DISCLAIMER: Again I wish I owned Sam and Dean. And Bridget is based off the idea of Brooke from OTH videos I see on YouTube. This chapter gets more into her character and Will's death, plus more her and Sam. Enjoy
S1 EP19 PROVERANCE
Bridget took a swig of her beer, sitting next to Sam who was leafing busily through John's journal, too distracted to even notice she had dressed up for him. It wasn't every day she wore a black cocktail dress out to a bar…hell, it wasn't every day she wore a dress period. Especially with painful heels. She thought it would be nice for him but she might as well have been wearing a baggy shirt with sweats and her hair in a bun instead of freshly done. She leaned her chin on her hand watching Dean work his charm on a young bartender. Some days she wondered if she had fallen for the wrong brother. At least Dean paid attention to her, but Sam was the sweeter and more sensitive of the two. He actually had feelings that didn't always include lust and horniness.
Sam tapped on her shoulder and she had a moment's thought that he actually took notice until she turned to read the headline he was holding up to her. "Couple's throat slash," she read. "How romantic."
Sam was already waving Dean over who reluctantly moved to the table, pulling up a seat next to Bridge.
"Okay, so, I think I got something," Sam said, gesturing at the newspaper.
Dean nodded, glancing at the bar waitress across the way. "Oh yeah. Me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one."
Bridget rolled her eyes, spinning her bottle while Sam sighed. "So what are we today, Dean? Army rangers? Rock stars?"
"Realty TV Scouts looking for people with special skills."
"Dear God," Bridget mumbled and shook her head with a snort.
"I mean, it's not that far off, right? By the way, she's got a friend over there, I can probably hook you up," he told Sam and Bridget bit her lip. This whole dating under the radar was starting to get on her nerves when it came to Dean pushing him to date other girls.
"No thanks," he said with a slight glance at Bridget that went unnoticed even to her. "I can get my own dates."
"Yeah, you can, but you don't," Dean pointed out and her grip on the bottle tightened.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked and Bridget waited to here the answer.
"Nothing, just that you don't date girls very often and there's a lot of them where we go that show interest, even if it's only a night."
"What am I? A guy?" Bridget asked. "I'm with you guys all the time."
"Yeah," Dean said. "But you're like us. You're out of the norm and guys like us need someone of the norm to keep us grounded, give us reason to keep doin' this. You're not one of 'em, Bridgey."
She nodded her head, letting the words sink in. He had a point…she wasn't normal. She was a hunter like they were and nothing good could come of two broken pieces, besides, she was cursed after all. It was better this way. "So…what do you got, Sam?" she asked changing the subject and submerging the emotions.
"Mark and Anne Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their home just a few days ago."
"Mmmhmmm," Dean mumbled still watching the girls at the bar.
"Throats were slit, there were no prints, no murder weapons – Dean," he said snapping his fingers in Dean's direction to get his attention back. "No prints, no murder weapons, all doors, and windows were locked from the inside."
"Could just be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department," Dean said.
"No, Dad says different," Sam said.
That caught Dean's attention. "What do you mean?"
"Look," he turned the journal to face Dean and Bridget. "Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one, in 1912, the second one in 1945 and the third in 1970. The same M.O. as the Telescas – the throats were slit, the houses were locked from the inside. Now, so much time has passed between the murders that nobody checked the pattern, except for Dad. He always kept his eyes peeled for another one."
"And now we got one," Bridget nodded.
"Exactly," Sam agreed.
"All right, I'm with you. It's worth checkin' out."
"We're going to New York?" Bridget asked.
"Looks like," Sam nodded.
She spun her bottle again nodding her head.
"We can't pick this up til morning anyway though, right?"
"Yeah," Sam said slightly confused.
"Good," Dean stood and headed back to the bar where the two girls sat smiling at him.
Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the papers and journal. "You wanna head back to the hotel?"
Bridget nodded, abandoning the bottle and leaving with Sam, ignoring any and all looks and cat calls she received along the way. Luckily it wasn't a long walk back to the hotel. Once there she removed her high heels and turned on the computer.
She typed quickly at the keys while Sam removed his jacket and shoes. She googled New Paltz and mapped it to Catskill. It was an hour away by car. She bit at her nail, shutting the computer off. She'd be in the area, she had to go see them…but more importantly she had to go see him. Her hand brushed the ring on her necklace and she bit back her tears, standing up and running her fingers through her hair, resting her hands on the dresser. She hadn't seen Will's parents since they picked up his body in the Denver morgue and they had been anything but happy with her. After all their only child had died because of her, what wasn't there to hate? He died because he loved her, he died because he was with her. She was cursed.
Arms encircled her waist, pulling her from her thoughts, towards a warm body. Sam nestled her hair. "You know, I don't think I told you that this was a very nice dress you wore tonight."
"No, you forgot to mention that."
"Sorry, I was distracted with the case."
She nodded her head, "It happens, least you notice now that we have the hotel room…alone…no one around."
"Exactly," he said into her hair.
She sighed. Of course he didn't get what she meant by that. After all, she was nothing but sex and she could be nothing more just like Dean said. She was one of them; broken, abnormal. Two wrongs never made a right. She felt him unzip the back of her dress and pushed her emotional baggage to the back of her mind for now. There'd be plenty of time for that in New York…plenty of time when she went to visit Will…and possibly his parents.
She leaned her head against the window, waiting for Sam to finish in the Telesca house. Dean was snoozing in the front seat after a long night with his two bar bimbos. She felt just as tired having hardly slept last night and not for reasons she would have preferred. She'd stayed up, looking at Sam and wondering how she was supposed to let go of her feelings for him because it would never work. She rolled over after awhile only to be tormented by thoughts of what to say and do with Will's family…and about seeing Will's grave for the first time. The thought brought her heart to her throat. She thought being in New York would make it easier but it made her more nervous and panicked. She'd have to go soon…
Sam leaned through the driver's side and honked the car startling not only Dean awake but her out of her thoughts.
"Man, that is not cool," he grumbled.
Sam got into the car, "I just swept the Telesca house with the EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were…out…"
Dean grinned, "Good times."
"I found time to take the history of the house. No haunting, no violent crimes, nothing strange about the Telescas themselves either," he said. By found time, he meant after he and Bridge had their night of Dean's equivalent to fun.
"All right, so if it's not the people and it's not the house then…what? We got a cursed object or something?" Bridget asked, leaning across from the back.
Sam shook his head. "The house is clean."
"We know, you said that," Dean pointed out.
"No, I mean, it's empty. No furniture, nothing."
"Where's all the stuff then?" Bridget asked with a slight frown.
"Auction house," Sam said.
"Well, let's get on down there," Dean said. "See what they had."
Rich wealthy people in their Gucci dresses and prada bags, men in well tailored suits driving flashy sports cars. It was enough to make Bridget want to gag. She's take her dark blue jeans and Victoria Secret bra top with the little belt in the middle. She wore a dark fit jacket over it since the back was only the bra strap of the shirt, hence it being a bra top. Gotta love built in bras and it let her necklace settle in perfect view just above her chest. She stayed close to the brothers, ignoring the stares of the wealthy since they stood out like sheep amongst wolves.
