Alright, this chapter begins on episode 19, "Provenance", because I genuinely didn't want to write the previous episode. I honestly tried to write it for the past two days, and I just can't. I've re-watched it like 2 times, and I have zero inspiration for that certain episode. And if I'm going to be honest with you, I'm just trying to finish season 1 so I can start writing season 2. 

Ignore grammatical errors for now, or kindly point them out to me please :)

Odessa was candidly aware of the evident diversity of her external appearance compared to Sam and Dean as she sauntered inside the auction house, where she wasn't entirely contrasting with those within the building. Her attire consisted of a skin-tight, maroon dress with charcoal-black pumps. Her mother's ruby pendant was brazenly flagrant, as were her blackened emblems that were scattered atop her golden skin. Her black hair resembled spilled ink as her waves cascaded against her back. 

Moving with ease, Odessa evaded the incoming crowd of wealthy auctioneers as Sam and Dean shuffled in the opposite direction. They both earned questioning and subjective glances, with their distinct arrival, she couldn't blame their bewilderment. She watched as a man, finely dressed and groomed, fiercely charge in their direction. Sam and Dean quickly faced the man. Dean's mouth was shoved with the hors d'oeuvres, and judging from Sam's astounded expression, he must've said something offensive to the man. As she neared the disaster of a confrontation, she sent Dean a sharp look. "We are art dealers with Connors Limited." Sam informed, a kind smile rising.

Scoffing almost, he repeated objectively. "You're art dealers?"

She halted as she stared harshly into the back of his head. "Yes, we are," She declared, arching her brow, eyeing the man with fire blazing in her eyes. "But it appears I'm the only one who dressed for the occasion," Odessa continued further, bypassing the man's shoulder as she latched her arm with Dean's. "I'm Odessa Connors, and who might you be?" Dean exchanged an impressed look with Sam, unlatching his arm with hers. Instead, he encircled his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. There was a time where Odessa was disgusted with the mere thought of feigning a romantic relationship with Dean. Now, however, the implication wasn't as dissatisfying.

Straightening his posture, he returned the fiery gaze. "I'm Daniel Blake. This is my auction house. Now, gentleman, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list."  

Sam chuckled breathlessly, peering down at Odessa in hopes she could conjure up some lie within seconds. Dean, with his mouth still filled with appetizers, grinned egotistically. "We're there, chuckles. You just need to take another look." His voice was muffled, and she restrained herself from scrunching her nose in distaste as she saw clumps of food in his mouth. Glimpsing past his shoulder, he 'ooh'ed' as he saw champagne being offered. He quickly snatched both glasses of the silver platter and offered Odessa the bubbling glass.

As she walked away beside him, she glared sternly at him while sipping down the champagne. "You're going to get us kicked out of here, you idiot." He simply shrugged, and continued walking furthest from the horde of affluent men and women. With nimble fingers, she rapidly examined each of the auctioned item's tags. There were about a million other things she'd prefer doing than analyzing tags, such as taking a long bath with scorching water. Nonetheless, she wasn't going to voice her discontent aloud.

Sam stopped as he neared an ominous painting. Odessa froze; a feminine, delicate voice spoke from above. "A fine example of American primitive, wouldn't you say?" Her head snapped upward, furrowing her brows as a beautiful woman descended the stairwell right in front of them, fragile fingers on the metal railing. Sam, in what Odessa assumed was in awe, returned his gaze on the painting before Dean slapped his shoulder. 

Pivoting to face her, he replied with a minuscule smile tugging on his lips. "Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses but you knew that. You just wanted to see if I did." She grinned, glancing down at her heels with a faint blush rising on her cheeks. 

"Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake." Odessa's attention was gathered from the bashful duo as a waiter came with quiches on the silver platter. She grabbed one, then another, and another. She wasn't going to deny the offer of free, delicious appetizer. "I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean, and our best friend Odessa." Both she and Dean froze, cheeks puffed with quiches.

