A/N: This chapter contained a few scenes that got edited out of the printed version. They were fun, but didn't contribute much to the story, so I was asked to cut them and I did. But, they were fun, so I'm going to post them at the end as an additional chapter. Call them "deleted scenes."

SPN SPN SPN

Chapter 2

Sam surveyed the area around them warily. The address was pretty much at the end of Maplewood, just outside the city limits. Lots of trees surrounded the property, cutting off view of the street from most angles. The house—or maybe "palatial estate" described it better—dominated the property and cast looming shadows over their surroundings. Above the thick oak door, a large, stone gargoyle stared down at them, its bat-like wings curled behind it as if it were prepared to jump.

"A little too Dracula…" he said quietly.

"Tell me about it." Dean nodded, stepping up to ring the doorbell. The button was more modern, and out of place.

"You sure this'll work?" Adam asked, fidgeting with his new student ID for the tenth time.

"Relax," Dean murmured, eyes front as he waited for the door to open. "Just let Sam do the talking for now."

They were posing as researchers from the local university, studying "legitimate paranormal events and how they affect everyday life." Dean was especially proud of this cover. Sam had to admit it was more fun than their usual federal agent shtick. It also meant they could dress less formally. No suits and ties, just blazers over button-down shirts, and school IDs hung on nylon lanyards around their necks. That helped, since they hadn't stopped to buy Adam any G-Man duds yet.

The door opened, revealing a short woman wearing glasses. She looked like she hadn't slept well in days. "Yes?"

Sam stepped forward slowly. "Mrs. Fleming?"

"Yes."

"Hello, we're sorry to disturb you, but we have a mutual friend in the police department, and we heard that…well, that you're having trouble. We'd like to help if we can."

"Help me how?" Annette appeared hesitant.

Sam put on his most sincere smile and plunged ahead. "We're researchers over at Wake Forest University, studying parapsychology and…well, local paranormal events. The incidents you reported sounded very interesting to us, and, with your permission, we'd like to open an investigation."

Annette was still on guard, but Sam could see her relax slightly. She seemed intrigued. "And…Bob told you about…?"

Cue Dean. "He told us the police department wasn't taking this as seriously as he thought they should. His superiors seemed to want to write the whole thing off as a prank, but he said he believed you. If you say something's going on, then it probably is and he put in a call to our office."

"Yes." Sam nodded. "Oh, please, we're being rude. Allow us to introduce ourselves." He gestured toward Dean and Adam. "This is—" He blinked. Just like that, the whole cover story fled his brain. Not now…damn it! Think. We just went over it in the car!

Thankfully, Dean seemed to sense his distress and took over, barely missing a beat.

"I'm Doctor Stantz, this is Doctor Peck." He gestured at Sam. "And our nervous colleague, here, is Egon."

Annette gave him a curious look, and Sam finally snapped out of his haze. "Doctor Yeager," he corrected, shooting a glare at Dean. "It's a pleasure, Mrs. Fleming."

"Egon Yeager?"

Sam's embarrassment was only half faked. Dean had promised they wouldn't mention the ridiculous first name he'd put on the ID. "It's a…family name."

She looked a little confused, but must have believed them, since she stepped back from the door and motioned them inside. "Please, come in. Uh…I'm happy someone believes us. For a while, I thought the police were just humoring us."

"Well, please understand," Dean looked contrite, "the police aren't taking any official position. Bob just hoped we could help."

"I understand," she replied, still appearing happy. "Um, please sit. Can I offer you anything?"

Inside, the house seemed somewhat more welcoming, but not much. Ornate wood paneling covered every wall. The foyer led to a large den with a fireplace on one side and two large windows on the other. Sam spied a series of decorations and ornate woodwork along the walls—the craftsmanship was amazing. The ceiling was unusual, wide seams crisscrossing the stucco surface at bizarre angles that didn't follow the walls or windows.

The three of them sat on her sofa, Dean smiling broadly. "Uh, actually, if Doctor Yeager here could have some water? He always gets so nervous around new people."

She smiled. "Of course. I'll be right back."

As soon as she was around the corner, Dean elbowed Sam and whispered, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Sam growled.

