Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, guys! Love you all!

Angelite: Dean's comment about drunken journeys was just a joke. Lol. Sorry, I should have made that more clear.

Anywbshowslover: I have no idea what killed Jessica, but I can't wait to find out.

Enjoy:)

CHAPTER TWO

Sam and Dean awaited the young waitress at the specified time given in the note outside Tiny's Café, leaning against the hood of Dean's Impala. They were newcomers to Ryan's Bluff, strangers, and everybody that passed by knew it, so they stared accordingly.

"What do you think she wants?" Sam asked, politely smiling at the locals even though he felt increasingly out of place.

"I don't know," Dean answered, not reacting as kindly to the stares as his brother was. "Help, I think." Sam rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean," he said, glancing at Dean. Dean shrugged.

"I don't know, Sam," he sighed. "My ears are starting to burn, though. You get the feeling that we're not wanted?" Sam nodded, looking around.

"I get that feeling a lot of places we go," he confessed.

Their conversation was halted when the waitress marched out of the diner in the same ripped jeans and tight white shirt tucked in. She ran her fingers through her alabaster hair and slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses. She spotted the brothers, slowed her steps as if surprised to see them, and then headed over to them. Dean watched enslaved as her hair flew behind her, her hips swayed rhythmically, and her tongue licked her lips.

"I didn't expect you to stay," she spoke first, lifting the sunglasses to the top of her head. "But I should've known John wouldn't let me down." Sam and Dean shared a look.

"John?" Dean asked, although he was unquestionably sure he knew whom she was speaking of. She turned to him and her shimmering green eyes shot through him in ways he'd never known.

"John Winchester," she clarified. "Your father." Dean stood from the car, finding he was a considerable amount taller than her and wishing he could laugh in Sam's face about the height comment he'd made earlier.

"You certainly have our attention," Dean said, motioning to Sam. She nodded.

"He said you could help me," she explained. "He-he wanted to help us himself, but he said he had an emergency and to call you." She looked at Dean, and he nodded in understanding.

"But you didn't call," Sam pointed out. Her eyes turned their attention to him and she smiled.

"No," she shook her head. "I ... lost the number." Dean's eyes narrowed.

"If we're going to help you, you need to be honest with us," he told her sincerely. She looked down, licked her pink lips, and nodded in defeat. When she looked up again, the pain and torment finally shown on her tired face.

"Can you ... give me a lift home?" she inquired. Dean nodded.

"What's your name?" he asked. She smiled faintly.

"Janelle," she replied, extending her hand to him. He shook it.

"Dean." She nodded.

"I know. John told me a lot about you," she said, turning to Sam. "And you're ... Sam, right?" They shook hands as well. "The resemblance ... is uncanny." Sam's eyebrows arched. "You look just like him." Sam smiled quickly.

"Are we ready to go?" he wondered, glancing at Dean. The brothers were well aware that neither of them looked anything like their father, but they kept this information to themselves. Without waiting for a response, Sam brushed passed Dean and slipped into the passenger seat. Dean looked at Janelle and pulled open the back door for her.

"Shall we?" he breathed.

Janelle directed Dean where to go as they headed for her home. She hesitated in explaining what she needed their assistance with, but she forced herself to get on with it.

"It's my sister," she began, gazing out the window from behind Sam. "She has these ... episodes. They're like seizures, only ... worse." Dean glanced at her through the rearview mirror, seeing the pain cross her face again. "She was diagnosed with epilepsy. I accepted it and that's why I didn't call you."

"You accepted it, but you don't believe it," Sam said. Janelle looked at the back of his head.

"No," she admitted, "I don't think it's epilepsy."

"What do you think it is?" Dean inquired. Her eyes went to him.

"That's what I need your help with," she said.

"What happens during the episodes?" Sam asked. Janelle chuckled nervously.

"The question is what doesn't happen during the episodes," she said. "Sometimes she screams, sometimes she won't eat, sometimes she tries to kill herself ..." Dean sighed and switched hands on the wheel. "And sometimes she tries to kill us."

