Meant To Be {1} (Dean Winchester)

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Brooklyn

My feet walked over the metal floor, my hands full with a giant box. In the corner of my eye, I spotted Sam still at the map table with his laptop, doing who knows what.

It wasn't until I had walked into the library that I spotted Dean. One of the boxes sat in front of him, his hand already pulling out an object.

"You know, would it have killed these asshats to label these boxes in something other than hieroglyphics? It's ridiculous," Dean said as I walked past him, sitting the box on the table.

In the corner of my eye, I spotted Dean move his eyes away from the object in his hand and over to me. When his Body tipped slightly to the side, I knew what he was doing. With a smirk, I said, "Really, Dean? Checking out my butt when your brother's in the next room?"

My body turned, my arms crossing as I looked at him. He shrugged, tilting his head slightly as he said, "Well, it is nice to look at."

Suddenly, Sam starts coughing in the next room, sounding as if he's ready to cough up a spleen. Dean and I both look at Sam, worry in both of our eyes. "Hey, Doc Holliday, you all right over there?" Dean asked?

"Uh, yeah," Sam says, coughing into a napkin again before pulling it away. He clears his throat before throwing the napkin away. "I'm fine, just wrong pipe."

Though I'm not convinced, I'm silent and move into the map room, following Dean. He sits sideways from Sam, his chair turned to face his brother while my butt sits on the map table behind Dean.

"Did you find anything?" Dean asked?

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

Scrunching up in confusion, Dean asked, "And how is this us?"

Looking at the two of us, Sam said, "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."

I nod, smacking my lips slightly as I said, "Yup, sounds like us."

Sam nodded, "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," Dean said, making Sam chuckle and me smile with a role of my eyes.

Though we knew it couldn't be that, Sam shrugged, "I don't know. Worth a shot, though. I'll grab my gear. We should probably leave in five."

Dean nods, humming in response as Sam gets up and leaves. I'm not surprised when Dean moves his chair to face me, a playful smirk on his face. "So, we have five minutes-"

"No," I said, making Dean pout and a laugh leave my lips. My eyes move from Dean to the trash, something red inside of it. Dean must have noticed my eyes move in confusion because his head and body turned in the chair. His hand picked up the small trashcan, examining what was inside of it.

The red object was the napkin Sam had coughed in, blood covering it.

Dean let out a sigh, seeming to grow in his worry for his brother. My hand found its way to Dean's shoulder as he sat the trashcan down, hoping to bring him comfort.

Sam was getting worst and we were all worried that he wouldn't make it through this. But we had to trust that he would, or at least I had too.

We grabbed our stuff, changed into our Fed suits, before heading out to Mr. Morton's house.