It was pushing midnight when the three of them rolled into a cheap motel, tired and wishing for nothing more than a bed to sleep in, right after a somewhat hot shower. Dean was particularly testy, for the reason that not only had Constance messed with his car, but he also hadn't been as lucky as Emma and Sam when he dove off the bridge, landing in the riverbank below instead of catching himself on the rail. There was a foul smell in the car, yet neither Sam nor Emma dared to point it out to Dean.

Once in the lobby, Dean placed his credit card on the counter. The clerk looked up with a glare, surely caused by a mixture of disgust from the smell emitting off Dean and the fact that someone would show up at midnight to rent a room.

"One room, please."

The clerk glanced behind Dean at Emma and Sam, shaking his head slightly as he took hold of Dean's card. He looked at the name. "You guys having a reunion or something?"

Emma and Sam exchanged a look. "What do you mean?" she asked, stepping up to the counter.

The clerk looked at her, then back at Sam and Dean. "I had another two, Burt Aframian and some other guy. They came and bought out a room for the whole month."

"Huh," Dean played along, looking back at Sam. "Dad didn't tell us he'd be staying here."

"Mind if we got a room beside his?" Sam asked nonchalantly.

The clerk pursed his lips as he processed Dean's card. "Yeah, sure." He handed back the card and the room key wordlessly.

Outside of John's room, they hesitated. What if their dads were still here? Tentatively, Dean tapped on the door, calling out "Dad? Anthony?" There was no reply. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a lock picking kit and went to work. Moments later, the door swung open to reveal a darkened room. They took cautious steps inside, and Emma flipped the light switch on. The room flooded with light, revealing two unmade beds. What indicated to them that their dads had in fact been here were not only the salt lines or the rotten burger Dean was holding, but also the multiple photos and news clippings, along with photocopied pages littering the walls, haphazardly organized.

"They haven't been here in a little while," Emma deduced, looking at her surroundings. Dean threw the burger in a nearby trashcan, his nose wrinkled.

"Might've left in a hurry too, this place is worse than I've ever seen the two leave a room."

Sam was examining a salt line, carefully pinching it with his fingers. "Salt, cats-eye shells... they were worried. Trying to keep something from coming in."

Emma looked away from Sam, wondering what the hell was going on with John and her dad. She looked at the papers covering the walls: they were of the Centennial Highway Victims.

"Centennial Highway Victims," Dean said, answering a question she hadn't heard Sam ask.

"I don't get it," Dean continued. Emma looked at the photos, trying to put together the missing piece in their puzzle. What did all of these men have in common, apart from having disappeared in the same town? "I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

Emma continued looking at the clippings, finding various lore intertwined with news articles. She was looking at some things about devils and demons written in her father's script, when Sam said, "They figured it out."

Her and Dean joined Sam, looking at the same article they'd found the other day at the library. On top of it, this time in John's writing, was "Woman in White".

"She's a woman in white," Emma murmured.

Dean looked at Emma then at Sam. "All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, dad and Tony would've found the corpse and destroyed it."

"Maybe it has to be something else," Sam interjected.

"Well, they'd want to make sure." Dean frowned as he looked at the article. "They'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?"

Sam shook his head. "I'd go ask the husband if I were them."

Emma and Dean nodded in agreement. A yawn suddenly pulled at Emma. "I don't know about you two, but that bedbug ridden mattress looks plenty comfortable to me. Why don't we find an address in the morning?"

"I'm agreeing with you, Em," Sam said, yawning as well.

Dean moved towards his bag, grabbing a few things from it. "I'll get cleaned up before passing out; this smell is making my eyes water."

"Hey, Dean?" Sam called to his brother. Dean turned around.

"What I said earlier, about mom and dad, I'm sorry."

Dean held up his hand, a smirk on his lips. "No chick-flick moments."

Sam laughed and nodded. "All right, jerk."

"Bitch," Dean retorted.

"Idiots," Emma muttered from where she now sat on one of the two beds.

"Heard that!" The two boys said in unison. Dean closed the bathroom door behind him.

