⌜ chapter eleven ⌟

Dean wakes up in the morning and rolls over, his hand reaching out to look for the woman who slept beside him all night, but he finds that he's laying in bed alone. Lifting his head, he looks around the room with only one eye open, and he sees that the bathroom door's closed. Not thinking anything of it, he turns to lay on his back and waits for Isla to come out.

But that's when he hears something strange coming from the bathroom. He then gets up to find his boxers before walking over to the door, and he hears Isla crying. Dean reaches his fist up to knock, but before his hand can make contact with the door, a thought pops into his head that makes him stop cold.

"Think we'll regret any of this in the morning?"

Unable to shake the feeling that this is what's wrong, Dean goes to find the rest of his clothes so that he can quickly get dressed. Once in his jeans and t-shirt, he picks up his shoes from the floor and starts for the front door. He hesitates for a moment, looking back toward the bathroom.

He couldn't find his flannel, which makes him think that Isla's wearing it. Surely she wouldn't pick up his clothes to wear if she regretted what happened between them last night, right? He shakes his head, figuring that she must've just grabbed the first thing she saw before making her break for the bathroom to get away from him.

The bathroom door opens just as the front door shuts, and Isla's eyes move from the empty bed to the door that she just heard latch. Her heart sinks into her stomach as she stares at the door across the room, and tears well up in her hazel eyes as she puts her hand over mouth.

"Look, I mean— You're nice and all, you're just— You're not my type."

Convinced he must regret everything that happened between them yesterday — adding insult to injury — another sob escapes her lips as her fingers curl around the sleeve of the gray flannel that she's wearing. She presses her fist hard against her mouth, trying to contain her tears as she then makes her way over to the duffle bag that's sitting on the floor by the foot of her bed.

An hour later, Isla's phone starts ringing, and she walks over to where she left it on the nightstand when she woke up. She sees that it's Sam calling, so she answers. "I need you." The younger boy immediately says, and her eyebrows furrow.

"What?"

"I had Minx, and then I went to make her bottle. I turned, and she's just gone." He tells her.

"Have you checked Dean's stuff?" She asks him. "She likes crawling into his duffle bag."

"Yes."

"Alright, uh... I just got out of the shower. Let me get dressed, and then I'll be right over." The blonde says, and he agrees before hanging up.

Not five minutes later, Isla's in the boys' room trying to help Sam find the little, black kitten that he's supposed to be babysitting. Dean's in the shower, so he can't help, which is unfortunate because he's usually the one to find her when this happens. Well, he usually knows exactly where she is, and finds some kind of twisted pleasure — in Isla's words — in watching them look for her.

Isla carefully rifles through Dean's duffle bag while Sam checks his own just to be sure, then she checks under both beds. Dean's jacket's laying on the couch on the other side of the room, so she checks there — nothing. Isla tries calling her name, though the kitten's never come to that before; she's getting desperate...and irritated.

Dean opens the bathroom door, and then they hear a tiny meow a few seconds after that. Sam and Isla both look over at the older boy, and his green eyes land on the blonde before he quickly looks away from her. Her gaze drops as her eyebrows furrow, but her attention's pulled elsewhere when they hear another meow. They finally see the kitten stretching as she pulls herself out from under Dean's pillow on the bed closest to the door.

"Why didn't we check his bed?" Sam questions.

"Why didn't you? I just got here." Isla mutters as she walks over to where he left the kitten's bottle on the counter.

The younger boy walks over then and picks up the tiny cat. "So, what? You knew where he was, and had to come out when he opened the door? Or did you smell his shampoo or something?"

"She's just reminding us why I named her Minx."

"Are you okay?" He asks as she looks over at the blonde. "You seem—"

"Watch it, Sasquatch." She turns to lean against the counter as she shakes up the formula mixed with the wet cat food.

"Cranky."

"Yeah, well, you're a regular ray of sunshine." She clears her throat as she looks down. "I'm fine, I think I'm just a little hungover. What are we doing for food?"

