Chapter 6: Getaway Car

November 2, 2005

Jericho, California

It's morning by the time Dean pulls the Impala up to the only motel in Jericho for an early-as-possible check-in. The three need to sleep on something other than the stiff leather of a car seat, eat food that isn't from a mostly melted cooler in the backseat or a going stale bag, and take some well needed showers. For the time being and without any leads, Dean informed Ellie that the case is being put on a temporary hold until they can gather their bearings after the previous night on the bridge. She is glad because even though she wants this case to be marked completed and for family feuds to be mended, she needs a break. California has been a lot for the young kid, and without John around to take control of every minor detail, Ellie has been exposed to variables she would normally not have been on a hunt. A ghost, for one thing.

Usually Ellie's "ghosts" include the other guests and staff at the town's motel; how strange she finds they can be as she sits people watching in the windowsill, wearing knee high socks because they are more fun to slide around in without an adult to tell her otherwise. Or, sometimes a branch brushing against the side of Baby during the croak of the wind could be scary, too. Because when there was no other choice in desperate times and duty calls, Ellie had to tag along, but it was always made sure of that the car was far from reaching the final destination, and was hidden well in the underbrush.

Now she has different ghosts following her around. She thinks about Constance when she walks into the check-in area of the motel after her brothers; how lost and alone she looked sitting in the driver's seat. Ellie knows what that feels like.

A fan spins nosily in the corner of the check-in office. Ellie notices that it is duct taped together at the seams. The radio on the counter spits out some rock song, the volume low enough to be reduced to just background noise. Rays of sunshine peek through the tilted blinds and spill onto the carpet.

An elderly man stands behind the counter. He seems tired, or bored – Ellie cannot decide which because it is early and he may have not had his cup of coffee yet, or his job is dull because he is the only one in here and few people are around – and he is wearing a shirt with a weird line design running vertical.

Dean, still having a fair amount of dirt covering his face, waltzes up to the counter. He plops a card down on the papers scattered across the counter. "One room, please," he says, flashing a smile.

Unimpressed, the elderly man picks up the card to examine it. He glances up at Dean for a moment, then back to the card. "You guys having a reunion or something?"

Ellie steps in closer. She doesn't understand. She is with all of her family, minus one.

Sam shifts, nervously, "What do you mean?"

"That other guy, Bert Aframian," the older man states like it is obvious. "He came in and bought out a room for the whole month."

Sam and Dean give each other a knowing look. Ellie is still confused. Who's Bert?

Dean uses an arm to lean on the counter. "Yeah, you know, it is something like that; some family reunion type shindig." The radio cracks as the song ends and a clearly overproduced commercial begins playing. Dean taps the counter. "So, do you happen to know where we could find our dear ol' uncle Bert?"

Room ten is the number the cranky man at the front desk gives them, grudgingly. Ellie thinks that he just wanted them to go away so he could go back to whatever, but she doesn't mention it to her brothers. She walks behind them as they try to share the sidewalk heading down the strip of rooms to the one marked "10". Sam eventually pushes Dean off.

"Dude, you are so gross!" Sam exclaims, stopping at the room they need. Dean just grins. Ellie wrinkles her face, tilting her head when she looks up at Dean for some type of answer. She doesn't even know why they are here.

Sam kneels down in front of the door. A "DO NOT DISTURB" sign dangles from the handle. Dean reaches out to Ellie to guide her to him. She immediately scrunches her nose up when she is hit with the stench. They had to drive the whole way here with the windows down. "De, you smell," she complains, trying to pull away.

The grip on her holds steady. Dean shakes his head. "Nah, I smell like roses."

"You're impossible . . ." Sam tries to mutter, but Ellie still hears it, nonetheless.

"Hey, you," Dean turns around. He points at the red door labeled as the entrance to room ten. "more of that, and less – " He flaps his hand around to represent a mouth. Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean throws a bent arm over Ellie's much smaller form. She is aware that his disgusting, river water and sticky mud state may rub off on her coat and bleed into the baby hairs on the nape of her neck. She can also not escape him. "Alright, kiddo," He nods at the signs of life across the parking lot and lingering around the rooms on the other side of the motel. "You see those people over there?"

