Present Day
It has been exactly a week since the boys were in New Orleans having fought and killed the Count Dracula, even though a feeling at the back of their minds constantly reminds them that he has an annoying tendency to return back from the dead but for now he's stone-cold dead, and now they're in Cleveland, Tennessee, resting after a hard night's work disposing of a vengeful spirit that had it bad for a family of four back in Birmingham, Alabama.
Always the first one to wake Sam slowly opens his eyes, blinking to wipe away the blur effect as he steadily sits himself up. Wiping away the sleep beneath his eyes and stretching out his tired muscles, he combs his fingers through his already messed-up hair, thanks to Dean last night tugging on it like it was a life-saver or something. Sam lets out a soft yawn before looking down at his sleeping brother beside him; his hair as messy as his own, one arm over his head while the other lay nicely on his bare chest, his hand lightly grasping the amulet that hangs round his neck at all times whilst his lower (naked) half's covered by the velvety blanket.
I don't think I've actually seen him without that amulet, to be exact, Sam tells himself before smiling, his dimples gladly showing which would've caused even Dean to melt on the spot, if he were awake to see them. He turns the other way and looks down at the bedside alarm clock, 6:15, might as well get up and start the day, as he climbs out of bed and makes his way into the bathroom to relieve himself, brush his teeth and have a nice "hot" shower before Dean uses it all.
A few hours later Dean wakes from his seemingly endless, dreamless sleep to find that Sam's not in bed. Wiping the sleep from his eyes with a fist he swings his legs round to set his feet on the soft carpet floor, stretching out his arms to loosen those tight muscles that seemed to be working on overdrive last night. After relieving himself he returns to the bedroom to pick up his boxers from off the floor and his muscle shirt from the chair, slipping them on to at least keep his dignity. His ears pick up faint tapping sounds coming from the kitchen area of their room and instinctively knows that it's Sam working away at his laptop. Dragging his tired feet along the floor Dean makes his way into the kitchen and, like he predicted, spots Sam at the table, garbed in today's clothes.
"Mornin' Sam," Dean can only muster, filling his chosen cup with the needed ingredients before switching on the kettle. Waiting for it to boil Dean exhales loudly, twirling his neck around to work out the kinks which causes him to yawn and stretch out his arms.
"Morning. I see that last night's "escapade" took a lot out of you than it did me," Sam smirks, not looking away from the computer screen.
"Ha, ha, very funny bitch. My body's still getting used to being alive, don't forget," Dean retorts huskily, pouring the boiling water into the cup whilst stirring it with the milk. He spoons out two sugars and stirs his cup again before placing it on the opposite side of the table from Sam and plonks himself onto the chair, resting his head in his folded arms on the table.
"Dude, that excuse's really getting old. You've had more than enough time to recuperate." Sam's still not looking away from the computer as though something's transfixed him to it.
"Okay, change of subject? What have ya got? Found anything interesting yet?" Dean asks in his current posture, sounding more like a mumble but Sam hears it all the same.
"Well, according to this website, unsolved murders have been occurring around the Fork Mountain area for the last 20 years. Police have found no evidence in catching the killer and out of all of them there's only been one survivor," Sam describes, tapping the keyboard to further in his search.
Dean looks up from under his arms, "So? What's that got to do with us? We deal with the supernatural, not serial killers."
"Well that's just it Dean, the police have found no evidence to lead themselves to a suspect. No footprints were found at the scene, other than the victims of course, no murder weapon, basically no hint of the killer actually being there."
Dean then sits up straight, takes a swig of his coffee, scratches his head before answering him back, "So, ya thinkin' maybe it's another spirit or a ghost with a serious enough grudge?"
Sam finally looks away from the screen, "No doubt about it. It all fits into the category; spirits don't leave any trace of themselves behind and judging by the area's history, it fits the bill perfectly."
Dean's eyebrows crease into a confused yet questioning gaze, "Why? What happened?" He takes another sip of his coffee.
"Well it says here that: "Back in the 1950s, when Fork Mountain was a thriving mining camp and had a sizeable population, it had at least 6 underground mines and most of the men who lived there had jobs working them. It wasn't until February 14th 1988, a good 30 years later, when something unpredicted transpired and one of the mines collapsed on itself. Most of the men were just shaken up, some were injured but not fatally but there was only one fatality. A Lawson Greenway; son of Arthur Greenway who was the Mayor of the town before it was dismantled shortly after Lawson's tragic death. It also said that Lawson was going to propose to his girlfriend, Mackenzie Kimble, later on that night but never got the chance to"," Sam reads out, saddening at the very thought that Lawson never got the chance to admit his everlasting love to his "soul-mate".
After downing the last of his coffee Dean perks up, "So let me see if I can work it out; guy gets killed in mining accident on the night he was gonna express his love and ask the "big" question to his girlfriend. His spirit can't rest with that fact so he returns with a vengeance every Valentine's Day to pick off any lovers who happen to appear in the area. Am I right?" He finishes with his trademark smirk which leaves Sam to smirk back, "Pretty much, all the victims were all couples and the murders date back to one year after the accident…February 14th 1989."
Dean stands up, letting out a quick stretch before moving himself behind his chair, his hands gripping the back of it, "So what about the lone survivor? What happened to him, or her?"
"Erm, let me take a look," he taps on the keyboard and waits a few seconds before, "Hah, here we go; Gailyn Summerset, age 29, and currently living in, oh," He stops, reading in more of the info. Dean edges himself round to see what he's looking at.
"What? Where does she live?"
"Seattle, Washington. Says here that she wanted to get as far away as she possibly could from where it happened."
Dean pushes himself from leaning on the table and lets out a small, frustrated gasp, "Dammit! Guess questioning her's out of the picture," he puts his hands onto his hips.
"So what's the plan Dean?"
"What we always do in a situation like this; find where he died, get to his bones, salt and burn them. Hunt over."
"We'll need to ask around. If you remember there are 6 or more underground mines and we don't know which one he was working the night he died."
Standing, thinking for a minute, Dean eventually nods to the idea, "Alright, I just need to take a shower first. I can still smell your sex on me from last night's "escapade." He then turns to walk away but Sam manages to lean over from his seat and slap his ass before he's out of range, "Well hurry up, we haven't got all day!" He shouts after him, watching Dean disappearing into the bedroom before hearing the bathroom door open and close.
Valentine's Day's tomorrow and if the Winchester brothers hope to vanquish Lawson's vengeful spirit before he disappears for another year, they're gonna need some serious help.
Sam twiddles his thumbs while waiting for his laptop to shut down, thinking about what they should do about their current state and thinks the unthinkable, Maybe I should call Ruby? She might be able to help but how am I going to keep Dean away from seeing us two together? Ever since Dracula, he's never once left my side and he's gonna turn all kinds of red once he finds out that Ruby's back and been helping me these last few months. But what choices have I got?
He sits there quietly in his thoughts before he finally decides on what he's going to do.