･ﾟ☆ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨:
" 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 "

IT DIDNT TAKE LONG for the hunters to reach Jericho.

Sam had the idea of calling the local hospital and morgue, just in case something had happened to John, or worse. Frankie knew Sam wasn't too happy to be on this trip, but she could also hear the hidden fear in his voice when he was asking.

"Thank you." Sam said before flipping his phone closed. "All right. So, there's no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue. So that's something, I guess."

Dean glanced over at Sam then back at the road. As they arrived at bridge just outside of the town, the three of them spot two police cars and several officers.

Frankie watched Dean reach over his brother to the glove compartment, pulling out a familiar wooden box, and she smirked. "Who are we today, Deano?" She asked, pulling up her backpack from the floor of the car.

"Every officer answers to the FBI." Dean responded. Frankie and Dean ignored Sam's exasperated look, the older Winchester telling them, "Let's go."

As they approach, one of the deputies leans over the railing, yelling at two men in wetsuits down by river. "You guys find anything?"

"No! Nothing!"

Just a few yards inside the bridge was an abandoned car that the officers were searching through.

"No sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints–Spotless." Another deputy says from the other side of the car. "It's almost too clean." His words are like a confirmation to the hunters that this is their type of thing. Humans are never usually careful enough to leave a crime scene clean.

Frankie and the brothers walk up to the crime scene, looking as natural as possible and hoping that they didn't seem suspicious.

"So, this kid Troy. He's dating your daughter, isn't he? How's Amy doing?" The lead deputy asked his partner, looking sympathetic.

"She's putting up missing posters downtown." He informed. Frankie looked over at the boys, communicating silently and nodded subtly. They would have to talk this Amy girl later.

Dean takes this as his cue to speak up. "You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?"

From his position bent over and looking inside the car, the deputy straightens. "And who are you?" Jaffe his badge reads.

Dean and Frankie flash their badges, closing them quickly before the officer had enough time to examine them closely. "Federal marshals."

Officer Jaffe looked at them skeptically. "You three are a little young for marshals, aren't you?"

Frankie giggled. It was different from her regular, boisterous, laugh, and it was a sound that Sam hadn't heard for a long time. Even before he left, she'd only ever used for this same purpose. With so many overprotective males in her life, flirting on a hunt was never usually necessary, but sometimes she had to do what she had to do.

"Thanks, that's awfully kind of you." She grinned charmingly. She didn't see Sam's head snap towards her, but his brother did and he smirked. Jaffe's shoulders dropped slightly, visibly letting his guard down.

Dean begins to circle the car. "You did have another one just like this, correct?"

The deputy continued to steal glances at the pretty girl that had now taken his previous position, bent over in the car. "Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that."

Sam watched as the officers eyes traveled Frankie's figure, clenching his jaw and clearing his throat. "So, this victim, you knew him?"

Jaffe looks back at him and nods. "Town like this, everybody knows everybody."

"Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?" Dean asks from the drivers side.

"No." Officer Jaffe replies. "Not so far as we can tell."

"So what's the theory?" Sam questions, standing on his brothers right, while Frankie stood on the left.

"Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?" The officer suggests, but it's clear they have no clue what their dealing with.

"Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys." Without hesitation, both Sam and Frankie subtly bring their feet down on Dean's, the older Winchester flinching.

Frankie forces another grin. "Thank you for your time."

She can feel the gazes of the policemen on their backs as they walk away. She sees Dean reach up both of his hands, but unlike Sam, she ducks away just in time to dodge a slap on the head.

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

"Why'd you have to step on my foot?" Dean grumbles.

"Why do you have to talk to the police like that?" Frankie shoots back, her chestnut eyes glaring back at him.

"Come on." Dean moves in front of the younger hunters, forcing them to stop. "They don't really know what's going on. We're all alone on this. I mean, if we're going to find Dad we've got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves."

Frankie tenses and Sam clears his throat, their eyes both motioning behind Dean.

Dean turns around, coming face to face with the Sheriff and two actual Federal Marshall's.

"Can I help you kids?" The Sheriff asks.

"No, sir, we were just leaving." Frankie replies politely, the three of them walking passed them.

"Agent Mulder. Agent Scully." Dean greets the two agents as they walk by.

Frankie lets a frustrated sigh out of her nose, slamming the car door shut and ignoring Dean's glare. As they drive off, she turns to see the Sheriff still watching them from behind his aviators.

When they arrive in town, a young women is tacking up posters with Troy's face and the caption MISSING TROY SQUIRE.

