Sam’s head aches. Sucked back into the black hole that hunting is—driven by vengeance. He wanted out. He never wanted this. He wanted a college degree and a white picket fence, not identity fraud and impaling monsters.

He wants normalcy.

Now he’s sitting here looking up local folktales and legends to solve what’s been killing innocent people in the dead of night.

You wake up—more accurately—open your eyes after tragically finding you are unable to sleep.

You roll out of the creaky motel bed and grimace, hoping you didn’t wake the brothers. Dean is still happily snoring and…oh Sam is wide awake, sitting at the mysteriously sticky kitchen table clicking and clacking at his keyboard.

His tall figure is hunched over in that chronic 90 degree angle posture and his eyes flick up when he hears a floorboard creak.

“Sorry…Did I wake you?” He asks and lowers his laptop halfway to look at you, a gentle blue-white glow still shines on his face.

Upon close observation, you see that something is on his mind. He’s upset. Why?