First of all I would like to thank everyone for their kind reviews! I'm glad that you liked it.

Here is Chapter two . . .

Enjoy:

The small town wasn't how Sam had pictured it. He was expecting creepy- dingy broken houses, but this place was the exact opposite. There were petite one-story houses, lined up perfectly against the streets, and complimenting the cliché white picket fences.

"I think we warped ourselves into Pleasantville Sammy," Dean told his brother while gazing horrified at the too perfect houses.

This place was giving Sam the heeby-jeeby's, and a warning flag was going off in his head. "Dean . . . I don't know if this was such a great idea. I mean how much do we actually know about this place?"

Dean was snapped out of his reverie and he looked at his brother. "Rambo himself is having second thoughts?" There was no way in hell Dean was going to let his brother get off with this one. For too long he had teased his baby brother for having a bad feeling and this was going to be held over Sam's head for many years to come.

"Shut up Dean, this place feels . . . wrong," Sam really didn't like the vibes he was getting, but he was going to push them down into the depths of his soul. Besides, if the situation presents itself, he'll just let Dean blow whatever they're dealing with to hell. That's how it's always worked in the past, this shouldn't be any different . . . right?

"Look, if you don't want to stay here than we'll just . . ." Dean was cut off by a force slamming into his back. As hard as he tried to regain his balance, he found himself tumbling and then personally met the ground. An 'Oomph' sound left his mouth when the air was driven from his lungs.

"Watch where you're going kid, what the hells wrong with you?" An elderly man growled down at Sam. He shook his cane angrily in the gasping man's face. "Stupid kids have no respect for their elders," the man trotted down the street mumbling.

"Great first impression Dean," Sam complimented as he lifted the ailing Winchester to his feet. He knew Dean hadn't done anything wrong, but he had to get him back for the Rambo crack.

The older Winchester glared down the street at the retreating old man's back. "I didn't even do anything, the senile frugal hit into me.!" Suddenly his cocky attitude came back to life.

"Ah yes . . . reason two why I don't let you drive at night Dean, you get so grouchy in the mornings," Sam just smiled simply as his brother gave him a deathly glare.

"What should we do first? Go meet the wife of the victim from the most recent drowning? Or set up the hotel?" Sam wasn't that tired; he could stave off for a few more hours. It shouldn't be too hard because of the fact that he had been living off of the fewest possible hours of sleep for the past three months.

"We're going to set up the hotel . . . you look like shit Sam and I am not going to be dragging your half dead carcass around this town, I'm going solo." The past few months had been nothing short of miserable, don't get him wrong though. Dean loved spending time with his baby brother; things almost seemed . . . okay, like they used to be. Well, okay being the okay­ for the Winchester's, which wasn't all that great. Only now things were screwed up more than before, if that was even possible.

"I'm fine," Sam insisted. Dean had been babying for as long as he could remember; his over-protectiveness was smothering at times. Though he did sigh with relief when his brother had ordered him to sleep, it was something he secretly wanted to do.

And suddenly that revelation turned his stomach. He could go weeks without sleep, so why now did he yearn for it so badly? As much as Sam hated to admit it, and he definitely wasn't going to mention it again . . . this town was really bothering him.

After handing one of the many fake credit cards to the hotel clerk, Dean steered his suddenly fatigued brother to their room. "This is it, sweet 212."

Sam scrunched his eyebrows at the two beds; the disgust held in his expression was evident to what the room looked like, "Star-light motel has got to be better than this."

"This is the oldest hotel in the town, it could have some connection to the murders . . . or whatever the thing is," Dean began.

"Dean, we don't even know if these murders are . . . supernatural, or if they had anything to do with this towns history," Sam really just wanted to leave, but he felt so tired. He finally just shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to the ground, then plopping down upon the bed.

The bed was soft; I could just sleep here for tonight and convince Dean to leave tomorrow, Sam thought as his eyes slipped shut of their own accord. He was only vaguely aware of his brother whispering, "Sleep well Sammy," before he trudged out the door.

"Can I help you?" the blond woman asked her voice thick with a southern accent.

Dean smiled deeply, making the woman blush. God I'm good, he thought happily. He extended his hand out towards the woman who took it and shook vigorously. "Hello ma'am, I'm Dean Welter, I work with the police force in the next town over," Dean waited for the woman's reaction.

"Call me Yvonne, you work with the Chariot police department? Why would you have any business in 'River Town'?" The woman was suspicious, not exactly the best reaction Dean had hoped for.

"We are teaming up with this towns police force to try and solve the multiple drowning cases . . ." Dean started. The woman didn't look all that traumatized by her husband's death. Didn't these people know what grieving was? In fact this woman looked as if she were trying to undress him with her eyes, and normally he would have proudly let her do it. This time though, something in her eyes told him that she wouldn't normally act like that.

"So I assume you're here to ask me about my husband?" the woman was quick, that had to be a good sign. She latched onto Dean's arm and guided him into her house, where she shut the door behind them.

"Yeah, you and your husband got married really young . . . am I correct?" Dean had to pull off this bullshit cop gig to get his answers, so he might as well make it believable.

"Everyone around here gets married young, we were married at the age of 17 . . . and I hated that man, I would have preferred a man with money and a good name under his belt," Yvonne stated like it was nothing to her.

Now this was just downright wrong, and the feeling that something was wrong . . . really wrong had invaded Dean's senses. This place was all wrong; this woman's personality didn't go with where she lived or how she dressed. What the hell was going on?

It was then that he realized he wasn't going to get any useful information out of her. He'd have to go hunt down the other victims' wives and hope they weren't looney-tooney too.

He asked Yvonne a few more questions that might help the brother's in the future and was off to check on his baby brother.

TBC . . .