"Silent auctions," Dean mumbled, grabbing some food off a tray. "Estate sales – it's lie a garage sale for W..S's if you ask me."
A stern faced gentlemen with graying and receding hair approached them with a smile that said they weren't welcome. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Sam Connors, this is my brother Dean and our friend Bridget Smith. We are art dealers with Connor Smith Limited."
"You're art dealers?" he said skeptically.
"That's right," Bridget nodded noticing him look over her twice paying a bit too long on her chest.
"I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list.
"Oh we're there, Chuckles," Dean said, butting in before Sam could be polite. He was sick of polite when it came to these people. "You just need to take another look." He grabbed a class of champagne handing Bridget one and taking another before walking away. Bridget smirked at Daniel, following Dean.
After a few minutes of looking around Bridget came across the Telesca painting that had been in there house. "Dean, Sam…found the painting…it's creepy."
Dean came over and looked it over. "They look like the monster family," he mumbled.
"A fine example of American primitive, wouldn't you say?" another voice said and the three turned around to see a young woman, no older than Bridget coming down the stairs in black dress that matched her long flowing black hair and complemented her blue eyes. Dean nudged Sam, and he nudged him back. Bridget smacked them both since they lost all instinct around attractive women.
"Well," Sam cleared his throat. "I'd say it's more Grand Wood than Grandma Moses…but you knew that, you just wanted to see if we did."
"Guilty," she smiled. "And clumsy, I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake."
"I'm Sam, this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Bridget," he introduced.
"Can I help you three with something?" she asked.
"Yeah," Bridget cut in, feeling a tad bit jealous. "What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?"
She winced, "The whole thing is 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."
"Is it possible to see the provenances?" Sam asked.
Sarah was about to speak when her father cut her off. "I'm afraid there isn't a chance of that."
"Why not?" Bridget asked.
"You're not on the guest list and now it's time for you to leave."
"Well, we don't have to be told twice," Dean said.
"Apparently, you do," he said rudely.
Bridget was about to say something when Sam grabbed her arm. "It's okay, sir. We don't want any trouble, we'll leave."
Bridget bit her lip, focusing on Daniel's glass. It shook a bit before shattering in his hand, his champagne spilling over his shirt. She smiled, "You might want to invest in crystal instead of cheap Proline glass. Tends to leave messes," she said and jerked her arm from Sam, walking out with a smirking Dean and an apologetic Sam.
They grabbed their bags from the car, heading towards the hotel room.
Dean was still chuckling, "Classic that you broke this glass."
"Who said I did it? It was cheap glasses," she shrugged.
"You're getting better at that," Dean noted.
"I was mad."
"Was it necessary though," Sam asked her as Dean put the key in the door.
She smiled a bit, "No, it was fun."
They stepped into the room and froze. It was decorated in 70's theme with disco patterned wall paper and chrome furniture. "Huh," the three mumbled at the same time.
Bridget shook her head and put her stuff on one of the beds, not caring who she was sharing with tonight. She removed her jacket, tossing it on the back of a chrome chair and dug through her shoulder bag for the print out she made.
"What was it, the providence?" Dean asked.
Bridget snorted correcting him, "Provenance."
"What is that?"
"It's a certificate of origin, like a biography, you know?" Sam explained. "We can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if anything's got a freaky past."
"Huh. Well, we're not gettin' anything out of Chuckles, but, uh, Sarah?" he smirked.
Bridget's fingers tightened on the folded paper in her hand.
"Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin."
Dean chuckled. "Not me."
Bridget froze slightly and Sam shook his head, "Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Pickups are your thing, Dean."
"It wasn't my ass she was checkin' out."
"In other words you want me to get the information."
"Sometimes you gotta take one for the team," he said and held out his cell phone.
Sam took it and made the call for dinner at seven with her. Bridget sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the nervousness in Sam's voice. Why wouldn't he be nervous? Beautiful girl like Sarah, normal future ahead of her. Able to have all the things Bridget couldn't. She glanced at the paper in her hand. The reminder of why she could no longer have those things.
Dean looked in his duffel bag and cursed, "Damn, forget my gun in the car." He left the room and Bridget followed him out, feeling more drained than ever before suddenly.
Dean noticed her when he turned back around, gun tucked in the back of his pants. He smirked at her. "If you wanted a quickie, you could've just asked."
"I need to borrow the car."
His smirk faded into a frown."Why?"
"I just have somewhere I need to run to and you guys don't need me tonight. It won't take long anyway."
"Well, where you goin'?"
"It's kind of personal. There's just somewhere I need to visit."
"I'm goin' with you," Dean said and headed towards the car.
Bridget put her arm out, stopping him. "No, you need to stay with Sam and help him with the case. I'll be fine. I'll be back in a couple hours."
"No, you're not takin' my car for a few hours especially when you're not tellin' me where you're goin' with it. Besides, Sammy's got his dinner date with Sarah, I'm gonna have nothing to do as it is," he told her.
"It's one o'clock. I'll be back before it's even seven and we can go to a bar." She felt she'd need a drink or four after this.
"Uh uh, I'm goin'."
She was losing patience now and close to begging. "Dean, please. Nothing will happen to your car. There's just somewhere I need to go, okay?"
"Not okay, not by yourself in my car."
"I can go by myself, Dean. I'm a big girl. I've driven your car without you before," she said irritated with his stubbornness.
"Not in an emotional state you're not," he shook his head.
"I'm not emotional!"
"Uh huh, that's why you have dark spots under your eyes, it's a new beauty secret. It's why you haven't been yourself the last two days. What the hell is goin' on, Bridge?"
Her hand tightened on the directions on the paper, "Just…just give me the keys and I'll be back in four hours tops."
"Not until you tell me where you're goin' and why," he said arms over his chest.
She growled in frustration. "Dean!"
"I'm goin' with you Bridge. You can explain it on the way," he said.
"You need to stay and help Sam," she told him.
Sam picked that moment to come outside. "Help me with what?"
"The case," she said taking a breath. "Dean needs to stay and help you with the case while I go run an errand."
"What errand?" Sam asked.
"Exactly what I'm tryin' to figure out," Dean said.
Sam moved closer to Bridge and she backed up a couple steps. "What's wrong, Bridge?"
"Nothing," she shook her head. "I just have somewhere I need to go."
"Where?"
"Jesus, it's none of your business, either of yours."
"Exactly why I'm not lettin' you drive my car. You're too emotional. Let me go with you."
"No, I don't need anyone to go with me," she was so frustrated she was pretty sure her power could throw the damn car. "I have to do this alone."
"Alone in this state," Sam shook his head. "No, we're going with you."
"No, you have dinner with Sarah," she said.
"You said it'd be a couple hours. We can spare a couple hours if it's to help you," said Dean and the caring and emotion was becoming too much for her. She didn't want it. Not after everything she'd done, not when everyone she loved was destined to die.