A woman dressed in sweats and a stained shirt is leaning against the brick of the building. Her hair is thrown up in a loose bun and a cigarette balances between her fingers. Ellie sees the thick smoke billow around her. One of the room's doors is propped open, and a blonde man is disappearing and reappearing from the threshold while he carries tan boxes out to his little red car.

"Yeah."

"Awesome. What I need you to do is let me know if anyone starts looking at us like we're doing some funky business. Do you think you could do that for me?" Sure, Ellie could. She enjoys observing people to pass the time. However, there is persistent clicking behind her and someone is coughing louder than what is comfortable for the young girl. She does not understand why they are at Bert's room, or how they are related, or why it even matters. Ellie just wants to lie down in a bed – maybe have a snack – and for Dean to take a shower.

"Dean, why would they think that?" She tries once again to see what Sam is doing but Dean still will not allow her to. Ellie catches Dean's green eyes and holds him there. "What are we doing here?"

Dean sighs. A car door slams. His eyes drift to the parking lot for a moment. "Listen, El, we think this might be Dad's room."

"What?"

"Bert is one of the people we borrow from, so Dad would use his name to book this place."

The door to room ten shuffles open and Sam steps inside the darkness. Ellie stares at the blurry opening. "So, he's in there . . . ?"

"Maybe," Dean answers. He grows more serious to make sure Ellie is really listening to his next words. "But like I said, we'll find him, regardless."

An arm extends out of the black nothing and grabs Dean by the shoulder. Some of the dirt and dust particles on his jacket are roused from their nap. They puff into the air and sunlight. Dean is yanked backwards into the motel room with one quick motion. Ellie follows after him, taking hold of the door handle on her way through to gently close the door behind her.

With one simple sweep of the space, it is clear to Ellie that the room is definitely a John room and not whoever they happen to be borrowing money from that week.

The inside is dark, and carries a musty smell from the curtains and windows being sealed tight. Books are scattered throughout. Some lie halfway open with the pages bent at angles and crushed under spines. Papers mark up each of the four walls partnered by weird scratches of symbols. The bed is unmade with the sheets lapping at the carpet, and the surface of it along with the side table are thoroughly cluttered.

Ellie steps over a thick salt line drawn across the floor. More line the windows. The room is overflowing like a sink and dripping of hunter. John is nowhere in sight.

Dean moves forward. A lamp twitches on. Bathed in the artificial light, Ellie watches Dean pick up a half eaten burger from the wrapper it crinkles against. He takes a whiff of it, only to recoil a second later. Ellie raises her eyebrows.

"I don't think Dad's been here for a couple of days, at least," Dean remarks. He throws the gross burger back to the table.

Sam crouches down. He runs his fingers through the salt line by the door, letting it slowly crumble back down. "Salt, cat's-eye shells – " he lists off. He gives Dean a look and stands back up. "He was worried; trying to keep something from coming in."

Ellie does not know much about the mechanics of the things the Winchesters hunt, but John had informed her years ago the first time she was left alone in a motel room that the salt tracing the windows and doorways is used to keep out bad spirits. She isn't one-hundred percent sure if it is true because the method has yet to be put to the test for her. However, it is comforting believing that what goes bump in the night cannot get to her because of a line of salt.

Sam and Dean begin conversing about the case and its relevance to John's findings. Ellie lowers the volume and lets their voices become background noise as she maneuvers around the room. Her eyes roam, longing to find anything that can directly tie back to the person she considers to be the father figure in her life. She needs to know that he is okay.

John's goodbye in New Orleans did not seem final. He said he had to go because of a lead in California – which isn't unusual – and he had hugged Ellie tight that evening, and moved her unruly bangs aside to really see her, and told her with warm eyes to be good. It was all normal behavior – at least normal as can be for a hunter – but maybe the child had missed something. Maybe his eyes were actually sad.

All in all, John Winchester is surely good at hiding, especially when he has no intention of being found.

Ellie picks up a book and is smoothing over the smashed and bent pages when she catches some of the words being spilled into the messy room by the adults. Apparently, John had found the same article they had and they are taking the same steps with the case. The next one is to talk to Constance's former husband, Joseph Welch – that is, if he is even still alive.

"Alright," Dean begins and Ellie tunes in because his tone is different than just causal conversation. They're moving on or something is changing. "Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address for our Joseph Welch here." he says to Sam. "I'm gonna get cleaned up."

Ellie sets the book down and sits on the tangled up bed. It's not entirely uncomfortable. Dean goes to stride into the bathroom folded up in the corner, but Sam stops him by saying his name.

