Dead End Signs and Wasted Land

"So, you're telling me that this all has to do with some priceless French painting? Of all the things in the world we go after, it's within some stupid painting?" I spat from the back seat of the Impala, as we pulled into the parking lot of the museum. According to Sam and Dean, this next case revolved around one picture, concluding that everywhere this painting went, people were getting killed. Irony. It sounded crazy, but thought What the hell- everything we do doesn't make sense so why not give this one a shot?

Dean cut the engine and looked over his shoulder, lips pursed about to say something but his mouth smeared into a cheap smirk as he got out of the car. Sam glanced back at me too, but sighed and opened his door. Rolling my eyes, I forced myself out the back seat wearily. I shut the door, gazing up at a three story red brick building, with white, narrow-framed windows as we walked across the lonely street. There were three, tall, white arch ways next to each other; we paced through them to the entrance. The whole atmosphere was sort of comforting, because it seemed like a normal museum in a typical populated town. I was sure it wasn't as normal as I assumed it to be.

There were a group of Asian families grouped together, getting ready to begin their tour when we entered. There were a lot of people standing around in the lobby. "Looks like we're just in time for the tour," Dean stated, joining the tourists without hesitation. I rolled my eyes and said bluntly to Sam, "We are so not going to fit in with this."

"Leave it to Dean with his bright ideas," he replied, shaking his head and we proceeded to catch up with the group. Dean looked over his shoulder at me once we were strolling along beside him. I turned my head as he smirked and laughed. I sighed and tried to listen to the female tour instructor in a petite, gray uniform. Dean stared at her, not wiping the grin off his face. I rolled my eyes. I knew it was an instinct for Dean, but was it the fact that I was sensing a strong hint of jealousy?

The woman strutted off in front of the group, Dean batting his eyes as she swung her hips side to side. The first time in history, I was actually disgusted by his sexual side towards other woman. Does this have something to do with our dirty little secert that probably never should have happened anyway? God, how could I be so stupid. This was who Dean Winchester was- an irrisistable, seducing, player.

She spoke, point up at a painting of the town and little kids playing. "This painting here on your left of a small village outside the town. It was created by an unfamiliar artist named Oliver Duke in 1994-"

Sam elbowed my arm. I jerked my head, as he leaned over whispered into my ear, "Same year the killings had started. That's our painting."

"How do you know?" I questioned, feeling Dean's gaze bulleting the back of my head. Sam pulled out a folded piece of paper, unraveling it and handing it to me. The painting was an exact replica of the one printed on the paper of a victims home. "Coincedence? Ironic?"

He shook his head. "Doubt it," he answered, turning back up at the woman. As I made my attention back to her as well, I no longer had Dean staring at me. I glanced at him in the corner of my eye; his eyes stripping the uniform right off the tour guide. I seriously just wanted to smack him on the back side of his head, but it would do no good. He's going to stay the same.

"Excuse me," Dean said waving a hand in the air, hoping to get the woman's attention before she went onto another piece of art. Her auburn hair danced over her shoulders as she turned her head and shot a tedious stare at him. Everyone in the group now was gawking back at us. Of course, we had to be in the very back of the pack and Dean had to open his big, fat, mouth- scratch that- I loved his big, fat mouth, just scrumcious. God, what the hell was I thinking?

She sighed loudly, as if annoyed that someone had to say something to interupted her lecture. "Yes?" Dean shined the same devilish grin on his face he's known for. The woman smiled back. Oh shoot me now. "The painting, where in the town was it set to be taken place?" He asked curiously.

"Melbourne Avenue;" she answered dull and dry, but for some reason was still smiling, seductively. "Across from Gary's Body Shop and the old Milton Cemetary."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Cemetary huh? Anything weird go on in that cemetary?"

Her smile faded, as she was currently staring at him baffled, but continued "There were always strange things going on. Kids would constantly trespass the grounds, especially at night."

"All at night?" Sam chimed into the questioning. "Because they assumed it was haunted and thought it would be cool to go there- makes sense. How far are the grounds from here?"

From this point, the young, auburn was starting to lose her bubbly self-esteem. "Ten miles west."

"Oh and another queston about the painting," Sam added, as she nodded slowly for him to go on. "Is this the same painting that's been in the homes of various serial killings in Hickory over the past- oh 16 years maybe?"

The woman narrowed her eyes, staring at them skeptically but avoided the question she was being asked. "Can I please continue you on with my tour you two?" she asked gritting her teeth. The boys both nodded and the woman did a complete one-eighty on her heels, rushing to the next piece of artwork. Dean was about ready to follow the rest of the group, but Sam and I each grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back our way. He shot us a disturbed look simply saying, "not now," as if reading our minds that we had to head out to the cemetary, for any active that could possibly give us a lead.

I growled at him, glaring at him venomously. "We're going to the cemetary now. You have all the time in the world to shack up with another woman. Let go of the rope cowboy, that steer is lose."

"She wouldn't be a steer, she'd be a- oh," Sam stated to clarify my mistake, but I knew what I said. It was an understatment and Sam finally caught on when I veered my eyes back at him, annoyed.

I sighed again loudly, turning around on my toes and walking in the opposite direction back to find the entrance/exit. "Kayla, wait up!" I heard Sam shouting back at me, footsteps getting louder as they approached. Once we was pacing beside me, I glanced over my shoulder to see Dean slacking, with a puzzled and irritable expression crossing his face. As much of an asshole Dean was or could be, our little fling in the car was wanted and I don't regret it because I was stupid enough to believe he wanted me for me, I was stupid because I believed that having sex would actually make him more attracted to me. Boy, was I confused.

Sam's arm bumped against mine swiftly. I gazed out the corner of my eye at our arms just cenimeters away from each others again. Moving my eye at his stern face, staring distantly ahead of him. What about Sam in all of this? I mean we did share a great connection, sharing an amazing passionate kiss. Sam cared about my feelings, more so than I could say for Dean. Maybe I was looking in the wrong direction, or maybe I'm just that desperate and too blind to realize I like both Winchesters more than a good friend anymore.

God, help me if you even exist.