Unlike some other places we attended, this was a biker bar through and through. It was called The Loading Dock, for Christ's sake, as though smelling like spilled beer, leather, and cigarettes paired with the motorcycle engines revving outside, some fading into the distance and others drawing closer, wasn't enough of a dead giveaway. Three fights had broken out under the dim, flickering lights hanging from the ceiling beams since we arrived just two hours ago. Of all places and all nights Dean could pick to try and hustle pool, it had to be here tonight. He wasn't concerned in the least, and after downing a few drinks bought for me by some guy across the bar, I wasn't either. Another hour later, and roughly two hundred dollars richer, we left into the crisp night air.

Sam lounged on top of the Impala, peering up at us from the newspaper resting in his lap. "You know, we could get day jobs once in a while," he said.

"Hunting's our day job," Dean replied, counting the wad of cash. "And the pay's crap."

"Yeah, but hustling pool? Credit card scams?" Sam sat upright with a scornful look. I sighed, already knowing where this conversation was heading. There was a reason Sam usually waited out by the car while Dean and I did these things. It wasn't unusual for him to hide from these kinds of places. He put the newspaper down and added, "It's not the most honest thing in the world."

"Well, let's see—honest? Or fun and easy?" Dean weighed the two options with his hands, allowing the one with the cash to fall below the other. "It's no contest." He returned his eyes to the money, but not before rolling them at his brother. "Besides, we're good at it. It's what we were raised to do."

Sam laughed, "Yeah, well, how we were raised was jacked."

"Yeah, says you," Dean retorted petulantly.

"How much is that?"

"Couple hundred."

"Bikers carry a lot of cash," I said, hopping on the car's hood. "Who knew?"

"Yeah, but how much of it did you spend on shots?" Sam wondered, no doubt, smelling the alcohol on me.

"Oh, Sam," I feigned shock. "You think we paid for them?"

His face fell into disbelief. "You still flirt with guys for drinks?"

"Every once in a while."

"And you're okay letting her do that?" Sam asked his brother.

"First of all," I interrupted, holding up a finger, "he doesn't let me do anything."

"Free drinks, dude." Dean shrugged and stuffed the cash into his pocket.

"You can't be serious."

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded to the paper. "We got a new gig or what?"

"Maybe." Sam got off the car and spread the newspaper across the hood. "Oasis Plains, Oklahoma—not far from here." He pointed to an article. "A gas company employee, Dustin Burwash, supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob."

"Huh?"

"Human mad cow disease."

"Mad cow. Wasn't that on Oprah?" Dean's eyes widened when the words left his lips. "I mean–"

"You watch Oprah?" Sam asked. There was no way on this earth he was about to let that slide.

Dean's mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water. "Uh-"

"He does," I confirmed, much to Dean's dismay. "What?" I smiled. "It's cute." Even in the dark, I could see the tips of Dean's ears turn bright red.

Under his brother's entertained but scrutinizing gaze, Dean changed the subject. "So this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?"

"Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration," Sam said, allowing his amused grin to fade. "It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear. But this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less."

"That is weird."

"Yeah. Now, it could be a disease. Or it could be something much nastier."

"Safe to say, it probably is," I said, sliding to the edge of the hood. Dean offered a hand to help me off the car. I wasn't drunk by any means, but my legs felt enough like jello for me to accept gladly.

Hues of yellow and pink broke through the overcast sky, hanging over the power and gas company building. They were open bright and early, employees dragging their feet as they entered the imposing glass building. We called as soon as possible to find out who was on the clock with Dustin Burwash at the time of his death. "Travis Weaver?" Sam asked as we crossed the parking lot to the lanky man with brown hair stopping just below his ears. He looked up at us with a suspicious glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, that's right," he said.

"Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusty?" Dean asked.

Travis nodded, standing up a bit straighter. "Dustin never mentioned his family much."

"Really? Well, he sure mentioned you," Dean said with a smile. "He said you were the greatest."

A bashful grin took over Travis's blushing face. "Oh, he did?"

"Yeah, all the time," I confirmed, instantly killing the mood with my next question. "You know, we've been trying to figure out exactly what happened out there… do you mind telling us?"

"I'm not sure," he muttered, busying himself with the folder. "He fell in a sinkhole. I went to the truck to get some rope, and by the time I got back..."

"What did you see?" Dean pressed.

"Nothing. Just Dustin."

Sam's eyebrows disappeared beneath his bangs. "No wounds or anything?"

"Well, he was bleeding… from his eyes and his ears—his nose." Travis's face scrunched in discomfort. "But that's it."

"So, you think it could be this whole mad cow thing?" Dean asked. It just kept going in circles.

"I don't know. That's what the doctors are saying."

"But if it was, he would've acted strange beforehand, like dementia, loss of motor control. You ever notice anything like that?" Sam asked.

"No. No way. But then again, if it wasn't some disease, what the hell was it?"

In the middle of an otherwise rural area was an expansive plot of land where a budding neighborhood called Oasis Plains was being built. Construction workers mulled around. We arrived at the lot Travis instructed us to where Dustin Burwash lost his life. They halted construction on this home in particular, but only for a few days. On the front lawn, crime scene tape was tied around a tree and some stakes in the ground, sealing off a small sinkhole. Dean ducked under the tape first, holding it up so I could follow. "What do you think?" he asked.

"I don't know," Sam replied, hands resting on his hips as he surveyed the area. "But if that guy, Travis, was right, it happened pretty damn fast."

"So, what? Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?" Dean took out his flashlight and shined it into the narrow hole. There was barely any room, and what little free space was shrouded by roots.

"No, there'd be an entry wound. Sounds like this thing worked from the inside."

"What the hell kind of monster does that?" I asked.

"Honestly? I have no idea."

"Well, it looks like there's only room for one," Dean decided on his way out from the roped-off section. "Anybody wanna flip a coin?"

"Dean, we have no idea what's down there," Sam pointed out.

I shielded my eyes from the sunlight with my hand, watching Dean pick up a stray hose lying on the ground. "We're gonna pull one of you out with a damn hose?" I asked. "You do realize you're not small guys, right?"

Dean winked. "Thanks."

"You're exhausting," I snickered, dropping my hand once he returned.

"I'll go if you're scared." Dean grinned teasingly at Sam. "You scared?"

Sam's jaw clenched, and for once, he gave in to peer pressure. "Flip the damn coin."

"Why don't I just go in?" I suggested.

"You wanna crawl around in the dirt?" Dean challenged, an eyebrow raised.

I pursed my lips. "No."

"Alright," Dean chuckled, digging around his pocket for a quarter. "Call it in the air… chicken," he teased his brother, tossing the coin.

Sam caught it before Dean could and slipped the change into his back pocket. "I'm going," he announced.

"I said I'd go," Dean laughed as he got exactly what he wanted from the jump. Petulantly, Sam snatched the hose from his brother and started tying it around his waist. I double and triple-checked the half-assed knot he made in the rubber before sending him on his way. I gripped the loose end of the hose between both hands while Sam sat on the edge of the sinkhole.

"Don't drop me," Sam joked over his shoulder.

I tugged the hose hard. "That's not funny!"

About five minutes later, Sam returned to the surface, still in one piece. As a hunter, encountering bugs was part of life; you had to accept it because you simply could not avoid them trudging through the dirt as you dug up a grave. However, I do not appreciate sharing the car with Sam's dead beetles. It was one thing if they were outside; that was their realm. But in here? What if he dropped one? The last thing I needed was to reach down and touch it. Instead of occupying the middle of the backseat like usual, I sat behind Dean, as far away from Sam as the cab would allow. Before we got in, I peeled off my jacket and draped it across the backseat, something I regretted now that my skin crawled.

"So, you found some beetles in a hole in the ground," Dean said dryly. "That's shocking, Sam."

