Elizabeth pulls herself up and over the railing, landing on the hood of the now-stopped Impala and rolling onto the asphalt with a grunt of pain. It's bad enough that she's already sick, but now she can add a few bruises into the mix because a possessed car tried to run her ass over. The only way this day could get any worse is if my high school English teacher showed up and threw another poetry book at my head.
"Dean," Sam shouts, still perched on the railing and looking down in worry. Elizabeth doesn't get up, just turning her head towards Sam and waiting for an answer from Dean. There's a few seconds of tense silence, then Dean responds.
"What," he snaps from somewhere below them.
"You still in one piece?"
"I'm super." Sam turns to Elizabeth, both of them attempting to fight back smiles until they caught sight of each other, the laughter coming bubbling out. Only Dean would actually jump off the stupid bridge when he could've just held onto the railing like Sam and Elizabeth. Unfortunately for her, the laughing only makes her headache worsen and she doubles over with the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes. I should've just told Dean to fuck off and went home to take a bubble bath. "Man, I'm gonna have to take ten showers when we get back to the motel."
"This place blows," Elizabeth moans, sitting up and resting her head against Sam's leg as they both listen to Dean struggling up the steep hill towards the road, his footsteps loud and making a smack sound from being weighted down with gunk. "First case I've ever had a ghost try to turn me into roadkill."
"I really wish this was a first for me," Sam complains," but there was that case in Texas with the Stephen King Mobile that targeted those teenagers it thought were up to no good." He and Elizabeth both make a face at that memory; not only had Sam jumped off the sidewalk to avoid a car, but she had to look after him when John brought him back to Sioux Falls with a busted lip and bruised ribs. "How're you feelin', Liza?"
"Let's just say that I won't be winning an Olympic medal for speed anytime soon." She aches all over and her chest is burning like someone is holding a red-hot brand less than an inch away from it. She just wants to go to lie down and pretend monsters aren't a thing she has to deal with. "Ya know, this whole hunting evil thing wouldn't be so bad if the ghosts would stop trying to force me off a damn bridge." Sam nods in agreement, helping Elizabeth to her feet and then over to the car, letting her collapse in the front seat with her legs dangling out the door.
Dean joins them a second later, scowling as he checks over every inch of his baby to make sure there's no damage done.
"That Constance chick," Dean shouts at the sky as he leans against the car," what a bitch!" Elizabeth scrunches up her nose as a disgusting smell invades her space, serving to make her nausea even worse than it had been. Dean is covered from head to toe in mud and smells like he's dived head-first into a pigsty, rolling around in whatever foul thing he found there.
"You smell like a toilet," Sam tells his brother, who looks over at Elizabeth through the windshield with a scowl
"Well, thanks, that's what every brother wants to hear. Really, Sammy, it means a lot."
"Let's head back to the motel." Elizabeth sits up as the guys join her in the car, leaning her head on Sam's shoulder and using her jacket to cover her mouth and nose.
The drive back to town is a long one, having to stop a couple of times so Elizabeth can empty her stomach with the boys alternating on who gets to hold her short hair back. It's a relief when they finally park in front of the small motel, Sam and Dean going to the lobby to get a room for Dean's stinky ass while she waits in the car for them to come out.
"If this is how normal people feel when they're sick, then I can sympathize," she mumbles to no one, allowing herself to fall sideways and stare at the break and gas pedals. "I'm all alone," she sings with a small laugh," there's no one here beside me. My problems have all gone..." She trails off, fighting to keep her eyes open. "... Something about waffles or—"
"Alright, Elizabeth," Dean states when he opens the door," time to go inside."
"M'kay, if I have to." He hooks his arms under her armpits and hauls her out of the car, wrapping an arm around her waist once she's standing. "Ugh, give me to Sam." The smell alone is enough to make her gag and it's even worse when he has her pressed against his side.
"Traitor." Sam takes her all the same, letting her ride on his back as he and Dean lead the way to a room. "Turns out Dad booked a room here for a few weeks and Golden Oldies in the lobby gave us the room number." He kneels in front of the door to number ten, quickly picking the lock while Sam and Elizabeth play lookouts.
"Is it weird that I'm right next door?"
"Well, it's definitely not normal." Elizabeth snorts, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one is sneaking up behind them. It's always awkward as hell to explain why you're picking a lock and most people don't buy the I left my key inside excuse anymore. "Look at that, I still got it."
