"Nothing," Dean shot a wary glance at Sam before attempting his best seductive smile, the woman, however, didn't seem impressed with his effort. She surveyed them, before her scowl faded slightly and her eyebrows rose.
"You two reporters?"
"Sure," Dean looked towards Sam, surprised that he had spoken. "I'm Samuel Abbot and this is my brother, we heard that Melissa Yeo used to live here and came to find out some information."
She nodded and stepped back from the door, "my name's Cynthia, Melissa was my mom."
"I'm so sorry."
Dean had always been jealous that Sam was able to turn his sympathetic voice on and off at will, when he could never manage it. He always ended up sounding like he was trying not to laugh, even when he wasn't even considering laughing.
"Thanks, you two going to come in? I'll do anything to help clear my mother's name."
Sam walked in first and Dean followed him, being led to a living room. It looked ordinary, photos still up on the wall; some wilted flowers in a vase on the mantle-piece and a few books and magazines strewn about. Cynthia went and say down on a sofa and Sam took the chair opposite, leaving Dean standing upright.
Dean took out a notebook and a pen, trying to appear a genuine reporter. "What happened to your mom?" He attempted the sympathetic voice but she scowled at him again and he cursed himself internally, he had to stop trying that.
"She wasn't suicidal, and she wasn't homicidal. She loved my step-dad and he loved her. It wasn't her fault, I've been talking to people and they say that there is something in the water supply that's making people crazy."
Sam nodded understandingly, "I know this is a personal question but, did your step-father ever hit your mother? Ever hurt her?"
"No." She said the word sternly before sighing, "everyone has been blaming him as well, saying that he would have had to have done something but he raised me since I was six years old and he never did anything to hurt her."
"Was Melissa acting strange before the incident?"
"No, she was normal." Cynthia's eyes caught onto a clock that was hung on the wall and she paused, "there was something. I was talking to her on the phone and at eight o'clock, exactly at eight she stopped in the middle of her sentence and hung up. I just assumed that she had to run off somewhere she'd forgotten about and didn't think anything more of it until the police rang me to tell me about the deaths." She sighed heavily, "I don't live in town; I live a hundred miles away. But I swear that people are blaming me, saying that I could have done something to stop it."
"Trust me, you couldn't have done. I've felt like that before…" Dean realised what he was saying and stopped instantly. He had been about to mention his mother and he couldn't let Sam realise that he felt guilty for her death. He accepted that she was gone, and that at four years old he had been practically helpless but sometimes he still wondered if he could have done something, anything to stop it. If he'd gone to see Sam and saw the demon attack, alerting his father in time to save her; or if he had thrown a tantrum and she had paid attention to him instead of to Sam… he shook his head at himself. He couldn't let himself think about things like that… it wasn't healthy for him to let the emotions creep up on him, because then they could engulf him.
He expected Cynthia to react angrily to his sympathy but she shot him a smile that he usually saw victims reserve for Sam. He then realised that it was because he hadn't faked it, he had honestly felt sorry for her. He wondered if Sam honestly felt sorry for them, or if he was just a better actor. If he wasn't acting, Dean felt he was starting to understand why Sam was so despondent; he let himself become too engrossed in the people that they couldn't save.
"Well we should be going, deadlines and things."
"Okay, thank you for listening to me and not just writing her off for what she did."
"No problem."
Dean was barely listening to what Sam and Cynthia were saying to each other but he followed obediently when Sam left. The moment they were in the car Sam spoke up, "you couldn't have stopped…"
"No chick-flick moments," Dean muttered the sentence automatically, selecting the loudest music he had in the car to drown Sam out. He didn't need Sam's sympathy, even though at times he knew that he wanted to have it. But he had to be the older brother, the invincible one, the one who could cope.
"Fine," Sam shouted over the music as Dean pulled the car away, heading in the direction of the motel, "but it's already five o'clock, we need to work out what's wrong in the next three hours or…" He left the sentence hanging but Dean knew what he meant. At eight o'clock two more people were going to die unless they could stop them.