"I…I have to…I can't…please just…" she stumbled with her words. She could feel tears finally starting to overwhelm her and her emotions were being held back by a paper thin wall.
"Where do we need to go?" asked Dean.
She took another deep breath. "Catskill. It's about an hour from here, up north."
"What's in Catskill?" asked Sam.
She felt the tears stream down her cheeks now and her voice cracked on the only word she could speak. "Will…"
Dean and Sam stood frozen, finally getting it. Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "That's what has you in such a wreck…I take it that's where his parents live too."
She nodded unable to speak.
"Will's buried there?" Sam asked Dean.
He nodded, "Yeah, Bridge told me bout it awhile back. Will's parents transported his body from Denver to New York, had him buried in his hometown."
"I've…I've never been to visit him…I didn't even get to go to the funeral," she sobbed a bit on the last word but kept going, not caring that she was crying or that they were watching her most vulnerable side. "They had his funeral the same day as my brother's and his family's. I caught a late flight out to go see them, to see Will, and when I got to their house they had me removed from their property. I wasn't welcome to see his grave or speak to them…they…they blamed me for his death and how can I argue when their right."
Sam's hand touched her shoulder, his other tilting her head up to look at him. "It was not your fault, Bridge. It was Meg. Not you. There was nothing you could have done to stop any of it. You tell me that all the time about Jessica…it goes for you too…you couldn't stop it. It wasn't your fault."
She let out a sob. "I never got to say good-bye."
He pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back. "You will…we'll take you to go see him." He looked over at Dean who nodded his head and started the car. Bridge sat up front between the two brothers and they drove to Catskill, to get over the next big hurtle and so Bridget could finally let him go and say good-bye.
She stared at the tree in the cemetery across from the church. She'd been standing there for five minutes unmoving making it part way through before freezing. Her heart was in her throat, she wasn't sure she could do this, if she could bring herself to walk across the finely trimmed green grasses, past all the headstones to reach the one left of the willow tree. She could see the tree from where she stood, fingers clutching the stem of the rose in her hand. She had to remind herself to breathe and glanced over her shoulder at Sam and Dean. They were leaning against the car and Dean nodded at her to go ahead, they'd be waiting for her. She turned back, brushing the hair from her face and started walking, step by step towards the tree.
Bridget walked towards the headstone, eyes never leaving it or the name etched on it. Every step made her heart pound harder until she was directly in front of it. She kneeled down, fingers tracing the stone down the face of it to trace the letters of his name. Her other hand set the rose down in front of it where flowers already sat in the hole next to it. His parents had been there recently.
She took a deep breath, running her fingers through her hair, "Hey Will…I'm sorry I haven't been by…been busy as you probably know. I just…I had to come see you while I was nearby…only took a few years, four long years. If its any condolence I haven't seen my brother or my nephew in four years…it's just," tears glimmered in her eyes, "it's too hard. I know there were some things we couldn't have if we were together, like kids, but I was okay with that because I loved you…I still do…part of me died with you that night, it still hurts and I'm not sure I'll love anyone else, it feels wrong. It feels like I need you to be okay with it, that I need to be okay with it and I want to be it's just I'm scared to lose anyone else like I lost you…but I'm healing…I have help," she looked over her shoulder. They were still by the car and they waved when they saw her looking. A smile crossed her face and she looked back at the headstone. "They're good guys, you'd like them, I know I do…I want you to know I found her…I found the bitch who did this and she'll pay for it, I promise…I need you to help me though. To help all of us like you have been, I can't do this without you," her hand trailed down the stone. "I better be going, I'll visit again someday, I promise…I love you," she patted the stone and stood up, touching the ring around her neck as she walked away. She paused looking back as a flock of birds flew away from the willow. She shook her head, heading back to the car.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
"I'm feeling better," she said, pushing her hands in her pockets.
The door opened and an older woman with graying blonde hair and a cashmere sweater opened the door. Her brown eyes narrowed at the sight of Bridget. Time hadn't changed their feelings she saw. "Bridget," she said her name as if it left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. "What an unpleasant surprise."
"Hello Mrs. Ledgerman," she nodded her head, she already felt Dean tense a few feet behind her. She was used to this behavior from the older woman.
"And you brought company with you…how lovely," she said with a distasteful tone that set Dean grinding his teeth.
"These are my friends, Sam and Dean," she introduced.
"Friends…I'm sure," she snorted.
"Honey, who is it?" a gentleman came to the door then. His dark brown hair a bit unruly and warm brown eyes less cold than his wife's. He looked like the older version of Will. "Bridget? Wow, it's been awhile," unlike his wife he seemed welcome to the idea of her. Will's mother had never really liked her to begin with.
"Not long enough," Mrs. Ledgerman said.
"Look, I know you don't like me much but I was in New York and thought I'd at least say hello," she said.
"That was nice of you," Mr. Ledgerman smiled warmly, standing a foot away from his wife who's glare could stop a bear in its tracks.
"Not nice enough. Why don't you and your play toys leave now."
That was it for Bridget, "All right, I've tried being nice. I stayed away for four years and I've been nothing but polite about it."
"You didn't go to the funeral," she said.
"Because you had it the same day as my brother's and his family. I wasn't about to skip my brother's funeral. All I wanted to do today was stop by and say hello and put this all behind us instead you're rude to me and my friends."
"You killed my son," she seethed.
"I didn't kill your son. I loved Will!" she said angrily. "But I know who did and believe me, they will pay because the same people that killed my family and Will killed their family," she pointed at Sam and Dean. "You can blame me all you want if you need someone to point the finger at, but I'm done blaming myself and I'm done trying to suck up to you and kiss your ass. You can disrespect me all you want and call me a whore if you will, but you don't disrespect my friends, they're the only family I have and I'm pretty fierce when it comes to that nowadays, as you can understand. But once I find the bitch that killed your son, I'd like an apology from you and then you can spend four years kissing my ass," she smiled pleasantly at her. "Have a nice day."
Mrs. Ledgerman's eyes widened and her husband had his hand over his mouth trying to hide his grin. He was amused. "You're welcome here anytime, Bridget," he said.
"Thank you, Mr. Ledgerman," she called back, already walking back to the car with Sam and Dean.
She sighed once in the car, running her fingers through her hair. Dean whistled. "That was some tell off. I'm shocked you didn't deck her."
"I think she got the message," she said with a nod.
"How do you feel now?" Sam asked.
She settled back into the middle of the seat, between the two boys she cared the most for in the world. "Much, much better…I needed this."
"I can tell," Dean mumbled, driving back down the highway.
"Thank you guys," she said after a minute. "For going with me even when I didn't want you too. I needed that."
"Don't mention it," said Dean.
"It's what we do, look out for each other," Sam said, settling his arm behind her on the seat. She smiled and then reminded herself he had a date that night with Sarah. It could never be. She kept the smile anyway, knowing she'd have to get used to forcing it from now on.
"I can't believe you actually came willingly to a bar with me, just like ol' times," said Dean with a smile. "Brings back fond memories, don't it?"
