Warnings: Minor violence I think? Minor language.

1959

The crowd was full of energy as the man on the stage played his heart out for them. The girls screamed and cried. He was smiling as he watched everyone in the crowd. Buddy Holly was the crowd's favorite, it was obvious. He didn't know how he had gotten so lucky.

Buddy Holly, Waylon Jennings, Tommy Allsup, and Carl Bunch were rocking the crowd while the other acts relaxed around the building. Buddy couldn't stop smiling as he played through the songs he had been singing for the past couple years. It wasn't the Ed Sullivan show, but at least the production value wasn't so high that he was sick with nerves. And he had promised that Valens kid a good time on the tour.

Out in the crowd, a young man sat at a table. He sipped on his beer and watched the crowd. He would glance up at the band performing. Buddy was good, and if the man in the crowd didn't know better, he would've thought he sold his soul for fame and talent. But he hadn't. He was just actually good. The man's eyes drifted over to another man though. He was eating at a table with some other guys, instruments sitting around them.

His boss had given him orders to follow, and he as going to follow them. He just was going to do it with style.

Buddy and his band finished playing, taking their leave. His band mates headed for the bar. He took a moment to drink some water. He thought about trying to make a call to his dear Maria. It was quiet backstage and he could finally catch up with his thoughts. He took off his glasses and closed his eyes to relax for a bit.

"Excuse me, Mr. Holly?" A voice said. Buddy put his glasses back on and examined the person standing in front of him.

"Yes?" Buddy asked.

"My name is Corson. I'm a huge fan." He said with a smile.

"Oh, thanks. If you don't mind though, I am just about to make a call to my wife…" Buddy said. Instead, Corson set across from him.

"My boss sent me here. And boy I'm glad he did." Corson laughed, seeing the confusion on Buddy's face. "His name is Crowley. He's a real hard ass, but he has deadlines to meet and his boss is breathing down his neck."

"Are you a reporter or something?" Buddy asked. Corson smiled.

"Or something." He said. "Now, Mr. Holly, I think you can help me out." His eyes flashed black, making Buddy fall out of his chair in surprise.

"What are you?" Buddy asked. Corson stood up and laughed, towering over the musician as he laid on the floor.

"I'm just a working class stiff just trying to make it." Corson laughed. He grabbed Buddy by his shirt and pulled him up. "And I think you're going to help me out just fine. Too bad though. You won't be able to see that pretty little thing's face when she tells you that she's pregnant." Buddy's eyes widened. "Don't worry, it is yours. I visited her before I came here. She's just fine...for now."

"Leave Maria out of this!" Buddy snapped, but Corson grabbed him by his neck.

"You just save those vocals. You'll need them."

"What. Are. You." Buddy gasped. Corson laughed.

"See, where I come from, I'm just a simple grunt demon that does the dirty work of gathering souls. But here on earth, I'm Buddy Holly." With that, a black smoke left Corson's body and entered Buddy's despite him trying to keep his mouth shut to keep anything out. The body of the other man fell down, groaning some. Buddy stood up and dusted his suit off, before heading to the bar to get something to drink.

Present

Dean pulled Baby into the parking lot of the Hilltop motel several hours later. They needed to set up a base camp, and Sam was so glad to be out of the car to stretch his long legs. Sam got out and stood by the car while Dean went to the office to get them a room. The sky was clear for now, but according to his phone, it was supposed to snow. Sam looked up then as Dean made his way to him.

"All the way on the end. In case any unwelcome visitors decide to show up in the dead of the night." Dean said. Sam nodded and got back into the car. Dean drove down to the end and parked so they could unload the bags. They knew the drill like the back of their hand. Check the room, lay some salt, make some sigils, the whole nine yards. Only once that was done could the boys settle down. Dean flopped down on his bed, relaxing so his back could find some relief, while Sam went to the yellowed Formica table and set up his laptop.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, looking over at his brother.

"Trying to get a little more information before we start doing any kind of investigating out there." Sam explained.

"Well wake me when you figure something out. I need my four hours." Dean grumbled, turning over onto his stomach and falling asleep. Sam looked over at his brother before turning his attention back to the screen.