"There were no tunnels, no tracks," Sam argued, briefly looking up from the deceased beetle resting in his palm that he insisted on poking repeatedly. "No evidence of any other kind of creature down there."

"Can you put that thing away?" I asked.

Sam's brow furrowed, confused. "What?"

"The beetle, Sam. Why did you even bring it in here?"

He looked at the aforementioned bug and shrugged his mouth. "I don't know," he mumbled, chucking it from the open window. "You know, some beetles do eat meat. Now, it's usually dead meat, but–"

"How many did you find down there?" Dean asked.

"Ten."

"It'd take a whole lot more than that to eat out some dude's brain."

"Well, maybe there were more."

"Maybe they're still in Travis." I cringed as the suggestion left my lips. The very thought made my skin crawl.

Dean groaned in disgust. "You had to go there, huh?"

"Well, if I'm gonna suffer, so are you."

"Thanks," he scoffed. "But I don't know, a bunch of bugs killing some guy? It sounds like a stretch to me."

"Well, we need more information on the area, the neighborhood," Sam said. "Whether something like this has ever happened before."

Beneath us, the car abruptly swayed to the right toward a string of finished houses. The last on the corner had two signs on either side of the driveway adorned with red balloons. One read Open House, and the other Models Open. New Buyers' BBQ Today! "I know a good place to start," Dean announced with a smile. "I'm kinda hungry for a little barbeque; how about you guys?"

I huffed out a laugh and fell back into the seat. "Come on, Dean–"

"What, we can't talk to the locals?" he asked innocently.

"You want to talk to the locals or stuff your face with free food?" I challenged, a slow smile building on my lips.

"'Course not. Dean put on a serious expression. "I'm a professional."

Each home looked identical to the next—two stories painted a stark white with deep grey doors and porches held up by brick support beams. They lacked nearly any kind of uniqueness. I imagined a Gardner with a ruler, meticulously measuring the space between each flower planted below the patio, ensuring they were the same distance apart. The term Cookie-Cutter may be too extravagant to describe them. At least when you used a cookie cutter, there were imperfections; the dough might stick to the sides, or a more delicate piece of the image it was attempting to produce may break off, leaving it with a whole new shape. This was pristine. Factory-made and far too perfect to be lived in. The immaculately trimmed grass was so unnaturally bright green and lush that, despite my qualms, I wanted to lie in it. That strange desire conjured memories of my twelve-year-old self on my front lawn, staring at the sky, sometimes allowing myself to think of the future.

Even through my unease growing up, there was one thing I was always sure I wanted—what my parents had. Their love for each other was so pure, so unconditional. It showed in every word and gesture, no matter how small. They were present in it up until the very end. For the longest time, I thought it unobtainable—a once-in-a-lifetime thing you see but never experience for yourself. Then, somehow, I got it. In the most roundabout way, it happened. But not how I thought it was supposed to, and that's what made it so perfect. There were plenty of things in between I could've gone without—people I wished I could have kept—but as far as Dean and I were concerned, I wouldn't change a thing.

"Man, growing up in a place like this would freak me out," Dean commented as we approached the house.

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Well, manicured lawns—" he said and put on a feminine voice, "How was your day, honey? I'd blow my brains out."

"I probably would, too, if you talked like that," I joked, bumping my arm into his.

"Wait," Sam interjected. "There's nothing wrong with normal."

"I'd take our family over normal any day," Dean announced proudly.

A few rain droplets fell from the ever-darkening sky and hit my exposed arms. I didn't mind the rain, but I'd like to be covered a little more. "I forgot my jacket," I announced, breaking away from the boys to return to the Impala. They waited, so I waved them on. "Go ahead. I'll be right there."

"Alright." Dean tossed me the keys, striding to the door with Sam in tow. At the car, I reached across the backseat to grab my dark blue denim jacket. Through the Impala's window, I watched a tall man with slightly graying hair answer the house's door. He smiled wide at the boys.

"Welcome!" he said.

"This the barbeque?" Dean asked. I snorted and slipped on my jacket.

"Yeah, not the best weather, but… I'm Larry Pike, the developer here. And you are...?"

"Dean," he introduced, taking Larry's hand firmly. "This is Sam."

"Hi," Sam gave a small wave.

"Good to meet you," Larry said, eying the boys. "So, you're interested in Oasis Plains?"

Dean nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Let me just say—we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation," he finished softly, as though it were a bad thing. Halfway through shutting the back door, I froze, failing to stop the laugh bubbling in my chest.

Dean glared daggers at me over his shoulder and snapped his irritated look to Larry. "We're brothers," he stated.

Larry lowered his head in embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry."

Their torture had gone on long enough, so I closed the car once and for all and headed over. "It's okay; you're not the first person to think that," I said as I approached, snaking between the boys to shake Larry's hand. "I'm Tori."

"Nice to meet you," he smiled sheepishly.

"Our father is getting on in years, and we're just looking for a place for him," Sam explained. "Also, these two love birds just got engaged, and they're looking to settle down," he added with a sly grin. Dean tensed beside me, and Sam struggled to hide a smirk at his brother's expense. I forced a wide smile, hoping I could cover up for Dean's stunted disposition. I patted his back much harder than necessary, telling him to attempt to act like a regular human being. He feebly wrapped an arm around me and managed to plaster a smile that looked far more put-together than he probably felt on the inside.

Thank God Larry didn't seem to catch onto any of this; too deep into seller mode to care. "Well, that's the great thing about Oasis Plains. It's perfect for everyone—whether you're winding down in life or looking to start a family. Come on in, I'll show you around." He stepped aside, allowing us to enter. I had to admit the house was beautiful. I would've been able to appreciate it more if Dean weren't so visibly disgusted by every single thing.

"Can you relax?" I requested in a hushed tone.

"I'm trying," Dean muttered.

"You said you were the developer?" Sam asked Larry, who opened the back door, leading us to the patio shielded from the rain by multiple canopy tents. There were way more people back here than I imagined, scattered across the sizeable space, mingling around long tables adorned with plates, drinks, and food.

"Eighteen months ago, I was walking this valley with my survey team. There was nothing here but scrub brush and squirrels," Larry said, painting a picture of a lush landscape that probably should have been left alone rather than bulldozed and covered by houses. "And you know what, we built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into it myself. This is our house. We're the first family in Oasis Plains.

A brightly smiling blonde came over. Larry put an arm around her shoulders. "This is my wife, Joanie," he introduced. She said hello and shook each of our hands.

"I'm Tori. This is Sam and Dean—"

"Her husband," Sam interrupted wryly.

"Fiance," Dean corrected through a gritted smile, shooting his brother a dirty look.

Joanie seemed to pick up on the tension better than her husband but remained polite, nonetheless. "Nice to meet you."

"Tell them how much you love the place, honey," Larry said happily, rubbing his wife's arms. "And lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses."

She chuckled, "Right." I'm sure she'd gone through this same situation at least a hundred times today.

Something caught Larry's eye behind us. "Well, will you excuse me?" he asked and stepped away.

"Don't let his salesman routine scare you. This really is a great place to live," Joanie said. Her less pushy attitude about it worked much better than her husband's boasting approach.

"It's beautiful," I said. I meant it; it was.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, when is the wedding?"

"May," I replied, while Dean stumbled out, "December." I fought the urge to roll my eyes at how far away he placed our fictional wedding as though it was something he actually had to ramp up for. "We haven't decided yet," I played it off with a chuckle.

"Oh, well…" Joanie struggled to keep her composed smile. "Both are great choices."

"Thank you."

Seemingly out of nowhere, a mousy dark-haired woman scurried up next to Joanie, a gigantic smile stretched across her face like she was a cat that caught its prey. "Hi, I'm Lynda Bloome, head of sales," she introduced and jutted her hand out for each of us to shake.

