A/N: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. All rights reserved. The names of the places and the university are real, but the cemetery mentioned later is completely fictitious. Any similarities in the characters to others are purely coincidental.

Chapter Two

"I still don't understand why the feds want to cover this case. Seems like a cut and dry drowning to me." The coroner pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he led the Winchesters, dressed to the nines in suit and tie, down a long corridor in the basement of the local hospital. The doctor seemed to be a kind hearted man, middle aged with a slight pot belly, salt and pepper hair and plain grey eyes. His name tag read Dr. Alan Donahue. He had looked at the Winchesters with skepticism as the brothers flashed their CSIS badges, scrutinizing them for several moments before finally handing them back to "agents Reynolds and Costner". Having passed the doctor's test he led the boys down to the morgue, still questioning the boys the entire way down.

"It's just a precaution. We've heard of a few suspicious drownings in Maine and the trail seems to have led us up here," Sam replied smoothly, carefully pulling an index card from his breast pocket. "I have contacts from CSIS as well as the FBI if you would like further information." Thank God for Bobby. Between him and Rufus, there would be no problem for the doctor to vouch for the "agents". The perks of being good friends with Bobby Singer. The doctor nodded his thanks as he accepted the phony cards and slipped them in the pocket of his jacket, as if he finally seemed satisfied that the two men before him were legit. "Still seems kind of odd, but guess it's not my job to question you guys, huh?"

Dean smiled, about to flash a "no kidding" grin when Sam snuck in a subtle "bitch face" before interrupting his brother. "It's not a problem to be sure, Dr. Donahue. No offense taken, we assure you." Dean nodded in agreement as the doctor opened the door to the morgue and gestured the brothers inside: "after you."

A few minutes later, the body of Ryan Jones was before the brothers, staring lifeless from the metal gurney, a thin sheet covering the body from the chin down. "As I was stating earlier, there were no signs of struggle: the nails were free of any trace evidence, no broken bones or abrasions. The only thing that seems a little out of the ordinary is this." Carefully the doctor lifted the teen's body, revealing a series of red marks on his back, or impressions. The brothers looked at the anomaly, surprised. They had heard that the boy had been pinned to his car, but to this extent?"

"Is there any way to explain these markings?" Dean asked, drawing a quick sketch of the pattern in his notebook. Because clearly depicted on the boy's back was an imprint of a logo, like something found on a seat cover. It was a steering wheel, complete with the name of the company: Mike's Premium Seat Covers.

"It seems that the victim was pressed against the seat with such force that the logo on the seat cover made an impression on his back. Judging by the bright colour, it was pre-mortem. If you were to ask me, it was as if someone was forcibly holding Mr. Jones against his will until he expired."

"But there was no one else in the car at the time of death."

"No, and as I mentioned earlier, no signs of struggle."

"Have there been any other unusual drownings in the area? Any time in the past few years or so?" Sam asked, pulling out his own notepad and pen. The doctor gave him a quizzical look before answering. "There were a few cases of similar drownings in the 90s and early 2000s. Just your typical highway accidents and suicides. A few murders here in there, but nothing that would fit your profile. All of them have been solved, perps behind bars."

"We would appreciate it if we could have access to that list," Dean announced, looking up from his note taking.

"You would have to contact the local authorities, Agent Reynolds," Donahue replied rather caustically. "I do not have the authority to just hand it over." Another skeptical glance at the Winchesters: "how long have you boys been agents? You seem kinda young, especially you, young man," with a chubby finger pointing at Sam.

"Yes, sir, we understand that you do not have the authority to provide such information," Sam answered smoothly, "we believe that it would be easier should the RCMP be notified ahead of time, save some time for all of us."

"Phone's in the office," was the doctor's snarky reply, pushing the tray holding Ryan Jones' body back in place. "As expected, the autopsy revealed water in the victim's lungs, atypical to a drowning victim. Nothing surprising."

"And what of the other victim? The one from a week or so earlier?"

"Drowning too. Autopsy results were the same, including the strange marks on the back."

