Alright lovely people- part 2 coming your way. Stay safe, wash your hands :)
A/N- in this story, Natalie is 18. This is part 2 of a three part case story. Please see profile page for disclaimers.
The next morning, Natalie quietly tidied everything up from Dean's beer run last night. She had apologized to him, and he had thawed out a bit. But it didn't stop him and Sam from finishing off the twelve pack last night, only allowing her two. She felt guilty, but tried to dump it along with the empties. She made sure to keep her thoughts in check as she cleaned. That was the thing about her dad. He often didn't need to punish her for her to feel bad about whatever she had done- just knowing that she had upset or disappointed him was usually enough to set her back on the straight and narrow.
Once she was satisfied that Dean would be happy with her efforts, she glanced at the clock. 6:30 AM. Hm. She'd been at it for about 45 minutes now, and they hadn't even so much as snored, they were so deeply under. She didn't want to start the coffee and wake them, so she sat down carefully at the surprisingly sturdy motel table, opening her laptop to see if she could find anything else on the case before they hit the police station this morning.
A quick search of the local news brought up another terrifying headline. 'PASTOR'S WIFE FOUND DEAD' screamed at her from her screen. Natalie gritted her teeth and muttered a few curse words under her breath. She feverishly read as fast as she could, then started again from the top of the article, more relaxed this time and ready to focus. Somewhere in the middle of her third read through, she heard her father and uncle stirring. She shook herself out of the zone she was in long enough to rush over to the coffee pot, hit the 'brew' button, and race back to the laptop.
Dean managed to get himself up to a sitting position once he smelled the glorious wafts of coffee heading his way. He rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye, and managed to clear away enough sleep to see Natalie sitting at the table, absorbed in her laptop. He groaned inwardly. Of course she was already working. Freaking overachiever. She definitely didn't get that from him.
*SPN SPN SPN*
The police station was abuzz when the Winchesters rolled in. Natalie wasn't surprised. The kid's homicide from three days ago was still unsolved, and now they had another case on their hands. She followed in Sam and Dean's wake, keeping her posture upright and her face masked of all emotions, like she had seen them do a thousand times.
A frenzied looking man caught Dean's eye as the three of them calmly stopped in the front hallway. The officer managed to squeeze his way through the hubbub; he wasn't exactly the smallest person in the room, and everyone seemed to be in a bit of an uproar. He mopped his sweaty, red face with his hand before stepping forward to meet the three of them.
"Uh, hi, can I help you?" he said in a wheezy voice that made Natalie worry that he was on the verge of a heart attack. In response, all three Winchesters pulled out their fake FBI badges and flashed them simultaneously.
"Agents Plant and Page," Dean said in his no-nonsense voice, before jerking his head over his shoulder at Natalie. "This is our intern, Bohnam," he said. Natalie smiled politely, internally hating that when all three of them went in together, Dean occasionally wanted her to play 'intern' instead of agent, especially in the smaller towns. She knew it was to keep suspicions down, as three agents, one of them looking a good twenty years younger than the other two, was pretty hard to swallow. She knew it was a necessity, but she didn't have to like it. She just had to play her role.
The sweaty-faced, heavyset man didn't seem to notice her displeasure. He nodded and offered his hand to Dean, then withdrew it just as quickly as he realized it was the one he had just used to wipe his perspiring forehead. "Sorry 'bout that," the man mumbled, going even brighter red. Dean just nodded awkwardly, and Natalie pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. "I'm, uh, the Sheriff. Sheriff Clarke," he said, wiping his hand on the seat of his pants. Natalie could almost hear Dean thinking that this was just getting better and better. Clarke hitched up his belt, trying to look official and collected. "I'm, uh, a little surprised the FBI is here. I didn't think that a couple deaths were cause for Washington to send Feds," he said, trying to stay casual, but any idiot could hear the panic in his voice. Sam nodded and smiled.
