My eyes glazed over the Chevy 67' Impala parked alongside a curb. Which conveniently, was outside the home of Frank O'Brian, meaning that they would have checked out his house to see what was at play here. I strolled over to the Impala, seeing Dean in the driver's seat and him scratching at his forearm, like he had this itch he could not scratch. I came up to the driver's side window, and saw him reading an article about Frank's wife, which I also read in my research. I swiftly knocked on the glass, making Dean jump out of his skin and cock his wild expression to the left, seeing me leaning down and staring at him with a questionable look. However, his expression calmed, as I opened the rear door and slid in, feeling the black leather touch my legs, before I slammed the door shut.

"Why don't you come in," he remarks, frowning in the rear-view mirror at me, as I scooted across the leather some more, and into the middle before leaning forward and cocking my head to the left to stare at him.

"My hero," I mocked, rolling my eyes at him, because being this close with the famous Winchester was kind of thrilling, the chance of being caught.

"Where did you go?" Dean questioned, eyeing me up for a moment.

"Well, husband," he scoffs softly, at my choice of words. Well he shoulder hover over me like a Husband. "After I was told to stay outside, I went to do my job properly. Going to Mark Hutchins, questioned him, then looked into Frank's wife Jessie, who you are currently reading," I rolled off the jobs I had done since leaving him and Sam at the Sheriff's office. "I've been a very busy girl," with the words that left my mouth, Dean gulped back the lump in his throat. However, before he could speak, the passenger side door opens, making him jump once again and cocking his head to the source to see Sam entering, and closing the door in one swoop.

"Hey," he turned his head to face Dean, but I was alright inches away from Sam's face, his hot breath tickling my face.

"Howdy," my own hot breath flowed freely across his face, as I stared into those green-hazel eyes, they were a mixture and I clearly couldn't tell but they were mesmerizing. I could tell he felt uncomfortable, so I leaned back into the seats, allowing the brothers to have a face to face conversation, but I did hear Sam clear his throat for a second.

"Any luck at the county clerk's office?" Sam asked, going straight to business.

"I'm not sure I'd call it luck," Dean replies, before flicking the paper in his hand out, and holding it up for Sam to see. "Frank's wife, Jessie, was manic-depressive-" but Sam took hold of the paper to read. "She went off her meds back in eighty-eight and vanished," Dean explained, taking a small pause, which I saw as my chance to tell what I had gathered. Which was only the same thing. So, I'll let him have his glory. "They found her two weeks later, three towns over, strung up in her motel room -- suicide," this poor woman, she took the easy way out.

"Any chance Frank helped her along to the other side?" Sam questioned, as in these situations the husband or loved one always commits the crime, it's a known fact.

"No, Frank was working the swing shift when she disappeared... Airtight alibi," Dean removed his eye connection from Sam, and to the windscreen, as the car key jingled for a moment, as he turned on the engine. It roars to life with no problem, and purrs, before he pressed his foot down on the gas, and accelerated our movement, heading God knows where.

"So, where did you vanish too?" Sam asked the same question as his brother, making me turn to look at him staring at me.

"Well Husband number two," he scoffs at the remark I made. "I didn't know this three-way relationship needed hourly check ups," I bit sourly towards Sam, nearly biting his head off with my words. They were very concerned about my whereabouts, and they hardly knew me.

"It doesn't, I'm just asking where you were," he stumbled out the words, and made a full sentence, not allowing me to crawl under his skin.

"I was doing my job," was all I replied back with, leaning back into the black leather and folding my arms over my chest. Casting my gaze upon the window to see moving cars, and going the speed limit.

"How was Frank's pad?" Dean asked, casting the conversation and the unease tension away to a more positive way.

"Clean," Sam replies. "Searched it top to bottom. No EMF, no hex bags, no silver," Sam announces, checking off the list what they had come up with.

"So, probably no ghosts, no witches, no demons," Dean states, but Sam scoffs at him. "Three down and ninety-seven to go," I turned my head to the back of Dean's, eyes squinting at him, as there were clearly more than one-hundred species of the supernatural.

"Dude, you're going twenty," Sam states, knowing his brother best and knowing that he doesn't follow the simple rules of the law. 

