Thank you for reading the last chapter! Hope you enjoy this one!

As always, a huge thank you to loveintheimpala for helping me with this chapter, I wouldn't be anywhere without you girl!

Danielle Winchester

Chapter Three: The Hunt

Centennial Highway, Jericho, California — 11:51 PM.

That night, Dean, Danielle, and Sam headed back to the bridge that they had been on earlier that day. This time, however, it was empty. The car was gone from the center of the road, and any evidence that the police had ever been there had long since been cleared away. It was as though nothing had ever happened. Maybe that was what the town wanted to believe.

They had spoken to the missing guy's girlfriend, they had done their research, and, yet, they still had absolutely no idea what was going on in that town. And, since they had arrived, they remained no closer to finding their father.

Danielle breathed out in the cold night air, and she watched as her breath formed and instantly dissipated again before her. She followed Sam and Dean further up the road, and she shook her head. The whole hunt was starting to bother her, because none of it made any sense. If their dad had been there, why hadn't they ran into him already? The town was so small, there were only so many places he could be. Honestly, she wasn't sure that he was even in town, or that he had ever been there in the first place. But they were thoughts that she wasn't prepared to share with her elder brother just yet. He was trying to keep the faith, he was trying with everything he had, and she wasn't about to rip that all out from under him. She couldn't.

"So," Dean's voice rang from a few feet away. "This is where Constance took the swan dive."

Danielle looked towards him, and he peered over the edge of the railings of the bridge curiously. The "ghost hitch-hiker", as the people in town seemed to be referring to her as, or whoever she was, was said to have jumped from there. Local legends, how she loved them.

Sam heaved a sigh, and he seemed a lot less optimistic than his brother. "So, you think dad would have been here?" he asked, curious.

Dean shrugged. "Well, he's chasing the same story as us and we're chasing him." he offered, and he headed further up the bridge.

"Okay, so what now?" Sam pushed, and the impatience and restlessness came through clearly in his words. He was becoming more and more edgy, less than satisfied with the lack of information they had, and both his siblings knew that.

"Now, we keep digging until we find him." Dean answered, and he forced his voice to remain calm, steady. "Might take a while."

Sam came to a stop at those words. "Dean." He shook his head. "I told you, I've gotta be back by Mon—"

"Monday." Dean nodded slowly, and he turned to face him again. There was a small, sardonic smile on his face. "Right, the interview." He gave a short laugh, anything but amused. "Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?"

"Maybe." Sam shrugged, and he frowned. "Why not?"

Dean scoffed, as though the idea was some kind of a joke. "Does Jessica know the truth about you?" he pressed, challenging, because he already knew the answer. "I mean, does she know about the things you've done?"

"No." Sam snapped. He stepped closer, defensive. "And she's not ever going to know."

"Well, that's healthy." Danielle muttered, sarcastic.

Sam turned on her, and there was a frown on his face that proved he was more than ready to argue his point to her, but he didn't get the chance.

"You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but, sooner or later, you're going to have to face up to who you really are." Dean said lightly. He turned from him and continued on his way up the road.

"And who's that?" Sam pushed, because he clearly wasn't prepared to back down, either.

Dean's smirk just grew wider, as though to provoke him. "You're one of us."

That comment seemed to push him further, and the anger flared in Sam's eyes. There was a glare on his face, and his features contorted to a sullen frown. He walked a little faster to get ahead of his brother, he wasn't about to step down.

"No." he rebuked. "No. I am not like you. Either of you. This is not going to be my life."

Dean shook his head. "You have a responsibility to—"

"To dad?" Sam cut him off, abrupt. "And his crusade? You know something, if it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what mom looked like. And, what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, mom is gone. And she isn't coming back."

Even Danielle cringed at that comment.

The anger rose in Dean's face at just the mention of their mother. And, in fairness, Sam should probably have known better than to bring her up with him, especially in the way that he had. Remarks like that made Dean see red. He grabbed a firm hold of Sam's jacket and he shoved him up against the railings of the bridge with a thud. He stared him straight in the face, and the glare in his eyes was in warning. But he relaxed a little. As though he had suddenly remembered just who it was he had pinned up against the side of the bridge, his fists loosened on his jacket.

"Don't talk about her like that." he warned. His tone was more somber than angry, and he pushed himself off of him.

"Uh, guys?" The sound of their sister's voice reminded them that they weren't alone, and they both looked to her.

Her eyes were fixed on something behind them, and they followed her gaze. Immediately, they saw what she was getting at. There was a pretty, dark-haired woman, wearing a long white dress, standing on the edge of the bridge. Her gaze shifted from the dark waters beneath for a moment, and she looked on at the three of them. Then, she stepped over the edge, and she vanished from sight. On instinct, the three of them sprinted towards the railings, but there was nothing but the fast flowing river beneath them.

"Where'd she go?" Dean was the first to ask, and he narrowed his eyes as he scanned the waters.

Danielle shook her head, clueless. "I don't know."

They all turned at the sound of the Impala's engine as it roared to life. The headlights shone over them brightly, and they looked between each other, confused. Danielle took a step back from the railings to stand beside Dean, and she frowned.

Dean opened and closed his mouth. "What the—"

"Who's driving your car?" Sam asked, perplexed.

Dean reached into his jacket and he pulled out a set of keys. He held them up and gave them a small shake as if to prove a point.

The Impala suddenly moved, and it drove straight at them. Instinct took over, and there was only one thing that they could do in that situation; turn and run like hell. The lights on the road before them were growing brighter, closer. No matter how fast the three of them could run, they were kidding themselves if they thought they had a chance at outrunning a car. Dean grabbed a hold of his sister's arm, and he yanked her to the side of the road. They all seemed to have the same idea, and the three of them threw themselves over the railings at the side of the bridge.

The sound of the engine stopped, and everything fell silent for a moment. Danielle groaned, because she was more than sure that her arms were going to rip clean from her shoulders. She swung herself forwards and hit the side of the bridge, and it came with a thud that would no doubt leave yet another bruise. She tried to grip a better hold of the railings, and made an attempt to ignore the fact that there was nothing beneath her but a very, very long drop.

