A/N: I tried to have this up quicker, but I was met with writer's block like you wouldn't believe. Eesh, gotta hate that! My muse returned toward the end, though, so I'm happy enough with this chapter to post it. Let me know wha you think! Remember, reviews can be traded at the door for shiny, sparkly objects.

---

When they left the library, a light snow was beginning to fall, the soft white blanket beginning to cover the tops of the houses and streets, making the small town look soft and innocent. The sky was painted oranges and pinks, colors creeping up on the horizon. Darkness would soon replace the sun.

The drive back to the bed and breakfast was silent, the brother's too engrossed in their own thoughts to voice them. The mood in the car was as dark as the sky, somber.

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as they pulled into the driveway and he put the car in park.

"What?" Sam asked, when he didn't move.

"Nothing," Dean sighed, putting his keys in his pocket. "Let's go."

Sam didn't miss the hesitation in his brother's voice, but he said nothing, following his brother out of the car and up the front porch.

At the door, Sam stopped his brother as he reached for the knob..

"Dean?"

"Yeah," he replied, shivering in the cold wind.

"We're gonna figure this one out."

It wasn't a question, but not quite a statement. It was almost as if his brother was seeking assurance or comfort.

"Yeah. We are," Dean said, his voice strong.

He pushed open the door and led his little brother inside.

---

Dinner was on the table when they arrived, still a welcome change from the usual greasy diner food they found themselves seeking most nights. The house was warm and welcoming, the scent of garlic wafting pleasantly from the kitchen.

Sam and Dean kicked off their shoes by the door and trudged into the dining room, where Betty was placing a basket of bread on the table.

Greeting them with a smile, she announced, "Hope you like spaghetti, boys!"

Sam returned her smile, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Would you like some help?" he offered.

"Oh, no," she said, waving him off. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Sliding into the seat across the table from his brother, he watched her bustle from the kitchen to the table, bringing a bowl of sauce and another of thin linguine.

"Where's Earl?" Dean asked, indicating the empt place at the end of the table with his head.

"He got caught up at work," Betty said, dishing out noodles onto two plates. "He'll be an hour or two, if the snow doesn't get worse."

"It's getting bad out there," Dean remarked, without thinking.

Could this be the reason for the banshee?

Sam kicked him under the table.

"Uh, but I'm sure he'll be fine," Dean amended hurriedly. "Of course."

Betty chuckled. "Don't worry about upsetting me. We're used to these winters. If it gets too bad Earl will stay with one of his friends who live near the mines."

"Well, who wants to say grace?" she asked after finally serving herself.

Dean looked stricken.

"We're not really...much for grace," Sam said, embarrassed and not knowing why. "Maybe you should."

Betty nodded, and bent her head, saying a quick prayer, blessing food and friends and asking for Earl's safe return.

"Dig in!" she announced when she was finished.

"It's really good," Sam said after his first forkful.

"Thank you," Betty glowed. "I just love getting complimented on my cooking. It's what I do best, if you don't mind me patting myself on the back.

Sam couldn't help but smile.

Through dinner, they kept up a steady line of conversation, but Sam suspected it was more to take Betty's mind off her absent husband than anything else. It didn't go unnoticed the way her eyes flitted to the window every few minutes, checking the state of the falling snow, a few inches accumulated already.

"I'm going to call and check in on Earl," Betty said finally, unable to keep her eyes off the fat flakes of snow falling. "Would you boys like anything else?"

"No thanks," Dean said. "I'm tired, I think I'll turn in early."

Sam nodded in agreement, and stood up to carry his plate into the kitchen.

"Oh, leave it," she told him, batting his hands away. "I'll get it."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "It's no problem."

"I insist," she smiled.

Sam nodded, and followed Dean out of the room and up the stairs.

"What do you think?" he asked when they were upstairs, safely out of range.

Dean shook his head noncommittally. "This could be it. Or it could be something else. Either way, I don't see how there's anything we can do."

Sam nodded, accepting that, but not liking it one bit. "Still..."

Dean shrugged and repeated, "Nothing we can do, Sammy."

"Sam," he corrected.

"Sam," Dean dragged out pointedly.

"So...what do we do?" Sam asked, rubbing his face with his hand and blinking tiredly.

"I don't know," Dean replied wearily. "Sit back and wait, I guess."

Sam knew how much his brother hated inaction, and in this instance, he hated it just as much. There had to be something they could do. Anything but just waiting.

"God, this is..." Dean trailed off.

"Frustrating?" Sam supplied.

"That, too," Dean said with a yawn. "Boring. Frustrating, lame...you get the picture."

"I'm getting you a thesaurus for Christmas," Sam said with a roll of his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean replied. "I'm gonna hit the sack. Wake me up if anything happens?"

Sam nodded with a frown. "Yeah, sure."

He watched Dean disappear into his room and then headed into his own, shutting the door firmly behind him and looking around the room for a minute, unsure of what to do now.

It couldn't hurt to take Dean's lead and get some rest in case anything happened tonight. And the bed looked so, so inviting.

By the time he laid down, it was too late. The last thought he had before drifting off to sleep was, 'Something's wrong...'

---

Dean came crashing back to consciousness, something not dragging him, but jerking him sharply back from the black.

His eyes shot open, and his heart shot into his throat when he saw the woman hovering over his bed, her face only inches from his own. It took him a moment to process the fact that he could see the ceiling through her, and the minute he realized that, the ghostly woman opened her mouth -

- and screamed.

It was an earth shattering shriek that seemed to reverberate through his bones.

Oh, fuck.

Adrenaline flooding his veins, he rolled off the bed, tucking his body and landing hard on the wooden floor, rolling over once and coming up on his knees.

The phantom shot up as well, her long body encased in a flowing white robe that billowed around her as if an unseen wind tore at the fabric. Her long hair was blonde, almost white, and blowing around her face in a way that made it impossible to see her face in great detail. Only her eyes, a pale silver, were visible, staring mournfully at him as she opened her mouth and let out that piercing scream.

Dean leapt to his feet, but a sudden wave of dizziness overtook him, and he stumbled into the fall, nearly falling completely as he made for the door.

At his back the banshee cried on, the wail went on without wavering, no need for breath interrupting the screeching intensity.

Legs feeling like they were made of rubber, Dean all but fell into the hallway.

"Sammy," he croaked, arms out in front of him, reaching for the door.

The open door.

A noise at the end of the hallway caught his attention, and he spun, vision swimming.

Figures, shadows dancing on the wall, too blurred to make out.

He fell.