For anyone who has bookmarked this story, chapter one had to see a bit of a re-write. It was flat, so I got some help and now it's better. The story is in creation and I need to get a few chapters out and get my bearings before I'll post more...Gotta make sure the story is right. I'm somewhat of a perfectionist and less of a writer, but it should be a good story.

This is based on a news article I read in the New York Times archives earlier this month. I'll be sure to get Sam and Dean to do a little research and maybe they can find it too :)

Enjoy.

Broken glass from the lamp cut into Sam's bare feet as Dean choked him into submission. Somewhere between awake and lack of oxygen, Sam felt a cold blade press into his neck. Dean's hand was steady as he pressed it deep enough to feel, just short of piercing his skin.

Dean pulled his left arm back between them, throwing Sam off balance, and tightened his hold on the knife. "Dying is a gift. Don't you want to go to heaven Sam?"

The door slammed shut and Dean Winchester waltzed into the middle of the room carrying two cups of coffee and a bag of something fried from the restaurant on the corner. "Sam-mi! Get outta bed sleeping beauty, we've got people savin' to do!"

Sam shot up in bed and reached for the invisible knife at his throat. He stared at Dean, his blank expression making Dean turn to see if there was someone else in the room behind him.

"What?" Dean asked, not sure if he should run for the door or ask his younger brother if he was okay.

"Nothing." Sam said swinging his legs off the edge of the bed. He stared at the floor and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. It was just a dream. Dean would never try to kill him. Well…unless he was possessed…or being mimicked by a skin walker...or…well, come to think of it, in their line of work, they've had their share of issues.

"Dude," Dean said, both as a question and answer—as he did when he really didn't know what to say, which wasn't often. "You look like shit."

Sam waved him off. He fumbled around at the end of the bed for his pants. "Is that coffee?" he asked, grabbing his jeans and taking a Styrofoam cup out of Dean's hand.

"Yeah, but it's not that girly crap you normally drink."

Sam gave him the Winchester 'fuck you' smirk, set the coffee down on the table and pulled his pants to his hips, leaving the button undone. There was a yellow file folder on the bedside table that wasn't there the night before.

"New job?" Sam asked, now turning the pages as though he were browsing the Sunday paper and not looking at photographs of murdered families and endless internet articles.

Dean watched him for a moment and set the bag down. "You sure you're all right?"

Sam didn't even look up. "Yeah, 'm fine."

Dean was silent a moment. "Nightmare?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Bite me."

"Scary type or premonition type?"

Kill your brother type, Sam thought. "Can we not do this now?"

Dean made his way around the motel room packing his belongings. He took a moment to hold his favorite hunting knife up to the light and then polished it lovingly with his t-shirt before putting it in its sheath and then in the side of his duffle. This did not go unnoticed by Sam.

"Dean, this doesn't look like anything supernatural. I mean, these families live in the same community, but they were murdered by having their throats slit. Sounds like some kind of wacked out serial killer to me."

"If you keep readin', college boy, you'll see that not only were the families murdered, but they're murder-suicides. When the killer finishes off the family in their sleep, they slit their own throats. Their own throats, Sammy! Do ya know what kinda balls that takes? And it's not just one guy, you see; its three families over the last six months and every time it ends in suicide."

"So, you think maybe an angry spirit or a possession?"

"I guess we'll find out. Twelve hour drive to Washington though. If we leave now, we can get there 'fore midnight. So, uh..get your shit toge-"

"Ya think I can take a leak first?"

"Fine, but put a rush on the beauty routine this morning – the roads callin'."