"What I said earlier, on the bridge – I'm sorry."

The nine-year-old knows that her overgrown brothers are unaware that she heard everything that went down last night on the Sylvania Bridge. Sam's apology is not meant for her, yet she still feels it, and takes it for what it is. Her head bows. She notices a stain in the carpet by her feet.

Dean holds out a hand to end it all. "No chick-flick moments." he states, coolly. He gestures Ellie's way. "Besides, I already get enough of them from that little bundle of joy over there."

Ellie pouts and rolls her eyes at the comment. She's not that emotional.

Sam chuckles. He faces Dean again. "Alright, jerk."

"Bitch."

The name calling is a sibling thing, or a Winchester thing – Ellie cannot be sure. Regardless, she hasn't heard it in years and the words alone are a warm brush over the base of her spine. It's a sound of home. Like the creaks of aging Baby, and Led Zeppelin playing on the radio for the three-hundred-and-twenty-sixth time, and John's voice, and greasy diner food sizzling on the grill, and people saying "thank you". Home isn't a house. It is things, items – sounds, smells, touches, visions, and tastes. The little things are what matter.

Dean dissolves when the bathroom door clicks. The pipes groan into existence. Sam pads up to the mirror that even manages to be messy and crooked. He straightens it and Ellie thinks he just wants to look at himself for a second; she does it sometimes when she hasn't seen herself in a while to jog her memory for what she looks like. She does not know whether or not she likes what she sees. It's just her.

But Sam does not figure out who he is in the reflection of the glass. He plucks out something tucked in the side. Ellie feels the forgiving mattress welcome him when he sits down beside her. It's a picture of the four of them standing in front of John's pick-up on a cloudy day. The picture was taken by a stranger in the park as an excuse for an updated family portrait. It was back before Ellie started talking and her face is contorted into a lopsided smile.

Sam smiles fondly down at the captured moment in time. "Almost forgot about this one," His thumb sweeps over the glossy texture.

The water is still on in the bathroom so Ellie takes her chance. "Sam," she forces out. He stops but the shower remains running. Her hand clutches the bed sheets and twists. "Why did you never call?"

Ellie watches Sam carefully when he places the photograph down. Her brown eyes greet his hazel ones for the first time in a long time. He grips his jean clad knees and drawls in a deep breath. "I – I wanted to, Ellie, believe me, I did, but – "

This is a topic Ellie feels strongly and deeply about, one she jumped up and down on for so long that it sank. She keeps twisting the sheets, and kicking out her feet, and whatever else she has to do to not cry right there because she's not a baby anymore. She croaks, "But what?"

"I couldn't." Sam swallows. "Every time I tried I thought about how mad Dad and Dean were that last night, and I figured it was better if I stayed away. For you – I – I didn't want to hurt you again. But, El, I didn't know that you shut down. If I did, I would have been there. I promise."

She bites her lip, hard, trying to understand. "Was it too much?"

Sam crunches his face. He leans. "What?"

Ellie's eyes follow the trail of everything littering the walls. "This." Her head turns to the left, to Sam. "Sometimes, I get scared . . . And I – I wish I could make friends."

Sam rips his eyes away to crowd them in the corner. Ellie doesn't want him to feel bad, but she is only saying what she thinks. Her ears check to make sure the bathroom pipes are still bursting with life.

"I guess I just wanted to do something different, something for me. Maybe it was selfish, but I did think about coming back. Then I met someone."

"A girl?" This perks Ellie's interest. She had almost forgotten about the mystery figure left in the apartment who made her brother smile from ear to ear. "Dean said you had one,"

Nodding, Sam pulls his wallet from his pocket. He slides something out and hands it over to the girl. Ellie studies a smiling college student with straight teeth and blonde curls strung tight. Her fingers graze the corners of the creased wallet picture. "She's really pretty. What's her name?"

"Jessica. But I don't think she would mind if you called her Jess."

