— 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝟐, 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏𝟑 —

TWO WEEKS. That's how long it had been since Milwaukee. That's how long it had been since Dean Winchester had been allowed to step foot in an openly public building. But now that the press had died down, well Sam couldn't keep the stallion locked up in the barn forever.

The glass of the beer bottle was cold against his lips. Lips that had been tugged back into a flirtatious smirk for most of the evening—and in his opinion, for good reason. I mean what was not to smile about when there were so many blondes pressed up against one another in close proximity within the crowded bar. His wandering eye trailed after one of the waitresses who waltzed by, clearly as interested in him as he was her.

Sam snapped his fingers a couple times, breaking his concentration. Dean frowned. "Dude."

"Dude," Sam mocked him sarcastically before holding out their father's journal. "We're on the clock here."

"We're always on the clock, Sammy," Dean retorted, slowly reclining in his chair to maintain his cool, carefree disposition. "You've had your head stuck in the books at the library all day. We tried your method, it's my turn."

Sam scoffed with a quick eye roll. "I have a feeling your method won't provide much useful information."

Dean chuckled under his breath with a quick shake of his head. "My method has plenty of research."

Sam frowned, turning his attention back to the journal. "Gross."

"Lighten up, Sammy." Dean snatched the book and held it out of his little brother's reach. "Surely one of these chicks has caught your eyes."

Sam quickly glanced around the room, maintaining his sour expression. "No. Book. Now."

"I think you've read about enough monsters for tonight." Dean shook his head, slipping the book into the pocket of his jacket. "Go do some other research. Embrace the way of Dean!"

Sam's deadpanned expression held for only another minute before he sighed, shook his head, tried to hide the smile slowly forming on his face, and left their table.

Dean grinned. "Atta boy, Sammy."

He then turned his own attention back to the floor of the bar. He immediately frowned as he watched the waitress he'd implicitly been flirting with earlier walk out the door with another smitten soul instead of his own. However, because his eyes trailed toward the door that's when he noticed her.

A young blonde with short wavy hair that sat just above her shoulders. Even though they were a good fifteen feet apart, her blue eyes shimmered in the dim light. And that's when their eyes connected. He weighed his options, ultimately deciding to take a chance with a look that usually resulted in a warm bed and little sleep. Only after she returned his sultry look did he dare approach. He took one final swig of his bottle, finishing off the last drops of beer before strutting over to the bar-top, sliding into the seat beside her. He opened his mouth, but she held up a finger, simultaneously silencing him.

"Two shots of your strongest," she asked of the bartender before turning to face him. "Please tell me you didn't plan to open with a cheesy line? It would ruin this whole macho image you've got going."

The bartender slid the shots across the table, into the palm of the blonde, who then offered one to Dean. He accepted it with an amused smile as she downed hers in one without so much as flinching. Dean looked down at the glass, shrugged, then tilted his head back as he drank her invitation. The liquid was like fire, but smooth, and as he hadn't quite been expecting such a potent mix following the more mellow, bitter taste of his beer, he almost coughed. Almost. Once certain he was fine, he looked at the glass and whistled.

"Now that's a drink."

"Might I tempt you for another?" she asked with a coy smile.

He chuckled. "You can tempt me all you want, sweetheart."

That amused smile had yet to leave her lips. And even though he acted as if he hadn't seen, he did notice the way her eyes looked him up and down, lingering at times.

"I'm Dean," he introduced himself, "and you are gorgeous."

"I thought we agreed no cheesy lines?" she asked, but the smile remained.

"Yeah, but there wasn't anything in the rulebook about an innocent observation." The next set of shots were slid across the table and gone just as quickly. This time Dean remained unfazed as he was prepared for the potent aftertaste of the liquor. "So are you gonna give me your real name or am I just gonna have to get creative?"

She chuckled under her breath, rolling her eyes, but ultimately gave in. "Charlotte."

"What brings you here tonight, Charlotte?"

She laughed and shook her head. "You're not from around here. Your options are pretty limited: drink or dance. And seeing as I don't have a partner..." The bartender slid over another series of shots, implicitly understanding her request.

The current song over the speakers slowly faded, briefly conjoining with the next one up on the playlist. And that's when Dean knew luck was on his side because the blonde immediately perked up at the tune of Led Zeppelin's "Ramble on".

"I love this song."

"Marry me." The words were entirely a joke, but they were enough to make her laugh—and it was infectious.

"Why don't we start off with a dance?" she asked playfully, standing and extending a hand as if the entire thing had been her idea. "I'd hate to learn you have two left feet at the reception."

Dean grinned, slammed down his third shot, took her hand, then took the lead. The rest of the evening felt like a blur. The girl was right about one thing in Nowhere, Oklahoma: there were only two options so they made the most of them. Consequently, by the time the bar closed, he was intoxicated both by the liquor and her scent.

"Could I tempt you back to my place?" Dean asked, holding the door for her to follow him outside for a breath of fresh air once the barkeep kicked them out, almost as if he feared they'd suck the place dry.

"I hardly know you," her voice slurred a bit as she pressed a finger against his chest. "You could be a serial killer for all I know."

Dean grinned, whipping out his fake badge like a trophy. "Dean Martin. Special agent."

"Impressive."

"You think that's neat, wait 'til you see what I can do with a pair of handcuffs." His brow wagged as if issuing a challenge.

"Then maybe we should head back to mine," she offered, pressing her finger against his chest again. "I've got some toys I think you'd like."

His heart fluttered. He immediately fantasized about what she was inferring before realizing that she was actually waiting on a reply. He quickly nodded his head. "Anybody ever tell you that you've got a way with words?"

She smirked and shook her head. "Strike two."

"I'm almost tempted to learn what happens after strike three," Dean coolly replied, offering his arm as an invitation to lead her to his car.

The smile remained on her face as she rolled her eyes, but then she shook her head. "My place is just around the block. And you are definitely way too plastered to drive even that far."

He shrugged, flicking his wrist to swing his keys around before pocketing them into his jeans. However, he was happy to feel her wrap an arm around his anyway, pulling him in the direction of her place. The short walk was more of a stumbling shuffle as neither could really keep their balance for too long. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so disoriented. His head may regret it in the morning, but it certainly wouldn't this evening. The pleasant buzz only enhanced his excitement.

She fished around in her own pocket for her keys, struggling to match it up with the lock once she did find it. A couple scratches indented the metal, but she didn't seem to care once the door swung open and slammed against the wall. She stumbled forward, leading him toward the bed, and he followed. With a single finger gently pressed against his chest, he flipped back onto the comforter, sliding back until his head practically touched the railing of the bedpost.

She followed after him, climbing overtop, and leaned down until her lips were parted inches from his. His eyes lingered for a moment as all time stood still, waiting for a signal to commence the night of passion and bliss. He began to lean forward, closing his eyes when—

Click.

He could no longer comfortably lean forward. His eyes opened, masked with confusion as he turned his head and noticed the shiny pairs of actual handcuffs restraining his right hand to the bedpost.

Click.

He whipped his head to the left and was greeted by a similar scene. In his mind, he'd pictured a cute pair of fluffy, pink-pillowed cuffs—not the metallic joints that pinched his skin and suffocated his wrists. He pulled against the cuffs, hoping they'd simply pop open; instead, the opposite occurred as they tightened a smidge.

