Professor Delmonico strolled across campus. It had been months since the regrettable incident with the GhostFacers and the subsequent filming spot. Her part wasn't so bad, really; a simple history of a supposedly haunted house. Also, thankfully, no network was touching the would-be reality TV show so she wouldn't have to avoid any colleagues out of embarrassment. Zeddmore and Spengler gave her the phone number, so she paid up.

Her first try went straight to voice mail, and a voice much like the tinny one in the roadhouse informed her that this was, "Dean's other, other phone" and that she "should not have this number!" She left a message for him anyway introducing herself and asking him to return her call. Over the next few days, she left several messages on that phone and no one ever returned her calls. Either it wasn't a real number or they had no interest in answering.

After a while, she wrote the whole thing off as one of her more crazy ideas and stopped trying. After all, her interest was folklore not wild goose chases. Stories were real, but the people in the stories didn't have to be, and the monsters certainly weren't.
Now, she was happily back in the full swing of the semester. Right now, she was on her way to the library special references section to cross-reference a few sources for her next research project.

"Hello, Professor," the librarian greeted, "What can I pull for you today?"

"I need another look at the Brandysworth journals," Delmonico answered.

"Oh! Um..." the librarian glanced over at a man already sitting at the special collections reserves.

Delmonico turned to look, too. The man wasn't much younger than her, say mid to late thirties, with longish brown hair. He must have been faculty, judging solely on his sweater vest and tweed ensemble. Probably some kind of history specialty, judging by his familiarity with the soft cloth gloves he knew to wear to handle the hundred year old leather book. The hundred year old leather book that she had come to peruse. With a nod of thanks to the librarian, she walked in.

"So, not to rush you or anything, but do you know how long you'll be using those?"

The man's head popped up, surprised to be addressed. "Excuse me?"

Leah finally got a good look at his face and couldn't help but notice that he was a handsome man. As he sat and she stood, they were almost eye to eye which made him a tall man. And it was the strangest thing, he looked familiar, somehow; but she couldn't quite place where she had seen him before. Between the height and the face, if they'd met before one would think she would remember.

"The Brandyworth journals," she gestured to the books. "I was hoping to check my notes against a few things today, but you beat me to them. So, if you'll be done soon, I'll wait. If you need longer, I guess I'll come back later."

"Oh," the man looked down at the journals then back up to her. "Actually, I don't know how long I'll need. I'm not actually interested in the Brandywines, per se; I'm looking for references to the Edwards family. According to some letters I found at the historical society, the two families were pretty close in the late 1800's."

"Maybe I can help," Delmonico sat down beside him and pulled her notes out of her satchel. While flipping through them, the man edged his chair a little closer to look over her shoulder. "I'm Leah, by the way. I teach the mythology courses and a few Intro to World Literature to validate my existence here."

The man laughed at her humor, showing off a matching set of dimples. "I'm Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam. Here we are, the Edwards, dates 4-8-42, 2-4-43, and 5-9-43." Delmonico traced a finger along her notes. "Hmm. I don't know if I would call the families 'pretty close.' By my notes, Mr. Marion Brandyworth and Mr. Terrence Edwards had quite the family feud going on. Brandyworth crowed quite happily when Edwards went missing in May."

"Its weird sometimes, how two really old enemies can be almost friends. My brother knows a guy like that. They've literally tried to kill each other a few times yet they've still got each other on speed dial. I bet Marion knew just about everything about Terrence and visa versa." Sam flipped to the date to read for himself. The man kept his eyes on the words while talking and seemed perfectly able to do both at once. "Went missing, you said? Did anybody think foul play?"

"You're brother sounds like an interesting fellow. And not at first. There," Leah leaned over to point out the line in the journal (without actually touching, she didn't have the gloves on.) "When Terrence went missing, Marion made a point to ensure that a certain marriageable young woman in his family hadn't vanished as well. His daughter was quite indignant and indicated that if she were to leave home, her father would not only know about it but she had every intention of taking certain valuables with her."

Sam laughed. "Sounds like a spunky lady. What changed his mind? About the foul play?"

Leah pointed again to another line. "Here. Brandyworth found out that Edwards left his dog behind when he vanished."

Sam leaned over to decipher the handwriting on the page. "I brought home Franklin today. Poor dog has been absolutely despondent these last months over the loss of his master, as attached to him as he was to it. It would appear that growling at me is the only thing that rouses the animal from its misery and gives it purpose again, so the family has gifted me with the beast. Even from his grave Mr. Terrence finds a way to vex me, the clever bastard. I've half a mind to find his killer and thank him before killing him myself, whoever he is."

"May I ask, why all the interest? I would guess local history buff or genealogy research." Delmonico had assisted more than one person trying to track down some family history through the university's archives, but this didn't feel like the same thing.

"Or something," Sam muttered with a small smile. "Did Brandyworth ever mention where Edwards was buried in here?"

That's when the pieces began to click into place for her. "In the last few months several people had gone missing around the small towns half and hour to the west of here. Some locals swear its the specter that has been known to appear on the main square. One of the dead town fathers intent on protecting his legacy, so they say.

That's why your here. You're a paranormal investigator, aren't you?"

Sam gave her an embarrassed smile. "Had run-ins with ghost hunters before, huh?"

"The GhostFacers offered me a spot on their team."

"Oh, God," Sam blurted, instantly sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

Laughter escaped before Delmonico could control herself again. "You've met?"

Sam huffed a laugh. "Yeah, unfortunately. For what its worth, not everybody in the field is like them. Actually, most people in the field aren't like them."

"I'll bet. At least you have a proper appreciation for research and the care of primary source documentation. So tell me: why now? Why would this ghost be taking people now?"

Sam considered her for a moment before coming to a decision. "You're going to laugh."

"I'm already doing that," she assured him. "Everyone who has gone missing are part of a petition to have large breed dogs banned from living inside city limits," Sam offered up for her amusement.

Delmonico blinked, processed, and proved the ghost hunter right by laughing her head off.

Sam just smiled painfully until she vented her amusement. Then, with mock threat in his voice, he told her, "Keep it up and I will take all day with this journal."

"Last entry. There was a memorial almost a year later. Edwards had been found dead in a ditch, robbed of everything of value and shot in the back. The town buried him by the court house and Brandyworth had a bronze casting of a dog placed over the grave site." Delmonico smiled. "That's probably why your historical society thought they were close."

"Yeah, probably," Sam agreed.

"So, what's next for you? Spirit-photography set up at the courthouse and EMF meters around the grounds?"

"Something like that." Sam closed the hundred year old journal and peeled off his gloves. "All yours."

Delmonico shook her head as the really tall, handsome paranormal investigator packed his things to leave. As soon as the door to Special Archives closed, he pulled out his cell phone. She could just hear his half of the conversation through the glass.

"Yeah, come pick me up. I got a location on the bones." Pause. "Sounds good, Dean. I'll meet you..." His voice trailed off as he walked away.

Still snickering, she tried to turn her thoughts to her work at hand. Sam and Dean, ghost hunters. Then she froze.

Sam and Dean. Hunters.

Her head snapped around. With more rush than dignity, she dove for the visitor's sign in log at the Special Archives counter.

There it was, in black and white. Sam Winchester.

Could it be?