"Welcome to Stacy's! Just have a seat anywhere and a server will be with you shortly." The young waitress beamed as she walked by Dean, giggling when he turned to keep eye contact with her as he and Sam approached a small table next to the window.

"I think I like Clarksville." He chuckled, pulling out his chair before sitting down and picking up the menu.

Sam peered over his own menu. "What happened to Salina, Cameron, Rexburg, and Irving?" Dean's expression fell straight. "You liked them, too."

"Shuddup."

"What can I get for you boys?" The brothers went silent as their server tapped her pen against the top of her check pad. She was in her early to mid twenties, five foot five, brown hair pulled back into two pigtails that reached the middle of her back. Her 'uniform' consisted of a white t-shirt that hugged her small form in all the right places, sporting the diner's name, and a pair of cut-off shorts that stopped mid-thigh. "Ya'll just gonna catch flies all day or can I start you off with somethin' to drink?" One look at Dean confirmed that his thoughts were well beyond gutter level. Sam was surprised his brother was not drooling.

"Two coffees, please." The younger Winchester smiled. "Thank you."

"Sure thing, hon." With a wink, she ambled off behind the counter.

"I think she's sweet on you, Sammy." Dean nudged his brother's arm, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. He picked up the menu and pretended to be seriously considering its options. "I could, you know, go for a drive later if you need the room."

"Knock it off." Sam felt the heat rise in his face and lifted his menu to hide his flushed cheeks. Moments later, two steaming cups were placed in front of them, the waitress again readying for their order.

"So, what'll it be, boys?"

Dean laid his menu on the table and folded his hands. "Pancakes and a side of pig."

"Scrambled eggs and wheat toast." Sam all but mumbled, avoiding her admiring gaze as he handed over the menu. Dean nodded in thanks as Sam pulled his laptop from his bag.

"Alright, I'll have that right out for you." Folding the menus against her chest, she walked away and disappeared behind the counter once more.

Sam typed and clicked in silence, sipping his coffee as he read. "So, fill me in." Dean requested, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

"Three deaths in the past week. The first vic was a single mother, Laura Kites. She was found in her mobile home, strangled with multiple stab wounds." He leaned back in his chair. "Her son went missing two weeks ago." He paused and continued to read, brows drawing together. "Huh."

"What?"

"All three victims reported their children missing a week before their deaths."

"So, what? A changeling?"

"It's possible." Sam adjusted nervously in his seat as the plate was placed in front of him, contrary to his brother's pleased smile as he looked over his own meal. "Thank you." He nodded, a twitching smile appearing and disappearing just as quickly.

"Let me know if you need anything else." She placed a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. "My name is Alicia."

Dean watched her walk away, popping some bacon into his mouth. "You sure you don't want me to take that drive?"

"Dean."

"Okay, okay." He put his hands up in defeat and grabbed his fork, going to work on the stack of pancakes. Sam continued to read, picking at the food on his plate. "Dude. Eat."

"I am." His eyes continued to scan the screen, pausing only for a few bites now and then. His appetite, like everything else with him these days, was anything but normal. Running a hand through his hair, he pushed the plate away and sat back. "Might as well start at the beginning. Let's pay a visit to Laura Kites' place." Dean pushed Sam's plate back toward him.

"After you eat."

Sam summoned his best bitch-face, earning only another shove at the plate. With a sigh, he resigned to Dean's mothering, finding it irritating yet comforting at the same time. Stabbing at the eggs with unnecessary force, he held up the bite and gave a sarcastic smile before popping it into his mouth. "Happy?"

"Thrilled." Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm going to take care of the check. You," he pointed at Sam and then the food, "finish that."

"Yes, mother."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

The drive to Adams was relatively quiet, Sam alternating between the map, the news reports, and simply gazing out the window while Dean drove. He always found it easier to organize his thoughts while they were on the road. It was difficult to retreat to memories that left his heart so heavy, but that was their life: a cluttered mess of chaos and loss. It was impossible to regret at this point. It would not bring back their family, their friends.

Dean turned into the small mobile home park, glancing at the numbers on the outside of each unit as they passed. His efforts proved futile when the yellow tape came into view. Sam and Dean leaned forward, looking up and out of the windshield at the decrepit residence. "Do you think it looked that way before the murder?"

Ignoring the question, Sam exited the vehicle, tucking his gun into the back of his jeans, underneath his jacket. Hazel eyes did a brief sweep of the outside. The area was empty, silent, leading him to believe that the authorities had already finished their initial investigation. Crossing the crime scene tape, he approached the front door, Dean not far behind. The small porch was composed of two cinderblocks and some rotting wood. Sam could feel the instability of the structure as it took both his and Dean's weight with a creaking moan. His fingers barely graced the knob when…

"Somethin' I can do for you fellas?"

Both Winchesters spun on a heel, trigger hands at the ready. An elderly woman stood just beyond the tape, in front of the neighboring home. Her gray hair was pulled into a bun on the back of her head, wild strands sticking out in various places. Glasses sat on the tip of her nose and her lips had caved in around toothless gums. Quickly regaining composure, Dean stepped in front of his brother and thumbed toward the victim's residence. "What can you tell us about Ms. Kites?"

The woman eyed them suspiciously, resulting in Sam wishing they had worn their suits. "Excuse my partner, ma'am. I'm agent Lee," he flashed his fake id and motioned to Dean, who mimicked him almost immediately, "this is agent Neil." Her expression visually softened and she nodded.

