a/n: We do not own Supernatural.

A stoic expression graced Dean's features, his steely eyes glued to the road ahead of them. Rain splattered against the windshield and the melodic thud on the roof of the Impala was almost hypnotising. The typical classic rock music wasn't blasting through the stereo as Sam and Dean sat in a sickening silence, each lost in their own turmoil. Sam was staring out of the passenger's window with his jaw clenched tightly and his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Seeing her again after nearly four years, after the way she vanished without a trace, had him shaken.

Sorting through so many different emotions was difficult when he first laid eyes on her back at the abandoned building, partially due to shock but mainly because they were trying not to die. Even now, in the safety of the car, he was struggling to decipher exactly what he was feeling. What was she doing with their father? They had to jump through hoops to get so much as a phone call from the man and when they did finally see him again, he was with Charlotte Maiden of all people. Sam shifted his gaze to the open road and wondered if her intentions were honorable. After all, Meg had seemed just as innocent and turned out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. How long had Charlotte been involved in the hunting world, with his family no less? It all seemed too coincidental. Maybe she had been keeping tabs on him, maybe she even played a hand in Jess' death. Was she trying to infiltrate John next? Hunting had made him paranoid, secretly questioning everything and everyone. Hunters could never be too careful.

"So, you wanna find someplace to stop soon?" Dean's voice broke the silence as well as Sam's thoughts.

"Huh?" Sam said distractedly.

"I said you wanna call it a night when we get to the next town?" Dean repeated, glancing over at Sam, wondering what he was so caught up in thought about.

"Uh yeah, sure." Sam retreated to his brooding. There was a possibility that she had been a hunter all along, and that the life just swallowed her whole. Sam rubbed his eyes and sighed, feeling a bit guilty for his previous conspiracy theory. He knew all too well just how taxing a hunter's life could be and the lies, the loss and the choices it entails. He silently kicked himself for not saying anything to her; he should have figured out the truth to why she left without saying goodbye. He felt that he was at least worth an explanation, even if he wasn't enough to make her stay.

"Hey, who do you think that chick was?" Dean smirked, trying to lighten the mood to no avail. His eyes remained dark and focused, despite his upbeat expression.

Sam didn't answer.

"Sammy?" said Dean, trying to get his attention, waving one hand in front of his brother's face. "What's with you tonight?"

"I'm just out of it, I guess. Sorry. What'd you say?"

"Who do you think that chick with dad was?"

Sam shrugged and tried to seem ignorant. "Probably just another hunter he picked up. Maybe he needed help with this demon thing."

Dean chuckled, somewhat bitterly. "And he couldn't have called us for that?" Sam was quiet, and Dean didn't expect an answer. As much as he loved and respected his father, he never expected an answer. "Hey, she was kinda hot though, don'tcha think?" His nonchalant facade slipped back into place. "Dad's lucky he gets to look at that pretty face while he's on the road, I'm stuck lookin' at your mug," he joked.

"Can you just drop it?" Sam snapped, aggravated at his brother's repeated mention of the woman that had been on his mind the entire car ride.

"Jeez, Sammy, what crawled up your ass and died?" Dean shot him a half-concerned, half-annoyed look.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes a bit, but just as he was about to retort, Dean's phone rang.

"Hello?" Dean answered.

"Dean, I need you and your brother to go to Fitchburg, Wisconsin. Now."

"What's goin' on?" he asked John, only to realise that he had already hung up. He glanced down at his phone and shook his head slightly, angrily snapping the phone shut and whipping the car around in a sharp U-turn. Sam slammed against the passenger side door and looked at Dean, nostrils flaring in anger.

"What the hell, Dean?!" he barked, readjusting in his seat. "Want to try and be a little more careful?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your panties in a bunch," he said, speeding down the road just to annoy Sam.

"We hunt monsters day in and day out, I'd like my death to be a little more heroic than a car crash caused by one of your mood swings," said Sam jokingly.

Dean shot him a stern look, and then smirked. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam chuckled, and Dean flipped the radio on, gearing up for the long night of driving that was ahead of him.

After a day of traveling from store to store to ask locals if they had noticed any strange happenings, Sam and Dean were at a dead end. They exited the diner, coffees in hand, disappointed that they had no lead on whatever their father sent them to Wisconsin for.

