Yeah, okay, not the best I've ever written, but I wanted to get something out before finals and everything come up, ...because the next time I'd be able to update would be in a month. In story-timeline, Sam will be popping up in about 3 months! I actually don't have anything written past this chapter, but that's my plan. And clearly, I'm not going to write about every aspect of the next few months of Dean and Annabel, so it'd probably happen sooner than later.

ANYWAYS, please read, critique, review, comment, make suggestions, rant about how this sucks, anything! I'm sick (and about to be bogged down with 3 20-page papers due in the same week), so...pretty please with a cherry on top? lol

Chapter 8

"You do know that we're not actually transfer students? It's just a cover, right?" Dean asked, eyeing the old textbooks with apparent distaste.

They had visited a local Salvation Army to pick up some extra clothes for the nearing winter, and much to his dismay, Annabel had hidden three ancient textbooks – quantum physics, Renaissance literature, and Latin. Quantum physics and Renaissance literature were the last things on any hunters' mind, clearly, and yes, Latin was useful, but all the Latin they needed to know, they already knew. Not memorized, of course, but that's why they had their own books. Plus, when were they ever going to sit down and conjugate verbs with a demon? But, she had insisted, saying the books could come in handy some day. And they were only a dollar each, so who was he to complain?

She glanced up, and in a tone that was meant for five-year-olds, replied, "Yeah, it's called playing the part. You should try and do the same." She grabbed a notebook that was lying on the bed and threw it at him. "There's your prop. Now get going."

"A prop? And you broke out the glasses? I think you're enjoying this way too much." He flipped through the notebook and threw it onto his bag. "Don't tell me you've always harbored dreams to go to college too."

"It's called playing the part," she repeated, pushing her glasses up her nose with the end of her pen. She rolled over and pulled the laptop with her. "Here's what I've got."

He peered over her shoulder to read the website she'd pulled up. "Great. Mental hospitals, haunted cemeteries, headless train conductors, apparent occult activity…which one are we here for again?"

"Patience is a virtue. And anyway, since we're here, we might as well look everything else up if they're making any trouble. But first and foremost, Ohio University. The entire campus is practically haunted."

"The entire town is haunted," he muttered under his breath. "Was it a female dorm at least?"

She grinned. "Co-ed."

"Well then let's get going."

"You and your one track mind," she scoffed. "No. Two track. How could I forget about food?"

"Sadly, you know me all too well," he smirked, shaking his head as he reluctantly retrieved the notebook from atop his bag. "That probably says something about your own social life."

"Shut up. So do you remember the story at all? Or do I have to repeat it again?" she asked, organizing the textbooks so that she could zip up her backpack.

"Three freak accidents in two weeks, yeah, I got it. I have to say though, the pencils through the eyeballs? Pretty nasty stuff if you ask me."

She swiped at the cobwebs strategically placed by the doorway, and managed to step on one of the many legs of the large furry spider on the floor. "Why would anyone want to waste their money on these hideous decorations?" she growled, kicking the offensive creature to the other side of the room in one swift movement.

"Especially when they could spend the same money on some skimpy costumes," Dean grinned, shutting the door behind them as he pocketed his mini lockpicks.

"I'm fairly certain the occupants in here are guys," she said with a raised eyebrow, glancing at the giant posters of women in bikinis next to various athletic paraphernalia. "As evidenced by exhibit A."

"Great taste," he grinned. "So this is where…Patrick bit the dust," Dean mused, referring to his notebook for the victim's name. "Pencils in both eyes. Suicide...Policemen are useless. Who in their right mind would jam a blunt pencil into their eye, only to do it again to the other? That's like saying he shot himself in the head. Twice."

"Maybe the roommate did it."

"The roommate with the pencils in the dorm room."

Patrick's half of the room was already empty and scrubbed down, and the desk where the incident occurred had been replaced. There wasn't much to go on, especially since the EMF was pretty much dead silent. His roommate's half was surprisingly organized for a guy's room, with thick books stacked up high in the corner of his desk, a laptop, a light clipped onto the side of the desk, and a pencil jar filled with an assortment of highlighters and a few stray pens. His bedspread, unsurprisingly, was dark blue, matching the jacket draped over the back of his chair. Aside from the pairs of muddy shoes poking out from under the bed and the posters on the walls, not much else in the room indicated that a guy lived there.

The carpeted floors muffled the approaching footsteps, so by the time they realized someone was coming, it was too late to even reach the window. They were attempting to situate themselves into casual, we-didn't-break-in positions when the door opened.

"What are you doing in here?" the guy demanded, dropping his muddy cleats onto the floor with his bag. "The door was locked."

"I'm your new roommate," Dean said smoothly, tapping his notebook against his leg. "Just transferred in this semester, was stuck in a quad."

