I have to preface this by saying that July_July_July is not only an awesome writer, but also a generous and charitable person. So charitable, in fact, that she bought me in the last Sweet Charity auction. That is some kind of charitable, indeed. I am thrilled to have had the pleasure of writing for her.

And second, I should also add that there's a LOT of Texas love going on in here. I don't know why anyone would have a problem with that, but thought I'd go ahead and warn you up front, just in case. I'm firmly convinced that Texas is the best of all states, and it maybe shows a little.

Also, I'm neither a doctor, nor a meteorologist.

Chapter 1

Texas.

For such a short word, Sam mused, it sure managed to sound big. He wondered if there might be something to that – like "a big things come in small packages" sort of maxim. Alaska was also a relatively short name – certainly shorter than, say, South Carolina, where they were now. Or Rhode Island, where they had lived four schools ago. That was definitely a lot of name for such a small state.

Sam thought through the state names, carefully dividing them into those he'd lived in and those he hadn't. There were 16 left in the later category, and Alaska and Texas were two of them. Though he'd be scratching Texas off the list soon. There were only two on the short list with names shorter than Texas, but they were enough to disprove his theory: Ohio and Utah both had one less letter, but a lot less space.

So. Just a coincidence. Sam was beginning to realize that there were a lot of coincidences in the world. Lots and lots more than his dad seemed to believe in, judging by the way he said, 'No such thing as coincidence, Sam,' all the time.

For instance, there was the whole reason they were moving to Texas. They'd lived in a lot of places. Thirty-five states. Seeing as Sam was 13 years old, that was an average of 2.69 (which rounded up to three) states a year. Plus, they lived in more than one city in 12 of the states. That brought them up to an average of 3.6 moves a year, which rounded up to 4. A lot of places. But not Texas, even though Texas made up eight percent of the land in the 48 contiguous states and, judging by the old westerns Dean liked to watch on TV, was chocked full of ghost towns.

Dad said that was because Texas was also chocked full of the modern-day descendents of gunslingers, who were perfectly capable of taking care of their own ghosts. Or, at least, had been until recently. Last month, however, two of those gun-slinging progeny had up and died, and Dad said there was no such thing as a coincidence. So, two hunters dying within 30 miles of each other definitely meant something foul was afoot. 'Course, Dad didn't use those words, but Sam had read them recently in a Sherlock Holmes book and liked the way they sounded.

Anyway, the upshot, as Dean put it, was that everyone else could go to hell, they were going to Texas. (Which Sam thought Dean sounded really cool saying, but knew that he hadn't come up with on his own. It was actually a paraphrase of something Davey Crockett said in 1835 during his campaign for a seat in Tennessee's congress. Sam knew that because he liked to study up on a state before he moved there. Dean didn't, normally, so Sam wasn't sure if he knew that he was paraphrasing a Davey Crockett quote or not.)

In particular, the Winchesters were going to Canyon, which was about 500 miles away from the part of Texas that Davey Crockett lived in for a few months. That was a little disappointing; Sam had been hoping to see the Alamo. He had even looked into whether there might be some ghost of its defenders hanging about that could entice his Dad to take him there. But all the bodies had been burned, so that was unlikely.

But Canyon might be cool, too. It was named for the nearby Paloduro Canyon, which was the second largest canyon in the United States. Dean though that was pretty lame, but Sam figured since they'd never seen the Grand Canyon, it shouldn't be too disappointing.

Even better, Canyon was home to West Texas A&M University, which, in turn, was home to Texas' largest history museum. (He was beginning to notice that Texans seemed a lot more preoccupied with superlatives than the rest of the country.) And since Sam was well aware that seventh grade was the year appointed for all 13 year olds to learn their personal state's history, he thought that might come in handy.

Sam was sure to be behind, since he'd started the year in Maine and then moved to South Carolina after Christmas. It was April now, so he had approximately two months to learn the history of Texas. This sounded like a particularly tall order, since the state had, according to the books Sam had been reading to get a head start, been part of six different countries in its lifetime, and originally included land that was now part of five other states.