And, apparently, Dean. She noticed, Sam was holding onto the railings beside her, but there was no sign of their brother.

Sam seemed to notice that, too, and he looked down to the river beneath them. "Dean?!" he yelled, but there was no sound of a response. "Dean?!" he tried again, a little louder.

"What?!" A deep voice called back, exasperated, and his tone gave away that he was more annoyed than hurt.

Danielle exhaled a long breath, one she hadn't even been aware she had been holding, and she laughed in relief as he finally came into view. He crawled out of the muddy water beneath them, covered in dirt, and he collapsed onto his back at the side of the water.

"Are you alright?" she called down to him, and the concern came through in her words.

Dean gave a small, unconvinced nod, and he offered them a thumbs up. "I'm super." he muttered, and he dropped his arm back to his side tiredly with a dramatic thud.

Danielle and Sam pulled themselves up onto the road, and all they could do was wait for him to join them.

Sam sighed, and he rolled his shoulders slowly. "Danielle, why do you do this?" he asked her, genuinely curious. He didn't understand.

Her eyes moved to him, and she frowned, confused. "Why do I do what?" she pressed.

Sam gave a sigh, as though to say that she should have known what he was getting at. "Hunt." he clarified. "Why do you do it?"

Danielle rolled her eyes at him, because it was a conversation she had been expecting from the moment he had climbed into the Impala back at Stanford. She knew, from the moment they had left, he had been itching to give at least one of them the speech.

There wasn't a simple answer to the question, because, honestly, she had never put much thought into it. It was just what they did, it was what they had always done, and it was what they were good at. It was who they were, who their family was, and it was who they would always be. She knew, once it started, there was no coming back from that life. There was no turning away from it once they were involved, and she and Dean were in a place where they wanted to do nothing else. She couldn't understand why that seemed so hard for him to accept. If they were happy, why couldn't he just be happy for them?

Danielle offered a shrug, nonchalant. "Why not?" she challenged. Her voice was calm, as though not to let him get a rise out of her.

But Sam shook his head at her. "Danielle—"

"Sam." She stopped him, blunt. She wasn't about to let him fight her on it, because, honestly, the last thing she wanted at that point was an argument. They'd had the same fight a hundred times before he had left for Stanford and, she couldn't help but think, any concern he had showed about their lives seemed to have dissipated the moment he turned his back on them. "Listen, we can't all be straight A students, alright? We can't all just bail and run away to college whenever we decide that we've had enough. Some of us have to stick around and just get on with that. And that's what Dean and I did."

Sam looked a little offended by that comment, and he appeared to bite back a comment before he could say something that he would come to regret. "That's not what I meant." he stated simply.

"Right, sure." She nodded, and she turned from him. "Because running away is what you're good at. I'm good at hunting, Sam. That's why I do it."

Sam frowned at her. Whatever patience he had held with her over the past day had long gone, and he was at the end of his temper. "Danielle, have you got something to say to me?" he challenged, defensive. "I mean, what the hell is your problem?"

Danielle scoffed, and she shook her head at him. He looked genuinely confused, and she couldn't comprehend it. "You really have to ask?" But he only stared at her. "Right, of course you do."

"Yeah," he snapped. "I do. Because, you know something, I remember one of the last things you said to me before I left was that you weren't mad about it. You told me that you understood. Hell, you encouraged me to go, Danielle. You told me to apply to college, you told me if hunting wasn't what I wanted then I needed to get as far away from it as I could."

Danielle turned back to face him, and the anger flared in her eyes. "Don't twist my words, Sam." she scolded. "You wanna talk memories? Here's one for you. You know what I remember you saying to me that night? I promise to stay in touch."

As much as he tried, Sam just couldn't hold her glare anymore. His faded, and he looked away. The initial anger seemed to subside from him, and he opened and closed his mouth. "Danielle—"

"No." She held up a hand to silence him. "I don't wanna hear it, Sam. You left. You didn't call. I'm sure you had your reasons. Hell, knowing you, you probably had ten. But I am done with this, okay?" Her eyes found his. "We are done."

The two of them stood and stared at each other for a long moment, and he noted that she even looked surprised by what she had said. Danielle had never said anything like that before, not to him, not to Dean, not even to their dad. He opened and closed his mouth, because he wasn't quite sure what to say. He wanted to protest her words, he wanted to fix it, but how could he? She was ready to turn her back on him, for good, and it was only then that he truly realized the extent of her anger.

There were footsteps behind them, and Danielle composed herself before she turned around to face the source.

"You're alive." she stated.

Dean approached, and he was covered from head to foot in dirt. He glanced between them, and he seemed to realize he had caught them in the middle of something they hadn't wanted him to hear. His eyes fixed to his sister's, as though to ask for an explanation, but she looked away.

"Yeah," He nodded. "Looks like."

Danielle shook her head at him, and she punched him lightly in the arm. "Dude, you're an idiot." she remarked. "Why the hell didn't you grab onto something?"

"Now, come on, Dani," He smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Do you at least remember what you were doing the day they were passing out common sense?" she challenged.

But all Dean could do was roll his eyes at her. "Kid, you wish you had my brains." he muttered. "I need to check my car."

Dean turned, and he all but ran towards the Impala. He opened the hood, and he inspected it carefully. There was a concentrated frown on his face, and neither Sam nor Danielle wanted to interrupt whatever process he seemed to be going through in his mind. He said nothing, he never looked away, and his attention at that point was reserved only for his car.

"Are we good?" Danielle chanced, apprehensive.

Dean narrowed his eyes, and he gave a satisfied nod as he closed the hood again. "Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems alright now." he muttered. "That Constance chick, what a bitch!" he yelled out over the road.

Danielle raised an eyebrow at him, puzzled.

"You know what I mean." he offered. "She sure as hell doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure."

"Right," Danielle agreed. "So, where do we go from here, genius?"

Dean shook his head, and he threw up his arms in frustration. Then he flicked the mud from his hands, and he gave a disgusted sound.

Sam huffed a laugh, and his brow furrowed. "Man, you smell like a toilet."

