Supernatural series (including a little sister)

by immieimke

Hi everyone! Here is (hopefully one day) the whole supernatural series, rewritten to how I'd like to see it. Right now, I'm not yet making a lot of changes (apart from an added female character of course), but later I probably will! I'll see how it goes. I'm still working through season two now, but I am having a lot of fun! Hopefully, you'll have fun too! I don't own supernatural!

19. Season 1, Episode 19, Provenance

Provenance

With a sigh, I watch Dean flirt with the third woman of the night. It's really been three already, since we got to this bar. This one looks well in her twenties and is smiling at him disgustingly sweet. I'm sure I just watched her give him her number, making the odds of him disappearing tonight and not coming back until the morning even greater. "Ew…" I sigh again, leaning my head on my arms and looking away. "Then don't watch. I don't either." Sam points out drily from his position right next to me. He's leaning his head into his hands, glancing at the papers in front of him. "Then what am I supposed to be looking at? I mean, it's not like you're entertaining me…" I retort at him, rolling my eyes. Sam ignores me, heaving his head up and grabbing the paper left from him. He's already looked at that one twice and it's pretty clear why. In the right corner, there's an article with the title 'couple's throats slashed in own home'. "You still think that's something?" I ask him, but he ignores me and glances up, looking for Dean. Dean, who's still laughing and flirting with that same girl a little further into the bar, glances over at us right on cue. Sam holds his hand up to him and motions for him to come to us. Dean's smile falters and he tries to ignore Sam at first. With raised eyebrows I watch Sam catch his attention again, waving him over more urgently this time. I can see Dean let out a big sigh, mutter something to the girl in front of him, before stalking up to us. Sam starts talking to him as soon as he's within earshot. "Alright, I think we got something." He announces. Dean puts the coke I ordered about an hour ago in front of me and then looks at Sam. "Yeah, me too." He starts, glancing back at the bar. "I think we need to take a little short leave. Just a little one, what do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one." He then continues, purposely not looking at me. I shake my head and grab my drink, taking a sip. "So, what are we today, Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?" Sam asks him, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills." Dean answers, completely serious. Sam groans, shaking his head and looking very done with his brother. Dean laughs. "I mean, hey, it's not that far off, right?" He glances at Sam and wiggles his eyebrows shamelessly. "It couldn't be further off." I tell him drily. Dean glares at me, before glancing at Sam. "Oh, by the way, she's got a friend over there. Probably hook you up, what do you think?" He then suggests happily. Sam awkwardly scrapes his throat. "Dean, no, thanks. I can get my own dates." He denies Dean's offer instantly. "Any boys over there for me?" I ask Dean in played interest and the baffled look he gives me is priceless. When I'm done laughing and when Sam's attention is back on the paper still in his hand, Dean starts the conversation about dating back up. "You know, you say you can get your own dates, but ya don't." He tells Sam. "What is that supposed to mean?" Sam asks him in an irritated huff, causing Dean to drop it. "Nothing. So, what do you got?" He glances down at the paper in Sam's hand. "Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York, were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago." Sam tells him, pointing at the article. "Throats were slit, there were no prints and no murder weapons. Nothing at all…" I finish Sam's explanation, having already spoken with him about the information and how it's fishy and maybe our kind of thing. Sam's been more active in speaking to me about these sort of things, trying to teach me how to spot articles and news items that have potential to be our kind of thing. There's way more to that then I ever suspected and it's been quite interesting to hear him talk about it. I trail off though, when I see Dean's not really listening. "Dean." Sam calls out, making Dean focus back on us. "No prints, no murder weapons, all doors were locked from the inside." He summarizes once he catches Dean's glance. Dean sips his beer. "Could just be a garden variety murder, you know. Not our department." He then states, the facts not having interested him enough yet. "That's not what dad thinks." I tell him, very annoyed by his unbothered attitude. "Excuse me?" Dean frowns at me in confusion. "Look…" Sam reaches for dad's journal, which is still open from when we worked through it earlier, and shoves it under Dean's nose. "Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one in 1945 and then 1970, the same M.O. as the Telesca's." He explains. "Yeah, which is throat slit, doors locked from the inside. And because there is so much time between these murders, nobody has checked the pattern, but dad did." I follow up, pointing in the journal at the dates dad wrote down. "Hold up…" Dean's clearly very confused with my knowledge about this and holds up a finger to me. "Some of us have been working instead of flirting." I point out to him, not able to suppress a grin. Dean gapes at me and then looks at Sam, who's also grinning. "Shut it." He then tells me, no longer distracted. "Okay, so now we've got another one with the same pattern?" He asks Sam, who nods at him. "Okay, all right. I'm with ya, it's worth checking out. But, we can't pick this up till first thing, right?" He raises his eyebrows expectantly. "Yeah." Sam answers. "Good." And with that, Dean stands back up and is heading back to the girl at the bar. "Dean…" Sam protests weakly, but Dean's already gone. "Jesus…" I mutter in astonishment, shaking my head. Sam chuckles lightly, but then stands up. "Come on, we can go back now. He's not coming back tonight anyways." He tells me, gathering up the papers. "Ya damn right he won't be, which means we don't have to fight about the beds." I smirk, grabbing dad's journal and carefully hiding it inside my jacket. Sam lets out a laugh at that, ruffles my hair and then leads the way out of the bar. We're not far from our chosen motel room and the evening air is very appealing. "So, any plans for your birthday?" Sam asks me as we start walking, turning the left corner. "What?" I retort, completely thrown off guard. "Your birthday, Skye. It's in a week…" Sam laughs at my stunned face. "Crap, you're right. I didn't even realize…" I confess, suddenly feeling lighter. In a week I'll turn seventeen. Which is still a year from eighteen, but I'm getting closer to it. "But what do you mean with plans..?" I glance at Sam in confusion. "Well, I don't know. You used to want to throw parties, or at least make one of us cook whatever you wanted…" Sam teases, smiling softly at the memory of that. "Oh yeah, you're definitely cooking for me." I joke, burying my head deeper in my jacket. "But uh, I don't think there's much else to do… I mean, I'm not gonna throw a lame party in a motel room for my two friends who are thousands of miles away, right?" I then say, frowning at that realization. "Welcome to the hunting life…" Is Sam's soft reaction to that and he's no longer smiling. "Ah, come on. It doesn't really matter anyways. It's only my birthday." I quickly tell him, bumping my shoulder softly against his. Sam disagrees. "You're turning seventeen…" He says, shaking his head in sudden disbelief. "Seventeen." I repeat, letting out a slight chuckle. "A minute ago you were seven and the most annoying little creature in the world." Sam softly chuckles, grabbing my arm to lead me around the corner to the right. The motel room becomes visible between the trees in the distance. "Excuse you!" I gasp dramatically, smacking my hand against his chest. Sam laughs, nodding. "Oh yeah, to dad you could do no wrong, but you were impossible back then." He continues to tease, dodging another one of my attempts to smack him. With smiles still on our faces, we enter the motel room about ten minutes later. And as I watch Sam shrug off his jacket, the comments about me being an annoying kid stay on my mind. I smirk. "Hey, Sam, was I like, this annoying?" I call out and as Sam turns around to me with a confused expression, I launch myself at him and jump on his back, locking my arms around his neck tightly. Sam staggers and gasps at the sudden weight I've put on him, but there's a large grin on his face. "Get off of me, ya big oaf." He groans, grabbing my arms in an attempt to undo the headlock I've got him in. "Nuhuh." I hold on tighter, curling my legs around his waist to make sure I don't slide off. "Skye, you are beyond heavy!" Sam cries out playfully, twisting around in an attempt to throw me off. He's way stronger and faster than me, but I'm on his back, actually making it quite difficult for him to fight back. "You calling me fat?" I cry out in mock anger, reaching one of my hands up to get a hold of his hair. And Sam grunts and laughs as I thoroughly mess up his hair. "You little…" He growls, giving into the playful energy between us. His hands, who'd been trying to pry my arms off his neck, now go for a different tactic. He locks them around my knees, places his fingers right above my kneecaps and gives a harsh squeeze. The gasp that comes out of me is loud and filled with shock and I try to kick at him, the ticklish electricity already zapping through my legs. "Don't! Saham, I swear…" I threaten, fighting the laughter that's bubbling up inside of me. "Don't what?" Sam teases breathlessly, squeezing again, just as hard. I yelp and try to twist further up his back to escape his attack, locking my arms back around his neck, unable to stop a few giggles spluttering out of me. "Honey, you'd better get off of me, or I swear I will not have mercy." Sam threatens and my face flushes at just the thought of that. "Two c-can play at that game." I then grunt at him and in one move, I reach up, draw out my arms and am able to reach across his chest, burying them right into his underarms. Now it's Sam who lets out a shocked gasp and I can feel his whole body tensing up. Knowing I have only one shot at this, before things go south, I force all my energy into digging into his armpits, drilling my thumbs into the hollows. And it has immediate effect. Sam splutters a strangled 'no', before buckling over and instantly bursting out in laughter. It flows out of him, his whole body jolting at how bad it probably tickles. I know from experience that this is one of his worst spots, I've seen Dean use it against him too many times to count. I rarely get an opportunity to use it against him, but now I've seem to have found it. And I relish in it, and in Sam's laughter that's still belting out of him. He twists and turns, swirling us through the room before his legs hit the frame of one of the beds and we both topple onto it. Now that I don't have to hold myself up anymore and have basically fallen down with Sam in my arms, I renew my tickles with more vigor, causing Sam to literally jump out of his skin. "GAHH, Skye stohohohohohohp I SWEAHEHEHEHEHER IMGONNA KIHIHIHILL you…" He's able to get out through his wheezes, desperately clamping his arms to his sides. My hands though, are already in his worst spot and I'm wheezing with him, the sound of his laughter filling me up with joy. It's been a long time since I've heard him laugh like this. And with me being distracted on his loud laughter, Sam shoots himself upwards and unclamps his arms, making me fall back and lose my grip on him within a second. "NO!" I scream, but Sam's already thrown himself on top of me, goofy smile still on his face and he attacks every tickle spot he knows I have. I'm thrown into hysterical giggles immediately, trying to slap him away, but that soon turns into full blown laughter and screeching. Sam was right, he does not have mercy and only stops his attack on me once he's thoroughly teased me, my laughter has gone silent and tears of mirth have appeared in the corners of my eyes. "You should know better, really." He chuckles, rolling off of me, he himself out of breath from our play fight. I'm not able to respond to him, my laughter having returned, sounding hoarse. "Adorable." Sam concludes, shaking his head and standing up from the bed. "I hahahate you!" I splutter at him as I try to catch my breath, clutching my sides. "Love you too." Is Sam's loving response, before he walks over to the little kitchen to go grab himself a beer. I stay on the bed, reaching for my phone and taking some time to scroll through my messages, before deciding it's late enough and time to go to bed. I take the left one, as I slept in there yesterday too, and fall asleep quite easily.

