Part of the Family Business (A Supernatural Fanfic)

Chapter Fifteen

On our way to a restaurant, I start to feel a little better.

"I think you were right, Chrys," Sam says from in front of me, showing off a hex bag.

"Now we need to interview the neighbors," I say. "One of them had to have seen something."

"Are you sure you're up for all that?" Dean asks as he pulls into a parking lot.

"Yeah. Like I said, I think it was just the smell," I defend.

We get out and walk into the restaurant. Luckily, they're still selling breakfast. Long story short: Dean eats waffles and sausage, Sam has biscuits and gravy with bacon, and I have cheesy scrambled eggs with a sausage biscuit, bacon, and pancakes.

"Please, don't throw that all up in my car," Dean says sternly as we walk back to the car.

"I can't make any promises," I reply. He opens the door for me, and I take a seat in the back.

The three of us return to the motel to get dressed in our FBI disguises. We haven't gotten a badge for me made yet, so I'm still just the intern.

I grab my clothes and go to the bathroom to change. When I turn on the light, I turn the fan on too and throw up in the toilet. They better not hear me. After I've had to flush twice, I get up off my knees and hear a knock.

"Hey," Dean's gruff voice semi-shouts over the fan. "You okay, princess?"

"Yeah," I say. "Almost ready."

With more speed than I thought I had in me, I swap out my clothes for the black and red suit. I look at myself in the mirror. My boobs look better than usual. I walk out of the bathroom with a small smile. Neither of the boys say anything to me, and all of us walk out to the car again.

"So," Dean begins, and I tense up a bit because I think he's going to ask me stuff. "Sam, you're smart. What's up with Chrys?" He pulls out of the motel parking lot as he speaks.

"Well, morning sickness is common after drinking lots of wine," he suggests.

"That was two nights ago," I say with a chuckle.

"Really? It's all a blur; sorry."

"Okay, but it's not morning sickness at 10:30. It's mid-morning sickness or something," Dean claims, confused.

"Well," I start slowly, "I did feel a little sick around dawn."

"And you didn't tell us?" Dean asks. He sounds hurt.

"Well, no, I didn't think it was that serious. I'm good at dealing with nausea," I say.

There isn't much talking after that, and eventually we get to the victims' neighbor's house. Dean knocks firmly on the door, and Sam tries to get a glimpse into the house past closed white curtains in the window just beside us. Someone opens the door, but the door isn't really open. It takes me a moment to realize there's a screen door there, too.

"How may I help you?" a tall, narrow woman asks. She's probably in her late 50s, a white cloud of hair on her head and glasses hanging around her tanned neck.

Sam and Dean show off their FBI badges.

"We're here to ask a few questions," Sam says. "Oh, and this is our intern Ludgate. We're agents Dwyer," he gestures to Dean, "and Haverford. May we.. come in?"

"Sure, sure," the lady says, opening the screen door. The three of us file in and take a seat in a living room adjacent from the foyer. There's a tray of lemonade and cookies on the coffee table.

"I'm expecting company soon," the woman says, circling a finger around the tray. "But not too soon. Take your time! I'm Jean Prado, by the way." Jean smiles and holds out her hand for each of us to shake. After she's gone around, she gently pushes the tray toward us. "Help yourselves."

Dean and I happily take a cookie from the tray.

Before putting it in his mouth, Dean asks, "Are you close with any of your neighbors?"

"Yes, of course," Jean exclaims. "This is a very tight knit community," she says with a smile.

"Would you say you were close with the Brovado family, then?" Sam speaks up.

"Yes. And what an awful tragedy it is that they were taken from this world," Jean says, putting a hand to her heart. "I assume that's the main reason you're here."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean says, brushing his fingers off on a napkin. He doesn't say anything after that, so I look over at Jean.

"Mrs. Prado," I start, "did you happen to notice anything odd about the Brovado family a day or so before the incident was reported?"

"I can't say that I did, Miss Ludgate," she says, tilting her head. She doesn't remember. "They've always been such a joy to have. In fact, when my grandson comes over, he's often over there with their two kids - what were their names? Celeste and Anthony, I believe..."

"Did you see anyone visit them at all - a neighbor or someone unfamiliar?" Sam asks, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Yesterday, the young woman across the street visited them with a Zip-lock bag of haystacks dipped in chocolate," Jean says confidently. "But you don't think it was her... do you?"

"Mrs. Prado, do you believe this lady across the street to be a dangerous person?" Dean asks frankly.

Slowly, Jean's shoulder come up to her ears, and then they fall back down. "She seems nice. I've never really met her."

"Do you have any reason to believe there's even a sliver of a possibility it was her?" I ask softly. This lady's hiding something.

"Well," she starts, glancing around at the floor nervously. "I don't think I'm in a place to judge someone I barely know."

"Don't feel obligated," I say quickly. "It's just good to cover all the bases, ma'am." At the end, I add a kind smile to her.

"If you're covering all the bases," she starts again, glancing between the three of us. "She - Thalia's her name - I've never seen her in church. Now, I know there's nothing wrong with that. But she always wears this weird symbol like a necklace around her neck. I'm not trying to call her out or anything, but everytime I see it, I get uncomfortable."

"Would you be able to draw the symbol for me?" Sam asks, rummaging through an inside coat pocket for a pad and pen. He holds them out for Mrs. Prado. She takes the two, not looking at Sam, and quickly draws something on the paper. When she gives it back, the three of us see she's drawn a seven pointed star.

"Thanks," Sam says slowly, taking in the picture.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Prado," Dean says, standing. "It was a pleasure to speak with you," he says with a smile, holding a hand out. They shake hands. Then she shakes hands with Sam and me before all of us walk to the door.

"Thank you for doing what you do," Jean says with a smile. "I hope the newspaper can deliver good word of what you've found," she says it like it's a question.

"Us, too," Sam says with a small wave before walking down the porch stairs. Dean and I follow after him to the car.

"Looks like we're paying nice atheist Thalia a visit," I say, slamming the car door behind me.