As usual, Sam awakened long before Dean, who was tangled in the sheets and snoring softly. Sam rose quietly and took a short shower, then scribbled a note for his brother and headed out in search of coffee. He knew Dean would be irritable and hoped that caffeine would help soften the crabby post-injury demeanor.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam let himself back into the room, juggling a latte for himself and strong black coffee for Dean along with a bag of donuts. The first thing he noticed was the empty bed, followed by the running water and steam billowing from the tiny bathroom. As he dropped their breakfast on the table and rearranged his notes, the shower turned off and Dean emerged.

He had a towel wrapped around his waist and was scrubbing another through his short wet hair. "Hey," the elder Winchester greeted. "Please tell me that's coffee." He limped forward, clearly trying to surreptitiously minimize the weight on his injured leg, and gratefully accepted the cardboard-sleeved disposable cup Sam offered.

"You feeling better?" Sam rummaged in the bag, searching for his bear claw before handing the remainder of the pastries over to his brother.

"Yeah, 'm all right," Dean nodded as he pulled out a chocolate donut and took a huge bite. "Leg's a little sore but nothin' I can't handle."

"It look clear? No signs of infection?" Sam knew he had to ask the right questions to get the information he wanted.

Still clad in the towel, Dean rotated so that Sam could look for himself. "See?"

After carefully inspecting the edges of the wounds for telltale redness or swelling and finding none, Sam nodded in satisfaction. "Yeah, looks good. You gonna be up for some walking today? I think we should probably go interview the work crews of the coma victims. Maybe there's some connection we've missed, because I sure as hell can't find one otherwise."

"Yeah. I'll go get dressed. Gimme five."

"Put some of that antibiotic ointment on your leg and re-bandage it. And take one of the pills," Sam advised.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dr. Winchester."


Four hours later, the brothers walked back to the Impala after interviewing the final crew member, still every bit as flummoxed as they had been the previous day. "Nothing about this case makes sense," Dean complained. "Is it a spirit? Is it corporeal? Who the hell knows?" He threw his hands up in frustration. "Maybe we should talk to Bobby."

"Yeah, I'll give him a call when we get back to the room. Should we grab some lunch first?"

"Sure. Anything good around here?" Dean had been treading lightly with Sam since they had arrived in San Francisco, trying to be respectful of his brother's memories while still giving him the opportunity to talk if he wanted.

Sam looked thoughtful. "There used to be a taco stand a couple blocks from here. Jess loved it. I wonder if it's still there."

"We could go find out," Dean suggested tentatively.

Sam shrugged. "I guess, but I figured you'd want seafood. The crab from the bay is fantastic."

"Whatever you want, man," Dean said honestly. "Anything's fine with me."

"Have you ever been to Pier 39?" Jess had hated that part of town, Sam recalled. A tourist trap, she'd declared with finality, and had always stubbornly avoided the area.

"No, what's that?" Dean studied his brother curiously.

"Don't really know," Sam admitted. "Jess never wanted to go, so I never made it over there. Pretty sure there are some restaurants and something about sea lions. Want to check it out?"

"Might as well. This case is going nowhere fast."


Comfortably full of cioppino and local beer, Dean leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "So, what the hell with this case, man? It's driving me crazy."

Sam wiped his mouth and set his napkin aside before replying. "I don't know. It's so weird. I was leaning spirit until that thing swiped you."

"The claws are definitely corporeal enough," Dean agreed, absently reaching down and massaging his aching leg. "Maybe it's something like a boo hag. Don't they steal life force and leave the victims alive?"

"Hmm, yeah. I guess it's possible, but the boo hag is found in Gullah lore, and the Gullahs are descendants of enslaved people from along the eastern seaboard. They're concentrated in one pretty specific area, so it seems unlikely that a boo hag could have gotten way out here." At Dean's shrug, Sam persisted, "It also doesn't really explain the red eyes or the claws."

"They have red eyes, don't they?" Dean cocked his head, searching his memory for what he could recall of the obscure legend.

Sam shook his own head. "Nope. Their bodies are red because they don't have skin, remember? And while they feed on energy during sleep, they also usually steal their victims' skin to wear. Which of course hasn't happened here."

Dean shuddered. "Right. Gross. Okay, so probably not a boo hag."

"Maybe a ch'iang shih?" Sam suggested. "They have claws and red eyes."

"Yeah, but they always kill their victims bloody, don't leave 'em in a coma." Dean countered. "Next?"

"Chupacabras have red eyes and claws," Sam mused, "but I've never heard of one so far west. Or in an urban area."

Dean shook his head. "Me neither. And again - it doesn't explain the coma."

Sam sighed. "Maybe we're dealing with more than one thing. I mean, the attacks were totally different. Have you ever heard of any supernatural creature that changes its M.O. so drastically? I haven't. They're like human serial killers and stick to their standard patterns. Deviations are highly unusual."

Dean rolled his eyes the same way he always did when Encyclopedia Sam started spouting facts, but was forced to agree. "Something funky is going on here. I don't like it. Let's get back to the motel and give Bobby a call. I sure hope he has a clue, because I'm out of ideas."

By the time they'd traversed San Francisco traffic to arrive back at their motel, Dean's wound was angrily protesting the amount of walking the interviews had necessitated. He didn't admit that to Sam, of course, but his little brother noticed when he dropped onto the bed and elevated his leg as Sam pulled out his phone to call Bobby.

As always, the older hunter picked up before the second ring. Sam explained the situation, answering Bobby's various questions as thoroughly as possible. He scanned through their dad's journal as they talked, looking for potential leads. Dean had dozed by the time the conversation finally ended, and Sam let him sleep. Bobby had a few suggestions and Sam opened his laptop to do some more research.

After an hour, Dean stirred. He rolled over on the mattress to face Sam at the table and grunted, rubbing his eyes groggily. "How long?"

Sam glanced over. "How long were you asleep? About an hour. You looked like you needed it." Before his brother could protest, Sam plunged forward. "Bobby agrees that we're most likely dealing with two different things. Some sort of spirit that got the workmen, and then a corporeal creature that attacked us. Possibly something brought over from mainland China that got into the sewer system, and eventually the subway tunnels, and bred. Chinese mythology is full of mystical canidae that could fit the description." He paused. "I'm beginning to think it wasn't a dog that one workman followed down the tunnel."

"Ugh," Dean flopped onto his back. "Great. So there could be more of them. Well, corporeal is easy to kill at least. We just need to be ready with more than rock salt this time. What about the spirit?"

"He's got a few ideas and is looking into it. He'll call us back. The way it got cold in the tunnel, it seems maybe they're working together - whatever they are. Bobby doesn't think anything corporeal could make the temperature drop like that so the spirit was probably close by."

"Does he at least agree that this case sucks?" Dean grouched.

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "I think the exact words were 'Balls. You boys found yourselves a real bitch this time.'"