Author Note: This is my first fanfic, so constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. This story is rated T for: slight Wincest (nothing severe though). (And yes, I alternate several words, because I don't cuss.) Don't like? Don't read. And on to the story.

Roots

1. The Case

Sam's POV

"I think I found a new case," I say, my hazel eyes boring holes into the unlucky newspaper. "Four people have been killed in the same area of Bailyton, Tennessee, in the last month. I think it has something to do with Deer Springs."

Dean glances away from the road with a questioning look. The one he always has when he's trying to figure out how it's one of our cases. "And?" he asks.

"And there is one survivor, Lydia Mask, who claims her 'dead husband tried to kill her.' I figure we check it out. The worst thing that happens is that it ends up being the local cop's kind of case," I wince at how numb I've become. Dying multiple times and being returned to the world of the living, once without a soul, will do that to you. I glance at Dean, his jade eyes fixated on the road. I know for a fact he won't turn down a case I want to check out, especially if it's peaked his interest too.

He sighs and says, "Fine, but if this isn't a case, a certain younger brother is going to answer for it."

Victory!

"How were the victims killed?" he mutters, obviously aware of my joy, and unhappy to surrender.

"Their throats were slit," I reply. I could have sworn I saw him stiffen, but I passed it as my tired mind acting up.

He nods, "That narrows it down to not a werewolf or vamp, thanks," he said to the air.

Bailyton, Tennessee

A day later

Dean slides his fake credit card across the desk at the motel to a smiling, blonde woman, and says, "Two queens."

She nodded and began typing away on her keyboard. The smile slowly faded and was replaced by a frown. She sadly said, "I'm sorry, but we only have two rooms left and they're both kings."

Before I could turn to walk back to the Impala, I heard Dean say, "We'll take that."

I visibly stiffened and was glad that I was standing behind Dean or he'd have without a doubt noticed something was wrong. I took the time he was distracted to focus on calming my racing heart down to more manageable rate. The woman began to smile again and gave us the room key to motel room sixty-one. We walked in silence and once I had set down my bag onto the king size bed in the rather large room, I turned and snapped at Dean, "What the heck, Dean!?"

He looked at my with those elegant emerald eyes, which were now looking at me questioningly and said, "There's a couch. You can have the bed, and I'll take the couch."

I immediately felt ridiculous for my sudden outburst, and was about to say something when Dean's police radio went off.

Local units, a 187 has been reported in Deer Springs.

Copy that, headed out now.

I released a breath I hadn't even known I'd been holding in relief. Dean casually walked out of our room and I hear the Impala start roar to life. I unhappily follow him out to the shining black car and slip into the passenger seat still embarrassed by my outburst, but not all that sure why I had acted so impulsively. I'm normally more aware of what I'm saying but the past few days I'd found myself slipping up and I know Dean had began to notice it.

"I need a beer," I say without thinking. I feel relieved when Dean replies.

"Me, too, but we're at the crime scene."

I quickly dig through our box of I.D.s and chuck an I.D. at him and take mine as well. We silently exit the Impala and duck under the crime scene tape.

We flash our badges at the on-scene detective and I ask, "So, what happened?"

I glance at the victim, Angela Rain, being put into the back of the ambulance. Blood staining the white cloth draped over her lifeless body. The detective replied, "She was raped, and then her throat was slit. Just like the other victims."

This caught my attention, while Dean looked like he was going to be sick. I tried to ignore how unlike him that was and said, "Raped? That wasn't part of the other reports."

She nodded, "It wasn't part of the others except one male that had severe anal tearing. The other female was a prostitute, so there was nothing to acknowledge it as more than a job getting a little rough."

While Dean is still having trouble containing his gag reflex, I walk around the scene. A hiking trail passing several enormous oak trees, a crystal clear stream bubbling down the side of a sharp slope and then crossing under the trail and winding down out of sight.

I nod to the detective and say, "Thank you."

I grab Dean by collar of his jacket and drag him to the Impala, "Seriously dude?"

He shakes his head and mutters, "I just don't like this case."

"Well, suck it up," I say a little more harshly than I meant and instantly feel guilt nibble at my neck.

We climbed into the car and sat for a moment. I finally broke the ensuing silence by saying, "What do you think is killing these people?"

Dean shakes his head and says, "Witch, ghost, demon. Anything that wants to torture these people in every way possible."

What could be the connection between the victims and that spring? And why rape them?

"We should go speak to Lydia Mask. She survived her attack and hopefully she can shed some light on to what is attacking these hikers." I say.

He nods and steps on the gas.

End of chapter 1