DISCLAIMER: Shabby aba dooby. Cappa delta phi. I don't own Sam or Dean. Rainbow roll.

A/N: I'm not pleased with this dialogue. Dean feels wrong, but I'm not feeling well and you've all waited so long for this. I may go back and fix it, but for now, this is just to move the plot along. I love you all. I like apple cider.

P.S. BTW, I've been so distracted from my Supernatural story because I've been working on a few other projects. If you're interested to read one, let me know and I'll send you the link to one of them I've posted on Fictionpress... Maybe I should post some of the others to get views on which to concentrate on... Hmm...

Dean and Sam approached the grotto warily. The photos from the police file had been grisly, but they had still been just photos. Now the reality of the place was setting in and Dean for one was less than happy about traipsing around a cemetery, even if it was the middle of the afternoon and hours away from sunset.

Sam stepped around the rust red stain on the ground and moved further into the shallow cave. Dean trained a flashlight into the darkness and Sam whistled low. There, in the corner near the floor was something the police had missed. Dean nodded to Sam and held the light steady while his brother knelt down with his phone to snap a picture.

"Say cheese," Sam muttered in time with the woman living inside his phone and waited for the shutter sound to finish before standing. Dean leaned forward to check the quality of the snapshot.

"Not bad," he nodded.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, tucking the phone into his pocket. "Where to now?"

"Not a cemetery," Dean replied, scanning the small grotto one last time.

"You know someone died in there."

Sam and Dean spun around to face the feminine voice. Dean was surprised to recognize the redhead from the day before on campus.

"Yeah, we know." he answered, moving toward the mouth of the cave to stand before the girl. "You were at the college, right?"

The young woman smiled and shuffled the small bundle of flowers in her arms.

"So were you," she nodded. "Why are you here?"

"Research," Sam broke in before Dean could respond. "We're working on a paper for criminal psych."

Dean eyed his brother with surprise at Sam's hostile attitude.

"Oh," she answered, arching a brow and meeting Sam's gaze for a moment before looking past his shoulder. "Your other friend isn't here?"

"No," Dean shook his head. "She's putting in time at the library."

"Oh!" The girl smiled widely at the news.

"I'm sorry," Sam moved forward, placing himself between Dean and the girl. "I'm Sam and this is Dean. Who are you?"

"Sam!" Dean hissed, shocked. Usually Dean was the rude brother, lacking conversational finesse, but Sam was excelling at bad manners. He was equally surprised when the young woman just laughed.

"Sorry," she smiled. "I'm Lynn Anderson."

Linnea shifted the ridiculous flowers in her arms again, smiling until her cheeks hurt, and reached out to shake Dean's hand. Sam got there first, though, and she didn't have to use the contact to know he wanted her to leave. Before she could move to shake Dean's hand, Sam was speaking again and Linnea fought the urge to scream.

"So, what are you doing here?"

Something about the girl bothered Sam. She felt wrong, somehow, as though she was out of place and full of darkness. She was also excessively interested in Dean, too mcuh for Sam's comfort.

"The guy that was killed here was in one of my classes," Linnea lied smoothly. She could sense the hostility in the tall one, as well as his raw power and she pulled her mind shut against him. "I was just bringing him some flowers."

Courtesy of the grave three rows back, she smirked inwardly.

"Really?" Sam raised a brow. Dean cleared his throat to shush him, but Sam ignored his brother. "A thirty-five year old banker was in one of your classes? That's strange."

"I wasn't aware pottery classes came with an age restriction," Linnea answered coldly, eyes narrowed.

"Sam!" Dean hissed again. "What's wrong with you?"

Dean spoke through clenched teeth and Sam spun and met his eyes. Dean knew something had spooked his brother, but he couldn't see the waifish redhead as that dangerous. Sam sniffed in disdain and turned away.

"I'll be at the car," he grunted and brushed past Linnea to leave the small cemetery. Dean and Linnea watched his retreating figure for a long moment.