"Of kicking your ass at darts and pool and winning your money," she said fondly as she sat on a barstool at a table next to him. "You remember the rule right?"
He let out a breath, "Yeah, yeah, no picking up on chicks. You do know that means I get to irritate you all night now?"
"I'm lookin' forward to it," she waved down the bar maid and ordered two beers and four shots of patrone.
Dean looked surprised when she came back and set two in front of Dean with the beer, "Shots so soon."
Bridget gave the lady a twenty and picked up a shot, tilting her head at him. "Gettin' too old for it, Deano."
He picked it up, "Not on your life, Bridgey."
She downed the shot with him wincing slightly and set it on the table."Good, because I need this after today."
He nodded sipping his beer, "Yeah, I feel I need it after hearin' that woman speak for ten minutes. I'd have slugged her if she was a guy."
"Yup, one of the reasons I'm drinking," she thought of Sam out with Sarah and downed the other shot followed by a drink from her beer. "Let's go play pool."
Dean finished the shot he had and grabbed his beer. "So eager to lose?"
"So soon to predict?"
"What do I get if I win?" he asked, picking up a pool stick.
"Hmm," she licked the inside of her cheek. "If I win, you and Sam get to share a bed for a week and I get to drive the car for a week."
He winced, "And if I win? This better be good?"
"You win fifty bucks."
"That's it?"
She huffed, "And you get to choose if you want a bed by yourself or share it with me since I doubt you'd share with Sam."
"That it?"
She rolled her eyes, "And I'll kiss you, is that enough?" she asked.
He contemplated it, "That'll work." She racked up the pool balls and he took the first shot, getting solids. He grinned at her. "Prepare to be out fifty bucks and a kiss."
Bridget studied the table towards the end of the game. The ball was near the eight ball. She'd have to fit it hard enough to bounce it off the side and get it into the corner pocket without hitting the eight ball in. For an amateur it'd be a difficult move, but not for Bridget. This game was as good as hers. She'd get the bed to herself for a week.
She lined up the shot and glanced at Dean's smirking face, waiting for her to miss it. It was just like old times, just the two of them pool hustling and drinking just for the fun of it, having a good time before there was a Sam in the picture. She felt a twinge at the thought of Sam, thinking of him for the first time in over an hour while he was on his date with Sarah. With a sigh, her eyes went back to the table and she hit the ball harder than necessary, causing the eight ball to fall into the hole.
"Yes!" Dean said and grinned. "You owe me fifty bucks."
She smiled and shook her head, "Thought I had that shot," she handed him the fifty she had in her pocket. Truth being she didn't want to sleep alone. She wanted that comfort of having someone near her, even if she was nothing more than "one of them". It was better than nothing.
"I'm unbeatable, it's okay," he plucked the money from her hand.
She looked at her watch, "Sam will be back soon. We better get to the hotel."
"So soon?"
"We can pick up a six pack along the way and play poker if you want because I'm sure I'd kick your ass and then you'll be out of clothes."
"Sounds kinky," he said following her out. "And you still owe me that kiss."
"Do you want it now or later?"
"You make it sound like such a burden," he snorted.
"Well?" she asked standing by the passenger side door of the Impala.
"Later," he shrugged. "I'll spring it on you."
"Oh good, something to look forward to," she teased as they headed back to the hotel in the car, skipping on the beer idea.
Once at the hotel she noticed Sam wasn't back yet. She took her knives out of the back seat, deciding to clean them while she had a chance. She almost reached the door when Dean pulled her back by her free hand. She spun around to him, caught off guard by his sudden kiss as his hands cradled her face. The tension left her body in that instant and she found herself enjoying it…a kiss from Dean, a real kiss from Dean, not the one he suckered out of her before they were busted by Meg. No he went all out with this one. He pulled back and she was still dazed. He flashed her his usual smirk. "Told ya I'd sneak it from you."
"I admit I didn't see that comin'. But I am predicting you trying to cop a feel tonight," she patted her knife case. "It's why I'm bringing reinforcements."
He winced at the case, "Maybe I won't try tonight."
"Good idea," she nodded and followed him outside trying to leave the kiss at the door but found herself thinking about it as she polished her knives on the bed.
It wasn't long before Sam was back, changing into his usual jeans and t-shirt with a plaid shirt over it. Dean was sitting next to her, sharpening his own knives. "So she just handed the provinces to you?"
Bridget chuckled at his stupidity, "It's provenances."
"Pro-provenances," he sounded out.
She patted his head. "Very good."
"I went back to her place and got the copy of the papers," Sam said.
"And?" Dean pressed further.
"And nothing, that's it. I left."
"You didn't have to con her or do any special favors?"
"Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?" Sam asked.
"You know, when this whole thing is done, we could stick around for a little bit,"
"Can we not," Bridget said suddenly and covered for the eagerness on her answer. "I just don't want to be in New York any longer than I have to be."
Sam was distracted by something in the papers, "I think I got something here."
Bridget and Dean moved across the room, each leaning over one of Sam's shoulders to see.
"Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family painted in 1901," Dean read.
"Now, compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal," Sam spun the journal around and Dean took a seat. Bridget stayed near Sam.
"First purchased in 1912 to Peter Simms," Bridget read off the paper in front of Sam. He pointed in the journal in front of Dean to read the line in there.
"Peter Simms murdered in 1912," Dean reached for the paper comparing it to the journal.
"Same thing in 1945…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 guys think, is it haunted or cursed?" Sam asked.
"Either way, it's toast," Dean said.
"Good thing I'm already wearing black," Bridget smiled.
Security was not a thing to brag about at the auction house. Neither were the pathetic locks they had on the door or the alarm system. Bridget easily removed the box from the wall and undid the wires. She nodded at Sam and Dean, "Go on in."
"You usually disarm systems?" Sam whispered to her.
She shrugged, "Sometimes your Dad, Dean, and I had to get into a place that was set up. Luckily, I already knew how to disable alarms from my brother. He was a computer geek."
"Got it," Dean called out to them. He was already cutting the painting out of the frame and heading back to them with it in hand.
They headed outside where he laid it on the ground, lighting a match. "Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doin' the world of art a favor." He dropped the match on it, setting it in flames. "Well, I say we go back to the hotel. I got a six pack waitin' for me and Bridget promised to play strip poker."
"You're just gonna lose your clothes again," Sam told him.
"I told him that too, he just doesn't listen," Bridget said.
Sam chuckled, "It'll be an interesting night."
"You game, Sammy?" Dean asked. "Or are you afraid?"
"I'm afraid to see you naked."
Bridget sat tying her boots up on the bed, deciding it was good enough weather to wear her denim skirt and another of her camisole tops that laced up in the front. How she loved Victoria Secret. Sam was packing his stuff up in the duffel bag on the other bed. As she had predicted Dean had made her sleep in his bed and only touched her twice. The first he touched her thigh, the second he tried her ass and learned how hard she could smack half asleep.