"So," Emma began, shrugging off her jacket. She shifted to face Sam, crossing her legs. "Tell me about Jessica."

A broad, yet shy smile appeared on Sam's face as he sat on the edge of the other bed, looking down at his hands then back up to Emma. "She's awesome."

"I figured that much, Sammy. But tell me more. How did you meet?"

"I've told you through email, Em."

"I want to hear it." It was just like old times, really, when her and Sam would sit up in the middle of the night and talk about anything and everything. Sometimes it would be about school, sometimes about their shared love for books, and sometimes, when Dean wasn't around, about relationships.

"We met in first year," Sam recounted, "and honestly, I thought she didn't like me at first." Emma smiled, thinking that any girl would be out of their mind not to like Sam. Maybe her opinion was a bit biased since he was practically her baby brother, but taking how he was considerate and caring, it would be hard not to be captivated by him.

"Obviously she did though," Emma finished for him.

"Yeah, obviously she did," Sam repeated, a shy smile returning to his face.

"Do you think she's the one?"

Sam laughed. "Em, I've never heard you talk like that." She threw a sock at him as she now rummaged through her duffel bag in search of her sleep shorts and t-shirt. "But yeah, I think she is."

Emma winked at him. "I knew it, just from your blush when you talk about her."

"Shut up," he laughed again.

"I'm proud of you, Sam." When Sam showed confusion on his face, she added, "For law school. And Jessica. Making a life for yourself."

There was a silence as Sam took in her words. "You know you're the first one apart from Jess to tell me that?" He finally said. He was looking at her in a way that let her know he was touched by what she'd said.

"Your brother is proud of you, Sam. He just doesn't voice it."

Sam gave a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "He's made it pretty clear that he thinks it's stupid, all of his. Me going to Stanford, wanting to marry Jess... Remember how pissed he was when you guys dropped me off at Stanford?"

Emma did remember, but Dean's anger had not only been directed towards Sam at the time. "You know why he was mad," Emma reminded him.

"Yeah..." He looked at her again, his hazel eyes sincere. "How are you and Dean? Since then I mean."

"Everything's great between us. Amazing even." She and Dean had broken up for six months not long after they'd dropped Sam off at school. Their split had been caused by Dean's pent up anger and hurt towards Emma for keeping something from him. Everything had been blown out of proportion, and she'd walked out on him. It had been a hard six months, not only because it was the first time in her life that it was just her and her dad, but most of all because she missed Dean more than anything. He was her best friend on top of being her lover, and she couldn't remember a time where they hadn't spent a day talking to each other. But since they'd gotten back together after those six months, their relationship was stronger than ever, both of them scared of losing the other again. That was one of the many reasons why they were so open with each other, no secrets between them.

The shower turned off. "I'm glad to hear that, Em. I don't know what I would've done if I'd been around," Sam said.

"'Mommy and daddy are fighting' kind of situation?" Emma teased.

Sam laughed whole-heartedly. "It used to feel like that every time you two would argue." Emma laughed along with him.

"Do you want the bathroom next?" She asked.

Sam glanced down at his phone. "Nah, you go. I'll call Jess, see if she's still up."

Emma nodded, gathering her things. She may as well go get ready for bed now while Dean was still in there, to give Sam some privacy.

She opened the bathroom door, the inside foggy with steam.

"Hey," Dean said around his toothbrush. He was still in a towel.

"Hey, you smell nice," Emma noted; definitely an improvement from the stench of the river.

"Is that why you came in here?" He looked pointedly at her as she changed out her clothes she'd been wearing for thirty plus hours.

"Giving Sam some privacy so he can call Jess."

"Ah," he spit his toothpaste into the sink. "He's serious about law school isn't he?"

"Yes he is," she answered, accepting the elastic Dean offered her. She threw her hair into a ponytail, and then looked at Dean. "And you're going to stop making him feel bad about it."

Dean didn't say anything in return. There was a little divot between his eyebrows and a slight purse to his lips. She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his still damp shoulder.