"Is she nice?" Ellie's head hobbles back up. "Because Dean's girlfriends aren't always. He made the last one leave because she was too mean . . ." Her voice has since turned contemplative as she relives how her eldest brother's last relationship crashed and burned. Her name was something with a "M" and she was very tall with glasses. She always wore some type of hat and Ellie believed she was nice at first, until she wasn't. Dean met her on one of those nights he comes home stumbling and weird. She didn't understand why Dean had to constantly babysit, and Ellie thinks she said something about her, but Dean still refuses to say. Ellie remembers Dean placing her in the passenger seat of the car and then disappearing around the side of whatever motel they happened to be living at. When he came back, he was alone, and they sat together in the car for a while as people moved around outside.

"I'm sorry, De."

"Hey, who needs 'em? I've still got you; which is a hell of a lot better, in my book."

Her favorite was probably the college girl in Ohio from a while back, if Ellie could pick.

Sam's face breaks into a sad smile. "She's nice, Ellie." he confirms.

She's glad, and relieved, and wants to meet this Jessica. She smiles painfully tight without using any teeth. Her growing wet face presses into Sam's shirt when she hugs him like she did on the bridge. "I missed you so badly, Sammy."

He hugs her back just as tight. His lips press to her hairline. "I missed you, too, bug."

Ellie is perched in one of the chairs at the small rectangular table in the motel room. The ink in her pen scrapes over the white canvas in her sketchbook – which Sam went out to the car to get for her – while Sam sits on the edge of the bed with his legs stretched out to the floor and crossed. His silver cell phone presses to his ear as he checks his voicemails. Ellie can barely hear the rustles of whoever is on the other end.

The lock to the bathroom door unlatches. It swings open, knocking back against the wall in its motion. Dean manifests from the warm steam escaping from the bathroom walls. He is fresh faced with a slight pink tint to his skin.

Dean pulls on his jacket, one hand spiking up his damp short hair. "Hey, man," he announces himself, walking closer to Sam. "I'm starving. I'm gonna grab a little something to eat from that diner down the street. You want anything?"

Sam angles the phone away from his head for a second. Ellie clicks her pen on her chin. He presses his lips together. "No."

"You sure?" Dean wags his eyebrows. "Aframian's buying,"

"Mmm-hmm . . ."

Dean's hand snakes around the metal door handle. The air conditioner settled on the windowsill coughs awake. It doesn't do much besides blow a stale mix of hot and cold air. It's November, anyway.

"You want the usual, El?"

She nods, realizing just how empty and sunken her stomach really is. "Yes, please."

"You got it." Dean holds up a fist in which Ellie reciprocates. Even though they are at opposite ends of the room, they still pretend to press them together. The nine-year-old swears she feels a tickle of it, but then the door is closed, and Dean is gone.

Sam's phone rings when Ellie is midway through drawing small eyelashes on her sketch. She guesses she could be doing her work for school, but she just happened to leave her backpack in the Impala, and there is still time to get it done since it is the weekend.

There are quips of dialogue from the phone conversation before Sam stands up. He seems worried, or distressed. Ellie closes her notebook because it could be about Dad, or Dean, or worse. The phone flips closed. Sam creeps to the window to peel back the lace curtain with a finger.

"Sam?" Ellie stands from the chair, curious. "What's wrong?"

Sam doesn't reply. He snaps the curtain closed after he peeks outside. His breath falters while he steps out of the way and uses the wall for cover. Ellie remains in the middle of the disarrayed room. She is confused, her eyes widening and mouth parting as her anxiety rises. She feels alone and vulnerable, and something clearly bad is happening if observing Sam's body language and the abrupt end to the phone call means anything.

Her brother notices her unhappiness and scrambles quickly to her. She feels slightly better when Sam takes a hold of her hunching shoulders. "Hey, it's okay. I need you to get your stuff together so we can go on a little field trip."

Ellie hears a bang from beyond the main door and her eyes jump there. She swallows. "Is it bad?"

"What – no, no." Sam reassures. He squeezes her shoulders to get her attention back on him. His thumbs brush over her jacket, and his eyes look warm and sincere. "Dean just ran into some trouble and we need to go now, okay?"

There's a harsh knock at the door and Ellie jumps. Sam moves instantly and gathers up the notebook and pen on the table. He herds the nine-year-old into the bathroom and locks the door in any way that he can. The knocking is getting more persistent. Someone shouts. Police.

The bathroom has ugly rose wallpaper and tan appliances. It smells dense and the space is compact. Ellie attaches herself to Sam while he frantically – yet collected at the same time – searches for an escape route. She blubbers out when he throws open a rectangular window on the smaller side that she cannot even reach, "But – but he didn't even do anything . . ."

