❛ WOMAN IN WHITE ❜
・₊˚៹ . ❪ bohemian — act one ❫ ˖ ₊˚.⋆ 。✧˖°
࿐⠀┊ ⠀CH. 2⠀┊ 🏹🎨👻
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BOWIE SAT IN THE BACK SEAT OF THE IMPALA with a set frown on his face, rechecking his messages on his phone for any updates from Katherine — who had promised to let him know the second he received his letter from the Art Institute. So far nothing had shown up, but it had been less than a week and he wasn't thinking negatively yet.

He felt a heavy stare on the side of his face and looked up to see Sam staring at him from the passenger's side. Dean had gone in for some road food in the gas station and Sam had busied himself by looking at old cassette box — until, of course, his eyes went to Bowie.

He couldn't blame Sam, really. The thought of waking up one morning at the age of fifteen knowing your big brother ran away was something that stuck to Sam, and now here he was — six years later — sitting in the backseat as if nothing happened.

"You done?" Bowie voiced. He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but being gawked at like a zoo animal wasn't his idea of a good time. Sam quickly snapped his eyes back to the box with an awkward 'sorry'.

Dean walked out of the Gas 'n Sip with a handful of junk, three cans of soda, and a milky way in his mouth. The eldest flung a Twix bar through the open window and chuckled menacingly when it hit Bowie in the chin.

"Hey. You want breakfast?"

Bowie stared at the chocolate bar with a disgusted expression, "Dean. It's seven in the fucking morning."

"You're right," He responds, "I should've got another bag of chips."

"Yeah, no thanks." Sam agrees. "So, how'd you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit-card scams?"

Dean shrugs, removing the gas pump around rounding the car, "Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career."

"That's why you leave and get an actual career," Bowie responds.

"Besides," He ignores him, "All we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, and what names did you write on the application this time?"

"Uh. . .Bert Aframian and his son, Hector," He slides in the front seat and closes the door, "Scored two cards out of the deal."

Bowie rolled his eyes, "You sound so proud."

"I swear, man, you got to update your cassette tape collection," Sam complained.

Dean looked offended at the thought, "Why?"

"Well, for one — they're cassette tapes," He said, and Bowie let out a small snort, making Sam smirk. "And two — Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."

Bowie opens his mouth to add on but Dean holds up a finger, glaring at him through the rearview, "You listen to Beethoven on vinyl and I'm not talking about the 1992 movie soundtrack so shut up!"

Bowie instantly closed his mouth.

Dean snags the cassette from Sam's hand and shoves it into the player, "House rules, brothers. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake-hole!"

"Bowie's in the backseat, so technically—"

"Bowie can't even hear his cake-hole."

The man in question reaches over the bench seat and slaps Dean hard over the head. "I'm not that deaf, you idiot!" Sam held back a laugh.

"Shut up, Sammy!" Dean grumbled.

"You know, Sammy is a chubby 12-year-old. It's Sam, okay?" The youngest grumbled.

Dean raises the volume, bopping his head to the music and motioning to his hear, "Sorry, I can't hear you. The music's too loud!"

Bowie rested his head back against the seat, a small smile on his face as Dean pulled out of the Gas Station and toward Jericho, California.

On the way there, the brothers had been tasked with calling around the area for any bodies in the morgue or people admitted to the hospital that matched John's description. Bowie didn't know if he should be relieved or annoyed that they hadn't found him yet, he was pretty impatient about the whole thing.

"Check it out."

Bowie turns his head to the upcoming bridge, where two police cars blocked the way in. He could see a few police officers shattered around a deserted car. Dean stops the car right in front of the bridge, leaning over Sam's side and opening the glove department. Bowie noticed the pile of discarded letters and small knickknacks inside, but Dean slammed it closed the second he got what he needed.

"Let's go." He tells them, glancing back at Bowie before saying, "Federal Marshals."

His eyes widened, before quickly scrambling for his bag and sorting through his pile of fake badges. Bowie was glad he kept them, per Katherine's request of needing them to make their Halloween costumes more accurate at parties.

". . .so this kid Troy, he's dating your daughter isn't he?" Seemed to be the first thing Bowie caught once he got close enough, "How's Amy doing?"

"She's putting up missing posters downtown," The other officer replied.

Dean raised his chin confidently and walked closer to the crime scene, "You fellas had another one like this last month, didn't you?"