"Sam…"

"I'm fine!" Sam snapped, harsher than he intended. "I'm sorry, I just— I've got it together now, I swear."

Annette reappeared with Sam's glass of water and a man in tow, cutting off any further discussion. "This is my husband, Ted."

Dean, Sam, and Adam rose in unison and introduced themselves.

Adam spoke up. "We were just talking about what an amazing house this is."

"Thank you." Ted nodded. "Annette was telling me you are from the university."

"Yes, sir." Adam smiled, nervously raising his ID.

Dean subtly elbowed him and hissed something that sounded like "Relax."

Sam took a gulp of water from the glass, wishing Dean had asked for something stronger.

"Exactly what kind of investigation do you want to start here?"

"Well," Adam began more calmly as they took their places on the sofa, "as my associates were telling your wife, we've been studying urban legends, local ghost stories, anything paranormal that's indigenous to the area. Our goal is to determine the origins and what, if any, basis in fact these stories have."

"Oh," Ted said quietly, clearly processing the story.

"We've been working on this thesis for a few years now, and I have to tell you," Adam's smile had a faint air of Dean to it, "this is the first time we've come across a paranormal event in progress. We're really excited!"

Ted and Annette shared a look, and from what Sam could read, it looked hopeful.

"Um, well, I can tell you we're relieved to see someone actually taking us seriously for a change… What, uh, what would we have to do?" Annette asked.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," Adam reassured them. "We need to look into the history of the house, the neighborhood, take some samples, and of course, we'll have to interview you both very thoroughly as to what you've seen and heard. Other than that, you'll barely know we're here."

Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, except for the EMF and the infrared scans of the house. It's more accurate when fewer people are around, and less power's being used, all that. We'd have to ask you to leave during that portion of the investigation. For a house this size, it'd probably take a couple of hours."

"EMF?" Annette asked, frowning.

"Electromagnetic frequencies," Sam chimed in. "Spirits and certain…events produce energy that can linger around the location for days."

Ted didn't seem as curious. "Look, guys, I'm sorry, but we can't just let you have the run of our home without some kind of proof that you are who you say you are."

Adam nodded sympathetically. "We completely understand your hesitation, Mr. Fleming. Believe me, we're used to it. I know all this must be a little overwhelming." He dug in his coat pocket and produced a business card. "Here. You can call this number, talk to Professor Singer. He's head of the project."

"Not local?" Ted asked, eyeing the card with some suspicion.

Adam was quick to smile. "He's local, but he's still using his old number from South Dakota State. He's based right here on the Wake Forest campus. If you'd like to call," Adam eyed his watch, "he should be in the office."

The Flemings looked from the card to their visitors and back.

Finally, Ted nodded. "All right. Excuse us. Honey?"

Annette followed him back into the kitchen. Sam could hear them talking in hushed tones. He saw Dean grinning out of the corner of his eye.

"Look at our man Adam, Sammy. Handled that like a pro!" Dean proclaimed quietly.

Adam released a breath. "Oh, God, that was— What a rush!"

Sam couldn't help but smile, his brothers' enthusiasm contagious. "See? Nothing to this. You're a natural."

SPN SPN SPN

Bobby had just found the passage he'd been searching for when the phone started ringing. Again. With a sigh, he set the massive demonology text aside and headed for the kitchen. "You're just gonna have to wait a little longer, Rufus."

Dean had finally gotten the lights set up, so it was easier to pinpoint which of the six phones was ringing—the gaudy yellow cordless marked "academia" in this case. The boys seemed to be branching out lately, using fewer law enforcement covers. Bobby picked up the phone on the third ring. Showtime.

"Hello?"

"Is this…Robert Singer?"

Bobby huffed. "Yes, I am Doctor Singer. How can I help you?"

"Ah, well, Doctor Singer, this is Ted Fleming. A few of your researchers are here talking to us…"

"Oh, right. The house on Maplewood. You know, I gotta tell ya, I was so happy when the boys got that call about your situation."

"Happy? Really?"

