So I'll give you a fair warning: it's my first fic, but don't let that stop you from reading anyway. All constructive comments are hugely appreciated, like, a LOT. So if it isn't to much to ask, please leave some comments. I might ad that it is already completely written (even though the chapters are far from having the same size), in other words no quitting for my part. A huge thanks to InsertImaginativeNameHere who did the proofreading, without her you would literary have a mental break-down because of all the errors. Well I can't say much more besides hop in and enjoy the ride.

Oh wait. Actually if one of you guys knows how to put frigging blank spaces please do tell me 'cause it's driving me insane.

Now consider this beverage: crushed coffee beans, milk, and a ridiculous amount of sugar. Picture that in contradiction to human customs, it is not neatly contained in a medium sized carton cup but instead spilled over a clean skin-tight khaki t-shirt. We could add that the said clothing wasn't stowed away in some closet, but worn by a dark brown haired girl in her early twenties staring in shock at her unfortunate aggressor.

Congratulations, you now have the best recollection of Sam's late afternoon stop at the local coffee shop.

The lady's pained scream made Dean's sprint for ice-packs that much quicker, leaving Sam awkwardly by the side of said girl repeating mumbled apologies. The girl, like any other decent human being in these circumstances, interweaved her groans with seethed curses each one more inventive than the other. As the pain begun to subside, her litany of swearing slowly ceased due to lack of vocabulary, instead morphing into a hissed "Help me up," through clenched teeth.

Without a second thought Sam obeyed. With a mighty tug which thankfully didn't jerk her arm off, he lifted her to her feet, careful to avoid her furious eyes. Dean, who had finally come back, offered the ice pack, but the girl didn't react at all, instead seemingly looking through him.

A thick crimson stream of blood began leaking from the lady's nose, tracing its path across her thin lips to drip from her chin onto the floor. Her mildly dark-circled eyes were red, puffed, tears barely held back, which made them reflect the neon light in a strange manner, as if little strings of yellow stained her dark green eyes.

"Hey hey hey, I know it hurts," The words made Sam's head snap up; his brother beginning to be serious in this sort of situation meant that here was something more at stake than just spilled coffee. "But it was just coffee right? Except a nasty burn it's gonna be alright, eh?"

The vacant dark green eyes seemed to finally acknowledge Dean's presence. Abruptly the girl jerked herself out of Dean's grasp, leaped towards Sam, and snatched the ice pack and towel out of his hands. Because yes, for grasping someone's shoulders you have to have empty hands, and dropping everything on the floor is not an option. Giving it to your shocked little baby brother is though.

She settled her intense gaze on Sam, and for a moment - it was just a flicker - but he thought he had seen heart-crushing condolences in those green irises. In the flicker of an eyelash the look reverted back to cold hatred; with a steely tone that implied that a negative response would equal a long and agonizing death she stated, "You owe me 2.70 bucks."

Sam would have laughed if he wasn't the one in the situation, but seeing renewed anger flare in the girl's eyes, he took his leather wallet out of his jeans and gave the asked sum without a word. The girl took the money, directly bought another medium sized black coffee, and left.

Every, every single pair of eyes were boring their way into the backs of the two siblings.

Dean slapped Sam's shoulder in an exaggerated brotherly way and leaning in he whispered "Now say you're sorry one more time to be sure everyone heard and let's leave."

Here they were then. Back in the only hotel of a town so cut off from the rest of the world even hermits would qualify it as extremely isolated. Sam was sitting; slumped would have been a better word, on the corner of his bed, shoes off and with only one layer of clothing. Even without a sixth sense he knew that the stupid grin Dean had adopted when they had left the shop was still plastered his face.

And of course Sam was right: when he decided that the constant weight of that look was getting on his (at this moment) rather sensitive nerves, he was greeted with the happiest smirk in all history.

"I swear that if you look at me one more second with that look on your face I will summon hellhounds to grace you with a facial chirurgical operation." Sam spat through gritted teeth. Absolutely not taken aback and satisfied with the thought that the event was forever seared into his brother's brain, Dean tried, and failed, to sober up.

Opting for a change of topic instead, he asked "So why are we in this godforsaken town again?"

Sam irritably passed a hand over his face and flopped down on his mattress "Three so-called suicides by jumping off the bridge into the water."

"Yeah, and what does that have to do with us?"

"The bodies were never discovered."

"Woo, spooky."

