Elizabeth yawns, looking up at the cop in front of her while fighting to keep her eyes open. This virus is hitting her hard and fast, and it doesn't feel like it'll relent anytime soon. "What's your name," the cop demands. "The real one." He has his hands on his hips, narrow like the rest of him.
"I've already told you a thousand times," she replies tiredly," it's Riley MacManus." She rubs her eyes with the hand that isn't cuffed to the table, letting out another series of coughs. "Do y'all have anything here for a nasty cold?" The cop rolls his eyes, looking ready to bang his fists on the table in frustration. They've been here for a couple of hours, the same question over and over again with no sign of a reprieve in sight. Honestly, she can do this all day when she feels up to it and, even sick, it'll take a lot more than Barney the Deputy to wear her down.
"Where are all the missing persons that you had up on your wall?"
"Well, considering that wasn't my wall of insanity, I couldn't tell you." She shrugs, leaning back in the chair with her feet up on the table, crossed at the ankles. Her pink Converse are dirtier than usual under the fluorescent lighting, the fabric stained in places from oil and fingernail polish.
"You seem like a good kid, so why are you involved with this sort of thing?"
"I'm not."
"Do you lure the men in? Promise them something and then let those two boys and the old man take over?" She meets the cop's gaze unflinchingly, keeping her mouth closed. No matter what she said, he won't take it into account unless it fit his little theory. "How old are you anyway? Nineteen, twenty?"
"I'm forty-three, but I have a great skin care routine. Dermatologists hate me."
"Enough with the smartass answers!" He presses his lips together and paces the room, trying to get a handle on his temper again. "Are you getting paid for this or are you just in the murder club for thrills?"
"The only club I've ever been in was Girl Scouts." The cop shakes his head in disgust, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him when a ruckus starts up out there. "I can get you a great discount on a box of Samoas if you order before Tuesday!" A few minutes later, when everything is quiet again, Dean opens the door and walks over to Elizabeth, ruffling her messy hair.
"Howdy, Liza," he greets with his usual cocky grin. "Ever had to make a jail break before?"
"There's a first time for everything." He brings a paperclip out of his pocket, using it to unlock the cuff around her wrist. "I need to start carrying one of those with me."
"Yeah, well, I got lucky. Let's get outta here before the cops come back." They climb down the fire escape and into an alley, heading towards the phone booth at the end of the street, both of them squeezing inside it. "Sammy made a fake call to the police and we gotta find out where he is."
"Well, he's obviously not in jail." Dean laughs, taking the quarters that Elizabeth had swiped off a cop's desk earlier, not even having to think as he dials the number for Sam's phone.
"Fake 911 phone call, I don't know, that's pretty illegal... Listen, we gotta talk... Sammy, would you shut up for a second? ...That's what I'm trying to say, Dad's left Jericho... He left his journal... We've got coordinates... No idea yet... Sam? Sam!" Dean slams the phone down, taking Elizabeth's hand and beginning to run this time. "We're headed to Breckenridge Road. I think Sammy's in trouble."
Completely out of breath and past ready to collapse, Dean and Elizabeth make it up the long driveway towards the house, Dean's pistol clutched in his hands. The Impala isn't too far away now, the windows beginning to fog up as Sam struggles against Constance as she flickers in and out of sight.
"Shoot it," Elizabeth gasps, pointing at the ghost in Sam's lap. "Shoot…. Oh God, I need to start doing cardio." With a wince, Dean raises his pistol and fires, the driver's side window shattering as the bullets speed through it and into the ghost. Constance lets out a shrill howl, face morphing into something out of a nightmare before she vanishes. Sam sits up with a grunt, blood pooling from the four claw marks in his chest.
"I'm takin' you home," he vows determinedly, starting the car and driving right through the front of the house.
"Sam," Dean shouts as they run in after the car. "Sam, are you okay?!"
"Ask me that later." Elizabeth and Dean come around to the passenger's side, looking for any noticeable damage beyond what Constance had caused. "Get me out of here, guys." Dean nudges his friend out of the way and then jerks the door open, pulling Sam out so he can look him over.
"Guys, we've got a problem," Elizabeth says, pointing across the room where Constance is glaring at them. The ghost holds a picture in her hands, her rage becoming more noticeable as she throws it away and steps to the side. None of the trio get the chance to move, a heavy dresser sliding across the floor and pinning them against the side of the car, held in place by the ghostly mojo.
"I thought she was supposed to die in here!"
"Well, obviously you miscalculated! So much for you being a college know-it-all." The lights begin to flicker despite the fact that there's not been any electricity here for over ten years, water running down the staircase and pooling around Constance's feet. "What the hell is happening now?" None of them really want to find out, pushing against the dresser as hard as they can.
"How can a stupid ghost be this strong?"
"You've come home to us, mommy," two small voices say in unison, a boy and girl appearing on either side of Constance. The group pauses, watching in horrified awe as the children wrap their mother in a hug, Constance letting out screams of agony as her flesh begins to melt. Soon she and the children disappear in flashes of light, nothing but a puddle of water remaining.
With identical grunts of effort, the three of them push the dresser away, the boys walking over to where Constance disappeared while Elizabeth climbs up onto the hood with her knees drawn up to her chest.
"So," Dean says breathlessly," this is where she drowned her kids."
"That's why she couldn't go home," Sam realizes," she was too scared to face them." Dean claps Sam on the shoulder, congratulating him on his first case since rejoining the fray. "What were you thinking when you shot Casper in the face?" Dean points an accusing finger at Elizabeth, both boys coming to stand in front of the car.
"Hey, it was all her idea."
"It worked didn't it," she shoots back with a smile, craning her head back to look at them both. She'll do anything for these two, even if it means using dumb ideas to rescue them from murderous ghosts.
"That doesn't matter right now anyway." Dean runs a hand over the plaster-covered hood of his car, a frown making his lips twitch downwards. "What does matter is the fact that I'll kill ya myself if you screwed up my car, Sammy." Elizabeth laughs at Dean's tone but regrets it immediately as a wave of pain washes over her. "You alright, Liza?"
"No, but I'm gonna call a friend to come get me. He'll take me to Uncle B's and I'll catch up with you guys as soon as I'm better."
"Don't take too long, I plan on winning that twenty bucks."
Living easy/living free/season ticket on a one-way ride/asking nothing leave me be/Taking everything in my stride/Don't need reason, don't need rhyme/Ain't nothing I'd rather do