Reckless [Dean Winchester]

23. Lincoln Springs, Missouri

23. Lincoln Springs, Missouri

"What the hell is this?"

I groan loudly. We've been at this since after dinner. While Sam's typing away on his laptop, Dean and I are taking inventory. Smart on my part, I actually have a pen and paper and document whatever Dean pulls out of the boxes.

Our object up for naming: a long, thin box.

"Spear of Destiny?" Dean rants. I scribble the name down. "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."

"It's probably because only they could understand the writing." I shrug. "Next." I look past our archiving to watch Sam. He seems like he's in his own little world. "Hey, Sam, you with us?"

"Yeah," he says absently. "It's uh..." He clears his throat. "Fascinating stuff. You should probably, uh, write it all down in your journal for the archives, you know?" Another clearing of the throat.

"Someone's not aware," I retort. "Dean didn't think to take notes."

"That's why you're my secretary," he mutters as he rummages through a box. "Can't do it all in one shot."

My head picks up at hearing Sam's obnoxious coughing in the next room. "You okay, Sam?"

All I get is more coughing.

"Hey, Doc Holliday, you all right over there?" Dean adds.

"Uh, yeah," Sam sputters. I swallow as I watch Sam's reaction after putting a napkin to his mouth. Don't make it a big issue right now. If Dean doesn't want to address it, do it yourself. "Um...I'm fine. Just, uh, wrong pipe."

Wrong pipe, my ass, I want to say.

"Well, hello," I catch Dean saying. "These Men of Letters weren't so boring after all. Konnichiwa."

"I'm not putting that on the list," I grumble as Dean's found, somehow, a porn magazine. I snort derisively. I keep my eyes off the rated-R pictures. "Don't know how they found any...free time."

"Hey, check this out." Dean moves away to show the magazine to Sam.

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

"Can I answer that question?" I ask eagerly. "Better yet, can you let me answer it?"

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

"No," Sam says. "Why? Do you?"

"No. Maybe. Shut up. You find anything?" Dean sits on the other side of the map table, where the trash can might be in his view. Maybe he'll see the bloody napkin.

"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."

"And how is this us?"

"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."

Dean smacks his lips. "That sounds like us."

"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."