Okay here's the next chapter. Sorry for the wait, had a coursework overload.
Anyway I hope you enjoy! As always nothing belongs to me unfortunately. Please review. Let me know what you guys think.

Chapter 4:- That was a classic!

An hour later, Dean and Sam had packed their bags and had driven into Camden town. Pulling up into a parking space, Dean shut off the engine and looked around at the white picket fenced houses which lined the street.

Raising his eyebrow, as he climbed out of the car he turned to Sam. "Is it just me or do you get the feeling we've just walked into a friggin Disney World commercial?" He peered over one of the fences glancing down at the perfectly manicured lawns, a look of silent wonder on his face.

"Welcome to Stepford," Sam grinned as Dean pulled a revolted face.

"Yeah I can't wait to meet the wives," Dean muttered sarcastically.

"I bet you can't," Sam laughed, knowing his brother too well. "All those perfect little women in their perfect little skirts."

Dean thumped him in the arm as he stepped onto the sidewalk. "Yeah but it looks like life ain't so perfect in suburbia," he grinned. "They've got the crazies."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Beats the motel any day."

"Oh yeah, I mean perfect Begonias and fancy drapes really compare to the untold joys of stiff moth-eaten bed sheets and rickety beds," Dean said sarcastically.

"At least motels are quiet on the supernatural front!"

"Yeah, as opposed to ghosts, ghouls and crazy ass hot chicks."

Sam flushed to the roots, knowing Dean meant Meg.

"Choose better next time you wanna get laid okay!" Dean said knowingly. "I really don't like getting caught up in the foreplay."

Sam punched his brother in the arm, rather harder than was necessary. "As much as I enjoy our friendly repartee, I think we should go find out what the hell's going on!"

Dean, grinning broadly, locked the Impala and started off towards the newest crime scene.

"Jeez," Dean whistled under his breath. "They mustn't get much excitement around here."

Sam nodded, as he glanced up the street to where half the town stood.

"Nothing like a gruesome death to draw out the crowds!"

Sam looked at him pulling a face.

As they pushed their way to the front, they saw that the victim's body had been removed and in her place, a chalk outline had been drawn on the road. The town sheriff and his deputy's were desperately trying to diffuse the onlookers and news crews.

"What happened?" Dean asked, as he came to a stop beside a young mother. She carried a toddler in one arm, which rested comfortably on her hip and was holding a stroller with another child sitting in it, in the other.

"Ooo, it was terrible," the young woman said, turning excitedly to tell an elaborated version of the story. "This woman who baby sits my friend's friend's kids went loopy. And I'm not talking like eccentric; I mean she absolutely lost it, started screaming and hitting herself. She must have had a few wires crossed or something. I mean she just freaked. Came running out of her house as I was on my way to the stores, ran out into the road and wham! Went flying up and over Mr. Stevenson's brand new Chevy. He's our dentist's brother in law by the way. Anyway she went flying, smashed the windscreen. Brakes screeched, tires swerved, screams and then nothing. It all happened so fast. Look at him," she said breathlessly, hopping excitedly on the balls of her feet as she pointed across the street to where a greying older man sat answering questions. "Poor man, he's obviously in shock."

"Whoa," Dean muttered, feigning surprise. "He must feel like crap. Is she-"

"Oh yeah, she's dead. Was the strangest thing though. She went flying over that car with such force, yet she remained conscious and started screaming like death was approaching her. She must have known."

"Known what?"

"That she was gonna die!"

Dean and Sam looked at her sceptically.

"It's true," piped up a lady standing next to her, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation. "She was absolutely hysterical. We thought it was cos she was hurt, but she kept hitting and clawing at herself. Paramedics arrived, tried to calm her down as her heart rate was through the roof, but she had a massive heart attack before they could help her."

"How do you know all of this?" Sam butted in rather sharply, his tiredness clouding his temper.

The woman, who was dressed in a putrid salmon pink suit with padded shoulders and a skirt that was rather too short for her age, turned to look at him contemptuously.

"Because I saw it! Marianne was screaming and looking around wildly one minute and had collapsed the next, paramedics trying to revive her."

Sam checked himself, muttering a half-hearted sorry. The lady seemed satisfied.

"When did all this happen," Dean continued, trying to remove the awkward tension between them.

"Not long ago. Maybe an hour or so."

"Can you hold Joey for me," the other woman butted in distractedly, as her other child, a restless four year old, started to make an escape from the stroller. She thrust the toddler at Dean, who caught the child awkwardly, a look of horror written across his face. Sam couldn't help but grin.

"Come back here this minute Jack!" the woman shouted, as the little boy, climbing out of the stroller, began to make a run for it, giggling as his mother gave chase.

Dean watched them disappear into the crowd helplessly, his cheeks growing pale as he turned back to the young child in his arms who pointed up at his face and giggled.

Sam turned his head away, shaking with silent laughter as Dean stood uncomfortably, holding the little boy away from him as though he had the plague.

"This kid better not puke on me," Dean groaned through gritted teeth as the toddler looked up into his face with a bashful smile, his baby blue eyes twinkling up innocently into his own.

Sam grinned. "Looks like you've been left holding the baby."

Dean rolled his eyes. "And the clichés keep on coming."

The toddler in his arms giggled at him as he reached forwards and stuck a finger up Dean's nose, making Sam snort and double over with laughter.

"Aww man that was a classic," Sam laughed, as the pair pulled up outside a motel on the outskirts of the town and collected the keys to a room half an hour later.

"Dude, the kid stuck his finger up my nose. That's just gross," Dean cringed as he moved his hand up to it self-consciously.

Sam unlocked the motel room door still laughing heartily to Dean's disgust. "After you," he grinned as Dean, loaded with duffle bags and the laptop stumbled past.