"Maybe dad was wrong," Sam said defeated, sipping his too-hot cup of coffee.

Dean simply sighed, trying to rationalize a reply and surveyed their surroundings. His eye caught something, or someone, unexpected leaning against the Impala. "Hey!" he shouted, running over to the car with Sam right behind him.

"Whoa, relax!" she said, raising her hands in surrender. "Your dad sent me. I, uh, I come in peace," she stammered with an awkward chuckle.

"I think he knows we can handle ourselves," said Dean with more than a hint of distrust in his voice. "No way he woulda sent you here to babysit us."

"Well, he did," she retorted with a small shrug.

"And we're just supposed to trust you, just like that? We don't even know your name. He woulda called and let us know he was sending you," he lied with an unwavering tone of confidence.

"My name is Charlotte, and you can see for yourself if I can safely get my cell out of my pocket?" she offered as she slowly reached for her phone. Once she felt safe, she retrieved it and brought up the text message she had received from John instructing her to head to Wisconsin. Dean nearly snatched it out of her hands; after examining it a little too long, he quickly masked his crestfallen expression with one of amusement.

"Alright, if you think you can hang," he handed her phone back to her, letting his gaze drift and settle on an empty park. He could not understand what this woman had done to deserve the attention from his father that he desperately craved. He and Sam had to realign the stars to get as much as a voicemail consisting of nothing but of coordinates from John; meanwhile, he had been running around with her like the best of friends, spending God-knows how much time together. He even made the effort to stay in contact with her when they parted ways, while his own sons were left wondering whether he was dead or alive.

"So…" Sam started, breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence. His pause lasted a few seconds too long, making the situation even more awkward. Charlotte's chocolate-eyed glance bounced from his face, to the ground, to the café just behind him, begging for a safe place to land. "Charlotte…do you have any leads yet?" His voice nearly caught in his throat when he uttered her name.

"Well, not exactly," she sighed, "but from the look of that park behind me, I'd guess that we've got something that's snatching up kids." The conviction with which she spoke took her by surprise. Inside, she was trembling. Her mind was a hurricane and she was sure she'd get swept away.

I was unsure how much longer I could stand face to face with Sam and avoid being impaled by guilt. His expression was painted with shades of disappointment and discomfort; he looked as though he would collapse into himself at any moment. It was apparent that he would rather crawl through broken glass than have a conversation with me. How could I blame him? I wanted desperately to tell him the sorrow that I felt for what I had done to him. I wanted to offer an explanation to him, something that would help him sleep a bit easier at night. I couldn't.

"That's all ya got?" His brother's gruff voice pulled me from my contemplation. I could, quite literally, feel the judgment dripping from his words.

"No," I said, squinting at him in irritation. How was I to have all of the answers when I could barely collect my thoughts? My eyes surveyed the empty park and landed on a woman sitting on a bench reading a magazine. "That's not all I got." I walked over to the bench and approached the woman. "It sure is quiet out here," I stated.

"Yeah, it's a shame," she said with a small shake of her head.

"Why's that?" I sat down on the bench next to her.

"You know, kids getting sick. It's a terrible thing." I felt her emotions shift from casual to concern.

"How many?" I pushed. Kids fall sick all of the time, licking dirt and sneezing on everything they come in contact with.

"Just five or six, but it's serious—hospital serious. A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious; they think it's catching," she said solemnly, shifting her gaze to the little girl playing alone on the park. I offered my hope that her daughter would remain in good health and made my way back over to Sam and his brother.

"What'd she have to say?" Sam's brother asked with an expression of genuine interest.

"She told me that a lot of the kids around here have fallen ill, bad enough to be hospitalized."

"So what's the plan?" asked Sam as the three of us exchanged looks.

We decided to drive back to the motel that they were staying at in our respective vehicles to have a bit more privacy. Even in a separate car I could feel the dread, disdain and quiet anger that was radiating from them. It almost felt like a twinge of jealousy was present as well. What was I getting myself into?

Once we reached the motel, I paid for a room of my own and we reconvened there to discuss the plan. I could sense their guarded presence before they set foot through the door.

"Dean, I think our first stop should be the hospital; see just what kind of condition these kids are in," Sam suggested, keeping his eyes on his brother to gauge his response.
"Sounds like a plan, Sammy. Who should we go as this time? Janitors, surgeons, slutty male nurses?" said Dean with a glimmer of humor in his eye.