Sarah chuckled, "Dean, Odessa, can we get you some more mini quiche?" Both of them hummed 'no', shaking their heads. "So, can I help you with something?" She asked, returning her gaze back on Sam.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?" 

She rocked on her feet. "The whole thing's pretty grisly, if you ask me. Selling their things so soon. But dad's right about one thing—sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones." Sarah and Sam exchanged a wondrous gaze, ghostly grins tugging. 

Odessa quirked an eyebrow, swallowing the quiche with the bubbling champagne. She sent Dean a questioning look, who simply gave her a half-shrug. "Is it possible to see the provenances?" Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but the douchebag from earlier interrupted their conversation. 

"I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that," Sam asked 'why not'. "You're not on the guest list and I think it's time to leave." 

Dean responded mockingly, "Well, we don't have to be told twice."

"Apparently, you do." Odessa folded her arms across her chest, exhaling sharply as she gripped Dean's bicep. She mumbled a sting of profanities in Spanish as she pulled him away from the scene, not bothering to hear what Sam or Sarah had to say in the matter.

<<>>

Exhaling sharply, the Guardian briefly pondered on the multiple ways she'd scold Sam when he returned from his date with Sarah, who he only contacted because they desperately required the provenances for the eerie portrait. Dean, of all people, absentmindedly suggested Sam take her out, much to Odessa's dismay. She voiced her discontent with mere proposal of using Sarah for their advantage; however, Sam reluctantly dialed the number and scheduled an arrangement. 

There was a sense of fuming animosity as memories resurfaced of the array of men she had wrapped around her finger, manipulated with a false outward aspect of the infamous Odessa De Lo Santos. She was almighty, voice dripping with sensuality and other-worldly words. There was also a sense of self-hatred for allowing her Connoisseurs and other members of the Elite to effortlessly wield her as if she were some weapon whose significance relied on allure and grace. Though aware of her capabilities prior, it wasn't until the Organization was demolished did she realize the alteration of her self-image.  

Odessa furiously pressed the buttons of Sam's computer, shaking her head softly as she returned her concentration on the brightly illuminated screen. This hadn't been time to reemerge her nostalgia. Without bothering to look, she was aware of Dean's wandering eyes. "You're staring." She said, shattering the serene ambiance. Meeting his profound gaze, a ghostly grin tugged as his verdant-green eyes hastily averted her own. She was sitting criss-crossed on top of the bed Dean declared his own, lap-top perched on her calves. 

Dean coughed, continuing to carelessly flip through his father's journal. "No, I wasn't," He said, furrowing his eyebrows, appearing 'offended' she even suggested that. "Anyway, is that my flannel?" Odessa raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the multi-colored flannel she wore, buttons half-fastened, sleeves folded messily to her elbows. She grinned sheepishly, toying with the hem of the blouse. When they'd returned from the auction house, she wearily undressed from her scarlet dress and stole the first shirt she'd seen from his duffle-bag, along with white sneakers and black leggings. It wasn't until now she noticed it was one of his favorites. She shrugged timidly, returning her fixed stare back at him. "Oh, sorry," she apologized, bashful. "Do you want it back?" 

He shook his head, waving his hand. "No, no, I didn't like it that much anyways," He comforted. Odessa released a breathless chuckle, choosing to disregard his lie.  "Besides, it looks better on you." He licked his lips, swiftly retreating his concentration back to the scribbles of his father's notes. She pursed her lips, nodding ever-so-slightly as she continued typing, skillfully concealing the puny flash of disappointment. Minutes passed when she heard Dean sigh heavily, closing the journal with a bang. 

Dean reached for his jacket's pocket, retrieving a medium-sized container with an engraved logo. He stood from the cushioned chair, ambling towards her. She scrunched her eyebrows together, apprehensively closing the laptop, pushing the device aside. The bed dipped as he settled himself beside her. Displaying the elegant box, he calmly pulled the top off, and Odessa faintly gasped. There appealingly presented was a midnight-black dagger, no bigger than her forearm; the hilt was structured to appear as the head of cobra. The details of scales and fangs were intricately carved, allowing an improved grip for her hand. "It reminded me of you," He said.