Stopping dead as he walked into the room, he muttered, "You've gotta be kidding me," Sam almost crashing into the back of him. He looked around in a stunned silence. "This really is Stepfordsville."

As his eyes scanned the room he found it done out in every shade of pink imaginable. The twin beds facing them had identically matching sheets and comforters, both having a large and elaborate floral design. The window standing behind them was decorated with fancy net curtains which clashed horribly with the walls, reminding Dean of a nursing home. The curtains were held back with long tasselled tie backs, which seemed to have a life of their own. The furniture, finishing off the twisted fairytale look, was fashioned in an ornate and decorative style.

"Okay," Dean muttered, as he threw the filthy black duffle bags on to the pink floral bedspread of the nearest bed. He picked up the bundle of lavender that rested on the pillow. "We're either in Lala Land or hell, and I'm leaning strongly towards the latter," he said, chucking it aside carelessly.

"More like grandmas," Sam grinned, trying not to laugh as his brother's brown heavy leather jacket, jeans and biker boots clashed violently with the pink flowery wallpaper and peachy carpet.

Dean stuck his tongue in his cheek, appalled. "I can't stay here. All we need now are some white porcelain dolls with those horrid dead eyes and we've got ourselves a horror movie."

"Tough," said Sam, watching his brother squirm. "This is the only place we can afford that isn't too conspicuous."

"Not too conspicuous! That's a bloody joke right? This place is like a beacon! It's like a horrid fairytale. We've stayed in some dives, but this …" he couldn't even find the right words to describe this nightmare. "Thank god dad's not here," he muttered finally, his cheeks flushing at the thought. "He would have had a frickin field day with this decorating disaster."

"At least it's clean," Sam tried, desperately trying to control the smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth as he smelled the highly perfumed air.

"God, give me blood, guts and moth balls over this any day! I feel like Dorothy trapped in The Wizard of Oz. 'I just wanna go home,'" he mimicked.

Sam snorted as he sank down on to the other equally foul bed and rested his head back against the headboard picking at the frilly pillow cases. "When did you see the Wizard of Oz?"

Dean flushed. "That's beside the point. Can we please go shoot something, before I morph into a Barbie doll!" he begged.

Sam grinned at him. "Nah, we gotta find out what we're dealing with first, rather than going in all guns blazing only to find we've pissed off a spirit we can't kill with guns."

Dean pulled a childish scowl while he mulled this over, finally sighing and shrugging his shoulders in defeat. "But if I end up going stark raving mad like those people on TV, you're the first person I'm coming back to haunt."

"I feel so privileged," Sam muttered sarcastically, as he took the laptop Dean was holding, off him.

"Where do we start?" Dean began, as his brother started up the computer.

Sam stared at him, his eyebrow raised. "You're kidding right?" Dean didn't move. "Hospital records idiot."

"I was just testing you bitch," Dean retorted, rummaging through his duffle bag.

Sam rolled his eyes as he searched for a signal for wireless internet. Finding a weak signal in the corner behind the door, he flopped down, folding his legs under him, the laptop facing to where the motel reception stood across the parking lot.

Dean smirked as he looked over at the back of his younger brother's shaggy mane of hair. He was reminded of an incident that had occurred nearly fifteen years before, when his brother, who was only about nine at the time, had been made to sit in the corner of a motel room in Wisconsin after having a fight with their father. Sam had sat with his back to the room for hours, determinedly staring down at the floor, refusing to back down.

Their father had refused to take him on a hunt for a spirit that possessed young children. He had protested that he was old enough to look after himself and that it wasn't fair that he had to stay behind when Dean was allowed to go.

That had been the first major row Dean remembered them having. Once Sam had stood up to him that day, even though he was so much smaller than his father, there was no turning back or stopping him.

Looking down at him, he remembered wishing at the time that he had enough willpower to hold his own like that for longer than five minutes. Shocked, by the realisation that he envied Sam in more ways than he'd care to admit, he shook his head with an uneasy smile.

That had always been the one thing he could never do. Stand up for himself and win a fight against his father. Anyone or anything else, no problem, but his father, well there was always something in the look he would give him that would always have the profound effect of changing his mind, beating him into submission, making him act like the soldier he had trained to be. No matter how hard he fought against it, those two little words 'Yes sir,' would escape him before he could stop them. Those two little words which so frustrated and annoyed the hell out of Sam. But that angry cold glare from his father made him submit, sometimes willingly, other times forcibly.

He hated that look, the look of disappointment and sadness mixed with frustrated anger. He couldn't bear his father to be embarrassed or ashamed of him. To have him think he was weak, worthless or worse, a disobedient failure. He wasn't like Sam, who didn't need his father's permission to do what he wanted. He wanted, 'needed' to prove himself to John. He held too high a regard for his opinion and no matter what happened between them, he loved his family and would do anything for them. He didn't dare to disobey for fear of losing everyone he held dear to him. Sam did enough disobeying and arguing for the both of them. He had to keep the peace, keep them together. Sam would never care to admit it, but Dean knew his brother and his father were more alike than he would ever be. Too much had passed between them for things to be otherwise, and he was okay with that. He could live with it. He had to be there to keep them from killing one another. He had to stop them from walking into a blind trap when it came to killing the demon. John and Sam were obsessed with it. It was the only reason Sam had accompanied him across the country in search of their father after Jess's death.

He just feared the day when he wouldn't be able to stop them and would end up burying them both, being left eternally alone. Recent events in Chicago had only helped to bring these painful reflections back to the surface, and had proved to him his brother and father would recklessly chase the demon to the ends of the earth if they could. He knew he had to be there, not only to play a part in killing the demon that had destroyed his life, but also to stop his family from doing something stupid. That was his job. That was his mission.