Dean glanced up at the knock on the door. "That him?"

John nodded, stepping to the door with a hand on his holstered gun. "Should be." He leaned into the metal and called softly. "Who is it?"

"Jory Pendleton."

John nodded and opened the door a crack, frowning at the … kid … who stood looking back at him. "You're Jory?" He asked, surprised.

The kid grinned and ran a nervous hand over the hairs on the back of his neck. "Guilty." He confessed. And when John made no further move to open the door, he cocked his head and asked boldly, "Can I come in?"

John stared, silent, and finally fell back a single step, bringing the door with him as Jory stepped inside.

The boy stood there, obviously no older than Dean, in skinny jeans and a crop top. He wore black eyeliner under both eyes, a ring in each earlobe and colorful tattoos that ran the length of each arm from shoulder to wrist. His dyed blond hair was cut short in the back and brushed long to hang over his eyes in front.

On his feet, he wore flat canvas high tops of neon pink.

Dean stood, snorting.

"Is there a problem?" Jory answered back, noticeably bristling.

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Should I shake your hand or date you?"

Jory paused, silent, then smiled and licked his lips. "Sorry, mate. I don't mix business with pleasure."

"And ain't that damned shame?" Dean shot back, perturbed. This was the guy who was supposed to help them crack the case? The one who'd been on the case for over a week and still didn't have a clue?"

Dean harrumphed.

John cleared his throat, tossing his oldest a warning glare. He offered his hand. "Jory." He said, "I'm John. This is Dean. That's Sam over there at the table."

Jory shook with a surprisingly strong grip and grinned again. "Pleasure. Say, you wouldn't happen to have any whiskey in the house?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up because he'd have bet his wallet the dude was a mixed-drink kinda guy, complete with the girly umbrella. He looked to John.

But the oldest Winchester just smiled. "And how old are you, son?"

Jory held up his hands. "Ah, you can't blame a bloke for trying, anyway." He moved to stand behind Sam. "Having any luck there, Sam?"

Sam stared up at the stranger with his mouth open. "Ah … yeah. I think, actually. Yeah." He answered, pulling himself together.

Jory pulled out the chair Dean had just vacated, spun it around and settled his lanky body into it backwards. "So let's hear it, yeah?"

Dean scowled, moving to stand beside his brother, arms crossed. "How about you share first, seein' as how you've been on the case for nearly two weeks now?"

Jory nodded, "Sure enough then." He said, and launched into the details of their current hunt.

"So we have four kids, all teenagers, all on the young side, and all dead." He held up four fingers and ticked them off one by one. "Melicia Wrought, Daryl Daniels, Taylor Molson and Lara Grannerly." He looked at John as he confessed. "Can't find a single thing they had in common. Melicia was a churchgoer; none of the others ever darkened the door of a sanctuary. Daryl was gay; the others - all straight. Taylor skipped school more than he didn't. Lara was all honors. Two were athletic. One was in a wheelchair. One was into performance art. Families didn't know each other. They all went to different schools. None of them knew the others." He stopped then to catch his breath.

"Wow." Sam breathed, blinking at the abundance of information and feeling inadequate. All he'd managed to find so far were the names and addresses of each of the deceased, the names of the schools they'd attended and whether they had siblings and how many.

Jory grinned at him. "So how about you? What'd you find out?"

Sam blushed and stammered, "Uh, well, not as much as you."

John cut in. "These curse boxes, were they all the same? All contained the same item?"

Jory shook his head. "That's the thing. The boxes had no more in common than the kids, other than that each one held something each kid apparently wanted more than life itself."

"Meaning?" John stared.

"Well, Melicia - she was the wheelchair kid. She got a wheelchair that converted into a standing brace like a freakin' Transformer." Jory related, big-eyed, and Dean nodded. He could appreciate the description. "As soon as she sat in it, it elevated her to a standing position and enabled her to walk without crutches."

"That sounds amazing." Sam breathed, picturing such an invention.

