A/N: I consider this more of a filler chapter. Nonetheless, hope you enjoy!
P.S. Thanks for the reviews :))
Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters don't belong to me.
Dean rubbed his hands together absentmindedly, trying to generate some warmth. It wasn't too cold outside, but the sun was beginning to set even earlier these days as fall came rolling into Philadelphia. If he had a healthier diet, the cooler temperatures probably wouldn't bother him so much. He briefly wished he was one of those birds that could fly south in winter.
He glanced down at Sam, who was no better off. Dean had put as many layers on his brother as possible, but he still noticed a few minute shivers run through Sam's body as they walked down the sidewalk. Sam didn't seem bothered in the slightest, though. In fact, he had been in a fantastic mood all day, more than eager to go to dinner at Anne's. Now that the time was finally upon them—they were only a block away from her place—he was nearly skipping with excitement. Dean didn't understand what the big deal was, but he kept that opinion to himself. Sammy hadn't frowned once today—that was a miracle that Dean wasn't taking for granted.
As they finally approached the quaint little townhome where Anne lived and walked up her steps, Dean couldn't help but observe their surroundings. Each house had a small patch of lawn space enclosed by wrought iron fencing and was decorated with vibrant flowers and perfectly trimmed bushes. It was straight out of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. Dean didn't know whether to throw up or be jealous.
Right when he lifted his fist to knock on the door, it whipped open, revealing a very frazzled-looking Anne. Dean let his arm hang in the air for a moment in surprise, then dropped it with a raised eyebrow. Sam let out a quiet giggle next to him, and Dean elbowed him discreetly to shut him up. They might be a bit rusty on their manners, but he figured laughing at their host wasn't the most polite thing to do.
"Boys! I'm so glad you're here! Come in, come in," Anne ushered, stepping to the side and waving for them to enter. Dean stepped across the threshold first, taking a quick glance around before gesturing for Sam to follow. He immediately noticed the generous amount of food on the table, as well as the smell of meat wafting in from the kitchen. His stomach grumbled at the prospect of eating so much. He didn't think he could anymore, but he'd certainly try.
Sam tugged on his sleeve, capturing his attention. "Do we get to eat all of that?" He whispered, making sure Anne didn't overhear. Dean's heart broke at the hopeful note in his kid's voice, and he placed a hand on top of Sam's head, brushing it lightly over his hair. Before he could answer, Anne hustled past them.
"Don't go anywhere! I just gotta get the bread out of the oven!" She called over her shoulder, rushing through the open kitchen doorway. She was wearing oven mitts and an apron splattered with some type of liquid, and her hair was coming loose from her neat bun. Dean had never seen her so flustered. It was quite amusing, and definitely something he'd tease her about later.
Dean shrugged off his jacket, then helped Sam out of a few of his layers until he was left in his long-sleeve shirt. He put everything on the coat rack next to the door, then stuck his hands in his pockets as he wandered around the dining room. Meanwhile, Sam leafed through some books that were sitting on a side table beside the staircase.
Anne had dozens of pictures in various places around the room, and Dean looked over them curiously. Most of them were of her family, as would be expected. He recognized her husband in a few of them, as well as her three kids—now adults with kids of their own. Anne had shown him pictures from her wallet a while ago. He wondered if these were the kinds of photos his family would've had hanging around the house if his mother had never died, and wished he had even one picture from that six-month period where his life was perfect. It felt like a dream now.
"Okay!" Anne chirped, making Dean flinch in surprise and turn to look for Sam. His brother set down the book he'd been reading in a flash, not wanting to get in trouble for touching her things. Anne set the plate of rolls she'd been carrying on the table, taking no notice of their skittish behavior. "This was the last thing. The steak is in the kitchen, but I'll bring that out once I clean myself up a bit. You can go ahead and take a seat. I'll only be a minute," she told them, gesturing toward the chairs. Dean nodded in acknowledgement. Once she left the room, he chose a random place to sit, and Sam took the seat next to him without a word.