It had been a long night after all. Three six packs later they had a good game going. Halfway through the second pack Dean was already out his shoes, socks, jacket and one shirt. Sam was out his jacket, over shirt, and shoes and Bridget had all her clothes intact. She realized why they wore so many layers of clothes now. The game had ended with Dean in his boxers and Sam barefoot with only his jeans and under shirt. She called it a night then since she had only lost her boots and didn't want Dean completely naked.
He was currently changing in the bathroom.
"So," Sam said setting the bag on the bed. "You shared a bed with Dean last night?"
"Yeah," she nodded, brushing her hair. "He won a bet at the bar last night."
"You two went to the bar?"
"You were getting the papers from Sarah, Sam, and we were bored. I wasn't going to sit up in here and do nothing so we hit the bar for old times sake. We played pool and I made a bet and I lost so Dean got fifty bucks and I get to sleep in his bed and fend him off for a week while fighting for blankets and room instead of driving the impala and making you fend for the bed room."
He chuckled, "Looks like I got lucky in a way then."
"Tell me about it," she mumbled.
Dean came out of the bathroom then, frantic. "We've got a problem. I can't find my wallet."
"What?" Bridget exclaimed turning around.
"How is that a problem?" Sam asked.
"'Cause I think I dropped it in the auction house last night."
"You're kidding!" Bridget said.
"It's got my prints, my ID – well, my fake ID anyway. We've gotta get it before somebody else finds it, come on."
Bridget and Sam followed him out. And here she thought they were going to have a clean exit from this town, case closed. But Dean, being the moron he could be, made it difficult.
"How did you lose your wallet, Dean?" Sam asked as they searched the floor.
"I don't know."
"You are such a moron," Bridget mumbled, looking under a table.
"Hey guys," she jumped and spun around seeing Sarah standing there.
"Sarah," Sam said in surprise. "Hey!"
"What are you guys doing here?" she asked curiously.
"Uh, we – we're leaving town, and you know, thought we'd say goodbye."
Dean grinned stepping up next to Bridget and Sam. "Oh, what are you talkin' about, Sam? We're stickin' around for at least another day or two."
Bridget frowned as clueless as Sam. "We are?"
"Yeah," Dean said and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. Her eyes widened. He tricked them. He had his wallet the entire time. "Oh, Sam, by the way, I wanted to give you that twenty bucks I owe you. I'm always forgettin'." He handed it to Sam with a straight face who looked as annoyed and frustrated as Bridget. "There ya go."
Dean grabbed Bridget's arm. "Well, we'll leave you two crazy kids alone. Bridge and I are gonna go…have lunch…or something…have a good time."
Once outside Bridget smacked his arm, "You are such an ass."
He chuckled, "He needs to spend time with a nice normal girl."
She winced slightly, remembering she wasn't normal. "I could throw you into a wall right now."
"Ah, save it. Let's go get something to eat. I owe it to you," he said, heading towards the car.
"What do you mean you owe me?"
"You botched your shot last night on purpose, I owe you fifty bucks worth of food."
"I didn't -."
"Gimme a break," he said with a slight smile. "I've seen you make that shot a hundred times without blinking and for whatever reason, you missed it last night."
She shook her head getting in the car. "So you know I missed the shot but you kissed me anyway?"
He grinned, "You lost either way, I wasn't 'bout to miss out on that…besides I like our alone hang outs. Reminds me of the good ol' days."
"You're unbelievable," she shook her head at him. She frowned looking out the window and seeing Sam come out of the building, a look of panic on his face. "What the…"
The door opened and Bridget scooted over to let him slide in. He shut the door looking at them with a serious face. "We got a problem."
"She's married?" Dean asked.
"The painting…it's back."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"It's still there. I just saw two guys carrying the damn thing."
"But we burnt it."
"Yeah, thank you Captain Obvious," Dean said. "All right, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?"
"Okay," Bridge sat there thinking, feeling incredibly short between them. "Well, um, in almost all lore about haunted paintings, it's always the subject of the painting."
"Yeah?" Dean asked. "Okay, so, we need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy ass family in that creepy ass painting. What are their names again?"
They stood in the library at the information desk talking to one of the older librarians. "You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?"
"Yeah, that's right?" she nodded to the older man.
"I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So, uh, you kids crime buffs?"
Dean rolled his eyes at the word 'kids', but compared to this guy they were. "Kind of. Why you ask?"
"Well," he held up a page to an old newspaper. The headline read 'Father Slaughters Family, Kills Self'.
"That sounds about right," Bridget nodded.
"The whole family was killed?" Sam asked.
"It seems this Isaiah – he slit his kid's throats, then his wife, then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade – used a straight razor."
"Why'd he do it?" Sam asked.
"Well, let's look," he began reading from the article. "Uh, 'People who knew him described Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament and controlled his family with an iron fist.' Wife, two sons, adopted daughter …there were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave, which, of course, you know, in that day and age…so, instead, Old Man Isaiah – well, he gave them all a shave," he made a shaving gesture with his hands and laughed. Dean chuckled but Bridget and Sam remained serious.
"Does it say what happened to the bodies?" Bridget asked.
"It just says they were all cremated."
Bridget exchanged an annoyed glance with Sam and Dean.
"Anything else?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, actually, I found a picture of the family. Its right here somewhere," he opened another book and turned it around so they could see it. It was an exact copy of the painting. Bridget frowned, Isaiah was looking straight ahead in this one though. In the painting they burnt he was looking at his daughter.
"Could we get a copy of this?" she asked.
"Sure," he nodded and proceeded to make the copy. This case was getting weird, even by her standards.
Bridget shook her head at Dean, her and Sam on the same side. "I swear it, Dean. When we first saw that painting it didn't look like this." She pointed at the photo copy. "He was looking at his daughter."
"She's right, man," Sam nodded in agreement. "I'm sure of it and I saw the painting earlier. Dad was lookin' down. In this he's lookin' out. The painting has changed, Dean."
"All right, so, you guys think Daddy Dearest is trapped in the painting? He's handin' out Columbian neckties like he did his family?" Dean asked, sitting on across from them at the table.
"Yeah, it seems like it," Sam said. "But if his bones are already dusted, then how are we gonna get him?"
Dean looked down at the photo. "All right, well, if Isaiah's position changed, maybe some other things in the painting changed as well. It could give us some clues."
"What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?" Bridget asked.
"I don't know," Dean scratched the back of his head. "I'm still waitin' on the movie. Anyway, we gotta go back in and see the painting. Which is a good thing because you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend."
Dean moved from the chair while Bridget focused on the table, reminding herself she wasn't jealous or mad, not at all.
"Dude, enough already?" Sam growled.
"What?" Dean asked innocently.
"'What', ever since we got here, you've been tryin' to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right? I'm not interested in her."
"I'm not talkin' about marriage, Sam," Dean argued.
"What do you care if I hook up with her?" he asked and Bridget wanted to walk outside but that would be too evident.
