Thank you to everyone that's been reading the story so far and to those that have followed/favourited! And an even bigger thank you to Angeleyes31102 and Momochan77 for your kind reviews for the last chapter—they've given me such a boost! You guys are the best!
As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
6. Provenance
Well, I'll be damned. If my eyes weren't deceiving me, and the buzz I was feeling wasn't too strong, that was Sam Winchester sitting at a table slap bang in the middle of the bar.
"Lucy, it's your turn."
I turned back to the pool table at Brett's voice. I think that was his name. No. I was sure of it... I think. I was stuck in this town until my truck was fixed, and I thought I deserved a little down time. So I came to the bar and I'd had a few drinks and met lovely Brett who tried his damnedest to cop a feel while we were playing pool—there would be plenty of time for that later.
"Huh?" It took me a second to realise he was talking to me. Lucy was the name I was under tonight. The alcohol had clearly made me a little slow on the uptake. Whoops. "Oh. Ok. Gimme a sec."
I laid the cue on the table and pushed my way through the crowd to get to Sam. He was sitting by himself, a stack of papers in front of him. It wasn't too much of a stretch to know that Dean would be somewhere nearby and while Sam was working, he'd be having some fun of his own. It was a bar after all, packed with plenty of beautiful women.
"What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" I asked as I leaned against Sam's table.
He raised his head and put the papers down. "Raelynn. How are you?" He got up to give me a hug.
Now, I wasn't much of a hugger, but damn did that boy give good hugs. I've clearly had too much to drink—that had to be the alcohol talking. "I'm good. You?"
"Yeah. You workin' on a case?"
"Closed one yesterday. I'm kinda stuck here for a few days. Long story short, I ploughed into a ghoul with my car and hit a tree. So my truck has a little, tiny bit of a dent in it." Understatement of the century. "I'm just waiting on it to be fixed. Hopefully it will only take a couple of days."
"And the ghoul?" Sam asked.
"Safe to say I did not expect it to explode quite like it did all over my truck. I had to scrub her down good before I took her to the shop. There were… pieces stuck in the grill." I grimaced. "I didn't think I could pass it off as me hitting Bambi. So while I'm waiting, I'm letting my hair down for the night. You on a case?"
"Sort of. Maybe." Sam's eyes looked quizzically down at his stack of papers. "I was just about to talk to Dean about it."
"And where is good ol' Dean?" I asked.
Sam tilted his head towards the bar. Dean was resting against it in what I was sure was a deep and meaningful conversation with a pretty woman.
"I'll go and—" Sam started to raise off his seat.
I put a hand up to him. "Oh, no. Please. Let me."
"Uh oh," said Sam with a chuckle.
"Uh oh, what?"
"You have that glint in your eye. I call it the 'I'm-gonna-mess-with-Dean' glint."
I had a glint for that? Not all that surprising. It was fast becoming my favourite hobby. And by Sam's own glint, I was guessing he kinda enjoyed witnessing it. "This won't take long." I walked off with a bounce in my step that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
Dean was punching in numbers in his cell, completely unaware of my approach. "Seven, four, two, zero. All right, you're in there. Perfect. So, is that Brandy with a 'y' or an 'i'?"
I smothered my chuckle at Dean's obnoxious flirting, then cleared my throat. Lights, camera, action. "Francis! I have been looking everywhere for you, you cheating scumbag!"
Dean jumped back from the woman as if he'd been electrocuted. Equal measures of panic and pure confusion were written on his face.
"How could you do this to me?" I cried. Oh, this was so much fun. "You cheated on me… with my grandmother! She's ninety-three! What is wrong with you?" I nearly lost it then.
Dean's mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water. "I didn't… why did…" He turned to the woman next to him. "Brandy… I never."
Brandy grabbed her bag and walked off in disgust.
I didn't know I could smile as hard as I was; so much so it was hurting my cheeks. "Hi Dean." And then I let the laughter loose.
He growled, "You are the Devil incarnate. I'm sure of it."
"You really know how to flatter a girl. Now come on," I said, slapping the back of my hand across his chest. "Your brother wants you."
"You couldn't have just said that?" He picked up two beers from the bar top.
"I could have, but then I wouldn't have this sparkling wave of joy floating around inside of me. Keep up." I made my way back to Sam, with Dean grumbling behind me about not looking like a 'Francis'.
Once we both reached the table, Sam looked back and forth between us. "I won't ask." He turned to his brother. "What are we today, Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?"
Dean sighed before reluctantly replying, "Reality TV scouts."
I chuckled. "You have to lie to women to get them into bed? Wow." I widened my eyes in mock amazement.
If looks could kill, I would have turned to ash then and there. I brushed aside Dean's withering glare and took a seat beside Sam. "So what have you got?"
"None of your business, Lucifer," Dean muttered from the other side of the table. I stuck my tongue out at him in response. This was turning into a more fun night than I had even imagined.
"Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York, were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago," Sam explained. "Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all...Dean!"
While Dean was distracted, ogling the women walking by, I grabbed his beer and took a mouthful. At Sam's reprimand, he spun back round, looked for his glass, then straight to me. He snatched it out of my hand with a grumbled, "Get your own." My, my, he's doing a lot of grumbling tonight. I am on my A-game!
"No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and window locked from the inside," Sam continued.
"Could just be a garden variety murder you know, not our department," Dean said after a sip of his drink.
"No. Dad says different."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked.
Sam pulled out John's journal and pointed at a page full of scrawled notes. "Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one right here in 1945, and the third in 1970, the same M.O. as the Telescas: their throats were slit, doors were locked from the inside. Now so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad. He always kept his eyes peeled for another one."