"Dude, look at all this stuff," Dean whispered, not wanting Anne to hear him. Sam was swinging his legs back and forth, his hands wedged underneath his thighs. "She made enough to feed a small army," he joked. His stomach growled loudly as he said it, and Sam cast him a knowing glance.
"Should we…" Sam bit his lip, looking uncertain he wanted to even bring up the topic. "You think she'd notice if we took some of it with us?" He asked.
Dean lifted an eyebrow, holding back a snicker. "Are you talking about stealing, Sammy?" His tone was overly dramatic, and he faked a gasp. "I raised you better than that, young man," he tsked.
Sam scowled. "No, you didn't!" He scoffed, leaning away. Dean laughed aloud, ruffling his brother's hair just to annoy him further.
"Don't worry about it, Sammy," he said nonchalantly, still smiling. "I'll distract her while you grab the goods and sneak out the back."
"You're a jerk," Sam huffed, not meeting his gaze.
"So I've been told," Dean chuckled. It was too easy to get his little brother riled up. Who was he to pass up such a prime opportunity?
Anne came back into the room a moment later, balancing a giant plate of steaks. She no longer wore the apron and mitts, and her hair was tied into a precise bun like usual.
"I hope you boys are hungry," she announced, setting the plate right in front of them before sitting at the head of the table to Dean's left. He licked his lips to make sure he wasn't drooling. It smelled amazing. Maybe this dinner thing was a good idea after all.
"Just a smidge," he replied with a shrug.
"I usually say a prayer over the meal. I hope you don't mind," she fretted, clasping her hands together in preparation. Dean nearly snorted, but opted to shake his head noncommittally in response. He certainly wasn't one for praying. If God existed, then he clearly didn't give a crap about any of the Winchesters.
Anne bowed her head and whispered under her breath, sensing that Dean wanted no part of the routine. He folded his arms and leaned forward on the table, waiting for her to finish. His gaze wandered to his right, and he was surprised to see Sam had adopted her position. His eyes were squeezed shut in concentration. Dean frowned. Since when did Sam pray?
After Anne finished with an audible 'Amen,' Sam dropped his hands and opened his eyes, immediately meeting his brother's gaze. Dean looked unimpressed, and Sam's cheeks heated in embarrassment. He knew it was stupid for someone like him to pray…but it couldn't hurt to try it, right? Luckily, Dean didn't get a chance to say anything to him about it.
"Dig in, boys!" Anne ordered with a grin, already piling a bunch of different foods on her plate. Dean didn't have to be told twice. He got the biggest steak he could find, along with green beans, baked beans, corn, mashed potatoes, and a couple pieces of bread. Then he did the same with Sam's plate.
Sam looked up at him expectantly, and Dean gave him a 'go ahead' nod. The kid immediately dove in, starting with the steak, and Dean followed suit. Both brothers devoured their meal at an unhealthy rate, only pausing to breathe and sip on their water.
Anne chewed her food slowly, watching them as subtly as possible. She'd never seen anyone look so ravenous. They weren't even using utensils to cut up the steak. They merely held it with their hands and took big bites out of it. She wanted to warn them to slow down before they threw up, but she didn't have the heart. It was obvious they hadn't had a proper meal in ages. She knew they were too skinny, but it hadn't hit her until that moment that they were starving. It made her blood boil to think of whoever left them in this type of situation. Where were their parents? Why was no one looking for these kids? She knew they lived on their own, but she didn't know where—or why. Everything about them was a mystery. Dean never shared anything about their personal lives. All he really said was that it was his job to take care of Sam.
"How's the food? Good?" She asked pleasantly, attempting to hide her concern as she stabbed another piece of steak and popped it in her mouth.
Sam nodded vigorously, swallowing so he could respond. "So good! This is the best food I've ever had, even before—" He cut himself off abruptly, sharing a glance with his older brother. Anne's curiosity raged at the sudden silence.