"Sorry about Sam," Dean said to break the silence. "He's almost never that bad."

"Maybe he's trying to protect his sister," Linnea shrugged.

"His who?"

"The girl you were with. Isn't she his sister?"

Dean laughed as he realized she meant Anna.

"No, no," he shook his head. "She's not his sister."

"Oh," Linnea nodded and moved into the cave past Dean to lay the flowers on the ground near the bloodstains. She stood slowly, remembering the feel of this one inside her, becoming angry anew at what a failure he and his blood had been.

"Are you alright?" Dean asked, watching Lynn.

"I'm fine," she answered tightly, fighting to control her rage. When Linnea felt Dean's hand on her shoulder, a gesture meant to comfort, she reached up and finally made contact, gently probing his mind for the best way to seduce him, to entice him. His heart's desire danced at the edge of her vision and she had to prolong the contact. Linnea wet her lips and turned to face him with a sad look in her eyes.

"It's a shame really. He was a nice man."

Dean noticed her hand still holding his and gave a small squeeze before extracting his fingers.

"I'm sorry about your friend," he said gently. As he met her eyes, he saw a flash of awareness in her gaze and he stepped back, suddenly uncomfortable.

There, at the edge of his mind, almost hiding his desires from even himself, Linnea had found what she needed to know. The brunette, the woman he had been with the day before. Her image, naked and writhing beneath him was what he desired. Her body pressed against his, comfortable and warm in sleep was his heart's true longing. The bitch.

"Well, I gotta go," he smiled and jerked his head toward the direction Sam had gone. Linnea panicked. She couldn't let him just leave. She needed to see the girl's image again.

"Wait!" She cried as he turned away. "I'll- I'll walk out with you," she suggested with an easy smile.

Dean felt like a deer in headlights. Talking to this girl his dreams of Anna had suddenly come to mind, and he just wanted to get back to his hotel room. He smiled politely and shrugged in apology.

"My brother's waiting for me and-"

"You need to pick up his girlfriend?" Linnea finished, hoping that his obsession with the girl would be easy to exploit.

"No- what?" Dean backed away slowly.

"The girl. She's not his sister. Therefore his girlfriend is the next logical conclusion."

Linnea needed him to say the girl was his woman. It would make using her image so much easier for the seduction, make taking him the first time so much easier.

"He doesn't like me," she pressed. "It's because of her right?"

"Look, lady," Dean felt his temper flare. "Sam just met you." Dean sighed and scratched at the back of his neck. "But you're right. He is a little protective about Anna. She and I- well…" Dean stammered to a halt.

"You belong to her?" Linnea forced her expression to appear faintly amused, her voice kept light with only the utmost effort.

Dean was saved from having to answer by his phone ringing. He muttered an apology and pulled it out, surprised to see Anna's number on the screen. He flipped the phone open and took a few steps away from Lynn.

"Yeah?"

Linnea watched him listen to whoever was on the other end of the line, admiring the strength in his hands and the sensual curve of his mouth. She let her eyes roam the lines of his body, admiring the shape of a man who obviously took care of himself.

"Right, see you soon," he ended the call, jerking her out of her reverie as he turned to face her. "I have to go."

Dean's tone left no room for argument on her side and Linnea conceded defeat in this round.

"See you around," she shrugged and smiled.

Dean raised a brow and turned to walk away. The girl was definitely on the creepy side.

Linnea watched Dean as he left the cemetery, not moving until he got behind the wheel of his car and pulled away, turning the corner out of sight. Only then did the smile leave her face. Linnea turned to the grotto and stalked over to the bouquet, swiping it up in one hand. With a scream of frustration, she slammed the delicate blossoms against the wall, again and again, accenting each blow with a new screech or curse. When the flowers at last failed to give up any more petals she threw the bare stalks on the ground and stomped away from the floral carnage.

If he wanted that swarthy, busty little woman writhing beneath him, he'd get her. How hard could it be to become a brunette for a night?