When I wake up the next morning, Dean has returned, I can see his silhouette on the couch and hear his soft snoring. "Huh…" I mutter to myself as I get up out of the bed, glancing over to Sam's bed. Sam's awake, sitting up against the headboard with his laptop on his lap. "When did he come back?" I whisper to him, grabbing my bag to search for a different pair of jeans. "Around four, I think." Is Sam's short reply and he doesn't look up from the screen. I leave him to it and go freshen myself up in the bathroom, changing into a clean set of clothes. When I get out, Sam's already waiting in front of the door impatiently. "How about you wake up Dean, huh? We can leave as soon as I'm done." He tells me as he slips past me. "Yes, sir." I joke, grinning as I look at Dean, who's still fast asleep on the couch. And as soon as Sam has closed the bathroom door, I let out the loudest war cry and dash towards the couch, jumping on top of my big brother. He instantly shocks awake, curls in on himself and groans in surprise when my weight crashes onto him. "Oh, god…" His eyes spring open and flash around the room, instantly on alert. "Morning." I sweetly tell him from my position on his back. "You're a menace, you know that?" He groggily snaps at me, clutching his chest. "I know." I agree, laughing at his shocked expression. "Get off." Dean reaches out to me and gives me a push, unbalancing me. With a surprised squeal I topple off the couch, onto the wooden floor. Now he's laughing, watching me scramble back to my feet. "Come on, get up. We're leaving soon." I grin at him, patting his leg before walking to the kitchen to see if Sam made coffee yet. He has and I gratefully pour myself a cup.

When Sam's out of the bathroom and Dean has thrown on some clothes, we exit the motel. Stuff packed and ready to move on, ready to go and solve this case, if it even is a case. Dean makes Sam drive, claiming he was woken up way too early and way too brutally and that he's gonna nap some more. He puts on his sunglasses to show us we're not to disturb him and then leans down in the seat. Sam happily takes place behind the steering wheel and drives us towards the house of the Tenesca's, the most recent couple that was murdered in their house. Since Dean's sleeping, he takes me inside to search for evidence instead. And when we step into the house, the first thing we notice is that the house is empty. Completely empty. There's no furniture, nothing. "Weird." I state, slowly glancing around. Sam shrugs and then sends me upstairs with the UV light to go and look for things, but all I find are normal finger prints. When Sam joins me later with the EMF, there's also nothing to be found. "So, what does this mean?" Sam asks me as he leans against the doorframe, shutting off the EMF. "Well, that there doesn't seem to be any evidence of anything supernatural here in the house. At least, not something that can be detected by our stuff." I answer him, glancing around the empty hallway. "Exactly. So, what do we check next?" Sam continues, a grin forming on his face. "Well, there could still be something going on here… but not in the house itself. So maybe uh…" I try to think of the next step, but without any furniture or witnesses to talk to, there doesn't seem a logical answer. "Their stuff, Skye. We need to check their stuff to be sure this isn't something we need to take care of." Sam explains, motioning for me to follow him back downstairs. "Don't we need to see if this house is like, built on cursed grounds or something?" I ask him, descending down the stairs after him. "Already did that, there's nothing going on with the house." He answers me drily, opening the front door and holding it open for me. "Of course you already did that." I mutter sarcastically, walking back outside. In the car, Dean's still sleeping with his sunglasses on and this time Sam decides to brutally wake him. He walks around the car and through the open window, pushes on the horn. It goes off, making way too much noise and scaring the living daylights out of Dean. He instantly jolts and gasps, his body tensing up and his arms swinging around in complete surprise. Sam and I both burst out laughing, entering the car. Dean groans. "Ah, that's so not cool. Why can't anyone just let me sleep peacefully?." He complains, moving a hand across his face and sinking back down in his chair. "We just swept the Telesca's with EMF and UV, it's clean." Sam talks over him, informing him of the information we just gathered. Or rather, the lack of information. Dean slides his sunglasses off his face. "And last night, while you were… out…" Sam follows up, making Dean grin widely. "Yeah, good times." He mutters to himself, making me scrunch up my face at just the thought of that. "I checked the history of the house. No hauntings, no violent crimes. Nothing strange about the Telesca's themselves either." Sam finishes his sentence. "Alright, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then uh, maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something." Dean suggests, pushing himself a little further up in his seat. "House has no contents, it's clean." I inform him, crossing my arms. "Yeah, Sam said that." Dean says, missing the point. "No, she means it literally has no contents. House is empty. No furniture, nothing." Sam corrects him, glancing back at the house. Now Dean's thoroughly confused. "Where is all their stuff?" He asks, raising his eyebrows. "My best guess is an auction. I mean, look at that house." Sam nods towards the house we're still parked next to and I glance at it again. It's one of the biggest houses I've seen and I have to give it to the Telesca's, it's absolutely gorgeous. "Alright, get your ass out of my driver's seat." Dean grunts, rubbing his eyes and then getting out of the passenger seat. "You sure you're up to drive?" Sam teases, not moving yet. "Get your damn ass out of my seat." Dean repeats strictly, stalking around the car and opening up the door for Sam. "Alright." Sam laughs, stepping out. "And get that damn grin off your face." Dean grunts at him, sticking his hand out to jab Sam in his side when he moves past him. Sam jolts and quickly jumps back with a gasp, the corners of his mouth inching upwards. Dean sits down and lets out a content sigh, grabbing the steering wheel. "There we go, that's better." He mutters, starting the car. Sam quickly jogs around and takes his place in the passenger seat. As soon as he's in, Dean drives off. "You're getting me coffee." Dean tells him, turning left at the corner of the street. "Why me? She woke you up this morning." Sam's quick to point a finger at me and I gawk at him in playful betrayal. "Then you'll both get me coffee." Dean chuckles, turning on the radio. At the nearest gas station, he indeed makes me and Sam get him a coffee and as he sips it, Sam looks up where the nearest auction is being held and Dean then drives us to it. It's an experience, to say the least. It's the most posh and elite thing I've seen in my life so far. All the cars outside are expensive and impressive, there's even a service at the entrance where other people park your car for you and a red carpet is laid out for the guests who enter through the large front door. "Jesus." I mutter, getting out of the car and glancing down at myself. My jeans, blouse and boots are not gonna cut it here. "We'll make it work." Sam chuckles at me, having also noticed that we are far too underdressed to be in this place. Our car also stands out between all the shining other ones, although in my opinion it still looks better.

"Come on." Dean motions for us to hurry up and we walk towards the entrance of the building, passing over the red carpet. We get inside without much trouble and what we find there, is even more elite. The big area inside, with its large windows and marble walls, has been divided into smaller stations where literally every posh item you could think of, is on display. From golden chandeliers, to artwork, cutlery made of silver. And with all those fancy items, come fancy people. All looking their absolute best, by the looks of it. Women in dresses and heels, wearing a lot of jewelry and men in suits and shiny shoes.

"Jesus." I let out again, glancing around with big eyes. "Disgusting." Dean drily points out, taking a few more steps inside, towards the first long table. "I mean, who even needs all these things?" He mutters to himself, picking up a very fancy looking glass. We make our way further into the building. "Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for wasps, if you ask me." Dean says to me, grabbing food from a fancy looking tray nearby. In front of us, another waiter passes and from that tray, Dean also grabs what he can to stuff in his mouth. I chuckle, we're standing out in this crowd for sure.

"Can I help you, gentleman?" A voice from behind us catches our attention and Sam and Dean swirl around, Dean's mouth literally full of food. There's an older man behind us in a black suit, staring at us like we're intruders. His face contorts in disgust when he looks at Dean, eyeing him up and down. "I'd like some champagne, please." Dean tells the man through his chewing, giving him a smug smile. "Uh, Dean, I don't think that's a waiter." I mutter to him, giggling at the man's insulted expression. "Hi, I'm Sam Conners." Sam, who disapprovingly glanced at Dean, now goes over into action and sticks his hand out to the man, who doesn't shake it. "That's my brother, Dean. We're art dealers with Conners Limited." Sam continues, pointing at Dean. "You're art dealers?" The man asks skeptically, his eyes falling on me. "I don't think she's even old enough to be in here…" He comments, shaking his head slightly. "I am old enough, thank you. I'm their sister, tagging along to see what this is all about. I might take over the business someday." I blatantly lie to the man, stuffing my hands in my jacket and looking at him confidently. He raises his eyebrows. "Ignore her, please, she knows she's not supposed to interfere. But yes, we're art dealers." Sam confirms what the man had skeptically asked before, reaching his hand out to push me a little further back. I want to retaliate very badly, but grit my teeth and stay silent, not wanting to blow this whole act we have going on here. "Well, I'm Daniel Blake and this is my auction house. Now, gentleman, this is a private showing and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list." The man explains, eying Sam suspiciously. Sam awkwardly laughs, trying to think of something to say, but Dean instantly takes over. "We're there, chuckles. You just need to take another look." He informs Daniel, smiling brightly and slightly turning around. Another waiter passes us, this time with glasses of what looks like champagne. "Oh, finally." He mutters, reaching for a glass. He turns back to the man, smells the glass, challengingly raises his eyebrows and takes a sip. "Cheers." Sam awkwardly smiles at Mr. Blake, pushing Dean away and motioning with his head to me to follow him. I quickly do, very sure we're about to be thrown out if we let Dean do any more talking. We make our way over to the back, where more furniture is stalled out. Lamps, leather chairs, a large sofa. These could very well be the missing furniture of the Telesca's. We all walk around, glancing at it, looking for something suspicious. "Damn, look at that." I spot a large painting, standing in the back, with a weird looking family on it and elbow Sam in his side. Sam follows me towards it, Dean also on our tail. All looking intently at the painting, where a man and woman are posing with their three children. No one is smiling, they're all wearing black and to me, they just look creepy.

