Hi! This isn't my first attempt at writing fanfiction but I must say this is the first one I've actually stuck to. I hope you enjoy this epilogue and I look forward to write more. Warning: some chapters may contain sexual scenes that younger viewers and wincest haters way find disturbing.

Sam groaned irritably as he shoved his giant frame out of the passenger door of the Impala trying not to hit his head. Dean glanced over the roof at Sam and smirked. Catching Dean's eye, he scowled, eyes narrow.

'What's the matter Sammy? Feeling a little squashed?'

Sam slammed the door angrily. 'Change it back.'

Dean gave a chesty giggle, placing his hand on his chest for emphasis.

'I'm sorry I have no idea what you talking about' he said smugly.

'The seat' Sam said slowly. 'Change the god dam seat back, jerk.'

Dean straightened his suit jacket before giving Sam a solemn stare.

'Seriously Sam, you need to chill out. Maybe you had a growth spirt' he suggested before turning around to face the unpretentious house with a strangely perfect lawn.

'Dude, I'm 26' Sam argued, also stepping around the hood to look at the house.

'Yeah, on paper' Dean smirked.

He glanced momentarily at Sam and started to walk towards the pastel pink door front door. Sam followed closely behind, straightening his navy tie. Dean could feel the vexation radiating off of his brother. He smiled to himself. They arrived at the door passing at least 6 garden gnomes on the journey. Sam and Dean stood side by side in their suits and squinted at the small letters printed on the door. Home sweet Home.

'Charming...' Dean mumbled.

'So this woman killed 4 people in the last 2 weeks by incinerating their bodies to ashes?' Sam questioned, looking down at a stuffed animal on the welcome mat.

Dean made a face at the animal and raised his hand to knock. 'I guess we'll find out.'

Forcefully, Dean knocks on the door 3 times and steps back out the way. For a moment there was no answer. They looked at each other before dean tried again, knocking a little harder.

'Mrs Bradley? This is the FBI; we would like to have a word with you' he shouted.

There was no answer again.

Sam pushed passed Deans shoulder and rested his ear on the wood and listened carefully.

'Well?' Dean pushed.

'Shhh!' Sam responded.

Sam stayed there for a moment. 'I can't hear anything… Maybe she's not home.'

He lifted his ear from the door and took a step back.

'How very convenient' Dean smiled, pulling out his lock picking kit like he was waiting to use it all day.

Just as Dean was about to lean in to the lock, the door swung open. Dean hastily straightened and shoved the kit in his pocket. In the door way stood an old lady with a poodle knitted sweater, hair white with age. Sam stood confused and worried.

'I-I'm sorry, are you Mrs Bradley?' Sam asked, cocking his head to the side.

The lady smiled sweetly at Sam. 'Yes that's me? What can I do for you sweetheart?'

Dean couldn't help but stifle a small grin in Sam's direction. Sam gave him a look that read to back off. He cleared his throat nervously.

'We, uh... we just–'

'—we're with the FBI, ma'am. I'm Agent Hicks and this is my partner Agent Ripley and we would like to ask you a few questions about Derek Hawthorn.'

He smile vanished slowly at the mention of the name.

'Oh' she said. 'Come in, come in, I'm not sure of how I can be of assistance but I'll try my best.'

Her gaze shifted from Dean to Sam, who was turning a shade redder.

'Anything for you handsome fellas' she said, her smile returning to her lips.

Sam laughed awkwardly before clearing his throat for the second time. She turned around slowly and hobbled into a door frame on the left.

'Looks like someone has a crush' Dean mumbled from the corner of his mouth.

'Shut your trap. Let's get this over with' Sam snapped back, stepping into the doorframe.

The house was just as plush as the outside; pastel pinks and purples all the way through the house. Sam closed the door behind him and followed Dean's footsteps into the living room. Mrs Bradley sat carefully in her matching poodle stitch armchair with a pink throw. She look up at Dean standing awkwardly just inside the door frame.

