Deadly Deceptions Chapter 5: Red Sky At Morning, a supernatural fanfic

5. Red Sky at Morning

Damn that had been a good night's sleep. To top it off, the motel we were currently staying in actually had comfy beds for once. My face felt like it was smushed against a cotton cloud, the covers were soft as silk. Even the weight around my waist and the warmth against my back were… wait. What?!

Fast as a bullet, my eyes shot open. Yeah, I was still in my bed, in my motel room, so what the fuck was… I looked down at the arm around my waist and spun around. There, in my damn bed, was a softly snoring Dean Winchester. Without thought, or at least without conscious thought, I lashed out, kicking and pushing until Dean landed with a thud on the floor.

He sprung awake at the assault, his eyes scanning the room for danger as he sat up before they settled on me. "What the hell?!"

"Exactly!" I said. I noticed his eyes drop below mine, so I quickly gathered the bedsheet to my naked chest. "What the hell are you doing in my bed?" Morning snuggles of any kind were not part of our deal. What had he been playing at? I certainly hadn't extended an invitation to him to stay. At least I didn't think I had… I'd been a bit out of it after the last round we'd had. But even if I was in a severely delirious state, or even being held at gunpoint, there was no way I would have invited him for a sleepover.

He shook his head, still sprawled on the floor, as if I was the one who'd lost my mind. "Well, when a man and a woman are attracted to one another—"

I sneered. "Oh please! I am not attracted to—" I was interrupted by a knock on the door. Only two people were bound to be knocking on my door… and one of them was currently naked on my floor. "Shit! Hide!" I launched out of bed and dragged on my shirt and sweatpants. I hopped around, dragging the sweatpants up my legs then hauled Dean to his feet.

"Would you chill?" Dean said. "I don't see what your deal is. He knows we're big boys and girls."

The deal is I don't want your brother to see me as one of your brainless, moronic hussies! I threw his clothes at him instead of that response as another knock sounded.

"Rae? You up?" Sam called through the door.

"Just a sec!" I yelled back before shoving Dean behind the door and whispering, "Don't say a word."

I threw the door open, just missing from slamming it into Dean's offended face.

"Morning Sam." I wore a beaming smile. Nothing to see here, Sammy.

"Hey," he said with his own warm smile that I had to admit I enjoyed seeing. "We need to head out to meet with Mrs Case. We're still a couple of hours drive away."

Damn. How had I forgotten about the case? Stupid Dean Winchester.

"Crap. Sorry. I overslept," I rambled. "I'll get changed now and meet you outside in two."

I went to close the door, but Sam put his hand out stopping me as he looked past into my room.

"Uh, you haven't seen Dean, have you?" he asked tentatively. "He was gone when I woke up."

My eyebrows shot up, and I was pretty sure someone tied a slipknot in my stomach. "Ha, uh, no! Why would I have seen him? I've been asleep. Remember? The whole oversleeping thing?" I laughed. It sounded strained even to my own burning ears. Pull it together, Rae!

"Um, yeah, right. Sure." He looked a little confused at my response, but I was pretty sure he bought it. I thought. Like eighty percent sure. Maybe sixty-five… I needed to make it more convincing.

"He's either out filling his gut or he decided to prowl the streets for an unsuspecting yet desperate, cheap woman." That sounded like a very plausible explanation to me.

But Sam just looked more confused. "Um, I'll see you outside."

"Great." I smiled again and shut the door firmly.

I closed my eyes as I hung my head. What was wrong with me? Why did I have to go and—

"Did you just call yourself desperate and cheap?"

Without looking, I flung out a fist, hitting Dean square in the chest. "Keep your voice down!" I whisper-yelled. "Come on."

I took Dean by the arm once more and shoved him into the bathroom. I nodded over to the window. "That should be wide enough to squeeze your big head through. Go."

He looked to the window and back to me, disgust written over his face. "I'm not going—"

"Yes you are." I tried to shove him towards the window, but he refused to budge. "Sam can't see you leaving my room when I just lied to his face."

He rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous!"

"It's your damn fault for falling asleep! Now, out!" I shoved him again, and this time he relented. Though he obviously wasn't happy about it.

"I feel like a two dollar hooker," he grumbled as he climbed up on the vanity to reach the window.

"You're seriously overpriced."

He threw me a glare before starting to climb out. He did it awkwardly, like a baby monkey climbing its first tree, before yet again landing with another thump on the ground outside. There were a few choice words muttered as he stumbled away.

With no time to waste, I started getting myself ready. We'd arranged to meet the aunt of the victim in our case as detectives, which meant I needed to look at least semi-decent. And I needed to get my head back in the game. Once I was suited and booted, ready to be seen in public, I strolled outside.

Dean was already standing with Sam, both of them waiting by the Impala. One of them was less happy to see me than the other. Wouldn't take a genius to guess which one was which. Before Dean could open his mouth, I called out as I headed to my truck parked next to the Impala.

"Hey, you found him!" I said to Sam. "Let's roll."

I climbed up in my truck, hoping the last of the awkwardness had passed. Never again would I fall asleep without kicking Dean out of my bed beforehand. Rookie error.

"But I don't understand. I already went over all this with the other detectives," Mrs Case said as she stood holding a framed photograph of her niece. The woman was classy, all prim and proper with her string of pearls, but thankfully not in a way that suggested she had a giant stick up her backside. Instead she was more… graceful, I guess you could say.

"Right, yes. But, see, we're with the Sheriff's Department, not the police department… different departments," Dean oh so eloquently explained.

"So, Mrs Case..." Sam said, jumping in before Dean could sound any more stupid.

"Please… Ms Case." If I hadn't known any better, I would've said she purred at Sam. The way she gazed into his eyes, and erm… licked her lips—sheesh—I judged the purring to be intentional.

Sam shuffled awkwardly on his feet. "Okay. Um, Ms Case, um... you were the one who found your niece, correct?"

All signs of flirting left her instantly at the reminder of why we were there. She nodded solemnly. "I came home, she was in the shower."

"Drowned?" Dean prompted.

She huffed a derisive laugh. "So the coroner says. Now, you tell me, how can someone drown in the shower?"

Fair question.

"How would you describe Sheila's behaviour in the days before her death?" Sam asked. "Did she seem frightened? Or something out of the ordinary?"

Ms Case frowned as she looked between the three of us. Suspicion was heavy in those grey eyes of hers. Oh we are so busted! "Wait a minute. You're working with Alex, aren't you?"

Who the hell was Alex? It didn't look like the boys had a clue either. But we knew this could end up going one of two ways, so we had to—

"Yep. Absolutely. That's Alex and us, we're like this." Dean held up his entwined fingers with a chuckle.

I braced for her wrath, waiting for her to throw us out. Instead, she smiled, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Why didn't you say so?" She beamed. "Alex has been such a comfort." She sat down, gently placing the photo beside her on the table. "But I'm sorry, I thought the case was solved."

"No, not quite yet," I said.

"I see."

I wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that. What did she "see"?

"So, anyways, we were talking about your niece," Sam said.

"Well, yes. Sheila mentioned something quite strange before she died. She said she saw a boat."

"A boat?" Dean asked.

"Yes." She sounded convinced in what her niece had told her, even if it left her feeling a little confused. "One minute it was there, then it was gone. It just disappeared right before her eyes. You think it could be a ... ghost ship? Alex thinks it could be a ghost ship."

Sam began nodding. "Well, uh... could be."

I nodded along with him. "We'll definitely explore that possibility."

"Well, you let me know if there's anything else I can do for you," Ms Case reached up and ran her finger over Sam's hand with a tender stroke. "Anything at all."

Dean and I turned to each other, eyes wide. Somehow we both managed to keep from laughing. Poor Sam didn't know what to do with himself. Forget the ghost ship… looked like Sam had a full-blown cougar on his hands.

Sam managed to wrangle out of her grip, and we showed ourselves out. We had enough to go on to say we definitely had a case here. We walked back to the car, strolling down by the harbour.

"What a crazy old broad," Dean said with a shake of his head and a grin.

"Why? Because she believes in ghosts?" Sam asked.

Dean laughed. "Look at you, sticking up for your girlfriend. You cougar hound."

Sam scowled. "Bite me."

"I think she's the one who's gonna be doing the biting." I couldn't help but put my two cents in. Sam's discomfort had been kinda funny.

"Dammit, I was gonna say that," Dean grumbled before changing topic. "So, who's this Alex? We got another player in town?"

Sam shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "Maybe, maybe not. Doesn't change our job."

"And we're thinking ghost ship, right?" I asked.

"Yeah," Sam said. "It's not the first one sighted around here, either."

Dean perked up with interest. "Really?"

"Yeah. Every thirty-seven years, like clockwork, reports of a vanishing three-mast clipper ship out in the bay. And every thirty-seven years, a rash of weirdo, dry-land drownings."

"So Sheila's death is just the beginning," I concluded.

"Yeah."

"What's the lore?" Dean asked.

"Well, there are apparitions of old wrecks sighted all over the world," Sam explained. "The S.S. Violet, the Griffin, the Flying Dutchman. Almost all of them are death omens."

"So, what happens? You see the ship and then a few hours later, you pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye?" Perfectly summarised by Dean as always.

"Basically." Sam couldn't really argue with or add to Dean's outline of the case.

"So I guess now we figure out what ship it is, then we can figure out a way to get rid of it," I said. This seemed like a pretty cut and dry case. I dared not to say it should be easy… I wasn't that foolish.

"That shouldn't be too hard," Dean added. "I mean, how many three-mast clipper ships have wrecked off the coast?"

Sam's smile looked a little grim. "I've already checked that: over one hundred and fifty."