Failing to acknowledge the apprehension and eager oozing from Dean's body language, she spun the dagger around, fingertips grazing the engraved wording on the blade. "Destruye cualquier cosa que te amenace," She mumbled, looking up from the blade to Dean's glimmering eyes. "Destroy anything that threatens you. H-How—" There was an unfamiliar fluttering forming inside her abdomen, as if she were riding a rollercoaster. The beating of her heart fastened and she was certain he could hear it. 

He scratched his nape, peering down at the charcoal-black blade. "A friend owed me a favor. I remembered you once told me you got your whip because it symbolized you in battle, so I figured you'd like it. Do you not like it? I can return it if you want—" 

Odessa caressed his cheek, his scruff scratching her palm. He abruptly halted, glancing down at the emblem on her forearm. He didn't seem to dislike the sudden contact, in fact, it appeared he was craning his head to allow more access for more contact. Dean cupped her hand, fondling her hand's skin. He was profoundly close, she could feel his warm breath tickling her lower lip, and the tip of his nose was gently skimming hers. She settled her palm on his thigh, restraining herself from grinning in satisfaction as he inhaled sharply from her touch. His lips smoothly brushed against hers, and they were seconds from closing the gap when the lock of the motel room jingled open. This was unexplored territory, a foreign sensation as Dean tangled his fingers through her hair, and as quick as the acceptance came, her chances of exploring diminished within seconds.  

With incomprehensible haste, she flinched away from his desiring touch and stood from the bed, snatching the dagger from the box. This wasn't acceptable, how could she fog her distinction between right and wrong for a spur of the moment? Sam entered the doorframe, tuxedo neatly folded in his arms. He opened his mouth to speak, immediately closing his mouth when regarding the alteration in the atmosphere. Furrowing his brow, he jutted his index finger between them two. "You both okay?" Odessa ran her fingers through her hair, applying the top of the box back on.

She pursed her lips, "Yeah, I'm just going to get some fresh air," She pivoted to face Dean. Her features softened. "Thank you for the gift, I love it. It means a lot to me. I'll see you later." She swiftly gathered her coat from the opened duffle-bag from beside her bed, dashing out the motel bedroom with a bewildered expression.

<<>>

Odessa wasn't aware of where her feet were mindlessly guiding her; through the obscure twists and turns of the desolate streets and through fairly illuminated alleyways. The dagger was securely tucked in her waistband, and the frigid blade against her skin was a repetitive reminder of the uneasy edge she was experiencing. She'd foolishly obliterated her fundamental morals for a chaste encounter with Dean Winchester of all people.

She was precisely instructed from adolescence to discard any strong connection, any emotional tether, excluding her relatives. The severe and grim methods the Organization were constructed on uncertainty of the Guardian's return from battle. Whether the mission be a vampire's nest, werewolf pack, or a clamor of demons, there was always skepticism if a Guardian would return home. Those who were concluded their desired route was on the battlefield, such as Odessa, were highly advised to delay any romantic relations, or any significant associations. Infatuation, or even mere crush, clouded the mind from what was crucial.

The onyx-haired Guardian froze, realization dawning upon her features. The wintry breeze lightly stroked her exposed skin. Goosebumps rose and shiver trailed down her spine, through the reaction wasn't induced by the brisk gust of wind. The beating within her chest fastened, and her palms dampened. 

Odessa liked him.

Breathlessly, she reached for her phone, swiftly dialing Sam's phone number with nimble fingers. She intolerantly listened as the phone repeatedly rang until a faint, mellow 'hello' answered. Sighing in relief, she closed her eyes and relished in the temporary darkness. "Sam, what are you doing right now?" Her voice was wavering with each word, agitation distinct as she spoke. She needed to speak to someone, anyone, even some lonely stranger in the midst of the night.