Dean released an uncomfortable laugh. "When I suggested bondage, this wasn't what I had in mind."

Without missing a beat, the blonde sat up and took a breath. Her demeanor changed entirely as if she hadn't had a sip to drink all night. Gone was the false persona of the ditzy blonde, replaced by ice.

She scoffed. "Oh, I know what you had in mind."

Dean blinked a few times, as if he'd imagined the shift. He'd have rubbed his eyes too, but his hands were a bit tied up at the moment.

"What the hell?"

"Charlotte Holmes," she replied, standing up from the bed while pulling a badge from her back pocket. "Agent Charlotte Holmes."

Shit. Dean swore under his breath, mentally calculating his odds of escape while trying to stall for time. He released another awkward laugh. "If this is about the fake badge, it's just a tactic to attract a date. Ladies love a man in uniform."

She seemed to agree as she nodded her head. "Oh, I know... But this is about something else, at the moment I couldn't care less about the badge. Your track record is already at an all time high without it."

"I think you've confused me with some—"

"St. Louis. Baltimore. Milwaukee. Providence." She listed them off as if she'd had her hand on the trigger of a gun. "And those are just the ones off the top of my head. So let's start again. I'm Charlotte Holmes... and you are Dean Winchester."

•⍟───✧⍟✦⍟✧───⍟•

SAM WAS LOST THE SECOND HE LEFT DEAN AT THE TABLE. Considering Dean had the journal, his laptop was back at the motel room, and the library was closed until tomorrow morning, he likely wouldn't be conducting anymore research tonight. Unfortunately he still had no idea what they were hunting, something he usually prided himself for being on top of; however, he was stumped.

"You look like someone spit in your drink."

Sam turned his head, meeting the baby blue eyes of the redhead sitting at one of the hightop tables. She patted the seat beside her, to which he cautiously pointed at himself in confusion. She rolled her eyes, but the cute little smile that graced her lips remained as she nodded her head.

Glancing around the bar, as if still expecting someone else to take the seat beside the cute girl that beckoned him closer, Sam cautiously crept over and slid into the seat.

She giggled, covering her mouth loosely with her fingers before shoving his shoulder. It was quite evident that she wasn't handling the beer on the table in front of her very well. "Why so tense? I can't tell if you're waiting to wake up from a dream or trying to decide whether I'm a serial killer."

She spoke quickly, leaving no space for him to answer. She leaned in and whispered harshly, "Spoiler alert: I'm not."

Sam nodded and laughed along, but it was forced and quiet. This girl was beginning to give him the impression that if he stuck around for much longer, he might just be stuck at that table for eternity.

She sniffed, wiped her nose, then sat up a little straighter... which was apparently enough to sober her up a little. "Seriously, what's got your panties in a bunch?"

His nose wrinkled. It was statements like that he was used to hearing from Dean, not complete strangers trying to hook up with him... or at least that's what he assumed since the girl seemed like she was clawing at his life's story.

She laughed and playfully knocked herself upside the head with a gentle hand motion that didn't actually connect with anything. "Sorry, I start talking like my older sister after a drink or two. A habit from being around her so often... you ever find yourself picking up habits from your brother?"

"My brother?" Sam questioned, raising his brow.

Her eyes widened with alarm. "Oh cheese—I just assumed—I mean you sort of look like the guy you were sitting with earlier."

Sam sort of found her endearing. She was a little bit all over the place, but he was starting to see that was just her personality, separate from the alcohol. In fact, he elected to stick around a bit longer, calling over the bartender for a beer. "No, it's alright. He's actually my partner."

He didn't think it was possible, but her eyes widened further. "Cheese and crackers! Really? Of course that's my luck. I finally decide to take a night out on the town and the first attractive guy I hit on is gay and already taken."

Sam choked on his beer the second the liquid touched his tongue. He ended up doing a spit take across the table, but thankfully the girl was sitting beside him rather than across from him. However, that didn't help the burly biker stuck in the splash zone.

Most people assumed Sam was a giant... he looked small compared to the man that turned around from his game of pool. If there was ever to be a stereotype living in the flesh, it was this biker: a hulking six feet and eight inches, broad shoulders which were exposed from his torn tank and leather vest. The chains attached to his belt rattled as his weight shifted, and his one good eye glared at Sam while the other was sealed shut from a black eye earned earlier that evening no doubt—actually Sam knew for a fact that it had been earned an hour ago as he witnessed the fight and the loser that was carted off to the hospital with several broken ribs and probably a punctured lung.

Of all the times to be tongue-tied, Sam voted this was the worst as he stared up at the biker that towered over him. And that's when the girl who spoke as if she were bidding at an auction stepped in.

"You'll have to pardon my friend, Sam," she apologized. "He'd had one too many mimosas and couldn't help himself when I pointed you out. You see he's been in a rough spot lately and I thought a night out on the town would be good for him, but between you and me, he's a bit of a lightweight. I've got to agree with him though, you've got great bone structure—absolutely jaw-dropping, spit-take worthy."

The biker looked slightly amused. He turned his head to look Sam over before wrinkling his nose and shaking his head. "No offense to your friend, but not my type."

Sam didn't think it was possible to be more confused. He was corrected by that reaction. The girl simply smiled and laughed, and boy was her laugh infectious. The rest of the bikers around the pool table joined in and before Sam could process what had happened, drinks were ordered and passed around the room, celebrating who knew what at the exact moment. Only in the midst of the chaos did the redhead grab his arm and tug him outside.

Sam blinked in confusion, looking between the redhead and the raucous movement within the bar through the door window. "H—How?"

"How did I get us out alive? How did I know your name? How did I know he was...well, y'know?" she asked her questions rhetorically before providing answers. "I've got an older sister who knows how to find trouble, and tattoos tell you a lot about a person."

Sam's brow knit together. "What's about—"

"Oh!" she eagerly exclaimed, regaining the pep in her voice that had briefly disappeared. "I almost forgot to give back your badge, Agent."

She extended the black leather case, flipped open to reveal his current FBI alias: Sam Lewis.

"I'm hoping we can overlook the minor pickpocketing as I did save your life," she added.

"Is that what happened?" Sam asked rhetorically.

She ignored formality and nodded her head, a touch smug. "Yep... so about your partner."

"Professional relationship only," Sam quickly replied.

"So he won't mind if you go missing for a couple of hours?" she asked in a coy manner.

Sam chuckled, placing his hands on his hips while shaking his head. "You plan to steal those from me too?"

"Among a few other little crimes... if you're willing to look the other way," she said as if testing the waters. Seeing that Sam's smile faltered for a second, she quickly added. "No one will get hurt. I just know of a place down the block that's closed but a little bobby pin action could remedy that. Plus, you technically can't even really steal from a place that lets you walk out with the goods for free, so..."

Sam pursed his lips, contemplating a decision before releasing a sigh. "You plan to do this with or without me, yeah? Well, someone may as well supervise."

She quietly cheered, jumping off the ground while pumping her fist into the air. Sam failed to conceal his chuckle. He then took a step forward, extending his hand in a formal introduction that didn't rely on thievery. "I'm Sam."

"Li—Joan." She acted as if she were correcting herself, eyes shifting back and forth before her head nodded in confirmation. "I'm Joan."

"You don't sound so sure."

