"That one was easy," Dean stated merrily, folding his jacket and tossing his fake CDC badge to the metal box with all the other fake badges, "could be cooler, though. I'm not surprised the poor dude boiled alive."
Sam did not seem to be affected by the withering weather; he squinted at the file of printouts in front of him.
"Yeah, I guess we were lucky this time. People get wonderfully cooperative when they suspect a contagious disease. Or perhaps it is a disease."
Dean frowned dubiously.
"Hey, the doctors, I mean real doctors, not sexy doctors like us, would know something, right?"
Sam just gave him his usual mild bitchface.
"Hey, you're the geek, you tell me. How hard is it to notice a virus or something?" the older Winchester pressed.
"A virus? I don't know. It takes a dozen hours or so, with the DNA isolation, PCR and so on... The same with bacteria. Detecting a microscopic parasite could take more if its an unknown species..."
For a moment Dean looked like he wished he hadn't asked. He slumped onto the car seat and immediately jumped out.
"Jesus, like an oven..." he muttered.
"I told you to park in shade. Now we'll have to leave the door open and wait."
The older Winchester gave out a groan of disappointment.
"And the widow is waiting..." he sighed.
"Dude, that' sick."
Dean's face assumed an expression of injured innocence.
"C'mon, you know I wouldn't. You know me!" he tried to defend himself.
"Exactly. I know you."
xXx
Dean really didn't. The widow was indeed 27 and of eastern origin, but there was nothing of a busty Asian beauty in her. She was short and skinny, and she was a role model of tranquility and modesty. Her voice was low and flat (well, her voice wasn't the only thing about her that Dean found too flat) when she explained what had happened to her husband:
"He got back from a trade delegation on Sunday afternoon. At first he seemed normal. He just had this terrible headache, but we thought it was a sunstroke. He drove for a long time and there was this heat wave.." she made an odd, choking sound and reached for her tea; her hand was trembling so much that when she was putting the cup back, it rattled against the plate, "but on Monday afternoon... It was strange," she trailed off.
Sam grunted. Obviously it was him who had to lead the questioning; his brother was still a bit sullen about the lack of a real-life busty Asian beauty.
"Please, ma'am. We understand that the situation is difficult, but we need all the information you can provide. No detail is too small."
The woman clapped her hands on her lap; except for inclining her head slightly she was straightened up and almost immobile; her knees pressed together, her breath silent and even, her hair tied in a neat bun, a beige cardigan hanging loosely from her skinny shoulders. She looked like a doll.
"It was this woman he kept talking about... At first he mentioned her once or twice... But on Tuesday it was worse. He called in sick; he still had this terrible, terrible headache. Tuesday evening he was like in trance, like he was crazy. He kept saying that she was beautiful. That he had to join her. And the headache was getting worse. He had fever. We went to hospital and..."
The Winchesters exchanged a knowing look. Witches were a nasty business, but at least they were getting somewhere.
"So, uhm, mrs. Vine," Sam surreptitiously wiped sweat from his forehead. AC in this house was obviously not efficient enough to cope with the pestilent heat, "do you believe your husband was having an affair and that his mistress might have... Hurt him?"
"No!" the woman moaned querulously, suddenly looking straight into Sam's eyes. "Forgive me, mr Ward, mr Butler, I forgot myself," she bowed again.
Dean nodded, trying to look compassionate.
"Please, ma'am...Why do you find this idea unlikely? I am sorry to say that, but many happily married men have their secr..."
He clammed up, having noticed tears filling mrs. Vine's eyes.
"Please, misters, I really want to help David..." she whimpered, "I really want to help, but..."
The younger Winchester was sure that the heat was not the only factor making him sweat. The glance he exchanged with Dean was more worried than knowing this time.
"Mrs. Vine, please tell us everything you know."
"Miss, if you are withholding any information crucial to maintaining public safety and health..." Dean horned in with this professional-threatening, growling edge in his voice that was his trademark. Mrs Vine curled up with a moan and full-on burst into tears. Sam threw his brother a glare that was answered by a somewhat apologetic shrug.
"I'll tell you." the woman wailed from somewhere above her knees, where she was still hiding her face in her palms, "but please don't tell anyone from the government."
Dean sent his brother a triumphant smirk.
"Of course there was someone," mrs Vine wiped her eyes with an impossibly white cotton handkerchief, still sniveling, "But it could not be a woman. Never. You see, misters... David was a homosexual. After I came to America we met and we really liked each other. He was so good for me. He treated me like a sister. Then I had this trouble... But it was not a really bad fake marriage" she assured fervently "We loved each other very much. Like a brother and a sister. This is why I was surprised when he kept speaking about a woman. It is impossible. It was something evil..." she chirped a Chinese word none of the brothers knew, then frowned looking for an English equivalent "A demon."
xXx
"A witch. A demon. A virus. Awesome." Dean flung himself onto cold sheets, relishing in the cool breeze provided by air conditioning, "Four vics, three hypotheses and no beers in the fridge. I hate my life."
He gave his brother a dubious once-over as Sam was getting down to work. How could he even find the strength to unpack and switch on his laptop when all Dean managed to do was tossing off the sweat-soaked shirt and reeling a mantra of profanities in his mind?
"Dude, seriously?"
The younger Winchester just waved him off, fully focused on the screen.
After a couple of minutes he let out a haughty "hmm". At least Dean thought it was haughty, because he couldn't stand the idea that his little brother had more stamina than him and automatically started hating Sammy for it. Just a little bit.
"What?"
"Well, posing as CDC paid off. We know their every move. I've checked the GPS record and testimonies and collated their whereabouts from the week before their deaths. It seems that all victims drove through the same section of a road three days before their deaths. 72 hours, precisely."
"Huh... That's something."
Sam frowned and nibbled on his knuckle, staring intently at the screen.
"Dean, I don't know. What if it really is a disease? The way they died... It doesn't look like a curse. They died of high fever. Witches don't kill with fever. Neither do demons. Nothing we know kills with fever. We might shoot into something really nasty that totally isn't our kettle of fish."
"No way," Dean sat up, "now that we finally know something you wanna crap out? It's no virus. No way a virus would cause dudes to drop dead precisely 72 hours after infection. And why would they all kick the bucket around noon?"
The younger Winchester jolted to full alertness having heard these words.
"Dean, you're a genius..." he muttered, typing something frantically and before Dean could come up with a witty comeback, Sam sat back and crossed his hands behind his head with an exclamation of triumph.
"Noon. They died exactly at noon. Solar noon."
