A/N: Alright, I know this chapter is leaning towards the short side of things again, but I want to make sure that we get to see everyone's view of this place the first time they see it. I've also reposted the chapters previous to this one if anyone is bored. Also, if anyone can tell me why the WB is not showing reruns of Supernatural right now, I'm all ears. And why they haven't said anything about releasing DVDs or even a soundtrack? I mean, come on people! How am I supposed to survive the summer?

I have to admit that I'm enjoying the drive up to Fort Tucker. It's kind of nice to have someone trust me to drive their car without lecturing me or watching me like a hawk for the first hour. Dean is way too protective of that Impala. Thinking of which, Dean has just pulled up in front of what I assume must be Fort Tucker. Even in the daylight, this place screams creepy. I don't know if it's the all-but-gone paint on the buildings, the coating of dust and cobwebs on everything, or the stark absence of life, but whatever it is, I immediately feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. All my senses go on alert even though my mind tells me that logically there shouldn't be much to worry about here until after dark. I still can't help, but be wary, though as I turn off the car and slowly step outside. The sound of car doors closing seems to echo all the way down the main street that we have parked at the beginning of and back to us again. The noise is like gun shots in the silence. The quiet makes me feel like whispering, like I'm in a library. I move quietly over to join Dean and Lindy by the Impala.

"Well," Dean says, clapping his hands together. His voice and the clap are both too loud for the setting, making me jump a little. I barely resist the urge to glare at him. Of course, Dean never was one for library voices. Of course, Dean never was one for libraries, either, "shall we explore?"

I meet Dean's eyes for a second, then look pointedly back at the trunk of the Impala. He raises an eyebrow at me as if to ask what I'm worried about. I shake my head back, unable to explain why I've immediately gotten such a bad vibe about this place. Still, it can't hurt to be prepared and Dean's never been one to argue against going into someplace fully armed, so we both move to the back of the car. Lindy follows us, but it's obvious by the look on her face that she doesn't know why we've both decided to gravitate towards the trunk. I don't bother to explain, knowing that as soon as Dean reveals the hidden compartment inside she'll know what we're getting.

Wordlessly, as if we're both psyching up for a battle even though we both know that shouldn't be the case at this time of day, Dean opens the trunk and pulls up the floorboard so that we can both grab weapons of choice. I glance over at Lindy as I slide the pistol into my waistband, noticing her eyes widen in shock.

"You two planning on shooting up the place?" she asks.

Dean casually inspects a shotgun before discarding it in favor of something smaller, which he slips into his own waistband behind his back, "You never know."

"Remind me again about how you're not crazy." she says, watching him and how familiarly he handles the weapons.

"We're not crazy." I reassure her since Dean's never been much good at that, "Most of these are loaded with rock salt. Salt wards…"

"I know what salt does." she interrupts, seeming a little impatient with me for explaining it to her, "I do write about this kind of stuff, you know?"

I feel a little embarrassed for assuming she wouldn't know about the properties of salt and give her a sheepish smile to show her I didn't mean anything by it. She smiles back

"I guess I just wasn't expecting an arsenal in the trunk." she admits.

"Can't go hunting unprepared." Dean comments, picking up one final item before shutting the trunk.

He sounds so much like Dad that I can't resist shooting him a look. He catches my eye, but quickly turns away, ignoring me. I can tell, though, that he knows what I'm thinking. He knows, but he doesn't want to acknowledge another reminder of Dad's absence. I let it go, because I don't really want to think about Dad not being here either. Where is he?

I turn my attention back to the present with an adeptness that is starting to worry me. Putting Dad out of my mind is getting much too familiar these days. We parted on such bad terms when I told him that I was going away to school that I hadn't thought I'd ever see him again, but I at least knew where he was. I at least knew that Dean was with him, that they were together, taking care of each other. I hadn't imagined anything like this. And now it's getting so hard and so tiresome worrying about him that all I can do is push him from my mind. I wonder sadly if I'm being selfish again by not thinking about him more, not thinking about the trouble Dad may be in just because it causes me pain to think about it. But now is definitely not the time.

"You take this." Dean is saying, pushing a gun at Lindy.

She takes a step backwards, holding up both hands, "No way."

Dean steps forward, grabs one of her hands and presses the gun into it, "Yes. Hopefully, you won't need it, but just in case. I won't let you come with us unarmed."

His tone and the look on his face leave no room for argument. Lindy looks down at the gun, the look on her face unreadable, her hair masking part of her expression anyway. Finally, after a long moment in which none of us do or say anything, she follows our lead and slips the gun into the top of her jeans at the small of her back. She looks tremendously uncomfortable, but to her credit she doesn't say a word about it. She simply nods to herself as if to say, "that's that" before looking up at both of us.

"Alright, but I need to grab something out of my car, too. One second." she says before hurrying back to her car.