There was shuffling in the background, mumbling from Dean himself. "Dean and I were getting ready to look for you," He replied, bewilderment evident. "We're going to burn the painting. Why, what's wrong?" Odessa exhaled sharply, continuing her thoughtless ambling. Another breeze collided against her, and she then become aware of her clothing, or lack thereof. 

She shook her head, despite knowing he couldn't see her. "Go on without me, I'm not feeling it tonight," She heard Sam shushing Dean, and then there was silence. "I can't right now. I'll explain later." From the background she heard Dean's boisterous voice, shouting 'what's wrong' and 'is she okay, let me talk to her'. Her stomach flipped, and she despised it.

Sam's voice softened, "Essie, what's wrong? Are you okay? Where are you, Dean and I will come pick you up." She grimaced at the mere thought of sitting behind Dean while he rambled about Sarah and Sam's relationship. 

Odessa wilted, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No, no, don't do that," She demanded, "Just go, I'll see you in a bit." Without waiting to hear his protests, she hung up and groaned heavily. As she pressed the button, she couldn't help but noticed her hand was shaking mildly. There was nothing she wanted to do more was scream and thrash for allowing herself to be weak, but she didn't. She continued walking, alone and reticent in the moonlight.

<<>>

The horizon was rising, and the sky was a pale pink color when Odessa received a message from Sam, which revealed several unread messages from both him and Dean. She'd silenced her phone when she found a bench near the motel, concluding she couldn't return to the motel where Dean was currently slumbering. Any form of exhaustion was lost, and she was forced to remain awake with her deafening thoughts. 

She opened the message, ignoring the first twelve and scanned the most recent. Sam was updating her on the progress with the painting, explaining they'd watch the flames successfully burn the portrait, and now it was somehow restored. He politely asked if she'd go visit the local historian who worked in the library, promising he'd purchase her favorite ice cream if obliged.

Half an hour later, she'd been within the local historian's room where multiple shelves of books surrounded the table she was seated at. She felt as if she were obligated to assist Sam on this case, seeming as she scurried away from them when they needed her most. The man, who she hadn't bothered to remember his name, slammed a leather-bound book larger than her head on the table. She jumped in her seat, attention involuntarily piqued as the dust particles swirled into the air. "You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?" 

Odessa refrained from glaring daggers, nodding stiffly. "Yeah, that's right." The man placed another book, much smaller than the first one. He quickly flipped through it, eyes scanning the words with the assistance of his glasses. "I dug up every scrap of local history I could find," He said, opening the largest book, wrinkled papers instantly flying to the floor. "So, you a crime buff?" 

Her coffee-shaded eyes examined the elegantly-written papers. "Occupational, I'd say," She replied, fingers gently grazing the pages. "Why do you ask?" His expression modified entirely, enthusiasm taking over as he pulled large newspaper article. She eyed the tan paper, unimpressed by the wording. For a moment, she assumed he was displaying the bold letters on the header, announcing the sinking of the titanic. It wasn't until he pointed to the smaller column that spoke of the murders.

Eyes briefly widening, she nodded as she pointed to the finely-printed column. "Yes, that's it," She frowned, "The whole family was killed?" 

The man nodded quickly. "It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids throats, then his wife, and then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor." 

Odessa crossed her arms, furrowing her brow. "Huh, dramatic much," She mumbled to herself. "That doesn't explain why he did it though."

Flipping the paper around, he continued. "Well, let's look. 'People who knew him described Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament, and controlled his family with an iron-fist'. Wife, two sons, adopted daughter—yeah, yeah. There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave, which, of course, you know, in that day and age, so instead, old man Isaiah, well he gave them all a shave," He said, pretending to slice his own throat while chuckling.

Odessa remained unfazed, "What does it say about the bodies?" 

"Just that they were all cremated." 

Pursing her lips, she sighed heavily. "Did you find anything else," Claiming he discovered the family picture, he opened another book. There was an exact replica of the ominous painting; however, the father's gaze was contrasting from the one she'd seen at the auction house. "Mind if I get a copy of that?" 