"So, we head to a motel room." he muttered, and he pointed a finger towards his sister in warning. "I get the first shower. That means no calling dibs, no locking me out of the room, no pretending like you're dying, nothing. None of it. You hear me?"

Danielle frowned at him. "I'm offended. When have I ever done any of those things to you? I'm pretty sure it's you who locked me out of the room and then ran all the hot water off. Even next door could near you singing Jolene."

"You know what, Dan, you're right." he said, sincere. He held out his arms to her. "Come here, kid, I'm sorry."

She ducked his grasp, and she pointed a finger at him in warning. "Touch me and you'll be back in that river so fast, I swear."

Dean snickered. "Come on," He nodded towards the car. "I need a shower."

Jericho, California — Motel — 12:34 AM.

The three of them approached the reception desk, calm, collected, and they each offered a smile to the man who sat behind it. He glanced up from his newspaper, uninterested, until his gaze fell to Dean. His brow furrowed, and he looked him up and down slowly, cautious.

Dean didn't seem concerned. He dropped down a credit card to the desk. "One room, please."

The man once again looked between them, and he picked up the card. His eyes narrowed, and he scoffed. "You guys having a reunion or something?" he pressed.

Dean quirked a brow. "What do you mean?"

"I had another guy, Burt Aframian." he muttered. "He came and bought out a room for the whole month."

Danielle felt something in her stomach turn at the words. "What room was that?" she pushed, a little too urgent.

"Um," The man frowned down at the book before him. "Room twelve."

Dean nodded, because that was all he needed to hear. He took back the credit card from the desk, and, without another word or glance to the man, he turned on his heel and headed back towards the door at the other side of the office. Was this it? Was this where they were finally going to find their father?

Danielle was holding her breath, and her stomach was in knots as they headed towards the room. The motel was dark, and it didn't seem as though there was anybody else staying there but them. It was old, decrepit, not somewhere many people would stay if they had another option. The whole thing terrified her, and she was honestly afraid of what they might find on the other side of the door. She hoped to god that it would be their dad, but any sense she had told her otherwise. When did they ever get so lucky?

Dean seemed to notice, and his hand squeezed her shoulder softly, as though to remind her that she wasn't alone. He smiled, reassuring, and he handed her a lock pick. "Show me your skills." he remarked, and his tone somehow remained light.

A faint smile crossed her face, and she took it from him. She crouched at the door, and in a matter of seconds the lock clicked.

"You're getting good at that." he commented, and there was a pride behind his words. "Nice work."

"Thanks." she muttered, and she handed the lock pick back to him as she stood.

The room they stepped into was dark, and the only source of light came from the dim lamp in the corner that had been left on. There was a thick line of salt at their feet, and none of them disturbed it as they entered. The wall behind the desk opposite them was covered in research, and it was pinned up in an order only their dad could have understood. There were books everywhere, stacked in piles, and paperwork littered the unused bed.

"Whoa." Sam commented, a little taken back.

Dean stepped past him, and he headed further inside the room, cautious. He picked up a half eaten burger from the night-stand beside the bed, and he recoiled quickly at the smell. "I don't think he's been here for a couple days, at least." he muttered.

Sam shook his head, and he looked around slowly, as though to take in every little detail. He pointed to the salt line beneath the window. "Salt, cats-eye shells," he observed. "He was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in."

Danielle shook her head slowly, because that didn't sound at all like their father. Their dad didn't fear the supernatural, the supernatural feared him. That was the way it had always been. So what was he running from? What could have been so bad that it had their own dad scared and hiding in a motel room? She didn't understand.

Apprehensive, she took a step closer to the wall before them. Her eyes narrowed at the research pinned there, and she tried to make some sense of it. There were missing posters, the same ones that she knew Dean had in a folder in the trunk of the car. There were news articles, maps, drawings and descriptions of different creatures, but nothing stood out. It was nothing they hadn't seen before.

"What have you got?" Dean asked, and he came to a stop behind her.

"Centennial highway victims." she muttered. "Nothin' new."

Dean shook his head, puzzled. "I don't get it." he commented, glum, and his brow furrowed. "I mean, different men, different jobs, different ages, ethnicities... There's always a connection, right? So, what do these guys have in common?"

Danielle's head tilted to one side, and she pointed towards an article pinned to the center of the wall. "Dad figured it out." she observed. "He found the same article we did. Constance Welch."

"Yeah?" Dean glanced between her and the article, because he was sure that she was seeing something he wasn't. "So, what does that mean?"

Danielle peeled a yellow post it note from beside it, and she handed it to him. "Woman in white." she read aloud.

Dean looked back to the line of missing posters on the wall, and, suddenly, everything seemed to make so much more sense. "Wow." he remarked. "You sly dogs."

"But, if we're dealing with a woman in white, dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it." she stated, confused. "Why is she still killing people?"

"Maybe she has another weakness." Sam offered.

But Dean shook his head. "Nah. Dad would want to make sure. He'd dig her up." he noted. "Does it say where she's buried?"

Sam reached out and ripped the article from the wall. His eyes scanned it slowly, and he gave a small shake of his head. "Not that I can tell. If I were dad, though, I'd go ask her husband." he said, and he turned the paper around to show them the photo of the man on the other side. "If he's still alive."

"Alright." Dean nodded. "Uh, why don't you two see if you can find an address. I'm gonna get cleaned up." He clapped his sister on the shoulder before he turned towards the bathroom.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam's voice stopped him, and he glanced back. "Look, what I said earlier, about mom and dad... I'm sorry."

Dean held up a hand to stop him. "No chick-flick moments."

A soft laugh escaped Sam, and he nodded. "Alright, jerk."

Dean smiled. "Bitch." he countered.

Despite everything, Danielle found herself smiling the slightest bit. She had missed the way that the two of them used to get along, when they would laugh with each other and joke around, it was one of the few things they had seemed to do like a normal family. Her brothers bickered, they always had done, and something about it had always been so comforting, so familiar.