"We were in the area, and when our higher-ups got wind of what was happening here, they asked us to swing by." Sam shrugged, remarkably blasé considering the subject. "Just checking in, regulation." Natalie had always admired how Sam and Dean were able to completely keep their composure and play their parts so well. Her heart swelled with pride, but she made herself refocus, knowing that Dean wouldn't be happy if she didn't keep her head in the game.
Clarke nodded nervously. It was clear he wasn't used to agents just casually walking into his station, nor was he used to this much activity from his own force. Natalie felt bad, wanting to spare this man the heart attack that he was obviously gearing up for. But she knew that as the 'intern', she had to keep quiet and observe until she was given leave to speak; one of the many reasons why she hated this role.
As Sam and Dean spoke with the sheriff about Lewis's death from three days ago, her eyes strolled casually over the bevy of activity in the station. Everyone seemed haphazardly flustered and not quite sure what to do about it. Her eyes narrowed as she saw two cops arguing about where to put up pictures, articles, and photographic evidence on a cork board, while another cop was trying to calm someone over the phone who clearly had no intention of calming down. She looked to her right- three cops were poring over a file sitting open on a table, not talking, but concentrating so hard the papers were likely to burst into flames, while another one just sat at a desk with his head in his hands. She ran her tongue along the backside of her teeth. These cops were out of their depths, no two ways about it. Curious- murder didn't usually do that to the police she had encountered before. Her attention shifted back to the conversation. Dean was addressing the sheriff.
"So what can you tell me about last night's murder?" he said bluntly. Clarke swallowed hard, hitching up his pants again.
"Not much," he mumbled, ashamed. "I've got all my homicide units looking for everything they can to see if there's any evidence of the killer, but so far, they're coming up with squat." Sam and Dean exchanged a quick look that only Natalie knew how to interpret- Clarke's statement didn't surprise either of them.
"Can you show me the evidence of what you do have?" Sam asked encouragingly. Clarke nodded, and headed towards the table with the three police officers still staring at the file, trying to make sense of it all. Natalie caught Dean's eye quickly, jerking her head towards the giant, still-mostly-empty corkboard. He nodded once- permission to go check it out.
Straightening the collar of her suit jacket, Natalie made her way over to the arguing cops. Once they saw her approaching, they quickly stopped, both flushing red. She pretended not to notice, but focused on the board itself. "You know, nowadays they make software that's really great at keeping track of evidence," she said in a gentle tone, more making conversation than alluding to the fact that they clearly didn't know what they were doing.
The lady cop shrugged and actually smiled at her. "I bet they do," she said in a friendly voice. "We've just never had cause to use anything like it before."
Natalie looked at her. Her name badge read 'Officer Christina Jacobsen'. "Really?" Natalie asked, a bit surprised. "That must be nice."
The male cop suddenly chuckled. "It WAS," he said. "I suppose it's not really a shock to you, eh? FBI and all? Probably see all this and more in a day, huh?"
Natalie shook her head, grinning lopsidedly back. "Yeah, something like that," she said back. She held out her hand. "FBI Intern Bohnam."
The lady took her hand, shaking it. "I'm Jacobsen, that's Beatrix," she said, indicating the man, who held out his hand towards her. Natalie noted that both of their handshakes, while polite, didn't have any of the firm grips of the typical officer. It just reinforced her suspicions that they were completely out of their depth here. She gestured to their meager pile of photos and other evidence.
"Want some help?" she asked kindly. The officers exchanged a quick glance. It was obvious that having someone so young offer her expertise was a bit unsettling for them, but then Jacobsen shrugged again, handing her the pile.
"We're getting nowhere fast- might as well get the help of a Fed. They probably teach a class on this kind of thing in D.C., right?"
"Naw. I learned this one hands-on from my dad."
