Lory slept like a child with Dean's arms wrapped around her, secured tightly below her slowly rising and falling breasts. Dean tried to. He was tired, but that wasn't enough to clear his mind. He couldn't remember being so open and vulnerable with anyone in his life. But still, she questioned his feelings for her. Was she right to?

He lay with his eyes open for what must have been hours, sure that the tighter he held her, the quicker the foolishness would leave his mind. The more he squeezed and pecked her shoulders, the more he felt like he was trying to prove himself. But nonetheless, she smiled in her sleep and held him around her, and that made him smile. It felt good to have someone love him- a moody, smart-alecky alcoholic- so unconditionally. Even when he managed to reach new feats of jerkdom, his sole existence alone deemed to make her happy, and that in turn made him happy- the happiest he had been since he was three years old. And if anything was strong enough to do that, it had to be love.

He smiled.

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"Good morning," Dean groaned to his brother through sleep, lowering his rasp as not to disturb his still sleeping bedmate.

The door clicked closed and Sam sighed half-heartedly, "Morning."

"Where did you go all night?" he asked casually, gently loosening his embrace.

"Just drove around mostly," he shrugged, arms folded, towering over his still made bed.

"You took my car?" Dean asked with slight indignity.

"Yes, I borrowed dad's car for a night. You weren't using it. I never drive it."

"You could have asked," he suggested with a purposeful calm.

"Why should I have to? You aren't his only son. It belongs to both of us."

Sam's tone grew more severe as a result of bottled words, but more so out of re-channeled disdain from elsewhere.

"He left it to me, Sam," he said through hoarse restraint, his eyes shifting to the sleeping Lory to remind himself to keep his rising temper under wraps.

"Yeah, says you," Sam scoffed.

"No, says Dad and seniority."

Sam smirked snidely, "You can invoke seniority when you can spell it, Dean."

"Okay…" Dean grunted, leaving the bed and grabbing his faded jeans from the wicker chair that sat in the corner. Getting one leg into them, he looked up at his brother and said simply, "Outside."

"What, are you trying to fight me, now?" Sam sneered.

"No, I'm trying to figure out what the hell your problem is, and I don't want to wake up Lory."

He slipped into his second shoe, and Sam sighed.

"I wanted a drink anyway."

They didn't say a word until they reached the end of the row, the residence of three vending machines.

"I'm listening," Dean declared with a sweeping gesture of his hand.

"To?" Sam replied nonchalantly as he selected his beverage of choice.

"Well, nothing until you start telling me why you've been such a jackass."

"Oh, I'm a jackass now?"

"You're acting like one. All the mood swings and then storming out like that last night. What's up? Did I do something to you?"

"Not everything is about you, Dean." After swooping down and scooping up his water, he swiveled to face his brother. "Instead of this we need to be on our way to Trevose."

Dean wasn't convinced of Sam's first thought, but he thought it best to digress.

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"May I help you?"

The man who came to the door of the small, ramshackle funeral home (which looked like it was actually someone's home) was dark-haired, swarthy-skinned and considerably humped over. He looked down the vast length of his nose at the two suited men that dwarfed him considerably.

"Yes, Hi. I'm Agent Perry, this is Agent Tyler," began Sam and both men flashed their (fake) badges, "We've been informed of some strange occurrences at this address."

"By whom?" the man shot accusatorily, his thick European accent causing him to spit slightly..

"That's irrelevant," Dean nodded with authority.

"I've done nothing wrong, I tell you! Did that sea-cow Lobardi call you? It was her who put you up to this!"

Both young men were taken aback.

"No?" Sam said tentatively, "We never spoke with a Lobardi-"

"You gentlemen, come in. I have nothing to hide!"

As the two stepped in, Sam nodded, "Thank you, Mr..?"

"Egar."

Dean tried his best to turn his crooked smirk into a polite one.

"I'm sorry- Igor?"

Sam nudged his discreetly but not gently with his elbow.

"Egar. Ludovic Egar. This way, please, gentlemen."

"Yes, master- sir."

Though Dean's helpless shrug told his brother his flub was genuine, Sam's disdainful look didn't soften much.

The two made their way through the parlor, exchanging wary looks. As many icky things as they had fought, the place still gave them both a feeling of discomfort. The parlor was lined with coffins- and neither brother could be sure they were empty. Every other item in the room was covered in dust- and looked older than the man himself. Old photos- many black and white- lined the wall. Most were of what was obviously a younger (but still not much more attractive) Ludovic Egar with a pretty dark-haired woman that must have been his wife.

Dean frowned at them.

He must have a freaking

HHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGEEEEEEEEE

savings account.

The other wall hangings were mostly comprised of yellowing oil paintings that looked disturbingly appropriate for a funeral home.

"I tell her-" he began fervently, looking occasionally over his shoulder and talking with his wide hands, "I tell her body was missing pieces BEFORE I open body-bag. My problem? No! Is morgue's problem."

"We covered the Mr. Egar," Dean began respectfully, "but our sources lead us here."

Through another doorway, the space opened up. And though less congested, it didn't improve much in any other way.

