Sam Winchester sighed, quite an unconscious action

Sam Winchester sighed, quite an unconscious action.

He had been shifting through papers for the past, well; he'd lost track of the time. He knew it was a hell of a lot though, his eyes could tell him that. They blurred every now and again, small dark dots sprinkling in front of his vision if he even focused for more than a minute.

He looked away, inhaling deeply through his nose and rubbing at the corners of his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

Apparently, even if the town was expanding, the staff at the library wasn't.

It hadn't taken much to get to look at the documents, a little charm, a smile and it was a done deal, he hadn't even had to lie. Luck seemed to be on his side.

There were, however, tones of files, some as early as the nineties, that weren't computerised. Meaning he had to go through them all by hand.

Great.

Maybe not so lucky after all.

The hunter shook his head slightly, causing his dark hair to cascade lightly about his face, moving for a second before falling back into place, and started again. He must have read the same sentence at least seven times.

Even though he thought it was selfish of him, he wished, whole heatedly at that moment, that Dean was there with him, it would still take forever and a day to go through all the files. Sam didn't desire to condemn his brother to the boredom, pains and eyesight difficulties, but it would have taken less time for the task to be accomplished. And he'd have someone to talk too.

The elder Winchester was usually at his most funniest when in a library doing a mind-numbing task, the younger missed his humour.

What's it going to be like when Dean isn't around?

A little voice spoke somewhere at the back of his mind, Sam's eyes snapped open, his head up, swallowing deeply. He froze for a moment. Then pushed the thought away like it had never happened.

He carried on reading the file, resting his chin on his fist, wondering if it what have been easier to go the Langan house first when something caught his eye.

He pulled the darkened, aged piece of paper out from a pile of publications; a small, fine, frown creased his forehead as he read. Sam was slightly unsure of what it was, it looked neither to be a report or an article, but it seemed reliable.

Nineteen seventy was printed at the top, meaning it was written two years after the deaths of Emily and Peter Swan.

The type was slightly faded, but still legible, seeming to have been transcribed on a typewriter and, from the appearance, had been left out in the sun.

As he finished his energy seemed to return to him, a glorious joyful smile spreading across his face and breaking into a full out grin as he saw the light in the middle of the blinding darkness of boredom.

He scrambled up, his hand still keeping firm hold of the paper, his eyes rescanning it over and over, making sure that the mind numbing element of the task hadn't made him delirious enough to make the entire thing up.

The younger Winchester rushed, still half reading, half looking where he was going, to the front desk.

A thin, middle aged, dark haired woman sat behind it, she was typing excessively on a computer keyboard with one hand, the other holding a steaming mug to her lips, her sharp looking brown eyes focused earnestly on the screen to her left.

Sam waited patiently before the desk, wavering ever so slightly, he wanted to be out of there was soon as humanly possible, but he didn't want to seem rash or rude.

He glanced to the sign on the wall he'd seen earlier. 'No photocopying/recording of the documents.'

He didn't really understand why it wasn't aloud, and a photocopy was exactly what he needed. If the library had been bigger, he might have simply tried taking a picture with his cell, but pretty much everywhere was visible to the staff, and sneaking off to the bathroom would look, suspicious to say the least.

He's save that as a last resort.

The woman, finished the last of her typing quickly, swallowing a small gulp from the ceramic green cup and looked up to Sam. She smiled pleasantly, the action making her seem younger, the hunter's mind automatically recalculating that she wasn't as old as he had first assumed, probably in her mid twenties.

"Hi," her voice was equally pleasant, and professional. A lot more bearable than the blonde woman he's had to deal with to get a look at the files. "Can I help you?"

"Erm, yeah," Sam began, taking on the air of an embarrassed, and nervous college student. He had found out long ago that people always tried to help more if you seemed a little pathetic. "I'm doing a history paper on the town and I've been looking at some of the files,"

"Yeah, I've seen you." She beamed. "You can certainly research, you've been here for ages, before my shift even started." Sam glanced up at the clock on the far cream coloured wall, 2:46pm. Wow. He didn't know he's been there for that long. He let out a half-shocked breath of a laugh.

"Yeah, erm, I do." He said, trying to get his mind back on the conversation and not worry that he'd probably have twenty missed calls from Dean on his phone, that he'd turned off. "And I've got a lot, it's just that, well, I couldn't see anywhere, but I kinda need to make a copy of some documents. Is that aloud? I know they're sorta old."

