Winchesters (Supernatural Fanfiction/Genderswap)

Chapter IV: DEAN

Deanna slapped the scam-card down on the green counter in front of the motel clerk. He was an older man with a receding hair line, half of his teeth missing and a thousand moles. Deanna tried not to stare at the big one in between his eyebrows so she stared at his name-tag instead. It read Morse. Morse looked from the card to the girls.

"One room please," was all they had said but the man asked if there was a reunion or something. Deanna raised a brow and asked "Why?" the same time Sam asked what the clerk meant.

"A guy--older than the two of you--came in here a while back and rented room 14 for the whole month," the clerk answered.

Deanna looked at Sam beside her then turned back. "Never mind, then," she told him, snatching the card out of Morse's hand. She shoved it into her pocket and followed her sister out.

They found room 14 and Sam picked the lock with Deanna standing look-out behind her. Sam was so quiet, Deanna didn't realize when her sister was done until she was being yanked inside. Sam shut the door behind them and they looked around. The walls were painted with newspaper clippings and pictures of victims.

Deanna turned on a lamp and saw an old meal of John's. Deanna picked it up in the wrapper and sniffed it. She pulled it away from her face quickly, dropping it. "Damn," she cursed in disgust. "Dad hasn't been here in a few day at least."

There was a circle of salt around a chair in the middle of the room. Sam pinched a big of it to examine. "Salt, Cat-eye shells? Deanna, he was worried.He was trying to keep something out."

Deanna was looking at the far wall, across from the chair.

"What's over here?" Sam asked curiously.

"The vics," Deanna answered. "I don't get it, though. I mean, these guys are too different, different ages, jobs, religions, ethnicity. But there's always a connection, right? So what do these guys all have in common other than having dicks?"

As Sam was listening, she observed another wall. Something caught her eye. It read, in Johanna's handwriting, Women in White. She turned on the lamp underneath it to take a better look. She smiled and laughed bitterly under her breath. "Dad figured it out."

"What do you mean?" asked Deanna as she came to join Sam on that side of the room.

"She found the same thing we did. But figured out what she was. Constance Welch is a Women in White."

"You sly dog," said Deanna about her father, looking back over the pictures. That was so obvious, Deanna felt ashamed she hadn't known. "Alright," she said. "So if we're dealing with a Women in White, then Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it."

"Might have another weakness," Sam pointed out.

"Naw, Dad would make sure. He'd dig her up. Does it say where she was buried?"

"Not that I can tell, no." Sam paused and pointed at the picture of Constance's grieving husband. "If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask him. Maybe he's still alive."

"Hmm, 'kay." Deanna looked to Samantha. "You try and find an address. I'm going to get cleaned up in the mean-time."

Deanna went to get in the shower but Sam called her name. Deanna turned around, looking at her younger (yet frustratingly taller) sister. "You know," she continued, looking apologetic. "What I said about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry."

"Hey." Deanna held her hand up. "No chick flick-moments."

Sam laughed. "Alright, jerk."

"Bitch," Deanna replied, letting her hand fall.

Deanna left, kicking the bathroom door shut behind her.