"Dean, I think I may have found something," Sam said looking up from the computer. Dean looked over toward the closed bathroom door. He got up and walked over to stand behind his brother.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I had been doing the wrong search on that crest," Sam answered. "Something Rick said made me realize it. She changed the crest! So the description I was looking for didn't pull up anything!"
"Yeah, I caught that too," Dean said. "But can you do that? Change your family crest like that?" he asked.
"I dunno, I guess so," Sam said to him. "Anyway, she did. Here look," he pointed to the screen. "I did a search just using the Latin written on her arm, 'Si Fractus Fortis.' And look what I found," he clicked through the Google search to the first entry. "Si Fractus Fortis – if broken, still strong. It's the family motto of the Foster family. And look here. This must be what Rick recognized," he said pointing to an image of a crest similar to Rose's tattoo, but with a different shield. Above the shield was an armored helmet and arm, holding a broken lance, exactly identical to the helmet and arm on Rose's tattoo. She had kept the crest and helm, and the family motto, but changed the shield to a horned Pegasus.
"There's just one problem," Sam said.
"What's that?" Dean asked him, peering at the screen in front of them.
"They're in Texas, alright, but they're all over the state! It almost looks as if every family named Foster in Texas claims that as their family crest. How can we even know which family is the right one? And how are we going to find this uncle of hers?" Sam realized that too many search results could be just as frustrating as too few or none at all. "Here's one that says, 'Following the Path of Sainthood.' And another that says they were part of the Crusades with Richard I. There's over 1,300 results here, Dean. I don't know if I can narrow that down."
"Well, keep searching," Dean said. "Maybe you'll come up with something else."
Rose came out of the bathroom and walked over to Sam. "So where to next?" she asked, leaning provocatively over Sam's shoulder to look at the glowing computer screen in front of him. He closed down his search just before she reached him. Her breath was warm on his neck and she smelled of mint and honeysuckle. He wished she wouldn't do that -- lean in so close to him. He pushed away from the desk and stood up. "Louisiana," he said, looking over at Dean, "It's one thing we haven't tried, man. There's a shaman there, a holy man, who knows about..." he broke off in mid-sentence, looking awkwardly at Rose.
"Who knows about whatever it is you're searching for that you don't want me to know about. Yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah. I get it." She sat down in Sam's abandoned chair and was searching through the computer herself now. She waved her hand at him, nonchalantly. "Use me, abuse me, but don't let me in on your little secrets. That's fine, I don't care..." she stopped abruptly, her attention now turned fully to the computer screen in front of her.
Sam knew she was right but it wasn't his call to make. Dean had made the decision to tell her as little as possible about their family, about their history, or about the deal he'd made. They had tried talking to her about what happened to Rick, and how she'd managed to stop the Hellhound, but she swore she didn't even remember any of it. The henna tattoo on her hand had disappeared completely the instant the beast was destroyed. They were back to square one as far as Rose was concerned. Dean still wanted to keep her with them, in spite of her lack of memory of the incident. He believed keeping an eye on her was the only way to keep her safe. Sam wanted the same thing, but for different reasons. He knew Rose could somehow save his brother and he didn't want to risk losing track of her.
A knock at the door made both brothers start as a voice called out, "Room service!" Dean reached for the gun laying on the table as Sam threw a blanket over the arsenal splayed out on one of the two beds.
"Oh, yeah, I ordered room service," Rose said flatly, her eyes never leaving the computer screen. "Burgers okay?"
Sam opened the door to the uniformed bellboy standing there with a push cart. He hesitantly pushed past Sam, who partially blocked his way. Dean was standing now, his arm behind his back, pistol in hand, cocked and ready.
"Where?..." the bellboy started to ask.
"On the table over there is fine." Rose said, still not looking up. She waved her hand at the small table near the door. The bellboy quickly moved the trays -- two of them -- onto the table and turned to leave the room. Even he could feel the tension in the room and he wanted to get out as fast as he could. Sam started to reach for his wallet but the bellboy stopped him, "Don't worry, sir. My tip's already been comped. I've been well taken care of. Very well taken care of, thank you!" he said as he backed out and closed the door.
Sam looked over at Rose, wondering just how she managed to pay for all this when he never even saw her sign a bill. She was the one who had convinced them to stay in a nicer hotel for a change, telling them not to worry about the cost. Dean pushed past him, sitting down in one of the oversized chairs at the table and removing the cover from one of the two trays. The smell of freshly cooked burgers and warm fries filled the air. Sam sat down hesitantly in the other chair. He removed the cover from the 2nd tray and looked around for a third. "Ummm, aren't you going to eat?" he asked Rose.
"Nah, not hungry," she answered, clicking to another page on the computer. Her face was taut, her eyes narrowed and beginning to redden. She closed the laptop slowly. "I, uh, I think I'm gonna take a shower," she said. "If that's okay with you," she added, looking over at Dean. Her bruises had healed, but she still let him know he was in charge, whatever he said, she would do.
He just nodded, mouth full of burger and waved his arm at her. He swallowed. "But don't use up all the hot water this time!" he called after her as she grabbed her backpack and closed the bathroom door behind her. They had slowly started trusting her more, finally allowing her some privacy after the Hellhound incident. It was Sam who convinced Dean that she obviously wanted to help and not to escape from them.
"What do you think that was about?" Sam asked, wondering what had caught her attention on the computer.
"Dunno, don't care," Dean answered, stuffing more fries in his mouth. "She's an odd one, that's for sure."
