Scarlett left the front seat to the brothers, while she sprawled out in the back seat to take a much needed nap. That lasted for about an hour after Sam joined them.

A tired Dean blasted the radio, jolting Scarlett away. "Fucks sake, Dean," she hissed. "My head was right next to the speaker."

He turned to look over the seat. "Sorry 'bout that," he sighed. "I'm getting pretty tired."

"I can drive," Sam and Scarlett chorused.

Dean looked between the two of them, eyes widened in horror at the mere suggestion. "Not a chance in hell."

As promised, he pulled the Impala off at the next exit, in route of any kind of motel. They pulled into the dirt covered parking lot of a motel with paneling that had a paint job that resembled a nicotine stain. It was no shock to Scarlett that the old man with permanent frown lines had a cigarette positioned between his lips.

His bushy eyebrows raised when he saw the trio walk inside towards him. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and tapped it out on the ashtray that was filled with cigarette butts. "What can I do for you?" His voice was raspy. Likely from the amount of smoke he inhales on a day to day basis.

"Two rooms, please," Scarlett smiled kindly.

"One," Dean objected. "One is safer and smarter."

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. "I've had my own room for years now. I haven't died, yet." She turned back to the man. "Two, please." Her tone was one that left nothing up for discussion.

He grabbed their keys from the hook behind them and they were on their way. Scarlett locked the door behind her, preparing to take a shower and drift off to sleep, however, sleep didn't come as easy in the springy motel bed, as it had before. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured the limitless possibilities of what her dad could have meant in his letter. What was coming for them? Where were they, that they were unable to answer their calls? Were they even alive? 

After forcing her brain to settle down, Scarlett managed a good three hours of sleep. She woke up, just before day break. The cheap bed was both frustrating and all too familiar to Scarlett. The way the springs knotted up her back reminded her of the reason she started running everyday, in the first place. She threw her legs out of bed and changed into a pair of leggings, a sports bra, and a pair of tennis shoes.

There wasn't much traffic down on the dirt road that they had taken shelter on for the night, but it didn't make it any less creepy. Scarlett kept high alert, though. Much like any run she went on, she was always anticipating any possible attack. Hunter or not, she was prepared.

The sun had risen to a reasonable height, by the time Scarlett made it back to the motel. From the parking lot, she could see the door to her room was open, despite the do not disturb sign hanging on her door. Not seeing a cart, she ruled out housekeeping. She pulled the knife she had stored in a case in her sock out, raising it in front of her. Her heart was thudding in her eyes, as adrenaline coursed through her veins.

However, when she walked through the threshold, she noticed it was only Dean and Sam, sifting around. Dean frowned deeply when he saw her, only to be slightly amused by her wielding a knife. He knew he'd been underestimating her, but he'd never admit it. "Where the hell were you?" His tone was more harsh than he'd originally intended. He was fighting his inner desire to look at her attire.

"Running?" She could tell Dean was struggling to stay serious, but she had to give him credit for not staring at her chest. Meanwhile, Sam was looking everywhere around the room, but at her. "Why are you going through my stuff?"

Sam cleared his throat, looking up at the ceiling. "We thought that something may have...happened," he said. "You didn't take your phone."

"You could've left a note, or something," Dean added.

Instead of being annoyed, Scarlett found it almost endearing that they were worried about her. "How sweet," her tone was monotonously teasing. "The Winchester brothers care." She pulled her hair out of the ponytail. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready." She looked around at the state of her belongings. "Maybe more, if you don't clean up the mess you made." She pointed her finger down at the clothes that covered the bed. She pulled a white t-shirt out of the pile and a pair of light washed jeans that she'd tuck into her boots and she went to shower off.

When she got out, her things were decently folded and put back into her bag. Dean impatiently perched himself against the wall, flicking his pocket knife around.

Scarlett opened the back door, but Sam stopped her. "You want the front? I slept pretty bad last night," he told her. "I could use another hour or two."

"Sure," she nodded, moving around him to get into the driver's seat. Sure enough, as soon as Sam tucked his bag under his head, he was asleep.

"So...you run, now?" Dean offered a doorway to conversation.

Her green eyes twinkled with amusement. "Yeah," she nodded. "I have to stay in shape, somehow."

He nodded. "Do you run with your boyfriend?"

Scarlett gaped, unable to help the laugh that fell from her lips. "Are you asking me if I'm single, Dean Winchester?"

"In a much more subtle manner, y-yeah," he laughed.

"I think you should learn what subtlety is," she teased. "I don't have a boyfriend, anymore." The humor fell from her tone, and her words out dry and foreign.

Dean's eyebrows bunched together at the sudden shift in her mood. "Anymore?" His mind first went to cheating, but the idea that anyone would cheat on Scarlett seemed much more farfetched than anything else.

"I don't really like to talk about it," she sat up a little straighter. "W-what about you?" She changed the subject. "Life on the road doesn't allow for much intimacy."

"You know me," he said, scanning her face. "No time for that part of life."

Her lips pursed into a straight line, as she nodded. "Same old Dean," she thought aloud, looking out of the window beside her.

Dean threw his head back slightly, shaking his head at the ceiling and mentally facepalming. "I've got to get gas," he changed the subject. They were about half an hour outside of Jericho, when Dean stopped in the gas station.

Scarlett didn't speak, as she left the car and walked inside to the bathroom. Dean watched after her, mouth running dry. He didn't think of himself as the smartest person, but he sure felt like a dumbass in that moment.

While paying for gas, Dean grabbed a few snacks he'd call 'breakfast' for the day. "Want some breakfast?" He offered Sam, who was pumping the gas. He held up a candy bar and a Dr. Pepper.

Sam scrunched his face up at his brother's choice of food. "I'm good," he chuckled lowly. "How'd you pay for that stuff? You and dad still running credit card scams?"