Natalie quickly explained a simple technique for keeping everything in order on the board, but well spaced to add additional information, should they come across it. At first, the two officers were cool, but as it became apparent that Natalie knew what she was doing, they warmed up and starting asking questions. After about ten minutes, they had a good spread of information on the board.
Jacobsen looked at Natalie approvingly. "Thanks," she said kindly. "That would have taken us forever." Beatrix chuckled and nodded his agreement.
"No problem," Natalie responded. "Doesn't exactly look like you all have forever around here, so I'm happy to help." Both cops nodded sadly.
"Yeah, this kind of thing just doesn't HAPPEN here, you know?" Beatrix said bluntly. "I mean, you know, we were all trained at the academy to deal with this kind of thing, but that's been ten plus years for most of us."
"And in all that time, you've never had a murder?" Natalie asked incredulously. Beatrix shook his head.
"Not a one. We've got plenty of other problems, you know. Domestic disputes, trespassing, breaking and entering, petty theft, all that."
Jacobsen snorted derisively. "And plenty of that," she said bitterly.
"But never murder," Beatrix finished. "It just…it's sad. That's all. I thought we were better than that. It just doesn't happen in our town, to our people. Feels like it's an out-of-body experience, you know?" Natalie nodded, but didn't say anything. Just then, Dean approached their conversations. The other two officers fell silent in his presence. He gave the board the once-over, then turned to the officers with a stoic smile.
"Nice work," he said to them, before turning his head and looking at his daughter. "Good job, Rookie," he said, a hint of pride in his eyes. She straightened up and gave him her twisted smile back, before focusing on the board again.
"Anything new?" she asked nonchalantly. He shook his head.
"Not really. They're bringing in some family members to question, just routine stuff, but I want you in the room for that."
"Yes, sir."
*SPN SPN SPN*
An hour later, they were sitting in a small, contained room with one long two-way mirror, a weak overhead light, and a very shell-shocked man, who had his hands knotted together on top of the table.
"I just…I can't believe she's gone," Pastor Bernstein mumbled over and over. Natalie felt so bad for this man. He had discovered his wife, dead in their bed, less than twenty-four hours ago. He had been at his church at the time, with several witnesses, so his alibi was rock solid. That didn't make being questioned by the police any easier.
Natalie and Sam were sitting across the table from him, compassion etched in both of their faces. Dean was pacing quietly behind his brother and his daughter, ready to play Bad Cop if needed. Both boys knew that Natalie sucked at Bad Cop, so Dean always took on that role. However, so far everyone had been very cooperative. It had actually been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for the Winchesters, to tell the truth. Everyone they had talked to in this town was clearly thrown by the murders. The families especially- it was always hard for families, but to have it so out of the realm of possibility and then to be thrust head first into this nightmare was completely unfathomable.
Sam sat forward a bit, keeping his tone calm and soothing. "We are so sorry for your loss," he said gently. He wanted to get this poor man out of here as quickly as possible so he could grieve in peace. "Just a few questions, and that's it. I promise."
"I was at church at the time…" Pastor Bernstein began, his red-rimmed eyes finding Sam's. The depth of despair that Sam saw in them was jarring. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Yes, sir, we know," Sam said, getting a hold of himself. "Your alibi has been verified. We just want to know some day-to-day things that might give us any clues."
"Like?" the pastor said, sniffing, his eyes darting tiredly between Sam and Natalie.
"Like did you notice anything unusual before you left for church?" Natalie asked, sitting forward like her uncle. She could feel Dean's eyes on her, watching her every move, and was determined to prove herself.
"Nothing that I can think of. Mary Ellen was going to go to her doctor's appointment while I was doing Bible study. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what she said she was going to do."
"You're not sure?"
The man squirmed in embarrassment. "Well, I…um…one of the things that she and I have been working on was listening to each other," he said, shame-faced. "I'm not nearly as good at it as she is…was…" His large brown eyes suddenly welled up again. "Excuse me," he said miserably, withdrawing a handkerchief from his pocket.