"I'll bet you that's her." Frankie says, earning words of agreement from the brothers.

"You must be Amy." Dean says as they approach.

The girl, clad in ugg boots, loose jeans and an oversized jacket with tassels, glances at them. "Yeah."

"Troy told us about you. We're his uncles. I'm Dean, this is Sammy. This his aunt, Frankie." He tells her, pulling Frankie close to him by her waist.

In her peripherals, Frankie can see Sam shake his head with a clenched jaw, assuming that it's a result of Dean's use of his nickname.

"He never mentioned you to me." Amy responds flatly before turning over her shoulder.

Dean chuckled. "Well, that's Troy, I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto–"

"So, we're looking for him too," Sam cut in, stopping in front of Amy. "and we're kinda asking around."

Amy's friend that had been helping her put up posters shows up at her side. "Hey, are you okay?" She received a yeah from Amy.

Frankie, knowing that the boys could be a bit intimidating, smiles softly at Amy. "You mind if we ask you a couple questions?"

Amy reluctantly agreed, leading them to a nearby cafe to talk. The five of them sat in a booth in the corner of the restaurant, the three hunters sat opposite of Amy and her friend, with Frankie squished in between them.

"I was on the phone with Troy." Amy explains. "He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did." Her voice became thick with emotion.

"He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?" Amy was hesitant at first, but of course, as soon Sam pulls out the eyes, she can't seem to stop the information from spilling.

Amy shakes her head. "No. Nothing I can remember."

"Here's the deal, ladies." Dean says. "The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything..."

Amy and her friend, Rachel, share a glance.

Frankie goes to take a sip of her coffee but pauses when she sees. "What is it?"

"Well, it's just," Rachel begins hesitantly. "I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk."

"What do they talk about?" Sam and Dean chorus.

"It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago."

Frankie looks up, sharing a knowing look with Sam. It's almost annoying how easy they've fallen back into place, though it's still awkward for them both.

"Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever."

The three hunters found themselves in the towns public library not long after leaving the cafe. They picked a computer towards the back, Dean reaching it first and beginning to search up the legend Amy had told them about.

"Female Murder Hitchhiking" are typed into the search box, but zero results come up when he presses enter. Dean replaces "Hitchhiking" with "Centennial Highway" with the same response.

"Let me try." Sam reaches for the mouse only for his hand to be slapped away.

"I got it." Frankie rolls her eyes.

Sam shoves Dean's chair out of the way "Dude!" The older brother hits him in shoulder, "You're such a control freak."

"Hey," Frankie hisses, the brothers avoiding her eyes like scolded children. "Knock it off."

"So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?" Sam asks.

Frankie nods, taking a second to look over his face. "Yeah." She guessed she hadn't taken the time yet to see how much Sam had grown in the last few years. Most of his baby fat was gone, instead replaced by a chiseled bone structure that seemed to shared by all of the Winchester's. He was taller, which she didn't think was possible, but his one lanky limbs were now muscular. Physically, he was different, but by his behavior and small quirks she noticed he still had, he was the same. He was her Sammy, yet different.

"Well, maybe it's not murder." He deducts.

Sam replaces "Murder" with "Suicide" and when he searches, a single article pops up, titled "Suicide on Centennial". Frankie feels the corners of her mouth lift; Sam's brain never fails to surprise her.

"This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river." He reads. There's a picture on the screen of a young woman, captioned Constance Welch. Even after all these years of hunting, hearing about someone dying before their time never seems to get easier.

"Does it say why she did it?" Frankie leaned in closer to the screen, resting her chin in her palm.

"Yeah." Sam grimaced.

Dean gave his brother a look. "What?"

"An hour before they found her, she calls 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." Sam tells them. Dean hums.

The article has a picture of Joseph next to a picture of Sylvania Bridge. "Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch." Frankie read in a mumble, eyes examining the picture of the bridge curiously.

Dean pointed to the picture with the pen in his hand. "The bridge look familiar to you?"

Frankie sighed. "Read my mind."

"So this is where Constance took the swan dive."

Frankie gave him an incredulous look. "Don't sound too empathetic." Dean shrugged his shoulders and she rolled her eyes.

"So you think Dad would have been here?" Sam asked over the sounds of the rivers current.

Dean pushed off the rails. "Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him." He replied, starting to walk further down the bridge, the other two following. The bridge over all is just creepy, but it seems like the further away from the car they walk, the more chills appear on Frankie's arms.

"Okay, so now what?" Sam asked.

"Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while." Frankie can sense the beginning of an argument.

"Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by–"

"Monday." Dean spin around. "Right. The interview." Sam nodded. "Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?"

Sam shrugs. "Maybe. Why not?"

Frankie folds her arms around herself, chewing on the inside of her cheek anxiously as her eyes dart back and forth between the brothers.

"Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?"

The huntress takes a step between, shaking her head at the older brother. "Dean don't–"

"And why are you defending him?" He practically shouts. "After everything-"

"Stop it." She says with a warning tone through clenched teeth.

Sam steps closer, glancing at Frankie with guilty eyes, feeling even worse when she refused to meet his eyes. "No, and she's not ever going to know." He answers after a moment.

"Well, that's healthy." Dean remarks. "You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are." Frankie really has no choice but to follow the brothers as they continue down the bridge.

"And who's that?" Sam questioned indignantly.

"You're one of us." His brother answered simply.

Sam scoffed out a laugh. "No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life." He declared.

"Well, you have a responsibility to—"

"To Dad? And his crusade?" Sam countered. "If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like." Frankie stands back, looking at her two friends with sad eyes. "And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back."

She jumps as Dean grabs Sam by the collar and shoves him up against the railing of the bridge, tense and ready to step in if she needed to.

"Don't talk about her like that." Dean quietly speaks after a moment.

When she knows that neither brother is going to lash out again, Frankie relaxes. She happens to look over just in time to see a figure step onto the railing a few yards away and double takes. Not taking her eyes off of the figure, Frankie reaches her arm back and flails it to get the boys' attention. "Guys..."

Sam and Dean come up at her sides, their eyes also locked on the ghost of Constance Welch. She looks over at them briefly before leaning forward and letting herself fall off the edge.

Frankie's the first to start running to wear Constance was, the boys reaching her a second later.

They look over the edge, searching for the spirit.

"Where'd she go?"

Frankie shook her head, "I don't know."

The sound of an engine caught their attention, the three turning around in time to see the impalas headlights turn on.

They step away from the railing. "What the—" Dean wonders aloud.

Sam squints at the vehicle. "Who's driving your car?"

Both Sam and Frankie look towards Dean for an answer, the only response he gives is holding up his keys for them to see.

The car suddenly jerks into motion and it takes a few seconds for the hunters to realize that it was coming straight towards them.

"Let's go! Go!" Frankie yells, frantically tapping the brothers as she turns. The three of them haul ass, Frankie struggling to keep up with her much taller friends. The car seems to speed up and when it gets too close they all sharply turn, throwing themselves over the edge of the bridge.

Frankie feels her back hit something wide and cylindrical, yelling at the pain that spreads throughout her body at the impact. Before she could roll off the large pipe on the side of the bridge, she rolls the other way and sits up, hissing at the ache in her spine.

When she finally gathers her thoughts she looks around for her boys. Frankie sighs in relief when her eyes land on Sam just a few feet away, pulling himself up onto the same pipe. But that still leaves one Winchester brother unaccounted for.

"Dean?" Frankie called, looking around fearfully for her friend.

"Dean!" Sam yelled a second later. Frankie followed his gaze to his brother crawling out of the river, wet and covered in mud. "Hey, are you alright?"

Frankie threw her head back, suddenly realizing how hard her heart was pounding as the adrenaline wore off.

Dean flipped over onto his back, holding up an okay sign with his hands, visibly annoyed. "I'm super."

Sam and Frankie looked at each other, neither of them able to hold in their laughs.

As Dean made his way back up to the bridge, the other two pulled themselves up onto the bridge. Sam was up faster than Frankie, the girl wincing at the pain from her spine.

"You okay?" Sam's voice made Frankie jump, her right foot slipping off the pipe. She gasped, frantically reaching for the edge of the bridge. Before she could end up like Dean, she felt two large hands lock around her biceps, pulling her back towards the railing.

She wasn't surprised to see Sam, just to see his face so close to hers and he leaned over to hold her up. Both of them were breathing heavily, unable to look away.

She saw Sam glance down for a split second before looking back up to her eyes, his adamsappel bobbing as he swallowed nervously. "Sorry." He said, barely above a whisper.

Frankie blinked, almost as if breaking out of a trance. "It's okay." She let out a breath. "Help me up?"

Sam made a noise of confirmation, slipping his hands under her arms to lift her as she stepped up onto the edge, throwing her legs back over the railing.

She was back on the bridge just in time for Dean to reach them, sluggishly walking with muddy water dripping from his clothes. Frankie had to turn away so he wouldn't see her laugh.

