Chapter Three

"Dude, this guy's loaded," Dean said under his breath as he and Sam waiting in the living room for John and Marshall to grab their beers from the kitchen. Sam turned to his brother and saw he was leaning over a fairly extensive movie collection that stood in a rack next to a big screen television. Leave it to Dean to judge a man's wealth on the number of movies he owned. Though Sam had to admit, the big screen was another good indicator, not to mention the surround sound speakers in every corner of the room. The guy sure knew how to live in style. "Who knew ex-military made this much…"

"They don't," Marshall's voice said cheerfully, though it still cause Dean to jump slightly and turn around, a sheepish look on his face. Sam held back a snicker as he turned to see Marshall holding on to a beer in one hand and two root beers in the other. "June's a doctor. Nutritionist actually. She makes the big bucks. I just reap the benefits." He grinned widely and held out the root beers. Sam took them and handed one off to Dean, who took it but merely held it in his hands, twisting the bottleneck, not really feeling like drinking anything carbonated at the moment.

"Thanks," Sam said before looking around. "You have a nice home."

Marshall chuckled and gestured for them all to take a seat. John had already plopped down on the couch. Sam took a loveseat next to it and Dean pulled a chair out from the desk in the room and did the same. "I shouldn't take the credit," he said, sipping at his beer. "My wife did most of it. But I got to pick the toys," he said with a nod towards the entertainment system.

"Why don't you tell us what's been going on lately," John said, leaning forward, setting his beer down on the coffee table.

Marshall snorted but did the same. "Impatient as always," he chided before leaning back in the couch and sighing. "I wouldn't have called, but Clint gave me your number, said you helped him with something like this. What are you now, a detective?"

John smiled and shook his head. "Something like that," he gave softly, knowing Marshall was skirting around the issue. "Tell us what's going on."

Unable to avoid the topic anymore, Marshall's happy attitude seemed to slowly fade away as he started picking at the label on his beer. He didn't make eye contact with any of them as he started talking. "Normally I wouldn't have gotten involved. But, it's happening so close to home that I just wanted to make sure my family was safe when I wasn't around, you know?" John gave an understanding nod. "I mean, five people go disappearing within four months? Something weird's gotta be going on, right?"

"Maybe," John gave. "What about the howling, and the symbols you said were on the doors?"

"Well I haven't seen any of the symbols," Marshall said with a shrug. "But I've heard the howling a couple of times. I thought they were coyotes. I just never knew coyotes could get that…deep."

"Deep?" Dean chirped from where he was seated. Marshall glanced over at him as if he'd forgotten he was even there.

"Sure," he nodded absently. "Really low, gruff almost. Had to be a big sucker to make that kind of noise."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look while John went on. "And you heard them out here in the woods?" he asked.

"Yeah," Marshall chuckled and looked at John, the smile back in his face again. "June's been hounding me to start carrying a gun again. I don't even think I still know how to fire one," he said with a shake of his head.

"Sure you do," John added lightly. "Like riding a bike."

Marshall laughed. "Never knew how to do that, either." The man frowned before looking at John with question in his eyes. "Why are you asking about the howling?"

John shrugged, trying to look oblivious. "Just have to get a good idea of the situation. It might not be anything more than a wild animal."

"What kind of animal leaves symbols on people's doors?" Marshall asked skeptically. John wasn't going to answer. He knew what kind it was, but he also knew that if he told Marshall this, the man would either freak or kick them out of his house. He didn't want either.

John looked over at his sons. Sam was watching Marshall with intense interest in his eyes, or was that scrutiny? He couldn't tell. Either way, he was glad to see that his son was staying alert, taking in the details. Dean was slouching slightly in his chair, one arm across his stomach. He looked tired, but he too was watching Marshall, although with a bit less intensity than his younger brother. Dean must have felt John's eyes on him because he glanced over at him. The two stared each other down for a moment, trying to read what the other was thinking. In just a few seconds, John concluded that Dean was thinking along the same lines as he was. It was sounding more and more like they had a werewolf on their hands.

"Can you tell us whose gone missing?" John asked, looking back at Marshall.

The ex-Marine took a swig of his beer, finishing it off and placed it on the table. "Well, five from town. Two high schoolers, a kindergarten teacher, some guy who'd just moved in, and a retired Jar-Head like ourselves." Marshall shook his head. "I never knew the guy, but you know, you kind of feel like you do. I mean, we went through the same shit." John smiled encouragingly. "I could get you their names if you want."