"Actually, I think I found us a case while you guys were out last night." Sam tells her. "Why don't you pack up your stuff while I feed Minx, and we'll head out. We'll stop somewhere for breakfast on our way to Minnesota."

"Yeah, alright." Isla hands the bottle over to him before starting for the door. Dean's standing with his duffle at the foot of his bed, and he looks over at her as she leaves their room. The door shuts, and he sighs as he looks back at his clothes.

After arguing that she can't leave Minx in the truck while they have breakfast, they decided to eat before heading to Minnesota. So, the three of them are now sitting in a diner, and Isla's beside the youngest in the booth on their side of the table. The blonde has her head down, her forehead resting on her arms with her eyes closed. Sam looks down at her, but he can't see any of her face because the hood of her gray sweater is up.

"Are you sure you're alright?" The younger boy asks, and she turns her head to look at him, but doesn't sit up. "You've seemed kinda off all morning."

"How many people do you know that act happy or chipper when they're hungover?" She asks, quirking an eyebrow. "You do know what a hangover feels like, right? Or did you never leave the library while you were off at Stanford?"

He fake laughs. "You're hilarious."

"I have a migraine, Samsquatch. The light hurts my eyes." She tells him, and he nods.

"You want me to drive the truck for you when we leave?" He asks.

"I took something before I came inside. I should be fine after I eat." Isla says as she sits up and sinks down into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "Besides, there's no room for me, you, and Minx's crate."

"I figured you'd ride in the Impala. You could sleep in the backseat." Sam says, and she narrows her eyes as she looks up at him.

"Trying to kick me out of my car?" She muses. "Didn't you get enough alone time last night?"

He chuckles as he shakes his head at her. "I was just trying to help. If you don't want it, that's all you."

"I'm no stranger to headaches." The blonde says as she lowers her hood. "And naps don't usually help me. Actually, they make it worse. I take a nap, and wake up later feeling like death. I appreciate the offer though."

"It's too bad. I was hoping for your more diverse CD collection." He says, and she chuckles.

"Oh, so the offer was purely selfish?"

"Purely." He nods, and she shakes her head. "I was surprised by the Spanish music."

"'Cause I'm so pale?" She looks up at him. "You think I'm a white girl through and through?"

"Well, with a name like Katz..." He shrugs, and she chuckles.

"Katz is my mother's maiden name. I was born before my parents got married, so she gave me her name." The blonde explains.

"They didn't have it changed when they did get married?" He asks, and she shrugs as she looks down at her hands in her lap.

"I was five, in school... Guess they thought it'd be confusing."

"You never talk about your family."

Isla takes a deep breath, refusing to look up because she can feel Dean's eyes on her. She assumes he's thinking about the time that he mentioned her parents when they were on their way to St. Louis, and she completely shut down.

"There's not much to say." Her eyebrows furrow. "They were around, now they're not. Simple as that."

"But they're your family." Sam says, and she scoffs.

"That from the guy who left his family and didn't look back until his brother begged for his help to find a man who doesn't want to be found. Yeah, family's real important, ain't it?" She gets up from her seat and walks away from the table, heading for the bathroom.

Their food's already on the table by the time Isla makes her way back, and she wipes her sleeved hand across her cheek as she takes her place beside Sam again. The younger boy looks at the upset blonde, while his brother tries his best not to; she's staring at the omelet in front of her as she grinds her teeth.

"Sorry." Isla finally manages, her gaze shifting toward Sam without actually finding him. "I'm not exactly having the best day so far."

"Isla, what's going on?" The younger boy asks, and she shakes her head.

"Nothing." She clears her throat. "I'm just gonna get Minx from the motel and then get a head start on the drive to Minnesota."

"You haven't eaten anything." He argues as she starts to get up.

"Yeah, uh... I'm really not hungry anymore." She says as she tugs uncomfortably at the sleeves of her hoodie. "I'll see you guys later."

"Wha— Isla!" He calls after her, but she just keeps walking.