She easily laughed away the awkward tension with a simple explanation. "My sister has a habit of calling me Lil' Jo. I almost introduced myself that way... though I guess since I admitted the mistake I may as well have done so to begin with." She finally took a breath, interrupting her ramble as she ran her fingers through her long red hair, keeping her hands around the back of her neck and consequently pinning her hair flat against her head. She noticeably winced, looked at the ground, then back up at Sam. "Could we start again? I'm Joan."

Sam chuckled under his breath, extending his hand once more. "Nice to meet you, Joan. I'm Sam."

Her smile grew warmer as she accepted the gesture. For a brief moment, a look of surprise flashed across Sam's face. The instant their palms touched, the warmth from her smile radiated into her touch, creeping its way through his veins to his heart. It wasn't quite electricity, but fire: much slower and warmer with an invitation that beckoned him to move closer. He stood his ground, but he was starting to melt around her, a feeling he hadn't experienced since... Jess.

And then he remembered what happened to Jess, or anyone that got close to him for that matter. Those memories of pain made his lip twitch and subconsciously he pulled his hand away as if he'd been burnt.

A combination of hurt and confusion crossed Joan's face as she looked at Sam with concern. "Are you alright?"

Sam blinked out of his daze—yanked away from the past and pulled back into the present—then looked down at the redhead staring up at him. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" she repeated, taking a step back. "It's me right? I've freaked you out and I get it. You're just being cautious. Was it the pick-pocketing? It was probably the pick-pocketing—"

The self-doubt that she exhibited clenched his heart. He'd pulled away thinking that no one had to be hurt, but it was then he remembered that if done wrong he'd be to one to hurt someone. He was already nervous as it was, what with his visions... not to mention the virus he had failed to contract in Oregon when exposed. It was unnerving, and it was then he realized why Dean had taken the journal. His brother recognized that he was too tense and needed just one night of semi-normalcy before returning to the chaos of their lives. He looked into the girl's baby blue eyes, took a breath, and allowed himself the start of a smile.

"It's not you, it's me—"

"Oh my gosh," Joan interrupted, hysterically turning her back to pace two feet forward, turn, and pace back another two feet. "I knew this would happen. You start to open up to a guy... He's breaking up with me and we haven't even gone out... Should've just stayed home—"

"Joan." Sam gently grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "You've done nothing wrong—well, I wouldn't recommend stealing your date's wallet, but that's besides the point—You've been really sweet all night, it's just... I lost someone close to me about a year ago... and then my dad... and—"

"You're scared to lose anyone else," she completed the sentence. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking down at the concrete under her feet. "Y'know, I lost my mom when I was younger... I can't even really remember her... and I've never really been in a serious relationship, but my sister has. She lost him. I—I watched her close herself off. It's sorta scary really, how easily a person can flip that switch and become numb. She acts like she doesn't care, but I've always had this thing where I can look into a person's eyes and just know, y'know?"

She spoke slower, but it was still a lot of semi-complete thoughts. Sam nodded, but then slowly shook his head.

Joan sighed, then looked back up at Sam with those soft baby blues. "You're not a bad person, Sam. You didn't hurt them. It's just that sometimes bad things happen to good people."

Sam laughed. The sound was half-strangled as he tilted his head back to look up at the stars in the night sky above them. They had migrated into the middle of the street, but no cars were out driving this late... or early. He shook his head. "You think I'm a good person? You barely know me."

Her smile was soft and genuine. She reached a hand up, caressing the side of his face along his temple while gazing into his hazel eyes. "I just know."

His eyes had watered and threatened to spill over, leaving them two strangers in the middle of the street—illuminated by the stars and an old, flickering street light—sharing a profound moment that was elevated by the one-in-a-millionth chance they'd ever meet in the first place.

"Plus they don't just hand out a badge like this to anyone," Joan said while holding up the leather case of his badge.

His hands drifted toward his now-empty pocket as he recognized his wallet was actually missing this time too. He laughed. A genuine, solid, hearty laugh that he hadn't heard in such a long time.

Joan also laughed, handing back his things. "I mean you said I took your wallet, and considering I'd only borrowed your badge, well I don't like to be made a liar."

"But you're fine with being a thief?"

"Borrower," she corrected, enunciating the word.

Sam rolled his eyes, but his laughter continued to echo around them. And then the thunder echoed. And then the heavens opened. And then they were soaked.

In unison, they released a surprised shout and ran off down the street together. As he was that much taller, Sam pulled Joan closer and tried to shield her by holding the flap of his jacket over her head. She didn't seem to mind the rain though because she quickly pulled ahead, reaching out behind her to take Sam's hand. And then they just ran, tilting their heads back at the night sky, mouths open, and cries of jubilee echoing around them. There was a brief moment where they even paused, jumping in the puddles and splashing one another with several swift kicks into the pooling puddles. It was only once Joan began to sneeze that Sam thought it might be a good idea to find shelter.

Leading her through the rain that only continued to grow heavier, Sam stopped under the awning of the first building they reached. He pulled on the handle of the door before recognizing that he'd run to the library—which made sense as if had always been a safe space for him—and remembered the public building wouldn't open for another seven hours.

"Damn."

Joan shivered, pulling her arms around herself for a bit of warm, but that ever-contagious smile refused to leave her face. "What's wrong."

"It's locked."

Joan scoffed and rolled her eyes, pulling a bobby pin out from underneath her hair. It clearly wasn't pinning anything back as her, now wet and tangled, locks of red hair curled freely around her shoulders. Evidently, it was reserved for moments like this. She offered him a mischievous look and held a finger to her lips, shushing him. "I won't tell if you won't."

Even though Sam had performed the action multiple times himself, it still surprised him that such an innocent looking girl even knew how to do such devious things. "This is breaking and entering."

"This was our next stop on the town tour anyway." Joan shrugged away his concern. "Besides, is it really breaking and entering if everything inside is free?"

She had a point, but he didn't think agreeing with her would really prove anything in that moment, or solidify his alias as an officer of the law. So instead, his skittish behavior remained as he watched their backs while she unlocked the door. Just a moment later, the door swung open and Sam's shoulders sagged just an inch with relief. He rushed her inside, closing the door behind them. However, as his fingers reached for the light switch, she playfully swatted his hand.

"That's like rule number one, Boy Scout," she reprimanded. "You never turn on the lights in the place you're breaking into. That's like common sense."

"Right. Right." He nodded his head. He knew that, but he was a little distracted at the moment. He wasn't sure whether is was the nostalgic smell of the books or how vibrant her red hair looked even in the dark.

She pulled out her phone, turning on her flashlight, then flipped it around so that several harsh shadows hooded her eyes. Her smile gleamed white as she then whistled an eerie melody that vaguely matched the tune of The Twilight Zone.

He shook his head, laughing under his breath both amused and smitten. However, she quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

"Come on." She laughed. "I wanna show you my favorite section."

"Hmm... let me guess." Sam grinned, allowing himself to be pulled away. "Poetry? Or maybe fairy tales?"

"I mean sure those are great—well, not poetry... poetry sucks." Joan stuck out her tongue with distaste, stopping in front of the rows of thin paper-back books with shining covers.

"Comic books?" Sam raised an eyebrow, glancing over at her.

She looked insulted, but the gesture was playful as she placed a hand over her chest. "Graphic novels. I like the pictures. I mean, reading is great, but in a graphic novel the world is defined by thick borders. There's no question of interpretation and you get to see right into the artist's mind. I think that's pretty cool, don't you?"

