Bonds Broken ~Dean Winchester Love Story~

The Usual Suspects -- Dana Schulps

~*****~

"Excuse me, can we borrow your phone book, sir?" I ask softly after Sam and I enter a gas station. He nodded and handed it over. "Thank you!" I hurried over to Sam, and cracked it open. "Here, here, write this down-" Sam scrawled down the address to our new motel and I handed it back to the old man. "Thanks again."

"Okay, so when we get to the new motel, I start working on that anagram, and you can take a nap or something."

"Good, god, I love that idea..." I whined and followed after him.

Once we arrived at the motel, Sam quickly paid for the motel while I unpacked our bags. Sam immediately took over the small table and I collapsed onto the bed, and dozed off....

Snow. Everywhere, there was snow, and I could even feel the billowing cold winds wash up my back. A figure sat in the snow ahead, and it seemed vaguely familiar. I couldn't put my finger on it. As I get closer, emerald green eyes, and ebony black hair shines over the winter wonderland, and I'm shunted back into the motel room....

The door rattled with a series of knocking as I woke. I grasped my knife, and got prepared. Sam ushered me to hide in the bathroom before going for the door. A woman's voice echoed out through the motel. "Lottie!" Sam called urgently. I stepped out, and glared at the officer in our room.

"How the hell did you find us?" I snapped.

"Just listen for a second, okay?" Sam urged. I growled a little, and stopped fighting when he used those puppy eyes. "Dean told her."

I let out a soft breath. "Well, then talk."

"He told me to find you and show you these..." Ballard sighed gently and held out her wrists.

Red marks were etched into the soft flesh. I grasped her hands and ran my thumbs over the indentions. "Where did you get these?"

"The... It was- the spirit." She told us with a sigh.

"These showed up after you saw it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"All right. You're going to have to tell us exactly what you saw." Sam insisted.

A weird look crossed her features as she started rubbing her wrists. "You know, I must be losing my mind. You're fugitives. I should be arresting you."

"If you wanna do that, fine. But know this, if we don't figure out what this is? And you continue on your merry way, you'll be killed. The slow painful kind." I explained harshly. "We're trying to help you, believe it or not, we help people that go through stuff like this everyday."

She was silent for a second before she swallowed and nodded her head. "She was, um, really pale, and her throat was cut, and her eyes, they were like, this deep, dark red? It appeared like she was trying to talk to me. But she couldn't. It was just.... a lot of blood." Ballard explained, her voice quivering in fear.

"You know what? Here. I've been researching every girl that's ever died or gone mission from Ashland Street." Sam said as he started shifting through papers.

Ballard looked down a the crime scene photos he had obtained. "How'd you get these? Those are from crime scenes, and booking photos."

"You have your job, we have ours." I explained nonchalantly. "Look through them, and try to recognize the girl you saw."

She sat on the edge of the mattress and started flicking through the pictures. One picture caught her attention. "This is her. I'm sure of it."

"Claire Becker? Twenty-eight years old, disappeared about eight to nine months ago." Sam muttered.