The door swings open, Sam and Elizabeth the first ones inside with Dean following. The room is nearly identical to Elizabeth's, the same bad wallpaper, cheap covers, and bad overhead lighting; the biggest differences are that the walls are covered in pictures and news articles, and every available flat surface is either covered in rotting food or books.
"Wow," she says," this place makes Uncle B's house look tidy." Dean clicks on a lamp, allowing all of them to see even more papers pinned to the wall in the back.
"I don't think he's been here in a few days."
"What was your first clue, the rotting food or the unslept-in bed?"
"Look at all of this stuff," Sam says, gesturing around the room. "Whatever it is he's chasing, he was worried about keeping it out enough to break out the salt and cat's-eye shells." Elizabeth walks over to one of the pictures taped to the wall, it's blurry but she can make out that the figure in it has on a white dress. It reminds her of a picture in one of the scary story books she used to read all the time, something to do with a woman and a hotel. The gray lady? Nah, not quite right.
She moves to the next picture that depicts people getting burned at the stake, wincing at the thought of what the flames would feel like as they licked up the innocent peoples' flesh. There are sticky notes and string connecting a few things together, but she keeps going back to the first picture she saw.
"You think its demonic," Elizabeth asks.
"A woman in white." Her eyes widen and she spins to look at the guys, thankful that Sam remembered. At least, she thought he'd remembered until she sees a picture of the woman from the bridge and woman in white written on some tape above it in John's cramped handwriting.
"If that's what we're dealing with, then dad would've destroyed her corpse," Dean points out, turning to face Sam and Elizabeth.
"She might have another weakness."
"Dad would've wanted to make sure, he'd dig her up. Does the article tell us where she's buried?" Sam shakes his head, moving to look at the other stuff on the walls. "Hmm, why don't you go talk to her husband, I'll get cleaned up, and Elizabeth can see what she can make of all... This." He gestures around the room at the various materials. It's like seeing the inside of John's head, an entire heap of crazy.
"Hey, Dean, what I said about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry—" Dean holds up a hand to cut him off.
"No chick-flick moments."
"Fine, Jerk."
"Bitch."
"You're both assholes, can we move on now," Elizabeth laughs, sitting down on the lumpy bed. "When you're done with your shower, you can drop me off at the library." Dean shrugs, walking into the bathroom with a change of fresh clothes and a bottle of body wash. "Hey, take as long as you need to get that stench out!"
"Eat me, Liza."
Elizabeth lets out another sneeze as she flips through a book she'd brought along with her, flipping the pages slowly as she skims over the material. It's ghost mythology and it has an entire chapter over the woman in white sightings, though most of it is conjecture. Dean finally comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, squeaky clean and no longer smelling like a dumpster.
"I'm goin' to get something to eat, want anything," he asks, running a towel over his hair. Sam shakes his head, listening to his voicemails. "What about you, Liza, wanna go with me?" Throwing her tissue in the trash bin, she stands up and follows Dean out the door. Why does the sun have to be so bright? Her eyes have always been sensitive, but this is just ridiculous.
They get halfway to the Impala when they notice two policemen talking to the owner of the motel, who points in their direction the second his eyes land on them. "Warn Sam," Elizabeth orders quietly, turning her back on the cops as they begin to walk their way, Dean taking out his cell.
"Five-0... They spotted us. Go find Dad." He hangs up and the pair turn to face the cops. "Problem, officers?"
"Where's your other partner," the black cop from earlier asks, arms crossed over his chest.
"What other partner," Elizabeth asks, eyebrows knitting together as she fakes ignorance. The cop gestures for the guy beside him to check the room Elizabeth and Dean had just come out of, but Elizabeth keeps calm. Sam should already be in the connecting room, gathering all of Elizabeth's things and continuing down the line until he finds a place to lay low.
"Fake U.S. Marshals, fake credit cards, y'all got anything real?"
"My boobs," Dean quips. The cop looks at Elizabeth with raised brows, probably doubting what's left of Dean's sanity. He's not the only one in that club, she's been wondering how long ago Dean lost his marbles for a while now.
"Oh, yeah, these are a hundred percent mine," Elizabeth nods with a shit-eating grin.