"A fine example of American Primitive, wouldn't you say?" A female voice, sounding like velvet, comes from our right and when we all look simultaneously, a woman is descending from the spiral staircase to our right. She's absolutely gorgeous, wearing a plunging black dress and high heels. Sam frowns and Dean and I stare. Sam glances back at the painting, earning himself a smack from Dean, and then looks back up. The woman graciously walks down the last steps of the stairs and turns, approaching us, looking at Sam. "Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses." He says to her and she smiles dashingly, glancing down. "But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did." Sam adds, a soft smirk on his face. The woman slowly leans back, twinkles in her eyes. "Guilty. And clumsy, I apologize." She starts and Sam smiles brightly. Me, having no clue what either of them just said, do see the way Sam's looking at her. "I'm Sarah Blake." The woman introduces herself, just looking at Sam and reaching out her hand. "Sam." Sam mumbles, grabbing her hand and shaking it. "This is my sister, Skye." He then points back at me. I wave at the woman when she looks at me, wondering how the hell she did her makeup so well. "And this is my brother… Dean." Sam's tone changes when he introduces Dean, who's grabbing more food from a passing waiter and stuffing it in his face. "Dean, can we get you some more mini-quiche?" Sarah glances at him with raised eyebrows. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks." Dean tells her through his chewing. Sarah turns her attention back to Sam, the twinkle in her eyes reappearing. "So, can I help you with something?" She asks. "Yeah, actually, um, what can you tell us about the Telesca estate?" Sam answers, glancing back at the painting behind us. "The whole thing is pretty grisly, if you ask me, selling their things this soon. But, dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones." Sarah says, glancing around, before focusing back on Sam. She smiles at him again, dashingly and Sam's staring back, a soft grin on his face. Dean's catching onto their chemistry, I can see him frown and I have to say, it's hard to deny. "Is it possible to see the provenances?" Sam asks Sarah, who hesitantly glances at the floor. "I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that…" The man from before, Sarah's dad apparently, is back and looking at us strictly. "Why not?" Sam slowly asks. "You're not on the guest list." Danial says, eying Dean, who's still eating. "And I think it's time to leave." He adds. "Well, we don't have to be told twice." Dean says to him, putting on a posh voice, but the man does not think this is a laughing matter. "Well, apparently you do." He says in a warning tone. "Okay, it's alright. We don't want any trouble, we'll go." Sam quickly takes over and I get it, it's no wonder Dean's been arrested as many times as he has in the past with his cocky attitude. Dean rolls his eyes at Sam, but got the message and starts walking towards the exit. Sam and Sarah exchange a last look, before Sam grabs my arm and pulls me with him, following Dean. We walk out and back towards the impala, Dean no longer hungry with how many mini-quiches he ate. He complains under his breath about the whole rich happening he just witnessed. We drive through the town in search of a motel and find one pretty close by. Sam checks us in, Dean and me gathering the stuff from the trunk and together we approach our room. "Grant Wood, Grandma Moses? What?" Dean asks Sam, suddenly remembering the beginning of our conversation with Sarah earlier and needing an explanation. "Yeah, I didn't catch any of that either." I mutter, dragging my bag with me. "Art history course. It's good for meeting girls." Sam drily answers. "It's like I don't even know you." Dean teases, unlocking our room and we step inside. "Jesus…" Is the first thing I whisper when I see the room in front of me. It's the most ugly room I've seen so far, it couldn't be more… shiny. There's silver everywhere, a metallic table with two fluffy, white chairs and to top it off, two beds with the ugliest, black and white sheets I've ever seen. It's like they tried a retro seventies style, but way too over the top. Dean and Sam are both staring around the room in shock, before letting out a 'huh' in unison. Then, they start approaching the beds. "No, nuhuh. Mine." I skid past them and quickly jump on the left one, slamming my bag down on it triumphantly. "No, nuhuh, you've been sleeping in the beds for months now. Mine." Sam quickly interferes, dashing towards me and grabbing me from the bed. I screech in surprise at his sudden movements and try to struggle out of his grip to reclaim the bed. It's no use, Sam's way too strong. "No, you're perfectly fine on this terribly ugly sofa." Sam laughs, repositioning me over his shoulder easily and grabbing my bag off the bed with his free hand. "Saham!" I whine loudly, trying to drop myself forward so I can slide off. Sam has an iron grip on my waist though and just parades me towards the couch, before dropping me on it. I land with a big oof and then let out a strangled groan when he drops my bag on top of me. "Asshole." I hiss after him, watching him walk back to the bed with a laugh. "You two have been more touchy feely, what's up with that?" Dean suddenly comments from across the room, vaguely waving at us. "She's just annoying." Sam answers him, making me grab the white, fluffy pillow from the sofa to chug it at his back. It's hits him right on the back of his head and I cheer in triumph. Sam playfully squints his eyes at me, but goes on to put his bag on the bed, officially claiming it as his.

"So, what was the providence?" Dean glances at Sam, having remembered him asking Sarah for it at the end of their conversation back at the auction house. "Prov-e-nance." I correct him with a chuckle, ignoring his annoyed glare. "Yeah, it's a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know, we can use 'm to track the history of the pieces, see if any of 'm have a freaky past." Sam confirms, explaining it to Dean. "Huh. Well, we're not getting anything out of chuckles, but uh, Sarah…" Dean snaps his fingers at Sam with a grin. "Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin." Sam retorts, smirking back. Dean laughs, shaking his head. "Not me…" He states. Sam instantly protests. "Ha, no, no, no. Pickups are your thing, Dean." He shakes his head, glancing down at his hands. "Well, it wasn't my butt she was checking out." Dean points out to him, a large smile appearing on his face. Sam exchanges a look with him and I let out a laugh at his surprised look. "You didn't see how she was looking at you? Come on, Sam." I yell at him, chuckling when Dean points a finger at me, as to say to Sam that even I saw it. "In other words, you want me to use her to get information." Sam ignores me and glances at Dean. "Sometimes you gotta take one for the team." Dean tells him, reaching for his phone in his pocket. "Call her." He says, handing the phone to Sam.

Dean and I have the best time watching Sam call Sarah in an attempt to ask her out. He didn't want to at first, but finally caved when Dean was about to start a whole lecture on him. He can barely get the words about taking her to dinner out and Dean has to clamp a hand over my mouth to stop me from laughing out loud and spoil the moment. When that awkward conversation is done and Sam's hung up the phone, flushed bright red in the face, he goes off at me and Dean and claims he'll walk outside to call next time.

When Sam leaves that night for his first date in a long time, me and Dean go to a cheap burger stand to munch on something with a lot of cheese, and it's delicious. Together with a coke and with ice cream as dessert, I'm filled up to the brink. The night is approaching and it's already going dark outside. "Hey, so what's with you and Sam?" Dean asks me as we're walking back together. "There's nothing going on, Dean." I reply, confused as to what he's talking about. "Well, you two are acting more like before he left for Standford, really." Dean tells me what he apparently observed and I feel a twinge in my stomach of some old pain he just addressed. "Well, uh… I guess he's just been more relaxed, or something…" I then mutter, starting to wonder about it myself. Dean chuckles. "Yeah, maybe. It's good to see you two act more like, you know, before." He says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Aw, are you becoming all sappy on me?" I tease him, using his own irritation against him. Dean huffs, letting out a laugh. "Shut up." He advises me, letting me link my arm through his. "So, you're uh, almost seventeen…" He then mutters, clearly not done being 'sappy' yet. "Yeah." I nod, shivering at the cold air that's hitting my face. "That's like, old." Dean huffs and I chuckle. "You are old, Dean. Seventeen is not old." I protest, laughing when he throws me a betrayed look. "Well, I think it's old. It's like only yesterday that you were five and no longer wanted dad to read you bedtime stories…" He recalls and I frown at him. "Dad never read me bedtime stories. You did." I correct him, making him laugh. "No, dad did too, in the beginning. But I guess you might have been too young to remember it." He tells me, making me frown. "Yeah, no, I just remember you and all those stupid voices you'd do when you read that one book with all the animals." I react, chuckling at the faint memories entering my mind. "That was literally the only book we had." Dean nods, also remembering. "What is it with me turning seventeen and you and Sam both becoming nostalgic? I mean, Sam was also going on about when we were kids." I question out loud, more to myself than Dean. Dean shrugs. "I'm not nostalgic. You're just getting old and I don't like it." He says and I scoff, but decide not to push him any further.