"I mean, I think this Sarah girl is good for you. She's nice, she's sweet, she's hot, she's normal and untainted by our freakin' world. Wouldn't hurt you to have some fun," Dean explained and Bridget did her best not to wince and keep a poker face.
"Dean's right," Bridget forced herself to say, tracing the marks in the table. "She'd be good for you."
Sam looked at her in surprise but she refused to meet his eyes, she kept her eyes on the research papers in front of her.
"See," Dean said and leaned back on the bed. "Well, we still gotta see the painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah."
Sam nodded, glancing once more at Bridget who finally stood up and walked over to the bed, lying across it and grabbing her sketch book from her bag, sketching things out next to Dean. She didn't want to watch Sam call Sarah, didn't want to hear it. She focused deeply on the drawing in front of her from her dream. The gun she was currently drawing out in detail, wondering where it would come in to play. She didn't have to wait long. Apparently the painting was sold yesterday…meaning a possible body or two.
They arrived at the mansion in a hurry and found they weren't alone. Bridget's favorite person was there, waiting by her car. Sarah walked up to them as they walked towards the mansion.
"Sam, what's happening?" she asked.
"I told you, you shouldn't have come," he said as they hurried up the steps.
"Hello?" Bridget knocked. "Anyone home?"
"You said Evelyn might be in danger," Sarah said. "What kind of danger?"
"Hard to explain," Bridget answered and studied the door. "Dean, can you knock it?"
"No, not this sucker. Can you ?" he was referring to her telekinetic abilities. She stared at it a moment. It was a heavy door, least five inches thick with reinforced steel hinges. She'd have to be super pissed to pull that off.
"No," she looked at the lock."But we can pick this."
Dean reached into his pocket and took out his little kit, going to work on the lock.
Sarah stared in amazement. "What are you guys? Burglars?"
"Trick of the trade," mumbled Bridget.
"I wish it was that simple," Sam said. Dean got the lock and pushed the door open. Sam warned her again. "Look, you should really wait in the car, it's for your own good."
"The hell I will, Evelyn is my friend," she said sternly.
Bridget walked in, "More reason you should wait outside."
"You get to go, so do I," she followed behind Bridget.
"I'm already tainted," she snorted. "You've got a chance."
"For what?"
She shook her head with a sigh, thinking of what she'd seen over the years. What she saw that night four years ago that forever changed her. "Nothing…"
"Evelyn," Sarah called out as they entered the living room. Evelyn was sitting in a cushioned chair by the fireplace, the painting on the mantel above it. Isaiah was looking down at his daughter.
"Evelyn?" Sarah tried again. "It's Sarah Blake. Are you all right?" She put her hand on the woman's shoulder before any of them could stop her.
"Sarah, don't Sarah!" Sam shouted too late. Evelyn's head tilted back, revealing her slashed throat.
Sam was quick to grab the screaming girl, removing her from the room. Bridget glanced at the painting and patted Dean's shoulder. "Check it out…" Isaiah was now staring straight ahead.
"Wasn't he…" Dean pointed to the right, a bit startled by it.
"Yeah."
He shivered, "This is just too creepy."
"We better leave here, get back to the hotel."
"I agree…"
After explaining to Sarah that she'd have to tell the cops she was there on her own and they'd have to leave her, they went back to the hotel. Sam kept pacing the floor. Bridget glanced up from her sketch book. "Can you stop doing that? You're making a trench."
"I'm worried about her."
"How nauseatingly sweet of you," she mumbled.
He paused to give her a stern look. "We had to leave her thereafter she saw her friends throat slit."
Bridget went back to shading, "Yup, and we told her more than once to wait outside. That she still had a chance to not be tainted by this crap. She made her choice, now she gets to deal with it."
Sam opened his mouth to argue further but there was a knock at the door and Sarah came busting into the room.
"Hey," Sam said to her. "You all right?"
Bridget snorted.
"No, actually," Sarah said angrily. "I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's alone and found her like that."
"We appreciate that," Bridget said.
"Yeah, thank you," Sam said.
"Don't thank me. I'm about to call 'em back if you don't tell me what the hell is going on. Who's killing these people?"
Sam and Dean exchanged a look, Bridget kept drawing, lying across the bed, chin in hand.
"What," Sam sighed.
"What?" She asked confused.
"He means it's not a who, Sarah, it's a what's killing them," she capped her pen and sat up on the bed. "We all saw the painting move."
"No, no," she shook her head. "I was seeing things. It's impossible."
"Yeah, well, welcome to our world," Dean said.
"We should start making t-shirt or buttons for this sort of thing," she told Dean.
"Tell me 'bout it."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted."
"You're joking," she said in fear. The three of them stayed silent. "You're not joking…God, the guys I go out with…"
Bridget bit her lip, twirling the pen in her hand. The cup next to Dean shook a little and he grabbed it, giving her a wide eyed look. She mouthed 'sorry'.
Sam hadn't noticed, "Sarah, think about it – 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 tryin' to stop it. And that's the truth."
Sarah let out a sigh, "Well, then, I guess you better show me. I'm coming with you."
"What?" Sam exclaimed. "No. Sarah, no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous, and – and I don't want you getting hurt."
"Look," she said sternly, eyes dead set. "You guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this – well, me and my dad sold the painting, we might have got those people killed. I'm not saying I'm not scared, 'cause I am scared as hell, but I'm not gonna run and hide, either…so are we going or what?" she asked and left the room.
"Sam," Dean said waited for his brother to turn to him and pointed at the door. "Marry that girl."
Bridget gritted her teeth, but said nothing. There was a definite attraction between the two, even she had to admit it. She tried to not be jealous, but it was getting harder and harder to do when she knew she couldn't compete with Sarah.
For the second time that day, Bridget found herself at the mansion with not only Sam and Dean but the lovely Sarah as well. Bridget and Dean were working on the front door. "Uh, isn't this a crime scene?" Sarah asked.
Dean shrugged, "Well, you already lied to the cops. What's another infraction?" he broke the crime seal tape and undid the first lock. The door wouldn't budge. "Dammit, they locked the second one. I can't break into this one…" he looked at Bridget. "Think you can manage it…"
"Not sure," she said and studied the lock. She shook her hands out and put a hand on the door, staring at the second lock. Her mind wandered back to when they had been inside earlier. She had seen the door. Seen the top lock. She twisted at it in the memory, turning it to the left. A click startled her and she tried to the door knob, pushing it open with a grin. "Oh, I am good."
"How'd- how'd you do that?" Sarah asked, dumbfounded.
"Better not to ask," said Dean and moved in behind Bridget.
Back in the living room, Sam removed the painting from the wall, setting it up against a chair. He and Bridget began to study it while Dean had the photo copy.
Sarah looked around worried. "Aren't you afraid that it's gonna, you know, kill us?"
"No," said Sam. "It seems to do its thing at night. I think we're all right in the daylight."
"Jared, check it out," Dean said suddenly.
Bridget frowned, turning to look at Dean. "Jared? Who the hell is Jared?"
"What? I didn't say Jared?" Dean tried to cover.
