Sam pulled his small car into a tight dirt driveway, the overhanging trees creating a tunnel of green.

After what felt like far more than the ten minuets it actually was, the hunter found himself in front of a cluster of rusting trailers, each one surrounded by the broken hulls of old cars and abandoned children's toys.

The whole of the place set him on edge, his stomach clenching anxiously.

He checked and double checked the paper in his hand to confirm that this scrap yard was, in fact, the address he was looking for.

With one hand on his gun, and his eyes scanning around for any potential dangers.

And dog barked on the other side of the door, earning more barking from somewhere to his left.

He swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in his throat and, with money more glance around, knocked on the door.

No sooner than the door had opened that the barrel of a shotgun pressed into his stomach, and a knife into the small of his back.

A haggard looking woman in her late fifties stepped out of the darkened doorway, the gun in her hand pressing even further into the hunter's skin.

"Who're you?"

Sam swallowed thickly once more, his voice shaky with repressed fear.

"Sam. Agent Sam ahh, Hope. Agent Sam Hope."

The woman looked him over, pulling back slightly to wave behind her.

"What're you doing here Agent. We ain't got nothing."

The hunter felt the knife leave his back, and felt something sweep around him.

And young boy- about 6 or 7- Nestled into his mother's side, a wicked looking knife in his hand.

"I'm here to talk to you about the recent string of deaths in the area."

The women's eyes went wide, and swept a grey-orange streak of hair from her forehead.

"You mean y'ins are actually looking' into my baby's death?"

Sam nodded, and the whole temperament of the situation changed.

The gun all bout disappeared, replaced by the woman's arms wrapping painfully tight around the hunter's middle.

"Praise the Lord almighty, ya hear that Brandon? This man's here about Derek."

The boy smiled a gap-toothed grin at Sam, just as his mother released him.

"Well now, come on in and set on down. You want a drink?"

Sam shook his head, ducking into the door only to trip over a tattered pair of boots.

"Sorry 'bout the mess, it'4 been crazy round here."

The hunter nodded, stepping over piles of clutter only to be faced with a couch piled high with used tissues and various discarded items of clothing.

The woman seemed to notice his plight, stepping forward and pushing all of the trash onto the floor.

Sam smiled at her grimly, setting himself on the edge of the seat, completely uncomfortable with his surroundings.

"I had a few questions about the circumstances surrounding your son's death."

The woman settled herself into her Chair, her over-sized orange sweatshirt enveloping her minute figure.

"Go on then, ask away."

"Ma'am was there anything unusual about your son's behavior prior to the incident? Any sort of odd behavior?"

The woman shook her head, her cheeks reddening slightly as she fought off tears.

"No, not that I'd noticed, I mean he wasn't never talkative or anything, so he never said nothing, but everything seemed right as rain."

Sam nodded, his hands clenched with the effort it took to ignore the woman's grammar.

"Did he come into our contact with anyone suspicious that you know of?"

She shook her head once more, tears spilling over her cheeks.

"Ever since he moved into old man Jenkins trailer, I never saw him. He'd pop in for some cash, or to borrow some cigarettes, but then he was out again. Honestly it's like he wasn't even here."

The hunter shifted in his seat, glancing around nervously, the little kid -Brandon- speared from another room, a boz of tissues in one hand.

He handed them to his mother, who ruffled his shaggy red hair in thanks.

Sam cleared his throat.

"You say he moved into another trailer, do you happen to know we're that is?"

She nodded, blowing her nose loudly before tossing the tissue onto the table beside her.

"It's the blue one out back. Jenkins was a renter, when he disappeared Derek moved in, gave him more space, he said."

The hunter's brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"Disappeared?"

Another nod, as she wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt.

"About six months back, he just up and left, didn't take nothing with him, and skipped out on his rent. Reported him missing but the police never said nothing after that."

Sam leaned forward, his hands folding in front of him.

"Ma'am, is it possible for me to take a look at that trailer."

"Yes'm. Brandon honey, take the Agent here to Bobo's."

The boy nodded, reaching a grubby hand out and grabbing at the hunter's.

He stood, waving a farewell at the woman as he followed the little boy out of the house.

Two small dogs jumped and barked at him, each one receiving a discouraging smack and from his int sized guide.

After dodging around the rusting hull of a classic car, and nearly tripping over a budding patch of briers, they finally came to the door o the trailer.

Brandon scrambled up the rotting wood steps and climbed up the banister to retrieve a key from the top of a post.

He hopped down, before stretching to fit the key into the lock, which gave with a soft screech.

Sam stepped up behind the boy, pushing the door open slowly in anticipation of what was inside.

He was met, not with the chaos and clutter that he had expected, but with an immaculately kept home.

The wood paneling of the walls had been painted a light grey, dotted with tastefully designed posters.

The furniture was not the ratty tobacco stained pieces of his mother's home, but the modern metal and leather pieces of a designer apartment.

Pictures were scattered on every surface, each one holding the image of a smiling red-haired teen and someone else.

The hunter flipped through a few of them, only to find one with Jesse by the boy's side.

At first he thought that it was inevitable all of the youth in a community this size would have met one another at some point, but then he popped up in another picture, an another, quickly become one of the most prevalent characters.

"That can't be a coincidence."

He heard a shuffle from beside him, and saw that the little boy was still standing there, his eyes trained on him.

"Do you know this guy?"

Sam, asked softly, and the boy nodded.

"Do you mind if I take this with me."

Brandon shook his head, so the hunter pocketed the photo.

He made his way through the kitchen-another strangely sanitary and well designed area, and found himself at the end of the trailer.

There were three doors, one opened to a bathroom -again, strangely sterile- one was locked, and the third opened up to a bedroom.

It was put together much like the living room, save for the fact that the pictures were framed here.

The bed wasn't made, which seemed odd when taken into account with the order of the rest of the house.

On the bed, among the tousled sheets, was a fine brown leather journal, laying face down on the mattress.

Sam picked it up and was immediately greeted with detailed sketches of anatomically correct male forms.

He snapped it shut, his cheeks burning.

He glanced around the rest of the room, seeing stack after stack of notepads and sketchbooks.

A pair of drumsticks was in a case on the desk, while a drum pad sat rolled in the corner.

The hunter made a mental note to grab a box and collect the notebooks, though he hoped for the sake of his sanity that they did not contain similar art.

After combing the rest of the room and finding nothing else relevant to the case, Sam turned his attention back to the locked door.

He picked the lock quickly, only to find the door blocked by stuff.

A lot of stuff.

Piles of boxes and old furniture filled the space from wall to wall, obviously the belongings of the previous owner.

One thing caught the hunter's attention amidst the pile of junk, however.

An old picture, sticking up from a box.

A picture with none other than Crowley himself grinning at the camera.