In The Family [1]

(3) Pilot: We've Got Work To Do

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The twins had been rather fortunate, having grabbed hold of the railing before they even had the chance to fall into the river's murky depths. Both hear Baby screeching to a halt but clung on just in case. Eventually, Sam pulled himself up back onto the bridge before reaching out a hand to Harry to help her up. They catch their breath for a moment leaning against the bridge, panting. Suddenly the twins realized that their older brother was nowhere in sight. Both she and Sam glanced down over the railing into the river, making them fear the worst that Dean hadn't survived.

In her and Sam's desperation, their eyes searched through the water, but there were no signs of life, "Dean?" Sam called, his voice shaking with fear.

But there's no response.

"Dean!" Harriet yelled in fear.

"Yeah?" Just below them, a soaked and filthy Dean crawled out of the water and into the mud trying to catch his breath with a rather annoyed expression on his face,

"You alright?" Sam asked.

Dean replied sarcastically, making an 'okay' sign with his hand, "I'm super."

Both the twins began to laugh in relief. Not long after, a very muddy-covered Dean came stomping back onto the bridge. He didn't even utter a word as he opened the Impala's hood and gave it a poke around. Harriet let out a sigh, knowing her older brother was pissed about a ghost driving his car. After that, he closed the hood and leaned against it.

"Is Baby okay?" Harriet asked.

"Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now," he scowled slightly, but still comes pissed off that a spirit almost tried running them all over with his car, "That Constance chick, what a bitch!"

"Yeah, so where's the job go from here?" Sam now asked, mocking his older brother, him and Harriet leaning either side of him with identical smirks and folded arms. Letting out a sound of frustration, Dean throws up his arms and flicks the wet sludgy mud off his hands. When a rather pungent smell hits Harriet and scrunches up her face from the unpleasant smell that you'd get from the likes of a sewer, "You smell like a toilet ."

Dean placed the VersaBank Mastercard in the name of 'Hector Aframian' on the motel's reception desk. The siblings are now checking into, the card resting on the handwritten ledger with him still covered head to toe in the foul-smelling mud.

"One room, please," Dean kindly insisted with a smile, with the twins who stood waiting behind him. The clerk picked up the card, glancing it over carefully.