Arielle studied Dean's features as he held the photo frame. Inside was a picture of John and her at a stadium. The girl held her finger up, smiling, while John had his arm around her shoulder. "He took you to a baseball game?" Dean finally asked. She gave a slight nod.

"Yes, I was fourteen. He was around for my birthdays until our fall out," she said as Sam flipped through their father's journal and she caught sight of strange symbols and images of monsters.

"April 23, 2003. 2004. 2005. 2006… All one word. 'Minnesota'. There's several scattered around with no specific dates," he said, more to himself and Dean. "How did we miss this? I mean, we go through this journal practically every day…"

"He took you to a freakin' baseball game?" Dean repeated in disbelief.

Arielle plucked the photo frame from his hands. She remembered that day. John had managed to find out her secret interest in baseball and surprised her with tickets to a game. "Yes. I have a thing for statistics and baseball is the perfect game for it. Dad just thought it would be fun." She set the frame down, running a hand across the glass. "What did dad do with you?" From the lack of response, she knew it was nothing like what John had done for her. "Look, forget it. None of my business. I just want to find my mom," she continued, pulling off her hoodie and tossing it on the back of a chair.

"What happened to your arm?" Sam asked suddenly. Arielle looked down, surprised at the sight of her wrapped arm. She'd forgotten all about it until now.

She skimmed her fingertips over the bandages. Blood had managed to dot the surface. "I was attacked last night. I don't know what it was, but it definitely was not human. Or animal, I'll clear that up right now. That's why I called dad." She scratched at her neck, her features darkening. "I told you he only took me to three or four jobs, mostly 'cause I tricked him into it. We dealt mostly with ghosts, spirits. The last hunt he ever took me on, though, was to kill a wendigo. It got… messy, to say the least. Dad refused me to take me on any hunts after that."

"How long has your mom been missing?" Sam asked, clearing away from the subject of their father all together.

"Three days," Arielle state, a thankful undertone directed at Sam. "Our neighbor, Mr. Abbinanti, saw her arrive here Tuesday night. She wasn't at work the next day."

Dean looked at another photograph, one of John and her mother Kate. "Did you call the police?" he asked and Arielle knew he noticed the resemblance between her mother and his own.

"Yes. Well, her supervisor did. They found nothing. No sign of a break-in even. They called me yesterday night. I came down as fast as I could and looked around myself, but…" she paused, carefully lifting a picture of herself and her mother. "I should've been here. She never knew about the things dad and I chased. I should've protected her." She could feel their eyes on her and setting the frame down, the sympathy oozing out of them, and she waved a hand for them to follow her.

"Her room?" Sam asked and she gave a curt nod as she led them down the hall. "Mind if I look in the other rooms?" she nodded again as Dean went into the main bedroom and moved the dresser, looking for abnormalities.

Arielle took a seat on the bed, resting her head in her hands. The drive, though short, had exhausted her. Not to mention, her late night scavenging in the house and around the desolate neighborhood wasn't any better. The creature had attacked when she was searching the garage and she had barely managed to escape with just the slash on her arm. "Only her nightstand was overturned," she mentioned suddenly, looking up and finding Dean intently staring at a picture of John, Kate and Arielle, her now irreparably broken family.

"Was there anything else?" he asked, slowly sweeping the room for any sign. She shook her head as Sam walked back into the room. "You talk to the cops?" Dean directed at his brother, looking up from the floor.

"Just like Arielle said, no leads," he sighed, and then waved some papers in the air. "Found this in Arielle's room, though. Sorry," he said to the blonde. She gave a slight shrug.

"S'fine. After last night's close encounter, I did some research. I thought maybe whatever dad was hunting, it had buddies," she explained, rubbing at her eyes. "Corpse snatching. Seventeen back in September 9, 1989. And before you ask, I was premature," she added, knowing they'd do the math and find it did not add up.

Sam pointed out something in a picture to Dean. Arielle saw the look of recognition. "All right, so he was hunting something," Dean agreed. "What?"

"No idea," Sam replied. "Those were the pages he ripped out of the journal."

"The grave robbers started up again about a month ago. Three gone," Arielle said as she placed her hands, palm up, on her thighs. "I figured it couldn't be related, since the numbers were way high when dad first came here."

"Actually, whatever it is, it seems to have stepped up its game, 'cause- " Sam cut off, lifting up a picture of a man. "Local bartender's missing. Joe Barton. I borrowed your computer by the way." She ignored him, studying the picture he held up.

"Did your mother know him?" Dean asked, glancing back at Arielle.

"No, I don't believe so," she said with a frown. Dean glanced at Sam then back at Arielle. She noticed his eyes suddenly narrow and she blinked. "What is it?"

The eldest brother stepped towards her. She stood, backing away from the bed as Dean dropped to a knee and lifted the edge of the comforter. Arielle saw the start of scratch marks. "Give me a hand with the mattress," he said and the blonde quickly tossed the pillows aside before helping him push the bed off the frame.

Arielle felt her stomach drop to see the scratch marks lengthen, leading directly to a vent. It was large enough to drag someone down into it. She turned and almost felt her jaw drop to see her half-brothers playing rock-paper-scissors.

Dean lost. "Every time," he said, frustrated as he waved his arms before placing them on his hips. Arielle scoffed and crossed her arms, biting her tongue as Dean went into the air duct. She heard him mutter, "Why didn't I pick paper?" as he crawled around the vent. It didn't take long for him to come back.

"I think you should call the cops," he said softly and pulled himself up. Arielle went pale, immediately understanding him.