Chapter 3

"Do you think it's too late?" Dean asked as he glanced at the Impala's radio clock. Traffic had been God-awful, and after some serious swearing, several impolite hand gestures, and a couple of brushes with death, the boys had arrived at their destination at 7:15.

Sam slowly pried his white-knuckled hands from the dash with a wince. He hadn't believed that it was possible to break so many traffic laws at once, but then again his brother was always surprising him.

"No, I don't think so," he finally said, flexing his cramped fingers. "You're forgetting that this is a college, it's never too late."

"Good, you'll feel right at home frat boy. Now get your ass up." Dean had already climbed from the car in the length of time it took for Sam to catch his breath and was now rocking impatiently on his heels.

Sam glared at his brother as he unfolded his long frame from the passenger seat. One of these days he thought to himself you won't know when or how, but I will get my revenge.

Dean, however, couldn't care less as to what his sibling was plotting as he checked his hair in the reflection of the Impala's gorgeous paint job. The original paint job he thought with satisfaction.

"Hey, I look alright?" he opened his arms and backed away from the car so that Sam could view the whole picture.

"I'm flattered Dean, really, but I don't swing that way."

Dean rolled his eyes and walked around the rear of the car to join his brother. "While you're opinion is so important to me, I'm a little more concerned about the college chicks we're gonna meet in there," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Dude, you know, college chicks. I can't believe that in four years you didn't take complete advantage of the situation. I mean, all those girls…"

Dean let the sentence hang when he noticed the pained expression that flashed across Sam's face. It was nearly imperceptible: a twitch of his lips and a sudden glaze of his eyes. It was just a flicker, and was gone as soon as it had appeared. No one else would have noticed, no one except his big brother.

"Sammy, look I didn't mean…" Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed softly.

"Forget it," Sam said quickly. "Let's just find Emily."

Dean gave Sam's shoulder one more squeeze for good measure before turning towards the building before them.

Kennesaw State's student housing was unique; apartments rather than the cramped dorms found at most universities. The exteriors of the buildings were constructed of red brick and some sort of cousin of stucco, the latter material painted in black and gold, the school's colors. Not a pretty color combo for the architecture of the building, in Dean's mind, but so long as it was full of school spirit (and hot chicks) he guessed that was all that mattered.

Thankfully, the detective who'd taken Emily's statement had jotted down the apartment number: 207. Said detective, however, had failed to obtain any useful information from Miss Russell. The report read ", Cara would never do such a thing, I can't believe that she was involved."

The brothers, Sam toting the pilfered police file, crossed the parking lot full of Hondas and Saturns and entered the apartment building. The halls and stairwells were filled with students, laughing and joking as they headed out after a long day of class. Sam sighed. He had to admit that he missed it, college had been an escape for him, but that was over now and he tried to suppress his feelings.

"Remind me again why we took the stairs," Sam huffed as they reached their desired floor.

"Elevators make me uncomfortable," came Dean's response from behind him.

"Why?" Sam wiped tiny beads of perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.

"I don't know, all those people just lookin' at you…"

"I thought you liked to be watched," Sam tried to hide his smirk.

"Oh, Sam thinks he's all grown up and funny now," Dean shoved his brother roughly out of the stairwell and into the hall.

Sam regained his balance easily and managed to choke down his laughter.

"So," Dean was all business again. "That must be it," he pointed to one of the many identical doors, one with 207 printed on it.

As they approached the door, a peroxide blonde in a denim mini-skirt came around the corner, hefting several bags of groceries. She flipped her over-bleached hair over her shoulder and withdrew a key from her skirt pocket.

Noticing that she was having trouble with the bags, Dean stepped forward, turning on the smiles and charm. "Here, let me help with that."

Blondie looked up and saw the brothers for the first time. Her momentary shock was quickly replaced with a glaringly bright smile. "Oh, wow, thank you so much!" she gushed at Dean, who accepted the offered bags.

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing the girl wasn't paying him a bit of attention. She was too busy batting her fake eyelashes at his brother as she tried to unlock her apartment door. Wait a sec…she was opening apartment 207, maybe this was Emily!

Apparently, Dean wasn't blinded by the girl's fake, Barbie-ish qualities, and was thinking the same thing.

"I'm Dean," he offered. "I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, duh!" the girl pretended to smack herself in the side of the head as she opened the apartment door. "I'm Catherine, pleasure to meet you." Then she waved a hand for the boys to enter. "Come on in."

