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Orange County, California

Present Day

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The funny thing about vacations was that they seemed more like Hell than when he was actually on the job. In fact, Sam could not think of a better way to describe it than that. While Dean was out partying, tanning, picking up women – or whatever the heck he was doing – Sam felt the overriding need to play the responsible, sober lookout. That saying, not everyone had a job like theirs: solving the crime (aka: destroying evil) before breakfast time. It was only natural that he felt someone had to look out for their backs – even when it was a vacation.

So here he sat; fully clothed, hair messed and damp from his ten minute shower, humped over his laptop and neatly taking notes on a pad of paper.

Yes, he concluded. Compared to Dean's behavior, this was perfectly sensible.

The sound of keys jangling in the door lock was what broke Sam's gaze from the computer screen. He swiveled in his chair so as to face the intruder (whom he was sure to be his brother), and prepared himself for the reprimand that was sure to erupt (to Dead, Sam's actions were inexcusable – especially when there were beautiful girls playing pool in the bar next door).

Seconds later, Dean stepped through the door – newly tanned, hair tousled from the ocean water, and a surefire smirk on his face that Sam was sure had only to do with a woman. The youngest crossed his arms over his chest as Dean threw the keys onto a nearby table.

"You look like you had fun."

"Ah, Sammy," Dean sighed as he plopped down on his bed. He threw his wet towel carelessly onto the pile of laundry in the corner, "You're too young to understand. Now, don't tell me what I think you're doing right now."

"That depends on what you think I'm doing."

Before Sam could begin to realize what his brother was planning, he had jumped from the bed and snatched up his notebook. Sam was up in an instant, trying to grab the notes he had begun to compile about a possible hunt in a nearby town.

"Dean!" A frustrated grunt escaped his throat, however because of his size, it was easy to snatch back the papers. This, though, was not before the damage was done. Dean's playful tone changed, and the reprimand that Sam had been anticipating, came full force.

"Sam, come on! This is supposed to be a vacation! Live a little, will ya? I mean, how many times are we going to get the opportunity to relax and have fun?"

"Dean, someone was murdered."

"Newsflash, Sam. People get murdered all the time. This isn't something new."

"But if we can prevent another one, then I think it's worth a little sacrifice on our part."

Dean sighed, slowly dragging his hand down his face. With this murder on his brother's mind, Dean knew the rest of their vacation would be nothing but tense and unexciting. Giving one last look at his brother, he finally surrendered.

"Fine, but promise me one thing: that when this hunt is over, we go on a real vacation – no being glued to the news station or scouring obituaries – none of that. Got it?"

Sam finally let a smile crack on his face, "Yeah, Dean."

"Now what do you got?" Dean pulled up a chair and leaned into the table, squinted at the opened laptop.

Passing Dean his notes, Sam began to speak, "Lisa Howard was found murdered two weeks ago – "

"Where?"

"A department store in Sunnyvale."

"Do you got the name of it?"

Sam paused, knowing that the answer he was about to give was only going to rile up his brother, "It was a Toys 'R Us."

The sound of his brother's laughter met his ears, and Sam shook his head, "Dean, this woman was murdered."

"What, by a Barbie doll?"

"Dean."

"Alright, alright. What else? Who murdered her?"

"Nobody knows. Customer's found her the next day. There weren't any surveillance cameras."

"Sam," Dean threw the notes back onto the table, and sighed, "That doesn't sound supernatural to me."

"I know that. But I searched through the crime scene photos online," Sam pulled the laptop towards him and double clicked a file on the desktop. He pushed the screen towards his brother, "Take a look at this."

The photo was gruesome, and even Dean (who had seen dozens of mutilated bodies and demons) flinched. Had not the manager's hair been torn from her body, had not her nose, her lips, her ears been sliced, her eyes gouged and her stomach carved; had not her hands been severed and placed on her torn breasts, her toes chopped and arranged obscurely on her pelvis…beneath all the blood and gore, he could see no reason as to why this woman was chosen for such a fate.

"Jesus," Dean finally had to look away.

"Yeah, I know. And that's not all; take a look up in the top right corner."

Dean spared another glance, and sure enough, his eyes trained upon what at first he had missed.

"What, is that – "

"Sulfer," Sam said, "At least I think so. I can't be sure unless I see it in person."

"Alright, Sammy, if you say so."

Dean stood up, heading over to his luggage bag, where he pulled on a shirt and stuffed his wallet into his shorts pocket, "Where we heading to again?"

"Sunnyvale. It's about five hours from here."

"You got the history on the place?"

Sam nodded, "I'll have to cross-check it, but I've got a bit. Apparently back in the 1880's, a preacher named William Flynn and his wife Sarah lived on the family farm, which had been passed down from William's father. They had a child Johnny, who died when he was about four years old. He was shot in the head by his father. Papers say it was accidental, but with this Lisa's murder…"

"You thinking vengeful spirit?"

"I'm not sure. We've never come across a vengeful spirit this young. Besides, Johnny could have been truly shot accidentally."

Dean was already carelessly throwing his clothes into his luggage back, "Alright, let's pack and get out of here. But I'm telling you, if we're not relaxing on a sunny beach with a woman on either side of us by Friday, I swear – "

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

Twenty minutes later, the low rumble of the Impala's engine hummed along I-5 North.