"I know you want him to stay. I want that too. But he's got a whole life there; he's got friends and Jessica. We can't make him choose between that and us." She'd said variations of these lines so often, she was beginning to wonder if she was saying trying to convince herself rather than Dean.

Dean turned, pressing his hand to the small of her back to pull her closer. "I know, Em," was all he said. He pressed his lips to hers softly. "How long is Sam going to be on the phone?"

Emma pulled away from him. "You're impossible, Dean," she said affectionately.

X

Emma was slightly disoriented when she woke up the next morning, momentarily forgetting they were in Jericho, hunting a woman in white. It was only when she saw the wall parallel to her covered in lore and victims' smiling photos at her was she pulled back to reality. They should have slept in the other room.

Dean was on his stomach, snoring softly, an arm slung across her stomach. She looked at Sam's bed only to find it empty. He emerged from the bathroom moments later, already dressed for the day.

"Why didn't you wake us up?" Emma asked while glancing at the clock. It was nearly nine AM; they were already late on the day, with not much time to solve this case.

Sam shrugged. "You guys seem like you haven't had more than five hours of sleep in a long time." On that he was right.

Emma nudged Dean awake. "What time is it?" He said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"It's almost nine." Emma pulled herself out of bed, gathering a fresh set of clothes.

"Shit." Dean did the same, throwing on a pair of jeans over his boxers. He grabbed his coat. "I'm gonna go grab some food, then we'll get down to it."

Sam nodded as Emma disappeared into the bathroom.

Not even two minutes later, just as Emma pulled on her ever-present leather jacket, there was a knock on the door.

"Em, we've got to go." It was Sam.

She opened the door quickly. "What's wrong?"

"Dean got arrested in the parking lot. The cops are on to us and they know we're here."

"Fuck," Emma swore. She walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back slightly, seeing that a cop was coming towards their room. Dean was being pushed into a squad car, and from what she could tell, he was mouthing off.

She stepped away from the window, weighing their options. Sam looked at her desperately as she wracked her brain for anything. They didn't have much time.

A thought occurred to her. "We'll have to leave through the bathroom window." It was big enough to fit Sam.

"Let's go then," he grabbed her by the arm, ushering her to the bathroom.

Thankfully, the cops gave up on them as soon as they saw no one was in the room. Emma and Sam circled back to the parking lot once the coast was clear. She leaned on the hood of the Impala, calculating their next move.

"So, Dean got arrested," Sam stated.

"Yep," Emma answered casually.

"And you're not worried."

"Nope." They were going to get him out. Sam shook his head, a smile on his lips.

Emma looked at him. "What?"

"Nothing, you just seem too calm."

"It's Dean. We always pull through."

"One day you won't though," Sam pointed out.

Emma looked down at her feet, nearly laughing when she saw the car keys glinting from under the Impala. Brilliant, Dean. She bent down to retrieve them, tossing them at Sam. He caught the keys easily. "Let's hope that day never comes."

X

Sam dropped Emma off at the library, saying he was going to dig around to find Joseph Welch's address – if the man was still alive. Emma searched through various books and through multiple websites, frustrated that nothing was jumping out at her. She kept coming across a Mexican folk tale about La Llorona, known as the Weeping Woman, who killed her children after her lover abandoned them for another woman and was sentenced to death for her actions. No suicide, but extreme grief. This spirit, contrary to Constance, was not a hitchhiker; instead, she'd take any children who would come across her as she wandered. A second folk tale Emma had found was one she already knew: the Ghost of White Rock Lake. In this one, a woman hitchhiker would either disappear from the vehicle of anyone who picked her up, or give an address to an abandoned house.

From what Emma could gather, every woman in white had a different MO. But what was Constance's? For one, men and the same stretch of road. However, why only those few victims over the years? There had to be some sort of commonality between them. She pulled another book in front of her, opening it with a thump.

After what seemed like hours of searching through every book and every webpage she could find, Emma was getting restless, and her vision was getting fuzzy despite her glasses. She photocopied and printed off as much as she could, and walked over to the diner where they'd questioned Amy and Rachel the previous day. The sky was turning navy and she checked her phone, seeing that she had no missed calls from neither Sam nor Dean. It had been hours since Sam left, and he'd said he would take care of getting Dean out, and she wasn't going to start worrying now. No news was always good news.