They watched Dean circle his car and look inside the hood, looking for any damages.

"Car all right?" Sam asked.

The three of them met back at the hood as Dean closed it. "Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now." He replied. "That Constance chick–what a bitch!" He yelled angrily.

"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure." Frankie muttered, smirking at Dean who leaned against his car and sighed in irritation. "So where's the job go from here, genius?" Her and Sam settled on the hood on either side of Dean.

Dean threw up his arms in frustration, then flicks mud off his hands. Sam sniffs, Frankie taking notice of the smell a second later.

Sam looks at Dean. "You smell like a toilet."

Dean tosses down Hector Aframian's credit card in front of the motel clerk. "Two rooms, please."

The old man looks at the card the glances up at them. "You guys having a reunion or something?"

Frankie cocks her head as Sam asks, "What do you mean?"

"That other guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month." The clerk tells them.

Dean looks back at Sam and Frankie, the three communicating silently.

Frankie smiles politely at the clerk. "We'll just take one room, actually."

After receiving the key for the room Frankie would be taking, and asking for Bert's room number, the hunters left the office.

Reaching the room John had bought, Sam knelt down to pick the lock. It didn't take long, the door opening a few seconds later, Sam and Frankie yanking a distracted Dean in with them.

They examined the room, almost every wall pinned with maps, newspaper clippings and photos. Frankie spotted something white in her peripherals, looking down to see a line of salt in a half circle inside the door.

"Definitely John." She mumbled, carefully stepping over the salt.

The rest of the room was a mess, the bed unmade, items of John's thrown haphazardly, even an old burger that Dean sniffed and recoiled.

"I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least." The older brother says.

Sam runs a hand through the salt line. "Salt, cats-eye shells. He was worried, Trying to keep something from coming in."

Dean looked over some papers on the walls, the two other hunters coming up beside him.

"What have you got here?"

"Centennial Highway victims." Dean answered his brother. "I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs—

Frankie looks back at the other articles and curiously crossing the room, not noticing that Sam followed behind.

"—ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

As Frankie's eyes skim over all of the articles, a familiar one catches her eye. It was the same article that had found the day before. Above it was a ripped strip of paper, and in messy handwriting, Woman in White.

"Hey, Sam-"

Frankie turned to get the boys attention, only to jump when she realized he was right behind her, startling her again for the second time.

"God." She gasped. "Stop doing that." She found herself subconsciously hitting his chest lightly, not realizing they were slowing returning back to their old ways.

The corner of Sam's mouth lifted in a smirk. "Sorry."

He reached around her, turning on the small lamp on the desk, calling to his brother. "Dad figured it out."

Dean turns around. "What do you mean?"

Frankie cocks her head towards the wall. "He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white."

Dean looks back at the photos of the victims. "You sly dogs."

"All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it." He informed them.

Sam, however, stared thoughtfully at the article. "She might have another weakness."

Dean disagreed. "No, Dad would want to make sure. He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?" He walked over to the younger hunters and looked at the article himself.

"No, not that I can tell." Frankie replies. "If I were John, though, I'd go ask her husband." She taps the picture of a man, the caption reading Joseph Welch. "If he's still alive."

Frankie stepped away to read over any additional information John may have found.

"All right. Why don't you two, uh, see if you can find an address, I'm gonna get cleaned up." Dean said, already heading to the bathroom.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam hesitated. Dean turned.

Noticing his soft tone, Frankie craned her neck around to watch the brothers curiously.

"What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry." Sam apologized.

Dean brought a hand up to stop him. "No chick-flick moments."

Sam scoffs out a laugh and nods. "All right. Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean smirked.

Sam laughs again, looking back at Frankie as she did the same, shaking her head playfully. "Children."

The girl makes her way to the door, stopping when Sam calls out to her. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, I'm just gonna get my stuff from the car, put it in my room." Sam nods. "I should probably also check out my back. I landed pretty hard last night."

And there it was. The eyes. Those wide, stupid puppy dog eyes that got Sam whatever he wanted, and Frankie was no stranger to their power. "Do you need me to check? You always were terrible at patching yourself up." He smiled softly.

Frankie felt her smile fade. "Yeah, well...it's been a few years. I learned."

Sam's face fell, but before he could say anything else, Frankie was pulling the door open and out the room.

The room they payed for, that they agreed Frankie could take so she could have her privacy, was a couple of doors down. She entered with her backpack she grabbed from the car, the room looking almost identical to the one John had bought.