"That's okay, take your time," Natalie said kindly. She internally panicked that Dean wasn't going to like that statement, but she let her eyes flick up to him long enough to catch his subtle nod. Good. She had called that one right. They waited until Pastor Bernstein's moment had passed and he laid his handkerchief down on the table.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "This is…I'm not used to being on this end of grief, you know? I'm usually the one doing the counseling," he said, with an attempt at a smile. Sam smiled kindly back.
"We understand," he said simply. "Can you tell us why your wife was going to the doctor?"
"Er…" the pastor began, catching all of the Winchesters' attentions simultaneously. He fidgeted for a moment, and then looked Sam straight in the eye. "It wasn't technically a doctor. She…um…she was going to therapy."
"You seem to have some sort of hang-up about that," Dean commented casually, but bluntly. Pastor Bernstein looked up at him as he continued to pace.
"There's nothing wrong with asking for help if you need it," he said in a commanding voice that made Natalie think he was probably very good at preaching. After his declaration, he seemed to deflate a little. "Well, sometimes I wish I could practice what I preach." He squirmed a bit again, and then sighed deeply, looking Sam in the eye again. "There's a…I don't know what you want to call it…a stigma about people who reach out for mental help. Especially a pastor's family. They see us as the shining examples of how you're supposed to live happily and victoriously. People forget that we're human, too. And that mental health is just as important as physical health. If you had the flu, you'd go see a doctor, right? The same should be said for depression or anxiety, but people think they're something wrong with you if you do that. My wife wouldn't let me tell anyone that she was seeing a therapist. She didn't want anyone to know; she said it would damage our reputations. She overheard one of the church elders talking about their neighbor seeking therapy after a divorce, and…well…let's just say it was clear what they thought about it." His mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust.
"That's bull," Natalie broke in, completely horrified by the weight of secrecy that this man felt he had to be under in order to keep his congregation happy. Both Sam and Dean's eyes darted to her, but she was already backtracking. "Sorry, I didn't mean that quite the way it came out," she said to the man, keeping her eyes locked on him so she didn't have to see her father or uncle. "But you're absolutely right. No one should be made to feel bad for getting the help they need."
Pastor Bernstein gave her a watery smile. "I wish everyone thought like you, Agent Bohnam." Sam looked over at her. Natalie could tell that he wanted to take her hand or rub her back, but that wouldn't fly in this situation, so he had to make do with a soothing look.
"Same," he said softly, before turning his attention back to the man. "If you don't mind me asking, what was your wife seeing a therapist for?"
The pastor spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Several things," he said, trying to dodge the question a bit. But Dean wasn't going to let that go.
"Like?" he said gruffly.
"We…like I mentioned, we had been having trouble communicating. We had actually been seeing the therapist together, working on our communication skills. He said that we were doing really well. He wanted us to try our techniques on our own for two weeks, and then see him again after that. But Mary Ellen was going separately as well. She never really told me what it was about, and I didn't want to push her, not when we were doing so well," he said, the words tumbling out from being held in so long. Sam and Dean made significant eye contact. They wrapped up their questions, thanking Pastor Bernstein for his time and offering their condolences. They knew who their next interview would be.
*SPN SPN SPN*
"So what do you say? Anyone up for a little group therapy?" Dean asked as they exited the car and made their way to the small, unassuming building that housed Pastor Bernstein's wife's therapist.
Natalie snorted. "Are you kidding? If the three of us started talking about all of our issues and the things we've done, we'd be in there for months." Dean nodded agreeably. They walked to the front door, but found it locked. Sam spotted a sign that said, "Ring for entrance", so he pushed the doorbell. A quiet bell tone played somewhere inside the building, and about thirty seconds later, the lock clicked and the door cautiously opened a couple inches.
"Can I help you?" the young lady said, one hand on the door in case she needed to shut it quickly. All three Winchesters already had their badges at the ready, and her eyes widened in surprise to see them.
