a/n: We don't own Supernatural or any of the show's characters.

The anger that had been boiling my blood subsided as the dark presence of the house washed over me. With each passing moment I could feel the sensation of life being drained from a body; I imagined that was how the children felt when they were attacked in the dead of night. I was fixated at the doorway, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions that had taken over my conscience. In the past few months I had focused on honing my supernatural skills, trying my best to regain some form of control in my life. I had not yet developed the ability to detach myself from situations that carried more emotional distress than I could handle; my deep connection to others' pain and suffering had rendered me vulnerable, and as much as I despised admitting it, I had become somewhat of a liability on cases I worked on in the past as a result. Being a hunter was difficult enough, but feeling the turmoil of distressed souls who haunted abandoned buildings, experiencing the terror of children who encountered monsters they thought only existed in their nightmares, enduring the agony of each person I desired to help, was nearly unbearable. Trying to find an inner calmness to focus on, I inhaled deeply. It felt as though my soul was fleeting, being swept away by the wind that whispered through the open windows. I hadn't realized that I had shut my eyes until they shot open at the sound of someone snapping loudly in front of my face.

"Do you have an EMF reader?" Sam asked, his eyes shining with that ever-present questioning expression. I much preferred Sam's genuinely curious demeanor over his brother's bitter annoyance that seemed to slide into place whenever I came around. "We can get outta here a lot faster if we all search the house separately."

"No, I don't have one," I answered quietly, surveying the house in hopes of finding the source of the dread that consumed me.

"What? Why not?" asked Dean as he walked over to the two of us.

"Don't you know I'm the ghost whisperer, Dean?" I said flatly, making my way to the staircase and looking up to the second floor. I sensed fear radiating from what I assumed was the children's bedroom.

Dean scoffed, "Yeah, you're the ghost whisperer without her best assets," motioning slightly towards my chest.

I merely scrunched up my nose in disgust at his blatantly misogynistic behavior; I knew there was little to no point in getting into a heated feminist debate with a person as stubborn as Dean. "I'll be upstairs," I deflected, walking up the staircase with Dean following suit.

Sam, who was left standing at the bottom of the staircase, shook his head in slight annoyance and opted to search the main level by himself. He wasn't in the mood to be subjected to their bickering. Being on the road with Dean each day and cramped together in a motel room each night had taken its toll on Sam, but Charlotte's presence added to his already elevated stress levels. Since she returned, he had spent far too much time trying to steal glances at her, deciphering the expressions that danced across her face. From the moment he saw her standing next to his father, distant memories nudged the back of his brain incessantly, and he had admitted defeat in getting lost in them. He could almost feel the sensation of lightly stroking her arms with his fingertips, watching in adoration as she fell into a deep slumber within minutes. He recalled the way her nose would crinkle as stray strands of hair would tickle it and how she would scratch it furiously, which always sent him into fits of laughter. Even at that very moment, as he walked through the corridor of the empty house, he struggled to focus on the case at hand; he was reminiscing about the times he would lie in bed with Charlotte watching The Ghost Whisperer, her head cradled gently in the crook of his arm. They would mute the television and create their own dialogue that somehow felt better than any script the show had come up with, no matter how terrible it was. He could hear her giggle and feel her bury her face in his shoulder trying to stifle the laughter. He needed an escape from her, if only for a few moments. He continued his search of the main level of the home, scouring the area for anything that indicated the family had been marked by some dark supernatural force, fighting with every fiber of his being to ignore the way her lips used to curve into a smile.

I cautiously walked down the dark hallway, feeling the pull of the dark force leading me to the children's bedroom. As I made my way past the door frame, I felt as though my insides were being ripped out through my throat. I stifled a cough, in an attempt to not alarm Dean, and clutched my hand to my neck. Trying to remain discreet, I took a few steps forward. Suddenly, my legs felt as though they would break underneath me; my body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I sat on the bed in an attempt to relieve some pressure, but the heaviness I felt in my bones only increased as I made my way further into the scene of the attack. I took a deep breath and searched for any traces of joy left in the bedroom under the rot. I could sense laughter, childlike wonder as children played toys, their minds reeling with imagination. The comfort of youth soothed me for a moment, allowing me to collect myself. The sensation of evil slowly escaped my body, and I stood up to investigate the room further. I surveyed every surface, every crevice of the bedroom searching for any manifestation of the supernatural intruder. I began to feel discouraged, as if we were failing the children we came here to save. I took a few paces over to the window, looking over the lofty green trees. I felt a chill creep up my neck despite the warm, summer air flooding into the bedroom. I scoured the wooden windowsill for any hint of supernatural presence to no avail. Peeking my head out the window, I continued my search; I noticed a dark, rotted handprint on the windowpane. The chill I felt on my neck had made its way throughout my entire body. I turned around to call out for Dean just as he was entering the room. "Perfect timing, I found a clue over here."

