AN: This is one of those more mundane move-things-along and "housekeeping" chapters, but bear with me. Violence, pain, and angst to come, I promise! (hehe) There are a few short notes at the end of the chapter too, but nothing you can't live without.

Lena: You know, I really love the early seasons too. I think there's something just pure about it when it's just the two of them. I change my mind often about my favorite seasons, and mostly have favorite episodes and moments rather than whole seasons, probably because I'm wishy-washy.

Shazza19: That's one of those things that just happened when I was writing…I wasn't intending to have a girl come over; they were just going to play pool, but the muse is fickle. LOL I'm always glad to see your name in the comments.

Timelady66: Thank you for your comment! How nice! And I'll even take the too short thing as a compliment, because it means you enjoyed it (I hope).

sfaulkenberry: "His world begins and ends with Sam." How right you are! And you've mentioned how much you like the earliest seasons – that's part of the reason I put this story in season 1. Just the boys, working together, not so much water under the bridge or other characters (even likable ones) to distract from the relationship that's the heart of it all. And now you've got me being all sappy! LOL

Stormy: Yes, you and a few others inspired me to move this story to take place during season 1 when I expanded it. Thank you for your help with what's working in the story. This next chapter is more of a transition, the busy work of the story to move it along, so not much opportunity for that atmosphere that season 1 had in spades, like you said, so I hope you're not too disappointed in it.

Janice: I swear, I'll send you an email. It's just been a crazy busy weekend. And your kindness is always appreciated – and I'm looking forward to getting your help! Woohoo! I think I remembered that you didn't mind (maybe even enjoy!) the creepy parts; plenty of that coming soon, after a bit of a boring transition chapter.

1850

It was generally accepted that Agatha Clancy would never marry. It wasn't her appearance, though she was gaunt and rawboned and wore a permanently disgruntled expression. This far from any real civilization, any white woman of childbearing age who had most of her teeth was a catch. It wasn't her family, either. They were among the first settlers of "the town," which didn't even have a name yet, and her father would eventually become the area's first judge.

No, there was simply something "off" about Agatha. Something that made you not want to turn your back on her.

But then Abel Morrow came to town, looking to open a tannery and marry – mostly for the free labor. He and Agatha were married within a month. Agatha took her transition from a life of relative ease (as much as was possible on the frontier) to working from dusk until dawn in a dirty, difficult profession, with dark stoicism.

Agatha provided Abel with four sons and a daughter, who all seemed to take after their affable father. Agatha grew grimmer and gaunter with age, and refused to stop working even after they were well off and could hire all the help they needed. She worked until her gnarled, arthritic fingers no longer allowed it, then contrarily outlived all her children, not casting off the mortal coil until she was 102.

But she still didn't really leave.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

"Whyeryoopready?" mumbled Dean into his pillow as Sam walked back into their room. Sam easily interpreted it as: why are you up already?

"I brought coffee," offered Sam instead of answering the question. He knew Dean would never concede the merits of rising early, and Sam really didn't want to talk about why he slept so little. The fact was, Dean knew anyway. And it wasn't like talking could dispel the nightmares anyway.

"That almost makes up for waking me up."

Sam just smirked at set Dean's coffee within arm's reach. "Donuts are on the table, and I'm grabbing a shower," he informed Dean, ducking into the bathroom before Dean could demand he bring the pastries closer. There were non-lethal ways to get Dean out of bed, if you were clever.

Dean was up and half the donuts were gone by the time Sam came out about ten minutes later. Success. He still scowled at Sam, but it was by rote now, no real heat behind it. "Those are all for you." Sam pointed to the half full bag. "I ate mine already."

Dean looked at him far too perceptively. "Yeah, how much did you eat?"

"As much as I wanted. There's some hot water left and a dry towel. And I think we should check out the town cemetery before we do anything else."

Dean allowed the deflection – he'd never backed down on anything in his life, except by choice – but didn't eat any more of the donuts, shoving the bag toward Sam. "Why? You thinking this could be a ghoul? I know they sometimes get a taste for the living, but only the skin? What, a ghoul gourmand?"