"That'd help," John said as Marshall rose to go to the desk.

Dean stood to let the man get out some paper and a pen. As he was writing the names down, he turned to look up at Dean. "Peter would love that jacket of yours," he said, referring to his son. Dean looked down at himself and then back up at the man, looking suddenly self-conscious of what he was wearing. He frowned at the man, trying to figure out if there was an insult there. But he couldn't find one. "He's been getting into the whole James Dean look," Marshall continued oblivious to the questioning look he was garnering from Dean. "Likes the feel of leather, I guess." Marshall handed the paper to John with a nod and a grin.

It looked as though Dean was about to say something, but John cut him off before he could. "So there hasn't been any sign of the people who have gone missing?"

"Actually," Marshall said, crossing his arms over his chest. "They've found something since I called you last week."

"What was it?" John asked, stuffing the paper into his shirt pocket and motioning for Sam and Dean to get up, they were ready to leave.

"A foot."

In the car on the way to the morgue, Sam was wondering if he was ready for something like this. He'd thought he was. He'd thought hunting a werewolf would be something new, something that he actually would like to say that he'd done. Werewolves had always scared him when he was a kid. When they were little, Dean used to make him watch werewolf movies all the time and Sam had grown to both fear them and be fascinated by them. He found it an odd, and frightening, thought that he would actually enjoy putting a bullet into one.

But the thing about this hunt that Sam wasn't looking forward to was having to look at a crudely amputated human foot. He'd seen a lot of blood in his days, none of it pleasant. But the worse was always blood that was human, no matter if they were living, dead, or somewhere in between. But this one would be bad, he could tell. This blood was from someone Sam had never met, someone who had come to a horrible and torturous fate, someone who had their foot cut off. And possibly other extremities. He didn't know if he'd be able to handle it.

As John pulled up in front of the morgue, he turned to look at Dean, who had his arms folded across his stomach, his head leaned against the door, and a grimace on his face. John was guessing he still didn't feel well, but so far Dean had been handling it pretty well. "You going to tough this out?" he asked, his voice a bit colder than he meant. Great idea, John, he thought to himself. Make it seem like you don't care. He tried to soften his gaze, but apparently Dean didn't even register that he'd said it sourly at all. Instead, his son sat a bit straighter in his seat and turned dull eyes to look at him.

"I'm good," he said, not waiting for his father to say anything more as he pushed open the car door and climbed out. He doubted that Dean was good, but he knew there was really no point in arguing right now. He needed Dean's help, that's all there was to it. John sighed and turned his head to look at Sam, who was gazing at his brother with worry. He was proud of the way his sons looked out for one another. He wished there was a way he could tell them that.

"Ready?" he asked instead and Sam's gaze snapped to him. His youngest looked a little paler than normal and he could see him swallow and then nod. "Don't hurl," John said, meant as a joke but Sam just stared after him. He thought for a second about making Sam stay in the car, but quickly decided against it. Sam had to be broken into this sometime. In their line of work, having a strong stomach was part of the job description.

"Sammy won't hurl," Dean said as they climbed out of he car. Sam shot a glare at him and saw his brother was smiling gently back. At first he was touched that his brother was defending him. But then, the smile turned into a malicious grin. "He might faint, but he won't hurl."

"Shut up," Sam snapped, now more determined than ever to prove to his family that he could do this. No way was he going to give Dean something to tease him about for the rest of his life. He already had enough, he didn't need something else to hold above Sam's head.

John pulled out two fake ID's from a bag in the trunk and tossed one at Dean, who fumbled to catch it. John frowned at him. Dean didn't seem to take any notice of his poor motor skills as he flipped open the ID and grinned. "National Wildlife and Preserve," he read out loud. "Oh how fun," he said sarcastically before looking up. "What about Sam?"

"You're following us around for a high school project," John said absently as he walked towards the door. "Job shadowing."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean turned and grinned at him. "Aww, well I'll show you the ropes, little man. Got your pen and paper ready? You'll need to take notes."

