If there was one thing Dean was good at, it was ignoring speed limit signs. The scenery hadn't been more than dark blurs and headlights quickly left behind in their periphery. Bobby answered the third time Sam dialed his home line. Apparently, he had been busy researching a Rugaroo in New Orleans for another hunter who had hit a snag.

"Sam, anyone ever tell you patience ain't your strong suit?'" Bobby's gruff voice said over the phone. Sam could hear him throw empty beer bottles into the garbage and then turn on the faucet. He imagined him grumpily puttering around his kitchen, the phone cradled against his ear as he washed dirty dishes.

"Sorry, Bobby. It's an emergency."

"You boys alright?" The immediate concern in his tone brought a small smile to Sam's face. They owed a lot to Bobby for not only looking out for them all these years but allowing them to crash at his salvage yard after their dad passed a couple of months back.

"Yeah, we're fine. Do you happen to know anything about a town named Stars Hollow?"

"Yeah, I've heard of it. Rufus and I took out a vamp nest several towns over twenty somethin' years ago. Teeny tiny town close to Hartford. Nothing supernatural ever happened there that I've heard of though. Why?"

"I think a spirit is haunting the town," Sam said, leafing through his dad's journal for anything matching what he had witnessed during his premonition, the light of his flashlight bright in the darkness of the car. That was the problem with winding, two-lane, back roads. There was never any guidance from the street lamps that cities offered.

"Didn't you two chuckleheads just finish a case a few hours ago?"

"I had one of my visions, Bobby." The line went silent for several beats. All Sam could hear was rushing water in the sink and static.

"What's he saying?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam quickly as he tried to meet his eyes and watch the road at the same time. Sam shook his head.

"You think it has to do with that damn yellow-eyed demon?"

"It has to. All my visions have been connected to it so far." Sam watched Dean glance at him again for information, waiting to be brought into the loop, not that there was much to tell. They still had nothing to go on even after Sam explained everything he saw.

"Alright, you boys be careful. I'll let you know if I find anything on your mystery ghost," Bobby said afterward.

"We will. Thanks, Bobby." Sam hung up, flipping through the pages where their dad had tracked the demon's whereabouts.

***

It was around noon when the Impala rolled past the welcome sign at the town limit. Frosted trees lined both sides of the two-lane road but the snow had been mostly cleared out of the way, allowing for safe travel into town. Sam could hear Dean sigh at the twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed requirement. Sam put his phone back in his pocket, Ash from the roadhouse, not having heard anything about a ghost in Stars Hollow either, and stowed the leather journal and his flashlight in his backpack, preparing to get out of the car. He felt Dean nudge him in the shoulder with his elbow, glancing at his brother, who pointed out the windshield.

"Dude, talk about your apple pie life," Dean laughed, shaking his head.

The boys stared out of the large windows of the Impala, taking in the bustling little town. It felt like they'd been sucked into Pleasantville from the 1950s, minus the black and white filter. People strolled down the sidewalks and streamed out of tiny shops that were most likely family-owned. The square was full of people milling around and chatting with their neighbors. Tables were spread out in front of the gazebo in the center, displaying a random assortment of belongings with a banner welcoming the shoppers to an estate sale, proceeds going toward buying new PE equipment at the elementary school.

"Now, we're talkin'," Dean said, pulling the Impala up to the curb and angling into a parking spot. He was suddenly chipper as he focused on the customers coming out of a small diner.

"Dean, we don't have time for—We're supposed to be finding out what's going on," Sam said, pulling his gun out of his backpack.

Dean waved him off. "Calm down. We can start asking around after we eat. I'm starving. My stomach's been growling since Edgebrooke."

Sam pressed his mouth into a hard line. Why did Dean's stomach always have to get in the way of the job? People were going to die, and they didn't even have the first clue as to why.

Dean finally faced him, obviously becoming impatient with his younger brother. Sam had never known how to relax. "Diners are where all the important stuff goes down. Especially in one-stoplight towns like this. Haven't you ever seen Grease or Pulp Fiction? Diner?" Sam shook his head dismissively and grumpily slid out of the car. "Dude, you gotta get out more."

Sam slid his gun into the waistband in his jeans, pulling his white plaid shirt and tan jacket over the grip of his gun. "I'm the one that needs to—" He sucked in a deep breath. "Whatever."