"It's delicious, Anne," Dean answered instead, giving her his classic, deflective smirk. "Though I seem to recall a promise of pie," he mused, tapping his chin.
Anne rolled her eyes, pointing her fork at him. "Dessert comes after, mister. Finish your meal and then we'll talk," she told him.
It was another minute before Dean spoke up again. "Are those all your grandkids?" He asked, gesturing toward some pictures she had hanging on the nearest wall. Anne smiled, following his gaze. She was always happy to talk about her family.
"Yes. The oldest one, Ryan, is twelve. Then there's Katherine, Nathan, and Jordan. And that's the newest addition, Sophia." She nodded at the framed photo sitting on the side table. "She's only six months." Dean winced as she said the words, but Anne couldn't find anything negative in the statement. "I haven't seen her since she was born because my daughter and her family live in New York. There's never really a good time to visit." It was a lame excuse, but true. Anne couldn't leave at the drop of a dime. She had a business to run.
"Must be hard—being so far from your family, I mean," Dean said, now only poking at his food. Sam was doing the same. Surely they weren't full already? They hadn't even eaten half of what was on their plates.
"It can be sometimes. My oldest son lives in Philadelphia, so at least I get to see him pretty often." Anne bit her lip, considering whether her next question was worth asking or not. She didn't want to scare them off…then again, there was no better time to have this conversation. "So, um…how long have you two lived in Philly?" She wondered.
Dean narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the topic's direction. By this point, Sam had stopped eating entirely, and had resumed his earlier position of hands tucked under his legs. "A while," the older brother replied vaguely, laying his fork down and grabbing a piece of bread.
"A while," she repeated slowly. "Care to be more specific?" She pressed, inserting some humor into her tone so she didn't come across as too pushy.
"Not really," he muttered, tearing off a piece of the bread and offering it to his brother. Sam eyed it warily at first, but quickly took it at Dean's stern expression.
Anne snorted at his blunt honesty, not really expecting anything different from him. Dean was not shy by any standards and had never been afraid to tell her exactly what he thought. It was like talking to her teenage self.
Dean returned his attention to her, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "We've been here about a year. What's it matter anyway?" He grumbled, shoving the last chunk of his bread into his mouth.
Anne perked up at receiving a real answer. "Just curious." She waved him off, taking a sip of her water.
He eyed her speculatively. "Mm-hm…"
"Hey, Anne, do you have any dogs?" Sam cut in, oblivious to the mild tension.
Anne smiled at the innocent question, tempted to go to the nearest shelter to get a dog just for him. "Sorry, munchkin, I don't." Sam's shoulders dropped in disappointment. "My son has one, though," she informed him. "A lab named Ruger. I think you'd love him." The dog was fairly new to the family—still a puppy, really. A very large puppy. He loved meeting new people, too. She had a feeling he'd take to Sam instantly.
"Oh yeah, Sammy is always begging me for a dog," Dean spoke up, slapping his brother on the shoulder.
"And you always say no," Sam mumbled, putting on his best pout.
"And I'm gonna keep saying no," Dean drawled, completely ignoring Sam's look. His little brother glared at him.
"Hey, Sam, how about this," Anne started, leaning forward and folding her hands on the table. "Next time my son comes over, I'll ask him to bring Ruger. Then you can meet him," she offered.
"Really?" Sam grinned excitedly. Dean shot her a baleful look at the suggestion, but she sent him a challenging smirk in return. Anne—one. Big brother—zero.
"Of course!" She assured Sam with a conspiratorial wink. He giggled, practically bouncing in his seat as he tapped on Dean's bicep.
"Hear that, Dean? We get to play with the dog!" His tone was so genuine that it cracked Dean's hard exterior, and the older boy sighed in defeat.
