The year before I left for college, me and a couple of friends of mine were talking about how the kind of shows we liked to watch were getting rarer and rarer and they didn't last very long (there was a show called Miracles that lasted for less than a season, another show called Mysterious Ways which dealt so awesomely with the paranormal and supernatural also lasted only two or three seasons). And then one of my friends told me about this new show called Supernatural and maybe we should try watching that. So, a couple of evenings later, I dragged my younger brother in front of the TV and we set to watching Supernatural and I'll remember always that the first episode I saw was Home and I was so taken in by the storyline, the characters, their interactions. It was love at first sight. For about eight years, I don't think I missed an episode. I stopped for a while, when I thought I wasn't getting from the show what I used to enjoy, but I did come back to it, from time to time. We had a pretty tumultuous relationship, the show and I, kind of like Sam and Dean's own up and down relationship. This little story set in season one is a sort of tribute to all the things that have made me love the show so much from the start.

Chapter 1

When she was thirteen and learning the second conditional in Spanish class, Tina wrote the following sentence: If I were a supreme dictator, I would ban Valentine's Day and execute anyone celebrating the holiday. Senora Perez, the teacher, did not appreciate such candor. Tina's parents were called, because, apparently, thirteen year olds fantasizing about supreme dictatorship and executions was not exactly healthy. Thirteen-year-old girls hating on Valentine's Day was even more unusual, but Tina had always wanted to erase the holiday from existence. Thirty-year-old Tina had the same sentiments as her thirteen-year-old self (only, a little bit more socially acceptable and a little bit less murderous).

February always got on Tina's nerves. People weren't content anymore with just being all sweet and syrupy on the 14th, they insisted on making the entire thing "the month of love". To Tina, it was just an excuse for department stores to take full advantage of romantic suckers and have them buy expensive stuff that was completely useless in the long run. Who needed a five feet velvet heart anyway? What were you supposed to do with it?

Having to inhale all kinds of exotic pollens at work was bad enough. Tina knew that it would get no better at home. Her roommate did not share Tina's dislike of Valentine's Day. In fact, Marissa celebrated it with desperate diligence, complete with heart-shaped decorations in the window, sappy music all day long and the kind of romantic movies that made Tina want to tear her hair. And guys, of course.

Riding the bus home from work, Tina wondered if Marissa's latest flame was still at the apartment. Tina really did not feel like going anywhere that night to give the lovebirds privacy, besides, she also knew the lovebirds wouldn't last. Marissa found true love once a month. Some turned out to be creeps. Others got spooked by Marissa's clingy nature. There were the few who were decent and ready to stick around. But when Marissa found a new interest, they, too, had to go. Not for the first time, Tina was beginning to wonder if she should not start looking for a place of her own.

It was evening when Tina finally got home. She was surprised to find the windows to the apartment were dark. Maybe Marissa had decided to move it into the guy's apartment, which was really a good thing, in Tina's opinion. But she could not help the feeling of unease. Marissa was consistent in one thing: she always spent evenings at her place – whether alone or with someone else. This was a break in pattern that Tina found strange.

"Don't look gift horses in the mouth," she muttered as she unlocked the door – twice, because Marissa insisted a door had to be locked twice, or it did not count.

The apartment was dark and quiet. Tina gagged at the heavy, cloying smell. Like rotten fruit, she thought. They definitely needed to clean the fridge.

She stepped into the living room and turned the lights on. The sight before her petrified her. She stood there, unable to move, gazing at the blood that covered the sofa and seeped into the carpet.

"Oh my God! Marissa…"

xxxXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxx

Sam woke up feeling the usual grogginess that meant his body was beating up on him for not getting enough sleep. He groaned and threw his arm over his eyes, trying to block out the sun. The nightmares about Jess were just starting to stop. The proximity of Valentine's Day, however, brought Jess' loss in the foreground of his mind once more. It would be the first Valentine's Day without Jess.

Eventually he sat up, rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to stave off the beginning of a headache. He was alone, which was not that surprising. This time of year, Dean's libido quadrupled, and Sam rarely saw his brother until late the following morning. At least this year, Dean seemed to go for ladies who were willing to invite him to their place. It suited Sam. He did not think he could put up with sleeping in the Impala on top of everything else.

After Sam had showered and dressed, Dean finally made an appearance, wearing that smug grin that made Sam half-amused, half-uncomfortable. At least he had brought coffee and food for the both of them. Home-made muffins. Dean's latest conquest must have been feeling generous.

"So, who was she?" Sam asked.