The soccer player ran a hand through his damp hair and studied him suspiciously. "They didn't tell me anyone was moving in."

"You know how the school works," Dean continued, "They never tell anyone anything."

"True," the soccer player shrugged. "I'm Matt."

"Dean." He patted down the corner of the bed and sat, playing out the I-live-here card for Matt's benefit.

Annabel coughed.

"Oh, and this is Annabel," he said offhandedly.

"Sorry about him. He's a little dense sometimes. I'm Annabel. We," she gestured towards Dean, "met during orientation."

Matt nodded at her before tugging off his sweatshirt to reveal a white wifebeater. "Sorry, just got out of practice. So where's all your stuff?"

"I travel light," Dean replied. "So, the guy who used to live here – what happened with him?"

Matt shrugged, but his eyes flickered towards his roommate's desk for a split second. "Killed himself. It was pretty gruesome. Thought he was playing some pre-Halloween prank on me."

"Was he depressed?"

"If he was, he hid it well. He had everything going for him – happy family, great girlfriend, co-captain of the soccer team, scholarships – I don't see why he would have wanted to kill himself," Matt offered, settling into his chair by the window. "He was all set to go to England for a study abroad program next year."

Annabel sank down on the bed and pushed her backpack towards Dean in order to make space. Twin beds were only meant for one person – sleeping or sitting, apparently. "Was he sick?"

"He thought he was coming down with the flu, if that's what you mean."

Dean cocked his head, trying to figure where she was going with this line of questioning, but came up with nothing. Maybe next time he'd actually read the so-called casefiles that she prepared. Or maybe not. Sometimes she seemed to be even more of a nerd than Sam, and honestly, it scared him a little – if, of course, he was capable of being feeling that particular emotion. It also made him wonder why she quit going to school, especially since she was an avid fan of flowcharts, detailed notes, legal-sized notepads, books, and highlighters. And, her absolutely horrible eyesight and the oh-so-thick glasses? Yeah, she would definitely give Sam a run for his money.

"You left your prop in the room."

"You mean my room, don't you?" Dean asked, putting his I'm-Dean-Winchester-and-I'm-charmingly-sexy grin to good use as they headed up the stairs to the other victims' rooms.

A group of sorority girls in matching pink outfits passed them on the fifth floor landing, and as expected, all gave Dean the more-than-once-over. And, of course, they all started twittering like a bunch of headless chickens.

"Hey girls," Dean winked.

"Have some standards, Dean," Annabel hissed after they passed, slugging him in the arm.

"I have plenty of standards."

"Could've fooled me," she shot back, pulling open the door that led out to the sixth floor.

Dean followed her into the hallway and shuddered. Communal living creeped him out. The idea of sharing a bathroom with the entire floor? No thanks. Sammy, I sure hope Stanford was worth giving up private bathrooms for. But then again, who was he to know what the bathroom situation in Palo Alto was like? It wasn't his concern, anyway. Though, Dean thought as he watched a few girls traipse around in their bathrobes, I guess it's not without it's perks.

"Dean!" Annabel exclaimed in an exasperated tone. "Get your mind out of the goddamn gutter."

Dean Winchester, you are so transparent it's bound to bite you in the ass one day. Well, either that, or Annabel was just plain super-perceptive. For all she knew, he could have been admiring their bathrobes. Right?

"Cindy Sherman," Annabel said under her breath. "Drowned in the toilet."

A few seconds ticked by before Dean responded. "You're serious."

"Dead serious. Pun intended." She slowed her steps as they neared the communal bathroom. "Looks like it's gender neutral. God, am I glad I didn't go to college. I can just imagine what goes on in these places."

"You're such a prude."

"Better a prude than a whore," she replied, glaring at him meaningfully. "Come on, it was the third stall from the end."

They entered the rather large bathroom which was lined with toilet stalls on one side, shower stalls on the other, two rows of sinks in the middle, and drains placed haphazardly across the cement floor. The walls were a weird shade of grey-green and the shower curtains were a deep mauve…and the interior decorator deserved to be shot.

"I've got nothing, other than a 'Michelle loves Devon,'" Dean said after a few sweeps of the bathroom with the EMF. "Any luck?"

"You know, I would've thought that college students would actually know how to flush toilets. Guess I thought wrong."

They were sitting in a crowded on-campus café an hour later, researching like the pretend-college students that they were.

"I think I got it." Dean snapped his fingers with a grin and downed his second cup of coffee. "Tom Harding, died five years ago around Halloween. Prank gone haywire. Apparently he was supposed to pretend to be the head caught under the window, but long story short, he was the head caught under the window. Talk about life imitating art."

"Some art. Where's he buried?"

"Cremated – my grandmother. My grandmother was cremated." Dean coughed, glancing up at the adjacent table, whose occupant was eyeing them with interest. "She died."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the girl said sympathetically. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged. "It'll take some time to get over, but I'll be fine."

