Skylar skipped after Dean.
She quickly tucked her white blouse into her dress pants, touched up her hair, and did her best to look older than she actually was.
Surprisingly, Dean seemed to not be worried about it. He made of point of saying that he was a professional liar and there wasn't anything he couldn't talk his way out of it. She wasn't sure if that was actually a good thing or not.
This morning, they had found a note attached to the Impala. It had been from Sam, saying that he had decided to take some much needed time and would be leaving with Ruby. Ruby – a demon. He said that the 'needed' time was important and detrimental to their survival.
No matter Ruby's intentions, and no matter how many times Sam tried to defend her at all costs, something just didn't feel right. But that was to be expected. She was the very thing that they tried to rid this world of; an abomination.
In turn, Dean's mood was so sour that you would expect a lemon to pop out of his mouth at any moment. Any shared affection that they experienced last night had been instantly replaced when he realized that his brother had skipped town with the 'demon whore' that he hated so much.
In his mind, it was as if Sam had chosen Ruby over him. In a way, he had.
Dean whipped open the door to the mortuary, nearly hitting Skylar in the process. She dodged the door with a look of quiet irritation plastered on her face. However, when Dean was like this, it was best to simply stay out of his way and not speak.
Since Sam was gone, she was on deck. This was her first official order of business.
"Hello, what can I do you for you?"
"Agent Cash, and this is my partner Agent Carter – FBI."
Dean whipped out his badge expertly. Skylar fumbled for her own, pulling it from her purse, and opening it upside down. She correct the mistake, but not before both men noticed her embarrassing screw up.
Please don't look closely…please don't look closely.
The gentleman in a white coat sized her up with all of the scrutiny he could muster, she was sure. Sweat began to break out on her top lip.
"She's FBI?" he inquired doubtfully.
"Intern," Dean said without skipping a beat.
"Mmhmm."
Dean cleared his throat, "We're here to see Mark Jones."
"What does the FBI want with this case?"
"Please," Dean said in a tone that meant business. He indicated for the man to take him directly to the corpse. Without further hesitation, they entered the stark white room lined with drawers. The entire experience was eerie and she hadn't even come face to face with the victim yet.
"Mr. Jones passed away from Gastritis. His medical records state that he had suffered from ulcers for most of his adult life."
"Well, we can't be too careful," Dean said.
Hesitantly, the man opened one of the drawers that was at waist level, a white sheet covering Jones' body before he pulled it down half way.
Looking directly at the body, there were no obvious issues indicating foul play.
Shit. That meant they would have to go in.
"I believe my partner and I can take it from here."
"But…"
"Excuse us," Dean said sternly, staring the man down until he backed away and walked from the room.
Dean handed her a pair of gloves as he picked up a scalpel. Skylar yelped in surprise when he sliced open the man's stomach without any remorse for what he was doing. She knew that Sam usually handled the autopsies whenever they had to do it themselves.
Now she knew why.
Dean sliced deep and long, opened the ripe body wide and sticking a hand in deep.
"Hold out your hand," he instructed. Hesitantly, and with a grimace of disgust on her face, she did as she was told. However, he never placed anything into her palm. His face twisted in confusion as he opened the body wider and peered inside.
Dean stuck his hand in again, moving it around and never hitting any organs.
"Well, that's not normal," he said in a slightly comical tone.
Skylar leaned closer and peered inside herself. Mark Jones' insides were complete soup. His stomach…liver…intestines – everything. It's as if he had been melted from the inside.
"Witch?"
"That's my guess. I'm not sure what else could cause this to happen. Probably some pissed off women that decided to light his ulcer on fire. Witches man – they suck almost as much as human."
Dean ripped his coated gloves off, tossing them into a nearby trash can. He kicked the body back into its dark container and shut the door.
"Let's go. We have work to do."
If I were a hex bag, where would I be?
After sitting beside the distraught widow of Mark Jones, Skylar had excused herself to the bathroom where Jones had been screaming the night before, clutching his stomach, claiming that it felt like he was on fire.
Having suffered from stomach issues prior, no one thought much of the issue – especially when Mrs. Jones admitted that he had eaten Thai food the night before. Some of that stuff was bound to naturally eat through the lining of your stomach anyway.
After searching every inch of the small bathroom, she was about to give up hope before catching a glimpse of the small vent in the floor that was partially covered by a pink furry rug. As the heat rushed into her face, she removed the cover and there, staring back at her, was a small burgundy hex bag.
She nearly screamed out that she had found it, but quickly caught herself. She had to remain professional.
Putting on a serious face, Skylar replaced the cover to the vent and went back into the living room, an uncomfortable Dean mindlessly patting the 60 year old women on the back as she cried into his chest.
Yet another task that was usually occupied by Sam.
Skylar couldn't help but snicker as he gave her a look that said, 'don't say a word, or so help me God.'
She held up the bag to indicate that she got it, realizing the instant relief on Dean's face as he backed away from the women and claimed that they had all the information they need – that they would stay in touch.
Once outside, Dean grabbed the bag and opened it, noting the contents with disgust. "I'll say it again. Witches are gross."
"I found it," Skylar sound with pride, noting the obvious.
"I see that," he held up the bag as confirmation that she had won the game of hide and seek.
Skylar's face fell. Would one positive word of praise kill him? She went to climb into the Impala, but he grabbed her by the wrist and shut the car door, pinning her against the exterior.
"Good job, Baby Girl." Dean bent his head to give her a quick peck on the lips, instantly rewarded by a smile from Skylar. She couldn't have held back the grin if she tried from a job well done, and the obvious kiss given to her by Dean. It was the first bit of affection he had given her all day, letting her know that last night had actually happened.
"Thank you," she said a little too chipper. "I did great."
"Mmhmm. And every time I need something found, I'll put you on the job."
Her face fell once again. "I didn't say I liked it."
"But you're so good at it. I mean, I've found dozens of these little bastards, but you're a natural."
"You don't have to be sarcastic about it."
"Hunter rule number one…don't become too cocky because it will bite you in the ass."
"And this coming from the cockiest piece of shit I've ever known."
Dean smirked at her, clearly amused by her pissed off demeanor. "And I've died 112 times. Trust me, cocky gets you killed – over and over and over and over…"
He kept repeating those words as he went around the Impala and climbed inside.