I find that on occasion, I write better to music. So, this chapter is being written accompanied by crazy folk music. Please review and tell me what you think – I love reviews!

The hunt had gone well. Dean had rather enjoyed himself – who knew poltergeists could be so much fun? He had almost killed himself laughing when it stole Sam's shoe from his foot. Sam had no choice but to play cat-and-mouse with the damned thing until it threw his shoe onto the topmost rafter of the barn where it had taken up residence. Due to its unmistakable attraction to the handsome young man, Dean suggested Sam be used as bait to attract it, upon which he would take it down with a shot of rock salt laced with iron. The poltergeist also managed to steal Sam's shirt and grab him by the ear before Dean killed it. Needless to say, Dean had enjoyed teasing his younger brother about it all the way to the north border of Iowa, and Sam had neglected to speak a word since the end of the hunt.

They had stopped at a downtown café in St. Paul, Minnesota for an afternoon coffee break. Dean was at ease, spreading himself out in his chair on the patio. As usual, he watched the thirty-something women walk past in their summer dresses, winking and flirting with the occasional beauty. Sam, who was still ignoring Dean, had immersed himself in a local paper. Tired of the cold shoulder he had been receiving from his brother, Dean turned after saying goodbye to a lovely lady and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. His eyes were apologetic.

"Look, Sam, I'm sorry I laughed at that hunt back there."

Sam didn't move. Only the top of his head was visible behind the paper he was using as a shield, to avoid eye contact.

"You didn't deserve that," Dean continued, his eyes searching for a way to see his brother's face. "But you have to admit, it was pretty funny. For an expert," he said, the edges of his mouth turning up in a grin, "that was a pretty rookie move."

Sam tore the paper away from his face angrily.

"It was NOT a rookie move!" he said. His eyes blazed with anger. 'What else was I supposed to do, ask it nicely for my clothing back?"

"Hey, man, that might have worked." Dean took a sip of his coffee. "Just be glad it didn't steal your underwear."

Sam drenched Dean with the water from his lexan bottle. Dean laughed, knowing this was Sam's way of getting even and that they were on the same terms again. He combed his hand through his hair to respike it as Sam spread the paper he had been hiding behind on the table beside them.

"Take a look at this." He pointed at an obituary for a young woman, who looked to be about thirty-five. " 'Sophie Williams, passed suddenly on June 26, 2007, along with her husband Taylor. They will be sorely missed by – ' "

"Yeah, okay," Dean said, cutting him off. "So what's so important about this death?"

"Well, for starters, both the wife and husband died on the same day. Secondly, I've been doing a bit of research into police records-" he indicated his laptop on the café table, "and there was blood everywhere. Looks like a double homicide, but they haven't found any evidence."

"None?" Dean asked, truly interested. "Nothing at all?"

"No hairs, no fingerprints, no displaced dust, nothing." Sam said. He always loved doing the research for hunts because his brother depended on him for once. "And here's where it gets crazy. They did the autopsy, but they can't find any reason for him to have died." Sam counted them off on his fingers. "No puncture wounds, no bullet holes, he wasn't strangled, he had a clean bill of health, and his family's medical history was right as rain."

"Sounds suspicious." Dean clapped his hands together. "So, when do we get started?"