That was why John was one of the best hunters about and everyone knew it. The man could spot links with the smallest of details.
"And now we got one," Dean said. "All right, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out."
"Sounds cool." The boys both stared at me with quizzical expressions. "I mean, not cool, cool. Just… interesting." More quizzical looks. "You know what I mean. So we can pick this up in the morning, right?"
"Yeah, I gu—" Sam began before Dean barged in.
"Who invited you along?"
I began walking backwards, heading back to the pool tables. "Oh Dean, the Devil needs no invitation." With a lasting smirk, I turned around—thankfully before I bashed into someone carrying a full tray of drinks—with Dean's scowl imprinted on my brain.
Brad—no, wait… Brett. Brett was playing a solo game of pool when I got back to him. "Sorry about that."
"Who were they?" he asked as he laid the cue back down on the table.
"Oh, just some old co-workers of mine. Now where were we?" I reached out to pick up his cue when his hand covered mine.
"Well, if memory serves," he said as he stepped into me, hands on my hips, so we were chest to chest. "We were just about to call it quits with the game and I was about to take you home with me."
Coyly, I looked up into his eyes, biting my lip. "Is that right?" Yeah, I could play sexy when I wanted to.
He stepped in closer—if that was even possible. His head slowly lowered until his lips were just hovering over mine. "Yeah. If that's—"
"Heather?"
I froze at Dean's voice. He wouldn't! Oh, who was I kiddin'? Of course he would! "Oh, come on," I muttered as I stepped back from Brett.
Dean stood at the side of the table. I was sure to Brett that Dean looked like his smile was completely innocent. I knew it was anything but. I braced myself for whatever humiliating scenario he was about to create.
"Heather I am so glad I ran into you. The clinic has been trying to call you all day." He moved closer to me and lowered his voice. But not low enough to keep the words from reaching Brett's ears. "We got your results back today, and that rash? Well, turns out it's quite contagious, so you might wanna avoid skin-on-skin contact until it clears up."
I didn't have to turn around. Brett had left. His footsteps had skittered across the floor as soon as the word 'rash' had left Dean's mouth.
Dean and I stared at one another for a long moment as I tried to fry his brain with my gaze. No such luck. Then Dean began to lick his fingers and rubbed his stomach.
"What are you doing?" I sneered.
"Sorry, it's just that revenge tastes so good. And I get what you mean now about that, what was it? Sparkling wave of joy."
"Ha. What a funny guy. Note the sarcasm." I stepped up to Dean, just as Brett had done to me. "You know you've started a war, right? One that you have zero chance of winning."
Dean leant closer, lips descending towards mine. He wouldn't dare. "Whatever you say, Princess." We stood there, in a silent battle of wills before Dean jerked back and grabbed the pool stick, rapping it on the table. "Now rack 'em up."
Ok, I guessed I'd asked for it when I messed with Dean's fun and games, but that didn't mean I was going to take it lying down. If I couldn't have any extra-curricular fun tonight, then neither could he. Dean Winchester was officially c-blocked tonight.
As I lined up my shot ten minutes into the game, with Sam playing referee from his stool, Dean's head almost did a full-on exorcist turn as he checked out two blonde ladies passing by.
"Save yourself the embarrassment, Deanie. I've got a whole load of scenarios ready to go." I tapped the side of my head.
He silently chuckled, waiting for his turn. He had to wait a while; longer than he had the patience for. When I'd won the second game in a row, and Dean had hardly been on the table, he started to crack under the pressure. I knew I should have put money on the games.
"Cheating," Dean said, shaking his head. "She has to be." He turned to Sam. "Have you even been paying attention?"
Sam held his hands up in surrender, laughing. "It's not my fault you're getting beat."
"No surprise Satan's cheating," Dean murmured.
I waited until Dean took a mouthful of beer to respond. "Nah, I'm not cheating... I'm just really good at handling balls."
Beer spurted from his mouth and rained down his shirt as he choked.
Best. Night. Ever.
We spent a few more hours at the bar before we went our separate ways. I'd agreed with Sam to meet the boys at the Telesca house in the morning. Dean was too busy stumbling to the backseat of the Impala to notice.
When I pulled up outside the house the next day, the Winchesters were already there. At least one was. Sam stood leaning against the car, hands in his jacket pockets. As I climbed out of my rented car and got closer, I noticed Dean, fast asleep, in the passenger seat. "Snoring Beauty can't handle her liquor?"
Sam chuckled. "Nah, she just needs her beauty sleep."
How the hell Dean didn't wake himself up from that snoring would remain a mystery.
"Alright, let's get to it," I said as we headed for the front door. "So, what are we thinking? Ghost?"
"Maybe. We can do an EMF sweep, see what we find."
I got the honours of picking the lock and when we got inside, we stopped dead. The place was empty. Completely. There wasn't a single piece of furniture to be seen.
"Erm…" I muttered.
"Huh." Good to see Sam was just as confused as I was. Yet we needed to sweep the place regardless. Sam took the top floor, while I swept downstairs. My EMF meter didn't so much as flicker. Neither had Sam's.
We went back out to the car, scratching our heads—metaphorically of course; we hadn't suddenly been attacked by fleas. When we were by the car, Sam nudged my arm and ran around to the driver's side and leaned his arm in, reaching for the horn. He looked up at me and mouthed 'three… two… one."
As he laid on the horn, I banged the top of the car on the passenger side. Dean woke with a yelp and Sam and I burst out laughing.