Having left the rest of their belongings in the Impala, Ellie sees Sam drop her notebook out of the window. She hears a plop follow it. He turns to her. "Okay, I'm gonna hoist you up. There's barely a drop,"

"But Dean – "

"Don't worry, Dean is fine. We'll get him out, but right now we need to keep going and be strong for him. Can you do that?"

Sam sounds more serious than usual. Ellie is beginning to feel the pull in her chest for her eldest brother already, but she knows she can do this. It is not the first time she has dealt with an absent Winchester brother.

"Yes." she decides.

Sam lifts her to the window by her armpits. Ellie warily climbs through, but Sam was right about the drop not being high because her sneakers touch the soft grass in no time when she slinks down the wall. A bird flees the tree beside her when she picks up her stuff from the ground. She brushes off any dirt collected.

Sam squeezes through the window right when an echoing bang of finality sounds. Ellie guesses they broke the door down to find them. Sam scoops the young girl up in a rush. She wraps her arms around his neck, making sure to hang onto her notebook in the process, while her brother with awkward overgrown legs and hair sprints to the Impala dozing off in the shade.

November 2, 2005

Just outside of Jericho, California

Ellie cannot remember the last time – if there ever was a time – that Sam drove Baby.

He's not as experienced as Dean is with her. They slide around some turns and the brakes are pushed with a little more force than usual when Sam underestimates the size of the car, but Ellie gets to sit in the front seat, so she doesn't complain.

Besides, the ride becomes more smoother as they go on.

They stop for a quick bite on the way to their next destination. Ellie nibbles on the remnants of her fries while she waits in the car for Sam to return. He took them to Joseph Welch's new house, since he doesn't live in the one his kids died in anymore, which is logical. The place is more of a junkyard than where you hang your hat and Ellie can only guess Sam is freaking out from the grossness of it all.

It's not like they're doing much better, though. Burger wrappers and trash lie bathing in the sun up on the dashboard, skimming the windshield. Dean would go on a rant if he saw Baby's state, Ellie knows, but they were on the run. A part of the girl still misses her brother, still feels that tug on her heart, but Sam said he would take care of the situation, even if he did leave before.

Sam enters and falls into the interior of Baby. Ellie looks at him with a mouth full of fries. Some peer out and dangle from her lips. He smiles and claims that she is just as bad as Dean. She smiles back. Sometimes family can feel like swallowing the sun.

The Impala crawls away in the same way it came. Ellie notices Joseph Welch standing at the window. He looks older than time and a fire decays in his stare. There is definitely something there.

The night is a newborn baby when Sam's phone rings again. Ellie watches the looming streetlights dance on the car windows, even after they pass them.

"Hey, you're on speaker," Sam answers his phone. He guides the steering wheel with one hand now.

"Fake 911 phone call? I don't know, Sammy; that's pretty illegal. Even for you,"

Ellie jumps at Dean's voice. She doesn't like when they break laws, but it cannot be that bad if it means that she gets Dean back.

Ellie's eyes are gleaming when they meet Sam's. He smiles smugly down at the phone. "You're welcome."

"Did you guys get out okay?" Dean asks. "How's Ellie holding up?"

The girl in question scoots down the bench seat to be closer to Sam so that Dean can hear her better. "I'm fine, Dean." she reassures.

"Glad to hear, sweetheart. Make sure Sam doesn't mess up my Baby too much, alright?"

Sam rolls his eyes dramatically before they return to the empty blue-tinted road. Ellie grins.

"Okay."

"Awesome." comments Dean. His tone hardens into a shell. "Listen, man, we gotta talk."

"Tell me about it," Sam agrees. Ellie tilts her head back to sit more comfortably in the seat. Sam caught her up on some of the new details of the case earlier. About how Joseph didn't love his wife enough and she acted out of anguish, killing herself and her kids. Now she is a sad, wandering spirit who kills anyone who hurt people like her husband did to her. Ellie hopes Troy loved Amy enough. Amy was nice and is missing him. "So, the husband was unfaithful and we are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that shoulda been Dad's next stop. I just don't understand why – "

"Sammy, would you shut up for a second?" Dean interrupts his brother's tangent. Ellie stifles a laugh.

"I just can't figure out why he hasn't destroyed the corpse yet,"

"Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you! He's gone. Dad left Jericho."