But the moment was short lived, and she heard the bathroom door close behind Dean as he left the room. Her eyes remained focused solely on the research pinned up before her, because, after what had happened back at the bridge, she didn't want to face Sam. She wasn't sure that she could. She couldn't face another conversation like the one they had just had. She didn't want it, and she sure as hell didn't need it. Not after everything. A part of her knew, had Dean not shown up when he had, it would have gone so much further. Her anger had been brewing, she had felt it, and things could have gotten a lot worse than they had been.

But Sam didn't seem to share her hesitation. "Danielle?" he pressed. "Please, just hear me out."

"Sam," Danielle sighed, and she shook her head. She didn't want to hear him out, she didn't want to listen to anything that he had to say, she didn't want to think about that night four years ago anymore. "Can we just not do this, please? I don't want to have this conversation again."

There was a part of her that just wanted to drop the act and give into him. She wanted to make up with him, she wanted to forgive him, because she was so tired of holding onto the grudge. But she wouldn't. She couldn't. Because, no matter how she looked at it, she was still mad, and, in her eyes, she still had every right to be. She wanted him to know that, she wanted him to understand how much he had hurt them, and she wasn't going to be the one to back down this time. She refused to be the pushover.

But Sam was persistent, he always had been. "We need to talk about this, Danielle." he insisted. "We can't carry on like this."

"Look," Her voice remained calm, steady, but even she heard the anger in her tone. "Let's just get though this weekend, and then you can go back to your perfect little life pretending like Dean and I don't exist, alright? We don't need to talk."

The comment was harsh, and she knew that, but maybe she didn't care anymore. Maybe she was prepared to have it out with him.

"Oh, come on," he muttered, exasperated. "It was never like that, and you know it."

Danielle scoffed, as though amused, and she finally turned to face him. "Oh, really?" she snapped, accusing. "Because I'm pretty sure that it was."

"Danielle," He sighed, despondent. "Why are you being like this? Why can't you let it go?"

Her eyebrows raised. "Why am I being like this?" she pressed, and she shook her head, offended. "What, why am I ignoring you? Gee, I don't know, Sam, what possible reason could anyone have for ignoring their sibling? I sure as hell can't think of one."

"I wasn't ignoring you." he opposed, abrupt. "I—"

"You were damn too ignoring us." she stopped him before he had the chance to make an argument. "When you picked up your phone and you chose not to answer it, that was ignoring us, Sam. And when you do that for four years, that's cutting your family out of your life."

The anger was starting to show in her tone, and four years of confusion and frustration were finally coming out.

"You know what the really sad part is? I stuck up for you." His brow furrowed. "After you left, I made excuse after excuse for you to Dean and dad, just to try and keep some peace. I fought with them both about it, because I thought that you needed time to cool off. I thought, if I managed to keep things civil, when you did finally call back, maybe we could stay a family. And what did I get? Four years of being ignored."

"Four years?" Sam shook his head at that, and his tone matched hers easily. "I may not have called you, but that's a two way street, Danielle. I don't remember the last time you tried to call me, either."

But, immediately, he knew that had been the wrong argument to make. The anger flared in her green eyes, unforgiving, and he knew then that he had pushed her too far.

"Are you kidding me?" she exclaimed. "I called you every night for weeks, Sam. Weeks." She shook her head at him. "And you know what the worst part of all this is? It's how blind you are. You are so far in denial about this you can't even see how messed up it all is. You wanna know the last time I called you? It was three years ago. It was a Thursday, and I was sitting in a hospital waiting room, waiting to see if our brother was going to live or die."

The guilt visibly ran through his face at her words, and his stomach dropped. "Danielle—"

"No." She stopped him, harsh. "I tried to call you that night. I thought maybe, just maybe, you'd be able to take a couple days off from your awesome new life to be there for your brother, to be there for me when I needed you. And, guess what happened, Sam?"

He said nothing, simply looked away, because he already knew.

"Your phone was disconnected. He could have died that night, and you never would have known." Her tone lowered, and she offered a shrug. "Four years, Sam. And we didn't hear from you once. So, you wanna know why I'm being like this? There you go. There's your answer."

Sam's eyes were fixed to the dull carpet at his feet, and a look of remorse and penitence took over his features.

"I'm sorry, Danielle." he offered, sorrowful, because, at that point, he wasn't sure what else he could say.

"You're sorry?" She scoffed. A bitter smile came to her face, and she gave a slow nod. "Well, that's just great, Sam. Good for you."

There were tears shining in her eyes, and he didn't miss them, but she pushed them back before they had the chance to fall. He knew, she wouldn't allow herself to show any kind of hurt in front of him, not then, not in that situation.

"You know what, forget it." she muttered.

The bathroom door opened behind her, and the sound seemed to startle her, as though she had only then remembered that the two of them weren't alone in that room. Her eyes closed for a moment, and he noticed her attempt to compose herself, like she thought that she could hide what had just happened between them from their brother. There was no chance that he hadn't just heard the sound of her raised voice through the thin door, and they both knew it. Was it that she really didn't want him to know how angry she still was, because Sam couldn't imagine that he didn't already know. Or was it that she just didn't want to let onto Dean that she was upset?

His sister turned away from him, and she stalked past Dean towards the bathroom. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to ask her what was wrong, but he didn't get the chance before the door slammed closed behind her and the lock clicked on the other side. He stood there for a moment, perplexed, and looked to Sam for any kind of an explanation.

Danielle took a short breath, and she leaned back against the bathroom door. She squeezed her eyes closed, and, slowly, unable to do anything else, she sank down to the cold tiled floor. The tears that she had been holding back spilled from her eyes, because, this time, it was all just too much. At that point, she couldn't do anything but cry softly. It hurt. All of it hurt. Sam, their dad, everything.

However she looked at it, and no matter what she tried to tell herself, she was scared. There was a fear in the pit of her stomach that she hadn't ever experienced before, because where was he? Why wasn't he there? Why would he just skip out in the middle of a hunt? It wasn't like him, and it didn't make sense. None of it did. Their dad didn't just bail without telling them where he was going, he didn't ignore call after call after call like that, and he didn't leave his kids wondering if he was even alive. Their dad didn't lock himself away in a motel and hide away from anything evil that might be outside of it. At least, not as far as she knew. It was getting harder and harder to believe that he was okay, that they were going to find him, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up the act.