"Goddamnit!" Dean yelled. "And don't bang Baby like that; she bruises easily," he said to me as I climbed into the backseat.
"I'm sure she'll recover a lot quicker than you seem to be recovering from last night. You should really watch your liquor intake."
Dean mumbled something unintelligible.
"We just swept the Telesca house with EMF," Sam explained. "It's clean. I checked the history of the house last night, and there was nothing strange about the Telescas."
"All right, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something," Dean said.
"The house is clean," Sam repeated.
"Yeah, I know, you said that."
I propped myself against the passenger seat and leaned between the boys. "He means it's completely empty. There's no furniture or anything."
Dean's gaze bounced between Sam and I. "Where's all their stuff?"
Turned out that the Telesca's furniture was being sold at Daniel Blake's Auction House. And it was… fancy, to say the least. I even squirmed a little in the parking lot at the sight of my rent-a-car parked alongside the high-end cars. At least I didn't have my truck. I mean, I loved my truck, but I knew she wasn't much of a looker. But I'd die before I admitted that to Dean.
When we got inside, I split away from the boys to cover more ground. We needed to find the items fast 'cause I didn't think it was gonna take long for us to be kicked out of the joint. There was classical music playing and people talking in muted voices. The guys and I had clearly missed the dress code; there were penguin suits and pearls everywhere.
I found the Telesca's furniture and scanned the place for the boys. They were talking to a man who didn't exactly seem too impressed with their presence. No surprise seeing as Dean was stuffing his face. How that man got anything done was beyond me. When Sam caught my eye, I waved my hand to call him over. He nudged Dean, said something to the man, and headed my way.
"What are you doing?" I hissed at Dean as he brushed crumbs off his shirt with one hand while the other held a glass of champagne.
He shrugged in response. "Free food and alcohol."
I shook my head and gestured over to the one particular item from the estate that had caught my eye. "If anything's gonna be cursed… That is one scary-ass painting."
And it was. It was a painting of a family—mother and father with three children all cloaked in black. They looked half-dead and completely miserable. Why did no one ever smile in these old-ass portraits?
I was about to slyly take my EMF meter out of my jacket pocket to get a reading, when a voice interrupted us and I shoved the meter back.
"A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?" A young woman in a black dress was coming down the spiral staircase behind us.
Dean slapped Sam on the back. I rolled my eyes. Men.
"Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses," Sam said as the woman walked towards us. "But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did."
"Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake." She held out her hand to shake Sam's.
Dean grabbed more finger food and once again shoved it in his mouth. The sound of his chewing was fast getting on my nerves.
"I'm Sam. This is my brother, Dean," said Sam with a look of exasperation at Dean. "And our friend—"
I held my own hand out to shake hers, cutting Sam off. "Heather."
Dean scoffed. I think it was supposed to be a laugh. Hard to tell with his mouth full of food.
"Nice to meet you both," Sarah said. "Dean, can we get you some more mini quiche?"
"I'm good, thanks," Dean said, chewing his food like a…
"Pig," I muttered out the side of my mouth so only he could hear.
"Oink." I smothered a laugh at Dean's response.
"So, can I help you with something?" Sarah asked us. Actually, no, she didn't ask us. She was talking to Sam… and only Sam. Interesting.
"Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?" Sam asked.
Sarah shivered. "The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones."
They were staring at each other, smiling, both of their eyes shining. Well, well, well. Go Sammy.
"Is it possible to see the provenances?"
The man I'd seen talking to Dean and Sam came up to join us. "I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that."
"Why not?" Sam asked.
"You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave." Great. We were so close. No doubt it had been Dean that had put us on this guy's radar.
"Well, we don't have to be told twice," Dean said haughtily.
"Apparently you do."
Before Dean could respond, I stepped in, hoping to keep the tension down. "I apologise for the intrusion. We'll be on our way. Thank you for your help, Sarah." I smiled at her before pushing Dean away. Sam lagged behind us.
We decided to regroup and come up with a way to get our hands on the provenance; that would confirm one way or another whether the painting was haunted or not. And if I were a betting kinda gal, then I knew which one of us was more likely to get access to it.
I told the boys to move from the motel they'd stayed in last night, which was on the outer edges of town. One, because it was more convenient, and two… well I just wanted to see their faces when they stepped into their room.
We pulled up in our vehicles and I hopped on over to the boys as they made their way to their new room, key in hand.
"Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?" Dean was asking Sam as I approached.
"Art history course. It's good for meeting girls."
Dean stuck the key into the lock. "It's like I don't even know you."
"Don't be offended, Sam. Dean just has no idea that women actually find intelligence attractive." I smirked.
"Hey, I can't help the fact that women just look at me and want me," Dean said.
"Yeah, ok, Mr TV Scout." I patted his arm mockingly.
Dean grumbled and finally opened the door. As they stepped in, they stopped dead in their tracks and both muttered, "Huh." Always so in sync.
The room was disco come to life. Monochrome and 70s chic. I had to say, I was a little disappointed. I thought it would be just like mine. Guess the motel had themed rooms and I'd drawn the short straw.
"This is so not fair. My room is way worse than yours."
"Worse than this?" Dean asked. "I feel like I've walked into a room of aluminum."
He wasn't wrong, but mine was next level. "My room looks like Austin Powers threw up in it. It gives me headaches."
"Aww, poor Princess." Dean messed up my hair before I managed to shove him away. I flipped him off as they dumped their bags on their beds.
"What was the...providence?" Dean asked, getting us back on the topic at hand.