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career."

Still quiet, Scarlett got into the backseat. Sam looked down at the door, raising an eyebrow. "I guess she's sitting in the back." He eyed Dean, who was sporting a shameful walk over to the driver's seat. "What ever happened with you two?" He asked quietly, before Dean opened the door.

"None of your business," he snapped back, ducking into the driver's seat.

It was shaping up to be a wonderful day.

Sam grabbed the box with tapes for the radio, shaking his head. "Dude, you've got to update your cassette collection," he told his brother. "For one, they're cassette tapes. And two," he grabbed a tape. "Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."

Dean snatched the Metallica tape out of his brother's hand. "House rules, Sammy." He looked up at him. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

"Sammy is a chubby twelve year old," he objected. "It's Sam."

"Sorry, I cant hear you. Musics too loud." He yelled over the song blaring through the radio.

"There's no one matching either of our dads at the hospital, or the morgue," Scarlett spoke for the first time, from the backseat. "So that's a plus."

"Check it out," Sam pointed ahead at the cop cars on the bridge.

Scarlett immediately started sifting through her bag, looking for her fake US marshal badge. It was bound to come to that.

Sam's eyes widened at the sight of Dean's ID stash, which made Dean laugh in turn. "Let's go," he told the two.

"No sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints, nothing," one of the officers spoke. "It's almost too clean."

Dean cleared his throat, making their presence known. "You fellas had another one like this about a month ago, didn't you?"

The sheriff turned on his heels, eyeing the group. "And who are you?"

Dean and Scarlett both flipped open their badges. "Federal Marshals," he responded.

His eyes scanned over the three of them, unsure. "You three are a little young for Marshals, aren't you?"

"You sure, do know how to make a girl blush, Sheriff," she grinned slyly, brushing her hair over her shoulder. His face instantly softened.

"You did have another one just like this one, correct?" Dean continued, walking over to the car that a new victim disappeared from.

The sheriff tore his eyes from Scarlett, looking back at Dean. "Yeah, that's right, about a mile up the road. There have been others before that."

"So this victim. You knew him?" Sam spoke up.

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

"Any connection between the victim? Aside from them all being male." Scarlett peered into the car, looking for anything that any untrained eye might have missed.

"Not so far as we can tell." He admitted. "We have no idea what we're dealing with. Serial murderer, kidnapping ring."

Dean shook his head. "That is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you," he retorted. Sam slammed his foot down onto Dean's, telling him to take it down a notch.

"Thank you for your time," Scarlett smiled, tearing her attention from the brothers. She could feel his eyes still burning into the back of their head for an extra moment after they left. She checked over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't still looking, just before elbowing Dean in his side. "Why do you have to talk to police like that?"

He turned to look at her with knitted brows. "Come on, they have no idea what's really going on," he objected. "We're all alone on this. If we're going to find our dads, we've got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves."

Sam cleared his throat, looking just past Dean. "Can I help you three?" Two men wearing FBI jackets and another police officer were standing behind them.

Dean shook his head. "No sir, we were just leaving." He dipped his head to the men in the jackets. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully." The three of them walked past the officer and back towards the Impala.

Scarlett had heard one of the other officers on the scene talk about the victim being his daughter's boyfriend and how she was putting up 'Missing' posters downtown. "I bet that's her," she murmured, nodding her head in the direction of a girl about her height, stapling posters to the walls. Her face held a familiarly solemn gaze. "You must be Amy." She didn't look their way, only giving the assumption a silent nod. "Troy told us all about you. We're his cousins—Scarlett, Sam and Dean."

"He never told me about you." She raised a curious eyebrow as she resumed hanging missing posters.

"He doesn't really talk to our dad, that's probably why," Dean said with ease. "Age-old feud in the family."

"We're looking for him, too," Sam added. "And we're kind of asking around."

Another girl approached the group, targeting in on Amy. "Hey, are you okay?" She eyed the three strangers.

"Yeah," Amy assured her.

Scarlett cleared her throat. "Do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions? We won't keep you long."

Amy agreed, but her assumed friend insisted on joining them in the small coffee shop. "What can you tell us about the last time you spoke to Troy," Dean initiated the conversation.

"I was on the phone with him," she started, frowning deeply. Her eyes looked hallow, and the skin around them was swollen, likely from crying. "He was driving home. He said he would call me right back and he never did."

"He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?" Sam inquired next. His big blue eyes led him to be more trusting, it was a quality that Scarlett both loved and hated—mostly hated, because they made her feel vulnerable.

"No, nothing that I can remember," Amy shook her head.

Dean cleared his throat, and Scarlett knew he was about to be ever so blunt. "Here's the deal, Ladies, the way that Troy disappeared ain't right," he looked between the two across the table. "So if you've heard anything..." he trailed off, noticing the pair exchange a cautious glance. There was something they weren't sharing. "What is it?"

Amy's friend shrugged, as she rested her arm against the window. "It's just...with all these guys going missing, people talk."

"About?" Scarlett urged, gripping her coffee mug a little tighter.

She hesitated, looking down at her hands before she continued. "It's kind of this local legend." Scarlett figured the girls thought it was silly to even consider, but to the hunters it meant an actual lead. "This one girl, she got murdered out on centennial, like, decades ago." As soon as she said that, the three exchanged knowing glances. They'd heard all they needed to, but they listened for anything else helpful. "Supposedly, she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up...well, they disappear forever."

Scarlett cleared her throat and looked at them both with a warm smile. "Thank you both, so much, for you time. If you hear anything else, don't hesitate to call." She scribbled down her second phone's number on a napkin and slid to towards Amy."

The brunette pulled her jacket on and led the Winchester brothers out of the cafe. "I think we just got our first lead, boys."