I went on a month long road trip across the United States. I don't know how the Winchesters do it.

Chapter 5: The Woman in White

November 1, 2005

Jericho, California

The interior of the small California town's library is a grainy brown with a tint of grey crawling up the walls and deep in the corners if someone were to look hard enough. The building is perfumed in decaying books and dust from where they wither like flowers. It tickles Ellie's nose when she walks through the door.

A student volunteer, who works only on the weekends at the library to get in her community services hours for graduation, is behind the vanilla colored counter. Ellie notices that she has rounded purple glasses that trace the bridge of her nose and a pen is tucked behind her right ear, peeking through thinner strands of black hair. The teenager quickly explains the layout of the library to the three Winchesters and offers them a library card if they plan on checking any books out. Her glasses slowly slide down her nose while she talks and she pushes them up with a knuckle. The nine-year-old thinks that the older girl almost seems as nervous as this town and the rolling and crashing clouds outside.

Sam smiles with a: "Thanks, but we just need to use a computer." in his teeth and the girl directs them to the back right corner where the computers are located. Dean finds a vacant computer and Ellie and Sam sit down at a table behind him. Ellie has her backpack open in front of her on the tabletop, but she takes a second before reaching her hand in to acquire this week's school work. Her eyes scan the room while she searches faces for any familiar ones. She sees teenagers typing away at bulky computer screens like Dean; headphones are covering their ears, and the screen illuminates their facial features, forming a small picture in their eyes from the reflection. There are older people browsing through aisles piled high with books and even kids younger than her are here, clumped on a circular carpet with picture books cradled in their laps. Ellie doesn't really read besides what she has to for school.

Once when she is done looking over the library, she realizes she doesn't recognize anyone like she had hoped. She stuffs her arm into her bag. They're all just strangers.

Sometimes, Ellie wants to know more than only her family, more than only hunters. She wants to have friends, but she loses all the ones she makes from traveling so often, and what hurts is that they never leave her, but she always has to leave them. Because it is the life. And she can never explain the real reason why she has to go the times she actually gets to say goodbye, besides that her dad has to travel for work a lot.

Even the people they do help – Ellie usually never gets to see them again. It is the point, though, to appear, do the job, and then disappear like they were never there, like they are the phantoms they hunt. To not hear from the people a hunter saves is a good thing. It means a job well done.

Ellie pulls out her math book and a notebook that has a pencil stashed in the rings from her backpack. She opens to the dog-eared page and begins scribbling down some of the problems that are mostly numbers. Math is Ellie's strong suit when she can understand what the question is asking because it involves straight forward numbers that are not backwards to her. However, recently some word problems have been popping up in the work she is sent to complete from her online program, and those she fumbles through.

The computer monitors hum, there are clicks from keyboards and a computer mouse. Pages turn, a printer groans, a woman coughs. Someone walks by and Ellie feels the air move. Sighing, she leans away from her work and pushes her thick bangs back.

Sam frowns, shifting, "Hey, bug. Do you need help?" Ellie freezes, head up and pencil falling slack between her fingers. He hasn't called her that since – since before –

"Yeah, El," Dean butts in, back still turned to his younger siblings to face the computer screen, "Sammy over there knows everything. Mr. 'I-got-accepted-into-Stanford' – "

"Shut up, Dean."

Being nine, Ellie doesn't fully understand the concept of college and why Sam had to go so far to attend one. Dean never went away and college isn't mandatory, so why Sam? Why did they all have to split in two? Apparently, Stanford is a good college, great one, even; which is the justification that Sam used the night he left. It still took him from Ellie, though.

Dean taps away at the computer. Ellie watches as he keeps entering things into the machine and it beeps meekly at him. Puffing, he takes a break and begins making "tsk-ing" noises through his teeth. His ankles cross.

There are wheels on the bottom of the library chairs and Sam utilizes them to roll up next to Dean. Ellie remains where she is, but she doesn't go back to her math, and the books settle and relax against the wooden table. Sam studies the computer screen for what has made Dean stumped. Ellie cannot read what they are looking at because she is too far away, so the screen is white and rippling in a sea of nothing.