<<>>

Odessa stuffed her hands into her jacket's pockets, relishing the warmth she received. She was inching closer to the motel room with each second, and wanted nothing more than to dash away. Much to her dismay, she couldn't abandon Sam or Dean, especially now. She halted in front of the door, eyeing the handle with apprehension. Muffled voices could be perceived from where she stood, and she ran her fingers through her waves. She mentally scolded herself for becoming some emotional wreck over some man who obviously didn't feel the same for her. 

A sudden wave of assurance flooded her as she twisted the knob open, and was greeted with Sam perched on the chair beside the doorway, and Dean laying atop his bedsheets, ankles and arms crossed. Upon her entrance, he swiftly lurched forward, worry lacing every feature. She neglected the fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Where were you," He questioned, swinging his feet over the bed and to the floor. "You just took off and disappeared for a day. We were worried about you."

Odessa wearily half-shrugged, exhaustion coming over her. She wasn't aware of how drained of energy she was until now. Jerking her jacket off her shoulders, she tossed it to the side. "I was out," She retorted bitterly. "I said I was taking a walk, didn't I?" She mentally scolded herself for retaliating with such hostility.

Dean narrowed his eyes with disbelief. "For a whole day?" 

Crossing her arms, opening her mouth to respond with some sarcastic remark when Sam's beeping of his phone intervened. Choosing to ignore the one-sided conversation between him and Sarah, Odessa glimpsed at the papers she'd delivered earlier when they both were gone. She wasn't entirely prepared for a confrontation with Dean, she wasn't sure if she was ready even now. Sam hastily stood from his chair, the back colliding against the wall behind him. She pivoted to face him, alarm and angst taking over his features. "What? Who'd you sell it to? Sarah, I need an address right now." 

Minutes must've gone by when the trio arrived to the woman's home. The crickets were chirping peaceful melodies, and the wind rustled the trees. Sarah was there, fiddling with her necklace until she them dashing up the porch. "You said Evelyn might be in danger. What kind of danger?" She questioned, ignoring the banging Dean and Odessa were creating as they attempted to kick the door down. 

Dean banged his fist against the polished once more. "I can't knock this sucker down. I got to pick it." He swiftly reached for his utensils and Sarah watched with wide eyes as he picked the lock effortlessly.

"What are you guys, burglars?" 

Odessa yanked on the bars that protected the glass windows. "Oh, honey, I wish it was that simple," She glanced at the befuddled woman. "You really should wait in the car, you know, if you want to survive." Dean grunted, and pushed the door open. She released her grasp on the bars and scurried to the doorway, pushing past Sarah.

"The hell I will, Evelyn's a friend." 

Odessa closed the door behind her, shouting Evelyn's name as she hesitantly trudged into the living room. She peered around the room, searching for the horrid painting. When her eyes came across the father's features, her theory was proven. He was facing a different direction. "Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake. Are you all right?" She reached to gently placed her hand on Evelyn's shoulder, and Sam shouted his protests, to which she ignored.

Evelyn's head tilted back, exposing her ghastly pale skin and the large laceration on her throat. Sarah screeched, backing away until Sam's arms embraced her, tugging her away from Evelyn's lifeless body. 

<<>>

Odessa came to the conclusion that if she directed her attention elsewhere, such as defining the edge of her winged eyeliner, she could finish this case with ease. Sam was pacing back and forth in the middle of the room, Dean was scrolling through websites and newspaper articles reticently. His deep concentration resulted with scrunched brows and arousing lip biting. She was struggling to remain her attention on applying scarce layers of mascara. 

Light knocking piqued her attention, and she froze, lowering her mascara wand from her eyes. Sam nearly sprinted to the door, unlocking the doorknob and was pushed aside from an eager brunette named Sarah. "Hey, you alright?" Sam questioned, closing the door. He hadn't seemed to mind her rude behavior. 

Sarah seemed to disregard Odessa and Dean's presence as she retaliated with sharp movements and a heated tone. "No, actually. I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's alone and found her like that." Odessa rolled her eyes, closing the compact mirror and ruffled her hair. 