"I'd never really thought about it that way," Sam admitted, running his hand through his own tangled, wet hair. A pair of puddles had begun to pool around their feet, and that's when Sam noticed the water that acted like a bread-crumb trail. "We should probably try to dry off."

"Bathroom's that way," Joan pointed vaguely to the left while pulling her hair back and wringing it out, adding to her puddle on the floor. "Meet back here?"

Sam nodded his head in agreement. "It's a date."

•⍟───✧⍟✦⍟✧───⍟•

DEAN STRUGGLED AGAINST THE CUFFS, BUT THEY HELD FIRM. After another few minutes of fruitless success, he finally gave up, exhaling the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Meanwhile, his captor watched him with mild amusement.

"Done?" She seemed to take his answer for yes as she stepped away from the wall she'd been leaning up against. She dragged over the chair from the bedside desk, turning it so that when she sat down she could rest her arms against the back. "Henriksen sends his regards."

Dean frowned. "You work for that douche?"

"I work with that douche." She matched his expression as she corrected him. "I was brought on to the St. Louis case as an additional. I'll admit you had us running circles for awhile, but your sloppy pattern wasn't too hard to pick up once we caught the scent."

"There's a reasonable explanation..." Dean faltered as he recalled the events of each location she mentioned. Staring at the look of distrust in her eyes... he couldn't tell her. He was already restrained with handcuffs, the last thing he needed was a straight jacket.

"I'm sure there is." She nodded as if agreeing with him. "And I intend to listen all about it when I get back."

Dean's brow furrowed, and he readjusted his position to sit up a bit straighter. The motion was uncomfortable, but he didn't like the implication. "You're leaving?"

"Just stepping out," she agreed. "I've got to run out and grab some stuff that I don't keep in the bait house."

"And you're not concerned that I'll escape?" His eyes narrowed. Surely she couldn't be that confident. It had to be a test of sorts.

"Where are you gonna go?" She asked with a scoff. "You realize how disoriented and dizzy you feel yet? I doubt you'd make it very far before you collapsed. Your eyes are starting to droop even as we speak."

It was then Dean recognized the drowsy feeling that had been bawling at the back of his mind for the past ten minutes. He'd assumed it was just the usual amount of sleep-deprivation trying to steal him away for a few 'z's, but this definitely felt stronger. Suddenly all those shots made sense. "You drugged me."

"Gradually," she admitted. "Just enough to keep you loose and off-balance. But between that and the rest of the liquor you insisted on downing yourself, well I'd say it's lights out pretty soon."

"And what about my partner?" Dean asked, noticing how numb his tongue actually felt and the way his words had begun to slur together. "Didn't your case files say something about—"

"Your brother?" she finished his sentence. "You honestly didn't think I'd hunt you down alone, did you? My partner is handling him. She wanted the challenge, and seeing as how you'd been eyeing all the other blondes that walked in your general vicinity... well, I was okay with taking the easy one."

Although insulted, his facial muscles had relaxed. Even they had already succumbed to the effects of the chemicals his bloodstream had absorbed.

"Don't underestimate—"

"I'm not," she interrupted again. "Like I said, I just need a few more supplies to run some last minute tests. A bit overkill, I'm sure, but my partner said we had to be certain before calling Henriksen. Gotta make sure you end up in the right prison, whether that be an iron cage or hell... that remains to be seen."

She was terrifying... and maybe it was just the room spinning, or the alcohol talking, but he was certainly intoxicated by something and he hoped to God it wasn't her woody scent. It had only been a brief whiff, but when she was leaned overtop him, inches away from his face, a wave of nostalgia had overwhelmed him. Countless nights spent out in the woods under a canopy of stars. A campfire burning. The fresh air of the open outdoors and the cool mountain breeze. It was almost like she personified the aspects of a hunting trip... if the sole purpose wasn't ganking monsters but a romantic weekend getaway in a log cabin. A slice of apple pie life oblivious to the true horrors of the world.

"Would you wipe that stupid grin off your face?" she broke his train of thought. "I know you've been drugged, but it's not an LSD trip. You do realize you're going away to prison for a very long time? And that would be the best case scenario."

He laughed. The creases of her frown deepened. It was involuntary really, he couldn't help it. He shot her a tired smile as he clung to consciousness. "People have threatened me with worse, sweetheart. I'm not the one that ends up in the hole."

An amused smile slowly returned to her lips. She stood from the chair, took a step forward, and leaned overtop him so that she was just mere inches from his ear. The hot air of her whisper brushed against his ear. "Well none of them are me, sweetheart."

She then turned and walked out the door, leaving him utterly alone. His lips pursed together in frustration. The least she could've done was turn on the tv or left him with something entertaining to preoccupy himself... He yawned. It only seemed like his civil rights that were being ignored, but then again she hadn't exactly read him his rights yet, or arrested him for that matter. He yawned again. Then there were those tests that she'd mentioned. And considering she hadn't even called her buddies back at the bureau—He yawned again. The pit that had formed in his stomach the second she locked the cuffs suddenly returned. Maybe he was the one underestimating her. His eyes drooped and his mouth stretched wider with one final yawn. Sleep sounded pretty damn good right about now. A couple minutes couldn't hurt... it's not like he was going anywhere.

•⍟───✧⍟✦⍟✧───⍟•

IT HADN'T TAKEN TOO LONG TO FIND THE BATHROOM THAT JOAN HAD VAGUELY GESTURED TO. However, using the hand dryer probably wasn't the most efficient method to dry his drenched flannel. His large green overcoat was beyond hope at this point, so he'd set it aside completely deciding he'd much rather focus on his jeans. Once certain that his clothes were as dry as they were going to get for the time being, he dressed and exited the bathroom, heading back toward their rendezvous spot. However, his eyes caught something else distracting enough to pull him away from his priorities.

|| The Mythology of Hybrids by A.D. Foster ||

And there it was. The answer to his problem. He mentally face-palmed with a winced blink. Why hadn't he considered that option before? Sure he'd looked at vamps and werewolves, but the prospect of an abomination of bred monsters wasn't something that had crossed his mind. All of the facts lined up though that he and his brother could be dealing with a hybrid which reminded him of why he was in Nowhere, Oklahoma to begin with. Many of the victims had gone missing, but he and Dean had gotten a good look at one woman far too feral to be human but more wolf-like than any lycanthrope he'd seen before. Dean had said it was just a rare breed, but it also hadn't followed the typical rules when it came to death. Unlike most werewolves, a simple silver bullet to the brain didn't put it down. It had simply gotten right back up and ran off with its tail between its legs... literally.

He approached the shelf, pulling the book from its place, then took a seat at the nearby table. He was instantly absorbed by his research, losing track of the time. It wasn't until the smell of coffee wafted through the air that he blinked. Assuming it was Dean, he outstretched his hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Joan's playful tone taunted. "Did you want one?"

He turned to look at her a bit surprised, blinked, and then remembered that he wasn't back at the motel. He was supposed to meet the redhead back in the comic book section, but he'd gotten a little distracted. He rubbed his eyes then offered a quick apology as he started to stand from the table.

"I'm so sorry, I—"

"It's fine," Joan interrupted, placing one of the two coffees in her hands on the table, which forced Sam to sit back down. "It's not like I thought you'd just ditched me... or y'know something awful happened to you. It's fine."

