Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with Supernatural.
Author's notes at the bottom.
Sam sighed as he turned off the news coverage of the election. Truthfully, staying awake until the early morning hours to watch numbers rolling in that confirmed another four years of the Obama administration might have been unnecessary. Doing so made him feel like he was still a somewhat normal person, though. Among the things he missed about his apple pie life at Stanford was being able to vote—say what you will about ending apocalypses and fighting monsters, but not being able to go to the polls made him feel like he wasn't in control. It was hard to register, though, when you had no stable address. Not to mention, his criminal record and multiple recorded deaths.
Dean had once suggested going to whichever swing state was closest on election day and casting a possibly less than authentic vote there, but Sam had swiftly vetoed that idea—much as he'd like to have a role in the election, he really didn't want to tempt fate by adding voter fraud to his storied list of crimes.
Needless to say, he had to be happy with being able to somewhat follow along between hunts. He was even somewhat satisfied with the results—he and Dean had both harbored vague suspicions that the bulk of the Romney/Ryan campaign was made up of Leviathans who hadn't yet been cast back to Purgatory, because they otherwise could not explain what exactly their platform consisted of.
It was only when he turned away from the television that Sam realized that Dean wasn't yet sleeping. In fact (he thought back over the past few hours), Dean had been awake, yet strangely silent, all night.
Instead, he was sitting at the motel room's table, hunched over the laptop. His gaze bore intensely into the computer screen, as he clicked through various links. One of them looked like a color-coded map of the United States, and another like a political news site. Yet another looked like some sort of blog, but Sam couldn't identify it—it was something called Tumblr, whatever the hell that was.
Sitting on his bed, Sam turned a curious eye to his brother.
"Dean. What's up with you? I thought you'd either be snoring or giving me grief about paying attention to this stuff for hours by now."
"I don't snore," Dean muttered distractedly, "but your geek-boy tendencies got me thinking."
Sam held back a retort about that being a new sensation—he was still on thin ice with Dean for taking a "year off" from hunting, and didn't really feel like provoking his brother at the moment. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow and said, "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I think I may have found us a witch to hunt."
Intrigued in spite of himself, Sam wandered over to the laptop and, with great difficulty, stifled a groan at the person Dean had been investigating.
"Ever hear of a guy named Nate Silver?"
Author's Note: Inspired by the election, political reporting, and isnatesilverawitch [] com.