Her first order of business was to shower. After undressing, Frankie turn to look at her back in the mirror, cringing when she spotted the purple splotches along the middle of her back. Thankfully most of the pain had ceased, only aching when she stretched or moved her arms too excessively. Once she hopped into the, surprisingly, decently clean tub, she was in and out in less than 10 minutes.

Now fresh and in a new set of clothes, Frankie made sure to grab her room key before heading back to the other room.

The door was still unlocked, and when she walked in Sam was sitting on the bed, his phone to his ear. He briefly glanced at her when she entered, but then his focus returned to whatever he was listening to. The room was quiet enough that Frankie could very vaguely hear a girls voice.

She was quick to realize what Sam was listening to and began to chew on the inside of her lip, the articles on the wall suddenly becoming interesting again.

"Hey, I'm starving." Dean spoke as he left the bathroom, grabbing a clean leather jacket that was once Johns. "I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You guys want anything?"

Sam declined. Frankie glanced at the younger brother, then at his phone still stuck to his ear and stood up. "I'll go with you."

Dean cocked his eyebrow but looked at his brother for confirmation. "Aframian's buying."

Sam shook his head and Dean shrugged, opening the door and letting Frankie out first and closing it behind him.

"Something happen while I was showering?" Dean asked as he shrugged his jacket on.

Frankie tried to seem nonchalant and stared ahead, knowing that Dean could read her like a book. "No. Why would you think that?"

"Because you–"

Frankie turned her head to see what had stopped him, eyes landing the motel clerk speaking to the officers from the day before, pointing right at them.

Dean and Frankie both swiftly turned. "Shit." Frankie cursed, sharing a panicked look with Dean as he pulls his phone out, bringing it in between them.

"What?" She faintly heard Sam's voice reply.

"Dude, five-o, take off." Dean tells him quickly.

"What about you guys?"

Frankie discreetly peaks behind them, the policemen now approaching. "Uh, they kinda spotted us. Go find Dad."

She pulls Dean's hand that was holding the phone to her mouth, "And get my stuff." She whispered before Dean snatched his hand away, the two of them turning again.

"Problem, officers?" Frankie asked, giving them a charming smile. Although it seemed like this time, they wouldn't be falling for it.

"Where's your other partner?" Jaffe questioned, arms crossed.

Dean forcibly chuckled. "Partner? What–what partner?"

Jaffe glances over his shoulder and jerks his thumb towards the motel room, the other officer walking over to the room they had just left.

Dean and Frankie both fidget, hoping that Sam makes it out before they find him.

"So. Fake US Marshals, fake credit cards. You got anything that's real?" He glared at the two.

Please don't say anything stupid–

"My boobs." Dean cheekily grins.

Goddammit.

"Really?" Frankie harshly whispered as they were both handcuffed, the officers much rougher with Dean as they slammed him against the hood of the police car.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"So you want to give us your real names?" The Sheriff asked, entering the room with a cardboard filing box.

"I told you, it's Nugent. Ted Nugent." Dean insists.

"And I'm April. His little sister." Frankie repeats the random name she had come up with when they were brought to the station.

The Sheriff stared down at the two young adults. "I'm not sure either of you realize just how much trouble you're in here."

"We talkin', like, misdemeanor kind of trouble or, uh, squeal like a pig trouble?" Dean smirked.

The Sheriff wasn't amused. "You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall. Along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. You kids are officially suspects."

Frankie nods mockingly. "That makes sense. Because when the first one went missing in '82 he was three and I didn't exist."

"I know you've got partners. One of 'em's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So tell me, Dean," The Sheriff raises his eyebrows challengingly.

Then he tossed a familiar brown, leather journal onto the table in front of them. "This his?"

Neither of the hunters react, both staring blankly at the old journal. John never went anywhere without his journal, especially not a hunt.

The old man begins to flip through the book. Each page is filled with newspaper clippings, notes, and pictures. Frankie always commented on how disorganized John was with his research, but over time they all learned how to make sense of it.

"I thought that might be your name. And you, the only young lady mentioned in here, must be Francesca. See, I leafed through this. What little I could make out—I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy." The man spoke as he continued to flip page after page.

Frankie and Dean lean forward for a closer look.

"But I found this, too." The Sheriff stops on one of the last pages in the journal. The only words on the otherwise clean page were DEAN 35-111 circled in the center.

"Now. You're stayin' right here till you tell me exactly what the hell that means." He taps the page.

Dean stares intently at the page before glancing back at Frankie.