Damn. Maybe not so straight forward after all.

"Wow," Dean said.

"Yeah."

"Crap." Dean kept going.

"Mm-hmm."

So this case was probably gonna take longer than expected. Even dividing the ships between us, we would still need to properly check out fifty ships each. Damn, this was gonna be a pain in the ass.

We continued walking and climbed the steps to the road. I spotted my truck up ahead, parked on the street. And the Impala…

The three of us looked around.

Dean splayed his hands out. "This is where we parked the car, right?"

"I thought so," Sam said.

Dean turned to me, a fire igniting in his eyes. "Where's my car?"

I held up my hands. "Hey, don't look at me."

"Did you feed the meter?" Sam asked.

"Yes, I fed the meter. Sam, where's my car? Somebody stole my car!" He stormed up and down the street, pacing like a mad man.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Sam said. "Calm down. Dea—"

"I am calmed down! Somebody stole my ca—" He took a desperate breath before placing his hands on his knees and hyperventilating.

I rolled my eyes. "You need a paper bag?"

Sam was a lot more caring in his reaction to Dean's dramatics. "Whoa. Dean. Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy." He grabbed him by the arms and hauled him back upright.

I guessed I had to be fair. If I rocked up to find my truck missing, I'd be pretty damn pissed. I wouldn't go as far as to hyperventilate, but still…

"The '67 Impala? Was that yours?"

I turned at the sound of the familiar woman's voice. The English woman's voice. Oh, please let it be some other stuck up —

"Bela," Sam grumbled.

There she was, in all her exasperating glory. I hadn't forgotten the shit she'd pulled with the rabbit's foot, and by the looks on the boys' faces, they hadn't either.

"I'm sorry, I had that car towed." She couldn't keep a straight face as she explained.

"You what?!" Dean roared.

She shrugged not-so innocently. "Well, it was in a tow-away zone."

"No, it wasn't!"

She grinned maliciously. "It was when I finished with it."

Dean looked like he wanted to murder her on the spot. I for one wouldn't be stopping him. "What the hell are you even doing here?" he asked.

"A little yachting."

"You're Alex," Sam said. "You're working with that old lady."

"Gert's a dear old friend."

"Yeah, right. What's your angle?" Dean asked.

"There's no angle. There's a lot of lovely old women like Gert up and down the eastern seaboard. I sell them charms, perform séances so they can commune with their dead cats."

"And let me guess," Dean said. "It's all a con, none of it's real."

"The comfort I provide them is very real."

She started to walk away but stopped when Sam questioned, "How do you sleep at night?"

"On silk sheets, rolling naked in money. Really, Sam, I'd expect the attitude from him, but you?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You shot me."

"I barely grazed you."

Sam looked away in disgust.

"Cute," she muttered. "But a bit of a drama queen, yeah?"

"You do know what's going on around here. This ghost-ship thing, it is real," Dean said.

"I'm aware. Thanks for telling Gert the case wasn't solved, by the way."

Dean shook his head. "It isn't."

Her jaw locked as she ground out, "She didn't know that. Now the old bag's stopped payment and she's demanding some real answers." She sighed heavily. "Look... just stay out of my way before you cause any more trouble."

"I'd say the only one about to find trouble is you," I said.

She turned to me in surprise. "Oh, she can speak. I thought you might have been mute."

I wanted to gut her, right then and there. Screw witnesses. That smart mouth had to go. And if I had anything to do with it…

Thankfully, for her sake, she turned to Dean and continued on, "I'd get to that car if I were you... before they find the arsenal in the trunk. Ciao." She turned and walked away.

"Can I shoot her?" Dean asked.

"Not in public," Sam replied, though he didn't sound happy about it.

I continued to stare after her, imagining a target painted on her back. Not that I needed a target. No, I had a feeling my aim would be better than ever when I—

"Rae? Rae?" Sam waved a hand in front of my face.

"Sorry," I said.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just thinking about the usual. You know, murder, sabotage… how to get rid of a body without the cops finding it. Like I said, the usual." Goddamn would it be satisfying.

Sam looked like he wanted to agree but changed directions. "We'd better get the car back."

Dean growled. "She was inside my car, Sam! Her hands were all over Baby. I feel violated."

"Now you know how your dates feel," I muttered, still upset I couldn't beat her to a pulp in broad daylight. "Come on," I said to the boys as I walked over to my truck, knowing I'd have to take them to the impound. I turned back when I couldn't hear them following me. "What are you waiting for?"

I ignored the pained looks on their faces as they looked over at my truck and slowly, reluctantly, ambled over. Seriously?! There was nothing wrong with my damn truck!

"Oh this day just gets worse and worse," Dean grumbled as he climbed into the passenger seat with a wince.

The following day, we gained another lead. Another person had mysteriously drowned in their bathroom—without having been in the bath or shower. Thankfully, there were no shenanigans that morning as I had kept my bed to me, myself, and I. We hopped in our vehicles; I was pretty sure Dean had spent a good three hours combing over the Impala once we'd gotten it back from the impound. Then we headed over to the crime scene. But just as our luck would have it, when we got there, we noticed someone else had beaten us to it.

"Now, if you could just tell me one more time about the ship your brother saw."

Bela was putting on her little fake American accent as she interviewed a man, evidently the victim's brother—Peter Warren. It would have been awfully rude of someone to interrupt her.

"Ma'am, I think this man's been through quite enough. I think you should go," I happily interjected. Just because I said it was rude, didn't mean I wasn't gonna do it. And boy did I enjoy it. I felt a little kick of glee as she clenched her jaw.

"But I just have a few more questions," she said.

"No, you don't," Sam said, just a whisp away from a full on growl.

"Sounds like you're done," I said, failing to hide my smile.

Bela turned to each of us and realised there was no way we were gonna let her wriggle around us. She turned back to Peter. "Thank you for your time." With a final glare at us, and reluctant steps, she walked away.

"Sorry you had to deal with that. They're like roaches!" Dean called over his shoulder.

That was certainly a fitting way to describe Bela. God she grated my last nerve.

"So, we heard you say your brother saw a ship." Sam put his arm on the Peter's shoulder and began steering him away, like even being in the same space Bela had occupied was poisonous.

"Yeah, that's right," Peter said.

"Did he tell you what it looked like?" Dean asked.

"It was, uh... like the old Yankee clippers. A smuggling vessel. The rakish topsail, a barkentine rigging. Angel figurehead on the bow."

That sounded like a whole lot of gibberish to me.

"That's a lot of detail for a ship your brother saw," Sam said. Why would the brother bother to describe the ship in detail like that?

"My brother and I were night diving. I saw the ship, too."

Well. That answered that. The three of us shared a knowing look. This guy was next on the list of whoever, or whatever, was going around drowning people on land. Sam suddenly indicated for Dean and I to look behind us. Turning, I saw Bela speaking to one of the police officers, and of course she was pointing in our direction. Can't say it wasn't something I would have done if the roles were reversed, but still.

Without thought, I muttered under my breath, "Bitch."

We needed to move before we got in trouble. Not that I had any doubt we could worm our way out of it. It was more of an unnecessary annoyance than anything.

"All right. Well, we'll be in touch," Sam said as he reached out to pat Peter on his shoulder.

"Thank you," Dean said, doing the same.

"We gotta sit on him," Sam said as we hotfooted it back to our vehicles.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It seems to be doing one killing a night. He'll be next."

"Let's load up," Dean said.

I went over to my truck while the boys went for the Impala. I opened the trunk and reached for my weapons bag. Grabbing my sawn-off, I grasped some ammo. This was probably gonna call for rock salt. Once I was ready, I headed back to the boys, only to find there was a slight cockroach issue. And that cockroach had a British accent. Damn was it tempting to lift the gun, point and shoot. It wouldn't kill her but I'm sure the satisfaction I'd feel would outweigh that disappointment.

"Why are you even still here? You have enough to I.D. the boat?" she asked the boys as I approached.

Without turning to her, without giving her attention, Sam said, "That guy back there saw the ship."

"Yeah? And?"

Dean closed the trunk and the boys turned to her. Did the woman really not have an ounce of care or compassion in her body? Surely the reason we were hanging around was more than obvious.

"And, he's going to die, so we have to save him," Sam explained like he was talking to a child.

"How sweet," she said slowly with an ever-growing grin on her face. She really was a piece of work.

"You think this is funny?" Dean asked.

She shrugged. "He's cannon fodder. He can't be saved in time, and you know it."

God she was ruthless. And not in the good sense. I almost felt sorry for her… almost.

"Yeah, well, see, we have souls, so... we're gonna try," Dean said, turning his back on her.

"Yeah, well, I'm actually going to find the ship and put an end to this. But you have fun."

At this, Dean turned back to her. "Hey, Bela, how'd you get like this, huh? What, did Daddy not give you enough hugs or something?"

Her face set into stone. Dean must have hit one hell of a nerve. "I don't know. Your daddy give you enough?"

Damn. I hoped she knew she had to tread very lightly there. If she poked the bear with that particular stick, it wasn't going to end well for her.

"Don't you dare look down your nose at me," she continued. "You're not better than I am."

"We help people," Dean said.

She scoffed. "Come on. You do this out of vengeance and obsession. You're a stone's throw from being a serial killer. Whereas I, on the other hand, I get paid to do a job and I do it. So, you tell me–which is healthier?"

Judging from her complete lack of humanity, I'd definitely side with us on this one. I didn't know who she was trying to convince with that little speech, but she'd certainly missed her target.

"Bela, why don't you just leave?" Sam asked. "We've got work to do."

Not only that, but it felt like we were seconds away from an all-out brawl in the middle of the street in broad daylight, given the glares being shared between Dean and Bela.

