"I believe I may have found our next hunt," my brother announces as he sits across from me in the diner booth.

"What is it?" I look up from my computer and gaze across the table at Dean, his rugged good looks surprising me like they always do. Wordlessly, he throws a paper across the table to me and I read the article he has marked in red pencil. "Some guy dies in an abandoned house. How is that our concern?"

"Because, college boy, he is the second man to die in that house in six months."

"Do not forget, genius, that the first rule of every hunter must be to rule out natural causes."

"Well, both men were young, so that rules out natural causes. And since both men were from different cultural backgrounds, it seems difficult to believe that we have a serial killer on our hands."

"Suicide?"

There is a grunt of annoyance from my brother. "No history of depression or suicidal tendencies. I know how to do my job, Sammy, despite what you might think."

My own anger flares at this comment. "Stop calling me Sammy, goddamn it. It is Sam."

"Bite the bullet, little brother. To me you will always be Sammy."

I am about to answer with some quip or another when the perky, blond waitress comes along bringing our orders of toast, eggs and bacon. The breakfast of the Winchesters. There are few people in the diner since it is early in the morning, but late enough that most people have gone to work. Except for us, who lead anything but a normal life the place is vacant except for two truckers having coffee in another booth. There was a time when I would have killed for it. But now I have returned, and the reason for this is sitting across from me, not lying in a churchyard as I have convinced him and myself of.

The thing is, you tell a lie often enough, it becomes the truth.

In typical Deanish fashion, he smiles at her and then winks when she smiles back. I start on my food and try not to notice how my brother ogles the backside of the waitress when she walks away.

For some moments there is silence while we dig into the grub. Once the hunger has been sated for the most part, however, we can return to discussing the hunt ahead. These are the moments with him that I love the most. Still high from our last fight, the bloody knives we used still in the car, still dirty from burying the carcass, yet we are planning the next hunt.

"Tell me more," I urge him as I push away my half-eaten plate.

"The first victim was Thomas Sparks, a young man of African-American descent who was found in the house in question six months ago. They found him hanging from the ceiling, and the coroner assumed suicide."

"Like I stated before," I announced, feeling proud of myself.

"Wait a minute, college boy. The coroner determined after he had finished the autopsy that Sparks had been dead two days before he was strung up."

"How do you know this?"

My brother shoved a mouthful of bacon into his mouth and then responded. "I hacked into the database of the M.E. I ain´t just a pretty face, Sammy."

I ignored the jibe."What about the second victim?"

"His name was Henry Deveraux. He was white and came from an affluent background, the exact opposite of our first victim. He was found in the same manner as Sparks, hanging from the rafters of the abandoned house. No traces of human contact was found, according to the coroner´s report. Therefore, we are either dealing with a cunning serial killer of young men..."

"...or an angry spirit," I finished for him as I stole some bacon from his plate and he tried in vain to stop me. He glared at me for a moment, but then continued to eat. After finishing, he pushed his plate away and I continued the conversation.

"So, what is the plan of attack?"

Dean reached into the backpocket of his jacket and pulled out his map, he indicated the location of the house with his forefinger. "It is five miles outside of this small village called Canterbury. I say that if we start out now, we can make it in five hours. To get into Canterbury we must pass the house, and I suggest we run inside and do a little IMF check. If the measurements go like I want them to, we can perform a simpe exorcism ceremony, sleep in the town tonight and be on a new hunt by tomorrow."

I nodded in consent.

The waitress came back to take our plates and my brother perked up suddenly. He eyed her breasts this time as she bent down to pick up the dishes, deliberately giving him an eyeful. She walked away, carefully swinging his hips, knowing as she did that he was watching her.

Dean arose from the table. "Now that we have settled business, I can go play."

He threw the keys to the car to me and I waited in the Impala while he banged the waitress in the alley behind the restaurant.

An hour later we were speeding down the highway, the shadows of the morning sun travelling restlessly through the interior of the car. Dean was wearing his shades and from time to time he would turn to me, pretending to be asleep in the passenger seat to avoid conversation. Uncharacteristically, my brother had not turned on the radio to levels that I sometimes feared would shatter my eardrums.

I nearly shouted aloud when my brother´s hand came to rest at the back of my neck. He did not stroke me, he simply allowed his hand to rest against my skin. I stiffened imperceptibly for a few moments, but then regained my equilibrium and continued to pretend to be asleep.

We stayed this way until we reached our destination. Neither of us mentioned it, but recognised it for what it was.