"I don't know how many times I gotta tell you." Dean shrugged. "It's my high school locker combo."

The Sheriff glared at Dean. "We gonna do this all night long?"

Before the hunter could answer, a deputy leans into the room. "We just got a 911, shots fired over at Whiteford Road." Frankie resisted the urge to smile.

The old man looked back briefly at the deputy before turning back around to look between Frankie and Dean. "Either of you have to go to the bathroom?"

Dean and Frankie gave each other weird look. "No." Dean answered while the girl next to him shook her head.

"Good." The Sheriff grumbled, wasting no time before handcuffing them both to the table, giving them one last warning glare before he left.

Dean pulled his wrist up, the chain of the cuffs jingling. "Damn." He sighed.

"Damn is right." Frankie agreed, folding her free arm on the table and letting her head rest on it, and she suddenly realizes that she hadn't had a good nights sleep since before they retrieved Sam.

As she racked her brain for a solution, her eyes catch a small glimmer coming from John's journal. She's taken back to the day her father was teaching his kids about what to do if this situation were to ever occur. The easiest way for hunters to get answers was to become someone people always answered to, usually a government official. Something brought up in the lesson that proved to be useful time and time again–how to pick the lock on handcuffs. And, oh, look, there's a perfectly and conveniently placed paperclip sticking out of the journal.

"Aha." Frankie says quietly, gaining Dean's attention.

Upon fixing his eyes on the paperclip, Dean also smirks. The two don't waste any time getting each other out of their restraints, quietly marking their way out of the office they were in. Frankie follows behind Dean, walking against the wall. Frankie holds her breath as they approach a door and Dean peaks through the window, head pulling back abruptly.

Dean lets a few seconds pass as they listen for the doors of the main entrance to close. Once they hear it, Dean peaks through the window again, this time motioning with his head for Frankie to follow. For a police station, it was remarkably easy to escape.

Frankie and Dean jogged a couple of blocks when they came across a phone booth. As Dean picked up the phone to dial Sam's number, Frankie kept a lookout for any police cars, knowing they'd be back at station once they realized the 911 call was fake.

Frankie can hear the line ringing, unable to hold her grin as Dean speaks into the phone. "Fake 911 phone call, Sammy, I don't know, that's pretty illegal."

"You're welcome." She faintly hears Sam respond.

"Listen, we gotta talk." Dean says, more seriously.

Frankie steps a little closer to hear, still occasionally glancing around the street. Sam goes on about the case and what he found out, all of the details irrelevant now that Dean and Frankie were sure that John was no longer there.

"Sammy, would you shut up for a second?" Dean snaps into the phone, sending Frankie an exasperated look that has her snickering.

"I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet."

Dean shook his head. "Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho."

"What? How do you know?"

The older hunter looked down at John's journal with a frown. "We've got his journal."

There was short pause. "He doesn't go anywhere without that thing."

"Yeah, well, he did this time."

"What's it say?"

"Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going." Dean explains shortly, knowing Sam would understand. Frankie would always be amazed at how in tune the brothers were with each other, even after years with no contact.

"Coordinates. Where to?"

"We're not sure yet." Dean mumbles into the phone. Frankie could tell he was frustrated with the situation. As soon as things began to line up some other obstacle is thrown their way. She had hoped that finding John would be easier, but she knew not to expect it. Not when the Winchester's were in the middle.

"Dean, what the hell is going on?"

Both Frankie and Dean jump at Sam's gasp over the line, the sound of tires screeching causing panic to surface in both of them. "Sam? Sam!"

Sam doesn't answer but they can hear his frantic breathing. All of a sudden there's a female voice. "Take me home."

After the phone cut out, Frankie and Dean were quick to figure out that Constance was forcing Sam to take her to the abandoned house, the same place she took all the other men to kill them. Thankfully they weren't far from the house, making it there in five minutes by foot, both of them silently praying that Sam was okay.

When they arrived their eyes immediately landed on the impala parked in front of the house. At first, Frankie thought they were too late, but then she saw a figure flicker in the front seat and caught a glimpse of Sam struggling under it. Frankie was quick to pull out the gun they'd snatched from the police station, switching the safety and pulling the trigger without hesitation.

Dean followed her actions, the two of them shooting into the drivers window. The ghost glared at them through the broken glass. Her flickering in and out allowed Sam to sit back up, pulling on the gear shift.

"I'm taking you home." Sam growls, pressing on the gas. Dean and Frankie watch with open mouths as Sam drives into the old house. As soon as the car stops, the two other hunters run in.

