MEEP. MEEP. MEEP.

Dean groaned when he heard Sam's alarm go off. Why the hell does this guy always wake up so early?

MEEP. MEEP. MEEP.

Couldn't Sammy at least put his alarm to a song like he does? Anything so it's not that blaring-

MEEP. MEEP. MEEP.

Is he never going to shut that damn thing off!?

MEEP. MEEP. MEEP.

Dean pulled himself up and reached over to the table that was between their two beds, grabbed Sam's phone and shut off the alarm.

He collapsed back on his bed, not even bothering to wonder why his brother hadn't turned it off himself. He closed his eyes, falling back asleep.

"Hell's bells! Yeah, hell's bells! You got me ringing hell's bells- my temperature's high-"

Dean turned off the alarm on his own phone around two hours later. He yawned, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. He looked over at Sam's bed and finally it dawned on that him his brother wasn't around.

"Sammy?" He called out into the empty motel.

He pulled off the covers and got up, wearing nothing but his boxers. He looked around, and finding no trace of Sam, not even a note, he began to get a little annoyed.

He was about to call Sam's cell phone when he remembered that it was still on the bedside table. Why didn't Sam take it with him? He wandered back to the table and picked up Sam's phone. He checked the recent tabs and found his messages open.

He glanced behind him instinctually and then opened the messages. His eyes widened. Jesus, Sammy.

She was hot.

Dean chuckled, checking the time of the last messages, and seeing it as being 2am. Who would've thought his little brother had it in him?

He smirked and decided to wait around until Sam got back, however long that took. He put the phone back down and flopped down in front of the motel TV. He was flipping through the channels, hoping there'd be something at least half-interesting on. After watching some stupid TV show about an alien in a blue box for about thirty minutes, he flicked onto the news channel.

"A woman, Gretta Taylor, was found beaten to death this evening. Her son, Andy Taylor came to visit her, finding her dead on their kitchen floor," Said the female news reporter.

The video cut to an image of a very dishevelled young man, Dean guessed that this guy was Andy.

"I- I came to talk to her. I missed her after all. Life- life hasn't…" At this point the man took a deep breath and looked as though he was fighting back tears, "Life hasn't been too great lately. I just- I just wanted to talk to my mom! And I find her… She's all I had!"

At this point, he turned away from the camera, "I found her dead. She's my mom. She's my mom for god's sake! I don't know who would do something like this, okay? She was the nicest person I knew."

The camera cut back to the reporter, "The police are still investigating the crime scene, having found no leads except a cryptic message written on the wall in Ms. Taylor's blood."

An image appeared in the corner of the screen and Dean felt the blood drain from his face.

"If you have any information on this message or who the culprit might be, please call this number." A number flashed across the screen. Dean took the time to jot down the information of the murder.

'I'M BACK, SAM!'

He finished writing down the address, and looked back at the screen, staring at those words. Who did this?

Dean waited around for another twenty minutes before Sam came into the motel, a wide grin on his features.

Dean raised his eyebrows, "Oh? What's that grin for?"

"Nothing."

Dean laughed, standing up, "Come on, Sammy. Who is she?"

"Dean!" Sam rolled his eyes and shrugged off his jacket, "Seriously."

"Aw, come on, at least tell me Lindsey's name?"

Sam stared at him incredulously, "You looked through my phone?"

"Maybe."

He scoffed at his older brother, "Why do I put up with you?"

"Cause' I'm your brother."

"Apart from that."

Dean grinned but then his smile began to falter.

"What is it?" Sam immediately asked.

"Well," Dean began, "I think I've found us a case…"

"Okay?"

Dean then proceeded to tell him the details, including the message that had been left.

Sam's expression fell. He stood there in front of his brother in silence for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Who… who do you think it might be?"

Dean shook his head in answer, and then proceeded to go over to his side of the room and began packing his things.

Sam blinked, "Um, Dean, before you start packing, how about you get dressed first?"

Dean glanced down at himself having completely forgotten he was still in boxers. He glared at Sam.

"Shut up."

Dean grabbed his FBI clothes off the chair and moved to the bathroom to get dressed, leaving Sam alone in the room. Quickly, Sam changed into his own suit, and then sat down on his bed, thinking about the case.

Who was it… who was back? There were a lot of people who had left his life.

It… could be a ghost. Someone who he failed to save. That sounded the most likely to him, but… he couldn't remember a case from the city Ms. Taylor had died in. What was it? Lawrence, right. It was only a town over. Wasn't that where he cast Lucifer into the pit?

His speculations were cut off when Dean knocked on the bathroom door to make sure Sam wasn't caught half-naked when he entered. When Sam called back that he was decent, Dean left the bathroom, fully dressed. He grabbed his bag and glancing once more at the motel to make sure he hadn't left anything behind, he motioned to Sam to get his things as well.

Sam picked up his already packed bag (he never really unpacked it anyways) and shoved his phone from the table into his pocket.

The two brothers got into the car and began the short drive to Lawrence. They had been staying just outside of the town to take care of a werewolf problem, and were able to finish up pretty quickly but they'd decided to stay a few nights. Apparently something that Sam had profited from.

"But seriously. That Lindsey chick is hot."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Dean. Are we really going to keep talking about this?"

"Well yeah! What else is there to talk about?"

"There's a lot of things we could talk about other than my love life. Like this case for example."

"Aw come on, lighten up, Sammy." Dean grinned, "You were out all night. And judging from the amount you two've been texting—"

"DEAN!"

"—It's definitely not the first time."

Sam just shook his head and turned on the radio. Dean smiled snidely at his little brother before turning his eyes back to the road.

They reached the crime scene in around twenty minutes, and the two of them walked up to the police and flashed their FBI badges.

One of the policewomen looked at them in surprise, "Federal agents? Didn't think this was such a big case."

"We just go where we're assigned, ma'am." Dean said, and looked at the house, "So, when did Ms. Taylor die?"

"We're not a hundred percent sure yet, but the coroner's said that it had to have been close to six pm yesterday."

"How'd the killer do it?" Sam cut in.

"A rolling pin."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

Dean spoke up, "A… rolling pin."

"Yeah, that's what I said. Weird right? It was Ms. Taylor's rolling pin too. We're guessing it wasn't premeditated, maybe a robber broke in without knowing someone was in the house, but then there's no signs of forced entry. And then there's that weird message. Ms. Taylor didn't even know anyone named Sam."

"Thanks. Could we talk to her son?"

"Oh yeah, he's right over by the house. Poor guy. Real virgin type. Heard he was going to propose to his girlfriend and she blew him off. God, that must've been rough." The policewoman gestured over to Andy who was sitting on the steps of the house.

He looked up, and caught Sam's eye.

…If Sam didn't know better, the guy looked almost excited.

A/N: And there we go, another chapter done. I can't wait for next Tuesday. Heheh.

Make sure to review! :D