"Yeah, Sammy, I heard." Dean raised a hand to pat the side of his brother's neck affectionately, then turned to Anne. He blew out a dramatic breath, patting his stomach. "I don't think I can eat one more bite," he admitted, glancing down at his food with clear longing. She tried to keep a neutral expression, not wanting to give away how much the statement worried her.
"That's okay! I'll just box up the leftovers—including the pie, of course—and you can take them home with you," she said with a shrug.
"All of it?" Sam asked hopefully. Dean avoided her gaze, but he didn't object to the question.
"Yep! I'll never be able to eat all this," she replied casually. "Plus, I prefer salads. I have trouble digesting the heavy stuff," she added. That part was actually true, and it seemed to put Dean at ease. Anne knew that if Sam hadn't asked about the food, Dean never would have. He didn't appreciate "charity," though she'd hardly call feeding them a decent meal charity. They didn't deserve to go to bed hungry. They were just kids for crying out loud!
"Thanks, Anne," Dean murmured, sending her a grateful smile that he quickly buried underneath an indifferent mask.
"I'll go get some containers to put everything in," she said, standing to her feet and smoothing out her pants.
"I can help clean up," Dean offered, already getting out of his chair.
She held out her hand, pointing at him. "Absolutely not, young man! You are a guest, and guests don't do chores!" She argued in her best mom voice. He looked taken aback by her actions, but raised his hands in surrender.
"Alright, sheesh," he muttered. Sam hid a laugh behind his fist.
"Just…wait there. I'll be back," Anne continued, walking into the kitchen to grab some tupperware containers. Luckily, she had enough for all the food remaining. She carried a stack of them to the dining room, where Dean was helping Sam into his extra flannels and jacket. "Oh, you're leaving already?" She noted with disappointment. She'd thought they might hang around a bit longer, if only just to talk.
"Yeah. I don't want to be out on the streets too late," Dean answered, sliding his arms through his own jacket.
Anne deflated, but she could see the reason behind the decision. "I guess you're right. Especially since there was that murder yesterday," she remarked absentmindedly, suddenly remembering the news story she'd heard on the tv last night. A kid had been killed just a few blocks from where her shop was located. It was such a tragedy. She definitely didn't want anything like that ever happening to the boys.
Unbeknownst to Anne, Dean had frozen at her words. "What? There was a murder?" He exclaimed, unintentionally harsh.
"Yeah…" Anne said slowly, noticing his sudden mood change. "You didn't hear—?"
"No."
"Oh." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Um, the police found a kid's body not far from here—near the store," she explained. "I think he was only twelve. It was awful." She shuddered at the memory of the news report.
Every single alarm bell was going off in Dean's head. He'd just heard about a nine-year-old boy being murdered a few days ago, and now another young boy's body had been found? He knew the saying—once is an accident, twice is a coincidence…This was one kill short of a pattern. What did that mean? Were the murders related? If so, was it a human or a monster? Was he just going completely crazy?
Never ignore your instincts. They're gonna be what saves your life, his father's voice filtered into his thoughts.
What if there was a hunt right here in Philadelphia?
"Shit," he breathed, running a hand down his face.
"Dean?" Anne ventured hesitantly.
"Nothing, it's nothing," he said quickly. "I'll help you pack up the food." He hurried over to the table, haphazardly dumping any viable leftovers into the containers. With Anne's assistance, everything was ready to go in less than a minute. He gave a few of the smaller containers to Sam and held the rest himself. "Anne, thank you so much for inviting us over, really, but we have to go," he told her briskly, already leading Sam toward the door.
"O-Of course," she stuttered, still shocked over Dean's abrupt shift in demeanor. She opened the door for them, returning Dean's polite nod of farewell before they shuffled down the steps. She watched them from her doorway until they turned a corner out of sight, unable to erase her own baffled expression.
What the hell was that about?
Bobby plopped down into the driver's seat with a sigh, tossing the files he'd just obtained from the sheriff to the side with little care. He'd already read them inside, but he'd decided to take a copy of them back to his motel room just in case he needed to give them another glance.
