Dean's Daughter || Supernatural Fanfiction

3 - Leads

I hear someone coming up the stairs, I quickly hide the files under my pillow and dry my eyes. The door creaks open and Edna appears through the gap. "Would you like some lunch? I can make you some pasta if you would like" She asks, my stomach rumbles in response. "That would be lovely thanks" I reply, smiling back at her. She leaves as quickly as she came, shutting the wooden door behind her with a little click. I get up and begin rummaging through the boxes, Edna was right there is mostly books and cloves in these boxes, my favourite books are all piled into one, they most have searched them shelf by shelf. I find the book I'm looking for, right at the bottom. It's an old copy of Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. My most read and battered book. It was bought for me by my mum when I was born. I retreat to the bed and open the first page and begin to read, Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Pivet Drive...
"Sophie! Lunch is ready" Edna calls up the stairs. I put down my book, I'm already on chapter five, and walk down the carpeted stairs to the Kitchen. The kitchen is large and is fitted out in a subtle baby pink, with a white tile floor which looks completely spotless. Edna hands me a plate of lunch and we sit down at the island. The pasta that she's made is delicious, a tomato and basil sauce, covered in mozzarella alongside some homemade bread. "How do you like the room?" She asks, taking a bite of her pasta. "Is absolutely beautiful" I reply, covering some bread in the sauce. "Good good" I get in response. "Tomorrow I have to go into work for a couple of hours, would you mind staying here by yourself?" She asks.
"No, it's fine" I reply, I want to have some alone time to think about everything that's happened. "Oh and before I forget, here" She hands me my laptop and phone. "The wifi password is on the pin board in the hall" She says, before standing and clearing away both our plates.
I walk out to the hall and write the WiFi password in on my phone, eventually it connects and I write it on a note so I can put it in on my laptop. I carefully walk back up the stairs and into the room.

I fire up my laptop, a white Sony I got when I was fourteen. It might be old but it's reliable and gets the job done. I quickly connect to the WiFi and do a search for 'Dean Winchester' not much comes up apart from a website named Ghostfacers pops up. I click the link. The website opens upto a homepage with a contact us section and a video. I watch the video. The two men are ghost hunters and were tought how to hunt them by Sam and Dean Winchester, they could help me find my biological dad. I click the enquiries link and type; Ghostfacers, I am trying to track down Dean Winchester. Can you help me? Thanks, Sophie. Within minutes I had a reply, Sophie, We haven't seen ether of the Winchesters in months. Sorry we cannot help further. Ghostfacers.
Well there goes my only lead. Next I try a search of 'Sam Winchester', several links pop up, one is an old MySpace page which hasn't been updated since 2005. Another is an article about Dick Roman. The article talks about Dick's rise in the world of business. I'm not sure why this would pop up in my search but then I notice that one of the pictures at the bottom is of a tall man the caption reads Sam Winchester at Roman's office It dosn't relate to the article at all so I look through the rest of the images. The last image is of the tall man and a girl with ginger hair. The caption reads Charlie Bradbury and Sam Winchester.
I do a quick search for Charlie Bradbury and find a mobile number, I punch the numbers into my phone nd hit dial. The tone rings and rings until I eventually hear "the number you have dialed has not been recognised" ending the call I feel down trodden, no leads and no way of tracking down my biological dad I feel like I've lost another part of myself. I pull the files out from under the pillow. I reread the letter and turn it over. There must be something. Some clue about how to track Dean Winchester down. The light from the window catches the letter and I notice three small words written in invisible ink underneath the original message. Singer Salvage Yard.
Filled with excitement I type the name into Google maps. It's the only one in America so that has to be it. It's located in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I quickly find a pen and write down the address on the back of the note. I know what I have to do.