He was finding the same things that he had told Dean in the car. A ghost that had haunted the town for years, mainly just doing little things to annoy people. Up until the past couple weeks, when three people had lost their lives due to things associated to the ghost. One woman had fallen down some stairs, another had been impaled by the ghost throwing something, and a third man had been crushed to death by a falling bookcase. So far, no connections. They didn't live in the same house, let alone the same neighborhood. They didn't have the same last name. They weren't the same age. To Sam, there was no visible connection. And most of the time, ghosts usually had some sort of pattern.

"Guess we'll just have to talk to their families and see what we can uncover." Sam said aloud, even though he knew that Dean wasn't listening. He looked over at Dean, who really needed the sleep. He decided then that he could handle the interviews himself. He dressed himself in his FBI suit and grabbed his ID for Agent Jennings. He left a note for Dean, telling him he would call if anything major came up, and headed out to start the interviews.

He went to the boyfriend of the first girl. Her name was Zoey.

"I don't know what happened." Her boyfriend, Craig, told Sam as he set across the table from him. "We were carrying boxes. And she just slipped right in front of her parents and me. And she fell down the stairs."

"Did anything strange happen leading up this? Was there anything weird in the house?"

"I mean, it was cold. But it's winter time. I expected it to be." Craig told Sam. "Everything was great. We had went to the museum up off of 4th…"

"What museum?" Sam asked.

"Um, that one that talks about those musicians who died in the plane crash." Craig said. "Why is that important?"

"I just have to cover all the details." Sam explained, writing down the information.

The interview with the second girl's mother went the same way. And surprisingly, she had taken her niece and nephew to the museum right before she had been stabbed. And the third victim, Jackson, had also been to the museum, his brother informed Sam. Sam pulled out his phone and called Dean while heading back to the car.

"You ditched me Sam." Dean yawned when he answered.

"I left a note." Sam defended. Dean looked around and finally found the note, thinking that Sam had run off.

"I knew that." Dean said. "So, what did you find out?"

"The only connection between the three is that they visited the Museum of History." Sam explained. "Should be worth checking out."

"It's going to be a lot of classical music and Civil War stuff, isn't it?" Dean asked.

"How am I supposed to know?" Sam asked. "We can scope it out during the day time, or go do some after hours exploring."

"Where's the fun going during visiting hours?" Dean asked with a laugh. "Just get back here. Oh, and get some food on the way."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam hung up and went to go get some food from a place close to their motel. A salad for himself,with chicken and light dressing, and a burger and fries for Dean. He didn't even forget the pie this time. He even got himself a slice, because it actually looked really good. He headed back to the motel where Dean was waiting with the laptop and some beer.

"Mmm, and you even got the pie. Good job Sammy." Dean laughed. Sam rolled his eyes and set down with his salad and the smoothie he had snagged for himself, since he really wasn't in a beer mood. He took the laptop from Dean, surprised to see that he was already on the museum website.

"I can't find anything man." Dean said. "I looked it over."

"Well, sometimes the best way to get results is by doing." Sam pointed out. Dean nodded and took a sip of his beer. They researched all night, until the museum was to close. They packed up the gear they needed and headed out. It was just a local little thing. Nothing big.

"So, we go in and shoot Casper?" Dean asked.

"Or try to figure out if the ghost is even here." Sam pointed out. Shotguns full of rocksalt in hand, the boys headed to the building. The lock wasn't hard, and from the looks of it, there wasn't much in security. The building was dark, minus a few emergency lights. But the flashlights they had cut through the darkness with ease.

"This place would be cool to visit." Dean laughed.

"Yeah. It's pretty interesting." Sam said. He leaned forward to read a plaque with information when he could see his breath. "Uh, Dean?"

"What?" Dean asked. Before Sam could say anything though, an old style jukebox in the corner flickered to life and the guitar into to La Bamba started. "What the hell?" Sam turned around, his flashlight slicing through the darkness, until it came upon a third body standing there, beat to hell.

"Shit!" Sam gasped. Dean went to his side quickly and shown his light at the other person.

"Is that...is that who I think that is?" Dean asked. Sam nodded.

"That's Ritchie Valens."

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