The girl bit at her lip gently. Glancing over the plaque on the wall, 'No photocopying/recording of the documents.' The hunter pretended not to see it.

"How many files do you need copying?"

"Well," Sam swallowed, pretending to be considering the question. "I could get away with just this one really." He held the document higher. She smiled gently, nodding slightly.

"Ok. I'll see what I can do." She got up out of her chair, held out her hand as Sam pasted the paper.

"Thank you, really you're a life saver." He gave her one of his very best grins, his eyes large and soulful. "Really, um…" He paused, rubbing at the back of his neck and motioning slightly with his hand.

"Jenny." She smiled, brushing her fringe out of her eyes, half looking at Sam, half-looking at the maroon colour carpeted ground.

She turned and walked into a back room, market 'Private'.

Sam fidgeted slightly; he looked around him, wondering if he could check his phone without anyone hearing the notes of the start up song.

He glanced at the clock once more, probably wasn't worth the hassle.

It took almost ten minutes before Jenny came out again.

"Sorry it took so long." She breathed the apology. Sam shook his head slightly, pretending like he hadn't been counting the seconds. She placed the document he had given her on the side, and a pile of about fifteen copied pages on the desk in front of him.

The younger Winchester raised his eyebrows ever so slightly in question.

"I copied your file, and I looked at the reference, there were a couple of others that had a similar context to your one that were in the 'stable' pile," she paused, glancing up at Sam. "They hadn't been filed yet, so you probably didn't get a chance to look at them. A couple even follow on from the one you've been reading. They're mainly to do with the Vincent and Swan family in the sixties."

Sam let out another surprised breath of a laugh and grinned.

"Thank you." He said, earnestly.

"No trouble." She picked the photocopies up once more and handed them over. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Does you're paper have anything to do with what happened to Brandy Langan?" Jenny bit at her lip once more.

"Erm, a little I guess… Did you know her?" The hunter readjusted the papers in his hands, deciding he might as well try the direct approach. And that the distressed college student was probably the most helpful cover ever.

"Not really, I kinda know her older brother, not Mike, he was the one with her that called 911, and her older, older brother Laurence. Such a sad accident." Sam nodded. "Anyway, I hope those documents are helpful."

"Thank you again, Jenny." She lit up slightly as he said her name. "I'll see you around."

She gave him a little wave as he left.

When Sam Winchester turned on his mobile, there were no missed calls, no voice messages and no texts waiting from his brother, he therefore assumed that Dean was still asleep.

So it was rather surprising when he walked into their room to 'Badge' by Cream blaring on the radio.

His forehead etched together in an exhausted way, he had half been hoping that the elder Winchester would still be sleeping and that he could catch twenty, or so, winks.

No such luck.

"Sammy!" Dean called brightly, as he walked from the bathroom, clapping his hands together and rubbing them vigorously. He looked refreshed and alert. "Woah, Sam, you look like you died and were brought back to life by a trainee hoodoo priest."

"Attentive today, aren't we?" Sam huffed, walking to his bed and sitting heavily. He had felt steadily worst ever since he had left the library, the dancing spots of colour in front of his vision turning to into massive, incoherent shapes stampeding around in his head like elephants learning how to tap dance.

In short, he had a migraine.

"How was your nap?" The younger asked, he could still be polite, even if he was in pain, as the elder turned off the radio. The song had finished anyway.

Dean thudded down next to him, Sam only just realising that his brother had changed his clothes, and had a shower by the slight dampness to his hair.

"Good, refreshing… I dreamt about a polar bear." Sam snorted.

"A polar bear?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." The younger nodded slightly to himself.

"How was your study group?" Dean asked, pulling absentmindedly at the collar of his dark shirt, Sam could see a hint of a Metallica T-shirt underneath.

"Good, I thought it may have been a bit of a dead lost at first, but then I found this one document and a girl, Jenny-"

"Was she hot?" The elder Winchester interrupted, his interest suddenly perking up. Sam paused for a moment, deadpan.

"I didn't notice."

"I'll take that as a yes then."

"Anyway," he gave his sibling a glare. "She found some more, I've skimmed over most of them."

"So," Dean motioned with his hand, bobbing slightly to the sides. "Give me the low down."

"You are in a good mood aren't you?" The younger hunter breathed, weary.