—

"I wanna—" Isla smacks Sam's hand when he tries to take the research from in front of her. "I wanna look at it."

"Why are you so bossy?" He mutters as she narrows her hazel eyes at him. "So, the local police have now ruled out foul play. Apparently there were signs of a struggle."

"Wouldn't that mean that there was foul play?" The blonde asks as she goes through what she dug up on phantom attackers.

"It could just be a kidnapping." Dean says from where he's throwing darts a few feet away from the table that they're sitting at. "Maybe this isn't our kind of gig."

"Yeah, maybe not. Except for this. Dad marked the area, Dean." Sam continues, causing his older brother to turn back to them before walking over. Isla untucks her hair from behind her ear as she continues looking over some of the papers, creating a sort of curtain so that she can't see the older boy as he stops beside her. "Possible hunting grounds of a phantom attacker."

"Why would he even do that?" He questions as he picks up his beer to take a swig.

"Well, he found a lot of local folklore about a dark figure that comes out at night, grabs people, then vanishes." He tells him. "He found this too. This county has more missing persons per capita than anywhere else in the state."

"That is weird." Dean agrees before walking away from them again.

"Yeah."

"Don't phantom attackers usually snatch people from their beds?" He questions as he looks back at his brother from where he's been throwing darts. "Jenkins was taken from a parking lot."

"I don't know. Someone's hoarding all the research."

"My research." She glances at him. "That I spent hours looking for while you were playing dress up, and talking to a kid with a monster-movie obsession."

"Will you just tell us what you found?" Sam asks, shaking his head at her.

"There are all kinds of phantom attackers — springheeled jacks, phantom gassers. They'll take people from anywhere at anytime." The blonde says, not looking up from the papers, and he can tell that that's all she has to say at the moment.

"Look, Dean, I don't know if this is our kind of gig either."

"Yeah, you're right. We should ask around more tomorrow." Dean nods as he walks back after pulling his darts out of the board.

"Right." Sam glances at Isla, but she's still sifting through information. "We should head back to the motel."

"Whoa, whoa, easy." He looks back at his brother. "Let's have another round."

"We should get an early start." He shakes his head as he gets to his feet.

"Man, you really know how to have fun, don't you, Grandma?" He's irritated, and his younger brother's clearly amused by this. "Alright. I'll meet you guys outside, I gotta take a leak." He says after throwing his last dart back into the board.

"Okay, seriously." Sam looks at Isla after the oldest is gone. "What the hell is going on with you?"

"Nothing." The blonde says as she collects her research, but he's not convinced.

"No, something is wrong." He argues. "Why won't you talk to either of us?"

"What good would that do?" She questions as she looks up at him.

"You won't be dealing with whatever it is alone."

"Really?" Her eyebrows furrow. "You left once, who's to say you won't do it again?"

"That's not fair." He shakes his head

"Neither is being passed off and abandoned by the one person I actually allowed myself to trust — the person that I would talk to if he bothered to answer the damn phone. But he didn't even care enough to answer when his son was dying." She says, and his expression softens. "I only stuck around this long because I have nothing and no one else in my life. But honestly, I'm starting to think that maybe being alone isn't such a bad thing after all. It's a lot harder to get walked out on when there's no one there to walk away."

"That sounds lonely."

"No." She shakes her head. "It sounds peaceful." She turns around then and walks away from him, leaving the bar that they stopped at for dinner and a beer.

Dean walks out of Kugel Keg's a few minutes later, and he sees an orange tabby licking itself on the trunk of the car that's parked beside the Impala. What's strange though is what he finds on the trunk of his own car — his father's journal along with all of Isla's research that she was going through only minutes ago. Now, she and his brother aren't in or anywhere near the Impala, and he can't find them in the parking lot or back inside the bar.

He asks around to see if anybody's been outside or seen anything weird in the last hour, but nobody was out when Sam and Isla were. He keeps looking, calling their names — part of him knows that he won't get a response, but he has to at least try.

Eventually, he has to accept that he's been left completely alone.