"Sounds like demonic possession to me," Sam offered quietly. Dean agreed.

"Why isn't she locked up or in the hospital for tests?" Dean asked. Janelle glared at him.

"She's my sister," she growled.

"We'll check it out for you," Sam intervened. "See what we can do."

The rest of the ride was silent until Janelle instructed Dean to make a left and keep driving until there was no more road left. Minutes later, Dean slowed the Chevy to a stop at the very last house on Stonyridge Lane. A quaint two-story home painted a warm yellow with black shudders, and flowers in the yard. Dean and Sam were out of the car before Janelle, who was taking advantage of this moment to prepare herself for another unpredictable night at home.

"Shazam," Dean mumbled.

"Welcome to Mayberry," Sam joked. Janelle finally got out and led them to the door. As she opened it, Dean's eyes snuck a peek at Janelle's body, which didn't go unnoticed by Sam, who slapped his brother's arm.

"Dad! Julie!" Janelle hollered. She hurried away to find the people she'd yelled for, telling Sam and Dean to make themselves at home. The brothers did just that as they inspected their surroundings.

"Did you notice she lost the accent?" Dean asked. Sam nodded, looking closely at a miniature tea set on the mantle above the fireplace.

"Probably a tourist attraction," he said. "People come to a small town in the South; they want to hear the accent."

"Sam, Dean," Janelle said, presenting herself with an older homely man. "This is my father, Spencer." The men shook hands.

"You look a lot like John," Spencer commented, looking at Sam. Sam nodded. "So ... you can help my daughter?" he asked hopefully. Dean tried his best to smile assuringly.

"We're certainly going to try," he said.

"Julie!" Spencer called. A door upstairs slammed and feet bounded down the staircase and stomped on the hardwood floor. Sam and Dean turned to her and were terribly surprised to find a mirror image of Janelle with brown hair. She had the same green eyes, same button nose, same full lips, same everything. Dean thought for a moment he was seeing things.

"Who are you?" she asked standoffishly. Same voice as Janelle, too, thought Sam.

"This is Sam and Dean Winchester," Janelle said. "They're here to help you." Julie rolled her eyes dramatically and shook her head.

"I don't need any help," she growled. She marched between Sam and Dean, passed her father and sister, and into the kitchen.

"She's a little rough around the edges," Janelle abashedly whispered.

"You're twins," Sam said.

"Actually I have three girls," Spencer said. "Triplets. But Jenna's at college."

"Would you mind if we talked to Julie alone?" Dean asked.

"Be my guest," Spencer said, motioning toward the kitchen. The brothers walked into the kitchen, finding Julie sitting at the table with a glass of water.

"I told you I don't need any help," she immediately said.

"Of course not," Dean said, taking it upon himself to sit down without an invitation. Sam leaned against the counter with crossed arms. "I mean, anyone would be happy to be diagnosed with epilepsy and live a lifetime of swallowing pills everyday." Julie glared hard at him and her jaw clenched.

"Did I say I was happy to spend my life this way?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"Well, I just assumed," Dean said lightly, glancing at Sam, "Since you obviously don't want our help."

"What could you possibly do for me?" she wondered. The brothers shared another look.

"That all depends," Dean said, narrowing his eyes.

"On what?" she asked. Sam took a seat next to her, folding his arms on the table. He was more talented at appearing harmless than Dean was.

"On what exactly is ... inside of you," he said. Julie was evidently beginning to entertain the idea that something other than epilepsy was wrong with her. She'd thought the other man, John Winchester, who looked a lot like the man sitting next to her, had just been crazy, but now here were two more people believing her problem went deeper than epilepsy.

"All right," she said slowly. "And how do you ... find out?"

"There's a few different ways," Sam said quietly. "But first we need your permission to perform an exorcism if one is needed." She nodded.

"Okay, you have it," she said. "Go on."