"It's a real tragedy, ya know. That woman was one of the kindest souls I ever met. First her boy and then this. Just…tragic." She seemed to look at nothing, shaking her head before focusing on the two men on the porch. "I'm Eleanor, by the way. I've lived next to Laura for the past five years, ever since she got away from that man."

"An ex husband?" Sam questioned, stepping down. "Abusive?"

Eleanor nodded. "She always did right by her boy. Worked two jobs, made sure he was never without."

"Her son…" He paused and leaned forward a little, trying to recall the child's name, "Matthew. He went missing. Any reason to suspect the ex husband?"

"Oh, Lord, no. That man is serving two life sentences for what he did to Laura and those two others last year." Sam's questioning gaze urged her to continue, "He tracked her down, came here. Beat Laura nearly to death, he did, and… murdered the two women she worked with. Killed them in cold blood."

"Anyone else you can think of that would want to hurt her or Matthew?" Dean inquired, hands in his pockets.

"Why, no," She looked between the two, not seeming to understand. "Like I said, she was a wonderful person."

Sam pondered for a moment, recalling a key point in the reports. "Did Laura ever say anything to you about being harassed or hurt by…" He tried to choose his words carefully, but there really was no other way to say it, "…by something or someone she couldn't see?" He was surprised by the sympathetic expression that plagued her features.

"Just a few days before…it happened… Laura came to my door. She was shaking and just terrified, poor thing." Eleanor began to wring her hands, recalling the scene in her head. "She said she could hear voices, and that…that something had tried to choke the life out of her, but…but she was alone."

The brothers glanced at each other, Sam turning back to the woman while Dean retreated to the small porch. "We appreciate your time, Eleanor. You've been very helpful." He placed a hand on her shoulder, presented a bleak smile, and turned away as Dean opened the door and disappeared inside.

"Agent Lee?" Sam turned, brows raised in regard. "Please, find the one responsible and, please, for the sake of Laura's aching soul, find her boy."

"We'll do everything we can." This smile was a little more reassuring. He tried for that. He just could not allow it to leak that he was almost 99 percent certain that the boy had preceded his mother in death. He had to give her hope. If he could not do that, then why was it he was a hunter in the first place? Stepping into the residence, his eyes widened slightly. The interior was completely opposed to the muddle outside. The small living room greeted him, simple in its décor and layout. Several pictures of a little boy and a young woman adorned the small table just behind the couch. Crouching, he felt a twinge of sadness stir in his gut. Laura Kites had been broadcast on the front of several news sites and local papers, but this was the first picture he had seen of Matthew. The boy in the picture was sporting a large smile and an even larger catfish, most likely his first catch. His mother was beside him, smile just as bright. Sam sighed. Families, happy families, should never know of the world in which he and his brother subsisted. This family, from what Eleanor had said, had seen enough hardship before this evil had found them. Yet…they still smiled.

"Sam."

He rose and turned toward the sound of Dean's voice down the hall. "Yea, I'm here." Advancing toward the back room, every article he passed told its own story about the mother and her son: pictures, awards, certificates, drawings.

He nearly had to duck when he entered the master bedroom, looking up to make sure he was going to clear it without a good jolt to the cranium. "You find anything?" Dean was standing in the middle of room, EMF detector in hand, the needle twitching but remaining on the low end of the scale. This room was in shambles. The bed's sheets were lying halfway in the floor. Pictures were scattered about, frames broken and bent. Even the curtains barely remained on the rods and they looked almost shredded… like someone had clawed at them in a moment of panic.

"Doesn't really seem to be the MO of a changeling." Dean folded the antenna of the EMF and tucked the device back into his pocket. "We need to get a look at the body and see if we can find any evidence of feeding." He maneuvered around the bed and into the small bathroom. "No sulfur, so it's doubtful we're dealing with a demon."

"Witch?" Sam asked, running his fingers down the door's frame. He did the same to the windowsills and underneath the mattress. "No hexbags or coins."

"Let's not rule it out just yet." Dean answered, walking back into the room. "Morgue?"

"Morgue." Sam nodded, falling in line behind Dean toward the door. Giving the room one last glance, his eyes landed upon a couple of the pictures on the floor. More photos of Laura and Matthew lay behind the shattered glass but one featured the victim and another woman. Glancing at Dean's retreating form, he stopped and knelt to scoop up the photo, shaking the glass from it. He had seen the woman somewhere, recently. A feeling of unease began to churn in his gut, and Sam suddenly felt like he was being watched.

"Hey." Startled, he looked up to meet his brother's gaze from the doorway. "Let's rock and roll, man."

"Yea." Sam nodded and stood. "Yea, let's go." Folding the photograph, he shoved it into his pocket and followed Dean.

The two men finally left the room and he was able to lower himself from the insulation entry in the closet ceiling. He was careful not to let his decent to the floor make any unnecessary noise, lest they come back and discover him. He traveled silently to the window and drew back the blinds slightly, watching the pair make their way back to their vehicle.

These two would be trouble…and he had to sound the alarm.

TBC.

Stacy's is actually a diner here in my town.

I do realize that not all people in Tennessee speak with such a southern drawl, but, oh yes, my lovelies. Some people do. My sister is one of them.

Also, forgive me if I make any stupid mistakes in my timeline of events or grammar or anything of the sort. I have not written in a long time, so I am still trying to get back in the swing of things.

Hope you enjoy!

Until next time...