She raised her eyebrow. "Yeah. You're 0 for 2. Bang-up job so far."

Maybe she's aimed her target right that time. We couldn't let the count go any higher. As Sam had said, we had work to do.

I hadn't put up any fuss after the boys refused to do the stakeout in my truck. Being in the Impala meant I could stretch out my legs on the back seat—minus my boots of course. Dean had thrown multiple glances over his shoulder to ensure nothing more than my socks touched his precious Baby's seats. And I wanted to make sure I was comfortable. We'd already been waiting in the car for at least four hours watching the guy inside his house. There wasn't really any need to bring out the binoculars; the house's windows were as wide and tall as a garage door—bigger, even—and the dude had every single light on inside. I mean, who would walk around the house like that? You never knew who was watching and boy were those windows a peeper's dream.

And yeah… we were peepin' all right.

"Anything good?" Dean asked.

"No, not really." Sam leafed through the Warren brothers' records. "I mean, both brothers are Duke University grads. No criminal record. I mean, a few speeding tickets..."

"Well, they inherited their father's real estate fortune six years ago," I said, reading from the other set of records.

"How much?" Dean asked.

"One-hundred-and-twelve million dollars."

He whistled. "Nice life."

"Everything seems above board." Which was great for them but meant no leads for us.

"So why did they see the ship?" Sam asked. "Why Sheila, too? What do they all have in common?"

"Maybe nothing," Dean said.

Sam disagreed. "No. There's always something."

"Hey, you!"

Our heads snapped up in unison at the yell from across the street. Peter Warren was storming over to us.

"I think we've been made."

Ya think?!

We all got out of the car and jogged over to his driveway, where he was stood behind the gate, metaphorical steam bursting from his ears like a cartoon.

"What are you guys doing?! You watching me?" He called out.

I mean, technically, yes.

"Sir, calm down. Please."

I didn't think even Sam's unnatural ability to soothe other people was gonna work here.

Peter stood with his hands on his hips, unrelenting. "You guys aren't cops! Not dressed like that. Not… not in that crappy car."

I may have chuckled at that one, purely because of the dismay on Dean's face.

"Whoa, hey. No need to get nasty," he said.

"We are cops, okay? We're undercover." Nice excuse, Sammy. "We're here because we think you're in danger."

"From who?!"

"Sir, just give us a second to explain," I said, trying my own version of soothing. "I promise we are here to help you."

Peter aggressively threw his finger in our direction. "Look, you guys just stay away from me!" He turned back to his house.

Damn, I really wasn't good at the soothing thing.

"Wait!" Sam said as we ran right up to the gate.

Peter was spooked. Instead of running back into his house and locking his door, he ran for his car.

"Hey, you moron! We're trying to help you!" Dean bellowed.

I whacked his chest. "Yeah, I don't think calling him a moron is going to get us anywhere!"

The tires squealed and kicked up rocks as Peter hit the gas. Just as he turned to the end of the driveway, the engine shut off. Somehow I didn't think Peter had had a sudden change of heart.

"That can't be good," Dean muttered.

"No. Get the salt gun," Sam said as he started climbing the gate.

On the order, Dean and I sprinted back to the Impala. Dean grabbed the boys' guns from the trunk, while I grabbed mine from the backseat. We ran back and scrambled over the fence. Sam was at Peter's window, looking in. In the passenger seat was a man, a drenched one at that.

"Sam!" Dean yelled at his brother as we raised our guns. Sam took the hint and ducked. Dean and I shot into the car, smashing the window as the phantom passenger disappeared. Reaching into the now open window, Dean unlocked the door, as Sam did the same on the other side. Sam pulled Peter back from where he was slumped over the steering wheel. He put his hand to his neck, but he needn't have bothered. The man's skin was already turning blue, and his eyes, wide open, gazed lifelessly at the roof of the car.

Sam looked hopelessly back at us.

Dean punched the side of the car.

I guessed we were 0 for 3 now. Dammit.

We'd failed.

With nothing else for us to do, we called it in and hightailed it before the cops arrived on scene. The ride back to the place we were now staying was filled with a heaviness that lingered in the air. It didn't matter if Peter had been a stubborn moron… we should have done more to stick with him. We never should have let him get in the car.

The only sound, save for the steady purring of the engine, was the mellow voice of the weather reporter coming from the radio. "With what started out as a mild breezy night, a severe weather front has headed in from the Northwest. Expect heavy lightning and thunder, with sudden rainfall—"

Dean reached over and shut it off.

"Do you wanna say it or should I?" he asked.

I wasn't entirely sure if he was talking to me or Sam, so I was grateful when Sam responded.

"What?"

"You can't save everybody, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "Yeah, right, so… so what? You feel better now or what?"

"No, not really."

"Me neither."

Dean sighed heavily. "You gotta understa—"

"It's just lately, I feel like I can't save anybody."

I could have added my two cents, not that they'd be worth much as I would have pretty much been parroting what Dean had said, but this felt like one of those moments where I had to let the brothers have their moment together, to say whatever it was that needed saying. So I kept my mouth shut.

The reprieve from the heavy silence was short lived as we completed the rest of the journey in silence once more.

Back at the house—yeah, that's right… house. When we arrived in town earlier the day before, we had ditched the motels and found ourselves a boarded up house. All Dean's idea… the cheapskate. Whoever had lived there previously was long gone, every surface, including the few bits of furniture left, was coated with a thick layer of dust and there was a musty smell coming from, well… everywhere. If I got some sort of lung issue after staying here, I was sending Dean my medical bills. But hey, at least the house still had running water and the beds weren't infested with bed bugs. I'd have to call that a win for now.

We got straight into the research. Thanks to Peter, we had slightly more to go on, which didn't mean all that much as we still had one hundred and fifty shipwrecks to troll though. But at least we now knew a few more details about it that might help us with the identification of the ship.

We researched through the rest of the night, with cat naps here and there, with no damn luck in sight. Needle meet haystack.

Early morning the next day, there was a knock on the door which put us all on edge. No one should've been knocking on that door. We grabbed our guns, and as I was sitting closest to the door, I went over to it. Thankfully the door had a little window we could open to see clearly outside. As soon as I opened it and saw who was on the other side, my head dropped down.

I opened the door and spoke to the boys without taking my eyes off Bela. "Did somebody order a hooker?"

She raised a smug eyebrow. "My, my… how bitchy of you."

I grinned, sweet as honey. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

Without waiting for an invitation—not that she would've got one—she strode past me and looked around, her nose wrinkling in disgust. Well right back at ya.

"Dear God," she said. "Are you actually squatting? Charming. So how'd things go last night with Peter?"

She knew. She knew exactly what had happened. She just wanted to poke some more.

"That well, huh?" she said, barely managing to conceal her grin at our lack of response.

"If you say 'I told you so', I swear to God I'll start swinging," Dean said.

I think I believed him too.

Unfortunately she behaved herself. "Look, I think the four of us should have a heart-to-heart."

"That's assuming you have a heart," Dean said, putting his gun back on the table. I think he kept it in sight on purpose.

"Dean, please... I'm sorry about what I said before, okay? I come bearing gifts."

My back straightened. I didn't trust her. And I didn't trust any gifts she might have.

"Such as?" Sam asked.

She began unzipping a folder she had in her hands. "I've ID'd the ship."

She what? There was no way. There was no way we had been trawling through coastguard records, photos, and newspaper reports for hours and she just waltzes in here and… breathe. I needed to breathe. Damn did it stick in my craw that she had one over us. And I already figured she wouldn't have been bringing this to us without some sort of catch.

She pulled out reports and handed us a photo of the so-called ghost ship. Though annoyingly, it did match the description Peter had given us.

"It's the Espírito Santo," she explained. "A merchant sailing vessel, quite a colourful history. In 1859 a sailor was accused of treason. He was tried aboard ship in a kangaroo court and hanged. He was thirty-seven."

"Which would explain the thirty-seven year cycle," Sam said.

"Aren't you a sharp tack?" God she was annoying. "There's a photo of him somewhere." She flipped through the other pages in her file, finding what she needed. "Here." She handed the photograph to Dean.

"Isn't that the customer we saw last night?" he asked us.

I'd only seen him for a second or two, but I'd place my bets on that being the same guy: a hulking form, long dark hair, and brooding eyes. As I opened my mouth to respond, Bela jumped in.

"You saw him?" she sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, that's him. Except he was missing a hand," Dean said. I hadn't spotted that last night.

"His right hand?" she asked.

"How'd you know?"

Come on, Sammy. It was a fifty-fifty guess. Don't sound so amazed. Her head was big enough as it is. I somehow found enough composure to say none of that out loud.

Bela leaned against the table, palms flat to the surface. "The sailor's body was cremated, but not before they cut off his hand to make a hand of glory."

"A hand of glory?" Dean's face lit with amusement. "I think I got one of those at the end of my Thai massage last week."

I whacked the smirk off of his face with a firm slap to the back of the head.

"Dean, the right hand of a hanged man is a serious occult object," Sam explained. "It's very powerful."

"So they say," Bela said.

"And officially counts as remains," Dean said. Finally we had something to chase after.

Sam frowned. "But still, none of this explains why the ghost is choosing these victims."

"I'll tell you why. Who cares? Find the hand, burn it, and stop the bloody thing." Bela was so goddamn helpful, wasn't she.

"I don't get it. Why are you telling us all of this?" Dean asked.

"Because I know exactly where the hand is."

And here we go… I'd been sitting there, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to dangle the carrot on the stick, whatever idiom you wanted to go for… I was done waiting.

