Portrait
In the motel room, Dean was sharpening his knife and Sam was looking at Dean annoyed. I slowly closed the door, "Whatcha doing?" I asked awkwardly as they glanced up to my arrival.
"Sharpening my knives for whenever a guy decides to show up at the door."
I stuttered, "What do you mean?" He couldn't have seen us, had he?
Dean scowled. "I don't have to be a collage graduate to know when my little sister is meeting some guy who isn't no way good for you." He sliced his knife against the sharpener harder.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm twenty four, I don't need my big brother's permission on who I see." I took a seat at the table across from Sam who hadn't taken his eyes off the papers he'd printed out.
"I'm your brother, that means I gotta make sure any guy you see isn't a wuss or a jackass." Dean scowled. "I know guys and they're all interested in one thing!" (AN: no offense to anyone reading the story if they take any offense, I don't know. This is just Dean being the big brother to a little sister he never got to be when they were kids. And most big brothers I've seen seem to be interested in scaring off anyone seeing their little sister).
My face flushed as I angrily kicked off my boots. "Well for the record, he hasn't tried anything like that!" I must have met him at least four months ago and we were just starting to kiss, longest time I've ever waited not that I was interested in going any faster. I actually was liking it going slow, not being rushed and full of mistakes and guilt when everything was all over.
"Guys, stop arguing." Sam finally interrupted. "I think I've got something here."
Dean glared at me, "This isn't over yet." I rolled my eyes as Sam handed over the papers he'd found. Dean started reading the title: "Portrait of Isaiah Merchants family, painted 1910."
"Now compare the names of the owners with dad's journal." Sam held out the journal.
But I grabbed it before Dean could, reading from the page. "First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered in 1912. Happens again in 1945. And 1970."
"Then stores until it was donated to a charity auction last month where the Telescas bought it." Sam explained. "So what do you think, is it haunted or cursed?" Because there was no doubt that it was this painting that was causing these deaths to whoever bought it.
"Either way, it's toast." Dean said.
A few hours later, most everyone was fast asleep. Everyone except the Winchester three. I was currently rolling over the top of a fence, going upside down as I went over the bend, dropping to the ground on my feet. Dean was waiting for me and Sam quickly followed. Without questioning it, we all ran over to the auction house. I felt like we were bank robbers or something. Each one of us wore a pair of leather gloves we just recently bought so that they wouldn't be able to look up our fingerprints. Sam easily disarmed the alarm system. I was on look out while Dean picked the lock. The door swinging open, we quickly slid inside, our flashlights on as we split looking for the painting. Dean silently pointed upstairs where I could just barely see the painting peeking out over the banister. We hurried up the stairs. I held the flashlight while Dean used his switchblade to cut the painting out of its frame. He rolled it up and we left quickly. The whole thing only took a few minutes.
It was in silence that we drive to the dirt road on the outside of town. Sam held the flashlight while I poured the salt. "Ugly ass thing." Dean muttered, finally breaking the silence as he pulled out they're stash of matches. "If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor."
"Anything would be good when it comes to getting rid of this eye sore." I muttered, Dean dropped the now lit match and the painting burned to ash.
At the motel the next morning, we were in the process of packing up our stuff. Dean was in the bathroom, Sam was putting stuff in his duffle, and I was tying up my combat boots. Dean suddenly came running out of the bathroom looking like he was mad with panic. "We got a problem, I can't find my wallet!" I rolled my eyes.
"How is that our problem?" Sam scoffed, glancing up.
"Not like it's our cash." I snickered, swinging my legs off the bed.
"Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night!" Dean blurted out. My eyes widened in horror, my expression mirroring the one Sam had.
"You're kidding, right?" Sam demanded. I stood up quickly trying not to panic.
"It's got my prints my ID's," Dean thought for a minute. "Well my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it." We snuck back into the auction house, ignoring today's crowd as we frantically searched the floor for it.
"How do you lose you wallet, Dean?" Sam demanded. Dean threw his hands into the air frustrated.
"What if somebody's already found it?" I hissed, looking behind some plant.
"Hey!" A cheery brunette suddenly said. I spun around surprised, trying to look all innocent even though I knew I was probably failing.
"Sarah! Hey!" Sam said quickly, trying to look as if he hadn't just been looking for a wallet his brother had left behind after they've broken into the place.
"Wait, Sarah-you went on a date with-Sarah?" I asked curiously.
"Oh uh, Sarah." Sam stuttered for a moment. "This is Chris, my sister, also part of our...art dealership."
I slowly nodded, "Right, that's me." When did we become art dealership people again?
Sarah nodded with a bright smile. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise." Well Sam could've done worse.
Sarah immediately turned back to Sam. "What are you doing here?" We couldn't exactly say we came in to retrieve a wallet we left behind by mistake after breaking in last night.