Ellie shoots up in her seat. What – why? Why does he keep running? Why won't he just answer their calls?

Sam seems equally as surprised. "What? How do you know?"

"I've got his journal."

Ellie's heart drops. It must be something bad, then, because –

"He doesn't go anywhere without that thing," Sam shoots her a saddening look. She shakes her head. Back to the window.

"Yeah, well, he did this time." Dark trees move by in a rush so they all appear as a massive lump. Maybe if another car actually drove by Ellie would feel better. "It's the same old ex-Marine crap when he wants to let us know where he's going."

"Coordinates."

"Bingo."

Ellie is distracted from the discussion when she senses something familiar. It starts at the tips of her fingers and toes, until it bolts to reach all of her. The feeling keeps going up to the point where the hair on her arms sticks on ends and the whole car is filled with static. She can see her own breath escaping her lungs, but once again she is not even cold.

She wants to warn Sam when she sees her but she's paralyzed.

"Dean, what the hell is going on?" Ellie hears Sam question, flabbergasted, when her ears come back into focus.

That's when he spots the woman in the road. Baby's tires scream against the asphalt as she skids to a stop. Sam presses his arm into Ellie's chest to keep her in place. She grabs a hold of his right hand tightly when they finally stop and doesn't let go. Her eyes squeeze open and closed, trying to catch her breath. Dean's voice calls their names from where the phone had fallen into the foot well. The line cuts off.

Baby rumbles around them. The street is vacant. An overhead streetlight bulb wobbles.

"Take me home."

Ellie startles when she looks into the rearview mirror. She holds Sam's hand even harder. He is frozen at the wheel.

A woman in a white dress is in the backseat, half buried in the dark. The extreme paleness of her skin marks where she was drained of life.

It worked the first time to make her go away, so Ellie tries again, "Constance – "

"Take. Me. Home." She won't even look at the child. Her eyes are only for Sam.

Sam leans away from the controls. He stares her down in the mirror. "No."

Constance glares at him. Ellie hopes she will go away since they refuse to play by her rules. Instead, the passenger side door is flung open, and with it Ellie is removed from Sam's hold and the car by some otherworldly force. She spins out briefly across asphalt and stops when she hits the bushes on the side of the road. Sam calls to her, but the car door slams closed, and Baby starts driving away before anything can be done.

Ellie scrambles to her feet as fast as she can. Leaves and twigs are intertwined in her hair. Her clothes are wet and muddy. She breaks into a full on sprint after the Impala. She pumps her little legs as fast as they can go, screaming at Constance, at Sam, at the car, at the world – Her bones and muscles do not stop until her throat burns and she can no longer see right anymore. All Ellie can do is watch the red illumination of Baby's tail lights fade around the bend.

She cries at the road, but it doesn't have the voice box to reply. The wind scatters carcasses of leaves but it's not the kind of comfort she needs. Ellie's knee throbs where her pants are now ripped, but she is too angry, and tired, and missing so many people to care.

Ellie stumbles down the road searching for Sam. She can hear cicadas and the trees swaying. The sky looks like velvet.

Around the corner, a farmhouse models the end of the road before it splits off to another destination. It's a big, eroded, shadowy structure with boarded up windows of abandonment. The roof slouches, leaving the house's limbs dangling and ready to finally fall. The porch is broken entirely.

Ellie hears an unmistakable scream coming from the dark car in the semi-foggy driveway. She tries to dash up the pebbled walkway, but it skitters away from her when something grabs her. She wants to almost yell but stops when she sees who it is. Dean?

The smell of leather and soil stirred together with soap washes over her. "Sam – you gotta get him – he – he's in the car – " Ellie is all over the place.

Dean starts to leave and Ellie pivots, but then he steps back to firmly grip her arms. "Don't. Move."

Awful screams of pain and anguish continue to erupt from inside the Impala. It is the kind of sounds that make Ellie's skin crawl back the way she came.

BANG! Something gives way and shatters. BANGBANGBANG – Ellie digs her fingers over her ears when the gunshots become more frantic. It is like an explosion in her ear drum whenever one goes off. Her left eye twitches. The Impala lights up with each one, like a match trying to catch a flame.

They finally cease when Baby catapults through the front of Constance's old house, taking half of the building with her.