She chose a booth in the far back, and spread her papers all around. A waitress in her fifties came over to her, a pot of coffee in hand.

"You look like you could use a cup of Joe, sweetheart," she said in a scratchy voice. Emma looked up at the waitress, reading off her nametag "Deborah".

"I could use one," she agreed, smiling. Deborah poured a cup and set it down near Emma's hand. She looked at the papers littering the table.

"Workin' on somethin'?"

Emma thumbed the paper she was holding: a sketch of the Weeping Woman, her white dress covered in blood. "Uh, yeah. An article, actually," Emma lied, hoping Deborah wouldn't pry more. She gave the waitress a shy smile.

"It's a shame what happened to her," Deborah said, pointing to the Jericho Herald article with Constance's photo.

"Did you know her?" Curiosity always got the best of Emma. Maybe she knew more about Constance and her death; maybe it could help Emma gather the missing link between the women in white lores she'd found and the case on their hands.

"I was a good friend of Constance's," Deborah explained, "and she loved those kids. Never knew why she killed them though."

Emma's eyes snapped up to Deborah. "She killed her children?"

"Never said so in the news, but the town knows. I think she did it to spite her husband for cheating on her, then realized what she'd done and offed herself."

"My God…" Emma breathed. So there was a link between the Constance and the Weeping Woman, and one as well with the Ghost of White Rock Lake. But it still didn't explain why she went after her victims or how they could put her to rest.

"Anyways, happy thoughts, dear," Deborah smiled warmly at Emma, seemingly unfazed by the information she had just relayed. "Want something to eat to go with that coffee?"

"Pancakes would be great, please," Emma said; those were her favorites. She could have them for breakfast, lunch and dinner, something Dean always teased her about.

"Comin' right up." With a smile and a wink, Emma was left alone. Her mind reeled at the information she'd just received. Constance had killed her children in a moment of insanity after her husband cheated on her, and now her spirit was cursed. Could it be that her victims were men she deemed to be unfaithful? Of course, it made sense and Emma felt stupid for not seeing the link before; while La Llorona took children, Constance took the lives of adulterous men. She needed to call Sam.

She dug her phone out of her pocket to check in on him, but it buzzed in her hand, an unknown number appearing on the screen.

"Hello?" She said a tad too quickly; she rarely got phone calls from unknown numbers, unless it was her dad who called from a remote payphone.

"Hey, baby."

Dean. Emma let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Sam managed to bust you out," she deduced. She couldn't deny that she was relived he'd gotten away without much trouble.

"I was hoping it'd be you, but he'll have to do," Dean joked. "Did you hear from him?"

"I was about to call him," Emma told him. Deborah came back with a stack of pancakes and set them down in front of her, retreating. She doused the pancakes in syrup and picked up her fork hungrily. "I found some things though."

"Yeah? Good. Where are you?"

"At the diner from yesterday," she answered around a mouthful of pancakes, nearly closing her eyes at how good they tasted; light and fluffy, exactly how she liked them.

"Thank God, I'm fucking starving. I could eat a horse."

Emma laughed, cutting another piece of her breakfast-for-dinner. "Just get your butt over here."

"Yes, ma'am."

Once she hung up with Dean, she dialed Sam's number. He picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, I was just about to call you," he answered.

"Yeah," Emma said, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear. "Turns out that the loving husband wasn't very faithful. He cheated on her; the waitress told me."

"Joseph admitted to that too," Sam said. "And if we follow the folk tale of the woman in white, her children didn't drown by accident, Constance killed them."

Emma stopped mid bite, her eyebrows pulling together. "How did you find that out? Did Joseph tell you?"

"No, I figured it out. Remember dad and Anthony hunted one back in '91?" Emma could practically hear the smugness in Sam's voice. Truth be told, she'd completely forgotten about that hunt; she was only eleven when it took place, and her dad tended to not fill her in as much on cases at that age like John did to Dean.

