At this point in time, that memory actually made him smile lightly. Dad had gone real easy on him that day and Sam figured that his mood hadn't been as bad as Sam had assumed back then. The incident stood out in his mind because of the near-smile his obstinate behavior had caused that day. It had been one of the few times that his dad hadn't turned into a full-fledged commanding officer on him for being a brat.

That thought in turn wiped the smile off his lips again. It was hard, thinking of dad these days; hard because so much had been left unspoken, so many things unsaid.

Dean suddenly reached out and turned the volume down, then glanced at him with slight worry in his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Sam blinked, unsure of how to respond to that question. For obvious reasons, Dean had made a u-turn on the emotional front and was less inclined to make fun of Sam for being, as he called it, softer. "What do you mean?" he asked nonetheless.

"Your mood shifts faster than the weather these days, dude," Dean said.

Sam sighed. "I was just thinking about dad," he confessed.

Dean returned his attention to the road ahead and said nothing further and Sam couldn't help wondering how much his brother thought about their father these days. Dean was making a real career of being just like dad.

"I mean ..." Sam started, but didn't really know what he meant, so he trailed off and let it slide.

"Yeah, me too," Dean replied after a moment without looking at him.

The silence stretched long and hard between them, a not always comfortable thing, and Sam couldn't help thinking about the future, about what would happen when Dean's year was up.

First they needed to pick up that damned box, then he needed to focus on finding a way to break that damned deal. And if Sam knew one thing for sure in this world, then it was that he would march right into hell and kill the devil himself if he had to. He knew Dean would do the same for him and that was just the way it was for them.

***

The storage facility

Dean unlocked the door with the key he kept safe, and sidestepped the booby-traps they had set to surprise any unwanted guests. Everything was in order, neatly tugged away and catalogued on shelves from floor to ceiling. He had to give Sam that much credit. The kid sure had a knack for sorting things.

"Where'd you put the shells?" he asked and glanced back at his brother.

Sam glanced around, a slight frown furrowing his brow. His gaze settled on something for a moment, but before Dean could determine what it was, his eyes roamed on. "Uh ... over there, I think," he said and pointed to the far end of the storage room.

Dean walked over there and eyed the carefully created labels until his gaze settled on the appropriate one. He hunkered down and eyed what remained of the boxes of shells. "We need to get more soon," he said, grabbed two boxes and rose again.

Sam wasn't by the door any more, which in and of itself probably wasn't that alarming. That he was standing in front of the shelve that held the curse-boxes was.

Dean stepped around the shelving unit that held the weapons and ammo and tried to determine what had caught his brother's interest. "Looking for another rabbit foot?" he asked and smirked.

With a snort, Sam put the box down that he had picked up, acting almost as if it had gotten too hot for him to handle. "Yeah, like that was such a monster success," he grumbled. "I'm just wondering what's in them," he added thoughtfully. "I mean ... a rabbit's foot I get, but ... where the hell did dad get all this stuff from? And why keep it? Why not just destroy all of them?"

A light shrug was all the answer Dean had for that one. "Who the hell knows? I mean, the more I find out about his background, the less I think we actually knew the guy," he said and smirked.

"And that doesn't bother you?" Sam asked and glanced at him with a serious expression.

For some reason, Dean had the distinct impression that Sam was trying to divert his attention away from something, but since he had no clue what that was and really couldn't be bothered to start digging right now, he shrugged in response. "Sure it does. But what do you want me to do about it?"

Sam made a face, then glanced at the boxes of shotgun shells Dean was holding before taking one and dropping it in his backpack.

Dean dropped the second one in there too and Sam zipped it up again and slung it over his shoulder.

"Do we need anything else while we're here?" Dean asked.

"No, I don't think so," Sam countered. "So ... we go back to Bobby's? Find out if he has anything new for us?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds like a plan," he said and turned toward the door of the storage room. Then he stopped short and turned back to face Sam. "What exactly is your interest in curse-boxes?" It was a random question, aimed at Sam's obvious interest in those damned boxes, and the fact that his question caused a flicker of doubt to rush over his brother's face raised suspicion in him.

"I'm no more interested in curse-boxes than in anything else we do," Sam said and there was a distinctly defensive note to his voice.

Sometimes Dean just did not understand Sam. "Relax, dude. I was just asking," he countered and raised both hands in a deprecating gesture.

