Chapter Text
Sam sighed, his forehead scrunching in irritation. Nothing in the town's history indicated any kind of major conflict occurring between the townsfolk and the people of the native settlement that used to be there, and yet the land was very obviously cursed. Sam shut his laptop, admitting temporary defeat.
He looked wearily around their latest hotel room, too tired to cringe at the atrocious sunny yellow striped wallpaper that loudly offended his vision. Dean would probably be back soon, hopefully with new information on the strange deaths that had occurred in the general vicinity of the town's courthouse. Sam flopped onto one of the beds, sprawling carelessly and shoving a hand through his hair. He should've been out with Dean, helping to interview the family members of the victims, but instead he was confined to the abhorrently decorated prison of a hotel room. Ever since the visions had started, Dean had been fussing over him like a mother hen, albeit in his own peculiar emotionally stunted way. Not that Sam was complaining.
His head had started throbbing early that morning and the pain still hadn't abated by noon. His eyes fluttered closed, muscles slowly relaxing as he sunk into the surprisingly comfortable mattress. Before he knew it, he had dozed off, and was woken by the closing of the door.
Dean dropped a bag of greasy fast food in his lap as he sat up. "You're welcome."
Sam scrubbed his eyes blearily, grimacing as his headache began to return. "D'ja find anything?"
Dean ignored him in favor of the burger he was stuffing his face with. Rolling his eyes, Sam stood and snatched up the reports Dean had deposited on the table and began to scan them over. He glanced up as Dean finished off his fries. "The lawyer?"
Dean grunted. "Seems likely. Old Mr. Briefcase didn't seem all that torn up about his wife's death, and he was close enough to the crime scene that his alibi could mean nothing."
Sam studied the hellish wallpaper, his forehead all scrunched up in thought. "Let's go."
Two hours later found the Winchesters back at the room with virtually nothing to show for it.
"So he was banging the secretary. Doesn't make him our guy."
"Yeah...I'd better go hit up the local bar and see if the locals 've got any leads. "
Sam rolled his eyes. Grinning, Dean sauntered out the door, easily dodging the dirty sock thrown viciously in his direction.
"How do you not have a ton of STD's?"
Sam grumbled good-naturedly at the motel door before stripping out of his scratchy suit and slumping into a chair tiredly, rubbing his aching temples.