"Jenkies!" he said sarcastically.

"Could you be serious?" I was so weighed down by the darkness I felt I could barely stand, and here Dean was making jokes and taking a jab at my investigative abilities while he was at it.

Come look at what I found, asshat," I said in an irritated tone. He let out a short, annoyed sigh and strolled over to me.

"Alright, what is it?" he glared at me.

"Take a look for yourself," I replied, motioning towards the windowsill.

He peered his head out the window and looked down at the rotted wood. Almost instantly, I felt the atmosphere in the room shift from annoyance to pure dread. He was staring at the dark mark, frozen in a trance-like state, seemingly incapable of moving a muscle.

"Dean…?" I asked cautiously, with no response from him. It was like he hadn't even heard my voice. I placed my hand on his shoulder to try and pull him from his thoughts; I immediately regretted that decision, as I felt a paralyzing wave of fear and failure overcome my body. I snatched my hand away from his shoulder, as if touching him was like placing my hand on an open flame. After a few moments that felt like hours, he turned to look at me, a dismal sadness in his eyes.

"Alright, I take it back. I don't like you this serious," I said jokingly, trying and failing to lighten the somber mood that was suspended over the room like a storm cloud.

His face did not move a muscle, his stoic expression glued in place, and he simply stated, "I know what we're hunting."

"Let's go find Sam." I led us out of the room and felt the darkness slightly loosen its grip on my body. With Dean following close behind, we made our way down the steps and into the living room, finding Sam on the family's desktop computer. "Hey, find anything?"

"Not exactly. I got nothing from searching around the house, so I've been looking through the history to see if I could dig up any connections," Sam said, rubbing his temples in frustration. He logged off the computer and placed everything on the desk just how he had found it. "How 'bout you guys? What'd you find?"

"Something that should've been killed years ago," said Dean cryptically. Sam sent a glance in my direction, furrowing his brows in confusion. It seemed as though even he had no idea what his brother was on about. Before I could ask Dean to elaborate, I could have sworn I heard the slam of a car door outside.

"Shh!" I hushed them, listening intently. The room was quiet enough to hear a key being slipped into the lock of the front door, and panic ensued. Not being accustomed to getting caught in the act, we clumsily scrambled over each other's bodies in an effort to find a place to conceal ourselves. I silently cursed the fact that this home was not equipped with a back door for us to slink out of. Dean quickly made his way to the kitchen, probably hoping that the mother wasn't in the mood for an afternoon snack. Meanwhile, Sam and I stuffed ourselves into a nearby coat closet. Despite how earnestly I strained to listen for whoever had come into the house, it was as if I had lost my hearing abilities and could focus on nothing but the nonexistent space between Sam's body and my own.

I could feel his heart thumping against his chest and I wanted nothing more than to slip into the familiarity of resting my head on it. Even after the many years that had passed, inhaling his musky scent of soap, sweat and dusty books caused the memories to come flooding back to my mind, and I was drowning.

I tried to stifle a giggle as Sam and I crammed ourselves into the tiny bathroom stall. We had just been released from our classes, and only had fifteen minutes until our next one, but we could not resist the urge to be consumed by one another. We couldn't bare another second of not touching each other; it was as if every magnetic force on earth pulled our lips together, yearning for just a taste of what heaven must be like. Our hands were well-traveled, scouring every inch of each other's bodies in search of a place to rest. His left hand had found its way to my butt, grabbing and drawing me closer with rough desperation while his right arm was firmly wrapped around my waist, refusing to allow us to be apart for even a moment. My hands were lost in him—from running through his shaggy hair, to feeling his muscular back through his thin t-shirt, to feeling his chest, sticky with perspiration, underneath his t-shirt—my craving for him could hardly be satiated. I heard the bathroom door open and we glanced at each other in alarm; Sam sat down onto the toilet seat and I wrapped my legs around his waist to eliminate the possibility of being seen from the bottom of the stall.