"Prov-e-nance," Sam emphasised. "It's a certificate of origin, like a biography. We can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past."
"Huh. Well, we're not getting anything out of chuckles, but Sarah..." Dean snapped his fingers at Sam with a smirk.
"Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin." Sam's own smirk was out in full force.
Dean laughed. "Not me."
"No, no, no. Pick-ups are your thing Dean."
"Oh yeah, he's a master," I muttered under my breath.
"It wasn't my butt she was checking out," Dean said.
"I hate to say it… and I mean I really hate to say it, but I'm with Dean on this. God, I feel like I'm breaking out in hives just from saying that." I started scratching my arms and neck as Dean dead-stared me. "In all seriousness, she was definitely into you."
"In other words, you guys want me to use her to get information."
"Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her," Dean said, with his cellphone in his outstretched hand.
Later, as Sam got ready for his date, which wasn't really a date but might just turn into one, there wasn't much else for us to do, so I headed back to my own room. I didn't often get downtime on a case as surprises would spring up around every corner, so it was nice to just pull out a book—I usually had one in my bag—and chill out on the bed.
About a half hour later, there was a knock on my door. I checked the peephole to see Dean standing on the other side with a white bag in hand.
"What is that?" I asked.
"What do you think it is?"
"You bought dinner?" Now that I thought about it, I was a little hungry. Though I never expected Dean to deliver food to me.
Dean stepped into my room. "Well it's not like it's a five star—Whoa you weren't kidding," he said as he got his first look at my room. Like I'd said, it was like something out of an Austin Powers movie. Green, purple and orange floral patterns clashed on every surface. I'd seriously considered wearing sunglasses to bed the previous night.
Dean shook his head, then stepped back out of the door. "I can't… I just can't. Come on," he said as he walked back to his room. It wasn't the worst invitation to dinner I'd ever had.
Back in his room, we sat at the small table, digging into semi-warm burgers and fries. But hey, it beat getting dinner from a vending machine.
"So how do you think it's going?" I asked before slurping down some soda.
"I think he's fumbling it like a prepubescent teenager." Dean really needed to learn not to speak with his mouthful. Gross.
"I meant about getting the provenance."
"He'll get that no problem. It's his problems with the ladies I'm worried about," Dean said, shaking his head.
"He can't be that bad." Even I had seen that women were interested in him in the few times we'd met up on cases. That preacher's daughter from the Hook Man case certainly had a thing for him, and now Sarah. The boy must have had experience with women. Surely.
Dean scoffed. "It's like living with a monk."
"There's no way. He's too good looking. Women must fall for that… what?" Dean had stopped chewing and was sitting there looking at me through squinted eyes.
He cleared his throat. "You got the hots for my brother?"
"Well… he is better looking than you." I couldn't resist needling him a little; especially not when he made it so easy.
"Ha! Yeah right," he chortled. "When's the last time you got your eyes checked?"
"I've got 20-20 vision. Anyway, don't you think you're being a little bit pushy? Maybe Sam just wants to take his time with the ladies. Not everyone has to be all wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am."
"He's my brother. I just want what's best for him."
"I get that, but don't you think you could be a bit nicer—"
"Are you telling me what's best for my brother?" Gone was the light, carefree tone to Dean's voice. A hint of rigidity had taken its place.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just saying—"
"Well don't."
Had this actually turned into a stupid argument? "Do you seriously have to be such an asshole all the time?"
"Not being an asshole," he said as he screwed up the empty wrapper from his burger.
"Oh, buddy, you are. I'm just trying to have a conversation here and—"
"Why do we have to have a conversation at all? We're not having some kumbaya moment." He got up to throw his rubbish in the trash.
"Who said anything about—"
"I swear, one day you're gonna give me a coronary."
He was gonna give me a coronary if he didn't stop interrupting me. And yeah, I saw the irony. He was giving it back as good as he got. But still, my blood was beginning to simmer. I didn't know how he'd got a stick up his ass all of a sudden, but I was about to remove it and hit him over the head with it. Repeatedly.
I got up as he approached the table again. "I'm gonna beat your ass again, that's what—"
"And you wanna talk? You? Little Miss Secret Keeper."
Pot, meet kettle. "Oh because the amazing Dean Winchester is sooo open and loving to everyone he meets! I'm surprised your ego fits through the door." I stepped closer to him, finger raised, ready to jab his chest. "And another thing, you—"
Dean closed the remaining distance between us, swiping my hand out the way and grabbed my head. In the blink of an eye, his lips were on mine.
Holy. Shit.
His lips were on mine.
Before I could think about it anymore, Dean lifted his head a fraction. We both stood there, rooted to the spot. What the fuck had just happened?
"What was that?" I asked, my whispered words too loud in the silent room.
"I don't know." Dean's voice sounded a little hoarse.
I didn't know who moved first, but one moment we were standing still, then next we were on each other. I grabbed for him. He grabbed for me. And then we were kissing again. More aggressively than before. And damn, could he kiss. I didn't know whether I loved or hated that. Ok, maybe in that moment, I loved it. Dean walked me backwards until I met the wall. He grabbed me round my thighs, lifting me, so I had no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist. Our mouths had only separated in order to breathe.
He began to pull my shirt up when, just over the thumping of blood in my ears, I heard a car door slamming shut. And I panicked. I unlatched my legs from around him. As I jumped back down to the floor, I forcefully pushed Dean back. He stumbled over a chair leg and crashed to the floor as the motel door opened. Sam paused in the doorway, looking from me to Dean, who was groaning on the floor, and back again.
"I thought we'd agreed that you wouldn't kill each other while I was gone."
