I do not nor shall I ever own Supernatural. All of that belongs to Kripke, etc. However, when I give the word, we will kidnap Jensen and Jared, powerless against this massive fandom. Totally kidding. I'm not super into felonies.

"Tommy Lynch! Wake up and get over here!" The man called to the boy who was currently lost in his own thoughts as the rest of the eighth grade gym class at St. Clare's school assembled. The gym teacher with his garish red socks and orange shorts shook his head at the Lynch boy's frequent removals from the rest of the world. They had become more pronounced lately, but no one blamed the kid, especially with what was going on with his family. It was a screwy situation. But the Lynches were much too proud to accept charity. He quickly dismissed the sad thoughts from his mind and blew the whistle once more. He was getting too friggin involved in his students' lives.

"Hey, Tommy, you okay?" Joe Burns looked over concernedly at his friend as they walked out of gym class.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Here, pass the ball." Joe threw him the basketball and he jogged over to put it on the rack with the rest of the sports equipment. He was feeling off today, more so than usual, although he wouldn't admit it to anyone. Was it just him or was the gymnasium freezing for the scalding June weather? He shook the ominous feeling off and ran back toward his friend. Tommy suddenly stopped mid-jog when he caught sight of something he would never be able to get out of his mind. A transparent figure cloaked in a wispy pall of darkness sat before Joe Burns on a white horse with black eyes that burned into the Tommy's heart. Everything seemed to stop as the horse set its gaze on Joe and barreled toward him. Tommy was frozen in his spot, powerless to prevent the inevitable. The Dark Man and his horse ran themselves through the boy and Joe felt fire burn through him. By the time he landed on the cold, hard cement, the apparition was gone and his red-socked gym teacher was rushing towards Joe, shouting nonsense. Tommy looked on, knowing that he was the only one who had seen the Dark Man. Even Joe was senseless to what had happened to him.

Sam Winchester felt lost. Dean had dropped him off on a street full of iron-jawed neighbors and taciturn shopkeepers. His brother was interviewing the family of the deceased, posing as a private detective (Detective Jones, like Indiana, get it, Sam? Sam had just raised his eyebrows in reply.). Sam, on the other hand, had had a camera thrust into his hands, supposedly posing as a high school journalist. He'd had to avoid saying much because he clearly didn't possess the dulcet tones of the Southie accent, so he wasn't exactly getting satisfactory results. There had been a murder/suicide which the Winchesters believed was a result of the presence of this so-called Dark Man. Legend had it that once his white horse locked eyes on you, you were powerless to do anything against the Dark Man's will, which usually involved some sort of age-old vengeance plot. Police had found Daniel Healy, a diner owner and father of four, dead in a warehouse with a .45 in his mouth, bought that morning. Clearly it wasn't premeditated. About fifty feet away from him lay crime boss Morey McCarthy. So maybe Daniel hadn't paid his dues and got fed up with the debt hanging over his head. No. No one messes with Morey McCarthy, Sam had gathered that much from the Southie citizens. Every member of that family would have a bounty laying on their heads now. Sam could see from down the street the overabundance of police cars standing guard outside the Healy household. They'd need all the protection they could get, and Sam felt immense sympathy for them. The Winchesters were possibly the only ones who knew that Daniel Healy was technically innocent. But name-clearing wasn't a big thing with hunters because there wasn't enough evidence. So all Sam could give them was his sympathy. Their job was to prevent this from happening again.

Sam sat down on the sidewalk, utterly baffled as to his next move. He had tried to talk to almost everyone on the street, although he had veered clear of Healy's Diner. He'd probably get beat up with the answers he was trying to get out of the people. The Healys' neighbors were unwavering in their loyalty, although they all had the same air of shock that came with the knowledge of an upstanding citizen suddenly turning cold blooded murderer. He'd been told to fuck off more times that day than he had ever heard in his collective life. He tossed the cheap Polaroid to the ground in indifference. Fuck.