Sam pursed his lips, shoving his hands into his front pockets. "Thank you." 

Sarah shook her head, "Don't thank me. I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell is going on. Who's killing these people?" She demanded. 

Sam peered over his shoulder, wordlessly asking for approval. Dean shrugged, glimpsing towards the one who held the competence between the trio. Odessa narrowed her eyes, then she rolled them again. "It's 'what', not who," Sarah appeared more agitated. "Sweetheart, you saw that painting move. You're an intelligent woman, I'm assuming you can put the pieces together."

Sarah chuckled humorlessly, glancing down at her shoes. "No," She said, "No, I was seeing things. It's impossible." 

"Yeah, well, welcome to our world." 

"Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted." 

Pricking a ball of lint from her shirt, Odessa mumbled to herself. "More like know that painting is haunted." 

"You're joking," She said, waiting for them to announce their pranks or whatnot. "You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with." 

Odessa chuckled, "Can't argue with you on that." She muttered, ignoring the questioning glance from Sam, he, however, didn't seem to mind Sarah's comment.

Stepping forward, he continued to attempt to persuade her. "Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas—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." 

Sarah sighed heavily, "Well, then, I guess you better show me. I'm coming with you." Odessa cocked her head, quirking an eyebrow at the brunette's sudden facade she'd performed. She was evidently impressed with her lack of discouragement, especially in a situation such as this. 

Sam stiffened, "What? No. Sarah, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous, and I don't want you to get hurt." Odessa's features softened, aware of how strenuous that must've been for him. He wasn't necessarily prepared to speak about Jessica's death, and Odessa didn't want to bring it up, but she didn't need to have a conversation with him to know her death affected him inexplicably.

Spreading her arms wide, Sarah spoke reassuringly. "Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this, when me and my dad sold that painting, we might've got these people killed. I'm not saying I'm not scared, 'cause I am scared as hell, but I'm not gonna run and hide either," She bolted to the door, opening it. "So, are we going or what?" Odessa chuckled at her courage, standing on her feet and patted down any wrinkles on leather pants. 

Readjusting her the zipper on her jacket, she grinned enthusiastically at the floppy-haired Winchester. "Well, she's got my vote," She declared, ambling to the opened doorway. "Come on, we don't have all day." 

<<>>

Sarah shivered as she gripped the flashlight firmly, seeming to ignore Odessa's slurping as she drank from her coffee cup she'd ordered when Dean was searching for Isaiah's grave. The blue-eyed brunette seemed to be slightly disturbed with the normality grave-digging had been for the trio. She glanced at Odessa, "So, this is, like, normal for you?" Sarah asked, eyes flickering from her to the brothers who continued to throw patches of dirt away. Odessa nodded softly, sipping her coffee once more. 

"Well, actually, normally I'd be holding the flashlight," She corrected thoughtfully. "Providing moral support while making hilarious puns." She joked, attempting to ease the tension in the air. Dean uttered reticently, something about her jokes not being even remotely comical. Sam grunted as he pushed himself out of the grave, standing beside Sarah.

"You guys are uncomfortably comfortable with this." 

Sam glanced from Dean to the side of her face. "Well, this isn't exactly the first grave we dug," He said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Still think I'm a catch?" Sarah chuckled, not bothering to cast him a look. Dean brought his shovel down, an echoing thud filling the serene air. 

"Think I got something." Dean collided the end of the shovel with the wooden grave, again and again. Odessa hastily tossed him the rock salt, and Sam began pouring the gasoline. "You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah. Good riddance." Dean then tossed the lit matches into the grave, warmth greeting Odessa with open arms.

<<>>

Much to Odessa's dismay, Dean suggested she sit in the front, allowing Sarah and Sam to have some alone time in the backseat. To which she declined and informed that there was no alone time when you are traveling with three other people; nevertheless, when she staggered to enter the backseat, both Sam and Sarah were already buckled in. She had successfully overlooked her newfound feelings, she could do it for another hour. "Dean, keep the motor running." Sam demanded, opening the Impala's door. 