He followed Dean begrudgingly up the steps to Luke's Diner, a bell chiming when they opened the door. Sam's phone began ringing almost immediately. He struggled to fish it out of his pocket quickly, as a burly guy in a plaid shirt and backward baseball cap shouted about no cell phones being allowed inside the restaurant. Sam quickly made his way back outside.

"Dude," Dean grumbled after him.

"It's Ash. Just get me a salad," Sam said.

"Killjoy." Sam rolled his eyes, flipping his phone open and putting it up to his ear.

Dean made himself comfortable at an empty table in the middle of the diner, scanning the menu. He stopped halfway down the laminated page when he got to the word, 'cheeseburger' in large, bolded, letters.  The guy from behind the counter made his way over while Dean read the description of the seasoned fries. The guy cleared his throat, Dean snapping out of his reverie so he could order, glancing at the guy holding a small notepad and a pencil.

"What can I get you?" the guy grumbled.

"Cheeseburger. Whole nine yards," Dean grinned, sitting back in his chair.

"Your, uh, your friend want anything?" The guy gestured with his pencil to Sam on the phone outside.

Dean glanced quickly out the window at Sam as he stood on the sidewalk, watching customers stream into the diner. His face looked tired and exasperated. He guessed Ash hadn't found any helpful information for them. "Uh." He skimmed the salad choices, ordering the first thing on the list. "House salad," he said, handing the menus back. "Thanks, Chuckles."

The guy wrote the order down and placed the pencil behind his ear, grumbling under his breath as he made his way back behind the counter. Sam shoved himself past the customers leaving the restaurant and noticed the burly guy who yelled at him for his phone going off, giving him some serious side-eye as he slid into the seat across from Dean. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothin'." Dean watched the guy pour coffee and shout orders to someone named Caesar. "So? Find out anything?" Dean leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. The diner was crowded and noisy, and it was hard to hear anything Sam was saying.

"Well, Ash says there've been no signs of electrical storms, no cattle mutilations or crop failures. No signs of demonic possession anywhere near here." Sam dropped their dad's journal on the table in defeat. He shook his head. "I don't get it."

"Maybe your vision was wrong. I mean we'd just finished a case—"

"No. They're never wrong. I've gotta be missing something." Sam sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. He was exhausted. The little bit of sleep they'd gotten after the witch case in Virginia hadn't been exactly restful, and he'd been too anxious to sleep on the car ride.

"We'll figure it out. We always do. After we get some food in our systems, we'll start asking around. See if anyone's seen anything," Dean said, scanning the local clientele in their vicinity.

The bell chimed again, announcing the arrival of a new customer. The man at the counter faltered in his task of bussing a newly emptied table, a scowl pinching the middle of his forehead as he threw a dish towel over his shoulder and straitened up. "Go away, Taylor," he said, turning to head back to the counter, Caesar hollering that an order was ready. "I already told you 'no' this morning."

The older man sighed, shuffling toward the counter as he weaved through the tables and pushed out chairs. People had grown quieter, wanting to witness the argument that was sure to commence soon. "Luke, your father was part of the re-enactment. Surely that means something to you."

Sam's face grew pale, recognizing the older man from his vision; the image of him on horseback, directing the town's civilians and soldiers to safety in the courthouse. They were in the right place. He was certain of it now. "Dean," Sam whispered as he listened to the men argue. Luke let out a short huff, setting their food down on the table roughly, some of Dean's fries landing on the table. Dean raised his eyebrows, his mouth in a tight line. "Dean," Sam said again, louder this time.

"I know. The service here sucks," he said irritated as he shoved a fry into his mouth.

"No. That man." Sam pointed to Taylor who had followed after Luke, obviously not getting the hint. "I saw him in my vision." Dean turned around, watching the commotion play out.

"I need volunteers. This has never happened in the history of the town. This prank has everyone spooked. This re-enactment is a well-honored tradition. Take pride in where you're from, Lucus." Taylor hurried after Luke, who had gone back behind the counter, refilling a few people's mugs of coffee at the bar stools.

"Maybe people are finally realizing it's a stupid tradition, and I don't plan to get in the way of progress. It already took two hundred plus years for this town to come to its senses."

