Leaning against the clear plexiglass, the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, Dean dug into his pocket for change and cursed when he came up dry. And of course he'd given the last of his cash to Skyler. Great.

As if thinking her name had summoned her, Dean heard a tap on the glass next to him and looked up to see the pint-sized brunette leaning against the open door of the phonebooth with a McDonald's bag in one hand and a handful of change in the other. And didn't she look smug. "Evenin', Winchester. Need a hand? Or a burger? Extra onions."

"...the fuck?"

"Gee, nice to see you too. I'm fine, thanks for askin'." Depositing the quarters and the food on the tiny shelf under the phone, she crossed her arms and smirked up at him, obviously enjoying the dumbass expression plastered on his face. "Oh come on, it wasn't that hard, don't strain yourself. I took a shot that the first thing you'd do is call Sam and there's only two working phonebooths in this one-horse town. I didn't figure you'd hang around to use the one in front of the precinct, so I waited for you."

"And what if I'd gotten my phone back? What then, Sherlock?" Ignoring the roll of her eyes, Dean eyed the paper sack, his stomach growling insults as he picked up the quarters and shoving them into the slot. Punching in Sam's number, Dean cleared his throat, forcing out a few gruding words. "...and thanks for the food."

"My God, the boy can be taught. ...and you're welcome, I figured you'd be hungry. You're always hungry." Tucking her hands into her back pockets, Skye smiled up at him, leaning against the wall in a space that was already a little too close for comfort. What happened to being claustrophobic and not wanting to touch people, dammit. "You're not that stupid, your phone can be tracked and I'm sure you know that."

"Was that a compliment?" Before she could answer, the phone on the other end of the line picked up. Waving her to silence, Dean turned away and spoke up before Sam could so much as say hello, "Fake 911 call. I don't know, Sammy, that's pretty illegal."

"Sorry, man. Wasn't me. Glad you're out, though."

Then who… Well, ask a stupid question. With a sigh that he felt all the way down to his toes, Dean reluctantly turned back to Skyler, who was just standing there grinning like the cat that just ate the canary. Closing his eyes, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to keep an answering grin off his own face. "...son of a bitch."

"Skye?"

"So it would seem." Pressing himself back further into the booth, Dean tried to ignore Skye's attempts to listen in on Sam's side of the conversation. Covering the mouthpiece, he tried to stop breathing as the scent of her filled the small space and started to fuzz out the edges of his brain, making it hard to think. "Will you stop that?"

"No." Hands on her hips, she tilted her head back to look up at him, refusing to move and way too confident that he wouldn't just shove her out of the booth and close the door. "I wanna hear."

"Not bad for a rookie."

"Don't encourage her." With another deep sigh, Dean gave into the inevitable and leaned down far enough for her to crowd the headset, steadfastly disregarding the fact that she was close enough to put his arms around. Not that he had any desire to do so. ...we're still not done with the denial thing yet? Seriously? Closing his eyes, Dean felt a dull ache begin in his temples. "Listen, Sammy, we gotta talk."

"Tell me about it. Constance's husband was unfaithful. It looks like we owe Pixie Stick dinner, we are definitely dealing with a Woman in White-"

"What's a Woman in White?" Ignoring Skye's question, Dean motioned her to silence, getting an obscene gesture in response. How many of those did she know? And if she could not do that at all, that would be great, it wasn't like he didn't have enough ideas of his own. ...and why did she have to smell so damn good.

"-and Constance is buried behind her old house. 2403 Breckenridge-"

"Sammy-"

"-I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet-"

"Well if you'd shut up a second, that's what I'm tryin' to tell you." Maneuvering an arm to reach into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, Dean managed to retrieve John's journal without having to shove Skye out the door to do it. Barely. Studying the book in his hand, Dean sighed for the umpteenth time that day. "...he's gone. Dad left Jericho."

"What? Are you sure?"

"What is that?"

Setting the book on the shelf next to the bag of fast food that was probably stone cold by now, Dean managed to answer both questions at once. "I've got Dad's journal."

"He doesn't go anywhere without that thing."

It was pretty obvious John had meant for Dean to find it, but why had he left it in the first place and where in the hell had he gone? "Yeah, well, he did this time."

"What's it say?"

"Same old ex-Marine crap when he wants to let us know where he's going."

"Coordinates? Where to?"

"Not sure yet."

"Dean, what the hell is going on?"

"I have-" Before Dean could finish the thought, let alone the sentence, the sharp squeal of the Impala's brakes pierced his eardrums and Sam's wordless shout pierced his brain before the line went dead."Sam? Sam!"

"What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know." Slamming down the receiver, Dean paused just long enough to grab John's journal with one hand and Skyler with the other, pulling her out of the phonebooth with barely a chance to grab the food. Not that he was thinking about his stomach right that second, but he would be later, so that was thoughtful. "Come on, we gotta go. Now."

"...no shit, really?"


The squeal of the Impala's brakes split the air as Sam stomped the pedal with both feet as Constance appeared directly in front of the car, his phone flying out of his hand and cracking into the passenger side window as he swerved sharply to the left. Sliding across the asphalt, the Impala came to a stop half in the other lane. Probably a good thing there wasn't any oncoming traffic. Or any traffic at all, for that matter.

Prying his fingers off of the steering wheel, Sam took a deep breath, trying to slow the pounding of his heart as adrenaline pumped through it. Having someone, even a dead someone, appear right in front of you while you were going sixty down the highway was a decidedly unsettling experience.

"Take me home." The cool feminine voice echoed, resonating in the confined interior. A feeling of overwhelming dread crept up the back of Sam's neck, his eyes moving automatically to the rearview mirror. The backseat that had been empty just a few seconds ago was now full of pissed off dead woman, which probably wasn't a good thing. Constance looked back at him, pale as ice and twice as cold, anger sparking in her lifeless eyes. "Take. Me. Home."

His breath puffing out to swirl in front of his eyes, Sam met her gaze without flinching. He could do this, he'd be fine. She only went after the unfaithful, she had nothing on him. He wondered if Dean could say the same. Maybe a good thing he wasn't here to find out. "No."

The distinct click of the door locks slamming down resounded in the silence, trapping Sam in the car and sending a flash of panic and another shot of adrenaline coursing through his system. Without warning, the Impala shifted into gear and the accelerator hit the floor, the tires screaming before they caught traction.

It seemed Constance was determined to get what she wanted, with or without Sam's cooperation.