Supernatural: Fallen Son

Tail's Tale

'No, seriously. What the bloody hell was that?' He repeated, pounding his palms against the steering wheel of the car. Sam nodded quietly in accordance. 'I guess that we can confirm that animals have ghosts. And they're far scarier than humans.'
Dean took a quick glance at his brother. 'Well, what're we supposed to do about it? There's no way that we can just find the skeleton of some goddamn squirrel in the woods somewhere and burn it.' He ranted. Sam had an idea. 'Wait. According to the story, there was a man who ate the thing's tail - presumably meaning that his body now counts as remains of the creature. I guess that the actual body of Tailypo will have been eaten or decayed in the forest decades ago, though if the dude's in a grave somewhere, then we can salt and burn.'
'Okay. Then who's the man?' Dean further pressed - seeing a grain of hope in this idea. 'That's the problem. I have no idea. And I doubt that anyone else does either.' Sam replied morbidly.

'Yay. Research.' Dean croaked sarcastically.

About forty-five minutes later, the boys were sat at a table in the local library - under the cover of Agents Coulson & Hill again, and searching through birth and death records going right back to 1854. Apparently, two people had died in that house. One of which was a Mr Bartholdi Reddington, who died of botulism after eating some undercooked green beans - and the other was Daniel Hapmoor, who was simply labelled 'animal attack.' It looked like Dan was their guy. He was buried in a single, homemade grave in the forest. Great. At least he wasn't cremated.

Packing away the heavy, ring-bound books, Sam suddenly felt an awful pulse of static in his head. He couldn't think, and his chest lurched temporarily. Grabbing the side of a bookcase, he leaned over the floor to try to get his balance back. Gasping, he suddenly felt Dean's hands on his shoulder.
'Y'okay, Sam?' He spoke. 'Yeah. I'm fine.' He mumbled weakly. 'Are you store that you can do this?' Dean replied, audibly worried. 'Yes. I'm sure. It's not a problem.' Sam pressured, slightly frustrated with his brother now. Dean took a step backwards, and quickly finished tidying away the books as an afterthought. 'Okay, man. We should probably get going if we're gonna get going.' Dean smiled nervously. 'Yeah.' Sam agreed, and limped out of the library towards the car. Dean walked along, directly behind him. Typing on his phone, he looked for some other hunters who may be able to suggest what to do about the situation. 'You've been Garthed.' Was, surprisingly, not at all helpful.

Sitting himself down on the front passenger seat of the Impala, Sam looked downwards at his lap and panted for breath for just a minute. Snatching a quick glance through the windscreen, he saw that Dean was approaching - and so duly looked upwards, adjusted his shirt - and tried to make himself look as healthy as possible.
'Right. Let's go.' Dean said, eyeing his brother's sweating, pale form in the corner of his eye before hitting the car out of braking and into gear, then down on the gas pedal.