"FBI. We're here to see Joe…Cancio?" Dean said, taking a quick look at his notes to make sure he had the name right. "We'd like to ask him a few questions."
"Of course, please come in," the young woman said nervously. "Dr. Cancio is just now finishing up with a client, he should be out any moment. Please, take a seat," she said, shakily gesturing to the small but comfortable padded chairs in the waiting room. The actual interior of the office was much smaller and intimate than it looked from the outside. There was a small waterfall display in the corner, gently splashing over rocks, as jazz music gently played on the overhead. The colors of the room were a muted autumn motif; warm and inviting without looking threatening. Someone had put a lot of thought and care into this room.
Just then, a young woman, no more than fifteen, came around the corner. She had her arms tightly crossed over her middle, like she had a stomachache or something. Her long dark blonde hair was hanging straight down, covering half her face.
"You did great today, Abby," the shorter, older man trailing behind her said. "Some really great progress. Keep it up, okay? Listen to your tapes. Remember what we talked about, and I'll see you next week." His warm, velvety voice made Natalie instantly believe that what he was saying was true. The girl, Abby, just nodded, mumbled thank you, and headed for the door. The man watched her go with sadness in his eyes. As she passed, Natalie caught the girl's eye, just for a moment. It was a clear bright blue, but that was the only thing bright about it. Natalie had no idea what a girl so young could have seen by that age to create that look in her eyes. It struck her to the marrow. Suddenly realizing that she could probably say the same thing about herself, she shook off the thought as the girl exited the building.
The man looked at the three Winchesters, especially as Sam and Dean stood up, towering over everyone in the room, with a little awkwardness. The man was very short- probably 5'5. With Natalie herself being only 5'1, she could sympathize with his discomfort. The man collected himself.
"Hi," he said in a jovial, professional tone. "What can I do for you?" Again, the badges came out, the explanation of who they were and why they came happened, and before the three of them knew it, Dr. Cancio was escorting them back to his office. As they walked through the hallways, Natalie silently observed her surroundings. There were tasteful, non-descript pictures hanging in the narrow hallway. Another small corridor led to a kitchenette area. There was a closed door marked 'Private' just outside the doctor's office, probably where they kept patient files and records.
Dr. Cancio gestured to them to sit. Natalie was surprised that there were four comfortable armchairs in the doctor's office. They each took a seat, and the doctor sat in a smaller, but very well loved wicker chair with a colorful cushion on the seat and back. "Agents, I'm here to help however I can," the doctor said earnestly.
"Thank you," Sam said, clearing his throat and getting right down to business. "We'd like to ask you some questions about one of your clients."
"Former client," Dean added, a bit brusquely. Sam pinched his lips together tightly, but didn't say anything. Dr. Cancio's eyes widened slightly, then as the realization of who they must be talking about dawned on him, his eyes got heavy again, just like they had when Abby was leaving.
"Ah," he said, his warm tone turning soft and sad. "I'm guessing you're talking about Mary Ellen?"
"Yes, sir, we are," Sam said. "We just have a couple routine questions."
The doctor tented his hands together in an uncomfortable manner. "I'd truly love to help you out, gentlemen- Miss-" he said, with a quick nod at Natalie. "But please understand that doctor and patient confidentiality continues after death as well. I'll be happy to answer any questions that I am able to." The doctor folded his hands together in an almost apologetic way as he continued to look at the Winchesters. Natalie was intrigued- how were Sam and Dean going to get around this one?
True to form, Sam smiled his congenial smile. "Of course, we understand," he said in smooth, honey tones. Dr. Cancio smiled, realizing that Sam was on his side. "Did Mary Ellen have any history of depression and suicidal thoughts or actions?"