A grimace flitted over Sam's face, making Dean wonder what the hell was bugging him today. "Well ...," Sam tried, but didn't say anything further.

"That about covers it," Dean said, shook his head with annoyance and left the room. He closed and locked the door as soon as Sam had cleared the opening and they headed back to the Impala to continue on their way to South Dakota. Whatever came next, Dean intended to sleep in familiar surroundings tonight and nothing was more familiar than Bobby's place.

***

Bobby's Place
Fort Pierre, SD

He had expected them for a few hours when they finally showed up and Bobby knew without the shadow of a doubt that they'd been at eachothers throats again.

Dean, carrying his mandatory duffle slung over one shoulder, gave Bobby a brief nod and a vague smile, then trudged into the house and upstairs to the room the boys shared when they stayed with him. Bobby had suggested at one point that they each take a room since there were plenty of them, but some things never changed. They hadn't wanted to sleep apart as kids and they obviously still didn't want to sleep apart. Bobby assumed it had a lot to do with Dean being overprotective and Sam accommodating him.

Sam followed, carrying his own duffle. His smile was a little more sincere, yet still a bit on the timid side, which could mean a lot of things. He stopped just inside the door and briefly seemed to listen to the house, then dumped his duffle along the right-hand wall and took another step forward.

"I thought you'd be here a few hours ago," Bobby said.

"Yeah, well ... we got sidetracked," Sam said, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and raised his shoulders a little while ducking his head just a tad.

Even though the kid at this point towered over Bobby, he still looked like that geeky four-year-old Bobby had met the very first time all those years ago. "Something on your mind other than the obvious?" Bobby asked and eyed him closely. Sam was a talker, always had been. Not in the way that Dean shot off his mouth, though. The kid liked to talk about serious stuff. Neither his father nor his brother had ever been good listeners and that had made Sam latch onto anyone apart from them, who was willing to listen to him. And Bobby had always been willing to listen.

Sam glanced toward the stairs leading up to the first floor, again seemed to listen to the house, then glanced at Bobby. "You said you'd built most of the curse-boxes, right?" he asked.

Now there was a surprise. Sam always seemed to return to a topic months later and most times didn't bother to indicate what exactly he was talking about. He just picked up where he had left off a few months earlier and seemed to assume that others knew what he was saying. Fortunately, Bobby still remembered that incident clearly. "Yeah, most of them," Bobby agreed and closed the front door. "Why?"

Sam sighed. "You can't tell Dean about this. It's complicated. But ..." he unzipped the duffle and pulled something out of it, then held it out to Bobby, "what does this one contain?"

Bobby glanced at the very plain-looking box in Sam's hand, then looked up to meet his eyes. "Why don't you want Dean to know?"

A light shrug followed by the characteristic tensing of his features spoke more than words, proving to Bobby that Sam was keeping something secret from Dean, and he almost sighed. If, or rather when Dean found out, the issuing shouting match would once again raise the roof off the house. When it came to shouting, John had nothing on Dean. That kid had a set of lungs from hell. "I'll tell you, but just promise me you won't tell him," Sam said and sent a quick glance toward the stairs yet again.

"Alright," Bobby said, then took the box and studied it. It wasn't big, plain cedar wood and it looked fairly new. "That's not one of mine," he finally said. "Did your dad keep it with the curse-boxes?" Sam nodded quietly. "Then it's probably safe to assume that it is a curse-box too, in which case I wouldn't open it if my life depended on it."

"But ... isn't there any way to find out what it contains?" Sam asked, looking a little downcast.

"Sure," Bobby said and eyed the box again. "You can open it. But some of these boxes contain more than just ... things. I don't know if your dad had any of those, but I do remember he mentioned one once." He frowned a little and slowly turned the box from side to side. "It's just weird that there aren't any inscriptions on it. Usually, there are signs and whatnots on these boxes to keep whatever is in them contained."

"Well, the lid is sealed shut," Sam tried, sounding vaguely hopeful.

"Doesn't mean much," Bobby mused. "However that may be, it's still too dangerous to open it. Why'd you bring it here?"

Sam grimaced. "Someone offered me money for it. A lot of money. So I assumed it would be best if I didn't leave it at the storage place," he said.

Bobby eyed him sharply. "That someone wouldn't happen to be Bela, would it?" he asked.