Sam sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "I got a little distracted..."

"You didn't think to leave some sort of sign that you were okay?" she rhetorically asked, well-aware that he hadn't exactly given her his number. "For all I know, you'd gotten mugged, or shot, or mauled by a bear."

"In a library?"

She didn't exactly approve of his sarcastic, yet amused question. Without hesitation, she smacked him on the arm, then crossed her own. The action was a bit clumsy as she still held a coffee in one hand and a white, paper bag in the other. "You scared me, okay?"

He stood up, placing his hands on her shoulders, and leaned down a bit so that she'd look him in the eye. "I'm sorry."

She tilted her chin up, looking away from him for a brief second, but it was clear she couldn't stay mad for long. "Yeah, well, just don't do it again."

Sam nodded his head, smiling a bit as he reached over to pick up the coffee set down on the table. Now, there was another question that nagged at the back of his mind. "When'd you have time to get coffee?"

"Considering you were gone for an hour, and it took me maybe five minutes to clean myself up..."

"Five minutes—" Sam questioned, looking up from the cup at her. He stopped mid-question as he realized that she'd completely changed. No longer did she wear the pale blue dress that had swished as she walked; instead, she wore a pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt—a good two or three sizes too big really. The only thing that had remained from her original outfit was the pair of white sneakers that now squelched with every step she took. Clearly she hadn't taken much time to dry them... or it was still raining—evident by the fact that her red hair, now pulled back out of her face into a pair of twin braids, was still soaking wet.

"The lost-and-found had some stuff that fit, so I'm borrowing a few things—Oh, I also grabbed some pastries," she announced, setting the white bag on the table beside the coffee cup.

"How much was all this?" he asked, reaching toward his wallet as if he planned to pay her back.

"About twenty bucks. Which is the best I could do considering that's all you had in your wallet." She shrugged. Sam continued reaching for his wallet, but she took his hand mid-action. "Do you really want to do that?"

Sam playfully rolled his eyes. "You do remember that I work for the FBI, right?"

She gently released his hand before flipping over his book to reveal the cover. "Yeah? And what's the FBI doing reading this?"

"I thought it might help with a case I'm working," Sam half-way admitted. "I'm dealing with some strange circumstances, so I thought I might turn to some strange sources."

"Find anything useful?" Sam shook his head. She pursed her lips with a light shrug as she offered a suggestion, "Maybe you should try the second volume then."

"Second volume?"

Joan nodded her head. "Yeah, by Foster, right? They haven't published too many books, but I've got all their works. I'm pretty sure I even have a copy of the second volume at my apartment. We could swing by if you like? Maybe eat something a bit more substantial than day-old croissants?"

Sam took a second to consider her offer. He looked at the cover of the book, tracing the binding with his fingers, then met her eyes. Her round baby blues inquired so softly that he couldn't bring himself to refuse. Dean was probably off conducting some "research" of his own anyway. Surely a few more hours apart would remain unnoticed. His phone hadn't gone off with an emergency so what was the harm?

He smiled and nodded his head. "Lead the way."

"Great!" she beamed. She then gathered up what few supplies they'd set out on the table: two cups of now empty coffee, a white paper bag that once held croissants, and the book that she clearly planned to take without actually checking out.

"Um... Joan?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Why don't we leave the book?"

She looked down at the book folded under her arm then giggled. "I didn't even realize I'd grabbed it. Yeah, you can go ahead and put it back. I've already got a copy of this one anyway."

"You just have a solution for everything, don't you?" Sam asked.

She nodded, a light act that looked more like she was bouncing on her toes. "I like to be prepared for every possible situation."

He scoffed with a touch of playful skepticism. "And what about the rain?"

To answer, she pulled out an umbrella from underneath her arm. He quickly did a double-take, internally questioning how he'd missed that when they met back up. A self-satisfied grin played at her lips and she giggled again at his stupefied expression.

"My apartment's not far," she explained, leading him toward the entrance of the library, then opened the umbrella once they stepped out from underneath the awning. "We could throw the rest of your wet clothes in the dryer if you'd like. I'd hate for you to catch a cold."

"I've got pretty thick skin," Sam replied, "but I won't decline the hospitality."

"Good." She smiled looking up at him, holding the umbrella just a bit higher so he didn't have to crouch so much. "I insist anyway."

"Want me to take that?" he offered, extending his hand for the umbrella. She nodded, handing it over, then stepped a bit closer so that they were side-by-side.

Although still damp from their dance in the rain earlier, she smelled of warm vanilla. Perhaps the coffee and pastries had rubbed off on her, but Sam assumed it was the other way around really. They walked a couple of blocks before entering a small, gated property. Without delay, she led them up a flight of stairs, pulled out her keys, and began to unlock the door. However, she paused half-way through the motion as her eyes lit up with another idea.

"I'm gonna run to the convenience shop down the street and pick up some stuff to cook," she announced, gently taking the umbrella from his hand. "Why don't you head inside and make yourself comfortable? The dryer's at the end of the hall and the bathroom is the door on the left. You're welcome to warm up in the shower if you'd like. I'll be back in ten."

She didn't actually leave any room for him to talk. She was gone too soon. Sam stood beneath the covered balcony of the outdoor entrance to the apartment, stuck in a moment of stupor. However, he gently shook his head and chuckled under his breath before facing the lock. With a quick flick of his wrist, the key made the final quarter-turn and the door unlocked to welcome Sam inside.

The apartment was quaint and cozy, with a few decorative elements scattered around the room. However, he did find it curious that there were also several cardboard boxes present—labeled presumably by what objects could be found within. The one labeled "books" certainly caught his eye—and as Joan had insisted he make himself at home—he took a look inside and was excited to discover the book he needed was sat on top of the others.

He made his way into the kitchen, opening the fridge, and suddenly he understood why the redhead had run off so quickly. Inside the cool box, a sole, lonely apple sat on the shelf. He shrugged and grabbed the fruit as a small snack while he flipped open the book, quickly engrossed with his reading. He may have bumped into a few boxes as he walked down the hall toward the dryer, but he was too interested in the page before his eyes to really notice. As if going through the actions, he tossed his jacket, socks, and shoes into the dryer, looking up only long enough to start a twenty minute cycle.

He'd planned to continue to the left to accept the offer of hot water; however, a thud down the hall was enough of a distraction to catch his attention. He crept forward, reaching his hand behind his back for the pocketknife he kept in his back pocket. His gun was back at the motel, so the smaller weapon would have to make-do. As far as he knew, he was the only person in the apartment, but that didn't make him any less suspicious. Especially when the thudding sound grew louder as he approached the one closed door in the entire place.

Cautiously, he turned the handle. The door creaked as it was pushed open, allowing light into the dim room. Rather than flip the switch on the wall beside him, he stepped inside and allowed the light from the hall to illuminate the figure squirming on the bed.

The apple that Sam had been snacking on dropped to the floor and rolled away as his jaw slacked in surprise. His eyes widened as he recognized the figure in the bed to be none other than his older brother. However, the cuffs around his wrists and the sock in his mouth certainly warned him that he probably shouldn't stick around much longer.

"Dean?"

A less than eager, muffled grunt and a frantic flash of his brother's eyes towards the cuffs were the only replies he received. Sam quickly approached the bed, yanking the sock from Dean's mouth, but not without a smug comment.