"Sam!" Frankie yelled, the only thing on her mind being Sam and if he was okay. She lets out a breath of relief when he calls back from inside the car, rushing over to the passenger. "You okay?" She asks, pulling hard on the door to force it open.

"I think." Sam grunts in response, latching onto Frankie outstretched arms. Her and Dean help pull him from the car, all of them freezing when they notice Constance glaring at them with a picture frame in her hands.

She angrily throws the picture aside, sending an old dresser at them and trapping them against the car. The hunters groan in pain at the impact struggling to escape.

Frankie was the first to stop struggling, noticing the lights flickering, something that wasn't possible due to the amount of years the house had been abandoned. Then her gaze traveled to the stairs, streams water dripping down.

They watched as Constance looked up, moving to the bottom of the staircase. It was then that they noticed to figures at the top, one smaller than the other but both the size of children.

The children grab hands, "You've come home to us, Mommy." They say together, sending a chill down Frankie's spine.

Constance's spirit looks distraught, body turning when the children appear behind her. It's a sight Frankie is sure she'll never forget. The two children flicker towards her and embrace her tightly. Constance's wail is piercing, her image flickering as the energy causes burst of light to emerge. It's all over in seconds, the three spirits reducing to a puddle of water on the floor.

Without Constance holding them there, the hunters are able to push the furniture off of them, walking over to gaze curiously at the puddle.

"So this is where she drowned her kids." Frankie breathes out, still catching her breath.

"That's why she could never go home." Sam nods, slowly meeting Frankie's gaze. With the success of the hunt and his former best friend not immediately tearing her eyes away from him, Sam let's a small grin appear on his face. "She was too scared to face them."

"You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy." Dean roughly pats Sam on the chest in the exact spot Constance had hurt him. Sam winces but let's out a deep laugh. Frankie finds herself grinning at the two.

"Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you two." Sam retorts. "What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freaks?"

Frankie scoffs, playfully shoving Sam's shoulder as she walks past him. "Hey, I recall saving your ass, or did you hit your head when you rammed in here?" She sassed back.

Frankie missed the fond look in Sam's eyes as she walked over to where Dean stood. Of course Sam had missed her greatly, but he was able to repress those feelings with school work and Jess and his friends. Now that he was back with her and Dean, he could feel those feelings beginning to resurface.

"I'll tell you another thing." Dean pulled him from his thoughts. "If you screwed up my car?" Dean twists around to look at Sam, "I'll kill you."

The Impala tears down the road, the right headlight busted which Sam heard plenty about before they left Jericho. Frankie sat in the backseat with her shoeless feet out in front of her and her shoulders leaning against the door. The bruises on her back were still tender and the pile of clothes she propped behind her provided more cushion than the hard leather seats of the impala.

"Okay, here's where Dad went." Sam spoke over the soft sound of rock music playing from the radio. He had a flashlight held between his jaw and shoulder, shining light onto John's journal and and open map. "It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado."

"Sounds charming. How far?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam before looking back at the road.

Sam took the flashlight from his shoulder. "About six hundred miles."

"If we shag ass we could make it by morning." Frankie absentmindedly said.

The silence that followed was deafening. "Guys, I, um..."

It was then that both Frankie and Dean came to the same realization, both remembering the agreement Sam had made before they left. With everything going on and how well the hunt went, Frankie had completely forgotten that Sam had to go back to Stanford.

She felt her chest ache, a frown forming on her face as she chose to stay silent.

"You're not going." Dean simply said, the words coming out as more of a statement than a question.

"The interview's in like, ten hours." Sam replied, sounding apologetic. Frankie knew there was a part of him that enjoyed hunting with them again, but she also knew he was happy living his normal life. As much as it hurt, Frankie would rather him be happy away from them, than miserable with them. "I gotta be there."

The good mood in the vehicle was quickly brought down. Dean nodded disappointingly. "Yeah. Yeah, whatever." He scoffs softly, trying not to look upset. "I'll take you home."

They pull up in front of Sam's apartment within a couple of hours. As Sam wordlessly stepped out of the car, Frankie is brought back to that day nearly four years ago when Sam left her house. You'd think the heartache would be easier than second time, but Frankie was quickly figuring out that it was just a bad.

"Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?" Sam offers, leaning slightly into the open window.

Dean nods quickly, trying to rip the bandaid off and leave as soon as possible. It was less painful that way. "Yeah, all right."

There's a pause and Frankie looks up, breath hitching when she realized Sam was already looking at her. "I'll call you?"