Sam comes back at around ten and has all these papers in his hands. He looks like he's in a good mood when he enters the motel room and smacks the papers on the table. "You look like you're in a good mood." I instantly hint at him, grinning. "Eh, it was okay." He says, eying Dean warily, but winking at me when Dean's not looking. We assemble around the shiny, silver table to check out the provenance Sam brought with him and Dean drops down in one of the chairs, more interested in sharpening his knife. "So, she just handed the providences over to you?" He comments drily. "Provenances." I correct him again, laughing when he mumbles out the word correctly now. "Yes, we went to her place, I got a copy of the papers." Sam answers Dean's earlier question, already looking into the first pages, dad's journal folded open on the table next to him. "And?" Dean presses for more information. "And nothing. That's it, I left." Sam answers, glancing up in irritation. Dean stays silent for a moment. "You didn't have to con her, or do any… special favors or anything?" He then continues, a smirk on his face. "Ew." I splutter, not interested in hearing any of that stuff. "Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?" Sam cries out in annoyance, grabbing another page to read through. Dean laughs. "Hey, you know, when this whole things is done, we could stick around for a little bit." He then suggests. "Why?" Sam grunts, his eyes not leaving the papers. "So you can take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that." Dean explains, turning his attention back on his knife. Sam completely ignores what was just said and frowns at the paper he's holding. "Hey, I think I've got something here." He then announces, holding up the papers so an approaching Dean can take them. Dean frowns as he reads out loud. "Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted in nineteen ten." I sit up straight in my seat, that sounded familiar. "Wait, wasn't there something about that in dad's journal." I ask and Sam nods at me. "Go ahead, compare the names of the owners with dad's journal." He encourages me and I reach for the journal, holding it up so Dean and I can check together. "First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms, Peter Simms murdered in 1912." Dean mutters and I point to dad's handwriting in the journal, stating exactly that. "Same thing in 1945 and oh, same thing in 1970." Dean confirms and I put down the journal. "Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month… where the Telesca's bought it." Sam finishes the story, a smug grin on his face. "So what do you think? It's like, haunted, or cursed?" I question, remembering how I disliked the painting instantly when I'd seen it this afternoon. Dean shrugs. "Either way, it's toast." He concludes and grins at Sam. They cook up a whole plan to go and destroy it and thankfully, it's still something they can do tonight, since it's already past eleven. I am not allowed to come this time, Dean claiming they'll have to break into a highly secured auction house and having my inexperienced ass there will only end badly. He has a point, but I'm not willing to admit that as I yell at him that I'm now very capable to climb fences, run fast and even fight a little. Sam doesn't side with me this time and I have to watch them leave about half an hour later, very annoyed. In my fight to be allowed to come with, I do convince Dean to give me a gun. It's a little while later, when I'm sitting on the bed and challenging myself to dissemble it and put it back together, that I see there's still a little pink sticker on it, making me smile.

Sam and Dean are back after only two hours, when I'm already in Sam's bed, the gun tucked safely under my pillow. They come in silently, probably having seen from outside that all the lights were out. They speak in hushed voices about how this was an excellent, swift job and how they did the art world a favor by burning the ugly ass painting. It instantly puts me at ease, knowing they succeeded. I keep my eyes closed and my breathing even, to fool them into thinking I'm asleep. It's the only way to ensure that Sam'll let me stay in the bed that supposed to be his. He notices as soon as he's stepped closer into the room, I can hear his groan loud and clear. "Ah, are you kidding me?" Dean, who's clearly focused on something else, grunts a soft 'what?' at him. "She took the bed, dude." Sam tells him with a shocked scoff, voice filled with irritation. Dean lets out a soft laugh when he spots me in the bed, snuggled up against the pillow and hopefully looking very 'asleep'. "She's one smart little puppy." He comments. "Dude… she's a little gremlin, that's what she is." Sam reacts strongly, ignoring Dean, who's hushing him. "No, you know what, I'm waking her up and putting her on the couch myself." He grumbles and I can hear his footsteps coming closer. But, thankfully, there's my guardian, Dean. "You are not waking her up, Sam. Just take the couch." Dean protests, his voice strict. "Wha..?" Sam's flabbergasted, but the footsteps stopped. "You are not waking her up." Dean repeats and I hear the other bed creak under his weight as he sits down on it. "You then take the couch." Sam protests, clearly not ready to admit defeat. "No, your bag is on there, you sleep on the couch." Dean points out and I have to fight very hard to keep my face in check. Sam's gasp of betrayal is audible, when he sees I've switched our bags too, and his one is now on the couch. "That little…" He grumbles, probably shaking his head in annoyance, I can easily see him do that in my head. "Shut your face, let her sleep and go to bed." Dean tells him, tone still strict but with amusement hidden in it, and there's nothing more for Sam to do. "Fine." He grumbles and I can hear his footsteps stalk away. After that, knowing that they're both safe and back, I fall asleep quickly.

The next morning is a peaceful one, until Dean discovers something alarming. "We got a problem, I can't find my wallet." He announces as he comes flashing back into the living room, shrugging on his jacket. "How's that my problem?" Sam asks with raised eyebrows, folding another one of his shirts. "Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night." Dean tells him, dashing towards the table to check there again. My mouth falls open. "Oh, no…" I mumble, realizing full well what that means. "You're kidding, right?" Sam asks him in shock. "No, I mean, it's got my prints, my ID… well, my fake ID anyway, but we gotta get it before anyone else finds it. Come on." Dean hushes us, stalking towards the door. "Damnit." Sam curses, smashing his shirt on the bed and motioning for me to follow quickly. I do and we rush outside, towards the car. Dean races us back towards the auction house, which is open. There's not many people inside, seeming as the show from yesterday is over. All the stuff is still there, though, and a few people are browsing. We spread out across the area, all looking intently for something that could be Dean's wallet. "How do you lose your wallet, Dean?" I hear Sam accusingly hiss at his brother, as he checks inside a large vase. Dean doesn't react to that, too busy searching. "Hey, guys…" A happy, female voice from behind us startles all three of us and we spin around. Sarah is approaching us, looking more casual, but still absolutely stunning. She has a wide smile on her face. "Sarah… hey!" Sam quickly puts back the marble block he was holding, a surprised smile on his face. "What are you doing here?" Sarah asks in confusion. "Oh, uh…" Sam awkwardly glances at Dean, who's behind the table and still looking around. "We, uh, we are leaving town, you know, we came to say goodbye…" Sam starts awkwardly making up a lie, but Dean interferes instantly. "No, what are you talking about, Sam? We're sticking around for at least another day or two." He announces, stalking up to Sam and Sarah, a grin on his face. Sam glances at him, very surprised. Sarah gives an awkward laugh and Dean decides to make the situation even worse. "Oh, by the way, I'm gonna go ahead and give you that 20 bucks I owe ya… I always forget, you know." He grins widely at Sarah, while Sam looks at him, mortified. Dean pulls his wallet out of his pants and I let out a gasp, instantly realizing what this was. An act. Dean didn't lose his wallet, this was a ruse to get Sam back to Sarah. It's brilliant. I quickly clamp my hand over my mouth to hide my laugh. "Ah, here you go…" Dean holds a twenty dollar bill in front of Sam, smirking at him. Sam glances down and I can see it's dawning on him, that he got played, from the shocked look on his face. He doesn't have another choice, though, and snatches the twenty out of Dean's hand in irritation, crumbling it. "Well, I'll leave you two crazy kids alone, heh. I gotta go do something… with Skye… somewhere…" Dean grins widely, keeping still for a second, probably relishing in the awkwardness and then strides towards me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Come on, kiddo, what vase were you talking about?" He then loudly announces to me and pulls me away. I cannot contain my laughter anymore, smacking him on his arm. "You're a bastard, you know that?" I tell him, walking away with him and leaving a very embarrassed Sam behind with Sarah. Dean grins widely at me. We roam around the area, close to the door, pointing out ridiculous items and joking about it, until a hand clamps on my shoulder. Sam's back, his face pale. "Wow, what?" I ask him in surprise, not understanding the look on his face. "Dean, the painting… it's not burned. It's back." He says to Dean, who raises his eyebrows at him. "Excuse you, but I saw it go up in flame last night, just as much as you did." He reacts, confusion in his eyes. "Yeah, well…" Sam turns and points back with his thumb. Dean and I follow his gaze and he's right. There is the painting, leaning against one of the tables in the back, two men standing next to it. It looks horrible, just like it did yesterday. But there is no evidence of it being carved out and burned, it looks like that never happened. "What the…" Dean leans forward, mouth falling slightly open. "We need to go and figure this out." Sam says, tone urgent. We hurry back outside and towards the car, getting in. "I don't understand. We burned that thing, Dean!" Sam repeats, shock still in his voice. "Yeah, thank you, captain obvious." Dean snaps back, a frown on his face. "Is that even possible?" I question, crossing my arms. "Well, uh, it shouldn't be. Which is only more evidence that it's supernatural." Sam tells me, shaking his head. "All right, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?" Dean glances at Sam. "Okay, all right. Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings, it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'm." He starts. "Yeah… alright, so we need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy ass family in that creepy ass painting." Dean concludes. "What were their names?" I ask Sam. "The Isaiah Merchant family." He answers me drily.