Ordinarily, Dean would have been thrilled to get an invite so quickly from a girl, but he was intent on finding this mystery girl. His dad, however deranged he might be, had his reasons for sending his eldest on a hunt for Emily, and Dean had no intention of letting him down.

With a sigh that sounded suspiciously like "Aw, damn," he followed Catherine into the apartment with Sam on his heels.

"What was that?" she asked, reclaiming the grocery bags and setting them on the counter.

"Oh…um…nice place," Dean said lamely, taking a quick look around the space.

It was a nice apartment. There was a large living space that was decorated modestly; a recliner and tan sofa facing a big screen TV. The kitchen was cozy, but not cramped and had all the comforts of Mom and Dad's place: stove, microwave, coffee maker. Dean could see four doors; two one either side of the living area, that he suspected lead to bedrooms.

Catherine had stowed the groceries and now stood with her hands on the counter, leaning towards the brothers. "Okay, so you're Dean. Is this your friend?" she seemed to notice Sam for the first time.

"Brother, actually," Dean supplied. "This is Sam. In fact, we're friends with one of your roommates, Emily."

"No way!" Catherine exclaimed, eyes nearly popping out of her head.

"Um, yeah," Dean wasn't sure what to make of the girl's reaction. "We went to high school together."

Catherine's momentary shock seemed to have passed and she hissed a laugh through her teeth. "You guys are friends with Emily? We are talking about the same girl, right?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

She shook her head distastefully. "Love Ems to death, but I just can't see a guy like you going for a mousy little thing like her. I mean come on, she's still a virgin," she lowered her voice and leaned forward to emphasize the last word.

"Look," Sam, having taken all that he could of this exchange, finally forced his way into the conversation. "We need to talk to Emily, it's really important."

Dean shot his brother an "I was getting to that," look and Catherine folded her arms across her chest, all warmth and bubbliness suddenly gone.

"Emily's not here. She moved back in with her parents after Cara disappeared. Those two girls were just alike, all they cared about were their stupid horses."

From the girl's tone, Sam could tell that there definitely wasn't any love lost between the ex-roommates. "You wouldn't happen to have an address for the Russells, would you?"

-O-

"Why is it that every motel room across America smells like piss?" Dean inquired in all seriousness as he dropped his duffel bag on one of the two beds in the dark, cramped room.

Sam just sighed and shook his head as he kicked the door closed behind them. Sometimes he wondered which one of them was actually the older brother.

"I mean come on, can no one get any air freshener? Jesus!" Dean continued to rant as he began pulling clothes from his bag.

Sam set down his own bag and stretched. It had been a long day, and his back was happy to remind him of that fact. They'd obtained Emily Russell's address from a disappointed Catherine, she still refused that they would actually want to talk to the other girl, but decided that it was too late for an interview and had checked into the cheapest motel they could find.

"Dean, I'm gonna hit the shower first," Sam stated and collected a fresh pair of boxers before heading to the bathroom.

"Sure," Dean said absent-mindedly, laying his knife and revolver on the bed. He waited until the bathroom door was closed and heard the shower come on before he whipped out his cell phone. He sat, or rather perched on the edge of the bed and typed in 69 on his phone. The last call he'd received had been from his father.

Ring.

"Come on, come on, come on…"

Ring.

"Pick up the phone, pick up the damn phone…"

Ring.

He clenched his fist so tightly that his nails drew blood on his palm…

Then suddenly the other line picked up and Dean stopped breathing. "Longhorn Steakhouse, this is Amy…"

"You son of a bitch!" oxygen suddenly returned to Dean's lungs as he hurled the phone across the room. He dropped his head into his hands and sat there, staring at the mold green carpet, focusing on drawing in one shaky breath at a time.

Then, slowly, he rose to retrieve his phone. Surprisingly, it was still intact.

"Holy shit man, you gotta pull it together," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

He heard the click of the bathroom door open and spun to see his brother amble out, scrubbing his hair with a threadbare excuse for a towel. He'd been too busy pitching a fit to notice the water cut off.

"Everything alright?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, just dandy," Dean answered quickly, trying to add the humor he couldn't feel.

Sam's brown eyes were piercing: he knew. But he just shrugged. "Do you think Domino's will deliver here?"