"Can we just cut to the chase, skip all the bullshit? What do you want?" I asked.

It was subtle, but her jaw definitely clenched. It seemed she took more offence to my smart mouth than the boys'. She turned slightly away from me, talking directly to Sam and Dean.

Boy did that piss me off.

"The hand is at the Sea Pines Museum," she said. "It's a macabre bit of maritime history. But I need help."

Did you hear that? Yep, that was the sound of the other shoe hitting the floor.

"What kind of help?" Sam asked.

I hoped he was just asking out of curiosity and not because he was even remotely thinking about coming to her aid.

"The place will have security and a lot of it," she said. "I need help with distractions so I can get in the room and grab it."

Nope, no way. She told us where the damn thing was, so we didn't need her anymore. We could get it our damn selves. I was about to say as much when—

"Okay, say we help you. When does this heist go down?"

My eyes bugged at Dean's question. Please tell me he isn't considering it too!

She smiled like the cat that got the cream. "There's a party there tonight. More people, means more for the guards to watch. It will be our best opportunity to sneak into the room to grab it. And thanks to Gert, we'll be able to walk right in."

The brothers looked at one another. Give them some credit, they didn't look awfully happy about it. But there was resignation in their eyes too. Oh, come on…

Sam sighed, his mind made up. "Fine, let's—"

"I'm still not sure why we need to help you," I asked.

She finally turned to face me fully. "You, I don't need. Sam and Dean will be enough. Besides, it's a black tie event and I doubt you have anything suitable." She looked down at me like I was something on the bottom of her shoe.

Was that supposed to be insulting? Because she must have missed the memo. I was not the kind of woman to cry over a crappy closet.

I strolled over to her, stopping directly in front of her, folding my arms. "And I'm sure your closet is filled with black dresses, black shoes, black bags. Want a couple of black eyes to go with it?"

"Alright, alright." Sam ever so subtly came between us, forcing me to step back. "Let's take a breather, get ready and meet later to go over the plan."

"Then I'll see you later this evening, gentlemen." I hated the look on her face as she turned to the door. She knew she'd won this little battle. And damn did that burn.

"What is wrong with you?" Dean asked Sam once Bela had left.

Sam pointed at himself. "Me?"

"Yeah. Do you know how close we were to getting ring side seats to a catfight… and you stopped them?! Wise up, Sammy."

The word 'pig' was at the tip of my tongue, but I had more important things to address.

"You're not actually gonna help her, are you?" I asked them both.

They both looked down, not wanting to meet my fiery gaze. At least they had some form of self-preservation. Because yeah, I was pissed. And the cause of my mood had just left, so these two were just gonna have to deal with the fallout of her little visit.

Sam was the brave one to speak up first. "She wants the same thing we do. She may not want it for the same reason, but working together might be the best bet to destroying the hand."

"Great," I said through gritted teeth. Maybe he was right. Maybe. But I sure as hell wasn't gonna let her call the shots, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna allow her to bench me.

I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair I had been sitting at earlier, then stormed to the door.

"Where you goin'?" Dean asked.

"Shopping."

"Stupid hair. Oh, it will be easy to do yourself, you just need to—Ow!" That was the third time I'd pulled my hair while trying to pin it up. I don't know why I'd listened to that young sales assistant. This was not easy to do. Oh, I was sure it was easy for her, someone who looked like they spent a good eighteen hours a day staring at themselves in the mirror. I knew I was whining, but I couldn't help it. Sure, on the rare, rare nights I got to let my hair down and go out for some fun, I'd slap on a little bit of makeup: a bit of mascara, a bit of lipstick. But this was so far out of my comfort zone, it was laughable. I'm sure Dean would get a good laugh out of me when he saw me.

I looked in front of me at the mirror and raked my eyes down the dress I'd chosen. Actually, I hadn't chosen it, exactly. In my desperate bid to be in and out of the store as fast as humanly possible, I'd walked straight up to the first sales assistant I saw and told her to pick out a dress for me. I'd agreed on the first one she picked out, barely giving it a glance over, just noting it was black so that would do. But God… how had I not noticed the giant, thigh high split in the side? If I moved wrong, I'd be flashing everyone and their grandma at the damn party. And I would have to rely on prayers alone that the straps hanging at the tops of my arms, rather than my shoulders, would stay firmly put, or the girls would be popping out to say hi too. Though whatever they'd put in the bust of this dress gave me a fairly decent cleavage for once in my life.

With a huff, I pinned the last of my hair into place. There. That would have to do. I picked up my little hand-held bag, or whatever you called it, that the assistant said I 100% can't go to a party without, and made my way downstairs. As soon as I started walking, I thought of my shoes. Even looking at the pinprick heels made me feel like my ankles were already broken. This was going to be a long night.

"All right, get it out–I look ridiculous," Dean was saying as I started down the stairs.

"Not exactly the word I'd use." There was a certain tone to Bela's words that had me quickening my steps. Just as I thought, when I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw her looking at Dean like a starving man would look at a juicy steak.

"You know," she continued, "when this is over, we should really have angry sex."

I nearly choked at that.

Give her her due, she was pretty. I would even go so far as to say she looked beautiful in that black dress. Shame her insides didn't match the outsides.

I cleared my throat, letting them know I was there—though she sure as hell already knew I was there. Dean spun around to face me, and as soon as he did, his eyes widened as they looked me up and down, his mouth dropping open slightly.

"You… you're… I… erm…"

Not wanting to wait to hear whatever was going to come out of his mouth, I said, "Don't let me get in the way of you two screwing each other's brains out. When you're done, meet us at the party."

With Dean still sputtering in the background, I headed outside. I didn't know why I was letting her grate on me so much. I'd come across my fair share of assholes in my life, both male and female, but Bela was something else altogether. And if those two wanted to get together… well good for them. I couldn't think of two more fitting people than them.

Just as I was about to hop into my truck, I paused, then turned to look at Bela's car. One reason why I hated her so much, was because I couldn't trust her. Something was bound to happen tonight that none of us were expecting, and no prizes for guessing whose fault it would probably be. With that in mind, a plan formed. I rooted around in my glove compartment until I found what I was looking for. Then I got to work.

Ignoring the distasteful look on the valet's face as I pulled up to the museum, I handed over my keys grudgingly, then climbed the stairs to the entry. The party was in full swing when I entered and passed over my invitation to the guy at the door. I'd had to call Mrs Case, sorry… Ms Case separately, due to "Alex" having "accidentally" forgotten that I would also be attending the party. She was more than happy to help me once I told her how grateful Sam would be for her assistance. The poor guy was probably already on his way here with his date.

The place sure was fancy. Classical musical played from the speakers, while people dressed to the nines mingled and ate canapés. Canapés for god's sake. All in all… I felt like a fish out of water.

There were also several security dudes dotted around the place. And of course, one was stationed by the stairs—the stairs we needed to get up in order to grab the hand. So as to not look suspicious lingering by the stairs on my own, I headed to the bar. I was sure Dean and Bela were hatching their own plan—or would be after they were done with their play time—but I was hardly gonna wait for them to figure something out. I needed to get past the security guard without too much of a—

"Excuse me, can I get you a drink?"

I turned to find a guy, tall, dark and alright looking, smiling at me with hopefulness.

"Huh?" Way to sound like a lady, Rae.

Thankfully he didn't balk at my stupid response, instead he chuckled. "I know it's a free bar, but can I at least grab a champagne flute for you?"

Well I had some time to kill while I figured out how to get past security, so why not?

"Why not."

He grabbed two of the champagne flutes sitting at the end of the bar and handed one to me. "I'm Christopher by the way." He held his hand out for me to shake.

I grinned, automatically knowing what name was going to spill from my lips. "Bela." I shook his hand, which was warm and soft. It looked as if he'd had a manicure, too.

"Nice to meet you Bela. I've been to a lot of these social parties, dull as they may be, but I haven't seen your face before." He grinned. "And I'm sure I would have remembered."

A cheesy, common pick up line, but I was gonna be nice and let it go.

"I'm not from town," I said. "I'm visiting a friend for a couple of days, and they invited me tonight."

"Ah, well that explains it. Where are you from?"

Oh God, I was gonna have to do small talk wasn't I? Don't get me wrong, he seemed like a nice guy—not my type—but nice. But I was crap at small talk.

I took a sip of champagne before shrugging. "Around."

My answer seemed to fuel his interest more. "Ah, a mysterious one. Ok, I'll bite. How about a dance while I try to get some answers?"

Now normally, when a guy asked me to dance, it was in a bar and the moves we pulled wouldn't have been suitable for a place like this. But, given I had a job to do, and the makeshift dancefloor would put me in direct eyeline of the stairs, I'd give it a whirl.

"Sure."

He held out the crook of his arm like a gentleman. I placed my hand there and he walked me to the dancefloor. He placed his hand on my back and grabbed my other and began slowly directing us in a swaying dance.

An awkwardness settled quickly between us. Even for me, this was a little more intimate than I usually got with a stranger—while our clothes were still intact at least.

"Ok, now that we're here, I don't really know what to say," Christopher said. "To be honest, I thought you'd shoot down the offer to dance."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Hmm, gut instinct?"

To be fair, he'd read me right. Had it not been so convenient, I may have—

"I'm cutting in."

I was grabbed around the waist and moved into a new dance partner's arms. A much taller, more grouchy dance partner.

I turned back to Christopher, who stood beside us like he wasn't sure what had just happened.

"Overprotective cousin." I tried laughing it off.

"Right." He nodded, but it wasn't a confident one. "Would you save me a dance for later? It would be a shame to look that beautiful and not get to take a proper turn on the dancefloor."