A quick glance toward the stairs was actually answer enough, but Sam still nodded. "Yeah. Which is why I can't tell Dean about it. If he knows I have it, he'll know someone told me about it. He'll go ballistic if he knows she's on our tail again," he said.

"So, why'd you bring it?" Bobby asked. "Why not just hide it better?"

"Because it's only a matter of time before she finds out where we keep all that stuff of dad's and I don't want her getting her hands on it before I know what it is. I mean ... it could be some sort of Pandora's box or something. And I doubt she'll stop to think about that once she's got it. Someone offered her a seven figured amount for it," Sam explained, keeping his tone low.

Bobby whistled. "That's a lot of money," he said and pushed his cap back a bit. "What'd she offer you for it?"

Sam pursed his lips. "Two million dollars," he said, looking uncomfortable just saying it out loud. "On a cashier's check, no less."

Bobby couldn't help but be impressed that Sam had withstood that big an amount for something like this. John had trained his boys well. "You think she knows what's in it?" Bobby asked.

"I didn't get the impression she did. But with her you never know. She lies faster than a horse can run," Sam countered.

"That's a given in her trade," Bobby agreed. "Well, I can ask around. I've got a few connections that might know what it is," he added and took the box with him into the livingroom, where he put it down on the dining table next to a stack of books. "Doesn't look like much, does it?"

"Not really, no. And it looks fairly new too," Sam agreed.

Bobby had thought that too, but that still didn't explain what was in the damned thing. "Is that what this explosive mood of Dean's is all about?" he asked and glanced up at Sam.

"I never could lie worth a damn to him," Sam said with a small sigh. "He knows I'm hiding something. And I know it bugs the hell out of him that he doesn't know what it is."

"Well, you know your brother better than anyone, Sam. You decide when it's time to tell him. Because I don't want him moping around the house for the next few days," Bobby said. "Go get settled. I've got a few leads on possible demon activity," he added.

Sam nodded, disappeared into the hallway to get his duffle and moments later the stairs creaked when he ascended to the first floor.

Bobby eyed the box for a moment, then pulled his cap off and raked his fingers through his hair. Anything John had decided to keep could potentially spell the end of the world. And Sam was right. That thing could very well be a Pandora's box. Since Bela Talbot was on its tail now, it would definitely be best to find out what it contained and how they could get rid of it for good.

Fortunately, Bela knew better than to turn up on his doorstep and try to steal something from him. She had tried it once when a customer had been after one of his rarer grimoires that he kept hidden away. She had gotten a nasty surprise that had taken almost half a year to clear up again and he had always suspected that she had disappeared abroad because of it.

***

Dean turned around to face Sam when he stepped into the room and he took a moment to eye his brother in a way that he knew made Sam uncomfortable. Anything would do to make him spill the beans. "You're hiding something," he accused him again.

Sam dropped his duffle on the mandatory bed closest to the window, gave Dean that look that spelled major discomfort, then sat down on the edge. "No," he persisted.

"Have it your way," Dean countered and left the room. The cold shoulder act was the best way to make Sam cave in. The longer he thought Dean was angry with him for not telling him what was on his mind, the sooner he would open his damned mouth and share. Dean grinned to himself, impressed with his own cleverness, while he headed down the stairs and into the livingroom that also served as a library. Hell, most of this house was a damned library. Every room had bookshelves crammed full of books as old and dusty as time itself.

Bobby was on the phone, an antiquated thing he'd probably had since the phone was invented, and whoever he was talking to had his undivided attention right now.

A quick glance around showed nothing interesting apart from the usual litter of knickknacks that Bobby collected. Apart from books that had answers to literally everything in life – apart from his little problem, of course – Bobby also collected anything that was even vaguely supernatural in nature. There were boxes, symbols, spheres and other stuff everywhere. Most of it didn't mean squat to Dean and mostly he couldn't care less if he tried. If it helped him do his work, he was all for it. The rest be damned.

Sam had always been fascinated with all this stuff. From the very first time they had set foot in this house, he had always spent time trailing around the house, looking at things, picking things up. Dean remembered one particular incident...

***

Twenty years earlier

"I'm in over my head here," he heard dad saying to Mr. Singer in the other room. Dean flinched. He hated hearing his dad say something like that. It wasn't good when dad was in over his head.