Although I was fearful of getting caught, my playfulness would not allow me sit in his lap motionless. I decided to have a little fun with Sam by challenging him to stay silent. I began shifting my hips slowly, which resulted in Sam titling his head back and letting out a light, yet gruff groan. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, struggling to find the power to keep himself quiet. I smiled widely as I watched him try to keep his composure, slightly increasing the speed of my hips against him. In place of letting out a symphony of moans, his powerful hands gripped around my waist so tightly I thought it might bruise my skin, but that just made me want to play with his tolerance more. He rested his head against the stall wall behind him and I began to gently bite the sensitive skin on his neck, tracing my tongue across the marks I had created. His breath hitched in his throat and he tugged on my hair, silently begging me to put an end to the torment caused by not being able to reciprocate the pleasure I was giving him. I finally relented, pulling away from him, and in an instant he had turned the tables on me, kissing and licking every inch of exposed skin his mouth could discover.

I felt a shiver travel throughout every cell in my body as I was transported back to the present, the desire I felt back then trickling into my mind and consuming my thoughts. I slowly shifted my gaze up at Sam, just barely being able to distinguish his eyes staring back down at me in the darkness of the cramped closet. It almost felt as though he had been lost in the same distant memory, the only indication being that his body had gone rigid, as if he was trying to restrain himself. I knew that it would only complicate things, but the smallest part of my heart wanted him to make a move—I wanted him to do something to show that he didn't harbor any hatred towards me. I wanted us to be wrapped around each other so intimately that I couldn't decipher where my body ended and his began. His hand moved gently to my hip; it was a light, unsure movement. No matter how slight his movement, it was enough to illuminate me, like static electricity was tingling through the wires of my brain.

We had barely noticed the faint footsteps of the person heading upstairs until Dean swung the door open, exposing us. My cheeks were tingling with child-like blush and I felt grateful that my darker skin tone had the ability to mask my mortification. The expression of annoyance quickly faded from his face and transformed into a sly smirk as he saw his younger brother caught in a compromising position. The enjoyment he drew from our embarrassment was brief, as his face became stern and he motioned for us to hightail it the hell out of there.

I sipped on my glass of ice water as Dean sifted through the bleak dessert menu of the musty dive bar we had pulled into. We had worked up an appetite after nearly being caught—as a group by the homeowner, and Sam and I by his brother. I stole a quick glance at his face across the table; he looked as if he was trying with everything in him to avoid my eyes.

"I think we should book a room at the motel closest to the hospital tonight, make it easier to go back and forth between checking up on the kids," Dean said to Sam as he took a swig of his beer. Sam appeared to be a million miles away in his head, not even responding to his brother's suggestion. "Sammy?" Dean waved a hand in front of Sam's face.

"Huh? Yeah, closer to the hospital, good plan," he said hazily.

"Good. There's one I saw on the drive down here, on Marshall street," replied Dean.

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, each of us reserved in our own minds.

"So, how'd you wind up with our old man?" Dean asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. I sensed a feeling of jealousy and bitterness radiating from him.

"I found him in danger one night. He was in pretty bad shape in the middle of a hunt and I helped him get out of there," I answered shortly, wanting this conversation to end as soon as possible.

"Wait, you saved him?" replied Dean incredulously, raising an eyebrow. "How long have you been hunting? I doubt a newbie could save the best hunter I know." I could feel a sense of anger mixed with shame coming off of his body, as if the fact that his dad needed saving at all was something to be ashamed of.

"Yeah, I mean, he is a phenomenal hunter, but everyone needs saving sometimes, you know?" I tried to downplay the fact that his father had a momentary lapse of strength. Sam's eyes shifted between us but he didn't speak a word.

"I guess," Dean said gruffly, taking a swig of his beer. "So you musta started pretty young if you got good enough to help my dad."

"Actually, it hasn't been terribly long. It was just my third year in college," I said, my thoughts drifting back to that time in my life. I spoke almost absentmindedly, lost in what could have been, staring down into my glass to avoid any judgment that might be found in Dean's eyes. "You know how this life just…traps you. I ended up dropping out of school, even though I loved it," I paused for a moment, and was snapped back to reality by the waitress slamming down another bottle of beer in front of Dean. "Anyways," I continued after she walked away, "now I just hunt and do some odd jobs here and there to pay for the travel expenses."

Sam's chin was resting on his folded hands as he stared off into the sea of people behind my head, fixating his gaze on anything that wasn't me. "How old are you anyway?" asked Dean.

"I'm 23."

"That's pretty young to be as good as you supposedly are," he said with suspicion.

"Alright grandpa," I chuckled, "Sam's even younger than I am, so maybe you're just old," I smiled, eating a few of my French fries.