Dean drives us to the local library, where we rush inside. Since the library is big and we have no clue which section we need, Sam asks the librarian to help, giving him the families name and telling him it's about a painting. The librarian, an older guy with gray hair, takes us to the back where he helps us gather multiple large, dusty books. We collect them on the table there. "You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?" The man asks Sam as he pulls another book from the stall behind him. "Yeah, that's right." Sam confirms, nodding for me to grab a book and start looking. "I uh, I dug up every scrap of local history I could find." The man starts, opening up one of the larger, dusty books and frankly looking a little excited. "So, uh, are you guys crime buffs?" He then asks, glancing up at us. "Kind of, yeah." Dean confirms with a quick glance to Sam, sitting down on the table. "Why do you ask?" I frown at the librarian, who chuckles. "Well…" He answers mysteriously, before pulling a large, old paper from the book and holding it up to us. It's a front page from a paper from nineteen twelve, with the story of the new Titanic sinking in the middle. The man then points left, to a smaller article that says 'father slaughters family, kills self'. "Yes, yeah, that sounds about right." Dean nods, pointing at the article. "The whole family was killed?" Sam asks, seeing the article. "It seems this Isaiah, he slit his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade, used a straight razor." The librarian tells us, seeming way too into this. "Why would he do that?" I wonder out loud. "Well, let's look." The man tells me, turning the paper so he can read the article he just pointed out to us. "Uh, people who knew him described Isaiah we having stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, two sons, adopted daughter…. Uh, yeah, yeah, yeah… There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave, uh, which, of course, you know, in that day and age, um…" The man starts rambling to us as he reads what he can find in the article. "Um, so instead, old man Isaiah, well, he gave them all a shave." He continues, chuckling and repeating the motion of slitting someone's throat. Dean musters a fake laugh, before glancing over at Sam, who is not laughing. Neither am I. "That's horrible…" I mutter, stuffing my hands in my pockets. "Does it say what happened to the bodies?" Dean asks, his laugh faltering. "Just that they were all cremated." The librarian answers. Sam and Dean let out a simultaneous sigh, glancing at each other. That's always bad. "Anything else?" Sam asks the man, hoping on something we can use. "Yeah…" The man drops the paper back on the table, scrambling for the open book still in front of him. "Actually, I found a picture of the family. It's right here, somewhere…" He splutters, flipping a few pages. "Right, here it is." He glances right and grabs another book, flipping it open and then holding it up. The picture, in black and white, is the exact picture from the painting. A father, his wife and three kids staring into the camera, all looking pale, with dead eyes. Dean meaningfully looks up at Sam as he sees it. "Hey, could we get a copy of this, please?" Sam asks the librarian, who's more than happy to get that fixed for us. When we have it, we exit the library to go back to our motel room, to see what we need to do with this information.

When we're back, analyzing the creepy photo from the book, Sam insists it's not the same as on the painting. "I'm telling you, man. Painting at the auction house, the dad is looking down." He repeats for the third time to Dean, shoving the copy towards Dean, who is across from him at the table. "Painting here, the dad's looking up. The painting has changed, Dean." He adds, his tone urgent. "How can a painting change?" I ask him incredulously. Sam ignores me. "So, you think that uh, daddy dearest is in the painting and handing out Colombian neck-ties, like he did with his family?" Dean asks him, glancing back down at the picture. "Yeah, it seems like it." Sam confirms. "But if his bones are already dusted, how are we gonna stop him?" He then cries out, clearly very annoyed with this. "Can we even stop him?" I ask, leaning down on the back of the couch, looking at the two of them at the table. "Well, if Isaiah's position changed, then maybe other things in the painting changed as well, you know. It could give us some clues." Dean mutters and I cross my arms with a sigh. "Like a puzzle, huh? Like solving a big, impossible puzzle…" I mutter, rolling my eyes. That sounds very difficult. "Yeah, I guess…" Dean looks up at me with a frown. "Anyways, we gotta get back in and see that painting." He then states, standing up from the table. I watch him walk over to his bed and throw himself on it, leaning against the headboard and crossing his arms. "Which is a good thing, cause then you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend." He chuckles, a grin back on his face. Sam seems to have finally had enough of all his teasing. "Dude, enough already." He snaps in irritation. "What?" Dean throws his arms in the air with a smile. "What? Ever since we got here, you've been trying to pimp me out to Sarah." Sam accuses. "Just back off, alright?" He sounds pretty pissed off. "Well, you like her, don't you?" Dean asks, not fazed by Sam's sudden irritation. Sam throws his hands in the air with a scoff. "Eh, you like her, she likes you, you're both consenting adults…" Dean shrugs his shoulders with a smug grin. "Can we, like, not have this conversation right now?" I mutter, letting myself drop down on the sofa with a sigh. "Shut up." Sam tells me angrily, before looking back at Dean. "What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave." He throws at him. "Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam." Dean huffs with a laugh. "I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?" Sam asks incredulously, his voice rising. "Because then you wouldn't be so cranky all the time." Dean answers him, his tone still light. That statement does not sit right with Sam, I can see it on his face. Dean challengingly raises his eyebrows back at Sam, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sam scoffs, leaning back in his chair. "Dean…" I shoot my brother a warning glare from my position, which he again completely ignores. "You know, seriously, Sam…" He starts, sitting up on the bed. "This isn't about just hooking up, okay? I mean, I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you." He continues, his tone more serious now. Genuine. Sam groans, shaking his head and leaning onto his elbow. Then Dean says something that shocks me. "And I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure that this is about Jessica, right?" Sam immediately tenses up as he looks at Dean, eyes turning sad. I could hit myself, why hadn't I thought of that? Of course this was about Jessica. I instantly sit up, nervously looking at Dean, who's pressing on. "Now, I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that… but, I would think that she would want you to be happy…" Dean's glancing at Sam with a comforting look on his face, his big brother mode clearly activated. Sam doesn't say anything and looks away, face contorted. "God forbid, have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?" Dean leans further forward as he looks at his brother, eyes soft. I watch Sam, who softly smiles to himself. "Yeah, I know she would." He then mutters, biting his lip. Dean slowly nods and stays silent, expertly reading Sam and knowing he's probably gonna say something. He does, after a big sigh. "Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica…" Sam confesses, tone still sad. "But not the main part." He then adds, looking back up at Dean. "What's the main part about?" I dare to ask, leaning my head on my hands as I glance over the back of the sofa towards Sam. Sam does not look at me and he also stays silent, a very clear boundary that he doesn't want to talk about that. "Yeah, alright…" Dean notices the boundary and complies with a sigh, leaning back against the headboard again, crossing his arms. "Well, we still gotta see that painting again, which means you still gotta call Sarah, so…" He announces and Sam grabs his phone, dialing her number quietly. I convert my eyes to Dean, who catches them. We both have a knowing look in our eyes and I wonder if we can ever get Sam to talk about it. About the thing that's about Jessica, but he hasn't said to us yet. There is more to it, he said so himself, but apparently it's bad enough that he won't talk about it. Which saddens me. Now, he's just bearing it alone.

Sam dials Sarah's number, puts his phone to his ear and clears his throat. Waiting. He perks up when she picks up. "Sarah, hey, it's Sam. Hey, hi… good, good, yeah. Um, what about you?… yeah, good, really good…" Sam rambles on and Dean and I both chuckle. "Smooth…" Dean hisses to Sam, to tease him. Sam ignores him. "So, um, so, listen; me, my brother and my little sister were thinking that maybe we'd like to come back and look at the painting again. Uh, I think maybe we are interested in buying it." After that, Sam's whole demeanor changes and he tenses up, jumping out of his chair. "Wait, what? Who'd you sell it to?" At that, both me and Dean sit up, instantly on alert. "Sarah, I need an address right now…" Sam mutters into the phone, face very serious. He looks at Dean knowingly, before making up a story on the spot to Sarah about why he needs the address. He tells her more then he should, about the woman living there, Evelyn, maybe being in danger. He then leans over to scribble the address on a piece of paper. He hangs up without a goodbye. "We need to move right now." He announces. Dean and I were already putting on our shoes and jackets and Dean motions for Sam to go outside. We rush after him and I'm thankful there's enough stress to not trigger another fight between me and Dean about if I should even be coming.

Dean races us towards the address Sam got from Sarah and it takes us towards a large, million dollar house in the neighborhood. When we arrive there, another car is in place and when we get out, Sarah is racing towards us. Looking very stressed out. "Sam, what is happening?" She calls out. I'm very surprised to see her, but Sam is not. "I told you, you shouldn't have come." He calls back, but doesn't send her home. We run up the porch, there is still light coming through the windows. Somebody is home, which in this case, isn't something good. Sam and Dean start knocking and pounding at the large, wooden, front door. "Hello? Anybody home?" Dean yells loudly. Sarah, who's standing next to me, turns to Sam. "You said Evelyn might be in danger? What kind of danger?" She asks, the confusion clear on her face. "I cannot knock this down, I gotta pick it." Dean informs us in the meantime, fumbling with something in his hand. Sam ignores Sarah's questions and strides to the end of the porch, reaching through the bars of the window to see if he can open it. "What are you guys, burglars?" Sarah suggests, jumping to the only conclusion she can think of right now. "No, Sarah, not burglars." I tell her, watching Dean pick the lock intently. My heart is racing in my throat, we need to get in there. "I wish it was that simple. You really should wait in the car, it's for your own good. And take Skye, while you are at it." Sam tells Sarah as he comes rushing back to me and Dean. Dean has just been able to open the front door. Thankfully, Sarah protests before I can. "The hell I will, Evelyn's a good friend." She yells out and me and her quickly follow Dean and Sam inside the house. Inside the house, it's deathly quiet. "Evelyn?" Sarah calls out into the hallway, voice filled with concern. "Evelyn?" Sam copies her, calling out for the woman. We slowly creep further into the house, towards where the lights are on. A small living room, next to the open kitchen. When we step into the doorway, we see the silhouette of an old lady sitting on the sofa, next to a reading light. She's very still. "Evelyn?" Sarah calls out hesitantly and we step closer. The woman doesn't say anything back, doesn't move either. I get a very bad feeling in my stomach. Next to her, above the fireplace, I notice the dreaded painting. It's hanging there menacingly, but this time the dad on the painting is looking left. Not up or down. Which is weird. Dean has noticed it too, as we walk further into the living room, towards the lady. "Evelyn… it's Sarah Blake." Sarah tells the lady, approaching from the side. "Are you alright?" She moves down to touch the lady's shoulder. "Sarah, don't! Sarah!" Sam calls out to her, but he's too late. Sarah has touched the lady's shoulder and with wide, shocked eyes I watch the head of the lady fall back. Her throat is slit and her head is cut almost completely, meaning it falls back and then just hangs there, her dead eyes looking up. Sarah and I both let out a scream at the gruesome sight of it and Sam wraps his arms around Sarah, to shield her and comfort her at the same time. With a terrified gasp, I look up at the painting, I swear I saw something move. When I look up, the dad in the painting is looking straight ahead, right at us. I let out another scream, the hairs on the back of my neck all standing up. "O my god. O MY GOD!" I hear Sarah wail behind me and Sam hushes her back, arms still protectively around her. "Skye, get away from that painting!" I hear Dean yell and stagger a few steps back, my eyes not able to leave the evil face of the dad in the painting. His gaze is terrifying. "Skye!" Dean grabs my arm and also pulls me back, going after Sam. It's too late for the lady, she's clearly very dead.

