A/N: Thanks for continued support! Currently writing Chapter 14 of 20 =)

Dean

Turns out, there is a library in Nowheresville, Oregon. Of course, this means Sam is freaking thrilled, but Dean's bored out of his skull. The only good thing about libraries is (occasionally) librarians, but this one is old enough to be his grandmother so...no dice. Dean sighs, breathes in the smell of old carpet and older books. It's a soporific smell—which means causing sleepiness, not that Dean will admit under torture that he knows what the word means, or even that it exists, especially to Sam.

Then again, not that Sam is concerned with him at the moment. He's flipping through every local history book he can find, lower lip tucked between his teeth.

Dean rifles through some newspapers. "Dude, you find anything?"

Sam cards a hand through his unruly hair, frustrated. "No." He slumps down against a shelf. "Man, you think maybe a Wendigo..."

"A Wendigo with a longtime dream of going opera? Hardly. They'd don't sing." Dean runs a finger down the Police Blotter. "This is the eighth report I've looked through. No missing persons cases, far as I can tell."

"Yeah, well, you said they were farther north."

"True. Good sign, I guess. Nobody's gotten hurt here." Dean rubs the back of his neck. "What are you lookin' into?"

"Local history...murders, that sort of thing. Nothing particularly unsettling."

In the back of his mind, Dean reflects that it's probably more than a little screwy that his fifteen-year-old brother is trying to ferret out details on grisly murders, but he dismisses the thought. It's bigger than he can handle—always has been. He does as much as he can for Sam. Keeps gambling, hoping it's close to enough, even though he knows it's steering closer and closer to a lost cause.

"Maybe it's a monster," he suggests. "Not necessarily a ghost."

"I thought you just said, not a Wendigo."

"Wendigos aren't the only things in the woods."

"Just...I'm not sure where to start looking for that," Sam says, and he sounds more flustered than usual. Dean frowns. This isn't like Sam, who is generally so completely on top of the whole book-and-research crap.

"Man, what's going on?"

Sam's mouth tightens at the corners, a sure sign that he's upset. "I—I'm worried about her, Dean."

"Your girlfriend?"

Sam blows out his breath. "She's not my girlfriend. But yes, Emily. She...if there's something out there, we can't let it get to her."

"We won't." Dean considers laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, but hey, this isn't at that level of peptalk yet and touchy-feely stuff always just seems to make Sam more emo and girly. He doesn't need to be caught hugging his little brother in the library, of all freaking places.

Still, Sam looks worried.

Dean runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth, thinking. "Dude, let's check out a coupla books, head back. Then you can go check on your girl. OK?"

The tense line of Sam's shoulders relaxes just slightly. "OK." He turns to go, then stops. "Hey, look! Perfect!"

"What?" Dean cranes his head to look. Myths and Legends of the Alsea Native American Tribe. "Nicely done, Sammy. Could be useful."

He shoves Sam out of the aisle, and hope that counts for comforting.