"Sure." I probably wouldn't be dancing with him again, but a little white lie wouldn't hurt.

"Then I will see you later, Bela." He smiled before turning and heading out of the room.

"It would be a shame to look that beautiful and not get to take a proper turn on the dancefloor." Dean mimicked in a high-pitch, whingy voice that sounded nothing like Christopher. "Moron."

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked as we, for some reason, continued to dance. It was only then that I really took in what he was wearing. Bela had taken so much of my attention and ire back at the house, that I hadn't even registered that Dean was wearing a tux. It certainly fit him well. The idiot looked rather handsome.

"Dancing," he said in answer to my question.

I gritted my teeth. "You know what I mean."

He huffed. "Fine, I was saving you from a prissy douchebag who would be more at home on a catwalk than under the hood of a car."

Was he… did he sound… jealous?

"He wasn't a douchebag," I muttered.

"And did you see the way he was looking at you? We're in public," he sneered. "Have some respect."

Did Dean Winchester actually have the nerve to say that? Talk about hypocritical.

"You know, I'm surprised you got here quick enough to save me," I said. "Thought it would take you guys at least another… 3 minutes."

He frowned, ready to bite back at the personal jab, before he changed tack and grinned. "You sound jealous."

I tutted. "Please. Everything that woman does annoys me. She could be flirting with a street sign and it would annoy me. Not everything is about you."

His grin only broadened. "But the best things are."

I rolled my eyes and looked over to the security guard. He hadn't moved an inch from where he'd been standing. There had to be another way up there, somewhere less conspicuous. Until I figured out where, I was stuck. Stuck on this dancefloor, dancing with Dean Winchester. Though, honestly, it wasn't too bad. Would be even better if he never opened his mouth. But still, as we moved in a gentle sway, his hand gripped firmly around my waist, it felt… nice?

I shook my head. Nice? What the hell was I thinking?

"You know…" Dean began. "You uhm… you look…"

Not having the patience for his babbling, or for the disturbing thoughts about enjoying our time on the dancefloor, I let go of his hand and headed to the bar. Bela was sitting there, glowering at my approach. Thankfully, Sam was standing at her side.

"Rae, you look beautiful," he said as I stood beside him.

"Thanks, Sammy. You brush up nicely yourself." And boy did he. His date was a very, very lucky woman. I kept the giggle to myself.

"Now exactly how long do you expect me to entertain my date?" Sam asked Bela as Dean joined us.

"As long as it takes," she replied.

"Look, there's security all over this place, all right," Dean said. "This is an uncrashable party without Gert's invitation, so..."

"We can crash anything, Dean."

Sam was right about that.

"Yeah, I know, but this is easier and it's a lot more entertaining." Dean smirked.

"You know there are limits to what I'll do, right?" Sam said.

Dean whacked him across the chest. "Ah, he's playing hard to get, that's cute. I want all the details in the morning!"

"Maybe you should set up a safe word with her," I added, not able to resist the temptation to tease him just a little.

Sam looked skyward. "Come on…"

Dean said, "Now how are we gonna get past—"

"I'm sure you can come up with something." I took another glass of champagne and walked away.

"But we… Rae!" Dean called after me, careful to keep his voice from being too raised. Afterall, we didn't want any unwanted attention.

But Dean could have all the fun he wanted. I for one wasn't going to sit on my backside. I could get this job done myself. Bela be damned.

Casually, I strode over to the main staircase. I already knew this wasn't going to work. Even when I managed to shift the guard from his spot, there were too many eyes still around. There was no way I would get up the stairs without someone seeing me. There had to be another way up. So off I went scouting the rest of the museum.

Sure enough, there was a second staircase towards the back of the property. It was still guarded, but only a handful of guests had strayed to this area of the museum. This would be my best shot.

"Excuse me?" I asked as I wandered over to the stern-looking guard.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

"I thought I should let you know, you see that man over there?" I pointed towards a young man, dressed as all the other male guests were. I didn't know him. Didn't recognise him. But I needed a distraction and he'd been the first one in my line of sight. Sorry, buddy.

The guard followed where I was looking.

"I just saw him sneaking one of the museum's items into his pocket." I looked back to the security guard with concern.

He bought it hook, line and sinker. He didn't even ask me if I was sure—he didn't even say thank you, which was kinda rude—he automatically stormed off towards the random suspect.

Knowing I didn't have time to stick around to see what happened, I flew up the stairs—and yeah, nearly broke an ankle doing it. How on earth did women go around wearing these things every day?

Anyway, fashion dramatics aside, once I got upstairs, I went into hunter mode. I started checking doors, while listening out for any unexpected sounds.

I found the office on my third try. I didn't even have to go prowling around the space. There, in the centre of the room, was the hand. It stood on a little podium and was encased by a thick layer of glass. I walked up to it, bending down to get a good look. God it was gross. It looked like rotten beef jerky… and that made me never want to eat that ever again. I hoped it wouldn't smell when I got it out of—

"That is disgusting."

I flew back at the unexpected voice, reaching for a gun that I didn't even have on me.

"Dammit Dean!" I snarled. I put a hand on my chest, hoping to calm my racing heart.

"How did you get up here?" he asked, as if he hadn't nearly given me a heart attack.

"What can I say, I'm a woman of many talents."

With no more time to waste, I propped my leg up on the edge of a nearby chair. I moved the material at the split in my dress aside to reach for the thin strap I'd secured around my upper thigh. I removed the little pouch that contained my tool kit.

"That was… I mean… That was…" Dean was standing there, all but drooling, Men. What simple creatures. Flash a bit of leg and they were done for.

"Are you gonna speak English at some point this evening?" I asked as I got to work disarming the alarm that Bela had said would be securing the hand.

"All I was trying to say is… you look… nice."

Really? That was it? Nice? As I'd said… men.

I chose not to respond. "Let's just get this done so I can get out of this stupid dress."

"Now that I can help with."

I swear I could actually feel the grin on his face.

"Aren't you gonna be busy taking your girlfriend's dress off?"

"Who? Bela?" He snorted. "I do have some self-respect you know."

At this I stopped and looked at him. "Err… no you don't."

He had the gall to actually look offended.

After I clipped the alarm's wire, I stood back up and slowly, slowly lifted the glass case. When no alarm blared, I let out the breath I'd been holding. Also, thankfully, there was no stench of decayed flesh, so all I had to do was find some way of—

Dean reached over and picked it right up.

"Really, Dean? With your bare hand? That thing is nasty."

He frowned before shoving it into his inner jacket pocket. "What do you say we blow this joint."

Now that I could get behind. Dean creaked the door open, checking the coast was clear before we dashed out the door, rounded the corner, and ran smack into a security guard. Shit.

"Whoa. Sorry! Uh ... nature called," Dean said, then pointed to the door at the other end of the hall. "Thanks for looking after my wife."

Wife? What?

"Oh, she's being looked after, all right." With that bizarre comment, the security guard walked away with a knowing smile on his face.

I wasn't going to bother asking what that had been about. That had been a close call, and we couldn't afford another one.

Dean headed for the door he'd indicated to the guard. Bela was inside… pulling up the strap of her dress. Colour me confused.

"Any trouble?" Dean asked.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," she said before putting out her hand. "The hand?"

Dean took it out of his pocket and Bela stepped forward to have a closer look at it. Me? I stayed where the hell I was. That thing freaked me out. Instead I stayed back by the door to listen out for any approaching footsteps.

"May I?" Bela asked, reaching a hand out.

"No." Dean's response was swift and firm. He took the handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket and started wrapping the hand in it.

"It might be more inconspicuous in my purse," she said.

"Nice try."

"Just trying to be helpful."

"Well, sweetheart, I don't need your kind of help."

Well, he'd certainly changed his tune.

Once the hand was wrapped, he placed it back in his inner pocket.

"Are you two done now?" I asked.

Without answering, they moved my way, and we crept back downstairs.

"Bela?"

Bela was the first to turn to look in the direction of the call—for obvious reasons. However, I soon realised that it was Christopher that had sidled up to us.

"Are you ready for that dance now?"

Bela's face was a picture when she realised he was talking to me.

"Actually I—"

"Actually, we have a family emergency," Dean said, grabbing my waist and pulling me to his side again. Christopher's eyes clocked the movement and confusion washed over his face. To be fair, it was a little intimate for supposed cousins. Screw you, Dean.

"Sorry, Benjamin," Dean continued.

"It's Christopher." The poor guy wasn't going to be a match for Dean.

"Yeah… whatever."

Before I could utter an apology, Dean pulled me away. I at least managed an apologetic glance over my shoulder. I may not have been interested in him, but Dean hadn't needed to be such a douche about it.

"Really?" Bela seethed.

"What?"

"My name?"

I smirked. "It was the first one that came to me. Take it as a compliment; you must have been on my mind." I winked.

We stumbled upon Sam and Ms Case getting awfully cosy on the dancefloor, so Bela had to bite back her retort.

"Well! Having a nice time?" Bela asked, shrugging off her anger.

"He's delightful!" Ms Case walked over to Bela and kissed her on the cheek. "He wants me!"

If I didn't know any better, I'd say Gert had had a little too much to drink.

"I'm going to get Gert into a cold shower," Bela whispered as started to lead Ms Case away.

"Great idea," Sam said, all too eager to see the back of his date. Poor guy looked like he'd been through the wringer.

"See you at the cemetery," Bela said before disappearing round the corner.

"You stink like sex," Dean said, turning to his brother. I had a feeling it was going to be a while before Sam lived this whole thing down.

"Let's get out of here," I said before we wasted any more time.

We got outside and walked over to the Impala.

"You got it, right?" Sam asked as he loosened his bow tie. "Tell me I didn't get groped all night by Mrs. Havisham for nothing."

Dean reached into his pocket. "I got it... Mrs. Who?"

Sam shook his head, silently berating Dean's lack of knowledge. "Never mind. Just let me see it."

He pulled out the handkerchief and opened it up… and frowned.

"What?" Sam asked.

Wordlessly, Dean held up a glass bottle with a ship inside.

"I'm gonna kill her," he growled.

Goddammit! That bitch had got one up on us for the last time. I said us, when I really meant them. No… I really meant Dean. I knew we should have just done this without her.

"Not if I beat you to it."

Taking my heels off, which wasn't as easy as it should have been, I left the boys behind me, as I dashed over to where the valet had parked my truck—thankfully in sight down the street. I drove straight back to the house. If I wanted to find Bela before she left town, I had a feeling I had to move quick.

As soon as I got back, I changed out of my dress into my usual jeans and shirt. Chasing after a lying thief or not, I had to put on something more comfortable. Once I was ready, I grabbed my laptop and ran back to the truck. I was in and out of the house within three minutes. Hopping into the driver's seat, I opened my laptop and went to the site I needed. Once the information had loaded, I was off.

Bela was on the move, not too far from where we'd first seen her after interviewing Ms Case. Sure enough, once I pulled up to the harbour, there she was in the distance, sitting in her car, the roof down. All the way from down the street I could see the satisfaction on her face. What a shame I was about to ruin it for her.

I walked up behind her car, to find her lifting a wad of cash from the bag she had on the passenger seat. As I came round to that side of the car, I lifted the bag out.

"Hi Bela." I grinned.

"Give me that." Her eyes flashed red as I held her precious cargo in my hands. It was almost kind of sad.

I jumped into the car over the door. "This?" I asked, wiggling the bag before throwing it back to her. "Here. I don't want your money. Not everyone is a low-life, immoral toad like you."

She quickly placed the bag underneath her seat before turning that furious gaze on me once more.

"How did you find me?" she asked. She seemed genuinely surprised I'd caught her. And God did that feel good.

I held up a finger, indicating her to give me a minute. I popped open the glovebox in front of me and rooted around the paperwork she had stored in there until I found what I was looking for. I held up the tracking device I'd stashed earlier. I tutted mockingly. "You should really learn to lock your doors. Anyone could just get in."

She clenched her jaw and looked away, enraged at herself for letting me catch her so easily.

"Judging by that bag of cash, you've already sold the hand," I said, putting the device in my pocket. She must have gone straight to the buyer for her to have sold it that quick.

"What did you expect? It's my job."

"What did I expect?" I asked. "Oh, I expected exactly this. Your greed knows no bounds." I saw her hand, slowly reaching down towards her coat pocket. She was trying to be subtle, but not subtle enough. "I'd keep your hands away from that gun you've got tucked away. Trust me, I could break your face before you even lift a pinkie."

I almost wanted her to go for the gun, just to give me a good excuse.

She moved her hand back to her lap with a sigh. "What do you want? The buyer's long gone." At that, her smirk returned.

I sighed wistfully. "I want so many things: free milkshake for the rest of my life, a dog called Spot, and you in a box at the bottom of the ocean." I shrugged as she snarled. "But we can't always get what we want. I'm still gonna hold out hope for the last one though."

"You're an angry little thing aren't you?"

If that was supposed to insult me, she'd completely missed her mark.

"I really am," I agreed with a smile. "So here's how this is gonna go: you're gonna contact your buyer and get his ass back into town. Then we'll have a little meeting, telling him you made a terrible mistake and that the hand he has isn't actually real."

She shook her head. "Why would I do that?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Were you not listening? You. Box. Ocean."

"You wouldn't actually kill me." She didn't exactly sound one hundred percent sure of that.

"Hmm. Maybe. Maybe not. But think about it. If it's a choice between you and countless other people's lives… which one do you think I'm gonna go with?"

She sat for a moment, thinking of her next move. More than likely, thinking of how she could wriggle her way out of this. Maybe I wouldn't kill her. But I sure as shit hadn't been lying about the fact that her life was not top priority.

"Do the boys know you're here?" she asked.

Out of anything she'd said to me, that bit got to me. I kept my face as still as possible so she wouldn't know it had irked me. "Last I checked, I wasn't on a leash."

"Yes, well maybe you…"

She looked out of the windshield, her thoughts drifting away.

"Oh come on, don't be shy," I said. "Finish what you were gonna say."

"Please tell me you see it too." Her voice shook.

At that, I frowned and followed her gaze out to the water. A flash of lightning illuminated the ship drifting on the water. It's black sails high on the mast were torn and fluttered on a stormy wind we couldn't feel. A dark mist surrounded the ship, but it was clear that no one was onboard.

"Crap."

We were so screwed.

As I pulled up behind Bela's car, she was already running in her ridiculously high heels to the front door.

"Hello? Could you open up?" She knocked relentlessly on the door as I approached.

The door swung open, looks of anger plastered on the boys' faces.

"Just let me explain," Bela begged.

Dean turned to me. "Where have you been? We've been calling you!"

"Where do you think I've been?" I growled. "Sorting out your mess!" I strode past him into the house and leant against the wall. Arms folded. This conversation was only gonna get worse.

Dean's eyes widened in indignation. "My mess… I will deal with you later," he said, jabbing a finger in my direction, before swinging it to Bela as she sat at the table. "You, talk." He leant over her, trying to intimidate her with his looming presence.

"I sold it," she said. "I had a buyer lined up as soon as I knew it existed."

Jeez, tell us something we don't know already.

Dean stood straight, walked behind her and mimed aiming a gun at her head.

"So the whole reason for us going to the charity ball was...?" Sam asked.

"I needed a cover. You were convenient."

"Look, you sold it to a buyer. Just go buy it back."

Her eyes were downcast. "It's halfway across the ocean. I can't get it back in time."

"In time for what?" Dean asked.

Here we go…

Bela sat there in silence. I didn't particularly want to say anything either. She created this mess, so she could deal with the boys first.

"What's going on with you, Bela?" Sam asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Great pun, Sammy, even if it wasn't intended.

"I saw the ship," she whispered.

I wasn't all that surprised she hadn't mentioned me seeing it either. That would detract from her starring role as victim.

"You what?" Dean asked as he shared a knowing look with Sam. At Bela's silence, he continued, with a smile growing on his mouth. "Wow, you know, I knew you were an immoral thieving con artist bitch, but just when I thought my opinion of you couldn't get any lower—"

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"We figured out the spirit's motive," Sam said as he withdrew an old photograph from a file on the table. "This is the captain of our ship. The one who hung our ghost boy."

"So?" Bela asked.

"So they were brothers," Sam said, throwing the photograph on the table. "Very Cain and Abel. So now our spirit, he's going after a very specific kind of target: people who've spilled their own family's blood."

Oh God.

No.

My head started to pound in rhythm with my pounding heart. I was glad I was still leaning against the wall, because at Sam's words, my legs turned to jello.

"See first there was Sheila who killed her cousin in the car accident," Sam continued. "And the Warren brothers, who murdered their father for the inheritance. And now you."

"Oh my God." I barely heard Bela's murmur over the white noise building in my ears.

I was gonna be sick.

Dean once again leant over the back of her chair. "So who was it, Bela? Hmm? Who'd you kill? Was it Daddy? Your little sis, maybe?"

At that, a sharp pain rooted in my chest. It were as if he was talking to me. He should have been talking to me. But he knew. He knew what I'd done.

And now, it seemed, I was finally gonna pay for it.

"It's none of your business," she said.

"No? Right. Well, have a nice life, you know, whatever's left of it." He clapped her on the back and grabbed his jacket. "Sam, Rae, let's go."

Bela got to her feet. "You can't just leave me here."

"Watch us."

"Please. I need your help." I took no satisfaction in the desperation in her voice. I didn't feel anything apart from… I couldn't even put my finger on what I felt in that moment.

"Our help?" Dean threw his jacket back down. "Now how could a couple of serial killers possibly help you?"

"Okay, that was a bit harsh, I admit it, but it doesn't warrant a death sentence," she said.

"That's not why you're gonna die. What'd you do, Bela?" Sam asked. He spoke so softly, it was almost scary.

"You wouldn't understand," she said. "No one did."

"Fine. Whatever. Time to meet your maker," Dean grumbled.

Bela opened her mouth to speak again, to continue pleading her case, when she stopped suddenly. Her back straightened and a newfound confidence emerged. "You're going to help me."

Dean sighed. "I thought we'd already—"

"I'm not the only one who saw the ship!"

"Oh, yeah?" Dean said. "And who else was lucky enough to…"

Dean tracked Bela's gaze as she turned to me. A frown settled on his face.

"Rae?"

I shuffled from foot to foot, uncomfortable now the attention was on me. I shrugged nonchalantly. "Guess we got a two-for-one."

Both Dean and Sam stood in silence for a moment. Then Dean sputtered. "Wh—what the hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you say anything?"

I kept my gaze away from his. "I figured we'd get round to it eventually."

He exploded. "We'd get round to it?! You're insane! That's the first thing you tell me when you walk in! You don't wait! Goddamnit, Raelynn!" He raked his fingers through his short hair then clenched his hand.

"Not going to interrogate her about her murderous past?" Bela asked.

He snarled at Bela. "You… shut up!" He turned and slammed a chair across the wall. Wooden shards flew across the room. "Goddamnit!"

I jumped at his outburst. Why was he so angry? Forget the slamming of the chair, I could see it in his face, in how he began pacing back and forth. He didn't need to be angry. Afterall, I deserved what was coming my way.