If possible, Dean's grin grew even wider.

"Brigitte," he said dreamily. "On some corporate exchange thing all the way from Sweden. Speaks English with this cute accent and has the most impressive…"

"All right" Sam said quickly before he found out more than he wanted to know. "I'm sure you were very impressed by Brigitte's assets, but you really don't need to share, Dean."

"Hey, you should at least try to live vicariously through me, if you're not doing anything else yourself," Dean pointed out, attacking the muffin with the desperation of someone eating his last meal. "Hey actually, Brigitte has this roommate who came on the exchange with her…"

"Not interested, Dean," Sam said firmly.

"Are you sure? She's the one who made the muffins. Has a thing for tall men. She told me."

"So that's why you couldn't score with her as well?" Sam quipped.

Dean spluttered.

"Hey, I'm not much shorter than you, man. Besides, anyone who doesn't see me next to your Sasquatch self actually thinks I'm tall."

"Or they recognize you have a complex and don't want to make you feel bad," Sam muttered.

Dean looked like he was one step away from committing fratricide. Sam knew he would have to watch himself for a few days. But at least it distracted Dean from trying to get Sam hooked up with the random muffin-baking roommate, so, as far as Sam was concerned, any retaliation coming from Dean would be worth it. Besides, it wasn't as if Stanford had mellowed him that much. He could handle Dean – and give as good as he got.

"Anyway," Dean went on, "I heard something weird on the radio this morning. It's in the next town over and it could be our kind of thing."

"You haven't heard anything from Dad, have you?" Sam asked.

He was kind of sorry he had said anything when he saw Dean's mood drop significantly.

"Sam, when are you gonna stop asking? Let the man do his thing. We'll do ours in the meantime."

Sam nodded quickly.

"No, I know, it's just…you know what, Dean, never mind. You're right. So," he said clearing his throat. "You said something about our kind of thing?"

Dean's face cleared and Sam had to struggle hard not to smile like a sap. Dean was so easy to placate at times. Give him a delicious piece of pie or a good old-fashioned Hunt and all his worries vanished.

"Get this. Lady comes home from work in the evening. She thinks her roommate might be home, maybe entertaining a gentleman. But the lights are out. Anyway, she unlocks the door – this is very important, Sam – the door was locked from the inside, not once, but twice."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"The roommate is obsessive-compulsive?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Doctor Sigmund? Anyway, I was telling you the apartment was locked from the inside. So were all the windows, not that it mattered, because the apartment was on the twelfth floor. You with me so far?"

Sam nodded.

"Go on."

"The living room was covered in blood," Dean said, sounding much too excited considering the subject matter. "There was no sign of the roommate or any friend. And the couch looked as though something had caught fire on it."

Now Sam understood why the news had caught Dean's attention.

"That does sound like our kind of thing."

He caught Dean's eye and noticed a thoughtful look on his brother's face.

"You know," Dean said. "Maybe this will help take your mind off things."

Sam felt himself grow cold. He had hoped Dean had not noticed he was getting maudlin again. It seemed Stanford had made him forget Dean had a built-in radar when it came to Sam.

"I mean, I know you're having a hard time," Dean went on. "What with Valentine's Day approaching and, you know, it's the first one without Jess."

Sam shrugged. He tried to downplay it.

"I mean, most of the times we were busy studying," he said. "And we were college students, so we couldn't afford to splurge on a holiday. What we did was…small stuff."

Dean nodded seriously.

"I bet it still counts, though. I still remember enough about Dad's grief, Sammy. The first holidays are always the worst. That's why distractions are good."

Sam's smile turned bitter.

"So I can get over it?" he asked coldly.

He regretted his words when he noticed Dean's hurt look.

"No one's asking you to get over something like that, Sam," he said gravely. "I'm just here to help, Sammy, that's all. Whatever you need to help you function, I'm here."

Sam reached out across the table, and tapped Dean's hand, apology and acknowledgement all in one.

"Just, stop trying to hook me up with Gudrun the muffin baker, ok?"

Dean snorted.

"Your loss, man. It could have brought us more muffins."

xxxXXXXxxxxx

Tina met them at a small café next to her apartment. They could have a key and look at the place to their heart's content, she said, but they were to keep her out of it. She did not want to see the place again.

"Marissa died in there, right?" she asked. "I know there was no body, but the blood's hers, it has to be."

"Hers and someone else's actually," Sam said. "The lab results say male. Was Marissa seeing anyone?"

Tina snorted through her tears.

"Marissa was always seeing someone. I'm not saying she was easy, Agents. She was just…she believed in love."