The Sheriff raised a brow, "And who are you?"

He flashed his badge for only a second, "Federal Marshals."

The man didn't look convinced, "You three are a little young for Marshals, aren't you?"

Bowie gave a smile, "Thank you. We do mud-masks and lay off dairy, works wonders—"

Sam stepped on his foot really hard, and Bowie had let out a low grunt from the pain.

"You did have another one just like this, correct?" Dean redirects, circling the car.

"That's right, about a mile up the road." He says, "And there's been others before that."

"So this victim, you knew him?" Sam asked.

"A town like this, everybody knows everybody," He nods.

Bowie hummed, "Any connections? You said there's been others, do they have something in common besides being men?"

He shook his head, "No. Not so far."

"So, what's the theory?" Sam continued.

The Sheriff looked comfortable enough to say, "Honestly? We don't know. Serial murder, kidnapping ring." He suggests.

"Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys," Dean responds.

With wide eyes, Bowie punches him in the stomach just as Sam stepped on his foot. Dean almost doubled over in pain if it wasn't for Bowie holding him up by the collar.

"Thank you for your time," Sam says through his teeth, and the brothers quickly walk away.

Dean walks up and slaps Sam over the head, but when he turned to hit Bowie, the young man jumped to the side.

"Ow! What was that for?!" Sam seethed.

"Why'd you have to step on my foot?!"

"Why'd you have to talk to Police like that?" Sam responds back.

"Why are you both giving me a headache?" Bowie jumps in.

Dean looked between them in bewilderment, "Come on. They don't really know what's going on. We're all alone on this. I mean, if we're gonna find dad, we've got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves."

Bowie clears his throat, and Dean turns around to face three new officers on the bridge, all staring at the brothers with an annoyed expression, "Can I help you, boys?"

"No, sir." Dean responds, "We were just leaving. Agent Mulder, Agent Scully." He nods at the FBI agents.

As they made their way toward the car, Dean took the chance to punch Bowie in the back.

◢◤◢◤◢◤

AFTER TALKING WITH THE LATEST VICTIMS GIRLFRIEND, the brothers found themselves in the library for research of a local legend. Apparently - or at least according to Amy and her friend - a woman was murdered on the same bridge they found the car. Residence believed whoever came across her would disappear forever.

It seemed creepy enough for the brothers to think it was their kind of problem, and that's how Bowie found himself wheeling back and forth behind his brother's while they hunched over a computer.

"Let me try," Sam announced after watching Dean's failed attempts to pull up anything from the news.

The eldest slapped his hand away, "I got it." He grumbled.

Sam quickly shoved his chair away from the computer, and Bowie watched with an eye-roll as Dean began to slap at him. He waited until they were both far enough away from the computer to slide in himself, turning off his hearing aids as they bickered.

When the world around him went quiet, Bowie quickly analyzed all the evidence he gathered in his brain. If they're dealing with an angry spirit, then it would only make sense that the woman they were looking for had died violently. Then, he changed the word murder to suicide and smiled at the result.

"Found it," He announced, raising the volume back up on his hearing aids and turning back to the brothers, who instantly stopped fighting at his words.

With a quick glance at each other, Sam and Dean kicked Bowie's chair away from the computer and hunched over it again, reading the news article out loud.

"This was 1981. . .Constance Welch, 24-years-old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river," Sam announced.

Bowie leaned back on the chair, looking up at the ceiling, "Good job, Bow," He muttered, "You're so smart, we wouldn't have figured this out without you, Bow. Oh, stop guys you're making me blush--"

"Bowie, shut up." Dean dismissed, looking back to Sam, "Does it say why she did it?"

"Yeah. An hour before they found her, she called 911. Her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die."

Bowie tilts his head at the information, straining his eyes on the black and white photo of the family. The children looked old enough to bathe themselves. He frowned, "She drowned them. . ." He announced.

Sam scoffed, "Real insensitive to assume she drowned them, Bowie. There's no evidence saying she did."

"Yeah, because she killed herself before they could ask, dumbass." Bowie deadpans.

The youngest rolled his eyes, "Husband says, 'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it.'"

"That's it?" Bowie asked.

"That bridge look familiar to you?" Dean piped in, pointing at the screen.

At that, the brothers glanced at each other knowingly.