That evening turns into a very bad one. Sarah calls the emergency services outside, face ashen and clearly very distraught at what she just witnessed. Which I can understand, even I'm distraught and I knew what I was gonna find in there. Well, a little at least. Sam has a hushed, but urgent conversation with Sarah after that, convincing her to wait for the emergency services alone so that we can get out of here. Trying to explain to her how suspicious it would be if we were here, people who Evelyn didn't even know, and found her like that. Dean and I stand by the car, waiting for Sam to get through to Sarah. It's not pretty and the adrenaline is still pumping through my veins. "Did you see the painting?" I whisper to Dean, leaning a little closer to him. "Very clearly." He drily mutters back, his eyes on Sam. Sam comes over to us when he and Sarah are done talking and he gets inside the impala without a word, the conversation clearly wasn't pretty. "What did you say to her?" Dean asks him, getting behind the wheel. "Nothing of much." Sam shortly replies, clearly not in the mood to have a conversation about this. Dean drives us back to the motel in silence. It's very late in the evening now and exhaustion is clouding my brain. When we get inside, Sam doesn't even protest about sleeping on the couch. He just plops on there, after having changed inside the bathroom. I want to talk to him, but the expression on his face makes me decide to just change and go to sleep as well. Not that I can, the eyes of the dude in the painting keep playing up in my mind, just like the cut head of that poor lady who he killed. It was one of the most gruesome scenes I've seen so far and it keeps me up for most of the night.

When I wake up the next morning, light is already illuminating our horribly decorated motel room. Dean and Sam are at the table, Dean behind Sam's laptop and Sam skimming through all the documents we have about this case. Both are on edge, I can see that immediately. "Hey honey, how did you sleep?" Dean asks me once he notices I'm awake. "Bad." I grumble back, sitting up and cuddling the sheets closer to me. "Yeah, I don't think any of us had a good night." Dean nods at me, sympathy in his eyes. Which I hate. "Don't look at me like that." I snap at him, instantly annoyed. "I'm just sorry you had to see that, pup." He tells me, voice soft. "I'm almost seventeen, Dean. I'm fine." I react angrily. "Hey, no need for the attitude." Dean tells me strictly, raising his eyebrows at me. I let out another groan, slamming the covers to the side and stalking to my bag. I'm so not in the mood to get scolded by him after the night I've had. I grab random pieces of clothing from my bag, move to the bathroom and make sure to slam the door. When I get out, freshly showered and still feeling like shit, a knock on the door catches us all off guard. Sam jogs towards it to open it. "Hey, you alright?" He speaks softly to the person in front of the door, which can only be Sarah. "No, actually." Sarah comes right in, not waiting for an invitation. Dean and I stare at her in confusion. "I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's alone and found her like that." Sam glances at her, letting out a soft sigh. "Thank you." He mutters. "Don't thank me, I'm about to call 'm right back if you don't tell me what's going on. Who's killing these people?" Sarah looks at Dean, like he's gonna give her the explanation. He just stares back at her, giving Sam the lead here. Sam gives Dean one look, before starting his explanation. "What." He states. "What?" Sarah's confusion only grows. "It's not a 'who', it's a 'what' that is killing these people." Sam continues, his voice low and hesitant. I slowly lean against the wall, very curious to see how this is gonna go. Sarah is looking at him like he's talking about magic. Sam sighs again, very reluctant in continuing. "Sarah, you saw that painting move." He tells her. Sarah gives an awkward chuckle, shaking her head. "No, no. I was… I was seeing things… it's impossible." She cries out, more to herself, and starts pacing through the room. "Yeah, well, welcome to our world." Dean tells her sarcastically. "Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted." Sam continues, just spitting out the truth. Sarah glances at him, then laughs and looks at the ground. Her eyes are becoming a bit watery, as if she's getting emotional. "You're joking." She then says to Sam, eyes hopeful in that he'll confirm that. Sam's arms fall to his sides and he stays quiet, looking at her in all seriousness. "You're- you're not joking…" Sarah mutters, slapping her arms to her sides and just looking a little lost. Well, at least she's not laughing at us. "God, the guys I go out with…" She then sighs to herself. I wince, my eyes flickering to Sam. That must've stung. "Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telesca's, they both had the painting and there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die. And, we're just trying to stop it… and that's the truth." Sam steps towards Sarah, stating the facts to her in a last hope to convince her he's telling the truth. Sarah glances at him, clearly at a war in her own mind with what to do with this insane information. "Well, I guess then you better show me. I'm coming with you." She states, walking past Sam towards the door. Sam stops her. "What? No, Sarah, no. You should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and… and I don't want you to get hurt." Sam once again sounds pretty sad at the end of that sentence. "Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you are right about this… well, me and my dad sold that painting. We might've got these people killed." Sarah states, communicating her feelings to Sam expertly. "I'm not saying I'm not scared, because I am scared as hell, but I'm not gonna run and hide either." She continues, turning around and walking to the door. "Amen to that." I huff, a small smile coming through on my face. This chick is awesome and Dean might've been right when he said she would be good for Sam. Sarah opens the motel room door and then expectantly turns around to us. "So, are we going, or what?" She raises her eyebrows at us and then walks out. "Sam…" Dean mutters from behind the laptop, having just witnessed that entire conversation with a grin. When Sam looks at him, he points a finger at the door. "Marry that girl." He finishes, getting up. Sam huffs, but a small smile is coming through on his face. "Yeah, she's awesome." I agree with Dean, hopping into my boots and shrugging on my jacket. "Shut up." Sam whines at us, before stalking out of the motel room as well. Dean wiggles his eyebrows at me playfully, before we follow him out.

Dean drives us back towards Evelyn's house, Sarah joining me in the backseat. She stays quiet as we drive and I remember her telling Sam she was scared. She looks scared. When we arrive at the house, yellow tape has been spun around it, making it a crime scene. And, technically, making it illegal for us to be there. We duck under the yellow tape though, like we always do, and Sam approaches the door, ready to pick it like Dean did yesterday. "Uh, isn't this a crime scene?" Sarah questions, hands stuffed deep into her jacket. "Ah, you've already lied to the cops, what's another infraction?" Dean tells her, eyes focused on Sam and the door. Sarah rolls her eyes, making me chuckle. Sam gets the door open, rips the tape that says 'do not enter' and we hurry inside. There is no body on the sofa anymore, thankfully, but the painting is still there. Hanging above the fireplace, the dad looking down again and not right into my soul. Sam hurries to it and grabs it off the wall carefully, placing it down against the couch. He leans forward, scanning it and looking intently at the corners. Sarah switches her weight to her other leg in discomfort, glancing at Dean. "Aren't you worried that it's like, gonna kill us?" She asks in a tiny voice. "Nah, it seems to be doing its thing at night. I think we're all right in the daylight." Sam answers her reassuringly, eyes not leaving the painting. "Skye, come here, we're gonna play a game of 'spot the differences'." Dean beckons me over, he's holding the photo we got from the book in the library. I lean close to him, letting my eyes scan across the picture and then look at the painting. A lot is the same, but then we do discover something that is different. "Sam, check it out." Dean calls Sam over and hands him the piece of paper. "The razor, it's closed here on the picture, but there, it's open." I tell him, pointing at the painting. The razor, lying on the book in the left corner of the painting, is indeed open. Sam intently looks at the photo and then at the painting. "What are you guys looking for?" Sarah asks with interest. "Well, if the spirit is changing aspects of the painting, then it's doing so for a reason." Dean explains to her. "Hey, hey, look at this." Sam seems to have found something else and me and Dean hurry over to him. "The painting in the painting…" Sam points out. I let my eyes go from the photo to the painting and realize he's right. It's different too. "Looks like a crypt, or a mausoleum or something." Dean mutters, squinting his eyes. Sam nods slowly. Dean glances around us, until he sees a thick, glass ashtray and picks it up. He uses it as a magnifying glass, leaning closer to the painting. "Merchant…" He then reads off of the mausoleum. It's barely visible, but there.

"You thinking he's not cremated after all?" I ask Dean, who puts down the ashtray. "No idea, but we need to figure that out." He answers me, watching Sam put the painting back up on the wall. "You think that means something?" Sarah still seems at a loss for what we're doing and I let Sam explain it to her, following Dean back outside.

