chapter two.
phea is pronounced as fee-uh.
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1.1 || what do they talk about?
Alternatively known as: Pilot.

⛤

❛ The way Troy disappeared. . .something's not right. ❜
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BACK IN BLACK BLASTED THROUGH THE SPEAKERS. 

As much as Ophelia had let AC/DC grow on her, she couldn't exactly bear listening to the same song seven times in a row. A loud and prominent sigh passed her lips when she saw that they'd passed a signboard saying 'Jericho'. 

Sam was talking on his cell, pretending to be a Fed, Dean was doing what he loves to do— driving. Ophelia was. . . well she procrastinated in completing the math problems Sam forced her to do. The problems that were too easy for her were driving her crazy. 

A small— very small — part of Ophelia missed it when it was just Dean and her. Solely because he never made her do math problems. 

But he also made her keep a silver blade with her. 

"Alright, thanks." Sam nodded, flipping the screen of his phone down. "So, no one matches Dad's description at the hospital or morgue. That's something. . . I guess." 

Dean didn't reply. However, as the car revved over the tar of the road, the turn leading onto a bridge caught his eye, "Check it out." 

Both the younger siblings leaned forward in their seats — Sam just slightly, Ophelia leaning her forearms against the backrest of the front seat. 

Policemen and Feds littered the scene. Cars were parked carelessly. Shouts traveled through the air, and men in wetsuits ran around. 

As chaos ensued on the road in front of them, Dean pulled out a box from the glove compartment. He grinned as he revealed the components of the tin box — fake IDs of every agency with federal jurisdiction in the country: FBI, Centre of Disease Control, US Marshals — anything and everything they could name. 

Two IDs were picked out and soon the brothers were turning in their seats to give their sister a firm look — she was already looking at them with big eyes and a pout. 

"You are going to stay in the car." Dean enunciated every word as if she was a 2-year-old who hadn't heard the sentence a million times already. 

"B-But . . . I'm not a dog!"

"We know you're not," Sam sighed. "We just find it difficult to explain a ten-year-old tagging in on Fed cases." 

"Bring your kid to work day?" she suggested with a bright smile. 

"No!" the spoke in tandem, before the older one pinched the bridge of his nose, "Please, just stay in the car. We'll be back before you know it." 

She didn't get a chance to reply since they hurried outta the car and locked its doors. 

"Stay."

The pout made its comeback. She frowned and leaned her back against the door, her knees pulled in so that she could pull out her little sketchbook and place it on her thighs. 

Ophelia wasn't an artist who could whip up the perfect resemblance of what she thought she wanted to draw. Hell, she could barely draw a family picture with three kids without making it look like a family of dead cats. 

Scribbling images of the creatures she saw made her feel better, in a sense of speaking. She didn't know why, or how, but it made her feel like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. 

As bad as John was at being a parent, he'd never let Ophelia tag along on a hunt. After Sam left, all she would do was research, the way he would do. 

The one time Ophelia was allowed to tag on a hunt was the one just before John disappeared. It was a simple salt and burn, and Dean was away with another hunter to track down a nest of vampires.

The ghost was a little girl, probably just a little older than Ophelia. That did nothing to calm her nerves about her family's line of business. 

Her father made it clear that the only reason she was there, was to lend him a hand. Otherwise, she'd be at Bobby's or the Harvelle's, or Pastor Jim's. 

She wouldn't have minded. She liked Bobby and Ellen and Jo and Pastor Jim. Even Ash. He was probably her favorite. 

After Bobby, of course. 

John had made her tag with him to the cemetery, claiming that he was gonna drive back to Maine, where Dean was, as soon as the hunt was over. 

The ghost had managed to throw Ophelia against a tree, effectively traumatizing her and spraining her wrist at the same time considering she fell on her right arm. 

Her headphones plugged into her Walkman and Billy Joel blasting in her ears, she decided to just scribble the ghost who'd sprained her wrist.

Meanwhile, Dean and Sam flashed their fake badges to the policeman who was talking to another policeman about how Troy, the victim, was dating his daughter, they expected the officer to, at the most, comment about their age. 

But he just looked suspicious, "Weren't there two of your guys here already?"

"There were?" Sam's eyebrows shot up, wondering if this was just another pair of hunters investigating their case, or if the actual Feds were interested in it. 

"Yeah, two girls, about your age, left half an hour ago. The Marshals are hiring people a little too young, in my opinion." 

"Right," Dean nodded. "We're just here to follow up on some questions." 

"Did you know the victim?" Sam questioned to take the attention off of Dean, who was on the receiving end of skeptical looks from three officers. 

"Town like this," the officer whom they'd initially approached sighed, "Everybody knows everybody."