"All right," Bowie stands up and stretches his muscles, groaning at the satisfying pop. "Let's Scooby Gang this bitch."

◢◤◢◤◢◤

     WHEN THE BROTHERS RETURNED TO THE BRIDGE, the sun had gone down and the local police were gone. The victim's car had been removed, and the only thing that felt off to Bowie was the violent movement of water under them. He had to admit, he wasn't the biggest fan of water.

     "So this is where Constance took the swan dive," Dean announced, leaning over the ledge and making Bowie fuss like a worried mother.

     "You think dad would have been here?" Sam asked them.

     "If he was working the case, then obviously," Bowie responds.

     Dean turns to him with a clenched jaw, "Can you not be an asshole for two minutes?" He huffed.

     Bowie narrowed his eyes, "I don't know. Do you deserve me not to?" He sang, "Don't bother to respond, the answer is no."

     "Okay, okay." Sam waved between them, "Back to the topic."

     "He's chasing the same story, and we're chasing him. So, yes, he was here." Dean nods.

     "Okay, so now what?"

     "So, we keep digging until we find him," Dean states the obvious, "It might take a while."

     Sam stops walking, "Dean, I told you I've got to get back by--"

     "Monday. Right. The interview," Dean answered. "Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just gonna become some Lawyer, marry your girl?"

     The youngest shifted in defense, and Bowie found himself stepping away from the argument. He didn't agree with Dean, and the eldest knew that.

     "Maybe. Why not?" Sam asked.

     "Does Jessica know the truth about you?" He returned a question. "Does she know about the things you've done?"

     "No, and she's not ever going to know."

     "Well, that's healthy," Dean mocked. "You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but sooner or later you're gonna have to face up to who you really are." His eyes shifted to Bowie, "Both of you."

     "And who's that?" Sam stepped, following after his brother.

     "One of us!" Hunters.

     Sam and Bowie scoffed in sync. "No, I'm not like you." The youngest says. "This is not going to be my life."

     Dean clenched his jaw, "Well, you have a responsibility!"

     "To dad and his crusade?"

     "More like a cult driven by alcoholism and gaslighting," Bowie corrects, leaning against the bridge. When he realized what he was leaning on, he jumped away from the water below.

     "Shut up, Bow." Dean seethed.

     "He's right." said Sam, "And if it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. But what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone and she isn't coming back!"

     Bowie frowned at his words, watching as Dean grabbed their brother by the collar and shoved him against the support beam. The middle child flinched at the impact and quickly stepped forward to intervene.

     "Don't talk about her like that."

     Bowie grabbed Dean and pried him off of Sam, "Chill the fuck out for a second, all right? Enough of your, 'once a hunter always a hunter' crap, what we were forced to do doesn't define who we are, Dean," He said calmly, "If Sam wants to be a lawyer, then he's a Lawyer. Past is left behind."

     He scoffs, "Yeah. You'd know a lot about leaving things behind, wouldn't you?"

     The boy narrowed his eyes, "You wanna do this right now?" He steps forward.

     Dean mirrors his movement, "You know what? Yeah, I do. Don't act like you're better than us because you got your little Picasso degree. You're the last person who should have an opinion on anything."

     With anger, Bowie shoves his finger into Dean's chest, "You're the one who came knocking on my door! Or did you forget that? I was perfectly fine living my life away from your bullshit, okay?"

     "It doesn't change the fact that you," Dean slams his hand into Bowie's chest, "Left us! Walked out on your own family, made little Sammy blame himself for years. Tell him, Sam!"

     Bowie looks over to Sam, and the youngest shifted at their piercing gaze. He didn't want any involvement in the conversation, because the topic of Bowie's choices still made his heart squeeze, even years later. So, Sam said nothing, he kept his head down like a scolded child just like all the years he spent in the middle of his brother's arguments.

     "You are not my family!" Bowie snapped, not noticing the way Sam flinched at his words. "You were never my family, so whatever little illusion you made in your mind where we were ever considered 'brothers' wasn't real."

     To this, Dean had nothing to say. His mouth slammed shut and his jaw clenched, it was his way of putting the end to the conversation but Bowie was too riled up to back down now. His fist shook at their sides and his eyes burned with raging tears.