"How do you know how old Sam is?" he asked, even more suspicion filling his voice. Sam's eyes widened as he shot a glance directly at me.

"Oh, because," I stumbled, "I heard…." My heart began pounding and I could feel my palms starting to sweat, grabbing my ice cold glass to cool them down.

"Dean, she's been with dad for how long now?" Sam started, looking at me cautiously, then back at his brother. "He's probably told her all about us."

I felt Dean's anger swelling as he took a rather large sip of his beer and set the bottle back down with a bit too much force. There was an awkward pause in conversation. "Yeah, you can't even imagine all the things I know about you," I said to Dean playfully in hopes of lightening the mood.

"Yeah, well, that's all the more reason not to trust you," he said coldly, scowling.

Before I could amend the situation, the waitress walked over to us and cheerfully asked, "So who's up for dessert?"

"We don't want any dessert," Dean said rudely, standing up and storming away from the table. He pushed his way past clusters of people in the tiny bar and slammed the door on his way out, startling the waitress.

"I am so sorry about that, he must have had too much to drink," Sam said apologetically. Aside from the awkwardness radiating from the two of them, I felt uncomfortable sitting at the table with Sam alone. I knew at one point or another we would have to confront what happened in that cramped closet, but I decided to avoid it for at least a few more hours. I offered an apology to the waitress and stood up, walking away from the table as quickly as I could.

Sam sat at the table for a few minutes, picking at the fries that Charlotte had left behind. That was probably as awkward as it could've been. He mentally kicked himself for not asking her to stay so that they could resolve whatever it was that happened in the closet. He knew what he felt when they were pressed up against each other, and those feelings followed him the entire way to the bar. Throughout their meal he could hardly look at her because the urge to grab her hand and interlock their fingers was far too strong. He feared that if his eyes rested on her for more than a moment, the desire to reach across the table and pull her in for a kiss would be too powerful. Keeping Dean ignorant to their previous relationship was paramount because he was already distrustful of Charlotte; knowing that she had shattered Sam's heart into nothingness would only complicate things further. Sam shook his head and pushed away the basket of fries, deciding to head back to the motel. Shit, I have to cover the bill…Did I just take my brother and ex-girlfriend out on a date? He scoffed to himself, fishing for his wallet. After paying the bill and leaving a nice tip to apologize for Dean's behavior, he walked out of the bar into the cool night. "Aw, come on!" he said exasperatedly, realizing that his brother had abandoned him during his outburst. He called himself a cab to get back to the motel, swearing that Dean would not hear the last of this for a long while.

Once I pulled into the motel parking lot, I turned my car off and simply sat there for a minute. A few spaces away, I saw Dean's parked car and Dean in the driver's seat doing exactly what I had been doing, brooding over his steering wheel. This mission that John sent me on was proving to be far more dramatic than I had ever intended. I contemplated the situation for a few more minutes and noticed a cab pull into the motel lot. Emerging from the cab, Sam paid the driver and walked over to the Impala. I could almost hear their bickering although my windows were up, and sighed heavily. This is going to be a long night, isn't it?

We all headed inside to book our hotel rooms and I was grateful that I would get a moment of peace away from the personal situation. I intended to sit in my bed all night with bad television in the background as I got lost in research to do what we came here to do—solve the case. Sam and Dean were a few steps ahead of me at the desk. There was a small boy booking their room for them, it must have been a family business.

"A king or two queens?" the child asked, holding back a laugh.

"Two queens," Dean said gruffly, looking around the motel lobby.

The boy snickered, "Yeah, I bet!"

"Hey, what'd you say?" Dean said defensively.

I walked up to the counter and leaned in with a mischievous smile on my face. "The real question is: who's top and who's bottom?" We both fell into fits of laughter.

"My bet is the short haired one's a bottom," the boy said between laughs, clutching his stomach.

"I'm the manly one, though!" Dean says with all seriousness.

"It's usually those ones who are," I say. We busted out in laughter again, tears forming in my eyes from giggling so hard. I sighed and try to regain my composure. "I need a room too."

"What, you're not gonna room with them?" the boy asked.

"No way! I don't wanna be in there while they're doin' it!" I motioned towards the boys. The little boy laughed once more and handed me my key. I grinned at Sam and Dean as I walked past them and out the lobby door to find my motel room.

"It's official, I hate her," Dean said moodily, folding his arms across his chest.

a/n: Hey guys, thanks for giving this chapter a read! Feel free to leave some reviews; please let us know if you want us to continue with this story, what you'd like to see happen, comments, questions, or queries! 3