Losing You

The Dreams

Thumbing through yellowed book pages in a cozy library was one of your favorite pastimes, even when it involved tales of spirits and violent murders and the mundane details surrounding the plots. The thrill of tantalizing horror stories was a sweet addiction since childhood, one only fueled by your repeated encounters with ghosts and their tragic histories in your everyday life and then ending their distressing stories with a stroke of salt and flame. Your job was poetic in that way.

On this particular hazy afternoon, the story was of a man who had lost everything and quite literally. His entire house and family went up in flames because of unnecessary bigotry. Everything reduced to ashes, his spirit haunted the home now standing in place of what was once his. The kicker in this case was figuring out what his spirit was tied to, considering that he had lost everything. He died days after the fire, in an imaginably peaceful coma, lying in a hospital bed. His body was cremated.

So you cozied up for an afternoon of family records, locally-authored ghost stories, and a cinnamon dulce cappuccino from the library's cafe, all to help you put the puzzle pieces of the case together. Your oversized sweater hung off one shoulder and your legging-clad legs were tucked underneath you in the sticky leather arm chair. Your hair was successfully finagled into a messy bun and the books were lazily scattered onto the floor around you. The atmosphere was positively prime for a period of uninterrupted studying.

Hushed voices were not unheard of in the library, and usually they were ignorable, but the particular ones tapping on your eardrums presently were awfully close and slightly irritated. You wouldn't have looked up except you realized they were coming from the sections where you had grabbed your books. You nudged your black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of your nose and surveyed the two men standing down the aisle.

They were both tall, but one was taller and, as if to accentuate his greater size, he had let his hair grow out to an unmentionable length that sat soft and flowing on his shoulders. He continued to scan the shelves while the other let his arms fall to his sides with a soft clap onto the leather jacket. He seemed to have given up on whatever they were searching for.
The gloriously-maned one glanced in your direction and hadn't really noticed you, but then his eyes fell to the books around you, piquing his interest. You dropped his gaze and returned to the home records in your lap.

Slowly but surely, the two men inched their way down the row towards you. A glance up here or there revealed their movement and the taller one's plan and the leather-jacketed man's unawareness. Eventually they were close enough to read the titles on the book spines.

Without looking up this time, you heard a throat clearing and a hey-pay-attention elbow jab and an ow-what and then silence that could only be finger-pointing and slow realization.

"Excuse me, miss."

The hazel eyes standing much closer to you now were like green, brown, and blue cherries atop a very tall, silky-haired sundae.

"Yes?" you whispered.

"I couldn't help but notice that my brother and I came to the library to read the exact same set of books as you." Sundae Man spoke kindly and with an air of know-how and innocent charisma.

You rested the book on your lap, the corner of your mouth twitching upwards, the movement reaching to the corner of your eyes. "I usually work alone, but sometimes I make exceptions. Y/N, Restless Spirit Specialist, at your service."

You extended a exaggerated, welcoming grin instead of a handshake as you were still seated and in an extremely comfortable position.

With an amused huff and a sunshine smile, the man of formalities extended his right hand to you. "Pleased to meet you, Y/N. I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean."