It wouldn't have been their life if it had actually been sunny in Glendale when they arrived. It was warm though, which, according to Dean, made the lukewarm downpour feel like God was pissing down on you.

It was still early in the afternoon when they rolled through the quiet street and came to a stop in front of the house where Matthew Fields had lived, before he'd decided to go kill his immediate neighbors, including the dog, and then a good part of the other home owners on the residential street.

"Never seen so many closed curtains in my life," Dean muttered under his breath as he got out of the car and glanced around.

Sam nodded, fiddled with his tie for a moment and smoothed the collar of his suit. "Neither have they, I guess. Seems like quite the neighborhood."

"Yeah, until the Gremlins come out," Dean said over his back, taking the stairs in one step.

The few people they'd seen on the street looked devastated, downcast eyes and stony faces.
The woman opening the door to them, however, looked perfectly normal, phone pinched between cheek and shoulder, looking up at them questioningly.

"Uh, hi -"

"Hold on," she held up a finger and took the phone in one hand.
"Sharon, sweetie, I don't know a thing about shortcrust, but yeast dough should do just fine."

Dean shot him a surprised look.

"Of course honey, any time. Listen, I gotta go, I think the police are back for another interview."

Dean turned around again, raising an appreciative brow. She seemed to be quick on the uptake.

Rolling her eyes, she just ended the call without another sentence and took a step back.
"Sorry about that, she just goes on and on. So officers, how can I help you?"

"Actually Ma'am, we're not with the police, we're FBI agents, looking into your husband's disappearance."

Her eyes widened. "Well, I wouldn't call it a disappearance. He'll be cremated next week."

Sam cleared his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. This woman was definitely a little too OK with talking about her husband's death.
"Yeah, naturally, we know that, it's just that we were hoping you could inform us as to why he came back after two years."

She nodded and walked them over to her living room.

"Have a seat," she said, motioning towards a black leather couch dominating the living room. "I'll be right back."

When she returned, balancing a tray with three cups of steaming coffee, they heard laughter from upstairs.
So the kids were home, which meant they would have to keep it down, unless they took after their Mom and were all smiles and hospitality after their dad had died.

"So, Mrs. Fields, we heard your husband came back just a week ago…"

+#+

Sam trailed out after his brother, glancing back only once to catch that eerie half-smile still plastered on her face.

"Did you find something at Miss Sunshine's? I mean other than the lockbox she keeps her heart in?"

Sam huffed. "Not really. I couldn't exactly sneak around while the kids were up there. I saw a weird pendant, though."

"Weird how?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know yet, I haven't seen it before. Could be our thing, or maybe Claire's just got bored of pink and went a little black magic this season."

Dean scrunched up his face. "Dude, I don't wanna know about your little adventures in princess land."

Sam scowled and ducked his head as he got into the car.

"No wonder the guy had an affair. I bet his marriage was all caring and sharing," Dean whispered more to himself.

Sam nodded and dragged his lower lip between his teeth.

"Way I see it, the case is clear. Anyone who lives with that woman for more than a day is bound to go on some kind of kamikaze trip eventually," Dean said off-handedly.

"When's it ever been that easy? "

"Yeah. Still, he was on some kinda trip."

+#+

Sam was salting the windows of their room.
It wasn't exactly as anonymous as the places they usually liked to rent but in smaller towns the alternatives were limited, plus, as far as they and the weather signs could tell, there was no demon in town that wanted them gutted, anyway.

"Okay, so first thing tomorrow I'll go check out that weird pendant. I already sent an MMS to Bobby, maybe he knows something."

Dean smirked. "Yeah, you go stir things up in the library… I'll check out the affair."

Sam shook his head, smiling. Dean was just incorrigible. Usually he'd at least complain about having to do all the work, but not today.
Dean deserved a little fun and besides, if Dean went over to the witness's house while he was at the library, he could make a quick stop on his way home and pick up Dean's costume.

He didn't delude himself into thinking Dean wouldn't be doing the same, but going alone still had the advantage of not having to lie to Dean. He sucked at it; always had, always would.

"Hey Sam," Dean said, spreading out his gun collection on the table to give them a once over. Sam stepped behind him, leaned the bag of salt against the table leg and took the Colt in his hands, palming it reverently. "Yeah?"

Dean looked up, glancing at his brother almost caressing the weapon.
"You two could get a room, you know?"

Sam cleared his throat and put the Colt back on the table.
"You were saying?"

Dean gave him a slack grin. "I'm just wondering… All these years we've wanted a part of those lives. Remember what Dad called 'em?"

Sam looked down, avoiding his brother's eyes.
He knew that tone, it was exactly like Dean had sounded when he'd talked about his Djinn induced hallucinations. "Rearview lives."

"Yeah." Dean put down the gun he was working on and got up, balling the cleaning rag up in his fist. "I guess we were lucky to get to drive away." With that, he made his way to the bathroom.

Sam sat down on the chair Dean had been occupying and continued cleaning the guns. "Yeah, real lucky," he said to himself, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and gun oil.