Sam reaches for the abandoned computer mouse Dean left alone to enter his thoughts. "Let me try – "

Dean slaps his hand away before he can even make contact with the mouse. "I got it." Ellie sees his back stiffen and shoulders square as he locks himself around the computer to prevent a Sam invasion. He does not want any help. Neither does Ellie half of the time, but she still has to hold Dean's hand when they cross the street, or are in crowded areas, and she always must stay in his line of vision when she convinces him to take her to the park – as if someone is destined to kidnap her – and she has been locked in motel rooms and Baby more times than she can count while everyone else marches into battle – which isn't so bad until the anxiety of them never coming back weaves into her head.

Yet, the answer for the extra babying is unfailingly the same each time: "Ellie, you are nine-years-old. Okay? Besides, you know Dad would kill me. So, c'mon,"

Ellie's fingertips crawl to the number two pencil nestled in the crease of her math book. She twirls it through her fingers for a second. She begins sketching tiny hearts and stars in the margin of her paper.

"Dude!" a protest, undoubtedly Dean's surges from the general area of Ellie's brothers. Her attention drifts to spot her eldest brother floating past, limbs flailing to get back to where he once was. Sam arranges his weight and bones in front of the computer in the absence of Dean. When Dean scoots close enough he smacks Sam on the shoulder. "You're such a control freak!" His annoyance is reeled in, trying to keep his voice lowered since they are in a public place – a library, if anything – but Ellie witnesses some heads raise and eyes on the three of them, nonetheless.

Putting down her pencil, the young girl tries to stretch her toes to the carpet, which is thin and a dark color. But, try as she might, her legs just aren't long enough, at least to lap over the ground and rest with it at this height. Her brothers are talking but at this point she is no longer listening. She is faintly aware of typing, and clicking, and scrolling. The front door moves like a whisper as another person comes into the library.

Dean hooks a hand in her chair and pulls her to him and into the inner circle. Ellie squints at the screen to let her eyes adjust to the new angle. There are a lot of words bouncing around. It looks like an article of some kind.

"Alright, so, this was in 1981," declares Sam, eyes moving down the page when he scrolls. "Uh, Constance Welch, twenty-four-years-old, jumps off of the Sylvania Bridge, and drowns in the river." The article produces a black-and-white smiling photograph of Constance. Ellie thinks that she looks pretty, but the image is also haunting, to stare at someone who isn't around anymore. She doesn't understand why anyone would want to jump off a bridge.

Sighing, Dean leans forward. "Does it say why she did it?"

"Yeah. An hour before they found her, she had called 911. Her two little kids were in the bathtub and she left them alone for a minute. When she came back, though, they weren't breathing. They both died."

Ellie feels heavy. The situation sounds awful. She grabs Dean's hand and begins twisting the silver band on his finger. The ring is dulled in the artificial lighting. He hums.

Sam reads some more of the article. Constance's husband had given a statement. He lost his whole family. Ellie turns Dean's hand over so she can reach his palm. His limbs are loose and move easily. She doesn't want to think about a young mom and kids more little than her drowning. She doesn't want to think about losing everyone because a part of her she buried knows about it, and it tingles.

But people are disappearing, maybe drowning, too, and she knows they have to stop it. There does not need to be anymore Amy's slapping missing persons posters to every street corner, or Joseph Welch's grieving on a bridge.

Wait. A bridge – ?

Ellie blinks at the colorless photographs on the webpage. She can understand them right away unlike the words. She stretches across Dean to place an index finger on one of the images. The pixels smudge under her fingerprint and she can feel the energy of them buzzing. It's like touching static; a pulsation of a memory.

She asks, "Is that the bridge from earlier?"