'Sit down, make yourself comfortable' she said gesturing at the purple coach opposite her.

Dean gave a flat smile before waddling over to the chair and sitting on the arm. Sam gave Dean an amused look before walking over to stand next to him.

'So, Mrs Bradley –'

'—please call me Norma' she interrupted.

'Okay, Norma' he tested. 'So what exactly was your relation with Derek Hawthorn?'

Norma looked at her wrinkled hands and sighed.

'He was a family friend, used to help me with small problems with the house, plumbing, re-decorating, that sort of thing' she continued. 'I was devastated when he passed.'

'And how did hear about his passing?' Sam said curiosity in his voice.

She looked up and smiled at him, making Sam suddenly uneasy, unfolding his arms and sitting up straight.

'Well, it actually happened here. He was fixing the light bulb in the garage. Dam thing never got fixed, still flickers every time you walk past.'

Sam and Dean glance briefly at each other in silent understanding.

She continued. 'Anyway, I heard him yell. I didn't hear him at first but when I did, I tried to get to him. It was too late.'

'What happened?' Dean said, pulling his notebook from his inside pocket.

'At first I thought he had left but that wasn't until I smelt… something quite strange' she mumbled.

'What did you smell Norma?' Sam asked.

'Well I could smell something burning, but it was only faint mixed with a strange metallic smell. When I looked down at the floor…' she paused for a moment. 'I saw a heap of ash with pieces of his shirt in it.'

Norma started to sob quietly to herself with her head in her hands. Both Sam and Dean didn't know how to react so they didn't.

'I just don't know how it could have happened' she said looking up finally.

'Well that's why we're here ma'am' Dean said with a reassuring tone.

She sniffled before pulling a pink and purple poodle handkerchief from her pocket.

'Mrs B— Uh, Norma, do you mind if we take a look in the garage?' Sam requested.

She nodded her head, putting the handkerchief back. 'It's just down the hall to your right.'

'Thank you' Sam stifled a smile and nudged his brother on the shoulder.

Sam led the way as they stepped down the hallway to the garage door.

'Got any ideas?' he asked, ducking under the cropped door frame into the garage

'Ghost?' Dean proposed. 'I mean she did say the light kept flickering.'

'Yeah but she could have just needed her light bulb changed man.'

'Still' he said, similarly ducking slightly under the door frame.

Sam pulled the switch to the light, enabling then to see in the darkness of the garage. Norma was right; the light still wasn't fixed Sam thought, looking up at the flickering light bulb. Looking down from that, there was a black smudge on the floor. Cautiously, he walked over and crouched down beside it. He turned to Dean, confidently.

'I think this is where Derek was killed' he said, sticking his finger in the black ash and smelling.

Dean made a face. 'Ah, dude! Why you gotta be all up in that?'

Sam ignored him and sniffed again.

'Metal…' Sam said wiping his ash covered finger on the floor.

'Well, what does that mean?' Dean said stepping closer.

'I have no clue…'

Dean pulled his EMF meter from his jacket pocket and switches it on. As he started to walk around the meter sprang into action.

'Well the needle is going crazy but, it might just be the powerlines outside.'

'Great. We have no accurate reading. This is a dead end' Sam said getting up from the floor.

'I wouldn't give up so soon Sam, I think I got something' Dean muttered wondering to the corner of the room.

'Ever heard of a place called, Birchwood?' he said picking up a rectangular piece of card.

'Should I?' Sam said, wiping his knees and peering nosily over Dean's shoulder.

'I'd be impressed if you did.'

On the card there was a picture of a man and woman on a beach and in the background a large hotel. It read: Birchwood: ain't a place like it. Tampa, Florida.

'You think this is Norma's?' Sam inquired.

'I don't think so Sam.'

'So, then its Derek's?'

'Has to be, unless Mrs Bradley likes to get her tan on every once and a while.' Dean chuckles, nudging Sam in the ribs.

'Don't.'

Sam mentally gags before snatching the card from Dean's fingertips.

'Looks like we're going on a little vacation…'