"And Lynda was second to move in. She's a very noisy neighbor, though," Joanie said with very little humor in her tone. Lynda didn't seem affected in the slightest, oblivious to the shot just taken at her. Joanie gave us an apologetic look and walked away, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

"She's kidding, of course," Lynda chucked, moving an unnecessary step closer. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I take it you are interested in becoming homeowners?"

"Well…" Dean trailed off.

I nodded confidently. "Definitely."

"Wonderful. I can answer any and all questions you might have about the houses and the neighborhood or the surrounding area and school district," Lynda rattled off rapidly. I sort of wondered how she did it. It didn't seem like she was breathing.

"Actually, you know, Sam here is great with that stuff." Dean patted his brother's shoulder. This was his chance to exact revenge, and there was no way he was about to let it slip by. "He has a ton of questions."

Sam glowered, but Lynda smiled brightly. "Great!"

"Perfect!" Dean exclaimed with mock enthusiasm. His smile stayed in place when he looked at me. "What do you say we go talk to Larry, sweetheart?"

Through wide eyes, Sam silently tried to convey his desperation to get me to remain where I was. Where would any fun be in that? "Actually, I think that's a great idea," I agreed with Dean, much to Sam's dismay, and we left him in Lynda's clutches. Once we were out of earshot, I chuckled, "That was mean."

"Yeah, well, he had it coming," Dean grumbled and opened the door, gesturing for me to step inside first. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, almost afraid to touch anything; it was all so neat I didn't want to be the one to mess it up. However, Dean clearly didn't have the same concerns and started rooting around the cabinets. Though I tended to avoid talking about it, being here resurfaced far too many memories to choke down. Early mornings in the kitchen when I was little, helping Mom make breakfast and baking cakes, cookies, and pies for special occasions. I couldn't remember the last time I was able to do any of that.

"All this reminds me of them," I said quietly, unable to stop the admission from bubbling out.

Dean paused his inspection of Pike's kitchen to look at me. It seemed he was unsure what I was talking about for a second until his eyes locked with mine. "Yeah, me too," he agreed sadly and made his way to me. The weight of his thoughts rested visibly on his shoulders. "Tor, what I said before about this place freaking me out…"

"What about it?" I asked, confused as to why he'd bring that up.

"I don't want you to think it had anything to do with them."

Up until two seconds ago, that comment had entirely slipped my mind. There was no reason for him to feel bad. "I didn't think about it like that."

"I just wanna make sure," he took my hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, "You know how much I appreciate what they did for Sam and me, right?"

There was something so special about Dean having gotten to know them and that those times—no matter how long ago or how few and far between—made their mark. Perhaps it didn't change his outlook on normal, but that was okay. He knew them, and that was more than I could ask for. "I know," I smiled, running my thumb across his palm. I decided to lighten the moment because we had a job to do, and I didn't want to get overwhelmed with emotions. "Mom would not have liked that tile," I referenced the unsightly marble backsplash. "It would have to go."

Dean inspected it momentarily before chuckling, "It is pretty damn ugly."

Footsteps echoed from down the hall, getting closer to the kitchen. I tried to let go of Dean's hand, but he held on tighter and interlocked our fingers as Larry appeared in the doorway, surprised to see us inside. "Oh!"

"I'm sorry," I apologized to Larry after. "We didn't mean to intrude."

"No, no! That's what an open house is for."

"Actually, we were wondering if you wouldn't mind giving us a tour?" Dean asked.

"Not at all!" Larry gestured for us to follow. "Come on; I'll show you the upstairs first."

After a tour of two of the three bedrooms, we emerged from the master into the hall. I tentatively asked about Dustin Burwash, testing the waters for how Larry would react to such a question before digging deeper. His face pulled into remorse, but he was quick to reassure us this place was incredibly safe and that it was sad but just a coincidence. However, when Dean pressed about any more strange deaths in the area, and Larry told us about one of his surveyors dying from an allergic reaction to bee stings, the coincidence angle was far less plausible. Larry quickly got the conversion back on track, droning on about why he chose an eggshell paint for the walls. Unfortunately, there wasn't much more Dean or I could ask for without looking extra suspicious, so we let it go.

"You've got three choices—carpet, hardwood, and tile." Larry ticked them off on his fingers as we descended the steps. "But, in my humble opinion, if you're looking to start a family, I'd go for carpet."

I nodded along as though it was an option I was seriously weighing. The more he went on, the more checked-out Dean became; I'm not sure he realized the lack of recognition in his glazed-over eyes. It's a good thing Larry was in front of us. As we neared the bottom of the steps, I heard that same chirping buzz I had before and searched more deeply for it, finding the source in two jars on a side table in the hall—one full of tiny bugs all shuffling over each other, and the other a more spacious enclosure that happened to be empty.

"That's an interesting decor choice," I jested, pointing to the containers.

Larry planted his hands on his hips and pressed his lips into a fine line. I knew that stance like the back of my hand—the universal irritated Dad look. "My son, he's into insects. He's very... inquisitive." He cleared his throat and held an arm to lead us away. "I'm sorry about that."

"Don't worry," I said. It wasn't a big deal. The kid had a hobby, so what? Sure, bugs were nasty, but they were way better than drugs.

Back outside, Lynda was off victimizing another group of people. I wasn't sure how Sam got out of her net so fast, but I suspected it had something to do with the teenage boy he was talking to. Of course, he was the only kid here, so figuring out he was Larry and Joanie's bug-obsessed son wasn't too tricky. Especially not after Sam shifted his weight to the side, allowing a view of the tarantula the boy was cradling.

"Matthew." Larry quickened his pace until he reached them. "I am so sorry about my son and his... pet," he spat the word like it were a curse.

"It's no bother," Sam said, clearly unaffected. Despite this, Larry's face wrinkled with anger. He excused himself and Matthew and grabbed him by the arm, leading him back to the porch.

"What the hell was that about?" Dean asked Sam once we were close enough.

"Matt tried to scare the realtor with a tarantula," he explained while watching Larry heatedly scold his son.

The idea of Lynda getting started by a spider made me far too happy. "Did it work?" I wondered.

"No. I picked it up," Sam muttered, barely paying attention to me. His eyes were glued to the father and son arguing behind us. "Remind you of somebody?"

"A little." I chewed the inside of my lip. John reacted that same way more times than I could count. I wasn't his kid, which probably deterred him from doing it to me as often, but I definitely got a finger wag or two in my teenage years.

"Dad?" Dean asked, confused. "No, Dad never treated us like that."

My eyebrows lifted in shock at the rose-colored glasses he managed to slip on whenever John was brought up.

"Well, Dad never treated you like that," Sam clarified, which was also untrue. "You were perfect. He was all over my case. You don't remember?"

"Well, maybe he had to raise his voice, but sometimes, you were out of line," Dean stated simply. Listening to John came effortlessly as breathing to him; hell, probably even easier. I only knew a handful of times he blatantly went behind his father's back and still felt guilty for my part in the very last one.

"Right," Sam scoffed, "like when I said I'd rather play soccer than learn bowhunting."

"Bowhunting's an important skill."

I could see a fight about to erupt, so I slithered a hand between them. "Why don't we just agree to disagree here, huh?" I suggested, patting Dean's chest. "Get the job done; then you can bicker like two old ladies all you want."

Sam sighed, bouncing back into a lighter disposition. "How was your tour?"

"Oh, it was excellent. We're ready to buy," Dean smiled sarcastically, and Sam chuckled. Everything returned to normal between them, at least on the surface. "So you might be onto something. Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn't the first strange death around here."

"What happened?"

"About a year ago, before they broke ground, one of Larry's surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Get this, severe allergic reaction to bee stings."

Sam grimaced. "More bugs?"

"More bugs," I confirmed with displeasure.

By the time we left, Matthew was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if he chose to hide away in his bedroom or if Larry made him go. Maybe his father wanted what was best for him. I hoped he did. But that almost felt like a cop-out for parents telling their kids what they should and shouldn't do with their lives.