"Not so high and mighty now are we," Bela said to me.

There was nothing she could say to me now, nothing at all, that would make me feel as small and pained as I did now. I'd always believed in my guilt. I never should have gone after those vampires by myself. It had been careless and reckless. And if I had just looked in that fucking backseat…

There wasn't any of that that I hadn't told myself thousands of times over the years. Not a day went by where I didn't think about it. I had taken away the brightest light in the world. And now, it was finally my time to answer for my crimes.

An abrupt calmness washed over me.

I should have been sick to my stomach. I should have been scared beyond belief at the thought of dying. I should have been begging for the boys to help me.

Scared like Sophie had been.

Begging like Sophie had done.

No… I didn't deserve help. This was a long time coming. Hadn't my father said as much when he'd lost everything?

All the while my thoughts raged, and Dean continued his tirade. "You do realize you just sold the one thing that could save your lives."

"I'm aware," Bela said.

"Great. Now let me make this clear…" he got up in her face and his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "If she dies, I'm sending you on a one way ticket to Hell."

I had very rarely seen Dean this angry, this ready to lose all control. It only really happened when someone, or something, threatened to harm Sam. Didn't he see that I was already a lost cause? His anger was unnecessary. This was a simple transaction, a trade: a life for a life.

"Fantastic," Bela muttered.

Dean held her gaze for a few seconds more before he spun away and spoke to anyone who would listen. "How do we kill this thing?"

Sam said, "I think… I think I might know a way."

The moon was full, high above the cemetery. Sam laid out the ingredients for the spell on a tombstone, while the rest of us watched on. I sat with my knees up, resting against a headstone, shotgun by my side. I had no idea if Sam's plan would work. Truthfully? I wasn't sure I even cared if it did or not. All I could see, all I could focus on, was her. Her smiling and happy as she played in the garden. Her running into my arms when I'd pick her up from school. Her body lying torn and lifeless on a concrete floor.

"Are you ok?" Dean asked me.

"Peachy."

"Don't worry, we'll get this thing."

I didn't respond.

I knew what was about to come my way. After the incident as a kid where I nearly drowned in a lake, I knew the pain of the burning in your lungs. The frantic desperation for air that only made the burning worse. It was gonna hurt. But even with that knowledge, I wasn't as afraid as I should have been. Instead, I simply felt numb.

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Bela asked.

Dean glared at her. He'd been looking at her like that a lot in the past couple of hours. "You better hope so."

His focus returned to me and his tone gentled. "Stay with me when it—"

"Don't insult me." I may have been having a slight mental breakdown. I may have been a bit more quiet than normal. But I could damn well take care of myself.

Abruptly the sky darkened as clouds drifted over the moon. Thunder crashed. The candles Sam had lit flickered as the wind howled. Rain poured down in cascades.

It was time.

Even with the numbness, my heartbeat once again kicked up a notch.

"Sammy! You better start reading," Dean ordered.

Not one to miss a beat, Sam opened the spellbook and began to recite its words in Latin. While he read, I rose, and with Dean and Bela, we scanned the cemetery for the oncoming threat.

"Stay close!" Dean said. I wasn't sure it he was talking to one of us or both. It fell on my deaf ears regardless.

The candles' flames died out. The sky got darker. The rain heavier.

"Behind you!" Bela cried.

There, behind Dean, the ghost appeared. Before he could raise his gun, the ghost grabbed Dean and flung him through the air. As he crashed against a headstone, a single blast from his gun fired. I raised my own and got a shot off. The spirit vanished, but I knew he'd be back.

Bela grabbed the back of my jacket, hanging on for dear life. Her hand trembled. Or maybe it was my entire body that was trembling.

I didn't see the ghost reappear.

From the corner of my eye, I saw his bloody stump reaching for my face. As soon as it made contact, cold which I'd never experienced before settled into my bones. And then the water came.

I fell to my knees as water gushed from my mouth, cutting off all air. I tried to breathe. Tried to call for help. There was no air. Only water.

Bela was near me, also on the floor, choking on the water streaming from her throat.

"Rae!" I heard Dean call my name from a distance.

Time slowed. This felt different to last time. It was strange to be drowning, surrounded by air, yet not able to capture a single breath of it into my lungs.

Someone rushed to my side and pulled me into their arms. Their presence did nothing to ease the pain and panic as I continued to claw at my throat.

"Sammy, read faster!"

Dean's voice.

Dean's arms.

The burning spread across my lungs like wildfire. The pressure in my chest and head felt like a crushing lead ball. I was gonna die. This was my penance. This was—

I drew in a mighty breath.

The water had stopped.

"You... hanged me!" A low growl.

"I'm sorry." A second voice I didn't recognise.

I didn't look up. I didn't have the energy to.

"Your own brother."

"I'm so sorry!"

There was a bellow and a glowing light. Then everything settled back to how it had been. It was over.

I stayed where I was, clutched in Dean's arms, shaking brutally… and wept.

"It's ok," Dean whispered over the sound of my sobs as he wrapped around me completely and gently started to rock me back and forth. "I've got you. You're ok. You're ok."

No matter how high I turned the shower's temperature, I couldn't get warm. No matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn't wash the feeling of the pounding rain away. Eventually, I gave up. Turning off the water, I stepped out and wrapped a towel around me. I caught my distorted, foggy reflection in the bathroom mirror. I didn't need to wipe the condensation away to know what I would see: dark, hollow eyes, exhausted not only from the events of the night, but of those from all those years ago.

After pulling on my sweats and a t-shirt, I stepped out into the bedroom I was staying in. I grabbed my comb then sat at the end of the bed, legs crossed, and began running the comb through my tangled hair.

I hadn't yet sifted through my thoughts. Wasn't sure what I was feeling, or how I should be feeling. It was like a whirlpool in my head. Images, thoughts, and emotions spun by so quickly, I couldn't grasp hold of them.

Someone knocked at my door. Before I could tell them to get lost, Dean stepped in. Instantly, I looked away. I hated that he had seen me that way. Hated that I had been in a position where he'd felt the need to hold me and console me. How did he see me now? Weak? Pathetic? Unworthy of hunting with the great Winchester brothers? Maybe even a murderer who got off lightly?

"You good?" he finally asked.

I nodded half-heartedly.

"Not to be an asshole, but you don't look good." His words weren't said with the normal barbs he would have usually thrown out to insult me. Instead they were wary. And I hated that too.

"I guess nearly drowning will do that to a person." Those were the first words I'd uttered. They came out rough and jagged. It felt like shards of glass were raking up and down my throat. Not one to admit to pain, I continued brushing through my hair, my eyes averted from his.

"Yeah," he said. "Except you looked like that before you nearly drowned."

"Well I knew it was coming so—"

"It wasn't your fault... what happened to Sophie."

My eyes clenched shut at her name. My hand gripped the comb so hard I thought it would snap.

"Don't," I uttered.

"Was that it? You thought it was some sort of punishment?"

Damn him. Damn Dean Goddamn Winchester! Just add it to the list of things that I was hating that night. I wanted to yell at him, to curse at him. Hell, I would go so far as to throw a few punches at him. Why? Because yet again he'd read me dead to rights.

Still, I refrained from doing any of that.

"You said it yourself: people who spilled their own family's blood. Even a ghost could sense what happened to her… to my mom… was my fault." And wasn't that the crux of all of this? This wasn't about some internalised guilt Dean disagreed with. It was fact. Even the supernatural knew it.

"You've got to stop this," he said desperately. "It will kill you."

I laughed but it was pained. Kill me? I could live with the guilt for another sixty odd years, if I needed to. Funny thing about this job though? It came with a short lifespan. So did any of this really matter? Yet it still didn't change what had happened.

I sighed. "I never really faced any consequences for what happened nearly ten years ago. I was supposed to be punished tonight."

"That's bullshit." At the harsh gravel in his tone I looked up. I wished I hadn't because I didn't like what I saw. Yes there was an anger there. That I could deal with. It was the concern that laid underneath that heat that I despised. I looked away once more.

We weren't going to agree on this. This would be a back and forth until we ended up in a full-blown argument. I didn't have the strength—not the physical or mental strength—for that tonight.

"I'm tired."

Without another word or look, I got up and pulled back the flimsy bed sheets. I laid down, my back to Dean. I didn't think he was going to leave, until a moment later, he headed for the door, his footsteps sounding reluctant. I didn't realise I'd been holding my breath until the door closed behind him.

I knew I'd end up here. Knew what would await when sleep took hold of me. This time, I was very aware that I was dreaming. Everything played out as it always did. The swing of my machete. The first vampire's head rolling away. The second vampire down. And then the eerie silence. The waiting. And then…

But no scream came.

I walked down the hall; the hall that would lead me to her.

Still no scream.

Maybe this time it was different. Maybe I'd finally gotten to her in time.

I closed my hand around the doorknob and pushed.

The room was empty. The room was never empty.

I looked around. There was no one. Nothing.

"Sophie?"

Had she not come? Was she alive? Maybe she hadn't left the truck.

The thought spurred me into action. I raced back out into the hall and back to the main room where—

I skidded to a stop.

There she was. In her pyjamas. Her blonde curls glistening even in the dim overhead light. And she was smiling. She was smiling even as the blood pooled out of the tears in her flesh.

"Oh God…"

This was worse. Worse than any version I'd ever dreamt before.

"I just want to sleep."

Her voice was like a knife directly to the heart. Still so full of innocence, so full of life.

"Sophie… I…"

"But I can't." Tears started pooling in her eyes. I'd been wrong before; this was a knife to the heart. "I can't sleep until you've paid for what you've done."