Going to get Sam had been a desperate move on Dean's part, and she knew that he wouldn't have done it unless he thought he really had to. Dean was just as worried as she was, and she couldn't quite work out how he seemed to remain so upbeat about it all.

And then there was Sam. The truth was, she didn't even know how she felt about him anymore. Everything she had said to him had been cruel, and she regretted the whole argument. It had been the whole point she hadn't wanted to talk to him in the first place, because she had known she wouldn't be able to hold it all back once she had started. There was just something about having him back that seemed so unfair, as though he thought he could just be instantly forgiven. All she wanted was him to know how much it had hurt, and, somewhere, she considered the idea that she had taken that too far. She was angry, but where was holding a grudge getting her?

There was a soft knocking on the other side of the door, and the sound startled her from her thoughts.

"Dani?" Dean's voice was soft, patient. "You alright in there, sis?"

Danielle took a shaky breath, and she nodded, she wasn't sure why. "I'm good." she called back. "I'm fine. I'm gonna take a shower."

Her voice wavered over her words, and he didn't miss it.

"You, uh, you want your bag?" he asked her. "I've got it here."

Danielle pushed herself to stand, and she pulled a hand down her face to wipe away the tears. Slowly, and not noticing how her hands were shaking as she did it, she unlocked the door and opened it a crack.

Dean stood there, waiting, with her bag in his hand. His face softened. In that brief moment, his stomach sank. Her eyes were red, and her eyelashes were wet and thick. There was black mascara smudged beneath her eyes and it stained her pink cheeks.

"Thank you." she said softly, barely audible, as she took the bag from him.

Dean looked torn between saying something else, his mouth opened and closed, but he simply nodded in acknowledgement.

The door closed again, and he sighed. All he could do was stand there for a moment and stare at the wood before him, because he didn't know what else to do. He was more than aware of his brother's eyes fixed to his back, and a part of him didn't even want to turn around. His sister was struggling, she was upset, she was hurting, whether that was about their dad or about their brother he couldn't be sure, but he knew that all she craved was space. Was he really in a position to deny her that? He hated the thought of her suffering alone, he hated the idea that she thought she had to lock herself away to cry, but it was who she was. It was the way she had always been, and, somehow, he took a step back from the door, confident that she would call him if she needed him. He had to believe that.

Jericho, California — Motel Room — 09:10 AM.

Danielle stirred awake at the sound of a door opening somewhere in the distance. She blinked open her eyes, momentarily confused, until she remembered where she was. Dean stepped out of the bathroom, and he offered her a small smile as he did. A deep sigh escaped her as she rolled onto her back, and she rested her hands to her forehead in some futile attempt to block out the sunlight that shone through the open window. Any more sleep was out of the question, she knew that much, and so she forced herself to sit up.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked her, his voice was light, but there was an underlying tone of concern that none of them missed.

Danielle managed a weak nod, and she pushed back the covers. She forced herself from the bed and headed towards the bathroom without a word. She wouldn't even look towards Sam, because she didn't dare to face him, not after the previous night. She was more than aware that, as she crossed the room, Dean followed her. She didn't have to look. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself.

There was a soft frown on his face, and she already knew the speech she had coming.

"You crashed pretty early last night," he commented dryly. "Never known you so quiet."

Danielle huffed, and she shook her head slowly. "Don't even start with me, Dean." she muttered, and she hopped up to sit on the counter beside the sink. "I'm not in the mood for a fight."

But the comment brought a frown to his face, and his head tilted slightly to the left. "What makes you think I'm going to start something?" he pressed, curious. "If this is about what you said to Sam—"

"Sam had that coming." she stated, before he had the chance to say anything more.

Dean's eyebrows rose. "If this is about what you said to Sam," he continued, as though she had never interrupted. "I'm not going to say anything about it."

There was a distinct note of confusion in her features at the comment, and, it occurred to him, she had assumed he had followed her in there to lecture her about the situation. And that puzzled him. He had never taken anybody's side but hers before, and he couldn't understand why she suddenly thought that was about to change.

"Look, Dan, whatever you need to say to Sam, it's up to you, okay?" He shrugged, nonchalant. "You're not kids anymore, it's not my job to make the two of you play nice. If you're pissed, you're pissed. Nothing I say is going to change that." His face changed, and he seemed to suddenly become more serious. "But, what I'm not gonna take from you is what happened last night. Dan, what's going on? Why were you so upset?"

Danielle shook her head. "I don't know." she offered. "But, I'm okay. I am. It was just a long day."

Dean seemed skeptical. "Are you sure that's all it was?" he pushed, and his tone was understanding, kind. "Dani, if there's something bothering you, if there's something going on, you can tell me."

Slowly, hesitant, her green eyes rose to find his. "You think I'm being too hard on him?"

Dean shook his head, and he took a moment to consider his response. "I think you're hurting." he offered. "I think you've been hurting for the last four years. And, I don't think you could have moved past that without telling him. No matter how much you played it down and pretended like you didn't care, I know how much it hurt you when he walked out. And, now he's back, I can't expect you to just back down and pretend like nothing happened. Neither can Sam. You're not a kid, Dan, if you wanna be mad, that's your choice."

"Are you mad?" she asked, and the question seemed to take him by surprise. "I mean, how do you feel about this?"

Dean contemplated his response for a long moment. "I'm not mad." he admitted. "I think it was a bad move to cut us off the way that he did, and I'm not making excuses for what he did, but I don't think that's what he really wanted to do." He shrugged. "I'm not thrilled about his choice, but what's the point in staying pissed about it? You know, I was angry for a long, long time after he left. Chances are, if he had called us, maybe I wouldn't have picked up. I don't know. But, what I do know is that I don't have the energy to fight him. He knows what he did, and he knows how I feel about it. What more is there to say? It's just a weekend, Dan."

Danielle nodded slowly. "Just a weekend." she repeated, glum. "And then we'll all go right back to pretending we're not even related."

"Maybe we will." he offered. "And, if that's the case, if that's what he wants, it's his loss. But, I got your back, Dani. That much you do know. And, whatever happens, that's not gonna change."

