A/N: The boys investigate a string of strange deaths in the small town of Casper Mountain, Wyoming.
This is my first attempt at a fanfic piece. Please let me know what you think. More chapters to be posted.
Disclaimer: I do not stake my claim on Supernatural or the characters therein, though I do enjoy workin' my magic all over the page.
"Freakin' starving," Dean complained, sliding into the booth at the diner just on the outskirts of town. He picked up the menu, ignoring the exasperated stare from his brother.
Sam took the seat across from him, spreading open the newspaper he'd picked up at the door.
"Well?" he asked, looking around for the nearest waitress.
"Well, Bobby was right," Sam answered. "Latest murder in a series of three. Local grocer, 35, lived alone. Killed two days ago. Investigators have no leads."
"Is that all?"
"Yeah. No detail," Sam looked up, offering the red-haired waitress a smile as she made her way over to the table. "Just a salad, please"
"I'll have the bacon cheeseburger," Dean added, further ignoring the smirk from the other side of the table as he watched the shapely waitress wander away.
"You'll end up in the paper next," Sam taunted, looking down at the print. "'FBI's most wanted, Dean Winchester, brought down by an army of angry cows.'"
"If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die happy, Sammy." He grinned roguishly, picking up the paper himself, his eyes scanning over the print. "That's weird. Guess we're gonna have to do some good ol' detective work, huh?"
"Looks like." He glanced around the dining room, noting the furtive glances that passed their way from the locals who gathered at the counters and the tables near by. When they caught his eyes, they turned quickly away, leaning in to whisper amongst themselves. "Small towns, man."
"What?" Dean laid the newspaper down, grinning widely in appreciation as his plate was settled in front of him.
"Ya'll need anything else?" the waitress asked, a flirtatious smile touching her own lips as she looked down at the oldest brother.
"No thank you,…Amber," Dean replied, reading her name tag. He chuckled as she walked away, shaking his head as he picked up the sandwich from his plate. "Smells…fantastic." He took a large bite, settling happily in his seat as he chewed, savoring each morsel.
Sam continued to glance around the room, trying to listen for bits of the whispered conversation, feeling a bit uneasy as he absently drew the fork to his mouth. Despite his efforts, the locals seemed more than content to keep their voices lowered, only occasionally glancing back now, aware that he was watching them as well.
"Dude," Dean mumbled around a mouthful of beef. "What the hell are you staring at?"
Sam leaned forward, glancing over Dean's shoulder. "This place is weird. They're watching us."
"Maybe they're making fun of your girlie salad," Dean quipped, licking his fingers. "Or maybe we're just too good-looking."
"C'mon, man. Be serious." Sam raised another bite to his lips and paused, his eyes finding a pale figure seated in the far corner of the room. "What the…" He blinked, just to find hat it had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"What?"
Sam dropped the fork to his plate and grabbed the newspaper, shaking it out to view he article again. After a long moment, Dean reached forward, pushing the paper down to look at his brother.
"You okay there, Sammy?"
He turned the article toward his brother, pointing at the picture. "This guy…was sitting in the far corner of the room. Staring at us."
"That guy's dead, Sam," Dean stated matter-of-factly, turning to glance behind his shoulder.
"I know that," Sam answered irritably. "I blinked and he was gone."
Dean took another noisy bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. "So…what? Is he like, reaching out from the grave or whatever?"
"Wouldn't be the first time." Sam ran his hand absently through his hair, settling to scratch the back of his head. "Maybe we should visit the morgue?"
"Now?" Dean asked, finishing off his dinner with a somewhat queasy look on his face. Dealing with dead bodies just after dinner wasn't exactly his idea of spending an evening. He sighed, seeing yet another incredulous look cross the younger Winchester's face. "Alright, alright. Let's go." He tossed a few loose bills on the table and nodded to the waitress as she moved to clean up behind them.
The bell on the door of the diner jingled somewhat perkily as the door swung shut at their backs and they climbed into the Impala, heading to the nearest motel to check in and change.