"Yeah? Well, not so much. Two days later, the thing had just sort of … inhaled her. They found her all twisted up with pieces of her legs actually INSIDE the metal pieces of the chair. Like INSIDE, INSIDE. Like the metal had molded with her skin."

Dean shuddered. Not so much like a Transformer after all.

John nodded. "And the others?"

"Daryl opened a letter from his favorite celebrity. It was apparently a reply to one he'd written. In it, the guy came out of the closet and confessed that it was Daryl's letter that had inspired him to come out publicly."

Dean squinted. "How'd that turn out?"

Jory looked slightly ill. "He was killed in a bus accident on his way to meet the guy backstage at a concert the next town over. The letter was inside his shirt, stuck to his skin, with a piece of rebar nailing it in place."

"Did they question the celebrity?" John asked, taking notes in his journal.

Jory nodded. "Guy never wrote the letter. Had no idea what the cops were talking about. Turns out, he wasn't even gay."

Sam's eyes were huge. "What about Taylor and Lara?"

"Taylor had lost his place on the school football team because his grades sucked." Jory paused, "Because he never went to school you see."

Sam nodded.

"Seems he opened a gym bag that had been left beside his locker. Inside was his uniform, helmet and a note from the coach telling him he'd been reinstated."

"But he wasn't." Sam guessed.

Jory shook his head. "Kid got dressed, headed out onto the field in front of God and everybody and got turned back in the most embarrassing way possible."

Sam winced. "And it killed him?"

"Well, not the embarrassment, but the opposing team running onto the field. Somehow, none of them saw him. They trampled the kid to death right there on the sidelines."

John nodded. "And the last one?"

"Lara Grannerly." Jory added.

"Yeah. What'd she open?"

Jory swallowed hard. "She opened up a wicker basket that was a prop for the play her drama club was putting on. She played Cleopatra. The basket was supposed to have a big rubber cobra in it sent over by someone her parents knew in Hollywood. They'd used it in an actual movie they'd filmed as an after-school special."

"Let me guess, the cobra?" Dean offered.

Jory shuddered, nodding, "Wasn't made of rubber."

Dean stared. "Yech."

"You're not kidding."

John cleared his throat. "So all these kids got the thing they'd been wanting most." He said, almost absently.

Jory nodded.

"But on a much different scale." Sam interrupted, making the room go silent.

"What do you mean?" Jory asked, suspicious. And Dean instantly bristled like a bulldog.

"Well, I mean, wanting to walk again is hardly on the same level as wanting a prop for play, right?"

"Good catch, Sammy." Dean nodded, shooting Jory the stink-eye.

"I mean, I can understand the wanting to walk, and I get the guy who was too afraid to tell people he was gay. But the other two … I don't know. They just seem … superficial?"

Jory nodded, conceding Sam's point. "Like I said, no similarities."

"And these boxes, they weren't even boxes, right? There was a gym bag and an envelope and a basket. What was the wheelchair in?" Sam asked.

"A metal case like a musical instrument would come in."

"Were they marked?" Dean wondered aloud. "I mean, were they obviously warded?"

Jory nodded. "I saw the containers in each case. They were definitely curse boxes. All sigiled up and everything."

The room fell silent for a moment while the hunters considered all the possibilities. Finally, John spoke, breaking the silence. Well," He conceded. "Either the victims were chosen at random, or there's something linking them all together that we just haven't found yet."

Dean nudged his brother. "Did you get anything else, Sammy?"

Sam bit his lip, embarrassed at the small bit of information he had to contribute. "Well," He said, "they all came from solid families." He shrugged.

"Solid?" Dean inquired. "So … like mom, dad, siblings? All happy together?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. And in each case, the kid who died had an older brother."

John inhaled sharply. "That's a pattern." He shot Sam a smile. "Good work, kiddo."

And from his seat across from Jory, Sam saw the young hunter stiffen and look away, anger simmering just beneath the surface. But an instant later, he looked back and smiled. "Yeah, Sam. Good job, man. That's some solid research right there."