Disclaimer: I do not own supernatural rather it is television show. The original characters and stories are mine. Any similarities to real people and places are purely coincidental.

Chapter 3: The Antique dealer

Dean pulled the Impala out of the Bertha's Diner parking lot toward the interstate. Sam watched Dean from the passenger seat. "So..," he raised his eyebrows.

"So, what?" Dean glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye. He takes a left turning into a neighborhood.

"So, you and Jo, huh?" Sam was about to begin to interrogate Dean when Sam realized they had turned the opposite direction of the interstate. "Wait, where are we going?"

"Back to the farmhouse," Dean nonchalantly responded. He reached over and turned on the radio. Country music blared from the speakers and he immediately began flipping through the channels. Sam watched Dean adjust the radio. Please no more hard rock. Sam knew better, Dean couldn't resist hard rock. Dean stopped flipping channels and began singing "I want you to want me, I need you to need me, I love you".

Dean started strumming his fingers against the steering wheel when Sam cried out, "Ok, enough already. You are killin' my ears!" Sam reached over and shut off the radio, "You really need better taste in music".

"I was listening to that! Oh, and Oops I Did It Again, is not exactly good taste in music." Dean sarcastically lashed at his brother. The impala headed down the country road toward the farmhouse.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Anyways, why are we headed back to the farmhouse? Thought the hunt was over?"

"Yeah, well, I get the feeling something else is going on. I don't buy the vampire trying to stay under hunter radar. I just want to look around. If we don't find anything we will take off."

The brothers pulled the impala up to the front of the farmhouse. Not certain what they were going to find, Sam and Dean entered the house over-prepared. They were loaded down with stakes, silver bullets, salt, and other miscellaneous weapons.

They systematically examined the first and second floor finding nothing out of the ordinary. Sam and Dean were finishing up in the living room when they heard footsteps in the hallway. The two exchanged looks. Guns at the ready they positioned themselves at the room's door leading to the hallway. A tall, muscular male with pitch black hair quickly walked into the room. His eyes scanned the room looking for something. He didn't find what he wanted. He turned to leave the room, Dean and Sam stood pointing their guns at the man's heart. "What the hell?!" The man yelped in a baritone voice and jumped two feet in the air.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded. "What are you doing here? This is a crime scene."

The man was a little over 6 foot tall and built like rock. The man sized up the brothers and decided he easily take the brothers if the equation did not include guns. He was bigger and stronger then either of the two. "I could say the same too you." He coolly replied.

Sam noticed the man was extremely calm considering he had two guns pointed at him. Dean appeared to have read Sam's mind, he tightened the grip on his gun.

"Well, it's a good thing I asked first," Dean snidely replied, "Feel free to answer me now."

The man took his time to respond, "I am an antique and relic dealer. I came here to collect something that belongs to me," He gave the pre-rehearsed line smoothly. "I did not realize anyone was home."

Sam noticed that the man was holding an old, tattered book in his right hand. "What's that? A guide to antiques?" Sam nodded his head at the aged book.

"Tell me who you are?" The man requested, "I told you who I am".

Dean eyeing the book, "Hand the book to Sammy".

Sam slowly walked toward the man. He kept his right hand tightly griped on the pistol. When he reached within arms length Sam held out his hand, "Ok, hand it over".

The man uneasily handed a tattered book with yellowed pages to Sam. Sam examined it, "The Bible? What is an antique dealer doing with a Bible? I didn't realize there was a market for old Bible"

The man appeared uncomfortable. He debated whether he should lie or tell the truth. If I tell the truth, most likely they will think I am crazy. If I lie, what will the do? Do they believe I am here to collect an antique? Who are they anyways? As he spoke, he began to pace."Ok here is the truth. My name is Tim and I own an antique and relic shop," He nervously began to explain why he was as the farm house. "Three months ago, a writing desk arrived at my shop. It was beautiful and I sold it within a week. Then, the man I sold it to," He paused taking a nervous deep breath. He quickly said, "passed away." Tim paused then continued talking slower. Telling the story helped him relax. He felt a large weight lifted off his chest, "The desk was returned to me. I immediately sold it to a second buyer. They too passed away. Well, murdered," The man placed his hand over his mouth which muffled the end of his sentence. They think I am crazy. He ran his hands through his black hair. I knew they would think that. I am normal! Well, was normal until this stupid desk.

Dean and Sam dumbfoundedly starred at the man. They had no idea he would confess so easily. It was difficult assert if the man was telling the truth. Dean broke the silence, "Back up. The other owners of the desk died?"

Tim hated that so many people have died. He felt responsible. Tim gulped, "Yes. Each person's throat was slit. No finger prints at the crime scene. At least that's what the newspapers said."

Sam lowered his gun. Dean was slightly more skeptical and did not retreat as quickly. "My name is Sam and this is Dean. What were you planning to do with the bible?" Sam asked him.

"I don't know. I thought if I put it in the desk drawer or on the desk I could make it stop. Its not a good plan, but its all I had. I am not crazy. The desk is the only link. I have gone over it in my head multiple times. I know it sounds crazy, but when I heard about this family. . . the only connection is the desk. I am not crazy," Tim was rambling and he knew it. Voicing his thoughts aloud made Tim realize how fragile his mental status could be.

"You're not crazy," Sam reassured him. "Dean and I will help you."

"The jury's still out on the sanity part," Dean sarcastically remarked, "Let's find the desk?" Dean lowered his gun.

Author Note: I don't like the title to the story. I have decided to take the story in a different direction then originally planned. I am sorry the title does not make much sense. It is my first Fan-Fic so I am learning as I go, please forgive. Comments will be greatly appreciated if you have any ideas or opinions. Thanks for reading!