"Do you not think it odd that the victim drowned in his car on dry land? Seems a little strange, to say the least."

"Hell yes I think it's strange," Dr. Donahue replied testily, eyeing Dean with disdain. "But the autopsy results clearly show that the cause of death was suffocation from excess fluid in the lungs." The doctor pulled out a plastic container containing the first victim's lungs. The brothers peered inside; sure enough, there was evidence that the victim had, indeed, drowned. "Obvious explanation could be that the victim was drowned, and retrieved to be strategically placed in a second vehicle. The vic was already dead when found."

"Seems like a lot of trouble to stage a body," Dean countered, scribbling furiously. The doctor sighed, obviously annoyed by the "agent's" demeanor. "Look, I just perform the autopsy. That's it. Anything else, agents?"

"No, I believe we're finished," Sam replied with a smile, extending his hand. "Thank you so much for your time, Doctor." Donahue grunted a little, but shook Sam's hand, rather begrudgingly. "Anything to help, I guess."

XXX

A few hours later, the Winchesters were back at the motel, complete with a list of similar deaths dating back from the 1970s. The trip to the coroner had been uneventful, revealing information that the boys had already been familiar with, but at least they had a list of potential cases to base a pattern on. A lot of research, hours of it in fact. Dean sighed, popping open a bottle of beer and taking a long swig before pulling out one of the case files. Research had never been one of his favorite pass times: it was a necessity, one he usually passed on to Sam, since he seemed to take enjoyment in it. But at the moment, research was helping him to forget: about his deal, his impending fate, and how stressed his brother was trying to find some way to save him. If mountains of tedious reading would distract the both of them, so much the better.

"Find anything interesting?" Dean asked, sifting through the pages of his current case. A young woman had lost control of her car in 1983 in the middle of a snowstorm, crashing into the Antigonish Harbour, a few weeks before Christmas. Nothing supernatural, just damn depressing. Merry fucking Christmas. Sam looked up from his bed, sitting amidst a pile of file folders and newspaper clippings. "No, not really. Just the usual. Car accident, suicide. One guy got fired from his job, cuffed himself to the steering wheel of his SUV and just drove off a cliff. Nothing that seems vengeful spirit-like to me. How about you?"

"Same," Dean muttered, swallowing another mouthful of beer before continuing with his work. Seems like a lot of people had shitty cars or something. Most of these cases are simple mechanical failure or crappy road conditions. Hey, wait a second." Dean pulled out a file, began to scan through it. Just as Sam was about to speak up, Dean began to read the file's contents.

"I think we might have a winner. Some Lindsey Harrison was found dead in the bottom of the harbour in 1991, in her car. She picked up some hitchhiker on the way to a class at the local university. Never made it there. Seems like the guy held her against the seat, pinning her down with rope. The hitchhiker had just escaped from a mental institution. Some kids had tied him up and threw him in the water as a kid. Luckily someone found the guy before he died, but it traumatized him pretty good."

"Sounds like vengeful spirit to me," Sam admitted, leaning against the headboard and stretching his long frame. "Wait, what was that again about being tied to the seat?"

"Guy ties his victims to the driver's seat so they can't get out. Windows are wide open, so the car floods faster, plus the perp can hightail his ass out of there."

"That explains why the victims were pushed against the seat," Sam mused, rubbing his temple. "Seems like she wants them to go through what she did. A poetic justice kind of thing. Looks like we have to find Lindsey Harrison."

XXX

After a few hours of research, the boys found the information needed about Lindsey Harrison. A good girl of 19, class valedictorian and youngest of three daughters, Lindsey was a hard working girl who grew up in Amherst, not too far from the Nova Scotia/New Brunswick border. She moved to Antignonish to study History at St. Francis Xavier University after graduating from high school, where she worked as a cashier at the local grocery store. Always trusting to a fault, Lindsey could never pass a stranger without trying to help out in some way. As fate would have it, on the day she picked up the hitchhiker that would claim her life, it was pouring out. And there was no way Lindsey would let someone, even a complete stranger, stay caught in a downpour. Following the accident, Lindsey's body was returned to Amherst for interment.