"Gourmand?" Sam widened his eyes dramatically. "You learn that from Emeril?"

"No. Maybe. Shuddup."

Sam let it go with a grin. "And if it's not a ghoul, I'm kind of thinking rumptifusel." Both boys scrunched up their faces in memory of one of their more disgusting hunts.

Dean wasn't convinced. "Don't they take everything but the bones?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know what else it could be. Yet, anyway."

"Okay. Shower, cemetery, cop shop, witnesses," decided Dean. "Eat a donut while I'm in the shower." This time he was the one who ducked in the bathroom to avoid an answer.

Sam sighed, but ate a donut.

The town's sole cemetery was as quiet and undisturbed as you could hope for, so they didn't spend much time there. Actually, they didn't even get out of the car but drove slowly up and down the narrow roads. Sam knew that was for the benefit of his ankle, but didn't roll his eyes too hard.

Already dressed in their suits, the brothers went to the police station next. "Hang on." Dean stopped him from getting out right away and texted furiously for a moment without explanation. The reason was pretty clear to see through the glass door. The desk was manned by a very familiar woman.

"Uh, hey Lacey," called Dean with a smirk as they walked in. He looked at her name tag. "Or Officer Shelton. In case you're wondering, Sam and I have permission to work together for his first couple of cases. They're bending the rules because we're half-brothers."

She smiled. "How nice! It's nice to see you again. And Lacey is still fine." She glanced at the ID's they were holding up. "Sam and Dean. Need me to get the sheriff I'm guessing."

"Please." Sam smiled, grateful for his brother's gift of quick, believable prevarication.

"Didn't know feds came in that flavor," Lacey muttered audibly as she headed to the back, making Dean grin and Sam blush.

In just a minute, Lacey was back and escorted them to the office of Sheriff Clayburton. He looked exactly how you'd expect a small-town sheriff to look: tall, mid-fifties, fit and no-nonsense. He shook their hands, asked them to call him Rob, and gave them each a direct look. "Nobody told me you were coming, but I can't say I don't appreciate a few more eyes on this. Someone's killing my people. But I need to make a call to confirm you are who you say you are."

"Of course," said Dean immediately, a business card already in hand. His confidence indicated he'd filled in Bobby in the car. Sam felt a frisson of sadness at the thought of their adopted uncle. He'd not seen the man in years, first due to Bobby's falling out with John, then because of school.

Rob talked on the phone for just a minute, and Sam smiled to himself at how clearly Bobby's voice carried into the room. "They're young and a bit unconventional, but they're good. Stay out of their way and they'll figure out what's happening." The indirect praise felt really good.

Rob smiled for the first time when he got off the phone, and he offered them a seat. To Sam's surprise, Dean declined. "Actually, I'm going to get going and talk to some of the survivors. Sam's going to get the information on this end because he's got a bit of a bum ankle." He shook the sheriff's hand and left, and Sam just barely kept his disgruntlement off his face. Rob must have seen some of it, though, because he chuckled.

"Yeah, I have a big brother too." He proved to be intelligent and friendly, and had a deputy make copies of all of the files before Sam even asked. The bodies had been sent 90 miles away, to the closest big city, to have their ME do the autopsies, which Sam already knew.

"They have any idea what kind of weapon was used?" asked Sam, squinting at a picture of a body that looked more like an anatomy dummy than a corpse.

Rob's mouth flattened. "Very sharp. Curved up away from the handle, inflexible."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "And?"

"And that sounds like a skinning tool. The kind hunters and trappers use when they want to…keep the animal's hide."

Oh. No wonder Rob looked slightly ill. "Were they…dead before…?" Sam asked.

Rob appraised his expression and seemed to understand that Sam was as sickened as he was. His next words were forced out. For a hardened cop with over twenty years of experience to hesitate like that meant it wasn't good. "ME doesn't think so. But, you, uh, have to take the skin while the body is still warm if you want to…use it. And we haven't found the skins."

Sam fought down his revulsion by changing his thoughts from ghoul or rumptifusel to possible human, a la Ed Gein. Many a beautiful theory was killed by an ugly fact, he thought. "And the bodies were moved, right?"