Dean looked up at me pointedly from where he was still sprawled on the floor.
"What can I say?" I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the slight tremble I could hear in my own voice. "Your brother brings out the worst in me."
What had I done?
"So she just handed the providences over to you?" Dean asked as he sharpened his knife on a whetstone.
Sam and I were scanning through the provenances for any sign that the painting was the reason the Telescas died. Not only was I doing it to find evidence, but also for the distraction it provided to the heavy tension riding the air. Whether the guys could feel it, I didn't know, but it was sure as shit making me skittish. Had I really let Dean Winchester kiss me? And had I actually enjoyed it? I must have hit my head at some point, because a brain injury was the only excuse I had.
"Provenances," Sam corrected.
"Prov-en-an-ces?" Dean muttered.
"Yes. We went back to her place and I got a copy of the papers."
"And?" It really bugged me how he seemed so unaffected by what had happened between us earlier. Why should I be the only one sitting here squirming?
"And nothing. That's it. I left."
"You didn't have to con her or do any...special favours or anything like that?" Dean asked.
"God, Dean," I said exasperatedly. The guy just didn't quit.
"Would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?" Sam's line of thinking was clearly running alongside mine.
Dean continued, ignoring our reprimands. "You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit."
"Why?" Sam asked.
"So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that." The teasing tone had disappeared. With a shudder, I wondered if there was a double meaning to what he was saying. Then I cursed him for putting me in a position that I was in such a head spin because of what had happened.
Not wanting to delve into the reasons for Dean's sudden gentle tone, I was thankful when I spotted exactly what we had been looking for. "Sorry to change the subject, but I think I've got something here."
Dean got up from the bed to read over my shoulder. "Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910."
I shifted in my chair, too aware of Dean's close proximity. Goddamn you, Dean Winchester. "Compare the names of the owners with your dad's journal."
"First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms." Dean flicked to another page. "Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970."
"Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month, where the Telescas bought it. So, what do you think, it's haunted or cursed?" I asked both the boys, glad that I was fully back and focused on the case at hand. Nothing like a haunted or cursed object to make a girl see reason.
Dean shrugged. "Either way, it's toast."
The plan was simple: break into the auction house, cut the picture out of the frame, burn the hell out of it. Goodbye cursed object. And surprisingly, it went without a hitch. The guys had offered to give me a boost over the auction house's gate, but I just rolled my eyes and vaulted it myself. Dean took less than a minute to pick the locks, and we were in. Once we had the picture, we took it to a deserted parking lot to salt and burn it.
As I sat in the back of the Impala, just as we pulled in to the motel, I thought about how nice it was for a case to be so straightforward. Those were few and far between.
When Dean pulled into motel, I opened my door and made for my room. Before I could make my exit, Dean called over. "Sooo. Are we gonna talk about it?"
I froze, refusing to turn to face him.
"Talk about what?" Sam asked.
Sam's question jolted me into action. "Nothing. Night." I all but ran for my door and slammed it behind me once I got inside. Please let my truck be ready soon so I can put as much distance between myself and Dean Winchester as possible.
The next morning, I ventured out early to grab some breakfast; early enough that I was sure to avoid the Winchesters—or at least one of them. However, fate had other plans. As soon as I stepped out of my room, the boys were sprinting out of theirs, darting towards the Impala.
"Whoa, what's the rush?" I asked.
"Dean dropped his wallet at the auction house last night," Sam replied with a can-you-believe-this-idiot? look on his face.
I was pretty sure I was wearing one of my own. "Please tell me you didn't… Shit." I sighed, pinching the skin between my eyes. Guess I kind of jinxed myself last night by saying this had been too easy. They were totally gonna call the cops if they found his wallet and had a missing painting.
I dove for the Impala too, and just as I was about to climb in the back, Dean smiled and winked at me.
"What?" For some reason I couldn't explain, I'd whispered the word.
Dean simply rested a finger over his lips, telling me to shush. What was he up to?
As soon as Dean skidded the car to a halt outside the auction house, we raced inside. Well, we raced as fast as we could without drawing too much attention to ourselves. We started searching everywhere: underneath tables, inside priceless vases, even in the pots of the fake plants they used for decoration. No sign of the wallet.
"How do you lose your wallet, Dean?" Good question, Sam.
"Hey guys!" As one, we all spun around, coming face-to-face with Sarah. I could sense the situation getting very sticky, very quickly.
"Sarah! Hey." Sam sounded just as nervous as I felt.
"What are you doing here?" And good question, Sarah.
"Ahh, we, uh… we are leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye." I mean, he sounded like he was lying, but it wasn't a bad excuse for us being here. I just hope that Sarah would buy it and not—
"What are you talking about Sam? We're sticking around for at least another day or two," Dean said confidently.
What the hell was he doing?
"Oh, by the way, I'm gonna go ahead and give you that twenty dollars I owe you." Dean pulled his damn wallet out of his back pocket. Oh God, he didn't. Dean turned to Sarah. "I always forget, you know." He handed the note to Sam with a smirk. "There you go."
I bit my lip to hold back the laugh that wanted to burst out at Sam's face. He'd been had. We both had. But I wasn't the one who was played. Poor Sam, I thought with a chuckle.
"We'll leave you two crazy kids alone, we gotta go do something... somewhere." Dean took my by the arm and led me away.
When we got outside, my laughter rang free. "That was cruel. Maybe a little funny, but cruel. I've never seen him want to strangle you more."
Dean walked by my side with a proud grin. "Sometimes the boy just needs a push to be a man."