Sarah guides us to the nearest graveyard, but there we do not find a crypt with the name Merchant on it. In the second one, there's also nothing like it to be spotted and it's starting to get annoying. As we're walking into the third graveyard in this rather large town, I link my arm through Dean's. "How many goddamn graveyards is this gonna take?" I complain to him and he huffs in recognition. "This is like, the third boneyard we checked. I think this ghost is jerking us around." He agrees with me. Sarah, who's walking behind us next to Sam, chuckles in disbelief. "So, this is what you do for a living?" She questions. "Not exactly." Sam answers her with a grimace. "I mean, we don't get paid." He adds. "Well, mazel tov." Sarah answers slowly. Dean, who has not been listening in, suddenly stops walking. "Hey, over there." He announces, pointing to our right. I follow his gaze and there, a little further away up a path between some large trees, is a little crypt. One that looks a lot like the one we're looking for. "Huh." I mutter, following Dean up to it and trying to ignore the creepy feeling I'm getting. Spelled out on the roof, carved into stone, are the words 'Merchant', just like on the painting. Dean grabs his bolt cutters, I release his arm and he steps forward to cut the chains that are around the metal doors. Dean wrenches them open as soon as the chains are cut and coughs at the dust that comes with that. I lean around him and curiously peek inside. It's a small, stone room that seems to bear the remains of the Merchant family. There are paintings of people on the wall, little tables with objects under them and to the right, more plaques with names. I duck under the spiderwebs and step inside after Dean, the creepy feeling in my stomach growing. In silence, we look around at the paintings and the names and Sarah finds something even more disturbing. "Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I've ever seen." She complains, looking at a hole in the wall, where a doll is stuffed inside and a little glass door is keeping it preserved. "It was uh, sort of a tradition at the time. Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kids favorite toy in a glass case and put it next to the headstone in the crypt." Sam explains, face scrunched up as he looks at it. "Stop talking, that is really creepy." I complain, fully agreeing with Sarah. We all tense up when a rather strong wind suddenly blows through the room we're standing in. The doors are obviously still open, but surely wouldn't let in that much wind. I slowly step back, glancing at Dean. His face is stoic as he glances around, on high alert. "Notice anything strange here?" He then says. "Uh, where do I start?" Sarah jokes, at least making Sam chuckle. Dean and I are not laughing at all. "No, that's not what I mean." Dean tells them, eyes flashing around the room again. "Where are the urns?" He asks. I look around the room and realize he's right. "Yeah, there are only four." Sam mutters, having seen it too. "Yeah, mom and the three kids." Dean nods. "Daddy dearest isn't here." I feel a shiver going down my back, only now realizing that these are obviously the remains of the wife and children this Isaiah murdered. "Uh, Dean, where is the dad?" I ask, my voice sounding smaller than I had meant for it to sound. "Let's find out." Dean nods his head to the doors and I gratefully exit the crypt, very happy to be outside again. We return to the car and Dean drives us to the county's office building, where he suggests that he and I will go and look for information about the dad's body. I'm very aware of why he suggests that and am more than happy that I get to come with him. When we walk towards the entrance, leaving Sam and Sarah behind, I glance up at him. "You think Sam'll let this happen, between him and Sarah?" I ask him earnestly. "I hope so, pup." Dean answers, swinging an arm around my shoulder. I let out a sigh. "I don't know what he won't talk about, but it has to be about Jessica, right? I mean, I know he's reserved, he always has been, but…" I fall silent, not really sure where I'm going with this. "He'll tell us eventually, Skye. He just, I mean this isn't that long ago." Dean points out, pushing open the door of the building and guiding me through. "Yeah, I know." I mutter miserably. I remember Jessica dying like it was yesterday. I'll never forget it.

Dean expertly lies us through the first security check and then, at the counter, pulls off a master stunt that actually gets him the information he needs. I watch it happen in awe. Every time I see my brothers lying, or cheat the system, I'm reminded of how good they are at this. Which isn't a good thing normally, but is for the job. When we walk back outside, Sam and Sarah have placed themselves on the brick wall next to the car and seem to be in a deep conversation. They're looking intently at each other and if I'm not mistaken, Sam's features are very sad. Dean doesn't seem to notice, he jumps in front of 'm as soon as we're close. "Am I interrupting something?" He calls out, making them jolt in surprise. "No." Sam quickly replies and Sarah shies away. "Huh, apparently." Dean drily comments and I smack him on his arm with a shake of my head. "So, what'd you get?" Sam quickly changes the subject. "Paydirt. Apparently, the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were so ashamed of Isaiah, that they didn't want him interred with the rest of the family." Dean explains, holding up the papers he managed to obtain. "Yeah, they handed him over to the county, and the county did nothing more than give the man a pauper's funeral. And they went even further and did it economic style." I add to that, scrunching up my nose. "Yeah, he wasn't cremated at all, he was buried in a pine box." Dean finishes the story, grinning. "So, there are bones to burn." Sam concludes, also looking happy about that. "There are bones to burn." I repeat, nodding. "Tell me you know where…" Sam expectantly looks up at Dean, who smiles at him and then at Sarah.

Dean does know where and we make a plan to go up there in the evening, so the bones can be peacefully buried. Sarah needs to go help her father with something, but promises she'll be at the graveyard, not wanting to miss out on the last part of what we call a 'hunt'. When she's gone, Dean pesters Sam about what they talked about, but Sam won't budge. Dean takes us to go eat in cheaper part of town, where we have a pretty nice dinner. It's only then, when I've taken my first bite of my burger, that I notice how hungry I am and realize that I haven't really had that much to eat. This time, Sam wants to take me out shooting and Dean tags along. It's a good session, especially cause I'm starting to get the hang of it and hit my targets more frequently now. Dean scoffs that it's about time, since he could shoot when he was seven or something. I kindly remind him that I didn't have that privilege, which Sam then states is not a privilege at all. Bickering, we go back to the motel room to ready ourselves for the grave digging part and drive up there at eleven. The documents Dean got state exactly which grave it's supposed to be and Sarah's already waiting for us in her car when we get there. "I have to say, she's really committed." I mutter to Sam when we step out into the chill, evening air. Sam chuckles. "Yeah." He doesn't say much else, but does go up to her to say hi and then takes her with us into the graveyard. Sarah thinks it's pretty creepy, which she is right about, but none of us are really phased by it. We've got a job to do.

Dean loudly complains that he and Sam will do the digging, once we've found the right grave, cause otherwise it'll take ages and I gladly stay above the ground with Sarah. "So, like, you grew up with this all?" She asks me after a long silence, just watching my brothers dig. "Yeah. Well, they did mostly. I'm actually not supposed to be involved." I tell her with a laugh, remembering suddenly that if we ever meet back up with dad, he can never know about this. "Oh, really?" Sarah seems genuinely surprised by that. "Yeah, this stuff can get pretty dangerous, so my dad always made sure I was kept out." I explain to her shortly, not really wanting to dig into my whole life story with her. "Huh, but here you are." She teases, bumping my shoulder. Being really nice about it, actually. "Yeah, here I am." I nod, smiling. It might sound strange, but I wouldn't wanna be anywhere else.