Suddenly, the EVP monitor hidden in the depths of his pocket went off in a frenzy of beeps and high pitched frequencies. He pulled the contraption out discreetly and turned around slowly, trying to detect the direction it was coming from. His heart was racing at the ray of hope in their case. As he pointed it toward the crowd of schoolkids racing out of St. Clare's, he was even more lost than before, but he jogged towards them and joined the throng, a giant amid the uniformed munchkins. He switched monitor to silent to detract any more attention from himself and set his eyes on a towheaded, short kid, pale as death, talking to the black-haired boy next to him, a shower of freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose. He had significantly more vitality in comparison to the blonde next to him. Sam knew he had found the next victim, he thought with a sinking heart. A kid.

As Sam edged toward them, he had to strain his ears against the high pitched tumult of the elementary school kids; the two objects of his attention were talking in hushed tones, and the black-haired kid was glancing around nervously.

"…So you didn't see anything, nothing at all? A flash of white or something?"

"Tommy, I swear to God, if you make me answer one more question, I'm gonna puke all over your shoes. I didn't see anything. I was looking at you the whole time. Jesus, what are you trying to get me to admit to? D'ya think I saw a fuckin ghost?"

"No…listen, Joe, I saw something weird, okay? It was like this black guy—"

"Oh, wow, a black guy. Don't see that every day," Joe replied sarcastically.

"No, okay, just let me finish. He was riding this—" Suddenly, a shorter, almost mini-version of Tommy ran up to the two kids.

"Heard you fainted," the boy smirked.

"Fuck off, Jack," Tommy replied.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, what happened, Joe, did you look at Tommy's face too close or something?" Tommy reached back towards Jack to give him a sharp rap on the head.

"When we get home, you little jerk…" The younger boy's face suddenly turned to slight apprehension and he dashed off ahead. Tommy sighed.

"Kid's gonna get himself killed with that mouth. So, did you feel any different after you saw me, ya know, stop running? Did you feel cold or anything?"

"I felt sick, Tommy, cause I'm sick. I gotta go," he shook his head with irritation. "See ya, later, Lynch. Try and get that head checked out someday." Tommy narrowed his eyebrows and shoved his hands in his pockets. Sam saw his chance, although he didn't think this Tommy kid was going to exactly welcome him with a warm greeting. Sam quickened his pace on par with the boy's. He contemplated how to start the conversation, but if he didn't say anything now, he'd miss his only chance.

"Hey, kid, what, uh, what happened to your friend over there?" Tommy raised an eyebrow in complete disbelief at the bold stranger.

"Fuck off."

"Hey, sorry, man. I didn't mean to, you know, intrude. I just overheard what you saw and I think I can help you out." The kid's posture stiffened. What did this lanky kid mean? he thought with apprehension. He looked back at the teen's unassuming countenance and decided he didn't have anything to lose.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Sam chuckled.

"What was your first clue?" It was Tommy's turned to laugh.

"Buddy, it's not hard," he replied in his strong Boston accent.

"Right. Yeah, me and my brother are in town for a couple of weeks. I'm not too used to the area. The name's Sam."

"Tommy Lynch. So you're hanging out with grade schoolers," Tommy grinned. "I'm going into high school next year, ya know, though. I could show ya around. There's not much to see. Where're you staying?"

"An apartment on Collins Street." Tommy raised his eyebrows.

"Nice," he laughed.

"What?" Sam asked in a mockingly defensive tone.

"Weird area, ya know. If you haven't gotten beat up yet, you will. You're an outsider, buddy. Not good to be in Southie."

"Thanks for the tip, kid, but I kinda figured that out from the looks people were giving us when we got here."

"Hey, listen, I gotta go home. My dad gets pissed when I'm late. But I can come over tomorrow and give you a little Southie tour. If ya want, I mean."
"Really? Thanks. Are you sure, though?"

"Yeah, it's no problem. 'Sides, it looks like Joe isn't gonna be too happy to hang out for the next couple of days," he chuckled.

"Number 21 on the 14th floor if you just want to come up."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that," Tommy began to walk off but hesitated. "Hey Sam? That thing you heard me talking about before? Can you really help me or were you just fuckin with me?" Sam gave him a small, sad smile.

"No, man. No fucking around. I'm gonna help you out." Tommy took a deep breath and for a moment his eyes looked haunted.

"Thanks."