"How's research going?"

"Just shut up and unlock me." Dean snapped, wriggling against the iron that kept him restrained. "She said she'd be back any minute."

"I guess this means you found out what it is we're hunting," Sam said, looking around the room for where the keys might have been placed. After a minute of nothing, he finally resorted to the lock pick in his back pocket.

Dean rubbed his wrists as the cuffs clicked open. "Worse. The Feds found us."

•⍟───✧⍟✦⍟✧───⍟•

TESS BROWSED THROUGH THE CONVENIENCE SHOP. Every couple of feet, she managed to grab something else she might need: a hand-held mirror, a taser, a few bullet refills for her .45, and a couple different necklaces made of silver and gold that could act as a make-shift garrote if need be. This was only a small handful of things compared to what she already had in the back of the Ford. She wasn't too concerned by the looks she might receive from the cashier when purchasing the eclectic gathering of supplies because she knew that with the reveal of her badge, Agent Charlotte Holmes wouldn't have any issues leaving.

She glanced over her mental checklist of supplies, walking down the aisle of seasonings to collect the final grocery. As her hand reached up to grab the largest container of salt she could find, someone beside her shared a similar thought. Their hands grazed one another and it only took a second for the other individual to apologize.

"I'm sorry," the red-haired girl said while organizing the vegetables in her basket without actually looking up. "You can go ahead first."

"Lila?" Tess questioned, eyes narrowing at her sister. "What are you doing here?"

"Tess?" Lila's eyes lit up with delight at the sight of her sister. "Hey! How's your night been? I mean, I was just picking up some ingredients to cook—"

"Where's your Winchester?" Tess interrupted once she realized that her sister was alone.

"Oh, I gave him the key to the apartment and told him to make himself at home." Lila brushed away the question with a wave of her hand as if it were no big deal.

However, Tess saw that as a huge deal. She frowned. "What do you mean you left him at the apartment?"

"Well, he was soaked to the bone," she explained. "I didn't want him to catch a cold so I told him to take a hot shower and use the dryer."

Tess pinched the bridge of her nose. "Lila, I left Dean cuffed to the bed."

A coy smile tugged at Lila's lips as she released a playful growl. "Rawr! You don't mess around, Tess. Well, that's alright. I'm sure Sam and I could head back to his motel and give you guys some quiet. He only needed to borrow a book anyway."

"Serial killer, Lila," Tess reminded her sister with a tired sigh. "We're on a job hunting down serial killers. Please tell me you didn't think you were on an actual date with the guy."

"Oh, yeah..." A look of recognition crossed her face before her eyes drifted toward the basket of food she'd gathered. "Can I still make them dinner?"

Tess grabbed her sister by the arm. "By the time we get back, there's probably not going to be anyone to serve."

In cases like this, she hated being right. The door to the bedroom had been left open and there was a small puddle forming on the ground underneath the window that had served as their escape. She frowned at the open pair of cuffs still attached to the bed, and a sock—the one that she'd placed in his mouth to keep him quiet while he was too out of it to notice—had fallen onto the ground. Tess pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Alright, Lil," she said, taking a deep breath as she turned to face her sister. "The hunt's back on."

•⍟───✧⍟✦⍟✧───⍟•

THERE WERE PROS AND CONS TO THE RAIN. Pro: their scent was hidden. Con: the wet ground of the woods meant they'd left an easy trail of footprints to follow. Pro: the Feds wouldn't be able to follow them by car, only on foot. And they had a substantial lead. Con: they'd slashed the tires of his Baby. Now that had nothing to do with the rain, but Dean was making a list of things he wouldn't soon forget.

Although the weather had lightened up, the four a.m. skies had grown dark once again. A strike of lightning and the downpour followed. Thunder cracked against the open air, forcing the brothers to jump in their unfamiliar surroundings.

"Where are we going, Dean?" Sam shouted over the rain, trying to use his jacket as a shield from the water that pelted the side of his face.

"Somewhere to lie low," Dean replied. "We need fresh tires—"

"Right now we need a set of fresh wheels," Sam interjected.

Dean shot him a warning look. "We're not trading Baby in for some piece of junk!"

Sam raised his hands defensively. "I'm just saying we can't exactly hunt a Chimera while locked up behind bars."

"Chi—" Dean paused. "Chimera? What chimera?"

Sam pulled out a book from his pocket that Dean had never once before seen in his life. "I did some research."

"I told you to give it a rest and take the night off," Dean reprimanded his younger brother.

"Well, it's a good thing I didn't, otherwise you'd still be cuffed to that bed," Sam retorted with a snort. "What was up with that anyway?"

"I was drugged," Dean snapped, defending himself. "She drugged me, alright?"

Dean blinked a few times to clear his head. Apparently he was still feeling some of the after effects despite a good hour or so of sleep. It was only once Sam had entered the apartment and started shuffling around less than auspiciously that Dean woke.

"Well, we're dealing with a chimera," Sam returned to his previous point. "It's the only explanation for the hybrid we encountered the other day."

"And how do we kill it?" Dean asked the question he found to be more important. They were a bit crunched for time if his brother hadn't already figured that out yet.

"A quick and easy beheading," Sam replied.

"When's anything ever been quick and easy for us, Sam?" Dean retorted. His patience was slim, and well warranted after the evening he'd had.

As they ran, a pensive look crossed Sam's face. The way his lips pursed proved that he agreed with Dean, almost like he was holding back additional information. With a huff to catch his breath, Sam added, "There is a bit more."

"Of course."

"All we've got to do is cut off the head and avoid contact with its blood," Sam explained.

"Right," Dean scoffed. "We hit the place with the most arteries and have to avoid the splash zone."

"Unless you want to mutate into some messed up hybrid yourself," Sam offered a sarcastic alternative.

"Not on my list of things to do today," Dean agreed. "Any idea where this things is probably holed up?"

"Normally they stick to their own natural habitats in Asia Minor," Sam replied, slowing down to catch his breath. "So I'd say we've probably wandered close to its neck of the woods."

"Great, another problem to add to the list—"

The tree to the left of Dean's head splintered. He ducked as bits of wood clawed at his face. Sam similarly dropped to the ground as they both eyed their surroundings. Another con: the rain hindered their vision too, not just their pursuer's.

"That was just a warning."

With his back pressed up against some shrubbery that kept him concealed, Dean shuddered: partially enraged, partially freaked out. Even with a pair of tracks behind them, they shouldn't have been found so soon. The rain should've helped wash away the trail.

"How'd you find me?" Dean called over his shoulder, hoping his voice would echo around the woods.

He could hear her scoff a mile away. "If I can get you in to bed, I can find you anywhere. I've done my research, Dean. Which is more than you can say because you've walked straight into my element."

Is that her? Sam's lips asked without sound. Dean nodded his head with a less than thrilled expression plastered to his face. Sam crawled across the ground, posting up beside his brother with a whisper, "Are we sure she's not a monster?"

"No," Dean replied, reaching into his jacket to ready his own gun. "But if she's not, she's just a casualty in the way now."

Another shot echoed. This time it was closer, landing in the dirt just to the right of their hiding place. "Why don't you come out now, Dean. Like I said before, there's nowhere you can run that I won't follow."

"I get that I've got charm, sweetheart," Dean called over his shoulder, checking his ammunition. "But clingy just doesn't look so good on you."

