"I am a traveler of both time and space…" Dean sang out along with his Led Zepplin tape.
"Job," Sam said. He flipped through the handful of small town newspapers littering his lap and the floorboard of the Impala.
"Job," he repeated a little louder.
Dean continued singing, drumming along on the steering wheel.
"I found another job!" Sam yelled, turning the radio volume down.
"Woah there, Sammy," Dean said, wide-eyed. "Do I really have to remind you what happens when someone touches the tunes?
Sam rolled his eyes and fluffed the paper in his hands. "Apollyon, Minnesota," he started. "Father and husband, Eric Liebe, died yesterday in yet to be determined causes."
"And?" Dean asked. "I'm not seeing what's so freaky about that."
"He was found in the middle of Fisherman's Park, his body charred. His six year old daughter was found several feet away under a tree, seemingly unfazed."
"Not another child of the corn," Dean groaned.
"Shut up for a second. There's more," Sam said as Dean gave him a dirty look. "It says here that two years ago the guy's son died in the same way in his backyard in the middle of the day. They found the little girl not far away."
"So what are we thinking?" Dean asked, taking the next exit to head towards Apollyon. "Demon kid?"
"Sounds like it," Sam said, folding the newspaper in his lap. "I guess we'll find out."
"So what's the deal with this family?" Dean asked, adjusting the tie around his neck as he and Sam walked up the driveway of a two-story yellow cottage-like house.
"It's just the mother and the little girl. And foster kids, around five of them," Sam answered as he knocked on the door. The sound of screeching children muffled behind it.
"More kids?" Dean choked.
"What is with you?" Sam asked with a sideways glance.
"Never met a kid I liked," Dean grumbled, adjusting his tie again. "They're always sticky and slimy for no reason! And the smell—"
The door opened to a frazzled, yet pretty, strawberry blonde woman holding a couple slices of bread and a tub of mustard. The squeals of children were almost ear-piercing now. The woman let out a long breath. "Hello, erm…officers? I'm sorry, I thought they were sending investigators tomorrow to talk to Jo."
"Agent Van Zant," Dean said, showing his FBI badge. "Agent Rossington." Sam showed his badge as the woman opened the door wider and let them in. "We had a uh…cancellation?" He looked to Sam who sighed and rolled his eyes.
"We'd like to talk to Jo if you don't mind, alone," Sam interjected before Dean screwed everything up.
"Sure thing," the woman sighed. "She's upstairs in her room. I'll be down here making lunch if you need anything." Just as she said that a red-haired boy ran straight into Dean's leg, dropping his bouncy ball as he did.
"Oww…" Dean mumbled, looking down at the boy adjusting his glasses. Sam reached down and picked up the ball, handing it to the boy.
"What do you say, Phillip?" the woman smiled.
"Uhh…um," Phillip stammered looking between Sam and Dean. "Th—Thanks, sir." And with that he ran off into the back yard.
"Sorry about all the chaos," the woman sighed, just as another little boy zipped past Dean and Sam. "Caleb, no running in the house!" She pointed the mustard towards the stairs. "Jo's in her room, second door on the right."