"Yeah." She nodded in way of agreement, and the softest smile came to her face. "Me, too."

"You, uh, you never told me that you'd tried to call him, you know, that night, in the hospital." he said, and something about his tone changed. He sounded confused, curious, maybe even apprehensive about bringing it up with her.

Danielle looked up to face him again. "I didn't think that'd be something you'd want to hear after the week we'd had." she muttered. "Honestly, I don't even know why I tried to call him. I knew he wouldn't answer. It was just... such a bad week."

"Yeah, it wasn't one of our best." he muttered. The truth was, it wasn't a hunt he liked to think back to if he could help it. "That's what did it for you, isn't it? That's why you held onto this for so long. That's why you're still angry. Because of that night."

"I don't know anymore, Dean." she sighed. "I don't know why I'm angry. I just am."

Dean gave a sigh. "Stop beating yourself up, Dani." he told her, and his tone was lighter. "You're only human."

Danielle smiled at him, but there was a sadness behind it that he didn't miss.

"Look, sort out your hair, paint your face with your crap, and get yourself ready, we'll head out and get some breakfast." he encouraged. "It's gonna be fine, Dan. I promise."

Danielle stepped out of the bathroom to a tense silence, and she could only imagine the conversation that she had just interrupted. Sam was sitting on the end of one of the beds, and his attention was fixed solely to his cell phone, as though to pretend that there was nothing out of the ordinary going on around him. There was a frown on Dean's face, and he looked annoyed, but he said nothing. He nodded at her, and he offered a smile, somewhat guilty. Had he said something? Had they been arguing? She didn't want to know.

"You ready?" he asked her, and she noticed how dull his tone seemed to be. He suddenly sounded tired. "Before I starve to death."

For a moment, she considered the idea of staying behind, because she didn't feel much like eating. But did she really want to stay behind and have yet another conversation with her younger brother? The last two hadn't exactly been sweet family moments. Could she really handle another one?

Reluctant, she nodded. She crossed the room towards the front door and she grabbed her jacket from the back of one of the chairs at the table as she passed. "Let's go."

"Sam?" Dean paused in the doorway, and he glanced back to him. "You want anything?"

Sam simply shook his head. "No." he muttered, and his gaze never shifted from the screen of his phone.

"You sure?" he coaxed, and he waved his fake credit card as though to make a point. "Aframian's buying." But, once again, he shook his head. And Dean sighed in defeat. "Alright," he muttered. "We won't be long."

The door slammed closed behind him, and he joined his sister on the road.

"So, where are we going? What's for breakfast?" she asked, curious.

Dean threw her a smile. "I'm thinking bacon. Double bacon. Maybe cheese." He snapped his fingers. "Double bacon cheeseburger."

"For breakfast?" She shook her head. "You're disgusting. You're not gonna see thirty at this rate, you know."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he teased. "Did I offend you little miss eating animals is wrong?"

Danielle chuckled, and she opened her mouth to respond, but she stopped herself. She stopped walking, and her hand grabbed his sleeve. "Dude."

Dean's eyes followed hers, and he frowned. The motel owner who had checked them in was stood out on the parking lot, and there were two police officers listening intently to whatever he was saying. He nodded towards them, and he pointed a finger in their direction. Dean turned away immediately, he pulled his phone from his jacket and quickly dialed a number.

"Dude," His voice was rushed. "Cops. Take off." He paused, and he huffed a dry laugh. "Yeah, they kinda spotted us. Go find dad."

The phone had returned to his pocket, out of sight, by the time the officers approached. Danielle frowned, and she recognized them from the bridge the previous day. Thinking back, they probably could have been a little more inconspicuous in their questioning. Was it any real surprise that they hadn't taken them seriously? But she forced up a smile, as though to ask what they wanted.

Dean's face matched hers perfectly, and he offered an innocent frown. "Problem officers?" he asked brightly.

The officer raised an eyebrow at him. "Where's your partner?" he pressed, curious.

"Partner?" Dean gave a laugh, and he shook his head as though confused. "What—what partner? We don't have a partner."

As though to say he knew better, the officer pointed back over his shoulder towards their motel room, as indication to the other officer to head that way. Dean glanced towards his sister, and there was absolutely no confidence behind the smirk he offered her. Everything inside that room was about to make them suspects in the case, and they both knew it. Nothing about their current situation looked good from where they were standing.

"So," The officer before them began brightly. "Fake US Marshals? Fake credit cards? You got anything that is real?"

Dean simply smirked. "Well, I can't speak for her, but," He shrugged. "My boobs."

Danielle huffed a laugh, and the officer glared. Sometimes, the things that her brother came out with were just so stupid, so ludicrous, she had to laugh. But, the man before them seemed a lot less amused. His stony face didn't falter, and his eyes narrowed.

Before they knew what was happening, they were slammed down, side by side, face first against the hood of his squad car.

The smirk held on Dean's face, and all Danielle could do in response was roll her eyes.

"I told you." she muttered. "I said it, one of these days they'd stop taking our shit and arrest us. Didn't I say it?"

"Oh, Dan, you say a lot of things." he countered. "What makes you think that I listen?"

Jericho Police Station — 10:29 AM.

Things were seriously starting to get ridiculous, and Danielle was growing more and more frustrated by the second. Not only had they left her and her brother sitting in separate police cars for fifteen minutes with no way to get a coherent story together, they had then taken twenty minutes to get them to the police station, and then, to top it all off, they had left her sitting alone while they dragged Dean off to wherever they had taken him. Whoever said that chivalry was dead had clearly done some time in Jericho. By the time she had been brought in and booked, pushed into a room to have her fingerprints taken and forced to stand there to have her mug shot taken, Danielle was ready to kill the next person who so much as looked at her wrong.

The sheriff appeared in the doorway of the room where she was being held, and he shot a glance towards the deputy who had been watching her, as though expecting her to flip and attack him or something. Honestly, even if she had wanted to, she wasn't sure she had the energy.

There was a deep frown on his face, and he looked anything but happy. "Bring her in." he stated, his tone gruff, impatient.