"I got to sleep, I had a shower, I've listened to Cream." He shrugged. "The only thing that could make it better is a toasted sandwich." Sam laughed.

"Maybe later." The younger sibling glanced down to his hands; he moved them slightly, a multicoloured trail following his movements. Definite migraine.

"Promises, promises." Dean shifted his position, taking on a more serious air. "What did you find?"

"Well, first of all, no heart attacks."

"Really?" The elder frowned.

"Yep. Second, I've got the reason of death for all the occupants. Turns out the document I found was 'booster notes' that a journalist wrote." Dean stared blankly at his brother. "Erm, they're sort of brief facts that a writer puts down, knowing that they'll have to include them in the main article they write."

"Dude, why couldn't you just say notes?" Sam ignored him.

"So, the relevant information was pretty much handed to us on a plate. Even if it was incredibly hard to find. Sorta cancels each other out I guess." He pinched gently at the bridge of his nose, trying to dislodge the thundering ache between his eyes.

"You ok?" His brother asked, a stern note of worry making his voice drop a note lower.

"Yeah, no… Do we have any painkillers?" Sam asked, giving up on the idea that the migraine would 'just wear off'. Dean tilted closer to him, almost leaning his cheek on Sam's shoulder.

"Period pains?" The younger sibling glared flagitiously and gave his relative a sharp thud on his shoulder, a gesture that not only showed his displeasure, but also pushed his brother off his shoulder.

Dean grinned, and chuckled, as he rose from the bed.

"I think there's some in the bag." He walked over to the end of the other bunk to fish them out. Still smiling. "Carry on."

"Melanie Vincent died of pretty much old age, completely normal. Ted Vincent had a stroke."

"Here." The elder brother pasted the cardboard box of medication over to the younger before sitting down on his own bed. The younger sibling would have said 'thank you', but was still agitated from the joke Dean had made at his expense.

The box felt light, Sam shook it slightly, out of habit, before opening it and pushing two small white pills from their plastic confinement. He swallowed them quickly, almost greedily, and without water.

The hunter breathed out deeply through his nose as he felt them gild down his throat; he kept his eyes closed for a second.

"I'm guessing your bet of Ted Vincent is wrong, or the first thing you would've done would've been to gloat about it?" Dean asked. Sam half nodded, half shook his head. "Damn, I should've put money on that."

The younger hunter smirked.

"The deaths of Emily and Peter Swan are probably the most interesting, Emily Swan was epileptic, had been diagnosed since she was a child. She took medication to deal with her condition.

Apparently, the inquest concluded, there was a slip up and she was given the wrong tablets, she suffered a severe seizure, while she was walking down the stairs, she fell and broke her neck."

"Ouch."

"I know, her husband, Peter, called 911 but she was already dead. Two hours after the cornier took his wife's body away, neighbours report a that gun shot was heard, they go to investigate and find that Ted Swan's blown his brains out all over the bathroom floor."

"Nice." Sam nodded. "So we definitely have a violent death." Dean leaned forwards. "Where was he buried?" The younger Winchester breathed out through his nose and tilled his head to the side.

"I dunno Dean, I think there's more to it than that. Even though it was concluded that Emily was given the wrong pills there was no real evidence that she had been.

Peter could just 'ave easily pushed her, the only reason it wasn't followed was because both where dead, its a small town, everyone knew everyone. Most were grieving. People didn't want to think that their neighbour, and friend, had killed his wife and them himself."

"So it could be the broad?" The elder asked, pouting his lips ever so slightly, an unconscious movement that came when he was thinking.

Sam raised his hands and sighed.

"I dunno, I mean a stroke is similar, sort of, to a heart attack, a cornier could have mixed some papers around, Ted Vincent could have died of a heart attack. He could be haunting the place, the sight of him could have made his daughter trip down the stairs, hell, he could have made her. Or he could have mixed up her medication. I don't know, I don't like the thought that Peter Swan killed his wife, I mean, from what I read it was utterly devoted to her, pretty much worshipped the very air she breathed, that's why he just couldn't stand living with out her."

"Modern day Romeo and Juliet, so we're back to thinking it's old man Ted?" Dean motioned with his hands. "Cool, we could just salt and burn them all, just to cover all options." He grinned broadly.

Sam was beginning to wonder if his brother was turning into a pyromaniac.

"That's the problem."

"What?"

"They were all cremated." Sam leaded back.

"Crap." The younger brother nodded.

Tune in next time for the continuation…