"Not everybody has a super genius memory like you, Sam." He laughed. "Anyways, did you find out where she's buried?"

There was a pause, and then Sam said, "She was cremated."

Emma dropped her fork onto her plate in frustration. "Fantastic."

"I'm gonna dig around some more. I'll give you a call if I can find anything."

She picked up her fork again. "'Kay, talk to you soon."

Dean arrived fifteen minutes later, a bacon cheeseburger waiting for him across from Emma. He dropped into his seat with a groan as he looked at the burger.

"Control yourself, Dee, we're in public," Emma chastised him, stealing a fry from his plate; he lazily swatted her hand away.

She filled him in on all the information she'd gathered, along with Sam's, as Dean polished off his burger in record time. They had everything they needed about Constance and the connection between her victims, yet they still had no idea how to get rid of her.

"Where does that leave us?" Dean leaned his forearms on the table, looking at some of Emma's handwritten notes and photocopies.

Emma leafed through her notes. "It leaves us that, according to the folktales, and what Sam found, Constance preys on cheating men on that stretch of highway. Only thing that's left now is how to get rid of her."

Dean pointed a fry at her. "And there's the whole 'never go home' thing."

She nodded slowly, thinking. Maybe because of her guilt, Constance is too scared to go home...? An idea struck her.

Dean was looking at her suspiciously, his eyebrows furrowed. "Em, you've got your thinking face on. It's scaring me."

"I've got it. I think."

"Okay, shoot."

Emma leaned forward, keeping her voice low as Deborah walked by, giving them a warm smile. "What if she literally can't go home? Since her spirit is cursed, guilt ridden, the only way to put her to rest is by taking her to the place where she killed her children."

Dean pondered the idea, stuffing another couple of fries into his mouth. "Makes sense. I wouldn't want to go back to the place where my kids died."

"Exactly," Emma agreed, a plan already forming in her head. It was crazy, but it seemed to be their only option. "I'll call Sam, get him to pick us up. Then you'll drop us off at the old Welch house," his eyes snapped to hers then; she could tell he knew where she was going with this, and he did not like it. "And then you go looking for Constance and bring her back."

Dean looked at her for a moment before leaning back against the vinyl booth, crossing his arms. "In other words, you want me to pretend I'm this horny guy who doesn't mind cheating on his girlfriend with a random hitchhiker," he deadpanned, his eyes serious.

She leaned forward. "I don't like it either, but yes, that's essentially what I'm saying."

He pursed his lips, uncrossing his arms and folding them on the table. "I imagined you giving me a hall pass for Daisy Duke, not for some dead chick."

Emma cracked a smile, reaching across to take his hand. "Would you rather it be Sam?"

"I never said I wouldn't do it."

Her phone buzzed. With her free hand, she pressed it to her ear. "Hey Sam, gimme a sec. We're paying then we'll go outside so I can put you on speaker."

"Yeah, no problem."

Dean helped her gather the papers and stuff them into her backpack. He slung it over his shoulder and placed two twenties on the table, leaving more than enough to cover their meal.

She put her phone on speaker when they were out on the sidewalk.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, "a fake 911 call. I dunno, that's pretty illegal."

Sam laughed. They could hear the distinctive rumble of the Impala in the background. "Did you figure something out, Em? I think I got som- shit!" They heard the screeching of breaks, and then nothing.

"Sam?" Dean asked worriedly. Instead of Sam, another voice answered over the speaker, one that was all too familiar. "Take me home," Constance said. The line cut off.

Emma looked at Dean wide-eyed, only to find that his expression mimicked hers. Fuck, was the only thing that crossed her mind at that moment as she followed Dean to the back of the diner. They found a car easily – doors unlocked – and Dean got it going wit little effort. The tires squealed against the pavement as they peeled out of the parking lot at top speed; they had to get to that house before Sam.