"You know, I've heard of killer bees, but killer beetles?" Dean wondered aloud from the passenger seat of the Impala, flipping through John's journal. "What is it that could make different bugs attack?"

Sam was behind the wheel for the first time in a while, driving down the long stretch of half-constructed homes to exit the neighborhood. "Well, hauntings sometimes include bug manifestations," he said.

"But I didn't see any evidence of ghost activity."

"Yeah, Larry showed us every corner of that house. There was nothing," I agreed.

"Maybe they're being controlled somehow," Dean proposed. "You know, by something or someone."

Sam huffed humouredly. "You mean, like Willard?"

"Yeah, bugs instead of rats."

"There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals—elementals and telepaths."

Dean returned to the journal. "Yeah, that whole Timmy-Lassie thing."

Thinking back, I realized Larry boasted about the spacious three bedrooms but only showed us two. Now I knew why; the one we didn't see was likely Matt's. Two options arose. Either he didn't want to invade his son's privacy, which was less likely than the second option—Larry didn't want us to see Matt's other… pets. "Larry's son, Matt, he keeps bugs," I said.

"More than the tarantula?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, he left a couple enclosures in the living room. Who knows how many more he's got?"

"You think he's our Willard?" Dean asked.

"Could be."

Sam shook his head; he didn't seem convinced. "I don't know," he said. "Anything's possible, I guess."

"Oh, hey." Dean suddenly pointed to one of the finished houses. "Pull over here."

"What are we doing here?" Sam wondered but obliged anyway, pulling into the driveway.

"It's too late to talk to anybody else," Dean said, hopping out of the car. A pit settled in my stomach as he lifted the garage door, holding it with one hand while beckoning his brother forward with a wave. "Come on."

"We're gonna squat in an empty house?" Sam asked through the open window, bewildered.

Dean smirked. "I wanna try the steam shower." His carefree attitude lifted the heaviness in my abdomen, but only for a moment. It returned with an added feeling of someone watching us.

Sam didn't attempt to move the car. "Seriously?" he asked me. The longer we lingered in the driveway, the more I feared someone would hear the Impala's loud engine echoing in the otherwise muted night. Dean shifted on his feet, probably worrying about the same thing.

"Just do it," I instructed, nudging Sam's shoulder.

As the car lurched forward, Sam mumbled something about Dean and I being "too comfortable breaking the law," on his way into the garage, Sam reached through the open window to smack the sliver of his brother's exposed stomach. Dean huffed out an aggravated curse and quickly shut the garage door behind us with restrained annoyance since slamming it like I knew he wanted to would draw attention to us. Upon entering the house, I flicked a light switch in the spacious kitchen. It was identical to Larry's home, just with less clutter. We shouldn't be here. If we get caught, we're screwed. And so is everyone else because we wouldn't be able to stick around and figure out what's going on.

"Come on, babe," Dean coaxed, saddling beside me. "It's just one night."

I chuckled, peering up at him. "How many times has that line actually worked out for you?"

He sucked his teeth. "Not many," he grinned.

"Exactly," I teased and leaned into his embrace. Sam ambled off to the living room, no doubt busying himself by reading John's journal again.

Hours had passed when Dean woke me with kisses trailing across my shoulder blades. Sun skimmed heavy clouds, lighting up my sleepy eyes and covering the bedroom in a blanket of cold. I wasn't ready to get up yet and snuggled back into Dean's chest. He got the message and wrapped an arm around my torso, kissing the back of my head. Eventually, though, he did coax me out of bed and into the warm shower. We didn't get to the showering portion until a good forty-five minutes later. Getting time alone in which we weren't rushing was rare these days, and I soaked up every single second until a knock erupted on the door.

"You two ever coming out of there!?" Sam shouted through the barrier. My cheeks flushed red. Amid everything, I'd forgotten he was here and did nothing to tone down any provocative noises.

"What?" Dean yelled back, unphased.

"A police call came in on the scanner!"

Dean released a reluctant sigh. "Crap. Hold on!" he requested loudly and shut off the water. When we opened the shower door, a massive fog of steam crashed into me. I waved a hand in front of my face to clear it. Dean didn't bother drying off and tied a towel around his waist, handing another to me. I patted the water off my body and covered myself with the same towel before stepping out into the plush bath mat. When my eyes returned to the hazy room, I found Dean with a towel wrapped around his head. I stifled a laugh, but he heard me and paused on his way to open the door. "Huh?" he asked innocently.

I just smiled and shook my head. "Nothing."

"Someone was found dead three blocks from here!" Sam informed exasperatedly, tired of waiting for us, no doubt. Nobody lived here except for the Pike family, and I sincerely hoped it wasn't any of them.

"This shower is awesome," was Dean's suggestive response to Sam when he finally opened the door just enough to peek his head out. A rush of cold air flooded the bathroom from the hallway, sending a chill over my skin where my wet hair hung.

Sam's face contorted in displeasure in the mirror's reflection. "Yeah, did you get the full spa experience?" he asked sarcastically.

"I sure did," Dean said with a sly grin. "I even got a happy ending."

"Dean!" I scolded.

Sam turned green and huffed, "Come on!" backing away from the door.

At Lynda Bloom's house, a body bag was being carried out of the home on a stretcher. Although it was sad to see anybody die, I was glad it wasn't any of the Pikes. Larry stood on the sidewalk, an umbrella shielding him from the downpour that started this morning and never let up like it was supposed to. He looked shocked and a little worried to see us there. "Hello. You're, uh, back early…"

"Yeah, we just wanted to take another look at the neighborhood," I lied. "What happened here?"

"You guys met, uh... Lynda Bloome at the barbeque?"

Sam nodded. "The realtor."

"Well, she… passed away last night," he explained. Perhaps Lynda was slightly annoying, but I couldn't imagine her making any real enemies. None that would go so far as to kill her, anyway.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"I'm still trying to find out. I had to identify the body for the police." Larry glanced around uncomfortably, clearing his throat. "Look, I– I'm sorry, this isn't a good time now."

"It's okay," Sam told him.

Larry muttered excuse me and walked over to another cop. Dean watched him go. "You know what we have to do, right?" he asked us.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "Get in that house."

"See if we got a bug problem."

Around the side of the home, where no police officers could see, we used the fence to climb to the second story. Judging by the black duct tape body outline on the carpet, we found ourselves in Lynda's room and carefully traversed the crime scene so as not to disturb anything. Blood stained the shower's light blue tile in the en suite bathroom, and the glass panel beside the door had a shattered hole large enough for a woman to fit through. "Maybe she just slipped and fell?" I suggested optimistically.

"When is it ever that easy?" Dean asked, crouching down beside a towel. He picked it up, and several black dots the size of quarters tumbled from the cotton. "Spiders."

My nose scrunched involuntarily. "What is it about this place and bugs?"

"Maybe it's not the place." He stood, wiping his palms on his jeans. "Maybe it's someone in the place."

"What do you mean?"

"Spider-Boy."

"Matt," Sam corrected and sighed, "maybe."

We gotta find him—talk to him."

Sam checked his watch. "He should be getting out of school in a couple of hours."

"Great, we have time to kill. I'm starving."

By the time we finished eating, we had a few minutes to reach Matt's drop-off. We stayed back, parking about a yard from the stopped school bus to avoid looking creepy. Matt exited the vehicle and crossed the street, starting down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. "Isn't his house that way?" Dean pointed behind us.

"Sure is," I replied.

"So where's he going?"

"I guess we'll find out." I scooted across the seat to the rear passenger door and got out, with the boys following along soon after. At least it stopped raining; most of the puddles dried in the warm midday sun. However, the sun had yet to reach through the thickly wooded area Matt disappeared into. Soggy dirt squished beneath my boots as we trudged after the oblivious boy, too lost in his own world to realize three people were tailing him. He finally stopped in a small clearing, hurriedly plucking another clear bug enclosure from his backpack. We positioned ourselves behind overgrown tree limbs, watching Matt take three strides to a nearby branch and hold out a hand.