"Well, guess what." Sam hissed, glaring at his brother, gradually losing more and more of his infamous calm as a little headache blossomed in the back of his head. "There's one eye witness from the last "suicide", she saw the man jump, but the body never came streaming by or something, same for the other victims."

"Okay you got me there, and what's the witness pretty name?"

Sam vaguely motioned at the computer, more concerned in tucking himself into his rough sheets than remembering the woman's name.

"And the plan is to hear her out tomorrow I guess?"

"Nice guess, Sherlock," Sam half-mumbled into his feathery pillow before inevitably falling asleep, leaving Dean and his chattering well alone.

oOo

She frigging hated coffee. It tasted bitter even with hundreds packs of sugar. On top of that, she would get that horrible coffee breath making every plant in a two meter radius wilt instantly. But, she bitterly admitted, it kept her awake: falling asleep at such a time was really not an option, so, she poured herself a mug of the foul thing, - coffee, that is. It was about 11 a.m, they would poke their pretty heads around the corner soon enough… and to no one's surprise, the doorbell rang.

"Hello we're from the FBI and we would…" Sam's face dropped simultaneously as Dean's and the lady's brightened up in the most flagrant of ways. Short unruly chocolate hair, forest green eyes underlined by poorly masked bags: it was the spilled coffee lady.

"Well hello there, Mr. Agent from the FBI, if you would please bother to wipe those stupid looks from your respective faces, you may eventually come in."

So they did.

The interior of the house was a mess, but a clean mess nonetheless, not a grain of dust in sight. The woman invited them to sit at what Dean guessed was the dining table, but wise was the man capable of discerning anything under the pile of newspapers, drawings, and just random… things…

"So, Winchester boys." The girl begun sipping her coffee with visible reluctance and disgust.

Seeing the way she had greeted them at the entrance they had figured out that the chances she knew something about them was absurdly high, but their names… someone knowing their names had always been indicative of trouble to come. Now the main goal was to know from where it would arrive from. Sam instinctively felt for his gun, carefully pressing the hard metal against his skin. If matters turned to the worst it would be a two versus one match.

"Can you tell me exactly what the hell of a kind of creature amuses itself by helping other people to, primo: drown themselves; secondo: erase them from surface of this earth?" She asked, the fiddling with her sleeves contrasting with the hint of dark humor in her voice.

"We've got no lead whatsoever," Dean said, shifting in his chair. On second glance those papers didn't seem as useless as he had thought. "That's why we're here."

Sam had come to the same conclusion "So if you have any useful information, or maybe know the friends or families of the deceased..?"

The girl instantly started foraging in the paper sea with a mad glint in her eyes, making the coffee mug sway dangerously with every sheet she pulled out. For a moment the paper rustling was all that could be heard.

"Shit," she breathed, breaking the relative silence. "Can't-" Folios were now flying all over the room "-find th— HA!" She triumphantly held three rustled pages. As she saw the brothers' almost frightened look, she collected herself again. "Those are part of the police records about the three suicides."

The Winchesters let their gaze rapidly fly over the records, not even bothering to ask themselves how she had obtained such papers.

"The police made no connection between the suicides?" Dean asked, frowning "Even though it was at the exact same spot?" The girl made an approving noise.

"And their behavior before the suicide is described in the exact same way." Sam half-mumbled as if talking to himself. "Ever tired, scared of every small noise, panic attacks."

"Not exactly what you would call typical symptoms of depression." Dean huffed leaning back again.

The girl's toying came back, but her voice was still as steady as could be. "Even the townspeople are calling it murders, the profiles of the victims just don't match with self-destruction. Take Mrs. Gordon for example: had everything to make her happy, nice family, good running business (the bakery if you must know), a cozy house… She was even telling me how she would go on vacation to Canada next month. "

"So, at first sight, no reason whatsoever to commit suicide." Dean sighed "And I guess that the other victims were the same 'no rainclouds on the horizon' types?" The girl approved again.

"When you were at the river, noticed anything strange?" Sam redirected the conversation as he mentally searched through the possible freaks it could be.

"Besides a suicide and a missing body?" Now don't let them know you're scared. "I went to search for the man. Coming to a certain point I saw footprints and started following them. But then, poof!" She gestured as if something had vanished into thin air and Dean wondered how long the mug would survive in this household. "Nothing. Like there had never been a trail to follow."

The last sentence hung in the air, the three improvised detectives rummaging the statement in different ways. A creature capable of altering reality or maybe just tricking the mind, that was a definition too vast to pinpoint what it might be.

Willing to break the silence, the lady forced herself to speak again "I can show you the place."