Thankfully, the car they'd stolen could handle Dean's reckless driving, and they managed to find the old Welch house on Breckenridge road in less than fifteen minutes. But as they neared the darkened house, the headlights sweeping over the still running Impala, Emma feared that they were too late. She could see through the fogged rear window a feminine silhouette looming over the driver's side.

She and Dean were out of the car in an instant, running as fast as their legs could take them. Neither of them had a set plan in mind, a further complication being that the rock salt loaded shotguns were in the trunk of the Impala. Emma could feel her gun press into the small of her back as they neared Sam and she reached for it, thinking it would have to do.

The silence of the night was cut with Sam's screams of pain mixed with the firing of a gun and breaking glass; Dean had used his own gun to shoot at Constance.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean approached the car cautiously, while Emma stayed close behind, her eyes scanning their surroundings. She didn't hear Sam's reply because one moment she was behind Dean, and the next she was flying to the ground, suddenly finding herself unable to breathe as Dean fell on her. Since when did he weigh three hundred pounds?

"Em?" He sounded winded as well, and slightly disoriented.

"Can't... Breath..." She gasped. The pressure was taken off her chest and her lungs could properly fill with air. Dean stood above her, offering a hand. She took it gratefully.

"D'you hit your head?" He asked her, concern filling his voice. She shook her head; they had more pressing issues at hand.

The Impala's engine revved, and Emma and Dean turned to see it lurch forward, crashing through the front door of the wooden house. They pushed through the wreckage and found Sam stumbling out of the car, clutching his chest. Emma was the first to reach him and she struggled to keep him upright, but Dean was soon on his other side, stabilizing him.

"Where did she-" Sam didn't finish his question, a bureau slamming the three of them against another piece of furniture. Emma pushed along with the boys, but it wouldn't budge. The air got cooler, and Emma looked up.

Constance stood in the center of the presumably living room, holding a portrait that had survived the wreckage. From where she stood, Emma could see that it was of Constance and two young children, a boy and a girl. A chill ran through Emma as she examined Constance's haunted face, unable to fathom what it was like losing ones children... Suddenly, Constance's icy glare fixed Emma, the furniture digging painfully into her abdomen.

Water was running was down the stairs, and Emma's eyes followed the movement to the landing, where two children stood, their clothes dripping. It was the boy and the girl from the photo Constance was still gripping tightly in her hands.

"You've come home to us, mommy," they spoke in an eerie voice, sending a chill down Emma's spine. They flashed next to Constance, who looked at her children with a mixture of distraught and terror as they wrapped their small arms around her. Suddenly, she screamed. Emma had seen countless of spirits been put to rest, yet it was the first time she was witnessing something of this nature; instead of vanishing in a burst of flames, Constance and her children were melting into the wooden floorboards, leaving a puddle in their place.

The pressure on their abdomens disappeared, and Sam and Dean shoved the bureau away.

"I guess there's a first for everything," Dean said. Emma couldn't agree more as she kept looking at the puddle of goo in the middle of the living room. "Nice going, Sammy. Em had it figured out too, though I wasn't too crazy about her plan." He slapped his brother on the chest. Sam gave a pained laugh.

"You win this one," Emma teased. Sam shoved her as she walked by him to get to the Impala, where Dean was inspecting it.

"What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?" Sam called to Dean

"I'm glad you're the one that made out with the chick and not me," he answered, looking at Emma pointedly.

She was looking at the car instead, seeing that despite the Impala sized whole in the facade of the house, there were no dents or scratches apart from the broken windows. "At least my plan didn't involve your baby going through a wall," she retorted.

"Thanks for reminding me," he said to her before turning to Sam, raising a finger threateningly, "if you fucked my car, I'll kill you."

Sam looked at his brother, unfazed. A smirk played on his lips. "That thing's a tank."

"You two can argue in the car," Emma said, cutting off Dean from saying anything else. Another job was done, a few more lives possibly saved. It was getting late, and they needed to hit the road if they wanted to get Sam back on time for his interview.