I leant against the Impala's door, waiting for Sam to wiggle out of the awkward situation he was no doubt currently in. "He's probably totally tongue tied."
"Speaking of tongues. How did I do?" Dean asked, folding his arms across his chest.
"How did you do with what?" Dean wiggled his eyebrows in response to my question. And then it clicked. "Are you kidding me?"
"Well, after you kissed me, I figured you'd want to give some feedback." He shrugged. "Something like: best kisser ever."
I spluttered. "I kissed you? Do you need a whack around the head to jog your memory. Urgh." I shivered with disgust. "As if I would ever initiate something so… sub-par."
Dean's jaw dropped and his eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Sub-par?! I'll have you know—"
"Guys. We have a problem." Sam jogged over to us, worry pinching his brow.
Dean kept his eyes on me, but answered Sam. "Is that problem about five foot two, with blonde hair and a ruthless mean streak?"
"Uh, no," Sam replied. "The painting's back."
"What?" Dean and I yelled.
"It's back right where we found it last night."
"Crap." I really had jinxed myself last night.
We all got into the car. Looked like we were back to square one.
"I don't understand; we burned the damn thing," Sam said.
"Yeah, thank you, Captain Obvious," Dean growled. "All right, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?"
There was a hefty silence as we all tried to sift through our thoughts.
"Okay, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em," I said, thinking aloud.
"Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting," Dean said. "What were their names again?"
We found out from an old newspaper article that Isaiah Merchant had reportedly killed his kids, wife, then himself by slitting their throats. And of course, just to complicate matters, every single member of the Merchant family had been cremated. Like I'd said… back to square one. But something had caught Sam's eye when we spoke to the man in the second-hand bookstore.
We were sitting around the table back at the motel. Sam pulled out a copy of the painting he'd gotten from the store.
"I'm telling you man, I'm sure of it. The painting at the auction house, dad is looking down. Painting here, dad's looking out. The painting has changed."
"All right," Dean said. "So you think that daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?"
"Well yeah, it seems like it."
"Ok," I said. "If that's the case, how are we going to stop him if he's already dust?"
"Well, if Isaiah's position changed then maybe some other things in the painting changed as well. You know it could give us some clues." Dean studied the painting closely.
"What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?" Sam asked.
Dean stared at Sam blankly. "I don't know. Uhh...I'm still waiting for the movie on that one."
"Let me guess," I said as I leaned my clasped hands on the table. "Dr Seuss is more your level."
Dean reached a hand out and flicked me on the forehead. "Ow." I rubbed the slight sting away. "Asshat."
"Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting." Dean rose from the chair and moved across to his bed, propping himself against the headboard. "Which is a good thing 'cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend."
"Dude. Enough already," Sam sighed.
"What?" Dean crossed his arms over his chest.
"What? Ever since we got here, you been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?"
"Well, you like her, don't you?"
Sam raised his eyes to the ceiling. This boy did not want to have this conversation. Couldn't completely say I blamed him.
"All right," Dean continued. "You like her, she likes you; you're both consenting adults..."
Sam's voice rose, his frustration bubbling. "What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave."
Dean chuckled. "Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam."
"You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?" Sam was getting more and more agitated, and it did nothing but fill the air with a claustrophobic tension.
Dean obviously wasn't feeling it, or didn't care, because he kept on as serenely as if he was talking about the weather. "Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time."
"Maybe if you didn't hook up all the time, you'd have time to pick up a book," I muttered, not sure if Dean heard me or not. I didn't really care. I was just trying to break the awkward tension I was feeling.
Dean sat up on the bed. "You know, seriously Sam, this isn't about just hooking up, okay? I mean, I… I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you."
A phantom itch started at the back of my neck. I couldn't have been more uncomfortable if I got into bed with a bunch of cacti, porcupines, and nails. This wasn't the same situation as what happened between me and Dean. Far from it. He didn't like me, and I sure as hell didn't like him. But this conversation had me thinking back to the kiss. I averted my gaze from the wall where we had… you know.
"And I don't mean any disrespect but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right?" Dean's voice had become softer still. "Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that but... I would think that she would want you to be happy."
Aaaand that was my cue to step out. The conversation had stepped over a line into personal territory that I didn't want to be around for. I'm sure Sam wouldn't want me knowing all his business. I left without a word and sat on the kerb, gazing at the clear night sky.
Part of me was desperate to forget about my truck and hop on the first bus out of town before things with Dean got any more complicated. But I wasn't a coward—at least not much of the time. And why would things get more complicated? He may have been pushing Sam to see what happened with Sarah, but me and him? That had one-time-thing written all over it. Would that be so bad? Why the hell am I even contemplating that? I really, really must have suffered that head injury.
Before I could chastise myself anymore, the boys were once again running out their room.
I jumped up. "Alright, this is the second time today you guys have raced for the car. Don't tell me Dean's sending us off on a wild goose chase again."
Sam swung the passenger door open. "They sold the painting."
Of course they had.
The car skidded to a stop in front of an old house. Please don't let us be too late.
Sarah appeared from her Jeep. "Sam what's happening?"
Sam led the way, running up to the front door. "I told you you shouldn't have come."
Dean began banging on the door. "Hello, anyone home?" He tried the door, but it was locked.
"I'll check the back." I ran around to the back of the property. The windows were all barred, but luckily, the backdoor was unlocked.
I got inside just before the others. We crept towards the front room, where the soft glow from a fire was radiating. There was an elderly woman, dressed in black, sitting by the fireplace.
"Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake. Are you all right?"