"You have no idea how much we needed a solid lead. My boys have been running around, talking to every schizo in the—" Bobby glanced at the North Carolina map he'd laid out on the table, "Triad who says he's had a paranormal experience, and they haven't seen anything. The Board of Regents was this close to terminating our grant!"

"Really?" Ted repeated. His tone was shifting from skeptical to interested.

Bobby smirked. Always add a little desperation to the story. Sells it every time.

"Oh, yes. So you can imagine, if you have a bona fide ghost on your hands, it'll be a godsend for us. The program could get another two years!"

"I see."

Time to switch it up. Bobby's tone sobered. "Of course, our problems are nothing like yours, from what the boys told me. You should know that studying these events isn't our only purpose. We also work on methods of prevention."

"Prevention?"

"Absolutely. Proving these paranormal events actually happen is great, and fills papers just fine, but our project is also aimed at helping the people who suffer from these phenomena. The purpose of science is to serve mankind, after all." What a load of liberal, academic crap! Bobby shook his head, smiling. He hadn't known he had it in him. The boys were going to owe him after this.

"Well, that's…good to hear," Ted replied.

From the tone, Bobby could tell he was leaning toward buying the story. It was time to push him over the edge. "So," Bobby started cheerfully, "let me tell you a little about our program…"

SPN SPN SPN

Adam smacked the side of the infrared thermal scanner again but it still wasn't showing anything. He heard Sam chuckle behind him. They were in the second floor study where Annette had told them she and her husband had heard most of the sounds. One side of the room was clear, with the original worn, wood-covered walls. The other was cluttered with a workbench and tools, and a section of exposed studs inside one wall was covered with a blue plastic tarp. The ceiling was the same stucco style as the rest of the house, and strangely marred by wide seams that crossed each other but formed no real pattern.

"Dean sees you abusing the toys like that, you'll be the ghost."

"Not my fault this thing doesn't work," Adam shot back. "I thought you said this would show if there were cold spots in the room?"

"It will."

"Well, I've scanned four rooms and the hall, twice, and it's not showing anything. I can't even get the display to change."

"Are you sure you're using it correctly?"

"Yes!" Adam glared at the device, then back at his smirking brother. "Well, I think so, but it should be showing something."

"Here, let me see it."

Adam stepped over to Sam and handed him the scanner just as Dean came up from the first floor. He called out and waved him into the room. "Hey."

Dean pocketed his notepad as he entered. "Well, the Flemings are gone. They're taking the kid to a movie, then shopping. We have a few hours to ourselves."

"You finish the interviews?" Sam asked, adjusting a dial on the scanner.

"Yup. Everything they said sounds like a legit haunting. They've got noises, cold spots, flickering lights, the whole deal."

"You ask about her husband? Or, her first husband?" Adam asked, frowning when Sam hit the same button Adam had been hitting the whole time, but got the display to start moving on the scanner. "It was luck."

Sam just grinned, handing the scanner back while Dean continued blithely on.

"Yeah, that's the part that makes me think this might be the real thing. Her husband—her first husband—Alex is the one who bought this place. He was trying to fix it up when he supposedly offed himself about a year and a half ago."

Adam shook his head, scanning the room again. "I'm surprised they stayed here."

"Apparently they sank all their money into it. She couldn't have moved even if she wanted to."

"And she's married again already?" Adam asked, looking up from the scan.

"It happens," Sam murmured, searching the wall for something.

"Yeah, well," Dean cut in, propping himself up on an ornate wood desk that looked like it had to weigh a hundred pounds. "That's what makes me think this is legit. Her husband commits suicide, she marries his brother barely a year later, and the brother is now working on the same room where the first hubby died."

"Maybe Alex doesn't like Ted moving in on his wife," Sam mused absently, pulling at the face of an oak panel along the ornate wall.

"Or working in the same room where he died," Dean agreed. He shifted his gaze to Adam. "So, you think we should just dig up Alex's bones? Seems pretty cut and dry."

Adam looked up at him, then at Sam, who was also looking his way. They both wore perfect poker faces. That clued Adam in: he was being tested. With a glance around the room, he bit his lip, then finally shook his head. "No. We don't know for sure yet. We need to rule everything else out first."