Dean said he should suck it up. At least, he said, Sam wasn't spending seventh grade in Nebraska. That's where they'd been when dean was in seventh grade, and he swore up and down that Nebraskan history could be used in surgery as an anesthetic.

Sam mostly figured that Dean was right. So far, Texas was sounding like a pretty cool place to live for awhile. Well. Maybe cool wasn't the best word. Dean would make fun of him if he knew Sam was making cool/uncool assessments based on the quality of a state's history class. But you know. Anyway. He wondered if he might be able to talk Dad into a horse.

OOO

Dean rolled his eyes as he passed through what had been passing for their living room for the past few months. He'd distinctly heard the word "horse" leave Sam's mouth in the kid's best "innocent, yet still wheedling" tone. He almost wanted to stick around and hear this conversation for himself, because it should be good for a laugh. But Dad had said get packed, and if he had to explain why Sam could not have a horse and then come out to find the car still wasn't at least halfway packed, it was going to be a long drive to Texas.

Well, really, it was going to be a long drive, regardless. And somehow, despite the 14 hours they were planning to spend on Texas highways, they weren't going to be going through LaGrange. Dean suspected a conspiracy. How could they go to Texas and not go see the Chicken Ranch? It was, like, the state's most famous landmark. "They got a lot of nice girls," ZZ Top had been crooning at him for as long as he could remember. A Dolly Parton movie had been made about it.

He'd pointed this out to Dad as subtly as he could, but Dad had just looked at him and said, "We're not driving six hours out of our way so you can see an out-of-commission whorehouse, Dean."

'Course, when he put it like that …

Anyway. Dean walked back through the living room, catching a snatch of Sam and John's conversation – "I was just thinking it'd be a good thing to have around, you know? Animals are really sensitive to the supernatural." Dean cringed and wondered if his own attempts at subtlety had been as obvious as that. He hoped not.

Back in his and Sam's room, he gave a last look at his side. Nothing left that he was planning to take. Scraps of paper filled with doodles in lieu of class notes, a few of phone numbers he'd no longer need, some socks too holey to bother packing, much less bending down to retrieve.

Sam's half, on the other hand, somehow managed to look cleaner, despite the fact that almost all his stuff was still there. Dean wasn't supposed to help him pack anymore. When Sam turned 10, Dad decreed that he was old enough to be relied upon to do it himself. But 13 or not, Dean was pretty sure that if Sam was allowed to do it unsupervised, he'd end up with two bags of books and one change of underwear. So, checking over his shoulder to make sure Dad was still preoccupied with the pony discussion, Dean moved to the bottom two drawers of their shared dresser and began pulling out Sam's clothes. He'd just make sure they were at least in Sam's line of sight when he started packing.

OOO

OK. So a horse was definitely a no-go. They cost too much to feed, wouldn't fit in the trunk and probably would end up kicking Sam in the head, anyway, Dad said. (Personally, Sam suspected that he'd make a brilliant horseman.) But he had given Dean permission to take Sam to a rodeo while he was away, trying to hunt down whatever was hunting hunters. So horses were still in the offing, kind of. Maybe Sam could prove himself, yet. Maybe there would be a runaway bucking bronco barreling toward the audience and he'd jump on and stop it, calming it with his soothing voice and confident seat …

Sam replayed that scenario in his head a few times (by the third time, Penny Parker had some how shown up in the path of the bronco; though she hadn't mentioned that she too would be leaving South Carolina for Texas, it didn't seem out of the realm of possibility, really) as he loaded the last of his bags into the car, grunting a bit because it was the one he'd packed his books in. All but one, anyway. He was keeping "The Texas Republic: A Social and Economic History" out for the ride. He'd … well, he'd nicked it from the St. Stephen Public Library. Given that it'd only been checked out twice since it was published in 1946, he figured no one'd mind. Dad had eyed it a bit suspiciously, but Dad had no real idea what books Sam did or didn't own, and evidently didn't feel sure enough to call him on it. Dean would know, but Dean was in no position to comment.