"I thought you said we weren't out on a date?" A second voice asked, one Dean was unfamiliar with, but Sam seemed to recognize.

Before Dean could stop him, Sam stood from their hiding place, holding up his hands defensively as if surrendering. "Joan?"

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?" Dean hissed.

Although Dean remained hidden and couldn't see the newcomer's face, her tone was bubbly enough to paint a full picture. "Hiya, Sam! I was wondering where you went, you left before I got back from the store. It's really a poor example of guest etiquette."

"Dean, sweetheart," Charlotte's tone was venomous with a sickly sweet taunt. "Why don't you stand up? And maybe drop the .45 in your hand while you're at it."

Dean glared at his brother. But realizing he was at a disadvantage, slowly rose with his hands defensively in the air after he set his gun on the ground. He spoke to his brother between grit teeth, "They're partners. Why else do you think you were brought back to the same place I was locked up?"

"Oh, right!" Joan exclaimed, reaching into her pocket to pull out her own badge. "Joan Watson, special agent."

Sam's brow furrowed. Dean blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he scoffed. "Holmes and Watson? Charlotte Holmes and Joan Watson? What were Starsky and Hutch taken?"

Joan leaned over to her partner, whispering loud enough for all to hear, "Is he having a stroke?"

"Dean, what are you on about?" Sam asked under his breath, his brows knit together in confusion.

"Holmes and Watson, Sam?" Dean scoffed again. "Holmes and Watson? They're hunters, Sam. Clearly aliases."

"You know about the hunters?" Joan asked with an airy breath.

Charlotte on the other hand pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're hunters."

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean grinned, self-satisfied with his own play on words. Sam shot him a look, but Dean shrugged without a care. "Now can we get back to our hunt? We've got a dangerous cabrera on the loose here."

"Chimera, Dean," Sam corrected.

"Tomato, tamahto."

"And I didn't think things could get any more complicated," Charlotte muttered under her breath, still pinching her nose, but at least she'd lowered her weapon.

"So... you're not shifters?" Joan asked, slowly lowering her gun while looking at her partner for guidance.

"No, we're not shifters," Sam agreed, still eyeing the redhead with distrust. "But the two of you are actually federal agents?"

"Yes." Charlotte nodded, taking a deep breath. "Hunting's a side gig. And at this point I think you boys should skip town and leave this job to the professionals."

"What about your buddy, Henriksen?" Dean asked. "It's a bit difficult to do our jobs when we've got the Feds breathing down our neck, so maybe you're the ones that should skip town to take care of that."

"If you weren't so sloppy—leaving a mess everywhere you go—then maybe that wouldn't be an issue," Charlotte retorted. "Besides, we don't leave an incomplete job for someone else to clean up. So, for the time being, you're stuck with us."

Dean frowned, but Joan was more than happy with the offer. She holstered her weapon and extended her hand out to Sam. "Truce?"

Sam slowly nodded his head, accepting the gesture as if it may be a trap. "So... you're a federal agent with a pickpocketing habit?"

"I'm a complicated girl." Joan shrugged.

"So about this chimera?" Charlotte quickly jumped back to the topic that deserved their immediate attention. However, there wasn't a need for her question to be answered. Out of the darkness to their right, an oversized scorpion's tail lashed out. Both parties dove to either side of the attack.

Dean glanced over at his brother for confirmation that he was alright. Sam nodded his head, but was immediately concerned with the status of their temporary allies.

"Are you two alright?"

"Fine," Charlotte replied, pulling herself back up to her feet while unholstering her .45. She didn't even bother to brush the hair from her eyes; instead, firing at the chimera as it came around for a second attack.

"Cheese nuggets!" Joan's voice could be heard, but the redhead couldn't be seen.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean shouted to be heard, snatching his .45 from the ground where he'd set it down.

"She doesn't swear!" Charlotte hollered, glancing over her shoulder while reloading her gun. "But any time I've heard her use that expression, it's never been good."

"Well... you're not wrong," Sam's voice agreed. Dean looked around for his Goliath of a brother but he'd also disappeared.

"Talk to me, Sam!" Dean shouted, firing off another set of rounds. "Because I can't get close enough to this thing to go for the head."

Dean still couldn't see his brother, but he could hear his voice speaking in a low, but calming tone. "We need to cut off the blood-flow of your arm from the rest of your body."

Dean followed the sound of his brother's voice, keeping an eye on the chimera that Charlotte was decently keeping preoccupied—albeit irritated. He rounded a tree and behind a line of shrubbery sat the pair practically labeled m.i.a. He opened his mouth to question why they where just sitting around, but then noticed Sam's belt wrapped around the redhead's left arm like a make-shift tourniquet. Her veins bulged a sickly green and beads of sweat started to drip down the sides of her face.

"Uh, Sam," Dean recalled the information that had been given to him only minutes ago. "Didn't you say contact with blood was bad?"

"I'm slowing the infection rate," Sam explained. "If we can cut that thing's head off before the mutated blood cells reach her heart, we can stop the process altogether."

"I'm not feeling to good," she admitted, leaning further back while her eyes fluttered.

"Hey," Sam spoke in a soft tone. "You've got to stay awake. Can you do that for me? You're gonna be alright."

She chuckled bitterly and grimaced as she glanced over at her arm. "You're a pretty bad liar, Boy Scout."

"Anybody want to fill me in on why I'm the only one fighting this thing?!" Charlotte hollered.

"Your partner's down," Dean shouted back.

There was a tense silence then a shout of pure rage followed by another round of gunshots. Dean turned toward Sam. "She can't hold that thing on her own forever. How do I kill it?"

"The head, remember?" Sam reminded him. "You've got to cut off its head."

"With what?" Dean retorted. "It's not like we grabbed the machetes from the trunk."

"Any day now!" Charlotte hollered, again trying to get some help against the beast. Its momentum was stronger than hers and its stamina would certainly outlast her. She could already feel the pull of exhaustion from the long night.

"I'm working on it, sweetheart!" Dean again shouted back.

It was like a battle of volume between the two as Charlotte immediately snapped, "Would you stop calling me that?"

"You slashed Baby's tires," Dean retorted. "I think I'm entitled to a bit of spite, sweetheart! Sam says you've got to cut its head off, but watch out for the spray—"

The chimera's head slumped onto the ground beside Dean, rolling a few inches before bumping up against his boot. A brief horrified look flashed across his face but Charlotte followed less than a moment later, finally meeting up with the group.

Her eyes were narrowed as she glared at Dean. "Strike three."

Suddenly Dean wasn't so eager to learn what those consequences might be. Fortunately, she was too distracted by her partner's injuries to actually enact her threat. Charlotte bent down, clutching Joan's hand before sitting down beside the redhead as support to lean on—taking her from the care of Sam. Although still green, her veins were already starting to look better.

Charlotte briefly glanced up and offered Sam a silent, but appreciative look. Sam nodded his head as if to say "no big deal". It was then she turned toward Dean.

"You guys have ten minutes to change your tires and get out of town," she warned.

"What happened to the truce?" Dean questioned. "Y'know since we're all hunters here."

"We're also federal agents of the bureau of investigation," Charlotte replied.

Although still a bit pained, Joan smiled. "You didn't think we'd let you off that easy, did ya?"

"This is a joke, right?" Sam asked.

"Siri," Charlotte said, "set a timer for ten minutes..."