     "If you both want to blame me for leaving you behind, then fine, do it. But don't pretend that it wasn't for a good reason," He said lowly. "You remembered what happened that night in the Motel, say it." Dean couldn't form any words, "You were there, Dean! Say it!" He couldn't, and Bowie gave a bitter scoff, stepping back. "You're a fucking coward—"

     With an angry shout, Dean raises his fist to punch Bowie, "Look!" Sam shouts, causing them both to freeze at the same time.

     The brothers trail their eyes toward the bridge where Sam was pointing. A woman in a white dress stood on the ledge, glancing in their direction once before throwing herself off of it.

     "Where'd she go?" Sam asked, leaning over the ledge with a frown.

     "I don't know!"

     Bowie rolled his eyes, "Yeah, because it wasn't a real person. ." They looked at him to elaborate, and the boy almost groaned in annoyance, "It was Constance."

     The Impala lights flick on, bringing light to the bridge. The engine rumbles to life, causing Bowie to shift his eyes to Dean in confusion.

     "Who's driving your car?" Sam asked.

     "How is he supposed to know that if he's standing right next to us," Bowie whispered to him.

     At this, Dean pulls the keys from his pocket and gives them a light jiggle in reponse. The car lurches toward them, and the brothers wasted no time running away, except Bowie, who stood planted in the center of the bridge.

     "Bowie! What the fuck are you doing?!" Dean shouts behind him, "Let's go!"

     But, like always Bowie had a better idea, and right when the Impala came close enough he give himself a running start and stepped with the Impala. His foot pressed into the hood, over the glass and across the roof before rolling painfully off the trunk.

     Bowie groaned, tumbling a few feet and looking up just as both Sam and Dean threw themselves over the bridge.

     The car instantly turned back off, and Bowie let's out a shocked huff, scrambling to his feet and dusting off his jacket. Cautiously, he moves around the car, raising his hands above his head in defense before peering over the ledge.

     "You guys, all right?" He shouts down.

     Sam looks up from the support beam he was holding onto, his eyes wide, "Did you just Tom Cruise over a car?!" He asked him.

     Bowie rubbed the back of his neck, giving a bashful chuckle, "Gonna be honest, there was like a forty percent chance that was going to work." He admits.

     Sam scoffs a surprised laugh, and looked down at the ground, where Dean had just hauled himself out from the water, covered in mud, "Dean?! You okay?"

     "Super," He calls up, resting his head back with a groan.

     Bowie smirked, and held his hand out for Sam to grab. The youngest looked at it with hesitation before taking his hand and allowing his brother to hoist him up.

     "You okay?" Bowie muttered out, his eyes scanning Sam's body for anything out of place.

     Sam couldn't help but smile softly. He didn't think he would miss his brother's company this much, "Yeah, I'm okay. Are you?"

     The man rolled his shoulders, "Eh. Knees hurt like a ditched date, but I'll live."

     Dean is covered head-to-toe in mud when he walked back up to the bridge, not saying a word as he breezed by them to check the interior of the car and under the hood. Sam and Bowie looked at each other knowingly.

     "You okay, Deanie?" Bowie mocked, leaning against the car and scrunching his face as the mud slipped from Dean's head and onto the ground by his feet.

     Dean slammed the hood of the car, glaring at him, "Do you care?"

"Absouletly not," He instantly replies.

     "Is the car all right?" Sam interjects quickly, stepping between them.

     "Beside the shoe marks from G.I dumbass over there?" Bowie smirked. "Yeah," He sighed, and leaned against the hood, "Whatever she did to it, it seems all right now. That Constance chick- what a bitch!" He bellowed out.

     "Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure." Sam replied. "So where's the trail go from here, geniuses?" He asked them, and Dean throws his hands up in response. "What's the plan?"

     "Sleep," said Bowie. "You know, they say the most important part of any plan is a good night's sleep."

     Sam scoffed, and Dean rolled his eyes, "Isn't the actual plan part the most important part of the plan?" The youngest asked.

     Bowie clicked his tongue with a wink, "Nope."

     "You're an idiot," Dean states.

     "You're covered in shit and mud, so who's the real winner here?" He reponse back.

     In reponse, Dean cups a good chunck of mud from his head and slams it into Bowie's chest, rubbing it into his shirt with a satisfied smirk. Bowie nods slowly, accepting what just happened with a nonchalant plan to kill Dean later.

     "Great," Sam sighed, "Now you both smell like a toilet."

[ no because I love him your honor. ]

NOV / 23 / 2021