𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

"I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you're in here."

Dean's brow shoots up. "Like...like misdemeanor, or 'squeal like a pig'?"

"You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall," Sheriff Pierce reminds the hunter, leaning his palms against the other side of the table to levelly gaze at the man. "Along with a whole lot of satanic mumbo jumbo. Boy, you and that girl are officially suspects."

"Yeah, 'cause that makes sense," Dean says with a sarcastic nod, a stern face and a smirk. He leans back in his chair. "When the first one went missing in '82, I was three and she wasn't even born yet." He gestures to the door leading out into the hallway.

"I know you've got a partner—another one, not the girl in the other room. An older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So tell me, Dean, is this his?" Dean watches a leather book plop onto the table before him. He frowns, leaning forward to inspect it.

"I thought that might be your name," the sheriff hums, and begins to leaf through the journal. "See, I went through this...pieced together what little I could. It's nine kinds of crazy, but I found this, too." The sheriff taps a piece of notebook paper in John Winchester's journal. Dean's name is written on it, along with five numbers.

35 -111

Coordinates.

"Now, you're staying right here until you tell me exactly what this means."

Dean sits back in his chair after studying the numbers and then smiles. "My high school locker combination."

The sheriff sighs heavily, rubbing his head. "Don't play games with me, son."

"No, I'm serious. I—"

The door wretches open and a deputy pops his head in. "We've got a 911 call—shots fired over on Whiteford Road."

The sheriff turns to Dean. "Do you have to go to the bathroom?" He asks.

Dean frowns a little. "...No?"

"Good." The sheriff cuffs Dean's wrist to the table and shuts the door to the room, leaving Dean, his father's journal, and a paper clip alone.

Dean smiles, picking the thing from the pages of the journal, and bends it with his fingers into a makeshift pick for the cuffs. It took only a few seconds of finagling to get loose.

He waits for the sheriff to leave and exits the room in search of Katherine.

She's sitting at a table in the other room at the back of the station. She's glowering, picking at her fingernails, and doesn't look up as Dean opens the door.

"Don't be such a sour kitty," Dean chirps. Katherine's head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and she sits up a little bit, interest piqued. A small smirk tugs at her lips. "I'm surprised you haven't broken out yet."

"They took my pins," she hums, nodding to a box on the other side of the room, smirking still. Dean chuckles and leans close to her, sticking the pin into the lock. "My hero," Katherine purrs. "I'm not usually so damsel-y."

"I'm sure, Kitty."

✕

"I didn't know your father kept a journal," Katherine says, thumbing through the thing with curious eyes as she sits in the back of the Impala. "My dad does, too, but I haven't seen it in..." She closes the notebook and taps her fingers against her chin. "So the Woman in White, Constance, is actually a really ugly bitch under that pretty face...and your dad got the hell out of Dodge but left this." Dean nods once.