The boys glanced at one another before deciding that neither of them were willing to call the girls' bluff. Together they ran off through the woods back toward town, taking advantage of every spare second that they could.

•⍟───✧⍟✦⍟✧───⍟•

LILA CHUCKLED THEN GROANED. Although the green hue of her arm had faded, her veins still burned as if there was fire running through them. Her arm was also starting to go numb since Tess wouldn't let her remove the belt until they'd gotten her checked out by a medical professional—a hunting medical professional specifically.

"We're not actually going to chase after them, right?" Lila asked.

"Too much trouble," Tess agreed. "But I didn't feel like dealing with them for another minute."

"So... what are we gonna do about Henriksen?"

"I'll give him a call once we hit the road," Tess explain. "Tell him that we've lost the trail and that we're on our way back."

"So, that's it then?" Lila continued her pattern of questions. "No more Winchesters?"

"God, I hope so," Tess said, rubbing her eyes then dragging her hand down her face. "But now I've got a crap-ton of paperwork to do to try and cover their trail."

"We could always team up for a couple more cases," Lila suggested. "At the very least, we'd make sure to clean up the mess afterward."

"I think I've had enough hunting-cases for now," Tess replied. "Besides, you need some time to rest once we get that gash stitched up."

Lila grinned looking at the battle wound. "Do you think it'll leave a cool scar?"

"I certainly hope not." Tess shook her head. "I don't want any remaining sign of the monster that just about turned you into one of the things we hunt."

"Oh, the irony," Lila agreed, leaning her head against her sister's shoulder as they exited the woods and walked back to the apartment they'd rented out like a hotel room as bait. "Although I wonder what I would've mutated with. I think I'd make a pretty awesome unicorn."

"You're pretty awesome as is," Tess playfully teased her sister with a light bump to the shoulder. "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have for a partner."

"Not even a unicorn?" Lila asked aghast.

"Not even a unicorn," Tess agreed with a smile.

•⍟───✧⍟✦⍟✧───⍟•

TWENTY MINUTES OUT ON THE OPEN ROAD AND IT SEEMED LIKE THEY WERE IN THE CLEAR. Though neither brother really wanted to jinx their luck.

"So you really think they were using aliases?" Sam asked for the third time in the past fifteen minutes.

Dean nodded his head. "There's no way the universe thrust two strangers together and they just so happened to be named Holmes and Watson—much less Charlotte Holmes and Joan Watson."

"You've got a point," Sam agreed. "Although wouldn't you think they'd slip up at least once if they were using aliases? Half the time we can't even keep our own aliases straight."

"They're Feds," Dean retorted. "They make a career out of lying."

"No, Dean," Sam contradicted. "That's us."

"Alright, fine. They make a career out of spying," Dean corrected himself. "How do you think they managed to catch us off-guard so easily? I mean, it's like they knew everything we were looking for that evening."

"And that's why handcuffs were brought into play?" Sam questioned with a coy smirk.

Dean frowned and shot his brother a brief look before turning his attention back toward the road. "Shut your cake hole, Sammy."

Before Sam could even protest, Dean slipped one of his cassettes into the radio. Led Zeppelin's "Ramble On" was the first song to play and for a brief moment Dean almost looked like he wanted to skip the song. However, after a long pause, he shrugged and began to sing along to the tune. Sam raised an eyebrow, but his phone vibrated in his pocket before he could say anything.

Confused as to who would even be trying to get in touch with him, Sam reached into his jacket and pulled out the sleek black phone. His eyes widened and he immediately glanced over at Dean, but the older brother was too focused on the road and the music to pay any attention to the shifty actions of the younger.

Sam pulled his phone closer, staring at the contact he new for a fact he didn't put in his phone. Yet, there her name was, staring right back at him.

||  JOAN <3 ||

hope i didn't scare u off earlier. as u can c, i may have taken more than just ur wallet and fake badge. hope u don't mind i put my contact info in ur phone. y'c i was hoping we could keep in touch. u tell me which cases ur working and i'll keep 'H' off ur back.

p.s.: u o me dinner sometime! ;)
p.p.s.: i've still got ur belt so we should probs meet if u want it back
p.p.p.s.: we should come up w/ codenames bc my partner would kill me if she knew i had ur nmbr and i don't think ur bro would b 2 happy either.

— xo

Sam couldn't help but smile and chuckle under his breath as he read the text. Somehow she'd written it exactly the way she spoke. Although conflicted about whether everything she'd said had been a lie, he could only see her genuine smile that radiated from her face and lit up every room she stepped foot inside. He also couldn't see a downside to her proposition, especially since they could probably use all the help they could get keeping the FBI off their trail. It could be useful to have an ally on the inside... plus he was pretty fond of that belt.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked, breaking the brief silence between the two.

As Dean glanced over, Sam less than subtly clicked off his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. He shook his head. "Nothing, just needed to clear my throat."

Dean eyed him, but left the matter alone. Once certain that Dean was again absorbed by the music, Sam slowly pulled out his phone and read the text once more before deciding it would be rude to ignore it.

|| SAM ||

How's the arm? You might be a bit sore over the next few days, but you'll be fine. Just like I promised. And since I'm in the mood to keep my word, I did agree that I wouldn't flake on you again, so I'll be in touch.

— Boy Scout

At first he hadn't been sure how to sign off, but then he recalled the little nickname she'd begun to refer to him by. Obviously he'd never been a Boy Scout, the hunting life didn't exactly offer much time to join extra-curricular activities. However, it kind of fit. He then clicked on her contact information to modify her name—per her request. Although he hadn't confirmed with her, there was only one name that came to mind: || GINGERSNAP <3 ||

And although it wasn't Boy Scouts that were associated with cookies, from her fiery hair to her sweet vanilla fragrance, he thought it was a perfect fit. Not to mention if Dean ever decided to snoop around he wouldn't think anything of it. Maybe he'd tease the younger about having a girl in his phone, but he'd never be able to connect it to the events of that night because he wasn't the one who'd danced in the rain, broke into a library, and shared a profound moment with a stranger over coffee and croissants.

•⍟───✧⍟✦⍟✧───⍟•

AUTHOR'S NOTE| And so we've finally met the boys! It was so much fun to write this chapter from their perspective as I got to look at the girls from a pair of outside eyes. Hopefully I've done the Winchesters justice and kept them in character. Most of the chapters from this point on will be from the girls' perspective though, but I'll deviate every now and again for special cases. However, we're back on track with season two now. So what do y'all think so far? Any favorite moments and/or predictions?

𝐏.𝐒. | In my opinion this chapter is so great that it deserves its own mini playlist, so here's the songs that I had in mind to set the mood.

SIDE A | DEAN

01. "Dance With Me" | Topline Addicts ......................
02. "Ramble On" | Led Zeppelin ................................
03. "When the Truth Hunts You Down" | Sam Tinnesz
04. "Hunt You Down" | Kesha ..................................
05. "Run" | One Republic .........................................

SIDE B | SAM

01. "Heartlines" | Florence + The Machine ..............
02. "Can't Take My Eyes Off You" | Boys Town Gang
03. "I Think I Like When It Rains" | WILLIS ........
04. "Another Way Out" | Hollywood Undead .............
05. "Until I Found You" | Stephen Sanchez .................

•⍟───✧⍟✦⍟✧───⍟•

¡ 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 !