Sam Winchester was a reader, always had been. Fiction, nonfiction, short stories, histories, autobiographies - he read them all.
Sadly, most bookstores didn't carry the kind of books that made Sam's hands sweat. He had to go to Bobby Singer for those. Thick tomes with spells and charms, hunters' accounts and histories, ancient exorcisms and words of power - the accumulated knowledge sent Sam into a quivering, acquisitive frenzy.
Someday, he knew, he would have his own library, bookshelves stuffed full and massive stacks tottering in every corner.
Someday.
Until then, he'd just have to make do with his Kindle.