Dr. Cancio sighed heavily, shifting uncomfortably in his seat before answering. "Ye-yes. Yes she did," he said, as if he was having trouble actually admitting the diagnosis. "It was something that she was rather secretive of. Please know I tried to get her to open up about it. I don't know how much you all know of depression, but one of the most common factors is that the disease makes people feel completely and utterly alone, no matter what the circumstances. She didn't feel that there were many people she could confide in."
"She didn't feel she could tell her husband?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowing a bit. Dr. Cancio shook his head.
"No. She wanted to deal with it on her own."
"Which is why she was seeing you separately outside of just the marriage counseling."
"Yes."
"Dr. Cancio-"
"Please, call me Joe."
"Alright, Joe. When did Mary Ellen start seeing you for her depression?"
"It was not too long after she and Mike started coming in together."
"Did you see any improvements in her after you started treating her singularly?" At that, Joe held up his hands.
"That's bordering on things I shouldn't talk about," he said hesitantly. But the expression on his face told all three Winchesters that the answer was 'no'. Sam leaned forward, trying to be as tactful as possible.
"Do you think this could have been suicide?" he asked gently.
Joe inhaled slowly. "I don't know," he said, his tone heavy.
*SPN SPN SPN*
"A demon that's targeting people who are depressed? I don't buy it."
The Winchesters had been wracking their brains for the better part of four hours, going over all lore, searching every website. They had found nothing on demons that targeted people with depression.
"I mean, the ancient Greeks, Romans, and everybody else blamed demons for depression," Sam said, growing frustrated at the lack of answers. "But we know now that it obviously wasn't the case." He gritted his teeth, remembering some of the ancient 'practices' for treating depression and the inhumanity of it. "Although the way they treated these people could have MADE these people demons after they'd been tortured in hell long enough," he said through clenched teeth.
Dean sat bolt upright. "Maybe that's it," he said, musing.
"What?"
"If this demon was a human who tortured depressed people on Earth a thousand years ago, it'd make sense that they'd come back to torture people again," he said, looking back and forth between his daughter and his brother. "Sick bastards," he growled under his breath.
Natalie shrugged. "I mean, I guess that could be it," she said doubtfully. Dean could hear the disbelief in her voice and shrugged.
"Well, that's all I got," he grumbled. "I don't know that we're going to get anywhere without actually capturing the son of a bitch responsible."
At that, Sam's head whipped around. "THAT'S it," he said. "That's really the only way we're going to solve this."
"But how the hell are we going to figure out who in this town is depressed enough for the demon to go after?" Natalie asked. Dean got an evil grin on his face.
"I think it's time for a little breaking and entering."
*SPN SPN SPN*
Around midnight, the Impala pulled up to the curb, about a block from the small building that housed Dr. Cancio's practice. No cars were in the parking lot, but they had learned the hard way that didn't necessarily mean anything. Sam and Natalie went to work on the door, while Dean went around the back, making sure to cover all exits.
Once Sam had successfully picked the lock, he and Natalie made their way into the room. While it appeared soft and inviting in the daytime, the front waiting area now was sliced with shadows and silence, giving it an unsettling feeling. Sam took the lead, waving Natalie into the front office while he went to check out the room marked 'Private'.
Natalie made her way in the darkness to the appointment folder on the desk- her target. Clicking on her flashlight, she began flipping through the pages as silently as she could, looking for any names that stood out, and wanting to see when Mary Ellen's last appointment was. As she was flipping, it suddenly struck her- who used appointment books these days? She looked up. There was no computer at the desk. Turning around, she realized that there was no computer in the office at all. But there was a series of filing cabinets shoved up against the wall.
Abandoning the book, Natalie went over to the filing cabinets. A quick look confirmed that they were all in alphabetical order. She ran her finger down the front until she found the 'Bea-Bes' drawer. Wow. If the doctor had to have his files THIS separated, he must have a ton of patients, she thought. She opened the drawer, and it only took a second to locate Mary Ellen's file. Bringing it back to the desk, she began leafing through it, flashlight in hand. There were pages of notes from all of her sessions. The neat, concise handwriting was very clear and obviously very well organized. But what was on the notes made Natalie's eyes go wide.