To distract himself away from the conversation in there, Dean glanced around to find his brother. Sam was four and into everything. It was impossible to keep his hands off stuff he shouldn't touch. "Sam?" he called quietly.

Something rattled over in one corner and Dean glanced toward the towering bookshelf there and the fact that his brother was literally hanging off one shelf, reaching for something on one of the upper shelves.

"Dammit, Sam, get down from there," Dean snapped and rushed over to grab Sam's dangling legs. "Let go. Get down from there," he insisted.

"But I wanna see," Sam whined, using Dean's added support to reach for whatever he had seen.

"You're not supposed to climb on other people's furniture, Sam. Let go. Dad's gonna be pissed," Dean persisted. It always worried him when Sam stepped out of line and dad got mad. He hated the tense feeling that caused in the pit of his stomach. "Sam, let go!" he demanded.

"I can almost reach it," Sam insisted and pulled up a little further.

"No, Sam. You'll break something," Dean growled and yanked him downwards. This of course resulted in that Sam, who was clinging to one shelf, tipped said shelf and a sea of old books tumbled down over them as they both fell to the floor. Sam was hit by one of the bigger books and started crying.

"Let me see," Dean said and pulled his hand away from his brow. There was a gash there and it was bleeding. Dean made a face and glanced around for something to cover the gash with.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Dad sounded pissed and Dean flinched in response before glancing up at him.

"I was trying to get Sammy a book he wanted to see and the shelf ..." Dean started.

"How many times do I have to tell you boys not to touch anything when we're in other people's homes?" dad demanded angrily.

"It's okay, John. No harm done," Mr. Singer said and eyed the mess they had made with a slight frown. Then he focused on Sam, who had stopped crying the second dad had turned up. "Looks like you got yourself a bump on the head there, young man," he added, picked Sam up and sat him on the dining table. "Let's take a look at that, shall we?" he said and smiled and Sam responded in kind.

Dean, however, ducked his head at the glare dad gave him. "Dammit, Dean," he growled, then stepped over to the dining table to inspect the gash on Sam's brow.

"Sorry dad," Dean muttered.

"It's not so bad, kiddo. It won't even leave a scar," dad said to Sam, who glanced at Dean with a somewhat unhappy look. "I'm really sorry about this. He just can't keep his hands off stuff," dad added to Mr. Singer.

"It's no big deal, John," Mr. Singer insisted and glanced back at Dean. He gave him an encouraging smile and winked at him, obviously well aware that Dean hadn't been the one out of line, and that helped a little. It was just the look in dad's eyes that Dean didn't like at all. He didn't mind taking the blame, though. Sam was still a little kid and couldn't be held responsible for all the stupid stuff he got into.

"Dad?" Sam said and the tone of his voice indicated exactly what was going to happen next.

"What Sammy?" dad asked back while pressing a handkerchief against the cut on Sam's brow.

"Dean didn't do that. I did," he said. Dean flinched. "I just wanted to see that," Sam said and pointed.

Dad glanced up at the upper shelves and frowned. "The skull?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, his tone timid.

For a moment dad did nothing. He just stood there and stared into space. Then Mr. Singer grabbed the crystal skull and handed it to Sam, who forgot all about his cut and inspected the coveted item with wide eyes.

Dad sighed, made a face and hunkered down in front of Dean. "Why'd you take the blame?" he asked quietly.

Dean glanced at Sam. "He's still so little," he countered and that pulled a smile from his father.

"You're not that much older, Dean," he said and ruffled Dean's hair. "I'm glad you're there to watch out for Sammy, sport. You did good," he added.

***

It was one of those times that stood out in Dean's mind.

"You alright?" Bobby asked. He had ended his conversation and was watching Dean closely.

"Yeah, fine," Dean countered. "So ... another demon down and what? About one hundred and ninety to go?"

Bobby eyed him for a moment. "I've got a few leads on what looks like demon activity," he said, ignoring the question, which Dean wasn't really expecting an answer to anyway. "Could be something else, though," he added and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Right. Like whatever bug is up Sam's ass right now," Dean countered and smirked when Bobby gave him a brief glare. "Sorry. Wrong choice of words," he added. "But there is something going on with him right now. He's hiding something. He didn't tell you, did he?"

Bobby made a face and picked up a bunch of papers. "Take a look at this and tell me what it says to you," he said, again ignoring Dean's question.