He had to admit, when he'd heard Caleb's explanation two days ago about how he'd found the boys, he'd thought the man was grasping at straws. But after reading the police report…he wasn't so sure.
The local Philadelphia kid, Parker Harris, had been killed on Wednesday. His cause of death was nothing that would usually attract a hunter's attention—a stab wound to the heart. It was the witness' statement that stood out. The young woman who had called 911 in the first place had sworn that the attacker was a man that lived in her neighborhood, Ted Baker. But when Ted's wife had been questioned yesterday, she'd told the investigator that Ted had been by her side when the murder had been committed. And she wasn't the only one who could verify his alibi—a dozen other people had been over at the couple's house for a social gathering. So then that begged the question: How had Ted Baker been in two places at once?
The police were stumped and had been more than open to "Agent Willis" taking a glimpse at the files. They thought the witness must have mistakenly identified the killer as Ted Baker, but Bobby knew what was out there. He knew a monster that could take on any form it wanted—the same monster Caleb had mentioned over the phone.
Two Days Earlier
"Tell me everything."
Caleb didn't waste a breath. "Okay, so the other day I get a call from one of my hunter contacts. He says he thinks he's got a shifter case for me, but he's working a poltergeist haunting in Washington so he asks me to take it off his hands. I agree, obviously—"
"Obviously," Bobby muttered under his breath, diligently taking notes as he waited for Caleb to get to the point.
"—and he sends me all the research he's collected. There's been a string of deaths from Illinois to Pennsylvania—victims' ages ranged nine to seventeen, all male, all stabbed in the heart."
"That doesn't sound too monstery to me," Bobby cut in, raising a dubious eyebrow.
Caleb huffed. "Well, if you'd just wait, old man—" he started belligerently, but once again Bobby interrupted.
"Don't get your panties in a twist. Keep talkin'," he grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly.
Caleb sighed audibly but continued. "In each case, there was a witness who claimed the killer was someone they knew and recognized, but that same person had an airtight alibi. Therefore…" He trailed off, allowing Bobby to put the pieces together.
"The killer would've had to be in two places at the same time," Bobby finished. "Okay, fine, there might be a shifter, if the witnesses weren't seeing things or lying, but what the hell does this have to do with Sam and Dean?" He complained.
"The fourth boy was murdered while on a camping trip in Wayne National Forest," Caleb told him.
Bobby's eyebrows furrowed. "That's where John—"
"Died. Right. And guess where the first kid was murdered?" Caleb waited a second for emphasis. "Winchester, Illinois. Less than an hour from the case John worked right before the wendigo hunt. A shifter case," he revealed.
Bobby was silent as he considered all the information from an objective perspective. If these murders were connected, if it really was a shifter at fault, if this wasn't just one big coincidence…that was too many ifs for his liking.
"So…you think this shifter had a run-in with John on that case?" Bobby wondered, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.
"John told me he killed the shifter he'd been hunting, so this must be another one that he missed—one that didn't take too kindly to his buddy being ganked. And I think now he's on a revenge tour, trying to draw John out," Caleb elaborated.
"Why wait so long?" Bobby questioned. "That shifter case was over a year ago. Why wait 'til now to start droppin' bodies?"
"Hell if I know," Caleb snorted. "Monsters can be unpredictable bastards." Bobby couldn't argue that. "Makes you wonder, though...If that thing managed to track the Winchesters from Illinois to Wayne National Forest, then what's he tracking now?" Caleb pressed, already having a theory lined up. Bobby caught on quickly, and his heart dropped to his feet.
"The boys," Bobby whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face. "It's going after the boys."
"Yeah…Chances are, wherever the shifter is, the boys are," Caleb confirmed, his tone subdued. "And today was the latest murder that fit the pattern. A twelve-year-old in Philadelphia."
Bobby looked over his notes, still hoping that it might not be a shifter at all and that they were seeing connections that weren't there. A memory tugged at his brain after Caleb finished speaking.