November 1, 2005

Just outside of Jericho, California

It's well past dark when the midnight black Impala rumbles up to the Sylvania Bridge. The purring engine and artificial headlights click off as the car falls asleep. There are no suspecting cops this time, the only witness being the yellow "CAUTION" tape stretched across the bridge's entrance, fluttering in the soft wind.

Ellie stays in the car while her two older brothers step outside into the autumn air and wispy fog. She gets a taste of season when Baby creaks and the doors click closed. The young girl watches with tired brown eyes as Sam and Dean brush under the crime scene tape and drift down a ways. They eventually stop walking to stand by the railing facing the river.

The glass is cool to the touch when Ellie presses her forehead to Baby's window. Her breathing is heavy and she creates a foggy patch on the window by her mouth. Ellie's eyelids are weighted and she considers dropping off into the night, but she can't. It may be quiet in the car but everything else is loud. She doesn't have answers yet, and Dean and Sam have hardly slept since they took the case, and they still can't find Dad, and Troy hasn't turned up, and she is scared of Monday, and this tall steel bridge, and college, and losing her brothers in the fog.

Sam and Dean begin to round back. They appear through the windshield hunched in layers from the cold and their pace is brisk. Ellie picks out Sam's hurried voice when they near the car, "No, I'm not like you! And this is not going to be my life!" They stop when Sam shuffles in front of Dean so he has to pay attention. To his words. To him.

"Well, you have a responsibility," Dean states, calmly.

"To who? To Dad?"

"No. To us."

Ellie closes her eyes. They hurt. She presses her head harder on the glass.

"Look, Dean," His tone is back to being Sammy. Her Sammy, who sounds like warm coffee and guitar strings. Who read things to her when she couldn't. "If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. I mean, Ellie has no relation to her, and even if we do find the thing that killed her and Ellie's family, what difference would it make? They're gone. And they're not coming back."

There's a slam and Ellie's eyes snap open. Dean has Sam against the bridge structure, gripping him firmly by the collar. She cannot hear them anymore. Their bodies are silhouetted in the black-blue of the night, the dangling, pearly bridge lights, and the fog that just won't seem to go away, like a bad omen.

Ellie can taste the tears and she feels them slithering down her cheeks. She flops against the back bench seat and lies down in the welcoming leather, trying to gain control while swiping the tears away. Sam doesn't want to be here. Sam doesn't want this life. There's no way to get him back, and she knows, but she just wishes that things were different; that he wasn't right. The monster that hurt her also hurt the Winchesters, and that is why they are doing this. She does not know "Mom" and she never will. But Ellie cannot think about what she used to have. She can't, she can't, she can't, can't , can't –

In the end, Dean brings her back. Like he did before, like he did after Sam.

Ellie latches onto his voice when she can hear their conversation again. She thinks that they probably assume that she is asleep at this point, or they're too far away for her to hear. They're not.

"You know, after you left, Ellie stopped talking again. Nothing but radio silence for two months. She got close to you, and then, you just – what? Adios?" Ellie allows a tear to flick onto Baby's back seat. She hopes she doesn't mind. The car doesn't even twitch. Ellie rolls to lie on her stomach with her chin balanced on bent arms. She watches, sniffling, the perfect, little circle of liquid seep into the upholstery. She wipes her nose with her jacket sleeve and lets the rest of her sadness dry in the corner of her eyes. "You can't do that to her, man, you can't just walk out. And what was I supposed to tell her? I couldn't, Sam."

Ellie usually has a knack for tuning out – or being conveniently not present – whenever John and Dean's voices get to that dangerous low level because she knows they are talking about her. They go back and forth in a whisper argument and she wishes that they would just stop. She hates it because she is the cause, so she cannot be around to hear what they really think. There is no escaping it this time.

"Dean . . . I – I didn't know – "

"Yeah, of course you didn't. You wanna know why? 'Cause you weren't friggin' here!"

Following a quick stutter, the Impala's engine turns over. No more voices carry to the car.