Frankie waited for the rage to build, everything reminding her of the day he left her and stopped contacting her after a year. But to her surprise, she felt nothing but sorrow. She hated the way her feelings were hitting her full force, even after Sam had hurt her. But now, looking to his hazel colored eyes gazing back at her with a mixture of hopefulness and guilt, all she could think about was that this moment may be the last time she would see Sam for who knows how long if he gets into law school. And Sam was the smartest person she knew, Frankie had no doubt he would make it.

So instead of lashing out or making a sarcastic comment like a part of her wanted to, Frankie could only muster a forced smile, breaking his heart with the sad look in her eyes.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Sammy." She mumbled softly. Frankie didn't wait to see his reaction, turning her head and resting it in her arms that were folding across her bent knees.

Dean, however, did watch Sam. It was almost satisfying to see the deject look on Sam's face at Frankie's words. As much as he loved his little brother, he knew how much he had hurt their friend.

"Sam?" Dean spoke up before Sam could start walking away. The younger boy reluctantly tears his eyes away from the girl in the backseats "You know, we made a hell of a team back there."

Sam quietly voiced his agreement. "Yeah."

Dean's neck craned just enough to glance back at Frankie who was still staring at the other side of the car. "Wanna come up?" He gently asked, head gesturing to the front seat.

Frankie shook her head silently, earning a small nod from Dean. The oldest of the hunters put the car in drive, the engine rumbling as they drove off, leaving Sam standing in front of the building, longingly staring at the retreating vehicle.

They only drove a block before Dean circled back around. Frankie looked over at Dean, noticing the furrow of his brow. "Bad feeling?" She questioned, letting out a breath of relief when he nodded. She sat up straight in her seat. "Me too."

Frankie didn't know if it was hunters instinct or what, but she was thankful for it. Because as soon as they got back to the apartment, they saw a flash of orange light come from the window of Sam's apartment followed by a faint yell.

Dean and Frankie scrambled out of the car and towards the building. Frankie stood back as Dean kicked the door in, yelling his brothers name as they ran inside. They skipped steps as they ran up the stairs to the third floor where Sam lived.

The room was already engulfed in flames when the two hunters made it up. Frankie called out for Sam, noticing him laying on the bed in distress first. Then her eyes traveled up to the ceiling, staring in horror at the sight of Jessica pinned and on fire, her mind immediately going to the story she'd heard about Mary Winchester's death.

Dean was in the same shocked state as Frankie, but was quicker to move. He pulled Sam off the bed, ignoring his cries of despair. Frankie pulled on the back of his jacket when he tried to pull away from Dean to go back into the room, the three of them making it out just before the flames filled the rest of the room.

Everything happened so fast. Frankie could already hear the fire truck approaching by the time they made it back down

The three hunters stood outside the building, along with the other residents that had been evacuated by the fire department. People had already begun to head back in because, somehow, the firemen managed to stop the fire before it spread to any of the other apartments.

The ambulance had been there already, but they only checked out people in the neighboring apartments before they left. There wasn't a need for them to stay if there was no body seriously injured, or a body for them to take.

Frankie gave one last solemn glance to the building, still processing what had just happened before turning to look at Dean, who stood at her side. None of them had spoken it out loud yet, but they all knew that this fire that killed Jess bore too much resemblance to the fire that killed Mary Winchester all those years ago. Out of the three, Dean was the only one to witness his mother's death, and Frankie remembered him freezing for a second when he saw Jess on the ceiling.

"You good?" She quietly asked.

Dean wasn't exactly one to express his feelings, so she knew better than to make a big deal out of something like this, especially when this wasn't about him.

He gave her a single nod, the two of them making their way towards Sam at the back of the impala. He was loading one of the many shotguns, no doubt to keep his hands busy and keep himself distracted, all emotion void from his face.

But when they reached him, both looking at him with thinly veiled concern, a small piece of his armor cracked. The flashing lights of the fire truck allowed them to see a few tears escape Sam's eyes. Frankie tries her best not to look sympathetic as to make Sam feel worse.

Sam exhales shakily then straightens up, grabbing ahold of the gun and tossing it into the truck, muttering out a few words just before he closes the trunk.

"We got work to do."

A NOTE FROM ALEXIS:
I've had only this last scene left to write for months now and for some reason I just finished it. sorry for the long wait, I took an unannounced hiatus from writing and I'm just now coming back. updates won't be anymore frequent than usual because I literally started college today, but I do hope to update all of my books soon. let me know what you thought of the chapter, feedback is always appreciated!