"Now, Luke. I don't think—"

"Taylor, you can either sit down and order something or get out."

Taylor sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. I'll have a slice of chocolate pie," he said, plopping down at an empty table.

"They have pie here?" Dean asked taking another bite of the burger. Sam rolled his eyes, his gaze fixed on Taylor as he waited for his pie, and tried to finish his salad.

***

The boys stood at the counter, Luke boxing up a slice of pecan pie to-go and counting out change from the old-fashioned cash register. Sam noticed Taylor heading out the door, exact change on the table where he had just been sitting a moment prior. "Keep the change," Sam said, patting Dean on the shoulder and taking off after Taylor, who was making his way down the sidewalk.

"He's in a bit of a hurry," Dean said, chuckling awkwardly at Luke, before nodding and hurrying after Sam.

"Sir!" Sam jogged after the elderly man, watching him situate an aviator hat on his head. "Sir!"

"I have a name, young man," Taylor said turning around. He stopped short, staring back at Sam, bewildered, his bushy eyebrows raised to the point that they met the fur lining of his hat. "Dean," Taylor said, his breath coming out in a wispy cloud in the cold air.

"What?" Sam asked, his forehead creased in confusion.

"I thought you left," Taylor said, rubbing the top of his head like he was trying to recall a memory.

Sam glanced behind him, realizing Dean was coming up behind him. Dean nodded, scooping up the gooey pie with a plastic fork out of the opened styrofoam to-go box in his hands. "Dude, you gotta try this," he said, gesturing with his fork to the half-eaten slice.

"You know, I don't have all day to wait on you gentlemen. I'm very busy. I have to find all new recruits for the Battle of Stars Hollow Re-enactment in a few days."

"Why's that?" Dean asked through a mouth full of pie. Sam grimaced, disgusted with his brother's lack of manners, and shook his head, focusing on Taylor.

"Well, something happened in the courthouse last night to some of the uniforms."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"They just got torn up is all. I don't believe in any of Kirk's ghost business. Probably just some high school kids playing a prank. It wouldn't be the first time. Kids these days don't know how far is too far." Taylor shook his head, pulling out a list of things he needed to get done. "Say, Dean. Do you want to participate in the re-enactment? We sure could use some strapping young men to join the fray. Show this town there's nothing to be afraid of."

"Huh?" Dean said, looking from Sam to Taylor. "Listen, pal, we just got to town like an hour ago. I'm not looking to commit to anything just yet. We're here on strict federal business. We don't have time to play dress-up. Why don't you go ask Mel Gibbson?" The boys dug out their badges, handing them to the older man.

"What business could you possibly have here? This is a quiet town. If we had federal agents coming, I'd know about it," Taylor huffed. He gathered himself up, prepared to argue.

"Something bad is here and if you don't tell us the truth, a lot of people could get hurt,"  Sam said, softening his expression, meeting the elderly man's eyes. "Please."

Taylor sighed, relenting. "The other participants and I were getting the uniforms out of storage in the courthouse and planned to clean our rifles and discuss the battle like we do every year. I remember there had been strange noises in the walls all evening. I assured the men it was probably rats or the wind since a snowstorm was expected to blow in overnight. Later in the evening, the electricity went out, so we resorted to candles while a few of us checked the breakers. When we came back, someone had destroyed the uniforms and carved the word 'murderers' into the back wall. No one claims to have seen who did it, believing it to be some invisible being." 

***

The boys headed back toward the Impala, Dean saying he'd go book them a room at the cheap motel they'd passed right outside of town after he checks the courtroom for EMF. Their conversation with Taylor had left them with more questions than answers. Sam folded up the flier Taylor had given them for the re-enactment Sunday night, just in case they changed their minds about signing up, and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

"It doesn't make sense. What does some random ghost have to do with the yellow-eyed demon?" Sam said as they made their way through the crowd in the square.

"Beats me, man. It's your freak vision that sent us here," Dean said, shaking his head.

Sam scoffed. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean grinned, sifting through the credit cards, looking for the one he'd applied for last week. "Why don't you interview some of the other witnesses and do some research and I'll meet you when I'm done?"

"Alright," Sam said, worry starting to sink in at their lack of leads. Dean patted him on the shoulder and strolled across the street, leaving him to his own devices.