Not having heard the telltale croak of one of Baby's doors, Ellie uses her forearms to push herself away from the seat and onto all fours, before she maneuvers to sit upright again. The headlights show her wide-eyed brothers standing in the middle of the bridge, motionless and confused. Bugs fly by the edges of the light. Ellie cranes her neck to pan around the inside of the car. She is alone, the key slot is empty, yet Baby is idling, and waiting for a life source to direct her with what to do or where to go.

Stunned and unsure of how to react because the car has always been her safe house, the nine-year-old meets her own puffy eyes in the rearview mirror. Her skin is shiny when the light takes hold of it – cheeks are tinted in red, and hair is sticking to her face and everywhere else the strands shouldn't go. She watches her breath escape her lips and swirl into a form like the ominous fog. Ellie doesn't feel cold, though. Her insides are burning but she cannot move to put out the blaze.

The lights on the bridge flicker in and out of consciousness. Dean yells at Ellie to get out of the car right as she hears the locks click. She dives to the door handle, but each time she turns the switch to unlock it, the switch flips back to locked, until it refuses to budge entirely. She kicks frantically at the door and the window.

Suddenly, Ellie freezes when she feels like a bucket of ice is dropped on her head. Her blood rushes to her toes and the thin hairs blanketing her arms stick up on end. She turns because she's being called. Not out loud, not physically, but it's there.

A pretty, young woman in a once elegant white dress sits rigidly in the driver's seat. Lingering, wavy black hair pools over her shoulders and long slender fingers curl themselves tightly around the steering wheel like tree branches. She gazes straight ahead, arms locked in place. Her skin is almost as white as her dress.

The woman is a statue when she speaks the words in an almost monotone way: "I can never go home . . ."

Ellie screams when she slams down on the gas pedal.

Baby lurches forward and her tires squeal against the asphalt, struggling to keep up with the abrupt acceleration. The Impala is powerful and hungry, and the force smashes Ellie against her seat while the car takes off and snaps the "CAUTION" tape in two. She can see her brothers sprinting down the bridge away from the speeding vehicle. She screeches at the woman in white to stop – please, anything – but she either is too focused on the task at hand, or she cannot hear the nine-year-old's pleas.

Ellie is pinned to her seat, unable to move, so she instead opts for tilting her chin to get another look at the driver. Her organs are compressed and feel like they might fly into the trunk, and her mouth is loose and gasping for air when she chokes out, "Constance – "

The car dies in a shout at the bridge railing, nearly missing it. Ellie tumbles into the footwell, her body folding over itself as she lands on her bag and additionally gets a face full of old carpet. She groans and breathes in Baby. It's okay. They stopped.

When she sits up, breathing heavily, Constance is no where in sight.

Throwing herself out of the car and fighting dizziness, Ellie realizes the bridge is empty besides her and Baby. Her heart leaps when she runs to the edge of the railing, sneakers slapping against the bridge. The river is flowing nosily in a rush, and it drains her eyes and nose. Her head pounds when she screams over the sound of the water.

"Dean?! Sam?!" Ellie scrambles at the rusting railing. Her vocal chords are giving way. There is no answer – nature keeps moving. Baby is sleeping again. They could not have disappeared, they could not have gotten lost in the fog, they could not have drowned. No, they can't. They know how to swim and they're superheroes and Dean is Batman and – "Dean?! Sam – "

"Right here, Ellie," a weak, strained voice interrupts the young girl's distress. She leans over the railing to follow the source. Sam is hanging off a piece of the bridge's structure. "I'm okay."

"Sammy . . ."

Sam grunts while pulling himself up. He eases back over the railing. He looks the same and Ellie launches at him, burying her face into his stomach and the dark fabric of his sweatshirt. He smells like rain and metal.

She feels through the layers of clothing and her coat Sam grip her back. His fingers are cold and trembling at the nerves. "Hey, hey – it's okay. I'm okay, you're okay." He gives her a squeeze when she hiccups out a sob. It's been a rough night.