Dean sighed and took the papers. "Sure. Why not. It's not like there's anything better to do right now anyway, is there?" The pages were copies of newspaper articles, from different towns, all reporting odd occurrences. Dean pulled out a chair and sat down to read through them more carefully. It was obvious at this point that if Bobby knew something, he wasn't sharing.

"I talked to Ellen earlier," Bobby said.

"Yeah? How's she doing? Haven't heard from her in a bit," Dean countered without looking up. It took him a moment to register that there was something odd about Bobby's tone, though. He glanced up and eyed the older hunter for a second. "Something wrong?"

It would seem that something was wrong, judging by the serious expression on Bobby's face. "You could say that," he agreed. "She thinks Jo is possessed," he added.

That caused Dean to frown. "Possessed?" he asked. "Why ..." He trailed off and arched an eyebrow. "Of course, she would know, wouldn't she?" he muttered and rubbed the back of his neck. "Did she say anything about how it happened?"

"No, I don't think she knows," Bobby countered. "She's called in some assistance. Some guy who's good at exorcisms. She was a little rattled. Looks like Jo stuck her nose in something she shouldn't have."

Dean cleared his throat. "Sounds like Jo alright," he muttered and sighed. "Should we look into it?"

"No, I think she's got it covered," Bobby said and glanced toward the door. "She said she'd call if she needed help."

Dean sent a look over one shoulder and eyed Sam. He noted that Sam was looking at something and glanced in the direction of the dining table. There were loads of books and knickknacks on the table along with ... Dean frowned. He had seen that box somewhere before. Probably on a shelf somewhere in the house, he mused.

"Shouldn't we help her? I mean ..." Sam said, but Dean rose and turned to face him.

"No, she's got it covered. We have other demons to tend to," he said, strode over toward the hallway and in passing picked up the box.

"Where are you taking that?" Sam asked.

His tone alone disclosed more to Dean than any words did and he stopped short in the doorway to the hall before turning back to face his brother. "This?" he asked, holding it up. "What do you care? It's just a box."

Sam looked decidedly nervous now, which made Dean wonder what the box was. "Uh ... well ... not exactly," he said, flinched and glanced at Bobby for help.

Dean was beginning to catch on to that this box was somehow involved with what Sam was hiding. He frowned lightly, then focused on the box. It was plain and simple, nothing special. He turned it over and inspected the bottom of it, noting what looked like initials carved into the wood, then righted it again and tried to open the lid.

"DON'T!" Sam yelled and literally threw himself forward to rip the box out of Dean's hands.

Dean, who was hard to take unawares at any point in time, stared at Sam with nothing short of stunned surprise. "What the hell?" he asked.

With the box now securely pressed against his chest, Sam stepped backward out of Dean's reach. "Look, you can't open it. It's ... probably a curse-box," he said. "We don't know what will happen if you open it and ..."

"It's a plain box. There are no inscriptions on it, no chains around it, no lock on it. Why the hell should that be a curse-box?" Dean demanded. A few things were clicking into place now. Sam's odd behavior, the way he had been since they'd left the storage place.

The decidedly unhappy expression on his brother's face supported that suspicion tenfold. "Because ... it was among dad's curse-boxes, Dean. I just ... it ... I couldn't ..."

Holding up one hand, Dean took a step toward him. "Stop it," he cut him off. "Stop lying to me, Sam. What the hell is that thing? Why did you take it with you? And what's in it?"

"I'm not lying," Sam said, sounding hurt and angry at the same time. "It's just ..." Again he glanced at Bobby, who shrugged lightly.

"It's just what?" Dean demanded.

A deep sigh and a tensing of his features always spelled the end of the secrecy and Dean honestly could not imagine what came next. "While we were in Silver Rapids ... you know ... when I went to get breakfast ..."

"You did that every damned morning we were there," Dean growled. "Don't remind me. It's the last time I send you out for breakfast," he added with contempt, then focused on the box. "Get to the point, Sam."

Sam glanced at Bobby and sighed again. "I ran into Bela," he finally said. "Well ... she sorta ran into me."

Dean blinked. "You ... ran into Bela?" he asked and Sam nodded. "And she gave you that thing?"

The surprise on Sam's face was almost cute. He generally looked like Dean had slapped him. "No! She wants this box. Badly," he countered and looked down at it himself. "Very badly," he amended.

"How badly?" Dean asked.