Soon, Sam and Dean have dug down deep enough for them to hit the casket and Sam hops back out, slightly panting. "You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this." Sarah says to him, glancing sideways. "Heh, well, this isn't exactly the first grave we dug." Sam explains, dropping his shovel and looking down at Dean, who is still going at it. "Still think I'm a catch?" He then jokes, making Sarah laugh. A loud clank, followed by more, breaks up the conversation and Dean has managed to clean enough dirt from the casket for it to become visible. He smashes the shovel into the top, cracking the wood, and makes a big enough gap to pry open. Once he does, the white skeleton of the one and only Isaiah comes into view. It's never nice to look at skeletons, but it's better than looking at bodies with the flesh still on them. "Skye, grab the salt and get in here." Dean calls out, heavily panting from all the hard work he's been doing. I happily reach for the duffle bag to grab a bag of salt and hop into the hole. When I want to hand it to Dean, he shakes his head with a grin. "Nah, you do it. It's about time you salt and burn your first body." He tells me. I hear Sarah scoff at the happy look that's on my face and rip the bag open. "Just pour it on, right?" I hesitantly glance sideways at Dean, who laughs. "Just pour it on." He confirms and I go ahead, pouring the bag over the skeleton and the rest of the casket, until it's empty. "Good, now get back out. Time for the gasoline." Dean and I both hop back up and Sam hands me the gasoline. I pour the tank over the skeleton and the casket, scrunching up my face at the strong smell. I hand the empty tank back to Dean, who takes it. "Alright, next part is easy." He tells me, handing me the matches. I light one, waiting for his sign to throw it in. "You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah. Good riddance." Dean looks down at the casket and then gives me a nod. I throw the match into the hole, watching flames erupt instantly, fueled by the gasoline. We stand there for a moment, watching, before Dean turns around and starts gathering our things. "So, this should do it?" Sarah, who is still holding the flashlight, looks up expectantly. "This should do it." Sam confirms, grabbing the shovels from the ground. "So, what now?" Sarah stares at the fire, still burning strong in the hole we dug. I chuckle. "Now, we wait for the fire to burn the bones and then throw all this dirt back on top of it." I explain, scooting closer to the fire to use its warmth, the air around me rather cold. Sarah didn't see that one coming and Sam explains to her that it's not really smart to just leave a grave dug open, with a burned skeleton out, as a surprise to the people that come to grieve the next day. It doesn't take very long for the fire to soften and Dean hands me a shovel this time, claiming that we'll have it fixed in no time. I work with him, scooping all the dirt back into the hole and then making sure it looks at least a little presentable. Then, we go back to the car and tell Sarah that the only thing we need to do now, is check on the painting. She once again wants to come with us and follows us with her car, back to Evelyn's house. When we all get out, she walks up to us and glances at Sam. "I thought the painting was harmless now?" Sam looks at her. "Better safe than sorry… we're gonna bury the sucker." He tells her. "I'm coming with you." Sarah nods decisively, glancing over at the house. The yellow tape is still around it. "You sure?" Sam asks her, but she doesn't seem to be hesitant this time. She gives me a small smile, before turning to go approach the house. "Hey, hey… Skye and I'll stay here, you go make your move." Dean hushes to Sam, grabbing his arm. Sam groans, rolls his eyes and then quickly turns around to follow Sarah, ripping his arm from Dean's grip. "Sam… hey, I'm serious!" Dean calls out after him, but gets completely ignored. "You know he can do this himself, right?" I ask Dean, shaking my head at his shenanigans. "Get in the car." Dean tells me and we both go back in, me sliding into the passenger's seat. Dean turns up the music, glancing at Sam, who's reached the porch. Apparently, the music is loud enough for Sam to hear, cause he turns around and looks back at us incredulously. Dean raises his eyebrows at him and Sam motions impatiently for him to cut off the music. Dean lets out a sigh, but complies and shuts it back off, muttering something about 'this guy…' and 'never any fun'. It's not long before something happens. It's small, but I can sense it. A slight darkness coming over us, coming from the house. The front door where Sam disappeared through is still open and my gut feeling is telling me something is wrong. Dean senses it at the same time, he tenses up and stares at the house. Then, the most creepy, child laughter rings in my ear. It's soft, but there and instantly makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Dean…" I splutter, trashing around in my seat to check where that creepy sound is coming from. Then, the front door of the house slams shut on its own, we're in trouble. "Damnit!" Dean growls, jumping out of the car immediately. I follow him and we sprint across the street. "Sam?" I call out as we reach it, but I get no answer. Dean grunts as he's pushing against the door, pounding on it. Then, we hear large running steps coming towards the doors, thankfully accompanied by Sam's panicked voice. "Dean, hey, is that you?" He yells, also pounding on the door. "Sammy, you alright?" Dean yells back, frantically looking for a way to open up the door. His phone rings and he rushes through his pockets until he's found it. "Tell me you slammed the front door?" He then says as he picks up, and I'm figuring it's Sam on the other side of the line. "Girl? What girl?" Dean's clearly thoroughly confused as he talks to Sam, who's apparently seen a girl. "Isn't the dad looking down at her? Skye, here, try to open the door!" Dean hands me his pickpocket device as he speaks to Sam about what's happening. I hurry towards the lock, having no idea what to do, but trying anyways. "Maybe he was trying to warn us… yeah, Skye's picking the lock, but the door won't budge… okay, genius, let me grab my battering ram…" Dean and Sam are in a heavy discussion about what's happening and I cannot get the stupid lock to open. "Dean…" I hush at him, giving a frustrated kick to the door. Dean gives me a short nod. "Well, you're just gonna have to hold it off until I figure something out. Get some salt or iron." He then orders into the phone, pacing away from the door to take another look at the windows. I take it upon myself to slam against the door a few more times, until I've seriously bruised my shoulder. "Sammy, you okay?" I hear Dean call into the phone as he walks back towards me. "How are we gonna waste her?… then how is she still around?…" As Dean's discussing what to do over the phone, he pulls me with him off the porch and back towards the car. Then, he stops. "The mausoleum…" He mutters, glancing at me swiftly. He hangs up the phone and points at the car. "Get in, we need to get back to the graveyard." He hushes and we both sprint towards the car, jumping back in. As Dean races us back to the graveyard, he tells me that a little girl's ghost trapped Sam and Sarah inside, that she disappeared out of the painting with the razor and is now attacking them. How, back in the day, they used kids dolls to resemble them and how they could use real hair. Meaning that even though the daughter was cremated, her doll, that we saw in the Merchant crypt, has her real hair and makes it possible for her to still be around. I make sure to yell at him how messed up that is, gripping the dashboard to hold myself up as Dean flies us around a corner. When we arrive, Dean drives the car all the way to the crypt and we both jump out. "Go get that doll out!" Dean yells at me and without hesitation, I sprint towards the crypt and pry open the doors. The little room inside looks even creepier now it's the middle of the night, but that doesn't bother me with the adrenaline pumping in my veins. The doll in question is by the last urn, safely stored behind a glass wall. And whatever I do, the glass won't break. "Dean, I can't get it to break!" I scream at my brother when he enters the crypt, salt and gasoline in his hands. "Get away!" He yells back, before pulling out his gun and shooting at the glass. The bullet pierces right through. I frantically start to slam the glass away with my arms, trying to protect my bare hands. "Careful, hey!" Dean's with me in a second, pulling me away and taking over, slamming the glass away with his gun. I gasp and look down when I feel a sharp burning sensation in my arm. A piece of glass has cut through my jacket and my sweater, piercing my skin. I can see the blood. I huff, but ignore it and watch Dean grab the doll from the glass case. I instantly grab the salt, smacking some on the doll and Dean then drowses her in gasoline. "Come on, come on…" He grunts, trying to get the match on. "Dean, hurry…" I hiss at him, holding my arm to try and get the bleeding to stop on my own. Suddenly, the match is on and Dean instantly throws the doll down, smacking the lit match on top. The doll catches on fire and a lot of smoke erupts from it, as the fire gets to the hair. "Call Sam." Dean orders, crouching down and eying the doll like a hawk, to make sure everything burns. I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial Sam's number. He picks up after the second ring. "Sam, you okay?" I call out, tension still high in my body. "Not bad…" I hear him pant, his voice filled with relief. "Oh, thank god…" I drop the phone from my ear, having heard Sam hang up again. "He's okay." I stammer to Dean, putting the phone back in my pocket and only then noticing that my whole sleeve is moist. "Damnit." I quietly curse, pulling up the sleeve and noticing only now that the gash in my arm is larger and deeper then I had first thought, blood having soaked my sweater. "Skye, what the hell?" Dean finally seems to notice, now that the panic has subsided, and comes rushing towards me. I wince when he firmly grabs my arm, holding it up and worriedly looking at it. "It's from the glass…" I sheepishly explain to him, like he wouldn't have guessed that. "And that's why we keep using our brains in stressful situations, Skye." Dean hisses at me, quickly walking out of the crypt and dragging me with him. "Well…" I don't really have a good comeback for that and just let him drag me to the car, rummaging through the trunk for the first-aid kit. "Does it hurt?" He asks me, softer now, as he cleans the wound with some alcohol and notices how I'm wincing in pain. "Now, yes. But before, not really." I inform him, gasping at the way the wound burns. "Okay, so, next time, please protect yourself first, before you go and slam your hands into glass." Dean mutters, carefully checking the gash for any leftover glass. "Noted." I chuckle drily, watching him bandage it up. Thankfully, the bleeding seems to lessen already.

Dean and I drive back to the house, after having thrown the burned doll away and there we pick up a very disheveled Sam and Sarah. They both look like they went through hell, especially Sarah, whose eyes are still wide. "You two good?" Dean asks them through the open window, as he pulls up. "Yeah, yeah. She's gone, back into the painting." Sam explains, still slightly out of breath. We watch him say goodbye to Sarah and promise her we'll come by the auction house in the morning and Sarah walks back to her car, going back to her own place. "She okay?" I ask Sam, once he comes walking back. "Yeah, she's tough. Just a little shaken up from what she just saw." Sam explains, opening up the passenger door and expectantly glancing at me. "You take the back." I challenge him, grinning when his mouth falls open in shock. "I don't like it, Dean." He then points an accusing finger at Dean, sliding into the backseat. Dean laughs, shrugging. "I don't know man, it's not bothering me." He reacts, pushing in the gas. "Yeah, well she's not making you sleep on couches and sit in the back." Sam retorts, crossing his arms with a huff. I let out a giggle, glancing back. "You can have the bed tonight." I promise him, making him smile. "Ah, what made your evil mind change?" He challenges playfully. "Fighting a little girls ghost and having to protect Sarah at the same time." I explain and he laughs. We listen to him tell the story of what happened when he and Sarah had entered the house and once we're back at the motel safely, everyone falls asleep rather quickly.

The next morning we meet up with Sarah at her dad's auction house, like we promised. But not after Dean goes to dig into the history of the little girl a little, to find out the real story of the painting. After last night, it was clear the dad wasn't the real culprit.

Sarah's just having two guys box up the still ugly-ass painting, when Sam and I meet up with her and Dean joins us a little while later. "This was archived in the county records." He announces, holding up some papers. He folds them open, to read the information to us. "The Merchant's adoptive daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption?" He glances at us expectantly and we all shake our heads at him. "Cause her real family was murdered in their beds." He delivered the punchline. "How does a little girl murder her whole family? Something must have seriously been wrong with her." I mutter, glancing at the painting in the box, where the little girl looks so innocent. "She killed them?" Sarah asks in surprise, shivering at just the thought. "Yeah, I mean, who would suspect her? Sweet little girl…" Dean nods. "So, then she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame, spirit's been trying to warn people ever since." He finishes the story, pointing at the painting. The two men who are boxing it up, glance at Sarah. "Where does this one go?" One of 'm asks her. "Take it out back and burn it." Sarah tells him and I gawk at her. The two men also seem confused. "I'm serious, guys. Thanks." Sarah tells them and they shrug at each other, before taking the boxed painting away like she told them. "So, why'd the girl do it?" Sarah turns to Sam. "Killing others, killing herself? Some people are just born tortured. So, when they die, their spirits are just as dark." Sam suggests, shrugging. Dean and I frown at each other. "Yeah, maybe. I don't really care, it's over. We move on." Dean concludes. Sarah opens her mouth to say something, but hesitates and then glances at Sam with an awkward smile. "I guess this means you're leaving." She then states. Sam sighs, a grimace on his face. Dean glances from him to Sarah and then grabs my arm. "We'll go wait in the car." He announces, glancing at Sarah. "See ya, Sarah." Is his goodbye to her. "Yeah, was nice meeting you." I tell her, before letting Dean drag me away, back outside towards the car. We're indeed leaving now, Sam knows that. "I'm the one that burned the doll, destroyed the spirit, but don't thank me or anything." Dean grumbles under his breath and I chuckle. "Thank you, Dean." I tell him, making him roll his eyes at me. Outside, we lean against the car, patiently waiting for Sam to say his goodbyes to Sarah. It makes me a little sad to know that he could've had something here, had it not been for our kind of job and having to leave again. The 'having to leave again' part always sucked, I can remember that well from my childhood too. Dean insists on looking at my bandaged arm while we wait and makes a whole show out of changing the bandage, at the same time ignoring my protests. I've just snapped at him that he can't help me heal any faster anyways, when the door of the auction house opens and we watch Sam and Sarah walk through. Dean takes the cue and moves towards the front seat, to take place. When I turn around, waiting to see if Sam's almost here, I'm met with a surprised scene. "Dean." I hiss to my brother, who turns back around. Together, we watch how Sam pounds on the door and how Sarah opens, smiling brightly when she sees he's still there, stepping out. And Sam steps up to her, gently grabs her face and kisses her. A large smile breaks out on Dean's face as he watches this happen. "That's my boy." He mutters fondly. "Ew." Is all I say to that, although a happy feeling does spread through me. "Come on." Dean chuckles and we both get in the car, not needing to watch the rest of the show.