There was no response. We were too late.
Sarah reached out to touch her shoulder.
"Sarah don't!" Sam cried urgently.
Sarah made contact with her and Evelyn's head tipped back, exposing the gaping slash across her bloodied throat.
Sarah screamed. "Oh my God! Oh My God!"
Sam put his arm around her and guided her out of the room.
Dean and I had left it to Sam to plead with Sarah not to tell the cops about our involvement. Through her tears and her confusion, she seemed like she'd play ball. Only time would tell.
We had to get our hands back on that painting. It was the key to all of this. But we wouldn't be getting anywhere near it until the cops finished with the crime scene. So we'd have to wait until Sarah gave us the all clear or the cops came pounding down the door to arrest the three of us.
My cell rang. I wandered outside to answer it just as Sarah came walking down the path. She quickly disappeared into the boys' room as I answered the call. My truck was ready. Hallelujah! I now had an exit. But I wouldn't leave until the case was wrapped up. I couldn't.
When I got inside, Sarah was staring at Sam, wide-eyed and dumbfounded. If I were to guess, he'd just broken the news that the monsters hiding under our beds actually existed.
"No...no I was...I was seeing things. It's impossible." Sarah paced the length of the room as I took a seat beside Dean.
"Yeah well, welcome to our world," he said.
Sam held his hands out, as if pleading with her to come to a stop. "Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted."
Sarah turned to him, her eyes glistening. "You're joking." She looked at all three of us. Our faces said enough. "You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with."
"I hear ya." I felt more than saw Dean turn to me at my comment.
"Sarah, think about it." Sam said. "Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die. And we're just trying to stop it. And that's the truth."
Sarah took a deep breath, then nodded resolutely. "Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you."
"What?" It was Sam's turn to stare at her bug-eyed. "No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and...and I don't want you to get hurt."
"Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Well, me and my dad sold that painting that might have got these people killed. Look I'm not saying I'm not scared because I am scared as hell, but I'm not going to run and hide either." She strode towards the door before turning back. "So are we going or what?" And then she was gone.
I felt like Dean and I had missed an opportunity by not having a bowl of popcorn to watch that piece of entertainment. I liked her. She had spine and guts.
"Sam?" Dean pointed to the door after Sarah. "Marry that girl."
Back at Evelyn's house, Sam was unpicking the lock as Sarah looked around worriedly. "Uh isn't this a crime scene?"
"You've already lied to the cops," Dean reminded her. "What's another infraction?"
"Don't worry." I patted her arm. "Just think of this as an initiation into the Scooby Gang." By the look on her face, I hadn't reassured her.
We got inside and headed straight for the painting. Sam took it off the wall and we stood there, examining it.
"Aren't you worried that it's gonna kill us?" Sarah asked.
It was funny how little that thought ever crossed my mind. I never worried that something was going to kill me. Not that I thought I was immortal or something; it was all just part of the job and worrying about that seemed like a waste of effort.
"Nah," Sam said. "It seems to do its thing at night. I think we're all right in the daylight."
Dean stood with a copy of the picture in his hands as he glanced back and forth between it and the painting. "Guys, check it out. The razor, it's closed in this one but it's open in that one."
He handed me the picture to see for myself.
"What are you guys looking for?" Sarah asked.
"There has to be a reason the spirit is changing the painting in the way it is," I explained.
"Hey look at this." Sam directed our attention to the background of the painting. "The painting in the painting. That wasn't the original one."
I looked down at the paper once more. He was right.
"Looks like a crypt, or a mausoleum or something." Dean grabbed an ashtray and used it as a magnifying glass against the painting. "Merchant. We got to find this place. Let's go," he said, putting down the ashtray as Sam and Sarah led the way out.
"Look at you, regular old Sherlock," I said to Dean. "You have at least read a Sherlock book, right?"
"Do you actually think I'm an ape?"
"You want me to answer that seriously?"
He stopped in the doorway, Sarah and Sam continuing to the Impala. "You know, I think I've finally figured out why you dig at me so much."
"Please, enlighten me."
I didn't like the smug smile that crossed his face. "Foreplay."
I gagged.
We checked two other cemeteries before finding the Merchant mausoleum. Aside from the freaky dolls, there was nothing noteworthy there. Except daddy dearest was missing. That called for another information hunt.
Dean was distracting the female clerk at the county offices while I dug around for information on exactly what had happened to Isaiah. No prizes for guessing whose plan that was. I'd 'accidentally' bumped into her and stolen her keys—it was a classic move for a reason, it worked every time. Once I had what I needed, I made my way to the exit. Dean was resting against a wall, while the clerk all but drooled over him. I gave him a subtle nod as I passed.
When he caught up to me outside the building, I tutted. "That poor, poor girl. She didn't even know what hit her."
"Don't worry, Princess." He slung his arm over my shoulder. "I only have eyes for you."
I shoved his arm off. "Remind me to scoop them out with a rusty spoon later."
We wandered over to Sam and Sarah, who looked like they were in the middle of a tense conversation. Dean all but poked his head between them. "Are we interrupting something?"
I punched his shoulder… somewhat lightly.
He pouted and rubbed the spot I'd hit.
"No," Sam replied.
"Not at all," Sarah said.
Dean looked between them. "Huh. Apparently." Did he have to always make everything a thousand times more awkward than it already was?
Sam cleared his throat. "So, what'd you get?"
I took out the files I'd nabbed. "Apparently the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were so ashamed of Isaiah that they didn't want him interred with the rest of the family. So, they handed him over to the county and they gave him a pauper's funeral. Turns out he wasn't cremated; he was buried in a pine box."