Dean grinned, and Sam smiled as he went back to whatever he was doing. Apparently, Adam had passed. Getting his brothers' approval on his first hunt was a bit of a rush, but he wouldn't dare admit that, so he just went back to scanning the room. "So, what made the husband kill himself? The first husband, I mean."

"Annette doesn't know for certain," Dean said, reaching for his notepad again. "She did say that the day it happened, he was acting really strange. Said he seemed obsessed with this remodeling project, and 'depressed that it was taking so long.'"

"Depressed enough to kill himself?" Adam asked.

Dean shrugged. "Apparently, but she says it came out of nowhere. One day he was fine, the next he was agitated."

Adam frowned. "That doesn't seem normal."

"Yeah, and it seemed to come and go. He was obsessing over it in the morning, then fine around lunch, then got upset again…each time it got worse."

"You think there's something to that, or was he just losing his mind?"

"I don't know. What are you so fascinated with, Sammy?" Dean asked, changing the subject. He straightened up and strolled over to the wall.

"This panel… Give me a hand with this," Sam replied, stepping in closer to the wall to let Dean join him.

Together, they pulled on the polished panel. The wood groaned as they put their weight into it, and then swung out with a dull pop. There was a hidden compartment behind it.

"What are those?" Dean asked, stepping back.

Adam moved around behind him. Inside the wall were three metal levers, attached to a complex-looking set of bronze gears and pipes that seemed to extend down behind the wall and into the floor.

"No idea," Sam murmured, trying—and failing—to get his head inside the small space next to the levers to peer down. "But it looks like they go down a long way."

Adam shrugged. "Maybe those are controls for a dumbwaiter or something."

"Maybe," Sam replied, pulling out a pad and pencil and sketching a few symbols. "But there are some markings in here, all up and down the walls. I don't know…it seems like I've seen them before."

Dean frowned, crossing his arms. "Well, house looks like Dracula's castle, it's bound to have a few secret passages and crazy machines buried inside. I say we keep our eyes on the ball. Adam? It's your case, what do you think we should do next?"

Adam suddenly felt both his brothers' eyes on him; he didn't like being in the hot seat. "Um, okay. Well, we think the angry spirit might be the husband…but, we need to be sure. I think…we should finish looking at the rest of the house, then talk to the neighbors, maybe the house's last owner, see if anything like this has happened before."

Dean shared a look with Sam, who raised his eyebrows, then nodded and gestured at the scanner in Adam's hand. "All right. That scanner covers a lot of ground, why don't you keep going with that, and Sam and I can sweep for EMF."

SPN SPN SPN

Ted was shaking his head again.

Annette turned to him while Ian told the concession stand worker which candy he wanted. "What?"

"Nothing," Ted murmured, staring somewhat blankly at a spot on the theater's menu.

Annette frowned at him. "You've been acting funny ever since we ate. What's going on?"

"It's not— It isn't important."

"Obviously, it is," Annette shot back, paying for Ian's food and Icee. "So, tell me."

Ted was fidgeting more than he had on their first date.

What's up with him?

"I—I just hope they finish soon."

"Who?" Annette blinked, then realized what he was talking about. "The guys from Wake?"

"Yes. This is taking so long. I'm losing time."

"Time?"

"On the house! I need to get moving on it. Alex would have wanted that."

"What's the rush? You've been working on it for months already. A few more hours won't hurt."

"Wasted time," Ted muttered quietly. "So much wasted time."

He stepped away, heading toward the attendant who was tearing tickets, shaking his head. Annette just stared after him. She hadn't seen him look so sad since Alex had died.

SPN SPN SPN

Even with the three of them splitting up, it was still well after lunch when they finished scanning the enormous house—some four hours after they started. After that, they left, divvying up tasks. Dean was checking with the house's previous owner, a local landlord. Sam had gone to the County Registrar to research the house itself. That left Adam interviewing the neighbors.

After a few hours of gossip, rumors, and slammed doors, he wished he had switched with Sam or Dean. Adam was starting to think his brothers had taken the sweet jobs.

SPN SPN SPN

"What address was that again?" the clerk asked with a definite sigh.