Sam chuckled, "I don't think we could pull off surgeons."

"You're investigating the cases, why not just go as people who are trained to do that?" I offered as a sensation of irritation seemed to wash over the room.

Dean glanced at me briefly before begrudgingly agreeing with me, "That's a good point. We already have the suits packed."

"Doctors? From the Center for Disease Control," Sam said, his eyes just barely passing over me.

"Cool. Let's get on it then," said Dean, standing up for his chair and motioning for Sam to leave with him.

"Wait a sec," I said in protest. They both fixated their attention on me for the first time since I arrived. "What am I supposed to do, sit in the room and twiddle my thumbs?"

"Why don't you paint your nails, princess? We don't need more than two people investigating the hospital," Dean said with what he must have thought was a cool tone. His bitterness was practically oozing out of every pore.

"Your dad didn't send me here to be on vacation. He sent me to work with you two because he thought you could use the help," I stated firmly. "Don't patronize me like I'm not a hunter myself."

"Look, we don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves. Why don't you can see what you can dig up online, see if anything like this has happened before? We'll give you a call when we find something out," Sam reasoned, calm on the outside and tense on the inside. He always did aim to be the one to diffuse difficult situations.

I was reluctant at first, but ultimately agreed. The last thing we needed was to be kicked out of the hospital, or worse, arrested for impersonating doctors. I exchanged phone numbers with them and urged them to call me at the first instance of a lead.

Once they left, I flopped myself down on the mattress, which felt more like a slab of concrete covered in sheets. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, letting out a long sigh. I couldn't decide what was worse—the way they had made me feel invisible while we conjured up a plan, or the way Dean had tried to belittle me into nothingness. I was just as much a hunter as they were; hell, their own father sent me in to help them fight whatever was infecting the children of Fitchburg. It seemed as though the Winchester men all had one trait in common: refusing help, kicking and screaming, when they needed it most. I had experienced it when I first met John months ago, and he seemed to have passed the lone wolf gene down to his sons. Sam never did like accepting my help, whether it was with homework or laundry or the nights he laid awake, tormented by things he would never tell me.

I quickly sat up and flipped on the television as a distraction. After a few moments of mindless channel surfing, I pulled out my laptop and began my research. I couldn't allow my foolish reminiscing deviate me from the task at hand.

I had been researching for what felt like centuries and restlessness began to set in. I hadn't found any substantial data on children falling sick at rapid rates and I felt a pit of hunger forming in my stomach. I checked my phone for a missed call or text—nothing. It had been two hours; I figured that they must have found something by now. The decision to call Dean and deal with his attitude or to call Sam and deal with the awkwardness loomed over me for a moment. I pressed call and waited for an answer.

"Hello?" I heard a gruff, yet quiet voice.

"Hey, did you guys find anything yet?" I asked. "I haven't gotten anywhere with the research, there's just no information."

"Yeah, we're kinda in the middle of something, so if you don't mind-" Dean snapped.

"I mind!" I interrupted. "Where the hell are you two?"

"Just meet us at 155 Maple Street."

He had hung up.

"Fucking Christ," I muttered under my breath, shoving my phone into my pocket and slipping my shoes on. How dare they leave me out of the case? How dare they think that I'm incapable?

I made my way to the house, speeding down the road in anger and anticipation. Once I found a spot to pull into I saw the Impala parked just up the street, empty. Hopping out of my car, I rushed up to the address Dean gave me to find them loitering on the doorstep.

"Hey, what took ya?" Dean said nonchalantly. "Already got the lock picked. We almost started without you."

"Why didn't you guys tell me you found a lead?" I demanded, instinctively placing my hand on my hip.

"Oh, relax. What, were you waiting by the phone for my call?" mocked Dean with a smirk.

"No, I was buried up to my elbows in dead-end research," I retorted.

"Let's just get inside," Sam said quietly. "We only have so long to do this and we've already wasted enough time," he said, looking directly at me.

"My pleasure," I said, walking past them up the steps. I bumped shoulders with Dean, who stood firmly in his spot, and pushed open the large, white door. In an instant, I felt something cold and dark coming from the house. I had only felt it once before, but I knew exactly what I was feeling—death.