"Wait, Philadelphia? Didn't John have a storage unit there?" Bobby asked.
"Uh…yeah, I think so," Caleb confirmed hesitantly. "Why?"
"Maybe John had something there that Dean wanted. I mean, if you were recently orphaned and had little to no resources, where would you go?" Bobby pointed out. It was a thin lead, but it was the best they'd had in a year.
"You think they've been in Philly this whole time?" Caleb sounded about as certain as Bobby felt.
"It wouldn't hurt to look. Besides, I gotta check out that murder. Two birds, one stone."
"You're going to Philadelphia?" Caleb exclaimed in surprise. "I was gonna come to you."
"No time," Bobby said dismissively, already standing to pack a bag. If he left now and only stopped to rest, he could arrive in Philly by early Friday. "Where are you now?"
"Phoenix."
"Better start drivin'. Meet me in Philadelphia. I'll let you know where I'm stayin'," Bobby ordered quickly, only waiting for Caleb to verbally agree before hanging up.
As tense and worrisome as the situation was, Bobby hadn't felt this hopeful in ages.
Present Day
Now that Bobby was actually in Philadelphia and had looked at the police report, he fully believed it was indeed a shifter committing the murders. And, quite alarmingly, his best chance at finding the damn thing was to find Sam and Dean. If it was after them, it was only a matter of time before it found them. Hell, maybe it already had. Maybe they were already dead.
This ain't no soap opera, Singer, he thought snidely, whipping his car into gear to head back to the motel. Stop moping and work the damn case.
He needed to find those boys, and fast.
"Dean, I'm sure it's nothing," Sam said for the millionth time, watching from his seat at the kitchen table as his brother paced back and forth. To be honest, he was a little freaked out about the murders, too, but he wasn't going to admit that out loud.
Dean bit at his nails anxiously. "Sammy, there was a murder just a few minutes from where I work. I can't just ignore that," he retorted, keeping his concentrated gaze on the floor.
"It's not like you can dress up like an FBI agent and get the police to tell you about the case," Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, just another reason it sucks being a teenager," Dean muttered bitterly. Any other hunter could've solved this in a day.
"So what do you want to do?" Sam sighed, tossing his hands up in the air defeatedly.
"I don't know!" Dean exclaimed in frustration, running both hands roughly through his hair. He felt stressed out, and pressured, and helpless, and he just needed a second to breathe. Part of him wanted to walk out the door just to get some fresh air and some solitude. But that was the selfish part, the one that had almost entirely been squashed since his dad died. The larger part of him was terrified that if he left his brother alone for even an instant, something terrible would happen.
"Dean." Sam's voice was quiet, calm, and had the older brother pausing to look at him. "It's gonna be okay. We'll figure it out," he reassured, trying to appear more confident than he felt.
Dean didn't miss the 'we' in his statement, and he was so incredibly grateful to have his brother. He would never have to shoulder anything alone. Sam was right there with him, every step of the way.
A loud banging on the door made both boys flinch, but Dean immediately rolled his eyes when he recognized the insistent rhythm. He'd only heard it a billion times since they'd moved in. Ivan.
Dean snatched the envelope containing the rent money off the table, ruffling Sam's hair as he went, then stormed over to the door and opened it just enough to where he could reach his arm out. He hoped his face properly expressed his irritation. Ivan was smoking—shocker—and was holding out his hand expectantly. Wordlessly, Dean slapped the envelope of cash into his palm, and the man grinned.
"Pleasure doin' business with ya, kid," he stated with a smirk. Dean grimaced from the horrid smell of his breath. "While I'm here, any maintenance requests? Leaky faucet, exposed wires, broken lights?" He listed, his tone anything but friendly. Dean didn't think the man had ever lifted a finger to help anyone.
"We're all set. Bye now." Dean waved, sending Ivan a sarcastic smile, then shut the door in his face. He hated living anywhere near that creep, but he could barely even afford this place. Moving wasn't really an option.