She opens the driver's door, puts her knee on the seat and reaches across it into the back. I catch Dean staring at the view of her butt this presents and sigh at how predictable my brother is. It doesn't matter where he is or what kind of danger may be lying in wait, he doesn't miss an opportunity to check out a pretty girl. It's embarrassing sometimes. Especially when he's so open about it. Thankfully, Lindy is soon jogging back over to us, a large camera clutched in her hands.

"You didn't lock the doors." she says to me.

"You don't want them locked." Dean answers before I can explain.

"Why?" she asks, looking between us.

Dean grins at her, "You really want to be fumbling with your keys like people do in every horror movie known to man when something bad is chasing you?"

She absorbs that and, surprisingly enough, grins back at him, "Not really. Thanks, Sam."

"No problem." I reply.

The conversation between us has distracted me a little bit, but when I turn around and look back at our destination, the serenely silent ghost town, my nerves return immediately. It seems that this place has the same affect on Dean and Lindy, too, because when they turn around to follow me, they both instantly fall silent, all traces of humor vanishing. The three of us move quietly, but determinedly into town, our shoes stirring up dust on the wide street. The second we pass the first buildings lined up on either side of the road, I feel like we're walking into a trap, as if the buildings themselves are the enemy and they are slowly surrounding us. I clamp down on that feeling and keep walking, my eyes quickly scanning one building façade after another, looking for any sign of movement or trace of a disturbance. Everything here seems coated in shades of brown, grey, and rust, the sun only illuminating the wear instead of bringing out what is left of the color. This place never reaped any rewards from the gold rush west. In fact, this seems like a town where people have never wanted to live. Momentarily, the thought that this is the kind of place where cowboys may have once come to duel at high noon enters my mind, but it's gone as quickly as it comes. More likely this is the kind of place where some crazed privateer went on a killing spree, damning his soul to haunt this place and now us. Nothing seems quaint in that cowpoke, small town, antique sort of way. Everything seems hostile and foreboding and more words in that semantic field. This was a place where desperate people were forced to eke out a living because they had nowhere else to go and maybe their spirits are still stuck with this place that no doubt slowly drained the life out of them.

"Caw!"

I jump, whirling towards the movement coming from the balcony of a building on my right, my hand flying to my gun before I realize that it's just a bird. I catch Dean smirking at me, but I don't bother to say anything to him because I noticed that he jumped, too. We're all edgy, it's not just me. Instead of gratifying Dean with a response, verbal or otherwise, I look past him to Lindy, who has taken to looking at this place through the lens of her camera. She snaps a few pictures while we're stopped, before lowering the device from her face. She catches me looking and smiles nervously at me.

Dean starts walking again and I follow suit. I keep examining every building we pass for something, anything that will tell us what is going on here. Unfortunately, so far this place is as lacking in evidence as it has been in my search on the computer. Tons of creepy, zero clues.

Finally, after what seems like forever, we reach the end of the street. The road tapers down into a path that disappears into the woods from this point. I turn around, looking back up the street to the cars. They seem farther than I'd like, but not far enough to justify how long it seemed to take to reach this distance.

"Maybe we should check inside the buildings." I suggest.

"Guess so." Dean agrees, giving up on his visual search through the surrounding trees and turning to face me, "Split up."

I nod, but as I'm doing so I catch a flicker of an emotion cross Lindy's face before she buries it behind an expressionless countenance and busies herself with inspecting her camera.

"Dean," I begin, but he shoots me a quick look that stops me before he continues speaking.

"Sam, you take the buildings on the right. I'll take the left. Lindy, you stick to the road and let us know if you see anything. Anything, okay?" he says, searching for her eyes in her down-turned face.

She looks up, meeting his gaze full-on. She looks determined as she nods. I'm glad that Dean didn't try to send her searching through buildings on her own. As tough and as brave as she may be, I saw the fear that flashed in her eyes at the suggestion of splitting up and I can't imagine being anything less than afraid at being told to look for a supernatural being on my own on my first hunt. I flash back to my own experiences and feel tremendously grateful that Dean was there with me. Those first hunts Dad made us go on, when we were still kids and should have been playing cops and robbers with plastic water guns instead of searching for poltergeists with 45s loaded with rock salt, had been terrifying. If I'd been alone, I'm not sure I could have made it through them.

The three of us start the trek back up the street towards the cars. I pause for a moment before splitting off from Dean and Lindy. Dean's eyes meet mine and I can almost feel him telling me silently to be careful. I send him back the same message before turning my focus towards Lindy. I give her another reassuring smile, noticing how tight her grip has become on her camera. But I also notice that there's not a single shake to her body, she's standing firm, and I know that she's not about to back down from anything. She gives me a quick nod before I turn and head off to investigate the structure on the corner.