"Fuck off," Sam spat, only making Dean's grin wider. Sam sneered at his brother and as soon as Dean had turned back around, he jumped forward and stepped on the heel of Dean's shoe. Dean gave a yelp and turned around to grab Sam, but he had already dashed out of the way and was running to catch up with their father, who was pretending not to notice the exchange. Dean was forced to stay back and fix his shoe before he followed after them, death intent in his mind.

But all joking was quickly pushed aside as they entered the morgue and John stepped up to the front desk, which was currently unoccupied. Dean gave his brother a harsh punch to the arm, which Sam had to stifle a yell of pain from. He grabbed his arm and grit his teeth to keep from swearing. Dean just went to stand next to their father at the desk, pretending he didn't know what happened. When it seemed no one was going to come and help them, Dean leaned over the small wall of the front desk and rang the bell sitting there. John scowled at him but didn't say anything.

After only a brief wait, a door to their side opened and a young woman wearing a green smock and gloves came rushing out. Something was smeared on her smock and Sam didn't want to chance a guess as to what it was. He really didn't want to know. The woman looked young. She was well manicured and had light brown hair. She greeted them with a smile as she was pulling her gloves off.

"Hi," she said, coming around to them. "Can I help you?" Her eyes drifted over each of them.

"Yes," John said very sternly. He pulled out his ID and Dean did the same. "National Wildlife and Preserve. I'm John, this is my partner, Dean." The woman looked at Dean, her eyes sizing him up. "This is Sam, he's shadowing me today, pretend he isn't even there." John smiled, trying to joke with the woman, to maybe loosen her up so she wouldn't ask too many questions. She chuckled and smiled at Sam, who returned the gesture. "We're investigating the disappearances in town here. We've been informed that you may have a body for us."

The woman snorted at that. She held out a hand and John reached to shake it, then Dean did the same. "Nicolette," she gave. She looked at John again. "Why is Wildlife and Preserve looking into the disappearances?"

"Well, Nicolette," Dean said before John could get it out. He smiled warmly at her and Sam knew that his brother was turning on the charm. Leave it to Dean to try and charm the coroner. "Local law enforcement likes to look into all possibilities. We're here to rule out any animal attacks." Sam was actually impressed with Dean's ability to bullshit even when he was deep in the stages of flirting.

Nicolette smiled. "Well I'm pretty sure we can rule it out," she said, her eyes not leaving Dean's face. Sam frowned. Was she blushing? Sam couldn't believe it. Dean's charm was actually working.

"We'd still like to see the body for ourselves," John said.

She turned to look at him and nodded. "Of course." Looking at Dean she said, "Right this way." When she headed away from them, Dean turned and raised his eyebrows at his Dad. John just gave him a look that said to quit it. Dean either didn't get it, or choose to ignore it as he followed after Nicolette, falling into step with her.

"You seem awful young to be a coroner," Dean said, striking up conversation.

Nicolette turned and eyed him. "You seem awful young to be a Wildlife and Preserve officer."

Dean chuckled. "I'm a rookie," he gave, grinning. "But don't let the title fool you. I'm the brains of the operation."

"Uh huh," she said, chuckling a little as she used her shoulder to push open a set of swinging doors. "Well brains," she grinned and walked over to the body drawers lining the wall. She reached for the smaller ones, reserved for cremated remains and incomplete bodies. She opened it and pulled out a small metal box. "You look like you're going to pass out. I hope blood doesn't get to you."

Sam snickered and Dean just smiled wider. "Actually, it doesn't. I just have a bit of a cold today but decided my partner here needed me as backup, so I came in to work today out of the goodness of my heart."

Nicolette laid the box down on the table and put her hands on it, looking at Dean with amusement. "Is that so? Well, don't get your germs on me."

"I wasn't planning to unless you give into that irresistible temptation you have to kiss me," Dean purred. Sam felt like gagging. God, how could anyone fall for that? He looked at his father, who seemed equally disturbed at the lack of concentration in the room. Hormones. What can you do?

Nicoletted laughed, amused and shocked that he'd say something like that. "I don't kiss younger guys," she said at last.

"Good, neither do I."

When the two grinned at each other in obvious admiration, John cleared his throat and they suddenly seemed to remember that they weren't alone in the room. Nicolette turned to look at him, looking a bit scared at first but then pasting her smile back on. "So," she said and opened the box. "Our body is more of a…body part," she said, pulling the foot from the box and laying it down on the steel table.