"Have seat," the man gestured to the ancient, wood-framed couch.

The boys lowered themselves onto it slowly, careful not to release all their weight at once.

"What you like to know?"

Dean began, "How many of the bodies that were sent here were…incomplete?"

Both boys squinted at the last word.

"Four. I managed to cover up the first three-"

"You weren't going to tell your paying customers their folks' remains got Swiss-cheesed?"

"What they don't know won't hurt!"

Dean raised his cynical brows.

"The fourth?" Sam proceeded.

"The nose was gone." Both Winchesters grimaced as Egar continued, "Gabriel Lobardi."

"Mrs. Lobardi's husband?" Sam inquired.

"Husband? No! No one would marry that banshee! Was her brother. That catty cow has been telling entire neighborhood that I eat dead people! No one will give business!"

"What would lead her to believe that?" Dean asked skeptically.

"That woman has hated me for years. Only reason she ask me to do funeral is because she is too cheap to go anywhere else. I give good prices. Hope you never need my services, but if you do, half off. Just for you."

"We'll put you in the rolodex," Dean smiled flatly.

Sam inquired, "Did you let the bodies sit?"

"Yes. I get them in the evenings, so usually I start work the next day."

"Is it possible you left the doors unlocked?" Sam continued.

"That's very possible," he nodded agreeably.

"You didn't make it a point to remember to lock them after the first time?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

"I am old! The head is not how is used to. Perhaps children playing joke on old Ludo? Really, nothing to worry, I am sure."

Sam and Dean grew more suspicious with each wave of his hand.

"Well, could we have a look around?" Sam asked with a polite smile.

The corners of the man's mouth wrinkled up toward his silver-dollar eyes as he asked sweetly, "You have warrant?"

As the door slammed behind the Winchester brothers, Dean leaned in close to Sam.

"We are SO breaking in here."

No sooner than Dean had his hand on the driver's side door did he feel another's on his upper arm.

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

Dean turned around and saw no one, but then looked down and into the slate-grey eyes of a tiny (height-wise, at least) woman. They matched her close cut, pixie-feathered hair. She was easily in her sixties and in denial. Her zebra-striped active wear suit raised the eyebrows of both Sam and Dean.

"Uhm, Yes?"

"I'm not one to spy…" she said in a way that implied that indeed she was, "but I saw you over at Egar's funeral parlor. I noticed you flashed badges. I take it you're men of the law."

She finished her statement with a once-over of both the boys.

"That, we are," Dean smiled uneasily.

"May we help you?" Sam asked with slight impatience.

She shook Sam's hand over the top of the Impala, and then Dean's, which she held longer than propriety would call for, looking him over again and bringing her eyes to land locked with his.

"My name is Judith Lobardi- I live across the street. I left my late brother's body in the care of that Egar man and he-"

"We know all about that, ma'am," Sam nodded respectfully, "We're sorry for your loss."

"And your brother's loss," Dean chimed in, "…of his nose…"

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked expectantly, settling her hands on her hips.

"We're working on it, ma'am" Sam nodded, smoothing his combed-back hair.

Dean opened the car door.

"Take care."

No sooner than it slammed shut, the wide little woman leaned over into the open window.

"You two watch out for that Egar. He's crafty- not to mention weird."

"How so?" Dean asked, suddenly interested.

"Always been a weirdo, but lately…People's silhouettes moving around in there at night even though he lives alone. Shady business if you ask me. Gabriel was just the tip of the iceberg! When Egar told me there was a 'problem', only after threatening him with the cops did he let me see my brother's face. Said something about rats. Rats my Aunt Fanny. There isn't a rat in New York City, let alone MARYLAND big enough to take off a whole nose at once. I'll tell you one thing- it didn't look like his nose was bitten off. It was CUT off. "

The brothers exchanged quick looks.

"Did you notice anything else?" Sam asked, leaning over into her view.

"Nothing that I can think of right now. That ought to be enough, though, right?"

"We'll see what can do," Sam replied.

"Well, if you need more information, or anything…" she reached into the gorge between her breasts and pulled out a bent, slightly moist business card.

Shuddering with reluctance, Dean took it between his fingertips and flipped it around out of curiosity.

Judith's Nail Design Studio…

He looked over at her rainbow-colored talons.

Of course…

"Thank you. We'll be in touch," Dean blinked through a pained smile.

"I'll be waiting…" she waved to the boys as she finally backed away from the car.

Dean sped down the street like he was trying to outrun the bubonic plague.

"I think she liked you," Sam grinned.

"Oh, you think?" he scoffed, not amused

"Unless she just wanted to skin you and wear you, too."

Dean sat the card on the dashboard and rubbed his fingertips together, frowning at them in disgust. He turned to his brother.

"You still got some of that hand-sanitizer stuff?"

"Yeah…"

Sam began shuffling through the glove compartment with a crooked smirk before presenting the small bottle and depositing a drop on Dean's right hand as he steered with the left.

Working his fingertips together, Dean grunted, "Thanks. This should hold me 'til I can get back to the motel and bleach myself."

.