The Other Winchesters

Chapter 8

Joe's PoV

So we get to go to the morgue. We were in my car, Sam driving, Cas riding shotgun, and me lying across the backseat on my back sharpening one of my knives. Now you may be wondering, Joseph, why use a knife when you can literally hurt people without laying a finger on them? Well, the answer is quite simple: I don't like being a cruel freak. I mean, that kind of comes with the territory when you're a hunter, (which I didn't ask for in the first place) but telepathically causing pain is pushing it. That's why I prefer actually weapons to my mind (which can be a weapon for anyone if you use it wisely.)

"Hey guys," I said, getting their attention to voice a concern of mine.

"Yes?"

"How do you propose to get me into the morgue? I mean, sure, you guys can pass as federal agents or whatever, but I don't exactly look old enough to be in the FBI," I said, not moving my eyes from the knife I was sharpening. They thought for a minute before Sam's face lit with an idea.

"But you do look old enough to pass for a college student that needs extra credit."

"Works for me," I replied. As I was just about to be done sharpening the knife, we hit a bump, and I dropped it. I tried to roll out of the way, but I wasn't quick enough. Surely this would be how I died one day. I can image the headlines. Teen accidentally drops knife on his face. Except this time it didn't hit my face, it just barely scraped my arm. Then it started bleeding. That's when I noticed the cut was longer and deeper than I'd originally thought.

"Aw fuck," I muttered.

"What happened," the two up front asked in sync.

"I dropped a knife on myself again." Yeah, I've done this before. I sighed and sat up in the back seat. I looked around for the first aid kit we keep back here, and I pulled it out. I got out gauze wrap or whatever the hell it's called. I felt the car stop, and I saw that Sam pulled over and was getting out. He opened my door and took the first aid kit from me.

"Give me your arm," he demanded. I did so, and he pressed something against it, I'm assuming to make it stop bleeding.

"Hold that there until I wrap this around it," he ordered. I did as I was told, and he wrapped the gauze wrap tightly around the gauze pad (I just read the packaging and found out that's what they're called.) "And try to keep your arm higher than your heart," he said as he put everything back and got back into the driver's seat.

"How often does that happen," Castiel inquired.

"Pardon," I asked, unsure of what he was referring to.

"You said you dropped a knife on yourself again. How often do you do that?" I thought about that for a minute. Dad would always scold me for being so careless, and then he'd tell my sister to go treat whatever injury I managed to give myself. It happened pretty much whenever I sharpened a knife.

"More often than I'd like it to. Probably almost every time I sharpen a knife." Castiel nodded, seemingly pleased with my answer. That dude confuses me. A lot. We pulled up to the morgue, and I pulled on a jacket to hide the bandage. That would probably be hard to explain. Sam handed Castiel what appeared to be a fake badge, and he pulled one out for himself. The three of us walked in, and when we got in, Sam held up his badge, Castiel doing the same.

"I'm special agent Jimmy Page and this is my partner special agent Travis Barker, we're here to investigate the murders that have happened over the past few weeks." The lady behind the desk looked at their badges and chuckled.

"Jimmy Page and Travis Barker? Aren't they like, famous band members or something?" Sam, sorry, Jimmy chuckled a little.

"Same name, but they're a little cooler than us." She smiled at that, and was about to lead them back when she noticed me.

"Who's the kid?"

"Oh, that's um-" Sam paused, trying to think of a name real quick, but I interrupted him.

"Frank Beard. These guys told me they'd let me tag along to get information for a school paper I have to write."

"You guys sure got some strange names. A guy from Led Zeppelin, Blink-182, and ZZ Top all find each other and decide to hang out. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. Anyway, follow me, I'll lead you guys back there." We did, and the sight I saw was one of the worst I've seen yet. The men's throats were ripped out, eyes gouged out, fingernails bloody, no tongues, and it looked like all of their hair was ripped from their scalps.

"This'll surely get you an A+ on that paper. I'll leave you boys to do what you need to do."

Jen's PoV

Whatever this thing was, it made a huge mess. The sidewalk and side of the building were stained with blood. The door was closed.(wow! So surprised!) Dean went to kick it down, Billie stopped him and went to pick the lock, and I came up with the obvious idea.

"Guys, did you even check to see if it was locked in the first place?" They looked at me like I just said something along the lines of "Did you know that guitars have strings?"

"Of course it's locked. Why wouldn't it be," Dean replied, going to prove his point by twisting the handle. When he did that, the door opened. I just shook my head and walked in, the guys still standing there with their mouths open.

"Catching flies, are we?" They both huffed and followed me in.

"It smells odd in here, almost like rotten eggs," Billie observed. It did, but the smell was all too familiar.

"Sulfur," Dean and I said at the same time.

July 29, 2015