There was a note of annoyance to his words, however hard he tried to hide it, and she smiled. Whatever Dean had said, or whatever he had done, it clearly had the man riled up already.

Danielle heaved a sigh, and she pushed herself to stand. She followed the sheriff's lead towards the room opposite the one where she had been held, and he held open the door for her to enter. Dean was sitting at the table, and he looked nothing more than bored.

"We've got a couple of questions for you." The sheriff stated, blunt, and he slammed the door closed behind them. There was a smirk on his face, smug, as though to say that he knew something they didn't, like he thought he already had the two of them beat.

Danielle glanced towards her brother, who was glaring at the sheriff intently, and she shrugged. "Fine." she muttered, eyebrows raised, expectant. She didn't see what could be so hard that they couldn't lie their way out of it. There was always a lie to tell when it came to those kinds of predicaments, they had learned that the hard way over the years. She saw no threat. "Ask away."

"Okay." The sheriff nodded, and he looked between them slowly, eyes narrowed. "How about we start with something easy, huh?" He smiled down at her, and he took a step closer. "What's this guy's name?"

And, crap. Just like that, they were already screwed.

But, maybe not. She noticed, the second that the question had passed his lips, Dean began tapping out a rhythm on the table with his fingertips. "What the hell kind of question is that?" she asked, incredulous, and she tried to buy herself a few extra seconds as she listened intently to Dean. A smirk came to her face as she recognized the song. "His name is Ted Nugent."

The sheriff looking nothing but pissed at that comment, and the smirk on Dean's face only widened, as if to say that he should have known better than to try and catch them out.

"Sit down." he snapped, and Danielle moved to sit in the chair beside Dean's. "I'm not sure the two of you realize just how much trouble you're in here."

"Are we talking, like, misdemeanor kind of trouble or, uh, squeal like a pig trouble?" Dean responded, sarcastic.

But the sheriff continued to glare at him, and it was clear that he didn't find either of them the least bit amusing. "The two of you got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall." he rebuked. "Along with a whole lot of satanic mumbo-jumbo. Boy, you and your girlfriend here are officially suspects."

Danielle shook her head at him, exasperated.

"That makes sense." Dean nodded enthusiastically. "Because when the first one went missing in eighty-two, I was three. And my sister here hadn't even learned to walk yet."

"I know you've got partners, one of 'em's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So, tell me, Dean, Danielle," He reached behind him and grabbed a brown journal from a box on the empty seat, and he dropped it down to the table before them with a thud. "This his?"

Dean and Danielle both jumped a little at the sound of the bang the heavy book made, and they stared down at it, lost for words. The sheriff opened it and he began to flip through a few of the pages at random. Dean leaned forwards slightly to get a better look, his eyes wide, and all signs of humor and cockiness were gone from his stance. The sheriff seemed to note the looks on their faces, and he smirked. They had just confirmed every suspicion he'd had about them.

"I thought that might be your names." he continued. "You see, I leafed through this, what little I could make out, I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy. But, I found this, too," He opened the journal to the last page, and he pointed to a piece of paper.

Dean, Danielle, 33-111. The writing belonged to their father, and there was no denying it. The two of them shared a look, and their faces matched the other's perfectly. It was clear in their eyes, the fear, the confusion, they looked lost.

But the man before them didn't miss it, and he planned to take full advantage. "Now, you're both going to sit there until one of you tells me exactly what the hell that means."

Danielle couldn't look back to him, she didn't dare, because she didn't know what the hell to think. But, Dean leaned back in his seat, calm, and the smile returned to his face, nonchalant. He offered a clueless shrug, as though to say he had no idea what he was talking about.

"You don't wanna talk, huh?" He nodded, as though to say that he had expected nothing less, and he shrugged. "Fine. I can wait."

There was a knock at the door, and they all looked towards it as it opened. The deputy stepped inside, and he glanced between the three of them. "Sheriff, we need you out here." he stated, somewhat apologetic.

The sheriff gave an impatient sigh, as though he thought he had actually been getting somewhere with them, and he nodded. He turned back to them, and he smiled. "You better come up with a good story, or so help me god, I'll lock you both up until you do." he warned, his tone hard, unforgiving. He turned towards the door, and he slammed it closed behind himself as he left.

Dean released a long breath, and he pulled a hand down his face, frustrated. "What a dick." he muttered.

But Danielle didn't look to him, because her eyes still hadn't left the open book before them. "Dean, what the hell?" she pressed.

Dean reached out and pulled the book closer to them, and he flipped through a few pages. He gave a slow shake of his head. "I don't know, Dani." he offered. "It's not like him to leave this anywhere."

"I think you were right." she admitted, and her voice was quiet, cautious. "I think he's in trouble. I'm worried about him."

Dean looked down to face her, and he saw the fear in her eyes. She had spent the past couple of days doing everything she had to convince herself that he was fine, but he had known, ever since they had received that voicemail, it had been nothing but an act. Honestly, he was more surprised it had taken her so long to admit it.

"I know." he agreed. "Me, too. But, let's just work on getting out of here, and then we'll find him, alright? Trust me."

"That's easier said than done, Dean." she muttered, despondent.

Dean offered a weak smile, and he looked back to the journal before them. He couldn't understand it. He couldn't understand why their father would leave it behind, he barely let the thing out of his sight. He always had it with him, whether he was reading it or writing something new on the empty pages, it was always there. Why would he suddenly not take it with him? It didn't make sense. He was starting to think, maybe things were worse than he had thought them to be. Had something happened to him? Was he even alive? What could be so bad that he couldn't pick up a phone and call them, because he had to know that they were worried. He had to wonder, were the ever going to find him?

"Hey," Danielle spoke, and her voice pulled him back from his thoughts. "What are you thinking so hard about?"

Dean shook his head slowly, and he sat back in his seat. "I don't know." he muttered. He looked to her, and he offered a shrug. "You ever wish you could have gone, too?"

Danielle frowned at him, and the confusion was evident in her face. "Gone where?" she pressed, and she clearly wasn't following.

"To college." he clarified. "Like Sam. Or, maybe not even college, just... I don't know... anywhere." His words were slow, as though his thoughts were a million miles away from that room. "I mean, Sam always knew that he wanted something more than this life. I never let you believe that you could, too."