"So there are bones to burn," said Sam.
"There are bones to burn," Dean confirmed.
"Tell me you guys know where."
Indeed we did. We drove out to the small church where Isaiah was buried just outside the grounds by a giant oak tree. The three of us started digging, while Sarah lit the way with a torch. When the space started getting a little tight, Sam hopped out to talk to Sarah. Once we hit pay dirt and found Isaiah, we salted and burned his remains. It felt good to finally get this under wraps.
Thinking it would be the best idea to make sure Isaiah kept out of trouble, Dean drove us back to Evelyn's house.
Sam opened his door. "Keep the motor running."
"I thought the painting was harmless now?" Sarah asked.
Sam turned back to her. "Better safe than sorry. We're gonna burn the sucker."
Sarah got out of the car. "I'm gonna go with you."
"Hey! Hey!" Dean called out, stopping Sam from getting out. "We'll stay here. You go make your move."
Sam scoffed and got out.
"Sam, I'm serious!"
Dean turned on the radio as the two of them climbed the stairs. A love song started blaring from the speakers. Sam turned around, grimacing. I ended his misery by leaning over the front seats and turning the radio off.
"Seriously?" I said, shaking my head. "It blows my mind that you ever get women."
"I got you, didn't I?" I was really getting tired of Dean's smirk.
I once again leant between the front seats, glaring at Dean. "You didn't get me. You're never going to get me."
"Now that sounds like a challenge." He booped me on the nose.
Before I could take a swing, the front door of Evelyn's house slammed shut. Without hesitation, we leapt from the car. While Dean went for the front, I tried the back again. No luck. Something had the house locked down tight.
I ran back round to the front to find Dean on the phone. "Sammy, you okay?... How we gonna waste her?"
Her? So it wasn't Isaiah? That meant the mum… or the daughter. Isaiah had been looking at the daughter. Was he trying to warn us about her?
"Then how's she still around?" Dean asked. "The Mausoleum!" Dean ended the call and grabbed my hand, running for the car. "Let's move it, Shortstack!"
The tyres squealed as Dean drove away. "Why are we going back to the mausoleum?"
Dean replied, his eyes never leaving the road for a second, "Sarah says sometimes children's dolls had real hair. Real hair from their owner."
I chuckled morbidly. "Of course, a creepy doll holds the key to ending the case. Why is it always the creepy doll?"
After what felt like forever and no time at all, we arrived at the graveyard.
"Brace yourself," Dean warned before he drove through the locked gates.
He screeched the Impala to a stop, and we dashed out the car. Dean headed for the mausoleum while I grabbed the gasoline and salt from the trunk. When I got inside, Dean was trying to smash the glass casing of where the girl's doll lay, with the butt of his gun.
"Erm, Dean?"
Dean looked to me. I raised my eyebrows, then looked down to the gun. He grimaced as he realised what he was doing. "Come on Dean!" he muttered to himself. He shot the glass and grabbed the doll. He threw the doll on the floor, and I soaked it in the gas and salt. Dean eventually got the stubborn lighter to light, then dropped it. The doll turned to ashes within seconds.
Dean instantly got back on the phone with Sam. Everyone was ok.
After retrieving my truck—I'd nearly cried from relief at the sight of her—I headed back to the motel to grab my stuff. The guys were planning on packing up and heading back to the auction house to deal with the painting. I was pretty sure the guys could handle that without me. And hopefully, Sam would get a chance to sort things out with Sarah, one way or another. She'd handled the whole situation well. Turned out that little Melanie Merchant had been adopted after her actual family had been murdered: all throats slit. Some people were just born blood-thirsty.
As I packed away my bags in the back of my truck, Sam was also packing away his things.
"How are you feelin'?" I asked as I ventured over to their car.
"I'm not too bad. A few bruises, that's all."
"Not what I was talking about," I said with a smile.
Sam sighed, head titled to the sky. "Not you too."
I laughed. I may have felt sorry for him numerous times over the past couple of days, but that didn't mean I entirely thought Dean was being an asshole. "I know Dean's been giving you a hard time, but he's doing it because he loves you. And… I think he might be right."
Sam shook his head in disbelief. "You're agreeing with Dean again. I didn't think I'd ever see the day the first time, let alone a second."
"Yeah, well, don't tell him I said that." I stepped closer to him as Dean came out and lowered my voice. "It's just that she's obviously into you, and you get this cute little smile and your eyes go all funny when you see her. This life likes to deal out a hell of a lot of shit hands. Take whatever sliver of happiness you can get, even if it's just for a moment." I stepped back once Dean got within hearing range. Sam didn't need it coming from both of us at once. "And that concludes the Dr Phil portion of our evening. I'll see you around, Sam."
"Take care, Rae. And thank you." He gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder then headed back into the room to grab more bags as Dean stopped beside me.
There was one more thing I needed to do before I left. I couldn't leave with Dean thinking he had the upper hand. I couldn't. There was just something in me that wouldn't allow it. I made sure Sam was still in his room before I grabbed hold of Dean's shirt and shoved him up against the Impala. And I kissed him. Yep. I did that. Voluntarily.
I pulled back. Dean's eyes were glazed over. "Try kissing me again, and my knee will become very well acquainted with your balls." I patted his cheek. "See you around, Deanie."
With that, I skipped away from his slack-jawed, frozen form, over to my truck. Overall, it had been a successful case: murderous little ghost girl gone for good and a speechless Dean Winchester in my rear-view mirror. Yeah, not a bad few days' work at all.