X

Soft music played in the car as they drove back to Stanford, the roads all but deserted in the night. Sam had chosen to sit in the backseat, wanting to stretch his legs; he was looking up the note John had left Dean in his journal at the police station. As it turned out, they were coordinates, and wherever they led to, their dads wanted them to be there. Emma had an odd feeling that despite this message, her dad and John wouldn't be there, but it was their best lead at finding them.

"I'm telling you," Emma spoke to Dean over the music, "when we find them, I'm going to give them a piece of my mind." She was tired of this wild goose chase, where she got more frustrated with each passing day. If only they would give them a call once in a while... in lieu of some cryptic voicemail.

Dean took his eyes off the road briefly to look at her. "Okay there, tiger," he smirked. Emma stared back, indicating she was serious about what she'd said. She knew it bothered Dean just as much that their dads were MIA. "I know, Em. I'm not gonna tell you to stop worrying, but I am gonna tell you to relax for a bit."

"Blackwater Ridge, Colorado," Sam said from the backseat. Emma twisted around. He was cradling a flashlight between his cheek and shoulder.

"What?"

"The coordinates," Sam told her, "they point to Blackwater Ridge, Colorado." Emma nodded. That was something at least. But why would they want them to go there? Another case?

"Sounds charming," Dean spoke up, "how far?"

"About six hundred miles."

Dean glimpsed at his watch. "If we shag ass we could make it by morning."

Emma looked between Sam and Dean, seeing the younger of the brothers shift uncomfortably and hesitantly.

"Dean..." He finally said.

Dean kept his eyes on the road, but Emma didn't miss the twitch when he clenched his jaw, or the disappointment that flashed in his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I meant Emma and me. We'll take you home," his voice was stern and his tone was choppy, effectively cutting off any further conversation.

They were silent for the rest of the drive to Stanford.

X

Unlike the first time they dropped Sam off, Dean was out of the car, standing next to Emma. The tone had shifted between them; Dean's demeanor had softened in the slightest, and Sam was hesitant, almost as if he himself was questioning what he should do next. Emma felt as if this was another goodbye, one that would last much longer than the last.

"So, um, thank you," Sam said, stepping up to Emma. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

Emma hugged him back. "Call once in a while, okay?" She told him. Sam didn't want to be part of the hunting life, but there was no reason why they couldn't be part of each other's lives.

"I promise, Em. Maybe we can do what Jess suggested." She smiled at him as he stepped away from her, indicating she'd like that.

Sam turned his attention to Dean. "Good luck finding dad and Tony," he told his brother, "let me know." He hesitated then, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Maybe... Maybe I could meet up with you guys later."

Emma looked at him uncertainly, and she could see Dean carried the same expression. "We made a hell of a team back there," Dean answered. Sam nodded and hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder.

"Go see Jessica," Emma urged him with a smile, "and good luck tomorrow, you'll knock 'em dead."

Sam waved at them and walked away. They watched until he disappeared around the corner of the building.

Emma rested her hand on Dean's chest. It was just the two of then again, on a seemingly impossible mission to find their dads. She knew they'd pull through; they always did. "You okay, baby?"

Dean smiled at the nickname she seldom used and caught her hand in his. "Yeah, let's get out of here," he said softly. She gave one last look at the apartment building before getting into the car. A selfish part of her screamed to make Sam stay with them, but the rational side won over; Sam was happy here, this was his life and his home, and she would never ask him to choose between this and them.

She watched as Dean settled in the driver's seat, turning on the engine. "Colorado?"

His hand reached across to take hold of hers. His palm and fingers were rough and calloused from years of hunting and working on the car, but they were comforting to Emma. "In the morning. Why don't we take it easy like I promised you?"

Sam's apartment grew smaller in the background, something Emma didn't noticed as she continued to look at Dean, the streetlights casting shadows over his face. Years ago, she had thought of going to college, to try her hand at a so-called 'normal life'. But that life was never meant for her, not if it didn't involve her family. She'd found her home, although much different than Sam's, yet founded on the same principles.

"I think that's the best idea you've had in a while," she answered.