A grasshopper stepped onto his outstretched hand with little resistance. It seemed almost calm in his presence. He stared at it in awe as it leisurely crawled up his arm. To my left, Dean wore an I told you so look aimed at Sam, who rolled his eyes in response before stepping out from our hiding spot. "Hey, Matt," he announced our presence.

Matt whipped around, his calmness melting away. He froze and stood rigid. "What are you doing out here?"

"Well, we wanna talk to you," Dean replied, striding beside his brother.

A look of realization covered Matt's concerned features. "You're not here to buy a house, are you?" he took a small step back. "Wait. You're not serial killers, right?"

"If we were, do you really think we'd tell you?" I deadpanned, and Dean snickered, neither of which did anything to contain Matt's rising anxiety.

"No, no–" Sam interjected, holding a gentle hand toward the teenager. "We're not. You're safe."

"So, Matt… you sure know a lot about insects." Dean gestured to the bug scaling the boy's arm.

He shrugged indifferently. "So?"

"Did you hear what happened to Lynda, the realtor?"

"I heard she died this morning."

"That's right. Spider bites," Dean bit accusingly.

"Matt, you tried to scare her with a spider," Sam added carefully and far less judgmental.

The boy's eyebrows flew up, and his voice rose in panic. "You think I had something to do with that?"

"We're not sure," I said, my voice a healthy mixture of skepticism and sympathy. "It's a little bit of a coincidence, isn't it?"

"That tarantula was a joke!" Matt defended. "And that wouldn't explain the bee attack or the gas company guy."

"How do you know about those?"

"Because there's something going on here. I don't know exactly what, but something's happening with the insects." He put the grasshopper back on its branch, picked up his backpack, and slung it over his shoulder. "Let me show you."

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, we followed him deeper into the woods. "So, if you knew about all this bug stuff, why not tell your dad?" Sam asked, walking alongside Matt while Dean and I stayed behind. "Maybe he could clear everybody out."

"Believe me; I've tried. But, uh, Larry doesn't listen to me."

"Larry?" I repeated, sharing a look with Dean. It's never good when a kid calls their parent by their first name. "Rough."

Matt glanced over his shoulder at me. "I have my reasons."

If the way Larry acted at the barbecue was any indication of his behavior toward his son behind closed doors, I could understand and nodded, much to Dean's chagrin. "Why doesn't he listen to you?" I inquired.

"He's too disappointed in his freak son."

"I hear you," Sam announced, almost without permission, because his eyebrows twitched in surprise as soon as the words left his lips.

"You do?" Dean asked, clearly taken aback. How, I'd never know.

Sam shook his head, letting his brother know he wasn't about to get into our family's drama in front of a stranger. "How old are you?" Sam asked Matt.

"Sixteen," Matt replied.

"Well, don't sweat it. Because in two years, something great's gonna happen."

"What?"

"College. You'll be able to get out of that house and away from your Dad."

Dean lit up with annoyance, and I held his arm, silently communicating that he should let it go. Now wasn't the time. "What kind of advice is that?" he asked, ignoring me. "The kid should stick with his family."

Sam stopped his stride and stood his ground. "I think it's good advice," he argued. Not only was Matt out in the middle of the woods with three perfect strangers, but two of them were locked in a silent tug-of-war. The teenager's confusion-laced eyes darted between the boys like he was watching a heated tennis match.

"You should do whatever it is that makes you happy, Matt," I said. Dean huffed behind me, and I ignored him just like he ignored me before and continued. "There can be a happy medium. I mean, you could go away to college and still be a part of your family's life. Sometimes people just need time apart to realize how important they are to each other." I pointedly glanced at the boys, aiming the last bit of my sentence toward them. Of course, Matt didn't answer. What could he say? I smiled gently and looked around, loosely resting my hands on my hips. "So, how far are we?" I asked.

"We're close," he replied, starting to walk again. A few moments later, we found ourselves in a large clearing. Usually, it would be quiet, but these trees filled with loud chirping from what I could only assume were bugs. For the first time since arriving, my skin crawled. I absentmindedly scratched my arm, hoping to rid myself of the ghostly itch. "I've been keeping track of insect populations," Matt explained. "It's, um, part of an AP science class."

Dean gestured between Sam and Matt. "You two are like peas in a pod."

"What's been happening?" Sam asked, disregarding his brother's observation.

"A lot. I mean, from bees to earthworms, beetles… you name it. It's like they're congregating here."

I'd never heard that happening before. At least not in recent times. It sounded almost biblical. "But why?" I asked.

"I don't know."

"What's that?" Sam pointed to a dark mound across the field. The grass was healthy green everywhere, but there it had crumpled and died there. The soil moved and turned, but it wasn't until we got closer that I saw why. Hundreds of worms slithered through the soil in a slimy heap.

Dean tapped the center with his boot, and It suddenly gave way, creating a small hole. He crouched down, grabbing a nearby stick to poke around inside. "There's something down there," he announced.

"That's great," I commented dryly. In Dean's eyes was a look I recognized all too well. "You better not," I ordered. He placed the stick down and started hiking up his sleeve. "Dean, I swear to God, you will never touch me again."

"Sorry, Cherry Pie. Gotta go all in for this one," he mumbled, submerging his hand into the soil with a squish. I cringed at the wet sound of the worms sloshing around. Dean looked as though he regretted it instantly, his expression shifting to pure disgust. With a few more forceful tugs, he pulled out… a human skull. That was the last thing I expected. Dean shook compacted dirt and bugs from the skull's eye sockets. I leaned forward to inspect the remains and nearly forgot Matt was here until he wavered and bumped into me. All the color had drained from his face save for a shade of light green.

"Let's get you out of here," I said, taking his arms and leading him away from the makeshift gravesite.

Not much convincing was needed for Matt to agree to keep quiet about what we'd found in the woods. He was still pretty shaken when we parted but refused a ride home—which, in hindsight, was probably for the best. Nobody needed Larry growing suspicious that the three random adults interested in a house near his family had taken a liking to his teenage son. It shouldn't have taken riding in the backseat of the Impala with a human skull sitting in a box beside me to cause an epiphany about how fucked up my life was. I suppose it had a lot to do with Matt's reaction. While he kept it together, he was still stricken with shock. This was just another day for us.

After making a few calls, I got an appointment with a professor a few minutes out of town at an anthropology department to inspect the bones more closely than we ever could. They looked old and worn, but it could be from the wear and tear of where and how they were buried. Sam removed his jacket, used it to cover the box, and tucked it underneath his arm. I shut the door, and we started across the knoll toward the building.

"Maybe this is a haunting," Dean said. "Pissed off spirits? Some unfinished business?"

"Yeah, maybe. The question is, why bugs?" Sam asked. "And why now?"

"That's two questions," he commented off-handedly, something else preoccupying his mind. I couldn't be sure exactly what, but I felt it had to do with what Sam had said in the woods. "So, with that kid back there…. why'd you tell him to just ditch his family like that?"

My shoulders drooped. I should've expected this to come up eventually.

"Just, uh… I know what the kid's going through." Sam tried to play it off.

"How about telling him to respect his old man? How's that for advice?"

"Come on." Sam stopped, and so did Dean. I made it only a few steps further before following suit. I should be used to this by now, the way this family kept things bottled up until they couldn't be held any longer and came out at inappropriate times. "This isn't about his old man," Sam claimed. "You think I didn't respect Dad. That's what this is about."

Dean's eyes darted from Sam's to mine, and he waved his brother off. "Just forget it, alright?" he said, about to walk away. "Sorry, I brought it up."