"She's been offered an eight figured amount for it," Sam said. "Or so she told me. She described it, wanted me to get it for her. She offered me a cut."

The fact alone that Sam had stuck around long enough to even talk to that bitch was beyond Dean. "A cut? Of an eight figured amount? What'd she offer you?"

Sam grimaced. "Two," he muttered and eyed Dean closely.

"Two what? Million?" Dean asked and Sam nodded. "She offered you two million dollars for a box from dad's stash?" Again Sam nodded. "For a box? A curse-box?"

"Yes, Dean, for this box. Which is why I ... I didn't want to tell you because I know how you feel about her and ... well ..." Sam tried, but trailed off.

Dean snorted. "I should have shot her the last time we saw her ... hell, we should have left her to that frigging ghost. And now you're telling me that she's on our tail because of a damned cruse-box?"

"Yes," Sam agreed.

Dean mulled that over in his head for a moment, trying to get to terms with the fact that the most aggravating and recklessly dangerous woman he had ever come across in his life was right now searching for what Sam was holding in his hands. She had proven her deadly intent before and that hadn't been for a seven figured amount. "Well, if she turns up, I'm going to put a damned bullet in her head and be done with her once and for all. That bitch!"

"Shooting her won't accomplish anything," Bobby said.

"Oh yes it will. It'll give me peace of mind and it will make sure that she doesn't kill Sam to get that frigging box. So don't tell me it won't accomplish anything. She's a menace. She has no damned clue what she's dealing with or what her thieving ways are doing to those that try to protect this frigging world from being overrun by demons," Dean snarled. He was pissed off in a big way right now. The mere mention of Bela could raise his hackles on a good day. To realize that she had tried to bribe Sam into giving her something that rightfully belonged to their father ... whatever the hell it was ... made him furious. And then he focused on Sam. "You should have told me right there and then. I could have taken her out right away."

"Dean, killing her won't change anything," Sam tried.

"The hell it will. She needs to be put down, that crazy bitch," Dean snarled, turned around and stopped again. He had intended to leave, to go outside to cool down, but something was nagging him. Feeling so tense his shoulders were already beginning to ache, he turned back to face them. "Who's LL?" he asked.

Bobby frowned. "LL?" he asked back.

"Yeah. There's a double L carved into the bottom of that box. Who's LL?" Dean repeated and shifted his attention to Sam.

Sam turned the box over and eyed it for a moment, then held it out to Bobby to see.

"No idea," Bobby said. "Could be whoever created this box, of course. Usually, curse-boxes aren't marked with the owners initials, though."

"Well, it has to mean something," Dean insisted and stepped up to Sam and took the box away from him to inspect the bottom of it. "What's in it? Why is Bela so hot and bothered about it? And who in their right mind would pay that much money for a curse-box?"

"All valid questions," Bobby said. "I think we should try and find the answers so we can destroy the damned thing before it destroys us."

"Well, I say we go to the source. I say we track down Bela and beat the answers out of her," Dean suggested.

Bobby gave him a dark look. "And what would that make you?"

"I don't have time to mess around, Bobby. I'm on the clock here. The sooner we figure this thing out, the better," Dean countered.

Sam snatched the box back. "I think I'll keep that. At least I don't lose my damned head whenever she turns up," he said.

Dean gave him a dark look and snatched it back. "I wasn't the one she stole the rabbit's foot from," he reminded his brother.

Sam made a face, then lashed out and snatched it back again. "I'm not the one she stole that damned hand from," he countered.

Bobby reached out and took the box from Sam. "Neither of you boys should run around with this box. I'll keep it here," he said. "Bela tried to steal something from me a few years back. Let's just say that she had selfworth issues for a while after that."

For a moment Dean felt like protesting, but then he sighed and let his shoulders droop a little. "Fine, you keep it. Hide it so she won't find it," he said. Sam nodded in agreement.

"I will. Don't worry. But I still think we should try and figure out what it contains," Bobby said. "I'll make a few calls," he added and glanced at Sam. "Or a few more," he corrected himself. "You two, read those pages. Some of it might be demon activity."

Dean sighed and dropped back down on the chair he had abandoned earlier. When Sam didn't react after Bobby had left the room, he shifted around a little and looked up at him. "Do as the man tells you, dude," he ordered.

Sam's expression scrunched up, but he did pull out a chair and sat down on it, although it was across from Dean.

***