Her green eyes regarded him for a moment, and she considered his words carefully. The confusion faded, and a small smile crossed her face. "Dean, I, uh, I don't know if it somehow escaped your notice, but I wasn't exactly the same kind of student that Sam was. I didn't really have the grades to get a full ride to college."

"Yeah," Dean scoffed, bitter. "And whose fault was that, huh?"

"Um," She raised an eyebrow, as if to ask whether or not it had been a serious question. "Mine?"

"Dad left me in charge of you, Dan." he retorted, and his tone gave away that he was about as far away from joking as it was possible to get. "I let you bunk off school when you couldn't be bothered to go, or when you hadn't done your homework. I never told dad when you got yourself suspended. Hell, half the time it was my fault that you did." He took a short breath, and he shook his head. "I could have pushed you to work, you know, to do something with your life, to do something for yourself. I could have told you to sit there and do your homework, to go to college, to get a real job. I never did."

Danielle looked up to him, and her brow furrowed, somewhat sadly. It hurt her to see the amount of blame and responsibility he placed on himself as it shone in his eyes. He blamed himself for everything that was anything but his fault. The inevitable things that would happen in life, he put it all on his own shoulders.

"You could have." she agreed, and he looked to her, eyebrows raised. "But, think of all the fun we'd have missed out on if I'd have spent my teenage years going to school."

There was a smirk playing on her face, but Dean simply rolled his eyes at her, seeming to think that she was joking. "Like what?" he pressed, dubious. "What part of our teenage years were really that fun for you?"

"I don't know," She shrugged. "Like when we'd get suspended together so we could sit and watch bad horror movies until Sam came home. Or, remember when we stole that car from the motel parking lot and just spent the day driving around different burger stores? You taught me to drive, you taught me to shoot, you taught me how to fight. I mean, you remember that day we spent at that amusement park? Or the day that we bunked off and went to the beach and got sick eating those candy smoothie things they sold?"

Despite himself, Dean smiled at the thought.

"Look, school was never my thing, Dean." she offered. "The same as it wasn't yours. I chose this life. I'm happy."

Dean gave a soft laugh. "We really were idiots back then, weren't we?" He smiled. "It just, I don't know, it seems kinda crappy sometimes. You could have done anything, gone anywhere, and instead you're stuck driving around and hunting monsters with me."

"Don't sell yourself short, Dean." she countered. "You're not a bad person to road trip with."

A short laugh escaped him, and he nodded. "Thanks." he remarked. "Hey, look, I know you don't wanna talk about this, but are you ever gonna forgive him?" he asked, tentative. "I'm not gonna defend what he did, but he is your brother. I know you, Dan, you can't hold a grudge against anyone."

Danielle seemed to consider her response for a moment, and she shrugged. "Course I am." she replied, as though there was no doubt in her mind about it. "I just... I don't know, Dean. It was a shitty thing for him to do, you know? Every time I wanna forgive him I just think about that night, and..." she trailed off, and she sighed. "Here we are."

"Which night are you talking about?" he pressed, curious. "Which night is it that you can't let go of? The one where he walked out? Or the one where he didn't answer the phone?"

"You were dying, Dean." she stated, blunt. "You were on your death bed, and I was alone. I was scared. I needed my brother."

Dean nodded. "I know." he said, and his voice was soft, understanding. "But, we made it through that. And, you know, we'll make it through this, Dan. We always do. It's what we're good at."

But Danielle didn't have the chance to reply.

The door barged open before them, and the sheriff entered once again. It was clear that his patience hadn't restored in his short absence, and, if anything, he looked more irritated than he had done before. There was a hard frown on his face, and his glare promised nothing but an interrogation. He slammed the door closed behind himself, and he looked between them, accusing.

"I want an answer." he stated, impatient. "And, I want one now." His gaze fell to the journal. "What does it mean?"

Dean huffed. "It's my high school locker combo." he stated, upbeat. "Sorry it's not more exciting."

The sheriff shook his head, and it was clear that he wasn't buying it. "We gonna do this all night long?" he pushed. "Listen to me—"

But he stopped, and he gave an impatient huff, as the door once again opened behind him. The same officer as before entered once again, and he looked alarmed. "We just got a 911, shots fired over at Whiteford Road." he blurted out, rushed.

At that point, he looked as though he wanted to slam his head against the table. He glanced between the siblings before him, and his eyes narrowed. "Either of you have to go to the bathroom?" he asked, impatient.

Both Dean and Danielle shook their heads. "No." they replied, simultaneous.

"Good." He stood from where he leaned against the table and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

His grasp was rough as he took a firm hold of Dean's arm, and he slammed the cuffs around him. He looped the chain through the bar beneath the table and attached the other side to Danielle's arm.

Without another word or glance, he turned and marched from the room.

The sound of the door slamming closed made them both jump, and they shared a look between themselves.

"Life just gets better and better, huh?" Danielle remarked, glum.

Dean shook his head. "There are worse people you could be cuffed to, Dani." he remarked, upbeat, as though he knew something that she didn't. He gave the chain a shake as if to prove a point. "Don't you love our quality time."

"Oh, yeah." she enthused. "I'm almost jealous of those brothers and sisters who get their kicks out of seeing a movie or going to a game. How boring must their lives be."

Dean snickered. "We've always been eccentric when it comes to quality time, you know that." he quipped. "It's what makes us interesting."

"Yeah, that's one word for it." she muttered. "Do you wanna do the honors, or shall I?"

Dean followed her gaze to their dad's journal, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I'll do it." he offered. "I'm getting rusty."

Danielle said nothing as Dean tugged a paper clip from one of the pages of the open book before them. There was a smirk on his face, confident, and he pulled it open with his teeth. He worked on the lock at his wrist, a concentrated frown on his face, until he heard it click. With a satisfied smirk, he turned his attention to the lock around his sister's wrist, and, in moments, it was unlocked.

"Nice job." she remarked, rubbing a hand at her wrist. "Not as rusty as you think."

Dean shot her a smirk. "Come on," he muttered. "Let's get the hell out of here."