He had his back to Sam, flipping through files in a long cabinet. The Registrar's office was nicely adorned, and almost completely deserted, save the clerk and a secretary sitting across the room.

Sam frowned. He'd given the address three times already. "Two-two-oh-six Maplewood."

"And how far back?"

"As far back as you have," Sam replied calmly.

The portly clerk turned to him, frowning over his wire-rimmed glasses and not bothering to hide his obvious boredom. "That'll take at least a few days, sir."

"What?" Sam was incredulous. "You're kidding!"

"There are a lot of files to go through, sir."

Sam stared at him for a moment. "Look…I need this for a very important project for the university. I need to look through those files today. Please."

The man stared back, unaffected by Sam's polite explanation. He cocked one eyebrow. "There are a lot of files to go through, sir. And we are very busy."

Sam turned, scanning the completely empty foyer behind him, then turned back to the clerk, who was still staring, one eyebrow higher than the other. It took Sam a moment to decipher the look, though he should have caught it sooner. He'd seen it before.

"I don't believe this," Sam muttered darkly. He reached into his pocket for his wallet, took out a hundred dollar bill, placed it on the counter, and slid it to the clerk.

The clerk eyed the bill. "I'd say it'll still take at least two days, sir."

Sam glowered at him, and slapped a fifty on top of the hundred. The clerk's expression brightened as he casually slid the bills over and into his own pocket. "Why don't you have a seat, sir, I'll be right out."

Sam pinched his lips together and tried to refrain from the response he wanted to give. "Thank you."

SPN SPN SPN

Adam was walking up the street, back toward the Flemings' when Dean exited a small Colonial house near the intersection.

"Tell Doctor Singer I said hello!" a man called from the door, waving.

Dean grinned. "Will do!"

"Who is that?" Adam asked quietly as Dean fell into step beside him.

"Mark Tulley, the last owner of the house."

"He know anything?"

"A little too much," Dean murmured. "It was like freakin' TRON in there."

Adam looked at him quizzically. "Huh?"

Dean blinked, and seemed to snap out of whatever he was thinking about. "Forget it. He didn't know much. He said the basement was creepy, but never saw anything."

"Sam got an EMF spike in the basement, but I thought you said it was that transformer outside?"

"Might have been." Dean shrugged. "We should probably look again to be sure. What did you find?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "A bunch of grouchy neighbors who keep to themselves." He left out his run-in with a desperate housewife. The less said about that, the better.

Dean grunted. "Well, let's get back and check out the basement. Sam should be back soon."

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Dean spoke again. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

His oldest brother was many things, but shy wasn't one of them. Adam frowned. "Sure."

"Has Sam, uh…" Dean looked uncomfortable. "Has he said anything to you? You know, about…stuff?"

Adam just blinked at him for a moment, uncomprehendingly. "Like what?"

Dean glared at him.

Adam cocked his head to the side. "You mean like…Hell?" He wasn't sure why he lowered his voice. They were the only people on the tree-lined street, despite it being a relatively nice day.

Dean nodded, turning his gaze forward and keeping it that way.

Adam frowned. "Well, a little. But not much."

"Mmm." Dean nodded faintly but said nothing else.

"He's pretty much kept it bottled up. I tried talking to him, but…."

Dean looked at him when he trailed off. "But?"

"But…I'm not you," Adam admitted uncomfortably. Glancing at Dean's surprised expression, he added, "For what it's worth, I told him he should. Talk to you, I mean. I think he's being an ass trying to keep it to himself."

"Yeah," Dean chuckled. "You think you get used to that side of Sammy, but you never do."

"Have you talked to him about it? Or about…Lisa?"

Dean's eyebrows rose. "No. No, I wouldn't… He's got a lot on his plate right now. He doesn't need my problems."

Adam shook his head and smirked. No wonder they argue so much. They're just alike. "Well, maybe you should. If you open up, he might."

It was Dean's turn to smirk. "I show him mine, he shows me his?"

Adam grinned ruefully. "You're the one who went there, perv."

Dean shoved him lightheartedly into the next mailbox. "Brat."

