Before the sun even thought of breaking the horizon, the brothers were up, Sam manning the coffee machine and making eggs and toast while Dean went in and out of the bunker, making sure all their supplies were in the Impala.
Dexter awoke to the sounds of their scuffling and movements, which echoed through the early morning quiet in the bunker.
He groaned, stretching momentarily before rolling out of bed, slipping into clean jeans, flannel shirt, boots and jacket, gathering up the bag he'd prepared the night before.
He headed to his door, doing a once-over to make sure he had everything, not that there was much he could forget anyways. He double checked his notebook with all the information was in his bag. Certain everything was in order, he stepped out in to the hall.
"Alright then," Sam called as he saw him emerge from the bedroom. "We'll eat on the road. Everything's ready. Let's go."
Dexter nodded, following quickly behind Sam, who carried a cooler with what he guessed contained the food.
They went up the stairs, out of the bunker into the still-dark morning, where the Impala was parked in the drive, Dean sitting ready to go at the wheel.
Dexter got in the back seat, putting his bag beside him. Sam got in, Dean backed out from the driveway, flying away over asphalt as the engine roared to life.
Sam handed him an egg and toast sandwich wrapped in a napkin, which Dexter took, nodding. He relaxed into the back seat, eating as they drove.
He fell asleep again before the sun rose, startling awake time indeterminate later to the blaring of the radio, which Dean was singing along to.
Not bothering to complain, Dexter rolled his eyes, settling on trying to distract himself from what he found an obnoxious level of noise by rereading his notes.
Sam chuckled when Dexter sighed as the song changed again, this time to one even louder.
"Yknow, you might want to get some earplugs next time we stop for gas if music's not your thing," Sam suggested.
"Thanks, I think I will," Dexter grumbled.
"Dude, my car, my music," Dean asserted. "You don't like it, you're more than welcome to walk."
"Sorry," Dexter mumbled, gluing his eyes on a passage he'd photocopied about werewolves.
They eventually stopped for gas and lunch sometime towards noon, where Dexter mercifully was able to procure earplugs. Most of the available lunch offerings, he found too greasy and distasteful, although Dean wolfed down the most artery-clogging selections with gusto. Dexter and Sam instead ordered grilled versions of chicken dishes, retreating to eat in the car.
The rest of the day, he found more bearable, with the help of earplugs and a steely determination not to let the annoyances get to him. A hunt, he decided, his first hunt, was worth however untold many hours of low-grade torture being trapped in a car with the Winchesters presented. Just this once, to get a feel for any differences from stalking his typical targets, he assured himself, and he'd strike out alone…
They drove on as the afternoon wore into night, stopping for food and gas again once more. After so many hours, he was certain he'd memorized all the information in his notebook, so once darkness fell, he didn't bother pulling out the flashlight he'd packed, instead letting himself indulge the desire to sleep. It was easier to do this time, as at some point the music had been turned back down, allowing Sam to doze as well.
He didn't awaken until early in the morning, stopped at a gas station, when Dean and Sam switched spots so Sam could drive while Dean slept.
Dexter would've much liked to go back to sleep, the relative quiet making the idea welcoming, except by he couldn't relax because of how his back hurt from sitting in the same position for the past 15 hours. Grumbling to himself, he stretched out as much as he could across the back seat, rolling up his coat as a makeshift pillow to keep the door handle form digging into the back of his head.
He drowsed off again as they passed a sign declaring their welcome to Virginia, which stood out in the glare of the headlights. "How much longer?" He muttered, half-asleep.
"About 4 more hours," Sam replied. "You don't like long car trips, huh?"
"What? No, I just usually don't sleep in back seats is all," he grumbled.
"Yeah, well, we need to get there fast. So although we don't prefer this setup either—god knows, Dean hates anyone else driving his car, even me, but it's kinda how it needs to be if we're gonna get there in time to make any difference."
"Fine, fine," Dexter groaned, allowing the silence of sleep to swallow his mind again.
He awoke to glaring sunlight and the sound of the front door of the car snapping shut. They were in the parking lot of a motel. "Look you coming in or what?" Dean called, to which Dexter responded quickly.
"What—yeah. I'd love to change clothes."
"Fine. Come on then. We're meeting the local PD in an hour."
"Alright," Dexter muttered, righting himself, ignoring the protests of his achingly stiff limbs as he followed them into the motel room.