"But you did have another one just like this, correct?" Dean decided to circle the victim's car, then look at the officer whose daughter was dating Troy. 

"Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road." the officer Dean was looking at, nodded. "There've been others before that." 

"Any connection between the victims, except that they're all men?" Dean continued looking around. 

"No, not as far as we could tell." the dark-skinned officer continued as Sam walked over to his brother. 

"So, what's the theory?" the taller boy asked. 

"Honestly, we don't know." the officer shook his head. He seemed to be the senior-most out of the others, considering he was the one giving the orders and asking and replying to questions. "Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?"

"Well, that's exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect outta you guys," Dean smirked to himself, which quickly vanished when Sam stomped on his foot. 

"Well, thank you for your time," Sam gave them a short, fake smile and practically dragged his brother away from the scene. 

Once they were away from the scene, Dean slapped the back of Sam's head, hard. So hard that his precious locks flew a bit.

"Ow! What was that for?" Sam exclaimed, rubbing the spot where his brother had just hit him. 

"Why you gotta step on my foot?"

"Why d'you have talk to the police like that?"

Dean groaned and turned around, stopping his brother from walking further, "Come on! They don't really know what's going on."

Sam shook his head, then noticed some actual FBI agents approaching the scene. Dean continued, "We're all alone on this. I mean. . .if we gotta find dad, we have to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves."

When the FBI agents were close enough, the taller boy cleared his throat and nodded towards the men behind Dean. The older boy sighed and rolled his eyes, turning around, which lead to him changing his attitude to a chiller, yet serious one. 

"Can I help you boys?" an older man, clearly the Sherriff because of his badge, questioned the brothers. 

"No sir, we were just leaving." Dean nodded, taking a quick glance at the FBI agents' badges. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully." 

Boy, they were going to get in trouble. 

"HE SAID THERE WERE TWO OTHER AGENTS. GIRLS." Sam noted once they were in the car. "WHAT IF THEY WERE ANNIE AND NAYA?"

"Annie and Naya are not the only hunters who are our age." Dean barely glanced at his brother. 

Sam frowned. They were friends, as far as he could remember. 

"But what if it is?" Ophelia leaned forward onto the backrest of the front seat like she loved to do. She loved Annie and Naya. 

"It's not them, Phea," the oldest boy sighed, glancing at his sister through the rearview mirror. "'Sides, heard the officers talking about the chick Amy putting up posters downtown. Maybe she knows something." 

"I don't get why you call girls chicks." the girl leaned back in her seat, shoving her drawing book back in her Winnie the Pooh! backpack. 

"No one does." Sam shrugged. 

"I don't like it." Ophelia shook her head. 

"Well, I'll stop if it bothers you." Dean pulled up in front of a street filled to the brim with restaurants and shops. "Right now, I'll bet 20 bucks that that's Amy." 

He pointed towards a girl with her hair tied up hanging up posters in outside shops and on walls. A light brown jacket covered her frame. 

Ophelia liked the jacket. But she also pitied the girl. 

Poor thing. She has no idea what's going on with her boyfriend.

"C'mon, kiddos." Dean got out of the car, opening the back door for Ophelia, who stepped out, now changed in a pair jeans and a pink t-shirt that was two sizes too big for her. 

She'd managed to squeeze in time to change in the washroom while Dean bought junk at the petrol station. 

"You must be Amy." Dean approached the said girl. "I'm Dean, this is Sam, we're Troy's uncles. That's Ophelia, his little cousin." 

When she was mentioned, she gave the older woman a bright smile and a wave. Amy gave a small smile and a nod in return. 

"Troy never mentioned you to me." she turned around without as much as a glance at the brothers. As she leafed through more pamphlets to put up, Dean continued, "That's Troy, I guess. We're not around much, — we're up in Modesto."

"So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking around." Sam stepped in front of the woman to stop her from walking, but not completely blocking her way so she could leave if she got uncomfortable. 

Another girl approached Amy and put a gentle hand on her arm. Dean and Ophelia now accompanied Sam. 

"Are you ok?" the girl asked, to which Amy gave another one of her small nods and a 'yeah'. 

"You mind if we ask you a couple questions?" Sam asked. 

"Actually, there's another woman, — a friend of Troy's sister, — she's here too." Amy's friend nodded towards the restaurant, which was where Ophelia assumed Amy was heading before his Sasquatch of a brother stopped her. "She's asking around too, you can join her. You probably know her." 

Dean held his breath as he spotted the table where the woman, — supposedly a friend of Troy's sister, — sat all the way inside, leaning against the window, her head low and a phone to her ear. Her body was facing the door. 

She hung up on the phone as soon as she saw the boys and Ophelia, her demeanor shifting slightly before she noticed Amy coming up beside her. 