"I'm sorry," I cried. "I never meant to—"

"Liar!" Her screech was inhuman. It was nothing like my sister.

"Wh—what? I—I didn't—"

"You did this!" She ran for me. Her hands outstretched. Her nails elongated like an animal's claws.

I couldn't move. Couldn't run. I was frozen.

Just as she reached out to grab me, my eyes shot open to the ceiling of the bedroom. My breath came out in pants as I lay there, staring above. A dream. It had only been a dream. One I never wanted to repeat again.

A growl vibrated from beside me. I held my breath as I slowly turned to face the other side of the bed.

I choked back a scream.

She was lying there, staring at me. This time, she wasn't covered in blood. She was drenched in water. Her skin was mottled, and her lips were a deathly shade of white.

"You can't run from me any longer," she whispered. "You should have drowned. Why didn't you drown?"

"I was going to… They stopped it…" None of the words seemed right. Excuses. That's all they were.

A snarl set on her face, distorting her features. "I hate you for what did."

My tears started again. My chest heaved with quiet sobs.

"It's time to take my place."

Fangs descended from her mouth. She leapt.

I scooted back, avoiding her snapping jaws, and fell off the bed.

As I landed with a thud, I woke up. My legs were tangled in the sheets. My body was slick with sweat. From the floor, I looked up to the bed. It was empty. She was gone.

I burst into tears, smothering the sounds with the bedsheets. I cried so hard, I struggled to get air into my lungs. The pressure built in my chest. It felt like I was drowning all over again. Why did my subconscious have to be so cruel? Was my self-deprecation not enough when I was awake? Those dreams had been more torturous than anything that had happened to me that day. She didn't talk to me in my dreams, my memories. And now that she had… I never wanted to hear her speak to me again. That thought alone, the fact that I would think that about the only person I really ever cared about, made me even more deeply ashamed of myself.

When my sobs eventually quieted, and my breathing almost returned back to normal, I stood on shaky legs. I couldn't stay in that room any longer; I definitely wouldn't be sleeping in that bed. Hell, I never wanted to sleep ever again. I would instead go downstairs, sit on the couch, and stare at the wall until sunrise. That was the best I could do.

I crept out of the bedroom, the bedsheet wrapped around me like a safety blanket. I was desperate for the floor not to creak under my feet and wake the boys—they'd already seen enough of my humiliation. I started down the stairs, careful not to trip over the sheet. When I hit the final step I turned into the room only to find Dean splayed out on the couch, mouth wide open, snoring like a damn monster truck.

And I was so grateful for that sight I could have cried again. That sight was something normal. Something to anchor me into the here and now, quietly reassuring me that I was no longer trapped in my dreams.

I settled down at the table instead. I crossed my arms and laid my head on them, staring at Dean as he continued to remain blissfully unaware of my presence. The position and the chair were uncomfortable. But uncomfortable was good. That meant it was less likely I'd fall asleep. Less likely I'd have to face whatever demonic, vicious version of the past my brain could conjure.

I squeezed my eyes shut at the harsh sunlight that flooded the room.

"Wake up Goldilocks," Dean sang out. "Time to roll out."

I stretched, feeling way more comfortable than I should have. As I continued to lay there, I wondered—wait.

I sat up. I had been sleeping on the couch, my bedsheet draped over me. How did I…? When did…?

"Breakfast is on the table." My eyes shot in Dean's direction. He was standing at the table, packing his clothes into his bag. He had a grin on his face which he was trying to hide.

I looked down at the coffee table in front of the couch. Sure enough, there was a paper bag and a drink, straw already sticking out, ready to drink. I opened up the bag and pulled out the Styrofoam box. I opened the lid, and the sweetest, mouth-watering taste filled my senses. He'd gotten me waffles. Instantly, I picked up the drink. I took one gulp and stupidly felt like crying… again. He'd gotten me waffles and a strawberry shake. I looked back up to find him watching me, stupid grin now fully on display. He sent me a wink then continued on packing.

Dean Winchester had moved me to the couch while I was sleeping dreamlessly. Then remembered what my favourite food and drink were and got them for me for breakfast.

Why did I feel a fluttering in my stomach?

Thankfully—and I can't believe I actually used that word where she was concerned—but, thankfully, Bela flung the front door open and strode inside before I could even contemplate answering my own question.

"You should learn to lock your doors. Anyone could just barge in," she said with a pointed look my way.

"Anyone just did," Sam said as he came down the stairs. "Did you come to say goodbye or thank you?"

"I've come to settle affairs." She started digging into her handbag. "Giving the spirit what he really wanted… his own brother. Very clever, Sam. So here." She tossed each of us a stack of cash. "It's fifteen thousand. That should cover it."

Why the hell was she giving us money? Usually it was her stealing from us.

At all of our confused looks, Bela rolled her eyes at having to explain herself. "I don't like being in anyone's debt."

"So ponying up fifteen grand is easier for you than a simple thank you? You're so damaged," Dean said with a chuckle.

"Takes one to know one," she sang. "Goodbye lads." She turned, but not before catching my eye. We held each other's gaze for only a couple of seconds. Yet the message was clear. We didn't like each other, but we'd both been through something terrifying. We knew how the other had felt. With that, we nodded to each other, and she left.

I really hoped we never saw her again.

"She got style. You gotta give her that," Sam said.

"I suppose," Dean said, staring down at his wad of cash.

"You know, Dean, we don't know where this money's been." Sam had a good point. If the money came from Bela, it hadn't come from anywhere clean.

"No," Dean said, grabbing Sam's cash from his hand. "But I know where it's going... Ha Ha!"

I dreaded to think of what he meant by that… but it probably involved strip clubs.

While the boys continued to pack our stuff, I got started on my breakfast. I shouldn't have been wanting to eat, not after the events of last night, but the smell was just too good to resist. The weight from yesterday; from the drowning and the dreams, was heavy. I knew it was gonna be a difficult time shifting it. However, it wasn't as heavy as I thought it'd be. Whether it was down to that small bit of dreamless sleep I got, Bela's generous gift—who am I kidding, it wasn't that—, or Dean's small gestures. Those damn waffles…

Either way, I felt like I might have been able to get through the day without breaking down. That was a good a start as I could hope for.

"Are you ok?" Sam stood beside me, looking down with that empathetic look of his.

I went to give my standard answer of "yes" but changed my mind. Once again the Winchesters had saved my skin. And who could stand to lie to Sam when he threw that puppy-dog look at you?

I smiled up at him. "I will be."

After finishing my breakfast, I headed upstairs to change and pack my clothes. I avoided looking at the bed at all costs for fear of it dragging me back into last night's memories. Setting what could have been a world record for getting ready, I hefted my bag onto my shoulder and started downstairs, more than ready to leave this case and this town behind.

"You need to tell her," Sam's lowered voice still carried over to the stairs.

"I've told you already, I will! I just don't think—"

"Tell me what?" I asked as I approached the bottom of the stairs.

Dean's eyes widened for a second before jogging over to me. I still had a few steps to go down, so for once I had a height advantage over him as he looked up at me. "Now, don't shoot the idea down right away. I'm thinking… Vegas."

Yeah, I knew it, there was gonna be strippers.

"Dean…" I said, not needing to say anything else.

"Come on!" he pleaded. "When do we ever get to let our hair down? Shouldn't we get the chance to live a little?"

Dean looked like a kid begging his parents to ask Santa for a Christmas gift. And yeah, it may not have seemed like much to anyone else, but his actions this morning had me softening against his pleas.

"You really want to blow all that money in Vegas?" I asked.

"You're assuming I won't make money at the craps table." He put his hand to his chest. "I'm a little hurt, Princess. Besides, it would be a shame to only wear that black dress of yours for one night." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. "Come on, a few nights won't hurt."

I sighed, knowing I was going to agree. But like hell I'd be spending three nights in that godforsaken city. "One night."

He scoffed. "Two tops and then—"

"Don't push it." My voice was stern.

Dean thought about fighting it, of bargaining for more time, but came to the smart conclusion. "Oh, alright, you party pooper." He bopped me on the nose. "Vegas, here we come!" He skipped off to grab his stuff.

Sam and I looked at each other, knowing we were both gonna have a whole bunch of babysitting on our hands. With an understanding nod, he grabbed two bags to take out to the car.

Before Dean could follow him out, and before I even thought about what I was doing, I walked over to Dean and spun him round. His eyes widened as I grabbed the back of his head and lowered his mouth to mine. The kiss was different to any ones we'd shared before. This wasn't about the heat of the moment. It wasn't about getting my rocks off. Truly, I didn't really know what it was about. But it was soft, gentle… sweet.

I pulled back to find Dean looking shellshocked. I would have laughed if I wasn't feeling something similar.

"Wh—what was that for?" he asked.

I shrugged. "For the waffles."

I picked up my bag from where I'd left it by the stairs and headed out, leaving behind a still dumbstruck Dean.

Something had changed. Through the misery and despair of the last twelve hours, something had shifted between Dean and I. I didn't want to put my finger on what. In fact, I wanted to keep my finger far, far away from the answer. For now, I would put it down to a new appreciation for the softer side of Dean Winchester and leave it at that.

As for Sophie? Maybe one day I would get to a place where I didn't eat myself alive from the guilt. Where I could think of her and not be haunted by memories. Maybe one day.

But it wasn't going to be today.

While it may not have been one of the fave episodes, I have been excited to write this one for ages! (I think I first started thinking about it at least halfway through Deadly Ties). It's by far the longest one I've written, so sorry it took awhile, but I hope you all enjoyed it.

I would so so so love to hear your thoughts about this chapter, so please leave a review.

As always, Angeleyes31102, thank you for your review on the last chapter!