Ellie uncovers her ears and runs up to the farmhouse. She ignores the twinge of pain in her leg and follows Dean through the settling dust, and hot air, and swinging beams holding up the house. They enter through the car sized hole and Ellie realizes that Baby sure made a mess. Stuff is exploding everywhere; worse than John's motel room.

The house is much darker than outside since it is enclosed, but the hole brings in enough light to see where the car finally ended its joy ride. There's a hissing noise either from the house struggling to hold its weight or Baby finally calming down. Ellie balances herself on a fallen beam while Dean yanks a very much alive Sam out of the car. She looks around to see what is left, and receives a quiet and less murderous looking Constance standing in front of the large staircase.

Constance stares yearningly down at the cracked picture frame she is holding. Ellie swears that the woman appears alive for a blimp before she notices them. Her face contorts back up and the picture frame smashes on the hardwood floor. The lights flash on from Constance being a walking source of static and electricity, and they crackle and pop violently.

A bookshelf slides by itself with ease across the floor to pin Sam and Dean to the side of the car. They double over in pain and try to push it away, but it is unmoving. Ellie stands her ground but she has no idea what she should do.

Water beings to unexpectedly pool around the girl's sneakers and she backs up a step or two to escape it. Casting her eyes upwards and staring through the tips of her bangs, Ellie notices that the water is pouring down the staircase and overflowing at the sides. She is confused because Constance is not doing it, until she sees the silhouettes of two little kids standing at the top.

They are holding hands and chorus, "You've come home to us, Mommy."

Constance materializes at the foot of the stairs, seemingly distraught. The children vanish and then reappear soaking wet behind the woman. When they hug her, Constance shrieks violently enough to break a glass, like their touch alone scorches her. It is unbearable. Her head throws back, twitching all over. Flashing lights reveal mangled and disturbing images and limbs. It doesn't stop until the three of them melt into the floor, only leaving a small puddle behind, possibly caused by a leaky roof. The floorboards groan and sigh in their wake.

November 2, 2005

Thirty miles from Palo Alto, California

Constance could never go home because she was too scared to face what she had done to her children. Ellie can never go home because she doesn't have one.

Troy really did die and she won't be around to tell Amy that. Amy will just have to keep printing out her missing persons posters, and listening to her boyfriend's voice when her calls get directed to his voicemail, and looking at old photographs. Eventually, people will stop caring about the boy who went missing on the Sylvania Bridge, and then she will, too.

Ellie will remember the horror in Constance that was released when she finally was put to rest, how it looked painful. She hopes that the woman can go home now.

The windshield is cracked, and makes trees bend forward and the road seem glassy if Ellie looks directly through it. Baby had to be pushed out of that house to finally stir awake and now she runs languidly with a few loose bodied sounds. Only one headlight works.

Ellie seeks comfort in the front seat between her two brothers. Dean doesn't even make her wear a seatbelt, but Ellie thinks those are the pity points that she racked up during this soul shattering case talking. She has never been this involved before. The Impala is supposed to be safe, but this time it wasn't enough.

Dean has the regular radio on. A soft rock song mumbles through. Ellie's chin tucks in her knees while she leans her right side on Sam. She can feel the tight pull of the band-aid on her left knee scratch against the ripped, blood stained material of her denim jeans. Turns out that the asphalt bit her knee when Constance kicked her out. Dean cleaned it up before they got back on the road.

Sam is a sleep warm and flows like a tide as he breathes. Ellie curls up to him like a cat, lazily dangling a flashlight from her hand to enlighten the map crinkled in his lap. He uses a ruler and a finger to follow the lines and dips in the paper. The coordinates John left for Dean to discover sit open by Ellie's foot. She gets a glance at them whenever a stray string of the moon breaks through.

"Okay, here's where Dad went," Sam announces, causing Ellie to awaken at his shoulder and steady the flashlight. "It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado."

Unlike California, Ellie has been to Colorado before. Maybe she will encounter people other than strangers.

Dean nods at the road. "Sounds charming," he comments. "How far?"

"Uh . . . about six-hundred miles."

Six-hundred miles almost sounds like an eternity to Ellie, considering she does not even know how long it takes to drive one mile. She needs a shower – she smells like sweat and terrain – and could use a nap, or a snack, and definitely a bathroom break soon.

Dean turns his head for a second. "Aye, if we shag ass, we can make it by morning."

