"This is a really bad idea."

Dean glanced behind him as he backed into the nearest available spot, saving his glare for when the Impala's engine was finally silent. "You got any better plans? Were you gonna sit at the motel all day and fiddle around with your laptop until all of the cops left? This way we'll get something done and maybe be prepared for what we're gonna find tonight." Dean got out of the driver's side and slammed it shut, signaling that the conversation was over.

Sam sighed deeply, even though Dean could no longer hear him, and got out of the passenger side, making sure to duck his head as he always did. He was almost positive he had a permanent dent in his skill from all the times he had inadvertently whacked it on the doorframe. He took a few steps back and looked up at the Santa Barbara Police Department. It was a handsome building, surrounded by trees in full bloom, but he still felt a wave of unease as he looked at it. "Such a bad idea," he muttered to himself.

His older brother was waiting impatiently by the steps and Sam caught up to him with just a few strides. They entered the building, Sam desperately praying that no one who had been at the hotel earlier that day would be there to recognize them.

Luckily for them, the main entrance and the offices were nearly empty—it seemed that most of the SBPD force had been sent out for the current investigation. A few people wandered around here and there, casting somewhat suspicious glances at Sam and Dean, and Sam guessed that there were at least a dozen officers patrolling the city, but for the most part the place was silent. Sam was relieved. At least the terrifying chief was nowhere to be found.

Dean approached one of the female officers who sat behind a desk. "Excuse me, but where would we find the coroner's office?" he asked politely.

She glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. "May I ask what your business there is?"

Sam cut in quickly. "We made an appointment with the coroner. We have urgent business we need to discuss with him." He quickly flashed his badge, hoping that she wouldn't look too closely.

To his surprise, the officer just sighed deeply. "Yeah, that's Woody to a T. Doesn't inform anyone that he's meeting with the FBI and doesn't bother telling them the location of his office." She pointed back toward the other end of the building. "There's a staircase over there. Go down and to the right and you'll probably find him in the main storage room."

They thanked her and headed off in that direction. Sam looked down at Dean. "We got lucky," he said simply.

"What did I tell you?" Dean replied, smirking. Sam rolled his eyes and followed him down the steps. The smell of formaldehyde became increasingly apparent as they descended, making him wrinkle his nose. He didn't have very pleasant experiences associated with that smell—sawing open a corpse's skull to reveal a shriveled and wrinkled brain, cutting into a patient's heart on Valentine's Day… all in all, Sam would have no problem with avoiding coroner's offices as much as possible.

They approached a set of heavy swinging doors with glass partitions set into the top halves. Inside they could see the coroner's back, bent over table on the far side of the room. "Still going with the FBI angle?" Sam asked hesitantly.

Dean shrugged. "It's the only badge we have with us. Besides, we've already pissed off that boss chick enough so she'll start investigating. How much worse can it get?"

Sam pushed open the door and led the way inside the room. The smells of the death room came on stronger than ever and he coughed a bit. The sound alerted the coroner, who whipped around to look at them. Sam wasn't sure what he had expected, but this bald, bug-eyed man wasn't it. He was wearing an apron that said Kiss the Coroner with a lipstick kiss underneath the words and it was currently covered in barbecue sauce. As Sam and Dean exchanged bewildered looks, the man wiped his sticky fingers on a corner of the apron. "Welcome, welcome!" he exclaimed. "Welcome to my humble abode! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Dean approached the table where a white cloth was spread over a corpse. He lifted the top of the sheet and glanced beneath. Sure enough, it was one of the hotel victims.

The coroner almost bounced over to them, holding out a hand still covered with remnants of barbecue sauce. "I'm Woody," he said cheerfully.

"Agent McCartney, FBI, and my partner is Agent Jones," Dean said, ignoring Woody's outstretched hand and flashing his badge. Sam prayed that the coroner wouldn't inspect the badge too closely, but he didn't even seem to look at it.

"Fruitless Battles with Indigestion? That's the story of my life, gentlemen." He flashed them an embarrassed smile. "Tums just doesn't seem to cut it anymore, and neither do the margaritas."

Both of the brothers stood, baffled, for a moment. It had been a long time since someone had said something so off-the-hook that it shocked them into silence. "What the hell are you talking about?" Dean finally asked.

"Right, right. Juliet tells me that I should stop sharing personal information at work and only focus on police work. Alright. What can I help you boys with?"

Sam could see that Dean was already at the end of his rope with this guy, so he gestured to the body. "We need information on the vic. How exactly did he die? Were there any unusual things you found during your autopsy?"

Woody, far from being suspicious of the FBI's involvement in the case, looked absolutely delighted to answer. "As a matter of fact, I just got off the phone with my buddy Shawn. I did find something unusual with the body. Well, several somethings with this one. Who the hell eats baked zucchini on the same day as they eat an ice cream sandwich? That's disgusting, I tell you. But, the body itself, now that was interesting. You see the wound." He lifted the sheet himself, folding it over so the man's corpse was exposed from the shoulders up. Dean and Sam both leaned forward to get a closer look. "Now, I know knife wounds," the coroner continued, still sounding as excited as a child on Christmas, "and I can usually tell what sort of knife it is just from the cut. But this, now, was definitely made by an animal."

The Winchester brothers exchanged looks. "An animal?" Sam repeated. "What sort of animal? A bear, a dog… a wolf?"

"I'm not quite sure yet. I don't really have the experience to deduce the types of claw marks. I did, however, find a few strands of fur that I've sent in. I should be getting the results in just a few hours. My personal guess is the echidna. Not many people know this, but they are actually vicious killers. This looks like just the kind of victim the echidna would leave behind."

There was another awkward silence. Dean cleared his throat, sounding impatient. "Whatever. Anything else weird about the body? Discolorations, lacerations, smells?"

"Oh, this guy really liked his garlic and carbonated drinks, I can tell you that," Woody chuckled, covering the body again and turning back to his snack. Dean rolled his eyes once at Sam and he got the message. His brother was only seconds away from strangling this guy, and they would need to leave within the next few minutes to avoid making a scene.

"Well, thanks so much for your help," Sam said quickly, following Dean as he turned from the cold steel table. The elder brother literally had his palm on the door and was ready to push it out when the eccentric coroner caught their attention once again.

"Yessir, garlic and soda. Just the right combination to create that lovely smell of sulfur."