SPN SPN SPN

Sam laid the last of the photocopies from the registrar's office on the small motel room table as he plopped down into one of the chairs. Dean glanced over the pages while Adam watched from the edge of one of the beds.

"Well, I traced the house's owners all the way back to 1950, though obviously it's a lot older than that. There's no record of anything bizarre or out of the ordinary. The earliest owner I could find," Sam flipped through some notes until he found it, "Nicolas Novak, died in 1950. The house stayed in probate for a long time. Novak didn't have kids or any close relatives, and finally the state sold the place at auction. That was…1958."

"Anything strange with the buyers?" Dean asked, looking over a copy of the original deed.

"Nothing. It's been bought a few times, but no one seems to stay in it very long. Few years at most. Finally Mark Tulley bought the lot three years ago, then turned around and sold it to the Flemings a year later."

"Okay, so it sounds like the house is clean, and I take it all the owners except Alex Fleming got out alive?" Adam asked.

Sam nodded. "His is the only death, of any kind, related to the house that I could find."

"So this is just a plain haunting," Adam mused. "And we're sure Fleming committed suicide?"

Dean huffed a laugh. "You're wondering if the wife or pencil-neck brother might have killed him."

Adam shrugged. "It happens. I've seen it on TV."

Sam grinned. "Well, it does happen, but I don't think this was one of those times. I checked out the coroner's report while I was out. Fleming hanged himself, and it was definitely self-inflicted. All the medical reports check out."

"Then we're done," Adam concluded, standing up and pulling his tennis shoes back on. "Salt and burn the bones, and it's Miller time."

Dean grinned at Sam. "Look at this! Kid has been paying attention. You know where Fleming is buried?"

Sam nodded again, sliding over another set of notes and a road map with a faintly smug look on his face. "Yep. Parklawn Memorial Gardens, across town. Southern edge, near a tree grove."

"Don't know why I ask," Dean murmured. "Well, let's tell the Flemings the good news."

Adam paused as he donned his jacket and looked at Dean incredulously. "That we're going to dig up her husband's body and torch it?"

"Maybe not all of the good news."

SPN SPN SPN

Dean killed the Impala's headlights once they passed the white brick gateway of the cemetery. The sun had already gone down, and there were no other cars in sight as they followed the winding road to the south side. Only a few lights were scattered among the headstones, illuminating a flag here and a monument there. His baby would blend into the shadows perfectly, invisible to anyone driving on the distant highway. Like the Batmobile.

The thought made him smile.

Sam must have been reading his mind, because Dean got poked in the ribs as his brother unfolded himself out the door. "Come on, Dark Knight. We got work to do."

"How did you know?"

"I'm psychic," Sam shot back snidely.

"You're just jealous because me being Batman makes you Robin."

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again helplessly.

Dean laughed. "Oh, what's that? No comeback? Because you know it's true?"

"Shut up," Sam griped.

Adam just shook his head as they headed for the trunk.

Dean popped the lid, then raised the false bottom to uncover their supplies. Salt, matches, and accelerant went into the leather satchel Sam held open. Dean distributed sawed-off shotguns to each of them, glancing around. The sounds of his brothers checking the chambers and loading salt rounds melded with the rhythmic sounds of night insects. They were completely alone. He checked his own weapon last then, with Sam, reached for the shovels.

"So," Adam spoke up behind them, "how do you decide who shovels first? Rock, paper, scissors, like everything else?"

Dean kept his face neutral and looked at Sam, who met his gaze steadily. They turned as one and thrust both shovels into Adam's hands.

"I got the bag," Dean said, taking the satchel and stepping away from the car.

"I got the flashlight," Sam called, snagging the Maglite and closing the trunk.

Sam fell into step beside Dean as they headed for the row of graves.

Adam called after them. "Oh, great. This you agree on!"

Dean was glad they were alone. Otherwise, someone would have heard his and Sam's laughter.

"This'll show Bobby who's babying who," Dean muttered defiantly.

"Absolutely," Sam deadpanned quietly while scanning the brass plaque headstones for Fleming's name. The light stopped on a small, squat stone nestled under a maple tree at the edge of the lawn. "Here we go."