Ellie pulls away when Sam shouts Dean's name. She hurriedly steps to the railing to peer over it again. Everything is a grey-ish blue color down below from the lack of sunshine to illuminate the Earth, and her heart races as she searches for her missing brother. The one person in the world who never leaves, who always keeps her grounded. She spots movement by the bank of the river. It is Dean crawling out of the current and caked in mud.

"Dean?!" Ellie cries, her wobbly arms grabbing hold of the railing. Coughing, Dean sags to the ground. He rolls over to lie on his back in the dirt.

"Oh – hey, sweetheart!" Dean calls up to Ellie.

Sam is a brush of presence at Ellie's back. "Hey, are you alright?" He has to talk loudly over the rushing river water.

Dean holds up a hand, wheezing, "I'm super."

Sam begins to chuckle at the scenario, shaking his shaggy brown head of hair. Ellie smiles, relief washing through her veins and up to soothe her aching head.

Afterwards, Ellie sits in the driver's seat so nothing else can. She keeps the door ajar and has her legs hanging out of the side. She could easily hop out and escape if she wanted to. She can still clearly remember what it felt like when Constance was sitting in the exact place she is now. It felt like brushing against electricity and static, like when she touched the computer screen, only this time it wasn't buzzing and alive, but rather still and dead, and smelt like cold, if even possible.

The nine-year-old stares down at her hands. They're sore and there are a few rips in the skin where she jammed her fingers trying to unlock the door. Ellie traces her new fingers with brown eyes. Dean has the Impala's hood propped open and she hears him fiddling around and checking up on the gears inside. She doesn't know what any of them do. He tried to explain them to her once about a week after Sam left to try to get her to show some signs of life. It didn't work.

Sam is pacing the margins of the bridge, searching for anything useful for the case. Ellie cannot see him but she can feel that he is around. Every so often Dean pauses in his work and Ellie assumes he is checking in with her. She knows she is being quiet but she could talk if she really wanted to. Unlike before, she can feel the words in her throat.

Dean shuts the hood, most likely leaving muddy fingerprints on the surface because he is still covered from head to toe in it.

Ellie hears Sam's soft, calculated steps approach. His shoes scrape the ground a bit. "Is the car alright?"

"Yeah – " Dean huffs. He turns to lean against the front of the car. Ellie is aware of Baby dipping down a bit. "Whatever she did to her, it seems alright now. That Constance chick . . . My baby sister was in the car, what a bitch!" The last exclamation echoes through the bridge, into the woods, and down the river.

Ellie curls her hands into fists. "I saw her," she says while looking down at her hands. "She was driving the car."

"Wait – " Sam moves around the front of the car to stand in front of Ellie. She finally moves her eyes up. His clothes are still slightly askew from earlier and his sweatshirt strings are uneven. "You didn't see Constance on the bridge?"

Narrowing her eyes, she shakes her head. "Just in the car. She said what she did on the recording," Ellie turns to Dean's dirt caked face. "that she couldn't go home . . ."

"And then she decided to go for a little test drive?" asks Dean.

"Yeah."

Sam moves to rest on the closed back door of the car next to Ellie. He crosses his arms. "Well, whatever is going on, she doesn't want us digging around to find it. That's for sure."

Dean groans. "You think?"

"So where's the trail go from here, genius?"

Dean shrugs so exaggeratedly that Ellie hears his hands thump against his jeans and the drenched leather of Dad's coat. He started wearing it after John stopped answering phone calls. Otherwise, the coat is curled up in a ball, tucked away in the trunk. It is usually a bit bigger on Dean than John, but now that it went through a river, the coat seems more out of place than usual wrapped around Dean's frame.

Dean curls his nose in and flicks some dirt off of his hands. Ellie does her best to lean out of any piece of dirt's way and also from the stench of whatever was in that river. It smells like warm chemicals packed with chalky dirt that she can practically taste, and it's not a good combination, at all. She tries to focus on the way Sam smells instead. Like pine trees and sleep and books and faint coffee that always lingers.

Sam sniffs the air. He grimaces. "Dude, you smell like a toilet."