"Yeah, you did. You said 'Jared'," said Sam.
A smile crept over Bridget, "So, uh, who's Jared, Dean?"
"I meant to say Sam," he growled. "Drop it."
"Oh, not for awhile," she promised and took the photo from him.
Dean pointed at the razor. "Look at the razor – it's closed in this one, but it's open in that one."
"What are you guys looking for?" Sarah asked.
"Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, maybe it's doing so for a reason," explained Dean.
"Hey, look at this –the painting in the painting," Bridget pointed at the photocopy where behind Isaiah was standing there was a painting of mountains behind him. In the real painting, it's a building.
"Looks like a crypt or a mausoleum or something," Dean said. He picked up a crystal ashtray from the table and flipped it over on the painting. "It says Merchant."
"Yay, field trip to the cemetery," Bridget said already heading for the door. She was anything but happy when she had to share the back seat with Sarah though and the car ride seemed longer than ten minutes. She felt she looked a little too eager when she jumped out of the car, especially since Dean hadn't finished parking it yet.
"So, this is what you guys do for a living?" Sarah asked as they walked past crypt after creep ass crypt.
"No exactly, we don't get paid," Sam told her.
"No we hustle pool for that," Bridget added and Dean stopped pointing at a building.
"Found it."
The lock was easier to pick on this one and they walked in, past cob webs and stale air. Lining the walls were urns and a glass case preserving a doll. Sarah studied the glass doll. "Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I've ever seen."
Bridget smiled, starting to like her a bit. Seeing a person's throat slit or a moving painting didn't creep her out as much as the damn doll. She felt the same about asylums.
"It was sort of tradition at the time," Sam said. "Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a glass case right next to the headstone or crypt."
Bridget snorted, "They'd have a hard time fitting Dean's Impala in here or your library."
"You notice anything strange here?" asked Dean, looking at the urns.
"Uhh, where do I start?" Sarah asked.
"No, that's not what I mean. Look at the urns."
"Yeah, there's only four," Bridget noted.
"Yeah, Mom and the three kids. Daddy Dearest isn't here," Dean said.
"So, where is he?" Sam asked the million dollar question.
That was where Dean and his suaveness at lying came in. Bridget was in no dress code to go in with him and fake being a cop to get a death certificate looked at. She was stuck waiting outside with Sam and Sarah. She sat on the hood of the car, the other end from them, with her iPod on and drawing in her sketch book. But her iPod wasn't on max volume, she could still hear them though she pretended otherwise.
Sam was explaining to her how Dean was able to even get the certificate or talk to the cops. Then he told her she had an eyelash on her face…and volunteered to get it for her. Her eyes focused above her sketch book, at a crack on the asphalt. She glanced over her shoulder to see him wipe it from her cheek gently as they stared at each other in a way that reminded her of Will. She looked back at the crack in front of her, trying to block them out but hearing every word of the conversation as Sarah asked if there was something between the two of them or she was delusional.
Bridget prayed for delusional, but felt the crushing blow when he said she wasn't delusional. The crack in front of her grew more. Then Sam told her he liked her but couldn't be with her because people around him get hurt, just like she was hurting now. The crack suddenly sealed together in the ground and she was thankful Dean came out before she ripped the street apart.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Bridget removed her headphones and shut her sketch book. "Not that I know of. Apparently there was never anything to interrupt."
Sam glanced at her and the sorry look in his eyes made her look away, "So, what'd you get?"
"Pay dirt," he smiled. "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. They county gave him a pauper's burial – economy style. Turns out he wasn't cremated, he was buried in a pine box.
"So, there are bones to burn?" Sam asked.
"Tell me you know where they are so we can get the hell out of this place," Bridget said, not caring if she sounded angry or if it hurt Sam, he hurt her after all. Pay back was a bitch.
Bridget grumbled while digging the grave up with Sam and Dean while Sarah held the flash light. Sam crawled out first standing next to her. "You guys seem uncomfortable comfortable with this."
"Yeah, well, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?" Sam smiled.
"Speak for yourself," Bridget shouted from the hole, more or less to interrupt the conversation.
"I think I got somethin'," Dean said and broke through the coffin to reveal the bones.
"Sweet, I'm gettin' out of this damn hole," she put her hands on the side and dug her boots into the dirt, using the grass to claw out of. Sam bent down and held his hand out to her. She glared at it, too low for Sam to see her look. She ignored his hand and crawled out. He put his hand on her arm to help her up and she jerked away, getting up on her own and turning around to give Dean a hand.
She grabbed her bag and handed him the rock salt and gasoline then removed the pack of matches from her boot.
"You've been a pain in the ass, Isaiah," Dean lit the match. "Good riddance," he dropped it watching the grave catch fire. They all sighed watching it, but Bridget didn't feel that relief. It wasn't over, something wasn't right.
"Maybe we should toast the painting again or bury it."
"Why?" Dean asked as they headed back to the car.
"Just a feeling I got, okay?"
He shrugged, "All right."
They got back to the mansion and Bridget got out of the car, Sam following her and so was Sarah. "I thought it was harmless now."
"Better safe than sorry," Bridget said.
"I wanna come with you two."
"You sure?" Sam asked and Bridget locked her jaw. She was done. She had lost. No big deal.
"Yeah."
"I'll just wait here," Dean shouted from the car. "You kids have fun."
They entered the living room and the three froze staring at the painting…the daughter was missing.
"What the hell…" Bridget trailed off, looking around the room.
"Uh, Bridge? Sam? I'm no expert at this ghost stuff…but is the painting supposed to look like that? Where's the little girl?"
"I got a better question," Bridget said pointing at the table in the painting. "Where's the razor?"
They heard a little girl laughing from somewhere in the house and the front door slammed shut.
"Oh, that's not good," said Bridget and she and Sam ran for the door. They heard Dean on the other side.
Bridget's cell rang and she answered it, it was Dean. "Hey, you guys all right?"
"Yeah, yeah, we're okay."
"Tell me you slammed the front door?"
"I wish, but it was the little girl."
"The girl? What girl?" he asked.
"Yeah, she's out of the painting. It wasn't Isaiah, it was her."
"Wasn't the dad lookin' down at her? Maybe he was tryin' to warn 'em."
"Can we recap later? Get us out of here because I can't get the damn door to budge or a window to shake.
"Well, I'm tryin' to pick the lock but it won't open and it's too heavy to kick in."
"Dammit, Dean. Do something," she growled.
"Well, you're all gonna have to hold on a minute while I figure somethin' out. Get some salt and iron." He clicked the phone off and Bridget put it back in her pocket.
"He's thinking of a plan," she told Sam.
"Great," he rolled his eyes. "We need salt or iron."
"Exactly what he said," Bridget said and they started searching the house.
Bridget had torn the kitchen apart in frustration and reentered the living room. "What the hell kind of house doesn't have salt? Low sodium freaks?"
"You find any iron?" Sam asked Sarah.
"No, what's it for?"
"Iron repels evil spirits, but it's gotta be pure," he said and answered his phone as Dean called. "Yeah?"