"I respected him," Sam claimed, making all of us stay where we were. "But no matter what I did, it was never good enough." John was always hard on him; he was hard on both of them in different ways. I had to assume there was a good reason for it. He wouldn't do it otherwise, right?

"So what are you saying? That Dad was disappointed in you?" Dean asked, confused.

"Was?" Sam scoffed. "Is. Always has been."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because I didn't wanna bow hunt or hustle pool. Because I didn't want to do everything he told me to—because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak."

"Yeah, you were kind of like the blonde chick in The Munsters," Dean attempted a joke, but it came out bitter and fell flat.

"Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride?" Sam asked, eyes misting over. "Proud. Most dads don't toss their kids out of the house." I always wondered if Sam had ever gotten over what happened that night. Turns out, no. I didn't blame him; it was terrible. The slightest memory was all it took to feel that night's cold, unrelenting rainstorm prickle my skin. It was well-known that John wouldn't be happy with Sam's decision to leave, but I never thought it would come to blows the way it had.

"I remember that fight," Dean recalled. I wished he would say something, anything, other than what I knew he was going to. "In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases coming out of your mouth."

Everyone made mistakes that night, but ultimately, there was one aggressor. John was drenched in ignorance and fear, but that didn't excuse his actions. Instead of showing how he truly felt, he covered it with a steel wall and shut everybody out. That barricade only started to come down just before he disappeared. "Alright, you know what?" I closed the small distance between myself and the boys. "We are carrying a human skull," I hissed quietly so the students passing by wouldn't hear. "Can we pick up this conversation another time?"

It took far too long for my liking for either of them to answer, so I snatched the box from Sam and tried to quiet the clanking remains inside as I stomped into the building. In his classroom, the anthropology professor, a stocky man, inspected the bones underneath a microscope. He sighed and straightened out the thin, round silver glasses perched on his face. "This is quite an interesting find you've made," he said. "I'd say they're one hundred and seventy years old, give or take. The time frame and the geography heavily suggest Native American."

"Were there any tribes or reservations on that land?" Sam asked.

"Not according to the historical record. But the relocation," he said with a pointed raise of his eyebrows, "Of native peoples was quite common at that time."

"Are there any local legends? Oral histories about the area?"

"Well…" the professor tapped a finger on his chin in thought. "You know, there's an Euchee tribe in Sapulpa. It's about sixty miles from here. Someone out there might know the truth."

The walk back to the Impala was filled with silence until we climbed inside, and Sam finally spoke. "You know, the truth is, when we finally do find Dad… I don't know if he's even gonna want to see me."

"Sam." Dean dropped his hands from the steering wheel. "Dad was never disappointed in you. He was scared."

"What are you talking about?"

"He was afraid of what could've happened to you if he wasn't around. But even when you two weren't talking... he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could."

Sam looked taken aback by this revelation. "He did?"

"Yeah, every few weeks," I confirmed. For the first three months after Sam had left, John would leave without telling us where he was going. Eventually, we got the truth out of him. A year into it, each time John would leave for California was bittersweet. I wanted to go with him, and so did Dean. Just to see Sam with our own eyes and make sure he was alright. But we didn't; we let John go alone and spent those few days relishing alone time. I always thought we would reach breaking point, sneaking around behind John's back, but that never happened. I refocused on Sam's tearful eyes. "I'm surprised you never caught him," I joked to lighten the mood.

"Why did he do that?" he asked, remaining stoic.

"To keep an eye on you," Dean explained in an obvious tone. "Make sure you were safe."

"Why didn't he tell me any of that?"

"Well, it's a two-way street, dude. You could've picked up the phone."

The smell of syrup, bacon, and coffee overtook the small cafe on the reservation that one of the residents directed us to. It was fairly empty, except for a few people at the counter eating breakfast and sipping coffee. Just like we'd been told, an elder tribe member was sitting at the first booth to the right, a deck of playing cards sprawled out on the table and a half-drunken cup of black coffee beside him. He glanced up as we approached, staring curiously.

"Joe White Tree?" Sam asked. The man nodded once in response. "We'd like to ask you a few questions if that's alright."

Dean put on his best self-assured smile and announced, "We're students from the university–"

"No, you're not," Joe White Tree replied dryly.

I shared a subtle look of shock with Dean before giving the man what I thought to be a convincing smile. "We are," I doubled down in a friendly tone.

"You're lying."

This time, Dean opted to continue, "Well, truth is-"

"You know who starts a sentence with truth is?" the man asked. "Liars."

"Jesus," I exclaimed under my breath, tapping my fingers impatiently on the top of the empty booth.

"Have you heard of Oasis Plains?" Sam asked. "It's a housing development near the Atoka Valley."

The man looked pointedly at Dean and me, staring for what felt like forever with a weathered, scrutinizing gaze. "I like him," he nodded to Sam while keeping his eyes locked on us. "He's not a liar." Dean licked his lips in annoyance and shoved his hands into his pockets. I opened my mouth to argue but thought better and closed it. I'm not even sure what I was about to say—certainly, nothing he wouldn't find a rejoinder to. Joe White Tree returned his full attention to Sam, and it was like Dean and I had disappeared. "I know the area," he said.

"What can you tell us about the history there?"

"Why do you wanna know?"

"Something bad is happening in Oasis Plains. We think it might have something to do with some old bones we found down there—Native American bones."

"I'll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him." He said, taking a breath. "Two hundred years ago, a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant, the cavalry impatient. As my grandfather put it, on the night the moon and the sun share the sky as equals, the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again, and the next, and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time. And by the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead. They say on the sixth night, as the chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley. And it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people."

"Insects," Dean muttered, so only I could hear, "sounds like nature to me. Six days?" he asked the man.

Joe White Tree nodded. "And on the night of the sixth day, none would survive."

Though he helped greatly by letting us know what we were up against, I almost wished we hadn't come. We stepped into some deep shit with this one. Possibly—no, definitely—more than we could handle alone. After thanking Joe White Tree for his time and him giving Dean and me one last dirty look, we left the cafe. "When did the gas company man die?" Sam asked.

"Let's see, we got here Tuesday," Dean thought aloud, "so Friday the twentieth."

"March twentieth is the Spring Equinox," I said.

"The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals."

"So, every year about this time, anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger," Sam said. "Larry built this neighborhood on cursed land."

"And the sixth night, that's tonight."

"If we don't do something, Larry's family will be dead by sunrise. So how do we break the curse?"

"I don't think we can," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because that's some serious, dark magic stuff. And I don't know about you, but I don't know anybody who could swing it."

"So, we don't break the curse. We get out of its way," Dean spoke more urgently than before. "We've gotta get those people out now."

"Yes, Mr. Pike, there's a mainline gas leak in your neighborhood," Dean told Larry over the phone. "It's fairly extensive," he continued his plea after Larry replied. I couldn't hear him or be bothered to lean forward on my bouncing knees. I cracked my knuckles until my fingers ached. We were cutting it close. It was already dusk, and we weren't even halfway back to Oasis Plains yet. I could faintly hear a reply on the other end of the phone. Only because Larry's voice became louder was I able to make out something about asking who it was calling him at this ungodly hour.

"I don't want to alarm you, but we need your family out of the vicinity for at least twelve hours or so just to be safe," Dean continued, "I'm Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power." Another response ended the call with Dean snapping the phone shut and banging his hand on the steering wheel in frustration.

"Didn't work?" I asked.

"Nope."

"Shit."

Sam snatched the phone from Dean's hand to dial a number. "Matt, it's Sam. You have to get your family out of that house right now, okay? Something's coming," he said. "Yeah, a lot more. You've gotta make him listen, okay?"

"Give me the phone," Dean demanded, grabbing it back from Sam before he got the chance to decline. "Matt, under no circumstances are you to tell the truth," he told the boy. "They'll just think you're nuts. Tell him you have a sharp pain in your right side, and you've gotta go to the hospital, okay?"

"No-" Sam started.

I clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, Sam. Stop." Maybe it was wrong to ask Matt to lie to his parents, however, it was the only viable option. If Larry didn't listen to his son about trivial things, how did Sam think he'd pay any attention to claims about a "killer curse?" He should know from experience it wouldn't be that easy.

Dean tossed the phone into the seat between him and his brother. "Make him listen?" he huffed. "What are you thinking?"

"I was thinking he could try!" Sam exclaimed.

"And, what? Waste time they don't have?"

"Larry's not gonna care, Sam, you know that," I said pointedly. I faintly recalled passing a speed limit sign that read fifty-five, but Dean was pushing eighty. "How far out are we?"

"Maybe an hour," Dean replied.

"So, Matt gets his parents out; what do we do when we get there?" Sam wondered, nervously looking to his brother for answers. "Dean?"

Despite the skittish pangs in my chest that said otherwise, I reassured, "We'll figure it out," while running through a list of things in my head that I'd learned over the years, hoping to land on some cure-all for the situation we'd found ourselves. I came up empty. Even flipping through John's journal resulted in nothing. So I felt less than optimistic when the Impala's ties screeched to a halt in front of the Pike's home. Curtains shifted, and Larry appeared in the window with a seething glare.

"Dammit, they're still here," Dean complained, throwing the car in park.

By the time we piled out, Larry was already on his front porch, his chest puffing like an angry bird. "Get off my property before I call the cops," he ordered.

"Mr. Pike, listen," Sam pleaded.

Matt stood in the doorway, feebly playing with his fingers. "Dad, they're just trying to help," he said.

"Get in the house!" Larry yelled at him.

"I'm sorry," the boy apologized to us, looking every bit his age as he stumbled over his words. "I- I told him the truth."

"We had a plan, Matt," Dean huffed exasperatedly. "What happened to the plan?"

"Look, it's twelve a.m.," Sam said. "They are coming any minute now. You need to get your family and go before it's too late."

"Yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm," Larry mocked.

"You can joke all you want, but what do you think happened to Lynda? That surveyor and the gas company guy? You don't think it's weird?" I questioned. Although it was frustrating how nearly everyone wrote it off as one big joke, I, too, would've been every bit as suspicious as he was if I hadn't lived this life. "I know it's crazy, Larry, but you have to listen."

He scoffed scornfully. "Look, I don't know who you are, but you're nuts. You come near my boy or my family again, and we're gonna have a problem."

"Well, I hate to be a downer, but we've got a problem right now!" Dean urged, his irritation showing clearer than the sky above us.

"Dad, they're right, okay?" Matt implored, reaching for his father. "We're in danger!"

"Matt, get inside!" Larry shook his son's hand off. "Now!"

"No!" the teenager finally broke, his frustrated voice cracking. "Why won't you listen to me?!"

"Because this is crazy! It doesn't make any sense!"

"This land is cursed!" Sam said loud enough to drown out the father and son's argument and catch their attention. "People have died here. Now, are you gonna really take that risk with your family?"

"Wait." Dean's focus shifted from getting this family out to stiffened cautiousness.

"What is it?" I asked, unsure I wanted to know the answer.

"You hear that?" There were approximately two seconds in which I didn't hear a thing until I held my breath and listened. In the distance, a quiet yet intense buzzing was gradually growing closer.

"What the hell?" Larry asked, looking around for the source. The bug light on the porch flickered and zapped rapidly, shorting out as several large beetles crashed into it and fell to the ground with quiet thuds. A flutter of discomfort rattled down my spine and into my legs, begging me to rush back to the Impala. Somehow, I didn't move and kept my feet planted where I was.

"Alright, it's time to go," Dean demanded. "Larry, get your wife," he instructed, placing a hand on my back, ready to lead me to the car.

I was more than ready to go when Mat spoke. "Guys," he called, pointing up at the navy blue sky filled with dark grey clouds scattered like cracking ice on a lake. It was ominous but nothing I hadn't seen before on an overcast midwestern night. It wasn't until my eyes focused on the huge swarm of bugs flying toward us that my chest heaved.

"We'll never make it," Sam uttered breathlessly.

My heart flew up and planted itself in my throat. "But we should try, right?" I choked. When he showed no agreement, I whipped my attention to Dean. "Right?!"

"Uh…" Dean mumbled and reached for my arm. "Get in the house."

"What?!"

"Everybody in the house!" he demanded, urgently ushering everyone inside as the threat drew closer. Larry grabbed his son and fled, followed by Sam. Dean didn't appreciate me waiting at the back of the line, but I refused to go without him, and he could just get the hell over it.

Once we were somewhat safe indoors—at least for now—Sam asked, "Is there anybody else in the neighborhood?"

"No, it's just us," Larry panted.

"Honey," Joanie came into view from the living room. Worry etched into her face when she saw the three of us. "What's happening?"

"Call 911," Larry instructed his unmoving wife. Joanie's eyes drifted to the windows as she appeared mesmerized by the growing buzzing outside. She seemingly had all forgotten about us. This time, Larry raised his voice to get her attention. "Joanie!"

"O– okay," she stuttered, rushing to the landline.

"How the hell are we gonna stop them from getting in here?" I asked Dean.

"I'm working on it," he replied, eyes darting around. Dean suddenly snapped his fingers and turned to Larry. "I need towels."

This time, Larry didn't put up a fight and nodded, reaching into a hall closet for a stack of towels. Sam and Matt went off to lock up all the doors and windows upstairs while Dean and I stuffed the towels at the base of the front and back doors downstairs. "Phones are dead," Joanie announced as we reconvened in the living room.

"They must have chewed through the phone lines," Dean said. Almost as if on cue, we got plunged into darkness. "And the power lines," he added.

"I need my cell," Larry said, grabbing his flip phone from the coffee table. The small amount of light from the phone's screen only illuminated his face. He held it up, desperately trying to acquire a signal. "Nothing."

The buzzing outside got louder. Joanie grabbed Matt, holding him close. Thousands of heavy smacks hit the house's exterior, and I jumped at the unexpected sound. "'Cause they're blanketing the house," Dean explained.

"Great," I grumbled quietly. "This keeps getting better."

Dean mumbled, "Hold on," and disappeared into the kitchen.

"So what do we do now?" Larry asked.

"We try to outlast it," Sam answered. "Hopefully, the curse will end at sunrise."

The head of the Pike family's eyes widened to the size of golf balls. "Hopefully?"

"It'll be fine," I reassured, trying to convince myself more than anything. Of all the supernatural things, curses worried me the most. You couldn't stop it, and unless you were a witch who knew what they were doing, you couldn't break it. We were steadily running out of time and luck.

When Dean returned, he held a can of bug spray and reached into his pocket. I knew exactly what was on his mind, but Joanie balked, "Bug spray?"

"Trust me," Dean replied, pulling out his lighter.

"Good idea," I told him.

"Thanks."

"I'm guessing there was only one?" I asked. He nodded. "Of course."

In an unforeseen turn of events, the deafening buzzing stopped dead in its tracks, leaving a bone-chilling silence in its wake. "You think it's over?" Dean wondered.

"It's not sunrise yet," Sam said.

"Maybe the bugs didn't get the memo?" I asked hopefully.

"What is that?" Matt asked, holding onto his Mom. Across the room, bricks shifted—groaning and creaking under the weight of something heavy within the fireplace. I followed the sound of bricks creaking and groaning in the fireplace.

"The flue," Sam responded, taking a few cautious steps toward the mantle with Dean while I remained by the scared family.

"Uh, guys?" I called as the sounds within the chimney grew louder and louder. "I think we should head upstairs."

