Chapter 6

Dean woke up just after sunrise, not surprised to see Sam already awake and watching television. "You watching those George Foreman infomercials again?" He croaked, yawning and sitting up.

"What can I say? They're enthralling." Sam replied, looking over at Dean and nodding towards the desk. "There's a coffee over there for you, should still be warm."

"Ahhh Sammy, you're a genius." Dean stretched, walking over to the table and grabbing his coffee. "What would I do without you?" He muttered, which seemed to be aimed more at his coffee cup than at his brother.

"Stay in bed all day?"

Dean paused, contemplating this. "Come on Sam, give me some credit. I'd stay in bed most of the day, and spend the rest of it in a strip joint."

"Typical. Do you ever go a day without thinking about women?" Sam asked, thinking he already knew the answer.

"Course not, like every other hot-blooded male in this country. There's only one thing on my mind. Well two, if you count all things supernatural. But I don't think of them in the same way I think of women, that'd just be… wrong." He shuddered, wrinkling his nose up in disgust and taking a sip of his coffee. "Aww man, why did I have to say that? You don't even want to know the kind of pictures I've got running through my head right now."

Sam raised his eyebrows, almost wishing he hadn't brought the topic up Although he did make a mental note to never ask Dean what was going on in his head again. "So what are we going to do today?

Dean didn't answer, seemingly immersed in his disturbing thoughts with a look of repulsion spreading across his face. "Huh?"

"I said, what are we going to do today?" Sam reiterated, rolling his eyes. He knew that it was going to be one of those days.

"I thought we were going to go see Harrington's family? And his grave?" Dean said, grabbing some clothes and beginning to pull them on.

Sam scowled, slamming the newspaper down on the desk and standing up. "Do you ever listen to a word I say!" He hated himself for getting annoyed at Dean but he knew it was going to happen eventually. When it was one of these days, he usually kept his mouth shut unless it was absolutely necessary to do otherwise. But unfortunately, he just couldn't afford to do that today.

"Apparently not…"

"Yesterday in the restaurant, I told you that Harrington doesn't have any family here and that he was cremated! Would you listen for a change?" Sam was fuming, and had started pacing up and down the room. He hated getting angry, but sometimes Dean just asked for it.

"Dude, chill. So I wasn't listening? I'm sorry okay?" His half-hearted apology didn't go down too well with Sam, who stopped pacing and stood with his hands on his hips, looking like a child who hadn't got his own way. "It isn't the end of the world you know." Dean muttered, drinking what was left of his coffee and throwing the cup in the bin.

"It isn't the end of the world!" Sam asked incredulously, shaking his head in amazement at how blind his brother could be. "Dean, there was another murder last night." He took a minute to revel in his brother's shocked expression before carrying on. "This thing is escalating. There's going to be a murder a night at this rate. Do you really want that on your hands?"

Dean glared at his brother and shook his head, hating to admit that Sam was right. "Alright, alright. Who's the latest victim?"

"Some guy from town, Joe Machin. Same situation as the other murders. And we can assume he has the number twelve carved between his shoulder blades." Sam replied, recalling what he'd seen on the news an hour ago.

"What do you suggest we do then, Einstein?" Dean really didn't like it when Sam was in a bad mood, as it usually meant he was in for a rough time. Today looked like it was going to be no exception.

Sam sighed and muttered something inaudible.

"I'm sorry, Sammy I didn't quite catch that."

"I said, I don't know." Sam shrugged, shaking his head in exasperation. "The only other person in Charles Harrington's life was his fiancé, a woman named Nadine Marsh, but even she doesn't live here anymore."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, look." He handed Dean the news article and pointed towards the bottom of the page. There was a picture of a beautiful dark haired woman with the caption 'Nadine Marsh; the victim's fiancé' underneath. Dean quickly scanned the paragraph underneath, sighing as he reached the bottom.

"Great, she would've been a good lead too."

"A good lead for what?" Sam asked, dreading to think of the idiotic idea Dean had come up with this time.

"A good lead for the murders of course. What did you think I meant?"

"Oh you have got to be kidding me!" Sam threw his arms up in the air in exasperation and sat down on his chair, shaking his head. "She's tiny! There's no way she could cut someone's head off!"

"If you say so Sammy, but my money would've been on her." Dean grinned, obviously unwilling to let go of his idea until he came face to face with the spirit of Charles Harrington.

Sometimes, Sam just couldn't believe his brother. He'd heard a lot of things come out of Dean's mouth, but this had to be the best. "Dean, would you give it up already?"

"No way, man. I'm not losing out on a well earned hundred bucks." To emphasize his point, he grabbed a wad of bills from his wallet and waved them in Sam's direction.

"You won that money hustling pool."

"Yeah, exactly. Well earned money." He shoved the notes back into his wallet, cursing Sam under his breath. "Look, can you just tell me what we're doing today? We can argue over money and pool hustling later."

"Well we do have one lead from the newspaper, but it is a little far-fetched." Sam replied, waving his hand in the general direction of the paper.

"What, you expect me to read through that again?" Dean laughed disbelievingly, amazed his brother would even ask him to do such a thing. "Why read when I have you?"

Sam glowered at his brother, he'd been doing that a lot lately and he was sure it wasn't good for his temperament. Although then again, Dean wasn't good for his temperament altogether. "It says that Harrington's head couldn't be reattached to his body so instead of it being cremated with his body, his fiancé had it buried somewhere in the local cemetery."

"So you're thinking old Charles has done a headless horseman and started killing people because he wasn't reunited with his head?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows and grinning. "You know, that sounds so far-fetched that it could actually be true."

"Well I'm glad you finally approve of something." Sam retorted, smiling despite himself. Dean could be an ass most of the time, but sometimes he knew exactly what Sam was thinking, which was slightly worrying.

"So, where abouts is the head buried?"

Sam grimaced, shaking his head apologetically. "That's the thing, it doesn't say. All the paper says is that Nadine had the head buried in an unmarked grave."

"Oh you have got to be kidding me! That's all we need." Dean muttered in disbelief. "Why can't things just be simple?"

"Because this is us you're talking about. If you looked up complicated in the dictionary, there'd be a picture of our family."

Dean laughed at this, nodding in agreement. "Damn right. Now, you up for a little head hunting?"

Sam nodded and walked towards the door, Dean following close behind and grabbing his coat as they left.

"You know I've been wondering, how does Harrington carve the numbers into his victims backs?" Dean asked, pausing as he opened the car door.

Sam looked over at him, not quite understanding what he was getting at. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the dude lost his head. So how can he see where to carve the numbers?"

"He's a spirit, Dean. They can do things we can't, remember?" Sam laughed.

"Yeah, he's a spirit Sam. But he's not Superman." Dean looked at Sam with a sceptical older brother expression on his face.

"So what are you trying to say?" Sam asked, climbing into the car.

Dean climbed in after him, putting the keys in the ignition and just sat for a second, pondering his answer. "I'm just trying to say that I don't think it's possible for the spirit of Charles Harrington to have carved those numbers…"

"So?"

"God dammit Sam! Do I have to spell everything out?" Dean yelled, losing his temper. "If it wasn't possible for Harrington to have done it, then someone else must have!