"Looks like we're hitting the road," Sam announced, looking up from the screen for a moment. "The family buried Lindsey in her hometown, back by the New Brunswick border in a place called Pine Hill Cemetery."

"Well, then, let's hit the road," Dean announced, reaching for his jacket and the keys to the Impala. "But I think we should stop and get something to eat first…."

XXX

It was after dark by the time the brothers pulled into the loose gravel drive at the foot of the old church. The structure was old, built in the early 18 hundreds, and seemed to be poorly maintained, as if the church had been abandoned for some time. The rose bushes were in need of trimming, despite the vibrant blossoms which still bloomed, and the grass in front in desperate need of a few passes with a lawn mower. The front porch was in dire need of a coat of paint, as did the trimming near the windows. Dean killed the engine, pocketing his keys and heading to the trunk for the usual materials needed (lighter fluid, salt, shovels, flashlight), with Sam in tow. Seemed like this was going to be an easy case, much to Dean's disappointment. Under normal circumstances, a simple salt and burn was greatly welcomed, much easier to handle then a shifter or a ghoul. And in this case, everything seemed to fall into place. Spirit identified, no cremation, just a quick salt n' burn and case closed. This time, however, Dean almost wished that there was more to this case. After all, the longer the job, the more distractions for the both of them. And if a tricky case would get Sam to lighten up about his hell research, or help Dean himself temporarily forget his impending doom, then so much the better.

Sam shone the beam of his light on the black iron gate, holding the beam steady as Dean picked the padlock. Seconds later, the gate swung open with a creak (obviously it had been a while since the doors had opened to the public) and the boys pushed it aside, scanning the burial ground with their flashlights. It was a rather eerie sight, most of the headstones being old and decrepit, the bases overgrown with weeds. Many of the epitaphs were faded and unreadable, those resting beneath the stones having long since turned to dust. The moon, peeking from beneath the clouds, cast an eerie glow upon the nearby maple tree, casting a long shadow upon the graveyard like a bony claw. Despite himself, Sam shivered. It was all too possible that by this time next year Dean would be among the dead, only without a stone to mark his final resting place. Sam shuddered, tried to get a grip on himself. He had a job to do, dammit, and freaking out like this would no doubt only result in Dean punching his ticket to the Hellfire Express ahead of schedule.

Fortunately, if Dean had noticed Sam's odd behavior, he didn't acknowledge it, and immediately Sam was back to himself, shining his light on the numerous headstones. After a few minutes of searching, the Winchesters found Lindsey Harrison's grave, at the far back corner of the property. Taking turns, Dean shone the light and kept watch as Sam dug, shovelful after shovelful of dirt forming a large pile at his side. A half hour or so later, Sam sprinkled salt on the corpse and squirted copious amounts of lighter fluid as Dean struck a match. The body of Lindsey Harrison went up in flames, the glow somehow warm and inviting in comparison to the pale moonlight.

"Well, that's that," Dean said with a grin after the boys had returned to the Impala. "Don't know about you Sammy, but I could use a shower and a few beers. Wanna hit the pool table, try to score a little extra cash? Maybe meet a sweet Canadian girl or two?" Dean winked, one of his trademark shit eating grins on his face, but Sam merely rolled his eyes as he dropped his shovel into the trunk. "Really? You want to go out drinking?"

"Why not? Celebrate a job well done?"

"Because…" Sam stopped himself when he noticed the rather annoyed look beginning to creep on his brother's face. Because Sam wanted to do some more research on how to save his brother's ass, something which Dean seemed to show no concern for. But it was true that Sam was tired, and no doubt would miss any important information. Best to try again in the morning when he had a clear head. "Fine. We are kind of low on cash anyway."

"That's my boy," Dean grinned, gunning the car's engine and blasting Motörhead's "Built for Speed". "Gotta live a little Sammy, have a little fun."

Sam sighed, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. It was going to be a long night.

Simple salt and burn, right? But then again, when was anything ever easy for the Winchesters? Guess we'll have to find out soon enough! Thanks for reading and reviewing, much appreciated!