Before we could move, a cloud of ash puffed from the opening, followed by thousands of bugs smashing through the metal safety screen covering the fireplace. In an instant, they were furiously buzzing around our heads. No amount of flailing arms and hands could keep them at bay. I grabbed Joanie and pushed her toward the second floor along with Matt, who she refused to let go of. A bustle of arms and legs stumbled up the staircase as we all tried to navigate the shallow steps in the dark. The pitch-black house was only illuminated occasionally by Dean using his lighter to turn the can of bug spray into a makeshift flamethrower, but even with that, it was hard to see through the swarm.

Thinking fast, Larry opened the attic, and we all climbed inside, shooing away and burning the clump of bugs that attempted to follow us. Only after the hatch was closed and locked did I feel somewhat safe.

"You okay?" Dean asked me with a tentative smile.

I stared at him wide-eyed for a few seconds before pushing, "Depends on what your definition of okay is," through my dry throat. It was quiet for a little while—I'm not even sure how long. Not to be cliche, but too quiet. Almost like those little winged bastards were scheming. Absentmindedly, I rubbed my arms, trying to quell the feeling of something moving beneath my skin. "Next time, listen to your son," I told Larry offhandedly. He looked taken aback by my brazen statement before bowing his head in silent agreement.

Seemingly, just as soon as it had stopped, the buzzing began rattling through the attic, making sawdust fall from the cracks in the ceiling. "Oh, God, what's that?" Joanie squeaked.

"Something's eating through the wood," Dean said, looking around for the source of the noise.

"Termites," Matt interjected.

"Alright, everybody, get back!" Dean ordered, moving the family into a far corner of the attic.

There was no time to get our barrings when the roof fell through, and another cluster of bugs invaded. Dean used the can of bug spray to keep them somewhat at bay while Sam and I searched for a way to cover the hole. He found a chunk of cardboard and used his height to press it against the hole in the ceiling easily. "I can't hold this forever," Sam warned.

"Wait a second," I said, looking around for something to keep it up. Sitting atop a box was a roll of duct tape. I snatched it and tore off a few strips to give the boys, and once that was secure, they butted a large piece of wood against it for extra reinforcement. It lasted for a few seconds, but the bugs chewed another as soon as this hole was patched. Dean tried to keep them away with the bug spray, but it made virtually no difference. On his way to the cowered Pikes, Sam grabbed my arm and pulled me to the ground.

"Ah, shit," Dean cursed, followed by the sound of what I assumed to be the empty can of bug spray getting tossed to the floor. He joined us in our huddle, using his jacket to cover his head and mine. Is this really how we would die? A curse of killer bugs? Not to mention the whole taking out an innocent family in the process part of it. I almost laughed at the thought.

"Look!" Sam exclaimed out of the blue.

"No!" I shrieked. How could he even suggest that? I'd already had far too many bugs flying into my face. Suddenly, the mind-numbing sounds of wings flapping seemed to have lessened. I peered out from Dean's jacket to find the sun's faint light breaking through the myriad of holes in the roof. Miraculously, the bugs flew out of the attic. The boys stood on shaky legs. Dean helped me to my feet.

Beneath the largest opening, we watched the giant swarm fly disappear into the amber sky. Just like that, it was over.

After ensuring they were okay, we parted ways with the Pikes, mostly to give them the space they needed to recover from that traumatic event, but also because if I didn't get out of these clothes within the next half hour, I'd lose my mind. Most pay-by-the-hour motels were used for untoward activities; I just wanted to clean this grime off of me. Before we left Oklahoma, we decided to head back to Oasis Plains to see how the family was holding up. In front of the house I now couldn't look at without my skin crawling was a nearly filled moving truck. That happened fast, I thought. Larry was loading a box into the truck when he heard the Impala's engine and set it down with a smile.

Dean parked across the street, and we piled out. "What, no goodbye?" he asked, a smile on his face.

"Good timing," Larry said. "Another hour, and we'd have been gone."

"For good?" Sam asked optimistically.

"Yeah. The development's been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found. But I'm gonna make damn sure no one lives here again."

"You don't seem that upset about it," I observed his relaxed stance and calm tone.

"Well, this has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but..." Larry paused, glancing back at Matt, who was tossing empty boxes in the trash, before looking back at us. "Somehow, I really don't care." Here was a man who realized his mistakes and learned from them. Perhaps it was the bare minimum, but it wasn't something I was all that used to from John. I couldn't pinpoint why, but it gave me hope that it was possible to repair all that was broken in our family too.

Breaking from us, Sam went to talk to Matt. Dean and I waved to him when he looked our way. He and Sam spoke animatedly for a minute or two while we said final goodbyes to Larry and returned to the Impala. Briefly, I wondered where those bugs went, and a chill racketed down my spine. "What are you thinking about, Cherry Pie?" Dean wondered, pulling me in and wrapping his arms around my mid-section.

"I'm thinking I need another shower right about now," I said, resting my head on his chest and looking at the long line of homes that will hopefully never be lived in.

"Mm-hm," he hummed suggestively.

I hated to squash his fantasies but shook my head. "No. Not one of those showers. A regular shower. All those bugs," I shuddered, "I don't even want to think about it."

Dean's laughed rumbled through his chest. "Everything you've seen, and this is what gets you? Bugs?" he taunted playfully.

"Bugs carry diseases. They bite and sting. Don't start with me, Dean; you're afraid of planes!" I threw right back at him.

He scoffed, "Planes crash!"

"You know those are all just irrational fears, right?" Sam asked us, an eyebrow cocked in superiority as he returned to us.

"You have, like, zero room to make fun. Ronald McDonald freaks you out," I said. Sam pursed his lips tightly and stood impossibly straight.

"Don't worry, no clowns here," Dean grinned at his brother's discomfort and released me to playfully slap Sam's shoulder. "Ready to head out? You know, I think I saw a Plucky Pennywhistle's a few miles back—"

The mention of the colorful, mascot-theme children's restaurant that housed far too many people dressed as clowns made me cringe. Clowns didn't tighten me, but there were plenty of nights I felt uncomfortable in that place. Sam swallowed hard and whipped open the passenger door. "You're not funny, Dean," he said monotonically, plopping in the car.

"Yes, I am," Dean argued haughtily, looking to me for confirmation. "I am."

"You are, baby," I cooed patronizingly. "The funniest."

With an eye roll so hard I thought they'd get stuck back there, Dean got into the car. I gave the Pike one last wave and entered the Impala's backseat. The small family of three faded in the rearview mirror, but instead of the distance between them before, they were standing closer together, all smiling. It filled me with that sense of purpose a hunter gets high on. This is why we do what we do. It makes up for everything else. Well, almost everything, I thought bitterly. If not for hunting, maybe my parents would be here. But without it, I'd never know the Winchesters. These thoughts always rode a fine line between happiness and despair. I tried not to settle too deeply on either. I didn't want to get lost in a blissful ideal, nor did I want to drown in a lake of misery. So, I teetered. And I was okay with that.

We'd been driving for a while; the radio was off, and everything was quiet except for the soft purr of the engine. I was staring out the window, watching the trees pass, my thoughts drifting to anything that didn't involve bugs when Sam spoke, waking me out of my daydream. "I wanna find Dad," he stated.

"Yeah, me too." Dean agreed.

"So do I," I added. Despite his mistakes and my qualms about certain choices he'd made, I worried about John. We were family, but even more than that, he saved my life. I owed it to him to keep looking.

"Yeah, but I just…" Sam paused, glancing back at me, then at Dean. "I want to apologize to him."

"For what?" Dean asked, looking over at his brother in confusion. I shared the same look.

"All the things I said to him. He was just doing the best he could."

"Well, don't worry, we'll find him. And then you'll apologize. And then, within five minutes, you guys will be at each other's throats," Dean said, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah," Sam laughed lightly, "probably."

Why did they decide to bring the bones to a professor for inspection instead of burning them if they suspected a haunting? Why bugs? What is this episode?

Thank you to bookwriter123456 for helping, as always. And thank you for reading! Any lyric suggestions for this chapter are welcomed!

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