"Hey, Sam, Phea." the lady gave the said Winchesters a warm grin, one that could melt the ice off of the toughest person in the world. "I haven't seen you around in a while." 

Sam gave her a smile back, followed by a "How've you been, Annie?" to which she replied that she was fine. Then, she gave a high five to his sister a high-five and said that the little girl had grown a lot since the last time they'd met.

Then she turned to Dean, "I don't believe we've met. I'm Anisha."

. . . 

Sam was confused. 

All his life, he'd known Annie, — or as she made it clear for his brother, Anisha, — and Dean had been attached at the hip. They were the best of friends, even better of a couple as he'd heard Annie's mother and sister joke around sometimes. They could never go a couple days without calling each other to check up whether the other person was still alive. 

Yes, they were hunters, and yes, they were aware that they might lose people as quickly as a dandelion loses its seeds in wind. But the fear of losing one another lingered over them like a shadow in the dark. 

So what happened now? Annie was acting as if Dean was a stranger. And Dean, well. . . 

As soon as he saw her, a look passed over his face. He couldn't say that it was as if he'd seen a ghost, — hunting ghosts down was his job. It was as if he'd seen a dead person come alive again. But then he looked scared. Not the 'soil-your-pants' kinda scared but the 'oh-no-I-made-a-mistake' kinda scared. 

Sam knew Ophelia might have an idea of what went down between the two kids. And as she was squished between him and his brother, it was all he could do to not ask her about everything. 

Out of concern for them, of course. And maybe a little bit of nosiness.

. . .

Dean hadn't looked at Annie ever since he sat down.

Ophelia knew why. She'd been there when Dean made the highly arguable decision. She also knew that Sammy was just itching to pull her outta the booth and interrogate her as if she were a war criminal. But she also knew that finding John was of just as much, if not of more, importance to the taller boy. 

Annie — who was now sitting against the window, opposing Sam — ordered two coffees for the boys, who looked like better than she expected considering they probably drove all night. Two cokes for the ladies, one banana milkshake for the little girl. 

That brought a smile to Ophelia's face. Banana milkshake is the best. 

"I was on the phone with Troy," Amy explained her situation. She'd barely touched her drink, still wary of the strangers, which was understandable. Her boyfriend had disappeared and suddenly all his family members who were supposedly not very active with his life are showing up out of the blue. "He was driving home. He said he would call me right back. . . and, uh. . .he never did." 

"He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?" asked Annie, speaking for the first time ever since ordering the drinks. 

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

Dean sighed and folded his hands on the table, leaning against the wood covered with a faded brown cloth, "Here's the deal ladies; the way Troy disappeared, something's not right." 

The look the girls shared was suspicious, as if they're hiding something. 

"What is it?" Dean spoke tentatively. 

Amy and her friend sighed, before the latter answered hesitantly: "Well, it's just. . .with all these guys going missing, people talk."

"What do they talk about?" Sam and Dean spoke in tandem, causing Ophelia to lean back in her seat, — well as much as she could, considering she was practically squeezed between her brothers — and sigh.

"This is not creepy at all," she whispered under her breath. 

The friend looked at Annie, who gave a convincing and hard stare back. Another sigh followed, and soon, she was elaborating, "It's kind of this local legend. This one girl, she got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago." 

As the story continued, Dean gave his brother a look. 

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

. . .

"Annie!" Ophelia gave the older girl a hug as soon as they were out of sight of the two women sitting in the restaurant. "I missed you and Naya and Ma so much."

"Missed you too, kid." Annie hugged her back, then followed in suit to hug Sam. 

"We've gotta talk. I thought you were out for good." 

"I am. Just this. . .one last case, I guess." 

Dean was leaning against his car, analyzing his siblings and the girl. She hadn't changed much, she hadn't changed at all, really — the same hard stare, same breathtaking smile, same hazel eyes. And her voice, it was still comforting and intimidating at the same time. The only thing that changed was that she had another scar, this one on her ulna. The one on her eyebrow seemed to be fading away. 

"Dean Winchester." she finally looked at him, and the spark from her face just vanished. She stood in front of him and gave him a hard look, to which he responded with a slightly scared one. 

SLAP! In the blink of an eye, Annie's hand connected with Dean's right jaw, a loud 'slap!' ringing through the noise of the busy street. 

Sam and Ophelia expected Dean to say something. A comeback, anything. 

"You still hit hard." Dean shifted his lower jaw, his tongue poking to inside of his cheek while his hand cradled the reddening skin. 

It was as if he'd expected her to hit him. 

"Still?" Sam's eyebrows reached up once again, his mouth slightly open in — was it satisfaction? or surprise? Maybe it was both. "When was the last time she hit you?"

"Like she said Sammy," Ophelia sighed, a very small grin on her lips. "We've gotta talk."