"Sounds like a girl after my own heart," Dean commented.

Tina glanced at him.

"Actually, I'm sure she would have loved you, Agent."

She bit her lips and looked away, slightly afraid she might have said too much. Sam cleared his throat.

"So, you and Marissa were close?"

Tina shrugged.

"She's actually my brother in law's cousin. That's how I met her, at my sister's wedding. But we got on well, and when I found out she needed a room and I needed someone to share the rent with…She was sweet, you know. Everyone liked her. My brother in law would say there was something touchingly naïve about her." She paused and swallowed hard. "She did not deserve what she got, Agents."

"No, I'm sure she didn't," Sam agreed.

"Had she changed in any way?" Dean asked. "Was she acting hinky? Maybe she sounded worried about something?"

Tina hesitated. She nodded slowly.

"Actually, she said this new guy at work crept her out. Which, for Marissa was saying something. She usually enjoyed attention for attention's sake, so the guy must have been a complete nutjob to put her off like this."

"Did she mention any names?" Dean prompted.

"No," Tina said regretfully. "Sorry. I don't think she did. But those at the store would know. Marissa worked at a bridal shop." She smiled sadly. "The perfect job for her, she would say. She always liked to see the beginning of happy ever afters. Like I said, she was a dreamer through and through, Agents."

xxxXXXXxxxxxxx

"So, you've got this chick who's the ultimate romantic and she dies bloody close to Valentine's Day. Now I don't believe in coincidences, Sammy. What do you say?"

Sam hummed distractedly. They were in Tina and Marissa's apartment inspecting the supposed crime scene. There were no signs of any struggle in the living-room. Just the blood. It added to the strangeness of the scene. Dean's EMF meter was disappointingly silent.

"No ghosts, then," Dean said, faintly regretful, as if digging up graves and setting dead people on fire was the highlight of his week. "What do you think, Sam?"

Sam was kneeling next to the couch, looking at the blood-soaked rug.

"Who's the other victim?" he asked. "I mean, police have identified two different blood types. One matches Marissa's. The other doesn't. Both victims have lost enough blood to kill them, but there have been no bodies found – Marissa's or anyone else's. And if Marissa was attacked and taken somewhere, who else was with her?"

"How were two people attacked so viciously without either of them trying to fight back?" Dean wondered. "That's the real question. Not to mention the locked doors, locked windows, something's real hinky here, Sam. What do we know about this building? Any history?"

Sam shrugged, finally getting up.

"Not that I could find out, but I only did a superficial check. I'll have to go to the library. Check old newspapers."

"Before that, though, you and I have a date at the bridal shop."

Sam couldn't help raising his eyebrows.

"Why, Dean, I'd thought you'd never ask," he quipped.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Think you're funny, don't you? I meant Marissa's bridal shop. That's where she worked, and that's where the creep she was complaining about to Tina worked, too. I'm thinking the creeper should be our number one suspect."

"What, you think he's a monster? Hate to break it to you, Dean, but sometimes a creeper is just a creeper."

Dean was already at the door, but he turned to look at Sam, assessing.

"Oh, yeh? And how would you know?"

Sam shrugged.

"Jess," he said clearing his throat. "She had this…person who was, well, I suppose stalking her would be a good description. Sending her gifts. Cornering her on the way to the library. Asking her for drinks. Not seeming to get that she was unavailable and, more importantly, not interested."

Dean nodded encouragingly.

"What did you do?"

Sam huffed, slightly embarrassed.

"I…uhhh…cornered the guy and threw salt in his face. Just to make sure he wasn't supernatural, as well as a dick. Turns out, he was only a dick."

Dean threw back his head and laughed. He could picture the scene.

"I'm sure you gained quite a reputation after that."

Sam huffed, his eyes sparkling as he remembered the scene.

"Jess told me afterwards she could fight her own battles, but at least she gave me points for a unique approach. No one bothered her from then on. I mean, who would want to bother the girlfriend of the weirdo who throws a salt canister in your face, right?"

Dean chuckled and thumped Sam on the back as his brother passed him on the way out. He kept his grin all the way to the car, but it was not because of Sam's story. Sam had shared a memory about Jess with him and he had not sounded heartbroken and guilt-ridden. He had actually seemed to enjoy the memory for what it was. And that had to be a sign that Sam was healing, and Dean was willing to make sure he would keep on doing so.

To be continued

Thanks for reading. More to come. This will be a shorter one (about four chapters, I think), but I still plan on making it fun. I love playing with the earlier seasons.