X

The day Emma's mother left, her father had told her that life was fragile and it could shift within a matter of minutes, without warning. Years had passed since then, and she hadn't fully understood what he'd meant until now. One minute you're driving down a nearly empty road, a promise of cheap beer, food and an easy night ahead of you, and the next you're back to where you were, running at top speed on a feeling that something wasn't right.

It's what Emma was mulling over as she and Dean ran up the stairs to Sam's apartment, her head pounding. They had been nearly off campus when Dean had noticed something strange; his watch had stopped working, though he'd changed the battery last week. Emma had checked hers as well, seeing it was stuck on the same time as Dean's: five past midnight, the time they'd dropped off Sam. An uneasy feeling had settled in the pit of Emma's stomach and it remained there as she and Dean reached Sam's door, shouts emerging from behind it.

Dean turned around, his eyes wild as he gripped her shoulders. "Stay here," he ordered. Normally, Emma would have protested and followed him in, but something in his tone made her stay quiet. He touched her cheek before kicking the door open, hot air bursting through and washing over her face. The shouts were louder now, and Emma swallowed hard.

He was only gone for a minute, but that one minute seemed to last a lifetime as Emma waited for Dean to come back with Sam and Jessica. Sam's agonized screams grew louder until Dean shoved him out the door; one glance at the oldest Winchester's eyes told her that Jessica hadn't made it.

With a heavy heart, Emma helped Dean get Sam down the stairs. Before stepping outside, she saw a fire alarm and as a last ditch effort, she pulled it; no one else was dying tonight.

"Sam," Emma told him when they were out on the lawn. He struggled against her and Dean, repeating Jessica's name. "Sammy, you have to look at me."

"Em," it was Dean that spoke. She looked around Sam to him. "You get him away from here, I'm gonna look around."

Emma's eyes widened, panic gripping her all at once. "You're not going in there!" She said frantically.

Dean shook his head, steadying Sam. "I'm not, I promise." With that, he jogged away, pulling his gun out of the waistband of his jeans. What was going on?

People were beginning to file out of the building, gathering around to look at the flames bursting through the windows of Sam's apartment. Sirens blared in the distance, but none of that mattered to Emma at that moment. Over the commotion, Emma could hear Sam and Jessica's names, people asking if it was their apartment, if anyone had seen them. She urged Sam onwards so he wouldn't be seen and questioned.

Sam's screams had diminished to sobs and he leaned into Emma, burying his face in her shoulder. "Jess... Should've been there..." He mumbled, and Emma's heart broke for him. He had been so happy, and now... everything had come crumbling around him within a matter of minutes. Sam was too heavy for her to support, and so they sank to the ground, clutching onto each other.

"I know, Sam, I know," she soothed. Despite how young she'd been at the time, she could vaguely remember how John had been when Mary died, or how her dad had reacted to her mother's brusque departure. She had never experienced the pain of loss first hand, but she could only imagine it felt like this. She wasn't going to tell him that everything was going to be okay, because everything was not going to be okay. She clutched Sam closer to her, feeling his hand tighten on her jacket. For once she had no clue what their next move was going to be, but she knew that nothing was going to be the same.

A/N: That's the end of the first case! Thoughts? Anything you would like to see in the next chapter? Anything you would like for me to avoid? Do let me know in the reviews, and if you haven't already, favourite and follow!

On another note, for those of you who have favourited and followed This IS Gospel and received a notification of two new chapters (or three) and skipped what I wrote at the end of The Boys Are Back, please see below:

I'm so so so sorry if you thought I was brilliant and pulled my life together and published two chapters in one shot. I didn't. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me? *insert Sam's puppy dog eyes, and Dean's wink* My best friend had made me realize that maybe 10,000 words was too long for a chapter, and advised me I should change it only once I had new content for you guys (which is the case). So blame her, not me (ish). As you'll see, the Four Long Years chapter is Emma and Dean walking up in the motel and getting a call Bobby about their dads, and going to pick Sam up from college. And, The Boys Are Back is the three of them getting to Jericho and starting on the case, ending with them jumping over the bridge to avoid being squished à la Austin Powers steamroller. I promise it's the last time I do this. But please like and review!