A soft 'thump' down the hallway instantly ripped her attention from the documents. Extinguishing her flashlight immediately, she ducked beside the desk, her eyes narrowing in the darkness as she focused on the door. Silently, she drew her gun slowly, holding it at the ready. She forced her hands to stay still and steady as she heard a door open and close, and then a light footfall head down the hallway. That was definitely not Sam's tread.
Not even daring to breath, Natalie flattened herself against the desk as much as possible. She saw movement past the door to the office, and got a brief glimpse of a long shadow before it merged into the darkness. She heard the front door open and close. Dean had drilled it into her not to engage unless she had no other option, but it took everything within her not to go after whoever that was, knowing that Dean was out there alone. He'd be furious if she followed and got in the line of fire, but that didn't make it any easier to stay back.
Instead, she crept out from her hiding spot, inching her way down the hallway, desperate to find Sam. She stealthily made her way down towards the door marked 'Private'. There was a light glowing under the crack in the door- Sam must have gotten in. But just as she was reaching for the handle, the door opened suddenly. In a sheer panic, she flattened against the wall. A small figure wearing a dark hoodie emerged. Despite the panic screaming in every nerve ending, she forced herself to stay completely still, not even daring to think about breathing. If the hooded figure turned to its left, she was dead.
Instead, the person turned right and proceeded back towards the end of the hallway, towards the doctor's office. Once she heard the soft click and lock of the backdoor, Natalie finally gave her screaming lungs permission to exhale. A movement in the shadows from the doorway opposite of the 'Private' room instantly raised her hackles again, and she brought her gun up, ready. She nearly fainted with relief when she recognized Sam's silhouette. Even in the dim light, she could make out his pursed lips and narrowed eyes at her getting caught in the hallway like she had. Chagrin washed through her as Sam jerked his head towards the back, indicating that he wanted her to follow him. She nodded once, praying he wouldn't tell Dean about her close call.
That fear suddenly reminded her that someone had exited the front of the office already. She reached out, tugging on Sam's sleeve for a moment to get his attention, and pointed towards the front door. He nodded once, indicating that he knew, but he kept moving towards the back. Natalie knew that if Dean didn't have point on the mission, that she was to obey Sam, but it still made her grit her teeth, not being able to go check on her father. Without a word, she followed her uncle.
The click of the door had come from the doctor's office, but there was no one there. A flash of headlights swooped past the windows, and Natalie was grateful that the shades had been drawn; otherwise, they would have been spotted. Whoever had been in there was now gone. Sam looked down on his niece, and she could read the resolve in his eyes. Now they needed to go find Dean.
Sam crept back down the hallway, making sure Natalie was close behind. Once they got to the front door, he gave her the look, and she nodded back, bringing her gun to bear. He whipped the door open and she pointed her gun into the night. A voice suddenly calling through the night made them both jump.
"All clear," Dean said in his rough, gravelly tone. "Well, mostly. You ain't gonna believe this." Sam didn't even look at his niece before side stepping her and making his way outside to his brother. Natalie followed, her curiosity peaked. She could smell the familiar whiff of spray paint before she saw it, but once she did, there was no mistaking the red devil's trap on the pavement.
"Good thing you thought of that," Sam said breathlessly, his eyes trained on something else. Natalie peered around his tall form and reared back in surprise with a gasp. There was a girl standing in the middle of the trap. Her long, ashy blonde hair was covering her face, and she was clearly agitated. When the girl turned towards the direction of the gasp, she locked eyes with Natalie. Natalie's jaw fell open. She knew those clear, blue eyes. She'd never be able to forget those eyes.
"Abby?" she said in a tense whisper. The girl smiled a sinister smile. Those haunted blue eyes turned solid black.
"Abby's not here right now. Please leave a message."