Sam moved over to the computer, abandoning his food for the moment. He quickly saw that she had cleared the cache before shutting it down, but he had a backup program she didn't know about. It didn't take him long to find the pages she'd been looking at. "Local businessman dies," he read aloud. He looked over toward the bathroom door. He could hear the shower running. He read further, "Local businessman, Thomas 'Slim' Foster, 71, died of a heart attack Monday night at Our Mother of Grace Hospital. He is survived by his wife, Rose Ellen Foster of Abilene and sister, Minnie Lee McClure of Dallas."
"So?" Dean asked, his mouth still full of burger. "Died of a heart attack at 71. Doesn't sound like our kind of problem, Sammy."
"No, but Rose was sure interested in it. Wait, there's more." He read on, "Former head of the oilworkers' union, Foster was influential in both local and state politics, making great strides towards workers' safety, and providing assistance to the families of oilworkers injured or killed on the job. 'He paid money out of his own pocket to send my Johnny to college after his Daddy died,' said neighbor, Elsie Moore. 'Of course, they never had any children of their own, so I guess that's why they took care of the town's children. A pillar of the community,' she added. 'He will be missed.'"
"Pillar of the community... successful businessman, died of natural causes, yada, yada. Definitely not our kind of problem, Sammy. Hey, you gonna eat those fries?" Without waiting for an answer Dean scooped up most of Sam's fries onto his own plate, stuffing several into his mouth.
"Oh, shit, Dean!" Sam cried out, looking back at the first paragraph on the screen. "I almost didn't catch it! The man's name is Foster!"
The statement caught Dean's attention. Looking around, he asked, "Uh, Sammy, where are the car keys?"
"Don't worry, they're right here in my pock..." Sam's voice trailed off as he reached into his empty jeans pocket. He remembered Rose leaning into him as he stood up earlier. "She took the keys," he admitted in defeat.
They both ran for the bathroom door, Dean hitting it first. The door was locked but one hit with his shoulder and he had it open. The shower was still running, the window open to the fire escape below. They went to the window, looking down four flights at an empty parking space where the Impala had been parked the night before. It was nowhere in sight.
"Dean, I said I was sorry," Sam implored.
Dean just glared at his brother and grunted. He didn't say anything, afraid he would punch his brother in the mouth if he said he was sorry one more time. They were in a compact rental car, flat countryside flying by them.
"No one's ever been able to pickpocket me before!" Sam insisted, "Ever!"
"Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there, Sammy?" Dean let his sarcasm hit Sam instead of hitting him with his fist. "All I'll say is, she'd better be at that damn funeral!"
Dean pulled up into a gas station and both brothers went to the men's room to change into suits and ties. As they got back into the car, Sam looked over at Dean and opened his mouth, about to say something.
"Don't say it again, Sam," Dean said to him and slammed the Hyundai door behind him. He pulled back onto the highway and sped past a sign that read, "Welcome to Abilene, Texas!"
"The man in the gas station said the funeral home is in the center of town," Sam said, looking around. "Uh, how can you tell where the center of town is?" All around them, there was only more and more flat land, with a few houses scattered here and there.
"I think this is it, Sammy," Dean answered him as the highway came to an end and he pulled up to a red stoplight. Looking both ways, he pointed, "Over there." Sam turned the direction Dean was pointing and saw a line of cars pulling into a parking lot of a large pillared building. The light turned green and Dean quickly flipped on his blinker and turned in the direction of the funeral home. The parking lot was full and more cars were still pulling up, parking anywhere they could along the streets and in the grassy lot across the street from the funeral home. Dean pulled the compact car to a stop and they got out. As they passed through the parking lot, neither of them spied the Impala. Dean looked at Sam, discouraged. Sam knew what he was thinking. He was thinking it too. She'd better be here. It's our only lead.
Everyone was dressed in their Sunday best, the women all in dresses, no slacks. Most people were still standing around outside, greeting each other as they headed for the funeral home steps. The atmosphere was somber, but no one was crying. Dean and Sam both noticed this -- a total lack of emotion on nearly every face, furrowed brows on the men, furtive smiles on the women. Everyone spoke in hushed, respectful tones. They tried to blend in as best they could, seeing people noticing that they were out-of-towners. Both were dressed in navy blue suits and white dress shirts, Dean with a gray tie, Sam with a blue one.
As they entered the funeral home, the brothers noticed it was standing room only. It seemed every resident of Abilene had turned up. Taking up position at the back of the room, both brothers scanned the crowd for the familiar bright red hair. Sam spotted it first. Nudging Dean, he tilted his head toward the front of the funeral home as the crowd slowly hushed. From a door off to the side of the casket at the front of the funeral home, Rose entered, guiding a gray-headed woman by the arm. Another elderly woman walked out ahead of them, head held high. They took their seats in the family pew, set up facing the congregation and slightly elevated from it. The hush of the crowd was almost deafening to Dean, the air was thick and hot for the first week of March. He pulled at his collar, not taking his eyes off Rose.
Keeping his eye on her during the long eulogies, Dean almost didn't recognize her. Only a small peek of her bright red hair could be seen under a black scarf she wore over her head. The only woman in the room in slacks, she wore a black, long-sleeved sweater pulled down over a white button-down collared shirt and she had on black lace gloves, as did the two elderly women with her. Dean wondered about the long sleeves in the unusual early spring heat, then realized, she was covering up her tattoos. That explained the slacks, too. A dress, even with boots would have revealed the dragon crawling up her long leg. Only today she looked short and somewhat older. Even from the back of the room, he could tell she'd been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot with dark circles under them. He looked around the room, spotting men in black suits at each corner of the room, with wireless ear buds, each standing at attention, scanning the crowd just as he was. He nudged Sam and they both ducked their heads, trying to blend into the others in the standing room only crowd. They noticed other agents after that, scattered in the pews, and then noticed that a large majority of the men in the congregation had some kind of bulge under his jacket. What had they just stepped into?