falling like the stars, sam winchester [ 3 ]

043. bloody napkin

"What the hell is this? Spear of Destiny? What is this -- God's toothpick? You know, would it have killed these asshats to label these boxes in something other than hieroglyphics? It's ridiculous." Dean says. Sam nor Carly respond. "Hey. You listening to me?"

"You were talking?" Carly frowns in confusion as she looks up from her history book.

Dean rolls his eyes.

"Yeah. It's, uh... fascinating stuff. You should probably, uh, write it all down in your journal for the archives, you know?" Sam says, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, thanks. You guys are a lot of help." Dean remarks sarcastically. Sam coughs into a napkin. "Hey, Doc Holliday, you all right over there?"

"Uh, yeah. Um... I'm fine." Sam throws the napkin away. "Just, uh, wrong pipe."

"Well, hello." Dean flips through a magazine. "These Men of Letters weren't so boring after all. Konnichiwa. Hey, check this out." Dean walks over and stands next to where Sam is sitting.

"Dude, what is wrong with you?" Sam asks.

"What's wrong with me? You kidding me? This is a first edition, dude." Dean says. "You know what this would go for on eBay?"

"No. Why? Do you?" Sam asks.

"No. Maybe." Dean admits. "Shut up." He sits down. "You find anything?"

"I did, yeah. Uh, dead bodies showing up all over the Midwest last week. Benton, Indiana; Downers Grove, Illinois, uh, Novi, Michigan; and then again last night in Lincoln Springs, Missouri." Sam says.

"And how is this us?" Dean asks.

"Because each of the victims had severe burns around their eyes, hands, and feet, puncture wounds through the backs of their hands, eyes, and internal organs liquefied." Sam says.

"That sounds like us." Dean says.

"Yeah. Also, no link between any of the victims. Uh, one was a real estate agent. Another was a local historian. Woman killed last night was a teacher."

"So, chupacabra. What do we got? Power tools gone rogue? Wait-- are we talking a "Mexican Overdrive" situation here?"

"I don't know. Worth a shot, though. I'll grab my gear. We should probably leave in five."

"Mm-hmm." Dean nods, looking at the magazine.

"Unless, of course, you need some more time with Miss October." Sam says.

"What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, make it ten." Dean says. Sam chuckles. "Come on, sweetheart." He wraps his arm around Carly's waist, picking her up.

"Why?" Carly asks as Sam grabs her schoolwork.

"Because your uncle's a pig." Sam says, walking out.

+++

Sam hangs his phone up.

"So, real estate guy's wife said he was acting weird." Sam informs. "Uh, historian's hubby said the same -- just got all obsessive and then weird. No one saw any black eyes, but still, where there's smoke, you know..." He says as they walk up to the house. "I wonder what they're all looking for."

"Well, Wendy Rice here was the last person to speak with Ann, so let's see if she can tell us." Dean says. Sam knocks on the door and soon a woman with curlers in her hair opens the door.

"Special Agent Lynne. We're with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Ann Morton." Sam says.

"Oh." Wendy chuckles a bit, seeming nervous. "Uh, uh, uh, of course. Please come in."