"Aren't we all Damaged?"
Being a Hybrid has its perks, but it also has its disadvantages. Abigael had been on both ends of those sticks, she's been on them for a while. But there was a fraction in the Demon world that would want her dead and another...
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My eyes glazed over the Chevy 67' Impala parked alongside a curb. Which conveniently, was outside the home of Frank O'Brian, meaning that they would have checked out his house to see what was at play here. I strolled over to the Impala, seeing Dean in the driver's seat and him scratching at his forearm, like he had this itch he could not scratch. I came up to the driver's side window, and saw him reading an article about Frank's wife, which I also read in my research. I swiftly knocked on the glass, making Dean jump out of his skin and cock his wild expression to the left, seeing me leaning down and staring at him with a questionable look. However, his expression calmed, as I opened the rear door and slid in, feeling the black leather touch my legs, before I slammed the door shut.
"Why don't you come in," he remarks, frowning in the rear-view mirror at me, as I scooted across the leather some more, and into the middle before leaning forward and cocking my head to the left to stare at him.
"My hero," I mocked, rolling my eyes at him, because being this close with the famous Winchester was kind of thrilling, the chance of being caught.
"Where did you go?" Dean questioned, eyeing me up for a moment.
"Well, husband," he scoffs softly, at my choice of words. Well he shoulder hover over me like a Husband. "After I was told to stay outside, I went to do my job properly. Going to Mark Hutchins, questioned him, then looked into Frank's wife Jessie, who you are currently reading," I rolled off the jobs I had done since leaving him and Sam at the Sheriff's office. "I've been a very busy girl," with the words that left my mouth, Dean gulped back the lump in his throat. However, before he could speak, the passenger side door opens, making him jump once again and cocking his head to the source to see Sam entering, and closing the door in one swoop.
"Hey," he turned his head to face Dean, but I was alright inches away from Sam's face, his hot breath tickling my face.
"Howdy," my own hot breath flowed freely across his face, as I stared into those green-hazel eyes, they were a mixture and I clearly couldn't tell but they were mesmerizing. I could tell he felt uncomfortable, so I leaned back into the seats, allowing the brothers to have a face to face conversation, but I did hear Sam clear his throat for a second.
"Any luck at the county clerk's office?" Sam asked, going straight to business.
"I'm not sure I'd call it luck," Dean replies, before flicking the paper in his hand out, and holding it up for Sam to see. "Frank's wife, Jessie, was manic-depressive-" but Sam took hold of the paper to read. "She went off her meds back in eighty-eight and vanished," Dean explained, taking a small pause, which I saw as my chance to tell what I had gathered. Which was only the same thing. So, I'll let him have his glory. "They found her two weeks later, three towns over, strung up in her motel room -- suicide," this poor woman, she took the easy way out.
"Any chance Frank helped her along to the other side?" Sam questioned, as in these situations the husband or loved one always commits the crime, it's a known fact.