Sam was still sitting at the table, watching his big brother closely. "Wanna color with me?" He offered, holding up one of his crayons. He had his coloring book set out in front of him, and was currently working on a picture of a car.
Dean huffed out a laugh, his mood improving instantly. His little brother had some type of superpower when it came to cheering him up.
"Absolutely, Sammy."
The next day, Dean was walking back into work, reluctance seeping out of every pore. It was an evening shift, which meant it was already dark out. He'd agreed last week to take the shift from one of his co-workers, since she'd made plans to go out of town to visit family. The extra money didn't hurt, but he definitely preferred the morning shift. Even waking up at the crack of dawn was better than getting home so late.
He knew it was probably dangerous walking the streets at night when there was a murderer on the loose, but it's not like he could hide in the apartment forever. There was still rent to be paid and very little money in their pockets. He just had to hope the police managed to do their jobs for once.
Sam followed him into the store, looking cheerful as ever. Dean didn't know how he did it. By all rights, the kid should be bitching about the entire situation like any other ten-year-old would, but Sammy was a different breed. He was an optimist. And right now, he was just happy to see Anne again.
There were no customers at all inside, which was a bit odd for a Saturday, but Dean shrugged it off. "Anne! We have arrived!" Dean called dramatically, looking around for the older woman. She wasn't at the counter, so he figured she must be in the backroom. He led Sam through the aisles to the back, shrugging off his jacket as he went.
As expected, Anne was sitting at the break room table, clicking through tv channels. She didn't often take time out of work to watch television, and Dean raised an amused eyebrow. "I know it's empty out there, but I'm surprised you're not cleaning something like the workaholic OCD person that you are," Dean said playfully, simultaneously announcing his presence. Sam shuffled past him to sit in the seat across from her, not bothering to remove his jacket.
Anne glanced toward him with a smile. "Can't an old woman rest her feet every once in a while?" She replied innocently.
"Only if you let me sit and watch tv, too," he retorted, crossing his arms.
She pretended to consider it. "Tell you what—you take the trash out to the dumpster, and I'll let you slack off while it's not busy," she proposed.
Dean scoffed, snatching up the two trash bags that had been set by the doorway. "I'll take that deal!" He patted Sam on the shoulder before leaving the room, heading toward the front. The nearest dumpster was across the street. It was a bit of a hassle, but nothing he couldn't handle.
He was hoping Anne wouldn't want to discuss their quick departure from dinner on Thursday. He could tell she'd been confused by his reaction. She was curious by nature, so he figured there would be at least one mention of it tonight. Maybe she would wait until he least expected it, then bring up the topic while he was organizing cans on the shelf or something. He would just deflect to the best of his ability.
Once he reached the dumpster, he tossed in the trash bags, then wiped his hands on his pants and turned to head back to the store. Right as he finished crossing the street, he heard his name being called.
"Dean! You made it! I wasn't sure you'd come in, since…well, what happened at dinner…" Dean froze mid-step, tilting his head in confusion as Anne approached from his right, appearing flustered as she jogged to catch up to him.
"Anne, what…?" He glanced down at her attire, noticing she was wearing a completely different outfit than he'd just seen her in.
"I hope you weren't looking for me. I had to step out for a minute to go next door and deliver some items to Mrs. Hillcrest," she explained hurriedly, then glanced toward the shop. "Is Sam already inside?" She wondered, blowing on her hands to warm them.
Dean's blood ran cold and he could've sworn his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. He didn't spare another moment to talk with his friend. He spun on a dime, nearly ripping the door off its hinges as he rushed to get inside, hearing Anne call out in concern behind him. He barely registered anything other than the thrumming in his ears.
No more than a second had passed before he was hurtling into the break room, his brother's name already on his lips. He came to a screeching halt at the sight that greeted him.
No brother, no Anne, and the door that led to the back alley was wide open.