He handed the flashlight to Dean, then grabbed one of the shovels from Adam. "All right. I'll help you break the ground, but then you're taking first shift."

SPN SPN SPN

"I got…one question," Adam said, breathing hard as he dumped another shovel-load of dirt up onto the grass. He was four feet down into the ground, and despite the cool night air, he was sweating.

"What's that?" Sam asked, keeping the flashlight beam on the dirt under Adam's feet.

Adam paused, panting, and leaned against the edge of the open grave. "Is this…hazing?"

Sam looked over at Dean, who glanced between his two brothers. They shrugged in unison.

"No. Absolutely not." Sam shook his head resolutely.

"We don't haze," Dean added, shaking his head in too-quick agreement.

"God, I hate you guys," Adam breathed, rolling his eyes.

Dean handed him a bottle of water. "Look on the bright side."

"What's that?"

"You'll sleep like a log tonight."

Adam sneered at him. "Thanks."

"Anytime, bro."

Sighing, Adam went back to work. His shoulders were going to be killing him in the morning. He just hoped Sam gave him a break with the PT. Yeah, like that's gonna happen.

It took another half-hour to finally reach Fleming's casket. It was one of the fancy ones with a domed lid, so Dean hopped down into the grave and helped him clear the dirt off to the perimeter. They cleared the entire length of the coffin so they could open both halves.

The body was much like the handful of others Adam had seen since joining up with his brothers. Dry, desiccated flesh draped over stained bones—mildly creepy, but also carrying an odd serenity about it. Sam and Dean had burned half a dozen in the past few months, but this time, Adam felt different. This time, it was his hunt; he wasn't just observing and holding the supplies. He had to admit, it was exciting. Hunting was about as far from college and pre-med as you could get.

"Showtime, big guy." Dean punched Adam's chest lightly, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Sam handed them salt cartons. Dean took the bottom, starting with the feet, Adam started at the skull. He poured the salt as instructed. Even, cover it all, but you don't have to bury it.

That task done, he and Dean climbed out of the grave, and Sam used the squeeze bottle to drench the corpse with accelerant. When he was done, he turned and silently handed Adam the box of matches.

Adam took a breath, then removed one of the stick matches and struck it. The flame sprang to life, lighting up all of their faces briefly before settling. When the flame settled, he tossed it down onto Alex Fleming's sternum. "Rest in peace."

The match struck home along Fleming's ribcage, and in seconds the entire body and the fabric casket liner were engulfed in fire.

As he watched the fire spread, he heard his brothers whispering behind him.

"That was nice. Why don't we say things like that?" Dean murmured.

"Because we're jaded?" Sam shot back.

The fire was burning brightly, and for a moment, Adam was elsewhere. He could faintly hear screams in the distance, echoing all around him. He could feel the hooks pulling at his limbs. The pressure was constant, even long after the punctured flesh had gone numb.

A large set of hands gripping his shoulders broke him out of the memory, thankfully. He turned to see Sam behind him, smiling. The taller man's expression was pleased, but with a tinge of wistfulness. Adam could only wonder at what he might be thinking.

"Congratulations, bro. You just finished your first hunt."

"And in one piece," Dean added, clapping Adam on the shoulder blade. "I'm impressed."

Adam's cheeks flushed a little. Thankfully, his brothers probably couldn't see it in the dark. Dean thrust the half-full water bottle back into his hand and grabbed one of the shovels.

"Take a load off. Sam and I will finish up, then it's Miller time!"

While his brothers started shoveling the dirt back into the grave, Adam settled onto a squat headstone a dozen feet away and gulped his water. He felt inordinately pleased with himself. "Hunter" wasn't the same as "M.D." or "Ph.D," but now that he had a successful hunt under his belt, he found he really liked the sound of it.

"Name's Adam. I'm a hunter," Adam said quietly, testing the words. He nodded to himself. "I can get used to that."

"Don't say that too loud, kid," Dean admonished, dumping dirt into the hole. "We tend to get locked up for this kind of work."

Adam laughed. "Geez. You've got bat ears, Dean."

Dean turned and pointed to Sam. "See?"

Sam blew out a put-upon sigh. "Oh, brother…."

TBC