…
They left the room within 30 minutes, piling back into the Impala, Dean at the wheel this time.
"So, what sort of monsters do you think it is this time?" Dexter asked.
"Dunno yet, but they left a bunch of bodies completely gutted," Dean replied. "So it's damn nasty."
"Oh, OK…." Dexter trailed off as they pulled into the downtown area, driving through and then towards the other side of town from the motel, at least as far as Dexter could tell.
They pulled in to an old farm-path, stopping behind a clot of police cars that dotted the field just before the tobacco plants started.
The brothers got out, straightening the ties and jackets of the suits they wore to pose as agents.
"So uh, this is it?" Dexter asked, getting out as well despite the look Dean gave him.
"Yeah, this is where the bodies were found," Sam replied.
"So, can I go look?" Dexter asked, cursing his lack of disclosure of relevant details.
"Dude, why are you even bothering asking?" Dean scoffed. "I mean, really, no badge, you're not getting in there."
"Well, we could say he's what, a ridealong or something?" Sam suggested, which made Dexter's hope rise for a moment.
"Ride alongs stay in the car," Dean muttered. "And since when have you heard of feds doing ride alongs? I don't—"
"I'll stay behind the tape," Dexter said, holding his hands up as if he were making a peace offering. "They don't even have to know I'm here with you."
"Fine. But you keep the hell out of the way." Dean muttered as they made their way past the cop cars at the edge of the field, walking back to the police tape line that was stretched between stakes and the treeline.
"No civilians beyond this point," a man in uniform said, stepping forwards.
"We're FBI," Dean nodded, pulling his badge to show the officer, as Sam did likewise.
"Oh, sorry, you two come on in then," the officer replied hastily. "The lieutenant said you'd be coming."
"And who's this?" The officer asked, eyeing Dexter.
"That's a friend. He's studying law, wanted to get a feel for cases. Is it OK if he hangs out back there?" Sam supplied.
"I guess so. As long as he doesn't cross the line," the officer said.
"Great, thanks," Sam said as he and Dean ducked under the police tape, following the officer back towards the area the bodies had been found.
As the wind shifted, Dexter noticed the wind held an edge of death, which although he knew the bodies would have been removed a day or so before, the smell lingered.
Growing tired of waiting by the line, and of the strange looks from officers who watched it, he went back to the car.
…..
They were holed up in a diner, discussing the findings of the case while they waited to order.
Sam handed Dexter a large printout, a picture of one of the horrifically mangled bodies in it.
"This is what it left behind," he said quietly.
"It was what, eight, twelve hours from time of death when this was taken?" Dexter mused, gazing at the pictures, which he held low to the table, hoping not to attract the attention of the other diner patrons. He already had enough to worry with…
"How could you tell?" Sam asked.
"The insects in the picture. If it was longer than that, judging by how the weather is now, if nights are about 15 degrees cooler than days, there would have been more."
"How the hell'd you figure that, though?" Dean grunted.
"Y'know that biology degree? I took a course in necropsies. Same principles apply to forensics, though," Dexter lied, hoping it convinced them.
"Necropsy, huh?" Dean asked.
"Like animal autopsy," Dexter supplied.
"Oh, OK…"
"So, what would you like?" The waitress popped up, addressing Dexter first. He quickly slid the photo bac in the envelope, conscious of
"Soup, depending on what kind you have," he said.
"We have tomato with meat and vegetables today. Is that OK? And it comes with toast." She asked.
"Yeah, that's fine."
"And how about you two?" She addressed Sam and Dean now.
"I'll have a burger, all the way, and fries," Dean said.
"House salad, please," Sam nodded.
"Alright, it should be ready shortly," she returned, scribbling on her notepad as she walked off back towards the kitchen.
A few minutes later their food was out,
"Strong stomach, huh?" Dean chuckled as Dexter dug in to his soup a few minutes later, still looking at the pictures of the scene.
"What? I told you, I've done necropsies. I've seen worse. Way worse. I mean, the paper version's nothing on the real thing."
"Still that's animals, not human bodies," Sam remarked.
"Yeah, but bodies? There's not much along those lines that Iraq didn't send my way already," Dexter muttered, projecting what he hoped was stoicism.
"Yeah, true," Sam replied. "Sorry."
"Eh, can't fix the past," Dexter muttered.
"Alright, so," Dean interrupted. "I'm thinking we're gonna head to interview the mother of the one victim they've identified so far."