AN: Thanks everyone for reading! This one is going to be another meh one because I'm pretty much passing out where I sit, soooo... :P Hope you like it, please review! xoxo

CHAPTER 3

"Oh. Well."

"Emma seems nice," Sam Winchester said as he leaned back in the seat of the Impala that was speeding down the highway. The wind from his open window whipped his hair around, but he didn't mind it. He found it rather pleasant.

"She seems fine is what she seems." Sam glanced in the rearview mirror as if she could hear them.

"Just because she's a girl -"

"Woman."

"Fine, woman. Just because she's female doesn't mean you can hit on her immediately." Sam said. He was being reasonable, sure, but Dean would have none of that. He let out some 'all women love me' remark that Sam disregarded. "I asked her how she got into hunting and she walked away from me." Dean laughed.

"You obviously don't have the charm," was the reply.

Sam changed the subject. "You heard from that angel?" Dean stiffened and glanced darkly up at the sky. He turned down the radio and looked up through the windshield.

"No, but it'd be nice!" he said, loud enough for all the heavens to hear him...

Hopefully.

Emma's truck followed the Impala closely along the freeway to a neighboring town. She rotated her shoulders and ran one hand through her hair. Although she had not gotten used to the stitches that tugged, she had gotten used to the pain, and therefore had taught herself to ignore it. You didn't get into this kind of job without a high pain tolerance anyways.

The entire drive, Emma's thoughts had been going from the case to the Winchesters, case to Winchesters, case to Winchesters. They were both nice, Sam a bit more so, Dean was intriguing, and Emma could see why Bobby would take it upon himself to take care of them. They looked like they needed it anyways. Emma made a mental note to bring that up sometime. Next time Dean made a jab at her.

Emma was convinced that her 1990's Silverado could outrun the Impala any day, but she hung out behind the brothers for a little while, brooding. An Emma thing to do.

The Emma thing to do.

"Now that is cool." Dean was saying, impressed. He ran his finger along the soft leather across Emma's back that held her shotgun. Emma shrugged. Easy access. While she had her handgun tucked into the back pocket of her dark jeans, she couldn't help but feel comfort. She liked the shotgun. She liked the way her muscles rippled beneath her skin as she held it. She liked the idea of being able to blow something's head off, regardless of whether or not it was just going to come back to life. But now was not the time. She slipped it off of her and stuck it behind her bench seat carefully, before dusting off her clothes and climbing down. Dean had watched every movement she made, while Sam had looked away. The way Dean looked at her made her nervous, but she pushed that back into her throat and

The sun was just coming up, and Dean watched as the sunrise cast a deep yellow light on everything. It was too early to be awake. Hell, it was too early to be alive.

"Come on." Emma said as she pulled on a larger jacket over her shirt, pencil skirt, and tights. She hated it. Give her t-shirts and jeans any day, damn it! "We better get this going."

...

"Well this is gross." Sam said, his hand over his mouth as they crossed the threshold into the morgue. The smell was terrible.

"Smells the best in the South Dakota mornin', don't it?" a man ("they're always old guys" Dean mumbled) shuffled toward them, holding out his hand. "Nobody ever thinks of us when the air conditioning goes out. 's been out all night." Emma frowned. If it were here the place with the dead bodies would have been the first place she thought off. Right above coffee shops.

"You have my condolences." she said shortly, trying not to breathe too much. "Do you know when it'll be turned back on?" The man shook his head wordlessly and they followed him toward the examining table.

"I'll tell you, this ain't pretty," he warned us. Dean and Emma exchanged a glance. They had seen worse, guaranteed, whatever it was. When the man pulled back the sheet, though, Emma had to resist a gag but only lifted her eyebrow. Dean grimaced and Sam's eyebrows furrowed. In front of them was another young man, his stomach cut wide open and his face pale. "Right here is where whatever it was got his stomach. There's some skin missing, but otherwise he's intact." the Doctor said, and pointed his finger. "They found him face down in a bowl of chili in his home. Couldn't figure out what cut him, even."

"Lovely," Emma said sarcastically, and looked down at the dead man, feeling a bit of a lurch in her stomach.

"This is the fourteenth victim?" Sam asked, casually lifting one hand to rest over his nose.

"That's right... Agent...?"

"Whitman." Sam said, not taking his eyes off the man in front of them.

"Why the incision in the stomach?" Emma could see Dean grimace as he leaned in close. The examiner made a face.

"That's what's odd. We have no idea..." Emma was a bit taken aback.

"You have no idea?" she asked, lifting her eyebrow higher.

"None..."

"You know," Emma said, and backed up a step, "I think we've seen enough here. Thank you." Emma took Dean's arm and dragged him out of the room, Sam in tow.

Once they were outside, the three of them breathed in the intoxicating smell of fresh air. Emma resisted the urge to gag, and only leaned against her truck for a moment before standing up straight. Dean was staring at the picture he had nicked from the file, and Sam was looking over his shoulder before taking it from his brother's hand and tucking it into his pocket.

Dean stretched himself, and rubbed his stomach, looking around. "Where's a good place to get some food around here?"

...

"I can't believe you can eat after seeing that," Sam said disgustedly, as the three of them leaned on the side of the Impala. Dean shrugged and took a bite out of a burger. "This is all just so weird..." Sam mumbled as we leaned against he side of the Impala. "Why would something take a piece of someone's stomach?"

Emma shrugged her shoulders. "Are we sure this is our kind of thing?" she asked, her voice devoid of much emotion, as it always was, "I mean, serial killers take souvenirs all the time. This might just be plain old human."

"No way," Dean countered through a mouthful of cheese and meat, "Bobby said it's gotta be a case. So we look into it more."

"Let's go to the crime scene. " Sam suggested, and the three of them climbed into their cars, and took off down the road. Emma imagined sirens on their cars, and couldn't help but chuckle just a little bit.

The apartment was dingy and messy, but what else did Emma expect from a 21 year old guy? The table where they had found him was taped off, and Emma quickly stepped over the tape and began looking through what was on the table. She sighed. It broke her heart to realize that people actually had lives before a monster killed them. This kid was going to go to class the next morning. Erg.

"Aaaaand, we have a winner!" Dean's voice made Emma jump as she looked down on the ground, to see Dean emerging with something spread across his fingers. He held it up to Emma's face and she cringed before looking at him with level eyes. "Sulfur."

"I know."

"Guys! Look at this!" Sam's voice came in from the next room. Emma and Dean walked through the narrow hallway into the bedroom that Sam was occupying, sitting on a beat up Mac. His finger was pointed to a photo that was taking up the whole screen. Emma looked closer and lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh. Well."

Dean ran one hand over his eyes. "I'll go look for a motel room."

PS: I know I put some stuff from the other story into this one, like the morgue scene. That's because I'm thinking I'm going to get rid of the other one and just merge ideas. K yeah nighty night!