea what to do next.

"How do you even know about the shop?" Dean asked, stepping closer to his office, putting his body in between the girl and me. "We're not exactly on the grid."

"Google," she answered simply.

My husband suddenly turned towards me, his arms unfolding from his chest. "Google?" he repeated, his voice rising accusingly. "You put us on Google?"

"It was a business tactic!" I yelled back, "You were gone! We needed the push!"

"So you put us on Google?" Dean's eyebrows were raised and he had completely forgotten about the urchin in front of him.

I crossed my arms in front of my own chest, defending myself as sarcasm found my voice. "Do you even know what Google is?" I asked stubbornly.

Dean sighed and narrowed his eyes. He immediately turned back towards the young woman and shook his head, trying to dismiss me out of embarrassment. "Alright, so you Googled. Then what?"

She tilted her head, "It said you owned an auto body shop in Kansas. So I hitch-hiked here."

"Hitch-hiked? From where?"

"Bangor, Maine." She turned to follow his line of sight into his office, searching out who he had been talking to. She found me and narrowed her eyes, staring me right in the face. "Who is that?" she asked, genuine curiosity hitting her voice.

"What?" Dean asked, running his hands through his hair. "No, don't worry about her. Concentrate on one thing at a time." He licked his lips and sidestepped so that he was in between the girl and I once more. "What is your name?"

"Sabina."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Sabina?"

"Sabina Wells," she answered, breathless. "Does this mean you're going to help me?"