"I'm still workin' on the damn lock. Any luck with iron and salt?"
"No, not really. Hang on a second," he looked at Bridget and Sarah. "Look under the chairs, sometimes the seats…" he trailed off as the rest of the doors in the house slammed shut. Papers flew across the room and the little girl appeared her doll in one hand and the razor in the other.
"Sam?" Sarah said in disbelief stepping closer to him. "This is just so wrong."
"Welcome to our life," Bridget said and started backing away.
Sam backed into a set of fireplace pokers and grabbed one, swinging it at the girl. She dissolved into smoke.
"Sammy, you okay?" they heard Dean from Sam's phone.
"For right now," he said, phone on speaker.
"How we gonna waste her?" Dean asked.
"She's already cremated," Bridget reminded him.
"Then how's she still around?"
"There must be somethin'?" Sam said.
"Sam, wait we used to have the antique doll collection at the auction house," Sarah informed him.
"Well, that's fascinating, Sarah, but how's the help us?" Sam asked.
"Well, back then, they used to make dolls in the kid's image. I mean, everything, they would use the kid's real hair."
"Dean? Did you hear that? You gotta burn the doll," Sam said.
"I'm on it," he said and hung up. The lights flickered off and Bridget found herself standing close to Sam. "Not good."
Suddenly the desk moved across the room. Bridget moved out of the way at the right second but Sam got pinned to the ground.
"Sam!" she scrambled to her feet, helping Sarah move it. "Come on, help us out here."
"I'm trying!" the desk wouldn't budge and now the little girl was standing there a smile on her face.
"Oh, this is really not good," Bridget mumbled and was flown backwards into the wall. She moved back onto her hands and knees as Sarah was thrown into the wall opposite her, the little girl advancing on her. She looked at where Sam was still pinned, at Sarah scared and felt her anger bubble over from holding it in so long. "All right…enough of this."
Her eyes focused on the desk and it moved backwards, off Sam causing a bit of a headache on her part. She focused on Sarah and jerked her out of the way just as the razor came down and the little girl burst into flames. Her head pounded from the effort it took and she realized she'd really have to work on honing this particular skill to move bigger objects more easily.
A hand was on her arm and this time she let Sam help her stand up. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she said, head throbbing. She touched his arm, "Go help Sarah. I'm gonna go outside, I don't like this house much anymore."
Her cell phone buzzed and she answered it, "Bridge, you good?"
She looked across at Sam helping Sarah stand, the two sharing a look. "Nothing that won't heal."
Bridget stood with Sam and Sarah inside the auction house that morning and Dean held out a paper in his hand he scrambled from records. "This was archived in the county records. The Merchants adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? 'Cause her real family was murdered in their beds."
"Sweet little girl," Bridget said.
"She killed them?" Sarah asked.
"Yeah, who'd suspect her, a sweet little girl? So, then she kills Isaiah and his family, the old man takes the blame – spirit's been tryin' to warn people ever since."
Some workers came up to Sarah then with the Merchant painting. "Where would you like this to go?"
"Take it out back and burn it," she instructed, the workers shrugged and did so. "So, why'd the girl do it?"
"Killin' others, killin' herself – some people are just born tortured. So when they die, their spirits are dark," Sam explained.
"Maybe, I don't really care," Bridget said. "It's over, we move on."
"I guess this means you're leaving," she said eyeing Sam.
Dean put a hand on Bridget's arm. "We'll go wait by the car. See ya, Sarah," he dragged Bridget with him who glanced one last time at Sam, his eyes met hers and she gave him an encouraging smile then looked away before he could see it darken.
"Hopefully he gets the girl," Dean sighed and got in the driver's seat.
Bridget leaned against the back of the car, waiting for Sam and examining her nails. He was in there with Sarah and she wasn't mad…jealous, but not mad. After all Sarah was the right kind of girl. She was beautiful and smart and funny, but most of all, she was normal and Sam deserved normal. She could never give that to him. She was put into this and no matter how hard she tried it would never leave her, she'd always be tainted. Life would never be normal, people she fell in love with would die, she was sure of it and she couldn't handle losing someone as much as she loved Will. Not again. She was okay with that, with being single forever, with having to do this on her own, with Sam loving someone else. She swallowed the lump in her throat, it hurt she admitted that. But it was better this way, it would hurt less with time.
She heard the front door open and heard footsteps, Sam probably. She didn't bother to look up from inspecting her nails or look at him, she couldn't begin to, not with him being alone with Sarah, more than likely having kissed her. She didn't look up until a hand slid into hers and pulled her away from the car. With a frown she looked up at Sam, a puzzled look on her face at the smile he had.
"It's you," he said.
She frowned deeper, "What?"
"It's you, Bridge. You're the one who understands me, who can handle this life style, who can put up with my family, not to mention handle yourself physically and mentally. You're the one I'd choose."
"I don't…," she shook her head still foggy and trying to take this in. "Sarah's normal…I'm not…I'm trouble…I can't give that to you, I can't be that, I can't-."
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, stopping her from speaking any further. She relaxed into it, hands going around his back. He pressed his forehead to hers. "It's you, Bridge…just you."
She smiled, "I've been hoping you would say that for a long time…but…we're cursed."
He smiled back, "I think two curses cancel each other out…I'd risk it for you." He kissed her again more passionately.
Dean watched from the car with a smile. "I put up with her for nearly four years and Sam gets the girl…bout damn time those two got this over with." He honked his horn. "Hey lovebirds! Can we go now?"
Bridget pulled away, keeping her hand in his until she got into the backseat. She stayed near Sam then. "You two are so getting your own room. I don't wanna hear or see any of it…unless I'm seeing Bridge naked, then I can handle it."
She smacked him upside the head, "Perve."
"Hey, you do realize you have to share a bed with me for another five days, right?"
"Don't remind me."
"Oh, I'm gonna remind you as much as I can," he gloated.
"You do know I will kiss her in front of you, enough to make you gag," Sam warned him.
"Do your worst," Dean challenged.
Sam shrugged and turned in the seat. Bridget was taken a back as he kissed her, not used to him initiating it so willingly especially in front of someone. She leaned forward over the seat, deepening the kiss and giggled, never breaking away, as he put his other arm around her waist, pulling her into the front seat with him. She felt Dean fidget as her foot brushed his leg, but paid no mind otherwise to him. Sam pulled her into his lap, her legs going on either side of his waist, straddling him, still kissing. She was afraid if this kept up, her shirt would be off and she'd undo Sam's pants.
"Okay! Okay! Knock it off! You win, alright, just spare me," Dean gave in and Bridget moved to sit in the middle between the two, grinning victoriously with Sam.
"What was that?" Sam asked. "I what?"
"You win," Dean grumbled. "Although…that was kinda hot."
Bridget smacked his arm, glad to be back on the road. With Sam's arm around her she was finally where she wanted to be. She glanced at Dean, remembering that kiss outside the hotel room…she hoped she was where she wanted to be. That had been a bet after all….right?