Annabel rolled her eyes. An actor, Dean was not. Unless he was in a suit or some type of uniform, but he was playing himself – with a fake, cremated grandmother. She had doubts as to whether or not he actually knew his grandmother in the first place, but decided that maybe he needed some fun. But not before she kicked him in the shin and snatched the laptop.

"I didn't mean to intrude," she said, "But you're in my physics class, aren't you? Do you have any idea what we're learning right now?" she asked, leaning over her laptop.

"Uh…yes. Physics. Love Newton."

The girl laughed. "Are you interested in joining a study group? A few of us are organizing a group for the midterm."

"Sounds good," he grinned. "I'm Dean, by the way. And this is Annabel."

"Cassie. Are you in physics too?" she turned to Annabel with a smile.

She seemed nice enough, and relatively smart – minus the whole physics thing and the "aren't you in my class" line – so yes, maybe she'd be a good change from Dean's normal flings.

"No, she's not. She's a history major. Regency era, specifically."

"Isn't it a core requirement though?" Cassie asked, quirking her brow in confusion.

"What he meant was, I'm trying to prolong the inevitable," Annabel said with a quick glare at Dean. All she knew about the Regency period were tall, dark and handsome lords, waterfall cravats, Hessian boots, and their romance-novel-deserving romances…the types of stuff they don't teach in school. Not that she read Regency romances, of course…Well, it wasn't as though rundown gas stations had Tolstoy and Nietzsche sitting on the shelves.

"I know what you mean. I'm in journalism so I put this science requirement on the backburner for three years. But I have to pass to graduate, so I'm hoping this study group will help."

"Yeah, it'd suck if the rest of the group didn't know a thing about physics either."

Dean didn't miss a beat. "Lucky for you, I'm a physics whiz."

Annabel rolled her eyes and sucked on her straw. She'd figured out long ago that not only did coffee not sit well with her, but it kept her up the entire night, and seeing as how she rarely slept before three in the morning, coffee was a bad, bad thing. And even though she'd gotten closer to Dean than pretty much anyone else in her life, some things he just shouldn't have to find out. Dean, on the other hand, didn't seem to share the same inhibitions. She'd learned that the hard way.

Cassie closed her laptop and began packing up. "You coming?"

Dean looked around to make sure she was talking to him.

"To class? Physics?"

"Right. Yeah," he said quickly, snagging Annabel's notebook as he stood. "I'm coming. Don't start on the…project without me."

"Sure, Dean." Annabel arched her eyebrow and shoved his jacket at him. "Have fun."

Leave it to Dean to run off to class. Only for a girl. Annabel wasn't sure if it was cute, in a "Dean's going to class even though he's not even a student…just for you!" way, or if it was just a bit creepy. Maybe a little of both. Oh well.

"Hey! Um, Annabel, right?"

She looked up from the newspaper she was holding and squinted against the sunlight. "You're…Dean's roommate..."

"Matt," he offered. His hair had dried to a light brown, almost blonde shade, and Annabel had to admit, with the sunlight behind him, he looked like an angel. Or rather, if angels existed, she'd hope they looked as he did at the moment.

He took a seat next to her on the giant square slab of concrete and offered her some M&Ms. "They're peanut," he explained, waving it at her.

"Yes please," she grinned. She reached in and pulled out a blue one and popped it into her mouth, but not before making sure there wasn't something sinister about it. Like a corner of a razor blade protruding through the chocolate shell or something.

A little paranoia went a long, long way.

"All stocked up for Halloween?"

"We don't get many trick-or-treaters coming by the dorms," he said wryly, "but who can resist the sales?"

"Exactly! God, if I could get my hands on some Butterfingers…"

Matt laughed. "Hey, sorry about earlier. We had a rough practice, and I'm sure I wasn't real friendly up in the room."

"Oh, don't worry about it. You were nice enough, trust me."

He nodded to some friends as they passed in a hurry before turning back to her. "Do you have class?"

"Nope," she replied, cursing herself for not checking out class schedules, lest her cover be blown. Dean had it easy. "No classes today. What about you?"

"I've got a discussion section in half an hour, but it's optional. So no, I don't. What's your major?"

She surprised herself by wishing she could say she was pre-med or something equally respectful, because for one thing, she hated doctors and all those money-grubbing professionals, and for another…well, why the hell was she worrying about what a guy thought of her? She mentally slapped herself. Hard.

"History. What about you?"

"Aerospace engineering." He took one look at her and laughed. "I know, I'm just supposed to be a jock, right? The guys make fun of me all the time. But there's not much to do around here except play soccer and go to clubs. I can't dance to save my life, and you can only drink so much alcohol, so…"

"Oh no, I wasn't – okay," she sighed, snaking her hand in for another M&M. "I was thinking it. But wow, aerospace engineering. Sounds fun."