"And?" Dean replied, his eyes fixated on the road.

"That's the speed limit,"

"What? Safety's a crime now?" Dean barked at his younger brother, making me crack a smile at his reply.

"He's driving precious cargo," I flipped my hand through my hand, sending the brown wavy locks behind me, indicating that he was driving me and wanted to make sure my safety was number one. Sam scoffs once again, while rolling his eyes at me. I smirk to myself, finding his reaction adorable. My eyes glanced back out of the window, and the blue neon sign of the motel came up, but we carried on driving as Dean didn't make the turn.

"Dude, where are you going? That was our hotel?" Sam spoke, his head briefly twisting behind to stare at the passing hotel.

"Sam, I'm not gonna make a left-hand turn into oncoming traffic. I'm not suicidal," Dean rushed out the words, as if Sam struck a nerve with him. "Did I just say that? That's kind of weird," Dean states after a brief moment of silence, recalling what he had just said, turning his head to his brother as he chuckled. However, something was making a whirring noise, if a device was being activated and deactivated.

"Do you hear something?" Sam questions, listening to the sound before digging into his jacket pocket, and pulling free an EMF reader as it warbled. Sam moved it to the left to Dean and it lit up like a christmas tree, and pulled it away from him, leaning it to the right and it went dead like a doornail. Sam did it again to make sure that the readings he was getting were right, and not the device malfunctioning.

"Am I haunted?" Dean asks, panic in his voice. He cocked his head to the right, locking gaze with his brother. "Am I haunted?!" His voice raised, the panic clear as day and the fright on his face was also present.

"Let us commune with the spirit that haunts you," I shot forward, coming to cross my arms on the boy's long seat, my eyes casting to Dean who connected for a moment the fear dancing in his eyes and across his face. I felt the eyes of Sam burning into the back of my head, knowing that I was pissing him off with my remarks and unhelpful comments. Though I had a smile on my face, the sign from the EMF was real. The dots in my head were connecting, the being scared of little things, the fear of stuff. I will need to do some research, but I think I know what Dean is infected with...

....................

I got my own hotel room in the bluebird, it was on the fourth floor as the Winchesters' also had their room up there. Pretty much they all looked the same on each floor. I was sitting on the couch with a book in my hand, a very old worn book that if you pulled too hard on the pages, it would be ripped out from the spine.

"Huh," I mumbled to myself. "Ghost sickness, interesting," I ran my index finger down the page before handling the cover and closing it shut. I could now tell Sam about my findings. However, there was a quick firm knock at my door. "Come in," I raised my voice for the person to hear me. It was one of two people, Sam or Demons who had tracked me down and were here to kill me. But I opted for option one. The door swung open to reveal Sam entering, his eyes cocking between the book I just closed and me.

"Well?" He asks, coming in and closing the door behind. My eyes glanced around the room for a second, finding his gaze intense. But with the knowledge I had inside my head, I wasn't here to make new friends, I came here to spy on the Winchester men.

"Ghost sickness," the words just fell from my lips without me thinking, but I kept my composure. "That's the only thing I can think of with these types of symptoms. Contact Mister Singer if you don't trust my word on it, won't be offended. He might actually have some more foreknowledge than me," the words just came cleanly out, keeping up that American accent. Sam's eyes widened a bit, I wasn't sure if it was what I learnt or if I told him to ask Bobby.

"I will, thanks," he states, rubbing his hands together before taking a few steps back, feeling awkward at this moment.

"I mean, you could stay for a night-cap," my voice lowered into a seductive tone, as I wiggled my eyebrows for a moment, leaning back into the couch, cocking one leg over the other.

"I-I, I mean, it's late, I have to check on Dean," he stumbled his words out while he let out a nervous chuckle, but he banged into the motel room door, jolting him up right and quickly fumbling the handle.

"I'll find entertainment elsewhere," I teased him playfully, finding the easiest of things to make them squirmish. "Night," I waved my fingers down to him, as he managed to open the door but he hurried out of the room, bringing the door with him to close. I chuckled to myself, finding this all too much fun. 

But will the sneaking, the flirting, will it finally catch up to me?

**********