Sam stared at it. God, don't puke. Please don't puke. Don't faint either. Do anything but faint or puke. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, ignoring the look Dean shot him. Sam finally pulled his eyes away from the body part and instead concentrated on Nicolette's face as she pulled on a pair of gloves and handed one to John and Dean. When they'd pulled it on, she started showing them her coroner's report.

"DNA's not back yet to confirm identity," she said, switching into business mode. Thank God. "But, guessing from the extent of decay, I'd say it's at least a week since time of death. It's definitely female. So we've assumed that it belongs to Hannah Gordon, the latest missing person."

"What can you tell us about the amputation?" John asked, sounding surprisingly professional. Sam wondered how many times his Dad had to do this. He probably knew the lingo by now.

Nicolette moved her hand to the fleshy point of amputation. Using her slender fingers to move the skin, she held it out a bit so John could see the marks there. Sam had to look away, taking in a deep breath through his nose. He wasn't going to puke. There'd been enough of that this weekend so far. It was Dean's job to puke, not his. Glancing at his brother, he was chagrined to see that Dean was actually looking at the foot with interest in his eyes. Okay Sam, suck it up. If Dean can do it, so can you. He turned his eyes back to it and bit his bottom lip. God that was sick.

"Well, there are blade marks," Nicolette said, pointing them out on the skin. "And it wasn't done by a professional, that's for sure. The cuts are sloppy and jagged. And from the amount of reposition of the blade, I'd guess that whoever this foot belongs to was struggling while it was being cut off."

"Seriously?" Dean asked, looking up then, suddenly not so interested anymore. His face had paled slightly. Sam silently willed his brother to puke. Just puke so they could get the hell out of there. But Dean held it back.

Nicolette smiled at him. "Yes, and there's bruising around the wound, so the cuts were inflicted before death. This person was alive when they had this foot amputated. Alive and awake."

"Do you know what kind of blade was used?" John asked.

Nicolette shook her head and smiled again, looking sheepish. "A sharp one?" she tried. John smiled and Dean chuckled a little. "Really, we haven't been able to tell. The decay was so intense we couldn't take molds of the wounds. One thing I can tell you, it wasn't a serrated knife. It's cut, not chopped or sawed." She looked at each of them again before her eyes fell on John. "So, are you going to rule out an animal attack? I mean, it's obvious a knife did this. In my opinion, we're dealing with a serial killer. We just haven't found the bodies yet."

"It looks that way, doesn't it?" John asked. Nicolette chuckled and placed the foot back in the box. Sam let out a sigh of relief. Get that damn foot out of sight. "Well, thanks for the help."

"Any time," she said, though her eyes had gone to Dean, who smiled at her again. "Don't get eaten by a bear," she said jokingly.

"I'll try not to," he replied. John sighed and grabbed the sleeve of Dean's shirt, pulling him away. Sam rolled his eyes.

Once they were outside, John hurried back to the car and climbed in. His sons followed suit and soon they were on the road again. "Where are we going?" Sam asked.

"The library," John answered, to which Dean immediately groaned. John ignored him. "You up for a little research, Sammy?"

"Oh, Sam's favorite pastime," Dean mocked. Sam glared at him but then nodded his head while his Dad was looking at him in the rearview mirror.

"Good, we're going to look up everything we can find on wolf attacks in this town," John said, speeding up a little.

Sam frowned. "But I thought a knife made those cuts."

Dean turned in his seat and looked at Sam. "Werewolf claws leave marks almost identical to knives."

"So it's a werewolf?" Sam asked, hopeful again.

"We haven't ruled it out yet."

Author's Notes: Hey all! First, let me apologize for letting my love for CSI and Criminal Justice show through so much with this chapter. But, I've started taking classes again working for my degree once more (yay!) so today I had a renewed love to Criminal Justice, lol. Also, now that I'm a student again, the updates are probably going to be a bit slower over the weekend, when my classes are. I'll still try to update every night, but I can make no guarantees. Just don't lose faith! This is like therapy for me to write these chapters so I won't give up on them. Also, a quick little self announcement that I want to share with the world: I'm an auntie! My brother and sister-in-law had their baby today! Joyus! Okay, I'm done. Thanks all for the reviews! Keep them coming, I'm addicted. 47 reviews for two chapters? You guys blow me away. Love ya all!