Sarah furrowed her eyebrows, "I thought the painting was harmless now."

Sam turned his back to face her. "Better safe than sorry. We're gonna bury the sucker."

"I want to come with you." Sarah said, scooting out of the backseat. She nearly sprinted to the porch, and Sam stood, ready to close the door.

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean whispered, "We'll stay here. You go make your move," Sam sent him a blank expression, scoffing as he did so. 

"Yeah, what do you know about making moves, huh?" Dean grimaced, appearing offended.

"Dick move," He replied, "But S-S-Sam, I'm serious." He closed the door with a bang, the hinges squeaking vehemently. As Sarah and Sam stood side-by-side, shoulders brushing against each other, Dean clicked the radio on. Odessa pinched the bridge of her nose as mid-tempo music rang through the air. Sam froze, pivoting to face him. Dean shrugged, and Sam motioned for him to stop. Sighing heavily, he reluctantly clicked the station off.

Odessa refrained from grimacing as Dean settled his arm behind her back. The warmth of his hand radiated through her leather jacket, and erupted pleasurable shivers down her spine. She could feel his green eyes burning into her side. The whole situation was probably nothing, the lingering gazes, the yearning touches, an emotional tether, but to her, it meant everything. She averted her attention to the moon, admiring the luminescence as it seeped through the branches and each crevice. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" She questioned, a ghostly smile rising on her crimson-red lips. 

Dean didn't remove his gaze from her. "Yeah, it is." Odessa averted her fixed stare from the moonlight to the dashboard upon realizing Dean wasn't even aware of what she was referring to. She glimpsed at him through her lashes, and she opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her attention was piqued elsewhere when Evelyn's front door shut by itself. Dean and Odessa dashed out the car, banging against the wooden door. Nothing seemed to be working, and she even attempted to pick the lock. Sam dialed her number, and she instantly answered the phone. 

She had trouble hearing him over the shouting, banging, and undecipherable sounds on the other line. However, she did manage to listen Sam incoherent rambling when he shouted the doll they'd seen at the mausoleum. Upon disclosing the information to Dean, he didn't waste a fraction of a second when yanking her to the Impala. The abruptly ended, and she groaned as the flashing screen reminded her of the endless possibilities that could've happened to Sarah and Sam.

Looking up from her phone, Odessa's eyes widened as they were growing increasingly closer to the gate. "Dean, what the hell—" She braced herself for impact, and closed her eyes they were inches from the colliding. Metal crashing against metal filled her ears, the chain keeping the gate's from opening snapped. She opened one eye at a time, nearly launching and slamming her head against the dashboard when she suddenly stopped the engine. She didn't have enough time to register what the hell was going on when Dean flung the door closed and was outside the mausoleum, yanking the chains off. 

She hastily dashed to the entrance, watching as he repeatedly punched the glass case that safely preserved the glass doll. He tugged his gun from his waistband and began banging the grip against the glass. She narrowed her eyes, disbelief taking over her features as she watched the scene unfold. "Come on, Dean." She shouted, jerking the gun from his hand, aiming the muzzle, not hesitating to press the trigger. Without thinking, she shoved her hand in the shattered glass, grabbing the doll from its seated position. She tossed the doll to Dean, who had pulled his lighter from his pocket, and he had began mumbling to himself as the lighter wouldn't ignite. 

She groaned, snatching the doll and the lighter, pressing down hard and the flames ignited. She placed the flame under the hair, coughing as puffs of ashen smoke erupted. Her chest was heaving up and down as she glanced up at Dean, clutching her hand, not seeming to mind the several lacerations that were bleeding. 

"Would it be strange if I announced arousal right now?" He asked, gleaming grin forming. She laughed, pondering on how he had remembered that from nearly a year ago when they were searching at Lake Manitoc.

"No, not at all."

This has been the most I've ever written, and I'm done with this episode. I hope you enjoyed it. Have a great day/night!