If Ellie really thinks about it; though, at the end of a really long day, she just wants to see John again. She just wants them to be a family again. She is tired of pictures and hand-me-downs to fill the emptiness.

Sam falters. He opens and closes his mouth. Ellie loses track of where her light is pointing. "Dean, I – uh – um . . ."

Dean concludes, "You're not going," The young girl sits up. Her legs slowly lower to the floor. The flashlight clicks and darkness overcomes.

"The interview's in, like, ten hours. I gotta be there."

Dean drives with one hand to rest an arm on the back of the seat. Ellie is aware of him squeezing her shoulder. "Yeah." He shifts in his seat. "Yeah – whatever. I'll take you home."

Even Sam has a home.

"I'm really sorry, Ellie." the younger of the two brothers says, helplessly. Dean rubs Ellie's shoulder, all the while his eyes stare hard at the road and through the crack in the windshield.

She almost believed that Sam had changed his mind.

November 2, 2005

Palo Alto, California

Dean does not park in the back alley. He slinks along the curb of Sam's apartment complex to come to a final halt in front of the entranceway withholding red double doors. The building is dark with sleep.

Ellie stirs. She reluctantly let's go of the arm she was warpped around while she dozed off. The cushion her head is pillowed on leaves in a swing. Ellie scoots into the remaining warmth on the leather that marks Sam's once presence.

Sam closes the car door gently. He leans in through the open window. A nine-year-old grabs at his fingers.

"You'll call me if you find him?" Ellie feels the vibrations of Sam's question through his hands. She is trying to hold on to him for as long as she can. He wants to be updated on Dad, which is a start for mending relationships.

"Sure, Sammy," Dean replies. There is something else in his voice that Ellie just cannot pinpoint. Maybe he is sad, too, even if he never cries like she does.

"Maybe I can meet up with you guys later, huh?"

"Yeah, alright,"

Sam places his free hand over Ellie's and the other hand she is playing with. "Hey," She flicks at her bangs to see him better. A streetlight highlights the right side contours of his face. "I gave Dean my new number so feel free to call me whenever." He looks over Ellie's shoulder to the other person within the quiet car. "It was a mistake to not answer before."

Ellie is so excited of the possibility of talking with Sam on the phone that she nearly misses the end. The engine turning over, Sam giving Baby a good pat, Sam stepping back on the sidewalk with his bag pressing on his hip. "Goodnight, bug,"

Baby moves away at an agonizing slow pace. Ellie's world tilts when Sam begins to appear slightly smaller. He runs his index finger over the bridge of his nose.

Her heart swells. She does it back. That's their thing, like with Dean and a fist bump.

Ellie clips on her seatbelt because she doesn't have much of an excuse anymore. She drapes her arm out of the window. Everything is absolutely frozen and silent except for Baby's engine.

Dean speaks when they turn onto a residential road with big houses and white-picket fences that Ellie thinks about on occasion, "Looks like it's just you and me again," Ellie looks at the outline of herself in the side mirror. "So, I was thinking – "

The radio cuts him off when it glazes over in static. It begins beeping as dozens of voices at once try to come clear over it. Dean pokes at his watch.

Ellie doesn't have time to think before he screeches the Impala into a U-turn and guns it down the way they came. It is not as frightening when the girl is for certain that Dean is controlling the car instead of a vengeful spirit. The seatbelt jabs Ellie's gut when Baby slams into the same spot they were parked at earlier.

Dean grabs her chin. "No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, do not leave the car." He has never been that grave before. Dean pushes out of the Impala with a final jab. "Stay here." Ellie feels like she's going to pass out.

The building swallows him.

Ellie is six-years-old watching her house crumble to ashes in the night. Dirty tears cake her rosy cheeks. Flashing lights and sirens as firefighters attempt to smother the blaze; concerned murmurs and droopy eyes from the neighbors standing on their damp lawns in robes and fuzzy slippers. The air fills with smoke. She can feel the heat licking her skin while it makes her face glow. She leans back on a car, nothing could be saved. She can no longer speak.

No – that's not right. Ellie is nine-years-old and it is Sam's apartment. She is not crying. There is still the regular crew and audience of a fire, but the smoke isn't as bad. The car she is sitting on is Baby and she can talk. It was Jessica this time.

Dean and Sam are at the trunk. She hears clicks.

A monotone: "We got work to do." brushes over her back.