"It is, most of the time. So where did you transfer from?"

She replied without thinking. "New York."

"Why did you end up here?" He offered her the last two M&Ms, but she left the brown one for him.

"Good question. I'm not really sure myself. I guess I just like moving around?"

Change the subject, she told herself. Before he runs away, thanks to your awkwardness. "Um, so it must have been quite a sight, your roommate and all."

Fuck. There's nothing like bringing up someone's dead roommate to alleviate the awkwardness. Good going.

Matt didn't seem to notice. "Tell me about it. And the whole you-get-straight-As-if-your-roommate-dies thing? Lies," he joked. "All I got was counseling."

"But you're okay, right?"

He shrugged. "More or less. It's not something you forget."

"It seems like a lot of weird things have been going on here," she started. Research, while pretty interesting most of the time, could be very, very fun, especially when the one delving out the information was as cute as a particular soccer player. Killing two birds with one stone, right?

Matt shrugged off his backpack and dropped it next to his feet. "Yeah, I think a girl supposedly drowned herself in the toilet around the time Patrick…died."

"And earlier this week – Trey what's-his-name?"

"Duvall. I sure don't think he killed himself."

"Why not?"

"For one thing, how would he have strangled himself in the basketball net in the first place? You'd have to work hard to accomplish something like that. Really hard. And without a stool or a chair? He was going to the NBA after he graduated, no doubt about it." He shook his head in contemplation as he stretched his long legs. "There's something weird going on."

"The school could have a twisted serial killer on campus," Annabel suggested with a wry grin. "Or a ghost."

He dismissed her comments with a laugh. "Someone's been watching too many horror flicks."

She snorted. Real ladylike, Annabel. Why don't you just start a belching contest while you're at it? "I hate scary movies."

"What about Halloween?"

"It's all right. I'm mostly in it for the candy."

"Well, our floor's holding a costume party tomorrow night. You should come. You know, with or without a costume. There'll be lots of candy for sure."

"Hey Matt!" a voice interrupted, rather rudely, in Annabel's opinion.

They both looked up only to see a trio of girls walking towards them. If they were wearing pink velour tracksuits with Greek letters on the backs, she might have said they were the same girls they had encountered in the stairwell. Bottle blondes, blue eyes, and fake tans, they all looked the same after a while. If this was what college was like, she was glad she missed it.

"Abby," he nodded at the one with the awful timing.

If the terse response wasn't as obvious an indicator as the girls needed, his rather impassive expression might have signaled his displeasure at the meeting, but of course, they were clueless.

"What's up?" another one piped up. "Haven't seen you in a while. Are you going to the party tomorrow night?"

"It's on my floor. I'll be there."

The conversation was going nowhere the girls wanted, so when Right Said Fred exploded in a pause, everyone turned to stare at her. When she set up the ringtone to be Dean's, she hadn't thought about much else except the fact that it was hilarious. And the fact that Dean hated it. Instead, she should have worried about others who might question her taste in ringtones.

"Sorry, it was a prank," she offered lamely as she brought the phone to her ear. "Yeah?"

"I think I've got something."

"Where are you?"

"Heading to the library."

"Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes," she said before ending the call.

"So where were you?" Dean asked as soon as she reached a close enough distance. He rose from his seat on the bench in front of the library.

"Just talking to your roommate. So what do you have?"

"My roommate? What are you – you don't like him do you?"

"Like him? I barely know him. Sorry to disappoint."

"Yeah, well, we're not staying long, so don't get too close."

"What?" She frowned at his back as she followed him in through the sliding doors. "You're insane, you know that?"

"It's perfectly good advice."

"It's utter bullshit. And even if I planned on getting too close, I hardly think I need your permission."

He led them straight to the news archives with such familiarity that if she'd paused to think about it, she would have wondered if he'd been there before.

"I never said you did," he said smoothly, placing his notebook on an empty desk. "And you don't. But as your older –"

"Don't even say it," Annabel warned, snatching up the notebook.

"—elder, I mean," he quickly amended, casting a wary glance her way. "As your elder, I know a lot more than you do."

"Of course you do. You're the one doing the love 'em and ditch 'em routine all over America. No one likes a hypocrite, Dean. Now what the hell is this chicken scratch?" she asked, shoving a note-filled page under his nose.

"I've been told I have excellent penmanship, thank you very much," he huffed as he effortlessly signed into the computer system.

"By whom, may I ask? Your m—imaginary friend?" Her eyes widened as the word almost slipped out. She hoped he didn't notice, and if he did, that he didn't really mind. But, rather than risk that chance, she quickly changed the subject. "How'd you sign in? You don't have a username or password."

"I'm a genius," he replied.

Maybe it was her imagination, but did his tone sound a bit flat? And sharp. Which would make it natural, in music terms…but natural it was not.