"Yes. There wasn't nearly enough blood where they were found. And there was evidence they spent some time wrapped up in something, probably plastic because there weren't any fibers."

The lack of fibers had been a key reason they'd assumed this was something supernatural. That, and the fact that Dad had directed them here. Sam nodded, thinking hard. He nodded at the file he was holding. "Thank you for this. It's good police work." He meant it, but immediately wondered if that came out wrong or sounded condescending coming from someone less than half the sheriff's age.

But Rob just nodded seriously in thanks. "Let me know what else we can do. And keep me apprised." It wasn't a request.

"Of course." Sam hoped they could. "I know you care about these people." They exchanged cards, and Sam decided he could walk to the library to look up some local history, then he'd text Dean for a ride back to the cabin. He wanted to do more research with the new information in mind.

Lacey offered a warm smile as Sam left, warm enough to make him blush again.

He walked without hurry, both in deference to his ankle and so he could think as he went. Was something drinking the blood, or were the bodies actually moved? He paused a few buildings down, aware of footsteps hurrying up behind him. He stopped and half turned, to both observe his pursuer and make himself a slightly smaller target. See, Dean. I remember my training.

It was the Deputy Morrow, who had brought in the file copies. "Agent Page," he called, panting slightly. He was a head shorter than Sam and maybe five years older, already starting to put on a little weight and lose a little hair. "Thanks for waiting. Um…" He trailed off for a second.

"Call me Sam. You have something you know, or think you do, that you weren't comfortable saying in front of the sheriff," Sam guessed. The look on the deputy's face confirmed the thought.

"Uh, yeah. Well, I saw something…" He trailed off again, looking at the ground. "Uh, I'm Allen, by the way."

Sam shook his hand and waited patiently. Allen had obviously made the decision to tell him something but was struggling to get it out, which probably meant it didn't make logical sense to most people. He had to work his way up to it, apparently.

"It's, uh, it's at a cemetery," said Allen, still staring at the ground, so he didn't see the surprise Sam didn't quite keep off his face. "Maybe…can I just show you?"

"Sounds good," Sam nodded. What could they have missed at the cemetery? Or was it possible something had happened there in the last hour, and Allen had happened to see it? He started to follow the cop back to his cruiser.

"I heard your partner say you have a bad ankle. I can get the cruiser, if you like," offered Allen. Sam almost rejected the offer just on principle – his ankle didn't feel all that bad – but the shorter man seemed so eager to please that Sam just smiled his thanks. It gave him a second to drop Dean a text.

Sam slid into the cruiser, grateful that there was adequate legroom. He noted immediately that they turned the opposite direction from what he'd expected.

"So it's this little, private cemetery right by my house, and I noticed something really odd when I was headed to work this morning," Allen explained. "I stopped for just a second, because I didn't want to be late. I almost told the sheriff, but it's just too strange. I didn't want…well, you'll see in a second."

Sam's curiosity was fully piqued by now. It must be pretty strange, given how nervous the deputy was to mention it. They were there in less than 10 minutes, and it proved to be one of the smaller cemeteries Sam had seen, maybe a quarter of an acre at most. He idly wondered how many people in the world had visited more cemeteries than he had. Dad, Dean, a couple other hunters, maybe. Nice claim to fame.

Allen parked on the road just outside the cemetery, and Sam hopped out and took exactly two steps away from the car when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. "Don't turn around," ordered Allen, suddenly sounding a whole lot older and less uncertain. "Put your gun on the ground slowly, hunter."

AN (part 2): A rumptifusel is a truly odd legend or myth. It's a creature that drapes itself over a branch looking like a fur coat. When someone picks it up, it surrounds them and eats them. No, I'm totally not kidding.

Sam's quote is from a scientist named Thomas Huxley. I don't know anything about Huxley, except I've always liked the quote. My nutty high school chemistry teacher had it up on the wall in his room and I still remember it now, a million years later.Ed Gein was the real life inspiration for Norman Bates from Psycho and Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs. *shudder*